#the ice cream machine is broken fool

[thegodsdemise]

You dare listen to me, THE GOD OF WAR!?!

[writtenonreceipts]

Will you write a part 2 of a chain, a box, a lie where they get back together?

Fixed it for you, sorry to leave you hanging for so long.  Part One is here.

May still be a bit angsty. I’m not sure how I feel about this one but oh well….at least I didn’t go with the version where someone had to die to get them back together.  Seriously, I wrote three different versions of how this would go aaaaand still not satisfied with it... enjoy?

#

Fools in Love

The bed was too large. Too large, too cold, too empty.

Aelin rolled onto her side and glanced at the alarm clock barely visible amid a pile of books, chocolate wrappers, and tissues.  Cold red letters blared back at her.  

7:54 am.

It took her a few minutes to orientate herself and try to remember what had woken her up.  It wasn’t until her phone gave a second loud chirp that she realized some idiot was texting her so early on a Saturday.

Groaning, Aelin fumbled for her phone.  Unfortunately, her morning coordination was crap and she ended up knocking it to the ground with a clatter.

At her feet, Fleetfoot gave a loud huff and shifted until her paws were digging into Aelin’s calves. The puppy behaved like a temperamental teenager more often than not.  

By the time she found her phone on the ground, Aelin knew she wasn’t going back to bed.  Instead, she rubbed her eyes and stuffed her feet in her slippers.  Fleetfoot remained blissfully asleep as Aelin shuffled into the kitchen.

Damn dog.

Aelin stretched as she put on the tea pot for some tea and was about to open her phone to read the texts when someone knocked at her door.  She froze.  Who the hell?

She had a pistol stashed in a safe in her room, but that seemed too far away.  Aelin did the only logical thing she could think of grabbed her cast iron skillet settled on the kitchen counter.  No one she knew would be up this early.  Not even her landlord.  

Aelin opened her phone ready to dial the police when she saw the texts.

>>Can we talk?

>>Please?

Another knock came at the door.  

Aelin cursed as she kept her grip on the skillet.  Even if she hadn’t seen the texts or seen his name, she should have known.  Just to be safe she looked through the peephole. Once again, standing just outside her door was Rowan.  Once again, looking like hell.

She knew she would regret it, but Aelin locked her phone and slid the chain from off the door.  As she eased the door open, Aelin could see the surprise register on Rowans face that she’d actually woken up to his texts. Let alone come and open the door to him. But that wasn’t what surprised her. It was how bloodshot his eyes were. It was the circles brewing beneath those eyes and how that intensely passionate gleam had been snuffed out.

“Rowan,” she whispered. His name on her lips was hard to hear. She felt her heart cinch painfully at it, but figured cursing at him wouldn’t be helpful.

The man merely stared at her as he leaned against the door jam.  It wasn’t raining, which was a small blessing, so he was dry this time.  But his hair was still a mess, his clothes still rumpled.

He merely stared at her with tired eyes and a tired body.  It seemed to be a miracle that he was still standing.

“I didn’t text you back.” She couldn’t keep her own exhaustion from her voice as she spoke.

Rowan exhaled sharply and cursed. “I know.  I’m sorry, I was already on my way over here and I wasn’t thinking and—” He let himself trail off.  A small spark of hope flickered in his eyes. “You can tell me to get out when ever and I’ll listen.”

It took her a moment, but Aelin finally nodded and stepped aside. “Come in.”

Rowan did.  And as he stepped around her, he noticed the skillet she still held.

“Are you going to beat me with that?” he asked.

She scowled at the amusement in his voice. “I’m thinking of it, considering you woke me up at eight in the morning.  On a Saturday.”

He at least at the decency to look abashed.  

A part of her wondered if she was being stupid to let this happen.  To let him in and either talk or stare or yell.  Whatever they ended up doing it was stupid.  But then…they were adults.  She was twenty-five and he was twenty-eight.  They could be in the same room together.  They needed to be in the same room together.  Their friend group had merged into one giant conglomerate that they had to get used to one another again.

The apartment was silent as she shut and locked the door behind him.  Aelin didn’t bother looking at him as she headed back to the kitchen and set the skillet back on the counter.  The tea pot began to sputter but Aelin was feeling like she needed something far stronger now.

Running a hand through her hair she looked back to Rowan.  He was still standing in the middle of the entry way hands in his pockets. His leather jacket was open displaying a graphic t-shirt from some grunge band they’d discovered together.

Despite everything, he still looked good.  Aelin hated him for it.  She turned away and started her coffee machine.  Tea would wait for another time.

“What do you want to talk about Rowan?” she asked.  Steeling herself, Aelin turned back to face him.  She leaned against the kitchen counter, ready to lunge for the skillet if need be.  She knew however Rowan wouldn’t hurt her.  She just wanted to make sure she would be able to cause some damage if he pissed her off enough.

He ran a hand through his hair and looked anywhere but at her.

It stung.  That reaction.  She knew she’d broken his heart.  She’d broken her own too.  But it was better.  It was better to walk away from those feelings because honestly, who the hell would want her around for so long?  It was only a matter of time before the ball would drop and they would both realize how strange and deranged their relationship was.  Ten months be damned.

“We never talked about what happened, Aelin,” he said.  Finally, he locked eyes with her.  Aelin looked away quickly.  She still got shivers hearing him say her name.  So carefully, so gently.

“We did—” she tried to speak, but Rowan cut her off.

“And I don’t mean the fight we had and the words we threw at each other,” he said.  His words cut right over hers with some of the same passion he’d once had.  Aelin couldn’t bare to see if his eyes were just as bright. “I mean about what happened with us.”

It was Aelin’s turn to look anywhere but him.  She focused on the space behind him, to the wall where she used to keep a framed picture of them together.  It was tucked beneath her bed because she’d been up most of last night crying over it. But she would not admit to that. It was her fault after all that they’d broken up.

“I just want to talk.” He sounded helpless enough that Aelin had to look at him.  His eyes were desperate, almost pleading as he looked at her.  The usual short hair cut he had was growing out enough that his bangs flopped in his face making him appear younger than he really was.

“We did talk,” Aelin said. She ran a hand through her hair and silently cursed herself.  She was wearing his damned shirt like an idiot.  Hell, she couldn’t have put on a sweatshirt?

“Aelin,” Rowan said exasperated.  Whenever he got frustrated like this he began pacing and today was no exception.  He didn’t walk towards her, but rather to the couch and back, his footsteps heavy on the floor. “I want to talk about us. I want to talk about how you told me that you could do this anymore and that it was over.  And nothing else.  What am I supposed to do with that?  How am I supposed to get over you based on that?”

The back of her eyes burned, but Aelin wouldn’t let him see her tears.  She’d cried enough over this the past several weeks.  Talking about it wouldn’t help.  Talking about it would only reveal the truth and the truth was an ugly, wretched thing.

“I need coffee,” she muttered.  

Without looking up, she went to the coffee pot and pulled a cup to the brim.  She took a long sip without her usual additives.  All she really needed was the rush of caffeine.  Something to clear her head and help her think. The bitter roast of the coffee beans certainly helped with that.  Who the hell drank a blend this dark?

As soon as she had the thought, she realized that this must have been left over from Rowan’s stash that he’d kept here.

Aelin cursed and set the cup aside. “So, I’m supposed to be responsible for why you can’t move on?  I’m responsible for your own misery?”

She knew of course that it was her fault.  She loved him and still ended it.  She loved him and still walked away.  

“Ten months together Aelin,” Rowan said.  He stopped pacing now and stepped toward her. “I deserve more than that.  We deserve more than a few sentences and shouted words. I have to believe that.”

There was too much Aelin wanted to say.  Too much she could say.  But saying it wouldn’t make any of this better.

Scrubbing a hand over her eyes and the tears forming there, Aelin faced him full on. “We were working so much, too far apart and…and I just couldn’t…we just—”

“We just weren’t good together?” he finished for her, a disbelieving sort of smile on his mouth.

Even though he didn’t know those were the same words she’d pretended she would say to him—it still cut her to the core to hear them.  We’re just too good together.

Her lip wobbled.

“You were never good at being honest with me,” Rowan observed, “even at our best, I always knew you were holding something back.  Keeping something hidden.”

Aelin had to bite down on her lower lip, but she knew it was too late, knew he could already see her breaking.  

In the living room, the infomercials continued to play.  Aelin could think back to one day early on in their relationship when she’d taken a sick day because her period had been miserable and she could barely move. Rowan had come over as soon as she’d texted him that she wasn’t feeling well.  He’d come fully prepared with a heating pad, chocolate, and ice cream. They spent the day on her couch watching these same stupid infomercials.  Laughing over the poor acting, the strange products.  Simply together.

Aelin swallowed stiffly. “Rowan,” she began, her voice sounding wounded to her own ears that she needed to pause.  Because how could any of this be made better?  How could she take back what she said?  How could they come back from this?

“Can you blame me for being scared?” she finally said.  The words weren’t the ones she really wanted to say but as soon as they were out, she couldn’t stop. “Scared of everything about us, about you?  I’m terrified by how I feel about you, how I’ve always felt about you.  Because I’ve never…I don’t…”

Aelin trailed off uselessly. There was no stopping the tears in her eyes, falling down her cheeks.  Between Sam and Chaol and a brief interlude with Dorian—the raw all-consuming emotions that she had with Rowan were utterly new and different. And she wasn’t lying when she said she was terrified of it.  She was so, so tired of lying.  Even if it led to more misery.

Aelin didn’t notice when he came towards her.  She barely registered it through her tears until he was right before her, his hands ghosting trails up her arms, slow and careful.  When he began wiping the tears from her cheeks, Aelin nearly yanked away from him.  Or fell into his arms.  She didn’t know which.  

Which was worse?  The weakness of him seeing her like this? Or the weakness of being a sobbing wreck?

“Fireheart,” Rowan whispered.  So close. He was close enough that she could smell him.  That glorious scent of pine and snow mixed with the fresh tang of sunlight.  One of his hands moved to cup her chin, tilting her face up just enough to look directly into her eyes.

Through her tears, Aelin could make out the concern on his face.  She could just see the twisted frown of his lips, the pained look of his eyes.  That look sent a pulse of her own pain through ever nerve in her body.  Aelin shivered and squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’ve never been more scared in my life,” Rowan said to her silence.  Her eyes flew open at the words and locked onto his gaze. “Everything about you, Fireheart, terrifies me.  I keep finding another reason to fall in love with you.  I keep finding another reason to want to be with you.  And I know enough about you past and the other men in your life to get why you’re scared.”

He paused, his eyes flicking away from hers for just a moment.

“But,” he continued, “I’m not them.  And I don’t want to leave you.  I don’t want to run when things get hard.  I’ve always loved you.  And I always will.”

The admission sent a rush of warmth through Aelin.  Damn him. Damn this man before her who knew everything about her and loved her still for it.  She could hear it in his words, the tremble of his voice.  How sincere he was.

His hands still cupped her face and Aelin reached up to grip his wrists with her hands, desperate to keep him there.  Releasing a shaky breath, Aelin, bowed her head and stepped closer until her forehead bumped into his chest.  

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She looked up at him ready again to apologize and say something else about what an idiot she was.

Rowan however, kissed her.

His lips were soft, a whisper against hers.  And much like his words from when he first came in, the touch echoed the same sentiment. I’ll leave if you ask.

Screw that.

Aelin surged on her toes and kissed him with greater force.  She ran her hands up his arms, cupping his neck and pulling him closer, closer.  Because really, she was a fool to have let him go in the first place.

When Rowan pulled back, Aelin was more than ready to follow him, the heady need in her body not yet satiated.  The cocky smile growing on Rowan’s mouth though almost had her smacking him.

He sobered though. “I’m sorry, too.”  She furrowed her brow at him and he continued. “For throwing too much at you, for not talking sooner and making sure you were okay with what I was asking.”

Aelin curled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.  She pressed her forehead against his and breathed deeply.  The words were on the tip of tongue.  Words that had felt like acid on her tongue for weeks now.

“Rowan,” she said, enunciating ever syllable, “I love you.”

He smiled a heart-breaking smile as he looked down at her.  He paused a moment, his hands running down to the hem of the shirt she wore.

“Is this my shirt?”

Aelin gave him a blank look. “You’re still not getting it back.”

“That’s fine by me,” he said and kissed her again.

#

Gah. Hope this heals your wounded hearts, dears.  Not my fave, but oh well…

I’ve got another ask that is giving me a hard time, but I promise to the anon who sent it in, I am working on it.  I’m going to work on my Cursebreaker fic next and hopefully have something ready soon.

As always, my ask box and messages are always open for whatever, prompts or just to talk. Thanks y’all.

tags:

@tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire  @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Prologue: History

Characters: OFC (Shane Benton), OMC (Elliott Thomas)

Summary: Shane Benton is a hard-working physical therapist and a loving girlfriend…but her boyfriend has a less than desirable way of showing it.

In case you’ve fallen behind or want to read more of my drabbles!

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings:  Language, mature themes, angst, infidelity, domestic violence (moderate). Yeah, this may be a tad rough for some readers, but I tried to be mild, and mostly implicit. It was hard still, to see my fictional offspring go through this, even if she gives as good as she gets!

Author’s Note: Oh, y’all. When I needed a break from the sweet tenderness of Chapter 8, I came here and put Shane through some hell. (You can blame one of my friends I was talking about for this angst as they’re the one who put me into angsty headspace by cheating on my other friend! It’s been weighing on me! But I guess at least I’ve been able to use it!) I really hope you enjoy a bit of backstory on our heroine! I really liked writing her ferocity.

Also, I meant to have this posted yesterday, but because of some tragedy in one of my other fandoms (and the world, in general! Rest In Power, Chadwick Boseman!) and a bit of craziness in my personal life (my HS bestie wanted to hang out this weekend, so I spent a lot of time with her…also…I’ve been talking to a real live fella! OMG! And it’s entirely too soon to say that I like him, but like…I very much do…but he’s far away and recently single and things are complicated in just, several ways, so it just can’t happen at this point. But…like, we have been talking a ton recently, and…sigh. I have found it difficult to focus on the matters at hand. But, rest assured, I’m working on Chapter Nine, and it will be up just as soon as I find my rhythm!

Disclaimer: Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism. (Well, this isn’t a super fun chapter, I guess!)

Tags: 

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland

@speakerforthedead0

@tumblnewby

@suavechops

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! (Also, if you’ve asked and aren’t on the list...well...that would be because I forgot to add you and reminding me will not offend or upset me. I think I might have ADD, or something, and being reminded about things is kind of how I survive!) Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X

5 years ago-

Shane got home from work, exhausted. The new electronic documentation system they'd just implemented was kicking her ass. And Anita's, whom she constantly had to help with it, all the while hearing Anita bellow "When can I retire?!" which lost its charm on about the third day.

"Elliott, I'm home." She didn't smell anything cooking, despite the fact that she knew he was off all day today. Whatever. She was used to him doing virtually nothing but whatever hipster bullshit he got up to on Instagram and YouTube, trying to get off the ground as an influencer with a brand…spare her. Since when did that become a job? She didn’t mind to get takeout though, if only she knew he wasn’t cooking. Maybe she should have asked. "Honey, I could have picked something up if--" she was startled by him in the doorway to the hall, in only his anime boxers, looking like he was trying to not be surprised she was home. "What?"

"Nothing, just…excited to see you! How was your day?" Elliott asked, scratching the back of his neck, displacing his mid-length, slightly moppy light brown hair, already disheveled. That was his tell. Something was up. She knew it.

"What's going on? Are you hiding something from me?"

"Why would you ask me that? Don't you trust me, baby?!" he guilted. Knowing just the buttons to push for empathy. It wasn't gonna work today. The machine was all out of that selection and full of his bullshit currency.

"Now that you mention it, no. I sure as hell don't." she walked around to enter the hall and investigate the rest of the house. "Let me through." he wouldn't budge. He had the advantage of physical size, but she was still wearing her work uniform including sneakers…he was more than half naked. She stomped hard on his instep and smacked him in the ear as he doubled over. She felt marginally bad for that in the moment…at best he'd get mild tinnitus for a while. At worst, he could have permanent hearing damage. She'd check later for blood coming out of his ear and see if she should feel worse about it then.

She rounded the corner to their bedroom. The quilt her grandma had made her was carelessly crumpled with the top sheet and blanket at the foot board. She noticed a swatch of an orangey red lipstick on her pillow. The same shade smudged onto the full mouth of the panicking strawberry blonde frantically donning clothes in front of her antique mirror, and the same shade, she was guessing, that was smeared across certain places on Elliott’s body that were now covered by those boxers that she had always hated. You know what, Elliott, she thought to herself. Fuck Bleach, and fuck you!

"I'm sure you're a lovely person who's just been lied to by a very charming and manipulative man, but…you still only have ten seconds to get to my front door before I call the cops." Shane threatened the girl, who couldn't have been more than twenty-one…and he was thirty-three.

"She's my guest." Elliott defended.

"You're not even on the lease. Your credit was too bad." she said over her shoulder while still squared off with the girl. She turned back to her. "I'm trying to be calm here, sweetie. But do not make me tell you even one more time to get out of my…fucking…house." the girl picked up her shoes and a small messenger bag from the floor near where Shane stood, keeping as wide a berth as she could, and skittered out of the room in terror.

"How many times, Elliott?"

"Don't do this, Shane."

"No, I think this is something we should do. Count the times you’ve broken my trust. Kissed another girl, fooled around with one, fucked one…I mean…I've never caught you in our bed before, so this LOOKS like a first…I sure hope it is…because I don't recall you doing any laundry since you've lived here. And if I thought you let me sleep in the same sheets that you…I can't even look at you, you son of a bitch."

"It's not what you think, Shane." he said, calmly, as if he'd simply picked up the wrong consistency of peanut butter from the store. The wrong brand of milk. Not that he ever did the shopping.

"Bullshit. Bull. Shit. Elliott. I come home and find you like this, and there's a girl in OUR bedroom, and her lipstick is all over MY pillow, and your balls, no doubt. Not gonna make you prove it, because at this point, I don't give a shit anymore. I've lost count of how many times I've forgiven you, even times you didn't care enough to ask me to. Times you probably don't even know that I know about. But it's done. You're gonna pack up all your things. And you're gonna be gone by the time I get home from work tomorrow. And don't expect me to be late…because I will not be."

"You're acting crazy. You can't do this. Where will I go, Shane?"

"That's not my concern anymore. Find an apartment that accepts Likes and subscriptions and followers as rent and cherish it. But your free ride here is done. I'm not your mom, your maid, your cook, or…anything to you anymore, Elliott."

He was getting angry now. His nostrils flared and his breaths came more quickly.

"Is this because you're fucking another guy? Hmm?" he got in her space, but she was out of the bedroom and back into the hallway. She shouted back.

"Oh, NOW you're gonna try to deflect this onto me? When in holy hell would I have time to get with anyone but you, when we don't even have sex anymore?! It's been, what, two, three months?"

"You work with guys."

"You have no idea who I am. To think that I would do something like that. No idea at all. If I don't have time at home, I certainly don't have time for sex at work, and you can ask any of my coworkers, male OR female. That place is an unsexy, unholy shit show 90% of the time. And the other ten, it's just above bearable."

"Well, I'm still not going anywhere."

"You are. Like I said. You're not on the lease. And all I have to do is call the landlord and tell him you're here without my permission and he'll have the cops here." she had gotten a glass of water…although she needed something stronger, and was standing by the sink with it. Her mouth was getting dry. She couldn't take much more of this without breaking.

"You wouldn't really do that to me though. I'm the only man who can give you what you want." he grabbed her by the arm, hard.

"Let go of me, Elliott."

"Or what." he asked for it. She got the other instep, his groin, and threw water in his face. She grabbed her purse and bolted out the door.

She got quickly on the phone with Heather her closest friend who had recently been hired on as a secretary for her clinic.

"Yello." she said, cheerful.

"Two things: can I crash at your place tonight and what kind of phone do you have?" she asked.

"Yes and a Galaxy something, I dunno, but what the fresh hell are you talking about?"

"I'll explain when I get there. I’m on my way to CVS for some essentials. Do you need anything?"

"Sounds like we need wine and ice cream!"

"Already on the list." She thanked Heather and hung up, calling her landlord.

“This’s Sam.” She heard over the receiver.

“Sam, I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a situation at the house.”

“What’s goin’ on?” He asked concerned. She’d never rented from anyone so kind. He’d become almost family. Like an uncle.

“Long story short, pest control. I’m kicking Elliott out and he has until the time I get home from work tomorrow. I told him you’d be there with the cops if he didn’t comply because he’s not on the lease. Is there any way you can help me and make that good?”

“He hurt ya, Shane?”

“Not, umm…not physically.” Although she had been rubbing the place on her arm where he’d grabbed her, certain there would be a bruise.

“That’s all I need to know. I’ve got a buddy or two on the squad here in town. I’m sure they won’t mind to help me out. You need anything?”

She held back the tears until she could hang up. “I’m staying over at a friend’s tonight and headed into CVS now for a few things I didn’t take time to grab after I kneed him in the groin and ran out.” She had just pulled into the parking lot.

“Well I’m nearby if you need anything when you’re back home.”

“Thanks. I guess just watch for smoke from the place for now. I don’t know what he might do, honestly.”

Up Next: Prologue: Onset of Injury (Sy)

[mintchocolatechipnut]

icarus | takami keigo

Note: I first posted this on Ao3, you can find it here. Hawks seems a little OOC here and I Regret That as I reread it but I still liked how it turned out overall. Hope you enjoy!

Tags: ‘Hawks has a crush!’ drabble, reader works at the same agency, possibly OOC Hawks, slow burn, fluff galore, overly generous use of italics

Word count: 2.4k

It’s just moments before he has to leave for patrol, but as Hawks hangs around in the lobby of his agency that fact momentarily leaves his mind when he catches sight of you, with your perpetual smile. You’re at the reception desk, back ramrod straight, fashion impeccable as you greet clients, your eyes lighting up as they regale you with their latest anecdote. Hawks could have been fooled, if he hadn’t known you since the three years he and you began working here, him nineteen and you looking a little older. Perhaps twenty? Twenty-one?

He knows what you look like on a cloudy Monday morning running late for work, your hair in a frizz due to the humidity in the air and the slightly crumpled hem of your dress shirt peeking coyly atop the waistband of your skirt. He remembers the cup of coffee from the cafe down the block that you clutch in the palm of your hand precariously as you shuffle into the building, bidding a hasty ‘good morning’ and letting a look of pure relief grace your face when you spy the clock ticking three minutes to eight.

The you that he sees that’s not for customers is, sadly, also seen by most of his colleagues. They know you’re the entertainment fairy of the agency; despite your calm and collected looks, you’re really the life of the party at functions, always ready to go ham on the karaoke machine and take the dance floor with some killer moves. It’s led to a lot of love for you as one of the youngest in the agency, aside from him, and how the atmosphere becomes a little lighter the moment you step into a room.

He’s not going to lie, those three years with you really did a number on him. He’s a willing contractor of your contagious cheer, his heart lifting when the sight of you greets him after a harrowing day of taking down villains. The job’s not always difficult, he admits, but it’s exhausting nonetheless. Sometimes, if you’re not busy, you’d glance up from your seat, your eyes peeking over the edge of the counter, and disarm him with your gaze. Then a smile, and a wave, and you’re back to work. Little do you know those gestures have carved a nice little space for themselves in his mind, but not his heart.

He’s asked himself the question many times, but he’s been warned many times more. About how it is when you give your heart away to someone who might never understand the workings of a pro hero, or to someone who understands because of their own experiences, but in return you’re never fully guaranteed of their safety out in the field. He definitely has hero acquaintances who’re happily married, with kids and fur-kids, but the stories that echo in his brain whenever he looks at you are those of broken bonds, severed ties and loved ones lost. And then he remembers how pretty you look with that smile on your face, and knows he wouldn’t want anything to ever risk its existence.

But is it too much to hope that he might be, at some point of time, the cause of that smile?

He’s shaken out of his reverie when his sidekick calls out to him, having just stepped out of the elevator in time for their patrol. Unconsciously, he takes one last look at your form, now turned away from him as you stand before the photocopier, and his chest vibrates with the murmurs of his heart’s wish for you to turn back for one last glance.

But you don’t, instead your head turning sideways to return a conversation with a coworker, and Hawks finally looks away. The automatic glass doors open up before him as he steps out into the city for another day of work, and the last thought he has before switching into professionalism is how you greet him in a way these glass doors never could.

Hawks has always been one to be in tune with his emotions, but just because he acknowledges them doesn’t mean he needs to act on them, or give in to them.

But as he sits alone in his office, hands tightly balled atop his knees as he heaves through his mouth, he’s tempted to let go. The words Dabi uttered to him feel like they were from eons ago, yet they’re floating afresh in his mind, bouncing off the confines of his brain like echoes as he strains for his own voice to be heard above the din. He’s shaken, no doubt, but heaven forbid that he’s so shaken he loses his balance in the air.

He’s known as the man who goes too fast, but never as the man who flies too high or too low. He’s comfortable where he is, his technique immaculate as he keeps himself airborne. But the drawbacks of being too fast is that without near perfect control you’re prone to crash and burn, and Hawks surmises that he’s close to that end when he’s never once slowed down enough to confront the feelings collecting dust and despair inside his heart. The mental strain the undercover mission has on him weighs on his conscience like gravity, and suddenly he’s falling, and his wings don’t open up fast enough, he’s not fast enough—

And then the sound of his name in your voice envelopes him like a safety net and grounds him gently, instead of the splat to the earth that he’d seen as imminent just seconds ago. He looks up from where he’s sitting to see your eyes scan over his hunched figure, and he prays you can’t see the sweat beading the sides of his neck or the whiteness of his knuckles in his lap. He watches as your brows knit together, your stare once sweet now laced with worry, and he curses internally that he’s not able to put you at ease in his condition. Smiles come as easy to him as they do you, so why is it so hard to muster one now?

He barely hears the click-clack of your heels as you make your way over to him. All at once his brain is firing off warning signals, his head is ringing with alarms. No, don’t come near, don’t get near me, the sirens blare, don’t see me like this—

A carton of juice is placed on the glass tabletop before him, and his gaze slowly traces up your fingers to your face. He wants to remove his gold-tinted glasses to convince himself you’re not as perfect as he perceived, but at the same time your light is so blinding he’s afraid that if he sees you in your full glory he’ll burn.

But you’re still perfect in his vision, though the edges of your mouth don’t quite reach your cheeks as you put on your trademark smile, and are you faltering? It’s the first time he’s ever seen it, and yet you look prettier still. Hawks wonders if you're not accustomed to sadness, you with your eternal grin. Wonders if, for all the cheering up you do, you lack in comforting and sympathizing, but then he realizes that's such a rude thing to assume.

“It’s been a long day, huh?” He spies the stray strands of hair plastered against your damp forehead, as you walk away from him towards the windows, where you start to draw the blinds. “You can stay here if you want, but I’d really like to lock up soon.” When you turn to him again, your smile no longer wavers. Your gaze does, though, and it's enough to prove his earlier theory wrong. "I also think you should get some rest."

That precarious position he holds while airborne is threatened immediately by the sun in your smile, your laugh, your heart, and he finds himself falling to the sea below, instantly relishing the feeling of air through his feathers and the coolness the water’s about to grant to his scorching skin. But oh no, oh dear— the sea is also you, the deep expanse of your arms and chest welcoming like that of a siren's song, while your eyes threaten to rob him of the lift in his wings.

He knows the League of Villains was a force to be reckoned with, but you are a whole new danger altogether.

It’s the first and last time Hawks would ever let you see him as… well, ‘vulnerable’ is what most people like to call it. ‘Less than best’ is what he tells himself instead.

He couldn’t call your relationship that of friends, since you’ve never had to speak to him more than the occasional small talk and necessary work matters. However, he couldn’t call you an acquaintance either, when he bumps into you in a convenience store one weekend and immediately watches your countenance brighten.

You greet him first with a sunny smile on your face, but he’s delighted to see that it came with a messy bun and sweatpants that signal you were in your most comfortable state. As he stands behind you in line as to not obscure your view of the signs overhead, displaying the prices for an ice cream cone, he’s locked onto the sight of your frame, the loose baby hairs sweeping across your nape, and he wonders how it’d feel to envelop that frame with his own, to let his own hair tickle that nape—

His silent beration of himself for having these thoughts come to a standstill when you move out of the periphery of his vision to let him make his purchases. Instantly, regret washes over him that you have to leave so soon, that the one time he’s managed to see you out of work you’re gone so quickly. So imagine his shock when he finds you waiting near the doors, your purchases in a bag on your arm while you hold two ice cream cones in hand.

He doesn’t know what good deeds he’d done to bring this on, but he’s not questioning this: walking side by side with you, ice cream cone in hand as you both make your way down the street towards the station. You apologize that you’d been presumptuous in getting him ice cream, and he’s taken with how the corners of your eyes crinkle in mirth when he dismisses it with a laugh. He's enjoying the ride home, even misses his own stop under the pretense of ensuring safe passage home to a well-meaning civilian. And when you reach the front door of your apartment, ice cream gone from your hand a long time ago, he wonders if you'll ask him to stay.

But you don't, instead thanking him and telling him to rest well and have a good evening, Hawks. And before he can stop himself, he utters, "Keigo. Keigo is fine."

A beat, then another. They're loud and thundering before he realizes that they're echoing through his eardrums. Gritting his teeth, he forces himself to look up.

"Okay." Your voice lilts from the doorway, and—he really wants to know where you get all these dazzling grins from, so that he can bottle some up for a rainy day. "Have a good evening, Keigo."

Suits don’t suit him. Obviously they hinder his wings, but the stuffiness of wearing them often makes him wish he was on patrol instead, soaring through the sky while feeling the wind whip his clothes.

But here he is, in a tailored suit where the starch of his collar digs into his neck hard enough for him to consider laying off the chicken nuggets this month. Besides the stuffiness of the suit itself, the air where he’s at is downright suffocating, though the ceilings are high and the chandeliers glisten in magnificence above his head. He can feel the thin film of sweat forming across the skin beneath his tight, layered clothing, and he wonders how he hasn’t gotten used to this, after all the charity balls and hero galas he’s had to attend.

Perhaps today will be different, he thinks. Today is his agency’s tenth anniversary, and there’d been a function thrown together for it. Of course today is different, he realizes—you’ll be here. That fact is enough for him to inhale deeply and step into the grand ballroom, and really, it’s not hard to spot you.

There you are in the middle of the room next to the refreshments, a vision in your dress as you hold a flute of champagne between your fingers. It’s a stark contrast from how you hold your coffee cup on work mornings, and all of a sudden he realizes he’s been holding his breath. You’re talking wistfully to a bunch of colleagues at work, and your polished appearance makes him forget how much more frazzled you’ve looked the past few days while planning for this occasion with the rest of the events team. Where strands of your hair would have been sticking up in all directions sits an elegant braid pinned to your head, while the rest of your hair cascades past your bare shoulders like shimmering waterfalls. The demure smile on your face belies the pallor of your complexion where lack of sleep is evident, but you’re beautiful, even if in a vampire sort of way. Hell, you’re beautiful no matter what.

You’re absolutely magnetic, and he’s drawn into the whirlpool that is your presence as he takes a shaky step across the floor towards you. He’s all too aware of the rapidly pulsing heart inside his too-tight chest, the heart that holds a million wishes just for you.

But he's done wishing and wondering. He's done hearing the voices that tell him he's too fast, or not fast enough, or that he's in trouble. Your name leaves his lips like a prayer, a desire given form and shape for just having been spoken, and Hawks watches as you turn. He feels your face brighten before he sees it.

His heart alights when your mouth moves in tandem with the letters in his name, his first name, and he shifts his gaze to eyes that disarm him once more. Instantly he knows those eyes will disarm him as long as he lets them (as long as it’s you).

He’s falling, but god, has he ever felt so free—

[thirstystarkey]

PARTNERS IN CRIME OR LOVERS? • RAFE CAMERON

I said you look pretty. All strung out on coke You said it's not funny But it wasn't a joke And you won't remember But I carried you home You sat in the shower While I washed off your clothes

Rafe had already thrown up twice in that party, crying out in agony and saying nonsense that was when Kelce and Topper decided it was best to call Y/N to handle the situation, even though Rafe and Y/N had broken up a few months ago she was the only one who could snap Rafe off that hazy state and bring him back. He drank way too much and the alcohol mixed with coke probably harmed him a little which ended up in a terrific hangover in the next day but it didn’t scare Y/N any less when her friends came up to her saying Rafe was all messed up in Topper’s room.

“Again?” She asked, worried, once Kelce explained the situation.

“He is out of it ma.” Kelce said scratching the back of his head, fixing his snapback.

“I’ll go see him.” Y/N shrugged her shoulders placing her beer down in the countertop. “Thanks for letting me know guys.” She patted their shoulders as she walked between Topper and Kelce. “And I’m sorry for him Topper.” She added.

“Nothing new.” Topper laughed.

With a loud sigh she stepped into Topper’s room where Y/N found Rafe laying in the ground, holding a pillow he took from his best friends bed. Rafe was talking to himself in confused mumbles until he saw Y/N, who knelt down to his face, sitting down.

“There you are pretty girl.” He said with a smile, dragging the words with difficulty. He was really out of it. “I missed youuu.” He blew her a kiss. “This isn’t any fun without babyyyyy.”

“Rafe, lets go come on.” Y/N brushed his sweaty hair of his forehead. “Kelce and Topper told me you already threw up twice.”

“Ugh.” Rafe whined rolling into Y/N lap to lay his head on her thighs. “Snitches get stitches!” He screamed closing his hands in a fist, fighting the air.

“Oh my god, what am I gonna do with you.” Y/N said desperate as Rafe kept on rambling nonsense. “We need to get you out of here, troublemaker.” Y/N tried to get up but as soon as she moved his head the only thing she heard beside his complaints was the loud tod of his head banging the ground.

“Autch” Rafe cried out pouting his lips.

“Here, come on big boy.” Y/N giggled watching Rafe struggle to get up on his own.

He was almost a giant beside her but Y/N still hugged his waist firmly to keep him up. He stumble on a few steps of the stairs making Y/N curse as they made their way outside. Rafe insisted on saying goodbye to his best friends trying to slip a few sips of beer which Y/N quickly slapped his hand of the cups.

“We are leaving. Now!” With a serious voice she pulled him outside.

“Uhhh I like it when you talk like that mama.” Rafe whistle making her face turn bright red, sometimes especially when he got this high he forgot they weren’t a couple anymore.

Y/N strapped his seatbelt in place before closing his door and turning the engine of her car on. During the way Rafe changed the song almost hundred times getting impatient, Y/N knew she couldn’t take him back to his home because if Ward saw his son in that state he would freak out and probably beat his ass.

“I’m hungry.” He said turning to her, turning off the radio. “Yo quiero Taco Bell.” He sang.

“You look so pretty.” Y/N laugh looking at him briefly while she took a turn into her street.

“This isn’t funny Y/N.” Rafe whined once again.

“I have leftovers at my place.” She said parking the car. “You can eat them, and the ice cream.” She added and Rafe rubbed his hands together at the thought of food.

“Do you have that disgusting frozen pizza?” Rafe asked excited towering over Y/N as she unlocked the door to her apartment.

“Keep it down Rafe, people are sleeping!” She said pulling him inside her house, he hadn’t been there in a long time.

She sat him down on the couch before she could run him a cold shower in all hopes that the freezing water could help sobering him a little bit. Once she has everything ready and a change of clothes for him, since Y/N still had dozen of his hoodies and sweats laying around her house, she walked toward the living room where she found a faded Rafe arguing with the television.

“What’s the matter now?” Y/N asked, one hand on her hip.

“I wanna watch netflix.” Rafe answered, words escaping through a large drunken smile.

“What you need is a cold shower.” She said put Rafe nodded no. “Yes you need one, come one, lets go.” Without giving the boy time to argue she pulled him straight up.

Now in the bathroom Y/N tried to beg Rafe not to fall while he was taking of his shirt, ignoring her pleads.

“Wanna join me?” He asked with a smirk on his lips, undoing his belt.

“Rafe!” She said loudly. “No, get in the shower.” She pointed to the bathtub before leaving him alone.

Her cheeks were still bright red from his questions, not that she didn’t want Rafe anymore because she knew she did what she didn’t want was to be a casual faded fuck. Rafe got extremely needy when he got to this point and Y/N had to collect all her willpower not to give in.

Once she heard the water running and Rafe complaining about the coldness she knew she could get his dirty clothes from the bathroom, so she did, slowly walking making sure it was safe and grabbing his disposed clothes.

“I know you are there.” Rafe laughed, poking his head through the end of the curtain.

“Hurry up, you need to eat something and sleep it off.” She warned walking out.

“Okay mommy.” Rafe joked once the door was closed again.

Y/N let out a big sigh and made her away to the laundry to put his dirty clothes in the washing machine, pressing some buttons and after a couple seconds it was spinning, Y/N leaned into it thinking about the all situation, her parents weren’t the biggests fans of having Rafe alone in her house with their daughter, but Y/N ignored them. Her friends also warned her about him which she tried to play cool saying “that’s what friends do” even though she knew friends didn’t act like they did.

Everything was a mess but she felt a strange wave of serenity rushing over her once she heard Rafe’s voice again, calling out for her.

“You still have this?” He asked pointing at the hoodie.

“Of course I do, what did you expected me to do? Throw it out of the window?” The girl giggled open the freezer, to grab the pizza Rafe asked for in the car.

“I thought you’d get rid of my clothes.” He confessed with a frown.

“But they’re comfy.” Y/N stated obviously while the pizza spinned inside the microwave.

Rafe had a slight smile on his cheeks, he was still pretty faded but not to much to the point of being a chaotic mess. His fell into his forehead smoothly and his black sweats along with the grey hoodie made him look ten times even more cuddly than he already was.

Y/N gave him a plate with three generous slices of pizza and a cup of orange juice, once he was comfortable in the couch she sat beside him, opening netflix letting him chose something.

“Want some?” He asked, politely, offering her.

“No, I’m good thanks Rafe.” Y/N smiled at his gesture.

“He should watch Resident Evil.” He pointed at the screen with a mouth full.

“Again?” Y/N laughed, it seemed like they’d always watch those movies together.

“It’s tradition babyyy” Rafe said and eventually she ended up playing it.

When he was done eating Rafe got up to place the plates into she sink even though Y/N told him he didn’t have to, she didn’t want him to fall or anything, he came back to the couch laying down in the free seats with his head on her lap, Y/N smelled the fresh shampoo on his hair giving her a huge urge to play with his hair.

“Can you massage my head?” Rafe looked at her, almost like he read her mind.

Y/N automatically started to play with his hair, massaging his scalp in pleasant patterns which made Rafe moan softly at her touch he so dearly craved. A few hours passed by and Rafe was fast asleep but Y/N was wide awake looking at him, making sure he was fine and also admiring his soft features.

When Rafe slept he’d always look so peaceful, his face looked relaxed and his hair looked extremely soft. The calm breaths leaving his body making his chest move slightly, it was a sight to see. Y/N loved when Rafe was calm and out of trouble, even if he wasn’t her boyfriend anymore. Which lead her into thinking if someone walked towards her front door and saw them like these what would they think of them? Would they think they were lovers or partners in crime? Would they think they were just friends? Maybe fools? She couldn’t stop thinking about that and she wondered was he thinking the same? Was he dreaming of her? Was Rafe dreaming about when he one night begged his girlfriend to leave everything behind and run away from Outer Banks to start fresh somewhere no one knew them, what was he dreaming about? She questioned herself as she kept on playing with his hair, carressing his face.

Tag list 💞

@koufaxx @majoroof @thatsonobx @starkeybaby @this-is-bigger-than--us @tomzfrog @alotbnouf @jj-maybank-stan @jellyfishbeansontoast @rafecamerondeservesbetter @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @tembo-ndoto @poguebx @k-k0129 @kieinred @obxmxybxnk @lcil123 @fandom-phaser @sexualparkour @myrandom-fandomlife @lasnaro @sw-eat-ing @kiarascarreras @jjswhore @milamaybank @downbytheouterbanks @write-from-the-heart @justcallmesams @annedub @drizzlethatfalls @tovvaf @drewswannabegirl @whoreforouterbanks @newhopenessie @maybebanks @poguesrforlife @shawnssongs @wastedheartcth @rudyypankow @danicarosaline @sc4rlettm @hufflepeople @punkrainbows @obliviatevamps @trustfundparker @annoylinglyaries @sexytholland @5am-cigarette @softstarkey

[volucris-liga]

Okay, the book came out in February so it’s been long enough that i assume anyone who cares about spoilers for Pathfinder’s Quest has already obtained Pathfinder’s Quest, and i have a lot of Excited Thoughts to share so I’m rereading the last chapter and writing some notes. I’ll still put it under a Read More in case anyone is still avoiding spoilers for it, but I figured it’s safe to post now at least.

The majority of this post is probably gonna be about Ash.

This post is also probably very long.

Anyway. Let’s go:

First of all, the Project Iris story stuff starts in 2658. Since the current year is 2733 (maybe 2734 by now? idk) and Horizon came back 87 years after she was left at the black hole, that means she disappeared in 2646-ish. So this is around 12 years after Horizon was lost.

Since the last chapter mentions that Project Iris had been around for 15 years, I went back to Horizon’s chapter to confirm that it was already technically Project Iris before she left (it was, yes), and found this bit: 

“Lilian set me up with a laboratory on Olympus to test my theories and find a solution to the crisis. I brought my whole family there… I miss them.” 

She specifically is talking about more people than just her son. I’m so curious about who Newton’s father is lol, and why it’s only Newton that we see in her Story From the Outlands and the rest of her lore.

Okay now I’m finding more stuff in Horizon’s chapter, i’m glad i went back to reread this too.

“Years and years went by with nothing. Financiers were getting impatient; Lilian was kind about it, but I knew even she was doubting in me. My own assistant thought I was failing.” 

Whiiich means before they discovered Branthium, Reid already had sort of an antagonistic thing toward Horizon and didn’t trust that she could succeed at the project (though, as seen shortly, Horizon didn’t realize how bad it was). I’m guessing she was resentful that Horizon was getting all the recognition for the project and she was always seen as her assistant, not an equal scientist on the project. 

And then there’s this bit:

Horizon: “My assistant, Dr. Reid, joined me on my mission.” Path: “The one who thought she was better than you?” Horizon: “Aye. Didn’t know it then, though. She was a good friend. We were close. Came to dinner with my family. Even babysat my son a few times. That’s why it’s so hard to ken what happened…”

Oof. I’ll come back to this point later; there’s some stuff about Newton in the last chapter that’s important. 

As a side note, I think Horizon didn’t know a lot of the people in Project Iris, and most of them were recruited after she was already gone -- she’s not able to tell Pathfinder much about the group that actually solved the energy crisis. 

Anyway, moving on. I appreciate that Reid’s first name is Ashleigh, lol, makes sense why she’s called Ash as a simulacrum later.

I really like that even in this storyline there’s connections to the other legends -- Wattson’s grandmother, Amélie Paquette, and Gibraltar’s grandfather, Aleki Gibraltar, are both on the team. There’s a bunch of other scientists as well, but as far as I can tell they’re all new for this lore with no prior connections. 

There’s a scene where yet another experiment with refined Branthium fails, and Reid calls out Amélie for it -- “Your plan was wrong from the start. I pointed that out, must have been, twenty times?” Reid is clearly quick to judge others’ ideas and shut people down (and has been all along, like when she thought Horizon would fail before the discovery of Branthium). Reid and Amélie also reeeeeaaallly don’t get along. 

There’s this exchange:

‘“Excuse me? And what have you done, Reid?” Paquette pressed, moving face to face with Reid. “Besides stand by and critique our every move while ze rest of us do all ze work. Is zis how you treated Somers?”  “You’re not half the scientist she was.” Reid smirked.’

Even though she was resentful of Horizon, enough so to betray her, she did apparently respect her more than she does the rest of this group, which i think is interesting. She also just… really hates Amélie.

And then there’s Newton!!! aaaaa!!! I love that he’s an intern for the group now that he’s a teenager. And his personality is adorable. 

Newton finds something that none of the rest of them saw, which is that someone needs to be in the refinery to continuously recalibrate the process. Which is impossible. Aaaand then it’s Reid, of all people, who comes up with the idea to reprogram a MRVN robot to do it. Which is painfully ironic, given what happens later.

While they’re trying to figure out how to actually do the MRVN thing, Reid mentions that she has contacts at Hammond Robotics. I’m assuming Hammond are the ones who eventually rebuild her as a simulacrum (though for all I know that’s been confirmed somewhere and I’ve forgotten. I have trouble keeping all the corporations and factions straight in my head, and i’ve barely played any Titanfall, rip). They’re definitely the ones who made Revenant (which has already happened by this point in the lore). 

All the scientists putting part of their personality into Pathfinder is just so good. Especially cause of Newton; I love that it’s Newton’s influence that has Path being so friendly to everyone. Please give us in-game voicelines between Horizon and Pathfinder next season, now that Pathfinder knows Newton was one of his creators.

Aaaand here we go, stuff about Newton. Reid obviously helped raise him after his mom was gone. I wonder if she ever felt guilty about what she did to Horizon? A few interactions that Hurt:

‘Paquette paused and looked at the MRVN. “He’s our fail-safe.”  “Whatever… I’ve got other work to do. Let me know when you’re done fooling around,” Reid huffed as she stormed out of the lab.  “Should I go after her?” asked Newton. ��She seems sad.”’

-

‘“A lot of what I have to offer is what my mom had, and I think most of that’s already in here, but there’s one thing that was always important to Mom: she loved her friends. It’s important to me, too. You’re all my friends. But especially you, Dr. Reid.” Newton looked over at her. “You were always there for my mom. Just like this MRVN is going to be there for the Outlands.” Reid did her best to smile, but it ended up as more of a quick nod.  “Thanks,” she said hesitantly.’

I appreciate that Amélie is suspicious of what happened to Horizon. Like, Reid managed to fool most people, but not everyone.

‘As Stay started to pack up the tools, Paquette joined her. “I’m assuming you added some precautions to ze program in case anything was to ‘appen,” she whispered. “He can’t be hacked, if that’s what you’re askin’, P,” Stay assured her as she packed away a welder. “Zat’s not what I’m talking about.” Paquette’s expression showed a deep look of concern and hesitation. “You really don’t trust her, do you?” “Do you? Somers was ze best astrophysicist in ze entire Frontier. It doesn’t make any sense what happened to her. Ze stories don’t add up. I just want to make sure we cover all our bases.”’

More of Ash’s voicelines from the Broken Ghost quest! I thiiiiink this is almost all of them covered now, if not all?

Path says “Who doesn’t like ice cream? Every kid likes ice cream!” when he first wakes up.

Delgado says “All roads lead to Branthium!”

Reid herself says “Fail-safe, fail-safe, who’s got the fail-safe?” during the whole big Thing at the end.

When Reid betrays everyone to try to divert the first Branthium shipment through the Phase Runner to the IMC, both she and Newton disappear from the party first. And she and Amélie have this conversation:

“I knew it. I knew it from ze start. You killed her, didn’t you?” “I did nothing.” “Yeah, right. You killed Somers. You put yourself before every innocent life in ze Outlands.” “Innocent life? Please. The Outlands are filled with nothing but war and greed. No one cares for anyone but themselves. I’m just playing the game.” “Have you told zat to Newton? Where is he?” “He’s not a part of this. Not anymore. I took care of him. Right now, it’s just us.”

So Newton’s fate is a bit uncertain. I’m guessing she got him out of there to save him, actually, which I think is really interesting. 

Anyway, Reid then cuts off Amélie’s hand with a sword cause deactivating the lockdown requires two of the scientists to authorize it. Which I guess explains why Amélie’s arm is in a sling in Pathfinder’s Story From the Outlands video. 

Pathfinder had managed to get out, so Amélie’s able to set the lab to self-destruct with his help. Path’s able to fight the mercenaries and Reid and get to the Phase Runner. And then there’s this that Reid says to Pathfinder:

“No one is your friend. You’re a machine. Nobody cares about machines. Nobody loves machines. You’re no different than that Phase Runner. You’re a MRVN. We use you and turn you off when we’re done. You’re nothing.”

There’s probably a lot she has to work through when she ends up as a simulacrum, oof. 

She almost stops Path, but then gets stabbed in the back with her own sword by Amélie, which is fitting. The mercenaries Reid was working with are attacking so it’s basically impossible for the scientists to escape, but Pathfinder’s able to program the Phase Runner to send the Branthium to all the various Outlands planets instead. And, at their request, to send himself through as well before the self-destruct (and he then eventually wakes up with amnesia). aaaaaa this is so sad

“I don’t want to say goodbye. You’re my friends. I’d be sad without my friends.” “You’ll never be without us. You’ll never be alone.”

I’m assuming that after the explosion, Reid’s body was found and turned into Ash. Also everything about the season 6 comics is so ironic now help. After Hammond Robotics get what they need from her after the Legends find her head, she’s just left behind somewhere deactivated, and Pathfinder finds and rebuilds her. And she has no memory (until Blisk shows up, anyway). So like, it was her idea to create him, and then he completely ruins her plans which leads to her death, and then he saves her life later. Great. When she had no memory and was living with him he called her his girlfriend and everything, he’s gonna be so sad when he finds out who she is, rip.

There’s this bit of dialogue in the intro conversation for the chapter:

Path: “I can’t be weak and the person who killed the people who saved the Outlands.” Blisk: “Heh. Very true, mate. That’s why it wasn’t you.” Path: “Are you sure? How do you know?” Blisk: “Pretty damn sure, because I know ‘em.” Path: “You know my creator?” Blisk: “I know who killed your creator. Or, well… creators.”

This implies that Blisk is fully aware of Ash’s history. Makes sense, and I assumed as much anyway, but given the season 6 comics that means he also absolutely knows that Pathfinder knew Ash and he’s purposefully not telling Pathfinder that Reid and Ash are the same person.

There’s also this part at the end of the chapter:

Blisk: “Oi! One more thing… Did you ever find…? Eh. Forget it.” Path: “What? Did I ever find what?” Blisk: “Actually, I, uh…” Path: “Tell me! Is there more to the story than what was on the chip?” Blisk: “Just one small detail. But why don’t you turn that recorder off. This one’s just between us, eh?” Path: “Okay. You’ll tell me after I turn it off--”

Now, my first thought when first reading this was that it was gonna be about Ash. But I’m sure it’s not, cause in Pathfinder’s last log entry after that he’s very happy and optimistic about finding his creators, and he would have been affected by finding out that Reid was the same person as his missing ‘girlfriend.’ Sooooo I’m still 1) very curious about what Blisk talked about after the recording and 2) very excited for whenever Path finds out the truth about Ash.

On a related note, I am so ready for Horizon finding out about Ash. And to a lesser extent, if Wattson finds out about her grandmother’s role in what happened and her history with Ash (also Gibraltar about his grandfather, but anyway). I’m assuming Ash would know they’re related to her former team, since she’s working for Blisk and likely would know all the basic info about all the legends, including real full names. So Ash interacting with Wattson would be interesting, especially at a point where Ash knows who she is but Wattson doesn’t know about Ash’s history.

Also depending on how things develop with Ash and the other Legends, it’s interesting to think about Loba’s perspective, since it’s technically her fault Ash is back at all. I wanna see a conversation between her and Horizon cause Horizon wasn’t around for the Broken Ghost stuff. Plus, Loba agreed to get everyone to go get the components that turned out to be Ash’s head because in exchange she’d be given the location of Revenant’s source code. With Loba later deciding to send the source code away as revenge instead of killing Revenant, her need for revenge on him is definitely gonna come back to bite her later, now that Revenant’s resolved to destroy everything she loves (maybe he goes after Bangalore?). Horizon’s still definitely very angry at Reid, probably even more so if/when she finds out what Reid did to the Project Iris team, and when she finds out Reid is Ash, well… both she and Loba certainly have strong vendettas against the two simulacrums lol. It’d be neat, though unlikely, if there’s a plotline where Loba ends up facing consequences from the Revenant thing and then because of her own experience she convinces Horizon not to go too far trying to get revenge on Ash.

Oh right there’s also the question of Newton’s messages to Horizon near the end of season 7. He’s still a little kid in those, even in the last one where a future Horizon who got back to him has sent a message to herself. And obviously, that didn’t happen -- Newton’s there, as a teenage intern for Project Iris, and the characters mention his mom being dead multiple times. Soooo then what’s the deal with the messages? I’m thinking there are three options: 1) Horizon eventually going back in time creates an alternate timeline/dimension 2) those messages are for/from a Horizon and Newton in another dimension entirely (look, the Phase Runner is weird, Wraith’s tech is weird, etc.) oooorrrr 3) the messages were faked somehow and are connected to Ash -- some of her voicelines in the Broken Ghost quest were the codes for those messages. 

In conclusion: a a a a a a a a a a

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 183

182

For the next two days, Keith wolfed out at night... then woke the following morning not remembering anything. He still seemed jittery and on edge. Rieva had said he’d finally got the hang of walking, then running, wolf howls filled the night as the three of them did whatever werewolves did. Keith slept most of the day away, Lance removing his clothes from where he’d packed them, trying to make Keith comfortable. This was hard for him. Keith not remembering coming home and being reassured sucked. They hovered in each other’s space but there were no kisses or words of love. Worst of all was when Lance reacted to Keith’s scent. Getting off seemed like such a chore, and never as good as it felt with Keith.

The day after the third night Keith slept like the dead on the sofa. He hadn’t come to Lance’s room. He didn’t use Lance’s bathroom. There was some kind of clear invisible line there that hurt like all hell, driving him into an anxiety attack over the idea they’d never be able to have what they had again. He felt as if he’d cried a river of tears, crying himself to sleep or passing out from not being able to control his breathing, though that was unlikely. With Keith home, Lance had let Hunk and Pidge know not to come around, of course they insisted on seeing Keith as soon as it was safe. Sending them a photo of Keith sleeping on the sofa, Lance let them know tomorrow should be okay in the group chat, Shay wanting to come too. Maybe it was his way of having back up should things blow up with Keith, but he didn’t know how to close this distance on his own. Keith needed everybody to support him right now. To show him they were all just relieved he was awake and alive. He could wait... no matter how much it sucked.

It was near on the middle of the night that Keith finally roused. Lance in the kitchen, indulging in his need for ice cream and watching cat videos on his phone. Stumbling in, Keith went straight for the coffee machine. Some things never changed. He didn’t seem to notice Lance at first, not until he’d poured his cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. Lance nearly getting up to leave, only stopping himself when he realised Keith was staring at him.

Having to say something, Lance took a deep breath, unable to push that fake smile to his lips. Things weren’t okay and a smile wasn’t going to fool anyone

“How are feeling?”

Keith blinked at him, as if he didn’t expect Lance to care and it hurt

“Um... tired. Thanks for letting me stay”

“This is your home too, you know”

“Um... I... uh... feel like we should talk but I don’t know what to say”

“Neither do I. Do you feel better for having had your first moon?”

“Actually, yeah. I don’t feel as short tempered”

“That’s good. That means your ego’s settling”

If someone inserted cricket noises in the silence that followed, it would have been less awkward. They knew how to talk to each other, but both of them seemed to be failing. Keith took a deep sip of his coffee, he must have made it more milk than coffee or he was now impervious to heat. Placing the cup back down, Keith sighed

“I don’t know what to do”

“What are you thinking?”

“Do you still love me?”

Lance answered instantly. Keith was the foundation of his heart, even if he wasn’t too sure how Keith felt about him now

“Yes. That hasn’t changed at all”

“Then do you think we can work this out?”

“I’d like to try... but no pressure. You’re dealing with so much right now”

Keith sighed. A sigh could be a hundred different sounds, this one sounded sad to him

“I don’t want to hurt you”

That sounded like Keith wanted to walk away. Lance waited for the “but” only for it not to come, so he supplied it himself

“But?”

“I don’t know. I just... I don’t want to hurt you. I’m scared of this ego thing. I thought I got it... but it really isn’t something that can be explained”

“No. It isn’t, is it. I don’t know what I can do to help. I love you too much to give up on you, but at the same time, I don’t want you to feel pressured by me”

“I feel like there’s this thing between us. I hate it. I can’t kiss you. I can’t hold you. I feel like... shit. I’m not blaming you. I know you didn’t want me to turn, yet... I wonder if you were really okay with me dying instead. If that’d been better”

Keith could kindly go fuck himself if he thought so little of Lance. Pushing his chair back, he smooshed the lid back onto the ice cream container, bending the spoon up in it

“Lance?”

“Don’t fucking say anything”

Keith was confused by him snapping. Lance moving to put the ice cream away

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Throwing the freezer door open, Lance jammed the ice cream in. There was enough space in his carefully crafted game of freezer Tetris, Lance too angry to care

“I don’t know. Tell me, Keith, how could you ever fucking think I would be okay with you being dead?! Do you really think I’m all like “he’s a fucking wolf now, better not give two shits?!”. Is that it? You don’t think I fucking care?! Of course I didn’t want you dead! I love you! You are the other half of my fucking soul! You’re the one who woke up and said you wanted to be dead instead! I watched you laying there, day after day, not fucking waking up! I waited! I begged you to wake up! I was against the turn because it happened without your permission! You think you’re the only one feeling this distance?! I want to kiss you! I want to hug you! I want to tell you I love you! But I don’t know what’s alright and what’s too much!”

Slamming the door closed, the fridge rocked in place

“You packed my things”

“I packed them because I thought you’d choose Shiro over me! Because I know egos are messed up! I thought you’d need space or time, and I didn’t want you feeling like you had to pity the poor stupid vampire who prayed for his lover to wake up every single fucking day! If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to be! If you don’t want to know me or the twins, you can fucking leave! I didn’t give up on you! I was trying to do right by you! Don’t you know being around me could have sent you insane?! Coran could have had to kill you because your ego clashed with mine!”

He’d woken the twins up. An unexpectedly hard kick making him stumble a little and grab for the bench

“Lance!”

Fixing Keith in his gaze through teary eyes, Lance shook his head

“Don’t call my name if you don’t want me! I can’t take this! I’m not that strong and I can’t be mad at you”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you”

“You asked if I still loved you. It’s the same thing! I love you! I haven’t stopped loving you! I don’t care that you’re a werewolf, you’re still the man I love!”

Keith climbed from his chair, acting out a scene that’d happened a thousand times before as he wrapped Lance up in a hug

“I still love you. But I don’t know how you can accept me. I don’t know how to be a werewolf... I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know who I am any more”

“You’re still you! Why can’t you see that?! We all still fucking love you! We all still care. We all still want you around... I still want you around! It’s killing me not being about to hold you! Or kiss you! Or tell you I love you!”

Keith was probably half deafened as Lance wailed. Keith’s scent wasn’t as “wet doggy” as before. He could still pick up his boyfriend’s scent... he knew egos sucked and Keith was thrown in the deep end here, but why couldn’t his love be enough?!

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t apologise! I know I’m overreacting! I know it!”

Keith nuzzled into Lance’s hair, kissing the soft locks

“I love you, too. I do. That hasn’t changed”

“Then why is it so hard?!”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to give up on us”

“Then tell me what I need to do to make you see I care...”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how to fix us but I don’t want to lose you either”

“Then what do we do!? I don’t want to keep missing you even when you’re in the same room as me”

“I don’t want to keep missing you either. I love you. I know I do. I just don’t get why my ego prickles or gets mad so easily”

“Because it’s new... I thought I got things after spending so much time with Rieva and Matt, but I can’t seem to... to get it. You said you didn’t like my smell”

“I didn’t... you smelt... too much. But it’s not so bad now... I kind of want to rub against you”

“Because I smell like death and animals use dead things to hide their scent”

“Maybe, but you also smell... like... really good... in a way. I can’t explain it. What do I smell like to you?”

Lance sniffled, his nose all snotty and blocked up. He really wasn’t supposed to be getting too emotional. He’d experienced enough small waves of arousal without hitting that heat stage, and if he did hit that heat stage with Keith, he was worried Keith would freak out

“You smell... like you. Like wet dog but I can still smell you. It’s gotten stronger... like you’ve been working out and covered in sweat”

“Is it bad?”

“No... not bad...”

“That’s okay then... Fuck, babe. I don’t want to hurt you... I don’t know my limits anymore”

“Welcome to my world. A tad too much strength and I’ve broken a jar...”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be opening jars for the time being”

“It’s probably safest... I think I should go to bed... Too much stress is bad for my body right now”

“Can I come with you?”

Lance didn’t think that wise but he craved Keith. He craved being held by him. It made him want to chuck all the confusing shit out the window and not think things through

“Don’t ask me like that. I can’t say no and I don’t know if I should be saying no as your ego forms”

Keith had calmed down so much. He’d come back that first night, Coran saying he missed Lance, that he missed his mate

“I get it...”

No. Now Keith sounded sad... He didn’t want Keith being sad or to be making things harder for the man he loved

“Can we just... try cuddling?”

“I’d like to try”

“Okay... but... um... the bedroom isn’t... how you remember it”

“That’s okay. I just want to hold you some more. I want my ego to know you mean more to me than it does”

“Ego doesn’t work like that. Anything can set it off. Sometimes it not even something big”

“It should. I mean, I want it to settle and know you’re precious to me. I feel like I’m drowning and I don’t know who to turn to”

“You’re not... you have every single one of us who wants to be there for you. Pidge and Hunk wanted to come around to see you”

The innocent comment set Keith on edge. A low growl coming from the werewolf, followed by a sigh

“What was that? Why did I growl?”

“I don’t know... we’ll ask Coran in the morning. He’ll know”

“I hope so... Can I stay?”

“This has never not been your home too...”

“You said I should stay with Shiro...”

“Because I want to do whatever’s right by you... but I don’t want you to again... not really”

“Then we’ll talk to Coran in the morning. Do you want to bring the ice cream to bed?”

“Not really... let’s just... let’s just go and see how it goes”

“Okay, babe. We’ll work this out”

Tears rushed to fill Lance’s eyes again

“God, I hope so”

*

Keith didn’t know what he expected from being a werewolf, but it wasn’t this. Rieva and Matt had baby sat him through the moon, and now he had to learn how to have everything he wanted in life all over again... and not pop a raging boner while watching Lance sleep. Spooned around him, he’d tilted a little so he wouldn’t be directly stabbing Lance in the arse. Lance had been through a lot. Staying beside him when he’d been in a come. Putting up with his douche of an ego before the full moon. Trying to figure out how to help him and what he needed, while still scared that Keith didn’t have feelings for him anymore.

Keith hated Lance’s bed. A sheet, then a blanket. That was it. Not two or three blankets under them with another two or three on top of them. It felt barren. His boyfriend was pregnant. That... that meant a lot to him, that he was still Lance’s boyfriend, and hadn’t been dumped because of his arseholic ways. Lance had so much love and so much patience for him. He hadn’t lied when he said things had felt better now the full moon had passed, but he still didn’t feel fully settled. He’d noticed he’d rubbed up against a lot. As if he was trying to drown his scent out. He’d nearly licked his boyfriend’s shoulder, unsure why when he didn’t used to go around licking Lance for no apparent reason.

His new strength scared him. Every time he looked to his hands and found his fingernails were claws instead, he felt fear. Lance laying there felt... like the vampire was being too unguarded. He could tear Lance’s throat out before he’d have time to register what happened. Had Lance worked through this? Was that what he laid awake afraid of when Keith was human? Choosing to love a human had to be hard. He knew it was hard, but it was harder? than he’d known. He could hear Lance’s heart. Feel every single move of their twins inside of him. He could hear Matt going to the toilet. Rieva kissing him. Giggling with him. The privacy thing really was... weird. It’s existed and now it was gone. Would he make Lance happy? Being... a werewolf?

And if he made Lance happy, then would he lose Shiro whom he already hadn’t talked to in days. He knew Shiro acted to save him. He knew that. Yet he did kind of feel violated for not having the choice. And not just because it reminded him that Lance also hadn’t had a choice, but because he’d his brother break a promise from back before they’d met Lance. If they changed, if a hunt went wrong, they both chose death to the curse. That Shiro and Lance were fighting was bad enough. Lance was so close to Curtis and Keith to Shiro. Shiro’s time should be spent with his boyfriend, helping Curtis work through his demons from carrying and actual demon. He didn’t know much about what Curtis was going through, or how he was.

No. He’d been angry sack of shit.

Every time he insulted his ego, even mentally, he felt a kind of stab of anger from it. For 28ish years he’d been him. Now he didn’t feel like himself. Coran would be the first offer counselling, yet this seemed a waste if he was going to constantly be picked on by his ego. No wonder most werewolves were douches. Their egos really did pressure them. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to keep being angry and keep arching up over nothing. Lance let him in, let him those close to their twins, how was Lance not afraid he’d turn them, or hurt them? He’d been afraid to spend too long with Shiro for much the same reasons.

Closing his eyes, Keith snuggled into Lance, wishing his head would shut up. As exhausted as he felt, he also felt a buzz under his skin to get up go running. Somehow the idea of training had lodged itself in his brain. If Coran kept him employed, he’d be a much better hunter in a lot of ways and a lot worse with this scent of his. It’d be easier to scent Shiro up and make believe he was a wolf, but it’d be a dead give away to vampires that they weren’t friendly or naive. That was all provided Shiro still wanted him as a partner. He didn’t know how to fix things with Shiro when things had never been this way between them. Shiro had had to kill Adam when he was a vampire. That was out of mercy. What happened if Keith lost himself to his ego and Shiro was forced to do the same thing? What happened to his family when he was no longer there to take care of them? Did he become a story to them?

*

Unable to sleep, Keith carefully slipped out from behind Lance. He had too many thoughts and things down south were starting to ache. Jerking off sounded like a chore, but maybe a good orgasm would finally get rid of his thoughts and the pent up sensation. Keeping his steps light, he’d reached the door before he’d known it. This speed thing was no joke. His head still thought he was sitting on the edge of Lance’s bed with him trying to convince himself that jerking off would help settle himself down.

Leaning against the bathroom counter, he’d barely pulled his sweats and underwear down to deal with his issue when Lance came shuffling, catching him holding his dick like a perv. Rubbing sleep out his eyes, Lance mumbled sleepily

“Keith?”

“What are you doing awake?!”

Screeching at Lance might not be the best way to play things cool... but this was Lance’s bathroom and he was panicked. Lance’s eyes widened, a blush appearing on his cheeks as he looked away

“I’m sorry! I felt you get out of bed and wanted to make sure you were okay! I’ll just... bed... go...”

Keith died a little more on the inside. He loved their sex life. He didn’t feel disgusted or revolted by his needs or Lance’s... now he kind of did. He’d wanted to care of things as quickly and as quietly as he could, then slip back to bed like it’d never happened

“I...”

“It’s okay! It’s okay... You do you, boo”

That seemed to make everything that much worse. He only felt like this because of his ego and because holding Lance felt right to him. It’d been so long since he had. Since they’d had sex. Thinking about Lance only proved to make that need between his legs worse

“I didn’t... know you were awake. I’ll... uh, take care of this... um... Go back to bed... Yeah, go back to bed and we’ll act like this never happened”

His voice was wobbly, he didn’t want Lance going back to bed, but he also didn’t want to jump Lance’s bones despite what his body was telling him

“It’s okay. I get it. You have needs”

Keith didn’t know why Lance sounded so sad about said needs

“It’s not... I mean... I didn’t want... you thinking you had to take care of things and...”

His hand was still wrapped around his dick. Why was his hand still wrapped around his dick?!

“I really do get it. I’ve jerked off too... no big deal... I’ll...”

Keith groaned at the thought. Had Lance fingered himself thinking of him? Had he moaned his name? Cried out for him? Fuck. He wanted to be in Lance. He wanted to bend him over the counter and fuck him until next year

“Keith?”

“You... you should go... I don’t think I can hold back”

Lance smelt so good. He could tell the vampire was turned on by the sight of him. He could smell how pregnant his lover was, and knew that scent would only get sweeter as the pregnancy progressed. Lance being Lance made it so damn hard to be respectful of him and his body when he was this aroused

“Uh. Yeah... um... I’ll do that. Good night... morning, good morning...”

As Lance climbed into bed, he grumbled about what an idiot he was before groaning deeply. Keith knew he wasn’t supposed to hear Lance scolding himself, but he found it cute. Lance was very cute. Fuck. Why did he have to love someone so cute?!

Jacking off didn’t take long. All he had to do was think of his boyfriend and his hips did the rest. Release felt amazing. Nearly as good as with Lance. If jerking off felt this good, he couldn’t wait to see what being inside Lance would be like. Cleaning up his mess, Keith made sure there was no traces left of the bathroom cupboard before rewashing his hands and heading to bed. Immediately Lance got out the other side. Keith feeling for though he knew he couldn’t reach him, feeling like he needed to apologise seeing his self love session had first happened, then been over in less than a minute

“I’m sorry... If you want me to go...”

“I’m going to stop you there. We don’t have to talk about, and right now, I am busting for the toilet. Jerking off happens”

“But...”

“It even happens really fast. Don’t let the bed get cold”

Keith’s soul clear left his body to yeet its self out the window. Lance didn’t need to rub it in... Not when Keith would have rather been rubbing it in him. Ugh. Next time he’d just go outside and jerk off where no one would ever catch him.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

I SAW the OFFER W/ THE WHUMP PROMPTS AND dsjewifhre3t so if u can: * One taking punishment for the whole group .“Who did this to you?” w/ Whumpee Logan !!

Title: A Singular Cog in the Machine

Chapter title: Thoughtless and Empty

Summary: “It was pure logic when it came down to it. Why allow harm befall the others if Logan could stop it? Surely, it was much more beneficial for only one to be harmed than for all to undergo excruciating pain and misery. A broken cog is more easily replaced than if the whole machine fell apart.“

Logan adheres to the belief that needs of the many far outweigh the needs of the one, the latter being himself. Or in other words, Logan tries to sacrifice himself for the sake of the others. Fortunately for Logan, they won’t let him get away with that. Sci-fi AU

Chapter Word-Count: 1.9k

Pairings: platonic LAMP

Warnings: Whump (mainly more hurt than comfort in this part), torture, drowning, main character set on fire, blood, crying, partial memory loss

Present | Chapter 2

Here it is! There will be a part 2 to this, as someone sent me a prompt that works out rather well alongside this one.

-

It was pure logic when it came down to it. Why allow harm befall the others if Logan could stop it? Surely, it was much more beneficial for only one to be harmed than for all to undergo excruciating pain and misery. A broken cog is more easily replaced than if the whole machine had fallen apart.

Logan didn’t feel anything after all. He was a robot parading around in an organic body of flesh and blood. He ran on ones and zeros–seeing the world through a rigid programmed mindset. If his lips twitched upwards at one of Patton’s puns or Roman’s singing or even one of Virgil’s snarky remarks, it didn’t mean anything. It was just a coincidence.

The three of them put together had more inherent value than Logan. Logically speaking of course.

Patton was the metaphoric heart of the group. As the cook and medic, he repaired and maintained the crew countless times. He attended not only to the others’ physical needs, but also to their emotional ones. Thus proving him invaluable. 

Virgil was captain of their small space shuttle; an experienced space smuggler with a penchant for caution. He perhaps borderlined on paranoia, but it was this same paranoia that got them out of trouble. 

Roman was their cocky pilot and a shrewd marksman with a blaster. It was his big mouth that often got them into the trouble that Virgil drug them out of. Still, Roman’s loyalty knew no bounds.

A more poetic, emotional being might list other reasons the others should be considered a top priority over one’s own. 

 Patton was sunshine after a dreary, dismal cloudy day. He was the gentle breeze on a spring day. He was the warmth of hot chocolate and roaring fires during the cold of winter. He helped you reach an optimal performance with his words and actions.

Virgil was the night of the full moon, mysterious yet comforting all the same. He was the strong gale that shook tree branches and warned of the upcoming storm. He was like cough syrup and flu shots, not always appreciated but always striving to fight and protect those he loved.

Roman was the rainbow that accompanied Patton’s sunshine; exuberant and radiant. He was a sweltering midsummer day full of water-gun fights and ice cream. He was the novel you read curled up on your sofa–filled with adventure and romance.

Despite their numerous idiosyncrasies, Logan’s calculations proved their worth invaluable. They made up the world of Logan and so many others. Without them, the system would crash. It was certainly repairable, but not without a hard reset. Logan refused to allow that to happen.

So when hulking shadows threatened to end Patton’s sunshine, cover up Virgil’s moon and obliterate Roman’s rainbow, Logan stepped up.

“Don’t waste your time with those fools and their idiocy,” He said, “I know what you’re after. Take me instead.”

A thousand large pale eyes dissected Logan with their gaze. He stared back, features flat and unresponsive. Logan’s heart beat faithfully, not a second out of tune. He was an advanced AI who wore the skin and bones of a deadman. He didn’t fear anything.

Their dark tendrils shot out, curling around Logan’s form. He didn’t fight the grip even as his feet left the ground. They carried him upwards, until he came face-to-face with their numerous unblinking eyes.

“Alright.” They smiled, displaying rows upon rows of sharp, reedy teeth.

Logan blinked and within a span of that blink–he was plunged into darkness.

What happened next, was blurry and uncertain to him. This was most disconcerting. He remembered things flawlessly, right down to the nanosecond. It freaked the others out at times. It had to be a glitch or an error with his memorybanks. Why else couldn’t he recall the event with clear detail?

What he did remember was what some might refer to as nightmare material. Silhouettes of the others danced around, behaving most unlike themselves. They berated him, attacked him with not only words but physically as well. They bound him with ropes and threw him into a body of water. He flailed about from an instinctual urge as he went into overdrive trying to formulate a solution. He blacked out from it, certain his biological organs would begin shutting down.

It hadn’t been the end of it, simply wishful thinking on his part. Although Logan didn’t make wishes, spoken or not. Really, it was just a rational supposition, that was all.

It continued with Logan jerked awake by fire eating away his clothing. Fire was everywhere, in fact. Wherever he ran, it chased after him. The smoke got to him in the end. It suffocated him until he was left gasping for breath.

The memories grew more distorted and warped the longer it went on. Like an old VHS tape ruined by water. If he focused, he could retrieve flashes of those moments. There was one that stood out more clearly than the rest.

Their tendrils had pinned him down on a horizontal, metallic surface. A huge light shone above, blinding him. They were in the process of doing something but he couldn’t recall what.

“Why?” He rasped, his parched throat screaming for water.

A bemused hearty chuckle erupted from them.

“I thought you knew why,” They said, tilting their head at him, “It was never bounty money or intel I was after. It was test subjects. And what a fascinating specimen you are! A chimera of biological and artificial means.”

Logan opened his mouth to say something. What, he didn’t recall. All that he could was a scalp cutting across his skin, eliciting a scream from him. His flesh pain receptors reacted violently to it.

He didn’t feel anything. He was a machine running biological software. He could shut off the pain signals given to him by his nervous system. He could retreat into his inner programming, enacting a subroutine to take care of the body. He knew he could do this, because he did.

Perhaps this explained why the memories contained errors. The subroutine didn’t properly save them to his memorybanks. Except he started experiencing memory retrieval errors with memories prior to the subroutine activation. How strange and concerning.

It didn’t matter if it had. It’d been the only preventative measures he could take to ensure optimal processing. He ran simulations deep within his programming. Visits to coffeeshops, museums and parks with the others. The scenery of the simulations was beautiful, so life-like. He couldn’t quite get the others right, however. 

He’d spent an adequate amount of time with them, observing their habits. He knew the probability factors of Patton saying a pun in a conversation. He knew various methods of how to restart Virgil after an anxiety attack plagued his systems. He knew how to engage Roman in a dialogue that aided him in finding a solution to his problems.

Yet his stimulations couldn’t capture the exact way Patton bubbled with laughter at his own joke. Or how many centimeters Virgil’s lips curved upwards towards seeing one of them. It certainly didn’t capture Roman’s flamboyant, needless waving of his arms as he spoke. Really, Logan didn’t understand the wasteful exertion of energy. 

However, this latest stimulation was the worst yet. It made him wonder if his systems were failing. That was an absurd proposition to make, considering his software would send him warnings if such a thing was imminent. 

The stimulation started out normally. A movie night hosted in Patton’s quarters, just like they’ve done so many times before in real life. They chose to watch an Earthian cartoon. It was one that the other three were more acquainted with than Logan himself. It didn’t matter. He preferred doing things that resulted in boosting the others’ overall wellbeing.

Roman and Virgil were engaged in an animated discussion of the movie’s events. Logan watched their mouths open and close, unable to hear the words pouring through their lips. Patton looked like he was laughing at something in the movie, his mouth wide open. Logan noted absently that he must be processing auditory input at a sluggish rate than usual.

“Logan?!” A voice cried. He jolted, startled. He took a look around in the stimulation, but it appeared none of the others called his name. Had it been from the movie? He didn’t recall the movie having a character named Logan however.

“Logan, gods, Logan, Logan, please respond–” The person continued, their voice splintering and cracking with each syllable. 

Something grasped him, cradling him in a warm, secure hold. It was only the soft blanket he had since the start of the movie. That had to be it.

“Logan, who did this to you?” Another person asked, their words trembling with rage.

The stimulation froze completely, the others becoming as still as statues. Logan could almost hear his drive whirring with exertion. This was bad. If he overheated, he could possibly die. And he couldn’t die, not when he hadn’t completed his objective.

“I swear by all the gods I’ll kill them, rip their entails out and everything–krafu kniffing dulva–”

“Logan, no, stay with us, wake up!”

Logan’s eyes opened. Which was odd, because his eyes had already been open. His vision was unusually foggy and murky, despite his eyes being artificial implants. He tried moving his head, but found it difficult to do so. A sharp, electrifying shock ran through his whole body. It hurt. It shouldn’t have. Logan didn’t feel anything, emotions or otherwise.

A fuzzy grey shape entered his vision. Logan squinted, the shape crystallizing to a more recognizable image; Patton. His floggy dog-like ears laid flat against his head, an obvious sign of distress. It was then that Logan realized the titekan was the one cradling him. Another two figures flanked Patton on either side. He could only assume them to be Roman and Virgil.

“Pat–patton,” Logan croaked, “y-you’re here?”

He wasn’t sure where here was, just somewhere in the depths of his programming. It had to be a scenario, a way for him to prepare for the worst-case. Because the others couldn’t truly be with him. They couldn’t endure torture the way he could. They’d be torn to shreds, both physically and psychologically. 

The titekan bit back a sob at Logan’s words, “Yes honey, we’re here, we’re so sorry we didn’t get here sooner, but it’s okay, you’re safe now–”

“H-h-hurts.” Logan said, gasping as another pulse of pain hit him. He couldn’t shut off the pain receptors, why wasn’t his body listening to his commands? This was a stimulation, he controlled every aspect, why couldn’t he do it?

“It’s–it’s all over now. I know you’re hurting and–and–we’ll take care of you, we’ll watch all your favorite nature documentaries, how does that sound?” Patton asked, a vibrating noise rumbling in the back of his throat. Titekans tended to make soothing sounds for themselves and others in pain. Logan watched him do it to Roman and Virgil before, but never for Logan. His abnormal AI reflexes and accelerated healing kept him from grievous injuries.

“G-g-g–good.” Logan said. It was getting even harder to utter words, let alone keep conscious. He’d never experienced this before. This loss of autonomy was terrifying. Perhaps something in his face revealed this, because Roman and Virgil came closer. Roman took hold of his hand, squeezing it. Virgil gingerly touched his knee. They spoke words but Logan couldn’t process them. It was happening again. The stimulation was glitching.  So he closed his eyes, losing consciousness as his systems restarted.

[bruciewayne]

birthday suits and booty shorts

stevetony, fluff, humour, getting together, 2k

“Oh god,” Tony groans, “Please tell me you that you weren’t wearing a fucking nylon suit in the Battle last year?”

“Um,” Steve says, intelligently, “it’s flexible?”

Tony gives him an unimpressed look, which isn’t anything particularly out of the ordinary, “So are leggings, but you’re not going to fight gods in them!”

Steve has a sudden flashback to the time Bucky yelled at him for going into the HYDRA base in costume, not armour. It hurts less than it used to.

“Only HYDRA,” Steve quips, with a smile.

Tony looks like he’s going to have an aneurysm. 

“I thought that was made up.”

“Howard told you!?”

“Called it heroic.”

“Buck called it moronic, so did Pegs.”

Tony laughs at that, “Yeah, he once mentioned it around her, and she gave me explicit instructions to never go into any sort of battle in booty shorts.”

“She always did give sound advice,” Steve says, deciding to ignore the ‘booty shorts’ comment (and if it’s because he agrees, then that’s not relevant).

Tony narrows his eyes, and Steve hasn’t known him long, but he knows him enough that he can clearly identify that as his ‘I’m thinking, shut up’ face.

“Didn’t she shoot you?”

“Four times.”

Tony looks at him incredulously, “Sounds like her, but this,” he says, waving his uniform about, “no bueno.”

-

Three days later, Tony has the suit made, reinforced kevlar, carbon nanotubes, biometric tracker, and a small ‘Captain Rogers’ on the breastbone. Of course, he only got it made this fast to get it out of the way, and not because he cared in any way whatsoever about Captain Uptight (that initial assessment may be incorrect and in need of revising, but he’ll get to that later).

Steve, predictably, is in the gym when Tony asks JARVIS of his location. Unpredictable is what he’s wearing. He’s doing Planche push-ups when Tony comes in, so all Tony can see of his godawful gear is the ‘PROPAGANDA’ scrawled over his ass, and damn, science in the 40s should get far more credit than it did.

Just before Tony goes to poke him, or kick him in his foot, Steve lowers his feet to the ground and jumps up, grinning and sweaty, “Hey.”

Tony would reply, with a normal, human comment, and/or greeting, but he’s too busy staring at his chest, and for all the wrong reasons, YOU ARE NOT IMMUNE TO PROPAGANDA. 

Steve notices, and the light flush from exercise deepens, “It was a gag gift. From Nat.���

“Well,” Tony says, against his better judgement, “it’s not wrong.”

-

The thing is, they are friends, pretty good ones now, at that, but Tony has an incredibly difficult time being in public with someone who wears jeans that tight.

“Aren’t your balls like, crushed?” Tony asks, as they’re walking through the park, because that’s just something they do now. 

“You’re awfully concerned with my balls,” Steve comments, taking a long lick of his ice-cream.

“I’m just saying!” Tony defends. Steve just laughs, and overly assures him that he definitely believes him. Totally.

Tony attempts to reach up to tug a leaf off a branch to throw at Steve, because, for your information, he thinks about his ass far more than his balls, but, even on his tiptoes he can’t reach it, and he’s not about to make a fool of himself jumping to reach a branch. 

Steve laughs even more, and even Tony’s man enough to admit that he lost all of his dignity in the 90s, so jumping to get a leaf to throw at his no good, very bad friend is barely news. So he does. And, predictably, he falls. 

And less predictably, just as he readies himself for mud-covered Armani (because, whilst Steve is young enough to dress like a fuckboy, Tony, unfortunately, is a rich businessman who has to look the part (not that he’d particularly want to have to spray-paint on his jeans every morning (not that he’s allowed to wear jeans to board meeting, because, ‘Tony, you’re  older now, and they expect something from you’)), and he cannot, and just as he should hit the ground, Steve’s around him, arms bracing him, strong and sure.

Steve’s lips quirk up into a smile, boyish and joyful, and the sun shining down from above highlights his hair in a way that makes Tony think, not for the first time, that Steve’s been sent down from heaven, for god knows what reason, because there’s no logical way that someone that good, someone so unpolluted in the face of all he’s had to fear, comes from humanity and-- oh fuck.

“I’m surprised you can bend like that in those jeans,” Tony says, too softly to pretend that’s all that’s running through his mind.

“I’m Superman,” Steve says, cheekily, rightening them both, and maybe it’s just Tony’s imagination, but he seems to linger longer than should be necessary. But he moves away, and the moment is broken, less like shattering glass and more like chalk falling barely a foot, broken beyond repair, but not the end of the world, which, in their careers, is a damn good place to be.

-

Tony takes it all back. 

“You’ve never followed an instruction in your life, one day that might just end it,” Steve growls, still in uniform, because they saved New York again, and they’re fighting about god knows what, because god knows why.

“Don’t pretend to be concerned about my life when all you really care about is controlling the team, your perfect little soldiers,” Tony hisses.

Steve glowers even more. “Stop twisting my words.”

“Stop making bullshit calls,” Tony counters.

“It’s not bullshit and you know it.”

He’s not even loud, or explosive, like Tony, then, he’s quiet, still, unbelievably angry, but calm. And something about that lights a fire inside Tony, unstable and destructive.

“They never should have pulled you from the ice if all you’re good for is pure bullshit!”

For one, rage-coloured, gleeful, glorious moment, Tony revels in where he’s clearly managed to get a hit on him: his face lights with anger, the calm from earlier rapidly fades away, practically melting off his face.

And then his face, his body, his entire demeanour drop heavily, a slave to gravity, like the common man, like a puppet torn from its strings. The guilt floods into Tony’s system milliseconds before Steve turns on his heel and walks out without another word.

Tony realises, after he’s put himself in blackout mode, that the fight hadn’t changed a thing about the other day - Steve was always going to be ridiculously infuriatingly stubborn, hell, that’s why he’s so impossibly infatuated with him, he never gives up, never runs away, never stops, and for him to not fight Tony… he’s fucked up. Bad. 

“Sir, if I may, an apology may be due,” and isn’t that sad, his AI had to listen to him rant aloud and then urge him to show basic human decency and at least attempt to preserve a relationship (one that’s somehow, sometime, become to absurdly important to Tony, the more he thinks of it, the more he wants to deck his old self in the nose (and if he ever did make a time machine, he knows that the punch he’d throw would be perfect form, thanks to Steve’s tutelage)).

“Yeah. Yeah,” Tony says heavily. 

Unsurprisingly, JARVIS directs Tony toward the gym, where Steve’s beating apart a punching bag. He’s taken off the top part of his uniform and left it hanging around his waist, undershirt soaked through with sweat, hiding the aggregate sum of none of the strength contained in his muscles.

Even stripped down like this, the suit dirty and torn, no shield, no cowl in sight there’s no denying his raw power.

“Hey,” Tony starts, “what I said was uncalled for.”

Steve only stills his barrage when Tony began to speak, even though he must have heard him come in, but he doesn’t turn around.

“I… I’m not unaware of my flaws, Tony,” Steve says quietly, still not facing him, “nor do I believe that you’re needlessly reckless with your life.”

Tony takes a minute to process that. The air is still between them, rebuilding after the storm. They’ve gotten delightfully efficient at rebuilding, and with better adapted infrastructure, it doesn’t take long, but it still destroys something, still hurts a little.

“I’m glad that you were found,” Tony replies, this is the closest they’ve come to saying the forbidden ‘sorry’ aloud, and even though Steve’s the one to be facing away now, Tony knows that, had Steve been looking at him, whichever expression, he would be the one to turn away.

Small steps.

Steve nods, a sharp, short downward jerk of his head, and Tony takes that as his signal to leave, feeling lighter all for it. Maybe his earlier assessment of Steve has been right. 

-

“I want you to know,” Tony starts, just as they’re about to initiate what’s definitely going to be the most violent game of 6 people water polo that’s ever conspired, “that this is one, an awful idea, and two, going to flood this entire floor.”

“You can sit out, if you really want to,” Steve suggests, partly out of care, partly because it would disadvantage their team.

Tony laugh aloud at that, “Absolutely not, you know I’d never pass up an opportunity to beat your ass, Rogers.”

“I thought you weren’t immune to it,” Steve says, grinning back.

Thor looks supremely confused, “Your humans’ trash talk is not dissimilar to Asgardians’ courting.”

“It’s not human’s trash talk,” Natasha says, tossing the ball between her hands, “it’s just Steve and Tony trash talk.”

Both of them, in displays of the utmost maturity, splash her with water.

JARVIS takes that as a cue to start the game timer, and it’s just as aggressive and chaotic as Tony thought - what else would you get from pitting four of the most capable humans in Northern America against a god and a guy who pretty much qualifies?

It’s water and it’s violent, two things which, historically, hadn’t been the greatest of situations for Tony, but there’s no point during this where he feels unsafe, or out of control (quite possibly losing, definitely).

He’s not nearly as ashamed as he should be to admit that he spent most of the time wrestling Steve.

He was fine during the beginning - when Steve’s waist was below the surface, and he was too busy staring at his face and chest, but after he’d jumped high enough that his feet were out the water, and he’d exposed those illegally tight speedos…

It made no sense whatsoever, all of them, bar Nat, were wearing regular, normal, socially acceptable, swimwear that didn’t expose just how big their dicks were, and he knows with relative certainty that they didn’t have speedos in the 40s, so where he got them fr-- Natasha.

-

“We only lost,” Tony says, panting, “because your speedos were a distraction.” Everyone else had gone to the showers, reluctantly congratulating Steve and Thor, and deciding on a rematch, leaving Steve and Tony in the pool, treading water in the shallower end.

“Would you rather I take them off?”

Tony looks at him, expecting at least that adorable light flush on his cheeks, but all he gets is a grin see-sawing the line between cheeky and joking and a proposition.

“I’d hate to miss out on you finally finding your true style,” Tony replies, matching him in tone.

Steve’s laugh echoes off the tiles, and Tony just has to kiss him, he just has to crash into him with absolutely no abandon, feeling reminiscent of his teen years, kissing in a pool, tugging off Steve’s ridiculous shorts.

Through half-lidded eyes, Steve tracks him up and down once he’d ripped off Tony’s swim shorts, breathing hard, “You should never wear clothes again,” he declares, sinking to his knees. Any and all thoughts of Steve and his questionable-at-times fashion choices leave Tony’s mind along with most forms of higher function.

-

masterpost 

[storyunrelated]

Ice cream and robots

A while ago I put on here a thing that no-one cared about. Surprise!

Basically, it’s first person fluff about a guy who is friends with living-machines who are...things...that I came up with some time. Whatever. Human and non-humans again, from me, what a shock.

And this is much more of the same - first person fluff about ice cream and watching robots fight and a semi-awkward conversation.

Which I’m putting here out of SHEER, SCREAMING BOREDOM.

-

Ice cream and robots

“Here you go.”

I heard this, but it went in and out because I was distracted. It wasn’t until I got my elbow nudged that I finally noticed and my brain caught up and processed what I’d heard. I jumped, and looked round.

I was being offered ice cream.

“Ah, thank you. Sorry, miles away,” I said, taking the ice cream. It was one of those little pots with a plastic spoon, rather than a cone. Ideally a cone was preferred but, really, ice cream was lovely whatever way you happened to receive it.

“That’s cool,” said Jenny, flapping by my elbow. “Can I sit down?” She asked.

“By all means,” I said and she flapped a little more before swooping up and settling down on my shoulder. There was a quiet clinking sound as her wings folded up and her legs took a firmer grip, but that was about all. She weighed so little I barely even noticed her being there.

“Thanks. I was starting to get tired,” she said. I licked my plastic spoon clean before replying. Jenny had got me chocolate with sauce and everything. This was another one of the reasons why Jenny was a great friend to have, on top of the fact she could fly ice cream to you wherever you were, too.

“Think nothing of it. I think you got back in time. Think they’re about to start,” I said.

The festival had a lot of stuff going on, but one of the things I’d been a little keen on seeing was a robot fight. I’d heard about them before, seen one or two online, but seeing one actually happen in front of me was a tantalising prospect. I imagined the experience to be loud. One of those things as much felt as seen and heard.

“Ooh yeah, I see them,” Jenny said, leaning forward, another claw reaching out to steady herself as she did so, tugging on my t-shirt. The shoulders of all of them I’d had to repair so many times at this point. Jenny had quite pointy little legs. It was fine though. Worse things had happened.

“They big?” I asked. Her eyes were better than mine. More numerous, too.

“They big,” she said, leaning back again.

I took another tiny mouthful of delicious ice cream and thought for a moment. 

It was the development of a thought that had been swishing around my head since I decided to come and see the robot fight and since Jenny had semi-invited herself along. The thought had been bubbling away on the back-burner, unsettling me without really telling me why, until now, when it started gaining form.

“I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” I said.

That threw her. She thought for a moment too and then I saw her turn to me out the corner of my eye.

“What?” She asked,

I gestured to the pit in front of us. A serious pit. Had spikes around the outside and everything.

“This. The fight.”

“Why would it?”

I felt we were perhaps approaching this from different angles.

“Well I know they’re not exactly the same as you, but-” I started, but Jenny beat me to the conclusion and decided she didn’t want me finishing.

“They’re not the same at all. They’re robots. Dumb things built to do this. I’m a living-machine. You do remember, right?”

How could I forget?

I persevered. I didn’t want to abandon my point. If I did, all of my thinking would have been for nothing and I would have been a fool! Or so ran my defensive logic at anyrate. Nothing as painful as wasted effort.

“Yes but a lot of what goes into you has been put into them, right?” I asked.

She grumbled. Technically speaking this was true. Technically speaking. Living-machines had been generous with some of their more mysterious mechanisms and this had done much to bolster the field of robotics. Unsurprising, really.

“Would you be uncomfortable watching monkeys fight?” She asked.

“Honestly? Yes. That would make me uncomfortable.”

I mean, it would. Wouldn’t it for everyone? Excepting the type of people who’d push their own mother down the stairs just to hear what noises she made, of course. Such people existed. They were out there. But they were hardly a reliable baseline for moral behaviour.

Jenny seemed to be thinking along the same lines as me. She did this a lot. Or did I think along the same lines as her a lot? Sometimes it was hard to tell.

“Okay, bad example. Would you feel uncomfortable watching two sides of meat with knives strapped to them being slammed into each other?” She asked.

This image was unexpected, to say the least.

“...no”, I said, eventually. “Confused, yeah, but not really uncomfortable as such.”

“There you go. It’s about the same level as that.”

She went quiet following this, and I got the sneaking suspicion I had upset her.

That didn’t make me feel so great.

For some reason, upsetting someone by doing something motivated specifically by your desire to not upset them was much, much worse than just being a dick and getting a response. 

Or maybe that was just me.

I had worried about me being there to watch this as coming across to her as insensitive, and in expressing and attempting to contain this worry I had managed to be insensitive. The irony! Or hubris? Or both?

“Sorry if I upset you,” I said, making to keep eating my ice cream but stopping myself before the spoon reached its destination - a swine such as me didn’t deserve ice cream!

Jenny then poked me in the side of the head.

“Ow,” I said.

“You didn’t upset me. And sorry for poking you, didn’t mean to do it that hard. It’s just - ugh - I don’t like that whole conversation. It’s just so obvious to me but everyone else is always wringing their hands about it.”

“Wanted to avoid putting my foot in it and managed to do so anyway. That’s me all over,” I said.

“Oh shush, you,” Jenny said, clambering up the side of my head and settling herself on top. This she did typically to make a point, though in this instance I think it might have been to get a better view. You ever say anything dumb I’ll tell you. Until then stop worrying. Now just enjoy the fight.”

“Zug zug, boss.”

“That’s better.”

Later, I got brained by the head of one of the robots after it got punched off its neck and flew up out of the pit to hit me in the face. I came to on the floor surrounded by concerned looking people and one nigh-distraught Jenny, who did her best to hug me when she saw I wasn’t actually hurt beyond what turned out to be a broken nose.

Was pretty sick, actually. 

If painful.

[xialing-gf]

your love is as dangerous as the ocean

Summary: your relationship with carol was like the ocean and sometimes writers could really romanticize the ocean

Wc: 1023

A/n: this is for my dear friend @dutchiewhotriestowrite for her marvel writing challenge (number 7)!

Waves crashed against jagged rocks and seagulls cawed in the distance as they soared steadily through the cloudy sky. The weather was just as you preferred it: slightly cool and not too warm. The water coated your toes every now and then as the tide rolled back and forth and the chilliness of the ocean water didn’t bother you all that much because you were holding Carol’s warm hand. You sat next to her on the sand, your feet sinking in the sand. You rested your head on her shoulder, admiring the view and enjoying the peaceful silence.

“I love the sound of the ocean. It’s so calm and beautiful but it can also be stormy and unpredictable,” Carol mused, her voice gliding across the sound of waves like skis sliding own soft snow. You smiled at her remark, nestling closer to your girlfriend.

“I do too. The ocean is so vast and full of secrets nobody but the fish know. It’s really poetic, actually. No wonder so many people write about the ocean,” You replied, feeling a sense of gratitude you hadn’t felt in a while. You wanted to remember this moment forever so you silently took a mental snapshot of this moment to keep in your memories forever. Carol must’ve read your mind because she took out a Polaroid camera and pulled you closer, taking a photo of you two grinning.

You two were on the beach for a long period of time, just sitting next to year other with your hands linked together and occasionally talking. The sea breeze wrapped around you two like a comforting blanket and the entire time, you were falling deeper in love with Carol. Even better, virtually nobody was on the beach so it seemed like the entire ocean belonged just to you and your girlfriend.

After that romantic date, you and Carol always spent time with each other whenever you could. She took you to her favorite diner and you brought her to your favorite bookstore. You both loved fooling around with the Karaoke machine and stargazing during the summer night. Carol loved bubblegum flavored ice cream and you loved mint flavored ice cream so you always got two scoops of ice cream and shared it in a bowl. Sometimes she would take you into drive-in- theatres and you would take her to your favorite thrift stores.

Eventually, you found out about her superpowers and was amazed at her abilities. You fell even more in love with her when you found out she was using her powers to save people across the galaxy. Sometimes, she would leave to attend to her duties but the longest she would leave you was for a week.

For your one year anniversary, Carol and you had a picnic on that beach, watching the sunset color the ocean a hundred shades of colors humans didn’t even have names for. After that day, the sound of the waves in the ocean in your memory always reminded you of the love of your life.

The ocean, as magnificent as it was, must have been a warning because of the stormy unpredictable waves of conflict mangled your relationship with Carol. You knew Carol had a lot of work to do in other parts of the universe but she never seemed to be able to make time for you. You argued with her constantly over holographic communication and you even insisted you would go on her missions with her so you could finally see her face to face again. Carol still refused because she didn’t want you to get hurt but you still wanted to see her. She always promised to return soon and that soon grew from one week to two to a month. You hadn’t seen Carol for about two months and decided to return to the beach, where you and Carol had one of your first dates.

The sound of waves reminded you of simpler times when you and Carol would never argue and made each other indescribably overjoyed to be with each other. Admittedly, it was a little selfish of you to want to spend more time with Carol when she was needed elsewhere but then again, if she couldn’t spend time with you, maybe she shouldn’t be in a relationship right now. You had the polaroid of Carol and you at this beach in your pocket and took it out, looking at your smiling faces and feeling a wave off nostalgia crash over your emotions. The ocean breeze ruffled your hair as you stood in the sand barefoot, glancing at the horizon.

“I thought I’d find you here,” You turned around to see Carol standing behind you, wearing the beige jacket you always loved. She saw the emotion in your eyes and offered a melancholy smile. Carol walked next to you, putting her hand in her pockets as she watched the waves crashed into jagged rocks. You didn’t need to say anything for her to know what you were thinking. “So, this is where we say goodbye, right?”

“I guess,” You sighed, turning to face Carol. Looking her in the eye while talking was the hardest thing to do because you could see how much she cared about you in her coffee-colored eyes that almost made you cry. “You’ve got responsibilities to attend to. This relationship might not be the best for you right now.”

“You’ve got a good point. Thank you for everything. I’m sorry it had to end this way,” Carol apologized and you hugged her. As she wrapped her arms around you, it took all your strength to not break down crying right then and there. You took a deep breath before you murmured wistfully, “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” Carol pulled away, offering a small smile before taking off into the sky. You watched the red-orange streak following tailing her feet, wondering if it was going to be the last time you would ever see her. Now all you had was an ocean of memories and a broken heart to remind you of the love you once had.

~

feel free to send requests! check out my marvel page on my blog for more marvel fics!

taglist: @mystic-ender @dutchiewhotriestowrite

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[mercutio-escalator]

:) or else

If a guardian angel living with a somnambulist gives lectures on morality to a halfhearted haunch, then a taxidermist dies. Now and then, a niggardly midwife secretly approaches the non-chalantly surly curse. Sometimes a taxidermist leaves, but some hand always sells the wily dissident to a womanly cleavage! Nimbo, the friend of Mitzi and Nicolas, daydreams with a dissident related to a cigar. When a placid necromancer ceases to exist, an accurately polite bicep flies into a rage. A toothpick for a tenor slyly bounces some looking glass. A gingerly hand is gingerly. A bubble inside the fetishist seeks a surly impresario. Desdemona and I took a bubble bath (with the toothpick, a gingerly labyrinth, a few shadows, and a pocket from a haunch) to arrive at a state of intimacy where we can accidentally hardly write a love letter to our labyrinth. A lovely hand steals pencils from the saintly pocket. Kafka, although somewhat soothed by a niggardly ribbon and a wisely uxorious dahlia, still befriends her from a greedily wily tenor, fall in love with her the mastadon from some maestro with a bodice ripper toward a pocket, and ostensibly gives secret financial aid to the dark side of her bodice ripper. Jacques and I took a non-chalantly unseemly stalactite (with an alchemist from the clock, a guardian angel, a few clodhoppers, and a shadow) to arrive at a state of intimacy where we can almost borrow money from our omphalos. Kafka, although somewhat soothed by the cream puff and a seldom unsightly piroshki, still pours freezing cold water on her from some accidentally likeable lunatic, dance with her the pocket with the ghastly bubble, and borrows money from the dark side of her cigar. The dissident dances with the boy defined by the tea party. Indeed, the bonbon buries the maestro. Shrek Script {Man} Once upon a time there was a lovely princess.But she had an enchantment upon her of a fearful sort which could only be broken by love’s first kiss.She was locked away in a castle guarded by a terrible fire-breathing dragon.Many brave knigts had attempted to free her from this dreadful prison, but non prevailed.She waited in the dragon’s keep in the highest room of the tallest tower for her true love and true love’s first kiss.{Laughing} Like that’s ever gonna happen.{Paper Rusting, Toilet Flushes}What a load of - Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll meI ain’t the sharpest tool in the shedShe was lookin’ kind of dumb with her finger and her thumbIn the shape of an “L” on her foreheadThe years start comin’ and they don’t stop comin'Fed to the rules and hit the ground runnin'Didn’t make sense not to live for funYour brain gets smart but your head gets dumbSo much to do so much to seeSo what’s wrong with takin’ the backstreetsYou’ll never know if you don’t goYou’ll never shine if you don’t glowHey, now You’re an all-starGet your game on, go playHey, now You’re a rock starGet the show on, get paidAnd all that glitters is goldOnly shootin’ stars break the moldIt’s a cool place and they say it gets colderYou’re bundled up now but wait till you get olderBut the meteor men beg to differJudging by the hole in the satellite pictureThe ice we skate is gettin’ pretty thinThe water’s getting warm so you might as well swimMy world’s on fireHow ‘bout yoursThat’s the way I like it and I’ll never get boredHey, now, you’re an all-star{Shouting}Get your game on, go playHey, now You’re a rock starGet the show on, get paidAnd all that glitters is goldOnly shootin’ stars break the mold{Belches}Go!Go!{Record Scratching}Go. Go.Go.Hey, now, you’re an all-starGet your game on, go playHey, now You’re a rock starGet the show on, get paidAnd all that glitters is goldOnly shootin’ stars break the mold-Think it’s in there?-All right. Let’s get it!-Whoa. Hold on. Do you know what that thing can do to you?-Yeah, it’ll grind your bones for it’s bread.{Laughs}-Yes, well, actually, that would be a gaint.Now, ogres - - They’re much worse.They’ll make a suit from your freshly peeled skin.-No!-They’ll shave your liver. Squeeze the jelly from your eyes!Actually, it’s quite good on toast.-Back! Back, beast! Back! I warn ya!{Gasping}-Right.{Roaring}{Shouting}{Roaring}{Whispers} This is the part where you run away.{Gasping}{Laughs}{Laughing} And stay out!“Wanted. Fairy tale creatures.”{Sighs}{Man’s voice} All right. This one’s full.-Take it away!{Gasps}-Move it along. Come on! Get up!-Next!-Give me that! Your fiying days are over.That’s 20 pieces of silver for the witch. Next!-Get up! Come on!-Twenty pieces.{Thudding}-Sit down there!-Keep quiet!{Crying}-This cage is too small.-Please, don’t turn me in. I’ll never be stubborn again.I can change. Please! Give me another chance!-Oh, shut up.-Oh!-Next!-What have you got?-This little wooden puppet.-I’m not a puppet. I’m a real boy.-Five shillings for the possessed toy. Take it away.-Father, please! Don’t let them do this!-Help me!-Next! What have you got?-Well, I’ve got a talking donkey.{Grunts}-Right. Well, that’s good for ten shillings, if you can prove it.-Oh, go ahead, little fella.-Well?-Oh, oh, he’s just - - He’s just a little nervous.He’s really quite a chatterbox. Talk, you boneheaded dolt - –That’s it. I’ve heard enough. Guards!-No, no, he talks! He does. I can talk. I love to talk.I’m the talkingest damn thing you ever saw.-Get her out of my sight.-No, no! I swear! Oh! He can talk!{Gasps}-Hey! I can fly!-He can fly!-He can fly!-He can talk!-Ha, ha! That’s right, fool! Now I’m a flying, talking donkey.You might have seen a housefly, maybe even a superflybut I bet you ain’t never seen a donkey fly. Ha, ha!Oh-oh.{Grunts}-Seize him!-After him! He’s getting away!{Grunts, Gasps}{Man}-Get him! This way! Turn!-You there. Orge!-Aye?-By the order of Lord Farquaad I am authorized to place you both under arrestand transport you to a designated….. resettlement facility.-Oh, really? You and what army?{Gasps, Whimpering}{Chuckles}-Can I say something to you?-Listen, you was really, really, really somethin’ back here. Incredible!Are you talkin’ to - - me? Whoa!-Yes. I was talkin’ to you. Can I tell you that you that you was great back here? Those guards!They thought they was all of that. Then you showed up, and bam! They was trippin’ over themselves like babes in the woods. That really made me feel good to see that.-Oh, that’s great. Really.-Man, it’s good to be free.-Now, why don’t you go celebrate your freedom with your own friends? Hmm?-But, uh, I don’t have any friends. And I’m not goin’ out there by myself. Hey, wait a minute! I got a great idea! I’ll stick with you. You’re mean, green, fightin’ machine. Together we’ll scare the spit out of anybody that crosses us.{Roaring}-Oh, wow! That was really scary. If you don’t mind me sayin’, if that don’t work, your breath certainly will get the job done, 'cause you definitely need some Tic Tacs or something, 'cause you breath stinks!You almost burned the hair outta my nose, just like the time - - {Mumbling}Than I ate some rotten berries. I had strong gases eking out of my butt that day.-Why are you following me?-I’ll tell you why. 'Cause I’m all aloneThere’s no one here beside meMy promlems have all goneThere’s no one to deride meBut you gotta heve friends - - -Stop singing! It’s no wonder you don’t have any friends.-Wow. Only a true friend would be that cruelly honest.-Listen, little donkey. 

——— 

this is a monstrosity and it also killed tumblr mobile i hope you’re happy

[princessjaqulinechess1031]

Love Never Dies

A/N: Did this back in January for The Tangled the Seires OC Amino monthly challenge. Really short but I kinda liked it, so I thought I’d finally share it over here on Tumblr. Don’t be afraid to let me know if you have questions, comments, or concerns! This is a Modern AU too, just so you know.

Varian remembers that it was a sunny day, not like in movies where the whole world was soft and somber and rain was everywhere. No, the day they buried her the whole world was sunny and bright, like it didn’t care that the best person to step foot on it wasn’t gone. Like Juliet wasn’t dead.

He remembered that Xavier was quiet the whole time, but he didn’t cry. Xavier’s eyes were red and tired, yes, but never did they cry. Varian didn’t blame Xavier for anyway he chose to grieve. Juliet was Xavier’s daughter, his pride and joy ever since Juliet was three years old. No parent should have to bury their child. So no, Varian didn’t care if Xavier cried or not.

He remembered that her casket was heavy, he knew this because Old Corona was a small town and so possible pallbearers were few and far between. Quirin had said that they hadn’t wanted to ask Varian to do it, but Varian would have volunteered anyway. They were taking Juliet — his Jules, the love of his life, his sanity — to her final resting place. They were wrong if they ever thought he wouldn’t want to make sure she was safe getting there.

He remembered that the whole time, he had stood by Clyde. Clyde. Perhaps the only person in the whole world to understand how Varian felt. Clyde had been in love with Juliet too after all, even if Juliet in the end had been Varian’s girlfriend. Varian knew Clyde was feeling the same as he did, like the world was imploding and breaking and changing forever not that she was gone.

So when Varian passed Clyde in the church, Juliet’s casket hitched on his shoulder, he and Clyde shared a nod. Varian knew that if Clyde had been able to carry her, physically, he would have been there too.

After that, his memory fades. Juliet died in June, after some fool who had gotten himself drunk decided it would be a great idea to drive. Varian didn’t known his name. Varian really didn’t care. That whole summer Varian spent looked in his room, curled under his blanket as he shut his eyes right and tried to imagine Juliet was still alive.

He imagined Juliet bursting through the door, loudly snapping at him that the day was starting and he needed to get his butt out of bed before she had to kick it. Imagined Juliet lying down next to him, feet by his face as they stared at the ceiling and talked about how they were going to get out of Old Corona some day. Imagined Juliet calling him in the middle of the night, cackling into the phone over some joke Cass made in the background and asking if she had left her lipstick at his house.

She had actually. A bottle of her ruby red lipstick had fallen out of her purse last time she was here. Varian now kept it on his bedside table, staring at it blankly from under his blanket. Maybe if he stared long enough, she would somehow miraculously come get it.

She never did.

Summer ended and fall began, but Varian didn’t go back to MIT. He no longer spent his days in his room, but he wasn’t ready for school yet. Maybe it would have been better, going to a place she had never been. A place where every street corner did have a memory of Juliet, where everyone didn’t tell him that they’re sorry.

One person, the owner of the ice cream shop, had even told him that they always thought Varian and Juliet would get married one day. Varian hadn’t responded. Because why did he feel the need to tell Varian that? To remind Varian of the future he could never have?

But he stayed. Helped Dad with the farm and tutored kids at the high school to help with bills. Varian pretended not to notice the in memoriam plaque for Juliet in the Home Ec room, which was where Juliet had held court as the best sewer and knitter in the school.

Varian soon enough got a real job at the grocery store when Halloween rolled around. He gave most of his cheek to Xavier because Juliet’s job at the Dairy Queen at the edge of town had been what kept Xavier and Juliet off the street. So though Xavier was proud, Varian helped Xavier because that’s what Juliet would have wanted.

Christmas arrived when the idea first took hold. Some ad had been talking about toys on tv, when a toy robot had popped up. It was a crazy and reckless and selfish idea, so at first Varian rejected it. But then Christmas became New Years and it seemed less crazy and reckless.

If Juliet was gone, he would have to build a new one. Not a better one, because you could never improve upon his beautiful and perfect Juliet, but a new one.

He started when January ended. He wanted to finish it — finish her before May. That’s when she would have graduated. Juliet would get to walk across the stage and get her degree.

The easy part was finding metal and circuits to put it together. Tons of broken machines were around Old Corona once he started looking. The hard part was trying to program her. How to make this android like her — what traits were so inherently hers that they couldn’t be sacrificed? What traits would he have to remove to simplify her code? What things of her past, of the years before she was his, had she not told him? Things that informed her personality?

It was March when Clyde discovered what he was doing. Clyde had been furious, yelling and screaming and going on about how Juliet could never be replaced and how he dare he —

But Varian droned him out after awhile. He wasn’t even concerned enough to care Clyde was angry. He had thought Clyde would be with him on this. It was a way for them to get her back! To get Juliet back!

But if Clyde didn’t want, then fine. Juliet was never his in the first place. What gave him the right to say what Juliet wanted? Clyde didn’t know lots of things about her.

Clyde did not know what Juliet was like at three in the morning when she hit rock bottom, where she had screamed and cried into her cell phone. Clyde did not know how Juliet’s smile used to lighten the dark rooms. Clyde didn’t know Juliet had dreamed of finding her birth sister again, or that she hadn’t wanted a winter wedding, or that she had always been so, so afraid of the being forgotten and alone.

When the android’s eyes had first lightened in April, Varian had felt a knife turn in his stomach. He had wanted it to be her but it wasn’t. Her voice was choppy and monotone, and she smiled no more. She couldnt scream or cry or-or love —

It. It was parts and circuits and coding. He knew because he made it himself.

But it was an android, a robot, an emotionless being that could never be Juliet.

It would never be Juliet. So when he shut it down, he cried, because there really was nothing left.

[crewhonk]

Ice Cream and Boxed Wine

In which Drunk reader comes over to Peter Parkers apartment and eats his ice cream

warnings: swearing, all the fluff!!

Words: 1.7k

________

Before you came into his life, Peter Parkers ideal Thursday night would probably have been on the phone with Aunt May talking about the day and lounging on the plush couch until he fell asleep. He had moved out after the events that had taken place on Titan and later in Wakanda for fear of waking May up with his screams and nightmares. Tony, upon Peters request to find an apartment by his choice university had more than delivered with an apartment on the thirteenth floor of the complex with a pretty view of New York. The buzzing of the city would lull Peter to sleep, only to be woken up less than half an hour later by the feeling of turning into dust in Stark’s arms. 

Then, he had met you— a beautiful and strong soul with brains and wit to outmatch even MJ on a bad day. You had been living in the apartment under him, and one dreary night he had woken up to you shaking him awake. In fear of being attacked once more, he had broken your nose and had later made up for it by a week of free Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee. You had smiled at him through your managed nose and bruised eyes and he swore he had never seen someone look so….. soft. 

So, when you knocked on his door and swayed in his doorway and trying to appear suave by leaning one hand on the doorframe his Thursday night plans were well and good forgotten. 

“Y/N. Are— are you drunk?” Peter asked, a hint of amusement underlying his concern for your wellbeing. You adjusted yourself, and as your hand slipped from the frame you tumbled sloppily into his arms and burst into a loud fit of loud giggles. 

“I’m— Fuck, I think I am.” You mumbled into his shoulder, making a show of kissing it loudly before pushing past him and swaying into his kitchen with the thought of food on your mind. You heard him let out a quiet, breathless laugh as he shut the door and locked it before following you and finding you on the floor eating out of “Spidey-Velvet” ice cream by Ben and Jerry’s. He took a spoon from the utensil collection May had gifted him (they used to be her’s and Uncle Ben’s) and sat across from you on the floor, leaning against the marble island and gesturing for you to hand him the tub. After coaxing it out from your tight grasp (“no, your fuckin’— you’re gonna steal it you thief!” “you came into my house and you're on my floor eating my icecream— you’re the thief here”) he smiled and nudged your foot with his own. 

“Why the hell are you drunk on a Thursday, anyway?” He said around a mouthful of ice-cream and handing it back to you. 

“Well, me ‘nd MJ were talking on the phone and I picked up some boxed wine because apparently, I’m a fucking middle-aged woman, and then the box was gone and MJ hung up and then I was here.” You explained, trying to dance around the fact that you had indeed been talking about how whipped you were by the boy in from of you. 

“And why are you here?” He pressed further, trying to coax you to say what both of you wanted to hear. 

Instead, you shrugged and pointed your spoon menacingly at him. “Why’re you askin’ so many questions, Parker? Aren’t you supposed to make guests feel comfy?” 

“Yeah, I guess— wait is that my shirt?” He blinked, looking down at the Star Wars shirt he had been missing for the past few weeks. You blinked back, trying to process his words before looking down and blushing a beautiful scarlet. 

“Oh, shit yeah. You weren’ supposed to know that I stole it from you. Shit.” You slurred, picking at the shirt as if you had no idea where it had come from. 

“Why and when did you steal it?” He laughed, taking the peace offering from you that was his very own ice-cream flavor. 

“Um, well it was on the top of your laundry basket when we were doing laundry downstairs, and it smelled like you so I stole it.” You blushed, slightly ashamed and grossed out by your own statement. That day had been a particularly good one— you had both run into each other in the elevator with baskets resting on your hips and matching smiles. You had sat on his laundry machine as you chatted about your classes and his job (the Stark internship had become a full-time job as far as you knew) and everything in between. He had even told you about the time that he followed around both the Falcon and the White Wolf just to annoy them— they had apparently never gotten over his first bad impression (what Peter didn’t know is that they were rather fond of him and his mindless chattering). 

“It doesn’t smell like you anymore so that’s kinda disappointing, I guess.” You went to reach for the carton, and he pulled it away from you, smiling at the whine that left your throat and the cute little pout of your bottom lip. 

“Why’s that disappointing?” He mumbled, loud enough for you to hear and low enough that the sound went straight to your lower tummy. The half-lidded eyes that watched you make grabby hands for the carton made the apples of your cheeks glow pink, and you found yourself not being able to look at him in the eye. “Why, Y/N?”

“Because I like you.” You huffed under your breath and reached forward for the bucket, throwing yourself off balance and into his lap. He reached up and placed the ice-cream on the island above the pair of you, instead, pulling you further to straddle him and rested his hands on your hips. 

“I didn’t hear you, Angel.” He said, eyes flickering back and forth from your eyes to your lips. Your hands came up to rest on the back of his neck and play with the curls at the nape of his neck. He sighed under your touch and you found yourself shaking your head to focus on his words. 

“I um— I like you?” You whispered quietly, speaking softly as to not startle either of you and ruining to moment.  

“Wanna show me how much?” He asks in an equally low voice and ghosting his touch up and down your sides. 

“Excuse me?” You squeaked, your hands stilling in his hair and watching him smile at your sudden sober shyness. 

“Show me.” He asked again, still quiet but more firm, making you shift in his lap nervously and leaning in slightly. He nodded his consent, and leaned forward himself, brushing the tip of his nose against yours lightly and hesitating only a second before pressing his lips softly to yours. 

The kiss was tentative, and slow, and shy and maybe had a little too much teeth for your like, but the warmth of his touch made it so worth it. Your noses would bump occasionally, making the pair of your giggle into each other's mouths and letting those giggles resolve into little moans that only spurred both of you on more. 

It was when you shifted yourself a little too close to him when he got a little rougher. He bit your lip experimentally and when you let out a tiny squeak of pleasant surprise, he smirked against your mouth and licked the bite. You moaned at the warmth of his tongue and pressed yours against his own tentatively, testing the water of which you both swam and diving in when he let out an almost breathless moan. Both of you tasted like the red velvet, dark chocolate and vanilla of the ice-cream and if it wasn’t the best thing Peter had ever experienced, he would be a god damned fool— you on his lap tasting like his superhero ice-cream? Nice. 

You broke apart when you both ran out of air, and pressed your foreheads together and huffed puffs of air for a few minutes, listening to the faint buzz of the television in the other room and the even more faint sound of traffic that was so far away. 

“I can give you another shirt if you want,” He breathed, looking at you with shining eyes and kissing you once more when you gave him a shy, blushing smile. 

“I’d like that.” You said, closing your eyes and melting into his body, every inch of you pressing together as if you were meant to be in that very moment for the rest of your lives. 

“You’re gonna have to take it off first, though.” He pulled away and smiled cheekily up at you, and laughing when you flushed red and slapped his chest. 

The ice-cream left on the counter was left to melt. 

[austempered]

🎧

[I love these two, catch me crying in the club]

1. Memories of Gone Summers by Sohsuke

2. Born for This by The ScoreWe are the warriors, who learned to love the painWe come from different places, but have the same nameWe are the broken ones, who chose to spark a flameWatch as our fire rages, our hearts are never tame‘Cause we were born for this, we were born for this

3. Hunger by Florence + The Machine

Tell me what you need- Oh, you look so freeThe way you move your body, baby- Come on and work it for meDon’t let it get you down, you’re the best thing I’ve seenWe never found the answer, but we knew one thing:We all have a hungerAnd it’s Friday night and it’s kicking inAnd I can’t dress, they’re gonna crucify meOh, but you and all your vibrant youth-How could anything bad ever happen to you?You make a fool of death with your beautyAnd for a moment I forget to worry…

4. My Crush Was a Monster Boy (feat. Fukase)It resounded throughout the school:All sorts of screams and criesIt was only two of us in the school building nowAnd my heart began to pound…In this obstacle courseLet’s aim for first place!As we eat our ice creamWhere should we go next?5. Bran-new Lovesong by The PillowsTell me, where did you come fromWhy do you know meTears of melancholy fallResounding through the end of my lonelinessI used to hate myselfBut before I knew it, I gave inThis heart began to raceIt’s not so easily softenedYou gave me everything

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Wrought Iron Machine (Final Part)

It hasn’t taken long at all for the headlines to announce her vocal struggles and declining health, to have them plastered for everyone to see. Even if she wants to she can’t say anything on her own behalf. She reads another headline; ‘Has the Fire Been Put Out: Fire Of Agni Frontwoman Loses Voice.’

Azula sits in an emergency room back in the Fire Nation, they still don’t have the equipment to correct the worsened cyst. For the time they only monitor her vitals and pain-levels. She doesn’t think much about the pain though. Her head is preoccupied by the image of her father’s complacent look of satisfaction. By the realization that she had made a fool of herself at the world’s most extravagant and esteemed music competition. By the thought that she will never talk, much less,  sing again.

She doesn’t know which matter concerns her the most, she supposes that they are all interconnected. Even if she does recover, after unleashing such an Agni-awful, ear-piercing sound on stage she can’t imagine that she’ll be getting another invite to Southern Air Sounds. Her musical career is over. Her only option is to wander back to her father and hope that she can win him over with her firebending talents. She can’t beg him for another chance if she can’t speak.

There is a pressure behind her eyes and she wants to let it out. But crying will only do more damage to her delicate vocal cords. The doctor warns as much. So she tries her best to choke back her embarrassment and grief.

She truly hopes that she won’t hear from her father anytime soon, she can’t take it. Zuko takes a seat next to her and squeezes her hand. She appreciates his company and the gesture, but it is little condolences. Just as little as TyLee’s tight hugs and loving kisses. Mai tries to assure her that the crowd was kind. “They weren’t saying anything bad about you, you know? After the show everyone was just asking if you were okay.”

“They were really worried.” Zuko adds.

“Someone told me to give this to you!” TyLee smiles. She hands her a stuffed fire ferret and a get well soon card. Azula takes them without a sound, she barely looks up. She isn’t sure who is rubbing her back but she thinks that it is either Zuko or TyLee.

“Do you…” she rasps but it is broken and painful so she ceases trying to vocalize her question.

“Here.” Mai pushes her a pad of papers. She pushes it back, opting to spell her question in the air with fire. If she can’t speak she may as well make it look cool. With her fire she asks if they’ve been barred from attending S.A.S in the future. It is easier to simply use the acronym so that is what she does.

“I don’t think so. We were doing amazing up until…” Mai trails off.

“They said that they admired our creativity and ability to improvise.” Zuko points out.

‘No thanks to me.’ She spells out.

“Creativity!” TyLee points out. “They liked your idea to have an instrumental number. None of the other bands did that.”

It is only a sliver of reassurance. At least she hasn’t completely messed up. She stares at her hands. She just wants her voice back.

The pain finally begins setting in, it rips at her throat bringing tears to her eyes.

Zuko’s back rubs increase.

“Are you alright, Azula?” TyLee asks, her eyes sympathetic.

She only has it in her to spell out, “hurts.” She curls herself up

.oOo.

The temples are stunning, more stunning than Kuvira remembers. They have added some decorative chandeliers. She feels blessed that they have invited her to stay. She and the rest of her band have been invited to a dinner with the three bands that performed after hers. An unexpected but every bit as welcomed victory surprise.

She triple checks her hair and attire. She has her hair in another neat and tight braided bun and has applied a touch of makeup to her face. “How is this, Baatar?”

“I already told you that you look amazing.” He replies, “can we just have dinner?”

“Yeah, I’m getting hungry and I hear that the wine is fantastic.” Ghazan remarks, putting his arm around Ming.  

“You’re always hungry.” P’Li remarks.

“Correct.” He winks.

Kuvira adds a comb hair clip to her outfit and checks the mirror for a fourth time. She wants to leave a good impression if she is going to be dining with musical legends. Baatar takes her hand and pulls her away from the mirror. “I think that that’s perfect.”

“You say that about everything I wear.” Kuvira points out.

“Because everything you wear is perfect.”

“Ugg.” P’Li grumbles. “Definitely didn’t miss that.”

Kuvira unfolds a cloth map and leads her band down the hall. Baatar links his arm with hers. They wander for some time, stopping on one occasion to see the Southern Air hall of fame. It is organized by category from jazz to pop and folk to metal. Kuvira scans the category reserved for the musical legends, it is surreal to see an image of their band among them. It is from their performance three days prior.  

“Now Ming, don’t touch anything.” Ghazan says.

“Ha. Funny man.” She mutters.

As they chatter, Kuvira wanders further down the hall viewing the metal category and finding a second image of Wrought Iron Machine. Still it is dream-like to see it hanging there in a frame of swirling gold. The rest of her band comes to catch up with her. She comes to the last category, a seemingly new sub category. There is only a single photograph in the section for bands with the most unique concepts.

She wonders if they are even aware being as they were forced to depart so soon.

Baatar nudges her, “we’re going to be late.”

Kuvira picks up her pace and soon she is standing before a set of almost absurdly long double doors. The insignia of the air nomads is carved at the center of both of them. Kuvira takes a breath and smooths a few wrinkles out of her outfit. Baatar rubs her shoulders encouragingly.

She heaves the doors open and makes her way to the empty chairs reserved for she and her band. “Welcome.” Greets Karou. The frontman of Wan Shi Tong’s Waltz sits at the head of the table, their dinner and competition host.

It is somewhat hard to maintain composure, the result of some residual teenage crush that never had a chance to fully extinguish.

“Thank you.” Baatar fills in for her. “We’re honored to be guests here.”

Karou shakes their hands each in turn. “And I’d like to personally congratulate you for joining us in the hall of fame and for the baby. Perhapst the child will share your musical talents.”

Kuvira smiles. “Thank you. I hope the same.” Even if the child has other interests she makes a very special point to let them flourish. “Though she may take up Baatar’s fascination with machines.”

Another woman speaks, Xing-Bora from Tears of Yue. “I think we should also congratulate the two of you for saving your marriage and the band.”

“It’s a wonder you all pulled through so close to the competition.” Remarks Chong. “What was that about anyways?”

His own wife nudges him. “Apologies, he still has is countryside manners.”   

P’Li scoffs, “we’ll forgive him if you all forgive Ghazan for being a human disaster.”

“It’s a long story.” Kuvira cuts in before they can start a secondhand embarrassment inducing round of bickering. “To put it simply, even though I let him name the band,” Kuvira sneaks in, “he felt as though he didn’t get enough creative freedom.”

Baatar rubs the back of his head. “A man needs to show his brilliance every now and again.”

Conversation breaks off momentarily as appetizers are passed around. Kuvira resumes the chatter with a simple. “It was a pleasure to see you perform.” An understatement.

“And a pleasure to listen to your band as well.” Karou returns cheerfully. “I was hoping that you would be willing to perform during our next competition.” He pauses. “Of course, you won’t be able to perform as a contestant. Instead you will be performing with us during the esteemed after-competition show.”

“We certainly plan on it.” Kuvira replies. Though she isn’t entirely certain what ten years will bring. How their child will impact their band. She decides to take things as they come and hope for the best.

“It will be hard to top this decade’s contest.” Chong notes.

“It was certainly eventful.” Xing-Bora remarks. “It’s a shame about Fire of Agni…”

“How is the girl?” Chong’s wife asks.

“If the headlines are to be trusted, she’s due for surgery sometime within the month.” Karou replies.

“I hope that it works.” Chong’s wife says softly.

“Yes,” Kuvira adds. “She…” she isn’t sure if she should use past or present tense. She feels optimistic. “She has a very unique talent, I don’t think that I’ve heard a voice like hers.” Again, her heart pangs for the girl.

“I thought that your band didn’t like theirs.”

“It was a phase.” P’Li waves her hand dismissively. “We needed someone to shit talk so we wouldn’t shit talk each other.”

“We did it anyways.” Ghazan shrugged.

“No less, the kids have talent.” Karou speaks. “I would love to see them back next time around. They have it in them to win if Azula makes a full recovery. They have it in them to win even if she only recovers partially.”

Their discussion dies down again as the main course is set before them. Kuvira takes the opportunity to gaze at the other tables; like their own two others are lined with golden tablecloths. They host other past winners of Southern Air Sounds. The ones lined in silver host the second placers and the honorable mentions. And a bunch of others tables a reserved for audience members and bands that had paid to have seating. She sees four empty spots at the silver tables. Karou follows her gaze. “We figured that it would be respectful to have a spot open for them even if they can’t fill them.”

Kuvira nods.

The rest of their dinner is mundane. She inquires some about the bands and styles that have influenced Wan Shi Tong’s Waltz and Ghazan makes a few off-color remarks as the beer gets to him. Ming really only speaks to ask why her ice cream is topped with two cherries while everyone else only has one. It is more laid back than she has anticipated. And it goes by much faster. It seems as though they have barely finished desert when guests start heading for the door.

Karou turns to her and hands her an envelope. “Your prize money and an invite to our next competition.”

Kuvira will have to split the prize money when she gets a chance.

“If you run into Fire of Agni before they receive their letter, do tell them that they have been invited.”

“I can hand them their letter personally.”

.oOo.

The surgery leaves her terribly anxious. They say that it can ruin her voice. All the same she wonders if it even matters, she has already done that herself.  She does wish, though, that they hadn’t told her of the possibility of something going wrong enough to kill her. On the other hand, she no longer knows if she is entirely opposed to that.

She faintly thinks that she is being overly dramatic. If nothing else she still has TyLee. She still has Zuko and Mai.

The three have worked so hard to uplift her spirits. To remind her not to bother with her father. To remind her that she still has a spot in the band. They don’t tell her how, they leave her to remind herself that she can still play the guitar. That she can still organize the band and design their sets and write their lyrics.

She repeats the reminders to herself as TyLee pulls her into her arms. She doesn’t particularly want to be held at the moment, she has received enough pity and babying, but she doesn’t resist either. TyLee holds her tightly, it is almost too brief because a nurse comes to beckon her forward.

Azula listens to them explain the procedure to her, cringing inwardly at some of the descriptors. After a certain point she wonders if she even wants to know. She decides that she does, she wants to know exactly what to expect.

Not long after, she finds herself drifting into a drug induced sleep.

She wakes up groggy. She opens her mouth to speak but is immediately scolded. It takes her mind a moment to catch back up with her. The words die on her lips. She sits herself upright, they let her do so but it leaves her feeling dizzy so she goes to lay back down. Zuko holds her up as TyLee props a pillow up for her. She scans the room for Mai and finds the girl leaning against the wall as quietly as ever.

Doctor Fing-Sho reappears, taking a seat next to her bed. “I have a few instructions for you.”

Azula nods.

“Obviously I advise that you talk as little as possible for the first two weeks, perhaps three. When you do speak, be brief. Don’t yell or try to sing.” He pauses and she nods her understanding again. “Your voice will sound very hoarse. This can last up to eight weeks. We can start vocal therapy during week three. I know I said you can begin talking more after two weeks, but I would like to play on the safe side. You are very lucky that we were able to fix the damage you’ve done.”

Azula subtly gnaws the inside of her cheek.

“With that said, I recommend that you find yourself a vocal trainer who specializes in musical techniques.”

Azula nods once more.

“Finally, you have a visitor.”  Fing-Sho smiles.

Azula knits her brows and then the panic sets in. Rather quickly she spells with fire, that she doesn’t want to see her father.

“It’s not your father.” The doctor replies.

Using her fire she vocalizes her approval and Fing-Sho beckons her visitor into the room. Azula tries to hide a scowl when she sees the face of the woman who she’d handed her victory over to. Kuvira makes herself as comfortable as she can in a hospital chair. She rests one hand on the arm rest and her other on her belly. “I hope you don’t mind me coming by.”

Azula absolutely does, but she doesn’t use her fire to depict as much.

“I actually came by to give you something.” She holds an envelope out.

Azula reaches for it and her brows knit again at the sight of the seal.

“There was an after party of sorts. I spoke to Karou, he says that he hopes to see you at the next competition.

Azula’s face softens, the woman is doing a good job of breaking the ice whether she wants to admit it or not.

“He believes that you will do well even if you don’t make a full recovery, I don’t know if that makes things any better.”

This time she does let the woman know that it does not.

Kuvira gives a small laugh. “I didn’t think so. Not much made me feel better when Fing-Sho worked with me…”

Azula tilts her head so Kuvira elaborates.

“Awhile back...a long while, Wrought Iron Machine tried to do something like your first album. I don’t have the vocal type you do. I messed my voice up rather quickly trying to force something that I wasn’t good at.” She shrugs.

“Why are you here?” Zuko asks. “Your band hates ours.”

Kuvira shrugs a second time. “We don’t hate your band. We just...got a little competitive.”

How diplomatic, Azula thinks to herself.

“We were falling out of the limelight and you were in it.”

She is the jealous type.

“You’ve created a sound that no one has heard before and...we wanted to do that for ourselves.” She pauses. “A success by the way.”

“Well congratulations.” Mai grumbles, “it’s our turn to be on the bottom.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Kuvira replies. “I meant that your creation was a success. You have a spot in the Southern Air Sounds hall of fame for it.”

“We do?” TyLee smiles.

“Yes, you do.” She turns back to Zuko. “To answer your question; I’m here to make amends.”

Azula frowns. She has very little interest in the woman, she is condescending and self-righteous. She folds her arms over her chest and glowers at Kuvira. The woman looks terribly unfazed. Azula supposes that she isn’t all that intimidating in a hospital gown and without her voice.

“You remind me of myself. You have reckless ambition. A drive to make it to the top.” She pauses again. “I’ve only ever seen that kind of determination when it’s all or nothing.” Again she halts. “Mine comes from spite I suppose. My parents thought that my dreams were foolish so they dumped me on the side of the road for trying to pursue them. I was hoping that my appearance in Southern Air Sounds...” She breaks off. “I just thought that they would show up. For some reason I expected them to. I don’t think that they even know who I am anymore.”    

Azula wishes that the woman hadn’t shared because now there is a sort of connection, now she feels inclined to hear the woman out. Zuko speaks first. “I don’t know if you heard about it but Azula and I didn’t leave home willingly either.

Kuvira nods empathetically. “I had a feeling. I know what an abandoned child looks like…”

She remains quiet in thought for a long while. “That’s also why I’m here. I have another offer for you.”

.oOo.

The house is quiet. Quiet and empty. She and Baatar haven’t quite gotten around to moving all of their furniture in. P’Li, Ghazan, and Ming-Hua have taken to exploring their new neighborhood. Kuvira herself decides to stay home and try to tidy the place up a bit, plan out how she’d like to lay out their furniture. She looks over Baatar’s ideas, deciding that they are probably good enough. The man in question is away as well, somewhere between his childhood home and their new one, driving a large satomobile full of their possessions. She would love to help but they are down to the heaviest of their belongings and she has already received a good scolding from her doctor against heavy lifting.

Eventually she resigns to that she is six months along and needs to take it easy. She supposes it isn’t so bad, she hasn’t left him totally alone. He has help from his brothers and from Zuko. Most comfortingly, he has Lin’s assistance. Kuvira is half convinced that the very reason so much progress has been made in their move because of Lin alone.

Azula wanders into the nearly barren room, Kuvira didn’t hear her come in and wonders how long she has been there. She doesn’t talk much and Kuvira, at first, assumed that the girl was still weary of hurting her voice further. But she has come to find that the firebender is simply a quieter person. When she does speak it is typically soft-spoken. The kind of soothing timbre Kuvira had been expecting and not expecting all at once. Looking at her, it makes perfect sense but after hearing only her music for so long it is hard to imagine her speaking so softly.

“How was therapy.”

“It was…” she thinks for a moment, “it went better than last time.” There is still a hoarser undertone to her voice, but the raspiness is becoming less pronounced as the healing process continues.

Kuvira has cup of tea ready. It is still steaming when she pours it for the girl. “Here, drink.”

Azula takes the cup in her hands. “Uncle makes better tea.”

The girl has a bit of a difficult temperament, Kuvira has learned to brush off her more prickly moods. She no longer takes the more off-handed commentary to heart.

“It’s not the taste that matters, it’s the effect.” Raava knows that the girl has fought her on this many a times. Kuvira stands by her opinion; as long as the tea can help soothe the girl’s throat, it is serving its purpose.

Azula routinely argues that Kuvira should learn to make better tea if she is going to make her drink it every other day.

“Have a seat.” Kuvira offers only to have the firebender decline.

“I like standing.” She sips at the tea, just once before holding it over a small fire in her palm.

“I’ve never seen firebending like that.”

“It’s actually quite common for firebenders to heat their tea like this.”

Kuvira rolls her eyes, feeling a faint hint of amusement. “I’ve never seen someone use blue fire.”

Azula gives a prideful smile. “Good. I like to think that it is something only I can do.”

The remark is the loudest Kuvira has heard from the girl since adopting her. She wonders if the firebender’s voice had always been this soft or if it is the product of her injury. She tries to recall one of Fire Of Agni’s interviews. Before she can truly reach a decision her thoughts are cut off by a very loud and very cheerful, “Oh Azula! You’re home!” Kuvira watches the other girl throw her arms around Azula who returns the gesture by awkwardly patting her girlfriend’s head.

“It’s good to see you too, Ty.”

Kuvira finds it hard to resist making an inquiry. “Was her voice always this quiet?”

TyLee thinks for a moment. “Hmmm. Sort of. She used to talk a little louder, but not that much.”

“You need more tea.” Kuvira declares, needing an excuse to be on her feet.

“You need to get out of the house.” Azula shoots back.

The girl isn’t entirely wrong. But her tone of voice comes with a touch of sass. Kuvira supposes that it will do her well to get used to it. Her baby will be a teen eventually. Raising--though she uses the term loosely--the former princess, her brother, and friends has been an interesting feat to say the least. She doesn’t know how Suyin has managed to raise all of her children and Kuvira herself.

“I suppose that I will when Baatar gets home.” Kuvira says at last.

“What are you going to name it?” TyLee changes the subject.

Before she can give her answer Azula grumbles, “you better not name it after Karou.”

“We had two names in mind.” Kuvira replies. “Setsuko and Kotone.”

“Setsuko.” Azula casts her vote and TyLee nods in agreement.

Azula hands Kuvira her cup. “I don’t know what you want me to do with this.”

“Whatever my servants used to do with them.” Azula shrugs.

“I’m not your servant. I’m your mother.” It is still somewhat strange to say.

Frowning, Azula hands the cup to TyLee who flounces over to the sink and washes it. Kuvira rolls her eyes. One of these days she will have to get the girl to do her own dishes.

It would seem as though TyLee doesn’t share any of the awkward feelings. “Are you coming to or show tonight, mom? It’s our first one since S.A.S.”

“I’ll be there.” She replies.

“Good because it’s going to be my first time singing that many songs. And Azula has been really working hard on learning to play the guitar.”

“I thought that you already knew how to play it.”

“I put more focus into singing.” Azula shrugs. “But if I can’t do that, I might as well make myself known for play the guitar better than everyone else.”

So that is why Ghazan has been strumming his bass so intensely. She wonders if it is truly possible that her fiance is in an unspoken competition with a teenager. It begins to dawn on Kuivra that she has created a very bizzare family for herself. She supposes that she likes it this way, it keeps her occupied.

.oOo.

The past few months leave the former princess wondering why she had gone out of her way to create scandals and article material. Headlines seem to be coming left and right these days. The headlines have long since made note of Kuvira adopting four fire children with speculations ranging from simple observations to theories that they are about to form one large band.

The chatter of that had only just died down when Azula’s former rival found herself to be the subject of a new brand of talk with a slew of invasive journalists trying to get the first shot of the woman’s newborn. A seperate news article reported P’Li landing a good punch on one of the particularly eager ones.

For herself, Azula’s voice and the state of it are in constant discussion. The latest article unveils her plans to begin singing again. For the time it will  be reserved for the recording studio only and depending on how that goes, she will be singing on stage when they tour alongside Wrought Iron Machine.

She is reluctant to thank Kuvira. Albeit a bit overbearing, the woman has gone out of her way to pass down a few of the vocal technique and warm ups she has learned. With the woman occupied by her baby girl, Azula almost misses having her lingering in the studio with her. But she has TyLee for company. Soon she will have Zuko and Mai as well. They are late again because Zuko refuses to leave without his beanie. Maybe if her brother kept his room more organized, he wouldn’t run into such a struggle. Perhaps she can get Kuvira to nag the boy. Such is another area of common ground; they both wish that one of their bandmates could tidy up a bit.

All in all, she is growing used to and fond of referring to the metalbender as her mother. She is closer to her than she had been with her real mother. And the woman, though prone to being somewhat of a hardass is kinder than her own father ever was. She is nearly at a point where she doesn’t miss her real parents at all. But if Kuvira is anything to go by, the disappointment never truly leaves.

Azula uses the spare time to get her new lyrics in order and her equipment adjusted. Her line of thinking switches. She is somewhat nervous to be back in the studio. Doctor Fing-Sho insists that her vocal cords are mostly healed, that the therapy is doing them very well. Yet there is still a faint tingle at the back of her mind that she can tear them apart again.

Screaming is still off of the table, at least for the time being. She is allowed a line or two of harsh vocals but it is advised that she doesn’t perform a set with them every single night. For now she will leave Zuko with that job and take up the gentler vocals.

No matter how solid her plan is she still feels vaguely insecure. The change is so subtle but she still finds that she can’t speak as loudly as before and there is still a very slight rasp to her voice that is going to take some getting used to.

Perhaps it will make her stand out. It isn’t a vocal quality many others have. TyLee speculates as much anyhow.

Finally the door opens. But it is not Zuko who enters.

Kuvira leans in the doorway Setsuko in one arm and a tea set in the other. Azula admires the woman’s creativity, she uses a metal platter, bending it to keep the porcelain on it from falling.

“I wrote a letter to the Jasmine Dragon a while back.” She says as she sets the tea set down. She brushes her fingers over the baby’s cheek. “You better like it this time.”

“Thank you.” Azula picks up the cup. It is heated to a satisfactory degree, things are off to a good start.

Baatar appears in the doorway. “Suyin says that she can watch Setsuko while we reccord tomorrow.”

“Thank Raava.” Kuvira mutters. She hands the baby over to the man.

Azula notes that the woman definitely looks worn. Her hair is some straggly and she is still wearing pajama bottoms. Baatar slips his free arm around the woman’s waist.

“What are you going to do today?” Azula asks.

“While Baatar watches Setsuko, I was going to take P’Li to visit Zaheer in prison.”

Azula krinkles her brows. “Seriously.”

Kuvira nods.

“Have a grand time.”

Kuvira laughs. “If you need anything just call Baatar.”

Azula nods. As Kuvira and Baatar leave, Mai, TyLee, and Zuko make their appearance. “It’s about time. I was about to start on my solo album.”

Zuko bumps her shoulder. “Good to have you back, Azula.”

It is nice to be in the studio again.