#the fic is complete btw

[rikan-oo]

I had trouble finding the right words to describe what exactly I like in SY and SJ until now

So, my favorite Shen dynamics:

Alternatively:

[colfy-wolfy]

hello again I'm insane. I will never not love drawing slugcats hugging and cuddling. but my md hyperfixation hasn't stopped yet so it's nuziv

[echobsilly]

“Born On The Cob” by SalamanderMoss, read it!!!! amazing!!!!!!! 🌽 Gail choking on cornbread in Chapter 3 fanart

[nymika-arts]

like a river runs

56.8k | read on ao3

"You look exactly the same," Eddie says with tears in his eyes. "How is that even possible?" "I don't know," Buck says, his thumb swiping across Eddie's knuckles. "I don't understand it." He may be the same, but looking at Eddie, Buck can see the years on him. His hair is a bit different, the creases by the corners of his eyes just a bit deeper. There's a new scar on his right hand that Buck hasn't seen before. He'd know these hands blind, but it takes him a moment to notice it still. His fingers brush over it once, and then again before he actually looks down and sees the thin golden band wrapped around Eddie's ring finger. Then he just—stares at it, stupidly, for a second. Before Eddie pulls his hands back, and leaves Buck's hanging empty in the space between them. "You're married," he says.

Or: i put buddie in the torment nexus

[tending-the-hearth]

a version of chronicles of narnia where those closest to the kings and queens get put into a sleep when the pevensies are brought back to their world, from which they're awoken only when their beloved four rules return, something à la sleeping beauty.

so the pevensie siblings return to narnia, and logically, it's been thousands of years. their closest friends, those they viewed as family, are, to their knowledge, dead, and they are completely alone now.

until peter and caspian encounter each other in the woods, and are about to get into their fight. it's the moment where peter's back is turned, and caspian has his word raised. lucy is screaming, tears in her eyes, susan and edmund are too far away to do anything, and there's a moment of chaos before caspian's strike is blocked by a larger, longer sword.

oreius, completely disgruntled and still very out of the loop, but only focusing on the fact that his king, his friend, his son, is in danger, glares daggers at caspian, not looking away for a second, even as tumnus gathers a now-relieved, sobbing lucy up in a tight hug, and edmund and susan shriek with joy upon seeing the beavers and mr. fox.

and any feeling of tension or fear immediately seeps out of peter, who drops the rock he had picked up, and stumbles to his feet and to oreius' side, being able to lean on the centaur for the first time in a year, and not have to worry about his safety or his siblings' safety. and oreius, without taking his eyes off of caspian and his followers, just puts an arm around peter.

and caspian remembers. he remembers the stories of the high kings and queens of narnia, and their beloved inner circle, and the absolutely terrifying centaur who called them sons and daughters of his heart, and he can't quite help but think about how utterly fucked he is.

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[abbyshands]

♡ warnings; use of a strap-on (r!receiving), strap-on is referred to as cock by abby and in general, abby calls reader “baby” and “mama,” praise

PALESTINE LINKS | before engaging !!! | click before you fic ♡ | | join my tag list!

♡ imagine dom!abby, x softball!reader. you’d played a game earlier on, having just gotten back from it an hour or so beforehand. you are your team had won, barely, winning by a close score of 8-6. abby had come to it, the first game she had ever come to, as you’d always been too scared to allow her to come watch. however, no matter how nervous you’d been, abby had seen you play an excellent game at your infield spot, and seen how good of a player you really were, wondering why the hell you had been holding out on her before. it didn’t really matter: all that did, was you were now getting rewarded for it. “that’s it, baby. pretty cunt’s so tight around me, hm? yeah? you like my cock, huh?” abby coos as she moves into your pussy at a slow pace, easing her way into it. you’re sore from your game and borderline exhausted, so all that slips past your lips is a rushed, little “yes.” abby smiles down at you from where she is above you, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “aw, is my good girl all fucked out for me already? s’okay, mama. i’ll do all the work for my pretty girl, mhm,” abby says, and, fuck, do you like it. abby’s easy on you as she pushes her cock deeper, gradually moving her hips faster with each second that passes by. naturally, your hands find abby’s back, digging marks into it as she begins to pound into you. “my baby played so good for me, didn’t she?” abby asks you. you nod as pleasure washes over you, your eyes shutting closed. “mmm, yeah, i did, abby. i did,” you whine in response. abby’s smile widens, almost cockily so, as she pulls her cock almost fully out of you, before slamming back inside as if she never left. “yeah, you did, mama. such a good, fuck, good fucking girl. and i’m gonna reward this pretty pussy for it.”

divider creds !

𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ꗃ⋆࣪. tags: @sugarevans @spacewlf @hangeishere @elsdoll @flowersforvi @yondaimekazzy @carolb111 @marsworlddd @amourrs @smvtreader124 @viisgrave @elliesbff

[chuusmuts]

imagine waking up nude beside your best friend, aether

mild nsfw at the end. writing this as a warm-up before i make a debut as a smut writer in this blog. also, to those who think you know me, no, you don't. not proofread.

edit:i just realised how shitty the grammar is so please ignore it.

you waking up beside your best friend!aether in a hotel room, completely nude after a long night of lovemaking. just like him, you don't remember a thing. though, the bruise marks on your breasts and the wetness between your inner thighs were enough proofs to confirm what happened last night. you're not going to lie that you do feel embarrassed seeing how nonchalant aether is about this, yet it quickly disappears when he pulls you into a hug, asking if you're mad and apologizing to you.

"you’re not mad at me, right?”

"no." you're not mad. you can't bring yourself to get mad, especially since he's always so nice and sweet to you.

eventually, you ask him how is he so calm about all this. but you found the answer right away after you buried your face into his chest, putting your ear near where his heart is located. he's not calm at all, his heart is pounding just as fast as yours. he's nervous, a lot more nervous than you. he's just putting on a calm facade so you wouldn't feel awkward around him.

he began to stroke your hair gently, lovingly before he spoke up, his voice softens even more, “i… i like you a lot. and last night… it was really great. i don’t regret a thing. you… made me feel so good last night.”

your cheeks flushed when he mentioned how good you made him feel. the fact that he didn't remember what happened last night, but remember how good he felt buried deep inside you make you feel shy.

but at the same time, you wish you could make him feel good again. "i wish we could do it again... sober. i was drunk, so i couldn't experience it properly..." your face was still resting against his chest, but you were pouting slightly. you're not a lightweight person, so it's really a shame you got drunk on a special night. (although, you wouldn't be making love with him if you weren't drunk since you'd be too busy dragging his ass home.)

his eyes seem to light up at your wish. he kisses the top of your head, nuzzling into your hair. you can feel his body heat up, and from his breathing, you can tell that he's not so calm and collected anymore. “... are you in the mood?”

a pair of curious eyes bore into aether's golden eyes. you want to do it again, but you don't want to tire him. and what if he sees you as someone who's desperate? especially since you just did it with him last night.

regardless of what you think of yourself, aether thinks you're too cute to look desperate. even if you are, you still look cute.

before the two of you realised, your lips connect with one another. a shiver runs throughout your body from how good his lips feel. your heart flutter and you can feel butterflies in your stomach as your hand found themselves on his soft cheeks.

aether’s ears turn bright red as he moves slowly on top of you, his lips never leaving yours. letting the duvet off of you and him, his warm, golden eyes look over you, taking in as much as he can. he moves his lips from yours, dragging his tongue along your neck and kissing every inch of you, emitting a content sigh from you.

he pauses and moves lower down on your body, gently kissing and sucking on your chest. his fingers run through your hair, carefully stroking you while his free hand grab and fondle with your breast, making you moan in pleasure. he doesn't intend on going rough, his priority is to pleasure you and he wants you to enjoy it as much as you can. aether smiles, his eyes twinkling as he sees the effect he has on you.

“i… i love you so much… you’re so pretty, and so cute… and just thinking about you makes me want you so bad.” he says before kissing your neck again.

he takes one of your hands and kisses up your arm, and puts it on top of his chest. “touch me… i wanna see how much i make you want me.” he whispers, his voice sounding needy.

[secondbeatsongs]

a heads-up, and one that I think is important:

unless you make it a private bookmark, authors on ao3 can see what you put in the notes when you bookmark something

I guess just be glad that I find it funny that someone rated my national treasure fic "3/5 stars" in their notes xD

[wifiwuxians]

Yi City fam on an ice skating trip for @scribbled-anecdotes as part of @yicityaction !!! Thank you so much for your donation!!

Wow, you guys are so elegan- what the hell is going on in the back

[uhhlifeig]

Camera - May 9 - word count: 179 - @wolfstarmicrofic

“Lights, camera, action!”

“What are you doing here, Romulus?” Sirius asked lowly, stance in the defensive. 

Remus sneered, stepping closer. “I could ask you the same thing, Leo. trying to steal my glory again?”

“Steal?” Sirius asked through gritted teeth. “I’ll have you know that it wasn’t yours to begin with. It was the team’s, Romulus. You should respect the integrity of our work together.”

“The only integrity I trust is the integrity of the bridge we’re on, Leo-”

There was a loud and resounding crash from somewhere behind the two, causing them to swivel around. 

“Are you alright?” Remus called, breaking character completely.

Of course, he didn't notice Sirius making eyes at his back for his compassion- or whatever. Remus was just... hot, okay?

The embarrassed face of Kane, the intern, poked out from behind one of the various technology-things that Remus didn’t know the name of. 

“I’m fine. One of the props fell off of the stack, sorry,” he squeaked.

McGonagall smiled at him gently. “It’s fine. Reset, then, everyone.”

Sirius groaned. “I was doing so well.”

[elisedonut]

see the problem with "it should have been Percy who died" fix it fics is that the Weasleys are almost never as messed up over it as they are when Fred dies if they show any reaction at all

Which like I know why. The only people who write that either don't like Percy or consider him irrelevant so in their perspective the Weasley family was not broken and they didn't really lose anyone

but it's still just so damn boring life just goes on like nothing really happened with only really maybe Molly having any sort of reaction to it

If you're going to kill him let it mess them up let them grieve him let Arthur blame himself over losing their last few years with him Let Fred be the one torn up over watching his brother die and feeling like it's his fault

[thisgardenofromance]

Here's a tip for anyone looking for an Ouran writing prompt: go to the OHSHC fandom category on Fanfiction Net and scroll to the oldest fanfics, pick out some fics that look really interesting, and then write what you thought they would be instead of what they actually are because I guarantee you that summary didn't actually tell you shit.

[a-most-beloved-fool]

For the ask prompt game...

Spirk #17 to distract

"Report," Kirk ordered. The word buzzed low against Spock's ear, quiet and audibly tense.

"Less than two minutes until they reach our location, Captain," Spock replied promptly. "Commander Scott will need at least another eight before the transporter is operable again." His voice was equally hush, despite their perceived solitude. He had seen carelessness take far too many lives during his time in Starfleet; he would not allow it to take his captain as well - and, illogically, Spock could not quite dispense of the phantom sensation of eyes on the back of his neck.

"We'll need to bluff it," Kirk decided, looking grim.

His gaze was strangely intense against Spock, full of rioting emotion, and, almost, Spock wished to look away. He did not. Instead, he nodded, holding steady eye contact.

The odds, Spock knew, that Kirk's gambit - whatever it may be - would succeed were... poor. The guards had, after all, seen their faces. But Kirk would keep fighting right until the bitter end, and Spock, of course, would be right beside him.

Solemn, he vowed, "I shall follow your lead," though he knew Kirk would not have doubted it. Still, the unnecessary words were well worth the way the tension around Kirk's eyes melted away, the somber set of his mouth slipping instead into a golden-edged smile.

Almost wonderingly, a soft chuckle fell from those lips, incongruous in their surroundings and entirely treasured. "What would I do without you?" Kirk asked, reaching up to exert gentle pressure on Spock's bicep.

I pray you never need find out, Spock made to say, getting only so far as drawing in breath before the sound of distant footsteps drew them both from their quiet moment, snuffing the words before they could take shape. "Eighteen seconds," he said instead, after rapidly adjusting his calculations. Faster than anticipated.

Kirk nodded, some unreadable emotion hiding in the soft crease between his brows.

"Forgive me, Mr. Spock," Kirk said softly, and Spock did not have time to question what he meant before Kirk was pulling him down by his shirt, dragging their lips together with great urgency.

Quite suddenly, Spock found that his mind was entirely blank. Strange heat flickered through his whole form, and his universe narrowed to only Kirk, all soft and human-warm, who was pressed flush to his chest and kissing him.

One, then two seconds stuttered by in which Spock thought no thoughts at all, struck utterly motionless in the face of such unexpected attentions. He only felt, swept away by the sensation of pliant lips against his own and warm fingers stroking through his hair, gently mussing.

The very first thought to break to the surface was simply, Jim. A wave of emotion flooded in with it, astonishment and affection sweeping over him in such quantities that he felt nearly lightheaded.

The second was, We will be caught, and Spock jolted as something near to panic rose up inside his gullet, urging him to take Jim into his arms and run.

The third, however, was not his own; it was pressed into his katra from the outside by Jim's careful fingers, his clever mind slipping easily past Spock's shields. Play along, he said, projecting deliberate calm through their connection. Still, Jim was unpracticed in telepathic arts, and beneath that false serenity Spock could feel a tangle of guilt and determination, bitter and writhing.

The truth came to Spock in one fell swoop.

Jim's gambit... was this.

His lips and his hands, which pressed themselves so tenderly to Spock's skin, were not for him.

It was not love which had drawn his captain into his arms, but mere utility. Jim had realized what Spock had not: though they could not hide themselves, they could, perhaps, distract from themselves.

Two men attempting to look inconspicuous would only draw suspicion. Two men locked in a romantic embrace, however, may be overlooked - or even deliberately ignored. Few were comfortable with looking closely at the private passions of strangers, and fewer still would see reason to. Those searching for them, Spock hoped, would not. There would be no logic in halting an escape attempt solely for a kiss, after all.

Therefore, in order to escape unnoticed, they must be convincing.

They must seem, to any observers, to be completely and entirely immersed in one another, with no care for anything going on in their surroundings, and no fear of discovery.

Two lives, purchased with a kiss.

It was entirely logical, then, for Spock to part his lips, inviting Jim's tongue to dip inside of the wet cave of his mouth and meeting it with his own. If a groan rumbled deep within his chest, it could surely only help their cause; there was no need to swallow it down.

This disguise would, Spock observed as Jim's tongue flicked gently at his mouth, be far easier to maintain than it had any right to be.

It was a terribly simple matter for a man in love to behave as though he were a man in love.

The difficult part, then, would be remembering that it was a ruse. Already, heat bubbled deep within Spock, aching want suffusing his every neuron. Every faint brush of flesh sent golden tendrils of telepathic energy sparking across his skin, and it was all Spock could manage to hold himself back from pressing hungry fingers to Jim's meldpoints and sinking into that wonderfully enticing mind.

Instead, Spock slipped a hand beneath the hem of Jim's shirt, rucking up the cloth until he was tracing patterns across a smooth expanse of golden skin. He flexed his hand, allowing his nails to scratch carefully along Jim's spine, and did not permit himself to consider reaching upwards, to Jim's face - or worse: downwards, beyond the waistband of his pants.

He wondered if Jim would have chosen this, had he known how very much Spock wanted.

Perhaps it was selfish of Spock to allow it.

Still, he could not force himself away - not when Jim's life was at stake. The kiss was his lifeline, and so the kiss must remain.

The touch of their minds, however, did nothing to aid Jim. It was solely for Spock's benefit, taken from Jim without his knowledge or intent.

That, Spock could end.

If Jim was to unknowingly place himself into the hands of someone who wanted more than he would wish to give, then Spock would take it upon himself to be his protector - even if the one he must protect against was himself.

And so, Spock opened himself to every offered touch, and girded his mind against every stray thought, until not a single wisp of golden energy could find its way past his defenses.

When Jim's thigh nudged its way between Spock's legs, Spock spread his stance wider, allowing him to press closer, and did not let himself feel. His hands grasped and squeezed at the soft flesh beneath them, drawing quiet gasps from a pink-flushed throat, and no pleasant hum buzzed against his fingertips, carrying with it the flavor of human emotion. Jim nipped at his lips and pet at his hair, and Spock pressed every scrap of yearning deep down within himself to where they couldn't emerge.

Eyes closed and spirit aching, Spock kissed him.

_____________

from this ask game

[jessicas-pi]

For the ask game, "arranged marriage+secret identity+eloping aka basically eloping with someone you're already engaged to, but you didn't *know* you were engaged to them. Back home their parents are facepalming in exasperation because *both* of them just eloped with *each other*" AU with, of course, Sabine and Ezra. Please

I was a little stumped on this at first, but then I got INSPIRATION and speedwrote half of this in one night! And then I procrastinated for six months before writing the other half also in one night! 😅

btw, this is set in my Jedi Get Hitched AU (here's links to part one and part two for reference), which was not originally a sabezra au... but when it comes to me, if I am given the opportunity, anything can be a sabezra au (and a very long one, apparently... oops...)

--

Ursa Wren would like to state, for the record, that it was incredibly difficult to arrange a marriage alliance with the Jedi Order, and people really ought to start giving her a little more credit for pulling it off.

She wouldn't have considered it at all, except that clan tensions were rising (again), and as there had already been one recent Jedi-Mandalorian intermarriage, Ursa concluded that it really would be handy to have a lot of space warrior monks with laser swords as one's in-laws, should things come to war.

So, she got to work on it.

First, there was that message to the Jedi Council—and their reply, which explained that the Council's role in a Jedi marriage was really more of a permission thing than an arrangement thing and that the Jedi did not actually set up marriages with politicians and planetary rulers, it was just that they had an unfortunate habit of falling in love with them, so they wouldn't be arranging any betrothals or anything of the sort, but that if some day in the future, either of Ursa's children should form a mutual affection with one of the Jedi Order, they could certainly consider it.

Then Ursa had to go about trying to ensure that one of her children did form a "mutual affection" with a Jedi, which she started by bringing her family to Coruscant for a vacation and finding an excuse to tour the Jedi Temple. Tristan, she dismissed after just one afternoon visiting the Jedi Archives to explore their section on Mandalore—he went out of his way to be antagonistic to the Jedi, and the visit ended with a sweet-faced, doe-eyed twelve-year-old girl slam-tackling him to the ground in a blind fury. There was clearly no future alliances to be made regarding him.

But Sabine, Ursa considered. After all, she was more inclined to get along with the Jedi in general. And that Padawan that gave them a tour did seem a little smitten...

Perhaps it was coincidence and perhaps it wasn't—perhaps, indeed, someone on the Jedi Council had a sense of humor about things—because when a Jedi was requested to attend a peace conference on Krownest, who should show up but this same Padawan and his Jedi Master?

The Jedi Master made eye contact with Ursa , and shot her a wink with a nod towards his Padawan, who was gaping goggle-eyed at Sabine.

Oh, yeah, she thought, giving him a subtle nod of acknowledgement and the hint of a smirk. They know.

The conference lasted a few days, and Ursa instructed Sabine to take an interest in the boy. He's our guest, she'd said, and the rest of Clan Wren certainly isn't going to make him feel welcome. Do me a favor and take pity on the boy, would you? Make him feel like there's at least one person in the fortress who wouldn't wring his neck if they got the chance.

Sabine had rolled her eyes and saluted sarcastically, because she was fourteen and sarcasm was her language, but Ursa observed that she did her best to help the Padawan. By the last day, she and the boy were even passing notes to each other.

When the conference was over, Ursa slid into the shadows with the stealth of a well-trained Nite Owl, and watched the two. The boy broke away from his Master and slipped up to Sabine, darting through the crowd. He was only by her for a second—just long enough to stuff a scrap of flimsi into her hand and blurt out, "Call me!" and add on a "Please!" as he tripped backwards into the bustle of people, heading back to his Master.

Ursa saw Sabine eye the paper with a look of incredulous amusement, and her heart sunk. That flimsi was headed straight into the wastebasket, no doubt of it. So, Ursa acted quickly.

"I hope you're not going to keep that," she said dryly, stepping up to look over Sabine's shoulder. Her daughter jumped, crumpling the flimsi in her hand as if she could hide it. Ursa just arched an unimpressed eyebrow at her. "Take my advice, and don't bother being friends with a Jedi."

As Sabine's choice of friends was something Ursa nagged her about often, Ursa thought the idea was particularly genius. There was no way Sabine was getting rid of that number now—if only out of sheer spite.

It turned out, that was all Ursa ever needed to do. Sabine and the boy did the rest.

By the time she was sixteen, Sabine had casually brought up going to Coruscant "to see the Mandalore collection in the Jedi Archives" again at least four times, and when Ursa and Alrich did arrange the trip, the blue-eyed boy just so happened to be the one giving them the tour again. Ursa did not miss the way he and Sabine seemed to isolate themselves, standing side-by-side with their heads together for brief moments of whispered talk, interspersed with giggles.

When she was eighteen, Sabine actually insisted on going to Coruscant once again, this time specifically to see the boy. Apparently, that cockroach of a Sith had managed to escape his holding cell in the Jedi Temple, and on his way out, he badly injured the boy's Master. Sabine said—with no room for disagreement—that Ezra needs all the friends he can get right now, Mother.

(Ursa pretended to be very inconvenienced by it all, and announced that Sabine would have to go on her own.)

(Sabine clearly didn't mind.)

When she was twenty, Sabine brought up the idea of her attending an art school on Coruscant. Ursa allowed it.

When she came home, at twenty-two, there was a look in her eyes that spoke volumes—a look that said that home wasn't quite home anymore, that it was missing something, that it was missing someone.

There was something else different about her, as well. She wore a blue, crystalline jewel on a leather cord around her neck.

When Ursa asked what it was, Sabine explained—hastily, with a light flush and a little stammering—that it's nothing, really, just an old lightsaber crystal. Further questioning revealed that Ezra was the one to give it to her, and that it was his old lightsaber crystal, from the first lightsaber he made.

"Fascinating," Ursa remarked, wearing a mask of disinterest, and then bustled off to send another comm to the Jedi Council—this time asking them if there would be any problem with her daughter and that Jedi of hers marrying.

Their reply was short and concise.

Thank the Force, we were beginning to think you'd never ask.

~~~~

Sabine hadn't meant to fall in love.

She was the eldest child of the ruling family, and that meant she would need to marry logically. She could fall in love with her spouse once the vows were said and they were a team. Before then, it had to be all business. She wasn't going to get caught up in a romance with someone she could never really be with, and she wouldn't break her own heart.

But some things were just out of her control.

Her feelings for Ezra Bridger were one of those things.

Sabine didn't know when she started falling for him, but she realized it halfway down, and tried to find a way to stop it, but there was nothing to slow her fall, and she plummeted.

She fell and fell and fell, until the night before she left to go home, when Ezra gave her his old kyber crystal—and a soft kiss.

She ought to have pushed him away, but she didn't. Like a sentimental idiot, she'd melted into him, kissing him back, as fierce and heady as he'd been tender and sweet. And when both of them were so out of breath that they had to break apart, he'd whispered to her in a dazed wonder— "I think I love you."

Sabine hit rock bottom at full speed and shattered.

She couldn't live without him. She knew that now. He'd woven himself into her soul, and the idea of leaving him just then made her heart throb with regret.

But she had to go home, so she went, and he was in her thoughts every second of the way.

He was still in her thoughts at dinner that night—with the ghost of his embrace keeping her warm and the feel of his kiss still burning on her lips—when Mother brought up marriage.

Sabine barely heard the words her mother said. She knew this was coming. It was a surprise it hadn't happened sooner.

It would have been a mercy if it had happened sooner. Sabine wouldn't have known what she had to lose, then.

What she had to lose.

The thought brought a lump into her throat, making it hard to swallow, and her eyes started to sting.

Sabine rose, and asked to be excused, and didn't wait for an answer. She went back to her room, and because it was what she always did when she needed to talk, she called him.

"Mother thinks it's time for me to get married," she said.

"Oh."

Ezra's voice was hoarse and a little broken, and it broke her all the more. She said nothing in reply—her words were gone.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked her softly.

Sabine would have said that there was nothing he could do at all. But the kyber crystal strung around her neck was warm to the touch, and as she traced her fingertips lonesomely along the smooth planes of its surface, an idea came to her.

It was an idea so reckless, so wild, so entirely irresponsible that it was impossible.

But Sabine could work with impossible.

"Well," she said. "There is something."

----

Caleb had commed Hera last night and asked her to be here for this discussion with Ezra. Apparently, the Council had reached out to Caleb last night with a message from Countess Wren, wherein she said that she was pretty sure it would be agreeable to all parties concerned if her daughter and Caleb's Padawan tied the knot, and that they might want to be quick about suggesting it before the two just up and eloped together. Caleb had messaged Hera, then, asking her to help him explain the situation to Ezra—who had spent the last eight years stubbornly and consistently insisting that he and Sabine were only friends, and might need some persuading to own up to his own feelings.

But when Hera showed up at the boys' quarters in the Temple the next morning, Ezra was nowhere in sight, and Caleb was slouched back on the couch, wheezing with laughter.

"Love? What is it?"

Caleb was laughing too hard to answer, and he just held out a piece of flimsi to her, indicating that it was the source of his amusement.

She took it and sat down beside him, reading it twice through before the meaning of it fully sank in.

Dear Master, Do you think the Council will be very annoyed that I got married without their permission? Like, I already said the vows and everything so it won't make me call off the elopement if they will, but it would be nice to know that Master Windu won't give me the Eyebrows Of Disappointment look when I get back from the honeymoon. See you in a couple weeks! Ezra Wren (née Bridger)

Hera huffed a rueful laugh under her breath.

"Well. That simplifies things."

[beneathtreemomo]

Names Amongst the Dead

I got another commission from @sakura-rose12 of Kit!!! Beautiful boy and 3/4ths of his qpr (plus also his eventual boyfriend. No, I will never make a straightforward relationship. It's too fun to make them deep and meaningful, unable to be explained through words. Law is the last fourth if you were curious lol, he just didn't fit in with the theme) Have a one-shot to go with it :D -----

Kit's back hit the wall hard, causing him to stumble from the awkward angle as his and Alvarus’ legs found purchase on the steps.

Cold metal pressed against his skin; Kit froze, making the wise decision not to move.

"Oh?" Kit asked, fighting the urge to tilt his head. "I thought we'd gotten past you pulling a sword on me."

“Highness…” Alvarus breathed, a shaky awe to it that never really went away.

It made Kit huff as he smiled down at the ex-knight. “Hi, Alva.”

Brilliant sapphire eyes melted, Alvarus' sharp-edged smile turning into something softer. The distance between them was already small; Kit could feel Alvarus’ breath against his skin, knew that if Penguin or Shachi caught sight of them, he'd never hear the end of their teasing.

“Are you well?” Alvarus asked, without fail.

“Better than ever.” Kit replies, always.

A beat passed as Alvarus’ gaze studied Kit. He always made sure Kit wasn't lying to him, especially after the one time Kit had genuinely tried, and Kit could never find it in him to be mad about it.

He sighed as he determined there was nothing amiss; Kit chuckled as Alvarus seemed to collapse against him, knocking their foreheads together.

“Stop worrying me, please,” Alvarus mumbled, rubbing his nose against Kit's. His body was warm, a comforting blanket against the chill of the winter island's sea. “You’re one of few things I have left from our home. I don't think I could handle watching your vivre card try to burn a second time.”

“I’ll do my best,” Kit said after a moment, feeling the sword drop away as Alvarus sunk into the embrace. “But I can’t make any promises. You know that.”

Now that he could properly move again, Kit lifted a hand to tangle it in Alvarus’ hair, fingernails lightly scratching at the base of his neck. He returned the nuzzle, pressing his cheek against Alvarus' before pushing back his hat with a gentle hand.

Alvarus' eyes closed as he leaned into the touch with a soft sigh. “Why must all of you Lagthas be so difficult?”

Kit chuckled, pressing his lips to Alvarus’ temple. “Runs in the blood, I’m afraid.”

----

“Hey, Sabo, I—whoa!!”

As soon as Kit stepped foot into the room Sabo had chosen during their stay, a hand had wrapped around his wrist and yanked him inside.

The door was shut with a muted thud, though Kit barely managed to notice as he was slammed into the wall just next to it.

“You!”

For a moment, all Kit could see was Sabo’s jacket and the frills of his cravat. Then Sabo leaned down, caging Kit in, and his eyes were like fire.

Kit’s heart skipped a beat, unease settling low in his gut.  “…Me?”

“Were you ever going to tell us?” Sabo asked, voice low. “About who you really are?”

The unease turned into lead, sinking and pulling Kit down with it. “This is who I really am.”

“Liar,” He hissed, leaning in closer. Kit felt rather than saw Sabo’s hand moving, and with a jump he raised his hands between them to try and placate the fuming man. “I know that you’re a prince!”

Shit. He’d been afraid of that answer, even though he’d expected it. Kit really should start to know better.

“Well, sure, but—"

“Is this just a joke to you?” Sabo asked, hand pressing just enough into Kit’s side to keep him pinned. Something slipped in his voice, cracking and splintering with the confirmation his findings had been right; Kit hadn’t looked away from Sabo’s gaze at all, but only now could he see the grief and panic at the edges of his eyes.

Kit’s heart sank. “What? Sabo, no. Why would I be joking about any of this?”

“Because that’s what all nobles do in situations like this,” Sabo hissed, lips curling into a snarl. “Lie and trick us, just to hurt us behind our backs.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Then why didn’t you tell us?! If you hurt my brothers the way you hurt your people, Prince, I swear—”

Tears pricked Kit’s eyes at the low blow, heart hurting like he’d been stabbed. He shoved Sabo away and was, admittedly, a little shocked that Sabo let him. “What the fuck is your problem?!” He shouted. He knew it was too quick of a flip, but he'd thought Sabo of all people would understand, and instead he was being accused of wanting to hurt his friends.

Sabo merely stared at him, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Kit didn’t move away from the wall, but now it was his turn to snarl at Sabo. “Look in the goddamn mirror! You’re a nobleman from birth, too!”

“Watch what you say next.” The harshness in Sabo’s voice sent a shock of fear down Kit’s spine, but he didn’t stop.

“Oh, don’t be such a hypocrite.” Kit snapped back, standing tall even as Sabo’s glare sharpened back into something dangerous. “I’d already run by the time the kingdom fell; your research showed this, I know it did. Everyone knows Prince Rori disappeared three years prior."

He scoffed, feeling words he didn't want to admit spill from his mouth without his say. “What, would I be in your good graces if I had stayed to be Haesgard’s toy? Or gone back to be a lamb to the slaughter the second I caught wind of Valstasia’s fall? Forgive me for doing what my mother and Lavi sacrificed themselves for.”

He didn’t notice the way Sabo’s anger faltered as he spoke, eyes growing wide with dread as the implications of things not even the Revolutionaries would have found out slipped from Kit’s lips.

“I thought we were friends,” Kit continued, glaring at Sabo through watering eyes. “You said you trusted me because Ace and Luffy trusted me. Didn’t realize it was so easy to lose, too.”

Fed up with the conversation—annoyed because he’d actually been excited to see Sabo during this mission of his, only for it to turn into this mess of a shouting match—Kit shouldered his way past Sabo to the door.

“I’m not like those nobles you grew up hating. Don’t talk to me again until you figure that out.”

Sabo stared at the door, almost wishing Kit had slammed it shut. It would make it easier to dispel the anger still thrumming in his veins, maybe even get rid of the guilt that started settling in his chest.

That… wasn’t what he expected to happen.

Looking back, it should have been.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, fingers lingering on his scar. “Shit... I just messed up, didn't I?”

....He really should have known better.

---

Kit headed back to his room, a slight skip in his step. He’d managed to convince Law to lay down and nap, finally, and Cora had promised to keep him there until their captain could form coherent sentences again. Tang had surfaced for a while, as well, to let in some much needed fresh air and get the crew some sun.

Mostly, Kit was just glad they were headed away from Wano, and he could spend one more day not thinking about the situation looming over his shoulders.

Except, now he was thinking about it. Dammit.

His steps slowed. It… was okay to wait a few more days, right?

It was too nice a day to think about existential dread, and he didn’t want to worry Law when he woke. After that whole mess of an island, none of the crew needed to worry about him and his decades-old problem. It had waited this long—it could wait a little more.

But there had been that letter….

“Hey, Kit, what’s got you all broody?”

Kit startled, a tiny little yelp managing to leave his lips before he shut it down just as fast as he looked up.

Ace stood there across from him, hands in his pockets and an easy smile on his face. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Ace!” Kit breathed out a sigh of relief, leaning back against the wall. “Don’t startle me like that!”

“Sorry,” He said, completely unapologetic, “Being a ghost does that to someone, I’ve learned.”

Kit laughed, having to admit he had a point. “That’s fair. But your fire’s usually a lot louder than that, so I’m surprised you hid so well.”

“Hm.” Ace came closer, concern creasing his brow. “I don’t know about that, Kit. I think you’re just… distracted. You okay?”

No, but Kit’s pretty sure he hasn’t been for a while.

“It’s nothing,” He promised, tasting ash on his tongue. “Just thinking, is all.”

“Ahh, I see.” Ace nodded, humming thoughtfully a moment later. Kit raised a brow as he stepped into his space, resting an arm above Kit’s head. “Well, how about I help you stop thinking for a bit, hm?”

As he spoke, Ace brought a hand up to take Kit’s chin between his forefinger and thumb, stroking Kit’s bottom lip. Kit huffed a laugh at the action, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh? And how are you going to do that?”

“I’m sure you could come up with something, eh, Enchanter?” Ace all but purred, eyes locked onto Kit’s. It made Kit’s heart race, excitement thrumming to life in his veins as Ace leaned ever closer—

Only for Ace to yelp as he suddenly fell through both Kit and the wall.

Kit burst out laughing while Ace let out a dismayed cry, covering his smile with his hand as Ace righted himself. He turned back to Kit, all charm replaced by a sheepish smile and heavy flush down to his chest that had Kit’s heart turning to mush.

“Guess that didn’t really… go well, huh?”

“No,” Kit disagreed, still giggling as he lowered his hand. “No, I think it worked exactly how you wanted it to.”

Ace pouted as he readjusted his hat where it had fallen askew. “But I wanted a kiss.”

With a smile Kit walked past, flicking the string of his cap up to Ace’s nose as he did. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you back in your body eventually. I’ve got a lead.”

“Wait—really?!” Perking up much like an excited dog, Ace cheered and ran to give Kit a giant hug.

Only to fall flat on his face as he, once again, went right through. Kit’s laughter was heard all the way up to the sundeck.