#would they be a similar consistancy to an ice cube.....?

[poke-poke-poke]

found a goomy doodle i did a few months back--- it's unfinished but cutee (who's gonna tell goomy that they're weak to ice,, they're gonna get sick rip)

[the-roo-too]

Can I request a Sullyoon fic where it’s a fake dating au where they both start dating to get the two people they like to be jealous for the reader and Sullyoon to simultaneously fall for each other while fake dating

real you -> bandmate! seol yoona

-haewon keeps choking, kyujin gets to play a detective, it seems you and sullyoon are causing quite the commotion at nmixx dorm.

warnings: fake dating 🧀, reader has a crush on bae (same), sullyoon prefers lily over y/n at first (…also same), kyujin is the actual smart one

genre: fluff; crack; social media?

notes: sorry for the long wait 😺 hope you like it bestie 🫶 | this is kinda the first official request 🤭🤭

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“hello nswers!” your leader greeted the live cheerfully (or as cheerfully as haewon gets). the rest of you clapped along, smiling to the camera as some displayed the comment section on their phones. sullyoon, who was sitting next to you, had one device on her lap.

“what are they saying, unnie?” you asked the older girl in a hushed tone. she smiled in response, showing you the chat which consisted mostly of the nswers sending their greetings.

the seating arrangement was jiwoo, bae, kyujin, you, sullyoon, lily, haewon. jinsol- much to your dismay- wasn’t sitting next to you, but you tried not to seem bummed out on camera. it would seem suspicious, and it’s not like anyone knew about your small crush on your band mate.

you couldn’t even try to interact with bae, as she was occupied with the two youngest, the trio goofing around. they were clearly having fun so you decided to leave the younger girls alone.

you turned your head to look at the three unnies you had on your left. lily and haewon were quite busy (the leader was making fun of lily’s accent), which left sullyoon to entertain you.

to be honest, you never really interacted much with her. despite being of similar age, the two of you didn’t have much topics to talk about besides work related stuff. maybe this fairly busy live was your sign to make better friends with the other girl?

a shiver went down your back. you glared at the window, which jiwoo insisted needed to stay opened. she said something about fresh air, but now you were becoming fresh ice cube.

“you okay, y/n-ah?” you met sullyoon’s eyes and shook your head sideways with a small pout.

“i’m cold, unnie.” you whined as a giggle escaped her lips.

“come here, you little baby.” the older girl draped a arm over your shoulder, hogging you a bit closer.

„just don’t close the window!” you threw a playfully glare at jiwoo.

“yeah, fresh air. i remember.”

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“ah, you guys were so cute today! yoona why aren’t you babying me like that too~!” jiwoo fake cried after the live has ended. she was pouting at pointing at the couple comments that nswers left in the chat. most of them pointed out your little interaction with sullyoon and how ‘cute’ it was.

“i’m just less annoying than you, jiwoo.” you stuck your tongue at the younger girl.

“yah! unnie, she’s bullying me!”

“i don’t know which side to pick.” jiwoo looked ridiculously at haewon, who just shrugged her shoulders with a awkward smile.

“y/nnie? your phone keeps buzzing.” taking a glance in yoona’s direction, you could see your phone in her hand, the screen lighting up every couple seconds. the older girl passed you the device as you clicked on the notification banner.

“oh god, it’s the manager.” you said with a worried look on your face. “he says he has some news?”

everyone in the room turned to look at you, some with equally surprised looks, others almost pitying.

“what does it say exactly?” asked sullyoon, leaning closer to you to take a look at the screen.

“he wants to talk with you and me before he goes back to the ceo.”

“text him back, see what’s going on.”

you looked hesitantly at sullyoon. a awkward silence enveloped the room.

“is everything fine, y/n?” finally your leader spoke up.

“yeah, everything’s good.” you felt yoona look at you weirdly, but she didn’t speak a word. at the same time, bae finally stopped focusing on the two youngest members and directed her attention to the two of you. a small lightbulb appeared above your head. you glanced at the messages and back at sullyoon. “it’s great even.”

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“oh god.” that’s the first thing sullyoon said after the group went to get ready for nighttime, leaving you alone.

you just finished talking with the manager on your phone. he called shortly after the exchange of the texts.

“yeah. unnie, manager said the rest shouldn’t know it’s a fake relationship.”

“but they know us! not to be rude, but outside of being band mates, you aren’t the person i interact with the most.” you sighed, nodding your head. out of everyone in nmixx, yoona definitely wasn’t your closest friend.

“we could make it like love at first sight thingy?” thinking about it again, you cringed. “this sounds wrong.”

“it’s the best option we have, i guess. so what’s the story?”

“let’s say we interacted now, i guess we got closer during the live. there was a spark, boom. the statement should be released somewhere around the comeback so we have roughly one week to make a believable lie.” sullyoon nodded along, taking in your speech. she then looked you in the eyes, her face suddenly serious.

“before anything starts, i need to clarify one thing with you, y/n. there is someone among the group that i’m interested in. i don’t know if that makes our situation awkward.” a look of surprise flashed on her face when you visibly brightened at her news.

“no unnie, it makes everything easier!i like bae, you like someone, no hard feelings. we can try to keep this thing for some time, maybe they’ll react somehow, we break it up after the promotions and everything falls in place.”

“okay, i like that plan. it’s a deal?” you took sullyoon’s outstretched hand in yours, shaking it lightly.

“deal.”

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

you were tying your shoes as yoona got you a matching jacket. the older girl thought that a ‘date’ between the two of you should happen, but the public shouldn’t know yet. so here you were, at 6 am getting ready to leave the dorm in hopes of finding some caffe before the people start coming for breakfast.

just as you were about to leave the dorm, the sound of quiet footsteps made you abruptly stop in your tracks.

“yoona? and y/n? where are you going at-?” haewon had to squint to see the clock in the dimly lit room. “5:10? should we get ready for practice? i thought we had a day off…”

“we’re going out for a coffee, unnie. we should be back before 7!” said yoona. your leader gave her a skeptical glance, then you, then she looked back at the clock.

“next time i see jyp i’ll ask him for a raise. you’re my new main arguments. kyujin burning the oven last week is the second strongest point.” with that, haewon turned on her foot and left back to her room, leaving you and sullyoon in a fit of giggles.

“let’s go, unnie?”

“mhm. i think i know a place.”

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“haewon unnie texted me. she says we should go back, i promised bae breakfast and lily is complaining about some singing.” yoona seemed to perk up at the mention of the aussie singer.

“finish that coffee then, y/n.”

“okay, unnie.” you downed the rest of the drink and stood up. before you could take out your card to go pay, sullyoon was already speed walking towards the counter. she caught your gaze just as she paid for the drinks, sticking out her tongue lightly in a playful manner.

when she came back to collect her jacked, you pouted at her. “i wanted to pay, unnie~!”

she laughed at your whining.

“next time you can try to race me.”

“there’s a next time?”

“yeah, they have great drinks here.” with that, you also threw on your jacket and the both of you left the cozy caffe. it was around 6:30, yet it was very chilly outside.

“i should have worn something warmer…” suddenly, something very side covered your eyes. when you moved it out of sight, sullyoon appeared to be without her hat.

“can’t have you getting sick on me, y/nnie. haewon would kill me.” she laughed, taking your hand. as you walked the way back to the dorm trying not to be spotted, you noticed how pleasantly soft the older girl’s hands were.

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

the week passed with you two going on little outings. they were supposed to be pretend dates, to make the situation seem more believable for both your members and the public.

much to your disappointment, after bae nagged you for breakfast, she never had another problem with you going out with sullyoon. on the contrary- most members seemed really happy to see the two of you become closer. most, except for kyujin.

don’t get me wrong, she was happy for her unnies. but still, you could swear she side eyed you both when no one else was looking.

“so, how’s it going for you two, y/n unnie?” she asked during one breakfast. it was a peaceful day, and you didn’t expect the maknae to become suspicious before the news come out.

nervously, you glanced at sullyoon. “in what sense?”

“i just noticed you and yoona unnie got closer after the last live. it’s very cute!” your poor leader choked on the water she was drinking. while she suffered and fought for breath (started barking like a dog), you laughed awkwardly.

“i guess. it’s really fun to hang out with yoona unnie!”

“i know. does that mean you’re dating?” haewon, who was given another glass of water, choked yet again. with a frown on her face and a wet shirt, she looked up at the maknae.

“yah, kyujin. you’re doing the laundry this weekend.”

this time sullyoon spoke up. she played her part, reaching for your hand ever so subtly, but making sure bae sitting next to her could notice the move.

“no, kyujinnie. we’re just friends now.” she threw you a warm glance, which you were sure the maknae noticed.

“okie dokie~ whatever you say, unnies!”

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

march 20 finally arrived. the release of the album and the news about you dating sullyoon. since the mv was already up, you only had to wait. your last ‘date’ the previous day was the confirmation dispatch needed. if your ceo was correct, the article should be up in a couple minutes.

“haewon unnie is flooding my phone again.” you said, showing the device to sullyoon. the two of you were seated on your bed, while the rest had schedules. if it wasn’t for that, the whole group would probably bother you the moment the news came out.

“the group chat is going wild too. kyujin is sending some weird memes?” sullyoon showed you her phone, the messages flying by so fast you could barely read them.

“should we reply to them, unnie?”

“we’ll see each other in a second during the dance practice recording, i don’t think we should bother now.” the older girl had a point. your manager should arrive in a couple minutes to take you to the studio.

“okay then.” a notification appeared on your phone, showing that your ride was already there.

“let’s go?” yoona stretched her arm towards you to help you get up from the bed. she squeezed your hand gently before the two of you went to meet the manager.

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“i feel betrayed.” haewon had her arms crossed over her chest as you and sullyoon arrived at the dance studio. there was a small smile on her face, but you could tell she was trying to be intimidating.

a chorus of ‘same’ followed after haewon’s words, making you laugh.

“sorry guys! nobody was supposed to find out, if it makes you feel better.” you looked at sullyoon. as you spoke, she paid you all her attention. the rest rarely did that.

“y/nnie is right. we just weren’t as cautious yesterday as we should’ve been…”

your group talked some more, before the recording could being. what surprised you was that although the girls complained about finding out from dispatch, they were all happy for you.

to some extent, you felt bad about the whole situation.

during the water break, you looked around the room. it was weird. not in the sense that anyone was behaving weirdly. no, it was about you. about how surprised you were when bae stayed unbothered about the news. about how you were even more surprised to notice that you too didn’t care.

you glanced at the girl in question. she was laughing at something kyujin said.

‘i’ve liked bae for some time now…’

your gaze then fell to yoona, who was taking pictures to post later on instagram. she caught your eyes and smiled brightly.

like a switch flipped, you suddenly realised something.

‘but i think i like sullyoon more.’

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

nighttime is the best time to think. sadly, it wasn’t technically nighttime yet. most of the group were already back in their respective rooms. jiwoo just left, making it only you, yoona and haewon in the living room.

the leader looked at you. “as much as i made a fuss… i hope you both know i’m proud of you. this country isn’t the most accepting so coming out must’ve taken a lot of courage.” she nodded to herself after the little speech.

“thank you, unnie. it means a lot.”

“i’ll get going now. someone has to wake up the dorm tomorrow because i don’t trust you all won’t be late on your own. goodnight girls!” haewon went to hug sullyoon. she then came to you and delivered a soft kiss to your forehead.

“unnie!”

“goodnight kiss is mandatory for everyone under 19.” saying that, the leader left.

your eyes fell to yoona. she seemed quiet all of a sudden.

“is something wrong?”

“i don’t think i can do this anymore.”

“okay.” you nodded your head. then, a sudden realisation went over you. “wait, what?”

“this whole ‘fake dating’ thing.”

“i don’t understand unnie.” sullyoon looked at you with a unreadable face.

“i screwed this up!” she let out a frustrated sight. you felt something break inside you. she couldn’t even bear fake dating you, how could you think she could like you back.

“i-i don’t think i’m following, unnie…”

“what is there to follow? i fucked up! this- this whole thing is real for me, you know! the hand holding, the ski ship and now haewon unnie! i never felt that jealous of her and lily but with you-“ a smile overcame your face. maybe you worried too much.

“unnie?”

“what!”

“please, just shut up and kiss me.”

“I KNEW IT!” both you and sullyoon jumped up at the sound of someone shouting. you whipped your head, your gaze falling on kyujin. she wore her pyjamas and was holding a glass of water in her hand.

“kyujin?”

“i heard you a week ago, unnies! fake dating blah blah, you were meant to be! oh my god i should become a cupid i’m so good at this-!”

“kyujin?”

“yes, unnie?”

“go to sleep before i call haewon.”

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

[atzjuyeon]

JUYEON’S BESTIES .ᐟ

SOYEON ⚡︎ (G) I-DLE

soyeon was the first person juyeon met when she joined cube entertainment, seeing as they both joined the same year. she was her closest friend in the company. juyeon always thought soyeon was cool and saw her as one of the top trainees in the company. they regularly practiced together and went on late night walks.

juyeon was apart of cube’s debut team, which ended up being (g) i-dle, so she grew close with the rest of the members. she remembers soyeon always pushing her during practice, but it’s because soyeon knew that she was talented and had a lot of faith in her.

it felt like a huge loss when juyeon left the company and assumingly gave up on being an idol. soyeon checked in with her every now and then but they ultimately fell out of contact. it wasn’t until ateez debuted five months after idle that they reconnected. fans can always expect interactions between juyeon and soyeon when idle and ateez have shared schedules.

SOOJIN ⚡︎ SOLOIST

while juyeon is close with all of the idle members, it’s always been soojin and soyeon who she’s closest to. juyeon can proudly vouch for the other idle members when they say that soojin is like a mom. she took care of her as trainees. juyeon is very expressive and that helps soojin determine what she needs. whether it be help with a task, comfort, someone to talk to, space; soojin was always there and juyeon heavily appreciates that.

even after the incident, juyeon made sure to keep in touch, checking in on soojin and offering to be there whenever the older girl needed, just as she did for her.

fans were delighted to know that the two were still close after juyeon recommended soojin’s solo debut to atiny on fromm. she even sang tyty, bloodredroses, and rizz me up during a livestream and said that soojin makes pretty music.

SIYEON ⚡︎ DREAMCATCHER

siyeon is someone jueyon admires as an idol and as a friend. their friendship actually started off as a big fat crush on juyeon’s part. she had been a fan of dreamcatcher since they debuted and siyeon has always been her bias. she admired her voice and her stage presence.

they met through ollounder, who produces music for both ateez and dreamcatcher. at first, juyeon begged him for her number, assuming he had it since they work together. he didn’t. but luckily for juyeon she had a plan b: make him give siyeon her number. he refused at first, but with a lot of convincing (aka her begging during the entire studio session) he gave in.

siyeon texted her two months later which resulted in them meeting for lunch. they bonded really well and ended up as close friends. juyeon would not shut up about it, fangirling to atiny on live about their newly formed friendship. the girls try to hang out often, when their schedules allow it. they’ll either go out somewhere or spend time at one of their places either watching movies or listening to music.

YEONJUN ⚡︎ TXT

juyeon met yeonjun through wooyoung. she actually ended up crashing one of their hangouts. it wasn’t for any reason, juyeon was bored as asked wooyoung if she could come with him when he told her they were meeting up.

things were awkward for about five minutes before the ice was broken. yeonjun was a little caught off guard by juyeon’s chaotic bluntness, but was encouraged by wooyoung to be comfortable. the entire hangout consisted of the trio talking about their shared interest, joking around, and being so loud that they received complaints from other customers.

yeonjun and juyeon don’t really meet up without wooyoung, but they text each other often enough to be considered close. the two enjoy the same type of music and have a similar style. yeonjun and juyeon both have that cool it boy/it girl energy; they were basically bound to be friends.

[raayllum]

Let’s break this baby down symbolically

Originally this post was longer but my draft didn’t save so I’m doing a quick notes version; if you want more thoughts or have a clarification question please feel free to drop them in my inbox, but hopefully everything will still carry across

Light and dark motif with Callum unintentionally / unknowingly getting close to the darkness, with Ezran and Rayla more in the light. The surface world does not seem to be particularly stormy, more so bright and happy, which is a departure from the previous promo art(s) really highlighting the storm, and how often storms in TDP foretell transformation and disaster (1x01, 2x04, 2x05, 2x07, 2x08, 3x01 when Ez comes home, 4x01, 4x04 before Aaravos possesses Callum at dawn, etc). 

The light-dark duality mirrors Callum’s worries of “What if I’m on a path of darkness” due to its associations with Aaravos: “In darkness, gaze upon a Fallen Star” and “already tainted with darkness, ad destined to play right into my hands.” 

Darkness = dark magic; octopus tentacles have associations with dark magic (Claudia) specifically being used to drag people down (the boys) or catch them (Viren) in terms of control; dark magic / octopus tentacles = control. Control is attached to Aaravos

This is doubly true with associations of water and destiny (“Life is like a river - don’t try to control where the river goes”). If you’re interested in more thoughts on that, check out this meta

Callum perhaps being lured in with curiosity or magical impulse, only to realize he’s in way over his head / being dragged down by something he can’t escape (tentacles having similarities to puppet strings) and/or mirroring his dark magic dreams from 2x08

Ezran being closer makes sense, as he is emotionally closer and currently more reliable to Callum than Rayla has been due to their separation. 

It’s also a nice parallel to Ezran saving Zym (another brother / soulmate) under the ice as well as Rayla and Callum then working to save him, as well, with now Rayla and Ezran working together to save Callum, especially since Ezran almost drowned and Rayla has a specific fear of drowning/water.

In the S1 novelization, Ezran states that his mother’s spirit helped guide him through the darkness to find the glowing (light) egg of the Dragon Prince. Given that Sarai also helped guide Callum towards the Sky arcanum, Ezran possibly carrying / embodying his mother’s spirit while saving his brother would be really beautiful. 

As stated, Rayla being further away makes sense, but it does align her further with the light, and I do think her reaching for Callum (as opposed to a more generic swim pose) is purposeful due to Rayllum (and the show’s) consistent reaching motif.

Rayla’s fear of water isn’t literally about the water (after all, she saved Bait 1.5 days in when she and the glow toad had an immense mutual dislike of each other) but what it represents: shame, self-reflection, fear, guilt, trauma. Rayla left in TTM because she didn’t know how to love Callum and be scared to lose him at the same time in a healthier manner, leading her to majorly hurt both of them. Her swimming through the water could symbolize 1) helping to save Callum (per other foreshadowing as well) in addition to 2) her beginning to learn how to deal with that fear in a healthier way that also lets her stay and be/do what she wants to do. 

And as always, the foreshadowing that Aaravos’ specific prison (darkness, dark magic, tentacles, ocean, etc) is underwater and it will be found / we’ll get some answers about the cube in S5:

[howlkissed]

It was the scent of the hearty meal that drew him towards the she wolf's domain more than his brother's aura speckled across her own aura. She was a mortal alright but of their kin. Perhaps that's why the approach came more natural to Skoll.

His large frame was almost taking the entire door frame to fit him inside. He was towering even over someone like Bandit and his aura, was most likely taking up the space of the entire building with how he held himself.

"I'm looking for someone, but ... " He leaned down a little, sniffing the air and growling in delight. "I think I will stay for dinner while you answer me some questions." This was not a question, not negotiable.

Who would stop him? The little wolftress? He doubted it. If she had a sense of self preservation that is. So he stepped inside, motioning for her to follow him as his nose lead him straight to the kitchen.

The evenings dinner had finally came to a quaint simmer before preparations for serving. As far as Kayleen knew, the night was hers and Krueger's, her trusty companion whose presence wasn't seen but a squeaky toy field the gasps of ones imagination. Smell of medium-rare beef cubes drenched in pipping hot gravy broth like consistency was enough to drive far more than Kayleen's stomach alone. She hums as the ingredients swirl her hearty concoction to perfection. Chopped vegetables with a fair amount of beef for their wolfish appetite, and a pinch of garnish for that homemade taste. The window closest to the door was half open to circulate the autumn air - but it brought on more than that. A more...aged taste was also interesting in her cooking.

But... upon seeing the face that confidently infiltrated her home, the aura was similar but... it didn't feel right. This was so wrong. Similarities were there but it didn't overcome her sense of reason. Who the fuck was this?! Kayleen's high ceilings were more than enough room as she shuffled back to give some well needed distance. The squeaky toy sound grew soft as the companion upstairs descends the staircase. If aura was older than Krueger's, the glamour magic may be see through kinship eyes.

The fear had captivated her being over her mouth. Kayleen's hands are shaky, and unprepared for a physical altercation claws are forced on display. More of a tactic of awareness. Size alone was unlikely, and his aura was different. As he trespasses, Kayleen steps back from arm-width grasp. Krueger wants to press forward, but his superior grows for him to back down.

As his voice sharpens over the smell of dinner, disgust painted her lips. Powerful or not, Kayleen can't battle against her own entitlement. You... barge into her home, demanding her food, in her peaceful home?

That motion became the icing on a cake. As if to call her forth, to report for kitchen duty. " Who and why the hell are you in MY house? "

[circa-specturgia]

For Alix!

💥 COLLISON, 🥞 PANCAKE, 🍩 DONUT, 🍧 SHAVED ICE, 🕷️ SPIDER, 🌏 EARTH, 🎭 MASKS

Bonus! 🎀 RIBBON (since they're not in any of our AU's yet)

@bloodlessheirbyjacques

Oh ALIX!!! MY CHILD!!!

This'll be fun, I definitely need to work on them a bit more, and since they're part of Chapter 1, this'll help a lot!

💥 COLLISON - what emotions do they have trouble dealing with?

Absolutely their anxieties. Alix is the heir to the Vosiinæan crown, and while they’ve inherited their fathers gift of viðumancy, their abilities aren’t as powerful as their fathers. They’re not all like their mother, and they don’t have the ability to confidently employ even those things they’re good at, namely their innovative thinking, tactical mind, and studies.

Their anxiety in whether or not their input or decisions are the right ones stops them from speaking up, and that inability to do so only worsens their anxieties.

Their father, Ivo, knows how difficult a life as a sovereign might await Alix, and wants them to be prepared, and ready. Additionally, Alix’s friends, namely Cas and Ciro, are able to help gain Alix more confidence in their decisions, trusting them and encouraging them to speak their mind, showing faith.

🥞 PANCAKE - what is their comfort breakfast?

It’s a breakfast their mother would make for them and their sister, Tamara, sometimes, on occasions she’d be home.

It’s similar to a frittata, a breakfast from her home in the south of Vosiinæa, which she herself would make for her siblings sometimes. Consisting of eggs and milk and prepared similarly to an omelette or a quiche, Alix’s favorite additions are rucola or rocket lettuce, potatoes, sun dried tomatoes and sausage similar to chorizo which their mother would bring from the south.

It’s one of the few dishes they’ve actually learned to make themselves, as a royal heir not usually needing to prepare their own food, though this they insist on doing themselves as their mother taught them that to enjoy it, one has to put their heart into the dish.

🍩 DONUT - favourite sweet treat?

One of their favorites are hard gummy candies, which don’t stain the fingers, letting them snack while reading and in the library (though they still have to hide them from the librarians!)

Their other favorite would be something like lokumi, a sort of confection made of a gel like gummy candy, often of a particular flavor as well. They often come with addition of pistachios, hazelnuts, or other assorted dried fruits of nuts inside them, and with powdered sugar dusting the outside of the cubes or rolls to prevent them from clinging together after cutting.

Alix’s favorite would be a particular variety flavored with coffee and with cacao nibs inside.

This is an actual dish, from Turkey, and one of my personal favorite confections! My favorite would be the kind with pistachios, flavored with pomegranate juice, and with dried rose petals as a coating!

🍧 SHAVED ICE - do they still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it?

A ring they received from their Father, and a necklace from their mother.

On their birth, much like their sister, Alix was given gifts by the many royal families of the nation, as is courtesy in Vosiinæan tradition; a birth in a royal family is celebrated by small gifts given from the other families, expensive books, or jewelry, or other such presents.

I can’t say that I’ve decided on any sort of design or exact connection they’d have but I definitely need to give that some thought! Alix is definitely a bit materialistic with their upbringing as an heir, having hundreds of books, so I’d imagine losing anything would be something that would upset them, but those two things as gifts from their parents would likely hurt the most…

🕷️ SPIDER - what is their biggest fear? do they have any irrational / mundane fears?

Inadequacy, to put it in one word. They struggle greatly with their anxieties, one of the greatest being their feeling of just not being enough. They fear being unable to stand up to a task, of failing when others have put their courage in them, or of something being too great to handle for them.

The thought of ascending to the crown is a constant fear on the horizon, being the heir to the Vosiinæan throne. Their father, Ivo, promised them that he’ll do everything in his power to ensure that the country he’ll leave for Alix to lead will be one unified, in peace, and that he trusts that Alix has what it takes to lead, though whether this will be the case or not is to be seen…

Authors note: I very much imagine Ivo to have a Leto Atreides approach to his child, with the “You’ll still be the only thing I’ve ever wanted you to be. My son.” Outlook. It’s Alix’s own standards that form an image of the future that feels like a mountain ahead of them.

🌏 EARTH - will they give up the world for someone they love? is this decision easy for them?

It’s a tough question. It depends on who it is. They’ll say that the answer is always a no, that weighing the whole world against one person isn’t something they could do, but their sister, Tamara, is the exception. For her, they’d absolutely give up the world. She’d do the same for them as well.

🎭 MASKS - do they act differently around certain people? what's different between the way they act around friends, family, strangers, etc.?

Alix is initially very shy around strangers, opening up usually only to those they feel more comfortable around by nature, or those which they grow closer with over time. With friends and family, though, they're much more outwardly emotional, less closed off, and prone to smile, to laugh, to express themselves.

Their shyness and social discomfort eventually evolves into a mask of control, allowing others to read his silence as poise and confidence, keeping their thoughts and readings on people to themselves. Combined with their abilities growing in strength, their gravitation viðumancy, forms a both figurative and literal gravitas to their person, and their presence whenever they enter becomes undeniable. They use their disadvantage to their benefit!

Bonus: 🎀 RIBBON - how would they fit into other worlds / aus? what aus would you like to try out? what fictional world would they fit / not fit into?

It’s likely they wouldn’t fit into my Prometheus WIP of the other WIPs I have, though they certainly could do so in the L&F WIP I work on together with @agrimedena-drax.

Prometheus might work on the topics of war between alien species and the like, and while Alix is an amazing tactician, they’d prefer to avoid war and find ways to talk things out, which could make them want to step away from the front lines of the conflict, where most people push towards a fight. A later Alix could take more charge, and be confident enough to push towards other approaches, but that would be a later and more mature Alix, who’d have the self-confidence and presence to make such decisions and put themselves out there.

Lost & Found, though… The L&F Institute’s primary goal is to help people, and although their methods do sometimes require hiding things from the public and operating within some morally gray areas, their goal has been the same, and is enforced to remain so by the leadership. It’s a goal which Alix would absolutely align themselves with, and would be able to put his studious and keen mind to helping forward within the setting!

In other AU’s though, I’m not sure! The way their character is built and the reasons for their anxieties is heavily based in the pressure they put on themselves as an heir, and so they wouldn’t be the same person if not in a similar position in another AU? If such a situation were possible, ie, an AU in which they were inheriting a legacy to which they are unsure if they’ll be able to live up to, then I could imagine them working in other universes as well, though perhaps not as well as in Circa.

(I’ve also been thinking if I should give him a middle name just for fun and make his name even longer: Alixander Everthall Leonhardt-Arrentio)

Thanks again for this ask! ✨

[aleburton]

Her gaze shifted from doe-like innocence to a focused intensity, narrow slits revealing the depth of her scrutiny as she raised her eyes to meet his towering figure. Even with the added height from her Prada platform sandals, Luke loomed over her. He and Zach shared a similar stature. An unspoken question lingered in her mind, a subtle curiosity about which of them might emerge victorious if they ever came to blows. Despite their outward camaraderie, a hint of underlying resentment seemed to simmer beneath the surface. Alex pondered the dynamics at play, understanding that Luke had perennially dwelled in Zach’s shadow. In light of this, Alex found it difficult to take him seriously. His words held little weight, and she sensed that, in his eyes, she was nothing more than a strategically placed piece on his personal chessboard. His ache to conquer her stemmed not just from personal allure, but from a burning need to assert his prowess. He needed to demonstrate that he could surpass his brother in every aspect and Alex would be the ultimate victory.

She had no genuine interest in him or his quest to prove a point. That didn’t mean, however, that she couldn’t revel in a bit of playful torment for attempting to win her over. He deserved a taste of his own medicine for underestimating her intelligence. “Is that so?” With a sultry smile, Alex’s lips caressed the straw as she took another sip. The phallic symbolism played like a calculated tease, inviting Luke’s thoughts to wander into realms of uncertainty. Under the influence, she was prepared to push boundaries, employing every tactic necessary to make him squirm before ultimately toppling his desires. “What about it?” she inquired. Luke felt a tingling sensation ripple across his skin, captivated by the enchanting melody of her voice. It beckoned him like a siren’s song. Despite the perverse nature of the thought, he couldn’t help but feel aroused at the notion that Zach, too, had been subjected to those same alluring tones and captivating stares.

Was this what it was like to be him? Being locked into a gaze and feeling the essence of your soul drawn out by a petite, five foot nothing minx? He took a deep breath, his chest expanding with conviction, convinced that she was taking the bait. “I wanted to do a lot more with those 7 minutes,” he admitted, looking down at her over the slope of his nose. He resisted the urge to confess his fantasies, like a sinner in a church. It was more than just a rivalry, he told himself. It was about unraveling the mystique she held over him. What was it about her that left him out of sorts and yearning for more? Zach had the option to pursue any woman he desired, yet he consistently gravitated back to Alex. He needed to explore for himself. “Yeah? You can tell me you know,” she suggested coyly. Alex dipped her fingers into the glass, retrieving a small ice cube. She teased him, running the ice between her luscious lips and sucking on it. Water dribbled down her chin and between the valley of her breasts.

Luke found himself ensnared. He flashed a smile at her, briefly lifting his gaze to survey the onlookers, if any. He extended his hand, his thumb tracing a path from her lips down to her chin to collect the water. His eyes lingered on that damp trail, temptation evident in his stare, yet his fingers hesitated to follow suit. “I think I would rather show you,” he murmured. She blinked, a closed-mouth smile lighting up her features and causing her dimples to emerge. “You’re not very smart, are you? Zach would kill you if you tried,” she remarked. Luke shrugged his shoulders, pressing his lips into a thin line, “I don’t think Zach cares. He’s been fucking his share, trust me. He was fucking Aubrey the other night. We all heard it.” The revelation hit her like a sudden stab to the gut, a sensation similar to her lung being punctured all over again. Aubrey? “I see,” she responded.

Luke hadn’t meant to inflict such pain with that piece of information. His intention had been to level the playing field, but the damage was done. It took her a moment to recalibrate, processing through the anguish that clouded her mind. Aubrey. Really? “You don’t have to feel guilty about anything, Alex. You can do as you please.” Taking another step forward, he tucked his fingers beneath her chin, as if poised to kiss her. Alex shook her head, or at least she thought she did. “Just say the word.” Across the club, Naomi confronted Zach, her brows tightly knitted together as he sought her assistance. “I can’t predict what she’ll do, Zach. Though I’m fairly certain she’s experienced far worse than a sorry ass apology from an ex-boyfriend. You know, like almost fucking dying.” An irritated sigh escaped her as she raised her drink to her lips. Naomi wasn’t particularly inclined to help Zach, but this involved Alex. Perhaps an apology could offer the closure she needed, and more incentive to move on from him once and for all.

Zach was glad Sarah hadn't occurred to him as an option before now; she was so effective a distraction, it was a blessing she'd been saved for the worst outcome of all. His mouth twitched into something of a smirk as he met her square gaze, impressed by her boldness. If he were a marginally better person, her corruption over years totalling in a dissolving of her morals might move him to upset. But it didn't - it bolstered him. "You're almost convincing," he taunted. She rolled her eyes, a smile nearly cracking open her forced steely exterior. "I'm being serious. Don't make me feel stupid for it." He reached for her, opening a palm on the side of her neck, fingers spanning from her hairline to the crook of her shoulder. She arced into him as he drew nearer. "Whatever you say," he muttered into her ear, a sharp jolt of satisfaction pillaring him when he felt her muscles slacken. "Baby." She sighed, then slapped him on the bicep. He laughed. "Stop. I'm trying to stay pissed at Luke. I can't make him mad if I'm..." Zach grinned, and their eyes met, both pairs as blown as the other. "If you want mad, we can make him foam at the fucking mouth. Let's just hang on until we have the ammunition."

But he didn't really have a plan at all. He didn't want to piss off Alex with his endeavour just to feel something for one night - but what reason did he have to think she'd give a shit? He supposed, in the crevices of his mind, he held onto hope like a bad omen that they still stood a chance. He didn't remember very much of the crash, but he did remember telling her he loved her. The memory stung like a lethal injection. He wondered if she remembered, too. He hoped she didn't; the rejection would be that much worse. Every step he took, his eyes involuntarily searched for her, and each time they found her it was like swallowing needles. She and her friend - Naomi - pooled around Luke in a manner that barely differed from Aubrey and Tasha only an hour ago. He never thought there'd be a day in which he envied Luke of all people. Alex looked fucking unbelievable; her legs unravelled in a optical illusion stretch, appearing much longer than they were in her barely-there skirt and giant heels, her scant torso displayed in a bandeau top, her face like a doll's. He had to be sparing with his lingering stares, lest she sense eyes on her and find him in the crowd. He still didn't know how to approach - and even if he did, all he could think to say was to apologize. But she already knew he was sorry. She didn't want his sorry.

Each time his high wore away, he quickly topped it off. Enough so that when he spotted her friend momentarily depart from the threesome, he didn't hesitate to cut and run from the entourage of three women he now juggled tension with on all corners. Wherever she was headed, he cut her off in her tracks, her height in her stilettos almost matching his own. "Naomi," he said. She blinked, startled, before she recognized him and her eyes settled back into their relaxed, slender shape. Then she frowned. Her face was perhaps the most extreme case of naturally occurring mean that he'd ever seen. In another life, it would have fish-hooked him right into a game of cat and mouse. "I know Alex didn't tell you my name, so I can only assume you gleaned it via thoroughly irredeemable methods." Zach sort-of smiled. Rudeness, he could do. He could play with rude any day. "Game recognize game. What's your deal?" She rolled her eyes. She looked like she was fucked up. Good. They spoke each other's language.

"Oh, that is just like you." She scorned, laughing in his face. His eyebrows raised, fending off a smirk. "Feeling entitled to my life story when you've barely ever said two words to me." Zach surveyed her, her meager dress and ever-long legs. "I'd take you to dinner first, but I'm not really looking for anything serious right now." She scoffed, unfazed by his physicality. This is a girl who had made her rounds, clearly. "But if you're up for something quick and dirty, I do want to know where the fuck you came from and what the fuck is going on." Naomi's eyes narrowed to near-slits as she jabbed him in the chest with a talon-sharp fingernail. "Where. The fuck. Did you come from. I'm in Europe for a little over the year and Alex is all the way fucked up? Were you on some kind of destructive speed run or what?" So they did know each other from before him. Interesting. He cut his eyes across her face, slinking lazily back against the bar top. "She never mentioned you." At this, Naomi was temporarily taken by surprise. She tempered it well. "Consider yourself lucky. If she'd have told me about you back before you fucked everything up, I would've smelled you a mile off. You never would've gotten the chance to ruin her life. Musicians are all the fucking same, no matter how successful or not they are. Assholes who only want to fuck everyone else up so they don't feel as shameful as they are."

Zach laughed then, and it was genuine. Naomi even seemed to smirk. "Not an entirely inaccurate summary. Could've been more succinct, mind you." She folded her arms, and in an obvious attempt to derail her, his gaze went to her now-accentuated chest. "Luke didn't say you were here, but I knew you would be. Too bad your injuries weren't more dire. I wish they'd have kept you safely out of society for a more appropriate amount of time. Permanently would be nice." Zach stood, and his two inches on her in her heels didn't count for nothing. "If you're done running your pretty mouth, Naomi, I want something from you I intend to get." Before he could continue, she interrupted. "Fat fucking chance." He smiled, fashioning his hand into a closed-mouth shape. "What are my chances of not sending her into a downward spiral, or at least running home, if I try to talk to her?" Naomi stood to her own full height now, affronted and prepared for real battle. "She doesn't want to talk to you." He sighed, exhausted with their running in circles. "I know that. My question still stands." She bit her lip, evaluating him. "What do you want to say? I have an excellent memory, I'm sure I can relay whatever drivel you have in mind fairly accurately." Zach attempted to soften, tried to get her on-side. "I want to apologize. In person. No bullshit. The club isn't exactly an ideal location, but, you of all people know she won't see me on purpose. This is the best I've got. Please."

[the-diabolist]

Could I maybe get K and M for Lawrence?

K — Kink (One or more of their kinks)

This spot is reserved for the one nobody likes to talk about :)

Somnophilia - if you're sleeping, he can play with you without any anxiety over your scrutiny. (Plus, you can't stop him from doing whatever he wants!)

Restraint/shibari - extra points if you're blindfolded. Similar to the above; it gives him free reign to explore you without interruptions, and it makes you look so pretty to boot! Would be very good at shibari, I think.

Praise - worries a lot about whether you like what he's doing, or whether he's doing a good job, so he loves hearing you praise him. Add some pet names and you'll get him all eager and desperate real quick.

Temperature play - you're only allowed to tie him up under certain circumstances, and this is one of them. He really likes the sensation; ice cubes are his favorite, but wax or hot water work for him too.

M — Motivation (What turns them on? What gets them going?)

He's not very consistent; his libido waxes and wanes, and even when the meter's full, what turns him on today may not do the same tomorrow.

Things that sometimes work include:

Wearing provocative sleepwear - something that shows a lot of skin or otherwise directs his attention to what lies beneath them will fluster him until he can't control himself. Especially if you sidle up and get all snuggly with him. (Double especially if you're already sleeping when he comes to bed.)

Wearing his clothes - it's so cute, and so endearing, and you look so good... his fingers practically itch to touch you, and once he starts, he tends to keep going.

Even simple things like being really sweet to him, or especially tactile, might get him going. When he's in the mood, almost anything does, and when he's not, almost nothing does.

[earthstellar]

Do robots poop?

First of all: This is actually a fair question.

To answer your question: Sort of!

Cybertronians seem to primarily produce liquid waste products, rather than solid waste products.

In IDW 1's Windblade series, we see that Caminus (the Titan) generates waste which manifests as what is essentially a large scale used oil and solvent pool.

In various TF media, we sometimes see references to generating waste as "leaking oil" or similar, although this seems to be a general phrase and may not necessarily indicate that their waste is primarily spent oil (and may instead be a mix of liquid materials), because we also see oil referenced as a maintenance material or even as a flavouring additive for certain types of energon.

Famously, Maccadams' Old Oil House would be a very different experience if this were meant to imply solely bathroom facilities rather than a pub or bar type establishment!

However, since oil is potentially part of something they utilise in their bodies for maintenance or even as part of certain ingested fuel blends on occasion, it is likely that their liquid waste contains at least some volume of spent oil which may have been directly consumed, in addition to any oil which may have been used as joint lubricant or for other purposes in routine frame maintenance.

Their liquid waste almost certainly is comprised of, at the very least, spent oil, various solvents that have been broken down chemically and flushed naturally from their bodies (such as other lubricants or nanite salves in some cases, etc.), as well as spent energon which has been processed by their systems and therefore needs to be cycled out of their fuel lines to accommodate refuelling.

We do occasionally see energon depicted as smaller solid cubes (rather than the more common larger liquid containing cubes), or sometimes there are certain energon treats are solid, but these appear to break down into liquid fairly quickly-- Possibly due to the internal thermal energy produced by Cybertronians, as any solid form energon might just liquify soon after consuming it anyway if it is refrigerated into the solid state temporarily; Think of it like eating ice cream, it melts as it goes down!

(Sometimes energon is depicted as being warm or even superheated by default, especially prior to further refinement into purer fuel, so cooling it into a temporary solid may not be exactly the case-- But however they make energon into a solid, there have been depictions of solid type energon "melting" or losing form in a couple one-off panels in a few older comics that I can somewhat recall, so it's hard to say for sure.)

Although it is rare, bots do sometimes attempt to consume alternative fuels or food goods, and it's unclear how these may then be broken down in the body as they are processed-- If they are processed effectively at all!

We don't have a lot of canonical information on how Cybertronian bodies actually function on this level; It's not possible to say what types of waste may be produced exactly, or what that waste may exactly consist of altogether.

It's possible to make educated guesses from what we have seen in canon, though, in various TF media-- Overwhelmingly, waste is most often depicted or referenced as being liquid of various types.

While we do on occasion see solid waste from energon processing, it is usually a result of non-sentient mechanical processes (such as the tailings from an energon mine site in Kaon), which isn't quite the same as a living Cybertronian producing waste as they go about daily life and process energon as a regularly ingested fuel in its refined/purified/typically liquid form.

So!

TL;DR Robots do, in fact, poop-- But not in the human poop sense. Most Cybertronian waste seems to be liquid, and is comprised primarily of various solvents and fuels.

That having been said, there are sometimes references to what may suggest a solid waste product CAN be produced, potentially, but details of this are extremely sparse and most depictions of waste are liquid, so it may be the case that particular circumstances can result in solid waste being produced-- But these circumstances are unclear.

It may also vary somewhat based on frame type etc., but again, not a lot of canonical detail on this, so it's unclear if this might actually be the case or not. Most Cybertronian core structure and physical processes/anatomy seems to be fairly consistent, but certain frame alterations etc. might slightly change fuel/maintenance requirements which could then potentially change how and what waste is produced, so it's up in the air until some TF media in the future wants to discuss any of this in more detail, lol.

We do see that Titans appear to produce mostly liquid waste in regards to their own selves as a living entity, but it could be possible for a Titan to produce solid waste as part of other functions related to their utilisation as a city-state or living infrastructure.

All we really have to go on for that is the depiction of Caminus in IDW 1, so it's not 100% clear if larger bots or Titans may potentially produce solid waste as well.

I hope that's helpful! :)

[shootybangbang]

[Talking Bird] 17: In which beans are ruined

[Ao3 Link]

At the mention of Trelawney, Arthur dimly recalls a scrap of half-remembered conversation from last year, when he’d idled with the man in a Lemoyne saloon while waiting for a mark to arrive. The first flicker of your existence, passing him by unknown. Like the brief touch of a licked finger through candle flame: deceptively benign, with just a whisper of the burn to follow.

Somewhere between his first and second glass of whiskey sours, Trelawney had mentioned the burgeoning demand for opium in Chinatown. A former contact of his had recently left the high stakes poker circuit to get in on the profit, and he’d lamented the loss.

“It’s a shame,” he’d said, absently swirling the ice cubes in his emptied glass and regarding the swirling wood grain of the countertop with a pensive, faraway look. And for once, the sentiment had sounded genuine. Knowing him, the man was grieving a lost business opportunity more than anything else, but it’d been a long time since Arthur had heard him even bother to feign emotion for a stranger. “She’s not suited for smuggling in the least. Can’t say I can see this ending well.”

Less Trelawney’s gift for prophecy and more stating the obvious, now that he knows exactly who he’d been talking about. Prickly disposition, clueless when it comes to violence, and far too trusting of strangers. The cavalier attitude of someone who’d never been exposed to serious conflict and who, having since been exposed, lacks even the conviction necessary to put a bullet in the man holding her hostage.

And far too delicate besides.

When you’d pulled the blanket down your shoulders to untie your braid, Arthur had tilted his head back just enough to catch an eyeful of your backside. A pretty thing to put to paper: the wet swathe of hair draped over your shoulder, the faint shadow of your spine a dark curve flickering with the shifting of firelight. Soft, dappled lines wrapped in the body of someone who’s caused him nothing but grief in the past weeks.

The view had confirmed something he’d already been suspecting: your lack of threat to anything larger than a rat terrier.

Judging by your physique, you’d probably struggle to lift anything more than fifteen pounds. Maybe twenty, on a good day. A veritably pathetic amount of muscle tone with none of the etchings that rough living leaves behind.

Some foreign high society girl fallen on hard times, he guessed. But oddly, none of the clumsy caution people of that strata have when confronted with any sort of real work. You’d fallen into the rhythm of whittling bark off the cottonwood branches too comfortably for someone unacquainted with physical labor, handled the knife with a deftness that comes only from rote repetition.

“I knew Trelawney had connections to some gang out west, but I never thought…” You shake your head slowly, dazed by the absurdity of this new development. “Did he know? When I sold them those bonds, did he realize they were yours? And why—”

“Nah, he wouldn’t have known. I, uh… wasn’t too keen on tellin’ folk I got robbed by a woman.” He rubs the back of his neck and lets out an embarrassed huff. “Told ‘em the whole thing was a bust.”

Looking back, he may as well have told them the truth. The lie hadn’t done much to salvage his pride, and had prompted weeks of jibes at his own expense. Snide little asides from Micah, overt ridicule from Bill, and the painful ordeal of Sean.

“Gettin’ sloppy in your old age,” he’d quipped. “I’ll tell you what you need, Morgan. You need to let someone else hold the reins for a change. Someone quick on the uptake, someone young and hot-blooded and—”

“Get back to me when you’re done complimentin’ yourself,” Arthur had replied, already walking away.

“Wait, Morgan — take me with you next time you ride out! I’ll scout somethin’ out, and we can…”

Sean had been insistent as a mosquito and twice as annoying, but ultimately bearable so long as he had a beer in his hand or a pillow over his head. His own head, though he’d been sorely tempted otherwise.

No, what had really driven him to leave camp had been Dutch.

Dutch and his put-upon fatherly air, all stern mouthed disapproval and downward sloping shoulders. His pointed observations of Jack’s tattered jacket, well on its way to becoming a patchwork Ship of Theseus. Pearson’s dwindling supply of seasonings, so scarce that the stews have become bland to the point of near inedibility. The stocks of medicine running low, bandages boiled so many times that their fibers have since frayed to a cobwebbed consistency.

“I know you’re doing your best, son,” Dutch had sighed, casting a weary eye over his threadbare kingdom. “God knows you’re the only man I can depend on to get anything done around here. But folks are… well. Folks are struggling.”

Arthur’s eyes had slid momentarily towards Dutch’s tent, resting on the golden gleam of the gramophone and the crisp cotton sheets laid across the bed. An unbroken sea of white, with not a stitch out of place. And not twenty feet away, Hosea’s shabby lean-to, the older man’s bedroll bearing the same disjointed array of colors as the rest of the camp’s accoutrements.

Dutch always did have a taste for the finer things in life. A level of refinement proportionate to the depth of his ambition, which in earlier days had been tempered by kinder, simpler ideals. Feed those that need feeding. Shoot those that need shooting. Robin Hood-esque, with a western (and occasionally lethal) twist. Evelyn Miller had been a fixture even then, but in those halcyon years Dutch had not yet twisted the author’s words to the tottering worldview that he’s since constructed.

The gang’s nascent success had bred standards and attracted new followers. A ragtag flock all too eager to nourish their leader’s growing, malignant appetite for grandeur.

“Just one last score, and we’ll be clear of all this… this manmade rot.” Dutch said, gesturing in the direction of Blackwater. “But for now, we’ve got to play their game. Get our hands dirty for the time being so we can wash ourselves clean of all this when we’ve finally got the means.”

Arthur had departed under the pretense of retrieving the missing bonds (impossible) or locating some cache of similar value (near impossible), but in truth he’d done so primarily for the preservation of his own sanity. More and more these days, he’s been seeing cracks in the foundation of the man who’d given him this life, dragged him out of the gutter and set him with a previously unwavering sense of purpose. And it feels treacherous — traitorous, even — to take any of it into question.

But as always, the open road and the unabiding sky of the prairie settled him into a different mindset altogether. The cycles of flora and fauna in untouched wilderness exist completely separate from the artifices of men, with the legacies of countless tiny lives encapsulated in the fine grit of the dust to which all things return. And in that certainty comes an overwhelming comfort. Everything else seems trifling in the wake of the vast perpetuity of nature.

A few days spent wandering would do him good, he’d decided. Spend some time away from all the trappings of civilization, then rob some poor sap on the side of the road so as not to return empty-handed.

And then you’d ruined his plans entirely by literally walking into him as he’d been passing through Strawberry.

“Well,” you say, offering up a small, nervous smile. “What now?”

What now, indeed. Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “Guess we take a visit to Trelawney’s,” he replies, already dreading the inevitable embarrassment of explaining the whole sorry situation to the man. “And if it turns out you’re tellin’ the truth, I’ll give you a ride from Rhodes to St Denis.”

You frown and furrow your brow. “Rhodes?”

“Yeah, Rhodes. Trelawney’s got a caravan there on the outskirts of town. You didn’t know?”

“You can’t take me to Rhodes,” you say automatically, as if stating the obvious. “I mean… look at me.”

“You’re a woman?” he asks stupidly.

“I’m an Oriental, you moron. And Rhodes is a fucking… it’s a fucking Raider town.”

“You’d be with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

You shake your head and set your mouth into a grim, flat line. “That’s worse. They might think we’re together. And they don’t take kindly to miscegenation.”

Your words have to them the quality of a veil being drawn back, exposing a corner of this country’s ugliness he’s not often been privy to. A familiar knot of guilt tugs at his innards, accompanied by the unpleasant, impotent sensation that surfaces each time he catches the ungracious stares of the crowd when walking into town with Tilly by his side. Each time he hears the practiced courtesy in a shopkeep’s voice drop away when the man turns away from him to address Charles. Each time he watches Lenny reread for the thousandth time the letter from his dead father, the creases in its paper worn so deep that it would have long since fallen apart were it not for the boy’s careful, reverent handling.

“You know those big plantation houses just south of Rhodes? They hire Chinese sometimes to work the fields. Cheaper than sharecropping, apparently.” The look on your face is drawn and bitter. The bite in your voice suggests something personal, the sting of an injury not yet healed. “One of the boys got involved with a white housemaid. He’d saved up for train tickets to Philadelphia, and they were… he was going to marry her there. Wanted an August wedding. The number eight’s lucky for us, you see. So August 8th, 1898… he thought it was all very romantic. Used to make this stupid joke that he wished he’d met her ten years earlier. Raiders strung him up in an oak tree a couple weeks before they were set to leave.”

Arthur’s tongue lies silent and heavy in his mouth.

You take in a deep breath that rattles with the failing determination of someone struggling not to break their composure, then look to him with a desperation so absolute that it seems almost indecent to witness. “Why don’t you just leave me here? Keep me tied up if you have to. Come back for me when you’re done with Trelawney.”

In the short span of time that he’s known you, you’ve made enough of an impression to warrant several conclusive classifications. A haughty, pampered little thing. An ineffective liar. A self-destructive fool — but not stupid. Definitely not stupid.

The sheer idiocy of your suggestion indicates a fear so deep that it’s completely severed you from your senses. Just a frightened little bird caught in a trap, scratching and clawing for the narrowest possible opening for escape.

“You’re tellin’ me to tie up a woman and leave her in the middle of nowhere? May as well just hand-deliver you to the wolves. No,” he says firmly, trying to shake off the unwanted pang of sympathy. Dutch had been right about one thing — the gang did need money, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let this opportunity for it slip away out of misguided compassion for a woman who’d literally robbed him as he’d bled out. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Soon as we near Rhodes, I’ll tie you to Boadicea the same way I did when we left Strawberry.”

You blink and utter a disbelieving, “Excuse me, what?”

“Reckon they’ll treat us both a hell of a lot nicer if they think you’re a bounty. Gives me plenty excuse for keepin’ you in one piece, too.”

Your face ventures on a quick journey through the five stages of grief. The grief in question being for the loss of your dignity. The blank look shifts to a glare. You open your mouth to spit out something no doubt acerbic and very rude, but a flash of uncertainty crosses your face and you quickly bite your tongue. Then you lower your head and squeeze your eyes shut. When you finally open them again, there is a defeated resignation in them that attests to a lost mental argument.

“You better ride slow if you don’t want a repeat of this morning,” you say wearily.

Arthur shrugs. “Can’t throw up if you got nothin’ in your stomach. We’ll just skip feeding you breakfast tomorrow.”

To his relief, the atmosphere lightens to blessed, familiar hostility. You tell him to go fuck himself. That you’ll literally fight him for the apples you know he has tucked away in his saddlebags. That maybe you’ll throw up anyway purely out of spite. That he’s a miserable piece of shit who you wish—

A sudden flash of lightning illuminates the outcrop for a fraction of a second, painting everything beneath it into harsh shades of white and black. It strikes as sudden and violent as a fiery whip crack, leaving behind it the bittersweet scent of burnt grass and a curl of grey smoke like a departing ghost. Its near-simultaneous clap of thunder drowns out your last sentence with an ear splitting boom so encompassing that the vibration of it seems to rattle down to the bone. The silence that follows has in it the anticipatory hush of the void prior to Genesis. You shatter it with a quiet but appropriately placed, “Jesus Christ.”

The land outside is hedged low in the horizon, and the vastness of its sky swallows all else. It crowns as its dominating feature the movement of its anvil-shaped clouds. They shift leaden and portentous, translucent bellied and lit up by the jagged tongues of lightning darting throughout quick and sporadic as pale dragonflies. Roiling violet like the murky blood of some vast organism, pulsing membranous over the prairie with a fury of near biblical proportions. And below, the buttes with their strange eroded shapes like scattered islands in a black sea of grass. In the torrential dark, their silhouettes flash ivory with every strike of lightning only to sink back into the hushed umbra of night.

There is a muted look of awe on your face, as if witnessing for the first time the true scale of a storm. Something that before now had been glimpsed only through the gaps between high-shuttered buildings. Tempests caught in concrete snares and, not unlike the men that build them, diminished until they are but a feeble whisper of their former selves.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur. “I never knew rain could be like this.”

With a jolt of displeasure, he finds that the soft expression on your face renders you unexpectedly pretty in the fire’s flickering light, the amber reflection of it bright as copper in your eyes. A gentle chiaroscuro, the smooth line of your cheek and shadowed hollow of your throat the anchor points to which his eye is drawn.

You shuffle a little closer to the outlook’s rain-veiled edge. The roughspun blanket, still drawn tightly around your shoulders, shifts. Arthur quickly averts his eyes, but even so is met with a sliver of bare skin that runs neck to navel. The subtle outline of a breast, the mild fishbone curve of a rib.

And all at once he’s unbearably, disastrously hard, filled with a painful but directionless longing — not just for intimacy, but for the simple reassurance of another body pressed close, skin to skin and breath to breath. A kind of tenderness he’s been deprived of for so long that the memory of it brings not warmth but the brittle cold of hoarfrost. Absence like a thick pane of ice, the things he’s lost visible just underneath.

From the periphery of his line of sight, you’re but an indistinct blur in the vague shape of a woman. How appropriate then, that you should be the focus of this formless arousal. And how infuriatingly pathetic. He hadn’t lied when he’d said you weren’t his type, and yet here he is, his cock stiffer than it’s been in months at just the suggestion of a woman’s naked body.

In desperate search of both distraction and something to obscure himself with, Arthur pulls back the front flap of his satchel and fishes out your blue notebook. He glances briefly in your direction, already anticipating your angry shout of indignation — but you’re far too occupied with watching the progression of the storm to so much as glance in his direction.

The notebook’s contents are far more legible than he’d initially assumed. Most of the foreign characters seem to be either names or places, which makes it possible for him to pick out the main thread of most sentences.

Its first half consists of what looks like a ledger. Neatly organized columns with foreign characters and numbers that he hasn’t the slightest idea how to parse. When he flips past it, a slip of paper scrawled with the same strange, flowing text flutters from the pages and alights delicately into his lap. Arthur picks it up, and as he examines it, it occurs to him that he has no idea how to orient it.

Prior to this, he’d only ever seen Chinese characters painted on the roadside food stalls accompanying railroad workers on their long trek westwards. A strange, complex syllabary. He’d once read somewhere that each word of the language had its own unique character. A sort of pictograph that, when studied, relays its meaning to those who knew how to read it.

He scrutinizes the slip of paper in his hand, but finds himself unable to pick out even the vaguest of resemblances. The corner of the paper bears a square seal of red ink, inset with an intricate consortium of straight lines. Curiosity spent for the moment, Arthur slots the document back in place.

The rest of the notebook looks to be an odd mixture of field observations and long, ornate paragraphs about various landscapes. A few pressed wildflowers, field observations of city flora and fauna, crudely drawn animals reminiscent of the scattered petroglyphs he’s found carved in long-abandoned settlements. An earmarked passage describing the wetlands bordering St Denis, full of strikethroughs and hastily added phrases squeezed into the margins. Another describing what sounds like Cotorra Springs.

“The amber fields are dotted with sprigs of larkspurs and wild flax like blue-violet stars,” Arthur reads aloud.

You turn to face him so quickly that your wet hair arcs through the air like an ink-stained brush, scattering water droplets that sizzle and hiss when they fall into the fire. Wild-eyed as a spooked horse, but frozen into a horrified silence as he licks his finger and traces the rest of the line across the page, continuing, “And even further north, viridian-blue pools from which rise plumes of white smoke, the water still and clear as glass. Hills of black obsidian —”

You scramble towards him and, while clutching the blanket around your shoulders shut with one hand, slap the notebook out of his grip with the other. It lands perilously close to the fire, but you snatch it up without giving a second thought to the nearness of the flames.

“That’s private,” you hiss, hugging the notebook to your chest the way one might accidentally smother an infant.

“Thought it was fair turnaround, seein’ as you never extended that same courtesy to me,” he retorts.

The memory of that miserable morning after surfaces in him like a bloated corpse too persistent to stay hidden. His billfold emptied, ill-gotten gains vanished, and his journal speckled with smeared, bloodied thumbprints from beginning to end. Above a sketch of a mountain wildflower he’d drawn a question mark next to, the word “crocus ?” written in an angular, jagged scrawl.

“Yeah, because I thought you were going to die!” you argue back. “Figured you probably had your next of kin listed somewhere in there!”

Next of kin. The phrase pierces through like a stitch popped out of place, and Arthur nearly flinches. It’s an unintentional blow on your part, but nevertheless he deflects the only way he knows how. When bitten, bite back.

“Oh that’s real charitable, comin’ from the dope-peddler,” he jeers. “You save this compassion for everyone you fuck over, or just me?”

A clear and unguarded expression of hurt crosses your features. The same you’d worn when he’d had to pry his shotgun out of your hands. Forlorn, helpless as a wounded prey animal. But it passes quickly into a cold disdain, your head raised high again and your eyes hard as flint.

“Do you know,” you say quietly, lip curling with contempt. “I seriously considered cutting your throat when I finally realized who you were. I should have.”

Then you blink, forehead wrinkling as you sniff at the air. You glance at the fire, where his forgotten can of beans is beginning to burn.

Arthur curses. He hastily swipes one of his discarded riding gloves from the grass and pulls it on, then grabs the can and blows on its contents, fanning away its delicate wisp of black smoke.

You retreat to the far inner corner of the outcrop and frantically page through the notebook until you find the red-sealed paper sheafed inside. With a sigh of relief, you slump against the rough granite wall, the tense set of your shoulders loosening as though some secret string stretched taut through the frame of your body had suddenly been cut loose.

A sullen silence permeates the shelter, punctuated only by the grating scratch of metal as he scrapes burnt food off the edges of the can with a spoon.

“You forgot to mention that the whole place smells like shit,” Arthur says finally. He keeps his eyes on the can, attention focused squarely on the arduous task of excavating beans.

“What?”

“Cotorra Springs. Smells like week-old shit. Especially around the pools.”

The rustle of blankets. From the corner of his eye, he watches you tentatively scoot closer. “You’ve been there?” you ask. Your voice is still deeply reproachful, but touched with genuine curiosity.

“You haven’t?”

“No. I’ve just seen pictures. And notes from people who have.”

“Huh,” he says. He scrapes another carbonized mouthful from the can. “Could’ve fooled me, the way you wrote about it.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You think so?”

“Sure.

The corner of your mouth quirks upwards in a reluctant smile that unfolds like the breaking light of a clouded dawn. “Well, that’s… that’s good to know.”

“You writin’ a book or something?” he asks.

“That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” The smile wilts slightly, and you drop your gaze down to the notebook on your lap. “No. Just a favor for an old friend’s husband. The man fancies himself an explorer, but can barely string a sentence together. He’s paying me to pretty up his notes for him. Half of which I think are made up. There’s some bullshit in there about an enormous rainbow colored pond full of boiling water.”

Arthur laughs. “Naw, that bit’s true. I’ve seen it. It’s a hell of a thing.”

You seem skeptical. He doesn’t blame you. Even after having walked the rust-banded edge of that craterous spring himself, his memory of it still carries with it the preternatural awe of a place half-dreamed. He tells you about the slow gradation of color leading inwards from the rim. Ochre to cadmium, to turquoise, to a deep cerulean with the unreal brilliance of a painted ocean. Steam hanging like a pungent fog. Entire stretches of ground covered in a thick, boiling mud, bubbling ominous as something out of Dante’s Inferno. A constant gurgling of earth and water, as if he were treading upon some living thing in the midst of an infernal digestion.

Halfway through his description, you flip the notebook to a clean page and ask him for a pencil, then begin scribbling down his words with an unceasing, determined hand. This bemuses him. That anyone might find his drivel meaningful enough to commit to paper is a new experience altogether. It’s an odd feeling, but not at all an unpleasant one.

That is, until you begin peppering his narrative with so many questions that it takes the better part of an hour to accommodate them.

What kind of plants grew there?

“Bunch of disgusting slippery shit around the edge. Algae or something. Other than that, can’t think of a single thing that’d lay roots in boiling water and sulfur.”

Did the mud boil like roiling water, or was it more the viscosity of a slow simmering stew?

“More like wet cement, really.”

Were there animals?

“No. Nothing there for ‘em.”

Birds?

“Didn’t see any.”

Insects?

“A shit ton of gnats, but not much else.”

How wide were the prismatic bands around the crater? What was the geology like? Did the surrounding forest taper off gradually in the vicinity of the spring, or was the loss of vegetation sudden and absolute as a drawn border?

“Give me your notebook.” he says, having finally reached the point of exasperation. “Easier if I just draw it for you.”

To his faint surprise, you hand it over without hesitation. He sketches out what he’s able to recall, all the while acutely aware of the madness of the situation. Fucking illustrating an account of his own wanderings for the woman who robbed him while they both sit in varying states of undress. Scribbling out a messy landscape in the same notebook whose contents he’d derided just a little while ago. Focusing all his attention on Cotorra Springs so as to ward away the unfortunate possibility of another inopportune erection.

The mediocre drawing he finally manages to scratch out would have disappointed him under any other occasion. Instead, he feels a warm flood of relief at its conclusion. If this doesn’t shut you up, then nothing will.

Nothing will, it seems. To his immense chagrin, the drawing sparks another round of questions. After silently admiring his work just long enough to spark hope of your satiety, you ask him about the species of the trees. Had he explored the nearby forest? Were there flowers? What season had he visited in? Was the acrid smell of sulfur present even here?

“Look,” Arthur says wearily. “You clearly come from money. Why don’t you just hire someone out to take you sometime?”

You snort at the suggestion. The corner of your mouth lifts upwards into something that’s only nominally a smile, and more the type of grimace that accompanies an old wound. “The only two men I’d trust enough to take me out into the middle of nowhere are dead. And with the money I owe, I can’t… I can’t just… you know what?” you say abruptly. “It’s getting late and I’m fucking exhausted. I’m going to sleep.”

And with that, you tug the blanket tight around your shoulders and huddle against the ground like a felled shrimp. You lay with your back to him, the words left unsaid hanging over you both like an unripe fruit of a question.

Arthur fetches his bedroll and unfurls it close to the fire. A battered pillow emerges from the worn tarp as he spreads it flat. After a moment of contemplation, he picks up the pillow and tosses it in your direction. It hits you square on the head.

Immediately, you sit up and snarl at him. “What the fuck is wrong with — oh.” You pick up the pillow and grasp it tight, as if at any moment he might change his mind and demand it back. Your small “thank you” is puzzled and uncertain.

“I’m gonna put out the fire,” he says. “You try to slit my throat in the dark, I’ll wring your neck.”

But the threat comes out empty and toothless, and judging by the renewed sarcasm in your voice when you tell him you’ll keep it in mind, you seem fully aware of it.

Arthur douses the flames by kicking dirt over the embers, which glow dim and vermillion for minutes afterwards, fading slow to dull, crumbling ash when the heat finally bleeds out of them. The pleasant smell of smoke lingers inside the shelter for a good while longer, but even that dissipates eventually, leaving just petrichor and the crisp, clean scent of early autumn rain.

The worst of the storm has shifted westwards. Water drips in a steady stream from the outer edge of the overhang, churning the ground below to a soup of mud. The cloud cover is still dense, but it’s thinned enough that moonlight gleams through the feathery underbelly in a pale and spattered mottle. With it, he can make out the dim outline of your body, the rise and fall of your chest in a slow, steady rhythm he sorely doubts you’d have the patience to feign.

He lies awake there in the dark for a long while, shuffling through a jumble of discordant emotion. It’s as if the pieces of several sets of puzzles have been mixed together and jammed into an incomprehensible mess, so hopelessly and thoroughly muddled that he can no longer tell where one thing starts and another ends. He sorts his way through it until the rain weakens to a grey drizzle and the drip of rainwater turns from the unbroken stream of a faucet to a series of droplets beating out an abstruse morse code against the ground.

In the end, he’s only able to definitively place a single solid sentiment. Pity.

———

Couple notes:

Arthur's understanding of Chinese is incorrect, but aligns with the assumptions a lot of Western scholars during that time period had regarding it. There was a big tendency to treat it like Japanese, which despite using some of the same characters, uses a completely different structure.

Cotorra Springs seems to be based off Yellowstone. The big boiling rainbow spring is actually real: it's called the Grand Prismatic Spring and seriously does look like something out of a fever dream. Yellowstone also does smell like sulfur in some places, but it’s not so much like week old shit as it is the potent fart of someone who’s eaten far too many deviled eggs.

No algae grows in the spring. It's actually cyanobacteria, but there's no reason Arthur would know this. It does look pretty gross up close.

[neko-sufis-world]

Did you know Herobrine and Steve loves summer and trendy outfits, because they wish they could meet their brother again to celebrate summer party, for example: Beaches, Disco, Dancefloor, ect. ^_^

Ouh. Well, as for Usagi-Ijah, she likes to spend her time with her friends at Japan, when the summer started, they are planning to go somewhere for holiday, vacation I must say. And their favourite snack or food they would like to eat is kakigori, Japanese shaved ice dessert! With syrup flavour and a sweetener, often condensed milk. She also went to the summer party like, beaches, dancefloor, karaoke to sing, etc! Ouh! And you see Usagi's favourite food is sushi, taiyaki, zaru soba, unagi and yakitori! While Yumaki's (Usagi's 1st friend) favourite food is somen, taiyaki, unagi, sushi, anmitsu and yakisoba. For Mayuki's (Usagi's 2nd friend) is ramen, shabu-shabu, yokan, hiyayakko, and hiyashi chuka. And their most favourite food is mochi, sushi and sashimi! ^^

Taiyaki: A Japanese fish-shaped cake, commonly sold as street food. It imitates the shape of tai, which it is named after. The most common filling is red bean paste that is made from sweetened azuki beans. Other common fillings may be custard, chocolate, cheese, or sweet potato.

Zaru soba: A Japanese dish of chilled soba noodles. The dish is typically served with freshly grated wasabi, thinly sliced scallions, tsuyu (mentsuyu), and a dipping sauce made from soy sauce, dashi (made with both kelp and katsuobushi, or dried bonito flakes), mirin(For Muslim, they usually use vinegar, cuz Mirin is made by alcoholic), and sake(Even sake is also alcoholic, so, Muslim use the vinegar only).

Unagi: The Japanese word for freshwater eel, is an elongated fatty fish, rich and bold in flavor.

Yakitori: Bite-size marinated pieces of beef, seafood, or chicken on skewers

Somen(Aka white noodle): Thin, white, noodles usually served cold and accompanied by dipping sauce.

Anmitsu: A Japanese dessert that dates to the Meiji era. It is made of small cubes of agar jelly, a white translucent jelly made from red algae. The agar is dissolved with water to make the jelly.

Yakisoba(Aka fried noodles): A Japanese noodle stir-fry dish. Usually soba means buckwheat, but soba in yakisoba means Chinese noodles (Chuuka soba) made from wheat flour, and are typically flavored with a condiment similar to Worcestershire sauce.

Ramen(Aka noodle): Quick-cooking egg noodles usually served in a broth with bits of meat and vegetables.

Shabu-shabu: A Japanese dish consisting of thinly sliced beef and vegetables cooked briefly in simmering broth at the table.

Yokan: A jellied dessert or confection made typically from a thick red-bean paste, sugar, and agar, formed into a solid block and eaten in slices.

Hiyayakko(Aka chilled tofu): A classic Japanese side dish. Say bye to "plain old tofu" with colorful toppings like scallions, ham and shiso, and enjoy with a versatile konbu soy sauce

Hiyashi chuka(Aka chilled Chinese): A Chinese noodle style Japanese dish consisting of chilled ramen noodles with various toppings served in the summer.

Mochi: A Japanese rice cake made of mochigome, a short-grain japonica glutinous rice, and sometimes other ingredients such as water, sugar, and cornstarch. The rice is pounded into paste and molded into the desired shape. In Japan it is traditionally made in a ceremony called mochitsuki.

After they done having a fun, they went back to the summer house to rest. And they make barbecue at night for dinner. They also made sandwich too! Peanut butter and jelly sandwich. But, Mayuki had a peanut allergic, so, she eats jelly sandwich only instead peanut butter.

For Neko-Sufi, even she lives her own in the big house at forest, she has friends, Maria, Elisa and Rolanda, she meets at café she usually go. So, she can go to the vacation with them on summer. Like went to the beaches, dancefloor and karaoke to sing. And their favourite snack is s'mores, ice cream, slushy and etc.

S'mores: A sweet snack consisting of a chocolate bar and toasted marshmallows sandwiched between graham crackers.

After they done, they went back to the hotel to rest

[johnnymarkssh]

4 lockdown coffee recipes to try at home

Australia is gearing up for its fourth lockdown since the beginning of the pandemic. It is not great news. Yet, to curb the pandemic, the decision was necessary. Yet, Australians who love their coffee would miss going out to cafes and grab a white mocha. Enjoying coffee in a cozy little cafe will take some time. Still, that doesn’t mean that you cannot enjoy a cup of joe at home.

There are so many ways to make incredible cups of coffee at home, especially if you have Nespresso pods with you. With coffee pods, making coffee at home is instant and simple. Want to try some great recipes at home? Then read below to find your favorite.

Dalgona coffee

This coffee was relatively popular during the first lockdown. If you haven’t tried it yet, it is time that you do so. It is a simple recipe that requires coffee, sugar, and milk.

First, take 2 spoons of instant coffee in a cup and add sugar to it. Now, add ½ tsp of warm water to this. Keep mixing it till you get a consistency similar to whipped cream.

Now, in a glass, add ice cubes and milk. Pour a handful of whipped coffee into it and enjoy dalgona coffee.

Iced latte

Who doesn’t love latte? Right? Since the weather is a bit hot, why not try an iced version of this coffee? It is pretty easy to make.

First, use your Nespresso coffee pod to brew a strong cup of espresso. Now, in a tall glass, add ice cubes and pour 1/3rd of this espresso. Now, add 3/4th cup of milk to the glass, and mix them well. You can even froth the cold milk a bit to get some foam on the top.

Nutella hot coffee

It is an indulgent coffee that you should try, especially on days you are feeling sad. It is a warm frothy drink that will make you feel happy instantly. Either use instant coffee or brew a small shot of coffee using pods. Whatever you choose, mix it with Nutella, milk, and sugar (Stevia) in a blender. Now, in a glass, pour this frothy coffee and sprinkle some coffee powder on top.

Cinnamon coffee

Cinnamon is incredibly healthy for you. So, why not mix it with your coffee and enjoy the numerous benefits it has. You can do this two ways-

Use your pods’ machine and put a pod of your choice in it. Now in the water reservoir, add a bit of cinnamon and let it brew along with coffee. Your cinnamon coffee is ready. You can add milk to it and sprinkle some cinnamon on top.

In a pan, put cinnamon and instant coffee powder. Let it brew and pour in a glass mug. Pour frothy milk on top of the coffee and sprinkle some cinnamon.

Lockdown has you down, but these coffee recipes will undoubtedly make you happy. Try them and let us know which one is your favorite.

[whoknowsbud]

Stand Mutation AU

Warning, this is FILLED with body horror! And somewhat loose but present connections to the recent epidemic! Mainly in part 4...

These are mostly just lists of the designs, and this post will only contain parts 3 & 5. There’s a lot more bulk to what was written to part 4, and there’s a lot more angst written, so that’s going to be a separate post.

(Which is now here!)

The idea here is essentially taking the ‘stand sickness’ Holy and Josuke had and twisting it into overdrive. Rather than gaining stands, the infected mutate (often horrifically, but there are some who look almost unaffected) based on their in-canon stands. The uninfected don’t see the full image; the shapes and colors come through, but not completely. The common headlight-style eyes are a big giveaway (until they’re not).

The mutations here will also commonly hinder most functions, especially rational thought. It’s most often temporary as the infected adjusts to the changes of their body. This can take a number of forms, but what happened to the Nijimura brothers is the worst it gets. The term for this for now is going to be ‘fried’.

The infection is only transferred by the arrow, and genetic relation.

Part 3

Holy has flowers growing on her body. Has a way better handle on it than Jotaro; fully present and coherent, the flowers just need to sap a little of her energy to grow big and bright. So, yeah, she's completely fine.

Jotaro ends up this ethereal star man with so much luscious hair, but also partly fried at the start; ends up being essentially like a big dog for a while (acts on base instinct and can’t articulate).

Joseph’s arms become vines. That’s it, that’s all. Vines for arms.

Avdol is pretty much just fused with Magician’s Red. I say ‘just’, but he’s pretty damn rad.

Kakyoin is basically a bunch of wires, wrapped to make a more human shape. Rather than shooting solid energy bursts, he can send energy through the wires.

Polnareff, like Avdol, is also just fused with his Silver Chariot. The armor and sword are still removable.

Iggy is made of sand. Can shapeshift, often takes the form of a wolf, because he can and he wants to.

Hol Horse has a gun for a hand. Yes, that's all.

Gray Fly... tiny man. Beetle sized old man with beetle wings and dagger tongue. Nasty nasty.

Imposter Captain Tenille is a fish-man, simple as that. Basically take Dark Blue Moon and put it in the mans clothes. This makes it obvious that he’s the enemy the moment he comes out, but Anne is still under some suspicion at first.

Forever is just Strength. Green ship with orangutang face.

Devo basically is Ebony Devil. Imagine making a (somewhat crappy) almost life size doll of Devo, and there you go. Rather than needing a grudge to act, he forms his grudge as he fights, making him stronger.

Rubber Soul is just Yellow Temperance; when he went through stand puberty he just pretty much melted.

J. Geil is just Hanged Man; only seen through reflections. Tied a knife to his hand.

Nena is almost the same as canon; she assimilates a beautiful woman to host her real body (which has no skin covering, so here she needs a host, the looks are just preference), and still leaves parasites on victims through her blood.

ZZ's stand mutation is actually his arm. His arm is the car.

Enya… ghost? Still uses fog for the illusions, still does puppet stuff? But then Jotaro would still have to suck her down so NO, THANKS

Steely Dan, the crab man. Can duplicate himself but at NOWHERE near the same rate. Not as effective either. He's about the size of your average 14 year old.

Arabia Fats is just. On fire. Fire man. Human torch. But more fire. Just fire.

Mannish boy appears with a flat, jester-like face, so the group knows to refuse.

Cameo... genie?

Midler is basically herself with High Priestess's power to become any mineral. Still can shapeshift, but its limited.

N’Doul… could be a water man. Sends his hand out so he can stay safely out of most people’s range.

Anubis... is just the same Anubis as canon. It's a sword, what were you expecting?

Mariah is the magnetizer. It happens through contact, and feels like a small static shock. It does not work on normal people, although they do feel the shock.

Alessi has just become a shadow, his own silhouette, that de-ages those it touches like in canon, with the same eyes and manifesting ability, too. Cannot talk.

The D’arby brothers are a terrible amalgamation of the souls they’ve taken.

Pet Shop is... just its stand I think.

Vanilla Ice is another stand/user mix. As uncomfortable as the v o r e is, it seems like the only sensible thing...

Dio is similar to Jotaro. But green & yellow, with more disturbing growths (those... bullet chain suspenders looking things, and the apparent oxygen tanks on the back). He's a bit distorted, rippling in time with the seconds.

Part 5

Haruno becomes a plant creature (Oh you want limbs? Limbs to hold things? Too bad, you get tendrils!), changes his name to Giorno. The human body is still inside, controlling everything. When he’s truly happy, he blooms.

Bruno's body is just zippers. They can all be opened or closed (although if they're all opened he's kind of a mess, and its an awful noise), and what's under them is just a void. He seems to have glowing orbs as eyes, revealed by a single open zipper over where his eyes would be. To resemble a more human form, he has zippers on his head to look like hair. There are a few zippers that hang off his arms and legs almost like fins, and he will whip you with them.

Abbachio is a glitchy creature that looks like someone constantly flipping channels, with a sort of goo coating his body in almost the exact way it does Moody Blues.

Narancia is a ‘cyborg’, fighting logic output to stay ‘human’

Mista basically goes through mitosis, becoming 7 of himself; but it takes time for them to truly separate.

Fugo appears to be normal, but he has this ‘oxygen’ tank & connected mask. The Purple Haze virus is more of a gas here, produced in his lungs, so he has to have a way to contain it when he's around others. Once he starts getting emotional, he sort of melts into a zombie-like form; starts looking like a typical victim of Purple Haze.

(Giorno's able to take in an absurd amount of toxins and pollution and spit out a shit ton of oxygen, so there's much less concern.)

WE RETAIN THE DINOSAUR SPICE GIRL HERE, TRISH IS A STRETCHY & SQUISHY LIZARDWOMAN.

Mr President is a cube, still with the room. He's like a box. A box turtle, you might say.

Polpo is still in prison. His shadow does pretty much everything Black Sabbath does. Permanent poggers face.

Zucchero is a slug. Has spikes on his body that perform Soft Machine’s ability, and they’re barbed to grab the deflated forms.

Sale... maybe he's already dead. Infection stopped his own heart or something. Or hes like.. a landmark. Like Angelo in canon; fully immobile, but sort of immortal. /till you destroy the body I guess...

Formaggio’s size is constantly fluctuating, not always proportionately consistent.

Illuso... doesn't exist outside of mirrors. He can still communicate to those on the other side, and pull them in, but can't leave, himself. He works similarly to Yoshihiro Kira; ig seal the mirror, you seal him.

Prosciutto has so many eyes. Just all over, so so many. Somewhat shriveled up from the waist down.

Pesci has a fishing pole arm I guess...

Melone is some sort of... digital-ish cyborg thing. The Babyface kids are the same though

Ghiaccio is essentially fused with his suit, with the weak spot in the back of his neck frozen over. It’s actually like the mane of a lion, but ice; he can’t turn his head at all, speaking is near impossible, and eating is a struggle as well. The white album fight reveals a lot:

Due to literally being plants, Giorno has to revert back to Haruno or risk serious danger. This is the first time he’s come out; they knew he existed (he was mentioned in passing) but they weren't sure if he was alive or dead. When he can take his plants form again, it’s... kind of horrifying. Roots and vines coming out of his body, wrapping around him...

Risotto is basically a living Metallica colony. Take risotto, make every 5x5 pixels a metallica bean, there you go that’s him.

Squalo... Sharkboy

Tiziano looks fine, but his mouth is all wrong. Tongues like a starfish.

Secco... mud? Mudman?

Cioccolata looks like a zombie, moldy and decomposed an shit.

Diavolo and Doppio are... basically, literally, just King Crimson and Epitaph. They can apparently switch places? Maybe

[anything4our-moony]

By the Water Fountain

Pairing: Draco x Harry

Word count: 4.6k

Rating: T, mild language

Warnings: mention of excess drinking

Prompt/Summary: from @lxncelot‘s 100 dialogue prompts:

8- “Keep talking, I want to fall asleep to your voice.”

43- “Why didn’t you tell me?”

68- “But I’ve never told you that before.”

This is my first time posting a oneshot on this blog; I hope you all enjoy! <3

•••

Harry honestly didn’t drink very often. 

He would occasionally have a beer with friends at dinner or a glass of firewhisky on special occasions. He was typically the designated sober friend when Seamus and Ron wanted to get drunk and sing karaoke in muggle bars, ensuring that they made it safely to their homes at the end of the night. He didn’t mind; he loved seeing his friends happy. 

But after the day Harry had, he welcomed the blurred around the edges effect that crept into his vision as he downed his 4th drink at a local pub, and it was all because of Draco Bloody Malfoy. 

Harry and Draco’s paths began to cross quite frequently, Harry working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Draco being the healer to patch up his wounds when his Gryffindor heart outweighed his rational brain and got him into dangerous situations. The fifth time Harry ended up at St. Mungo’s, Draco simply shook his head and muttered, “We have got to stop meeting like this, Potter.” 

After getting over the initial awkwardness of ‘used to be enemies but are now grown adults with bigger issues’, they started to form an almost friendship. They both frequented a small, family owned Middle Eastern restaurant on their lunch breaks that was nearby the hospital, and after running into each other one two many times, decided to start sitting and eating together. “Because there’s no need to give the staff double the work, Potter.” Draco had scoffed when Harry had raised an eyebrow at his suggested arrangement. But he never complained. 

Harry sat on the stiff, wooden barstool, stirring his drink mindlessly and staring at the glistening ice cubes, possibly hoping they had advice for him, when he heard a familiar voice behind him. 

“This seat taken?” Ron Weasley sat down next to Harry and gestured to the bartender. “Can I get a pint of whatever you have on draft?” He turned to look Harry up and down. “You look like hell.” 

Harry raised his glass a bit and mutter “Cheers, mate.” 

Ron snorted. “Who is he and what’s he done to make the great Harry Potter run away to a bar to get plastered alone?” 

When Harry first “came out” to his friends, Ron was the first to accept it. He had a conversation with all of their male friends and told them if they ever said anything cross to Harry about it, he’d hex their bollocks off. He was so grateful for Ron’s unwavering loyalty. 

“How do you know it’s a bloke that’s got me gutted?” Harry replied, still staring down at his drink. 

“Please.” Ron scoffed. “You’ve been staring at that drink like it might lay you on a couch and start giving you relationship advice.” He took a swig of his drink and added “Plus I’ve known you since you were eleven, mate. You’re not as mysterious and hard to read as you think.”

That made Harry laugh and then groan. He put his head in his hands. “Ron. I think that I might fancy someone.” 

Ron looked startled, but replied, “Harry that’s great! Anyone I know?” 

Harry moaned into his hands and hesitated but finally answered. “I think...I think I fancy Draco Malfoy.” 

Harry hadn’t come to this realization quickly. Obviously he knew he was into blokes, but he never really considered anyone he was already acquainted with as an option. His small dating pool consisted of first dates with internet matches and set ups with friends of friends whose only similarity to Harry was their mutual queerness. 

But Draco was...well, Draco. He would insult and tease you to your wits end, but was fiercely protective of the people he loved being their backs. He was outwardly cocky and arrogant, but when Draco sat next to Harry’s bed at St. Mungo’s chatting with him hours after his shift ended, he would confide in Harry all the ways he was immensely unsure of himself. He confessed how frightened he was that someday he wouldn’t be allowed to continue his work because the wrong person wouldn’t want an “Ex Death Eater” saving their life. He admitted that he had been utterly terrified during the war; that he wandered out early on, but had no idea how to get out without risking his and his parents’ lives. He even thanked Harry for the time he saved him in the room of requirement. 

“I never showed you even an ounce of kindness, yet you risked your life just to save me. I didn’t know anyone could be that selfless.” 

Even after all that, Harry still hadn’t put a name to what he was feeling for Draco. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was until that morning; the morning that caused him to end up in the pub in the first place. 

Harry met Draco for lunch at their usual spot. They were talking about the recent Quidditch match that they had both read about in the Daily Prophet. 

“I don’t know why the Harpies don’t just go ahead and make Ginevra the starting seeker. She’s not doing any good on the bench, and she can fly circles around that Malcolm chap.” He sipped his coffee and continued, “I bet she could even give you a run for your money.” 

Harry laughed and took a bite of his falafel. “She could definitely kick my arse at this stage in my life. I haven’t been on a broomstick since the last time I tried to give Rose Weasley a flying lesson, and I think even she was better than me by the end of the day.” Draco flashed an easy smile at him.

They paid for their food and began to walk towards the hospital. There had been a misfired jinx at Harry’s work, resulting in all of the plumbing pouring out fruit pastilles instead of water. It didn’t seem like that big of a deal to him, but he was glad to have the rest of the day off regardless. 

They walked in comfortable silence for a bit. The restaurant hadn’t been busy, so Draco had a few minutes to spare before he needed to return to his shift. They decided to take a seat on the edge of an old fountain in the middle of the square. 

Draco looked at the water and laughed light heartedly. “Muggles are so odd. Why would anyone throw money into the water just to watch it sink? Do they know that it’s useless down there?” 

Harry couldn’t help but smile. “It’s a superstitious tradition. You throw the money in and make a wish, and it’s supposed to come true. I’m not really sure why, though. Maybe because you made some odd kind of offering to the god of water fountains.” Draco pursed his lips and considered this. 

“Here.” Harry said and reached into his pocket and pulled out two sickles. He handed one to Draco and closed his eyes. “I wish that the pipes get filled with candy at work more often so I can spend more time with my dear friend Draco.” He threw the coin over his shoulder, and it 

splashed into the water. Draco smiled. He stared at the coin in his hand for a long moment, and just as Harry was about to open his mouth and say something, he closed his eyes and closed his hand around the coin. 

“I wish that the world will someday see me for the good things I do in the present and will do in the future rather than the bad things I did in my past.” He tossed the coin over his shoulder and opened his eyes. 

Harry stared into the grey eyes he had lately been becoming more and more familiar with. There was a hint of sadness there, but also a look of steadfast finality. He knew that Draco would continue to try and pay for his mistakes time and time again, whether through healing those who needed him or reinventing himself into the kindhearted, compassionate individual he was today. A gust of wind suddenly blew his platinum blonde hair into his face, and without thinking, Harry reached up and gently pushed it out of the way, revealing his grey eyes once again. Draco stiffened, and Harry dropped his hand and looked away. After a too long pause, Draco cleared his throat. 

“I’ll- I better go inside, then.” He stood and brushed off the back of his trousers. Harry, carefully avoiding his eyes, nodded and stood as well. They both murmured awkward goodbyes and went their separate ways. 

•••

Harry rested his elbows on the sticky bar top and groaned again. He fancied Draco Malfoy, and now he wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover. 

Ron spluttered a bit, then finally said, “Well, it could be worse. At least he’s pretty attractive.” 

Harry shifted his gaze towards his friend, frowning. “Yes I’m quite aware of that, thanks.” He sighed. “I think I just need to have a few more drinks about it.” 

Ron smiled and patted Harry on the shoulder. Suddenly, his phone chimed, causing Ron to jump. He was still having trouble getting used to muggle technology. 

He frowned. “Uh oh. ‘Mione says baby Hugo’s got a stomach bug. I better get home and relieve her for a bit.” He stood up and said pointedly to Harry, “It’s not the end of the world, mate. If you think it’ll work, ask him out. If you don’t-“ he shrugged “I guess you’re on the right track.” He gestured towards Harry’s empty glass. “Listen, don’t try and apparate in your condition. Get a cab or something, and call me if you need anything.” Harry grunted a response, not knowing if he could say anything coherent in his state. Ron patted his shoulder again, then turned and headed out the door. 

Harry sighed, then asked the bartender for another drink. 

After a while, the crowd in the pub began to dwindle down, and Harry realized he should probably make the trek home. He stood up and saw stars and knew Ron was right; he definitely could not apparate like this, unless he wanted half of him to end up in the Pacific Ocean. But there was one problem- Harry didn’t have any muggle money for a cab, and he was too drunk to remember what to do in this situation. He remembered Ron’s offer and picked up his phone and went to his recent calls. He was about to choose Ron’s contact when he saw another name. 

‘Malfoy’ with a green snake emoji. 

Harry giggled and grinned, and thought ‘what the hell?’ He stepped outside and clicked the call button. 

It rang one and a half times, and a gravelly voice grumbled, “Potter? What the hell are you doing, do you know what time it is?” 

Harry snorted and replied, “Yes Draco, I do know how to read.” He giggled. “Just because I’m not in Ravenclaw doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” 

There was a short pause, and Draco remarked, “Are you drunk?” 

“Hmm”, Harry mused happily, and said, “Extremely.”

Draco let out an exasperated sigh, and there was a shuffle of movement on the other line. “Where are you?” He demanded. 

Harry looked and his vision swam. “Um. London?” He heard Draco inhale and start to say something, but quickly continued. “I’m just kidding, hah. There’s a street sign, but I don’t know what it says. Maybe I can’t read...” he trailed off. Then he spotted a familiar sculpture in front of a small park, and he perked up. “Oh! I see my statue!” He narrowed his eyes at the golden replica of him that had been placed there not too long ago. “It’s really embarrassing that they put that here. And I don’t think I’m actually that tall.” 

Draco sighed again, and said, “Potter. I’ll be there in approximately 4 seconds. Please try not to die.” The line went dead, and Harry heard the *crack* of someone apparating next to him. 

Put together, ready for the day Draco was already a sight to see; his pure blood upbringing instilled a need to constantly look flawless, no wrinkles or hairs out of place. He had immaculate posture, and one could tell by merely looking at him that he was someone important. But rumpled, hair perfectly messy, fresh out of bed blinking sleep from his eyes Draco? Well. 

He was so beautiful Harry could cry. 

“Hi.” Harry grinned drunkenly at him. Draco pursed his lips, looking equally amused and annoyed at the same time. 

He murmured a simple, “Hello.” 

Harry stared at his face, so gorgeously illuminated in the moonlight, sharp edges softened by the glow. Even in his drunken state, he wondered how he missed this; how he hadn’t recognized the burning need to stroke his ivory skin, run his fingers over his sharp nose, his lips... 

Harry shook his head and sighed. “I’m drunk.” 

Draco’s mouth turned up slightly at the corner, and he simply replied, “Quite.” He turned to look around. “We can side along apparate as long as you don’t try to do it yourself. Otherwise we’ll both end up splinched between here and Merlin knows where.” Draco put one arm around Harry’s waist and the other firmly on his bicep so they were chest to chest, while Harry tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. 

Draco looked at him softly, expression unreadable, and asked, “Are you ready?” Harry swallowed and nodded, trying to ignore how close their faces were. Harry closed his eyes and hoped he didn’t vomit as the familiar feeling pulled at his stomach and the air swirled around him.

Just as quickly as it had started, everything suddenly stilled. “Harry.” Draco whispered. Harry opened his eyes to see Draco staring at him intently, with the same soft and confusing look as earlier. “Come on, I’ll help you up the stairs.” 

Harry vaguely noticed that he didn’t quite recognize where they were, but he was focusing most of his attention on breathing steadily. He was extremely aware that Draco kept a firm hand on Harry’s waist as they walked up the stairs to a quaint little townhouse. Draco unlocked the door with the key and quietly let Harry inside. 

At this point, Harry could feel his eyes starting to close on their own and his legs start to grow weak from exhaustion. Luckily, Draco led Harry to a bedroom with a beautiful wooden four poster bed. He sat down on the edge and rubbed his temples while Draco rummaged through a dresser. He pulled out a shirt and a pair of sleep pants and handed them to Harry. 

“I’ll run and get you a glass of water.” He patted the top of Harry’s head before exiting the room and closing the door behind him. Harry quickly changed out of his stiff work clothes into the more comfortable ones Draco had leant him. He ran a hand through his unruly curls and moved to lay down. Draco came back with a glass of water and a small vial. 

“Take this in the morning. It’ll help a bit.” Draco smiled as he sat on the edge of the bed and shook his head. “I never thought I’d have to be the one to rescue Harry Potter from a drunken escapade.” 

Harry snorted sleepily. “I’m usually not one to drown my sorrows, but there’s a first time for everything.” 

Draco pressed his mouth into a hard line and retorted, “Who’s the lucky girl that got to break The Chosen One’s heart?” 

Harry just stared at him confused for a moment, before blurting out, “I’m gay.” Draco raised an eyebrow, and he continued, “Like, really really gay.” 

Draco once again got that unreadable expression on his face, but his shoulders relaxed a little bit. “Well, I hope whoever had you ‘drowning your sorrows’, as you so eloquently put it, is worth it.” He started to stand up, but Harry clumsily grabbed for his hand. 

“Wait no.” He frowned. “Keep talking, I want to fall asleep to the sound of your voice.” Draco’s face reddened (and Harry was way too drunk to consider what that meant), but nodded and sat back down. 

“What would you like me to talk about, then?” Harry closed his eyes and relaxed. “Tell me more about your wish. At the fountain.”

He heard Draco’s breathing, not slow and even, but not panting either. Harry was vaguely aware that he was still clutching Draco’s hand. “I know that there’s no excuse for my actions. I’m well aware that I hurt more people than I can even begin to understand,” he hesitated, “but I hope someday I’ll be remembered as someone who eventually started to help rather than hurt.” 

Harry wanted to keep listening, wanted Draco to talk to him until his voice gave out, but exhaustion was slowly taking over. He softly squeezed Draco’s hand and murmured, “I’ll always know that. I’ll remember.” 

As Harry drifted off to sleep, Draco whispered, “Thank you, Harry.” 

••• 

Harry woke up the next morning feeling as though he had been repeatedly run over by the knight bus. He groaned and sat up. With a start, he realized he was not in his bedroom. He looked around the light grey room as the events of the night before came flooding back to him. “Oh Merlin.” He moaned and put his head in his hands. 

“No, sorry, just me.” Draco smiled as he walked through the door. He set a mug of steaming tea next to Harry and said, “Three sugars and a pinch of cinnamon.” Harry looked up at him, squinting a bit as his eyes adjusted to the light. 

“You know how I like my tea.” He stated blatantly. “But I’ve never told you that before.” Draco looked away, embarrassed. 

“I’ve eaten lunch with you almost every day for the past four months, Potter. It’s an insult to my intelligence that you think I’m that unobservant.” There was no malice in his voice, only light hearted teasing. He looked at the bedside table and handed Harry his glasses and the vial he placed there the night before. “This won’t cure a hangover, but it’ll make it a hell of a lot more bearable.” 

Harry mumbled a thanks and slid his glasses onto his face. He downed the potion in one gulp and grimaced. Draco laughed at whatever face Harry was making. He grumbled, “Remind me never to go near alcohol again.” 

“Duly noted.” Draco said with another grin. “Come one them, I’ll make breakfast.” 

Harry walked into the living room and noticed the blanket and pillow laid on the couch. “You slept on the sofa?” Harry asked. 

Draco shrugged. “My bed was a bit occupied for the night.” 

“I would have shared.” Harry replied without thinking. Draco looked away and busied himself in the kitchen.

What on Earth was wrong with him, Harry wondered idly. Draco apparently had the uncanny ability to make Harry say whatever was on his mind, both drunk and hungover it seemed. Draco started to hum to himself while he buttered bread, and Harry walked over and sat himself on the counter and allowed himself to really stare. 

Draco was in the same rumpled shirt and sleep pants he had been wearing when he rescued Harry from the streets of London the night before. His hair was a bit flattened in the back from his pillow, and he had his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Harry let himself daydream about 

getting to witness this every morning; waking up to Draco, looking like a slightly disheveled Adonis, making Harry breakfast. His heart yearned for the domesticity of it all. 

He didn’t realize he’d been caught staring until he looked up and his eyes met Draco’s. His cheeks warmed and he but his lip, embarrassed, but didn’t look away. He tapped his fingers on the counter anxiously. Draco stared at him for a moment longer then looked away, continuing his cooking. “Are cheese toasties alright? I always like a bit of comfort food when I’m hungover.” Draco smiled at him, a small but still dazzling smile. 

“You don’t have to do that for me, I’m fine with anything, really.” He looked down at his fingers still tapping the counter. 

Suddenly Draco’s hand covered his, halting his anxious tapping. “A bit restless, are we?” he teased softly. Harry looked up, about to respond, and realized Draco’s face was mere inches away from his own. He wasn’t sure if it was the leftover alcohol in his system or if it was his stupid, reckless Gryffindor heart, but something in him made him suddenly close the distance between them to kiss him. 

As soon as he did it, he regretted it and pulled away. He leaped down from the counter and stumbled away towards the living room. 

“I’m- er, sorry, I’ll just...” he stuttered. “I’m going to go.” 

Draco reached an arm out to him. “Harry, wait-“ 

“Thank you for, um, all this. I-“, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “See you later.” 

He quickly disapparated, leaving Draco standing in the kitchen looking confused, his arm still extended towards Harry. 

••• 

Harry hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch since he had arrived in his flat 3 hours earlier. He laid on his back with his arm flung over his eyes, his head still pounding from the hangover and his mortifying actions in Draco’s kitchen. His heart sank every time he thought about it. The

truth was, even before Harry’s discovery of his more than friendly feelings towards Draco, he’d cherished their relationship. Ron and Hermione were great friends, but they were everything to each other and often were lost in their own bubble, which was something Harry couldn’t and didn’t want to compete with. His relationship with Draco was something Harry had all to himself. It was effortless and easy, and he found himself looking forward to any time they spent together. He knew he’d ruined everything, and he was already grieving the loss of their friendship. 

There was a soft knock on his door. He groaned. A local football team had been going door to door selling magazines to raise money for some kind of tournament for the past week. He got up and slowly walked to the door. As he opened it he said, “Look guys, I already bought a subscription last week, I’m really not interested in-“. He looked up. 

Draco stood in the doorway with a tentative smile plastered on his face. He held up a brown paper sack and said, “You left without your breakfast.” Harry blinked at him, not processing what was going on. “Er-“, Draco rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, “can I come in?” 

Harry blinked and nodded, stepping out of the way. Draco walked to the sofa and sat down. He looked back at Harry, who was still standing by the doorway looking flabbergasted, and gestured towards the empty seat next to him. Harry swallowed and slowly walked to the couch, sitting as far away from Draco as the tiny love seat allowed. 

They were both silent for a moment. Harry started to tap his fingers anxiously on the cushions, but he remembered what had happened the last time he had done that near Draco and decided to put his hands in his lap instead. 

Draco finally broke the silence by saying, “Do you remember Blaise Zabini?” 

Harry pursed his lips at the odd question but answered, “Of course. He works over at Gringotts now, right?” 

Draco nodded and continued, “He and I had a sort of fling in our fifth year. Very casual, very secret, but still very real.” 

Harry stared at him blankly until realization dawned on him. “So...you’re saying that you’re-“. 

“‘Like, really really gay’ as you so eloquently put it last night.” Draco smirked at him, and Harry gave him a tentative smile in return. Draco nonchalantly slid his knee closer to Harry’s and looked at him until he finally met his eyes. 

“And”, he began, ”I think that I’d like to give you a proper kiss, if that’s alright with you.” 

Harry swallowed loudly but managed to say, “I’d like that very much.” Draco smiled and slowly raised his hand to stroke Harry’s cheek. He moved towards him painfully slow, and Harry closed

his eyes and exhaled, parting his lips in a slight ‘o’ shape. Draco closed the last few inches between them and pressed their lips together. 

Draco’s lips were soft and warm as they moved slowly against his own. Harry slid a bit closer and placed one hand on Draco’s knee and the other at the nape of his neck, twisting his fingers in his hair and deepening their kiss. Draco slowly slid his tongue along Harry’s bottom lip and let out a soft moan. Harry, in a moment of blind confidence moved his hands to Draco’s thighs and pulled him onto his lap, never breaking their kiss. He felt Draco skim his teeth along Harry’s lip as Harry slid his hands underneath Draco’s shirt, resting on his hips and gently tracing circles on his bare skin. Draco moved his hands into Harry’s hair and tugged gently, making him gasp and accidentally breaking their lips’ embrace. Draco pressed their foreheads together, eyes still closed and trying to catch their breath. Harry opened his eyes and silently traced his fingers across Draco’s facial features like he had longed to do last night. Draco leaned into Harry’s palm, still straddling him with his hands tangled in Harry’s ebony hair. 

Harry was the one to eventually break their silence. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Draco quirked up an eyebrow. “You mean why didn’t I tell you that I’m gay, or why didn’t I tell you that I’ve wanted to snog the hell out of you since I was fifteen? Either way, it’s not something that just easily comes up in conversation, Potter.” He rolled his eyes but stroked his thumb against Harry’s face. 

“Well you could’ve told me either way. I-“, Harry stopped. “Wait. Did you say fifteen?” 

Draco but his lip. “I was a prat, I know. But I didn’t know how else to cope with falling for my sworn enemy. Very un-Slytherin of me.” Draco shifted so he was now sitting next to Harry with his legs stretched out across his lap. He held Harry’s hand in both of his and gently stroked his long fingers. “How long have-“, Draco stumbled, “Er-, when did you, um, realize?” 

Harry laughed quietly. “Well I’ve known I was gay since I was 17. But I only discovered my feelings for you-“, Harry put his hand under Draco’s chin and pulled his face up to look at him, “less than 24 hours ago.” Draco’s face was so comical he couldn’t help but laugh. “I knew I felt something for you; a tug in my stomach perhaps. But I only put a name to it yesterday. You know, drowning my sorrows and that whole bit.” Harry paused, watching Draco’s face, then continued, “And I think you are, by the way.” 

Draco looked at him questioningly. “Are what?” 

Harry smiled a crooked smile at him and replied, “You said you hoped whoever I was drinking about was worth it.” He pushed Draco’s hair out of his eyes like he had only yesterday at the fountain. “And I definitely think you are.”

Draco sighed. “Bloody Gryffindor’s. Ridiculous romantics, the lot of you.” But he beamed at him and pulled Harry in to kiss him again before saying, “Harry Potter, you have the most brilliant soul I have ever had the privilege of encountering.” 

Harry grinned and pushed him down on his back into the sofa and moved to hover over him. “Now who’s the romantic?” Harry stared into those granite grey eyes and smiled before kissing him once again.

•••

If you made it this far, thank you so so much for reading my fic! Please feel free to reply or message me with what you thought, any comments of suggestions for my writing, etc.! <3

[sylph-feather]

Resident

Summary: The student body is fascinated by the green eyes in the courtyard.

Prompt by @enigmaris

“Due to an unfortunate housing mix-up, Danny arrives at his first year of college only to find that he was never assigned a room! Rather than be stuffed into a too small dorm with five other guys, Danny decides to take the refund for his housing and find a place on campus to haunt until he can find his own apartment. Write a story about the new campus ghost everyone keeps spotting.”

Wordcount: 1438

They say it’s a pair of green eyes in the dark. Many dismiss that as just an animal: a squirrel, or (at most interesting) perhaps a raccoon. The Zoology majors throw around fancy words like tapeta lucidum, but the sentiment remains the same.

Still, the insistent say “it’s too tall,” or “floating,” and won’t be swayed by any notions of fences or reflective animal eyes or tricks of light.

But if it were only two eerie wisps floating on the large lawn, it would not have gained much traction.

No, no, of course there’s more.

Underneath the lawn, there’s a large physics lab— underground to keep cool. Some say that it’s been cooler than normal, in the night, when they burn their candle with coffee in order to get a paper done. There’s frost patches on the lawn in the morning sometimes, even when it’s not at all been the weather for it.

Some physics students (astrophysics especially), strained looks in their eyes, say that sometimes when they go to do a lab in the night (long after they should have, or should be there or even awake) the equipment stills from movement and papers ruffle with a ghoulish wind— as though someone else had been doing that same assignment, and quickly ghosted out of there. Literally.

...Little do they know, they’re quite accurate. Danny Fenton is a similar procrastinator, and he simply has the added bonus of being half ghost on top of it, sneaking down to the labs to get last minute work done.

And, as for the lawn— well. There… was a housing mix up. A mix-up he just kind of shrugged off, said, “sure, I have a place to stay until something opens up.”

...He sleeps floating, invisible. It’s quite comfortable, oddly enough, and he takes almost a comfort in being Phantom so casually in this new place.

The other students don’t find their apparent haunting quite as comforting. Hence, you know, the rumours.

...It really, really comes to a head the day more logical students become interested. Science majors sticking their noses into things, because surely these observable phenomena have a similarly observable cause.

The most popular theory is faulty cold vents from the labs, animals revelling consistently in that with the summer, consistently enough to provide those eyes. Other theories regard anything from a release of liquid nitrogen to hallucinations.

Needless to say, nerds that they are, they are curious, and curiosity leads to tests.

Perhaps, if Danny were less tired, he would’ve been invited— but no, that nerdy group encourage the tired looking teen (in truth, tired from another night literally ghosting the astrophysics lab) to get some rest. They resolved to tell him about it tomorrow.

That is, until the bump into him. Literally.

Well, the group doesn’t know it’s him— looking for a vent or gas leak, somebody’s head collides with something solid, mid-air.

Phantom falls gracelessly out of the sky, pinwheeling his arms to crumple into something less face first but still uncomfortable.

The nerd group stares. And stares. And stares.

“This has got to be a prank,” one finally says.

Danny blinks awake. “Uh, yes, haha! Yes! You got me, putting, uh,” he pauses. One of his palms is flat on the soft grass, and beneath it he creates a handful of ice cubes. “Ice! Ice. On the lawn.” Phantom pauses again. “To make people think there’s a ghost.”

“You’re glowing,” another points out, dumbfounded.

Danny’s laugh just gets more nervous, more unbelievable. “Gotta look the part, I guess,” he tries.

“How are you glowing?” one asks. “Is that makeup bioluminescent?” Agh, Zoology major, Danny curses mentally.

“Yes,” Danny agrees, “let’s go with that.”

“I bumped into something midair,” says the mousy boy who had indeed bumped into a floating Phantom, running straight into that horizontal figure and taking it right in his chest. “And then you showed up. Right after.”

“Me being a ghost,” Phantom scoffs. “That’s ridiculous.”

And then before anyone else says anything, he playfully floats off the ground and gives a mock salute before flickering out of existence.

The students yell and circle like angered, frightened, confused chihuahuas, yipping and yelping about this and that. Danny watches from further in the air, snickering. He is far from Amity Park, where ghosts are an expectation and a reality. There are no actual (that is to say, effective) ghost hunters here.

They investigate further-- now the popular theories are that all this is some elaborate prank (they justify his weirdness with light tricks and whatnot), and the second being that all this was some shared hallucination (perhaps from a gas leak indeed). They find evidence of neither; no projectors, no escaped vents, nothing.

Danny dozes off, high in the air, befuddled and now tired students searching all night.

The next morning, the science group presents a logical, factual report. There is one section with a neutral description of the night: ...bumped into a solid object in the air. It appeared that a person fell from, or was this object. They appeared male, with white, wispy hair, wearing what appeared to be a jumpsuit of black with white gloves, and a distinct spiked logo of a D. He appeared to put off a glow, and had green eyes. We exchanged words. Dialogue transcript and artistic rendition attached below.

Underneath the transcript and picture-- a picture, Danny noted, was quite alright, though a little vague on the facial features-- was notes on theories.

Of course, the student body only cared about the first part of the document.

His backpack was hidden in some swirling ghostly pocket space-- something he learned how to do and was quite useful given the housing mishap. Still, it was annoying to have more and more students poke around the lawn when he was trying to sleep.

Now that he’d mostly passed off the ghost fighting to his parents (he occasionally teleported back and forth to Amity, but that took a lot of energy), Danny was actually enjoying freedom of sleeping. He still, of course, pulled the stupid student things going down into the lab to finish a project last minute at ungodly hours of night, but he was still largely enjoying this new sleep. So yes, annoying.

After a week of the same number of people still poking around, Danny decided that no, it wouldn’t die off, so he planned something.

Phantom began showing up elsewhere.

Green eyes in the forest, a flit of a jumpsuit above the fountain, flickers in the hallways. Just little bits; enough to be seen, enough to direct their search elsewhere, but not enough to actively wig people out. Danny’s goal wasn’t fright, after all, it was to be left alone, please, I like sleep.

That’s how it went until Skulker showed up, that is.

Ghosts had trouble away from ghost portals; even Danny needed some spare ectoplasm from his parents to keep that half of himself powered up, and he had a human half’s energy to fall back on. They tended to turn wispy and fragile, barely-there things that were more the typical picture of ghosts.

Skulker managed to secure some tech; perhaps Fenton, even, considering his parents had been trying to design him an ecto-generator that put out sustainable energy for a longer time than just consuming raw ectoplasm. Skulker certainly had a new, fancily whirring thing on his suit when he came on the lawn, missiles ablazing in broad daylight, and demanded: “ghost child, come out! Your cowardly place of hiding is doomed, and any others shall be doomed as well! I shall hunt and pursue you to the ends of the earth, now!”

The student body, many on their way to lunch, stared gaping at the maniac. Danny smacked his face amongst the camera clicks and amazed chatter, then slid away, hiding. Easy to do when everyone was so focussed elsewhere.

“Seriously, were you itching for a fight that badly? Something go wrong with Ember again?” Phantom barked, flickering into visibility on the lawn. “I’ll have to find somewhere to sleep, now,” he scoffed at Skulker accusingly, “they’ll never leave the lawn alone now.”

Indeed, the student body had a general murmur: “it’s him.”

“Making a name for yourself here, too, whelp?” Skulker scoffed, firing off a few missiles.

Danny shrugged. “Not necessarily intentionally, I guess.” He frowned, turned to the student body, “and in case you were wondering, the name’s Phantom,” he declared. “Don’t want any repeats of Inviso-bill,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

The students were all gaping.

“You’ll get used to it,” Danny said, and set about frying Skulker’s mechanics.

[anxiouslowercase]

sweet escape

fandom: dc comics warning: none? just young adults heavily making out at some point. also it’s 5k summary: it's not that Cassie needs to get away from her friends per se, but if the opportunity presents itself for her to sneak out and meet the guy she's heavily falling for... well, she's going to take it. After all, it's not every day they casually coincide under the same roof at the exact same time - better make the best of it while she can. notes: everyone is of age (they’re in their twenties.) jay and cassie are not a couple, but rather kinda testing the waters and seeing what happens. yes we do love rarepairs in this house. and as always, massive thank you to @achinghcarts for being the best beta <3 ao3 link

Cassie fidgets with the phone in her hands, glancing at the time and, most importantly, at the notification bar atop the screen. It has been flicking alive repeatedly in the last hour or so, her messaging app the sole responsible of it. Not that this is something particularly unpleasant; oh no, on the contrary. Though linked to her rather restless state, the back-and-forth of texts in which she's been participating has done nothing but send occasional tickles to her stomach and put a dumb smile on her face that she's been doing her best to bite down. Which, yes it is kind of unbecoming because she's not fifteen anymore, but at the same time, how could something that makes her so giddy be something bad?

So no, it's not that she wanted that to stop. If anything, she just wanted things to escalate in some way, which in this particular case meant actually seeing the person she kept trying to flirt with via text. (Though whether such flirting was in any way successful is something Cassie cannot tell for sure yet - as much as she'd like to.) And one would think that, considering right now they are both under the same (enormous) roof, that wouldn't exactly be a problem - yet as she glances up at the three loud boys yelling at each other over who was very clearly cheating at Mario Kart, she can't be all that sure.

Though, of course, she can always try.

"Hey, Tim?" There's a sound quite similar to a hum or a grunt, and the girl figures that's an acknowledgement of sorts. "I'm gonna go get some water, I'll be right back."

"Bathroom's not that bad," Bart interjects quickly yet casually, eyes still trained to the screen in front of him.

"Y-yeah, but," she stands up from the bed, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. "I could use some ice cubes."

"If you're not back in forty minutes we'll send a search party." She resists the urge to smack the robin's head in passing, deciding instead to stealthy leave the room, conjuring up the most casual air to her step.

It all changes when she's in the hallway.

It's hard to say if nervous is the right word to describe her feelings. Her breath has picked up a small notch, and the steps she takes along the corridor are a bit unsure, but they do remain consistent; she is moving forward with this. The thing is, though, that Cassandra Sandsmark has never been exactly smooth, so it honestly beats her what is the best possible way to tell your boyfriend-that-is-not-boyfriend that you have ditched your friends to see him for a bit without exactly sounding desperate. Cause that she knows she isn't. Even if she actually chose her clothes carefully and tried to put a bit of make up on and definitely attempted to tame her curls before showing up at Wayne Manor today - that doesn't have to mean she's desperate.

Right?

No, of course not. Which is why she also can't just ask the guy to show up and meet her. It has to be a bit more casual than that, more natural - like yes she wants to see him but also no, she wouldn't just impose herself on him. Plus, Cissie always said you had to let boys believe they were the ones constantly scheming, that they were the ones in control. So he should believe he wanted her. She turns down another random corridor, her head too occupied in its thoughts to properly identify it. Maybe casually show up somewhere he could be? Pass by, expect him to notice her? Then maybe he'd think he is luring her away and--

Oh, who's she kidding - this is ridiculous.

Jason is not some boy, and they're not playing any kind of games with each other; they promised that much, for crying out loud! She is being not just desperate but also a freaking idiot for having left her friends when at no point there was any indication that the guy who isn't even her boyfriend, by the way, wanted to be with her now besides the flirty remarks that, frankly, she couldn't even guarantee were all that because she is the most incompetent flirt who's ever been on this Earth. And that's definitely counting Bart. And Tim. Hera, her aunt Aphrodite is probably ashamed.

And if that weren't enough, now she's Hermes knows where in freaking Wayne Manor, with no idea where Tim's room is, feeling too mortified and embarrassed to let her friends know. Which of course just means she's gonna have to keep wandering along the hallways, hoping that--

"Hey, Goldie." She barely manages to stop herself before awkwardly bumping into something that is very much not a wall. "Come here often?"

Hera, if you can hear her, please don't let Kon be monitoring her heartbeat right now. Because right there, in all his handsome glory, stands Jason Todd and, honestly, his smirk is doing things to her. Things as in almost sending her into cardiac arrest because she was very much caught off guard, or completely knocking the breath out of her. Oh, and let's not forget the already getting old leaving her totally speechless kind of thing. So yes, Cassie is not alright and therefore does not need her friends to be aware of such thing at any point soon. What she does need, however, is to say something, because as attractive as the man's smile is, there's only so much he'll make it last before surely look at her gaping self weird. So she takes a breath and-

"Hey," is the only thing she manages to croak out. Literally, the only one before her mind goes completely blank once again. Talk about appealing and attractive, huh? And here she'd thought her texts had been a failure.

Surprisingly though, either due to an altered state of mind, or because he got some kind of kick of seeing her struggle with the most basic functions, Jason does not leave or even look displeased. Instead, he reduces even further the distance between them, one of his hands coming to rest against the wall next to her head with an air of casualness that Cassie wouldn't have been able to emulate even in her best days. Heat creeps up her ears.

"Hey," he repeats, as if she hadn't made a fool of herself. "Looking for something?"

You. All my life, maybe, somehow.

"Uhm. Maybe?" Okay. Alright, that wasn't that bad, right? Could've been much worse, really.

He seems to think something similar, if the smirk turning wider on his lips is anything to go by. Lips that she could've sworn she was not staring at, honestly, but by Hera, now that she's looking into his eyes again, is he... Is he closer?

"Did you find it?" No, yeah, she's definitely trapped against the wall now, suffocating warmth spreading all over her face and heart hammering against her ribcage so bad it almost hurts. And yet she can't find it in her to move an inch; on the contrary, there's definitely a part of her that wants the distance between them to be even smaller. Or not to exist at all, that works too.

"M-maybe..." Her voice is barely over a whisper, and it's a pathetic display of self control, but honestly right now Cassie's only thoughts are about how she's sure she can feel Jason's fingertips almost brushing at her waist and Holy Hera why won't he just grab her already?

"Cool." His voice is low, the vibrations of it crashing against the skin on her neck, mixing with his breath and sending a pleasurable shiver down her spine. Her eyes flutter, and she almost unconsciously tilts her head to the side, inviting him to go ahead and kiss her, nibble, mark her.

... Okay, maybe that was a bit too much. Maybe she actually is a bit desperate. Especially considering they're in the middle of a hallway in freaking Batman's house and anyone could walk past any minute and this could be so embarrassing and why can't she find it in her to care about any of that right now?

Fingers brush gently against her knuckles, and it's only then that she notices not only how tight they were closed, but also how they were somehow gripping almost viciously at Jason's shirt. Oh Hera.

Her fist unclenches immediately, as if she had been holding something hot, yet as she brings her hand to cradle it at her chest she's well aware that she is the one burning in embarrassment. Even without any way to see herself, Cassie just knows that her whole face is crimson red, and her heart is again beating furiously, drumming deafeningly in her ears (or had it never actually stopped?) Her breath also feels a bit ragged, but shamefully enough she can't exactly tell from what that comes.

"S-sorry, I..." She closes her eyes for a second, swallowing and taking a deep breath to kind of put herself together because, honestly, she doubts she's helping her case and making a good impression right now.

But surprising her yet again, Jason does not make fun of her obvious eagerness, nor does he push her away. Instead, he gently looks for her restrained hand and just takes it, holding it for barely a second before softly lace their fingers together. It does not help her sudden inability to think clearly, let alone talk. Things don't necessarily improve when he presses that hand against the wall - some of her thoughts do seem to return, but not exactly the ones she could voice in some random hallway.

"So, what's your alibi? How much time you have?"

"Uh... Ice cubes," she replies after a second, closing her eyes to try and clear her head a bit - those of the Red Hood were not to be underestimated. Thugs really don't know how lucky they are not to have to see them each night. Or maybe she is the lucky one, despite her obvious helplessness? "Tim said half an hour. Before they send the search party." He snorts.

"That little shit." Cassie blinks a couple of times, brow furrowed ever so slightly in confusion - how was that a problem? Isn't half an hour plenty of time? What are they doing anyways?

Jason looks back at her, a slightly mischievous smile on his face and it's only then that she realizes she said that last bit out loud and Hera when will she be able to stop blushing and embarrassing herself?

"Well, it's a lot less fun if I tell you," he says, leaning over to, in her humble opinion, very seductively brush the tip of his nose along her neck. For a second, she's actually worried her knees will buckle. "Come with me?" And of course, what's she gonna do but nod, compliant and utterly freaking weak.

Shameful.

To say that she knows or registers where he's taking her or the halls and rooms they pass would be a big fat lie because, to be fair, there's very little that she can think of when Jason holds her hand, or when he pulls her close against him in a turn. Which, yes, it's silly and there's no way in hell she's ever confessing to anyone how much of a teen she felt like doing this. But she does. And she chuckles, because at least to herself she can admit how much she likes this guy. And that's a lot.

"Nice to see you're in a good mood," he mentions, coming to a slow stop in front of a set of wide wooden doors. The demigoddess manages to get a good hold of herself to offer a small shrug, her hand gently tugging at his (despite her being the one to step closer.)

"How could I not? Good things are happening." His smile, though it looks much like his usual cocky smirk, has a certain softness to it this time, she thinks, and it makes warmth bloom on her chest. Hera, she really wants to kiss him.

But before she can even try to do anything, he turns to open one of the doors and silently guide her into probably one of the most magnificent rooms she's ever seen - the library.

"And this is just getting started, Goldie."

Jason had definitely told her about this particular room at the Manor, even with a bit more detail than Tim ever had - it was just plain easy to tell who spent the most time here. Neither of them had been shy in commenting the dimensions of the place or the overall poshness of it, yet whatever mental image she'd previously held of it did not do it justice.

The place was just massive - several tall wooden bookshelves were meticulously placed in the space, all of them filled to the brim with books of every size and dimension, with different spines showing a wide array of colors and materials. There was a reading section, properly equipped with tables, lamps, notebooks and what looked like very sturdy, very comfortable chairs, as well as a... Cozier section, furnished with a couple of armchairs, a love seat, some fluffy-looking pillows and an enormous beanbag with a mess of blankets on it. Cassie knew immediately whose spot that was.

"Make yourself comfortable," Jason says behind her, hand ghosting over her lower back. "I'll go pick up what I wanna show you." And with that she's left standing in front of the furniture, willpower focused on not turning around to see where the guy was going.

Her feet move cautiously towards the love seat, floor barely creaking below her steps. The cushions are just as silent and about the softest, mushiest she's ever sat on. In fact, right away Cassie all but sinks into it, finding it softer and far more comfortable than any mattress she's ever slept on. Out of habit more than anything else, she grabs one of the smaller pillows and puts it on her lap, fingers gently playing with the nice, velvet fabric; it takes her a double take to notice she's drawing hearts. Weak.

"I see you've wisely avoided Timmy's favourite seat." She turns around after a little jump, chuckle easily escaping her lips.

"Well, I've heard it's no good to disrupt a bird's nest." They both lean against the back of the couch - Jason resting his forearms on it, a small smile showing; he gives her chin a quick yet gentle touch.

"Smart girl."

Cassie almost expected him to jump over the back of the love seat to sit on it - it was the kind of thing she was used to, after all, with Kon and Bart. However, he calmly walks around it and takes his place next to her like a civilized person. It's not something she should find herself swooning over, really, but alas, here she is. At least she does manage to not snuggle up against him despite her first instinct which, hey, see? Not desperate.

She gives him a smile, wide and warm, yet slightly timid. He returns it, and though there is no shyness in his, there's again that hint of softness in it, a tiny purse of lips as if he were about to say something, as if he wanted to let some words out. But instead, she finds that they come from his eyes, that it's his gaze that speaks volumes, except she's not versed well enough to understand it. Her head tilts, just barely.

"What?" It's a whisper, gentle so as not to disturb the atmosphere, not to break the spell that's set in the room between them. Yet, it seems that's loud enough to snap him out of his daydream, and he shakes his head making that lovely white streak of hair dangle for a second; she glances at it.

"Nothing. - got something for you," he adds quickly, straightening up a little. She mirrors him, intrigued, yet finding it hard to look anywhere away from his eyes, which is why it isn't until he looks down that she follows his gaze and sees what he's handing her; she gasps, quietly.

In his hands, there is a breathtaking book. Its cover is a rich, dark blue embellished with small, beautiful stars of what seems like actual gold blooming from the spine all across to the other side. In the middle, the bottom half of what she can only imagine is a gorgeous woman wrapped in a chiton interrupts the starry scene. There are silver letters spelling the title over it, and she doesn't even notice her fingers are tracing them until she spots them. A bit embarrassed, she retracts, but Jason presses the book swiftly in her direction.

"I know you're really into history," he starts, and maybe if she weren't so enraptured by the volume now in her hands, she'd notice he isn't exactly looking at her. Not like before. "And myths. And that Greek makes up for... A big part of you." They both chuckle, and Cassie lets her index move along the lines of the garment in the cover. "So - women of ancient Greece, their forgotten stories, their relevance..." He trails off and she looks up, a wide grin on her lips.

"This sounds... Amazing. I had never heard of this book. I'm- wow. Wow, this..." Eloquent as always, huh?

"You should have it. Read it." The guy gives the cover a small tap, and she giggles. Ridiculous. "I think you're gonna like it."

"Like it? Jay, I already adore it, I--" she shakes her head, hands carefully caressing the spine of the volume. "It sounds so good, like... They just literally found everything I like and compiled it all together!" A laugh escapes her mouth, and she misses the way his lips twitch, his head tilt. "I'm gonna start it right away and... Hera, I mean, this goes without saying but I'm gonna take extremely good care of it, okay, nothing will happen to it," she says, solemnly, hugging the copy tight. "And I'm sorry, I'll just right off apologize in advance because I'm sure I'm going to ramble about this to you so much and I genuinely can't wait to--" but the words, the idea dies on lips that aren't even her own. They're thinner and a bit more chapped and hot.

It's kind of a paradox, how Jason kisses. It's urgent yet slow, deliberate but careless, in a way. It's rough and exciting, but at the same time gentle and comfortable. It's unique, just like the man himself is, and soon enough Cassie is perfectly lost in feelings and sensations, her previous speech forgotten in favor of basking in touches, grips and caresses. She can feel his fingers tangling on the mess of curls at her nape, just as her hand takes a fistful of his shirt to pull him closer again and... Wasn't she holding a book just now?

But the thought is wiped away when Jason's fingertips dig into the flesh of her waist, and his lips suck a delightful trail along her jaw. If she didn't know any better, she'd find something almost territorial in the gesture. But she's too busy focusing on keeping herself quiet to dwell on the idea too much, and her head still cocks to the side either way, baring her neck even if his mouth chooses to go a bit further up. A shiver travels down her spine as his breath tickles her earlobe.

"You look really pretty when you're excited, you knew that?" In normal circumstances, she probably would've blushed. Now, however, a hum is the only form of acknowledgement she provides, hands tugging him closer with just a bit of super strength. Not that he resists too much, really.

Their lips clash together once again and it feels good, and she really tries hard not to vocalize that in any way because that would sound a bit desperate, right? And yeah, like - okay, she is kinda wishing he'll kiss her deeper, especially when both his hands press against the low of her back. But it's not like she can just go ahead and say it. She gently parts her lips instead, reaching out to cup his cheek, his neck, kinda wishing he'd get her hint. And Hera, he does.

His grip tightens a bit, just enough for her back to naturally arch towards him and elicit the faintest sigh from her lips when she feels his broad chest against herself. She doesn't consider this to be too bad of a thing, if the speeding up of their kiss is anything to go by.

She does however feel his hands splaying out further up her back but... More towards its sides? And there's now a sudden loss where the warmth of his body used to be just now, and a part of Cassie wants to protest at this new development, but then there's more pressure against his mouth and it's nice, but... How is that even happening? And her brow goes ahead and furrows a little in confusion, until there's a brush of velvet against her arm and oh, she's leaning back. She's leaning back and he's right on her and Hera she should not, they should not be doing this in the Wayne's library. 

Which is actually a valid thought, and something the young heroine could try and voice out, but the rational side of her brain is barely operative at best by the time her back lands against the cushions, and it just shuts down completely when Jason's lips start moving towards her throat. Guy's too good of a kisser, to the point of unfairness, really, and she wants to kind of tease him about it, playfully try and banter about him having too much power, but totally unexpectedly (though in retrospective maybe she should have expected it) he manages to find that sweet spot below her ear where jaw and neck converge and the only sound she manages is a breathless gasp.

There's a fraction of a second in which everything is quiet, as if paused, and Cassie can hear her accelerated heart hitting her rib cage arrhythmically as she fruitlessly tries and processes what just happened, tries to keep still and clear the sudden fog in her head. But then there's a gentle, tentative suck on that very same spot and there's just heat and her fingers dig against Jason's neck all but imploring him to repeat the action and suddenly it's like time has been resumed to its normal speed.

Her head tilts to the side to give his mouth free reign while one of her hands tangles in his dark locks as a means to provide just the smallest directions that, fairly speaking, he doesn't even need because he's easily turning her into goo by himself just fine. So her other hand moves to grab his shoulder, to caress his back and keep him grounded against her while her leg unconsciously moves to try wrap around one of his and they really shouldn't be doing this in the Wayne's library.

And maybe some deity from above seems to agree with that annoying part of Cassie's consciousness, for before she miserably fails to bite back a whimper, there's a loud buzzing sound. By her ear, she could've sworn Jason lets out something akin a growl and it should've not set her stomach on fire.

"Yours or mine?" He asks a bit husky and that really isn't much better. She stares at him half a second, trying to remember how does one even talk.

"Neither," is what she ends up managing to breath out, immediately cupping his face and bringing him in for a kiss. He doesn't actually protest.

She ends up finding out that sucking onto Jason's upper lip makes his grip on her tighten in that deliciously nice way that, she muses, could only feel better were his fingers directly against her skin instead of over annoying fabric, but she forces herself not to dwell too much on the thought, for it is definitely not the best moment to do so. Though being fair, it's not like she can focus on something even remotely rational - right now, the only thing she can feel is Jason Todd and you know what? She actually does not mind one bit. Not when she can feel the whole of him envelop her, when he can so easily raise goosebumps and warmth in her like it's no big deal, when he somehow knows exactly which patch of skin to graze his teeth against, when he doesn't manage to fully hold in the groans that she--

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

She knows it's hers by the way it annoyingly drills at her side, and she doubts there has been any other time in which she's been so tempted to just throw her phone across the city. In fact, she kinda even considers it right before the weight previously pinning her down lifts. It feels disappointing.

"Go ahead," Jason mumbles, and she should actually give him credit for even mustering a smile, no matter how little.

"I'm sorry, I..." She shakes her head as she sits up, picking up the device in the process. Though she can't quite bring herself to look at him in the eye just yet, she does find some comfort in him not moving away and staying sat right beside her still.

Tim's name is the one flashing on her screen, for the first time tonight, and she can't repress her annoyed huff. Better be something important.

» if you're done sucking my brother's face, kon's asking about u

» ABORT » ABORT » HE'S MENTIONED JAY TOO CAREFULLY

Oh, come on.

She's about to hit the reply button when another text buzzes through.

» get back here unless you want to deal with him there

She really wants to shove the stupid thing away. And maybe punch Conner. Actually scratch that maybe, she does - how come she doesn't have to worry about her mother throwing a fit but she has to deal with him? How's that fair, after everything!?

Gentle fingers bring her back to reality, her shoulders slumping as she leans into the touch almost automatically.

"Want me to walk you back?" She sighs, scrunching her nose a little.

"I don't wanna further... Ruin your night with a stupid argument." His snort actually makes her smile, even if weakly.

"As if Superkid had that power." But his expression softens, and he brushes a rebel curl behind her ear. "Come on, I know a shortcut to get to Timbo's room."

And, just as expected, Jason does not lie and she makes it to the family wing basically in record time. Which, in her opinion, is already reason enough to spend a few extra minutes with the guy; most importantly to voice out the thoughts that were nagging on the back of her mind as they walked through the halls.

"Hope this wasn't... Too bad of an interruption of your night." Her tone is shy but sincere, and the amusement on Jason's expression is far too gentle to bother her.

"Goldie, no offense, but if I hadn't wanted you to find me, you wouldn't have." And that... Makes a lot of sense for a bat, now that she thinks about it. But it also means that... "I'm glad you swung by to say hi." Her cheeks redden.

"Well. It was my pleasure." Way too literally, at that. Something that he seems to pick up on, for he smirks.

"Oh, mine as well." And though the kiss that punctuates the statement is nothing less than amazing, Cassie can't help but feel is a bit too short and just a further reason why making the last couple of turns up to Tim's bedroom seem harder.

But she manages, and when she opens the door she can immediately see Robin's posture drop in relief. Ridiculous.

"We were about to send a search party for you." Conner is the first to speak, his blue eyes dancing between her and the screen in front, where they're still playing Mario Kart. She pretends to believe his joking tone.

"It's a big house. I took a wrong turn once."

"Oh, bad choices, who'd have thought?" That part is muttered, but even without superhearing Cassie manages to catch it. She frowns, but his friend is conveniently not looking at her. Coward. "Where's your glass?"

"Why would I want to litter Tim's room, more than it already is?" The aforementioned boy protests, though it could've also been at Bart sabotaging his race. "Just drank my water, had my ice cubes, left the glass there and came back."

Her tone is sharper, an attempt to just cut the stupid conversation there because, honestly, she's not in the mood for this. She even starts walking towards the bed with every intention of just lying there until morning when she sees, in the corner of her eye, the kryptionian's gaze falling to the book she's carefully carrying on one hand. Shit, right!

"Oh, by the way Tim," she starts, doing her best to sound nonchalant. "Found the library on my way, hope you don't mind I went ahead and got that book you mentioned the other day." Conner frowns, dubious as he glances back at his best friend, possibly checking his reaction. Not that this is in any way a problem, for he doesn't even look away from the screen as he shrugs.

"As long as you didn't touch my stuff." Cassie allows herself to sigh in relief, internally. On the outside, though, she rolls her eyes, walking to Superboy's side.

"No, bird boy, I didn't touch your nest. But you need better organization skills."

"I have a perfectly good system going on, thank y-YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Bart full on laughs out loud as he wins first place, shoving a handful of sweet popcorn into his mouth. Or, well, what's left of a handful after being hit by a pillow-projectile from Tim. This exchange seems to be reassuring enough for Conner, whose shoulders relax, tension leaving his face too. And though Cassie is still annoyed at his attitude and his childish ways, she can't help but smile a little and poke one of his cheeks.

"Stop being so grumpy," she jokes in a whisper, and it even seems to amuse the guy! Though she should've seen something was coming when there was no grin on his lips but a smile instead.

She didn't, though, and so she ends up yelping when he picks her up, a mix of ttk and super strength making sure she had no way to escape before he sat on the bed again, this time with Wonder Girl on his crossed legs. Before she can emit any sound of protest, the book is gone from her hands and a controller is pressed onto them instead, a new game loading on the screen.

"You're good in Rainbow Road, right?" His arms wrap loosely around her waist, his chin resting on her left shoulder.

"Kinda decent, yeah, but--"

"Kick Bart's ass for me? I've been humiliated one too many times." She snorts.

"You do know no one beats Bart, right?" In cue, the youngest member of their group lets out his take at a villainous laugh. On her ear, Conner groans.

"Fine, Tim then. Please?"

Truth is, Cassie doesn't really want to play, she wasn't thinking of it. Her plan was to lie in bed, get started on the book, and possibly go back to texting Jason with updates on it if he was still in the mood to talk to her. But seeing as there was no easy way to get out of there (and quite literally at that,) she gives up and lets out a big, exaggerated sigh.

"Alright, fine. But if I win you owe me." The only answer she gets is a peck on her cheek before the weight of Conner's head sets back on her shoulder, but it seems enough to alleviate the previously building tension and allow them to resume what this was suppose to be from the start - just a chill night in.

Besides, later, when she's back in her own room and a folded piece of paper falls down from the tenth chapter in the book, Cassie's definitely gonna be glad she didn't risk the note getting lost somewhere in Tim's bedroom. Worse, somewhere near Kon.

(This, however, did not cancel out the annoyance she felt when his friend grunted that *she needs a new perfume* after taking a breath near her neck.)