#or until I reach the other side with a melted shovel or find myself buried in all my shenanigans

[anxiousapplepie]

Had an idea about the travelers's fears if you are willing to hear me out about.

All "travelers" have the feeling of "it's over when you reach the end" but for different reasons.

For Sif, he has no home or memories to return to. Hence why Mal Du Pays takes the form of Siffrin in the game over screen.

For Bonnie, their relationship with Nille is in the gutter due to their last words and fear of not having her or anything to return to.

For Isabeua, who travels to find his idenity, and distance himself from his past, the party acts as his "rock" with fear of crumbling once it ends.

For Odile, who travels becuse of her mixed heritage, having a "family" she would do anything to keep safe yet never admit it her fears.

For Mirabelle, who struggles with her innability to "change", having stability and life injected thanks to the party yet anxious for it ending as with it over, she'll go back to her own quest to change with little effort. Just stuck in rot.

Anyways. Hope these ideas help! I've read more than a few other AU as well as the script itself, so these ideas are mainly more of a base. Adding new wrinkles or changing issues enough to make sense is fun. And the idea your SwapAUs all coming together for some ungodly reason to partaking in angst and time loop shenanigans is enjoyable to me.

literally rotated every single one of these ideas in my mind all day yesterday and I was trying to think of any cool or interesting insight to add to this, but honestly you've summed up everything I'm trying to go for and I'm raising my non-existent beer glass at you for all of these nicely packaged vibes You seeing this, people? Now you have!!!

[boonki]

a ‘what if obi-wan had been there with anakin on tatooine during his mothers death?’ au 

no shame posting it here as well 

im sorry, i made myself sad writing this

____

Grief needles into his heart, and like a nasty splinter underneath a fingernail, the pain spreads, transmuting into dripping anger the further it seeps into his body: the devil’s alchemy. He wants to scream—no, more than that—he wants to tear himself apart and let the howling of his soul reverberate across the entire godforsaken planet. There was so much—so much sorrow, so much rage, so much love, so much, so much, so much—

So he lets it out.

He reaches into the Force and pushes, sending Obi-wan and all of the Tuskens flying backwards, leaving him and his mother’s corpse the center point of an explosion. He’s heaving, keening, tears running down his cheeks in warm, spiteful rivulets, landing on the earth like a balm.

“No, no, please don’t die, you can’t—“ He pushes again, the screeching of the force crackling through him like electricity. It feels so good, so right, they had no right to kill her, no right to touch her body, no right to take her from him, no right to live after what they did.

Someone is screaming, and it sounds painful. Oh, it’s him.

“Anakin.” Obi-wan’s voice is barely audible over the rushing noise of the sandstorm circling him, the air vibrating, whirling around him. “Anakin,” Obi-wan cries out again, holding a hand over his ribs.

Obi-wan is hurt. He did this.

The sand falls, and everything is still.

Obi-wan rushes over to him in an instant, gathering Anakin up in his arms, an unusual display of affection, and cradles him against his chest. Anakin is sobbing, ugly, heavy tears that won’t stop coming, like his body is trying to exorcise all the pain out through his eyes. He melts into Obi-wan’s chest, completely boneless in grief, still holding his mother’s still face in his lap. The setting twin suns’ heat lingers on her tanned skin, giving the appearance of life, but Anakin knows it’s a lie. It was all a lie—everything the Jedi ever fed him about releasing his emotions to the Force, about ignoring his nightmares—look where it got him. His only family, gone.

“It hurts, I can’t—“ Anakin’s hoarse voice babbles out into the rough fabric of Obi-wan’s robes, sand stuck on his lips. His eyes are screwed shut, swollen, and he hunches further into himself, further into Obi-wan’s chest. The Force is violent and rippling around them, and distantly he can hear the sounds of the Tuskens scrambling away in fear.

“I know, I know, dear one.” Obi-wan smoothes a hand over Anakin’s messy and distraught curls, rocking them back and forth.

“She’s gone, and I can’t—“ A pained noise rips out of him, grotesque and wet. “I can’t— I loved her, Obi-wan.” His chest is a storm of fury and anguish, and it feels like being sucked inwards, a black hole, until there’s nothing left of him. He curls over his mother’s face, settling into Obi-wan’s lap as he breathes in the smell of her hair, of home, for the last time. The brown and dirty fabric of Obi-wan’s pants press into the side of his face, but he can’t muster up any dignity to care about the compromising position, letting Obi-wan pet his hair and grieve with him.

The anger melts into pure, unadulterated heartbreak with each quivering breath.

They stay like for hours, until the sun has set and the darkness envelopes their somber silhouettes, the cold creeping in and nipping at their limbs. His outburst earlier has left Anakin feeling completely hollowed out, a fragile statue ready to crumble if life beat him down again. Obi-wan shakes Anakin into movement, whispering about the temperature and how they should find shelter.

“I want to bury her.” Anakin replies instead, his voice indistinct from the whistling wind whipping past them.

“Here?”

Anakin nods, shifting out of Obi-wan’s lap to sit up, glancing around for suitable tools. He lowers his mother’s head to the ground gently, brushing strands of hair out of her face, as if she were merely napping.

Through the pinpricks and needles shooting through Obi-wan’s numb legs and the ringing throbbing of bruised ribs, he rises to aid Anakin in the search for a shovel, or anything similar. In the far corner of what Obi-wan assumes is some sort of weapon tent lies a handful of shovels, rusty and dented. He wordlessly hands one off to a swaying Anakin.

They dig all night, without the aid of the Force, gradually losing layers of robes as their muscles work. Anakin is sweaty, glistening underneath the harsh light of the moon, and each indentation into the sand and groan of his aching body feels like penance, an apology. If he had tears left to give, they’d drip into her grave and live in eternity with her, but his eyes are as dry as the earth around them.

Finally, an area adequate to fit her perfect body has been excavated, and with reverence, Anakin and Obi-wan lower her into the space. Anakin arranges her arms so that her hands rest against her heart, and sinks down to press one more trembling kiss against the curve of her forehead.

He holds himself there, hovering above her face, and a fresh wave of despair hits him forcefully. Part of him wants to crawl in there with her and suffocate on his own remorse.

They get to work shoveling the sand over her body, never taking a moment to rest.

Anakin doesn’t look at her face before the sand engulfs it.

The delicate warmth of morning murmurs to them a tentative greeting as Anakin finishes patting down the space they’d dug out. He kneels over where her head would be, and comes to rest on the ground, his knees pulled to his chest, making himself as small as the nine-year-old boy she once loved, once held.

“You were loved. I miss you already,” he breathes out onto the sand.

And then he gets up, and doesn’t meet Obi-wan’s concerned gaze.

“Let’s go.”

“Anakin, are you sure—“

“Let’s go,” he repeats.

Obi-wan furrows his eyebrows, and steps into Anakin’s space, tilting his chin so that Anakin is forced to look at him. The eye contact makes him feel so vulnerable, so raw, but he pours everything he can’t say into the pool of his eyes, and hopes Obi-wan knows how to tread water. And then hands are closing around his back, pulling him forward into a sturdy embrace.

And that’s how the golden rays of daylight finds them, wrapped around each other, holding on for dear life as the suns rise into the sky, witness to the impossible forward motion of life in the wake of wretched, human tragedy.

[saijspellhart]

Oh noes! They're snowed in! And it's SOOOOO cold, they even have to share a bed! 😱😱😱

“Avalanchemon!” was the last thing Ladybug heard before she—and subsequently half of Paris—was buried under a mountain of snow.

She expected the cascade of snow to hit harder, to feel more crushing, feel colder, and even braced herself for it. But… something hard and warm had barreled into her chest at the last second, painfully knocking the wind from her lungs and sending them tumbling through the door of a nearby house. A wall of snow followed them inside, spilling harmlessly over their legs, but woefully sealing their exit.

“I take it that akuma was a digimon fan…” grumbled a very familiar voice. “I bet the new reboot really pissed him off.”

Ladybug coughed out a mouthful of snow, and managed to chortle, “He’s certainly raising hail.”

Her partner’s sweet timbre returned a chuckle next to her ear and added, “You’d think all this snow would help him chill out.” It was enough to send shivers down her spine that had nothing to do with blanket of snow covering them both.

For a moment it felt like home, like old times and security. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes to blink up at him that the sleek black leather and warm chartreuse of her memory melted and she was left staring up at pale ivory and sinister magenta.

An awkward silence settled between them, like someone driving a wedge between hearts that had, for the briefest moment, locked fingers. His pupils narrowed into nothing more than slits, as realization seemed to dawn on him. That once soft expression hardening until it was just as cold as the snow around them.

Chat Blanc pushed himself off of her, dislodging some of the ice, and shook himself free from the rest of it. Her breath held when he crawled away from her, slinking low. The temptation to laugh scraped the back of her throat because those Floofy ears of his were stained pink on the tips, and his usually luxurious tail fur was caked with clumps of snow.

“We can’t get out,” he stated flatly.

“What?” Ladybug kicked free of the snow mound and turned towards him, brushing it off her suit.

Chat shoved at a window, but it wouldn’t budge against the wall of white outside. She watched him stalk across the room to the other side, and attempt the other windows, all yielding the same results.

“We should try a higher floor,” she suggested, “maybe something up there will open?”

Chat Blanc started for the stairwell before she even finished the sentence, all too eager to find some sort of escape. No doubt, dreading the thought of being confined so near the spotted heroine; the only person capable of taking away his akumas. Ladybug followed after him, her heart holding out hope that they weren’t trapped inside this building while a snow akuma plunged France into an early ice age.

“No!” Chat bellowed, his voice echoing down the stairwell. “No no no no!”

Ladybug arrived on the top floor only to witness Blanc acting like a caged animal; he scratched against blocked windows, pushing at panes that hardly budged. His claws gouged paint chips from the frames and splintered wood. In one room he ripped the widow from its frame, and began digging wildly into the snow. His hands shoveling desperately at the wall of packed ice until his breaths came out as ragged wheezing.

And still he never reached the top.

About five feet up his tunnel of desperation, the snow collapsed.

If she had not been there to dig him out he might’ve been stuck, might’ve frozen to death. That close shave seemed to finally bring the realization of their predicament down upon Chat Blanc.

We’re trapped in here, together.

Him and Ladybug, snowed in together, until one of the other heroes defeated the akuma and dug them out. It was Blanc’s worst nightmare made a reality, while on the other hand it was Noir’s dream come true.

Chat felt all sorts of conflicted.

Ladybug on the other hand was weighing her options. There were at least five other heroes, and Carapace was more than capable of bestowing a new miraculous if the situation called for it, being the new Guardian of the Miracle box. Statistically someone had to be able to fight this akuma.

She gave her lucky charm a shot, but only managed to conjure up a blanket. It seemed to be a sign that even their miraculous thought they should just wait this one out.

“This is your fault,” Chat snarled, curling his lip at her.

“Excuse me!?” Ladybug retaliated, planting a hand on her hip. “I didn’t cause that akuma!”

“You almost got yourself trapped under that avalanche. If I didn’t have to save you we wouldn’t even be stuck in here now!”

“You never had to save me! That was a decision you made all your own, Chat.”

He opened his mouth to object, but shut it again, pressing his lips in a tight line.

Their argument interrupted when her miraculous beeped its warning. 

To her absolute surprise, Chat Blanc offered her privacy while she slipped away to the seclusion of a closet to feed her Kwami and recharge her powers. He muttered something about having no interest in her miraculous, and that he wasn’t like other akumas. Despite his earlier unfounded accusations Marinette couldn’t help but feel a sting of fondness for his more gentlemanly side.

It was Noir. Chat Noir would never take her miraculous. Just like it was probably Noir that tackled her, to protect her from the avalanche. Before he’d turned white she’d trusted him implicitly. It seemed that trust was not misplaced, because even as an akuma he was trying to protect her.

“What did you see when you conjured the Lucky Charm?” asked Tikki between nibbles of a macaron.

“The uhhh… the magic highlighted… Chat.” Marientte played with one of her pigtails, and tried to will the blush out of her cheeks.

“Nothing else?” the kwami pressed, “What part of Chat was highlighted?”

“All p-parts of Chat,” she stuttered out, “and nothing else… just Chat. I didn’t tell him that though,” she quickly amended. “He thinks the Lucky Charm didn’t work.”

“Seems to me the Lucky Charm wants you to stay warm… together?” Tikki winked and took another mouthful of cookie.

“Oh god… I can’t be trapped in here with him!” Marinette hissed in protest. “He kissed me last week!”

“Well technically he kissed Marinette, and you’re trapped with him as Ladybug. Besides he’s been trying to pretend like it never happened anyway. Or at the very least that it didn’t mean anything. As long as you suit up before he smells you, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

Tikki had a point. Luckily the Miraculous’s magic rendered Ladybug’s scent unrecognizable. Unique only to the hero when transformed, and masking all her civilian smells.

“And didn’t you say you liked that kiss?” added the Kwami with a sly smile. “Seems to me like this would be the perfect opportunity for it to happen again. Chat stills likes Ladybug after all~”

“Tikki no! Spots on!”

Ladybug found Chat Blanc sulking near his collapsed tunnel, flexing his claws like he was contemplating a cataclysm.

“Don’t you dare, you could bring this whole house down on us, or worse.”

Chat flicked an ear in her direction and snorted. But he retracted his hand anyway, folding it over his knees. The clumps of snow on his tail had melted off now, and when he whipped said tail indignantly it made a soggy slapping noise against the wood floor.

Ladybug found herself getting lost in thought, watching the way his suit molded over his shoulders like a second skin. She noted the contours of his shoulder blades, and the muscles in the back of his neck, the way they subtly flexed every time he shifted, made even more apparent by the sheen of water coating the suit material.

“I’ve sent a message to all the other heroes, letting them know of our predicament,” she informed him, peeling her eyes from his back and attempting to find some other place to stick her gaze. “So long as I can keep my transformation up, they’ll be able to track our location.”

He flicked his tail again as some sort of acknowledgement, and it made the sad wet-mop noise once more.

“Did you want to help me find some towels so we can dry off?” The suggestion was more for his benefit than hers, as her detransformation and retransformation had resulted in a new dry Ladybug suit.

“No.”

Despite the sketchy electricity that continued to hold for now, the temperature in the building continued to plunge. Chat was sopping wet, and if she watched close enough she could see him shiver. In spite of his declination, she had a feeling he was going to want those towels sooner or later.

He’s being stubborn because he doesn’t want to be trapped with me, she reminded herself. The one person who could potentially steal all his akumas away and purify him.

“Fine, I’ll get them myself.”

He didn’t so much as react when she stalked away.

She wasn’t sure whose house this was, but it was fortunate that no one was home. Her Miraculous cure would put things back to normal before anyone realized Ladybug and Chat Blanc had raided their home.

And curled up in their bed.

That was another conundrum. There were two bedrooms in this house, but only one had a bed. She supposed someone could take the couch—should it come to that—but that would be in the same room that the avalanche had chased them in. And the floor in there was looking to be a bit flooded at the moment.

The other bedroom had been an office of sorts, and Chat had collapsed his tunnel in there.

Really the only rooms that weren’t a mess were the kitchen, laundry room, and main bedroom.

She briefly contemplated making Chat sleep on the dryer like the cat he was.

Ladybug made quick work changing the sheets on the bed with fresh linens, collecting clean comforters, and raiding the towels. She was on her way back with a stack of towels when she peeked in on Chat.

The office-like room was vacant, he wasn’t where she’d left him. But rather she found him curled up on the bed in the bedroom. Drooping ears, curled back in contempt, with eyes closed, and soggy tail wrapped around his soggy leather clad body.

“Get off that bed!”

“No.” Chat nestled deeper into the nest of blankets he had made.

“You’re getting the bed all wet!”

“Guess it’s all mine then.” Like a spiteful man child, Chat Blanc proceeded to rub his hair all over the blankets.

*Crack*

Ladybug stalked to the end of the bed, and snapped the towel tight between her fists. It was enough to make the akuma still, eyes narrowing. She noted the way his tail arced just slightly and the fur bristled.

“If you don’t get out of that bed and dry off, I will do it for you.”

“Such big talk from the weaker Miraculous holder,” he sneered up at her. “But, you’re welcome to try, Bug.” The inflection he put in that nickname dripped with challenge.

Don’t play this game with me, Blanc.

Ladybug lunged for him, but Chat was prepared and met her in a grapple, sending the two tumbling back, rolling around atop the blankets. He made a snatch for the towel, and she twisted it from his reach, taking swipes to mop the moisture from his suit and hair.

Amidst the power struggle, she purposefully knocked her yo-yo loose, and let it fall from her hip to the mattress, the twine anchored to her left hand. Chat didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he wasn’t concerned with her yo-yo. This gave her the chance to kick it beneath him, before using her other foot to kick it once more, looping it around one of his legs.

For next five minutes they continued to wrestle, and it was clear Chat had the advantage. His superior strength never giving her an inch, all the while she began to fatigue, her own muscles trembling to match him and keep from getting pinned, or thrown off. It was her own flexibility that saved her, managing to slip his holds and wiggle out of his grasp, keeping her yo-yo moving with precise kicks, taps, and flicks. Even taking note that he was being incredibly careful with his claws.

She wasn’t oblivious. All it would have taken were those cruel fish hooks to dig in, and he would have had her. His hellish claws able to pierce her suit, and cause all kinds of damage to her otherwise impenetrable Ladybug exoskeleton. And yet, through their entire brawl, he kept those claws retracted, relying solely on his own strength and agility to keep her at bay.

This was play. Despite his insistence that Ladybug was his enemy and his continued frosty attitude towards her, right here and now, she recognized that he was having fun. Their entire physical engagement nothing more than a game to him.

And something about that realization sparked hope, and the cozy embers of warmth in her chest. Every restrained swipe and every half hearted hold, only stoking her endearment, and although she fought with everything she had, exhausting herself to keep up with him, it felt more cathartic than perilous.

One of her trembling arms gave out, and Ladybug collapsed to her side, losing a grapple with the white cat.

Chat twisted and pounced, pushing her into the bed, face first, finally managing to pin her to the mattress. Futilely Ladybug slammed her foot into the mattress, seemingly one last attempt squirm free, but Chat kept firm his hold, failing to notice that the impact of her foot bounced her yo-yo one last time, where it landed just inches from her hand.

His palm applied pressure on her shoulder, making her bones creak, and he leaned down to growl next to her ear.

“I win.”

Yeah, you go ahead and relish that victory, Kitty.

She responded by tugging on her yo-yo sharply, causing the weapon to retract its twine. The string suddenly drawing tight, as all the looping and weaving she’d done during their scuffle came to a head.

“Whaaaaaaahhh!” Chat made an inhuman screech as twine tightened around him and he came down, crashing into her back, writhing like an animal. The struggling causing her yo-yo to pull tighter.

She released a breathe of triumph and rolled over to face her prey.

“I win,” she jeered back, a devilish smirk etching her face. Snatching up the towel, Ladybug shoved it into his stricken face, mopping his wet hair while she relished his immobile state.

Chat had no words, just made angry huffing sounds through his nose.

Slowly and methodically, Ladybug ran the towel over him. Though most of the water had been rubbed off onto the bed, she wanted to relish this and take her time drying him off. One floofy ear, then the next. She paused when her hands brushed his earrings. Maybe he noticed her open admiration, the way she ran her thumb over the simple gold hoops.

When she snuck a glance at his face, his gaze was turned pointedly away, frowning so hard his fangs dug into his bottom lip.

This was a familiar scene. Outside the mask, Chat often treated Marinette with this sort of indifference. Never wanting to make eye contact even whilst he pushed his head into her lap, demanding to be petted.

The temptation to stroke his ears was too much, and Ladybug chanced it.

But Chat Blanc must’ve had a lock down on his vulnerable side, because the only noise she got out of him was an annoyed growl. A stark contrast to the ease of which he would purr under Marinette’s fingers.

You would have enjoyed this if I wasn’t in the mask.

She cast a look at the trussed up and quite helpless cat, and proceeded to run the towel over him. Starting with his shoulders and working her way down his chest, then over his stomach, stopping just above his belts.

Chat made another huff, testing the binding, before letting his muscles go lax again.

“Roll, over so I can get your back and tail.”

A feral hiss spilled from his throat, and Chat barred his fangs at her.

“Don’t be a pill. I wouldn’t have had to tie you up, had you simply let me dry you off to begin with.”

Too petulant to use his words, he opted to snap at her when she attempted to touch him again. Teeth narrowing missing her wrist. Rather than be intimidated, she sharply yanked on his shoulder, forcing him onto his belly.

And that’s when she discovered the source of his foul temper.

“Oh, shit.”

Somehow, amid all their wrestling and her careful weaving of the yo-yo twine, she’d managed to catch his tail in it all. But Instead of pinned securely against his leg, it was caught between several loops, and kinked at an odd angle; no doubt incredibly painful for him.

“I am so sorry.”

Ladybug reached to free his abused tail, but the moment she touched the fur he loosed a viscous snarl and fought the bindings. I was enough to make her withdrawal.

“Do you want me to help you or not?” she snapped, pressing her hands against her thighs and leveling him with a hard look.

“You did this to me,” he spat, still barring teeth.

“You didn’t leave me with much choice,” she countered, and the lights in the apartment flickered as if responding to her ire. “And I seem to recall you welcoming me to try. That’s a challenge if I ever heard one.”

Chat looked like he was about to respond when the lights flickered again, then went out completely, plunging the room into darkness.

Oh sweet mother of mercy… Not only was she trapped with Chat, but now she couldn’t see anything.

Not that Chat will be overly affected by it, she lamented to herself. Kitty night vision and all that noise.

The excessive snow had finally managed to knock out the power in their building, and no doubt the rest of the surrounding neighborhood. Which meant no heat, and no lights. And the absence of the latter was going to make untying Chat a real chore.

“So about that tail…” Ladybug reached a hand out to his side, and placed it on his ribs.

“You know,” he rasped, sounding much less combative than before, “staying tied up until the turtle and foxy dig us out doesn’t sound so bad.”

“—I think I can get it free.” Feeling confident she knew where to touch, she moved her hands farther down, reaching out for where she thought the start of his tail might be.

“I’d rather you noAaaaa—,” Chat broke off in a strangled noise.

“That's—” Ladybug stilled her hand, and had to will herself not to squeeze. “Oh. That’s uh, nice—I mean—did I hurt you?”

“This is harassment.”

She bit down on her lip to keep from snickering. Reminding herself to focus, she slid her hand over the one cheek until she found the top of his tail. “You can sue me later,” she replied, surprised at the amount of control she had over her voice.

“I will,” he groused, “I can file sexual assault. You’ll be receiving a strongly worded letter from my—aiiiiittt!” Chat suddenly bucked beneath her hands, and she felt all his muscles go tight, even the ones in his glutes. “You do NOT need to put your fingers there!”

“Would you calm down?” she rebuked. “I’m not trying to finger you, I needed to get my hand under your tail.”

“You need to get your hands OFF my tail.”

Ladybug heaved a sigh through her nose and ignored him, following the direction of the fur until she came across the first loop of twine. Taking a moment to feel it out, she attempted to pull his tail through it.

“Stop! P-please stop!”

Immediately her hands stilled.

“Did I hurt you?”

Chat let out a shuddering breath, “…yes.”

She sucked in her own breath, and tried to calm her nerves. “Ok. Let me find my yo-yo. It’ll probably be safer if I untangle all of you, than trying to manipulate your tail from the twine.

There was a moment of two of silence as she patted around the mattress for the mechanism of the yo-yo, her hands bumping into him on occasion.

When Chat Blanc finally did speak again it was to ask, “I take it this means you’re going to be feeling up the rest of me.”

Her hands located the yo-yo next to his chest, and followed the twine along his defined shoulder blades before it disappeared below his rib cage.

“Why, Chat,” she teased, “before you were akumatized you would have loved that.”

His response was a snort that she could have sworn sounded amused, before arching his body so she could reach below his chest. “Just, tell me how I need to move, my La—uh… Bug.”

~0000~

This part one of a two part uh…. drabble? Oneshot? This got a lot longer than I expected. There’s another part coming. 

Part of my Floofy-eared Chat Blanc AU. 

If you guys like what I do and want to help support me, consider buying me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/z8z299sh

[siribear]

whisper confines deacon to bed rest. she sets him up in the general’s - her - quarters, propped up in one of the few mattresses not covered in mud and mirelurk slime. he grumbles the entire time, protests that he’s fine or that he’s bored, but when he spikes a fever in the middle of the night, it shuts him up.

any medicine she knows that would help him fight the infection has likely long since been scavenged; two hundred years too late to find antibiotics. instead, she stays by his side, ready with a stimpak and a cold rag. whisper doesn’t sleep, busy monitoring his breathing and his temperature. at one point, she attaches her pip boy to his arm and uses it to check on him throughout the night.

thankfully, his fever breaks by morning, his breathing even and the cut across his stomach no longer red and angry. outside the room, sunlight creeps along the halls, peeking in the open doorway to her quarters - and so does preston, looking just as tired and wan as she feels. bruises have formed under his eyes, warm brown now far and away.

they’re going to bury devin’s body today. she only just learned his name last night, overheard from the other minutemen. the one that charred the mirelurk that attacked her before they reached the castle. and now he’s dead. unrecognizable but for the put together minuteman uniform.

‘how’s he doing?’

whisper pulls her hands away from the edge of the bed and deacon’s hand. ‘his fever’s gone down now. he’ll be fine.’ she looks back to preston. ‘how did you sleep?’

not well, judging by his heavy sigh. ‘i’m ready whenever you are.’ a non-answer. surprisingly indirect, for him.

‘yeah. okay. give me a moment to put myself together, here.’ preston nods and leaves her to it. 

she rubs at her eyes and stands, straightening out invisible wrinkles in her shirt. deacon still hasn’t woken by the time she combs out her hair and changes into his jeans. they fit, if barely. but they’re clean, and that’s what matters. whisper rests the back of her hand against his forehead. warm, but not burning up. with a quick kiss to his temple, whisper joins preston outside.

-

unfortunately for maccready, deacon does eventually wake up. after snagging as much ammo lying around as he can, maccready enters the boss’s office in time to see the idiot trying to get out of bed. guy’s been sleeping for half a day, though, so he can’t really blame him. but the boss would be mad if anything happened to her - partner? - though. no need for her to go through two funerals.

and he distinctly remembers what she did to kellogg’s head, so there’s that.

‘you need to stay in bed,’ maccready tells him, leaning against the doorframe.

‘aww, that’s sweet, mac. didn’t know you cared.’ he manages to swing his legs over the edge with a heavy grunt. maccready easily swings him back over. ‘hey, now.’

he sits in the boss’s seat and kicks his legs up onto the bed. ‘look, i’m more scared of her than i am of your sh-crappy come-ons. save ‘em for her.’ and that shuts deacon up, like he thought. grants him at least two minutes of silence before deacon grows bored again.

‘where’s whisper?’

maccready sighs. too much to ask that the guy just keeps silent until she gets back. ‘she’s with the minutemen. they’re burying the guy who got his face melted off yesterday. last i saw they were still digging the grave.’

deacon starts to swing his legs the other way, but maccready stops him again, yanking him back onto the bed probably a little more forceful than necessary. he’s not exactly being paid to be kind, here. and deacon isn’t even the one paying him. ‘your girlfriend is off doing her job as the general or whatever. help her by not keeling over in her room.’

deacon mutters something under his breath, but maccready doesn’t much care to listen. once more, he slouches in the chair and pulls his hat over his eyes. not often he’s allowed a mid-day nap, but he’s sure going to taken advantage while he can.

-

covered in dirt and sweat, whisper helps preston carry devin’s body to the grave dug outside the walls of the castle. preston speaks over the dead, as do the other minutemen, but all she can offer is a promise that his death isn’t in vain.

‘i didn’t know him,’ she says, ‘and he didn’t know me. but he died believing in the minutemen.’ and he still tried to put down the mirelurk queen even as his face was - ‘and we’re not going to let him down.’

thunder rumbles in the distance, cutting any further eulogies short. she orders the other minutemen to take the rest of the night off. the radio can wait until the storm has passed and everyone has properly rested. it’s her and preston that stay behind to bury the body; with no proper casket, she watches as every pile of dirt covers the body - legs, arms, chest all disappear beneath the earth. then, the face - the suggestion of what used to be a nose, mouth worn away to bone, eyes with only sockets left -

‘- don’t look,’ preston tells her when she stops. ‘you don’t have to look. i’ll finish this.’

she shakes her head and continues to shovel. ‘it’s not that. i - ’ she sighs. ‘later. let’s not get caught in whatever’s brewing out there.’

they finish in silence and mark the grave with a make-shift cairn, topped with a spent microfusion cell. the wind blows harder and colder, chilling the sweat on her skin. waves crash into shore as the sea comes alive. clouds billow over the ocean, brief flashes of lightning illuminating the layers of grey. the light crackle of her geiger counter sends them under the entrance arch for shelter just as rain begins to pour.

whisper stares outside as the rain blankets the castle, pattering against the stones. her geiger counter clicks with every flash of lightning, only to be drowned out by the following thunder. but it’s calm. serene. surreal. like when she used to sit in the living room, curled against nate while rain ran poured outside.

‘are you all right, general?’

she runs a hand through her hair, pulling apart her ponytail in the process. ‘i am.’ she wrings out her hair onto the pavement. ‘wish the rain had held out though.’

preston chuckles softly before his expression turns grim. ‘you can’t blame yourself for his death.’ he sighs at her raised eyebrow. ‘i know, but i’m learning. from you, actually.’

‘from me?’

‘you keep - you haven’t stopped moving forward.’ he shakes his head, gathers himself. ‘everything you’ve done in this past month - you’ve made so much progress for us. for the minutemen. and this?’ he gestures wide toward the castle. ‘a month ago i never expected to be here. i hardly thought we’d make it out of the museum alive. but we are, and we did, and it’s because of you.’ preston takes her hands in his, and it freezes her on the spot. ‘general - alice - you’re amazing.’

she looks up at him, watches his gaze drift down to her lips as he leans in -

and she could let him kiss her. close her eyes and feel something. but it’s so soon, still. she’s done so much for the minutemen, made progress in finding her son, but her husband is still down in that vault and she’s not buried him. so, instead, she allows herself to be distracted by the sound of footsteps - and a familiar pair of sunglasses - approaching in the rain.

‘what are you doing out of bed?’ whisper pulls deacon into the archway. ‘you’re just going to make yourself sicker.’

‘that’s what i told him!’ maccready yells from across the courtyard. he’s leaned against one of the open doorways, arms crossed.

deacon shrugs. he glances at preston but addresses her. ‘thought you’d decided to have a swim without me.’ when he turns to her, even now, he looks slightly winded. lower, he adds, ‘hey, can’t i be worried about my partner?’ he nudges her in the arm. ‘you didn’t come back even after it started raining.’

'and here you couldn’t even rescue us with an umbrella?’

‘you’re the ones that decided to get caught out here. i was just checking in. and you know your little widget there has been going off.’

‘we should head inside,’ preston finally speaks. ‘the others are likely waiting as well. and there’s the matter of food...’

whisper sighs. ‘we have enough for tonight, but we’ll have to clear another supply line down here.’

deacon puts his hands on his hips and grins at the both of them. ‘we’ve got plenty of mirelurk to go around. and whisper’s an excellent cook.’

-

dinner is a quiet, though not somber, affair. with some help from her fellow minutemen, whisper learns, somewhat reluctantly, how to cook mirelurk. in a cleared out kitchen, they eat surrounded by walls overtaken by seaweed. the castle will take time to clear out. they’ll certainly need more people manning it, building it up, establishing the surrounding area -

whisper doesn’t taste the food she eats; doesn’t hear the conversation when it finally begins as plates empty; doesn’t see as her gaze begins to glaze over. but she doesn’t let it show, smiling and responding when prompted.

‘go to bed, partner,’ deacon whispers in her ear when one nod goes on too long. ‘i even kept your bed warm for you.’

she rolls her eyes. ‘so considerate.’ to the others, she says good night, and for the first time in a long time, she has a room to herself. stripping herself of more borrowed clothes, whisper crawls into bed. so far from the others, she can’t hear conversation die down or if they’ve gone to sleep. but though her own eyes threaten to close, her mind whirls. when she does close them? she sees devin’s face - and then she sees kellogg’s. both smeared unrecognizably. one from a monster, and the other...

whisper gives up on sleep. she pulls on the jacket she’d been using as a blanket and a pair of pants and walks the halls. her pipboy reads two in the morning. not the latest she’s stayed up, or earliest hour she’s seen, between law school and her first days in the commonwealth post-war. the cool after rain air helps her clear her head, no matter the year.

she isn’t alone, however. cigarette smoke trails out from one doorway, followed by a long, steady smoke cloud. deacon smokes, but there’s no sunglasses that faces her when she approaches.

‘you’re up late, general,’ greets a woman with a strong, southern twang. ‘not for the first time.’

whisper joins her, a minuteman named penny, in the doorway. she leans against the doorway across from her, arms crossed but amused. ‘have you been watching me?’

‘no, ma’am.’ she brings the cigarette back up to her lips and takes a long drag. ‘i just smoke enough to know you haven’t slept in two days.’

whisper exhales a laugh. ‘hard to sleep when everything smells like fish.’

penny shrugs. ‘i’ve smelled worse, ma’am. smoke?’

whisper waves her off. though she’s older, penny reminds her of her old roommate from college, cigarette smell included. ‘no, thank you. i quit a... long time ago.’ she cants her head. ‘i do have a question for you, though.’

‘yes, ma’am.’

‘what made you join the minutemen?’

penny taps her cigarette, ash flying with the wind. ‘used to be a drifter. saw too much shit, got tired of drifting, and now i’m here.’

‘and that’s it?’

‘some things really are that simple, general. y’all made quite the impression on some kid in diamond city, though. thought that was real interesting.’ some kid. she doesn’t think nat would go around promoting the minutemen in person or in the paper. at her look of confusion, penny laughs. ‘girl from up north, she said. uh, lacy? said the general was a good person. helped her out with her late sister’s necklace or some such. thought that was mighty good of you, considering your position.’

lacy... with a necklace. ‘lucy’s parents let her go to diamond city,’ whisper says with a smile.

penny snaps her fingers. ‘lucy. that was it. you remember her?’

‘i do. she’s a sweet kid. she helped us out when we were first rebuilding.’

‘don’t lose that. caring, y’know?’ another flick of her cigarette. ‘devin’s death messed you up, but i get the feeling you won’t forget. and we all signed up for this, ma’am. we’re here because we want the same things you do.’ she flicks her cigarette into a small puddle. ‘you gotta get some sleep if you’re gonna lead us, though, ma’am. get.���

whisper snorts. definitely like rachel watching over her after she tried to burn through two days on nothing but coffee in the middle of exams. so she gets. ‘thank you, penny. i appreciate you talking to me.’

penny grins and lights another cigarette.

[agirlwithtoomanythoughts-blog1]

Baron Corbin┊i want you┊

                                              ┊i want you┊

┆a Baron Corbin one shot ┇ ┆written by Amber┇

NOTE: Given that I just got back into wrestling earlier this last year, I have probably fucked this up totally.If his onscreen persona is OOC, I deeply apologize.

Almost as soon as I felt the warmth of his breath on my neck I had to suck in a breath of my own. And then, of course, I turned and shot him my usual glare. Baron smirked at me and I rolled my eyes. He leaned in and whispered quietly, “Pretend all you want but we both know you want me.”

“Like I want a bath in acid, Baron.. Like I want a bath in acid.” I replied, grabbing a few slices of pizza and making my way through the crowd, plopping down next to my sister, Carmella, who took one long look at me and laughed. I grumbled, shoveling food into my mouth.

“You want him.”

“I want the Bubonic Plague more than I want that cocky asshole.” I retorted, biting down on my lip and huffing when I tasted copper and realized I’d bitten my lip. Carmella laughed a little and then she elaborated her point. “If ya didn’t want him, tiny, you’d leave ‘im alone.”

“Seriously? I did not seek that jerk out.” I almost choked on my food in my rush to defend myself.

{ Oh if you knew the half of it, Mella.. If you only knew the half of it.. But Baron is too much like Jace. And Jace was completely wrong for me, remember? } I thought to myself as I glared at my sister, waiting on her to defend herself and laughing when she did. “Ya good at ignorin’ shit… when ya don’t want an excuse to dislike somebody.. Look, I know how I was about Jace.. And I’m glad ya done with him. But Baron, he might not be the same guy.”

{And he actually wants me.. Because that totally happens to me, all the time.} I argued back mentally, choosing not to say it out loud while shaking my head instead. “He probably is though.” I was glaring across the room at Baron and when Carmella cleared her throat, I tore my gaze away. “Anyway, what’s the plan for tonight?” I was diverting the subject.

“Bunch of us are goin out to this nightclub.” Carmella started and I nodded. She went silent for a few minutes, and I eyed her. “What?” I asked, biting my lip.

“Baron’s gonna be there.”

“What? No. I’m gonna skip tonight. Suddenly, I’m not feeling that well.” I weakly tried to lie, thought I’d get out of going out with my sister and the others. But Carmella gave me begging eyes and I sighed, grumbling. “Okay, alright, fine. I’ll come.”

“Yay!”

“But none of your matchmakin shit.” I butted in quickly, groaning when I heard Alexa ask “Why? Don’t you want him? I mean you two are always fighting each other.” as she sat down next to me.

“Like I told my sister, Lexa.. I want the Bubonic Plague more than I want that cocky son of a bitch.” I stabbed my spoon in Baron’s direction before scooping more pudding out of the pudding cup that my sister was ignoring.

“Hey!” she shot me a look.

I shrugged.

                                                    { THAT NIGHT }

The nightclub was packed and I was on my fourth – or fifth, tequila shot of the night, eyes darting around the bar as I watched everyone else pairing off. I sat down on the stool behind me and I was signaling for another shot when I felt the warmth of him behind me. I have no idea why he’s always so damn hot, but it definitely gave him away. Swallowing hard, I slipped the lime wedge between my lips and turned around, a brow raised. Couldn’t he just let me have one fucking night without popping up, making me want him even more than I already do?

What shocked me was what happened next. He leaned in, capturing the lime wedge pressed between my lips in his teeth and we were body to body. I could smell the mixture of cologne, faint sweat, alcohol and I could feel the roughness of his hands as they slid down my body painfully slow.

{ For fucks sake do something! Nip this in the bud! } I tried to focus myself, center my energy on everything but the way his body against mine was making my body tighten all over as the blood in my veins literally felt like it boiled as it raced through my veins. I gulped when he leaned in closer and our lips brushed, nipping at his before I could even stop myself. He growled as his thick and rough fingers tangled in my hair, tugging it, using it to pull me closer. I held one hand  firm in the middle of his chest until I just.. I couldn’t anymore.

I couldn’t fight him off anymore.

“I knew ya wanted me.” he muttered in triumph as his tongue slipped past my lips and found mine. He pulled me closer, my legs were wrapping around his hips, my entire body seemed to have grown it’s own mind. Determined not to be like ninety nine point nine percent of the rest of the female population, – ie, the ones he was used to dealing with, the ones who would gladly just drop their panties, I stopped the kiss. He pouted at me.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not.. Now you on the other hand.. You’re on your what? Your fourth?”

“Fifth.” I cut in, grumbling when I looked at him for a few seconds quietly. He licked his lips and then grumbled too, taking a deliberate and long, slow pull from the long neck bottle in his hands. I couldn’t help but stare at his hands as the bottle raised to his lips. When he finished, his tone changed. It was huskier, almost a growl as he spoke. “Don’t make me do this, okay? I’m not.. I don’t do this whole beggin shit. Either ya want me or not.” his fingertip played slowly along my lower lip and he stared down at my lips intently for a few seconds before adding, “I’m gonna lay it out okay? I want you.” and with that, he turned and started walking away.

{ god damn it, seriously? This? He does this?} I slid off the bar stool and clumsily, I caught up with his much wider strides just as he got to a more secluded part of the club. Once I tapped his shoulder, I really wasn’t sure what I was going to do beyond getting his attention.

Stay With Me started to play. I took a deep breath that turned into like five or six of them and finally, I spoke. “If you’re bein a dick right now, I swear to God.” I trailed off before muttering quietly, “Oh fuck it.” and pinning his hips against a wooden column that stood nearby with my own, I molded myself against him completely, practically standing on the tops of his boots to reach his lips. { Holy fuck. I’m seriously about to do this.. Why am I about to do this? } my mind was in overdrive. This was the first impulsive thing I’d done since Jace and I broke up and I had no idea why, but when our lips met, things became a literal blur around us. Anything that might have caught my attention and distracted  me before kind of just faded and my fingers tangled in his hair, my hand  finally coming to rest against the back of his neck.

His hands slid down, he squeezed my ass as he slid me up his body and started to walk out of the nightclub, me wrapped around him. “This mean you want me?”

“Something like that.” I moaned quietly against his lips, my tongue slipping past, finding his tongue and tangling with it. He broke the kiss and shook his head. “It means you want me. Or this ain’t gonna happen.” his tone was firm and commanding and his eyes locked on mine, almost a pleading look in them as they fixed on me.

“Fine, I want you.” I admitted it finally, and with that, he was stopping near the railing around the patio out back of the bar, sitting me on it, deepening the kisses until his lips strayed, dragging and teasing down the side of my neck, settling and lingering for a minute in the soft spot just above my collarbone. I could feel the mark he was leaving behind and I moaned, I felt like I’d melt into his arms and to my own surprise, I found myself pulling him down slightly so I could leave my own mark on his neck. He growled and rubbed against me. “We gotta get outta here.”

“We really do.” I muttered against his lips as my heart raced and beat so loudly that I could have sworn I heard it with my own ears. “Take me to the hotel.”

“Gladly.” he was striding across the parking lot, I was in his arms, my legs clenching his hips tightly, my face buried in his neck, my tongue trailing over it slowly, teasing a little. He sucked in a breath and stopped, sitting me on the hood of the black Mustang he’d gotten as a rental car. “Fuck.” he groaned, a slight whine to his voice. He took my hand and staring into my eyes, he guided it down to the bulge growing rapidly in his jeans. “Ya don’t know what the fuck ya do to me, do ya?”

“No, but I’m dying to find out..”