#wait do I have to tag all the vestiges now? oh no

[hoodiemanic]

He stepped out for a quick trip to the supermarket

[docholligay]

Ep 5: Ben and Misty

Hello! This is about up to Episode 5 of Yellowjackets, and ONLY episode 5 of Yellowjackets. I have not seen beyond the fifth episode, at all, and know NOTHING about this show. Please do not spoil it for me.  Things that are spoilery in nature, for me, include: saying things like  “Just wait!!” confirming or denying anything I put forward, outside information about the cast interviews or creator statements, leading questions like “Do you think “blank moment” means anything?” etc. Remember  that Y’ALL HAVE SEEN THE SHOW AND I HAVE NOT. This informs the way you  talk about things relating to the show. Just be really careful is all  I’m asking. Also: If there is LITERALLY any stance I  could take on this show or character that would make you upset, please  just fucking block the tag

If you WOULD like to discuss the show and my takes on it, the Discord is right here! I don’t go there, so it’s a great place to get every emotion out.

Please thank @sailorsunspot and @moonlight-frittata for backing this odd way of doing a liveblog, and remember my tip jar is always open

Poor Ben here is trapped as an authority figure. Travis could overpower him, fuck, the girls could overpower him, he relies on Misty, and yet he still has the vestiges of authority because we are only now beginning to see that the old world no longer holds sway. 

The quasi-religious tone when Misty walks into his room to touch him was a really amazing thing, and it’s true, though, that for Misty, this is on the level of a miracle. A man she finds handsome needs her, she spends all her time in his light, she goes toward him with the reverence of a saint. And he rejects her. He tells her not to fucking touch him. We even see a cross on the wall as she leaves the room. 

So if even someone she has done so much for, someone she has devoted herself toward, cannot love her, they have to pay. Now, the question I have for myself is: Do I think Misty actually wants to kill him, or do I think that it’s more a price she is willing to pay in order to get him close to her again, to need her? I think it might be number two, but I also think establishing that she is willing to kill someone to get what she needs is a very important thing we need to know about Misty. 

Him losing his leg works on multiple levels here, of course it’s a device to get him close to Misty for the express purposes of ‘oh my god holy shit fuckin Misty,’ but also, it’s a symbol, a visual reminder of the fact that his power and authority is quite literally crippled here. We are seeing him slowly lose control of the situation, even as the girls are continuing to follow him, even as Travis still listens, there’s this absolute edge of losing control in the air. 

And he senses this, and this is why he reacts to Misty’s stange confession of love by calling himself into her protection with his own, while clinging to this fractured and lost authority as a gate between he and Misty. How long will that gate hold? What can he cling to then, and how far might he go to keep from getting killed by Misty in the pain of her rejection? 

Because make no mistake, all of this is about Misty and her feeling of rejection, and in the way they continue to push in this story that I love, the rejected nerd is not sitting in the corner crying, we are not meant to identify with her, we are meant to see that she instead decides that those who reject her should be punished. 

Which is why it is so terrifying when she sees Nat call her a poodle haired frreak at the end of the episode. She thought the threat of being blackmailed would make them appreciate her, need her. But instead, this.

[voiceless-terror]

Outside the Lines

for @archivalpride month! the prompt was ‘sharing clothes’ so I decided to add on a bit to my More than Enough archives polycule fic. you don’t need to read it beforehand, though. 2.2k words, cw in the tags.

Jon likes Sasha’s clothes. Particularly, her cardigans.

They’re warm, oversized things in pastel colors, chunky cable knits and ancient pullovers, smelling faintly of jasmine and sandalwood. There’s always one draped over the back of her chair at work, at home. Sometimes a pile of them.

“Just in case,” she said knowingly, when Jon mentioned the teetering pile on the back of her office chair. 

“Of what, a blizzard?” he replied archly, to which she had no response.

But Jon runs cold, so it makes sense that he’d like them. And eye them. And eventually, borrow them.

“You look good in pink,” she said casually, walking by him cozily wrapped up, surrounded by books for his latest case. “You should wear it more often.” Jon just grumbled in response.

It now sits on the back of his chair.

Point is, they’re not strangers to sharing clothes. Once they move in together, the lines blur even more. Jon’s scarves become hers, her jackets become his. It’s nice when the someone’s scent begins to remind you of home. Embarrassingly, he’s come to think of it like a hug when she’s not around. Perhaps she feels the same way, but Jon’s not going to bring it up. He’s not that maudlin.

“You need to stop me from online shopping,” she groans one day, dropping a pile of clothing into his lap that must have been from the newly-arrived and altogether giant box he found on the steps of their flat. Jon had raised an eyebrow as she guiltily hauled it to her room and got to work. “I swear, I don’t remember ordering half of this.”

“Far be it from me to get between a James and her phone,” he replies, picking through the pile of utterly un-Sasha-like clothing. It’s all floaty tops and tiny skirts, nothing like what she usually gravitates toward. She certainly has more...adventurous tastes, when she’s intoxicated.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you at all,” Jon retorts, picking up the most offensive piece from the pile with his thumb and pointer finger: a muted brown, and yet somehow sparkly miniskirt. He raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Really?”

“I was not in my right state of mind, you know that.” She ran a hand over her face, refusing to look him in the eye. “Anyway, see if there’s anything in there you like. Otherwise, it’s all going back.”

Jon very much doubts there’s much in here for him - not a chunky knit in sight. The tops aren’t too bad, but a bit too sheer for his liking, and if he’s going to layer, he’d rather be comfortable than fashionable. He pushes the pile off his lap when something catches his eye. Buried beneath two very loud shirts is something black, with bits of lace. He pulls it out to find a simple black dress, high-necked with pearl buttons and slightly puffed sleeves.  It’s modest, but covered in a delicate lace pattern. His grip tightens incrementally. “You don’t like this?”

Sasha peeks her head around the corner. “S’bit short on me. You should try it on, though. It’s cute.”

Jon flushes. It’s something he might’ve worn in uni, when he and Georgie made a night of it and Jon had just enough liquid courage. Now, though, it doesn’t fit with his professional persona and strict uniform of blazers, vests, and button ups. He needed to be taken seriously, and he didn’t feel he could do that if he was...experimenting, as his grandmother would phrase it. His hair he still wears long, the only vestige of that life he kept. “Oh,” he responds automatically, “I couldn’t.”

Sasha blinks. “I think you’d look really nice. Put your hair up, maybe add some earrings.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” She comes behind his perch on the sofa, gathering his hair up in her hand and pulling it from his face. “Leave a few pieces out, y’know, artfully messy.” She takes the dress and pulls it up against his body. “What do you think?”

“Um, maybe,” he barely manages to whisper. It feels nice, right. He can see it in his mind’s eye - it looks very him. Not feminine or masculine, just pretty. Just Jon. “I’ll think about it.”

He thinks about it. The dress hangs in the back of his closet, untouched and passed over many a morning. He tried it on and Sasha had been right- of course she was, she’s good at that sort of thing when not inebriated. Maybe one day he’d wear it out - not to work, but to drinks or something.

Maybe.

It’s not until months down the line that he tugs it out, on one of those days where he feels like his body doesn’t make sense and names sound wrong in his ears. Drinks with Tim, the newest recruit to their department. Hard won drinks, if Jon might add; Tim was just starting to open up to them. He tugs the dress over his head and digs through a plate on his dresser for the long silver earrings Sasha gave him last Christmas. He studiously avoids the mirror on his way out the door, throwing his bag over his shoulder and standing in the doorway, as if waiting for Sasha’s reaction. 

This was a bad idea, he thinks as his palms start to sweat. You look ridiculous, you shouldn’t have- his thoughts are interrupted by a gentle hand tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. Sasha smiles at him.

“Oh, you’re perfect.” 

Tim thinks so too.

----------

“Oh man, I’ve got to get rid of that.”

Tim motions to the blazer in Sasha’s hand. “Hasn’t fit me since uni. Y’know, when I got these guns.” Sasha rolls her eyes as he makes an exaggerated motion with his arms. They’ve been cleaning out Tim’s apartment for the past few hours, she and Tim in the bedroom while Jon sorted through his books in the living room. She suspects he’s doing more reading than sorting.

“Why’d you keep it, then?” She holds the hanger up, smoothing the fabric out with her hand. It’s heavy, quality fabric. A shame to get rid of it.

“Dunno, just one of those things,” he shrugs, throwing another pair of joggers onto the bed. “It was expensive, but I only ever wore it to interviews for internships and the like. You can toss it in the donate pile.”

She hums idly, making no motion to get rid of it. She’s rather fond of blazers, has quite a few in her collection. They’re nice when she wants to be a bit more dressy and professional. A woman’s outfit can occasionally be her armor, particularly in academia, and nothing says ‘take me seriously’ like a nicely fitted jacket and skirt. Never mind how it makes her feel. But this is very much a men’s blazer, barely a nip at the waist and with nothing to outline the curve of her body. And yet.

She shoves it in her bag. If she doesn’t like it, she’ll throw it out.

_______

When Jon and Tim are tucked in bed, she tries it on.

She doesn’t know why she’s being so secretive about this. It’s not like Jon and Tim will care, it’s just clothes. Lord knows she’s encouraged Jon to wear whatever he wants, and there’s no surefire way to get Tim blushing like wearing one of his pullovers. But there’s something that feels a bit transgressive about it. She was generally drawn to more feminine looks, growing up as a tall girl there’s an inherent (perhaps taught) idea that making herself look smaller and delicate would make her more appealing. Appealing for what? She always wanted to ask. But she knows the answer now. It’s taken near a decade to get the slouch out of her posture and to get comfortable wearing heels. 

It seems silly to feel so cowed by a blazer. She’s thirty years old, unmarried and living with two partners. She stopped playing by the rules a long time ago. Her hands shouldn’t be shaking. For Christ’s sake, just put it on.

She slips her arms into the sleeves, pausing to inhale the leftover scent of Tim, his laundry detergent and the after shave he occasionally wears. Her entire body warms, like stepping into a bath. She slips the rest of it on, pausing to adjust the shirt underneath. When she looks in the mirror, she can’t help the grin that fills her face. She looks good. Her broad shoulders fit the line of the jacket perfectly, her curves hidden and barely even suggested by the cut. It is decidedly not feminine. 

She likes it.

It takes her twenty minutes to drag herself from the bathroom and back into bed. She lies awake through Tim’s light snores and Jon’s murmuring, filled with a strange, nervous excitement. It’s just a blazer, she thinks to herself somewhat giddily. It’s just clothes. But when she throws it on that Monday morning and steps into the kitchen, she starts to think it might be more than that. She walks a little taller, feels a bit more at home in her skin. Tim choking on his orange juice when he sees her is just an added bonus.

“Glad you kept it,” he stutters out, once he manages to stop gaping.

She’s glad too.

______

Martin’s sitting on Jon’s bed, watching as he runs a brush through his hair.

Jon’s hair is lovely, long and shiny. His own he keeps rather short, though the curls are getting a bit unruly these days. When he was a child, his mother insisted he keep it long, just like she insisted on a great many other things. But he shed all of that, got as far away from it as possible. And yet, eyeing the silvery tray on Jon’s dresser, he has to admit he’s curious. 

It’s full of delicate, pretty accessories- hair clips and necklaces and earrings. Jon’s like a magpie, collecting shiny things; though this collection is mostly gifts from the three of them. It’s a little dance they like to do- Jon sees something in a store, stares a little too long, insists he doesn’t need it, and eventually it ends up in their flat. 

Their flat. He’s still getting used to it. He’s never felt at home anywhere, but he’s starting to think he has one now. Listening to Jon hum as he cooks, Tim reading aloud from his recent article deep-dive, Sasha butting in with a comment - these are all good things. The background noise to his days that used to be filled with silence. 

And he’s never been around people so at home with themselves. Martin is so used to putting an effort into how he presents himself in the world, he’s never enjoyed being misconstrued. A strange, delicate balance of pride in who he is at war with a desperate need to be understood and accepted. Palatable. Easier to put yourself in a box with clear labels than to deal with the confusion and the questions. Any passing thought or fleeting impulse that goes outside the lines is dismissed.

But nothing about his situation now is easily labeled, to be honest. It’s hard enough explaining his relationship status to others, though Sasha has a little spiel ready to rattle off at a moment’s notice. They’re all so comfortable with each other, with themselves. It makes him both a bit braver and a bit more afraid.

While Jon scurries off to flick through his closet, Martin gets up, walking over to the collection and picking up the small moth broach he’d gotten him on one of their first dates, before Tim started to come along. The memory brings a smile to his face.

“Oh, it’s lovely, Martin.” Jon had immediately pinned it to his jacket, before reaching down to grab a bag at his feet. “And ah, actually- I got something for you too?”

A little Highland cow plushie. So he had been listening to his rant on Scotland the other day. It still sits in place of pride on his desk. 

“Do you want to try one?” Martin jumps at the sound of Jon’s voice, dropping the pin unceremoniously back into the pile as if he’d been burnt. He turns around, prepared to voice a thousand excuses, a knee-jerk reaction. 

“No, it’s-”

But Jon’s already sorting through the pile with clever fingers, hand lingering over a thin barrette with a tiny, gold flower. Pretty, simple. Martin’s hand itches to reach out but he draws it into a tight fist. Admiring is one thing, but actually wearing it-

“C’mere.” He thinks he should refuse but instead he leans down, lets Jon’s fingers wind their way through his hair and feels a settled weight against his head.

“There.” Jon smiles. “That’ll do quite nicely.”

He looks in the mirror. Oh.

It’s barely even noticeable, just a small clip bringing the longest of his curls behind his ear. But Jon’s right. It looks nice. It goes with his hair and it doesn’t feel feminine or wrong, just a comfortable weight against his head reminding him he belongs, he’s loved. And that Martin’s still himself, even if he steps outside of the box every now and then. 

“You don’t have to keep it in if you-”

“No. I like it.” He straightens his spine, tilts his head. Smiles. Jon smiles back.

Yeah. He likes it.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31803076

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 305: Worst Intervention Ever

Previously on BnHA: Shinomori, whose name took me an entire week to memorize, was all, “nice to meet you Deku, I’m ten feet tall, do you want to know how I died?” and without waiting for an answer explained that he kicked it from old age at forty thanks to good ol’ OFA. Deku was all “wait a minute, then how come All Might, who’s fifty-five and is definitely dyeing his gray hair, is still alive?” First and Shino were all, “we really have no fucking clue but we think it’s cuz he’s quirkless, JUST LIKE YOU!” So basically, since quirkless people don’t exactly grow on trees these days, Deku is probably going to be the last user of OFA. The chapter ended with Nana being all, “psst, Deku, about my grandson. Uh, can you kill him?” which is sure to lead to a very interesting conversation this week.

Today on BnHA: Nana And The Gang are all “so, Deku, how can we put this delicately. The thing is, we’re pretty sure that AFO really fucked my grandson up, so on the off chance you can’t save him, how would you feel about, you know... [throat slitting gesture].” Deku is all “idk you guys, I kinda feel like he’s really just a traumatized child at heart and he’s in a lot of pain and stuff and so I should try to help him.” The Vestiges are all “BUT WHAT IF YOU CAN’T” and Deku is all “BUT I WANT TO TRY, DAMMIT” and the Vestiges are all “well when you put it that way, we, uh, were just testing you, so congrats, you passed!” The chapter ends with First being all, “ANYWAY SO WHY DON’T YOU TWO SHY BOYS STANDING OVER THERE IN THE SHADOWS COME SAY HELLO” before we CUT AWAY FOR ANOTHER WEEK, goddammit.

seriously, Nana

just... have you met Deku?? look, if you really want Tomura dead, just sic him on the U.A. first years and tell Shouto and Honenuki that it’s a training exercise

oh my god lmao

we’re too far away to see Nana’s face here so I will just assume that she turned and is staring DIRECTLY INTO THE CAMERA for this one line lmao. “I just wanted to clarify in case anyone felt inclined to take my dialogue out of context and spend an entire week complaining about it”

oh my god?! are you all purposely trying to make me sad??

someone stop me before I launch into an impromptu rant about all my Tomura feels. WHY IS NOBODY STOPPING ME. oh my god but yes, exactly. he’s just in pain all the time. this is exactly why I think Tomura has such high redemption potential even though so far he seems to lack so many of the redemption arc essentials such as feeling remorse, wanting to change, and taking responsibility for his actions. the reason why I’m willing to overlook all that in his case is because Tomura has essentially had zero agency his entire life. AFO molded him into a killer by making sure he was in constant mental agony, and making it so that the only thing that even slightly relieved that agony was killing peeps. like, please don’t think I’m making excuses for him or anything, but if you take a child and manipulate their existence to make it virtually impossible for that child to grow up as anything other than a killer, and basically never give him the chance to be anything else, then no shit he’s gonna be a killer?? he’s basically never had the choice not to be. it’s never been an option for him. anyways I feel like I am EXPLAINING MYSELF SO BADLY but nonetheless I am prepared to die on this hill

anyway so now Nana is all “that’s a rhetorical question btw because Our Hearts And Minds Are One so we can feel everything you feel bro.” so yeah, that’s interesting

now Banjou is getting started on the “let’s try and talk Deku out of wanting to save Tomura because it’s insane” part of their OFA Mystical Space Void Reunion agenda

look, Banjou, I feel you, I really do. you guys don’t think it’s realistic that Deku can defeat Tomura without killing him. so if it’s a choice between killing Tomura vs letting Deku and everyone else in the entire world die, then duh, you think Deku should kill him. I get it! and if this were a real life mass murderer I’d totally agree with you. but the problem is that this isn’t real life, this is a sympathetic shounen villain with a tragic past who might as well have FUTURE REDEMPTION ARC RECEIPIENT stamped on his forehead at this point

so First is all “look, there’s absolutely no doubt my brother has fucked this kid up good and proper by now”, which, again, fair

though, that’s kind of exactly my point though. everything that Tomura is, everything he’s done, he’s done because of AFO. AFO has so effectively shaped his personality and his worldview by this point that it’s all but impossible to penetrate that. he’s AFO’s puppet. but the problem is that rather than treating him like a victim, you all are treating him like a casualty. like he’s already a lost cause. but good luck trying to convince Deku of that

WHOA WHAT, RANDOM SUPER-IMPORTANT AND BIZARRELY UNRELATED EXPOSITION DROPPED IN JUST LIKE THAT??

way to still not reveal Sixth’s name, btw. THE PEOPLE WANT TO KNOW, DAMMIT. but also so this confirms something we basically already knew already, which is that not even AFO can steal OFA. it literally can’t be taken away by anyone unless the owner wills it. SO SUCK ON THAT AFO YOU EGG

(ETA: so I have no idea why this was omitted from this translation, but apparently the Sixth’s name was revealed as “En”, which is obviously not his full name but at least it’s something. also he most likely has a fire or smoke-related quirk based on the kanji used, 煙.)

so Banjou is saying that Deku’s “lack of an iron will” could be a disadvantage against AFO. hahaha what?? Midoriya “I’ll break all of my bones without blinking an eye just to protect someone” Izuku lacks an iron will? do tell

he says this is going to be a test of Deku’s determination. well yeah, no shit. but just not in the way you guys think

OH HELLO AGAIN

darker hair again here! but I don’t trust the contrast in these scans at all after last week. his coveralls are way darker than they looked before too, and you can clearly see he’s standing in the shadows now

(ETA: yep, once again the raw shows that his hair is considerably lighter than what’s shown in these scans here. although there’s no mistaking now that his hair is consistently being colored in this slightly darker shade, and it’s not just the lighting.)

anyways lol First was saying something about how AFO can’t steal OFA, and they’ve spent all this time cultivating it as the ultimate weapon against AFO, and blah blah blah. go on then, keep lecturing

NANA GODDAMMIT NONE OF THIS IS YOUR FAULT

girl what?? you did everything in your power to protect your family, and AFO, fucked up man that he is, targeted them anyway. there is one person and one person only to blame for what’s happened to Tomura, and that potato-faced asshole needs a good kick in the balls

NANA GODDAMMIT DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE

SO HELP ME GOD!! I WILL GIVE YOU THE BIGGEST HUG YOU’VE EVER HAD!! THAT IS A THREAT

so now Nana is all “I’m just going to call my grandson a Thing to ensure that fandom has only the freshest, grass-fed no-hormones-added discourse this week”

I don’t even need to drop into the tags to know exactly which specific people are going to respond to this, and what kind of posts they are going to write lmao. everyone’s all caught up in the “that thing”, and meanwhile I’m over here completely hung up on this “nay” that’s appeared out of NOWHERE you guys. look at that. she really said “NAY”

Nana, my love, my dearest, I feel you girl I really do. but he’s not an unforgivable manifestation of pure evil, Deku is exactly right actually, he’s a boy in pain. you guys need to stop questioning Deku’s shounen protagonist instincts here and just let him work his sparkly magic. “let’s try and convince Midoriya Fucking Izuku that he can’t save someone” is a plan that is NEVER going to turn out well you guys

“DEKU GODDAMMIT WHAT IF WE CAN’T SAVE HIM” lmao it’s like an intervention

“DAMMIT DEKU JUST ADMIT YOU HAVE A SAVING PEOPLE PROBLEM!”

RED ALERT IT’S ANOTHER CLOSE-UP OF THE BACK OF MISTER TWO BON CLAY’S HEAD OMG

(ETA: I was too distracted with freaking out about Two and Three to really appreciate how ridiculously handsome First looks in this panel. but on my second readthrough it stood out so much that I had to go back and add an extra bullet point just to talk about how hot he is. look at him. wtf.)

THAT IS DEFINITELY AN UNDERCUT. THE PLOT THICKENSSSS. also those are fucking exhaust vents on Mister Three’s neck. MISTER THREE COULD YOU POSSIBLY BE RELATED TO THE IIDAS, PLEASE TELL ME YOUR SECRETS I’M DYING OVER HERE

so now Deku is launching into what will undoubtedly be a “saving people problems require SAVING PEOPLE SOLUTIONS” heroic counter-speech!

I mean, they can already feel the “lol nah I’m gonna try and save him” feelings running through him lol. ~OuR hEaRtS aNd MiNdS aRe CoNnEcTeD~ and all that. this is just a formality, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love a good shounen protag speech

oh wait hold up, do you mean to tell me that the whole “hearts and minds are connected” thing I was just mocking just a paragraph ago actually allowed Deku to feel what Tomura was feeling?? like literally feel it??

YET AGAIN these Tomura feels are pounding on my front door you guys?? they just will not quit?? people my house is already full of feels, does it look like I need you to sell me any more of them?? -- what do you mean, they’re free??

AW YISS THAT’S IT DEKU. THAT’S SOME GOOD SPEECH RIGHT THERE

I appreciate the contrast here between the Douchebag Triumvirate of Overhaul, Muscular, and Stain versus the Misguided Twosome of Gentle and La Brava. never let it be said that Deku doesn’t know the difference between a redeemable villain and an unredeemable one

OH NO -- OH MY GOD

someone please help me I need directions to the OFA Spooky Galactic Nebula Realm in this fictional Japanese manga land. it’s not on google maps. I need to give these two babies a big hug and wrap them up in a blanket and treat them to some McDonalds Happy Meals please help

other things: (1) ENDEAVOR CHILLING OUT IN DEKU’S “PEOPLE I HOLD DEAR” PANEL LMAO NEON DISCOURSE EXTRAVAGANZA, (2) “ONE FOR ALL IS A POWER TO SAVE, NOT TO KILL” I’M ABOUT TO CRY DEKU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH HOW IS IT EVEN POSSIBLE TO FEEL ALL THIS LOVE, (3) [SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE] THERE’S YOUR MOTHERFUCKING IRON WILL!!!!!!!! -- I’m sorry, please don’t call security, I’ll be good

I just randomly remembered that Deku is still saying all of this in his muffled “FMMPHHMMPHMM” voice and I’m somehow cracking up lol. so actually it’s a very good thing Their Hearts And Minds Are Connected, otherwise they’d no doubt be all, “...what?”

(ETA: so I completely missed this on account of it literally not being visible in the scan at all, but in the raw you can clearly see Baby Kacchan and Baby Shouto fanboying over All Might in two of these panels, and excuse me, ma’am??

thank you very much Deku for including them in your montage, particularly since you’ve never seen Baby Shouto before lol. amazingly accurate image you managed to conjure up, all things considered.)

SDKFJLSKHG -- AS IF ON CUE???

HE’S SO ADORABLE HELP?? Trippy Space All Might looks like he’s about to cry, and First is all “don’t crack a smile... you have to be Firm and Serious here... dammit, don’t smile” omg

anyways! YOU GO DEKU. “MY QUIRK MY RULES, BITCHES” damn, son

KLJLKKHLG TRIPPY SPACE ALL MIGHT LITERALLY ACTUALLY IS CRYING ALL MIGHT HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

“I JUST... [CLENCHES FIST] REALLY LOVE SAVING PEOPLE” FUCKING HELL LMAO THIS IS THE WORST INTERVENTION OF ALL TIME

Deku is literally all “sure, maybe I’ll have to kill him, but have you guys also considered, MAYBE NOT??” it’s no use Nana he’s too powerful

LMAO FIRST

“like I’ve been saying this whole time, you should definitely try saving Shigaraki Tomura.” “but, uh... First, didn’t you just -- ” “shut up”

(ETA: clearly it’s not just his brother who inherited those smooth-talking genes.)

so now Deku has turned back into a sixteen year old and his clothes have gone missing again. just OFA things

dskljdlsklgk

yes... sure... “testing” you...

HEY

FIRST OF ALL, DAMN YOU HORIKOSHI YOU MADE NANA CRY. even if I’m pretty sure they’re actually tears of happiness/relief. and SECOND OF ALL, “TELL MY BOYFRIEND I SAID HI” DJSKDLKJJL ANYWAY MAYBE GRAN, NANA, AND MR. SHIMURA WERE IN A THROUPLE

[SCREAMS]

WHY WOULD YOU END IT THERE?? WHY WOULD YOU END IT THERE!!!!!

(ETA: and two-to-one odds that we cut away to some other scene once they finally start to turn around next week. I’M CALLING IT NOW. giving myself a week to brace myself for the rage.)

fucking hell. well if anyone needs me I will be adding Horikoshi fucking Kouhei to the list of irredeemable villains, peace

[writethelifeyouwant]

Red

Summary: Y/N has been having an infuriating dry spell in the love department lately, thanks to lockdown, and her roommate Jensen is getting fed up with her attitude. So, he lets her in on a little secret…

Pairing: Danneel x Reader Rating: 18+ Tags: female masturbation, talk of male masturbation, phone sex, dirty talk, praise kink, light degradation, lockdown was hard on singletons but great for phone sex operators Word Count: 4.5k Created for: @anyfandomgoesbingo - Sex Hotline AU | @spnkinkbingo - Tribbing

A/N: Requested by @danneelsmain - hope this lived up to your expectations babe! I haven't written Danneel before but I really enjoyed writing this ❤️

“Yes... yes... yesyesyes–”

“Hey, Y/N!” Bang, bang, bang! “Hurry up in there will ya? I’m dyin’ here,” Jensen jiggled the doorknob to no avail, and Y/N was incredibly thankful she’d remembered to lock it this time.

I’m dying here, Y/N thought to herself, pulling the shower head from between her legs with a frustrated huff, the water swirling down the drain carrying the fading vestiges of her almost-orgasm with it. She had been so close. Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Just a minute!” she shouted, frustration tipping over into anger. The knob on the faucet was twisted to the ‘off’ position with unnecessary violence, and the shower curtain was attached at one less ring than it had been half an hour ago when it was yanked open to settle against the back wall of the tub.

Bang! Ban–

“Seriously, Jensen?!” Y/N barely had the towel secured around herself before she threw open the door, hastily ducking to avoid Jensen’s knock-in-progress.

“Thank fuck.” Jensen danced around Y/N and shoved the door shut, sending Y/N slipping across the tiles on her still-wet feet and locking her on the other side. The clearly audible hiss of Jensen relieving himself leaked through the door and Y/N growled in frustration, aiming a kick at the door before stomping down the hallway to her room.

He couldn’t have waited ten more seconds…

It had been bad enough that lockdown got them all stuck at home with no possibility of one night stands, or follow-up booty calls to keep her sex drive in check, but now Y/N was having an even bigger problem. She hadn’t been able to get herself over the finish line for at least two weeks, and she had no earthly idea as to why. Y/N was beginning to think that regular orgasms were part of the reason that she was usually nice to be around, because right now she felt like she was one bad joke away from stabbing somebody.

And that someone was likely to be Jensen.

Tucked up into the corner of the couch was Y/N’s standard position these days. She wasn’t sure what was playing on the TV, something as mindless as she felt right now.

“Budge up.” Jensen hit her feet and flopped back gracelessly on top of them without giving her the chance to move them.

“Ow, asshole!” A pillow whipped through the air and collided squarely with the side of Jensen’s face.

“What is your problem lately?”

“You, clearly,” Y/N snapped, pulling her knees into her chest defensively. Jensen raised a single eyebrow, giving her a pointed look. “No, it’s not you,” Y/N admitted, letting some of her aggression seep out of her frame with her words. “Sorry.”

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, it’s fine.”

There was a stiff silence between them, Jensen waiting for Y/N to break and answer his question and Y/N knowing that she didn’t want to talk about this with Jensen but not seeing a way out of the conversation. Jensen had an irritating habit of getting her to open up about things she never planned on telling people – like the fact that she was gay. And now he was about to hear far more about her sex life than she ever wanted to share with someone of the male species.

“I’m, um,” her cheeks were on fire as she glanced up to see Jensen looking back at her with concerned curiosity. “I’m… having a problem,” she finished lamely.

“Okay…”

“I can’t… Do you ever–” Y/N choked on the words every time they tried to bubble through. “So… um, it’s– it’s been a while.” She saw comprehension flash over Jensen’s freckled face a moment later.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“You know PornHub has a whole section for lesbian shit, right?” Another pillow hits him in the face. “Okay, okay, ow,” Jensen rubs his jaw in exaggeration. “But seriously, it’s been a while for everyone. You just gotta take business into your own hands.���

“You don’t think I’ve been doing that?” Y/N hissed, unconsciously checking around them as if someone else was in their apartment who might overhear.

“Well then what’s the problem?”

“I haven’t like,” Y/N made a variety of nonsequitous hand motions that had no bearing on the word ‘orgasm’ but Jensen seemed to get the message.

“How long?” he cringed.

“Like, almost three weeks? And it’s not like I haven’t been trying like, everything, I just… can’t,” she shrugged helplessly. “Has this kind of thing ever happened to you? Is there something like, physically wrong with me?”

“No, no, I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with you,” Jensen rushed to reassure her, patting her leg awkwardly. “This kind of thing happens all the time.”

“So it’s happened to you too?” Hope shone from Y/N’s face that maybe she wasn’t doomed to a life empty of sexual pleasure.

“Well… no, not exactly.” Y/N’s shoulders drooped, hopes slashed.

“How are you staying so sane?” Y/N accused. “You used to be with a different girl every few days before all of this.”

“Hey! I was not,” Jensen was mock offended but Y/N could tell he was also a little proud. “And I’ve, uh… I’ve got my sources,” his eyes twinkled mischievously as he answered her question.

“Jensen Ross Ackles, have you been sneaking out behind my back!”

“No,” he rolled his eyes, “nothing like that.” Jensen pulled out his phone and started scrolling through the screen as Y/N watched.

“Jen, if you’re trying to show me porn, I’m good. Don’t need to see what you get off to,” Y/N shuddered at the thought. A text beeped on her phone a second later, Jensen’s name popping up on the screen.

“That’s my source,” he explains and she opens the message to see a 1-800 number, next to the word Red.

“Red?”

“Red.” Jensen confirmed with a wicked grin, nodding sagely.

Y/N could not believe she was about to do this. She looked down at the number on her phone screen, ready to dial as soon as she pressed the little green button. Jensen’s assurances echoed in her head. Best phone sex I’ve ever had… she actually gets off with you, she’s not just faking it… sounds so hot, and her body is killer in her profile pic. Admittedly, the picture he’d shown her had been really fucking sexy. A slender girl in small red panties and unfairly pretty breasts cradled in a satin bra covered in little hearts, dark red hair pinned up around her face in a vintage style.

Before she could talk herself out of it again, Y/N pressed dial and held the phone up to her ear. It rang a few times before connecting to an automated menu, and Y/N was secretly relieved she wouldn’t have to ask an operator if she could speak to ‘Red’.

Thank you for calling the Sugar Lips Hotline. Please enter your card details to continue.

Jensen had warned her about this part, so she had her card sitting out of her wallet on the desk in front of her.

If you know who you are trying to reach, please press one. If you would like to be assigned a random operator, please press two.

Y/N shakily pressed the number one, and then put the phone on speaker while she was at it.

If you would like to speak with Candy, press one, followed by the pound key. If you would like to speak with Kitty, press two, followed by the pound key. If you would like to speak with Lance…

Y/N wondered if she would still have the confidence to go through with this by the time the robotic voice mentioned ‘Red’.

If you would like to speak with Red, press thirteen, followed by the pound key.

The moment of truth. Y/N entered the number 13 and then pressed the pound key. The line began to ring again.

“Hi there,” a temptingly soft voice slipped through the receiver of the phone sitting on the desk in front of her.

“Hi-i,” Y/N’s voice was jarring in comparison, breaking on the first word she uttered.

“Oh, so I’ve got a pretty little girl on the line today, huh?” Y/N didn’t know how to answer so she didn’t, hands frozen in a death grip on the sleeves of her too big sweatshirt. “What’s your name, baby?”

“Y/N,” she whispered back, suddenly scared that Jensen would be able to hear every word being said in her room. Quickly digging into her pockets she pulled out her headphones and plugged them into her cell. Why hadn’t she done that earlier?

“That’s such a pretty name, baby,” the woman cooed, and now her voice was right against Y/N’s ears; it felt like she was in the room, whispering against her skin. “I’m Red.”

“That’s what I should call you?” Y/N managed to keep the tremor out of her words this time.

“Unless you want to call me something else? I can be whoever you want me to be baby girl. Mommy, ma’am, mistress…” Y/N’s heart thundered against her ribs. She realised that she had no idea what she wanted from this – she just knew she was desperate. “Or maybe you want to be in charge? I could be your baby, your good little girl.” Y/N wished she could see Red right now, watch what she looked like as she purred all these promises down the line, teasing and tempting.

“Is,” Y/N gulped, “is there anyone you want me to be?”

“Nuh-uh,” she tutted, and Y/N could imagine her shaking her head, red curls flying by her cheeks. “This is all about you Y/N. I’m here to make you feel good.”

Y/N felt a lick of heat curl in the base of her stomach, twisting itself around her intestines.

“Yeah, I could use that,” she laughed nervously, figuring she should be honest if she wanted this to work out well. And she really needed it to.

“Oh, have you been feeling a little pent up baby?” Red’s voice echoed in Y/N’s ears. The small vibrations coming out of her earbuds were enough to start sending a pulsing sensation down the side of her neck, worming its way under her skin and into her veins. Christ, it had been too long.

“You have no idea.”

“Well, I betcha we can fix that. Are you somewhere comfortable sweetie?”

“I could get on the bed?” Y/N offered, wondering why she hadn’t started there in the first place, rather than at her desk.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Red purred seductively. “Why don’t you stretch out on the bed, get yourself nice and cozy. Maybe prop a pillow up next to you and think about me snuggling you in real close. Wish I could be there to put my hands all over your body.”

Y/N was thankful she was already sitting on her bed by the time Red finished painting her little scene because if she’d been walking, she’s pretty sure her knees would have given out.

“Fuck, it’s been so long since I felt another girl’s hands on me.” She tried not to be embarrassed at how whimpery her voice had gone. If this went well it was about to get a whole lot worse anyways.

“I want to touch every inch of you,” Red breathed heavily. “Run my fingers through your hair, over your neck, down your back. Would I find a bra there to unhook, baby?”

“Yeah,” Y/N sighed, arching her shoulders and feeling the band scratch taught around her ribs, pushing her breast up towards her chin.

“Why don’t you take that off for me?”

“Okay,” Y/N felt her voice shake as much as her hands as she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, breathing deeply when the pressure of the garment disappeared.

“Bet that felt good, didn’t it baby?” Red laughed knowingly.

“Yeah,” Y/N agreed, loosening up a little at the acknowledgement of a shared experience, something all girls could relate to. She pulled her arms through the straps beneath her sweatshirt and shimmying the discarded bra out the bottom before pushing her arms back through her sleeves. The peaks of her nipples tightened as they caught on the pills of fleece that now sat against her chest.

“What else are you wearing?”

Suddenly embarrassed she hadn’t thought to put on anything sexy in preparation for this call, Y/N didn’t manage more than an “um…” before Red laughed, a warm sound that melted into her like chocolate against your tongue.

“Why don’t I tell you what I’m wearing?”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded before she remembered that Red couldn’t see her. “Bet it’s something really sexy,” she attempted to flirt, cringing at how awkward she sounded.

“Well that depends,” Red mused. “Do you like lace?”

“Yeah,” Y/N breathed. She loved seeing girls in lace lingerie; the way the delicate weave of the pattern offered small tastes of the skin it covered, the way you could feel someone’s warmth seeping through such a thin fabric so easily, the way it felt to have someone touch you or suck you through such a meagre sheet of modesty…

“What about stockings?” Red voice broke through Y/N’s train of thought, pulling her back to the vaguely out of body experience she was having.

“Love them,” Y/N answered quietly, trying to pitch her voice the way Red was, low and alluring.

“Well, that’s a shame,” she sighed dramatically. “Because I’m not wearing anything at all right now, sorry to disappoint.” Y/N couldn’t see her but she would bet anything Red was wearing a big pout right now. She wondered what her lips looked like. In her head she pictured soft and pillowy.

“You are such a tease,” Y/N laughed, hoping to disguise the pang of arousal that had shot through her a moment before.

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you baby?”

“Yeah, I really do,” Y/N found herself admitting unconsciously.

“Are you gonna keep teasing me, or are you gonna get naked too baby girl?”

A throb of desire fluttered between Y/N’s legs, her pussy clenching, and when she squirmed back into her pillow a little she felt the lace fabric of her own panties sliding a little more between her thighs. Her arousal had started to soak out of her and into the material.

“You want me naked?” Y/N’s words scratched their way out of her throat, trying to pull her confidence along with them.

“Oh god, please baby,” Red moaned loudly, but it didn’t sound fake. It was like Jensen had told her, it sounded like she was really enjoying this, and like she was actually getting off on what was happening between them right now. “Want to feel your skin against mine.”

“I want that too, baby,” Y/N’s hasty breaths shook her words. She stripped out of her underwear and shoved her phone and headphones down the front of her sweatshirt so she could shimmy it over her head without disconnecting the earbuds. She didn’t want to miss anything.

“God, if I was there I would kiss all over you. Bet you taste amazing,” Red sighed, and Y/N could hear something shifting over the phone, like fabric moving around.

“Are you on your bed too?” Y/N asked.

“Yep, all spread out for you baby girl.”

“Are you touching yourself?” Y/N’s confidence was starting to build as she heard how much Red sounded like she’s into this, and she couldn’t deny she was turned on too. She felt wetter than she’d been in weeks, and when her fingers drifted down over her stomach its muscles twitched in anticipation of where she was about to touch.

“Where do you want me to touch?” Y/N let her eyes slide closed, and she could imagine Red batting her lashes as she asked - where do you want me to touch? - She pictured the girl she’d seen in the photo poised over her, legs straddling Y/N’s hips as Red ran her hands over her own body, fingers trailing over her throat, fondling her breasts, twisting around the pink flesh at the tips of each, lingering on the soft of her stomach before dipping lower.

“I want you to touch between your legs and tell me how wet you are,” Y/N said between deep breaths, trying to keep her voice even.

“I’m already so wet for you, baby,” Red gasped, and Y/N hoped it was a reaction to her fingers slipping inside her pussy.

“If you were here with me, what would you do right now?”

“I’d make you watch me fuck myself on my fingers.” Holy shit, Y/N couldn’t help the moan that bled through her lips, and she heard Red chuckle. “Yeah, you like the sound of that baby?”

“Mm-hmm,” Y/N whimpered, her own fingers finally making their way between her legs and sliding easily through the slick she found there.

“I’d straddle myself right over your face, so you could see my fingers fucking my pussy, feel me dripping on you.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“And then, when my fingers are nice and soaked, you’re gonna suck them clean like a good little girl, aren’t you sweetheart?” Red’s monologue was absolutely wrecking Y/N, she wanted everything the woman on the end of the line was describing so badly. “Want you to do it to yourself, since I can’t be there to do it for you. Can you get those fingers nice and wet for me baby?”

“Fuck, yeah, okay.” Y/N pushed two fingers inside her pussy, clenching around them wantonly. She must have let out some kind of noise because Red giggled again before she continued talking.

“That’s it, fuck yourself for me baby girl, until I can do it for you.” And fucking hell, the thought of Red actually with her, touching her, fucking her… “Your fingers nice and dirty now?”

“Mm-hmm,” Y/N squeaked, pressing against her g-spot to get herself even wetter.

“Good girl,” Red hummed. “Now suck them clean for me, Y/N. Want you to taste just how sweet you are. God, wish I could taste you too,” she moaned, her breath hitching.

Y/N obeyed Red’s instructions, sucking her fingers into her mouth and twirling her tongue around them, curling it across the dips and whorls of her fingertips. She groaned around the digits in her mouth, trying to make it audible that she was doing as she was told.

“Good girl,” Red cooed again, obviously hearing Y/N’s sucking. “Good filthy girl. You’re so dirty aren’t you baby, bet you’re dripping onto the sheets right now you’re so horny.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N felt her whole body clenching as she pushed her hand back between her legs, toying with her clit and sending fresh jolts of desire to her core. “Fuck, I’m touching myself again. Couldn’t help it, you’re so hot baby.”

“I want you to touch yourself sweetie. Want you to make yourself feel so good.”

“I want you to feel good too,” Y/N whimpered, maybe stupidly, but she remembered Jensen saying that Red got off with him and she wanted the same thing. She wanted to know that Red wanted her, that Red found her sexy. She didn’t want to be in this alone.

“Oh, I am feeling so good baby girl,” Red assured Y/N, her voice brimming with sincerity and whimpers to back it up. “Fucking myself so good, pretending it’s your fingers inside me.”

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Y/N couldn’t come up with anything more eloquent than that. The more she played with herself the foggier her brain got.

“What are you imaging right now?”

“Thinking about you, you on top of me.”

“You want me on top, huh? Want me to hold you down a little, baby?”

“Mm, yeah,” Y/N sighed, slipping two fingers from her free hand down to her entrance and pushing them inside, keeping her other hand on her clit, rolling it between her fingers. “You could hold me down, grind yourself against me. Use me to get yourself off.” Y/N’s breathing was ragged now, and the fingers inside her pussy sought out her g-spot again, starting to focus their efforts a little more concertedly on the spongy bundle of nerves.

“Oh sweetie, that’s so hot, fuck,” Red moaned heavily, her breath catching on her curse. “I’d grind against you so good. Rub our pussies together, all slick and hot, grind my clit against yours nice and hard. Fuck, touch your clit for me baby.”

“I am,” Y/N gasped, drawing fast little circles over the nub between her legs. “Fuck, want all that so bad. Think you could come like that? Just from rubbing your pussy on me, getting me all wet and dirty?”

“Fuck yes, love rubbing my pussy on yours, love grinding our clits together. I could tease you so good. Go nice and slow, wonder how long you’d last before you start begging me to let you cum.”

“I’m close,” Y/N whimpered, surprised at how true it was. She hadn’t gotten so close to cumming this quickly in ages.

“Already baby? You naughty little girl,” Red groaned, and the sound of bed springs crackled through Y/N’s earbuds too. Y/N pictured Red arching off the bed, fucking her hips into her fingers. “You want to cum for me baby?”

“Fuck, yes, yes please,” Y/N begged, feeling the muscles in her thighs and stomach starting to constrict, heat singing through her veins.

“Not yet baby, keep fucking yourself.” Y/N let out a pathetic whine in protest. “You can do that for me, can’t you sweetie. Fuck yourself on those pretty little fingers for me?”

“Yeah, yeah I am.”

“Good girl, I’m so fucking close baby.”

“Fuck, please, want you to cum. Want you to cum with me.” Y/N’s eyes squeezed tight as small pinpricks of light started to burst in the darkness of her vision.

“Gonna cum for you, baby girl,” Red cried, voice high and tight. “Fuck, I’m gonna squirt, I can feel it. Gonna squirt all over your pussy, fucking soak you.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N felt like she might actually start crying, she needed to cum so badly. She was so so so close.

“Rub that little clitty, pretend it’s me rubbing up against you. All hot and wet,” her voice was breaking, her words short and breathless, and Y/N could tell Red was as close as she was. “Gonna cum all over you. Fuck, gonna squirt so hard bet I could actually cum inside you.”

“Holy fuck!” Y/N’s hips snapped into the air, searching for the imaginary body she wished was there. It was becoming hard to hear through the intense buzzing in her ears. Every nerve in her body was pulled taut, ready to snap.

“Cum for me Y/N, c’mon baby, you can do it, want you to cum for me like the good little girl you are baby, c’mon.”

Y/N was sobbing, wrist pistoning her fingers in and out of herself faster than she ever remembered being able to move, and she felt the walls of her pussy clamping down, trying to keep the pressure inside where it wanted it. And then she couldn’t take it anymore. Everything froze. She might have screamed, but to be honest she couldn’t be too sure, because she couldn’t hear anything except the white light that had flooded the dark space behind her eyelids.

Lockdown became much more bearable after that day. Though Y/N did have to try really hard to not think about the fact that she and Jensen were kind of fucking the same girl. In a way. It was weird. But if she ignored that part, then her ‘dates’ with Red were perfect. She was finally able to release all the tension, sexual and otherwise, that this whole mess had building up in her system constantly. And eventually, the world started to open back up and things started to get just a little bit easier.

Y/N wondered what she would do when lockdown was well and truly over. When the bars and clubs opened up again, would she and Jensen go out and try to hook up like they always had before? Would everything just go back to normal? Would she still want to call Red if she was getting actual sex with a real girl, and not just her hand or a bit of silicone? Yes. The answer was most definitely yes, Y/N had to admit to herself. Even though it was just phone sex, it was still some of the best sex she’d ever had.

Well, Red is a professional, she thought to herself wryly as she spooned some froth onto the top of the cappuccino she was making. The coffee shop she worked at had reopened last week, finally.

“Y/N! Can you jump on register while I take my break?” Michelle called from the end of the counter.

“Sure thing,” Y/N smiled and wiped her hands off on her apron, making her way behind the other baristas to the cash register. She briefly glanced at the line of people waiting to order – a couple of college kids carrying some scary looking textbooks, a portly man scratching his bald patch, a pretty girl with shiny hair and awesome winged liner. Y/N blushed as she caught the eye of the girl, and immediately looked back at her tablet, typing in her register code.

“Hi there, what can I get you?” Y/N’s customer service voice was alarmingly cheery, and the two college guys blinked, startled, clearly still unused to interacting with humans again – Y/N knew the feeling, cringing internally. She made a note to dial the pep back a little.

“Hey, what can I get you?” It was the pretty girl at the front of the line now.

“Um, I’ll have a caramel latte, please,” she answered with a bright smile, red lips stretching across shockingly white teeth.

“Size?” Y/N asked, tapping the order into her tablet.

“How big can you make it?” the girl giggled, and Y/N looked up, something tugging at the back of her mind.

“Um, large?” Y/N answered absentmindedly, trying to figure out what was bugging her so much. The girl just nodded, politely accepting the fact that Y/N had skated over her joke. “Can I get a name for the order?” She grabbed the large sized cup and uncapped the marker, hand poised over the white cardboard, ready to write.

“Oh, sure. It’s Danneel.”

“Danielle?” Y/N asked, her mind still wandering.

“No, Dan– you know what, it’s a weird name. Just go with Red.”

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[nochiquinn]

exandria unlimited: kymal: part 2: I planned for this

not adele dazeem

h a t s

"I feel like critical role's so serious" "WHAT"

sends that clip to all the "critical role was never this crass" tlovm critics

they got her

erica seems so much more comfortable tonight

pick-me casino

"I got fiddle-fingers!"

POODLE PIP

oh, oxboxtra does that one sometimes

see, bell's hells, THEY get it

I'm love him

mor: brumestone dorian: [rapid blinking]

spaceship

"and hide his dumb ass"

BOOP ACTION

matt teaching aimee and erica how to hit dice

rip aabria's voice

the chroma conclave getting turned into a tacky theme spa is the BEST

"no ringworm for dorian"

"he's not little, he's 6''6'!"

the way opal's face dropped at "thordak"

orym would probably also have had...some reaction

dariax

"it's kinda disrespectful but. y'know."

"I've always wanted to see the top of your head!" "👀" "NO"

"you can't get pregnant in a hot tub - you COULD get chlamydia!"

(edit from the future: I can't believe I spelled that right the first time)

jinoir :(

I need them to adopt and protect this child

"dorian's a taurus for sure" can we not call me out personally in this moment

ouchie check

for the record laying on pokey things is my absolute nightmare

"please draw it. and tag me."

dream check DREAM CHECK

comment cards

I love opal so goddamn much

everybody trying so fucking hard not to laugh over aimee

stop dating the episode

("no one who hasn't watched shortonegaming will get that" well maybe they should watch shortonegaming then)

(watch shortonegaming)

matt telling erica "it's fine, it's gonna be fine"

awakened vestige!!!

this is the dai character editor mirror

opal and the power of friendship

where is dariax. where is the back-to-back

"what should I do next" stop being a fucking dipshit

diligent, intelligent

they got the mother gothel treatment didn't they

GO AWAY AND THEN COME BACK SOON

"thank you for letting me do that, it was so disrespectful"

"she's wearing this, because we did the art"

cognitive psience

"sometimes cuddle buddies"

ted 2 again

"that is a man who let a pet rock die"

....birds of a feather

"will this be a pun list? YES."

PIERODIN

"I'm just gonna make eye contact with you, Matt"

LIFE NEEDS WINE TO LIVE

how long until the svg goes up for the vinyl cutters and their wine glass wraps

"she grew up in this buffet"

fantasy ostrich

big farm-a

"the exact same" gay

"we've moved a few couches together" GAY

"you gave me the power!"

innuendo as spellcasting flavor

apparently we are two hours into a five hour stream, help me

the early break is going to be my downfall

orym where are you

oh BOY

"you heard an eldritch language" that's how I hear all math

I don't like how much this guy smirks

dariax is a GOOD BOY

"I made her yeet a dice :D"

for a hot second I thought she threw it AT him

someone loan her a new d20

awww

what in the gravira

his mean little brainhole

don't love that!

"should have given him lair actions"

"look at the flowchart!!"

exCUSE

thrall? girl got a thrall?

poska-senpai noticed me

"doors are mysterious"

"the biggest boss I can offer: a mean door"

"do you think we care about money more than you?"

"as long as the money is out of this vault, I did my job"

I love one (1) himbo dwarf

"do you have some - it's just me, stop screaming - do you have some paper"

cyrus did one (1) useful thing

it's free gratis

this means in their future sessions - and there better goddamn be future sessions - they will have not one but two bags of holding

unless something really stupid happens

hello??

raven? matron of ravens?

(I'm sorry, I know why they had to change it, but "matron of ravens" will never be as smooth to say as "raven queen")

Dariax Is A Good Boy

even if this is a stupid idea (I have no idea) it is Hurting His Friend and now it has to Die

matt control your face

GO AWAY PIKACHU

aimee stop metagaming

"just smashing stuff?" "....yeah" "hell yeah"

anjali: wait I have the thing

there's an hourish left and I am in suffering

MAP

gaola mvp

dick around

"we're all impossibly stupid!"

"have you ever kicked a building to death?"

is fantasy c4 the only explosive you've heard of

"I'm really good at breaking things!"

"I had...a thought" "no!"

lmao the dice roller

"it's not that good a plan"

"I love you and I like you, and if this is not airtight I will FUCK you up"

!!!

QUEEN SHIT

god I want an exu animated miniseries

KING SHIT

did I compare the nameless ones to the dollars from durarara last time we did this

!!!

god I am TENSE

please don't everybody go splat

"roll good" "I'M TRYING"

I love her SO MUCH

"everyone turn into a simple machine!"

but they didn't HAVE machines in the middle ages

(this is more salt at tlovm critics, ignore me)

YIP YIP

the world's craziest poodle

wall effect!

smoke? clouds? probably clouds

here at the end I would like to state that every time they mentioned morrighan's songbird I pictured Songbird from bioshock

HEY

HEY WAIT A MINUTE

HER name? as is Mor is using someone else's name?

AS IN AN OLD WOMAN IN THE FEYWILD NAMED MORRIG(H)AN?

that was a sequel hook aabria you can't fool me

"we got 50k and a floating balcony!"

"did you forget their relationship started with peeing off a wall?!"

[shakes tin cup] spare a stinger?

no stinger :(

[wakeup-wakeup-if-its-all-you-do]

I was trying to imagine what Deku v. Kacchan part 3 would be like and it quickly turned into a whole fic lol! Anyways here it is...

A Hero Distracted

(now on ao3 by pearl_sailboat)

word count: 2,641

tags: manga spoilers, izuku midoriya / katsuki bakugou, angst with happy ending, vigilante deku, deku is going through it, soft bakugou, cursing

summary: takes place right after Deku leaves All-Might and the bento. But he doesn't know that Kacchan will bring him back one way or another.

Deku zipped through the sky, using blackwhip to propel himself forward, so he could put as much distance between himself and his mentor. He didn't look back, he couldn't look back. Whatever scene he'd left behind had to stay behind or else he might lose his nerve and go back to the teacher, the father-figure, who had already given him so much. Deku would not let All-Might give his life too. End of discussion.

He could actually feel the anxiety rolling off the vestiges as they watched him fly across the skyline. They were silent, probably still trying to figure out how to tell him to go back. But it didn't matter what they would eventually say, nothing was going to change Deku's mind. Nothing. 

Deku was so distracted by his resolve to keep moving forward that he didn't notice the three figures floating ahead until they'd launched themselves at him. It didn't matter though, he was no longer the helpless kid he used to be. He'd left behind everyone in his life and that meant that the only one in danger was him. Yes, he thought as blackwhip shot out of him in all directions, let me be the only one who gets hurt. Let me take all the damage, let everyone else stay safe. 

The thought was so all-consuming that his landing was a little rough and he flinched a tiny bit when his legs absorbed the shock. But smooth landings were at the bottom of Deku's priorities… right now he had to incapacitate these three so he could keep moving. He turned to look at his attackers, still entrapped in blackwhip, but… they were already knocked out? And when did they get so many cuts and bruises? Had they been this badly beat up when they first attacked him? Hmpf, maybe they fought over who would get to take me in… Guess there must be a pretty great reward but, still, it's odd…

Before he could finish his thought, he felt a searing pain against the side of his face and the explosion made his ears ring. Dammit, what now? He shot out blackwhip in all directions but before he could even get up, he felt a boot kick him in the shoulder. Hard.

"ARGHHHH," he cried as he moved to grab the leg attached to the boot.

He still couldn't see his new attacker but dammit, it had been a really long day and he was starting to get mad. His hand latched on to the leg and he was about to send his attacker flying over his shoulder when he felt another boot smash down on his wrist. This time he yelled so loud it almost drowned out the sound of his wrist breaking. Who was this person? They were certainly more skilled than the last three...

"You done, nerd? Or am I gonna have to break your legs too?"

That voice… I know that voice… But why? Why is he here? He can't be here… He's still h-

"Dammit, ANSWER ME DEKU!!!" Kacchan yelled behind him as more explosions went off, but this time not aimed at him.

Deku still felt like his wrist was on fire but he made himself get up. He turned around to find Kacchan smiling maniacally, suited up in his hero uniform. No, he's still hurt! He can't be out here! Why did he… oh. All-Might must've sent him. How could he? When he knows-

"Shitty Deku, you never listen, do you? Do. I. Have. To. Break. Your. Legs. Too?" Kacchan said with a small explosion to emphasize each period.

That's when Deku attacked. He didn't want to hurt Kacchan but he knew that the angry blond would never let him go. For some reason, Kacchan had decided that it was his job to protect Deku even if it cost him his own life. Idiot, he thought, not for some reason. He did it because he had too; you were weak so he had to protect you so that All For One wouldn't take the power of One For All. This is your fault. That's why he had to be strong now. That's why he didn't hesitate to connect his fist to Kacchan's face. That's why he didn't hesitate to grab Kacchan's shirt and send him fly- BOOOOM!!!! DAMMIT, how can he still attack when I'm literally throwing him?!?! And the explosion hurt. so. damn. much. Somehow, Kacchan kept firing even when he slammed into the roof's exit door, using his AP shot to blast Deku in the stomach. 

"Is that ALL YOU GOT DEKU??? DON'T TELL ME I CAME ALL THIS WAY FOR YOU TO GO EASY ON ME???" Kacchan cackled. 

He was seriously laughing at a time like this? Deku shook his head, he couldn't afford to get distracted by the Kacchan of it all. He shot out blackwhip again, but Kacchan dodged just like he always had.

"SERIOUSLY, YOU THOUGHT THAT WOULD WORK??? YOU'VE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO CATCH ME, NERD!!!" 

Was Kacchan actually… enjoying himself?!?!? Deku wasn't surprised that Kacchan would brag about always winning Catch-a-Kacchan but those memories seemed so far away… No, stop getting distrac- BOOOOMMM!!!!! Kacchan had blasted him again, Deku needed to get his act together and quickly! He took a deep breath and just as he felt Danger Sense activate, he dodged Kacchan's next explosion and launched himself forward. He grabbed Kacchan's hair and yanked him downwards so he couldn't fire. Deku was about to kick him when he felt a pain in his legs. Kacchan hadn't been able to fire at Deku's face so he'd fired at his legs instead! Nothing seemed to be broken yet but, god it really, really hurt.

"HAHA I TOLD YA I WOULD BREAK YOUR LEGS TOO DEK-" Kacchan didn't get to finish that sentence because Deku sucker punched him so hard he went flying into the closest building.

Kacchan coughed up some blood before grinning wide, "NOW WE'RE TALKING!!! OHHHHHH BUT I'M STILL GONNA KICK YOUR ASS NERD!!!!!"

But Deku was frozen. No… No, no, no, no, no, no… I - I punched him right where… right where… I wasn't thinking… He coughed up blood… No, no, no, NO, NOOO!!!! He pressed his hands to the sides of his face, well the sides of his mask, as he sank to his knees. This is why he had left in the first place. He didn't want anyone else to get hurt. The people he cared about always got hurt. It was all his f- BOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Deku's ears were ringing so bad he was pretty sure he would never hear again. The flash of the explosion had blinded him, how long it would last was unclear, but Deku knew he'd been blasted onto his back. He groaned as he registered the shape his body was in, thankful that the adrenaline was keeping him from feeling the full weight of his injuries. He lifted his head as he began to blink away the dark spots in his vision. But immediately his head was pushed back onto the floor of the roof. He heard talking but he still couldn't make out the words so he struggled against the hand. He knew it was useless but struggling was all he could do. So he fought against the hand he still couldn't completely see with everything he had.

"God Deku, give it a rest," he heard when the ringing eventually released his throbbing eardrums.

That's when he noticed that it was Kacchan's hand that held his head down and that Kacchan had him pinned to the ground. Wait, where is my mask? Deku's eyes searched for the mask but before he could find it, Kacchan took it out of his pocket.

"Looking for this? Yeah, you're not getting it back, Deku. This piece of shit lets you lock yourself away and I ain't putting up with it."

Deku rolled his eyes. Why did Kacchan care if he locked himself away? Didn't he realize that if Deku didn't, he'd be too weak to stop All For One? 

"Why won't you say anything, dammit? Never thought I'd miss your nerdy mumbling…"

Why did Kacchan look sad as he said that? Nah, that must've been in Deku's head. He didn't answer that question either though. They didn't have the most traditional friendship, but Kacchan was the only one who stood a chance of bringing Deku back and that terrified him. He knew Kacchan would tear apart anything he said and would use it to convince him to go home. Right now, Kacchan was as dangerous as Shinsou; one word and Deku would lose.

"So you're mute now, is that it?" Kacchan demanded. "Fine then, I'll talk and you better fucking listen, Deku! I don't give a crap about your whole I-need-to-save-everyone routine but I thought you did! Isn't that the whole fucking reason you left in the first place?"

Deku's eyes widened in curiosity. What was Kacchan talking about? His emerald eyes were only met with a ruby glare.

"You didn't even realize, did you? Those three extras you pummeled back there, they looked like they could've used some saving themselves."

What are you talking about? Saving? Saving from who?

"So I was right then," Kacchan sighed and then looked towards the skyline, away from Deku.

When did Kacchan's voice get so quiet? It reminded Deku of how he had been at the sports festival… quiet because he was serious. Why did that tone unnerve Deku so much? Why did those words fill him with… dread?

"Deku, you ran away so you could protect people. You ran away so you could focus on defeating All For One. But were you focused when you landed on this roof? No, you weren't... If you had been focused, you wouldn't have had such a rough landing. If you had been focused, you would've remembered to pay attention to blackwhip even if the landing was rough…" Kacchan paused to look back at Deku.

Kacchan's eyes searched Deku's face, piercing into his soul as if searching for something. Then he sighed again. Why does Kacchan look so sad?

"Didn't you even wonder how they got all beat up?"

What is Kacchan saying? Why does he look so sad? Why is… why is his voice SO QUIET??? I hate this… I don't know what's happening… I hate this… I want him to go back to yelling… I want him to stop looking at me like… LIKE THAT!!!!

Suddenly Kacchan's eyes hardened and he moved his hands from Deku's wrists to his face. At first Deku was relieved because maybe Kacchan had heard his thoughts and was going back into angry mode but then he spoke. If Deku had thought that tone was awful before, it was unbearable now.

"You didn't mean for the landing to be so rough," it wasn't a question, "even though you were wearing that stupid mask, only an idiot wouldn't have noticed how you flinched in surprise. It was in that moment that you probably forgot all about blackwhip… quirks are like muscles, Deku, you know that. When you flinched, blackwhip flinched too… you slammed -"

But Deku didn't hear the rest of that sentence. It all blurred away as the realization sunk in. He was responsible for the cuts and bruises on his attackers. He had knocked them out without even realizing. Because he had been distracted. What was he even distracted by at the time? What could be so impor- Oh. That's when he started crying. It was all too much; if he wasn't failing at one thing, he was screwing up another. He had been so distracted by his own resolve to distance himself from everyone that he hurt other people. It didn't matter that they were villains, they were still people. How could he call himself a hero? He was the least deserving person of that title!

"Kacch-" Deku was crying so hard that he couldn't finish before erupting into more tears.

But it didn't matter because Kacchan sat up and pulled him into a hug. He lost track of how long they sat there like that, hugging each other tight like their lives depended on it. And it did, at least for Deku. He knew that if he let go or if Kacchan did, he wouldn't survive. He cried and cried but Kacchan never pushed him away. 

"Kacchan, I - I messed up!" he wailed, "I c-couldn't defeat All- All For One. I d-didn't protect my f-friends. A-and I h-hurt those people. I c-can't s-save the world!"

"No, you can't," Kacchan said.

Deku stopped crying, momentarily shocked. Before the weight of those words could settle over him, he felt a slight pain in his side. Kacchan had jabbed him with his finger, but why? Kacchan broke their embrace so he could hold Deku's face in his hands again. God, those eyes were so intense.

"You can't save the world alone. No one can. It's a big fucking world, Deku! So cut the crap and let me help you already!" Kacchan said, those ruby eyes softening just a little.

Deku shook his head, "But you got stabbed last time!"

"'Cuz you kept on fucking going on on your own!" Kacchan said, jabbing his finger in Deku's side again.

"Ouch! That actually hurt Kacchan!"

"Tch! That'll teach you to pull that crap again, nerd!"

"But Kacch-"

"Shut up! Don't you fucking realize that you trying to do this by yourself is what caused this whole fucking mess in the first place? So just. Stop," Kacchan pressed his forehead against Deku's, "And let me help you, you damn nerd."

Maybe it was because he was still in shock from all the explosions, maybe he was a bit delirious from all the crying, or perhaps it was because he was just so goddamn tired of running. Whatever the reason, Deku didn't freak out like he would've thought he would've if someone had told him he'd be this close to Kacchan. It just felt so… so right. For the first time in a very, very long time, Deku felt safe. 

He leaned his own forehead against Kacchan's to return the pressure and said, "Okay."

They had so much more to talk about later but, for now, this one word was enough. It said everything that Deku couldn't yet; it promised that next time he would not be alone. It admitted that he had been wrong to isolate himself from the people he cared about. It accepted that Kacchan was right, that no one could save the world alone. And though Deku didn't yet know it, that one simple word signalled the birth of the partnership that would one day be known around the world as "The Wonder Duo."

"Okay," he said again before leaning his tired head against Kacchan's shoulder and closing his eyes.

Deku fell asleep almost instantly but not before he heard Kacchan's light chuckle. Not before he felt Kacchan lift him up in his strong, steady arms. Not before he felt the faintest of kisses on his forehead. It had been days since he'd gotten to rest so he was completely knocked out when Kacchan carried him off the roof. He slept through the shocked reactions of his classmates when Kacchan appeared at the hospital, carrying Deku in his arms. He slept through it all, but Kacchan would tell him about everything when he woke up. One day, though that day was still very far away, he would tell their children about how he'd lost his way and how Kacchan was the one who saved him. He'd tell them about how they took turns saving each other so they could save the world. One day, Deku would smile as he told their children the story of how he and Kacchan became the greatest heroes ever.

[maybemanyskeletonhats]

KISS

Hello, this is for the people who leave the nice comments and tags (yes I look at the reblogs, they really help my morale.) UNEDITED.

Genre: Fluff galore. Seriously.

Edit. There was more to Teldryns scenario. But tumblr ate it or character limit maybe?

Edit 2. It's fixed. Apparently it ate the tags I put on too.

Sotha Sil bares the burden of cruel certainty. And he can say it's something he's used too but it does weigh heavily on him. This is different when it comes to the tantalizing affections of his lover. That being said this mortal turned god knows what he wants. He wants them. It's the rampant thoughts that plague him about how to ask them for it that make him pause. He usually saved the affections for when the doors were closed and he knew no one would intrude yet here of all places his chest thumped and his lips tingled with anticipation. Why wouldn't they want it? A crimson gaze fell on the vestige who sat idle, quiet. Their fingers loose and relaxed around the spear he had given them. He wouldn't tell them where it came from, or rather who it belonged too. But as far as he was concerned. They wielded it as if it was apart of themselves. He hears them say his name, soft, worried. He must have be staring at them. Gods, he doesn't regret any time he spends looking at them. He doesn't respond even as he gently taps the side of their jaw, guiding their face to look at his. After a moment of them staring at one another, the vestige silently nodded. Seht connected their mouths together sweetly. So maybe he can't voice his wants the way other people can, but he did ask for it...in his own way, right?

Almalexia tried to give herself the idea that she never got to the point of desperation. That there was never any time when she felt that she needed to kiss the life out of her vestige. That nothing in Tamriel could make her so happy or so worried that carnal need became her priority. It was when the vestige returned to her, their face filled with exhaustion even as they sat still in the wagon. They are finally home, she thought breathlessly. Gone for three whole months that stretched on like a thousand years to her. They were a hero, a mortal, they saved Tamriel whether she liked it or not. If there was anyone in this whole world that deserved her affections, was it not them? Her feet touched the warm stone beneath her. Her golden eyed gaze widening as they slowly looked up. Eyes making contact with hers. The exhaustion that was filled to the brim in their eyes disappeared, and their slumped position turned into one of high alert. They jumped out, ignoring the distressed cries of the others with them. Ayem began to feel her feet move, unconsciously picking up speed till she was breaking into a small jog. All other thought was gone at the thought of them. It was them. She missed them. She missed them so much. As soon as they collided together, hands fervently gathering each other up. "Can I kiss you?" She asked simply, fingers tracing their lips. The vestige doesn't even wait, slamming their lips onto hers. Rule like a queen, kiss like a queen.

Vivec knows he wants to kiss them. The days after they've come to call themselves lovers drift in and out of his mind frequently. He knows he'll soon not have the luxury of claiming godhood for much longer, not that he's complaining. At least, with whatever time he has left, he wouldn't see them go before him. But for now, let's love like mortals do. He mused quietly to himself. In his lap the Nerevarine gave him an odd look but shook it off. He often said strange things that they would never quite understand. "It's humorous that as you arrive, your immortality comes, and mine drifts away like stars in the morning light." He begins, eyelashes tickling his cheeks. "I suppose that it matters not anymore. Should the Sharmat have succeed, none of us would be here. It was the right decision." He confessed. He didn't feel as conflicted about it, he surmises that that's what bothers him so. Time changes all, something Sil would have jumped to remind him of. He meets their gaze, their nose brushing against his jaw. 'I still love you, god or not. If it means anything.' They murmured, pressing a small kiss to his jaw. It was then he felt completely mortal, not a god, not a beloved figure. But someone normal, someone who grew old like others and got married, had children. "It does." His right hand came down to rub patterns onto their arm. "Am I allowed to kiss you..?" He questioned lazily, arm tightening around their middle. The Nerevarine's smokey gaze locked with his, their face growing warm. 'Like I'd say no, right?' Vehk merely hums, the arm wrapped around their middle sliding up to cuff the back of their neck. The god turned mortal pressed his lips to theirs in a rare moment of unyielding affection.

Voryn Dagoth's heart slams against his ribcage every time they enter a room. He was sure if it got any more louder they'd be able to hear it. Never had he ever so desperately wanted someone to himself. Voryn finds himself wringing his hands as he looks at them, anxiously chewing the inside of his cheek. 'Is something wrong?' They asked, head tilting. Voryn gives a hesitant smile, eyes shining with nervousness. "Yes, yes of course. I'm fine. Just thinking about something so hard it's abit...troubling." They gave him a look of sympathy, comfortingly grabbing his arm. This only made the Chimer man fidget. "I want to kiss you. Very much so." He blurts, instantly regretting it. They arch a brow at him, and nod slowly. 'Then kiss me?' Is all he needs to hear as he presses his lips to theirs in heated desperation.

Neloth leans back against his desk, arms crossed. His lips pulled into a careful line. It's not as though they were doing anything to bother him, they were just sitting there. Yet...he scowled. He was courting them, so it wasn't as if the want for some romance was alien. Neloth knew he could be hotheaded. But he loved them. The elf cursed underneath his breath. Why was it so hard to kiss someone? The Nerevarine's stops their idle humming and rolls their neck to look at him. Amusement shining in their eyes. "Oh you are insufferable aren't you?" Neloth breathes. They knew. Of course they knew. He forgets that they tease just as much as he does. He lets out a noise of exasperation, standing straight. Neloth walks over to them, leaning over their chair, his hands braced on the arm rests. The nerevarine sits still as a statue, grin still visible with the red ting across their face growing. His hand comes up to knot itself in their nape, pressing a surprsingly slow but deliberate kiss upon them. When he pulls back his face feels a lot warmer from where he started. "N'chow, there. It's of my system now at least."

Divayth Fyr usually has his hands occupied with some experiments or research. But feeling up the Nerevarine wasn't that bad right? Hands running up and down their sides he almost felt a need to keep them caged against his desk. If they didn't like it, they would have done something or said something much earlier right? Divayth's slightly stubbly chin runs across their cheek till he can press a kiss to their forehead. "Could always have you...if I wanted too right?" He breathes, nose brushing across theirs in a rare display of affection. His much larger hands come up to separate the small hands that had latched into his shirt twenty or so minutes before. "Want you...want to kiss you. You make me feel things." He whispered helplessly against their skin. Divayth barely hears the quiet consent before he's giving them a slow, passionate kiss.

Mannimarco has rare moments where he feels... possessive. But in a soft, non threatening way. His nose tenderly brushes the crown of their hair, his fingers kneading into their waist. Grip firm and assuring. Maybe he was in a good mood, he mused to himself. Didn't particularly feel that strong, bordering on vicious need to separate them from every man they interacted with. "Don't want you talking to peasants." He huffs, tightening his hold. He hears them laugh and his face burns as he rolls his eyes. Perhaps he should just marry that at that point, make them the King/Queen they ought to be at this point. What was the chances he could make them see his way about things then?

Cold fingers run on their side, feeling the warm body pressed to his cower away from the sensation. He grins mockingly. "Will I have to beg you for affection? Or am I going to have to do it myself?" The Vestige merely grins, the twinkle in the eyes he grew to knew so well the last few months. He scoffs, though his lips threaten to rise upward into a smile. His fingers dance up to nest into their nape, his other coming to tilt their chin up. "Mine.." He says with an uncharacteristic softness in his voice. "Or at least, I'm hoping you are..." His eyes betray him showing the vulnerability inside, in a rare show of open love, Mannimarco presses a firm but gentle kiss onto his Vestige.

Teldryn Sero doesn't cuddle often. Not when they're awake of course. He doesn't like to appear clingy, he's already glued to their side as is. The only spellsword from around Solstheim behind the legendary Dragonborn of Tamriel. The only one of their kind. It's not as though he wasn't getting glory though..he thought, his fingers drifting down the flat of their back. The hammock they've been lying in swaying gently with the breeze. "Your thoughts are too loud." They murmur against his collarbone. Teldryn feels a laugh bubble in his chest. Sometimes, just sometimes they could be more observant. "I'm a spellsword, subtly is not in my arsenal." His lips quirk upward as he fondly rubs his chin across their hair. "Too bad..." They start, fingers tracing patterns on his ribs. "About time you've learned another skil other then making wise remarks." They finish as he feels them smile playfully against him. Teldryn snorts in amusement, eyes fluttering closed. "All apart of the package you bought..." He hears a small 'tch' in response. "Better have a receipt." They fireback, slapping his arm. "No refunds, Sera." This time he grins, angling his face down so he can bring them into a heated kiss.

~°~°~°~°~

Translations:

N'chow is essentially the dunmer way of saying 'Damn'

[lala-ladybug]

Healing Hands: Chapter 3

Happy finals week, ugh. As always, reblogs are appreciated!!

Jasonette Sword Art Online AU

Read here on AO3

Tag list: @iloontjeboontje

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Chapter 3: Well shit Babs, maybe I like ponies

Marinette sat on a rock and paddled her bare feet in the water. It was a beautiful day, the sun was warming the top of her loose, dark hair and the ocean in front of her stretched for miles and miles.

A noise disturbed her peaceful moment. A distant cry, probably a seagull.

She sighed and leaned back on her hands to breathe in the smell of--

Marinette choked. Why was there smoke in the air?

The cries grew louder as she looked back at the water before her. She started when she saw that they came from her friends, who were in the now-tumultuous water, trying to keep themselves afloat. They were only a few yards away, she could make it if she just--

A force around her waist tugged her hard as she leapt to her feet. Her face collided with the concrete beneath her-- the top of a building, she realized. If the water level was up this high, then....

From where she lay, she could see directly down into the water. It was no longer clear, but a deep crimson. There were dozens of figures scattered about, some still struggling and some motionless. She scrambled to get up as her eyes snapped to Alya’s hand disappearing below the waves.

That damn force jerked her to the other side of the building, farther from her friends.

“No!” Marinette cried out desperately. The force released her and she whirled to find her attacker.

A flash of red caught her eye, and--

Oh.

It was Ladybug.

Marinette shook her head, not understanding. If that was Ladybug, then.... No, it couldn’t be Ladybug, because she was Ladybug. She fumbled for her earrings, but felt nothing.

Ladybug stalked deliberately up to Marinette and pushed her to the ground. Marinette landed on her hands and knees, both of which were now shaking.

“Look at them,” it was her own voice that spat so harshly from Ladybug’s lips. “Look at them.” She grabbed Marinette’s hair from behind and forced her head up.

Marinette could now see Adrien, Kagami, Luka, and Chloe in the ocean in front of her. Their lifeless faces floated just below the surface, the bloodied water doing nothing to conceal their frozen expressions of terror.

Marinette sobbed and closed her eyes. Ladybug pulled sharply on her hair again, and looked into Marinette’s eyes.

“Look at them. Don’t you dare take your eyes off the mess you’ve made. You will never be able to save them all,” Ladybug’s eyes, her eyes, blazed with the vehemence of her words. She opened her mouth to speak again, but a loud beeping sound was all that came out.

Marinette gasped and sat up in her bed, the alarm sending her heartbeat into a frenzy. Tikki flew up next to her as she slumped over with a hand over her eyes.

It was just a dream.

Another Kwami must have turned off her alarm because the beeping had stopped, but Marinette could still hear the echoes of her friends’ dying breaths ringing in her ears.

“Marinette... are you okay?” Tikki placed a delicate paw on her chosen’s arm. “We heard you cry out while you were sleeping.”

The girl lifted her head and gave the little god a shaky smile. “It was just a dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tikki floated back down to where the other Kwami were piled on the side of the bed with similarly worried expressions on their faces.

Marinette exhaled a bracing sigh. “Okay.... It was Syren. Or-or Chat Blanc, I’m not really sure.” The Kwami exchanged a look at that. This was not the first time she’d had a nightmare about water. “But Ladybug was there, and she was attacking me.”

Tikki looked especially concerned about that new piece of information. She opened her mouth to say something when Marinette’s phone lit up with a call. The ringtone was Alya’s.

Marinette picked up, trying to control the shaking of her hands. “H-hey girl, what’s up?” Her tone was deceptively cheerful.

“Hey Mari! Just checking to see if you’re awake. Nino and I are ready, he even put on the goggles already!” Marinette instantly relaxed as she heard Alya’s excited voice bubbling out.

“Yeah dudette, they feel really weird. But comfy!” Nino must have leaned over to pitch in.

Marinette shook off the last vestiges of the nightmare with a giggle. “Yeah, it’s kind of tricky to get the headset to fit over your glasses, but you’ll get used to it!”

“Well if you’re not ready yet then you’d better hurry up, girl! The game launches in five minutes.”

Marinette scrambled to check the time. “Oh crap! I gotta go, see you guys soon!” She hung up and rushed to untangle herself from her blankets.

“Good thing you set three alarms, huh?” Tikki followed her down from the loft and watched her brush out her hair.

Marinette stuck her tongue out at the god of creation.

* * *

Red Hood stalked into the Batcave, nearly running Oracle over as she wheeled herself up to her station at the Batcomputer.

“Woah Jaybird, don’t let me get in your way there,” Babs glared at his retreating back. “Asshole,” she muttered to herself.

Jason hurled his helmet onto the floor of the bathroom and began shucking off his suit with far more force than necessary. He started a shower and looked over his new wounds in the mirror. He’d been stupid, so damn stupid, on patrol.

“Red Hood, report in,” Batman’s gravelly voice cut through on his comms. “Hood, you are not to engage alone. What is your location?”

But Jason couldn’t hear him. The only thing he could hear was blood rushing in his ears, but it wasn’t his blood. No, it was the blood of every monstrous, corrupt asshole in this city. And he wanted it to run on the streets.

The Joker had sent thugs out to a meet-up. Well, Red Hood could send them back in a casket. He crouched beside a gargoyle and watched for the arrival of the van he’d tailed. There were only two men. They left the vehicle and waited outside, lighting cigarettes. Too easy.

Red Hood swept down the building, guns never leaving their holsters. He wanted this to hurt. Them or him, he wasn’t sure. But he got his wish as he beat the two men to a pulp. He wasn’t sure how far he’d have gone if not for the arrival of the gang the Joker’s men were supposed to meet with.

They slashed his back with knives. Shallow wounds, easy to manage. By the time Red Hood turned to face them, the others had arrived-- Batman, Nightwing, Robin. And boy were they pissed.

Jason winced as the hot water hit the cuts on his back. He rolled his shoulders and just let the steam ground him. He didn’t kill again, even if every time that green-haired bastard got involved, he went off the rails.

He would get to choose his own path, not the one Bruce wanted for him, but damn well not the one Thalia wanted for him either. This story was his, he reminded himself while gingerly toweling off. Even if he couldn’t look his own reflection in the eye.

He gripped the countertop, staring down as he let his hair drip into the sink. No, he wasn’t feeling desperate enough to see if his eyes were green again.

Damnit, he had to apologize to Babs. He felt calmer now, but he’d been a real dick when he came in. Jason dressed quickly in sweatpants and an old shirt, then padded quietly back to where he knew his sister would be at the computers.

“Hey,” he said, knocking softly when he entered to announce his presence. Barbara didn’t respond for a moment. She was leaning forward in her chair, typing something into one monitor while listening to police chatter, then nodded to herself and sat back.

“Hey.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Robin told me what happened on patrol.”

Jason scowled. “That little tattletale.”

Barbara offered him a reassuring smile. “That little tattletale is the only reason I didn’t hack into your bank account and order a damn pony.”

“Well shit Babs, maybe I like ponies,” Jason snarked back, but his heart wasn’t into it. “Listen... I’m sorry about earlier. If replacement talked to you already, you know what kind of mood I was in, but that’s no excuse.”

Babs turned her chair to face him and held out her hand. He stepped forward and took it, and she said, “We know you’re trying, Jay. Stuff like this? This is who you are. A year ago, you wouldn’t have been caught dead apologizing to me!” She cringed. “Ah, no offense.”

He chuckled. “None taken, it’s about time you started getting in on the undead jokes.” He patted her hand before walking away back to the main space of the cave. “But thank you, it means a lot.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth!” She raised her voice and turned back to face the computer.

Dick and Tim were already waiting in the cave. Tim was fiddling with some beds and what looked like opaque ski goggles. He always fidgeted when he was nervous.

“Hey replacement,” Jason shouted across the room. He noticed Dick bristle, but cut him off before he could get the patented older brother speech. “How much time ‘til the launch?”

Tim’s eyes lit up, and damn him for caring, but Jason just didn’t want them to be afraid of him.

* * *

Connor and Zatanna were washing dishes in the Cave’s kitchen after dinner. Connor heard the distant sound of someone arriving via zeta tube. He let Zatanna know as they finished drying their plates, then followed her to go greet their visitors.

Wally and Artemis staggered into the room, both weighed down by overflowing boxes of equipment.

“Oh thank god, please help me!” Artemis said, spotting Connor. He obliged and easily took the heavy box from her. She rubbed her arms and smiled gratefully as he held it aloft in one hand.

“It must be so handy having him around,” she sighed to Zatanna.

The magician giggled. “It certainly has its perks, but....” She lifted her hands and said clearly, “Flesruoy egnarra.” The contents of the boxes, some assorted cots, VR headsets, and computers, floated up and placed themselves into a neat formation. “A girl can get by by herself.” She gave Artemis a fistbump.

The zeta tube activated and they all looked up to watch it. The AI announced Wondergirl, and Cassie Sandsmark walked out. She looked up from her phone and waved. “Oh hey guys, whatcha doing?”

Wally zoomed around the set-up Zatanna had created. “We’re just setting up to play this new virtual reality game that’s coming out at midnight! What about you?”

“Oh, what a coincidence, I was just--”

Cassie was cut off by the zeta tube activating again. This time it was Bart, carrying Jaime bridal style, and running at full speed. He skidded to a halt, put a very ill-looking Jaime down, and ran a hand through his windswept hair.

“So totally crash! What’s poppin’?” He made finger guns at Connor, Zatanna, and Artemis.

Zatanna started explaining, “Well, like were just telling Cassie, there’s this new video game coming out at midnight and we--”

She was interrupted by the screech of a green pterodactyl swooping in from the zeta tube. It circled once around the high ceilings of the hollowed-out mountain, then landed and shrank into Beast Boy.

“Just a heads up, Arsenal’s right behind me and he’s a little angry-- oh what are you guys doing?”

Connor was getting frustrated now. “We’re trying to get set up for this new video game that’s launching in five minutes, so if you guys wouldn’t mind--”

A small explosion sounded from the door to the exterior of the island. Roy burst in amidst a cloud of dust.

“Hope I’m not late, I lost my phone.” He sounded like he was in a bad mood.

Bart whispered to Connor, “He means he destroyed his phone.”

Roy dusted off his pants, then looked to Wally and Artemis and asked, “The hell are you doing here?”

“AUGH,” Artemis had had enough. “We’re here to play the video game coming out at midnight! If you want to join us, fine, but if you don’t then get out.” She pointed to the zeta tubes.

Garfield tried to placate her. “Sheesh, it’s just a game! No need to get so worked up.”

Jaime gave him an incredulous look. “Weren’t you just throwing a tantrum yesterday about Bart kicking your ass halfway to Bialya in Smash?”

“...Noted.” Garfield answered.

“Well, looks like we’ve got plenty of hands to help get everyone set up. Let’s get to it!” Cassie expertly maneuvered the two teams away from setting off their more explosive members. They distributed headsets and assigned reclining positions without further delay.

* * *

Marinette put the headset on and laid down on her bed.

“Ready to go back?” Tikki asked her.

She gave the little god a grin. “Definitely.”

In the distance, the bells in Notre Dame chimed six times, but Marinette couldn’t hear them. Her mind had gone somewhere far, far away. Somewhere new.

[augment-techs]

“I’m—I’m fine. I’ve had worse.” for Ziggy and whoever you want

The blood soiled the clothes he'd been wearing for less than two weeks as easy as anyone else.  Since he'd been fifteen and drawn into the sentry ranks with almost no choice in the matter other than surrender or death, this was something he'd gotten used to. Waiting forever to get new or barely used clothing, only to have it damaged or ruined just after from his inevitably poor luck. Someone actually being there to care about Ziggy in the aftermath of having been inflicted with pain and injury was an almost entirely new experience, though. * Ziggy had been undergoing a lot of new experiences--same as every last one of the other sentries--since the Ranger Slayer ascended Drakkon's throne and set to work making an effort to make the world better. Though, maybe he had the other sentries beat, just the tiniest bit? Even his closest friends and mentors in their small, cloistered group of those not considered heartless, who actually cared about the people out in the world they were supposed to protect, didn't have a superior officer (a Red Sentry CAPTAIN) that was summoned by the Ranger Slayer herself into the throne room the same day as the transfer of power after all the speeches; that allowed Ziggy to tag along because, "Well, everyone will find out by tomorrow, anyway. You might as well put that motor mouth to good use." Ziggy had been under the wing of a goddamn Coinless spy. A General among the people that had been fighting the good fight since before Ziggy was born; who had been hugged by the last vestiges of Angel Grove's living Rangers (Dillon and Scott had to hold him along his shoulders when Ziggy had told them in the barracks that night, he was bouncing in his bed hard enough with such a big smile that it was like he was two years old again without a basic understanding of social constraints; Summer and Flynn just tried not to look too smug that all of them were getting free meals from their own Captains T.J. and Kelsey over having won a bet they'd all made about their favorite Red Sentry) and took his helmet off in front of Ziggy for the first time to introduce himself, not as Captain Williams, but as Eugene Skullovitch, "Skull for short, though. I think you've earned it, kid." Then Ziggy had been introduced to his Captain's best friend in the whole world (Summer had squeaked and almost shouted that she knew who Ziggy was talking about when he described him, "That was Bulk, Ziggy! THE Bulk!") and gotten the biggest hug in his whole life while being doted on by the vast bear of a man speaking of him in glowing terms that had Ziggy limp as a kitten blushing like mad, "Oh, you're the Ziggy I've heard so much about! Skull talks all about you on the wireless, but I think he might have been joking just a tiny bit when he said you're seventeen. Be honest, you're more like fifteen, right? All this hair and wiry muscle, you have to have been pulling his leg?" "Bulk," the Ranger Slayer, who insisted on being called Kim (jesus-fucking-christ) by anyone Skull called friend (which really just meant trust-worthy or not a complete asshole) among the ranks, had put a stop Bulk's mother henning with a gentle tap on the man's shoulder, "Not everyone is built like we were in the old days. I'm sure he'll get more meat on his bones as things improve." It had been awkward after, Ziggy walking with his Captain back to their rooms to find Ziggy's group of friends and the two other Captains; with all of them just gaping at the man's face like they'd never get the chance again. The days that followed with the rebuilding and the Coinless in the halls and taking care of the general populace that had to be told of the change in power and the defeat of Rita. It was tiring, but Ziggy had gotten to spend ten times as much time with his friends and just...not being an enforcer for Scorpina or Drakkon or the like, that he actually allowed himself to relax into the way things were going.  He'd signed up for night classes that some of the Coinless and retiring sentries were teaching. He'd been granted two days a week where he

didn't have to dress in his Black Sentry fatigues, could sleep in, could enjoy himself. Ziggy should have known that not all the new changes were appreciated by everyone. There were sentries, after all, who had been totally okay with the way things were with Scorpina, who were afraid of Drakkon like everyone else, but had been prepared to live their lives entirely by the pathological psychopath's way. There were those that had found Skull's being a spy to be an insult or actual betrayal. Those kinds of people always noticed that they could never address their issues with who they thought was the source of their anger; they never would have confronted Skull, even alone, even on his days off where he went out in leather jackets and jeans and could still beat anyone who bothered him into the ground, no problem.  So, Ziggy really shouldn't have been surprised to being decked the one day he'd gone out alone to check out some of the new apartments and prefabs he and his...friends? Could they really be called just that when they all kissed and touched more than any other groups Ziggy had ever seen?...were thinking of moving into since the barracks had become a little too impersonal to them. And, maybe, he was less surprised about the beating, than he was about how many people were doing it in tandem, with such efficiency as to render him unconscious within the first five minutes. * Yeah... Ziggy was more surprised to wake up, not in some filthy alley that had once been a desolate place to have battles with the walking corpses Rita Repulsa had walking around taking out everyone they could, but on a couch that could almost pass as new. His wiry frame tucked into blankets like some precious thing, head on a pillow that was so fucking soft it was unreal, the smell of the place a familiar comfort without knowing just where he was... The pain of his arm being swabbed with medical ointment. "OW OW OW!" "Ah, calm down you big baby," Skull practically grumbled like a much put-upon old dog answering the whines of a puppy that had stepped in a puddle and scared itself, "It hurts because it's working. This is actually good medicine and not that watered down crap the medics try and conserve." "How would you know that," Ziggy questioned with as much fizzy sass he could muster with a handprint around his neck, one eye changing color around the edges from the sucker punch that laid him out, countless cuts and scrapes, and a possible concussion that Dillon was gonna be pissed about when he arrived at Skull's apartment in the next hour when he got off his sentry shift, "You steal it out of the medical wing?" "I grow my own herbs, actually. Having a background in Classics means I'm good at recollecting things that might actually be useful when I need them. They might not be fully up to code, but they usually work anyway." Callused fingers dipped into a glass jar and traced the bruising Skull had already gone over, adding a warm, clear liquid that clung to the scrapes and coloring that his skipping stone, underwater eyes kept wandering back to; the feeling cool as mint and the smell mixing in with whatever Skull was boiling in the fireplace on a chain--not entirely unpleasant, but it still had Ziggy squirming in discomfort of being doted on in any capacity. "I'm..." Ziggy started again, trying to ignore the itching behind the eyes when Skull moved into checking the marks around his neck, spider-like and delicate and kinder still than he had any right to be with someone he'd had to defend without being asked, hauled back to his own home and been made to feed and water and treat better than someone like Ziggy deserved. (He'd done so much for Ziggy already, from the moment the Red Sentry Captain had kept him from getting a thrashing by a Yellow Sentry when Ziggy had screwed up one time too many and mouthed off; from the man getting him transferred into Dillon's squadron under supervision from Commander Park with Skull checking in every couple of days; from bailing Ziggy and his friends and ordinary people out of fires

and floods and death holes the cursed spirits of Repulsa found them in too many times to count.)  "Yes?" Skull prompted, pausing to wipe his hands on a wet cloth and wrangle the kettle out of the fire. He poured something that smelled delicious into an adorable little leaf and butterfly embossed teacup on a saucer with two little sticks of shortbread on the side. "I'm fine," Ziggy finally got out as he took the offering, taking a sip of something spicy and warm before trying to continue through the stopping point in his throat, "I've had worse." Skull took a huge swig from his own cup like it was nothing more than a shot and looked directly at the boy he'd made his charge, regardless of whether it was a good idea at the time, "And that last bit is exactly why I know you're not fine." The young man tried, he really tried to contest that, but his eyes were wet now, and Skull raised his hand to stall anything his famous motor mouth could pour out into the air between them. "But you will be."

[remedialpotions]

Dawn

As a thank-you to the lovely folks on the HPRomione discord who made my job organizing the inaugural Secret Santa gift exchange so easy and delightful, I wrote this toothache-inducing fluff. Special thanks to @al-in-the-air for schooling me on how to *properly* make a cup of tea; I will never speak the words ‘fire kettle’ in your presence again. 😘

ffn  ao3

Ron yawns and stretches his arms up over his head, revealing a sliver of pale skin below the hem of his shirt. Hermione likes him like this, bedraggled, warm from sleep, peaceful. In these pre-dawn hours, having been coaxed from the warmth and comfort of his bed, he is the most natural, authentic version of himself.

“Remind me again,” he says, sitting down next to her on the carpet. “Why couldn't we have done this last night?”

“Oh, we could have done,” replies Hermione briskly as she taped a piece of wrapping paper into place around a box, “if you and your brothers hadn’t got so invested in your game of charades-“

“Erm, have you forgotten that George cheated at one point and we had to redo it? We may be business partners, but I couldn’t just stand by and let that happen-”

“-then we could have left at a reasonable hour.”

“Ahh, well,” Ron chuckles. “Worth it to see Percy trying to mime ‘The Wizard and His Hopping Pot’.” He stretches his long legs out before him and surveys the scene beneath the lowest branches of the tree. “Looks like you’ve got most of this done already, have you been down here a while?”

“Oh,” says Hermione as she picks up a gift tag and a quill. “Yes, I woke up a bit earlier than we planned.” At the tilt of his head - he’s clearly about to ask why, since they didn’t Floo home until well past one in the morning - she quickly adds, “but everything we left out for Father Christmas is still over there. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Right!” With remarkable energy for such an early hour, Ron jumps to his feet and retrieves the tray they left near the hearth the evening previous, which bears a plate of biscuits, a few carrots, and a small glass of whiskey. “This is the best part of being a dad.”

Halfway through addressing the gift tag - to Rose, with love from Father Christmas - Hermione looks up and quirks a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Eating stale biscuits at seven in the morning is the best part of being a dad?”

“Maybe not the best, but definitely a perk.” Ron sits himself back down on the carpet beside Hermione, tray in front of him. “It’s a bit too early for the whiskey now, though, innit?”

“You can probably just leave it,” agrees Hermione. “I don’t know that Rose will really notice it’s different.”

“Yeah, I suppose she’s not even two yet,” says Ron as he snaps one of the biscuits in half and pops it in his mouth. “But I’d like to at least try to keep up the illusion.”

Hermione affixes the gift tag to the box and sets it under the tree. “Do you know how I figured it out? That there wasn’t a Father Christmas at all?”

“I assume you did the maths and realized there’s no way some bloke in a sleigh can make it round the world in one night,” says Ron with a grin.

“Close, but no.” Hermione helps herself to a biscuit - then quickly realizes it’s the last thing she wants to eat, and sets it back down. “Actually, I realized that Father Christmas and my mum had the exact same handwriting on all my gifts.”

“And were you gutted to find this out?”

“Not particularly. I was a bit relieved, actually, it always seemed rather unsafe to let a strange man break in through the fireplace and eat our food.”

Ron lets out a deep, delighted belly laugh and leans over to press a kiss to her cheek. “Only you would worry about that.”

“So how did you figure it out?”

“Oh, the twins spilled the beans before I had the chance,” says Ron flippantly. “Not that it mattered much anyway, he usually only brought like, new socks and things like that.” His features turn pensive. “I hope Rose doesn’t cotton on to it for a long time.”

Hermione nods. She’s suddenly acutely aware of every tiny detail: the hush over their sitting room, the ever-present twinkling of the fairy lights adorning the tree, the knowledge that their daughter is sleeping soundly upstairs. She is not often one for sentimentality, but things right now feel perfect, just as they are.

“I hope so too. But,” she adds, more businesslike as she unfurls the roll of wrapping paper, “it’ll be quite a long time before we have to worry about that.”

“Is this the last one?” asks Ron, picking up a box containing a toy dragon that breathes warm, kid-friendly fire upon command. “I can do it.”

“Oh, I’ve got it under control.”

“You’ve done nearly all of them though.” Carefully, he prises the wrapping paper out of her hands. “You could have woken me when you got up, you know. I don’t actually mind.”

“I know you don’t, but it’s fine. I supposed at least one of us should get some sleep.” As Ron used his wand to sever the paper (he was missing out, Hermione thought, on the glorious sliding sensation that comes only when using scissors to cut wrapping paper), she hauled herself to her feet. “Do you want some tea?”

“So we’re not going back to bed after this, then?”

“There isn’t really time, Rose is going to wake up soon.”

Ron’s gaze shifts toward the sitting room window, where the first vestiges of grey winter light are just streaming through the curtains. “She does rise with the sun these days,” he agrees. “Yeah, tea sounds great, cheers.”

Hermione pats him on the shoulder as she walks to the kitchen, where she sets the tea kettle to boil. As the water heats up, she opens the cupboard below the sink and peers into its dark and disorganized depths. There, among bottles of cleaning solution and spare sponges, is a small parcel wrapped in shiny gold paper. She retrieves it from behind the drain pipe, and as she does, her stomach flutters with nervous excitement. It’s been doing that a lot the past few weeks, and now that the moment is upon her, she finds her hands trembling as she drops tea bags into mugs and pours the hot water.

It feels different than it did the last time. This time around, she knows how this is going to go, and she can’t wait.

In her eagerness, she scoops probably too much sugar into one of the mugs (which, considering Ron’s standards, is really saying something), and carries both back to the sitting room with the parcel tucked under her arm. Ron’s just taping the corners of a box closed when she reaches him.

“What’ve you got?” asks Ron, extending an arm up to take his tea from her.

“Oh, erm.” Hermione deposits herself onto the carpet beside him. “This is for you, actually.”

She places the box onto his lap. With his mug of tea halfway to his lips, Ron frowns at it, then looks up at Hermione.

“We said we weren’t getting each other gifts this year.”

“I know, but can’t you just say thank you and open it?”

“No, I feel bad now, I’d have got you something if I knew - I even had ideas-“

“If it makes you feel better, it’s really for both of us. And Rose, actually,” she adds. “So just open it.”

Ron’s brows knit together in confusion. “How could it possibly-“

“Will you just open it already?” Hermione blurts out. “For God’s sake, you are impossible sometimes.”

“All right, all right,” Ron relents with a laugh,”I’m doing it.”

Breaking through the tape, he pulls the gold paper away from the box. It’s just plain white, a garment box, which Ron turns over in his hands to pull off the lid. Hermione’s heart thumps wildly in her chest as his hands push away the tissue paper and pick up an impossibly tiny jumper: retina-searing orange, with black interlocking Cs on the chest.

Quiet falls again; seconds drag on like hours.

“This is for a baby,” says Ron softly, and Hermione sees that his hands are shaking too.

“Right.”

“And… this won’t fit Rose.”

“Right.”

Their eyes meet. Ron’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly in a silent question; Hermione’s grateful he can’t find the words, because she can’t either. All she can do is nod… but it’s enough.

His arms engulf her, pressing her face against the soft fabric of his shirt and flooding her senses with the scent of his skin and his hair, everything about him that makes her feel safe and loved and whole.

“I can’t believe it,” he breathes, lips brushing the side of her neck as the words tumble out.

Hermione pulls back just enough to look at him. His blue eyes are shining. “Why can’t you believe it? It’s not like we haven’t been trying.”

“I know, I just-“ He leans in and kisses her, soft and sweet. “I still can’t believe this is my life. I can’t believe I get to have this life with you.”

Without the words to properly express just how much she agrees, she simply kisses him again. Even with eyes squeezed tightly against the tears now threatening to fall, she can sense the new light filling the room. Rose will wake soon, to tear through wrapping paper and eat biscuits for breakfast and spend the day in her pyjamas, but Hermione hopes to cling to this moment for just a few seconds longer.

“So, all right.” Ron’s smiling at her, so broadly that his cheeks must ache. “When did you find out? How did you - I mean-“

“I’ve known a couple of weeks,” Hermione confesses, sheepish. “That’s why I was up so early today. I’ve had horrible morning sickness.”

Ron shakes his head in amazement. “You’re barking.”

“You’re not angry, are you? That I didn’t just tell you?”

“What - no - why I would be - it’s perfect, it’s all perfect.” Ron lips find hers again, working their way over to her ear. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Hermione settles contentedly into his embrace, but hardly has a chance to appreciate it when a small yet insistent yell sounds from the second floor.

“Dada!”

“Oh, that’s me,” says Ron cheerfully, releasing Hermione and clambering to his feet. “Shall I go get her? Are we ready?”

“Yes, we’re ready.”

[concussed-to-pieces]

Stay Safe Part Nine: Swan Song

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Heh. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @huliabitch @toxiicpop @renegademustelid @helplessly-nonstop @culturalrebel @sinnamon-bunn @hoodedbirdie @literal-fand0m-trash @thyestean-feast @fioccodineveautunnale @kateb013 @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko @oh-no-who-am-i @crownofmanga @talesfromtheguild @robbinholland @kylolover96 @lukesrighthand @lackofhonor @lightan117 @misssilencewritewell

Part One: Should Have Known Better

Part Two: Tranquil Turmoil

Part Three: Vibroblade Mettle

Part Four: Reaching Out

Part Five: Dark Past

Part Six: Go Alone

Part Seven: Like A Ghost

Part Eight: Savior At High Noon

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains character death and depictions of vomit/bile. Stay safe!]

While the Armorer spoke quietly with the Mandalorian at length and continued to smelt the reclaimed armor down, you remained out in the hallway with the IG unit to scan for threats. You couldn't bring yourself to go into the forge and just sit quietly like Karga and Cara, your whole body still buzzing with the vestiges of the huge rush of adrenaline you had received earlier. 

The robot's many sets of eyes swiveled back and forth, silently observing the tunnel in front of you. It also seemed to take note of your fidgeting. "Never fear. I am programmed to protect." The droid assured you. 

"As comforting as that is…" you grimaced, obsessively checking your blaster over yet again. "I'd feel much better if we didn't have to fight. Or if we had decent cover. I never know what will explode." An explosion echoed faintly down the tunnel as if in response to your words and you went rigid. You gripped the blaster even tighter, feeling the stock dig into your palm.

"I would advise not shooting at the inanimate objects to avoid possible damage."

"Wonderful." You muttered, a reluctant grin making its way onto your face. "This is why I prefer my knife."

"If you would like to attempt such an inadvisable tactic, I am unable to stop you." The droid commented. 

"No, no no. I promise I won't be that dumb." Your laugh was too high, choking off in your throat when you caught sight of several headlamps down the tunnel.

"Engaging the enemy." IG-11 announced, the spindly ex-bounty hunter droid striding forward into the spillway with purpose.

"IG, wait!" You protested. "How am I supposed to-"

"Do not worry about hitting me. Aim for them." The robot interrupted you calmly.

"Aim for them, no shit!" 

You knelt beside one of the many, possibly-explosive crates, tucking the stock of your rifle up against your shoulder. You then used the flat surface to steady the gun as best as you could, gritting your teeth probably a bit too hard. 

IG-11 was a force to be reckoned with. The droid barely even needed you, only once caught off-guard by one of the eight troopers that bore down on it like an unstoppable (but ultimately doomed) wave. 

One well-placed shot from you blew that particular stormtrooper's elbow out, making him scream in agony. You froze at the sound, your body stiffening before you could fight it off. How many men had you killed today? You had pushed it down, shoved the thought away, but-

IG-11 spiraled and struck with terrifying accuracy, it's blaster searing a hole in the side of the last trooper's helmet. "You have been protected." The droid droned quietly. It went on to ask, "Were you harmed?"

"No, n-no, I'm...I'm fine." You breathed. "Sorry, I get all…" 

"You did well. It is advisable to use cover at any and all opportunities." IG-11 mused sagely. 

"No kidding."

A nerve-wracking five minutes later the Mandalorian finally walked back out of the forge area, Dune and Karga close behind. "We push forward." The armored man said, answering your unspoken question. "We'll hit the river, and it'll take us to the flats. All we can do now is hope that the Imps won't head us off." 

Karga passed a large, square object off to IG-11 while the Mandalorian spoke. The boosters on the bottom of it seemed to indicate that it was a portable jet pack of some kind. You also saw a shiny new addition to the Mandalorian's pauldron.

"What's…?" You trailed off, gesturing at the insignia that had been welded seamlessly to his armor. It looked like a stylized mudhorn, which, when you thought about it, suited him immensely.

"My signet. I...I'm considered a clan now." The Mandalorian hesitated, his hand finding the child's in their little bundle of robes. "I have a Foundling in my care." His voice was warm, an almost incredulous wonder shining through his words. "She used...she used some of your beskar to make it. The ingot that I took from you, I-I asked her to use it," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "I hope that's--i-is that alright? I'll compen-"

"It's definitely alright." You interrupted him, nodding rapidly and certain that you were smiling like an idiot. "Don't even worry about that. Obviously, you guys can put it to better use than I ever could."

"Thank you." The Mandalorian said sincerely.

Greef suddenly looked incredibly uncomfortable. "How did you get ahold of that ingot of beskar, anyhow?" He asked narrowly.

"I was paid with it when I got hired to clean his ship." You explained. "But I guess the person that hired me was actually only interested in having me jimmy the boarding ramp open for them, because as soon as I got it open I was clocked with the ingot. They ended up leaving it with me, though. Maybe they didn't know what it was worth?"

The Mandalorian turned towards Karga and you could feel him glaring, while Greef simply hummed and looked anywhere but the glowering man. "Karga, did you-?"

"Whatever it is, the answer is no! But I can't take responsibility for the actions of every hunter under me." The older man protested, waving his hands. "You know the rules, Mando, no questions asked."

"You were the only other person who got paid in beskar, Karga." The Mandalorian growled. "If I find out that it was one of-"

"We don't have time for you guys to have a beskar-based pissing match." Dune interjected, "we have to keep moving, or we're Imp chow. Squash your shit now or deal with it later."

"I apologize for anything my associates may have done to you that, er, caused you inadvertent discomfort." Karga addressed you hurriedly.

"Uh, I...forgive...you?" You replied, more than a little confused. 

"There, you see Mando? No issues here!" The Guild leader said brightly. The Mandalorian shook his head, growling something under his breath and then stalking off in the opposite direction.

...

The rickety old lava skiff, while originally half-welded to the dock, didn't stay stuck too long in the wake of Cara's heavy blaster fire. Karga quickly grabbed the side of the craft, steadying it before it could drift away from the dock.

"Watch your feet, it's molten lava." IG-11 warned. When you turned to give the robot an incredulous look, you saw the Mandalorian and Cara doing exactly the same thing. Your deadpan stare cracked a little and you were caught off-guard by a giggling fit, clumsily stumbling over the lip of the boat as the armored man followed after you.

"Fucking droids." The Mandalorian groaned while shaking his head, though he sounded less irritated and more amused.

The droid that normally piloted the skiff appeared to be out of commission, but it was no matter. Even though the lava moved slowly, it moved enough to carry the boat along with it.

The child was still limp in Cara's arms, the former dropship trooper absently rocking them back and forth. Weariness dragged at you as well, grey static slowly encroaching upon the corners of your eyes, but you did your best to push it away for the time being. You weren't sure how much longer you could get away with that, though. Stars, once this was over you would sleep for a thousand years.

A sudden crackling noise behind you made everybody whirl, respective blasters and knives brandished. But it was just the ferry droid, emerging from the ashen lava that had entombed it. It held a punting pole in its hands and began to beep, sounding almost inquisitive.

The Mandalorian finally muttered, "I don't suppose anybody here speaks droid," his tone one of long suffering.

IG-11 helpfully supplied, "I believe he is asking where we would like to go." 

"Downriver. To the lava flat." Karga ordered. The droid gave a chirp of confirmation and jabbed its pole into the lava, propelling the boat onwards at a much less leisurely pace.

The Mandalorian sat down heavily beside you after a moment, his helmet in his hands. "I can't believe you came back." He mumbled. "I didn't think...I figured you wouldn't. Thought I did a pretty good job at ruining everything."

"I can't believe I did either, honestly." You answered him, wincing when you realized how bad that sounded. "Wait, no, I uh...I just mean I didn't really know what was going on. I followed the noise and found IG-11."

"So, nothing new." The Mandalorian replied, his voice wry. Then, he murmured, "my little mudhorn."

You shot him a confused glance from beneath your lashes, but for all you could tell he was staring at the floor of the boat. Your eyes shifted to the silvery signet on his pauldron, taking in the vicious contours of the mudhorn's silhouette. I'm considered a clan now. 

"What will you do after we take care of this?" Your words were audacious in their optimism and you knew it. He knew it too, if his snort was anything to go by, but he humored you.

"I have to find the kid's people. I can't train him, he's...well, he's not really the Mando type. But he's a Foundling in my care, so I'm to act as his father until I can either return him to his people or...or until he comes of age." The Mandalorian heaved a sigh. "And seeing as he's fifty now, I don't think him coming of age is something that'll happen in my lifetime." His hand sought yours out on the bench seat after a moment. "If you...I mean, I know that...uh, the kid likes you. So if you wanted, I'd...I'd consider…" He trailed off, squeezing your wrist gently.

You opened your mouth to stammer something and then Greef inadvertently cut you off with an excited, "That's it! We're free!" The older man pointed ahead, indicating the daylight coming into view in the distance. You couldn't blame him for being relieved, really. This underground canal was stifling.

But the Mandalorian was already shaking his head, fingers tapping at the button pad on his gauntlet. "No. No, we're not." He said bitterly, getting to his feet. "Stormtroopers. They're flanking the mouth of the tunnel. It looks like an entire platoon." Your heart sank at his words. "They must know we're coming."

His shoulders slumped. You could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him. He had almost died, only for this to happen?

Cara, meanwhile, leaped into action. "Stop the boat." She demanded of the ferry droid, which just continued to chirp merrily to itself. "Hey, droid, I said stop the boat!" She barked, storming towards the robot. "Hey, I'm talking to you!" 

The droid carried on punting the boat forward and Cara grimaced, jamming her blaster into the vacant space between the droid's dome and body. One quick trigger pull sent the droid's head flying off with a loud crack!, the dome hitting the lava and immediately beginning to melt. The child started awake at the noise, tiny fists waving wildly in the air.

The boat continued to roll downstream, slowly but surely carried by the flow's current. "We're still moving." Greef pointed out, his tone laden with dread.

Dune swore under her breath, turning to face the rest of the group. "Looks like we fight."

The Mandalorian scoffed, "There are too many." His hand absently tapped the side of his helmet and you read his fingers: enemy ahead, five, five, five, so at least fifteen.

At least. Your heart threatened to pound out of your chest. It had been one thing when you were running along pell-mell with no actual thought put into your actions, but now-

"Well then what do you suggest, because I can't surrender." Cara snapped, cringing when the kid started to whimper.

IG-11 suddenly spoke up. "They will not be satisfied with anything less than the child. This is unacceptable." It rose to its full height, proclaiming, "I will eliminate the enemy, and you will escape."

"You don't have that kind of firepower, pal." The Mandalorian retorted. "You wouldn't even get to daylight."

The droid leveled him with a stare. "That is not my objective."

"We're getting close." Dune hauled you to your feet. "Saddle up." You obliged wordlessly, waiting until she turned away before you allowed yourself to grimace in pain. Maker, your side hurt.

"I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer." The IG said calmly as you and Cara maneuvered around it and the Mandalorian to prepare what limited defenses you could muster. "If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct."

"What're you talking about?" The Mandalorian growled impatiently. 

"I'm not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed."

"Are we gonna' keep talking or are we gonna' get out of here?" Greef enquired, waving a hand at the molten riverbank.

"I can no longer carry this for you." The droid murmured, pressing the jet pack into the Mandalorian's unwilling grasp. "Nor can I watch over the child."

"Wait." The armor-wearing man sounded like he was having trouble breathing. "You can't self-destruct. Your base command is to watch the child." Was he...was he arguing with the droid? "That supersedes your manufacturer's protocol, right?" He reasoned desperately, his head tilted up to look at the spindly droid. When the robot didn't answer immediately, he pressed, "Right?"

"This is correct." IG-11 allowed.

He was arguing. With a droid. Stars, you saw something new every day. "Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out." The Mandalorian ordered curtly, turning to check over his own weaponry. 

"Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The child will be lost." You watched the armored man's shoulders slump even lower beneath his pauldrons and cape, like an immense weight was pressing down on him. "Sadly, there is no scenario where the child is saved in which I survive." The droid carried on relentlessly. You abruptly understood what it was saying, and despite your best efforts you felt tears sting your eyes. First Kuiil, now this?

"Listen, you're not going anywhere." The Mandalorian said sharply. "We need you. Let's just come up with a-"

"Please tell me the child will be safe in your care." The IG unit requested. "If you do so, I can default to my secondary command."

"But…" the beskar-wearing man's voice faded to a hoarse whisper, "you'll be destroyed."

"And you will live, and I will have served my purpose."

"No, we need you."

"There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive." The droid said pragmatically.

"I'm not sad." The armored man denied gruffly. He was lying and everyone knew it. You could hear the tremor in his words.

"Yes you are. I'm a nurse droid. I've analyzed your voice." IG-11 reached out those metal fingers, gently running them over the baby's ear. Then, without further ado, the droid hoisted a leg over the side of the boat.

"IG-!" Karga began to protest, watching the droid sink into the lava. Flames licked upwards from the ex-bounty hunter's knee gaskets, but it doggedly headed for the light at the end of the tunnel. 

The Mandalorian stood still as a statue, just letting the droid go. You ended up burying your face in your hands, unwilling and mentally unable to observe what would happen. 

The ringing impact of beskar suddenly broke the silence and the Mandalorian began to sing, his words wrapped in a deep, mournful tone that sounded like it came from the center of his being. "Motir ca'tra nau tracinya," His voice faltered. "Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a! Cuun hett su!" 

The droid's self-destructive explosion rocked the tunnel and you heard the Mandalorian's breath hitch, the noise sharp and pained even through the modulator. 

He then inhaled deeply, the words reverberating off the sides of the tunnel when he roared, "Cuun hett su!" and slammed his gauntlet against his breastplate once more.

The skiff slowly slipped through the archway and out into the smokey sunlight. Fifteen broken stormtroopers littered the black ground around the mouth of the canal, none left alive in the wake of IG-11's sacrifice. You scrubbed at your face in irritation, choking back your tears. There will be time later, you promised yourself, time for Kuiil and the IG. Time to mourn them properly. You weren't permitted such time now and you knew it. People needed you, they needed--

Without warning, that ship you had seen earlier buzzed by overhead, its powerful laser cannons sending chunks of half-coagulated lava flying into the air on either side of the canal. 

"Moff Gideon!" Dune shouted, the Bren blaster whirring to life. The TIE fighter's engines screamed and whined, the craft circling back around. A line of ground to the left of the skiff exploded, green lasers punching through the cooled lava. 

"He missed!" Greef sounded absolutely thrilled.

"He won't next time." The Mandalorian replied grimly, loading a fresh canister into his heavy blaster.

"Hey, let's get the baby to do the magic hand thing!" Karga suggested, wiggling his fingers at the child. "C'mon baby, do the magic hand thing." The child stared up at him, waving their hand uncertainly. Greef sighed, "I'm out of ideas."

"I'm not." The Mandalorian snapped. He reached for the jet pack and you tugged his cape out of the way so he could attach it to his backplate. He pressed his forehead against your own briefly before he tapped at his gauntlet keypad, igniting the boosters for the pack.

"Here he comes!" Cara yelled, bracing herself back against one of the seats while her blaster roared away. Whoever Gideon was, he appeared to be coming straight for the boat. The fighter wasn't slowing one iota. 

Right as you saw the TIE fighter's cannons begin to light up in preparation to fire, the Mandalorian punched the controls on his jet pack. The armored man hurtled into the sky, easily clearing the TIE fighter and then shooting his grappling line at the back of the ship. 

Gideon took off with him in tow and Karga laughed incredulously, "you've got to be kidding me! That was your plan? Mando, you're a maniac!" He then grabbed onto the cooled lava wall that rose on the right side of the boat, fumbling his way up onto the relatively-sturdy riverbank with a muffled grunt of exertion. "Alright trooper, you're next." The older man said, extending a hand to help haul Cara out of the boat.

She too managed to get to solid ground, and she carefully sat the bundled child down for a moment before turning back to you. Cara held out her hand and Greef held out his. "C'mon rookie, get up here." She said with a tired grin. "We need good seats to watch your Mandalorian work his magic, right?" 

Your laugh caught in your throat, almost a sob, and you reached to clasp their hands. But then your breathing abruptly hitched as, in reply to the first tugs of the two individuals above you, the wound on your side made itself felt with a vengeance. You panted, half-blinded by the sudden pain and knowing that you had gone full dead-weight.

"Use your legs rookie, c'mon!" Cara complained, planting herself and slapping her other hand closed around your upper arm to help her leverage. You gritted your teeth and forced your body to cooperate in a last ditch effort to get you up onto the river banking. Despite that, you were still all but dragged the rest of the way, Dune and Karga barely managing to muscle you to safety. "Look at him go!" Cara exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the sky.

As you tipped your head back to watch the TIE fighter skitter and weave through the air, the ground suddenly felt like it was tilting under your feet. Your ears started to ring and your knees trembled unsteadily, threatening to give out beneath you any second now while the static at the edges of your vision that you had been keeping at bay crept steadily in from the sides. 

You clumsily took hold of Karga's shoulder, the older man giving you a confused look. "I...I don't feel so good." You stammered.

Cara turned to you, her mouth moving and her expression changing to one of concern, but you couldn't hear her at all over the ringing in your ears.

She grabbed your cloak, yanking it up off your body as you sagged against Greef. "Sorry," you breathed, knowing that she must have spotted the blaster wound on your side. Your own voice sounded so loud to you. Your bloodied fingers found her gorget, floundering desperately for a handhold. "Take care...of the k-kid-" you whispered, all of your adrenaline finally spent. 

You had been running on fumes for the last few minutes. You weren't sure how much blood you had lost, all you knew is that you had been bleeding since getting clipped on the battlefield. It hadn't hurt when you were moving or distracted, the urgency of your situation enabling you to draw on your body's ability to push through the predicament. But now, it seemed that your luck had run out.

Your eyes felt too heavy. You needed sleep. How long had it been since you rested? You deserved a rest. A rest sounded phenomenal.

"...shot, give--osi'kyr, let me see them!" That was the Mandalorian. He sounded terrified. You couldn't remember ever hearing his voice crack like that. What was wrong? When had he landed again? What happened to Gideon?

"S'wrong?" You slurred. You appeared to be laying down. Possibly. Up and down were a little confused at the moment. 

"Focus on me, please, you have to stay awake-" He sounded so sad.

"Going into shock--must have been when-" Cara's voice was faint and wavering, as if she was underwater. 

"Sweetheart, cyar'ika, please, please--" His helmet pressed to your forehead and you heard his breath rattle. No, that couldn't be right, the bacta spray should have fixed that. Was it your breathing that sounded that bad?

You dimly felt dried blood flaking off of your hands as you moved your fingers. "Want to sleep. S'dark." You mumbled.

"Don't you dare!" His modulated voice cut through the gray haze rudely, too loud and bright. "You're not going to sleep!"

"F-five minutes." You bargained, grimacing when his helmet banged into your forehead.

"You stay awake, you hear me?! I'm not letting you do this! Not after everything we've been through!"

"Never even...got to…" Your head felt as if it was stuffed with clouds, words trickling out of your brain and vanishing like water in the sand. "'Pologize…" He had your hand in his own now, leather rubbing feverishly over your knuckles. "Got so mad…"

"You're not the one who needed to apologize, dammit. I...I shouldn't have tried to leave you behind." His voice broke. "I-I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I-" Blood was roaring in your ears, drowning out anything else the armored man might be saying. Your fingers were going numb. Flickers of conversation reached you, battling against the roar.

"-them still, Karga, he's got to close this, stop the bleeding--"

"-idea, but make sure it holds until we get back to town--"

"I love you, I'm so sorry, this will hurt--" 

Pain stabbed through your body, startling a ragged exhale out of you. Something was burning. It smelled disgusting and you retched without meaning to, bile foaming at your lips. You wondered absently if that was the smell he had been talking about when he had been poisoned, death-rot...

Metal was pressing against your forehead and a blinding heat seared at the wound on your side, the two sensations warring for your attention. Vomit surged up your throat, making you gag again.

This is it, you realized vaguely. This is how I die. Huh. The notion was not nearly as repulsive as you had expected. Dying sounded halfway appealing. You could rest then. 

"Stay awake, please stay awake-"

"M' here. M'wake." You assured whoever it was, your hand weakly patting at theirs. "So tired...can I sleep soon? Pl-ease?"

"Not now, not now, you h-have to stay awake." His voice was trembling. "The kid needs you, dammit."

"Need you to--to take the kid and run." You urged, confidently stating, "I'll hol' 'em off so y' can escape. They're comin' in warm an' I'm comin' in cold." You struggled to grab your blaster, but your arms refused to cooperate. "Did y' turn up the gravity? Can't...can't move…hurts..." The tears wouldn't stop rolling down your cheeks in a torrent. You weren't even sure why you were crying.

"Stay awake. Just like on Sorgan. All I need is a f-few more minutes, okay? Remember?" Your body tilted crazily, someone's arms fumbling beneath your shoulders and knees to hoist you off the ground.

"Mm, I can do that. Do whatever y' want." You mumbled. The darkness closed in around you, a sweltering maw that slowly drew you deeper and deeper into its grasp. "It's...it's so dark. M' scared." You admitted, your numbed fingers petting the hand that rested on your arm.

"I'm right here with you." He assured. "I'm not going anywhere. Sing that song, please? The one you sing to the kid. The...the lullaby."

Your brow furrowed with effort and you opened your mouth, your voice faint and pitchy in the blackness. "Stars fading, but I linger on...dear...still craving…" 

The words wouldn't stick. Your brain was drawing a blank. Why couldn't you remember the words?

You fell asleep.

...

You dreamed of wind whipping your face, steam that hissed and boiled on the lava flats, droplets trickling down from underneath a proud helmet to gather at the edge of his chin and drip onto your tunic.

You dreamed of drowning, thick liquid sliding over your head, enveloping you in its fetid grasp before your consciousness faded back out. 

You dreamed of a mudhorn in beskar, the shimmering silver-clad beast guiding you through the black.

Eventually you spiraled downwards into a deeper sleep, and finally you dreamed of nothing at all.

Interlude

[mimik-u]

First Lines Meme

Tagged by @runrundoyourstuff and @a-big-apple! Go check them out—they both write so beautifully.

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories. See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 authors!

“So the first thing you should know about me,” Steven begins nervously, gripping the bottom of his shirt, “is that, uh—“ (Fragments III)

“Blue?” (Gloves)

Her name was Blue, and it was a name that fit her like a glove. (Flower Child)

The humid night draws itself around Marisa Coulter in swirls of dark and mist and stars as she paces the cobblestoned grounds of Jordan College—now asleep for the time being, all its Scholars tucked in bed. (Particulate Matter)

On the now abandoned stage, Captain Lars and Sadie Killer sit side by side and watch the sun sink into the ocean. (Fragments II)

On the balcony, long after Steven has fallen asleep, Pearl and Garnet find themselves on top of Obsidian’s hand, watching the waves through the gaps in her stony fingers. (Facets)

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Steven reminds her for the fifteenth time since he woke up this morning and bounded down from the loft to interrupt her daily newspaper reading. (Archive)

It is with a studied rhythm that Homeworld’s twin suns pull each other up through the darkness, blanketing the sky in a soft pink glow as they ascend, going slowly, all gentleness. (Multitudes)

TW: Gore || At the end of Olivia Octavius’s world, there is blood, so much of it, too much—staining her shirt dark around her midsection where old incisions are prying themselves loose, and dribbling warningly down her mouth in a thin line. (Miscalculations)

His hair still dripping with the vestiges of his shower, Johnny Rose, clad in his favorite white bathrobe, re-enters the motel room to a familiar trifecta awaiting him on his bed: Moira Rose, her carefully arched brow, and her well-manicured hand placed on the comforter in such a way that her implicit demand is all but spoken: Come here. (Worries)

She slips into his room all ghostlike, her bare feet nimble, shadows turning circles beneath her green eyes. (Ghost)

Just because she knew it would piss her mother off, Yellow Diamond straddled the limo seat as though she had never seen a chair before, one knee at kingdom and the other at come. (The Princess and the Knight)

“I hurt you.” (Stars)

They are monsters—oh, it’s true—but not like this. (Diamond Fall)

On the porch steps leading into the Maheswarans’ townhouse, Priyanka Maheswaran and Pearl sit side by side, waiting for their respective kids to finish one more episode, please? (Dreams)

Five thousand lunar cycles into Yellow Diamond’s lifespan, she finally learns what it means to fear death. (Fragments)

When the interface appears next to the tall, golden doors, Yellow Diamond is careful to angle her body in such a way that her companion will be able to see the code—if she’s observant enough. (Sauna)

In the pink room, he dreams of the Diamond he now knows to be his mother—except he is his mother. (Change)

The opulent doors leading into White Diamond’s chambers loomed before them, blindingly, sickeningly bright. (Shatterer)

The first mistake Steven made on this abysmally chilly, fear leaden, but otherwise perfectly pleasant Homeworld evening was to force his new dictator grandmothers of sorts—who both thought he was his mother, which he kinda was but not like that—to bring him back to Homeworld. (Something in Common)

Omg, I really like a dialogue opener, huh? Out of these, I love the humor in “The Princess and the Knight” most, but I think my overall favorite has to be “Flower Child’s” opening line. It’s simple, but it works.

Tagging @reikiajakoiranruohoja, @nexstage, @novantinuum, @ladyluck678, and @dogcopter!

[keikaru]

Valediction

Listless after the war, Felix wanders across the continent with a bleak outlook. He returns to Garreg Mach—presumably to tie up any loose ends—but Bernie and Seteth persuade him to stay and work for the Fódlan Postal Company.

While the war was harsh, assimilating to civilian life was harder. He would try if it meant seeing Sylvain again.

----

Originally posted on A03 but deleted it because I believe I could improve the quality later on. Personally, I think the story lacks some panache, so when it returns, I hope it meets my own expectations! Here’s the first draft if you’re still interested. Rest assured, I WILL revamp this story. 

A Violet Evergarden AU. First draft under the cut.

Tags: Assimilating to Civilian Life, Post-Time Skip, Crossover, Fluff and Angst, Felix basically becomes an Auto Memory Doll, Pining, Suicidal Thoughts, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Characters Tags to Be Added 

-----

Felix continued wearing gloves because he knew the red stains would never leave his hands.

A metallic scent always permeated through the air; the phantoms of war did not let go of his sword. Even vestiges of the past hid in mirrors and shadows, following him whenever he traveled to snowcapped lands or to fields of grass that resembled the ocean.  

No matter how far he traveled, the whispers of war, blood, and regret would remain with him.  

Where to then? He wondered exhaustedly. If he could not outpace his demons, what was there to do but return to the start?

He traveled for too long that even Garreg Mach seemed so far away.

Garreg Mach. The Officers Academy. Places he hasn’t stepped foot in after the war ended.

If he saw a glimpse of the Professor—the archbishop , he amended—perhaps the ghosts of war would be laid to rest. If he went back to the beginning, maybe he could make amends and disappear for a final time.

So he made up his mind.

Quite possibly, he thought, finally realizing how tense his body was, the boar, no… Dimitri would stop haunting him. Maybe Ingrid’s melancholic eyes would stop gazing at him. Maybe Glenn would stop appearing in the mirror. And maybe, just maybe Sylvain was…

No . He stopped his line of thought. There was no use indulging in the past. Nothing but painful memories awaited him.

Minutes passed before Felix unclenched his hands and slackened up.

How much longer would he live life, simply to endure it? It was enough for him to feel sick to his stomach. But perhaps it would all stop if he went back to the beginning.

…

So Felix traveled.

Despite the arduous journey, he somehow felt lighter. Calmer. As if invigorated by the prospect of returning. Not to a home, but to a memory he was fond of.

During the last week of the Great Tree Moon, Felix Hugo Fraldarius arrived at Garreg Mach Monastery.

Felix stood on the bridge that connected itself to the inner town. He shielded his eyes from the harsh sunlight and observed the skylarks that flew over him. Their song carried in the wind as he walked, taking slow but measured steps through the iron wrought gates and into the bustling marketplace.

It was disorienting when he passed a group of giggling children, past colorful merchant stalls. The fresh scent of bread wafted throughout the square and it reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in hours.  

Pausing in front of a modest vendor, Felix called for the shopkeeper.

“Excuse me—” he stopped, realizing how hoarse he sounded. A quick swig of water. It was enough to replenish his voice.

Being a polite person was different from talking with one’s sword. He always had a habit of pointing to menus and never bothered with small talk.

Today, he remembered that he had to be a Person and not a Mercenary For Hire.

And yet he found himself forgetting how to speak. As if he cut off a part of himself the moment he left his noble title behind.  

“How can I help—ah, pardon my manners, um, sir! Sir Felix, err, Lord Felix.”

The man quickly bowed, and Felix only stared, puzzled by the sudden formality. It had been forever since someone addressed him by the title of sir or lord.

The seller then straightened himself and continued, with a relieved expression on his face.

“I’m glad that you’re alive. I wondered where you disappeared to after the war ended.”

Felix gave the man a doubtful look and paused.

“…have we met?” The swordsman handed a few marks of bronze to the seller and pointed to a loaf of bread, cheese, and a slab of jerky. The man bagged his meal and Felix took it from him with a curt nod. “Thanks.”

As Felix turned to leave, the seller spoke up again.

“You saved my life,” the seller spoke solemnly, taking off his cap. Felix stilled. He imagined the sincerity on the man’s face as he listened. “For that, I’m grateful. Even if you don’t remember, I still wanted to thank you. May the Gods bless you, sir.”

Without another word, Felix raised a parting hand and left.

In truth, Felix did not remember the man. It was more accurate to say he did not remember much during and after those five years of war.

Now that it was over, little else seemed to matter to him. Often, he felt like a ghost that wandered for far too long. It was enough for him to take a lengthy swig from a different canteen. Alcohol was not his favorite, but the bitterness that burned in his throat helped him forget.

Somewhere near the town square and under the shade of an elderly tree, he found an empty spot. Felix then ate his meal in silence. Minutes passed and he was satisfied. He wrapped up the remainders and placed it inside his bag. With a stretch, he rested against the trunk of the pine and crossed his arms over his chest.

As the wind threaded through his hair, he listened to the quiet ambience of the town. Tranquility was a quality he used to think he wanted. But now, tranquility seemed to translate to idleness.

Like now , he thought, debating where to go next.

He closed his eyes. If anything, a quick rest would do him good. The moment he counted to ten, he promised to stand up and find an inn.

…

And just like that, he then opened his eyes and realized the sky was now a soft orange.  

Ah shit . He thought blearily, straightening himself. The third time.

During all those years of traveling, it was rare for him to lower his guard. Yet somehow, he felt no signs of danger.

My senses have dulled then.

He glanced to his left. Just as he suspected, his worn bag was still beside him, seemingly untouched. It wasn’t as if he carried anything valuable except his sword.

Speaking of which, he glanced to his right. His sword was beside him. He sighed, relieved that nothing went missing.

“Felix? Are you finally awake?”

Instantly, he snapped his head toward the source and unsheathed his sword.

“What do you want?” he positioned himself into a fighting stance. Felix narrowed his eyes and berated himself. He was foolish enough to forget himself.

Ambushes could happen at any time.

“H-Hey, wait! It’s me—” the voice squeaked out, with a familiar nervous quality to it— “it’s Bernie! So please, put your sword away!”

Just like that, the sword returned to its scabbard.

The young woman before him was indeed the same girl he knew from back then. The shy, reserved daughter of Count Varley.

“Oh,” he deadpanned. “Why?”

“Wha—you ask why ?!” baffled, she huffed at him. “At the very least, you could ask how I’m doing. You haven’t changed much, have you?”

Felix lowered himself to the ground, sitting against the tree trunk again and gathered his belongings. “OK. How are you?” But then he switched topics, choosing to ignore how she flailed her arms because of his curtness. “By the way, where’s the nearest inn?”

“The nearest inn huh,” she murmured; her eyes lingered on the sword at his side. A bit of the blade poked from its scabbard and gleamed dully in the light. The expression in her eyes changed. It appeared melancholic. “Hey Felix,” she started quietly, “did you know that—"

She realized that Felix was busy fastening his bag around himself and counting the bronze and silver marks in his hand. Bernadetta paused and allowed a soft sigh.

“Something wrong?” Felix spoke, somewhat absentmindedly. He stood up, pocketed his money, and brushed off the dust on his pants. He double checked his gear. “You’re too quiet.”

Bernadetta held her hands behind her back and smiled at him. Felix inquired back with a stare.

Now she was acting odd.

Finally, he noticed how she wore an outfit that resembled a uniform. It was not the one from the Officer’s Academy but a different type.

While he was curious, he wasn’t that intrigued.

“Actually, follow me,” she piped up, turning around and vaguely gesturing at the tall brick buildings in the back. She adjusted the cap on her head. “It’s a bit of a walk but I can guarantee the place is cheaply priced.”

“Ah. Thanks then.”

He followed her and realized how much the monastery changed. The merchants in the square bustled with enterprise and quality wares. Tea imported from regions unknown to him could be found here, along with other artisan goods and regal weapons. Before leaving Garreg Mach again, he wished to see if any of Zoltan’s weapons made their way into a blacksmith’s hand.

He looked in front of him. The architecture remained largely the same, but some of the brickwork stuck out like efforts of reconstruction. Bernadetta suddenly turned, and he followed suit, wondering how much further was left.

Felix was relieved that the silence between them was companionable. Occasionally, she pointed out a few new landmarks and he was enthralled by the changes throughout the town. Fountains, lampposts, well-tended topiaries—Garreg Mach transformed much while he was away.

It somehow left him with a sense of awe and nostalgia. Except one thing gnawed at his chest.

Most of the faces he knew before—they no longer stood beside him.

…

They continued passing corners and streets and crossed a bridge. Soon, Bernadetta stopped.

Felix looked elsewhere and abruptly halted, nearly colliding into her back.

“Cheap huh?” He said, marveling at the sight before him. He could see why she stopped.

A dark bricked manor house towered above him, with long windows winking back the afternoon light. In front of the gray stone steps was a small crowd of people that varied from nobles and commoners alike.

Felix squinted at them.

Most seemed to be holding something in their hands. It appeared to be scraps of paper.

“Let’s go.” Bernadetta ambled forth, passing the iron gates and flowerbed. She paused and waited for him. “Seteth’s been waiting for you ever since we spotted you dozing at the square.”

“Excuse me?” Felix gaped at the marvelous building. He was certain that was not here years ago. His mind was unable to process her words. “You said cheap lodgings. This. This isn’t—” he gestured at the opulence and swiveled around, his back turned against the building. He frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “OK. Well, I saw an inn before we rounded the corner and—”

“Felix,” Berndetta spoke firmly, “I want you to stay here.”

A beat of silence.

He couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, perplexed by her sudden change in demeanor.

Before he could speak, Bernadetta spoke up without her usual reserve.

“How long have you been wandering the continent? Because your eyes…I know that look.”

“You’re asking me that now?” there was no heat behind his words. Only a familiar exhaustion found its way into his voice.

Felix slowly turned around and approached her, with arms folded across his chest. Her gray eyes locked onto his and they gazed at each other.

Bernadetta did not flinch. She only inquired him with her silence.

Unusually enough, he relented.

“For too long,” he admitted, glancing over her head and toward the manor house. “Well, what is it then? Why did you bring me here?”

She let out a lengthy sigh and seemed to loosen up. He didn’t realize how tense she had been throughout their walk.

“This is the Fódlan Postal Company.”

Another familiar voice segued into their conversation. Felix glanced to his right and saw a figure emerge from behind a topiary. Seteth stepped out, greeting the former students with a stern but noticeably softer look on his face. Seteth hadn’t changed after all of these years, but he wore a uniform similar to Bernadetta’s.

“Felix, I want you to work here as an Auto Memory Doll.”

“You’re kidding,” Felix managed out weakly. The sudden proposal made no sense. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’ll learn then.” Seteth offered, waving a hand at his words.

“I didn’t agree to this.”

“It’ll be worth your while.” Seteth was already walking in the direction of the entrance. “Come along, Felix.”

Felix countered one last time. “You can’t be serious.”

Felix looked to Bernadetta for help. Of course, it was a mistake. She only grabbed onto his arm, her eyes sparkling as she persuaded him.  

“The lodging is free if you work here.”

“That isn’t the issue !”

Felix lost track of how many sighs he heaved that day. Unable to shake off Bernadetta, he reluctantly acquiesced and allowed himself to be dragged toward the building. A series of foul words clouded his thoughts as he passed the crowd and made his way toward the interior of the building.

Under different circumstances, he would have been impressed. Under different circumstances, he would gone more willingly. But this welcoming committee—if one could dare call it that—was so adamant about receiving him.

If anything, it felt like the past when Sylvain forced him into town for some skirt chasing. Like how Ashe insisted him to read tales of chivalry, like how Lysithea tried to bribe him with sweets, or how with Annette—

The past huh , he mused dryly. He found himself standing inside the foyer, wearily eyeing the double spiral staircases and the long window panes. As beautiful and ornate as it was, their definition of a “postal service” was greatly different from his own.

And yet…the figures that descended resembled people he knew from his academy days.

“Felix? Felix, is that really you?”

A young man with gray-brown bounded down the steps, eager to meet him. When the stranger brushed his hair out of his eyes, Felix recognized who he was.

Ashe?  

Lord Lonato’s son was before him. He smiled at Felix, with a relieved look on his face.

“You promised to write. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?”

“There’s no such thing as a permanent address as a mercenary,” Felix replied stiffly, somewhat taken aback. “Your letters—they would have returned to you.”

“But you’re here now,” Ashe said again, with a gentler look on his face. “And hey, I’m glad you’re OK.”

Felix was at a loss for words. Instead, he looked elsewhere, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden warmth and reception from his appearance.

Seteth and Bernadetta looked at each other and smiled. They didn’t speak but only watched as Felix rubbed the back of his neck while Ashe continued to speak to him.

Just then, more figures descended the staircase. Felix struggled to recall who they were, but the moment they stood in front of him, their names entered his memory.

Marianne, Ignatz, Linhardt.

Yuri and Dorothea.

They were all members of the academy in some way, even if he wasn’t close to them, he still recognized them.  

Felix felt his chest tightened. A well of emotion opened. He felt something, but it was a strange something that left him feeling more melancholic than joyful.

He blinked, not once, not twice, but three times. Aside from the smiling faces and animated conversations, he could have sworn he saw phantoms behind them.

And they watched him with somber eyes.

“Felix? You look like you just saw a ghost,” Dorothea piped up, glancing at him with concerned eyes. “You must be tired. Seteth, isn’t there a spare room upstairs?”

“There is. Bernadetta, could you show Felix his room?”

She replied quickly. “Follow me!”

With a gentle nudge from her, Felix followed. He managed to recompose again.

Soon, they reached a rosewood door with a gold handle. Bernadetta unlocked the door and gestured for him to enter. Felix did.  

It was minimally furnished. The windows were across from the door, with a desk underneath. A bed was pushed into the left corner while the right side had a dresser and a mirror.

Bernadetta stood inside the room, pausing a little before the dresser on the right side. Her eyes roamed the room for a bit before catching Felix’s reflection in the mirror.

The faraway look in Felix’s eyes, the way he mechanically moved toward the window—it was plain to see that he was deeply contemplating something.

She hesitated to ask, but at the same time, she recalled how he vanished without a trace. Rumors of Felix’s whereabouts only amplified when a sword that resembled his own appeared on Margrave Gautier’s doorstep.

By chance, she delivered some correspondence to Sylvain that day. He started to entertain her until another parcel arrived.

She remembered how his eyes exuded a grief beyond words, that the one Sylvain cherished was not immune to a mortal fate.

While the rumors of Felix’s death proved false, the way the mercenary was now…he might as well resemble death.

It pained her to see him become a husk of a person.

If anything, it would anguish Sylvain even more after seeing Felix in this state. When the time was right, she would pen a letter to him again.

On some level, she understood how Felix felt, even if just a fraction of it.

Assimilating into civilian life was difficult. For part of their youth, they learned tactics and strategies, artillery and battle formations. From operating catapults to forging stronger weapons, it was such a stark contrast when she started ghostwriting and delivering letters.  

And yet…it made her rediscover her love for writing again.

Clearing her throat, she found the courage to approach Felix.

He stood near the window, steeped in hues of twilight. Felix tilted his head up and observed something she couldn’t quite see. She couldn’t help but feel mesmerized.  

“Seteth will see to the details tomorrow. So for today, focus on resting.”

“Alright.”

Before Bernadetta left, she spoke softly to him.

“And welcome back, Felix. You don’t have to feel alone anymore.”

[whumping-every-day]

I'm loving Gabriel so much...might I request: Stefan and Maria celebrating his birthday? With cake and presents, and pretty decorations! Because Gabby needs all the good things and softness

You asked for this over a month ago, Anon, and I am so sorry. I was so inspired that I wrote almost 4k for it, please enjoy! Tagging the Gabriel Gang under the cut. 

Tags for this one: None! Just excessive softness!

Masterlist

-

They are hiding something from him. 

It’s not Gabriel’s job to be in the loop, of course, and he understands that Master and Mistress don’t have to tell him anything. 

But the strange thing is that they often do, and the change is unsettling. His Masters have understood, from the very beginning, that it calms Gabriel to understand what’s going on around him. They have communicated with him from early on, before he was even used to being spoken to like a person.

Then one day, the mail comes with a mysterious black box. His Mistress snatches it up with an unusual amount of enthusiasm, and she waves Gabriel away when he offers to help clean up. She tells him not to worry and kisses his cheek, and the box gets tucked under her arm. It goes upstairs with her, and Gabriel doesn’t see it again.

Days pass, and Gabriel’s suspicion grows. Gabriel is used to his betters talking like he isn’t present, or like he can’t even hear them. Sometimes it’s comforting to be ignored. But more than once over the next few weeks he goes looking for one of his masters, only to find them together, whispering hurriedly among themselves.

The second time it happens, Mistress jumps when he knocks.

They always welcome him in after, of course; Master pulls him into a little hug, and Mistress ruffles his hair and asks if he’s not part cat, since he’s so quiet. It comes with all the impossible warmth and kindness that color everything his new Masters do. But Gabriel can’t help noticing that whenever he interrupts them, they never go back to what they were saying.

More days pass, and Gabriel focuses on shutting his mind off and behaving himself. That’s all a well-trained pet should be worried about, after all. If he can just be good enough, if he can be exactly what they want him to be, then maybe, maybe –

Maybe he can convince them not to do whatever they’re planning on doing.

It’s not sound logic, but it’s all Gabriel has. The thought of the black box is like a tic, impossible to shake off.

Then, one day, Master calls Gabriel into his office. It’s a Saturday; Mistress has gone grocery shopping, and both Gabriel and his Master had woken up late.

He’s still shaking off the vestiges of sleep as he nudges the office door open.

“Ah, hey, bud.” Gabriel looks up to the source of the warm greeting, and feels his insides freeze. Master is seated at his desk, and in his hands is a manila folder. Gabriel has only ever seen that folder twice; once, when First Master had gotten rid of him, and then again, when Second Master had sold him to Stefan and Maria.

Gabriel must make some sort of sound, because Master stiffens, his brow creasing.

“Whoa, hey. It’s alright, sweet boy.” Gabriel can’t seem to tear his eyes off the folder. He’s only ever seen it when he’s being sold, and he’s terrified, suddenly, right down to his bones. He whimpers, takes a single step back, and Master puts the folder down.

“Gabriel, hey.” It’s firmer, this time, and it pulls Gabriel out of his internal spiral. “Come here, little one.” Gabriel lets out an unsteady breath and stumbles closer, drops to his knees at Master’s feet.

A large palm immediately settles in his hair, heavy and warm, and Gabriel whines and leans into it desperately.

“Easy, sweetheart, take a breath. There you go, good boy.” Gabriel feels the pinprick of tears at the praise, and he shudders and tips his face into Master’s palm. Yes, he’s being good, he’s doing his best, so there’s no need to have the folder out, no need – “I guess you know what this is, huh.” Master taps the file, and Gabriel flinches.

He nods meekly and hides his face against the man’s knee.

“Don’t worry,” Master murmurs gently. Those broad fingers are still carding through his hair, and Gabriel knows how strong they are, knows that they could easily knot and tangle and pull. But they don’t, and they never have, and Gabriel lets himself lean against Master’s knee just a little. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Master continues. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions. These papers, they’re, eh… lacking some information.���

Gabriel frowns quizzically. Information? He assumes information about him, but he doesn’t know what’s written in the file.

“It’s fine if you don’t know the answers.” Master drags his fingernails gently along Gabriel’s scalp, and Gabriel lets himself be calmed by the repetitive motions. “Actually, I would be surprised if you did, but let’s just make sure, hmm?” He waits for Gabriel to give another hesitant nod before he asks, “do you know when you were born?” Gabriel just blinks for a moment, before slowly shaking his head.

“ ‘m sorry,” he whispers roughly. Master had said it was okay if Gabriel didn’t know the answers, but he still feels the shame at not being able to provide what was asked.

“Don’t be, little one,” Master says simply. “You know I want you to be honest, and you were. Good boy.” And he keeps petting Gabriel’s hair, and Gabriel swallows against a wave of something hot and tight in the back of his throat.

There’s a gap between questions, then, long enough for Gabriel’s eyelids to grow heavy, long enough for him to slump against Master’s knee. Master only guides him closer, lets Gabriel rest his head in his lap.

“Do you remember anything about where you were born? Or your parents? These papers aren’t agency-issued, so you didn’t come through official channels.”

Gabriel blinks back to proper awareness, frowning faintly as he digests the question. His parents… that must have been before First Master, he assumes. But there was nothing before First Master. Right?

… Right?

There was no time before First Master, no time before the pain and the beatings. Gabriel has always been a pet, because that’s all he’s ever been good for.

“I-” The boy’s voice cracks, and Master’s hand has gone still in his hair. Gabriel blinks, and his next inhale is audibly shaky. “I d-don’t, I don’t know,” he whispers, and it’s tremulous even to his own ears.

“That’s okay,” Master promises gently. “Stay with me, little one, don’t push yourself.” He curls one of those large, calloused hands against the back of Gabriel’s neck, heavy and weighted and safe, and it’s good.

“I can’t, I can’t remember,” Gabriel confesses quietly. It makes sense that he would have had parents at some point, but when he tries to think of them, nothing comes. And even if they had existed… they must have given him away. How else had he come to be in First Master’s possession?

“Easy, sweetheart, hey,” Master says, and Gabriel realizes that he’s trembling again. “You’re okay, precious, you’re alright.” There’s a moment of quiet on Stefan’s part, and a faint frown. “I shouldn’t have sprung this on you,” he murmurs regretfully. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Take a breath for me, there you go.”

At some point, Gabriel’s fingers have wound in the fabric of Master’s jeans; he’s clinging to the man’s ankle, and when Master opens his arms Gabriel practically falls into his lap.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” he sniffles, and Master just curls an arm around him and holds tight. He’s still on his knees, but Master is holding him, and with some encouragement Gabriel slinks up more so he can hide his face against the man’s shoulder.

“There you go, bud,” Master murmurs softly as he strokes the base of Gabriel’s skull. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.” 

Gabriel is already tired, already over-wrought from the constant nerves, but the mention of before has shaken him terribly. Master strokes his hair and rubs his neck until Gabriel is boneless against him, mostly held up by the thick arm around his waist. When he is finally guided away, gentle and careful, Master dries his tears.

“Thank you for being honest,” he murmurs, and Gabriel melts inside. Master keeps a hand cupping his jaw while he picks up his pen with the other. “It’s no problem. Just means I have to get creative.” Stefan makes a few quick additions to the papers, scratching something out and writing in a note underneath. Gabriel just waits, leaning against the man’s knee and soaking up the contact.

He doesn’t care what’s on the papers, not really, and it’s not like he can read them. But he can’t wait for them to be put away, as if their mere presence is a reminder than his owners could get rid of him at any time.

They won’t. Even if they haven’t collared him yet, even if they haven’t given him a physical sign of belonging, they promised that they wouldn’t. And Gabriel can only hope (and pray, and beg, and bargain with whatever might be listening) that they mean it.

“Now, what were you up to before I interrupted?” Gabriel perks up at the question.

“O-oh! Mistress said I could polish the banisters today.” Gabriel bites his lip, drops his eyes. It is a struggle to find tasks they will let him complete. It’s almost like they don’t want to assign him regular chores, so Gabriel treasures each one he’s given.

“Did she? Ah, well.” Master ruffles Gabriel’s hair one last time before his hand falls away. “You should be off, then.”  Gabriel nods obediently, and he immediately misses the warmth as he peels himself away from Master’s legs.

“Yes Master.” His joints creak faintly as he gets to his feet, and Gabriel carefully hides the wince. He’s sore a lot, he finds; something about spending a very long time locked in a basement.

“Remember not to push yourself.” Master is watching him like he knows, somehow, and Gabriel gulps and scurries for the door.

“Yes Master,” he murmurs again, and he hovers against the door frame, unsure if the man has more to say. But Master only watches for another moment, before giving a quiet sigh and waving him away.

Gabriel ducks out of the room feeling uneasy, but not bad. He closes the door as quietly as he can, and then quickly goes back in search of the correct cleaning supplies.

He doesn’t see the manila folder again, and Master doesn’t ask any more strange questions.

-

It’s almost a week later when everything finally clicks.

They’ve sent him upstairs to his room, and Gabriel would be convinced that he was in trouble, except that they’ve both sworn he isn’t. They just needed to do something in the living room, they said, and that he shouldn’t worry.

Gabriel is worried anyway, even though he’s trying not to be.

He straightens the blanket on the bed, making sure all of the edges are perfectly aligned, and that there are no creases or wrinkles. His Masters have been impossibly generous, giving him a bed to sleep on, and Gabriel isn’t about to take it for granted. The rest of the little room is already spotless; Gabriel cleans the window and dresser every day, and vacuums whenever he can get away with it.

It’s calming, making sure that everything is perfect, but in the end there’s not much to do.

“Gabe? You can come down now, sweety.” Mistress’s voice is airy and light, not even a hint of irritation, but Gabriel’s heart still kicks into overdrive.

He remembers what surprises had looked like, back with First and Second Master.

He pads down the carpeted staircase, and it muffles his steps so that his approach is nearly inaudible. There’s music playing faintly, and Gabriel bites his lip as he creeps around the corner and pokes his head into the kitchen.

“M-Mistress?”

“In here!” It comes from the living room, and Gabriel’s heart is in his throat as he follows.

He’s not sure what he’ll find when he steps inside, but it’s not what he’d expected.

His owners are both sitting on the couch; there are three colorfully wrapped boxes at their feet. There are colorful streamers draped from the ceiling, and they’ve wound a few strands of tea-lights around the end table and up over the couch. The main lights are off, and there is something sweet in the air.

“Surprise,” Mistress says with a smile, and Master chuckles softly at Gabriel’s baffled expression.

“Come join us, bud,” he says, and Gabriel quickly scampers over and melts into his spot on the floor. It’s immediately comforting, and the tension eases out of him as Mistress’s fingers settle in his hair.

“This is probably new to you, huh,” she says, and Gabriel nods wordlessly. She shifts so that Gabriel is kneeling between them, and he leans back against Master’s legs shamelessly.

“This is for you,” Mistress says simply, and Gabriel blinks up at her in bewilderment.

“We kept it simple,” Master adds. “We know that this is a lot, and we didn’t want to overwhelm you. So it’s nothing too crazy.”

With the way Gabriel’s expression is clouded, it’s very much like he’s asking without words if maybe they are crazy.

Mistress giggles just a little, and she cups Gabriel’s cheeks and kisses his forehead.

“We wanted to celebrate you,” she says easily. “Because we love you, and you’re special.”

We love you, and you’re special. Gabriel has heard the words before, but they still make him impossibly shy. His cheeks go pink with it, and he tries to duck his head and hide, only to be stopped by Mistress’s hand on his cheek. Instead he whines softly, because it’s so much – it’s too much, he can’t handle it.

“No hiding this time, bud,” Master says, and his eyes are fond.

“Most people celebrate on the day they were born,” Mistress says. “But since we don’t know when you were born, we picked today. Unless you find a day later on that you like better.”

Gabriel looks around for a moment, at the twinkling faerie lights, and the colorfully wrapped presents, and the streamers, and something hot rises behind his eyes.

“I-” his voice breaks, and his throat closes, and suddenly Gabriel can’t speak. Instead he sniffs, wet and pathetic.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mistress says softly, and she scoots to the side on the couch, so there is a Gabriel-sized gap between her and her brother. She pats the empty spot and holds out an arm, and wordlessly Gabriel slinks up into the couch and folds into her arms. It had been a struggle, at first, to get Gabriel up onto the furniture. He’s still a thousand times more comfortable on the floor, where he knows he’s not doing anything wrong… but it’s getting easier.

A larger pair of arms envelope them both a moment later, and then it’s the three of them, warm and loving and safe and held, with Gabriel wrapped in the middle. He sniffles against Mistress’s shoulder, and Master rubs one of those big hands up and down his back.

It’s several minutes until Gabriel regains his composure, and even then his eyes are still red, still wide with awe and wonder and that constant hint of nerves, as if all of it might still be a dream.

“This is… this is f-for me…?” It’s small, and timid, but Mistress nods and smiles down at him, and Master gives him the gentlest little squeeze, presses a kiss to the side of his hair.

“For you,” Master murmurs.

They hold him for a little while after that; Mistress plays with his hair, lets him curl up into her front, and Master rubs his back and lets Gabriel cling to his hand.

“Would you like to open your presents?”

“Mmm…” Gabriel is content where he is, and he would happily accept just the grace of their warmth, if that was all they wanted to offer. But Master is gesturing to the boxes, and it clicks, very belatedly, that they’re gifts. They’re for him.

It’s a lot. His hands shake as Gabriel accepts the first present, and his Masters are patient with him when he slowly unpeels the red paper. He glances back to them every few seconds, as if waiting for one of them to yell gotcha. But they don’t, and then the box comes open properly, and he stares down at the little set of brushes and paints inside. Gabriel had liked the crayons when Mistress had brought some home, but he hadn’t thought that they’d noticed.

“Th-these – these are real paints,” he says.

“Yeah, bud. We thought maybe we could put some tarp down in the downstairs study, make it into an art room.” An art room? Gabriel must have too much shock and bewilderment in his expression, because Mistress shakes her head and smiles faintly.

“Or maybe we’ll wait on that. But those are for you, and you can use them however you like. There are some canvases and brushes in the bottom.”

There are indeed canvases in the bottom; they are small, about a foot in diameter, but Gabriel handles each one like it’s made of glass.

“I – I d-don’t-” Words fail him, and Gabriel is left stammering on a thank-you that would never feel like enough anyway.

“Shh, it’s alright, little one,” Master says gently. “You’ve got two more left.”

Two more – that’s two more than Gabriel ever expected. The whole scenario is bizarre. Nothing will ever truly be his, of course - everything in this house is the Master’s property, including him. So these things that they are giving him are also theirs. Just for him to use, maybe.

The second box isn’t a box, but a soft lump wrapped in the same red paper. Gabriel tears this one open with only a little encouragement, and he can’t help but gasp as his fingers meet fabric. It’s the softest thing Gabriel’s ever touched. It’s fuzzy and silky, and when Gabriel curls his fingers into it, the fabric almost slips from his fingers. It’s like holding onto a cloud, and it’s a dark blue, like the night sky.

“It’s, it’s so soft,” he says in awe. Even the blankets on Master and Mistress’s beds aren’t this soft. Gabriel lifts the fabric up, only for it to fold out and tumble down his lap.

“It’s a blanket,” Master explains. He helps shake it out and then tucks it around Gabriel’s shoulder, and it feels like being hugged by a cloud. It’s warm, too, practically decadent, and Gabriel buries his hands in it and sinks deeper into the couch.

“Now, you know you’re allowed to use any of the blankets in the house,” Mistress murmurs. “And the ones in your bedroom are already yours. But we thought it might help if you had one that was just for you.” She smiles and reaches out to squeeze his hand, and the lingering shock keeps Gabriel silent as he accepts the last package.

This one is smaller, around the size the paints had been. His fingers are unsteady as he slips one under the edge, rips carefully at the paper. It still feels utterly surreal, and every second is spent waiting for the other shoe to drop. There’s a smaller box inside, and Gabriel’s eyes widen in recognition. This the box that had come in the mail, over a week ago now. Gabriel turns it over, then shoots a nervous, questioning look to his owners. It’s about the same size as the cavasses, but heavier.

“It’s a tablet,” Mistress says, which does not help with Gabriel’s confusion. He shoots a sidelong glance at Master, then back to the box, wondering if he can get away with pretending to understand.

There’s a quiet, rumbling chuckle, and Master shakes his head. “It’s alright, little one. We already programmed it for you.”

“Yeah, we figured it could be confusing at first. It’s very simple… here.” Mistress holds out a hand for the box, and Gabriel hands it over wordlessly. He has seen phones before, of course – and by the image on the box, he suspects that a tablet is something similar. But he cannot fathom why his owners would give him one.

“Now, it’s not connected to the internet or anything,” Mistress says as she presses the button. “But it’s special for another reason.” The device boots up, and Mistress swipes the little arrow, which leads to a blank screen. “I’ll show you how it works.”

Gabriel leans forward curiously, and takes the tablet when Mistress hands it to him.

“Tap the green icon,” she says. Gabriel obeys, and he almost jumps when the screen responds. “Good. See this list here? There’s two numbers there, tap the first one.” He obeys again, and the screen goes black, except for one red icon on the bottom.

There’s silence for a split second, and Gabriel looks up in alarm, afraid that he’s somehow broken it.

Then Master’s cell phone rings, and Mistress’s face splits in a smile. There’s something almost smug about it as Master reaches into his pocket and swipes the screen.

In his hands, the tablet flares to life with color, and Gabriel almost drops it in surprise. “Oh-”

His Master smiles at him through the screen, and waves up at his phone from where he’s sitting. Gabriel sees it happen twice, once out of the corner of his eye and once on the tablet’s surface.

“Hey, buddy,” Master says with a grin, and even through the screen his smile makes Gabriel feel fluttery inside.

“We know you don’t like to be alone,” Mistress says. “But with me going back to school, and working, and your Master travelling – we wanted to give you a way to call us. Just in case there’s a time when neither of us are home.”  

The image on the tablet is impossibly clear, until suddenly it blurs, and Gabriel realizes his eyes have misted over. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Instead he sniffs, and nods his head, clutches at the tablet.

“Tha-a-ank you,” he manages after a moment, and it’s wet, unsteady. “Th-this is, this is so much, I don’t – I can’t, can’t pay you back for this-” He can’t pay them back for any of it. And how much had a brand-new tablet even cost? Something in his stomach goes cold at the thought, but his owners are already shaking their heads, and Mistress winds an arm around his middle and squeezes.

“Don’t be silly,” she says, and kisses the top of his head. “These are for you. We love you, sweetheart. Besides, we promised to take care of you.” She smiles a tad sheepishly and lifts a hand to play with one of his curls. “Let us spoil you a little.”

It takes him a moment, but Gabriel sniffs again, takes a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he breathes, one last time. This way he can contact them, even when they aren’t here - he thinks of how empty the house seems when they’re gone, and the dark shadows in his room, and he bites his lip. The tablet is still live in his hands, and it shows a close-up of Master’s shirt now that the man has put his phone in his lap.

“The second number is mine,” Mistress adds. “I know we’re still working on your letters, but once you get a bit quicker, you’ll be able to text, too.” 

He doesn’t deserve any of it. Gabriel knows that, deep in his bones. The attention, the kindness, the safe place to sleep – it’s all more than he’d ever thought he would get, and he doesn’t know how he can possibly express his gratitude enough.

But he nods tearfully, and leans into Master’s hand at the small of his back, and knows that he’ll spend the rest of his time with them trying.

–

@robinshouseofwhump @pepperonyscience @angelsuperwholock @pennsss @silver-sparrow-462 @silverinkgoldenquill @kestrelsparverius @learningtowhump @shameless-whumper @latenightcupsofcoffee @thebluejayswhump  @what-huh-imconfused @vickytokio @captivity-whump @pink-and-purple-flowers @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @adventuresofacreesty  @kyra-plays @cagefreebirds @whumpywhumper @blue-flare10 @whumptywhumpdump   @whumpywhumper @maybeawhumpblog  @fallingstormphoenix  @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @infreidel @shadowicepuma @justanothermaltesegirl @whump-in-the-night @theawesomeawkward @promptnations @whumpity–whump–whump  @maraudersmarvelwhump @haro-whumps @whumposaurus @deluxewhump  @nervous-writer @doublebubblebitchqueen @mortifiedwhump @whump-tr0pes @comfortforthepain @kungpao-giffy @whumps-the-word @burtlederp

[dearlazerbunny]

Ignite (Redux); Ch. 2 of 5ish

Pairings: Kylo x Reader

Genre/Ratings: T for intensely injured reader

Words: 1100

Summary: After an accident aboard Starkiller Base, someone unexpected proves invaluable.

This is a rewrite of Ignite, which I published two-ish years ago. Same story, incredibly expanded upon. Enjoy!

Requested Tags: @jellyfishpoptart, @starfishfaerie, @swagaliciouspupper, @jessiejunebug, @irrelevantbutembarrassing, @drawlfoy, @sunflowershine-s, @ben-plus-rey

You don’t remember much after that, other than a slew of strange fever dreams punctuated by sharp flares of agony. Occasionally something like lucidity will break through, and you can catalogue the clean whiteness of the medical wing with lazy eyes. Nurses bustle in and out- fiddling with machines, pushing syringes of clear liquid into the crook of your arm, wrapping and rewrapping bandages around your body.

Strangest of all is the man in black who visits you like clockwork. He’s in contrast to the soft nurses- all dark folds and sharp angles. He sits at your side like a statue, murmuring things you can’t understand but are soothing nonetheless. Everything hurts a little less, when he’s there. But he’s always gone too soon.

In the back of your mind, you know that things are… bad. The alarm bells in your chest are muted immensely by whatever drugs they’re pumping you full of, but are still very much alive and well. You’re not sure if you can say the same about the rest of you- you can barely wiggle your fingers, and everything is very, very heavy.

You let your eyelids slip closed, and decide to sort it out later.

But eventually, in excruciatingly slow form, you do emerge from your haze. The bleached sheets beneath you solidify into something tangible, the nurses’ faces sharpen into recognizable features. There’s more light than dark, and further stretches of consciousness between blinks and breaths.

“Are you awake, then?”

Lazily, your head tilts to the side and your eyes focus on the doctor standing next to you. “I… think so?” Your tongue is thick in your mouth, making your words thud onto the floor like clay.

The doctor makes a noncommittal noise and checks a bag hanging on a pole next to you. “Can you state your name? Where you are; your occupation?”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Engineering. On Starkiller base, First Order. What- what happened?”

Before answering, he shines a penlight into your eyes, leaving bright spots in your field of vision. “There was an accident,” he says gently.

An accident. With fire. And pain. So much pain. You can feel it now, as the vestiges of drugs slowly disappear- a white hot burn, dry as a desert planet. “Oh.”

“It’s been about two weeks. We kept you under to give you the best chance at healing. There- there will be some scarring, though we tried to minimize that as best we could.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait. What about newbie- Cole? Cale. Cale. Is he- did he-?”

Though he keeps his face neutral, you can see the grimace in his eyes. “He’s still in critical condition.”

Shit. You let yourself sink back into the thin pillows and crunchy mattress, almost wishing you were still unconscious so you wouldn’t have to deal with the ache in your chest. “So… what now?”

“You’ll be on medical leave for a good while-” Oh, Hux is not going to like that- “but we want you back in your own environment as quickly as possible. We’ll provide you with a schedule of physical therapy.”

Home is good- your bunk is more comfortable than this bed, and being surrounded by your friends will make everything easier to bear. You try to ignore the feeling of uselessness beginning to settle into your bones. You work, you’re a worker- always have been. What happens when you can’t do your job? Are you even worth anything anymore?

“Oh, um, doctor-” you stop him on his way out the door. “Did anyone come visit me?”

“Mmm, yes. Quite a few here and there.” He hands you a list of names and something warms in your chest to see the names of just about everyone in senior engineering; even some people you’ve trained and have gone on to bigger things. But you know these people, and none of them are tall and pale and shrouded in dark like the man visiting you in your dreams. Maybe he’s just that- a dream. A figment of your imagination to make you a little less lonely. Hallucination is also very likely, given the probably astounding amount of drugs you’ve been given. Hell, with that black cloak- you might’ve been visiting with the grim reaper for all you know.

None of those explanations sit quite right with you- it’s on the tip of your tongue, but your tongue isn’t working very well right now, so. Perhaps that’s a mystery best solved later. “So, when can I get out of here?”

“We’ll continue to monitor you for the next few days as the medicine wears off; see how your appetite and energy returns. We’ll also need to assess your physical state, and you’ll need to learn how to care for your bandages.”

“Right.” You flex your fingers slowly, now seeing the difficulty lies in moving the thick white cotton that’s been wrapped around your knuckles. “Will I-?” You pause. Take a breath. “I’m going to be okay. Am I going to be okay?”

Something like compassion flashes over the man’s face, and his eyes soften. “The burns were extensive. Nerve damage is likely, but we won’t be able to tell how much until you’re up and moving again. Later down the line you might consider skin grafts to manage the cosmetic side of things. We’ve salvaged as much tissue as we can, but- well. Medicine is as much of an art as it is a science. There’s never any guarantees.”

Extensive. Nerve damage. Skin grafts. As you take in his words, you let your hand wander up to the plasters covering your neck, just creeping up the side of your jawbone and onto your cheek. And for the first time, you think to yourself, stars, I must look hideous. “Well, I never wanted to be a beauty queen anyways,” you mumble, trying to cover your nervousness at the sudden realization that you don’t even know what you look like anymore.

“It will be an adjustment. But medical technology has come a long way. You’ll be much better off now than you would have been even a few years ago.”

“Thanks.” He nods. “Um, if I’m going to be here for a while- can you tell me if Cale wakes up?”

The doctor sighs. “He… wasn’t quite as lucky as you. But yes, I will keep you updated as much as I am allowed.”

When he leaves, and you’re alone again with only your thoughts and the soft chugging of an IV pump to your left, you find you can’t keep yourself from picking restlessly at the loose edges of your bandages- even as you fall back into sleep.