#the squeaking was a little grating but as a mechanic? i can appreciate it

[undertheopensky]

Just found the last Maiamai!

…slightly disappointed bc I’m running out of things to do

[keizfanfiction]

Picture Unperfect: Chapter thirty-seven

Read on AO3

Kagome sighed as she deposited her messenger bag into her locker and shut the door, her movements almost mechanical as she secured the lock. She and Sango had just gotten out of P.E. and the latter had left for the cafeteria instead of accompanying Kagome to her locker, but she didn’t mind. It gave her time to think, even though that was pretty much all she had done yesterday.

Inuyasha had taken her home yesterday morning via Hanyou Express and had snuck her back into her room before Kai realized she was gone. He hadn’t stayed, only lingering long enough to give her a sweet kiss goodbye before leaping out the window with a promise to text her later. And by the time she remembered that she’d wanted to ask him a question, he was already gone. No biggie, though; she’d see him first thing tomorrow and ask him then, when they were alone on the way to school.

Unfortunately, however, Kagome hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the half-demon since then, although he had texted her, as he said he would. The young woman had also received several other text messages, ones that weren’t from Inuyasha but from her twisted “secret admirer.” She hadn’t bothered opening them, just deleting them on the spot. It was a little disconcerting how she was actually kind of getting used to the harassment. Kagome wanted to save the more threatening ones and take them to the police but Inuyasha wouldn’t let her, insisting he’d take care of it.

She scowled. Stupid hanyou pride.

Wrinkling her nose, Kagome heaved another sigh and smoothed down her white flowy skirt, wondering why she had even bothered wasting her time dressing up this morning if Inuyasha wasn’t even going to be here to see it. For some insane reason, she had wanted to look nice today, wearing her best skirt and pairing it with a pale pink peasant blouse and white sandals. Kagome had even went through the trouble of doing her hair, getting up a little earlier than usual and taking the time to create soft waves in her raven tresses. She couldn’t wait to see Inuyasha’s face when he picked her up.

Except he didn’t, Kagome mused sourly, a slight pout on her face. She’d seen her father off to work that morning then eagerly waited in the living room at 7:30. Then he’d sent her a text saying he couldn’t pick her up, sorry, see you later, xoxo. Her good mood had deflated a little but she’d brushed it off and walked to school wearing his leather jacket, grateful it wasn’t too cold out today.

But when she got to school he was nowhere to be found, and when she asked Sango, she just shrugged and said that Miroku wasn’t here either. Figuring he was just running late, Kagome went to her first class. Then her second. And third. And finally P.E., where he still hadn’t made an appearance.

So now here she was, pouting by her locker, irritated because she’d dressed up for no reason and she hadn’t heard from the half-demon all day when suddenly an arm snaked around her waist from behind and a hand covered her eyes. Kagome tensed and squeaked as she was hauled back against a hard chest.

“Miss me?” a familiar voice rumbled in her ear and she relaxed. A smile started to curve her mouth but then she remembered that she was annoyed with him and it disappeared.

“No,” she snapped and wiggled out of his embrace to turn around and scowl at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Where were you today?”

Inuyasha either ignored her or just didn’t hear her question as he raked his appreciative gaze down her body, whistling low and licking his lips.

“Damn, babydoll, you look beautiful today. What’s the occasion?” He grinned and snagged her around the waist again, pulling her close and linking his hands behind her back.

Kagome flushed and pushed against his chest, narrowing her coffee-colored eyes. “N-nothing. I just felt like dressing up today, that’s all,” she lied and avoided his gaze, another pout developing on her features.

“C’mon,” he cajoled, leaning down and nuzzling her neck. “You can tell me…pretty please?” With a smirk in his voice, he nipped at her neck and trailed his lips across her jaw to press a soft kiss to her cheek. Of course he suspected why she was looking so spiffy today, but he wanted to hear her say it.

“S-stop that,” she hissed and leaned away from him, once more folding her arms across her chest. With her face now a deep scarlet because of his actions, Kagome glared at him. “What does it matter if I dress up or not? It’s not like anyone that matters was here to see it,” she spat, not really knowing just why she was so upset over this.

Inuyasha winced. “Ouch.” Heaving a sigh, he released her and thrust a hand through his silver hair, looking apologetic as he gazed at her. “I’m sorry I didn’t pick you up today but something…happened at the last minute and I had to make a detour.”

Kagome raised a brow. “Uh huh. So why weren’t you here all morning?”

Shit. “Does it matter? I’m here now…” He tried catching her hips but she dodged him and he huffed in annoyance. Avoiding her gaze, he shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets, ears low on his head.

“Just…the detour took longer than I expected, alright? Fuck, Kagome, I said I was sorry.” He glared off to the side, a slight scowl settling on his features.

Instantly Kagome felt guilty for getting mad over something so trivial and she sighed, dropping her arms and fiddling with the hem of her blouse.

“Sorry,” she mumbled and ducked her head, biting down on her lower lip. “I don’t know why I’m mad. I just…”

She heard a soft curse, and then a clawed thumb was gently tugging her lip out from under her teeth. She was once again pressed against a hard chest and this time she melted against him, wrapping her arms around his own trim waist. She felt him run a hand through her hair and she smiled, closing her eyes and relishing in his closeness.

“Let’s start over,” he rumbled and pulled back slightly to lock gazes with her. He smiled. “Miss me?”

Kagome smiled back shyly. “Yes,” she whispered.

Inuyasha growled softly, flicking his whiskey-colored eyes to her hair. “I like it this way,” he said lowly, smoothing his hand down the silky waves.

“Mmm,” Kagome hummed as he hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her face up, so ready for his kiss, but when she felt his warm breath fan over her lips, she suddenly remembered the question that she had yet to ask him and managed to turn her head in time for his lips to land on her cheek. He grunted and tried again but Kagome turned her head once more and he growled in irritation. Why wouldn’t she let him kiss her, dammit?!

She gave him an apologetic look when he pulled back, scowling down at her. “The fuck, Kagome?”

Kagome winced and looked down, twisting her hands together. “You-you can’t,” she explained and hoped he would drop it.

No such luck, though she should have known better. “Well why the fuck not?”

“It’s-it’s not proper,” she said and peeked up at him through her lashes to find him staring incredulously down at her, his mouth agape.

“Not prop—what���”

“Kagome?”

Said girl blinked at the familiar voice and she peeked over Inuyasha’s shoulder. “Oh…hi, Houjo.” She remembered the last time they’d talked and she grimaced slightly, a guilty flush tinting her cheeks.

Houjo smiled at her, ignoring the thunderous growling that was steadily increasing in volume. “Good morning! Are you going to lunch? We can walk together,” he said, still smiling, but before she could answer his view of her was blocked by the scowling half-demon and Houjo’s expression turned cold, a hint of annoyance flashing in his blue eyes.

“Yamaguchi.”

Inuyasha’s reply was a narrowing of his gaze and crossing his arms over his chest, the low growl that was still leaking past his lips a not so subtle hint to get lost. The half-demon realized that he shouldn’t feel so threatened by the puny human anymore since Kagome was his now, but that didn’t mean he would tolerate any male hanging around his girl. Especially this male. There was just something about the moron that rubbed him the wrong way.

The human boy was either dumber than he looked or chose to ignore the hanyou’s hint to back off because he simply put his hands in his pockets and gave the teen before him a bored look.

“Do you mind? Kagome and I were talking.”

Inuyasha resisted the urge to throttle him. Spunky little… “Keh. What the hell gives you the right to talk to Kagome like you knowher?”

Houjo rolled his eyes. “Maybe because I doknow her, smart one. We have history together.” He suddenly smirked. “Actually, I sit right next to Kagome. We share and compare notes all the time. She’s very smart, you know. It makes me wonder why she hangs around you all the time.” His smirk had a sinister edge to it and his eyes narrowed slightly in challenge.

Kagome stared horrified at Houjo, wondering if the boy had a death wish. She darted her eyes to Inuyasha and silently begged him not to kill the human.

Inuyasha’s reaction, however, was definitely not what she or Houjo predicted. Shockingly he ignored the slight barb to his intelligence and instead adapted a smirk of his own, although this one had smug written all over it.

“Keh. You wanna know why she’s with me all the time?” he asked and reached behind him to draw the girl in question close to him with a possessive arm around her waist. The smirk dropped from his face and his glare was ominous. “Because she’s mine now, that’s why, and I’d better not catch you sniffing around her again or you’re a dead man. Are we clear?”

That wiped the smirk right off the bastard’s mug and Inuyasha couldn’t stop a snicker from escaping. His amusement quickly died, however, upon catching Kagome’s bemused mutter of “I am…?”

He whipped his head to glower down at her and she had the good grace to look sheepish. “What the fuck do you mean ‘I am?’?! Of course you are, stupid! I’d think it’d be obvious after—!”

He abruptly cut himself off, not exactly wanting present company to hear about their nocturnal activities.

With a pissed off growl, Inuyasha shot one last warning glare at Houjo before releasing Kagome and stomping down the hallway.

Kagome watched him go, biting down on her lip and feeling a little guilty that she’d made him so upset. Well…at least she had her answer now. She ran a hand through her hair and released a sigh. Now she’d have to apologize. Again.

“Is it true?”

Wincing at the disbelieving tone laced with a mixture of sadness and anger, the young woman turned to face her friend but couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his eyes. “Oh, um, I…guess so?” she mumbled, wringing her hands together as her gaze skittered off to the side, down the hallway her hanyou…boyfriend? stormed off.

She missed the fleeting look of fury that passed over Houjo’s face; when she glanced back at him he looked defeated and he sighed heavily, closing his eyes briefly and then opening them to regard her steadily, a sad little smile on his lips.

He nodded. “I see. Well, be that as it may, you’re still my friend, Kagome, and I care about you. So I want you to be careful.”

It was obvious as to what he was referring to and she frowned. “Inuyasha would never hurt me,” she stated in a small voice.

Houjo only raised a brow at that and rested a hand on her shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. “I’m always here for you.” He gave one last warm smile before turning and walking off, a peculiar stiffness in his step that Kagome didn’t bother dwelling on.

Kagome stared after him until he disappeared around a corner. She wrinkled her nose, thrusting both hands into her hair and resisting the urge to pull it all out. Releasing a little growl of frustration, she sighed softly then headed toward the cafeteria, not really looking forward to dealing with the irate half-demon that awaited her.

After entering through the double doors, she headed straight for their usual table, not particularly having an appetite after that little altercation. She wasn’t surprised when Inuyasha didn’t look at her; his arms were crossed and he was staring stonily down at the table, his brow furrowed and his lips set in a hard line. Kagome winced. This would be harder than she’d first anticipated…

Bracing herself, she sat down beside him and bit her lip, ignoring the curious glances of Miroku and Sango across from them. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again, but no matter how many times she tried, nothing came out. Inuyasha continued to glare at the table and she couldn’t help but to notice that his ears were pinned flat against his head.

Her spirits dropped. He most definitely was not in a forgiving mood. But the least she could do was say sorry now and then perhaps later they could go someone more private to talk about this and she’d have the chance to apologize properly.

Steeling herself, Kagome turned to face him, her coffee-colored orbs remorseful as she opened her mouth. “Yash—”

Abruptly Inuyasha slammed his hands onto the table and shot to his feet. Kagome jumped, startled. Before she could ask what was wrong, he grabbed her hand and dragged her to her feet as well before stalking toward the exit, still refusing to look at her and not saying a single word.

Kagome stumbled after him but dared not speak, glancing behind them at their confused friends before turning her gaze to the silent half-demon currently dragging her out of the cafeteria and down the empty hallway. At least he wasn’t being rough; his grasp on her hand was firm but not crushing, and he was shortening his strides so she wasn’t tripping over her feet trying to keep up with him. Inwardly she smiled; even mad at her he was still being considerate.

They turned down another hallway into the main lobby and he headed over to the staircase, giving a brief glance around them to make sure they were alone before ducking underneath the stairwell. It wasn’t really an enclosed space, but they’d be hidden adequately enough in the shadow and if someone was snooping, they’d have to actually walk around the wall the staircase was connected to, anyway.

Inuyasha finally released her hand and Kagome stumbled, gasping softly as she caught herself against the wall and turned around to face him. He was glowering at her, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides and a thunderous growl reverberating in his chest.

“Start talking. Now,” he snapped and Kagome frowned at him.

Placing her hands on her hips in a typical female stance, the raven-haired girl leaned forward slightly and narrowed her eyes at him. “About what, Inuyasha? About the way you claimed me and declared that I was yours in front of Houjo?”

He gnashed his teeth together. “That’s because you are, dammit! Hobo was acting way too fucking familiar with you and I don’t like other guys getting to close to what’s mine.” He crossed his arms. “And I don’t see what the hell the problem is. He knows you’re taken now and if he likes where his head is, he’ll stay away.” His eyes narrowed.

Kagome growled. “That’s just it! When did I become taken, Inuyasha?! We never discussed this! And it’s Houjo, you egotistical buffoon!”

Inuyasha gaped at her. “Discuss?! There’s nothing todiscuss, woman! After the other night I thought it would be obvious! I don’t do that with just any girl, Kagome,” he spat.

“That’s funny because I can think of someone who would disagree with you,” she fired back without thinking and instantly regretted it at the hurt look that flashed across the hanyou’s face. She pursed her lips and didn’t take it back, however, inwardly kicking herself.

Inuyasha dug his claws into his palms, a dark scowl on his face. “That was…different,” he said lowly, ears pinned flat against his head. He couldn’t believe she’d even brought it up; she knew it was a sore subject for him and he was still feeling guilty it had ever happened. It hurt that she pretty much rubbed it in his face.

Kagome snorted but said nothing else, crossing her arms and jutting a hip out. A pout adorned her features as she glared off to the side, suddenly wishing they were done with this stupid argument so she could go get something to eat. All this squabbling was bringing back her appetite.

“God, this is so fucking stupid,” Inuyasha hissed, thrusting clawed hands through his silver hair. He glowered at her with hard amber eyes. “This conversation is stupid, you’re being a bitch, Hobo is a fucking idiot, you’re mine, I’m yours, we’re dating, end. Of. Discussion.” His eyes dared her to challenge him on his words.

And of course, she did.

“What discussion?!” Kagome nearly shouted and rounded on him, her brown eyes spitting flames. “Last I knew a discussion involves more than one person, Inuyasha, and I don’t remember discussing anything with you! And another thing, you can’t just claim I’m yours like a freakin’ piece of property—”

Twin pools of golden yellow stared at the young woman before him. Kagome’s face was flushed a becoming shade of crimson and her mocha eyes had a fire in them that Inuyasha had never seen before. Her chest was heaving up and down as she continued to yell at him but he didn’t listen to what was coming out of her mouth; he was too focused on the way her full, pink lips were moving, the way her tongue would dart out to wet those luscious petals, and her dark hair, wavy and thick and slightly wild from running her hands through it, was framing her face and suddenly Inuyasha wanted to push her against the wall, bury his hands in her silky tresses and—

“—read your mind, Inuyasha, I don’t know what you’re thinking! You have to tell me these things or otherwise I’ll just assume that we’re not—are you listening to me?!” Kagome finally noticed that his attention seemed to be elsewhere and she huffed in annoyance, resisting the urge to stop her foot like a child.

“No,” he answered truthfully, startling the chocolate-eyed girl. Stalking forward, he grabbed her shoulders, backed her up her against the wall and crushed her mouth under his.

Chapter thirty-six || Chapter thirty-eight

[starkeristheendgame]

Mechanic!Tony & Student!Peter Tinder AU

For @silkystark​ who is definitely gonna shout at me when she reads it

Peter wholeheartedly expected Tony to be a catfish. Even the introduction of Snapchat hadn’t entirely convinced him - Most of Tony’s snaps were various parts of a workshop, and the selfies he was sent seemed too good to be true. Nobody could look that good covered in grease, though Peter hadn’t plucked up the courage to request any videos yet. 

Which, he figured, was pretty stupid, having already agreed to meet Tony. 

He had, however, bullied Ned into coming with him to the agreed meeting place - A quaint little coffee shop on the outskirts of Queens, secluded enough to be comfortable but public enough to be safe. Tony had suggested it for both factors, and had told Peter if he didn’t like it, they could easily go somewhere better suited. 

Peter thumbed his screen again, watching the little loading bubble circle. 

No new messages. 

Tony was two minutes late. Ned’s obnoxious slurping of his slushie was starting to grate on his already agitated nerves. He’d thumbed the screen another four times, completely oblivious to the approaching set of legs when Ned piped up around his straw. 

“Dude, I thought you said he was a catfish?” 

Peter’s gaze shot up just in time to catch the quirk of a brow above dark, red shades, a sinful and amused smirk tilting a wide, plush mouth surrounded by the exact same stubble that Peter had seen in each photograph, and...Oh. 

He was real. 

“You can go now” Peter blurted, slapping at Ned’s shoulder as the older man before them reached up, slowly sliding off his glasses. Dark eyes framed by long lashes fixed on Peter, and he slapped a little harder at Ned, practically shoving him off the bench they’d taken residence upon. Ned muttered a soft ow, rubbing at his arm as he stood. 

“I think I’m supposed to like, threaten you, or something? So, um...If I don’t get a text in...An hour. Yeah, an hour. I’ll call the...Police” Ned attempted, shooting Tony a semi-puzzled scowl. Whatever expression he’d been aiming for, he hadn’t hit, and Peter made a soft noise of embarrassment as Tony flashed Ned a dazzling smile. 

“I can give you my number and address, if that puts you at ease” Tony remarked back, and whatever breath Peter had in his lungs disappeared, because holy voice. Smooth but with a rumbling backtone, a lilted accent that Peter instantly wanted to hear say his name. 

Ned’s nose scrunched. “No thanks. I like girls”. And then he was walking away, casting Peter a cheerful wave as he went. Peter watched him go for a moment, before he looked back up at Tony, cheeks tainted a faint pink. He opened his mouth to apologise, but Tony shifted, one hand tucking his glasses into the front of his shirt and the other extended towards Peter. 

“If he’s your scariest friend, you may want to consider hiring someone, next time”. Peter pulled a face, reaching out and taking Tony’s hand. His palm was large, a little rough, and his fingers were long and slender as he gripped and pulled, carefully and gently helping Peter to his feet. Tony was a head or two taller than him, though not by much. He was certainly broader, though. 

He’s my best friend” Peter defended, and Tony cast him a softer, gentler smile. 

“Cute”. 

Tony walked with a sort of swagger in his step, a comfortable, almost lazy saunter. It would’ve looked cocky on anyone else, but on Tony it looked natural, in place with the rest of him. There was an oil smudge on the hinge of his jaw and a few grease stains on his arms. He must’ve worn gloves when working, because his hands were scrubbed clean and his nails had been scraped. 

He even pulled the chair out, when Peter went to sit. His heart was thumping as he sat, and he felt both excited and a little sick. He hadn’t actually prepared for the scenario that Tony was real. and oh, god. Tony had seen his ass. They’d talked about sex. 

Mortified, he could only nod when Tony offered to get him a sweet tea, sinking lower into his seat as he recalled the various conversations they’d had over the past three weeks. By the time Tony returned with a small tray of two drinks and a cookie, he was scarlet. If Tony noticed, he didn’t say anything, settling across from Peter in a spread out pose. He’d ordered himself a coffee, as dark as motor oil. 

It was actually surprisingly easy to talk to Tony - Peter was interested in robotics and Tony had a hearty knowledge of chemistry. Two drinks in, they were talking animatedly. Or, Tony was, and Peter had been staring at his mouth for the past five minutes. The plump lips, the peek of a wet tongue and pearly teeth, the framework of stubble that he suddenly wanted to feel blazing his thighs raw. 

“If you keep looking at my mouth like that, I’m gonna break the rules” Tony announced suddenly, startling Peter out of his vivid daydream of Tony licking his way between his thighs. 

“Rules?” He asked after a moment, brow furrowing. What rules? 

“I agreed with myself to keep this a PG-rated date. A kiss on the cheek at the end, maximum” Tony informed him, though his own gaze had dropped, the next sweep of his lashes slow, almost demure. Peter flushed then, licking subconsciously at his lower lip. 

“We’ve kind of already passed PG” he pointed out bravely, and was rewarded with another rich smirk and a head tilt, like Tony was amused by his sudden boldness. Peter sank an inch into his seat and covered what he could of his face with his tea mug. Tony cast him another softly amused smirk, and the conversation was tactfully steered towards Peter’s career goals for the future. 

At the end of the date, Tony waited until Peter had text Ned to meet back up, and then leaned down, kindly ignoring the pathetic squeak Peter gave to press the gentlest of kisses to his cheek. “I never made any rules for the second date” Tony murmured against his ear, before turning and striding towards his vintage muscle car like he hadn’t said anything at all, leaving Peter blinking and blushing in his wake. 

Ned was resolutely impressed with a successful date, appreciative of Tony’s attractiveness from a straight-male perspective, and noted immediately that he would deny all knowledge if Aunt May somehow found out. Peter grimaced at the reminder that he’d been pretty bold in his age settings, and scampered back to his apartment before he could think too deeply on it. Being a lab tech for Oscorp paid well enough, and it didn’t hurt that he and Harry were actually pretty close friends, and occasionally fucked. 

No sooner had he settled down on his bed and bitten into a banana, his phone chimed. It was a message from Tony, a sweet remark about enjoying the date, and within the hour they had another one set up at the same coffee place. Peter stared at the messages, heart fluttering slightly. It was real; it was all real. Tony and his face and his snark and his grease stained jaw. 

He said as much, one week and two more dates later, straddling Tony’s thighs and licking shyly into his mouth, tasting the mixture of coffee and mint gum. “I still can’t believe you’re not like, fat or bald. Or a serial killer” he mumbled, aching with the need to grind down over where Tony was hard against the inside of his thigh. 

“I could still be a serial killer” Tony replied, voice rough with the effort of holding himself back. They’d been taking it relatively slow, for making out and grinding on the third date, and it was taking its toll on both of them. Tony was rock solid to the touch and Peter had a damp patch on the front of his jeans. 

“At least put me out of my misery before you put me out of my misery” Peter whined, grasping Tony’s wrist as he let himself rock just slightly, barely riding the thick rise of his cock. It had briefly crossed his mind that maybe Tony’s fault lay in having a cheeto for a cock, but that had quickly been wiped clean. 

“I’m trying to be good” Tony mumbled back, flexing his arm in Peter’s grip but obligingly not moving anywhere, kissing at his lower lip gently, almost sweetly. “I’m behaving”. Peter cursed softly under his breath, drawing a grin from the older man as the younger boy shifted, sat down on top of his clothed cock with no regard for the pressure. 

Peter reached up with both hands, cupping Tony’s cheeks in a way that was tender, before he squeezed gently, looking the mechanic straight in the eye. 

“Mr. Stark, if you’d don’t put your cock in me so deep I lose my voice, I’m gonna tie you to the bed and leave you like that”. 

[asmileyoucouldbottle]

elevator buttons (and morning air) - cressder

@winterrhayle THIS IS SO LATE I’M SORRY ELLIE ILY <3 for the smgh gift exchange!

word count: 2137

cress asks her (very cute) apartment neighbor to help her catch a spider, while struggling with infatuation.

- <3 -

“Um… hello?” 

The confused face of Cress’ next apartment neighbor searched her own, and Cress wondered if it was too late to back out.  They’d made eye contact exactly once  before, when they’d gotten in the elevator together. The girl had returned her smile, so Cress figured she was nice enough. 

A singular smile was probably not the best basis for asking a favor of someone at 7am. Especially this kind of favor. And talking to strangers was very high up on the list of “things Cress hates.” 

It was definitely too early for this. 

Then the sight of the spider that had crawled across her keyboard filled her mind and she shuddered in her slippers.

“Erm… hi.” Cress wound her hand in her hair, very aware that it was early and she’d probably just woken this girl up. However, as she looked her neighbor up and down, Cress realized that she looked very much awake- with a smudge of grease over her eye and hands covered in work gloves.

She also realized that grease, googles, and all, her neighbor was pretty.

Talking to strangers was one, very stressful, thing, but pretty strangers she was attracted to? Abort, abort. 

“Come in?” Cress was grateful as the stranger pushed the door open, despite the fact that she hadn’t managed to come up with anything to say. Cress shuffled in, her overlong t-shirt she’d slept in brushing her knees. Despite the grease stained work tank top her neighbor was wearing, she still had sleep shorts on, which made Cress feel a little better about being in her pjs. 

Cress cleared her throat awkwardly, her hands straying to braid her hair subconsciously. “I’m Cress, and I live next door?”

Great initiative! You sounded like you were asking her a question!

“Cinder.” The girl- Cinder- introduced herself hesitantly. “Nice to meet you?”

“Can you help me get rid of a spider?”  Cress blurted, hands in her hair coming to a standstill.

Cinder looked slightly taken aback, but bemused. “Sure?”

Cress breathed an internal sigh of relief. Thank God. She isn’t even looking at me like I’m weird. 

“I was finishing an assignment when a huge one went across my keyboard, and it was, like, three inches long. Well maybe not that big, but you get the point. I hate spiders… ” She realized she was starting to ramble and flushed, strangling her hands in her hair. “I’m sorry to bother you, especially in the morning.” She emphasised.

Cinder shrugged. “It’s no problem, I was up early working on an assignment anyways.”

The assurance gave Cress barely any relief. “I can offer you food?” She added, hoping to smooth over the fact that she existed.

Cinder laughed, and the slight tension in the room was released. “In that case, I’m sold.”

Cress peered over Cinder's shoulder, and caught sight of a workbench pushed against the corner of the room. Perched on the edge was what looked like… 

“A bot?”  Cress loved coding AI tech, and was actually majoring in computer science.

“Yeah, I’m a mechanic, well technically an engineer, but I do some other personal projects on the side.”

“That’s so cool!” Cress felt her grip loosen from it’s anxious hold. “I’m a coder, and AI tech is some of my favorite.” 

“Really? I have a bot named Iko, and she’s been mentioning something about color changing eyes? While she loves my physical additions and such, I’m sure she’d appreciate some technological improvements.”

Cress beamed. “Wow, a personal bot? I’d love to check her out sometime!”

“That would be great.” Cinder held her gaze for half a second, before they both looked away. It might’ve been Cress’ ever overactive imagination, but she could’ve sworn she felt sparks. Then again, that happened every time her useless lesbian self made eye contact with a pretty girl, but still.

What is this, a rom-com?

Cinder cleared her throat, before leading them to the door. “Show the way?”

Cress leapt at the opportunity immediately, leading them to her apartment. Cress pushed open the door, forcing herself not to jump away as soon as it opened a crack.

“I’ll go first.” Cinder must’ve noticed her anxiety, and she gave her a comforting smile that both soothed Cress’ heart and made it beat more erratically.

Taking a steadying breath, Cress followed Cinder in, leaving the door open in case she needed to make a quick exit.

Cinder grabbed a glass from the counter, which also made Cress feel lighter. Setting spiders free was better than killing them, even if they were spiders the size of her thumb.

“By your laptop right?” Cinder gestured to the work table, and Cress nodded with a nervous gulp. 

A leg crawled up and over the desk and Cress jumped, clinging to Cinder. The tan girl sagged under the sudden weight, one arm coming up to support her from underneath.

The sudden touch made Cress freeze. She realized her arms were wrapped around Cinder’s neck, and she was clinging rather tightly. I just quite literally jumped into a super cute stranger’s arms. Stars help me.

Cress considered hopping down, when the spider ran across the floor by Cinder’s feet.  She squeaked, and clung tighter. She vaguely thought of how awkward this must be to Cinder, but there no fucking way she was touching the same ground the spider was on. 

Also, Cinder was remarkably buff and did not seem to be struggling at all. 

Must be all the mechanic work? Cress thought with a slight flush.

Stop thinking about a girl’s muscles! We’re in the middle of a crisis here!

Cinder scuffed her foot, and the spider raced back up to the table. Cress winced, and watched through partially closed eyes in awe as with her free hand, Cinder dropped the cup upturned on the spider.

“I got it!” Cinder’s voice was right besides her ear, and Cress widened her eyes. The spider was indeed secure in the glass, and Cinder’s hair was in her eye.

With a blush, she fully realized her position once more. Her heart sped even faster than before, which she didn’t know was possible. Cinder smelled of car grase and faintly cinnamon. A combination that was shockingly attractive. The thought made her flush even deeper, as was the fact that her bare legs were gripping a small strip of the neighbor’s midsection where her shirt had ridden up.

“Ahaha,” Cress laughed awkwardly, doing a weird shoulder pat thingy. “Thank you.” Is this flirting? 

Cinder tilted her head to look at Cress, and from their position, the movement made their faces remarkably close. With yet another squeak, Cress dropped to the ground so fast she stumbled.

“You’re welcome.” Cinder’s voice was bemused as she bit her lip in an attempt not to smile. It was distracting, but soon Cress was giggling. Cinder joined her, and all her anxiety melted. 

“Alright, there’s still Part 2.” Cinder cautioned, gesturing to the spider. Cress considered it. 

“We can drop it in the flowersill.” Cress suggested, gesturing to the window.

“Flowersill?” Cinder repeated.

“Oh.” Cress flushed a tiny bit in embarrassment again. “I don’t exactly know the word for it but like, those cute little flower beds that attach to windows?”

Cinder shrugged with a smile. “Works for me.”

After poking around a bit, Cress came back with a piece of paper. Cinder bit back a smile again, and Cress found her gaze pulled to her lips. “This part might get a little scary, if you need to hop in my arms again.” She said it wryly, teasingly, but Cress suppressed the urge to bury her head in her hands and disappear forever.

Rather than jumping into Cinder’s arms again, she settled for hopping on the counter and keeping all parts of her body away from the table and floor. From her new perch, Cress watched as Cinder slid the paper under and brought the spider to the window to release it. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Cress gave Cinder a wide smile when she turned back to her. Cinder smiled back, and her eyes crinkled. Cress’ heart fluttered again.

“So… grease huh?” Cress realized what a weird conversation starter that was and blushed as Cinder raised an eyebrow.

“Huh?”

“Well- you smelled like it and there was some above your eyes and well-” Cress stuttered to a rambling stop because she really didn’t know how to explain why she said that. She didn’t know why she said that.

“Oh.” It was Cinder’s turn to blush as she scrubbed at her eye. The grease stubbornly remained, and Cinder’s nose was wrinkling with concentration through the effort. Cress tried to repress a smile, but it was impossible.

“Here, let me help.” Reaching to the side, she picked up a cloth off the counter. Running it under water until it was damp, Cress gestured Cinder forward. Hesitantly, her neighbor stepped towards her, and Cress lifted the cloth. Carefully, she brushed away a few strands of hair, and Cinder’s breath hitched a bit. Cress thought hers did too. She gently rubbed at the grease, and with the soap on the cloth, it came off of Cinder’s reddening face with little effort. 

“Maybe we should try a collab sometime?” Cinder seemed to almost blurt it, catching Cress by such surprise she almost dropped the cloth. The moment had felt like a pause, and the disruption startled her. The girl had seemed so calm and collected, but the chink in the armor was just as nervous as Cress.

Despite her initial surprise, she glowed at the suggestion to spend more time getting to know her cute next door neighbor, and resisted jumping off the counter and spinning.

“That would be amazing.” Cress hopped a bit in excitement, and Cinder gave her a fond smile.

“Do you want to stay for breakfast?” Cress wasn’t sure what compelled her to ask, and she buried her hands back in her brown tangle of hair.

“Oh!” Cinder seemed pleasantly surprised, and Cress beamed. “That would be great!”

“How do pancakes sound?” Cress crossed to the fridge, practically buzzing with excitement as Cinder followed right behind her.

“Amazing. And can I help?” Cinder was right at her shoulder and Cress nodded, uncertain if she could find coherent words as she got out the supplies for pancakes.

Cinder grabbed a bowl that was, unbeknownst to her, filled with pancake powder.  Her face lifted in shock  as it poofed out of the bowl, covering her features in a layer of powder. Their laughs mingled as they poured water into the mix, and Cress felt lighter than she had in weeks. Cinder took to sitting while Cress heated the stove and got the eggs going. Occasionally, she would sneak a look over at powder-covered Cinder and grin to herself. One time she almost burnt the eggs as she got distracted.

"Here." Taking a dishrag from the stove handle, Cress swiped it quickly around Cinder's face - considering - a little too late that she just should've just given the rag to her. Two times in one day!

Cinder coughed a bit, her hands going to fiddle with the ends of her sleeves as she leaned back on her heels, pink in the cheeks.

"Thanks." She managed. Cress smiled, plating the eggs and getting ready to start cooking the pancakes.

After a few minutes, they had settled into a steady conversation about their studies and work. Cress filled with excitement as they discussed plans to build a robot that could make them ice cream. It had started as a joke, but the more they talked about it, the more realistic the idea became.

"I would make sure it has strawberry for myself." Cress was saying. "What about you."

"Butter pecan." Cinder responded immediately.

"Oooh, good choice. French vanilla would be my second."

"Me too!" Cinder replied. "Nothing wrong with a classic."

"Agreed!"

The more they conversed, the more Cress was enamored with Cinder's wit and sharp mind. She'd always been a romantic, falling in love quickly. But she'd learned her lesson in the past, and was happy to bide her time and truly get to know Cinder.

A timer on her phone rang, and Cress jumped.

"My first class is in 15 minutes."

"Oh!" Cinder stood up as well. "Yeah.. here's my number." She scribbled it on a napkin. Cress grinned as she wrote hers on another napkin.

Handing it off to Cinder, their fingers brushed. It was far from the first contact they’d had this morning, but it filled Cress with a feeling of hope nonetheless.

Cinder tipped her head, giving Cress a simultaneously sweet and wry smile. “Call me if you see any more spiders.”

Cress laughed, waving at Cinder on her way out. “Will do.” 

She knew that spiders weren’t the only thing she’d be calling about.

[beautiful-and-terrible]

dazed ‘n‘ confused (part 3)

A/N: 3500 fuckin’ words y’all lmaooo i am so stupidly invested in this dumbass and his hot neighbor.

Ship: Rodrick Heffley x OFC

Warnings: underage drinking / drug usage, dubious consent (both parties inebriated), swearing, etc.

---

Nicole shouldn’t have worried so much about what to wear. When she showed up in Rodrick’s garage, his friends Ben and Chris were there, both dressed in ripped jeans and flannel shirts paired over band t-shirts. By comparison, Nicole’s black skater skirt and combat boots felt almost fancy.

“Hey, I’m Ben,” the dark-haired one holding a red electric guitar came up to her and gave her a fist bump. She almost laughed, not having fist-bumped anyone since she was 13. “Nicole,” she replied, smiling.

“I’m Chris!” the blonde called over, waving, before turning back to adjusting his microphone and checking the settings on their audio.

Rodrick seemed to appreciate her style, at least. He came through the garage door, carrying a four-pack of Monster energy and whistled, giving her a quick up-and-down glance, “Hey, groupie.”

Nicole punched his arm as he walked by. “I came here to listen to you play, so… play.”

“Your wish is my command,” Rodrick said with a dramatic bow.

Nicole found a relatively comfortable spot as far from the speakers as she could get - this wasn’t a concert, but loud speakers could still be painful after an extended period of time. The clack of Rodrick’s drumsticks alerted her, and before she knew it there was a blast of noise and a blur of limbs.

Honestly, he wasn’t bad, Nicole thought to herself after they had played a few songs. He could use a little more control, but what musician didn’t get caught up in their music? Glancing outside, Nicole saw that it was finally growing dark out. The sky had turned a soft purple, and she could see a few fireflies flashing in the cooling grass. She checked the time on her phone - 9:15.

“Hey, do you guys know Caitlin?” she asked the group. They turned to look at her.

“Caitlin Irving or Caitlin Peters?” Ben asked, taking an impressive gulp of Monster before burping loudly. The boys fell into fits of laughter. Nicole couldn’t help laughing, too.

“I don’t know her last name, she works at Starbucks, though.”

“Ohhhhhh, Caitlin! Yeah, we know her. Why?”

“She invited me to a party tonight, but I don’t really know anyone but her. Would you guys wanna be my plus-three?”

Ben and Chris high-fived each other, and Rodrick saluted her with his drumstick, whacking himself in the head in the process. Nicole hid a laugh behind her hand, not wanting to embarrass him. “For sure, Nikky. As long as there's drinks, we’ll be there,” Chris said. 

“C’mon, we can take my van,” Rodrick said, shoving his drumsticks in his back pocket and running inside to grab his keys. The other boys started down the driveway toward the white van, garishly painted with the band's name on the side in bold, black letters.

When Rodrick returned, Nicole gave him a smug look. “I thought it needed repairs?”

Rodrick stopped walking mid-stride, looking like a puppet caught on its strings. “Uh. Yeah. Well. My dad helped, when you were over at your house. Getting ready. It’s fine now. He’s the best mechanic I know.”

“Uh-huh. You sure you didn’t just… want to ride home with me from work?”

Rodrick scoffed. “You wish.” But as he rounded the front of the car to the drivers side, you caught the scarlet color of his cheeks against his tan skin. As if he could be any more endearing, he even offered Nicole shotgun. Chris grumbled the entire time, but begrudgingly gave you the seat he had worked so hard to acquire. 

“First stop - Capital. Ben has a fake, so we can BYOB,” Rodrick said, practically peeling out of the driveway. Nicole clutched the seat for dear life, heart stuck in her throat.

“Are you sure this thing is secure?” she squeaked, feeling the seat shaking a little in its bolts.

“No one has been ejected yet, Nikky,” Rodrick laughed.

“Go-go gadget get me the fuck out of here,” Nicole groaned, planting her feet on the floor to try and stop herself from flying forward as Rodrick squealed to a stop in front of a seedy looking liquor store.

Ben barely avoided taking the sliding door off its tracks when he opened the door. Chris lit a cigarette in the back, the acrid scent wafting to the front of the van. Nicole didn’t mind the smell much - honestly it reminded her of her Grandmother's house - but she hoped the smell didn’t linger on her clothes. That would be hard to explain to her mom. Speaking of, she sent off a quick text to her parents telling them that she’d be back late. Luckily, Nicole had always been the responsible type, so her parents trusted her to make good decisions and as a result, let her have free reign of her life (especially now that she was 18).

Ben returned after a few minutes, carrying a 24 pack of Natty Light and lighting his own cigarette.

“You have the address?” Rodrick asked, and you showed him Caitlins text.

“Yo, that's in Heather Hill’s neighborhood. Maybe we can tee-pee her house later,” Rodrick said, already zooming off again.

“Heather Hills?”

“Major bitch,” Chris called from the back of the van. Rodrick shrugged. “She’s not a bitch she’s just… not very nice.”

Nicole laughed, “You don’t have to defend the honor of all women by not calling her a bitch. If she’s a bitch, I believe you.”

Rodrick looked at you out of the corner of his eye, thinking briefly.

“Yeah, she’s a stone-cold bitch. She ran over my foot once. With her car.” 

Nicole grimaced in sympathy.

“Last year, we played at her Sweet Sixteen party, and Rodrick broke her ice sculpture bust. It was awesome,” Ben said.

“Oh, so you aren’t always perfect?” Nicole teased. Rodrick flipped her off.

Soon, they pulled up in front of Caitlin’s house. Nicole could already hear loud music from outside the house, and there were rainbow strobe lights flashing in the windows. Swallowing her nervousness, she followed Rodrick, Chris and Ben up the front walkway.

As they walked in the house, Nicole was hit by the fragrant, herbal smell of weed. From far away, the music had seemed loud, but coming in the house the music seemed to vibrate her ribcage - it was something with a repetitive bass, stuff Nicole didn’t normally listen to but she enjoyed it nonetheless. She followed Rodrick further into the house, trying to find the kitchen, weaving between people dancing and couples making out.

There were people surrounding an island in the center of the kitchen, decorated with colorful bottles of liquor and sodas to mix with. Nicole spotted Caitlin talking to a tall black guy, drinking out of a red solo cup. Nicole gave her a wave, and Caitlin excitedly came over to greet her.

“Hey! I’m so glad you made it.”

“Yeah, me too. I haven’t actually ever been to a high school party.”

Caitlin’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Well, you’re gonna have one hell of a first high school party experience, girly. Let's get you a drink.”

Caitlin turned to the kitchen island and poured about four shots of rum and filled the rest with coke in a red solo cup. Nicole took a sip. She could barely tell it was spiked, so she took a few more chugs and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. 

“Do you wanna dance?” Caitlin asked, and Nicole nodded before following her back to the living room. Already, the rum was making her limbs feel looser and her brain fuzzy. She finished the rest of it in one go, enjoying the feeling of her nervousness and insecurities fading away. Nicole had never been unpopular, per say, but she tended to stay to herself and only had a few close friends at her old school, anyway. It was refreshing to feel included, and she couldn’t help feeling that this was the way her teenage years were supposed to be - loud and exciting and living moment to moment.

As they danced, Nicole swaying in place and occasionally spinning around, she couldn’t help but feeling a little awkward. Caitlin was actually a really good dancer - she knew how to move her body in all the right ways so they hit on beat with the music. Nicole envied her easy grace, but was quickly relieved when Caitlin accidentally bumped into someone, causing them to spill their drink. Nicole stifled a laugh, not at Caitlin’s expense, just at the irony of the timing. At least Nicole wasn’t the only clutz. 

They had been dancing for only a few minutes before Nicole felt a hand on her waist, making her jump slightly.

“Hey, the guys and I are gonna smoke some weed in the backyard. Do you wanna come?” Rodrick said. His voice was almost in her ear, close enough that she could hear him over the blaring music, his breath tickling her sensitive skin. 

She turned around to face him - in the dim light of the house, he looked much more appealing than usual - she hadn’t even noticed he had put eyeliner on, but it made the dark of his eyes look even more obsidian. Nicole nodded, giving a thumbs up, and pulled Caitlin along with her.

“I need you for moral support,” Nicole said, making Caitlin laugh.

“Have you ever smoked weed before?” Caitlin asked.

“Nope.”

Caitlin raised her eyebrows and pulled her closer as they walked to whisper in her ear.

“Okay, take a small hit the first time, don’t try to impress anyone. But breathe it fully into your lungs - I like to start by pulling it into my mouth first, and then inhaling fully. And if you cough, don’t worry, almost everyone does their first time.”

Nicole gave her a grateful look as they approached the circle of people sitting on lawn chairs in the backyard. Ben and Chris were already there, with two other girls Nicole didn’t know. However, there seemed to only be two more lawn chairs available to sit on.

Nicole was about to plop down on the grass before Caitlin grabbed her hand.

“You should sit on Rodrick’s lap,” she whispered, and Nicole almost choked on her drink.

“What?” 

“Dude, he’s totally into you - I don’t know what your sitch is, but I think he’s probably a little nervous about making the first move. Just do it, and if he asks, say ‘sorry, there weren’t enough seats and I don’t wanna get bug bites from the grass.”

Nicole stared at her, mouth agape. The alcohol in her brain was telling her it might not be the worst idea ever. And you know what? Fuck it. You’re only young once. Nicole made up her mind, and squeezing Caitlin’s hand, she walked over to where Rodrick was sitting before primly making herself comfortable on his thigh.

She felt him tense beneath her immediately, before his hand came up to her waist to steady her. Before he had the chance to say anything about it, the joint was passed to him, and he took an impressive hit, the cherry glowing red at the end for several seconds. Nicole watched him with interest, hoping she wouldn’t mess up too badly and embarrass herself. 

Rodrick looked up at her as he exhaled the smoke, holding the joint out to her. Not paying attention, and entranced by the eye contact they were holding, she reached out to take the joint without looking and promptly burned her hand on it.

“Fucker,” she hissed, shaking her hand to try and get rid of the pain. Rodrick just laughed.

“Do you want help?” Rodrick asked, before taking another hit of the joint. He reached up behind Nicole’s head, threading his fingers through her hair, before pulling her down close to his face, their lips inches apart. Nicole instinctively opened her mouth, half from surprise and half in anticipation of being kissed. But Rodrick simply blew a steady stream of smoke into her mouth, - their lips didn’t make contact. Belatedly, Nicole realized she was supposed to be inhaling, so she did quickly, trying to hold the smoke in her lungs for as long as possible. 

Somebody wolf-whistled in the group. Nicole was pretty sure it was Caitlin.

Eventually, she ended up coughing it out, Rodrick rubbing her back but still laughing.

“You’re a green at the green, huh?” Rodrick asked, and Nicole rolled her eyes.

“That obvious?”

“Yeah, but it’s cute. I’m glad you’re having your first high with me,” Rodrick said, smiling sweetly. Nicole’s stomach fluttered. Already, she could tell that this wasn’t alcohol she was feeling anymore - the buzz she had been feeling earlier was replaced by something much slower and velvety, like the world was moving through maple syrup.

“Dude,” Nicole said after a minute, realizing she had been staring at nothing. Rodrick looked at her. She looked at him. They both started cracking up laughing.

“What are we laughing at?” Nicole hiccuped through her laughter.

“No idea,” Rodrick said, wiping his eyes free of tears of mirth.

“Rodrick, pass the J,” Ben called out, breaking the two of them from their trance. Without thinking about it, Nicole leaned back onto Rodrick’s chest, enjoying the warmth of his body. It wasn’t a cold night, per say, but Nicole was only wearing a skirt and a t-shirt, and she had always had poor circulation. She shivered involuntarily.

“Do you want my flannel?” Rodrick asked, already taking it off. Nicole sat up, ruffling his hair playfully.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you just want to show off your arms,” Nicole said, slipping on the warm blue flannel and resting her hand on Rodrick’s exposed arm, once again in a cut-off tank top. Rodrick gave her a funny look.

“What do you mean?”

Nicole suddenly found herself tongue tied. “Uh. I mean. You just wear a lot of tank tops.”

Rodrick raised an eyebrow, but said nothing else. Nicole leaned back against him again, feeling simultaneously self-conscious and exhilarated. They had never touched for this long before. She wasn’t sure exactly what was happening between them, but she liked the direction it was going. Even though they hadn’t known each other long, Nicole felt more comfortable with Rodrick than she did anyone else - even though most of the time she had known him, he had been a nuisance to her. Well… maybe not a complete nuisance.

It was funny to think that only a few days ago, Rodrick was just an annoyance she dealt with at her job and admired from afar, and now she was sitting on his lap, wearing his flannel. She leaned her head back, looking at the stars. She hadn’t noticed that Caitlin had left, but suddenly she appeared over her line of vision, grinning.

“Do you want a beer?” she asked, holding a cold can over Nicole’s forehead. Nicole reached out to take it, sitting up before cracking it open. She wasn’t in the habit of enjoying beer for the flavor, so she’d rather get drunk off it quickly. It tasted like wet cardboard, but Nicole managed to chug it down.

“Damn, girl, where’d you learn to drink like that?” Chris asked, laughing as Nicole belched loudly. 

“Years of rigorous practice and intense concentration, young padawan,” Nicole replied.

“Do you wanna shotgun one with me?” Chris asked, half-joking, but Nicole was feeling overly confident from the buzz she was feeling and readily stepped up to the challenge.

“Whoever spits it out owes the other ten bucks.”

“Fuckin’ deal,” Chris grinned, Ben cheering him on as he threw a beer toward Nicole. She (surprisingly) caught it.

“Wait, gimme one,” Rodrick said, making grabby hands in Ben’s direction, who threw him a beer.

“On three, okay?” Ben counted. They all started to crack open their beers, Nicole with her house keys, Rodrick with his car keys, and Chris with his pen knife.

“One.. twoooooo…. Three!” Ben yelled, and they all tipped their heads back, drinking from the hole in the side of the can. Nicole’s eyes watered, but she was too competitive to back down now. Foam spilled out of the side of her mouth, but she kept drinking. She could hear people chanting her name as she finally threw the beer can down on the ground, raising her hands in victory. Both Rodrick and Chris were covered in beer foam, but Nicole somehow stayed relatively clean, minus the beer she wiped off her face.

“Ten motherfucking bucks, Chris,” Nicole slurred slightly, grinning at him as he pulled out a crumpled bill from his pocket and threw it at her. 

“Rodrick, how the fuck did you lose, dude? You were the one who taught me how to shotgun,” Ben said, causing Nicole to throw her head back in laughter, before letting out another massive burp that lasted for several seconds. The whole group dissolved into laughter. 

Eventually, the joint got finished, and people started to move back inside. However, Rodrick and Nicole stayed outside, talking about whatever came into their heads.

“Were you ever into Greek mythology as a kid?” Nicole asked, watching Rodrick’s eyes go comically large.

“Does Percy Jackson count?”

Nicole pretended to consider it deeply for a moment, before shaking her head. Rodrick pouted. 

“I only got into Greek mythology because of Percy Jackson. So, I think it still counts.

“Fine. But do you know shit about the constellations they’re associated with?”

Rodrick pointed at the sky, at a random cluster of stars.

“For sure - that's Dingus Humongus, he was a Greek hero with the fattest ass known to man.”

“Sounds like my kinda guy,” Nicole replied, sticking her tongue out as Rodrick squawked in indignation.

“Besides a fat ass, what do you look for in a guy? Not, like, that I care. Just. Wondering.”

“Very good English, Rodrick,” Nicole laughed, “I guess my type is… someone kind. And funny. Someone who tries to be cool and is actually a huge dork. And musical, that's always a plus,” she said, feeling very bold as she looked directly at him. It took Rodrick a moment, but eventually his mouth formed a small “oh” as he realized who she was talking about. His eyes flicked down to her lips. Then he frowned, “I am not a dork.”

Nicole rolled her eyes, “And I’m totally not waiting for you to kiss me right now.”

Nicole watched as the color slowly rose in Rodrick’s cheeks, turning them rosy pink, visible even in the shadow-drenched backyard. Nicole decided to pull yet another risky move, and adjusted herself on Rodrick’s lap so that she was facing him, her thighs on top of his arms around his neck. For such a seemingly confident boy, Rodrick seemed more nervous than she had ever seen him, even when he asked her to come to band practice earlier. Hell, he hadn’t even been that nervous to shotgun the joint into her mouth.

“Sorry, I just… I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. I don’t wanna be bad at it,” he confessed. Just as Nicole thought she couldn’t be any more endeared by this boy. She slid her hands into his hair, thick and soft. She leaned in and gently nosed at his jawline, placing small kisses against his warm skin. Right at his jugular, he smelled like cologne and nighttime and boy, the right mix of clean and sexy. Seemingly gaining his courage, he grabbed Nicole by the back of her head and brought her up to his lips.

It was soft, at first, merely a press of skin to skin, but the two gradually deepened the kiss, moving against each other like they were made for it. Nicole felt like her heart might beat out of her chest - or maybe she was just that high.

Feeling emboldened by Rodrick’s enthusiasm, she slipped her tongue between his lips, gently tangling their tongues together. He let out a low moan, and Nicole could’ve blacked out from how turned on she was by that simple sound. The warmth of his body against hers and the slickness of their mouths together caused a rush of liquid heat to form between Nicole’s legs. Goddamn, he was good at this. Nicole wasn’t sure how many girls Rodrick had kissed before this, but if he was a rookie at this she was damn impressed.

Rodrick’s hands, which had been resting on her waist, slowly moved down her ass and under her skirt, causing Nicole to gasp as he started to knead and grab at her cheeks - not hard, but enough to get her even more hot and bothered than she thought possible.

“Is this okay?” Rodrick asked, his voice low and rough. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Nicole replied, running her fingers through his hair and scratching her nails down his neck. She felt him shiver beneath her, sending a heady rush of power to her stomach and lower. He pulled her closer to him by her ass, so that their crotches pressed together. Nicole was taken aback by the sensation of his bulge pressed against her, but didn’t pull back, instead grinding down on him.

“Are there still people out here?” Rodrick asked shakily. Nicole pulled back and looked over her shoulder - the backyard was empty, thank god.

“No, just us,” Nicole said, turning back and bringing her lips to his ear, biting and licking the sensitive flesh. Rodrick whimpered, grinding up to meet her, and Nicole almost lost it then and there.

The alcohol and weed in her system were slowing her reactions, but also kept her from thinking too much about what she was doing - all she could think about was how much she wanted this. Sober, this might’ve never happened - she was too nervous about what he would think if she ever made a move, constantly overthinking her every word and action. This dumb boy, who rode with her to work, who stayed to the end of her shift and bought her slushies, had wiggled his way into her every thought and every beat of her heart. She knew she was fucked.

She only wished it was literally.

Nicole opened her eyes briefly to catch Rodrick’s gaze, and out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the red-and-blue flash of police lights. Rodrick caught sight of the lights at the same time.

“Oh, fuck.”

[myriadimagines]

Off Limits

Star Wars (Rogue One) One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Cassian Andor

Other Characters: Bodhi Rook, Baze Malbus, Jyn Erso, Chirrut Imwe,  K-2SO

Warnings: —

Summary: You and your husband, Cassian, maintain a very professional relationship in front of your team. So professional, in fact, poor Bodhi, who has a crush on you, doesn’t even realise the two of you are married.

Original: Sorry Bodhi, She’s Off Limits

Word Count: 2,196

A/N: ALRIGHT LETS GO IT’S THE REWRITE SERIES!!! for those of u who missed my little rant, i’m basically just going back and rewriting all my one shots bc i hate them!!! and hopefully if i rewrite them i’ll hate them a little less!!!! anyway this was one of the first pieces i wrote when i started this blog, and then it kinda blew up and i got a lot of followers/rogue one requests so honestly? this piece started it all. enjoy. 

reblog/feedback/comments are very much appreciated!!!

“You guys should’ve seen it,” Bodhi gushes, and he gestures excitedly with his hands, waving them through the air as he mimics Imperial ships, complete with his own sound effects to fully retell the story. Baze barely looks up from where he’s sitting, polishing his gun while Jyn leans back in her chair, kicking her feet up onto the table as an amused smile dances across her lips. She hums in agreement every now and then, making faces of exaggerated shock whenever Bodhi looks in her direction, more entertained by Bodhi’s enthusiasm than his actual story. Chirrut sits with them, nodding along with a bright smile on his face, eagerly listening to the young pilot’s excited ramblings, and Bodhi continues, “They were right on my tail, TIE fighters were swarming in—”

The crew looks up as the door slides open with a soft mechanic whoosh, and Bodhi practically chokes on his own words as he sees you step inside. Baze smirks, immediately looking across the table at Jyn, who returns his knowing smile. Even Chirrut can’t help but let out a quiet chuckle, and Bodhi trails off, suddenly becoming incomprehensible as he quietly stammers something. Looking around at your friends, you greet, “Hey guys, what are you talking about?”

Jyn swings her legs off the table, leaning over to give Bodhi a nudge. Barely holding back her laughter, she responds, “We were just listening to Bodhi’s harrowing story about his latest mission, weren’t we, Bodhi?”

You smile, turning to look at Bodhi with an arched brow, and Bodhi can feel his cheeks getting hot. Shaking his head, he nervously chuckles, “I… I wouldn’t say it was harrowing, it was… it was just—”

“Oh, no need to be modest.” Jyn interrupts, and Bodhi internally curses Jyn, knowing exactly what she’s doing. Waving her hand, she insists, “Come on, Bodhi, finish the story.”

Before Bodhi can try to change the subject, you’ve already sat down, leaning your elbows against the table as you wait for Bodhi to talk. His lips wobble into a smile, his heart hammering inside his chest as he can’t look away from you. And when you look at him like that, with your smile that could fuel entire solar systems, how could he possibly remain calm? 

Thankfully, the door opens again, and Bodhi lets out a relieved sigh, grateful for another distraction to stop him from having to continue his story. His relief is short lived though, as he looks up to see Cassian and K2 step inside, and Cassian’s eyes survey the scene. Bodhi gulps, shrinking in his seat as he pointedly avoids eye contact with Cassian, and he can feel the stoic captain’s gaze on him. The past few weeks have been filled with an unexplainable tension between the two, one that Bodhi can’t quite understand. He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong, and has mentally torn apart every interaction he’s exchanged with Cassian in hopes of finding an answer. 

Bodhi sneaks up a glance at Cassian, who stares at him, lips pressed into a flat line. Bodhi can’t even decipher the expression on Cassian’s face — disappointment? Frustration? Maybe even anger? Whatever it is, Cassian looks away, turning to face you as he asks, “Are you busy?”

“Well, Bodhi was just telling us about his latest mission,” you gesture to Bodhi, who holds his breath as Cassian glances in his direction again. 

“I see.” Cassian curtly responds after a pause. Cassian takes in a deep breath, before nodding towards the door, “Can I speak to you in private, please?” 

You hesitate, studying Cassian’s faces, trying to figure out if it’s for professional or personal matters. You let out a short sigh before finally getting up from your seat, almost laughing at yourself at the fact that despite many years of being married, you still can’t quite read your husband as well as you’d like. You make your way towards the door, but not before looking over your shoulder and telling Bodhi, “Next time I see you, I better hear that story!” 

Bodhi forces out a laugh, knowing that Cassian is watching him, and he watches as Cassian trails behind you as the two of you leave. The door slides shut, and Bodhi finally feels as though he can breathe again, slumping down into his seat as he shakes his head at himself. He yelps as Jyn suddenly reaches over to punch his arm, and he exclaims, “What?”

“I can’t believe, after all this time, you refuse to ask y/n out.” Jyn scoffs, and Bodhi lets out a loud, embarrassed groan. He can’t help but feel more embarrassed as even Baze pointedly sets down his gun to join in on the conversation, him and Chirrut nodding agreement. Jyn points at the pair, noting their support, as she continues, “See? I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

The four of them are too engrossed in conversation to notice K2 jerk back upon hearing your name. Shaking his head, he raises a finger, “I don’t think tha—”

“Please stop talking about this.” Bodhi cuts K2 off, burying his face in his hands, not wanting to look up at his friends, and Jyn snorts. “This is so embarrassing.” 

“Your feelings are nothing to be ashamed of, Bodhi,” Chirrut pipes, and Jyn nods in agreement. “We can’t control who we fall in love with.”

“If I might interject—” K2 tries to speak up again, but Jyn waves her hand in front of the droid’s face, much to his annoyance. Swatting her hand away, K2 snaps, “Don’t shush me!”  

“I’m not going to ask her out,” Bodhi shakes his head, and Jyn groans as she ignores K2. “I can’t! There’s—”

“If I could just get a single word in, I think I might have something valuable to say.” K2 finally yells, raising his voice as everyone turns to look at him. Bodhi’s eyebrows furrow, and Jyn rolls her eyes.

“I doubt a droid could help with romantic advice.” she points out, and K2 stares at her, thinking of close to a hundred comebacks he could possibly respond with. 

“No, I want to hear what K2 has to say.” Bodhi says, and Jyn turns to glare at him. Bodhi pauses, before shaking his head, wincing, “Wait, actually, I don’t. You’re just going to tell me my odds are close to zero.” 

“Well, they are.” K2 deadpans, and everyone collectively groans in disappointment. K2 looks over at everyone, before continuing, “I thought you would all know the reason why, but I suppose I’m overestimating your intelligence. Do none of you actually know that y/n and Cassian are together?”

Bodhi is too much in shock to even deal with his crushing disappointment upon hearing his odds with you. He looks around the table, seeing the same shock in Jyn, Baze and Chirrut’s faces, and Jyn splutters, “What? y/n and Cassian?” 

“Yes, y/n and Cassian.” K2 impatiently confirms. “They’ve been married for almost five years now.”

“Married?” Bodhi squeaks, his head spinning. Everything slowly starts falling into place as Bodhi thinks back to all of your interactions with Cassian. And suddenly, it dawns on him, the answer that he’s been searching for. If Jyn, Chirrut, and even Baze noticed his crush on you, it most definitely would’ve been noticed by Cassian.

And Bodhi can imagine how unamused Cassian must be at the fact that another guy, who’s part of his crew, has a crush on his wife. 

Bodhi jolts up from his seat. “I need to apologise. Oh man, I… I need to find Cassian.” 

Bodhi’s brain is scrambling as he tries to figure out what to do, what to say. Jyn looks up at him in alarm, and everyone watches as Bodhi rushes for the door, swiftly exiting the room. After a pause, Jyn gets up, and K2 asks, “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Well, I don’t know about you guys,” Jyn makes her way to the door. “But I would love to see how this all goes down.”

She raises an eyebrow, and after a pause, Baze, Chirrut and K2 all get up to join her.

—

You let out a loud scoff, leaning up against the table as you turn to face Cassian. Folding your arms across your chest, you ask, “Is this why you brought me in here? I thought it was something important.” 

Cassian blinks at you, clearly offended. “This is important.”

“That Bodhi has a crush on me? Which is wrong, by the way,” you point an accusatory finger at Cassian, who resists the urge to roll his eyes. Laughing, you insist, “We’re just friends!”

“That’s how you see it.” Cassian points out, and your hand falls to your side. Your eyebrows furrow as you notice your husband getting increasingly worked up, and he continues, “Do you not see the way he acts around you? He—”

“Hey, hey,” you reach out to grab Cassian’s hands, pulling you towards him, and Cassian takes a deep breath, composing himself. He relaxes at your touch, and you guide his hands around your waist before looping your arms around his neck. Gently smiling at him, you reassure him, “There’s no need to be jealous. Whatever Bodhi’s feelings are, so be it. But I love you, and only you, and that’s all that matters.” 

Cassian nods a small smile appearing on his face as he presses his forehead against yours. You can’t help but giggle as your noses touch, and he leans in to kiss you, hands roaming under the hem of your shirt as you pull him closer, running your hands through his hair. And in the moment, everything feels perfect and blissful, finally having some privacy together in the midst of your hectic day.

Until the door hisses open, and you hear someone utter a startled curse.

You and Cassian jump apart, and you quickly adjust your clothes before realising Bodhi is standing in the doorway, face red as he stares between you and Cassian, mouth parted but no words coming out. You and Cassian’s faces grow hot from being caught, and Bodhi cringes at himself as he feels as though he’s making one wrong move after the other.

Finally, Cassian clears his throat, “What do you want, Bodhi?”

“It’s, uh, nothing,” Bodhi stammers, barely able to form sentences. Trying to back out of the room, he continues, “I… I didn’t mean to interrupt, we- we can just talk later—”

“Here he is.” Jyn’s voice announces her presence before she appears, and she practically slams into Bodhi as he tries to run out the door. She stumbles back into Baze and Chirrut, who bump into K2, who doesn’t budge, and everyone quickly regains their balance upon noticing you and Cassian inside the room. 

“Well, seeing as you brought the whole crew with you, you might as well just say what you want to say.” Cassian grumbles, and Bodhi’s expression crumples. He attempts to square his shoulders, turning to face Cassian fully, but not before sneaking a glance over at you.

“I’m so sorry about everything. I had no idea you and y/n were together.” Bodhi finally blurts, the words coming out so fast you and Cassian can barely process what he’s saying. Bodhi holds his breath, studying Cassian’s expression, and the two of you exchange a glance before Cassian lets out a heavy sigh.

“I appreciate the apology, Bodhi. I know you didn’t mean any harm.” Cassian relaxes, his expression softening. Bodhi lets out a sigh of relief, and Cassian holds his hand out to you. You take it, giving it a squeeze, and Cassian shoots Bodhi a stern look before adding, “But, just so we’re clear, y/n is off limits.” 

“Understood. Off limits, absolutely.” Bodhi nods, flustered, and you flash him a small smile. 

Cassian looks past Bodhi to the rest of the crew. Raising an eyebrow, he sarcastically asks, “Did anyone else come to confess anything?”

After a moment of silence, Jyn pipes up, “Well, I just wanted to say that I think you and y/n make a lovely couple. You’re made for each other, honestly.”

“Okay, out.” Cassian shakes his head, ushering everyone back out of the room as you can’t help  but laugh. After managing to clear the room, you tilt your head with a knowing smile as you watch Cassian make sure to lock the door on the keypad. He turns, making his way back over to you as he says, “Hopefully there won’t be any more interruptions.”

“I like the sound of that.” you tease, grabbing the collar of Cassian’s jacket to pull him closer. He pushes you back against the desk, hands resting on your hips as you lean forward, closing the distance between your faces to gently kiss him. “I guess you were right about Bodhi, then.”

“I’m always right.” Cassian responds as he kisses you back, and he grins as you playfully try to shove him away. Feigning innocence, he asks, “What?” 

“Don’t push it.” you warn him, barely holding back a laugh, and Cassian chuckles before leaning forward to kiss you again, his smile radiant against your own.

tag list: @proudchocolateaddict​ / @myfriendmagislit​ / @dragon4123​ / @fire--pheonix​ / @gofandomsandotherstuff​ / @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov / @fairytalesforever​ / @emmacata​ / @hauntedpocdreamer / @fangirlsarah16​ / @adaleya​ / @floup-doodles​ / @batfam16​ / @tonystarkshomeoflostkiddos​ / @lotsoffandomrecs​ / @ruvaakke​ / @911buttercup​ / @azeret-mirror​ / @randomfandomimagine​ / @lotrfics​ / @locke-writes​ / @lovinghufflepuffgirl​ / @lxncelot​ / @captainshazamerica​​ / @ta-ka-shi-ma​​

[blue-lions-baby]

Operation Confession (Dimitri x F!Reader) [Ch. 3] [FINALE]

hi!! well, this is it. the final chapter of operation confession. to be very honest, with everything going on it was quite difficult to write this, but i hope the quality is still relatively the same as my previous chapters! i had so much fun writing this series, and i hope reading it was just as entertaining! thank you so much for sticking with it-- it means the absolute world to me :)

this will prob be my last post for a bit before i head off to college; please rest assured i do not plan to leave this blog or this wonderful community anytime soon! thank you for being patient with me as i adjust to this very new chapter of my life!!

without further ado, please enjoy ch. 3!

~*~

“Hey, false alarm!” Sylvain traipsed back in, hands behind his head. “(F/N) and Felix are actually gonna freshen up a bit before heading to dinner.”

Groans and angry huffs spilled out of the frazzled Lions; the menacing stares that the redhead bore made him squeak, and he cleared his throat.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry! They ran into us while His Highness was changing--”

“While he was changing?” Dedue and Ingrid looked like they were about to have a stroke.

“I-It’s a long and,” Sylvain looked at The Hand, “painful story, but what’s important is that they didn’t see him! All thanks to Yours Truly.”

“You were a blubbering idiot. The only reason why (F/N) didn’t bother questioning you further was because she was too tired to care.” Felix joined in, the permanent scowl on his features deepening.

“Felix!” Sylvain’s countenance lit up joyfully before hazing into confusion. “Wait, I thought you were gonna freshen up before heading to dinner.”

“I don’t need to. Hardly broke a sweat during training.”

“W-What?! How?!”

“I guess you wouldn’t understand, seeing as how your only form of exercise is chasing after anything that wears a skirt.”

Sylvain’s eyes took on a glossy, hollow quality as the Lions hollered in laughter.

“Uh... So Sylvain, where’s His Highness?” Asked Annette, having expected him to walk in.

“Oh, he ran back to his quarters to put his clothes away. He should be coming back any minute now.”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

After neatly hanging his uniform in his closet and giving himself a quick once-over in the mirror, he gave himself one last pep talk before swinging the door open and--

Seeing the side of your head as you idly engaged in conversation with a fellow student.

Oh Sothis, help him.

As quickly (and loudly) as he opened the door, he closed it and promptly went back inside to scream into his pillow. Where in the world did you even come from? Weren’t you supposed to be ‘freshening up?’ Your quarters weren’t even down this hallway; what in the Goddess’s name were you even doing here?

He pressed his ear further into the door, straining to pick up bits and pieces of your conversation in hopes to inform himself on your sudden visitation. Nothing. All he could hear was muffled banter bouncing between either of you-- muffled banter that didn’t sound like it was going to end any time soon. He screamed curses in his head and awkwardly slid down onto the floor, lightly banging his cranium against the solid wooden door.

He desperately wished for someone, anyone to save him.

He sighed while rubbing his temples-- a desperate attempt to quell the arising headache. Dimitri combed through his options, each less viable than the last. After eliminating any and all half-baked ideas of escape, he was face-to-face with the one option he didn’t want to consider.

Sit here and wait until you left.

So Dimitri sat (more like paced) in his room, occasionally pressing his ear against the door in hopes that he didn’t hear your lighthearted banter outside. Why was it the one time he didn’t want to run into you, there you were! Right outside his door. You might as well have come with a giant bow on your head!

The floor beneath him rumbled slightly, pulling him from his thoughts; the even pacing grew stronger and stronger until it stopped just a little ways past his door.

“(F/N).”

Wait... That’s... It’s unmistakable! That has to be--!

“Dedue! Hello!”

“I apologize for the interruption, but I have come to remind you that it is your turn to tend to the greenhouse today.”

A short pause ensued, followed by an audible gasp.

“Wait, yes! You’re right! I’ve completely forgotten, thank you so much for reminding me!”

Dimitri heard muffled apologies and goodbyes sputter out of your lips, followed by light footsteps scurrying away. Your former companion proceeded to engage in very light talk with the Duscur man before quickly excusing themselves from the scene; Dedue, glancing down the hall to ensure that no one else was nearby, approached and gently rapped his lord’s door with calloused knuckles.

“Your Highness, you may come out now.”

The inner mechanisms of the door clicked softly, the hesitancy of the room’s occupant translating directly through the brass knob.

“Oh, thank the Goddess you came, Dedue. Frankly, I had given up any hope of escape.” Dimitri rubbed the back of his neck tiredly.

“I knew something was wrong when you did not return. I am glad that I came.” Dedue gave a curt bow.

“Thank you Dedue. Come. Let us head to the dining hall, shall we?”

“Of course, Your Highness. (F/N) should be preoccupied with her greenhouse duties for a time.”

“Yes... Actually, Dedue, how did you know it was (F/N)’s turn to tend to the greenhouse today?”

“Truthfully, Your Highness, I didn’t. It was pure luck she was scheduled today.”

“You mean--” Dimitri’s eyes widened.

“Yes. That was just a fluke. I have no knowledge of the schedule, other than the times either you or I are assigned.”

“Hah!” Dimitri’s hand landed on his retainer’s shoulder. “What luck! After hearing that, I can not help but feel a bit more confident about tonight.”

“And why is that, Your Highness?”

“If fate is as real as the ground beneath us, I would say that, perhaps, (F/N) and I are truly meant to be together.”

“That is quite a romantic notion, Your Highness.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Dimitri sighed as they crossed the threshold to the outside. The sun was just starting its descent past the hills; the slowly extinguishing rays of light brushed the sky with vibrant hues of vermilion and marigold.

“Despite that, I can not help but feel... hopeful. And... happy.”

“I am glad that this whole experience has collectively been a pleasant one, Your Highness.” Dedue responded as they neared the dining hall. “You deserve to be happy.”

Dedue’s words echoed in Dimitri’s head, ringing alongside Sylvain’s previous sentiment. Guilt wrung his heart until the familiar pangs of remorse pounded in his chest.

“Do I... Do I really deserve such a thing?”

“Without a doubt, Your Highness.”

“Even after everything that I’ve done... Even after... everything... I still... deserve it?”

“Of course, Your Highness. You deserve to be happy, just like everybody else.”

As the duo ascended the stairs and approached the Lions that were all congregated together for Dimitri’s cause, the prince’s features relaxed and-- just for a moment-- the voices that incessantly plagued his thoughts ceased.

“Thank you, Dedue.”

“I am always happy to help, Your Highness.” Like his prince, Dedue’s rough exterior melted away to reveal a warm, genuine smile.

“Hey, there you are!” Sylvain bounded up to them, meeting them halfway across the platform. “We were gettin’ worried about you! What happened?”

After Dimitri and Dedue explained what transpired, Sylvain couldn’t help but laugh at the terrible wonderful luck that Dimitri possessed.

"Dedue really got you out of a tough spot, huh?”

“As he always does.” Dimitri cast a grateful look at his retainer.

“I was shocked when I learned that (F/N) was actually scheduled today.”

“What were you gonna do if she wasn’t?” Sylvain queried.

Dedue paused thoughtfully.

“Perhaps I could have asked her to help me weed the courtyard, or to tend the horses.”

“Fair enough.” Sylvain nodded. “Well, it’s getting late so people are starting to leave the dining hall. Hopefully by the time (F/N) is done tending the plants, you two will be all alone.”

Sylvain wriggled his eyebrows and peered cheekily at the reddening face of the prince.

“Please do not be so nervous, Your Highness. (F/N) will surely appreciate all the effort you had put in.”

“Yeah!” Sylvain propped an arm on Dimitri’s shoulder. “Remember what I told you, Your Highness? You’re the leader of the Blue Lions! Start actin’ like your namesake! You gotta be bold!”

“R-Right. Bold.” Truthfully, Dimitri looked anything but; however, this only prompted a deluge of much-needed encouragement and hype that the two happily supplied-- Sylvain taking a more... fiery approach to his psyching while Dedue slightly doused the ecstatic flames set by the redhead with more grounded assurances.

“Now remember, Your Highness. Look her in the eyes, smile, and tell her that she’s beautiful. Like this!” Sylvain turned to Dedue, who suddenly became an unwilling participant in the playboy’s example.

“Hey, babe. You look gorgeous tonight. I gotta admit, I’m no mathematician, but I can still see you’re a ten outta ten.”

“Please get away from me ... Thank you, Sylvain.”

Dimitri stared at the duo with a confused fixed smile plastered on his face. The gears in his head took their sweet, sweet time to churn and process the cursed pick-up line, but it eventually clicked.

“Hah! I get it now! That’s a great one, Sylvain. I’ll definitely remember that.”

A flush of pride stained Sylvain’s cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Thanks! Oh, here’s another one. This one’s also super popular with the ladies.”

Sylvain cleared his throat and turned to Dedue, who was quietly trying to shuffle away.

“Hey, hun. Do you have a map? I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

“If that is the case, perhaps it would be in your best interest to stop looking at me.” Dedue lightly glared. Dimitri’s eyes crinkled gleefully.

“Ah, these are all wonderful! I look forward to using them on (F/N).”

“Great! But remember Your Highness-- too much of a good thing is a bad thing. You can’t just spout a couple lines like that and expect her to fall for you instantly. You gotta do it tastefully.”

“Tastefully... Got it.”

Dimitri nodded his head, soaking and digesting this newfound knowledge. His eyes suddenly shot up, excitement bubbling out of its watery depths.

“Oh! It appears that I have come up with something!”

“Go for it, Your Highness!”

“I’ve got no taste, but I’d still like a bite of you.”

. . .

. . .

. . .

“Sylvain?”

. . .

. . .

“Dedue?”

. . .

“... Perhaps the map one wasn’t so terrible after all.”

“You said it, Dedue.”

“Wha--! Surely it wasn’t that atrocious, was it?”

“I believe it would serve His Highness well if you taught him more pick-up lines, Sylvain.”

“Sure. Whatever it takes to keep him from saying stuff like that.”

“H-Hey!!!”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

After sprinkling the few remaining drops of water onto a patch of slightly wilting plants, you dropped the empty watering can with a clatter and threw your arms high above your head, stretching all the bundles and ties that knotted in your shoulders. Your stomach gurgled and a pulse of hunger radiated throughout your core. Perhaps it wasn’t the brightest idea to completely skip your meals.

You placed the watering can in the shed and, making sure everything was as orderly as it could be, stalked out of the greenhouse while still massaging the few stubborn knots that remained tied in your muscles. The sun had long disappeared below the horizon; whatever light remained served only as a prelude to the beginnings of a starry night.

A nippy breeze nibbled your exposed skin, contrasting the slightly humid atmosphere that you’ve grown accustomed to in the greenhouse. Teeth chattering and tummy churning, you hastened your feet to move faster to the brightly lit dining hall.

As you approached the door, you were pleasantly surprised to see that the hall was practically empty, save for some guards and faculty sneaking in a nightly snack-- but even they didn’t linger for long. As you were racking your brain for ideas on what to eat, you walked into the warm building; the ambrosial aroma of succulent, roasted duck caught your attention immediately.

To say that you didn’t shed a small tear from the experience would be a lie.

You scouted and scoured the kitchen for the fowl of your dreams, but it eluded you. Where in the world could this duck--

“A-Ahem.”

You had come dangerously close to collapsing from shock.

Your body jumped and slowly turned around to face the owner of the voice.

“Good evening, (F/N). You look as radiant as ever.”

A young man wearing a white suit decorated with small pins and medals stood before you. Gloved, quivering fingers delicately brushed the lone strands of hair that slipped onto his forehead to the side.

“D-Dimitri...? Is that you?”

“Ah y-yes, it is I. Please forgive me if I had surprised you.”

“N-Not at all!” You replied, your cognitive processes hiccuping at the sight of this magnificent angel. The light from the torch gently surrounded the prince with an almost ethereal quality, rendering him simply divine. The corner of his lips turned up slightly, pulling his handsome features into a half-smirk.

“Please, allow me to escort you to our table.”

“O-Okay...”

He took a step towards you and his eyes flickered down; you followed his gaze and saw his slightly shaking hand slowly reaching for yours.

“May I...?”

Whether it was a simple case of the jitters or the excitement bubbling from within, it didn’t matter much as you enthusiastically clasped your hand in his. Dimitri froze in place, every muscle in his being stiffening at that small point of contact. However, he managed to get his racing pulse (somewhat) under control-- just enough to pull you into a stiff walk at least.

“Please follow me, (F/N).”

The pounding in Dimitri’s heart found its way into his ears, drumming and thundering an aggressive beat. He never knew that fear and glee could intertwine so readily with one another-- until he felt your hand gently press into his palm. Worries and questions and warmth spurred his thoughts into a hazy flurry of emotion. Was he squeezing too hard? Was he holding your hand correctly? Were you at all uncomfortable? Oh Goddess, you look so beautiful when you smile like that--

“Ah! Dimitri, what is all this?”

“W-Well,” Dimitri swallowed what felt like a boulder, “it is our dinner.”

“Our... Dinner...?”

“Yes. Um...” His locked fingers reluctantly separated from yours. “We have prepared a roasted duck, a fine, savory pastry called ‘garlic bread,’ a simple salad, and baked sweets made by Mercedes. I pray this is enough to whet your appetite.”

“You whet my appetite Everything looks so good...” You swallowed thickly, eyes resting heavily on the succulent fowl. “Heh, well... I actually didn’t eat at all today, so--”

“I beg your pardon?!” You blinked and immediately found yourself sitting in front of the palatable entrees. Dimitri’s countenance-- full of concern and tinged with anger-- stared at you from across the sea of food.

“You mustn’t skip meals. That is terribly unhealthy for you.”

“You’re one to talk, Dimitri!” You laughed. “You skip meals all the time!”

Dimitri’s visage fell and his entire face took on all shades of red.

“I... admit, I am not one to berate you on this matter, but regardless, I ask that you still heed my warnings... You should never skip meals.”

Giggling to yourself, you rested your chin on folded hands and your head tilted slightly. That, combined with your killer smile and rosy cheeks, introduced Dimitri’s palpitating heart to a livelier pace.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll do my best not to skip meals.”

“Urgh-- Yes! Please... don’t.”

Your lips curved into a smile and your eyes lustily darted to the food in front of you.

“Well, let’s dig in, shall we?”

You, of course, immediately reached for the duck-- as did Dimitri.

Your hands collided en route to the silver cutlery by the fowl, and a fountain of apologies spewed out of either of you. Dimitri, somehow managing to awkwardly bounce back from the innocent error, cleared his throat and took this opportunity to impress you with his... gentlemanly charms.

“Please excuse me, (F/N). Allow me to cut a slice for you.”

“Oh! Well, um... sure?”

Dimitri’s fingers rounded the shiny handles of the knife and fork before cutting into the tender meat. Delectable smells spilled forth from the bird, eliciting a growl from your stomach-- a... very, very loud growl. A growl that was loud enough for Dimitri to stop and look up.

“Uh... I’d like to apologize...” You mumbled ashamedly, your cheeks growing hot to the touch.

Dimitri chuckled, slipping a thick slice of duck onto your plate along with a small bushel of salad, a few pieces of garlic bread, and some sweets.

“Do not worry, my Beloved. I know you haven’t eaten all day.”

You smiled, graciously accepting your plate filled to the brim with food. You cut the slice of meat into more manageab--

Wait...

‘Beloved?’

It seemed that Dimitri realized his mistake around the same time you did.

“Dimitri--”

“Er, (F/N)! Aside from this morning, how was your day?”

“Huh? I-I mean it was fine, but Dimitri--”

“Ah, splendid! I am glad your day had gotten better. I was really worried when you suddenly left class like that.”

“Dimitri,” you cut in, “did you just call me... your... ‘Beloved?’“

Dimitri simply sat there as his brain was fried and shriveled into a crisp.

“W-Well, uh, I-- You see-- I deeply apologize for-- That was, very inappropriate of me--”

“Oh! No, no, it’s okay... Um, I was just a bit surprised is all.” You brought your cup to your lips in a pathetic attempt to cover the bashful grin that threatened to escape.

“Ah... Of course...” Dimitri stabbed a small tomato with the prongs of his fork and shoveled it into his mouth, his cheeks seeming to absorb the color of the little red berry.

You cleared your throat and thumbed the surface of a macaron with light fingers, a heavy silence blanketing the table. The quietly screaming royal took a bite of some garlic bread, his brain hardly processing the soft, fluffy texture of the dish.

Dimitri’s eyes widened inconspicuously, his mind flashing to the one thing that could save this dumpster fire of a date from certain demise--

His pick-up lines.

He could only pray that you were a fan of such things.

He cleared his throat and borderline slammed his fists onto the table, rocking a handful of mini cupcakes from their tiered seats. You quite literally jumped in your seat and got caught in the fierce stare of your house leader.

He can do this.

Come on, Dimitri! Remember your training with Sylvain!

He can do this.

Be a lion! Be bold!

He can do this!

“A-Are you ten? Because y-you look lost and I’d like to bite you.”

. . .

. . .

. . .

If-- in that moment-- Dimitri were to suddenly be thrown onto the path of a charging chariot, he would make no effort to move.

Simultaneously, you were well on your way to combusting into open flames-- if your swiftly coloring cheeks were any indication of that.

Neither of you spoke for a long time, gawking at the other in a silent, unconscious contest to see who could reach strawberry red first.

And Dimitri was the unwilling winner.

“I--”

“You--”

“I am so--”

“What did you--?”

“I am so, so sorry--”

“You want to bite me--?”

“Oh Goddess, I am so sorry (F/N)-- I can explain--”

“U-Um, perhaps it would be best for me to go...”

“Wait!” Dimitri shot out of his seat with a clatter. “I-- um--”

“Goodnight, Dimitri.”

You made a mad dash for the door, leaving the flustering royal a metaphoric fish out of water.

“(F/N)!”

He tailed after you, the delicious food that he and all the other Lions labored to prepare becoming a distant memory.

The sun and any trace of it had all but vanished from sight, replaced by its nightly counterpart. You were speed walking to the stairs when your wrist was snagged by a firm grip.

"(F/N)...!”

“Dimitri, listen, I really appreciate the food and everything, but I really should get going now--”

“Wait, please! I...” He gulped, finally throwing caution to the wind. “I love you.”

Your heart had stopped beating altogether and your lungs ceased operations. Your clenched jaw prohibited you from speaking, and you simply stared at him as those three simple words resonated in your mind.

“Er, that is to say...” He sighed, resignation taking hold of his features. “Can we... talk about this please?”

He loosely pointed to a nearby bench shaded under a tall tree. His hard grip softened, moving to interlace his fingers with yours as he led the two of you to the secluded spot. He sat with a deep exhale and pulled you beside him.

“(F/N).” He gazed at you steadily, his fingers rubbing shallow circles into your hands. “It is no exaggeration on my end to say that you mean everything to me. I-- along with the other Lions-- labored to make tonight the best it could be. Though truthfully, I never imagined my confession would turn out like this. But alas...”

Dimitri chuckled tiredly then sighed.

“I’m afraid I can’t hide my feelings for you a moment longer. I love you, (F/N). With all of my being. You motivate me to work harder, train harder-- to be a better man. You are so kind, and smart, and... absolutely mesmerizing. I can not keep my eyes off you, really.”

He laughed at your sheepish response then continued.

“You mean the world to me. So... I humbly ask that you... Um...” He cleared his throat and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Be mine.”

A gentle breeze swept through, carrying his small plea along with it. He stared at you, intensely and unblinkingly, with bated breath.

“Although,” he added, pain thinly veiled in his eyes, “if you do not feel the same way, I understand. I promise I will not hold anything against you. If it’s not too much trouble, I... I hope we can still be friends after all this--”

You dove straight into Dimitri’s arms, effectively knocking his words and the air right out of him. You felt his muscles tighten and the thumping in his chest blared loudly in your ears. You nuzzled your face into him and looked up, smiling.

“I love you too, Dima!”

D-Dima...?!

Poor Dimitri looked like he was about to choke. The little streams of moonlight that slipped through the holes in the trees reflected off of the prince’s reddening face; for a long time, all he could do was stare at you-- cheeks darkening and eyes widening.

Finally, the Goddess re-granted him the ability to speak.

“R-Really...?”

“Yes! Yes, I do!” Your arms moved from his torso to snake around his neck, pulling him a bit more to your level. “I love you, Dimitri. I’ve loved you for so long...”

You drew him into a hug again, burying your face in the crook of his neck. The crisp, sharp scent of his cologne flooded your senses, sending pleasant tingles and goosebumps throughout your body. You felt the prince’s arms wound around your frame, pulling you closer to his racing heart.

“If this is a dream, I wish to never wake.” He muttered into your hair, thankful that he could appreciate the light apple notes that came from it to the fullest.

“This isn’t a dream, Dimitri.” You whispered against his skin, causing a sweet shiver to run down his spine. “I love you, Dimitri. I love you so, so much...”

“My (F/N)... My Beloved...” He pulled away from you slightly, cupping your cheeks in his hands and brushing it gently. He could hardly contain all the love and pure adoration he held towards you; the way that you and only you reflected in his beautiful eyes showed that. With a gentle smile he pressed his forehead against yours, relishing the moment.

“May I... May I have the honor of kissing you, my love?”

His hot breath tickled your sensitive skin and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sensation, in addition to his endearingly adorable politeness.

“Yes, you may.”

Dimitri’s eyes flickered to your slightly parted, wet lips and leaned closer, his eyes fluttering shut. You followed suit, guided only by the synchronous beating of your hearts. A warmth like no other blossomed upon your lips, melting any and all tension into nothingness. Your lips engaged in a clumsy yet heartfelt dance, eliciting an airy chortle out of you.

Dimitri’s chest rumbled with a chuckle of his own and he parted to catch his breath. Not a moment later, his lips found yours again and again, more ravenous than the last. Each kiss left your head spinning faster and your heart wanting more, more, more. His teeth nibbled your bottom lip, drawing out a gasp from you; his fingers found residence in your hair as he slipped his hot tongue into your mouth. He explored your wet cavern excitedly, every one of his senses wracked with newfound pleasure. Your moans and sharp breaths intertwined heatedly, sending your thoughts into a frenzy and numbing oblivion all at once.

The chatter of guards and metal boots clanking against cobble spurred warning bells in your head, and a painful reminder of how exposed you were for any curious passerby. Dimitri reluctantly leaned away, still pressing his lips to yours until the last possible moment.

“Ahem... M-My apologies... I got a little too excited just now...” Dimitri panted, a dazed yet elated expression on his face. You, panting as hard as he, shook your head in response and pressed a chaste kiss on his forehead, down to his nose, his cheek, and finally stopping at his flushed, pink lips.

“Not a problem, Dimitri. I know you mentioned you wanted to bite me.” You gazed at him teasingly.

“T-That’s...” Dimitri sighed, burying his face in your neck to hide his blush (though how hot his skin felt against yours was all the confirmation you needed). “Please don’t tell anyone what I said...”

You snickered and patted his head, smiling when you felt him relax into your touch.

“Okaaay, I promise.”

“Good. Thank you, (F/N).”

He pulled away from your neck and adjusted himself into a more comfortable seating position. He securely placed his arm around your shoulder and you both sat in comfortable silence for a long time.

“It’s getting quite late, no?” Dimitri mumbled out of the blue. “Allow me to walk you back to your room.”

“Actually, Dima... Do you think we can go back and finish dinner? I’m still really hungry...”

“O-Oh! I have completely forgotten about that! Yes, of course we can. Although... Regrettably, our food would have gotten cold by now.”

“That’s okay. Being with you warms my heart anyways.”

“Ah-- Um--” Dimitri coughed, looking away. “I confess that your teasing will take some getting used to... But it is a pleasant thing nonetheless.”

You giggled as he stood up and helped you to your feet.

”Hey, Dimitri?”

“Yes, my Beloved?”

“I love you.”

Dimitri planted a soft kiss on your forehead and stared fondly into your eyes.

”I love you too, (F/N).”

bonus: despite swearing to himself that he would *never* use pick-up lines ever again (its powers being too great for any mortal to fully wield), dimitri would still indulge a line or two for you if you asked him hard enough (and swore on your life you would never divulge what he shared with you to anyone else). and yes, when you two eventually got more comfortable with each other, he did get a bite of you from time-to-time but that’s a story for another day.

[misfireanon]

57

The next morning, Nihlus gets up early to prepare breakfast. The weather outside is still terrible. The storm had lessened during the night, but by the time he got back in bed, it had picked up again, accompanied by a fresh chorus of ferocious howls. Now, hard clumps of snow are smacking against the window like the wind’s percussive accompaniment. He swirls the leftover tequila and drains it in one gulp, setting the flask on the table with a loud thunk. There.

Right on schedule, Saren peeks out from the bedroom, his unblinking eyes pointing from the empty flask, to the plate of gnawed ribs in front of Nihlus, to the six small dishes (and one soup, all proper and shit) laid out for him. Nihlus doesn’t wait for him to begin an interrogation. He spears a cube of the hitherto untouched blue pudding on his talon and slurps it down, raising a browplate at Saren’s frown. “Why don’t you come sit and eat so my hard work doesn’t go to waste? I had to take all this from the deliverybot and put it in bowls all by myself, you know.”

Saren drops into his seat with a grunt. “You turned up the heating.”

“Yeah, because I was freezing my ass off last night. Don’t make that face, I know you can afford it. Heck, you can probably afford to burn this building down and build a new one, legal fees and all.” He looks out at the storm. “You’d be doing this place a favour. I can’t believe there are people who want to live on Noveria.”

“The volus, as a species, are well-suited for these conditions. Krogan, of course, thrive here as they would almost anywhere else. What remains of their culture drives them to extremes.”

Nihlus flicks a mandible. “I mean you, specifically.”

“Only here for business,” Saren says, carefully peeling off a single layer of the hundred-layer loaf and dipping it in an elaborate concoction of ground spices. Nihlus follows suit, except he grabs a good quarter of the thing and rolls it around in the spice, making sure to give the ends a thick coat. Saren begins to sift out conglomerated chunks from the powder, setting them with the bones. Nihlus shrugs. Hey, at least he’d used a fork this time. 

“Business requires you to live in a refrigerator?”

“The cold keeps me awake when the paperwork grows dull.” Saren offers him the soup; Nihlus refuses. “I should have changed the settings after you arrived.”

“Does it help you sleep, too?”

Saren looks at him over the rim of the bowl. A whiff of steam obscures his eye. “At times, yes.”

“How does that work, exactly?”

“It’s a habit. After I finally resolved the Virial’s heat dissipation issues, her HVAC system began to act up. Competent mechanics have eluded me.” Saren takes another long sip. “I know you don’t like satusan leaves, but this was a good choice. Thank you.”

It came as a set meal, but Nihlus had picked that particular set from a menu of dozens, so he feels justified to beam with pride before setting his mandibles at a more serious angle. “I think you might need medication more than a mechanic. Spirits know there are enough doctors on Noveria, crooked or not.”

“‘Crooked’ is euphemistic, extremely so, in ways I’d rather not discuss over breakfast.”

Or ever, really. But Nihlus shrugs and reaches for the loaf again. It’s mechanically prepared, has to be; they’d never turn a profit otherwise. It’s also the reason he’d picked this set over the others. Saren had cooked it for him once, cutting a small chunk of meat into dozens of paper-thin slices with a wicked silver knife. Not long after, Nihlus had bought the same trio of knives for himself, though it had ended up collecting dust at the bottom of a drawer, only opened on one memorable occasion for some impromptu surgery.

This restaurant’s offering pales in comparison to those he’d sampled on Tenebrae, and is not even in the same star system as what Saren had made. Still, he shortens the stack, five slices at a time.

Saren watches him eat, his expression blank. The soup bowl is empty, but the other dishes are practically untouched. The blue pudding wobbles as Nihlus takes a second cube. Saren seems fascinated by it, though he soon shakes his head and makes to stand. Nihlus pulls him down by the sleeve.

“I have messages at the console,” Saren snaps. “And need to find a matching shirt,” he adds more gently.

Nihlus raises his hands in mock surrender. “Nothing that can’t wait, right? Besides, all your shirts are grey.” Saren pointedly lays his wrist on his thigh to illustrate the difference, and Nihlus sighs. “It’s an expression. All cats are… Oh, never mind. I just want to talk for a bit longer.”

Saren scowls and the little voice inside his head, who can really be a fucking coward sometimes, mutters: this is how the hotshot Spectre’s life ends, with his mouth full of pudding. Nihlus swallows the food, stuffs the voice down the same pipe, and meets Saren’s eyes. The look is venomous, but it bears no fangs. 

“Have you heard about Avitus?”

“Avitus Rix?” 

Nihlus nods. 

“No. What about him?”

“He’s planning to retire. Gonna get out before he hits his limits, or so he says.”

Saren snorts. “He won’t.” 

Listen to those undertones, Kryik, and understand precisely why you should shut up and count your blessings. Won’t even consider it for someone else, never mind himself. In fact, when you wrangled him into civvies -- Nihlus frowns, his stomach fluttering. The voice is drowned, though it’s trying to claw its way back up. “Don’t be so sure. Look at you. You’re more of a businessman these days.”

“I have found my limits.”

“You have? And what’re you going to tell me next, that your plan is to become a broker? A venture capitalist, even?” He chuckles. “Or that you really like Noveria’s weather, and that the alpine regions aren’t so bad during the summer. That you want to settle down here, adopt a couple of baby krogan. Don’t lie to me.”

“That’s a vast misinterpretation.”

“Enlighten me, then. What’s the retirement plan?”

Saren looks at him like he’s a modern sculpture, the one in that Thessian gallery that’s just a solid block of granite. Very dense granite. “The Council and related authorities decide when--”

“The Council,” Nihlus interrupts, “spent three days on an agricultural tax bill for some asari colony, added hundreds of amendments, and just left it on the table for next month. Pardon me when I say that they shouldn’t be the arbiters of our lives.”

“I see you’ve acquired an interest in Citadel governance. Recent?”

“Reluctant. Has its own charms, but best appreciated when I’m no longer slogging through Omega on their behalf, I’m sure.”

“Politics won’t suit you. Perhaps you should revisit the works of those elcor poets you praised not long ago. Your voice brings them to life.”

“Are you saying that I should do poetry readings at local dives for a living? Do they even have those on Noveria? I didn’t think so. It’s all so… modern. Clean and corporate. It stinks here, Saren.” Saren hums his assent. “If you’re trying to correct things, if you think they’re better than the slavers in the Traverse -- well, that may be, but the roots of all evil are the same, aren’t they? It seems futile. And besides, every adoption agency’s going to take one look at your face and hide their babies, krogan or no.”

“I’m only here for business,” Saren repeats irritably. “If you want to announce your own retirement, stop avoiding the topic.”

“Like how you’re avoiding yours?”

Saren glares at him then, and he’s pretty sure the delicate display case behind his skull now sports a couple of cracks. The little voice trapped in his gizzard lets out a squeak, which he quashes by helping himself to a generous serving of the bevelled cake. It’s cold now, but meaty enough. As he drops it into his mouth, he glares right back into those cybernetic eyes. Nihlus won’t be the first to look away. “Yeah, I mean it. Call me cocky, but don’t call me wrong. I worry, you know.”

Saren flexes the fingers of his prosthetic, and clenches them into a fist. Shards of ice are beating relentlessly against the windowpanes. “We can put those worries to rest.”

“Gladly, after you finish,” Nihlus makes a sweeping gesture over the remaining food. “Not sparring when you’re hungry.”

Saren impales some cake with vehemence. “Your remarks on the Council can be interpreted as treasonous.” Nihlus opens his mouth to speak, but Saren holds up his hand, the ugly mechanical hand he’d earned in their service. “It’s important to maintain our reputation of loyalty, especially in these times. We must keep other powers in check.” 

Nihlus works his jaw. Need to divert that combustible train of thought to safer tracks. “I get it, Noveria is a bad fit. You could settle in the Traverse instead; that’s a better idea. I’m sure they’d be grateful if you just shot down some pirates from time to time, retired or not. And then you can tinker with the Virial all day long, no distractions, no dockworkers. Plenty of unclaimed planets out there. How’s that for personal space?”

“Nihlus,” Saren whispers, and Nihlus suddenly gets the impression that he is speaking from a great distance, from the future, perhaps, where Nihlus’s earnest pleas can find no echo. From the distant past, back when Nihlus had believed himself beneath the notice of that famous Spectre, the youngest turian ever inducted, and now the longest to hold that post. Those ageless eyes are still mesmerising, though they no longer reflect his face. 

But then, then -- he realises that he’s tired. He slinks out from that gaze and gently shakes his head. 

“I’ve heard it all before,” he says. You believe you were forged, not born. Saren blinks, and Nihlus smiles. Feels like he spent hours getting Saren into that shirt last night. Under the sterile lights of the dining room, its narrow stripes clash horribly with his differently-striped pants. “I know, it’s okay. But it only means you’ll have time to find the perfect LZ with your Spectre privileges. I’m counting on you, because I’m not making hundreds of decision charts to find a place to call home. Tropical climates only, please. And preferably not like Invictus.”

The shared memory is enough to lift Saren’s mandibles by a precious few degrees. “And if the search is fruitless?”

Nihlus looks outside. What were once icy flakes had turned into dice-sized hailstones, and the window’s noise-cancellation function had automatically engaged itself. So much for the Noverian summer. The gravy around the meat, too, had cooled to an unappetising jelly. He shoves it around with his fork, making a little pile atop the last remaining slice. 

“This isn’t half bad,” he replies.

[kylosbrickhousebody]

Ch. 16 of Club Starkiller (has been) up

Bit late on this one, sorry! Ch. 16 of Club Starkiller has been up. NSFW.

This is different, now—being tied down, about to do a scene, completely powerless to stop whatever will happen save for her safeword.

He’s no longer about to simply use her body to demonstrate techniques: he’s about to do whatever he wants with it.

Boots crunch around the side of her left leg.

“Rhea,” he speaks, somehow different now, too. More focused. The presenting attitude is gone, like there’s no one watching them at all. She feels alone in more ways than one.

“You may look at me, or you may close your eyes. Look at no one else.”

Decisive. Confident.

It’s an order.

“Nod now so I know you understand me.”

It happens mostly before she can process it; she nods. His tone leaves little room for arguing—too decisive, too factual, like he’s sure she’ll obey even though she isn’t.

“Good girl.”

He walks to one side of her, left hand fanning out over the accompanying side. He rubs at the skin there as if to say I’m here, simultaneously moving something above her body.

She stills; tries not to tense up too much.

Little touches travel from the nape of her neck, down her back, into the small depression above her pelvis, over her ass.

The falls feel like a soft suede this time, each a little heavy but nevertheless smoothly gliding over her body.

He stops, draping the flogger over her waist so the tails rest over her body.

Both large hands grip at her thighs, rub a little harshly.

She barely suppresses a shiver.

“Does that feel nice?”

Rhea isn’t sure how she’s supposed to answer.

He makes eye contact a moment later, pulling back a tad. She nods.

“Mhm hmphf.”

He gives a little smile. It feels like its own reward.

“Good.”

When he picks up the flogger and pulls back again, she finds it a little bit unnerving how willing she is to watch him.

He’s a confusing man; some parts of his body barely go with others. He has muscles, that’s for sure, though they’re less defined as others in the club. It’s like he’s built them only for practical purpose—no showing off intended. It makes him seem more powerful somehow.

Where his body is long and lean, his face is comparatively plush. Birthmarks pepper his skin, but he looks the very definition of privilege, like he’s had a skin and hair routine for a long, long time. Perfectly groomed. Aquiline nose bisecting his features.

The combination is almost unnerving. She’s never seen anything quite like it in a man before.

She feels somehow a little dizzy, even though he’s barely started hitting her. No adrenaline rush can account for the feeling.

“Mhmmmmphf.”

It’s a long whine. She doesn’t mean to make any noise, but somehow it slips out.

He smiles again, gentle.

“Sweet sub.”

He cocks his head to one side.

“Well, maybe only when tied up. But it’ll do for now.”

She tries to make eyes at him, tries to somehow magick what he’s planning to do. No signal cuts through the noise to tell her.

“Try to stay still, Rhea. Remember that this is because I like you.”

She barely has time to process before she sees him raise one arm, grasp the tails, and strike.

Whamp.

Unf.

It smacks her across the back.

He does it again, rearing back so he catches every tail in his hand—he’s obviously done this millions of times before—and whips at the wrist to strike her again with the classic handled flogger.

Whamp!

It’s hard to miss that this hit is harder. She groans a little, mostly suffocated by the gag.

It feels like a thousand tiny hammers are raining down on her, all across her back. Each feels a little more forceful than the last, but somehow the reverb they cause in her lungs feels comforting—cathartic, even. It feels a little like very large drops of rain are hitting her, the kind that come from a thunderstorm. She can almost imagine curling up with a blanket and a book—

Whamp!

She wants to bite a lip, wants to bite down on her cheek, but she can’t. She can only lie still, take it, and feel what comes after.

She thinks about which tea she’d drink in a violent thunderstorm—maybe a chamomile?—and—

Whamp! Whamp whamp whamp!

Her logical brain helpfully supplies that it hurts, but somehow it feels so, so good, too. It vibrates through her body, grounds her to the table. She curls and unfurls her toes.

WHAMP!

Harder. He’s hitting her harder.

A wave of lubrication rolls through her, slicking her entrance more than it already is, smearing onto her inner thighs.

I can’t—

Whamp!

—believe—

WHAMP!

—I like this—

WHAMP!

He can, though. He seems to know exactly what she needs.

Ben catches her eyes again, holds her gaze to his. She can’t look away even as decorum calls for it.

Take it, he breathes between beatings. Good girl.

She does: has no choice. Feels good.

When he steps away, she feels almost dizzy.

She wraps her fingers tighter around the rods. She won’t let go.

He walks down, boots squeaking again. He disappears. When he maneuvers between her legs again, she finds she doesn’t mind this time. Her skin pebbles into little raised bumps, but she doesn’t clench, doesn’t feel the same anxiety.

She breathes in through her nose, then out, appreciating every rise and fall of her lungs.

Plastic packaging pops open somewhere behind her, though she’s only somewhat aware of the noise. It doesn’t grate on her like it did before; she doesn’t feel the need to crane her neck and get a look.

Something hums to life, then; some mechanical squeaking comes from somewhere down and beneath her body. And then—then—

Something large, unmoving, vibrates on her clit.

It’s a wand: she can tell even in her addled state.

He’s placed it on the lowest setting, thank god, but still the powerful toy hums between her legs, jiggling either thigh. She grasps the sides of the bench, bars pressed between her palms and the bench.

“Unmmmf.”

He reappears, smiling a little, yet all business. She can tell his only focus is with her.

Feels good.

Wait—no—

Yes.

“You may come if you can manage it.”

He rears back again, again grasping the tails in one large hand, again sending them cascading over her body.

This time they land, brutally, over her thighs. There’s thud, yes, but they sting, too.

Her pussy clamps down hard, pressing her clit into the vibrator.

She tries to raise her hips experimentally in a half-hearted attempt to escape.

She can’t budge. Once again, all she can do is lay there, take it, lean into the sensations.

He does it again.

God, it’s hard, she thinks, tonguing at the gag. It won’t move. Nothing will move—

Whamp!

Again.

He’s setting a rhythm, a pace.

The falls travel up, slowly, from her thighs to where they meet her ass, onto her cheeks.

The entire region heats, then starts to burn.

“Oooooomphhhh—”

She sounds pleading and, if completely sober, she would’ve objected to how terribly needy she sounded. Like this, though, she barely notices, only wants more, and—

“Good girl.”

Whamp!

She whines, louder. She can’t help it anymore: the sounds are all their own, coming out whether she wants them to or not.

Whamp! Whamp! WHAMP WHAMP WHAMP!

She can feel herself grasp at the restraints, flex abdominal muscles under the softness of her stomach. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up. There’s nothing she can do.

A trail of spit rolls down her chin.

He disappears between her legs again.

She breathes—in, out, in, out—and tries to count each breath. She keeps finding that she loses count after a few, questions the count, has to start over.

I—I—

Then she feels her panties being pulled aside so that they rest on the right asscheck, exposing her pussy.

Long, thick, warm fingers slide through her folds.

“Unf. Ummmf—”

“Shh,” he murmurs. “Shhhhh. I’ve got you.”

She presses her eyes closed, involuntarily, focusing on the vibrations against her clit.

Two fingers stretch and slide into her, side-by-side, feeling almost too much.

She whines, pants, moans into the gag.

He doesn’t stop.

Master Ben’s fingers start pumping within her, this time curling a bit down, rubbing against one of her inner walls.

She tries to raise her hips again; her legs start shaking with the pressing need of it all.

“Come.”

It’s an order, leaving no room for interpretation, and again she finds herself dumbfounded that her body seems to obey.

Her pussy clenches once, twice, before a shudder wracks her body on the third. She feels herself clamp down on him, again and again, clit suddenly shoved off the edge of a cliff into the chasm of overstimulation.

He grinds his palm into her, digits almost too deep. She comes, a little violently, alongside a groan which makes her bite hard into the gag.

She usually never makes noise.

“Beautiful. That’s it.”

Ben pulls his fingers out.

She moans loudly at the loss of fullness.

“Shhhh. Greedy, messy thing.” He shuffles behind her; she can feel her wetness coating her thighs. “Hush,” he orders. “Take this now.”

Something cooler presses against her entrance before sliding in easily, already slicked from the lubrication her body offers.

It presses in, nearly the same width as his fingers, thinner than a cock. He twists it within her, rotates it, pulls out, presses back in.

She whines, tries to rub her clit against the vibrating wand.

The Dom behind her turns up the setting.

Little tears form at the waterlines of her eyes.

Too much. Too, too much—

It’s all too much. She can barely breathe, and—

It registers that the handle of the flogger is inside her.

“Do it. Come.”

It’s another order, harsher this time. She can hear the strain of huskiness in his voice.

She tries to keep herself from doing it, but in trying to resist again clamps down. It pumps once, twice, three times—all hard—and she finds herself going over again against her better wishes.

Again she yells something incoherent and foreign sounding into the gag. It seems almost a blessing, now, that she even wears one.

“Consider how much bigger my cock is; how that might make you feel—”

She does, moaning, all social pretense thrown out the window. All her shyness, her shame, is gone now. She feels only the intense vibrations on her clit and the silkiness of his voice.

Her eyes are screwed shut. She bites down on the gag so hard that she’s sure her teeth must have penetrated the rubber by now.

He pulls the handle out and slaps her cunt.

“Come.”

She would’ve been embarrassed if she was all there. She would’ve cursed him up and down, called him all kinds of names, asked him exactly who the fuck he thought he was.

Now all she does is sob into the gag and pulse repeatedly on nothing.

Master Ben slaps her ass, hard, with a cupped hand.

He does it again when her sobs start to die down.

An unintelligible stream of noises come from her mouth, no longer any one discernable sound.

Her thoughts are equally jumbled, all interconnected and contradictory at once.

“Good girl.”

There’s a long pause; she struggles to breathe.

She breathes in, long, through her noise. Out. In, through her nose, gasping to fill her lungs. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

She can’t explain why this is happening. She can come on her own but usually only in her quarters, when it’s completely quiet, at night, with her eyes screwed shut. Even then, it takes minutes and minutes and minutes of concentration. She can’t deviate at all from the rhythm she applies to her clit or she finds she has to start all over again.

This—this feels unfair, another great cosmic injustice in a list of cosmic injustices. How is it that he can make her come so easily?

He doesn’t even know what having a clit or a cunt is like. He has a cock, and—

SMACK!

She screams.

SMACK!

Oww. A sob wracks her body.

God, it hurts. Really, really hurts.

Somewhere, behind her, she completely neglected to notice that he picked up another flogger.

The vibrator hums, overwhelmingly, on the now-too-sensitive nub of her clit.

Please, please, she tries to beg. He can’t hear her. The words get lost in the gibberish translation of the gag.

Please.

“Kriff,” Master Nolan leans over towards Master Marcus. Both men have their arms folded. “What a fucking gamer.”

Marcus grins. He watches as the sub tries to scream again. He thinks he hears the classic flurry of begging coming from the sub. “Told you.”

“Ugh.” Nolan nearly touches his forehead to his palm. “We’re going to get so many requests for her.”

Marcus takes a sip of his beer. “Yep.”

“And we’ll have to turn them all down.”

“Yep.”

“Man, I don’t think even Ben expected this.”

“I know I didn’t. She seemed tough, but this is something else.”

“Man, he’s such a bastard, isn’t he? Forcing a scene before the rest of you.”

“Yep.” Marcus swallows. That’s how it is sometimes. Oh well. “You think we’ll even get to play with her?”

Nolan considers, spinning his own glass over and over in one hand. “I’m sure he’ll allow her to rotate once, if just out of respect for you guys.”

“But after that,” Marcus takes another sip, “All bets are off.”

Nolan nods solemnly. “All bets are off.”

[acevillainswhodunnit]

Introduction, Part 2

The words of John Doe are as loud as a gunshot and just as quick.

DARYAN CRESCEND knew all about quick, ruthless murders. He’s spent years hunting down criminals and standing face to face with death, always living on the edge. Even when the gun was in his own hand, he could remember the adrenaline and fear that ran through him after he had pulled the trigger. There was something about staring face to face with a corpse that made one really think about how fragile life was and how permanent death could be.  

Whatever scene Daryan had been thrown into now could only be defined as messy. It was an understatement of course. Daryan, before his incarceration, had been in the midst of disaster, as part of his past profession as a detective. He had an eye and ear for danger, and a mouth that always got him into trouble.

As furious as he is, slowly Daryan’s anger sobers him. His eyes are no longer hazy and his breaths no longer come out in shaky gasps. As quickly as his mind wraps around the fact that he is in immediate danger, his senses go haywire.

With a quick scan around the room, which the map lists as the foyer, Daryan counts twelve people, thirteen including himself. What came as a bigger shock than the fact that there was a dead body hanging two feet from off the floor was the fact that the other guests were in collapsed states much like Daryan himself, and that they have recognizable faces. More unsettling, it seems their prison garbs have been changed back into their normal attire.

Daryan didn't appreciate being dressed without his consent, and he clenched his fists as he turned back to the man who had spoken earlier.

“Don’t look too alarmed, I am sure there are none here who are unsettled by death, for it will be a constant companion while in this estate. I, too, will be a constant presence here.” John Doe lifts his hands slightly, making a show out of all of this. “You might find this a tad rushed, but there is a method to this madness, and the thrill of a mystery has quite the appeal, especially when the next to die could be any single one of you....”

A man with tanned skin seethes against the wall, his nostrils flaring. Daryan recognizes him easily. FURIO TIGRE lives up to his name, his entire demeanor one of disbelief and absolute wrath. It was why he was one of the most dangerous convicts inside of state prison, having caused fights and riots on the daily, back when Daryan was just a greenhorn.

To Daryan’s right another man stands, if only to make a show of his own build. If Daryan’s mouth wasn’t so dry he may have choked on his spit at seeing REDD WHITE, a criminal blackmailer with a violent streak appear among the crowd. Redd was quick to open his mouth to make a comment, as men his type are prone to do, only for the ominous figure to halt him.

“I must ask you to refrain from asking any questions. I wouldn’t want you to start this little game without knowing the rules first.” Doe’s mechanical voice screeches, “that would be cheating, and cheaters will meet a fitting end.”

A tall, lanky fellow known as LUKE ATMEY jumps to his feet as well, stroking his chin as he wildly observes the scene. Daryan knew the freelance Ace Detective only by headings in old newspapers. The man had been a case study back in the day when Daryan was on the force. What a pompous, over confident man.

Suddenly, he catches sight of the woman sitting directly in front John Doe. Her back is turned towards John as if his narrative was one that she had heard a dozen of times before. DEE VASQUEZ, who Daryan realizes is the mob related ex-producer of children’s fighting shows, has little interest in this conversation, and rather is watching the others in the room.

“I will make it very clear to all of you that this has been a game set up by one of your peers, for reasons that may or may not interest you. I, your humble guide, will provide you with the tools you need to survive to the end, and it will be under your own volition to do so.” John becomes far more serious, losing his jovial tone.

Two women sitting side by side, a duo Daryan recognizes as MORGAN FEY and MIMI MINEY, appear to be casually immersed in Doe’s grandiose ramblings, perhaps a front to cover their true emotions. Morgan has a faint sneer on her face, a wrinkle on her forehead growing deeper with every one of John’s pointed statements. Even her hand covering her mouth does little to hide her disdain. Mimi, with her expression hidden by her hat, seems to share a similar mindset, her jaw tensed up as she grits her teeth.

The tension in the air is as heavy as the severity of Doe’s tone.

“There will be laws here, and to those who chose to take them with a grain of salt, I will make this game a living hell for you. Heed my warnings, I do not wish to repeat myself.” Doe takes a step forward, his body now hidden in the shadow of the statue. “You will be guests in this two floor estate. You will be able to venture into any room before nightfall. You are prohibited from harming one another. And of course, you are prohibited from leaving.”

A prim and proper looking woman, one who instantly grates on Daryan’s nerves for her holier than thou attitude, huffs in indignation. ALITA TIALA was clearly not amused at the curfew or the restrictions. She digs her nails into her palm, her eyes darting from one face to another.

Doe’s shoe squeaks against tile as he shifts his weight, “Don’t look so alarmed, this is supposed to be a challenge after all. That is why we have placed such precautions. To succeed at these cases, you will be forbidden to share images, especially those found in any of your private conversations. It has been pre-decided that only one of the twelve who stands before me will make it to the end of this game, and the prize? Well, of course there would need to be a prize for something as extravagant as this. I will elaborate about that later on, of course. It would be too easy to give you everything now.”

Daryan can feel his face grow warm with anger as Doe’s bullshit fills the air. He recognizes YANNI YOGI and LANA SKYE, who are both in the middle of the room. Lana seems disturbed at the realization that eleven people could be murdered right before her eyes, while Yanni was asleep quite casually on the ground. Daryan was disgusted by Yanni’s lack of regard for their current predicament, but could tell that the light drumming of his fingers against his thigh meant that Yanni was awake and following the conversations, despite not wanting to be part of it.

“In regards to investigating, clues will be given to each remaining guest, and you may decide amongst yourselves who you will trust, and who you will betray. We do encourage you to share your clues; it is ideal to keep your friends close and your enemies closer, especially with you lot.”

A young woman Daryan recognizes from the few newspapers he was able to get his hands on in prison lets out a yawn at the explanation, which irks their so-called host. CAMMY MEELE crosses her arms and rests against the wall, apparently taking a page from Yanni Yogi and sleep off the events of today away.

Unfortunately, Doe has other plans.

“Those who do not follow house rules will be punished accordingly, so be very careful about whose trust you decide to abuse. They may carry a grudge…”

MATT ENGARDE, ex pretty boy superstar, suddenly gasps as he sinks against the wall, his mouth gaping open in fear as John Doe finally appears in the center of the room. There is a moment of silence as several other people do the same, the man’s identity now clear.

“Some of you may know me from the past,  but for now consider me as simply your humble servant… and also your host. I will now allow you the privilege of investigation. Discuss among yourselves who will have the pleasure of examining the body in a makeshift morgue, who will prefer to visit the last known whereabouts of the victim, and who will stay here in the foyer to examine this charming crime scene of ours. Four spots are allotted to each location, so think carefully and contact me when you are ready. Until then, I will patiently await your decision.”

Shelly de Killer smiles, and leaves the choice hanging in the air.

All eyes return to the dead body as night one officially begins. 

[ceslatoil]

Fiddleford in Fairyland, Part One

My first entry this week for @fiddleford-appreciation-month is a story about an expedition Parallel Fiddleford takes into an alternate dimension called Faerie. More under the cut!

Fiddleford had read plenty of stories about folks finding themselves in magical, faraway lands as a kid. He’d read each of the Narnia books over and over again, and had even kept an old, battered omnibus of the Oz books in his current private library, though in truth, he’d been more interested in all the strange, mechanical people like Tik Tok and the Tin Man than Dorothy’s silly adventures.

All the same, when the International Institute of Oddology had managed to discover an interdimensional access point to a place just as odd as Narnia and Oz right in the Oregon woods outside town, Fiddleford surprised everyone by volunteering to head the expedition. There were, of course, some doubts about this; though Fiddleford was a brilliant scientist and an integral part of the Institution, he was still a very anxious person, and his last journey, which had ended with an entire dimension disappearing all together, had left him shaken.

But, to his own shock, he insisted on going. He had grown used to the strange anomalies since he’d arrived in Gravity Falls some thirty years ago, even if most of the monsters and creatures that were drawn to this town were quite frightening. Magical creatures always seemed so charming, with the possible exception of Unicorns, who were just plain jerks. How scary could this magic dimension be?

So, after saying goodbye to Stanford that morning (a rather hug filled, warm affair that made Fiddleford second guess leaving), Fidds took a group of security officers and a few researchers and headed to the site that lay deep in the woods. It was a large, stone doorway in one of the deepest parts of the forest; strange ruins in a language none of the scientists had been able to identify were carved all over it, and an image of a sun and moon in eclipse loomed at the very top. Staring at this carving for too long sent a shiver down Fiddleford’s spine, which was not helped by the fact that nothing could be seen on the other side of the door.

Gulping, he reluctantly lead his team into the darkness, and for what seemed like hours they marched through the gloomy corridor, until they came across a bright light twinkling in the distance.

“Finally,” mumbled one of the security officers. “My feet are killing me.”

“I dunno,” whispered one of the younger officers, Cadet Corduroy, “You ever heard of looking out for oncoming trains when you see lights at the end of tunnels?”

It wasn’t exactly encouraging.

When they stepped out into the light, however, they were greeted by a lovely field of poppies that lay just by a river; beyond that was a large swath of farmland, and beyond that, a massive, dark forest.

“Golly, this is just beautiful,” said Fiddleford softly; the research team at once began to snap photos for documentation. “Just fantastical! Though I cain’t see where the reports of it being a magic dimension came from—”

Barreling from the woods came a monster, one that looked like a giant man with terrible, misshapen muscles and a lumpy, pale face with one eyelid drooping. It took one look at the tiny research team and let out a terrible, creepy cry that sounded like laughter before it lunged at them. Several of the researchers cowered and lost their heads entirely out of pure fear, but the security officers were made of tougher stuff, and took aim at the beast with their laser guns. Though they made several incredible shots that would have taken down a lesser foe, the terrible giant was completely unaffected by their attack.

“Fvb’yl qbza h spaasl jopjrlu, Jollw, jollw, jollw, jollw,” the beast snarled down at the security officers. The giant reached out one of its muscular arms and snatched Fiddleford up within the iron grip of his hands.

“Help!”

The beast leered down at Fiddleford with a dangerous look in its eyes. Or, maybe it was just sleepy. It was hard to make out facial expressions, as the giant looked like it had eaten a hive of bees and washed them all down with cold medicine: the result was a pale, lumpy faced giant who was even more terrifying up close than he was at a distance.

“Vo ohp Thyr! Ovd'z fvby zle spml,” the beast roared at Fiddleford, and just as the poor scientist thought he had reached his doom, a large rock slammed against the giant’s face.

“Kvu'a avbjo tl tvaolymbjrly,” the beast growled down to the ground. From what Fiddleford could see, a small girl in a yellow dress was flying at the monster, raising her arms and making boulders ten times her size fly at the giant’s face.

“What in tarnation,” Fidds cried, the girl continued to attack and scream profanities at the giant while the beast still kept its grip around him. Soon, other strange, flying girls began to attack the giant; a girl with wild, magenta colored curls was throwing large cherries that exploded when they made contact against the giant’s face, and another, her dress as black as her skin and hair was a ghostly, inhuman white, lobbed arrows into the giant’s eye. The giant laughed creepily once more, the arrows were about as effective as the lasers had been.

“Unhand this man at once,” commanded a powerful voice near Fiddleford’s right, he couldn’t turn his head to see who was speaking.

“Fvb svvr zv zlef Ahufh!” The giant offered the speaker an eerie, wooden smile that chilled Fiddleford to the core.

“I don’t care; you will leave these visitors to our land in piece, now let him go,” the voice snapped at the giant.

“FVB HYL ALHYPUN TL HWHYA, AHUFH!”

Enraged, the beast suddenly released his tight fisted grip on Fiddleford, and the man felt a terrible lurch as he began to hurtle towards the ground, which was roughly sixty feet in the air. Before he gained too much momentum, however, something else snatched him up around his armpits and held him aloft. He hadn’t even been able to register the thought of who or what had caught him when a sensation like being sucked into a vacuum began to consume his whole body, and he found himself being laid down upon the ground.

“Boss!”

Cadet Corduroy knelt down next to Fiddleford, who was shaking and pale, his knees bouncing together uncontrollably, but otherwise seemed perfectly unharmed. Fiddleford looked up to see a winged creature in white and gold armor looking down on him as well as the young cadet.

Good lord, what am I even looking at right now, he thought dizzily.

“Keep him safe while I get rid of the giant,” the armored creature told the Cadet, who nodded. Cadet Corduroy gently sat up the older scientist; Fiddleford looked up to see a flash of brilliant, sparkling light, one last scream from the Giant, and it was at this he lost consciousness at last.

*  *  *

When he woke about five minutes later, a tiny green creature that looked like a humanoid moth was flicking his nose with a stick.

“D’you think he died?” squeaked the creature to another, the pale, slender archer from before.

“I ain’t dead, get off my nose,” grumbled Fiddleford, who shooed away the green girl with a wave of his hand. Fiddleford still felt dizzy and disoriented, so he laid still while the others around him continued to talk.

“He has terrible grammar,” sniffed the white haired girl, who narrowed her black eyes at him disapprovingly. “Are you sure he’s really supposed to be a brilliant scientist?”

She had directed this question to Corduroy, who was a little disturbed by this strange creature, in no small part because she looked a bit like the ghost in the Japanese Horror franchise The Creepy Woman and Her Cat-Son Who Yelled at American Tourists Until They Went Crazy.

“He is brilliant,” Wendy managed to choke out tersely, “He just gets a little freaked out by some of the larger monsters. He had a bad experience with one of the cryptids he and Dr. Pines encountered when they were younger; something called a Gremoblin tried to kidnap him, it shook him up a bit.”

“Yikes. Say no more,” said the girl in the yellow dress, the one who had thrown rocks at the giant��s head. Her entire body was made of different shades of orange and yellow, from her sunset colored skin with bright yellow freckles to her lava-red hair, which she wore in several small braids across her head. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of Gremoblins in the past and I’ll say one word: Daddy. Issues.”

“Those are two words, Mustardseed.”

“Can it, Cobweb!”

“Both of you move,” said the woman in white armor sternly. The three strange girls hovering over Fiddleford dispersed as the woman knelt down next to him. She removed her helmet; the woman had a lovely, dark complexion and curly hair the color of pink champagne that she kept bound up in a bun.

“Wow,” whispered Corduroy, “She’s pretty cute.”

“That’s Queen Titania,” hissed Mustardseed, “You can’t call the Queen cute!”

“Wow, ain’t you just the cutest thing,” Fiddleford loudly told the Queen. She laughed, a warm, friendly sound, thought Fiddleford, as she helped him to his feet.

“Well, it sounds like you’re not any worse for wear,” said the Queen, looking the old man over, “Let me know if you’re feeling any pain so we can get you medical treatment. Not everyone who faces the Gurrero Street Beast gets off so easy.”

“Well golly, I sure am grateful ya saved me ladies,” said Fiddleford, addressing the six women with good cheer.

“Sorry your first trip to Faerie had an overly exciting beginning,” said Titania, shaking Fiddleford’s hand. Midway through, however, she paused as she examined his face; suddenly, her eyes went wide and she shot her hand to her chest, as if she had seen a ghost.

“Oh my stars,” she whispered; turning to the other fairies, she cried, “I don’t believe it—it’s McGucket!”

Fiddleford and Corduroy shared a bemused look. How did the Queen of the Fairies know Fiddleford’s name?

“What? Come on Tanya, this guy looks nothing like McGucket,” said Mustardseed dismissively.

“My lady, the fight with the Gurrero Street Beast was exhausting,” chimed the girl with magenta hair, whose name was Peaseblossom. “Perhaps you’re just confused.”

Titania shot her servants a glare. Without a word, she pulled a wand from a scabbard at her side, and, after giving it a flick, she made a long, white beard and a floppy hat appear on Fiddleford’s face and head.

At this point, Fiddleford couldn’t think of anything to say other than, “Why does my beard have a bandage on it? Weird.”

The other four fairies screamed.

“Face stealer!” cried the green one, Moth, who began to kick Fiddleford in the shins.

“Ouch! Now you stop that,” chided Fiddleford, lifting the tiny winged girl into his hands. “Yer actin’ like a conswalloping hogwash salesman on the fourth of july!”

“… Yup, it’s him,” Titania nodded her head in triumph. She made the beard and hat vanish by waving the silver wand carefully, returning Fiddleford to his normal state.

“I don’t understand… how can this man still be McGucket,” said Peaseblossom, scrutinizing the older scientist with narrowed eyes.

“I told you, he’s a face stealer, Duh,” squeaked Moth, still waving her fists wildly at Fiddleford.

“Well, my name is Fiddleford McGucket,” he admitted, “and my team and I are from an institution that studies the oddities of the universe—in fact, we came all the way from our world to study yours! I think we’re the only version of our dimension that can travel to different worlds, but it’s entirely possible that you ran across a version of me from an alternate dimension?”

“We did recently open up a permanent portal to Earth,” said Titania slowly, “It’s entirely possible that the portal is available to all the different possible earths as well?”

“It’s a shaky theory, but the only one we have to work with in the present,” nodded Fiddleford. He frowned, however, when he realized that at any moment, an alternate version of himself could come waltzing into Faerie and possibly destroy the entire dimension should they accidentally run into each other.

“We should probably leave,” Fiddleford turned to Corduroy, “The risk of dimensional collapse is too high if an alternate me is on the loose—I couldn’t bare to repay my rescuers by accidentally destroying their home!”

“Nonsense,” said Titania, clapping her hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder. “McGucket rarely visits this dimension, and surely we can find a way to send a warning about the possible danger. I’ll have my servants send a letter explaining the whole thing. In the meanwhile, why don’t you and your team stay at my old family home? You’d be able to set up base and have access to our library if you needed to gather some research on Faerie’s history and culture.”

“You’d really do all that for us?” Fiddleford asked excitedly, hardly believing the institute’s good fortune.

“Anything for a good, old friend,” said Titania warmly. “Who, now that I think about it, is actually a new friend? A new old friend, perhaps we should say? Oh, who cares, everybody back to Eclipse Manor for a feast!”

                                                      *  *  *                                                                  Eclipse Manor, a country chateau just outside of a small village in the woods, was quite beautiful with a quiet, comfortable elegance. The research team immediately began snapping photos and writing down descriptions of the comfortable, elegant mansion, and didn’t stop taking notes until Fiddleford chided them into putting those things aside when the Queen called them all to dinner.

It was a wonderful feast of roasted chicken, baked sweet potatoes, buttery dinner rolls and a spinach salad—it reminded Fiddleford of Sunday dinners with his family when he was a child. There was, however, a slight incident when one of the security officers refused to take a bit.

“Would you like something else,” asked the Queen, offering security officer Ramirez a concerned look, “I’d hate for any of my guests to go hungry.”

“Um…” Ramirez looked highly uncomfortable, Fiddleford could see beads of flop sweat beginning to drip down his forehead as the table turned his attention to him.

“What, do you think our food sucks or something,” said Mustardseed aggressively. Titania shot Mustardseed a nasty look as Ramirez recoiled at her accusation.

“No! Um, no I really like food, little fairy dood,” said Ramirez nervously.

“Then eat up, Ramirez,” Fiddleford said, raising his glass of wine with good cheer, “I wasn’t raised to let anyone waste food at the dinner table.”

“Yeah but—oh man, what if the food turns out to be enchanted and we get stuck here forever like in all the fantasy books! This place is nice but I’d miss my grandma!”

Fiddleford grimaced, he thought for sure the Queen would have been offended, but she merely laughed again.

“Oh, you poor thing,” said Titania, patting a now mortified Ramirez’s arm kindly. “I assure you, food chain spells have long since been made illegal in this land, but if you would like, I can get somebody to run back to your dimension and get you something else.”

Relieved that the Queen wasn’t mad at him and that dinner wasn’t cursed, Ramirez assured her that he’d eat what was put out in front of him, and soon everyone was tucking in.

In addition to the fine food, the research team’s hosts were all lively conversationalists: Mustardseed and Corduroy were arm wrestling each other once the dishes had been cleared away, Moth kept daring Ramirez to try different kinds of food, a challenge he approached with unwavering bravery no matter how odd the dish was, and the researchers hung onto every word of Peaseblossom’s stories about the history of Faerie, which kept getting interrupted by Cobweb, who would add bawdy, off-color comments about the story much to her embarrassment.

Meanwhile, as all this was happening, Titania and Fiddleford were quickly becoming the best of friends; she asked him quite a few questions about the Institute and listened intently.

“Fascinating—so you run the robotics department? Whatever made you decide to lead an expedition,” asked Titania, who was trying to urge her small son, Daya, into finishing his sweet potatoes as she spoke to him.

“Well,” said Fiddleford, taking a swig from his wine glass once more, “I guess you could say I was curious—we used to read fairy stories all the time at my house when I was a kid, and I guess I just wanted to see what it was really like.” He smiled at Daya, who was scowling at his sweet potatoes with unmingled dislike.

”Well I certainly count myself lucky to meet you today,” said Titania, who’s smile faded to a frown when Daya rudely stuck his tongue out at the hated sweet potatoes. “Come on baby, eat!”

“No!”

“I’m glad to have met you too,” said Fiddleford earnestly, “I probably would have been eaten up by that giant, completely unlike how this little fella ain’t eating his taters.”

“Tatoes are yucky,” screeched Daya.

“Well, if you don’t want ‘em, I’ll steal ‘em for ya,” said Fiddleford, reaching his fork over to Daya’s plate.

Daya’s eyes grew wide, and without any warning, he began to shove handfuls of potato into his mouth to keep Fiddleford from grabbing any.

“My taters!”

“Well, darn, guess I’ll go without,” said Fiddleford with mock disappointment as he winked at Titania.

“I should invite you over more often,” said Titania, impressed. “Maybe then Daya would eat his vegetables more often.”

“Comes with lots of practice—the institute offers a childcare program to any wayward interdimensional refugees that come across our part of the universe,” said Fiddleford brightly. “I’ve had to coax my fair share of kids into eating their veggies than I can count!”

“Perhaps I’ll give you a call when Daya’s old enough to start school then,” said Titania warmly.

“We’d be happy to have him,” said Fiddleford, just as kindly.

“Now, would you mind joining me in the library? I want to show you the place where you can keep your research handy while you’re staying here,” said Titania, standing up from the table.

“Sure shootin’, lead the way,” said Fiddleford, and the two, along with Daya, who had sweet potatoes smeared all across his face, left the rest of the researchers alone in the great hall.

                                                      *  *  *

           The library was a magnificent place, filled with large, mahogany bookshelves that towered over Fiddleford and the Queen as they walked through its aisles, the sweet, comforting scent of old books filling the air like gentle incense. At the end of the room by a roaring fireplace was where the reading area had been arranged—polished wooden tables and comfortable, chintz chairs lay out before them, and the two took a seat opposite one another on the chairs.

           “Care for a chocolate?” asked Titania, indicating a box of chocolates on a nearby coffee table. “And by that I mean please eat them so I won’t. I have enough trouble getting my kid to eat vegetables as it is, what will he think when he sees that I’m constantly eating chocolate.”

           For his part, Daya was slowly starting to doze off as he cuddled close against his mother’s side.

           “Well, I guess I got room for more,” said Fiddleford, reaching over to open the box. He spied a photograph that was kept on the table next to the chocolates, and gasped. He recognized quite a few people present—Ramirez and Corduroy for one, along with Ford, who looked much grayer and rugged than his own Ford back at home, two kids that looked like Ford’s own little niece and nephew from Piedmont, and another man, who, though a bit thicker around the middle and with a more mischievous glint in the eyes, could have been Ford’s double. Titania and her girls were also in the picture, each smiling and laughing over something just off camera.

           “I’ll be,” whispered Fiddleford, “It’s Ford’s family!”

           “Yes,” nodded Titania, a slightly worried tone tinting her voice as she spoke, “Your… partner, correct?”

           “A little bit more than that,” said Fiddleford proudly, indicating the ring on his left hand with a smile. He pursed his lips as he gazed at the photo, pausing at the two twin brothers before saying, “I take it the Ford you know is on better terms with his twin than mine is?”

           “Oh? Are your Pines twins not getting along,” said Titania with a frown.

           “Well,” said Fiddleford sadly, “I tried getting Ford to talk to Stan for years, or at the very least, invite him to our wedding, but we haven’t been able to find him. It’s like he fell off the face of the earth.”

           “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Titania, who hugged her son tightly at this confession, “I know how difficult it is when a family member to go missing. I hope you’ll be able to reunite with him.”

           “Me too, at least for Ford’s sake—he wasn’t on the best terms with him, but I think he’d take it hard if he never got to speak with his brother again,” said Fiddleford quietly. He then smiled and held up the photo as he said, “but this proves that it’s possible, don’t ya think? That they could work everything out.”

           “Of course it is,” said Titania, who at last gave into temptation and grabbed a piece of chocolate from the box. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a family I’ve liked more than the Pines in a long time. I’m sure your version could be just as happy in time. By the way, if you ever do meet Stan again, don’t tell him I said that. I have a reputation to maintain as the best head of our respective found families, and I can’t have him strutting around knowing I said he was better at something, I wouldn’t bear it.”

           “It sounds like you’re awful fond of him to me,” said Fiddleford, wagging his eyebrows knowingly at the Queen. She playfully tossed the piece of chocolate she was holding at him, but he quickly caught it in his mouth.

           “While we’re on the subject,” said Fiddleford, his mouth full of chocolate caramel as he spoke, “Do you mind if I ask about my alternate self? I’ve been meaning to gather information about alternate timelines and how different dimensions compare and contrast, but it’s too dangerous of a risk to meet up with an alternate me! We know of one fella who was able to jerryrig up a whosmajig to keep himself from dissolving along with alternate versions of himself, but he ain’t saying anything to the institute—he has some sort of silly gentleman scientists feud with Stanford for some damn fool reason. So, if’n you don’t mind me asking, your majesty… what am I like?”

           The Queen’s smile faltered, and she grew quite pensive until she finally spoke.

           “You’re a bit balder… and with quite a few less teeth,” she said, looking away for a moment.

           “Oh,” said Fiddleford, frowning. He figured that at least a few different versions of himself wouldn’t age quite as well as he had, and besides, his habit of tearing out his hair when he was anxious probably hadn’t done him any favors. But why did the Queen look so sad?

            “Is something the matter,” asked Fiddleford.

           “Well… I don’t know if I’m the best person to tell you this,” said Titania, who began to stroke her son’s hair nervously, “after all, I only know a little piece about what happened from the version of Stanford I met. There was an incident when you were younger where you fell through a portal; some kind of accident that left you traumatized. You… made a gun that erased memories.”

           There was a trickling, icy sensation that shot down Fiddleford’s back. He had remembered the fight with the Gremoblin, the horrible things he had seen—he had wanted it all to go away so badly, and he thought the gun would be the perfect solution. At Ford’s constant insistence about the possible, dangerous side effects, however, he allowed Ford to destroy his invention.

           “What happened,” said Fiddleford, gulping.

           “It took a severe toll that affected your mental health for decades,” said Titania, her voice soft and full of sorrow. “It took ages for you to recover. You were living on the street.”

           Fiddleford couldn’t describe what he was feeling in that moment exactly—just a sort of lingering shock that a person who narrowly missed being hit by a car would have felt, the dreadful horror of what could have been.

           “… How am I now?” asked Fiddleford slowly after a long time.

           “Well… the Fiddleford I know is now living in a mansion after earning a fortune in inventing patents,” said Titania, who took Fiddleford’s hand and gently squeezed it as she spoke, “He has lots of close friends, and I’m fortunate enough to consider myself one of those friends. Furthermore, just about a week ago, he finally got engaged to his version of Stanford.”

           “He waited that long? Figures he’d take near about forever to get around to it,” said Fiddleford, and for a moment, the mood was light again, and he and the Queen shared a good laugh.

           “It’s getting late,” said Titania, eying the clock on the fireplace mantle. “I need to get my son to bed, and I’m sure you and your team need the rest. I’ll show you to your rooms, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call on any of my girls.”

                                                              *  *  *

           The bed was soft, and his stomach was full, and though his mind was still churning from what the Queen had told him about his double, Fiddleford McGucket easily found himself in a deep, comfortable sleep in his first night in Fairyland.

[chameleonspell]

174: give

[Content warning: embracing the VOID!! Nothing new for this fic, but I mention it because sometimes I worry that Iriel's flirtation with nothingness (or its, uh, consummation, in this case) could encourage suicidal ideation, if you're in that sort of place to begin with. Which: please don't embrace the void. Iriel says it's honestly really boring. Besides, this isn't the last chapter.] Melting through the surface of the rogue moon was easy. Tripping the heavy mechanisms on the inner side was hard. Every physical action seemed to cost Iriel more energy than the last. Viatrix tumbled through the delivery hatch into the empty storage chamber, bounced to her feet and brushed herself down. Ire slipped into the next room, checked for guards, then slid aside the bolts on the door for her. She jumped, when he whispered that it was unlocked, face stiffening in shock, like she'd heard a ghost.

They crept downwards through the curving tunnels, eaten into the core of the rock by Temple kwamadrivers. Viatrix kept trying to proceed before he'd confirmed it was safe, then stifling squeaks when he solidified enough to catch her arm. Each time, it took more force to get through to her, to remind her she wasn't alone. The problem was, it was mutual. Despite the danger, Iriel found his concentration wavering, his surroundings growing distant, as he retreated further into his own head. I was always trading something away. Illusion or Alteration, there is still always a calculus for energy given, and lost. It isn't just spells. Everything is energy, this reality was torn and shaped from raw Aetherial magic, long ago. All action is transaction, the conversion of energy from one form to another. Our bodies are just borrowed energy. You can give it back, if you know how. If you've run out of everything else. Give me a tear from out thine eye, no more shalt thou need sorrow. And give it to the rav'nous flame, and I'll be thine tomorrow. But I have no tears left to give, and even the Pit is empty. So much of me is burned and spent, not even ashes remaining. I warned you, love. I told you how little flesh there was left on my bones, each time you raised me from the dead. I can't help but wonder... had the spell succeeded, and she regained him... would he have looked at her soot-smeared figure, hair shorn, skin torn, and said: but you are nothing like my true love. You are a stranger to me. How many parts can be removed, before the essence of a thing is destroyed? They say every cell in your body is lost and replaced, within a given span of years. What if you forgot how to replace them? "Ini... no. Iriel? Are you there?" Viatrix hissed it under her breath. She sounded dubious, but it was enough to reattach his thoughts to the Ministry, and the steel-banded door she was facing. "I'm here," he said, startling her yet again. "This is the Grand Inquisitor's office," she whispered. "There will be keys to the Prison Keep and the cells in here." She froze, as boots echoed along the torchlit rock tunnel behind her, too late to evade. "And a prisoner record. You get keys and cell numbers, and I'll deal with this." Iriel slipped through the reinforced door as Viatrix marched up to the approaching Ordinator, her boots striking the stone twice as loud as his. A moment later, Ire heard: "Is that you, Fadren?" and the young Dunmer audibly flinching, as he replied: "Adept Petilia? What are you--" "Fadren! I'm so glad to find someone reasonable, at last! You would not believe the number of times I have been harassed, and groped, simply in pursuit of my duties! I almost thought they were going to strip-search me, at one point!" "Ai, my... my apologies, Adept, but we must follow procedure--" "I quite understand the need for security, but really, I've never been so humiliated! Do they think I want to be here? And nobody will help me find the Chief Processor, and I have extremely urgent business." Fadren pretended to clear his throat, evidently needing time to prepare, before opposing Viatrix. "The Chief Processor is in the Prison Block," he finally said, almost firmly. "Regrettably, that's off-limits to all but--" "I see. In that case, there's no other option, you'll have to take a message for me. Now, Fadren, this is absolutely confidential. May I entrust you with this information, in the full assurance you will not babble it around, and cause a panic?" "Of... of course, Adept!" "Inform her we've had an Ordinator come down with corprus, and believe a prisoner he escorted here recently may be the source of the infection. I have my testing apparatus with me, but if I cannot be permitted into the cells, then the Chief Processor needs to assign someone immediately to carry out these tests on my behalf." "Mother of Mercy preserve us! What... what manner of tests must be done?" "I will need blood samples, and fluids collected from all open sores on the skin. I was allowed to bring no scrolls, potions or enchanted items through the visitor screening procedure, so I hope whoever collects the samples is able to cast powerful anti-disease spells. We still can't be sure any are truly effective, but..." Her voice became brittle and bright. "Surely Almsivi will protect him, in this most holy of duties. But the Processor must assign someone immediately upon receiving this message. Do you understand, Fadren? I would do it myself, being trained for it, but I completely appreciate that you have to follow procedure." There was a pause, as Fadren engaged in some processing of his own. He swallowed. "If... if I were to let you into the cell block through the lower entrance, perhaps the tests could be carried out faster, and more... thoroughly, without the need to disturb the Processor. But you must not mention to anyone that I..." "Of course, Fadren, of course! I will not breathe a word. Fadren Dalis, wasn't it? I knew you were a devoted man when you served in my Order of Purification last Evening Star. How is your younger sister? Still apprenticed to the kresh-weavers, in St Olms?" Iriel drifted after, grateful she'd found a better tool. Despite several attempts, he'd been unable to pick up the keys, his fingers glitching through the iron, not even casting a shadow from the candles on the enormous desk. Perhaps I was only ever an illusion. A trick of the light, reflecting an image to others of whatever they wanted to see. But it had no real usefulness. No depth, no substance. Visible from one angle only. Turn your head, and I disappear. Viatrix and her pet Ordinator breezed past the guards posted at the lower entrance to the Prison Block. "I'll remain here," Fadren said, as he unlocked another heavy door. "To ensure you can, um. Concentrate on your work. These are the isolation cells, for heretics. No one should trouble you until the next round of Admonition, but you must work swiftly. If the Chief Processor were to..." "I'll be no time at all. Thank you, Fadren. Almsivi watch over you." She took the bunch of keys he handed her, and trotted through the door into the darkness beyond. Ire tried to follow, but gravity was losing interest in him again, and the presence of so many guards was overwhelming. His vision, which had been blurring for a while now, dimmed still further. The stone around him swam, then slowly began dropping away. It didn't matter, he thought. She was inside, he could trust her to do the rest. He knew, unlike Fadren, that Viatrix had not followed procedure when she entered. She had been neither scanned nor searched for enchanted items, and her scrolls of Divine Intervention were still in her robe, ready to teleport Julan, Mehra and herself to Ebonheart. There was one for him, too, but... more and more, he knew he didn't have enough physical connection left to use it. I had it the wrong way round, wondering if the Aurbis is an illusion I'm experiencing via inconsistent, unreliable sensation. The Aurbis is very real. I am the inconsistent sensation it's been experiencing, and now it's on the verge of going numb. He had done what he could. Exhausted, he surrendered his mental grip on the Ministry, untied the last thread. He fell faster. Torchlit rooms slid past in a haze of alternating darkness and light. He didn't struggle. Barely even noticed he was falling up, rather than down. His limbs were distant stars, lost civilisations with dust on their tongues. In the Aetherial mindscape, he sensed one scroll activate. A little later, he felt another burst of mystic energy, sucking a soul and its attendant body away to safety. He expected the third to follow immediately, but it didn't come. I hope no one's waiting for me. Then a magical stutter, a spell initiating then failing, the last syllable torn off. Dimly, he heard a scream. Shit! No...! It was too late to act, he was too far gone. Something of his body must exist, but he no longer remembered how it worked, what its functions were, where he'd even left it. He had lost his way, somewhere in the swampy fringes of his mind, lost the stairs back to his skin. What can I--? He had something. Not much, perhaps, but something. However locked-off and useless most of him was, he was energy, in whatever form. And what he couldn't find or use, he could still spend. It's all in your head, Iriel. He reached out. Reached inwards. Channelling, focusing, Iriel concentrated his available ingredients, one last time, into a solution. He refined it. Purified it, converted it into something better. He pulled himself together, and made himself useful. He hurled it through the aether - the last syllable of the spell. ...was it... enough? He felt the magic activate as the teleportation circuit was completed, felt the soul it carried snap out of space and vanish, to emerge at its destination. And then... nothing. Silence. White emptiness. Complete isolation. Numbness beyond all memory of sensation. ...how much... did I give? A burst of light. Not Aetherius... not quite. The sun, above Vivec city, above the clouds, cantons and sea lost in mist below him. He floated, wisp-like. Surrounded by nothing, connected to nothing, with nothing to maintain the distinction. It wasn't enough. The dissipated remainder of Iriel's form couldn't hold itself together. Little by little, it began to drift apart. ...unfold the whole, and what you have is... There was a brief moment of terror. But fear is such a physical thing. Soon, there was only peace, and quiet inevitability. my path was always leading me here was there a moment i could have escaped it, some route that I missed? when did i miss it? when i drank invisibility in talos plaza? when i let myself be forgotten in firi's library? when i spent six hours in the laundry basket as a toddler? but it's always been like this. so much safer, hidden away. easier, easier for everyone. why did they always keep dragging me back under their gaze? i wish you could have seen me, one last time, but that's selfish. you're free, and in my way, so am i. it's enough. i had enough, was enough. what would i give for you? everything, nothing, there's no difference, now give me the love from out thy heart, no more shalt thou... It was a relief. Like escaping a burning building, or a blinding light. Like releasing a breath he'd spent his life holding. and give it to the rav'nous void ...and i i've given all i can Shedding senses like leaves, discarding his remaining fragments, cell by cell, Iriel let himself go. next: 175: martyr previous: 173: pure beginning: 1: numb

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (12/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: Agghhhh this was supposed to come out Friday, but I’m LAZY and I apologize so much for the wait <3 

Special thanks to Isame, @secretlystephaniebrown, and squiggol for the feedback! I really appreciate it!

Part III: The Risk of Saving the Guilty Chapter 3.2: Steep Accusations

Velocity, like all Camiens, had been accustomed to worship of the Primes. These distant, mythological figures who were chosen by Primus to guide all mech, to open their spark to the Matrix and provide a guiding light to them all. 

She had, especially of her sorority, always been the more secular of the girls, especially if one did not account for Firestar’s self absorption. Velocity had never been precisely a skeptic or non-believer on the levels she had seen over the months being exposed to Ratchet’s tutelage, but the reality of a Prime was always so distant from her day to day life. 

One thing she never dreamed of was riding in a shuttle beside the Prime himself. 

The very real, very solemn, very intimidating Prime. 

His very presence smothered what otherwise would have probably been joyous reunification between her and her group of Amicas. 

Alongside her, Nautica seemed utterly starstruck by the Prime’s presence, unusually quiet and teetering on pure nervousness. So unlike her. 

Their Cybertronian Amicas and other friends did not share the quiet awe, but they were all visibly uncomfortable, from Brainstorm’s nervous chatter to Nightbeat’s suspicious leering in Optimus Prime’s direction.

Chromedome was flying their shuttle, Rewind by his side as always. But the minibot was downright furious -- his field was vibrating with it. Their reactions to the Prime’s presence on the ship was... curious and mostly an outlier. 

The Prime was unreadably stoic from his seat. 

“So what are the odds, given he was part of the mutiny, that Perceptor would allow me to design something briefcase shaped but under supervision as always?” Brainstorm asked, stroking his faceplate’s chin. “I’m thinking it’s in the twenty to thirty percent possible.”

“You’re being far too generous,” Nightbeat informed him. “I’d put it at a zero. I think briefcases are out of the question at this point in your scientific career.”

Brainstorm let out a frustrated noise and grabbed the sides of his helm. “But it’s the only thing I have on my processor since I woke up!”

“Hm,” Nightbeat said, bringing his own hand to his chin. 

Velocity looked at him curiously. He had been unusually quiet since the upset at Eukaris first broke news across their crew. It was very unlike Nightbeat, and even more than that it was most likely because he was trying to untangle some connections he was making. Though, Velocity couldn’t imagine for the life of her how he had enough information to figure anything out yet.

Nautica was hugging her arms before taking a deep vent and pulling her gaze away from the Prime as best she could. Instead she looked to Velocity. 

“Velocity, you got to spend more time in the medical ward while we were on Cybertron,” Nautica stated. 

“Yes,” Velocity agreed, somewhat confused by the subject.

“Did you see Windblade and Chromia at all?” she asked hopefully.

“I did,” Velocity said. “Though, not much. They seemed to mostly be looking for answers and checking the tensions in the room. With it being an interplanetary incident and all, I’m pretty sure they were figuring out political stuff more than come in for a visit.”

A somewhat disappointed frown came to Nautica’s face. “I guess Windblade always did dive headfirst into anything she was involved in, didn’t she? That’s a shame. I’ve always had a hard time of holding a high opinion of politicians.”

“Everything’s a little political at the end of the day,” Velocity observed. 

“And the patients?” Nautica asked. “I mean, Brainstorm’s doing better -- processor damage or not.”

“Who said anything about damage?” Brainstorm huffed defensively. 

“So the others have a good chance thanks to your all’s hands, right?” Nautica pressed. 

Velocity rubbed at her shoulder. “That’s difficult to really answer, Nautica. You’re dealing with different injuries, and I didn’t have a direct hand with everyone in the ward. I barely got to more than watch over Rodimus’ CR chamber while we were there and all.”

“But you could read his charts, right?” Nautica asked. “When do they think he’ll wake up?”

Surprised by the curious looks all of her friends were giving her, Velocity realized that they really didn’t grasp the state of their co-captain’s hospitalization. 

“Oh, gosh. Everyone, it’s not....” Velocity paused and gathered her thoughts. “Rodimus isn’t going to wake up until they decide to take him off of sedation. His coma is medically induced until they can figure out a way to reconstruct his bareframe over his protoform again. A lot of his natural physiology is melted and will require lots of reconstruction. It’s beyond natural mending abilities.”

"That sounds horrible,” Nautica said, placing a hand over her intake.

“I’d be completely lost on what to do if it was my case alone,” Velocity admitted. “Fortunately First Aid and Ratchet are on it. And they’re... It’s amazing. I’ve never seen some of the procedures they would use while working on Rodimus. I mean, First Aid alone revived Rodimus’ spark on the brink of offlining -- when it was the size of pinprick!” She then hesitated, recalling the enormity of those moments and glancing toward Optimus Prime. O-of course they were using the Prime’s help at the time. I even saw the Matrix itself once.”

Nightbeat and Brainstorm seemed intrigued but not nearly as impressed as Nautica, who looked to the Prime with complete awe. 

Velocity wondered if their similar religious upbringing brought the same subtle fears and amazement to her friend as they did to her.

It was difficult sitting in the same ship as a religious figure.

“I really got to put into perspective my position as a new doctor while in that room, though,” Velocity announced, steepling her fingers. “I worked so hard for all those years to make it through medical school and then through the exams. Even at my proudest moment, I had always assumed mediocrity for myself in my field. But the Lost Light -- learning under First Aid and Ratchet. They do laps around the mentors I’ve had for all these years. Their application has taught me more than all the books I’m still in debt paying off during school. I am beyond fortunate. And our captain is beyond fortunate to have them on his team, keeping him in the best care possible.”

Nautica nodded. 

Brainstorm and Nightbeat were unusually quiet for themselves. 

“Is there anything else you want to know?” Velocity asked. “If not, I’d love to hear about the sights on Cybertron you all got to visit while I was cooped up. The growth of the city is something to behold! Each time we stop there, no matter what crisis has happened in the time between, they’ve managed to do so much and grow in population and structures.”

“There’s a civilian-ran research facility--” Brainstorm began, eyes shining with excitement. “It’s the first time I’ve thought there could actually be something Cybertron could offer if the Lost Light ever docks back--”

“If I may interrupt...”

At that booming voice, Velocity felt ready to leap out of her own frame. She turned and looked in shock to the Prime. He was looking right at them!

Nautica actually squeaked. 

The Prime continued staring at them. “I overheard one of you telling Chromedome and Rewind about modifications to the hyperdrive of this shuttle someone made. That was one of you, correct?”

At once, Velocity joined the others in looking toward their resident quantum mechanic. 

“I...” Nautica began before coughing into her fist. “That would be me, Prime. Sir. Mister Prime....”

“I am called Optimus by my friends,” he assured her.

“I... Yes, Prime,” she said before burying her face in her hands. “I can’t be seen if I’m hiding. No one can see me. This is worse than being upside down.”

Velocity, uncertain of what else to do, reached forward and gently patted her friend’s shoulders while the socially awkward submarine flailed in the proverbial waters of social engagement. 

“Those are impressive enhancements to such a small vessel,” Optimus Prime said gently. “I would like to put you in contact with the scientist of my own crew -- Jetfire. I believe the two of you would get along very well by comparing notes. And having a quantum drive on our own ship could make travel between Earth and Cybertron without a space bridge more possible.”

“Oh...” Nautica said, dropping her hands slightly. “Oh! I mean. Oh! Yes. Yes, it would be an honor to help the Prime and his crew. I’m honored. I’m--”

“We would also cover your expenses in doing so,” the Prime continued. “I am not in a habit of not rewarding others for their work, even if they are religious.”

“That is even better,” Nautica responded without thinking. Then she smacked herself in the head. “Oh my god, what’s wrong with me -- what I mean to say is that it would be, I would be, you don’t have to...” 

“Vent, Nautica,” Velocity whispered.

Doing as instructed, Nautica vented pure steam. “Thank you, Optimus Prime. I am very grateful.”

“Better,” Velocity whispered with an encouraging smile. 

“I will be the one thanking you, I am certain,” he replied, looking back toward the bow of the ship. “Both for the assistance and for helping change the subject of conversation.”

The ship grew uncomfortably quiet after the Prime’s pronouncement. Nautica in particular looked like her fuel tank was expiring before their eyes. 

Velocity did her best to swallow down her own feelings of intimidation and stepped toward the Prime. She hesitated at first, but then gently placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing the large mech’s attention toward her. 

“We really appreciate everything you did to help our co-captain, Sir,” Velocity said. “The medical procedures were a success thanks to your very spark.”

At first, the Prime seemed almost surprised by her and, for a moment, Velocity was worried that perhaps she overstepped by touching him. But his optics grew soft and he glanced back ahead to the front of the ship. It allowed Velocity to quietly withdraw her hand and hold it as if some of the Primacy had rubbed off on it.

“There has been a lot more that I could have done,” the Prime said lowly.

It was a flat statement, not open for discussion. And, thoroughly intimidated and questioning what had gotten into her processor, Velocity backed off. 

She was just close enough to hear lowly as the Prime shook his head and muttered, “Co-captain,” like it was a curse. A regret. Something. 

The rest of the trip was stiflingly uneventful.

Cybertronians were a famously durable species. 

Drift remembered his own rebirth among the Knights, when he had been saved by Wing. He had been ripped assunder, and yet with the barest medical care available at the Crystal City, he was given a new body, a new life. 

Rodimus had the greatest scientific minds Cybertron had to offer working on him. 

But he still wasn’t awake.

Hands always dancing over the hilts of his swords, always prepared to protect his captain at the slightest sign of danger, Drift had to wonder why. Why wasn’t Rodimus awake yet.

He knew what Rodimus’ destiny was, he knew that the future of Cybertron, of their crew, needed him more than anything else. That his explicit, confusing visions needed him to survive any trial their journey threw at them. 

Including this. Certainly including this. 

“Drift.”

Cycling his optics, Drift turned and looked toward Ratchet. He had been so lost in thought he hadn’t even realized that the old grump of a robot had been finished yelling at his fellow doctors. 

“We’re done for the day,” Ratchet said, continuing to walk toward him. “Grab some of your stuff and come with me to Blurr’s. Get some decent energon in your system while we’re off the clock. First Aid assures me he has everything handled here for the night.”

Not making any motions to move on the suggestion, Drift rested his hands on the hilts of his swords. 

“You deserve a break,” Drift agreed. “You’ve done so much, so tirelessly, Ratchet. I can’t thank you enough. But I do not have a clock. I have a duty, and it does not take breaks for energon.”

Ratchet’s face showed that he was anything but impressed. Drift had to give it to him, he was a mech who wore his emotions with clarity. 

“You’ve got nothing but a security pass I wrestled out of that piece of scrap Rattrap’s hand for you,” Ratchet reminded him. “He’s not in danger anymore -- and he’s mostly out of the woods, as they said on Earth.”

Frowning, Drift looked back at the CR chamber. “He’s going to need someone -- someone not with a medical degree -- with him when he wakes up. When he sees... when he sees the damage.”

For once, Ratchet seemed to drop the snark from his reaction. “Well, his coma at this point is medically induced. He’s not waking up until we’re ready for him to,” the medic explained in what, for him, passed for gently. “So I think you can go out for a drink.”

Drift actually turned from Ratchet at that. 

He was exhausted... 

"I trust First Aid and the other doctors,” Drift said. “Medically. But as far as protection goes, I believe my place is still here--”

“Oh, for the love of...” Ratchet said, throwing his servos up in the air. “I knew you were going to be like this.”

“Like...?” Drift said, tilting his helm.

“Like a dunce with a second rate processor,” Ratchet snapped before waving to the doors of the lab as they slid open and Ironhide and the bodyguard he met before known as Chromia came walking in. “I called backup for you.”

Drift vented, feeling himself cool almost immediately with relief. 

It was better. His nerves were shot and the idea of leaving Rodimus’ side at all still unsettled his fuel pump, but it was better. He could manage it -- for a short amount of time. 

“Thank you,” Drift said to Ratchet. “For understanding my obligation--”

“Yeah, yeah, you should thank me,” Ratchet said with a wave of hi hand. “Can we get some energon or not?”

Drift frowned some and glanced back toward Ironhide and Chromia before stepping toward them, eyeing them from helm to pede. He ignored Ratchet’s “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding,” from behind him and concentrated on the bots before him instead. 

“You’re going to assure me that any threat to Rodimus will be handled by you personally?” Drift asked them clearly. 

“If a threat comes up, between the two of us it ain’t got a chance,” Ironhide said firmly. 

Chromia was a little more suspicious. “Has there been any attempts made on him? Or threats--”

“The threat that put him in that CR Chamber to begin with,” Drift responded snappislhly. 

"Drift!” Ratchet snapped from over his shoulder. “Move your tailpipe. They’ve got this.”

Drift let out a heavy vent and offered his servo out to Chromia .”Thank you for your time and service.”

“Not a problem,” Chromia assured him, taking his hand and shaking it. “Windblade was happy to get rid of me for the night. As usual.”

Before Drift could turn to tell Ratchet he was ready, the lab door opened yet again. 

Somehow, in the building relief Drift had been allowing in his system, he had not even made a move for his swords when he heard the doors. He hadn’t been prepared for the worst possibilities for the first time in months. 

He let his guard down, and was taken aback by the arrival of Starscream, that traitorous Rattrap, and the official badgeless Cybertronian guards. 

“How convenient, finding everyone in one spot,” Starascream said darkly as he neared the medbay. His optics then concentrated on Rodimus’ CR chamber. He seemed displeased. “Rattrap, your story doesn’t seem to be adding up right now.”

Drift moved for his swords, but the gards raised their guns. 

It was a standoff. 

“What’s the meaning of this!?” Ratchet demanded. “You want talk on your research, Starscream, go find First Aid or Knock Out. But don’t bring armed goons into a place of healing--”

“It was him, Lord Starscream. There’s no doubts about it!” Rattrap declared by Starscream’s side. “And just look! These guys’re here... but sure don’t see any Windblade, do ya?”

Starscream almost looked delighted to have the point made out for him. He shifted his gaze to Chromia. “Ah, yes, where is our favorite cityspeaker?”

“Recharging,” Chromia spat out. “What’re you doing here, Starscream?”

“To prove once and for all that Rodimus is faking his injuries and is guilty of collusion with our greatest modern threat to Cybertronian society,” Starscream answered as if it was the simplest statement in the world. 

“What the pit are you talking about?” Ratchet demanded. He waved toward the CR chamber. “We’ve had him put under for weeks!” 

"Then what was he doing downtown in the sewers just an hour ago?” Rattrap asked, as if he really ‘had’ them.

“That’s impossible,” Drift hissed. “I have been here every second since he was put in intensive care. He’s not so much as flinched on his own!”

“And I was with Windblade an hour ago,” Chromia defended. 

“You’ll have to forgive me for not taking your words for more than face value,” Starascream said dismissively before waving to his guards. “Open up the CR chamber. I want this cleared up yesterday.”

The guards took one step forward and Drift moved fast, slicing through each of their guns with his sword before the guards could even react. They looked at each other in shock and confusion while Drift held out his sword in an attempt to show the supposed leader of Cybertron just how serious he was. 

“You have no right to attack a wounded warrior!” Drift declared angrily. 

“I have any right I want,” Starscream said cockily. “But what right I have or don’t have is not of importance here. What’s of importance is that if we have truly caught Rodimus in a lie, then we are a step closer to understanding who attacked the mechs on Eukaris and what insider has been responsible for leaking information to the cltists.”

“What in the frag are you talking about!?” Ratchet cried out. 

“I think you understand perfectly what I’m saying,” Starscream announced. “I am formally accusing Rodimus , former Autobot, former captai nof the Lost Light vessel, is responsible for the death and carnage that befell Eukaris and his crew. I am accusing your former captain of assault and murder. Not to mention traitorism. The last charge goes for Windbalde as well.”

Everyone stared at the mad king in shock. 

It was not exactly predictable that the captain himself was not there to greet them at the shuttle, but it managed to put Optimus even more on alarm than he already was. 

Megatron wanted to make the encounter more challenging, then so be it.

He exited the ship looking all around the dock before finally settling on Ultra Magnus. 

“I hope the trip was decent,” Ultra Magnus said immediately. 

“You have a good crew if this group is anything to judge by,” Optimus said assuredly, earning some looks from his recent travel companions. “If not... easily lead into conversation.”

“We consider that a hallmark of the Lost Light,” Ultra Magnus said somewhat lightly. 

Optimus Prime had heard rumors of Ultra Magnus’ new leaf -- at his attempts to provide levity and humor. It was hard to believe. And in his actual presence, it was difficult to determine if it was that kind of situation or not.

“I need to speak with Megatron,” Optimus continued all the same. “Of course, I’m sure he knew that when he sent you.”

“I do my bet to not make assumptions on my higher commands’ intentions,” Ultra Magnus answered before leading and waving toward the nearest corridor. “But I am here to lead you to his office if you are interested in speaking with him yourself.”

“I am,” Optimus answered, stepping forward and all but marching toward the office Ultra Magnus was directing him to. 

Beyond the brief exchange, there was not much conversation between them. It was unusual for Ultra Magnus -- especially to not at least be asking about the status of the crew recovering on Cybertron. 

That all but cemented in Optimus’ mind that there was something on the Lost Light that was being kept a secret. And that just made the Prime more determined to learn it for himself. 

When he opened the door to the office, Megatron wasn’t even pretending to not be waiting on him. He was merely sitting at his desk -- hands crossed over a very distinct dent in the shape of a fist. 

“Megatron,” Optimus said, ignoring as Ultra Magnus entered after him and shut the door. 

"Prime,” Megatron said thinly. 

“Your ship has not been compliant with the Council of Worlds’ investigations to what occurred on Eukaris,” Optimus said angrily. “It also has yet to leave Eukaris’ airspace.”

Megatron remained stonefaced throughout the accusations. “I was not aware that the colony had any space program to speak of. Our Eukarian crew members did not mention as much--”

“Your mission to find the Knights of Cybertron is being stalled,” Optimus got to the point.

That declaration shook something loose from Megatron as he finally reacted. His look darkened and he unfolded his hands to grip the edges of his desk. “Of course it is stalled. Members of my crew, including my co-captain, have been attacked and hospitalized. We are waiting for the crew to--”

“You are postponing your trial through distractions,” Optimus snapped. “I know who you are, Megatron. I know what you are about. And there is very little you do without reason or planning.”

“Our mission is not moving forward without our co-captain,” Megatron said fiercely. “That is all, Prime.”

“You are the captain,” Optimus said firmly. “I made you such. You can do whatever you want without Rodimus’ input--”

“I could, and I wouldn’t!” Megatron yelled, getting to his feet and slamming his hands against the desk. “You do not understand anything, Optimus. You may think you do, but you don’t.”

“I understand that the less you do to help Starscream, the more reason he has to throw you and every member of your crew into jail, taking this ship, and cutting off financial support to the medical center in the capital that holds your crew,” Optimus bantered. “I understand you might just be selfish enough to risk it.”

“Selfish!?” Megatron laughed, a thunderous disturbing laugh that Optimus had not heard in years. “You don’t know the meaning of the word--”

“Enough,” Ultra Magnus stepped in between them, even going so far as to put a firm hand on Optimus’ chest to keep him and Megatron at arm’s length from each other. “This is not productive. We all share the same concern.”

“Do we?” Optimus asked dryly, reconcentrating on Megatron. “Do you understand what this all is looking like to those on Cybertron? That it seems as though you are making a coup against what Autobots are left on the ship who are not loyal to you? That you’re no longer looking for the Knights but are attacking an underdeveloped colony for invasion?”

"Is that all?” Megatron asked. “Really, Optimus? After the eons I spent determining near perfect ways of assimilating and overthrowing worlds at a time, you think that I am in charge of this series of disastrous events?”

“You and disastrous events are seldom mutually exclusive,” Optimus argued. “And it is not what I think, it is what Cybertron, the Council and--”

“Starscream,” Megatron interrupted, “does not believe I am responsible for anything at the moment because he knows my approach better than anyone. I taught him his ruthlessness, to my eternal dismay. If he sent you here with that impression then you are more of a fool than had ever realized.”

Optimus narrowed his optics. “Then what does Starscream think? Enlighten me,” he demanded. 

A look was shared between Ultra Magnus and Megatron that left Optimus feeling highly uncomfortable. The shared understanding between them was not something Optimus ever expected to see, even when he put Megatron in charge of the ship knowing Magnus’ fealty to the chain of command. 

They knew something.

“If you have anything--” Optimus began. 

“He could get the information to Ratchet even more quickly than Velocity, and we would not be without a medic,” Ultra Magnus argued on the part of a side Optimus was not even aware he was on.

“This has the potential to be the greatest of mistakes either of us has made,” Megatron said darkly. 

Suddenly, Optimus felt dwarfed by the momentum of their conversation, lost in the lack of information. “Who does Starscream believe is responsible?” he pressed.

Megatron stared at Optimus once more like he was the true enemy. 

“Rodimus,” he answered finally.

“Rodimus?” Optimus repeated. “But how? He’s the most damaged of the survivors -- I helped restart his spark three times--”

The former Decepticon was not listening to him anymore, reaching toward his gauntlet and producing a drive. 

“What is that?” Optimus asked suspiciously.

“Your answers,” Megatron said flatly. “The ones you don’t want.”

Still steeped in suspicion, Optimus accepted the drive and looked to Ultra Magnus instead. “What is he talking about?”

“That drive contains the saved audial logs that we were finally able to decode from the Lost Light’s emergency frequency,” Ultra Magnus explained. “They are from Rodimus’ away team during the incident.” The law abiding looked at him gravely. “We need to see these make their way safely to Ratchet and to Rung.”

Optimus tilted his helm. “Rung?”

“Our former ship psychoanalyst,” Megatron answered, still holding out the drive. “He... retired himself recently, but under my order he stayed on Cybertron after traveling with your recent companions.”

Idly, Optimus somewhat remembered an orange mech receiving hugs shortly before their departure. 

“Other than them, we have not allowed anyone to listen to the recording,” Ultra Magnus explained further.

“Why?” Optimus demanded immediately. 

Neither answered. 

“I suppose you do not wish for me to listen to them either,” Optimus surmised. 

“Do you trust Rodimus?” Megaton asked.

“Excuse me?” Optimus asked, thrown off guard.

Megatron did not so much as flinch. “Do you trust Rodimus? Do you wish to assist him? Or is he yet another acolyte to sacrifice for the greater good?”

“You of all mechs have no right to say such things against my character, Megatron,” Optimus argued angrily. 

“I don’t disagree,” Megatron replied. “I am old, old enough that I question if change is truly possible for any of us. In a sense of irony, our species seems particularly inept at change. But if there is anything that has led me to change it is that I find myself concerned for this ship, this crew. Rodimus is more than simply my crew, he is my co-captain. We have survived and led together through what we previously thought was the ship’s darkest hours. And without him there is zero possibility that I can lead this ship. Ultra Magnus and Perceptor have taken over most of the command duties. I am without power -- power to command, power to help those I consider... my friends.” 

Still, Megatron held out the drive. 

Optimus took it. “I take care of my friends as well,” he assured them both. “But I will be listening to this recording myself. I want to know what I am protecting them from.”

“Of course you will,” Megatron said with only slight disgust as he glanced toward the opposing wall.

Confused, Optimus looked to Magnus who seemed equally disheartened. 

“You will be protecting Rodimus from himself, Sir,” Ultra Magnus revealed.