#their relationship is so soft now and they seem to have sorted out their misgivings post parade of providence

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

thinking about alhaitham going from recently orphaned to meeting kaveh and kaveh becoming the one person who knows him through and through, who he recognises as his mirror, as integral to his development as a scholar, and as essential to his happiness as an individual. knowing that their respective approaches to life are direct oppositions, but that this isn't a negative and instead is beneficial to the both of them - aligning their viewpoints can help the other grow due to considering new speculations and perspectives.

and then being rejected by kaveh due to kaveh's rejection of himself - his conforming to the collective, when his talents and abilities offer potential for more than he denies himself. kaveh rejects alhaitham as his best friend, his mirror, and he seeks to cement his ideals in his life, to realise them in full as opposed to being solely based on the guilt borne from his perceived involvement in his father's passing. alhaitham doesn't pursue kaveh because this is kaveh's decision - he said that he regretted ever befriending alhaitham, and it would be futile to impose upon this

alhaitham goes from having an essential figure in his life, to a void twice, the first time being the loss of his grandmother, and then kaveh's rejection of him. but he pursues the peaceful life his grandmother wanted for him, and when he meets kaveh again, he instantly sees through the façade kaveh fronts for other people, and recognises that something is deeply wrong. when kaveh moves in with him, he is held in contempt and through a critical lens, and kaveh believes him to be prideful and spiteful, believing that his egoism has triumphed over kaveh's altruism.

kaveh continues to reject alhaitham through this, but alhaitham desires kaveh's company regardless because he knows that kaveh is essential to him - no one else can provide what kaveh fulfils, both in company and in mind. regardless of the strained rapport between them, alhaitham enjoys kaveh. he smiles when kaveh has a quick-witted comeback, he smiles while teasing kaveh, and he goes out of his way to have interactions with kaveh, regardless of the outcome.

alhaitham knows that he and kaveh can ultimately benefit each other if they can overcome this barricade - a perception of 'correctness' between them. firsthand, alhaitham knows that being thought of as 'correct' is ultimately meaningless if it means you forfeit something you truly care about. the issue that stands between him and kaveh is not correctness, it is the unspoken, the miscommunication and misconception that drives them apart. alhaitham truly wants the best for kaveh, but kaveh cannot see this due to his perception of alhaitham. but this perception is challenged when alhaitham reveals that he looked into sachin for kaveh's sake, for a chance of closure, during a parade of providence

so going from this uncertainty as to how kaveh will interpret alhaitham's actions in a parade of providence to how kaveh and alhaitham are in cyno's story quest is so so fulfilling. it's cathartic to see alhaitham comfortable in his interactions with kaveh, rather than having to be underhanded of his comments about kaveh's misconceptions. alhaitham can openly enjoy kaveh's company because kaveh genuinely wants to spend time with him. alhaitham encourages kaveh to tell him about his day because he knows he will not be misinterpreted. their banter is completely without any kind of tension as an understanding seems to have been gained between them. it must be so liberating to be truly seen once again by kaveh, and not have every word, every action, ever intention scrutinised. kaveh accepts him, fully, through and through, and because of this, kaveh sees alhaitham as a mirror - and finally accepts it.

they work in tandem, their thoughts seem synchronised, and there is no issue in the two joining efforts to research together once more. alhaitham is openly expressive about his contentment in working with kaveh, discussing the case in their shared living room, watching kaveh sketch the emblem, smiling as he unveils a discovery, and smiling as kaveh shows interest, travelling together to inform the traveller of their findings, heading to the house of daena together, and having kaveh understand his silent request for help without even having to voice it, being asked for and freely giving obtained akademiya information to kaveh, consenting and smiling when being paired together in looking after the house of daena and researching into the temple of silence. kaveh seeks to find coffee for the both of them when alhaitham mentions it which establishes a domesticity which extends outside of the home. when alhaitham excuses himself at the gathering, kaveh knows that it doesn't include him, and he actively suggests their next activities, before heading 'home' together. alhaitham understands kaveh's notion of home (talked about here), and alhaitham assents to this, and the two leave together

to finally have their status as equals be recognised by kaveh is a huge development, and alhaitham seems so much more content now that this understanding exists between them - that their care is reciprocal. to see kaveh at ease within himself, to be more embracing and forgiving towards himself, must be so fulfilling for alhaitham, who wants nothing but kaveh's happiness. in kaveh accepting alhaitham, these past concerns of guilt and forgiveness can finally be addressed. and alhaitham will be there every step of the way, as he has chosen to do, and he knows, now, that kaveh will continue to choose him too

[angeli-marco-writes]

Tom Hiddleston - Stripped Sunday

A/N & WC - I came up with this concept ages ago and only just got around to writing it, though it’s slightly short. I do not know Tom, nor do I claim to. 2k.

Warnings - Swearing (that's now just a given), definitely suggestive and nsfw but nowhere near explicit, just mentions of sex, nudity too. And unknowing exhibitionism I guess? 16+

Summary - Sunday's are always the best, especially when you and Tom walk around the house nude, but it's been a while. Too long a while. So, obliviously, you take matters into your own hands...

THOMAS WILLIAM HIDDLESTON IS A SIMPLE MAN, believe it or not. He likes meals he can cook in fifteen minutes, he likes his tea with only a splash of milk, he likes the simple pleasures of nature. He likes morning runs and evening walks, re-watching movies he’s seen a dozen times, cuddles on a cold night. But most of all, he likes it when you walk around nude.

It might just be the one singular thing in the great mystery of life that is inexplicable to him, the one thing he enjoys so bloody much he daren’t speak of it, lest he risk losing it. Just the sight of your beautiful body keeps him up night after night after night when he’s working away, plotting and planning ways to ensure he never forgets it for the second he returns home. He can’t even begin to explain the things it does to him.

So, he set up a Stripped Sunday, with the basic premise that you both have to walk around in your birthday suits all day. It’s essentially his unique, perverse, inventive way of seeing you naked all day once a week. Not every Sunday, naturally, but just on occasion, when he’s not working, he’ll jot it down on the calendar. Nothing too glaring, in case someone catches a glimpse of his calendar, but just scribbling down a winky face in a Sunday space, and you know what you’re in for.

In all honesty, you love it just as much as he does. It’s hard not to. Seeing him walking around the house with not a scrap of clothing on all day does things to you you’ve never been able to put your finger on—or his. If you were to get pregnant, Stripped Sundays would be the culprit with the amount that the two of you shag in a single day. And he always seems to have another round in the bank to wake you the morning after, hungover on dripping lust.

However, it’s been far too long without one of these days, you think to yourself. And you know that there are no plans for the day, seeing as there’s nothing in the diary or the calendar, where—upon Tom’s own decree—all arrangements have to be written down. Seeing as you and Tom have a somewhat secret relationship, one certainly sheltered from the press, and no one knows you’re together, let alone live together, keeping all plans written down is imperative. His work meetings are always good reasons for you to get out of the house for a few hours.

Today, however, Tom seems to have made a mistake. Today’s meeting utterly slipped his mind, and he completely forgot to tell you, let alone jot it down, that he was having a casual meeting with a few co-stars to discuss future production of some sort—of what, he was entirely unsure, since this was texted about weeks ago, now. Nothing too major, though.

Logically, Tom thought that, with how late you were currently sleeping, and how much you enjoy your lie-ins, he’d be wrapped before you woke up, and even if that wasn’t to be the case and you wake up, that you’d have the sense to dress, or even call for him at the very least, before going downstairs.

You aren’t so lucky.

—

Waking up to an empty bed is never much fun. Usually if Tom wakes up before you, he’ll only slip out to put the kettle on, or fetch a new book to read from the library while he waits for you to stir naturally… that is if he isn’t waking you up in other, more pleasurable ways. At most, if he does have plans and doesn’t want to wake you after a late night, he’ll leave you a lovely note, a voicemail, and a thermal mug of tea.

Today, however, you can smell the coffee machine on—no wonder after the late, and rather energetic night you had—and hear the machine whirring, signalling that Tom likely hasn’t long been awake. That’s when the gears begin to turn and your plan begins to formulate, a completely devious idea that creeps into your mind and quirks your lips into a smirk. No matter how enticing the idea to nuzzle back into the pillows is, your need for Tom is overpowering your clawing need for sleep, especially with your primal instincts telling you he’s within grabbing distance, his aftershave still on the sheets you’re wrapped in. So, you strip his shirt, now perpetually appropriated by you, off and get out of bed, stretching as you go, beginning to make your way downstairs.

“What’s that?” Tom hears someone ask.

Not hearing your footsteps on the squeaky stairs over the whirring of the coffee machine and the layered discussions, including his own laughter, he simply replies, “Probably the dog.”

You, however, aren’t lucky enough to hear this brief conversation before your bare feet land on the cold hardwood floor, sending chills throughout you that don’t seem to even mildly combat the overwhelming heat building all throughout you. With just a few more steps, keeping your footing light and avoiding Bobby’s various chewies and toys littered all over the floor, you’re entering the kitchen in nought but your birthday suit. Utterly, completely in the buff.

“Morning baby,” you call out, yawning, your eyes fluttering shut, your jaw wide.

Except, instead of the warm embrace and slatherings of kisses that you expect to receive, or even a simple “Good morning, Princess,” you’re welcomed with a deadly silence, a stillness you can’t quite comprehend.

Your eyes fly open in shock, opening to see three people, mildly familiar faces, with mouths agape and eyes wide, sitting around the breakfast bar with mugs between their hands. Tom looks as stunned as you’ve ever seen him, over by the coffee machine, his hands trembling. With a fixed gaze of his baby blue eyes, so piercingly alarmed, he looks you up and down, his eyes blazing over your nude form, his kissable mouth practically watering at the mere sight of you.

That’s before it clicks with him, the dire situation, and alarm bells begin to blare inside his head, causing him to jump into action. Almost instantly, he’s pulling his shirt off his strong arms and muscular torso with lithe fingers, and is tugging it over your head, covering your naked torso.

You can already feel the blush on your cheeks, your skin burning from the bruised base of your throat to the pierced tips of your ears, the blood in your veins rushing around so violently that it drowns out any other comments or noise within the room, within the situation, but you’re brought back to reality when Tom’s strong, callused hands fall to your arms, clasping the flesh before he’s all but lifting you off the tiled floor and steering you back out of the room. It snicks shut behind you, but all you can focus on is the kiss he gives you, slanting his thin lips over yours so intoxicatingly that you’re able to forget your humongous disaster, if only for a second. There’s an emptiness the second he stops kissing you, and you’re able to hear the previously shut out gossip from inside.

“Sweetheart, what the hell was that?” he commands, his tone soft.

Despite the austere authority he so naturally demands in a room, he doesn’t sound angry whatsoever. If anything he’s just a little exposed, his private home life revealed to people when he wasn’t in the least bit prepared for once in his lifetime, with a definite undertone of irritation, mostly that he can’t have his way with you instantly. His blood is roaring, his stomach an explosion of swarms of butterflies, his core pulsating. He can’t tear his eyes away from you, even now you’re covered, your hardened nipples poking through the fabric.

“I— I saw the calendar was empty, I wanted to impress you, have a nice Sunday because it’s been so long,” you confess, shuffling your feet on the floor, unable to meet his blue gaze boring into you, “I’ve felt… distant from you recently, you’ve been working so much. I don’t know,” you shift anxiously, tugging on his shirt wrapped around you, “I love you, I didn’t wanna lose you. I thought you’d like it.”

“Baby,” he says, “I love you and this so so much. Of course I like it!”

You let out a feeble cry against his chest, his arms knotting around you and tugging you into his chest in one swift movement. His hugs, the way he holds you and cradles you, always make you feel better, no matter what your troubles may be.

You sniffle a little, “Really?”

Any trace of hardness in his face just dissipates and is replaced with sympathy, empathy, love.

“I truly wish I could take you right now, Darling, and if they weren’t here, I’d be fucking you on that breakfast bar and you know it.” He sighs deeply. “But, I didn’t put down a special Sunday for a reason, love.” Leaning down, he kisses away your wry tears, and then the tip of your nose. “You are so thoughtful. It’s all my fault though, I must’ve just forgotten to write this down.”

How can you be mad at him when he’s being so thoughtful and heartfelt, confessing his mistake even when it was your rash thinking that’s gotten you into this mess?

Once you calm your breathing down, though, you realise that you’re actually not particularly phased by this at all. You don’t mind this; it was the sheer shock that passed over Tom’s face, the flash of terror he must’ve felt with his work colleagues in the room with him that scared you so. You know well enough that it’ll be a huge knock—monumental, even—for him, if this gets out. Your worry for your treasured boyfriend takes power over any of your own misgivings.

“I’m really sorry, Tom.”

“Don’t be,” he says hastily, “can you please pop up and get dressed, though, darling? Just some shorts, I don’t want you to feel exposed.”

You let out a soft chuckle, nodding, stepping away from him to make your way upstairs. Before you’ve taken so much as a step, though, he tugs you back by the bottom of his shirt, and ravels you into a searing kiss, everything he wants to say passes from his lips to yours.

—

You return a couple of minutes later, dressed simply, comfortably, his shirt in your hands, you find him waiting for you, standing outside the door with his hands clasped at his front. He greets you with open arms, prompting you to take his hands as he leads you back into the kitchen, your eyes connecting in a secret agreement before stepping inside.

The air is rife with anxiety, three panicked faces staring back at you, but thankfully, you’re able to recognise these people as ones he’s worked with for a while, people he knows really well; confidantes and friends more than co-stars or colleagues. However, by the inquisitive glint in their eyes and their parted mouths, you imagine they’ll still have a lot of questions, and this’ll still be a hit for Tom.

He wraps his spare arm around you, his head bowed as he meets the dead faces staring at him. That’s when you begin to wonder if something else has happened.

“Baby, everything okay?” you ask, cupping his jaw, caressing your thumb over the scruff of a beard shadowing his bone structure.

That’s seemingly when it hits him, his face paling, blanching, his grip around you loosening.

“It’s a good job you never got over the threshold, darling,” he says breathlessly, “or I’d be in much more trouble.”

You look to him, eyes searching his face imploringly as he viciously gulps. “We were live on Instagram.”

“SHIT!”

Well, it looks like Tom’s girlfriend is public knowledge. You can’t mind, though not as he dips his head and kisses you hotly, heartily. With this passion, the second these people leave, Stripped Sunday might just happen after all.

[yukidragon]

Our Life Snippet - Clingy

As I mentioned in my asks today where I was gushing about Our Life: Beginnings & Always by @gb-patch, it’s about time for another clip of my fanfic novelization of this lovely game!

It’s been a while since I showed a clip of Step 3, so here is a slice from Errands! Thank you to @gb-patch​ and everyone else who enjoy seeing me gush and write about Cove and Jamie! You all make me so happy I cannot even!

Oh, and since this is Step 3 content, spoiler warning for those who haven’t played this far in the game yet.

...

Liz folded her arms over her chest and let out an amused chuckle. “We couldn’t have picked a more perfect trip. It’s been too long since we’ve had a true family outing.” She then gave a pointed look to her little sister and the baby boyfriend for emphasis.

The three parents laughed approvingly at the familiar joke. Jamie rolled her eyes at their mirth and the teasing note to her older sister’s tone even as she fought to keep from smiling herself. Her favorite next door neighbors had joined the Leimomis on this outing, which was what made it a ‘true family outing’ as Liz put it.

Cove offered Jamie a sympathetic smile when their eyes met. Some things never changed and some jokes never died, especially when it came to teasing them about their relationship. It was something they had both long since accepted. The fact that they had been holding hands since they left the cars behind naturally didn’t help lessen such teasing, but neither of them felt inclined to let go of each other.

Jamie finally allowed herself to smile as she squeezed his hand a little, her smile only widening when Cove returned the gesture. Teasing aside, she was bubbling with anticipation to explore the market and see what sort of hidden gems they might uncover. Sure, that meant wading through a sea of people to find them, but she wasn’t alone, so she didn’t pay them any mind.

The idea of spending a day traversing through such a dense crowd of strangers was not something Cove looked forward to, but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with them by himself. He could tune them out as long as he had Jamie by his side. Seeing her so animated with excitement as she looked around raised his spirits, and when she smiled at him, it was like the world around them no longer mattered anymore.

Cliff turned to the group as he clapped his hands together, the sound catching everyone’s attention. “Well, I’m ready to get started. I’ve got plenty of dishes in mind I could use ingredients for.”

It was easy to see that everyone held the same sentiment. Noelani and Pamla were especially excited as they shared a conspiratorial smile with one another.

“Yes, that’s a very good idea, Cliff,” Noelani said cheerfully as she turned back to the others. “This place is much larger than it seems. It’s difficult to visit each part in a single day.”

Such a challenge did nothing to diminish Cliff’s enthusiasm. “I’m sure we can make a decent dent together at least.”

“Actually…,” Noelani said as she let her gaze wander to the rest of the group. “Since there are so many of us this time, we could take different sides of the market.”

For a second, Jamie swore she saw a hint of mischief in Pamela’s eyes before her mom turned away to look at the stalls.

“Divide and conquer, eh?” Pamela said. “That sounds brilliant.”

The suggestion took the rest of the group by surprise. No one else had considered splitting up to be an option.

Pamela flashed the group a dazzling smile to banish any misgivings there were towards the idea. “Though, it’s a little unfair that there are four Leimomi family members and only two Holdens here, so I’ll go with you boys to even out the odds.”

“That’s fine with me,” Noelani said cheerfully.

Despite the upbeat attitude and smiles Noelani and Pamela showed the group, it was clear that they were the only ones excited for the idea. Liz pursed her lips in a frown, her brow furrowing, but she kept her mouth shut. By contrast, Jamie’s mouth hung open in a small ‘o’ of surprise. Cliff awkwardly scratched the back of his neck and his gaze wandered aimlessly, as he found himself at a loss for where to look or what to say. Neither was a problem his son had.

Cove tightened his hold on Jamie’s hand reflexively, drawing her attention to his frowning face. The grip wasn’t anywhere near painful, but it made his thoughts on them being separated crystal clear even before he spoke up. “I don’t like that idea.”

Noelani was nonplussed by the resistance, smiling at Cove despite his obvious disapproval. “Don’t worry, we’ll be apart for only a few hours, and then we’ll have something to talk about at the end of it.”

Cove wasn’t especially convinced. He had never been comfortable with plans being changed without notice, especially when he wasn’t even consulted about the change. Unfortunately, he could already tell that this was a battle that he wasn’t going to win. He could be stubborn with his own parents or peers, but when it came to the Leimomi matrons, he couldn’t dig in his heels with only the argument that he didn’t want to be separated from Jamie. His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he let out a sigh. Reluctantly, he nodded and released his girlfriend’s hand.

Liz let out a thoughtful hum and shrugged off her confusion. “Alright,” she said, her frown melting away into an easy smile. “I don’t get the point, but I also don’t mind spending the first part of the trip with Jamie and Ma.

Delighted, Noelani clapped her hands together in a brief show of cheer. “Wonderful. Are the teams ready to go?”

Like her sister, Jamie didn’t understand why their moms thought splitting up was a good idea. The entire point of both of their families going to the farmers’ market together was to enjoy each other’s company, wasn’t it? Splitting the group in half felt like splitting the fun in half too.

Actually, it would be even less than that if they expected Jamie and Cove to spend the day apart when they could be together.

If this was going to happen regardless of any of their opinions on the matter, Jamie knew that she had to at least suggest a compromise. “Can I be the one who goes with the Holdens instead?”

Jamie clasped her hands together as she looked between her moms hopefully. They would understand why she wanted to spend the day with Cove, right? He just got back from Nevada, and after he had been gone a long time to boot. It felt almost cruel to spend a day apart from one another when they didn’t have to.

Cove immediately perked up at the suggestion, his defeated frown turning into a hopeful smile of his own.

Unfortunately, the expressions Noelani and Pamela wore were not promising. Noelani pouted at their youngest daughter while Pamela merely shook her head with a grin.

“Sorry,” Pamela said. “No can do this time, kiddo.”

Jamie saw not even a flicker of reluctance between her parents, and the disappointment on Noelani’s face, however played up to keep the mood light, made her feel a twinge of guilt for suggesting she leave her ma’s group. Her shoulders sagged in surrender as a quiet sigh escaped her. “We won’t be split up too long, right?” she asked weakly.

A cheerful smile returned to Noelani’s face as she moved to her youngest’s side and wrapped an arm around Jamie in a little side hug. Her comforting gesture was rewarded with a lopsided smile from her daughter. “Yes, thank you, Jamie.”

With things finally settled, Pamela walked over towards Cove and Cliff, grinning in spite of the confused looks they still sent their way. “Come on, boys, we’re heading out.”

“Sure,” Cliff said.

“Okay,” Cove said with far less enthusiasm than Pamela. This trip had suddenly become a lot more of a chore than it started off as.

His gaze then turned to Jamie, and he offered her a soft smile when her eyes met his. He was drawn towards his girlfriend, stopping just short in front of her. The smile he wore wavered as he hesitated to leave. “Bye,” he said quietly, unable to hide the note of regret from his voice.

Jamie was no more thrilled to separate than Cove was, but she managed to offer him a small smile in return anyway. “Bye.”

Cove took his girlfriend’s hand in his once more and gave it a gentle squeeze, which Jamie returned. Her smile grew just a little stronger at his attempt to reassure her, which raised his spirits as well. He then dipped his face towards her for a parting kiss, his cheeks warming as his eyes drifted closed.

Jamie started to close her eyes as well in anticipation of the kiss, only to notice Cove suddenly jerk to a halt stiffly a few inches away from her.

The reason why became immediately clear as Cove twisted his head around to stare back at Pamela with wide eyes. She had seized the hem of his shirt and physically held him back. She gave another firm tug, urging him upright before letting go.

“No, no, no,” Pamela chided with a wide grin on her face as she wagged a finger at Cove. “Time’s a wastin’, Cove, and I’ve known you long enough to be aware that you’re one to linger. If I don’t stop you now, you’ll only drag your feet on parting ways more.” Her smile then turned mischievous as she shifted her gaze from him to Jamie and back again. “The two of you can snuggle and make out as much as you want later. We have important shopping to do now.”

Jamie felt her face grow hot from being called out so publicly by her mom. Cove outright gasped at Pamela, completely taken aback by what felt like a truly obscene thing for her to say.

Once Cove overcame the initial shock, he forced himself to ignore how fiercely his cheeks burned as he made an unimpressed show of rolling his eyes. “You don’t need to literally pull me away from Jamie. I’m not that clingy.”

Pamela made no effort to hide her snickering as she shook her head wryly.

The reaction wasn’t one Cove expected. He raised his eyebrows at her before he looked over at Noelani. However, the other Mrs. Leimomi refused to look him in the eye as she whistled in a supposedly ‘innocent’ manner.

Cove noticed the look Liz sent his way, particularly the sly smirk she wore that stretched from ear to ear. He whipped his head around towards his dad next. Cliff met his gaze, but could only offer a lopsided smile and an apologetic shrug.

It was only then when it dawned on Cove - everyone really thought he was that needy.

Finally, Cove dared turn to face Jamie, his eyes wide and pleading with the desperate hope that at least she didn’t agree as well.

To his relief, the look Jamie gave him was a sympathetic one. She then leveled a stern gaze to the rest of the group, folding her arms across her chest. “Cove is totally capable of being independent when he wants to be,” she said in a very matter of fact tone.

After all, Cove had recently traveled to Nevada by himself for weeks. Willingly separating from her for that long was the exact opposite of clingy. In fact, that was all the more reason for them to enjoy each other’s company as much as possible now. There was no reason for them to poke fun at her boyfriend for wanting to show her affection. How they expressed their feelings for one another was no one else’s business but theirs.

Unfortunately, it seemed that no one else saw it that way, and her attempt at chastising them for their teasing was met with a few snickers from her family. Unlike them, Jamie was not amused.

Cove, on the other hand, beamed at having his girlfriend’s support. Without thinking, he took a step towards Jamie, feeling drawn to her once more. Also, once more, Pamela snatched the back of his shirt, freezing him in his tracks.

Pamela attempted to suppress the urge to laugh, but a few chuckles escaped her anyway. “Actions speak louder than words.”

Caught newly embarrassed all over again, Cove struggled to come up with something to say in his defense. His mouth twisted and his cheeks reddened as he looked sideways at their families, who were having way too much amusement at his expense. “Yeah, well…” After a few moments of struggling, he finally had to look away with a frustrated huff. “So what?”

That admission had their parents and Liz bursting into laughter, much to Cove’s mortification.

Jamie felt her irritation grow when everyone started laughing at Cove. “Yeah, so what?” she said in a challenging tone. Before anyone could make what she was certain would be another teasing retort, she closed the distance between herself and her boyfriend. She cupped his cheek to turn his face back towards her and stole a kiss from his lips before her mom could stop them a third time.

Cove barely had a moment to register the kiss before it ended. It was so brief that he hadn’t had the chance to really enjoy it, much to his regret. He could only stare wide-eyed at Jamie as she moved back from him, though involuntarily, as this time it was Noelani pulling her back by the shirt.

“I believe you were saying something about being independent?” Noelani said, though her chiding didn’t come across as particularly authoritative since she was chuckling as she said it.

Jamie was unrepentant for her act of defiance, her grin wide and proud, though she did step back at her ma’s prompting, if only to spare her shirt from further punishment. “Cove is, but I didn’t say anything about myself,” she said wryly. That comment along with her little display set off another round of laughter from the group, but it was worth it.

 Pamela shook her head with a wide grin. “I don’t know about that, but I think we both better keep the kids on a short leash if we want a chance of getting any shopping done before nightfall, ‘Lani.” She gave a little tug on Cove’s shirt for emphasis, much to his chagrin.

“I think you’re right,” Noelani giggled as she kept her grip on Jamie’s shirt firm.

Cove didn’t have any further defense for himself or Jamie, not with the way everyone was having way too much fun at their expense. Grimacing, he strode several feet from the group, his face red all the way to his ears. He wanted to move on from this teasing, even if it meant physically moving on and away from her. At least Pamela let him go despite her idle threat to keep him on a leash.

Seeing Cove start to leave washed the taste of victory from Jamie’s mouth, but she just had to accept it. “I’ll see you soon,” she called after him. When he glanced back at her, she smiled softly at him and gave him a little wave.

Despite how Cove still burned with embarrassment, the reminder that he had Jamie’s support helped him relax a bit. He nodded at her ever so slightly as he pulled his mouth into a bent smile.

“See you in a few hours!” Pamela said as she gave her wife and daughters a cheery wave.

“Take care of yourselves,” Cliff said with a nod of his head.

With that, the groups were divided. Pamela picked a direction and set a course for destinations unknown, leading the Holden men who followed not far behind her.

Noelani gave the departing group a grin and waved enthusiastically with her whole arm. By contrast, Liz gave a much more dainty wave of her own.

Jamie continued to wave goodbye as she watched Cove disappear with his dad and her mom into the dense crowd. Because of his height, she could still spot glimpses of his pale green hair for a little while, but all too quickly even that small sign of him was lost from view.

As her arm fell limply to her side, Jamie tried to banish all the negative feelings she had towards this turn of events. Sure, this wasn’t what she wanted, but that didn’t mean the trip couldn’t still be fun. Sure, it sucked that she wasn’t going to explore the market with her boyfriend, and that was the thing she was looking most forward to and now, poof, that wasn’t happening… but she would see him in a few hours. It was silly to feel sad or let down that they wouldn’t all be traveling together.

It wasn’t as though she was actually clingy like she joked.

[guiltysecretpasttime]

bumi + lin getting caught or how everyone found out about their relationship :-))))

Title: Discretion

Note: Here’s what I have for this particular Lin/Bumi II prompt. Hope you enjoy 😊

· Pairing: Lin/Bumi II

· One-shot, post-series AU

· Rating: Teen

-----

Bumi was whistling as the hustle and bustle around Air Temple Island continued in preparation for Varrick’s wedding. Why they allowed the wedding and the party on the island, he had no idea.

He watched the tired teenagers who were hovering excitedly around the affianced. He supposed they all deserved some sort of merrymaking after what he had dubbed in his mind as the Kuvira Incident. It also was not a bad idea to have them use this time to work out their romantic entanglements, he thought as he eyed the various couples gravitating toward each other.

It also gave him a lovely excuse to meet up with his ownromantic entanglement.

The former military man faced the city pensively.

He frowned as the water lapped against the shore. The sun continued to shine brightly even as the buildings at the island across showed devastation, some still slightly smoldering days after the attack.

The Kuvira Incident did put things into perspective.

Well, that went dark quickly.

He blinked away grim thoughts and focused instead on the fairy lights being hung around the courtyard.

As he decided earlier, they all deserve some merrymaking.

---

“What are you doing skulking around?” Bumi asked the lady in green, who was looking down at a kebab that had seemed to have displeased her.

Lin Beifong scoffed. “I am not.” And continued to examine the mystery meat on the stick.

Bumi sauntered closer to her, standing at her side, joining her quiet observation of the party. “What on earth did that kebab do to you?” He waved his free hand to said meat on a stick; his other hand occupied with helping him take a swig of whatever fruity punch Varrick was serving.

She bit it furiously while rolling her eyes. “It’s a bit tasteless, if you must know.”

Bumi bit back a laugh and just hummed.

While she could eat instant noodles as well as any cadet living off rations, Lin did have her snobby side to food when it comes to social events thrown by the upper-class.

“Then again, Varrick is tasteless when it comes to most things.” Lin added, her scowl scaring off a Nuktuk-attired waiter who had the misfortune of glancing their way to offer more refreshments.

This time, Bumi let out a laugh, earning him a smirk from the metalbender.

“Well, that’s true. Let me join you in disparaging the libation too – not a single touch of alcohol in this drink.”

They stood there, at the fringe of the party crowd for a while – he sipping the vile drink, she chewing the tough meat.

“They allowed you to wear that?”

It took Bumi a moment to understand she meant his uniform. “I am a retired commander after all.” That and because he did not want to be dressed in formal wear that was almost identical to what his brother was wearing.

Lin swallowed her food. “Hmm, I've been thinking of that too…”

“Me in a military uniform?” Bumi waggled his eyebrows and received a smack on his arm. “You in my uniform?” Another smack.

“Retiring.” She said it so quietly he thought he must have misunderstood her.

He briefly wondered what could have made her arrive at a such a life-changing decision. Then again, if that meant that she would be closer to safety than danger…

“I don’t see why not?” He tossed back with a grin, noting the veiled concern on Lin’s face, worried about his reaction. “As long as it’s what you truly want.”

Lin’s posture relaxed after that.

They continued to sip and eat in silence.

They saw Rohan running at the other side of the court, weaving through the people who were starting to go to the dance floor. Huan was noticeably dragged by Ikki to dance (“Kid takes after her mother, doesn’t she?” Bumi murmured in jest, only to get an elbow to his side as Lin shook her head.).

As people went over to the dance floor, it would not be long before someone noticed the lady beside him. Chief of Police or not, she always did strike quite a figure. Without all the armor (literally and figuratively), it could be easily argued the Lin could be approachable.

He stood closer at her side. He twitched his pinky finger to touch hers.

Her eyes darted to him.

The mood of the party was happy and hopeful. He knew this feeling. He had seen this before. The sigh of relief and desperation for something good after a long hard military campaign.

His face remained cheerful and proceeded to talk about everything and nothing.

Lin’s expression softened. “Want to leave the party?” Her pinky finger hooked around his.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

As always, Lin was the only one who saw through him.

---

Propping himself up on his elbow, Bumi watched her sleep.

Lin had always been a light-sleeper. He got that – living with a constant threat hanging at their back or having a long career that required alertness and rapid reaction time does that to you. That was why it never ceased to amaze him that the metalbender manages to have long uninterrupted sleep whenever they were together.

Spirits knew how much she deserved to sleep in.

He had sighed in relief when Lin said she had lied last night. She had not just been thinking of retiring from the police force – she had already filed her retirement to both President Raiko and headquarters. And, in true efficient Beifong fashion, she had secured approval within days. He did not think she had fully recovered and taking a break (albeit a permanent one) was more than needed.

His eyes traced the dark eye bags and pale complexion. The rebuilding efforts and the ton of work post-Kuvira Incident took a toll on her.

Her skin, already marred with various scars and marks throughout the years, was much too pale. Each imperfection was linked with a story. Each story building up to who Lin was now today.

Her ankle had a small scar, almost invisible unless you knew where to look, from her childhood escapades.

There was the jagged scar, stitches very much apparent on her calf from her earlier days as a beat officer.

A smattering of bruises at her lower back was still present, souvenir from being tossed off the colossus.

Her shoulder, while exhibiting any outer trauma, was still healing from being dislocated from the same scrimmage with death.

There were more across her body, but the most recent ones were those that hit Bumi the hardest.

He was the one who found the Beifong sisters unconscious in the arm of the mecha giant.

He had been beyond terrified until found their respective pulses.

He feared it would have been too late for him, for them. Then Lin fluttered her eyes open, and, despite her shallow breaths, managed to croak out in a less than acerbic tone to help her down.

He mused now in the pale daylight that he ought to have done something then, said something then. He decided to rectify that now.

Before he could even reach over to wake her up in that delicious manner he was planning, several loud knocks beat at his door. He subconsciously tightened his grip around Lin’s waist.

“Bumi? Bumi!” Tenzin.

“We know you’re in there.” Su. “Open up!”

Bumi threw a worried glance at Lin, but she was still asleep and simply buried her face closer to his chest, ensconced under his fluffy comforter and buried under his equally soft pillows. He leaned back and closed his eyes, willing their unwanted siblings away.

Maybe if I pretended to be asleep, they would leave us alone…

Knock-knock-knock! A pause. Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock!

“Bumi!”

He closed his eyes tighter.

Knock-knock-knock!

“Wait a minute, maybe it’s unlocked anyway…”

What are they talking about?

Bumi found out soon enough when the sound of the door sliding open reached his ears.

“Bumi – I can’t find -!”

He sat up quickly, making sure Lin was comfortable and quite hidden from view.

His visitors stopped at the doorway, enough to trespass but not enough to take a full scan of the room.

“Ohhh, I’m – we’re – sorry –.” Tenzin stammered, quite apologetic for bursting in his brother’s room.

Su did not have the same misgivings. “Bumi has a lady friend!”

“He does?!” A new voice called out with shock.

Tenzin and Su, he can tolerate but having the kids over – Bumi decided he drew the line there.

Fight shock with shock.

He stood up quickly, unmindful of being seen in his birthday suit.

“Oh sweet Spirits Agni! Bumi! Cover yourself!”

“My eyesss!”

The Avatar and Bolin immediately shouted over gasps of shock.

Bumi stretched languidly, pretending that nothing was amiss. He will not be embarrassed. That was their problem, they were the ones who were invading his privacy.

To be fair, he had no issues about his nudity so it was not really a big issue. It was just that with Lin in his bed – well, the situation was a bit tricky. Fortunately, her face was still hidden under the comforter. He pulled it higher, never mind that part of her leg is still visible.

“To what do I owe this wake-up call?” Bumi scratched his beard, acting as though this was a normal occurrence. He did delight in making his brother uncomfortable. They became closer in the latter years. Old habits die hard though.

“Bumi, we apologize for barging in this morning.” Tenzin was looking over his shoulder. “But could you – at least -.” He waved at the general direction of the naked man.

Bumi took his sweet time going around the room to pull on some clean shorts.

Su took this opportunity to push out the kids out of the room, who he now saw included both pro-bending brothers, Asami, Opal, and the Avatar.

“Why is the entire cavalry here?” Bumi sauntered to the door, blocking everyone’s view of the room and angling his body to stand in the way of the bed. “What’s up?”

“It’s Lin.”

A beat.

“What about her?”

“She’s missing. I didn’t know when she went home last night.” Su wringed her hands in worry. “I called her house, no one answered. We went over and she wasn’t there.”

It annoyed Bumi how they were suddenly on Lin’s case when they barely said two words to her the night before. There was bound to be a hidden agenda to this sudden worry.

“Your sister is a grown woman and she's been taking care of herself without you lot for more than a decade now.

He scanned the faces around him.

Postures stiffened, Tenzin flinched, eyes avoided Bumi’s.

Yeah¸ that’s what I thought.

Su stomped lightly. “Regardless of that,” The woman was adamant and would not back down. “We intend to go to the station to report her missing, with or without your inputs.”

Mako looked downright uncomfortable, Bumi thought the boy genuinely cared for his mentor.

“Boy, anything you’d like to add, detective?” Bumi nodded at the firebender.

“We can’t file a missing person’s case unless the person has been missing for more than 24 hours.” Mako shifted his eyes.

“There you go. Drop the matter, Su. I’m sure Lin is fine.”

Su looked like she was about to argue and Tenzin was about to say something but Mako beat him to it.

Still not catching anyone’s eyes, Mako started. “And well, what if the Chief also had a lady friend like Bumi? Or a gentleman friend?”

Bumi almost snorted.

Gentleman friend, what?

The detective was looking ill now but props to the boy.

“Lin with a special friend is highly unlikely.” Lin’s sister said decidedly, waving off Mako’s theory.

Bumi snorted now. “Right, because you’d know, ain’t it right?”

“I don’t see why not?” Suyin frowned, crossing her arms.

Moments like this Bumi was reminded why Lin still held some form of dislike towards her sister.

Asami tried to mediate. “I don’t think Chief Beifong would appreciate her private life being discussed like this.”

Bumi knew he always liked the Sato girl, he nodded and added. “Please don’t do this to try to assuage your…guilt.”

As expected, there were reactions from Su and Tenzin.

“We are not -!”

“Nonetheless, Bumi, Lin is…” Tenzin’s words trailed off and color drained from his face as he continued to look over his brother’s shoulder.

Bumi knew the moment Tenzin realized who was in his bed. He quickly slid the door closed. He tried to meet his brother’s eye, but the man was resolutely looking away.

“Safe.” Tenzin managed to choke out. “Let’s go everyone, I’m sure Lin is very safe.”

Su turned on Tenzin, obviously shocked by his sudden change. “What are you talking about, Tenzin – we -.”

“If Bumi says Lin is okay, then she probably is.” Was the simple yet shifty response.

“But we need Lin to -!”

Opal elbowed her mother gently, asking her to drop the issue. It did not escape Bumi’s notice.

There was the hidden agenda – Su needs Lin for something.

The group scurried away as both Tenzin and Mako helped herding them away from the bedrooms.

---

Bumi figured it was too early to be dealing with anything.

He rejoined a sleeping Lin in bed, who in turn, burrowed into his side.

He will deal with the real world later. For now, he will enjoy this.

---

Ignoring Suyin who was still chattering about one thing or another (in all likelihood berating him for not supporting her call to search for her sister), Tenzin mulled over his earlier discovery.

Lin and Bumi are together.

Not just together but together – together.

He wringed with his hands as they walked to the dining hall.

How long have they been together?

He had thought that this knowledge would bother him – well, it did, he reconsidered, but not for the reasons he might have initially thought of.

It was bothering him the same way it would have bothered him to see any woman sleeping with his older brother.

He had reconciled with his siblings and the Beifongs in the recent years, but some things should have remained private between them.

Like Bumi’s sex life.

Like Lin’s sex life.

Like their sex life.

Oh, how he wished he gone back to the past few minutes when he was still blissfully unaware. Or he hoped he would have already forgotten the markings and scars on Lin’s legs in order to not have recognized her in his brother’s bed.

Ah well, Tenzin eyed Lin’s family, the Avatar, Bolin, Asami, and Mako walking beside him, here’s hoping they not find out soon.

He doubted greatly that Lin would enjoy her relationship being disclosed before she deemed it necessary.

He recalled Bumi’s stance earlier, how protective he was of an unknowing Lin.

End of the day, Tenzin just wanted both of them to find happiness. He had did them both wrong in their lifetime and was at a loss on how to rectify it. The airbender had been trying in the past years, but there was only so much he could do.

Too little, too late, he always thought.

Tenzin waved at the acolytes that were leaving the dining hall. Pema sat down beside him and smiled as she handed him the platter of food. He smiled back, thinking still how lucky he was to have her by his side.

And now, by some peculiar twist of fate, Bumi and Lin found each other.

And, if, they make each other happy and content, then, Tenzin decided then and there, he will support them in any way that he can.

---

“Bro, are you going to eat that last piece?”

Mako was shaken from his reverie. Bolin stabbed the food on his plate at his head shake.

“Are you alright, Mako?” Asami was always the sensitive and observant of the group.

The firebender tossed a look at the Avatar chatting with Bolin and Opal at the other side of the table. After making sure that they were preoccupied, he turned to Asami.

Asami raised her eyebrows at him. “Well?”

“I think I know where the chief is.” He could not help but dart a wary glance at the Beifongs. “But it’s not my place to say.” Mako quickly added.

Asami leaned back at her seat and looked at him quizzically. “How did you know where?”

Mako dropped his utensils on the plate and covered his face with his hands. He was not one of Lin’s proteges for nothing.

One of his strengths as a detective is his keen eye for detail.

And details did not evade him in that brief view of Bumi’s bedroom.

It was quite obvious to him that the strewn pieces of clothing belonged to someone he had seen in attendance in the wedding reception earlier.

And that someone is his commanding officer.

---

Said commanding officer made her presence known at the lunch table that noon, surprised at seeing everyone still on the island.

That Chief Beifong was not expecting that there were still other guests at the residential area of Air Temple Island was fairly obvious, as Bumi was walking beside her, whispering at her side with a smile.

The plan was, actually, for most of the guests to have already gone their own ways but that morning’s excursion to Republic City made everyone’s itinerary delayed and their breakfast turned into brunch.

She exchanged a look with Bumi who shrugged and tried to sit at one of the empty tables unnoticed.

Now, while Mako might have been blessed with a sense of discretion, the same cannot be expected of his brother.

This became much apparent when said brother had gaped and thoughtlessly exclaimed, “Lin! We’ve been looking for you all morning – at what corner of Air Temple Island did you sleep at? I doubt this is the walk of shame.”

This pronouncement drew the attention of everyone in the hall – attention at her (their) very late entry and at her clothes which were clearly too formal for the day.

No one dared speak up as the metalbender simply glared at the earthbender, not responding.

There was complete silence in the dining hall.

…until comprehension dawned on Suyin Beifong’s face.

Then all hell broke lose.

---end---

Note: That could have probably gone better but let me know what you think. Anon, hope that worked for you (feel free to leave a note/msg :) ) Hope everyone is doing good, at least.

[buttonso]

Teamwork: An Aura/Harvey short

AKA: Buttonso Very Unsubtly Projects FEELINGS Onto Poor Aura.

I am going to put this below a cut both for length and because the whole thing concerns fears/anxieties around pregnancy. If you like it and want to reblog it, you may, but I will not tolerate any form of judgmental commentary. I'm prepared to block people if needs be.

2,685 words. Contains a few swears. Forgive any typos ^^*

So. Ok. Well. A few weeks ago, I learned that I was pregnant. I did not think it was in the cards for me, for various reasons, so it's been a surprise, and while it's a good surprise, I have found it to be more than a little overwhelming. My husband has been amazing and has been doing a good job of keeping me off the ledge, and this whole thing is based on one of the many pep talks he's given me in the last few weeks.

This clearly would take place after Breathe With Me is over. It may or may not be considered canon, as I could end up contradicting it in the future sequel of Breathe With Me...... which may be a long time coming now that my life is changing.

Maybe this is TMI, and if I've made anyone uncomfortable, I do apologize.

*

Teamwork

Harvey whistled under his breath, a cheery tune befitting the sunny day and his sunnier disposition. No matter how busy he got at the clinic, nothing had been able to dampen his spirits for long over the past several weeks. It was a lovely spring and promised to be an even lovelier summer. His home and his wife were lovelier still… and he was going to be a father. Oh, not for a awhile- Aura was nearing the end of her first trimester, but everything seemed to be going well so far.

It seemed that having everything he wanted in life agreed with Harvey.

His last appointment of the day had cancelled on him, and he’d decided to close the clinic early and head home to surprise Aura. He’d stopped by the General Store for a few things, the plan spinning out naturally as he shopped. He would draw a bath for her so she could relax after she came in from the fields while he cooked a nice dinner. He harbored vague, hopeful notions of offering her a massage after dinner, but that would be dependent on her energy levels after- it was entirely possible she would want to go straight to sleep.

Aura, of course, stubbornly insisted on continuing to do all the work she was accustomed to doing, and despite Harvey’s misgivings, he’d yielded to the judgement of her OB, who had said she could continue to work as long as she felt up to it. Well, the doctor was right, and he himself would have said the same thing to a patient, but that didn’t stop Harvey from worrying.

He did not see Aura anywhere near the farmhouse as he stepped up onto the porch, but that was not unusual. She might be in the far fields, or the barn, or the woods… she might well even be inside, working on something in the kitchen. But she always came home at 6:30 for supper, so he would be ready when she arrived. Harvey’s cheery little whistle became a contented hum as he set the groceries down on the kitchen table, then headed towards the bedroom to change clothes, loosening his tie as he walked. The living room and kitchen was empty- even the cat was nowhere in evidence.

The hum died in his throat as he pushed open the bedroom door and he saw her. Aura was lying on the bed, fully dressed on top of the covers, curled on her side. Her back was to him, and her body was shaking with soft, hopeless little sobs. Alarm shot through him- he couldn’t help the automatic, instinctive lunge towards the bed.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He asked, as she jumped, clearly startled, nearly lurching off the bed as she turned to face him, eyes wide as she hastily wiped at her tear-streaked face. Murphy, who’d been hidden from Harvey’s view by Aura’s body, scampered off the bed in alarm, his tubby body hitting the floor with a thud on the opposite side of the bed, claws scrabbling on the floor as he scampered off.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack!!” She exclaimed, one hand pressed to her chest and the other held out towards him, her finger pointing at him in accusation. “What are you doing home so early?!”

“My last appointment was canceled, and I thought I’d surprise you. Please… tell me, what’s going on…” He fought down the panicked, instant assumption of utter disaster, but he’d never seen her like this before. “…Did… did something happen? Are you well?”

“I-I’m fine…physically, anyway.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose before rubbing at her eyes and cheeks again with both hands. “I’m just… having some feelings. Dealing with feelings was never my strong suit and it’s harder than ever these days.”

“What sort of feelings?” Harvey moved cautiously towards the bed, sinking onto it beside her.

“It’s… it’s nothing,” Aura sighed, but she leaned into his touch when he reached out and put a hand on her cheek.

“It’s not nothing, you were in tears.” Anxiety made his voice tight and his tone a bit sharp. She flinched, biting her lip as she avoided his gaze. His hand slid from her cheek to her shoulder. “Sweetheart… please… tell me.” His heart raced and he felt himself trembling a little, despite his need to be brave. “Please,” He repeated, when the silence stretched between them, and he felt her shoulder beginning to tremble again.

“I-I…” she took a deep breath. “I’m… I’m scared, okay?” She blew out a frustrated breath and covered her face with her hands. “I’m… scared and I feel stupid, immature, selfish… I…I hate myself for feeling this way…”

“Why? What are you afraid of?” He slid his arm around her carefully, but she stiffened, rather than relaxing into his embrace as she always did. Dread crept up his spine, and panic made another attempt at clawing its way out.

“…I…I should be happier than I am. About the baby.” Her tone was extremely reluctant, her silver eyes downcast as she continued to avoid his gaze. She put a trembling hand on her stomach as the other hand came to rest on Harvey’s thigh. “But once the excitement of telling you wore off… every day, every week since… I’ve only gotten more and more worried.”

“Oh.” Harvey released the breath he’d been holding in a trembling sigh. “…Is… that all.” She still had a long way to go in her pregnancy… but still, that meant she’d been agonizing for several weeks in silence. It didn’t speak well for his attentiveness as a husband. “I’ve been floating around here like a happy fool, and I never noticed you were in distress…”

“You didn’t notice because I hid it from you,” She sighed. “I…I didn’t want to rain on your parade. And your excitement was definitely contagious at first, but now…”

“…Now?” He made another attempt at sliding his arm around her, and this time she did lean into him, to his relief.

“Everything… is gonna change, Harvey,” she said softly. “Everything. And I… I’m not sure I’m up to the challenge.”

Harvey ran his hand up and down her arm slowly in an attempt to soothe her. “I’m of the firm belief that there’s nothing you can’t handle, my dear.”

“But… don’t you see…” Aura paused as she seemed to try to compose herself, only to have her voice break. “I’m… I’m not good enough, Harvey.”

“Not good enough?” He echoed, biting back the automatic impulse to deny it. “Why do you think that?”

“There’s… there’s no doubt in my mind you’re going to be the best Dad ever. I mean… baby, you practically have nurturer tattooed on your forehead. But me? I’ve spent my entire adult life just doing whatever I wanted to do. I’ve learned how to be considerate of you, and to accommodate you in my life, but… a baby… I don’t… I don’t know how to be in a normal family. I just can’t see any way I’m not going to totally fuck this all up.”

“Sweetheart…” He tightened his embrace and pressed a kiss to her temple. “It’s perfectly natural to have concerns about impending parenthood… I know I’ve been all smiles since you told me you were pregnant, but I’ve been worried too… I grew up without a father, so I have no example to look back on. But we’ll learn together. We have friends with experience to draw upon, and we’ll be just fine. All three of us.”

“No, no it’s not… not just that…” Aura shook her head and gestured with one hand, as if she were shaping a lump of dough while she worked through her thoughts. “It’s not just worrying about doing a good job… even though I am… but I…” Her hand tightened into a fist, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “All this worrying I’ve been doing… I’m thinking about myself. How my freedom is going to be curtailed. How my relationship with you may be affected, may even suffer. How… how much I am not enjoying feeling the changes in my body.” Her cheeks reddened as her voice wobbled. “I hate feeling low-key sick all the time… my clothes are getting uncomfortably tight… my breasts feel too big, I’m not sleeping well... I mean, do you hear this? It’s all me, me, me, I, I, I… what kind of fucking self-centered monster am I? Instead of worrying about whether or not my baby is healthy I’m only thinking about how uncomfortable I am and how scared I am of all this change.” Her voice broke at last, and she began to sob again.

“Oh… my darling…” Harvey had never seen her in such a state, and he wasn’t quite sure how to react for a moment, but hugging her seemed like a safe bet, and he used both arms to do so, pulling her against his chest. “I wish you’d told me sooner…” He was no obstetrician, but Aura’s doctor was a friend of his, and he’d read quite a lot on the subject of pregnancy ever since they agreed to try for a baby. This felt like mere reassurance wouldn’t be enough. “You know… I meant it, earlier, when I said there’s nothing you can’t handle,” He said after a few moments of simply holding her.

“I know you think so, but…” She sniffed and he shook his head.

“No but.” He put just enough sternness into his voice that she blinked at looked questioningly at him.

“When you first came here… I was so in awe of how confident you were. You came here all by yourself and resurrected your grandfather’s dying farm. You ventured into those dreadful mines and fought monsters… and you told me once that you were not going to stop taking risks if you had a shot at something better. I remind you of all this not to dismiss your concerns… but to tell you that I have every confidence in you,” Harvey told her, doing his best to be calm. He hated seeing her this way, but he knew he needed to be the strong one now, even if that was normally her role.

“How can you not be… disgusted by what I just told you?” She asked damply, sniffing again, and wiping her face inelegantly with the back of her hand, blinking several times to clear the tears from her eyes.

Harvey fished a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. “Because you’re my favorite person in the world, and I love you so very much.” He smiled, feeling a bit shy and awkward. “I think you should talk to some of the other mothers in town… or if you aren’t comfortable with that, find a support group online. You cannot possibly be the only woman to feel this way. I of course cannot know what it feels like to be pregnant, but… it is not surprising at all that the physical changes may be disturbing. I’m no obstetrician but I have treated pregnant women before.”

“…I… thought about reaching out to Doctor Delecroix… I hadn’t talked to her in a while, but she always makes time for me if I need it…” Aura admitted, hesitantly. Aura’s therapist was a big believer in the power of the internet and was more than willing to have video chats with patients if they couldn’t make it to her office in Zuzu City, even a patient she was no longer seeing regularly, such as Aura.

“If you think it will help, then you should.” She’d stopped trembling, at least. “You’re not doing this alone,” Harvey added. “It will be a big change, it’s true… but it’s a change we’ll navigate together.”

“Just… just admitting how I’ve been feeling… It does help, a little…” Aura said slowly. “I’m still scared, but…right now, at least… I feel… I feel a little better… I…” She hesitated a moment. “I do want this baby, you know… I just… I didn’t expect to have all these mixed feelings.”

Harvey pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We’re doing this together,” He repeated. He’d say it as often as he had to. “We’re not just a team, we’re a family. No matter what happens. You, me, the little one…” There was a soft thud and a little “mrrrp” as Murphy returned to the bed, making his way to Aura’s lap and purring as Harvey stroked his head. “And him,” Harvey added. “We’d never forget you,” he said with a chuckle as the cat shoved his blocky head up into Harvey’s hand.

“I was so afraid that you’d be hurt if I admitted how I’ve been feeling…that… that was the worst part…” Aura said quietly, rubbing at her cheeks again. “I’m sorry if you were…”

“I was only worried about you,” Harvey said as they took turns petting the cat, who settled into a happy loaf on Aura’s lap, reveling in the attention. “Please don’t ever suffer in silence… our little one has a lot of growing to do yet, and I’ll do whatever I can to keep her mother happy.”

“Her?” Aura chuckled. “We can’t possibly know the sex yet. Besides, I thought all men wanted sons.”

Harvey shrugged. “Whenever I imagine it… I see a girl. Someone who will grow up as strong and beautiful and brave as her mother.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. “Though I wouldn’t say no to eventually having an assortment.”

She snorted and tilted her head a bit so she could kiss him lightly. “How about we make sure everyone survives this one before we talk about assortments… I’m still not loving the physical side of all this. I’m afraid I may be difficult to live with the next several months…I’ll… I’ll try my best to not be a complete monster.”

“Just be honest with me about your feelings, and I’ll extend you the same courtesy.” It was Harvey’s turn to initiate a kiss, brief and tender though it was.

“I…I should get back out there…” Aura said reluctantly, swinging her legs off the bed. “Got a few things that need doing before the day’s over.”

Harvey wanted to argue, to insist that she stay in and rest, but he didn’t have the heart to try to cage her now. “Go and do whatever you need to do… just be careful, please… and I’ll have a bath and dinner waiting for you when you get back.” He caught her hand as she nudged the cat off her lap and stood up. “And as for whether or not the baby will hurt our relationship… of course I can’t see the future, but… I can’t imagine any outcome apart from loving you more.” Harvey felt his cheeks heating in the familiar old blush that she could manifest in him with little more than a smile.

“I…” Aura gave a brittle little laugh and pulled his knuckles to her lips, giving them a brief kiss. “I don’t deserve you, you know.”

“I’ve told you before that you should let me be the judge of that.” Harvey answered as she quickly wound her hair into a loose braid.

“And you’ll… you’ll tell me if you have things you’re worried about, right? Or if I do or say something to hurt you? You won’t suffer in silence either?” She asked pointedly.

“I promise,” Harvey answered as she headed towards the door. “I love you, Aura.”

She paused at the doorway and blew him a kiss with a weary chuckle. “I love you, too, Harvey. Thank you… for being you. I couldn’t ask for a better partner.”

Harvey smiled as she left the room, listening to her footsteps fade. Murphy shoved his head against Harvey’s arm, and he gave the cat a stroke. “Well, boy… life isn’t simple even when you do have everything you want,” he said to the cat. “But we’ll just have to do our best and look after each other… it’s all anyone can do, I suppose.”

[dontshootmespence]

A Good Business Transaction

Summary: Desperate for money after getting into trouble, Y/N enters into a ‘business transaction’ of sorts with resident Thrombey asshole, Ransom.

Pairing: Ransom x Reader

Word Count: 2,368

Warning: Gambling problems, paying for sex, p in v, blow jobs and gagging, fingering, squirting, name-calling, biting, creampies, canon divergent. I really went all out on this one. See below.

A/N: You can all blame my horny-for-Chris gf @heycasbutt​ for this.

You have money - not Thrombey money - but you have it. While waiting for Meg to finish with the will reading, you step outside the palatial Thrombey mansion to light up a cigarette, hoping it will quiet your nerves. Unfortunately, you probably have to smoke the entire pack in ten minutes and subsequently die to feel like you aren’t on edge anymore, but hey, that’s life. 

With shaky hands, you tap the lighter and watch the flame ignite, hoping that maybe you’ll spontaneously combust and not have to deal with your looming money problems.

“You know that shit’ll kill ya, right?” 

There goes the cigarette taking the edge off. “Eat shit, Drysdale.” Taking a drag, you let the smoke go into the subtle breeze making its way past the mansion. “What happened with the reading?”

“Family business,” he replies as the corner of his lips turns upward. “You can ask Meg. We’re all fucked.” Something on his face doesn’t read like he’s fucked - like he has something up his sleeve.

Meg’s been your best friend for years, despite you being a few years older, so you were hoping that she might be able to help you with your money issue, but if the whole family is fucked, you assume the entirety of Harlan’s money went to his caretaker Marta. “Well, fuck.”

You put out the half-finished cigarette on the side of the house and pull another one from the pack, quickly lighting it up as you try to wipe away a tear. Last thing you want to be doing is crying in front of Ransom Drysdale. Meg is the only reason you’ve ever met him. He’s sexy as hell but all the looks and money in the world can’t stop Ransom from being the world’s biggest asshole. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, the smallest note of caring entering his voice before he continues with his usual self. “Can’t milk Meg for all the money she’s not getting?”

“Fuck off, Ransom. Meg’s my best friend. I don’t do that kind of shit to people.”

“Everyone does when money’s involved,” he said confidently. “You got money problems?”

“I’m into it with a bookie, alright?”

“How much?”

“Fifty large, and my dad’s basically cut me off because he’s got a new whore he spends all his money on. The child he never wanted from the now dead mother isn’t his priority anymore.”

“What a cocksucker.” Ransom seems genuine for one of the first times in his life. “I can help you out.”

The red ember of the cigarette draws your attention for a moment. You know what he wants. He’s made no secret over the years. “With what money, Drysdale? You just said you’re all fucked.”

“I’ve got my ways.” The glint in his eyes said he was about to fuck his whole family in the ass, including Meg, but you had bookies on your ass and if he was about to come into some money, you needed it. 

You take a step toward him and take another drag. “I don’t what you’re about to do, but you really mean that? You’d keep the bookies from killing me? Because I’m headed six feet under if I don’t pay up by the end of the week.”

“Yea, I’m not completely heartless. My family can eat shit and die, but you-”

“You don’t want me to die when you haven’t had the chance to sleep with me yet.”

“Your words, not mine.”

“When do you expect to come into this money?” Despite Meg being your best friend your need for self-preservation trumps all. You’re about to fuck Meg over and yet you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“Few days. A week tops.”

“How about I give you a hint of what’s to come if you get me out of this?”

A raised eyebrow tells you that you’ve got him on the hook. He could be bullshitting about money, but your gut says he isn’t. “Any good business transaction needs some good faith, right?”

What an asshole. Grabbing him by the coat, you guide him behind the house. With his family losing their minds inside, no one will notice if you indulge Ransom’s dirty mind. You back yourself into the wall and slide down, feeling your hair catch in the roughness of the reddish brick.

“You think about this a lot?” He asks. “You got down on your knees pretty quickly.”

You glare at him through hooded eyes - the ‘eat shit’ implied. As you fumble with his belt, you hear him chuckle. God, you hate him. You pull him free of his boxers and run your tongue along the tip, catching the little drop of pre-cum that sits there. Despite his cocksure attitude, he shivers and slips his hand into your hair. “You gonna suck my cock, little girl?”

“I’m going to gag on your cock, Drysdale. Let you fuck it like it’s my pretty little cunt.”

Groaning, he grasps either side of your head and braces his forearms against the brick wall. “Open.”

You do as he says, sticking your tongue. “Fuck my mouth, Drysdale. And if you come through for me, you’ll get so much more. After I get paid of course.”

“Of course,” he says suredly. 

Reaching out, you grasp his balls with your dominant hand and guide him into your mouth, wrapping your lips around the velvety smooth skin. You moan around him and watch his jaw drop. This is gonna be the best head he’s ever gotten, if only to ensure that he pays up when the time comes. While his family fights somewhere in the distance, you take him over and over again, making a point not to swallow. If Ransom is anything, it’s dirty, nasty and messy.

A trail of spit drops onto your shirt. “Look at me,” he demands. “Stay still. It’s my turn.”

He places a hand behind your head. At first, you think it’s the act of a gentlemen, but then you realize it’s just Ransom ensuring that if he fucks your brains out he won’t actually fuck your brains out against the brick wall. It’ll be hard to get his money if he’s a convicted murderer. Ransom steps closer to the wall and guides his cock into your mouth again, unrelenting when he feels you gag. Your reflex forces him out and you laugh. Against your better judgement you have thought about his cock in your mouth more times than you care to admit. 

Arousal pools between your legs. If it weren’t for the fact that you need money, and the fact that Ransom would 100 percent fuck you senseless and then go back on his promise, you’d be him to fuck you right here, right now. As he thrusts in and out of your mouth, his cock heavy on your tongue, you hollow your cheeks and try to look up at him. You want to watch the cocky bastard lose his damn mind. 

When he sees your unfaltering gaze, he picks up the pace, his cock getting harder and harder with each pass. “I’m going to come down that pretty little throat.”

You swallow him down and grab his ass, anchoring him there as he pulses down your throat. You hate how turned on you are, shaking as you come. His right hand slinks around your neck so he can feel himself in your throat. “Little slut likes getting her throat fucked?”

“I do,” you reply, swallowing the last of his come as you rise to your feet. “Come through for me next week and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

As you walk away, you wipe the remnants of your ‘business transaction’ from your lips, confident that he’ll deliver.

                                                            ----

Meg’s been crying to you all week. Marta had the inheritance for all of a couple of days when she was found to have killed Harlan. She didn’t. You knew it. Something to do with Ransom you’re sure. But with your deadline to your bookies looming, you can’t bring yourself to care. 

As you knock on Ransom’s front door, you glance around, hoping that no one sees you, especially Meg. She knows about your money problems, so if she sees you’re still alive after walking into Ransom’s place she’ll put it together. She’s a smart girl.

“Come in,” he says, swinging the door open unceremoniously. “You got the account you need it routed to?”

“Yea,” you say, handing over the paper.

He says something about routing the money through various accounts so it’s safer, safer for him obviously; he wants to make sure your bookies can’t come after ‘his’ money. “Alright, call your guy and make sure the debt is paid.”

With shaky hands, you dial the number and wait for him to pick up. “Got my payment?”

“Close call, girl. Don’t let it happen again.” The disembodied voice responds. 

“It won’t.” Because you don’t plan on being here much longer than you have to. You’re going to pay your debt to Ransom, because he’s hot so why not, and then you’re planning on stealing what you can from your father and bouncing before he can do anything about it. Shouldn’t be a problem considering he doesn’t pay attention to anyone but his new whore. “Done,” you say, turning toward Ransom. “I appreciate it. I’ll be out of your hair soon. But I am ready to pay my debt if you’re so inclined.”

“You wear the type of lingerie I asked for?”

Unbuttoning your top, you show him a peek of the nude, see-through lace bra you’re wearing. “Panties match, too.”

“Good girl.” There’s a glint in his eyes that makes you weak in the knees. You’ve had plenty of sex in your life, but something about Ransom’s brash demeanor, give no fucks attitude and search for his own pleasure and his alone gets to you in the best way possible. You have no misgivings about your relationship with Ransom. It’s a business transaction. Money for sex. You got your money and you like sex, so why not follow through? “Strip. Leave the lingerie on though. I plan on destroying it.”

His red gaze remains fixed on you as you let the shirt drop to the floor and your jeans pool around your ankles. “Best 50k I’ve ever spent.”

“Bastard.”

“You like it,” he says as he begins to circle you.

Behind you, he pulls off his light blue sweater and throws it who knows where. All you hear is its soft thud on the ground before he spins you around and pushes you back toward the couch. You fall into it and watch him reach for what appears to be condoms. “Don’t,” you say. “I’m on the pill and I was just tested. I want you to come in my tight little cunt.”

“You are a little slut.” Happily, he throws the box to the side and drops to his knees in front of the couch, pulling the lace to the side so he can lap at your arousal. “I’m going to make you squirt. Scream my name. I plan on ruining you for every man that comes after me.” 

His tongue slides up and down your slit a few times before he slips two fingers inside. With his other hand, he rips the panties to shreds and discards the material on the floor next to him. You grab his head and silently beg for more - faster, harder - anything. When you clench your legs around his head, he starts to fuck you with his tongue, his hands clasping your thighs like his life depends on it. 

Pulling away, he leaves you wanting as he rough fucks your pussy with his fingers. “Squirt for me, slut.”

Your orgasm crests in an instant and then you’re doing what you haven’t before, crying out his name as you squirt. He laps it up like a man starved as you shake, his fingers still inside you. “You’ll never find another woman like me either, Hugh. Every woman you fuck until the end of time. You’ll wish she were me.”

He says nothing. You use his real name, knowing it’ll anger him, but he’s speechless. You’re right and he hates that. Pushing his pants down, he kicks them off and spreads your thighs with his roughened palms, bearing all his weight on you. 

With no ceremony whatsoever, he plunges into your wet heat, groaning at the fit. “God, your pussy is perfect.” Each slam of his cock makes you cry out, back arching into the couch, nipples taut against the thin, but confining fabric of your bra. Whether he senses your frustration or just wants to see all of you, you don’t know, and you don’t care, because he pushes the lace above your breasts. 

As he pounds into you, he bends down to take one of your nipples between his teeth. “Fill my pussy up Ransom. I want it.” You wrap your legs around his waist and use your heels to push him into you harder and harder. 

His sweat-slick skin meets yours as he bends down to take your mouth in a searing kiss. It’s filled with lust and hatred and leaves your head spinning as another orgasm threatens to turn you to jelly. 

Each groan and growl says he isn’t far from coming himself. He grasps your inner thighs and scratches at the skin, pulling out all the way before pumping back in. When he comes, you cry out, “Ransom!” You rub your clit and arch up, muscles spasming as his cock twitches inside you, hot thick ropes of come pooling inside you. 

“Fuckin hell,” he breathes. “I’ll be thinking about this pussy for a long time.”

You dip your finger into your pussy and feel his come, bringing it to your mouth for a taste. You make a point of not breaking his gaze. Sure you’re leaving, but you want to make a lasting impression on the asshole. “Take a picture, Ransom, it’ll last longer.”

Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he finds his phone and replies, “You know what? I think I will. For posterity’s sake.” He smirks.

Blissed out and filled with come, you smile for the camera. “Eat shit, Drysdale.”

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

Three AM, Aching and Tender

A Jason Todd x reader oneshot

the title is a bit fucked, but my inspiration ran out, so here we are

warnings for a character getting triggered, and also SMUT

*edited because I added a tag and tumblr decided that meant it could delete the whole fucking post

***

Jason aches.

Aches. All over, everywhere. He aches, and he’s so, so tired. Standing in the dark hallway in front of his apartment door, he can almost feel the exhaustion enveloping him, a physical wave threatening to pull him under as he fights for lucidity. He’s got the achy sort of tired that comes from a mission, a deadening of senses that just spent hours of hyper-alert, of muscles that were overstretched and overused. Half his body seems to be twinging lightly, sending minor flashes of pain that glimmer faintly in his soup-slow brain that’s doing it’s damndest to focus up enough to unlock his fucking flat.

The weariness is so pronounced that he couldn’t be bothered to enter his apartment like a proper vigilante and had walked in the building’s front door. He isn’t too worried, it’s 3:15am and the streets outside are nearly deserted. Besides, Babs has alerts on all CCTV cameras two miles in every direction, she’d scrub the footage if any of them caught the Red Hood waltzing into a building like he lived there.

After digging through his pockets for a few seconds, Jason gets his keys out and unlocks his door, flicking on the living room light. He sets his rucksack on the floor by the kitchen island, running the zipper down and taking out the few sets of dirty clothes from the top of the bag, putting them aside to wash later. He’d packed light for the two-week job with Roy and Kory.

Frustration edges in on the exhaustion lightly fogging his mind as he thinks over the mission itself. The drug sting on Santa Prisca had taken out some major players, but on their way out Roy got hit by some trigger happy idiot. Jason and Kory had had to perform emergency first aid on the helicopter ride off the island. It was touch and go for a bit, but eventually they’d dug the bullets of out his shoulder and thigh, and Kory cauterized the wound with her powers. Jason was taping gauze over her handiwork not twenty minutes ago. Roy will end up with two new scars and nothing more, but it wasn’t exactly how Jason preferred to end his missions.

He sighs, trying to push the days’ events from his mind. Giving himself a shake, he starts stripping down, taking off his helmet and body armor and placing them on the countertop, a tarp he’d laid down keeping his kitchen clean. His guns and miscellaneous other weapons, knives and the occasional batarang, make their way onto the tarp as well. Once he’s down to his pants and undershirt he surveys the counter, wondering what he can get away with just wiping down with disinfectant and what he’s going to have to soak in bleach overnight. As he eyes a particularly grimy blade a noise makes his way out of his bedroom. He doesn’t have to guess at what it is, and sure enough you appear a moment later, wearing an overlarge t shirt and hair mussed from sleep.

He grunts in your direction, mood still black from Roy’s close call. “Hey. You didn’t have to get up.”

“S’okay.” You softly pad over and take a seat on one of the barstools ringing the island. Neither of you say anything for a bit, silence stretching comfortably as you watch him in that even way of yours while he cleans and puts away his gear.

It still makes him pause, seeing you in his kitchen like this. This isn’t the first time you’ve graced his apartment in the early morning hours, kitchen light flickering over your head. You’d stayed over a few times since Jason had started sort-of-dating you a month and a half ago. He had actually handed you the keys when he left for Santa Prisca, you had asked if you could crash at his place while your landlord fumigated your apartment. He knows you’ve been here for two weeks, and you seem comfortable enough in his space, but Jason doesn’t think he’ll get used to moments like these. To having you here, clock ticking low while you huddle up on his barstool, streetlights outside bouncing through the window and shining hazy light on your skin.

In the month and a half that he’s known you, you’ve proven soft and sweet. Can you really fit into the seedy grooves of his life? He’s admiring you while he cleans his fucking guns at three in the morning for chrissakes, do you really belong here? Stills of you in his apartment drift across his brain, he imagines you having breakfast here in the morning, cleaning your teeth in front of his bathroom mirror, laying in his bed with your head resting on his pillow. Can he really have you like this?

Six weeks since Tim introduced you, and Jason still feels uneasy with these moments of quietness stillness, of just being together. He likes spending time with you and he’s happy you’re seeing each other, but Jason feels like he’s missing a trick, here. Something isn’t right. Maybe that’s the problem, not whether you belong in his life at all. It’s that something’s out of place with the two of you, with your relationship, if he can call it that. You text back and forth often enough, you go on dates, you fuck, but something doesn’t sit well with him. Maybe it’s that, for all the time you spend together, neither of you have actually ponied up and admitted some real feelings. It’s almost as though you’re settling into a routine of a long relationship before you’ve put in any of the grunt work, before you’ve run the risk of being vulnerable with each other. The two of you are groping blindly in the dark, hoping the other person feels the same way but never reaching out to confirm it, only to be pleasantly surprised when you bump into each other, wordlessly. It’s setting his teeth on edge, because it’s pretty clear to him that he likes you, and quite a bit more than a lot. He’s not great with emotions, hasn’t been since the pit and even before that, but he’s getting the sense that this thing with you might be starting to brush up against something big. He just doesn’t know what to do about it.

“How’d the job go?” your voice is a murmur in the dim light. For all his misgivings about whether his life can fit someone like you, you’re still choosing to sit next to his vigilante gear with no comment. On your second date, you had dropped the bomb that you know about his nightlife, and for a split-second Jason had frozen, ready to wallop Tim for clueing you in, or at the very least ignore his calls for a few weeks. Before he could even open his mouth to deny it, you told him you’d figured it out from Tim’s schedule back in college. It didn’t take a genius to make the leap from Tim to Bruce Wayne and his brood.

Jason knows you’re hazy on the details about his death and then non-death, but he isn’t in any hurry to bring you up to speed. He’s quietly grateful that you haven’t pressed.

He sets a gun down, stifling a wince at the sight of blood on the muzzle. You know about his night gig and his methods, sure, but there’s a difference between knowing and seeing blood coating a deadly firearm. A quick glance in your direction reveals that you don’t seem disgusted or repelled at all. He’s not even sure you’ve noticed it, from where he stands it looks like you’re keeping your gaze on him. You’ve drawn your knee up to your chest and are resting your chin on it, eyes wide and open as you wrap your arms around your bent leg.

Jason takes a deep breath, thinking on how to answer your question about the mission. He wants to grunt his way out of this and into the shower so he can wash the day off him, but your sweet concern deserves at least a response. Squeezing his eyes shut, he says “the sting went okay, but on the way out Roy got hit in a few nasty places.” He hears you shift in your seat. “Oh no, is he alright?”

He starts to shrug a bit as he opens his eyes. “He’ll be okay, but performing emergency surgery while under fire was—”

The last word comes out clipped and awkward as Jason catches sight of the shirt you’re wearing. You’d brought your leg down to the chair, leaving your chest open. Now he can see the shirt properly, and his gut sinks as he realizes that it’s his, that it’s one of his old ones from before, one of the ones Dick gifted to him while he was still Robin, while he was still with Bruce. His body turns stiff as his eyes trace the faded Haley’s Circus logo. Jason remembers admiring it every time a teenage Dick Grayson wore it around the manor, remembers admiring the teenage Dick Grayson himself, and his throat goes tight. Memories of who Bruce used to be to him, of what he used to be to Bruce, flood his mind and he finds he aches in a different way, more urgent, as the past takes over.

“Jay?” you ask, and there’s no way you could have missed that, the way his body locked down. “Is everything okay?” You’re moving again, hands braced on the counter like you’re about to get up and go over to him, which is the last thing he wants right now.

He can feel old defense mechanisms whirring into place. “What are you wearing?” he says, voice curt, instead of answering.

“What?” You glance down at yourself. “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to bring something to sleep in so I just—”

“Where did you get that shirt?” Somewhere in his brain Jason feels guilty for making you recoil like that, but it’s lost to the wash of anger that had welled up so suddenly.

“I—I found it in your drawer, I’m sor—”

“So you were snooping through my stuff?” What is he doing, what is he doing? He doesn’t care if you went through his fucking sock drawer, why can’t he stop lashing out at you? But he knows why. 

“No, of course I wasn’t snooping, I… I just,” you’re stammering in confusion. “I didn’t know the shirt was…I can go change if you want?” you offer, trying to placate him.

Jason takes a deep breath, trying desperately to get back in control of himself. He thought he was past this, he thought he was past turning into a crazed jackass any time Bruce pre...pre-Death came up, but apparently not.

“Jay?” You say quietly. Squeezing his eyes shut, he abruptly turns around, facing his back to you. “Just,” he manages to grunt out, “just give me a second.” This isn’t their fault, he hisses in his brain, they don’t deserve his temper. Flailing about, he finally remembers a breathing exercise Dick taught him years ago. Breathe in one two three four out one two three four five. In one two three four, out one two three four five. After about a minute or two, he feels in control again. 

“No,” he says out loud, turning around to face you again, anger leaving him in an exhale. “No, you don’t have to change.” The tired ache slowly creeps back in. “I’m sorry, doll, I shouldn’t’ve gotten angry at you, that wasn’t cool.”

“It’s okay,” you say after a moment. Your shoulders don’t relax from where they’re bunched up around your neck, though, and Jason wants to kick himself.

“Seriously,” he says instead. “You’re fine, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one who was wrong for shouting at you.” He needs to make it clear to you that he knows he was out of line, and that there hopefully won’t be a repeat performance of this. “It’s not even about you, it’s just…” He sighs. “Dick gave me that shirt, before. When I was, you know…”

“Still with Bruce,” you supply for him. That was much nicer than ‘When I was still on life number one,’ which is what Jason had been thinking. “Oh, Jay, I’m so sorry, if I had known…” and the compassion in your gaze is so bright he almost wants to take a step back. “You couldn’t’ve,” he says instead, because of course it wasn’t your fault. “It just took me by surprise, is all.”

You nod. “I understand.” And you don’t, not really, but he appreciates the effort. "I can try to be more...aware of stuff like that, in the future."

And Jason wants to say 'don't worry about it,' but what comes out instead is "thank you."

After a few moments of silence, Jason picks up the dirty gun and gets back to work, glancing at you worriedly every few moments. Your eyes follow him for a while, bright and sharp, but eventually you stretch your arms over your head and leave the chair. Jason expects you to go back to bed, and half wonders whether he should offer to take the couch, especially after what just happened, but instead you step into the living room and sit on the sofa, legs stretched out over his coffee table.

Jason cleans and stows the rest of his gear, washes his hands, and wipes down the countertop for good measure before collapsing onto the couch next to you. You turn your head to look at him. Your hackles are still up, and Jason feels sick with himself. “Are you sure you’re okay, doll?” He asks. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no, it’s okay, I promise.” You flash him a smile, quick and dry, but he notices some of the tension leave you. “So I, um,” you clear your throat, eyes darting away from his. “I really missed you, while you were away.” You hold his gaze then, drawing your lower lip into your mouth, which always drives him a little crazy.

He’s bad at this feelings stuff, he knows he is, which is why he surprises himself when the words “I really missed you, too,” roll off his tongue, easy as anything.

Your lips curve into another smile, syrup-slow this time. He’s momentarily stunned, and when you bring that smile closer to him and peck him on the lips, he has to remind himself to kiss back.

Jason thinks you’ll stop after a minute, and it surprises him when you don’t. Instead, you let a soft sight escape and tilt your head for a better angle, licking sweet into this mouth. He’s not complaining, Jason loves kissing you, so he follows your lead and brings a hand to your waist. You hum when he does, and press yourself closer to him, almost climbing into his lap. Jason’s never been one to miss an opportunity, so he grabs you by the hips and pulls you squarely onto his thighs.

The movement startles you enough that you break from his lips, panting slightly as you reorient yourself. “Hi,” you say, still catching your breath. “Hi,” he answers, then surges up slightly to kiss you again. It’s filthier this time, your breath coming fast as you wind your arms around his neck and start running your fingers through his hair. Jason loves it when you do this, loves feeling your small hands make their way over his scalp. Any remaining tiredness flees in the face of his slow-building arousal. How can he be tired when he’s got your ass in both hands?

When he squeezes lightly you exhale into his mouth and roll your hips against his. “Naughty, naughty,” he murmurs in your ear, smiling against it. “Don’t worry, I know how to make you feel good.”

Your triumphant smile catches him off-guard. “I know you do, baby,” you purr, placing your lips at the juncture of his neck.

His instincts ping lightly. You’re grinning like you’ve won something, or something has gone right. Jason thinks for a second, remembering your soft, too-innocent step out of the bedroom, hair perfectly out of place, at almost the exact moment he came home. This setup seems too good to be true, or at least unplanned. He reaches under your borrowed shirt and confirms his suspicions: you’re not wearing any underwear.

“You were after this the whole time, weren’t you?” You pull back and oh, your grin is wicked, lips cherry-red and glistening. In retaliation, Jason snakes a hand up your chest and pinches your left nipple, lightning-fast. The soft “oh!” you make in surprise is entirely worth it.

“This whole time, you just wanted to get in my pants?”

“Guilty.” There’s a smirk in your voice as you roll your hips again. “You don’t sound too upset about it,” you tease, and you must feel his hardening cock through his pants.

He’s not upset, but he can’t resist the opportunity to tease you a bit more. “That’s what the shirt was about, wasn’t it?” God, it’s so hard to make fun of you when you’re squirming in his lap. “You were trying to do that thing where you wear someone else’s clothing and they find it really sexy and all?”

You slow down there, stop rolling your hips. Shame coats your face as you direct your eyes at the floor. “Jay, I’m so sorry.”

Your shame doesn’t belong here, and Jason’s quick to ease it away. “It’s okay, doll.” He tugs the offending shirt off, tossing it carelessly to the side. “Besides, I happen to prefer you like this.”

You’re a sight to see. Completely naked, sitting pretty on his lap, and fixing him with a look he finds almost challenging. He wants to wipe it off, so he brings his left hand back to your breast, and this time his palm meets skin.

Your eyes flutter shut. “You ‘happen to prefer me like this,’ hmm?” you murmur, arching your back into his grip. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Oh, I think you can,” Jason says slyly, but you’re not listening, you’re too wrapped up in what his hands are up to. He loves it, loves touching you and knowing it’s driving you wild, so he gets his forefinger and thumb around your nipple and pinches lightly, how you like it. He looks up to see your eyes still shut. “Aren’t even looking at me, huh, princess? Can’t even look at me when I’m giving you what you want?” He mock sighs. “Is this it, then, you manipulate me into getting you off but then can’t even look at me while I’m touching you?”

You open your eyes and huff at him. “Yes, Jay, that’s it.”

He grins, and keeps going. “Is it that I’m piss ugly? That’s it, isn’t it, you don’t want to look at my fuck-ugly face?”

“I wish your fuck-ugly mouth would shut up,” you mutter.

“What was that?” Jason moves his hand back to your waist, and you pout at him. It looks so attractive on you.

“C’mon, Jay.” You yank at his hair. “You know you’re stupid hot,” and you’re right, he does know, but some of his scars are ugly and they tend to itch. But you know that, which is why your face softens. “You’re stupid hot, and it’s very distracting. Just shut up and kiss me, you’re being annoying.”

“Okay,” he says, easy, but instead of going for your lips he licks a stripe up your breast and closes his lips around your nipple, the right one this time. Your breath leaves you in a rush, and Jason thinks it’s the best sound he’s ever heard, but then your breathing comes back online a moment later. It’s punch-drunk and delicious, and gets to him in the best way. His cock is becoming harder and harder to ignore. A few seconds later and you’re making these small moans that are almost obscene, so he stays right where he is, with his hands alternating between giving your ass more attention and running up and down your back.

“Fuck, Jay,” you pant, clinging onto his shoulders for dear life. “Knew it, knew you would make me feel so good.”

Something occurs to him, and he sucks lightly one last time before pulling back and licking his lips. “Did you touch yourself, doll? While I was gone? Did you make yourself come?”

He has his answer when you look down and bite your lip again. “No, I, um,” and the innocent act you’re pulling is completely ruined by the small smile you’re fighting to keep off your face, but Jason doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. “I wanted you to do it, so I saved it for you.”

Fuck. Fuck. Your words go straight to his groin. The only thing he can think to do is to roll his hips against yours. You meet him there, moving torturously slow against the blunt head of his cock that’s now painful against his zipper. That bit of pain makes it so, so good, and for a few minutes he just moves with you, enjoying the feel of your body against his. Soon, you start talking again. “Jay, Jason, please, touch me,” you beg, your voice going tight as he rolls his hips.

“Where? You have to tell me where, sweetheart,” he murmurs. You stay silent for a few seconds, and then—

“My cunt. My cunt, Jay, and my clit, please.”

You never talk like that, ever, and the filth coming out of your mouth sends electricity crackling through his brain. He immediately stands up, taking you with him. You shriek a bit at being suddenly airborne, then crowd even closer to his chest and start sucking a hickey on his neck. Thoughts hazy, Jason makes for his bedroom and deposits you on his bed.

You quickly collect yourself, stretching out and preening on his rumpled sheets. Jason decides he needs to be naked immediately, and busies himself shucking off his pants and underwear and tearing off his shirt. When he looks at you again, night air cool against his skin, he sees your hand moving between your legs.

Quick as a flash, he darts onto the bed, grabbing your hand with one of his own and placing himself squarely between your thighs. “No, no,” he chides you, pressing your hand into the mattress above your head. “Come on, doll, you’ve waited this long. Let me.” And he brings his free hand to your crotch, finding your clit and rubbing the pad of his index finger against it.

“God, finally,” you hiss, bucking your hips against his hand. He chuckles at that. “Love how impatient you are, love how slick your pussy is.”

You look him in the eye, then. “For you, Jay.”

Well, hell's bells.“For me,” he agrees, then neatly slides his index finger into you. “Ngh--!” He smiles at the aborted sound you make. Jason spends a few minutes here, moving his fingers in and out of you, enjoying the way you’re shivering under his touch. Eventually, your voice stops him.

“Fuck me, Jay,” you plead. “Fuck me with your cock.”

He growls, then reaches for his bedside table. Yanking open the drawer, he fishes out a condom, then backs up to open it and roll it on. When he looks back at you he sees your eyes are wide. “You sure you want to do this?” He asks, just to check in.

You nod, then scoot back so you’re flush against the pillows, laying flat on the bed. He moves back over you, coming to rest between your thighs again, one hand on the wall above the bed for support. You gasp as he slowly pushes into you, a bit at a time. “This okay?” He asks.

“No,” you say shortly, and then you hook your legs around his waist and drag yourself toward him, taking him inside entirely. He narrowly misses biting his own tongue as sparks fly behind his eyes. “Go faster,” you order him.

Jason looks down at you. “You’re six different kinds of crazy, doll,” he says, but he smiles in spite of himself, heeds you and starts thrusting, pulling out of you a bit only to fill you again as his hips snap against yours. “You like it,” you say. He can’t believe how good you feel, how tight you are around him.

“Yeah, I do.” And of course he does.

The two of you spend a few minutes trying to match each other’s pace, hips stuttering in the face of your fragmented concentration. Eventually, though, you’re moving together again, and every time you meet one of his strokes you start to make a low sound in the back of your throat. Jason a;ways makes sure to keep his eyes open when you're fucking, and he's had them trained on you from the start. He loves how you look stretched out below him, how your breasts jump lightly when he fucks into you, how your mouth is shaped into a perfect o with lust. It’s a heady feeling, knowing he can do this to you, and he feels almost drunk with it.

Not that the lust and desire is at all one-sided. Suddenly, your muscles squeeze tight around his cock and he almost loses his mind. Before he starts to go completely he reaches a hand between you and starts rubbing at your clit.

“Ah-ah!” you shout, hands moving to his shoulders. He barely registers the feeling of your fingernails biting into his skin, all he can think about is how good you feel and how he can make you feel good. He starts swiping a thumb across your clit every time his hips slam against yours, and the string of swear words you let out in response is delicious.

“Ff-fuck. Fuck, Jay, I’m going to come,” and suddenly you do, face scrunching up below him as you ride the crest of your orgasm. Your walls clamp down on him, and Jason thrusts once more, twice, three times, and then he follows you blissfully over the edge. For a few moments, the two of you keep still, panting together and staring sightlessly into the dark as you wait for the waves of pleasure to subside enough for you to surface. Eventually, Jason wakes up and out of himself to the feeling of you planting a kiss on his lips. He gives himself a shake, then kisses back eagerly. It’s sloppy, but you don’t seem to mind, pulling back after a few seconds to sigh contentedly. “Well,” you say, dragging your arms down his shoulders, “that was nice.”

“You’re being stingy, doll,” Jason berates you lightly, pulling out of you and removing the condom. “That was a few levels beyond ‘nice.’” He ties off the condom and drops it neatly in the trash, before rejoining you on his bed and pulling you to his chest. You waste no time snuggling against him, fitting your head into the hollow of his neck.

Jason feels brave, so he says “I’m really glad you’re here,” before dropping a light kiss to your hair.

You reach up to stroke along his forearm where it rests on your chest. “I’m really glad I’m here too. And, um, I’m really glad we’re together.” You tilt your head up at that, shy eyes peering up to gauge his reaction. It’s almost too easy to meet you halfway. “I am, too.” A beat, and then “does this mean I’m calling you my girlfriend now?”

You smile pleasantly at the ceiling. “I like that.” And Jason does, too.

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Day Twelve

Hi darlings, I hope you are all well! Stay safe and LOUD! If you need a little break, here is something to read! Love to you all, and my boo @dirtystyles for being my friend and beta!

Reblogs are love!

Day 12: The One With The Request

"Babe?" Harry called from the door.

Elise barely heard him from the inside of the shower cubicle. Her shower cubicle.

"Sorry, love!" He cooed when he opened the door and she jumped. His voice did little to calm her racing heart. "I didn't mean to scare you."

She turned her head to look at him, keeping her naughty bits pointed at the shower head instead of in his line of sight. "It's alright. Now I don't have to workout today thanks to this adrenaline rush."

"You were gonna work out with me today?" He was pouting.

"Well, no." She laughed despite feeling slightly uncomfortable, him fully clothed and her naked as the day in the shower. "But it sounds better than I knew I was gonna be lazy, doncha think?"

He smiled for her. "I thought I'd missed an opportunity. Any way I can convince you?" He settled his thumb into the waist band of his sweatpants and his large hand covered most of his bulge. Harry was a morning person. He liked getting up early, well early for quarantine. And he -liked- mornings, the last two days had taught her.  While she'd always thought of sex as a night time activity, at least for normal people not sneaking around, she was learning the different flavors to pleasure, the soft glow of morning, playful delights of afternoons, and intense connection of late nights. Of all these, Harry seemed most interested in slow rolling morning fucks.

She'd snuck away this dawn to shower by herself before he roused. He had effectively wiped her nerves, well any and all negative things, from her mind last night after their Friends marathon. All of the thoughts that had invaded after his comments about finishing all ten seasons in three days got to her. Elise was glad he really only turned to look at her face when he asked if she was hungry, before making them sandwiches, on the remaining bread, and smoothies. Afterwards, she'd laid on his chest and he wasn't able to see that her mind was not on the televised shenanigans, but that they had an expiration date. Once the show was over, they were too.

They had always had an expiration date she supposed, from that sneeze, but things had changed for her. Elise had been developing more than a crush on him since the minute they crossed his threshold. She knew it was more when he'd joked about shaving his head, the curls, just to see the online response and her brain had commented, hot. Harry without his curls still totally appealed to her. She was sunk. And then, they'd cuddled, and flirted. And that was before they got to the kissing and the cavorting.

Did cavorting cover what they had been doing? He'd had her on multiple flat surfaces by this point, and the stairs had been too long to make it up them the night before. Her neck was not thanking her. And his bed. The hours they'd whiled away in bed. All the eye contact and sweet nothings meant something to her.

She'd woken up hazy and high. The love he'd made, and she had no other way to describe it, to her last night was different than the slow and precise focus on her pleasure the day before, the bread making shenanigans and the couch fumble and stair fuck.

He'd been patient like the morning one, and silly like in the kitchen, and insatiable like on the sofa, but he'd been all of them simultaneously and worshipful too.

Elise was smiling when she woke up. Their heads were on the same pillow, his bigger body wrapped around her and creating a buffer from everything outside. All the nothing outside. Even emptier after this. He had shut off her worries last night, but doubled her fear of loss doing it.

Elise now had something to lose.

Once she'd truly woken up, she needed some distance. Either she was gonna have to detach and take this for what it was, a 14 day  fever dream, with the last three being particularly fanfic worthy. Or she was going to have to have a conversation with Harry about what came next.

Elise was not sure which was more terrifying. She supposed she had opportunity for the talk now, though she was not sure she could feel more vulnerable.

"Right." Harry suddenly said and shucked his shorts off like a husk of corn.

"What are you doing?" She noted his dick was flaccid. Which made her feel sad and relieved. A brain scrambling or the intimacy his hard cock led to was more than she could cope with while she found her words.

"Well I was going to get in the shower with you. If that's ok?" God, why did he always ask!? It put the ball in her court, and she was horrible at sports, and it made him more wonderful every time.

"Um, I'm kind of sore." She was. If she was honest.

He palmed himself, he'd chubbed up a little by now. "Honestly, I'm assuming from the color of your skin, I'm gonna have some shrinkage from the scalding—"

"You could use it." She grinned.

"You want my dick to be smaller?" God, his damn face.

She shrugged. "Might help with the soreness."

"But not the orgasms." He pointed like a gun.

"I'm confident you would find a way to use it well."

"Ah! I'll take the implied compliment!" He squared his shoulders and bloomed, his dimples filling up with negative space and his jaw getting more geometric. "Now, can I come in?"

"Yeah, why are you standing in the cold, dork?" She couldn't resist him. Did she really want to? Out of fear?

"Dork! Alright, onto the name calling portion of the morning!" He curled up to her back. "Don't hold back, tell me how you feel."

She laughed and stood with the showers spray on her front and Harry's solid warmth on her back.

"Really," he said a moment later, in the vicinity of her neck. "Tell me how you feel."

"What?"

"You get shy in the morning." He kissed her ear. "Talk to me. It's important."

"I'm nervous." She would have jostled her shoulders up and down, but his weight was on them.

"I can tell. Am I that intimidating?"

"No, not anymore." She revolved in his arms and wrapped hers around his middle. The bread pudge offering a handle.

"Don't be nervous. Just relax and tell me what you're thinking." He tilted her chin up to look at him. "When you can."

She came up on her tippy toes and kissed him then. It led to a lovely make up session that proved how water did not cause permanent shrinkage. She raised her eyebrows at the presence between them. Elise was way more open by now, but Harry just said, "it'll go down." And kept kissing her until the water went cold, a pruny feat with such a large water heater. She hadn't talked though. She was working up to it.

"C'mon. Let's go downstairs. I want to cook you breakfast."

"You want to cook ME breakfast?" He said and google eyed at her. "Should I be scared?"

"Terrified!" She laughed and set about making French toast with the shop bought bread they had abandoned for his homemade loaf.

She still was scared, but he made her forget. He always made her forget her fears. She was gonna have to find some time alone to come up with what she was gonna say, how she felt exactly, so she could tell him. That was way scarier than anything else, but she was gonna pull up her big girl panties, cover them in the security of real clothes and then talk. No matter how scary, she had to do some emotional lifting here too. And despite her misgivings, she knew she was safe.

Even if she didn't get the answer she wanted, that this was her new address, and Harry was crazy about her, and they were getting married as soon as she could meet Anne.

Ok, well, that was a little crazy and not what she wanted either.

The relationship, or dating, and maybe meeting Anne someday in the nearish future did sound pretty amazing though. Getting to be with Harry sounded like a life she didn't know she wanted. Couldn't dream up.

But, if he said, "I like you, but we should take this as what it was, the beginning of a beautiful friendship with some delightful fringe benefits," and then eyed her up and loved her goodbye, she would be ok. And she would have been honest with somebody and they hadn't turned her away or ignored her. In fact, this time would be healing. She'd shown all her Dorian Gray style invisible scars and been accepted. Elise would have gained something, a chance at the future. Acceptance, the opportunity to forgive herself.

Just not everything she wanted. But who got everything they wanted? And once you got it, was it a dream or a curse?

Maybe she got to have it right now because this was ephemeral. A half life of some sort where time and decisions didn't stick.

In any case, whatever he said, the point was naming what she wanted and then being open and honest about it despite the outcome. She needed to do that.

Her decision was made once she had clothes on, and through the French toast she whipped the hell out of to get the fluffy edges she liked. Through his smile and extra extra moans of enthusiasm. Their couch make out session and his tongue between her legs, "it'll help the soreness."

It didn't, not necessarily, but it didn't hurt, and it distracted her from the high wire act she was performing. Her need to tell him, and supreme reluctance to at the same time.

All she could compare it to was being in Costa Rica three years ago and standing on the edge of the waterfall. She was the last one to jump. Well, her mother had  entirely sat that day out. Derided them for even wanting to go. Her sister had made a show, but she'd been a swimmer and liked everybody looking at her on the ledge of the rock in her bikini. Her dad faced down guns, this wasn't scary to him. They'd both gone before her.

It was scary to her. It was exhilarating too. What was beneath the water? Would she come out clean? A different person? Braver?

She'd desperately wanted to blithely hop off with a pirouette, a flounce or show on her way to absolution. She hadn't. Of course, but she done it, held her nose and closed her eyes as she jumped. But she got to feel the rush of the air around her and the chill of the water's embrace. Clean.

Her heart pounded in that familiar rhythm while she lay on Harry's couch with him and through the take out.

"Harry?" She asked. Elise had found all of her courage bundled up, thrown it in a kerchief over her shoulder to prepare for this talk. It was time.

He didn't respond. And she wasn't sure she could do the talking looking at him. She stretched up from her chest pillows and planted her face above his birds. "Harry?" She was closer to his neck now. Hopefully he would hear her.

Then she heard him let out a piggie snort.

Oh, he was napping. She should have known, he hadn't moved his hands down over her ass or made a comment about anything, or suggested they do something like make a huge obstacle course or try the Murph challenge in at least 5 minutes. A still Harry was a sleeping Harry.

Well, she supposed that meant the talk was out. Elise retreated to her room to read.

To worry and freak out, and lose her nerve. Who knew she was so good at multitasking? She chuckled at herself as she read her 6th chapter.

"Hey babe." She looked up from where she was sat in the window to see his post nap face, lined from the unsatisfactory pillows on the couch and swollen. His eyes ringed with fluid like an alien baby. "Where'd you go?"

He walked all the way in and sat on the bed, her bed.

"You predictably fell asleep, so I came to read so I wouldn't disturb you." She closed her book, but kept her body away from him.

"You don't disturb me." He casually threw out. He stretched, she watched, of course, and caught sight of the lush planes of his hips. "Why're you in here?" He said after a little shiver.

"Um, well, ya see, my things are in here and it's my room." Elise tried for blithe and bonny.

"Hmmm, we should move your stuff into the master. It's more comfortable—"

"Than the couch?"

"Well, obviously." He rolled his eyes and reached for her hand. She was mirroring his postion without deciding to turn to him. "It would be easier if you just had your things in with me. You'll be sleeping in there anyways."

"Will I?"

He made a weird face at her. "Not if you don't want to, but I really wish you would." He turned her hand over and traced her palm. "We don't have to have sex, if you don't want to. But, I'd like you close." Then he looked back up at her with the full power of his green tractor beam eyes and slow blinked in his hypnotic way.

Wait, why wouldn't she want to have sex. "Why wouldn't I want you?" She let slip.

He grinned shyly. "If you want me, all you have to do is ask."

"And if I'm not brave enough?" She was not brave enough for the rest of this conversation today.

"I think you are brave enough, you just have to let yourself be, but if you aren't," he stood up and pulled her gently to him, "then just kiss me, like this—"

His illustration was thorough, and varied and moved down her neck and under her top.

They hadn't done it on this bed before.

"I've never had sex in here." He commented when he was pulling down her shorts and withdrawing a condom from his pocket as he pushed his down.

"That's convenient." She pointed at the skin in his fingers. She was gonna ignore the other comment.

"Seems like it was good planning on my part." He shrugged.

"You planned this?" She was being brave, and climbing up to straddle him. He was heavy and full in her hand.

"Hoped." He put his hand to her mouth and she wet his fingers like he liked. He spread the saliva over the head of his cock and then dipsticked her, petting her clit until she writhed. "You ready?"

"I don't know, you tell me." She placed him at her entrance, and slid down until the pressure prevented her. She wasn't sure she'd ever be totally ready for him right off the bat. His hands caught her hips and helped her inch off and in until she was resting on his laurels. Her head fell back.

"Yeah, you're ready." He smiled. His hands stayed on her hips, occasionally plucking at her nipples or caressing her back and ass while she set the pace. Rocking up and down on him like a boat making its way to the harbor. The waves got rougher and Elise leaned forward to go with them. His hands offering more help as she surfed her way to shore.  She leaned back when her destination was within reach and his thumb found a rhythm over her wet crux that helped her go the last bit of the distance.

"Harry!" She cried and lost her rhythm, was pulled under the waves and brought to the horizon. He rolled them over and lifted her leg up over his shoulder to maneuver her to his own end. His weather was rougher and had she not already come it might have been too much. As it was, she gripped his shoulder and went with him, shaking and pulsing while he stilled and filled her.

"Oh Elise." He said into her hair. He pulled back and gave her a hazy look. The soft smile that played on his lips was one she'd never seen before. He looked like a warm bun. He kissed her mouth once more and buried his face in her neck. Elise knew his propensity for falling asleep, had seen it in action. She did not want to become glued to him, well, not really. She'd thought about entwining their fingers like when she twisted up paper clips as a child, so they'd never come apart, but that had been a fantasy. You didn't want to be that close to anyone all the time she reckoned. Even if you loved them.

Loved?

Holy shit! HOLY SHIT!  Did she just think she loved Harry. Did she love Harry? Could you love someone so quickly? Her hand was in his hair still. It had stopped moving and she was afraid she might have jerked at it. Woken him. He seemed content though, heavy and sleepy. She ran her fingers through his downy curls, for the pleasure of it, like pressing on a bruise, she redoubled her masHer lips drifted down to kiss the top of his head. Elise was about to wiggle away from him to freak out. She needed to freak out. Fuck! Three days?!? She had three days to get over it. And now the conversation she had been psyching herself up for was much scarier.

Harry's breathing wasn't even and deep, and she was starting to worry about the condom full of spunk inside her. Just as she was about to make her move he startled her. "Arghhhh!" Was what came up when he lifted his head and his body away, wilting away from her.

"Jesus! You scared me!" He gave a nervous chuckle.

"I scared you! You woke from the dead on top of me and I scared you?" She joined in his laughter.

"The dead? I wasn't even asleep! I was listening to your heart rate." He bussed her lips and pulled off the condom, tied it. "It got all crazy. And they aren't serious when they call it a little death. It's more like a little life right? I mean it's the engine of life and such, is sex."

He was on a ramble. "I'm too fucked out for you to be this philosophical." Elise sighed.

"Well, you know what I mean?" He looked at her.

"Nobody ever knows what you mean!" She laughed, but she actualll did get him here. Why a little death when it was the act that made life? Made you feel most alive.

"Anyways," he rolled his eyes. "Your heart got all crazy, so I figured we needed to get moving, or you needed to poo or something."

Her face conveyed her disgust. "Harry!"

He laughed at her response. "Go to the bathroom, then I have a very serious choice for you! Scrabble, or the hot tub."

"I'm not playing Scrabble with you! I know you're a ringer."

"Naked hot tub it is!" He celebrated.

Elise thought of her nethers and reconsidered. "Tell me more about Scrabble."

She shouldn't have even bothered giving herself a choice.  Elise wound up in the same place. She wasn't sure she would be able to walk tomorrow; she winced when he pulled out, but stayed atop her caging her body in.

"Let the record show, I won!" Harry smiled down at her, a bead of sweat rolling down his nose.

"I won at Scrabble." She was offended!

"Yeah, maybe." He put his nose into her neck and took a big inhale. "But I won at life."

She felt like a winner too.

[saudadeonly]

burn my heart out: once you’d gone (Chapter 2)

Read on ao3. Part 8, consisting of 3 or 4 chapters.

Death Eater!Sirius Black AU

Lord Voldemort wages war on Hogwarts but he is unaware of the years-worth of battle fought against him.

(or, several instalments following the Battle of Hogwarts with Sirius Black standing on the wrong side)

The Horcrux isn't the only thing Regulus has to face.

Word count: 4530

___

The top of the staircase on the third floor of Hogwarts comes too soon; Regulus and Sirius stop and look at each other. This is where they have to go their separate ways – Regulus up to the seventh floor and Sirius through the passage on this one.

Regulus checks his watch, the one given to him by his parents for his seventeenth birthday. They only have a couple of hours left. Their goodbyes and last-minute preparations before they left the Tonks family behind – despite the vehement protests of entire said family – and all subsequent tasks here at Hogwarts took up a lot of their time.

Sirius’s mind seems to have come to the same conclusion. “Be as quick as you can,” he says, holding out the silver dagger to Regulus. His hand is as steady as his voice. “And take down Nagini.”

Regulus takes the dagger, mindful of the venom absorbed in it, and as soon as he safely stores it away, Sirius uses his free hand to pull on Regulus’s and catch him in a rough hug, his other hand cupping the back of Regulus’s neck. He’s still taller and by now Regulus has given up any hope he might outgrow his brother, this way or another, but his body lacks the strength Regulus once believed him to have. His invincible big brother, fiercer than fire, stronger than death, now as desperately lost as Regulus once was. Human, as he has always been.

“Do your worst,” Regulus murmurs into his shoulder as he fists his hands in the back of his robes, knowing that this might be the last time they see each other standing.

Sirius pulls back and curves his mouth into an almost-smile. “You too,” he says. Before Regulus can turn to go, Sirius catches his forearm, his grip firm. His eyes root Regulus to the spot, maybe because they are softer than his voice, a sliver of that kind, tired man beneath. “Whatever happens, Reggie, this ends today.”

Regulus swallows and nods. However it may end, Sirius will not be the one to fall to his knees first, not if Regulus has anything to say about it.

Sirius steps back and nods, his face smoothed over now, the careful set of his mouth reminding Regulus strangely of Orion. Sirius turns and goes but the image of his face, splashed through a kaleidoscope over their father’s, stays. It is redundant to say that their relationship ended on a bad note because that’s the foundation it was built on from the very beginning but Sirius did not forgive Orion’s misgivings, not even on his deathbed, and he carried that resentment forward – after Regulus’s death, Sirius condemned Walburga. The weight of their demands had bruised his heart so much it could not heal around the mercy asked of him, especially not in the name of their family.

The thing about their family, the great House of Black – they name their children after stars, after these unimaginable, steel-soft pieces forged into fire, and try to bind them, keep them contained to the reaches of their eyes and don’t consider the possibility of going blind with it until their eye-sockets are filled with nothing but stardust, burning, burning. Sirius, they named their heir, the brightest star in the sky, scorching, glowing, and never expected that he would burn bright enough to fill their lungs with smoke, to leave marks shaped like his pain over their skin. Andromeda, named after a constellation, the breaker of chains, a goddamn galaxy because they were more likely to reach its ends before they ever told their children, I love you, I’m proud of you; and they had the gall to fault her when she left them strangling in her discarded chains.

Despite it or maybe because of all of it, Sirius and Andromeda have always been the best of them in all the ways that matter. However much they try to fight against it, the two of them have always been Blacks in more than blood; Sirius and Andromeda with their impeccable postures and vicious hearts, savoir-faire, Lucretia used to say, unmatched, always one step ahead, are Blacks in everything they try to deny, in everything they wish to soften about themselves, down to their teeth, dripping with venom.

Regulus will do whatever it takes to ensure that they get to live up to all that potential, that they get to lace the very foundations of their society with their venom.

With a shake of his head, he pulls himself out of his thoughts and continues up the stairs, casting a notice-me-not charm over himself. It was easy to get lost in his musings with the entirety of his glorious, painful youth surrounding him but he knows better than to let it sweep him away.

By the time he makes it up to the seventh floor, having succeeded in doing so only due to muscle-memory of skipping the tricky steps, the castle is in motion. Students are shuffling down the corridors of all floors, their voices a mix of soft, worried inquiries and confused protests. Regulus doesn’t envy their near future but he knows McGonagall will do everything to keep it intact. He slips past them, as unnoticed as the ghosts drifting beside them; it is, he thinks distantly, a very fitting sort of image.

The wall across from the Troll Tapestry is as unassuming as Andromeda begrudgingly told them it would be. It is hard to imagine the old, mysterious castle conceals one of Voldemort’s greatest secrets so well. Regulus’s heart hammers up to his throat when he walks past the wall, then turns on his heel and repeats it two more times.

I need the place where everything is hidden, he thinks, eyes pressed shut. I need the place where everything is hidden. I need the place where it is hidden.

When he opens his eyes, the wall is built around a door. If he hadn’t been expecting it, he might have thought he's lost it. A moment of hesitation and then Regulus steps forward, pressing his hand over the doorknob, and pushes the door open.

The vast room he steps into has a high ceiling and distant walls but the piles formed around the room, the narrow passages in between make Regulus’s chest constrict uncomfortably despite it. He has not, in over three years, got used to being in tight, enclosed spaces again.

Ignoring the feeling building up, Regulus holds out his wand. “Accio, Ravenclaw Diadem!”

The room remains still. He wasn’t expecting it to work really but it would have been nice to catch a break for once. He stows away his wand and hurries down the first one of the passages. Andromeda wasn’t able to tell him the Diadem’s exact location but she did say she remembered an ugly bust somewhere around it. With a sigh, Regulus sets out to find it.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he finally catches sight of a chipped bust, resting atop a rickety-looking rack. And directly across from it, a tiara, skewed atop a column of old books. It’s old and unassuming, covered in a layer of dust so thick Regulus wouldn’t have spared a glance otherwise. When he reaches out and wipes the dust away with the tip of his sleeve the words become visible again. Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.

Out of all of Voldemort’s Horcruxes, this one has to be the cruellest; the cleverness, the knowledge he robbed out of generations of wizards and witches. He reaches for the dagger and braces it above the Diadem. He murmurs a swift apology to Rowena Ravenclaw, followed by one to the Grey Lady, the sweet, distant ghost who sometimes kept him company in the dead hours of the night when he didn’t want to go back to his common room; he had always felt accepted by her, a sort of kinship that came with not belonging anywhere, drifting from one place to the next.

“Expelliarmus!”

The dagger flies out of his hand and lands on the floor several feet away, skittering over the stone. Regulus grabs his wand, halfway turned already, and fires off the first spell that comes to mind. “Stupefy!”

Bartemius Crouch Junior, his fair hair and pale face a stark contrast to his robes, deflects the spell easily and it hits a pile of books to the side, sending up a flurry of singed pages. Regulus cringes at the years of work and knowledge that has just been lost.

“Barty,” he breathes, the air stolen from his lungs, the tightness in his chest coming for an entirely different, still painfully familiar reason now.

Barty has always been more skin and bone than anything else but he is viciously thin now, enough so Regulus thinks he might be able to make him crumple with the ghost of a breath. “I should have known,” he says, his face drawn, his voice a low gravely tone; distantly, Regulus wonders if he’s taken up smoking. “Black never did act accordingly.”

A laugh builds up in Regulus’s throat, an odd, too-sharp sort of sound, but he pushes it down. If Sirius’s reaction to Regulus’s death was all Barty found suspicious about his behaviour over the years, that’s the least of their problems. It’s over now, anyway. “Sirius had no idea,” he says, just in case this goes terribly, terribly wrong and Barty gets to Sirius first. It’s hight time he protected Sirius, for once.

“I don’t believe that.”

Regulus shrugs. “You know we never did like each other a whole lot,” he says, which is true; he doesn't really like Sirius, not most of the time anyway, but he loves him with a ferocity that gods could not oppose. He keeps his wand steady on Barty but he knows he won’t be the first one to fire. He owes Barty that much, at least, that small courtesy of letting him decide what he wants to do. “What are you doing here, Barty?” he asks, his voice soft around the name he hasn’t been able to forget, though not for lack of trying - on the worst nights, he used to tell himself that neither Evan nor Barty would have come with him even if he had asked. But it’s even harder to forget now, when there are no strategies to be relayed, when the embodiment of Regulus’s guilt points his wand at him, that Evan fought. There is no saying that Barty wouldn’t have either, provided he was offered, given that little push of encouragement he always needed to come along.

“The Dark Lord sent me to check on an artefact of utmost importance to him,” Barty explains, frowning. “An artefact that looks curiously like the one you’re holding right now.”

Regulus snorts. “This old thing?” he asks, waving the Diadem around, then tucking it behind his back. “It’s worthless.” He cocks his head, lowers his voice. Somewhere between the study of political language and being Sirius’s brother, he’s learned how to get under people’s skin – and Barty never has been particularly thick-skinned. “Glad to see you climbed the ranks, though.” He lets his mouth quirk up, just the little bit. “Must be nice to be valued so highly by Voldemort.”

Barty flinches and a twinge passes through Regulus; it took him years to be able to say the name himself, to fit his voice around the vowels and not have fear surround them. Regulus uses the blink of a distraction to take the fraction of a step towards the dagger.

“Don’t say his name,” Barty snaps, anger finally rising to his hollow cheeks, painting him fiercer a man than he was. “You taint him, you traitor, how dare you –”

“You sound like Bellatrix.”

Barty’s face drains of colour, as quickly as it rose up. His knuckles, hand gripped around the handle of his wand, have gone white too. “Don’t talk about her,” he says, voice hoarse. His freckles stand out, peppered across his nose and cheeks.

“How is dear Bella? Still so devoted to bloodlust she doesn’t spare you a glance?” It isn’t fair, he knows. Barty has been fascinated by Bella for years and she took him under and used it to the advantage of anything she remotely cared about; if there is one person more at fault for whatever Barty has become than Voldemort and Regulus, it’s Bellatrix. But Regulus knows there is no point in trying to convince Barty to do anything and he has one objective, the only one he has had for years: destroy the Horcruxes. He’s so close now and he won’t slip, won’t let his conscience get in the way.

“Shut up,” Barty growls, taking one slow step closer. “Where did you go, anyway?”

The question gives Regulus pause but he shuffles on his feet as an excuse and gets a bit closer to the dagger. “Away. I could not serve anymore so I left.”

Barty narrows his eyes. “You left,” he says, a painful sort of bemusement crossing his face, “everything. You betrayed everyone. You had no right.”

Regulus’s chest aches. When he speaks, his voice is rawer than he wants it to be; maybe the Inferi clawed it out of him. “What I discovered, Barty, what I had to do – I could not do it anymore.”

“You were the reason I joined.”

Regulus lets his eyes flit closed for a second. When he looks back at Barty, his face is too thin, too lost to ever come close to the boy he was all those years ago; and that’s on Regulus. Barty wasn’t like him or Evan. He was clever and loyal and too stupid to see but he never carried the weight of expectation like they had their whole lives – Regulus, the spare, and Evan, the sole heir. He reminded Regulus of Sirius sometimes, the Sirius of before: desperate to get out from his father’s thumb, to escape his mother’s coddling, but overbearing and messy and misguided as it was, it was still love, still a saving grace that Barty didn’t recognise as privilege. Regulus and Evan took that desperation and painted it in streaks of glory across the inside of Barty’s lids, blinding him enough to lead him astray, twisted its shape until it could almost be called a choice, a sense of belonging.

Then Regulus left and Evan died and it was Barty who stayed. Barty, whose backbone might as well have been made out of clay, free for moulding into any shape the rest wanted him to be.

“I know,” he murmurs.

“Then why did you leave me behind?” Barty shouts and it echoes and echoes so long Regulus is sure this is the only sound that will be heard at his funeral. Maybe it was.

But there it is, the name of Regulus’s nightmares, the title of his fucking biography, why you, why, why, why. Why do you get to go away? Why do you get a happy ending or a happy middle or happy anything? Why do you get to heal?

Because you are good, Valentina, tucked firmly, unapologetically against his side, would whisper into the curls behind his ear, as many times as he asked her to, because you are kind and you deserve it.

You are loved, Andromeda told him sometime before they left, catching the off expression on his face, the desire not to leave the life he had built, you are so loved and you get to have that.

Sirius, altruistic, hypocritical arsehole that he is, would probably tell him not to spout gibberish, that he couldn’t have done anything else unless he wanted to have his insides scraped off of walls afterwards and that he was right to get every little scrap of happiness that he could. Regulus never asked to know for sure.

Because I am selfish, Regulus thinks, knows in his bones to be true, but what he says is, “I’m sorry.”

Barty scoffs, unrepentant, unforgiving. Regulus feels before he sees him strike – he sucks his teeth, a tell-tale sign he’s about to cast a silent spell – but Regulus’s reflexes have dulled, out of use with the years of a quiet life, full of literature and research and Valentina’s smile over a cup of coffee, her softness dulling whatever edges Regulus had retained, and he’s knocked to the side, over a pile of cutlery and broken plates that catch on his robes. He lands on the floor, several feet down the aisle, body pulsing with pain all over. The Diadem is still clutched in his hand, its presence an added weight to his emptying chest, but his wand was thrown out of his reach.

His vision is wobbly, a blurry echo passing after everything he looks at, and he uses his free hand to grapple for purchase on the cold stone. His fingers catch on the cross-guard of the silver dagger and he moves them down to grip onto the handle, its weight a sure, familiar reminder of the only thing he still has left to do.

Barty shouts but his line of fire is obscured by the junk around them and Regulus uses the time it takes for Barty to get around it to stab the dagger directly into the Diadem.

The shriek of the Horcrux’s death is the last thing he hears before the white-hot pain blinds him. Regulus curls up on the floor and sinks into it.

In the cave in the middle of nowhere, permitted by pain and guarded by death, Regulus died slowly. The Inferi were quick to drag him into the water, quick to bleed their fingers into him but their cruelty became patient when they had him, the son of kings, a never-crowned prince, in their kingdom; they took his chin and breathed air into him when he had none left in his lungs, dragged him down slowly, a renaissance sort of image, and Regulus had the half-hysterical thought that he would have still prefered this death to the one his mother would have dealt him if she had found out he had just used the word renaissance. He wondered if he would not die at all but just become one of them, the Dark Lord’s servant even after he died to defy him, if the water would crush his lungs to dust and carry away the remnants of his humanity before their fingers tore him apart. Then it was easier to get lost in his memories than to acknowledge the imminence of his end, his slow dissolution into the embrace of cold, dead hands; so, he remembered.

He remembered Sirius’s hands pressed to his eyes, stooped over on his knees, his back a masterpiece of crisscrossing red lines. He remembered fingers wrapped around his wrist, Narcissa’s words, don’t do this out of duty, and he remembered his answer, shaking off the burn of her hand, perhaps I should do it out of love, like you. He remembered Evan and Barty’s screams of pain as they provided entertainment for the night, the new ones, the fresh blood that should be spilt before the Dark Lord’s feet before it ever blessed their enemies’ sight.

Regulus would have remembered unto death if Sirius hadn’t lit the cave in flames, hadn’t summoned the fury of gods into the tip of his wand; Sirius wouldn’t have managed to come on time at all if it hadn’t been for Kreacher’s magic and devotion –

Through the haze of pain, Regulus remembers now: Kreacher. House-elf magic; always, always cleverer than a wizard’s, only because it was never acknowledged as equally important, and Regulus's saviour since his childhood.

“Kreacher,” he says, gasping through the breath between his screams and there is a pause in the air around him, bated with his heartbeat. Then Kreacher materialises at Regulus’s head, looking down the nose all around him, and not even Barty Crouch Jr is a match for the single-minded fury that is Kreacher at his most vicious.

Barty flies back, flailing through the air, and hits the wall with a hard thud. He slumps down against it, his head lolling to the side.

“Master Regulus,” Kreacher says, his big, wobbly eyes glistening, as his skinny fingers touch Regulus’s shoulder blade. “How can Kreacher help?”

The pain has gone now but its remnants flare up as Regulus struggles to push himself up and brace his weight on his hands. He glances at Barty again, just to make sure he’s still there, then sits back, leaning against an old, crooked wardrobe. “It would appear you have already helped me immensely, old friend,” he says, giving Kreacher a small smile, which takes some effort. Kreacher deserves it, every ounce of effort Regulus has to put in. “Thank you.”

Kreacher glows. It hasn’t been often that they’ve seen each other since Regulus’s debacle at the cave – Kreacher is hardly ever allowed to leave the house – and Regulus has missed his once-closest friend. “Kreacher lives to serve Master Regulus,” he says, ducking into a bow. He procures a goblet of water and hands it to Regulus, who uses it to wash the taste of blood off his teeth.

“Kreacher, do you know of a house-elf called Linsy?”

Kreacher’s face shifts into a sneer. “Linsy didn’t take good care of Master Regulus when he was with her,” he grumbles. “The blood traitor did one thing right, giving her the shirt.”

“I rather think she took excellent care of me. I recovered, didn’t I?” Regulus intones gently. Kreacher’s opinion was formed solely on the basis of one Walburga Black’s and Regulus cannot blame him for being stuck in his ways. It took him a damn long time to fall away and now is not the time to take up a fight against his mother, of all people, too. Kreacher gives a reluctant nod. “I think she works here, at Hogwarts, now.” He hands the goblet back to Kreacher, who Vanishes it, and makes to stand up. It takes him two tries but he’s steady on his feet once he manages; the effects of the Cruciatus, which Regulus was lucky enough not to have experienced for some time now, wear off quickly. “Would you please be so kind as to give her a message for me?”

Kreacher’s face is still sour but he nods and says, “Anything, Master Regulus.”

House-elves are loyal to a fault. They will not, even after having been presented with an article of clothing, stop being devoted to the family they served. Regulus’s memories of Linsy are scarce, made in the shape of blurry, intermittent blinks from nightmares to see her by his side, but she was kind to him and it was obvious she adored the Potters as much as they adored her. Even Sirius, whose track record with house-elves was less than stellar, loved her. Regulus has no doubt she will take on Voldemort himself to get them to safety.

“Tell her the Potter family is in danger. She has to find them and get them away from Hogwarts.” He berates himself for not having considered it sooner. Sirius and Minerva have their work cut out for them as it is but he certainly could have remembered that house-elves exist, in all their manic devotion. “And tell the other house-elves that Hogwarts is being attacked. They should fight for their home or leave before it gets bad.”

Kreacher nods.

“And,” Regulus adds before Kreacher disapparates, “not a word of this to my mother.”

“Yes, Master Regulus,” Kreacher says with a deep bow and disappears.

Left alone in the room once again, Regulus looks around. He doesn’t know how much time he’s lost here and he doesn’t dare check. It doesn’t seem long but time runs differently here and doubly so in times of battle.

He walks a few steps down the row to collect his wand and then back. He stomps down on the remains of the Diadem, grimacing at the dark liquid sticking to his shoes and Vanishing it, and levitates them into the pouch of ruined Horcruxes he’s brought along. He wonders idly how he will fit Nagini’s head into it. They’re so close it makes his head spin.

He picks up the dagger, wiping it clean on an old blanket nearby, and safely tucks it away.

He makes his way around and over the piles of trinkets to get to Barty and takes a moment to just take in the familiar lines of his face. They were friends once. He and Evan might have done an injustice to Barty but it wasn’t ill-intentioned, at least not at the time. They were stupid kids and paid for it in blood.

Regulus crouches down and snatches Barty’s wand out of his limp hand, stashing it into the pocket of his robes, then rummages around Barty's pockets until he finds his mask and puts it away too. “Sorry, Barty,” he murmurs, tapping his own wand to the mop of bright hair to send him into a long, deep sleep. He conjures up thick ropes next and binds Barty’s wrists and ankles with it. Then he pulls out a couple strands of Barty’s hair, uncorks the vial of Polyjuice potion Sirius made him brew for going down to the village and pushes the hair into it. It might be his only shot at getting close to Nagini later on. “You know how it is.”

He considers, briefly, the dangers of leaving him here defenceless but this room is far removed from the main part and not everyone even knows about it. This is possibly the safest place in the entire castle right now. Provided, of course, he reminds himself, that he lives to come back and get Barty back out. Maybe he should write a note.

It takes some effort to get himself up and walk to the door; leaving Barty behind is somehow worse the second time around.

Regulus grabs onto the door handle and opens the door back into Hogwarts. He steps onto the floor of the seventh corridor in his cat form and just barely manages to dodge a large chunk of stone that ends up smashing against the wall next to the door.

A brown-haired boy, green-and-silver tie dark with blood where he has it wrapped around his forearm, sends a jet of red light towards a masked Death Eater that ducks to the side and runs to turn the corner. “Sorry, Uncle Todd!” the boy yells after him, wiping a hand down his dust-streaked face. His voice is cheerful but there is a certain scratch to it, a desperate fall to his eyes that tear Regulus’s heart apart. He knows with sudden clarity that Evan did better by the students than the two of them did by Barty. “I’ll see you for Easter hols, yeah?”

A spell shoots down the corridor and Regulus jumps out to bite at the legs of the first Death Eater that comes out of hiding. He has lost many battles in his life, forfeited them right from the start, but there is no way he will not bleed himself dry to win this one.

[dotthings]

Heavily cluttered, as many Bucklemming eps are, but worth the trip. There was a lot of goodness in 15.08 and there were two moments where I shrieked out loud.

My two out loud-shriek moments, let’s get that out of the way: 

Queen Rowena. Caaaaalled it.

Dean and Cas are going back??? To???? Purgatory???? Together?????? And Bobo???? Is???? Writing the episode???????????? *SHRIEKING AND FLAILING*

Okay more orderly and sedate now. Eileen is so damn fierce. She’s a very physical fighter, she’s smart but seems to use a blunt fighting skill. She can punch HARD. I love watching that so so much. I would enjoy female characters on SPN like this regardless, but the fact that this is a hero character with a disability and it’s never a big deal is deeply refreshing and SPN did something really really right bringing her back, amen.

Protective Sam shows up and Eileen is happy to see him but literally pushes him aside so she can make the kill. She doesn’t need his protection, but she also values him as a hunting partner as the ep shows. Also they’re trying to build a relationship here. Eileen seems used to hunting solo and Sam wants to offer backup, and he got worried. 

So the plan is to lock up Chuck like Chuck locked up Amara. The sweet irony of this delights me. He tried to shut away the divine feminine rather than actually stepping up to deal with his sister as, well, a person (well, a divine deity, but still, a being with feelings and thoughts and complexities). Chuck, the arrogant and narcissistic toxic masculinity God, maybe to be locked up now instead as his hubris and his lack of empathy and his petulance is exposed. What if Amara was the more competent deity all along? 

There is no way Dean doesn’t know what an Achilles’ heel is. The random WTF of this is so much it’s not even angering it’s just so bizarre. LOL what even. Look I am really enjoying S15 but I hope the butterfly net tightens on stopping this kind of thing because honestly. I’ll just pretend that scene isn’t there. Luckily I enjoyed the episode overall a lot.

Team Free Will in research mode together in the bunker just really makes me happy. Cas is where he belongs.

Donatello!Chuck threatening Jody, Donna, Eileen, “pretty much everyone on your speed dial” as a deterrent to Sam and Dean is bearing out again my impressions of how Chuck views these characters. I’m still not 100% sure what he thinks of Cas who is right in the room but Chuck doesn’t seem to acknowledge him, except as some sort of right arm to Sam and Dean, as I’ve said in other posts, I think Chuck regards him as a nuisance now, and a deterrent to his miserable endings, and a pawn. Just like Donna, Jody, and Eileen, to him, they’re just pawns. They’re all people Sam and Dean care about, and Chuck will use them to keep his two favorites in line.

See what I did there?

Yeah. Chuck doesn’t care about the characters as people. Everyone except Sam and Dean are expendable and tools to be used so he can control Sam and Dean and that’s it. He’ll destroy them with a snap of his fingers and won’t care. Look at that. Familiar attitude, isn’t it. How interesting.

“If you want to stay here, stay here.” Dean’s gone back to not!listening to Cas I see. While Cas is Dean-avoidant and trying not to look at him throughout the episode. But both of them are thawing just a little.

Like when Cas heals Dean’s cut palm and the way it’s staged looks like he’s going to take Dean’s hand to do it which I don’t think is an accident. That moment was meant to be soft.  Dean didn’t ask. Cas offered. And Dean didn’t jerk his hand away or say no. Then there’s the fact that Cas is going to go with Sam and Dean into Hell despite all his misgivings about Michael and this entire plan. 

Team Free Will, getting all researchy together, and then getting all BAMFY together with their angel blades going into Hell.

We didn’t get any kind of nod back to Dean and Cas’s last visit together to Hell and that’s the second time they have been back to Hell (well the last time was some sort of Hell ante-room, the cage was brought up iirc) and SPN failed to nod to it, WHY AM I CONTINUALLY DENIED THIS.

“Hello, boys.” There it is. My actual shriek of delight. I hope it didn’t alarm the neighbors.

“I took it.”  Yes you did, my red-headed goddess queen of the underworld. You sure did. GET IT ROWENA. Rowena won the game of thrones. Boom.

She’s a little flirty with Sam, still has a soft spot for him I think. 

And then starts playing marriage counselor for Dean and Cas. “What am I picking up with you two? A wee tiff?....So fix it.” Someone called this, I’m fairly certain, that if Rowena saw Dean and Cas again during their divorce she’d size that situation up and down and comment on it. FIX IT. So say we all.

“Family sucks.” Jake Abel did such a fantastic job in this. tbh I didn’t give much thought to Adam all these years, it seemed like SPN was never going back there. I liked Jake’s performances in S5, but it just seemed like a story that was over. But Jake Abel, man. He comes back after all this time and owns the dual roles and made me care. With a performance that was alternately fearsome and vulnerable. 

“That’s adorable.” Dean is SO happy about Sam and Eileen, he looked so soft, and still a bit not okay because his chosen other half is barely looking at him, but mostly Dean’s rooting for Sam to have some happiness. “If it was to work, she gets it, she gets us, she gets the life.” It’s a retreated on Sam’s speech back during “Baby” about someone...something...who understands the life. And Sam has found that with Eileen.

Meanwhile Cas is right there, with Dean, with this great big chasm still open between them but...he’s there. And all the arrows point towards him for Dean. 

Dean and Cas are being magnets again. Not like in S14 where every time there is a crisis they stand very close together and are drawn together, now they’re like magnets that are trying not to feel the pull but they cannot escape each other’s pull nor do they really want to, but they can’t quite figure out how to cross the distance. 

There’s more than one scene where Dean or Cas is out of focus and the other in focus, as if to emphasize how they’re both there but not in phase with each other. Not yet.

I so enjoyed the Cas and Michael stuff. Cas’s prayer to Michael, Michael’s mad on for Cas. “Oh, I didn’t come to beg.” And there’s the ruthless strategic angel.

There’s also something really...fitting about Sam and Dean and Cas all being the ones standing outside the ring of holy fire together to trap an archangel who they effectively hope to bring in from the cold, to their side, in a post S6 era of the show. 

“To paraphrase a friend you had an entire oak tree shoved up your ass.” I see Cas is still quoting Dean, having Dean as a compass point or a North star. Even if he can barely look at Dean right now.

Cas telling Michael his unimportance to God and keeping the upper hand is just...so satisfying. Cas has grown so much. I keep thinking about S5 Cas and how despite how powerful Cas was back then, radiating power in ways he doesn’t quite do the same way now, Cas always seemed so...smol next to the archangels. Punching above his weight class. But now he faces down Michael and tells Michael rawly how it is with their dad Chuck. And when Michael tries to choke him, he fights past it and goes into Michael’s mind to show him everything, to help him see the truth. Cas has grown so much, this felt a lot like a little brother constantly picked on leaves home, grows, and comes back to find big, big brother isn’t quite as big and intimidating as he remembers. 

Which in fact he isn’t, because Michael is capable of insight and change and feelings too. He’s not his father. Despite being the favorite. Despite clinging still to his hero-worship. But Cas worked past that with Chuck long ago.

When Eileen’s friend needs help on a hunt, and Eileen goes to Sam, Sam goes with her, no doubts. Tells Dean he’s going, as Dean recounts to Cas, and Dean seems cool with it. 

Sam and Eileen seem to be growing closer and closer, and while there is something tentative about Sam, he definitely is drawn to her and cares. That tentativeness is from past hurt and loss and maybe he’s scared to enter into this kind of relationship. But they’ve got their own magnetic pull together, they fit. 

Dean and Cas facing each other in that bunker kitchen, the lighting darker and colder than usual. They’re facing each other, and each shift in and out of camera focus, not looking at each other much. Cas can’t look at Dean at all in this scene, while Dean keeps sneaking glances at Cas. In other scenes, Cas does sneak looks at Dean. They are ridiculous and my heart hurts. The blocking here is them facing each other only not--they are a few feet off, so looking past each other.

Cas sitting at that table, hands folded, staring straight ahead and working very hard obviously to Not Look at Dean. 

Dean’s reaction on Cas reporting the words Michael said, “I want you dead, get out.” The things Dean has said to Cas are coming back to haunt him, coming from the words of their once mortal enemy, that’s gotta sting.

Both Dean and Cas have some work to do here, but Dean definitely is already very aware his own words went too far, and has been for a while. 

“God lied to me. I loved him.” Oh wow that hurt, I didn’t expect these feelings. 

A thing about Adam and Michael, both feeling so abandoned by their families, and losing everyone. They offered support to each other. They worked out a time-share in Adam’s body. We’ve seen genuine vessel and angel bonds form before (in Lily Sunder). There’s also a S7 episode by Ben Edlund about the bond between a human and the demon who possessed him. Not sure how healthy Adam and Michael are, but they seem weirdly functional, and don’t despise each other and I kind of have some feelings about Adam and Michael bonding the way they did in The Cage. Perhaps Michael shielded Adam from the worst of it. It’s how Adam is coherent after being down there for so long. Maybe Adam made Michael less lonely. Did I ASK for feelings about Adam and Michael, no I did nOT and yet here we are.

Then there’s Adam. It was interesting that scene where Sam acknowledges maybe they gave up too easily. Because Sam and Dean refuse to accept it when it’s each other they lose, and have gone way over the line to get the other one back. Here Sam is admitting that it shouldn’t be just for them. That Adam was worth saving. Even though they don’t know him well, he still didn’t deserve what happened (as Dean acknowledges at the end of the ep). And Sam and Dean never mentioning him again or giving him another thought apparently, all these seasons...well, that kind of made me assume that was that. Just because someone is blood, doesn’t make you family and they barely knew Adam. 

But if it’s someone who could potentially earn that? Someone basically good? And they just...forgot about him and left him to his torment in Hell? So this did need addressing. There’s not much time to develop a relationship with Adam and TFW this late in the game but there was a start here. 

Dean likewise offers his apology to Adam at the end. “You’re a good man. You didn’t deserve that.”

Right when I was thinking, so many of them don’t get what they deserve, they just keep getting Hell heaped on their heads, Adam says “Since when do we get what we deserve.”

There’s a subtle thing there where Adam looks at Cas, Cas very pointedly still tries to be not looking at Dean, and after Adam leaves Dean turns to Cas looking so...sorrowful for a moment. I keep saying, Dean and Cas deserve each other, and right now they can’t figure how to have each other. 

But Michael left them a strange gift. The Leviathan flower, to seal away Chuck, but the gift has a double meaning (unintentionally on Michael’s part). It’s not just the tool to shut away the villain, Michael opens a door to Purgatory and boom just like that, opens up a whole doorway on Dean and Cas’s story because of the emotional significance of Purgatory for them. What they had there. What happened there. The way that place broke loose some of their feelings. I’m not sure what’s going to happen now, if they both go, as the promo glimpses seem to suggest, does one return and the other gets trapped? Is Dean’s prayer to Cas going to be inside Purgatory, is Cas also still in Purgatory and they get separated? Is being thrown together back into that environment going to help them heal? Or will they be torn apart again but that provides another route to reconciliation?

[honestgrins]

klaus playfully spanking caroline.

He wasn’t the most demonstrative of lovers, Caroline was quick to discover. For such a huge flirt, Klaus was surprisingly contained when it came to showing affection outside of sex, whether alone or in public. A hand at her back remained respectfully light with maybe a brush of his fingers where she was ticklish. Offering an arm was preferable to holding hands, and soft kisses to her temple were an indulgence confined to private moments of frustration when he knew better than to drag her off like a caveman.

It wasn’t the Mikaelson way, of course, to be so open with emotions of the tender sort. A millennium of practice was difficult to break, which she could understand.

Well, she tried to understand.

Klaus loved her, she knew that. Possessiveness came easily to him, but the concessions he made to her independent nature were numerous and determinedly granted despite his deep misgivings at ceding control. His adoration made itself known when he caught her eyes across a room, dimples peeking out from behind a smile he tried to hide. Too many years and books had turned him into an insufferable know-it-all on most subjects, yet he never tired of listening to her excited chatter about whatever hobby she took an interest in. He protected her, desired her, nurtured and enjoyed her never-ending curiosity. He loved her.

He was just terrible at showing her through the little gestures she had equated with love her whole life. As soon as she confessed missing them, though, Klaus seemed scared - a terror Caroline could see sinking deep to his bones that he wasn’t what she needed. 

“I’m here,” she promised, sure hands gripping his and smiling when he didn’t hesitate to bring them to his lips. “You make me happy, and I’m not going anywhere. I just need a little reassurance every once in a while, that our connection is real and tangible. That it matters to you, to have me close to you.”

His jaw tight, Klaus watched her carefully - for what, she had no idea. Seeming to find it, though, his eyes softened. “This has been bothering you for a while.”

Embarrassment flooded through her. “I’ve been the clingy girlfriend before, and it’s never worked out well for me.” When he glared knowingly, she couldn’t help a smile. “We all have our traumas, alright?”

“I’d much rather know your feelings than leave you to question mine,” he answered, voice quiet. “And I’ll need honesty from you, love, if I’m meant to learn what you need from me.”

Caroline squeezed their joined hands as she scooted closer to him. “Holding hands every once in a while is a good start.”

He smiled, though with a tinge of sadness. “You’ll tell me what else to do?”

“Half the fun is figuring it out,” she teased, leaning up to kiss him. “Just try.”

.

Sweet murmurs brushed gently against her ear, which she’d never considered sensitive before he left her shivering along the edges of a ballroom, numerous friends and foes politely posturing.

.

His arms would gently wrap around her waist, and she never felt more cared for when his chin hooked over her shoulder. These moments were only allowed private balconies and dark corners, but she treasured them all the same.

.

In seedy clubs, he might pull her to sit in his lap. She liked those nights, and she’d nuzzle deep into his shoulder while he watched the supernatural busybodies dance around each other and make his mental notes as to the political calculus of the city with a hand coasting gently over her hip.

.

She was busy baking cookies to send for Bonnie’s birthday when she felt him watching her from the doorway. “Do you want one?”

Klaus breathed deeply, and she smiled at the exaggerated puff of his chest. “I smell cinnamon.”

“You know that’s not what they’re called,” Caroline sang. The giant kitchen he never used was quiet, and they had the house all to themselves, which was probably why he sidled up right next to her. His hip pressed tightly to hers as he reached for a warm cookie. Chin raised, she nudged him with her nose. “Say it. Say ‘snickerdoodle.’”

Brushing his nose against hers, he lingered over her lips. “I love you.”

She hummed and reveled in the fizzle of warmth radiating from her stomach. “You’re good, but I still want to hear you say it.”

“Sweetheart, I’m prepared to do any number of despicable things for you-”

“Say.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, soft. Persuasive. “It.”

Instead, he kissed her more fully, urging her lips open against his. For a long moment, she fell where he lead, failing to stop a smile from curling. He pulled back only slightly, breathing in for what appeared to be the sole purpose of air that tasted of her. “I love you,” he said again, soft and dear.

Caroline swallowed. “I love you, too,” she swore, the moment suddenly too heavy for baking cookies in their kitchen. A sugar crusted hand moved up to his face, taking in the stubble of his cheek. “Thank you for choosing me.”

“There aren’t words for how lucky I am to have you here, with me.” Klaus let his forehead fall against hers, his fingers tangling in the ends of her hair. For someone more likely to run his hands through blood and viscera more than give into tender touches, he was so, so good at the tender touches part of it - if he would just let himself. She had to contain a little victory dance that he was relaxing into that aspect of their relationship. “Now may I have a treat?”

A laugh burst from her throat. “You can’t even say cookie!”

He swatted her ass, only making her laugh harder. “Please, love?”

Wiggling, she captured his lips in a rough kiss. “Only if you do that again. And often.”

“You like that, do you?” His hand spread wide over the back of her jeans, one sliding into a pocket. “And here I thought you wanted more affection.”

“Affection comes in all sorts,” she teased against his lips before replacing herself with a warm cookie instead. “See?”

Klaus huffed, obediently holding the snickerdoodle in his mouth as he flashed them upstairs to their bedroom. “I’ll show you affection,” he warned, crowding her on the bed while she giggled happily. She sat up eagerly, loving the taste of sugar and cinnamon on his lips.

[sky-kiss]

Lunardyn: Christmas Eve

A/N: @ladylunafreyaoftenebrae requested some soft modern Au Lunardyn where they are enjoying their first Christmas Eve together. I did...way more of the lead up but hopefully this still makes you smile, lovely. 

_____

Modern Au: Christmas Eve Fluff

_____

She regretted one thing about her relationship. One thing only. 

The timing. 

Lunafreya pursed her lips, meeting her own reflection in the mirror. At the time, she had thought nothing of it. A late summer romance had been ideal, caught in that stretch of fading warmth and perfect evenings. Her workload at the hospital had been manageable and he had yet to start his Fall semester. There had only been that...blissful  honeymoon period. Living in the moment.

But those few months had passed and the holiday season had come upon them. And there they were: caught in a strange sort of purgatory. He had no family to speak of; hers was mostly found. And they had not....spoken of what they were to one another. It had not seemed necessary. Thanksgiving had come and when she asked after his plans, he had shrugged.

“Perhaps I shall take a note from Miss Highwind’s book.” Ardyn had stared at her down the bridge of his nose, full lips curled up in a smile. The expression (much like his relationship with the woman herself) was caught squarely between amusement and exasperation. “Flee the country for a time.” 

“Somehow I doubt she put it so neatly.”

He snorted. “No, I suppose not. Something about ‘Cabo, bitches,’ and not to call her.” But his expression had softened somewhat and he’d held his hand out to her. For as isolated as he kept himself, Ardyn was a creature seemingly composed of physicality. When she took his hand, he pulled her nearer, wrapping himself around her like some overly large feline. “Should you prefer I stay, dearest?”

She had no right to make demands of him. Lunafreya had smoothed his hair back into some semblance of order (an impossibility). “That is not my place to say.” 

So he had gone away and she had spent her  Thanksgiving with the Caelums. A perfectly lovely day, surrounded by her dearest friends and adopted family. She would not say she was grieved by his absence. Only that a curious sort of longing had settled in her heart and with it came the awareness that, while the day had been perfectly acceptable in his absence, it would have been buoyed by his presence. 

And now Christmas was fast approaching. Ravus had sent his customary note, clipped and concise in a way she associated solely with her sibling. It apologized for his absence. His firm had been beset by clients. He would not make it home. There was regret, of course, but Lunafreya understood. His workload was undeniable. So were his other hurts. Their mother’s passing was linked to the season. Those old scars never truly healed. Especially for Ravus. 

It added an extra and unwelcome level of awkwardness to her own situation.  She did not wish to be alone for the season, stewing in her own hurts, and she did not wish to impose said hurts upon her new relationship…

"Oh, stop dawdlin' and just ask him." 

Cindy's tone broached no argument, even from the other room.  Her friend had never been one to mince words and she saw this particular issue as exceptionally black and white.  Lunafreya chuckled, pushing away from her perch and ambling back into the living room. The other woman was already curled on the far side of the couch, in the process of pouring them each a glass of wine. "How did you know?" 

"You just get a look about this sort of thing, I guess." Cindy smiled at her. "And besides. Be a right waste. Handsome man like that sitting alone Christmas day." 

She smiled. "I hate to presume…" 

The best way to describe her reaction was a guffaw. "....you've seen yourself right, sweetheart? You had a lot of guys turn tail when you invite 'em home?"

There was that. Lunafreya chuckled, crossing to settle against her friend’s side. “Would you mind if I used the apartment?” 

Cindy nudged her shoulder, snickering as she passed the wine. “Just spare a thought for ol’ Cindy, ya hear? Me fallin’ asleep under one of pa’s ‘projects’ and you fallin’ asleep under…” 

“...Cindy.”

“I ain’t wrong!” 

It took a colossal force of will to maintain a straight face. Lunafreya hid her smile behind her hand, held her head high. A few moments later, both women had devolved into fits of laughter. 

____

Ardyn rarely remembered to check his texts. The faculty had all but insisted he update his phone (his flip phone had served him well enough over the past decade) and he had never truly acclimated to the new tech. He was an old soul. It was a fact most found charming (provided Lunafreya was there, functioning as a liaison) and some infuriating (when she was absent). 

It was easier to make the jaunt to his home, a townhouse near campus. The unit’s construction had been finished no more than a decade prior but had been designed to mimic the colonial air of the surrounding neighborhoods. That suited him as well. Lunafreya shook her head, hugging her coat more tightly about herself. A few blanket of snow had fallen sometime in the night. It left the world looking clean, everything preternaturally silent. 

After two knocks, she heard movement inside. Ardyn was a sight first thing in the morning, hair still wild from sleep. He was never entirely in disarray; the robe lent him a sort of gravitas, a cultivated air of chaos. He struck her as some wayward Victorian poet or scholar, down on his luck, still struggling for his breakthrough. Confusion turned to banked pleasure as he opened the door. He stepped aside to make way for her. “Lunafreya? Is everything alright?” 

She laughed. “Is it so mad that I might wish to see you?” 

The entirety of his face brightened. “Permit an old man his misgivings, dearest.” 

“On this account, I will not.” She stood on the tips of her toes. Even that was not quite enough to bridge the gap in their height. It took Ardyn tipping his head to make such things manageable. Lunafreya pressed a chaste kiss to his chin. “I needed to see you. And speak with you.”

He tugged an an errant strand of her hair. “How lucky. Here I am, perfectly capable of speech.” His free hand settled at the small of her back. With it, he guided her towards the kitchen. “You’ve caught me in the middle of breakfast so let us reach an arrangement. You will speak; I will prepare us something. Agreeable?” 

Silly as it was, she enjoyed watching him cook. He was not exceedingly talented; any skills he had were born out of necessity rather than love for the craft. Cooking was relaxing for him and it showed. He would hum to himself as he worked and, quite frankly, she adored the sound of his voice. It was a variety of contradictions all tied up into one ideal whole, smooth and growling, lyrical and low. 

“Do you have plans for the holidays?” 

He threw her a look over his shoulder, brow furrowed. “Ah, it is that time again, isn’t it? A little late to plan a getaway.” He shrugged. “I shall sequester myself away from all that cheer, I suppose. Perhaps attend to that mountain of paperwork I’ve been avoiding. The students have been clamoring for their grades…”

He was well loved as an instructor. His lessons stuck. His students listened and his lectures were fabled around the campus. He was also...relaxed, when it came to returning work. He shrugged, as if to say ‘what is there to be done,’ and returned to their meal. 

Lunafreya drummed her nails on the countertop. “If you would like to avoid your work a little longer...perhaps we could spend the day together?” 

“You have no plans?” 

She smiled. “I could. But I should prefer they involve you.” 

Ardyn went so far as to laugh. He shifted their food off the burner before crossing to her. Tactile man; silly man. He bent to trace her nose with his own. “Brave girl.” She curled her fingers in his robe, holding him close a moment longer. Ardyn searched her face for something. Having found it, he smiled. Soft and nostalgic and undeniably fond. “If you’ll have me, I should like nothing more.” 

____

And that was that. No more misgivings. 

They had spent Christmas Eve sequestered away in her apartment. She was no great chef herself but pasta and wine had served them well enough. He had enticed her to walk out in the snow and it had all seemed some ...great cosmic cliche when they were treated to fresh flakes. She watched the lazy snowdrifts, head leaned back against her lover’s chest, and sighed. Ardyn pressed a kiss to her temple. 

It was lovely. And if her old hurts manifest, Ardyn was good enough to chase them away. She hugged his arms more securely about her. 

A week later, when New Years rolled around, neither questioned whether it would be spent together.

[siorca]

hey gang, coming on in here to drop off my weird little megasound fic ive been working on for the past week now and felt compelled to complete. takes place in a g1 au (i guess) where the war doesnt fully get back up into the swing of things after they wake up on earth and the autobots are bored and nosy. also warning for a bit of sticky talk at the end but it’s pretty tame.

Megatron and Soundwave treated their relationship with as much discretion as they were allotted. They did not bother to cover it with secrets, but it was important to both of them to, at the very least, keep a high veneer of respectability. It would not do for the Decepticons to dissolve into catcalls whenever they were seen together, after all.

On Cybertron, during the height of the war, it had been easier to stay down low. The troops had been spread thin during that time, and any remaining under their command were far too busy to bother with what their commanders were up to. As time moved on, and the war grew more volatile, it became increasingly harder for them to find time for even a good night kiss.

Earth, however, presented them with an, admittedly, much sought after lull. Fewer large battles left them with only small skirmishes to deal with, ones which were becoming less and less frequent the longer they stayed on the planet.They found themselves coming together much more frequently - much more easily - than before, something that came as a relief to both of them. They rarely indulged in some of the more flirty aspects of their relationship - Megatron would grouse that they were much too old for such foolishness. Soundwave, older and far more enthusiastic, would beg to differ -but it was the companionship that was always the most fulfilling aspect of their relationship and it was a relief to have that back again.

Yet still, in the midst of a calm that Megatron had not felt in millenia, he was restless. He could feel a prickling under his plating; one that had very little to do with the organic mud that tended to get stuck between his seams. It was an instinctive sort of thing, built from habit. He did not like not knowing what the enemy was up to. He told as much to Soundwave.

“You never did well with these sorts of stalemates, my love,” said Soundwave, a touch of bemusement in his tone. It’s a soft sort of teasing, one that Megatron could do nothing but grumble about. His casualness was enough to bristle, but there was a cleverness to Soundwave’s optics; the only indicator that his words did not go unheeded.

They were refueling together in their shared living quarters. The domesticity of it was not lost on Megatron. Here, it was almost believable that they were back on Cybertron and all they had to worry about were simple and inconsequential. A cozy warm feeling curled within the pit of his tanks. He was tempted to forget his misgivings, but Megatron was nothing if not pragmatic. In war, when the enemy was quiet, there was need to worry, a fact that he had become aware of many times in his long career.

Soundwave, more than anyone, understood. It was this understanding that was calming, a balm to Megatron’s frazzled nerves. “Do not fret so much. I have reconnaissance out already.”

“Ah, I should have known better.” A good reminder of why Soundwave was not only his top spy, but also why he loved him so dearly. Megatron grinned coyly behind his cube.

“Of course. Do not doubt me.”

—

Laserbeak’s return was met with little fanfare; a quick check-in with Soundwave, before she made a beeline for the washracks. It was a little known secret that she loved to preen and being away on missions always slighted her, even if she never voiced her protests. A quick mention that she had procured some interesting files that he should take a look at and she was gone.

Protocol did not require them to converse; whatever information was crucial to pass along would be found in her report. If anything, their exchanges were more for Soundwave’s benefit: a small way to reassure himself that she was ok before she disappeared into the base.

For his part, Megatron was elusive. A quick sweep of the command center and the common areas left him with nothing. Soundwave was not concerned, although he did let loose an irritated huff. There weren’t many areas he often haunted. Megatron was nothing if not a creature of habit and it didn’t take long to track him down in their living quarters.

He paused in the doorway, disbelief converging into wry amusement. Earth had slackened Megatron’s resolve enough for him to idle within his quarters, datapad clutched in a slackened grip, while he looked to be half asleep. Soundwave privately thought it was quite cute.

The sound of the door snapping shut only served to applify the clinking of Soundwave’s mask retracting. Megatron jostled, straightening on the berth in an immediate display of attention. He relaxed almost immediately upon realizing it was Soundwave, who met him with a look of bemusement.

“Your comm is off,” Soundwave said, as way of greeting. His optic ridge was cocked in an exaggerated manner, twisting his face into intentional comical proportions. There was no respite in his voice, just clear amusement.

“Oh is it?” Megatron’s words were casual, with only the barest hint of alarm. He fiddled with the side of his helm until Soundwave could hear the barest hum of a frequency. He paused as he reviewed his recent pings. “Sorry about that.” He made a poor attempt to cover his sheepishness as he met Soundwave’s optics.

Soundwave shook his head dismissively, a smile tugging at his lips. He turned his attention to the datapad in his hand, if only to steer his thoughts back to more important matters.  He held it out in front of him for emphasis. “Laserbeak has returned with her report.”

He made a subtle turn back toward the door. Both of them knew that it would be preferable to have their exchange in a more appropriate setting; either Megatron’s office or the bridge, as normal protocol stated. Today, however, seemed to want to deviant from the norm, for Megatron waved him over airily, still lounging upon the berth like some sort of would be king.

“Well, bring it over here.”

Soundwave stifled a sigh. He silently mourned the waning professionalism in high command. It was only his deep love for Megatron that kept him continuing toward the berth, but it wasn’t enough to hide his mumbled, “I do so hate when you get like this.”

Megatron, at least, looked thoroughly scandalized at the reprimand, straightening on the berth to a more presentable position, sitting at the edge of the berth with his back ramrod straight. Soundwave snickered lightly. Megatron growled lowly in faux threat, reaching for the datapad with urgency.

“Together.” Soundwave sat next to Megatron, in a close, familiar position, sides pressed tightly together. He shivered; Megatron’s plating was always cold, a layover from his days as a miner. It warmed quickly as it ate up the heat from Soundwave’s own unnaturally warm frame. Together, they held an ambience that was comfortable and uniquely theirs. Megatron wrapped an arm around Soundwave, pulling him closer to his plating, and Soundwave gladly leaned into him, flopping into his lap like a large cat. He raised an eye ridge at the display, but otherwise made no comment.

Soundwave balanced the pad between their laps. The screen flickered to life soon after, a slew of files neatly ordered on screen. Largest, by far, was Laserbeak’s full report, carefully organized and detailed in her usual precise way. The files below it were tantalizing, as well, clear copies of whatever confidential information she was able to procure. Soundwave ignored them for now.

Her report consisted mainly of mundane scenarios. In the absence of proper battle, the Autobots had instead decided to invest into things like recreational activities, focusing on strengthening their bonds with their human allies. The Autobots did not look to be gearing up for a proper war anytime soon. He had suspected as much. Yet Soundwave would loath to come to a definitive conclusion before truly finishing, lest he let Laserbeak’s hard work go to waste. He read on, half a processor bored, leaning more into Megatron’s bulk as it went on. It wasn’t until the end that a lone addendum caught his attention. He stiffened, meeting Megatron’s optics with confused surprise.

The Autobots knew about their relationship and kept extensive records on it.

It was not the fact that they knew that was shocking - Soundwave would seriously question the legitimacy of their spies if they had not figured it out by now - but the sheer volume of information, as if they were specifically keeping tabs on their romantic entanglements for a purpose that Soundwave had yet to figure out. The information held no tactical value in his eyes. Even to use their relationship as a ploy in a hostage situation was a moot point; Megatron would be desperate to have him back regardless.

Megatron make a quizzical noise in the back of his throat. It bordered into something distressed until he rebooted his vocalizer. “Perhaps those files that Laserbeak stole will shed some light on this.”

Soundwave nodded, already fiddling with the datapad before Megatron finished his sentence. An eagerness had overcome him, presented with such a puzzle as he was. He opened the first file, optics skittering over the words with a rapid hunger. Information, he knew, could be wielded like a weapon, but how sharp that weapon struck depended on its owner’s might.

Luckily, Soundwave was adept at rhetoric, and reading only proved that said weapon was dull and lifeless and much more suitable to be used as a toy. How fitting.

He laughed, causing Megatron to give him an odd look. His brow was still furrowed as he digested this new development. A gifted orator he may have been, but Soundwave was designed to get inside a person’s mind in the quickest way possible. And the way the Autobots wrote about them was almost innocuous.

“They are fascinated by us.” A part of Soundwave was weirdly amused by the whole situation. It was provocatively invasive and he, who had left his misguided notions about privacy in some early decade of the war, felt titillated.

“What?” said Megatron, confusion melting away into disbelief.

“These are not high level security files, even if they are encrypted. These are more akin to gossip holos, clearly written out of boredom.” Soundwave selected another file, scanning through this one quickly.

Megatron snatched the pad back. In this new light, several things stood out to him. He paused. “I believe you are correct.”

“Naturally.”

Megatron wrinkled his nasal ridge, reading the pad with more intensity than before. He selected another file, giving an offended scoff at the first few lines. “‘It’s hard to believe that a mech like Megatron is selfless enough to love another, let alone someone within his command staff. It explains the blatant favoritism, I guess. Now I get why Starscream is so pissy all the time…’ what’s that supposed to mean?”

Soundwave snorted. “It means your fierce warlord persona is working, my dear.”

Megatron made a face that might have been smug, had the twitching of his face not give him away. Soundwave could read solid amusement, barely masked by a bit of unease, on his surface thoughts. Neither of them had ever given much thought to what others said about their relationship, ancient and comfortable as it was. What was theirs was theirs and it worked for them. Here, it is different; on display in a way that was voyeuristic. He can tell that there is a part of Megatron that is annoyed by this, but neither of them felt like engaging the Autobots in the matter of wartime gossip.

Instead, Soundwave snatched the pad back, rifling through it like an excited youngling, caught up with fascination. “‘To think that either of them could be so different behind closed doors is almost ludicrous to believe, and yet I’ve seen it with my own two optics. They fit together nicely, which is strangely nice to see, almost like a wall is broken the minute they are alone. It’s almost like looking into a parallel universe: Megatron is almost sweet and Soundwave? Soundwave is open and playful and not at all what we’re used to. If they weren’t enemies, I’d be jealous of their connection, and maybe I still am…’” Soundwave paused here. Meeting Megatron’s optics, as if they both came to a new realization. “Well, that’s oddly sweet.”

Megatron made a barely audible humming noise that may have passed for agreement, but was too absent-minded to really tell. He leaned over Soundwave’s shoulder, scrolling through the pad in a slow, thoughtful manner. “These all seem to be separate entries, compiled together, all written by different people.”

“Yes, I noticed that too. They have traces of several Autobot signals.”

Megatron narrowed his optics. “You would think we were the subject of some sort of Autobot romance novel.”

“Indeed. At least they have good taste,” Soundwave teased.

“I’m glad to see you at least find some amusement out of this,” grunted Megatron.

“There are worse things for the Autobots to become enamoured with. Be glad that they have yet to show this level of dedication to anything war related.”

“Hmm.” Megatron scrolled through the other files on hand. There was a substantial amount, pages and pages, all dating back to about the time that they had all awakened on Earth. It was unclear if the Autobots had known before that time, but they had certainly became fascinated by it by then. “I think the Autobots could find better things to do with their down time.”

“Do not begrudge them so much, Megatron. Perhaps they don’t have the luxury in their faction. You have said before that Prime could be a bit of a prude.”

Megatron made a humming noise. “Yes, I am aware. I feel no sympathy for them.”

Soundwave chuckled, leaning back into Megatron until they fell into the bed in an ungainly manner, Soundwave making quick work into contorted Megatron into a make-shift pillow. Megatron rolled with him, a rumbling purr shaking his chassis, passing pleasant shivers through Soundwave’s body. He shifted, draping himself over Megatron, chin propped up on his chest, datapad held in front of him in a way that Megatron could still read it if he dipped his head a certain way, of which he took full advantage of, still scrolling through the entries with a reverent greed.

Soundwave smiled indulgently. “I can tell that there is a part of you that is at least flattered.” It was the egotistical side, the only that got off on rousing speeches and demanded to be referred to as ‘Lord’ by his subjects. A part that he pretended that did not exist because he liked to believe that he was humble. It was endearing.

A barely legible smirk teased Megatron’s lips. “Perhaps.”

Soundwave snickered, freely giving the pad up to Megatron’s devouring hands. It allowed him to snuggle further into Megatron’s frame, of which he indulged in freely, drowning himself more fully into his sturdy frame. He could not resist a brush of lips over Megatron’s plating. He was rewarded with a gentle caress of his head and he smiled contentedly.

A relaxed silence settled between them, broken up by the gentle sound of Megatron’s thumb swiping against the pad. The noise was consistent enough to create a pleasant background noise, lulling Soundwave into a half doze. Megatron’s emotions danced in the back of his processor, as they always did when they were alone together; an open connection that Megatron embraced early on in their relationship. He could sense his amused fascination deeply, creating a pleasant warm feeling throughout his body.

This created a sharp contrast when that leaked into a near sort of offense, a bristle of something that wasn’t quite anger, yet still brushed against Megatron’s mind in an unpleasant manner. It was uncomfortable enough to stir Soundwave from his lounge, glancing up at Megatron’s otherwise stone face. His emotions bled out into the rest of his body, stiffening him in ways that motivated Soundwave to move in a quick manner. He gently moved Megatron’s hand down until he could view what was on the screen and promptly gave a sharp bark of laughter.

“‘Do you think Megatron is a valve mech…?’” Soundwave read aloud. “Now that would be a waste of a perfectly good spike.” He patted Megatron’s shoulder in a placating manner, rolling until he straddled Megatron’s hops.

Megatron scowled deeply at him, throwing the datapad toward the end of the berth. He unconsciously wrapped his arms around Soundwave’s waist. “That is entirely too personal.”

“I agree.” Soundwave lifted himself until he could reach Megatron’s brow, smoothing out the lines of his frown with gentle kisses. Megatron huffed, teetering on the edge of a full-on pout. “Perhaps if they are so curious, they would appreciate a demonstration next time they decide to pay us a visit.”

Megatron balked at first. Soundwave tilted his head with a devilish smirk, which succeeding in turning Megatron more thoughtful. His discomfort was momentarily forgotten, face falling into a predatory grin. “That would require more diligence in the future.”

“Of course,” said Soundwave. “I will get right on that.”

[dent-de-leon]

So Lance’s thing for Allura is pretty evident, but do you think Allura really reciprocates?

Oh, I firmly believe so. 

I think VLD was written with Allura and Lance being endgame in mind, so I’m going off that basis here. Everything from Lance being the first one there to catch Allura in her intro scene, to the foreshadow about Lance and “Mrs. Blue Lion” seems to say so. But yeah, let’s look at this from Allura’s point of view, because I feel like her own feelings often get glossed over–unfairly so. 

When they first start growing closer, it’s amidst all this chaos. Blue is shutting Lance out, and he automatically assumes the worst. “Not only am I not meant to be the leader, I guess…I guess now I’m not even meant to be a paladin.” You can very visibly see the moment Allura looks hurt in the background there, how sympathetic she feels towards him. And in truth, I think a lot of this is due to some of their shared misgivings–I guess I’m not even meant to be a paladin. Allura, having been rejected by her own father’s Lion, having sat in the pilot’s seat and cried, she’d understand that feeling better than anybody. She wanted this so badly, has probably longed to fly a Lion all her life. “I want to carry on my father’s fight, but I need your help. Please, I must do this.” 

And yet, in an instant, Allura very readily makes peace with her own sense of loss and tells Lance Red needs him. She didn’t have to do that. She could have been jealous and bitter about Red choosing Lance–she could’ve reacted the way he did when Keith mentioned Shiro wanted him to be leader. Some part of her could have hated Lance for it. But that’s simply not the case. She’s alright letting Lance take Red because she knows the Lion will be in good hands. Because she trusts Lance, and she sees a worthy paladin in him. 

And we see that Lance is kind enough to return the favor, “Maybe it’s roaring for you.” Allura needs to stop and compose herself before she can get her next words in, close her eyes and look away a moment–“I would love nothing more than for that to be true. But I know the Red Lion is not meant for me. It is choosing you.” Again, Allura is making a tremendously gracious sacrifice here, putting all her faith in Lance without a single trace of envy or distress. It’s obvious from that gesture alone she really thinks Lance is an invaluable team member, but she takes it one step further. 

She goes on to tell Lance exactly why she knows he belongs with Red, explains her very personal connection with the Lion. And this, this speaks volumes. Because, in all Keith’s time piloting, she never told him about Alfor’s connection with the Lion, never divulged how much Red has always meant to her. That conversation could have very easily been carried out between them, but it wasn’t. Lance is the one Allura ultimately confides in, Lance is the person she entrusts with her father’s legacy, Lance is the one she says is just like her father. She’s pouring her heart out over here, and it’s very rare we see her opening up about her own past like this. 

She certainly doesn’t get invested in assigning anyone else their Lions like this. It’s a very deliberate parallel to how Allura quickly got annoyed by Lane in the pilot episode and refused to tell him why he was chosen by Blue. Now, they both grown enough that Allura not only feels Lance deserves an explanation, she goes out of her way to tell him how much Lance’s change in behavior–a very conscious reminder of her own father–means to the team. And her. When she says all this, you can tell Lance is really hit by the gravity of it, understands just how much faith Allura’s putting in him. “I won’t let him down.” He wants to live up to Alfor’s legacy, to be someone both he and Allura can be proud of, and you can see the moment has really struck a cord wit them both. Definitely feels really romantic to me. And there are certainly lots of other intimate gestures that goes along with this exchange of Lions, like the way Lance hands off his bayard and it looks like their hands are almost clasped together. Just feels like they’re really coming together. 

And in a way, Red is Allura’s. Because, it’s not Keith passing on the torch here. It’s Allura giving Lance her blessing to pilot Alfor’s Lion. And you know, I think there’s something to be said for the fact that Red doesn’t roar until after Allura gets there, like the Lion wants Allura to se why she didn’t choose her. And likewise, Blue waits until after Lance and Allura have their talk before letting the barrier down for the her. Intuitively, I think both Lions knew that this was an exchange these two needed to have before taking on their new roles, as it ended up being extremely cathartic for them both. They needed each other. Just something to consider.

Moving on, there’s also the moment when Allura tells Lance–no one else, just Lance–why she’s wearing pink. The uniform choice was clearly a very personal one that meant a lot to her, and she’s comfortable enough sharing that meaning with Lance. Again, she’s able to be open with him, to share bits of her past and culture and take pride in it. That’s just…really sweet. She didn’t have to have this kind of moment with Lance, but she did. And it’s another sign that she’s sort of easing into this easy familiarity with Lance. Even more telling, Lance literally tells Allura, “If I had to lose Blue to someone, I’m glad it was you.” And the look on Allura’s face here? Yeah, I’d say she has definite feelings for Lance. The way she looks so touched, smiles so softly–it’s very obvious she cares for him. And I think his words really touched her heart. 

And my apologizes because I’ve taken so long with just the one episode there lmao, but moving on–we’ve got The Hunted next, and there’s some pretty interesting moments there too. Namely, how Allura stops and asks herself, “What would Lance do?” Not Shiro, their previous leader. And not Keith, their current leader. But Lance. Of course, this also seems natural–considering that Lance is the one who welcomes her to the team, not Keith, and that it’s Lance who insists they stay together when Allura starts falling behind. 

Lance is the one she looks to for guidance and support, the one she wants to emulate here. She respects his skills as a paladin enough for him to be the one she thinks of in her time of need, and I’m pretty sure that has to count for something. Especially when, later on, Lance thinks she’s just making fun of me. “Wait a minute! Are you calling me dumb?” And Allura is honestly caught off guard by that, gives this earnest, very genuine reply of, “No, I’m calling you a natural.” She honestly really does think Lance is an amazing paladin, and she wants him to know it. That’s so sweet,,

Now, A New Defender–to me, this really clinches it. There’s a lot going on here, but just to go over it all real quick–when Allura tries to connect with the active druid magic, she immediately gets shocked. And when she cries out pain? Who’s reaction is the focus here? Who cares about Allura the most? Boom

And when everyone gets knocked back? Lance is the one holding onto Allura and helping her stand. You’ve got a very distinct parallel going on here to when Lance caught Allura in the beginning. But, instead of pushing him away? She obviously finds enough comfort in the gesture now to not feel anxious or threatened by it. Instead, Lance is now a welcome, grounding presence. It’s a very clear, visual way of showing how Allura has really come to care for him. 

So much so that, when those lasers start firing, Lance still has hand lingering on Allura’s back. And she’s not at all bothered by it, sees it as a comforting gesture. 

And then, when it seems all hope is lost? Who still has hope–and puts that faith in Allura of all people, who knows she has the strength to carry them through this? Lance. It’s Lance that gives the rousing pep talk for once, not Shiro(Kuron). It’s Lance that knows Allura is capable of overcoming this. “You have a connection to this magic, I know you can get us out of this somehow. We all saw what you did on the Balmera and how you power the castle.” And when Allura panics? Tells him she’s never been trained? He’s undaunted. “No one trained you to save the Balmera, but you did that. I know you can do it, there’s a reason the Blue Lion chose you. This is your destiny. You are the heart of Voltron.” 

Even when Allura fears she isn’t strong enough herself, Lance is her steadfast support, reminding her how powerful she is, how much she’s done for the universe until now. How unwaveringly committed and selfless she is, how she’s what’s held everyone together. And yes, Allura could do it. She had that power waiting to awaken inside her all along. Lance believing in her? Telling her she’s the heart of Voltron, that this is her destiny? That this is where she belongs? That’s just the catalyst. But that fact alone–that it’s Lance’s belief in her that allows her to unlock this new ability, that right there shows just how much Lance means to her. Because if anyone else had said this, I don’t think it would have had the same effect on her. After all, no one else immediately looked to Allura for a solution. No one saw how in tune she was with this magic, how strong she was the way Lance did. 

And honestly? I think it would be so very easy to fall in love with someone who cared about you that much. And I do believe that feeling’s very much mutual. You can see it in her eyes when Voltron breaks through the planet’s surface. The way she immediately looks to him and says, “Thank you Lance,” in this gentle, soft voice. Even more touching is how Lance downplays his own part, insisting, “That was all you.” They’re both so supportive of each other, push one another to new heights–it clearly reads to me like a relationship in the making. Their dynamic has developed dramatically since the first episode, and it’s really endearing to see. And in all honesty, I think both the series and supplemental materials, “I knew I could feel you in my heart,” Lance’s vlog, ect, have pushed for this pairing so much that I can’t see either of them ending up with anyone else at this point. They’re just too perfect together. 

[vampbait-a]

|| Cemetery Roses - Ch. 8

|| co-written with @cynaram    Posted with permission.    Previous:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 

In Which Lessons Are Learned And Tea Is Had

Horst opened his eyes in the dark enclosure of his coffin. He noted the sounds of the house: the ticking of the clock in the hall above, the sound of a human heart.

So he is alive, Horst thought as he rose to dress.

Horst’s pocket square smote at Johannes’ sensibilities, as usual.  This time he kept his feelings to himself; he was going to need Horst’s help, and for once, he wasn’t sure what Horst would say.  He buttered toast and greeted his brother. “Good evening.”

"Is it?" Horst paused to regard his brother. There was an additional adjective in the greeting, and Horst had learned long ago that the younger Cabal's good moods were suspect.

"I'm glad to see you're alive and still mostly human. I was beginning to think you'd eloped with that vampire girl."

Cabal contained his urge to correct Horst’s understanding of the species Llamiae as opposed to the genus Vampire.  “I have seen her, yes.  She is going to assist my work.”  He wondered if he should lie and say that Laurelai had enquired after Horst, but any advantage gained by that fiction would not survive their next meeting.

"Assist in your work? That does sound personal. What are you up to?" Horst's misgivings about his brother's activities deepened.  "What happened while you were away?"

“It was eventful.  And it has become personal,” Cabal said with grim understatement.  He narrated recent events: the possession, the murderous gardener, the bizarre empathic experience.  He tried to distil it down to the most relevant and appealing points. He didn't often talk to Horst about his work.

“Mademoiselle Laurelai is able to channel her ghost.  Berenice’s ghost.”  He had to say her name.  Clarity was important.  “I have spoken with her twice.”  He heard himself say it, and his speech slowed.  “I have spoken with her, Horst.  I could not be deceived.”

As much as Horst often did not like his younger sibling's work, he was intrigued. Hearing what had happened caused him alarm and curiosity. What sort of relationship was his younger brother building with this mysterious Laurelai?

Horst was silent for a moment, weighing what he had been told against what he knew of his brother. He tapped his fingers on the tabletop, considering.

"When you spoke with her," Horst began, choosing his words carefully; "Did she know where she was? Was she conscious, or was it like the soldier you told me about? The one you found in the station?"

Somewhere, there was a faint feeling of relief; he had expected Horst to condemn the situation, to insist he stop.  "It was something like that at first.  Toward the end she became more aware.  She knew the body she was in was not her own.  I believe she may become more aware with repeated contacts."

"I see." Horst looked thoughtfully into the fire, frowning. He saw so little of his brother these days, heard little of what he was doing in his work, and Horst had begun to worry that Johannes might never emerge from the lab.

That he might never heal.

Laurelai might be an odd person, but she had saved Johannes’ life. Horst sighed, looking back at his brother. That had to count for something, he hoped.

"And she can just… have ghosts in her head without ill effects? I saw one of those stage performances once, a séance. The actress was carried offstage." Horst looked seriously at his younger brother.  "And what are you doing for her in return? I have the feeling that you aren't telling me everything."

Cabal smiled thinly.  “For one thing, she wants clothing to replace those leather things.  I will acquire something.  Unless you want to help?”  He felt a rising of his hopes; maybe this could be Horst’s problem, not his?

"Oh, no, you go right ahead. Enjoy the experience." Horst straightened, looking at Johannes with barely contained mirth at the idea. He covered his mouth with one hand, suppressing a giggle at the idea of Johannes muddling through a Ladies’ catalogue.

Fine.   He would leave some sensible catalogues around and wait for Horst to break, as he inevitably would when it came to fashion.  “Also, she will be coming here for lessons in reading and in passing among humans.  It is my responsibility, but she would benefit from your guidance.”

"Wait what's that?" all traces of mirth vanished, and Horst sat up straight. "Me? A mentor? To her?"

Cabal tilted his head.  “She knows nothing of humans, obviously, and I think she is the only one of her kind. She is completely isolated.  She could be no more than an animal if she wanted, yet I saw her feed three times, and she left the men alive.”  Cabal never said it; he rarely thought it, but he was proud of his brother.   “She could be like you, to a degree.”  He picked up the marmalade jar and inspected the marks in the glass.  “I can teach her to read; she is intelligent, and I think she can apply herself.  I can teach her to attract less attention among humans.  I cannot teach her not to be a monster.”  He looked up at Horst, his eyebrows raised. “Think of it as a public service for the pub-going population.”

Horst had misgivings, but thought it best to let Johannes give his explanation. Horst heard so few of them. He was surprised more by what he saw in Johannes' expression and heard in his voice then he was by anything else.

Slowly, Horst smiled. Johannes liked Laurelai, though how much was uncertain. He did not bother to bring up the fact that making Laurelai more like him would actually be doing her a great disservice, as she appeared to be mostly-alive. He envied her that, and wondered about it. Thoughts for another time.

"You're curious about her. Was this tutoring her suggestion, or yours?" Horst asked, arching a brow. "Do you… do you perform experiments together? Is she your laboratory assistant?"

Though he was gently teasing, Horst hoped the answer was yes.

Cabal felt that Horst had missed the point.  “She is a psychic medium.  I am not going to have her washing test tubes.  No, she will attempt to channel Berenice’s spirit.  It is a rare talent.  Literacy is not, but few tutors would tolerate her supernumerary fangs. I am curious about her subspecies as it contrasts with yours.  Over the next few weeks, I will ask her to provide some blood and saliva samples for comparison.”  Cabal’s expression was bland; he hadn’t caught the innuendo.

"So your answer is yes, then." Horst had sobered, but still felt that it would be wrong to discourage Johannes. There were so few things that could excite his younger sibling, it seemed. It was nice to see him talking again. Socializing.

"Alright, I'll play nice when she comes to call." Horst stood up again, intending to make the long-avoided trip to town. He turned to leave, then paused- a thought occurring to him.

"Do you think she might be able to help you, in my case?" He asked, trying to seem casual. "She is alive, you know. I've been thinking about that, and while I won't interfere with this... thing you're proposing now..." Horst sighed.   "You won't hurt her."  

It wasn't a question.

Cabal did not reply.  How could Horst expect anyone to promise that?

Instead, he answered the earlier question. “It is my hope studying her half-vampiric condition may cast light on yours.  She still lives on blood, cannot eat, must flee the sun.  But all data is good data.”  Cabal squeezed a lemon slice with an air of frustration.  There was never enough time.  What of his experiments with the gas?  What of Horst?  What of Bea’s spirit, flickering in and out?  The weight of it pressed upon him.  He drank his tea and blotted out the thoughts.  One thing at a time, in order.  

“I will consider her clothing today.  Perhaps I will find something in the village.”

Horst stared hard at his little brother. He knew that trying to extract reassurance would glean nominal reward at best: Johannes was a scientist. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Do you know her size?" Horst experienced a sudden urge to look at Ladies’ fashion catalogues, his eyes glazing momentarily. Then he remembered his shredded waistcoat, and the feeling fled.  "Helena has a dress shop in town, she's very good. I'm sure you'll find something lovely."

Oh.  Was that who owned the dress shop?  Cabal recalled an incident with an escaped laboratory failure that had nested in her yardage.  He removed the village from the list of possibilities.

“I do not have her size, but….”  He could measure the Llamia. He imagined himself doing so.  On the other hand, he could buy everything in three sizes. Problem solved.  “I will handle everything.  She will arrive after sundown on Friday.”

"Friday?" Horst made a face; he had plans for Friday. "Can't you do it on Monday or a Thursday? Why Friday?" He sighed, remembering who he was talking to.  "Alright, I'll chaperone your playdate. But next week either choose a different day or call Zee to help you."

Cabal had prepared himself for Laurelai’s first reading lesson.  He had acquired materials, which he set out upon the library desk.  He had even decided to wear his cardigan instead of his jacket, as it seemed vaguely in keeping with the role of tutor, and besides, he had a chill.

Horst had busied himself in the kitchen upon waking, having put off his trip to town for a night. He had chosen to bake - anything to keep him nice and occupied and away from his brother's guest.

Shortly after eight, Laurelai arrived carrying a small rose bush in a broken pot. After scattering the garden pixies with a growl and flash of fang, she crouched beside the herbaceous border. Discarding the broken crockery among the stones, Laurelai planted the black-velvet flowers in the soft earth bordering the wall. Smiling with satisfaction, she stood, dusted her hands on her bottom and knocked on the door.

“Good evening, mademoiselle.  Please, come in.”  At this point, a courteous host should offer to take his guest’s coat and hat, but Laurelai travelled without either, so that part of the implicit lesson was abandoned. She didn’t even appear to own shoes.  “You appear to be in good health.”

"Bonne nuit, mon ami." Laurelai had bathed and cleaned and repaired her clothing as best as she could. Normally wild curls hung in smooth ebon waves; combed back over her shoulders and still damp. She smiled pleasantly and nodded, gesturing behind her.   "I brought you this, for your garden."

The black roses shouldn’t have been visible in the moonlight, but they were, as if there was a sullen sheen to the plant.  “Thank you. It is an attractive plant,” he admitted. “I hope it will survive.  The conditions are unforgiving.”  

Laurelai wiped her bare feet on the mat and stepped inside.   "They like the climate, and acidic soil suits them, unlike your unfortunate Carsons." She had identified the blossomless bramble that housed the pixies and had begun to formulate a strategy for reaching an understanding with the creatures, or exterminate them as blight. Garden infestations aside, her expression was warm in reply to Cabal's gratitude.

“I am pleased that you like them.  Your home is very bright. Are you very blind when it is dark? Why do you have dark glasses in your bag, if you like light?" The gas lamps were harsh, and she blinked and squinted in discomfort, unaccustomed.

“This is not as bright as daylight.  I do not often wear the glasses indoors or at night. Though my night vision is good by human standards, it is nonexistent by yours.  Follow me.”  Cabal led her to the library, bypassing the odor of vanilla and a rustle of parchment paper coming from the kitchen.   There, her directed Laurelai to the desk and its paper, pencils, and colorful alphabet book.

"Oui, I am often surprised that humans go outside at night. You act like you are invincible; it is almost sad." Laurelai's tone was conversational, even sympathetic of his mortal limitations. How fragile her fearless human friend was! She admired his salt, and his posterior, as she followed him through the house.

Cabal was perplexed by being cast in the role of the brave but vulnerable individual who gallantly transcended his weakness.  Of course, everything supernatural was stronger and faster and more fatally toothed, but… he was certain there was a flaw in her reasoning somewhere.  

The library was not as brightly lit, and Laurelai paused in the door to examine a sconce.  "How do you make them work? Where is the flame?" Without waiting for an answer, she perused the room. Pausing to look at a framed picture, hands clasped behind her back to prevent curious exploring. It was difficult not to touch such amazing things, and she forgot herself several times despite her best efforts.

“Why will you not call me Laurelai?”

He took a moment to compose his answer.  “With the exception of Horst, I address people formally.”  Was this coming back to flocks and him being welcome in her nest?

"I shared my bed with you, Johannes," Laurelai's lower lip threatened to pout. "You saved my life, and still you doubt me."

There was a loud clang from the kitchen at the word “bed.”  He might have to address that misconception later.   “And you, mademoiselle, accuse me of doubting you when I refuse intimacies.  I will not be bullied, but it does not mean I expect you to attack me.”

"Bullied?"  Laurelai turned away from the shelves, frowning in dismay. She did not understand why the idea of familiarity upset him- she had made no advances, despite her natural playfulness and desires.  Had she misspoken?

"I have not made myself clear. Forgive me, I do not know how to make you understand, cherè." Laurelai sat down in the chair before the desk, and folded her hands in her lap with a sigh. The intricacies of human socialization escaped her experience, and she had little choice but to concede to his greater wisdom. Even more frustrating was her limited grasp of English; too many nuances lost in translation.

"It does not matter. Call me as you like." Laurelai gazed off at the hearth, her expression unreadable.

"May I ask why Monsieur Horst is a vampire, while you are not?"

Cabal gave the books and paper a longing glance.  She was prepared to discuss anything awkward and painful, it seemed.   “In a minute.”  He disliked the paranoid feeling that she had agendas and wishes in this partnership he did not understand, however harmless they were.  

“Mademoiselle Laurelai, try to make me understand what you want from me and why. With reference, if you please, to the significance of given names and llamia nests, as well as any other subjects you find relevant.  And what, if you please, is a flock?”

Laurelai's lower lip quirked irksomely, and she looked down at her hands. He was quick to demand answers of her, and yet many of her simple queries went ignored. Not for the first time, she considered shaking him violently.

Instead, she took a deep breath and examined her fingernails for traces of blood or dirt.

"When we met in your garden, we became friends, no? I returned your silver, and we played a game. This is known." she looked up at him evenly, spreading her hands as she presented the facts. "I respect that you do not want my kiss, and those other rules you made. I have not betrayed the things you confide in me, nor would I wish to pry in affairs that are not my own."

"But then that man tried to kill us. I do not like to remember that." she lowered her voice; her tone earnest. "I was afraid for you. You did not have to fight for me. What am I to you? Nothing."

Here, her hand pressed over the sliced leather at her ribs- the wound healed but present in memory. Laurelai looked up at Cabal, frowning.  "I do not know the word for it. But I treat you as one of my own, and you address me as a stranger. It is offensive, to me."

Cabal’s eyes unfocussed as he made mental notes.  “So by ‘flock’ you meant you were considering me ‘one of your own.’”  He was unashamed when thinking it through as an abstract concept.  “And a flock shares the nest?  So by rejecting the nest I was implicitly rejecting your offer of kinship status?”

"Oui. After a fashion." Laurelai's lashes lowered and rose in catlike agreement, and she lounged back in the deep leather chair.  Her lower lip threatened a pout.  "I treat you as an equal. You treat me as a stranger. Is that not doubt?"

Cabal was silent.  He knew she would wait for his answer, and he needed time to express it.  “I brought this house here more than ten years ago, stick and stone.”

“In that time, four people have been allowed to enter.  The police sergeant from the village, Horst, one other, and yourself. Alone of that group, I have invited you into my home, into my work, and, briefly, into my mind.  It does not seem to me like I am treating you as a stranger, however I address you or wherever I sleep.  I regret that this bruises your sensibilities, but you must not ask more of me.”  

Laurelai's brow lifted as Cabal explained his point of view, her expression open. She nodded when he was finished, collecting her thoughts. Perspective gained, the perceived insult eased.

"I am not easily bruised, cherè." Laurelai smiled a little and laughed as her posture relaxed, and combed a hand back through her hair.  "I am glad you told me this, it is much different from what I was thinking. Call me as you like, I do not mind so much."

Cabal nodded, unexpectedly relieved.  “Shall we continue to your first reading lesson?”

"Oui, I would like that." Laurelai's eyes brightened, and she sat more upright, the arch of her torso causing the slashed side of her leather vest to gape. Pale ribs showed beneath, unmarked.

Clothing next week, Cabal thought.  "Are you familiar with the letters of the alphabet?"  He had bought the book he thought would appeal most to Laurelai. It had colour illustrations and touches of gilding.

"No, but I know my name. It is how I found my cemetery." Laurelai smiled a little and tugged the edge of her vest down as she moved to the edge of her seat.

"This is - hm.  An English book.  It might have been easier to start with French, but there are advantages to starting with the most untidy and irrational language, and besides, it is where you live."  

"Oh, it is pretty!" Laurelai was enticed by the illustrations, and she leaned close to look over Cabal's shoulder. He opened the book so she could see it and started to read.  

“A is for….?”

“Une pomme- ah- apple?” Laurelai liked this game. “Brioche! No, bread!”

Cabal soon realized that some of the examples were more familiar to her than others.

"Carousel.. I like those."

Cabal pictured Laurelai on a carousel, surrounded by children and their parents and suppressed a smile.  “D is for duck.  E is for elephant.”

"Fleur?" Laurelai touched the next page, recognizing the illusion and drawing a conclusion. Her fingers traced the F, and she lingered on the page, tracing each letter.  She moved on to the next page, frowning at the illustrated greengrocer. The rows of vegetables and smiling family meant nothing to her.

"What is that?"

“A greengrocer’s.  They sell fruits and vegetables.”  

There were these odd lacunae in her memory, he thought.  Things she must once have known that she had forgotten.  Vampires rarely experienced a loss of memory with the change, though the memories were often incomprehensible to them as they lost the ability to feel love or loyalty.  Laurelai’s psychology seemed human, if foreign.  

He continued reading, pausing to allow her to make the connection between the shape of the letter, the sound, and the example given.

"The sounds are different, in here." Laurelai tapped the side of her head with her index finger, looking puzzled as she took the alphabet book into her lap. She flipped backwards through the pages, sounding soft consonants under her breath as she sought examples on each page.

She seemed to forget that Cabal was present.

“Are they?” Cabal was bemused for a moment. “What sounds do they make in your head?”

She didn't answer at first, quietly repeating the sounds under her breath. Puzzled, she sat back and shook her head. "Different, it is like.. I do not know how to describe."

"Hullo Miss Laurelai," Horst smiled warmly from the doorway, carrying a tray of Assam tea and freshly baked currant scones. He nodded to Johannes, and placed the tray on the edge of the desk. "Thought you might like to have a little snack while you work."

Cabal gave his brother a narrow look.  “Miss Laurelai does not eat… scones.  As you well know.  Is this purely for my benefit?  How kind. How completely unmotivated by anything but brotherly affection.  How unsuspicious.”

Laurelai had fallen quiet as Horst had entered, watching him warily. She held her book closed upon her lap, lavender eyes flicking from one brother to the other. She neither acknowledged the greeting, nor replied, watchful.

Horst was unaffected by his younger brother's vitriol. He smiled pleasantly and nodded, looking at Laurelai. Seeing that she did not smile back, his confidence wavered; an unfamiliar feeling.

"I wanted to say hello, and knowing that you're not likely to feed yourself without a reminder, I thought I'd do something nice. People do nice things for each other all the time, did you know that? Funny old world." Horst winked at Laurelai, hoping she would enjoy his humor.

She did not, and gazed balefully back before looking at Johannes. "It is me he is curious about. Vampires always are."

“I have never known Horst to be overburdened with curiosity.”  Cabal was beginning to get the feeling that Laurelai actively disliked his brother.  Was it some natural antipathy of species?  “We were working, Horst.  But… did you bring lemon?”

"Well, I might be a tiny bit curious, but only because I'd like to get to know you." Horst smiled at Laurelai. He felt that he was on unsteady ground with her and wanted to fix whatever social misstep he had made. "I like to get to know my little brother's lady friends."

Laurelai did not respond, but looked vaguely uncomfortable. She nodded, and looked down at her book.

"Lemon? Oh, back in a mo'," Horst had never felt so awkward, and his smile felt like a mask as he returned to the kitchen.

“He always forgets the lemon.”  Cabal straightened the papers.  “You are under no obligation to socialize with Horst.  Although.  People do generally want to.”

Laurelai watched Cabal, silent for a moment as she considered whether or not to reply. After all, he had not asked for an explanation.

"I have not had good experiences, in the past." she confided, looking back down at the elaborately drawn ‘T’ upon the page. She did not like anything that made her feel weak, which Horst most certainly had at their first meeting. She traced the gilded illustration with a finger.

"Why does this page show a Horn, and yet the letter is not that sound?" Laurelai attempted to change the subject.

Cabal disliked straying from the task at hand, but she had piqued his curiosity. "You have been mistreated by other vampires?"  

Laurelai's gaze turned inward, her shoulders slouching slightly. She was silent a moment longer- her thoughts faraway.

"Oui."

"How did they...  that is, in what way...."  The cross-examination forming in Cabal's mind came to a jerking halt as he took in her bowed shoulders.  "That is...."  There would be a better time, he told himself, to learn about vampire-llamia relations.  "A trumpet.  That is a trumpet, a type of horn."

"For sex, or blood. Sometimes for sport- how should I know?" Laurelai's gaze remained unblinking, fixed upon Cabal's. His answer to her question was either disregarded or assimilated- it was impossible to know.

She tilted her head, apparently waiting.

After a moment, Cabal nodded.  "Then naturally you are wary."  He tried to stop there, but could not.  "Horst is a good man.  You are safe here.  And if he could not protect you," Cabal had a feeling this sentence was getting away from him, but there was no way to divert it now, "then I would.  Under the terms of our agreement.  Now, the letter 'U.'"

Laurelai's expression turned querulous for a moment- confusion and surprise mingling. His vow was heartfelt. She could not recall another instance where she felt such camaraderie.

Standing in one fluid movement- book toppling to the floor- Laurelai cupped Cabal's face and kissed his forehead. Then she sat down with a happy coo and retrieved the book from where it had fallen.

Cabal wasn’t sure she saw the severe look that rewarded the kiss; it was not one of his best efforts.  He had cobbled it together hastily from a confused expression, and it came from a desire to remind her of the rules, not from genuine ire.  “Mademoiselle,” But her gesture had not felt threatening. Inexplicably, she was happy again. It struck Cabal that she was like Horst in that way; nothing clouded her temperament for long.  It baffled him.  “May we return to work?”

"Oui." Laurelai favored the scientist with a fond, fanged smile- tinted with a hint of mischief. Legs folded beneath her, she perched on the edge of Cabal's desk and peered at the book.

"Umber-alla?" she blinked, frowning. "Parasol?"

"Indeed. But waterproof."

The next few letters passed without incident.  Cabal sipped his tea as they arrived at the final page.  "Are you familiar with this animal?"

No sooner than had Laurelai turned the page, the book went flying--

                --the Llamia hissing down at the offending illustration from atop the bookshelves.

         "Zebra."

Unperturbed, Cabal placed his cup back in the saucer.  "Indeed.  An impractical and unpleasant animal.  That concludes today's lesson.  I will not detain you with such simple material next time.”  She had been able to read once, he suspected; she was already sounding out words.  “You may take this book with you, if you wish."  He withdrew his notebook.

"I need to hold our next lesson a day or two late.  I find I have a commitment.  Is that acceptable?"  He glanced up.

Satisfied that the illustrated embodiment of nightmares would not gallop off the page and harm her, Laurelai lowered herself to the floor. She lifted the book and folded it closed, considering Cabal's proposal. She placed the book atop his desk.

"One night? Or two?" she asked in return. "I must have care for my roses. It grows colder."

He shrugged. "I should return by daylight on the Saturday, and I will be rested by that evening.  We may meet then, or a later day."

Laurelai's expression became thoughtful as first she had to recall what day it was- counting on her fingers. She nodded solemnly, rocking from heel to toe as an idea bloomed.

"I could go with you? I could protect you, or be helpful in some other way? And my lesson would be to travel. As a human woman."

Cabal did not dismiss the idea out of hand.  He believed in the value of applied learning.  "The idea has merit, and were I tutoring you in theft from mid-range British museums, I might require you to accompany me.  But you wish to learn to pass among humans." Her acrobatic skills might be very useful, he thought.

Laurelai nodded, and, in an effort to persuade him, she smiled, clasped her hands politely before herself and subtly batted her eyelashes. "I have no need to learn how to break into the museum, cherè, I go there quite often. I like the ghosts."  She smiled, her tone softly pleading.

"If I promise to wear a dress, and speak only French, could I not also provide you with security of alibi?"  She had heard the term over the wireless, and found it intriguing. What games humans played!

Cabal’s eyes narrowed as he considered the advantages and disadvantages of her offer. He had planned to go in while the museum was closed and smash a case open with a hammer.  If he was interrupted, no number of be-gowned Frenchwomen would provide a sufficient alibi, although a llamia might be of some use. He might be able to accommodate her wishes while gaining her help.  Laurelai was a habituée of the building; at least she would not slow him down. 

“Perhaps. You might accompany me to the town,” it was unnecessary for the theft but would be good practice for her, “and assist me during the acquisition.  After, I would return here alone.”

"You mean I would not have to stay and watch you growl at your notebook?" This was a bonus to the plan, which would also allow the time she needed to acquire certain chemicals she needed for her roses.  Perhaps she might practice her new skills in a tavern or two. "Oui, this is acceptable."

Cabal was confused.  Growl at his notebook?  Possibly her English was faulty.  "Very well, then."  This was an excellent development: an efficient use of both their time, and advantageous to them both.  There was no reason to feel any misgivings.

Laurelai smiled at Cabal's agreement, a gesture that complimented her features and showed off deadly dentition.

"Oui, bon. I will arrive at the customary time." She paused, a thought occurring. "You may tell your brother I will need a dress, hm?"

[ganymedesclock]

Got any thoughts on Zarkon's new armor? It seems like it's probably relevant on a metaphorical level that he's now COMPLETELY covered by his armor slash life support system.

What I think is so interesting about this is that Zarkon would sooner risk the impracticality of encasing his entire body in a metal suit than he would allow people to see him in a weakened state.

It reminds me of how Zarkon and Shiro are really excellent foils- to the point that a lot of their similar qualities have completely different underlying implications.

Both Shiro and Zarkon are intensely prone to falsely presenting more okay than they actually are. They don’t like to be seen at their most vulnerable. Consider how quickly Shiro bottled up his misgivings and trauma, swept all that off the table, cut his hair, shaved, put fresh clothes on and made sure that the first time he chose to present himself to his team again in season 3 was like this:

I’ve heard people talk about how this scene feels insincere or slightly stilted on Shiro’s part, and I think that’s true, but I think that has nothing to do with the clone theory, and I think it has everything to do with how Shiro wants to be viewed as a pillar of strength for other people to lean on.

Because that, ultimately, is what Shiro wants to be: he’s the therapist friend, he’s the nurturer, he has a tremendous fondness for his team and it hurts him to feel like they can’t rely on him. He wants to take responsibility for and take care of everyone, and because of this, he’s prone to overlooking, even neglecting his own issues.

(This is the root of my contention that Shiro is only “Space Dad” as much as he is the eldest sibling in this found family that everyone calls “Dad” in exasperation because he’s got 99 things on his plate and is also trying to be a parent to all his younger siblings at the same time)

Conversely, Zarkon also wants to be a pillar of strength, but it’s done much more to keep people away. I’ve talked before about the conspicuous rituals of distancing that Zarkon demands of everyone who approaches him, and how this mingles with Zarkon’s attitudes of class, propriety, and “knowing one’s place”.

But I think entirely outside of that there is a matter of Zarkon, as he made clear all the way back in s1e1, despises weakness. He hates the idea of being viewed as weak. His identity is tied to being The Emperor, and the emperor, in his eyes, is constantly powerful. Never questioned. Always in control.

That Zarkon can’t actually live to that ideal is of no consequence to him, because he can always fake it. The important thing, to Zarkon, is not actually being a creature without weakness- it is that he continues to be viewed as a conquering god.

There is something very unique about his relationship with Haggar that she is even permitted to clap eyes on him in a vulnerable state, and the main reason why this seems to be so is that Haggar facilitates this illusion. It’s quite likely that Haggar’s refusal to allow anyone to view the emperor while he was comatose between s2e13 and s3e7 was per Zarkon’s wishes.

Hence the mask. Hence sealing himself fully into a life-support suit. Because being sick enough to require life support is more permissible than letting any of his subordinates see him do something as banal as laboring to breathe.

And you can see this through any level of the empire, Zarkon is distant. Everybody loved seeing Varkon again in s4e4 but what I think is so fascinating is that, in brief exchanges, we see not only that his admiration for Zarkon has been replaced by admiration for Voltron, but that he expresses that admiration in completely different ways. 

The poster of Zarkon was enshrined in his locker, a private altar that Varkon wouldn’t touch or interact with. It’s a flat image of Zarkon, rigid, in full armor, posing, and set up to look as fearsome and majestic as possible. It’s propaganda. And it’s an ideal we see Varkon, ineffectively, comparing himself to: standing in that same way and trying to suck in his belly to achieve Zarkon’s tall, raw muscle figure.

With Voltron, Varkon has a pair of seemingly cloth dolls- things that are designed to be held and touched. He has both in his hands, and one of them is specifically Hunk- someone who, while also a powerfully built athlete, is heavyset with a soft belly, much like Varkon himself. And Varkon not only holds the dolls up, but hugs them close, with a lot more energy and enthusiasm than we saw him calmly, reverently addressing Zarkon’s image.

Zarkon inspires awe in people, but distantly, and that’s how he likes it. He does not want people seeing themselves in him, or relating to him, or empathizing with him- and he takes pains to hide any sort of vulnerability. Comparatively, Voltron operates as a hero that people like Varkon can see themselves in. That he gravitates towards Hunk, because here is someone like him! He could look at merchandise or propaganda featuring Hunk, and emulate that, and he wouldn’t have to act the way he did towards Zarkon’s image, trying to make himself someone he isn’t and trying to live by an ideal never built with people like him in mind.

It’s frankly no wonder that Voltron thoroughly ousted the emperor in Varkon’s heart.

And Shiro, I think, even if like Zarkon he hides his ‘weakness’, he does so in order to place himself in a caretaker role, to show even more softness- Zarkon has an obvious strained relationship with his own vulnerability and potential mortality, but conversely, what Shiro’s most afraid of is the opposite- that he might actually be too cold, that what happened to him during his missing year made a bloodthirsty monster out of him, that he’s no longer trustworthy as a caretaker of others. Or that he’s been stripped of agency in a way that means he can’t help him.

Both Shiro and Zarkon are prone to faking how well they’re doing. Shiro does so to comfort others- Zarkon does so to push them away.