#rather than just stealing a ship and dipping into space

[secondhand-sonder]

girls when the kindness is still there despite everything

[elizabethrobertajones]

FFXIV Write: Day 12, Miss the Boat

Took the prompt very literally. Thancred x Urianger, explicit, set in post-EW vagueness.

Thancred threw back his head and gasped as Urianger pushed into him, forceful, intent, one thrust and he was losing his mind. And his lover didn’t let him rest before driving into him with such a sharp movement Thancred’s legs almost slipped from where they crossed behind the elezen’s hips. Pressed up against a wall in a nook not far from the docks, killing time before their ship to the next adventure. Urianger had been frisky all morning, perhaps no more than usual but a sudden problem when they had places to be, pressing kisses to Thancred’s bare shoulders as he brushed his teeth and washed his face, crowding him against the door when they were supposed to leave to get breakfast, and making them both late for every appointment that morning as they prepared to leave on the next phase of their travels by stealing kisses whenever he could. And Thancred had never been one to deny him.

Not when he’d found himself scrabbling against the crates that made their secret hideyhole, tugging Urianger’s hair as the astrologian ruined the knees of his robes sucking him until he had to beg him to stop or that would be it for this encounter. And, oh, he was still sore from the night before, still walking cautiously and blushing when anyone looked at him too long because he knew they knew that Urianger had tumbled him hard the night before, and now those long, deft fingers were inside him again, and Thancred buried his face in Urianger’s chest and felt a greater sense of clarity of character and purpose than he had even meeting Hydaelyn, knowing that he could have this every night he chose to spend with Urianger, forever, and not just the nights. The many strange spots across the world where they’d desperately rutted against each other with no time to spare, and yet finding it impossible to move until they’d sated the ravenous hunger they set off in each other.

Sometimes Thancred couldn’t take his hands off Urianger, teasing his fingers along the edges of his jewellery, running his fingers up and down his back and dipping them beneath the fabric to explore hidden spaces. Sometimes, like this morning, it was Urianger who seemed unable to move more than a few yalms away before returning to touch Thancred, gentle brushes of the back of his hand across his cheek and a look that melted all his resistance in moments, sometimes needy, desperate touches, insistent that nothing would do at all until they had fallen into bed together. And when he’d gotten better at stifling his own moans and cries, not even beds but any space where they might swive uninterrupted, the world moving on around them but they were cocooned in each other.

Here on the docks they had arrived with almost enough time to spare, the ship captain telling them they left with the tide when they’d booked passage, and the inlets of the harbour had still been exposed shingles, the sea withdrawn from the beaches. They could have bought coffee, they could have gone for a nice walk to the colossus of the Scholar to reminisce on times gone by and walked back in time for final boarding.

Instead Urianger had hooked a finger into Thancred’s collar and given him a gentle tug in the direction of the stacks of crates the gleaners were now moving with rather less frenetic activity and not at all this early in the morning, and Thancred had followed him feeling the blood sink down in his body until his trousers we too tight to bear and his hands were shaking with want to touch Urianger. To hike up his skirts and kiss his arms and his neck and finally his beautiful smug face, so pleased with himself for spotting a deserted location to kiss and – well, it was never just going to be a few kisses, Thancred realised, grinding his hips down on Urianger until he saw stars and Urianger breathed out a curse to the Twelves in foul (for him) words that only Thancred got to hear, his sign he’s done all the right things to Urianger.

This secluded spot beyond the docks had a view of one of the small harbours that lead down to Labyrinthos, currently with a few empty boats bobbing in it. As the one being pushed against the wall, it was Thancred’s duty to at least occasionally look past Urianger’s sweat-sheen shoulders to see if anyone was nearby, but the quiet lapping of the tamed sea is the only noise back there. That and the obscene sounds they’re making, rocking together and kissing, groaning and whispering.

Enjoying being lifted up, he closed his lips around the tip of Urianger’s long ear, grazed his teeth and pulled, and the shudder Urianger responded with let him know exactly how close he was. He didn’t hold back after that, gathering pace and forcing Urianger to rock back into him with ever more intensity, he had the presence of mind to catch his own spend in a handkerchief, as Urianger trembled and huffed and emptied into him. They caught their breath for a long while, breathing in sync, still locked together, moving in small sympathetic motions as they let the high pass and slowly came back to themselves.

Urianger kissed Thancred again, contemplative, long, stroking his hair like he was a stray creature that needed gentle taming touches. Thancred broke the kiss and looked into his startling gold eyes and felt his breath knocked right back out of him at the love he saw there, the gentle passion now that the urgency had faded from their encounter, that feeling that they could stare at each other all day and that was all that mattered. He felt like he could swive him again in minutes if Urianger was up for it.

He carefully disentangled himself from Urianger and they did their best to clean up, greatly assisted by the magic of a scholar too lazy to do his own laundry when a spell might whisk filth away. And gods knew how much filth they’d created in the last… However long they had been here.

Time slowly began to creep back to Thancred, and his gaze alighted once more on the small boats in the harbour, floating at full tide, their mooring ropes slack and the water beneath them a deep clear blue, two yalms deep. Timings like that, especially for one who had Limsa’s tides ingrained in his mind from birth, stuck out.

“Seven hells, it’s almost mid-morning. We’ve missed the ship by over a bell.”

[dragonheart-swtor]

Sith Inquisitor Storyline: Drunk History Version

Y’all, and by y’all I mean one person (@sith-shenanigans thank you very much), asked for it, and I live to repeat this over and over for others’ amusement, so here it is. Have my summary of the pinball machine that is the Sith Inquisitor storyline, from memory, originally drafted a while back in DMs with a friend who’s never played SWTOR. Spoilers for the Sith Inquisitor storyline, obviously.

Without further ado: Let us begin.

- So your story begins as a recently sort-of-freed slave walking off a ship and onto Hell: The Planet. (The nonhuman Inquisitor immediately experiences 2483947 microaggressions.)

- You have to compete with a bunch of other people! Only one of you is not going to die and the overseer has already picked his favorite, seemingly purely because he happens to have red skin. They will both (the overseer and Teacher’s Pet) proceed to be as annoying as possible for the rest of the Korriban story.

- multiple people try to kill you, but you’re the protagonist, so fuck them

- “Teacher’s Pet, you go to the library and translate these texts. Protagonist, you go to this ancient tomb and figure out how to retrieve an artifact from a lock that no one has been able to open in ten thousand years.” “Libraries are boring anyway. Yawn.”

- You finally get to smackdown with Teacher’s Pet, which is satisfying as hell. Unfortunately the overseer gets pissy about it. Fortunately, the Sith you’ve been competing to be the apprentice of decided she liked you early on and has also been playing favorites, so you don’t die immediately.

- your master is great! much more into positive reinforcement than most Sith.

- at some point you semi-accidentally steal someone else's cult on Nar Shaddaa and now they worship you as a nigh-on god. whoops. you just kind of... leave and let them run their own business. you pay them visits later in the storyline.

- you also become part bug so you can go skinny dipping in radioactive waste. it’s fine, we promise.

- your master is trying to steal your body because turns out she's actually really old and kind of dying so she plans on kicking you out of your body, transplanting her own soul in your place, killing her old body, and assuming your identity after "you" "killed" "your master"! that's not great, better not let her do that.

-  you successfully didn't let her do that! wait, now she's sharing a body with one of your companions, an ancient monster who you kind of forced into submission and who serves you rather unwillingly now. there is apparently nothing that can be done about this so sometimes your eight-foot-tall monster not-friend talks in a high, unnervingly smooth feminine voice and tries to convince you she's on your side now that she's forced by this new body to not harm you. this is also not great but what are you gonna do. he is also Not Pleased about this by the way, and really who can blame him.

- some darth on the dark council named Thanaton decides to get pissy with you for reasons I don't remember and now he's trying to kill you. what the fuck.

-  he actually almost does kill you but your old master's other apprentices, who are now your apprentices, save you from the brink of death.

- (the apprentices, by the way, are very sweet and I love them. they’re murdered by thanaton almost immediately.)

-  your solution to "I need more power, fast", for some godforsaken reason, is "I'm going to learn to walk the line between life and death and EAT GHOSTS" and I wish I were exaggerating this

- you go out and eat a bunch of ghosts of old Sith on various planets

- subpoint to this: on one of these planets, you accomplish this by coercing the ghost's descendant, a Jedi padawan named Ashara, to get the ghost to appear so you can eat him. You end up murdering her masters in the process because one way or another they find out about your plan. She is understandably horrified by this turn of events and, feeling she has no chance of returning to the Jedi, reluctantly joins your crew and either (Light Side Quizzy) learns to balance light and dark sides of the Force and becomes ultimately stronger for it, or (Dark Side Quizzy) lives in abject terror of you for the rest of the storyline. I love her dearly as well. fortunately she is not murdered by thanaton.

- congrats! you ate enough ghosts to have enough power to beat thanaton up!

- unfortunately, you have Ate Too Many Ghosts Disease now and need immediate medical attention.

- your mind kind of just Shatters and you may or may not have hallucinations for a while iirc. either way you need help or you're just gonna disintegrate slowly until the ghosts overwhelm you and take over. you go to Voss and participate in some wild Force ritual they've got to take care of that. it's a fun time

- your body is also having a bad time and that also needs fixing; I don't remember where you go for this (Belsavis, I think?) but you end up checking out a machine made by a long-dead alien civilization and the machine turns out to a) be sentient and b) be responsible for CREATING A GOOD PORTION OF THE GALAXY'S NEAR-HUMAN SPECIES, IF NOT ALL OF THEM, AND DISSEMINATING THEM TO THE GALAXY AS PART OF THE RAKATA'S EXPERIMENTS ON CREATING FORCE-SENSITIVE LIFEFORMS IN HOPES OF KEEPING THEIR OWN SPECIES FROM DYING OUT BECAUSE THEY WERE SUPER RACIST AND EVENTUALLY THAT RACISM KICKED THEM IN THE ASS IN THE FORM OF A MASS REVOLUTION THAT WIPED THEM OUT COMPLETELY BUT THE MACHINE IS STILL HERE

- all right I’m calm sorry I derailed for a moment

- I have a lot of thoughts about things

-  anyway the machine bUILDS YOU A NEW FUCKING BODY and you're good to go now

-  (by the way, depending what species you're playing, it's entirely possible you learn at this point that your entire species only exists because of this machine!)

- (anyway.)

- okay, mind fixed, body fixed, ghosts consumed, we're good to go! time to murder a dark councilor!

- "we do that"

- except you don't because you're on corellia and this dipshit challenges you to a kaggath without really ever explaining in detail what a kaggath is or what the rules (if any) are, we just know it seems to be the ancient and very formal Sith way of saying "meet me in the denny's parking lot at 3am if you want an ass-kicking", and then hE RUNS OFF TO DROMUND KAAS WHICH DEPENDING ON WHAT GALAXY MAP YOU BELIEVE IS UP TO FIVE DAYS' TRAVEL AWAY

- YOU'RE CANONICALLY JUST CHASING THIS LITTLE BITCH THROUGH SPACE FOR FIVE DAYS AFTER HE CHALLENGED YOU

-  he then goes to the Dark Council to try to convince them to help him kill you and you literally have to just go to the Dark Council chambers too and kick in the door and go "HEARD YOU WERE TALKIN SHIT" in front of everyone

- (which to be fair is basically Sith philosophy in a nutshell)

-  Ravage and Marr spend this entire council meeting just exchanging tired glances and going "no, fuck you, why can't you kill them, they're your problem. fight for our entertainment now. fuck you"

- (Darth Baras did this exact same shit earlier the same day, by the way, with the Sith Warrior. and by “earlier the same day” I mean “like fifteen minutes prior to this.”)

- you fight Thanaton. to no one's surprise, because you're the protagonist and because he's being a little bitch about it, you kick his ass and slaughter him in front of everyone

- half the Council stands up and you just kind of go "oh shit I'm gonna die"

- but no

- you're being promoted

- congration you done it you're a dark councilor now

- someone complains because wait, they're not even a darth, you can't be a dark councilor if you're not even a darth

- first person responds with "well fuck you then, we'll make them a darth. hey you. your name is Darth Nox (dark side)/Imperius (light side)/Occulus (neutral) now. take a seat"

- "but - what?"

- "take a fuckin seat, babe"

- "o- okay" 

- "you run the entire Ancient Knowledge sector now, by the way, despite the fact that you may or may not be illiterate due to having been raised a slave, because that was what Thanaton ran and we only have the one job opening since the Warrior just killed Baras"

- (the Warrior, freshly coined the Emperor's Wrath officially, waves from their corner where they're cleaning Baras's blood off their boots)

- "I - okay, I guess"

and that’s the Sith Inquisitor storyline. That’s a wrap, folks, roll credits. if this gets enough notes and/or if literally anyone says they’d like to see it I may also post the Imperial Agent and/or do other class stories, I enjoy these way too much

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 26.5

➻ pairing: this chapter centers around yeosang x wooyoung ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut, fluff ➻ Word Count: 3.6k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act four ➻ part 1.5

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“Hey, did you take my green blanket?”

“Hm?”

“My green blanket! The one Jongho got me for my last birthday?” Wooyoung puffs his cheeks full of air when his companion merely squints at the ceiling rather than responding. “You’re using it right now, aren’t you? Under the comforter? You just took my blanket, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yeosang hums, pulling the sheets up closer to his chin. Wooyoung strains to see if there’s a flash of green underneath, but he isn’t able to catch anything at this angle. “Besides, what good are birthday presents for someone who doesn’t even have a birthday?”

Wooyoung can’t resist the urge to roll his eyes. The question is far from offensive or harsh; Yeosang tends to be blunt more than anything else, and he does have a valid point in the question since Wooyoung truly has no recollection of when his birthday is. Although it was Yeosang’s idea to claim his birthday as the day he was set free. The warmth in Yeosang’s eyes when he suggested that was far too enticing to say no to, so Wooyoung agreed without batting an eye. 

“You are a terrible liar, Kang Yeosang,” he hisses out, edging closer to the bed. Yeosang lifts a brow but doesn’t budge.

“I don’t lie.”

“You omit the truth, and that’s the same as lying.” Wooyoung lifts a finger to jab it in the blond’s direction, unamused when the other cracks a small knowing smile. 

“How so?” He inquires nonetheless. The teasing gleam to his gaze doesn’t let up for a second.

“You know how so!” Wooyoung protests quickly. He pulls himself further onto the bed, tossing all his weight onto Yeosang’s torso, and the other man releases a groan from the sudden pressure. “I hope you pass out, you thief.”

“God, have you gained weight? You seem heavier than usual.”

“Heavier than usual? Heavier than usual! Why you little–” Wooyoung reaches behind Yeosang’s head and snatches up a pillow before smacking it hard against the Elitist’s face. Yeosang manages to bring his arms up in time to block a majority of the impact, but Wooyoung’s superior position allows him to work around his arms and hit him on the crown of his head. “I hope that feels heavier than usual too!” 

Yeosang huffs out a laugh in response. He snatches the pillow from Wooyoung’s hands when Wooyoung next brings the cushion down, pushing it to the side and grabbing hold of his wrists with such ease that Wooyoung’s heart practically jumps in his chest. Yeosang twists his body despite being caught under the sheets, and all of a sudden Wooyoung is the one being pinned to the bed, red rushing up his neck at the intimacy of the position.

“H-Hey,” he mutters as he glances away from Yeosang’s prying gaze. 

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, Woo.”

“I know, I was just teasing you!” Wooyoung stretches his grin, cheeks scrunching up as he beams at Yeosang without a care in the world. The Elitist doesn’t seem pleased with his quick response though and continues his train of thought a moment later.

“You could afford to put on a bit more weight at that. And we could spend more time in the training room if you’d like. I’d be hap–”

“Oh hush, you.” Wooyoung blows air into Yeosang’s face to shut him up, and the tactic works out rather well for him seeing as Yeosang blinks against the assault with confusion painting his features. “Unlike you, my stomach was never fit for a prince’s diet or a royal meal plan. But I can eat a bit more if that would make you happy!”

“I like you just the way you are,” Yeosang hums in response. He speaks the words so softly that Wooyoung hardly catches them but when he does, the flush on his cheeks deepens to a scarlet. 

“You can’t tease me about my weight, tell me that it wouldn’t hurt to put on a few pounds, then say something like that,” he grumbles under his breath, shoving a hand against Yeosang’s shoulder. The attack is half-hearted at best, and Yeosang laughs it off without too much care. 

The Elitist lets the sound fade into silence, leaving his gaze to trace over every millimeter of Wooyoung’s features. The heat in his state is not lustful or seeking anything more than the gentle peace hanging in the air between them, but Wooyoung still finds himself flustered more than anything else. 

“What are you doing that for?” Wooyoung wriggles a bit under Yeosang’s weight. He doesn’t manage to budge the man even an inch, completely stuck under both his grasp and gaze. 

“Let me admire my lover in peace.”

Wooyoung squeals at the nonchalant attitude Yeosang holds and the way he says the words like he’s never been more sure of anything in his life. He frees one hand from Yeosang’s hold and snatches up the same pillow from before, sending it cascading into the side of Yeosang’s head. 

“Excuse me, wh—”

“You’re excused!” Wooyoung interrupts before smacking Yeosang once more for good measure. Yeosang huffs and rolls off Wooyoung to escape the relentless attacks with the pillow, not bothering to fight back. As he slips out of the way, Wooyoung catches a flash of green under the black comforter. “You did steal my blanket!”

“Is that truly what you’re worried about right now?” Yeosang slips off the bed to stand upright, hands coming to rest on his hips as he blinks down at Wooyoung. 

“Yes because you lied to me!”

“All I said was that I didn’t know what you were talking about.” 

Wooyoung pulls himself into a sitting position and inches ever closer to where Yeosang stands by the edge of the bed. He pouts out his lower lip as far as he can in a desperate attempt to win the man over but it is to no avail because Yeosang just arches a brow and smiles a little.

“You look so cute when you act hurt.”

“Make it up to me and I won’t be hurt,” Wooyoung pleas with wide eyes. Yeosang slips a finger under his chin and lifts him up a bit more. Wooyoung follows the motion but Yeosang dips away at the last second, lips merely ghosting over his, and the younger of the two gasps at the audacity of the other’s teasing. “You are absolutely cruel!”

“I can’t help myself when you look as cute as you do.” Yeosang begins to pull back, but Wooyoung isn’t about to let him get away with it this time, so he reaches up to snag the man by the collar, yanking him back down so hard that Yeosang has to grip the mattress to keep from crushing Wooyoung. 

“Do it properly.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I will find someone who can do it prope–” Pressure invades Wooyoung’s mouth, and he doesn’t get the chance to finish that train of thought thanks to Yeosang’s lips crashing into his. Wooyoung sighs into the kiss, a content smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and sits back to let Yeosang do most of the work. Yeosang doesn’t stay long, releasing Wooyoung’s lips with a wet pop and harsh glare that doesn’t scare Wooyoung in the slightest. Huffing out a laugh, the dark-haired man brings a thumb to his lips and wipes at the excesses saliva Yeosang left there. “Better.”

It is still difficult to ignore the dull pain that blossoms in his chest when his lips part from Yeosang’s, but he has at least gotten better at not letting that pain shine through his features or show in the slightest. Whether Yeosang doesn’t notice or he is merely pretending to ignore it, Wooyoung does not know, but he does not particularly care either. Not talking about it saves them both from further pain that neither of them wants. 

“I put up with too much of your teasing.” Yeosang readjusts his tunic, pulling the white silk back into its original resting place. Even with all the man’s insistence that he hates every part of his past, he sure does wear many regal and fancy clothes. Not that Wooyoung is complaining in the slightest because Yeosang just looks so pretty: blond hair that falls in soft waves around his face just long enough to be pulled back into the smallest ponytail, dark brown eyes with gold flecks throughout them, that precious birthmark hiding beside his eye that his side bangs cover all too often. The silk regalia he always wears on casual days like these only add to that beauty. Wooyoung could spend hours sitting back like this and staring at him. “Perhaps that should be your next lesson.”

“Hm, maybe, but if I really wanted to, I would have you pinned to the bed right now. Especially with how pretty and delicate you look in that shirt.” Wooyoung grins a bit too cheekily, and Yeosang rewards him with a sharp flick to the forehead. “Ow!”

“You were asking for it.”

“You are oh so cruel and harsh, Prince Kang,” Wooyoung laments with a dramatic flair to his tone. He throws himself back onto the bed, releasing an all too fake sob as Yeosang just rolls his eyes and ignores the other’s antics. 

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Would you rather me call you sir? Perhaps while you have me face do–” Yeosang darts forward, clapping a hand over Wooyoung’s prattling mouth without hesitation, and he glances around the room nervously even though it is empty aside from the two of them.

“You’re too bold,” he hisses before pulling his hand back and letting Wooyoung grin happily to himself. 

“I’m just trying to get to the point here! You promised to teach me more today, and I haven’t heard you breathe a word about that, so hurry up mister!”

“You and your teasing mouth have prevented me from doing so actually.” Yeosang catches Wooyoung by the chin, and he inches the man’s head up with just his index finger. Wooyoung’s smile stretches wider in defense, and the other can only manage a deep sigh as pulls away. “What is it you want to learn today? Anything particular in mind?”

Wooyoung slides himself over to the edge of the bed and tosses his legs over the edge. He taps at his chin as he thinks, trying (and failing) not to get distracted by the soft expression Yeosang wears currently. 

“Um, you said – you said you had to go to lots of dances when you were younger right?”

“I did, yes,” Yeosang hums. He doesn’t try to hide the smile that overtakes his lips as Wooyoung speaks, and once again, Wooyoung finds himself slipping further into distraction. 

“W-Well then, teach me to dance!” Wooyoung hops to his feet and looks Yeosang in the eye. They stand at about the same height; perhaps Wooyoung is only a centimeter shorter at best, but Yeosang would most likely say it’s more like two or three centimeters. 

“We don’t have music though?” Yeosang’s voice lifts at the end of his sentence, changing the statement into a question, and Wooyoung slaps the flat of his hand down hard against Yeosang’s shoulder.

“Do we really need music? Isn’t it all about – um, I don’t know how dancing works actually.”

“Counts, Woo, it’s all about counts.”

“Okay, see! That’s not music.”

“But it’s counts related to the tempo of the music,” Yeosang hums but he slips an arm about Wooyoung’s waist nonetheless and tugs him closer. “I suppose coming up with a tempo of our own wouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Wait, which part are you teaching me?” Wooyoung inquires as Yeosang guides one of his hands up to rest near his bicep. The blond clasps the other tight in his own hand, pulling it out to the side to hang in the open air.

“The typically female part.”

“I want to learn the male part!” Wooyoung protests, fist balling around the fabric of Yeosang’s delicate shirt. 

“You want me to dance to the female’s part?”

“Would it truly be the first time you haven’t taken control?” Wooyoung quips, and Yeosang’s grip on his waist tightens to a point where the younger yelps.

“Don’t think with such a dated mindset, Woo. There are many things a man can do from that position, and I would be happy to teach you those next,” Yeosang purrs, pressing his lips to the shell of Wooyoung’s ear. The younger releases some sort of noise that sounds something like a squeak and a gasp mashed together. Yeosang revels in the sound, and he tosses his head back as a bout of laughter overtakes his body. The sound is crisp and clear in a beautiful way. Wooyoung cherishes it while it lasts, knowing that the Elitist is only ever so relaxed and carefree like this when they are alone. 

Yeosang nudges Wooyoung’s hand off his shoulder and catches hold of it before it can fall uselessly by his side. He pulls it to his waist in attempts to urge Wooyoung to take hold of him, and Wooyoung is quick to do so, folding his fingers around Yeosang’s lithe waist.

“You can’t expect to dance properly while standing that far away from me, Wooyoung,” Yeosang grumbles under his breath. He hooks a hand onto Wooyoung’s shoulder and tugs him forward until their chests have no space between them. Wooyoung sucks in a sharp breath, stifling a smile when he sees the flush that rises up Yeosang’s neck as he tightens his grip on the man’s waist. 

“Did all the princesses have the pleasure of dancing so close to you?” Wooyoung hums. His eyes remain wide and innocent, but Yeosang knows better than to believe the innocence there. 

“You are the only one I would ever allow this close to me.” 

Wooyoung is pleased with the response even if it catches him off-guard because he was honestly expecting another jibe from the man. The small statement has more than one meaning, and Wooyoung basks in all the possibilities, taking a moment to just absorb Yeosang’s warmth and presence. 

“Alright, you don’t get to ignore my instructions just because I’m letting you lead this one time. I expect you to pay attention to every detail.”

“This one time?” Wooyoung laughs.

“I won’t let you lead again after this.”

“Oh, you’ve said that before but–”

“Think with your brain not with your dick, Jung Wooyoung!” Yeosang squeezes hard at the muscle under Wooyoung’s shirt, and he releases a yelp from the sharp pain that spreads quickly through his body. 

“Okay, okay! I’m thinking with my head! And not that one!” 

“Remind me why I put up with you.”

“Because you love me?” Wooyoung grins, and while Yeosang doesn’t provide a verbal response, he has one in the way Yeosang smiles before clearing his throat and standing up a bit straighter.

“Just move with me. It’s rather simple to get the hang of, but there will be a lot of stepping on toes until you get a feel for your partner.” Wooyoung’s lips don’t even part a centimeter before Yeosang sends him a pointed glare that has him snapping his lips back together with no further comment. “When my right foot moves backward, step forward with your left. We can work up to you leading the movements, but if you were in full control, you would push against my hand to signal that you’re taking a step forward.”

Yeosang’s right leg slips away from Wooyoung’s left one, and he chases after him, taking a hasty step forward and hitting the tip of Yeosang’s steel-toed boot. Wooyoung backtracks immediately and tugs back, but the blond keeps him firmly planted to the spot.

“Easy, Woo… move a bit slower than that. It’s not a race; it’s a dance. It’s supposed to be slow and rhythmic.” 

Wooyoung lets Yeosang guide his next steps, blindly following them without focusing on any of the words coming from his lips. They sway to an inaudible beat, a song only the two of them can hear, an unspoken melody that holds them to each other. As it turns out, Yeosang doesn’t need to explain anything because Wooyoung’s body picks up on the guidance within minutes. 

“I think you got it,” Yeosang whispers eventually, and neither man is sure how long they’ve been dancing. They don’t pull away though; instead, Yeosang slips his hand free of Wooyoung’s and moves it up to his other shoulder. Slowly but surely, he intertwines his fingers behind Wooyoung’s neck. Wooyoung takes it as a sign to drop his hand to Yeosang’s waist, and he mimics the position with a faint smile. Yeosang arches his back against the touch. He’s in the middle of a laugh when Wooyoung drops his forehead atop the other man’s, eliciting a quiet gasp from him that devolves into a huff of laughter again less than a second later. “We aren’t even dancing anymore.”

“Do we need to be?” Wooyoung lets his eyes flutter shut. Every sense is so full of Yeosang that it’s almost overwhelming: the heat of his warm skin under the silk, the soft sounds of his breathing and slightly lisped tone, the smell of that goddamn cologne someone bought for him some time ago that Wooyoung adores so much, Wooyoung can even still taste Yeosang on his lips from their earlier kiss. And when he opens his eyes once more, there Yeosang stands before him – real, living, able to be seen and held and cherished. 

Too often do those dreams come, the ones where Yeosang remains out of reach or broken and hurt and dying before Wooyoung’s eyes but he can’t do a thing to stop it. They come in a wide variety of nightmares, a plethora of troubles and hardships and pain, and yet there is only one that never arises. 

“You’re thinking too hard,” Yeosang murmurs once he recognizes the gleam in Wooyoung’s eyes. “Come back to me, Woo.” He’s a bit too far gone as it is, too lost in thought and caught up in the frightening possibilities. Yeosang’s hands slip loose and fall forward to cradle Wooyoung’s face in his palms. 

The one that has never awoken in his mind is the one where Yeosang is his master, his owner, the one dealing punishment after punishment, and if Wooyoung dwells on the thought for too long, he can start to hear the crack of the electric whip in his ears.

“Come back to me,” Yeosang says a bit louder this time. Something binds Wooyoung to the words, and he finds himself leaning into the warmth of Yeosang’s touch. “There we go, come back to me. Just like that…”

“’m sorry.” Wooyoung’s words are a bit slurred and broken, but he’s free of the intruding thoughts for the time being at least. 

“That’s enough lessons for today, I think.” Yeosang hums as he trails a thumb over the skin of Wooyoung’s cheek. 

“Let’s stay like this a little while longer, please.”

“Whatever you want, Woo.”

“All I want is you,” Wooyoung whispers, slipping his head away from Yeosang’s so that he can bury his face in the man’s neck. A few of the longer strands of blond hair tickle his ear, and a shiver travels down his spine with the sensation before he settles comfortably there. 

“I know.”

“I would have you for the rest of my life if you let me.”

“You know I would.” Yeosang reaches a hand up to cup the back of Wooyoung’s head. He combs through the charcoal locks there, fingernails brushing over his scalp in such a way that Wooyoung feels himself growing drowsier by the second. “We’ll see what fate has in store for us.”

“What if I don’t want to wait that long?”

“You don’t have to. I’m yours now.” Wooyoung smiles against Yeosang’s skin, and a sigh passes through his chest as Yeosang shifts to press a kiss to his hair. 

“I did pretty well for myself, I suppose. Getting a prince all on my own.”

“You said that as if there was ever any doubt of me falling for you,” Yeosang laughs softly. “But I must admit… a traitorous runaway prince and an ex-slave. Fate can’t even try to tell me that—” 

Wooyoung cuts the thought short, pulling up with haste to slot his lips against Yeosang’s much smoother ones. He knows the man will complain later – tell him that the more they kiss, the more painful it will get in the long run – but right now, Wooyoung just wants to appreciate every inch of Yeosang while he can. If fate wishes to deprive him of that one day, then Wooyoung doesn’t want to look back with any regrets about what they could have done or said in their time together. 

For now, it’s enough. The feel of Yeosang’s lips sliding over his and returning the kiss with equal parts love and passion. The hands tangling in his hair as Wooyoung grips harder at his waist and pulls him impossibly close. He feels like he’s fifteen again in those damp and dark alleyways on Aera, shaking from the cold but oh so warm thanks to the weight of Yeosang’s words that night. He feels like he did the moment Yeosang set him free, the moment he promised that he would take care of Wooyoung. He wouldn’t let him be alone anymore, he wouldn’t let anything happen to him, and he would protect Wooyoung no matter the cost. 

It’s enough, and in the back of his mind, Wooyoung thinks that it will be enough for a long time to come.

✧✧✧ a/n: okay so this!! is not specified when this interim is set, you can leave that up to your own imagination, just for something more lighthearted important and insightful on our lovely bois 🥺 i was a bit nervous about this and almost decided not to post bc it’s the most forward i’ve been with the mxm content but i am really happy with how it turned out so i hope you guys enjoy it too even if you don’t typically enjoy mxm content !! and i also listened to pov by ariana grande while writing it and that was a mistake :’)

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @2504-life @lil7bluedragon @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios​ @nlost21​ @mirror-juliet​ @okokokok123-45​ @purple-aeon​ @theoinkypiglet​ @toothlessshiber​ @atinyarmyx1​ @simpforhyunjin​ @hwangwoosan​ @takitaro​ @vampire-jimin​ @softyubi​ @drumboydowoon​ @chatsgotmytongue​ @just-a-starfruit​

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[jbbuckybarnes]

Spiral of Feelings - 2/5

Pairing: Bucky x Reader AU: Fake Dating AU Description: Natasha makes you feel bad about being single and how your apartment looks. Sam and Steve annoy Bucky about dating. Seems only fair that you both fake it to show them that it doesn’t make a difference. But what if it does? Warnings: Judgemental friends, gossip, dating, flirting. Absolutely not proofread and written half a year ago, lol.

Masterlist // Spiral of Feelings Masterlist

You were lounging on the couch in the common room, editing the pictures of the previous day, when Bucky came in and jumped onto the couch next to you with a soft smile. “Hey.” You gave him a small smile, Wanda eyeing you both. “Hey,” he answered just as soft before grabbing a throw blanket for himself. “What are you doing?” He asked after he made himself cozy. “Editing pictures from our date.” You grinned, this all felt oddly easy. “Can you make them wallpaper size?” He asked dipping his head to the side. “Of course.” You faked blushing before falling back into the concentration of picture editing. “I read that there’s a meteor shower tonight, wanna watch it together?” You looked up from the phone and saw the corners of his lips go up. “I’d love to,” he answered nodding. “Gosh, you both are adorable.” Wanda chimed with a joyful voice. “Thanks Wan.” You faked blushing again, something you had learned for missions a while back. Getting a billionaire to believe you’re legit needs acting skills. Now they finally paid off. You cuddled yourself closer to your personal heater and he let you under his throw blanket that was wrapped around his shoulders. “Are you always this cold?” He chuckled while his hands wrapped around your feet that were even cold in the cozy socks you were wearing. “Well, yeah, it’s pretty much winter.” You giggled and got pulled closer. “Oh, which picture to you want as a wallpaper? The smile one or the one with the kiss on the cheek?” You held the display towards him. “That one.” He pointed at the one with the kiss and gave you a blushy smile back. “Thought so.” You grinned before leaning against him and having him watch while you made the wallpaper all decorated. “You look so adorable in it.” He whispered, you giggle in response, much to the liking of Wanda who watched you with an excited grin.

*So...do you actually wanna see the meteor shower or would you rather hang out in your room?* You wrote him a little later in the day. *Of course I wanna see it!* He answered, mainly enticed by your question including his comfort rather than your cause of faking a relationship. *I’ll bring snacks, see ya!* He picked is book back up while you were sorting through your snack drawer. “Bucky, huh?” You heard from your door.. “Leave me alone.” You grumbled. “Why so mad?” She grinned. “Nat, I swear. If you don’t leave my apartment I’ll attack you with chocolate bars!” You hissed. “Okay, okay, gosh.” Her arms went up and she walked backwards. “Come back when you don’t make me feel like shit anymore.” You closed the door. Nat had bombarded you with this topic for too long to now have the privilege of gossip. Shortly after you were searching for a specific pack of pop tarts, a very seasonal edition that you were slowly running out of. “God, I might actually have to get rid of all the trash in here,” you mumbled to yourself. Kitchen cabinet, garbage bag, a look at the packaging littered all throughout your kitchen and bedroom. “C’mon, you can do that,” you say with a deep breath, “Friday, play some motivating music.” And with 7 Rings by Ariana in the background you started searching for the sacred stash of your favorite pop tarts. After two garbage bags were filled and stored by your apartment door you finally found the last few boxes and held them up with a happy squeak. Three knocks, “You ready, sugar?” He couldn’t even end the sentence before you opened the door with a basket full of candy. “Yeah, yeah, I think just-...could you?” You held it out and he took it from you before watching you put on shoes. “Now. Now I’m ready.” You smiled reaching for the basket again but he held it away from you. “But…” “No, I’ll carry it.” “Have you watched a meteor shower before?” You looked up at him while walking towards the exit. “There was one the night before I was shipped off to Europe. After the Stark Expo and a little bit of dancing I just sat there and watched the sky.” His eyes were somewhere else and he had a comfortable smile on his face. “Did you...no, forget it, not important,” you mumbled. “No, now I wanna know.” He grinned. “Did you think you’d come back?” There was a thoughtful face for a second. “I hoped it, but I knew my chances were a good 50/50.” He shrugged. “That must’ve sucked,” you mumbled. “Yeah, it was...well, a different time.” He gave you a lopsided smile before coming to a hold in the middle of the darkness outside between the compound and the water nearby. “Well, I’m glad you’re here now to play an elaborate prank on all of our friends and don’t think it’s the weirdest thing ever.” You chuckled before sitting down on the comfortable laying bench Stark had put there. “Wait, I have a question.” He looked at you innocently and you nodded. “Can I wish something for every shooting star?” He dipped his head to the side. “I don’t make the rules, I’d say yes.” “Woah, there was one right behind you.” He pointed out and you giggled at his childlike excitement. After you made yourself comfortable and opened a M&M’s bag you started looking up. “There!” He pointed at it and you saw half of it in time. “Never not beautiful.” You mumbled with a little smile. “Yeah.” He looked over at you and then up. “There was another one, couldn’t yell in time.” You laughed. “Traitor.” He chuckled. “Hey, not everyone has super soldier reflexes.” You laughed and nudged him. “God, you’re cold,” he mumbled. “It’s okay, I’m used to it.” You smiled over at him but witnessed the hoodie he was wearing already half over his head, revealing a black shirt underneath. “Here.” He held it out. “I- You don’t have to. I don’t need to-” He shoved it at you with a raised eyebrow. “Fine,” you grumbled before putting it on and drowning in warmth and softness. “Am I that much bigger than you?” He raised both brows. “What do you mean?” “Well, you look so goddamn small in it.” He gave a cheeky grin. “You’re a giant, Buck.” You rolled your eyes before you both started chuckling and looked up again. “THERE WERE TWO AT ONCE!” You yelled out excited, not noticing the fond smile he gave you. “Does that mean two wishes?” “I guess. Hmm. Oh, I have two.” You closed your eyes and made two wishes. One was to do more with Bucky even when all of this is over and two was a dozen of his hoodies. A few more shooting stars later you were asleep. You were used to being cold so much that the hoodie functioned as a blanket to you. It was like he gave you a sleeping pill instead of a piece of clothing. You woke up the next morning in absolute warmth, the candy basket next to you and a little sticky note attached to it. *Thank you for watching shooting stars with me <3* The trashbags by your door were gone too, you started considering fake marrying him too, cause that was absolutely not his job and he did it anyway. *Might steal all of your hoodies, still considering why I shouldn’t do it.* You wrote him after fully waking up. *My closet is open to you...maybe don’t empty it completely.* You got out of your apartment and walked to the common area kitchen, since you knew they got donuts. The moment you entered the room some of your teammates stared at you. “What?” You grumbled still tired. “Isn’t that Barnes’ hoodie?” Sam pointed at you confused. “Yeah, have a problem with it, birdy?” You smirked before snatching a donut for yourself. Behind you, you heard another apartment door close and almost silent steps. “Morning.” James gave a tiny smile to the room, irritating them even more. Bucky doesn’t smile in the morning. “Morning, space girl.” He gave you a bigger smile and hugged you, “Morning, giant.” “Gosh, I’m melting. They’re so in love.” Wanda sighed and earned even more stares. Not everyone knew about the date so this seemed to be slow gossip since not even Bucky’s bro’s knew. “WAN! We’re going on dates, that’s not the same.” You blushed. This time you actually blushed and didn’t play it. “Yeah, but I can see it.” She gave you a big smile and made you hide in Bucky’s hug. You felt him bite into the donut you held up and jolted up again, “Excuse me?” “Hey, I brought out the trash and borrowed you my hoodie.” He defended himself. “They already sound like a married couple,” Steve mumbled in the background while shaking his head. “Please don’t steal my food, okay?” You made big eyes up at him. “Fine.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “But you can have the rest of this one.” You held it out to him before stepping out of the hug and towards the big donut box. When you turned back to him you were met with a soft smile already pointed at you, “Huh?” “You’re like...drowning in that thing.” He pointed out. “I think it looks cute on me.” You looked down on you. “Yeah, it does.” He knew he had a problem right then and there. You were absolute trouble.

[starkeristheendgame]

Starker Valentine

Firstly, I want to start by wishing @softstarkerstuff a wonderful Happy Valentine’s, and also every other wonderful noodle that may see this! This is my second time participating in a challenge and I am beyond excited! Softstarker requested a High School AU where childhood best friends drift apart after Tony rejects Peter’s feelings for him. Naturally, Peter has the mother of all glow-ups over summer and Tony is quickly forced to reconsider.

I didn’t wanna go absolutely crazy on the word count for this, so I haven’t actually written out the majority of the backplot. This fic takes place after said rejection and focuses on the requested act of Tony developing his character in order to deserve Peter’s affections.

(I said that and this ended up being over 4,000 words!)

@starker-valentines 

TW: Light Angst | (Not) Unrequited Love

“Tony. Get up,” Natasha hissed above him, and ordinarily the glint in her eye would have been enough for Tony to hop to, but the situation outweighed whatever horrible consequence she could bestow him, and he shook his head.

“We live here now,” Clint shrugged happily, popping another nacho into his mouth from the bowl he’d swiped before joining Tony in an act of solidarity on the floor, hiding behind a countertop in the kitchen. Natasha arched a dangerous eyebrow at the other boy, and even Tony twisted to look at Clint.

“Why are you down here?” Tony asked, risking leaning over Clint’s thighs to peek around the corner. Fuck. He couldn’t see him anymore, but that didn’t mean it was safe to move. He blew out a harsh breath and curled back up against the counter, scowling.

“Barnes has that leather jacket on again,” Clint announced simply, as though that explained anything at all. Above them, Natasha heaved a put-upon sigh, settling for kicking Tony in the shin with an unimpressed frown.

“Him I can understand,” she begun, motioning to Clint, who paused like he didn’t actually know if he ought to be offended or not. “But you. I had higher expectations of,” she sniffed, eyes scanning the room behind them before she reached down, grasping a fist of their shirts and hauling them to their feet despite their yowls of protest and clamours to hide behind her.

Heart in his throat, Tony cast a quick glance around, but couldn’t find the object of his fears. Or... The person. He relaxed a fraction, mindlessly pawing at Natasha’s iron grip with the dull awareness that his shirt would likely be crumpled.

“Idiots. The both of you. If I were less of a friend I’d complain about you ruining my night,” Natasha sniffed as she begun to drag them out of the kitchen, Clint still desperately clinging to his snacks and having no qualms about stealing a bowl. Tony kept himself alert as they walked, fugitively scanning the rooms as they made their way towards the door.

He couldn’t exactly say he lamented leaving - Contrary to every single clichè American film, high school house parties were often measly affairs, more pizza than booze and always with that one weirdo pretending they were absolutely wasted off alco-pops and mixers. 

This party was largely no different, thumping music that made it hard to talk, pizza that had long gone cold and Tony would rather starve than touch, shitty drinks with a 4% content.

Mm, but no. What made this party truly, utterly horrific, was the fact that Peter Parker had shown up. And really, that sounded meaner than it was intended. Tony didn’t hate Peter - Not even close. Wasn’t disgusted by his presence but terrified of it.

Peter was - Or rather, had been, his best friend. This is where Tony’s sort kind of did realise the typical ‘teen film’ plot.

Boy meets boy. Boys grow up as childhood best friends, joined at the hip and vowing during recess to never, never, ever break friends. Boys navigate pre-teenhood together. Boy gets crush. 

Apparently, other boy also gets crush. Boy admits crush. Other boy is too emotionally repressed and terrified to admit crush. Boy rejects boy. Summer comes. Boy gets glow up. Other boy now doubly regrets rejection and is left to wallow in pitiful regret and jealousy.

Yeah. Tony liked it about as much as he liked Marmite, which was to say, not at all. When Peter had rolled over on their bed, eyes imploring and voice soft as he admitted his feelings, something within Tony had died. 

Because Peter was this perfect, pretty thing he was destined to never have. The flower that Tony was too scared to pick because he didn’t want to see it wither and die.

“He’s gone all thinky and melancholy again,” Clint complained at his side, and Tony thumped him on the shoulder, tripping over the welcome mat as Natasha lugged them along like reluctant suitcases. 

Tony would have given a smart quip in response, something scathing about how Clint was also running away from someone, but a soft voice interrupted the quiet of the front yard just as they reached Tony’s car.

“Tony?”

Fuck. Fuck. Don’t turn around. It was easy to pretend he hadn’t heard, grabbing Clint by the scruff to stop the moron from turning and waving as they hauled into the car. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t face it. Him.

They were barely even in the car before Tony begun to pull away, Clint and his nachos rolling around in the back as the teen struggled to buckle himself in. From her seat up front, Natasha eyed him.

“Coward,” she announced, and Tony immediately agreed without shame. He was, of course. He was a coward. Had been from the start, from the moment he was old enough to let his feelings morph from the love of a friend to just...Love. He drove with a grim expression and an ache in his chest that felt like drowning.

He lay in bed for the remainder of the night, nose filled with chamomile and flora and heart aching with every memory that encompassed all that he had left of Peter. He had run away that night, recoiling from the prospect of ruining something he loved, and knowing he was ruining it by running. A vicious circle; a rat maze he was destined to run forever.

The torture of it had only increased upon their return, when cheeks round with baby-fat had slimmed and sharpened, when Peter’s unruly curls had smoothed into rolling, silky waves. He’d worked out over summer a little too, no longer just slim but lean. Summer glow-ups were nothing new, but Peter’s had hit hard.

Peter’s new looks had only succeeded in turning him from a neutral, friendly nerd to the newfound adoration of Queen’s Public High School, the boy suddenly inundated with attention and propositions. Peter seemed to have taken it in stride, not exchanging his personality for popularity, and still sat with the same two friends at lunch, still studied hard and ignored the feral social ladder.

It only made Tony love him all the more.

His sleep was restless and by Monday he was tired and grouchy, stalking through the halls towards his locker with a pair of deep shades covering his stinging eyes. Natasha cast him a glance as sympathetic as she could offer when she had made her opinion of his torment clear, and steered him towards first period. 

Peter was already there when they arrived, slouched over his desk and engaged in an enigmatic conversation with Ned. Tony allowed his gaze to linger for exactly six seconds before he slumped in his own desk, decidedly across the room from Peter and slightly in front, so he wouldn’t have to spend any of his lessons watching the other boy and lamenting the loss of his warmth.

A shadow fell over his desk and Tony slowly lifted his head from where he had been staring at the floor, willing his migraine to jump ship. The shadow belonged to one Steve Rogers, who’s summer glow up had happened over the previous year, and who had gone from your average joe with pretty eyes and a jawline to a six foot tall, broad-shouldered, lean hunk of very biteable meat. If Tony wasn’t fairly (entirely) certain one Bucky Barnes would knock all his teeth out, he’d have tried a taste.

“Can I help you?” he asked blearily, tipping his head so his glasses dipped and he could see Steve without a vignette of black. Steve merely raised an eyebrow, and Tony narrowed his eyes suspiciously in response.

“Hm.” And then Steve turned away, striding towards his own desk. Tony blinked dazedly at the now empty space, cast a sideways glance at Steve who sat down and begun to talk to Clint without a peek in return, and sighed. Ah. So Peter’s presumable warning about not going after Tony for breaking his heart must be nearing its end, then.

Wonderful.

At lunch, Tony snuck off campus and drove to the nearest Starbucks, returning to Natasha’s side with a coffee that was more espresso than water. He slouched in his seat and gave a pathetic whine, rubbing at his temples, and she slid a manicured hand through his hair, deliberately catching the tips of her nails on his scalp.

“If you weren’t such an emotionally repressed baby, you wouldn’t be like this,” she ‘soothed’ gently, and he cast her a sideways scowl.

“Yes, thank you for that. Nothing compares to your compassion and support,” Tony grumbled, scowling at her from behind his glasses. He needn’t remove them - she knew him well enough by now. Across the table Clint leaned forwards, petting idly at Tony’s forearm whilst his gaze remained steadily on Bucky from across the hall.

“Thighs like that should be illegal,” he sighed dreamily, and Tony and Natasha raised a brow in unison. Tony wasn’t the only one afflicted with love-interest related drama; Clint had gone and fallen in utter besottment with Bucky Barnes, also known as the second side of Steve Rogers’ coin. 

Unlike Steve; Bucky had always been tall and broad, with a slick haircut and a face that was already breaking hearts across the school.

Tony’s gaze drifted, away from Barnes’ denim clad thighs and instead to the sweater-clad form besides him. Peter was sprawled in his chair, sipping absently at a Cola and paying delighted attention to whatever conversation was happening. He looked... 

Soft. Soft in a way that Tony knew was huggable, touchable. His sweater was a deep blue to match the unlaced Doc Martins on his feet and his hair was askew like he’d been running his hands through it all morning.

“Stark!”

Fuck.

“What can I do for you?” he ground his teeth, voice faux sweet as he turned to eye Ms. Hill, who arched a brow at him and leaned down, plucking his coffee cup from his grasp.

“Please, correct me if I’m wrong, but last time I checked, the campus lunch hall didn’t stock Starbucks,” she announced, voice steely as she stared him down. Tony only offered her a short smile and an easy shrug.

“Correct.”

“Well then. I hope you’re sufficiently fuelled for a long day - you have detention. Immediately after last period.”

Tony simply cast her a serene, unbothered smile, taking his cup back before she could throw it in the trash. Tony’s grades more than made up for any mishaps he might incur, but Howard would still be displeased with him. Even more so at the triviality of why he was facing detention. 

Neither of his friends deigned to say anything about the instance, though Clint had given a dramatic wince at his punishment and had tossed a scowl at Hill’s retreating back - ever the supportive friend.

Natasha disappeared shortly before the end of lunch, though Tony had long since learned not to question her. He’d once found her lounging behind the bleachers, making a scalpel out of a piece of plastic card, some gum and a pencil. 

Since then he hadn’t dared to think too hard about what she might be doing whenever she wasn’t sitting in view and judging everyone.

She was back by the time last period rolled around, sitting primly in her seat with her book open, interest lost in a magazine she had apparently pulled out of nowhere. A glance at the cover showed it was a rifle magazine and Tony was not, at all, surprised.

Last period was history, and their tutor was a decidedly crabby old man who was never pleased with the efforts of his students. He was a fair grader - Never shorting them of their achievements, but he sung little praise and always had something to say about improvements.

They'd been given homework that no amount of groaning would rescind, and Tony pulled his from his bag with a sigh, rooting in his bag for a pen. In this class, he sat at the back, and it gave him a full vantage of where Peter was practically sitting in the lap of the pretty girl that had transferred here not too long ago. He had a vague notion of her name, but he knew for a fact that Peter always called her 'MJ'.

"Students! I should hope your weekend was spent wisely. Anyone not in possession of their homework will receive a detention," Mr. Ardell announced, hands clapping together. Tony breathed through his nose at the sound, pressing at his temple.

"Stark. This is not a nightclub nor a fashion show. Take the glasses off, and keep them off," he added in a snipe, and Tony forced a brittle smile, steadfastly ignoring the way that soft, honeyed eyes turned to him as he slid his glasses off And set them on his desk.

Even the typical 'bad type' student or the dumbest of them all listened to Mr. Ardell. The man had a booming voice and no hesitation about dealing punishments. 

At a glance, Tony could see that every student had their homework on their desk. Every student except Peter, who was rummaging around in his bag with a growing sense of urgency. Tony perked.

That was unusual. Peter often had his homework out before the teachers even got a chance to ask. Tony’s gaze remained fixed on the boy, who was now frantic as he dug around, mindlessly passing Mr. Ardell his homework as the man roamed the room, collecting sheets, right up until he stood opposite Peter, who floundered.

“I... I did it! I packed it this morning. It was right in my folder and now it’s gone!” Peter breathed, panic blossoming in his eyes. Mr. Ardell was quite clearly having none of it as Peter rambled and rifled through his bag, until Mr. Ardell finally held up a hand. Despite himself, Tony sucked in a breath, wincing in sympathy.

“Detention, Mr. Parker. And such a shame. You’re one of the few that don’t frequently make me wish I had the money to retire sooner,” Mr. Ardell sighed, and Peter crumpled. 

It made Tony’s heart clench in his chest, sympathy surging through his veins. He had no doubt Peter had done the homework - But perhaps he’d simply forgotten to pack it.

He was sitting there, chin on his palm as he watched MJ comfort Peter, when he sat bolt upright.

Detention.

Tony had detention.

That meant -

“Aw, fuck.”

“Mr. Stark!”

As Tony packed his bag at the end of class, Clint came sidling over, nudging him with a meek smile. “Hey, man. It’s not that bad. Just put some earbuds in. I bet he hates your guts too much to talks to you anyway!” he added cheerfully as they strode from the room, and Tony cast him a flat look.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No problem! Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow. I gotta dash if I wanna make it home to walk Lucky before food!”

And then, there was just Tony and the rapidly emptying hallway. He heaved a sigh, ground his teeth, and strode towards the detention room. It was only half an hour. 

That was nothing. He could make it. The wild notion of fleeing and dealing with a double detention tomorrow crossed his mind, but Tony could only stand being in school for as long as he had to, and with a duck of his head he strode down the hallway at a faster pace. The sooner he got there, the sooner it was over with.

He reached the door and was about to push it open when the sheet of paper caught his eye.

Detention students - Room 3A12.

Tony frowned, but turned on his heel, making his way towards the other room. Perhaps that one was being cleaned or something. He was putting his earbuds in when he pushed into 3A12, Guns’n’Roses already filling his ears when a yelp of; “don’t let the door shut!” filtered through, followed by the soft slam of the door behind him.

He blinked across at Peter, who had stopped mid-stride, arm outstretched, looking pained. “Fuck! It locks from the outside. Now neither of us can get out,” Peter whined, and Tony scoffed.

“None of the doors in this place lock only from the outside.” to prove his point he turned, grabbed the handle, and slammed shoulder-first into it when it did not move as he did. Tony frowned, lips thinning as he jiggled the knob, tried again.

It wouldn’t open.

“Who the fuck installs a door that doesn’t open from one side!” Tony exploded, panic beginning to seep like cold water through his veins as the reality of the situation hit him. He was stuck alone in a room with Peter. Opposite him, Peter groaned and sank back down onto the -

“Son of a bitch.” They weren’t even a proper classroom. There were barely ten tables in here, a tiny whiteboard and a miniscule teacher’s desk. They couldn’t have been put in a smaller room if they tried. But speaking of the teacher's desk…

“Where’s the teacher?” he asked, nose crinkling. Opposite, Peter heaved a sigh, fidgeting on the edge of his seat and tugging at the ends of his sleeves.

“I don’t know. I’ve been in here for ten minutes, nobody has come in,” Peter sounded quiet, miserable, and Tony’s heart squeezed uncomfortably within his chest as he sunk down into a chair, frowning. 

Maybe the teacher was just held up with a student. They’d arrive soon enough, and Tony could be out of here and far away from that plush mouth, those dark eyes.

The minutes ticked by, with nothing but the sound of the clock on the wall. Tony tried texting Natasha and Clint, but they were both home already. If Peter had text anyone, he’d had similar luck, because ten more minutes passed and still not a soul even passed the door. 

Tony blew out a breath and tossed his phone down, running a hand through his hair and leaning back in his chair. From the corner of his eye, he could see Peter watching.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“There’s not a lot in this room to look at.”

Tony gave a soft sound, eyes closing behind his shades as he settled. This wasn’t so bad. He could do this. They just had to wait and hope that a caretaker came around, or that someone called the reception to report that they had not come home. More minutes ticked by.

“You’re still staring.”

“I can’t help it. I haven’t...I haven’t seen you in a while,” 

Tony sucked in a breath, eyes closing and fingers beginning a tempo against the table. No. He couldn’t do this. If he did this; he’d crumble. He’d get to his knees and beg for all he’d lost, and he couldn’t do that. Not as a Stark, and not to Peter. Couldn’t lead Peter to a reckless end.

“We’re in all the same classes,” he noted roughly, and Peter made a soft, frustrated sound besides him. Tony winced but said nothing more, steeling himself. Peter deserved better than him - especially now, when it would look like Tony only cared because he’d changed. Except... Peter hadn’t changed all that much. He’d just filled out a little, gained some confidence.

“You’ve been avoiding me and ignoring me.”

“So have you,” he replied evenly, relenting to the fact that Peter wasn’t going to drop the issue. He let his head loll to the side, almost startled when he found Peter leaning forwards, arms around himself, staring at Tony with shining eyes.

“I haven’t wanted to. You pushed me away, disappeared, came back and won’t even look at me”.

Tony ground his teeth, chewing his tongue. “It’s not like I wanted to either, Peter, but I couldn’t…” Couldn’t be around you, knowing that, and not taking advantage of it. Couldn’t see you hurt. Couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t.

“What, you were so disgusted with me you couldn’t even bear to be around me?” Peter sounded defensive now, voice hardening slightly, and part of Tony was thankful. Yes. He could do barbed. He could fight. He could take Peter hating him. At least he wasn’t hurting him further, that way.

“I’m not disgusted at you,” he replied quietly, turning his gaze away. He couldn't bring himself to say anything else, throat tight and hands gripping his desk to stop them from shaking. He thought about ringing Clint, bribing him to come open the door, but Peter spoke again.

"I get it if you don't like me that way but... It's not fair. Treating me this way. Being so... Awful about it.”

"I'm not being awful. I'm…"

"Running away from your feelings? Yeah. That's kind of your MO.”

And Peter said it so bitterly that Tony flinched, teeth clipping the edge of his tongue as he sucked in a breath. Low blow. An emotionally neglectful childhood was bound to leave it's scars.

Peter seemed to regret his words immediately, because he actually stood, taking a few steps to reach for Tony. Despite himself Tony leaned away from the reaching arm, mindless of how much he longed for the contact.

"I didn't mean…"

"Words said in anger are still words with intent.”

"Tony…"

"I can't do this. I can't pretend to hate you and I can't be around you without wanting what I can't have!" he didn't explode, but it was said with some degree of passion, standing to round on Peter, who sank into a chair, looking up at him sorrowfully.

"You can have me!”

If only.

"You said it yourself. I run from my feelings. I can't have you because I'll fuck it up, and I’d rather lose you without hurting you and without attaching myself. I'm a fucki-"

The rest of Tony's emotional rant was cut off sharply as Peter reached up, grasping him by the front of his shirt and hauling him down, so he had to brace himself with one hand on Peter's chair back and the other on the table as Peter's plush mouth met his own, clumsy and a little too forceful.

A man with a stronger will would have pulled back. Would have stuck to his cause and not been selfish.

Tony was not that man.

He let his lips part, opportunistic of the way Peter gasped against him, licking into his mouth and moving his hands to cradle Peter's jaw, relishing in what he knew would be the only time he could indulge his festering love.

There was a click, and then -

"I told you it would work.”

They jerked apart, mouths red and eyes wild, Tony twisting to find none other than a prim looking Natasha and a dubious looking Steve taking up the doorway.

"What." Tony managed, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Obviously this was a set up. A good one, too. It took forever to sneak around and replace the door lock. You two were disgusting and all... Pining. It had to be stopped," she announced, like a mad plot was nothing unordinary.

But turning, looking at the flushed grin on Peter's mouth and the sparkle in his eyes... Well. It was worth getting another detention for missing the first, and it was worth the hours of agonising emotional talk with Peter, tears and sloppy kissing and the jeers from their friends when they came into school on the Wednesday, hand in hand.

"How come I wasn't in on the whole plot?" Clint whined at their table during lunch, casting a mulish glance around them. Natasha gave a sigh and pet at him with faux pity.

"Because you're an idiot with a big mouth," she informed him, twirling a lock of hair around a finger. Overnight she'd gone from fiery copper to a blue-black. It suited her well. Some black lipstick, and she'd be every boy's wanna-be-goth-girlfriend.

"Only we get to insult the idiot and his big mouth," came from above them, and none other than one Bucky Barnes ducked down, pressing a kiss to Clint's cheek, before moving on to Steve.

"That's... New," Tony managed, glancing across at Peter, who looked equally perplexed. Clint had the decency to look sheepish.

"At least I didn't need to get locked in a room to sort my shit out," he grumbled, and Peter giggled, before kissing the affronted look off Tony's face.

Tony wasn't good at feelings. And he'd never been in love before. But Peter was worth it. Peter was worth trying, learning for. 

[nikkzwrites]

An Angel With a Smile on Her Face | Malcolm Reed x Reader One-Shot | Star Trek Enterprise

Prompt: None. The idea is though that  you are a long time family friend of the Reeds and you two see each other at a wedding. 

Words: ~1k

Sequel

“Malcolm.” He must have heard that at least a million times by now, but none of the other times would cause him to have the same reaction as when he heard it breeze past her lips.

The first time he had heard her say it, he couldn’t have been older than ten years old when she was introduced to him. His little sister brought the girl next door to a sleepover. He could tell instantly that they were going to be inseparable. She was just a freckled face kid then, but Malcolm felt as if he had just laid eyes on an angel. 

You were always the opposite of your best friend’s older brother. He was a quiet, introverted guy. You always spoke up and were a bit loud. This only endeared him close in your heart even when you were both young children. He reminded you of the night sky. Quiet, mysterious, yet calming and serene.

Malcolm had always treated you sweetly. He was always there to help “clean up the mess” you had accidentally created or fell into. There was one time when you were entering year 10. Your friends had dared you to go skinny dipping in the small pond near the road to get home from school. Of course, Madeline had decided to steal your clothes knowing her brother was going to be passing by anyway. 

The poor 16-year-old was walking home from a scouts meeting when he heard his name being called from the trees. He rolled his eyes and called, “What now?” When he emerged, his face lit up a bright red. He choked out, “What on Earth are you doing?”

You smiled playfully trying to make light of what had happened, “You know, uh...I just thought it was a nice day for a swim.”

“Naked,” he asked pleadingly hoping that you could enlighten him on why you had thought this was such a good idea.

You nodded while trying to balance yourself out of the water without exposing too much, “Well yeah. Maddie was here too.”

He shook his head and looked towards the direction of his house, “Well, of course, Madeline was here too.” He looked back towards you, “Now why did you feel compelled to bring me into this?”

“Oh, yeah. About that. She stole my clothes.”

“She stole? Your clothes?”

“Yes. She stole my clothes, Malcolm.”

The two of you stared at each other for what seemed like forever before he spoke up again with a pink flush across his cheeks and his ears, “Well what am I supposed to do with that?”

“Malcolm,” you pleaded and splashed towards him knowing full well that it wasn’t going to reach him. You laughed desperately. “Well I’m not the bloody boy scout now, am I?”

“Just how old are you?” He complained putting his bag down. He kicked his shoes and socks off. He sat on the edge and said, “You better promise not to pull me in.”

You smiled, “Now why would I do that? Then the clothes I would take would be soaked too.” You swam closer to the edge to lean on your arms to look up at him. 

He shook his head as he laughed, “you are ridiculous. What makes you think I am going to give you my clothes just because my sister stole yours?”

“Then maybe I should just pull you in since there is no reason for me not to,” you teased moving to rest your arms on his knees. You smiled up at him knowing full well that was not going to happen.

He laughed looking down at you, “Please don’t.” He smiled gently as he studied your face that rested on our arms. He sighed then looked towards his bag, “Well luckily enough I do have some spare clothes.” He carefully adjusted letting you know he was going to be moving. You released him and watched him go over to his bag. He laughed as he shook his head before turning back to turn to you, “I make no promises that any of this will fit you.”

The glimmer in his eyes told you that he was completely joking around with you. You laughed, “Well then bring them closer and turn around.”

He brought the bag as you instructed and chuckled, “What if I didn’t turn around?” He turned around despite his comment.

“Well then I would have been stuck in the water,” You called to him as you got dried and dressed. They smelled so much like him. It was a very woodsy smell. Maple, maybe frankincense? You laughed and asked, “Are these your workout clothes?”

“Yeah,” He called over his shoulder. He looked towards you to see you deeply inhaling his smell from the inside of the hood of his hoodie. He blushed and turned his head after realizing you weren’t quite done getting dressed. “Is there a problem with that,” he asked.

You pulled up his shorts and adjusted them to fit a bit better. “I mean,” you explained, “It’s the best I got, yeah?”

He nodded, “Yeah.” He rocked back and forth waiting for you to be done. When you tapped on his shoulder, he smiled. “Cute. Next time you do something stupid like that, don’t expect me to come to save you. I’m not going to be here forever you know.”

“Promise,” you playfully his your shoulder with his.

Malcolm watched as you waved him over. It had been years since he had last seen you, yet you still lit up his life as if a bright and sunny day. You were warmth and clear, yet cool and flirtatious. “Hey,” he commented, “Long time no see.” He lifted his arm to wrap around you as you embraced him.

You smiled at him. You scrunched up your nose and said, “You made good on your promise. You got outta here and into space.”

“Well it was either that or die of terror on a Naval Ship,” He chuckled. He adjusted his suit. “Do you want to go over there? I do NOT want to hear another earful from Aunt Sherry about how next time it’s my turn,” He asked. His eyes pleading for you to agree.

“Yes,” you replied, “I’d rather like that.” You laughed and whispered, “Your sister has been doing the same to me at EVERY one of these damned weddings.”

He laughed, “Madeline? Oh ho. Of course, she would.”

[reylofanfictionanthology]

After the Blazing Fire Dies: the 2019 Reylo Fanfiction Anthology Gift Fic Master Post Part Two

The After the Blazing Fire Dies Collection on AO3 | Gift Fic Masterpost Part One | Treats Masterpost

Home by Anonymous for methusalahoneysuckle

What does it mean to forgive a parent? What does it take to let go of a rage that feels so righteous? Or, How finding love for Ben Solo meant confronting his past, and finally learning to let go.

eight nights into forever by Anonymous for MissCoppelia

Rey has never had a family, has never known what it truly feels like to have a home. Then she meets Ben Solo, ten years her elder and entirely too handsome, he seems to be as taken with her as she is with him. A year into their romance he invites her to spend Hanukkah with his family in the United States and Rey, for the first time in her life, is faced with family... ...and a steamy night spent in Ben's childhood bedroom.

An avalanche of hopes and dreams. by Anonymous for MizuPhoenix

Rey sets off to find an ancient artifact, that might help the Resistance obtain victory and peace. But when Rey gets lost in a blizzard, and finds that Kylo Ren is once again right on her tracks, she rushes off into a cave. They end up caught inside, and need to find a way not to kill each other long enough to survive their current situation. Will they be able to pull it off?

Asleep now, and silent by Anonymous for monsterleadmehome

Rey Nolan takes Intro to Automotive Repair course at Coruscant Community College from Han Solo, intending to learn how to fix cars, and gains a pair of surrogate parents instead. Only trouble is, Han and Leia's son, Ben, is as hot as he is infuriating. And he makes her feel so uncomfortable, makes her want things she cant entirely put into words. But he always seems so cold to her, so rude. It's clear as day what he thinks of her, and it isn't favorable, so her crush simmers in silence. When the Organa-Solos invite Rey up for a winter getaway to their family's cabin, she doesn't realize Ben is coming, too. What's worse than having to spend six hours in a car with your crush, who hates you? Getting snowed in with him, that's what.

Signed, Future Kylo by Anonymous for Nervoustouch

It was just supposed to be some low-key spying, but once Rey realized that she could leave things for Kylo through the Force bond, how could she let the opportunity to let out her inner prankster go? What she didn’t expect, though, was that he would confront her about it.

Smiles and Shoulders by Anonymous for NewerConstellations

"Rey had just turned to head back to her desk, water bottle in hand, when she saw Ben Solo walk in. Just who she wanted to run into after an unpleasant morning of being poked and prodded by her gynecologist. Ben Solo was part of the First Order team that had come along when Resistance Games recently merged with First Order Entertainment. He was made project manager of the combined Quality Assurance team, Rey’s department, which meant he helped document and assign the bugs that made up each QA tester’s workflow. He was grouchy, and he usually sent important bugs last minute or just horribly documented, making everything harder for the team, especially during sprints. Over the three months they’ve been working together, she’d called Ben out on his terrible practices repeatedly, and each time he’d just challenge her to get the work done or steal his job. Which is why it surprised her now when she saw Ben give her a quick once over and his cheeks turned red..."

The Ways We Choose to Survive by Anonymous for Noppoh

"What's happening to me?" Part of his heart sinks. Part of it sparks something closer to alive. "You're a vampire now," he says. "I'm sorry."

Give and Take by Anonymous for OccasionallyCreative

Kylo Ren, Ben-- he knew not what his name ought to be now, at the end of everything safe and known--felt the familiar, tell-tale sting of newly conjured tears as he stared into his dysmorphic reflection shining up at him from a set of golden dice. His father’s dice. He shuddered a gasp, ignoring how his tears now trickled from the corners of his eyes, dripping into the crevasses of his face.

Degrees and Galaxies by Anonymous for okaypianist

Ben could think of numerous other things he would rather be doing than spending an afternoon working on a paper. That all changes when he bumps into Rey. Maybe spending the day at the coffee shop isn't the worst way to spend his time.

we decided not to kill the wolves (we wanted to be wolves) by Anonymous for PalenDrome

A pack of wolves lives in the woods to the north of Raddus and as winter looms, they have their eyes set on Leia Organa’s stronghold. Rey may be new to Raddus, but she’s not about to do nothing while it may be in danger. And besides, Poe must be exaggerating about wolves the size of bears. She’s not afraid of monsters.

Why? by Anonymous for Pawprinter

A glance across a battlefield.

(won't you) whisper soft and slow by Anonymous for perperuna

ben solo (phd) is a physics professor at university of chandrila. rey jakkuson is an archivist specializing in historical documents from the 20th century who works at the university's library. they have no reason to run into each other ever-- except that rey is the head archivist for a project with letters from the vietnam war, including letters between anakin skywalker and padmé amidala.

Wrong by Anonymous for persimonne

Despite negotiating with the Resistance so that he can marry Rey the second she sets foot on-board his ship, Kylo is reluctant to have sex with her. It may have something to do with the writhing protuberance between his legs, but that's just a guess.

you pierce my soul by Anonymous for pillar_of_salt

It was not common knowledge, held only in the closest confidence by his most intimate associates, that Ben Organa-Solo’s heart had been captured by a Royal Navy captain as thoroughly as she captured and conveyed enemy vessels. However, despite his age and desire to be wed, he allowed himself to be persuaded against the match, for his dearly beloved mother was uncertain as to the young lady’s youth and her son’s proclivities for shouting matches and dueling.

Handcuffed in the Honeymoon Suite by Anonymous for platalet

Ben and Rey are caught breaking into the office of a notorious crime boss on Canto Bight. The boss decides to teach them a lesson in an unorthodox way.

A Smuggler and a Jedi by Anonymous for politicalmamaduck

Can you truly run away from destiny? Ben Solo thought he could after quitting the Jedi academy to get into the smuggling business with his father. However, when a lucrative job offer takes them deep into the territory of the Chiss in wild space, Ben must admit that his connection to the Force is not something he can keep running away from. When Ben comes face-to-face with Rey, a mysterious woman who had been appearing in his dreams, he must make a difficult choice.

The Moments that Belong to Us by Anonymous for PoliticalPadmé

the regency fic no one asked for.

Little Things by Anonymous for punkeraa

Ben is a freelance graphic designer who works out of his basement and prefers to not get involved with anyone. Rey is an amateur general contractor helping her friends flip the house across the street. When Rey tries to do something nice for her new neighbour, she's treated to a lecture and then several days of being avoided.

The Dark Earth Spins Beneath Us by Anonymous for radioactivesaltghoul

Ben's defection from the First Order is supposed to make everything different. And it has, for the most part--better. Except Rey can't seem to catch a moment alone with him, and Ben doesn't seem to be making any efforts to be alone with her. The ghost of Crait still hangs over them, but Rey knows this impasse can't last forever.

I Notice You As You're Noticing Me by Anonymous for rakefire

"JOIN YOUR FRIENDS HERE AT ‘ALL THAT JAZZ’ ON FEB 15TH FOR OUR 2ND ANNUAL SINGLES AWARENESS NIGHT Ladies get ½ priced drinks Gents get ½ priced fries JOIN US AND BE ALONE TOGETHER" Rey and Ben feel a bit lonely on singles awareness day. What could go wrong?

caught in a decaying orbit by Anonymous for redbells

Rey was the conquering hero. Kylo Ren was in a cell and the Resistance was victorious, but it left her wanting.

Mission Possible by Anonymous for reinasolo

Ben Solo, CIA Agent and all around "bad ass" gets an assignment that really should have been a breeze, but a scavenger, a general, a commander, and a trooper ensure it will be anything but easy.

Teaching Miss Niima by Anonymous for Reneemm

Kylo Ren was free. He gave his lectures, graded assignments, and generally kept to himself. He wanted peace and quiet. As much peace and quiet teaching could offer him, at least.He got what he wanted.Then she appeared.Rey Niima was everything he ever desired in a woman, all save for one tiny, insignificant detail. He was her Professor. Moral and ethical quandaries aside, he wanted her.

New Year's Eve with a Girl named Rey by Anonymous for reylocalligraphy

It's New Year's Eve in the bustling city of New York and Kyle plans to spend it alone at work. That is, until he meets a girl named Rey.

lashes by Anonymous for ReyloTrashCompactor

He told her that she should leave it, that she didn’t need to come here. Maybe he was right, but it hadn’t seemed so at the time. No. No, at the time, it had been of the most vital importance that she come here. That she see what had happened here, learn the truth of it for herself, shape it with her own mind and hand and actions. “I know what doing penance looks like,” he’d said in the aftermath. “This won’t help.”

Banana Nut Muffins by Anonymous for Rhizaria

Ben's radio show is all over the place and Rey can't help but call in to comment.

Death Becomes Her by Anonymous for Rhonda3Green

He watches the trickling liquid as it slides down the space between her breasts, fast then slow, along the dip of her belly. It hovers above the fullness of her mons, the single drop refracting the light and green of the canopy above, and all he can think about is how much he wants to capture it on his tongue. To lick the hot salt of her skin, and lose himself in that bright, earthy scent as he breathes her in. He is Death. And she is his.

This Dance of Light, This Sacred Blessing by Anonymous for rissanox

Snapshots in a modern AU.

a flicker in the dark by Anonymous for roamingbadger

Their bond was still there. He could feel it like a flicker of flame at the end of flayed string, still trying to hold on. The burn kept his skin warm. He refused to let it die out.

Game On! (aka Deflowering Doctor Jackass) by Anonymous for SaintHeretical

When Rey is stranded at her bookshop in the middle of an upstate NY snowstorm with a local professor she knows only as "Doctor Jackass", she decides the best way to pass the time is to play a game. And that, of course, leads to other activities.

slip, slip, knit by Anonymous for sciosophia

Honestly, this was not one of her greatest ideas but Rey will make it work.

Serendipity by Anonymous for second_chances

When she had decided to start shepherding the Adept, Rey had made a vow to herself to help them all—even those imprisoned by their own internal darkness. Camouflaged with the cuff, Kylo would never know that Hux’s war dog was closing in on him until it was too late. That was one death she didn’t want weighing down on her conscience. She’d had the opportunity twice to kill him, but she was still convinced his life was not hers to take. The Force still had a plan for Ben Solo, that she was certain, and securing his safety was just as important and making sure the little girl she sought made it off world and survived as well.

The Mistake of the Mailman by Anonymous for shewhospeakswiththunder

Rey's on-campus university address is 'Box 324 Mulberry St, The Bryant Center.' Ben Solo's address is '324 Mulberry St.' And she keeps getting this poor guy's mail.

all flowers in time bend towards the sun by Anonymous for SithishJedi

After months without contact, the force bond opens but something is wrong.

your love could be too much by Anonymous for six4au

Rey, the successful host of the award-winning confessional podcast The Best Policy sits down with a new guest, world famous actor Ben Solo. Except these two are already well acquainted. They broke each other's hearts seven years ago.

The Golden Age by Anonymous for sokki09

Hollywood, 1953. After the press catches wind of yet another crashed car and yet another drunken night on the town, actor Ben Solo has to face facts: his bad-boy image is in need of a serious fix. Pairing him off with a wholesome, up-and-coming actress girlfriend seems like it might just do the trick. They can walk red carpets together, sell the whole relationship thing. And he can get his career back on track. Which is what he wants. Isn't it? Rey Jackson is nothing that he expects, and everything he finds himself wanting. But she's on her way up, a star in the making, and he's... self-destructive, on a good day. Weary of the business, and tired of being who he is. What they have is fake; there's no illusions that it's more than what it is. But what else is the magic of cinema for, if not to allow yourself the chance to dream? OR: here, have a a Golden Age of Hollywood Reylo fake dating AU!

and the snow started falling by Anonymous for SpaceAusten

Oh, that secret that you know / that you don't know how to tell... Trapped by shame and snow, Kylo Ren faces his ghosts.

All At Once by Anonymous for SpaceWaffleHouseTM

The First Order has taken over the planet Neftali in the Soccoro system. Every year, the town of Cordel Cove hosts a winter carnival that culminates in a masquerade ball. The presence of one Supreme Leader has been requested.The Resistance has come to Neftali to strike a deal with a shady organization, using the carnival as a distraction. They send Rey to the masquerade to keep an eye on things. After one too many drinks, the masked man all in black catches her eye and asks for a dance. But what will happen when the masks come off?

I Choose You by Anonymous for spookykingdomstarlight

In the throne room, Rey proposes a counter offer.

Heart of Clay by Anonymous for starlightreader

Rey discovers a very interesting recipe in one of the tomes she's stolen from Luke. While she experiments, Kylo Ren disappears mysteriously.

pianissimo by Anonymous for TheStolenQuill

Rey is a wonderful pianist who just was hired as a court musician. She's nervous enough with her new position, but then she gets entangled with the royal family, especially one Prince Ben.

Magic Rises by Anonymous for thewayofthetrashcompactor

Rey finds lost things. It’s what she does, and what she’s always been able to do. Magical artifacts, prized jewellery, a blue ribbon giant pumpkin, you name it, she can find it. When Leia Organa of House Organa-Solo asks her to find Luke Skywalker, Rey’s sure that Kylo Ren moving in next door isn’t a coincidence. She’s going to have to use all the magic in her arsenal to figure out what’s going on.

Plan B by Anonymous for Tiara_of_Sapphires

Tiara_of_Sapphires asked for "Senator!Rey and Jedi!Ben AU where Rey gets kidnapped for ransom," with some banter and awkward, socially stunted Ben Solo, as well as some good hand-holding and/or forehead kissing action. Hopefully this is lighthearted enough to at least give everyone a bit of a smile. That said, it is unbeta'd, so if it doesn't, that's no one's fault but mine.

Blue Moon Lovers by Anonymous for tigbit

Rey lives a simple life, working at her coffee shop--Resistance. Then her life takes a turn when she meets her neighbor, Leia Organa, and she discovers a past life that is connected to her own. Not to mention that the enigmatic Ben Solo twists her mind and emotions in different directions. Rey will come to learn that sometimes the mistakes of the past can affect the present, and that some are destined to be soulmates.

Somewhere in the Dark by Anonymous for tm2taughtmefamlaw

The world is not as it once was, and bands of survivors struggle to live in the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse. Rey has found a life with Leia’s band of scavengers. Despite the gloomy landscape, it’s a far less tragic and far more boring life than The Walking Dead led her to believe. She’d choose a waning stockpile of toilet paper over Ben Solo any day.

hit me with your best shot for tmwillson3

"So Rey decides to torture him in her own, unique way. She won’t let him ignore her." In which Rey and Ben are rival Quidditch players recruited to play for England in the World Cup.

(I close my eyes and fly out of my mind) Into the Fire by Anonymous for TourmalineGreen

“Alright, SHUT IT!” Rey hollered. “This was important to Leia. We will ALL be participating. Trust requires interaction, right? That’s what we tell our clients, and it’s what we believe, so get over yourselves! You can retreat to your echo chambers next weekend. This week, we are working hand-in-hand with First Order. If it kills us.” OR Scenes from the careers of two people who hope to change the world, one neighborhood at a time. What stands between them again? Oh, right - nothing but pride (and possibly prejudice). Thank heavens someone sees what’s going on.

Crisis Girlfriend by Anonymous for walkingsaladshooter

Ben was in love with Rey for over a year when he asked her to go with him to his ex’s wedding as his ‘girlfriend’.

Be careful what you wish for by Anonymous for Zabeta

Rey has spent her life wanting to get off Jakku, and see the universe. She thought she would eventually earn enough to barter or buy her way off-planet. But the universe has other plans.

[ajanefantasy]

Book Love part 4 - Gin (Brothers  Book 2)

Gin was the fourth novel in the fantasy world of Dahrè, and second of the Brothers Trilogy. During this journey of writing Gin, I realized that Gin’s book was not going to be the final story of the Brothers. There was the matter of their gaining vengeance for the murder of their parents and that just was not going to fit into two books. But that’s for next time.

Gin took a bit to get settled on a direction, to find exactly who Gin and Torin were. Gin was a complicated fellow who didn’t quite know how to deal with his various control issues, the anger he felt towards his brother, or the abuse Gin lived through as a boy. And Torin, I knew a little bit about him from writing Rum, but he, well, he surprised me. Turned out Torin was not the sort of man to put up with Gin’s shit, which surprised Gin as well. Gin thought Torin’s temperament would match Torin’s physical appearance, soft and fluffy. But Torin took control of the relationship within moments of Gin freeing Torin from the hold of his boat (Gin had kidnapped him as a pirate does when he finds treasure) and boy did Gin like it. He liked it a lot. Gin just didn’t know how to deal with how much he liked it and didn’t always handle it well. He was captain of his own boat, shouldn’t he be the one giving orders? But Gin was helpless against Torin’s orders and well, the feel of Torin’s hard hand against his ass...

Gin’s book was ultimately about family, both found and blood, and what folks do for family. He meets his father’s youngest brother, Rune Stone, as well Rune’s mother, Jasper Stone. Gin’s grandfather, Ethen tyr Vens, makes an appearance. Red Boot’s son, Rigger Boots is a complication, and Rigger’s lad, Gator Boots is found in the middle of nowhere. Plus a few other characters that help make up the beginning of Gin’s crew. And in the middle of all this, he learns a surprising secret about his father and makes an even bigger enemy of the man who tormented him and Rum as children.

-- Fun fact, Gin was originally called Fig Py. But I realized that didn’t sound very piratey and was easily changed except for when it came to a very drunk Rum calling him Figgie Pie.

With all that said:

[Image ID: Image of two, three mast ships, each tied to an island dock, the sky at early morning light, with the word Gin written across it]

Returning to his childhood home, Gin seeks to end the ryn Ferths’ attempts upon his and his brother's lives. Finding his first love in the employ of his enemy, the only thing that matters is stealing away his lost treasure. With his enemy's fortune gone, Torin’s revenge is finally complete. Just as he is about to make his escape, the boy who stole his first kiss reappears in his life, endangering all he worked for. Book Two of The Brothers Trilogy Story contains strong language and explicit sex 110,000 Words

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A preview of Gin can be found under the cut.

Gin stared at the angry, disheveled man in the hold cage. After all these years, Torin still held a fascination for him. Even with the indignation in his yiska eyes, the high color in his full cheeks, he found him desirable. The pinch of his lips brought about a sharp want to kiss him again.

“What sort of man have you become, that you would kidnap me and have me placed within the hold of a boat with naught but a chamber pot and rats for company?” Torin crossed his arms over his chest as he stood with as much pride as he could muster after the restless night.

Besides the rats keeping him up, worry over the activities left behind kept his mind full. Had Doshan searched him out at his townhouse to learn of what went on at the docks, especially after he never returned? Had Doshan discovered that the dwelling was mostly vacant with belongings packed and ready for transport? If he had…

“My apologies, love.” Gin opened the hold cage and entered the tiny space, pleased when his treasure stayed his ground. “Never did I mean to cause ye discomfort.” He touched a fallen curl of hair resting upon Torin’s forehead, then brushed the back of his fingers over a stubbly cheek. “I had expected Master Stone to return ye to my cabin, not place ye below deck.”

Torin narrowed his eyes. “What do you want with me? I am no more than…”

“A fine treasure do ye make for many reasons.” He thought he could listen to Torin’s Lyndian brogue for hours, years, forever, and never grow tired of it, despite having grown to hate the rolling R’s and dipping U’s as much as he hated chocolate, but then he had always been contrary. He motioned to the leather case in the corner of the hold cage. “It contains financial papers for the ryn Ferth empire, aye?”

“Yes. So you took me because I hold the knowledge of their accounts and ledgers?”

“Aye. Since rumors abound that all that is ryn Ferth is truly mine, ‘twould seem most prudent to take the one most familiar with it.”

“And the other reasons?” Torin continued to hold his ground, refusing to fear this man before him despite the lack of civility in his eyes. He knew that Kynon…Gin would never hurt him, it was easy to see by the look in his eyes, but his knowledge came by other means. Actually he was uncertain why he asked, other than to make Kynon…Gin confirm his Reading.

Gin stepped up to the other man, palmed his cheeks, and kissed him. He liked that Torin was ever so slightly shorter than he, liking tilting Torin’s face up, even if it was just by half an inch.

Lifting his head, he rubbed his thumbs over the other man’s lips, and smiled. “In need ye are of cleaning yer teeth, love.”

Not knowing what he felt about the kiss, he stayed angry. “Of course I am need of cleaning my teeth, pirate, but stuck I am down in this hold and…”

“Come then, grab yer case, and we shall adjourn to my quarters so that ye may clean them, and if ye desire, ye may bathe as well. ‘Twill not be said that I am an ungracious host.”

“And what of clothing? What of all my belongings?”

Gin brushed his fingers over Torin’s stubbly cheek once more. “All will be well.”

“Naught will be well, especially when Doshan discovers my disappearance. ‘Tis most likely you have ruined everything!” Torin shoved past Kyn…Gin and ascended the ladder out of the hold, his case gripped tightly in his hand. Right outside the captain’s quarters, a large hand pulled him around. Tired of the manhandling, he jerked his arm away with thoughts of bashing whoever it was with his case.

Seeing Ky…Gin, he offered his haughtiest expression. “What is your issue?”

“Why does it matter if Doshan discovers ye gone? Will he worry over the financial knowledge ye hold? For if so, good, ‘tis what he deserves and worse.”

“Because he will destroy my belongings and there are things that I possess that rather would I not see…” Torin closed his eyes and pulled in several deep breaths. “Not that you would care, would you, the selfish bastard that you are?” Before K…Gin could answer, he whipped around and entered the cabin, sending the door flying closed behind him with hopes of hitting the horrible pirate. He cared not if it was undignified to do so.

Gin caught the door and softly closed it behind him, used to dealing with temper displays such as Torin’s—Rum behaved in such a manner at times. “Why would he destroy yer belongings? It makes nae sense to do so, just because ye disappear…”

Then again, mayhap it would be exactly like Doshan to do so; he was the vindictive sort. Still…

“Because already were my belongings packed, ready to be shipped, and never did I tell him I was leaving Lynda, let alone leaving his employ.”

“Where were ye going?”

“If you must know, already did I plan to seek passage from your captain, Golden Boots. A letter I possess of introduction and explanation from Ellis so that he would allow me on board.”

“Already were ye planning to travel to Ganos…with Capt’n Boots?”

“Yes! And now ruined it you have. Ruined everything!”

–

© A. Jane

Book Love:  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9

[joeys-piano]

50 for the writer’s asks, I’m sure you have plenty ;)

50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had. 

I’m gonna share you the strangest, most ambitious one that inspired all of my other strange, ambitious story ideas. Because if I didn’t do this idea, I wouldn’t be the writer I am today. Nor, would I be the experimental writer I am today xD

Back in the Fall of 2017, I was writing for a non-discreet fandom that I used to love and during that period, I dipped my toes into urban fantasy. Fascinated by the concept of a mer!AU but unsure of how to tackle it, I created my own original lore. You’ll see this is a running trend where I’ll just make stuff up in worldbuilding and somehow tie it all together in the end.

The concept I went with originated from the earliest version of the Little Mermaid, I believe. Remembering that the Little Mermaid didn’t have a soul, I decided to work that into my lore and this was the earliest worldbuilding draft that I have of this idea (it’s on AO3, it’s pretty obvious to find):

Merfolk were humans who had died at sea. While their souls may go to Heaven or Hell, their bodies transform. Scales protrude across the skin, a vicious tail is all that remains of what once were legs, slits span down the neck, and the body is reanimated. Driven by wild instincts and led by ravenous hunger, Merfolk patrol the waters like zombies.

In the open waters, these creatures feast on fish and are quite the catch for a shark or lone predator that wander so willingly into their territory. But near coastlines and against shores, Merfolk are on the prowl to satisfy another hunger. Without a soul to call their own, these solitary creatures congregate on the edge of civilization and are on the prowl for any who bear the misfortune of falling into their waters.

Over the next few weeks and subsequent months, I began to expand that lore. At the time, for the project I was working on, I only focused on saltwater mers. I hadn’t considered freshwater or other variants yet. I didn’t consider aquatic species of mers or the different body compositions and characteristics depending on where these mer originated from or where they live. However, this was 2017-Joey, and he wasn’t thinking of these things. He didn’t think about it because he wasn’t worried about it. He was more focused on the lore than the biology, ecology, and whatnot that goes behind this.

I believe in the November of 2017, I began to expand the mer!concept from a a group perspective than an individual one. This was when I started to consider what were the ecological and behavioral characteristics of these creatures. Mer are solitary but then I considered, many aquatic species are solitary but they congregate and show up in mass populations during certain or special events. So I thought to myself: wouldn’t it be scary if you’re out at sea and you see a school mer trying to yank you from a ship so they can do away your soul?

And thus, I added that to the lore:

 Merfolk are notorious for creating storms. A passing boat or a humble ship could easily find itself in the eye with nowhere to run, with nowhere to hide.

The storm appears normal at first: torrential rains, lashing winds, and with the vessel rocking back and forth over the mounting waves. Those who have survived to tell the tale often report of hearing voices, ghostly wails luring the ships and boats closer to the centre of the storm. Suddenly, the ocean is at peace, but a gray veil cloaks the sacrifices before the grooms stroke it back. Bobbing in the water are Merfolk. Tails swishing and their scales glistening like gems. They bring color to the chaos and sing their songs.

And then following that passage is a rather graphic scene of shipmates getting tangled in sea nooses and being yanked into the water, where the surface bubbles over with red and thrashes as mers are picking a shipmate to the bone and are snarling at each other to consume his soul. Because a mer understands that they’re lacking something that’ll make them feel whole. They lost their souls when their human selves died. So in order to truly come back to life and escape this Hellscape they’ve been surviving it, they have to steal and kill for another chance at life.

Even if it means sacrificing an innocent and having that innocent exchange places with them. For a young writer who had been writing pretty safe content for 5 years at that point, this was a stepping stone into more abstract and darker ideas. This began my journey into writing about the human condition and what it meant to be alive.

So you’re probably asking me: it’s been a few years, how did the idea and lore change over time? Back in May of this year when I thought about participating in MerMay, I decided to take my notes and polish them. I moved away from the sea and moved inland to incorporate freshwater mers, and I researched on the different body compositions and structures of how these characters would look like. I developed and fleshed out a more human side to the lore and talked about how some mers transitioned into society and are living comfortably amongst people. I wrote about mers that don’t want to be human, mers that are domesticated, mers that are wild, mers who couldn’t care less about having a soul, and about mers who’d do anything to have a soul and be human again.

I developed the mer!language. It’s not extensive, but it gets the point across. In addition, I included accommodations on how mers could live amongst humans and what were the challenges in doing so. Humans aren’t very tolerable of a lot of things. If we have trouble tolerating each other, imagine how difficult it would be for a mer that used to be human and who’s now living amongst humans and are having to adopt what humans expect of them when they aren’t able to do certain things that humans consider normal.

So I’d say that over the years, what started off as a curious pet project turned into a catalyst that made me become the writer and worldbuilder that I am today. It helped me approach and develop different worldbuilding styles and techniques, how is fictional reality intertwined with real reality, and how I can use stories to tell a bigger picture of an issue or problem that I see we as a society are still struggling and trying to find common ground and understanding on.

And since this is the end of the ask, I’m gonna share a little snippet from my most recent mer!notes. This one is for Dazai, who I turned into a freshwater betta fish mer:

After drowning in a familiar river near a bridge in Yokohama, the suicide ironically sparked the beginning of Dazai’s life as a Mer. Was he disappointed? Absolutely. He learned quite quickly that it was a lot harder to die as a Mer than it was as a human.

To visit him at the Armed Detective Agency, Dazai is typically seen wearing soaked, fettered, and messy bandages sprawled around his neck as he spends the majority of his day soaking in a kiddie pool. A pool that was a little smaller than himself so he’d be half-drying and half-dying while still having enough water to keep him from completely dying. If it wasn’t morbid, seeing a fully-grown Mer in such a tiny space was actually quite entertaining. Especially when Dazai would get his antsy fits and try to squish himself into the corners of his kiddie pool to completely submerge himself. Alas, it wouldn’t work and he’d silently curse himself for damning his existence to an inadequate space.

While Dazai does wear his signature trench coat, he’s merely draping it over his shoulders and the fabric spills behind him while he soaks so it doesn’t get wet. He does live on his own in the Agency dormitory, where he commutes from the office to the apartment and vice versa. Because of the soaked bandages meandering across his body, Dazai doesn’t dry out quite as quickly as other land-dwelling Mers. Although traveling on land doesn’t bother him as it would for others, he does prefer to have assistance merely for ease and to conserve his strength.

[dustbunny105]

Title: Where the Heart Is Fandom: Lost Light Ship: Anolug Word Count: 2449 Rating: PG Summary: Lug and Anode are due to unload their junker of a ship but Anode needs one last thing from it first. A/N: I didn’t want to repeat fandoms for FemFeb but I also really wanted to post at least four fics so, eh. Same continuity, different title, so, I mean, technically... Anyway, been sitting on this idea for a long little bit and it’s about time I got off of it. Might edit some more later, when I’m less sleepy.

.

Lug comes awake slowly, responding to movement across her abdomen. Anode is sprawled over her, engine humming a little too loud in the dark, and the arm she has slung over Lug is moving like she’s stroking something.

Something other than Lug, for sure, because otherwise that’s what would have woken her. She frowns, trying to make sense of Anode stroking the recharge slab, and turns over to curl into Anode’s chassis.

“What’s up?” she asks into Anode’s neck. “Is the slab scared of the ion storm?”

“No, the storm passed-- told you it’d be fine,” says Anode, a little too slowly. Her next stroke goes from the slab up Lug’s back, then higher until she’s running her fingers along Lug’s antenna.

“So, then?” Lug asks, a little more awake. It never bodes well when Anode avoids answering a question-- less so when she tries to change the subject. She props herself up on one elbow and searches Anode’s face for signs of mischief but finds her expression closed. “Anode?”

“I’m just not tired,” Anode says, but she’s not looking at Lug when she says it. She rolls onto her back, shifting to cuddle Lug against her side, and stares at the ceiling. “I did recharge a few days ago.”

“Yeah,” says Lug, “before running yourself ragged dealing with the navigation systems and autopilot all failing at once.” She wraps herself around Anode, curling her arm around Anode’s chassis to stroke at the plating on her side. Distracted, she mutters, “I’m surprised this junkheap is worth what we’re getting even for the scrap parts.”

Anode shifts at the words. Lug couldn’t explain what it was about the movement that tips her off to what the problem is, but she jerks up to stare down at Anode, who is now showing more than the usual interest in a far corner of the ceiling.

“You’re going to miss this junkheap,” she says in astonishment. “That’s what’s keeping you up?”

“Oh, come on,” Anode says, almost snaps, dropping all pretense of ignoring Lug as she sits up and frowns at her, arms crossed. “Won’t you, even a little?”

“No.”

“Even a little?” Anode wheedles, somehow looking truly taken aback.

“I already said no,” says Lug, though this time it makes her feel just a little bit bad to say it. Even if it is the complete truth. “Anode-- this thing has gotten us nearly killed almost as often as you have, you realize that, don’t you?”

“Well,” says Anode, flustered, “sure, but-- almost! Almost as often as I have. And you love me, don’t you?”

“In spite of my better judgement, yes,” Lug says. “But you have redeeming qualities.”

“Such as?” Anode asks. Rather than wait for an answer, she holds up one finger and then points it at Lug. With all the confidence of someone striking a finishing move, she declares, “Such as, I haven’t gotten us killed yet, right? Just like the Junkbucket here!”

“I told you not to name it,” Lug mutters, burying her face in her hands. “I told you not to name it, didn’t I?”

“Oh, that’s just an affectionate nickname.”

“You’ve gone and gotten attached,” Lug despairs. Anode’s weak excuse, she ignores; she’s gotten pretty good at that through their time together. Not as good as she’d like to be, but still. “This is why I told you not to name it.”

“I thought you told me not to name it because you hate all the names that I come up with.”

“Well, that too.” Lug sighs, resigning herself to being awake when she really isn’t ready to be. They aren’t to hand over the ship for hours yet and they have nothing to do until then. The planet where they had docked to meet their buyer isn’t the worst that they’ve ever visited but also isn’t one that she’s about to wander around on. “If you’re going to try to talk me into keeping the ship…”

“Oh, good grief, no,” says Anode, though it is painfully obvious that her spark isn’t in it. She looks around their cramped little quarters with a wistful expression. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m committed to turning this thing over to be scrapped. It’s like you said, we’re lucky to be getting as much for it as we are now. I can’t begin to imagine how much the value will have decreased by the next spaceport we hit, even if we don’t hit it on fire.”

Lug waits a moment and, when Anode seems unlikely to continue on her own, prompts, “But…?”

“But,” says Anode, sighing herself, “it’s… home, isn’t it?” Anode curls around her and rests her head on Lug’s, drawing the conversation close around them. Her fingers are restless, whispering across Lug’s plating not unlike her confession. “This has been our home for… a lot longer than I expected it to hold together, honestly.”

Lug considers this, her spark humming. She runs her hands over Anode in turn, soothing comfort into her seams, and tips her head so that they’re looking each other in the face. Cautiously, she points out, “That’s not really your style, is it, though? Having a home.”

“I never really thought of it as,” Anode admits with a wry quirk to her lips. She stares off into the distance; through the walls, through space. Her eyes are back on Lug’s before she goes on, “But I guess a ship is the best of both worlds that way, isn’t it? It’s not one place but it is someplace... safe.”

Safe is about the last word that Lug would ever use to describe their ship. The thing is a death trap cobbled together from centuries of desperation. Still, wrapped in Anode’s embrace, Lug supposes that she can at least understand the sentiment. It’s less about their junker of a ship and more about having somewhere, anywhere, to go back to at the end of an adventure. And she has to admit, for all that it’s held together by its own dying prayers, it’s done as well by them as it can. Better than they could reasonably have expected, when they first picked it up. And if it can help Anode acclimate to the idea of having one place to settle down in, Lug supposes it’s only right that she be grateful for that. It’s more than she’s managed, anyway.

That still doesn’t mean she’s going to miss it. Not even if giving it up means they have to use the worst public transport that the galaxy has to offer for the rest of their lives. Which, given their clientele and success rate both, it very well might.

“I don’t get it,” Lug admits, “but... I understand.” She leans to nuzzle Anode and to brush a kiss over her lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, no,” says Anode. She shifts, still wrapped around Lug but with that restlessness crawling from her fingertips out through the rest of her. One hand jerks twice, thrice in the air, before dipping into a compartment that’s popped open on her side. “None of that now, I--” she draws something out of the compartment but keeps it hidden in her fist. Her fingers twitch around it as if whatever it is wants to be freed. “I’m sorry, y’know? It’s just…”

“What’ve you done?” Lug asks, tense but not for reasons that she recognizes. In another moment, she realizes that she’s reacting to Anode’s field roiling against hers. “Anode?”

“It’s more what I haven’t done,” Anode says on a sigh. She’s using the tone she favors when she wants to redirect or dismiss, so familiar that it makes the wholly foreign nervousness all the more stark. “I didn’t think this the whole way through, not really.”

“You didn’t think what through, the sale?” Lug hazards to guess. “The trip out? You did buy the tickets, right?” Anode stares at her with flat optics and Lug almost panics before remembering, “No, wait, I bought the tickets.”

Anode huffs a laugh and hugs Lug tight to her, her still closed fist disappearing behind Lug’s back. “You’re making me feel just a little better about this now,” she teases; her field says that it’s the truth, thick though it still is with tension. She draws back and looks at Lug like she might never seen her again; her mouth moves, wordless. Then the look clears and she stares over Lug’s shoulder, deliberately blank, and blurts, “The reason I’m afraid of scraplets is that I fell into a nest of them while I was exploring someplace I wasn’t supposed to be. No one knew I was there. No one ever would’ve known where I’d gone, if I hadn’t gotten out. I’ve never told anyone, but that’s why.”

Lug wriggles and reaches to hook her fingers in Anode’s seams; she meets instead smooth planes of metal, Anode having slicked her plating flat. She can’t help but gawk, caught between this little information dump and Anode’s strange behavior. “Anode--”

“I wasn’t sure what to get, is the thing,” Anode says over her, a non sequitur as far as Lug can understand it. She shifts again, handling Lug so that she ends up perched on Anode’s crossed shins, and leans back on one hand. Her other hand, she opens at last between them, showing off a new set of mood pipes. “And we were coming down to the wire. But then your old set got dinged on that job yesterday and I figured I might as well.”

“Did you steal those?” Lug asks, thinking of the dangerous-looking mechanism who’d been standing over the booth where she remembered having seen them. It’s a silly question but it saves her from shorting out over the creeping realization of what’s happening here.

“Of course I did,” says Anode. “We haven’t sold the ship yet. Do you like them?”

“You wouldn’t have stolen them if you didn’t know I would like them,” Lug points out. Reaching for the pipes is like reaching for a dream, except that they don’t fade away under her fingertips. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t take them, not just yet. Just rests her hands around them, Anode’s palm warm against her. Nervous static snaps between them, sparking in the dark.

“O-oh,” she says, dizzy as reality at last smacks her upside the head, so quickly tired of being ignored. Anode looks at her like she’s trying to see her spark through her eyes and Lug blurts, “I’m sorry-- I don’t know what to do.” Anode’s expression turns puzzled and Lug goes on, “I mean, it’s my turn, isn’t it?”

Her turn, what seals the deal. A demonstration of devotion in return for a secret disclosed and a gift proffered, following a display of intimacy. They’ve been together so long that they’re conjunx in all but the formalities of the matter. Lug can honestly say that she forgets sometimes that they’ve never walked through the ritus-- the idea that she could forget such a thing feels ludicrous in this moment, as she finds herself stumbling on this last leg of the journey.

“Then it’s yes?” Anode asks, leaning forward and catching Lug by the shoulder. There’s a smile on her face but it looks less sure of its place than any smile Lug has ever seen her wear before.

“Of course it’s yes, what kind of question is that?” Lug demands. “But we’re not done until the Act of Devotion and I don’t know--”

“That’s it,” Anode says, shushing her, swooping in to sprinkle kisses across her cheeks. She laughs at Lug’s sputtering and pulls back, eyes sparkling down on Lug like she’s never seen greater treasure. Her hand goes from Lug’s shoulder to her cheek, thumb stroking over the curve. “All I drag us through, all we both know I’m going to drag us through, now without even our so-called ship at our disposal-- and you’re saying yes?” There’s a series of clicks and the smooth slide of metal as she opens her chest to bare her spark, never taking her eyes off of Lug. “How much more proof of devotion could I ask for?”

“But that isn’t how it goes,” Lug grumbles even as she leans back to give her own paneling room to slide away, a clumsier process than Anode’s thanks to the way her compartments are built in. “I’m supposed to make you some kind of a grand gesture!”

“Oh, you make grand gestures at me all the time-- don’t think I don’t notice,” Anode says. All traces of nerves melt away and she presses the mood pipes properly into Lug’s hand before gathering her up in her arms and flopping them both onto the slab with a dull clang. “Besides, since when do we live our lives based on how things are supposed to be?”

Lug curls against her, cradling the mood pipes against Anode’s back, protests giving way to shivers as realization strikes her anew in the dance of their spark light. If Anode is willing to accept nothing more or less than Lug’s agreement, then it’s done. Neither of them is about to make a speech, so-- that’s it. They’ve done it, just like that.

Well. Of course they did it just like that-- Anode has never been one to look before she leaps and Lug has never been far behind. No point looking twice at it now, she supposes, a smile wobbling across her face. The mingling of their fields and sparks is at once familiar and new.

“My conjunx,” she murmurs, one hand sliding forward to trace the edge where their open chambers press together. “You’re my conjunx now.” Then her thoughts back up and she can’t help frowning. She tucks the pipes away into a compartment for safekeeping and takes Anode’s face between her hands, stroking concern across her cheeks. “Are you really okay about selling the ship?”

“Going to insist on an Act of Devotion?” Anode teases. Lug’s thoughts on the matter must be plain on her face, because Anode softens and goes serious all at once. She turns away, like maybe if she doesn’t look at Lug, Lug will forget somehow that Anode needed the questionable safety of their rundown ship to chance making her proposal. The glance askance soon becomes a wistful look around the room.

“Anode?” Lug asks, drawing her attention back. “If you really--”

“I don’t want to watch it get scrapped,” Anode says with real melancholy, “but-- yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. And I’ll be okay.” She lets go of Lug long enough to pat the slab and nuzzles a grin against Lug’s cheeks. “Anyhow, I’d say that the old tub finished on a high note, wouldn’t you?”

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “She’ll Be Back”

This wasn’t the story I had planned to post today, but I went looking at @arianakristine‘s blog this morning, and it got me in a very Gremma-reminiscent headspace. Those who are used to Captain Swan writing from me needn’t be worried though, it’s really more Hunted Believer and Swan Believer than either of the romantic ships. Still, I've always loved Graham and find it sad that he's never mentioned, and that we’re supposed to believe none of them ever figured out what really happened to him. Anyway, I see this as fitting in way back at the beginning of OUAT's timeline, near the pilot. There are some imagined missing scenes here. Angst and fluff and feels abound – Enjoy!

By: TutorGirlml

His footsteps echo heavily as he trudges up the carpeted stairs, a twofold sense of dread near-strangling him at what awaits in either room. Sighing, he rakes a hand through his disheveled mop of wild curls, almost growling in frustration as his fingers tangle and pull at the mussed, honey-colored strands. Blowing out a short breath, he braces his hand for a moment against the cool wood of the door on the left of the spacious, silent upstairs hallway in the mayor's mansion. He doesn't know where Regina has gotten to, and he hopes he can get out of here tonight without knowing, but his conscience simply will not allow him to leave until he knows the boy is alright.

Knocking hopefully on Henry's bedroom door, his accent thick with concern, the Sheriff enquires, "Henry, are you okay? It's Graham. May I come in?"

He waits, not wanting to intrude on the boy's privacy, knowing how it feels to have very little space or power to call one's own.

After a moment, there are sounds of footsteps shuffling across carpet and then a rattling before the doorknob turns and Henry peeks out the partially opened door. The boy's eyes look so big in his pale little face; the charming grin he sometimes levies at Graham in the rare good moments the two of them are afforded, is entirely absent. Loss and disappointment are written all over his expression, even with just half his face showing around the wooden barrier. Those entirely too old and wise brown eyes gauge Graham for a moment, making the sheriff want to shift nervously from foot to foot, officer and adult or no. He can't decide if Henry is trying to divine his motives, or to make sure his adoptive mother is nowhere around, but finally the boy drops his gaze, says listlessly, "Sure, come in. Why not?", and steps back, opening the door fully.

Graham enters, glancing around the boy's small private domain with curiosity. He has always had a soft spot for the lad, felt for him since he seems so serious and oddly unhappy for one so young. For as long as he has known Regina, and frighteningly enough, he can't really pinpoint how long that has been, he has been amazed at her brainy, precocious child. Given the chance, he always takes a moment to speak to Henry, to hear about his day or bring him some odd trinket, and – if he is lucky – make the boy smile that guileless, gap-toothed grin.

There are Legos, and a toy chest, a book shelf crammed full and overflowing, a beanbag chair, and his bed covered by blue sheets emblazoned with knights and dragons. Graham's brow furrows, an odd twinge running through him at the glimpse of a few pieces of aged parchment peeking out from under Henry's bed, looking as though they have been ripped from an old, rather beautiful storybook. Something about them pricks at him, but he brushes it aside, knowing the sensation makes no plausible sense. Instead, he draws in a breath before asking softly, tentatively, "Are you alright, Henry?" He doesn't want to push, knows he is nothing to Henry really, and that the boy has no real reason to trust or confide in him. Still, once again, he only knows he has to try.

"She's gone," Henry laments, his tone desolate enough to snag at Graham's insides, echoing around hollowly in the sheriff's chest. Anger flares within him that Regina is not up here herself, comforting her son, soothing his pain and confusion, instead of downstairs gloating that she has run off the birth mother Henry risked so much to find and bring back. He wants to be angry at the blonde stranger – Emma – too, for leaving even after Henry's wrenching pleas, but he can't quite work up the indignation. He senses that there is more to that tale than he currently knows.

Henry walks slowly, head down, shoulders slumped, to his bed, sitting heavily on the edge. "She was supposed to stay," he continues sadly. "I brought her back. We need her here."

Graham hesitates a moment, then comes to sit beside Henry. He resists the urge to ruffle the boy's hair or wrap an arm around his shoulders, not wanting to seem overly familiar. He sighs, wanting to say something – anything – to bring Henry comfort, but he feels hopelessly out of his depth. He gathers that Henry feels alone, scared, and misunderstood, and that he desperately believed finding his birth mother would change that. Graham is not privy to the specific details, but he can sympathize acutely with feeling lost. He has no family, cannot remember ever feeling anything other than alone. Obviously, Henry's hopes have been crushed, and Graham wants to shore up his spirit.

"Henry," he finally offers, endeavoring to make his tone one of encouragement and understanding. "I realize that I'm just a friend of your mom. You don't know me that well. And I don't pretend to know what you wanted Emma to do here. However, she didn't seem like one to scare easily. Have faith. I have a feeling she'll be back." He doesn't have much else to offer, but he can honestly say his sense is that they truly have not seen the last of Emma Swan.

Henry's response makes his small gesture worth it. The boy doesn't speak, but he looks up at Graham, eyes crinkling with the first true smile he has worn since his mother left. A light is back on his face, and he sounds pleased when he asks, "You really think so, Sheriff?"

"I do," Graham avows, dipping his head in a slight nod of affirmation, even giving Henry a playful wink.

For one quick moment, Henry wraps his skinny arms around Graham, squeezing tightly with relief and thanks, and taking him by surprise. When he lets go, he is grinning more broadly than Graham has ever seen. "Thank you," he beams.

"No problem, Henry," Graham offers, standing again. "I merely said what I believe."

A mere few minutes later, the former Huntsman steps silently back out into the hall, leaving Henry to get ready for bed and closing the door behind him gently. He thinks for the briefest of moments that he will be able to sneak out without running into Regina. But it is not meant to be.

He turns to steal back down the stairs, only to find himself face-to-face with the Evil Queen. She reaches out her hand, beckoning him to follow, and to his utter dismay, Graham finds that he has no other choice. His limbs no longer obey his will, but hers. Horrifically, it has been this way many times before, and yet he can never understand why. The moment he sets foot in her bedchamber, Regina waves her hand to shut the door firmly and sends him flying back into it, holding him in place as if by magic. His brow furrows as he struggles to understand how this petite woman is able to trap him in unbreakable bonds without even seeming to struggle.

She crushes her lips to his, forcing herself on him in a way that makes his blood run cold, but that at the same time his body seems helpless to resist. He tries to gather the strength to push away, something inside of him ripping and tearing when the effort proves as futile as ever.

Suddenly, his cell phone buzzes, ringing from the holster at his hip and startling Regina enough to make her pull back. She nods to him that he may answer, straightening her clothes and smoothing her dark hair, and he feels himself freed to move again, as if released from some spell.

"Hello, Sheriff speaking," he answers brusquely, listening to the urgent voice on the other end of the line.

When he hangs up, Graham looks across at the Queen to explain. "There's been an accident out at the town line. Someone crashed into the sign, looks like a DWI. I'm needed at the scene."

He neglects to tell Regina, as she disgruntledly agrees he must go and allows him to leave, that the wrecked vehicle is a yellow VW Bug, and that his encouraging words to Henry have already proven true. Not only is Emma Swan back in Storybrooke…she never left.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0

Graham watches the blonde in holding from his desk – much more intrigued than he would like to admit. She is just starting to stir, having been out cold since he found her slumped over the steering wheel of her Bug out at the town line. He is still puzzling over what to tell her exactly; sure, Regina told him to call it just what had been assumed – DWI – but he suspects with the same niggling suspicions that he often experiences that there is more to it. She had seemed fine when she left the Mayor's house – and strange things did seem to happen to people on that particular stretch of road.

She – Emma, Emma Swan, he reminds himself – sits up slowly, her hand going to what has to be an aching brow, her face scrunching up in confusion. Her entire posture and expression radiate a "Where am I?" that she doesn't speak aloud; yet he hangs back, listening to Leroy and Marco picking at each other and talking to her, before he steps in himself.

"I wasn't drunk. There was a wolf," she states belligerently when he tries to offer his explanation of how strong Regina's drinks are.

"A wolf?" he blurts in obvious disbelief, not understanding why her words cause a quickening within him, even as he tries to discount them. Strange pictures flash behind his eyes of a white creature with one red eye, and he blinks back the odd familiarity.

Emma Swan steps forward to lean against the cell bars, hands poking through. Without understanding just why, Graham feels the urge to reach forward and twine his fingers with hers, to squeeze reassuringly, if only to say that he understands the confusion she must be feeling. Instead, he meets her serious, determined gaze straight on, knowing instinctively that he is in for a fight where she is concerned.

"This may have been somewhat of a blessing in disguise," he offers slowly.

Her eyes flick up, giving him a doubtful, challenging look, but she doesn't speak, clearly waiting for him to explain himself.

"I just think that perhaps you shouldn't leave town yet. Your boy took a huge leap of faith to bring you here…" Graham hesitates, knowing he is overstepping his bounds with someone he has only just met, but he can't seem to stop himself. He rakes his hand through his hair, clears his throat, and throws caution to the wind, plunging ahead. "Maybe you should get to know him a bit."

She narrows her eyes, not liking his meddling, and he can tell that if she weren't in the holding cell, she would be backing him toward his desk, pointing an accusing finger right into the center of his chest. "Look, Sheriff," she somehow emphasizes the word in a way that makes it sound derogatory. "Don't pretend that you know me, or that you have any idea what I need. I'll be just fine on my own…once you let me out of here anyway." But her outburst loses steam as she realizes that she doesn't want to get too haughty with the person deciding her freedom. Beyond that, Graham wonders if he also sees a flicker of doubt, of curiosity…maybe even longing. He is struck again by the sense that he does not know her whole story, that she is afraid to see Henry now, but can't help wondering about the little boy who is her own flesh and blood.

She bites her lower lip uncertainly, and he hesitates too; neither of them know quite where to go or what to say next. Then, Regina storms in, and they are looking for Henry once more. Emma Swan offers to help, and Graham finds himself growing surer of his instincts with every passing minute. He had been right when he told Henry the night before that it wasn't the end. This mystery birth mother already cares more than she cares to reveal. Something stirs deep in his chest at the realization. He feels sensation where there has been a dull, blank void for so very long. It isn't just for Henry's sake that he hopes she will stay a little longer.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Three Years Later

The autumn breeze is cooler than normal in the evening as Emma and Henry enter the cemetery through ornate wrought iron gates and walk slowly toward the back corner, kicking their feet through the crisp carpet of yellow, orange, and brown leaves as they go. The below-average temperatures have finally begun to right themselves as Regina and Emma have both taken turns counseling, mentoring, and befriending Queen Elsa of Arendelle, and the frightened young royal begins to bring her emotions and powers back under control. Still, there is a definite nip to the air around them.

Henry is quiet, and Emma studies her son's profile as he walks at her side. She cannot believe how much he has grown and changed in just the short few years that she has been in his life. He's a young man now, not a little boy, though the pained, solemn look on his face makes her want to gather him up close in her arms all the same. She can't help being ridiculously glad she has this chance to know him at all, that she stayed in Storybrooke for him, despite how hard it had been for her at first. "Are you sure you want to do this, kid?" she asks, unable to help brushing a quick hand through his soft, brown hair.

Henry just looks at her for a moment, not stopping their forward motion, and then simply nods in confirmation. Emma finds herself following his lead, but growing more anxious with every step. She clutches the bunch of mums and black-eyed susans in her hand that much tighter and tries to focus on supporting Henry instead of the trembling going on inside of her. Still without a word to break the silence between them, Henry takes her hand, as if he senses that they both need the other to hold onto.

A lot has changed in the three years that have passed since his death, and as they near Graham's grave, Emma thinks sadly that there should be more than just the two of them here to remember him today. When they finally come to a stop beneath the low-hanging bough of a weeping willow tree beneath which the simple slate stone is sheltered, Emma kneels to place the bouquet propped against the marker's front. She stretches out her left hand to rest atop the cool stone for a moment, seeing the lace from his boot that still adorns her wrist and recalling warm smiles, kind brown eyes, bear claws, and wicked aim with darts. She sighs softly, wishing the previous sheriff had gotten his second chance along with everyone else.

"He was always good to me," Henry breaks into her thoughts with a contemplative voice. "Sheriff Graham was at our house a lot, and he listened to me. I always felt like he wanted to make me smile. Is that crazy?"

Emma shakes her head, wrapping an arm around her young man's waist and pulling him into a hug. "No, it isn't. I'm sure you're right. He could sense when people were sad or lonely, and he wanted to help. When I first came here, he did the same for me."

They both simply stare at the headstone for a few seconds more, taking at least some small comfort in the peace and beauty of this, his resting place.

Henry's voice is small and raspy when he speaks again. "Why'd she do it? …My mom. She and Graham always seemed to be close. How could she…" he swallows hard, then grits out. "How could she kill him? He was good…and she crushed his heart."

Emma's breath steals from her lungs. There is no good answer to Henry's question, and all this time later, she doesn't really understand it herself. She has never broached the topic with Regina. At first, she had not believed it could be true, then she had been afraid of her own anger at what she might do to Regina if her suspicions about Graham's murder were confirmed. Now that she and Regina are enjoying a tentative rapport, and that Regina has somehow managed to find some of her light and honor once again, Emma simply cannot bear to bring the one crime she will never be able to forget to light between them.

Graham is gone, along with his goofy jokes, his acceptance when she had desperately needed a place and a purpose, his assurance that she was right to stay and find out about Henry. She does belong here, with her son, her parents, and their weird, unbelievable extended family. It had been her destiny, but she might not have stuck around long enough to see it if he had not offered her the deputy job and his friendship, been the first one to choose her instead of pushing her away for the greater good.

Her fingers trace over the metal star at her waist, which once belonged to him, and she looks Henry directly in the eyes. "I don't know, kid. It wasn't right, or fair. I ask myself why he couldn't get his heart back and be here with everyone else all the time." She shakes her head, feeling as if she isn't giving him enough of an answer. She feels incredibly guilty now, as she has countless times before. If she had taken Graham seriously when he started talking about his missing heart… If she had believed Henry sooner… Would she have been able to stop his death?

Henry is the one to hold onto her now. "It's not your fault," he says, his voice honest and steady and of infinite comfort. "You didn't know. You did what you could."

She nods, then gives her son a watery smile. "I'm glad he was there for you back then… that he cared for you when I wasn't here…when I couldn't."

Henry's responding grin is a bit wobbly as well, but genuine. "Me too," he affirms, turning once more to place something atop the smooth stone. It's a small, carved wolf figure, and Emma marvels at how exquisite it is for something so tiny and simple. "He gave it to me once," Henry offers by way of explanation. "I thought maybe he should have it back now."

She agrees with him, then stands, preparing to head back into town for supper at Granny's. "Bye Sheriff," she whispers fondly, letting her fingers trail over the letters of his name one more time before moving away. "I haven't forgotten you."

"Thanks Graham," Henry echoes, not knowing exactly what he is thanking the man for specifically, just knowing that when he had felt unloved and misunderstood, and so very small and lonely, the poor Huntsman with no heart in his chest had always shown him kindness. The boy's eyes glance to his mom, a few steps away waiting for him to finish, but giving him a private moment to speak with his old friend. She is here now – for good – and she loves him. She had always wanted him, only given him up for his best chance. Henry remembers that night three years ago, when he had felt so crushed and defeated, how Graham had told him that Emma would be back. Eyes twinkling now, Henry leans in to whisper, as if Graham's spirit still lingers nearby to hear. "You were right," he admits happily. "She did come back. And she stayed."

Tagging some who might enjoy: @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @bmbbcs4evr @resident-of-storybrooke @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @linda8084 @therooksshiningknight @darkcolinodonorgasm @ps1473-4

[ziggory]

Riverdale Liveblogs 3x07 - 3x13

Instead of making you all suffer through six separate liveblogs as I was catching up, have them all in on post!

3x07, “The Man in Black”

Remember when Jughead was the biggest woobie ever with a bunch of sad shit happening to him. Fun times. Honestly, Jughead’s just really taking advantage of finally being on the roadtrip he was denied

Justice for Jingle Jangle. Why did we need a new drug? Or I’d be fine with it complementing the other but NOooOooOOOO. It’s trying to shove JJ out of the spotlight!

Elvis’ granddaughter could’ve just drugged the eggs but instead she chose to nearly give Archie a concussion. Hiram might chop her head off if his Archiekins gets permanent brain damage

Let Archie kill a man!! Jughead got to skin someone who was fucking up his life. Why can’t he let Archie take his shot!? I can’t hear you about consequences

Your business is failing because trading away the final piece of the Soutshide to open a vanity project in the form of a dry speakeasy was not a great idea. Also, gamers can give you business. I’ve seen it!

The show can make Veronica say all these supposedly empowering lines, but I’m never going to forget that she supported a for-profit prison

MAYBE MY DAD’S NOT SO BAD!!?!?

This voiceover was completely unnecessary. Honestly, it’s sort of a slap in the face to Lili’s acting as if they didn’t think she could convey certain things without some hand holding

I’ve seen movies. They make you swallow that shit on the spot

So many negative thoughts being awkwardly confirmed

Honestly, this is what happens when you keep exploiting the place for abuses to help your investigations but never fucking shut it down

3x08, “Outbreak”

Does Moose need drugs to get it up? He said Midge liked to get wild, but methinks he liked it of his own volition as well. And just what I wanted. Shadowy makeouts while high on drug laced childhood candy

Kevin needs to find out who put a curse on his dick. ANOTHER hookup interrupted by bodies in danger

I don’t know why a group of high school boys acting like typical jackass high school boys with loud laughing is cause for thinking they’re all high.

“good people like Archie” 

Gladys being a Jarchie shipper is pure. I will not stand for this no homoing

Wait, Cheryl did actually get to be Student Body President? I thought they were just going to let that circle the drain and disappear

MY FAVORITE INCOMPETENT EDUCATIONAL ADMINISTRATOR

THE PRISON WAS A FUCKING COVER?!?!? So all of S2 was just…oh my fucking god, I’m going to do drown myself

“good looking shortsatck” Love it. Goddamn, I love Gladys

Do they know that the way they write Hiram and Veronica feels like it’s been dipped in ten layers of incest? He talks to her like she’s the mistress he wants to bed

The affection the Jones women have for Archie is cute

The Gargoyle King being a hallucination is the most disappointing thing

TABLETOP RPGS ARE NOT FUCKING BORN OF MADNESS. Ugh, my inner geek is angry with rage

Oh, now you care about the kids in conversion therapy

So I guess they didn’t go to Toledo for Christmas??

Lili should get a raise for this Griffin Queen shit

I’m more emotional than I would usually be over these Fred scenes given Luke Perry’s recent condition

PROTECT THAT FUCKING DOG WITH YOUR FUCKING LIFE!! THROW YOURSELF IN FRONT OF A BEAR

I missed alcoholic Hermione. And lmao this Watchmen realness

I love Silent!Kevin getting nothing to say in that office! Just fucking great

we need to know more about this fucking Governor. Racist piece of shit who gets upset about vandalized statues of genocidal war criminals, AND he’s under Hiram’s thumb.

3x09, “No Exit”

Will someone get bit by a monkey? I can only hope

Oh fuck off with the Star Wars reference. IT DOESN’T FIT

Stealing from the rich to give to the rich. How very one percenter. And Toni, all your friends are living in tents by the river

KEVIN. WHY THE FUCK DO YOU ALWAYS JOIN THE WORST GROUPS

While the implication of Jughead sleeping over is nice, what the fuck was the point of last episode’s cliffhanger. This timeline makes no sense

I’M GETTING FIREWATCH VIBES

They’re so fucking low budget that they couldn’t even show the bear, LMAO

I forgot what Fangs sounded like. Didn’t FP retire? ARE THERE EVEN ANY ADULTS LEFT IN THIS FUCKING JOKE OF A GANG. But Damn, Fangs is good at crying. So pretty

Aww, I actually missed the hammy ass warden

Every time Joaquin’s name is mentioned, another dagger in my heart

The fact that the sisters have been fake nuns this whole time is just…what the fuck. AND THE FUCKING SOCIAL WORKER KNEW AND JUST LET THEM KEEP OPERATING!?!? LET THIS WHOLE FUCKING TOWN FALL INTO A HELLMOUTH

Remember when Jughead was outraged about the Serpents being paid security at the Pickens festival thing? Time is a flat circle

CHERYL, WHY DON’T YOU JSUT KILL HIRAM THEN

��SAVED”!??! REALLY NANA ROSE!?! IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL THE CHILD GROOMING YOU DID!? And uh, Fred and Sierra should know about that sordid piece of Penelope’s past

Damn, Veggie is hot as fuck

You know who else could’ve gone undercover for the Serpents to infiltrate the Gargoyle gang?!????? I HATE YOU FOREVER, RAS. ANOTHER AU FOR THE DRAWER

3x10, “The Stranger”

LMAO that they tried to make us think Archie died

Being attacked by a bear in Canada means not having to suffer through crippling debt because of the hospital bill for the rest of your life

Sidenote, but I really thought the painting of Veronica would have a bug or something. The fact that she just kept the painting instead of burning it says something

Oh so the core four are THOSE type of friends

Betty’s money >> those kids

Claudius just doesn’t want to do actual work

They let a kid pass the first grade when he couldn’t read? So the educational system has always been rather shit

Hey there, Silent!Kevin! Just sitting silently with your slowly developing biceps

Does Reggie know what PTSD is

I spy with my little eyes Kevin in the corner putting his PE clothes away! Once again robbed of a shirtless scene

FUCKING TALL BOY!?!? Lol, this is really good for my drawer fic actually. Keep sounding like a spiteful man! It’s semi feeding me

Wow, they really crammed in two Varchie sex scenes

Hiram deserved this and every agonizing second of pain he felt

Raw milk, huh? Yeah, that’s all you need to bait Kevin into this cult

Bye Claudius, no one will miss you

I want Hermione/FP to fuck

Jughead throwing a party to make things better is the biggest twist this series has ever done

Archie the alcoholic, eh. If this lasts more than one episode, that’d sure be something

3x11, “The Red Dahlia”

This is the noir episode, isn’t it. I’m…really bad with noir so an episode from THIS team is going to be…very trying

Awww, FP mentioning Joaquin is an extra pang. I wanted to know more about their relationship

I’d love to see the notes on this draft when Jughead tries submitting it to a publisher. Unless he goes the self pub route

Who even runs the newspaper now?

Betty, you’re like the last person to talk about black and white morality

Archie sounds like the protagonist of Office Space at the end when he finds his calling in construction

ELIO HAS SPOKEN MORE THAN MELODY EVER DID. EAT SHIT, RAS

I still need Jughead and Veronica arguing about classic cinema

I wonder where Penelope learned those crocodile tears, Nana. Like I never need a scene of her criticizing her ADOPTED DAUGHTER again

Cheryl is pretty forgiving of the uncle who sort of helped with her institutionalization

Have these boys never watched an episode of Breaking Bad? Put that body in a barrel

So has Veronica had a change of heart about Daddykins? I’m so confused

SMITHERS!?!? YOu’RE STILL ALIVE!? Protect this man

Remember when Betty was a camgirl for ten seconds and watched all of her fake brother’s porn videos

Josie’s voice is pure butter, and the show needs to stop pretending that we want to hear anyone else sing

Why doesn’t Toni have a job at Veronica’s dry speakeasy? She used to be an actual bartender!

“Kevin’s dad boxes at the gym” being a line from Josie is the most beautiful line in this episode

Well at least they explained the seizures.

YYYAAAAAASSSS, KELLY RIPPA!!

What is even the point of Minetta having faked his death just to be Hermione’s kept man

Well, damn, I really didn’t see this FP reveal coming. I wish he was the sheriff Hermione was fucking. And given all the things Jughead used to say and aim at Keller, it’s interesting to see him have to deal with his dad being somewhat in Hermione’s pocket

PULL THE FUCKING TRIGGER, ARCHIE

Lmao at this Bad Boys line. I see you, synergy

Honestly, how dare Archie shoot the person who was going to kill Hiram. I guess that’s one way to bury the Archie/Hiram grudge

Hermione’s trigger finger is life goals

3x12, “Bizarrodale”

So first off, fuck that title and everything it implies.

Second, this is the episode where I’m supposed to finally get fed, eh? FINGERS CROSSED

I forgot what Kevin sounded like after not talking for four episodes

WHEN CAN WE MEET KEVIN’S MOM!?!? I HAVE MANY FANCASTS

Veronica watches Netflix confirmed, and yet I guess she just scrolls past Orange is the New Black every time it’s recommended to her

Why are Kevoose makeouts always in shadow? Is it to disguise the fact that when they makeout it’s with their lips sealed shut

The actor who plays Major Mason followed me back on my burner instagram

Awww, Sweet Pea is a relationship guy with a gooey little heart!

Sierra pegs Tom confirmed. Love these two kinky fuckers

The way Tom says “Gargoyle King” goes straight to my nether regions

So does Britta have a kink for people outing others against their will? I swear this is a plot point in Ship It too

I feel like these issues are something they should’ve talked about way more. Making Moose’s coming out be an ultimatum is pretty gross

How DARE they not let us hear Josie sing?!??! Ohhhh, if we’d heard Josie sing then we would sent death threats to the fake Juilliard board. I never want to hear Josie’s teary little voice again because it hurts my feelings

Lmao, this is the second time a parent has been judgmental of how the Lodges involve Veronica in their business

Remember that time Moose and Cheryl made out? I’m forever traumatized by that

Hiram and Hermione strolling in like a fucked up Gomez and Morticia

I’m sure that Dilton would approve of his friend from another lifetime using his secret bunker to pop his cherry. But only Moose. Yes, I ship comics Dilton/Moose

Oh, HeeEYEEEEEEE, IT’S LIKE A BUNCH OF MY FIC DREAMS COME TO LIFE. Wow, I finally got pandered to. Kevin being in dagner is like…the basis of the majority of my drawer fics

I’M FUCKING PSYCHIC X2!!!! Well huh, this puts that earlier diner scene in a new light

Yesss, please keep calling him Tommy and talking about how Kevin looks like your old friend with that sad, wistful tone. Please feed my fic bunnies

Christ, Ashleigh has such a fucking amazing voice. I can actually bear KJ’s singing

Moose having to leave makes sense. ALSO MAKE SURE YOU WATCH CODY”S SHOW ON NETFLIX TO MAKE THIS WORTH IT

I never want to see Kevin cry again. Fucking Maramaduke

Gladys can step on me, and I’d apologize

3x13, REQUEIM FOR A WELTERWEIGHT

I’M FINALLY ALL FUCKING CAUGHT UP

I don’t think that bacon is fully cooked

So Veronica just decided to not move back out because the path of least resistance?? And she’s back in her Daddy’s clutches because....he got shot???

The Serpent with the awesome dreads is still there! Can he be an actual character with a name? He deserves it

Between last episode and this one, I am being fucking BLESSED with Daddy Keller content. 

VERONICA IS a FUCKING REPUBLICAN CONFIRMED. I guess we all know who scrolled right past 13th on Netflix! 

They’re really trying to sweep up their awkward plot mistakes from last season, eh

I need a flashback of young Alice in this ugly fucking wedding dress

This is some Rocky and Mickey shit. Hopefully Keller doesn’t have a heart attack while confronting Mr. T

YES, GLADYS!!! CALL OUT THAT LEADERSHIP!

San Junipero water, huh. 

Why is Archosie so perfect

Ehhhh, the last time they talked was eight episodes ago. Will this scene be about how Kevin’s recovering post-Moose?? Of course not. My hopes for investigative Kevin are once again yanked away. Though of course remember that time she got him to catfish a murderer without telling him that Chic had killed someone?? Fun times

“cute gay farmies”

Veronica is the opposite intimidating ESPECIALLY in the face of Gladys who we all know has actually fucked up a bitch

The monstrous Freeform ate Malachai, eh. Ghoulie jackets are still the best jackets

I’ve never watched Apocalypse Now so this scene is wasted on me

THUNDERDOME!!?!?

Keller looks like he gives good hugs

How the fuck did Jason learn about The Farm?

This is Polly’s revenge for being sent to the Sisters

It’s awkward how Choni just sort of disappeared from the episode

Damn, Archosie has everything going on

Hermione, you should’ve just killed Hiram when you had the chance

PROTECTIVE BIG BROTHER JUGHEAD!

Gladys doling out gang advice is just everything I wanted from her

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ five

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 3.9K ➻ Rating: pg-15 now/M later ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one part five

​

“Lieutenant. Nice of you to join us,” Yunho greets as he steps around the foot of the bed. You instinctively pull yourself up and sit up straighter. “Captain. You as well.”

“Let’s just get to business, Yunho.” Hongjoong steps out from behind the lieutenant’s back, dark eyes boring into you. “I want to get this over with.”

“O-Of course, Captain,” Yunho stammers. He moves around the bed to stand across from Hongjoong. “She has been making a quick recovery over the past couple of days. I expect a full recovery by the end of the week if not sooner. Vitals are all steady and manageable despite a lowered heart rate; however, she says that she’s not feeling any adverse effects from it.”

“Hm…” Hongjoong hums and glances past Yunho to look you in the eye. “I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of formally meeting me. Captain Kim Hongjoong of The Horizon. This is my lieutenant, Park Seonghwa. Of course, you may know us by other names seeing as you are military – or former military, was it?” Hongjoong pauses, the silence giving you an opportunity to respond, but you opt not to and instead stare back at the captain with blank eyes. “Scourge of the Black Sea and the Lieutenant of Death. And you, Miss L/N – the Ghost of Eros. Such a distinguished group of criminals all gathered in one place. I should’ve known you were much more than a petty soldier considering that you’ve got a mean right hook. You knocked Seonghwa on his ass so handily I thought he was going to die of shame.”

There is a lilt of humor to Hongjoong’s tone and only a sliver of vehemence and anger. The man’s presence alone is intimidation at its finest yet the mellifluous voice harbors none of that same intimidation. It’s a strange game he’s playing – dancing between cruelty and a carefree attitude – and you can’t figure out what his true intentions are.

“You don’t seem upset by the fact that I put your lieutenant on his ass,” you say, voice coming out surprisingly steady and even compared to how you’re feeling at the moment.

“Me? Upset? Of course not. It’s not my job as a captain to be upset for my crew. If he’s upset about it then that’s his problem. It only becomes mine when he fails to separate those feelings from doing his job properly. So, Lieutenant, are you upset?”

“No, not in the slightest,” Seonghwa answers, eyelids falling shut as he grins at you again. “More embarrassed than anything, getting my ass handed to me by a person who was injured.”

“Not because I’m a girl?” You inquire and dip your chin down a little bit.

“Not even close. It’s not about your gender – never was frankly – solely because you were injured in your obviously dominant arm.” Seonghwa folds his arms over his chest, seeming to puff it out a little as he matches your stare with an equally firey one of his own. Despite admitting weakness, he exudes confidence and power. It hits you at that moment. The strange aura surrounding each member of Hongjoong’s crew, and including the captain himself, makes sense as the puzzle pieces slip together in your mind.

These are criminals of the highest degree, men with extensive records and crimes that would take days to write down, and for some reason, that fact did not sink in sooner. Yes, you’ve had many an encounter with criminals. This should be nothing new for you but these men are far different than the petty criminals you had to deal with when part of the military. Even though you are considered to be one of them, a criminal on the same level as them, someone just as evil and cruel and merciless, you don't feel that way. A surge of fear courses through your body. Any one of these men could end your life in an instant with zero remorse or care. 

“What d-do you plan to–to do with me?” You direct the question at Hongjoong although it’s a struggle to drag your eyes off of the pretty lieutenant.

Another hum leaves the captain’s lips, and he looks away from you to stare at the ceiling for a moment. “Part of me wants to drop you out an airlock for attacking my lieutenant, sneaking aboard my ship, and stealing from my cargo hold. However, that is not what I’m going to do. I am merciless, yes, but I could drag your pain so much longer if I really wanted to. So give me a reason not to do that first.”

“Captain…” Seonghwa cuts in, reaching around Hongjoong to block his line of sight. “That isn’t the best idea. There is no point in torturing her if she can be useful.”

“Oh, so knocking you out counts as being useful nowadays?”

“Logic, Hongjoong. Think logically rather than emotionally. There are benefits to keeping her alive and well, especially considering who she is. Ghost of Eros isn’t a name thrown around lightly these days.”

“Yet there are also detriments to keeping her here.”

“If it’s space you’re worried about, we have more than enough of it. Plenty of empty rooms. She can stay in the med bay until she fully recovers then move into one of the empty rooms, no?” Seonghwa glances over to Yunho, who nods along with the words with fervor.

“Absolutely,” he says in a clear tone. “She should be ready to go any day now, and if we move her into one of the empty rooms, I can run post-operation checkups there rather than here.”

“You could also run those checkups from the brig. We have plenty of space down there as well,” Hongjoong argues, pushing Seonghwa’s extended arm out of the way.

“Be smart, Captain.”

“What are you insinuating, Lieutenant?”

“That you are thinking with your heart and not your head!” Seonghwa protests, voice climbing in volume. He steps around Hongjoong to face him head-on. “We have the space, and more than enough of it, so there is no point in putting her in the brig.”

“She is nothing more than a stowaway. That is reason enough, no?”

“No, because you never put Jongho in the brig for being a stowaway.”

“Jongho was useful, and he was barely a stowaway when I knew he was aboard the ship from the second we left that planet.”

“How do you know she can’t be useful as well? Hongjoong, at least give her a chance to be useful and carry her own weight until the next stop. You can dump her there if you don’t want her then.” The phrasing of Seonghwa’s words brings a scowl to your lips.

“Excuse me,” you intervene, climbing to your feet with shaky legs. “I am not an object or a piece of property that can be “dumped”!” Seonghwa shifts to look back at you.

“I’m sorry. I… That wasn’t what I meant to say,” he tries, the remorse evident in his furrowed brows. You return the apology with a half-hearted glare.

“In order to be useful aboard my ship, she needs to be able to shoot a gun,” Hongjoong cuts in and effectively redirects all attention back to him. “According to Yunho, that may not be a possibility anymore.”

“Wh–What?” You ask. Eyes find Yunho’s, and the second you make eye contact he glances away from you rather than facing you. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, you didn’t even tell her?” Hongjoong laughs. “Nerve damage.”

“Nerve damage?” You echo, a tremor rising through your body. Your legs fail to support you any longer, and you fall back to the bed.

“It’s not bad–”

“Not bad? Not bad compared to what?”

“It isn’t debilitating.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me sooner? Seeing as oh yea, it’s my fucking arm!” Yunho winces at the scathing rage in your tone.

“I wasn’t sure about the extent of the damage. Sometimes injuries like yours show nerve recovery over time. I needed to see if that was the case with you. There was – I didn’t want to tell you out of fear of upsetting you without knowing for certain what’s wrong.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you can still pull a trigger,” Hongjoong comments.

“But not aim a pistol as well as I used to,” you finish his train of thought, and he nods in affirmation.

“I don’t know if this will help but... we can correct some things through physical therapy and strengthening. Regain the ease you had with aiming,” Yunho offers, a sympathetic smile playing at his lips.

“But… I thought she didn’t need a fully functioning arm?” Seonghwa inquires, eyes finding Hongjoong.

“Huh?”

“To aim a sniper. You don’t need a fully functioning arm,” he elaborates for you. Your eyes fall into a sharp glare.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It means I know who you are. Ghost of Eros isn’t your only nickname. It only took one search in a military database to see who you are. Y/N L/N, wanted military traitor formerly of the operations assassinations and peace control units. Highly dangerous sniper. Wanted for theft of military property, desertion, capital betrayal, larceny, arson, evasion of arrest, the list goes on. Oh, and putting a bullet in the head of the King of Eros.”

Having someone list off your crimes is not as appealing as it would seem, and your shoulders fall further with each crime listed until Seonghwa mentions the last thing. It has you sitting up straight again, staring him down with such intensity that he actually seems surprised.

“It’s a hefty bounty on your head,” he continues in a much lower tone. “But an even heftier asset.”

Hongjoong releases a huff. “I have to agree with him on that, even though I don’t particularly want to. And yet I can’t help but wonder what drives a person to desertion?”

You refuse to answer the question. Instead, you press your teeth together, clenching your jaw and opting to remain silent in the face of the notorious captain.

“Putting a bullet in the head of a king is a pretty good reason. But that still begs the question: why put the bullet there in the first place?” Your chin dips closer to your chest as Hongjoong drives the metaphorical knife deeper into your chest. “I’ve put many a bullet in people’s heads; however, I’ve never had the luxury of doing it to a king. I have to say it’s quite interesting that you would murder someone like that.”

“It wasn’t murder,” you spit out. Your eyes find Hongjoong’s, and you find a taunting gleam in them. Perhaps this is what he wants – to drive you to a breaking point and see you lash out, and if he continues on like this then you won’t be able to resist the urge.

“Oh? Were you paid to do it then?”

You ball your fists around the sheets beneath you rather than responding. Your only answer is the continued glare you send his way.

“Stop it.” It’s Yunho’s voice that cuts in and bleeds through the mounting tensions between you and Hongjoong. “Stop, Hongjoong. She obviously doesn't want to talk about it. You don’t need to keep pushing it.”

“Stand down, Yunho. Are you the captain?”

“No, but–”

“No. You are not the captain and as such, you cannot tell me what to do. If I am even going to consider making her part of my crew, then I need to know her intentions.”

“I’m not going to kill any of you, if that’s what you mean.”

“How can I be sure of that, Miss L/N? Give me solid proof that you are a gentle and merciful soul. From what I can tell, there is none.”

“I am merely doing the same thing you and your whole crew are: just trying to fucking survive.”

“And what about when survival means killing someone? What would keep you from killing someone in my crew to survive?”

“Forgive me in advance for asking the same question of you. What would keep you from killing me when it comes to survival?” A huff escapes your lips, eyes stabbing daggers into Hongjoong’s form, and you extend the arm with the IV sticking out. “Take the IV out. If he wants me to shoot, then I’ll do just that.”

Both Seonghwa and Yunho whip their heads in your direction, Seonghwa’s eyes nearly bulging from his head. Yunho opens his mouth to retort but you still him by redirecting your glare to him. He moves towards you and slowly untwists the IV, leaving the catheter in place. Before stepping back though, he folds his fingers around your forearm and leans close to your ear.

“Seonghwa’s holster is on his right leg,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. The tall man leans back before Hongjoong or Seonghwa can comment on his odd behavior, and you barely process their expressions because your gaze moves for the gun lingering on Seonghwa’s right leg. You get to your feet with a fake sense of weakness.

In a split second, you dart for Seonghwa’s gun and jab the flat of your left hand against the back of his knee. Your right snatches the pistol from his holster with little trouble as Seonghwa is crumpling to the ground. You spin around while he falls, the barrel of the pistol finding a new home between Hongjoong’s eyes. He doesn’t flinch, nor does he move. His expression remains blank and unfocused. Seonghwa recovers, jumping up at exclaiming at the sight before him. Hongjoong lifts a hand and places it against Seonghwa’s chest.

“Stand down, Hwa.” Seonghwa listens to his captain albeit with great reluctance, and you try to steady your hand.

As silence overtakes the room again, the faint sound of the gun rattling against your quivering hand rises. It isn’t that you are afraid of firing the gun; you have shot a man just like this time and time again. You physically cannot get your arm to still. It’s twitching and shaking against your will, and no matter how much you focus, it doesn’t stop.

“Would you really fire the gun?” Hongjoong asks with his steely cold tone.

“In an instant,” comes your scathing response. “But that’s not what you want from me.”

“Hongjoong…” Seonghwa mutters. Out the corner of your eye, you can see his antsy moments, bouncing his weight from one foot to the other and ready to jump you for pointing a gun at his captain.

“What is it I want then?”

You blink, and Hongjoong is gone from sight. The gun clatters against the ground, pain spreads across your wrist, but it is nothing in comparison to the pain that sears through your whole arm a moment later. Hongjoong appears in your vision, standing beside you with his hand clenched around your bicep, directly over your recovering wound. A sadistic smile creeps across his features. Fingers dig into the bandage and push past the fabric to stab a finger into the hole covered by stitches. A loud cry of pain leaves your body. White blinds your vision, your legs give out under you, and Hongjoong holds you up with his tightening grip on your arm.

“Stop!” Yunho cries out, attempting to step between you and Hongjoong. “Fucking stop, Hongjoong! You’re hurting her!”

“Listen to me,” Hongjoong hisses. He yanks your arm, finger still pushed in your wound. A weak sob falls from your lips next. “Stupid ideas like that are the last thing I want.” His grip leaves your arm, but the pain doesn’t. It lingers, burns, seeps through your limb so much that you can barely think straight. His foot darts out and kicks Seonghwa’s gun in the man’s direction. “You can stay for the time being. However, the second I decide that you aren’t worth my trouble anymore, I will dump you either in space or on whatever planet is nearby. It’s your choice. I suggest you choose wisely next time.” Hongjoong stands up straight, face leaving your line of sight, and you watch his back retreat as he strides out the door, dark brown cloak billowing around him as he moves.

“Oh my god,” Yunho mutters. He is by your side in an instant, one hand finding purchase on your waist, and the other gently holds your arm. “Oh my fucking god. I can’t believe he did that.” He helps you back onto the bed then sits down beside you to pull the now bloodied bandage away from your skin.

“Are you okay?” The question comes from Seonghwa, but you can’t focus on him due to the pain in your system.

“He did a fucking number on my stitches.” Yunho sighs and gets up from the bed. “I’m gonna grab and needle and some thread, I’ll try my best to fix it quick. I will need to sterilize again as well as use some numbing ointment to just help with the pain.”

“It-it's okay,” you murmur, words slurring together. Seonghwa comes closer to the bed. He sits down beside you, careful not to touch you. When you feel the dip of the mattress, you tilt your head in his direction and blink at him in confusion. A smile decorates his lips, one that isn’t cynical or cruel, just one filled with sympathy.

“I’m sorry about your arm.”

“It’s fine. Not your fault anyways.”

“Yes, but I’m sorry for his actions. He’s too rash and thinks too much with his heart.”

“Oh, so he has one?” You joke. Your senses are slowly returning to you, words becoming more clear with each one spoken, and your vision is growing less fuzzy by the second.

“Surprisingly, yes.” Seonghwa chuckles, the sound as pretty as his face. “By the way… I have no hard feelings about the near concussion you gave me.”

“How nice of you.”

“Were I in your position, I would’ve done the same. If not worse. Especially seeing as you were wearing a military uniform. I was planning on killing you then and there before I felt the brand on your arm.”

“That damn brand seems to be a hot topic among you all.”

“You have to understand: it’s not every day we meet someone of your fame and caliber.” Seonghwa’s lips curl as he speaks. “Once Yunho redresses your arm, I can take you to your new quarters. They’re all ready for you.”

“What do you mean? How can they be ready already? Didn’t he just make the decision now?”

“Well, no. Apparently, he decided a while ago on his own accord. Hongjoong isn’t one for spur of the moment decisions. He takes a lot of time to decide on things, so I know for certain that he thought about whether you would stay or go for a long while. Thus, he most definitely decided prior to today.”

Yunho returns to the bed, medical supplies in hand along with another bottle of vodka.

“I, uh, I don’t have the belt this time so you may just want to grin and bear it. I would say bite down on a finger but you might take it clean off.” Delicate fingers find your left wrist, curling around them, and you glance over at Seonghwa.

“Try to focus on me instead of Yunho. It might help take some of the pain away.”

“I highly dou–” You’re cut off by your own scream, cold liquid pouring over your skin. Twisting, you press your fingers against Seonghwa’s hand and he grips you with an equally strong hold as Yunho sterilizes your wound.

“All done, all done,” Yunho announces. The stream of cold ceases but your arm still throbs even as Yunho dabs white ointment across it. He massages it into your skin with gentle touches. Once it goes clear, he pulls back and retrieves his small needle. “You don’t need to watch this bit if you don’t want to. I know some people are afraid of needles.” Despite Yunho’s warning, you continue to keep your eyes trained on the wound and watch as he pinches your skin together. The numbing gel he put across it worked quickly; you don’t feel a thing except for a strange heavy pressure on your skin.

“It’s fascinating work,” Seonghwa mutters, leaning forward to watch Yunho work as well. The healer laughs in response.

“It’s simple stuff actually. Nothing much to it.”

“Simple to you maybe but not anyone else.”

“It’s my job after all.” Yunho shrugs, hands remaining steady on your arm. “And I’m damn good at it, so it ought to be simple to me.”

It takes less than a minute for him to remove the old stitches and attach new ones. He works so fast that you think if you had blinked you would’ve missed the whole thing entirely.

“There, all done! It’s a little irritated from being jabbed at like that, but now that I’ve got the new stitches in, it should be just fine. The numbing ointment will wear off in an hour or so. If it hurts drastically then be sure to come back and tell me. I can get you some medicine if needed.”

“Is she all good to go now then?” Seonghwa asks. He unfolds his hand from yours, and you hadn’t even realized that you were still latched onto it all this time.

“Yep! Almost mint condition. You’re welcome.” Yunho sends a wink your way, cheeks scrunching up as he smiles. “You are free from my care at last. Don’t go messing anything up now, I patched you up perfectly. I don’t want my talent to go to waste, after all. I will check up and see how my stitches are holding up later today though.”

“Aw, have you got your post-patient loneliness already?” Seonghwa asks. Yunho responds with a scoff and swings a loosely clenched fist in his direction, which Seonghwa dodges with ease.

“Do be careful though. You still aren’t as strong as I had hoped you’d be. Walking too much will most likely make you lightheaded and woozy. Seonghwa, if she collapses, I’m blaming you.”

“Aye aye, Captain Yunho.” Seonghwa mocks the healer by bringing his hand up to his head and saluting him. “I’ll keep the princess on her feet.”

“Oh wow. Thanks, pretty boy. I feel oh so safe now.” You push yourself off the bed. Despite the shakiness in your legs, you step forward and trail after Seonghwa as he heads out the med bay. Before you step out of the room completely though, you hesitate in the doorframe. Yunho catches your lingering gaze as though he was expecting it. “Thank you again,” you say. The smile that comes to Yunho’s lips is neither cocky nor patronizing.

“Of course. I’m glad you made a good recovery.” He turns back to the bed where you were just seated but thinks twice about it and looks back at you. “Don’t be a stranger either. My door is always open for whatever you need.” He passes another wink your way, and the cheeky action has you choking on air. His laugh resounds in your ears as you move out of the room, shaky legs carrying you to Seonghwa’s side where he waits for you to catch up.

“Alright, follow me. If you get to feeling weak, just let me know and we can pause or I can help you along.” He pushes a loose strand of black hair from his forehead, and as the strands move you catch sight of a small emblem cut into his undercut. It disappears before you can fully examine it, however, and you have to move your gaze before Seonghwa notices your lingering stare.

“Wait–” you call out, and Seonghwa stops in his tracks. “I… I have a question for you before we go.”

✧✧✧

a/n: hello hello it’s tuesday my dudes ;) another chapter down, and most of the buildup and exposition doNE so things will be picking up in speed from here on out so yAY

taglist: @faeriewoobin​ @sugarrimajins​ @atinyinwonderland​

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[dreadhaus-literature]

{January Collection} #21

Ocean Floor

Theme: Multiples Monday

I wait on you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea.

January isn’t typically considered “beach weather” but Monica has a hard time saying no to people.

Jokingly, sure, it’s usually the first word out of her mouth and is often met with a cocky grin or a knowing smirk. But when Abe Sapien asked her if she would accompany him to the beach, the first word out of Monica’s mouth was--

“Me?”

Abe Sapien hadn’t smiled at her incredulous expression; rather, he blinked those curiously bright eyes, leaving Monica to marvel at the sideways lids that moisturized eyes capable of seeing at the deepest depths of the ocean.

The reason he hadn’t smiled is because he had been confused.

“Yes. Why not you?”

“Isn’t the ocean...more Dot’s thing?”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to have things anymore.”

The third voice to join the conversation was by far the deepest; far more gruff, and rumbled like brimstone over dragon scales. Monica turned in surprise to find Hellboy, known more intimately as Anung Un Rama, towering behind her. His cigar glowered dully, and as she stared up at him that massive stone right hand came up, pulling the cigar from red lips, his brow lifting and forcing a reply from her.

“W-What do you mean?”

“Dot said you guys aren’t supposed to have things anymore,” Anung rumbled. “You two are supposed to share everything, right?”

“W...Well, yes.”

“Then you can take Abe to the beach.”

It was cold, but that didn’t seem to affect Anung or Abe. Anung was still in his BPRD shorts, his cloven hooves bare and his brown trench billowing in the sea spray. Abe wore matching shorts and nothing else, leaving Monica to marvel at a body she hadn’t realized was more muscular than movies made him out to be. Abe was also tall, nearly locking shoulders with Anung--which was a feat in and of itself. Brilliant sea-green gills worked, drawing moisture out of the air like magic. Abe took a deep breath as Monica watched, his broad chest filling with sea foam.and his eyes drifted closed in silent bliss. Abe truly was of the sea, of the water, and around them the setting sun kissed the waves so they glittered as if made of diamonds. The sand slipped between Monica’s toes and she glanced down, wiggling them so the painted nails dipped beneath the silk-soft grit. Standing between Anung and Abe, Monica didn’t fear the large body of water. It’s unexplored depths hid monsters and ghost ships but on it’s shore, it seemed a lover to her, beckoning with each swell and receding as if to say, chase me, chase me, catch me if you can! It flirted with her, the waves crashing together in displays of raw power and playfulness, wanting her to be apart of their eternal dance.

The sun was a beautiful compliment to Abe’s smooth, silken skin, but it betrayed a battle-worn body that was still recovering from fresh wounds. Bullet holes on his chest and abdomen, and even one on his thigh, were still on the mend, covered by bandages and his left bicep was wrapped to protect open wounds from the sea spray and infection. The duo’s latest mission with the BPRD had left Abe a little worse for wear but he hadn’t complained once; Monica was learning that simply wasn’t his way. It wasn’t Anung’s either; the big lug griped a lot during the missions, but Monica found it was more his way of letting off steam so he didn’t get burnt out doing what the world needed him, needed them to do.

Monica folded her arms against the breeze but she had no complaints. Anung noticed her movement immediately, as he always did, and moved closer. Instantly the wind ceased, blocked by that wall of a body and Monica couldn’t help but lean a little closer. Anung was a walking furnace, his body a betrayal of his birthplace; heat seemed to radiate off his brilliant crimson flesh and Monica took comfort in it. That doomed right hand remained at his side even as his left arm swept around her, pulling her beneath the hollow of his shoulder and into the warmth of his trench. Anung was always careful to keep Monica to his left side so she always had his softest side; he could protect her with his right hand, use it like a shield if necessary (and he had for her before, on missions she’d accompanied him on) but the fact of the matter is he liked her on the side he could feel her. He could feel her with his left hand, the soft, hesitant touch as she gave in to his proximity. He never could get used to how small she was, how she fit so perfectly against him. He was never more grateful for his lack of dress than when Monica entered his life, as her touch was soothingly cool against his ever-raging flesh. Anung’s dull, yellow gaze lowered from the ocean to the top of Monica’s head and he lowered his, bending that proud spine to kiss the top of hers even as his smooth tail wrapped around her calf, squeezing with possessive rhythm against her.

“Will you walk with me?” Abe turned to face Monica, immediately committing the sight of her looking so small inside Anung’s coat to his impressive memory. Monica nodded, and Abe held out one of his webbed hands to her with a full-lipped smile. “Thank you. She’s anxious to see you, again.”

Monica knew from experience Abe was speaking of the ocean; he talked about the ocean as if she were a living thing and she knew he wasn’t the only one who did so. Monica likened it to a relationship between mother and son, and the fact that Abe wanted to bring her back to the ocean again touched a curious place in her still heart, melting it even as she placed her hand in his.

Abe sucked in a small gasp at the contact, and Monica could hear and feel the curious crackling arcing between her skin and his; she knew what it was, knew Abe was an empath and knew he was connecting to her more and more as their skin touched. She didn’t mind, and he loved it. He gasped every single time they touched, unable to get used to the way it felt to be so connected to the woman he loved. His webbed fingers cupped hers, possessive in the same sense that Anung’s tail was still wrapped around her calf. Abe’s eyes roamed her face, searched her expression even as he read her emotions like the books he devoured in his spare time--but as he read her, so could she read him. She could hear him admiring her in his head, felt the way his heart was hammering against his chest at her close proximity. She wanted to shy away from his thoughts of how beautiful she was, how she stole his very breath, how even the ocean couldn’t compare to her, but she couldn’t let go of his hand. All she could do was turn her head, out to face the sea again, wrapped up in her very own BPRD coat and flanked on both sides by two monstrous men who coveted her above all else.

The ocean was warmer than she would have expected it to be. It rushed up the sand to kiss her toes and she made a quiet squeal of surprise, her hold tightening around Abe’s; he returned the contact with a smile, pulling her a little closer to kiss her forehead.

“I told you,” he murmured. “She’s happy to see you.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Anung asked, cigar flaring to life between his teeth. He had his hand in his pocket, but that tail kept it’s hold on her the entire time and there was a hard edge to his deep voice, as if he wasn’t above fighting the ocean and everything within her for Monica’s attention.

Abe ignored his apeish partner’s tone, too busy enjoying Monica trusting him enough to walk a little ways into the waves at his side. He was in front of her, holding onto both of her hands as the waves brushed past his knees. He kept her in the shallows, so the water caressed along her ankles, her calves, and only just met her knees. She kept a tight grip on his fingers as they went but Abe never failed her; he murmured encouragements and every time she looked at him, he was smiling. A glance up at Anung would make him smile, twisting that stone resting face in a way only she could. The ocean sizzled as it came into contact with Anung’s fiery flesh and his hooves splashed a little as he went, the ends of his trench soaking wet because he wasn’t allowing for much space between himself and Monica--Abe wasn’t going to steal her away to the ocean floor without him. He’d been down there before, he’d do it again if it meant spending a little more time with Monica.

On some level, Monica knew this was therapeutic for Abe. After missions he normally spends time in his tank, recovering from his injuries and taking a break to rehabilitate himself if need be--but the ocean seemed to be the best way for him to detox. At least, that was what she’d thought.

“Nothing compares to you,” Abe interjected, picking up on her thoughts easily. They were still hand in hand, after all. “I don’t even have my nightmares anymore.”

Monica didn’t know how to respond to that, ducking her head shyly just in time to see a colorful little fish dart between her legs, curious to see who big brother Abe brought to visit.

“The sun’s goin’ down, Abe,” Anung reminded, nodding his head toward the horizon. “We don’t want her catchin’ cold, she just got over hers.”

Abe nodded; of course he would never risk Monica’s health and he was feeling immensely better already. “Of course, of course, let’s get you out of the water.”

“I-I’m okay!” Monica interjected, looking between Anung and Abe. “This is good for Abe, r-right? I’m not cold.”

“That’s just because I’m here,” Anung swept his arm around Monica’s waist and immediately she was flooded with warmth, heat. “See.”

“Well, if you’re here then that means I can stay out here longer.” Monica countered, using her logic to help balance out her emotional need to be here for Abe. “Abe’s having fun, and so are you! That’s important.”

Anung lifted his gaze to Abe. “Can you believe her? This isn’t even a fairy tale, some legend or some shit. She’s just like this. A literal angel, surprised she doesn’t burn my damn skin when I touch her.”

Abe was staring at Monica with his heart in his eyes, and his hands connected to hers made her well aware of the loving nature of his thoughts. He felt the same way Anung did, and Monica would have been blushing had she the beating heart to do so. It was hard enough to take all this emotion as it flooded her, surrounded her as the ocean was--as Anung and Abe were. Abe could hardly believe he wasn’t in a fairy tale, some story he’d fallen asleep reading adrift in his tank, of a princess falling for a frog that could no longer be a man True love’s kiss is fabled to be the cure for anything and Abe was in the mindset to test that theory. In an easy stride he closed the distance between himself and her, moving her hands to his injured chest only to bend his spine, eyes searching hers for a moment or two before he kissed her in the ocean waves.

The best medicine isn’t sleep, it isn’t laughter, it isn’t even home.

It’s love.

[hazelnatcoffee]

how we’ve learned

like 1k obligatory post s6 cryfest :’’’))) warning for incoherency and vent fic and spoilers obvs

Shiro is still when Keith gathers him into a hold and lifts. 

Walking is a near impossible task, and piloting even more so, but he manages. There's no easy way to do it without taking his eyes off of Shiro so he doesn't, just lowers them both to the seat and arranges him as best he can before taking off. It means his left arm is trapped under the man's weight and Shiro's hair tickles his chin if he turns his head- but the weight is nice and his hair is stuck in a permanent tuft, and Keith can't bring himself to be bothered by it. Shiro is close, he's alive, there's nothing that could make this anything but good.

It's good to carry him out of the Lion. Good to see his skin washed gold and warm by the Olkari sun.

It's good to have him back.

"He needs an Altean cryopod," Ryner tells them, leading the team to a small and neat medical room. "But since the Castle is gone, we'll have to do what we can." Her eyes are troubled when they fix on Keith, and Shiro in his arms. He sees the concern in it, knows what this looks like when the latter is white-haired and disarmed and the former is bruised, beaten. He knows the look of someone reading between the lines, but there will be time for explanations later.

"His arm was Haggar's point of control," Keith says. "You have to make sure it's fully disabled first."

She nods at that and they all spend the afternoon there, hovering while tests are run and readings are recorded and Keith watches Shiro rest atop the healing table, peaceful and quiet. His fingers twitch every now and then, and Keith keeps his fists firmly on his knees to keep from reaching for them. He'll sit there, he'll stay close, stay beside Shiro if he needs him- but the developments of the past few hours demand space in a way he doesn't know how to ignore.

He doesn't notice the burn until Ryner points it out. Keith's wounds are surface deep and he hurts all over with the strain, the fight, but he'll be fine with a bit of rest. It's secondary to getting Shiro somewhere he can recover and a few hours later finds him doing just that; setting Shiro down for the second time, finally on a soft surface while he waits for the older to wake up. He isn't removing Shiro's armor while he sleeps, and he'll need help with it after losing the arm.

Or so Keith tells himself. 

It's hard, still, to face the real motivations. Who will greet him when the sleeping man wakes? Will he remember, does he want someone hovering again, does he want Keith to stay-

A soft noise draws him from the flash of panic.

"Kk..." Shiro's voice clicks and catches. "Kkei..." His eyes are barely open enough to blink, and they close again, lashes still black while the white of his hair barely brushes them. He's simpler now- visually and expressively, with exhaustion, but there's something settled in the way his chest rises and falls; his head sunken into a pillow, fingers no longer twitching for a hand that isn't there. He's almost like the man Keith found in the Garrison tent all those months ago.

Years, he reminds himself, and feels the beginnings of a familiar ache in his ribs. It's been years since that day. It's been years since they drove themselves into a wormhole and saved the universe for adventure, flew just to chase the stars- since the future was bright and they were laughing in a Castle full of strangers and promise, quipping back and forth between ships and growing used to the battles. So confident in their pocket of time and purpose and present rather than past.

We were kids, he thinks. We were kids.

"Keith..." Shiro says, hushed, and draws a ragged breath. He is not a man in a Garrison tent now, but Keith lifts his hand to a pale jaw, still, heart constricting with how much he can see it again. Tears land on his fingers and Shiro's cheek and he thinks he wants this, wants this vulnerability and this catharsis and it’s the hardest part because Keith is holding himself together with all he knows-

The noise that comes from him is little more than a breath, little less than blades in the broken vacuum of his throat, tearing sound and emotion from him as razors would. Embedded in the swell of want, need- tell him, tell him, tell him.

He opens his eyes and tears blur into the world. He opens his mouth and pain escapes like blood.

Shiro is looking up at him now, face twisting with something frightfully saddened; he stares and reaches while Keith is in agony and the tears that fall from him are lost, slow, streaking the sides of his face and running into Keith's palm. He's shocked, maybe, in shock- and Keith is crying, shaking, losing every ounce of acceptance he's found in the past two years. One day with Shiro, with the man he's braved Earth and Arus and death, with, it's nothing he could’ve prepared himself to find. It's tearing breath from his lungs like a violent game of tug and war.

"I," He barely gets it out. Too rough, too cracked. "I need you." It's not what he anticipated saying, but it’s the truth, the core of this broken thing stealing his air. "I need you."

Shiro's chest dips, shudders, he grasps Keith's wrist with the breathlessness of a quiet acknowledgement. Keith is helpless against more tears, too affected, too distraught with the way their pain is already shared that he heaves out the air in short staccato bursts, spilling his wounded heart into Shiro's hands like some broken, bleeding thing, cutting them both apart with how much it hurts. He needs it, needs him, loves him.

The words are lost in the sound of his resolve breaking. It drains in earnest now, dripping from his face, hot and stinging and never-ending. Shiro, exhausted and clumsy fool that he is, smears his hand over the entire right side of Keith's face; and it's touching enough, touch enough to break him down harder, sobbing into Shiro's behemoth hand and gripping the other's now wet face, so hard that it rips something in his heart again.

Hold me, he wants to beg. This is pathetic and damning and he needs it so bad.

I'm trying, Shiro seems to answer. 

He can't keep his palm on Keith, sliding with the tears, and instead it becomes an unsteady petting that makes him cry harder, makes Shiro's breath pick up in response, Keith’s name cracking in his voice. Keith pushes his head past Shiro's hand, presses tight to his shoulder and holds, breathes, holds, gathers him up in his arms- and Shiro is not still, this time.

They were kids when they learned how to die.

They are unraveling while they learn how to live.