#the prompt was branded and i went beyond that

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul (Here) | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits you steal:

Plan-Books (Inherited) : Riddle habitually carries a planner with all his tasks. A physical one, not an app in his cell phone like most students choose. You find it easier to manage and swap to paper-and-pen alternatives at his recommendation.

Tidiness (Inherited): Riddle is a nit-pickier when it comes to physical presentation. His habits of pressing his uniform, laying his clothes out every night, and dressing conservatively rub off. He has a point - ironed trousers do make a difference. Every morning he will redo your uniform tie. It's never knotted to his 'standard', and is his preferred excuse to greet you before class.

"Now, isn't that better? Surely you are more comfortable in ironed linens than those rags you'd been wearing as pajamas. You seriously found them lying in Ramshackle? Were you not given an allowance to buy basic needs? Ridiculous! The Headmaster's irresponsibility holds no bounds!" <- Utterly appalled that you've been sleeping in century-old robes. He supplies you with seven sets of pajamas, a spare uniform, and an iron + board for Ramshackle. All after reaming the Headmaster for neglect in the last dorm-head meeting - either Crowley coughed up the marks or Riddle will supply from his own bank. Seven have mercy if he chooses to become a lawyer instead of a doctor.

No Heels (Developed): Riddle has a height complex. He won't make a show of it, but you wearing heels does emasculate him. Especially if you're already taller naturally. For his sake, you choose to slay your outfits in flats.

"Are those new loafers? Oh - no, they're lovely. The embroidery is exquisite and I can see why Pomefiore's Housewarden models for their brand. I merely thought you preferred the heeled saddle-shoes we saw during the past weekend trip. I must have been mistaken. Never mind me. You look wonderful."

Playing Brain Teasers (Inherited): Riddle has this thing with memory - you don't know if he's really into preventing old-age Alzheimer's or what. He carries a book of teaser games like Sudoku, etc. for when he has downtime and you eventually get into them too.

"Oh! My Rose, would you care to join me for lunch? Trey's siblings recently mailed in a large collection of cross-words. You'll find they are both educational and entertaining - hm? I do not seem the 'type' for word-games? I assure you, even I can relax on occasion. There is no need to look so surprised." <- Riddle's been making a grand effort to do things he enjoys and become more personable. Trey's siblings did not send the collection. Riddle went into town and picked it out on his own. He also found a book on organizing excursions since he's big on quality time. He is dead-set on not being a neglectful or 'boring' partner.

Swear Jar (Developed): Tired of Riddle collaring Ace for his vulgar tongue, you suggest a Heartslabyul swear jar. When the jar gets filled, the money can be used to fund things like study materials and renovations for the dorm. Riddle liked this idea, but now implements it on anyone who sets foot in the Heartslabyul. Considering you spend most of your time there, you've had to develop a vast vocabulary beyond swearing. Oh - you also unironically use the word 'fiddlesticks' now.

Habits he steals:

Useless Expenses (Inherited): You are an enabler without a doubt. Riddle has always functioned with the bare bones - with function and efficiency being the number one priority. Ever so slowly - you've spoiled him with aesthetically pleasing stationary. At first all the needless purchases felt redundant - why buy the pillowcases with flowers when plain white is cheaper? You can invest in a higher quality this way. Yet you've ruined him with gifts that he had no choice but to use. Now he needs to buy the pens with little hedgehogs on them because studying doesn't feel the same with a plain ballpoint.

Slang Dictionary (Developed): With each passing day, all the students in Heartslabyul get more creative at bending the rules. That includes you. Riddle takes it upon himself to carry a 'little-black-book' full of all the sang words he is unfamiliar with. He does want to be a bit more 'hip' to understand you more, but at the same time he wants to bust any student being a smart-mouth. It's an ongoing battle *sigh*.

"Apologies, could you repeat that term for me? Surely it must be relevant to my lecture if you and Ace are whispering. 'Let him cook'? Do you think we are in a culinary lecture?! Have you not been listening to - ah. So it's in reference to letting me finish before interrupting...One moment. I need to make a note."

Chewing Gum (Developed): This is an ode to psychology. In short, eating is tied to a person's fight-or-flight. Instincts dictate that our bodies need to be in a calm state to eat comfortably. One day when Riddle was at his wits end, you tossed him a pack of sugarless gum and told him to chew. Disregarding Trey's unholy dental screeching, Riddle develops a gum dependence for when he's stressed out. On the bright side, his jaw has never been so sharp.

“Mimicry? You must be mistaken. Even if my influence has affected their person, surely there are only positive developments” == Riddle denies any changes if confronted. In truth, he’s well aware of how much you’ve helped him grow. It’s the opposite accusation that spikes concern. Riddle does not want others thinking you’re a mini-version of him. Rumors are not kind and neither is his current reputation. Making those amends is his burden to bare. He is flattered to see you paying attention to his mannerisms, and secretly proud that your bond is strong enough to affect the psyche.

Habits you steal:

Whistling (Inherited): Trey whistles while working in the kitchen or doing general chores around the dorm. He's not very loud with it, so not may students are bothered. Since you laze about in his shadow the tunes he goes through do become repetitive. Now you do the same when cleaning up Ramshackle. Grim wants to knock you both out because he can't take it anymore.

"Ah -- How'd you know it was me in here? Just because I bake for the un-birthday parties doesn't mean I live in the kitchen, you know. My whistling? Huh. Never thought that would be my calling card but there are worse things, haha"

Head-Scratching (Inherited): Trey's got a habit of scratching the back of his head when he's uncomfortable or nervous. That, or rubbing at the nape of his neck while adverting eye contact. You start doing this too whenever you're being scolded or put in a tough situation.

Dental Hygiene (Inherited): By far the most obvious shared trait. Trey enforces his dental habits onto everyone- you are no exception. You now own four different kinds of floss, two toothbrushes (one being electric), and have a strict hygiene routine. Your pearly whites have never been so clean. Eventually you become somewhat of a secondary enforcer, policing anyone who sleeps over your dorm to take care of themselves before bed. All of Heartslabyul learns that there is no going back when you scold Riddle for not brushing after his teatime tart, and live to tell the tale.

"Hey - uh, weird question? Were you handing out floss to the Spelldrive Team yesterday? Seriously? I though Grim was pulling my leg - oh, no! It's not weird at all! Those guys should have a better routine for all the meat they eat when bulking. I'm just shocked you got through to them." <- Very proud. Mildly cocky. He's been itching to get those negligent jocks to floss after their banquets his entire tenure, but steered away from that conflict like the plague. Thank you for making his dreams come true. Now if you could maybe get them to stop picking their gums with toothpicks?

Habits he steals:

Overbuying Food (Developed): Being a baker's son, Trey's good with finances and money. He's also meticulous with the ingredients he purchases for his bakes. You are not. You go to Sam's shop, buy whatever is on sale, and then bring it back home to improvise. This ends poorly more often than not, and behold! Trey has two Ramshackle sluggers snooping around his kitchen for eats. This is unpredictable and therefore he now never knows what amount to buy. You've ruined him.

Phone Calls (Developed): Texting is easier. Especially since phone calls can be a commitment that Trey dislikes being wrapped up in. Whenever Cater's name pops up as the caller, Trey knows he's getting an ear full. The thing is that you never. answer. your. phone. Either the text gets lumped in with the hundreds of missed messages you have, or Grim stole your cell to play mobile games. So Trey gives up and only ever calls. Either Grim will answer or you'll pick up thinking it's the snooze of your alarm.

"Hello? Prefect, where are you? It's me, Trey. Just calling to see if you're still coming to the Un-Birthday party? Riddle's getting a bit nervous since the schedule's set for the next hour. Grim's already here with Ace and Deuce - uh, want Cater to send a double to pick you up? I have a sinking feeling that you're asleep...Call me? Please?" <- He was correct. You called back not a moment after, half-asleep and hauling ass not to be late.

Speaking in Propositions (Inherited): Trey's normally good at keeping neutrality in a conversation, but getting a clear answer out of Yuu you is like solving a rubix cube. Either it's easy and instant, or a long game. Eventually your habit of indecisiveness rubs off on him and he asks questions more than answers them. Evidently this gets his younger classmen to stop asking for favors unless they really need to.

“Aha - really? I didn’t notice at all. Okay. Okay, I picked up on a few hints. What’s so wrong with them taking after me? It’s cute, right?” == Trey is the observant sort that picks up on his influence quickly. Not just anyone carries floss in their pocket at all times - and the looks from his dorm-mates when you offer some up is enough for the realization to click. Trey’s used to playing the respectable sort, and finds it endearing that you’re taking his good notes to heart. In truth, most of Trey’s mimicry is intentional. He’s a flexible guy who doesn’t mind altering his habits to fit your needs. Easier this way, y’know?

Habits you steal:

Speaking in Acronyms(Inherited): Now this is scary. The first time it happened, you had to take a pause and just re-evaluate your entire life. You don't use them nearly as often as Cater does, but somewhere along the line your brain must have rewired to speak in internet lingo. O-M-G you're TOTALLY twinning with him right now, period :)

Nicknames (Inherited): Again, frightening. You once swore against ever calling him Cay-Cay. It isn't very slay-slay. Yet you can only hear him use nicknames for so long until you're unconsciously calling people by them too. Especially since he's always dishing gossip. It starts in your head, which is fine. It's not like they know. Then you call Lilia 'Lils' and that old fart is just grinning behind his sleeve because ohoho~ young love <3

"Did you just- AHA! OMG DO IT AGAIN?! Wait, gotta get my camera out for this - wha? Oh, that's totes not fair! C'mon. Call me Cay-Cay. Just once! I won't even post it to Magicam, please? Lils won't believe me without proof! Pleasssssseeeee - " <- He actually doesn't want you to call him Cay-Cay all the time. Cater likes you using his given name, since it's more personal. Although the way it obviously slipped out on accident is just too cute to ignore.

Reality TV (Inherited): At first you don't like the gossip. It's cheesy, a bit annoying, and the shaky camera-work for nearly every show is headache inducing. Cater likes his dose of drama in his free-time, and Ramshackle has a tv that no one is using. It starts with him watching while you do other things around the dorm. Yet each time you pass the living area, you take longer to leave. Lingering around like one of the ghosts. Then he pulls you in with snacks and starts giving the low-down of what's going on, pulling out a bottle of tangerine shimmer polish to paint your nails. It's just one episode, watch it for him? Please? Oh no. No. No. Suddenly you're invested in who's the baby-daddy of little Ricky and what Chantel is going to do because her sister just lost the house to foreclosure.

"#KingdomOfDeadbeats - am I right? Ugh. I'm so glad we met if that's the dating scene back home...What?! I know it isn't real! Don't be a dummy, I was just joking! Ah! Stop! Don't hit me!" <- Half-hearted jokes about going on one of those talk-shows one day. You're an alien, after all - imagine the juicy drama and views his account would get from doing an interview? It's all jokes though. Cater likes spilling the tea, but hates being it. Don't ever abandon him and go out for milk though, kay? He doesn't want to pay Grim's child support. Otherwise he might have no choice smh

Habits he steals:

Phone/Web Games (Inherited): Cater's phone is mainly full of social media. He's not too into the gaming scene, it's not his peeps y'know? Alas, you download a few dress-up games and one MMO on his phone. First off - props on getting his phone. That's Cay-Cay's lifeline and not just anyone gets to play with it. Pray tell - what is this Wonderstar Planet (props if you know what is being ref.) and how can he become the most influential digital streamer on it? Congrats. He's addicted.

"Who's this Muscle Red and why's he bombing our raid - AH! He just tea-bagged me! So not cool...Prefect? STOP LAUGHING WE HAVE BETS ON THIS MATCH! There goes my collab opportunity, big fail" <- Muscle Red continues to make an appearance. Eventually he becomes Cater's official rival on stream, and Lils is all to invested in the tea cater drops during club meets. Side note. You're the one who gave 'muscle red' Cater's domain code. The lore thickens.

Internet Caution (Developed): This goes without saying, but Cater's well-known in the Magicam scene. He's very forward and knows his way around using charisma. Since you're not in the scene as much, he becomes more cautious of where and when he does streams. The change is so subtle that only the most observant people will pick up on it - but Cay-Cay doesn't want any creepos popping in if y'know what I'm saying. His sisters were the ones to instigate this change.

“Awe~ SRSLY?! That’s fresh news to my ears but good, right? Ne, are there any clips or pics? I need my evidence, y’see. Especially if my cutie is off taking notes from their one and only. C’mon, spill the tea!” == Cheeky Cater is well aware of what’s happening. He’d humor anyone out for some light teasing - after all, he isn’t by your side at all hours. His walls are probably the second most difficult in all of campus to bypass, so he’s both sweetened and nerved to see you picking up on his mannerisms. That’s proof of a strong attachment, after all.

Habits you steal:

Knuckle Cracking (Inherited): Deuce still does this from his biker days. It could be because joint pain from past fights, or possibly air retention in his knuckles from studying. Regardless, Deuce cracks his knuckles at least once every few hours and you began to mimic him. Some people groan at the popping sounds but it really does feel good to release the tension. Let's just hope neither of you dislocate any fingers on accident.

"Stop that! G-geez, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Thought you broke a finger...your hands are stiff? That just means you're studying a lot! I think...uh, let's break? I think there's some leftovers in the kitchen." <- Deuce 100% gets needing to pop those air bubbles. His hands get stiff from studying all the time, but don't crack them too much or you might dislocate something. Side note - he shows you how to wrap your fingers with a soothing salve. He used to do it after fights, but now it's a great help after class.

Double Notes (Developed): Deuce tries. He really does. Yet the lad just isn't great when it comes to book smarts. Seeing that he is dedicated to turning over a new leaf, you make a habit of copying all your notes. He isn't allowed to share them with Ace or Grim - else all bets are off. Sometimes you leave little 'good job' stickers on the last page for him. Is he a toddler? No. Does he peel the stickers off and save them? Totally. He is a good noodle. Suck it Ace.

Sewing (Developed): He breaks things. Most of the time it's an accident. You've learned to carry a mini-sewing kit for all the rips in Deuce's uniform. Same for mini remedies for stains and other problems. It's not like he's trying to get grass stains all over his under-shirt or to split the seam in his gloves (nearly every week). It just happens, and every time he comes to you with a kicked-puppy look with a promise of it being the last time. It is never the last time.

"Uhm...hun'? It happened again. I'm so sorry for bothering you but Housewarden is going to kill me if he sees the tear in my blazer! Can you fix it?! I can't handle another collar with my exam tomorrow! I need to breathe to focus! - really!? I owe you one! Snacks are on me tonight."

Habits he steals:

Bottomless Stomach (Developed): Have leftovers from dinner? Bring them over. He'll get the tubba-ware back in 1-2 days. Coupon for buy-one-get-one at Sam's? He'll take the extra and polish it off in less than a minute. Deuce becomes a human garbage disposal and is taking the unwanted condiments off your sandwich to eat. Just pick them off and leave 'em on the corner of his lunch plate. Even if he dislikes it, he'll down it so you don't have to.

"Mm. Oh, thanks hun' - its that all you're eatin'? You don't like the steam bun? It is a bit dry, but wasting food is disrespectful to the cooks! I'll finish it for you so have my fruit instead. You still need to eat" <- 10/10 very thoughtful and not picky at all. He is grateful to eat your cooking and will gobble up all leftovers at Ramshackle, but doesn't think twice to sharing meals in the cafeteria. He will notice though if you do not eat enough. Restocks the snack cabinet if he sees it's empty. Is touched if you routinely share things you know he enjoys, like saving half your frittata on purpose.

Early Riser (Inherited): See - even if you hate the mornings, there is no choice at Night Raven College. As Ramshackle Prefect you need to be up to take care of business before class. Deuce becomes your personal alarm clock because he wants some time with you before everyone else joins in. Mind you that he lives with three other dudes who threaten to end him every morning because his alarm wakes them up too. Eventually he can wake up without it, but the time leading is unpleasant.

"W-what? Seriously? I've been trying to be more like them! They're a good person and responsible so I've been trying to follow their example. To think we've been doing the same thing this entire time...." == Why would you ever imitate him? He's been trying his damn best to become an honor student worth respecting, and has a long way to go. To think you're comfortable enough with him to mimic his mannerisms? It's a pipe dream, one he doesn't grasp until it's put right in front of his face. You don't let anyone else pick off your plate other than Grim. The next time his clothes tear, he's already handing off his tie before realizing just what's happening. When you wrap his knuckles after a six-hour lock in at the library? He can't help but feel proud at how neat the bandages are. Suddenly the dark memories of hiding bruised knuckles from his mom are pacified with healing balm. Deuce views this development as a gift, and is grateful. Very, very grateful.

Habits you steal:

‘I owe you’ cards (Inherited): Ace's favorite social invention - the 'solid'. Nothing spells new-low like getting your friends to do stuff in exchange for a favor in the future. Most of the time Ace counts on people forgetting he owes them one, but you're not so gullible. The only difference between you both is that while Ace never fulfills his solid, you have a conscience. Give it a few more years. He'll get ya.

"I know this is the third ticket this week but - Oh! C'mon, cut a guy some slack, would you? I'm sorry for bein' late to our date. Yeah, it was shitty. I'm not trying to fight it, aright? I'm here now so let's have some fun and you can chalk three strikes on my tab. I'll even buy ya some candy - Ah! Okay! Two candies but that's where my charity ends!" <- Evidently, the 'I-owe-you' tabs cancel each other out from how often you both call in favors. It's just an excuse to do acts of service or express apologies without being too mushy. Ace is definitely keeping a track record of them though. Expect an ongoing log that dates back to the week you met, when he showed up homeless, collared, and looking to couch surf.

Profanity (Inherited): Ace swears like a sailor. Maybe not so much in his dorm because *cough* he's being policed. He holds no such reservations when you're both alone at Ramshackle. Unfortunately his potty mouth has a mind of it's own - it taints you, and you are a sham of a prefect. Ace earned a week-long collar for teaching you some Twisted-Wonderland exclusive curses. Riddle is not pleased.

Leaving the Windows Unlocked (Developed): There are only so many times he can sneak in through your window before the adrenaline-induced charm wears off. You have class in the morning, and can't be bothered to deal with him on nights he can't pass out in his dorm. Thank seven you have all of Ramshackle to yourself - because Heartslabyul sounds like a nightmare with the roommate situation. You can't leave the front door open for obvious reasons, but most nights the guest-bedroom window will be left slightly ajar in case he needs a place to crash.

"Pssst! Oi! Prefect! ...ugh, Grim! Wake them up, man! The latch is stuck. Don't go back to bed you furball! HEY! IT'S FREAKIN COLD OUT HERE SO LET ME IN ALREADY" <- Please let him in. If Ace has to spend one more night in that stinky dorm with three dudes, he'll string one of their dirty gym socks over your bed. No mercy.

Sleeping with Earplugs (Developed): Bitch Ace snores.

Habits he steals:

Notes Memo (Developed): Ace is bad with remembering things. Anniversaries? Dates? Allergies? He admits to not putting in a great amount of effort, but you can't say he doesn't try at all. He has a notes block on his phone dedicated to things like your go-to takeout orders and preferences. He even has a few alarms set days before any important events because even if you say no-gifts or plans...yeah, he's not that stupid.

Excessive Yawning (Inherited): You're always tired - it wasn't Ace's problem before but now he does feel a bit guilty. Dragging you into his messes felt different when you were just the prefect, y'know? Regardless, it's human instinct to mimic each other's demeanor so he'll openly yawn all the time - normally in succession of you.

"Hey...you're dozing off again. Am I seriously that boring to hang around? - Nah. Just messin' with you. I'd suggest taking a nap during next period but I doubt a goody-goody like you is gonna take that advice. Let's just ditch juice at lunch and go back to the dorm. Don't get mad if I forget to wake you up though"

Medications (Developed): Ace is the last person to become a human apothecary, but he's always got a pack of pain-reliever meds in his pocket with a few bandages, etc. He also attached one of those tiny capsule bottles to his keyring with some stomach meds inside. You took a spill running laps? Dang man. That sucks. Here's a band-aid for your knee. Curse you for making him the slightly-more responsible one.

"Eh..what, like it's a shock? You saying I'm a bad influence? Cause yeah, that checks. Nothin' I can do if they want to take a card outta my deck though," == Ace is entirely neutral on the topic. He is definitely smug that you're coming over to the dark side, but he doesn't need anyone to point it out. He was your first after all. Maybe the start could have been a bit better - but hey, you came around. It's not like he's hurting anyone by helping build your backbone. Although Ace will instantly deny going soft for you in any way, shape, or form.

[fountainpenguin]

Went down a very specific research pipeline last night, and now you get to share it with me:

Does Dev have hypoglycemia?

Low levels of blood sugar that - when they drop - can lead to irritability, confusion, headaches, exhaustion, shaking, rapid heartbeat, blurry vision, passing out, seizures, or even death. Blood sugar can drop about 2 to 4 hours after eating; snacks and additional small meals are very needed; sugary foods like hard or gummy candies can give a quick boost, as can juice or soda. I'm continuing my research after this post, so please forgive/inform me if I've mixed up details between different types of hypoglycemia- or just got something totally wrong.

FOP: A New Wish is set in modern times (i.e. not the far future). He's allowed to have drones in the classroom with him- They're acknowledged as his assistants and the teachers know about them.

Potentially, they may function under similar rules to service dogs- another sentient creature that would be allowed in class (ignoring that Dev is sometimes away from them, or that they went into the halls on their own in "28 Puddings Later").

We know Dev is self-reliant enough to get by without his au pairs. They help him, but they're not something he needs 24/7.

Insert joke about the au pairs needing off-duty time like service dogs and sometimes they just go play. Union rules...

We know they have the capability to "alert on Dev" like service dogs... or at least, this one looked at Dev and beeped when scanning a paper, and even projected an exclamation point to catch his eye:

The visual-verbal cue combo is definitely an intentional feature (And it's not like it greeted him by name- it just beeped and he knew what it was conveying).

We know that at the end of "Lost and Founder's Day," this au pair - despite being a machine - recognized Dev was sad (or at least low energy) and patted him on the head.

Au Pair: I would hug you, but I do not have human arms or warmth.

Earlier in this episode, we see the au pairs respond to people based on data they were being fed through sensors people were wearing on their wrists. Dev might have one here, though we know he was upset to find out his dad was using them to zap people and he's sad about his dad not loving him, so it's likely he's not wearing it.

This implies the au pairs don't have enough data about most people, but they DO have internal data about Dev. If not internal, they can read him well. We do know they're good at reading cues- They get embarrassed during the festival when they find out problems have been corrected before they got there and we didn't see the Dimmlets shock anyone to prompt the au pairs to acknowledge the situation changed. What does it say about the au pairs if they're implied to be Dale's creation and they see sad Dev and think "I should hug him."

The Off Puddin' brand of pudding is so desirable that the whole class became addicted; they had withdrawals when Hazel changed her "unlimited pudding" wish to be "pudding after we take our class picture" wish- Just like everyone else, Dev was one of the affected individuals and ate all the pudding he could get his hands on.

If the pudding is that delicious, it's interesting Dev kept some (even if this is a new batch from a different pudding day) and snacked on it in Fairy World... and didn't give into impulses to eat it some random day beforehand:

I guess we can't prove it's the same brand, but it's presumably the same model from "28 Puddings Later." I think it's the only item we know he brought to Fairy World beyond clothes and one au pair that he stands on. He doesn't even use his tablet in this episode (which he's normally glued to outside of school).

We can confirm Peri didn't poof this up for him (or at least, it's very unlikely since that would've been weeks ago). Dev eats this pudding after Irep ditches him to hang out with his dad- Extremely doubtful Dev got Irep's attention for his snack. Or Dale's, for that matter (if his dad brought some).

Canonically, the principal gives Dev lots of pudding because his dad made a "generous donation" to the school. It's possible he does this often since we know Dev hoards pudding every pudding day...

... which is interesting, because in "Stanky Danky," the news describes Dale as "billionaire non-philanthropist." Investing in his child's future for the sake of good education doesn't seem to be his M.O.... although he does send Dev to a private school, so maybe.

We know Dale hates losing money, and we know he's not the best dad to Dev... but we also know Dev has an official allergy card that names him in 3rd person-

- which could imply he got this card when he was young. That's not guaranteed, but I looked at some IRL cards and some use first-person, so it's food for thought.

Possibly, his dad even took him to the doctor for official diagnosis. Lactose intolerance can be hereditary, so if Dale has it, he may have identified it immediately after Dev's first reaction. For all Dale’s faults, Dev IS still alive and not starving to death - and still lives with his dad - so it's not improbable Dale's aware of his son's food needs. On a darker note... given Dale's abusive childhood, I feel like lack of food is something he has trauma around. Also, if Dale is lactose intolerant, I'd be curious to know how Dev found out he was, as I'd assume Dale wouldn't keep dairy in the house if he can't eat it. The two logical options here are "Dale took him for an allergy test" or "Dev ate dairy outside the house and got sick, so he told his dad / the au pairs." Maybe he found out in preschool?

Dev's au pair bringing him a snack! Their boy needs to eat!

Anyway, this was all leading up to these screenshots of Dev having no fun on the walk to Signal Hill that I found funny:

No energy... need sugar... Exercise did a number on him... Hazel takes a breather by crouching for a second, but Dev just slams his face in the grass and I think that's great.

Despite Dev not liking to walk, he and Hazel stopped their treasure hunt before the final clue and walked back to the Dimmadome place for food, so that's neat to think about (especially in the context of him snacking before he left the house... How long were they out? Did he even finish his snack?)

Dev's au pair was preemptively wearing a chef's hat when he and Hazel came back to the house, so I wonder if that's his routine lunch time on weekends. The au pairs are good caretakers who know their boy's schedule and needs...

Immediately after this scene, Dale asks what Dev and Hazel are up to "this fine afternoon," so it's probably after 1 pm. Noon at the earliest, but surely not an early lunch at 11 AM. Interesting consideration for the timing of Dev's snack... It makes sense if he was out with Hazel for 2 to 4 hours before he had to go home and eat, even though they were on the final riddle.

Come to think of it, one of the things we know about Dev's house is that there's a cereal bar and Peri brings him cereal... and the woozy Peri hallucinating about bringing Dev "his favorite cereal" (during the finale) seems to get to him one way or another.

Consider... Cosmo and Wanda poofed up hard candy when Peri came over because Dev needed sugar I DID wonder what they were up to considering sugar gets Fairies inebriated...

tl;dr - I like to think the reason on paper that Dev gets his au pairs in school is for medical reasons. They track his blood sugar and keep him from, y'know... going into a seizure or passing out. I can't imagine Dale would like that happening to his son at home either (if for no other reason than because it would be a huge distraction he has to deal with).

If this is something Dev's been dealing with since he was little, that plays into the au pairs accompanying him through his early years... We know he's both lactose intolerant and extremely picky, not liking any of the cupcakes Peri poofed up despite this many attempts:

- which I cannot imagine Dale had the patience to deal with long if he was Dev's primary caretaker in his earliest years.

I was gonna make a joke about Dale hiring someone to watch Dev - and let's be real; he probably did - but also... do you think this cocky guy would spend money when "It's a baby; how hard can it be? I also eat daily- This is just efficient use of my time!"

POV: Tired single dad who's not yet finalized his au pair design walks into grocery store with baby, buys cupcakes, leaves. Confuses every parent in the parking lot when he has a fussy Dev sitting on the back of the car and he's spoonfeeding him icing. They did not go home. Next stop will be the park, where Dale falls asleep on a bench while Dev eats bugs. Some parent sees Dev eating a chocolate bar and strikes up a conversation with Dale about what a big moment it was when they treated their child to chocolate and Dale's just like "I've been feeding him that his entire life." Dale pouring a soda in his toddler's sippy cup: Don't judge me.

At a certain point, when you're a billionaire single dad running multiple businesses and you're good at robotics, there comes a time when "It would make things easier if my young child (who's a very picky eater and can't have dairy) had a drone to follow him around, alert him when his blood sugar is about to drop, or assist if he passes out" makes a lot of sense. Especially if you have major trust issues from abuse and prefer relying on your own inventions.

It was a very relieving day for Dale when he finally had a reliable au pair to leave his son with, I'm sure. Didn't accidentally kill his son!! #Not as big a jerk as you could've been!

During my original liveblog for "Battle of the Dimmsonian," I was confused about Dev going from "I need to talk to Hazel" to trying to spook her and her friends by summoning ghosts. I'm definitely not excusing his bitter attitude in general as a hypoglycemia thing, but this is an episode that would make this headcanon funny:

Peri, internally: Listen here, you little brat- I've read your file. Now eat your freakin' cupcake. Icing is good for you. Dev: These are terrible >:( I'll go without. Peri: WHY? Dev later that day: If I tell Peri I need sugar, he'll be SUCH a pain about it. I opt to suffer...

Anyway, I think it's interesting and I'm going the "au pairs help Dev with a lot of things, but one of them is hypoglycemia" direction in my City Lights AU :)

If anyone's curious, I'm doing growth hormone deficiency that also lands him with a weak immune system- another thing the au pairs help him with. My full character profile for Dev will go into extra details about his life... Fun times.

Dale, planting his whiny and sick child on the floor by his desk and handing him a tablet, juice, and a bunch of hard candy: Big Boss has a work meeting. Don't go outside or you'll die. At this point, you're sunk costs and if I lose you, I'm gonna make it everyone's problem.

Bonus Theory:

Are Doug and Dale also lactose intolerant, and did Dale kill his dad's cows?

In Season 5 - "Mooooving Day" - Doug runs a business called Dimmadome Farms, which produces extreme amounts of milk from genetically modified cows. He uses this to keep the population of Dimmadome Acres totally happy and obedient.

Doug seems convinced the milk makes people happy and that it's a good thing, but he doesn't personally drink it. It's kind of funny to think he went the route of milk because his family is full of lactose intolerant individuals who won't accidentally drink it.

Genetics - Lactose intolerance is inherited in the autosomal recessive pattern- This means either both of Dev's parents are lactose intolerant, or they personally aren't but carry the gene.

Additionally, Dev will only pass lactose intolerance to his kids if his partner also has the gene- either intolerant or a carrier.

There's a chance Dev developed it without genetics, but it looks like there's a lot more variety there than I can cover in a single post. From what I've read, it's "uncommon in babies and young children." He's 9 when "Peace of Pizza" takes place, which might strengthen the argument that it's genetic in his family.

One of the businesses Dale lists as under his possession in "Lost and Founder's Day" is Dimm-'N-Out Burgers. Presumably this is a parallel of In-'N-Out Burger, which use beef patties. Notably, this is a business made up for A New Wish- It's never been portrayed as under Doug's ownership.

If Dimmadome Farms already existed in Dale's youth, it makes sense Dale would use the cows from there- You have to do something with the ones who aren't producing milk, so why not make money?

Technically, Dimmadome Acres was wiped out by magic, but it's possible Dimmadome Farms itself was outside premises of the suburban neighborhood, so maybe there were other cows.

We know by A New Wish, Dale has established himself as a tech mogul, but he probably wasn't one straight after being rescued from 7 years of abuse, which is heavily implied to have started when he was 9 (give or take). Consider:

Doug: I'm making drinks from a labor force of enslaved individuals I've trapped underground :) His son, who recently escaped a life of being forced to make drinks for 7 years underground: This is incredibly insensitive, actually.

Hey, there's something SUPER sus about Dale's underground lemonade stand abuse starting at age 9 when his dad's milk factory is also underground in a big trapdoor and relies on trapped people for labor... Do you think Vicky found the cows when she was a kid and lured Dale down there, but he was lactose intolerant and couldn't drink mind control milk, so she moved him somewhere else... I'm connecting the dots...

It's worrisome that Doug's instinctual response to Timmy saying he didn't want to drink milk was "What a baby," and then he jumps and corrects himself to "Aw, shucks"... What conspiracy am I uncovering... Doug, let me in- I just wanna talk about the home your son grew up in.

I mean, the alt theory is that Doug built his underground dairy farm and trapped people to work in it BECAUSE Dale told him where he'd been for the last 7 years and he went "Oh, that's brilliant!" and that's also terrible??

Anyway, Doug's thing is that he's constantly jumping from one business to the next, never staying consistent (beyond the beloved Dimmadome stadium).

Knowing how he's always go-go-go, it's very probable he'd get his son involved in business young. Maybe Dale started with a burger joint until the robotics work paid off! A spiteful direction for Dimmadome Farms indeed...

Me, having a sudden realization and looking up from my notes theorizing both Dev and Dale have OCD and ADHD, then glancing at my second monitor where I have references from "Moooving Day" of Doug's meticulously arranged town of pink houses and people wearing matching outfits:

... Ah.

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Radio Silence

@summer-of-bad-batch prompts week 12 Radio Silence & week 10 Hugs

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Hunter, Tech (mentioned), Echo, Omega (mentioned), Crosshair (mentioned) Set from after S2 Episode 'Plan 99' & throughout S3 Word Count: ~4090 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: After Eriadu, Hunter tunes the com to a familiar frequency and sends a message out into the void, hoping beyond hope for an answer.

Partly inspired by @indigofyrebird's request earlier in the event for 'Hunter breaking down, and being comforted by one of his brothers'

Hunter eased himself gingerly into the pilot’s seat of the Marauder, movements stifled by injuries still swathed in bandages.

The pain in his body was nothing compared to the yawning chasm of emptiness in his soul, a dark vortex that threatened to suck him down into suffocating despair without end.

Omega was gone. Taken by Hemlock and his men.

The brave, teary, defiant look on her face as she had given herself up to ensure he and Wrecker were spared was seared into his ragged heart like a brand. It was too much. He couldn’t take it.

After all he’d tried, he couldn’t protect his little sister when she needed him too.

Achingly slowly, he typed out a com code and opened a radio channel. Stiff and uncooperative, his fingers closed clumsily around the commlink and lifted it to his lips.

He was silent for a long time, listening to the crackle of the empty channel. He didn’t know what to say.

Eventually he started, in a voice so thick he barely recognised it as his own.

“Hey, Tech. Thought I’d update you on what happened after…”

The words tangled in his larynx, choking him off.

“After we got separated.”

The sentence was grit out, guttural with a pain that was so much more than his broken ribs.

“We went back to Ord Mantell. Didn’t know where else to go, after…

“Went back to Ord Mantell. Just to regroup. Wrecker and I, we were ready to stop. Said we’d take the kid to Pabu, keep her safe there.

“Couldn’t keep doing it. Trying to fight.

“Couldn’t risk losing anyone else.”

Some aching shudder of grief spasmed against his injured body. With a stubborn growl he dismissed it, forcing himself to continue.

“I let you down, Tech. Cid sold us out.

“Hemlock caught us. All that work to find him and…

“He found us, and he… Hemlock, he…

“He took Omega.”

It was a broken confession, a whispered sin begging for absolution.

“She’s probably in the same place as Crosshair now.”

Another catch to his voice, words choking past sorrow.

“I don’t know…

“I don’t know how to find them.

“Don’t know where to look.

“Tech…”

Hunter bowed his head, fist holding the com pressed to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut against the tears which beaded on his lashes.

“I really wish you were here.”

*

“Hey Tech.”

Hunter ached with missing his brother, but his voice was steady enough, all things considered.

“Just checking in. Updating you on…

“Yeah.”

Hunter chewed on his thoughts for a while, com held loosely in the cage of his hand. His gaze was unfocused, staring at the Marauder’s nav computer without registering the readout as more than flickering light.

“Echo left.”

The words were heavy with finality.

“Not surprised. It’s… best for all of us.

“Can do more this way. Cover more ground.”

His voice rang with hollowness. He wondered how many times he’d have to repeat this same sentiment before he started believing it.

“He went with Rex. Said Rex’s network would have a better chance of finding the intel we need to find Tantiss.

“To find… Omega.”

He kept his head carefully turned straight ahead, rigid above his shoulders. Text danced across the screen, meaningless to him.

Better than looking… there. Omega’s space in the gunner’s mount remained like a shrine, and every time he looked at it he felt nauseous.

“Wish we had you to help us.” Hunter shuddered in a deep sigh, fighting down the wave of emotion that threatened. Better to stay numb.

Easier to stay numb.

“We’d probably have found them by now if we had you.” It was a whisper, Hunter’s voice coarse with damning self-criticism. “Sorry. I keep letting you down.”

He dropped his forehead to his hand, fingers clawing anxiously at his hair, spilling loose over his bandana.

“I got a lead. A crime syndicate.

“Echo and I fought. He said it was too dangerous.

“I… I think we can handle it.

“Wrecker’s asleep. The ship’s on autopilot to the rendezvous.

“I’m… supposed to be sleeping too.

“I… wanted to talk to you.

“Ask your advice.”

He let his gaze drift away from the screen. On top of the console, Tech’s goggles winked back at him, blue-light of the screens gleaming softly in the cracked and dirty lenses.

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, hissing a breath in through bared teeth as tears beaded on his scrunched-closed lashes.

“I’m sorry, Tech. For all the times I didn’t listen.

“I’m… trying to remember your lessons now.

“Trying to remember your voice.

“I… I’ll let you know how it goes.

“Goodnight… Tech.”

*

Hunter waited until Wrecker had settled the clone cadets in the racks at the back of the Marauder, and he could detect three peaceful heartbeats settled into the steady rhythm of sleep. Wrecker himself was moving quietly round the ship’s tiny galley, cleaning up after the meagre meal they had prepared for the boys. Then he sank into the chair by the com, opening up the silent radio channel.

“Hey Tech. Got some… got some good news, I guess?

“Remember I told you we had a lead on a facility linked to Hemlock? It… wasn’t Tantiss. Was bombed out by the time we got there. Like Kamino.”

A quick glance to the back of the ship. Lula slumped against the edge of the gunner’s mount, her felt face staring mournfully down the ship. The emptiness inside Hunter resonated as achingly as ever, but now he could hear three sets of peaceful teenage breathing, and that filled him with wild, dangerous hope.

“We found three boys. Cadets. Clones. Survived the bombardment.

“They… hadn’t seen Omega. Had seen Hemlock though. Said he transferred his experiments before the base was bombed. So that means…

“Means even if Omega was here, she should have been gone by the time the strikes took out the facility.”

Unbidden, a small, soft smile played across Hunter’s lips as he huffed a laugh into the com.

“You’d have loved the creatures we fought. Sorry you had to miss it. Don’t know anyone else who would have been as interested in the Empire’s experiments as you…”

He sniffed, startled to find dampness on his cheeks, but the tightness in his chest somehow felt good. Relaxing back in the chair, he continued to speak.

“We got the co-ordinates for another sector of space. Haven’t searched there yet. Echo and Rex couldn’t meet us here in time, but hopefully between us we’ll scour that sector and find…

“Find our girl.

“Bring her home.”

*

“Hey Tech.”

Hunter leaned against the side of the Marauder, sheltering under the folded wing. He tapped the com against the thin seam of his lips, pressed tight in consternation. His brows knitted in a deeply furrowed frown, the tension and bright-light flashes of a developing migraine constricting, vice-like, at his temples.

“Mission success.”

He paused again, fighting to untangle the words from where they cloyed to the roof of his mouth.

“We got Omega back.”

It was an understatement. They didn’t get her back. She got herself back, and Hunter was still struggling to wrap his head around how.

“She’s alright. Shaken, maybe.”

He swore softly. He had spent hours hovering near Omega, constantly reaching out to touch, a hand to her shoulder, brushing her elbow, anything to ground himself and prove that she really was there with them.

They had checked her over. She had let them, with an affectionate, long-suffering eye-roll, even though she assured them she was uninjured.

He had left her in the ship now, with Wrecker and…

With Wrecker.

“Shaken, definitely,” he amended his commentary.

He hadn’t thought his heart could break any further than the shattered pieces it had been in since they lost Omega. Having her back was meant to heal him, surely.

But he saw the hollow, hunted look in her, the way her smile stayed painted on her lips and didn’t reach her eyes. His girl had been changed, irrevocably, by six months of something Hunter couldn’t begin to understand.

“And…”

He choked on the words.

“…And…”

Gritting his teeth in a bitter scowl, he hunched over the com and forced them out.

“…Crosshair. We got Crosshair back too.”

He took his thumb off the transmit button, breathed heavily as he listened to the hiss and snap of the unresponsive radio channel. His gaze was long and unfocused, staring off into the distance at nothing whilst he tried to corral his thoughts. All the while, his tongue lay thick and heavy in his mouth; daring him to speak further, unwilling to co-operate.

“Kriff, Tech, I wish you were here. I don’t know what to do.”

His voice was the lowest murmur, lips pressed so close to the com that the metal began to warm from it.

“I can’t…

“Can’t face him.

“Don’t know what to say.”

Something that might have been a laugh bubbled up in his throat, harsh and abrasive, sandpaper inside his throat. He gasped the sound out, braying his displeasure to the dark, empty expanse beyond the Marauder. Then he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, pressing the com to his forehead as his knuckles massaged the headache there.

“It’s not fair. I don’t…

“Don’t want him back. Should have been you.

“Wish it had been you…

“Who made it back to us.”

Slowly, he slid down the side of the Marauder, fabric of his jacket ruching up uncomfortably at how much weight he leaned there. How much support he needed. Eventually he sat on his heels, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed and hanging between his shoulders.

With a deep breath, and he activated the com again.

“Tech.

“How am I supposed…

“How am I supposed to do this without you?”

His voice was twisted with guilt and grief.

“I don’t know how to handle Crosshair. Not any more.

“I thought…

“Thought when we got him back, I’d have you to help.

“I want to go back inside and see Omega. But I don’t want…

“…Don’t want to see him.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Another deep breath.

“But you’re not here. So I can’t ask you for help. I just…

“…I’ll handle it, Tech. Don’t worry about me.

“Gonna go inside and check on the others.

“………I……………...

“Gonna try and learn to do this stuff myself. Try not to bother you for advice so much.

“Hope…….

“Hope things are going well, wherever you are.”

*

Hunter slouched in the miniscule hold of the unfamiliar ship, unease gnawing in his gut. The bounty hunter was shut in the cockpit, taking them stars knew where for a contract he was sure would be more dangerous than she implied, and he had no recourse to push back against her manipulation. Their position was desperate, and he had nothing to bargain with.

Nothing except himself, and his brother, and their skills.

Wrecker sat opposite him, head lolling as he drowsed on their way to the mark. Better to get some rest now, whilst they could.

Hunter’s vision felt hazy, tiredness prickling at the edges of his consciousness, but the low-grade rush of adrenaline combined with the hollow pit in his stomach kept him from resting.

He needed something, anything, to distract him. A way to sound out his concerns.

He couldn’t help but feel like they were walking into the maw of a trap.

Eventually he raised his wrist-com, tapping in the code he knew by heart. His voice was barely a murmur, words blurred to indistinctness, but it didn’t matter.

“Hey Tech. It’s me again.

“I know it’s been a while.

“A lot has happened.”

He blinked tiredly, looking his slumbering brother. Even in sleep, lines of strain were etched deeply into Wrecker’s broad, tired face. Hunter ached to see his easy-going brother looking so drawn.

“Trying to find out why the Empire is still hunting Omega.

“Feels like…

“Like more than just retrieving an escaped asset.

“Feels different to when we first left Kamino.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

“We know they were experimenting on her.

“Different to how…

“Different to how they experimented on Crosshair.”

His voice was a rough whisper, barely able to voice the thought out loud.

“We’re doing better. Him and me. Since Barton IV.

“He still won’t tell me much.

“Wish you were here to help him. He’d open up to you.”

It felt dangerously vulnerable to be whispering these thoughts out loud, knowing that the bounty hunter was just the other side of the locked cockpit door. Hunter wished he was alone.

Completely alone.

Just for a short time.

To hide from the responsibility of trying to take care of them all, in the face of everything.

“Once we’re done with this mission, we’ve been promised the intel on m-count bounties. That’s… that’s why the Empire are after Omega.

“Don’t know what it means yet. But the last hunter who came after us…

“He wasn’t playing games.

“Took out Rex’s base.

“Nearly took out…”

Hunter took a deep breath, surprised to find himself so affected as he forced the words out, breathed past barely-moving lips.

“Nearly killed Crosshair.”

For a time, he simply breathed into the silence of the humming ship. When he felt his eyes prickle, he crawled across the tiny cargo space, settling himself against Wrecker’s side and leaning back against his shoulder.

Wrecker shifted with a snort, but quickly dropped back to sleep again.

Hunter took a deep breath, raising the com to his lips again.

“They’re not messing around. They want Omega alive, but the rest of us are collateral damage. I don’t think they even need her co-operation this time. Not like when Hemlock took her the first time… when he promised her our safety.”

Hunter choked with the memory of Hemlock tossing the shattered pair of goggles so carelessly to the floor. The last remnant of his brother, casually discarded, like he had never mattered.

Presenting them with the goggles had just been a bargaining chip to manipulate them into handing over Omega.

Tech fell. Just fell, fell into endless cloud cover.

The image rose unbidden, his brother’s body lying broken on the ground, defiled by Imperial scavengers who stripped him of the goggles to taunt them, to destroy them–

It was a long span before he was ready to activate the com again, the quiet hiss of the channel like a baseline of finality piercing his soul.

“I’m doing my best. Trying to keep them safe.

“Feels harder every day. They want… Omega wants… for us to be together. All the time.

“I understand. I do.

“We…

“We’ve already lost so much.

“But I don’t want to drag her into danger.

“Got her to stay behind this time. Asked her to keep an eye on Cross.

“Don’t know what I’ll do the next time.”

Another sigh, this one accompanied by a coarse, humourless laugh.

“Wish you were here. I always end up saying that, don’t I?

“It’s true.

“You’d help me think things through.

“Come up with a plan.

“It’s what you always did. What… what we always did.”

He cuts the thought off abruptly, dropping the commlink to his lap and instead burrowing his face into his arms. At his back, his brother’s warm, living, vital presence was a small comfort.

Him and Wrecker are a team. They only had each other for so long. They’ve seen each other through so much.

And Crosshair is back. Whilst it might be tentative for now, he was learning how to trust his brother again.

Echo is out there, only ever a call away. Calm, collected Echo, who Hunter can fall back on when the danger they face is more than he can handle alone.

But none of them are Tech.

*

"Thought I'd find you here."

Echo picked his way through the debris surrounding the burned skeleton of the Marauder, carefully balancing along the remains of a wing strut to approach his former Sergeant.

Hunter sat cross-legged on the floor of what was once the cockpit, gaze empty and desolate as he stared out across the expanse of Pabu's ocean. Flotsam bobbed against the stone docks, oil and chemical slicks dirtying the surface of the water in the troughs of unsettled waves.

"Hunter?" called Echo softly, when he didn't receive a response.

"Yeah," came the reply, little more than a grunt. Hunter's always rough voice sounded even scratchier from tiredness and smoke inhalation. "I'm here."

Now he was closer, Echo could see Hunter's hands folded palms-up in his lap. They cradled a familiar set of goggles, broken amber glass of the lenses glinting in the hazy light.

Echo crouched carefully next to Hunter, at right angles to him, in his peripheral vision but not his direct eyeline.

With his scomp he reached out and nudged the goggles, a flash of sorrow painting his face with a pained grimace. Hunter’s hands tightened round the fragile item, an instinctive convulsion, before relaxing again.

“I thought Omega put these in the Archivum,” said Echo gently. It was neither a question, nor an accusation. Simply an invitation for Hunter to expand.

“She did,” said the Sergeant thickly, the words catching in his throat. “I went and got them. I just…”

He trailed off, looking around him with a despairing gaze.

“Just wanted to sit here with him for a while, you know?”

Echo blinked in surprise to see the usually stoic clone sergeant’s eyes filling with tears. Hunter’s lip wobbled but he resolutely clamped down on the reaction, sniffing hard, dashing his damp eyes against his forearm to sit and stare straight ahead again, stony-faced once more.

“You came.”

“Yeah, I did,” said Echo, still careful to use a gentle tone. “We’re going to have to move quickly to stand the best chance of finding Omega again.”

“Was the intel Crosshair gave us any good?”

“It checks out,” Echo nodded. “Rampart is being held in an Imperial mining prison. If we can get to him, we stand a chance of finally finding Tantiss.”

“That’s good.”

Hunter’s voice was distant and flat. Brows knitting in concern, Echo eased himself down to settle beside Hunter, mimicking his cross-legged position.

“The Remora is too large to evade the detection systems around the planet,” he said, watching Hunter’s face carefully for a reaction as he spoke. “Phee is going to take you in The Providence.”

Hunter nodded. “That makes sense.”

His hand coming to rest on Hunter’s shoulder, Echo’s question was gentle.

“Did you ever really stop to grieve him?”

For a moment Hunter looked nonplussed, before the meaning of the question sunk in and he dropped his head, long hair swinging forwards to hide his expression as his hands tightened round the goggles once more.

“I’ve had too much to do,” he growled, but there was something broken in his voice. “Besides…” He trailed off, blinking hard, mouth twisting into a miserable grimace. “It’s not like it would bring him back.”

“Oh, Hunter…” Echo breathed a sympathetic sigh, fingers going tight over Hunter’s tense muscles. “That’s not the point of it.”

He rubbed a hand along Hunter’s shoulders, feeling the way the Sergeant trembled under his touch. Hunter’s breath hitched erratically, gulping air to try and subsume the tears which threatened.

When he spoke, Hunter’s voice was thick with fought-back emotion.

“Stopping to think about it… wouldn’t have gotten us anywhere. Tech sacrificed himself so we could escape, and the first thing I did was let Omega get captured.” The words rankled with self-loathing, accompanied by a violent shake of his head. “Had to keep going. Get her back. It’s…” He trailed off, lifting his face to gaze desolately at the horizon again. “It’s what Tech would have wanted.”

“Tech wouldn’t have wanted you to beat yourself up like this,” countered Echo softly.

“And now I’ve lost her again,” continued Hunter as though he hadn’t heard him. Unbidden, tears began to track down his cheeks again. Although he rubbed at them, they didn’t stop. “Tech wouldn’t have lost her. If he’d been here, things would have been different–”

“You don’t know that.” Echo’s voice was heavy with sorrow, but the words were spoken with conviction. “Omega gave herself up to save the people of Pabu. Because she learned from Tech. Because she knew what it meant to sacrifice herself to save others. To protect those who can’t protect themselves.”

He leaned into Hunter, nudging their shoulders together.

“Tech wouldn’t have wanted you to live with this guilt for the rest of your life. That’s not why he did what he did,” he said, his voice a murmur.

The first audible sob escaped Hunter, a sound he tried to swallow and couldn’t. He curled in on himself, knees coming up to his chest, head dropping to the cage of his arms. The goggles swung uselessly from one hand.

“I let him down. Let you all down. Wrecker doesn’t smile any more. You left. Crosshair was tortured because I left him behind, and Omega has been captured.”  The words were half-lost, burbled past tears he still fought, into the hollow space he hid his face in. Then his voice dropped to a miserable whisper, wracked with guilt. “Tech died. For nothing. I couldn’t keep the squad together.”

“Hunter.”

Echo draped his arm fully round Hunter’s back now, pulling the unresisting younger clone into a hug. Hunter’s head came to rest on his collar-bone, heavy with grief, and now a howl of despair ripped from him. He didn’t return Echo’s embrace, arms still locked too tightly round his own body as he coiled tight around his sorrow, protecting the jagged edges of it in a way that would only cut him deeper.

Humming a soothing noise, Echo merely rubbed his shoulders, holding him close, letting him break down. His own gaze was distant, past the charred pillars of the harbour and scattered ship debris to watch the waves bob on the horizon.

He was used to this. He had mourned brothers before.

Had mourned Tech, after Eriadu.

Hunter hadn’t.

After a time Hunter’s sobs subsided to hiccoughs, and his weight went heavy against Echo’s side. He still cradled himself, his hand wrapped so tight around the strap of Tech’s goggles that the edges bit into his skin, but inch by inch he uncurled, relaxing into Echo as his breathing became more regular.

“I radioed him,” murmured Hunter unexpectedly, another guilt-wracked confession. “All this time. Kept… kept him updated. Kept hoping that if I sent something out on his frequency, one day I might hear back.”

Echo merely rested his cheek on Hunter’s hair, grimy with sweat and battle smoke, and held him tighter.

“I never did. Never… never heard anything back.”

“I know,” said Echo softly. “It’s not wrong to hope, though.”

Hunter shuddered a sigh, and now his thumb moved absently along the strap of the goggles, feeling the texture beneath his grip.

“How do you move on, Echo?” His voice was thick and anguished. “I feel like… like my life stopped. I don’t know how to go on without him.”

Rubbing between his shoulder-blades, Echo murmured, “There’s no easy way. You just keep going. Like you have been.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I don’t have any better advice than that. You just keep living for them. On their behalf.”

“I wanted us to be safe on Pabu,” Hunter whispered brokenly.

Echo smiled, wan but hopeful.

“I think that sounds like the best way to honour Tech.”

Hunter sniffed as another few tears trickled down his cheeks.

“But they took Omega. Again.”

“We got her back last time,” Echo reminded him, injecting confidence into his voice. “We’ll do it again.”

“She got herself back last time,” Hunter corrected, and now the hint of a grin showed through his sorrow.

Echo chuckled. “That’s right. We should feel sorry for the Empire.”

With a deep breath, Hunter straightened, pulling away from Echo’s embrace. Echo let him go, watchful as Hunter smoothed the glass of the goggles, then tucked them into his jacket.

“We should put these back,” he said carefully, rocking forwards and easing to his feet. He turned and offered a hand to Echo, helping the ARC trooper up too. “Then find Crosshair and Wrecker.”

Although his cheeks were still stained with clear tracks where his tears had cut through the grime, Hunter smiled grimly.

“We have a job to do.”

[cryptid-writing]

A collection of fic concepts and prompts I've had about Mysterio (not mcu) that people are more than welcome to take! They vary from comic variants to game variants of Mysterio as I've got a wide range of interest, as well as just some general Mysterio, unspecificed.

This will be long, but please do feel free to take these and write them if you get ideas while reading any! I'm more than happy to provide these as my brainrot for this man is SO BAD (if you know my main, then you absolutely know.)

I will add more as I think of them.

=====

- A fic where the reader is in the place of Spiderman and through some fun illusions, Mysterio realizes how deeply interested in him the reader is. Maybe he's had an inkling before, but being in this new situation (him being huge, towering over them intending on being intimidating, but their reaction is just giggling and kicking their feet and covering their face) he's.. certainly realizing their feelings.. as well as his own. Maybe he enjoys teasing them, too. Just a little. About their feelings for him. He has a little fun with his illusions, pulling out all the stops. Making regular sized duplicates of himself and that causes the reader to lose it and he gets worried he went too far, removing all illusions, leaning his large form in with concern before removing that illusion as well and becoming just his real physical normal sized self again.

- The Mysterium was closed for maintenance on the opening day? Oh no, you'd come all the way to see it, you wanted to give it a try.. Not wanting your time to be a complete waste, you spend your time visiting other attractions and booths, but you occasionally stop by the Mysterium. You know whatever issue there was, it wouldn't be resolved so soon.. yet you just couldn't help yourself. There wasn't anyone outside it who you could talk to to see what was wrong or when it would be up and running again.. not until it had gotten late and the man in charge finally stepped out. you saw your chance.. and well. perhaps he noticed you a couple times throughout the day hanging around the Mysterium, or perhaps he is merely surprised by your enthusiasm to keep checking by to stick around this long to see what he'd made?

- Perhaps you knew of him before his reform? You knew who he was and who he used to be, but beyond that you knew very little. Perhaps you fancied him a little then, thought him interesting.. perhaps a little ashamed of yourself for thinking that way of a villain. but you couldn't deny there was a level of charm and intrigue with how he looked and moved when footage would play on the news from his fights against Spider-Man. Your first time seeing him unmasked was certainly a surprise. yet. that didn't compare to this moment. Meeting him face to face in person. How did this occur? Maybe you were a brand new "unwilling" hostage/participant in whatever scheme he's cooked up this time, or perhaps he is not in costume and merely trying to be just a normal man, undercover.. yet you know his truth. Do you dare to say anything?

- There is nothing that compares to watching a movie alone in an empty theater. You would often try to catch the very last showing of any new or old movies you fancied, hoping to be alone.. Surprise, surprise. There was just 1 other person there. A man. No one else came in, as to be expected of a film which you considered underrated. Throughout the duration of the movie, the two of you were silent.. Then came the end of screening and quietly he initiates a conversation. You feared he may be a threat or a creep, yet to your surprise, he wasn't. He's surprised to see that someone else had come to see this movie in particular, it was one he liked yet many, especially critics, failed to be impressed by.. He has many questions to ask you, won't you indulge him? Who knows, it may end up being far more beneficial for the both of you in the end than either of you could have expected out of this simple little late night outing. (inspired by a moment in the webspinners comic)

- Quentin Beck retiring indefinitely from the mantle of "Mysterio" and selling off some of his stuff as he goes into hiding to try and live a more honest and normal life. You, by some chance, came across an auction for the real deal devices and costume being sold online. No one had laid any bids on it.. you know you shouldn't, but you admired him, sure he was a villain, but you were aware of what you would be getting yourself into with this. Saving up your money for a long time.. You managed to have just enough to buy the items. They were a little damaged, so you stuck them in a bag and hunted down a shop where you could get some safe repairs, tossing out the 'it's for a cosplay' lie to make it less awkward. During one of your treks back home from repairs, Quentin Beck noticed you from afar, he noticed an all too familiar and impossible not to identify gauntlet of his fall out of your bag. Watching you fumble to quickly gather it again and proceed to scurry off even faster down the street. Now why on earth did you have that? For what purpose would you have with his stuff? It wasn't his business anymore.. yet he was curious.. so he follows after, seeking a few answers from you. Perhaps.. he may wind up with more than he expected? in a positive sense?

- Beck visits a restaurant regularly and it's been fine and normal for awhile, until one day he feels suddenly watched. he looks around, doesn't see anything. this happens a few times the next couple of visits to the restaurant and then he finally notices the person looking at him. now he's curious. and he's gonna get up and sit next to them one day and find out. (that's it. that's the whole thought for this one. I was thinking too hard about how nice he looks in a suit and it did things to my brain chemistry..)

- Reader finds Mysterio hiding and injured after a horrible fight against Spiderman that he managed to escape from by some miracle. He took a break to catch his breath and strength to keep running. Clutching his damaged helmet and heaving when the Reader finds him. He's probably got a bloody nose dripping down his chin, a few smudges showing an attempt at wiping it away. Quentin Beck is a bit of a pessimistic man, but he will learn to be more optimistic as he realizes just how lucky he really is. Basically, Reader helps him hide and helps to bandage his wounds and all that fun stuff. He would absolutely be a bit of a drama queen and I live for that. What was Reader doing? I wanna say something like trying to take a short cut through some buildings and that's where they find Beck. Maybe the shortcut was also a detour away from the whole block that Beck had been on just 30min prior in a big fight against Spiderman, and Reader just wanted to go home after their own rough day or something like that.

[enigmalynne]

A Newsroom Reunion

Title – A Newsroom Reunion

Pairings – Y/N&Jensen

Word Count – 3,970

Warnings – war crimes, depictions of torture (just in case)

Prompt – Journalist(s)

A Jewish reporter goes to Israel to cover the Israeli/Gaza war and gets taken hostage live on air in front of her boyfriend, who is anchoring the news. She's kept hostage for weeks, with no information on whether she's dead or alive being given back to her station, and her boyfriend is beyond panicked about her safety. One night, she gets rescued in a trade: American hostages for Hamas soldiers. How will her boyfriend react when she is brought back to the studio after being gone for so long, a prisoner of war?

“If anyone is going to know what the hell is going on over there, Eric, it’s me. I’ve been inundated with this shit since I was a child. If we are going to cover this, we need to make sure we cover this correctly and not like these other media hacks who are acting like this is a brand-new war,” Y/N said, pacing in front of his desk with her hands on her hips. Eric followed her with his eyes, confusion coloring his expression.��

“What do you mean?” he asked her. She scoffed as she shot him a look, continuing her path back and forth. 

“Israel and Palestine’s governments have been duking it out over land forever. I think the last negotiation back in… I think it was in 2010 when it was not accepted because Jerusalem wasn’t included in the Palestinian portion. Still, it was one of the best land distribution deals Israel had ever offered them. But that’s the key point. It’s not the people who are fighting; it’s the governments. Most of the people have been living peacefully amongst each other for decades. The people want peace,” Y/N ranted in one long breath. She then stopped and turned to face the news director face-on with narrowed eyes. “Hamas is a terrorist organization that is killing everybody: Jews, Christians, and Muslims alike. Hell, they are killing their people! They are using the Palestinians as human fucking shields and teaching the children that Jews are evil and need to be murdered.” 

Eric was quiet for a long time as he considered her words, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and concerned. 

“Your fiancé isn’t going to like it.”

“It isn’t his choice to make.” 

“Are you trying to prove something?”

“This is work, it’s not personal.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure! I want to cover this, and you know as well as I do I’m the best one to do it.” 

Eric went quiet again for a long moment before sighing. 

“Alright, fine. But you explain it to Jensen.” 

“It’s been almost three fucking weeks since anyone has heard from her, Eric, don’t tell me to calm down!” Jensen shouted at his news director. The entire newsroom at CNN pretended to ignore them while listening to the argument that had been occurring and growing in intensity every day since their lead reporter… their lead Jewish reporter… went missing while covering the Israel/Hamas crisis. 

“We are working on a solution to getting her out of there, but it takes time,” Eric explained with exaggerated calmness.

“That’s not good enough! Do we even know if she’s alive?” Jensen asked, pounding his fist into a nearby desk. Eric opened his mouth to say something to calm his lead anchor down but closed it, knowing nothing he had said could. The truth was, he had no idea if she was alive or not because despite what they were hearing about Hamas treating hostages humanely… there was zero proof of that. 

“Jensen,” Eric said, his voice low and controlled. Said Anchor roughly, running his hands over his face and shaking his head. 

“I know how good of a reporter she is, and I know she’d beat my ass for saying this, but that doesn’t mean she should have been sent there. You know she was spoiling for a fight.” 

Y/N was standing before the camera wearing a bulletproof vest with the word PRESS across her jeans and polo shirt. She wore a helmet with CNN’s logo on her head. She knew that helmet would do nothing to protect her skull from damage should a rocket land near her. Jensen knew it, too. 

Around her neck was a thin gold chain and a Star of David charm he gave her on their second anniversary. He begged her not to wear anything remotely Jewish over there, but she said she was going to represent her religion and her culture and tell the true story of the war. She had it around her neck when she kissed him goodbye at the airport before walking through the security checkpoint. She had it around her neck the last time she was seen on the air. 

Before she even finished her live shot for the evening news, Hamas terrorists were there. They grabbed her, knocking off her CNN helmet and yanking on her arm. The camera was still rolling as they shouted at her in Arabic. She tried to pull away from the man yanking on her, yelling at them that she was a reporter. She turned toward the translator with them and shouted at him to translate what she was saying. 

Back in the United States, Jensen and the rest of the staff of CNN watched in horror as Hamas dragged Y/N away from the camera and shoved her into a waiting vehicle. Jensen started shouting at the screen, saying things like she was American and a member of the Press; they couldn’t do this to her. The terrorists couldn’t hear him. No one other than the people in the studio could listen to him, not that it mattered. The car had already driven away, and she was already gone. 

“Never should have sent her out there,” Jensen muttered, leaning on one of the tables. 

“You weren’t going to stop her,” Eric said with a sad smile. “She was going to find a way to get out there and cover this war regardless of whether we sent her.”

“Hey, Jensen!” Katie called out as she walked over to where they were standing. 

“What!?” he snapped at her, turning her head to the side to glance at her. Katie paused, her eyes growing wide as she stumbled a little bit. She had never been on the receiving end of his temper before.

“Yuh… You’re uh… you’re needed on… on set… in 10,” she stuttered, her voice much more subdued and quieter than her usual perky, cheerful self. She then immediately turned and walked away as fast as she could, heading toward the producer desks with a glance over her shoulder at him. Jensen turned his head forward and closed his eyes, a curse muttered under his breath. 

“You need to get your shit together. You can’t just snap at AP’s because you’re worried about Y/N. We all are, but we also have a job to do. She’d be furious if she knew you were acting like this,” Eric reprimanded under his breath, so no one realized that he was disciplining his lead anchor in public. 

“I know,” he muttered guiltily, running a hand over his face before rubbing it over his hair and neck. “I’m just scared out of my mind and hate feeling this helpless.” 

“We’re gonna get her back,” Eric said, touching Jensen’s shoulder. “Have a little faith. Go get ready to get on air.” 

Y/N had no idea how long it had been since she had been taken, only that she was exhausted, hungry, and desperately wanted something to drink. She was given very little food and only had one glass of putrid water daily. Her clothing, which was nothing but rags at this point, was hanging off her body. Her shoes were long gone, and her feet were cut up in various places as she was forced to walk barefoot across the burning, sharp stones. 

She was sore. There was a cut on her mouth from where she was backhanded by one of the Hamas soldiers when she mouthed off to one of them, another above her eyebrow for struggling when they came into her cell. Her eye was black, her stomach hurt, and her muscles ached from lack of nutrients. 

Loud voices speaking in Arabic started shouting just outside her small room. Y/N startled, trying to shrink closer into the corner she was sitting in. Wide eyes watched as arguing men walked over to her room, one of which was unlocking the door. Someone shouted at her in Arabic, and she sat staring at the man. He repeated it, louder and angrier, but she shook her head slowly. With frustration, he walked over to her and grabbed her arm. He yanked her up to standing and shoved her out the door. 

“No, no, please,” she begged with a rough voice. Another man grabbed her arms behind her, slipping her hands through rope and tying them tightly. 

“Whatever is happening, please don’t hurt me,” she muttered, shaking her head as tears flooded her eyes. With a man on each of her sides holding tightly to an arm, Y/N was dragged out of the building and toward a waiting car. Shoved not so gently into the back seat, the door was slammed behind her. When she looked up, she saw another American there.

“What’s happening?” she whispered. The man sitting there shook his head. 

“I don’t know. Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice scratchy. 

“No, not really.” Y/N moved herself to a seated position and looked out the window. She was jolted awake over an hour later when the car stopped moving. She hadn’t even realized she had fallen asleep. 

“What’s going on? Where are we?” she asked, her voice still just a whisper. The man in the car with her shook his head. Suddenly, her door flew open, and she was yanked out of the car. The man shouted after her, but the same happened to him moments later. They were dragged around to the front of the vehicle and shoved toward a patch of grass. More Arabic shouted at them, guns drawn and pointed at them until they were standing on the green grass. Once there, they returned to their vehicles and drove away. 

The four Americans looked at each other, wondering what to do next, when a string of Jeeps bearing the Israeli Defense Foundation insignia pulled up. The relief that flooded Y/N at that moment brought her to her knees, and she began to sob. 

“They didn’t even untie their hands, those filthy bastards,” she heard one of the soldiers with a thick Israeli accent mutter as they came closer to them. One of them came up to her, placing a hand on her shoulder as another one went to the ropes behind her back and began to untie her hands. 

“Are you alright? Here, has some water,” she said, holding a bottle of cold water. Y/N looked up, her tear-streaked face looking into the kind eyes of a young Israeli soldier. She held the bottle to Y/N’s mouth and let her drink a bit before pulling it away. “Only a little; you don’t want to be sick.” Once her hands were free, the other soldier approached her opposite side. 

“Come, let us help you up and get you someplace safe. You have many people worried about you,” the kind Israeli soldier said. They each took one of Y/N’s arms and helped her stand and walk to one of the waiting Jeeps. 

“With the latest on the Israeli/Hamas conflict, we head into the newsroom to our correspondent Jared Padalecki. Jared,” Jensen read off the prompter. Jared nodded his head with a somber expression.

“We have just learned moments ago that Hamas has released four American hostages, however, the identities of those hostages are currently unknown,” Jared said as he referred to information he was looking at on a computer. 

Jensen’s eyes lit up at the comment, his heart picking up its pace. Hostages have been released.

“What we do know is the four hostages are American and were taken during the early days of the conflict,” Jared continued. “As you know, CNN’s Y/N Y/L/N was taken hostage from assignment during an air raid near the Erez Crossing. CNN has been in negotiations with Hamas for the safe release of Y/L/N but with no success yet.” 

Jensen’s breathing ticked up a notch, his eyes bouncing between the monitor showing Jared, his report, and the camera. He knew Eric was in the control room, monitoring the show from the booth tonight. He knew Eric was monitoring him from the booth tonight. 

Jensen shook his head as he glanced down at his hands, wanting nothing more than to jump up from his seat and call every contact he knew to find out if Y/N was among the four rescued Americans. There were four chances that Y/N were among the rescued hostages, and he could have her back in his arms any day now. 

Jo, the female anchor for the evening, reached over and squeezed his hand. He looked over at her with red-lined eyes. She gave him a hopeful look before retreating to her seat. 

A few days later - 

Y/N watched the elevator numbers change slowly, shifting her weight back and forth between her feet. Her arms were wrapped around her middle as if they were holding herself together. Her hair was dirty despite multiple showers at the hospital she was taken to, and then she was debriefed at the military base, so she pulled it back into a messy bun on the top of her head. Whisps and strands fell around her face and down her back anyway. Her skin was sunburnt: her cheeks and nose were bright red, and her lips were chapped despite the heavy layers of ChapStick she had been wearing since the hospital. The cuts to her lip and eyebrow were still healing, but the black eye was still dark and swollen.

They gave her a pair of worn jeans that belonged to someone who worked on the base and an oversized T-shirt that fell to her knees. She took a pair of scissors to the T-shirt, slicing up the side and knotting it at her hip. Military-issue boots adorned her feet.

She was tired and still hungry despite the food she was given. She was still thirsty despite countless bottles of fresh, cold water she had drank. And this? This was the slowest elevator ride ever. 

The two Marines escorting her had been kind the entire time they were with her. Making sure she had enough water and whether she wanted any more food. She was always asking her about her comfort. She asked one of them if they had any advice on how to make the nightmares stop so she could get some sleep. He had smiled in a reflective, sad way and told her that time was the only way. She didn’t speak much after that. 

When the elevator finally opened on the 18th floor, she walked out and looked around the newsroom for someone she knew. When her eyes landed on a television and saw that Jensen was on air, she realized just how late it was. Without thinking about it, she slowly made her way toward the studio. That’s when the whispers began around her, but she ignored them. She had one thing on her mind at that moment.

“Ma’am, do you know where you are heading to?” one of the Marines asked gently. Nodding, Y/N reached over and grabbed the handle of the heavy door that led to the studio. 

“Y/N!?” a voice called out in surprise. She turned her head toward the voice, staring blankly at Meg. “Oh, my God… Y/N…”  Meg started to go over to where the tired woman was, but Y/N shook her head.

“I’m seeing Jensen first. I don’t care if he’s on the air,” she whispered roughly, her eyes watering. She gave the producer a broken smile, then pulled the door open. 

“Oh, my God,” Meg repeated, watching as Y/N entered the studio with two dressed Marines following her. Suddenly, she snapped out of her stupor and turned, shouting as she ran to the booth. “Katie!! Find Eric and tell him to get his ass to the booth! Y/N’s back, and she’s about to interrupt the newscast!” Katie was startled, confusion coloring her face. 

“What?”

“Now, Katie!” Meg shouted as she ran down the long hallway to the production booth, where a crew was putting the show on air. She threw the door open, startling the people inside. 

“What the fuck, Meg!” the director shouted at her, looking at the well-liked executive producer like she was crazy.

“Whatever is about to happen, stay with it. Y/N’s about to reunite with Jensen on air right now!” she shouted, walking over to the producer's seat. She pushed the producer out of the way, holding out her hand. “Gimme your headset, gimme gimme gimme”

Y/N slowly made her way around the long wooden wall that made up the set's backdrop and turned the corner into the room. Lights above them angled toward a large desk centered in front of the backdrop, and cameras with people manning them were also pointed at the desk. Y/N didn’t see any of it. Once she spotted Jensen, she made her way to stand in his sightline. The water gathering in her eyes started to fall as she stared at her fiancé. 

He was studying the paper scripts in front of him, a pen in his hand. He made some notes in the margins of the paper. Suddenly, he frowned and moved to hold a button down before he spoke. 

“Whatever it is, Meg, it can wait,” he snapped, letting go of the button and returning to his notes. A small smile danced on Y/N’s lips, the movement feeling foreign. He repeated the action a moment later, snapping at the producer again. 

“Jensen,” she tried to say, but it came out as a whisper. Dropping her head, she tried to clear her throat, swallowed, and then looked up again… into the vast green eyes of her fiancé. He was staring at her in disbelief, his breath almost nonexistent. 

“Jen,” she muttered roughly, quietly. 

“Y/N?” Jensen asked in disbelief, moving slowly: he stood, reaching into his ear to pull out his earpiece simultaneously. The second time, he said her name was stronger. “Y/N?”  She nodded a small smile on her lips, tears making their way down her face. That’s when his restraint broke. He moved around the desk and to her in three steps, wrapping her in his arms. 

“Thank you, God,” he muttered as he held her as close to him as he could get, one arm wrapped around her, the other pressed against her neck. Once Jensen’s arms were wrapped around her, and her arms were wrapped around him, she began to cry. 

“I thought I was never going to see you again,” she whispered, pressing herself as close to him as possible. He pulled back slightly and gently brushed her tears away with his thumbs before pressing his mouth to hers in a gentle but passionate kiss. 

“I love you so much,” he breathed once they separated. 

“I love you,” she repeated, pressing her lips back on his. They separated and stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment before Jensen pulled her back into his arms, relishing the feeling of her being there again. 

“I’m never letting you go on assignment again.” 

“I’m okay with that,” she said with a smile, looking up at him, her face wet with tears. She looked tired and beaten up, dressed in clothing that wasn’t hers and didn’t fit her, and it was the best thing Jensen had ever seen. 

Moving carefully to wrap his arm around her shoulders, Jensen led them out of the studio and back into the newsroom. Once there, the entire room erupted in cheers, causing Y/N to flinch and pull away. One of the Marines with them immediately took control of the situation and moved forward to quiet down the cheering friends. 

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Jensen asked quickly, his voice laced with panic. Y/N shook her head frantically as she pulled away, trying to back away from him. The other Marine who was with them gently removed Jensen from her side and began to speak quietly to the frightened woman who was on the verge of a panic attack. 

“Take a breath, ma’am. You’re in New York now, not Gaza. Close your eyes and pay attention to your surroundings. Notice that the air smells different here. Things feel different here…” 

It took almost ten minutes, but soon, Y/N could open her eyes and breathe normally again. At some point, she had made it onto the floor. She looked to the Marine apologetically and shook her head, looking away. She rubbed her hand over her chest and held back a sob. 

“Hey, we talked about this. It’s going to take a while. Finding a good therapist to help you work through the trauma is going to be necessary, but having friends and family here to help you is a great first step,” the Marine said, kneeling next to her. Jensen came up next to her, finally being allowed to approach her. “We didn’t warn anyone about your aversion to loud sounds like we had discussed doing, so it’s expected that this would have happened.”

“Is she okay?” Jensen asked quietly, kneeling. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“She will be. Right?” Y/N nodded slowly, accepting the hands to help her stand. She looked over at the group of people watching anxiously.

“There’s a lot of people who want to see you,” Jensen said quietly, looking back into the newsroom. Everyone stood and looked on worriedly. “You think you can handle that?” Y/N nodded and made her way over. Moments later, they swarmed her in a group hug. 

“Are you the gentlemen who brought our Y/N back to us?” Eric asked, approaching the two Marines standing near them. The Marines turned to face the news director, and one nodded. 

“We escorted her here as she requested,” he answered. “She was held there the longest and experienced the worst of the abuse. I’m the Chaplain of the Navy, Captain Mathew Davis, and this is Lieutenant William Arnold.” Eric held his hand out, which the Marine shook.

“Thank you for bringing her home.” 

“Just doing our job.” 

“You did more than that, trust me,” Eric said, shaking the other man’s hand. The two Marines nodded, then turned and left the building. 

“I wanna go home. Can we go home, Jen?” Y/N asked softly, looking up at her fiancé with tired eyes. Jensen looked down at her, pressing his lips to her forehead. 

“Of course. Let’s get you home,” he muttered. Eric watched the couple stand and turn. 

“Take a few weeks off, Jen,” he said, causing Jensen to turn and look at him. “I’ll send you the contact information of a good therapist. You both should go. We’ll talk next week sometime.” 

“Thanks, Eric,” Jensen said with a soft smile, his arm wrapped around the most crucial thing in his life. Eric’s eyes drifted down to his star reporter, recognizing the look of trauma all too well. 

“You have no idea how glad I am you made it out of there, kid,” Eric said quietly. Jensen looked down at Y/N and moved his arm as she hugged Eric. Eric closed his eyes and held her tighter, kissing her temple. 

“Thanks, Uncle Eric,” she whispered before pulling away. Eric brushed some hair from Y/N’s face, causing her to smile softly before curling back under Jensen’s arm.

“Get out of here. I’ll come by this weekend, and we can talk more then,” Eric said. Jensen nodded, pulling Y/N with him. 

“I’m never letting you go,” Jensen whispered to her hair as he kissed her head, guiding her to the elevator. Y/N laid her head on his chest and sighed. 

“I’m holding you to it.”

[lonesome-witching]

A Play in Three Acts

This might have been the most ambitious prompt I've gotten so far. Which is why this is quite long. Shockingly long actually. And I even tried to shorten it. Thank you for the prompt @allnewtpir. Hope this fits with what you had in mind.

You can send me prompts or find the previous ones right here.

Robin’s mom had often described her love story as a play in three acts. It was a story Robin had grown sick of. As a child she had hoped she’d be granted the same type of love story. But that was before her mother had started to sound like a broken record and long before Robin realized she’d never be granted that same fairytale. Because Robin wasn’t like her mother, she wasn’t like most girls. And while some saw that as a blessing, Robin knew it as a curse. So, she’d bury that stupid play in three acts into the depths of her memory and hoped it would fade away.

But it never did. She could still recount the three acts and how they were supposed to unfold. 

Act I

The first meeting 

The first time Robin met Nancy wasn’t really the first time they met. Their real first time meeting was in kindergarten when each of the children in the circle had been forced to state their name as they were introduced to each other. Nancy had been sitting neatly on her chair, her hands clasped in her lap and Robin had thought she looked so mature. She herself had sat with one leg pulled up on her chair and hugging her knee, a habit she still hadn’t gotten rid off. 

But it wasn’t about that first meeting. It was about the first time they really met, the first time they actually spoke to each other, the moment they went from strangers to acquaintances. 

That happened at the beginning of Christmas break 1984. Robin had been in no mood to leave the house, the cold kept biting into her skin whenever she so much as opened a window. But despite the fact her winter coat had torn at the seams, her parents thought it was a great idea for Robin to walk to the grocery store for some last minute shopping. Very last minute, seeing as her extended family was already on the way to Hawkins. 

So, Robin found herself wandering around the endless isles of chips and drinks and candies. She was searching for orange juice when she noticed her. Standing in front of the fridge filled with different brands of orange juice and sodas stood Nancy Wheeler, eyes glazed over, staring at something beyond the glass. 

“Are you alright?” Robin approached cautiously, keeping her voice low and kind. She never liked being pulled out of her own concentration and she probably wouldn’t have even said anything if she didn’t need the access to that particular fridge. 

Nancy jumped back, her eyes now directed at Robin. She wasn’t sure whether she should be grateful or ashamed to have Nancy’s attention. 

“Huh?” Nancy frowned and Robin thought she might have been crying. 

“Are you alright?” Robin repeated, just as soft as before. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” 

She didn’t look fine. “Are you sure? Because I’m not. My partners are being… they’re acting like they know how they’re supposed to act but all it’s doing is making me do stuff I don’t want to do. Like I didn’t even want to leave the house today and I begged them to not invite my drunk aunt over for Christmas but mother knows best, you know? She does whatever she likes and then pretends it’s for my own good.” Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Why was she still talking? 

“Who are you?” Nancy asked and somehow Robin sensed that Nancy was wondering the same thing, why was she still talking to her? 

“Robin. Robin Buckley. We have chemistry. The class. We have chemistry class together at school. Hawkins High.” She refrained herself from adding Go, Tigers to her speech. 

“Right.” 

“Sorry, you probably have your own holidays to get to, let me just…” She pointed her thumb toward the fridge and Nancy stepped aside. 

Robin looked at the different selection of bottles. She wasn’t sure which one her cousins would prefer. At least she assumed she was buying it for the minors and not for some type of special cocktail her mom was thinking up. Those never tasted good. She noticed a bottle that looked somewhat familiar, maybe a brand her parents had bought her when she was a kid. Her hands grabbed it, all under the watchful eye of Nancy Wheeler. 

She knew Nancy was still watching her, could feel those blue eyes staring holes in the side of her face, which is exactly why she continued staring at the bottle she now held in her hands. 

“Robin?” Something had changed in Nancy’s voice and Robin wanted to learn what it was. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you have anywhere to be right now?” 

Act II

Strangers to friends

Everything had changed after that first meeting. When school started up in January, Nancy sought her out. Third period on Monday, Nancy dropped down in the seat next to Robin for their shared chemistry class with a shy smile. Robin’s own smile bright enough to light up the Christmas tree her parents forgot to take down. 

“Is this okay?” Nancy had asked. 

“Of course, this is great.” Robin replied and maybe she shouldn’t have sounded so eager. But her words eased the tension in Nancy’s shoulders and she really couldn’t regret anything that had that effect. 

So, they sat together during chemistry. And then they started sitting together during lunch twice a week. Mondays and Thursdays, the two lunches Nancy’s boyfriend spent in the darkroom to develop pictures. And then they started sitting together during lunch all the time. Even when Jonathan sat next to her, Nancy’s attention wouldn’t waver from Robin. And then they started calling each other, late at night. 

It was during those calls that Robin really got to know Nancy. Somehow the distance between them made it easier for Nancy to open up. Robin learned that Nancy wanted to become a journalist, that she’d always loved writing in any capacity but that with age and experience she had gotten addicted to diving into mysteries and unraveling them for all to see. Robin had wanted to ask about this experience but she had bitten her tongue. 

She learned that Nancy didn’t like the cold. And the way she had said it made Robin wonder if there was a reason for it. 

She learned that Barb hadn’t run away. The night they had that conversation they both ended up crying on the phone until they fell asleep. According to Nancy, Barb had gotten into an accident. She had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Robin didn’t want to accept this answer but she didn’t really have a choice. 

She learned that Nancy was determined and stubborn and smart. She learned that Nancy didn’t see herself that same way. She learned that maybe deep down she was falling in love with Nancy. 

And then summer approached and Nancy got a wonderful internship at the Hawkins Post, she had been ecstatic when she called Robin to tell her the good news, and Robin… Well, Robin had applied to every single store that had opened at the mall and had only gotten a chance from Scoops Ahoy. It hadn’t been her first choice, or her second or third, but it was a job and she needed the money. 

Nancy had been sitting on the Buckley couch when Robin had gotten the call. Nancy had seen the way Robin wasn’t all that excited for her own summer endeavors. And Nancy had tried to cheer her up instantly. 

And Robin had appreciated it. 

It was only when she learned that Nancy had gotten Jonathan a spot at the paper that something started to burn in her chest. It hadn’t helped that she had been informed of that on the same day Steve Harrington was hired at Scoops Ahoy. She’d be spending her summer with her nemesis while Nancy and Jonathan got to live out their dream, and it stung a little. 

It stung a little less when Nancy came into Scoops Ahoy on her days off. Always right around Robin’s lunch break. Always ordering a different flavor and tipping royally. Always wearing a skirt. 

“And I know I shouldn’t care what they think but it’s too much for me to take at this point. It’s humiliating.” Nancy pushed a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. 

“Who said you shouldn’t care?” Robin frowned at her lunch, no ice cream for her, she’d gotten sick of the treat after two weeks. 

“Jonathan. He said I shouldn’t care because they don’t know what they’re talking about but-”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t care. I mean yeah, fuck these man for talking shit about you. You are better than them. But that doesn’t mean they should just get away with it. You’re brilliant and they should regret ever saying otherwise.” 

Maybe that had been a bit too much. There would come a moment when Nancy saw right through her and maybe that would be now. Because Nancy was looking at her with her mouth slightly agape, the spoon still resting on her tongue and her eyes wide. 

“Thank you. I think I really needed to hear that. Jonathan keeps telling me to suck it up because it’s such an amazing experience but I can’t just sit still and look pretty and do nothing.” 

Okay maybe Robin got away with it this time. 

“Don’t suck it up, Nance. Stand up for yourself. If you think there is potential in this article then write it and please, Nance, don’t give up. If Jonathan won’t stand by your side, I will.”

Nancy smiled. “Enough about me, tell me about your week. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” 

So Robin did. “Somehow Steve is getting worse at flirting and I didn’t know that was possible. I still can’t believe he got you to date him.” 

“He was different in high school, you know that.” 

“Was he really that different?” 

“I guess so.” 

And maybe it was wishful thinking but there almost seemed to be a new glint, a new spark, in Nancy’s eyes. 

Act III

Love confessions

“Have you ever been in love?” Robin wasn’t sure where the words came from. Maybe because in the back of her mind a soft voice kept chanting Nancy, Nancy, Nancy. 

“Yep, Nancy Wheeler. First semester, senior year.” Steve followed the words with a sound that must be mimicking a gun. And Robin felt her own heart break. 

Somehow she and Steve had become friends. Through the translations and the scheming and the Russian layer with its doctors and drugs, it really wasn’t that hard to bond. 

“Oh my God, she’s such a priss.” And maybe the truth serum was wearing off because she didn’t really mean that. Nancy was more than a priss. 

“Turns out, not really.” 

Robin wanted to know more. But her own envy got in the way. She couldn’t bear to hear of all that Steve and Nancy had gotten up to. 

“Are you still in love with Nancy?” 

Please say no, please say no, please for the love of God say no. 

“No.” 

Oh thank God.

“Why not?” How could anyone not be in love with Nancy Wheeler? 

“I think it’s because I found someone who’s a little bit better for me.” What? “It’s crazy. Ever since Dustin got home, he’s been saying ‘you know you gotta find your Suzie, you gotta find your Suzie’-“

“Wait, who’s Suzie?” Robin interrupted.

“It’s some girl from camp, I guess his girlfriend. To be honest with you, I’m not 100% sure she’s even real. But that’s not- that’s not really the point. That doesn’t matter. The point is there is this girl, you know, the one that I like, it’s somebody that I… didn’t even talk to in school.” 

Oh God no, don’t say that. Robin exhaled, feeling this anxious tension crawl up her body. 

“And I don’t even know why. Maybe cause Tommy H. would’ve made fun of me or… I wouldn’t be… prom king. It’s stupid, I mean, Dustin’s right, it’s all just a bunch of bullshit anyway. Because when I think about it I should’ve been hanging out with this girl the whole time. First of all, she’s hilarious. She’s so funny. I feel like this summer I have laughed harder than I have laughed… in a really long time.”

Robin couldn’t help but smile a little. She did like Steve. She liked Steve a lot. Just not like this. She had finally found her people. Nancy and Steve. And yet she had fallen in love with the first one and was about to be forced to reject the other. Life wasn’t fair. 

“And she’s smart. Way smarter than me. You know, she can crack, like, top secret Russian codes and… you know? She’s honestly unlike anyone I’ve ever even met before.” 

Goddamit Steve! Why? 

Robin put her head in between her knees. She was going to throw up. 

“Robin?” Steve knocked on the wooden stall. Robin looked up, but Steve couldn’t see that. He couldn’t see the uncomfortable smile on her face. “Robin, did you just OD in there?”

“No.” Robin sighed heavily. “I… am still alive.” Unfortunately. She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. 

And then Steve was sliding under the stall toward her. 

“The floor is disgusting.” Robin said, more out of instinct than anything else. She’d never been good at keeping her mouth shut. 

“Yeah, well, I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so… What do you think?” 

“About?”

“This girl.”

“She sounds awesome.” 

“She is awesome. And what about the guy?” 

“I think he’s on drugs, and he’s not thinking straight.” 

“Really? Cause I think he’s thinking a lot more clearly than usual.” 

“He’s not.” Robin prided herself on her stern gaze. “Look… he doesn’t even know this girl. And if he did know her, like- like really know her, I don’t think he’d even want to be her friend.” Was she actually doing this? Was she actually about to confess her biggest secret to Steve Harrington in the dirty Starcourt mall bathroom. 

“No, that’s not true. No way is that true.” Steve leaned forward. 

“Listen to me, Steve. It’s shocked me to my core but I like you. I really like you. But I’m not like your other friends.” 

“Robin, that’s exactly why I like you.” 

Oh God, she was actually going to do this. “Steve, earlier when I talked about being jealous and, like, obsessed, it wasn’t because I had a crush on you. It’s because you got to kiss her.” 

“Who?” 

“Nancy Wheeler. You got to kiss her and hold her and you got to call her yours. And all I can do is be her friend and endure the lengthy conversations about her boyfriend just so she’ll look at me. Because it might be torture to hear about Jonathan or about what things were like with you, but it is worth it for that smile on her face and that spark in her eyes. I’d give everything for her to feel that way about me.” 

“What?” The door to the bathroom fell shut. Steve and Robin turned their heads towards the intrusion. There stood Nancy Wheeler for once sporting a pair of high waisted pants and a black and red striped shirt. 

“Nancy?” Robin exhaled the name. “I can explain.” 

“Okay.” Nancy stood there blinking at her and Robin wasn’t sure she could explain, her mind was still fuzzy. 

“What are you doing here?” She said instead and maybe she should have started with that question. She crawled to her feet. 

“Dustin, he radioed. He was worried. I rushed over as soon as I could. Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, just injected with truth serum.” Robin chuckled uncomfortably.

“Is that why you said… what you said?” 

Robin wasn’t sure what to reply. She wasn’t even sure that was why she had said it. Indirectly it surely had been the cause. So, for perhaps the first time in her life, Robin said nothing. 

“Robin, do you like me?” Nancy took a careful step forward. 

“Of course I like you, we’re friends. I like my friends, everyone likes their friends.” She quickly looked at Steve but saw nothing but confusion on his face. 

“That’s not what I meant.” Another step. 

“Oh.” 

“Robin, do you like me?” Nancy repeated, slowly closing the distance between them. 

Her mouth felt dry, like she had been roaming the desert instead of a Russian layer under the local mall. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t get a word out. With a resigned sigh she nodded her head. 

“Oh God.” Nancy exhaled as if she had been holding her breath. “That’s good. That is so good.” She laughed softly. 

“It is?” Robin croaked out. 

“I thought… I thought I was imagining things. That you were just being nice when you complimented me and made grand speeches but now I know I wasn’t going crazy.” 

“You weren’t.” 

“I like you too, Robin.” 

“You what?” Robin nearly shouted the words. There was no way. Nancy must have misunderstood her. 

“I like you. You listen and you always know what to say. You know a little bit about everything, you’re so smart. You’re so beautiful. How could I not like you?” Nancy was standing close now, very close. 

“But you’re Nancy Wheeler?” 

“I am.” 

“What about Jonathan?” 

“We broke up. He didn’t understand me. Not like you do.” Nancy was staring up at her through her lashes. And then she was leaning in, closing the last bit of distance between them and pressing her lips against Robin’s in a featherlight kiss. 

“Oh my God, I’m never going to hear the end of this.” Steve groaned. 

“What?” Robin had almost forgotten he was there. 

“I’ve been flirting with girls all summer and they’ve all turned me down. You flirt with one girl and she ends up kissing you. We both know you are never shutting up about this, Robin.” 

Nancy laughed as she intertwined their hands.

[gardensofthemoon]

chengxian, 40 for the ask game!

40 - because the world is ending. prompt list here

this got a little out of hand, i took it in a different direction. sorry 🫣 tw mcd

When Wei Wuxian was young, he had the habit of scaring Jiang Cheng by plunging unexpectedly into the lake, splashing Jiang Cheng who watched from the pier. Jiang Cheng sulked miserably in his drenched robes, and his face would twist in the frown that Wei Wuxian knew meant Jiang Cheng was close to bursting into tears.

But then Wei Wuxian emerged from the water, grinning. The midday sun looked up white and scorching from the shimmering surface of the lake. “Won’t you join me,” he wheedled Jiang Cheng when he was feeling courteous, or simply pulled him down when he was not.

He remembers the soft gasp caught in Jiang Cheng’s mouth, how his heartbeat stuttered as a frightened foal before Jiang Cheng gave in and fell into the summer-warm water.

Jiang Cheng used to need little convincing; he went along with whatever whims struck Wei Wuxian. To know how long would that blind faith last—

“I don’t understand you,” Jiang Cheng would say afterwards. He looked askance at Wei Wuxian, wringing his hair dry. Floating by the pier, Wei Wuxian pretended he didn’t spy the slant of his shoulders goldened by sunspots, or the water dribbling from Jiang Cheng’s hair like tears, wetting the already soaked linens. “I know you can swim. Why do you like to play at drowning?”

The thing about Jiang Cheng was that he always sought answers. Could not let any challenge undisputed or any question unresolved. He’d hammer at the issue, subtle as a kick to the teeth, and prod at it until it either untangled or strangled him instead. The only way over was through.

Wei Wuxian only flashed him a crooked smile and turned over on his back. The water was lapping gently around him. He felt the nascent sunburn spreading on his cheeks.

He didn’t know how to explain it to Jiang Cheng. It had nothing to do with drowning. He found he had no words for it—or if he did, Jiang Cheng would not understand. He was pragmatic and serious, a sweet, conscientious little sect heir. Couldn’t relate to the strange yearning that tugged at Wei Wuxian during torpid summers, air heavy and humid as a stifling shroud.

Perhaps he did not wholly understand it himself, back then. He thinks he never got it, not truly, not even now.

Once, before Jiang Cheng became his second shadow, Wei Wuxian had fallen from a tree; the branch had snapped and he tumbled down, from a height about twice of a grown man’s. He’d sprained his ankle, so he had to be carried on shijie’s back, and Jiang Cheng had brought him spare lotus buns from the kitchens for months, even after the joint healed and Wei Wuxian thought the flimsy excuse wouldn’t hold. One would think that’d put him off falling.

It was the world-tilting drop that Wei Wuxian chased, the abrupt dive. The plummet and the splash. How his heart trembled ecstatic in his chest as for one infinitely stretching moment he felt weightless, untethered. The cloudless, endless sky lit by sunshine; the welcoming depths. The tension bleeding from his body preparing for the impact, and the cold clutch of water robbing his lungs of breath. The morning light mirrored into the lake.

He would hunt for the tallest trees, with sturdy arms leaning over the pier. He’d jump.

Jiang Cheng’s gaze danced upon his skin like a caress, and a tendril of something hot and shivery curled low inside him. He ducked underwater, his lungs burning, watching the shifting rays shining through from beyond the water’s edge. The urge to breathe in, to gulp tickled down his spine.

Then he hauled himself up on the docks and sprawled at Jiang Cheng’s feet and laughed, and then Jiang Cheng would laugh also. Grinning so broadly it hurt, he slung a dripping arm around those shoulders he’d glimpsed bare for but a moment before the sight branded itself in his memory. “See, Chengcheng? I was right, isn’t this fun?” he whispered, so close to Jiang Cheng’s neck his breath wafted around the short hairs at his nape. As expected, Jiang Cheng grouched. But he didn’t pull away from Wei Wuxian.

It used to be easy between them. Wei Wuxian led, and Jiang Cheng followed. Whether he ran too fast or dived too deep, Wei Wuxian knew Jiang Cheng would always be behind him, or above him, watching him with sun-bright eyes.

It is easy now, too, though the circumstances have changed; he flees, but Jiang Cheng still follows.

Tears are dribbling down Jiang Cheng’s face, and his garments are soaked in red. Shijie, Wei Wuxian thinks despairingly. He crumbles to his knees. Curls his dirt-smeared, blood-stained fingers around Jiang Cheng’s wrist, the one bearing Zidian, and dares to press his lips on the metal. Barely a breath. His own skin is ashen. The colour of the dead or dying.

“Who shall release us?” the voices are crying.

The sky is dim now, dark. Illuminated only by the ghostly white light of spectres. Screams are tearing through the night; the army of corpses eats mercilessly, effortlessly through the lines. Chaos unleashes on the battlefield, gory and futile.

He’s expectant, waiting for Jiang Cheng to summon the lightning, to reach inside him and cast out the smoke shadowing the hidden hollow.

The blow doesn’t come. So be it, Jiang Cheng is still soft-hearted. Maybe someday he’ll learn how to dispel ghosts, even the ones haunting their own corpses.

He remembers being unmoored, the heavy knot dropping in his pit. The elation of the plunge, the dark water opening. The white sun, the endless sky. The summer he fell for Jiang Cheng.

He looks skyward; stormclouds are stirring on the backdrop of Jiang Cheng’s steel-sharp glare feeling like a fulfilled promise. He can only wonder at it, the sky-wide vastness, the fall without fear, the dive into darkness dappled with starlight.

[casuallivi]

Yellow Carnations

I’ll admit elriel is more of a background here, since this is part of my Her Ladyship's Garden collection, where I tell little stories about Elain. Set post ACOSF. Word count: 2016

For Elriel Month 2023. Prompt 3: Happy Solstice @elriel-month

The High Lord confident steps halted as he passed by them, a frown marring his face.

“You are here.”

Elain lifted her eyes from the tome she was reading, dark circles in her pale face, her freckles less prominent now that she spent less time under the sun.

“Am I not aloud anymore?”

“Don’t be silly,” he recovered quickly, “I’m surprised to see you home, that’s all.” Too late. The oddness of his initial tone sent her alert.

Elain watched Rhysand like a hawk. She could now interpret all the subtle changes in his posture, the quirk in his lips when he came across information he found relevant, the twitch in his left ear when his attention was actually settle in a different conversation than the one he was having, the slight grind of his molars when the information was not to his liking, the unguarded rub off his chin when he found something amusing. Amren was right. Translation was a game of patient, its own brand of art. Observe a language for long enough, and you'll find the patterns. Observe a male for long enough, and you'll find his weaknesses.

“Early day?”

“Late night.” Amren corrected.

The night began in the opulent dinner table, where they had more space to work. As the hours went by and their eyes grow tired, they moved to the sofa, seeking a bit of comfort, later sitting on the rug, cushion spread all over the place. Now the sun was high in the sky.

Amren slouched back on her hand, sipping wine from her enchanted gold goblet that never emptied. Her latest gift from Varian. “Sunshine here, is surprisingly good with languages. I’m thinking of keeping her.”

Cunning violet eyes scanned the mess spread on the center table, crinkling the smallest bit at the corner while he exchanged a silent conversation with Amren. Elain pretend not go notice the use of his daemanti powers.

“Is that so. Had I known that earlier I’d not have let you move out. It's good to have reliable people close by." He grinned at her, joking. Elain had no doubt he was trying to mask the truth with pleasantry.

Rhysand was not happy with her decision to leave. Not when he and Feyre went above and beyond to build her a room that could rival a small house. It was certainly bigger than the cabin they lived in. A cage was still a cage, no matter how big the antechamber was. She smiled at him.

“A lady never tells.”

“Is that another of your human costumes?”

“No. A feminine one.” She could not help but notice how his smile did not reach his eyes.

“Well, best of luck, ladies. Don’t let Amren drink on an empty stomach. She gets cranky.” He waved them goodbye.

Amren squinted at Elain, as if daring her to take her goblet. Elain only rolled her eyes. The people in this household had a level of love and tolerance for alcohol that she could not understand. More than once she witnessed Cassian downing entire barrels, by himself, and still remember vivid details of the night. It was mesmerizing and worrisome.

Their books were staked in high piles in a vain attempt to gain space. It was no use. The surface was covered with a variety of tomes written in a dead tongue, accompanied by dictionaries and encyclopedias. Although her fingers were cramping from the long hours spend writing, Elain used the piles to her advantage, the books creating a makeshift hideout. With the help of her acute fae-sight, Elain caught a view to Rhysand's map room, Cassian and Azriel already inside, their back to her, waiting on their High Lord.

Azriel.

Her heart ache at the sight of him. Sleep hardly came by these days, her mind too busy in replaying the moment he rejected her. Elain did not even had the luxury of remaining his friend, for Azriel made his presence scarce, shutting her down completely. No more walks along the Sidra, no more sitting by the garden, no more exquisite seeds left in the shed, no more tiny trinkets from his trips, no more shopping at Rainbow, no more breakfasts at the breaking of the day, no more sage carefully applied to the cuts in her hands. Azriel was gone.

Yet, he had come to see her father.

Every month Elain visited her father’s grave. Taking her time to tend to his tombstone, pluck the weed that insisted in climbing the stone, replacing his flowers with fresh one, gently polishing the jaded letters forming his name while murmuring new memories made by her and her sisters. Sometimes they went with her – Feyre more than Nesta – whether they choose to go or not, there was someone who never failed to accompany her, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, wings tucked tight, keeping a respectful distance at the foot of the hill. The first time she voiced her wish to visit her father, back when her family was still careful of her mood swings, Feyre volunteered to take her. To their surprise, Azriel was waiting for them outside, implying his High Lady flying skills were not good enough to carry others. Feyre gasped at the audacity, threatening to punish him with frontier duty, and Elain thought it was endearing how he hide his smile behind her tresses.

When the following month came, Elain descended the stairs to find him waiting in the foyer, a placid smile in place. They exchanged no words as he took her basket, safekeeping it in a pocket of shadows, and off they went. Another ritual was born of silent agreement, as all the ones created before it, because that’s how they worked, inexplicably attuned to each other.

Or so she thought.

The solstice mistake haunted her all day long, Elain returning to her sleepless nights, mind running a thousand miles, recreating every interaction she ever shared with Azriel, cataloging all the touches and glances and suggestions of something else. Something more. No matter how hard she thought, the conclusion was the same: Azriel felt for her as she did for him. Then why, why, reject her? Elain rubbed a hand under her breast, caressing her ribs, disappointment settling over her very bones. It saddened her that she was used to people validating her bond more than her, but to have Azriel doing the same was like having her heart ripped out of her chest. Again. She tossed and turned in her bed. Maybe it was for the best. If she was just another woman, they would have freedom to explore their relationship, but she wasn't, and things were complicated. Elain was tired of complications. Perhaps she could use this event to distance herself as well, easier to bury her feeling. As Nesta's romance books said; out of sight, out of mind.

The problem was Azriel didn't get the memo, reappearing when she finally settled her mind in forgetting him, therefore ruining her plan.

To see Azriel standing outside the River House, waiting for her, after the solstice fiasco, was a bucket of cold water putting out the fire of her resolution. Damn him. No, she would not go with him. He had been avoiding her like the plague, forgone their friendship as if she was nothing, disappeared from her life without giving her a proper reason, a goodbye. Elain had more self-respect than giving him a free pass after all he had done. She’d rather walk all the way to the mountain than submitting herself to be in the company of a man who called her a mistake.

That's what she told herself as she looped her arms around his neck, Azriel taking up to the sky seconds later. Elain was a fool for love. Elain was a fool for Azriel. She could barely focus on cleaning the grave, apologizing to her father and promising to come another day to talk properly. Contrary to her other visits, the was no placid smile waiting for her downhill. His silence was different now, tense, guarded, as if he was stopping himself from spilling words. It made her jittery. When he brought her home, Elain could swear he tightened his hold on her, burring his nose in her hair before settling her back on her feet. Her heart thundered the entire time.

Her stare meet the one of her brothers-in-law, Rhysand noticing her watching. He winked at her, the door closing with a hit of night-kissed power.

A powerful, heavy, slap hit the back of her head, jerking her body forward, her breast hitting the corner of the center table.

“Focus.” Elain straighten herself, rubbing her aching tits. Her eyes remained fixed at the door. The scent of jasmine thickened, burning the oxygen in the air.

“Amren.”

“No talking.”

"Listen,"

“Girl, I do not care for how cauldron-blessed you are, if you do not concentrate, I'll smack you with that book.”

The threat did not detained Elain. She had long learned to identify the humors of the small female sitting beside her. Despite her words, Amren was calm and relaxed, carefully translating the parchment in front of her with her dubious calligraphy. Elain’s expression was a block of stone, showing nothing of the havoc in her mind, a swirling of thoughts she had avoided for a long time taking a hold of her tongue, obliging her to ask a question she had never dared to voice out loud.

“What if his mate comes?” The scribbling stopped, the metal tip of Amren’s feather pen piercing the pager.

Goddamn tears rimmed her eyes again, and Elain couldn’t know if they were from anger or frustration. Or sadness. Elain was so tired of crying. She rubbed them off.

“What if she comes for him. For Varian.”

The pen broke under the strength of her hold, dark blue ink smearing the translation. The hairs in Elain's arm stood up, her senses getting alert to the scent of danger spreading in the air. Then it was gone, masked with perfection. Amren scrunched the paper carelessly, throwing it over her shoulder.

“It won’t happen.” she said with conviction.

“It can happen.”

“It won’t.”

Elain shook her head, placing her book down. She knew denial when she saw it; had learned to identify it in the mirror.

“You don’t know that. She can be out there, and at some point, they might meet,”

The slam of a fist cut her words, shaking the table, splintered wood forming veins in the dark wood. Grey eyes smoldered, a snarl escaping the ferocious female. Amren snapped her head towards Elain, her grin savage, her words hushed and deadly.

“Then be my guest and try me.” Another fae would have flinched, instinct urging then to cower in front of the great predator snarling at their face. Elain did not balk, did not blink, she faced the other female head on, cunning brown eyes tracking the passionate possessivity hiding behind the maddening outburst. “Do I look like I give a fuck about some fae-made mystical rope of destiny? I’m not from this world, girl. Where I come from, you want something, you take it. I wanted this world, I wanted this body, and I want that male. Varian is mine, and mine alone. Mine. If someone, anyone, thinks they can steal him from me, they are welcome to try.”

She slammed the book into Elain’s chest.

“Stop spouting nonsense and finish this shit.”

In her heart of heart, Elain had always thought that being made gave them a sort of comradery, but seeing the ferocity in Amren’s eyes today proved they shared more similarities than the middle Archeron imagined. She took a deep breath, purging all the other scents lingering in the house to focus in one and one alone, when she found it, Elain breathed it in, holding it down in her lungs the longest she could, exhaling it slowly.

You want something, you take it.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Elain returned to her book. Amren’s words ringing in her ears. Maybe the former angel of death was put in the seer’s way to teach her more than dead languages.

[xblackreader]

Modern AU! Black Panther

Rival Companies Romance! Fic

Wakanda Apparel Vs Talokan Sports

Okoye is a retired semi famous gymnast/athlete, who after retiring from sports, went on to create her own fashion, athletic line created by women of color. She is definitely well off with her successful business.

Her main designer is another athlete/designer Shuri. They grew up together (Okoye kinda helped raise her) and now Shuri is trying to help Okoye Modernize her brand by adding technology to the brand (fitbits, training apps, health monitors) and it’s going is great.

Rival? company of Talokan who was in the technological health business approaches them and instead of telling them to back off from their business, they propose that they merge their businesses.

they’re two multi million dollar businesses owned by people of color, they needed to stick together!

Shuri is somewhat on board, but Okoye flat out refuses. She took one look at the CEO! Namor and said he’s a shifty MAN and she doesn’t trust him.

They talk to a main shareholder, Queen Ramonda (Shuri’s mother) and Ramonda agrees that she’s skeptical to make a deal with this man who was talking down to them.

Unbeknownst to her Namor and Shuri will later meet and talk about the merge and how to convince Okoye.

Attuma is a retired soccer player and Talokan’s best spokesman (who is also related to the CEO) who goes with Namora to scout out Wakanda Apparel and their new kick boxing gym.

When he sees Okoye leading a all women’s training program, he scoffs at her (no way someone this small and lean can do any damage)

She kicks his ass for doubting her power but instead of the usual reaction she gets from men, egotistical and brutish, he tells her he wants a date with her in that moment.

Literally he’s on the ground with a maybe fractured bleeding nose and he asks her out in front of everyone.

She said absolutely not but if she thought she was getting rid of him that easily, she’s got another thing Comin.

Hell visit her office with flowers and lunch and gifts (how does he keep getting up here? Why does Aneka keep letting him up here?) and he’s unashamed to admit he’s smitten with a straight face. He’s hers.

When Shuri catches wind of too much affections for her, she is 100% on board helping Attuma win her cousins heart is her main priority… besides figuring out Namor.

Meanwhile their lead fitness scientist, Riri Williams had no idea she has latched herself to a secret admirer Namora.

Maybe Riri has a crush on Shuri 👀 and maybe shuri likes both Namor and Riri and can’t choose! 💗 maybe she don’t have to!!!! 👀👀

They have never spoken beyond pleasantries but Riri is so cute and awkward and funny and Namora is soooo gay.

Namora is so gay ha ha

Maybe everyone gets together 👀 maybe there’s something spicy 🌶️

Maybe I’ll get inspired and actually right this is a full fic or maybe with someone will pick it up as a prompt 👀👀👀💗

Should I add some other characters from the Movies? What do you all think?

[broodwolf221]

Happy Friday!

"i've given you plenty of opportunities to tell the truth." - from the hiding prompts - forrrrrrrr maybe Calpernia/Solas? (I'M INTRIGUED OK haha)

okay bless u for this bc i just went off the deep end these two mean?? sm to me?? it's the weirdest ship but i love them ;o; @dadrunkwriting 1354 words cws: slavery; war mention notes: trespasser spoilers & calpernia's arc spoilers

Her fury was evident as she finally approached—as he finally stopped running and let her approach.

Her chase was unending, but it had to end. She had sent her Venatori to scour the land for signs of him. Her spies. Varric’s own spies were subtle but still present, and Leliana’s were powerful and precise. The weight of the foregone Inquisition bore down upon him with a singular intent, and there were simply too many forces arrayed against him—even with the Eluvians, even with the Beyond and the Fade, he was becoming trapped. He needed someone to stop the pursuit.

Varric’s was the least threatening, and the dwarf was incredibly stubborn. Leliana would not stop so long as she drew breath, and although she presented the greatest risk, Solas would not kill her in order to stem her spies.

That left only Calpernia to dissuade. Calpernia to meet with, Calpernia to argue with. “Why,” she hissed as she approached, her expression tight with her anger. Despite all that had changed, all that had happened, she was dressed in the same armor, wore her hair in the same way… if he closed the distance between them, he thought she would smell the same, that she would feel achingly familiar in his arms.

He kept the distance. He had to.

“There is no other option,” was his paltry answer.

“There is always another option!” She snapped, and he felt the weight of her meaning crackle across the space between them. Her words were thread through with her power, a transfixing display of might and magic and anger. “You taught me that!”

“No,” he said softly, “you knew that long before you met me.” Her expression faltered then, anger giving way to grief for a brief moment… but then she took a deep breath and drew her fury back around her. A shield, a strength, a well of power to draw from.

She would not yield the day easily.

“You have always known there were other options,” he continued. “You taught yourself everything. How to read. How to wield your magic. How to change the world.”

“Like you!” He nodded, conceding the point.

“Yes. Like me. Except…” he scoffed, glancing away briefly. “You were never as naive as I was.”

“You’re being naive now!” She shouted, perhaps sensing a weakness. Perhaps accurately sensing a weakness. But he would not yield to her. He would not spoil all he had worked for, all he had still to do.

“Perhaps,” he admitted after a moment. “There is still no other option.”

“Fen’harel.” She spat the name like a curse… he supposed it was, anymore. “The deceiver. The liar. The betrayer.”

“Yes.” His voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. “Yes. So I was. So I am.”

“You betrayed me,” her pain overtook her anger for a moment, her voice thick. “You betrayed the Inquisition! Your friends! Why, Solas?”

The real question. One which required a real answer… or as much of one as he could give. He met her eyes once more.

“I am Fen’harel,” he confirmed again, “the Dread Wolf. When the Elvhen dominated the land, when Arlathan was the center of power in the known world, when the Fade and the Waking World were as one… that was my existence. My time.” She said nothing, staring hard at him. He was uncertain how much she had been told of his conversation with the Inquisitor, and she did not seem compelled to clarify the matter. “The Evanuris were powerful mages, but not the gods the Dalish think they were. Not gods at all. They were masters, slave-owners, who branded their people with the vallaslin.” Her face was a mask, her emotions contained. But he knew her, knew she felt this—she couldn’t fail to feel this, a slave her entire life until Corypheus “freed” her to use her.

“There had long been murmurings of rebellion,” he continued, “and in my naivete, I fueled them. I organized in secret, freed slaves, removed their vallaslin and smuggled them out of the city. In this way, I slowly amassed an army—and when we were powerful enough… when I thought we were powerful enough… we stood against the Evanuris.”

She stared at him, waiting for the rest of the story, although they both knew how it ended.

“We lost.”

“They died fighting for their own freedom,” she said and his eyes slipped shut, wanting so badly to let her words soothe him. But he could not permit it—this was his burden, his mistake. And it was hardly his only one.

“Even if they did, it was for naught. The war made the Evanuris more determined, more ruthless. They pursued a weapon that would destroy the world. To prevent it… I sundered the world.”

“And now you seek to restore it,” she concluded. So she had been told. He was not surprised—she knew the value of keeping the truth to herself, so long as it suited. Her cunning, her tactics, it was part of what he admired about her. Part of why he had grown, in time, to love her.

Such an unexpected thing, to love a human woman. But he could not deny that she had intrigued him from the start, that her drive and determination and tireless effort for her people had done nothing except inspire him. She was not always right… but when she had learned the error of her ways, the mistake of trusting Corypheus, she had turned on all she knew to stand against him. She wanted to restore her homeland to something worthwhile, to liberate the slaves, to raise them up as citizens. She used all the means at her disposal to do so.

He saw so much of himself in her, but also something so much better. She was not as jaded as he had become, not as despairing. She was lush and vibrant and so passionate it bordered on desperate.

“Yes,” he said at last.

“Then let me come,” she said and he shook his head, even knowing this was coming. Knowing it must come. Her drive, her determination, her need for restoration… of course she would want to be at his side. But she only knew the outline of his plans, and he could not condemn her to live the reality of them. To suffer the consequences alongside him.

Better that she live a life free of him, free of his influence.

“You deserve to live your own life,” he told her, watching as her fury soared again. “Not to chain yourself to mine.”

“How dare you,” she snarled, taking a step closer. “How dare you. I chain myself to nothing! I offer this willingly.”

“You do not know the gravity of your offer,” he protested and she took another step closer. He wanted to back up, wanted to flee, but instead held his ground.

“You think I followed you all this way to pledge myself to you? To bow down, become a slave to your whims?” He winced but she did not give him room to reply. “No, Solas. I have done nothing except be with you. Learn from you. And I have never prevented you from telling me this truth about yourself. There have been so many opportunities–”

Her voice broke again and his heart ached. He wanted so badly to wrap her in his arms, to press apologies against her skin, her hair, but…

“I cannot allow you to join me,” he said instead, forcing a distance in his voice that he did not feel, “and I could never tell you the truth. There is too much at stake.”

“You’re lying to yourself,” she snapped and it took everything in him to not react. To not indulge in the belief that maybe, maybe she was right, that he could allow her to stay at his side, that it would not be cruel and selfish and—

No.

“I am sorry,” he said instead, watching as her expression hardened. “Please, stop pursuing me.” With that he turned and left through the Eluvian he’d come from, although he did not miss her final response:

“No.”

[otherworldseekers]

FFXIVwrite 2023 prompt 13: Check

So here's the second scene of my brand new modern/university/fun with fantasia AU which I'm not sure what to call yet. If you missed the first scene (which was my last FFXIVwrite entry) it is here.

It was the end of the work day and Nero Scaeva, owner of Scaevan Robotics, closed the door to his office behind him. In the break room employees were collecting their belongings and preparing to leave. All except one. Wedge, an intern and student at the local university, was loudly boasting about his significant other and the skills she would be demonstrating that night in a concert of some sort. 

“She’s got the voice of an angel!” Wedge proclaimed, the sappiest of expressions on his face. “You should all come and listen. She’s really going to be something someday. Famous! It’s a chance not to be missed!”

Most of the others simply laughed off the young Lalafell, but Wedge was not discouraged. He turned and saw Nero. “Boss! Boss! You should come too!”

“That’s right, boss. Go get an eyeful of all the pretty college kids while you still can get away with it,” one of the other engineers jeered.

Nero scowled. He had no interest in college kids or anyone a decade younger than him. “I’m afraid I’m busy tonight.”

“Are you really?” A new voice pushed through the end of day chaos. 

“Garlond, what are you doing here?” Nero demanded. Cid Garlond was the owner of Garlond Ironworks, and his rival in all things business and beyond. “I told you to stop acting like this place is yours.”

“Oh, I was waiting out front for you, Nero, but I heard the commotion your young protege was making and thought I might be able to help." He crossed his arms and stared Nero down. “Tell me, what exactly are your plans then?”

Nero’s scowl deepened. Of course he didn’t have any plans but going home, having some dinner and a glass of vodka or two, and sitting by the fireplace with a stack of project reports. Like every evening. He rarely went out. When it did, it was usually with Garlond himself, and the other man knew it perfectly well.

“I’d wager my superior booth placement at the tech expo coming up that you’ve nothing going on,” Cid said smugly. 

Nero’s scowl was turning downright dangerous. “You know perfectly well that you only got that booth placement because your father-”

“Well, Nero? Tell us about your pressing engagement,” Cid pushed. 

Wedge was looking up at Nero with glistening eyes, as if he couldn’t believe his boss would lie to him. 

“Fine,” Nero growled. “It would be an honor to see your lovely girlfriend perform, Wedge. But I’m not exactly welcome at the university, you know.”

The debacle between Nero and the Faculty of the Science department of the college was well known but seldom discussed. Mostly because the subject made Nero fly into a rage. But every new intern heard the story from the long time employees. 

“Oh,” Wedge said, his shoulders slumping. 

“As it happens…” Cid spoke up and pulled a bottle from his pocket. Nero gave him a quelling glare which he ignored. “I have with me an interesting little formula that recently came out of the chemistry department at the U. They wanted my opinion on its viability as a commercial product.”

“Oh!” Wedge perked up. “Is that fantasia?”

“The same,” Cid proclaimed. “And, Nero, it will make you a changed man.”

Nero scoffed. “Fantasia? What kind of rubbish is it?”

“I haven’t seen it used yet, but as I understand it, it allows you to choose an entirely new appearance and metamorphosizes you into that appearance until you drink another dose.”

“That’s right,” said Wedge. “You can choose your race, your gender, all your features. It’s amazing!”

“Garlond, you’re not seriously suggesting I use this snake oil?” Nero sneered. 

“Boss, my best mate, Biggs, helped work on it. It’s not snake oil!” Wedge insisted. “And it would solve our problem. If no one recognizes you, you can come to the recital with no problem!” He positively beamed. 

Nero took a few calming breaths. This was all Garlond’s fault. They both knew that Garlond was trying his hardest to poach Wedge from Scaevan Robotics, and they both knew what Wedge was tempted. After all, Biggs worked for the Ironworks. It was a war between them, just like everything else. Only this time Nero was at a disadvantage. He needed to keep Wedge happy. 

“Very well, Wedge,” Nero reluctantly agreed. “I’ll take the fantasia. I’ll go with you to the recital.”

“Boss!” Wedge said with emotion. “I promise you won’t regret it!”

Nero grabbed the bottle from the smirking Garlond. 

“Have fun, Nero,” said Cid. “I’ll come check on you in the morning and you can tell me all about it.”

[o-uncle-newt]

Cabin Pressure Advent Day 6: Fitton

FIIIIITTTTTOOOONNNN!!!!

As someone who said yesterday that I was a fan of when the show went warmer and cozier in the later seasons, OBVIOUSLY I love Fitton!

The interesting thing to me, speaking on the progression-to-warmer-and-cozier thing, is that we know from the Farewell Bear Facts for this episode that it was, understandably, written as a potential finale if the show hadn't been renewed- and as he also points out, it's really the first episode where we see something that really signifies the characters moving from "coworkers who can get along" to "friends" (the hat incident). It's a turning point for Martin and Douglas- and honestly I'd say for Carolyn and Arthur too, humanizing them by telling us more about their backstory, giving both characters vulnerability (as I pointed out yesterday, there really actually aren't many ways in a typical episode for Arthur to be vulnerable- he's pretty impermeable as a rule!)- and the fact that, when writing an episode that could have been a finale, JF decided that he needed to develop the characters in this way is really nice, partly because it just makes for a very sweet episode and partly because it validates the whole "see, haters, it was ALWAYS supposed to get sweet!" argument I sometimes have with the imaginary people in my head.

ANYWAY. Imagine if the show had ended just as Benny C had gotten the credits exactly right!

I think one great thing here is that, to continue the theme from Douz, Fitton is making it crystal clear that the motivating force behind the show is the existence of the airline- and that will take all of them, working together and becoming family to pull off, and each of them needs to contribute something to make that happen. Individually, over the course of this episode,

Martin has to let go of his ego/insecurity for a minute, take himself less seriously, and hand over the reins temporarily

Douglas has to reveal a vulnerability (his sobriety) in order to step forward and save the day

Carolyn has to think of others as well as herself, find reasons for running MJN that go beyond revenge, and earn the goodwill and loyalty of her pilots by acting moderately human

And, AND, and this is something I didn't quite put together until this listen and YMMV... the main motivating factor for keeping the airline going kind of ends up being Arthur? I kind of love that Arthur shows up at the famous "secret of true happiness" scene basically right on the heels of him telling Carolyn that there's nothing that could make him happier than what he's doing right now with all of them at MJN- and that, in the end, is one of the main engines that prompts Carolyn to decide to keep MJN going. And then they all open themselves up, if only a bit, to Arthur's brand of happiness.

Basically, Arthur Shappey is the emotional heart of the show, but we all knew that. (AND HE GETS TO BE THE CAPTAIN! Best cold-open-to-plot-arc ever.)

This episode is also notable for being the first attempt at a "no plot plot" episode- not to the same degree as a Limerick or a Xinzhou, but pretty near. And it's still a rough draft of that kind of episode, but it's extremely effective in terms of giving the episode emotional resonance. Possibly the best part of it is that you get the vibe that while this isn't the first time they're engaging with each other in this way, they don't necessarily usually go this deep (I mean, Martin didn't know Douglas's wife's name!). So just as we're learning more about the characters through scenes in the life, so are the characters, which is a nice way of experiencing the show's world. And, by the end of this episode, they are all far closer than they've been thus far (even Carolyn and Arthur in a way) and they'll be taking that with them.

(On the note of it not being a Limerick or Xinzhou- I think that's probably the main drawback of the episode, that it gets changed back to being the typical hijinks plot at the end, which is funny but just not super necessary. And, to get back to my point from Cremona, Mr Goddard is too normal and so the solution ends up being too weird and cartoonishly unlikely, relatively speaking. Next season, JF will have a bit more confidence to just let the "no plot" be a plot on its own.)

Some early installment weirdness, or otherwise something I don't quite get more generally- assuming that JF had already decided that Martin is unpaid, how on earth was Martin willing to do 28 days of unpaid standby? What was he living on? Did Carolyn not feel the slightest bit bad?! (...well ok, fine, that might not be the most insurmountable of plot-obstacles)

Also- and this isn't a flaw with the episode, just a subjective thought- those last two minutes of episode are SO cringe-inducing to listen to. I know there's schadenfreude for Martin finally being able to see through Douglas and rub it in his face a bit, but that brown sauce thing was really sweet, and he clearly loves his wife- especially given what we learn later about how she's having an affair, there is something kinda depressing about it. But, admittedly, also darkly funny.

Tomorrow we have one of my top-five episodes, GDAAANSK! (I'll be going in A-Z rather than broadcast order because that's the order on the compilation I'm listening from lol)

[stolen-pen-name23]

32. "I already knew I wasn't good enough." with obi-wan after naboo

OR

4. "Stay. Please stay." with obi-wan and cody

I bet y'all thought I forgot about these. Anyway, I am SO SORRY I am so late on this my friend, but thank you for requesting a prompt! I went with #32! I hope you enjoy! ***

Obi-Wan Kenobi has always had a habit of disappearing, though Mace believes it is more of a skill than a habit at this point. His vanishings always seem to occur when he is in one state of internal turmoil or another, and he always manages to do it in plain sight. His hiding spots are obvious to anyone who knows him but just varied enough to add a layer of challenge. 

Mace finds him in the rooftop gardens. 

He of course does not check the temple roof until he’s checked Obi-Wan’s quarters, the main gardens, and the archives. He even left the temple to investigate his favorite café in Coruscant and the lookout point he has loved since he was a boy, seeing as how the last dregs of Obi-Wan’s boyhood still cling to him in some ways. In others, it has vanished — nowhere to be found, unlike Obi-Wan, who stands before him now. 

A gentle breeze twines through the buildings and ruffles the unruly mop of auburn hair that now sits unkempt on Obi-Wan’s head. 

“You found me,” Obi-Wan says in the dry tone that irritates so many, but always endears him to Mace. 

“Not for want of trying, I will say.”

“You could have commed me.”

“Would you have answered?”

“No, but it seems an obvious first step in attempting to find someone.” 

“I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.” Mace steps forward, closer to Obi-Wan, but still offering a healthy amount of space. 

“So you have,” Obi-Wan says. His eyes have yet to meet Mace’s. Instead, they stare ever forward at the dazzling city beyond. 

“Am I allowed to ask what you’re doing up here?” Mace prods.

“I would hardly be the one to stop you.”

“Then what are you doing up here? Besides brooding, that is.”

“You’ve about summed it up.” 

Mace knows the bantha in the room all too well. He knows why Obi-Wan stands here alone, his brand-new Padawan nowhere in sight. “Do you have a better answer?”

“I suppose not.”

“Obi-Wan,” Mace says softly. “It’s alright to—”

“No,” Obi-Wan says, cutting him off. He faces him and his eyes gleam with emotion.“It’s not alright, is it? Qui-Gon is dead. As in he is never ever coming back and I am supposed to go on about my life while minding that of another and he’s not here.” 

Mace doesn’t shirk at Obi-Wan’s sudden outburst. He remembers the boy’s youth well — the hotheaded passion that tamed with time, but perhaps only lies dormant within him. “You carry a heavy responsibility, young one.”

“None so heavy as that of the death of my Master.” 

“Obi-Wan,” Mace says gravely. “You know that wasn’t your fault, right?”

“I wasn’t fast enough. If I had been faster, then maybe—”

“There are no maybes. You did the best you could under nigh impossible circumstances.” 

“No. A stronger Padawan could have done it. Been faster. Been better. I already knew I wasn’t good enough,” Obi-Wan snaps. “This just proves it.” 

“Obi-Wan, you killed a Sith. You’re the first Jedi to do that in… centuries. Is that not enough?”

“No!” Obi-Wan shouts. The Force crackles and snaps with the potential energy of him. He recoils into himself and runs shaking hands through his hair. “No. It’s not enough.” His voice is calmer now — the fiery passion subdued once more. “I killed that bastard Sith, yes, but not soon enough to save my Master’s life.” 

“And that is the will of the Force.” 

“I know,” Obi-Wan says, defeated. “I know.” 

Mace steps forward once more and Obi-Wan turns to face the city. Mace puts a firm but gentle hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and he relaxes under the touch. 

“You did the best you could. I’ve never known you to do anything less. What happened there is not your responsibility. Qui-Gon knew the risks.”

Obi-Wan lets out a deep breath. 

“You don’t really believe me do you?” Mace asks. 

“No,” Obi-Wan says with a half-smile. “But maybe someday.” 

“Then I shall look forward to it. It would do you well to listen to more of the things I say.”

Obi-Wan snorts and cracks the first genuine smile he’s seen on his face in a long time. “Don’t worry, I believe my Padawan is giving me a taste of my own medicine.” 

“Hopefully it’s not too bitter.”

“I think we’ll see in time.”

“Then I will look forward to that as well.” 

Obi-Wan looks up at him with a much more grateful look than the one given upon his arrival. “Thank you, Mace — for finding me.” 

“Of course. Among the Jedi, you will always be found.” 

“Indeed.”

They stay for some time in the rooftop gardens, the tension gone even if the grief remains, but for now, the companionship is enough. 

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Unverfroren

This last one has been written for my beloved husband...who has requested Gothmog x OC for some (to me) unfathomable reason.

As ever, his wish is my command though. Gotty and my husband are my best boys after all.

Words: 1098

Characters: Gothmog x OC (Nienna, Estë, background Angbang)

Prompt: Frozen Treats

Warnings: Nothing. There's ice cream

“It’s your turn,” Lady Estë smiled at the small Maia awaiting the list of tasks. “They have been restless for a while now and we’d prefer if someone went to make sure everything is all right.”

Out of habit and sly caution, she—whose name was the soft sigh of the west wind caressing the weeping willows—made sure to express her distaste and reluctance as clearly as possible.

“Don’t make that face,” Lady Nienna chided softly. “We all know that you delight in this particular assignment.”

At the beginning of all things, the Maia who was now mostly known as V had been but a wandering spirit, watching the murky pools and treacherous marches and warning wayward wanderers.

In time though, she had been recruited by Lady Nienna for her unusual but highly effective brand of solace. Indeed, V cultivated an unafraid, rather hands-on kind of comfort and thus, Lady Estë—good-sister to her official Mistress—had been known to borrow the brazen Maia in times of need.

“It is even said that you’ve struck up a fragile friendship with the Lord of Balrogs,” Lady Estë muttered as if to herself; V flinched back as if struck, puckering her lips and drawing her brows together to exacerbate the outward impression of unwillingness.

“We do not judge you,” Lady Nienna interjected soothingly, “for it is good and proper to extend a, if not friendly then at least neutral, hand to those who have long abided in the everlasting darkness.”

V sighed—she knew that the Lady of Mercy meant every word passing her colourless, trembling lips. Many had called her credulous and naïve, but—within her heart of hearts—V agreed.

Even though the enemies of the Valar and the Children alike had been banished to the deepest, remotest spaces that had ever been sung into existence, they were still part of the great symphony of creation and thus, they were attended by an ever-changing roster of Maiar.

“I shall check on them promptly then,” V muttered, recognising that her desperate charade was not fooling anyone, and withdrew.

While she made her way to the wavering limits of the Forbidden Realm, V mused about her Ladies' stance—it was unfortunate and hardly advisable to be so distracted upon undertaking a challenge of this magnitude, but, as had been pointed out so flippantly, she was used to the unfortunate creatures beyond the impermeable veil before her.

"V," the Dark Lord called imperiously as soon as she had slipped through, his voice reverberating mightily, "good that you've come. Gothmog needs your help."

Rolling her eyes in a dangerous act of defiance that betrayed her lack of fear and awe, she gave a curt nod.

By the Valar's decree, Melkor—the implacable foe—had been robbed of a good part of his power and influence to avoid another unfortunate incident that might upset the peace and balance of the Blessed Realm.

Nevertheless, he seemed to delight in discomfiting and frightening the other Maiar who came to check on the state of things regularly.

V knew not what exactly made her different from her peers, after all, conforming to uniformity was a prerequisite of her station, but the Dark Lord seemed to have taken a peculiar liking to her.

"You're his favourite," he declared with a wink and waved his huge, clawed hand in a random direction.

The smoky, diaphanous walls of the pseudo-room flickered and V found herself in a rudimentary kitchen.

Maybe, she thought with a guilty grin, it had been the many tiny items and alterations she had snuck into this accursed place to alleviate the perilous boredom gnawing on the prisoners.

The Valar, she knew, were never more dangerous and lethal than when they were bored or frustrated.

This also held true for Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, fellow Maia, and the most gloriously charming creature in all of creation.

"Hello you," V called in a slightly breathless voice, "I've heard you needed my assistance?"

A deep frown marred the fiery brow of the formerly much-dreaded demon as he turned around, a small pot—wrapped in several layers of protective cloth—in his claws.

“Since when does a Balrog need oven mittens?” V laughed, shaking her head and stepping closer as her curiosity made her forget about the very strict safety regulations she was supposed to follow.

“It’s not hot,” Gothmog grumbled with a crooked grin, “it’s cold.”

Astonished, V leaned over the pot.

“It’s something Lord Melkor has created for Mairon—I wanted to recreate it for their anniversary but…you can see why certain problems would arise, can’t you?”

V pressed her lips together to suppress a snigger; the mere mental image of the dreadful Lord of Darkness making iced cream for his beloved was too endearing and funny to be borne with a straight face.

Moreover, she could not help but be utterly bewitched by the earnest effort Gothmog had put into his own plan despite the foreseeable setbacks a fire Maia would invariably encounter with frozen treats.

“Here,” she purred, letting her hands caress along the back of his own soothingly. “Let me help you.”

Sliding in between the massive, partially crystalline body of her hereditary foe and the sturdy wooden workbench she had dragged all the way to this Eru-forsaken place for him, V stirred the already thawing slush before lifting the spoon—a utensil deemed safe even by Manwë—to her face.

Again, she was amazed. The ice cream was actually, undeniably good—neither too sweet nor too bland—and her prickling lips curved upward instantly.

“Does it burn?” Gothmog asked, worried, and laid his massive paws on V’s slender shoulders as if to dispel the adverse effect he seemed to expect his creation to have on her. “Lord Melkor and Mairon do enjoy a dash of pain at times…”

“I am fine,” V laughed, turning around in his embrace and boldly leaning her cheek against the searing heat of his chest. “Thank you for asking though. Tell me, dear prisoner, how much of this have you made?”

She certainly did not seek to rob the incarnations of literal evil of their rare and probably well-deserved treat.

“Oh, there are pots and pots of aborted attempts,” Gothmog admitted dejectedly.

“Well,” V said slyly, “it would be a shame to let it all go to waste.”

Remembering the jeering and benign mockery of her superiors, she did not mind giving them the time to worry about her whereabouts and well-being for a while. Especially, if she could eat delicious ice cream with her favourite “chore”.

@fellowshipofthefics: this concludes July for me. I've filled every prompt at least once. Thank you again for this amazing event!

[spinningintheshadows]

Lyric Prompts Volume 7!

A fresh round of prompts! Bringing my total number of lyric prompts to well over 300. Hope you enjoy!

“I have questions for the pharmacies and questions for the church”

“One phone call from you and my entire world was changed”

“Sailed shore to shore, learned a little bit more and found your way back home”

“I have crossed some broken bridges in my time”

“You and me got a whole lot of history”

“Are we just a stepping stone for taking back the throne?

“Planned it all out for the middle of June”

“She kept the hotel key, slipped it in her purse. I guess it makes her think of me”

“I’ve had one too many “come take me home”s”

“Standin in the screen door watching her whole world head towards an old ford”

“Son, there’s things I haven’t told you. Your mom and me couldn’t get along”

“I’m only one drink away from the devil”

“How you gonna say that? Take it all back, fuckin with my head will make my heart attack.”

“And I’ll dream each night of some version of you that I might not have but I did not lose”

“I kind of wouldn’t mind if she ruined my life”

“I’ve waited all my life to find a love that feels this right”

“If only you loved me like you love getting high”

“You’re never gonna get, I’m a hazard to myself”

“So love me right now before you leave me.”

“Thought she’s fragile like a flower but she’s fragile like a bomb”

“They said he hit that guard rail at half-past three”

“Maybe we got lost in translation, maybe I asked for too much”

“You keep his shirt, he keeps his word, and for once you let go”

“It got slammed last night and now it don’t close right”

“Still looking for a feeling half of us haven’t found”

“You’re crazy but I like the way you fuck me”

“You’re a memory I don’t mess with”

“I forgot I had dreams, I forgot I had wings, I forgot who I was before I ever kissed you”

“And if we’re meant to, I’ll meet you there”

“Lord, I’m still not sure what I stand for”

“We’re stopping and stalling, we’re running in circles again”

“Know you’re trying to do you but I heard you fell off, just a couple bad nights

“She rolled her eyes, and then she said “I know your dying wish is to be baptized in my spit” and then walked away, I didn’t get her name”

“People treat me like I’m an asshole, but I don’t text when I drive though”

“Making mistakes that were made for us, we brushed them off like paper cuts”

“You’re a power bottom at rock bottom”

“And the nights you don’t remember are the nights that you’ll never forget”

“Some settle down, some got out, either way we were raised by this town”

“I’m tired of second chances, and these sad ass circumstances, he’s your problem, good luck”

“They’ll make you cuss and wear your patience thin, but next thing you know they’re all grown up”

“Someone pour me up a double shot of whiskey, they know me and Jack Daniel’s got a history”

“When sun goes down and his hazel eyes go blue, that’s when I understand cowboys cry too”

“But when my fairytale went up in smoke, I packed up the only life I know and I told her I’m afraid to be alone, she stayed”

“Can’t believe I haven’t figured out by now. Every time I call you up, all you do is let me down”

“Baby, don’t waste your time on me. I’m so damaged beyond repair.”

“So pack up your car, put a hand on your heart, say whatever you feel, be wherever you are”

“Back when I was gasoline, and this old tattoo had brand new ink.”

“I know that nobody’s listening to a prophet who still can’t turn a profit”

“Even though my dizzy head is numb, I swear my heart is never giving up”

“I know I could do better but better’s just whatever.”

[x-eternalmagic]

some selections from the vault (and snippets from my wip fic)

so! for those who are not following me on twitter, i recently went through my drafts for some strifehart content that i hadn't yet shared publicly! i wanted to quickly cross post so you all can see them too :)

putting it under a cut just so i dont clutter up the tag again :)

the one i had written the most for was the more recent kink meme off dreamwidth--specifically, the prompt for a superhero/vigilante au! i hadn't written very much for it (basically just the interaction below), but i had a general idea of cloud and leon's backstories. at some point, leon would show up at cid's repair shop where cloud happens to work and there'd be some fun to be had there!

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next was what i think was originally what i had planned for one of the prompts from strifehart week 2018; i think it was "witch" or "fantasy"? this one is a little more out there, sorry

but at the time, i'd recently read a fic for fire emblem fates called beyond the sea; in it, magic was kind of a rarity and the people who got power were given a brand, or star sign. i was going to do a KH-flavor twist on it for strifehart. the idea would be that cloud, squall, and tifa all worked as soldiers in a government that was hunting down these "witches" and turning them into weapons or tools of a sort. the three main ones were:

-aerith, with the mark pf phoenix; focus on healing magic -riku, sign of ifrit; mostly can only control fire as he's so young -squall, who had a rare double mark of ixion and leviathan; wind/water/lightning based magic focus, so he can basically create a hurricane at will

the idea was for cloud and tifa to find out they've been ordered to abduct a kid and defect, especially after finding out their friend aerith is also someone wanted by the government. squall, meanwhile, has had enough of hiding and kind of loses it when he finds out riku is the latest kidnap victim. they all end up traveling together, and...i had no real plans aside from that. part of why this never ended up being finished/posted, haha. the most coherent part was below, though i jumped ahead to try and write cloud seeing squall going all out with his magic

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the third is a twist on spirited away/the boy and the beast/song of the sea.

kid squall ends up in a fantasy world after being separated from his sister ellone, and is found/taken in by werewolf zack and dryad/nymph aerith. they have to hide that squall is a human and pretend he's a baby werewolf and he ends up getting found out on a big festival day. but he'd end up on a quest with cloud, who was a selkie, as a way to keep him/zack/aerith from being banished. no concrete plot ideas for this one either, unfortunately, so it's not gotten anywhere, even if i had a cool scene in my mind for squall getting outed as a human :( (but i had a track off the boy and the beast ost scoring a big fight zack gets into when squall gets found out)

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i had no other major fics planned aside from my current WIP, but here's a snippet from a drabble i was fiddling with where leon gets sick and doesn't realize it, just because i like how i used to write his interactions with yuffie

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ANYWAY here's some snippets from/about my current WIP, a song without its melody.

first up is actually a piece i had wanted to be in my main longfic, a little bit of levity, but ended up being cut. it was intended to go after the scene i have of leon and sora in song (since it was a scene that i had to cut from levity that i managed to fit back in), but with how leon's interactions with roxas and xion have changed, i had to leave it in my scraps doc! it is, generally, the vibe i kind of want for leon's relations with roxas and xion respectively

next are just some snippets from upcoming sections, so please look forward to it! :3c

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ANYWAY if you made it all the way to the end, thanks for reading and i hope you're havin a good one :)