#out of my system. I will go touch grass now never fear

[enavstars]

Cyberpunk au

RGB designs for a new au

Important things:

The inspiration for this was the game Stray (that I finally played).

This is a hyperfixation that I don't know when it's going to end. I'll probably draw things from it as much as my motivation lets me but don't expect it to be a constant thing like Eclipse or On the road.

I love worldbuilding so there is a lot of details of this au already, feel free to ask questions.

The world is dark and very corrupted but the tone of the au is chill because the sibs dgaf about the world.

Worldbuilding details (my friend wrote this because this is complicated and I suck at writing) [very long text under the cut]:

The key element of this AU’s worldbuilding is a new biohazardous artificial plant which was originally genetically engineered by the scientist of the RGB’s city-state to fight the air pollution that plagued the region by attempting to reduce the amount of CO2 from the atmosphere (yes this is a biopunk universe :)). However, because they are an ugly reddish colour, have a bitter taste and are extremely nutrient-deficient and unhealthy, they have no natural predators and can spread like wildfire across both fertile plots and forests like weeds. On top of that, due to that nutrient deficiency, which stems from the slow absorption ability of their roots (not nearly enough to keep the heavy rate of photosynthesis), they evolved on their own to attach themselves to other living beings as parasites and basically invaded the entire area around the metropolis. With them being potentially lethal, this caused a massive problem that made the city panic; although they have plenty of weak points (like fire and a vulnerable immune system) and it takes them very long to get their roots to the rest of the body, their grip is so deep and strong that the only option is to remove the infected body part. So their special ability became a critical issue when the plants unexpectedly ended up liking animals better, and with them humans themselves, because they could carry them to other places and infest those too while still sucking the life out of them until they die (oopsie). Ultimately, with the lack of proper information on the parasites, and because the situation was handled very poorly overall, they ended up taking many people’s lives and made the most vulnerable species of the area (like cattle) go endangered or extinct, which in turn altered the balance of the ecosystem and the working class’ means of living :).

Sorry this chunk was so technical, we (@kaigoesbrr and I) are biology nerds, but basically the plants were so good at making more oxygen and so ass at getting what they needed to do so that they became parasites, and now they get what they need from plants and animals (and they like animals better, like humans, because they have more stuff and help them spread further). Then society collapsed :).

All of this caused a deep economic crisis that brought about high rates of poverty, and with it, a deep fear of the infested world outside the city walls. So this whole conundrum led to the city closing off to the lands around it, implementing absurd levels of security like a tight border control and a slower, more strict business traffic, and making a huge dark translucent dome that encapsulates the whole city to keep any potential smuggled plants from ever growing by blocking the natural sunlight. They even made a ditch around their walls (kind of like a moat) and burnt and bombed the fields and suburbs around them to make them extremely infertile. So yeah, this city-state is a terrible place to live, a gloomy prison where not even the sun and stars can be seen, but most the inhabitants never leave out of that paranoid terror and the heavy bureaucracy needed to just go outside and touch grass.

(haha with poor funding corrupt scientists who didn’t know what they were doing made a mess, shocker how that would backfire horribly).

However, the outside isn’t as bad as they make it out to be. In the end, the plants did clean the air as they were supposed to, and, as nature does, it did somewhat recover from the disaster to where human life is now sustainable again.

Taking advantage of their thick crust, trees were the least affected by the plague, and the other plants in the forest developed new natural defences against the parasites, which was yet another reason why they in turn became best at infecting animals. And many of the fungi, abundant in the now more humid forest (haha cooler air equals more rain), took advantage of their weak immune system (due to their fucking incompetent creators making a mess of the original plant’s DNA) and infected them (haha scammer get scammed). So basically, the fields and farmlands were lost to the people, but the forests are still intact. Also, even though one of the rivers around the city, the one which makes its ways under it and is therefore connected to the water supply and sewer systems, is trashed, the other, which is further away, is now perfectly healthy due to the city closing off and therefore leaving it alone for enough time. The real issue here lies within the actual government, which obviously does not want to expose how corrupt and lazy they are when dealing with problems and so they keep fueling the paranoia of their most vulnerable citizens since they are kids :). One way they do so is by manipulating the information their people get, claiming bullshit like “the current ecosystem is wild and polluted, it cannot offer our economy anything anymore!” and “the plants are dangerous and will kill you if you ever come into contact with them, and they have infected virtually every living thing around!”. Another is by not educating their population about “the Outside”, treating it like a sort of taboo. Therefore, they refuse to explain, or hush those who try to, the actual danger of the plants and how to deal with them (they do have many weaknesses, after all).

But the people in this world have yet another nasty problem. In this AU there are beings believed to be anthropomorphic demons due to their pointy ears, fangs, and sometimes strange behaviour. But in fact, these people are descendants of the dragons that once lived in these nations, but their origins were forgotten as the world gradually lost touch with its spirituality and ancestry, and now those who were once revered for their “godlike attributes” (yes, they kinda worshipped dragons, I mean, who wouldn’t) are today facing discrimination. However, even though they aren’t considered exactly “people”, the pure humans are still kind of afraid of them, so they usually choose the subtler kind of racism. In most governments, “Demons” get less job opportunities and are denied high positions, can be freely banned from any establishment, and face unmatched prejudice just for existing, especially those with a stronger blood relation with their ancestry. In the city, they are treated as less than even the robots (nindroids of all kinds), who are treated like any other respected social group by now because they have grown so advanced that most of them are just like humans in metal armour. In fact, many of them are mechanics, who are held in high esteem for making the many bionic implants for the humans.

And all of that combined made the RGB siblings (who are obviously demons, especially Lloyd), decide never to leave the Outside, where they grew up, to go live in the city.

When they were younger, Kai and Nya adopted Lloyd when they found him asleep in a box in the middle of nowhere, after having been abandoned themselves a few years earlier. This time, though, their dynamic in this AU is more of a team than Kai being a mom to them both like he always is, so even if Kai feels the most responsible for being the eldest sibling, they rely on each other almost equally. They fend off the plants that threaten them with fire (no they do not have powers, but Kai uses a fucking flamethrower because it’s Kai), and usually live on whatever they can find in the wild: mostly by making traps for game, fishing in the cleaner river and occasionally foraging edible plats (that’s more risky and they are more carnivorous anyway). Also, Nya routinely strolls through the ruins of the suburbs to collect scrap junk to turn as much of it as she can into useful trinkets, the rest of which she sells to Ed and Edna’s junkyard and their son, who is an amateur mechanic (wink wink but no shipping actually). Apart from that though, they usually sneak into the metropolis to cause a bit of mayhem here and there, which over time and on top of the fear over their species has earned them a reputation of People You Don't Wanna Mess With (or "Demons", more like). More than once they’ve even messed with a few of the gangs around town, which started sprouting up after the disaster, so overall their presence in the city is tolerated, but frowned upon. They manage to bypass the annoying border control thanks to the faulty assistant robot who raised them, named Echo (wink wink), who cannot perform any other social job (what he was made for) than to be the ferryman for those few people who decide to cross the wide moat and venture out into the Outside. They usually take a secret tunnel that a few smugglers managed to make, and the Guard do nothing because they do not give a fuck about demons anyway (in fact, only a few people know that their actual names aren’t Red, Blue and Green because nobody gives a fuck indeed). They do actually know a few people there, some of whom are also demons (like Mistake and Ronin), but especially as kids (which is when the story starts) they spend most of their time in the wild chilling and going on adventures :³.

(no the city and the plants are not named, we’re lazy :))

Anyway this is what I'll say for now. There's a lot more info, and hopefully drawings, coming. Hope you like this au because I love it for now ^^

(Btw let me know if you want me to make a post/reblog explaining the designs for the Rgb siblings and some info behind them)

[nana-talks]

starved

pairing: rhett abbott x fem!reader word count: 2k warnings: slight angst

notes: inspired by starved, by zach bryan. gif by @dameronscopilot. i wrote this at work and haven't revised it much, sorry for any mistakes.

now we’re laying on the roof of my car / feeling young, feeling numb, feeling starved

they both had sneaked out from church together, meeting in the parking lot and driving rhett’s truck to the outskirts of the ranch. parked on the green grass, the horizon far far away, sat on the roof with two stale lukewarm beers, laughing and kicking rocks

they met in math class. she was hungry and bright-eyed; he was numb, hurt and closed-off. but just close enough for her to reach him.

it started with her asking to sit next to him on the cafeteria. he looked up, trying to hide how startled her voice made him feel, and shrugged. and so there she sat, every single day, in silence, for 2 weeks. until he finally cracked. he asked if she wanted another slice of pizza before getting up to get himself another round. she tried to hide how startled his voice made her feel, and nodded.

ever since then, a lot of her rubbed off on him - he started to pay more attention in class, do his homework and even get some above average grades.

the kindest parts of my mind are you and me

but he was far from becoming someone he was proud of (even if she were proud enough for the both of them).

he knew she had a bright future ahead. always talking about moving to boulder or even down to salt lake, going to community college, perhaps opening her own store or even becoming a news anchor! he knew there was no place for him in her future.

as much as he pretended and went along with her, saying he’d follow her to the ends of the earth, he knew he would never get the courage to face his mother, much less his father. he resented perry for staying, but he was doing the same. he just wouldn’t forgive himself if he made her stay too - like perry did with rebecca.

there ain’t no world in which i am good for you

as she crushed her beer under the heel of her boot, the small amount of alcohol in her system helped her finally ask: “did you… did you get the application packet? for western?”

he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. he didn’t notice her flinch. “never mind.” she said. “forget i said anything.”

feeling numb

she knew future-talk made rhett shut down. she didn’t even know why she asked in the first place. she was buzzing with the possibilities opening up right in front of her, she just wanted him to see he could walk through those doors too.

she didn’t notice him looking down at her, the way his eyes softened at her invisible pout.

he knew she was excited about what was to come after graduation. he knew she wanted him to share that excitement, but all he felt was fear.

“i did, actually.” he finally responded, making her eyes shoot up to find his.

“and?” she tried to contain her feelings, but her voice trembled.

he shrugged, his voice giving out. “i ‘on’t know”, he whispered. he tried to swallow the fear bubbling in his stomach, but couldn’t.

she stood next to his legs, her body automatically being drawn to him, like a gravitational pull. she didn’t want him to close off again, but she needed to touch him. her fingers twitched, but she grabbed his hand, their fingers intertwining automatically. she sighed, knowing he wouldn’t run away if she was holding him tight.

“i know you don’t wanna talk ‘bout this.” she said, and she could physically feel him roll his eyes. “but i think if i say it enough, maybe it’ll get through that thick skull of yours. you’re good, rhett. you could have it if you wanted.”

stop askin’ things you know the answers to

“what even is it?” he asked, pulling away from you and jumping off the back of the car. “y/n, i get it, you have it all figured out. but not everyone’s like you, okay?” she shivered once again, the late summer morning light not enough to warm her after the cold shoulder he just gave her. “no matter how much better i’ve gotten the past year, my grades are still shit. the best chance i have of getting out of this town is winning the regional division. and even then, what the fuck am i supposed to do in boulder?!”

“i don’t know, rhett… but we could figure it out! me and you. i- i thought you wanted this too.”

he wanted to see her happy. that’s all he ever wanted. which was why he never wanted to talk about the future, because he knew she was working towards something he’d never get to see. he kept shrugging the topic off, postponing whatever it is they were doing right now, hoping if they never acknowledged the end was coming, then it wouldn’t arrive.

so take one last good look / let’s share one last cigarette / i’ll be gone by the time you’re ashin’ it

he wanted to swallow back everything he ever said. he wanted to go back to the moment right before the storm. where he poked his index finger against the back of her hand, laid over top of the holy book, that sunday morning, before tracing the letters G-O followed by a question mark. where a sneaky smirk brightened her lips. where she excused herself to go to the toilet during gospel reading. where he followed suit quietly not long after, pretending not to feel his mother’s eyes on the back of his head. where he found her, leaning against the white wood siding of the church, her baby pink dress slightly flowing in the summer breeze, looking like the very sin he was about to commit.

feeling starved

he ran his hands over his face, taking a deep breath before walking back to where she stood. his frame towered hers. his fingers hovered above her cheeks, wanting so bad to touch her, but so scared of ruining her.

there ain’t no world in which i am good for you

he thought she didn’t notice, but she knew. she knew because that was exactly what everybody around her thought - her parents, her siblings, her friends. but she knew that would never happen.

she knew because a lot of him had also rubbed off on her. she used to be such a goody-two-shoes, he helped her release some tension. she was so strict about her studies and the bible, he helped her broaden out. she was very mellow, he gave her fire.

the kindest parts of my mind are you and me

she took a deep breath as well, tucking her fingers in between his before laying his palms against her cheeks and he closed his eyes.

“i know you think you’ll ruin me.” she whispered, and his bright blues found her. “and i don’t get it because, god, rhett, you saved me. i could have had all the good grades, and the all teacher’s eating from my hands, but you made me want to live. and i didn’t have that before.” he shuddered against her, leaning his forehead against hers and inhaling her in. “i know you think i have it all figured out, but the thing you don’t see is that you’re the only thing i want to figure out. don’t you see that? fine, you hate talking about the future. but i want to know why, rhett. why don’t you have the same fire for life that you gave me?”

he sighed and his body was caving into her, his lips brushing against hers before he hid against her neck. he took a deep breath in, forcing his tears back inside his eyes, the lump on his throat back down his stomach. but just the mere feeling of her nails against the back of his neck was enough to make the dam break.

this life took you in, babe / the same life that reminds me i could never love me like you do

“i’m just so scared…” he whispered, the summer breze almost carrying the sound. she kept running her fingers against the curls on the nape of his neck, rocking them slightly from side to side. “this ranch is all i’ve ever known. i was made for this, it’s all my parents have ever wanted from me. i’m a fuck-up already, i can’t disappoint them even more.”

“but what do you want?” she whispered, worried of breaking the tension and he’d go back to hiding behind the bad boy his family loved to hate.

“i want you” he whispered back, allowing his lips to crash against her neck in sweet repeated kisses.

“no, rhett, what do you really want?” she asked, stepping back so she could stare at his bright blue eyes, slightly pink and watery. he’d always do that - say he just wanted to see her happy, to see her achieve her dreams, that it would be enough. but she knew it wouldn’t. because just wanting to see her happy would never get him out of that ranch.

and he knew, deep down, what she meant. he actually had a straight answer, the same one he’s had since he was 7. but it felt like such a cop-out. no one would take an answer like that seriously. he was supposed to want to go to college, to earn a degree, to get a real job somewhere. he was never supposed to want to go pro - his father would have never let him ride in the first place if that’s what he truly wanted.

he couldn’t even look at her as he answered. “i want to ride.” he kicked the red dirt with the point of his boot, taking a deep breath. “i want to ride, professionally.” he completed.

she sighed. of course that’s what he wanted.

he was ready to hear her say anything along the lines of “that’s not a real job, rhett” or even try to comfort him by saying that was “sweet” (as he had heard before). but he was not ready to hear her say: “okay. let’s do it then.”

“what?” he finally looked up and he couldn’t stop the heat from rushing to his cheeks at the look in her face. she looked… proud. “what do you mean, let’s do it?”

“we still have, what, 2 months until the regional division arrives in wyoming? let’s do this then.” she said, picking her phone up from the back of the truck. “do you want to do the cody stampede? or join a pbr team? i mean, i guess we should start local with the mountain states circuit. you’ve tried out for that once, right?”

she could have gone on for a while, he noticed. she was scrolling her phone quickly, leaning back against the tailgate, kicking her boot slightly. she didn’t sound condescending, or annoyed at his small dream. she just sounded… determined. if that’s what he wanted, that’s exactly what she was going to give him.

“hey”, he stopped her mid-sentence with a mere whisper. she looked up, freezing in place, slightly annoyed at herself for going on and on. his eyes were even more watery now. he walked over to her and in one fast swoop, he pulled her off the ground and against his chest. she yelped and her arms flew to grab his neck, trying to hold herself steady. “i-” he had no words.

“i know. and i love you too.” she whispered back against his ear, and he just squeezed his hands against her waist tighter. he finally put her back in the ground, stepping back just to run his fingers against her cheeks. make sure she was actually there, real. “what the fuck?” he wanted to ask. he probably did.

“i meant it, rhett. you’re good. you can have it, anything. the ranch, western university, the entire texas circuit, whatever it is you want. you just have to want it.” she pushed his hair off his face slightly, before he kissed her.

the purest parts of my heart are you and me

[booksandpaperss]

some ramble-y thoughts on men's social isolation and women's safety bc this has been on my mind for a bit

I do think it's really sad how men end up feeling so isolated bc of various social expectations as well as people being cruel, but as a fem presenting person I have to say that you can't just expect women and anyone who is fem presenting to just "start being nicer". ive seen a few posts on Tumblr essentially stating that but I have to reiterate it is about safety. I literally cannot afford to stop looking at men with caution and assumed violence until I get to know them really well bc if I stop that could genuinely cost me me life. its true that most men I see probably are not predators and im sure it hurts to be perceived that way, but I have no way of being able to tell who is and isn't going to harm me. I have to assume the worst because it is the only way I can stay safe.

it sucks, it really does, for all parties involved. I have so much sympathy for the men who are genuinely kind and would never hurt me that feel isolated, it isn't fair, and I myself certainly don't enjoy the *necessary* fear that the random guy im passing on the street could see me and decide to hurt me, but this is the reality of the world. there is no easy solution, but what certainly isn't a solution is expecting women to start being kinder to men they dont know because once again: that could genuinely cost someone their life.

The best solution right now I think is to continue to try to deconstruct misogyny and gender roles, and that takes time, patience, and understanding.

I have also seen the notion on here that men feeling isolated socially is misandry, but the reality is that misandry is simply not real on a systemic scale. men feeling isolated is a direct result of the patriarchy and a side affect of misogyny. a lot of things on this website that are perceived as misandry are either not real problems or they are but they're just the impacts of misogyny and the gender roles that come with it.

But it is very surreal to be walking alone at night, clutching my pepper spray and glaring whenever a man I don't know is near me, making sure to stay next to the street and make it obvious I know exactly where I'm going and still feeling the fear that it might not be enough and something horrible could happen to me anyway, only come back to Tumblr and see people saying misandry is just as prevalent as misogyny and women need to start considering how it feels for men to be looked at like they're predators. Touch grass seems like an applicable statement here.

oh and obligatory piss on the poor tumblr disclaimer: I know I am using binary terms so before any of you get on your high horse about it, I myself am non binary. I am not actually a woman, but I certainly look like one and therefore deal with misogyny. I fully understand that trans men and genderqueers of all kinds as well as even feminine cis men also fear for their life on the street so dont even think abt getting on my ass about that. oh and if any of you try to call this a terf post consider yourself blocked with a recommendation to get a refresh on what terf actually means instead of just throwing around the term when you see any post trying to talk about misogyny :D

final disclaimer bc I wanna cover all my bases due to Tumblr reading comprehension: im aware topics like this are very nuanced with lots of layers, please dont act like im obligated to cover all that in a random Tumblr post of all things, I cannot possibly cover everything nor am I obligated to. I simply wanted to remind ppl that actual lives are at risk and fem presenting people constantly and regularly fear for their life bc I feel like that gets left out a lot in conversations like this on here. <3

[dzpenumbra]

5/30/23

It's odd saying I'm starting this early at 3:45 AM, but I guess that's what happens when you start drinking coffee at 5 PM.

I, once again, didn't really do much today. And I'm not horribly bummed about it, honestly. Today, it's okay.

I'm feeling a bit aimless. And... going through that whole... "my art isn't going anywhere, I could be working on 'something better'" thing. It's obnoxious. At least I don't just blindly submit to it now, that's improvement.

The current open projects are: the skull, the wooden bead necklaces, the abstract ink drawings. And... none of them are really calling me right now. The skull, I kinda hit a mental block design-wise. The beads, I have to pick a day and go out and try out this spray acrylic sealer I've never used before, and figure out how to suspend beads to spray them, but without them touching each other, so they don't stick together. That kinda just put me off a bit, honestly. Long term, it might be a better idea to find a sealer that isn't Mod Podge, that doesn't have that tacky finish to it. I don't know. Or I should just bite the bullet and give it a go and see how it turns out. The abstract ink drawings? Well... I'm running into that age-old nasty reflex trained into me from a young age. I don't know if it's an American thing, a modern era thing, or just the upbringing I had... but the whole "how do I sell this?" reflex is like... good lord, it's so unbelievably anti-creativity.

Nothing in my life has killed more creative ideas than the thought "how do I sell this? Will this sell? Can I pay my bills with this?" It's so deeply unsettling. It's like... maybe not even at a conscious level... this social system is designed to... discourage creative thought. I mean, just look around. Which has more incentive? Making something that follows analytic trends and formulas? Or making something truly reflective of you as a creative, truly unique? Which is better rewarded?

I don't feel like soapboxing, the whole topic makes me so deeply depressed that I struggle to even put it into words. It just feels like we're in this phase of reboots and milking nostalgia dry for cash and copy-pasting memes and using AI to make illusions of creativity. It feels like... an age of imitation, where everyone is copying others, who are also faking it. And my life-goal in all of this? To just be as true to the concepts I stumble across as I can. And be as true to my experience and process as possible.

I feel like there's a difference between being creative and being industrious. And I don't know if support for creatives is very common out there anymore. But, of course, my perspective is very biased and comes from a place of isolation... so... maybe there are tons of people nurturing creativity... and I'm just craving it. I'm just disconnected from it. I don't know.

I said I'm not going to soapbox, so I'm done. Again, it just bums me out too much, and I'm sure it's not completely true... rather, more a reflection of my fears. Because if it were true? What purpose do I have? That's spooky, you know? But that's the old "you need to create value for others" crap I got drilled into my head by my mom talking.

So yeah, maybe what I need to do tomorrow is... okay, let's try prepping a few new test beads and taking them outside and spraying them. That way I don't have to worry about "ruining" the beads I have already made. I'll do a few that are just ink dyed and a few with Mod Podge on them. Then, if that process ends up going okay and the results are good, I'll be good to just go spray the whole batch. And the plan right now is to use copper wire or string to suspend them, and put cardboard underneath so I'm not spraying all over the grass or whatever. I don't know, I'll figure the rest out when I get there. The goal is to do that tomorrow, we'll see how that plays out.

I did yoga this morning and god was it a welcome return. I enjoyed it. But... I found some bugs on my jasmine plant. I honestly have no clue how they got there, I'm guessing they came with the cutting? I have no clue. I'm praying they didn't infest my tomato or my chili, I'm going to check them before bed to make sure. They were these weird things that looked like pillbugs, or roly-polys (however you spell that), I'm guessing some kind of plant lice, gross little shits. I just plucked them off and flung them out the window. So... that was a bummer... but...

The jasmine bloomed today. And the whole apartment smelled of it. They smell very strong, and... there really aren't a ton of flowers either... so... XD I may have bit off more than I could chew? I hope not. I've been a bit anxious about it, like... that's one thing I didn't really take into consideration before buying what will grow into a full fucking bush... whether I will like the aroma... It was really a leap of faith with it, and I really did just get the plant because of the novelty of it blooming at night. The scent is intense, but it's not bad, it's just going to take some getting used to. I spent a little time today looking up bonsais, and seeing whether you can make this species into a bonsai, and apparently you can. So... that could be a thing down the line.

So yeah, I played a bit of Risk of Rain earlier in the day, I took care of the plants, I took a shower, I did laundry, I cooked some food, I watched the tail-end of a stream, and I've just sorta been floating around since.

I've been trying to listen for my inspiration, but it feels distant right now. It feels... dull, like music on the other side of a thick wall. Speaking of music... I played guitar a bunch today, so that was good. The only real inspiration that called me today was... I realized a lot of my clothes don't fit me anymore. And are getting really old and beaten up. And I've always... I mean always been the kind of person that wears clothes until they are literally unwearable. To the point where I actually want to learn how to tailor, or at least patch clothing so I can extend its lifespan. But in my laundry today was that old white Parkway Drive wifebeater... and that thing is basically yellow at this point. I never really saw the color change because of how gradual it was, but years of sweat and smoke and age... yeah, I think it's time to retire it. But... my inspiration chimed in and said... "hey, you know... you could just... order some blank shirts off that place you got that fabric paint from... And get some fabric for wall hangings too, while you're at it... and get that delivered to the building. Then you can just make your own shirts. And you can make fabric art for like... display, too. Like tapestries and shit." And... it's not a half-bad idea.

But this reflex comes out and intercepts. Guess which one? The money one. Of course. In a very smart and practical tone of voice, too. And it says "hey bud, that's cool and all but... are you really going to invest more money into a project like this when you already have... how many open projects?"

And I struggle to maintain a balance there. In my experience, I make my best work when I follow whatever I'm inspired to work on. Even if that means a project lays dormant for years at a time. Even if that means some projects get started and never get finished. I feel like that's just sorta... the nature of the beast. This isn't like cooking or something, where once you start cooking something you kinda have to finish cooking it... or building a house, or something? I don't know. Like... let's take a piece I did last winter. It's a piece of cardboard, probably 5 inches by 12 inches, I painted a black border around it, a green and yellow organic pattern as a background and big all-caps lettering "BE HERE NOW" on it in gold ink. And it sat on my tables and cabinets and shit for months. And I took the opportunity, when I was sealing the yellow beads, to finally add a coat of Mod Podge to it to seal it and call it "finished". Is it actually "finished"? Fuck no! I could add edges to it to camouflage that it's made of cardboard. I could just use pushpins to mount it on the wall. I could mount it with cardstock and set it in a picture frame and hang it on my wall. There's tons of shit I could still do with it, even with the final coat on it. All work is a work in progress. Or, better put by one of my mentors, gone well before his time: "Art is never finished, only stopped."

So... maybe I should be a little gentler on myself, and give myself some leeway. I'm just... it's the money part. It's fucking money, I swear, every time. Every goddamn creative problem I have comes back to it. Ugh. Oh well. I'll think that over tomorrow. It's probably not as expensive as I think it is.

Birds are starting to chirp and... god this is so weird to say, I guess I'll get used to it in time... it smells different in here. XD I think the flowers closed up. Maybe it's in my head and I'm just used to the smell, I don't know... Either way, it's getting late, so.... tarot time!

First Position - Past - IV: The Emperor (A powerful, dominant, strategic and protective figure of great influence and reach.  Symbolically, important changes, a shift in power, new responsibilities or authority. Adjacently symbolizes stability.) Second Position - Present - Ace of Wands, inverted (Inspiration, creativity, fresh ideas.  The seed of confidence you need to embark on a new creative journey.) Third Position - Future - Ace of Cups (A new relationship and the accompanying surge of emotions.  Getting in touch with your feelings.  Matters of the heart.  A deepening bond.)

Alright... here we go. So... this thread sources from either a strong male figure, myself as a strong male figure, or the concepts that come along with that. Stability, growth, expansion, protection. I was putting this card description into my Google Doc notes because this was the first time I've drawn it and... I have a section in there for "Personal Association/Memory", to help me learn the cards at a very personal level and... I was drawing a blank. I really haven't had many... I would venture to even say any figures like that in my life. And because of that... I kinda took on that role myself. And set it as a goal for myself. To be a good role model, and... maybe someday... a good father. It was a very "goes without saying" goal of mine my entire adult life... until very recently. I guess since I crossed the 35 year mark. And I started trying to ground myself in the reality that I... may go to my grave never being a father. And that's okay, I guess. I was a father for my pets, and I was a really good dad for them, at least towards the end once I got my shit together. So... I guess... this card might be referring to... my inner Dad. The part of myself that keeps me safe, keeps me secure, keeps me protected and stable and responsible. That's my theory on this.

That Emperor symbol from the Past is connected to... an inverted Ace of Wands. Aces are the beginnings of the journey of that element, and Wands is creativity/creation. And the second I drew that card, I chuckled, because I spent pretty much this entire journal entry (and last one) talking about creative block and a lack of inspiration. Or, at least, dysfunction with my inspiration. And the inverted Ace of Wands is the embodiment of that. So... pretty straight-forward there.

What that's connected to, as an outcome in the Future... is the Ace of Cups. We got this a few days ago. The Ace of Cups is the start down the journey of emotions, perhaps social connection. It's that giant surge of emotions you get on a first date. At least, that's how I've been reading the card; as a giant outburst or influx of emotions. In that context, this narrative makes sense to me.

How I'm reading this... is that I have a protective figure inside me... maybe it's the budget guy? The "will it sell" guy? The "will you ever make enough to pay rent" guy? Who is trying to keep me safe in a very practical, fatherly way. He's looking out for me. "Don't just go buying t-shirts and cloth and stuff, you have projects to work on already, just write it down and come back to it, we're on a budget right now." That inner fatherly voice, keeping my creative self in check from impulsively ordering. But this practical Emperor... can cause disruptions with my inspiration. I mean, I was literally complaining about it this entire post! "hey bud, that's cool and all but... are you really going to invest more money into a project like this when you already have... how many open projects?" I fucking quoted it! And that's literally snuffing out an inspiration spark before it has a chance to take root, because it's not in the budget. It's not finding a way to make it work, it's not figuring out what work I can do on that project with what I have on hand... it's just diverting my attention away from my inspiration and back over to my other projects. Which obviously puts my inspiration and creative project into disarray. And the result of this? If it goes unchecked? Well... that's the part I've been trying to understand, because... I kinda got the vibe from Ace of Cups that it was a "positive" card... like a "welcome to a new relationship" kinda card... but... in this context, it really doesn't feel that way. It feels like it's a giant surge of emotion, and me submitting to that emotion, or being powerless to it. Not necessarily being out of control or in disorder from it, but being consumed by it. And that would probably be... anxiety? Depression? Frustration? I guess.

I'm a bit shaky on the last bit, because... again... if that Ace of Cups was inverted it would make perfect sense to me. But... I mean... given the context of the other cards... I just don't really see any big primal outpouring of emotions coming from an inverted Ace of Wands being... good emotions...

So... my inner Father is being a bit too tough on me and is stifling my creativity... and I need to regulate and tweak the way I do that a bit or... I could be headed to a big emotional surge that isn't necessarily a good one. That makes sense to me.

Alright, it's late. Well... early. Whatever. I'm heading to bed.

[ineedtobeheardnotseen]

I love farming sim games

Like, I've seen the memes about how they offer the fantasy of having enough time and money to enjoy your life without the constant fear of illness, homelessness, and criminalization

And the ones about how our ancestors worked hard to improve technology so we wouldn't have to slave away in the fields in bitter cold and scorching heat just to barely make ends meet and now we're all yearning for the days when we were allowed to spend some fucking time outside

And honestly, both memes are so legit

Like, my great grandparents were farmers in Quebec and my grandmother was a school teacher and now my mom's generation forward all work in air-conditioned office buildings doing fuck all for like 30x what my great grandparents were getting paid to do back-breaking manual labor

And all I can think about all day at my current job is touching grass

I have a garden out back, although the summer heat wave pretty much killed it

I need to install the drip system I bought, but when I get super depressed or when I'm strapped for time (which is basically always) I don't have the energy to start new projects

My basil and mint have dried up and died, the potatoes are ready to harvest and I just don't have the energy to go dig them up, the dill has gone to seed and I don't have the energy to store or sow the new seeds, etc.

Gardening is hard work, especially food gardening, and everything happens within a certain window of time so you have to check in a lot and pay attention

But unlike office work, it's gratifying and passes the time

Don't get me wrong, I love my job

I'm a receptionist at a children's outpatient mental health clinic and it's a more peaceful position than you might expect, but sometimes it's too peaceful and the days just drag on and on

Honestly though, in a perfect world, I think I'd like to have an outdoor job, but my body integrity is too poor to allow me to do serious manual labor all day every day for years, so that pretty much excludes me from a career in any of the usual outdoor fields

Not to mention none of those jobs pay as much as the job I currently do, where I'm mostly sitting on my butt writing and not doing even a quarter of that labor in an air-conditioned room

It's frustrating to know you have it pretty good and be unable to appreciate it

Apart from who my supervisor is, this job is perfect for somebody like me

It would be better if it was part-time, though

I don't want to spend my entire career and adult life just sitting and staring at a screen all day every day

Even with all the money I make, I can't afford to switch careers because most of my income goes straight to rent

Even when tuition is free, which is rare, books are not

So every day I go to this job, I sit in my chair, I pray my supervisor stays in her office, and I check in patients, rest my eyes during the slow periods, and write short stories or work on Dungeons & Dragons campaigns I'll never have the time to host

I have a retirement calendar that shows the months and years until I retire in 2045

I have decided that I'm out of here after I turn 50, even if I'm destitute

I can't stand to live my entire adult life chained to the desk

When I turn 50, I'm out of this dust bowl

Assuming I make it that long, anyway

[gwaeddblaidd]

Feed the Wolf Chapter 4: Monster (Excerpt)

I return to the waking world with what feels like an electric shock coursing through my system. I would’ve jumped right out of my skin if it weren’t for the restraints keeping me tied in place. Wait, restraints? I look down. I find myself sitting upright in a chair, my arms pinned to its own by cold metal chains wrapped around my wrists and torso. I jerk my arms upwards, testing the hold of the chains, but find that they’re wrapped very securely. Whoever tied me up… This isn’t their first rodeo, that’s for sure. My mind races. What is this, a kidnapping? If so, who would even have a reason to kidnap me, let alone the nerve? It just doesn’t make sense. I’m no one at Nevermore, a loner amongst my own kind and just another werewolf to everyone else. My family is relatively unknown and I’ve never made any waves, so what the fuck is going on?

A deep breath calms my hundred-mile-an-hour stream of thoughts, the logical part of my brain demanding silence; wild speculation will get me nowhere. The last thing I remember is falling asleep next to Enid. Where is she, anyway? A procession of dark thoughts floods my mind and again the pragmatist in me is forced to put an end to the speculation, forcibly shutting up the voices of my anxiety, fear and dread. Such emotions serve a purpose, whether we care to admit it or not, but right now they’re a hindrance above anything else. Much like the fight-or-flight response, I need to direct my limited supply of energy to where it is most likely to be of use. The intrusive thoughts can wait until later; all I need right now are the facts. My senses are coming down from their heightened states due to the passing of the full moon, leaving my perception of the world somewhat hazy. But, if I focus, I know that they won’t fail me.

First: touch. When I wolfed out, I was naked, but now I find myself fully clothed, if a little messily. My jeans aren’t buttoned and my shoes feel loose, the laces presumably untied, and I’m not wearing the jacket I brought with me to our meeting. If I had to guess, I’d say that someone else must have dressed me, and they didn’t care enough to do the job especially well. Even without the jacket though, it’s clear that these are the clothes I was wearing before wolfing out – not the spares from my rucksack. I left those in Enid’s bathroom, meaning whoever dressed me must have had access to her and Wednesday’s room. Aside from clothes, I don’t feel any injuries – well, at least not any new ones – which suggests I wasn’t taken by force. Was my wolf lured here? Or, was I carried when I was asleep?

Second: sight. I find myself in a small room, the floor, walls and roof all made of old, greying wood. Daylight streams in from frosted, paned windows at the top of the large double doors ahead of me, painting the room in a slightly eerie blue light. The walls are plastered with drawings and paintings of all manner of media; ink, oil and charcoal chief among them. Out of the corner of my eye I can see a standing easel holding a large canvas, its contents covered by an old sheet plastered with brush marks and paint stains. The floor, too, is practically rainbow-coloured due to the blots of pigment painting the planks. Clearly, this is an art studio of sorts. The question then, is whose?

Third: taste. A somewhat distant metallic taste is present in my mouth – blood, but it isn’t mine and it isn’t Enid’s. In fact, the blood isn’t that of a human or any outcast breed; it’s that of an animal. That’s a relief, for sure, though I’d rather my mouth was clean lest it distract me from my surroundings. As I breathe in, the air is surprisingly fresh. I taste the morning dew on grass nearby, as well as hints of soil and fallen leaves compacted on the forest floor. So, we’re out in the woods, then? Knowing that doesn’t help all that much, though; Jericho and Nevermore both are surrounded by thick swathes of woodland on all sides, so I could be just about anywhere within a several mile radius of the town.

Fourth: smell. Art supplies dominate the palate of the room, the air thick with the scent of paints, chalk and other artsy stuff that I can’t pick out by smell alone. Slightly less prominent is the scent of flowers, spices and minerals; whoever owns this place must dabble in the mixing of their own pigments. More subtle still is the smell of mould and slightly rotted wood. Although the room isn’t clean, it is tidy for the most part, but it seems the owner has failed to address such structural issues as rotting support beams in the ceiling. If I needed any further confirmation that the room is its own free-standing structure, mould and rot in the rafters – say, due to a leaky roof – is more than enough.

Fifth and final: hearing. The room is silent. The area outside the room is silent. As far as I can tell, nothing but silence exists for miles. Either we’re in the middle of nowhere, my estimate for the time of day was off, or both. If we are in the woods as I suspect, though, why can I hear no signs of wildlife? Even if most woodland animals, prey and predator both, had fled the area due to my scent, I would still expect to hear the morning chatter of birdsong. Birds have never really avoided me like mammals do, and I can’t help but wonder what would have caused their vacation. As I shut my eyes and hold my breath, straining my ears to pick up on the slightest sign of life, I hear it. It’s not especially significant, but I can hear someone, or something, breathing. The breaths are shallow but measured, coming from some distance beyond the door in front of me.

I fight the urge to call out for help. If it’s an animal, there’s not much point; if it’s a person, there’s a decent chance they’re responsible for my current predicament. Even if the breathing does belong to my kidnapper, does remaining silent help me at all? Is it better to let them know that I’m awake so that we can move on to the torture, murder or whatever else they have planned? I consider what I know so far. I’m chained to a chair in what I can best describe as a shed converted to an art studio, and so far as I can tell there’s nothing I can really do to escape. My wolf is sound asleep, having tired itself out during the full moon, so I can’t rely on its strength to aid me. The shed is somewhere out in the wilderness, and it appears to be mid-to-early morning based on the colour of the light and the smell of dew outside. The only living beings in the vicinity are myself and whatever’s breathing outside, a deathly silence having fallen upon our surroundings. So, what do I do? What can I do?

Footsteps. They’re so very quiet and distant, but the sound of dried leaves and twigs crunching underfoot is unmistakable. The falling of feet comes closer, the breathing growing louder in tandem, and I realise that my solitude isn’t going to last much longer. I count the steps as the distance between us closes. Ten steps. Fifteen steps. As the eighteenth footstep graces my ears, a shadow comes into view through the window – it’s definitely a person. I hear the sound of metal against metal – perhaps a key entering a padlock – followed by the fumbling of a chain that soon drops to the ground with a hollow thud. A hand grips the door handle and the wood begins to creak. I brace myself for the worst. The door opens outwards…

---

Title: Feed the Wolf

Fandom: Wednesday

Rating: T

Chapters: 7 of 12

Links: AO3, FF.net

Summary: As the dust settles on the Hyde incident, Nevermore is slowly but surely returning to a calmer, safer state. But for those involved, the scars may take a while longer to fully heal. Gelert Davies, a half-werewolf student, has always kept himself out of trouble as best he could, but a chance encounter will test his resolve and force him to face parts of himself long abandoned.

Tags: Enid Sinclair, Wednesday Addams, Original Character(s), Enid Sinclair/Original Male Character(s), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Wolf Instincts, Loss of Control, Injury Recovery, Self-Hatred, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Courting Rituals, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Culture, Eventual Romance, Family Issues, POV First Person

Thank you for reading, and have a wonderful day! :)

[shock]

the topic of school gun violence is such a deep systemic issue and i can't lie and say there aren't some days I go to work at my school where I'm afraid something will happen. I have had to message my family to tell them I love them. I have sat in a locked room with children and planned for how ill get in the way if someone comes for them. The person you become when your kids in your school are threatened is a person you can't forget being, because you never forget how it feels to be ready to die any second to protect your kids.

Kids are really hurting right now. I work with middle schoolers. The last normal school year my 7th graders had was 4th grade. You transition into puberty and middle school from a screen, fearing for you life and watching your family die or get sick or lose jobs and housing and everything that makes life worth living...

you don't learn physical boundaries when you aren't on the playground learning real time how to treat people. You have an entire generation of kids that doesn't know the difference between playing and physical aggression. On a near daily basis I am teaching teenagers that they can kill their friends with the headlock they're putting them in, I'm seeing kids not know when to stop, there is no stopping, play fighting becomes real fighting because there is no other out except to finish it when you have no ability to self-regulate.

We had a circle of kids today talking about what the phrase "go touch some grass" meant to them. It's not a meme to kids this age. One of the kids said, "I didn't do anything. I was afraid to go outside. I thought I would get sick and die. I still get scared." Theu didn't see their closest friends for over 2 years. Social workers, counselors, teachers, childhood friends, no one was able to reach them for years. They didn't have cameras on, zoom is a trigger for kids, it's nothing like an online uni class, it's a graveyard.

You leave everything behind in 4th grade and spend the next three years of your life changing dramatically and seeing that change in everyone else from a screen. You can block anyone, you can ignore everything, you become numb to consequences that lead to better behavior and compassion we take for granted. Conflict resolution looks like blocking and never having to address it. These kids cannot fathom resolving a conflict with words. They can't even describe what emotions they're feeling, but they can feel the soul-deep frustration at not having that ability. They are trapped and powerless in a body that is bigger and stronger than it was in 4th grade with none of the tools to regulate anything. More than ever I see kids acting on impulse on a way that is beyond normal. I am seeing dissociative patterns in almost every student I meet. Most of them have taken all year to even understand why certain things make them do certain things.

This year alone I've been punched in the head, face, eyes, you name it by kids who can't see what's in front of them acting on blind rage that should never have to exist in an entire group of people, ive been recorded by kids i knew and talked to every day breaking up a fight like they didn't know who I was and it was a spectacle to watch because they can turn their brains off as a traumatic response to repeated exposure and to them this is how life is, I've been thrown to the ground & nearly hit by a car breaking up kids who took it into the street with intent to kill, had kids bleeding in my office from head wounds they got from accidentally hitting someone with a ball, ive put kids in ambulances, we've been on lockdown, we've had high schoolers break in and attack 12 year olds because they dont know how to solve conflicts without the highest extreme either, kids are hurting. They need so much help right now. Being a kid right now is a traumatic event. Not a single kid I work with is living in a non-traumatic event. It is happening all the time.

The pandemic has destroyed so much for everyone but to our kids the pandemic is their only measure of reality. The post-present-pandemic has created a generation of trauma and loss of education. Be here for our kids more than anything, our future is with them and they need so, so, so much love right now, and it's love they think they don't deserve, it's love that they're resistant to getting, they have no trust for any system or person or each other because every single thing has failed them. Their reality is trauma they are more powerless than anyone to change. They can see everything and only react. Being a kid is a traumatic event, please love these kids. They think that this world doesn't love them and they are so, so far away right now, but they're still able to come back. I'm seeing it real-time. These kids need to be reached before they can't come back, make the safety and love for kids a priority. Hope is being lost on them and their reality is a nightmare.

They won't be kind to you. They won't trust you. They won't let you in and they are in survival mode. And they still need you. They need to know where the bar should be for how they're treated and they need to know what they're worth now more than ever. They're worth the world and more.

[nat-20s]

for @jonmartinweek THE FINAL DAY prompt- Pining/Longing. This one takes place, well, you’ll see

~*~

A Study of Longing, Told in Six Parts

Part 1

Martin wonders if he’ll ever get to a point in his life where kindness doesn’t feel like a shock to the system. It’s already surprising enough when Tim and Sasha invite him for drinks in a genuine offer of friendship, but for that kindness to come from Jon? Martin has no idea what to do with being believed, let alone being protected.

And now here he is, blearily opening his eyes only to find himself staring at a mass of hair. As he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, the shape resolves into the form of one Jonathan Sims. He had apparently fallen asleep with his head cushioned on his arms, against the cot Martin was currently occupying. It’s not an image that Martin can fully process at the moment, so instead he debates whether or not to wake Jon up or quietly get off the cot to let him get some much needed sleep. He decides on the former, both thinking that it would be hell on his back to keep sleeping in that position, and that he would like an explanation.

Hand hovering above Jon’s shoulder, but not fully touching, Martin oh so quietly calls out, “Jon?”

That’s all it takes for Jon’s head to rush up with a gasp, glasses askew, and with the texture of his sleeves pressed in red marks on his face. It is a horribly endearing look. “Hrn?”

Martin opens his mouths, closes it, and waits for Jon to get his bearings. Jon smooths down his (frankly ridiculous) sweater-vest, adjusts his glasses, and slips back on his professional demeanor. “My apologies, Martin, I, ah, must have fallen asleep.”

Glancing to the crappy little digital clock resting on a file box next to him, Martin rolls his eyes. Only Jon could be quite so stuffy at 4:32 in the morning. “No apologies needed. Though, um, was there? Something you needed or..?”

Jon shakes his head and stands up, dusting off imaginary grime. “No, no, nothing like that. I had just, er. I had heard you cry out and I- I wanted to make sure nothing was going on. It appears that it simply a nightmare,so I will be.. taking my leave. Now.”

He doesn’t know what part of himself replies, “Oh! You don’t have to go!,” but he replies it anyway. Jon does that little thoughtful frown at him, which forces him to continue, “I mean, if you wanted the cot. For sleeping. I’ll probably be awake for the rest of the night, so, you know, no skin off my back .”

“Ah. No, that’s quite alright, Martin. Try to get some more sleep, there’s still a long work day ahead.”

Jon doesn’t even wait for a response before turning on his heel and leaving. Martin sort of hates how much he wanted him to stay.

Part 2

Jon is laughing. Jon is terrified, all the damn time, and yet, somehow, he’s laughing. Honestly, he was starting to wonder if he was still capable of it. Martin is gesticulating wildly with his fork, animated in a way that Jon’s only ever seen when in they’re in the middle of a rather silly debate. He thinks this lunch’s topic was something like whether or not snakes were cute? He lost the thread of conversation about half an hour ago, honestly. Covering his mouth, he lets the giggles run through his whole body, shaking his shoulders and heating his core. He feels light, heady, like he’s reminiscing with an old friend and they’re both on the edge of having had too much to drink.

He only wishes he could trust this feeling. He wishes that he could trust Martin, that they were normal coworkers having a normal lunch, that the previous person in Jon’s position had gone into an easy retirement instead of being violently murdered. He wishes he hadn’t read that letter telling him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Martin, Martin, who took him to lunch and brought him tea and seemed so very warm in so very cold circumstances, was lying to him.

Jon stops laughing.

Part 3

Of course, the second his body hits the simultaneously stiff and weirdly lumpy motel mattress, his phone goes off. It may only be about 8 pm, but he’s tired, and he’s sore, and he’s had a persistent headcold for the past week for some unholy reason, the last thing he wants to do is talk. However, only about four people have the number to the burner cell, and they’re almost certainly have a purpose behind their call.

Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh that turns into more of a groan, he picks up on the 4th ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jon! It’s Martin, I’m not sure if you have my number programmed in that phone, or if it even has caller ID if you do. Anyway, it’s been about a week since I’ve heard anything, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t, y’know, dead or arrested or anything.”

His previously tense and aching muscles all relax, without him consciously deciding to relax them, and a sleepy smile spreads across his face, because some time in the past year he’s become a parody of himself. Yes, maybe he should be more affronted by how much Martin’s tinny voice brings him comfort, but he’s had a rather terrible time of things since...since he began work in the archives, really, and he’s worn down enough that he can admit he misses his friend.

Huh. Friends. They are, aren’t they? Wonder when that happened. (He can guess, something involving a fake CV admission, but he doesn’t feel like it right now.) “Martin, I recognize your voice, no need to introduce yourself.”

“Right! Yes, uh, ‘course..of course you can. Right. Sooo...I take it you’re not dead, then.”

“Correct. I haven’t been arrested, either.” It’s only sort of a comforting lie, so Jon thinks it can be forgiven.

“Good. Great! Yeah, that’s...that’s good.”

The conversation could probably end there. Jon could probably tell Martin good night, and they’d hang up, and Jon could get the sleep he had been so desperately craving not moments ago. Somehow, he thinks that neither of them want that. Scrambling for something to talk about, Jon replies, “Hang on, isn’t it something like 2am over there?”

“It...might be.”

“Martin!”

“What! It’s not like you have a monopoly on bad sleeping habits. Besides, I was up anyway, and I just..”

“Just what?”

“I just missed your voice.”

Oh. Heat rushes to his cheeks, and tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes, and god. He had missed Martin’s voice too. “Really? I know you’ve had to listen to a fair number of tapes lately, thought you might be sick of it by now.”

“No. I mean, I am a bit tired of tapes, honestly, but even the ones that you recorded, that not really your voice, is it? I mean it is, but it doesn’t sound like you when you’re actually, um, you. I wanted..I wanted to hear you.”

Jon’s far too worn out to deal with that sentiment, and the way that it makes his heart clench. So instead  of addressing it, he says, “I am very close to being asleep.”

“Oh. Right, sorry, I’ll let you go-”

“No! No. Um. Would you mind staying on the line? Until I’m gone? I-I like hearing your voice. As well.”

“Oh! Sure, yeah, definitely. Anything in particular you want me to talk about?”

“Whatever you like. Something nice?”

“All right. I can do that. Um. Did I tell you about this little yarn shop I found the other day. It’s called ‘Puttin’ on the knitz’, and it’s…”

Jon peacefully drifts off, listening to the voice of the man who he can only admit in moments such as these, he wishes was in this bed, laying beside him.

Part 4

please come back please come back for the love of god come back I can’t believe you’re doing this do you have any idea how stupid this is come back to me come back come back come back

Part 5

There is plenty of things to long for in the apocalypse. A decent cuppa. The relief of actual sleep. Murdering Jonah Magnus. For there not to be a apocalypse. They are grateful, however, to not have to long for each other.

Part 6

Martin comes to without a knife in his hand, or bloodstains on his clothing. Those, under other circumstances, would be good things.

Martin comes to, laying in the grass, without anyone beside him. He barely has the moment to feel agony spike through him before he’s out once more.

There are no Jonathan Sims admitted to the hospital. As far as he can tell, no one was admitted into the hospital at the same time as him, and certainly no one with a stab wound.

There are thousands of ‘Jonathan Sims UK’, typed desperately into a library computer search bar, wielding mostly results about a sport manager and a romance novelist. None of the images are of the right person.

Sometimes Martin puts one foot in front of the other, carefully blank in heart and head. Surviving, even  during times that he’s not sure he wants to, is one of his greatest abilities.

Sometimes Martin despairs.

On the worst nights, he tries to call the Lonely back to him, tries to be swallowed whole. It never works. He’s not sure if it’s because the fears aren’t in the reality or if they’re not established enough to have any leverage or if his connection has simply been broken. (He doubts the last reason. He hasn’t been this alone since Tim’s funeral. Even then, Melanie had thrown a few stilted condolences towards him. No one is aware enough of him to give condolences now. He misses Melanie. He misses all of them. He misses Jon like a gaping, bleeding wound misses skin.)

Seven months later, and he has enough money saved and identity built that he moves on to Scotland. The little village they had been adjacent to exists in this reality. Daisy’s cottage does not.

On a whim, he enters the yarn shop. He’s not going to pick anything up, hobbies are the last thing he can focus on, but it’s nice to look. To feel the various textures, to take in the rich variance of colors, to, hopefully be present in his own body, if only for a moment.

Martin steps in. The bell chimes. He’s there. Standing in front of him. Whole. In a cry that’s closer to a gasp, he calls out, “JON!”

Jon turns, looks up at him, recognizes him even before he’s even fully seen him. It’s his Jon, he’s here he’s here he’s here. The callback of “MARTIN!” sounds like it was punched out of him, the start of a sob and a laugh all at once.

In a blink, they’re together, their embrace a tangle of limbs, a collision of lips, a mixture of tears. Martin can’t tell which of them is saying the litany of “thank god thank god thank god” and who’s repeating “it’s you it’s you it’s you.”

It’s Jon that’s telling him, “I knew you had to be here. I knew it, because I kept thinking. Surely. Surely this new universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to allow me to live, but to make me live without you.”

It’s Martin that replies, “I didn’t know. I thought it would be that cruel. Please don’t make me go through that again.”

Jon pulls him in tighter, eliminating the centimeter of space between them. Speaking into Martin’s neck, whispered in fierce devotion, Jon promises, “Never again. Never again. You and me. Together. For the rest of our lives.”

Barely discernible through his sobbing, Martin tells him, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~*~

There are people that think that wanting is more worthwhile than having. Martin thinks, frankly, that those people have never been in love.

[whaleofatjme1920]

The Ends of Hallways (Proxies X F!Reader)

The Ends of Hallways

[Proxies X F!Reader]

[Warnings: slight language]

[AN: Y'all are just gonna have to thank Eris for always sending me the best requests. I don't have favorites,,, but Reader, I have favorites. Also no Kate sorry :( ]

Your face was practically squished against the glass of the car Hoodie had stolen as the four of you pull into the parking lot of woods that brim with the Operator’s energy. You’ve never seen these woods in person - only in dreams. You’ve never even really seen your master in person, once again, like these woods, he too has been confined to your dreams. But you hear him, and often. His voice falls down on your ears like gentle rains that fall from the heavens. He is everything and more. That is why it is so exciting for you to finally be here, so close to him, and to his presence.

“You excited?” You hear your group leader ask.

You nod and press harder up against the glass. “Are we going now?” You’re ready to bounce out of the car and everyone can see that.

He chuckles in response. “What do you think Hood? Time to go?”

The hazel eyed man behind him shoots the driver a look. “Masky, just look at her, she’s gonna break the window if we don’t.” There’s a slight playfulness in his tone that tells you the right hand really isn’t annoyed with you.

“Fair enough,” Masky smiles. He then reaches behind his seat, hand slapping at who used to be the runt’s knee. “Tobes? Tob-Tobes, get up.”

Toby’s eyes shoot open as he lurches forward. “I’m u-u-up, I-I’m u-up,” he yawns as his hands rub tiredly at his eyes. “Are w-w-we here a-alaready?” He asks, the exhaustion still clear in his tone.

Both of the men in the front seats nod. “C’mon, let’s get going,” Hoodie says as he pulls up the lock on his car door before sliding out.

You wait impatiently for Masky to unlock the car then zip out like a bat from hell. You’re immediately at the edge of one of the forest’s many trails and taking in the sights and sounds of your boss’s woods. They’re beautiful, really. The autumn colors bathe the woods in fiery oranges and passionate reds with threads of gold to interlock it all together. The sky is just the slightest shade of blue as clouds cover the sun. There weren’t any people here either - not under the little structures, not exploring, not anyone but you and your comrades.

“Wrong one,” Hoodie says as he closes the trunk to the car before tossing a backpack to Toby, who catches it like second nature.

You whip your head around to see that Masky, Hoodie and Toby are smiling at how excited you are before silently asking you to follow them. “Where are we going?” You ask, eyes wide as you jog up to them.

“Across the field. There’s this cool tunnel of trees we think you’ll appreciate,” Masky replies as he leads his group across the grass. It crunches slightly as the four of you move, like it hasn’t been watered in a long time.

“R-Really?” Toby hums as he puts his hands in his pockets. “You s-s-sure we’re n-not gonna be l-late?” The young proxy gives a slight look to his group leader, eyebrow raised as if he’s sure the Operator is okay with them possibly being tardy.

Masky shakes his head before tapping his temple with his free hand, “he told me it’s okay.”

“He did?” You ask as stars cloud your eyes. The Operator, as you’ve heard so far, is to be feared and respected. He’s like a father you can look at but never touch. He seems so out of your range, like he’s not even visible - not even if you squint your eyes. You wonder what makes you so… interesting… in his eyes. You really don’t think you’re worth all the fuss. Clearly he does.

Masky chuckles before ruffling your hair with his hand, “yeah. I think he finds your enthusiasm endearing.” Masky’s not entirely incorrect. When they first got Toby, the Operator was strangely favorable towards the young proxy as well - maybe because he was hand plucked, special, and therefore deemed worthy of his time. You were similar to Toby, albeit, you accidentally got involved with the Operator. He liked you, chose you, then kept you.

Hoodie whistles slightly as the four of you step into the trees, his gloved hand reaching up to tear off a branch from one of the low hanging trees then swing it aimlessly as his side. “Seems pretty obvious in my opinion,” he whacks Toby lightly with the stick making said proxy laugh. “Looks like Toby isn’t the only golden child anymore.”

“P-Probably not,” Toby hums, a slight melancholy coming into his tone. “Think I-I’ve been losing f-f-favor with h-hin for a w-while.” He glances over his shoulder and smiles at you.

You frown slightly and place your hand on his shoulder, “I don’t think so,” you say. “Just means he has two golden child-s now.”

Toby beams.

You do too.

The group continues to move through the trees, mostly silent save for Masky and Hoodie pointing out little memories from time to time. Things such as some guy named ‘Alex’ chasing them through here, Masky’s waking up with no memory, Hoodie’s nature shots, and everything in between. You learn a lot about the hands of your group from when they were just scared film students to the things they’ve done as proxies here. It’s kind of nice as you’ve never really spoken to them this way before.

When you first came into this life and were placed in this group, the hazing process kicked in like wildfire. Almost every day was a mentally or physically, sometimes both, a draining task and a bonding agent. Authority was not to be questioned and they made that more than clear. Eventually, the hazing grew lighter and lighter until it just… didn’t exist. That was how it went - you were no longer considered naive and starry eyed. Still, authority was not to be questioned, and it’s why you and your comrades have never really talked on this specific level before.

It’s why it’s such a treat that you get to talk to them like this now.

Eventually, the four of you make it to an odd stretch of trees. They tunnel over each other, a lot like a thorny funnel, but they frame the sky so well.

“If the sun was setting,” Masky starts. “It would look like a cradle.”

You take a step back and observe the tunnel of trees, trying to imagine the setting sun. The mental image is pretty. “Will we ever be back here to see it?”

“Oh definitely,” Masky continues. “But uh, the business we’re here for today? Don’t know if that’s meant for anyone but me and maybe Hoodie.”

You look on instinct to Hoodie who nods. “Is that normal?”

“Sure is,” Hoodie says as he takes in the scent of the cooling autumn woods. He knows the group is almost to the limits of the Operator’s realm. “Tell me what you feel right now, Reader,” he says in passing as he flicks the stick somewhere off the given trail.

With a glance around at your surroundings, you attempt to get a feel for the area you’re in. It’s cold, much colder, but the atmosphere still feels a little thick. The further you go into the woods (and by extension the Operator’s bounds to which you don’t even know exist yet), you get that odd feeling in your legs that feels like they’ve fallen asleep. It’s like the physical sensation of static. You try to explain it in words, but they fail. Instead, you allow Hoodie into your thoughts.

“Nice,” he smiles. “Alright, try to ask for permission in.”

“I need to ask for permission?”

“E-Everytime,” Toby begins as he and the others pause. They’re right on the edge of the bubble and can feel it so much stronger than you can. “It’s t-to ensure n-normal humans c-can’t come in,” Toby begins to explain as you gaze around your surroundings, wondering how you’ll even begin to ask. “T-Though, their f-feelings sometimes k-kick into o-overdrive and they e-end up p-piercing through the v-veil on a-a-accident.” He chuckles softly and you know exactly what he’s referring to - you’ve heard tales of the people who get stuck wandering where they shouldn’t: always ends in someone strung up in the pines. “W-We’ve all learned t-to ask p-permission like b-breathing.”

You shoot your comrade a confused glance, wondering what that will mean for you. “I just ask?”

“Kind o-of,” Toby says. “Just l-let your f-f-feelings guide you. She’ll t-t-tell you whether you’re a-a-allowed in or not.”

You close your eyes and begin to hone in on whatever your heart is telling you. It’s a cold feeling, mostly like vines that slip up and down your limbs as they grow upwards and then inwards towards your heart. It’s an odd feeling. Once the static vines pierce through your heart, you physically see a fog roll into the forest around you. It consumes you and your comrades before you remember Toby mentioned ‘she.’ The fog thickens. “Wait, she?” You say as the static begins to leave your system. It feels like you’re tearing through roots as you walk forward.

“He didn’t mean it,” Masky quickly replies as he begins to pull you through the fog. “Good job on asking though. Strong response,” he says as gestures to the fog, his hand swimming through the billowy clouds. “Wives’ tale is the stronger the fog, the more genuine you were in response.”

You wade your fingers through the thick fog as you and the others walk forward, deeper and deeper into the darkness where there was none. “Must’ve had a really genuine response, huh?” You mumble to yourself. The fog doesn’t even feel like normal fog - it feels thick and heavy and leaves slight dew on your clothing as you walk. How interesting.

‘Head talk from here on out,’ Hoodie says as the four of you reach a stretch of woods that feels slightly dangerous.

‘Did you feel it too?’ Toby asks, his hand at his hatchet.

Hoodie nods slightly, his eyes narrowing as he slows his pace so he’s guarding the back. He gives you a slightly concerned look as the fog evens out. Everyone but you knows that they’re in perhaps one of the most dangerous parts of the veil. The Operator’s mere presence is usually enough to deter the things like the Rake from his grounds, but that often means they get trapped here - in the in-between - and lash out on the first thing they sense. The sooner the four of you get out of this dangerous spot, the better.

‘What do you sense?’ You ask, cutting mentally through the rough silence, your own hand moving to your blade.

Hoodie looks like he’s about to answer you before he holds his fist up and the other three of you duck down instantly, dipping below the fog. Just then, some deer begin walking past.

‘Deer?’ You say in a questioning tone.

‘Not just any deer,’ Hoodie begins as the deer slowly nibbles on the leaves and other things. ‘Take a good look at their bodies. They look normal to you?’

You narrow your eyes slightly and get used to peering through the fog as the deer pass. Eventually, you’re able to look at their coats. There’s something off about them, something wrong. Something you can’t quite place. The longer you watch them as they move in front of you, the stronger that off feeling gets. They have every physical part of the deer down but it’s just not right. It’s like their joints don’t fit well beneath their skin. And their eyes… Their eyes are completely hollow.

‘You see it?’ Masky asks as the last of the deer passes by. He glances over his shoulder briefly to see you nod. ‘We’re lucky they didn’t change this time,’ he mumbles, slowly inching forward while crouched against the earth.

‘What would’ve happened if they changed?’ You inquire, moving quietly alongside your comrades.

‘Nightmare fuel,’ Toby finally pipes in. ‘Nothing about them looks right. Big mouths full of sharp teeth, black eyes, too many limbs, like a messed up centipede,’ he finishes, a slight shudder coming into his mental tone.

You notice the other two of your group members nodding in agreement before finally deeming it safe enough to stand up and finally exit the in-between of the veil.

You’re greeted to the sight of a beautiful, rustic looking Germanic mansion surrounded by iron gates that hold honeycomb patterns that trail skywards only to end on sharp peaks that you’re almost certain your boss has spiked people on plenty of times. There’s also flowers of every kind in the front gardens that catch your eyes the moment you step through the grand gates. There’s fountains and topiaires, statues and benches that tell you the Operator drips with style and elegance.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Masky smiles.

You nod, “it’s gorgeous.” The air smells slightly expensive, but mostly sweet. How is it that a place like this can even possibly exist? Around the mansion are autumnal trees, mostly maple, some sycamore and other birch. Scattered on the front lawn are other proxies and some independents, mostly catching up and talking before leaving through the same gates you entered from. Some of them smile and wave as they pass you, others grunt and turn their nose up at you upon realizing you’re the youngest. This place sings with the Operator’s overwhelming presence.

Your comrades continue to watch your amused expression as they lead you to the front doors of the mansion. They’re large and stained glass, slightly gothic in woodwork and tower over you.

“Go ahead,” Hoodie chuckles as he nods for you to open the doors.

You glance back to him, then at the large doors before tentatively placing your hands on their surface. With a small breath, you push them open and find yourself greeted to the most exquisite foyer you’ve ever seen. Large chandeliers hang from the ceiling, sapphires and rubies drip from the fixtures and shine the light beautifully across the marble floors. Gold leaf adorns almost everything that juts out while the huge staircase in front of you beckons you forward.

“Doesn’t seem like he needs us yet,” Masky says as he checks his watch. “Got here earlier than expected, huh?” He lightly ribs Hoodie who rolls his eyes in response. “C’mon, let’s go to the sun room. Don’t wanna wait around in here.” He nods for the three of you to follow.

Toby clears his throat slightly as if to remind the two in charge that you’re still very much here and new.

“Oh, right,” Masky says. “Reader, this is super important, so listen up,” your group leader begins as he turns on his heels to eventually rest his hands on your shoulders.

You raise a brow at his sudden contact. Masky normally didn’t touch you unless what he had to say was important - which really, really didn’t happen often.

“This mansion likes to play off your thoughts, feelings, and logic,” he says, his hand gesturing to the staircase that’s slowly moving directions. You didn’t even hear it begin to shift. “The Operator usually keeps things in line for when he summons you, it’s almost a guaranteed path you’ll make it to him, but,” his eyes go serious. “If it’s just you and you’re moving around, you need to have a place in mind or it’ll accidentally spit you out somewhere totally random. We’ve had people get lost in here because the mansion is slightly playful and weirdly baneful depending on the individual walking around.”

“The Operator has a playful side?”

Masky stifles a laugh before shaking you lightly. “I legitimately mean it, you need to have a place in mind or you’re gonna get lost and the Operator isn’t gonna be happy. By extension, I won’t be happy because I need to come get you.”

“Mhm,” Hoodie nods in agreement. “And you can’t have the thought in passing either, it’s gotta be on your mind until it’s in sight.” After Hoodie’s words leave his mouth, Masky lets you go.

You take all the information in and wonder just what makes the place run. It’s like it has its own personality - it’s playful and baneful? You have to ask it permission to even enter its grounds and it deems whether you’re worthy or not? What kind of power does the Operator even have and why on earth would he even care about that kind of stuff? If he truly wanted his proxies to access him, he’d do it with no hesitation. The humans that would wander into his rooms would just end up tasting someone’s blade.

“Sun room?” Hoodie reminds Masky.

Your entire walk to the sun room you try to conjure a mental image in your head. They say it’s doubtful you’ll get lost so long as you’re with them, but you consider it good practice. When you finally make it to the sun room, you’re pleased to see it’s relatively empty save for a few groups interspersed in the large, window adorned room overlooking a silver lake. There’s a few independents walking around with carts holding different tea time finger-foods and waiting tea sets on every table. Maasky leads you over to one of the tables nearest to the view of the lake.

“So, what business exactly are we here for today?” You ask as you waste no time in pouring yourself some tea.

Masky shrugs, “no idea. He said he just wanted us to come.”

“T-Think he r-really only n-needs an audience w-with them though,” Toby adds before silently thanking you for pouring him some tea as well. “L-Leaves us some t-t-time to chat. Y’know, t-the thing H-Hood hates us d-doing,” he lightly jokes.

Hoodie scoffs and feigns being annoyed, “I only hate you two chatting when we’re in the middle of tearing out some guy’s entrails.”

“Y-Yeah, which is a-all the time,” Toby giggles.

You laugh as well.

The four of you are in a heated argument about something relatively stupid when static overtakes Masky and Hoodie’s hearing. They visibly pause, as if they’re trying to key into something you can’t understand when it suddenly stops.

“Have t-to go?” Toby inquires before taking a strawberry tart and popping it into his mouth.

Both Masky and Hoodie nod.

“Yeah. Keep an eye on Reader, please? We won’t be too long,” Masky replies with a small, tired smile.

Toby flashes the two a thumbs up before the both of you watch them leave, a clear destination on their minds.

It’s not long until Toby gets distracted by some other independents that stroll into the mansion. You recognize the two of them as relatively minor legends - well, maybe not the one with the smile. His name is Jeff.

“So, this is your fresh meat, huh?” Jeff chuckles as he lightly pushes Toby’s shoulder. “She looks a little scrawny. Are you feeding her right?”

Toby laughs and nods, “Masky w-w-would lose his m-mind if you s-s-said that.”

Jeff’s chest rumbles as he laughs. “I’m joking,” he holds his hand up as a sign of truce. “Hope you know you’re running with one of the only decent groups out there, Reader,” he says before picking up his tea cup. It looks slightly comical as he brings it to his lips.

You offer him a smile and nod, “yeah, I know.”

The man to Jeff’s left nods in agreement, “Masky’s really good at what he does. Got one of the best.”

Toby immediately fights the notion (playfully) and the three engage in conversation that’s lively and vibrant all the same. You listen to the three verbally duke it out before you find yourself bored. You can’t just leave though, but you want to move at the same time.

“Toby?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I excuse myself?”

“W-Where to?”

“Washroom,” you reply.

“Do y-you need m-me to a-accompany y-y-you?”

Both Eyeless Jack and Jeff scoff.

“She’s a big girl, let her go,” Jeff says as he nods his own approval for you to go. “You told her about the mindset thing?”

Toby nods.

“Yeah, then she’s good to go,” Eyeless Jack agrees.

You flash the men at your table a smile before getting up. You push in your chair and then make it to the entrance of the sunroom, leading into the halls. You don’t have a set destination in mind. The moment you step out of the sunroom, you feel the air change. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s different. On instinct, you turn your gaze over your shoulder to see the sunroom is gone. It’s just hall and lining the hall are doors upon doors.

Alright, you can work with that! A small smile comes to your face as you begin to walk forwards, allowing your curiosity to bloom. The first door you decide to open is one that’s honestly not that exciting. It was just a storage unit. Another was a study. Then it was someone’s room. Another room. And another. How many residence rooms are there?

You close yet another door and then feel a thought come into your head, taking a seat on your train of thought like a butterfly sunbathes on a flower. She - Toby had mentioned it. And you wondered. You let the thought stay. Before you know it, you’re walking through the halls guided by forces you don’t quite understand, and the further you get into the mansion, the stranger the atmosphere becomes. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s not a normal feeling either. You watch as the light fixtures change from something relatively modern and regress into something more vintage. The dust begins to kick up. Irish lace begins to pepper the ceiling. You notice how the doors change style as well. How strange.

Eventually, you reach a dead end stretch of hall. At the very end of this hall is a singular door that looks weathered, as if it was sunbleached and painted over in oils. There’s an elegance to it you can’t quite place, and like a siren song, you find yourself being beckoned to it. Your proxy instincts kick in like second nature the closer you draw to it. You feel your breathing lighten, your steps as well, and you move towards it with a silence that is unmatched - as if you’re floating on air. You draw closer and closer to the door. It’s so magnetic, and you can’t quite explain why/ But closer still you must be to it.

Your hand tenderly grasps the doorknob - it feels like ice - and you twist it open. You wonder if you should be doing this. A part of you feels like you shouldn’t be doing this, but another part of you says this is what you were meant to see. You push the door open ever so slightly, just enough to be able to see inside, but the door is heavy, almost as if it doesn’t want you to. Like it’s trying to protect you from something further. You wonder if it just wishes to keep its secrets.

It’s gorgeous, it truly is. It puts the rest of the mansion to shame. It looks old - perhaps from 16th century Germany and fit for royalty. Plants of all kinds line the walls. They look like emeralds as light shines through their leaves. The sunlight kisses the flowers that sprout from the stalks. Beautiful woodwork surrounds the windows that are covered in fairytale-esque stained glass pieces. The scent is of something much, much sweeter and warmer than the rest of the mansion. Your eyes then draw to the center of the room, where an ornate table sits. There’s gold leaf decorating its legs followed by symbols you can’t really pin down. A tablecloth that looks like it was weaved from the stars above is the only thing that separates a delicate tea set from the precious mahogany table. The tea smells heavenly from where you stand.

Before you can press into the room, you pause upon seeing slender, pale hands take hold of the tea pot. Your eyes follow upwards to the owner of the hands only to see a woman so much more beautiful than the moon in twilight and the sun in the morning. Falling from her shoulders was golden hair that looked like a sea of amber as it cascaded down near the floor. Flowers were woven into it - mostly snowdrops, baby’s breath and queen Anne’s lace. She’s dressed in something from medieval Europe, and never once does her sleeve touch the table. She begins to pour herself some tea, a honey like hum coming from her being as she pours the sweet liquid. Her eyes flick upwards for but a moment when she hears a bird chirping outside. Her eyes are so dark, there exists no white sclera. They’re so dark, like black holes that hide in the depths of space, but you feel as if she holds the universe inside of them. She’s so beautiful, you’re not sure she’s real. A cat has jumped up onto the table, purring at her. When she smiles, your heart sings.

You want to say hello to her and spend time in her presence when you attempt to open the door some more. It creaks slightly. The hinges are ancient. Before you can say anything, the door is slammed shut, sending you flying backwards. You let out a sound of shock before seeing Toby reaching down to get you.

“What t-the hell a-a-are you thinking?” He hisses as he picks you up, grabbing your bicep and beginning to drag you away from the door that still holds your attention. “You r-really just w-wandered off l-like that?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, attempting to get free of his grasp as he continues to pull you along. No matter how hard you smack at him, he doesn’t let go.

“M-Masky said it’s not s-safe for y-y-you to wander o-off. A-And without m-me? D-D-Did you have a-any cognitive t-t-thought when you w-went out on a l-limb like t-that?” He sounds so heated.

You find he’s bringing you back to the sunroom, undoubtedly going to tell Masky and Hoodie about your misbehavior. “Why are you being so weird?” You retort as you attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. “It’s just a room!” You cry out in an exasperated tone.

Toby only reprimands you louder. It’s a losing game.

You eventually find yourself back in the sunroom. Only, instead of Eyeless Jack and Jeff, you see the deeply concerned and slightly pissed off faces of Masky and Hoodie. They’re not happy to see you, and you’re not exactly thrilled to see you either.

“Take a s-s-seat,” Toby says in a harsh tone as he thrusts you back into your seat.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Masky asks, not even attempting to mask his voice because that’s the privilege of being a proxy. You’re able to reprimand your proxies without anyone giving a care.

“You can’t just go off like that,” Hoodie continues as he furrows his brows. “You could’ve gotten-”

“Hurt? This is the Operator’s mansion, what the fuck is gonna hurt me in here other than himself or you two?”

“That’s it,” Masky points out. “He can seriously hurt you if you snoop where you shouldn’t!” His hands grips at your wrist, tightening to a point of pain.

When you feel tears prick your eyes, Hoodie sighs and puts his hand on Masky’s shoulder, “stop it.”

Masky hesitantly lets you go.

“What did you see?” Hoodie asks with a deep sigh, his posture tensing. He’s really hoping you didn’t see the Operator’s trophy room.

You give your comrades a concerned look, not sure whether you should answer or not when Hoodie raises a slight brow. Damn it. You’re emotionally compromised. He’s seeing what he needs to without your permission.

“That’s… Odd…” He says.

Masky glances to Hoodie. “No.”

“Unfortunately, I think yeah,” Hoodie says with a growing frown. He glances to Toby for confirmation, and upon seeing Toby’s nod, says “yeah,” again.

Masky groans and puts his face into his hands, finding comfort in being buried into himself.

You hold your wrist in your hand and lean back in your chair. “Just… What is it you guys aren’t telling me?” You question, hoping they’d just bite the bullet and tell you.

The group shares a look, debating whether they should even say it or not. When no one says anything, you press them again.

“Come on,” you sigh. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It really could be,” Masky says as he finally releases his face from his hands. “No one knows what seeing it does.”

Your eyes widen before you bark a laugh. “What?”

“No, he’s serious,” Hoodie picks up. “Seeing that door is rare, like, rainbow pikachu rare. Proxies think it’s an omen or a bad luck thing. To see it means a group’s eventual demise.”

You briefly scoff at the thought of proxies being superstitious before you remember some of you can actually cast portals. It’s really not that out of pocket.

“N-No one has e-e-ever found o-out though,” Toby shrugs. “W-We just know t-that the g-groups that h-h-have n-normally e-end in death.” He looks a little uncomfortable as he says the words, like there’s a legitimate truth to what he’s saying even though he’d rather it be utter BS.

“To be fair, we thought it was a rumor prior to you sneaking off,” Hoodie says as he tries to calm down his group.

You take in this information with a small frown. How could something that beautiful be that evil or a harbinger of doom? The thought of it left you perplexed as your comrades continued to lecture you on not wandering off until Masky and Hoodie were called away.

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable leaving Reader here with-”

Toby rolls his eyes, “you c-cant just s-say you want m-me to come with i-instead. N-Not need to insult m-my competence a-a-as a babysitter,” he mumbles before glancing down to his hatchets.

Masky sighs and nods for Toby to follow him out. Looks like it’s just you and Hoodie.

“So,” you awkwardly begin, not really sure what to do or what to say.

“So,” Hoodie hums back. “Anywhere you wanted to go?” When he sees the glint in your eyes, he shakes his head. “Like, a normal place. We’re gonna be here for a while while those two are out,” he chuckles, watching as you visibly deflate.

You allow the question to bang around in your head until you nod with a thought in mind. “The library. I’d like to go to the library.”

Hoodie smiles at that suggestion and finishes the rest of his tea before standing up. He stretches for a moment, then leads you to the hallway your original snooping began. You noticed as his thoughts immediately became clouded with the word and vision of ‘library’ as the two of you trekked the halls. As you walked, you barely recognized any of the doors you passed. They weren’t on your radar, which was odd in your opinion as you had opened a lot of door you probably shouldn’t have.

Eventually, you reach two large oak doors. Hoodie pushes them open and you’re greeted to the sight of a beautiful library. It’s impossibly huge - how could such a place exist in the mansion? You’re well aware it’s a huge place, but the fact that all of this is here… It’s bigger than a downtown city library you visited when passing through Chicago a few months ago. The Operator’s influence is beautiful, isn’t it?

“I’m gonna be in the sci-fi section,” Hoodie says as he nods over to the right wing of the library. “It’s on the second floor.” You notice the spiral staircase that leads to what appears to be a balcony - it must stretch backwards forever. “Check in with me in about 15 minutes. Don’t do anything stupid.” It’s surprising how relaxed he’s being with you. You would have expected someone like Hoodie to be a lot angerier and more observational.

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, you nod and flash him a thumb’s up before bounding over to the left wing of the library. Nothing is properly labeled, but you get a strong bout of intuition where everything is. Right now, you’re on the hunt for history.

The aisle that holds the history books looks just as old as you would have expected it to. The books here aren’t any you’ve ever seen in stores either - they’re largely from the time period they’re to be representing. Some are more modern, but you get the feeling that they don’t exist anywhere else but under the Operator’s influence. You find a few books that talk about the early history of proxies, some on independents, but nothing to inform you on what you had found.

It’s honestly a little maddening. You check in with Hoodie when you have to - he asks you to list the spines of the books you’re currently looking at - and then you’re back to your fruitless search. You run up and down the halls of the history section looking for anything when you hear static begin to buzz in your heads. The feeling travels upwards like the vines you felt earlier from your heels to your chest. When they claw deep into your heart, you feel a pull. And once again, like a sailor beckoned to the rocks due to a siren’s song, you follow it.

It twists and turns you through the shelves, making you zip past the few proxies and independents that are currently visiting this wing of the library before you’re drawn to a rotunda. You look backwards and see in the distance the front doors of the library. When did this place get a middle wing? It was just straight shelves and a wall with large windows overlooking the rolling hills of the woods. You turn your attention upwards to the ceiling of the rotunda. There’s a large skylight that allows sunlight to cascade down. Around that are gems you don’t even know the name of that weave a mosaic of something positively divine. You allow your gaze to follow the shaft of warm sunlight down, and there, sitting at a table with a book in hand (it looks like a journal) is the Operator himself.

“S-Sir!” You manage to squeak out as you find yourself startled to be in his presence, Heat rises to your cheeks when he looks up from his book to turn his attention to you.

“How did you get here?” He asks, confusion etching his body as he curiously tilts his head.

Your breath hitches. “I’m so sorry,” you apologize, bowing your head almost immediately. “I don’t know how I got here. It just felt like a pull and suddenly I was here? I was in the left wing and looking over history books and I-” you continue to rattle off until the Operator holds up his hand, silently signaling you to stop. You do so as soon as he asks.

“I-. It’s no matter,” he waves off. “Come, sit down beside me.” An inky black tendril sprouts from his back as he pulls the chair in front of him out, allowing you to sit in his presence.

You will your stone-like legs forward and attempt to gracefully take a seat in front of him. It’s a slightly awkward silence before he speaks again.

“How have you been, Miss Reader?”

“I’m alright,” you reply, voice no higher than a whisper.

The Operator hums. “Good.”

Another pregnant pause.

“Child, where is your book?”

“I uh, didn’t grab one?” You answer softly. You can tell the Operator is looking at you with what he can convey to his fullest as confusion. “When I was pulled here I just.. Followed,” you attempt to explain. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“And what have you done today?” He asks, giving his passing attention to you like a father would.

You bite your lip before steering the conversation towards the room you saw. “I think I met someone.”

“You did, did you?”There’s a passing interest as if he’s saying ‘that’s nice, honey.’

You nod. “She was in a tea room-”

He pauses.

“I found her by accident-”

He makes sure he’s hearing you correctly.

“Her hair was golden-”

He looks up.

“She had plants-”

He’s sitting upright now.

“She had a cat-”

He leans forward.

“Her smile rivaled the stars-”

He’s focusing so intently on you now.

“Her voice was like honey-”

He entirely focused on you.

“She was beautiful.”

The Operator’s ichor pauses for just a moment as he takes in the description of the woman you described. It makes a part of him sing and another part of him sob. He hasn’t heard of her in so, so long.

When you look up, you see the Operator practically leaned halfway over the table and entirely focused on you. It makes you jump. “I’m sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, thinking you saw something you shouldn’t have. “I wasn’t thinking and I uh, think the mansion led me to her?”

The Operator wordlessly nods. “Was she pouring tea?” He asked, voice so much gentler than anything you could ever expect him to conjure up.

You slowly nod. “She was.”

The Operator suddenly slumps down, making you jolt. You rise on instinct to help him when he waves you back down. “Do you realize who you’ve come into contact with?” He asks.

You shake your head. “I’m afraid not, Sir,” you say with slight remorse.

The Operator chuckles deeply - it rumbles his chest and in your head. “You found her.” He could smile, you were sure it would be from ear to ear if he had the correct facial features. “All these years later and you found her.” He emphasizes you like a bittersweet affirmation.

“Who is she?” You ask softly.

Your boss sits back up again. “Someone who loves me,” his tendril sprouts once again from his back and moves towards you. “Someone who loves you,” it taps your nose. “Someone who loves us.” The tendril makes a grand, sweeping gesture.

You take in the words and nod, still not knowing what they mean. Upon seeing your confusion, he decides to elaborate.

“A long, long time ago, in a realm you could not begin to fathom, there was light and there was dark,” he begins, his voice slipping into something akin to someone saying a bedtime story. “I was the light, and that cur we call Zalgo was the dark.”

You scrunch your nose at the sound of his name.

“The dark and the light were born from nothing, and she was beautiful.” His audible smile is actually endearing to hear. “Throughout the years, the light and the dark fought, constantly at each other's throats. It was woven in the threads of history, it had been our birthright. When we came to this place, this planet after being cast from our home - a palace amongst all palaces, a kingdom that rose far above any other, the nothingness came with us. She called herself Liebevolle Frau. She loved her children.” By this point in the story, the Operator has taken the liquids from the coffee cup he drinks from and animated them into the characters for this story.

You watch with stars in your eyes.

“But no guardian is without its favorites, and I happened to be hers.” Liebevolle Frau’s figure was shown sheltering the Operator’s much smaller one. “And this caused a rift that could not be mended through the light and dark. Eventually, the dark waged war on the light.”

It’s a war you’re still fighting to this day.

“In the 1500s, long after this mansion had been built and my power continued to grow, Zalgo had almost wiped us off the face of the earth to splatter out remains across all the five realms. Liebevolle Frau, thought caught off guard,” that would explain the tea, “sheltered me and protected this place and all who resided in it. At the time,” the Operator looks at you. “Independents and proxies had lived here much more commonly than they do now.”

You smile softly.

“Liebevolle Frau’s power had been pushed to its limit in holding back her first born son, and mind, as well as her heart, broke because of it. In her remaining moments of lucidity, she imbued herself, her soul,” the liquids take the form of something fluttering and soft, like a bird, “her everything, and became the place I hold jurisdiction over today.”

Your eyes widen as you think back to the odd feelings you’ve had coming here for today - and Toby’s slip-up.

“I have not been able to find her since the late 1500s,” The Operator explains as the liquids dance back into the coffee mug, the figure of Liebevolle Frau taking a hair longer than the rest. “She lives in everything.”

You’re honestly speechless over everything the Operator has said because it’s so… It’s strangely heartfelt. You’ve never even spoken face to face with your boss and when you do, it’s because some force is guiding you to do so. But if that force felt so alive, it must have meant she wanted you to know.

“Her physical form,” you finally manage to wisp out. “She wanted to be at peace, didn’t she?”

The Operator chuckles deeply. “I would assume so.”

Before you can respond to anything or even come up with another response, you hear both Masky AND Hoodie yelling for you in your head. The jarring difference between your boss’s gentle voice and Masky and Hoodie crying out for blood is enough to make you jump (once again).

Upon seeing your sudden switch in atmosphere, the Operator hushes the voices in your head and calls them to his side.

Toby is the first to show up though, and quickly trailing after him is Masky and Hoodie. They both look ready to reprimand you but upon seeing you sitting with the Operator, nothing but reverence crosses their minds and bodies.

“Good evening, Sir,” Masky says as he bows his head. “Are you well?”

“Thoughtful, aren't you, Timothy?” There’s no animosity or anger in the Operator’s tone, but it makes Masky blush all the same.

A pregnant pause passes.

“I was just speaking with your newest member, Miss Reader,” a pale hand gestures to you. “Come, join us. I could use the company.”

You watch as confused glances get shared between your three comrades before they take a seat beside you.

A pleasant silence passes through the air before a gentle humming that’s sweeter than honey overtakes it like a passing breeze.

[lebenspurpur]

Outdoor sex w baby? Go crazy I’m excited to see what you’ll do w this prompt

💍 Glow 💍

AN: I tried a different style of writing which seemed to fit, I hope that's fine :)

pairing: Baby Firefly x reader

warnings: NSFW, outdoor sex though not as much as I'd like it to be, swearing, facesitting, drugs, reader doesn't cum f in the chat for reader

word count:1546 words

You wish she wouldn't be that close.

It's not that you don't like it. You like it a lot. But whenever her skin brushes against yours, those damn shivers run up and down your body. They make you tingly. Tingly, and horny and you don't like it.

Damn it, get a grip on yourself.

She's really pretty right now though. Her golden locks are spread all over the grass beneath you. Her eyes are closed and she's smiling. Shit, she looks angelic. So pretty. So vulnerable.

It’s quite funny, she could easily kill you yet she’s the sweetest angel you’ve ever met.

Damn, what’d you give for her body on top of you right now. Her quivering legs on each side of your head, your hands on her soft skin to stop her from pulling away.

You should stop these thoughts. After all, you both came out here to relax. Well, relax, and because Otis threw another tantrum and you were fearing for your lives.

Sighing, you turn your head again. The sky is pretty. Not as pretty as Baby though. You want to turn around again, look at her lovely face all night.

No, that'd be creepy. You stop yourself before your neck turns on its own.

"What's wrong sugar?", someone giggles next to you, "You're lookin' all stressed."

Fuck, you're so weak for this woman. Her giggle, the accent, her voice. Just imagine her moans- you try to stop the thoughts, your crotch already throbs enough.

"M' just bored.", you send a grin her way, and Baby smiles. God, her smile is so addictive, so stunning.

"Well... wanna pass the time?", she asks, supporting her upper body on her elbows.

You send a confusing grimace her way and Baby laughs before turning around to search for something in her bag. Seconds later she turns to you again, some tobacco, weed, and cigarette paper in her hand.

"Did ya really think I'd come out here with nothin'?"

She giggles after the question and sits up, ready to roll the joint.

While she does so, your eyes focus on her slender fingers. Imagine how these fingers would feel around your neck, around your thighs, inside your hair, pulling on it while you-

"You gonna take it or what?"

You snap out of your trance, taking the joint from Baby's fingers. While your lips wrap around the paper, Baby pulls out a lighter, gently holding it beneath the blunt inside your mouth.

You take a deep breath and the smoke immediately invades your lungs. Exhaling with closed eyes you give the joint to Baby and she eagerly puts it in between her lips.

That whole process keeps ongoing for a while. You totally don't spend the whole time staring at the pretty girl in front of you.

After a few minutes, you can feel the drug slowly sinking into your system. There's a short moment in which you panic, thinking about all your horny thoughts leaving your mouth. You shrug it off and turn around, facing your latest obsession again.

Baby is showing a lopsided grin, hooded eyes focusing on nothing and everything at the same time.

"You still bored?", she giggles and you feel the corners of your lips move upward as well. Damn it, you can't help yourself around her.

"A little bit.", you smirk and she laughs at your expression, "Any other ideas what we could do, hm?".

Baby grins and moves closer to you. The grass shuffles underneath Baby's body. Her skin is warm and you can feel the heat radiating off of it.

"I know what we could do...", she whispers into your ear. Holy shit. Shivers run down your back and you move closer. Her breath is fanning your lips.

"You do?"

You tried to sound seductive but your voice just portrays distraction. Oh yes, you're distracted. Distracted by her lips. Her tongue slowly wetting them.

Baby seems to have the same problem though. Her gaze flicks from your lips to your eyes and back and her nose slowly touches yours.

"Yeah... I do...", she says, breathlessly, and finally presses her lips to yours.

The kiss is sloppy and needy but you couldn't give fewer shits right now. This is Baby we're talking about.

Her hands quickly pull you closer, fingers in your hair just like you imagined earlier. Her tongue touches yours and electric sparks flood right down to your crotch.

Panting, Baby pulls back and drags her teeth along your chin. Then down your throat. She nibbles on your collarbone and you moan softly, relaxing into her touch. She's so good at this.

She uses your distraction and moves onto your lap, crotches now rubbing against each other in amazing bliss. Baby chuckles breathlessly as she rubs her pussy over your jeans. Fuck, she could use you all night, that's how horny you were for this woman.

"Baby?"

Despite your efforts, you sound desperate. Desperate for her touch, for her lips. You lean forward, against her breasts.

"Hm?"

Baby's voice is whiny and you smile against her skin.

You lean back again, a confident smile now on your face. Baby would call it "shit-eating" but right now she seems too busy with pleasuring herself on your leg.

"I want to eat you out darlin', want you to sit on my face."

Baby smiles brightly at your idea and gladly lifts her arms as you remove her shirt.

Shit, she's not wearing a bra. Her tits are on full display, nipples hardened. Your mouth finds one of the buds and you bite down gently.

Baby moans shamelessly loud and the grip on your hair tightens.

You continue your assault on her nipples, soon they're smothered in spit.

Baby's needier now, standing up quickly to remove her pants. Oh, and how beautiful she looks. Long locks cascading down her bare back, pants gliding down her legs.

She notices your staring and, despite her arousal, she turns around to give you a little show.

"You like whatcha see sugar?"

You grin and grab her hips, pulling her flush against your lips so you can kiss the skin around her pussy. She's soft. So soft. And she smells so good, shit.

"I love what I see, sexy. Now come down here and sit on my face."

Baby giggles but she follows your orders, slowly sinking down on your head.

Shit, this is what you wanted all night. You wish Otis would throw a tantrum more often.

Your train of thoughts ends abruptly as her pussy touches your nose and Baby moans loudly.

She's dripping wet with arousal though you barely touched her. The weed has heightened her senses, making her much more sensitive to horny feelings than usual.

Smiling, you go to work, immediately finding her clit with your lips. Her legs flinch violently at that and you chuckle.

Your tongue finds her slit and you lick a long line up to her clit again, feeling her muscles tremble against your cheeks.

She's panting heavily above you. This isn't going to last long, you know it.

Your tongue finds her cunt again. She's slowly rutting against your face, rubbing her clit against your nose.

Breathing gets harder by the second but you would never complain. You have Baby fucking Firefly sitting on your face.

Her legs close around your head. She's moaning heavily now, leaning forward to support her weight with her arms on the dry grass.

You keep your rhythm, desperate to make her cum on your face. Baby's hips move violently on top of yours and you grab them, stilling the movement.

"Fuck, sugar.."

She's close and you can feel it. Her thighs are clenching around your face, leaving just enough air for you to not suffocate.

"Shit, darlin', I'm bout to come on your face."

Fuck. Her words encourage you even more and your tongue delves deeper, penetrating her slit heavily. She grinds her hips against your heavy grip, desperate, so desperate for her own release.

Her juices coat your chin, your mouth and you smirk against her lips, knowing just the trick to make her see stars.

Your tongue moves up, slowly, teasingly touching your clit. Her legs shake violently at that and she curses. Damn, she's so sexy.

"Fuck- so close-..."

You gently take her clitoris in between your teeth and bite down tenderly. You can feel her orgasm approaching the second your teeth touch the soft bundle.

Your name leaves Baby's mouth in a silent scream and you support her legs as they violently trash around your face. Ahh. There it is.

You can feel juices dripping down your nose, trailing over your mouth and chin.

She stills after a few seconds and silently rolls off your face, muscles still clenching.

You take a deep breath and face her, the "shit-eating grin" on your face. Fuck, that was good.

Baby is still in a daze, smiling breathlessly. Nonetheless, she kisses you and moans slightly as she tastes herself on your tongue.

You kiss back, still horny and Baby pants again before she moves on top of you again, dripping sex now grinding against your hips. She shakes softly at the overstimulation and glances down at you, eyes dark with leftover desire.

"Time to repay that favor huh?"

[junicai]

infinite.

| summary | When Aria's with her boys, it feels like the sky's the limit.

| word count | 2.3k

| warnings | none

| era | circa. June 2021, filming for Hello, Future music video

The grass in the empty stadium had been liberally covered in fake flower petals - the healthy green of regularly watered grass slowly becoming overshadowed by the light pink and yellow that settled lightly atop it. 

The white corduroy overalls that Aria donned were splashed with colour in fake paint splotches to compliment the petals - yellows and greens and pinks mixed with blues and oranges in a jumble of streaks that were stark against the otherwise plain material. The Doc Martens that all eight of the members had been fitted for were all padded at the toe and the heel - lest the hard rubber break away skin and cause them to bleed during filming.

Aria crunched several petals underfoot in the heavy boots as she wandered over to the other boys who had been released from hair and makeup a handful of minutes before her. 

The sun was just reaching it’s highest point in the sky, the heat bearing down onto her exposed midriff and almost entirely cancelling out the cool breeze that threatened to rise goosebumps on her stomach. The floaty, bell-sleeved crop top was, in Aria’s opinion, absolutely gorgeous. She had already planned out the best way to corner Heejin unnie - one of the stylists that had an especially soft spot for Aria and her pout, when used effectively. 

Shaking her freshly dyed blue hair out of her eyes, Aria broke out into a light jog to catch up to Renjun, swinging an arm around the boy’s shoulders. 

“Hi!” She smiled brightly. 

Renjun wrinkled his nose at her playfully. “Hey. You done in makeup?”

Nodding, Aria replied, “Yeah. They wanted to touch up the colour in my hair and stick a couple more tattoos around.” She pointed to the new daisy sitting underneath her eye, and the Make Peace, Not War written in differing fonts along her left forearm. 

He aah’d exaggeratedly, patting his own upside-down HELLO on his arm absent-mindedly, before frowning lightly. “Is your colour coming out already? I thought they only dyed it a couple days ago.” Lifting up a hand, Renjun brushed away the strands in Aria’s fringe that were falling into her eyes, cringing lightly when they came away covered in blue residue. 

Aria pulled away from his fingers, shaking her fringe back into place. “They didn’t have any dye left, so it’s hair chalk.” She explained. 

Renjun made another noise of understanding, looking at his smurf coloured fingertips thoughtfully. When his eyes flickered up to meet Aria’s, they had a mischievous glint in them, and she barely had the chance to turn on her heel and break out into a run before Renjun was giving chase hot on her heels. 

“No!” 

“Yes!” 

Her boots were beginning to rub the skin around her ankle raw, still not broken in enough to stand the test of a sprint through a football field, but Renjun was behind her - holding up his hand threateningly - and that was enough to keep her powering through the burn.

“Stop it!” Aria panted, laughter beginning to soil her already failing lung capacity. Her pace was lagging, but much to her relief; so was Renjun’s. With a final burst of energy at seeing the ground she’d gained on him, Aria made her escape attempt-

Only to be captured by Jeno, strong arms wrapping around her waist and swinging her around in a circle to be plopped right back down in front of a now jogging Renjun, an evil smile on his face. 

“Lee Jeno!” Aria protested, wriggling against the arms that had yet to release her. “Let me goo!” 

He deigned not to respond, but Aria could see the matching glint in his eye, and she resigned herself to her fate. He shared a nod of understanding with Renjun who was advancing slowly now that his victim was immobile. 

“Renjun.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“Renjun, I’m sorry.”

His smurf-hand raised threateningly again. 

“I’ll do your dishes for a week.” 

With a final step, Renjun was now within a half-arms distance from Aria. 

“Jenooo-” Aria cut herself off with a squeak, as Renjun dragged his fingers over the bridge of her nose, leaving behind a trail of the blue hair chalk. Aria flailed in Jeno’s grip, but he held her fast, even going so far as to tug her down into his lap on the ground to hold her steady. 

Now entirely stuck, Aria resorted to flailing her limbs as much as she could, which really wasn’t a lot when Jeno tucked her legs beneath his knees, trapping her with all four of his limbs as Renjun rubbed the rest of the hair chalk off of his fingertips and onto Aria’s nose and cheeks. 

Revenge enacted, her attacker eventually settled back onto his heels, fingers now chalk free - having spread most of it over Aria’s face as a replacement for blush. 

Aria let out a small sneeze when the loose dust tickled her nose, blinking harshly in surprise. 

With her eyes closed, she couldn’t see the hand Renjun held to his heart, or the pout that Jeno’s lips formed at the cute sound. The two men peered up at each other, silently agreeing that: Yes, it was unfair that she looked so tiny and cute with blue blush. Sometimes, life wasn’t fair, and it was coming for Renjun and Jeno’s heart in the form of a very tiny girl with a blueberry nose. 

With a pat on the arm from Renjun, Jeno released Aria from his grip who promptly turned around and rained a series of light smacks onto his chest, only stopping when her rings snagged in the necklace he wore. He made no effort to help her, asides from holding her up when he accidentally leaned back and nearly took her down with him. 

“Traitor!” She declared once she had untangled the jewelry. For her own revenge, she ran a finger through her hair to collect the chalk and smudged the colour onto Jeno’s cheek in a bright smear. 

The shocked look in his wide eyes was enough to have Renjun coughing out a laugh, the other two soon following. The patch of grass they had settled onto was far enough away from the filming location that there were no petals to hinder Aria’s plans of laying down onto her back, hands splayed over her stomach as she laughed along with the boys. 

“Guys!” It was Mark’s call that drew their attention away from the coloured chalk - although Renjun did let out another snicker at the light blue cloud that Aria’s hair left on the grass where she had been laying - and together the trio made their way back over to the other five members. 

When Jeno and Renjun got distracted in comparing the temporary tattoos they had both been decorated with, Aria slowed her pace enough to let the two wander ahead without her. 

She slid her focus away from the duo and towards the group that had settled in between the flower-covered goalposts, some standing, some sitting.

The bright colours of this concept was a nice change, Aria thought. She loved doing sexier concepts - don’t get her wrong, she loved the empowerment that came with it, and the twitter reactions were always fun to scroll through - but she’d missed this kind of bubble pop. Songs that made something uncurl up in your chest, complemented and encouraged by all the bright colours and messages. 

When Aria had read through the lyrics the first time, she’d never felt like she’d loved a song more without hearing it. They meant something, especially to her. 

Hello, Future; and all that.

And the costuming was always so fun. Short skirts were never the most ideal things to dance in, and the heeled shoes were the bane of her existence (no matter how good she looked in them) so the sturdy boots and durable overalls was a welcome switch-out. 

Her boys looked happy with it as well.

With Hot Sauce, there was an infinite amount pressure to get it right. It was the first full album that NCT Dream was going to release, and it was 8DREAM. They had Mark back. They were all adults at that point. There were expectations to meet. They couldn’t pass things off as being children anymore; they had millions of eyes watching them, and it was like having someone breathing down your neck. 

The pressure just kept mounting and mounting until it loomed over them all like dark clouds that you could just know held heavy rain. It was like they were debuting all over again. Re-debuting as eight again. Aria doesn’t think she remembers a single thing from the set at all. The whole thing is just a blur in her memory. 

Hello, Future, this time around, is different. The members had gathered in the living room around Donghyuck’s laptop when the Hot Sauce music video aired, watching as the views racked up and positive comment after positive comment poured in. They’d read through each and every one, Mark and Aria translating the English ones that the others couldn’t read. 

If Aria cried, one arm wrapped tightly around Jaemin, with the other held Mark’s right hand in his lap, then no one commented on it. It could be, because they had tears of their own in their eyes - but no one can say for sure.

They ended up sleeping on the floor that night, laptop discarded on the couch that was stripped bare of pillows and throw blankets. Curled around each other - this time with her head on Renjun’s chest and her stomach monopolized by both Chenle and Jisung lying horizontal from each other, Aria felt the tension and the fear that had been teeming underneath her shoulders for the last two months abate. 

The terror that if the album had flopped, then they’d be facing disbandment like so many kneitzens wanted. 

Or worse: Dream would keep going, but they’d lose Mark again. 

Even the thought made something horrible curl up in the pit of Aria’s stomach. 

No. 

Never again. 

The odd sleeping arrangements were not something that were uncommon in the Dreamies dorm (Honestly, Aria can’t remember the last time she had slept alone in a room, let alone a bed. They had a system worked out for when someone genuinely needed time alone, but otherwise, most bedroom doors remained open all night.)

This time, Mark was forcibly settled into the middle, everyone clamoring that he’d missed out on nearly three years of them - and he wasn’t getting ride of them that easily again. 

To his credit, Mark went without much argument, although that probably falls down due to the fact that god, he had missed them too. 

Over the weeks of practicing together, re-working the choreography for the songs that had been released when Dream was seven members only, they found their rhythm again. The one that they had lost in 2019, the one that Mark had taken with him when he’d graduated from the group.

Finding it again felt easier than breathing. 

Aria thought she’d never get to see her boys smile so brightly as they did together again, giving the colourful flowers lining the grass a run for their money. 

From her position a ways away from the group, she watched as Chenle immediately launched himself at Jeno as soon as he was close enough, tackling the older boy onto the ground where they both landed with a thud, Chenle’s head whipping backwards with the force.

She watched as Jeno - ever careful - had tucked a hand behind Chenle’s head to catch him even before they started to fall, his hand taking all the impact as they came into contact with the ground.

Jisung was quick to clamber up, eager to pull Renjun over to Jaemin and show him what they had been doing. She watched as Jaemin held up a small crown made of the fake petals, held together loosely by the short strands of confetti that were scattered around the goalposts. 

Mark was leaning his back against the post, head tilted down onto Donghyuck’s shoulder. Donghyuck was watching Jeno and Chenle wrestle with each other - cheering for one or the other, depending on who was winning at that exact moment. 

Aria watched as Donghyuck slowly slipped into silence, tilting his head down to look at Mark’s peaceful expression as the eldest seemed to almost doze off on his shoulder. 

And, she watched as Donghyuck lifted his eyes, flickering from each of the members. His eyebrows furrowed, scanning the group again before he craned his neck towards the rest of the field.

When his eyes locked onto Aria’s, he raised an eyebrow, but deigned to stay quiet - choosing against startling Mark with a yell. His expression was enough, though. 

Donghyuck understood Aria on a certain level that she thought not a lot of people could. She had a unique bond with each member of Dream, but Donghyuck sometimes knew what was going on in her head before she even did. 

Which is why, instead of teasing her for being an introvert, or running away; when Aria strolled up to join the group he just extended the arm that wasn’t wrapped around Mark’s waist, beckoning to her.

After being firmly tucked into his other side, Aria curled into his chest with a sigh, shivering lightly when the sun slid behind a cloud for a brief second and the air felt cooler than it had all day.

Feeling her shudder, Donghyuck tilted his head down to look at her the same way he’d looked at Mark a moment ago, before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“You okay?” 

Aria nodded. “M’okay.” 

(Donghyuck didn’t realize that his lips were blue from the chalk until Jisung pointed it out, some thirty minutes later.)

[definitelynotsuzumi]

Zapped to Another World

Genshin Impact x Fem!Reader

I wrote this in my spare time when I was working back in November and thought that I should share this ^-^ 

Depending on the comments/notes and if I have spare time, I may be updating this. 

[Masterlist]

The rain poured down your umbrella. The clouds coloured the sky a dark grey as you ran for the bus. You sighed as you reached the traffic light. Yup, you were definitely not going to be able to catch it now.

School had ended for the year, which meant more free time for you and the new game you had recently gotten into. Genshin Impact.

You could not help but smile at the thought of it. With school out of the picture, you could finally focus on the game completely. There was so many things to do. Farming for artifacts, completing your daily commissions…

You sloshed your way over as the lights turned green. While you love that school is out, you honestly hated the wet weather that came with the winter break and the feeling of wet socks on your feet. After safely crossing the road, you winced as a white truck rushed by, soaking your clothes through as the giant puddle you have been trying to avoid poured onto your skirt and legs.

You let out a sigh as you quickly took shelter under a tree nearby to try and wring out the remaining water when it happened.

“Just my luck…”You muttered as you clumsily balanced your umbrella, “Can it get any worse?”

Just as those words left your lips, it happened. A white flash lit the sky for a brief second. But it was too late. Thousands of volts came cascading upon your body and everything turned white.

“This is your fault.” You heard a voice. It sounded like a young, sulky boy.

“How is this my fault? You’re the one who lashed out when I put down that +4 card down.”

“THAT AIN’T FAIR STILL! I WAS SO CLOSE TO WINNING AND YOU BLEW IT!”

“Uh…What’s going on?” You blinked as your vision settled. You sat in what looked like a library of sorts, with several shelves lining the walls and a long white and gold marble table in the centre of it all. A girl with long, platinum hair glared down at her male counterpart, who huffed in annoyance.

“How about you explain it to her, Artem.”

“Sorry, but I don’t speak to cheaters.”

“Oh for gods sake- fine. We apologize for uhm…Killing you. Truly, a thousand apologies. If only someone can control their temper for once in their life-“ The girl shot a dirty look at Artem.

“LIKE YOU ARE ONE TO TALK! SOLARIA, YOU SINGED MY EYEBROWS OVER KILLING YOU IN AMONG US!”

“Well excuse you! My anger was perfectly justified! You voted me out even when I told you the truth and that I was innocent!”

“DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT WAS TO EMBROIDER AND GROOM THEM BACK TO NORMAL AGAIN?”

“Could you guys please stop fighting for 10 seconds?” You yelled over the noise. The girl and boy finally stopped, leaving you to rub at your ringing ears.

You sighed. Kids were always a handful back in your home. You had to take care of your cousins whenever your aunt was over, and it often resulted with your ears ringing and your head pounding.

“What’s done is done. I’m…well, dead and I seriously have no idea where I am.” You said, trying to stay composed.

“Well…In your human terms, this is kind of like the After Life.” The boy, Artem explained, sighing as he put down his Uno cards.

“Or well, it shouldn’t since…You were supposed to live for like, another 50 to 60 years. But someone messed it up.” The girl, Solaria, summoned a book from a shelf. You blinked as a weathered leather book with gilded, golden pages floated down onto the table.

“Shut up. I said that I was sorry, didn’t I?” Artem groaned.

“Sir Artem, are you losing your braincells? I was the one who apologized. You still owe the human an apology.” Solaria bit back icily.  

With a wave of her hand, the pages of the book flipped and she studied it carefully for a minute before looking back up.

“Well, as a soul now, you have an option. You can go into Elysium or be reincarnated.” Solaria sighed as Artem huffed again.

“Huh. What do you know? Elysium sounds real good right about now-“You thought out loud as Artem’s eyes turned wide with fear.

“Please don’t go into Elysium!” Artem yelled. The books shook in the shelves as his voice echoed.

“Ow, inside voice please? Hasn’t your mother taught you better?” You winced in pain. It seems that immortals had a throat of steel, judging from the way they could shout infinitely.

“I’m really sorry, but if Dad finds out I brought in another human because I accidentally killed them…He’s going to banish me…To Earth…” Artem looked down onto the table.

He was unable to meet your eyes as you stared at him with bemusement.

“Yeah, as much as I hate to say it, please…Reconsider on our offer to reincarnate. He is on thin ice with Father and if he is banished, I’d have to take on his duties as well. I’m pretty exhausted with the workload as it is.” Solaria sighed.

“As long as it’s not Earth, I’m cool with it.” You looked up at the ceiling, which took your breath away. The entire solar system was on it. With it, was the familiar sphere of white, green and blue.

“Hm, that is easy enough. I could reincarnate you into my world.” Artem brightened up.

Solaria sighed with relief.

“And to make up for it, I could buff you up with a couple of blessings here and there-“

“Within reason.” Solaria cut in, with a sharp look at Artem.

“Psssh, as if it’s hard to make a Gnosis.” Artem had considerably relaxed after hearing your statement.

“Are you serious? Don’t you even know the situation down at Teyvat?!” Your eyes widened. Were they talking about what you were thinking of?

Artem rose to his feet, the ivory wings on his lower back flaring. His eyes gleamed gold as he stared down his sister.

“It’s my world. I do what I like with it. If you don’t like it, get a world of your own.”

“You only got your world because Mother took pity on you. Don’t act all big when you have killed so many humans.”  Solaria hummed, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll only grant this human the bare minimum. Anything more, and I’ll let Father know of your deeds thus far, even if it means more work for me.” Solaria glared back. Her eyes gleamed silver as she did so. You felt a shiver run down your spine. 

“That’s all that I’ll need then. Work on your blessings and gifts. I’ll work on mine.” Artem turned away from his sister. The siblings set to work, the atmosphere of ice cold professionalism now in the air.

Solaria rose from her place on the table. With a flick of a finger, the Uno cards vanished with a burst of gold sparkles. The leather book floated beside her as she constantly referred to its pages while flying around the room.

“Hmm…Not much of a combatant, I see. Polearms and swords will probably be hard for you. Perhaps…A catalyst?” She pulled out a bright blue book adorned in gold, with feathers sticking out.

Blowing off any dust from the beautiful book, she casually tossed it over her shoulder and onto you. You instinctively brought your arms up to protect your face but as the book hit your arms, it disappeared into a burst of gold.

“Huh?” You blinked as you saw the book reappear beside you, its pages flipping.

Solaria returned with a satchel and a bag of gold coins. Looking satisfied as she noticed the book beside you, she inserted the bag of coins into the satchel before sliding it over your shoulder. Solaria hummed to herself before smiling again.

Reaching behind her neck, Solaria detached a shimmering teardrop necklace before slipping it around yours.

“There’s nothing special about it, apart from it glowing. I thought it would be a nice touch.” Solaria winked at you. 

Tilting your chin up, you froze with shock as she pressed her lips against yours.

“WHAT WAS THAT FOR?” You felt heat rush to your cheeks.

“Oh, please. Don’t be flustered. That was merely a blessing of mine. It will help you when you need to speak with the natives of the land.” Solaria coolly said as she wiped her mouth.  

You were still reeling in shock. Your throat seemed to tighten as you coughed. 

“..Thank you, for agreeing with us on our selfish request. To be forcibly stripped of our powers can be the worst pain and humiliation a god or goddess can bear.” Solaria murmured to you as she hurried to the end of the room, where she knelt and seemed to draw symbols in gold.

You held back your tongue. ‘What about me? I got zapped to death here.’ You thought to yourself.

“It is done. Please step into that summoning circle there.” Artem held a floating, golden cylinder in his hands. Solaria rose from her place on the floor, gesturing for you to come over.

It was a Gnosis! You were quick to obey as you hurried to Solaria’s side.

Stepping into the centre, you turned to face Artem and Solaria, who stood side by side. They flared their wings as you sensed an energy swirl around you.

“I, Artem, God of the Moon, grant you passage and dominion over my world, Teyvat. Do you accept, (Y/N) (L/N)?” Artem’s voice echoed in your ears.

“I accept.” As the words left your lips, the Gnosis within his hands flew into your chest. You gasped as it did so, a heat spreading rapidly across your chest.

“Be safe on your travels, (Y/N) (L/N).” Solaria flashed a warm smile as you coughed.

“Resigno!”

The gold summoning circle glowed bright blue and you found yourself falling through the blue skies.

You screeched ungracefully as you fell from the sky headfirst. The green grass was coming up way too fast. 

‘Am I going to die again?’ You thought as you held out your arms to break your fall, only for a huge gust of wind to cushion your fall. 

“Huh?” You blinked in surprise as a person clad in green floated beside you. 

It was a young boy with 2 braids, which gleamed blue in the light. His eyes were a beautiful mix of green and blue. 

‘Venti?’ You gaped as he grabbed your hands and guided you back onto the ground. 

“Never thought I’d have an audience during my practice session. Are you okay?” Venti grinned at you. 

“Never...Never better. Thank you...”You gave a thumbs up as you got air back into your lungs again. 

His deft fingers plucked at his harp as he sat down on the soft grass. 

“It’s no problem. But what brings you here anyways? Not many people know of this spot.” Venti tilted his head. It seemed as though you uncovered his secret place. 

“I- uh well...Accidents happen. I’m not a mad fan or a stalker, I swear. Well, maybe I am a fan but still.” You rambled but you forced yourself to stop talking and to breath. Venti is real and he is in front of me. Venti is real and he is in front of me. 

Your heart was beating fast. 

‘I should say something smart, introduce myself or something.’ You thought to yourself as you composed yourself. 

You wanted to at least tell him your name but the words are out faster than you can stop them. 

“Wanna grab a drink?”  

[hpalways]

Yaksha’s Destiny || Xiao

DARKNESS was the biggest fear held by fellow Yakshas. This power bestowed upon you and many alike gave an opening to the pitting shadows that raged within your chambers. Some days, it wasn't as bad -- other days... it felt like you were getting ripped apart into shreds, taking in all your willpower to battle against it. It was tempting, to give in and call it quits. Life for a Yaksha wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. There were always too many demons and not enough heroes. Especially for a weaker one like you, anger and frustration would stem from these battles, only to eat at you later on. 

Today was one of those days. The sky was a stormy sea of clouds, with the Gods crying from the heaven above. Droplets prickled down your bare skin, cold to the touch. While in the mountainside, you had stumbled upon demonic energy, so there was no choice but to finish them off. 

Dodging the monster that lunged at you, you took out your polearm. The hydro vision on your hip gleamed brightly in the setting. Taking a turn, you could feel power surge to your arms. As you were about to jab your weapon into the demon's abdomen, they had ducked in time. Shit. You had underestimated this one.

Its body rammed into you, knocking you off your feet. Air left your system, causing you to groan in pain. Just as it was about to sink its teeth into your arm, you rolled over on one side and jumped back to your feet. Fingers clenching tightly around the metal stick, you pushed your hind legs and tried to stab at it another time. Your speed and reaction time was too slow. Too damn slow. Too damn weak. Gritting your teeth, you began to use up more of Yaksha's power, drinking the exhilarating taste of freedom. It was so addicting... often times, you'd wished it'd never stop. 

A burst of water shrouded from the weapon, circling the demon until it was surrounded. With one, clean fell swoop, you sliced the demon and the energy faded away. The deed was done. 

Falling to your knees, your entire body was shaking. Face contorted and in pain, nails dug into the earth to feel wet mud. Your body would not move -- it could not. Stilling there as if you had just been paralyzed, hungering thoughts plagued your mind... Thoughts you wished weren't yours. Letting out a disgusting whimper, similar to that of a wounded animal, you bit down on your lip, hard. Blood dribbled down your chin, painting the grass in crimson. Tugging at your mask, you stared at it for a moment. A sigh let out. 

That was a close one. Crashing to the ground, your chest heaved up and down in exhaustion. 

A figure suddenly entered your peripheral vision. Climbing up to the ridge of the mountain was Xiao, his dark teal locks blowing along with the harsh winds. Donned in his usual robes, he was as attractive as ever. The first time you stumbled upon him -- one of the famous five -- you nearly forgot to breathe. You had referred to him as Alatus then, starstrucked by such a powerful being. 

You would never not awed by him. The way he held himself would always come to remind you of the big gap in strength between the two of you. Maybe you did establish a relationship with this all-mighty Yaksha, but this inferiority complex was tugging your strings more than you'd like to admit. 

At the same time, he provided you the distraction needed. He kept you grounded, which prevented you from going mad. He was the only one who made you feel human, if that was even possible. 

Golden amber hues landed on you, withholding an unreadable expression. He walked up to your beaten up form and sat down, unbothered by the rain. Struggling to get yourself into a sitting position, you looked out at the view in front. 

"You used up too much of your power again," he murmured. 

"Do you think I don't know that? I had no choice," you sighed. 

His sharp eyes narrowed further. "You were being careless."

"It happened. There's nothing I can do to change it." His anger barely dwindled and the scowl only deepened. "Come on, Xiao. I don't want to talk about my mistakes when I'm with you. Busy as we are, I barely get to see you as of late. Can't we just enjoy our brief time together?"

That got him. His eyes softened at your words and he reluctantly nodded in agreement. Seizing the victory, you laid your head on his shoulder, feeling warmth even upon this cold weather. The rain was starting to let down too -- perhaps Xiao was the lucky charm.

"What have you been up to?" you inquired. 

"Demons. Monsters. The usual," he responded. His cheeks tinged with a soft pink all of a sudden. "I... I also got you something."

Your ears perked up at the sound of this. Lifting your head, you watched him in curiosity. He took something out from his robe pockets and slowly opened his palm. Laying there was a blue, glowing object. Shaped as a butterfly, it was gorgeous. You had never seen this kind of butterfly around these parts. He must have traveled far to have found it. 

"It's a crystalfly," he mumbled, averting his eyes in embarrassment. Your heart raced at his actions. He was too cute. Before meeting him, you could have never imagined the Vigilant Yaksha to possess such qualities. "I saw it and... thought it would look good in your hair."

"Oh, I love it. Thank you," you whispered breathlessly, touched beyond words. This was exactly what you meant with how Xiao could easily brush your problems away with a smile.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and kissed his lips. They were soft as petal leaves. He returned the gesture immediately, arms wrapped around you in a warm embrace. Digging your fingers into his hair, you kissed with a ferocity that was never present in your fights. This was to release the pain you dealt with today. As long Xiao was here, you were going to be okay. As long as he was by your side, you were going to be okay. This era of demons and gods will end someday, leaving you a happy future with him. 

You tasted him. His lips. His mouth. His entire self. He tasted of mint. He tasted of life. He tasted of iron. The kind of metal tang found in blood. Sighs were exchanged upon each kiss, breathless but the two of you would not let the other go. Your lips trailed down to his jaw, peppering his baby-soft skin with a few nibbles here and there. He let out a gasp. 

Finally you pulled away, giggling at his flustered state for your bold moves. 

The end was nearing. He picked up the crystal fly and reached up to your [h/c] hair. While he gently pinned it down, you could only focus on his swollen lips. He was beautiful... and you loved him so. 

"[Y/N]," he said, interrupting the honey silence of the mountains. "If you are ever in trouble, just call my name and I will come to you. In any circumstance, avoid overusing your power."

This bliss that left you giddy disappeared as quick as it came. All that remained was the harsh, cruel reality. Brows knitted together in offense and you quickly shook your head. "Why would I do that? I'm a Yaksha. What kind of Yaksha seeks help from another? This wounds my pride, Xiao. Is your faith in my skill and strength that low?"

"No. That's not it," he argued, features twisted in desperation. "Why won't you let me protect you?"

"Unbelievable," you merely scoffed, staggering up to stand. "I have to go. I'm sure you do too."

Ignoring his blubbering protests, you jumped down upon ledges until you reached ground level safely. He didn't understand what you had to go through. He never had to face judgement from those who didn't believe in you. Strong enough to battle the demons both externally and internally, Xiao was different from you. But even so... even if his words meant that he only cared for you, it hurt like you had been just stabbed. 

You were willing to prove to him that you could stand on your own feet. He was going to eat his own words. So would the other Yakshas who looked down on you your entire life. If you trained hard enough, surely improvement could be gained. Right? It wasn't as if destiny could determine what you could accomplish already. 

Approaching the forest that was said to contain many strong demons and monsters, you surged ahead, with eyes filled of challenge. 

There, sitting in a nook was a cave, Sensing a suffocating presence, you knew you had hit a jackpot. Sneaking across the grassy lands, you stayed silent. The tall, towering trees were beginning to look a lot more ominous. Tiptoeing to the edge of the cave, you peered in to find the energy unbearably strong. One staggering breath later and you went forward. A roar let out, signaling that it knew of its intruder. Shoulders tensed up and sweat beaded your forehead, but you couldn't stop now. No matter what, you were going to go through with it. 

It was a beast. Fangs gleamed in the darkness, nearly the size of your weapon. Having woken from its slumber, its terrifying eyes landed on you. Claws swiped the air, which you barely avoided in time. Fear had seized you with a hand, choking you until you could barely move. This was a terrible, foolish move. There was no way you could beat such a demon. 

Calling in more power, it filled you up at the core. To waste no time, you delved right into battle, slashing at the monster. It had little to none effect on it. With a lazy swipe of its arm, it slammed you right into the cave's walls, causing you to spit out blood. Pushing yourself up, you tried again, putting in more power to your weapon. Adding hydro to the mix, the weapon hit its arms. It caused the monster to roar in pain, but that only made it more angry. Barreling straight to you, similar but much more frightening than the last demon, it pounced on you, pinning you down to the ground. 

Drool left its mouth, splattering all over on your face. Its claws dug into your side and you let out a piercing scream. You were so fucking sick of this shit. Why was it destined that you had to stay weak? It was so unfair you wished to cry your heart out. 

The last of the powers was used. Pushing the demon's hold on you, you stumbled up and felt thrill run through. It was delicious, but your mind was also beginning to grow hazy. "X-Xiao..." you uttered out. 

The Conqueror of Demons arrived as soon as you called, anxious to apologize for his insensitivity. What he didn't expect to see was a battlefield. A large and strong demon was torn apart to pieces, the iron smell of it so strong, it was gagworthy. Sitting on the pile of bones was you, dark, gruesome scratches decorating your arms and legs. A deep gash was bleeding from your torso and your [e/c] eyes were dimmed; at the same time, they held a crazed look in them. 

His face paled and his body grew cold at the sight. You did the thing he last wanted to happen. Already too far in and consumed by the darkness surrounding your whole life, you were looking at him not with love, but with bloodlust. "I'll kill you, Xiao!" you screamed at the top of your lungs. 

Climbing down, you tried to run to him. But your footsteps halted and you crashed to the ground. Spazzing out as if you had just been electrocuted by lightning, the Vigilant Yaksha slowly approached you, tears streaming down the side of his face. He kneeled down, cradling your head in his lap. "Don't leave me..." He hit the ground in fury. "Dammit! Why didn't you listen to me!?"

Consciousness returned but you were on the brink of death. The wound was deep, but so were the demons. It was raining again, so you forced a small smile out. "I'm weak. It's my fate," you whispered. "At least I won't have to suffer through this darkness any longer. It's over. I quit. You won, my demons. I am yours to keep."

"Shut your mouth," he snarled. The rain had turned into a storm, adding fury into the mix. "Please. You can make it through this. Don't leave me yet. It was going to get better. An era with no more demons to haunt us. You said so yourself." 

"That was just a stupid dream."

"Don't fucking say that," he growled, flinching as if he'd just been slapped. You were supposed to be the optimist here. It meant that this death was real... and that you would accept it with open arms. "It's going to happen. So hold on. Let me find someone to save you."

Your head shook and you winced. "We all learned this since young. We'll die if we let our power consume us. It's impossible and you know it."

"Stop," he choked out, lowering his head until his hair covered his broken expression. "Then don't talk. Save your breath."

You ignored his words. "Thank you... for the crystalfly. Does it look pretty on me?" you murmured.

He heaved out a sob and slowly nodded. "I've never seen anyone more beautiful."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"And I'm sorry."

"I am too."

"Protect... the people... like you always do, my sweet, Vigilant Yaksha." Your voice grew more raspy by the second, for the pain was getting unbearable. 

You fluttered your eyes shut and the pain faded. On the other hand, Xiao's pain grew, the scars and trauma there to haunt him, for a life and infinity.

[zet-sway]

Spiritual Shrios Summer - EMBRACE

This is a prompt fill for @rosenkow’s Spiritual Shrios Summer!

Prompts | release | oasis | moan | delirium | pray | sweat | whisper | afterlife | contaminated | skin | worship | incense | godless | petals | taste | nectar | caress | mirage | ripe | sundown | hallucinate | salt | intoxicated | soul | embrace | hunger | wet | adrenaline | breathe |

PROMPT WORD: EMBRACE - | - WORDS: ~6100

Rated: “E” for “Awkward but Spicy” [NSFT] AO3 Link: "Too Much and Not Enough” Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: Maybe it's the traces of venom in her system or maybe it's just him, but this man beneath her - this assassin, feared and infamous for the lives he's taken - swells her heart with trust. It's a new and curious thing, so different from the trust shared between brothers in arms. It's simple intimacy, and maybe… just maybe… something more.

A/N: This fic is a god damn hot mess, and yet I have literally *never* revised anything so heavily in my entire life. Was supposed to be part of a slow burn but I'm impatient. I literally can't tell if this fic is worth reading. You decide lol

Thank you @quietonewisp for your feedback on my first draft! It's unbelievable to be in the same fandom with such talented writers after all these years. Thank you also to everyone who shared encouraging words while I was pulling my hair out over this fic :) this is my first attempt at writing Shepard as a thought out character of my own creation. As a result it's pretty awkward.

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

"I don't know how you do this," Shepard grunts through clenched teeth.

Every third day is yoga. And today, she thought it would be a good idea to try a headstand.

Thane guides her feet into the air, resting her knees against her elbows. Her hands are planted on either side of her head, elbows bent at a right angle to form three points of support against the floor. Truthfully, he hadn't thought she would struggle so much with this pose, given her strength.

"Push with your hands. Distribute your weight."

Slowly, he releases her calves and repositions himself behind her as she pulls in a sharp inhale, holding her balance.

"You better not be staring at my ass, Krios."

He raises a brow ridge. It's hard not to stare at her ass, thrust in the air as it is.

"You forget that I have perfect recall," he says dismissively. "I can reflect on the image of your backside at any moment of my choosing."

"So you admit you've been looking?"

"Shepard," he admonishes, "Just because I've seen your ass does not mean I consciously seek to see it." It's a stone cold lie, but an easy one to sell, especially when she makes a point of training her glutes every day during their morning PT.

Slowly, she lifts her knees into the air, shaking with the effort to retain her balance. "I bet you're an ass man," she grits out, one leg finally pointed straight into the air.

Thane sets his hands on her calves to steady her as she wills through the pose.

"I'm unfamiliar with the term."

She huffs, swallowing down a breath before speaking. "A man who prefers ass over breasts."

Only humans would have a word for something like this, he thinks. "As you know, women of my species do not have breasts."

"Yup," she hisses, slowly and carefully straightening her other leg. "That's why you've gotta be-" another shaky breath, "-an ass man."

Well… she's not wrong.

In truth, he finds breasts no more desirable than any other mundane part of the human body. The appeal, he suspects, comes from actually touching them - something he hadn't considered at all until she'd launched herself at him in the airlock weeks ago. He's replayed the experience in his mind hundreds of times by now. The insistent press of her mouth on his, her smooth human hands clutching at his shoulders... and the soft crush of her body against him. He hadn't pulled away, but he hadn't kissed her back either. Right now, he wishes he had.

There's a curious connecting thread between his return to the Normandy and her sudden urgency to speak to him - frequently. Even more curious - neither one of them has broached the subject of her impulsive kiss before his procedure.

With a relieved sigh, Shepard finally manages to straighten both legs and complete the pose. Toes pointed toward the ceiling of the shuttle bay, she trembles. It's all he can do to not close his hands around her thighs to feel every rippling muscle under her skin.

"Excellent work," he says, voice perhaps lower than he intended.

"My head hurts."

Thane shakes his head. "You're not distributing your weight through your hands. Push down, and lower your knees slowly."

She makes a strained sound, tenses her legs, and the motion is just enough to pitch her center of gravity backwards.

He catches her, but not before the rounded curve of her ass is pressed with distracting persistence against his hips. If he could have blushed, he very well might have. Looking remarkably contorted beneath her splayed hands, she grins at him.

"How's your perfect recall going to handle this one?"

He should say something, but he doesn't. With steady arms, he lowers her to the mat and she flops against it, sighing heavily. There's a familiar quiet about her, something he's come to recognize as the silence before a storm.

"...can we talk about this?"

His deflection comes instinctively. "Your mastery of the headstand will take some practice, but-"

"No," she says firmly. "This." She waves a hand between both of them. "I kissed you goodbye and we're both acting like it never happened. It was inappropriate of me. Did I upset you?"

This time he needs a minute to think.

"Shepard, I… no, you did not upset me."

"But...?" She sits up, knees drawn in a loose spread against her chest, arms looped around them. The same focus he'd seen in her face on Tuchanka is there now. But this time her expression is uncharacteristically open, visibly hanging on his next words.

She's not even trying to hide that she wants him.

So why does he resist?

Ten years ago he swore he would never love another, and he meant it. The compulsion to remain ascetic is by now second nature in him. But although the years have not dulled the memory of his beloved Irikah, they have brought a new perspective: the fires of one love are not dulled simply because the fires of another are kindled.

"I've recalled that moment more times than I can count," he says, finally.

"So... does that mean you liked it?"

"I enjoyed your kiss enough to admit that should the opportunity arise... I may not let go."

She leans closer, fingers lacing together with visible anticipation. "And what if I didn't want you to let go?"

The look in her upturned face is what does him in. In a rare display of impulse, he drops to the mat and kisses her. And this time he intends to savor it.

Somehow, the same humility that drove him to his knees before Irikah now folds him again as he gazes into the unknown with Shepard. A purpose, a reason to fight. And now perhaps... a reason to love. He's not sure if he would call it love just yet, but kissing her awakens his body like hot tea on a bitter cold morning. She draws him between her knees, lips parting eagerly beneath his seeking tongue. She tastes like coffee with an undertone of alien unfamiliarity, and his pulse quickens. He's already eager for more.

Shepard mumbles something against his mouth and he pulls away.

"You taste tingly. That's normal right?"

He smiles gently back at her. "Normal for humans, as I understand."

They lean together for another kiss before she releases him. "We still haven't done cardio."

He slips his arms around her waist and tugs her tighter against him, using his strength to pull her up with him as he stands.

"A quick jog around the hold, then?"

"...or," she says coyly, all suggestive eyes with a cautious smirk blooming across her face. "A quick jog upstairs?"

He shouldn't. At least - old habits tell him he shouldn't. But his heart says it doesn't much matter.

"Promise me one thing," he says with caution, taking her hands in his. This is not how he’d imagined his morning. After all the time they’ve spent seeking each other’s company, he hadn’t dared to think...

Shepard tips her head, listening, fingertips idly exploring the subtle texture of his scales. His throat feels dry and the words are stampeding through his mind so fast he can barely catch them.

"Embrace her memory as I have. Smile upon her with favor." The memories mingle together, threatening to overwhelm him. Shepard has already given him so much, and he still asks more of her.

"Your wife?" She leans into his neck, kissing his shoulder softly.

"Yes." He squeezes his eyes shut. His breath threatens to choke him. "I cannot and will not stop loving her. She is with me always."

Shepard smiles at him, as though he's asked the easiest thing in the world. Her next words are an intimate whisper against his lips.

"What kind of Commander would I be if I told you to stop loving your wife?"

Her breath fills his chest with warmth and wanting. Cupping her face in his hands, he kisses her glistening lips as though they were crafted specifically for him. They inhale each other, her tongue sliding against his as he breathes in her kiss. The word murmurs through his mouth and mind as a soft wind sighing through trees and grasses. "Siha."

This could be his second chance. An opportunity to fight side by side with a warrior angel, as he should have done years ago. Irikah was not a trained soldier, but she damn well could have been. She would have given everything to defend the innocent, and by all accounts, she had. Their son, alive because of her and her alone. He can taste her in the kiss, a familiar and soothing encouragement that makes his heart soar. Perhaps if he survives the mission, he will have learned something of her bravery.

There's a gentle tug on his shirt. Shepard leads him toward the elevator.

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

When they stumble into her cabin, her eyes are already bleary with his venom. Thane presses her into the bed, one hand cradling her neck while the other winds into her hair. His lips are slow but strong, kissing her like he knows nothing else. She's never felt so wanted before.

"How far do you want to take this?" she gasps when he trails her mouth down her jaw.

"This was your idea," his mouth is scorching on the column of her neck. She leans back to give him better access. "How far do you want to take this?"

Her insides are on fire at the feel of his mouth alone, and logic says she's crazy to jump into bed with another fucking species so suddenly. But she doesn't care - she's spent enough sleepless nights imagining this very moment. She wants his hands on her bare skin, she wants the forbidden unknowns of his alien body. With every fiber of her being, she wants. But it's easier to think about it than to say it.

"More," she says finally - breathlessly. Words are fleeting. Her hands fist the edges of his shirt and he obliges, pulling away so she can lift it off before she begins pulling off her own.

And then he surprises her by playfully rolling her on to her belly, kissing the back of her neck, her spine, palms trailing an electric line down her sides.

"I confess," he murmurs between kisses, "You were right to accuse me of being, as you say, an 'ass man.'" She moans as those strong hands settle on her backside, fingers kneading her flesh with delicious strength. Good god.

Words are difficult, but she manages. "Don't get any ideas, I'm not letting you fuck my ass."

"It wasn't my intention. Is that something humans do?"

Shepard snorts. "Don't act like you didn't know that."

He laughs like she's never heard before, a rich and jubilant peal in that dark voice she's come to savor. She can nearly feel the soft vibrations of that laugh through his hands as he presses his fingertips between her legs. “I’d rather know where you burn hottest,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice as he strokes her just hard enough to make his intentions understood.

"Oh fuck yes."

His palms return to her backside, sliding up to hook his fingers into her waistband. "May I?"

She nods furiously, her own hands closing over his to push her clothes off.

When she's firmly on her back again he drags down the zipper on the front of her bra. It's flung on the floor with the rest of her things and then she's bare before him, biting her lip under the heat of his hungry gaze. She wonders if he can see her body vibrating in anticipation.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, settling his knees between her thighs. He crawls up to kiss her. "For weeks, I've thought about touching you."

She hums as he strokes the rounded edges of her breasts.

"Your body is so wonderfully soft, will you tell me if there's something you don't like?"

"Yeah," is all she can manage before his mouth returns to her neck, his hands wandering like a dying man searching for water. She's certain to have hickeys by the time they're done.

Curious, she brings a hand up to stroke the delicate flesh of his throat. His answering groan confirms her suspicions, and suddenly his questing hands are not so chaste, closing with suffocating warmth around her breasts.

Shepard bites her lip. "Please don't tell me you think breasts are gross."

He shakes his head. "I'll admit I find it strange that human breasts are erogenous, given their purpose. But they aren’t ‘gross,’ as you say. Just... new." She pushes her chest into his palms and that gets a rise out of him - a lovely trembling purr in his throat. "And so soft, Siha."

"Feels good," she murmurs. With parted lips, she breathes her pleasure as he kneads her breasts in slow, sensuous circles, dipping his head to kiss along her sternum and at the tender underside of her flesh.

"I think I might like them,” he says, lips twinged upwards.

Her need flares with that simple statement and she pulls in a breath, straining against him.

"I hadn't imagined how... tempting they could be. Soft curves... ripe like fruit at peak season." A strained moan falls from her mouth when he punctuates his statement with a more appreciative squeeze and draws a thumb over one sensitive peak, his mouth close enough to make her whimper in frustration.

“You’re teasing me.”

"I’m exploring you, Siha. There’s so much to learn." He circles his fingertips around her nipples and they tighten in response. The visual alone has her reeling, electric sparks of need slipping down her spine and straight into her core. "Your body shows me what it wants," he murmurs. "My mouth begs to taste you."

He flicks his tongue out, sampling her in light, infuriating strokes, teasing until she's keening beneath his hands, eyes shut tight and panting over clenched teeth. It's hard to think about anything at all except his hands and lips and that rumbling voice shimmering across her sensitized skin.

She strangles out a moan when his lips close around her nipple and he hollows his cheeks, drawing it into his mouth before releasing it with a soft, wet pop. Her arms clamp reflexively around his neck in an unspoken order to keep still.

"Do that again," she gasps.

He complies without question, textured fingers on one breast and wet tongue on the other, toying with her. Her back arches, hands holding herself like an offering to his mouth, every touch like a phantom crack of lust between her legs. There's a low rumble in his throat, he's practically purring into her skin and she can feel it, thighs clenching together in desperation.

She whines when he finally pulls away.

"I'll be back for those," he promises. "I hadn't expected such enthusiasm."

Fingertips brush her inner thigh and she leans into the touch, wanting more - for fuck's sakes - more - gasping out a shuddering breath she didn't even know she was holding when he flattens his fused fingers into her seam. Face buried in her neck doing god knows what with his lips and tongue, he's exploring her by touch alone. Each press of his hand is excruciatingly gentle, pushing slowly into her slick channel, gliding upwards to her clit. She's so sensitive that she flinches when he brushes over it, clutching at his shoulders.

"Too much?" He asks.

She hadn't even realized her eyes were closed. Her throat is dry, but she rasps, "Not enough."

His full lips curve into a smile before he strokes her again and this time she moans, pushing back on his hand as much as she can manage. Her mind is chanting "please, please," but she won't beg. Not yet, at least.

His voice rouses her from her desperate thoughts.

”Your species makes great effort to avoid using definitive terms for this part of your body."

"Do we?” She asks, willing her thoughts to clear enough for her to speak. “I mean, there's pussy, snatch... cunt, if you're feeling profane."

His voice drops a register lower, and he leans close enough for her to feel his hot breath when he speaks. "Shepard, I believe the technical term is vulva."

She groans. Loudly. "Fuck off."

He huffs out a stiff laugh. "Perhaps you'd prefer something new. Ara'te. Chalice of Arashu."

She tries - and fails - to hide her impatience. "Really?"

"Do you find it repulsive?"

"No, I just... mixing religion and sex is kind of..." She fumbles with her answer, not wanting to offend, but the words are gone from her when he leans in and draws the flat of his tongue in a wide sweep between her legs. "-Jesus, Thane."

His voice is thick with amusement. "How interesting that you invoke the name of a god you don't believe in, if I touch you just so."

Shepard's mouth snaps shut and she looks pointedly away from him with a huff.

"But I digress," he says, fingers rippling along her seam. Scaled hands smooth over her slickness, spreading her with gentle consideration. His mouth is dangerously close, gaze fixed on her with eyes like gleaming onyx. Something in the way his voice drops sets her heart racing.

“You feel like the softest silk,” he whispers, each word rolling off his tongue in a veil of hot breath that cools over the heat of her wet center. Her eyes flutter closed as he presses his exploration, teasing her entrance with his joined fingers.

"Your body is a wellspring," he murmurs, slowly penetrating her with his hand. "Drenched with arousal… begging me into your depths."

She gasps when he takes the opportunity to flick at her with his tongue. Hips grind against his hand, desperately seeking more.

"What the fuck," she moans. "Don't stop."

He withdraws only to enter her again, this time sheathing an extra finger in her heat. Those fingers crook inside her and she damn near twitches off the bed, drawing a sound from him somewhere between amusement and arousal.

"So sensitive, Siha."

It feels like she's melting under the intensity of his touch, a thumb moving in teasing circles around her clit. She hisses, thighs clenching.

"Holy shit just touch me."

"Like this?" he asks in a tone that's infuriatingly playful, barely skimming his tongue across her clit.

"God damn it, Thane, you know what I want-"

He interrupts her, his voice suddenly more serious.

"Show me."

There's silence, and then Shepard blinks at him. "What?"

"Show me how you like to be touched."

"You want to watch me?" her mouth goes dry and her answering tone is more accusatory than she intends. "Because you're a freak, or because you don't know how to touch a woman?"

"Yes." He says simply, dodging both of her questions with irritating smugness.

Her knees twitch inward, uncertain, and with a deep inhale, he withdraws.

"Siha," he murmurs apologetically, taking her hand. "You've left all your confidence on the battlefield.”

The words slip straight through the cracks in her armor. It's painful, but he's right. Cerberus didn't bring her back because they wanted her, they brought back Commander Shepard. The woman she used to be is an afterthought. There's only the mission. The Hero of the Citadel. The Commander.

But here they are, Thane's enormous black eyes boring holes into her defenses in a silent plea for… something. His hand finds hers and their fingers intertwine, resting together on her hip. His expression is more unguarded than she's ever seen, eyes asking a silent question: Do you trust me? Do you want me?

"All my victories have been on the battlefield," she says, looking away.

His thumb soothes back and forth over her hand.

"Intimacy is not a war. What do you hope to triumph over?"

Still unwilling to meet his eyes, her face twists with discomfort.

"I haven't had a lot of partners. I'm laying here naked and you're playing games. I can't tell if you're just teasing or looking for an excuse to drive me off."

His expression softens. "Our differences are not merely physical, then."

She isn’t certain what he means, but Thane shifts to lay next to her, kissing her temple. His fingers tighten around hers in a gentle grip that doesn't let up, finally summoning her eyes back to his.

"On my heart, Siha, there is no place I would rather be than right here with you." There's a genuine apology in his tone, prying her heart open one painstaking centimeter at a time. "Do you want this?"

Her voice is small, but she doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Show me what you like," Thane's lips brush against her ear. "Remember that I won't forget." The way his voice rumbles makes her shiver.

He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm before setting it atop her thigh. It’s a relaxing gesture, indirect enough that he's not backing down while also letting her choose the next move. His lips are unhurried, traveling up her neck, against her ear, along her hairline.

Years of lackluster partners have tempered her expectations - she’s never shared herself with anyone as intense as Thane; and although she'd never admit it, his sexual confidence is damn near intimidating. But his hot breath against her ear and his endless, patient kisses are an irresistible pull of wanting.

This man is far from bored, she realizes. He's only awaiting her permission to give her something she's never experienced.

Her chest rises and falls in deep, shaky breaths. "No games," she whispers.

"No games," he agrees.

Biting her lip, she guides his hand back to the apex of her thighs. He offers no resistance, humming his approval when she slicks his fingertips through her heat and sets them carefully against her clit.

They move together then, her hand on his, teasing herself while he kisses her neck and shoulder, slowly making his way across her chest. How long has it been since she found release beneath the hands of another? The quiet intimacy of their joined hands, the subtle texture of his scales leaves her breathless, delirious with pleasure, his fingertips sliding effortlessly against her slick center. His mouth wanders over her skin, her breasts, every touch so electric she’s almost not ready for how fast her release sneaks up on her.

"I'm close," she whimpers with eyes squeezed shut, "Oh fuck, Thane, I'm so close."

"Yes, Siha,” he whispers. “Come for me."

She breaks. Every cell in her body clenches in a singularity of pressure before she's launched out in a million pieces, shimmering in the dim light. For once, it doesn't feel cold in her cabin. Waves of heat ripple under her skin, pulsing with every second she spends teasing the tail end of her climax.

She doesn't realize she has a death grip on his hand until she's gone completely still. If it hurts him, he says nothing, only wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her close. When she looks back at him, he's watching her with a knowing, lustful smile. She reaches for him, stroking his delicate neck and earning an appreciative hum that makes her heart beat just a little faster.

"Not that I didn't like you before, but..." she brushes her fingertips along his jaw, tilting his head toward her, "God damn."

Maybe human biology actually is as interesting as he proclaims, if one good orgasm can flood her with this much oxytocin. Like crossing a proverbial threshold, she feels her confidence returning, if only just to tell him we are definitely doing this again. As soon as possible.

"The privilege is mine." His voice is flecked with desire, words she believes so wholeheartedly she can almost see them in the air.

"How are you still wearing pants?"

He growls approvingly as she climbs over him and her fingertips slip beneath his waistband.

"Let's see what I'm about to get myself into," she says with a sly upturn of her lips.

"Or, if you wish - what you're about to get into yourself, " he retorts with no small amount of innuendo.

Immediately she wishes they'd done this sooner. He's... gorgeous. It isn't so much that she thought he wouldn't be, but his anatomy is every bit as colorful as the rest of him and that is a surprise. His length blooms from its internal sheath, a strong and gently ridged gradient of red and purple, nearly glowing in contrast against his green scales.

"Nice," she breathes, reaching for him. "Sorry if I don't have any pretty words to explain how much I want to put this beautiful thing in my mouth." Then she has a thought. "Do you have any fancy words for 'dick?'"

He puffs out an amused laugh and cracks a smile. "I seem to recall you saying something about religion and sex..."

"Humor me," she says, leaning in close enough to make his breath catch from the proximity of her mouth alone.

"Amo'ti," he says. "In your language-"

"Spear of Amonkira?"

He raises a brow ridge at her. "I'm impressed."

She gives his length an appreciative squeeze, testing the give of his ridges, humming at the surprising velvet texture of his skin.

"Maybe," she says slowly, matching the intensity of his gaze, "You can tell me how impressed you are after this." And without any further pretense, she engulfs him with her mouth.

In an instant, his head tips back, and she feels a familiar confidence returning. Men, she thinks, are hopelessly predictable in their pursuit of a hot mouth to fuck. And exactly as expected, Thane's hips are rolling gently forward. She slips her tongue around his length, watching the dancing iridescent scales along the shifting planes of his thighs and stomach.

In the back of her mind, she wonders if drell even do this as much as humans do. But it doesn't seem to matter when he sets his jaw in rapt concentration, visibly struggling to keep his eyes open and fixed on her. She doubles down, flattening her tongue against the underside of his shaft and hollowing her cheeks on the upstroke. His hands thread into her hair, sweeping it from where it falls in front of her eyes and gathering it around his fingers.

Tempted to tease him, she pulls back until the very tip of his length rests against her lips and sweeps her tongue across the head with a seductive smile. Their eyes lock and the sound he makes causes her core to fucking throb with wanting. One hand working him with each teasing swipe of her tongue, she slips lower, plants her lips on the base of his shaft to kiss him with an open mouth. He's shaking now, he's got to be close-

With a strangled gasp, his hips twitch away from her and she stills herself.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," is his breathless response. "Quite the opposite. Come here."

She climbs astride him, pressing the length of their bodies together as his arms enfold her. "That good?"

"Join with me, Siha," he murmurs, his voice low and laced with need. "Find your release in mine."

An unexpected chill slips through her, tingling every nerve with an onset of understanding. She can hear it in the undertones of his voice: I want you. This was never a game. We will be whole, together.

He rocks against her just enough to grab her attention. The brush of his length between her legs is electrifying - his eyes searching, his body asking.

"I'm… uh…" Shepard bites her lip, processing the words slowly. "I haven't been with anyone since I... came back."

His fingers intertwine with hers for the umpteenth time that morning. It's a gesture she's rapidly coming to adore for all its patience and admiration. He kisses the back of her hand, voice low and steady. "You're in control, Commander."

There's something in his well-placed acknowledgement of her authority that placates her. Maybe it's the traces of venom in her system or maybe it's just him, but this man beneath her - this assassin, feared and infamous for the lives he's taken - swells her heart with trust. It's a new and curious thing, so different from the trust shared between brothers in arms. It's simple intimacy, and maybe… just maybe… something more.

Eyes never leaving his, she steadies herself and sinks down on him.

They join together with delicious slowness, his hips willfully unmoving beneath her as she takes him in. The pressure is exquisite, edging somewhere between too much and not enough, each ridge of his florid length finding its place within the scorching depths of her body. She's nearly sweating as their hips go flush, eyes tipping closed with the sweet pulse of their joining.

One painstaking second at a time, she adjusts. It doesn't hurt, but she's afraid it damn well might if she starts riding him like her lust-fueled mind is screaming to. She stifles her own desire, wills her body for control as she twists and flexes herself to banish the lingering anxiety about her reconstruction. It might even be embarrassing - wriggling against him like a damn virgin - but there's no judgement in his eyes. If anything, he's holding back his own pleasure, unmoving while he waits for her. Hands braced against his shoulders, she pushes up, finally bottoming out with a low, wanting moan. His length lodges against her deepest reaches. It feels fucking perfect.

"Fuck," she breathes with a cursory flick of her hips. "Holy shit, Thane."

Features painted with pleasured focus, he's stone still beneath her, hands patiently cradling her waist. Thane, her unlikely but disciplined lover, waiting for her next order.

Her voice is a whisper against his lips.

"Let's fucking do this."

And with that, he begins to move with her.

The groan in his throat vibrates through her entire body as she begins to ride him. Her fingers clasp around his shoulders, afraid to put too much pressure on his transplant scars. He grasps her hands in his own, holding her firm and letting her weight fall against him, hips rolling with her as she finds her rhythm.

His voice is a breathy sound somewhere beneath her. "Siha… don't hold back."

She gasps when the next thrust hits home.

"Shut up," she huffs, slanting her lips over his.

Despite their hours spent together on the battlefield, his strength is shocking. It's near impossible to tell who's riding who, his hands firmly on her hips, his body moving beneath her like the rolling ocean, all muscle and sinuous control. Either sex is way better than she remembers, or he's just that good. He ripples in and out of her depths, each of his gentle ridges strumming her like a harp, sweat rolling down the back of her neck.

His venom is already refreshing its hold on her mind when she breaks their kiss for breath. There's a kind of weightlessness to the high - she floats up, baring herself to his wandering hands. They slide against the plane of her stomach, cupping her breasts, plucking teasingly at her nipples. It's enough to make her cry out, heedless to the rest of the world, grinding on him for all she's worth. She feels the hot coil of release building within her, sensations concentrated in every point of contact. The texture of his scales against her inner thighs, his teasing fingertips on her breasts… his burning length buried within her, filling her to completion like no other.

In the throes of his venom, her cabin disintegrates, and there beneath an endless veil of stars, they are one - chasing release in the arms of the other. Words can't describe this perfect headspace. Later, all she'll be able to say is how he feels so good, wishing she could borrow his eidetic memory if only for these few perfect, fleeting moments, to revisit at her behest.

She slips one hand down to massage her clit and pitches her head back in a gasp, walls clenching involuntarily around his length, drawing a low rasp of pleasure from his beautiful, perfect mouth. Their voices are a litany of breathless sounds, a chorus of shared ecstasy - the desperate succession of skin meeting scales, the trilling of his ruby throat and the expletives that fall from her parted lips. She's close - unbelievably close - and damn near unwilling to finish if it means this moment will end, a rare second climax bearing down on her as she folds against him. Even with her hand trapped between their bodies, the sweet pebbled friction of his scales threatens to push her over the edge whether she's ready or not.

She releases with a scream, his name barely intelligible in a strangled half-sobbed cry of bliss that can't be silenced even as she buries her face in his shoulder. Thane's strong arms wind around her waist, holding her as he drives into the silken, pulsing clench of her heat with abandon. The sound of him illuminates the darkness behind her closed eyes as he spends himself within her and she can feel it - a glittering tingle of sensation radiating between her legs, up her spine and blooming into a full scale high.

And then she sags against his chest, heaving breaths in tandem with him, unable to give two tenths of a shit about her hand going numb between them.

"Thane..." She whispers. "Thane, holy shit."

"Are you hurt?"

"...No. I feel... tingly. It's good. It's so… just, good. Holy shit." Her head lolls against his shoulder. She won't open her eyes - not yet. Whatever's going on out there beyond his embrace - for once, it's not her problem. She feels over-relaxed, tinged with unreality. Like a dream. When had she gotten so damn high? If they'd barely -

...Oh, she realizes.

Drell toxin. Inside her.

Thane hums in contentment, his familiar alien hands soothing through her hair. She wonders if he feels just as sated as she does.

"Tell me it was good for you too," she whispers softly against his aural ridge.

"Siha," his voice is quiet, as if murmuring a secret, "It feels unfair to tell you how many times I will revisit this memory."

"I'll allow it, if you tell me we can do this again."

"As if you even need to ask," he chuckles breathlessly. "Yes, I’d like that."

"I don't think I've ever been fucked like that. I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk straight.”

“Not the word I would use, but I’m glad to hear I’ve pleased you.”

She feels his mouth move in a smile and takes a strong inward breath, raising her head to look at him. She can see her own silhouette in his fathomless dark eyes.

"Say it," she demands.

His brows - those gorgeous, expressive, glittering emerald brows - raise in curiosity. It must be the venom making him so vibrant.

"Pardon?"

Shepard extends one finger to gently prod his chest. "Say 'fuck.'"

He laughs beneath her and it feels like her whole body is bouncing, joining him in his mirth.

That laughter reaches his eyes and his expression softens. "I think perhaps we've overindulged. I didn't expect you'd be so heavily affected."

Her eyes widen in mock incredulity. "Overindulged? Don't you dare tell me that was too much for you."

A viridian palm settles against her cheek, his lips curled in a soft smile so rare it seems like a gift. "What I mean to say is it may have been too much for you, Siha."

She pauses, pushes herself up on shaky arms and sits back on his thighs. He's softening within her, and the retreat of him leaves a trail inside her that feels... not exactly, but... Sort of like someone stuck a breath mint where it doesn't belong. Shepard smiles inwardly. It feels kind of great.

"I'm Commander Shepard," she intones, setting her hands on her hips in a dramatic display of confidence. "I can handle getting dicked down by the most deadly lizard in the galaxy."

Thane is damn near grinning now. “My apologies, Commander. I will think twice before underestimating your abilities in the future.”

"I'm not moving until I hear you say 'fuck.'" She retorts, arms crossed.

"You're wrong, if you assume I want you anywhere but right here."

He reaches for her arms, trailing down her to her wrists to clasp her hands. Above him, she watches as though entranced, the dim light of her cabin blurring the edges of her vision and bringing the slow intertwining of their fingers into crisp focus. For all their differences, they fit together so beautifully. Her heart feels full.

"Thane..."

Their eyes meet as he kisses her fingertips.

"Fuck you, Siha."

[bright-eyes-strawberry-lies]

The Weather In PJO (brought to you by gods and demigods)

*alternating colors for ease of reading

**page numbers look weird because they're copied/pasted from ebooks

“Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I’d ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We’d had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn’t have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.” - TLT pg 33

“One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.” - TLT pg 65

“Outside, it really was storming, the kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses. There was no horse or eagle on the beach, just lightning making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery. [...] Long Island never sees hurricanes this early in the summer. But the ocean seemed to have forgotten.” - TLT pg 156

“There was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling boom!, and our car exploded.” - TLT pg 176

“I was still in bed in cabin three. My body told me it was morning, but it was dark outside, and thunder rolled across the hills. A storm was brewing. I hadn’t dreamed that.” - TLT pg 491

“It started to rain. Volleyball players stopped their game and stared in stunned silence at the sky.

I had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of me.” - TLT pg 520

“BOOOOOM!

The windows of the bus exploded as the passengers ran for cover. Lightning shredded a huge crater in the roof, but an angry wail from inside told me Mrs. Dodds was not yet dead.” - TLT pg 629

“The weather had completely changed. It was stormy, with heat lightning flashing out in the desert.” - TLT pg 988

“In the distance, Los Angeles was on fire, plumes of smoke rising from neighborhoods all over the city. There had been an earthquake, all right, and it was Hades’s fault.” - TLT pg 1191

“I was standing on a deserted street in some little beach town. It was the middle of the night. A storm was blowing. Wind and rain ripped at the palm trees along the sidewalk. Pink and yellow stucco buildings lined the street, their windows boarded up. A block away, past a line of hibiscus bushes, the ocean churned.” - SOM pg 10

“After a few more minutes, the dark splotches ahead of us came into focus. To the north, a huge mass of rock rose out of the sea-an island with cliffs at least a hundred feet tall. About half a mile south of that, the other patch of darkness was a storm brewing. The sky and sea boiled together in a roaring mass.” - SOM pg 598

“A storm raged that night, but it parted around Camp Half-Blood as storms usually did. Lightning flashed against the horizon, waves pounded the shore, but not a drop fell in our valley. We were protected again, thanks to the Fleece, sealed inside our magical borders.” - SOM pg 1045

“Sleet and snow pounded the highway. Annabeth, Thalia, and I hadn’t seen each other in months, but between the blizzard and the thought of what we were about to do, we were too nervous to talk much.” - TTC pg 11

“Old spirits are protecting the bad boat.”

“The Princess Andromeda?” I said. “Luke’s boat?”

“Yes. They make it hard to find. Protect it from Daddy’s storms. Otherwise he would smash it.” - TTC pg 210

“Clouds seemed to be swirling around its peak, as though the mountain was drawing them in, spinning them like a top. “What’s going on up there? A storm?”

Zoë didn’t answer. I got the feeling she knew exactly what the clouds meant, and she didn’t like it.” - TTC pg 751

“I will do my best to destroy his boat with storms, but he is making alliances with my enemies, the older spirits of the ocean. They will fight to protect him.” - TTC pg 886

“We were standing at the dining pavilion, just where we’d last spoken before I went on the quest. The wind was bitter cold, even with the camp’s magical weather protection. Snow fell lightly against the marble steps. I figured outside the camp borders, there must be a blizzard happening.”- TTC pg 915

“The wind whipped cold off the bay. In the south, San Francisco gleamed all white and beautiful, but in the north, over Mount Tamalpais, huge storm clouds swirled. The whole sky seemed like a black top spinning from the mountain where Atlas was imprisoned, and where the Titan palace of Mount Othrys was rising anew. It was hard to believe the tourists couldn’t see the supernatural storm brewing, but they didn’t give any hint that anything was wrong.

“It’s even worse,” Annabeth said, gazing to the north. “The storms have been bad all year, but that—” - BOTL pg 359

“I had no choice. I called to the sea. I reached inside myself and remembered the waves and the currents, the endless power of the ocean. And I let it loose in one horrible scream.

Afterward, I could never describe what happened. An explosion, a tidal wave, a whirlwind of power simultaneously catching me up and blasting me downward into the lava. Fire and water collided, superheated steam, and I shot upward from the heart of the volcano in a huge explosion, just one piece of flotsam thrown free by a million pounds of pressure. The last thing I remember before losing consciousness was flying, flying so high Zeus would never have forgiven me, and then beginning to fall, smoke and fire and water streaming from me. I was a comet hurtling toward the earth.” - BOTL pg 618/619

“Mrs. O’Leary howled. I patted her head, trying to comfort her as best I could. The earth rumbled—an earthquake that could probably be felt in every major city across the country—as the ancient Labyrinth collapsed. Somewhere, I hoped, the remains of the Titan’s strike force had been buried.” - BOTL pg 1005

“I remembered what Tyson had told me at the beginning of the summer. “The old sea gods?”

“Indeed. The battle came first to me, Percy. In fact, I cannot stay long. Even now the ocean is at war with itself. It is all I can do to keep hurricanes and typhoons from destroying your surface world, the fighting is so intense.” - BOTL pg 1066

“Then the entire sea grew dark in front of us, like an inky storm was rolling in. Thunder crackled, which should've been impossible underwater. A huge icy presence was approaching. I sensed a wave of fear roll through the armies below us.” - TLO pg 153

“I saw a bank of storm clouds rolling across the Midwest plains. Lightning flickered. Lines of tornadoes destroyed everything in their path— ripping up houses and trailers, tossing cars around like Matchbox toys. “Monumental floods," an announcer was saying. "Five states declared disaster areas as the freak storm system sweeps east, continuing its path of destruction." The cameras zoomed in on a column of storm bearing down on some Midwest city. I couldn't tell which one. Inside the storm I could see the giant—just small glimpses of his true form: a smoky arm, a dark clawed hand the size of a city block. His angry roar rolled across the plains like a nuclear blast.” - TLO pg 216-218

“Over the city, a thunderstorm boiled—a wall of absolute black with lightning streaking across the sky. A few blocks away, swarms of emergency vehicles gathered with their lights flashing. A column of dust rose from a mound of rubble, which I realized was a collapsed skyscraper. [...] Wind whipped her hair. The temperature was dropping rapidly, like ten degrees just since I'd been standing there.” - TLO pg 468-470

“She faltered as a mighty groan cut through the sky. A blast of lightning hit the center of the darkness. The entire city shook. The air glowed, and every hair on my body stood up. The blast was so powerful I knew it could only be one thing: Zeus's master bolt. It should have vaporized its target, but the dark cloud only staggered backward. A smoky fist appeared out of the clouds. It smashed another tower, and the whole thing collapsed like children's blocks.

The reporter screamed. People ran through the streets. Emergency lights flashed.” - TLO pg 470-471

“Listen to me!" I said. "Kronos's army is invading Manhattan.'"

"Don't you think we know that?" East asked. "I can feel his boats right now. They're almost across."

"Yep," Hudson agreed. "I got some filthy monsters crossing my waters too."

"So stop them," I said. "Drown them. Sink their boats."

"Why should we?" Hudson grumbled. "So they invade Olympus. What do we care?"

"Because I can pay you.” - TLO pg 654

“Water sprayed his face, stinging his eyes. The wind picked up, and Hyperion staggered backward.

"Percy!" Grover called in amazement. "How are you doing that?"

Doing what? I thought.

Then I looked down, and I realized I was standing in the middle of my own personal hurricane. Clouds of water vapor swirled around me, winds so powerful they buffeted Hyperion and flattened the grass in a twenty-yard radius. Enemy warriors threw javelins at me, but the storm knocked them aside.

"Sweet," I muttered. "But a little more!"

Lightning flickered around me. The clouds darkened and the rain swirled faster. I closed in on Hyperion and blew him off his feet.” - TLO pg 903-904

[sithsecrets]

beside one another | din djarin x reader

The hunt for a quarry takes the Mandalorian and his crew member to a fancy hotel in Canto Bight. The two lie beside one another under the cover of darkness, and the meaning of home comes into sharp focus.

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3.3k words

Mentions: typical rich people bullshit, people are a little scared of din, a little bit of pining, “there’s only one bed!”, sharing clothes, NO SMUT

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When Mando tells you that the next quarry’s hiding out in Canto Bight, you can’t help how excited you sound when you ask how long you’ll be staying. He’s his usual stoic self, even in the face of your curiosity, but you do detect a hint of annoyance in his voice as he tells you not to get excited.

“But it’s Canto Bight!” you declare, and the baby echoes your tone by cooing brightly on your hip. “It seems so glamorous!”

“You’ll feel differently once we get there,” Mando states, and then he’s punching coordinates into the navigation system, seemingly done discussing the matter. You buckle into the passenger seat with the baby, settling him on your lap so he gets a good view through the windshield during takeoff. He loves this part for some reason, despite all the rattling and the noise, and he squeals in utter joy like you thought he would.

“At least someone’s excited,” you declare, teasing the Mandalorian for being so grumpy. The man himself says nothing to this, but you’re too pleased with yourself and the prospect of visiting a new place to care.

Before Mando hired you to be his one and only crew member, you’d never really left the Tatoo System. Sure, you’d made a quick trip to here and there, visited a moon or two in your time, but never anything of substance. New places are your favorite thing to collect right now, and you can’t wait to cross Cantonica off your list. You heard stories of Canto Bight when you were little, saw a few holograms of the opulent streets— you can’t wait to see it all in person, even if Mando’s not excited in the slightest. You’re sure it’s different for him, all the traveling and the going to places he’s never been, but the novelty hasn’t worn off for you yet.

The journey to Cantonica is a short one, and before you know it, the Crest is touching down in a sleek, high-class receiving hangar. The landing coordinator sounds like a snob over the comm, making more than one comment about the state of the Crest. But the tone shifts completely once you, Mando, and the baby emerge from the ship, all of the personnel suddenly very accommodating. You’re used to seeing people (the smart ones, anyway) regard Mando with equal parts respect and fear, but this is just excessive. Someone ushers you and the baby out of the sun and into a small office, rushing to offer you a cool drink, and the foreman himself comes out to talk business. The content of he and Mando’s conversation is lost on you, though you do get to watch them talk through a little window.

(Later, you’ll learn that the man let Mando park the Crest here for a fifth of the usual price, but this won’t come as surprise by the time you find out.)

Mando hails a cruiser for the three of you, and then you’re zooming across the dessert on your way to Canto Bight. As the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, the lights of the city become brighter and brighter on the horizon, stoking your excitement. Mando’s minding the baby, so you get to fully enjoy the ride, taking in all you can as the vehicle flies over the sand. Within minutes, sand becomes grass, grass becomes pavement, and then you’re in Canto Bight proper, surrounded on all sides by wealth and luxury. The driver drops the three of you off in front of a grand hotel, and then he’s off without a word, speeding away to pick up another fare.

You, Mando, and the baby make your way inside, and you’re immediately blindsided by the realization that this hotel isn’t a place for you, not really. The interior, much like the building’s exterior, is more opulent than any other building you’ve ever been to, but it’s the people that make you feel like you’re a stain on their carpet. Every single being in the lobby, human or alien, is made up in the galaxy’s finest fabrics and most expensive jewels. They glitter and gleam in the light, and your casual, comfortable clothes looks like rags in comparison. A ball of nervous, self-conscious energy forms in your stomach, the anxiety only made worse by the fact that all eyes are on you. Well, all eyes are on Mando, as they so often are, but you as part of his entourage are subject to scrutiny by mere association. Thankfully, the patrons of this establishment seem more awed than judgmental, but that doesn’t the attention is any less disconcerting.

Before you and Mando can so much as approach the reception desk, you’re stopped short by a man dressed in sharp clothes. His dark hair is perfectly combed and parted, and you catch a hint of expensive cologne as he introduces himself as the resort manager. Mando declines to shake his hand, but you let the man squeeze your palm for a brief moment.

“We need to book a room,” Mando states, trying to use this as an excuse to end the exchange. The resort manager, however, brushes off the attempt with ease.

“That’s already been taken care of, sir.” He gestures towards the elevators with one well-manicured hand, smiling what you can only describe as a customer service smile. “If you follow me this way, I can show you and your companions to your accommodations.”

“We don’t have lines of credit on this planet,” Mando cuts, tone taking on an edge as fishes around for some money. “We just want—”

“Sir,” the resort manager presses, and you have to admire the way he keeps his voice steady even though he looks like he might piss his pants any second, “I assure you that it’s been take care of. Now please, follow me.”

Mando pauses for a moment, staring down this well-dressed, handsome man as if to size him up. But then he nods, and Mr. Manager leads the three of you to the elevators. You ride up up up in a private car, sitting in relative silence the whole way. The manager does most of the talking, asking a few subtly invasive questions about why you’re here— right up until Mando essentially tells him to fuck off. After that, conversation centers mostly around the baby and the amenities available at the hotel, and then you’re walking out into a quiet corridor. It’s not a private floor by any means, but the spacing of the doors lets you know that not many people stay up here. That’s a bit of a relief, at least in your opinion, because the guests here seem rowdy. And drunk. So fucking drunk…

The suite is— Well, the suite is fucking ridiculous, to put it bluntly. It’s four rooms, five if you count the little kitchen area as its own space, and everything is decorated just so. The furnishings are opulent, the upholstery is rich— the ‘fresher alone is bigger than the common area of the home you grew up in. The manager says something about how you shouldn’t hesitate to ask for anything you need, but you barely here him, awestruck in a way by the luxury all around you. Mando sees your escort out, and you can’t believe how casual he’s being about all of this.

“Do—?” The baby makes a discontent noise, ready to be let out of his pram, and you lower him down without giving the action much thought. “Do people always do things like this for you, or…?”

Mando turns to look at you. “Only when they’re scared shitless. As far as all those people are concerned, they’re my next quarry.”

Having received the message, you leave the conversation at that, opting to go and unpack instead of prodding Mando further. The baby toddles about the suite at his leisure, oscillating between cooing at his father and playing on the bed while you work. He’s broken into a basket of complimentary snacks, and you watch as he munches on cookies and chips and a full range of other fine foods. You should probably stop him on the premise of all that ruining his dinner, but Mando’s making noises about going out to do some reconnaissance this evening. With him gone, it’ll just be you and the kid, and you think he can have a treat just this once. Besides, he might crash from the sugar rush, and you could score an evening to yourself in this big fancy hotel room.

“Send me a comm if I’m not here when you wake up,” is all Mando says before he leaves, though he does tilt his head in acknowledgement when you tell him to be safe.

As you suspected, the Child begins to wind down not long after his father leaves, lapsing into a junk food-induced coma with a bag of chips still clenched tightly in his little green hand. You clean up his face and lay him down in his pram for the night, tucking his blankets just so before you click the cover shut.

Virtually alone now, there’s not much for you to do besides bathe and get ready for bed. And so, you do just that, lingering in the bathtub simply because you can. When the water’s gotten too cool for your liking, you climb out and play with the products that have been left out on the countertop, rubbing some expensive lotion into your skin. After that, it’s time to curse quietly to yourself in the bedroom— in all your haste and excitement to pack for this trip, you managed to forget to bring something to sleep in. Mando packed two extra shirts for himself instead of one, however, and you study one of them at arm’s length for a long moment. Wearing another person’s clothes to bed is definitely something you should ask permission to do, that much you know, but… but Mando’s not here, and you need something to wear now. Finally, you slip the garment over your head, deciding that you’ll just apologize later if he gets worked up about it.

Dressed and freshly bathed, your next order of business is to procure some food for yourself. The baby’s still asleep when you get out of the bathtub, so you forgo getting him anything. You do, however, order something that’ll be good for Mando later, something filling that can be eaten lukewarm or even cold when he gets back. Everything is delicious, and you climb into bed full and content.

Even though you’re tired, sleep doesn’t come easily. You find yourself thinking of Mando, and you lie awake wondering what he’s up to— wondering if he’s safe. He’s always doing this, going out for indeterminate amounts of times to hunt his prey, and you worry about him each and every time he’s gone. It’s silly, you know, and for so many reasons. He’s a Mandalorian, for the Maker’s sake— he can take care of himself just fine— and it’s not like he’s yours to fuss over anyway. Sure, the man employs you, but your emotional investment in his safety has grown a bit intense over these past few months. As much as you hate to admit it, Mando’s different to you now, more important than he used to be. The fact that you have feelings for him at all like this is borderline idiotic, but… but sometimes you wonder if he feels things for you too. You don’t have any concrete evidence, your assumptions largely based off of two passing comments and the tilt of his helmet, but still, you cling to the hope that he wants you the same way you want him.

It takes some time, but the sounds of the city do eventually lull you to sleep. You don’t wake again until the early hours of the morning, disturbed by movement in the other room. The clang of Mando’s spurs is a dead giveaway, and you relax as soon as you realize that it’s just him. You try to settle down and drift off again, but you find that you’re suddenly wide awake. So instead, you listen to Mando go about his business, tracking his footsteps from room to room. You hear the shower run in the ‘fresher for a little while, and then a chair scrapes against the floor in the dining room a few minutes after that. The tinkling of a utensils tells you that Mando’s eating the food you got for him, and he must like it, too, because he doesn’t just inhale the plate and move on.

Earlier, after you and Mando realized that the suite only has one bed, he offered to sleep on the couch, and you’d agreed to that. Now, though, you don’t like the idea of him trying to fold his beskar-clad body up on the cushions in the living room. He’s the reason the three of you got this room in the first place, even if he never asked for the special treatment, and you think he’s entitled to at least sleep on the ridiculously soft bed. Still, it’s a presumptuous thing, asking him to lie down with you, and you’re not sure you’re brave enough to do it. You are brave enough, however, to ask him how his surveillance mission went, so you slip out of bed and pad towards the dining room.

“Mando?” you call, voice sounding rather loud in the still darkness. You wouldn’t want to catch him without his helmet on, so you’re giving him a warning.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Mando affirms, and you know the coast is clear by the electronic tinge to his voice.

He’s still sitting there at the table when you turn the corner, and the Mandalorian does seem a bit taken aback by the sight of you. Only now do you remember that you’re wearing his clothes, and two thoughts cross your mind: Will he be pissed with you? Does this shirt even cover your ass properly?

“Is—? You’re wearing my clothes.” Mando is expressionless in the helmet, of course, but the tilt of his voice is indicative of surprise.

You flush, tugging on the hem of the shirt. “Yeah, I— I forgot to pack something to sleep in, and you had an extra one. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” the Mandalorian says at once, cutting you off. A pause, and then he’s much more collected, much more like himself again. “It’s not a problem, really. No big deal.”

You nod at that, and then things are casual again. You ask Mando if he got any good information about his quarry, and he says that he did. He thanks you for getting him some dinner, and you say that it was no trouble.

“The baby’s sleeping?”

“Yeah,” you affirm, jerking your head towards the bedroom. “I have him in his pram. I think all the sweets put him in a diabetic coma.”

Mando doesn’t laugh, but the little huff that comes from his vocoder is enough to tell you that the joke landed. “Good,” he says, “I’m glad somebody’s getting some rest.”

There’s a lull in conversation, the two of you looking at one another from opposite ends of the dimly lit dining room. You lean in the doorway, mock-casual as you toy with the hem of your borrowed shirt.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch, you know,” you say softly, finding it difficult to make eye contact with the visor as you speak.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” the Mandalorian replies. “You got in bed first, so I’m not going to make you move now—”

“No, no,” you chide, interrupting him. “I—”

You take a breath, deciding that now is as good a time as any. It’s time to rip off the bandage, and if this goes to shit, you can always chalk your actions up to exhaustion later.

“I mean, you could come lie down in bed too,” you say quickly, fidgeting nervously. “With me.”

Mando doesn’t say or do anything for one long, agonizing moment, and you’re sure you’re going to throw up. But then…

“Do you want me to lie down with you?”

His voice is quiet through the modulator, almost soft in a way, and the sound of it makes something inside you flutter.

“Yeah.”

You’re almost whispering, and you wonder what the Mandalorian thinks of you in this moment, how you look to him standing there in his clothes, asking him to come to bed with you. It must not be an ugly sight in his eyes, because he stands and walks to you, murmuring, “Come on.”

Mando checks on the baby as you crawl back in bed, rearranging the Child’s blankets, giving him an affectionate little pat. The pram clicks closed, and then Mando’s faltering at the edge of the bed.

“I can’t—” His abandons his words in favor of a display, gesturing towards the armor on his body, to the room as a whole. “This isn’t—”

“I know,” you say softly, because you do. The armor makes him feel safe, makes him feel strong, and he won’t be able to sleep if he takes it off in this strange, foreign environment. “Just take your boots off. Or are those made of beskar too?”

It’s a silly joke, but it earns you a little huff through the vocoder nonetheless.

“No,” Mando retorts, tone light. He takes off more than just his boots, unclipping his utility belt before he sits down on the edge of the bed. It takes Mando a minute to unlace his boots, but when he’s done, he finally lies down beside you, not even untucking the blankets on his side.

“You don’t want some covers?”

Mando shakes his head, and you have to admit that his big, beskar-clad body looks out of place in this even bigger, soft bed. You wonder idly if it would be different on the ship, if Mando would take all the armor off and lie beside you there too. You could never ask him to take the helmet off, that would be too much, but if he was on his own turf instead of holed up in some hotel suite… It’s too late to be worried about all of that now, though, so you force yourself to relax and enjoy this moment.

“This place is sort of fancy,” Mando says to you, voice cutting through the darkness, and you nod in agreement.

“Yeah, but I like the Crest better.”

“Really?”

You nod again. “It’s… warmer. Everything in this city is so cold. The building’s are pretty, and the streets make a pretty picture, but nobody’s supposed to live here. It’s all for show. Very plastic. I see why you weren’t excited to come here.”

Mando says nothing to this, though somehow you know that he’s not taking pleasure in being right.

Feeling bold, you move a bit closer to the Mandalorian. “I’ll be happy to go home.”

“I’m getting the quarry tomorrow,” Mando says, “probably before nightfall. We can be back on the Crest and off Cantonica before it’s time for us to sleep again.”

You like to think there’s a promise in that, an indication of what’s to come, but you’ll just have to wait and see. You’ll just have to hope.

“Good.”

And as your last act of bravery for the night, you reach out across the sheets and grab Mando’s hand.

He doesn’t pull away.