#this is probably never getting fully rendered cause i’m busy as hell these days

[dishwasher710]

HOW DID I MISS LOGIC AND PHILOSOPHY WEEK BY AN ENTIRE MONTH WHAT

[wulfies-kpop-fanfics]

One Photo → Mark Lee [2]

↳  Pairing: Mark Lee/Reader

↳  AU: Soulmate!AU - The first touch of two soulmates permanently scars their bodies.

↳  Word count: 2,610

↳  Chapters: Prelude | 1 | You Are Here! | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

⁙ Summary: For an end of the year photography project, you’re tasked with taking a photograph for your favourite group, NCT127, and coincidentally, discover your soulmate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TUESDAY - 2

The next day you get up to your alarm, a little groggy and on autopilot. You mumble a greeting to Rhiannon who is already in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. It's not uncommon for you to be undressed in front of her, so she barely reacts for a few moments when you reach into your clean clothes hamper in the living room and begin to change right there. 

However, in the midst of putting on your bra, Rhiannon squeals in excitement, nearly making you pee yourself.

“What the hell?!” You exclaim, now convinced that you're fully awake. 

“You-your front! Your entire torso! Look!” Rhiannon stands from the little dining table and approaches you, poking your stomach. You nearly let out a scream yourself when you see it.

Your entire torso, from collarbone to hip is completely covered with scar tissue, as well as the underside of your arms and the palms of your hands. “Rhiannon, I-” 

“Turn around.” She spoke quickly, and you obey her. She is silent for a little while, which is freaking you out even more than you already were. When she traces an outline over your right shoulder blade, your skin twitches in response. “(Y/N), this is the largest soulmate scar I've ever seen,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“I-” You're barely able to stutter out any words. You stand there, half-naked as your best friend examines you.

“Does it hurt?” Rhiannon pokes and prods on the newly formed scar tissue, primarily focusing on your shoulders.

“N-no, not at all.” You purse your lips. You feel like normal if not a bit overwhelmed. 

“This has got to be from a hug,” she concludes, nudging you to turn you back around. “There are perfect handprint scars on your back, too. You hugged Mark yesterday, right?” 

“He, uh, hugged me three times,” you confirm. “Johnny and Jaehyun hugged me twice.” 

“Then it's one of them!” Rhiannon is squealing with delight. “That is so exciting!” 

Your face fell a little, finishing putting on your bra and shirt you picked out for the day. “Yeah,” you say softly.

“What's wrong?” Rhiannon is beginning to look concerned, ghosting a hand over your shoulder.

“It's Mark,” you state, “I can feel it, but…”

“But what?” 

“If that's true, everything changes. When he leaves, am I going to be able to handle it?” you finish getting dressed and stop to look at your hands. “I… I already know I won't be able to handle the depression and separation anxiety, I won't be able to handle being constantly sick… I was never taught about any of this and I never even thought it would happen to me.” 

“(Y/N)...”

“I need to go. I have class.” 

~

You took in a deep breath as you gripped your tablet pen. You had been spending the last month's worth of photoshop labs on drawing a picture of Iron Man for your digital rendering final, and you had been doing well enough until today. Now that your hands had part of your scar, they gripped your pen differently and you were slowly growing more and more frustrated. 

It's not that you were angry that you had found your soulmate, and you were definitely happy it was Mark- but everything was happening so quickly. What were you going to say to him? Would his scar ruin his career? Were you ready for any of this? You looked up to your computer screen, seeing your reflection in the black screensaver. Seems like you had been overthinking long enough for the monitor to go to sleep.

You can see the buds of forming tears in your reflection. They were totally uncalled for and you knew it. Finding a soulmate was a happy time. In a world where all of this was completely normalized, you had no idea why you suddenly started feeling like a freak. On your way to class, you had already started to feel eyes on you. Most scars were small, dainty and cute, like a handshake or a poke to the shoulder- not a giant one that covered your entire chest, the inside of your arms and the palms of your hands. Scars larger than an apple were extremely rare, and ones like yours were the rarest of all.

What a wonderful scar, you heard your teacher say when you walked into class that morning. They say that if your scar is big, you're meant to be together for more than one lifetime. 

Maybe that was true, and it felt like a big responsibility you weren't ready for. You jumped in your seat when your phone vibrated in your pocket. 

Mark: Are you in class?

You: Yeah, but it's almost done

Mark: What is your classroom number? I'd like to pick you up if that's okay

You: Are you sure? 

Mark: Yeah! I wanted to spend more time with you today, I feel like it wasn't enough yesterday 

You: You're cheesy 

You: My classroom is 103A in M building 

Mark: You know it

Mark: See you soon 

You found yourself smiling at his texts. Talking to him eased some of your anxiety, but it still lingered in the back of your head. You put your phone down and shake your mouse so the screen comes back to life. Iron Man stares back at you, and you almost close the program. Your thoughts were irrational, and the only thing your scars were stopping you from doing was finishing the touch-ups of the last few pixels of this piece. 

Your hands will get used to it, you scold yourself, this is a good thing, (Y/N). You're not your parents.

You're snapped out of your thoughts again as your classmates begin to pack up, the quiet rustle of backpacks filling the room. You look back at your piece, over a month's work put into it and all you needed was maybe five minutes more of touch-ups and it would be perfect. 

The next time this classroom was going to be used was later tonight for the college's dungeons and dragons party, so you didn't think anyone would mind you staying to finish up.

The five minutes of touch-ups turned into 20 minutes of improving mistakes you've noticed, and 20 minutes of improving mistakes turned into an hour of being completely absorbed in your work. You had been so focused on everything that you barely even perk up when you hear one of the computer chairs rolling closer to you.

“I thought you went home, Moose,” you say casually, sticking your tongue out and swiping a line of light reflection onto a strip of red plating. 

“You have a friend named Moose?” The voice replies, and you nearly jump out of your seat, the pen swiping across the tablet and drawing a large white streak across Iron Man's face.

“Mark,” you sigh, placing a hand on your chest and trying to take in a deep breath. “You scared me.” 

Mark smiled sheepishly. “Sorry…” he looks at your computer screen. “I didn't mean to ruin your piece.” 

You smile gently, hitting ctrl z on your keyboard. The streak disappears, you save the piece and turn off the computer. “It's okay. I'm just lucky I don't have autosave turned on.” 

Mark sighed with relief. “You kinda scared me,” he starts, looking you in the eye. “You didn't come out of the classroom for so long that I thought you might have forgotten. I probably would have left if your teacher didn't recognize me and say it was okay for me to come inside.” 

Your frown at him and avoid his eye contact, deciding to focus on zipping up your backpack. “I'm sorry,” you say dejectedly. “I was dumb, but I would just be a downright moron if I stood you up on purpose.” 

Mark laughed softly, watching you pack up. “What did you want to do today?” he asked, voice softer. 

“I don't know,” you say, standing and slinging your backpack over your shoulders. “I would like to drop this off at my dorm, though. It's kinda heavy.” 

“Okay,” Mark nods. “We can start with that and go from there.”

While you travelled back to your dorm, nearly all of your anxiety about your scars disappeared. You talked about anything but the scar that was easily noticeable through your summery outfit. The more people looked at you, the more you wonder if Mark was keeping quiet out of courtesy for your aversion to his first question on the subject. 

Mark was sweet, complimenting your outfit and keeping up a strong conversation about marvel movies.

“Have you seen Endgame yet?” you asked him once you got back to the subject of Iron Man, and Mark laughed sadly.

“To my disappointment, no,” he answered, letting you board the subway first, pulling up his face mask. “Haven't had the time.” he stood close enough to you on the busy subway car that you could still hear him properly.

“Well, if you want we could see it,” you offer quickly, blushing and looking away as you saw his smile through his eyes.

“Are you asking me out, (Y/N)?” he asks, nudging you gently with his elbow. 

“N-no,” you respond, swearing up and down mentally that you were as red as a tomato. 

“I would graciously accept, but how about we wait until tomorrow? I want to catch up a little bit, I haven't watched any of the films in a while, I've been so busy preparing for the tour.” Mark smiled when you turned back to look at him again.

“Okay, well, I have all the films at my dorm,” you say, biting your lip.

“Would your roommate be okay if we stayed in?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, she would be more than okay,” you tell him, which causes both of you to start laughing. “She will probably faint if she sees you again.”

“I think I've had my lifetime fair share of people fainting in front of me,” he says humorously. 

“I wouldn't worry. She is working on her finals today and probably won't be back until after you leave,” you say. “We will have the place to ourselves.” 

“Okay, that sounds good. I'm looking forward to catching up. Do you have popcorn?” he asks sheepishly. 

“Yeah, we-” the subway comes to an abrupt stop at your station, and you nearly lose your balance. Mark catches you before your face ploughs directly into his chest. He’s holding your arm gently as you exit the subway car, and it is then you truly notice that Mark's scars are clearly visible, from his palms to the edge of his t-shirt, just like you.

When you get back to your dorm room, you place your bag and your shoes in the hallway, leading Mark inside. He pulls down his mask and sighs happily, joining you in removing his shoes and placing them on the shoe rack.

“I remember when my dorm was about this size,” he says wistfully, looking around. You frown a little. 

“You mean everyone in NCT used to live in a place like this?” you ask, walking into the kitchen to prepare a pack of popcorn.

“Not exactly, the different subgroups all had their own dorms, but they were all tiny, for more than 3 guys to live in at once.” Mark wanders over to you in the kitchen, leaning back on the counter and crossing his ankles.

“I'm sorry,” you say. “I hope it's different for you now.” 

“Yeah,” he replies, watching you put the popcorn in the microwave and press the appropriate numbers. “We all live pretty comfortably now.”

You smile at him. “Good, I'm happy. You deserve to live in a place where you're comfortable.”

Mark is silent for a moment. The microwave finishes and he moves out of your way as you grab a large mixing bowl to put your snack in. He’s watching you diligently, and you feel that too familiar pinch in your chest. It's more intense than you've ever felt from just watching internet content of him on your laptop.

“What film did you want to start with?” you ask, leading him to the living room as you pull a tote bag out from under your coffee table that contains your Marvel movie collection. “We can just watch Infinity War if you want, or we can watch them in story order if you're feeling a little daring.” 

“You know the order to watch them chronologically?” he asks, sitting down with the popcorn bowl in his lap. 

“Yeah. Rhiannon and I watched them all in order up to the release of Endgame.” 

“Wow, I'm impressed,” Mark comments, popping a couple of pieces of the snack into his mouth. “What's the order of the last three films?” 

“Let me see… it's Thor Ragnarok, Ant-Man and the Wasp and Infinity War,” you answer. “Wanna watch those?” 

“Yeah. Let's do that.” 

A few hours later you both are now watching Infinity War, about halfway through the film. A blanket had made its way over your laps and the popcorn bowl has been long empty, sitting on the coffee table in front of you. 

You can tell Mark is nervous. You're sitting close, your legs nearly touching, and you wonder if you should say something. You hoped you didn't scare him away from saying anything when the topic was brought up the night before. You didn’t want your bitterness to ruin it all.

Once you spare one glance from the movie to look over at him, you notice Mark has already beat you to it. His gaze pierces right through you, and somehow you feel as if Mark is seeing your soul.

“I don't want to make you uncomfortable,” he says, half-smiling at you. “I don't want to repeat yesterday's mistake.”

“It's okay,” You say softly, “you didn't know.” 

“But I should have.” He sounds serious and definitely looks the part, too.

You lick your lips as you watch him. There's something that hits you, like a wave of anxiety that is different from your own. 

“Mark,” you have to pause to gather your words. “You've known me for two days. Mistakes are bound to happen, and I… I don't actually hate the premise.” 

“Would you be okay with, um, talking about it?” The movie is playing in the background, the flashing images reflecting different lights onto Mark's face.

“There is not much to talk about, is there?” you asked, holding up your scarred hand. “It's here, on both of us, and I'm happy. Scared, but happy.” 

“You're not upset about it?” he asked, and it was almost like he was bracing for rejection. 

You took his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “No. You said you wanted to know someone so well that you didn't have to think about it, right?”

“Yeah, I did.” Mark returned the grip, his eyes glancing between your eyes and your hand. “You're right, we don't have to think about it.” Mark smiles softly at you, freeing his hand from yours so he can wrap his arm around your shoulder, guiding you to lean into his side.

It's maybe two hours later when you're stirred ever so slightly by the jiggling of the lock to your front door. You don't open your eyes, trying to ignore the sound and continue to cuddle into the warm body squished against you on the couch. 

Soft voices are muffled through your ears, and in your half slumber you can't exactly make any words out. Fatigue eventually grips you once again, returning to the vivid dream you were engrossed in just moments ago. 

[expectingtofly]

Morning Confessions (or, Waking Up Next to An Angel)

~1.3k dean/cas fic

also posted on ao3

Dean woke first in a haze of warmth and contentment, then in a slow realization of where he was and who he was with. Opening his eyes, he looked at the angel pressed up against him. Castiel’s head was half-buried in the sheets, his arm wrapped around Dean’s waist, and the sight caused a warmth in Dean's chest, an instinct to pull Castiel closer.

Along with the instinct, however, came a flush of guilt at how much he enjoyed these quiet moments, enjoyed them as much as the flurry of kisses and clutches and gasps that preceded them.

“We can’t do this again,” he’d said two months ago, the morning after their first night together. After their second, he’d amended the statement: “This doesn’t mean anything, alright? We can hook up every once in a while, but that’s it. That’s all this is.” Castiel had nodded and that was the last they spoke of it.

Castiel’s eyes were closed in faux sleep; he always stayed the whole night—a fact which created a mixture of emotions in Dean, none of them in keeping with the cool, unattached manner he tried so hard to maintain around Castiel. He’d even mentioned it, told Castiel, “You don’t sleep, you don’t have to lie here all night.”

Seeming to blush—though Dean doubted angels could be embarrassed—Castiel had said, “I don’t mind. I want to watch over you.”

And Dean didn’t want to admit how much he enjoyed the warmth of Castiel’s body against his all night, how much he relished waking up to the angel still next to him.

In the quiet of this morning, before he rose and left the motel room, spent the day trying to pretend nothing had happened between them, Dean studied Castiel: his soft, dark eyelashes, the curl of hair around the curve of his ear. The eyelashes fluttered, then blue eyes gazed up at him.

Dean’s breath hitched and he hastily looked away. He stared up at the ceiling, pretending to be engrossed by the dark water stain above their heads.

Whoosh.

Dean startled at the sudden absence of the heat of Castiel’s body against his. He looked to see the blankets settling down in the spot where Castiel lay a moment ago.

Damn flighty angels, Dean thought. Then the sound of water running made him realize the bathroom door was closed, light coming through the gap at the bottom. Frowning, he sat up to get out of bed, then swore. Castiel stood by the bed in his way, naked.

That sight, as always, was enough to render Dean speechless for a long second. He glanced back at the bathroom, the door now open and the light off, and back at Castiel. Only Castiel wasn’t standing in the same spot anymore.

The sound of wings made him turn to see Castiel standing at the foot of the bed, now almost fully dressed, pulling on his trench coat.

“What the fuck?” Dean managed.

“I, umm,” Castiel tapped his fingers on the bedspread, then pulled his hand away and smiled at Dean. “Do you want food? I can get you breakfast.” With another whoosh, he was gone, leaving Dean staring at the opposite wall.

Then Castiel was dropping a takeout bag on the table with a thump. Dean blinked and Castiel was standing by the bed again saying, “I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I grabbed five different varieties of bagels and—”

“Woah, woah, Cas.” Dean grabbed his arm. “You’re giving me whiplash. What the hell’s going on? Why’re you flying around everywhere?”

“I, um... I suppose I’m… nervous.”

“Nervous?” He didn’t know Castiel, “stoic angel of the Lord,” could get nervous. “And your wings are going haywire?”

“They’re not haywire,” Castiel replied, sounding annoyed. He straightened his shoulders. “I need to tell you something.”

Dean took a deep breath. In his line of business, that was never a good thing to hear. Angel or demon problems? A new apocalypse? Steadying himself for the inevitably bad news, he said, “Alright. What?”

Another whoosh, and Castiel was sitting on the bed next to him. “Fuck! Cas!” Dean exclaimed, nearly falling out of bed. Castiel grabbed his arm to steady him. “You wanna give me a warning next time?”

“Sorry."

Dean huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Castiel traced the floral pattern on the comforter. The serious furrow in his brows should’ve made Dean nervous, but he found himself studying Castiel’s profile instead. His jawline, his dark hair tousled from all his flying around, probably. He had the sudden urge to touch Castiel’s face, the nape of his neck, to run his fingers through Castiel’s hair, but he kept his arms crossed and studied the comforter himself.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Castiel said quietly and Dean’s heart sunk. He had known this shaky thing between him and Castiel couldn’t last. Castiel was an angel; he had the world at his fingertips. Why would he ever be content with Dean?

Castiel continued, “I think this, our sexual relations, means more to me than it does to you.”

It took a few seconds for those unexpected words to register. Dean blinked. So... Castiel had caught feelings. Another apocalypse seemed easier to deal with than the way that realization made him feel.

In a rush, Castiel touched his arm and angled his body to look at him.  “I know that wasn’t part of our agreement. You said no strings attached. And I thought I could do that, and if not, I could hide my true feelings, but it seems I can’t, after all. I thought… I thought you should know.” He dropped his hands into his lap and Dean’s heart thumped in his chest. He wondered if Castiel could hear it.

“You want more,” he said slowly. “Like a relationship.”

Castiel nodded sadly.

“Maybe,” Dean started, then stopped. He didn’t know how he planned on ending that sentence. But the look Castiel turned on him, the wide hope in his eyes, urged him to say what had been building up in him since the first time he woke up next to Castiel. “Maybe we can have more than just..." He gestured to the crappy motel room, themselves, trying to encompass the transience of their hook ups. “This,” he finished lamely.

“Really?” Castiel asked, studying him. “You want that?”

More than anything. To hold Castiel's hand, to feel his arms around him every night, to wake up to him every morning. Everything he wanted to say got caught in his throat; the words seemed too heavy, too great to say aloud.

“Yeah, yeah, I do," he managed.

A smile spread on Castiel’s face and Dean hastened to add, “But no one can know, alright? I mean, maybe Sam can know, but no one else.” No, that wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted: to call Castiel his, to let everyone know this angel had chosen him. “This can’t be public knowledge. Dean Winchester doesn’t date, much less have a boyfriend.”

“I’m your boyfriend now?” The excitement in Castiel’s voice made Dean’s heart jump.

“Oh, um.” He cleared his throat. “Do you want to be?”

"Yes." Castiel took Dean's hand in his own and held his gaze, his eyes serious. "I would like that very much.”

"I would like that very much too," Dean echoed since words were still escaping him, then Castiel leaned forward and kissed him, and there was that warmth again filling Dean's chest, perfect comfort and ease overwhelming him. He lifted a hand to Castiel's face, hoped he could press onto Castiel's lips everything he couldn't put into words.

When they slowly pulled away, Dean was breathless and Castiel was smiling at him. Nestling closer, Castiel leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder. It didn’t make sense, Dean thought, the way this angel felt towards him. He was half-convinced this sudden, new relationship was all a dream. But even if it was, even if he did suddenly wake, he knew he’d wake to Castiel watching over him.

The thought made him smile and, looking down at their hands, he intertwined his fingers with Castiel’s. The happy sigh Castiel made said it all.

Tagging: 

@spnwaywardone @good-things-do-happen-dean @becky-srs @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @xojo

Let me know (message, ask, comment) if you’d like to be tagged in future destiel fics :)

[chaoslordjoe]

#BlackSunWeek2020 Day 2 - Resurfacing

“Fuck this heat…” Nora Valkyrie whined, carrying herself on Yang Xiao Long’s back as Yang took a mental note about how that would’ve been her line.

If escaping Atlas was littered with red tape, then flying (relatively) safely to Vacuo was like duct taping yourself to a revved-up chainsaw. 

There were no AK droids or shell-shocked lumberjack-looking General headasses (seriously James, take your court martial like a man) to drag them into anything they were all just through a month ago into the war.

Still, being escorted to the city by a bunch of Vacuan mercenaries was probably more merciful than whatever haircuts or puffy outfits they were given from their time from being conscripted by Ironwood, probably without authority from the Council (General James “fuck-you-I-have-two-seats-on-the-Council” Ironwood) in the gang’s whole black ops stint.

All things considered, this was a lot more welcoming than being drafted into the “Greatest Kingdom’s” side of the war with how they weren’t so great and hiding how much their leadership sucked at communicating with one another.

Politics. The brass. Martial law. Friendly fire incidents. Good times.

Ruby trudged ahead of the group, with Qrow trying to save the water in his flask while he was surprisingly adamant in pushing forward through the dunes. It was a good thing that he sobered up in time for this trip, knowing how it would be hell on dehydration.

“At least we’re not…Having to face any AK droids for a while.” Weiss thought out loud.

“Come on, Weiss-cream.” Yang grunted. “Maybe we’ll get you a new manicure by the time we arrive at Shade.” She joked.

Weiss shook her head.

“She might need more than a manicure.” Ren interjected.

“No-no, she’s right.” Weiss mentioned. “Heiress or no, I think we could all use a touch-up.” She concluded, wincing at the idea of sand going down her dress.

“I hate sand.” Jaune spoke next. “It’s coarse, rough, irritating and it- -“

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE.” Yang warned.

“…And it gets everywhere.” Jaune taunted.

“I’m gonna smash your balls when we get home.” Yang said with a glare to him.

“How do- -How do you know I’m not into that?” Jaune remarked.

“Guys, can we please argue about which trilogy had the worse writing later?” Ruby begged.

“Much as I would like to learn about movies outside of my homestead, Ruby’s right.” Oscar spoke. “We’re almost there, then we can relax before meeting Theodore.” He added.

Qrow looked over, thankful that at least Ozpin insisted that they still act like teenagers in between all the missions and such. One thing he certainly got right.

“Hey, buddy.” Qrow said to the caravan leader. “How much further?”

“Almost dere, Mr. Branwen.” He spoke, inspecting his weapon behind his shades. “Ya don’t wanna get eaten by a mole crab, do ya?”

“Not exactly.” Qrow grunted.

“Den sit tight, we gonna be dere in no time.”

Soon as they arrived, Professor Theodore had granted the group a hotel to stay at before meeting with her on the Shade campus.

A rare sight this type of hotel was in Vacuo. Let alone something with this many accommodations. Soon as the gang arrived, a cold shower was in order followed by orders from Theodore to relax before the big meeting.

QROWBYJNR sat in the hotel’s pool area, finally being able to catch a breather along with some cooling off in the drink. Oscar stood at the corner reading one of Ozpin’s journals away from the group.

Blake decided to accompany him in the reading with a copy of <i>Zaibatsu Unlimited</i> she had meant to continue reading for a while now. Sort of a corporate espionage thriller about a power struggle between Mistral’s corporate elite in a deadly arms race on the stock market.

Ren sat with Weiss and Nora, figuring a tan wouldn’t hurt with how they were gonna be here for a while. Jaune got to work on a game of pool volleyball teaming up with Ruby, while Yang and Qrow played against them.

Oscar looked up with a cocked eyebrow, observing his friends finally being able to relax for the time being. He looked back at the Ozpin journal that he retrieved from the Atlas vault, then back and forth at the gang while he spoke to Oz privately.

Penny for your thoughts. Oscar spoke.

As long as you are all rested for this whole journey. He said.

Oz. How do you feel about reunions after living for so long? The host asked.

You are asking me? The wizard replied. Well, I suppose apart from all the betrayals and twists/turns I’ve been part of lately, I would say that reunions are best saved for when you can savor the moment.

Yeah. Oscar thought. If Theodore is in on it, feels like we gotta make it on our own. Did you miss Theodore?

”Missing” would imply that I would be welcoming to the Headmistress. I am not easily welcoming on the inside, Oscar. Perhaps I am the wrong person to ask about this.

Oscar squinted.

I get that we have to be more careful and not trust anyone, but you could at least act like you care. Your former students could be here too.

I suppose. Ozpin said with a sigh. Perhaps you are better equipped for this since only a select few people know that we are one at this time.

Because I’m a teenager like the others here? He interrogated.

No, I just feel that you are a more appealing individual in your age group. The wizard answered. Just so nobody else is out to kill us.

“Wow.” Oscar scoffed out loud, briefly catching Blake’s attention. Just put an arrow above my head of how cute I’m supposed to be while you’re at it.

Ruby roared, banking the volleyball around Yang. But Qrow briefly shifted into a bird, headbutting the ball right between the team leaders who dodged it.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” Jaune barked.

“Oh yeah?” Qrow said as he shifted back into a man. “Well, you’ve got banana hair!” He said as he shrugged at his blonde niece.

Weiss raised her sunglasses, squinting at the Huntsman’s remark while she turned around onto her stomach to tan her back next.

Jaune retaliated, by throwing the ball back in an attempt to get Yang to tilt by punching the ball open. Nora looked up from her seat, seeing her boyfriend meditating as he and her finally got a form of that beach day that she wanted so bad.

“I believe that Qrow has run out of remarks from Mr. Xiao Long’s joke book.” Ren observed.

“Feh.” Nora said with a shrug. “Just let him ramble, Renny.”

Ruby tried to Petal Burst her way around the net, only to create a cyclone which nearly sucked in Jaune. Qrow’s misfortune kicked in, causing the ball to hit Ruby in the side of her head at whoever tried sending it back.

“Oww, dang it!” Ruby cried out as she regained her footing the water. “Watch where you’re throwing!” She argued.

“Now who threw that?” Weiss inquired, raising her shades, and stopping at the familiar face before her.

Said familiar face had winced at his shot with Qrow attempting (and failing) to casually avoid the scene while Jaune carried Ruby out who rubbed her head.

“Sorry!” The familiar face shouted. “I didn’t mean to- -Sorry, guys!” He spoke.

Blake looked up at the voice, who wore yellow/blue swim trunks and had a noticeable monkey tail. She immediately got up, tackling her former squeeze from behind who yelped.

“Sun!” She cried out in joy.

“Blake!” Sun Wukong had called in return, setting her down and attempting to give his love interest a hug. 

Blake however, used one of her Shadow Clones to fool him and give the Huntsman an actual embrace after being away for some time.

Weiss sat up, greeting Neptune as well. A nervous meeting on her part due to how little they spoke during Vytal. But Nep was more than willing to let bygones be bygones in showing off his red speedo. Weiss blushed in hoping that she would be the one to clear things up.

Blake and Sun let go from their embrace, as she had never been more alive to see him until now.

“I know it hasn’t been that long.” Blake said first. “I know you pointed out that I didn’t need you anymore, but…Well, considering how poorly Atlas went, I kinda needed to see someone like you.” She sheepishly admitted.

“That bad, huh?” He asked.

“Yeah.” Blake sighed. “I know my hair isn’t properly rendered, either.” She muttered.

“Huh?” Sun asked.

“N-Nothing.” Blake retorted. “Though I imagine you’d probably come up with a better name for it than Yang. Called it the “bi bob” or something.”

“It’s a working title!” Yang argued while busy ogling Sage and Neptune.

“Ruby? Jaune?” Coco Adel asked with her teammates on CFVY not far behind. “What the hell are you guys doing here?” She inquired with lowered shades.

“He-hey, Coco.” Jaune said in an attempt to be suave while healing Ruby’s volleyball-shaped bruise. “See, it’s a funny story. We were called here by Theodore to investigate some Grimm trouble. Like you were…I think.” He flatly stated.

“Heh, great to see you guys too.” Coco spoke. Velvet stood by her side with her hands down. “I’m guessing you could use some lessons on team leadership from me and Sun?” She assumed.

“We are 100% fully functional on being team leaders, thank you.” Ruby argued, having just regained her vision.

“Yet you can’t watch your back at volleyball. Not the best aim there, luv.” Velvet joked. “Right, how about your focus on that Zaibatsu copy compared to Sun's arse and muscles, Blake?” She joked to her cat friend.

“Oh, HA-HA!” Sun angrily replied, blushing.

“It was just a kiss on the cheek, Velvet.” Blake retaliated with an eyeroll.

“I believe ya.” The hare said. “Of course, Sun worded it differently.” She fibbed.

“No he didn't, Bun.” Coco said while giving her friend a skeptical glare behind her shades. Had it not been in public with their First Year friends, she would've given Velvet a stern talking to about who pulled that off better.

While the two lovely ladies of Team CFVY bickered as to who would/wouldn’t get the ball gag, Blake grasped her arm anxiously while Sun awaited her response.

“You, um…Wanna get lunch to make up for lost time?” She hesitantly asked.

Sun instantly beamed, knowing how much of a relief they both needed from Remnant going down the tubes.

“Hell yeah!”

[anika-ann]

Nothing but the Truth - Pt.1

The Photo Evidence

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader        Word count: 2480

Summary: A fake dating AU. Be sure that when you have one lunch outside the Tower, you will be found and accused of dating Steve Rogers, aka Captain America. Yep, that’s just your luck.

Warnings: swearing, fluff...?

Story Masterlist

“So…” Tony crossed his arms on his chest, raising a challenging eyebrow, making you sink into your seat. He stood next to the hologram, staring you and Steve down with a glare so intense you thought he might have got possessed by a demon or something, because since when was Tony Stark able to look like a disappointed parent? That was Steve’s domain as far as you had been informed! “Either of you have anything to say for yourself?”

You gulped, averting your practically-boss’ gaze and pressed your lips into a thin line as your fingers fumbled with the hem of your blouse.

“So? Just so you know, the press is loving this. They have a freaking field day,” Natasha added, crossing her arms as well and you truly felt like you were five and were being hauled over the coals, your father and now your mum giving you a hard time over a broken vase or something.

You eyed Steve, who shifted in his seat, his eyes fixed on the photograph. He didn’t utter a word and you bit your lower lip, wondering what was on his mind.  

You would love to say that you had no idea how this happened.  

Except you had every idea.

Meeting Steve in the lobby just outside the cafeteria, you couldn’t help but smile up at him and he returned the favour, a crinkle of green in his blue eyes.

There had been a time you had been intimidated by him – it had taken you several encounters to lose the stiffness in your shoulders, the barely audible tremble in your voice (that was when you actually found the courage to speak) – but now, seeing him almost every day, welcoming him with the corners of your lips upright felt like a second nature.

After all, he was one charming bastard. And what worse, he was a gentlemanly, honest and witty bastard, who was one of Sam’s closest friends, if not the best one; replacing you, which... okay, you could be Sam’s best female friend, you were alright with that.

You and Sam went a way back; you had been the first person to welcome him at the VA centre and as he was yet another charming bastard, even at that time, you instantly hit it off, mostly because of him; it was near to impossible not to seek his company, he was like… like some sort of a life-charger.

If you were being honest, there was a time when you thought you might even become more than friends, because who were you kidding, that man was ridiculously attractive, but when you met… he was still healing from losing his wingman and a relationship was the last thing on his mind. And later… you were too deep into your friendship, friend-zoned for eternity and too comfortable with each other, you guessed. You were alright with that and you wouldn’t trade his friendship for the world.

And then the world turned crazy, Sam had a literal run-in with Captain America, became at first a part-time and then a full-time Avenger and practically dragged you to the Avengers Tower to apply for a job in administrative. You had been hired on spot despite still being employed at the VA. But seeing as it was the only way of keeping Sam and your lunches together and as you weren’t too opposed to a change of scenery…

Sam introduced you to Steve way too early and against your will. Well, not that you didn’t want to meet the Captain, alright, but he was the kind of man that was not running in the same social circles – until recently – as you and Sam just brought him to one of your friendly lunch dates in the Tower cafeteria and nearly shook your hands for you. Which was… odd. You were rendered speechless and you didn’t say a word during the whole lunch.

However, Sam apparently had a vision in his head, needing his two besties going along perfectly and lunches in three became a regular thing so you would crawl out of your shell. And funnily enough, it worked and you and Steve fell into a rather easy friendship, most of that happening when Sam had been called away and you were forced to have lunch without him. You might have started to enjoy those even more than when he tagged along.

Which brought you back to today.

“Hey, Steve. No Sam today?”

He shook his head and you swore there might have been a tiny eyeroll to go with that gesture.

“Tony needed him, because of the Falcon wings. Urgently,” he emphasized, making you chuckle at the billionaire’s insistence. It didn’t surprise you, you heard of that infamous feature of his enough times.

You most definitely did not run in the same circles as the Avengers, unless they were Steve or Sam; sure, you had met them, because Sam was a mingler who mingled and adored you enough to insist on introducing you – bless his soul – but just because you worked at the Tower, it didn’t mean that you were in everyday contact with the Earth’s mightiest heroes. You were nothing but an office rat, one of way too many at the Tower, one wheel in the huge machine that was needed to run Stark Industries, which founded most of the Avengers’ work.

You just happened to be Sam’s – and if you dared to say it, Steve’s – friend.

“Where are you today?”

You blinked as he held the glass door opened for you, smiling at him in thanks and snapped back to reality.

“Huh?”

“You keep zoning out on me. Anything… troubling you?” he asked gently as he fell to the line with you, ignoring the menu boards in favour of scanning your face for signs of distress. He was sweet like that.

You just shook your head, deciding on partly admitting the truth; partly, because you knew he wouldn’t be happy to hear you say anything resembling him being out of your league (of any kind of social interaction) and you wondering how the hell that happened.

“Eh, just remembering when we started getting lunch here,” you shrugged, eyeing the menu absently. “You know, all three of us?”

He hummed in affirmation, following your suit. “You wouldn’t talk to me.”

“Can you blame me?” A gorgeous man and a hero, biceps size of a bowling ball? With a smile that might as well serve as a powerstation with its brightness? “I was a bit stark-stuck, cut me some slack.”

“You wouldn’t talk to me until the third lunch.” Your heart stopped. He remembered the number of lunches? Worse, he remembered that at all? You felt your face get hot. Not in a pleasant way. “Sam was trying so hard to get us to talk and laugh, but it wasn’t working until-“

“Don’t,” you basically growled over your shoulder, only to see his signature shit-eating grin. Why had you ever thought he was a virtuous man?

You placed a soup on your tray and moved over to the salads.

“-until you attempted to stab a tomato-“

On a second thought, you weren’t in the mood for a salad today-

“-and it landed in my plate.”

“I hate you,” you mumbled, turning around with your tray, only to feel a bump from your side, causing you to sway the tray hazardously.

You would have been able to balance it and save it, but the soup was fucking hot as it splashed from the bowel to your abdomen and your hand and with a yelp, you let go of the tray in order to pull the burning-hot material of your blouse from your skin, your afflicted hand shaking wildly in attempt to cool itself at least a bit.

Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, you heard a shattering noise as the tray hit the ground, a ‘shit’ and a ‘sorry’ and you were being cooled down from a bottle of water which Steve charmed out of fucking nowhere, the cool liquid like a balm on your burned skin.

Yeah, you were soaking and you’d feel like dying of embarrassment because of people probably watching you later, but at the moment, you adored Steve for his quick reactions.

He was asking for another bottle of water, but you stopped him with a simple raise of your hand, eyes closed as you breathed through the pain; less sharp, but still present.

Whoever you had collided with was long gone, the staff eyeing you with concern and already rushing to you with cleaning supplies. Steve’s gentle hand led you away from the mess, brows furrowed as his eyes kept flickering from your face to spy in how much pain you were, to your slowly reddening burns.

“Let’s get you to the bathroom and then get you some dry clothes, okay?” he whispered over the buzz of cafeteria and nodded at the staff as they dismissed you both with a wave of a hand. You felt a different kind of burn in your face as many, way too many people stared at you.

You were sure some of them were cackling, you noticed even when you tried your best to keep your gaze glued to the ground; when you looked up and saw their gaze travel up a bit, whatever mean smile they had froze on their lips and they swiftly minded their business again. You only guessed that they had met Captain America’s disappointed glare; you had seen it, never been at the receiving end, luckily, but you didn’t blame them one bit and you were immensely grateful to Steve for not letting you do your walk of shame – in which you were an utterly innocent participant – alone.

He waited in front of the ladies’ room until you cooled your burns again, walked you to your office where you stored an extra set of clothes just in case of whatever and offered you an apologetic smile and soft ‘I’m sorry’ on his lips.

“…what are you sorry for?” you asked him, utterly confused and it distracted you for a minute from the embarrassment that had come knocking at the door of your mind. Christ, how many people saw your little scene? Did anyone snap a picture?

“If I haven’t been teasing you about the-“

“Oh my god, Steve,” you groaned when you caught up, your hand landing on his bicep on autopilot, a gesture to get him shut up, which was something you were used to from when you wanted to silence Sam whenever he was being stupid.

You quickly snatched your hand away when you realized that the sensation was slightly different, the bicep under your palm felt just a bit thicker and firmer than usual and you had in fact very much groped Steve.

Great, now both of your hands felt like on fire.

You gulped, hoping foolishly that he hadn’t noticed your slip. You had noticed, okay. You would have very interesting dreams tonight…

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you added.

He frowned, dissatisfied, but then his face lightened up. “Come on. Let’s grab a lunch-“ you froze at the horror image of you coming back to the hellhole of cafeteria only about a half an hour after you giving them the super-awkward show. “-somewhere. I’m paying. What are you in the mood for?”

And he asked with such cute inviting smile, his eyes shining, that stupid green spark dancing in blue sea and you didn’t even have the heart to point out that you hadn’t crashed into anyone, but had in fact been crashed into, let alone to tell him no.

It ended in a lovely lunch date and it… kinda felt like a lunch date, his long fingers gingerly checking on your burned hand at one point which wasn’t hurting at all anymore because he was your hero and… yeah, you might have been crashed into, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore that you had a freaking crush on Steve Rogers.

Thinking about it, the photo did make it look like a date as well. So, you didn’t really blame that the tabloids plastered it over the front pages with Steve being who he was and him usually keeping his private life secured as Fort Knox. This was huge and would have been even huger if it wasn’t one big misunderstanding caused by a ridiculous game of chance.

“It was, eh, a coincidence, honestly. One thing led to another, we had a little incident in the cafeteria-“ Steve finally started to explain and you felt just the tinniest bit of the burden that had seated itself on your chest when you had been called into the small conference room disappear.

You had utterly and truly freaked out at the idea of explaining to Tony Stark and his PR why did every tabloid and some newspaper too now – only a day after, less than 24 hours in fact – thought that you were Steve’s girlfriend. One of the reasons being that you were not running in the same circles as the Iron Man, not really knowing him, another one that at some point you would have to admit how stupid it all was, because hello? You were no one special. How had they even drawn a conclusion like that?

Eyeing the photo, you were reminded exactly how.

Steve could apparently be very tender when he wanted to, which was by some miracle visible in the photo and in return, you might have been looking at him like he was the eighth wonder of the world. In addition, he had a teeny-tiny soft smile on his lips and the way his brows knitted in concern was not helping the whole situation.

Speaking of Steve’s tender fingers, they were connected to a large hand, to an impressive forearm and a massive bicep you had possibly dreamt about last night-

“Well, normally I’d say don’t tell me, tell the PR,” Tony smirked shortly and sighed. “But…”

Uh-oh. You did not like the ‘but’. What did the ‘but’ mean?

“…but this in fact might be a blessing,” Natasha finished, resigning to her posture of a disappointed mum and relaxing.

Huh?

You were confused to no end by their cryptic talk. Shooting Steve a look, you were slightly relieved to see that he seemed to share the sentiment.

He was also apparently at loss of words.

So were you, but you managed to stutter out two: “…what? How?”

Tony grimaced and with a motion of his hand, ten different faces, five different men and five women, each in an individual frame, paired up as the line of men was on top (rude) and the women below them, appeared in the hologram, replacing the infamous photo evidence of your supposed relationship with Steve.

You still didn’t understand. And what Tony Stark said next didn’t help either.

“Because we need your help.”

Part 2

‘I solemnly swear I’ll work on that fic I’ve been promising to finish for ages.’

Eh, failed again.

For some reason, Smallville popped up in my mind recently (I blame Tom Welling’s cameo in the mega DC crossover). This fic is inspired by episode 8x05 ‘Committed’, if it means anything to anyone :D

Also, fake dating was on my non-existent to-do writing list.

Enjoy and leave feedback if you’re willing :-P

Tags:

@mermaidxatxheart​

If anyone wishes to be added or removed from the tags, let me know, it’s no trouble.

[yamisnuffles]

Dig Down

Part 9 of Too Much of a Good Thing

Hell comes to congratulate Crowley on the Spanish Inquisition. When Crowley's curiosity gets the better of him, he ends of shaken to the core.

Read on Ao3

-

“You, my friend, are a terrible model.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow at Leonardo. “What? How can anyone be a terrible model? All I have to do is sit about. Maybe you’re just a terrible artist.”

“Maybe so.” Leonardo laughed and set his sketch aside. “But I would hardly call what you do sitting.”

Crowley had one foot tucked underneath him and the other thrown over the arm of the chair. He was reasonably certain he hadn’t started in this position. He’d done his best to channel Aziraphale, back straight and hands folded neatly on his lap, when first Leonardo had started his drawing. He flung both of his legs out and used the momentum to stand. His floor length braid swung pendulously behind him.

“Can’t help it,” he said with an easy shrug. “Sitting around that long is unnatural.”

Leonardo gave him an appraising look. “What’s unnatural is the way you walk.”

Crowley stilled instantly. “What’s wrong with the way I walk?”

“I didn’t say it was wrong. Really, it’s quite pleasant to watch but it does make me long to see the muscle and bone beneath. There is certainly something intriguing going on there.”

Aziraphale had commented a few times on the way he walked. Then again, Aziraphale had also commented on his hands, his nose, his hair, his eye, his freckles, his knees, his teeth, and everything else about him. To hear it from another, he worried he didn’t look as convincingly human as he hoped. It made him conscious of every step to a degree that very nearly caused him to trip. He saved himself by leaning against the table where Leonardo’s sketch had been cast aside.

He plucked the red chalk drawing up between long, spindly, ostensibly human fingers and examined it with eyes he knew were not a color found amongst mortal men. The face was cleverly rendered but everything from the shoulders down was decidedly more gestural.

“Mind if I take this?”

Leonardo dismissed the image with a wave. “Go right ahead. I can hardly use it for anything, though perhaps you can repay me by sitting for a portrait. Your face makes for a good study, even if the rest of you refuses to behave. You’d make an interesting angel, I think.” When Crowley sputtered incoherently in response, Leonardo laughed again. “A piece I was commissioned for,” he explained. “Or, part of one, anyway. For now, I have other work to do and I’m sure you’re eager to get back to your angel.”

Crowley felt his cheeks burn. Rather than try for a reply he knew would only come out as a garbled mess, he carefully rolled up the drawing and bobbed his head in thanks. “Well, whenever you want to get that portrait done, you know where to find me,” he said as he hastily made his exit from the studio. He could only take so much embarrassment in one day and he was sure Aziraphale had stored some up for him back at their villa.

Once he was out of the busy streets of Milan, he snapped his fingers. A note appeared, tucked into the drawing. A gift from our mutual friend, it read, to help you anticipate my return home. A grin and another snap sent it ahead.  He could have gone with it but he enjoyed walking the Italian countryside. It put him in mind of breathless, startled confessions of love and kisses under the stars that added a spring to his step. He couldn’t bring himself to worry if that walk was passably human or not. He was all but skipping down the sun baked road when the smell of something putrid wafted through the summer air. He skidded to a halt just in time to avoid tripping over Hastur as he rose up through the hard packed dirt.

Crowley scowled. He should have miracled himself home and saved himself the trouble. He could very well still leave but if Hastur was bothering him, it was for a reason. It always was. It was also always something miserable that he didn’t want Aziraphale dragged into. He’d had a few hundred year’s peace after their initial meeting and, while Hastur hadn’t come around with any more job offers, he usually bore information. Wretched, gut wriggling stuff that Crowley was probably better off not knowing but could never seem to resist.

He had enough time to collect himself, to cross his arms and pretend at calm. Annoyance. He knew he could fight if he needed but he really preferred not to. Luckily it had been some time since a demon had forced him to it. Chances were today would be no different. All the same, he’d keep himself wound and ready, should it come to it.

Hastur emerged fully with a sneer already on his face. Crowley resisted the urge to push him right back down into the earth and instead asked, “What do you want? You’re sort of ruining my attempt to enjoy the fresh air.”

The corners of Hastur’s mouth widened slow and sloppily as the filth he reeked of until it formed a too wide smile. “Just came to congratulate you, Crowley. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

Crowley merely blinked. He couldn’t think of anything of note that he’d done in the past couple of centuries. Really, he’d been remarkably good, even by his own sometimes nebulous standards. He’d helped inspire a saint or two, been a patron of the arts, and had handed out the occasional blessing. Mostly he whiled away the time with Aziraphale, wherever they found themselves living as Aziraphale did jobs for Heaven. He’d even taken on a few of Aziraphale’s jobs, first as a way to let Aziraphale chase his own pursuits and then simply because he’d wanted to. Aside from helping a fellow angel skip work, he’d practically been a model angel.

“Hit your head on the way up from Hell, did you? I haven’t done anything.”

“Don’t be so modest. Weaponizing questions, really. Everyone Downstairs is impressed with this one. I’m almost jealous.”

Crowley felt a prickling down his spine. Something about this put his teeth on edge. Other than the obvious, that it was Hastur speaking to him, he didn’t know what it was about this that made him so uneasy. He wanted urgently to be home with Aziraphale. It wasn’t just the usual desire to be with his husband but something deeper than his bones. Deep as his very essence. This was the sort of warning urge that had sent him deep into the stars, once upon a time, a warning that things would shift irreparably if he did not act.

He shook the stiffness from his limbs. No need to be tense. No need to run. It was just Hastur and whatever he was babbling about. He hadn’t done anything- he really hadn’t- and nothing the demon said would change that. He took a step to walk around the demon. “If you’re done…”

Hastur angled himself to stop Crowley. He would have grabbed him if Crowley hadn’t already been on the defensive and ready to slip away. “Tell me how you did it? How’d you talk the humans into this Inquisition in Spain?”

- - - -

Crowley wasn’t sure what day it was. He wasn’t sure where he was but the near empty bottle in his hand implied a tavern or something of the sort. Usually drinks were poured into cups, though, so there was a chance he’d grabbed a bottle and taken it somewhere. That, or someone had let him simply drink from the bottle. Either way, probably not any sort of fine establishment. He wasn’t sure if he felt good or bad, either, but that was by design— don’t feel anything, don’t think. Seemed to be working fantastically judging by the fact that he could neither see, sit, nor think straight.

“There you are.”

That voice was familiar. Made something warm settle into the sloshing sea of alcohol in his system. “Here I am,” he agreed.

“Perhaps you should stop drinking a moment and look at me.”

Crowley sank down to embrace the bottle. The glass was cool against the side of his face. It felt nice. “Nah. Think I’ll just stay like this,” he said. Or, tried to say, judging by the slurred garble that slipped out of his mouth. 

There was a long sigh. “Crowley.”

The bottle was carefully pried from his grip. He tried to resist, muttered a few choice curses, but was easily left slumped against his own folded arms. A gentle hand landed on his right elbow and when he turned to look at it, a face came into view. It took a moment for him to focus well enough to bring any of the features clarity but it could have stayed a bright, blessed blur and he would have known that face anywhere.

He picked up his head and beamed. “Ziraphale, s’good to see you.”

“I’m surprised you can see anything, judging by the state of you. Why don’t we get you home?”

Crowley shook his head. He abruptly stopped when the whole world seemed to shake with it. “Nope. Too drunk. Would probably discorpra- discapor- die if I tried a miracle.”

“Well then, why don’t you sober up?”

Aziraphale’s voice was low, sharp, and even. It was the sort of voice that in any other situation would have had Crowley worried but he’d done too good a job of getting rid of silly things like worries at least half a dozen bottles ago. Maybe more. He’d lost track after the first five or fifteen.

“Told you,” he said, resting his chin in the palm of one hand, “no miracles. B’sides, I don’t wanna.”

Aziraphale stared at him. “You don’t want to?”

“Nope.”

Crowley popped the ‘p’ and then repeated the sound until he fell into a fit of giggles.

“Then allow me—”

Everything was too murky for Crowley to remember why exactly the idea of sobering up sent his heart pounding and his stomach plummeting but he instantly snatched Aziraphale’s wrist to stop it from happening.

“No.”

“If you really feel so strongly about it, I won’t. Can you at least tell me why?”

Crowley opened his mouth. Closed it. Shook his head. Every time he reached toward the source of that feeling, something fractured and threatened to fall away completely.

He heard another long sigh. An arm wrapped around his back and another under his legs. Suddenly he was being carried. The lift into the air made him dizzy. He buried his face in Aziraphale’s chest. His shirt smelled nice. Like… flowers or something. Something pretty and nice. Like Aziraphale.

“You smell nice.”

“I’m glad,” Aziraphale replied flatly. “Do you have a room?”

“Dunno.”

“You don’t— where have you been staying all this time?”

“Dunno. Has it been a long time?”

Yet another sigh. Crowley felt like he should start taking count.

“It’s been over a week since I expected you back.” They started moving and Crowley had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop feeling dizzy. “Well then, if you don’t have a room and you won’t let me sober you up, what do you say to me bringing us both back home?”

Home. For much of his existence that had been a moving target with Aziraphale as a constant center. It didn’t need to be a physical place, the heart of it would always exist someplace beyond, but at the moment it was. More importantly, it was somewhere away from here. Whether he could articulate why he didn’t want to be here any longer, he knew how happy he was at the thought of leaving, particularly in Aziraphale’s arms.

Crowley hummed appreciatively and pressed in as close as he was able. There would always be a part of him that worried he would forget this form if he shifted back into his serpentine one but he missed the simplicity of it. He could never feel quite so much as a snake and he could instead rest easier, coiled around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Maybe he still would, when he sobered. He knew that Aziraphale would love him no matter his shape. It might not be better but it would be easier and, at the moment, that sounded very tempting.

There was a feeling of compression and then expansion as a miracle sent them both home. Instantly Crowley was inundated by the rich smell of oak from Aziraphale’s heavy wooden desk with a whiff on top of ink and parchment. He remembered the sound of wind rustling through the olive trees and the scratch of a quill as Aziraphale passed the nights writing while Crowley slept. Or tried to, anyhow. Oftentimes he would lay with one eye open and watch Aziraphale work by candlelight.

He thought of those nights as Aziraphale laid him on a bed that was far more comfortable than it had any right to be. Aziraphale took a seat on the edge of the mattress. Apparently neither of them was willing to break the silence that had fallen between them. Instead, Aziraphale quietly ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. Or tried, as he got caught in hair that had managed to tangle despite being braided.

“When was the last time you brushed your hair?” Aziraphale asked as he drew his hand back to himself. “Or bathed? Or did anything to care for yourself?”

“You said I’ve been gone over a week? Then, uh, yeah. Probably something like that. S’not like we need to bathe or anything. Not like humans do.”

“You do if you’re going to soak yourself in alcohol and drunken humans.”

Crowley groaned and buried his face in a pillow. As it happened, an angel’s metabolism didn’t allow for passing out drunk, or that had been his experience over the last however many days of attempting to reach blissful oblivion. Maybe he could sleep, though. That might be alright.

He forgot why he’d been avoiding sleep until it overcame him. He’d gotten complacent since his marriage to Aziraphale. Even in the worst of times, life with his Principality had been a waking dream and the sleeping world had shaped itself accordingly. But the world wasn’t painted in only soft shades of cream and powdery blue, sometimes it was the harsh, steely grey of cruel human ingenuity or the slick scarlet shine of blood. The blood wouldn’t wash from his hands no matter how ferociously he scrubbed. It gathered under his nails, stained his skin, and blemished the band of gold around his finger.

Then there were the screams. They were never ending. If he pressed his palms tight as he could over his ears, they still rattled through his bones. He suspected he would continue hearing them even if he banished his ears altogether with a miracle. He just wanted them to stop. He screamed for them to stop. He begged and pleaded like he had for little else in his long existence. 

Silence returned with two words. “Wake up.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped open. He breathed in gulps through a raw and ragged throat. He looked impulsively at his hands but they were clean. The screams had been his own, the blood imagined, and yet he couldn’t seem to free himself of the sensation of either. He rubbed senselessly at his forearms until a pair of arms encircled him like a vice and forced him to stop.

“It’s alright, dearest. You’re alright.”

“It’s alright? I’m alright?” he repeated, each statement transforming into a question in the mouth of a non-believer.

“Yes. I’m here. You’re safe.”

This time there was no doubt. There never would be, not in Aziraphale. He relaxed into Aziraphale’s arms.  “Yes.”

“How about a bath?” A snap and the scent of lavender filled the suddenly humid air. “I’ll take care of it. All you’ll have to do is relax.”

Crowley let out a hollow puff of laughter. “Is that all?”

Aziraphale gripped him by the shoulders and sat him up so that they were face to face. There were tears obscuring his storm grey eyes. “Then you don’t need to do even that. Simply let me take care of you as best I can, alright?”

Crowley nodded when his throat tightened too much to make a reply. He loathed seeing Aziraphale cry.

Aziraphale helped him to his feet and out of his clothes. Each article of clothing was removed with more care than it deserved, stiff and smelling as it all did of a week’s worth of drinking in whatever establishment would have him. If he thought too closely on that he was liable to consider once more what had driven him to drink in the first place and, for Aziraphale’s sake, he was determined to at least try to relax.

He set his eyes on their bath. It was a lovely thing made of delicate white marble. Carved on the outside were scenes of angels dancing and drinking and generally having a lot more fun than real ones did. Bathing came and went in vogue with humans, but Aziraphale had developed a special fondness for it in Rome and so they’d kept a private bath wherever they settled since. Such, he supposed, was the luxury of not worrying whether the locals had plumbing anymore or not. One quick miracle and they had a full tub with steam that rolled in easy clouds off the surface.

“Come now,” Azirphale said as he took one of Crowley’s hands, “let’s see if this helps you any.”

Crowley let Aziraphale lead him to the bathtub and then climbed in without letting go of Aziraphale’s hand until he’d lowered himself most of the way down. Aziraphale carefully undid the braided hair that trailed after Crowley like a train. Once done, he gathered it up into a careful coil and deposited it in the water with Crowley. The water rose to the edge but didn’t spill over. It was just enough for Crowley and not a drop more.

Crowley let out a long, trembling breath as the hot water worked its wonders on him. He wasn’t quite as fond of bathing as Aziraphale but he did very much enjoy the act of being bathed. It was a bit like sleeping, without the danger of nightmares. Instead it was the very best sort of dream, shaped by the one he loved the most. Strong, calloused hands worked at the tense muscles in his shoulders and scented water poured over his head from a glittering copper vessel. The ritual of it was a comfort bordering on the sacred.

Aziraphale rubbed a small dab of scented oil on Crowley’s temples. “I got Leonardo’s sketch,” he said.

“I should hope so,” Crowley replied, “or I would have to worry my miracles are starting to go awry.”

Aziraphale nudged Crowley into a seated position so that he could better comb out water loosened tangles. “It was quite lovely. I do hope that you told him that and that you thanked him for his patience. I could tell you were as restless as ever at your sitting.”

“Er—” Had he thanked Leonardo? He couldn’t remember. “Oh! He asked me to come back for a proper portrait. Said I’d make a good angel.”

Aziraphale laughed softly. “At least someone thinks so.” The comb hit a snag and was replaced for a moment by careful fingers. “I don’t know how you managed this.”

“Dunno.”

“You do have a talent for finding trouble.”

When one segment was finished, Aziraphale moved to the next and the next in meticulous fashion. Crowley’s eyes fell closed as he sank into the comfortable rhythm of it. He felt like a bit of flotsam tossing gently in the waves without a care in the world. 

“I suppose this hair is what put Leonardo in mind of angels,” Aziraphale continued. “I don’t think you’ve had it this long since Eden.”

Crowley opened his eyes again as he pulled himself from his quiet reverie. “I mean, I was a snake for quite a while after that, so hair was sort of off the metaphorical table.”

“Indeed. But… it’s nice. I like it quite a bit when it’s this long. Of course you know how I love it no matter the length—” Crowley ignored the burn in his cheeks and Aziraphale continued to comb. “—but it’s nice to remember simpler times.”

“For the, what, handful of minutes we had them?”

“Even so.”

Simpler times. Crowley hardly remembered them. Yes, he’d forever recall his first sight of the delightfully soft Principality, high on the eastern wall of Eden, when he’d been nothing more than an out of place Seraph with perhaps a few too many questions on his lips. But any memory of that time was overshadowed by what came after. And then what came after that. And after that. And on and on and on despite all the good mixed in.

Crowley pulled his knees up and hugged them close. “Hey, so, uh, with my rude awakening earlier, I think I’ve sobered up enough to, er…” He ran his tongue over his teeth and pressed extra hard on his left incisor, which had always run a bit sharper. He didn’t want to talk about it but it was a dark and hungry secret that he worried would devour him from the inside out if he didn’t. “I remember everything, if you wanna hear about it.”

Aziraphale stilled for a moment and then continued combing Crowley’s hair. “Only if you want. You can take whatever time you need.”

“No, I should— I want to now. Maybe then I can start to forget without an ocean of alcohol to help me along.”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut but when he did, he could see that faces of humans contorted beyond recognition by unfathomable pain. It was no wonder Hell was impressed. The humans were up here serving up the sort of punishments even demons might not have dreamed of. He looked instead at his hands beneath the surface of the water and reminded himself that they were not stained in blood. He tried to remind himself also that they were clean of any guilt in this, but he was less successful on that count.

“So,” he continued when Aziraphale didn’t make any response, “ran into Hastur on the way home.”

“What did that wretched demon do this time? If he’s the one that caused all this, I’ll… I’ll… well, let me think on it but it will be suitably ghastly, I assure you.”

“No, it’s not— he didn’t do anything. Well, guess he did but not like that. Not that I’m against the idea of you laying down some holy wrath on him, if you’re so inclined. But I’m—” Water splashed as he gestured broadly at himself. “Because, well, how much have you heard about the Spanish Inquisition?” He only waited half a heartbeat before charging on. “Hell thinks I cooked it up, since it’s all being done in Her name and with the whole, you know, inquisitive nature of it. Aziraphale, it’s awful.” He emptied his lungs into that word and still it didn’t seem to be enough. “Monstrous. Wretched. Abominable. Really, really… bad. I’d say hellish but apparently they hadn’t even thought up half the things these humans have. Got the impression they’re taking notes.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s voice sounded so small behind him. “Oh, Crowley. Why did you go look?”

“Had to, didn’t I? If everyone thinks I did it, I should at least know what I’m getting my name on.”

Aziraphale’s hands fell away from Crowley’s hair as he rushed around to the side of the bath. “But you didn’t have anything to do with it! You know you didn’t, my dear, so why torment yourself over what a pitiable bunch of damned creatures think?”

“Well, it’s not like they’re completely out of bounds thinking I’d gone and corrupted the humans again, are they?”

“It’s not— Crowley, how many times are we going to have to have this argument? You can’t take all of humanity’s sins on your shoulders.”

“I can try.”

“You certainly can and I know that you do, but I wish you wouldn’t. The humans will do whatever they will do, for good or ill. You know that. Not even the Almighty can stop that.”

“Why the blazes not?”

Aziraphale froze except for a sudden fluttering of his lashes. “What?”

“Why can’t She put a stop to this? They’re committing atrocities in Her name. She’s fucking well put a foot down in the past, drowning a whole load of people and—”

“Stop!” The walls of the villa shook at the command and for a moment Aziraphale seemed much larger. He shrank back down as he grabbed either side of Crowley’s face. “Stop, please. Not another word like that.”

Aziraphale crushed their lips together in a fierce kiss. He kept kissing until Crowley no longer had the mind or breath to argue further.

“Please,” Aziraphale said once more. “Not this. If there’s one thing in the entirety of existence you don’t question, let it be this. For me.”

Crowley could feel the drip of tears onto bath wet skin as their foreheads pressed together. He wanted for all the world to agree to that. Even being able to lie about it felt like it would be a weight off his shoulders. His life— their lives— would be so much easier if he could. If he could just trust in whatever damned plan there was, he might not have spent the last week drunk out of his mind.

He pulled back enough to look Aziraphale in the eyes and frowned at what he saw. “I made you cry again.” He bent forward and kissed the tear tracks off round, ruddy cheeks. “I’m sorry, angel. I won’t say anything like that again. Not to you.”

Aziraphale’s brows lowered over watery eyes. “Not to anyone.”

“Right. Not to anyone.” Crowley sank into the bath and deeper into himself with a hunch of his shoulders. “I promise I’ll try not to even think on it, not ever again. I just want to be with you and to be happy with that.”

Aziraphale laced their left hands together so that their rings pressed together. “You have me and you always will.”

[sol1056]

anons on the dragon prince

Yes, we all know the comparison points, so I’m skipping those to focus solely on tDP. Alright, starting from the top.

It does speak volumes [...] that tDP has seemingly (and unless proven otherwise in s2 by a fan theory coming true) killed one of a major CoC after only 3 episodes [but] the fandom, and PoC fans more importantly, still trust Ehasz/Wonderstorm and the story to not let them down ...

I was talking to someone the other day who DM’d me about finally seeing tDP, who said something along the lines of “I feel like I can breathe.” Which isn’t that far off what @ptw30 and I were telling each other, when we binge-watched tDP the night of its release. 

First episode, we were both a little ennnhhh over the animation style. Second episode, we barely noticed that anymore. Third episode, everything went to hell in a handbasket and yet our shared reaction was something along the lines of, “I feel like I can settle in, and let the story go where it’s going. I don’t have to stress about this. The writers have got this.” 

Think of being a passenger when the driver isn’t sure where they’re going. They slow repeatedly to check road signs, show an ‘ehhhh oh right no no we’re fine’ expression (or say it out loud), or switch lanes back and forth unexpectedly. Eventually you’re going to give serious thought to pulling out your phone and offering to navigate, just so someone in the car has a clue. Failing that, you end up worrying whether you’ll get there on time (or at all). 

Not once did tDP give me the remotest worry about where it’s going. Even if it seems counterintuitive that we could get to a Manhattan happy ending by way of a Brooklyn character death, the story must have a good reason. We can relax and enjoy the trip. 

It’s hard to pin down what creates that trust for an audience, because it’s so many things. It’s a combination of setups and payoffs. It’s getting emotional beats at regular intervals. It’s having questions raised and getting just enough answered that you don’t feel like the story is covering for not actually knowing and/or hoping you won’t notice it’s making things up as it goes along. 

More behind the cut: tDP’s handling of race, who’s right vs wrong, and whether tDP’s storytelling can/will surpass AtLA.

I rewatched The Dragon Prince recently and it's amazing how carefully they show racism in only 9 episodes [where other shows failed in multiple seasons]. You can see what happens when people in charge care not only about their own characters, but also the audience following their story.

It’s a very thoughtful story, in the sense that the writers clearly put a great deal of thought into each character’s perspective and place. General Amaya is a walking poster child for How To Do This Shit Right Yo, as is Ava. It makes sense that no less attention was paid to the potentially complicated issue of racism, and how viewers’ real-world experiences would impact and layer on top of what the story is trying to do. 

I mean, tDP could’ve decided that Amaya would be deaf... and then proceed to make up its own sign language. Or that magic could (and should) heal disabilities. When the story did neither, it told me the writing team is aware stories don’t exist in a vacuum: that disabled viewers have also been waiting to see themselves on screen, as characters with agency, treated with respect. 

(The lack of subtitles for Amaya may’ve confused those of us who don’t know ASL, but it was absolutely a gift to those who do. It was saying: hey, this is just for you. All those times you’ve missed something that hearing people take for granted? Now’s your turn to be the one in the know. And come on, that’s just awesome.)

Will tDP stumble at some point? Sure. Stories and people are complex things, and the world is a thousand times more so. It’s not the stumbling that bothers me. It’s when a story is thoughtless, because it won’t even recognize its stumbles, let alone fix them. 

I really struggle with liking the show, specifically because it seems to take the stance that the elf girl was "right" to betray the other elves (leading to the slaughter of her entire team). beyond the pain of the ribbon, she doesn't seem to show any sadness or remorse, and then it seems that the human characters are quick to condemn the elf assassins, instead of the king's slaughter of the dragon king. what writing purpose does this serve?

It serves to prompt exactly what you’re doing: asking questions.

The story is full of conflicting interpretations of events, actions, reactions, and motivations if you just think twice. The humans may fear the elves, and do their best to prevent the elves from succeeding --- but Harrow acknowledged explicitly that it’s not as though the elves don’t have just cause. Harrow wasn’t going to go down easy, but I saw no condemnation on his part upon the elves’ retaliation for human crimes. 

Callum argued with Harrow over why Harrow couldn’t just ‘make peace.’ When Rayla shows Runaan the egg and demands Runaan call everything off, isn’t she effectively arguing the same thing? Additionally, Rayla went into the castle determined to make up for her failing; if she’d succeeded in her mission (especially with Callum’s misdirection), it’d be a very short story, indeed. Instead, the three protagonists end up unified in their hope that this could prevent any further bloodshed. 

Note that I say ‘further’ because what is done, and out of their control, is done. Rayla didn’t act out of a wish to betray; when she choose not to assassinate the prince, she acted out of a hope there could be peace. When the first ribbon falls off and the messenger-arrow flies overhead, Rayla’s assumption makes sense, based on those two details: her team achieved at least one of their goals. We don’t know their fate (other than Runaan), but it also sets up a later plot-point where Rayla discovers the team did not, in fact, all return intact. 

For that matter, by the time she learns those details (and concludes who won and who lost), she’s already befriended the princes. From the very first scene, it’s clear Rayla isn’t cut out for this assassination business. She’s incapable of seeing targets. As Ezran later notes, she sees people as, well, people, even when they’re strangers. Is it really so surprising that she’d waffle even more, once those strangers have become something nearing friends, or at least allies? 

So she chooses to keep silent, and her motivation is wonderfully complex, from a writer’s perspective. She wants peace, and believes returning the egg will do that, so reminding the two princes of her role in their father’s death would alienate them, and put her desires at risk. She likes the princes by that point, and doesn’t want to hurt them with such news. And she’s also feeling guilty for the part she played, especially knowing her secret (not just of failing her mission but of preventing anyone else from succeeding) is probably already known. 

Most of that thought process seems to get decided early in the journey. After that, Rayla goes through all the stages as she realizes the consequences of failing to fulfill a sacred oath: anger, bargaining, grief. At the end, Rayla weighs the two options --- keeping her hand, vs killing someone innocent of any crime --- and decides her hand is a small sacrifice in comparison. 

(Note that thematically, this is echoed in Ava’s story. Ava’s paw was caught in a trap, and escaping came at the cost of her paw. Yet Ava remains perfect as she is, and it’s only other people who require Ava appear to be whole. Part of the reason for going up the mountain is to save the egg, but Rayla also implies she wishes she could save her hand, too. Ava’s story is telling us that such a disability doesn’t and shouldn’t render Rayla broken or useless.) 

Alongside that, the boys don’t seem to have fully put together their father’s role in the current situation. I think Callum might have (in a roundabout way), but not so much for Ezran. It’s a process, though. First we’re shown the princes were raised with a bias they’ve never had reason to question, about elves being bloodthirsty monsters. The story lets Rayla call them on it and express her hurt, and the boys are remorseful. 

The story also doesn’t position Callum (as human) as always knowing the rightness of things; hell, it takes Rayla calling him a mage before he even realizes the meaning of what he’s done. The story also shows the boys are eager to learn (and willing to question their assumptions), when Callum asks Rayla what it’s like in her country.

By the end of S1, both princes have worked their way through several points: from ‘all elves are bad’ to ‘Rayla is the one exception’ to ‘maybe elves aren’t the monsters we were told they are.’ The next logical step is for them to begin questioning their father’s actions. Like you, the story is leading them into questioning things that they took for granted when the story began. 

That’s the purpose of creating a story where perspective shifts with each new character: the story is rewarding you for digging deeper.    

A story that doesn’t want those questions raised --- that isn’t prepared to grapple with them --- would tell you from the get-go, “elves are plain evil, that’s all there is to it.” Or, “humans are always good and their actions are righteous.” Any hint of a conflicting perspective would eventually be revealed as false within the story, or a minor oversight outside the story. 

Where tDP is so well-crafted is that it’s given everything enough layers and conflicts that poking at the story reveals more underneath. All you have to do is give it a bit of thought, and you can see a larger picture, and that larger story’s view may be tilted from what you’ve seen so far, if not flipped outright (or flipped back again). That’s the beauty of a large cast where each character has their own motivation, agency, reasons and beliefs and assumptions: there’s always another side to things.

That’s what makes a story truly rich and deep. Not the worldbuilding, not the complexity of the final solution, not the number of product placements or jokes or high-octane fight sequences. It’s characters with individual perspectives and motivations, agreeing and conflicting per their own purposes, and each one seeing themselves as the hero of their own story.  

...what is it about TDP that makes it a good show for you? What is it you like about it, what about it pulls you in? And would you say it's on par or close to the quality of Avatar?

I think my answers above have probably already covered your question, but I’ll add this: I think tDP has potential to not just be ‘on par’ with Avatar but to leave it far, far behind. 

I mean, AtLA is already ten years old. In 2003, Ehasz’ credits consisted of three freelance episodes for two shows, and one episode as a staff writer. That’s it. That he catapulted from that to head-of-story for AtLA speaks to a definite talent --- but of course he’d get better from there, with ten intervening years of continuing to hone his craft. 

I’d say there are two places where it’s most apparent: exposition and humor. While I (mostly) like AtLA, the exposition could be somewhat clunky. It needed to be in there, but it wasn’t always quite as deft as I would’ve liked, in terms of combining information with characterization. 

The writing in tDP is far superlative in that regard. We get exposition, yes, but it's not delivering answers so much as answering one thing to raise ten more questions. There are almost no “as you know Bob” exchanges. When Rayla talks about what her country is like, it’s exposition, but it’s also a wonderful characterization moment; Rayla’s love for her world shines through, along with a certain ambivalence about her place in that world.

The other place Ehasz has improved a thousand-fold is his humor. One of the things I hated most about AtLA was its use of bathos: taking a serious moment and turning on a dime to crack a joke and trivialize the moment. (Sokka was the worst offender, but no character was immune.) As AtLA went on, the story scaled back on that, but it still raised its head often enough to make me wince.

In contrast, tDP’s humor is seamlessly organic. When Rayla yells, “I’m not falling for that flashing frog trick again!” she’s deadly serious, but that makes the bizarre phrase even funnier. When Gren translates Amaya’s sarcasm and has a beat in which he’s clearly trying to find a family-friendly way to translate “bullshit”... that beat is the joke. We don’t need someone gesticulating wildly to tell us it’s funny. 

At the same time, Ehasz is clearly unafraid, now, to let the serious moments be. He doesn’t trivialize the characters’ emotions with a joke; the story isn’t afraid we’ll see it as cheesy or asinine -- as less -- when it’s being sincere. 

As Carol Burnett once put it, comedy is tragedy at a distance. What tDP is doing isn’t comedy in that sense, where the characters themselves (as AtLA often did) use humor to distance themselves. Instead, it’s humor most often in one of three modes. 

One is when a character intends to crack a joke: Soren and Claudia jibing each other, or Callum attempting to lighten everyone’s spirits. This is kept relatively light, so it’s not a constant thing, as if too much levity is to be feared.

The second is simply a witty delivery, like Rayla when her temper’s up. She doesn’t deliver the line “I’m habsolutely hurious” as if she expects a laugh; she is angry, after all. Or when Soren decides to let Callum 'win’ the bout: Soren’s melodramatic as all get out, but he’s not mocking Callum, for whom impressing Claudia is a big deal. Soren’s dramatic words and over-acting are actually a wonderfully compact characterization that tells us a whole lot in a single scene of what someone should expect when Soren tries to ‘help’. 

In the penultimate episode, when Rayla accepts the consequences of her choice and decides she’s okay with paying, this is a significant emotional beat. Her conclusion is... well, it makes sense given her thoughts to this point. 

But it’s also a blunt and rather startling way to put it. Again, this isn’t cracking a joke to create distance from emotion. It’s wittier than that. 

Ezran’s shock as he registers the words is barely two frames. Any longer and it’d be overplayed. Between basically saying someone's friendship is worth a body part, and Ezran’s half-beat of shock, the combination definitely startled a laugh out of me. 

And here’s the thing: in AtLA, one of the two would’ve cracked a joke. The story would’ve backed away from what really, underneath, is a pretty phenomenal admission. Not just of friendship, but also of how Rayla herself has changed so significantly between when she made that oath, versus where she sits now. 

Ezran’s response is both funny (again, in a witty sense) but also just as heartfelt. It’s also extremely telling in terms of Ezran’s characterization. 

The one character most likely to crack a joke --- Callum --- doesn’t always, either. In fact, sometimes he’s remarkably vulnerable and honest in ways Sokka, his spiritual predecessor, wasn’t allowed to be. At the same point that Ezran and Rayla are having their heart-to-heart, Callum’s admitting freely that he doesn’t have immense power; he just has a swirly stone that does the work for him. He doesn’t make a joke of Ellis’ compliment, nor make fun of himself. 

Ellis’ line was delivered seriously, as she has every reason to believe her perspective is true. If Callum were to joke, he’d be mocking her sincerity, and the story is willing to respect that Callum is someone who responds to sincerity with sincerity of his own. 

In a word, tDP is unafraid of its own heart. 

[dingoat]

For those prompts you shared, 35. "You make me feel safe"

Briefly, Ahuska wondered if she should ever dedicate some time to learning how to smith beskar for herself. Nobody amongst the Free People’s Army that she was aware of could claim such a skill, and she found herself conflicted over that fact. On the one hand, quality working of the metal was one of the few aspects of Mandalorian culture that was reasonably well guarded, and she was reluctant to see it spread amongst people who could not be expected to follow the Resol’nare. On the other… she, herself, wanted to hold onto as much of her culture as possible, especially now that she was facing so much time so distant from the clans.

Still, there’d be enough time to dwell on that later; for now, she had to content herself with getting her and Crow’s armour into as good condition as possible with what materials and skills she had access to. She might not know how to work the metal itself, but she knew her way around filling and detailing, and even the basic tech in Crow’s pieces wasn’t beyond her.

If only she hadn’t once again lost her helmet. For all the good it had done keeping Crow from harm. Maybe her buy’ce was cursed. Maybe she didn’t want it retrieved a second time.

Maybe she’d give it the chance to come back to her on its own, wait and see if whatever path lead them to Nines would intersect with wherever her beloved old bucket currently lay.

She sprayed on another layer of liquid armor, letting it seep into the tiny cracks and dips in her chest plate and carefully, lovingly, smoothing it down before it was fully dry. The stuff would eventually set rock hard; brittle if in a big slab on its own, but brilliant at patching small splits. Not that solid beskar would ever crack and dent so readily, but her armour was not such a luxury.

“When’d ya get that?”

Ahuska startled at the voice; she hadn’t realised she was being watched. “Hm? Oh, hey, Kip! You mean this armour in particular?”

“Naw,” a shadow fell over Ahuska as the speaker stepped forward, a massive reptilian woman with four arms and more teeth than she could possibly need. An Annoo-dat Prime, one of Nela’s friends amongst the engineering crew. “That big ol’ scrape y’ just filled, I meant.”

“Oh! Ha, actually, that happened the same day I got the armour. Stole it off some fancy guards on Bothawui, that’s from one of their spears. Actually, I… nabbed one of their spears as well.”

“Hah! Yeah, we were busy up in the sky that day, hoo boy we were. Most armour got plenty stories to tell, don’t it?”

“Hm, I guess it does. Well, usually. This piece is too new to really say a lot, most of the dings are from that one day. My leg pieces though…” Ahuska gestured over to the small rounded knee covers, the broader thigh plates, and the interlocking pieces that covered her boots. “They’re the same ones I’ve had for years, just got a new paint job. See that?”

“What, the ding in the side of your boot armour?”

“Yeah! That’s from my first date with Crow. I mean, it’s what I think of as our first date, not sure if he does. But he took me on a job on Naboo, right, and at one point I was knee deep in a river holding onto a wounded zalaaca. If you’ve never seen one, they’ve got nasty claws, front and back feet. Fethin’ Trandoshan came over to take me out and kill the thing for its stupid Score…”

“Kriffing Jagannath points,” Kip uttered with a shake of her head.

“Mmm. But Crow got to him first!” There’s nothing but pride in the grin she flashes at that, coupled with a nice hot tingle as she remembers how exciting those early days had felt. How wide-eyed and naïve she’d been. Life had been a giddy rush, and while sometimes it still felt that way… she had to admit, she rather liked the greater perspective and confidence she had nowadays.

“Now that…” the Bothan pointed then to Crow’s chest armour, and the gaping hole on the left hand side that had punched clean through front and back. “Is going to take some patching.”

Kip reached for the piece, turning it about in all four of her hands as though it didn’t weigh a thing. “I could probably shape a couple of new panels for you, if you don’t think he’d mind durasteel…?”

“Stars, we’ll take whatever we can get at this point!”

“I’ll see what I can do. What’s this mark from?”

Ahuska eyed off the scorch mark that traced along the side of the piece. “If I remember right, that’s… actually from Nines. The day you all got back in touch with us. Same with the one the shoulder there, she dropped him with that hit.”

Kip watched her quietly, her expression growing sympathetic as Ahuska’s became distant, completely unaware of the Bothan’s conviction that Nines was still alive, that her execution had been a lie.

“I was scared as hell. Honestly thought we were both about to die. But I think… I think deep down, as much as she hated and blamed him, she must’ve been trying to give him as much opportunity as possible to redeem himself. She wanted him back. She could’ve killed us both, easily, plenty of times over…” a faint smile ghosted over Ahuska’s snout. “I don’t know. I guess she could have just been enjoying making us suffer.”

“Probably the first thing though,” Kip offered, a rough attempt at making her feel better.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to excuse her. And… and things got better. See this?” She turns back to her own armour, tracing over a dimpled section of one of her thigh plates. “That’s from Dxun. Not even from an enemy shot, I just slammed myself into another soldier when we flew into one of the trenches. Were you there for that?”

“Nope… well, not on the ground.” Kip threw two right thumbs over her shoulder toward the Dreadnought hanging in the sky. “I’ve been pretty well stationed up there since we busted out of holding. Ain’t spent more than three nights in a row on land anywhere until now.”

“I was!”

Ahuska twisted about to see that she had, in fact, been starting to attract a small audience, the individual currently chiming in amongst the handful of beings settled in a loose ring around her being another of the Deserters’ Bothan contingent.

Steely blue-grey fur with pale dapples on her cheeks and shoulders, Ahuska recognized her swiftly and gave her a slow nod as a wash of self-consciousness made her falter. This was someone she knew had seen her at peak misery, after all. “Ralsko! Yeah, I… ah. I wasn’t exactly at my… I mean I wouldn’t blame you for thinking I…”

“Don’t sweat it. You did grand. Only thing we hold against you is not reaching out to us more then, hey?” Ralsko shot her a quick, tight little grin, but Ahuska wilted somewhat beneath it.

“I had no fething idea what I was doing,” Ahuska admitted, dropping her gaze.

“Psssh. Most of us didn’t, to start. Just knew we wanted something better, aye? Besides, we all knew you were pining at the same time. There was only one particular bit of company you really wanted back then, wasn’t there?”

Ahuska felt her ears burn at that, and followed the quick jut of Ralsko’s chin as she indicated just over Ahuska’s shoulder.

Crow was there, leaning against a stack of crates just two paces behind her, arms loosely folded across his bandaged but otherwise bare chest. He was grinning, because of course he was. The man’s expression was, by and large, variations of that grin, and people only meeting him briefly might be excused for thinking he’d suffered some kind of stroke, rendered incapable of any other look. But Ahuska knew better than that; despite his bared teeth, the little crinkles in the corners of his eyes, she could see something pensive in the way he watched her.

Ahuska tilted her head gently, squinting for a moment. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough. Long enough to wonder how the feth you’ve put up with me all this time?”

A couple of the others gathered snorted to themselves, and Ahuska let out a short incredulous laugh. “The stars do you mean by that?”

“Every one of those cracks in your armour, and half the ones on mine even! Those are all times your life was in danger. Times you could have died. And I’m pretty sure most of them are there because of things I’ve dragged you through or put you up to… stars, we ain’t even up to the wampa ones yet,” a sweep of Crow’s hand indicated a dent on one of Ahuska’s plates, and a filled in split on his own buy’ce. “How are you not terrified every time we go somewhere…?”

Ahuska laughed again at that, still incredulous but far more bright, and she patted the ground beside her, inviting him down. “Are you kidding me? You make me feel safe!”

If he hadn’t still been in recovery, she would have dragged him down beside her; as it was, she waited until he’d settled at his own speed before sitting up tall enough to give him a gentle headbutt and then start motioning to all the cracks and dents a second time over. “This one here is the first time you saved my life. These remind me of when you screaming through the streets of Mos Ila, demanding to know where I was. This? I see that, and remember you coming out of the sky to get me, ha, and fighting with you, back to back, ‘cause you helped me know how. And these…” she patted over the marks he most recently indicated, acquired during that fateful visit to Hoth, the onlooking Deserters briefly forgotten as she locked eyes with Crow. “They’re from when I realised I was willing to stick with you for the long haul. You damn di’kut, this is everything we’ve survived together. This is everything I’ve lived through because of you.”

[mengoluv]

Mango Love -  Krii7y

It was a normal noon at College, Students wondering around campus paying little to no attention to their surroundings some sipping drinks, readings a text book in prep of a test the next day, talking and hanging with friends or just looking at their phone. The weekend was around the corner.

"John, get out here already we're gonna be late for the gathering Jesus!" yell a ready to go Craig. Their friend Vanoss decided they should have a get together, all the guys have been busy with either their jobs or classes so he suggested they meet up at his dorm and have a 'Guys night'. Which just meant they were probably gonna get a tad drunk and play random games. "I’m coming don’t get your dick in a bunch." John replied trying to fix his tanium hair in the bathroom mirror. He had thrown on a random blue flannel and a white shirt with ripped jeans, light baby blue nail polish tacked on his nails. Once satisfied with his look John walked outta the bathroom straight to the corner of the room near the couch were they toss their shoes. Craig was waiting rather impatiently at the door with their part of the refreshments they were meant to bring to the gather. They all had to bring at least one kind of item to the dorm, rather it be drinks a game or even random party supplies such as silly string. They all planned to stay the night at Van's dorm so they could do what ever they wanted without the need of going back to their individual housings.

As John kicked on a pair of short heeled boots he stood to face the man tapping his foot in annoyance of the wait. "Johnny Boy looking rather nice for heading to a dorm room with Assholes." Craig snickered and he looked at his friend's clothing then looking him in the face with a smirk. "Who you trying to impress, the walls?" he said raising his eyebrow at John as John rolled his eyes.  "I mean the walls are pretty cute." he joked along side Craig. "Yeah Yeah, But really whats with the niceness of-" he said waving his hand at John's attire "this?". "Well if you MUST know, ya snoopy prick, Smits gonna be there." John replied matter of fact-ly. Craig chuckled at him and just waved him to the door knowing wasting anymore time would make them late. They grabbed their share of drinks and headed out the room, talking slightly while walking to their friends dorm which was on a higher floor of build.

On the Walk Craig Teased John a little for why he was dressed nice. Knowing fully well the nail polish sporting male fancied the Slight Younger guy that goes by Smit. Smit never went by a real name and all teachers and class mates called him 'Smit' or 'Milky Boy' as his friends say. John didn't mind the slight teases, joining in on some just for the hell of it. On the way to their destination they met half way with a few of their friends. Ohm and Cartoonz were the first they ran into while heading to the elevator. They had bought a load of Silly String with Light snacks, they went on about how they were gonna try and make a silly string mask while one of the others were asleep. Next was Tyler who was a floor above them, sporting Vodka glasses. Jiggly, Scot, and Marcel had a bunch of random things, Marcel and Scot had to call jiggly to help carry some of their stash which is how they ended up meeting the others. Delirious, Moo, Nogla and Terroriser were already in the dorm setting up when the others arrived.

-

It was around 8 pm when they all had everything set up; Games in the small living roomish area on their coffee table, Drinks and Alcohol in the Mini Kitchen, Snacks on the Counter scattered out and every other Random thing brought in a bag on the floor next to the couch. Craig went off with Vanoss to the hallway outside the room to order pizza after getting everyone's request written on a little sticky note. Smit had yet to arrive to Johns disappointment, He had Texted Vanoss explaining he was gonna be late to which he told the rest. In the dorm room Thing were slightly starting to kick off, Nogla declared a uno battle between Him Ohm Terroriser and Moo, The losers had to down 1 shot of Vodka each. The other guys just stared at the 2 settings up an uno game, some of the guys brought their laptops for games as they did have them for a reason.

Just as the first round of Uno , that didn't happen to last long, came to a end Vanoss and Craig walked back in with a third head to the pair. Everyone turned to the door besides the 4 on the ground who were laughing at Ohm who lost the round for him and Terroriser due to ohmming it. Smit pushed through the 2 standing in front of him which only caused them to giggle, He slightly yelled 'Yeet' while holding up 2 bottles of Mango Rum. Everyone joined in on the giggling. Smit was no taller than most of the group, being the shorted one by far, which made his small self look like a kid who just won a prize. John stared at the male and just smiled slightly to himself. Smit noticed him and laid the drinks on the counter, then happily walked over to his friend.

After Ohm and Terroriser downed a shot each Terroriser yelled at Nogla for a rematch. The rest of the guys booted up their laptops and got on scribbl.io. After a few more rounds of those games the pizza had arrived, Hearing a knock at the door Vanoss offered to get it seeings how everyone else was to busy with their yelling to even notice. Getting the pizza and laying it on the table Vanoss proceeded to yell at the guys in his living room that dinner was here and if they didn't come get it then it's their fucked. John jumped up from his spot on the couch where him, Smit and Craig had took to play their rounds. Smit watched him get and followed shorty after, Craig the last to get off the couch as it was his turn in Scribb.io.

While eating pizza, Smit got up and asked someone if they wanted some of that rum he brought. John Shook his head as the others either declined or said they'd get some after they ate. Shrugging off the replies, Smit walked to the counter and grabbed to small glasses for him and John. John watched Smit has he pored the drinks, enjoying the site of his friend and to one level crush. Getting lost in thought he almost completely looked over the fact Smit had caught him gazing over his direction. Craig noticed John's lost-but-lovingish stare at Smit, like a Dog with his favorite toy, and couldn't help but chuckled. He Nudged John who popped outta thought and noticed Smit was smiling and staring back at him, He felt his face become slightly more heated.

Smit returned with the drinks and giggled at a blushing John, which didn't help John, next to him. Handing him his drink and retraining the conversation he was having with Craig before leaving. John couldn't help but feel embarrassed at being caught in a gaze Come on John knock it off  he mentally slapped himself. John had had a thing for the white haired kid for a while, they met in a class they shared start of semester. A class John would skipped but went to just to see and talk to him. They became friends over a common interest of video games and slight fashion tastes, John introduced him to Craig  who he shares a dorm with when He first invited Smit over. Smit had transferred from Canada for a certain program he had to take for Design, which was what caught John's interest at first. Over the months of them hanging out and playing a few games together John noticed how much he had fallen for the boy.

John was lost in thought once more and subconsciously sipped his drink, the rum burning his throat as it went down but he didn't notice. Smit had saw John who was staring sorta at him but off to the window that was just to the other side of Smit while leaning slightly on to his shoulder. He tried to get John's attention while trying to keep him on his shoulder, he liked the slightly comfort john leaning on him gave, he wasn't gonna lose it just to knock him outta his daze. John popped back into reality once he felt someone nuzzle their nose into the crook of his neck.

John blushed wickedly hard as he noticed where the affection was coming from, Smit didn't remove his face from that position, finding it rather nice and soothing. The Mango rum started to settle in once he came back to his senses, which was fine, the tingle of the rum on his throat as he finished the drink off was oddly of liking to John.

-

About 2-3 am- half the drinks were gone, and the dorm was decently trashed, and everyone was rather close to crashing. Vanoss had called it a night and told Delirious he could crash in his room with him, the two normally would sleep together if they had friends over seeings how they shared a dorm room and His room could be used to house them. Craig and all but Smit and John were passed out in the living room either on the couch or on a pillow in the floor under and around the coffee table. John had stared out onto the night from the window in the living room, Smit scooted over and placed his head back into the crook of John's neck. Both were decently intoxicated, tho not enough to render them 'drunk'. John took his gaze off the stars in favor of looking at the male who wrapped his arms around John tiredly, to John it was a blessed sight; The one he loved half asleep practically cuddling him like he was a staffed bear. It set off a spark in him, a warm fuzzy feeling he didnt want to lose but enjoyed in the moment while he had it.

John moved Smit to where he was basically sitting in his lap and wrapped his arms around him like Smit did before. John wished the moment could last forever. Could be in this spot forever. Everything about this he loved and knew would be gone in the morning.

"Hay John," Smit with his eyes still closed in a tired rasp voice from the alcohol, "Yeah Smit?" John asked resting his head on Smit's shoulder. Resting his eyes underneath his eye lids. "I love you"

[gumnut-logic]

Gentle Rain (Part Six)

Title: Gentle Rain

Warm Rain Series

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Author: Gumnut

24 - 26 Jan 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Sometimes it is so gentle, you don’t realise it is happening.

Word count: 2937

Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, Scott/OC, spoilers for Warm Rain up to this point in the timeline.

Timeline: Six months after ‘The Proposal’, almost a sequel.

Author’s note: For @scribbles97  I had so much fun with this one sitting on my back porch on a gorgeous sunny day. Many thanks to both Scribbs and @the-lady-razorsharp for help on this bit. Also for @vegetacide for some plotwork we did for further into the story. Next chapter is half written and I’m still having fun :D I hope you enjoy this fic that has a mind of its own.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

It was like some kind of daydream caught in a whirlwind.

The week had passed with medical consultations and chats with Scott over the network. His eyes lit up when he smartly inquired about Kayo asking her to Tracy Island.

“So you coming?” Was that expression hopeful?

“I’m considering it.” She bit back a grin. Why should she make it easy?

His eyes narrowed at her. “What could I offer to entice you?”

“Oh, you’d like to entice me, would you, flyboy?”

He really did have a beautiful smile. “I think I could.”

“Then entice away.”

He posed thoughtfully. “Now what would a gorgeous looking young woman like yourself find attractive on a tropical island. Let me think.” He tapped his lips with a finger.

She choked on a laugh. “Really?”

He held up a finger as if struck by a thought. “Marshmallows. We have the biggest, fluffiest marshmallows in the Southern Hemisphere. Absolutely delicious roasted over a slow fire.” He licked his lips.

Her eyes almost fell out of her head. “Scott Tracy, you are a flirt.”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“And brazen about it.”

“Do you mind?”

That brought her up short, but she didn’t hesitate. “I think I can handle it.” And she was grinning.

His voice dropped an octave. “Good.”

She shivered.

Wow.

She still got one over him. He never did find out if she was coming to visit or not. She held him at arms length the entire week, taunting him.

He seemed to enjoy it.

Kayo picked up the game and swore Virgil to secrecy. Virgil threw up his hands and refused to be drawn in to any of it. The fact he was called out to a rescue two minutes later aided and abetted her little conspiracy.

Scott left the hospital two days before she did. Now it was her turn and she found herself aboard the Tracys’ private jet, all leather and luxury. Virgil was flying while Kayo attended to her, and it was just the three of them flying over the stark red brown landscape of the Australian Outback.

She had luggage, a new hoverscoot, and a belly full of butterflies. There were popular rumours about where exactly Tracy Island was and what you would find if you ever managed to actually get there. Mansions, a secret city…heh, one website claimed Tracy Island was on the other side of a wormhole somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle. Another claimed it was easy to find by tracking birdlife.

Em didn’t really know what to think. The concept of a tropical island was steeped in stereotypes in any case. Perhaps palm trees would be present. The rest was likely up for grabs.

Kayo sat opposite her, occasionally looking at her with just a touch of concern. Em hadn’t said much since they had left Perth airport and she probably looked terrified.

For crying out loud, you’re a fully qualified professional, you’ve faced down much more in your life than a family of billionaires. Hell, she once stared down a patient holding a knife in her face. She was Em Bloody Harris, stop being such a wimp.

A little focus and a little spine.

She straightened and Kayo looked up. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you.” Conversation. “Are you all pilots?” A frown. “Do you fly?”

A small smile crept across Kayo’s face. “Yes, and I most certainly do. Though I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of my Thunderbird.”

Em’s eyes widened. “You pilot a Thunderbird? Which one?”

“Thunderbird Shadow.”

The Thunderbirds were well known across the world as angels of mercy. They appeared at the most desperate moments, often long before any other rescue organisation could possibly have made it. There was the grey, blue and red rocket plane, the green behemoth that nursed all the equipment, a red rocket, a yellow submarine and the Voice Who Answered. There was also rumour of another plane, but sightings were rare and little was known about it. Em’s eyes widened. “You’re the ghost Thunderbird.”

The smile widened just a touch. “You could say that. We take our security very seriously.”

“Yet you’ve invited me.”

Kayo raised an eyebrow. “You checked out.”

It was hard to work out how to feel about that.

“Em, I don’t invite on whim. I thought you would like to visit and I know I will enjoy your company. The background check was just procedure.”

Em dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. “Please don’t tell them. They don’t need to know.”

She could tell by the security specialist’s reaction that she knew exactly what she was talking about. Equally quiet. “They won’t hear it from me.”

“I don’t blame International Rescue. It wasn’t your fault. The only one deserving blame was the bastard who caused it all. I hope he rots in hell.”

“He is.”

Em stared at her. “He’s dead?”

Kayo’s expression was horribly cold. “Yes.”

“How?”

“Classified.”

Blink. “Okay.” She swallowed. “I hope he suffered.”

The other woman didn’t answer, but something sad flickered briefly over her face.

“It is awfully quiet in here. Should I be worried? You two aren’t plotting a mutiny or anything, I hope.”

It was like a switch had been flicked. Kayo’s expression changed completely, smiling up at Virgil as he entered the cabin. “No need for a mutiny, love. I have plenty of other ways to get what I want.”

Virgil didn’t quite roll his eyes, walking past to grab a drink from the fridge. “Can I get you anything?” He waved a bottle of water in their general direction.

“No, thank you.” They chorused together.

Virgil looked back over his shoulder. “Do you have any idea how creepy that sounds?”

Em bit her lip, but couldn’t help parroting the sweet innocent smile Kayo sent her fiancé’s way.

His gaze darted back and forth between them, more alarmed by the moment. “Okay, I’ll just be upfront piloting the plane. Don’t summon the devil by accident.” And he stepped smartly back into the cockpit.

Em turned to Kayo to find the woman fighting back a grin. Em’s lips twisted as their eyes locked. A heartbeat and they both burst out laughing.

-o-o-o-

“Skies are clear, winds 20kph and from the south. You are cleared to land, Tracy Two.”

Through the open patio doors, John could hear the distant engagement of T2’s VTOL. Nowhere near as loud as her Thunderbird sisters, but strong enough to lower her safely onto Thunderbird Two’s runway.

He estimated no more than fifteen minutes before Kayo and their visitor would arrive in the lounge.

Sooner the better before Scott burnt out Thunderbird imPatient’s hover jets with his irrational ‘pacing’.

The slickly repainted hover chair now sported a pale blue-grey chassis with a slash of cherry red and sky blue down each side. The number one had been neatly inscribed in Thunderbird font on both sides. How Virgil had fit it in the last three weeks, John had no idea.

They had been horribly busy. Alan had been forced to take on Thunderbird One much to Scott’s annoyance. They simply could not function without her. As it was, Virgil had been burning most days at both ends, between rescues, hospital visits, and Tracy Industries on top of his regular duties.

They had only just gotten back to rhythm after Virgil’s accident. Now they were a man down yet again for at least another two months, probably more.

At Christmas.

Christmas never failed to increase the need for International Rescue. It was called the silly season for a reason. The collective IQ of the planet appeared to drop around this time of year, regardless of religion. If John could believe in astrology, he might have been inclined to blame the cosmos, but in reality it was often just stupidity.

At the moment he was seriously considering leaving the missing fishing boat caught in a cyclone off Broome, in the north of Western Australia, to the local authorities. They should never have been out, they had received clear warning, and yet had gone out anyway.

But IR’s sensory systems were far more advanced than any other. He had already interfaced with TB5 in an attempt to short cut a location, but the electrical activity in the cyclone denied him a lock at that distance. Thunderbird Two should be able to get a fix on the fishing boat’s transponder within a few hundred kilometres and with TB4 on board she should be able to render any assistance required.

He watched Virgil bring the light jet into land smoothly knowing that in a moment he would have to ask his brother to fly out again.

Gordon was already on his way to the hangar.

And Scott was spinning around in circles.

“You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“I can take eight Gs in a spiral dive. This is nothing.”

“Fine, but can you stop anyway?”

His big brother sighed and slowed to a standstill, staring at the toes of his left foot, stuck out awkwardly in front of him.

Over the last hour John had become acutely aware that something was bothering his brother above and beyond his injuries and resultant incapacitation. He had become fidgety, restless and agitated. It was out of character. Scott was a ball of energy at most times, but it was controlled energy, channelled and targeted at need.

Apparently, he had sprung a leak and, like a dropped garden hose, was bouncing around the room, out of control.

“Is there something wrong, Scott?”

“No.” Sharp and abrupt and so obviously a lie, John was almost insulted his brother thought it would work at all.

“Could have fooled me.”

“What?” He was poking distractedly at TB imPatient’s controls. The hoverchair did a sudden donut and backed ungracefully down the steps into the sunken lounge.

“Can you please not kill yourself on my watch. Virgil would be pissed.” That usually meant a pissed Kayo, never a good thing.

It was so much more peaceful in space. In space there was a comms off switch.

-o-o-o-

One minute there was a massive expanse of Pacific Ocean, next an island appeared out of nowhere.

Em stared out of the window at the dual spiked volcanic rock in the middle of blue water. As they drew nearer, she could make out the remains of the volcanic caldera, the hints of coral beneath the lagoon and the house amongst the rocks.

As the jet angled into land, her side of the plane dipped towards the ocean giving her a stunning view of the little island paradise. Knowing the pilot, probably on purpose.

Yes, there were definitely palm trees.

“Wow.”

Kayo smiled at her. “It’s home.”

The runway came into view, lined by palm trees. Em frowned. That didn’t quite look long enough...or wide enough. “K-“

The underside of the plane echoed mechanical movement, and a sudden roar above that of the jet engines started up. Their speed dropped off abruptly and Em felt her stomach shift inside her. The nose of the plane lifted and they descended vertically.

Kayo was watching for her reaction.

Em arched an eyebrow. “So not your average personal jet?”

The other woman smirked a little. “I’m sorry, but you’ll find that the Tracys don’t do ‘average’.” Was that pride? Perhaps just a little?

Em couldn’t help but grin.

Several butterflies were firmly stomped on.

Their speed slowed to almost a standstill as the ground approached, the jet hovering before gently touching down on the tarmac. Then, to her surprise, the jet’s wings folded back on themselves and they taxied between two lines of palm trees towards a cliff face.

She couldn’t quite see from her angle, but it appeared the cliff opened because moments later they were trundling through an entrance.

And past the massive bulk of Thunderbird Two.

She couldn’t help but stare.

“Damn.”

It was whispered, but Em heard it anyway. Kayo was up and out of her seat in the next breath and disappeared into the cockpit without another word.

Em was left to frown a little and stare at the giant green plane as the jet slowed to a stop in its hanger off to one side.

Thunderbird Two was high up on its landing struts, but as their jet came to a halt, there was a rumble of machinery and a chain of green cargo crates trundled past. One labelled with the number four settled beneath the giant green plane and the craft lowered, swallowing the crate whole.

Thunderbird Two was even larger that touch closer.

Kayo entered the cabin once again, her expression annoyed. “Virgil needs to fly out.” It was very clear the woman was not happy. “Some idiot went fishing in a cyclone.”

Virgil Tracy flew Thunderbird Two. It was well known. But now she had met the pilot she had trouble reconciling the kindly man with the gentle baritone, the soft smile and so much expression in his eyes every time he looked at Kayo, with the image of the superhero rescue operative of popular myth. He wasn’t what she expected.

But then a mental image of the saviour wrapped in metal, tossing brickwork with giant claws, as he busted into that hole beneath the collapsed hotel in Perth, flashed up.

Well, Superman did have his Clark Kent.

There was a hiss as Kayo enabled the cabin exit, an apparently automated set of stairs rolling into place. Virgil hurried from the cockpit, flashing her a quick smile before pausing in front of Kayo, his hands landing on her shoulders. Em looked away to give them privacy as he leant down to kiss her.

A whispered ‘fly safe’ and his boots hit the metal stairwell.

Moments later, the hanger was filled with the stirring roar of Thunderbird Two’s engines and she watched as the behemoth taxied out into the daylight. She couldn’t see the runway from where she sat and she had no idea how the huge plane managed on such a narrow tarmac, but seconds later, that roar swelled into a crescendo and the plane around her vibrated with the power being expended as the craft no doubt launched.

As the roar disappeared off into the distance, she looked up to see Kayo still standing at the exit, her back to Em.

“Kayo, are you okay?”

“Fine.” And the woman turned around a smile forced onto her face.

“Yes, Virgil.”

That earned her a glare. “Let’s get off this plane.”

That shut down the conversation. Em tried her best not to take it personally. It was obvious that Kayo wasn’t used to sharing her problems and honestly, it wasn’t any of her business.

Not much was said as Kayo helped her into her hoverscoot. The device was a smaller version of the hoverchair, less bulky now she had no legs to support. It had variable height so she could look a person in the eye if necessary. The harness supported her back, keeping her upright, while the remains of her legs were cushioned with anti-pressure in the small seat. She had chosen to wear what would have been a knee length summer dress today, the convenience of covering up her injury taken to full advantage, her stumps wrapped in soft socks beneath. The sleeveless dress hugged her overall slim figure, and was appropriate for the tropical clime

This was made abundantly apparent the moment she descended the stairs into the hanger. The hanger doors had since closed, the metal structure towering above her. In fact, the entire hanger was massive. But where she would have thought the air should be cool, it was gently warm, perhaps a remnant of the recent exposure to the outside.

Saltwater lingered in the air.

The cavern echoed with smoothly operating machinery. Some kind of automaton was interfacing with the cargo section of their jet and offloading their luggage and in the distance there was more movement of an unknown purpose. Kayo secured the plane before joining her and leading her over to an elevator.

“Gordon left with Virgil, but Scott, John and Alan are upstairs.” Kayo shot her a smile and Em managed to corral the butterflies just a little. “Did Scott ever work out whether you were coming today or not?”

“Heh.” Okay, so she was grinning now. “I strung him along quite nicely. He offered me all kinds of things to get me out here.”

Kayo actually let out a laugh. “Really?”

“I think the last offer was a Lamborghini.” Not that she would ever accept such a thing, it was hilarious to play the man.

“He offered you a Lambo?” A frown. “What colour?”

“Oh, I had a choice. Green or yellow.”

“Hah. Don’t trust him. He’s offering you Virgil or Gordon’s.”

Em’s eyes widened. “Really? You have Lamborghinis?”

Kayo snorted. “They’re boys. Did you expect anything less?”

She thought a moment as the elevator rose. “I don’t know. I never considered luxury in relation to International Rescue.”

The elevator slowed a moment before changing trajectory and travelling up at an angle. The movement was so smooth, her ‘scoot hardly reacted.

“Oh, they work for it, but the boys do have their toys.” Kayo’s smile was infectious.

“I told him I would only consider a blue one.” It had been teasing and off the cuff, but those eyes of his prompted everything.

“Points to you, Em. You picked his colour.”

And the elevator slowed to a smooth stop. She barely had chance to think before the doors opened and Kayo led her into a large lounge area.

Just in time to see Scott Tracy collide with a wall.

-o-o-o-

End Part Six.

Part Seven