#oh le sign. whatever. whatever! i will go to sleep

[seagullcharmer]

i want to rp with friends but today's been a bad brain day and a Lot of reading so i'm just generally overwhelmed. idk if i'm ready for something like this (even though! it's lowkey pretty chill!) i'm probably making something out of nothing but like. i'm not a good writer. i don't know what i'm doing and i'm five to ten years younger than everyone else and that's also stressing me out and it's probably silly and i'm too shy to even reach out to the mod (hi nael) and oh whatever

[akiraiscute]

Yandere!Killua X Hunter!Reader

Tw ; Yandere shit, gore (idk what to add)

KILLUA IS A CHILD IN THIS AND SO IS READER. SO ITS NOTHING ELSE THAN KISSING AND HUGGING AND CUDDLING.

Yet all of this could off been avoided, everything could off been avoided if you didn’t go to the hunter exam. Everything, every last detail, every single word you said to both of them but here the fuck you are. Hugging the person who is absolutely obsessed with you, yes you don’t know but still.. its such a horrible move but you’re here with gon, Killua can’t just confess his love for you in front of gon or that blonde guy and black hair guy! That would make it awkward as well. But You were worried sick about killua, you even came with gon and uh, Kurapika and Le- Leorio.. Doesn’t that mean you care about him? If he even thinks about it, he gets this weird feeling. Killua doesn’t like that weird feeling at all.

“Kil! You’re bruised?! Are you okay?!”

“Oh..oh im fine..”

“You don’t look fine!”

“Oh shut up gon!…”

Killua said embarrassed as his reddening face got called out by gon, again. Leorio and kurapika smiled at the three, adoring this scene as it played. They both started to laugh a bit.. Just because he gets red around you, doesn’t mean shit! Doesn’t mean he has a crush on you, not at all. That’s weird! Super duper weird! But, but seeing you get even more worried for him, was making him weak.. isn’t that a bad sign?! Being weak is bad, right..? Yea! It is! He can’t stand you making him suddenly weak, just because you care about him doesn’t matter! Doesn’t mean anything either.. God, maybe Killua was head over heels for you, maybe he would just.. confess his love, maybe. And maybe! You’ll say yes and you two could live happily, away from his family too… god he wanted that. He didn’t want his fucked up family to take you away, nor take him away from you. He can’t stand being away fro- What is he thinking! He just met you, maybe a few weeks ago! Or a month ago! He can’t be talking like this about you. Ugh..

“Let’s go already, my mother may already be heading this way.”

“Oh! Okay!”

“What is your mother like anyways?”

That made Killua’s gears turning. He started to rant about his mother doing stuff, crazy stuff. Might i add.. Walking past the servants or whatever and kept talking as gon and you said bye and ran after him, Kurapika and leorio doing the same but walking. When You five got outside, kurapika started to speak, sorta talking over Killua but Killua didn’t mind as along as he got to look at you really, maybe he’s realizing he’s obsessed.. maybe he is! Maybe he’s gonna try stopping himself from doing anything.

After the two left, Killua was already talking to gon about him beating hisoka. He tried to show how far away gon was from hisoka as well, making sure gon knows.

“What about you?”

Gon asked before Killua immediately made the line medium size.. Killua thought he was so humble, yea right but it made you laugh. He.. he made you laugh right?! That counts, he made you laugh… god he was going to think this over in his head over and over, gon groaned as he let out another sigh, not knowing what to do even. Before Killua suggested to go to heavens arena, which both of you and gon found that going to heavens arena was a good idea! Even if you both don’t even know what heavens arena is..

You three got the tickets online, and was on the airline as soon as it was there. Both gon and killua talking, sometimes you adding in as well.. as you were just tired from going to killua’s house even! God, opening those big ass doors were horrible for you and your back.. you yawned before leaning back into your seat, finally falling asleep as Killua and Gon were talking until Killua noticed you sleeping and he stared at you sleeping so peacefully.. he felt sorta at peace for that at least you were sleeping and not hurt. He zoned out really before Gon snapped him out of it really.

————————————————————————————————

Im tired soso, Everything i do will have a part two prob😭😭 but have this my bbys, finally getting into my hxh stuff😊🫶

— Aki.. Akira… Loggi.. Logging… off..

[baronetcoins]

I feel like I win when I lose—Director's Commentary

In what is rapidly becoming a tradition of mine, I went on a research Bender for my Yuletide fic and there are so many details I want to point out and discuss—so I will. This year I wrote I feel like I win when I lose for @avengingmariner and I did loose my mind over it, but in a fun way. Join me in my descent into madness below the cut.

My brief was "you must put my man laurence in A Situation" and I somehow landed on the core nugget of "Napoleon finds Laurence in his darkest hour, instead of Tharkay"—mostly because NGL I haven't read further in this series than Victory of Eagles. I'm working on it, just not there yet.

From that point I just sort of... started writing and felt out where the story wanted to go, and then I kept falling into research holes. Here are some of the fun pieces of information I learned in rough order of where they popped up in the fic.

There was chicken set aside from the dinner he was supposed to have had hours ago, before an urgent missive had pulled him away—a simple roast bird, born out from what local provisions had been found

The WEEK I was working on this, Max Miller of Tasting History put out a video on Napoleon. I wasn't able to work in a lot of detail about the food here just because I couldn't make it flow into what I was writing, but there's so much I wish I could have talked about. The weird thing with chicken! Apocryphal stories about how dishes got their names! His drinking habits! The inherent whatever of breaking bread with somebody who's supposed to be your enemy! Now that I'm writing this paragraph I feel like I need to write another fic about food.

And then I Made chicken marengo the week after because I was curious. It was fine?

le mistral noir

Now this bit owes its thanks to Kangoo, my resident French correspondent. I was talking to him about what could be a nickname the French soldiers used for Temeraire, and he suggested "le mistral" which he described as "(very cold and often violent wind that blows into france from great britain, known for cleaning the sky of clouds and also wrecking your shit) (also the name of a fighter plane)" and I went "oh, that's Perfect". And I wanted to be able to explain that reference. Because it's So Good.

He blinked around at the courtyard of brick building before being hurried just as swiftly into a fine bedchamber where he was given a cold supper and the opportunity to wash himself. With little else to do, he fell into another restless sleep.

This was a fun bit of gamesmanship to think out—where would Napoleon want to set the treaty signing in order to send a message? And in order to think about that, I had to learn more about how the government of Britain worked in this timeframe (polisci major hat incoming).

In the US, authority to make treaties is vested in the executive branch, but the legislative branch has to ratify them. I did not know how that worked for the British, because their system mystefies me to this day. Luckily, I found this paper which explains how it worked in 1938, and there isn't much reason to expect it to have changed in that period, so the answer is "at least in theory, the authority rests with the Crown".

Based on that, I figured he'd want to make a point by holding it in a royal building as opposed to Westminster, so I went with St. James' palace which has been used for state stuff forever. Unfortunately, the details for the interior of St. James' are scarce. I was looking at 1860s watercolors to try and squint out a layout.

It was a dress uniform of aviator green, with gold braid and buttons as well as twin epaulettes. He dropped it as if it were a hot coal.

This was perhaps my longest diversion. I'm not intimately familiar with the internal culture of the military <understatement, but I knew having Laurence be present in any form would be read as a huge statement. So what kind of statement would you want to make? Ultimately I went with "the biggest 'fuck you' possible", so Laurence in a British aviator's uniform.

Then there was the question of fringe or no fringe. Which didn't even make it into the fic, but was an interesting diversion. You see, "captain" is a term that connotes a different level of authority in the Army vs the Navy. NATO has a standard rank scale I was able to squint at here, as it tries to standardize across branches and countries. Captain in the British Army is an OF-2 rank, but Captain in the British Navy is an OF-5 rank. What does it represent in those terms in the Arial Corps? I have no idea! This impacts nothing here other than if one or both epaulettes would have fringe on them.

He wandered the hallways, passing French soldiers who saluted him and English dignitaries who ignored him or glared at him in turn. In desperation he returned to seek refuge in the room he’d been left last.

The medal Laurence gets is that of the Légion d'honneur, and nominally military personnel in uniform are supposed to salute other uniformed personnel wearing it, regardless of ranks involved. That was too good of a detail not to gesture at.

The Wikipedia article

I picked Jacques-Louis David entirely because he's my favorite artist of this time period and location, though the fact he did official work for Napoleon was a bonus. I'm very interested in the uses of these really formalized displays of image-crafting as used for propaganda, and also it's just fun to think about. Spent ages looking at Wikipedia too to get the formatting and the style of writing right, which I think I did.

The Title

Really, it just made me laugh, so it had to stay. I mean the song is also fitting and I think it's the sentiment I wanted to gesture at emotionally, but it is also funny,

[combeauferre]

no matter the change or the age

les miserables, rated g, 1.8k words

it's Grantaire's birthday, and that means it's Jehan and their daughter's job to give him the perfect morning.

for ryan @earthbound-in-doubt happy birthday my love

read on ao3

Jehan wakes first, as usual. Beside it, Grantaire snores, as good as dead to the world. This is what Jehan always hopes for.

Gently slipping out of bed, it pulls on some pyjama shorts and Grantaire’s hoodie, always smelling of him no matter how many times Jehan wears it, and it opens the door as gently as it can manage.

The door creaks gently but doesn’t wake Grantaire; he doesn’t so much as flinch, and Jehan is able to sneak out unnoticed. On most days, Grantaire’s ability to sleep through anything makes for a challenge, Jehan’s once light sleeping now adjusted to match. But today, Grantaire’s birthday, it’s a blessing.

They’ve been together long enough now that Jehan has the routine down. Chocolate chip pancakes and fresh fruit juice, berries and maple syrup, and plenty of leftovers for breakfast the next day. Then come presents, and Jehan always showers him in gifts and kisses and love, as he deserves. They both take the day off work, and the day is planned around whatever Grantaire is feeling that year. A quiet, lazy fuck where Jehan indulges Grantaire in whatever he wants, then off to the museum, the aquarium, the zoo, wherever he wants.

“Daddy?”

Or so it used to be.

In the next doorway, teddy bear in hand, sleep in eyes, stands Calliope, yawning and watching up at him with curious eyes.

“Hey, little one,” Jehan smiles, kneeling down to her and opening its arms. “You’re up early, hm?”

“Heard you,” she says, leaning into it. The bear bumps gently against its back as she wraps her arms around it and it takes the hint, lifting her up.

“Oh, not being nearly quiet enough, am I?” it says sympathetically, bouncing her gently in its arms and kissing her forehead.

“Where goin’, Daddy?”

“Going to make Papa breakfast,” it tells her, carrying her towards the stairs, “You wanna help make pancakes?”

She nods fast, giggling.

“You remember it’s Papa’s birthday, right?”

She thinks about it, frowning.

“We got him a present and a card, do you remember?”

This, she can recall. There’s a card upstairs, tucked away in Jehan’s bedside table signed with a messy scribble that, by anyone else’s standards, could not be considered words. But Calliope had tried her best, and no one could appreciate that as much as Grantaire will.

His gift from Calliope is a bath bomb Jehan had helped her pick out by smell (not that she would have gone for anything other than the unicorn-shaped bath bomb, regardless of what it smelt like), and a cat plushie she insisted he should have, that has a remarkable resemblance to their own tortie cat, Shelley. Jehan already knows Grantaire is going to love them.

At three years old, Callie has never been old enough to participate in birthdays before now, and she is eager to get her hands stuck in. She pulls her little stool over to the counter to watch Jehan make the pancake batter – from scratch, Grantaire deserves nothing but the best on his birthday – and tries to help measure. Little fingers on scales are not very helpful at first, but she gets the hang of it, and Jehan even holds her hands over the eggshell to help her feel very grown up and able to bake.

If more eggshell than it ever thought possible goes in the batter, no one has to know.

With a finger to the lips, Jehan shares with her a couple of chocolate chips before the bag gets poured in, and she giggles and happily shoves them into her mouth. She proves herself a good little baker when it comes to the mixing, holding the wooden spoon with two hands and putting all her effort into mixing as well as she can.

Before long the batter is ready, and Jehan surveys the situation, trying to decide if there’s a child-safe way to heat oil in a frying pan. Possibly not.

“You want a really important job, Callie Bear?” it asks instead, dropping to her height and smiling. She nods, eyes wide. “Will you go and get some fruit out the fridge for me? We need lots of berries and apples, you think you can manage that?”

Without another acknowledgement, she bounds off to the fridge, pulling the door open and taking out a box of blueberries. As Jehan readies the pan with oil, it watches her take a punnet, carry it to the counter, climb up on her stool, put it down, and head right back over. Four trips later, she has gathered all the punnets of fruit out the fridge and stands watching it expectantly.

“Wow, that was quick,” it says proudly, “You’re a great little helper, Callie.” He lets the pancake sizzle a moment while he leans down to ruffle her hair. “Think you can get some apples from the table too?”

Off she goes again, taking her stool with her to reach up on to the kitchen table and grab the bag of apples from on top. Leaving the pan again, Jehan goes over to pick up her stool for her.

“No, Daddy!” she pouts, stomping her foot lightly, “I do it.”

It laughs fondly and places the stool back down.

“Okay, okay, you do it, I’m sorry.”

Apples in one hand and stool in the other, she makes her way slowly across the kitchen, never stopping, never flagging, and makes it back to where she left the rest of the fruit. Climbing back up on the stool, she triumphantly puts the bag of apples on the side, looking back at him proudly.

“Wow, look at you!” it says, smiling, “You’re so big and strong, Cal!”

“Big girl!” she laughs, jumping off her stool and bumping into Jehan’s legs. The pancakes are nearly done now, a mighty stack big enough for the three of them on one plate and leftovers for tomorrow on another.

Juicing apples, Callie can help with. Hands far away from anything sharp, Jehan helps her push the slices through the juicer and out comes fresh juice. Before long, they have enough pancakes, berries and juice to split between three plates and carry upstairs slowly and carefully to the master bedroom.

Pre-emptively, Grantaire had gone to bed in pyjama shorts the night before, and Jehan has no concerns letting Callie in first.

By the way she bounds across the room and launches herself on to Grantaire’s sleeping body, perhaps it should have had some concerns.

The volume of Grantaire’s oof! tells Jehan he was unfortunately still sound asleep before Callie inflicted herself on him, and it puts the tray down on the bed so it can gently pry her off of him.

“Good morning, love,” it murmurs, kissing his cheek when Callie has backed off a little. “Sorry about the rude awakening.”

Grantaire lets out a string of muffled noises in return, rolling on to his back gently and smiling toothily up at Jehan and Callie.

“G’morning,” he says back eventually, opening an arm for Callie to snuggle into.

Smiling fondly, Jehan readies the three plates of pancakes and berries and maple syrup, making sure Callie is extra careful with her own plastic, bear-covered plate.

While they graze on the pancakes and fruit, Jehan recalls to Grantaire what an amazing sous chef Callie has been all morning, much to her pride.

“I made th’ eggs, Papa!” she tells him excitedly, miming cracking the eggs in front of her.

“You did, did you?” Grantaire laughs, “You made them, are you a chicken?” he ruffles her hair and she giggles.

“No, silly!”

She mimes egg cracking again with more gusto, and Grantaire smiles.

“I see, that’s a big girl job, isn’t it? You’re gonna be a baker in no time.”

Giggling, she puts down her empty plate and shuffles across the bed to nestle back into his side. Fondly, he pets her hair, looking up at Jehan adoringly.

“She doesn’t get it from me,” it smiles, leaning over to kiss Grantaire’s sticky maple lips, nipping gently. He hums his approval, reaching up to tangle his hand in Jehan’s hair, keeping their kisses chaste, lest they get carried away in front of Callie.

“Daddy,” she whines after a moment, taking Jehan’s hand and pulling. It pulls away reluctantly from Grantaire, smiling down at her expectantly.

“Yes, little bear?”

“Presents!”

She jumps up from Grantaire’s side and off the bed, running out of their room and returning moments later with her two slightly haphazardly wrapped gifts. Despite going to Jehan for help, she was desperate to do as much as she could herself, and from the look on Grantaire’s face, he appreciates the effort.

“Wow,” he smiles genuinely, “all this for me?”

Jehan reaches down to the bedside drawer and pulls out Callie’s card.

“Would you like to give this to Papa first?”

She nods, giggling, and takes the card, passing it right to Grantaire.

“Happy birthday, Papa!” she snuggles right back into his side and wraps her arms around him, watching intently as he carefully opens the envelope.

It is a painting of two bears, a father and child, the father in a party hat, Happy Birthday Papa Bear written across the bottom.  

“Wow, is that us, Callie Bear?”

She nods excitedly and he kisses her forehead.

Her presents are handed over, and when Grantaire unwraps the cat, he delicately holds it and makes it trot over and give Callie a boop on the cheek.

“What should we name him, hm?”

He boops her cheek again and she giggles.

“Maybe we’ll wait for his personality to come out, huh?”

Callie nods, reaching over for a cuddle. Passing the cat over, he boops her nose and her forehead and she catches him and cuddles him close to her chest.

“Aww, he likes you,” Grantaire smiles, ruffling her hair.

After a second, Callie passes the cat back over, booping Grantaire’s arm with his nose.

“Your kitty,” she tells him, placing the cat gently in his arms.

Leaning down, Jehan picks up a gift bag and passes it over to Grantaire.

“Happy birthday, love,” it says, kissing him softly.

Gently opening the bag and lifting out the tissue paper on top, he finds, framed, photos of the two of them on their wedding day. Laughing together, holding each other. The final photo is of them, foreheads touching, eyes closed.

He remembers the moment vividly; the busyness of the day, the fun but exhausting schedule and barely any time for themselves. The photo shows blue light against the back of Jehan’s white shirt, the party going on inside while they shared a private moment together – clearly not as private as they thought, but something in Grantaire’s heart pulls warmly at the thought that this special breather was recorded, by some unseen third party, just for a second.

“Bahorel found these,” Jehan says, as if reading his mind, “we were looking through some photos a few weeks ago, and these were taken on a different camera, I guess. He lost the SD card until then.”

“They’re…” he starts, his throat closing up, “this is perfect, love…”

There are tears forming in his eyes, and Jehan, smiling fondly, leans over to kiss them away before they can fall.

“I love you,” he says against its lips, before kissing again and again, softly, chastely.

“I love you too.”

[dragonrider9905]

No One Outranks the Medic

Hey @imabeautifulbutterfly! I know this fic is short and hastily written, so it may not be the best, but I wanted to do something to put a smile back on your face. I hope you feel better soon! Just a small gift. I hope you enjoy it. (I'll put the link to Ao3 tomorrow, it's getting really late where I am so I need to head to bed for work tomorrow. Just wanted to get this to you though!!!!) 🤗

Warning: medics getting pushy

Summery: Wolffe, Rex, and Fox get injured and come down with a nasty flu. Their respective medics decide to have a field day with it, using whatever means necessary to treat their uncooperative patients.

“Rex, your medic is the worst.” Fox grumbled with a slur, sloppily pulling the sheets over his head. He thought he could disappear from view that way. That Kix wouldn’t find him again. Silly him.

“Don’t I know it.” Rex rubbed his forehead. “But I can’t say he’s worse than yours. Blaze is a kriffing nightmare.” 

“If you two don’t be quiet, they’ll come in and check on us again. I don’t fancy seeing any of our medics anytime soon.”

“That’s because you’re so grumpy your medic has to out-grumpy you Woofe.” Rex sniffed and wiped his nose. “I can’t ah ah *ahchew!* imagine why they have to be so mean. We’re stellar patients.”

“Riiiiiiight, Captain, that’s why we caught you getting out of bed twice?” Blackeye tapped his foot impatiently, arms crossed and signature look of annoyance on his face.

Whoops. When did he come in?!?!?

“Hey, Torrent Company is a ‘and fu-ll. -Ou shuld ty i-it som time. I need a Copany to go ba’ to.” Rex’s stuffy nose grew more annoying by the minute, he rubbed it furiously till it was bright red. “Fives set fire to the barracks last time trying to barbecue after hours…I sound worse than it is. I’m fine really, Blackeye. I’m perfectly fine. If you could sign off on my release papers…”

Kix walked in.

“Shoot.” Rex mumbled and moved to hide like Fox was. “Go away and le’ me die in peace.”

“No way, Cap. Let me see that shoulder of yours.”

Rex burrowed further. 

“Ooooor do I have to sedate you again?”

Rex flipped a flap down to let his angry displeased glare of displeasure and disappointment show.

“You wouldn’t.” The words came out low and gravelly.

“Oh I would.”

With a roll of his eyes, Rex presented his arm. With a smirk, Kix got to work changing the bandage.

“Why are we getting picked on and not Fox? No fair.”

“Oh he is next.” Blaze cut in, making his entrance. “Sorry, Commander, no caff. It’s not good to mix that with your flu medicine. It’ll make your stomach upset. Again. And I’m not cleaning up your sick for the second time after you retrieve some from your secret stash. So I swiped it! No more secret runs. You’ll get some sleep for once.”

“I’ll take my chances.” The mound under the sheets spoke. “Give me caff or give me death.”

“Neither is an option, Sir.”

Fox groaned. “That’s an order. You can’t do that.”

Blackeye grinned. “Oh yes he can. Wanna know why?” 

“No.” Wolffe growled, crossing his arms over his chest so his medic couldn’t get to his chest wound.

“We’ll, you’re going to hear it anyway.” Blaze chuckled.

“No one, I mean absolutely no one, outranks the medic!” Kix clearly was enjoying his moment of glory and vindication too much. 

Blaze ripped the blanket off Fox. “Let me see your side, Sir��.why are you lying on it? You’ll make it worse.” 

“Not having caff makes it worse.”

“I’ll cut off your supply for however long I want, even after you recover, if you don’t cooperate.”

Fox whined in complete despair, face down in his pillow. “Nooooooooooo.”

He rolled over but brought the pillow with him, to keep his face covered. “No one is allowed to see a grown Commander cry. Because we don’t cry. We’re fine. Right fellas? I’m not crying. Crying is for cadets.” Fox muffled.

“Right, tears are unbeknownst to us—ow!” 

“Oh dear I think you’re already going through caff withdrawal. Not cool.” Blaze shook his head.

Meanwhile, Wolffe glared down his medic, trying to get at his chest.

“Do you want me to tell Plo’buir you’re being uncooperative? You’ll make him sad and disappointed and worried. Do you want to do that to Plo’buir?”

“That’s low.” 

“I can go lower.” 

Wolffe lowered his arms right away.

“Wimp.”

“Shut up, Rex. You’ve never experienced General Koon’s look of disappointment. I don’t think General Skywalker was dissatisfied with you ever so you don’t have that look to compare it to either, not that it’s anything close.” 

“General Koon is never displeased with you, only when you don’t take care of yourself, and that’s fair.” Blackeye shrugged, unconcerned. 

“Okay, you all need some rest.” Kix stretched his muscles. “We’ll be back later, so behave. Relax. Don’t worry about anything other than getting better.”

“No, we need to get back to work. A Captain’s and Commanders’ work is never done.” 

“You need to go nighty night.” 

“No.”

“Do we really need to pound you and blackmail you into self care? Why must you make our lives so—“ Blaze was cut off by Fox.

“Entertaining?”

“I was going to use a different word. You bunch are a—“

“Delight?”

“Again, not the word I was going to use.” 

“Now that your bandages are changed, your medicine taken and general checkup complete …” Blackeye started.

The three patients simultaneously threw their blankets over their heads, while the medics sighed and gave each other looks. More specifically, the ‘why us’ look.

“We’ll get you hot chocolate.” 

“We promise.”

“We won’t forget our favorite patients.” 

“Aww we’re the favorites?” Fox sniffed and grinned under the sheets.

Rex peaked out suspiciously, “Tank you, Kix.”

“I take back all those nasty things I said about you. And all the things I didn’t say, just thought. You’re the best.” Wolffe reappeared with a grin. 

“We know.”

“But, how will you get your hands on some? That’s top stuff….no one is allowed to access the stuff.” Rex said despondently.

“It’ll make you feel better so we’ll take the shot.”

“No one normal, maybe, but…”

“Remember, no one outranks the medic. Now go to sleep and get some rest!”

The general groan was translated to ‘yes sir’.

The medics nodded satisfactorily. Another job well done. Their testy but lovably leaders would live to fight another day.

[cadeloverforever]

Yooooooo back again, so hear me out..... Thor hunting you down like your his prey? Teehee👀👀👀

HELLO! I HAD FUN DOING THIS SJHDGDVSBSHSH, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT! (La versión en español está en esta misma publicación!)

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Thor Odinson One Shot!?

You were in a cave, so to speak, midday, noon and already drinking, you just needed a drink, to relax, well, you had to leave before nightfall, you didn't have time to go at night and drink, something very irresponsible for you. Since you lived in the forest, a place very VERY far from this place, you always saw a tall man, MUCH taller than you, with a big beard and hair, several said he was the God of thunder himself!, which you thought Which was a lie since the gods should be doing their thing or whatever, right? You never saw one and you never thought you would see one but today your "luck" will change

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was 4 pm, time to leave, a few hours of walking to end the day arriving at your house and sleeping until a new day, in the cave you felt watched but you didn't want to cause problems among the people in the bar, you just tried to focus in your drink while you were drinking it, you left the money on the table and left that place.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You walked between trees, seeing every sign that you made so as not to get lost in that enormous forest, the only sound you could perceive was that of your footsteps and the occasional animal that ran or made noise. You didn't know if it was the effect of the mead you must have had or you were just lost in thought but now, now you REALLY felt like you were being watched like in the cave, you turned to see who it was and to know if you needed to run but there was nothing or no one or that's what you thought

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You were still looking for your way, you were cold to death, you had gotten lost "oh shit! Who the hell did this!? A wolf? A-a bird?" There was silence before a tall man emerged from the shadows. You couldn't see his face. Did he have some kind of hood? "Helloooo dear" made an emphasis on the last lyric as if he were amused "who are you?" You dared to ask, taking a step back without being sure of being close to that person. He seemed to smile when in the blink of an eye he was less than a meter away from you. "What the fuck?" You tried to move away once more but he thought first, now you had an arm which you couldn't use, why? Because this mystery man grabbed your arm with his huge hand, you looked at him and saw him, Thor, damned Thor!?, you bit his hand making him let go, apparently he didn't expect that, you ran away as much as you could, no. You looked back you didn't want to do it, when you were running lightning struck in front of you and Thor appreciated "why the hurry, my sweet?" You could hear him laughing as he told you that, you could hear him laugh once again, he took you by the arm again and grabbed your chin "this time you're not going to bite me."

The rest is part of your imagination!

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¡HOLA! ME DIVERTÍ HACIENDO ESTE SJHDGDVSBSHSH, ¡ESPERO QUE LES GUSTE!

Thor Odinson One Shot!?

Estabas en una caverna, por decir asi del medio día, medio día y ya bebiendo, solo necesitabas un trago, para relajarte, bueno, tenías que irte antes que anocheciera, no tenías tiempo para ir de noche y beber, algo muy irresponsable a tu vista ya que vivías en el bosque, un lugar muy MUY alejado de este lugar, siempre veías a un hombre alto, MUCHO más alto que tu, de gran barba y pelo, varios decían que era el mismísimo Dios del trueno!, lo cual pensabas que era mentira ya que los dioses deberían de estar haciendo sus cosas o lo que sea, no?, nunca viste uno y nunca pensaste ver uno pero hoy tu "suerte" cambiará

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Eran las 4 pm, hora de irte, unas horas de caminata para finalizar el día llegando a tu casa y dormír hasta un nuevo día, en la caverna te sentías observada pero no querías causar problemas entre las personas en el bar, solamente trataste de céntrate en tu bebida mientras la tomabas, dejaste el dinero en la mesa y abandonaste ese lugar.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Caminabas entre árboles, viendo cada señalización que tú hiciste para no perderte en ese enorme bosque, el único sonido que podías percibir era el de tus pisadas y uno que otro animal que corría o hacia ruido. No sabías si era efecto del hidromiel que debiste o simplemente te hundiste en tus pensamientos pero ahora, ahora REALMENTE sentías que estabas siendo observando como en la caverna, te giraste para ver quién era y para saber si necesitabas corre pero no había nada ni nadie o eso es lo que pensabas

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

seguías buscando tu camino estabas muerta de frío, te habías perdido "oh mierda! Quien diablos hizo esto!? Un lobo? U-un un ave?" Hubo un silencio antes de que de las sombras saliera un hombre alto, no se le veía la cara tenía una especie de capucha? "Helloooo dear" hizo un énfasis en la última letra como si estuviera divertido "quien eres?" Te atreviste a preguntar dando un paso atrás sin seguridad de estar cerca de esa persona, el pareció soltar una sonrisa cuando en un pestañeo estaba a menos de un metro tuyo "que mierda?" Intentaste alejarte una vez más pero el pensó primero, ahora tenías un brazo el cual no podías utilizar, por que? Porque este misterio hombre agarró tu brazo con su enorme mano tu lo miraste y lo viste, Thor, el maldito Thor!?, le mordiste su mano haciendo que te suelte, al parecer no se esperaba eso, saliste corriendo lo más que pudiste, no miraste atrás no querías hacerlo, cuando corrían un rayo cayó adelante de ti y aprecio Thor "por que la prisa, mi dulce?" Podías escuchar su risa mientras te decia eso podías escucharlo reírse una vez más, te tomo de otra vez de el brazo y te agarró la barbilla "está vez no me vas a morder"

Lo demás es parte de tu imaginación!

[i-didnt-do-1t]

hihi how’re you

7. "You okay? You're never this quiet.” For the sick prompts please (if possible with splasher somewhere please hes my little guy but if not that’s also okay wbwbw)

Hello! I am good! I hope I did your boy justice!! thank you for the prompt!

It had been collectively decided, for whatever reason, that Race was designated babysitter.

If he was being honest, he didn’t mind. They were good kids, a little loud maybe and in the habit of causing trouble but what could he say, he was old by their standard and still loud and causing trouble every so often. Passing judgement wouldn’t be fair.

He surveyed the lodging house bunk room as he stepped through the door, finished selling for the day and sent back to the house to keep an eye on a couple of the younger ones who had got rid of their papes quick thanks to the good headline and headed home.

Tumbler, Splasher and Les all sat in a circle toward the back of the room, laughing amongst themselves at something that Race missed but he headed toward them anyway and planted a hand on top of Splasher’s head, ruffling his hair despite his attempts to duck away; he didn’t groan out in annoanyce though, or turn to bat away Race’s hand like he got into the habit off a few weeks back and Race felt himself frown but didn’t say anything.

“What’re youse up to?”

Tumbler looked up at him. “Making our bets fr’ tomorrow.”

Oh.

“What?”

Les looked at him like he was stupid, a look far to reminiscent of Davey. “Our bets. Splasher won today.”

He look down at the kid next to him, pale faced and dark eyed, and frowned again as he nudged his shoulder. “That right Splasher?”

He didn’t even get a proper answer, just a hum of agreement.

and Race took a moment to study him properly, his grey washed skin, and slumped shoulders, the way he was staring a little hazy eyed at nothing in particular.

He nudged him again softly, and waited till Splasher looked up at him with wide, tired eyes.

“You okay? You’re never this quiet.”

For a moment Splasher just stared like he was trying to process his question then-

“I don’t feel good.”

Race tried to not let his frown pull at his face. Splasher had seemed fine the day before, but he guessed it was always easy to pick something up.

He hunkered down next to them and pressed a hand to Splasher’s forehead, feeling the eyes of Tumbler and Les on the back of his neck.

“You’re pretty warm.” He said. “Wanna go lie down?”

Splasher stared again for a moment before he nodded, and pushed himself off the end of Tumbler’s bunk, crossing the barely person wide space to his own and flopped onto it.

“I gotta sell later though.” He said, and his voice was muffled on account of the fact that he was face down in a pillow but Race could pick up enough of it.

“Nah you don’t. We got you covered for tonight alright?”

“You sure?”

“Course’”

Splasher didn’t move, didn’t react. Race took that as a sign to clear out and let him sleep, hopefully by the time he woke up he’d be feelin’ better. He turned back to Les and Tumbler and grinned. “I ever taught yous how to cut a card deck?”

Judging by the glance they shared and the equally as impish smiles they shot back at him, he assumed the answer was no.

“Alright, head outside. I’ll catch youse up in a moment.”

For a second the room was filled with the noise of shoes battering the wooden floor and the slam of a door.

And then it was silent.

Race glanced at Splasher again, grabbed the blanket bunched up at the end of his bed and pulled it up to his shoulders and frowned once more as he pressed his hand once again to his too hot forehead.

“Sleep well Splasher.”

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 257

Keep Calm and Carry On/Sleep No More

“Keep Calm and Carry On”

Plot Description: as Crowley conducts a desperate search for Lucifer’s vessel, Dean must come to grips with an unbelievable sight: the return of his mother

Oh. So NOW we’re getting a “the road so far”??? But not to carry on wayward son…feels wrong

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: No, but not for the normal reasons. We picked right back up with Dean and Mary

Omg Dean’s right around my age now, too??? I can’t

Oh right. Castiel got super banished from the bunker at the end of last episode

Everything that Mary’s saying about how many times she and Dean have met over the course of the series sounds so fake, but it all really happened

This lady just bribed a veterinarian with like…$200k maybe? To dig the bullet out of Sam. Ohhhhhh, she’d shot him in the leg!

This interrogation is going super well for London Lady (maybe one day I’ll learn her name). That. Um. That was sarcastic.

Omg Mary almost shot her son’s boyfriend

Two things: Cas initiating a hug!!!! And two, when you see your boyfriend who you thought died when you sent him to go blow up god’s sister

Castiel and Mary are kind of funny together. Dean, on a normal laptop

Mary: is that a computer?

Cas: Yes. I don’t trust them

(But like….he’s and angel and she’s from 1983)

The face of a man who just realized his mom is remembering the times his parents fucked in the car that would eventually be his….and his confused boyfriend he looks to directly afterward

Lady. No. It’s just that your country is so much smaller. It’s easier to control monster populations.

Wait, are the writers trying to make supernatural beings a metaphor for guns? Because she was just saying there hasn’t been a monster related death in the UK since 1965…guess I’ll have to watch this season to find out

We must stay strong. I love when Cas gets to show his ruthless side. That was almost season 4 Cas levels. They soften him so much, which I also love..:but every so often, the old Castiel comes out. It’s just nice to see he’s still got it

I wanna go to a fruit stand slash outdoor cafe!! Why do Mary, her son, and her son’s boyfriend get to and I don’t??

Mmmmm, it was only 100k. But man…it’s hard to say no to that when you’ve got doctor student loans

Did you really think they wouldn’t lock the cellar they’re keeping you in, Sam???

Do angel abilities stop at consciousness? Like Cas can heal just about anything but waking up someone who was knocked unconscious?

Does this other UK men of letters woman have some sort of angel warding that keeps her safe from whatever Cas can do??? Guess it doesn’t matter, Mary just stabbed her

Oh, you fucked up BIG TIME, lady. And maybe I should have had just a little more faith in Sam. I mean, he’s lived through all those things before, and every hurtful thing Dean’s said to him…

I can’t believe he said the “saving people, hunting things” line now, here in season 12

(The Crowley subplot was super small and almost unimportant. He was literally just jumping around to where Lucifer HAD been, all the people he’s burnt out by needing them as a vessel)

“Sleep No More”

Plot Description: this terrifying story is assembled from footage discovered in the wreckage of Le Verrier Space Station

*fingers crossed I don’t see “to be continued…” at the end of this episode*

*google translates “le verrier” from French to English ahead of time just in case that’s an important derail* it means glassmaker

I can’t tell if the video’s stalled or if they made this part intentionally ACTUALLY pitch black. Just blank screen. Feeling like I’m watching Season 8 Episode 3 of game of thrones

It’s really been a few minutes of a blank screen…i signed up for doctor who not a scripted drama podcast. It’s giving Wolf 359 but I’m annoyed

They’re orbiting Neptune…I’m literally absorbing NOTHING ELSE. Except Clara thinks this place looks like a Japanese restaurant in space

…I watched like 8-10 minute just like this…I just fixed it. There was supposed to be picture this WHOLE TIME. I thought it was a weird style choice. I hate this

You know…we DO need more multi-season Doctor and companion pairings with no romantic tension. This is no hate to Nine/TenRose (a little ick to Eleven and Amy), but you wouldn’t get these dumbass conversations about how people don’t call things that look high tech and whatnot “space [noun (restaurant, champagne, and hat were used in the show)]”. There’s a big difference between how you act around your crush and how you act around your bff, and unfortunately Donna was robbed of a good deal of her time due to Ten’s time being nearly up. But Twelve and Clara? Have had a LOT of time together to get to be dumb together as friends, and we get it on screen

Ok ok ok. So there’s some kind of creature made of sand aboard this space laboratory that’s named glassmaker where this rescue mission is taking place. I’m connecting the two dots

Why’d that one guy not go with LITERALLY EVERYONE ELSE?? They were all in a group and he just split off for no reason while they were running

I’m having less and less faith that this is a one part episode. They’re spending entirely too much time trying to get in touch with their missing teammate

Why would you put a hologram of a 1960s-ish girl group singing Mr Sandman on a 38th century dohickey you’ve called Morpheus but refuse to explain? I’m saying, the thing shuts with a person inside, the small hologram appears singing Mr Sandman. I’m just saying, would we be putting 4th century music on a space station today?

Ewwwwwww, why’d they put turbo capitalism on Neptune??? Morpheus gives you the energy to work for a month straight in, like, five minute time. Thanks! I hate it!

I did not connect the dots. These sand creatures are potentially made of sleep dust…sure

I hate this dude. He’s trying to shorten the amount of time people sleep even MORE

The original crew of this space station sucks too. Why would you make the password to open all doors singing Mr Sandman (my phone tried to autofill Saxon…awww John Simms Master)

PREACH, Doctor! Sleep IS important and blessed! Please ignore how late I’ll be up tonight for the mha leaks…I’m sorry, Doctor

WHAT. The sleep dust is collecting the footage from all this?? That…feels like a step too far for my suspension of disbelief

What the fuuuuuuuck. Horrible Turbo Capitalist is trying to make these sandmen the new human because…..they’re more efficient workers? I don’t know. All I’ve seen them do is near mindlessly attack.

Ok. So the whole premise is that they embedded the signal that turns you into a sandman into this video that you’re now watching, and they made it exciting but nonsensical with no real conclusion. This feels like they tried to make another Blink-esque episode but it didn’t work as well

[dreamersparacosm]

austin butler - kissing in the bathroom

warnings ; intoxication, oral (f receiving)

request ; anonymous’ ask linked here

prompt ; in which austin takes it upon himself (with a bit of liquid courage) to help relieve your urges.

a/n ; there is clearly something wrong w me bc i got this request and literally wrote it in under 12 hours. it’s all over the place but that’s my life these days so please enjoy also this takes place during dune 2 filming and i used the cast so some things may be inaccurate but whatever

les - childish gambino

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

realistically, you’re not an irrational person. you like to think that you make decisions based off of facts, and that your brain is wired in a way where you don’t normally partake in things that are considerably risky. however, later, when you let austin butler go down on you in the bathroom at a crowded club in budapest, the pads of his fingers leaving bruises on your hips, dress hiked up to your belly button, you’ll start to question if you’re actually mentally stable.

realistically, you probably should’ve just seen a therapist for all your troubles instead.

“okay, wait, so run me through why you won’t go out tonight again,” florence pugh pesters you for the thirtieth time that day, puppy-dog eyes filled with hope piercing through you. somehow, when you look at her, you feel no guilt whatsoever.

you sigh, rolling your eyes, “dude, i’m not going to a club. i’m literally 25, i’m past that point of my life —“

“i’m 26.”

“and, you’re mentally ill. see, this is why i don’t hang out with you on set more often,” you tease, taking a bite out of the cookie you had snatched earlier from the snack cart. it tastes like cardboard, but you had no choice but to swallow it, seeing as your other options were the moldy sandwich from the shop nearby or day-old coffee from the cart. combined with your recent sleeping habits, you might as well have chosen death.

“no, you don’t hang out with me because you’re too busy being a director’s pet,” she sticks her tongue out at you, taking a bite out of the lunch she had packed herself earlier that morning. you two are cozily perched in director’s chairs you had stolen from set, hiding from the bustling commotion that is your reality. you had signed on to film dune 2 earlier that year, and although you thought you would be able to handle the adrenaline and stress that came along with filming an action movie, to be quite honest, you were utterly and entirely exhausted. every waking moment was spent running over lines with co-stars, and if not that, you were going through stunts with the coordinators.

your limbs ached and your eyes were bloodshot, but despite all that, you couldn’t imagine doing anything else. so, you did take advantage of that cookie that tasted like cardboard, because who cares? you love your job, isn’t that enough? fuck the sleep, fuck the mental health! your body is begging, screaming, for a break, but instead, you fuel it with red bulls and cardboard cookies and bandage it up to make good as new. so, you resolve to tell florence that that’s really why you’re not going to the club tonight.

but, because she’s florence, and she can’t keep her mouth shut for a second, she keeps going. “what’ll it take to convince you?”

“literally nothing,” you smile sarcastically, crumbs littering your shirt as you take another bite.

“nothing?” she questions exasperatedly, something between a groan and a sigh exiting her lips. “what if i told you everyone was going?”

you blink twice at her attempt to coerce you into spending time with your co-stars. sure, they were great people, but your bed was calling your name “you… really think that would make me want to go?”

“nah. it was worth a shot, though.”

you laugh at the relinquishment of her efforts, “but, i do want to know what happens tonight when everyone gets drunk.”

“oh, please,” she snorts. “nothing’s gonna happen. zendaya is so far up tom’s ass, we’re gonna see her text him all night.”

you chuckle at the truth of the statement, but a twinge of jealousy still makes its way through you. you hadn’t been in a serious relationship since your last one — the 6-foot-something athlete you dated, needs no name — and it ended so horrifically that you swore off men for the rest of your life. sure, you had frivolous flings with hollywood men, but nothing of importance enough to break down the wall that you guarded yourself with. “god, must be nice,” you mutter, playing with the hem of your shirt.

florence’s eyes light up, as if a lightbulb was powered on above her head. “okay.. hear me out. what if, we go out tonight and get you laid?”

the word sounds ridiculous rolling off her tongue, something you hadn’t thought about in months. you were comfortable with two people; your right hand, and your left hand. those were the only things you needed to get off and have a great time on your own. but, seeing the look on her face, you know she won’t take that for an answer. “in budapest?”

“tell me i’m wrong! a nice european man with an accent,” she’s now leaning forward in her chair, eyes sparkling as she goes on, “and he’ll buy your drinks all night. i mean, we were planning on getting a table tonight but at least this way, you can get drunk off whatever he buys you.”

“we haven’t even found a man yet, and you’re talking about him like he’s my boyfriend.”

“i have high hopes!” she exclaims, hands clasped together in delight, “you’re literally gorgeous, [y/n]. i’m sure that won’t be an issue.”

“i don’t want a random guy, though. it feels slimy,” you grimace. it really does sound unappealing to you, the thought of having to speak to someone for several hours before finally getting drunk enough to succumb to the animalistic urges you’ll inevitably feel.

“okay…fair. but, what if it’s not a random guy?” she raises an eyebrow, and you stare at her quizzically. surely, she can’t be headed with this where you think she’s going with this. “what about… someone we know?”

“no.”

it’s firm and it slips off your tongue before you even have a chance to let her finish. god forbid you let her even say the words, or you’ll wring her neck.

“but —“

“literally, no. like, who even would i possibly get with?”

“timothee?” the name almost makes you giggle, but you could only smile as to not embarrass him (even if he’s not present).

“definitely not him. he’s not my type,” you shake your head in disgust.

she taps her finger against her chin, pretending to look lost in thought, “okay, how about the cameraman everyone says is hot?”

“easy steve? are you kidding, flo? that’s your choice for me?” you cross your arms over your chest, staring at her in disdain. she couldn’t possibly be talking about the 20-something year old who had hooked up with half of the crew already.

“yeah… i felt bad even saying it. he’s definitely got something by now,” she goes back to her train of thought, list of men dwindling by the second as she realizes you two really don’t work with as many hot men as you think you do. but, just as she’s about to rest her case and close the conversation, she has an epiphany. “wait, what about austin?”

austin butler was what everyone referred to as an overachiever. not on purpose — no, he was too humble for that — but because he worked so hard to perfect his craft. you had to commend him for it, because you were willing to give it the old heave-ho and just let things be as is. he was a bit of a superstar on and off set, riding on the coattails of his newfound success from elvis, the movie he had filmed that had been released just a few months back. you were lying if you said you hadn’t seen the movie and nearly creamed yourself twice at his performance.

he was attractive — you could at least give him that — but he almost seemed too pretty to be real. despite all that, you weren’t even sure if you two had a full conversation before. the most you had gotten out of him was hey, how are you today? and they’re ready for you on set. you weren’t sure if he was scared of you, or just genuinely found no interest in getting to know you; regardless, it didn’t bother you. he seemed to fade into the background every time you came around, and you had already accepted that that was your working relationship with him.

“eh, too pretty for me.”

“really?” florence seems shocked by your statement. “you did see elvis, right..?”

“yeah, who didn’t?” you shrug, “i don’t know, i feel like he’s just there.”

she chortles at your statement, “what? he’s so cool, he makes the funniest jokes.”

okay, now you’re slightly offended. you could accept that maybe he was just a shy person all around, but if he was talking to everyone except you — including putting up with florence’s constant chatter — there had to be something severely wrong with you. “well, he’s never told me any jokes.”

a sneaky grin makes its way onto her face, and you can almost see the wheels turning in her little pea brain. “what, you jealous?”

“shut it. he just literally does not speak to me,” you don’t give in to her antics. “like, he’ll see me come across the way and then he’ll go mute. i’m fine with that, honestly.”

“fine, fine,” she raises her hands in defeat. “but, i still think you need to get laid. it’ll solve all your problems. and, plus, i’m offering to buy you a bottle of vodka for you to drink all by yourself.”

she knows she’s making offers to you that you can’t refuse.

“whatever,” you stand up from the chair, “i’m not going.”

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

maybe it’s the sleep exhaustion making you delusional, maybe it’s the two tequila shots you took by yourself in your hotel room, or, maybe it’s the conversation you had with florence earlier, but, somehow, you find yourself sandwiched in between your co-stars and crew members at a sweaty club in budapest, hungary.

it’s all florence’s fault.

you’re supposed to be tucked into bed, reading a book, possibly, or even lazily watching a netflix show while sipping a cup of tea. but, the rap music pounds into your ears, strobe lights casting colorful illumination across the dance floor. you clutch the vodka bottle closer to your chest, watching as sweaty bodies collided in a mere attempt to feel something. florence can sense your fear and desire to leave, and while you’re still staring intently at the crowd, she creeps up next to you. “so.. are you gonna drink the bottle i bought you, or are you gonna hug it all night?”

you look around the table, bottles being kept cool in ice buckets and napkins strewn messily across the wood, locking eyes with a few of your cast members. zendaya and timothee seem deep in conversation over something, probably a drunken talk about how zendaya hated crowds and more specifically, non-casual drinks. you’re debating on how you answer her question, following up with “well, eventually gonna drink it. soaking it all in now.”

“you need to catch up,” she says, but you can already smell the alcohol on her breath. there’s not much catching up to do; she’s probably already near obliterated. “i don’t wanna be drunk alone.”

you roll your eyes at her exaggeration, popping open the bottle of vodka that had been gifted to you, “fine, fine. if i have no choice,” and with that, you tilt the bottle back to meet your lips, your first sip of alcohol touching the back of your throat and causing you to gag repeatedly. you were no stranger to it; you had quite the party girl phase between the ages of 21 and 23.

with shaky hands, you bring the bottle back down to arms length, “happy now?”

“ecstatic,” she grins widely.

“hey, guys.”

you’re about to sputter out the alcohol you swallowed previously, but you manage to keep it together at the sound of austin butler’s voice echoing in your ear. despite the volume of the music, you still manage to hear him, which was the first time in a while you had actually noted the raspiness in his voice. he’s speaking to the group, not just you — definitely not you, poor boy has had his tongue tied around you for months — and everyone greets him excitedly. you clench your jaw at their reaction, rolling your eyes and taking another swig from your bottle. sure, tears are brimming your eyes from the burn of the vodka, but you rather that happen than have to watch everyone ogle over austin gracing them with his presence.

he doesn’t really acknowledge you, just raises an eyebrow in your direction, and you give a half-smile in return. all in all, you’re not ready to admit he looks surprisingly better than he normally does. he has on a white button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows, dress pants and all. his hair looks messy, but not in the way where you can assume he put no effort in his appearance, but that he clearly did try and tousle it a little. he still fits the description from earlier; too pretty to be real. like, who even wears that to a club? you feel whorish, slutty, raunchy, with your skin-tight red dress and black heels.

florence is now deep in conversation with easy steve, and you take the time to take another sip from your bottle. really, she must’ve been onto something, because leaving you alone with a bottle of vodka and your thoughts was lethal. you’re left to look around the table and see who else you could possibly strike up a conversation with. for some reason, timothee is fist-bumping, and your lips curl up in a smile at that. you decide that maybe you and your thoughts could have a good time on their own. you’re slowly swaying your hips in tune to the music, not concerning yourself with how much vodka you’re actually inhaling.

“having fun there?” one of the crew members smiles over at you, and you return the expression. he’s trying to be sweet, so why not entertain him?

“oh, yeah,” you nod, fingers gripping the neck of the bottle tightly as if it were your life jacket. “can you tell it’s my first time out in forever?”

“with the way you’re drinking?” he shakes his head, laughing, “you look like a veteran, honestly.”

out of the corner of your eye, you see austin reach out to pour himself a drink, while he’s also deep in conversation with another crew member; a girl. she giggles at something he says, and you’re about to bend his neck in half. the man must have some kind of vendetta against you, because really, he can’t stand to be around you or something? you turn your attention back to the man you were talking to, but you realize soon enough that you had been staring at austin for so long that he had found someone else to pay attention.

and, then it’s really just back to you, the bottle, and your thoughts.

you opt to take a few sips of cranberry juice from the carafe that is placed strategically on the table, knowing that’ll help ease the buzz the alcohol you’re sweeping through is giving you. you’re drinking at an alarmingly fast pace, and if everyone wasn’t so indulged in their conversations, they might have noticed you going through the bottle as if it were water. but, your feet remain in the same spot, swaying to the music calmly, not a worry in the world.

there’s shuffling around the table, people moving to talk to others they hadn’t gotten the chance to before, and you’re still humming with intoxication. you were way past tipsy, definitely drunk to the point where if florence had asked you to dance amongst the mosh pit of people, you would’ve said yes. you make small talk with a few, exchange jokes with zendaya, and you let yourself flirt with timothee. you know you’re not attracted to him, but you’re just so bored and drunk and alone and he did, in his drunken state, let his eyes roam over your body, so why not?

you abandon the bottle of vodka at some point, as it’s halfway done and serves nearly no purpose to you anymore. you’re at the perfect point of the night, where anything can happen and if someone were to dare you to do something idiotic, you would. it’s like this: every part of your body aches to do something absolutely stupid, and your brain is consistently egging you on, and your lips are flapping to make words that don’t even really make sense. you’re still coherent — they would’ve sent you home if you weren’t — and you rely on your senses to realize just who is standing next to you after the next round of shuffling around the table.

austin butler is awkwardly standing near you, words no use to him anymore as he just looks down at his feet. you’re already annoyed; no, not because of the alcohol, or because of the way his curls fall over his forehead, or the way he’s not speaking to you, but because of the fact that he’s not even trying to hide that he could care less to make conversation with you. or, well, that’s what you assume it is, because alcohol is invading your bloodstream.

you sit down on the couch behind you, leaning back to rest against the cushion. everyone seems to follow suit, their legs tired from moving around ever so slightly to engage in more talk. austin carefully sits down next to you, and you move your knees to point in the opposite direction, making sure to not let your skin come into contact with his.

“[y/n]!” florence squeals, and she’s stepping on austin’s toes as she squeezes herself on the other side of you. she’s so, so drunk, but she’s your closest friend on set and you love her dearly, so you find it endearing.

“hi, flo.”

okay, you’re so, so drunk too.

“i… love this place,” she gushes, taking a sip of her vodka cranberry that is clearly melted ice at that point. “like, i just love hungary. every time i go out in the u.k, i hate it. hate, hate, hate it.”

you giggle at her words, “what? i thought you loved going out there.”

she scrunches her nose as if your words were poisonous, “god, no. all those pricks out there aren’t half as fun as here.”

“you know, australia’s pretty fun too.”

the man of the hour finally speaks. you’re almost shocked to hear his voice so close to your ear, and you turn to look at the source. austin’s hair is considerably more messy than before, stains from his previous drinks littered across his shirt. his voice hugs you, and you feel a tingle in your core that you push aside because you’re so, so drunk and there is no way you’re letting his voice irritate you. if anything, you’re more shocked at the fact that he finally found a way to speak around you.

“really?” of course, florence is encouraging him on. “i haven’t been in ages, i’ve been meaning to go out there. you were in queensland, right?”

“yeah, we mostly went out ‘round there,” he now turns his body towards the two of you. “we did that for a good few months, before covid hit and everything.”

“oh, wow, where did you guys go out there? i might know a few,” florence says excitedly, giddy to have someone to converse with that wasn’t with your debby-downer attitude. you cross your arms over your chest like a toddler who hadn’t gotten their way, letting them tire themselves out with their chatter. they had stopped acknowledging you completely, just leaving you to listen in as if their talk was more important than anything in the world.

“i like sydney better,” you finally chime in — in a very snotty tone that throws florence off guard — and austin’s eyes widen a little, his head swiveling to face you.

“really?” he asks softly, almost coming out as a whisper against the rap music that blares from every corner. he’s lucky you can read lips. not that you were staring or anything.

“yeah,” you confirm, arms still glued to your chest. “just not really a fan of queensland.”

luckily, no one can tell that you’re literally lying through your teeth, because one: you have never been to australia in your entire life and two: if someone asks what clubs you’ve been to there, you were thoroughly fucked.

“no way! where in sydney have you been to?”

you were going to strangle florence pugh.

you smile, a shaky one that nearly falls off your lips, and your words are a little slurred as you speak, “oh, ya know, where didn’t i go? i can’t even remember the names, it was just so wild.”

that seems to be a good enough answer for the two of them — or, they’ve sussed out that you have no clue what you’re talking about — because they don’t push the issue any further. they move on to another topic, talking about filming and europe. you tune in and out of the conversation before reaching for your bottle once more. taking another swig, you hug it to your chest, replacing your arms.

“you know, [y/n], i’m soooo happy you came out tonight,” florence has finally reached the i love you speeches part of the night, but lucky enough for her, you’re more than capable of partaking in that.

“me too,” you grin goofily, tucking your hair behind your ear. “i love alcohol. and you. and budapest.”

“you weren’t gonna come out tonight?” he speaks directly towards you, and it takes you aback more than you’d like to admit, because for once, he’s not asking how you are or how’s the weather.

“yeah, wasn’t feeling it, honestly,” you shrug, still avoiding eye contact and playing with your hands that gripped the bottle.

“what changed your mind?” you can tell he’s drunk. god knows, he’s drunk because there is no way he’s actually speaking to you. he can’t even believe it himself, since he couldn’t muster the courage to say more than four words to you at a time.

“i don’t know,” you admit, “i really haven’t gone out in a while. felt like maybe it was overdue.”

“yeah, i felt the same,” he says, running a hand through his hair. you can’t help but notice how it descends perfectly onto his temple, and you finally look up to meet his eyes. they are ice-blue, something you had noticed before, but when you peer into them, you notice how they stare into your own, causing you to squirm in your seat. “haven’t been out in a while after my last movie. i don’t know if you saw it or anything.”

maybe it’s the alcohol creeping up on you, or the way his eyes are still gazing into yours, but you feel the need to keep the conversation going, uttering, “i saw elvis. you look—did good. did good.”

you were praying for a sink hole to open up in the middle of the dance floor to swallow you up whole.

thankfully, he spares you the embarrassment and doesn’t note that you almost confessed your attraction to him. no, no, not attraction. what the hell were you feeling? it was bizarre, he had spoken more than four words to you and you found yourself like putty in his hands. you were starting to see why everyone was laughing at his jokes on set; they probably weren’t even funny, his eyes were just piercing into them. “thanks. i saw your last film too.”

somehow, he keeps managing to shock you with everything he says. you chalk it up to liquid courage, because now this man is speaking to you as if he’s talked to you his whole life, with confidence and ease. “that piece of crap? god, i hated it.” it was entirely true; it was a netflix original that had you playing a high schooler at the grown age of 25.

he chuckles at your words, and you sit up straighter at the sound. for a moment, your heart almost betrays you, beating faster than its normal resting rate. “i get it. i was a nickelodeon star for a little. worst. years. of. my. life.”

your eyes widen a little as you come to a realization, your knees fully swiveling towards his body, “oh my god! yes! you were in zoey 101, weren’t you?”

“i was,” he smiles at you for the first time, and you’re overcome with a whirlwind of emotions; desire, attraction, possibly anger at the fact he waited that long to talk to you. and, so, you keep talking, because he’s good company and he likes hearing what you have to say. florence has fully disengaged from your conversation, entertaining herself with easy steve once more. you and austin talk about clubbing, what you enjoy to do in your free time, how you managed to get a college degree before becoming an actress, and he’s thoroughly hanging onto every word you say. liquor is still flowing, and you two even take a shot together before continuing to talk about nothingness.

you’re so enthralled in your conversation that you don’t notice when he rests his arm right above you on the edge of the couch, not touching your skin but enough to mark his territory. you’re not cognizant of his body fully facing you, knees touching yours as he watched your lips move with every word you spoke. “but, yeah, that’s why i moved to new york city. i feel like i made the right choice, ‘ya know?”

“oh, i get it,” he nods, “i’m trying to move from california. i think i like the city, did the broadway thing for a while and fell in love with it.”

“really?” your eyes are sparkling, and he takes a mental picture just for himself to envision later. “i love broadway. i used to see shows all the time.”

“what’s your favorite show?” he asks, genuinely interested in what you have to say, and it makes you feel seen, for once. men tended to look over you, and that might have been due to the people you were choosing, but you chalked it up to just them being disinterested.

“that’s a tough one,” you tap your nails against the 75% empty vodka bottle, “i would have to say wicked.”

“good choice,” his lips curl upwards into a smile once more.

“oh, i know my choice is impeccable,” you say sarcastically, and he throws his head back in laughter. you like the sound of it, to the point where you’re about to whip your phone out secretly and record it to listen to as a lullaby.

the nagging feeling of having to urinate is still pressing against your bladder, but your body refuses to get up. you’re captivated by the conversation you’ve partaken in, and the idea that if you move away from him might change anything is enough to keep you glued to your seat. but, you’re almost tempted to see if he would keep it going, to see if he would reciprocate the tension you’re feeling. florence’s words from earlier ring in your ear like a siren, and you have to clench your thighs to stop yourself from getting carried away. no, he definitely is just being nice. he’s drunk and wants someone to talk to, and frankly, so do you.

so, you decide to stand up, placing the vodka bottle down on the table and smoothing out your red dress. “hold on, i’ll be back. i just have to pee.” he answers with a slight nod. he misses the feeling of your knees pressed against his, and notices as soon as the contact is gone.

as you try and find your way to the bathroom, you let your delusions get the best of you, and you begin to hope, pray, that he follows you in there.

you actually really do have to pee, and you do sit down on the toilet, but some sickly part of you wants him to walk in there and tempt you. you don’t even know what you’re thinking — this man has continuously ignored you for months. but, florence’s words just haunt you as you think that maybe you do need to get laid, and austin isn’t the worst option out there. he’s tall, he smells good, he’s got a gorgeous laugh and stunning eyes. jesus christ, get a grip.

you’re about halfway out the bathroom door, drunkenly stumbling over your heels, before you fall right into someone’s arms.

upon contact, you know exactly who you landed into.

but, to confirm, you look up through hooded eyelids to make eye contact with austin, his arms still holding your biceps. “shit, my bad,” he says softly, swallowing the rest of the saliva that pooled in his mouth.

“yeah, no worries, i was just, um, going back out there.”

“yeah, no, of course.”

he says that but still makes no attempt to let you go.

“is it still fun out there?”

“it’s alright. florence went home.”

“oh.”

quit the small talk, you’re hoping he’s telepathic and hearing every word you’re yelling at him in your brain.

he finally releases you, and you fall back a little. he scratches the back of his neck nervously before asking feebly, “can i ask you a question?”

you’re hoping your eyes don’t look as if they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “what’s up?”

“uh — well, i, um,” all his confidence from earlier dwindles into thin air, “uh, was just wondering if —“

you raise an eyebrow, “yes?”

“i, uh, heard you earlier talking to florence.”

“and?”

“…ya know, about needing to hook up with somebody.”

where was that sinkhole to swallow you up?

“how’d you even hear us?” you manage to muster out in horror. it was more disbelief, but he must’ve moved with so much stealth that you didn’t even notice him, the way he hadn’t noticed you.

“i-i was just walking by, and then, heard my name and all —“

“oh, yeah, ‘cause that’s not creepy,” you say sarcastically.

“right,” he avoids your eyes now, focusing on some stain on his shoes. in all honesty, you’re not sure what he’s even getting at, because now that he was back to being unable to formulate words around you, you weren’t even sure you were attracted to him any longer. but, you were intoxicated, so that thought lasted about two seconds. “listen, i’m just gonna be honest.”

“okay.”

“would you… want to hook up?”

you’re stunned. you had never been so stupefied in your entire life, and you feel as though someone just yanked you off the spinning planet, leaving you to float in space. your jaw fell slack at his suggestion, silence overtaking the two of you despite the music that still blasted through the speakers. “what?” you have to ask, because there’s no way he’s being serious.

“we don’t have to — i mean, you don’t have to do anything. plus, i think i kinda have whiskey dick, but i could eat you out or something —“

he is being serious.

“you… want to go down on me?” you’re almost intrigued, because no man had ever offered to do something without getting some form of stimulation in return. you’re thinking back to all the horrible things you said about him, and discarding every last one.

he nods.

“you don’t even… you barely talked to me.”

“yeah, i-i’m sorry ‘bout all that, i just get nervous,” he draws his lips in between his teeth, and you think you might collapse then and there and someone’ll have to scrape your body off the floor. “kinda had a little crush on you.”

“are you serious?” you ask incredulously. “we exchanged four words.”

“yeah, i-i know, listen, i feel bad about all that, i just literally —“

you’re not even about to let him keep going on with his ramblings, and you find yourself dragging him by his shirt collar into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. you lean against the wood, cooling your body that seemed to warm up from his words. he faces you, lips parted and cheeks blushed. “okay, this is crazy.”

“i know —“

you held up a finger, pausing him mid-word before he could utter anything else that barely resembled a full sentence. he was so lucky there was even an ounce of alcohol flowing in your system, because all those feelings of desire and longing are lingering in your brain, demanding that you listen to them. “this is crazy. and, the fact that i’m even slightly considering it is concerning me more.”

his mouth parts as he’s about to respond before you shake your finger, indicating that there’s more left to your sentence. “if, if we do this, you cannot tell anyone.”

he nods again, this time like a lost puppy.

“i’m not kidding, austin. no one can know about this,” you repeat, hoping the words drill into his brain.

“no one will know.”

“i’m only doing this because it’s been a while, okay, like a good few months.”

“okay.”

he’s looking at you eagerly, as if he were ready to devour you and you’re suddenly overcome with every bit of desire for him, wetness pooling between your thighs and soaking your underwear. your heart thumps loudly in your ear as you mull over his offer. weirdly enough, he is your best option at that point in the night. it was either austin butler, the man who apparently has pined for your affection the entire time, or some sweaty stranger plucked from the dance floor. you repeat the same word he had, because what else is there to say when austin butler is begging you to let him eat you out? “okay.”

he blinks twice, an expression full of shock and a tad of confusion plastered on his face as he realizes you’re consenting to it, to him. he moves towards you, and your eyes are locked into his. you’re not even sure if you’re breathing properly as he reaches out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, his thumb tracing over your jaw.

you take the moment to really, finally, look at him. his nose juts out at the perfect angle, blue eyes calming you as if they were waves melting into rocks, his plump, pink lips parted slightly as he exhaled. he was angelic, and you nearly shot yourself from the thought of ever looking past him. he’s doing the same with you; taking note of every single freckle, every mark that adorned your face. he was irrevocably entranced by you. he leans in towards you, hand cupping your chin, “‘m gonna kiss you now.”

you’re still nodding as he pulls your chin towards his to meet his warm lips that taste like alcohol, and you’re immediately paralyzed by the way your lips collide with his, meshing perfectly as if they were always meant to. he’s kissing you fiercely to make you want more, but not to be sloppy. your wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his body closer into you, back firmly pressed against the door. surprisingly enough, despite the drunken state you’re both trapped in, you move in sync and the arousal in your panties only escalates, burning your entire body.

you pull away for a moment of air, inhaling and exhaling at a sharp rate, and he doesn’t miss a beat, only going down to your neck to press light kisses, then suck. he continues the pattern, and you find yourself running your fingers through his curls, soft moans slipping from between your lips. you’re too blind to even realize what’s actually going on, that you’re really in a bathroom at a club in budapest, hungary, making out with your co-star. you hope your alarm clock doesn’t suddenly go off.

his tongue swirls around a sweet spot on your neck, and you bite your lip to contain the moan that’s begging to be let out.

and before you’re really going to protest or say anything remotely coherent, he sinks to his knees, the cold tiles grounding him as his hand roams up your thighs. you’re just watching, in complete and utter disbelief, as he slowly bunches up your dress to around your belly button, revealing your pair of panties that were absolutely dripping. you should be embarrassed — in fact, you definitely are — but he only looks up at you submissively, eyes interlocking selfishly. “can i?”

you nod, lip still stuck in between your teeth. you watch as he slips your underwear right down your legs, pressing a light kiss to your thighs. he looks back up at you one last time, for that one last confirmation he needed, and you give it to him, your hand entangling in his hair as you push his head to where you need him the most.

his hands make their way around your hips, pressing into the bone as he steadies your body against the door. just when you think you’re about to beg for him, that you might have to embarrass yourself further, he presses his tongue, flat, against your folds, and you whimper at the contact. he licks carefully, deliberately, as if he knows just what to do to make you unfold, as if he’s done this his whole life.

his lips slip around your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves and causing you to throw your head back and slam it on the wood behind you. he’s encouraged by your response, working faster as his tongue flicked against your clit repeatedly, the stimulation almost too much to bear. “o-oh,” you moan out, tugging at his hair and moving your hips against his face, nearly riding his lips at that point.

it had been a long time since you had someone go down on you, but never like this. your eyes are squeezed tight, strings of profanities amongst his name coming out your lips like the only words you ever knew. your juices ran down his chin messily, and he moves one of his hands from your hips down to your folds, parting them to get better access to your core. “fuck, austin,” is all you can say. he’s just watching, admiring you from down there as he works feverishly against your pussy, lapping up your juices.

your eyes meet for just a flash, and you suddenly feel shy, as if he wasn’t really eating you out on the floor of a bathroom, as if you hadn’t known for him for a good six months. his lips are coated in your juices, fingers soaked as well, blue eyes now darkened as he sloppily devours you. he wants you to cum, right onto his face, to feel you come undone because of him. he hooks two fingers into you, reaching a spot you had only ever done yourself, and you jolt forward. your body is trembling as he just fucks you with his finger, nose pressed against your lower body as he buries his lips, tongue darting at your clit.

just when you think you’re already down for the count, that he already was going to make you cum harder than any other man ever could, he reaches out to hoist one of your legs on his shoulder, and you instinctively push him further into you, as if it were even possible. his tongue is circling your clit, and you can feel it, the sensation you’d been dreading bubbling in your abdomen, because indisputably, you do not want this to end. you’re a moaning, screaming, shaking mess and austin is pinning you down against the door, fighting to get you to your release.

his fingers work desperately in and out of you, and he moans against you at the feeling of your walls tightening around his fingers. you can’t even fight the feeling, or try and delay it, because it’s overwhelming you to the point where you’re screaming his name and begging for more, to take you to the edge. “austin, oh my god, please, i’m so fucking close —“

“come on, baby. i want you to cum on my face,” he speaks against your core, hot breath waning over your aching entrance as he rapidly continues to stretch you out with his digits, and you’re done fighting; you want nothing more than to release all over his stupid pink lips, and his stupid perfect face that you can’t believe is at your mercy right now.

this could possibly be the most toe-curling, back-arching, mouth-foaming, eyes-rolling orgasm of your life, and it washes over with so much power you’re shocked you’re even still standing. his fingers are still inside you as your walls spasm and contact around them, hands reaching out to grip onto his shoulder in desperation. you let out a choked sob, as white washes over your vision, your body completely shattering into little pieces. he pulls his fingers out of you, hypnotized by the way your cheeks flush, eyelashes fluttering as you struggle to recover.

and, you’re still quite not sure you’re alive moments later, balancing yourself against the door as you try to contain your breathing. you look down at him, and you observe as he utilizes his fingers to wipe the remaining juices off his chin and lips, licking every last drop clean.

you’re rendered speechless, useless to him as you can’t even formulate a word, just one measly word to say to him. he gets up, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you’re still standing there, panties still draped around your ankles. “you good now?” he asks, almost coolly, as if his tongue wasn’t buried inside of you mere minutes before.

“i-i — yeah, i, uh, guess so. thanks, i guess,” you swallow, eventually gathering your last ounce of strength to pull your panties back up, pulling down your dress to your thighs. “you go out first, i’ll catch up. don’t want anyone to suspect anything.”

he just nods, looking like he’s about to say something but instead swallowing thickly before walking back out into the club. you hear the sound of the music for just a second when he opens that door, before you’re engulfed by the silence as soon as it swings closed. you look over at yourself in the mirror, makeup partially ruined and hair matted from the sweat. you’re not even sure you can walk properly, scared to even try. you feel like a baby bird who’s trying to leave the nest for the first time.

with one last exhale of oxygen, and the little resilience you still have left in your body, you swing open the bathroom door, flattening out your dress again and meeting the bustling crowd of people that happened to remain at this hour.

you’re hoping it’s not obvious that you just had the best orgasm of your life in that bathroom.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

yeah, you’re going to need to see that therapist.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[phoenixyfriend]

Jangobi 5 for the soulmate thing? Because that would make the fight on kamino just *chef's kiss*

soulmate au prompts

5. the one where you don’t know your soulmate until you touch them.

Apparently there’s never any skin to skin contact in the movie? Because armor? So......... we’re gonna just. Quick little thing.

Also I’ve been doing a lot of “marginally less shitty” Jango, but this is just-as-shitty-as-canon Jango. It’s, uh, not much of a romance, because Kamino. Actually it’s mostly just a lot of angry yelling about human rights violations.

...I’m sure they’ll get together eventually. It’s just, you know... it’s going to take a while.

------

Jango’s heard about this Jedi.

The man isn’t famous, or particularly acclaimed. It’s just that Mandalorians gossip, and Death Watch isn’t exempt, and Dred Priest still has friends in the terrorist group. So do a few others.

(Jango sometimes wonders if he’d have invited Priest, had he knows the monster was only a step away from being Death Watch himself.)

(Probably not.)

(He’d at least have been able to see the battle circles coming.)

Death Watch hates one specific Jedi above all others: Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It’s almost enough to make a man like the pretty bastard, except the reason Death Watch hates this specific Jedi is because he kept Duchess Kryze alive, and Jango isn’t much of a fan of hers, either.

In the moment, though, the main thing this all means is that Obi-Wan Kenobi knows Mandalorian customs.

First meetings, out of armor, mean ensuring the arm clasp has skin contact.

His eyes flick down to where Jango is reflexively pulling up his sleeves, and the man just... does the same, sodden as the beige-on-brown-on-dark-brown robes are.

Jango can’t just play it off. He has to, ugh, arm clasp with a Jedi.

Kenobi probably guesses how unpleasant this is for him, going by the grim little smile that he wears, the one Taun We can’t read and Jango can, but they touch forearms and le--

They do not let go.

“Oh kriff,” Kenobi swears, and then it’s just... it’s too late. It’s too late to stop anything.

“Jetii,” Jango spits as if it’s a swear.

He doesn’t want to be soulmates with a Jedi. No sane person ever wants to be soulmates with a Jedi, but as a Mandalorian, and as specifically Jango Fett, who signed onto this project for revenge against Jedi, the idea is just... excruciating.

“For revenge? Not entirely unexpected, but I’m still somehow disappointed.”

“Stay out of my head.”

Kenobi smiles at him, completely devoid of anything but the blackest of humor. “Are you staying out of mine?”

And, well, no. They’re soulmates. Kenobi has more of an idea on how to control how far his mind wanders into Jango’s, but in this moment, just seconds after being bound together by the universe... Jango’s slamming into Kenobi’s shields with an embarrassing lack of control.

“Is something the matter?” Taun We asks.

“I do believe we need to speak alone,” Kenobi says. “Unfortunate timing, but this is our first meeting, and it appears we are soulmates.”

“Ah. We were informed of the human tendency towards such.” She blinks, too large eyes impossible to read for Kenobi, but entirely readable for Jango after all these years. She’s irritated. “I apologize, but it appears we were unable to remove such unpredictability from the product.”

A wave of revulsion leaks out of Kenobi’s mind and into Jango’s. The man just nods. “I understand. As it is, I imagine that the near instantaneous communication on the battlefield will be a boon, if any are bonded to each other or to active soldiers.”

“I defer to your judgement as client, Master Kenobi,” Taun We hums, still irritable. It’s less visible in her face, but... Kenobi can feel it. “I shall leave you to get... acquainted.”

Aaaaaaaand she’s expecting them to sleep together the second she turns her back. The disgust she feels at the thought of such carnal activities is thirdhand to Jango, but he can still feel it, because Kenobi can feel it, because they’re soulmates.

“Oh, do tell me how you really feel,” Kenobi mutters, sweeping past him into the apartment.

Jango wishes he could slam the door as he storms after the Jedi.

“Listen here--”

“Absolutely not,” Kenobi says, with the kind of bland, impersonal smile that Jango’s heard Dred Priest bitch about at least a dozen times. “I need you to answer me this: why are you selling your children into what is clearly slavery?”

“They’re not my children.”

“You choose to be dar’buir, then?” Kenobi clucks a tongue, acting like he can’t even feel Jango’s waves of hate that are just growing by the second. “Shame on you, Mand’alor.”

“I am not the Mand’alor.”

“No. You are demagolka,” Kenobi says, the sweet words of Jango’s first language falling from his lips like poisoned honey. “They are your children, Fett. Your clones, just as human as you.”

“They are little more than droids, Jedi. The Kaminoans--”

Kenobi laughs, sharp and bitter, and it’s enough of a surprise that Jango stops talking. The Jedi strides closer, and it takes everything in him to not step back at what little emotion the Jedi allows through.

“Let me show you,” Kenobi hisses, putting a hand on either side of Jango’s head and it’s too much this is not a sense he is meant to have.

Kenobi cannot lie to Jango, not in this mental space. Not in this existence. He can cherry-pick what he shows, he can exaggerate, he can hide, but he cannot present a falsehood.

What Kenobi shows him, as he pulls Jango into his mind and drowns him in the sensation of the Force, is how each and every clone shines, bright and unique and so very human, so very sentient, so very alive.

These are your children, Kenobi says, directly into his mind and with no room to pull away. If they choose to disown you for your crimes against them, then that is their right, but until they do, they are your responsibility. You’re playing in denial and cognitive dissonance, soulmate mine. If I have to drag you into caring for your children the way any Mandalorian would, then so be it.

“Kriff off,” Jango manages to grit out in the real world. Kenobi looks unimpressed, when he lets go. The sensations in Jango’s mind, the jangled distaste and horror and anger, those are worse.

“Are you going to be dar’manda?” Kenobi demands. “You, who were once king of your people, have you really sunk so low to be the worst of your kind? To be so horrible that even Kyr’tsad would be shamed? Or worse, approve?”

“You have no place--”

“You are violating one of the core tenets of your culture!” Kenobi shouts. “You are being the worst of what you could be, Jango Fett! The most important, the absolute most important element of your culture, the care and nurture of children, and look at what you’ve done--”

“The clones--”

“Your sons!” Kenobi growls at him. “Your children, Fett. I’ve a student that is, by every Mandalorian standard, my son. I know what it is to take in a child that is not yours by blood, to raise a foundling, and you are cutting off millions that are your blood. You aren’t turning away an orphan to another family because you cannot care for them as they deserve, you are breeding your children for war like bantha to slaughter.”

Jango throws the first punch.

Kenobi throws the second.

By the time the fight ends, the room is in ruins, for all that they do not draw blasters or sabers. Kenobi has Jango on his back, straddling his chest with knees on his wrists, a vibroblade to his neck. Kenobi’s lip is bleeding, and Jango thinks he might have caused a hairline fracture in the cheekbone. Both of them have at least one broken rib, and Jango’s currently blind in one eye from the blood pouring out of a cut on his forehead.

Kenobi’s a good fighter. If it weren’t for everything else, Jango might have even been able to appreciate that.

“You,” Kenobi growls, fisting one hand into Jango’s curls and yanking for emphasis, earning himself a snarl in return. “Are going to fix this mess you’ve helped create. If I have to drag the entire Jedi council, the entire senate, if I have to drag in all of Mandalore to make you fix this, I will.”

There’s determination in those words, angry and a little spiteful, but mostly just... disappointed.

“Of course I’m disappointed,” Kenobi spits out, like the words are hot coals. He’s expressive. Jango wants to like it, but mostly he just resents the trait. “I hoped to never find a soulmate; it just complicates things. Opsec becomes a nightmare and holding to the code is difficult. And now I have a soulmate, and he’s an absolute monster that views his own children as little more than droids.”

“War is going to come for them no matter what,” Jango manages to say, and Kenobi’s look is back to unimpressed. “Don’t pretend you haven’t heard of the separatists. There’s an army of actual droids, metal and code, just waiting for the right moment to pick a fight. It’s too late to stop it.”

“...you’re not only raising an army of your own children, but engineering the war that’s going to kill them?” Kenobi almost screeches, and the wave of nauseous loathing that slams into Jango is almost enough to make him actually vomit. Kenobi didn’t pull punches, not in the actual fight and not in whatever mental battle they’re apparently having via emotions and words.

“I’m not engineering it,” Jango says. “I’m just one part in a bigger machine. I got my payment. The rest is on Tyranus.”

He doesn’t even stop the images from flickering through his mind, throwing the man who hired him under the speeder.

“Master Dooku?” Kenobi whispers, horror growing. “No, no, I killed the--the Sith can’t--I killed the one on Naboo, and the Council mentioned the Rule of Two, but... oh hells.”

“You know him?” Jango taunts.

“He’s my grandmaster,” Kenobi says, and Jango can’t imagine the rest is meant to reach him, but the undercurrent is there.

Count Dooku is, by Mandalorian law, Kenobi’s grandfather.

Jango... suddenly feels a little regret about the taunting.

“I’d rather you feel regret about your children,” Kenobi snaps at him. “Every single one of them is a person, one that you chose to bring into this world, and they are your children.”

The argument is going in circles, but there are still places to take this.

“Your army is all adults, Kenobi,” Jango decides.

“They are ten years old,” Kenobi retorts. “Accelerated aging, sure, but they are children.”

“They’re soldiers.”

Disgust again, the same thing Kenobi has felt every time Jango has reasserted the purpose these children were born to, the same thing Jango has told his son, his sergeants, himself, for over a decade.

“A son?” Kenobi whispers. “Is your denial that strong, Fett? That you would claim one and not the rest?”

“Payment,” Jango says, and lets Kenobi feel the rest, since he seems so karking keen on it.

“Keeping one child in exchange for letting yourself be the creator of a slave army,” Kenobi says, and he doesn’t seem impressed. “Weren’t you a slave? Two years on a spice ship, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t you dare--”

“And you would put your sons in chains,” Kenobi hisses, hands going for Jango’s head again. It’s a sense memory, this time, of dark tunnels and exploding collars and a dar’jetii that... was his older brother. According to the Jedi way of thinking.

It’s a twisting fear and pain and I will die so that others may live while looking at an older man, a Master, who can maybe save the other slaves at the expense of one too-angry Initiate’s li--

“Get out of my head!” Jango roars, and he still can’t move his arms, and his legs are held down by the Force, but he twists his head to bite and Kenobi snatches his hands away.

Kenobi glares down at him, almost sneering with the amount of disdain he has for Jango’s general existence. “I’m your soulmate, and had we met fifteen years ago, I might have even thought that an alright thing... but whatever you are now isn’t something I can abide by. You won’t listen to morality, so let me say this instead: a Jedi does not kill an unarmed opponent, but I have full authority to arrest you, even here. I will take you back to the Republic, to be tried for your collusion with a Sith, and you will go to prison. You can try to run, but I am in your head, and you’re in mine. Once you’re in prison, what happens to your son?”

The implication is there, but even if it wasn’t, Jango hears the thought:

They’re soulmates. The Republic would place Boba with Kenobi.

He refuses to have his child raised by a holier-than-thou Jedi.

“Holiness doesn’t have any meaning in Jedi philosophy,” Kenobi says, relaxing just the slightest bit. “Other religions, yes, but no place in ours.”

“You’re a self-righteous bastard,” Jango says flatly. “Despite threatening a child.”

“You mean threatening to take custody of a child being raised in an unhealthy environment, one where he’s being taught to devalue his brothers, engendering a mental dissonance where he has to convince himself he’s special for a reason and that you won’t just drop him if he fails to be perfect?” Kenobi asks. “I prefer to keep children with guardians who love them, but the argument that he’s better off away from you isn’t a difficult one.”

“Oh, like a child-stealer--”

“My mother tried to drown me when I was a toddler,” Kenobi says, even flatter than Jango had been a minute earlier. “Because I was Force-Sensitive, and it was considered curse on my home planet. A Jedi saved me. Tell me that was a kidnapping and not being saved.”

Jango grinds his teeth. “You’re damned smug whenever you have some sob story that outranks mine.”

“This isn’t about who has the bigger sob story,” Kenobi says, and Jango can feel how he’s just as ready to start clenching his jaw to deal with Jango’s bullshit. “It’s about you doing your damned job as a Mandalorian and a father, and taking responsibility for your children. All three million of them.”

It really, really is a pity they didn’t meet before Jango took this job. They could have been great together.

As it is, Jango goes for the groin shot the second Kenobi lets him back on his feet.

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 2 Finding Out (Family/Friends)

Prev 

AO3

@maribat-bdbwm

“Mari!” Adrien yells, running past Batman to sweep her up in a hug. Marinette’s face instantly heats up, but she buries herself into the hug. After all, it’s not every day she faces a supervillain determined to kill her with a dangerous weapon...without her suit, anyway.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” Marinette reassures him, relishing in the comfort. A cleared throat makes her jump back and look at Batman who, despite clearing his throat and cutting off the most amazing hug ever, has no emotions on his face. Whatsoever. Cause that’s not intimidating or anything.

“The police will need your statement, Miss Dupain Cheng.” Batman says. Marinette nods, squeaking when Adrien reaches down and entwines his fingers with hers. Following Batman’s directions to the awaiting police, Marinette feels nerves flood her systerm as she sees the sheer number of officers on the other side of the door. Sucking in a deep breath, she feels Adrien squeeze her hand. Shooting him a thankful smile, Marinette uses her unattached hand to open the door and step out into the mess of personnel. A man with a mustache and square glasses steps forward immediately, his hand extended.

“Hello Miss Dupain Cheng. I’m Commissioner Jim Gordon. We were in communication with Batman while he was inside so we heard some of what happened. Would you be comfortable telling us what happened? We can get you checked over by paramedics first, if you want.” Commissioner Gordon says.

“Oh, no, no. I’m fine. I don’t-” She starts to say, but a gruff voice cuts her off.

“She should be examined immediately, Gordon. She may have inhaled smoke from the smoke bombs due to proximity. She also could have burns to her face or ears from Joker’s gun. He shot it and then proceeded to prod her with it.” Batman says, the last part of his ‘report’ slightly more gruff than the first. Was he…..worried about her? Marinette shakes that thought off almost immediately. Why would Batman be worried about her? Wait, was he really going to make her see the paramedics when all she wanted to do was talk to the officers so she could get back to the trip?

“I assure you, Monsieur Batman, Monsieur Gordon, I don’t need to see the paramedics. I’m a little shaky, but that’s all. I mean, I was held at gunpoint. I think shaky is appropriate, non?” Marinette asks, flashing the two a bright smile. Gordon raises an eyebrow and glances at Batman who shakes his head stiffly.

“She gets examined.” He says, leaving no room for questions as he pulls his grappling hook (?!?!) out and retreats to the rooftop.

“You heard the man. We can talk as you’re examined, if you’d prefer. I’m sure you just want to put this whole business behind you.” Commissioner Gordon says kindly. Marinette sighs in relief and nods, smiling again at the man. Hopefully this would be taken care of quickly. --- Bruce Wayne was slightly panicking, though he would never admit it. When reports of the Joker being spotted at the Gotham City Museum of Modern Art first rolled in, he assumed his biggest challenge would be keeping Jason from murdering the clown. He did not expect to see a small girl being held at gunpoint. A girl who looked like a strange mix between his mother, and someone else. But he couldn’t place his- of course. Memories flood his mind as he thinks back to the woman who was so clearly related to the small girl. Bridgette Le. A woman that he, at one time, thought he would be able to spend the rest of his life with. Until she left Gotham and cut off all contact between the two. Oh god. She wouldn’t….would she? --- “I don’t understand why that older paramedic looked like she’d seen a ghost.” Marinette says with a pout as she continues working on the embroidery for a jacket for Jagged. Design never sleeps.

“What d’ya mean?” Adrien asks from his nest of blankets on her bed. Marinette tries to focus on keeping her blush down. Apparently, the attack at the museum had scared Adrien more than her, though she imagined he was scared on her behalf. But she couldn’t quite understand why...nevertheless, he had become attached at her hip and hadn’t left her side since they got back to the hotel. Even though all she really wanted was a little alone time to talk to Tikki. Especially about the chance of the Miraculous Cure working here. Maybe if she was in the battle…

“Didn’t you notice? He was fine til he looked into my eyes and then he got super pale. He looked like he was going to say something, but Monsieur Gordon stopped him before he could.” Marinette recounts, remembering the way the paramedic had to switch out since his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“I didn’t notice that. That’s weird. Anything else happen like that today?” Adrien asks, finally sitting up and giving her his full attention. Marinette pauses her stitching and purses her lips as she runs the days events back through her head. The paramedic. Batman. Joker. Arriving late to the museum. The cab ride. Being left at the hotel. Coffee-

“Well,” Marinette starts, furrowing her eyebrows as she tries to rationalize the man’s actions in addition to the actions of the paramedic. But something wasn’t adding up. “There was my cab ride to the museum.”

“What happened? Was someone creepy? I can fight them for you!” Adrien offers, a little too cheery. Marinette freezes as she studies his face, searching for something. Adrien had been off all day. More protective than he’d been in awhile. And the few times Lila had spoken, he had scowled at her instead of ignored her. Was he finally coming around to the idea that the high road would not work with Lila? Pushing those thoughts off for another time, Marinette shakes her head.

“No, no. Nothing like that. But as I was leaving, he called me Miss Wayne.” Marinette admits, not expecting Adrien’s uncontrollable laughter.

“He, you, oh my god!” He laughs, clutching his sides. Marinette’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as she sets the jacket down on the desk.

“What?” She asks, completely and totally frustrated with the situation. Adrien laughs for another minute before calming down, wiping tears from his eyes and shooting her a blinding smile. Not his model smile. An actual smile that warms her heart and her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry Mari. It’s just, I think he was referring to the fact that you look like the typical kid Bruce Wayne adopts.” Adrien says and Marinette’s blood freezes.

“Did you say Bruce Wayne?” Marinette asks and Adrien nods, his previous mirth wiped from his face.

“Yeah, Mari, are you okay?” He asks. Marinette nods, then shakes her head, then groans and throws up her arms in frustration.

“I don’t know! I just- you remember how I told you I’m adopted?” She asks. Adrien nods, then stops. A look of mixed terror and awe flooding his face.

“Oh god, Mari. You never told me the name. Your birth father-”

“His name is Bruce Wayne. But there’s gotta be hundreds if not thousands of Bruce Waynes in the US right?” Marinette asks, even as her hope in that idea dwindles.

“The US? He’s confirmed from the US?” Adrien asks, already pulling out his phone.

“Yes. Adrien, what are you doing?” She asks, suddenly worried as she jumps onto the bed next to him, desperately trying to see his phone.

“I’m googling Bruce Wayne and Bridgette Le as a combined search. Wayne is one of the most prominent figures in Gotham, all of his previous relationships have photographic evidence. Except for whoever the mother of his youngest is. But that’s probably because he wasn’t in the country at that time.” Adrien says, typing away furiously on his phone. Marinette’s eyebrow quirks up in amusement.

“Since when were you a master researcher?” She asks with a grin.

“Since one of my best friends found out she’s adopted and it could be the man who hosts the only palatable high society parties. Seriously. And they’d be much better if you were there and-holy shit. Your bio mom looks just like you!” Adrien exclaims, turning the phone to her. Marinette inhales deeply and thanks whatever power there is that she’s not in Paris right now. The emotions running over her at an indescribable speed...not all of them are positive. And they’re all overwhelming as she looks at a picture that very clearly shows her bio mom with Bruce Wayne. As in the Gotham Bruce Wayne. Not a different unknown Bruce Wayne across the country somewhere. Nope. A man who is apparently prominent enough that Monsieur Agreste makes his son go to the man’s parties.

“I don’t suppose she just had a type for men named Bruce Wayne?” Marinette says weakly. This was not what she expected. --- This was exactly what he expected. Looking at the birth records for one Marinette Le, where he’s noted as the father. Though why he wasn’t notified before the girl’s custody was signed over to Sabine Cheng, he’ll never understand. His jaw clenches as he continues reading, eyes scanning over Bridgette’s death certificate before glancing back at Marinette’s birth certificate. A daughter. He had a daughter. Another child that he would never be able to hold when they were small. Another child that grew up without him. Another child that he didn’t meet until they were already a person. Someone with their own experiences individual from his own, someone that may not even know he had found them. And that he wanted nothing more than to get to know someone who was brave enough to stand between the Joker and her friends. Someone who was determined not to let what should have been the most traumatic experience in her life be a set back. He had a daughter. And he wanted to meet her.

***

Next

Note, my headcannon is that the paramedic that panicked did so because he was one of the first responders the night that the Waynes were murdered. And while she looks a lot like her birth mom, Marinette also definitely has Martha Wayne’s eyes and the paramedic could NOT deal. Also, let me know if you want tagged!

Tag List: @jjmjjktth

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

~

Part ii: August

~

For the hope of it all

~

The river was crowded, but the pier was their own.

Happy Birthday Harzy, was spelled out in big balloon letters, turning in the summer breeze, backwards and bumping.

Logan stood at the waterfront and looked at Leo’s—as it was mostly Leo’s—handiwork. Lobster rolls and soft-shell crab buffet, corn bread and iced tea. Chilled white and orange wines. Summer dresses fluttered and crossed each other as people talked, making new patterns, and Logan let himself settle into the laughter. He had a bad habit of taking peace and worrying it away. He didn’t want to do that today. He wanted to watch Finn enjoy himself, his team, his family. Logan had spent every one of Finn’s birthdays with their Harvard team, and then there had been that one, horribly absent year when Finn had been in Gryffindor and he hadn’t—not yet. He wanted to watch the way Leo put his long arms around his friends, in the same way his mother did, warm and strong. Logan wanted to watch without feeling that sharp tug of worry. He couldn’t have even said what he was worrying about. It was vague.

He’d done a lot of watching this summer. He loved it to the point of never wanting to do anything else. Finn and Leo were alike to each other in more ways than Logan would ever be. Whatever rapid-fire conversation they were in the middle of would often quickly leave Logan behind, but Logan didn’t care as long as he got them stumbling and laughing over each other to try and explain it to him—a book, a TV show, some sort of video game. He knew they liked telling him about it, and Logan loved watching them love things—including himself. Logan had never thought of himself as acting as a grounding point before. That had always been Finn or Leo. He always felt too wild in his own head, unsure, reserved. Vague. But Leo had said it to him this summer.

“When me and Finn lived together, we stayed up so late just talking,” Leo had said one early morning on the beach when they had left Finn sleeping. Logan wouldn’t be quick to forget the feeling of just being able to hold Leo’s hand for so long, in such an open space.

Leo had kissed the back of his palm too many times for Logan to think he’d be forgetting it, either.

“And you and I did the same thing, you know?” Leo continued. “On roadies.”

“Playing cards,” Logan smiled. “And our sundaes.”

Leo nodded, and his smile grew a little softer. He stared at his toes digging into the sand. “And I knew how connected you two were. Well, I guess not how connected, but I knew you two were better friends than anyone on the team, even Sirius and James. Even if you didn’t always act like it. I feel like good friends can do that, handle distance and snap back into place.”

“And?” Logan remembered asking playfully. “Which long talks were better?”

Leo just laughed. “No, no. Not better. Finn talking is like…wild. Like wind. Talking to you is stillness. I love both. The point is, that was…that was my connection. To both of you.” He had cleared his throat then, and given Logan’s hand a squeeze. “My mama always says if you can talk to someone forever then—“

“They’re yours forever,” Logan finished. “My maman says the same thing.”

Leo’s answering smile had been blinding.

An arm circled his waist, another pressing right over his heart.

“Nice party,” Finn said softly into his ear, and Logan only had a moment in that warmth before it was gone, wary of prying eyes. It made Logan miss France, and their brief stay at his mother’s family home that summer.

No one had known them there, and Leo had adored the markets, cooking elaborate meals while Finn and Logan had sat on the counter, watching him and loving him. They’d eaten out on the stone patio, overlooking the sea.

Finn looked a little like he had there, cheeks sun-hot. Logan wanted to reach for them, as he had then, cool them with his thumb. Finn smiled, making the sun-kissed skin crease a little.

“What?” he asked.

Logan shook his head. “Remember that picture?” he asked. “The one of us. It was on your wall at Harvard, you were standing behind me, hand on my chest.”

Finn’s mouth quirked, and he nodded. Logan hesitated for a moment, realizing that Finn was wearing his NASA t-shirt, the same one he had worn the day he’d left Harvard for good, leaving Logan behind. Logan stared at the logo, then looked away, back up to his brown eyes. Bambi, the boys at Harvard had called him.

He took a sip of his drink and shrugged. “I don’t know where it went. I know you packed it, took it with you, but I can’t find it. Do you know…”

Logan trailed off, as Finn had taken out his wallet. He set his beer on the pier ledge, flipped the worn leather open, and slipped out a folded piece of paper, thick, and well-loved. He held it out to Logan, biting his lip, and then leaned back against the railing, as if waiting.

Logan let the photo fall open in his fingers, and exhaled a shaky, steadying breath. There was a laugh in it somewhere.

“Oh,” he said.

“Didn’t know you were looking for it,” Finn replied, and trailed his fingers, cold from his beer, over Logan’s wrist, then reached up to fiddle briefly with his necklace.

Logan traced his eyes over the same, gaudy string lights in the photo, their same smiles—the one Logan knew he wore more freely these days.

Logan folded the picture closed again, and slipped it back into its place in Finn’s wallet.

“You want it, Lo?” Finn asked.

Logan shook his head. “I like that you have it.”

Finn stretched out a foot, ankle hooking around Logan’s, pulling him a little closer again, to stand nearly between his legs.

“I had it all that first year,” Finn smiled. “On my own.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”

Finn grinned, singing off-key. “Pretending he’s beside me—”

Logan groaned, shoving his shoulder a little. “Okay, D’accord, I walked into that.”

Finn laughed loudly, and then swung his arm around Logan’s shoulders. “Let’s go find Le, get more food.”

They strode towards the tables.

“Hey!” Evgeni called out. He was standing with Olli and Jackson, his looming form leaning over the pier. “Ten bucks I jump!”

“Kuns, you don’t want to swim in this river,” Finn said.

“He’s going in whether you pay him or not,” Jackson shook his head. “At some point tonight.” He grinned, the scar that ran down one of his cheeks dimpling when he smiled. “Bet you twenty.”

“Nado,” Evgeni gasped, slapping his arm. “We split. Even.”

“No fucking way.”

Logan let Finn lead him away from their bickering, towards where he could immediately spot Leo, standing with Remus and Thomas. Logan felt everything just—soften.

“Do you ever think you could just find him?” Finn asked softly, the hand around Logan’s shoulders gesturing in Leo’s direction. “I mean, even if you couldn’t see him. You know?”

“Ouais,” Logan said, voice just as soft. “I know.”

Leo was mid-laugh when he spotted them, too.

“I gotta say,” he said as he met them halfway, hand on his hip, sunglasses in his hair. “I did a pretty damn good job.”

Logan huffed out a laugh. “You did. Really good.”

Finn snorted. “Way to take the credit, Nut.”

“He deserves it,” Logan said. “I was just here.”

“Lo’s the gift master,��� Leo swung his arm around his shoulders. “And I’m the food master. Sounds about right?”

Logan patted Leo’s chest. “Are you going to jump in?”

Leo raised his eyebrows, squinting out at the water. “Do I want to swim in this water?”

“I’d swim if it was with you two,” Finn said. “I’d risk the murky monsters of the deep.”

“You gotta wait twenty minutes after eating,” Leo said. “And I haven’t tried the soft serve yet. They have swirls, they have mango, I mean, come on. I did so good.”

Finn laughed. “And I’m going to kiss you stupid later.”

“And I’m going to hold you to that,” Leo leaned in a little. “Birthday boy.”

They found Sirius holding a cone out to Remus by the machine, and Remus wrinkling his nose.

“C’est la vanille!” Sirius was laughing. “Quoi? Really? You don’t like vanilla?”

“You do?” Remus shook his head.

“Y’all we’ve caught the couple splashed on the front of every magazine in a, dare I say,” Leo paused, “fight?”

“First it’s pineapple pizza, now it’s vanilla,” Remus reached up, pushing Sirius’ chin length hair out of his eyes. “What did I sign up for?”

“Carrying his hair ties for him, apparently,” Finn reached out and snapped the tie around Remus’ wrist.

Remus rolled his eyes, and Logan thought Sirius might have blushed. When Logan reached up to poke at his cheek, he slapped his hand away and Logan laughed.

Sirius dragged Remus away towards where Julian, Remus’ little brother, was calling them over to the beanbag toss, and, momentarily tucked behind the shade of the soft-serve station, Logan felt Leo pull the both of them closer.

“Pretty good beginning to the end of the summer,” he sighed, licking his own cone.

“It was a damn good summer,” Finn grinned. “Hey, give me.”

Logan watched Leo hold out his cone to Finn, and agreed. It had been more than a good summer. It had been a perfect summer, and something in that made Logan stupidly worried. Sun and salt, and cold wine, and hot bodies pressed together as the moon rose. Logan closed his eyes for a moment, tucked between the two of them, and tried not to ruin this peace by thinking about all the times peace hadn’t been there.

This was Finn’s day. This was their season. Logan tilted his chin up and let the sweet mango of Leo’s ice cream sweeten his thoughts.

~

Noelle wasn’t at Finn’s party, and Thomas could feel it. He fiddled with the new, thin gold hoops she’d gifted him, barely circling away from his ears, the left one with a pearl strung along.

I’m the lucky one who found you, she’d said.

And he’d had to go and ruin it by trying to be funny, even while tears were pressing up as close to him as she was.

What does that make us, oysters?

She’d laughed, looked happy, but Thomas wished he’d said something else. He wished he had gotten something for her. He wished she wasn’t so far away.

I miss you, he tapped out on his phone, and that felt perfectly honest. Simple. Enough.

The three dots popped up and then went away. Thomas tried not to let it mean anything. She deserved to be busy. She worked just as hard—harder—than he did. Still, something like relief flooded through him when a long string of pink hearts answered him.

I miss YOU, T baby. Good party?? Tell Harzy happy bday for me.

Thomas blew out a breath. Will do. Say hi to the girls for me.

“You look like sad sunshine,” Natalie’s voice came, and he looked up to see her walking towards him, taking a sip from a honey colored beer with a lime wedged into it.

“I’m a little sad, Sunshine, like it or not,” Thomas laughed softly, pocketing his phone. “Where are the boys?”

“Canoodling,” Natalie sighed, hopping up onto one of the stools beside him under the umbrella. She had her long blond hair swept up into two french braids. “We’re both getting in our last drops of Alex, I think.”

Thomas nodded. “Hey, I never really asked, Nat. That just…happened this summer, or what?”

Natalie smiled. “Well, when I met Kasey, he hadn’t made it big yet, still on the Rangers farm team, but Alex had been on the Rangers for…maybe about a year? I can’t quite remember. I think Kase had only gotten called up a few times, so they’d met. But anyway, we start dating, two years later he gets a big boy contract with the Rags, and we get to know Alex. I saw him at team dinners only at first.” She smiled. “I was like, cutie, look at those freckles. But I had Kase, you know? I was pretty confused when I started looking a little closer. I mean, I was so happy.”

She pushed her sunglasses into her hair, leaning an elbow on the table and fiddling with a gold necklace at her throat that had the number 30 strung across the leather cord. Thomas wondered if she was going to add a 28 to that, Alex’s number, or if she’d get another one. He wondered if Noelle would want something like that. Maybe they could wear each other’s. He liked the thought.

“Well,” Natalie said. “I was confused until I noticed Kasey looking, but he wasn’t pulling away from me and I thought, hey…maybe this is something?”

“But that was how many years ago?”

Natalie took another drink. “No, yeah, nothing ever happened. Actually, I think they kissed once or twice. Roadies, you know? But Kasey gets traded, and then Finn arrived and we were like, wow, cruel joke.”

Thomas laughed. “I bet. But it meant Alex comes around again.”

She grinned. “That it did.”

Thomas held his drink up for a cheers. “Guess we owe those Cubs a lot.”

She clinked their bottles together. “Life’s weird. But, yeah, it happened this summer officially. Went to the O’Hara Hampton house, and I think we just loved being together. I forgot a little, how wonderful Alexander is. But,” she was smiling wildly again. “I woke up one morning and the boys had gone on a walk, they got back three hours later holding hands, Alex kissed me, and something changed. Maybe they worked through some history of theirs. We’re his now, he’s ours, whatever you want to call it.” She laughed. “Pretty good for a morning’s work.”

“Pretty good,” Thomas repeated.

“I’m worried it’ll be hard, though,” she sighed, chest rising and falling dejectedly. “He’s all the way in Florida and we’re here, together.”

Thomas glanced back down at his phone. “Yeah.”

“I bet that makes me sound like a snob to you,” she reached out and squeezed his hand.

He waved her off. “No, no, I just…we’re new, me and Noelle. Sometimes I worry that we’re too new for…for this.”

Natalie shook her head. “I think distance is distance. And, if it doesn’t work, it isn’t the physical space between two people. It’s a different sort of far away.”

Thomas tapped his fingers against his glass. “You just have something to say for everything, huh, Nat?”

She grinned. “Pretty mouth, gotta use it.”

Thomas snorted. “You’re not wrong.”

“Come on,” she said. “I’m going to whip your ass a ring toss.”

“Yeah fucking right.”

~

“Apparently they closed down a bunch of streets,” Remus was saying, still bleary-eyed and waking up as Sirius made the coffee. “That’s awesome.”

“It’s a parade. Of course,” Sirius said as he pushed the lid of their french press down.

Remus looked up to see him smiling and rolled his eyes, laughing, “Okay, sure, but it’s still crazy. They say it’s going to bigger than the Cup Parade was in June.”

That made Sirius’ eyebrows raise. “Really?”

Remus hummed in agreement, clicking his phone off and popping his back. “Well. I know Pride is in June, but I’m happy we get to do this, too.”

Sirius nodded, sliding onto the stool beside Remus with two waiting mugs. “Captain gets the Cup last. I don’t make the rules.”

Remus just yawned and let his temple fall against Sirius’ shoulder, closing his eyes as Sirius’ warm palm came to brush over his hair and neck.

“September is in two weeks,” Remus mumbled. “How the hell did that happen?”

Sirius poured their coffee and pressed a kiss against Remus’ hair. “You’ll be fine.”

“Hm?”

“I know you’re nervous for training camp. You’ve seen it a million times, though.”

“Yeah,” Remus sighed and sat up pulling his steaming mug close. “Seen it.”

Sirius laughed, going to the refrigerator for the milk. His hair was in dark, glorious tangles, and Remus vaguely wondered how much time they had before they needed to get ready.

“I meant,” Sirius leaned over the island and poured them both milk before capping it again and going for the brown sugar. Remus smiled when he realized that Sirius had picked that up from Remus’ mom, Hope. “I meant that you know it never comes across like…like some insane competition for spots.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “It is, though. I mean, not for the Sirius Black, but…”

“D’accord,” Sirius nodded. “Okay, okay. But you know what I mean?”

“I’m not worried about the team,” Remus said as Sirius came to sit down again. “I’m worried I’m not going to make the team.”

Sirius shook his head, set his mug down, and all but pulled Remus off of his stool to gather him close. Remus mumbled something about cold coffee, but smiled as he let himself be kissed good morning, kissed calm, kissed loved.

“I’m not worried,” Sirius whispered, and kissed him some more.

Remus had barely shut his car door—having opened it to cheers—before he was getting an armful of his little brother.

“Oof,” Remus grunted, but squeezed him, lifting him off of his feet. “Nice outfit, Jules.”

Julian jumped back, his Lupin Lions Pride jersey actually fitting him for once. “Thanks, dad found it for me.”

“He insisted on wearing it,” Hope Lupin smiled as she walked up. “But you’re going to roast so tell me when you want your t-shirt, baby, it’s in my bag. Hi, Re.”

“Hi, mom,” Remus let her kiss his cheek a few times.

“Salut,” Sirius grinned from beside him. Remus watched them hug, warmed more deeply than by the heat. Hope patted Sirius’ chest where a faded rainbow twelve was printed on his t-shirt. Remus was going to steal that thing as soon as he took it off.

“What a party!” Hope grinned. “Is someone grilling? Thought I smelled it.”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, they got this restaurant downtown to bring BBQ.”

“Is there ice cream?” Julian said, huffing. “I’m hot.”

Sirius plucked at his jersey jokingly. “Mais, ouais, it’s almost ninety!”

Hope laughed, and put a hand on Julian’s back. “I’ll get him cooled off. Your dad’s around here somewhere with Pascal. Meet you on the float in ten. And make sure you’re wearing sunscreen!”

Remus watched his family wind their way through the colorful, crowded streets, felt Sirius’ fingers lace through his own, and smiled.

The sun did beat down hot, but Remus didn’t mind so much, not when they were filed onto the float that was equipped with a red and gold Lions head roaring at the front and rainbow streamers at the back, like an extension of the mane. The Cup sat on a high pedestal between them, strapped in shining.

The crowd was wild. People were hanging out of the tall parking garage that lined one side. The pavement was painted in thick strips of rainbow in some places, and red and gold in others.

Gryffindor loved their Lions. It almost made Remus want to cry, seeing how happy Sirius was. Half of the team was on their float, some of them walking beside. Remus spotted Logan sporting a rainbow brimmed hat walking with Kasey and returned the peace sign Logan sent up.

“Everyone is decked out, man,” James shouted in Remus’ ear from beside him, Harry on his hip. He and Lily had returned in time for Finn’s birthday. He was wearing a Lions Pride shirt, and Harry had a tiny one to match and a sunhat that practically covered his entire body that Lily kept coming over to adjust. James grinned. “Damn. Good Cup Day.”

“It’s not my Cup Day,” Remus laughed. “But I do sort of feel like this is my day.”

James just smiled, pointing at people for Harry to wave at. “Maybe won’t have to make that distinction next year, eh? Look, Har, see the flags? You want one, bud?”

“Re,” Sirius leaned in, and Remus felt his hand on his back. “Want to walk a bit?”

Remus nodded, eyes finding where Leo, Jackson, Evgeni, and Olli were walking together, keeping time with the floats and talking to the crowd. Leo had a rainbow flag painted on one cheek, Natalie’s work.

Remus felt for his own hat, flipping the colorful brim backwards as he hopped down.

“Hey,” Jackson grinned, throwing an arm around Remus’ shoulders. Evgeni had one of Sergei’s daughters in his arms, chatting with the crowd. He wasn’t wearing Jackson’s rainbow-striped shirt, but it looked like one of the kids had stuck two stickers on one of his cheeks that he wasn’t bothering removing. Remus wondered if he was worried, about his family, or his country, like he had told Sirius. It sent a wave of thankfulness through him, the fact that he was here.

“Nado,” Remus hugged Jackson. “Jesus, seriously, what did you do this summer? You look fit, man.”

“You see him,” Evgeni called over, handing a sharpie back to someone wrapped almost entirely in a flag covered with glitter. “Stare in the mirror, in love.”

“I don’t,” Jackson protested.

Evgeni just shrugged, spinning Sergei’s daughter around. “I’m see you.”

“Well, hand some over,” Remus said.

Jackson just gave him a shake. “You’re going to make the team.”

“Maybe,” Remus groaned out a laugh, knocking him away.

“No maybes,” Sirius said, sidling up to Remus’ side and replacing Jackson’s arm.

“Sirius! Cap!” someone called, and Remus felt Sirius tense a little, as he always did in crowds, or media.

The person calling had short brown hair and seemed to have tailored a loose jersey of Sirius’ into a form-fitting dress. The sleeves were cut and hemmed by the twelves on the sleeves.

“Salut!” they said, accent stiff, and laughed. “I tried.”

That seemed to ease Sirius a little, and Remus tugged him to a stop.

“Salut,” Sirius smiled. “Wow, that’s my jersey?”

They nodded, eyes sliding over to Remus. “It is. My girlfriend was hoping to have a Lupin one so we can match, but…”

The girl beside her, black hair tucked up in a bandana, smiled and threw her hands up. “When are they stocking those! I have two hundred bucks I’m ready to drop, I mean, let’s go before I second guess myself!”

Remus laughed. “Oh man, I’ve been there.”

“With my jersey, ouais?” Sirius grinned was teasing as he signed an autograph and Remus blushed.

“Here,” Sirius took out his phone. “You can give me your phone number, if you’re okay with it, and I’ll get you one? Yeah?”

“Oh…are you kidding?” the girl put a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, I…yes, Cap, you can have my phone number, sure fucking thing.”

They moved along the crowd easily. Sirius grabbed the Cup at one point, walking it along for people to touch just as their entire team had in June. Remus stayed well away.

“No jinxes here,” an older man in a Lions Pride shirt laughed, his arm around his son. He held out his hand. “My entire family’s been Lions fans for generations. Glad to have you on the team.”

His son, the very image of his father, smiled and tentatively held out a sharpie. “Would you sign my shirt? I’ve seen your tapes and everything, I…you’re my favorite. I was thinking about getting out of hockey before you.”

Remus blinked. “I…” he took the sharpie, swallowing around the tightness in his throat. “I’m glad you’re staying. Are you a defenseman?”

He lit up. “How’d you know?”

Remus shrugged, smiling. “You hold yourself like one.”

“I hope that’s a good thing!” Remus heard Olli call from a little ways down.

He laughed. “How did you hear that?”

Remus signed the boy’s shirt, thanked him, and jogged a little to catch up with Sirius.

“I’ll take that,” Jackson grinned, and plucked the Cup from Sirius’ grasp.

“It’s my Cup Day!” Sirius laughed, but wrapped his arm around Remus instead. “Hi.”

“That was my first signature,” Remus said softly, to Sirius only, and Sirius squeezed his shoulders.

“The first of many.”

It was a bit of a blur after that. Natalie brought them ice cream and cold lemonade, which turned Sirius’ kisses even sweeter when they made it back home, out of the heat and stumbling, happy and sun-kissed. Sirius’ entrance hall was dark to Remus’ unadjusted eyes, and he focused on his palms, splayed over Sirius’ broad back. He yelped when a voice rang out from the living room.

“We’re on the couch!” Regulus shouted. “Just so you know!”

Sirius broke the kiss, looking flushed and dazed. “What…why?”

“I live here!” Regulus’ voice called back.

Remus suppressed a smile, and leaned his forehead against Sirius’ chest, trying to calm his breathing and any flush of arousal that had been beginning to stir up.

“Fuck,” Sirius swore. “How did he get home before us?”

“Who’s we?” Remus called out.

“Howdy,” Leo’s voice came.

Sirius sighed. “It’s my Cup Day.”

Remus gave his hip a short pat before walking down the hallway and rounding the corner to find Leo and Regulus slouched on the couch, AC on full blast.

“Right,” Remus nodded. “You’re suppose to be helping Reg pack for school.”

Regulus glanced up from his phone. “There’s twenty different gifs of you jumping down from the float and turning his hat backwards on Twitter.”

Remus blinked. “What?” He didn’t even remember doing that.

Leo nodded, crunching a potato chip. “And we’ve only been looking for ten minutes.”

“Huh,” Sirius said, turning towards the kitchen. He stopped, hesitated for a moment, and turned back. “Let me see.”

Remus huffed out a laugh. “I need water.”

“Donne-moi!” Sirius demanded of Regulus, grabbing for his phone.

“You have your own phone!” Remus made out Regulus’ reply in French.

Remus filled his glass, downed in, and was filling it again when Leo came into the kitchen, rolling his eyes and smiling.

“Thought I’d leave the brothers to fight. Can’t believe I used to be scared of both of them.”

Remus laughed, too. “Right?”

Remus watched Leo grab a glass, spinning his own slowly around on the counter. “Are you…”

Leo glanced up. “Hm?”

Remus took a breath. “Tell me if I’m overstepping, but I know today must’ve been a little…” he took his hat off, the colorful bill bright against the dark stone of the counter.

Leo nodded in understanding, sliding onto a stool. “It wasn’t…hard. It was actually good to see all of the support. I could see it in Finn and Logan, too. Logan is nervous.” He nodded to himself. “More nervous than me and Finn. Understandably. I mean, you know how long he and Finn…” Leo shook his head. “I was happy he got to see that. And Finn was happy, I know, too. Maybe we’ll start making plans. I mean, this summer was just fucking heaven. Just being together. Like, I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy.”

“Me too,” Remus sat on the stool beside him. They smiled at each other, then laughed. “I’m happy for you guys.”

“I am, too,” Leo grinned. “All right, I think me and Reg have to actually put his clothes in suitcases now.”

“Good luck.”

“That boy owns, like, five t-shirts,” Leo drained his glass and put it in the sink. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Remus grabbed a third glass and followed Leo back into the living room where they found Sirius leaning over the back of the couch, squinting at Regulus’ phone. He did a double take when he spotted Remus.

“Hey, where’s your hat?”

Remus snorted. “I’m not a twitter gif. C’mon, I need a shower.”

Regulus raised a teasing eyebrow. “And you need him for that?”

Remus stuck out his tongue. “Yeah.”

Sirius flicked the back of Regulus’ head. “Go pack.”

Remus tugged his t-shirt off on their way up the stairs. “That was wonderful, but fuck do I wish it wasn’t a thousand degrees.”

“I don’t know,” came Sirius’ reply from behind him as they entered their bedroom, followed by his hands on Remus’ hips and his lips against his neck. “When it’s hot, your hair sticks to your neck just…” he kissed just by Remus’ ear gently. “Here.”

Remus bit back a smile. “With sweat.”

“It’s handsome, I think.”

Remus laughed, turning in Sirius’ arms. He was summer tan and happy. Remus didn’t think he’d ever get tired of seeing that grin, one that was more and more present lately. Sirius laughed and made small talk with fans who asked for pictures—even today, he had seemed to almost enjoy the crowds and the media. Remus touched his number twelve necklace. He brought it to his lips. “You’re handsome.”

They stepped into the shower together and stood in the peace and quiet of the beating down water, turned cool against their heated skin. Remus rested his head against Sirius’ chest, and smiled when he felt Sirius lace their fingers together. It wasn’t exactly a new thing anymore, but it still felt new. It had been that way when James, Lily, and Harry had first arrived home and Sirius had done it on the table between them at the restaurant, just as it had been early in June, when Sirius had done it while they waiting in line to board their plane.

Remus looked up, squeezing his hand, and Sirius bent to take Remus’ mouth against his own again. It was softer, but Remus felt just as giddy from the day’s events. A parade. A Cup Day.

He wanted one of his own.

“Love you, mon loup,” he smiled. “Thank you for today.”

Remus ran his hand over Sirius’ broad shoulders. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did everything,” Sirius whispered back. “You are part of me allowing myself things.”

Remus felt his expression soften.

“Heather explained it that way,” Sirius said. “I thought it was well put.”

Heather, the team’s sports psychiatrist. Remus had only actually met her a few times, but Sirius valued her highly, had called her a few times during the off season.

“I like it, too,” he said, and let Sirius pull him close again.

They threw the windows open to let the cooling breeze in once they were back downstairs, and Sirius put steaks on the grill for the two of them.

“Where’d Reg and Nut go?” Sirius asked.

“I think out with some of the boys,” Remus said, and followed as Sirius went back out to the patio. He notched his hip against the door frame. “Hey, do you want to go to the rink tomorrow? All this Cup talk has got me wanting to skate, like, now.”

Sirius tilted his head back and laughed. “With you? Always.”

Remus grinned and padded back over to the counter where the salad was waiting for dressing.

“I’m glad we didn’t end up having everyone over,” Remus said as he tossed it. “As much as I love them.”

Sirius hummed, sliding the screen door of the deck closed. He set the plate and tongs down before wrapping his arms around Remus.

“As much as I love them,” he repeated quietly, lips brushing against Remus’ neck. “I want you all to myself right now.”

Remus leaned back against him. “My thoughts exactly, baby.”

Sirius smiled against his skin. “Glad we’re on the same page. Vanilla hater.”

Remus pinched his arm. “Pineapple hater.”

~

Cole woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs wafting down to his room from the kitchen—and Katie Dumais curled up at the foot of his bed.

He jumped a little, and then sat up slowly. It took him a moment to realize that she wasn’t asleep, but that she was fiddling with a little charm bracelet, her eyes down.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, hi, Katie.”

She looked up, and a grin lit up her face. “Mom says breakfast is ready. I didn’t want to wake you up, even though she told me to.”

He sat up a little more. “How long ago was that?”

Katie wrinkled her nose. “Maybe four hours?”

Cole blinked, and picked up his phone from his nightstand. It was eight-thirty. He glanced back at Katie.

“Can you tell time?” he asked slowly.

“Not really,” she sighed happily, and kept fiddling with her bracelet. “You still have rainbow paint on your face.”

Cole laughed, rubbing a hand over his cheek, where Lily Potter had painted a flag the day before, for the parade. Where the Stanley Cup had been.

It still all felt surreal to say.

“Okay. Um, tell her I’ll be up in a second, okay?”

Katie nodded. “Okay!”

Cole listened to her footsteps scamper all the way up the stairs before he flopped back down on his pillows and chuckled to himself. He gave his teeth a quick brush and followed.

“Bon matin,” Celeste smiled as she flipped a few more pieces of bacon onto a plate. “How did you sleep? I think that heat yesterday tired everyone out.”

Cole slid onto a stool beside Marc and Louis, Katie to his right. “Really good, thanks.”

“The air conditioner isn’t acting up again?” Celeste asked. “Logan was always having trouble with that thing.”

“It didn’t turn on right away, but I fixed it,” Cole smiled when she set a steaming plate of eggs, bacon and fruit in front of him, and then another plate with toast. “My mom’s big with her tool kit, so, I mean, if you ever need anything around the house, I know some stuff. Just so I can…help out. Thank you for letting me stay.”

Celeste beamed. “Oh, sweetheart, we’re not just letting you stay. We’re very happy you’re here. Someone your age shouldn’t be alone, especially with all the pressure that comes with this job. But I will absolutely take you up on that. You wouldn’t know how to build me some planters, would you? Pascal bought the wood ages ago,” she turned back to the sink, waving a spatula. “Always saying he will take care of it, and yet there it sits!”

Cole laughed softly. “Yeah, I can do that. Sounds good.”

“Well, good,” Celeste smiled, pulling her purse over her shoulder. “Now, Pascal is with Sergei for an ice session—which you’re always invited to, he says, by the way—I’m taking Louis to tennis, and Marc to space camp. Layla will be here soon, but do you mind looking after Katie until she gets here? Adele’s up in her room if you have any questions. She’ll know.”

Cole nodded, trying to swallow the eggs quickly. “Of course. No problem.”

Celeste smiled. “She loves you enough already, she’ll be no trouble.”

“She’s always trouble,” Louis mumbled.

Celeste tisked, but kissed his head. “Come on, up. Cole, you have some of the boys’ numbers, too, right?”

“Um,” Cole thought of Sirius Black’s number in his phone from when he called him. “Yes?”

“Good. I know you don’t have a car yet, and you’re always welcomed to ours when it’s available, but if you ever need a ride anywhere, I’m sure any one of them will drive you.”

Cole, for the life of him, didn’t think he would ever be able to bring himself to call Sirius Black up and ask him to drive him to, what, Target? Jesus.

“Right,” Cole tried for a smile and knew it came out nervous. “Thanks.”

Katie did turn out to be a pretty easy kid. Even if she did seem to switch activities at a rapid pace. She drew, and then she watched half of a TV show, and then she was hungry, but she did all of it herself. After less than 30 minutes she had parked both of them on the couch where they were stringing beads for necklaces.

“I’ll make you Lions colors,” she said seriously.

That had been Cole’s best—and only—idea. He glanced at the multi-colored kit. “What colors do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

Cole smiled. “All right. What’s your charm bracelet?” He nodded to the small silver ring around her wrist.

“It’s from Tremzy,” Katie thrust her wrist forward. “He gets me one every one of my birthdays. There’s a hockey stick, because we love hockey, and an ice cream cone, because we love ice cream, and this is a book because we read together, and—”

There was the ding that told Cole that Layla had arrived, coming in from the garage, and Katie was off again.

“Hi,” Cole said, leaning against the kitchen doorframe.

Layla looked up from trying to put her things down and hug Katie at the same time. “Hey, Cole.”

“How’s it going?” Cole asked, feeling decidedly more prepared this time. Layla was in a green tank-top today, but her same shorts and gold rings.

“Busy,” she laughed. “I actually have my first orientation this evening, at the rink.”

Cole nodded. “Nice. I’ve never actually been inside. Well, not yet, I guess.”

Layla straightened at that. “Well…I’m driving over once Celeste gets home, just to see the place first.” She seemed to take a breath. “Do you want to come with?”

~

They didn’t have full gear, but the chilled rink was a relief against the sweat they worked up anyway. Remus borrowed a helmet—his own hadn’t been sent out yet—and used his old, worn in CCM skates.

“I can still beat you in these,” Remus panted as he skated backwards, tapping the puck back and forth and trying to gauge which way Sirius was going to dodge first.

“Oh, I know,” Sirius said, then lifted his right foot and went left.

Remus knocked the puck out of his stick towards the boards, and it sent them both chasing it.

“You use that trick too much!” Remus laughed, it echoing across the empty rink, as he shoved Sirius against the glass, the puck trapped between his skate blade and the foot of the boards.

“What about this one?” Sirius said, and turned to press their mouths together. Remus smiled into it, and it was enough to allow Sirius to steal the puck back.

“No!” Remus laughed as Sirius carried the puck expertly across the blue line, winding his stick up and taking a deadly slap shot, notching it perfectly in the upper left corner of the empty goal.

He dropped to a knee, sliding into a celebration before wrapping around the goal with a final whoop and crashing back into Remus for another kiss.

“Wanna run plays?” Sirius asked. “I’ll be your center if you’ll be my winger.”

Remus smiled as they reset themselves, pushing the used pucks towards the boards. “That might not happen.”

“Maybe I have more pull than you think.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Not that much, baby. What’s going to happen is I’ll start on the fourth line, go from there. Anything else and every journalist in the city would go batshit crazy.”

Sirius just scooped another puck into the goal, then hooked his arms over his stick, the body behind his neck. “Wouldn’t be our first time causing that.”

Remus smiled. “True.” He nudged Sirius towards center ice. “Face-off.”

Sirius took his helmet off to push his hair back. “Let’s do it.”

Remus was just tugging off his shirt, smiling as he listened to Sirius rattle of plans for the season, when he heard two voices laughing from the hallway. Sirius’ smile dropped, and he narrowed his eyes at the door.

“Don’t know,” Sirius said. “Hey, where are we meeting the guys for—”

“Should we check out the locker room?” one of the outside voices said—higher. “Do you think it’s open?”

“Non,” Sirius mumbled under his breath, grabbing for the back of his own shirt.

The door opened hesitantly at first, then wider, revealing Layla and Cole.

Cole flushed, and Layla’s mouth opened, then closed.

“Oh my god,” she said. “Sorry, we didn’t think…”

Remus glanced at Sirius, but when he didn’t say anything, just pretending to fiddle grumpily with his bag, he waved them off.

“Hey, we were just swinging by for a quick skate. It’s not our locker room,” he smiled. “Well, not only ours. You guys have the same idea?”

“Not skating, maybe,” Layla replied, twisting one of her braids around her finger. She looked up at Cole, who still looked like he thought he was in the wrong place, and smiled. “But neither of us have really gotten to look around yet, so, we thought we would.”

Remus smiled, using his dirty t-shirt to wipe sweat from his brow. “Nice. Well, maybe Cap and I can give you a tour or something some time.”

Sirius glanced up. “Marls does that.”

Remus tried to send Sirius a look with his eyes, but Sirius just glanced mournfully towards what Remus thought might be the video review room.

“Well…” Remus said hesitantly.

“We’ll keep looking around,” Layla said quickly. “See you guys around.”

Remus watched them to make sure the door was closed, then turned and punched Sirius in the arm.

“Quoi?” Sirius asked.

“Grumpy.”

“I liked it just us,” Sirius mumbled. “I thought we could plan plays or—or watch tape.”

Remus laughed, pressing his forehead to Sirius’ chest. “You’re such a baby.”

One corner of Sirius’ mouth raised. “So?”

“You wanted the rookie to stop making moon eyes at you,” Remus said. “Here’s your chance.”

“D’accord,” Sirius’ grin spread as he gathered Remus closer by his hips. “But will you keep making moon eyes at me?”

Remus leaned up for a gentle kiss. “I’m going to ask them to lunch. Wait here, Captain, you scare the rookie.”

“I don’t,” Sirius sighed, and Remus pushed out the locker room door.

“Hey,” Remus jogged to catch up as Cole and Layla turned at his voice. “Us and some of the other guys are planning to get lunch. How about it? You, too, Layla.”

Layla blinked. “Seriously?”

Remus laughed. “Team lunch isn’t a team lunch without the PT. Or, one of them, at least.”

Layla grinned. “Right. Well, I’d love to.”

Cole nodded quickly. “I—yeah. Yeah, cool. That rooftop place again?”

“You’re already picking up on team favorites, I see.”

Cole smiled sheepishly. “Kuny makes us go there every time.”

“It’s the sushi,” Remus laughed. “He’s a man obsessed. Well, cool. Meet you there in twenty?”

Layla jingled her keys. “See you there.”

“Sushi,” Evgeni all but moaned as he picked up a piece of yellowtail.

“Jesus, Kuns,” Jackson said. “You can’t eat all of that by yourself.”

Evgeni was chewing with his eyes closed. “You don’t know.”

“All right,” Thomas leaned forward, folding his sunglasses into his shirt in the shade of their umbrella. “What do we think this season, boys? Predictions, let me hear them.”

They all looked to Sirius first, who leaned back in his chair, one arm over the back of Remus’. He took a sip of his iced tea.

“Rangers,” he said finally.

“Uh-huh,” James nodded.

“Same,” Layla said, taking a spoonful of her miso soup.

“Caps, maybe,” Sirius continued.

“Definitely,” Remus said.

“I’m feeling Avs?” Thomas offered. “And I don’t want to say Snakes, but…yuck.”

“More like Vegas,” Remus said.

The table paused, and Remus just shook his head.

“It’s true,” he said, glancing at Cole and Layla, trying to decide if they’d noticed the shift in the air. He had to be able to talk about this. About him. "They’re deep this year.”

“Yeah,” Cole said softly. “Greyback’s killer.”

Remus felt the entire table tense and felt immediately guilty. Cole didn’t know what he had said, and Remus all but watched him wonder if he’d said something wrong.

“And us,” Thomas grinned, slapping Cole on the back. “We’ve got Lupin now. We’ve got Reyes.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but laughed. He tried to express his thanks silently, and Thomas winked at him.

This felt different. He had known it would. Team dinners would be his dinners now, not a friendly tag-along invite. Driving to practice with Sirius, they would go through almost the same routine, not split off for his office and the locker room. These were his teammates. He’d win and lose with them, and they with him, in a way they hadn’t before. Sitting there, in the sunshine that was going to turn colder, Remus looked forward to a year of this.

[inkedtae]

a brew of wings ⇾ myg. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ dragon!yoongi x witch!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾  daechwita inspired, fantasy, magic realism, smut, fluff, angst-ish, hybrid au, shifter au, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾  your tiny tea shop is the perfect front for harbouring hybrid fugitives

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 10.3k 

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ mentions of violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of captivity, mentions of death, hard dom!yoongi, lip piercing!yoongi, big dicc!yoongi, tattooed!yoongi, sub!reader, tea shop owner!reader, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), rough sex, a lil dirty talk, pet names, daddy kink, oral (m. receiving), multiple orgasms, begging, teasing, spanking, a lil choking, spit play, breath play

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ happy halloween!! speical thanks to selene (@jksangelic​) for helping me out a bit with logisitics!!! enjoy :)

♕ This is dedicated to @kkulmoon​. My bestest soulmate!!!

♕ banner/border by ⇾ @suqakoo (jiji is wonderful and deserves all the love and this is a beautiful banner)

♕ beta’d by ⇾ @nottodayjjk (a hundred kisses and thanks to this gems for always being there for me~~)

♕ le playlist 

In the humble village of Daegu, sandwiched between a blacksmith and mechanic, a tiny tea shop lives - exactly where Namjoon said it would be. But, not at all like his mother had described all those years ago. Technology has bled into every corner of her once little world. Yoongi wonders if she would still recognize it as he watches customers filter in and out from under his wickered hat.  The tea shop seems all too busy to resemble anything close to a hybrid asylum, but Namjoon was specific. Perhaps Yoongi shouldn’t trust knights of the king. Most have a reputation for hybrid mistreatment. However, there isn’t much logic in letting Yoongi run so far only to be captured in an obscure tea shop. And besides, Namjoon is a friend. Perhaps the closest he’d encountered in a long while.

“She’s going to scold you.”

“Nix loves me too much to scold me.”

Nix. The familiar name redirects Yoongi’s attention to the two men walking by him. The taller one, with features so symmetrical they almost seem unreal, rests a fishing pole over his shoulder. The shorter one, with the sharper tongue, carries a bag that clatters with glass. They enter the shop causally tossing curses at each other. Yoongi reaches into his pocket, unfolding the little piece of parchment Namjoon ripped to scribble on. 

utopia, nix, huckleberry lemon on ice.

One glance up at the flickering neon sign above the storefront attempts to spell Teatopia, but the first strokes of light seem to be dead. Instead, it glows atopia. Tremors of the midnight train suddenly resonate around the evening market. All lights flicker and dishes clatter, though the villagers' conversations carry on. Their affairs remain uninterrupted, eyes focused only on each other. Yoongi clenches his fists and digs his feet into the ground to steady himself until the train finally passes. When he glances back up at the neon sign, parts of the first ‘a’ flicker out to read utopia. 

Rolling his shoulders back, Yoongi bears his fangs behind sealed lips, as a precaution, then pushes the door open. A bell chimes. Patrons sit around velvet draped tables. They engage in  lively conversations, breaking steamed buns together and sipping on all sorts of tea. But, it’s the steady crackles of the fireplace that pique Yoongi’s interest. The amber embers beneath the flames soothe the heaviness upon his chest. One breathful of floral smoke, and he sinks into comfort.

That is until a black cat purrs down by his feet. Yoongi snaps his gaze down to find it circling between his legs then prancing off behind the counter. The two men bickering outside sit at the bar in front of a woman looking more unimpressed the longer they speak. Yoongi retracts his fangs, eyes fixated on the way your brows dance with annoyance. And that dress. He doesn’t care much for fashion but you seem to wear it differently, simply. Most people, much like him, travel with layers. Only a black dress clothes you, sleeves flourishing at your wrists and laces around your cleavage. Though, he really shouldn’t let his eyes wander.

Yoongi ignores the heat rushing to his cheeks as he approaches the counter. The black cat sits by the one-eyed register. Its tail swirls and emerald eyes remain on him. He tentatively takes a seat by a sleeping old man, a couple seats away from the arguing men. 

“Nixy,” the shorter one smirks. “You wouldn’t scold me, right.”

You, Nix it would seem, cross your arms under your chest. You hold a blank expression until the taller one sighs and grumbles, “He stopped for a pack of stray dogs.”

“Jin! You promis- He purposely mislead us to fish for a couple of hours!” 

Jin gasps then nudges his friend. “Guk, I swear I’ll kill you.” 

Guk scoffs, returning the shove. He stands from his seat and attempts to tower over Jin, only to get a hand slice to the neck. A quick exchange of smacking hands breaks out between the two, the sleeping old man beside Yoongi suddenly wide awake. 

“Land one in the gut!” He shouts.

Yoongi winces at the volume. He mutters a curse under his breath before his annoyed gaze meets yours. You watch him for a beat, two, three, then blink your attention back to Jin and Guk. A wave of your hand separates them with a slide back. Frustration still rages in their gazes. Yoongi holds his breath, diverting his gaze to the floor. Recognizing rage in others often triggers his hybridity. The dragon tickles in his palms as thick, black talons replace his nails. Yoongi shoves his hands in his pockets, eyes shifty, breath heavy. 

You bite your lip. Jin and Guk fall silent, their words cinching in their throats. “I don’t want to have to send Apolla to babysit you,” you sigh. The black cat purrs in hiccups, as if laughing. You let a smirk grace your lips, continuing, “This next batch needs to be delivered on time.” 

With a twirl of your finger, glass vials, now filled to the brim with multi-coloured herbs, float back into Guk’s bag. You, then, beckon the pouty men closer. They shuffle towards the counter. You tug two tiny crystal pendants from your charm bracelet and pin one on each of their sleeves. “These should help you stick to your path,” you mutter. “Soak them in saltwater once all the orders are complete.” 

Though they roll their eyes, both men nod in understanding. Guk offers an innocent smile, Jin a playful one, before turning to the door. Whatever spell you had over their voices seems to wear off by the time they exit. “Little punk,” are Jin’s final words. 

Yoongi’s hands clam with sweat as his talons retract under the cover of his pockets. He sighs heavily. Gaze shaking behind his short hair, he shifts in his seat. The old man’s snoring returns sinking in with the crackling fireplace seamlessly. Yoongi wishes he had this man’s freedom. The ability to fall in and out of sleep in a public place without fearing for his safety. Is it his identity or the shop that makes him feel this secure? 

“What can I get you?” 

He flinches. Meeting your curious gaze, he mutters, “Huckleberry lemon.” 

“Infused or blended?” 

Momentary panic flashes in his eyes. If you notice, you don’t make it known. “On ice.” 

The action is quiet, subtle, but Yoongi hears it clearly. Your breath hitches. You swallow thickly, looking him over once, twice, then ask, “On or in?”

“On.”

You wave a hand. The lights of the shop flicker out, candles taking their place. Yoongi shoots to his feet, talons and fangs returning. His temples suddenly ache where his horns should be. Oh yes, Yoongi remembers, Horns surface in defense too. Setting his jaw, he ignores whatever sentiment scratches at his throat and whips his gaze around the store, searching for the first attack. However, he merely finds the patrons preparing to leave. They seem all too familiar with the switch between electric to flame. A few of them even mutter curses under their breath. 

The old man stretches by Yoongi, to which he flinches. “Another rogue broomstick?” He asks you. 

“A mop,” you correct before tugging on your ear. A loud clattering boom sounds from the closest by the end of the counter. Yoongi jumps back, looking to you for an answer. You avoid his gaze. 

The customers bid you a goodnight. You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. They swim with panic instead. Yoongi perks his ears towards you, instantly picking up the quick beat of your heart. It’s hammering, blood sprinting around its cycle within your veins. He glances down at your hands. Your nails have scratched their way to the edge of the wooden counter, knuckles tense as you grip onto it.

Once all the customers have left, you circle around the counter and ask, “Is Namjoon okay? What happened?”

Yoongi stumbles back, eager to create distance amongst you. “Yeah, he’s fine. He told me you’ll find me a place to stay.” 

“Where is he?”

“Seoul.”

You pause. Not a single breath dares escape you as you assess his word. Yoongi raises a brow. What exactly is your connection to Namjoon, he wonders. You went out of your way to find out as quickly as possible if anything was wrong. He licks his lips when realization finally colours your features. A bitter curse slips past your maroon lips. Without another word, you rush back around the counter and begin scribbling onto a loose piece of parchment. You roll it up once you’re done. “Apolla,” you call. The black cat leaps from counter top to top, landing by you effortlessly. You slip the note into her collar and whisper, “Make sure they read it and seriously consider it before leaving to the next, okay?” 

Apolla meows, rubs her head in your hand then jumps off the counter. Yoongi peers over the counter to see where she’s gone, but he can’t spot her anywhere in the candle lit darkness. 

“Do you have the note he gave you?” 

Yoongi snaps his attention back to you. Your back faces him again. He digs into his pocket and pulls out the tiny piece of parchment. You pluck it right out of his hand and roll it up with your own note then whistle a high melody. Distant hoots grow louder behind him. He looks to the door as it opens on its own accord. A black owl swoops into the shop. You tie the message to its left leg, offer the owl what looks like a rat tail, then send it off. The door shuts the moment it's gone, locks clicking. 

Finally turning to Yoongi, you tip your finger up and his hat falls to his back. Yoongi glares. Your sporadic writings and dismissals might have been interesting at first, but now he’s looking for answers. How is this witch supposed to help him? Namjoon promised he’d be safe here and, though the shop feels secure, you do not. 

“Agust Dragon,” you whisper.

Yoongi furrows his brows. His gaze shifts to the draped windows and locked doors. Who told you of his arrival? Perhaps this was a trap. Was it to see how far he could get, to have this entire little town witness his defeat? The cruelty of the king does not know restraint. If anyone was to lead him back to his mother’s village to further humiliate him, it would be the king. Yoongi rolls his shoulder back, inhaling deeply as his talons surface once more. Taking a step back, he asks, “How do you know that? He didn’t write that in the note.”

Your eyes glow with concern. Had Yoongi not been fixating on every change, he wouldn’t have caught the underlying tone of your gaze. It’s almost as if you’re questioning just how much he knows. You wave a hand at the radio. Through the speakers, a robotic voice informs, We interrupt your scheduled programming to alert a hybrid breach in Seoul. Agust Dragon has escaped royal captivity. All-

With another wave, it switches back off. “It goes on for a while about your scar too,” you add. 

Tremors of the taser used to detain him flash within his veins. The glint of that pearl sword blinds him with the haunting pain. Between those stone walls, he fully transformed. Had he known it would be the last time, he would’ve spread his wings wide, tipped his head to the sky and bellowed a cloud of fire. Within the smug, he’d inhale deeply and do it all over again. Perhaps he would’ve escaped then. Perhaps he would’ve endured more scars. At least, Yoongi thinks, I would still be a dragon.  

The clatter of dishes pulls him out of his thoughts. He blinks his attention back to where you stood, only to find you mixing something in a black caludon. Jars of various contents hover around you, some peaking at the mixture over your shoulder. Yoongi watches you move further in the kitchen behind the counter like you’re floating yourself. Movements so swift, sharp, susintically enchanting, he can’t take his eyes off you no matter how hard he tries. Your power is an outlaw to nature yet looks so natural. Is it a charm of who you are or who you’ve become?

“I’m not sure what’s nourishing for a dragon,” you say over your shoulder. “I try to adjust the glamour to the hybrid. There isn’t much about dragons.”

“Yet.”

The speed of your gaze to his soul makes him shiver. You don’t regard him with hostility, but something much worse: curiosity. The very bane of his existence. Only, hints of concern cushion the blow of this realization. Yoongi can sense your intentions in the way you calculate your words. You explained what you’re working on without prompting. You ensure he knows you’re here to help by mentioning nutrients rather than sedatives. Yoogni may not know you, but he knows Namjoon well enough to know that if he trusts you enough with this information, then you might not be as big a threat as your curiosity is. 

You return to the counter with a red and gold patterned teapot. The colours swirl around a white base in slithering motions. Yoongi assumes it’s a simple meld of lines until he makes out the bold eyes of a dragon. Shooting you a glare, he asks, “Is this a joke?” 

The smirk on your face does not comfort his annoyance. Whether or not you recognize this, is hard for Yoongi to tell. There’s something painfully unreadable in your eyes. You never regard him with pity, even if he knows his face is bruised, clothes dirty and hair smells all too strong to ignore. Something else laces your looks that soothes and riles him all at once. 

“It’s charmed to reflect your greatest desire,” you explain. 

Yoongi pauses, looking down at the teapot again. The wings of the dragon flap then spread wide, like gliding over the winds. He blinks back his frustrations, reverting his attention to the flower painted cup in your hands. Regret pricks his heart, his conscious scolding his tongue for lashing out all too quickly. Just because he can’t completely trust you, doesn’t particularly mean you don’t have pure intentions regardless. 

He clears his throat and mutters, “Sorry.”

After pouring dark violet tea into the cup, Yoongi watches as you squeeze a bit of honey in. You shrug his apology off while giving the tea a good stir. Sliding the cup towards him, you tentatively search his gaze and ask, “So, what did you see?”

Yoongi ignores the question. He keeps his attention focused on the tea, bracing himself before that first, initial sip. The moment the spice soaked chia touches his lips, he is thrown into a euphoric tranquility. Notes of cinnamon, ginger, anise stars and peppercorn evade his senses. His body voluntarily melts into the warm comfort spreading within. And that little bit of honey you added, offers just the right amount of sweetness, and that’s not something Yoongi particularly cares for. 

It takes pulling the cup away from his mouth for him to realize he’d drank it all. Face warm, he glances up at you. He’d never really met a witch before, merely seen them around. He doesn’t remember his mother mentioning any in Daegu when she resided here. They seemed to flock around Ilsan, near the wooded mountains. It’s rather common knowledge that the closer they are to nature, the stronger they become. Their strength usually also manifests greaty in covens. So, why is this one alone? 

Wiping his mouth, Yoongi holds the cup out. He may not completely understand your motives, but that tea is too warm to turn down. You smile and refill it. He takes another sip, removing the cup from his face so as to not to chug it all at again. You pick up on his actions and quietly giggle to yourself. Yoongi bites back a smile. Maybe it’s the tea, but he finds something about your laugh that’s all too pleasing. It feels familiar, a little sentimental, and profoundly personal. 

“What’s your name?”

He raises a brow. Was Agust not enough for you? Or do you know that it isn’t who he really is? “How did you-”

“You look like the cautionary type,” you interrupt. “The type to bear his fangs and talons on the slight chance that danger is just around the corner. So, I would assume you didn’t tell whoever caught you your real name.” 

And he thought he hid that so well. You’re smarter than he expected you to be. Or perhaps, more accurately, you’re more perceptive than expected. The longer he remains in your presence, the more he realizes he has completely underestimated you. Originally, you were just some middle maiden, redirecting lost hybrids upon a knight’s command. Now, Yoongi is starting to wonder if perhaps you’re the one in command. However, if you can sway knights of the king, why wouldn’t you use that power for something greater than relocating refuge hybrids? Why not destroy the system all together? 

Either way, your potential summons a ghost of smirk to his lips. “And why should I tell you?” His tone is almost teasing, but simply because Yoongi is curious now. How much attention are you offering?

You rest elbows on the counter and lean on your chin in your hands while trying to hide a smile. “I’m (Y/N).”

In a reactive loop, he mentally repeats your name until it’s seared into his brain. His dragon hums in approval, like it was expecting it, expecting you. Yoongi presses on. “What’s the point of Nix then?”

“A coven name burns into your soul,” you whisper. “Much like a dragon does when born.”

“I thought you said you don’t know much about dragons.”

You smile, rolling your eyes like he’s the one being tested. Sitting up, you turn back to the kitchen and ask, “Have you eaten?”

Yoongi barely parts his lips before you cut in again and call over your shoulder, “Or would you rather get washed up first? Hmm, that might be best. Finish your tea and I’ll show you to the bath.”

A snap of your fingers and the kitchen comes alive. You shut the curtains into the back, but Yoongi makes out the charmed sponges and dishes being cleaned. The closest that clattered not to long ago, opens just enough for a broom and mop to waddle out. They rush to the back, the mop bumping into the broom. For a moment, the two nudge each other back and forth, until your echoing steps scare them into continuing on their path to the kitchen. They slip between the curtains. 

In near silence, Yoongi sits alone in the shop. The distant spray of the sink only just breaks the hearth’s crackling concentration. Every sip of tea settles the fuming dragon. It’s something about the spicy kick and earthy tones of mint - at least he thinks it’s mint. He wonders what gives it this violet colour. Is it the magic? Is it you?

It’s rather odd, now that he thinks about it. Three days of travel, of near survival only to find solstice in a cup of tea. Perhaps that’s the true magic you offer. A sense of peace is a sip away? Or maybe it’s the lack of concrete walls and iron chains. His mother would enjoy this tea. His father would look forward to the food. But Yoongi craves the steam of a bath, the warmth of a pillow. And the dragon within yearns for your presence. If Yoongi wasn’t so sunk in tranquility, he’d search for a reason. Alas, he cannot be bothered. 

“You ready?” 

The chime of your voice snaps his gaze away from the teapot. Yoongi glances down at his cup to find it empty again. Why can’t he every savour the taste? 

With a nod, he hops off the stool. “How far is it?”

You toss him a confused look. Nodding towards the right, you reply with a chuckle, “Just a couple of steps.”

The teapot and cup hop off the counter and into the kitchen as Yoongi watches you disappear down a hallway. You return with a half-smile, regarding him as if he’s the strange one, enchanting dishes and speaking in half-truths. 

“Well, come on!”

A sharp retort sits on the tip of his tongue. Yoongi swallows it before it can cause more damage than necessary. Orders don’t resonate too well with the dragon. It burns his throat with disobedience. There is a better way to do things: his way. He doesn’t particularly like being forced into another. Still, he follows in silence. 

You lead him to the tiny office that looks more disorganized than anything else. Layers of loose parchment and letters bury a mahogany desk. Dried wax, leaked from overused candles, splatters over every surface. Blankets atop a sapphire and opal patterned carpet lay in disarray. You bend over in front of him, his face reddening and eyes shooting to the ceiling, to find cobwebs and burned lights tangled around the beams. With a grunt, you flip up the carpet and a little hatch appears. A stomp, two, three and it clicks open. A dark staircase makes itself known. 

“After you,” you smile. 

Yoongi furrows his brows. Are you insane or simply numb to your own oddities? He’s having a hard time deciding when you flash him such an innocent smile. Glancing back at the dark staircase, even his dragon begins to question your sanity. “You want me to enter this basement first? The hidden, dark basement?”

It takes a moment but his point finally dawns on you. Brows shooting up, you let out a nervous giggle and decide to enter first. “It’s not a basement,” is all you offer as a means of comfort. Or at least that’s what he thinks you say. You’re about halfway down before saying anything at all, voice distant and echoing. 

Where else can he go, he wonders. It would be hard to find a hidden place after being spotted in the town. He doesn’t even know the terrain that well and there isn’t just some tree he can climb or cave to scurry into. You’re unfortunately his last hope for safety. Perhaps you just have a skewed version of it. Yoongi just hopes it's not as skewed as the king’s. 

Against his cautionary judgement, he descends. Each step beckons him closer to warmth, a reality he wasn’t expecting. An orange hue dances against the stone walls as he reaches the last few steps of the spiral staircase. 

You’re right. Again. It’s not at all a basement, but a home. Yoongi inherits the serenity, familiarity and security the moment he arrives. Book shelves galore, candles a plenty and belevenance at every glance. You move around the living room with a pillow and a stack of blankets. Dropping by the foot of the emerald couch, your attention falls back to Yoongi. In his dirty clothes and unwashed hair, he feels so out of place from the purity your home radiates. 

“The bathroom is just down that hall,” you say, pointing to one of five hallways on the right side. 

You’re odd. Yoongi didn’t think that would be something he’d respond to. He nods as a thanks, ignoring the way your generosity strokes his heart. Perhaps, he wonders while shuffling down the hall, humans are wretched. And witches, the so-called horrors of horror, are benignant. Or, it could just be that you are. Either way, Yoongi has witnessed something tonight that he hadn’t in a long time. Acceptance. 

He spares you one last glance, hand hovering over the brass doorknob. You’re holding a wand and attempting to transform the couch into a bed. The dragon reminds him that you don’t know him, where he comes from, how long he’d traveled, or what he’d done to be chained. All you know is a friend sent him here and his hybridity makes him undesirable. Such a luxury, the dragon whispers, to trust and be trusted. 

Agust doesn’t like to talk about himself. You learned this quickly. After the first night, you tried to pry again. Who else escaped? How long had he known Namjoon? Any chance he’ll be offering that name now? But, he won’t budge. Sometimes, when he’s tired of all your questions, he’d walk away. The excuse is usually that he’s looking for a book, but you haven’t seen him pick up anything besides an anthology of flight. You decided to give up all together, not daring to ask the real question on your mind, like how he got that scar. 

Other times, however, he’ll turn the questions onto you. Maintaining eye contact, he’d listen to each answer and engage in a little conversation about each point. Three weeks have elapsed, and you still have yet to decide if this is part of his diverting tactic or if he’s genuinely interested. In both cases, it’s good to know that he’s willing to have a conversation about something. 

It’s also reassuring to find that he’s adapted to your routine seamlessly. He mentioned something about wanting to help out around the shop his third morning in Daegu. The look on his face was too precious to deny. Curious, unsure, tentative, he muttered the question like it meant everything and nothing to him all at once. You were wondering if he knew that Apolla still hadn’t returned with news then, but now you’re sure. He glances at her food bowl every morning, as if looking for signs of her presence. 

Three weeks is the longest she’d ever looked for a safehouse. You expected that not many people would want to harbour a known fugitive, but hoped that someone would. Most hosts recognize the danger of associating with a hybrid. The consequences are the same - execution. Perhaps risks run higher when a face is attached to a name and continuously circling the news. 

Your greatest regret, however, is how relieved you are that he won’t be leaving. Sure, Agust is stand-offish and too blunt at times, but there’s just something about him that reels you in. The rasp of his voice, the indifferent wonder in his eyes, how he walks like he rather be flying is endearing. He almost floats with determined desolation, like he digs the very hole he’s in to get out. The deeper he is, the stronger he becomes. You’re not sure if you find that admirable, but it’s something merely Agust-esque. 

He leans on the counter now, reading that same anthology again. You’re sure this is his fourth time through it. He still soaks in every word and takes his time with each page. A customer approaches the counter with a bright smile. You stop cleaning one of the tables to watch Agust deliberately ignore him. Being a dragon, he can sense when someone is near and how they might be feeling.You know this from the stories your coven would trade. Dragons, being a rarity, are something like gods to witches; you haven’t really met one before Agust. 

“Good evening,” the customer greets. He hops onto one of the stools as Agust ignores him. His smile wavers. “S-sir?”

“Shh.”

The customer blinks. He looks around as if wondering if he’d really just been shushed. “I would-”

“Shh.” 

You sigh, muttering a quiet plea to the gods under your breath. Then, you catch it, the smirk plaything on Agust’s lips. It’s so tiny, hidden behind an annoyed persona, that if you hadn't been paying such close attention you would’ve missed it. He’s not ignoring the customer to gain a reaction out of them, but out of you. And for some odd reason, that makes your heart skip a beat. 

Agust flips the page then finally acknowledges the customer. An amused look holds his features as the customer stutters their order. “Orange basil?” He questions, hints of disgust drenched in his tone. Before the man can part his lips to reply, Agust sighs and shrugs. He looks at you, and raises a brow. It’s rather teasing, silently asking why you’re staring. 

After wiping your hands, you carry the tray of teacups and little teapots back to the counter. The magic takes over once you stand by Agust. He follows your every movement, eyes lingering on the sway of your hips for a few seconds too long. 

“Jimin,” you greet, ignoring Agust like he had done to the customer. 

He picks up on your actions quickly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “Suck up,” he whispers. 

“Is he supposed to be behind the counter?” Jimin asks. He avoids Agust’s gaze, knowing his question would earn him a glare. 

“Not with an attitude,” you reply with a bright smile. 

Agust rolls his eyes, prepared to chuckle until he hears Jimin laugh. He sighs as if the daily customer is intruding. Within seconds, his interest in the conversation falls. That cursed anthology consumes his attention all over again. 

You mask your disappointment with business, turning to the kitchen. The caldron already heard the order and began it’s brew just as you have enchanted it to do. Agust knows this. He’s watched you recharm the pots every morning. And every time you run back here, you know he notices. Sometimes you can feel his eyes following you when you walk away from him. There’s a faint pull in his gaze, like he’s pleading for your return to his side. At times, you find yourself longing after him too when he’s in such close but distant proximity. 

A quiet hoot shatters all your thoughts. You rush back to the counter in time to find the door burst open and Grako swoon in. Agust already had his gaze locked on the glass, his inner dragon probably having picked up the thumping flaps of feather in the wind. 

Some customers gasp and duck agains their tables. You ignore their confused stares, knowing they’ll chalk this up to one of your strange quirks. Grako lands on the counter, scaring Jimin enough to make him jump out of his seat. Agust enjoys the sight a little too much. 

“Can you get the seeds by the sink for me?” You ask Agust, hoping to grant Jimin a moment without ridicule. Without a word, he makes his way to the kitchen. 

You fight every instinct to follow after his frame and focus on the owl. Searching for Namjoon’s reply, your heart sinks when you don’t find parchment on the left leg. Your message looks untouched on the right. Untying the string holding it together, you unroll the parchment to find the unchanged message. 

Agust sets the sealed bag of seeds on the counter. Grako turns to face him. You do your best to suppress a shaky sigh, but Agust hears it anyways. He ignores the owl eyeballing him and shifts closer to you. The action surprises you enough to distract from your worries. Agust never cared for less distance. Yet, he stands close enough to feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” He mutters.

Though you want to tell him, you know now is not at all the right time. One too many pairs of eyes lock on you, various ears perking in your direction. You force a smile and shake your head. “Nothing at all,” you reply in the steadiest voice you can muster. 

He nods. He doesn’t believe it, but nods. “How often do your charms work?” 

You raise a brow. “Often.”

“So are the sponges supposed to wring sink water all over the floor?”

Agust is clever. You never doubted this. He’s perspicacious, calculating and above all downright angelic. However, you try not to let that last detail overtake you too much. It’s just that pierced lip and dark tattoo peeking from under his tunic stun you from time to time. The messy hair, undercut and dark, and that scar that lure you more than they should. It’s all too pure to be so rough, much like his personality. 

No, wait, you’ve gotten ahead of yourself again. Agust is clever - yes. He knows just how to get his way with you every time. Anything he wants, you usually offer. His reference of rogue cleaning supplies is just one example of his advantageous perception. Tugging on your ear, you sent the sponges acraze around the kitchen. A cacophony of broken dishes and spilled cauldrons echo throughout the shop. You wonder if you tugged too hard or perhaps used a stronger spell than intended. Did you even recharm the sponges or the entire kitchen? 

All conversation halts to the loud mess transpiring behind the curtain. Agust nudges your elbow, reminding you of the switch to flames when enchantments “malfunction.” You mutter a quiet, oh then wave a trembling hand to the ceiling. The lights flicker a few times before the half-hearted spell finally works. 

“But-” Jimin tries to say only to have Agust hush him again with a finger upon his lips. Jimin sighs, following the rest of the customers out. 

Agust waits for the doors to lock before fully facing you. “So?”

You’re not sure what Agust’s relationship was with Namjoon. You always assumed it was closer enough to trust, but how close is that for Agust? Did Namjoon know his real name? The last thing you want to do is sadden him with your assumptions about your best friend’s silence. However, as you part your lips to lie, you find you are simply incapable of the action when it comes to Agust. It’s not just that he will automatically catch on, but that the act itself dries your mouth. It would feel awkward to lie, perhaps even disgusting. 

“He didn’t reply.”

“It’s been gone for a month.”

“I know.”

He searches your eyes. Fingertips hovering near yours, he inhales half a breath. “Maybe he went back to Ilsan?”

Namjoon told him about Ilsan? Your heart festers with jealousy, regrettably towards Namjoon. If Agust knows of Ilsan, then Namjoon must know his real name. The fact that you didn't mention a name at all in your note might have tipped him against replying. You know Namjoon well enough to know he would take the safest option. Is that where Agust picked up his cautionary habit? No, you mustn’t entertain this petty frustration. So what if Namjoon is closer to Agust than you are? They probably spent more time together too. Another wave of annoyance attacks your chest. That possibility seems to irk you more than soothe you as it was meant to.

Sliding the piece of parchment and a pen towards him, you mutter, “Write your name. The one he’d know.” 

Agust pauses. You don’t spare him a second glance. It’s childish, you know, but you can't help but be a bit peeved with him. Your mind is actively reminding you that Agust and Namjoon are their own people and do not need to have a smaller relationship than you and Agust do. Your heart can’t shut up about it though. It invades your thoughts with questions that attack your insecurities. Have you been too nice? Too mean? Too lazy with your magic or too powerful? Is he intimidated or simply more comfortable around men than he is around women? Feeding Grako from the seeds in your palm, you clench your jaw and attempt to purge these thoughts from your mind. 

Doubt is poisonous. You wish you had an anecdote for this sort of suffering. 

“I don’t want to.”

“Well, he doesn’t believe you’re really here,” you all but snap. “So either scribble the stupid name or let him die.” 

Your drama makes you cringe. Being too aware of your stupidity in the moment might just be the very worse detail about this cursed conversation. 

Agust scoffs. Inching closer, he towers over you. Jaw set, eyes dark with amber rage, he whispers, “You’ll refrain from using such a tone with me if you know what’s good for you.” His calloused fingers trace the outline of your face, as he continues, “I don’t want to warn you again.”

You shudder against his frame. Gulping, you muster whatever courage you have left and mutter, “You’ll refrain from using such threats with me.” You take his hand in yours and squeeze gently, letting your magic tickle his bloodstream. He shivers as those black talons reappear. You feel their impression against your wrist. “If you know what’s good for you,” you finish. 

Agust waits, watches. Adam’s apple bobbing, he nods once. His attention returns to the parchment. He scratches his name, blows it dry, then rolls it up like you had weeks ago. You tie the note to the right leg again. You hope your assumption is correct as you secure the knot. After tossing Grako a rat tail, to which he effortlessly catches, you send him off again. This time he is Ilsan bound. 

“Who is Namjoon to you?” Agust asks once the doors lock shut again. 

You wave a hand to the kitchen to fix whatever disarray you accidentally set it to then answer the question with one of your own. “Who are you to him?”

“A friend.” 

You weren’t really expecting an answer. He usually sulks when you toss a question back at him. So, you begin to wonder, why did he answer this one? What is so important about your answer this time? 

“A best friend,” you smirk. 

He rolls his eyes. “Does getting on my nerves fascinate you?” 

You shrug. “Usually.” 

“Just answer the question.”

“I did.”

He sighs and you mock it, earning a pointed look. “Did you meet in Ilsan?”

“Yeah. We grew up together,” you answer. Though you love to tease him, you can never keep it up for too long. You always end up giving into him at some point. “We were neighbours. The coven didn’t really like him lurking around me though.” 

“Was this his idea?”

You raise a brow. “I thought you were friends?”

“You’re enchanting,” he suddenly blurts. 

When your face falls in shock, his cheeks heat up. His words seem as though they are registering for the first time. How enchanting are you exactly?

“What I mean is,” he tries again. “You have the tendency to get your way from anyone you’d like. Jin and Guk have made all glamour deliveries on time, Namjoon rounds up hybrids for you to relocate all over the kingdom, and you recruit every animal you find.” 

“Not every animal,” you playfully pout. “Just the useful ones.”

Agust rolls his eyes. Accepting defeat, he shuts his book and tucks it under his arm. For a second, you think he’s about to say something. But, he merely licks his lips and avoids your gaze. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he’s upset with you. 

Later, during dinner, you start to believe your assumptions. Agust seems to focus on everything but you. The beef stew, garlic buns, kimchi, ginseng tea, even pulling out that stupid book again. Never has he opened those pages at the table, always offering you at least sliver of attention. Maybe you have no right for feeling this way, but his disregard for you twinges your pride. 

“Is there a reason you’re staring?”

And that tone. You’ve grown rather sick of it, frankly. He sulks around the house, around the shop and grumbles half-hearted insults. Though you know they’re usually playful, you can’t ignore the festing frustration in your chest.

His eyes gleam with the dragon within. “We both know I can sense your anger.” 

“Shut the book.”

“No.”

You raise a brow, silently suggesting a possible source to your anger.  Agust shuts the book. 

“Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” you sarcastically smile. 

He stares for a moment then shakes his head. “I’m not sure why you’re so angry,” he says while picking up his plate. 

You charm it right out of his hands as he stands from his seat. He glares. You return it. When he reaches for his cup, you wave a hand at it as well. Both dishes hover to the sink. The game carries on until all the dishes float back to the kitchen. You toss a mocking smirk and ask, “Enough flying for you?”

“What do you have against flying?” 

It has your attention. “Nothing.” 

“You’re a terrible liar. How you’ve gotten away with all this hybrid hiding all these ears is beyond me.”

You quirk your head to the side. So he knows this operation has been years in the making. Then what was all that questioning about? 

“If you have something to say, then say it,” he baits after taking his seat. He almost sounds like he doesn’t think you will. He should know you better by now. 

You stand up and circle the table. Leaning against the edge, towering over him, you cross your arms under your chest and disregard all filters. “How did you escape?” 

He scoffs. “Namjoon helped me.”

“Yes, but how?”

A certain darkness falls over his features. He gulps before letting out a shaky sigh. “He was guarding my quarters. We spoke often.” Then he falls silent, eyes reverting to the floor. A moment elapses, two, three, by the fifth he takes another deep breath. “My last night was hard. He told me that he was working on permanent relaction in Ilsan. Something about how the mountains are safest. But after that night, I don’t think he was willing to wait for the right moment anymore.” 

So, that’s how he knew of Ilsan. Shame settles over you in heavy waves. You avoid his eye in regret. Even after that, you know you shouldn’t pry. But you continue to ask anyways. “What happened?”

He glances at the anthology. “They took my horns,” he mutters so indifferently you think it’s a joke. Still, you don’t dare laugh. Not when his face is riddled with embarrassment and disgrace. 

“Then, I was forced into a full transformation,” he continues. “And clipped.”

You gasp. He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Don’t be so dramatic, (Y/N).”

How can he be so lighthearted? No- you mustn’t question his ways of coping. Regret engulfs you as you look to the stupid book again. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been so pushy about it. You’ve heard rumors in the coven, about clipped dragons. You just didn’t think anyone would ever succumb to such cruelty. 

“I won’t tell you things if you’re just gonna cry about it,” he grumbles. 

You’re crying? Rubbing your hands against your cheeks, you’re surprised to find them wet. “Sorry,” you chuckle. “I just can’t believe they really-” 

“So this wasn’t your idea then?”

Shifting closer to him, you wipe away all your tears and shake your head. “Namjoon found me the day I opened. I told him in a letter that I’ve borrowed a home under the shop. A couple of hobbits told me about it on the train from Ilsan.” 

His hand slips into yours, stunting your explanation for a moment. You gaze down at them, finding the warmth all too welcoming to vocalize any curiosities. His thumb brushes against your knuckles, as if attempting to soothe your worries. 

“Is that how you relocate us? Through tunnels?” 

You nod. “He’s a knight of the people. Just like he vowed to be.” 

Agust sighs. He stops the smoothing touches and redirects his eyes to the floor. “I’m Yoongi,” he whispers, then quickly changes the subject before you’re able to comment on it. “My mother is from Daegu. I thought I’d find her here even though I know where she’s buried.” 

Yoongi. How precious. You repeat the name over and over again until it seers into your brain. A sudden tug to get close gnaws at your heart. A part of you wants to sit in his lap, but another is trying desperately to convince you how bad of an idea that is. The fact of the matter is, though you appreciate the honesty, you can’t help but wonder why he’s telling you all this. After a little over a month of half-sentences and playful teasing at most, he’s suddenly willing to spill all this out to you? It doesn’t make much sense to you, but you’re too afraid to ask. The last thing you’d want to do is downplay his honesty for something material. 

Alas, it seems like you don’t have to ask though. Yoongi already knows. 

“I want to tell you I don’t know. But, I think you might be the first person in a very long time to not care.” When you furrow your brows in confusion, he lightly chuckles and clarifies, “You are clever enough to know my name is not dragon, despite popular belief, and couldn’t care less that I am one. I’m just Yoongi to you, even if you didn’t know it.” 

You cannot deny the allure of him anymore. Hearing him speak of you like this, like you’re the only thing that matters, does more to you than you’re willing to admit. You press your thighs together before slipping into his lap. He wraps an arm around your waist like he’d been expecting this. Yours dangle off his shoulders like you’d been made for this. 

He looks so painfully holy up close, like a fallen god. The scar through his eye crushes your guts with anger. He’d seen so many horrors, perhaps even endured most of it. You know it is not because of the dragon. The determination in his gaze, the desire to survive roots further down than any mythical side of him can touch. Yoongi made it this far because he wanted to. And what do all his efforts leave him with… clipped wings and horns? You can’t sit back and watch him pour himself into this anthology another second. It’s clear he misses his wings, even his horns. 

“Yoongi,” you start, mind sifting through memories of dragon lore. “I think I can bring your wings back.”

He falls silent. A breath doesn’t even dare escape him. “You keep telling me you don’t know much about dragons.”

“I don’t have any physical books about them or dragon hybrids for that matter, but most covens revere dragons. The greatest stories among us are about how magical you are. A piece of you in any potion heightens the effects tenfold,” you explain. 

“So what? You just so happen to have a spell to sprout wings?” 

He’s mocking as a defense. You know this though it still doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes. “Not exactly. Reproduction spells are tricky. They don’t require the typical notions of a dragon that any other spell might. They tend to be a bit more…” you trail off, eyes dancing all around the room just to stay off him. Shifting on his lap, you suddenly find it all too awkward to be seated here. 

“More..?” 

Perhaps you shouldn’t have brought this up. “Intimate.”

You expected to hear him retch in disgust, or maybe even cringe. At the very least, you expected his face to fall. Never did you think it would light up, no matter how badly you hoped it would. 

“Intimate?” He repeats. “How exactly does that work?” You’re about to answer when he adds, “Show me.” 

Heart fluttering, you swallow thickly. Your guts churns with desire, core drenched in desperation as he continues to regard you with cocky indifference. Is he joking? Testing you? You pray to any god listening that he’s serious. 

“We should probably fire the caldron first,” you whisper. “The base needs to brew for a while.” 

Yoongi nods. “I’ll make sure to give it enough time.” He attempts to hide his smile. You push yourself off his lap and try to ignore how needy you become from a few simple words. You can feel him watching. Body shaking, you’re not sure if you're bursting with excitement or simply anxious. Yoongi seems to have made you feel both throughout his stay here. 

Deep breath in, and you bring both hands up to light the fireplace. The charmed calderon fills to life. Rosewater to start; sweet thyme, cloves, wolfsbane, knotgrass and a hint of ginger to brew. Yoongi makes his way towards you, silently watching all the ingredients pour into the black pot. 

“When is it my turn?” 

Skin ablaze, you bit your lip to hold back a moan. “The witch’s essence needs to be added too,” you mutter all too quietly. 

He hears it anyways. “Even better.” 

Your nerves are all he can sense. The smirk on his face tells you that much. He’s playing because he knows he can. He knows he’ll get away with it and there isn’t much you can do about that. Unless… there is?

He did ask you to show him how the intimacy would work. You start to unlace your dress, biting back a giggle when his breath hitches. Did he think you wouldn’t do it? 

Over and off, goes your dress. In a soft thump, it lands on the wooden floors. Yoongi sighs, eyes shamelessly roaming over your naked body, fixating on every dip of your curves. His balls his hands and makes it a point to keep them by his side. The shift in power makes you giddier than it should. 

Raising a brow, you ask, “I thought you wanted to see how it’s done?”

Yoongi chuckles. He licks his lips, looking off to the side for a moment then pulls his shirt off. The symbol of Min inks in arm like a sleeve. A royal dragon. The abuse makes all too much sense now. Not that it has ever been out of place for the king to do such a thing. He thumbs your chin, gently asking to meet his gaze. 

“Do you still want to restore my wings?” He asks, like his status could ever change that. 

You decide to show him how badly you do on your knees. Hands fiddling with his zipper, you undo his pants and let his massive cock smack your face. Yoongi gasps a moan; your pussy clenches with need. How dare he make such a sound so effortlessly? You just might cum from his voice alone, if he keeps this up. And who told him it was okay to be this thick? He’s so heavy against your cheek, pointing at the soft flesh like it belongs to him. 

His eyes gleam, lips stretch into a smug smirk. Well, don’t you? He seems to be silently asking. 

Mouth open, you carve a taste. Is dragon cum as sweet as everyone says? Tongue over slit, and you can confirm that it is. Your eyes roll back and whines escape like it’s your first time. It’s just one taste but you can’t hold yourself back. Spitting over his cock, you pump him a couple of times then shove him down your throat. 

Yoongi groans. His fingers tangle in your hair. At first, they move in gentle motions. The gesture is enough to tell you not to strain yourself. But then you make the mistake of swallowing around him. Your throat tightens all too deliciously for him to merely watch. Like a switch, Yoongi unbounds himself. His nails dig into your scalp, and hips snap forward. 

You gag. And he loves it. Every wet, choked sound struggling to keep up fuels the force of his thrusts. He loses himself all too quickly to even realize that he’s suffocating you. Hands against his thighs, you have to pat him a few times before he returns to his senses. 

In an instant, his hands are by his side again as he pulls out. You let his cock rest on your tongue as you pant. Through your blurred vision, you can only just make out his concerned gaze. “Sorry, princess,” he hisses. 

As if you thought that honey-thick voice couldn’t get any raspier, he goes and calls you his princess. A loud moan leaves you all too quickly. No one has ever dwelled on you like that. Is his objective to ruin you before the spell casts? 

While brushing your hair back, he chuckles down at you. Your soul fills with the undeniable desire to please this man beyond comprehension. You want to hear him whisper how tight you are, tell you how well you’re doing. Until pride glows every inch of your heart, you will not stop choking on his giant cock. 

You take him all at once, again. Throat burning, a part of your regrets not working yourself up to committing to all of him. Back and forth, you bob your head on his dick. So big, he barely even fits. Every new thrust means squeezing himself through all over again. It beckons tears to your eyes and strains your jaw. You’re aching, but he’s twitching.

Face scrunched in pleasure, Yoongi throws his head back. “Just a little more, princess,” he hisses. Pulling in deep, he keeps your head still against his pelvis and whispers, “Hold it there. Just stay- fuck, do it again for Daddy, princess.” 

Anything for daddy, you wish you would scream. You force yourself to swallow twice more than he asked for, risking a gag too big to ignore. Through gritted teeth, he roars like a dragon in heat and unloads himself in your mouth. Most of it slides down just from how deep he’d reached, but the rest spills out from the corner of your lips. 

He doesn’t care. Pulling out, he continues to pump himself at the sight of you. Hair disheveled, cheeks stained with tears and mouth smeared with cum, are you really this big a whore? Or is it all just for him?

You’re granted a moment to catch your breath, watching him watch you with newfound wonder. Vein laced hand, inked and sticky with his own cum, Yoongi pulls you back up to your feet by your neck. He pats your hair down, wipes your lips, then presses a tender kiss upon them.

It’s now that you notice he has always smelt like charred oak, musky and smokey. Everything about him sets you aflame, And though, your lips are on fire from the taste of his, the cold edge of his piercing cools you enough to miss the heat. You moan and drape your arms around his neck like this is some innocent kiss and his erection isn’t poking at your belly. 

“Is there any particular way I gotta fuck you, princess?” He questions between sloppy kisses. 

You force yourself off him long enough to answer, “Hold me over the pot. We have to cum together for it to work.” 

He smiles, jerks his head back when you try to kiss him again. A twinge of embarrassment strikes your heart before he turns you around and softly trails kisses up and down your neck. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs into your skin, rough hands kneading your ass. “Fuck, I knew you had an ass but this is fucking insane.” 

A smack follows his praise. You cry out his name. He spanks you harder. “You know that’s not what you’re supposed to call me right now.” 

You giggle through an erotic moan. He doesn’t like the sound of that. With one hand tight on your neck and the other wrapped around your waist to hold you in place, Yoongi kicks your feet and spreads your legs. Gliding his girth between your folds, he hisses against your ear, “You’ll learn to behave yourself from now on, princess.” 

You want to tell him it was never your intention to disrespect him. However, the slow, deliberate punishment he inflicts melts you into him in silence. All you can bring yourself to whine is, “Whatever you want, daddy.” 

“Mmm, that’s right. That’s my perfect princess,” he whispers. Then, he sucks in a sharp breath with you and plunges himself in your tight cunt. You knew he wouldn’t fit probably in your mouth, but you thought that your pussy, sopping for attention oh so desperately, would easily accept him. It’s your fault for underestimating such a massive cock. His tip doesn’t even fit. Yoongi takes to bending you over for a smoother entrance. 

“So huge!” You cry only to have him chuckle behind you. Vibrations of his laugh tickle your spine.

Once he finally pushes his way through, breathless moans and groans filling the space between, he gives you some time to adjust. It;s thoughtful of him, but you both know no amount of time will ever get you used to his godly size. 

“Please just ruin me, daddy,” you beg, through a broken whine. 

“What was that, princess?”

“Please, please just fuck me!”

Tightening his grip on both your neck and waist, he rapsys a dark laugh against the shell of your ear. You shudder, thinking you might just cum now until he starts to ram you. You jerk forward each time despite his hold on you. His hips always overpower everything else. Rough smacks of skin on skin drown your voice until it’s completely gone. You cannot even bring yourself to properly breathe. He’s a beast. Huffing your name, clenching his jaw and sinking his balls into you, Min Yoongi makes it his mission to destroy you. 

“Pretty, pretty little girl,” he hisses. “My pretty princess.” Grinding his hips against your ass, cock swilling the mess he’s making of your pussy, he suddenly breathes, “I wanna make you my queen.” 

Leaning back into him, you find just enough strength to muster the first words that come to mind. “I’m gonna hold you to that, daddy.” 

He moans, softening his hold to shower your face with gentle kisses. A reflection of comfort and familiarity glow in his eyes when he pulls away. His hands slide down to your thighs. He bends a little to hosite you up against  him. With your legs spread, he holds you over the calderon and picks up that wickedly rough pace again. You place your hands over his and let him ravish in you. 

Slouching, your pussy tights with every new thrust. Doses of you are already dripping into the brew as it boils. Yoongi curses. You thought you felt him twitching a few minutes ago but now you’re sure. In fact, you can even see it. He’s so big an imprint of his cock bulges from your stomach. You watch it twitch again as he shoves his balls deeper into you. 

Just witnessing it, triggers your orgasm. You try to hold it off long enough to let him know, only to have Yoongi barks, “Fucking cum!” 

You’ve never been one to deny him anything. Convulsing, you let your orgasm run free through you. Yoongi digs his fingers into your thick thighs to keep you steady, all while continuing to ruin you. It seems as though cumming spurs him on to further plough into you. He moves with harsher force and speed than he did when he was annoyed. 

He mutters something else in your ear, but you can’t make anything out. Your ears ring, vision blurs and you tremble all over. Toes curled and pointed to the sky, you cry out his name. And, as he pulls out of you to let out leak your mixed cum into the potion, you whisper the spell under your breath thrice. 

“Kiss me,” you whine. “Quick.” 

Though lacking his title, he doesn’t argue. Lips on lips, you drip out your love and seal the spell. 

The cackles of the potion break your kiss. Yoongi sets you back down to your feet then steps away from the heat. You lean back into him, watching the calderon overflow with steam and gleam green. 

He pecks your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist. “So, there really is a potion,” he chuckles quietly to himself. 

“What do you mean? Why would I lie about something like that?”

Yoongi shrugs. You push your ass back against him, teasingly. He tightens his hold with a playful smirk. “I just thought you wanted me.” 

“I do,” you whisper without much thought. 

A relieved smile, gummy and too cute to resemble anything you just did, stretches upon his lip. You peck his chin to which he blushes. Min Yoongi blushing is not a sight you were prepared to see, erupting your heart all too easily. 

“Never speak of this,” he tries to grumble indifferently, but that smile is still playing on his lips. When you go to tease him again, he says, “Will this even work?” 

You shrug. “Only one way to find out.” Enchanting a cup, you snap your fingers to beckon towards you. You fill it to the brim with the potion then hand it to Yoongi. 

He hovers the rim against his lips. Lost in thought or deliberation, you’re not sure. All you can tell is that it seems as though time has frozen for him. 

“Yoong-”

“I don’t want wings,” he sighs. You blink back at him. He takes a breath before adding, “Not now, anyways.”

You look back to the pot, wondering if the entire thing might have been a mistake. He drops the cup into it without much care for the brew that spills and cups your face. “I don’t want wings tonight. I want you.” 

“I’m right here?”

“I remember a little about what it was like to fly. Being with you reminds me of that,” he whispers. 

Tear prick your eyes, disbelief holding your voice hostage. “Me?” You croak, in confusion. “Yoongi, I-”

He holds you closer and suddenly all your words die in your mouth. You’re not even sure what you were trying to say. Pressing his forehead against yours, he mutters your name like a prayer and whispers, “You’re all the wings I need.”

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[outcast-thingz]

Chapter 7:

To Luck & New Beginnings

Even when she was no longer sick she found herself wanting to hang out with the boys. So, Styx ened up staying with the boys for the rest of their slotted time at the house.

'Guess it wasn't a delirious thought from my cold afterall... whatever they're leaving and I'm not going to ever see them again.' She glares at the floor, 'good riddance, fucking tourists...' she didn't mean that. The boys would definitely be up soon, so she made her way to the kitchen and got to work. Soon enough the smell of pancakes and strawberries permeated through the air. It beckons forth a freshly awoken Kyran; the young man practically bounds into the kitchen.

"What'cha doin'?" He asks and she doesn't have to look back to see he's wearing that stupid grin on his face. She doesn't answer his question. The redhead sighs, "That's fine you'll come around one of these. Or! Or, or, orrr~ I'll learn sign and we can talk that way. Just something other than one for yes and two for no. Mark my words streaming buddy it will happen"

"Im not your steaming buddy"

"Oh yeah?" He raises a brow and a corner of his lips tugs into a smirk, "who's room have you been crawling to when you can't sleep?"

"..."

"Uh huh, this guy's." He points to himself using both of his thumbs. "Besides you said yer not my 'streaming' buddy. SoOOo~ that totally makes me yer buddy! Yeah?" He argues just to mess with her to which she glares at.

"Sit. Eat." Styx huffs slidding a plate of pancakes to the annoying cretin. Kyran takes one last look over the kitchen and spots the active waffle maker.

He gasps, "yer makin' waffles cause you remembered Atticus's preference, aren'cha?" He ducks avoiding a fork she threw his way. The young man chuckles and picks up the fork.

"...mornin'," Galieo mumbles, rubbing his eye as he enters the kitchen. Styx passes the second plate of pancakes to Galieo whom les a thank you. Following in his footsteps is the previously mentioned blonde.

'Just a second' she signs to the clearly not awake Atticus. Shortly after, the plates waffles were ready for the both of them.

The two waffle lovers make their way to the table. Both Kyran and Galieo had decorated their pancakes with syrup and freshly cut strawberries. Once Atticus had done the same with his waffles Styx put her toppings on. She personally had a preference for peanut butter with chocolate chips and syrup.

"Peanut butter?" Kyran asks a bit surprised by Styx's choice. She glares at him

"He's not makin' fun of you hun. We jus think it's interesting cause we haven't seen anyone do that" Galieo quickly clarifies.

"It's just how I enjoy my waffles... and what did I say about calling me 'hun'?"

"Right sorry" and the table falls silent as the group consumes their meal.

"Oh! Kyran you packed you bags last night right?"

*CLATTER* Styx drops her for om her plate upon hearing Galieo's question.

"Nope!" Kyran answers confidently as Styx clears her throat and gets up with her plate. A look of confusion captures Galieo's face,

"Is somethin' the matter?" But Styx only shook her head. Kyran wanting to rock the boat says,

"of course there is! It's been what, a week and a half? Two weeks? m'not good with dates she's grown attached."

"Shut up..." she mutters trying to ignore him and the twang of pain that struck her heart. The red head stands and leans his palms firmly against the table.

"I'll take ~wild~ guess and say that you don't get get friends all that often"

"Kyran!" Galieo chides but hasn't moved from his seat. Styx doesn't dare show her face.

"Not done!" He proclaims, "hell, I'd say you don't get many people that are nice to you. Not in this town; as friendly as it is. So it's been nice having a group of people care for you, hasn't it, let alone just one person caring"

"Would you just shut up!?" She starts to raise her voice and grips her plate tightly to hide the shake in her hands. "You have no idea what you're talking about" that's when he knew he had her.

"You don't want use to go!" He hits the table excitedly although to the rest in the room it came off as aggressive. The plate in her hands drops to the floor as Kyran speaks his next line, "And frankly we don't want to go either, not with out you." The dish is in pieces on the floor when she spins around. It was evident to anyone who looked long enough that she was fighting back tears. Tears she definitely didn't want to shed over some.. some strangers that just swooped into her life out of nowhere.

"I don't giVE A DA-" just then his last sentence registers, "wha- wait what?"

Kyran walks around the table and, in other's opinions, boldly walks up to her. He takes her shaking hands into his while beaming that stupid grin, his grin.

"We want you to join our roadtrip." He rephrases.

"I..."

"That's what I thought. You said you don't have anything till your employer's charity ball right? It's some ways out and along our route so what do you have to loose? Hm?" He frees her hands and boops her nose casually. This seems to pull her from her speechless state.

"First of all! Fuck you. Don't put someone on blast like that, asshole. Second... ugh god" she sighs and starts heading for the front door.

"Where ya goOoin'~?" A mischievous smirk replaces his grin.

"To pack a fucking bag. Galieo said he wanted to be out of here by two didn't he?" She huffs, "that glass better be picked up by time I get back, it'll be your fault Kyran if the pup eats any of that."

"Yes ma'am" Kyran beams a smile as she slams the door on her way out.

After a minute of her being gone Kyran finally lets go of his breath. He nearly fell to the floor as he recomposed himself.

"Holy Shit!!! That actually worked!" He celebrates in an exasperated voice and wheesy unsure laughs.

"Hey Kiry?" Galieo hums, "what fudge was that!?"

"Insane luck" Atticus chuckles.

"That is exactly right my friend. Wow! I really thought she was gonna start swinging at me. Do I get say I've stared death in the face?" His laughs still breathless and weary as he sweeps up the glass.

"Okay but don't you think you could have been a little nicer? Plus how'd y'know some of that info, or.. were you just poking buttons for fun?" Although curious there were hints disappointment weaver into his tone.

"Everything I said was true but i ended up getting pretty much all of it from observin' her behavior. Honestly what I stated isn't that hard to see, she's pretty obvious about that." Kyran shrugs, " her actions say way more than her words. Think about how she sits and starts eating after the rest of us. She's probably been taught that she's inferior than most if not all people. Therefore her wants and needs come last, if at all. Which we can see im her pulling away from help when she was sick and how she walks."

"Im sorry- the way she walks? Kiry-"

"Shoulders back, it's proper. But if you pay attention there's also the chest out and the clenched hands. She tries to appear bigger and stronger than she looks. Of course she doesn't have to prove that to us. Not after the first night"

"I-.. and the sched..ule?" Galieo asks wearily

"Oh" he puts the glass into the trash, "also luck. The chat was talking about their crazy work stories or hours. She eventually piped up with hers. Did you know they only invite her to that ball to have her help clean up at the end"

"Oh gods.. no, I didn't. Styx won't talk about work or family. Honestly I didn't think she talked to you at all." Galieo frowns pulling a half-hearted chuckle from Kyran.

"She doesn't, not directly unless she has to anyways." He explains

"Do you know why?"

"Nope."

"Oh..."

"But she takes some comfort in me, so maybe I remind her of someone." Kyran shrugs

"Regardless, we've talked about your habit of psychoanalizing people. Cut it out"

The conversation fizzles out after that and the boys work on cleaning breakfast up. When Styx returns Galieo approaches her with Atticus.

"Are you really sure you want to do this?" Styx narrows her eyes at the curly brown-haired man.

"I better not have dragged my shit here just to get kicked out," she sighs her tone changing from irritated to begrudging, "if you don't want to me to go just say it."

"No! N-no, no I just-" Atticus stops Galieo's fumbling by placing his hand on the worried man's shoulder briefly.

'He just wants you to be sure. You coming along was Kyran's idea from the first night we met you. We thought he was crazy as shit for it. So we get it if you don't feel like going.' Atticus signs with a somewhat reassuring face.

"He is crazy it. Who the fuck watches some person fight possibly the strongest person of their group and goes 'that one bro. We gotta befriend that one'." Styx huffs, "..still. I can't say that the three of you haven't made a... preferable impression on me. So. Yes, I want to go." A sense of relief seems to wash over the boys. "But if he calls me out like that again, I won't hesitate to punch him" Atticus smiles approvingly at this comment, "it's creepy as shit they way he pinpoints things like that." She and Galieo share a shudder,

"I know what you mean.."

Once everything was packed and cleaned til it shined group gathered outside.

"Okay how do we want to to do seating?" Galieo inquires.

"Actually I have a ride" she leads the boys over to a locked and sectioned off part of the garage. Sitting in it without a spec of dust was a motorcycle. A whistle of appreciation leaves Kyran's lips.

'How often do you take her out?' Atticus signs

"Every other weekend or if I'm just feeling the world." She answers

'We'll test today how far you can go. A long drive around the city or town is one thing but this is a long trip.' Although he normally wears a serious face something was different about this. So Styx begrudgingly agrees and promises. With that the three boys exchange numbers with her and her with them before heading off.

"This is gonna be a wild trip." Kyran says with a large grin on his face.

Tagglist: @bisexual-confusion @gayfanficanonymous @yeet-man @astro-pioneer

[anntoldst0ries]

None shall sleep (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart 3, post Chapter 5 Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: ~1.8k, T Summary: In the privacy of the diagnostic's office, Ethan & Noelle reflect on recent changes around them. Category/Warnings: Fluff, None Trope: And there was a bit of Hurt/Comfort

A/N: This chapter reminded me of things that have never been addressed... so this is a story of how things left unsaid all collided in my head. Hope you enjoy.

Also - yes, Ethan Ramsey can sing arias. Is anyone still truly surprised by the fact that this guy can do anything?

There is something mesmerizing about watching the lights of day go out, overpowered by darkness, ablaze with colours - from the depths of blue, through indigo, navy and all the way to pitch-black.

About how, in a sense, it washes away all the bothers and allows you to start anew with the next rise of the almighty sun.

Ethan Ramsey was hoping for this exactly, maybe more than ever, but all the signs showed it wasn’t in the cards for him.

Or at least not today.

He stared into the void, interwoven by occasional human figures passing by through the front lobby. No voices of the day were able to reach him on the 7th floor of his kingdom. Behind the glass wall, he was almost in a different world.

It had been yet another day that brought him more gritted teeth, holding himself back and resigned sighs, than actual satisfaction from helping those who counted on him. All these ‘activities’ were not only annoying but also highly energy-consuming.

Bringing the index and middle fingertips to his pulsating temples, he started to compress and massage them in small circles, trying to soothe the pounding inside his skull. He could hear the blood rushing through the highways of his veins, the sound almost drowning out all external stimuli.

But there were certain sounds his expert ear was trained on, the ones he would’ve recognized even in his sleep.

Like the one reaching his ears right now, the sound of the door handle being pressed.

With his back facing the door, he couldn’t see who was trying to impose on his much-needed solitude. But since the unexpected guest did not precede their ministrations by knocking, the possibilities narrowed down significantly. There were only two people on the premises of Edenbrook who could invade his personal space without a modicum of manners.

“Can I help you?” He modulated his voice to ensure the tone was expressing two things: annoyance and irony in the otherwise polite question.

“I’m sorry.” From all the voices, this one he did not expect to hear now. A melodic tone was joined by a scuffle of retreating steps. “Do you want me to go?”

Ethan curled his lips in a tiny smile. They both knew she wasn’t apologetic and that he wanted anything but her to leave.

“No, it’s just that there are only two people in this hospital that wouldn’t bother knocking and I thought it was one of them paying me a visit.”

“Let me guess… Zaid and Baz?”

“No, but in terms of concept, you were actually close…just another type of evil ‘twins’."

“Oh, you mean his majesty King Bloom & his annoyance Dr Carrick?”

“Even as a joke, it sounds creepy and horrible.”

“Well, count me as a third now. Heads up though, I will only stop knocking after twilight.”

It was clear as crystal Ethan’s already specific sense of humor had less than ever space for amusement.

“I brought you this.” She put a brown paper bag on his desk, which immediately revealed the aroma of something delicious. “I figured you’re probably gonna stay here all night, so I thought I’ll pop over and check on you.”

He didn’t say anything, staring into the darkness. Not because he didn’t want to - he simply didn’t know what. This simple gesture was very touching and filled him with gratitude. But he was lacking the right words.

Then, for the first time since she’s interrupted his train of thought, he turned around to look at her. Tired and with puffy eyes, she’d still put everyone else to shame. Even on the worst of days, the light radiating from her turned heads and made the room brighter.

She extended a hand and when their fingers touched, he felt this weird, tingly feeling that has traveled from his palm, through his arm and neck, and then straight to his core.

Pressing him gently against the edge of the desk, she took his glasses off. Then loosened his tie and nonchalantly disheveled his hair. Ethan wouldn’t let anyone else in the world touch them, let alone put them in a state of such disarray.

With her, all the rules existed only to be broken.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on in this big brain of yours?”

“Smart move, Valentine. You’ve pacified me so that now I will have no choice but to tell you whatever you want to know.”

“You always have a choice, let’s just hope you’re gonna make the right one.”

Ethan nodded, no sound escaping his lips. She knew she’d have to take it upon herself to get any information out of her stubborn converser.

“So, how are you holding up? I want an honest answer."

“I’ve been better.”

“I thought so.”

“It’s just that… Tobias is driving me crazy. His presence really tests my patience… I don’t know if I would’ve stopped myself from punching him had it not been for you.”

“Why thank you, I didn’t know my therapeutic services were that good.”

“They are.” Ethan cleared his throat. “But it’s… not just that.”

Dead silence lingered between them and he knew he had no other choice but to continue.

“The only reason why I haven’t wiped this ridiculous smirk off his face yet is that whenever I look at him, I… I see you in that room with Travis. I’m trying to remind myself that, as much as I hate to admit it, he was crucial to finding the cure on such short notice.”

“Ethan…”

“I already told you” - he interrupted her as if not to stop the words from flowing, afraid they may be trapped forever otherwise - “that there was so much more at stake last time Tobias set foot in Edenbrook.”

She took a deep breath, her eyes going slightly wider.

“The truth is, for me… everything was at stake. I would’ve done anything he’d asked me to, I’d have forgiven him if it meant saving you.”

Elle turned still, all her body movements, her breathing and even her blinking ceased.

It was one of those moments that mean so much but leave you with so little to say.

Using the power of non-verbal communication and their deep affinity, she bestowed on him the most gentle, loving and grateful expression her face could muster after yet another exhausting shift.

Ethan extended his arm and before she realized it, her back was gently pressed to the older doctor’s chest. Having wrapped her slender frame with his broad shoulders, Elle inhaled his familiar aroma. He smelled of comfort and felt like a safe harbor. He nudged her hair with his nose and placed a featherlight kiss on the crook of her neck. She smelled of calmness and felt like coming back home from a long journey.

“So,” - he murmured directly into her ear - “whether you like it or not, I am using you to soften the blow every time I look at Tobias’ face.”

“I think I can live with that.”

“But I can’t guarantee it will always be enough, he is a cocky son of a bitch.”

“Let's make a deal then. I see how much it costs you and I’m not telling you to trust Leland or forgive Tobias, I still believe you should be cautious. Let’s just wait and see where this goes, I think we’ll know sooner rather than later. In the meantime, we should focus on what matters the most, our patients.”

“Where is the deal part?”

“If it turns out you were right, I will hold Tobias and you will punch him. Deal?”

“I believe it should be the other way round. Declan Nash’s face told me your right hook is exquisite, Rookie.”

They both laughed at the memory which seemed so distant now, almost as if it's happened in another lifetime.

But Ethan went quiet again and she felt his body tense up, his arms tightening gently around her. It wasn’t very obvious, but she knew. It still came as a shock how well she actually knew him.

“Ethan? What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Ethan.”

“I’m sorry, I am not the most cheery companion today. You’re probably better off not spending too much time with me before you turn into a cynic.”

“Dr Ramsey, what a pathetic attempt of trying to get rid of me. You’ve never been the most cheerful type and I’ve survived your gloomy companionship, hell, I think it grew on me over time. So I should be ok today, too.”

It looked like silence was very much their third companion today.

“I’m thinking about Francis.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m thinking about how hard it would be not to see. So many beautiful things, colors, all turning into nothingness.”

“I take it you mean the opera?”

“That too, but let’s just say I’ve learned to appreciate things that are right in front of my nose… literally and figuratively.”

The butterflies started somersaulting in her stomach.

“I didn’t want to add more to your plate at the time, but I’ve already felt this way… when we diagnosed Caroline and Leland.”

It was funny that, despite his obvious animosity towards Bloom, whenever his wife was in the picture, he spoke about both in an almost affectionate way. His doctor’s instincts were kicking in, because first and foremost he was a doctor who had his patients’ best interest at heart.

“The thought of not being able to touch you…it reminded me of touching you through the layer of hazmat suit. And now with everything Francis has been through, I just can’t be bothered to think about anything else but you. This is my true personal connection to this case.”

It was her turn to be speechless.

Ethan tightened his grip over her once again, this time protectively rather than out of stress. Slow hum started filling the air, the melody soon joined by lyrics, which he sang in fluent Italian; a private concert, performed for her and her only.

Tu pure, oh Principessa

Nella tua fredda stanza

Guardi le stelle

Che tremano d'amore

E di speranza**

She remembered their patient’s face, which seemed calmer once Ethan started singing the aria before the depths of illness contorted it with pain.

Francis' husband's words echoed throughout her head.

Even though the man holding her in his arms didn’t say it, there was no need.

She knew.

He will always be here.

And she will always be here, too.

-----

** Lyrics - aria "Nessun Dorma" (‘None shall sleep’) from the opera "Turandot".

Translation:

Even you, oh Princess,

In your cold room,

Watch the stars,

That tremble with love

And with hope.

Tag 🔖 list: @starrystarrytrouble @genevievemd @sophxwithers @maurine07 @lovingramsey @iemcpbchoices @oldminniemcg @schnitzelbutterfingers @archxxronrookie @jamespotterthefirst @the-pale-goddess @queencarb @fireycookie @qrkowna @coffeeheartaddict @utterlyinevitable @gryffindordaughterofathena @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @mrs-ramsey @tsrookie @fayeswiftie @mercury84choices @lisha1valecha @lucy-268 @stateofgracious @danijimenezv @alina-yol-ramsey

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[abigail-nicole]

tgcf liveread 2

archiving the twitter thread I made when I first read Heaven Official's Blessing, Tian Guan Ci Fu, one of the most delightful reading experiences of my life, in March of 2020 (this post from 3/26/20):

Chapter 30 starting with some STRAIGHT HUALIAN ROMANCE

"the two were just staring at each other, grinning"

just BROS HANGING OUT IN BED TOGETHER

Yall Ghost City is so cool & creepy & gruesome???? I can’t wait to see what the donghua does with this???? The animation will be INCREDIBLE

I’m sitting on my roof reading & when Shi Qingxuan said “Ghost City is Hua Cheng’s territory” I cackled so loudly someone down on the street looked up at me

“There’s a path for you in Heaven, but you refuse to take it, and instead, chose to barge into Hell. What shall we do with you?”

Hua Cheng slouching behind the curtain is like ALL THE LIFE GOALS OF SEXY

Hua Cheng watching Xie Lian roll into his casino like “honey did you think I wouldn’t notice you”

Hua Cheng, to all the bouncers: if you see the Crown Prince of Xian Le THAT IS MY BOYFRIEND AND BE NICE TO HIM. also BRING HIM TO ME BY WHATEVER FLIMSY EXCUSE NECESSARY

IM SO INTO THIS I CANT STOP YELLING TO THE CAT SITTING NEXT TO ME ON MY ROOFTOP CAN YOU BELIEVE HE HAS THE EYEPATCH NOW??? CAN YOU CAT WEVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS!!!!!!

cat & I enjoying the sunset While I Yell ABOUT THE CASINO LORD HUA CHENG

gentlemen I know you’re in love but EVERYONE IS STARING AT YOU

the sheer SEXUAL TENSION OF THIS SCENE

Oh good people in-scene are literally fainting because the sexual tension is too strong

Xie Lian: oh no all I can bet is my lunch leftovers which is this half eaten bun Hua Cheng: thank god my boyfriend hasn’t changed & always carries trash around in his pockets

this Dramatic Bitch I Love Him

Did I say Xie Lian was a himbo? I was wrong. Lang Qianqiu is the REAL himbo around here

The Two Himbos Win Out: we can’t lie to a friend that breaks bro code

oh my gOD IM LOSING IT

Okay let’s stop & talk about this personally & narratively

As an obligate extrovert who needs to be around 2-6 (but no more) people at all times to be happy: SAME, HUA CHENG, SAME

Narratively: if Hua Cheng our a flashing neon sign around his neck that said SINGLE it could not be more obvious than this comment (which was immediately preceded with “I never go to brothels”)

Hua Cheng, in this scene: I DON’T SLEEP AROUND, I’M SINGLE AS FUCK, CAN I MOVE INTO YOUR TINY APARTMENT SHRINE

and thank god the reaction from Xie Lian is “omg please move in with me immediately, we’ll share a pillowless bamboo mat and eat trash” and Hua Cheng is so happy

why is Hua Cheng so sexy ughhhhhh

this is a hell of an image

Noooooo don’t keep secrets from each other nooooooooooooooo

Jun Wu: don’t touch the scimitar no matter what

Xie Lian:

Jun Wu: don’t touch the scimitar no matter what

Xie Lian:

Xie Lian: is the scimitar his penis

Dad:

Xie Lian:

Nooooo why are they keeping secrets from each other is so stressful

Nooooooooo THIS IS GAY PANIC FROM XIE LIAN

AHHHHHHH THIS BOOK IS HITTING EVERY SINGLE HIGH NOTE

I had to read Hua Cheng’s lines here out loud in the sexiest voice I could think of bc threatening someone for your significant other is Sexy

Omg I Love E-Ming as much as Ruoye im sorry i was ever scared of this cute little pup if a sword

oh!!!! Soft!!!!! he is a Soft!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh i should’ve quit after.... so many parts ago I have to work tomorrow BUT i couldn’t leave if Hualian were Upset At Each Other now that theyre holding hands i can finally sleep

Okay I’ll resume tmrw with ch 49 in #tgcf, #heavensofficialblessing, this delightful delightful charming delicious piece of fiction please tune in anytime you like for a read along at https://sakhyulations.com/novel/heaven-officials-blessing/

(Full resources for mxtx translations at https://google.com/amp/s/thelostintern.tumblr.com/post/181315156804/mxtx-translations-masterpost/amp…)

archive note 2022: please buy official licensed publications of Heaven Official's Blessing, published by Seven Seas publishing, available where all major novels are sold!!!!!