#turning that ugly washed out grey into colors was hard enough as it is

[deimcs]

LAE'ZEL and WYLL in BALDUR'S GATE 3 (2023)

[asha-mage]

cadsuane, prompt: empathy

[Send me a character or pairing, and a one word prompt, and I'll write you a drabble!]

Cadsuane’s small sitting room seemed to glow gold and red in the faint light of the dying sun. Clad in simple green gown suitable for an evening alone, she watched the sunset while working the handle of her oak hairbrush, the one carved with the trefoil leaves. It had been a gift from the King of Tarabon during one of her misadventures about a century ago. Her hair hung down her back today, out of it’s usual bun, still slightly shinny and damp from the water of her bath. It was glossy black now more then slightly streaked with grey. It would probably turn full white before to many more decades.

Cadsuane’s rose beds where visible to her through the sitting room window, long boxes filled with a shower of different colors, from red to white to gold to blue. For a while she had entertained the idea of cultivating a row of roses for each color of the Ajahs- but without the aid of the Power she could not find a way to cultivate brown and grey roses, and she knew herself enough to know that is she used the Power for one thing with the roses, she would end up leaning on it to much. She would would be coaxing them  to grow without thorns next, then to bloom just a little longer then the season would allow- and before she knew it the simple pleasure of the act of gardening would be all drained away.

“Good evening.” A voice called from the door to her sitting room, interrupting her thoughts, and Cadsuane looked up and found herself smiling. Emarin was there in the doorway, his head of dark brown curls seaming to glow as gold as everything else. They where tied back from his face in a simple cord, and his shirtsleeves of where rolled to the elbows. He had washed up thourughly before coming up to her of course- she had impressed the importance of keeping neat in him sharply- but some flour still clung to his forearms all the same, and to the white cloth bundle he held gently in the crook of his elbow.

You would never know, looking at him, that he was a Tearian High Lord. Or rather had been one. By the laws of Tear he had lost all claim to that title the moment he had first touched the Source.

“Good evening.” Cadsuane replied in kind as she rose, setting down her hair brush. “Another day’s labor?” She asked as she moved to the small tea table before the window. Emarin joined her, laying out the oblong bundle and setting down a small jar filled with jelly beside it.

Emarin nodded as he sat. “I barley burned this one.” He said dryly. “I’m improving. Algarin won’t be able to believe it.” Gently he unrolled the white cloth revealing a golden brown loaf of bred, the end caps just slightly turned an ugly black.

“Barely? Phwah.” She shook her head. “Well, you’ll have all tomorrow to take another stab boy. Still, let’s see how it is otherwise.”

They broke the crust together and smeared it with generous amounts of jelly. It wasn’t bad- a bit hard on the outside and doughy in the center, but good for all that. Nothing Cadsuane would pay coin for of course, but that wasn’t the point.

They ate in quite silence, and when the light began to fade Cadsuane rose to begin lighting the candles with the aid of a spark wheel.

“You don’t have to do that.” Emarin said as he cleared away the last of the crumbs. “I wont open my veins if you channel to light a few candles.”

Cadsuane sniffed. “You have an inflated sense of self boy.” She said coldly. “Have you considered that maybe I enjoy doing things by hand?” She shook her head.

“Do you?” He asked dryly. “Because I’m pretty sure I saw you clear away that fox with a few well placed sparks of-“

Reaching out to the True Source, Cadsuane embraced saidar long enough to weave a thin flow of Air, and snap it like a string, flicking the boy in the ear. He smirked at her and stuck his tongue out in her direction, for all the world like a child of eight.

“It is important.” She said smoothly, pointedly lighting a stick on the spark wheel and pressing it one of the candle wicks. “To do things with your own hands. Even for those of us that still have the Power. Maybe especially for us. If we make life too easy: if we depend on the Power to much, we run the risk of letting ourselves believe we are more then human.” She released the Source as she talked and moved to light the next candle on the mantle piece, her hand steady. It had been for centuries now- ever since her time spent on Norla’s farm.

“Is that why you set me a new hobby every few weeks?” Emarin asked, his voice still holding faint mirth, but also a thoughtfulness, and something else: an edge she knew he wold not be able to put a name too. “Why I spend sun up to sun down, gardening and baking, sewing and wood carving, and whatever else you can imagine? To remind me I am human?”

Cadsuane simply nodded. Their was no sense in denying it. “People think you need to find something to fill out the emptiness that the Power has left behind. It varies what: A husband usually, or charity work, or some passion like drawing or music. Phwah.” She shook her head and lit another candle. “They are wrong. Nothing will ever fill that void. That cut can not be mended, and nothing will ever patch the hole it’s left behind. Not really. Like a man whose lost a limb, someone Stilled or Gentled, needs to be reminded that their wound has not made them less human. They needed to be grounded in this world, to feel it’s beauty as well as it’s pain, to accept what is, and learn to live with it.”

Emarin looked down at the jar and sighed, fingers playing with the lid. “You sound as if you speak from experience.”

Cadsuane considered him…and then nodded. “I do.” She said simply and he raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, his questions remaining unasked. For a moment she considered leaving it at that, but it felt cruel. The kind of fertile ground to give rise to false hopes. Best to be out with it.

“I meet a toothless Wilder when I was a freshly raised Green, long ago now.” Cadsuane explained. “Drunk on my own pride and arrogance, I thought I could bully her.” She laughed. Cadsuane doubted anyone had ever succeeded in bullying Norla. “She shielded me and tied the knot so tight I could not hope to untangle it. Then she gave me a through thrashing for my sins and set me to work gardening. To teach me humility and humanity she called it. Well, she succeeded.” Cadsuane smiled. “In teaching me that, and a great deal more.”

Emarin nodded and sighed tightening the lid shut on the jar. “And that thought you what it’s like for men who can-“ He cut off and swallowed. “For men who have been gentled?”

Cadsuane shook her head. “No. Nothing but the experience of stilling could teach me that boy.” She told him, not without kindness. “But it taught me to look beyond myself, my shawl, my might….” She shrugged. “To be understanding, where others would close themselves off. To care, where others would be cruel.”

Emarin stood nodding and tossed the cloth over his shoulder. “To have empathy.” He said. “That’s why you care for the men you find, isn’t it? When all others want to be blind.”

She nodded. Empathy. She supposed that was it after all. “It’s easy, for the Reds, for the whole Tower, to close themselves off, to not let themselves see or care for the pain of the men we Gentle. It must be done, and so it’s easier for everyone to be blind to the cruelty of it. But it’s a mistake.” She shrugged. “We can not lead or guide those we do no try to understand and care for.” That she thought, more then the Black Ajah, more then the passage of eons, more then the shifting of time, was why the Tower was failing, growing more brittle by the day. A lack of care. Of humanity and humility. And empathy.

“Thank you.” Emarin said stepping over to squeeze her shoulder. “For caring.”

Cadsuane smiled at him and lean over lit the final candle.

[ackerlag]

for @nosebleedclub's january prompts no. 16 — the grey coat with red lining.

the front door is brown. and the walls inside are a dry beige. your mother insisted that soft neutral colors look good for interior, but you never saw eye to eye with her about home aesthetics. the coat rack is thankfully black. the coat you use everyday is grey — although at the rate it's going, you won't be surprised if it's more the color of dust and the real grey of the material.

the office is half a city away and you commute everyday at five twenty, coming back just shy after nine. the grey coat is like a protective armor with a lot of history. your brother had a phase in highschool when he thought fashion was the only way of self-expression that was ever valid and bought a whole sewing machine. his first result, the fabrics from god-knows-where, is this battered grey coat. it's downright horrendous, worn and torn at the edges thanks to the amateur handicraft and the everyday use. the red lining on it clashes horribly against the base color — he said once it was a symbolism of one's immense passion rebelling against the system that forces everyone into molds and turns people into copies of robots, robots into copies of people. you've used this coat everyday for two years since you started working at the office.

your current job pays well. well enough to put food on the table. well, that's a lie. your mother puts the food on the table. your father passed away two years ago. your mother still cooks the same dishes she's always cooked, places the food atop of the same cracked ceramic plates she's always had, tells the same anecdotes of her sweet youth and your father's hardships through his life as she's always done. but you're the one who wins the bread to be cooked into toast every morning, even if your mother is the one who has to turn on the toaster and wash the dishes after you've gone off to work, even if your brother mourns and mourns and coops himself up in his room, ladden with grief, and your sister is too young to understand anything. in this sense, your current job pays well — well enough your mother doesn't have to look for another fulltime job, although she does take up knitting to sell some scarves, and well enough someone always has some time to place the dinner plate in front of your brother's door and well enough your sister can still grin a toothy smile everytime you buy her a new toy for christmas and tell her santa thinks she's a good child.

well enough for you to buy another coat.

it's hard to pinpoint why exactly you haven't bought one. on the online shopping platform you use nowadays, everything is cheaper when you know the tricks. soap and shampoo, frying oil, a new vacuum cleaners when the old one broke, canned tuna your sister maybe likes too much to be healthy, the tote bag you got for your best friend's birthday last january, the yarns for your mother. coupons, vouchers, discounts, sales, promotions — everything can be a trick utilized when you're in need or it can all also be a trick used on you, the needy. you've scrolled through dozens of coat options, all grey, without red linings and varying degrees less ugly than your current one. every time, your thumb hovers over the little cart icon and you hit the back button on your scratched phone screen.

there are other important things you could get instead. your shoulders sag with weight and your mind clears.

there are still other bills you need to pay. you go over the numbers when you wake up in the morning and once again when you're about to sleep in the night.

there are two siblings, one who still needs his time to slowly rise out of his cocoon, another one who is barely a budding sprout, a mere seed. there is one mother, smile lines visible and skin starting to dull, too old to be selling her soul to keep strangers warm in the winter.

these days, your eyes burn a lot and you wonder if you need to check it out or if it's that hard to admit that you always want to cry. the new coat can wait. the red lining is still strong, no matter how muddied the grey fabric is looking — it's not breaking anytime soon. it can hold the fort still a while longer, maybe you just need to sort out your priorities and budget a little tighter for now.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #1: Cross

Characters: Idristan, mention of Lebeaux @blackrose-ffxiv​​​

The room was old, worn-down, and drab, lit only by a single hanging light that mostly served to illuminate the copious amount of dust floating in the air. The linens on the bed were a dull grey after countless washings in hard water, the furniture chipped and battered. Compared to even nearby Black Brush, it was a pitiful sight.

It was a good thing that the Ishgardian wasn’t planning on staying for long, or he might have been sorely disappointed.

Fortunately for him, though, he had mostly wanted a place to patch himself up, away from the dozens of prying eyes he could feel on his back whenever he went outside.

A heavy sigh leaves his lips as he gazes at himself in the cracked mirror he was fairly sure hadn’t been cleaned properly in over a moon. He could still make out his face in the clouded glass though, ordinarily tanned skin marred with the black and blue of bruises and the crimson of dried blood. Fingers reach up to press against the red, a wince twisting his lips at the subtle sting of pain.

That wouldn’t do. None of this would, in fact.

He reaches out for the cloth laid next to the washbasin, then pauses, eyeing the fabric somewhat dubiously, for he had a feeling that, whatever color the rag had started out life as, it had not been that dusty grey. Instead he plucks his own handkerchief from his pocket and, after dunking it in the water, starts to rub at his face. Given the heat of the day, the chilly water is a balm in it’s own right, one he savors for a few moments before letting the handkerchief slip down onto the sink. Silver magic dances around his fingers as he starts to work, flesh knitting under his touch and ugly colors starting to recede. Before long, all physical evidence of what had transpired that day would be gone.

It was a shame that he couldn’t do the same with the thoughts it had left in his own head.

“You could have killed him all.” The words had been true. Even before his transformation, they had been true. And now... well. What threat could a band of dusty, dirt-covered miners bare against him now? The very thought was preposterous, laughable in it’s audacity.

And yet, he had stilled his hand.

And see where that had gotten him.

Lebeaux. The name alone is enough to bring a foul taste to his mouth. He spits contemptuously into the basin, but it does nothing to drive it away. For even though he had bound him by ancient magic and law, he knew the other man all too well. There was a game in play, a double cross already prepared.

So there was only really one thing for it; he’d have to come up with one of his own.

Straightening up, he gives himself one last look in the mirror, making sure that his clothes were about as neat as he could get them. Then he turns back to the rest of the dusty, drab room, before shaking his head once. And then, in the space between one breath and the next, he’s gone, leaving only a flicker of stars and moondust in his wake.

[ontheblock]

BABE U WRITE FOR SALLY FACE?? Anything with Travis (male s/o with him obviously) or Sally please :O your writing is amazing!!

YES I DO !! i used to have a bunch of wips i still haven’t finished but i figured i can still add sf to my list since it was such a comfort game when it came out haha. as per usual, this isn’t beta read, i fucked the formatting up twice but just squint when you notice any errors- also thank you love <3 i‘d give you a free bologna sandwich for requesting trav ily. 100% beef obviously /winkwonk

fabric

•warning: abuse, religious guilt, homophobia and f-slur use, bad first kisses, badly written fluff, travis being travis

Travis was meant to live a life molded for him by his father. The pattern was already placed on the fabric when his first cry shook the hospital room at 6:33am. He was supposed to be cut from his father‘s mold but Travis‘ fabric was already old and frayed, the intertwining strings of muted tones that held him together felt lose by the time he could run. Sometimes he thought about the reason why he was incomplete. His fabric wasn‘t strong enough to hold his family name, not stretchy enough to bounce back from his father‘s reactions. Travis‘ mother patched him up every time there was another bruise on his back or face. She would cut parts out of her own fabric to cover the ripped strings her husband‘s belt left on their son. But she had only so much left when the beatings got worse.

Travis was in middle school, attending a christian summer camp a few hours away from Nockfell. He never noticed how different the air was at home but the sky was so murky compared to literally everywhere else. His father thought it was a good idea to let the boy out of town while he took care of the Ministry business which was code for something Travis shouldn‘t stick his nose into. He never asked but someone went missing while he was gone. Tragic.

Not as tragic as the camp counselor calling Travis home on their last day. The boy didn‘t know about that but they told his father about some inappropriate behavior his son showed with a fellow camper - a boy his age, Kenneth didn‘t care for the name or where he was from. All he needed to know was what his son did with that boy. The counselor tried to calm the angry parent on the phone but as soon as the information was exchanged the line went dead. He didn‘t want to hear the washed up excuses. His son was young and it was best to get these urges out of his system before they could even develop - dig for the deepest root you could find and rip it from the still fresh ground before it bloomed into something ugly, even if that meant that the garden would never bloom at all. Kenneth was a man of action after all.

That evening Travis came home clueless while his father already stood in the hallway with his wife behind him, holding onto his hand and uttering whispered quick prayers but his thick fingers already curled around the leather painfully hard. The strain it caused in his hand only fueled the need for a release as he charged for his son who didn‘t even have the chance to slip out of his worn sneakers.

That evening his mother didn‘t stay when Kenneth told her to go to bed early. Travis asked himself if it pained her the same way it pained him when his skin split under the force his father put in his first few strikes.

“You want to hold hands with boys now?“

“My son isn‘t a faggot, is that clear?“

“I gave you a place in this filthy town. You will appreciate it and live a proper life!“

“You will thank me when you don‘t burn for being dirty.“

It wasn‘t meant for Travis to answer because by the end of the night he would not even think about a boy‘s hand to be soft and warm anymore.

Travis was older now but he never found enough of anything to mend the damage his father did that night. Travis didn‘t try to explain that he held onto the boy because they figured that they wouldn’t slip on the wet mud that way. Instead he kept quiet about it ever happening and his father was content with this as long as he pulled his son from the devil‘s path to sodomy.

And Travis thought so too until a thread of blue fabric pulled together a gaping hole in his fabric. It stuck out like a sore thumb - too vibrant but warmer than any patch his mother gave to him and when he sat on the grimy bathroom floor in school after Sal Fisher of all people gave him a fucking pep talk, it felt nice. The warmth let his tears evaporate so he could pull himself together for the rest of the day.

But it was short lived. The warmth spread through him so fast he felt like burning up whenever he sat in class with Sal. He tried everything to get that blue thread out of his life but pulling on it only felt like strangling himself and he regretted ever letting his bully persona slip in that bathroom just because Sal fucking Fisher found the note he threw away - the note that was about him but Travis never had it in himself to tell him that. He regretted his promise to be less of an asshole because he knew he couldn‘t. Not even three days later the heat in his belly was so hot that he boiled over when he saw Fisher talking to that ginger nerd by the lockers. He ended up calling him a faggot because how dare he be openly gay in the same town Kenneth Phelps lived? How dare he be happy like this?

Sal tensed at the insult. Did he actually think Travis could be better? And why was his freakshow friend not hurt at the insult when it still burned in his throat to say it? Why did it feel like the slur wasn‘t meant for Todd at all? Travis swallowed hard as he fled the hallway in such a hurry that the three folded up pamphlets in his barely zipped up backpack fell on the muddy vinyl flooring.

“Fuck, Phleps. Just wait. Travis!“ The boy in question tucked at his collar as he turned a corner just to slip into another empty corridor. They had a free period right after gym class and Sal Fisher was determined to finally talk to the boy who relentlessly bullied him to now avoid him like it was the other way around. “Jesus, I‘m not gonna pry but if your dad-“ Sally harshly bumped into Travis as he whipped around, finally coming to a stop. Shame crawled up the taller teen‘s neck when he didn‘t find the prosthetic nose digging into his sweater uncomfortable.

“Shut up! God, just stop!“ Sal was surprised that he would use his Lord‘s name in vain like that and if the situation was anything but this he would‘ve laughed. “Travis, I don‘t know how you feel but-“, Sal tried again but Travis was at his limits this time. “You don‘t and you never will, Fisher. Your dad would accept you being a dirty faggot but mine doesn’t!“ He tried to fill his words with venom but it all bounced back on the guy‘s mask anyway with how much his voice actually trembled.

There was a moment of silence that made Travis want to literally get struck by his God‘s angry lightning. He couldn‘t even leave. It was like all the root his father dug out slowly crawled back to feed on his shame and ground him in front of Sal who still had to react and maybe Travis should just tell him to fuck off so he wouldn‘t have to find out what he wanted to say next.

“Travis...“ Sal lowered his voice in a fake moment of privacy. “Are you-?“ Travis already shut his eyes as he clenched his fists. He didn‘t like where this was going but there was no more fight in him. “Nevermind. You don‘t owe me shit but I saw your back.“ Travis exhaled through his mouth until there was nothing left in his lungs. He knew where that question was headed. Are you gay, Travis? Are you the faggot and that‘s why you‘re so angry? He was glad that Sal changed his approach because even Travis himself was too scared to find the answer.

“So what, Sally Face? You‘re sticking your nose somewhere it doesn’t belong. If you even have one under that stupid mask.“ Travis harshly pushed his index finger into the boys chest and the sharp inhale he made almost made him freeze up and apologize. But he couldn‘t. He was too deep to go soft now. The look in Sal‘s eyes was enough to make Travis finally stumble backwards and push past him.

He didn‘t follow him this time.

His verbal fights with Sal Fisher were like a damn wake up call for the teen. The rush of warmth it spread in his chest and the cold shiver in sent down his spine were shaking his body every time. He started noticing that Nockfell wasn‘t that murky. Travis used to really like yellow as a child because it reminded him of his mother’s favorite sunflower dress. She was a different woman now. The vibrant yellow was fading just like her hair. Maybe it was just Nockfell, maybe it was because of her suffocating husband draining her of her life and slowly unraveling her fabric. It didn‘t matter now but to make a depressing story short, Travis didn‘t have a favorite color anymore.

But the sky looked like a pretty shade of blue on some days. He never noticed but his bathroom tiles had blue specks in them. He always thought they were just a weird grey. There were tiny flowers blooming in the most vibrant blue behind the school and he wished that they were behind the church too but nothing ever grew around that building. But he would pluck them sometimes when he was skipping gym class. His last fight in the empty hallway was weeks ago and he hoped that Sal finally gave up on his savior complex. But why did his chest sting at that thought? His fingers slowly clutched his sweater as he stared at a withering flower by his foot. Travis jumped out of his thoughts when the metal door creaked open.

“Yo.“ Sal pushed the door closed with his shoe as he held up a hand to casually greet him. His face scrunched up. “What do you want?“ Travis lowered his head again. The boy obviously noticed the fresh shiner on his face already but facing him still felt like he exposed himself. “Just wanted to confirm that the church boy was skipping class.“ Uninvited, the teen sat beside Travis on the grass, with a healthy distance of course. “Shut up. My faith has fuck all to do with school“, Travis spoke lowly but his voice was tired. Sal just hummed in agreement before silence draped over them. Not uncomfortably like the usual strained void of reactions when one of them dropped something they weren‘t prepared for. It felt ok like this and it felt like a blanket. To Travis that blanket was soft and blue but before he could shake it off and stand up there were strings of the obnoxious fabric already weaving themself into his personal space.

“We don‘t have to fight all the time.“ Sal didn‘t look at him and neither did Travis. He really didn‘t have a reason to disagree. Not one that wouldn’t blow his cover at least.

“Maybe I could come to your little church and-“ Travis head snapped up. “Don‘t“, he blurted out a little louder than he meant. “It‘s a joke. I‘m not religious.“ Sal snorted, plucking a few pieces of grass. “Yeah, because you‘re a sinner in the eyes of the Lord. You f-“ Travis had to physically stop himself by biting his lip. Sal looked over at him and Travis wished he didn‘t. “Sorry“, Travis mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes, or eye since he was pretty sure his other eye never moved before. “I‘m trying to not call people that anymore.“ because all I hear is my father saying it.

“It‘s cool.“ It wasn‘t. “Why are you skipping?“ Travis huffed. It was weird to not let the conversation derail into verbal abuse. “I don‘t know. I fell. Hit my head on the door pretty bad. As you can see.“ Sal just hummed. “That‘s why you‘re limping, too?“ Travis blurted out a “yes“ a little too fast. Why was he nervous? His whole school life already revolved around cover up stories about the strange aches and bruises he got out of nowhere.

“Right.“ Sal let it slide, again. “You‘re acing algebra, Fisher.“ It wasn‘t a question so Sal didn‘t say anything. “Hmm.“ Travis cursed himself for never learning proper social skills but his father didn‘t like him bringing strangers into the house and his teen years were a constant feeling of push and pull of picking fights with boys that sparked an ugly tingle in his belly.

“You need a tutor?“ The silence seemed to be enough for Sal. Fuck him and his open fucking hand. “Maybe.“ Travis flicked a flower with his finger, dismissing the clear offer because his stomach ignited at the fact that Sal didn‘t hate him enough yet. “Maybe there is a tutor in Addisons Appartement, Room 402, who‘s free on the weekend.“ Sal couldn‘t help but smile under his mask as Travis huffed. “Fuck you, Fisher.“

Sal already forgot about his offer when lunch passed and his dad stood in the kitchen, washing their dishes, enjoying the background noise of his son watching TV with his cat. They were so engrossed in the VHS tape Sal put on that he didn‘t hear the door until his dad whistled from the kitchen. “Sally, door.“

“Huh? Oh. Yes, dad.“ He jumped to his feet, leaving Gizmo to the slasher movie he seemed to like. “Weird, Larry said he‘s busy“, Sal mumbled, opening the front door. “Oh.“ It was a knee jerk reaction from Sal because he expected everyone but Travis Phelps to knock at his door and truth be told, he looked like he‘d rather be anywhere else with the way his awkward greeting caught in his throat and died on his tongue as a huff. His eyes followed the way the blue strands hung over Sal‘s shoulders, the mask straps upsetting the smooth texture as a few chunks hung over the elastics. Travis hasn’t seen him with his hair down. He looked smaller in big sweatpants and a band shirt too.

“Travis?“ The boy‘s eyes snapped back to the mask in front of him. “So, algebra?“ Sal tilted his head a smidge. A small habit he picked up to better communicate what would otherwise be shown in his facial features. But it made Travis want to scream for a multitude of reasons as heat crept up his neck. “Obviously.“

Anyone else would‘ve told him to fix his tone or fuck off but Sal held open the door for him. It felt wrong but Travis took the invitation, rubbing his clammy hands on his pants. “Who is it?“, a deeper voice called and Travis almost jumped. He had to remind him this wasn‘t Kenneth. Mr Fisher wasn’t anything like his dad and he didn’t have to be on edge around the boy. “A friend“, Sal replied shortly, only getting an approving hum.

A friend. Did Sal see him as a friend? He couldn‘t dwell on it since he was pulled into the boy‘s bedroom that looked nothing like his. “Just sit anywhere.“ Sal wildly gestured into the room and Travis sat on the barely made bed as Sall dropped his books next to him.

Travis felt like there was something breathing down his neck the entire time they sat on Sal‘s bed. His shirt collar felt like it was about to cinch his neck closed, the dangling cross necklace he kept under his shirt felt hot to the touch like it burned the shape of Jesus into his chest with every sinful thought that crossed his mind as Sal explained the most bland and unerotic subject.

“Travis?“ The boy almost choked on his own spit.

“Romans 1:26-27.“ Travis stumbled over his own words but the verse was engraved into his head after writing and reciting it for a month straight under the stern eye of his father. There was a briefe silence for a moment.

“What?“ Sal looked up from the book in his lap.

“What?“ Travis felt breathless as he stared back at Sal. “Nothing“, he quickly added before Sal could even say anything else. “Explain that again?“ But he didn‘t. Instead, Sal pushed the book off his thigh, still staring the boy down. “Did you really come here for algebra, dude?“ No. “Yes.“ Travis fiddled with the hem of his shirt, not knowing if it was anxiety, anger or just bile scratching against his stomach lining to crawl out of him.

When Sal didn‘t say anything else Travis just reached over the boys lap to take the book himself but there was already a hand pressing against his shoulder. Travis hissed as he pulled his arm back, making Sal pull back just as fast. They stared at each other for a moment before Sal‘s gaze darted to his shoulder. “You fell pretty hard on that door.“ Travis clenched his jaw. “Shut up, Fisher, and back the fuck up.“

The boy shook his head, scooting away an inch. “Listen, you can say no because I would too but I can at least get you ointment for that.“ Sal gestured to his back and shoulder and something in Travis just crumbles as he lets his hands drop into his lap, staring them down to not look at Sal. “Ok. If it gets you off my back you parasite.“

Travis didn‘t plan this when he knocked on the apartment door. He expected to maybe stay 20 minutes before something would make him see red but all he saw was blue. Maybe he was cursed. All these years of plucking out the roots his father couldn’t reach were rendered worthless now that he sat on the rough carpet, holding his shirt up as Sal dug out the ointment.

How did he even get here? His heart beat in his throat when he felt a presence behind him. He felt the need to say something. He wanted to make it clear that this meant nothing to not make it weird but wouldn‘t that make it weirder? Wasn‘t this the same as his mother putting a bandaid on his cuts and whatever herbal mixture on his wounds? It wasn’t because he never felt the sick urge to kiss his mother.

“Ready?“, Sal asked, kneeling behind him with a glob of cool ointment on his index and middle finger. Fucking hell, why did he have to make it weird? He definitely had to say something now.

“It was my dad.“ Travis spoke fast enough to mutter his words but the long pause probably meant that Sal heard him anyway. He wanted to melt into the carpet, leave behind a stain on the boy‘s floor to annoy him just one last time. He didn‘t know what he expected him to say to that and he also didn‘t know why that was the thing he had to say. But Sal made it easy on him by just not answering at all. Instead, he dabbed the cream on the first bruise, making Travis inhale sharply but otherwise biting his tongue. Sal figured that Travis wanted to act tough by not showing that it hurt but actually, Travis didn‘t trust his voice under Sal‘s soft fingertips.

“Travis“, Sal spoke again. Travis wasn‘t sure if he hated the heavy silence more of the fact that Sal was the first to say something while he was rubbing little circles into his back. He didn‘t answer but that never held Sal back.

“Are you gay?“ His voice was so quiet that Travis wouldn‘t have heard it if they sat a little further apart but it had the same effect as screaming it for all of Nockfell to hear. Sal felt him tense up under his touch, already expecting him to jump up or at least yell at him. But neither of them did anything. Sal‘s fingers rested against the heating skin, feeling it rise with every ragged breath he managed to take. “Travis-“

“Fuck, Sal. What? Do you want me to tell you about the times my dad beat the gay out of me or do you prefer that time I wanted to kiss you in that gross fucking bathroom?“, the teen finally barked, letting his words sink in first before he hissed a quiet “shit“. The fingers on his back pulled away as Sal sat on his heels. “You wanted to kiss me?“, Sal repeated, slower than Travis but he just pressed the balls of his hands into his eyes until he saw shapes and felt like the pressure would crush his face. He heard Sal shuffle around the room, probably getting ready to throw him out like he should‘ve done a while ago. But the shuffling stopped in front of him and something told him not to look but cold hands were already on his wrists to peel his cramping hands from his face. Travis opened his eyes just in time to see that mask uncomfortably close but before he could say anything, there was an odd sensation on his lips with minimal pressure. Sal was kissing him and it snuffed the flame in his stomach for just a moment, allowing the torched butterflies to unfold their wings and fly high enough to even make his heart pump overtime. But the feeling was lost just as soon when Sal inched backwards, pulling his prosthetic back in place before Travis could even take any of this in.

“Sorry.“ Sal threw it into the room for Travis to interpret. But the gears in his head threatened to jump out of place already so he reached out to Sal who already flinched backwards, holding onto his mask. “You don‘t want that.“ Sal pushed his hand back a little. “How would you know?“ Travis furrowed his brows at him but he was thankful. He wasn‘t sure if he could take seeing the boy bare like that but he was craving that feeling his father tried to snuff so desperately.

Sal just shook his head as Travis inched closer. “I‘ll close my eyes.“ Now it was Sal‘s turn to hole up in silence, knowing that neither of them could handle the mask coming off. Something made him trust Travis‘ words as he opened the bottom clasp which was the cue for Travis to shut his eyes. He did and seconds later he felt Sal on him again. One hand clamping over his eyes just to make sure and the other fisting the front of his shirt.

This time Travis felt the cleft in Sal‘s lip and the scar tissue ripping up the soft skin. He leaned into the kiss. Where were his hands supposed to go? When Travis didn‘t find the answer his body moved on autopilot. One hand threaded through the surprisingly smooth strands as the other clung to the small of his back.

Travis should‘ve been grossed out by the drool pooling out of Sal‘s torn lip but he wasn‘t. He should be grossed out by Sal being a boy but he wasn‘t. When Sal pulled back he kept his hand over Travis‘ eyes while the other wiped the spit off his chin. The kiss alone was enough to patch up his murky fabric with bright blue strings that dominated the colors his father painted him in. Travis didn‘t know what would happen after high school. Hell, he didn‘t even know what would be tomorrow. But he didn‘t want the bright fibers to unravel him again.

A knock on the door startled both of them, making Sal pull his arm away and Travis rapidly blinking. He didn‘t notice the mangled face first as the unruly blue caught his eye. His hand did that. His heart beat in his throat again as he overheard Sal‘s father say something and Sal shooting a hum of agreement back. His prosthetic was already on his face again before Travis could catch anything besides the scar tissue crawling up his jaw and chin before splitting his lips and exposing teeth and gum.

Maybe blue was his favorite color.

[ilguna]

Redamancy - Chapter Nine (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, brief mention of murder.

wc; 8.9k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

This morning, you’re floating around the room. There’s an impossible grin on your face as you move to get ready today, not even mad over the fact that you didn’t get much sleep last night. It’s the anticipation of seeing your tribute again--now a victor! You’ve always pictured the moment where you finally get to see your tribute again after their big win, and it’s finally happened.

Five years of trial and error, and you’ve finally found a solution. It doesn’t matter that it’s been standing in front of you the entire time, all that matters is that you made it. You figured out what you need to do in your future years. In no time, you’ll be just as infamous as Districts One and Two. No more caskets, you’ll finally be able to start sleeping easy.

What you wear today doesn’t have to be anything specially fancy. You settle for a pair of black jeans and dark grey shirt. You kick the black tennis shoes out of the closet and into the middle of your room. You drop the clothes onto the bed, but bring the black underwear into the bathroom with you.

You turn on the shower, and strip yourself naked. The last time anyone has seen Annie was a week and a half ago, inside of the arena. Since then, you only get updates on her. Mostly the injuries she sustained, and fixing the blemishes that might have appeared on her skin since being inside of the arena. You went ahead and approved the full-body polish, mostly because you’re not sure if she can handle seeing the scars as reminders.

It’s less of the fact that she might find them ugly and will want them covered up later, and more of the fact that she literally will not be able to handle seeing them. Along with all the other testing and evaluating that they’ve been doing over the last week and a half, they’ve also been frequently checking her mental health. She’s pretty drugged each time they ‘wake her up’ from her medically-induced coma, but from what they can tell, it’s not good.

Annie’s time in the arena has left her damaged. Which is okay, because that has happened to all the victors that you’ve met so far. This will be the first time you’ve seen it more severely, and you’ll just have to take a different approach with it. You’ve already decided that she won’t be replacing you in the mentor program, or helping you, Anchor, and Finnick in the boarding school. At least, not until you’re sure that she can handle it.

For now, she’s a delicate flower, and needs to be handled as such. 

You shower, scrubbing yourself clean. The sugary smell of the body wash fills the air, and you find yourself taking in deep breaths through your nose to savor the sweetness. Even if it’s unintentional, the Capitol is exceptional at selling products to you. How can you resist the body scrub that makes you smell like ice cream? You can’t.

You have time before you need to be out in the dining room to meet Finnick to go down to Annie. So, you sit on the floor of the shower, hair out of reach of the water to make sure that you won’t have to dry it, and let the warm water soothe you. Every now and then, you’ll turn it hotter, or colder, bouncing back and forth until your stomach is growling and you can’t put it off any longer.

You dry yourself with a soft towel, eyes on yourself in the mirror. You can’t really help it when you turn to see the scar on your back. A part of you is sad that you couldn’t even keep one thing for Annie. A scar, a cracked tooth, some abnormality. Something on her body that would tell everyone, when shown, that she won the Hunger Games and kept an injury as a souvenir. Even after everything that she’s gone through. 

It would be a sign of strength, you think.

You pull on the black underwear, and leave the bathroom to get dressed in your room, since that’s where you left your clothes. The moment you step into the doorway, you can see Finnick sitting on the chair in the corner. He stares blankly at you for a moment, before he slowly turns a red color.

“I should’ve knocked.” He covers his eyes with one hand, but does the little peek thing through his fingers as a joke.

Of course, the one time you don’t lock your bedroom door before you go to take a shower, someone comes in. And of course, the first person that does it by accident is Finnick.

You give him a face before pulling on your jeans, “You need something?”

“Just came in to check on you, you’ve been showering for a while now.” he says, there’s a smile hinting at the corner of his lips. 

“And you didn’t knock?” you pull on your shirt next, and reach for a pair of socks, when you realize that you didn’t set any out by accident. This starts your next hunt.

“I did, actually, a couple of times. Elysia got tired of the sound so she told me to sit and wait or give up altogether.” Finnick shrugs, “We’re both adults here, so I thought that you wouldn’t be too bothered if I sat in here.”

“Seems like an innocent enough excuse.” you grin, he laughs a little bit to himself, “What are you planning?”

“Obviously I was hoping that you’d walk out naked.” 

You roll your eyes, “You’re a little late for that.”

You open the top drawer of the dresser to find that there’s only one pair of socks, which means that you’re going to have to wear this pair tomorrow. You’ll only be in the Capitol today and tomorrow, after that you’re going to be going home. Unfortunately, none of you are going to have a minute to think to yourselves as soon as Annie’s awake. 

You pull on the socks, and then the shoes. Together, you and Finnick meet Elysia in the dining room. She’s wearing a particular green color that you vaguely remember her wearing after you won your games. It’s a different shade, a pea green color. It’s not an awful color on her, but it’s the color itself that looks gross. It seems that all of the times you’ve had to change Alyssum’s diaper has finally gotten to you.

“You look like you’re wearing baby shit.” you say, going down the steps.

Elysia’s neck practically breaks from how hard she turns to look at you, “What?”

“The color, it’s putrid.” you sit in a chair. Finnick sits next to you, laughing.

She looks down at what she’s wearing, a frown appearing on her face, and then she looks back at you, “You’re not kidding.”

“It’s an ugly color.” Finnick agrees, “It’s a good thing that you’re changing later.”

“The both of you are insufferable.” She sighs, but going back to drinking her coffee, “I suppose I should thank you for being honest.”

“You’re welcome.” You say, piling the food onto your plate.

“Just keeping you on your toes.”

It’s pancakes, and spread all over the table, is a variety of toppers. Different types of syrups, like caramel, fudge and maple are offered. Next is the sweets, like chocolate chips and toffee. Or there’s the fruits, bananas, strawberries, blueberries, everything you could possibly imagine. Which is quite a difference from the day you were only allowed to have fruits.

You grab what seems good, keeping in mind that you’ll be able to try as many combinations as you want to. You start with the fruits, and then the sweets, and end with the syrups, since they’re pretty irreversible. You could always ask for a new plate, or you can just be smart and wait until the end to try syrups.

Anyway, Finnick seems to have the same thought process that you do. Maybe he’s finally realized that this will be the last breakfast you eat. As tomorrow you’ll probably be eating brunch, or lunch altogether from how late you’ll be getting up. The final interview will be conducted at two tomorrow, you’ve already been given the schedule. And since the Victory Banquet that will take place tonight, lasts until early morning, you’ll all be sleeping in past breakfast.

The avoxes take their time clearing the table, since you three are in no hurry to leave. There’s still half an hour to burn before you should even think to start making your way downstairs. There’s no set time that Annie will be awake, but they’ll let her out of the room at a certain time. When they’re sure that the drugs have worn off and that she won’t hurt herself, or others.

And since her current mental state is a little questionable, she’s been met with quite a few exceptions from the gamemakers and President Snow, himself. You remember having to put on your arena outfit after you woke up in the medical room. It wasn’t a pleasant sight after everything that you’d been through. The navy blue color has almost permanently been ruined for you because of it. 

If it was hard for you, there’s no telling what Annie might think of it. So, she’ll be wearing sweatpants and a shirt. The accommodations don’t really stop there, they’ll continue on from today, to tonight, to tomorrow afternoon, District Four, all the way until after her Victory Tour. Annie is in no state to be constantly hounded by cameras as soon as she gets home. Same thing goes for coming face to face with the families of the dead tributes.

Annie’s lucky that she was born and fought for the district she’s in currently, otherwise there’s no telling what other mentors would have made her do. Look strong-minded, as if the games didn’t affect her at all. Pretend as though killing two tributes isn’t detrimental all by itself. Act like Marsh never meant a thing to her, like he was just garbage to be thrown away.

No, you and Finnick know the value of human life. You know that volunteering takes a willpower that you will never have. On one hand, you’re lucky that Alyssum isn’t in your age group, because you would have hated to volunteer over her. To willingly put yourself into a situation that would supposedly look like a ‘noble act’. But on the other hand, if she’s chosen for the games--since her eligibility doesn’t just magically go away because you’ve won--you won’t be able to volunteer for her, only mentor.

It’s mostly the reason why you’re so hellbent on sending her to the boarding school. You, Reed and Mox can’t protect her. She’s too young. Reed is seventeen years older than her, Mox is sixteen, and you are twelve. If she gets chosen, none of you can go in there and protect her. Even family friends are too old to do that, and you would never ask them to do it in the first place.

To volunteer to go into the games is to willingly accept that you might die when you go inside. It means to stand in line to get on Charon’s boat to cross the river Styx. It’s like standing outside of the gates of hell, knowing what is happening on the other side of the fence, and choosing to go inside anyway. In a way, it also means that you are not completely whole, and you are trying to find the missing piece. 

The Hunger Games is not that missing piece.

The Hunger Games takes all the pieces you have and scatters them. You have to find each and every one of them individually, and hope that you haven’t gone out of order. Otherwise, you’re stuck in some purgatory of not knowing what you’re missing and thinking that missing piece is the solution.

You know because you’re speaking from experience. 

The moment you rsoe from that platform inside of the arena, you lost everything you had before. You had to build it from the ground up, hoping that the foundation that your brothers had helped with, was sturdy enough to build the rest of the house. You got lucky in there. What they don’t tell you, is that you lose all the pieces when you come back, too.

You’ll never be able to officially understand what Annie will feel and go through, but you’ll be able to offer her advice. Tell her that she’s not alone, and every single victor had to go through the same process that she’s going through now. Readjusting back to reality after living inside a death trap designed to kill you, is hell. It’s always like walking through hell.

“I think I’m going to change.” Elysia says, getting up from the table and leaving towards the hallway, which might actually lead her to a room with extra clothes for the escorts. You don’t know, you never go farther than the balcony because there’s never a need to.

“Are you okay?” Finnick asks, his hand is gentle on your shoulder, “You’ve got a look on your face.”

“Just remembering how I felt post-games.” you look at him.

“Hopeless?” His voice is careful.

“Hopeless.” you agree, giving him a smile, “It’s okay, the pieces are coming back together. One at a time. I’m sure by the time I’m Haymitch’s age, I should have my head on straight without the help of alcohol poisoning.” 

Finnick lets out a laugh, and then draws you in close enough to press a kiss to your lips. There’s a small explosion of heat across your face, since the giddy feeling from when you were a teenager seems to have come back. Along with all the previous feelings you had for Finnick. 

You never stopped loving him, you were just waiting until it was the right time.

He presses a kiss to your forehead after, “Is your room back home soundproof?”

You pull away from him, face twisting, “You know how to ruin a moment, huh?”

“It was a genuine question!” He asks, but there’s laughter in his voice.

“If that’s really a concern, we can just use your house.”

He makes a face, “Your bed is always softer.”

“That’s because I know how to get a proper mattress.” a smile appears on your face as you get to your feet. You can hear Elysia coming down the hall, heels clicking on the wooden floorboards.

She’s dressed in a darker green, which still goes with her makeup, so there wasn’t a need for change. She obviously did this on purpose, just so that she wouldn’t have to take off what she’s wearing, put on a fresh layer, only to take it off a couple hours later. It would be a waste, mostly because all of the products in the Capitol are crazy expensive.

“We can go now.” she says.

Together, the three of you take the first elevator down to the Training Center, and then a second one further underground. Where the walls, floors and ceiling is all cement, and the doors are hidden unless digitally told to move. You remember sitting inside of your medical room, waiting for the doors to open for you. A random panel on the wall had moved. You knew the door blended in, but the architect was a genius for how well they'd done it.

You’re not allowed to go beyond a certain point. Annie hearing your voices directly outside of her room can make her feel like she’s going insane--it’s a rule for all victors, not an accommodation for her--and might even make her destructive. The peacekeepers stand in place for a while, motionless and waiting for orders. When the orders are given to them, they leave you three to yourselves in the hallway.

“Three more days until we go home.” you massage the back of your neck, “Finally, I’m tired of this.”

“So it takes nearly three full weeks for you to grow homesick?” Finnick asks.

“More of the fact that I just want to start the next round of trainees.” you run a hand through your hair, now, “Now that I’ve caught the mistake, I just want to fix it before it’s too late.”

“Do you have a set schedule for training?” Elysia asks, you can see Laurel coming your way.

When she stops next to Elysia, she doesn’t really say anything, just listens to what you three are talking about. If you didn’t know her as well as you did, you’re sure that you would be afraid to speak about this in front of her. However, she’s like one of your best friends, you trust her with your life.

“Mostly during the school year, we take a break when the games come around, and pick it up a week or two after. But this year I’m probably going to make them come in as soon as possible.”

Elysia opens her mouth, pauses, and then asks; “You take their entire break from them?”

“No,” Finnick says, you smile along, “No, when we designed this, we knew that we wouldn’t be able to run it all day long.”

“But you call it a boarding school.” she says slowly.

“To make sure that we don’t get in trouble with the law.” you raise your eyebrows slightly, feeling smug, “Preparing tributes for the Hunger Games is highly illegal, but if you can find ways around it…”

“Also, the school runs from late afternoon into evening. The teens have the entire morning to themselves.” Finnick says, “Because there’s nothing more teenagers hate than having to get up in the morning for school.”

You nod, “It runs for four to five hours, sometimes over if it’s a special day. We always warn the parents and teens in advance. We also keep track of who comes in, who drops out and for what reason. And also grades, for the younger kids because their education is important and all of that.”

Finnick’s trying to suppress a smile, “We run a very ethical business.”

You laugh, elbowing him.

You can hear the scuffle of feet behind you, which makes you and Finnick turn to see who’s coming. You know already, there’s no one else in this part of the building that has woken from their slumber. 

Annie stands at the end of the hallway, looking only slightly disoriented. Her hair looks like she used her fingers to comb through it. As you said earlier, she’s wearing the grey sweatpants, with a matching grey shirt. At first, she just stands and stares at you guys, almost like she’s unsure if you guys are real.

And then a smile spreads across her face, breaking into a run with her arms open wide. You open your arms too, not being able to help the grin on your face. She slams into your body, arms tight around your waist. You squeeze her, rubbing her back with a laugh.

“Welcome back, Annie.”

She moves onto Finnick next, then Elysia, and finally, Laurel. When all of you can see her face, it’s slightly blotchy from crying. She wipes her eyes and gives you guys a wobbly smile, wrapping her arms around herself.

“How are you feeling?” you ask.

She shrugs slightly, “Tired, when are we going home?”

“Two days, we’ll be on the train by tomorrow afternoon.”

Annie smiles, Laurel touches her shoulder carefully, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.” 

And then her eyes land on you, Finnick and Elysia, “Don’t wait too long to get ready, you only have a few hours.”

“We got it.” Finnick gives her and Annie a wave.

Laurel brings Annie’s arm into hers, talking to her on the way to the elevator. They take a turn around a corner, and then they’re out of sight. For a moment, all three of you stand in silence, trying to gather what you can from that brief interaction with Annie.

“I think that we shouldn’t be as careful as we’re being.” you say slowly, trying to make sure that you won’t be wording this wrong, “She isn’t a child, she’s eighteen.”

Finnick’s nodding along, “You can be fragile and still not break under pressure.”

“Bingo.” 

--

You decided that it wouldn’t hurt to get ready for the recap in the same room. You had Finnick bring his suit, and whatever he would need for his hair into your room, since you have too much to transfer. You stand in front of the mirror, half-naked and curling your hair. Finnick sits on a kitchen stool, wearing his black slacks and a white undershirt. He’s caught in a game of buttoning and unbuttoning his cuffs.

“We should get her a counselor.” he mutters absently.

“She can use mine.” you let the curl fall, and then twirl the strand of hair around your finger for a couple of seconds, “She’s still active, I see her every now and then when I’m having a particularly hard time.”

Finnick’s eyes find yours in the mirror, “How often?”

You shrug, “It’s gotten less over the years, but sometimes little things will set me off.” you give him a half-smile, “I don’t cook by myself anymore because the knives in our kitchen are small and triggering. But if it’s teaching the boarding school, I can use knives, swords, whatever all day long without a problem.”

You know what the problem is. When you cook, you like to do it alone because you don’t have people around you to distract you. You’re not as prone to making accidents. However, it also means that you’re allowed to think to yourself, and dig up everything that you’ve worked hard to bury. Like what it feels like to have your hands coated in blood, and the panicked feeling when Allio had woken up right as you’d begun to retreat.

If you’re surrounded by the teens, it means you’re using the knife with a purpose. You’re teaching them how to defend themselves, you don’t have to think about all the bad things you’ve done with a weapon, and all the feelings that came after. You also don’t do it often, too. You know to take breaks between you teaching and Anchor, because progress can unwind very, very quickly and easily. Years of work can be gone in a simple hour.

“Huh.” Finnick lets out, “Anything else?”

You think for a moment, and then laugh, “I don’t like the taste of fish. I can’t stand the smell of it cooking, either.”

Finnick laughs too.

“Alyssum asked me for a rabbit last year, like a pet.” You shake your head, “I told her no but I couldn’t explain why, exactly. How do you tell your little sister that you know what they taste like? Much less that you ate them for weeks on end?”

“That would be a good way to traumatize her.”

“Just a couple more years, and then I’ll let her in on the secret.” you wink.

You do your makeup next, going easy on the gold eyeshadow. Earlier, Laurel had hand-delivered a puffy gold dress, as well as Finnick’s black and white suit. He doesn’t get to have all the fun colors like he used to, unless he’s dressing himself. Laurel and Pleurisy wouldn’t allow that this time around, and you’re not really upset about it. She knows better than you do when it comes to what the Capitol will want to see.

“Are you nervous?”

You raise your eyebrows, “For what?”

“To be on stage, it’ll be the first time since we were kids.” 

You pause, looking at him, “Are you nervous?”

“A little.” he admits, shrugging, “I mean, people will know that I’m a phony and did nothing.”

“Except you did do something, you mentored. Just because you didn’t help in the boarding school, doesn’t mean anything just yet.” you back up for a minute, “I wish Leo was here to do my makeup, he can do it more evenly than I can.”

“I think it looks good.” Finnick says, “The real problem is the eyeliner, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I’ve been practicing.”

It’s quiet for a second, “You didn’t answer my question.”

A low hum sounds from you as you try and finish up what you’re doing, “I don’t think so.” you move onto your other eye, “It’s not about me, it’s about Annie and her victory. It’s harder to be afraid to look good and stuff like that. I’m not the main focus, we won years ago.”

“Except they’re going to know we’re a couple…” Finnick trails off, “Maybe that isn’t a bad thing.”

You smile, “See? You’re worrying over nothing.”

You finish up what you’re doing, which takes an additional ten minutes. After, you pull on the dress, have Finnick zip up the back, and then sit on the chair in front of the mirror. You lightly curl some of his hair to accentuate the look, it’s also somewhat of a throwback to how he’d look on stage the last time you two were together.

“You look very handsome.” you say, rufflign up his hair to make it look less clean.

“I look handsome? I think you look handsome.” Finnick says.

You fake a gasp, placing your hand on your chest, grinning, “Oh my gosh, thank you.”

He rolls his eyes, laughing. The only thing you have to do is put on jewelry and put on your shoes before it’s too late. You go ahead and do the black heels first, Finnick volunteers to do the ribbons on the bottom because he knows how to tie a tie. When he gets to his feet, you cup his face and kiss him.

All the jewelry is black, except for your ring. You pull on the bracelets, and while you’re positioning them, you spy a wiggly gold one. So, you place it in the middle to make a small pattern, before moving onto your ears. The earrings are dangly black lines, it doesn’t draw much attention, and it’s mostly hidden by your hair, unless you move it behind your shoulder or tuck strands behind your ears.

Just before you think you’re ready enough to go, you go back and apply black lipstick, afraid that Laurel will pick that out when she finally sees you in less than an hour. You make sure that the black isn’t on your teeth, and won’t be transferring onto Finnick if you end up kissing him more. Then, you head out of your room and into the dining room to see that Elysia is just about to leave the apartment too.

She’s dressed in silver, but she isn’t shiny like you are, “I think Annie’s wearing red.” 

“She is.” Finnick says, “It’s a maroon color, goes down to her calves.”

When you first saw the dress when Laurel showed you, it seemed a little dangerous, especially the color. But getting to see it in person a couple days ago, you finally agreed that Annie would like it. Annie’s not really going to get to see herself in the mirror, because they want to make sure she won’t have a panic attack just before the recap and crowning. Everyone was promised to make her glance in the mirror as brief as possible.

Elysia brings you and Finnick to where you’ll be standing when you’re raised. Unlike the first time, this time you and Finnick aren’t separated by a wall. You stand on yours briefly, and Finnick mimics you. A sense of nostalgia goes through you, staring at the wall in front of you like this, hands in your lap. Back then, you were moments from seeing Finnick for the first time since the arena. The first time he’d be able to see you awake, alert, alive.

You’re sure that you hate the feeling of all of this, rushing back into your head fast enough to give you a pounding headache. But you don’t move from the platform, you smile down at it slightly. It’s an old friend, the start of your journey home.

“Finnick?” you ask, looking at him.

His eyes meet yours, the darkness in here makes it nearly impossible to see the smile that appears on his face, “(Y/n)?”

“Thank you.”

His face twists slightly, “For what?”

“For saving me.”

He opens his mouth to ask what you mean, but Elysia appears telling you that Annie has made it down. The prep team and Laurel are going to go get ready, so you have a couple of minutes before you really need to start worrying about being where you should be. She disappears again.

“I’m going to go check on Annie real quick, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” you get off the platform.

Annie is standing by herself in the dark, playing with the smooth ruffles on her dress. She runs her fingers along the cloth, an easy soothing method. When she hears your heels, she looks over, and then smiles.

“Hey,” you stop in front of her, “You look great!”

Her chin lowers slightly, “Thank you, you do too.”

“The recap is going to be extremely easy. All you have to do is smile and wave.” you fix some hair, pulling it over her shoulder, “You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.”

She nods, rubbing her hands down her dress until they disappear, pockets. You totally forgot that Laurel had incorporated pockets into her dress. You don’t even remember why she had done it in the first place, maybe because of the Victory Banquet? You suppose that makes the most sense.

Either way, she pulls out a small strand of rope, already frayed, “Laurel snuck me this.”

“Smart, I didn’t even think to get you something like that.” you nod, “We’ll be up in a couple of minutes, so just stay on the platform. You’ll be brought up last, you’ll hear Caesar and the audience above you.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

You join Finnick back at the plate, stepping onto it and readjusting little things to make sure that they’re in place. Finnick does the same, as the minutes tick down. Before you know it, the anthem is blasting overhead. It’s only a matter of time, now. You’ll be on stage briefly, and then you’ll be sitting in the crowd.

You listen to Caesar greet the audience, and then slowly start to introduce Annie’s prep team. Cleo is up first, then Beth, then Leo. They don’t get extremely loud cheering, as they’re not seen as super important. They only handle hair and makeup, but they still get their own small spotlight. And it’s their second time, too. Elysia is introduced immediately after, you’re sure she’s thrilled that being in District Four is finally paying off.

Of course, Laurel gets loud cheering because she organized Annie’s outfits. You’re sure she’s dressed in black, that’s her go-to color. However, she’s very good at making it not look like a funeral color, and more of a welcome sight. You remember her telling you, once upon a time, that the color shouldn’t be frowned upon and exclusively made for funerals. Just like white, black can be made a bright color too.

You’re not entirely sure about that, considering that you’ve been to more than your fair share of funerals. She can think that the color can be reimagined into something that hasn’t such a dim meaning as soon as it’s seen. But in the districts, it’ll never be given a new meaning. 

You and Finnick are next. You can hear your name being called, a little echo following after. The crowd is already cheering loudly, just as you’re beginning to be pushed up. You wipe the grim look off your face, knowing that it’s not what the audience will want to see. Plus, you’re not entirely sure you want to spend the rest of the day in a bad mood. You still have hours of being around Capitol people ahead of you.

You blink and squint through the light, waving towards the crowd. You can hear your blood rushing in your ears, heart pounding loudly in your chest. You look over to see that Finnick has this cheeky smile on his face, and then he looks at you. It’s an immediate sense of deja vu that washes over you.

As the two of you come together, he holds his hand out for you to take. You slip your palm into his, and pull him to you a little bit to give him a kiss. He meets you halfway, and honestly, if you thought that the cheering before was loud, it gets louder. You smile against his lips, and he can’t help but to let out a little laugh himself.

The two of you meet everyone else at the front of the stage, waving and pointing to the people you recognize from the betting room. At the end, the prep teams lead the way down to the front row of seats, leaving the middle just for you and Finnick. Very last, so she has the entire stage to herself, Annie raises from the ground.

The crowd stands, so you stand with them. You clap, and when Annie has made it to the top of the platform, you go ahead and whistle. You can’t imagine how lonely it is up there, being by herself. Suddenly you’re more appreciative of the fact that the gamemakers gave you an opportunity to go home with Finnick. Imagine standing on that stage, knowing it could have been two.

You squeeze Finnick’s hand a little harder.

Annie sits in the white chair, hands dipping into her pockets. She nonchalantly pulls out her string and messes with it while her recap begins to play. And since all recaps tell a story, hers is ‘lone survivor’. It’s not a happy tale, as it starts with teamwork. She watches Marsh get beheaded in front of her, but the room falls silent when she slits Geare’s throat, and then attacks Sanguin. The recap ends with her on the roof, announcing her own win.

Again, the anthem plays. Annie raises from her spot in her seat, as you all watch President Coriolanus Snow come out from the side, with a girl trailing behind him, carrying the crown on a pillow. He stops in front of Annie, at an angle so that the audience can see. He carefully picks up the crown before placing it on her brow.

He moves out of the way, cheering erupts all around you. Annie places one hand in her pocket, the one that was holding the rope, while she waves with the other. She looks naturally happy here, you wonder how you’ll break the news to her that she won’t have a moment to think to herself after this. You and Finnick won’t be allowed to stay near her the entire night, you’ve got people to talk to, yourselves. 

Caesar finally wraps up the show, bidding you all a good night, with a reminder to tune into tomorrow’s final interview. It’ll be the last real time that they see Annie before the Victory Tour, as tomorrow the last glimpse the cameras will catch is her leaving the train station. After that, she’s in her own protective bubble, away from the cameras.

You all hurry to catch Annie behind the stage, singing praise to how well she did on stage, even if it was just sitting. She looked absolutely wonderful with the crown, Elysia doesn’t stop telling her that, even after you all get in the car. The ride to the Victory Banquet at the President’s Mansion is filled with pure instruction and warning.

“You’ll have a small bit of time to eat before you’re bombarded.” you say, watching as Elysia fixes little bits of Annie’s costume, “So, eat quickly and don’t grab rich foods that you know will make you sick.”

Finnick goes next, “They’re going to want conversation and pictures, so keep it brief and don’t stop smiling. If they offer you drinks, turn it down. There’s a hundred combinations they have, and not all of them are good.”

“We’ll come by every now and then to check on you. But we can’t stay the entire time.”

“You’ll do great.” Elysia assures her.

And just as promised, you leave Annie alone when you get there. Just like her, you and him don’t have much time to yourselves. So, you eat and talk at the same time, covering your mouth occasionally if you’re doing both. The food is rich, cooked perfectly, and delicious. Some food will melt in your mouth immediately, while others you have to chew it a few times before the flavor really kicks in. It’s a buffet, so just like this morning, there’s endless possibilities on what you can taste.

You and Finnick make your way around.

“About earlier, when you thank me for saving you--what were you thinking?” he asks, watching you.

You give him a smile, grabbing a bowl while you carefully spoon in a type of stew that smells savory. When you get the first taste of it, it’s not too thin, and it’s got a variety of spices, too many to think. It’s on the variety of overwhelming, but the thought of more makes your mouth water.

“When I stepped onto the platform, I remembered how I felt when I knew I’d be seeing you in mere minutes.” You look at him, “You were the first thing I asked for when I woke up, did I ever tell you that?”

“No, actually.” he smiles a bit, mirroring you, “If it makes you feel better, I asked if you were okay and alive.”

You laugh, he does too, “When I got on stage…” you quiet for a second, lowering the bowl, “I was relieved.”

“Me too.” Finnick says, “But I was also nervous about kissing you again.” you give him a look, “Honestly!”

“Right, Mister Casanova--”

“Oh, not this again.”

“--who had all the girls in high school wrapped around his finger--”

“(Y/n), it wasn’t like that.” his face is slowly turning red, adjusting his footing.

“--never had his first kiss before me? Okay.” you grin, watching him recollect himself.

As he takes deep breaths, the normal color of his face begins to return, “I never said that, all I said was that I was nervous to kiss you again. Because, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. Go ahead and enlighten me.”

He tilts his head, making a ‘seriously’ face at you. You’re thoroughly enjoying this, watching him explain his feelings. If this is how he gets every single time, you think you’ll have to do it more often. Find the deep things that he hasn’t told you just yet, and watch him get flustered when you pretend not to know.

“You’re telling me that you didn’t notice I liked you? I walked you home after school, in the rain, snow, sun. My mom gave you cookies, (Y/n).” He says, and you have to pause to think.

“I just thought you were being friendly.”

“We hung out everywhere.” he emphasizes.

And you guess he’s right. You thought that you and him didn’t hang out that often, but it’s a lot more than you can recall off the top of your head. You were so preoccupied in your own little bubble, worried about things back home and how they would get done, to notice that he was always there.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier.” you tell him.

He shrugs, “I could always tell there was something on your mind.”

You smile.

Unfortunately, your time together, alone, ends there. You discard your plates and bowls in the proper places, knowing that you’ll be able to pick up more later if you have the time. For now, you talk to sponsors and important Capitol people. It’s mostly praise on how well your mentoring is, to get a tribute as dedicated as Annie is. But it’s also filled with pictures and polite smiles, pulling Finnick in close to join you.

There’s a few people that come around and tell you that they met you beforehand. Some of them you genuinely recognize, others aren’t as memorable, and you figure it’s because they came later. You remember all the faces blurring towards the end of the night. Mostly because they were drunk, dressed the same, and would talk the same before leaving.

You and Finnick work together to keep an eye on Annie. As far as you can tell, she’s holding up well. She seems like she’s comfortable, taking pictures and shaking hands. Elysia checks up on her first, and then comes around to you two to tell you that she’s feeling fine. About an hour later, you two become shields for her to allow her to recollect and start again.

She drinks water, you escort her to the bathroom, and help her pick out foods that will make her feel full. You vaguely know the tastes of all the food, and if you don’t, there’s papers that will tell her. Most of them are on point, some stray altogether. Annie seems to have fun, though, being able to pick her foods instead of having the Capitol regulate what she eats.

After that, you leave her again, wish her luck, and join Laurel and Elysia. They’re enjoying drinks with the prep team, who are all on the verge of making fools of themselves. Depending on the flavor of the alcohol, the color of the drink varies. You pick up a tall glass that fizzes that tastes like pineapple, lemon and orange. Finnick drinks a blue one that tastes like blueberries, blue raspberry and makes his face twist because it’s sour.

Some drinks go down like pure water, others make you pucker and cough from the intensity. Finnick will think that he’s strong enough to take on the drink that you just had, and then he’ll be subjected to the same burning sensation in his throat. You enjoy laughing at him after each time, until he finally learns his lesson.

As the night goes into morning, you and Finnick stop drinking and migrate around to say your goodbyes to as many people as you can before getting Annie with Elysia. All of you pile into the same car, where you’re brought to the Tribute Center. Immediately, Annie is brought to her room.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, just try and get some rest, okay?” you close her door, say goodnight to Elysia, and then you’re left with Finnick.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” he asks, moving some hair out of your face.

“Yeah.”

You slowly undress, hanging the gold dress in the closet, dropping the shoes beneath it. In the bathroom, you shed every piece of jewelry into a single drawer, not caring whether or not it fits in. You don’t have to look good tomorrow, you won’t be on camera until you’re at the train station.

You clean your face, and meet Finnick in the bed. Slipping beneath the blankets, you lay on your back, closing your eyes as you allow the tension in your back and shoulders to escape you. Finnick comes into the room a couple of moments later, no longer wearing his suit, only his boxers.

He jumps onto the bed, making you bounce. You let out a laugh, watching him get under the blankets too. You let him pull you into his body, finding out that he’s a literal furnace. You’re not sure you’ll last too long with the blankets if he’s producing this much heat. Either way, you wrap yourself around him, feeling him pull you against his body.

“I’m so fucking tired.” he says.

“Me too.” you briefly squeeze him, “We’ll be home soon.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “You smell nice.”

“So do you.”

He lets out a half-laugh, before the two of you fall into silence. And eventually, sleep.

--

The morning is chaotic, as you have to move quickly to get ready this morning. Finnick brought in clothes last night to change into this morning. So, while he gets dressed, you briefly pull on a shirt and shorts before going out to eat breakfast with Annie and Elysia.

Annie’s only given so much time. She practically inhales the stew and rice, not having any time to properly enjoy it before the prep team is appearing. Laurel isn’t here just yet, as always. On the way out of the room, Annie picks up a buttered roll on the way out, waving to you and Finnick. She disappears in the hallway, you can hear her door shut.

You and Finnick don’t have a load of time, either. But you’re still allowed to eat slowly and properly savor the taste. When you’re done, you tell Elysia that you’ll be out before Annie starts her interview, and then Finnick goes to grab today’s clothes. You disappear into your room.

You take a shower, which entails washing your hair and your body. You should’ve done it last night, but you were far too tired to actually do it. When you step out, the machines dry you from head to toe, hair included. You pull on skin-matching underwear, and then pull your hair half-up, letting the rest be down like normal.

Makeup isn’t a number one priority, so you settle for mascara. Cameras aren’t going to be focusing on you, as you said. Finnick is sitting in front of the window when you get back inside of your room. He briefly looks over his shoulder to see you, and then back out at the city. The sun is nowhere to be seen, even though it’s past afternoon time by now.

You get dressed in ripped black jeans and a pink shirt. The tennis shoes are also black, the ring blends in slightly, which is the good news. The bad is that you and Finnick are almost matching, because of the shirt he’s wearing. But instead of telling him to get changed, you sit on the bed and pull on your tennis shoes. The city looks fairly alive, considering that Annie will be on television in less than a half hour.

“I’ve been thinking.” Finnick says, you hum, not moving from your spot on the bed, “It wasn’t me that saved you.”

Your eyebrows draw in, “What?”

“It was you who saved me.”

“Finnick, you know how dumb you sound right now, right?” you start, “You saved me from dying--twice! You saved me from the stab wound, and then kept me from falling over the edge of the cliff.”

“But you’re the one who got us to the cliff in the first place. You knew that running headfirst into the careers would get us killed. You were the one that kept pushing on even though you were physically dying--”

“Which wouldn’t have been possible without you healing me!” you say.

“And you were there the entire time during the victory tour.” Finnick’s voice gets quieter, “You held my hand the entire time. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it through.”

You get off the bed and sit next to Finnick, taking his hand in yours. You say nothing, leaning your head against his shoulder. The two of you sit like this for a while, watching the cars dart around in the streets until you have to get up and be there for Annie’s interview.

It’s pretty uniform. You, Elysia and Finnick stand in the doorway, behind the cameras but Annie can still see you if she looks over. Caesar starts off slow for her, cracking jokes and keeping topics light. There’s a few questions he has to ask, which make your hands curl into fists, nervous if this will be what makes her break down. Especially the question about leaving Sanguin alive.

But Annie eases right through it, “I didn’t have to kill her, so I didn’t.” and then moves onto the next question without blinking an eye. It works like this, her answers are informative enough to make sure that Caesar can’t press on, but vague enough to not dig up memories. You’re proud of her.

It goes on for a little while more, as the questions have no set direction. You know that when he’s asking about the end, it’s almost over. So, you cross your arms, watching and listening to Caesar propose the question.

“When you saw the water coming, what was your intention, exactly?” 

Annie pauses for a moment, drawing her lips inward, and then she lets out a smile, “I was trying to run for as long as possible before I had to get into the water. I ran straight, because zig-zagging would only slow me down. And the further I ran, the more the height of the water, and really the intensity, started to lower.

“I got on the roof because I knew that it would be easier to swim to the top of the water from halfway, rather than the bottom. And the pressure at the bottom might have been too much for my ears. I waited until the water was right in front of me before I dived in, so that the impact wouldn’t shock me. At the top, all I had to do was coast and wait until something happened.” Annie finishes, playing with her fingers.

“So, you didn’t anticipate winning?” Caesar asks.

“No, I thought that the other tributes might have been somewhere safe already. That the water would eventually lower, and I’d go right back to trying to survive.”

Caesar smiles, “Which is why the announcement came as a shock.”

Annie smiles back, “Yeah.”

The interview is over. Caesar wraps it up, and the cameras are off. You can hear laughing, watching people hug. Annie raises from where she sat on her chair, and comes over to you and Finnick.

“Home?” She asks hopefully.

“Home.” you repeat.

Just before you all leave for the train, you collect anything that you might want out of your room. You find that the clothes you wore during the reaping are nicely folded and placed on the edge of your bed. You pick it all up, holding it against your chest when you meet Finnick in the hallway, looking the exact same way that you do.

You all meet in the front room together, where you go downstairs and out onto the street to see cars with blackened windows. Together, you, Finnick, Annie, Elysia and Laurel fit into a large car. Where you all assure Annie that she looks great, and that she answers her questions like she should’ve.

She gets a brief moment to say goodbye to Laurel, hugging her and thanking her for everything that she’s done so far. After that, you’re all brought onto the train station, where Annie waves goodbye for a couple of seconds, and then you’re inside, and the doors have closed.

“Holy shit.” you let out, stretching your arms above your head, “Glad that’s over.”

The entire train is dark for a couple of seconds, as you pass through the tunnel on the way out. As soon as light has filled the windows again, Elysia is bringing you all to the dining room to eat. It’s a big dinner, with plenty of courses. Annie seems to have it down by now, and she lasts all the way to the end before she’s full. You and Finnick picked at what you wanted, finishing up with the chocolate lava cake and ice cream.

After, you all sit on the couch together to watch a replay of the interview. Every now and then, Annie will admit how she was thinking of saying something else, and then will tell you what she could’ve said instead. Some of it is letting the audience down more slowly, other times it’s straight-forward and almost out-of-character. Like she’s trying to purposely provoke the Capitol into having an interaction.

When it’s over, you’re left to entertain yourselves. Annie says that she’s heading right to bed, and you and Finnick figure that it won’t hurt to do the same. However, neither of you are tired. For a while, you swing in Finnick’s hammock, talking to him about the boarding school and the schedule, how you’ll fit him in and what the teens will benefit from it.

“You think your brothers will kill me tomorrow?”

“We’ll just barely step off the platform and you’ll be dead.” you laugh, “You have no chance of even making it back home.”

“I think I can run fast.” 

You look over your shoulder, through the holes of the rope at Finnick, who’s watching you. You tilt your head, amused by the thought of him managing to outrun Reed, “I don’t think you’ll make it ten feet. He’ll just jump at you. What will you do then?”

Finnick sputters out a laugh, “Jump out of the way, easy peasy.”

You laugh a little too loud, covering your mouth. When you settle, you say; “I think they’ll be happy to see you again.”

You can hear Finnick get up, and you watch as he comes closer, standing next to you. He takes your hand in his, squeezing it, “Good, because I don’t plan on going away ever again.”

You give Finnick a soft smile, “I know.”

--

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@f1nal-g1rl / @starlight-selene / @neenieweenie / @amixedwitch / @accxio / @suranne-doesstuff

[ohallthecrushes]

Christmas lights // Arthur Fleck x Reader

A/N: Happy Holiday to you all! I hope you all safe and not lonely and spending these days in peace and comfort. ❤️✨🎄

Word counts:1239

November was always a though month for Arthur. Not only because it was cold, grey and there were not enough sunny days, but because there was this time of the year that people spend with family and their loved ones, while Arthur had only his mother who’s mind wasn’t even present most of the times.

She sometimes mentioned about Christmas but most of her sayings was about how their apartment should look more festive and how beautiful Wayne’s residence had looked like this time of the year when she’d worked there.

It was unnecessary to mention that and it only hurt Arthur’s feelings, because he was too poor to buy any Christmas decorations to make the apartment more cozy and up to his mother’s expectations.

He didn’t even dare to think about gifts that he knew he’d never get and never give to anyone. He only had Penny and Penny didn’t care.

So the closer to Christmas time, the more lonely Arthur felt. Abandoned, unseen, forgotten. Alone.

For the good of his already fragile and disturbed mental state he tried to find something, at least one thing that would make him feel happy and less crappy about his life.

Christmas lights and decorations almost made the trick. Arthur really enjoyed them and always looked up at windows and balconies to get mesmerized by colorful lights that covered the ugliness of the city.

It was right then when he walked down the street looking up and not where he was going. He bumped into you and your eyes met for a long moment of surprise and admiration.

This little accident was a holiday miracle that Arthur had wished for.

An exact year later you were a happy couple that lived together and you recalled the day you first met with sentiments and gratefulness.

And Christmas was about to become a wonderful time filled with love, passion and kindness. Something that Arthur had always been dreamed of and more than he could ever imagined.

It was what he deserved even if he didn’t believe so.

You knew about his past Christmas and the sad way he’d spent them, but you also knew about his dreams and fantasies, the way Christmas should be that he always had hoped for. And you knew his beautiful and romantic soul that had captured your heart.

You loved him so much that you wanted to make sure that your first Christmas together would be as perfect as it was shown in old romantic movies that Arthur liked to watch. You didn’t have much money to make it look as festive as in the television, but you put your effort to it to make it look cozy and colorful. From decorations and music to food and gifts - everything was tick-tack like a Swiss watch.

You were waiting for him till he got home (Carnival had a special day at hospital as a Santa), dressed in a pretty red dress with your hair made and your make up on. He was a little late, but it was expected. Carnival was quite famous in a children ward, but as Santa with small gifts for everyone, he became a superstar for the day. It was hard for children to finally let him go and hard for Arthur to leave them.

But he had to go home to his loved one.

As you heard him turning the key, you rushed to the door and opened them before him.

You both smiled wide as you looked at each other. You were both happy and childlike excited for what the evening would offer to you.

As he stepped into the apartment, you kissed first as in a rush, deep and sloppy. Then when he parted from you, he let himself look around.

You took pride in what you prepared for him and enjoyed so much the way he reacted on that.

His whole face was smiling and tears of happiness quickly filled his sparkling eyes.

He made a tour around the flat, admiring every single detail and I mean every single one before he stopped before you and took you in his arms for a very long and tight hug.

He tried to thank you, he really did, but words stuck in his throat and he couldn’t speak. He kissed you again instead with tears rolling down his cheeks and you got emotional as well. And it would not be the last time this evening as you soon was about to find out.

You felt his body moving in a rhythm to the music in his mind. You swayed with him for a while, calming down a little as you took him all in, felt him with all your senses.

He smelled like your favorite cologne and his red suit matched your dress. His hair was a little greasy due to the sweat, but you liked the vision of you washing his hair later that night.

His face... oh his face... You could see the whole cosmos in his eyes, like all the galaxies had found a safe place behind his iris. The features of his face were like a book you could read easily. And the smile that you’d created was the most beautiful thing you’d ever witnessed.

He felt so dreamlike, yet so real at the same time.

You were all caught up with him being here with you, existing in the same universe as you, that you almost didn’t hear him speaking to you as he told you to wait and rushed to the hallway to get his bag.

He had a gift for you, a small and cheap one, but it came from his heart and was personal and that was enough for you to burst in tears.

Before he said anything or even gave you it with shaking hands, you were already nodding your head like crazy.

He had prepared a special speech for you, a love letter he had wanted to read, but at that moment he found you clinging to his chest, so he kept you there in his arms, kissing the top of your head until you got steady enough to offer him a finger to put a ring on it.

It was such a romantic moment, the most precious gift you had ever gotten, and this Christmas couldn’t be more perfect than this.

Soon the emotions got less intense and you were able to spend the rest of the night as you planned, eating gingerbread cookies, watching holiday comedies while cuddling under a blanket, and dancing to Frank Sinatra between the movies. You were also admiring the Christmas lights and reliving the day when you were lucky enough to meet, before you went to bedroom to embrace yourselves with love and passion you held for each other.

Arthur felt like he was in a dream that he wished he would never ever wake up. You made him so happy, so truly really happy, that he couldn’t believe was even possible to feel this way. Almost unearthly supernatural feeling.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you and compliments fell from his lips every time you looked back at him. He just couldn’t stop thanking the universe to send you to him.

In his mind you were the luckiest people alive and your apartment was the most beautiful and magical in whole Gotham and even the world, and heaven knew it was all true.

[prongsisabadger]

TWP Chapter 27

The fact that the extraction team was in orbit didn't mean we would be getting out of Felucia right away. The separatist forces had blockaded the system and the fighters would have to punch a hole in it first. I would have worried about it if it hadn't been the 104th that had been sent. The pack had incredibly talented pilots, most of them reassigned to him after their former squadrons had been destroyed.

Very early on, Master Plo had decided he would take in any troopers who had lost their entire squads and needed to be reassigned. According to Ahsoka, some Masters thought it silly. Why want a battalion made up of whichever troops death hadn't claimed? None of them had worked together before, they didn't know each other's dynamics and would probably be an inefficient group of traumatized misfits.

Turns out they weren't. Scarred and burdened with survivor's guilt, the members of the Pack got very close, very fast because they had a lot in common: they all yearned for comfort, a place to belong to. That is what the Pack was. In addition to that, Master Plo's caring yet imposing nature made for an incredible leader to rally behind. That, and soldiers who survive the loss of an entire squadron are either lucky or skilled, either way they were both good things to have in battle.

So you could see why I wasn't concerned, the best pilots in the GAR were coming to break the blockade, and break the blockade they would. There were brothers to save, Generals to aid and their very own Commander to get back. I will not lie and say I thought myself unimportant to the Pack, no, I knew I could count on them to have my back whenever I needed them because they knew I would give my life to protect them too.

Still, with the two droid battalions approaching fast from the northeast, and the possibility of the divided forces in front of us overwhelming Ahsoka, I had no time to waste keeping my eye on the sky. I had the 212th to protect too. I put all my worries aside and focused on the battle at hand. It was amazing how fast I could force my mind to compartmentalize things in the heat of battle. I realized it all came crashing down on me once the adrenaline abbed away and I found myself in a safe environment once again. It made sense, in my mind, to be able to do it, I had been Plo Koon's padawan for a few years before the start of the war and most of that time I'd been training in Dorin. The only real action I ever saw was as a member of the GAR and I'd been surrounded by soldiers the entire time. It was only natural for me to learn from and adapt to my environment.

"Commander!" it took me a second to realize it was T.H. over the comm who was trying to reach me. "Commander, do you read me?"

"Yes, T.H."

"Commander, the enemy to the northeast is five minutes out. We'll be outflanked any minute." There was distress in his voice, urgency, but not fear. He believed we would get out of there no matter the cost. but it would cost.

I turned to my master and started to back away and towards T.H's position before I yelled, "Master! I'm off to reinforce the northeast, the enemy is almost here."

He nodded, never taking his gaze away from the droids marching towards us.

"Make sure the men are ready to leave at a moment's notice."

I crossed the clearing as fast as I could, jumping over ammo crates and sprinting full speed to where I could feel T.H. As I approached the like of firing troopers, I switched my saber ona and took my stance right at the front. This was going to get ugly.

"Alright, boys, the 104th is trying to break through, we better stay alive until they arrive!" I said in as light a tone as I could manage. "Whoever kills more tinnies gets free drinks!"

"You heard the Commander, Fellas" chuckled Waxer over the comms. "She's buying my drinks tonight!"

"Yeah right, you have the aim of a geonosian bug, Waxer. I'm getting those drinks!" answered another clone.

Suddenly the commlink was alive with light hearted banter and renewed morale born of healthy competition.

"If I win though, you boys are buying for me, and I'm planning on hitting Coruscant clubs hard once we head back." I chuckled, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. We were all trying not to lose our cool as we waited for the next wave of droids to arrive and it showed.

"I never thought you were the type, Commander." Teased Boil.

"I'm not, but one's 18th solar return happens only once, trooper. And I didn't have my Age of Responsibility celebration last year, the war kinda got in the way." I laughed.

The commlink went wild, and all of a sudden I had half a platoon making arrangements for when we went back to Coruscant. The battle started, but no one seemed to notice, they were all too excited planning a bar hopping route and picking who was in charge of what for each of them. Was it unprofessional? Very much so, yes. The entire situation seemed almost fictional: troopers staring death in the face while excitedly planning a celebration. But I hadn't been aiming for professionalism, I had wanted to give them something to look forward to. I wanted them to have something to fight for other than their lives, as trivial as a solar return celebration seemed at the moment.

We had little time left on the battlefield anyway. The Pack had managed to create an opening in the enemy's blockade of Felucia and now the gunships were landing all over us to get every single soldier, Jedi and Padawan off the Force forsaken planet. I almost didn't realize the clone that came up behind me and started to lay cover fire had his armour painted gray. It was only when I felt Art through the Force that I realized we were going home.

The entire force that had been guarding the north east boarded the gunships without a second's hesitation.

"Double time, Boys. We still have to make it up to the cruiser!" I encouraged them as they all moved.

Once every last man was on board I ordered the pilot to take off. After getting clear of the foliage, I made a head count and found every trooper was present and accounted for. I reported to Master Kenobi of our situation and took the liberty of asking about Ahsoka.

"Your friend is following her Master's teachings," Said Obi-Wan with what sounded like a frustrated sigh in my ear. "I hope her habit of disobeying orders isn't contagious. I'd hate to have to go through this again with you, Kriari."

I chuckled, thinking of all those stories he had told me about Anakin as a Padwan.

"Don't worry, Master, I think Master Skywalker's made your hair go gray enough."

"Careful, young one, Anakin might be offended." He retorted with a light tone. I assumed Master Skywalker was somewhere around him and listening to every word we said.

I cut the link and focused on the rising tension around me. The gunship was swerving violently from side to side as the pilots attempted to keep us all airborne and alive. I felt the need to reassure them, tell them everything was going to be okay. But I didn't want to lie. My connection to the Force was strong, but not strong enough to see the future.

"So, who's paying for drinks tonight?"

...

"And then there was this huge argument -mid flight- about who had had the most kills and who hadn't because apparently the Commander thought alcohol was the best encouragement for the 212th. And now we need to coordinate this big ass Solar Return celebration because both battalions got excited and wanted in." Explained Headfirst trying not to laugh at how ridiculous the situation had been. "I mean the pilot was trying not to get shot down and still he went 'If I get us all on board the cruiser, do I get free drinks too?'"

The entire table burst out in laughter as we had our first meal post battle. I had left both Master Kenobi and Skywalker to deal with Ahsoka and what I assumed was a major fuck up judging by how serious they all were being about it. AfterI finished my meal, I left the men to their own devices so I could get cleaned up.

It took the Pack no time to welcome me back. I got salutes, pats on the shoulder, on the back and even a few "good to have you back, Commander" as I walked down the corridors and to my quarters to shower.

Scrubbing the dirt and grime of the battlefield felt better than I had anticipated. I was sore from the explosion and the rough landing that followed, but nothing seemed to be broken. I waited for my clothes to dry after washing them with an old robe wrapped around me. I had missed my quarters aboard the ship so much. The walls had been decorated by a few of Art's creations, a mirror and a few pictures of the Pack and I after missions. The sheets had been changed from their original grey and white to more earthy tones -I had been missing the Temple quite a lot at the time- and the closet had most of my clothes in it, if not all of them. The lingering smell of incense I'd burned the last time I had been on board still stuck to the walls and sheets. This had become my home after the Temple had been flooded by force sensitive children escaping the war. And the cozyness and familiarity of it all put me more at ease than I had been in a very long time. Not that I didn't like the 212th or my quarters there, but it was definitely not the same, even if I wore their colors on the armour for my left arm.

I got re-dressed and dried and styled my hair in its usual side part before re-braiding the longer strand on the back of my neck. I -of course- put my armour back on, but not without polishing it first. A Jedi must always look their best, they are a symbol and a representation of the Republic in the war. If we were roughed up, disheveled and dirty then it didn't do any good for morale.

As I finished smoothing away my robes, someone knocked on my door, which was odd in itself. I had already given my report and spoken to the hologram of the Council before heading for the mess hall. I hadn't had the chance to speak with either Master Plo or Wolffe because they were both engaged in post-battle protocol and I hadn't wanted to disturb them. I would get to see them later anyway now that my tour with Master Kenobi had come to an end.

I opened the door to a stone faced Wolffe. His posture and demeanor only seemed to have gotten colder and rougher during the time we'd been apart, but I still could feel how uneasy and unsure he was as he stood there, proud and strong as someone of his rank and experience.

"Commander, I wasn't expecting visits, I was on my way to the bridge to greet you and Master Plo." I said with a smile and just a smidge of confusion in my tone.

Wolffe only grew more uncomfortable with each second which was very unusual of him. I knew we had been on almost friendly terms when we last saw each other so this sudden change puzzled me greatly.

"Would you like to come in?" I asked finally, a little lost on what to do at his lack of an answer.

This seemed to startle him because he rejected my offer right away, like the idea was preposterous -which it might have been but I had a mute soldier in front of my quarters so what was I to do?

"I was-" he started before clearing his throat, his cheeks tinting slightly. "I was here to deliver something to you on behalf of the 104th." he said, pulling out a sheath from behind him.

It wasn't longer than my forearm and the sheath was the exact same grey color as my utility belt and lightsaber. Unable to say anything I took the weapon and unsheathed it. It was a beautifully crafted vibroblade. I looked up at Wolffe, grateful, confused, and a little giddy. He didn't return my gaze, in fact he was purposefully avoiding it. I didn't mind, he wasn't the type to show he cared, this was very new to him.

"Thank you, Wolffe. It's beautiful," I said, securing it horizontally on my belt at the small of my back. "But to what do I owe this amazing gift?"

Wolffe's face colored even further as he steeled his resolve and turned to look me in the eyes.

"Your armour has too much orange in it. We felt a little more gray was necessary."

[waywardfangirl]

I was incredibly fortunate to get to write for the wonderful @fight-surrender in the Carry On Secret Snowflake exchange, and she gave some of the best prompts I've seen. I ended up choosing to write a meet-cute (a meet-ugly, really) that takes place on the beach and centers around Simon's new fixation on the supposed dangers lurking below the waves.

I have to give a giant thank you to @foolofabookwyrm and @caitybuglove23 for being excellent betas, cheerleaders, and for helping me get the fic formatted and posted when my computer stopped working - you guys are the best! 💜💜💜

You can read the fic below, or on AO3!

Simon

 

I've always wanted to go to the beach. Growing up in care, I never had the opportunity to, but now that Penny and I are done with university and enjoying weekends without the threat of homework hanging over our heads, I finally can. Of course, we don't live close to the beach, so our day trip took some planning, but it gave me time to look up all the best places to eat, and it gave Penny time to watch every possible documentary about the ocean. I watched a lot of them with her, and while I know I probably won't see all of the tropical fish that swam across our TV screen, I'm still really excited to see the ocean. 

 

Unfortunately, I also happened to be in the room while Penny watched some show called “Predators from the Deep”, or something along those lines, so my excitement is also tinged with trepidation (or outright fear) of some of the things lurking under the waves.

“Sharks aren’t anything to worry about, Simon! They don’t want to attack you, and the likelihood of even seeing a shark here is extremely low.”

 

“It’s not the sharks I’m worried about, Pen! It’s all of the other stuff, all those little parasites, and the poisonous things, and the spiny ones.” The documentary was filled with shadowy shots of spiked balls and spotted tentacles just waiting to attack some unsuspecting wader.

 

“Don’t eat any of it then,” she replies, hardly even paying attention to me as she smooths out her blanket and sets up the umbrella.

 

“What?”

 

“You said you were worried about the poisonous things, so just don’t eat anything you find in the ocean.”

 

“They can hurt me even if I don’t eat them! What about that one octopus?”

 

“That was venomous, not poisonous, there’s a difference.” She squirts sunscreen into her palms and then slaps them lightly onto my cheeks, not allowing me time to squirm away.

 

“Whatever, venomous then, there are still things to be scared of in there!”

 

Penny ducks under the arm I have flung out to point at the ocean with, and grabs two waters from our cooler.

 

“You’ll be fine Simon, I promise.” She shoves a bottle into my hands. “Rub in your sun cream, and let’s walk by the edge of the water, alright? You’ll like it, we can find shells!” She starts off, picking her way through the sand and looking back only once to make sure that I’m following her.

 

It turns out that the water feels quite nice, even soothing. The sounds of the waves and the feel of cool water splashing my ankles combine to make me feel safe. They make me forget about the horrors lurking off-shore.

Penny has a handful of shells and has started handing me others to put in the pocket of my swim shorts. I’ve found a few shells of my own too, but I stopped paying such close attention to the ground about ten minutes ago, when I noticed a man about our own age playing in the waves with his younger siblings.

 

He has dark hair, originally falling around his face but now wet with seawater and slicked back to emphasize his widow’s peak. He’s still too far away for me to tell what color his eyes are, but as Penny and I walk closer I’m able to make out more of his facial expressions. He seems to be putting on sneers for show and occasionally gives bright smiles for the younger kids swarming him. He’s wearing one of those long-sleeved swim shirts, but it’s clinging tight to his body. He looks like he could be a footballer with all of the muscles I can see, even at this distance.

 

I’ve been trying not to stare too openly at him, but I can’t really help it - there’s just something about him that keeps drawing me in.It’s almost as if I’m under some sort of spell or thrall. Right now though, I’m extremely glad I’ve been so captivated by him, because I seem to be the only person on the beach who realizes the danger we’re all in.

 

Curling around the man’s left ankle are the tentacles of an octopus, surely about to stick its fangs into him and inject him with its venom (or whatever it is octopuses do to kill people).

 

"Octopus!" I yell. I’m at a loss for any other words, but I’m desperately trying to warn Penny as I sprint off to rescue him.

 

"Ooh, where?" She doesn't sound nearly concerned enough for the looming threat of death hanging over us all, but I'll talk to her about taking proper safety precautions later. Right now, I have to go save the life of the prettiest person I've ever seen.

 

"Octopus! Octopus!" I can't seem to make any other phrases come out of my mouth, but eventually the man looks up to see me barreling towards him, flailing my arms and yelling at the top of my lungs. He raises an eyebrow at me, staying far too calm considering the mortal peril he's in, and glances behind him to see who else I could possibly be talking to.

 

Unfortunately, that means he's not paying attention enough to sidestep me when the combination of my momentum and adrenalin send me toppling into him. We both splash down into the small waves lapping at the sand and I scramble to extricate myself from his long limbs as quickly as possible, crawling down to examine his ankles and prepared to risk my own life if I have to pull the octopus off of him.

 

"What are you doing? " His voice is lovely and posh, the vowels round and smooth and expensive.

 

"Saving your life, mate, you're welcome by the way," I grunt as I make another unsuccessful grab for the tentacles.

 

"From what? All you've done so far is endanger me, pushing me down and holding me in the water." He pauses. "If this is your attempt at murder by drowning, I think I pity you. First, you caused a scene by yelling the whole way down the beach before you assaulted me, and now you're not even bothering to hold my head under this truly pathetic amount of water. You're an absolute disaster."

 

"I told you—" (why are these tentacles so hard to grab,) "I'm not trying to kill you, I'm trying to save you."

 

"Save me from what, exactly?"

 

Ha! I've got you now, evil cephalopod!

 

"This!"

 

I hold the octopus up in triumph, feeling the water drip onto my sodden hair.

 

"From… a clump of seaweed?"

 

"What? No. No, it's an octopus."

 

Slowly, I lower the mass in my hand down to eye level, and immediately I feel my cheeks flame in embarrassment.

 

"Oh. Right. Sorry, then."

 

I try to push back from him and stand up, but my hand won't release the seaweed (it really did look like an octopus!). When I try to move a wave hits me, washing the sand out from under my foot and making me flounder for a few moments, only compounding my embarrassment. When I finally look up at the man I accidentally assaulted, he seems entirely unbothered by anything. He's lounging back on his elbows, somehow managing to look down his nose at me even though I'm sitting up fully now, and it's simply unfair how defined his abs are, even under his shirt.

 

"Do you make a habit of doing things like this?"

 

His eyes are too intense for me to look at any longer, they're a grey color that seems to be shifting to reflect the ocean behind me, and I have to busy myself with peeling the green fronds of seaweed away from my fingers.

 

"Like what?"

 

"Attacking strangers or playing the hero, take your pick."

 

"Sorry. I thought it was an octopus and I didn't want you to die," I mumble. This prick should be grateful, where does he get off being so smug anyway?

 

"Why on earth would I have died from an octopus touching me?"

 

"Because they're one of the most deadly creatures on earth!"

 

"What? No they're not. Not the ones around here, anyway. The blue ringed octopus is incredibly deadly, but it lives in the Pacific Ocean."

 

"But, couldn't they-"

 

He levels me with a look that could probably set me on fire.

 

"Mordelia!" One of the children comes running over from where they fled when I tackled their brother. She looks to be about twelve or thirteen, and while she isn't quite as dark and villainous looking as her brother she still has his same air of superiority. "Does this gentleman need to be worried about being attacked, maimed, or killed by any octopuses while swimming today?"

 

This kid - Mordelia, I guess - levels me with the most condescending look I have ever seen, and just scoffs . Actually scoffs at me, like I'm an imbecile. (Although, I still have seaweed stuck to me, so she may be onto something there.)

 

"No. Most accounts of cephalopod attacks can't be proven, and the few that have been entirely substantiated occurred in vastly different habitats or under circumstances that this beach couldn't support."

 

With that, she turns and runs back to the rest of her family, leaving me with only a parting eye roll.

 

"She's going through a marine biology phase."

 

It's the first thing the dark haired man has said to me in a casual manner, and I startle a bit. 

 

"Did you also have a marine biology phase?"

 

I think my question catches him off-guard, and I smirk.

 

"Perhaps," he answers after a beat. "But Mordelia's has been going on for three years now, so we think it may actually stick. Mine dried up after only a few months."

 

He smiles at me for the first time since I knocked him over, and it's almost painful how handsome he is, sprawled out elegantly on the beach like he's in an ad for expensive watches or cologne or something, and I can't believe I tackled him because of some stupid seaweed.

 

"I had a dinosaur phase," I confess, smiling back at him.

 

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" I reach down to help him up, and I'm shocked at how cold his fingers are, and how much I want to warm them up in my own. It's too bad I made such a horrible first impression, I would otherwise be sorely tempted to ask him out on a date. "What's your name, by the way? You've already attacked me, had we been in cars we would have exchanged names and proofs of insurance by now."

 

I’m such a mess. I didn't even think to ask what his name was.

 

"Simon. I'm Simon."

 

I go to shake his hand, and then realize that we're still holding hands, and I feel my cheeks grow redder still.

 

"Hello Simon, I'm Baz. It's nice to meet you, although the next time we meet I sincerely hope you can refrain from throwing yourself quite so bodily at me before we've even said hello."

 

"Yeah, umm, I'm sorry, really, I-" My brain catches up with my mouth. "Wait, did you say next time? "

 

His mouth curls up into a grin, and he gives my hand a squeeze as I try to figure out how I messed up so badly and things still worked out so well.

 

"Of course. For our first date, perhaps we can go to the aquarium and you can see what an octopus really looks like."

[uselessidiotsquad]

41/55 from the drabbles 👀

Thank you for the ask! :D

41. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Oh? Sigilis hours? Don't mind if I do!

TW: Alcohol, swearing, violence (typical Sigilis activities), drunken idiots being drunken idiots.

"Busy night, huh?" Sigilis said, leaning on the counter and finishing the last of her pint. There seemed to be little room in the Serrated Blade today, lots of bodies, lots of booze.

"Yeah, that's one way to put it. Tell you the truth, that group’s been nothing but trouble.” He pointed to the table in the corner that saw six Charr behaving in a raucous fashion. “Young warband who had managed to clear out a nest full of harpies so they're celebrating."

"How'd you figure that one out?"

Gallowknot blinked. "They're drunk and boasting. Not hard to miss. Where’d Galla run off to?”

“Went back to work on her latest report, she’s not much of a drinker these days.”

“That’s fair, not everyone has your hollow leg.”

Sigilis grinned and raised the fresh tankard of ale that had been set in front of her. “Hah! Cheers, I’ll drink to that.”

She managed to down another pint in peace before the given nature of victorious, bold drunkards happened to interrupt her evening. A young white and grey speckled Charr decided to approach her, staggering like he hadn’t found his sea legs. Giving him a rather unimpressed look, she quickly sized him up. Blood Legion Colors, two-handed sword, shit-eating grin. Noting with distaste that he hadn’t even cleaned his sword from fighting, the brown crust of old blood still clung to the blade. Probably the Legionnaire for this shambling group of thugs. The other customers saw where this was leading as well and either gave him space or moved to the far edges of the tavern.

“Why don’t you go scurry off to the Gladium’s trash heap? The fleas are missin’ your company!” He wheezed out, laughing at his own insult. The company behind him joined suit in obnoxious, mindless laughter.

“Why don’t you shut up and have another drink? You missed frying a couple of braincells there, cub.”

“Don’t you get mouthy with me, you ragged old bitch, I’ll rip your ugly face right the fuck open.”

Sigilis snorted, counting her silver and leaving the coins on the counter. Making her way towards the door, the stumbling Charr trailing behind her by a few steps, leering. She had been content enough to leave and let the bland, unoriginal insults bounce off of her until the young warrior made a dire mistake.

“And once I’m done with you I’ll tear into that tall freak you’re always hiding behind! Bet you need a ladder to ride that one, huh?”

The spotted Engineer stop abruptly on her way to the exit, causing one of the other members of the warband to start cackling. A wiry, soot colored Charr with uneven teeth. “I think you struck a nerve with that!”

Sigilis sighed and grumbled to herself. “I am not nearly drunk enough for this.”

She grabbed a bottle of wine that had been sitting on the shelf and turning, broke it over the head of the already wobbling figure behind her. He grabbed at his horns but listed sideways, like a ship taking on water. As he fell to the ground with a satisfying thud, one or two of the other members of the warband stood up- reaching for their weapons. Seeing as they were far more intoxicated than she was, their reaction times worked in her favor. She caught the scrawny black runt as he made a leap at her and slammed his head into the edge of the counter. Sigilis gave him credit, he must have had a thick skull as it left quite a dent in the metal. Whimpering, he crawled on all fours back to the table where one of the other members helped him to his feet.

“Take it outside, ladies.” The Barkeep said without looking up from washing several of the empty tankards. “I’m sure your Centurion would love to know about the type of activities you’ve been up to.”

The threat seemed to quell the buzz of over eager drunkards, who shuffled around their table and knocked the chairs over as they went past. Skulking out in single file and occasionally stumbling into each other. Either they didn’t want the barkeep to genuinely act on his threat - or they simply were too sloshed to think of it but they forgot to drag their Legionnaire out with them.

“Dumber than a sack of hammers.” Sigilis remarked, getting a nod of agreement from the Charr who had finished putting away empty mugs behind the counter. At least when she was young and dumb, she managed to win the fights she started. “What do I owe you for the wine and the, uh, counter?”

“Just drag his carcass out of here and we’ll be even. He’s been here before and never tips worth a dolyak’s ass.”

The engineer nodded, rummaging in the unconscious warrior’s pockets until she found his satchel of coins. Opening it, she saw a few shiny pieces of gold with and a decent amount of silver. Pocketing two of the coins, she dropped the bag with the remaining money on the counter. Looking positively jubilant.

“Will this cover it?”

The orange and yellow striped Charr peered into the leather bag of change and gave her a satisfied look. “Why yes, that will do just fine.”

She gave him another toothy grin before dragging the unconscious Charr to the exit and yelling,

“Hey fuckwits, did you forget something?!”

[aboveallarescuer]

Dany and Missandei’s relationship

This is a list of all the passages from the books featuring key moments in Dany and Missandei’s relationship.

Here is what some casual fans think of their relationship:

She has consistently appeared to forget about the people she’s conquered beyond their capacity to serve and obey her. And sure, Missandei is her best friend, but she’s essentially a token on Game of Thrones, meant to be a stand-in for the Unsullied as a whole, a relationship that convinces us Dany loves her people. But this doesn’t really align with the way Dany has treated all those other Unsullied.

All of this means that when we see Dany freaking out while Missandei dies, it rings more than a little hollow; Dany’s best friend may be a person of color, but that doesn’t make her less problematic as a white savior. (x)

I would argue that the books (and heck, the show as well!!!) tell a very different story.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

Jhiqui and Irri would be waiting atop her pyramid back in Meereen, she told herself. Her sweet scribe Missandei as well, and all her little pages. They would bring her food, and she could bathe in the pool beneath the persimmon tree. It would be good to feel clean again. Dany did not need a glass to know that she was filthy.

~

As the world darkened, Dany settled in and closed her eyes, but sleep refused to come. The night was cold, the ground hard, her belly empty. She found herself thinking of Meereen, of Daario, her love, and Hizdahr, her husband, of Irri and Jhiqui and sweet Missandei, Ser Barristan and Reznak and Skahaz Shavepate. Do they fear me dead? I flew off on a dragon’s back. Will they think he ate me?

ADWD Daenerys IX

“Even if the pits must open, must Your Grace go yourself?” asked Missandei as she was washing the queen’s hair.

“Half of Meereen will be there to see me, gentle heart.”

“Your Grace,” said Missandei, “this one begs leave to say that half of Meereen will be there to watch men bleed and die.”

She is not wrong, the queen knew, but it makes no matter.

~

As Jhiqui brushed Dany’s hair and Irri painted the queen’s nails, they chattered happily about the day’s matches. Missandei reemerged. “Your Grace. The king bids you join him when you are dressed. And Prince Quentyn has come with his Dornish Men. They beg a word, if that should please you.”

Little about this day shall please me. “Some other day.”

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“My queen?” said a soft voice in the darkness.

Dany flinched. “Who is there?”

“Only Missandei.” The Naathi scribe moved closer to the bed. “This one heard you crying.”

“Crying? I was not crying. Why would I cry? I have my peace, I have my king, I have everything a queen might wish for. You had a bad dream, that was all.”

“As you say, Your Grace.” She bowed and made to go.

“Stay,” said Dany. “I do not wish to be alone.”

“His Grace is with you,” Missandei pointed out.

“His Grace is dreaming, but I cannot sleep. On the morrow I must bathe in blood. The price of peace.” She smiled wanly and patted the bed. “Come. Sit. Talk with me.”

“If it please you.” Missandei sat down beside her. “What shall we talk of?”

“Home,” said Dany. “Naath. Butterflies and brothers. Tell me of the things that make you happy, the things that make you giggle, all your sweetest memories. Remind me that there is still good in the world.”

Missandei did her best. She was still talking when Dany finally fell to sleep, to dream queer, half-formed dreams of smoke and fire.

The morning came too soon.

ADWD Daenerys VII

Dany sat amongst the rumpled bedclothes with her arms about her knees, so forlorn that she did not hear when Missandei came creeping in with bread and milk and figs. “Your Grace? Are you unwell? In the black of night this one heard you scream.”

Dany took a fig. It was black and plump, still moist with dew. Will Hizdahr ever make me scream? “It was the wind that you heard screaming.” She took a bite, but the fruit had lost its savor now that Daario was gone.

~

When he was gone, Missandei brought the queen a simple meal of goat cheese and olives, with raisins for a sweet. “Your Grace needs more than wine to break her fast. You are such a tiny thing, and you will surely need your strength today.”

That made Daenerys laugh, coming from a girl so small. She relied so much on the little scribe that she oft forgot that Missandei had only turned eleven. They shared the food together on her terrace. As Dany nibbled on an olive, the Naathi girl gazed at her with eyes like molten gold and said, “It is not too late to tell them that you have decided not to wed.”

It is, though, the queen thought, sadly. “Hizdahr’s blood is ancient and noble. Our joining will join my freedmen to his people. When we become as one, so will our city.”

“Your Grace does not love the noble Hizdahr. This one thinks you would sooner have another for your husband.”

I must not think of Daario today. “A queen loves where she must, not where she will.” Her appetite had left her. “Take this food away,” she told Missandei. “It is time I bathed.”

~

Missandei reemerged from inside the pyramid. “Reznak and Skahaz beg the honor of escorting Your Grace to the Temple of the Graces. Reznak has ordered your palanquin made ready.”

Meereenese seldom rode within their city walls. They preferred palanquins, litters, and sedan chairs, borne upon the shoulders of their slaves. “Horses befoul the streets,” one man of Zakh had told her, “slaves do not.” Dany had freed the slaves, yet palanquins, litters, and sedan chairs still choked the streets as before, and none of them floated magically through the air.

“The day is too hot to be shut up in a palanquin,” said Dany. “Have my silver saddled. I would not go to my lord husband upon the backs of bearers.”

“Your Grace,” said Missandei, “this one is so sorry, but you cannot ride in a tokar.”

The little scribe was right, as she so often was. The tokar was not a garment meant for horseback. Dany made a face. “As you say. Not the palanquin, though. I would suffocate behind those drapes. Have them ready a sedan chair.” If she must wear her floppy ears, let all the rabbits see her.

ADWD Daenerys VI

When Daenerys returned to her pyramid, sore of limb and sick of heart, she found Missandei reading some old scroll whilst Irri and Jhiqui argued about Rakharo.

~

A cool wind was blowing on her terrace. Dany sighed with pleasure as she slipped into the waters of her pool. At her command, Missandei stripped off her clothes and climbed in after her. “This one heard the Astapori scratching at the walls last night,” the little scribe said as she was washing Dany’s back.

Irri and Jhiqui exchanged a look. “No one was scratching,” said Jhiqui. “Scratching … how could they scratch?”

“With their hands,” said Missandei. “The bricks are old and crumbling. They are trying to claw their way into the city.”

“This would take them many years,” said Irri. “The walls are very thick. This is known.”

“It is known,” agreed Jhiqui.

“I dream of them as well.” Dany took Missandei’s hand. “The camp is a good half-mile from the city, my sweetling. No one was scratching at the walls.”

“Your Grace knows best,” said Missandei. “Shall I wash your hair? It is almost time. Reznak mo Reznak and the Green Grace are coming to discuss—”

“—the wedding preparations.” Dany sat up with a splash. “I had almost forgotten.” Perhaps I wanted to forget.

~

Daario’s announcement had sparked an uproar. Reznak was wailing, the Shavepate was muttering darkly, her bloodriders were swearing vengeance. Strong Belwas thumped his scarred belly with his fist and swore to eat Brown Ben’s heart with plums and onions. “Please,” Dany said, but only Missandei seemed to hear. The queen got to her feet. “Be quiet! I have heard enough.”

ADWD Daenerys V

She would have kissed her good knight on the cheek, but just then Missandei appeared beneath the arched doorway. “Missandei?”

“Your Grace. Skahaz awaits your pleasure.”

“Send him up.”

ADWD Daenerys IV

The queen welcomed them warmly, then summoned Missandei to see that the girls were fed and entertained whilst she shared a private supper with the Green Grace.

~

… but Daenerys Targaryen had other children, tens of thousands who had hailed her as their mother when she broke their chains. She thought of Stalwart Shield, of Missandei’s brother, of the woman Rylona Rhee, who had played the harp so beautifully. No marriage would ever bring them back to life, but if a husband could help end the slaughter, then she owed it to her dead to marry.

~

How could I ever hope to sleep, knowing that my captain so close? “Send him up at once. And … I will have no more need of you this evening. I shall be safe with Daario. Oh, and send Irri and Jhiqui, if you would be so good. And Missandei.” I need to change, to make myself beautiful.

She said as much to her handmaids when they came. “What does Your Grace wish to wear?” asked Missandei.

Starlight and seafoam, Dany thought, a wisp of silk that leaves my left breast bare for Daario’s delight. Oh, and flowers for my hair.

 ADWD Daenerys III

“Wherever the Mother of Dragons goes, the Mother’s Men will go as well,” announced Marselen, Missandei’s remaining brother.

ADWD Daenerys II

She could hear the soft sounds of sobs. “Who is that weeping?”

“Your slave Missandei.” Jhiqui had a taper in her hand.

“My servant. I have no slaves.” Dany did not understand. “Why does she weep?”

“For him who was her brother,” Irri told her. The rest she had from Skahaz, Reznak, and Grey Worm, when they were ushered into her presence. Dany knew their tidings were bad before a word was spoken. One glance at the Shavepate’s ugly face sufficed to tell her that.

~

“Your servants were set upon as they walked the bricks of Meereen to keep Your Grace’s peace. All were well armed, with spears and shields and short swords. Two by two they walked, and two by two they died. Your servants Black Fist and Cetherys were slain by crossbow bolts in Mazdhan’s Maze. Your servants Mossador and Duran were crushed by falling stones beneath the river wall. Your servants Eladon Goldenhair and Loyal Spear were poisoned at a wineshop where they were accustomed to stop each night upon their rounds.”

Mossador. Dany made a fist. Missandei and her brothers had been taken from their home on Naath by raiders from the Basilisk Isles and sold into slavery in Astapor. Young as she was, Missandei had shown such a gift for tongues that the Good Masters had made a scribe of her. Mossador and Marselen had not been so fortunate. They had been gelded and made into Unsullied.

~

When she returned to her rooms atop the pyramid, she found Missandei crying softly on her pallet, trying as best she could to muffle the sound of her sobs. “Come sleep with me,” she told the little scribe. “Dawn will not come for hours yet.”

“Your Grace is kind to this one.” Missandei slipped under the sheets. “He was a good brother.”

Dany wrapped her arms about the girl. “Tell me of him.”

“He taught me how to climb a tree when we were little. He could catch fish with his hands. Once I found him sleeping in our garden with a hundred butterflies crawling over him. He looked so beautiful that morning, this one … I mean, I loved him.”

“As he loved you.” Dany stroked the girl’s hair. “Say the word, my sweet, and I will send you from this awful place. I will find a ship somehow and send you home. To Naath.”

“I would sooner stay with you. On Naath I’d be afraid. What if the slavers came again? I feel safe when I’m with you.”

Safe. The word made Dany’s eyes fill up with tears. “I want to keep you safe.” Missandei was only a child. With her, she felt as if she could be a child too. “No one ever kept me safe when I was little. Well, Ser Willem did, but then he died, and Viserys … I want to protect you but … it is so hard. To be strong. I don’t always know what I should do. I must know, though. I am all they have. I am the queen … the … the …”

“… mother,” whispered Missandei.

“Mother to dragons.” Dany shivered.

“No. Mother to us all.” Missandei hugged her tighter. “Your Grace should sleep. Dawn will be here soon, and court.”

“We’ll both sleep, and dream of sweeter days. Close your eyes.” When she did, Dany kissed her eyelids and made her giggle.

~

A soft rustle made her open them again. She sat up with a soft splash. “Missandei?” she called. “Irri? Jhiqui?”

~

“Your Grace?” Missandei stood in the door of the queen’s bedchamber, a lantern in her hand. “Who are you talking to?”

Dany glanced back toward the persimmon tree. There was no woman there. No hooded robe, no lacquer mask, no Quaithe.

A shadow. A memory. No one. She was the blood of the dragon, but Ser Barristan had warned her that in that blood there was a taint. Could I be going mad? They had called her father mad, once. “I was praying,” she told the Naathi girl. “It will be light soon. I had best eat something, before court.”

~

Missandei returned with a melon and a bowl of hard-cooked eggs, but Dany found she had no appetite.

~

It was blood the Meereenese yearned to see, not skill. Elsewise the fighting slaves would have worn armor. Only the little scribe Missandei seemed to share the queen’s misgivings.

ADWD Daenerys I

“Your Grace,” said Ser Barristan Selmy, the lord commander of her Queensguard, “there is no need for you to see this.”

“He died for me.” Dany clutched her lion pelt to her chest. Underneath, a sheer white linen tunic covered her to midthigh. She had been dreaming of a house with a red door when Missandei woke her. There had been no time to dress.

~

The Undying of Qarth had told her she would be thrice betrayed. Mirri Maz Duur had been the first, Ser Jorah the second. Would Reznak be the third? The Shavepate? Daario? Or will it be someone I would never suspect, Ser Barristan or Grey Worm or Missandei?

~

Missandei announced her. The little scribe had a sweet, strong voice. “All kneel for Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Shackles, and Mother of Dragons.”

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

“I must remember to do something about the flies,” Dany said. “Are there many flies on Naath, Missandei?”

“On Naath there are butterflies,” the scribe responded in the Common Tongue. “More wine?”

“No. I must hold court soon.” Dany had grown very fond of Missandei. The little scribe with the big golden eyes was wise beyond her years. She is brave as well. She had to be, to survive the life she’s lived. One day she hoped to see this fabled isle of Naath. Missandei said the Peaceful People made music instead of war. They did not kill, not even animals; they ate only fruit and never flesh. The butterfly spirits sacred to their Lord of Harmony protected their isle against those who would do them harm. Many conquerors had sailed on Naath to blood their swords, only to sicken and die. The butterflies do not help them when the slave ships come raiding, though. “I am going to take you home one day, Missandei,” Dany promised. If I had made the same promise to Jorah, would he still have sold me? “I swear it.”

“This one is content to stay with you, Your Grace. Naath will be there, always. You are good to this—to me.”

“And you to me.” Dany took the girl by the hand. “Come help me dress.”

~

Daario and Ben Plumm, Grey Worm, Irri, Jhiqui, Missandei ... as she looked at them Dany found herself wondering which of them would betray her next.

~

“Your Grace,” said Missandei, “Ghiscari inter their honored dead in crypts below their manses. If you would boil the bones clean and return them to their kin, it would be a kindness.”

The widows will curse me all the same. “Let it be done.”

~

“Noble Ghael,” said Missandei, in the dialect of Astapor, “is this the same Cleon once owned by Grazdan mo Ullhor?”

Her voice was guileless, yet the question plainly made the envoy anxious. “The same,” he admitted. “A great man.”

Missandei leaned close to Dany. “He was a butcher in Grazdan’s kitchen,” the girl whispered in her ear. “It was said he could slaughter a pig faster than any man in Astapor.”

I have given Astapor a butcher king. Dany felt ill, but she knew she must not let the envoy see it.

~

“...To prove his faith, Great Cleon offers to seal your alliance with a marriage.”

“A marriage? To me?”

Ghael smiled. His teeth were brown and rotten. “Great Cleon will give you many strong sons.”

Dany found herself bereft of words, but little Missandei came to her rescue. “Did his first wife give him sons?”

~

“Any man who wishes to sell himself into slavery may do so. Or woman.” She raised a hand. “But they may not sell their children, nor a man his wife.”

“In Astapor the city took a tenth part of the price, each time a slave changed hands,” Missandei told her.

“We’ll do the same,” Dany decided. Wars were won with gold as much as swords.

~

“Your Grace?” Missandei stood at her elbow wrapped in a bedrobe, wooden sandals on her feet. “I woke, and saw that you were gone. Did you sleep well? What are you looking at?”

“My city,” said Dany. “I was looking for a house with a red door, but by night all the doors are black.”

“A red door?” Missandei was puzzled. “What house is this?”

“No house. It does not matter.” Dany took the younger girl by the hand. “Never lie to me, Missandei. Never betray me.”

“I never would,” Missandei promised. “Look, dawn comes.”

[...] Dany held Missandei’s hand as they watched the sun come up.

~

“There is nothing to stay for,” said Brown Ben Plumm.

“Your Grace, the slavers brought their doom on themselves,” said Daario Naharis.

“You have brought freedom as well,” Missandei pointed out.

“Freedom to starve?” asked Dany sharply. “Freedom to die? Am I a dragon, or a harpy?” Am I mad? Do I have the taint?

ASOS Daenerys V

“Strong Belwas is hurt.” His stomach was red with the blood sheeting down from the meaty gash beneath his breasts.

“It is nothing. I let each man cut me once, before I kill him.” He slapped his bloody belly. “Count the cuts and you will know how many Strong Belwas has slain.”

But Dany had lost Khal Drogo to a similar wound, and she was not willing to let it go untreated. She sent Missandei to find a certain Yunkish freedman renowned for his skill in the healing arts.

~

“Missandei,” she called, “have my silver saddled. Your own mount as well.”

The little scribe bowed. “As Your Grace commands. Shall I summon your bloodriders to guard you?”

“We’ll take Arstan. I do not mean to leave the camps.”

~

Dany had stopped to speak to a pregnant woman who wanted the Mother of Dragons to name her baby when someone reached up and grabbed her left wrist. Turning, she glimpsed a tall ragged man with a shaved head and a sunburnt face. “Not so hard,” she started to say, but before she could finish he’d yanked her bodily from the saddle. The ground came up and knocked the breath from her, as her silver whinnied and backed away. Stunned, Dany rolled to her side and pushed herself onto one elbow ...

... and then she saw the sword.

“There’s the treacherous sow,” he said. “I knew you’d come to get your feet kissed one day.” His head was bald as a melon, his nose red and peeling, but she knew that voice and those pale green eyes. “I’m going to start by cutting off your teats.” Dany was dimly aware of Missandei shouting for help.

~

Missandei was pulling Dany to her feet when she heard a crack.

ASOS Daenerys IV

Irri and Jhiqui had covered the floor with carpets while Missandei lit a stick of incense to sweeten the dusty air.

~

“Missandei, what language will these Yunkai’i speak, Valyrian?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the child said. “A different dialect than Astapor’s, yet close enough to understand. The slavers name themselves the Wise Masters.”

“Wise?” Dany sat crosslegged on a cushion, and Viserion spread his white-and-gold wings and flapped to her side. “We shall see how wise they are,” she said as she scratched the dragon’s scaly head behind the horns.

~

The hours crept by on turtle feet. Even after Jhiqui rubbed the knots from her shoulders, Dany was too restless for sleep. Missandei offered to sing her a lullaby of the Peaceful People, but Dany shook her head.

~

On the morning of the third day, the city gates swung open and a line of slaves began to emerge. Dany mounted her silver to greet them. As they passed, little Missandei told them that they owed their freedom to Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and Mother of Dragons.

“Mhysa!” a brown-skinned man shouted out at her. He had a child on his shoulder, a little girl, and she screamed the same word in her thin voice. “Mhysa! Mhysa!”

Dany looked at Missandei. “What are they shouting?”

“It is Ghiscari, the old pure tongue. It means ‘Mother.’”

Dany felt a lightness in her chest.

ASOS Daenerys III

“All?” The slave girl sounded wary. “Your Grace, did this one’s worthless ears mishear you?”

[...] “Your ears heard true,” said Dany. “I want to buy them all. Tell the Good Masters, if you will.”

~

“The Unsullied will learn your savage tongue quick enough,” added Kraznys mo Nakloz, when all the arrangements had been made, “but until such time you will need a slave to speak to them. Take this one as our gift to you, a token of a bargain well struck.”

“I shall,” said Dany.

The slave girl rendered his words to her, and hers to him. If she had feelings about being given for a token, she took care not to let them show.

~

Dany turned away from him, to the slave girl standing meekly beside her litter. “Do you have a name, or must you draw a new one every day from some barrel?”

“That is only for Unsullied,” the girl said. Then she realized the question had been asked in High Valyrian. Her eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“Your name is Oh?”


“No. Your Grace, forgive this one her outburst. Your slave’s name is Missandei, but ...”

“Missandei is no longer a slave. I free you, from this instant. Come ride with me in the litter, I wish to talk.” Rakharo helped them in, and Dany drew the curtains shut against the dust and heat. “If you stay with me you will serve as one of my handmaids,” she said as they set off. “I shall keep you by my side to speak for me as you spoke for Kraznys. But you may leave my service whenever you choose, if you have father or mother you would sooner return to.”

“This one will stay,” the girl said. “This one ... I ... there is no place for me to go. This ... I will serve you, gladly.”

“I can give you freedom, but not safety,” Dany warned. “I have a world to cross and wars to fight. You may go hungry. You may grow sick. You may be killed.”

“Valar morghulis,” said Missandei, in High Valyrian.


“All men must die,” Dany agreed, “but not for a long while, we may pray.” She leaned back on the pillows and took the girl’s hand. “Are these Unsullied truly fearless?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You serve me now. Is it true they feel no pain?”

“The wine of courage kills such feelings. By the time they slay their sucklings, they have been drinking it for years.”

“And they are obedient?”

“Obedience is all they know. If you told them not to breathe, they would find that easier than not to obey.”

Dany nodded. “And when I am done with them?”

“Your Grace?”

“When I have won my war and claimed the throne that was my father’s, my knights will sheathe their swords and return to their keeps, to their wives and children and
mothers ... to their lives. But these eunuchs have no lives. What am I to do with eight thousand eunuchs when there are no more battles to be fought?”

“The Unsullied make fine guards and excellent watchmen, Your Grace,” said Missandei. “And it is never hard to find a buyer for such fine well-blooded troops.”

“Men are not bought and sold in Westeros, they tell me.”

“With all respect, Your Grace, Unsullied are not men.”

“If I did resell them, how would I know they could not be used against me?” Dany asked pointedly. “Would they do that? Fight against me, even do me harm?”

“If their master commanded. They do not question, Your Grace. All the questions have been culled from them. They obey.” She looked troubled. “When you are ... when you are done with them ... your Grace might command them to fall upon their swords.”

“And even that, they would do?”


“Yes.” Missandei’s voice had grown soft. “Your Grace.”

Dany squeezed her hand. “You would sooner I did not ask it of them, though. Why is that? Why do you care?”

“This one does not ... I ... Your Grace ... ”


“Tell me.”


The girl lowered her eyes. “Three of them were my brothers once, Your Grace.”

Then I hope your brothers are as brave and clever as you.

ASOS Daenerys II

“The Good Master Kraznys asks, are they not magnificent?” The girl spoke the Common Tongue well, for one who had never been to Westeros. No older than ten, she had the round flat face, dusky skin, and golden eyes of Naath. The Peaceful People, her folk were called. All agreed that they made the best slaves.

[katsukikitten]

Rouge

A/N MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING. if you are easily triggered to spiral please DO NOT READ ANY further. If you want/ need to know the actual trigger warnings pls dm me before reading.

If you could kill yourself without anyone finding your body you would.

And honestly you may have found a way.

To turn your body into nothing but particles on the wind.

Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

Your heart swells at the thought, its simple, easy really, this new solution.

No one will have to deal with the trauma of finding you.

No one will say "I never knew" at your eulogy while fighting back tears when the signs, although extremely subtle, were there.

They will only say your "great" life was cut short too soon as they look longingly at the one and only photo of you smiling that was enlarged for all to see.

As if that's how you looked majority of your life.

Content.

Happy.

You joined the hero course for the sole purpose that it put your life at greater risk adding to it the perk of what would be viewed as an honorable death.

And maybe your departure would be less sad for some, if anyone would even be upset in the first place.

The only problem was making your "accidental" death look good. It did not help that you were at a disadvantage with your quirk.

You were the unlucky soul with the rare quirk of adaptability or as others deemed it, instant evolution.

Literally giving meaning to what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

You should know, you've tried, doing nothing but worsening the situation for yourself.

And tried countless times at that.

Grey knives drawing grey blood while grey skin snaps back together forever closing the open wound.

Grey bones jutting at odd angles punctured through grey skin snap back into place as everything rights itself.

So hero work was your only option. Someone somewhere would HAVE to have a quirk you could not adapt to.

So every mission you decided to put yourself in dangerous situations and not for the sake of others.

At one point you thought that, maybe over time, saving others could help deviate you from your search for the end by another's hand.

But even after almost a decade of hero work you have yet to change your mind. Stead fast on the idea of resting six feet deep at the ripe age of 25.

What better irony that it cannot fix the emptiness that gnawed at your innards.

You're not sure why you feel this way. It's not as if anything traumatic happened to you. You had a loving family, a quirk, everything to be thankful for.

One day you woke up feeling an ache in your chest that over the years turned into a weighted emptiness.

Almost like a phantom feeling of knowing something should be there and suddenly you realize it is not.

As if living your life like you were the foot that fell asleep.

With the slow absence in your chest the universe began to present itself differently. Not as if turning itself at an odd angle, no it turned itself into a painting that had faded from overexposure in the harsh sun. Colors bleeding into depressing tones of grey washing with it your ability to feel.

None of this stopped you from making friends or taking some lovers, you were well liked, popular even. Plus the internet said these things would help ease the dull ache that weighed heavy in your ribcage.

But the internet was wrong. If anything it amplified your desire for that sweet embrace of Death. Every single relationship was tainted with a greasy film, making them hazy in your eyes. A camera lens fogged over from heated breath capturing still moments of superficial dull feelings.

Everything forever diluted in those heavy tones of grey.

Until one day luck was on your side when you spotted potential in someone.

Someone who became blindingly vibrant even in their hues of grey as they reached their dried flesh outward, hair white as snow.

You often dream of the following moments.

It all happened in slow motion, his fingers slowly curling around the arm of a hero that called you for backup. Suddenly you felt something in your chest, it beat with a ferocity you hadn't felt in *years.*

Others would read into your frozen form as fear but honestly it was shock, *pleasure*, as your plan began to form into something tangible. Eyes fixated on the forgotten hero that slowly turned to dust. Grey ash carried on a heavy summer wind.

Abrubtly your life had been given purpose.

"OI Y/LN!" You look to see a grey haired man approaching at blinding speed, his fingers spread wide, palm facing outward telling you with his faint crimson eyes to move.

But you cannot if you want this villain to aid you later. You swallow thickly as you think of a good plan to fuck this up. You pretend to be too stunned and Katsuki has to waste his blast by hitting the ground by your feet to jump over you.

You do not know that he's fought this villain before, having transferred well after USJ and the kidnapping. You watch as greedy flaked hands reach out towards him, hungry to devour as dry lips pull too wide over white teeth. All the while Bakugou steadily closes the distance.

Something grips your stomach as your mind replays what happened just moments ago.

You jump with enough force that the pavement buckles beneath your powerful legs. You catch up to Bakugou with ease pulling him back by his skin tight shirt. You yank harder than you intended and the two of you return to the Earth with sickening cracks. Toppling over one another until you land on top of Bakugou. Instantly a warp gate opens up and the white haired man steps through it. Disappearing for now.

Not exactly how you planned it but effective.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Katsuki explodes beneath you and you take the massive explosion point blank. Blinding pops of white and grey while you land on your feet like a cat. Not a single burn in sight.

At this point you've pretty much become immune to his attacks from being forced to train with him at UA and the other countless "accidental" explosions that have kissed you with white hot heat during missions. Rage and resentment fuel his actions.

Katsuki jumps to his feet giving you a deadly glare when he cannot spy what you've deemed your new found hope he lunges for you. Forcing you back with a barrage of explosions until your shoulders slam into brick. Indenting your thick shape into the dudty wall, causing you to question the integrity of the structure.

Would the weight of a crushed building be enough?

No you already tried that.

When the smoke clears you're met with burning red ember eyes. He leans close, pressing his forehead against yours as he glares at you with such malice. If only he could act on that malice, especially with how it worsens everytime the two of you cross paths.

You're an ugly reminder that someone can withstand him and his deadly assaults.

"Stay the fuck outta my way." He growls and you say nothing, you just hold his heated faint scarlet gaze.

Tonight you cannot dream your wonderous dream instead numb tears fall down your cheeks like a movie star during a dramatic scene. Lying in the dark, mind plagued with two things.

One being hot ember and the other being a greyed hand.

It keeps you up and this endless sleep lasts for longer than you'd like.

A week and a half longer than you'd like, though you have survived longer without.

Learning the hard way that you can go *months* without eating, drinking, or sleeping.

As if you're some living statue in the renaissance representing the entire purpose of mortality as you lie in the dark. Moon light cascading over your shimmering cheeks.

Black night lightens to a grey sunrise just to pull the sun back into a deep pool of darkness once more.

All the while you sit at the agency in front if your messy desk. Working but not, it's more as if you're AFK in real life. You look at yourself almost in third person as you watch yourself stare at your screen and your mountain of paper work that you've been avoiding.

About six months worth and it's exactly why the Director has you in the office today. Its quite in the office, which is normal for seven PM.

Although thanks to winter it looks like midnight out. The darkness envelops you but it does not protect you from the weighted emptiness.

Its the loud footsteps that pull you into reality. Blinking furiously to soothe your burning eyes as you pick up your pen trying to bullshit your way in case it's the director.

But it isn't, instead its Bakugou who pauses at your open door with an ever present irritated snarl, still draped in grey. Cruel blood red eyes rove over your pitiful form.

"Oi, Director told me to check on you like I'm some sort of fucking baby sitter. So are you working or fighting a fucking possession?" He growls and you blink a few times, unsure how to answer.

Normally you were a master at the facade, of donning the mask appropriate at the time. As sadness was not always needed.

So for someone to notice your odd behavior was off putting. Worrisome. You would have to step it up a notch.

"I'm fine." You smile widely, sure to make it seem as if its reached your eyes. Like you've practiced countless times in the mirror. When he makes no move to respond you scribble on one of the reports, pretending to write. Doing anything to bullshit your out from under his scorching gaze. His maroon eyes narrow in suspicion.

"I'm leaving so get your shit done."

"Yea." Is all that you say, it must be good enough of a reply for him as he takes his leave.

Soon your body becomes stiff as you hardly move for the next hour and a half, slumped over inky paper. Truly staring through the reports on your desk. You blink slowly as you try to ease the pain in your eyes.

Maybe Bakugou was right. Maybe you were fighting off a possession but before you can give it a second thought your hero phone lights up with an alert.

Indicating you're the closest hero to whatever villainy is transpiring in the cold icy streets.

*"White haired suspect spotted by civilian wandering around the old warehouse district. Believed to be Tomura Shigaraki heavily associated with the league of Villans. Use extreme caution quirk decay."*

Decay.

The word sends a shiver of ecstacy down your spine.

Tonight was the night, tonight you would finally get your dance with Death.

You lunge, loading the rest of the report as you fly down the stairwell two steps at a time. Before breaking out into a full sprint.

How lucky could you be that your agency was only seven blocks away from the old warehouse district.

You silence your breath and your foot falls learned from years of practice as you near closer.

Opting out of standing in the dim light of the street lamps, that illuminate nothing more but spooked rats and rotting trash.

Oh this was just getting better and better.

The setting was perfect, late at night, pitch black alleyways that were narrow to boot.

Honestly you couldn't have asked for a better place for him to be spotted. It would be easy to fuck this up. You may not even have to force his hand considering he would have ALL of the advantage and all he would need to do was reach out of the darkness to touch you.

Wrap those five grayed fingers around you.

Your ears pick up on scratching. Not the type a rat makes where claws dig at brick or trash. No, that unique sound of nails scrapping into flesh.

You smile wildly, thankful you actually read the full report for once, the sound comes from two alley mouths away. It seems to be the only sound on the whole block.

You walk past the first one, practicing how you will look. Eyes shifting to the left alley then to the right, body language reading guarded.

Careful.

The things you were actually supposed to be doing but couldn't bring yourself to do. You could hear the soothing lullaby hummed through gnashing teeth and bones.

By the second alley you've perfected the look. If there are any still functioning cameras in this are their black glass eyes are sure to see it all. Your perfect final scene.

Because it has become too hard to continue to live the lie.

It becomes silent as you approach the mouth of the alley that the scratching came from. Too silent, confirming your initial thought, that he lies in the dark watching, waiting.

You peek to the left as you did the past two times before peeking to the right coming face to face with pitch black. The alley resembles a vacuum, greedily swallowing all light and sound in its wake. Fear prickles up your spine and your primal instincts tell you to run.

But they are dull, still draping the world in that damned veil of grey so they are easy to ignore.

You take the plunge as if jumping into cold water taking another step, turning away as if you did not see the gleam of his teeth.

Crusted lips again stretched too far over white.

He reaches out, fingers slowly curling onto your bicep as your boyd and your mind declare war with one another.

One demands that you fight, that you do anything it takes to get out of this situation while the screams of how tired it is.

How it can no longer go on.

Four fingers are wrapped tightly around you like a miniature snakes and your heart races with anticipation of the final finger.

You turn his way, eyes locking onto his. Savoring the motion of his middle finger getting ever closer to your sweet skin.

That is until the feeling of the grip is ripped away from you as a new vice grip pulls you into their direction. Strong arms wrapped around to you protectively, strong hand smoothing over the skin that was just touched.

"No." The small gasp escapes you as you turn to face whoever dared to deny you your one true wish only to be met with poison apple red.

"What the fuck were you doing?!" A nasty snarl and a shake before you're shoved to the side. Explosions propelling him closer to the target once more.

You fall to your knees in anguish, fat droplets dripping down flushed cheeks. You are barely able to register the scene in front of you as a trap is activated, pulling Katsuki's arms behind his back with a sickening crack. It echoes in the alley way but it does not reach you.

Cannot reach you as you mourn.

You had fucking tasted it, the sweet end just to be denied.

The ropes pull tighter, Katsuki yells out and suddenly sweat is falling from his grey face.

How long had he been in this position?

Ten?

Twenty minutes?

You weren't sure, time was painstakingly slow and blurring fast all at once.

Glowing red eyes cut to you in the night, demanding, pleading, for help.

You fail to see anything more that what you had once had. Reliving the moment where you felt most alive.

That special, promised hand reaches out for Katsuki, slowly curling itself around his throat.

Slowly enough that grey skin cracks to reveal angry vivid red.

Wait.

Red?

Where else had you seen red?

*Red* muscle tissue beneath sunkissed skin?

Suddenly a certain man is blindingly vibrant against the black back drop of the alley way. Ash blonde hair dampening and darkening with sweat as a rare emotion mixes with the rage in his eyes.

You lunge faster and harder than you ever had before. Quickly enough that there is a delay before the asphalt that was once beneath your feet ruptures, ripping open several feet deep.

Your hand is on a dry wrist that you twist away from Bakugou. You move without thinking as you take his hands into your own. Wrapping delicately strong fingers around two separate middle fingers. Bringing them back until they touch the top of his forearm.

He falls to the ground and for good measure you kick him square in the face. Shinning tooth arching with a red blood trail that slowly fades to grey.

You turn to Katsuki, the color draining from him like a dying star, cutting the ropes of the trap. You keep your hands pressed harshly against his arms as he tries to snap them back.

"Slow." You say sternly watching the ashen blonde of his hair dull into a light grey as he brings hyper extended arms back into their normal positions.

Nothing remains of his color as he shoves past you, forcing Tomura's arms behind him before securing his wrists with a zip tie. He heaves him onto his shoulder like a sac of potatoes and begins to walk away.

Almost leaving you to regret helping him.

After all he did take what you've always wanted, you stare after him as he walks away before he abruptly stops.

"Oi. Y/N." He calls out, "Let's fucking go."

He looks over his shoulder and you see it still there although it is just a flash before he begins walking again once your make way to follow.

Vivid scarlet  red cuts through the dark of the night.

[the-odd-job]

Harem AU Chapter 2 - Descent to Depravity

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Megatron, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Rumble, Frenzy, Ravage, Motormaster, Vortex, Wildrider, Brawl, Unnamed Characters Relationships: Megatron/Sideswipe, Megatron/Sunstreaker,  Motormaster/Sideswipe, Motormaster/Sunstreaker (extra brief), Wildrider/Sideswipe, Vortex/Sunstreaker, Brawl/Sunstreaker, Ravage/Sunstreaker, Frenzy/Rumble/Sideswipe, Sideswipe/Unnamed Characters, Sunstreaker/Unnamed Characters Additional Tags: Sticky, Throatfuck/Deepthroat, Oral Sex, Gangrape, Purging, Humiliation, Size Difference, Double Penetration in One Hole, Penetration from Both Ends, (Mild-ish) Torture, Face Slapping, Physical Abuse Words: 11799

Did I just write over ten thousand words of nonstop rape? Yes. Yes I did.

Sideswipe’s portion with Megatron I already posted once here and it’s only gone through some very minor edits, but there’s... A lot of stuff added around it.

Complete Chapter 1 can be found here. Chapter 3 I already posted here, though it may still go through some minor revisions. Revised Chapter 3 is here!

Sunstreaker had never seen anything quite like it. The room was beyond spacious, decked up in warm colors that washed away any chill it might’ve otherwise had. Poles, thin enough for him to have wrapped his arms around, rose up from wall to ceiling at steady intervals, although he in all of his lack of knowledge about architecture didn’t think they looked strong enough to actually support the ceiling.

What were they there for, instead?

At the center of the room there were several tables grouped together in a rectangle with an empty center, clearly intended for mecha larger than him and Sideswipe.

They had no chairs around them, though. Instead, a little ways away from the tables, there were large pillows and thick mattresses strewn about the floors, surrounding the tables completely.

But as much as the surroundings caught his attention, they didn’t keep it.

Because the room was occupied by several mecha, almost all of them larger than they were, almost all of them with red optics. They were standing along the walls or reclined on the pillows and mattresses. There were drinks and conversation–

But it all halted when they were shoved in through the doors that closed decisively right behind them. There was music coming from somewhere, but for a second it was the only sound in the room.

Then… Engines began to rev, and one particularly sizable mech in brown-grey and black spread his arms and said something in Kaonite. They didn’t understand a word, but something made it seem like a greeting.

The other mecha in the room laughed.

Sunstreaker growled in warning, but a few of the mechs closer to them began to approach them regardless. Sideswipe shrank away, back against the door, and Sunstreaker only barely kept himself from doing the same.

But he managed to push through the fright and trepidation in their spark and stood his ground.

The mechs made a grab for them when they got close enough, but both him and Sideswipe dodged out of the way in their respective directions. It only got them more laughter and more mecha stalked their way until there were no more ways to go that didn’t have waiting arms ready to catch them. 

Sunstreaker’s face pulled into an ugly snarl and Sideswipe’s engine was growling with fear and anger as they pressed against each other in the center of a circle of hungry mecha. The big one that had spoken up earlier said something, and another equally massive mech that looked like they turned into a tank of some sort also spoke up.

The mecha around them made noises of disappointment right before the circle closed on them entirely and harsh servos clamped on their plating.

“Get your fragging servos off of me!” Sunstreaker growled at once and Sideswipe cursed the lot of them next to him.

They just laughed and dragged them to the center of the room, past the mattresses, all the way to the tables. The two big mechs came closer as the brothers were shoved against the tables onto their fronts—and then all of the smaller mecha moved away.

Before they could beat it the hell out of there now that there were no hands holding them, the two brutes had already closed in.

Sunstreaker was forced back against the tabletop by the tank, and the other big mech did the same to Sideswipe, bringing one of his brother’s arms behind his back for good measure.

Then he bent that arm until joints were stressed, and even past that point until pain multiplied in Sideswipe’s frame and he cried out.

Much to the amusement of everyone else in the room, from the sounds of things. 

Sunstreaker counted himself lucky that he was only pressed against the table by his neck, held there by a grip applying enough pressure he knew he’d never be able to push himself free of it under his own power.

He tried anyway. “Let go of me, you fragging scrapyard reject!”

His struggles didn’t get him anything more than an amused rumble. The mech holding Sideswipe outright laughed, although Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if that was aimed at him or his brother. Sideswipe had stilled, venting hard under the pain in his straining arm.

They both knew where this was going. There wasn’t any uncertainty about it even before Sunstreaker felt a servo slipping to his aft, slapping it with a clang of metal that made him jolt, then venturing further. A growl rose in his throat. “Hands off.”

He went completely unheard. Thick claws dug into the small seams of his valve cover, pushed in, and ripped it clean off. Sunstreaker grunted, but refused to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Sideswipe did release a muffled yell when the same was done to him despite Sideswipe’s own words of refusal. The onlookers laughed once more and the mech holding his twin purred—at Sideswipe’s sounds, at his pain, at his helplessness, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure which. Or maybe all of them. 

There were two clicks of an interface panel retracting, one directly behind him, another off to the side. Sideswipe’s engine stalled for a moment before he bucked, ignoring the pain in his arm in a desperate bid for a miracle that would see him free. “NO! Don’t you fragging– Keep that thing away from me! Stop!”

Sunstreaker fought against the hold on him too, loud and clear in not consenting... But neither had any success beyond amusing the mecha around them.

Then the tip of something massive pressed against Sideswipe’s dry valve entrance, slowly forcing its way in. Sideswipe’s whine gained in volume as the spike pushed in deeper, scraping against every sensor, stretching the mesh and spreading the calipers around it to a combined effect that was nothing but agony. His brother wailed towards the end of the long and arduous moments his assailant took to sheathe his spike in the frame far too small for it. “Get the slag off of him!” Sunstreaker raged, fighting against the hold on him, but no one reacted to it with anything more than amusement.

As much as every Cybertronian was built with size difference in mind considering the vast size range of their species, there were physical limits to everything.

And Sideswipe’s limits were pushed, and pushed past. His frame could accommodate the length of the spike inching into him, but not the width. His hips might have spread at the seams designed for the very purpose, but just as quickly they were spread too far until there was nothing but pain left. His valve was filled past capacity, the walls trying and failing to fit the spike stretching him—and forced to do so anyway. 

Sunstreaker didn’t know what to say beyond yelling at them to stop it—didn’t know what to do except feel every excruciating second right along with his brother.

Around them the mecha were chatting, leering, pointing and laughing, calling out over the general noise, just… Enjoying themselves.

Sideswipe was sobbing by the time the mech had seated his entire spike into his brother, his groin flush with Sideswipe’s aft. 

As soon as that was true, he was already pulling back and Sideswipe cried out all over again at the rough scrape of a too large intrusion against desert dry walls. If they weren’t built so sturdy, Sunstreaker was sure Sideswipe’s entire valve would’ve gotten ripped straight out.

He didn’t know how much better this was. The mech shoved himself back in after he’d pulled himself all the way out and Sideswipe didn’t manage to stay silent as he was split open all over again, his thrashing frame only adding to the pain via the arm pressed to his back at an unnatural angle.

“This one’s a screamer,” the mech raping his twin laughed in standard as he set up a punishing pace that definitely drew a lot of noise from Sideswipe.

But it was overwhelming. Sideswipe was no stranger to rough interfacing, but this went so far beyond that.

This was just...  Madness. Sunstreaker could barely think straight from the pain and distress flooding their spark, and Sideswipe was doing much worse. The torrent almost distracted him from the words the two mechs were exchanging.

Almost. “Why don’t you try that one?” The tone of the mech abusing his brother was nothing short of lecherous, and Sunstreaker barely had the chance to feel a burst of alarm before the tank behind him shoved in and rammed his spike all the way into his valve in one violent thrust. His hips clanged against Sunstreaker’s aft even as his back arched off the table, or tried to, despite the grip holding him down.

Conscious thought was overridden for a moment by the desperate need to get away, to escape the explosion of pain in his groin and up his frame. Static filled his vision when the mech drew back without even a second’s pause, only to repeat the whole process and drive him into a land of anguish. 

But he didn’t make a sound. His vocalizer seemed to have forgotten how to function.

“Ah, he’s a quiet one,” he could hear through his pained delirium, and all of a sudden he really wished the mecha had continued speaking Kaonite. He didn’t need to hear any of this.

“I like those better,” the mech assaulting his frame rumbled. “It makes it more rewarding when they finally do scream.”

Primus, neither of them had ever hurt this much, and definitely not this intimately. Sideswipe was only spitting static at this point as he was driven into time and time again, his walls chafing raw, sensors abused past their ability to perceive anything as pleasure.

Sunstreaker grit his denta as he was given the same treatment, but he would not give them the satisfaction of screaming. The way his engine hitched and revved unevenly was bad enough, giving some voice to the agony raging in his lower frame. But even through that he could see the other mecha in the room, stroking their spikes while watching them hungrily.

And he feared he knew what they were waiting and preparing for. 

He would’ve probably felt fear at the thought, if he had been able to push feelings past the hurt overcoming their spark from both sides. He was pretty sure both of their afts were going to dent from the way the two mechs chased their pleasure with no need for their comfort—or maybe in an attempt to make this as bad for them as they could.

Sunstreaker had to give it to them, they were doing a good job of that. Not that it was difficult when they were already too big for them to take.

They lasted longer than he would’ve ever believed them to, too. It was like they were already so used to doing things like this they knew how to draw it out, and maybe they were used to it—maybe he and Sideswipe were far from the only ones dragged here for the lot of them to use them as their playthings.

How many of their predecessors had walked out of here alive?

But eventually there was a burst of warmth in the depths of his valve, registering as nothing but searing hurt against his abraded sensors. His frame was shivering when the tank pulled out and released him, and Sunstreaker tried to get up the instant he was no longer pinned down.

He got far enough to turn around, just in time for another mech to approach him—barely a helm shorter than the previous one.

Sunstreaker didn’t want him anywhere near him anymore than he’d wanted the last one. Reflexes kicked in, literally, and he kicked with both pedes at the mech once he came within range. The mech—another tank—stumbled a step back from the force of his double kick, though given their size difference it was probably only because he hadn’t been expecting it.

His first rapist laughed. “Careful, Brawl. This one’s feisty.”

Sunstreaker bared his denta at the both of them, growling hard.

“I’ll frag that out of him yet,” Brawl threatened with a snarl of his own, stepping forward again. This time he was prepared for Sunstreaker’s kick and kept coming in spite of it, proving at once that his strength really was no match. His legs were grabbed and spread, a spike was bared, and then he was impaled all over again before he’d had the time to do more than dig his claws into the seams on the larger mech’s chestplates.

It didn’t hurt any less this time, and his processors swam too badly from the simple pain of it for him to put up a proper fight when his wrists were grabbed, his arms pulled above his helm and slammed against the table until he was laying supine across its surface.

And then he was in perfect display for the mech, Brawl, to frag him at a pace that rivaled the previous mech’s.

He was somewhat distracted from his own frame’s suffering by the splash of transfluid into Sideswipe’s valve, burning him just as it had burned Sunstreaker. The mech with his attention on Sideswipe pulled out, and there was a brief moment of relief before dread took over—for a good reason, it turned out. Sideswipe wasn’t released even for a moment as Sunstreaker had been, but instead turned around until it was his helm facing the spike that had just finished battering him.

“Lick it clean.” 

Sunstreaker’s engine revved harder in unison with Sideswipe’s staticky but furious words. “Lick it yourself!”

There was laughter across the room, and someone piped up with, “You really think that’s gonna work, Motormaster? You’re just gonna get bitten!”

Motormaster growled, a sound that was pure aggression and nothing else. “Let’s do it your way, then.” He grabbed Sideswipe by the helm and slammed it against the table, his helmet barely even withstanding the force of the impact. He groaned weakly, but Sunstreaker could still feel the fight in him even as his focus was partially torn from Sideswipe by a particularly hard thrust into his own frame.

Force of will kept his vocalizer silent even as every slam of hips against his turned more painful with Brawl’s nearing overload. 

When he’d managed to push that aside enough to concentrate on his brother again, Motormaster had already gotten his mouth open, Sideswipe’s daze too deep for him to have prevented that. But he was still ways from giving up, and as soon as Motormaster’s spike was directed into his open mouth, Sideswipe bit down on it.

As hard as he could manage.

And this time it wasn’t Sideswipe that made sound. Motormaster roared in fury even as the mecha in the room laughed in a chorus to that one mech’s, “I told you so!”

But Sideswipe was the one that paid the price. It wasn’t just one time his helm was slammed against the table after Motormaster had removed his spike from the proven dangerous mouth.

No, Motormaster repeated the motion again, and again, and again, until someone yelled, “Don’t beat him unconscious! That’s no fun!”

Motormaster did find the restraint to stop at that, but he’d already gotten what he wanted. Sideswipe was mostly out of it and couldn’t resist this time when Motormaster opened his mouth and thrust in.

All the way in. Sideswipe’s throat stretched far and wide when the massive spike forced its way into it, and Sunstreaker was very relieved Sideswipe wasn’t alert enough to fully appreciate the feeling of it. The only upside to this was that there was actual lubricant in his mouth where there had been none on his valve, but that did nothing to the fact throats weren’t designed for fragging. There was nothing in place to aid the tubing and the calipers to adjust to the massive girth that had suddenly been forced down Sideswipe’s intake.

On the next draw out a pained moan managed to work its way from Sideswipe’s vocalizer despite the snail pace of his thoughts. “That’s right! Show ‘em who’s boss!” someone yelled from the rowdy crowd and Sunstreaker bucked up beneath Brawl’s frame, in some effort to… He wasn’t sure what.

“Get the frag away from him!”

Some effort to help his brother, but he had no idea how he would have done that. They were outnumbered and outmatched, at the nonexistent mercy of these mecha.

And as if Sideswipe wasn’t already going through enough, another mech—although this one blessedly a grounder in their own size class—hopped onto the table and went behind him. Sideswipe’s legs were grabbed and spread to give the grounder room between them.

“Aft up, you little whore,” he grinned before grabbing Sideswipe by the hips and hauling his lower body higher.

He had to keep it there himself, because as much as Sideswipe tried to fight to regain his senses, he was still hopelessly far from having full control over his frame.

“I’m getting ideas here,” yet another mech spoke up, drawing Sunstreaker’s attention back to his own frame. He glanced towards the voice at a rotorflier that climbed over the tables to the empty space in the middle of them. 

And headed for Sunstreaker. 

“Give him here.”

“Frag off, Vortex,” Brawl growled, but all the same Vortex came over and snatched Sunstreaker’s arms from Brawl’s hold, tugging him to the other side of the table until his helm fell over the edge.

It did remove Brawl’s spike from his valve, and Sunstreaker closed his legs as soon as he could. The tank made a noise of aggravation but didn’t bother climbing up to the table.

Someone else did bother, but he couldn’t see them from the rotorflier grabbing his helm.

It freed one of his arms though, and he instantly dug his claws into the nearest gap of plating.

Vortex moaned. “I love it when they fight.”

“You fragging masochist,” the mech at his lower end snorted, a second before his legs were grabbed and pulled apart no matter how hard he tried to keep them closed. He suspected with a great deal of trepidation that it was once again someone considerably larger than him, and that was confirmed without any excess delay when another spike far too big for him entered his body.

He bit back the groan that wanted to rise from his vocalizer, intent on denying them his voice. His servo fell to try to push Vortex away instead, not that he really expected that to work. Although not as large as some of the others, Vortex was still considerably larger than him.

Almost everyone was.

The rotorflier’s sharpened claws dug into Sunstreaker’s faceplates, but he kept his mouth stubbornly closed for all the good it did. Vortex had already admitted he liked his resistance, but Sunstreaker couldn’t bring himself to just give in, no matter how much it might’ve denied the other some of his pleasure.

Whoever it was between his legs wasn’t moving near as fast as the previous two. Nothing could erase the constant, tearing pain of having his frame pushed past its limits, but the slower pace was at least… Not quite as bad. It was no reprieve and he had to fight himself with every thrust to keep his vocalizer silent, but it could be even worse.

Somehow that thought wasn’t a particularly big comfort.

Claws pushed into his mouth past his lips and dug into the gaps between his tightly clenched denta as a distraction from what was happening to his valve, eventually prying his mouth open despite the strength of his biting jaws. A spike was slipped past his parted lips in short order, and taking a cue from Sideswipe, Sunstreaker bit it as soon as he could.

But instead of rewarding anger, he got another moan—and maybe the other mech hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d called Vortex a masochist.

Pits, how did you even fight a mech that enjoyed it when you fought? He could give him pleasure by resisting, or he could give him pleasure by letting him use his frame.

It was a win-win for the rotorflier, and a lose-lose for Sunstreaker.

The spike was shoved deeper despite the scrape of his denta and Sunstreaker gagged hard when it hit the back of his throat. He’d never let anyone push that deep the sparse times he’d even agreed to give someone oral, never having liked the feeling of it.

Now there was no agreeing to anything. His denta clamped down tighter, Vortex moaned louder, and the spike was thrust deeper no matter what he did. It slipped down his throat and his gag reflex went haywire in an instant, pushing out the contents of his tanks with no further warning and no fanfare.

Raucous laughter echoed in the room when what energon he’d had in his tanks pushed past his stretched lips, splattering across Vortex’s groin and legs, and dripping down Sunstreaker’s face.

“That was fast,” the rotorflier commented, not sounding particularly displeased over the mess. Sunstreaker felt nothing more than disgust though, and wanted to wipe even some of it off his face—but when he tried, his arm was caught and pinned to the table.

The mech at his valve increased his pace for a final few thrusts before he felt more transfluid paint his valve walls, diverting his mind for a precious second.

Then Vortex started to move and his attention was snapped right back to his upper end. Sunstreaker’s thoughts scattered to the four winds as his helm was grabbed with two servos and the rotorflier began to use his mouth like he wasn’t a living thing at all. He tried to buck, but someone else was already positioning themselves between his legs, pinning him in place and grabbing his momentarily freed arms before he could put them to use.

The need to get away was overwhelming under the assault on his mouth—harsh, jarring thrusts, violent withdraws, his throat forced open with every push in until the tubing felt bruised and his calipers stopped resisting.

It wasn’t often that his fight or flight instinct was triggered. Now it was all he could think about. He didn’t know where to focus, on his mouth or on his valve, the two points he was rocked between when the mechs used him with no coordination between them. “You hate this, don’t you?” Vortex panted at him, a damned grin in his voice.

The answer would have been a resounding yes, were he in the position or mood to answer.

----------------------------------------------------------

Pain, pain, and more pain. That was all Sideswipe knew at this point. His valve—surprisingly, that wasn’t hurting terribly much. Someone was fragging him, hard, but from the feel of things they were someone he would’ve even, you know, agreed to berth under better circumstances. His valve was beyond sore from Motormaster’s treatment and the worn walls and sensors didn’t appreciate any manner of intrusion, but at least his specs weren’t pushed.

Down there. His mouth was an entirely different matter.

His helm throbbed from the times Motormaster had seen fit to slam it against the surprisingly unforgiving table, but even that was nothing compared to what his throat was going through.

He was getting a good taste of the larger grounder’s sheer cruelty. Motormaster moved fast and hard like a mech possessed, completely disregarding the fact he was pushing Sideswipe’s frame past capacity. His faceplates were drawn tight over the girth of the massive spike, but that he could’ve handled.

He couldn’t handle the relentless assault on his intake, getting worse and worse the more of his faculties he managed to gather. It made him think that maybe he didn’t want to be conscious after all.

But then he wouldn’t know what they’d do to his frame.

Then he wouldn’t be there for Sunstreaker.

As little as he was being there for Sunstreaker right now. He couldn’t even focus on what was happening to Sunstreaker, not when Motormaster shoved his massive spike down his throat over and over. Tears streamed down his face. “Ha, look at the little bitch cry! Aw, what’s the matter? Never had it that big before?” someone cackled.

The tubing of his intake was beyond raw at this point, despite the oral lubricant trying to pave the way. His calipers ached. He couldn’t keep himself from gagging every few push in, his frame tensing in painful waves. Warnings about minor tears and unnatural stretching were blinking on his HUD, as if he could’ve done anything about that.

It hurt. He wanted it to stop, and that feeling kept growing as the torture continued on and his senses returned to him. He tried to pull away as soon as he could, but Motormaster growled and held his helm tight. “Don’t go anywhere, you little slut. This is what you’re here for, better deliver.”

Or else? What could be worse than this?

So he struggled all the same, trying to jerk his hips away from the spike drilling into his valve, only for claws to dig tighter into his plating. “Hey! Stay still, whore.” His aft was slapped. He jerked.

But there wasn’t much beyond that that he could try to do. Motormaster had caught both of his arms and held them at the small of his back with no notable effort no matter how Sideswipe tried to twist free.

And he kept fragging his mouth, no doubt intent on punishing him for his insolence. 

This is what you’re here for.

Two wet holes as receptacles for their spikes and spunk? Was that it?

He didn’t want to be that, but with Motormaster at his helm, he didn’t really have any options. Maybe he could’ve struggled more against someone else, but Primus, the mech was big and strong and knew just how to hurt. His spike kept on ramming down his throat, and as much as Sideswipe would’ve wanted to bite again, his jaw felt numb from the treatment.

Wholly uncooperative, abused beyond its limits.

“Ugh, you really loosened the bitch up,” the mech pumping his valve grunted, slapping his aft again. Sideswipe could barely focus on it past the pain of his intake, but he put in the effort to make out the words. “Wildrider! Come help me out.”

...Wait.

Wait wait wait.

Sideswipe tried to wrench away at the idea, the possibility that his addled mind presented him with. Motormaster held his grip, though, and released his arms enough to strike the side of his helm, dazing him all over again. “What did I just tell you?!”

Don’t go anywhere, yeah yeah, he remembered.

Frag him if he was just going to do as he was told!

...That was exactly what was happening wasn’t it.

He did manage to disturb the mech using his valve, which was a small victory. And extremely short lived, because before he knew it, a third mech was climbing onto the table. “Get beneath him,” the mech behind him said, and Sideswipe thought his idea of where this was headed was becoming more and more likely. 

And he wanted nothing to do with it, loosened valve or not.

But Motormaster kept a hold of his helm, kept being one painful distraction, and he couldn’t think of enough things to do to escape the situation. He tried to push the new mech away when they got closer, but Motormaster caught his arms again, lifting his frame by them to give Wildrider the room to slip beneath him.

It strained his shoulders. It hurt.

So did his throat.

And Motormaster kept on thrusting like he was going to last forever.

Wildrider wiggled his way under his frame, a mech about the same size as he was. Sideswipe could feel his spike brushing his abdomen, and he again tried to jerk even just his lower frame away—but the one with their spike buried in his valve had his claws hooked into the gaps of his armor and rode out his struggles. He was made to straddle Wildrider’s thighs as the fellow grounder settled.

Motormaster jerked hard against his face, pulling Sideswipe’s thoughts back to the abuse his mouth was being put through. He ground against his face, pushing his hips forward and pulling Sideswipe’s helm against his pelvis hard enough that Sideswipe wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to get crushed like this.

Then he could feel searing bursts of transfluid down his throat too, and he couldn’t keep his frame from acting anymore. He gagged, except this time the motion ran through the whole way, forcing the contents of his tank back up—washing the transfluid from his throat on the same go, at least.

He wasn’t sure if his regurgitation would’ve even made it past the unforgiving stretch Motormaster’s spike was, but he pulled out just then until only his spike tip remained in his mouth, allowing his puke to follow him out. “Aw, he didn’t swallow,” someone off to the side said in disappointment.

Motormaster wasn’t as disappointed. “That’s it, you bitch,” he growled instead, releasing his hold on his helm as the mix of transfluid and energon came out to taint his groin and Sideswipe’s face. He reached down and smeared it further on his face, rubbing the humiliation deeper into his struts.

Then a second spike pushed its way into his valve and Sideswipe jerked forward despite himself, driving Motormaster’s spike back down his throat, and regretting the motion instantaneously when his frame heaved again. Not that there was much to bring back up anymore.

The room burst out into laughter. “He likes you, Motormaster!”

“That’s a good whore, throat him again!”

And the second spike squeezed into his valve. He could feel the vibrations of Motormaster’s amusement.

They’d said his valve was looser now, but it didn’t feel like that was true at all. Sideswipe sobbed as he was stretched wide all over again and the two mechs began to thrust in unison, not any more cautious than what he had expected them to be. It didn’t hurt that much less than Motormaster, not when their angles of entry hit different parts of his valve, jabbing in horribly.

But Motormaster pulled out, slapping his face on the withdrawal before he turned and walked away like nothing major had happened.

Like he hadn’t just raped him on both ends. 

But there was nothing holding him in place now except the grip on his hips, and neither mech currently abusing his valve was any larger than he was. This time when Sideswipe yanked forward, he was able to pull away from their hold, dislodging the spikes from his valve and scrambling off the table to sounds of indignation from the two mechs.

Everyone else was either laughing or whistling, not looking that perturbed that he’d escaped them.

Temporarily. Which way was out? How could he have even gotten there? There were mecha all around him; there was barely a gap that wasn’t in someone’s grabbing distance.

He headed for one of those anyway, dashing between two mecha that didn’t look like they were that ready to catch him.

Surprisingly, he got past them and into the room beyond, only to stumble and turn partially around at the sound of one familiar cry.

Sunstreaker never screamed.

But as soon as he focused back on his twin, pain assaulted him and knocked him onto his knees. His vision swam from the amount of it, sending his thoughts into utter disorganization.

Primus, what the pit were they doing to him?

No, not them.

Just one mech. 

The rotorflier had his spike down Sunstreaker’s throat—Sunstreaker hated giving oral—and his claws buried in the gaps of Sunstreaker’s armor.

Not… Not just claws. A prod of some sort too. Or was it a knife?

Whatever it was, the mech was expertly using it to hit sensors they didn’t even know they’d had, sending current through them hard enough that there was no way in a million years it could’ve registered as pleasure.

“Be careful with that thing, Vortex!” he could hear over the noise in the rest of the room. “I don’t want to get shocked.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll watch it.”

Another deep thrust, down his throat, up his valve, stab of sharp claws against sensitive components, armor plates bent out of alignment, another burst of current. Sunstreaker’s scream was a hoarse thing as his frame jerked in a desperate attempt to escape the torture inflicted on it.

It was no good.

“Hah, twins are the best! Look at this wench. Vortex, keep hurting that bitch!” Servos grabbed him and Sideswipe was pulled back into his own frame as he was unceremoniously hauled upright, then thrown onto one of the mattresses covering the floor and providing seating for the mecha present. He sprawled onto it.

“Someone keep him down, we want to have a turn,” he heard someone say, turning his helm to watch two little mechs approach him.

Symbiotes.

Too small to hold him down themselves.

Sideswipe got back to his pedes as quickly as his frame allowed him to despite the bursts of pain in his groin, and made another run for it. It didn’t look like anyone had expected him to get that far that fast, and he managed to slip from the circle of mecha all over again. 

The only question was where to from there. There were several doors leading to locations unknown, but they were all closed, and he had no idea which were locked to top.

And… He couldn’t really leave Sunstreaker, could he?

His spark was pulsing in his chassis, fear and hurt mixing with powerlessness. He didn’t know which way was out, and even if he had, he couldn’t have left without Sunstreaker.

He was so stuck.

And there were mecha all around the room, watching him with amusement even as some of their comrades started to approach him.

What could he do?

Trying not to get raped again would be a good start.

Even if he was pretty sure that was an effort doomed to fail.

Sideswipe endeavored to stay one step ahead of them, dodging around the room and trying hard to ignore Sunstreaker’s muffled sounds of pain he tried to bite back—Sideswipe could feel him trying to bite them back, but failing anyway as Vortex flat out tortured him. 

And the rotorflier was getting off on it too, his thrusts into Sunstreaker’s mouth turning more and more arrhythmic.

If Sideswipe thought about any of that, he wouldn’t he able to stay out of the reach of the servos making grabs at him–

But he was already thinking about it.

Three mechs cornered him against one wall, blocking his escape routes and just taking a hold of him. He was dragged back to the mattresses and showed into his front on one of them. Sideswipe managed to get his arms under himself, but someone grabbed his wrists and yanked them forward, above his helm, and he faceplanted into the mattress anyway.

Two other mechs caught a leg each, pinning him securely against the mattress.

And the symbiotes closed in again. “Finally. You’re a slippery one, aren’t you,” one of them cackled as they came up behind him, little digits pushing into his valve.

He grunted at the discomfort, but it wasn’t outright pain–

Up until one of them shoved an entire arm up there. Raw sensors lighted up with pain all over again and he tried to pull his hips away with an agonized whine, but the arm just followed him, and he wasn’t allowed enough movement to do anything more than that between the three mechs holding him down.

“Bro, I think we gotta do this together,” the one with their arm in his valve said. Sideswipe could hear the grin in his voice. “He’s all stretched up already. Basic slut, they never stay tight for long.”

“What you donna do!” the other symbiote, the first one’s brother, intoned.

Neither sounded very displeased.

Sideswipe’s only comfort was the thought they were far smaller than the mecha that had already taken their turns with him. This probably wouldn’t hurt as much.

He hoped, anyway.

“Bring the other bitch here!” someone said, and Sideswipe spared a thought to Sunstreaker. His brother was venting heavily, lightly bleeding past his armor from where Vortex had damaged fuel  and coolant lines, but the rotorflier had wandered off by now.

One spike shoved up his valve, then a second, as the symbiotes seated themselves and started fragging him. They had a rhythm about them that made Sideswipe think they were pretty used to fragging mecha together.

It burned, it hurt, but he could bear it.

Sunstreaker was hauled up from the table and shoved towards the mattresses. A moment later he fell next to Sideswipe, aching all over, his throat and valve the greatest points of pain but far from the only ones now. His optics were clearing out though, now that Vortex was done inflicting more damage on him. 

“My turn,” came a hiss somewhere behind them, and when they both turned to look, another symbiote was stalking towards them. This one was a felinoid, walking silently on all fours.

Sunstreaker expected him to aim for his valve, but instead he walked up to his front, and the twin’s spark sank all over again. Maybe it had been too much to hope they’d leave his mouth alone.

Someone else did take the gaping hole between his legs as an invitation though, and hiked his hips higher only to push in. They were big, but not the biggest he’d taken so far. He still moaned in pain, his valve protesting the intrusion and his stubborn silence long shattered. His arms were caught and pulled back, forcing his chest against the mattress.

“He’s just going to bite you,” someone laughed as the felinoid parked in front of him. 

Sunstreaker snarled at him.

The cat snarled right back.

Sunstreaker snarled louder. “You get that spike anywhere near me and you’ll lose it.”

Primus, his valve still burned despite the transfluid being spread around–

The symbiote scoffed. “Empty threats. You’re in no position to resist.”

He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean Sunstreaker wasn’t going to fragging well try.  

He revved a warning when a mech crouched next him, jerking his helm away when they tried to grab it. That earned him a harsh slap on his cheek and his helm was taken a hold of despite himself. A digit pushed into his mouth in short order, lifting his helm upward and forcing his denta apart far enough that the felinoid could rear up, place his front paws on Sunstreaker’s back, and shove his pelvis forward, the spike pushing into his open mouth smoothly.

The intrusion was smaller than any of the spikes he’d taken before that, but that didn’t make him hate it any less.

“He’s gonna bite any second now,” someone guessed.

And that was exactly what Sunstreaker did.

Or tried to, but the mech with their digit in his mouth only wedged it further back, forcing his mouth to stay open. “We’ll see about that,” he smirked, and Sunstreaker glared at him.

The felinoid began to frag his mouth now that there was no danger of injury on his spike, just as the bipedal symbiotes fragged Sideswipe, just as the mech behind him fragged Sunstreaker. None of it was hurting as much as some of the slag they’d already been put through, but that was a despairing thought.

Raped and abused, and the best they could hope for was it’d hurt a little less than it could?

Where was the end to this? Where was their escape?

None of the symbiotes lasted long, though Sunstreaker got the impression that was just because they weren’t even trying to. The bipedal ones with Sideswipe finished first, releasing dual loads of transfluid into his valve before they pulled and slapped their servos together in satisfaction.

Sideswipe was panting, trying to close his legs, but he was held too thoroughly for that to work.

“I don’t want to get down. Someone bring him back to the tables,” a mech out of their field of view said, and in short order Sideswipe was dragged to his pedes by his neck.

But what had they called Sideswipe before? Slippery? His brother managed to tear himself free and staggered away from the mecha trying to grab him, his engine growling as he bolted away from everyone.

There were sounds of amusement all around the room as Sideswipe went back to his game of evasion with their abusers.

Sunstreaker couldn’t focus on it after the symbiote at his mouth started to overload.

Started to, because it didn’t look like it was the short process to him that it was to most others. He humped against Sunstreaker’s face until he could feel the first burst of transfluid down his throat.

And while it just kept coming, far more worrisome was the way the felinoid’s spike started to expand. Sunstreaker thought he imagined it at first, but once his faceplates started to sting from the stretch, he couldn’t deny it.

A knot. The fragger had a modified spike.

And it got to be absolutely massive in comparison to what the spike had been before swelling. It jammed behind his denta, and his faceplates simply didn’t allow him to open his mouth far enough for him to even try to pull off of it. It locked them together in the most humiliating way possible, and all the while transfluid streamed down his intake. The mech at his valve came too, but that barely registered past the desperation of getting away from the spike in his mouth—partway down his throat.

It was no good though, absolutely no good. He could tug all he wanted, but it only earned him irritable growling and a servo at the back of his helm, pushing him against the felinoid’s groin.

There was a mech at his valve again, and he could recognize the voice. “Your brother was pretty good. How about I try you out too? Sluts like you just love big mecha like me, don’t you?” 

Motormaster.

Sunstreaker screamed around the spike stuffing his mouth when he was split open all over again on the mech’s fragging spike–

And Sideswipe’s voice joined his as his brother was penetrated from both ends elsewhere in their torture chamber.

-----------------------------------------------------------

His valve throbbed, and not in the good way.

Sideswipe struggled to swallow through the aching in his throat, staring up at the ceiling and trying so hard to ignore the talk and laughter around him.

Laughter. The bastards were seriously laughing while raping the wits out of them.

And Sideswipe was honestly coming to his wit’s end. There was no end to the spikes they’d shove up his valve or down his throat. He wasn’t sure how long this had lasted already, or how much longer it would last still.

How much he’d endured already, and how much more he would still need to endure.

If there even would be an end to it. What did he know, maybe they’d keep raping them until they died from it. He felt like he was on the long road to that destination, at least. They’d hit and beat him enough times that he felt more than a little dinged. His throat was raw, stretched past capacity by spikes far too large for him. His jaw ached. He couldn’t get the taste of transfluid off his glossa. His valve burned from being penetrated time and time again without there ever being enough lubricant for even the first one.

At least all the transfluid had started to ease the way after a while. It was seeping out of him now, where he lay spread on one of the tables, unable to quite scrounge up the will to move. It was no use anyway. No matter which way he moved, they’d just manhandle him into the position they wanted him in.

He’d tried running enough times to know it would only elicit uproarious laughter before they’d grab him and throw him back to the center of the room.

Running was a little silly, he had to admit that much even to himself. He had no idea where he was or which door would’ve led to somewhere he wanted to be in—if those doors would’ve even been open. It wasn’t much of a wonder they laughed.

But what else was he supposed to do? Fighting hadn’t worked. He was so vastly outnumbered they had no issues whatsoever just pinning him down until he couldn’t fight anymore, and that was if they didn’t alone already mass so much more than him that they could pin him without any help.

Those spikes hurt the worst.

He could hear Sunstreaker’s ragged ventilations off to the side where they’d dumped his brother onto the floor. Sunstreaker hadn’t tried getting up again, and Sideswipe wasn’t sure if that was because he was too hurt to, or because he had similarly come to the conclusion that it really wouldn’t have done any good.

Endure. That was all they could do at this point.

His ventilations hitched, but Sideswipe continued to ignore the tears that streamed from his optics. They’d made fun of those too, when he’d first started crying. By now it was old news and they only laughed if they got him to cry harder with something they did.

But for the moment there was no one touching him beyond the grip that kept his wrists pinned together on the surface of the table—mech wasn’t even paying attention to him anymore—and Sideswipe took the second’s respite it was to pick the pieces of his pride and dignity off the metaphorical floors, dust them off, and store them for a later moment when he might have a chance to try to put them back together.

Now if they’d just let him pick up the physical pieces of himself too. They hadn’t exactly given him the time to retract his valve cover, doubtful as it was that he would’ve done that voluntarily. And maybe that was what they’d figured, that he might not even do it anyway, so just cut the chase and tear it off completely!

What did he even need it for, amirite?

Sideswipe couldn’t quite contain his sob this time around, but luckily no one took notice of it, because one of the sets of double doors opened just then. Sideswipe turned his helm to look, and his spark shrank at the sight of the massive grey mech even he, a certified gamin, could recognize. 

Megatron. The tyrant of Kaon, dictator of the city-state.

Unquestioned ruler of the whole damn place.

Megatron asked something from the room at large in Kaonite—and Sideswipe still couldn’t understand a word of it—his red optics passing between him and Sunstreaker. Sideswipe couldn’t see Sunstreaker himself, but he heard his twin growl. Down but not out.

One of the beatifically grinning lackeys at Sideswipe’s feet responded to Megatron, in Kaonite as well. Sideswipe growled too now, to the tune of more laughter around him.

Megatron was smiling right along with the rest of the room, a genuinely amused expression at complete odds with the usual furious scowl he was depicted with in all the images Sideswipe had seen of him.

He walked into the room like he owned the place, as he did, with mecha moving from his way as surely as if he had had a physical barrier around him keeping everyone at a respectful distance. He walked all the way to where Sideswipe judged Sunstreaker to be laying, then nudged something—Sunstreaker—with his pede.

Like he was shocked, Sunstreaker lunged to his feet with another reverberating snarl. Everyone laughed again, barring Megatron who merely cocked an optical ridge in amusement. The noise only doubled when Sunstreaker stumbled and fell back into the waiting arms of their rapists.

He only growled harder when he was harmlessly caught, but when he tried to jerk away, they wouldn’t let him.

Sideswipe could see him ventilating hard, before his attention was stolen by Megatron again. He was approaching, and with a wave of his servo the mecha scattered from around Sideswipe.

He shot into a sitting position, a sinking feeling in his spark warning him he likely wouldn’t like whatever was going to come next.

Megatron was next to him before he had the time to force his numb limbs into further cooperation. “Let’s see what you have, little one, hmm?” Megatron asked from him in perfect standard, freezing Sideswipe in place with the weight of his red gaze. His spark was spinning in his chest like a mad thing, and he couldn’t but squeak when Megatron grabbed him by the throat in one sudden motion, forcing him back against the table and spinning him in place until his helm faced Megatron’s crotch.

He knew exactly what was going to come next. “NO!” Sideswipe flailed hard, trying to pull and twist himself free from Megatron’s hold, but it was like Megatron didn’t even feel his struggles with how easily he kept his grip. Sideswipe’s servos shot to the wrist of the hand holding his throat, digging his claws on, but if looks were anything to go by, Megatron’s armor was beyond thick.

He probably didn’t even feel it.

But Sideswipe would feel this. His mouth started aching all over again when Megatron retracted his upper modesty panel and let his spike pressurize.

It was just as big as a mech his size should have, which meant nothing short of colossal next to Sideswipe.

And he didn’t want it anywhere near him, not his mouth, not his valve. Desperate, Sideswipe bent his body in half to kick at Megatron with all the force he could muster—what good could that possibly do for him? Primus, he had no idea—but Megatron merely stepped to the side, his grip on Sideswipe’s throat tightening to a threatening degree.

There was no anger, not even annoyance when Megatron said something to his peers. At once Sideswipe’s legs were grabbed and brought back to the table, and pinned there. He tried to kick free, but it did nothing. “Get the frag away from me!” he barked at Megatron, glaring with undisguised hatred and fear at the mech easily more than twice his mass.

This would hurt so, so bad. Tears were streaming from his optics unbidden again and his throat was constricting from more than just Megatron’s hold on it.

There was an uptick at the corner of Megatron’s serene mouth, but that was all. “Enough of that, now. Open.”

Like hell.

Sideswipe bared his clenched denta and growled.

There was more laughter from all around him, but no sound from Megatron. He made up for his silence with action, bringing his free servo around and slipping one of his massive digits past Sideswipe’s lips, all the way to the farthest reach of his mouth where he could jab it in the empty area behind his denta and force his mouth open.

He did it with swiftness and familiarity that made Sideswipe think he’d repeated that same move far too many times before.

Thick digits were shoved into his mouth the moment there was a gap between his denta, and pushed far enough that Sideswipe gagged on them, his back arching off the table. Megatron kept them there for one torturous moment before replacing them with his spike in a move that was similarly so practiced Sideswipe couldn’t help but despair.

And the spike was so much worse. It instantly forced his jaw open wide enough that his faceplates stung from the stretch and Sideswipe screamed as it was rammed straight to the back of his mouth, hitting his throat and making him gag all over again. Except this time it didn’t end there, like it hadn’t any of the times the others had decided to use his mouth.

Megatron pulled him forward enough for his helm to fall off the edge of the table, straightening his throat so that he could shove his spike down it with a jab of his hips. Sideswipe’s servos tightened around the wrist steadily holding him when his intake was stretched far enough that he was surprised it didn’t rupture right away.

It hurt so much, and none of the other spikes had adequately prepared him to take it. Sideswipe cried out, or tried to, but his vocalizer was all but crushed and nothing but a garbled little peal of static came out.

Then Megatron pulled back until only the tip of his spike was still in Sideswipe’s mouth, leaving his throat a gaping hole, just for him to push back in again in the next moment. 

On the next withdrawal, Sideswipe managed a scream, and he could hear a cheer rise in the room. Celebrating his pain.

And Sunstreaker was yelling above it all. “Let the frag go of him you slagger! Leave him be! Fragging– Take me instead, just leave him alone!”

Megatron had to hear, but he paid it no mind. There was no time for Sideswipe to adjust to any of it, if he even physically could have ever, before Megatron had already increased his pace, pulling almost all the way out of his mouth before thrusting back down his throat.

Sideswipe struggled. There was nothing left of conscious effort in his motions, just the primal need to get away from the abuse, from having his burning throat opened up over and over again by something that was never intended to go down it. He flailed, but they had his legs, and Megatron ignored anything his arms did, whether it was hitting, scratching, or gripping.

Eventually it was just gripping, his servos having landed back on Megatron’s arm to do no more than hold on.

Megatron kept fragging his mouth. His gag reflex could only take it for so long before his frame heaved and expelled the contents of his tanks—what little there was left from the past times this had already happened.

Megatron just ignored it, even as Sideswipe’s regurgitation bubbled past the spike stretching his mouth open and streamed down his face. It mixed with tears and oral lubricant, and the old messes of energon and transfluid already painting his face.

There was more casual chatter and laughter in the room, Sideswipe could hear it dimly past the wet sound of having his throat ravaged—past the pain that kept trying to steal all of his focus. 

It hurt. It wouldn’t stop hurting, and Megatron wouldn’t stop thrusting in and out, stretching the pain filled moments just as his throat was being stretched.

He screamed again in another brief moment his throat was temporarily abandoned by Megatron’s spike, and this time he could both hear and feel Megatron rumble, the vibrations traveling down his spike and touching his sore lips. “That’s it, you little bitch,” Megatron growled at him, lowly, quietly, as if only he was supposed to hear. “Cry for me.”  

And Sideswipe did, yelling weakly again only for the sound to get distorted into a bleat of static when Megatron pushed back in. There was no sense to this. No one gave one single damn about his comfort, his pain, his anything, just as long as they could use his body and whatever hole they pleased to take their pleasure. 

Megatron was no different from the rest, and his words were no different from the abuse already hurled at him, but he was the leader. He was the only one who could’ve made this stop, but instead he sanctioned all of it and partook in it himself.

And took pleasure in it. Sideswipe could feel that much in the way Megatron’s thrusts began to eventually stammer and lose their rhythm. He pushed in deep only to grind his hips against Sideswipe’s face in circular motions that brought a new fresh hell of hurt to his stretched throat.

Tears were running from his optics despite how tightly he’d shut them. Megatron pulled out, did a few shallow humps that barely dipped into his throat, then thrust in deep again and circled his hips.

Endure.

That was all he could do, but Sideswipe doubted there would be an end to this. Now or ever. Wasn’t this what they’d been brought in for?

What would be his way out? Death?

He didn’t want to die.

But this didn’t exactly make him want to live either.

Megatron thrust as deep as he could get one more time before gripping Sideswipe’s throat tighter, squeezing him around his spike through one tiny thrust, then another, before Sideswipe could feel the hot pulses of his transfluid deep down his intake. Mistakenly he tried to swallow on reflex, which pulled a pleased rumble from his assailant. The last thing he had wanted, but it was too late by that point. 

Megatron held him there for what felt like an eternity, rubbing his spike through Sideswipe’s throat and milking the last bits of transfluid out of it where Sideswipe refused to swallow again. His mouth twitched around the stretch his lips were forced into while he waited, and cried, and hurt, and silently prayed for it to stop already.

Panic nearly overtook him again when Megatron didn’t stop there but instead rocked his hips with the threat of just fragging continuing. He flailed, but his legs were still obediently pinned by Megatron’s followers, and this time Megatron struck him across the face for the way his arms hit him.

It wasn’t any small strike either. Sideswipe gasped through his vents at the additional pain in what was already a life of torture.

And Megatron continued rocking, moving his hips just so to slide his spike up and down in Sideswipe’s throat.

Sideswipe had already almost drowned in his pit of despair by the time Megatron pulled out and didn’t push back in again. Immediately the contents of Sideswipe’s tanks followed him all over again, though this time it was mostly Megatron’s own transfluid that came out. Some of it splattered onto Megatron’s thighs from the force of its expulsion, but the tyrant utterly ignored it just as he went on to utterly ignore Sideswipe.

Crying, defiled Sideswipe with his face a mess of tears, lubricant, transfluid, and his own vomit. His legs were released, but he didn’t try to move beyond wiping one shaking servo across his sore mouth.

It wasn’t just his servo that was shaking, it was the whole rest of him too. Shivering, interrupted with larger jerks when his sobs took the better of him.

His throat hurt. He wasn’t sure it would ever return back to its normal size, it sure didn’t feel like it had yet. Maybe it would be better if it didn’t, if this was just going to repeat.

And Sideswipe feared this was going to repeat.

“You were so eager to have your turn. Now you’ll have it,” Sideswipe heard Megatron say, and looked past his veil of tears at him. Megatron had turned his attention to Sunstreaker, his spike still standing proudly between his legs, and Sideswipe thought he now knew the purpose of Megatron’s last little jerks: to keep his spike in pressurization so he could rape Sunstreaker next.

“Please,” Sideswipe whispered, but between the pain and fear robbing his voice and his vocalizer only barely functional from the abuse it had taken, he wasn’t sure if anyone even heard him.

Please, not Sunstreaker.

-----------------------------------------------------

“Don’t touch me,” Sunstreaker hissed as Megatron took a step towards him. He jerked in the grasp of the mecha holding him, but they wouldn’t let go of him—keeping him in place as the tyrant approached.

“Changed your mind already?” the grey mech asked, stroking his spike. “Did your brother’s fate make you think twice?”

Megatron knew, he fragging knew what he’d done was messed up.

And he did it anyway.

Sunstreaker growled, trying to pull himself free so he could slug the arrogant fragger straight on his privates.

It didn’t work, but no one was holding his legs.  

The size difference between them was absurd, but Sunstreaker was flexible enough. As soon as the tyrant was close enough, he kicked up, aiming squarely at Megatron’s groin. Unfortunately for him, Megatron had reflexes he couldn’t rightly laugh at. He rendered his kick perfectly harmless with a simple step to the side, grabbing Sunstreaker’s leg instead.

The mechs that had been holding him let go just when Megatron yanked, pulling him entirely off balance and sending him crashing to the floor. His helm hit it with a clang and a blossom of pain, but Sunstreaker managed to keep quiet. He glared up at Megatron as soon as he’d centered his senses again, trying to pull his leg free.

Megatron didn’t let go, though. Instead Sunstreaker was the one that got pulled as the larger mech simply lifted him off the floor by his leg, hanging him upside down.

Sunstreaker stilled for a moment before a growl rumbled in his engine, rising in his volume as his fury grew. “Let the slag go of me!” He tried to kick out with his free leg, but as much as he managed to hit Megatron, it glanced harmlessly off his armor. “Slagging let go of me and I’ll kick your ass back to the assembly line!”

“Fightful,” Megatron said with approval, ratcheting Sunstreaker’s anger all the higher.

But it was fully impotent against the tyrant, just as it had been impotent against his followers before that. He was slammed to the nearest table in short order, his chest impacting with it with enough force that his already sore frame pulsed pain at him from all the sensors tested by Megatron’s subordinates. His vents gasped, but Sunstreaker strangled his vocalizer until no sound emerged.

Whatever satisfaction he could deny from Megatron, he would. 

“Has my court turned you into enough of a whore yet?” Megatron asked casually as he grabbed both of Sunstreaker’s arms and pulled them behind his back, shackling his wrists together with one servo.

He’d been in a similar position tonight more times than he cared to count.

“Frag off,” Sunstreaker growled, and fought against the tight grip on him despite how futile he knew that to be. “Don’t whores usually get paid, anyway?”

“You’re paid by being allowed to keep your life,” Megatron rumbled at him, just at the edge of outright laughter. Sunstreaker revved until his engine hurt. There was little left of fear anymore, drowned out by sheer rage.

Yet there was nothing he could do about any of it.

Megatron pulled his hips up, placed one of his own pedes on the table’s edge, and drove into his valve.

And Motormaster had been bad. The big mech that had the first go at him had been bad. Every time someone had gotten the bright idea of shoving two spikes into his valve at once had been bad.

But none of them compared to Megatron. Sunstreaker couldn’t tell if his spike was any bigger than what he’d already taken over the course of the… Day, night, how long had it been? It didn’t matter, even less so when his processors were assaulted with the agony of having his frame stretched past capacity all over again. Maybe Megatron wasn’t any bigger than Motormaster or his friend, or maybe he was smaller even, but he was still too big.

What mattered most was the strength the tyrant put behind each and every thrust. It wasn’t just about taking his pleasure from Sunstreaker’s frame, it was about making Sunstreaker hurt in the process.

And by Primus but it hurt. The ceiling of his valve was battered with every rapid, hard push in, and Sunstreaker worried for the rest of his internals. His valve, now nothing more than one big point of pain, wasn’t a vital component by any measure. No matter how it would hurt, it wouldn’t kill him.

But there were parts beyond it that did matter.

And it was as if Megatron was gunning for those directly with the amount of oomph he put behind his thrusts.

Sunstreaker couldn’t hold back his moan of pain when Megatron struck in particularly deep, ramming into components past his valve. Spikes were supposed to be sensitive too, but it was as if Megatron didn’t even feel hitting parts that yielded considerably less than a valve did. He only pulled back out and repeated the motion.

Over and over again. Sunstreaker could only keep quiet for so long before Megatron found the right angle to hit the hardest and deliver the most pain.

His resulting screams echoed among the laughter and cheers that rose in the room, but he could hardly make sense of the words of approval, encouragement, and admiration that Megatron was showered with for getting the quiet one to scream so loud. Maybe that was because some of them were spoken in Kaonite.

Maybe it was just because his processors were bombarded with too many signals for them to work through all of them in time. He drowned in the tidal wave of agony Megatron was delivering on and in his body—gasping for air, trying to press his hips down and away from the abuse.

But Megatron’s claws dug into his hip and kept him in place.

It just would not end. When Megatron got bored of drilling him from behind, he was effortlessly flipped over, his back clanging into the table to another burst of pain from all around his frame. Vortex’s work, he had the time to think before Megatron plunged into his valve again, and found even more points of pain to exploit.

His anguish filled his frame, his mind, and his spark. A heavy servo pressed against his chest, pinning him against the table—his legs were spread wide around Megatron’s hips–

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about any of it, now not only because Megatron was simply too strong, but because his thoughts were assaulted with more hurt than he’d ever experienced before in his life.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to take it, but here he was, not dying no matter what he felt like. He could hear Sideswipe’s screams distantly, but for whatever reason that was all that came of it—pinned down, couldn’t help—and all the while the room continued to be a thing of brouhaha around him. Megatron himself didn’t join in on it with anything more than the revving of his engine, arousal kicking it into a higher gear.

Sunstreaker held onto the arm pinning him down, not quite managing to find the wherewithal to try to push it off of him by any means necessary. No doubt none of that would’ve worked.

Then there was a servo in front of him, long, thick claws dipping into his open mouth. They pushed in, struck the back of his throat, made him gag, then pulled out, and repeated the motion in time with the thrusts into his valve. 

Megatron’s pace quickened both down there and up here and Sunstreaker’s frame pressed up against the servo pinning him down for an entirely different reason. Gag after gag Megatron kept fingerfucking his mouth, kept pounding into his valve, until his frame couldn’t take it anymore. Like he hadn’t already done that enough times, his frame expelled the contents of his tanks—others’ transfluid, little else—pulsing it up around Megatron’s digits until it streamed from the corners of his mouth and dirtied his face further.

The tyrant said something Sunstreaker couldn’t make sense of, and he wasn’t sure it was even directed at him. The wet digits withdrew from his mouth as he tried to swallow back down what had already come up once, just to get it out of his mouth.

A massive palm struck him across the face before his jaw was grabbed into a vice grip. Sunstreaker struggled to focus back on the reality around him, barely surfacing from the tides of torment that wanted to wash him under for good—that he wished would pull him down all the way, just so he could escape all of this, however momentarily.

But Megatron had slowed in his pace, now staring at him with intent. “I’ll put that mouth to good use later,” he growled, and it wasn’t as much a threat as it was a promise.

Sunstreaker closed his optics, willing away the tears that wanted to fill them. 

Megatron slapped his face again. “Optics open,” came the command before his helm was grabbed, bending it down until he was forced to watch Megatron’s spike disappear into his frame time after time through reluctantly opening optics.

But he refused to cry.

He didn’t know if that impressed Megatron or what did it, but the tyrant’s field pulsed approval a second before his spike pulsed transfluid into the depths of his valve. He wasn’t sure if the sensation was true or imagined, but he could’ve sworn the come trickled straight into his internals.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if his valve really had torn through from the ministrations of countless spikes, Megatron’s the worst of all.

But at last the tyrant pulled out, a flood of transfluid following his retreating spike. Sunstreaker went to close his optics again, but the further tightening of the servo on his jaw brought them back open. His helm was tilted up now, until he had no choice but to meet Megatron’s piercing gaze.

“These two,” he spoke up with enough volume that the room silenced, “belong to me now.”

Sideswipe’s engine hitched somewhere off to his side, and Megatron used his other servo to reach to Sideswipe–

To shove his digits straight into Sideswipe’s valve. His twin jerked at the contact and tried to pull away, but the claws hooked until he would’ve torn his own valve if he did that.

They were both venting hard, both in pain, both scared out of their minds as the implications of Megatron’s words broke through to them.

“And you will remember that,” Megatron continued more quietly, leaning in. His spike flirted with the entrance to his valve again, but didn’t push in.

Sunstreaker wasn’t sure he had ever been as grateful for anything before, than what he was for the small mercy of not being assaulted all over again on the heels of the first time he hadn’t even recovered from yet. “You will do everything I say,” the tyrant kept on, yanking at Sideswipe’s valve to a pained mewl from him, “and your frames will serve me until I choose otherwise.”

Sideswipe was crying.

Sunstreaker wanted to cry.

Instead he bared his denta and snarled.

----------------------------

( Previous / Next )

[har-rison-s]

Spiders In Your Hair

Request: Hi! Can I have a Stan Uris x female reader who loooveesss playing with his hair because she too has curly hair like his (I'm self indulgent) and knows how good it feels when someone plays with it? (My hairs like to my mid neck and is curly like Wyatt's AND is the same color lmao) thanks dear, have a good day/night.

A/N: Cute!! The first Stan request and I'm executing it the third. But that's okay, can't help how my creativity floats. Floats, heheheehhe. Don't let me joke. I have the same hair as Wyatt, too, only I have golden brown-blonde curls, not brown. But his are so pretty.... Omfg. I'm melting. I hope this is what you were looking for! Happy reading!

IT masterlist

main masterlist

warnings: nothing, except talks of spiders

The Clubhouse was a place full of love and warmth, a place no one except the losers know and could uncover. They've done a good job at hiding it from anyone, thanks to Ben's incredibly high knowledge in architecture and nature's own cunning ways of concealing the lower levels.

But, as much as the sun shone through some holes in the ground accidentally made, it isn't enough sunbathing for Y/N. Plus, her hair heats up her head what with the curls being concealed by Stanley's bought shower-cap. Her shower-cap has hearts, he made sure of that when he was shopping for them.

She hates spiders, so she doesn't mind the shower-cap when she's in the Clubhouse. But it tends to irritate her skin, and she's glad when it's off, outside of the Clubhouse.

This being one of those days. Her hair is disobedient today of all days, when she had to meet Stan and the others and not stay at home with her family. She did wash it, but maybe her mother's shampoo isn't working for her hair. It's extremely dry and going in all directions. She can't control it.

“I'm going, um, upstairs,” she tells everyone with a smile and the crowd nods. Stan follow his girl suit, much rather glad to enjoy her company than to be hearing Richie and Eddie's eternal bickering. It's killing his nerves.

“Go, Stan, run after your girlie!” Richie mocks him, which earns him a hard jab in his left side from Beverly. Y/N only shakes her head and runs up the wooden stairs. 

She sighs once she's gotten the cap off and her hair waves all around her. She sits down by the tree that's almost next to the entrance, her head and back against the wooden base. She closes her eyes. She doesn't need sunglasses.

“Hey, lovely.” She hears Stan saying and she squeezes one eye open to look at him. Her face is scrunched up due to the sun rays and she looks ever so cute in his eyes. Stan smiles wide and walks over to her on his slightly wobbly, but firm legs. She's always loved his stance.

Y/N spreads her legs a little, her dress stretching along, and patting her lap. Stan giggles and gladly slays down in her lap, his head resting on her stomach. She gets a bit more comfortable, sliding down a little. For both their comfort. Her hands lay over his shoulders, palms on his chest and he reaches upwards with his hands to hold them. Her fingers are just as small as his own, but more slender.

“When are we leaving for camp again?” Stanley asks, looking up at his girlfriend. 

“Um... August 5th.” She says and slowly retracts her hands from Stanley's, going up in his hair instead. 

“Then we still have three weeks to pack.” He states and his eyelids drop at the feeling of her fingers going through his curls, gently touching his scalp. “Is there anything we need to take with us?”

“Nothing except for a blank, white t-shirt.” Y/N responds. Her fingers are parting his curls here and there, admiring how beautiful they look in the sunlight. Shining like the curls of an angel from heaven. He looks like an angel, and he is in all possible ways. “I bet you five bucks we're gonna make tie-dye shirts for ourselves.” She states.

Stan giggles, holding his stomach. “You—You don't even have five bucks.” He points out. Y/N joins him in laughing, both their laughter audible from inside the clubhouse. “Why do you think tie-dye?” Stan questions.

Y/N shrugs. “White shirts. Camp. Camp activities. Maybe we're gonna be painting on the shirts or something.” She wonders. His hair strands feel like ribbons around her fingers and hands. She could spend her whole life threading through the curls, watch as they grow longer until Stanley starts looking a bit like a dog with fur. She laughs inwardly at that.

“If we are, I'm gonna paint a Bohemian Waxwing.” Stan decides. 

“Oh, the pretty birdie with the grey, white and red feathers?” Y/N cheers and feels Stanley nodding his head under her hands. “That would be really pretty. Maybe you could paint more than one, as if they're sitting in a tree or on a... an electric wire. You know, the classic scenery.”

Stan chuckles and nods again. “That would be really cool.”

“It would be the coolest shirt ever, babe.” She tells him. 

“What would you paint on the shirt, love?” Stan questions and turns to lay on his back in her lap, taking her hands from his hair gingerly. He places his palms flat out against hers and, as they're looking at each other, he bends his fingers so that their hands are interlocked.

“Your eyes, I think.” She admits, looking into those hazel jewels. “Or your eyes and hair.” Stanley blushes, and he's not ashamed to show his crimson cheeks. He doesn't hide anything form her. He smiles wide. 

“It wouldn't exactly be fair to you that I'm painting a bird and you—me.” He states in a quiet voice. Y/N reaches her left palm to his curls again, brushing them off his forehead, behind his ear. 

“Well, really, it could be anyone.” She says. “Only you and I would know it's you. And that's okay, I'll forgive you.” She smiles, chuckling for a second. “You're better at drawing birds than people.”

“Hey!” Stan pokes her arm, but not too harshly. 

“We both know it. In fact, all of us do.” Y/N justifies. Stan rolls his eyes, but there's still a smile on his face. “It'll come with time, baby.”

“I'm gonna need more tutoring from you, then.” Stan then tells her and sits up to her level. His hand reaches for her hair behind her ear, his thumb soothing over her cheek. She almost falls into his hand, loving the touch. And even if her hair is beyond ugly today, she doesn't protest him touching her hair.

Stanley keeps his eyes on her, a peaceful lovingness in them. The sun on them is so warm they both feel like falling asleep on the spot. Stan pulls her lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. She puts her hand around the wrist he's holding her head with and pulls apart their lips. Their foreheads rest against one another. 

“With kissing like that you can expect much more than tutoring.” She tells him and they both giggle. 

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” He asks, his fingers twirling a curl of hers between them. 

“Well... Dinner with my family.” Y/N responds and bites her lip immediately, anxious about Stanley's response. He withdraws from her, eyes wide and eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Th-They want to invite me over for dinner?” He questions. Y/N raises her eyebrows, too, slightly. 

“My parents do want to meet the boy who I'm going to camp with.” She says. “And I think I'm finally ready to tell them about you. Like, about being together.” She tells him, looking down at her hands due to her shyness. But Stanley smiles so wide he even lets out a laugh of happiness.

He gives his girl many kisses on both her cheeks, making her blush and giggle uncontrollably. She tries to push him off her, but she can't find the strength to and stays in her boyfriend's embrace and wrath of kisses until he stops. 

“I'm so happy.” Stan says, pressing his cheek against Y/N's while he hugs her close to him. “Happy for you. Happy for us.” He tells her and Y/N can only smile to herself. Her hands are loosely hanging around Stanley's neck and fingers again threading into her curls. “Oh, my goodness.” The young man suddenly gasps and Y/N looks up at him. 

“What? What is it?” Is something wrong? Does he not want to come over for dinner? Is he afraid of her family?

“I don't know what I'm going to wear.” Stanley says with theatrical fright in his eyes and face. Y/N narrows her eyes at him out of simple annoyance that he scared her a little. Taking what they've all been through, a fake scare could still be a scare. 

“I suggest you come in your swimming trunks. That'll make a good impression.” She tells him, paying back for a false alarm from him. The statement makes Stanley blush and he clears his throat. 

“Right-o.” 

Permanent taglist: @v0idbella @inlovewithmiddleagedcelebs @works-of-fanfiction @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @stfxlou @ur-gunna-h8-ths@empressdreams @betweenloveandfire @but-legendsneverdie@deardeacy@thewinchesterchronicles@mavieesttriste16@mrsmazzello@benhardyseyes @langdonzvoid@intrrverted @the-freak-cassie-131

Stanley Uris tag-list: @nightbu-g

I miss him so much :( and i want him happy. rrrr

[ghostking-wenning]

Radishes, Chapter 6.2

This one’s a 2-part! Enjoy!

2.5K, Rated G, modern au, NingXian etc

***

Qionglin sat bolt upright in his bed. A thin sheen of cold sweat coated his body, the sheets tangled around his legs. His chest heaved and his cheeks flushed. A dream. It was just a dream! Oh, but what a dream it had been. Wuxian on his knees before him, looking up at him as he… oh god. Qionglin clapped his hand over his eyes, as if that would block out the memory of that vision. 

Tentatively, he stood on shaky legs. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he hadn’t made a mess of his sheets, aside from wrinkling them beyond recognition. Sure, he’d had raunchy dreams before, but never like this! Never so long, with such detail, with a specific person that he actually knew! They weren’t even boyfriends yet! They had only recently shared their first kiss! Why would his brain conjure up such naughty imagery? Such naughty sensations?

He shivered remembering the feeling of Wuxian’s hands… and mouth… all over him. It had felt so real, even though he’d never done any of … that. His dream had even replicated the scent of his cologne, the flavor of his favorite wine. Heat coiled in his belly as he remembered the way he squished him against the wall, leaning his whole body into him. Then all that heat immediately rushed to his face when he remembered the way he had simply submitted to Wuxian’s ministrations, baring his throat like a dog to a wolf. 

Really? He asked himself. Is that what I’m into? A wave of dread and shame washed over him when he heard an echo of the words “good boy” whispered in his ear and remembered how much he loved it.

“Oh god,” he groaned aloud. “I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again…” What a shame that was, too, they were such beautiful eyes. Especially when they were fixed on Qionglin with that searing heat as he-- 

“Nope!” Qionglin said, forcibly derailing that train of thought. A cold shower. That’s what I need. He peeled off his sweat-soaked nightclothes and headed to the bathroom. In the mirror, he was almost surprised to find his neck and chest exactly as they always were, not mottled in lurid red marks. He couldn’t bring himself to look any further down, so he hopped into the shower and turned it on full-blast, hoping the water would pressure-wash his filthy mind. He didn’t even flinch at the cold.

He lost track of time, but he eventually calmed down. He dried off and redressed himself in clean pajamas. It was still several hours before he needed to be awake. He laid down on the couch, so he wouldn’t have to change his sheets for the moment. 

Mercifully, the rest of his sleep was dreamless and deep. He woke to the sound of his phone chiming. He had a message from his sister. 

“Happy birthday, little brother!! I love you! We still on for dinner tonight?”

Oh god it’s my birthday! In an instant, all traces of sleepiness vanished. Somehow he’d entirely forgotten his own birthday. Am I seriously that clueless? He shook his head, rolling his eyes at himself.

“Thank you, jiejie! Yes, of course, I’ll meet you at 7!” He replied, tacking on a few heart emojis.

Granny didn’t allow anyone to work on their birthdays, so he had nothing to do until dinnertime. He slumped on the sofa and stared at the ceiling until his phone pinged again.

“Bring that little punk boyfriend of yours. I have to make sure he’s good enough for you.”

He knew Qing well enough to read between the lines: “This is not a request.” 

He didn’t even bother pointing out that they weren’t technically boyfriends yet.

Usually he would be elated to spend time with Wuxian on his birthday, but a) Qing could be … intense… he wasn’t sure if he was ready to introduce them yet, and b) he was convinced Wuxian would somehow read his mind and discover what a weird pervert he was. Maybe he’s busy! Maybe he won’t even come. He tried to reason with himself, but that actually just made him sadder. 

It took a couple of hours to build up the courage to text Wuxian. He was a lot of things, sure, but he wasn’t a psychic. (Right? That would be crazy… right?) If Qionglin could just keep his cool, he’d never have to know about his dreams. He took a deep breath and opened the message app.

“Hey, Wuxian! Are you busy tonight?” He cursed the way his fingers shook as he typed.

Not five minutes later, his phone beeped.

“Nope! What’s up?”

Fuck. 

“I’m having a birthday dinner with my big sister, and I was wondering if you’d like to join us!” He decided not to mention that Qing wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Wait, is it her birthday or your birthday??”

“Mine.”

“What?!”

“Why didn’t you tell me!!”

“Happy birthday!!!!!!!!” 

“I forgot! I’m sorry!” It was fully true, but that didn’t make it less ridiculous to admit.

“FORGOT? Wild. Anyway I gotta go find you a present! Can’t wait to see you later!” A string of kiss emojis followed, and Qionglin giggled in spite of himself.

He gathered himself quickly and responded. “You don’t have to get me anything!!”

“Too late! I’m already out the door! See you later byeeee!” 

A minute later, Wuxian texted again. “Wait, where and when am I seeing you?”

Qionglin snickered softly, an endeared smile growing on his face. He sent Wuxian the map link and enjoyed about four minutes of peace before remembering why he’d been so nervous about texting Wuxian in the first place.

Panic hit him like a train. Several trains, maybe. His heart skipped and his fingers tightened around his phone so hard his hand shook. Calm down, he tried to tell himself over the alarm bells clanging in his head. Calm down!! Through sheer force of willpower, he evened out his breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth, he repeated like a mantra.

He walked briskly to his bedroom, pointedly ignoring the rumpled sheets on his bed and snatched his anxiety medication. He popped one in his mouth and hastily gulped some water, and sank into his desk chair. Leaning back, he shut his eyes and waited for his heartbeat to calm. 

Something to focus on, that’s what he needed. Something hands-on. But if Granny caught him working the fields, she’d chase him away with a rake -- it had happened before. So he decided on target practice. He grabbed his bow from its stand in the living room and marched out to the woods. 

In a small, round clearing were a line of painted wooden targets he’d made himself. He liked to warm up starting from 30 meters, then progressively back away. He took a deep breath as he lined up his shot, shoulders flexing as he drew the bowstring back. The middle target, dead center. He exhaled slowly as he released the arrow, which made a satisfying thunk as it sank exactly into the center of the target. 

After landing perfect bullseyes into each target, he backed away to 40 meters, then 50 and so on. He felt perfectly centered; there was nothing in this forest but him, his bow, and his breath. 

He leapt about a foot in the air when his phone chimed in his back pocket. How was it already 5 PM!? Where did the time go? He thought, as he began to gather his arrows. It was well past time to get ready. He hurried back to his house, where a fat orange barn cat woke from its nap on Qionglin’s rain boots. It made a curious prrt noise as it fixed big yellow eyes on him. This was the one his little cousin had dubbed “Cheese.”

“Hello, Cheese,” he greeted, stooping to scratch behind its ears. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come inside.” Cheese purred and pawed at the door, but didn’t put much effort into following him inside. 

Hanging up his bow, he realized he felt much better, as if his thoughts sorted themselves out on their own. It was just a dream. It’s perfectly natural, and he’ll never even know! And if he found out somehow, I’m willing to bet he wouldn’t blame me at all. It was magical, almost, how archery relaxed him, even as it wore out his muscles. (His medication probably also helped, but he liked to think it was mostly archery.)

He washed his face, and pulled back his hair, fussing with the locks that were too short for his half-ponytail. Poking through his closet once again, he wondered if Wuxian would say anything if he wore the ghost shirt again. He decided against it, instead opting for a grey striped shirt and a dark blue cardigan that he thought looked pretty sharp. He may not have a lot of nice clothes, but he thought maybe he was getting better at dressing well. Well-ish, at least, he thought, tugging on his comfy-but-ugly sneakers, but it was those or work boots. 

He checked his pockets and whisked out the door to his car. He would probably still be on time.

He was not.

Fifteen minutes late, he scurried into the restaurant and scanned the room for his sister. At least for his birthday she might not scold him for being late. Soon enough he found her, looking polished and perfect as ever, in a tasteful dark red dress with her long black-tea-colored hair in a sleek braid. Across from her was none other than Wuxian, Qionglin realized with a start. What-- how did she find him? Why-- oh god what are they talking about? 

He stood stock-still for a few seconds, until Wuxian laughed brightly, the sound spurring Qionglin forward. As casually as possible, he strolled over and plunked down beside them. With any luck he’d missed the awkward small talk and Qing inevitably giving Wuxian the third-degree about what he does, and his intentions with her little brother.

“S-sorry I’m late,” he said, offering a sheepish smile. 

Qing looked like she wanted to say something about it, but Wuxian beat her to it.

“No worries! Happy birthday!” He said, grinning and reaching for Qionglin’s hand. 

“Mhm,” Qing agreed. “Happy birthday, hun.” She patted his cheek fondly, and he blushed, unable to hide his cheesy grin at the attention.

“Thanks…” he mumbled. “Um, so, I guess you’ve already met, so I don’t need to introduce you. I-- I hope you weren’t waiting too long, though.”

“Not at all! Your sister was just telling me about how cute you were when you were little,” Wuxian said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Qionglin’s head whipped around. “Qing!” He complained, exaggerated betrayal written on his face.

She smiled deviously. “What? You were adorable! You used to hide behind me and follow me everywhere like a little duckling.”

Qionglin groaned and buried his face in his hands while Wuxian giggled. 

“He’s still adorable,” Wuxian said. “Absolutely too cute.”

“Yep.” Qing nodded. 

Well, at least they’re getting along… Qionglin thought. The rest of the evening went in a similar fashion, the two of them teasing him affectionately and relishing in his embarrassment. After dinner, they sat around chatting over glasses of wine. Qing reached into her purse and produced a small envelope. 

Qionglin carefully opened it and read the card. Tucked into the corner was a gift card to a ritzy clothing shop.

“I’ll take you shopping next weekend, if you’re free.” Qing promised. 

“Mm! Thanks jiejie,” Qionglin said leaning over to give her a one-armed hug. 

“Ooh, my turn!” Wuxian chimed in. From inside his jacket, he pulled a little bundle wrapped in red tissue paper. He handed it over, grinning proudly.

Qionglin untied the silver ribbon holding it together, and the paper unraveled. Inside was a packet of heart-shaped candies and a set of charming pins shaped like monsters: a werewolf, a sea serpent, an alien, and a ghost, much like the one on his t-shirt. Qionglin’s heart threatened to burst in his chest. Faintly blushing, he gazed up at Wuxian, who was watching him intently, eyebrows raised.

“Thank you…” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “I love these.”

Wuxian’s face split into his signature dazzling grin. “I’m so glad! I noticed you don’t accessorize much, and I thought maybe it was because jewelry would get in the way of farm work or whatever, so I figured pins might suit you-- I even made sure to get the kind with extra-sturdy backs so they won’t fall off!”

Qionglin chuckled shyly. “That’s… really thoughtful. Thank you,” he repeated.

Qing scoffed lightly. “Way to show me up,” she said looking pointedly at Wuxian, but she was smiling. She gave a small, approving nod. Apparently Wuxian met her expectations well enough. She stood gracefully and tossed her braid over her shoulder. “Well, I should get going, but you two have fun, okay? Dinner’s on me.” She bent slightly and gave Qionglin a firm hug and kissed the top of his head. 

Then she walked around him and extended her hand to Wuxian, who shook it graciously. She leaned in and whispered something to him that Qionglin couldn’t hear. 

Wuxian’s eyebrows shot into his hairline and he blanched. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured weakly. 

Qing flashed Qionglin an indulgent smile and bid them both goodnight, before sweeping away, paying the bill and leaving, her heels clacking decisively.

Qionglin cleared his throat awkwardly. “S-so that’s my sister,” he said tentatively. “I hope she didn’t say anything rude.”

Wuxian laughed, light and breezy, like he hadn’t just looked scared out of his wits. “Nothing unusual, anyway. Just the shovel talk-- and a quick one at that. Very efficient. She’s cool, though!”

“Isn’t she?” Qionglin agreed wholeheartedly. “I-I’m glad you got along okay. She seems to approve. Of you, I mean. Of-- of us.” He felt his cheeks color slightly, savoring the word us.

Wuxian smiled again, and squeezed Qionglin’s hand. “Good. Because I plan on sticking around.”

When they finished their wine, they took a walk through a park to sober up. The moon was just beginning to rise over them as they strolled leisurely, hand-in-hand. 

“So, how old are you now? 23?” Wuxian asked, somewhat out of the blue, stopping and stepping off the paved trail.

“Mhm, exactly.” Qionglin said, following him into the trees. “Why?”

“For this,” Wuxian answered. He tugged Qionglin closer and cupped both sides of his face, then began peppering him with kisses, everywhere he could reach. Qionglin spluttered and tried to pull away, but Wuxian was unstoppable. He seemed determined to cover Qionglin’s entire face in a layer of kisses. “20,” he murmured, kissing his left eyebrow. “21,” he kissed the center of his forehead. “22,” he kissed the tip of his nose. “23,” he whispered, and at last kissed Qionglin’s lips, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him tight.

When they finally parted, Qionglin was breathless and practically vibrating. He hid his face in Wuxian’s collar and snuggled close. Wuxian chuckled lightly and nuzzled his hair. “Happy birthday, Qionglin.”

[szopenhauer]

What star sign is the last person you text messaged? Aries

How did you feel when you woke up today? not well

Do you know what the person you're dating is doing at this moment? napping

Who was the last person to make you cry with laughter? my gf

Who was the last person you talked about sex/love with? either her or my father

Who introduced you to the person you're in a relationshop with? my high school classmate K.K.

How many brothers does your father have? two

When was the last time you did something which you knew was wrong? I don’t know what’s wrong and what not, ugh...

Do you still speak to your first crush? nope

If you could get your own house with one friend, who would you pick? dad but I’d prefer to live alone

Which is worse, too-tight clothes or much too-loose clothes? too tight are worse

What is something that you are willing to fight for? hmm...

If you jump, can you touch the ceiling of the room you’re in? noooo

Which do you think is worse: ear aches or tooth aches? tooth aches

How many different colors are you wearing right now?  3 (4 counting panties)

You can only listen to one band for the rest of your life, who do you pick? omg I can’t choose :o

Do you like big or small cars better? big

What store do you get the majority of your shoes from? *shrug*

What place, in your mind, is heaven on earth? How about hell on earth? there’s no such thing as heaven on Earth to me as I would bring myself there and ruin everything but almost whole planet is hell mostly because of people

Do you think there is anything scary about midnight? midnight is the time of ghosts but no longer minute before and/or after :P 

Can you snap with both of your hands? yep

In your opinion what is the absolute worst house chore? laundry?

How young do you think is too young to get married? definitely under 20 but I think it’s best to get married 30+

Who do you think is the dumbest superhero?  I can’t believe Green lantern is an actual superhero...

Would you rather be a hair stylist or a clothes designer? clothes designer

Would you rather be 3 inches taller or shorter than you are now? taller

Are there any foods that you think smell good, but taste bad? possibly

Would you ever stay overnight at any of your neighbors houses? why would I? 

Do you think it would be cooler to play a hero or the villain in a movie? hero

If you had the last name of your favorite actor, what would your name be? I like many actors so...

how many syllables does your first name consist of?: 3

do you know someone who is allergic to chocolate?: used to know

have you worn a dress [casual, formal, etc] within the past week?: not within the past week

when was the last time you saw the last person you kissed?: days ago

is that person your significant other?: yup

last person you talked to on the phone and what was it about?: mom, I informed her she probably didn’t take out the matches from my pocket and now she’s washing my shorts with ‘em inside the machine and my instinct was right so she turned it off in the last moment, minutes or even seconds later water would soak the package and that could ruin the clothes, I wish she checked or asked while taking my stuff away

got any plans today?: been to laboratory, done shopping but am too tired to help my parents in carrying wood 

were you born in an odd or even numbered year?: even

did you drive anywhere at all today?: took the bus

which of your parents did you see last?: both at once

describe your current shirt: black tee Nie każdy musi mnie lubić w końcu nie każdy ma dobry gust with Lil My

are you currently listening to music?: I’m very picky about songs today

do you fill out your own surveys or do you think it’s just weird?: I do

where did you buy the shoes you last wore?: Biedronka (Tom & Rose)

last disappointment?: health issues 

do you still talk to the person you first kissed?: yeah

did you seriously believe that the opposite sex had cooties in elementary?: I didn’t think about that 

did you take a nap today?: I barely ever take naps in general

name something random in your car: I don’t own a car

would/did you cheat on someone for revenge or if they wouldn’t find out? neither

would you rather be remembered for something bad or forgotten? forgotten

would you date someone twice your age for money? only if I really had to survive and there was no other way but not forever?

rate your self-confidence, 1 being insecure, and 10 being cocky. I’m insecure but not sure how much 

are you content? I wish

would you knowingly be who someone cheats on someone else with? cheats with me on someone they pretend to love? hell no

would you sleep with a teacher to pass a class you were failing? ewww, yuk

have you ever contemplated physically hurting yourself or another? mhm

are you prejudice against any groups of people? I am

is there anything you chose to be ignorant about? (war, animal rights, etc) maybe

would you replace any family members if possible (& who)? oh well...

do you lie when asked how you’re doing? what for? to blame then for not noticing? to be an ass who’s lying?...

do you have any plans for tomorrow? meeting with M.

are you able to get a tan? not much

the next time you are on an airplane, where will you be traveling to? umm... no thx

are you satisfied with the picture on your id card? could be worse but also could be better

what are your chances of getting with your crush? I'm taken

what color is your car? no car!

is the song you’re currently listening to being sung by a male or female? two women

where did you get the shirt that you’re wearing? it was a gift

how tall is the last person you kissed? taller than me

is anybody in the room with you right now? not rn

how long have you been with your significant other, if you have one? 3 months

do you enjoy dried fruit? meh

How’s your day going? blergh

What does your umbrella look like? I borrow my parents’ umbrella, I hate umbrellas

Do you share a room with anyone? there are furniture with stuff inside that don’t belong to me

Do you have socks on? Describe them. grey

Are you one of those people who has like a hundred apps on their phone? I have spotify, choices, tumblr, tik tok, fb and messenger

Do you have good reflexes? I guess

Picture you think is cute.

Do you like blowing bubbles? sometimes

Are you better at posing good questions or coming up with outrageous dares? depends

Has there been a celebrity death that really affected you? I cried after some celebs but that’s all

If you’re out of high school, have you stayed in touch with your high school friends?  I haven’t :(

Do you think, if it came down to it, that you’d be able to kill someone? I believe I might

Are you good at rating things? am not

Do you get into a lot of arguments? :x

Can you pass for older than you are? can’t even pass for my real age lmfao

Do you talk a lot? at times

Are you capable of finishing a game of Monopoly? it’s not that hard

Do you own any tie-dye clothing? I hate tie-dye 

How much soda do you drink in a week? - Do you like being asked questions? love Are you nosy? slightly

How well can you pay attention to someone talking? depends What is the closest yellow thing to you? rosary Would you mind living on a farm? I’d try Are you a patient person? wouldn’t say so What annoys you the most about people? what doesn’t... Does your computer freeze a lot? my browser freezes right after turning on the computer and my internet dies often

Have you ever ate glue? wtf

When is the last time you took a picture? this day

If you could know one thing about the future, what would it be? when will I die for example

Do you like Ellen Degeneres? she’s awful

Are you comfortable dancing in public? whatever

Would you like to live to be 110 years old? I wanna die already

Do you like getting your picture taken? I’m ugly

Do you like being the X or the O when you play tic tac toe? X

What do you think is the most popular name for a girl? I checked:

Zofia Hanna Julia Zuzanna Alicja Maja Helena Maria Oliwia Pola

What about a boy?

Jan Franciszek Antoni Aleksander Stanisław Jakub Adam Leon Mikołaj Szymon

*do ya like any?

How many people are around you right now? my family’s in the kitchen eating so I’m alone

Do spicy foods give you heartburn or make you make you gassy? both and more

Is body hair attractive or unattractive to you? it’s normal/natural?

Do you prefer bare feet or socks? socks

Hard wood floor or carpet? hardwood

Would you ever want to work in a toy store? yasss

Do you like asking questions better or answering? answering

Do you follow your head or heart more? head

Would you rather give up your hand or your foot? foot

Have you ever tried crowd surfing? too risky and no fun

If you could have 16 wishes, tell me just one you wish: I don’t need 16, 3 are enough

Do you like the movie Bambi? If so, who is your favorite on there? I don’t remember Bambi 

Would you rather be on the computer all day or watch TV? computer

Would you rather be a police man or a firefighter? police

Do you like jokes or riddles better? jokes

Do you like onion rings? disgusting

Do you like odd or even numbers better? even are easier to count

Last song you heard? Marroon 5 - Animals

Ocean or lake? lake

Do you know a lot of people with the middle name Marie? weird but no, Anna is more popular

Do you like loud or quiet people better? smth in between unless in public - quiet strangers are better

Taking pictures or getting your picture taken? taking

Do you like chocolate? meh

Favorite day of the year? New year’s eve?

Favorite holiday? same

Crayons or markers? markers

Snookie or Vinny? Snookie

have you ever been to an animal shelter? that would break my heart

are you tired right now?

who is the worst actor or actress in your opinion? there are plenty  have you ever bought someone else lingerie? nope where are your parents right now? run around the house like crazy if you have a dog, does it bark a lot? luckily not, he howls rarely too have you ever seen a magic show? sure can you juggle? I tried to learn but failed