#and also in stars and time has had a serious iron grip on my mind ever since I finished it

[mewnia]

Wip ;P

Song is “Time Machine” by Autoheart!

#In Stars and Time #isat fanart #isat #isat siffrin #isat isabeau #work in progress #wip #autoheart #I’ve been chugging through this one way faster than my Tales of Arise project #I think part of it is because the characters are simpler to draw and the original art style already has so much flexibility haha #and also in stars and time has had a serious iron grip on my mind ever since I finished it #it’s such a good game #go play it #pls #mewnia's pawprints

[hockeyforthefirsttime]

The Art of Not Falling in Love- Roope Hintz

AN: This is a piece that is very self indulgent BUT it has a plot despite being like 80% smut. I am thinking of making more parts if people like this 

Word count: 5k 

TW: like its smut.. so like what do you expect. (Wrap it before you tap it) spanking light dom!Roope female reader 

You could never quite understand how you got into this situation. You’d sworn to never fall in love ever. The pain of watching the gruesome divorce of your parents, the way your friends seemed to find “the one” left and right, only to be heartbroken, was simply too much. So you decided to simply don’t fall in love ever. 

And you’d kept that promise to yourself, ever since 15. Sure a few crushes came up now and then, but you never acted on them, and you made sure no one knew about the feeling. The only person in your life that knew about this promise to yourself was your best friend Jamie.

The first person you’d met in Dallas when you’d first moved there. You had been a freshman in college and he had been, ironically so, the first person to hit on you in Dallas, and you hadn’t even officially gotten there yet.  It happened on the plane ride. He was seated beside you and you couldn’t for the life of you remember the pick up line he used. You just know it was bad, cause you remember laughing at it and the way he tried to manage his long limbs into the airplane seat. It had gone uphill from there on, and you were glad he didn’t get offended by you laughing at him. 

Now, however, you were sitting in the stands of the American Airlines Center, watching him and his team scramble across the ice in a turnover, passing the puck up the ice. Roope Hintz picks it up and flicks it into the goal, just over the left shoulder of the Blackhawks goalie, making the Stars take the lead with three minutes left in the third period. The stands erupt in wild cheers and the team celebrates on ice. You jump with the rest of the crowd, and clap enthusiastically. Knowing that it’s gonna be an insufferable team to meet afterwards. After all, athletes tend to be after winning a game like this. 

The buzzer goes off and the Dallas Stars have officially ended their losing streak. The crowd is going wild, jumping up and down, making the stands shake just a little. Thats when you decide to sneak out of the stands and find your way to the outside of the locker room, where Jamie had promised he would meet you. 

You have been around a few times, and sure enough you find your way. Jamie had made sure to let the security staff know that you would be around after the game. There is a soccer ball laying around so you pick it up and start bouncing it on your jeans clad thigh, then dropping it down onto your foot and up again, alway in control. You lose yourself to the ball, concentrating on keeping it in the air, so much so that you don’t notice the door slamming open until the boom of it makes you drop the ball. 

“Jesus fuck.” 

You whisper as you look up to find the source of the noise. What you find shouldn’t surprise you, but seeing a shirtless Roope Hintz standing there with a frown on his face, makes heat rush up your neck regardless. 

“Who are you?” 

He looks suspiciously at you, taking in the skinny jeans and the absence of a jersey. As well as the forgotten soccer ball. 

“Sorry, just here for Oleksiak.” 

You try to shrug it off, looking for the ball again. His eyes squint suspiciously at you, but his head tilts backwards as he calls for Jamie. He comes bounding out of the locker room, shirtless, but fresh out of the shower. He’s in the middle of zipping up his game day slacks, and the smile already on his lips gets wider.  

“You could have waited with the others you know?” 

Jamie says cheekily to you. The heat to your face returns, but not in full force. You look at his tall stature and the smaller man beside him. And for some reason, the blonde star of the night is the one to make you look away. You shoot daggers at Jamie instead. 

“You know, you could have told me where they were, so I didn’t have to stand here like some other crazed fan.” 

Roope slowly turns around and walks away, closing the door with one last curious look directed at you. 

“Oh come on, we all know you’re crazy for me.” 

Finally you can feel yourself relax a little, with a sigh you take a step closer to him. 

“Yeah, crazy for you to leave me alone.” 

He wraps you up in his arms and lifts you up in the air, laughing as you gasp at the surprise of being lifted up. 

“Congrats by the way, you played well today.” 

You say to him, as he lets you back down on the ground again.  

“Thank you Sparks.” 

“Now go get dressed completely, I suppose you want to celebrate tonight?” 

His signature, tooth lacking smile is on full display as he slings an arm around your shoulders. Jamie looks at you with a mischievous look. 

“We really want to celebrate this, and besides, we really need to get you laid.” 

You wrench your way out of his grip and scowl at him, pushing him in the direction of the door to the locker room. 

“Get dressed you idiot.” 

You say with a flat voice, trying to remain serious, and failing when you see Jamie wink at you last minute. You immediately go back to juggling the soccer ball, as the door slams shut. 

A couple of girls are walking towards you, and you suspect they’re here looking for their boyfriends or husbands. That’s until you see the flustered cheeks and whispers of “I can’t believe we made it all the way here.” and the agreements that follow. 

Their eyes land on you and your soccer ball, and their expressions instantly sour. You try to shrug it off, but when the whispering starts again, you look up from the ball. You start getting suspicious when one of the three girls flicks her long, perfectly curled, brunette hair over her shoulder and opens her immaculately painted lips to say something. 

“You shouldn’t be here you know.” 

The confidence in her voice almost has you fooled for someone who belongs there. Almost. You’ve never seen her close to any of them ever, even if you had managed to stay out of the public eye yourself. Something about this trio didn’t feel right. You stop juggling the ball and drop it to your foot, catching it without bounce and then placing your foot on top of it.  

“Why not?” 

You ask out of curiosity of what the answer would be.

“Well, it’s reserved for the wags, you know, so you don’t belong here.” 

You tilt your head and raise a brow, questioningly. 

“Isn’t that what the owner's box is for? you know with reserved seats, food and really comfortable sitting options?” 

A blush seems to rise through her make- up and you restrain yourself a little, you really don’t want to make her an enemy. Just in case. 

“Yeah.. I just need to see my man before we head home.”

She stutters out, looking at her two friends who nod encouragingly at her. 

“Okay, just remind me who it is again?” 

You play dumb, knowing that the media is about to get out of the room in a minute. 

“Jamie ofcourse.” 

And her voice is so confident as she says it, you let a smile show before chuckling. They really thought they could fool anyone with that. Just in that moment, the door opens and cameras and notepads or tape recorders start filing out of the door. 

You walk over to the door, holding it open for the stream of reporters and crew. Then you duck a head in and yell for Jamie. 

“Oleksiak, your girlfriend is here…” 

It isn’t intentional all the way, but it comes out in a sing- song voice.  

The entirety of the team turns to face you. Briefly you meet the eyes of Roope, who’s still shirtless. Just as Jamie passes you by with a confused look, you tap his now clothed arm to make him bend down just a little.

“Ehh, so someone somehow got past security, apparently you’re her boyfriend.” 

You say to him, loud enough for the closest teammates to hear. 

“Jesus Christ, not again.” 

Jamie mutters. Stephen Johns is closest and has his phone in seconds calling someone. You let a glance out the door and see the girls huddled together, suddenly looking unsure. Jamie takes a look over your shoulder and sighs. 

“Guess I should distract them until security gets here, just stay here.”

You roll your eyes, but stay put. Then suddenly you realise where you are, feeling like an intruder. 

“Sorry guys, didn’t mean to intrude, just thought you should know about the girls outside.” 

You say, trying to not look too closely at anyone. You can feel the heat rising up your neck. 

“‘S alright, not everyday we get to know a girl from Jamie's side.”

Tyler Seguin says from his seat by his gear. 

“Oh I know, he has a hard time finding decent ones.” 

You say it absentmindedly, but the entire team seems to crack up at that. You feel a little bad, but you also know it as true and it's already said, so you can’t take it back. 

“Seems like he did alright with you.” 

Roope says as he pulls his button up over his arms and starts pushing the buttons through the holes.

“Ahh, a common mistake. Not a girlfriend and not sleeping with him either.” 

His brows raise and a cheeky smile forms on his face. But he doesn’t say anything else. You feel off, of sorts. He doesn’t irk you like the girls did. And it was kind of scaring you. It’s the feeling you get when you start being intrigued, and you don ‘t need that now.

-------

You’re sitting at the bar, alone, not that you mind it, because the girl who finally got Jamie had been ogling him all night and talking too loud, and it was a relief when you saw them walk out the door. He had asked multiple times if it was okay for him to leave, so much so that you almost drove the uber back to her place yourself. 

Staring down at the drink in your hand, you realised you were too sober and too far behind on studying (not really) to be sitting here, in a place you didn’t want to be. So you got up, turned around and immediately crashed into a hard chest. Looking up, you find a wild head of blonde curls and a heavenly cologne. Roope Hintz.

“Can I help you you mr. Star?” 

You said ask as he leans closer, if that was even possible, without touching you. He at least has the decency to chuckle and look a little bashful as you address him that way. 

“You sure you’re not even a little infatuated with Oleksiak?” 

Rolling your eyes, you lean back onto the bar and cross your ankles. 

“Why? Are you jealous?” 

You give him a flirty smile, just for the hell of it. Roope steps forward so his feet are planted on either side of yours, not touching this time either, and leans an arm beside you, making him come impossibly close to you. 

“What if I am?” 

He asks, and his eyes are roaming all over your face, ignited with a desire you haven’t seen in far too long. It makes a heat pool in your stomach, and a little in your cheeks. Just purely out of the close proximity. 

“Then you’re gonna be sorely disappointed.” 

You try to sound casual, but Roope leans a little closer.

“And why is that?” 

You can tell he is curious, and your judgement is compromised from the closeness of him. Maybe one night wouldn’t hurt, right?

“I’m a one time offer, an-” 

Roope doesn’t even let you finish your sentence, before he has your hand in his. Just as you touch it feels like a wave of something indescribable washes over you. You’d never felt anything like it. 

“I can do that. Come along now, we haven’t got all night.” 

Roope drags you away from the bar and you scramble to keep up the first few steps. When you catch up, he laces his fingers through yours, and heads out the door. It’s cold out, and since you haven’t really been outside today, all you have is the sweater you came to the rink in. You hadn’t been dressed for a club at all, but he didn’t seem to mind. You wrap your arms around yourself, to try to preserve some of the heat from the inside. Roope has a keen eye and steps behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“One time offer, remember?” 

“Oh yeah, that doesn’t mean I can’t be nice, or no?” 

And as he pulls you closer to him, you can feel in your bones (and your lower back) that he isn’t nearly as nice as he’s pretending to be. And you catch yourself thinking that you can’t wait to see what this turns into. 

“Just, doubting what you define as nice, that’s all.” 

At that Roope, let out a little chuckle, before leaning down a little and placing small kisses on your exposed neck. He works his way up to your ear. 

“I can be very nice, it all depends on you though.” 

With a final kiss to your cheek, he steps away from your heated face, and looks at the uber that’s now in front of you, double checking that it’s the right one. How in the hell had you missed the car pulling up to the curb? Roope opened the door to the back seat and let you enter first. Then he entered shortly after you, told the lady driving the car his address and turned to face you. 

“Didn’t think you were that shy, sweetheat.” 

He gestured to the entire middle seat between the two of you. You just shake your head, with a coy smile on your lips. 

“Just been a while.” 

You say quietly, not wanting the driver to hear. Regardless, she looks at you, very discreetly, through the rearview mirror. You give her a reassuring smile trying to convey that you feel safe and that you’re okay. She gives you a wink in return. 

“I’ll make it worth your time.” 

Roope leads you into an elevator and punches one of the higher numbers, all the while his eyes are roaming you, mentally undressing you. Most definitely wondering what he would find underneath the sweater and jeans. You are absolutely feeling a little shy with the way he looks at you. However, at the same time you’re looking at him, wondering what he is going to do, if he will be soft or hard in demeanor, if he’s gonna be rough or boring, but somehow something in his eyes tells you, it’s gonna be anything but boring. 

The elevator stops, and he steps closer, taking your hand in his, entwining your fingers and leading the way out of the elevator. Just two doors down he pulls some keys out of his back pocket and steadily unlocks the door, no fumbling. You take it as a good sign even if you already knew that he wasn’t even close to being drunk. The lock clicks in place and the door slides open, revealing a dark hallway. Roope steps in first and flicks on the light. It’s neat, considering what you had been expecting. The door shuts behind you, and you hear the lock clicking. 

Toeing off your shoes you turn and find Roope already staring at you. His eyes are considerably darker. He drops the jacket he had been wearing to the floor and beckons you with a finger to follow him, all silent and a little domineering, half a smile on his lips. You see the light flicker on in the hallway as you follow him down to the left and then the first door on the right hand side it’s the only open door, but it’s not fully lit inside. Carefully you step inside, when nothing happens, you take one more step in and the room is suddenly full of tension. 

The light here is turned on low, and Roope is standing in front of you taking slow steps towards you. Determined to stand your ground you remain unmoving, but your eyes roam him, and he seems to notice. With a smirk he takes a hand behind his neck and promptly yanks the shirt off of his upper body. You feel your jaw dropping just a little as you scan him over. 

“Look at me in the eyes babe.” 

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you remain in your spot steadily holding his gaze. He takes a step closer, and then another, until he’s standing mere inches from you. A devious smile is playing on his lips, when one of his hands lands on your waist. His thumb rubs circles on your hip, just underneath the emerald sweater of yours. 

“Are you sure about this?” 

He asks, taking his other hand up and caressing your cheek. You nod your head yes. 

“I’m gonna need you to use your words for me.” 

The hand that’s on your cheek is suddenly forcing your face upwards to meet his eyes. 

“I’m sure about this.” 

You whisper, again meeting his eyes. Just as the sentence leaves your mouth, he immediately goes to kiss you, but you pull back just slightly, just to tease, and maybe test him a little. He sees the mischievous glint in your eyes, and his smile widens.

“Oh you wanna play like that, huh?” 

Roope’s hands slip from your body, before meeting again behind your thighs, lifting you up into his arms. You stare down into his darkened eyes, and lean into him. He lets you kiss him for a couple of seconds, before he deepens it. You let him, not really feeling like fighting him. His lips move from yours and down your neck, as he walks towards the bed, you can feel him leaving a few hickies before dropping you onto the bed. 

“Off with the sweater, kaunis.” 

You look up at him, while crossing your arms and gripping the bottom of the sweater, letting him take in all of you as the green top comes off. Underneath is a simple black bra and you can see his pupils dilate at the sight of you. 

“That one I’m gonna take off myself.” 

He leans over you, until you’ve laid down flat on the bed. He’s hovering over you, resting on his forearms, yet his hips have already settled between your legs. You can feel him there hard and heavy. His breath playing across your collarbones, makes you feel the anticipation building in your entire body. 

He presses a quick kiss to your lips before he starts leaving open mouth kisses down the valley of your breasts, he shifts his weight so he is leaning more on one arm and slides the other underneath your back, and makes quick work of unfastening your bra. The tension leaves the straps and you let them fall off. Then with his teeth he bites the middle of the bra, lifting it off your body and chucking it away with his free hand. 

“Upea.” 

You don’t question his words, honestly feeling a little more turned on as he speaks to you in a language you don’t understand. With a wink he kisses each of your tits a few times, before moving further down. 

“Still good?” 

He asks, and you feel your heart ache a little at it, and immediately shove the feeling aside.

“Yes, so good.”

You say, all out of breath as his fingers pop open the button, and slowly pull down the zipper of your jeans. In a swift motion he has his fingers in what you assume is the belt loops and has pulled down your jeans along with the black underwear you had been wearing. Instinctively you try to close your legs, but two calloused hands on either of your knees stops that motion. 

“I’ve got you.” 

Roope says as he leans into your right thigh and starts leaving kisses again. Closer and closer to your core, and when he finally is there, he switches to the other tigh, repeating the process. Your hands, which have been clenching the sheets, finally go to his long hair, tugging a little. Roope lets out a little groan and you swear you can feel it in your entire body.

“Aww, look how wet you are, all for me?” 

He asks in a husky voice. 

“All for you, all for you.” 

Roope seems to revel in the admittance rolling off your tongue, before he lets himself have a taste. At least that’s what you think is happening. You feel his hot breath fan over your core, and he is painfully close, you lift your hips just slightly to meet his mouth, just as he pulls away. 

“My bed, my rules. Now, you’re gonna have to ask really nicely to cum, before I let you. Got it?” 

You’re so lost in desperation for his mouth that you can only nod. You both hear and feel the sigh escaping him, before he lands a little smack on the inside of your thigh. It causes you to let out a strangled moan and clench around nothing. 

“Didn’t I tell you? Words.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ll ask to cum.” 

And then he’s all over you. The pent up feeling you have in your body only seems to grow as he spends his time licking and lapping at your folds. With his arms around your thighs and eyes firmly set on yours, your body's working overtime trying to feel everything. You feel your grip on his hair tighten as his mouth finds you clit and a finger easily slides inside you. 

“Fuuuck, feels so good.” 

You draw out the vocals as he hums against you. Your breathing went uneven a long time ago, but now you’re struggling to control anything that comes out of your mouth. Especially as the second finger enters you and he makes a “come here” motion with his fingers, finally finding that one particular spot. It nearly sends you over the edge.

“Ah ah, ask first.” 

Your brain feels like mush as he continues his assault on your pussy. 

“Please may I cum?” 

Roope hums against you, before leaning away a little. 

“No, I want you to beg.” 

He goes back in, feeling the way your body is wound so tightly you don’t know where to turn, not being able to think clearly. 

“Please, I’ll be so good, just please please let me cum.” 

Again Roope hums. 

“Okay, only if you’re a good girl though.” 

He says looking up at you, with that smirk of his, before he dives back in.  You can feel the tension in your body tightening, and when his tongue does a particularly intense stroke over your clit you can’t hold it anymore. Your legs clamp around his head and you let out a drawn out moan of pleasure as he lets you ride out the high on his face. 

When you can’t take it anymore, you gently guide his face away from your core. Roope has this cocky grin on his face and you can’t help but like it being directed at you. You pull him up towards you and kiss him deeply, not really caring if you can taste yourself on his lips. Finally he lets your hands wander over the planes of his upper body, feeling the muscles tense and flex as your fingers trace every ridge of his body. He seems to really like kissing you, but he does notice that your hands go lower and lift his hips up a little to make room so you can pop the button of his jeans. As soon as the zipper is down, your hand traces the waistband of his boxers. 

“You gonna play with me like this all night, rakas?” 

He asks with a playful tone of voice. 

“Maybe.” 

You tease, pulling on the waistband of the boxers, before releasing it, making it snap against his skin. He leans away from you completely, getting up so he’s on his knees, but otherwise full height. Your legs are caught between his, so you can only sit up as far. Not that you mind though, with the way he towers over you, giving you perfect access to the bulge that’s now in your direct line of vision. Without really meaning to your jaw goes slack. His pointer finger is under your chin, making you look up at him.  

“Eyes up here, yeah?” 

You nod innocently at him, making him groan at the sight of you. 

“Good girl. Now let’s see if we can put that mouth of yours to good use.” 

You blush at his words and the smirk on his lips. Regardless, you start peeling the boxers and jeans down his legs. Slowly. Since this is going to be a one time thing, you think, you’re gonna savour this moment. His skin is hot beneath your fingers, but not as hot as your cheeks the moment his cock springs free of it’s confinement. You’re definitely not complaining about any aspect of it. 

Without a second thought you put your lips around the angry red tip, letting your tongue explore every inch of his dick. Roope seems to like what you’re doing, judging by the groaning and panting above you. One of his hands is in your hair, doing a makeshift ponytail as you continue to suck him off. Suddenly, he all but pulls you off his cock, which now seems even more red than it was before. With strings of saliva hanging from your mouth, connected to his dick. Roope lets out a groan that makes your inside tingle before he slides back off the bed.

“I’m going to ruin you so good, rakas.” 

He kicks off his jeans and boxers before he is over you again. You look him in the eyes nodding, before spreading your legs, letting him settle between them. He cages you in with his arms, and for some reason, even with his dark gaze upon you, you feel safe. And when he grabs your arms, pinning them beside your head you let out a content sigh. Not only because you’re completely letting go, but because you can feel his cock brushing against your stomach. The anticipation is almost killing you. 

Roope, kisses up and down your neck, whispering dirty somethings in your ear, because they aren’t nothing. They are all his fantasies, of what he has come up with that he wants to do with you. As well as to you. Most of all though, you think he just enjoys watching you squirm in need of him. When he lets go of your right hand, it traces your throat.

“Now, put my cock inside yourself.” 

It’s a demand, and you follow through, out of desperation to feel him inside. You wrap your hand around his dick, carefully tugging at him, running your thumb over the tip, teasing. With a little smile on your lips. Roope is quick to kiss it away, delving into you, with a passion you’ve never felt before. “Inside, now. Or this teasing of yours is gonna have some serious consequences.” 

He mumbles against your lips, so you do as told, guiding him to your entrance. You both let out content sighs as he finally sinks into you. He is going slow at first. Letting you adjust to having him inside you. 

“Look so good for me like this.” 

You can only nod as he starts moving his hips in slow, deep thrusts. He finds a pace and as soon as you start clenching around him, when he hits that part of you. His pace picks up. The hand that’s still holding onto yours, they are now intertwined in each other. His other hand is caressing your hip. You’re pretty much just a blubbering mess of his name and curses as he hits all the right parts. 

With a final kiss to your lips, he leans up a bit, so his thighs are resting on his calves creating a steep angle, so you almost slip off him. Almost. He pulls you closer by the hips, making you yelp out, before your legs are planted on either side of him, giving yourself a little more leverage as he hits deep inside of you. The moan that escapes you is genuine, and you squeeze your eyes shut in pleasure. At that you feel a sharp sting on your thigh again. 

“Eyes on me.” 

In the fog of pleasure all you manage to get out is a weak. “Yes, sir.” 

Opening your eyes, you see Roope straining a little as well. His cheeks are tinted and his breathing is really uneven. But his eyes are blown with pleasure, and as you guide his hand to your lower stomach where you can vaguely feel him moving in and out of you. It looks like a new fire has been ignited inside him. 

His hand slips from yours as he lets it go to rub at your clit again. The pleasure almost becomes too much, and your eyes roll a little at the feeling. 

“May I please cum, sir?” 

You manage to moan out, barely remembering his demand from before. 

“Hold it for like three seconds, I’m gonna count you down.” 

So you look him in the eyes and let him blow out your back for a few more thrusts, and then he starts counting down. 

“3”

His rhythm changes as he slows down and goes harder, deeper. 

“2” 

He moans as you clench around him. 

“1, cum for me.” 

And you do. It starts in your stomach, and like a warm tide it washes over your entire body. Roope fucks you through it, before he finally pulls out and with a loud groan he is jerking himself off, letting go in hot spurts all over your torso. He finishes and stares down at his personal masterpiece. With your rapidly raising stomach and chest covered in his cum, you can tell by the smirk on his lips. He’s satisfied.

“I’ll be right back.” 

Roope says with a wink, and you just nod. Because even though you just had the best sex to date, you were trying to gather your thoughts. On how to get home. You don’t see where he goes, but you hear water running from a sink. When he’s back from the bathroom, you assume, he has a wet  washcloth in hand and is wearing a fresh pair of boxers. Gently he wipes his cum from your chest and stomach, and a little in between your legs. 

And you’re almost completely ruined by how gentle he is. But you have a promise to keep, and you’re not planning on betraying yourself. He leaves again to toss the cloth into the hamper. When he comes back, you have gathered your underwear and bra, and are standing on the floor on slightly shaky legs. 

“You’re leaving?” 

And that was really the first sign. 

“Yeah, one time offer. Remember?” 

You answer, looking for your jeans. Roope sweeps them off of the floor and hands them to you. 

“Yeah, right.” 

You get dressed in silence, and when your last sock is on. You straighten up. 

“I’ll just find the way out myself.” 

It’s meant to be casual, but Roope immediately refuses. 

“No no, I’ll walk you out.” 

And he does, following close behind you. You’ve just gotten your shoes on, when your phone pings. It’s a notification from uber that your ride is here. You’ve put your hand on the door knob and opened the door, when Roope, who was leaning against the wall, pulls you back and kisses you deeply. 

“Next time you need an orgasm, give me a call.”

He says with a wink. 

In the car back to your apartment, you can feel it. You’re not gonna get rid of Roope after what just went down in his bedroom. The worst part of it is that you’re not sure you want it to be a one time thing. Fuck. 

#roope hintz #roope hintz smut #roope hintz imagine #roope hintz fic #dallas stars smut #dallas stars imagine #Dallas Stars Blurb #nhl #nhl smut #nhl fic

[yourmcu]

Forgotten [DISCONTINUED]

Pairings: Tony Stark x daughter!reader, Peter Parker x Stark!reader (platonic)

Request: 

Hello i love your story could you do angsty tony x daughter reader. Wherein the reader has a twin brother and Tony and the avengers prefer the twin brother and becaus of that, the reader became rebel and badass. She always getting trouble and almost drop out student. The avengers and her father were seem disappointed and dont know what to do. Not until the reader involve into car accident and she's critical injured. The reader also slipped to coma. Everyone is devastated about the reader conditione. And they realized that the reader only rebel because she wants to get attention from them. It depends to you what the end come, I just want a full angst this week and I hope you dont mind my English. Anyway I hope your alright.

Word count: 1,627

A/n: (to anon: I’d like to apologize for not finishing this) I don’t think I have any intention to anymore tbh so- I’m just posting this for fun now lmaolmao

hella big update: the continued version is here!

Warnings: bad angst and writing hee hee. no I’m serious this is bad

gif not mine! credits to the owner^^

Being a genius/billionaire/superhero’s kid doesn’t always sound nice like it usually does.

You were one of the Stark twins, the other half being your brother, Ethan.

The both of you showed signs that you inherited the commonly known Stark trait (intelligence) at a young age. But Tony mostly focused on his son, showing him all his inventions and gadgets, teaching him everything he knew while you on the other hand, were being babysat by Happy or Pepper, sometimes Rhodey.

You tried so hard to get your father’s attention but he always had his excuses:

“I don’t have time for that.”

“I’m busy with Ethan right now.”

“Maybe later.”

At first you didn’t mind if your brother got all the praise and attention. It wasn’t until your mid-teens that you really started to feel left out and ignored.

You were left to frown when the other Avengers never found anything interesting about you, just like Tony did. They all liked Ethan better. The topic of him being the next Iron Man when Tony retires is getting exhausting.

There was this one time when Tony announced that they were all going out to dinner since Ethan got, yet again, a full set of A’s on his report card.

“Did you get my card?” You tapped on Tony’s shoulder lightly.

He gave you a side glance, “ah shoot, I forgot. I’ll go get it tomorrow.” Then returned his attention to your brother.

But he ended up forgetting again the next day and you had to convince your teacher to give it to you instead. Your marks had A’s, but littered with B’s as well, of course that was no match for your brother’s perfect marks.

And that sort of scenario wasn’t just a one time thing, Tony forgets to pick up your report card every. single. time. The messed up part was you and Ethan literally attended the same school, he was just in a more advanced class than you.

As time passed, Tony went from ignoring you to getting annoyed and pissed at you for everything you did. In his eyes, you were always in the wrong. And the reason? You didn’t know.

“Dad? Can I borrow Bruce for a minute?” You knocked on the glass door of his lab to get him to look up.

He didn’t, but responded, “kinda busy with him right now.”

You looked at your fractured arm, regretting your decisions. “W-well, Ethan was training with Nat, and... and he wanted to try the new moves he learned on me. He went a little hard and - I think my arm’s broken, I just wanted Bruce to check it out-”

“Goddammit!” He shouted after you heard a glass shatter. Bruce covered his face with palms, muttering an ‘oh no’.

Tony glared at you, striding to where you were standing. All that was left for you to do was to brace yourself for what was about to come. “See, this is why we never let you do anything with the team,” he spat. “That right there?”-he pointed to your arm-“that’s on you. Things go wrong because you’re in the way!”

“I’m... I’m sorry-”

“Just get out of here.”

Your arm remained untreated after that.

Then Peter Parker came into the picture. Friendly guy, he was actually nice to you. Him and Ethan got along right away when Tony first recruited him. The fact that he treated Peter better than you made you even more miserable. It made you think he never wanted a daughter in the first place.

You first met Peter when he accidentally entered your room without warning, thinking it was the bathroom. Cliche, but that’s what happened.

“It’s on the first door to your other left,” you stated.

“Yeah, yeah okay, thanks,” he turned around to leave but stopped to look at you again. “I’m Peter Parker, by the way.”

“Y/N Stark.”

Peter’s eyes lit up at your last name. “I... I didn’t know Mr. Stark had a daughter - no offense! It’s just-”

You sighed and waved him off. He didn’t even notice the similarities you had with your twin. “It’s fine. I get that a lot.”

After many events of being, to be blunt, treated like shit, you finally had enough. You neglected your studies, only went to school when you felt like it (which was rare). No one cared your grades anyway, so what’s the point? You became a whole new person, you surrounded yourself with the wrong sort of people, causing you to dabble into smoking and alcohol.

Since you were always in trouble, you could recite Cap’s detention speech at school by heart now.

The principal of your school wanted to see Tony to talk about your behavior. Normally he’d make an excuse not to go if it wasn’t that important but he got flooded with messages from the school, so he couldn’t say no.

You had your legs crossed, sitting across from Tony who had his eyebrows furrowed as he listened to the principal. For some reason you didn’t feel nervous. “Y/N barely attends her classes. I’ve seen every attendance. Are you aware of this, Mr. Stark?”

Tony only maintained his usual relaxed posture and avoided your gaze.

“Some students have also seen her smoke in school grounds. We gave her a few weeks suspension for it, but it doesn’t look like she’s learned her lesson.” They pulled out a couple boxes of cigarettes from the desk drawer. “We found these in her locker.”

“You went into my locker?” You shot up from your seat. “You can’t just do that!”

Tony cleared his throat and got up, gripping your wrist. “I’ll take it from here - will that be all?”

On the way out he doesn’t say a word to you, only that his grip on your wrist got tight as you near the car.

“So,” he started the car. His voice was calm, but it screamed that you were in deep trouble. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

You sighed and slouched in the passenger’s seat, crossing your arms. “I’m... sorry you had to know...?”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna be honest with you here,” Tony still doesn’t look at you. “When I found out I had two kids, I got worried about Ethan.”

You let out a snort. Of course he would.

“I didn’t want him ending up like me. But surprise surprise, my daughter did instead.”

“I’m not ‘ending up’ like you, Dad-”

“Then what do you call - this,” he referred to you. “What, you’re just gonna waste your life, drop out of school? You’re a fucking mess, Y/N, and here I thought I raised you right. Sometimes I think: why can’t you just be like your brother?” He had a hard grip on the steering wheel as he drove, the way he spoke affected the speed of the car greatly.

You opened your mouth to speak but you couldn’t fine the exact words you wanted to say. “I... well, I’m sorry I’m not a goody two shoes like him!”

“That’s not what I-”

“Please, that’s exactly what you meant.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Look, I’m grounding you until you pull yourself together, understand?” And he did. He gave new orders to Friday when the both of you got home. You weren’t allowed to leave the compound without Tony’s permission.

Were you giving up that easily? Of course not.

You were on your laptop for the rest of the day, hacking into Friday’s system, the security to the elevator and the entrance. That night, your executed your plan and everything went smoothly.

“This is why you never underestimate me,” you sighed, deactivating the hack once you were out of the building. 

Your friend who was picking you up was already waiting a few blocks away from the compound. “I hope you’re cool with me staying over for a couple days.”

“If a bunch of Avengers come and destroy my place to look for you, I’m not going to be friends with you anymore.”

You laughed at out, “oh trust me, they don’t care.”

----

The next day no one noticed your absence, nobody did for another two days. Tony just assumed you were mad about your punishment, so he didn’t think of it much.

Not until Peter came to the compound on the third day, wanting to hang out with you.

“Whatcha got there, Pete?” Ethan asked.

“Star Wars movies. I wanna watch them with Y/N - she could use some company, don’t you think?”

The older Stark twin shrugged, “yeah, I guess she could.”

Peter then headed to the elevator and stopped at the floor where your room was. He knocked on your door and waited a bit, after a few minutes of silence he knocked again, still nothing.

“Y/N? Is it okay if I come in?” He called out. No response. He hesitated a bit, for all he knew you were probably changing or something, or you could be in danger. He went to open the door anyway. “I’m coming in, I’ll close my eyes just to be-”

To Peter’s surprise, your room was empty.

----

You were at a 711 parking lot, waiting for your friends who were buying supplies for a house party. You gave them your wallet, not really caring about anything anymore. Your phone was starting to pile up with messages and missed calls from Tony, Edward and Peter, occasionally from the others as you scrolled pass more.

Without thinking you threw your phone to the ground, cracking the screen, breaking it completely. They’d be able to track you through it now that they know you ran away. You really had no intention of coming back. You weren’t wanted, what’s the point of going back?

#tony stark #tony stark imagines #tony stark x reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark x stark!reader #iron man #iron man imagines #tony stark angst #marvel #marvel imagines #the avengers #avengers #avengers x you #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #mcu imagines #peter parker #peter parker x reader

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Stuck with Me

George Weasley x Reader

Fandom: Harry Potter

Note: As always, Fuck J.K. Rowling. Trans rights are human rights.

This fic is kinda based on the abilities I’ve scripted for my DR. I still haven’t shifted yet, but I know I’m getting close. I’ll keep y’all posted…

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR DEATHLY HALLOWS!! George’s injury from Deathly Hallows…

Word Count: 3k

“Where is he?” You asked, eyes wide as you rushed into the Burrow. You could feel it. George was hurt. “Where’s George?”

You walked further inside and spotted him laying on the couch, blood dripping from the wound on his face. Fred was kneeling in front of him, Molly stroking his hair. When he spotted you, his gaze softened.

Tears welled up in your eyes and you let out a choked sob.

“I’m alright, love.” He protested softly.

Fred moved over the tiniest bit, giving you room, but also wanting to stay close to his brother.

You leaned in so your face was close to his and whispered. “I think you’re forgetting that I can feel your pain.”

He chuckled bitterly. “Right. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be.” You shook your head. “I’m here to fix it.”

***

George had found out about your powers during third year. He’d fallen off of his broom during Quidditch, and as a result, he’d broken his arm. You weren’t sure why, but you were…tied to him, in a way. It wasn’t like that with anyone else, not even Fred. But whenever George Weasley felt pain, you did too. It had been that way since you first locked eyes at the train station first year.

So, in the middle of the night, you snuck down to the infirmary, where he was sleeping for the next few days. He wasn’t asleep. The pain was keeping him up. When he saw you walking towards his cot, he raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing here?”

“I, uh…I have something that can help. But you have to keep it a secret.”

“A secret?”

You nodded seriously and approached him slowly. “You can’t even tell Fred.”

“Wow, that’s serious.” George thought. “But if it’ll make the pain go away, then…I promise I’ll keep it a secret.”

You knew it was a big promise. He told Fred everything. But you knew, looking into his eyes, that he meant it.

So, you sat on the edge of the cot and raised your hand. George watched in awe as your palm glowed yellow. You held it above his broken arm, and even inside his cast, he could feel the bone mending itself even faster than Madame Pomfrey’s magic could ever work. His pain dissipated, and a few seconds later, he felt completely normal again.

Relief rushed through you as the pain left you, too.

“H-how did you—?"

You waved your wand and the cast popped off of his arm. He stretched it out, wiggling his fingers and moving it around.

“It’s a family thing.” You shrugged. “It skips a few generations, usually.”

He grinned at you, stars in his eyes, and whispered, “Wicked.”

***

It was your fifth year now. You were good friends with the twins, you had been since first year, so it wasn’t all that uncommon for you to go to Hogsmeade with them over the weekends. They let you in on their pranks, and every once in a while, they’d pull one on you, but it was all in good fun.

George never really knew why you always seemed to know when he was hurt. Whether it was a bruise or a papercut, you’d always make a beeline to him and ask to “talk” privately. Fred was convinced the two of you were hooking up, but really, you’d just hold your hands over his injuries for a few seconds until the cuts closed up or the bruises faded to nothing.

And so, because he was so curious about exactly why you were so attached to his injuries, aside from being a healer, of course, he decided to…well, to ask you.

“Hey, (Y/N)?”

“Yes, Georgie?” You turned the page of the book you were reading.

His face lit up. He was always pleasantly surprised when you were able to tell them apart without even looking at them. Almost anyone else couldn’t tell them apart after staring at them for five minutes, but you didn’t even have to look up from your book to know he was George.

His eyebrow raised and he smirked mischievously. “How do you know I’m not Fred?”

“Because you’re not.” You laughed. “Next question.”

“Fair enough.” He chuckled and sat on the couch next to you. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade this weekend.”

“With you and Fred? Sure.”

“Oh…well, no, I just meant…you and I?”

You closed your book and looked up at him, a smirk pulled across your features. “Like a date?”

He thought on it for a second before nodding, “Yeah, as a date.” He smiled softly and then added, “I didn’t think it was any secret I fancy you.”

“Well that’s good.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek, causing his face to flush adorably red. “I fancy you too, Weasley.”

***

When the weekend finally hit, George met you in the common room, all bundled up for Hogsmeade. You went over together, and at some point, George wrapped a large gloved hand around yours. You gave it a reassuring squeeze and he squeezed back.

The two of you got some butterbeer and settled into the Three Broomsticks. It was quiet enough that George felt he could ask what he wanted to in privacy, so he did.

“Why is it always me?” He asked.

You raised an eyebrow and asked, “What do you mean?”

“It’s always me you heal. Why?”

Your cheeks burned. “I honestly…” You sighed. “George, when you’re hurt, I feel your pain. I don’t mean that figuratively, like, I literally feel your pain. When you get hurt in Quidditch, I feel it. When you get burns from fireworks, I feel it…It’s just easier for me to find you and fix it as soon as I can.”

“That makes sense.” He nodded. “Is it like that with Fred, too?”

“No.” You replied. You smiled softly at him. “Just you, Georgie.”

He smiled back. “How long has it been like this?”

“Since we met on the train platform first year. Fred stepped on your foot on accident. At first I thought it was a coincidence, but the evidence kept piling up, and when you broke your arm third year, I couldn’t ignore it anymore.” You took a sip of your butterbeer. “When my parents found out I’d gotten the family gift, they told me I couldn’t tell anyone because…well, people would use me because of it, but I don’t think they expected me to get attached to someone like this.”

“So what you’re saying is, you’re stuck with me, then.” He smirked.

You gave him a playful little shove, laughing. “Real shame that is.”

He stared at you for a while, his eyes drifting down from yours, and then, very gently, he leaned in and captured your lips with his. You reciprocated immediately, a hand rising to caress his cheek. You got lost in his careful touches, the softness of his lips, the warmth of his breaths ghosting across your cheeks.

“About damn time!” You were interrupted by none other than George’s twin.

The two of you pulled apart guiltily and looked up at him. Lee was standing next to him and handed Fred a few sickles, cursing under his breath.

You waved shyly. “Hi, Fred.”

“Oh don’t mind us. Just here to get butterbeer. Carry on with your snogging.”

“Will do, mate.” George saluted him, watching as they walked out the front door, leaving you in peace once again. He turned to you, mischief written all over his handsome features. “Well, (Y/N), would you like to carry on with our snogging?”

You pressed your lips to his boldly. His hands gripped your waist and tugged you closer. Between kisses, you murmured, “Hell yes.”

***

Your sixth year was quite an adventure to say the very least. With the Triwizard tournament going on, everyone was buzzing with excitement. All of the visiting students were really nice, and the tournament itself was really exciting.

When the Yule ball was announced, you already had the perfect dress in mind, and while you and George were dating and had been since the previous year, he hadn’t officially asked you yet. Well, until breakfast one seemingly uneventful morning. You were sitting in your usual spot, beside George and across from Hermione when all of a sudden, George stood up. You looked at him, confused.

And then he started shouting, “Attention all Hogwarts and Durmstrang students, I’ve caught you looking at my lovely girlfriend, (Y/N) (L/N) since the ball was announced! This is an official announcement that she will be attending the ball with me, her boyfriend! That is all!” He promptly sat back down.

“Oh I will, will I?” You chuckled, looping your arm through one of his.

“Well, you…you will, won’t you?” His confident expression softened.

You leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Yes, George, I will.”

“Brilliant.” He replied, taking his arm from yours and wrapping it around your shoulders instead. “So what color is your dress, love? I want us to match.”

George met you at the ball, a pink tie wrapped around his neck to match the gorgeous pink silk of the skirt of your ballgown. When he spotted you coming down the stairs with the other girls you’d gotten ready with, his breath hitched and he swore there was something caught in his throat.

“You look so beautiful…” He whispered as soon as you were standing in front of him.

“You clean up nice yourself, Weasley.” You stood on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You ready for this?”

“Oh love, I already spiked the punch.” He wrapped his arms around you, kissing you deeply. “It’s gonna be a great night.”

And it was. You danced the night away in the arms of the man you loved, blissfully unaware that things were soon going to take a change for the worse.

***

Voldemort had returned, and as a result, Dumbridge was ruling the school with her iron fist. Worst of all was the punishments she inflicted. The first time you were made aware of it was when George and Fred had gotten detention for one of their pranks. You were somewhat used to your boyfriend and his brother winding up in detention for their schemes. What you were not used to was a searing pain across the back of your hand, like something was being carved into it with a blade.

As soon as his detention was over, you found George and rushed up to him, grabbing his left hand and staring at the letters carved into it. They read: I will not pull pranks.

“What did she do to you?”

“I’m so sorry, love.” He took you into his arms, stroking through your hair. He was shaking, and when you pulled apart, there were tears in his eyes. “I didn’t know…”

“It’s not your fault.” You shook your head and held your palm over the back of his hand, the gentle glow of your magic quickly erasing the marks, not even leaving a scar in their place. “See? All better.” You kissed the back of his hand. Then, you sobered up, realizing George hadn’t gone through it alone. “Where’s Fred?”

“Right here.” He replied, walking into the common room next. It was empty aside from the three of you.

You looked up towards the stairs, but when you didn’t hear anyone coming, you walked up to Fred. “Give me your hand.”

“You’re dating my brother.” He looked at you, confused.

You rolled your eyes. “Not like that.”

“Give her your hand, Freddie.” George encouraged, holding up his now-healed hand, free of the marks that had been there less than a minute before. He was surprised you were showing Fred your secret after all of the time you’d been holding it in, but George wouldn’t have had an explanation as to why his marks had faded so fast.

Fred’s eyes widened in realization and he held out his injured hand.

You lit your palm with magic and held it above his cuts, watching as they shrank into nonexistence.

“And how long have you been able to do that?”

“A while?” You shrugged, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“Did you know?” He looked at George, who nodded, a guilty look on his face. “For how long?”

“Third year…” George murmured.

“THIRD YEAR?! Bloody hell…” Fred shook his head, chuckling. “Well, actually, that makes a lot of sense. Explains a lot, for sure. And here, I thought you two had just been hooking up this whole time.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” You laughed, walking back to George, who pulled you to his chest as soon as you were close enough.

His long fingers stroked through your hair and you exhaled a long sigh, glad to be in his arms. He pressed a long kiss to your forehead before whispering, “Thank you, love.”

“Of course. We’re in this together.”

***

A few weeks later, you were walking the saddened halls of Hogwarts when you found the twins sitting on a bench beside a crying Nigel. They were talking to him softly, trying to soothe his tears. When George looked up and spotted you, relief flooded his features.

As soon as Umbridge stepped back out of the hallway, you made your way over and knelt down in front of him.

“Nigel, this is my girlfriend. Her name is (Y/N).”

“Hi Nigel,” you spoke softly, smiling up at the crying child. “I know it hurts, but I can make it stop hurting. Can you keep a secret for me?”

He nodded, sniffling.

“Here, give me your hand.” You held out your left hand, and Nigel put the injured one in it. You knew Harry was standing just behind you, but you didn’t care. It was your seventh year, there was about to be another wizarding war. In times like these, people needed people like you, and you were glad to help in any way you could. You lit your palm with magic and gently soothed away the angry marks littering Nigel’s little hand. “See? All better. If this happens again, you can come find me. I’m usually in the common room reading. Alright?”

“Thank you.” He sniffled.

George stared at you, a lovesick look on his handsome face. “Thank you.” He repeated, beyond grateful you’d found him when you did. “Thank you so much for doing that, love.”

“Of course.” You nodded. “Us Gryffindors have gotta stick together.”

“Speaking of that, actually…” Fred trailed off, giving George a nudge.

Nigel started walking back to the common room, and so the rest of you all headed off in that direction. George and Fred explained their plan to you, and you listened, nodding. When you finally got back to the common room, it was empty. So, George turned to you and took both of your hands in his.

“You’re welcome to come with us, love.” He spoke softly, a million stars in his eyes. “We’d love to have you at the shop with us.” Then, he added softly. “And I’ll miss you loads…”

“I do want to come, but…” you glanced up the stairs after Nigel. There were so many other kids like him who didn’t deserve Umbridge’s torture, and you could make it better.

“But you need to be here.” George finished, nodding. “I understand.” He cupped your cheeks and leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. “I’ll see you at the end of the school year, then.”

“You better be at the train station to pick me up.” You told him, tears welling in your eyes at the thought of being separated from him, even if it was only for a little while.

“I will be.” He promised. Then, he chuckled and added, “I’ll try not to get too hurt in your absence.” Then, even softer, he added, “And I’ll write you every day until you’re in my arms again.”

***

It had been a long road, but eventually, it led you to kneeling down in front of the couch at the Burrow, George’s head bleeding badly. You raised your hand to heal him, but he grabbed your wrist, stopping you with a pained look in his eye.

“But love, your secret…”

“I don’t care.” You shook your head, tears in your eyes. “I care about you more than any stupid secret.” You lit your palm and held it above his head, watching as the gash closed and the blood dissipated. The stinging pain in your head faded, too, leaving you feeling normal again. “I love you, George. More than anything in this world.”

The rest of the Burrow watched in awe, all of them but Fred unaware that you’d been patching up their boy since you were thirteen.

Instead of responding to you, he sat up and pressed his lips to yours, his large hands framing your face. When you finally parted, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, “Marry me.”

Molly squeaked, a giant smile on her face.

“W-what?” You asked, breath hitching. You stared at him, waiting for him to say it again.

“I-I don’t have a ring or anything, but…” He locked his eyes on yours. “Marry me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek and you nodded, pulling him in for a wet, emotional kiss. “Yes, George. Yes, of course I will marry you.”

He gasped and pulled you to his chest, tears of joy fogging up his vision. Then, he whispered into your hair, “You’re stuck with me, (L/N).”

You chuckled and replied softly, “Gee, real shame that is.”

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george #george x reader #george imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagine #hp #hp imagine

[beautifulgiants]

The World May Be Ending But at Least We Have Lee Pace

He's a science-fiction head, a star of the show Foundation, Twitter’s new crush, and an all-around good guy. He also looks great in this season’s most stylish outerwear.

By Matt Miller

Sep 24, 2021

Lee Pace and I have formed a sci-fi book club. His idea. Without anyone intending it, dinner at a Japanese restaurant in Brooklyn has turned into our club’s unofficial first meeting. There’s The Lord of the Rings and Dune, of course, which the actor has read more times than he remembers. He also sings the praises of his favorite writer, Ursula K. Le Guin, and the universe-rattling Three-Body Problem, by Cixin Liu. He pulls out his Kindle to show me the Bobiverse series, which he’s currently reading, and to download a couple books I suggest (Ann Leckie’s Ancillary Justice and Arkady Martine’s A Memory Called Empire). I have no doubt he’ll read them immediately. “We have to get back together and discuss,” he says.

Pace strikes me as not just a fan but a scholar of sci-fi, a world where bona fides count for a lot and fakers get no respect. His reading list may come as a relief to the millions who know Pace, age forty-two, for his roles in some of the biggest sci-fi and fantasy franchises of all time. He played Thranduil the Elvenking in the Hobbit series, Ronan the Accuser in Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy and Captain Marvel. Not to mention the vampire Garrett in the Twilight saga. Now he’s adding another character to that list: Galactic Emperor Cleon on Apple TV+’s Foundation, based on the Isaac Asimov series from the 1940s and ’50s. The novels are often credited with inspiring Stars both Wars and Trek and defined science fiction for modern fans.

Nonscholars, here’s the gist: Pace’s Emperor Cleon has ruled the sprawling Galactic Empire for generations as a series of genetic clonelike successors, with absolute power. And he looks good doing it. When a trailer for the series dropped this past summer, it caused something of a social-media fervor, with fans online calling Pace an “Intergalactic Emperor Daddy.”

“I’m deeply flattered,” he says of the distinction. “My mother would be so proud.”

He’s laughing, but honestly, Foundation is serious business that comes at a serious time. Our dinner-cum-book-club took place a few days after the release of a grim United Nations report on our future. You know the one: We can no longer stop climate change from intensifying over the next thirty years, but there is a chance we can mitigate the worst possible outcome if we act right away.

“That sounds like a line from Foundation, doesn’t it?” Pace says of the report’s top line. The world of Foundation is based on the fall of the Roman Empire, and it begins with a mathematician predicting the fall of the Galactic Empire. He’s got a plan to shorten the dark age that will follow, but time isn’t on the Galactic Empire’s side. Depending on your personality, it’s either the best or the worst possible viewing for our apocalyptic times.

Pace is in the first camp: “That thing, change, is the only thing you can bet on, that things will change. What the Cleons are hoping for is this imperishable permanence. You can’t do that. That’s not the way it works.”

Pace is the best kind of climate optimist in that he can acknowledge that “there’s a limit to control” without giving up. He’s on the leadership council of Conservation International and has traveled with the group’s scientists. “I feel like, hopefully, some of us during Covid have had the experience of a way of life that doesn’t involve overconsumption and all the things that we know we should be a bit more mindful about, but we’re spoiled, so we can’t help ourselves,” Pace says.

Ironically, for a climate activist, Pace is probably best known for playing characters who lack the physical fragility that actual humans in the grip of climate change have: an elf, a vampire, a Trumpian space king, and, most memorably, a pie maker, Ned, with the gift and curse of bringing people back to life on the cult hit Pushing Daisies. The show ran for only twenty-two episodes in the late 2000s, but it’s enjoying a reanimation thanks to HBO Max. Pace did a rewatch of his own alongside the new and old fans and compared notes. More than a decade later, he finds himself wishing to be back at the Pie Hole, with Ned’s friends. Will there be a second life for a show about bringing back the dead?

“I mean, we always joke about it, fantasize about it. I know [creator] Bryan [Fuller]’s told me his ideas for it, and they sound so cool. Everyone’s busy doing different things. I would love to be with everyone again. Yeah, I mean I’m game for it,” Pace says. Until then, there’s a stack of new books on both of our nightstands to keep us busy.

#Lee pace #interview #esquire #beautiful giant

[your-eternal-muse]

All I Wanted (Was You) Pt. 2

Part 1

Summery: Reader finally gets to talk to Spencer about the events of their relationship

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Swearing, description of an arrest, manipulation, signs of a toxic relationship, JJ slander, slapping,  reader isn’t a good person in anyway shape or form, just you wait

Pairing: Criminal!Reader x Eventual Criminal!Spencer

A/N: Hey....it’s been a second...how y’all been? So this has been burning a hole in my google drive for weeks now, and I’m gonna be honest I’ve just been too damn lazy to post it. I truely started my new job, and guess what? I got covid, so that was real fucking fun. Plus I’ve been dealing with some personal shit that has not been entirely good for my mental health, but do not fret! I am doing much better than these past few weeks and weather its because of the iron supplement I’m remembering to take daily, or the fact that because I had covid, means the chances of me getting it again are slim, and I just don’t have it in me to care anymore is up in the air. And I do care. I wear my mask and social distance, but when it comes to me personally.....I couldn’t give a fuck. Anyway here it is, the long awaited part two. There are already four parts I have planned, so yay! Another series! Enjoy!

I’ve decided. I hate this fucking room.

I’ve also decided that I hate Agent Jareau. Or A.J. Or whoever the fuck she was.

I openly glare at her from across the table, since I can’t actively do the things that I want to do to her.

The man sitting next to her introduced himself as Agent Hotchner.

He’s the one that pulled Mathew back. Or Dr. Reid. Fuck.

“Ms. Y/l/n and I have spoken, and she has agreed to answer any and all of your questions. You have her full cooperation. On one condition.”

The annoyed grimace spreading across Jareau’s face slaps a smirk on my own.

“What’s the condition?”

I speak now, staring at my reflection in the mirror before moving eye contact back to Hotchner.

“I want to speak to Mat- Dr. Reid. Alone, with no surveillance, for a half hour.”

The room runs cold.

“No.”

“I will answer anything you ask. But only after my own questions are answered.”

I lean forward onto my elbows, still smirking. “You gotta give a little, to get a little.”

“We can answer any questions you have.”

“That’s not what I want. This is my one condition. You don’t give me this, you aren’t getting shit from me.” I spit, wishing I could grab her collar and throttle her.

“Listen here you little-”

“Stand down, JJ.” Hotchner has his arm outstretched in front of her, keeping her from jumping across the table.

“Yeah, JJ. Stand down.” I purr, and her jaw sets.

A cell phone rings.

Hotchner picks up, breaking eye contact with me for a second while he quietly asks, “Are you sure?”

Someone answers, and he doesn’t respond before ending the call and turning back to me.

“He’ll do it.”

Is it bad my heart jumped?

“What?” Jareau is staring at the side of Hotchner's face, but he keeps eye contact with me.

“You get a half hour. And if anything happens inside that room-”

“I don’t appreciate you threatening my client when she has just agreed to cooperate. Now, will you please uncuff her so she can go to the designated room?”

His face is a stone, barely showing any sign of his thoughts.

But he reaches into his pocket, and pulls out the keys while moving around the table to where I sit.

They fall from my wrists, and I pull the sleeves of the sweater Sheila gave me down to cover the red skin.

“Follow me.” he says, and I stand, free for the first time since this morning.

Running only crosses my mind for a second before I follow him through the hallways, glaring eyes burning into my back.

He opens the door to another small conference room, allowing me and Sheila to enter.

“We’ll send him in once you’re ready.” he says and without another word, he closes the door.

Sheila turns to me. “Are you sure this is what you want?” She takes my hands in hers.

“Positive.”

“Okay. You get a half hour. Use it wisely.” She lets go of my hands.

“That’s the plan.” I shove them into my pockets.

She nods, before opening the door, and leaving.

My heart pounds in my chest.

I wring my hands.

The door closes.

He stands, staring.

“Hi.”

I swallow, anger rippling through my bones.

I storm forward, and I see him hold out his hands to try and stop me, but he doesn’t put up much of a fight.

My open palm meets the skin of his cheek and fire eats at my fingers.

We’re both quiet for a moment before I reach forward, feeling his chest, his sides, his pockets.

I feel a bulk under his shirt beneath his waistband on his back.

“Are you fucking serious?” I pull up his shirt, grabbing the phone from his hip.

He doesn’t meet my eye as I see it’s on a call. With a certain agent's name flashing across the screen.

I throw it to the ground, stomping into it with my heel until I hear it crack before picking it up and opening the door.

“Y/n please..”

I throw it into the room of agents.

I meet the eyes of the person who made the initial call.

“You’re fucking lucky the deals still on, Jennifer. Or those people's deaths would be on your hands. So thank your lucky stars that I want to prove my innocence because if I didn’t give a fuck, you would have a lot to fucking explain right now.”

I slam the door shut, locking it behind me. 

I stand, heaving, staring at the swirls in the wood of the door.

I wait until my breathing is less erratic to speak.

“You must think I’m fucking stupid.” My voice is oddly calm for the anger burning through my veins.

“I don’t. I’ve never thought that.” He moves to stand a few feet behind me. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

I turn then, moving into his face.

“How the hell was it supposed to happen!?”

I hear footsteps approach me as I stir the creamer into my coffee. 

Hands are on my waist, and I barely have time to set my spoon down before he’s turning me around, and capturing me in a bone crushing hug.

I laugh nervously, hugging him back. “Good morning to you too.”

He pushes me back a little bit, and his eyes are red rimmed and frantic. 

“Hey,” I cup his face, running my thumb over the apple of his cheek. “Talk to me baby, what’s wrong?”

Different scenarios run through my mind, all of them terrible.

None of them are what he actually says.

“If I asked you to run away with me, would you?”

My thumb stops. “What?”

His eyes dart back up to mine, and the sheer glow of urgency shining in his pupils makes my heart rate pick up.

“I need to tell you something.”

“What’s going on? You’re scaring me.” My hand starts to fall from his face, but his hands come up to grip my wrists.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what? Matty, just talk to me. Whatever it is, we can fix it, I can fix this.”

His eyes dart to the clock on the oven behind me, and his breathing picks up. “Shit.”

He licks his lips. “I-”

My front door slams open.

I jump back, hitting my coffee cup on the counter, spilling the contents.

Officers spill in and my stomach drops to my feet.

“Y/n y/l/n?” An officer comes forward, gun lowered, but finger still on the trigger.

I slowly raise my hands. “Yes? What’s going on? Matty, what’s happening?”

His grip on my arm is like steel, but officers come and pry him away from me, twisting my arm behind my back. His eyes dart between me and the people swarming.

“No! Please, this isn’t-, stop!” He’s shouting, looking around at the officers pool into my house.

I am acutely aware of the gun aimed at my chest.

My arms are pulled behind tight behind me, and it’s instinct to fight.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!”

“Y/n y/l/n you are under arrest for-”

I don’t hear the rest. All I hear is Matty’s voice, his fight to remove himself from the officer who was trying to cuff him.

No.

“Let him go! He didn’t do anything!”

He looks annoyed and frightened and tired all at once.

I’m being pulled away from the scene towards my front door.

“No! No Mathew! Don’t touch him!”

My wrists pull against the handcuffs, burning into my skin.

“Stop! My name is Dr. Spencer Reid! I’m an FBI agent with the behavioral analysis unit.”

I stop.

The officer stops.

The world stops.

“My badge is in my back pocket. I’m going to reach for it now.” He reaches back into his pocket and pulls out a leather badge, opening it to show the officers.

One nods, and they back off of him, letting go of his arms.

“What?” It’s broken and barely a whisper.

His eyes meet mine, and tears are freely rolling down my cheeks, and I blink to try and get rid of them, but it doesn’t work.

“You- You’re a-” I can’t breath. “What?”

My chest hurts.

“Y/n-”

I’m out the door.

The world is in slow motion.

Black coats and red and blue lights are everywhere.

I’m in the back of a police car.

He’s in the yard.

Staring.

“It wasn’t even supposed to. I got the call 5 minutes before they came. I didn’t have any time, I couldn’t do anything.”

“You couldn’t do anything?” I look at him in disbelief.

“You could have, I don’t know, not have lied to me?”

“It’s not that simple.”

His cheek is red.

I fight back the urge to reach forward and hold it against my palm.

We didn’t move, and I realize that this was not the best idea.

I move past him, going to stand by the window.

I never realized  how high up we were.

He turns with me, watching me as I go.

“Who are you?”

I hear him shift. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. I’m an agent with the Behavioral analysis unit.”

“Doctor? What are you a doctor of?”

A doctor? A friggin doctor?

“I have 3 BA’s and PhDs in mathematics, chemistry and engineering.”

 I can’t help but let my mouth fall open.

I see a small smile twitch on his face. “I also have an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute.”

I shut my mouth and scoff. “That just proves that I know absolutely nothing about you.”

I start to pace, wanting to scream from the silence.

I go back and forth inside my head, wondering which question I should ask next. So many bubbled inside my head, it made my brain hurt.

“Why did you go undercover?” is what I settle on.

“We wanted proof that you had part in the murders. We couldn’t get that without inside information. I volunteered because from watching you, I know you’d take pity on me. It’d be believable that I didn’t know what I was doing. You wouldn’t feel intimidated by me.”

His hands are on my shoulders now, stopping back in front of the window. 

He’s close enough now that I can feel his body heat against my back.

I hated that he was right.

“You get defensive around women you consider a threat, and you don’t trust men bigger than you. I was a good middle.”

I really wish he would talk louder. It’d make me feel like he didn’t care. The soft tone he was using was sending comforting signals down my spine.

I don’t want to be comfortable.

I want to be angry.

“So it was all for your case then? Everything you told me, everything we did, all those promises was a lie?”

I take a chance, and turn to face him.

I wish I could stop crying.

“Was anything you told me true?”

“Yes!” His hands tighten around my shoulders, startling me. Realization flashes over his eyes and his hands hesitantly remove themselves from me.

He takes a breath. “At first, work was all it was. I was just supposed to observe you, your behavior and report back to my team. But after a few weeks, something changed. You were fragile, and compassionate. When I looked at you, I didn’t see a cold-blooded killer, or a sociopathic dominate. I saw you. I saw the way you cared for people, how you stood up for your clients, and I couldn’t help myself. I feel in love with you.”

His hands are back on me, now resting just above my elbows.

“I love you. Everything I told you about us and what I wanted to do, that’s the truth.”

I wipe my tears away with my fingertips.

“You asked me this morning, before they took me away, if I wanted to run away with you. Do you still mean it, or was that just a ruse?” I worded the question carefully.

“I mean it.”

I sigh, finally looking up into his eyes. “You don’t think I had anything to do with those murders, do you?”

He shakes his head.

I set my jaw. “I want to hear you say it. It’s the least you owe me.”

He swallows. “No. I don’t think you do. I never did.”

My fingers play with the fabric of his shirt. “Spencer suits you.”

He smiles softly. “Thank you.”

“What are you going to tell your team?”

“Nothing. I can’t. And even if I could I wouldn’t want to.”

“Why? I would think you’d want to tell them everything.”

“Usually I do. But they don’t see you like I do. It’s just better if they don’t know. For everyone.”

I can’t help it.

I lean my head against his chest, and let his arms wrap around me.

We stand like that for what seems like years before I feel wetness on my hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

I just hold him tighter.

I know that he’s talking about the present situation. But I can’t help but agree for an entirely different reason.

If he hadn’t been the one to come in that day, we wouldn’t be here.

He wouldn’t feel guilty.

I wouldn’t be licking my wounds, going over every conversation we’ve ever had, trying to figure out what’s true and what’s not.

I’d be sitting in a jail cell, wondering where I went wrong, and he’d be helping his team, with no personal connection to me.

I’d be alone.

I hug him tighter, closing my eyes wishing I could be anywhere else with him.

My pocket feels heavy.

There’s a damp spot on his shirt when I pull away.

“I’m bad for you, Spencer.” My voice breaks.

“Is it bad that I don’t care?”

“You should care. I’m not a good person.”

He places his hands on either side of my face, swiping away me tears with his thumbs.

He doesn’t respond.

He just leans down and kisses me.

Kisses me like it’s the last time he’s able to.

Which may very well be the case.

There’s a knock on the door and he breaks, still keeping his hands on my face.

Another knock.

He drops his hands, sighing, before walking over to the door.

His hand hesitates over the knob.

Another knock.

He unlocks it, and opens it. 

Agent Hotchner stands there, stone faced and slightly angry.

Spencer keeps eye contact with me, until Hotchner speaks.

“Reid.”

He looks down, and then turns and walks away.

Sheila walks in after they leave, closing the door once more behind her.

“How did it go?”

I shove my hands into my pockets. “I just want this to be over.”

She walks over, pulling me into a hug I don’t reciprocate. 

“It’s about to be.”

I remove my hand from my pocket, and set the recorder on the table.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid series #spencer reid x criminal!reader #criminal!Spencer reid #criminal au #mob au #criminal minds #criminal minds series #All I Wanted (Was You)

[god0flesbians]

A/n This is for my Thruce Magni Au. You can also find this on AOA

This was enough.

 

 

It was the middle of the night, well he thought it was anyway. He couldn't really tell in space but he assumed it was night. Thor had been staring at the star swirls that litter the vacuum of space. Even though he has seen it a million times, it still was breath-taking. But it wasn't making him worry less for his people, for his light and hope-Bruce.

Glancing down from the window, he sees his light and hope breathing softly in a deep slumber. It wasn't the only person who was sleeping though, a small bundle of fur and cloth was squished between them. Their son, their beautiful precious baby boy that they called Magni. The name means 'great' and the name suits him so well. Even as a baby, he can see the strength and might his son processes. He can tell that Magni will hold the crown with an iron grip.

He combed through Bruce's grey mess curls as he stared in awe, how did he deserve this? This person that outshines any star that he has ever seen. 

"Thor?" A small whisper escaped the man.

"Did I awake you my beloved?" His hand lowered from his curls and started to caress his cheek,

"You think too loud."

Thor snorted, "Can't be too loud if Magni is still sleeping."

Bruce gave him a small smile before turning serious, his features scrunched up in worry. "What's wrong?"

Thor's first instinct was to lie and say 'everything is okay and nothing is wrong' but he knows that lying wouldn't get him anywhere. He sighed and pulled away his hand. "I am...Troubled and worried."

"Worried about Asgard?"

"About you."

There was a beat of silence before Thor explained.

"I'm worried that I'm not enough for you, That I'm not able to provide you with my love." He inhaled before continuing. "I am unable to give my people food and support and if I cannot do that...Then how can I be a worthy lover...A worthy father."

Shuffling was heard and he could see that Bruce had picked up Magni and shifted closer to Thor. "Thor, you're a great king and everyone on this ship knows you're trying hard to support them with their needs." He could see Bruce's eyes calculating his next words in his head.

"You're also more than enough for me...For Magni." His eyes flickered from his sleeping son to Bruce. "The only thing I need from you is your love and your determination to come back to us after every battle. If its from the battlefield on the ground or the battlefield in that big brain of yours."

The God of Thunder chuckled as his lover stroked his cheek to wipe away the tears that he didn't know that he had shed. He smiled and kissed into Bruce's palm as love and adoration fuelled his gaze. "You always know what to say my beloved."  Bruce just simply huffed and rested his head on his chest. "Someone has to use their brain in this relationship."

Thor laughed this time, his laughter vibrating through his family that he held, this must've woken Magni up as he started babble in interest.

"Our little prince is awake." Bruce mused.

Thor kissed the top of Magni's forehead which made him squeal with happiness. His small chubby hands balled into fists as if trying to battle the thoughts that plagued his father's mind.

It warmed his heart.

This moment that they share now, he wants to relish it forever and possibly he could if he wanted to, but he knows that duty will call in a few hours. So in this time that they have to spare, he cuddles his family close and closes his eyes.

This was enough.  

#marvel #the avengers #thruce #thorbruce #thor #bruce banner #magni au #thor ragnorak #thunderscience #fluff #angst with a happy ending #archive of our own #fanfiction #fanfic #thulk

[followtheowls]

For a fic prompt, could you possibly write something about Ezra being injured and the medbay and Kanan and Hera are waiting for him to wake up/are worrying. Thank you so much :)

Thanks for this prompt <3 I also used it as a part of my ficlet series on ao3! I hope you like it

tw: medical talk (nothing to gory or graphic though), non graphic mention of injury

fandom: star wars rebels

characters: Kanan Jarrus, Hera Syndulla, Ezra Bridger

Words: 1.7k

The Medbay was not a quiet place, Kanan decided. He took in his surroundings from his place in his chair, in the corner of the small Medbay that was designated for waiting. He could hear the medics bustle around chatting and moving from one patient to another, the medical droids zooming around looking for their next task or procedure, and the medical equipment and machinery hum and creak while they carried out their functions. He could hear the beeping and chattering of binary from the droids, and the medics’ attempt at a hushed conversation. To Kanan, it seemed ironic that a place for healing and resting would be so incredibly noisy, but then again, he was probably more sensitive to it than most. He found that the loss of his vision had forced his other senses to adapt and subsequently become more sensitive to compensate for the loss of his eyesight.

The scent of bacta was thick in the air. So thick, in fact, Kanan could feel it burn his nostrils as he breathed in. The scent provided almost an instant headache, and his stomach churned as it reminded him of agonizing memories, in this very Medbay, from his recovery after returning from Malachor. Nothing eased the effect of the smell, it was something that was burned into his memory unchangeable. Even breathing through his mouth was only a half solution, the odor was so saturated and overwhelmed the air that he could almost taste it. Kanan wondered how the medics were able to work here all day. They probably become desensitized to it, he thought, too much time spent alongside it to let it bother them anymore. Kanan hoped he wouldn’t have to spend enough time in this overwhelming environment to even get near the point of getting used to it.

Kanan felt like a raw nerve, exposed and vulnerable. There was a lot to try to keep track of through the Force, and though he had grown accustomed to using the Force to guide himself through life, right now it was taking extra concentration to center himself. He was feeling everything too keenly. He jumped as he felt someone brush his side accidentally, sitting down in the seat next to him. Hera, he thought. He felt her hand slip into his and squeeze. He returned the gesture, squeezing back with equal pressure. He waited for her to speak first. 

“The medical droid says if all has gone well in surgery that they should be finished soon. He’ll probably be put in a bacta tank for a day or two, depending on how well the surgery goes. They didn’t have any other information to give us.” She stated quietly. Kanan just nodded and tightened his grip on her hand. They sat in silence for several minutes, and Kanan once again became ambushed by the chaos of the medbay.

He prided himself on his ability to remain calm in stressful situations, something that had been hammered into him during his upbringing at the Jedi Temple, but, at the moment, he could feel himself begin to drift from those teachings. Somewhere in Medbay, his padawan, his son in everything but blood, was lying broken and exposed on a table in an operating room, with several surgeons working hard to save his life. He needed to find his balance and his center, but he didn’t know how to do that when he was teetering on the edge of losing everything. 

He should’ve been on the mission, Kanan scolded himself. He should have been there to look out for Ezra, to protect him from what he hadn’t learned yet or from the hate of the Empire. Force knows no one ever did that for Ezra before Kanan was around. Kanan could even fathom imaging the possibility of losing Ezra now. That’s not how it was supposed to go, children were not supposed to go before their parents, it’s against the natural laws of the universe. 

Hera spoke up suddenly. “Stop,” she said sharply. “I know you. Don’t do that.”

“What?” Kanan responded, genuinely confused.

“You’re blaming yourself. I can see it all over your face. This is not your fault or my fault. The Empire. They did this,” she hissed, her anger a white hot presence in the Force. He just hummed in agreement and stroked his thumb over the back of her hand.

Several more minutes passed, it was hard to tell how long they sat there not speaking, just waiting. It could’ve been five minutes or an hour. Kanan really couldn’t tell. He felt Hera stiffen next to him and sit up straighter, and through the noise of the Medbay, he could hear footsteps getting louder and moving towards them. Together they both stood to greet the medic.

“He’s alive and he made it through the surgery. It was touch and go for a while, and his heart arrested once on the table, but we were able to successfully revive him and repair his internal injuries,” explained the medic. Kanan let out a shaky breath he didn't even know he was holding, and slid back into his seat, nauseated and tortured by the knowledge that his padawan’s heart had stopped. 

Hera’s voice shook as she found the strength to speak. “Thank you so much. Will there be any long term effects? Any lasting issues we need to know about? And can we see him?”

“He will, hopefully, make a full recovery,” responded the medic. “There is a very small possibility that there could be some neurological deficits caused by lack of oxygen to his brain during the time that his heart stopped. But, in my professional opinion, I think that possibility is extremely low due to how quick we were able to restart his heart, but we won’t know until he wakes up. Otherwise, he is young and strong, and it is expected that he should recover just fine. though he will need to take it easy and rest for a few weeks. Right now, we have him immersed in a bacta tank to ensure a speedy recovery. I can take you both to see him if you like.”

Hera let out a cry of relief and happiness and she bent down to tackle Kanan in a desperate embrace. He returned it with equal ferocity, almost numb with relief. If the situation wasn’t so dire and serious, Kanan maybe might have made a joke and pointed out just how mom Hera was being. It would have been funny if the situation wasn’t so, just, not funny. The tears were evident in Hera’s voice when she responded that yes, they would like to go be with him, but Kanan was not one to judge. He knew if he had functioning tear ducts, he would’ve been bawling minutes ago.

The medic led them out the door and into a big open room adjacent to where they just waited. Kanan could sense a few medical technicians and droids fluttering around doing their jobs, but his focus immediately snapped to the muted-but-thankfully-still-there presence of Ezra that was emitting from what was presumably inside the bacta tank in the center of the room. While Kanan was his usual brand of stoic and silent, next to him Hera let out a half-suppressed, choked gasp. The medic respectfully excused himself to give them space, telling them he would be in his office if they needed anything.

Beside him, Kanan heard Hera let out another water breath, and he felt her struggle in the Force to contain herself and her emotions. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into his side, prompting her to lean into him. It was just as much for his support as it was for hers. It would be okay, they could be unbalanced together. 

Hera shook under his arm, and he felt her lose a bit of the emotional battle she had been fighting. He heard the small plops of tears as they slipped off her chin and made contact with their clothing. He squeezed her a little tighter and whispered reassurances that Ezra would be okay, trying his best to be comforting, but certainly feeling like he was failing. Kanan was hovering between a mix of not knowing what to say and navigating his own residual numbness, shock, and terror from the terrifying moments when he hadn’t known if he still had a living son or not.

After a minute or two of silence between them, Hera, always the most verbal with her emotions, spoke up. “Kanan, he - he,” she was cut off involuntarily by a forceful sob. She attempted to gather herself and start again. “He - just - he looks s-so young,” she whispered, her words choppily cut apart by sobs. “And so f-fragile, in there. The tank is so b-big and - and he just looks so small.” She finished her sentence, and abandoned any premise of maintaining her composure by dissolving into quiet, but powerful tears. She turned away from the sight of their kid in the tank and leaned into him fully, pressing her wet face into his sweater. 

Kanan couldn’t or didn’t have the capacity to imagine what she was looking at. He couldn’t bring his mind to produce that image for him. But, for the very first time in the eight months since becoming blind, he didn’t actively wish for his sight back. At this point, Kanan had mostly accepted his blindness, and had learned to lead his life without sight. But, typically the most emotional moments with his family were the moments he truly wished for his vision. But not right now. He knew that the scene in front of them would be seared into Hera’s memory for life, but something deep inside him, he realized guiltily, was relieved he couldn’t see it. Relieved, because, maybe, he hoped, this way the image wouldn't haunt him. That he wouldn’t go to sleep at night and dream of it, or freeze in the midst of a firefight for fear of seeing it again. Just in that fleeting moment, he felt grateful. Grateful that he didn’t have to see what Hera was seeing, Ezra hurt and broken, and suspended in bacta while connected to a million wires. Grateful that Ezra was going to recover. Grateful for more moments with his family.

#star wars rebels #ezra bridger #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla

[neverthrive]

Just gonna leave this old ass fanfic here

Adventuring is a rewarding occupation, providing an abundance of wealth, the respect of peers, and even a fulfilling sense of self worth. Even so, the constant action takes its toll, and every once in a great while an adventurer has to take a step back, breathe in deeply, and just get away from it all. Which is exactly what Jake had been planning for himself and his human brother.

It was a simple idea; take a break from their regular schedule of evil slaying, butt-kickery and all around, nonstop awesomeness. Find some remote location that holds nothing but tranquility in store for the duo to just chillax at for a few days. Just the two of them, a dog and his boy. It was perfect, but like any other well laid plan, there was a monkey wrench destined to find its way into the cogs of said perfection and jam Jake's precise synchronization up something awful. This particular monkey wrench goes by the name of Marceline.

"What are you dweebs up to?" Inquired a melodically cynical voice that belonged to none other than the ancient noirette in question. Marceline stared down ever curiously at the mixed species siblings and their growing mess as she liesurely drifted on the air over their heads. From what she could tell, her mortal friends appeared to be gathering heaps of useless garbage and stowing the junk in their already cramped luggage, for some reason or another.

Finn took a moment to acknowledge the vampire's presence, looking up from his loaded pack to face her. "I'm not actually sure, myself... Jake just told me to start packing my crud, and I guess that's what I'm doing, so does that answer your question?"

"Not in the least." she replied curtly before turning her now suspicious gaze in Jake's direction. The dog paid Marceline no mind as he continued to toss his various and mostly useless possessions into a sack. A rubber duck, a length of rope, a jar of peanuts, a pair of socks... Finally, he stored two empty glass bottles and closed the sack, still oblivious to the vampire's questioning stare. "Jake, what the plum is with all the hullabaloo?"

"Nope." Jake snapped, mildly irritated.

"'Nope'? Nope what?" She pressed him, ignoring the dog's tone.

"No. I'm not gonna tell you because you'll just want to come with us and muck it up. It's s'pose to be just me and mah bro, and you have no part in it. So no, Marceline, you can't come camping with us." Jake retorted in his best attempt at sounding authoritative, but in trying to iterate just how serious he was, the fact that he was suppose to be withholding information had slipped his mind a tad. He soon realized his mistake and growled in frustration. "Forget I said that last part!" But ironically, that last part about ignoring that previous last part was ignored by both teens.

"We're going camping?" Finn and Marceline asked in unison, excitement bubbling up in their throats.

"Yes, Finn, WE are. And no, Marceline, WE are not. Got it?" Jake answered pointedly. "It's camping time with Finn and Jake. I didn't hear Marceline anywhere in there, so step off sister!"

"Well fine! Maybe I didn't want to go on your stupid trip anyway!" Marceline pouted sorely and turned to leave, but Finn, being the model peacekeeper he is, blocked his friend's exit. "Get out of the way, Finn. I'm obviously not wanted here anymore." The vampire queen tried to push the boy aside, but no matter how hard she shoved, the squishy blob of flesh and heroism persisted to keep her from leaving.

"Come on, Jake's just being a butt. You don't have to leave on account o' him bein' a Mr. grumpy pants." Finn gently wrapped a hand around Marceline's forearm and began to lead her back over to his brother so as amends could be made.

"He doesn't even wear pants, dude." she huffed out in retortion as she let herself be pulled back towards the junk heaps that the magical dog was still busying himself with sorting through and packing into napsacks and suitcases and the like.

"Jake..." Finn verbally nudged his brother to outstretch the olive branch to Marceline, but an apology seemed hesitant in forthcoming. "Come on, man. You know you done bad in yourself bro, and I know you know how to make it right again." Finn's prompt appeared to have worked this time, eliciting a defeated sigh from Jake.

Dropping his bags of assorted and worthless loot, Jake turned to face Marceline who now had her arms crossed over her chest and was avoiding eye contact with him. "Look, I'm sorry, alright?" Marceline untensed a bit at that. "It's not you, It's just that I really wanted to have some bro time with Finn, y'know? To recapture those times we used to share when we was wee pups." Jake inhaled deeply, breathing in the musty scent lingering about from the, until recently, long forgotten contents of that once overstuffed closet in the corner. He had a feeling in his gut that he'd regret this decision later, and his gut was almost never wrong, but he couldn't ignore his guilt and empathy for Marceline. She just wanted to hang with her friends. "So... You want to come with us, then?"

The vampire's sour mood dissipated immediately, her pout rapidly shifting to a grin stretched from pointed ear to pointed ear. "Heck yes I wanna go camping with you guys! So when are we leaving?" Marceline asked almost giddily.

"Well I guess since you're coming with us, we probably shouldn't be heading out 'til just before sundown." Jake answered thoughtfully. Having so much time before they were to depart allowed Jake some spare moments to cool it with all the preparations and freed up his thinkin' schedule a bit. Suddenly, a thought pervaded his mind that the dog rather took a shining to. "If we're bringing guests along now, Lady Rainicorn's coming too!" and with that, Jake took off to go inform his girlfriend of how he'd decided she would be spending the next few days. The matter was entirely non negotiable.

Finn and Marceline stood idly by as Jake hastily absconded out through a nearby window. The young hero turned to his immortal friend "You know, he actually does wear pants..."

"Really?"

"Yup."

A quarter hour before dusk would settle in, the four campers had reached the landing Jake scouted out beforehand. It was a small pocket within the forest, not too far from a river, vacant enough to comfortably fit everyone but with a dense enough canopy to shade any vampire from daylight at high noon. Having acquired a suitable base of operations, the only thing left standing in between Jake and his cherished relaxation was setting up camp. The duties were divied up between two groups.

"So Lady and I are gonna pitch our tent, by ours I mean hers and mine. I don't know what either of you are doing so... Sleep under the stars or whatever. But also, we need a campfire, so you guys should maybe gather some sticks and twigs and stuff, and it'll be math. 'Kay." Jake then spoke something in a language neither Finn nor Marceline could comprehend to Lady, who laughed in response, and the two magical creatures diligently began piecing together the frame of their shared tent. The rainicorn giggled lightly every time Jake slipped a tent pole into the corresponding connector she held.

Marceline narrowed her eyes at the spectacle and made a face. "Gross..." She thought it best to linger around the couple and their disgusting adorableness as little as inhumanly possible and began to head towards the surrounding thickets. Finn soon followed suit, tailing behind his friend into the thick of the forest to gather materials for their fire.

"So like, sticks, huh?" The human remarked as he bent over to scoop a discarded twig from the earth.

Marceline turned to see Finn's pitiful offering. Their fire would need a lot more fuel than some measly green branches. "No man, we need bigger stuff than that." she explained. "And preferably a little more dead." she added.

"Bigger?" Finn thought it over for a moment. "Alright, bigger." Turning to face a tree, the stout teenager grappled the trunk and with all his might attempted to pry the poor unsuspecting eudicot from the soil. "I need your wood, tree! Give it up, yo!" Finn continued his struggle while Marceline cackled at his random act of foolishness.

Seeing no sign of Finn relenting any time soon, his undead friend intervened. "Finn, we don't need a whole tree. And you most def don't gotta yank one out'a the ground. C'mere, ya goober." she beckoned while barely supressing her laughter. Finn looked from Marceline then back to the tree in his grasp, releasing the bark from his grip and gaining nothing from his efforts but sore arms.

"Look," she pointed to a fallen branch that looked as if it'd been laying on the forest floor for a few seasons now. "This is the kind of stuff we're gonna need. Big enough to burn, and not impossible to pick up, got it? Now get it." Finn did as instructed, bending to take the dry, rough chunk of high octane campfire fuel in his arms. "Alright, now just find a lot more like it and we're good to light 'em up."

"How many more?" Finn asked wearily.

"I don't know. Lots, I suppose. Have to keep it going for a while." she replied, venturing deeper into the woods to search for any more decent firewood she might per chance stumble upon. Figuratively, that is, it's hard to sumble when your feet don't touch the ground.

"Bleh..." Despite his contempt for such menial labor, Finn once again followed the vampire to gather what they needed. It was an easy enough job, but way too dang boring for a man of action. Finn needed excitement, and lugging sticks around wasn't providing.

When they'd finished gathering the firewood and the time came to actually light the fire, Finn demanded he be the one to do the deed. And so there they sat across from one another, a neatly arranged pile of dead wood between them. Finn furiously stroked the sticks together in a fruitless attempt to catalyze a spark.

"This usually works! These things must be broken, or something..." Finn pouted and heaved the useless wooden shafts into the nearby shrubbery in frustration.

"Here," Marceline moved herself closer to the bundle and spawned a small flame in the palms of her hands. Touching the flame to the tinder, the pile of miniature lumber and bark ignited almost instantly. Finn stared down at the blazing fire, then glanced up to Marcleline, a smug, toothy smirk plastered across her face.

"You cheated!" he yelped, pointing accusingly at the girl who succeeded so easilly where he so miserably failed.

"Finn, don't be jelly of my totally sweet vampire powers." Marceline replied, her expression never faltering.

"I'm not jelly! Maybe jam, but not jelly. Just admit you cheated! Vampire powers is cheating fo' sure." he insisted.

"Nope." The vampire playfully let her forked tongue slide out from between her fangs, mocking the disgruntled human.

"Whatever..."

"Hey, you guys made the fire! Rad!" Jake exclaimed as he padded his way over to the two from his now fully assembled tent.

"Yeah, we totally did it! 100% group effort here." Marceline chimed almost sarcastically. "So who wants to roast marshmallows?"

"... Then the puppy looked under his bed, and saw two glowing green eyes! The pup was so scared, it almost wee wee'd!" Finn stood over his three friends, the crackling fire below lighting his features in distorted illumination. He raised both hands above his head, digits stretched and curled as claws in the most menacing display the boy could muster. "The nebelung under the bed reached out to the scared little puppy and..." Finn paused, turning to Jake who'd heard the story right along with Finn in their youth and knew what came next. "TICKLED THE PUPPY!" Finn pounced on his brother and poked his wriggling fingers into the dog's soft flanks. Jake snorted and snickered at the human's tickle attack as the two women watched on. Lady found the sight to be quite amusing, adorable even. Marceline just sucked the red from a can of kidney beans in stark indifference.

"If you two are done with your brotherly gropefest yet, maybe I could tell a real ghost story?" Marceline cut their fun short and assumed her position over the campfire as current story teller as the brothers returned to their seats. "This isn't the first time I've been in these parts of the woods. I came through here some years back, how long ago exactly is a little fuzzy. But I wasn't alone. No, I had friends with me, just like I do now, and just like now, there was a dog among my group.

"We were just hiking through, you see, we had no intentions of staying. No, that would be foolish! We knew better, we'd heard the stories of what happens around here after dark. Weird stuff... Spooky happenings, y'know? But the dog, he got lost-"

"Oh no! Not the dog! The dog always dies first!" Jake interrupted with his sudden fearful outburst.

"Well anyway..." Marceline shot him a scornful look, and continued. "The dog must have started straggling, because when we stopped to rest, he was nowhere to be found. Of course we looked for him, we stayed together as a group, we weren't about to split up so we'd all be lost in 'The Forsaken Forest'. But no matter where we searched, there was no sign of the poor lost doggy. It wasn't 'til well after dark when we found him. He was huddled in a bush maybe twenty or so yards from where he was last seen, shaking uncontrollably with his face in his hands.

"He wouldn't show us his face. He just kept on mumbling some nonsense about 'whispering trees' and 'eyeball rockets'. When we finally pried the dog's hands from his face, he had no eyes! Just two gaping sockets where his looking globes used to be! Once we got him to calm down, he told us the whispering trees of the forsaken forest used some hoodoo to turn his eyeballs into jet packs and they flew right off of his face. Wait..." Marceline stiffened and tilted her head to one side as if intently listening to some faint noise off in the distance. "Did you guys hear that?"

"Hear what?" Jake squeaked, cowering into his girfriend's embrace. Cuddling with Lady Rainicorn made him feel secure, but it wasn't enough to make him totally forget he was in the alleged 'Foresaken Forest'.

"It sounds like..." she leaned in toward Jake, and with a completely straight face, with a hint of what might pass for something distraught in her tone, answered "Whispering."

That's all Jake needed to hear. He gave his friends a surprise performance of his scream song and tore off to his tent as fast as his four legs would carry him, separating himself from the 'evil' trees outside with a thin layer of nylon. No way in the flippin' Night-o-Sphere was he letting some piney mischief makers steal his precious eyes. Lady chuckled and followed after him, knowing Jake wouldn't be able to sleep alone tonight after that fright.

Finn and Marceline shared a laugh at Jake's expense. When their howling merriment subsided, they realized they were alone once more. Finn fed a few more branches from their dwindling supply into the blaze, stoking the flames.

"So, have you really been out in these woods before?" The boy asked, now feeling uneasy not knowing if the vampire's story was true or not. Finn'd witnessed stranger things, so believing tall tales came easily to him.

"Yeah, I have. But not how you're thinking I did, that story was bogus." Finn was relieved. "Naw, my old man took me camping somewhere around here when I was younger, before that whole 'fry incident' happened. It's one of the more pleasant memories I have from my upbringing." Marceline sighed and watched the flames consume their fresh meal through hazy, half lidded eyes. The age-old young woman contently recalled the time she and her father shared out in this forest so many years ago.

"Is that why you like camping?" Finn pulled her out of her train of thought. "Becuase your dad brought you?"

"Yeah, probably." she admitted. "It's just nice to chill out in the wild, with some friends or family or whatever. It's kind of peaceful. So how 'bout you, Finn? Have you ever been camping?"

"Well, once pop took me, Jake and Jermaine out for a weekend of fishing. Y'know, a father and his boys." Finn still missed his parents, they were such kind old folk. No one else would look twice at the human freak, but they raised him as their own. "But it was actually just the back yard, there was a pond there too, and we were told we couldn't go inside the house 'til the weekend was over. Dad made us some sort of little shelter out of some dead trees and ferns and all we ate was the fish we caught, but Dad made sure to stock the pond with lots of fish beforehand, so we had plenty. It was a pretty good time, even if it wasn't the wilderness like this."

"It's not where you're at, Finn, all that matters is who you're with." Marceline asserted, and felt a certain truth to her words resonate. In her experience, this was an immutable fact, in good company, fond memories could be made anywhere. Finn always seemed like good company, and he'd given the vampire an abundance of fresh memories she hoped would not fade any time soon.

"Yeah," Finn nodded gingerly. "that's deep." The human stretched his arms wide and yawned in deeply. It was getting late, and an adolecsent boy needs his sleep. "I'm gonna hit the sack."

Finn took a few paces away from the campfire and found one of the various packs he'd brought with him on this excursion at the base of a large tree. Opening the zipper, he reached inside and withdrew a very large, very new looking gortex sleeping bag and unrolled the bundle of fluff and warmth, laying it across the ground. The tuckered hero wasted no time before hopping into the over sized, silky feeling cocoon, but before he could drift of to the land of Sweet dreams, he was disturbed by a familiar voice.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" demanded the very abandoned feeling vampire queen.

"You're nocturnal." Finn retorted bluntly before rolling over to face away from the dying fire.

"But I've been up all day!" she protested. "My sleep schedule is wack, and it's pretty much entirely your fault."

"Hey, it's your own choice to pester us during the day. You made your bed, now you gotta sleep in it. Hehe." Finn laughed at the irony of that figure of speech used in this particular instance and noted that he's not exactly one to be clever with irony, and it was mostly just coincidence, but an awesome coincidence at that. "Can't you just like, sleep hangin' from a tree or somethin'? Bats do that all the time."

"No! For one, that's actually an insulting generalization, and two, I don't think I can maintain myself in bat form while I'm sleeping." Marceline explained. It sounded logical enough of a reason to rule out sleeping in trees, and there was no way she was about to sleep atop the cold dirt. "Scootch over, I'm getting in with you." she ordered.

"No way! Why didn't you bring your own sleeping junk?" Finn countered.

"Because I didn't think of it and vampires were never bestowed with the gift of foresight, now make room!"

"You can't!" Finn barked.

"Why can't I?" she challenged.

"Because... You're a girl..." Finn's face brightened with reddish hugh.

"Are you saying you'd rather sleep with a boy?" Marceline asked slyly, raising an eyebrow in playful inquiry.

"Well no... But..." Finn sputtered, "This isn't fair!"

"Life ain't fair, get used to it," the dead girl shot back while making her way to Finn and his comfy looking sleeping bag that he was being oh so greedy trying to keep all to himself. Finn hesitated, but after seeing Marceline was dead set on gettin' all up in his bag, he reluctantly relented his opposition and allowed her entry, slipping in beside him.

Marceline noticed how spacious it was inside, still comfortable enough even with the both of them fully encased up to their necks in the puffy fabric, and she almost couldn't help but to be suspicious that Finn's end game was to share this sleeping bag with someone all along. Silly human, he'd only have to ask, no need for reverse psychology and mind games. But then she realized this was Finn she was thinking about and how his intentions never run any deeper than face value. Marceline couldn't see Finn, the genuine goober he is, devise some elaborate plan entailing sleeping bags and psychological warfare all to result in getting her to sleep with him, speaking only in the most literal sense of the term.

Then Marceline realized something else. She was dreadfully uncomfortably laying in this position. "Finn. I need a pillow." she informed.

Disturbed once more from the verge of slumber, Finn exhaled audibly and cracked his sore and crusty eyes. Scanning about the surrounding darkness for something that might sate the relentless vampire's pestering, Finn peered a fairly large, stout stone not far from where they lay. Removing his arms from the confines of the sleeping bag he was now being forced to share, he grabbed hold of the rock and placed it by Marceline's head with a dull thud. "Use that." he instructed coarsely before returning to his previous position and trying once more to sleep.

Marceline stared at the rock in awe for a long moment before deciding it was a horrible candidate for a pillow. No, she'd need something softer, with some give. Something... Squishy. And per chance, it just so happened that there was something exceedingly squishy laying right beside her. So with no further thought or reasoning, Marceline curled herself around Finn and layed her head on the softest point she could find between his shoulder and chest.

"What the flip are you doing?" The hero questioned when feeling his friend's arms snake around his body.

"Shut up." she hissed, momentarily lifting her head from his chest to make eye contact. "You're lumpin' comfortable, so deal with it. Now lay there and be quiet like a good pillow." And with that, she nuzzled back into the fleshy swells of Finn's torso.

As awkward as this situation was, Finn couldn't deny that it was maybe even a little pleasant. But also mostly uncomfortable, for him at least. So to right this, Finn hauled his arm out from beneath the cuddly vampire and repositioned it around Marceline, so now they were in some ungraceful, and clearly completely platonic embrace. Nope, nothing going on here, just a couple o' bros in a sleeping bag is all. Snuggling? Naw, none of that going on here, bro.

Feeling Finn's arm wrap around her back and rest somewhere near her waist, reciprocating her cuddle, Marceline grinned into the adolescent adventurer's chest. "I know you're enjoying this, probably more than you're letting yourself believe, but don't expect it to happen often." She took a moment to glance back up to meet Finn's embarrassed gaze. "You just so happened to have been the most comfortable place for me to spend the night." Reaching up to play with the ears of Finn's hat, she added "Y'know, you're no Hambo, but you're quite the snuggly little bear."

Finn's face flushed skarlet, or maybe it never stopped being that color, he couldn't tell. But either way, he definitely felt significantly warmer around the collar after that remark. He wasn't too sure he liked being Marceline's 'snuggly bear', he imagined it might be something reminiscent of what Lady Rainicorn would call Jake, if she spoke english. And Finn for sure didn't think he was ready to have with Marceline what Jake had with Lady. But here they were, closer to any other girl than he'd ever been, unburnt by her touch and unscalded by any callous words that carelessly fell from her mouth.

Finn gave some thought to this and realized it wouldn't be so bad to be more than simply friends with Marceline. She was probably the greatest gal he knew, and almost certainly the least complicated, even if that's not saying all too much. But he could easily envision their relationship taking a turn for the romantic. By the time he'd worked up the courage to profess that thought to her, a rather obnoxious snore seized his attention. Finn snapped his eyes down in his bed buddy's direction to find she'd already fallen fast asleep. So, the adventurer, pushing all silly thoughts of relationships aside, closed his eyes for what seemed like the umpteenth time that evening and was finally allowed rest.

It wasn't the muted sunlight shining through the leaves overhead, ticking at his eyelids, that woke Finn that morning, nor was it the stirring of the girl still in his arms. It was the earpiercing shriek of utter shock and surprise let loose from his older brother's agape maw. Finn's eyes shot open, sitting up quickly and turning his attention from Jake to Marceline, taking in the situation and how it might look to anyone outside of the sleeping bag.

"This probably isn't what it looks like!" Finn piped up defensively almost without thinking. His brain kicked in and told him that whenever someone says those particular words, it's almost always exactly what it looks like.

"Oh my grawd, dude! You guys didn't... Did you?" Jake gasped, flabbergasted. "Just tell me you kept it PG13, please."

"Dude, what the hey! We're both fully clothed, okay!" Finn stepped out of his sleeping bag to prove he was, in fact, not in the nude. "She just forgot to bring any camping gear, so I shared. Alright?"

"Yeah, alright... I guess I might have been overreacting a bit..." Jake mumbled ashamedly, averting his gaze from his two friends he just so blatently accused of indecency.

"A bit?" Finn chuckled. "It's a'ight man, let's just forget about it." Finn's stomach let out a low growl. "So what's for breakfast, homie?"

Jake felt a mite cheerier now that they'd moved on past that terrible misunderstanding. What an awful, horrible revelation to wake up to first thing in the morning. "Canned food, yo. It's all we got since we pollished off the marshmallows last night."

"Sounds good, man." Finn responded with a nod. He looked back to his vampire friend who was still wrapped in his sleeping bag. She was in a sitting position, watching the two brothers, holding the poofy top of the bag up to under her chin with strangely bare arms. "C'mon Marcie, stop being a lazy butt. It's time to get up." The human coaxed.

"Remember that thing you said about how we're both fully clothed?" she asked with a bashful smile. "If we've learned anything this morning, it's that you guys are great at jumping to conclusions." She motioned with her eyes, directing Finn and Jake's attention toward a pile of her discarded flannel shirt and ripped jeans.

"What the flip, Marceline!" Finn cried out, bordering on the hysterical.

"What, I got hot! Besides, it's not like I'm completely naked. Glob Finn, don't be such a perv!" Marceline huffed indignantly, floated up from the ground sleeping bag and all, snatched the shirt and pair of jeans from where they lay and was gone into the dense forest, presumably to get dressed.

"What in the flip just happened, Jake?" Finn asked flatly as he continued to stare dumbfoundedly out into the woods where he last saw the lunatic who wore his sleeping bag like a toga.

"Sounds like you're having girl troubles, bro." Jake answered, gingerly giving the confused human an empathetic pat on the back.

#finnceline #this is like 9 years old #But now there's fanfic in the tag

[alch3mic]

in between. (drabble series)

chapter four (stitches.)

captain!sans x gender neutral reader. 3k+ word count.

please be advised for themes of anxiety, ideas of loss, depression, and self esteem.

* finally at the fourth chapter with our dear fellswap sans, captain! he also has no official fic yet but has his own tag here on my tumblr if you’d like to know more about him! thank you and i hope you enjoy!

A project. 

That's all this was meant to be.

Something to keep him preoccupied in his free time, now that he seemed to have more time on his hands than he knew what to do with.

Somewhere to put his focus, instead of thinking about things.

Instead of stressing about things.

Instead of.. worrying about.. 'things'.

Like this.. 'thing'.. attached to him.

...

"ya can't just keep pacin' around bro."

Sure he could. 

He could pace around as much as he wanted. It was his boat dammit, and he'd walk around it as he pleased, from the bow to the stern, topside and back.  

"Shouldn't you be resting?"

No. 

How could he? There was work to be done.

All his life he had filled himself with his work. It was all he knew.

Work.

Work.

Work 

Work.

Work 

From his time as a child, working to take care of his younger brother to ensure he was brought up properly to his time in the royal guard working hard every day to support them and make sure they both survived that horrid Underground. Even on the surface he worked and worked and worked, to regain his position as a monster worthy of fear and respect after the humans had stripped them of everything and leaving them to rot like strays on the street.

Every minute of every day he worked.

Most days he even dreamed of it.

Which is exactly why it was so difficult to sit still, even at your request.

"You really should just take it easy, Sans. Didn't Undyne say to not stress yourself out?"

She did, but it didn't matter. 

He was in a constant state of being stressed. 

Stressed was how he operated. 

Stressed was all he knew. 

His body could never give him the pleasure of just 'taking it easy', constantly buzzing, constantly wanting to be in motion. At times he envied his brother for being able to let things go and just kick back, but... that was exactly why he worked so hard wasn't it? 

So that his brother could relax without a worry in that thick skull of his..? 

Of course.. he knew Papyrus went through his own troubles.. it's just...

Gah.

This free time was now filling his head with unnecessary thoughts, even as he tried his best to busy himself by patrolling his own boat.

..Which was only adding to his stress...

"Lets try a hobby. What do you normally do for fun?"

Think of you. 

Well.. 

He didn't have to now that you were here with him.

He could just spend time with you instead of daydreaming about it.

And he did.

You humored him by relaxing together topside with him and Papyrus, enjoying the salty breezes of the ocean and the warm summer rays. The two of you would chat in his bed for hours, laughing and telling stories of the past as you laid close. You'd help him, by offering an arm when he wore himself out or when he needed help doing something that required two hands. Everything from opening jars to preparing dinner or even tying his shoes.

It was..

Ah, dammit it was so humiliating.

..And also made him strangely happy?

He was.. happily humiliated? 

..Humbled?

..Stars.

He never had anyone taken care of him before, so his pride was taking a major blow every time you offered to help. A part of him was glad you'd always ask first so he'd at least get to attempt at doing it by himself but.. it was also humiliating to give in. He was too stubborn for his own good, never having anyone extend a hand for him neither below ground or on the Surface.

Still you never seemed bothered. 

You never batted an eye when he'd turn to you. Sometimes all it took was a look from him and you just knew, without having any words be spoke. Having that kind of connection was.. 

Incredible. 

It had been something the both of you had obviously over the years, but only now it was showing itself in the mundane parts of your lives now that you were with him. Normally it had been when you locked eyes in a fight in the streets of Ebott, and he could see the whole encounter play out in his mind. How you'd swing, how he'd shoot. How you both would nearly hit each other both on purpose and on accident. 

Like a dance with death only the two of you could perform. 

And how beautifully you danced for him..

Now.. having that connection manifest positively, in quiet agreements and silent conversations that took only seconds to have, really drove home the fact that times have changed.

That he was no longer the skeleton he was before.

He had you now, which was different. 

You were his. 

And he was yours. 

Though.. in truth you always had a part of soul with you even if you never realized it.

And he always had Papyrus by his side. 

That could never change.

But now.. he also had..

That.

The 'thing'.

An arm. 

That.. didn't belong to him.

It was attached, sure, but..

It was foreign. 

Heavy. 

A burden. 

It was consequences of his actions taken form of something that use to be, but no longer was. Like a cruel symbol of mockery, forever attached to his own broken body. There was nothing but the tickling of a sensation of pain, like a phantom dancing across his bones, from a limb that was no longer there. The magic in his scapula hummed louder than the rest of his body, always catching his attention as it had been enhanced to support the weight of his new arm. It was irritating and constant, like a buzz he couldn't be rid of no matter how loud his thoughts were or tried to be.

Always there.

Always ringing in his skull.

It was driving him crazy, adding to the mounting stress.

"FOR FUN? EASY. TRAP MAKING. ANALYTICS. READING THE STOCKS AND NEWS."

"Well that's depressing."

"STAYING INFORMED IS IMPORTANT, DARLING."

"And so is your mental health, Sans. Ignoring this won't make it go away you know."

The metallic hand closed on a reflex when he felt your gaze upon it. 

He didn't like it, despite how incredible Undyne's work was. She had studied him for weeks while he recovered in her intensive care, all so she could make an exact replica of his now missing arm. It looked just like the real thing only casted in asatollite, a type of metal found in the Underground that could conduct magic. No wires. No heavy plating. Just an arm, moved by his own magic.

An impressive feat really, but he felt no pride in this.

..Only shame.

As someone who had lived their life known for cutting it close time and time again, this was now all the proof someone needed that they could actually lay their hands on him. There was a chance that someone could hit and do some serious damage. 

For some, that would be enough to push their determination over the edge. 

The proof that he couldn't dodge forever.

And here it was, glinting under the soft afternoon sunlight that filtered into his quarters.

This... was his decline wasn't it?

..He could feel it in his bones.

Here marked the end of his reign of terror as Captain, the scarred skeleton who ruled the docks of Ebott City with an iron fist. Now that once unrelenting grip which strangled the life of rats out of the marine failed to even grasp a pen properly.

It stung in such a strange way that he almost didn't know how to describe it.

It was a unsightly fall from grace, paired with happiness and misery.

He was muddled with complicated feelings that really didn't have proper words, and so instead of spending his days thinking about it while lying in bed, he paced around his ship. 

"Is there anything you've ever wanted to learn?"

He only learned what was necessary. 

Languages to properly communicate with associates, skills like learning to shoot with a gun so that he could avoid having his magic traced back to him, and cooking so he could make sustainable meals when he and Papyrus had nothing..

They weren't things he did for fun, they were necessary.

What else could he learn that was necessary?

"HOW ABOUT TEACHING ME TO CUT A BULLET LIKE YOU DID BACK IN THE 'SISCO EXCHANGE."

"I'm not teaching you that."

"AND WHY'S THAT?"

"I don't need to make you any more dangerous than you already are you bonehead. I meant something fun! Like.. maybe a sport?"

"I THROW DARTS. I ALSO SHOOT."

"I.. Okay I guess that counts," you said, glancing to the wall of his quarters where the board was set up.

It's true it was a dart board hanging on the wall, but it was littered with photos of thugs and politicians, a dart neatly nailed through their head. It honestly looked like more of an omen of things to come rather than a hobby.

"Anything else?"

...

"I PLAYED THE VIOLIN FOR A SHORT WHILE."

"You did?"

"YES. BACK IN THE UNDERGROUND. I FOUND ONE IN THE DUMP AND TAUGHT MYSELF TO PLAY WHEN I DISCOVERED PAPYRUS LIKED THE WAY IT SOUNDED. IT WOULD HELP PUT HIM TO SLEEP ON SOME OF THE ROUGHER NIGHTS."

"Aww. Maybe you could think about picking it back up. I'd love to hear you play!"

He would, eventually. 

For right now.. the task seemed so daunting now that he had.. 

...That.

"..But maybe not yet."

Another silent conversation, passed by only the glint in his eyesocket. Once again he was glad he didn't have to openly admit he might struggle with learning something like that again but.. a small pass of shame also washed over him. He'd love to play for you, to maybe even create his own music to reflect the feelings you gave him in his soul, but to move this metallic.. 'thing'.. to play would be..

He'd become frustrated, just like with everything else.

"AND WHAT DO YOU DO TO RELAX MY DEAR?"

"Me? I usually sew or knit."

Right. Costumes. That’s why you asked to have your own space in that free room on the ship. You had mentioned it once before, how you use to do costuming back in the day for plays and helped your father who worked as a tailor until...

Hm.

"YOU SELL YOUR PIECES DON'T YOU?"

"Just to a few people. I make dresses for Mr. Rose's granddaughter and Rumpelstiltskin still orders some pieces for his wife. I also send some more elaborate stuff the Prince's way every once in awhile and I even still get requests from Mama Bear even after they disappeared off into the forest. I think they might finally have a Baby Bear on the way because they asked about knitting a little blanket a few days ago."

...

He.. tried to not humor the thought of just sailing away from this city with you, like that lucky bastard did with his spouse when he took off into the woods. Of course he couldn't, he knew Papyrus would stay here with Happy and he'd never want to be far from his brother. 

Still...

It was a tempting idea.

"I could always teach you. It's a pretty good skill to just learn how to hand stitch to mend clothing and it really isn't too complicated."

He relented ...of course. 

Because he always did to you, with that smile on your face and the hum in your tone. 

.....

Learning from you had been everything he hoped for, with you sitting close to him as you taught him how to thread a needle. You were patient with him as he struggled, his hand shaking as he did his best to will his magic to move. You were gentle as you taught him to stitch carefully and slowly, following along side as you guided him every step of the way.

...He'll never forget the way you laughed at his first pass though. 

He had been so damn.. angry! 

Really, you had the nerve to laugh even when he did his best! 

You were the worst, which is why exactly he had to pin you down and tickle you until you couldn't breathe. At least he could use that wretched metal arm to press your hands above your head as you desperately tried to wrestle out of his hold until you were flushed and gasping for breath.

His next attempt was alone late at night, when even the stars on the deck above couldn't quell his thoughts. They ran wild in his head, stampeding and thrashing about.

At his failures. 

At his mistakes.

At the humming in his shoulder and the arm that ached despite not being there. So he tried to not think about it as he quietly threaded the needle under the dim yellow lights in his quarters. The quiet creak and groan of the boat was his only accompaniment along your soft breathing from the bed as you peacefully slumbered away.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

He timed his stitches with your breaths, pushing the needle through the felt and then back again as he sewed the two pieces of scrap fabric together. It was strange how difficult this was, willing his fingers to move while simply pushing and pulling a needle. His jaw would tense as his hand shook at times and failed to grasp the needle, and then he'd hear you let out a sigh and he'd relax again.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

Until the stitch was done.

Until he hushed the wild thoughts in his head and put his stress to bed.

Until he could no longer deny himself your company and he'd fall back to your side, finally delving into the depths of sleep.

He spent many days and nights like this, a fire ignited in his soul to hear your praise the first time.

"Seems like your stitched are getting tighter. Nice work there, Cap."

That was all he needed.

Your words. Your smile. The exigent that reflected in your beautiful eyes. You were proud of him, and it made him work all the harder as he sat with you in the room you had taken for your sewing. This place had been your sanctuary, something he once avoided entering to at least give you a little room for yourself on the ship, but now he found reassurance in it as well.

The whir of your sewing machine had become a comfort, able to drown out the buzz in his head as he worked beside you. Soft colorful fabrics lined the shelves in the wall and a half finished dress would decorate a mannequin or two. The both of you would drink coffee and chit chat as he tried to get lost in the motions of hand stitching pieces of scrap fabric together. 

He didn't want to constantly strain himself to move his arm.

He wanted it to be natural.

He wanted to use his hand without a second thought.

He wanted it to be like..

How it use to be.

But it could.. never really be like it use to be. 

And he struggled and struggled and struggled.

In the weeks that had dragged by, both you and Papyrus had picked up small gigs to help patch the hole his injury was leaving. 

Sans was... or had been.. the bread maker. 

He always prided himself on providing by running the docks, able to keep his rather lavish lifestyle alive by delivering cargo from overseas to sellers like the Fell brothers and the other croons of this city, but the two of you had insisted on him resting, so his businesses and trades had all but halted.

You were still far off from ever putting a dent in his savings, but the two of you worked regardless to ease his stress. 

..Because somehow, even having the back up funds prepared for events like this, didn't stop Sans from stressing.

The only part that annoyed him about it was that you had less time to teach him. You focused more on your commissions, so Sans would leave you in peace to your quiet room and stitch in his quarters.

He hadn't really decided what he wanted to work towards from stitching. It had simply become a tool to help train his fingers, so now that he could sew what was he suppose to do with the skill?

...

....

.....

It was a quiet afternoon in his quarters, the low hum of a forgotten radio on his desk as a deep voice rattled off the daily news mixed with a garble of static. Being so far out into the marine meant the reception wasn't good, but he could pick up key terms as the voice drawled on. Another murder on the west side, some more fights in the south and some re-election news. Not like it mattered who was in charge these days. The faces changed but at the end of the day these suits always lined their pockets with bloodied dollar bills. This city was rotted to it's core, just like it's people, and it'd stay that way until it was burned to the ground.

Sans' eyelights drifted down to the book in front of him.

'Stuffed Plushies For Beginners!'

The title almost felt condescending, just like the colorful pictures and simple wording that decorated each page. He still couldn't help but twist his frown deeper at the fact that you bought him a children's book of all things, paired with that sharp little grin of yours and that infectious laugher. It had been too much.. Which is why he snatched the damn thing out of your hands when you gave it to him. 

"To help decide what you want to do with your new skill! Maybe you can finally make something instead of just stitching scraps together you dork."

He would never turn down a challenge, especially from you, and he was eager to have your approval again.

"AND WHAT EXATLY SHOULD I SEW?"

"Just pick something you're interested in and sew it. They have a lot of animals in there! You do at least like one kind of animal, don't you?"

Dogs, because they were loyal.

Cats, because they could fend for themselves.

Birds, because of their freedom.

But making something based of them didn't quite appeal to Sans.

'Basic Plushie Pattern.'

...

"hey bro, i wanted to ask- oh my stars."

"AH-!" Sans inhaled, squeezing the doll in his grasp and nearly tearing at it with his claws. "YOU-! WOULD YOU KNOCK!?"

"you actually made a plushie of them. wow," his brother hummed, "and here i thought your obsession couldn't get any wo-"

WHOOMPH.

The pillow made direct contact with Papyrus' face, earning a laugh from the taller skeleton. Sans barked out a few more insults as his brother continued to giggle, admiring what he had finished so far. 

It.. looked like crap.

Some of the stitches were lopsided and others weren't uniform, but he wanted to see this through before his frustrations got the better of him. So with some encouragement from Papyrus he kept at it, finishing the body and then attaching the head.

"Pahahaha! Captain!"

"WHAT!?"

"You! Ehehe! You-! Of.. of me!"

"LOOK, JUST TELL ME IT'S TERRIBLE SO I CAN BE RID OF THE ACURSED THING ALRIGHT?"

"No! No. Absolutely not! I'm keeping this forever and you can never take it away from me!"

He gritted his teeth and attempted to wrestle the doll from your grasp but to no avail. You hugged it close and refused to relent, calling it precious and a testament to his efforts.

All of his hard work.. 

To a doll..

That looked like you.

"Are you going to make one of you?" you asked, letting out a few breaths as he finally gave up trying to grab the doll from your grasp.

"AND WHY WOULD I DO THAT?"

"Well I don't want them to be lonely."

...

How could he... ever argue with that.

So begrudgingly he sewed again, this time now more aware than ever of that 'thing' as it worked meticulously to create a replicate of itself. The doll's left arm, sewn together with a deep gray metallic fabric, now shared the same shame he did.

...

Strangely enough, it suited him.

...

"They look cute together."

"ONE ON THE RIGHT HAS SEEN BETTER DAYS."

"I still think he's pretty cute. He's trying his best, after all."

Well.. he certainly couldn't argue with that either.

#look at that! #we made it! #cap's is a lil' more fluffier than the others so i hope you guys enjoy it! #captain!sans #sans #undertale #fellswap #fellswap sans #undertale fic #yandere sans #long post #fic #fanfiction #drabble #anxiety tw #depression tw #alch!writes #inbetween!fic

[emmaannaelisabeth]

Treacherous Waffles

this is purely 6k words of kanej fluff, for you my friends to enjoy. based on taylor swifts song treacherous. it took me about 30 hours so treat it with care, lots of love! no tw in particular, but i aged them up a bit cause i could, and its a modern au.

“Don’t whip the cream too hard now”, Inej says and looks over her shoulder. Kaz looks up from the bowl in his hands, turns the hand mixer off, blinks slowly and looks at her, eyes just a little wider than usual, his eyebrows very close to his hairline.

“What?”

A smile flashes past her lips and she shakes her head lightly. “I said, don’t whip it too hard.”

Kaz frowns. “Darling, I whip it the way I want it.”

“But-” Inej sighs, lifts her hand into the air and lets it fall to her hip. “-you almost make butter out of it”, she sighs.

“I absolutely do not.” Kaz raises one eyebrow at her, almost offended. “But perhaps I shouldn’t whip it at all”, he says, first looking down at the cream and then up at her; a fraction of a smile teases the corner of his mouth.

“You barely want it whipped”, he says. “You want it to float all over your plate.” He shakes his head, shivers theatrically and smiles crookedly.

Inej huffs and turns around, flips out a fresh waffle from the waffle iron. “That is not true.” She tries to sound annoyed, but Kaz can hear the smile in her voice, he can hear how it threatens to stain her serious face. Because it is true. Inej wants the cream to float off the spoon, Kaz wants it to stick to it when he turns it upside down.

She doesn’t argue more with him though, she just blinks slowly at him and shakes her head as if to say Why do I even keep you around? “You want butter, then butter it is.”

“It’s not butter”, he mutters, defending his case, and lowers his gaze to the bowl again. Inej turns her back towards him; he can feel her smile making the air vibrate around her. Kaz steals a glimpse of her; he watches her open and close the waffle iron, looks at her hand as she grips the fork and sticks it into the golden waffle. Her small fingers close around the steel, her bronze skin contrasting beautifully to the silver of the fork.

As silly as it might sound, he wishes he could be that fork. He wishes he could muster the courage to be held (not like a fork, obviously, but almost). Kaz wishes he could feel those bronze hands in his, he wishes he could let his fingers entangle with hers, let his long slender ones braid into her so much smaller ones.

Just holding her hand would be enough, just knowing that it is her hand in his would make him swim in stars. Kaz blinks slowly. He doesn’t know where all these thoughts are coming from, and he can’t decide if they frighten him or not, if they make him brave or faint-hearted. Does this soft precious heat, this immense warmth, inside his ribcage bring him joy or pain, tears or laughs, or both? Is this aching in his heart, this need of her and nothing else, this sudden longing and desperate wish for more, hurting him or healing him? Kaz can’t tell.

Blue eyes fall on her again and he swallows hard, his gaze trips at the sight, stumbles as always. How he wishes he could just walk up to her, correct a strand of dark hair, put it behind her ear and gently tilt her chin up, turn her head towards him. How he wishes he could cup his hand around her cheek, lean in slowly, look into her eyes, ask for permission - get permission - and then feel her soft lips against his.

Kaz bites his lip and forces himself to look away. What is this crazy feeling? This reckless foolishness, this dream that he knows he will never be able to have? This bright piece of heaven he desperately wishes he could hold in his hand?

What if he were to ask her? Inej, put your lips close to mine. His world swirls by the mere thought of her that close, his heart throbs and he feels it as if he was on fire, as if someone had lightened a match on his clothes and let the fire spread. The fire, the heat, the hunger and the greed plays with his mind, teases his consciousness. He can’t decide if it’s giving him life or holding a blade to his throat.

Because Inej could technically do that. Yes, she could very well hold a blade to his throat, again, but she could also put her lips close to his, as long as they don’t touch. Well, - he presses his lips tightly together to hide the grin that trespasses his face - she could do both and he wouldn’t mind. Not really.

Before he can stop himself, he lets his tongue taste the soft surface of his upper lip. And, even worse, before he can barricade the door of dreams in his mind, he has already asked himself if hers would feel like that, if her lips would be as soft as his.

The world around him seems to go out of focus and all Kaz can think of is Inej’s lips. Something hot pulses through him, something he doesn’t know what it is, something he fears might ruin him as well as heal him.

“How many do you want?” Inej then asks and pours more waffle batter onto the hot iron.

“Sorry, what?” Kaz stirs, as if someone had woken him up from a dream. (Isn’t it weird, when the dream itself wakes you up?)

“Waffles, Kaz”, she smiles and turns her head to meet his gaze. Kaz forces his eyes to stay on hers, and not wander off anywhere else.

“Four”, he says quickly, without much thought, swallows and bites his lip, his eyes riveted on her.

“Four?” She raises one eyebrow. “Have you eaten anything else today? You usually only eat two.”

Kaz shrugs. “I’m hungry”, he says, huffs. He fears that waffles won’t ease this hunger though. He fears that he’s hungry for something else, something more.

Inej smiles softly and turns around. Kaz feels his inner self falling to his knees. He wants to scold that part of him, yell at the foolish boy behind his ribs to stop, get himself together. His mind is a mess, a mess of dreams and hopes and wishes and nice things and bad things and pain and sorrow and fear and joy and despair and peace and war - all at the same time.

He damns himself for imagining her close, imagining her face right in front of his, imagining them eye to eye. Her beautiful eyes. Her dark brown glimpses of life and joy, his Earth, his grounding, his safe place. Everytime they catch his gaze, he feels it as if she had tied a ribbon around his heart, and pulled him in. He would want nothing more than to follow her, give her all of him, strip bare of every piece of armour he has, hand her his heart on a silver plate and say It is yours if you want it, whenever you want it, always.

But his feet are stuck in deep water and he cannot walk with her. Sometimes he manages a couple of steps, but sometimes the tide is too strong. Sometimes, the waves hold him back, keep him from reaching land, from reaching the safety of the cliffs, from reaching her. Sometimes, he fights the tide until he almost gives in, almost lets himself get swept away, almost lets himself sink under the waves, never to see the light of day again.

But no matter what happens, he won’t stop. No matter how easy it would be to close his eyes and let the river have its way with him, he won’t ever stop swimming, he won’t ever stop fighting the echoes of death on his skin, he won’t ever stop fighting the horrors of the world around him. Not until gravity itself is too much; never until it sweeps him off his feet in a fight and denies him the right to get up, slays him with the help of hard dark cobblestones and hard hits from men he doesn’t even know.

Kaz will never stop fighting for her, not until gravity pulls him down into the cold dirt in a casket. Perhaps not even in death will he stop. His heart won’t. His soul won’t. He won’t.

Inej’s smile shines before his inner gaze. Her lips curve and split her face in two, pouring sunlight on his soul. Her white teeth peer out from behind her lips, and oops, there’s that reckless boy sitting on his shoulder again, asking him questions he doesn’t need right now.

What would her teeth feel like against your tongue?

Kaz’s eyes widen and he stops breathing, feeling his stomach flutter. Stop it.

How would her lips taste? How would they meet yours?

Kaz grits his teeth and looks down at the bowl in his hand. He starts the hand mixer again, happy to have the sound of it drown his own thoughts. For a moment.

Would they be eager, hungry like yours?

Kaz swallows and turns around, feeling his cheeks burn with fire. He throws an angry glare at his shoulder, but there’s nothing, no little grinning boy, there. Even so, the silly boy keeps asking questions.

What would it feel like to touch her? Is her skin smoother than his? Of course it is, Kaz thinks.

Is she soft? What kind of question is that?

His cheeks flush; that’s not the way he wants to think of her. He never wants to think of her as only what meets the eye, as only what he can touch, as only what can give him pleasure. Never, never will he be like one of her ghosts, never another horror. That’s not how he wants to treat the person who has given him her heart.

But even so, he can’t stop his mind. He can’t stop his curiosity from slaying his sanity. Kaz isn’t one of them, he just doesn’t know... anything.

He might be twenty one, he might think of himself as a man sometimes, but really, there’s only a clueless boy beneath his skin. The boy inside him has never known the joys of the flesh, he doesn’t know what it feels like to hold hands in the rain, or how it feels to have your loved one’s lips trace every part of your skin, sealing every wound and sorrow with their love.

Kaz has never gotten a taste of the sweet fruits of closeness or heard the soft lullabies of pleasure, at least not with someone else. After all, he had grown up a boy, and learned what every teenage boy learned. He had gotten glimpses of what it could feel like, but never had he ever been able to taste the true sugar of lust, the true dessert of life.

Love was a foreign spice, and happiness a completely new flavour that he hadn’t gotten the chance to taste. Now, he doesn’t know how to function without them.

Sometimes it had bothered him, sometimes not, that he wasn’t strong enough to even hold someone’s hand. Sometimes, his heart had sunk in his chest, dragged down by the possibility that he might never be unbroken enough to have a girl embrace him. He knew many looked at him, he knew they wanted him. Perhaps he would have wanted them too, if he hadn’t been so messed up.

Inej didn’t. She didn’t want him. Kaz smiles to himself. No, at first she practically despised him. And that was perhaps why he started loving her, partly because that shit is frickin hot, but mostly because she didn’t expect him to give her anything. She took him for what he was, but she encouraged him to be more.

Be more, not to give more.

But that only made him want to give her everything he had.

He gave her his secrets; she learned about his demons and he feared she’d leave. Instead, she told him about hers.

She had told him about their hands, their breaths, their greedy grasps and rough embraces. There had been tears in her eyes, and Kaz had sworn he’d never become such a man.

He’d sworn he’d never allow himself to become stained by the greed of the careless man, the greed that demands more than a poor woman’s love and heart, demands more than she can give, more than she has. If he ever encountered that greed in his heart, he would make it fall to his knees before him, kneecaps cracking.

But if he couldn’t win...

Send your blade through my heart if I ever hurt you, he’d said to her.

He’d rather have one woman, one woman with a heart a thousand times brighter and more beautiful than his, and wait for her to heal, heal together with her, than leave a trail of broken girls behind him.

Kaz would rather die than hurt her. And he knows she stands by the same words, as the ones written in his heart. It’s a seal, a holy sacrament between them. Words before touch. Gazes before words.

If she doesn’t want him close one day, he’ll stay away. If she can’t stand lying beside him and listen to him as he breathes, he’ll hold his breath. If she can’t manage to be close to him the way other women are near their men, he will settle with just a few seconds of eye contact.

Kaz thought he had settled this with his mind, that he’d told the reckless boy on his shoulder that it’s enough, but apparently.. no.

Is she warm? Yes, you podge. Shut up.

Kaz sighs and turns the mixer off, looks down at his own hands, gazes upon the scars on his knuckles. He huffs softly and smiles.

No gloves.

On good days, he can go without gloves now. It’s a basic thing - Inej and Jesper and Nina and Wylan and Matthias and everyone else do it all the time - but to Kaz, it feels big. Kaz feels big. He feels like a boy again, proud and smug, just like when his Da let him ride their horse Blanca for the first time without being held.

How he wishes he could run his ungloved thumb over her knuckles, feel every line in her palm, caress every part of her hand. Her beautiful hands. He wishes he could hold them, enclose them with his, hide them from the world, keep them safe, keep them soft and unharmed. Keep them from ever needing to touch whenever they don’t want to.

Her hands. The way they move, so gracefully and gently. They are like the wind, mysterious, quiet, there always, but unable to grasp. At least to Kaz. If he did… His heart sinks. He's gotten far, thay have gotten far, but he still has a lot of work to do on himself.

They’ve managed accidental touches - he never flinches anymore when she accidentally brushes his shoulder or arm when walking past him. No, they do that now. To them, a brush on the shoulder was a kiss on the cheek. To them, a gaze could be equal to the soft touch of a hand. To them, standing half a metre apart makes them feel high. High on something sacred, only meant for their hearts.

Does she know? Can she tell? Can you see it on my face, that I’ll do anything you say, if you say it with your hands?

Of course she does. She is Inej.

She pulls out the cord to the waffle iron and turns around. “You done with the butter, love?”

Her voice makes him look up, his gaze falls on her braid, hanging gracefully over her shoulder, beside her arm. Kaz wonders what it’s like having such long hair. Is it heavy? Is it warm in summer? Is it rough and glistening like his? He smiles to himself. No, it’s thick and soft, so soft.

He’s touched it a couple of times, no, many times actually, and everytime it had made him burn, made him put an effort into breathing slowly. No water splashed at his feet, no waves roared in his ears, only fire burned in his heart. It burned him so bad, hurt him so good, made him feel alive.

Her hair was so soft he feared he might cut himself on it. Clumsily, he’d tried to braid it once. Inej laughed when she saw the result. Frankly, he did too, and if he ever died, he wanted that sound, her laugh, to carry him to the life after this.

Kaz huffs and rolls his eyes. “Butter is ready, Wraith”, he smirks as he moves to the fridge to pick out the strawberry jam, and then two plates and flatware. Inej shakes her head and looks at him, You’re hopeless, you and your butter, and moves to take the bowl to the table. She walks up to the kitchen counter and feels a big smile take over her face as she glances down into the bowl.

Tipping it just a little to the side, she sees how easily the cream moves, how loose it is. She clicks out one of the whisks from the mixer and rolls the shaft between her fingers, examining the cream.

“Bravo, mister”, she murmurs, catches Kaz’s gaze as he turns his head. His lips curve into a smile and he shrugs.

“Everything for you, ma’am.” He clicks out the remaining whisk and lifts it to his mouth, licks off one of the wire loops as he leans towards the kitchen counter.

Inej’s eyes widen, she blinks and raises her eyebrows. Her cheeks feel hot. Her stomach flutters in a way she doesn’t need right now.

He frowns at her. “What?”

Inej bites her lip and points the whisk at him. “That”, she says, huffs, blinks and presses her lips into a thin line.

“That what?”

“Looks like you’re doing something else.”

Kaz’s eyes widen for a short moment, and his back straightens - Inej wants to laugh, because he obviously didn’t mean for it to look like that - but then the corner of his mouth flies up, and a smug half smile forms on his lips. Inej knows that smile, and she stops breathing as his gaze changes, as his pupils dilate.

“Does it bother you?” he asks and opens his mouth, tilts his head to the side and lets his tongue entangle with the loops, stealing the cream from them as the thief he is.

Yes. It makes me want to do something reckless. She breathes in slowly. And I’d be smart to walk away.

A smile teases Kaz’s lips as his mouth opens once more and his tongue caresses the silvery metal. Inej can’t help but look at his lips; scarlet red in the pale landscape of his face, a rose in the desert, a beacon of fire on the sea. She wonders if they’re soft, if they’re soft like hers. If they’re anything like any of the lips that have met hers.

No, she smiles. They must be softer and warmer than any lips in the world.

“No”, she answers him, steadily meeting his gaze even though she’s lying. His face, his mouth, his tongue makes her heart race, makes her whole soul quiver with weakness, makes her deepest core throb with something she has never felt before, no, all of her throbs, and her heart beats her ribs, hard.

His eyes are calm, as always, checking if this is okay, if she wants him to stop. Inej thinks her heart is just about to melt, from the heat and fire within, the fire he started, or the love and gratitude she feels towards him, she doesn’t know.

She would probably do best in walking away, but Kaz is quicksand. And Inej decides to step right into it.

“Does this bother you?” Inej bends her head back slightly and lets her mouth fall half open. Slowly, she lifts the whisk, moves it down her tongue, licks off the cream.

“No”, Kaz murmurs, his voice suddenly much lower than usual, his usual raspiness now sweet and buttery, timeless and nonexistent at the same time.

“Good.” She looks at him through half open eyes. She curls her tongue around the metal, licks her lips. A smug smile spreads on her face as she sees Kaz’s ribcage expand, as she sees how the T-shirt stretches over his chest.

She’s walking on thin ice, running downhill. And this slope is treacherous. This path she's taken is reckless.

But that’s not even the worst part.

I like it.

Brown eyes sweep over Kaz’s chest, over his arms, over the dark tattoos on his skin. Not just the Dregs’ crow and the cup, not just the R, but the feathers on his upper arms, the wings she knows own the skin on his back, beneath the white fabric. She’s seen him shirtless, she’s seen the muscles play beneath his skin on his shoulder blades, she’s seen the dark nightblack ink move, as if the wings were real.

What would it feel like to feel his feathers beneath her fingers? Would they be soft? Oh, dear Saints… Inej breathes in deeply. His skin. She feels weak. How she wishes she could feel his skin against her fingertips, how she wishes she could kiss every feather with her lips, how she wishes she could feel every scar beneath her tongue.

She feels herself vibrate, tense and relax, blossom and die, burn and fade, at the same time. He’s standing right here, so close, and yet, so far away.

Inej is standing right there, so close, so far away from him. Kaz feels faint, and yet, he feels more awake than he’s ever been in his whole life. He feels as if on fire, every part of him burning hot. It terrifies him, and it makes him want to laugh; it makes him want to run away and it makes him want to… do things.

“Kaz”, she whispers, and Kaz closes his eyes, bows his head. Why, he doesn’t know, he just does. He can’t decide if it’s a choice, or if it simply was the fact that Inej just said his name, just let her angelic lips form a profane word such as his name.

“Talk to me”, she says again, and Kaz doesn’t know what to say, all he can do is look up and meet her gaze. He knows his cheeks are blossoming with red, but for some reason he’s not ashamed of it. It feels right, somehow.

“I”, he begins. “I’m feeling…”

“You’re okay with this?”

“Are you?” A frown forms on his brow and he looks into her eyes. She smiles softly - Kaz feels like he’s swept away by the wind, by that smile alone.

“I am more than okay with this.”

More than okay. Kaz swallows hard, bites his lower lip. His stomach flutters. She said that, she really said that, she said that. His heart beats for two.

“Tell me what you’re thinking”, she whispers, taking a step closer. Kaz feels his heart flip behind his ribs.

“I want to… I don’t…” He looks at her, mesmerised by the sight of her, of her big eyes, long lashes, blushing cheeks. He can hear the sound of his own voice in his head, asking, no begging her to stay. Other than that, he has no idea what he’s thinking.

“I don’t know what I want to do”, he whispers, uncertain. But I want to do something. Saints, I want to... His heart pounds, wildly, madly, greedily. All of him aches, aches in a way that makes his every cell vibrate with electricity, but also makes his heart stagger in horror.

What is this feeling?

“Can’t you try to tell me?” she tilts her head to the side, a small furrow of worry between her eyebrows.

Kaz stumbles on the words. “I- I don’t know.”

“Can you show me?”

All colour disappears from his face, his chest stops moving, and his arms drop to his sides. Inej swallows hard, wondering if she took it too far, if she broke the magic between them. Shit. She grits her teeth.

All we are is skin and bone, trained to get along. She wants to look away, she wants to lock herself up in the bathroom, she wants to stare at herself in the mirror for too long, she wants to tell herself to stop pushing him. Maybe we can’t get along…

The silent clattering of the whisk being put down on the kitchen counter meets her ears, and she wants to sigh. I screwed up.

Brown eyes lock on his hand, as it lets go of the whisk. Something breaks inside of her, what if she can never hold his hand, what if she can never kiss it? What if she can never feel her fingers braid into his? What if she’ll never be able to love him the way she wishes she could? Give him all of her, not just her life and heart, but her body too.

Then, she feels her heart skip a beat. His hand moves to the hem of his shirt, to the small amount of fabric that is tucked in behind his dark trousers. What is he…

He grips the fabric with his hand, and slowly, he pulls it up so it hangs freely on his upper body, not tucked in at all. Inej can’t breathe. Kaz looks like he’s breathing for two. Brown eyes lock with blue the same way the sea meets the land, the same way the sky meets the earth.

Without a word, he moves his hand up and grabs the shirt behind his neck and pulls it over his head. Then he stands there, arms hanging at his sides, T-shirt in his hand. His eyes are dark; glittering blue has turned into a dark night sky of stars. He looks at her, swallows, tries to breathe slowly, as if he had his soul under control.

He thinks he should feel naked in front of her, but somehow, he feels free, liberated in some strange way. He feels like he could float away, go with the flow of life, of everything, forever.

But there is one tiny problem. Inej is friction.

Especially when she puts her whisk away and crosses her arms, closing her fingers around the hem of her sweater and pulls it over her head. He tries to look at her face, he really tries, but this slope is treacherous, this path is reckless. And he slips; his gaze lowers.

He lets his eyes follow the strap of her black bra, and he feels his mouth fall open. Blood thunders in his ears and he’s for some crazy reason feeling tears prick in his eyes. She’s so beautiful, she’s the most…

Forcing his gaze to move, he looks into her eyes. He wants to tell her, he needs to tell her… what?

I’ve seen an angel, Inej. I’ve seen a Saint.

In this moment, he’s a believer. There is magic in this world.

Inej smiles. First it’s small, a bit shy, and then grows big, with teeth and stars in her eyes. She looks at him, lets her gaze sweep over his chest, over his skin, over his graceful build. He must have been sculpted by the Saints themselves.

Her ribcage heaves, her breaths get bigger, slower.

This slope is treacherous. She drops her sweater on the floor, takes a small step forward.

I like it.

She reaches out her hand, closes her fingers around the end of the T-shirt. Looking deeply into his eyes, she lifts her hand to her chest, rests her fist on her collarbone, and feels the blood pulse beneath her skin. Kaz follows her hand, keeps holding onto the T-shirt. She can feel his hand tremble through the fabric, but she can see that his tremors aren’t caused by water around his feet. Not this time.

Slowly, she moves her hand down, lets her fingers trace her sternum, and Kaz follows, almost as if it was he who moved his hand over her skin. She reaches the middle of the bra and follows the lace up to the beginning of the strap.

Brown eyes meet blue. The earth crumbles and the ocean is storming. Desperate waves crash into hungry cliffs.

Kaz can’t believe his eyes. She’s showing him, she’s letting him, she’s…

She cups her hand gently around her breast through the bra and the white fabric of his shirt. And Kaz feels like he could drop dead. It almost feels like it’s his hand, and not hers, as if he touched her. And she let him do that. Saints.

His eyes snap up to hers. A second passes, it feels like an hour. It feels like a sleepless night, and they are the only two headlights shining, lightening up the darkness around them. His light chases hers, hers chases his. It will get him, and it will get him alone.

Inej. Her name, her name echoes through his mind. He feels like he should tell her, thinks she should now.

I would follow you, follow you home.

Inej blinks slowly, tries to control her breathing. She doesn’t move her hand, she keeps it where it is, waits for Kaz to do something, anything. Talk, drop the T-shirt, laugh, smile, look away, reach out... Whatever he does, she is sure of one thing. When all is uncertain and crazy, one thing is clear; one fact is written on the side of her heart, there to remain.

I'll follow you, follow you home.

Kaz breathes in, slowly, and moves his hand, pulls her towards him; the fabric of the shirt stretches between them. He moves his hand to his chest, right in the middle, where his last pair of ribs meet.

Blue eyes look into brown, and Inej can see them sparkle behind the dark strand of hair that has fallen into his face. She lowers his gaze to his hand as he lets his fingers spread, as his palm lies pressed against his ribs. He moves his hand slowly, almost up all the way to his throat; his fingers graze his collarbone. But then he lets it travel down to his heart, and he closes his eyes, bows his head towards his hand.

Inej’s lips scream for his, begs for his mouth on hers.

Kaz curls his hand around the shirt, and lifts it to his mouth, presses a kiss on the soft white fabric. Inej’s heart almost stops, she can almost feel his lips on her hand, yes, as if the shirt was her hand. He looks up, as his lips still linger on the shirt, and meets her gaze. And Inej feels her cheeks grow hot, that look is meant for her. And her only.

Hope spreads its wings inside of her. But hope is treacherous, this daydream they’re living right now, is dangerous. She should walk away. Otherwise she doesn’t know what might happen.

But for once, she lets go, of her fears and her ghosts, and she decides she likes the danger. And she wires the shirt one lap around her hand, taking a step closer. Kaz smiles softly, mirrors her, shortening the distance between them.

And then, they’re close. So close he could bow his head and his forehead would touch hers. Inej desperately wishes he would.

She tilts her head back and looks into his eyes. If she could drown in his oceans of blue, she would.

Her free hand trembles slightly as she lifts it, as she holds it right above his shoulder, above the dark feathers on his skin. She can feel his gaze search hers.

“Can I-”

“Please”, Kaz whispers, voice soft as fresh linen sheets, warm like sand on the beach. Try.

She lets her fingertips graze one of the dark feathers on his shoulder, and she can feel him tense. And she immediately takes her hand away.

Kaz looks up. He pulls her other hand closer with the shirt, crosses his arm over his chest, places both their hands on his shoulder. He spreads his fingers over his skin, looks at her, I want to feel it.

She frowns. Really?

The smallest fraction of a smile passes his lips. Yes.

Inej takes a step closer, standing right next to him. Then, she leans forward and lets her lips graze over one of the feathers on his shoulder. She feels his skin against her lips for the shortest of moments, and then she pulls back, looks into his eyes. A bright smile rests on her lips at first, You did it, Kaz!, but then it fades in an instant.

Kaz’s eyes are glittering with tears, and he stares at her, his mouth hanging open, a small frown on his face.

“Kaz”, she says, taking a step back - they always do that, whenever it gets too much to handle. “Kaz, did I do something wrong?”

Kaz doesn’t answer, instead he blinks, and the tears spill out of his eyes.

“Hey, talk to me”, she says, tilting her head to the side. Worry forms in her stomach. No, no, no, what did I do?

“I love you”, he whispers. Inej’s eyes widen. What?

Kaz huffs and suddenly, his whole face is split in half by a beaming smile. “I love you”, he says, half sobs, as he pulls his free hand through his hair. He chuckles.

Inej is speechless. They have said it before, but she doesn’t think she’s ever seen someone speak truth like this before. She has never heard a heart borrow a mouth, she has never seen Kaz rip his ribcage apart to show her what he truly hides inside.

He looks at her, eyes burning like stars, his face lit up as if he was a small boy who managed to climb down from the tree himself. His eyes tell her one thing: Did you see that? Inej, did you see me? I did it, I managed it.

And then the tears come to her eyes as well. She doesn’t have a chance of stopping them. “I love you too”, she whispers, and tries her best to smile. “I love you so much, Kaz.”

Kaz smiles at her, looks at her as if she’s the sun. “You’re my best friend”, he says, as his face screws up with a sob of gratitude.

Inej smiles proudly, feels her cheeks hurt from how happy she is. “You continue to surprise me.”

“I aspire to do nothing else.”

There’s a beat of silence between them, until Kaz speaks again. “Can”, he begins, dries his cheek with his free hand. “Can I try?”

“Try what?”

His lips curl, the corner of his mouth flies up. Smug Kaz is back, she thinks.

“A kiss for a kiss?”

Inej smiles brightly and huffs. “Of course.” She doesn’t think she’ll ever find words that can describe the pride in her heart, when she thinks about how far he’s gotten, how far they’ve gotten.

And Kaz pulls her back to him with the shirt. He bites his lip and huffs as he looks into her eyes. His free hand moves up to her face, carefully puts a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, without touching her skin. He squints his eyes, shakes his head slowly, as if he can’t believe she’s real.

“What?” Inej asks.

“I’ll follow you wherever you go”, he murmurs, smiles. He bows his head, lowers it right next to hers, and whispers into her ear. “I’ll follow you, follow you home.”

Inej can feel his hot breath on her neck, and it takes everything in her not to lean her face against his, not to let her lips catch his.

“And where is that?” she asks, voice barely audible. She can feel his nightblack hair against her cheek, she can see the black wings spread over her back as he leans in.

“Right here”, he says and lets his lips land on her neck. His featherlight kiss takes them both on its wings, carries them away, flies with them to a place neither of them know.

On the feathered back of love they fly, with the crows of hope, towards the land of dreams, only to find that it is, in fact, right here.

Right here.

[theres-a-goldensky]

26 + 2 Various BL Series Fic Recs

Fandoms included in this fic rec list: Love By Chance, TharnType, Until We Meet Again, My Engineer, 2 Moons, HIStory3: Trapped (plus a bit of bonus Theory of Love and WHY R U?)

I’ve found a handful of good fics for all of these tiny pairings that I am newly obsessed with, and I thought I’d share them with you if you’re also looking for something good to read. Please, if you have recs of your own, point me in the direction of any other good stuff!

As ever, feel free to reblog and check out my other rec lists for the following fandoms:

The Untamed list one and two - various pairings, mostly Wangxian

IT chapter 2 list one and two - Reddie 

Good Omens - Aziraphale/Crowley

Or just head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

(All recs are complete) (I’ve noted pairings, length, and rating, but not any warnings or additional tags.)

** denotes personal favorite

LOVE BY CHANCE / THARNTYPE

1. the count up series by sweetiejelly - Tin/Can - ~34,000 words, explicit - A fix-it fic post-canon where Tin and Can slowly work out their issues with some missteps and learning along the way.

So two weeks later, when Can first does it, Tin doesn't know what to do. For the longest while, he just turns off his phone screen. And then turns it back on.

good night, tin. it's been a while but i promised to say good night. so, good night, sleep well.

Every damn time the text is still there.

In the end, Tin deletes it.

The next morning, Can does it again.

good morning, tin. looks like rain today. don't forget your umbrella.

Tin deletes it.

The texts keep coming.

2. ** LBC Aftermath series by Mara - LBC/TharnType crossover- ~6700 words, mature - Were you too horrified by Techno’s ending in LBC? This author feels your pain and did her part to get some justice for Techno. This fic has zero sympathy for Kengkla, which I deeply appreciated. This will help you work out some of your anger. It features LBC!Techno and the TharnType versions of Tharn and Type. Mind the warnings, since this deals with the serious consequences of Kengkla’s actions.

Kengkla stayed at the house through the morning and Techno was so jumpy he nearly leaped out of his skin every time Kla looked at him or talked to him. Even though Kla had explained what happened and how he wasn’t upset to be dating, Techno still felt weird. He kind of wished he remembered what had happened. A guy should remember how he lost his virginity, right?

Kla grabbed him in a big hug and Techno froze, managing a weak grin when Kla pulled back to smile at him. “I’ve got to go home now. But I’ll call you later. Let me know if you go somewhere.”

“O-okay.” Techno stared as the boy let himself out the front door.

3. 5 + 1 by strokeofluck - Tin/Can- ~3600 words, rated general - This is a sweet story about the times when Pete sees Tin having feelings for Can. 

Pete weighed his options as he glanced back and forth between Tin and Can. Can didn’t seem to be bothered by the whole thing, he even had a shy smile on his face. Or at least, Pete thought it was a shy smile, he had never really seen this kind of expression coming from Can before.

He could let this whole thing go, he supposed, but he didn’t really want to. It was time for him to finally say to Tin: I told you so.

“You were born in Bangkok,” he said, casting a wide net and hoping Can would find himself caught in it.

Can did.

4. That Testified Surprise by Mara - Techno/Tharn/Type - ~7000 words, mature - This is a LBC canon rewrite that stars the TharnType version of all three characters. Type realizes something is not...quite...right with Kengkla and invites Techno to stay with him and Tharn instead of going home drunk.

Pouring Techno into the passenger seat, Type sat down in the driver’s seat and pulled the phone out to check it, entering the passcode. (The passcode was the birthday of Thai national football team captain Siwarak Tedsungnoen, of course. Duh.)

Fuck, it looked like Nic had been either texting or calling every 20 minutes since they got to the bar. What was up there?

Scrolling back through the evening’s texts, Type scowled harder. Loving brother or not, this was fucking creepy. Going back farther, it looked like it was a pattern. Did the kid do anything other than pester his brother about his whereabouts?

THARNTYPE

5. everything he wants by minkit - ~5100 words, explicit - Type accidentally ruins one of Tharn’s shirts and agrees to do whatever Tharn wants to make up for it. Which means it’s porn stretched over the bare bones of a plot, and it’s great. 

Tharn’s hands moved across the bed, slowly, inch by inch and it was frustrating because Type knew they were heading to him, but Tharn took his sweet time. And then they were covering his hands and Tharn’s face was mere centimeters from his and Type could barely breathe. It took everything he had not to lean forward and capture those lips that also belonged to him, but he had a feeling if he tried, Tharn wouldn’t let him. He had that look on his face and Type knew what it meant.

He knew he was in for a long rest of the night.

6. You’ve Got Mail by perthbysaint - ~7800 words, explicit - Type sends Tharn nudes at the most inconvenient times.

A selfie? From Type? Tharn was thanking all of his lucky stars as he happily taps to load the image. The picture loads and Tharn’s phone slips from his suddenly lax grip. Convinced he couldn’t have just seen what he thought he just saw, he picks his phone up hastily and stares very intently at the picture.

It’s a mirror selfie, obviously taken in a changing room, but that thought comes secondary to thighs. Type is holding the camera in front of his face to take the picture, shirt clenched in his other hand and pulled up slightly to show off the shorts. The fucking shorts. He had seen Type in his soccer gear before and yes, Type has most definitely asked for the wrong size and Tharn is more grateful than he’s ever been for anything in his whole life. The shorts are riding up so high they can’t cover more than a few inches of skin, Type’s smooth, powerful thighs on full display. On the inside of his left thigh, there’s a tiny purple mark peeking out from under the bottom of the shorts. Tharn knows exactly what it is because he was the one who left it there just two days ago when he sucked marks into Type’s thighs for a half-hour before he slung Type’s legs over his shoulders and ate him out until Type was sobbing fat tears and begging Tharn to let him come.

7. pet names series by LokelaniRose - ~50,000 words, explicit - A series of post-episode fics that gives us the sex that the show only hinted at, starting with the shower scene.

Tharn prides himself on his self-control. All his passion and intensity is saved for his music, when he’s safely behind a drum kit and can let it all out. He’s never been as irritated by anyone else as he is by Type and all his playground bullying nonsense. Something about the other boy just shakes something loose inside him, rattles at Tharn’s iron discipline until he has to grit his teeth constantly not to just – what? Kiss him? Kill him? Tharn has enough composure (and pride) to put up a front that’s all smiles and wry amusement, but really he regularly skips between one of two daydreams – twisting Type’s head off or fucking him into the ground.

(Tharn is absolutely not going to admit to the third set of daydreams, of curling up around Type when he’s cold or cheering him on at matches or bringing him home to meet Tharn’s father. Nope, no, definitely not.)

2MOONS SERIES

8. ** The universe where we do not commit reckless, unlubricated buttsex by startledoctopus - Forth/Beam - ~8700 words, explicit - This is a great story about Beam giving in and trying to seduce Forth the same way he seduced all of those girls in his past. This Forth is great, and the story retcons their first time to something far more pleasant for Beam.

   "We're heading into a unit on disorders of the spine and I need to review my basic skeletal and muscular anatomy. But it feels stupid to keep studying these weird-looking diagrams and drawings." None of this was, strictly speaking, factual, but an engineering major wouldn't know any different. Beam gathered up all his bravado, walked behind Forth, and began rucking up his shirts as if this were completely normal.

   "What! I..."

   "Shut up, I need to look at a real back so I know what I'll be looking at as a doctor." Forth let him take the shirts off, glancing back at him several times but giving in meekly to Beam's stern look. Forth shuffled the papers some more.

   "All right. Okay, um...Ah!" Beam smirked at Forth's reaction as he ran his thumbs down the nape of his neck.

9. Good Things Come To by sweetiejelly - Ming/Kit - ~4300 words, explicit - Kit gets drunk and reveals more of his feelings for Ming than he probably means to.

"Hmm." Kit closes his eyes and leans his head back on the headrest. "Ming, Ming, Ming. Do you know your name's a kiss? I'm kissing the air everytime I say 'Ming'!" Kit pops his mouth and it pops Ming's mind a bit. "And then I think about kissing you. Why do you make me think about you so damn much? You're so annoying, Ming. No one's ever..." and Kit leans to the side, almost like he's going to conk out or throw up, only to straighten back up. "... made me this crazy."

Oh shit. Ming doesn't know what to do with all of this information. He knew somewhere deep down that Kit likes him. Kit's eyes can't lie. Kit's mouth can't either, the cusses coming out whenever he's keyed up and flustered, and then there are his kisses.

10 + 11. ** how to fail flirt your way into his heart (a guide by Kit) and a little conversation (and a little action please) by sweetiejelly - Ming/Kit - ~30,000 words, explicit in the second part - This story makes a tiny plot divergence. It has Kit put a little more effort into finding out if Ming is really into Yo and then from there, it loosely follows the plot of the show with some key differences. I really enjoyed this.

"Can I have your number?" Kit mentally face-palms. Why? Damn Pha. Damn Beam. Just damn everything, ugh. He has never flirted in his life. Pin asked him out, okay? He doesn't know how to do this. "I'm Kit, Phana's friend," he says, trying to make it less weird.

"I'm Ming. And of course, P'Kit!" Ming flashes him an easy grin and holds out his hand.

Oh right, the phone. Kit shoves it at Ming, nearly hitting him in the chest. Great, he's acing this.

Ming smiles at him, bemused or confused, probably both, and brushes his hand, totally unnecessarily, over the back of Kit's hand as he takes the phone. "In case of emergency, right?" Ming looks up at him from under his lashes and boy, this nong is brazen.

12. ** In Control series by LokelaniRose - Ming/Kit - ~27,000 words, explicit - Kit struggles to tell Ming that he wants something other than the careful, gentle sex they’ve been having. Ming discovers that Kit has some anxiety and panic problems. He also discovers what helps him feel better. [spoilers: these two things are connected.] I love how attentive and caring Ming is throughout this series. The anxious Kit also rings true to the character we saw on the show.

But now that Kit is fretting over things, he might as well fret over this as well. So Ming is great in bed. And let’s be honest, Kit probably isn’t. He hasn’t had a hundred previous partners – okay, tiny exaggeration, but still – and doesn’t know all the fancy moves and techniques and tricks…and just like everything else, in bed Ming is somehow casual and sincere at the same time. He never seems to want anything except what Kit wants, is always happy to do whatever, to take his time making slow, gentle love to Kit. Kit knows that he always comes at least – he secretly really likes it when Ming comes, he’s not quite sure why – but what if there’s more that Kit could be doing, to make it better for him? If Kit was better in bed maybe it would make up for being a shitty boyfriend in other areas, one who can’t be nice in public or talk about his feelings.

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN

13. another nightmare fic by itsmylifekay - Win/Team - ~2300 words, not rated - Team tries to sleep without Win and it doesn’t go well. 

Team’s room feels suffocating, the air too thick and the space too dark and the covers sticking to his skin with sweat. His breaths are too loud in the quiet, but the quiet itself is deafening. It reminds him of the water. The muted sounds. The frantic pounding of his heart. (The same one he feels now echoed in his chest.)

Flashes of the dream come back to him unbidden.

Everything is too dark, too bright, no way to see what way is up or what way is down. He’s trapped. Can’t get out. Can’t breathe.

14. ** Different With You by blackrose9212 - Win/Team - ~6900 words, teen - It’s open swim week, which means that the swimming club offers free lessons to any of the students who would like to participate. Team doesn’t understand why his teammates hate it so much - until he does. Great jealousy in this one from both sides. 

“Nice to meet you,” the boy gushes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to join your group. Auntie said there needs to be at least three people, and no one was sitting across from you two. I’ve been paying attention so I already have ideas. Is that okay?” Team watches as he pulls out his books and drops them onto the table, pushing them a little farther out so they’re nearly touching Win’s notebook.

Team shrugs. “Sure, that’s fine. I don’t think Win has been paying attention so I’m glad you have an idea of what’s going on.”

Win hits him lightly at the back of the hand and Film giggles behind his hand. “Oh, no, P’Win looks very smart. I’m sure he’s been listening.” He looks at Win and smiles a little, blushing when Win gives him a smile back.

Team looks between the two of them. Then back at Film, who’s watching Win leaf through his literature textbook like he’s never seen anything so beautiful, and then past Film at the table he left from, where he sees three boys, laughing behind their hands and making cooing faces.

15. seven hundred thirteen by Kiranokira - Win/Team - ~6800 words, mature - Win spends two years abroad in England, and he and Team have to navigate a long distance relationship. It’s very sweet and written very true to life. 

“I kind of hoped you were going to show up at the airport tomorrow morning and chase the plane,” Win says. He kisses Team’s hair, lingering there to memorize the fresh, clear scent.

Team says, “Is it weird that I thought about doing that?” and Win feels him smile against his shoulder.

It’s late, nearly nine thirty, and Win had plans of how to spend tonight that can’t be realized anymore. He wanted to invite Team to dinner with his family. He wanted to play video games with Team and View. He wanted to talk about London with Waan and Team. He wanted to include Team in his family’s warmth in some small way, to make him feel less lonely.

He can’t do any of that now but he still wants to sneak Team upstairs and have him in his arms all night. He wouldn’t, but he wants to. It’s been a month since he moved off campus permanently, and weeks since he was last able to spend a night alone with Team.

16. ** You Can Cry by Kiranokira - Win/Team - ~19,600 words, mature - Win goes missing while on vacation with some friends. Team is left at home trying to handle it. I like the way the author built up to the accident happening. They did a good job creating tension and showing us exactly how Team felt about Win. And spoilers, this story has a happy ending.

“You’re going to fail out of university,” Team tells him. “You’re not really going, are you?”

Win rolls onto his side and perches his cheek on his hand. “What if I say yes?” he asks. “Will you miss me?”

Team’s warning look is more venomous than usual. “Not at all,” Team says, and Win smirks because that isn’t true and they both know it. “You still shouldn’t go. What if you miss the flight back? You’ll fail out and I’ll break up with you for being a dumbass.”

The very recent phenomenon of Team acknowledging that they’re a couple has its usual melting effect on Win’s heart.

2GETHER

17. ** Love Songs on Our Skin series by Kari_Kurofai - Sarawat/Tine - ~15,700 words, explicit - A soulmark AU where Tine is born with the notes to a song that hasn’t yet been written wrapped around his chest. I enjoyed how Tine’s obliviousness in the show carries over to this fic. 

Only Mr. Chic would have a song no one had ever fucking heard of permanently etched on his chest. For fuck's sake .

Still, he waves it off, and he tries not to look too closely at other people's marks. Tries being the key word. He doesn't envy the elegant watercolors of a guitar pick and an open novel he catches sight of on the wrists of some couple's interlinked hands when he's in town. And he certainly doesn't envy the dude he once saw in a coffee shop with the words " I hate you " scrawled across the back of his neck. But yeah, okay, he might be a little jealous of the people who are lucky enough to have something as simple as their soulmate's name on their skin. That definitely isn't fair.

"Why couldn't it at least have been a Scrubb song?" he asks the mirror as he wipes it clear shower-born condensation. The mirror and him are well acquainted with this conversation by now. In fact, the mirror sees the stupid mark more than anyone, so it might as well put up with his equally stupid questions. "It could have been 'Together.' Just think of it, how romantic it would be to meet some cute girl's eyes after bumping into them at a concert, my favorite song playing . . ." He draws a nail over the winding bars of the music on his chest, frowning. "That would be so much easier."

18. Drown Your Sorrows by HyacinthsSoul - 2gether/Theory of Love - Sarawat and Third meet at a bar and bond over being in love with oblivious men.

“No, he’s an angel,” Sarawat says. “Unfortunately he’s a very stupid, very straight angel.”

“Mine’s stupid too,” the other man admits. “But definitely no angel. I’m Third, by the way,” he adds, offering a slender hand to shake.

“Sarawat,” says Sarawat. “Can I buy you another? I think we’re drinking the same thing, although I can’t remember what it’s called.”

20. ** Your Body Is My Instrument by Kari_Kurofai - Sarawat/Tine - ~12,000 words, explicit - This fic does a good job doing what, in this reccer’s humble opinion, the series failed to: showing Tine attracted to Sarawat. There’s great first time sex and some fun sexual tension. Plus, we get to see them switch off, which is extremely rare in BL. And most importantly: hand kink.

It starts innocently enough. Or, well, innocently enough for a guy whose first words to him were, “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll kiss you till you drop.” So, you know. It starts kinda like that.

They’ve been officially dating for a grand sum total of three days and altogether not that much has changed. Except that Sarawat touches him more now. Normally this would be fine, no big deal, right? But Sarawat has magic, evil hands, and apparently all he has to do is glance Tine’s way to deduce the exact right places and ways to touch Tine to drive him up the fucking wall.

And the worst part is it’s almost never the same place or the same way twice, and the only warning Tine ever gets is that sneaky little glint Sarawat gets in his eyes just before he does it, the bastard.

MY ENGINEER

21. Cool Boy(friend) by HyacinthsSoul - Ram/King - ~22,000 words, explicit - So this is technically a WIP, but each chapter feels like a completed fic without a cliffhanger or anything. This is a very sweet, comfortable story about King and Ram getting to know each other as their relationship develops.

In the selfie King sends, he’s holding up a full shot glass while someone’s arm reaches into the frame to hand him another kind of drink, something tall with a straw and a paper umbrella. Ram frowns. Whose arm is that? The person is wearing a red long-sleeved shirt, which doesn’t match what any of their friend group was wearing, and the engineer bar doesn’t offer table service.

Frowning, Ram looks back through the previous photos until he spots a detail he’d overlooked before: a red-shirted man at a neighboring table. He’s visible in the background of two or three pictures taken by Tee, and in each of them he’s staring intently at King.

Not that it’s any of Ram’s business. Not that he cares.

HISTORY3: TRAPPED

22. it’s too late (to turn back now) by stebeee - Tang Yi/Meng Shao Fei - ~7200 words, general audiences - Canon divergence fic where Tang Yi pushes Shao Fei away after he saves Hong Ye in order to try and protect him. Shao Fei reacts to that about as well as you’d expect.

“Tang Yi, what do you mean-“

“I think you’ve fooled around for long enough,” Tang Yi interrupts, his voice cold, nothing like the man who had dabbed at his lips with a cotton bud last night, the man who had smiled at him when he made the cannon joke.

“You’ve disrupted my life, and the life of my family and friends in the past few weeks, Meng Shao Fei. This has gone for long enough,” he continues, unwavering. “I don’t want to have anything more to do with you. Take a good rest here in the hospital, and I’ll get someone to pack up your things back at the house. Jack will deliver it back to your apartment.”

23 + 24. ** just waiting, waiting (on you) and between you and me by stebeee - Tang Yi/Meng Shao Fei - ~16,000 words, general audiences - These are stories about how Shao Fei and the rest of the gang deal over the years when Tang Yi is in jail. Found family fics are my jam, so I loved this.

The thing is, it’s been almost three months of this. 90 days, give or take. 2,160 hours. 129,600 minutes. And more than 7 million seconds of this — not having Tang Yi at his side.

Shao Fei wonders for a moment if he will ever stop seeing Tang Yi in every corner of the house. When he comes down the stairs in the morning, some part of him expects to see Tang Yi standing at the kitchen island with a bright smile, asking him if he wants jam with his toast that morning. Shao Fei sees Tang Yi in that apron he loves, cooking at the stove when he fixes himself dinner, alone in the spacious kitchen. Seeing Tang Yi’s favourite blue bathrobe, Shao Fei can almost see Tang Yi leaving the bathroom, his hair all wet and falling over his eyes.

25. amuse bouche by sarahyyy - Jack/Zhao Zi - ~2400 words, general audiences - This is more of Jack seducing Zhao Zi through food and attention. So basically an extension of the show. Mother hen Jack is the cutest.

“Jack?” Zhao Zi murmurs blearily. “Why are you here?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Jack shoots back, herding Zhao Zi back into the house. He checks for Zhao Zi’s temperature with the back of his hand. “Fever?”

“Just the flu for now, I think?” Zhao Zi says.

Jack purses his lips. “Have you had anything to eat?”

“I had some bread earlier?” Zhao Zi says, but he also looks shifty enough that Jack mostly takes it with a grain of salt.

26. Absolutely Nothing Goes Wrong by anon - Jack/Zhao Zi - ~4500 words, teen - This is an AU where Zhao Zi is the son of a rival mob boss, but he’s still, you know HIMSELF. And when his father says he’s useless, he decides to prove him wrong by seducing Tang Yi’s second-in-command. It’s absolutely adorable.

The man pulled him by the arm, resisting Zhao Zi’s attempts to unhook his claws without causing a scene.

“Hey, stop grabbing me!” he shouted, as the other man played deaf.

“While I admit this is a very loud bar, I didn’t think it was quite so easy to mishear what this young man just yelled straight into your ear,” a newcomer who’d witnessed their conflict said lightly as he walked up to them. His words were accompanied by a wide, almost chilling smile. Zhao Zi blinked once and the odd peculiarity of that smile vanished, leaving just a regular smile in its place. He must’ve just been imagining things under the harsh shadows of the dimly lit bar.

AND +2

Because I’m shameless, I’ll add my own two fics to the end, if you’re interested.

WHY R U?

27. Sorry A Thousand Times - Fighter/Tutor - ~3200 words, explicit - This is a canon divergence for the series finale. I needed more catharsis after the intensity of episode 12.

Tutor narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists at his sides. He took a deep breath. “How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone before you listen?” he asked. I don’t know how many more times I can bring myself to say it.

“Only once,” Fight said and then added, “if you mean it.”

Tutor crossed his arms over his chest and said, “What makes you think I don’t mean it now?”

The corner of Fight’s mouth turned up and he took a step closer. Tutor stumbled back until he was stopped by his legs hitting the edge of the bed. Fight reached out a hand and gently ran the back of his fingers over the line of Tutor’s jaw.

Until We Meet Again

28. Dream On - Win/Team - 8900 words, explicit - Takes place alongside show canon, so that we see how the bed sharing began and how Win and Team’s relationship developed over that year.

“Do you want to do well tomorrow?” Win asked, throwing one of his legs over both of Team’s.

“Yes,” Team said as he did his best to put some space between them on the tiny mattress.

“Then you need to get some sleep. I’m helping.”

“How is this helping?” Team demanded.

“Would you stop…” Win said, shifting closer every time Team pulled away. “Five minutes, Team. Just be still for five minutes, okay?”

#until we meet again #uwma #win/team #winteam #fic recs #fic rec list #bl fic recs #j9 #2moons #2moons2 #mingkit #ming/kit #forthbeam #forth/beam #love by chance #lbc #tincan #tin/can #mean/plan #2wish #uwma fic #2moons fic #tharntype #tharntype fic #mew/gulf #history 3: trapped #jack/zhao #tang yi/meng shao fei #history 3: trapped fic #lbc techno fix-it

[contrivedcoincidences6]

SO this is a continuation on my missing moments from the comics series called “Dirty Hands” @otterandterrier has betaed each and every one of them and I couldn’t do it with out her.  You can read these stories on their own but why not just read all of them? 💁🏻 This particular story is verrryyyyy NSFW

This takes place after Issues #16-19 right after Leia has a run in with a former Alliance spy turned crazy bad guy. Eneb Ray was an Alderaanian survivor who, after a run in with Palpatine, loses his shit and decides he needs to teach Leia how to kill people. So he traps her in the Alliance’s most secrete secure prison and tries to force her to kill the prisoners. Han and Luke come and try to save her but are immediately captured and used as hostages. (Also because this does come up Han and Luke had to herd literal Nerfs in the Falcon after Han lost a bunch of Alliance money gambling. It is golden.)

***

The trip to the base on Horox III from Sunspot prison was mercifully short for the small crews of the Millenium Falcon and the Volt Cobra. At first Leia had naturally just walked over to the Falcon for her trip back, but she found the place covered in various mysterious substances and smelling like it had been filled to the brim with Nerfs, which was a definite step down from the usual mix of dirty socks and wet Wookiee. When she’d said as much, Luke had turned pink and mumbled something unintelligible while Han had become belligerent. So Leia flew back with Sana, glad for the extra time away from Han for her to think through her next step with him.

Before going to Sunspot prison with Sana, Leia had shared multiple passionate kisses with the smuggler and he had seemed to want to discuss it, and assuredly continue it, when she got back. She, however, was not as eager for such a conversation. 

They arrived at the outpost exhausted and wounded, and Leia went to find a quiet place to finish putting together her report on what had happened. Horox III was desolate, which was a big reason why it had been chosen. When the rebels had set up camp, they’d built a couple permanent buildings but for the most part the outpost was just temporary structures and tents.

Hoping to avoid Han, Leia was watchful and quick, and only when she was behind a wall and out of sight of the Falcon she started to breathe a sigh of relief... until Han’s voice sounded behind her. 

“You really should be heading to medical, get some bacta on your arm.” 

Leia stiffened and turned to face him. She was covered in all manner of scratches and bruises from head to toe but had little interest in being a captive audience for Han while she got fixed up. 

Glancing down at the long gash on her arm, she scowled. It was worse than she’d thought and looking at it brought the pain to the front of her mind. 

“Thank you for your concern,” she said flatly, and started to walk away. 

“Hey.” Han followed her. “Just wait a sec, okay? Sorry Luke and I kriffed up the rescue.”

She frowned at him, shook her head, and kept walking until he took hold of her arm and stopped her. 

After a deep breath, Leia forged ahead with a speech she’d been practicing ever since their first kiss. 

“I’m not sure what you are expecting from me but I can’t give it. The kisses have been… nice…” 

Han snorted at her choice of words and she paused to glare at him. 

“Han, I don’t have time or patience for whatever this is,” Leia gestured angrily between them, “so I would appreciate it if you could drop it. If that’s beyond your capabilities, then we will just need to start avoiding each other-” 

“Kriff, Leia, you’re acting like I proposed to you or somethin’!” Han waved his arms in his patently wild way and, despite her deep blush, she continued before he could ramp up his rant. 

“We work too closely for this to become an issue; it’s a distraction I can’t afford.”

“So your life just stops then until- what- the war’s over?”

“My life stopped when Alderaan was destroyed.”

Han’s face grew deadly serious and he moved in close to her. She felt claustrophobic trapped between him and the wall, and looked anywhere but his face until he put a finger to her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. 

“How long are you planning on punishing yourself for what the Empire did?”

“Get over yourself Han.” Leia was fuming but he didn’t back down. She could have gotten away from him, either kneed him in the the groin or just slipped away, but she didn't. Instead, she stared up into his eyes. Equal parts brown, green, and gold, Han’s eyes were a reflection of the man himself; all contradictions fighting to take over, changing to fit the situation. They were dark as she looked up to meet them. They reminded her of the forests on Alderaan, beautiful and untamed, and she felt her heart give way a little bit under his gaze.

She really didn’t mean to kiss him, but in that moment it had felt like her only option, like it was what she was meant to be doing.

The past few days-hell, the past few months-had been so frightening, that sinking into Han’s kiss did more for her than a bacta tank. He leaned her against the wall and Leia couldn’t stop the thrill that ran through her body when she felt him press against her. 

Static filled Leia’s ears when Han ran his tongue between her lips and she gripped his arms, holding herself in place. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her even closer.  

The man knew how to kiss, and she opened up her mouth to let him show her the extent of those skills. 

He pressed against her hungrily and lightly bit her bottom lip. Leia felt herself responding in kind, needing him more than air. 

The distant sound of laughter from a nearby hangar forced them apart. They were hidden enough but someone could easily come across them. 

“Not here,” Leia said roughly, and she pushed him away before continuing her path to the tent she’d been assigned. 

Han followed her wordlessly, a man possessed, but still wary of any onlookers. Leia, however, hardly noticed her surroundings. She felt more alive than she had since she’d been on the Death Star. 

Fine. She would give into her unrelenting want for Han Solo, she would quench that thirst and move on.  

When he entered the tent, they hardly paused to look at each other, instead just colliding in the middle of the small space. Han’s hands tracked burning trails up and down her bruised body causing a small eruption of lust to explode in her belly. He roughly grabbed her ass, pushing her hips against his and she felt him there, hard as iron and hot to the touch through their clothing. 

She suppressed her moan by biting his neck lightly which in turn brought up a choked sound from him. 

“Quiet,” she rasped and kissed him again. 

Han was unusually quiet and in some ways that made it easier for Leia to pretend it would mean nothing. It wasn’t really Han, the brilliant yet goofy smuggler who tried so hard to pretend he didn’t care. This wasn’t the man who had helped her off the Death Star and who had chased after Darth Vader in a stolen AT-AT, who questioned her relentlessly but always backed her up when it mattered. 

This was just a body, a hard, calloused, warm body, with hands that knew exactly what to do and when. Hands that were making quick work of her bodysuit. 

There was a wince and a sharp intake of breath when Han looked down at her body. She was covered in bruises from her fight with Eneb Ray. The thought of the former Alliance spy caused a pain that began inside Leia’s soul and overwhelmed any physical pain; she couldn’t take it. She chased it away by taking hold of Han’s inert hands and placing them firmly on her cloth covered breasts. The thin fabric of her bra made for excellent friction between Han’s mechanic’s fingers and her diamond-hard nipples. 

He worked her body the way she’d watched him work his ship and countless pieces of equipment. Leia tried to ignore the way he looked at her, though; it was too tender to be coming from Han. His eyes would turn mossy and soft for moments between kisses and she preferred the dark desire that took over when she moved her hips against him in a way that made small fireworks explode all over her body. 

She tugged at his troublesome blaster belt until he finally grunted and pulled it off himself. Even the moment of lost connection felt like a blow to Leia, and she pulled him back quickly, letting one hand go back to her breast but moving the other between her legs. Han gasped silently into her mouth when his fingers touched her warm hot center, but he hardly hesitated. 

His fingers moved in different ways until he found exactly what she liked, and then he didn’t stop. 

Leia’s legs nearly gave out when he trapped her clit between two fingers and played with it there. God, it was almost exactly how she touched herself, how she’d touched herself just days before thinking of him, and that thought was overwhelming. 

“Cot,” she mumbled into his mouth. The one word was so mumbled, it sounded like an alien language, but Han moved to the cot without any further explanation. 

“Yes…” Leia breathed when he settled his weight on top of her and began moving his fingers again. His hips moved against her leg and the feeling of his hard cock was delicious and dangerous.

“Yeah, you like that?” Han asked gruffly. She squinted open one eye to see his sideways grin and wanted to argue with him, but the way he was moving his fingers was too heavenly and she didn’t want him to stop. So she just nodded. 

His smile took on a hint of playful menace and he took one of her nipples between his lips, lightly brushing his teeth against the puckered skin. 

“Aghhh!” Leia burst out before she could slam her hand over her mouth. She hated how vulnerable she felt, so easily read by Han and his-what had to be- Force-filled fingers. She wanted to push him off her and take control, but the waves of pleasure were stronger than her need to dominate Han Solo, so she let him have this round. 

After just a few more minutes, she could practically see her climax behind her eyelids; she bit down on one finger to keep from shouting as she thrust her hips against Han’s moving fingers in just the right way and she was flying through hyperspace to an unknown destination. 

Before the fuzzy feelings of her orgasm wore off, she was struggling to push his pants down. Han eagerly helped her and, after an eternity, he was in her hands. 

Leia had done this before and had been unimpressed. She’d been aroused by her boyfriend at the time and had enjoyed running her hands up and down his erection, causing him to lose it before he’d been inside her. Eventually they’d had sex, and afterwards Leia had wondered what all the fuss had been about. 

The boy at the time had been a secret fling, a way for her to privately rebel without truly being destructive, but this was Han, and the thought of having that kind of power over him almost drove her right back over the edge. 

She was starting to understand the hype.

Thanking the stars that the Alliance asked all people under their command take tri-monthly shots, Leia was about to pull him right into her when she realized how intimate their position was. He was looking at her like she was some kind of beautiful fantasy, and part of her soul lit up at that in a way that made her distinctly uncomfortable. So instead, she flipped herself over and onto her hands and knees. It would be better this way, not meeting his eyes. 

Han didn’t seem to mind; he practically growled as he grabbed hold of her hips and pushed in. 

Leia threw her face into the rough, Alliance-issued, probably used pillow and let out a silent scream. Han nearly bit into her shoulder, trying to control his own reaction, and he stopped moving for a minute as they got used to the feeling. 

It was such a good feeling, too. Leia pushed back against him, needing more, and he obliged. 

Within minutes they were moving together, totally lost to the world around them, only aware of each other and their own efforts to be as quiet as possible. 

Later Leia would thank the Force that most people had been busy at that time of day, and be grateful that the sound of running ships and equipment would have drowned out anyone but the closest bystanders, because she knew they were loud at the end. 

Han especially broke his silent streak with a string of Corellian curses as he came. He kept moving inside of her, seemingly determined to get her off again and, with one hand on the railing of the cot, he moved the other between her legs and swirled around her clit with his rough fingers until she came violently around him. 

They collapsed seconds later, sweaty, dirty, and sated. 

For a few minutes following the deed, Leia let Han collect her in his arms, but horror filled her when she began to gather her breath and understand her surroundings. 

“This won’t change things,” Leia insisted against his neck before she began to push away. He tried to hold onto her, but sighed in resignation and let her go when she kept moving. 

“Sure, sweetheart,” he muttered and wearily watched her as she began to dress. 

When Leia threw his pants on the cot next to him, he grabbed for them in a huff and was dressed before she was. 

She could see the frustration coming off of him in waves and knew he was trying to find the words to express it. 

“I need to find General Madine and turn in my reports,” Leia said, pointedly ignoring the awkwardness hanging in the air around them. 

“Sure. Have a good day, Your Highness,” Han snapped at her before he stalked out of the tent. 

After he left, she took one more look at the ruined cot and closed her eyes, wondering how much she’d regret this. 

Squaring her shoulders and collecting her data pads, she finally left the tent, determined to forget about this new tryst.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars comics #hanleia #hanleia fanfiction #Princess Leia #leia organa #han solo #han solo and princess leia #han and leia

[hookedonapirate]

Miss Fix-It

Summary: Miracle worker. Relationship Guru. Savior. 

Those are just a few of her monikers, but most people have taken to call her Miss Fix-It. Helping broken-hearted women get back together with their former boyfriends is her specialty. How does she do it, you ask? Simple—she becomes his date from hell so he’ll realize what a catch he had before he let her go.

Emma Swan is an expert at fixing relationships, it’s just too bad she’ll never have one of her own. 

Her particular set of talents is put to the test, however, when a cheating ex-girlfriend requests her services. Emma’s reluctant at first. It’s not an easy task to make someone seem like a catch when they’ve cheated, but the potential client is an emotional wreck desperate to get her former boyfriend back before he heads back to England. Besides, Emma Swan never backs down from a challenge. They don’t call her Miss Fix-It for nothing. She’ll find a way to make him wish he was back in his ex-girlfriend’s arms, no matter what it takes. If only she can squash the feelings she develops for him and stop breaking her rules.

A/N: I know, I know, I shouldn't be starting any more stories, but I was rewatching a movie I saw a long time ago, starring David Boreanaz, called Mr. Fix-It and I had to write my own version of it. I also did a gender swap because David's character was just too Emma Swan to not write it that way. So this is pretty much My Best Friend"s Girl meets How to Lose a Guy in 10 days. I was originally going to write this for Captain Swan Movie Marathon, but I just couldn't help myself or wait to share it! Some of the ideas in the story regarding relationships and love may seem stretched for the purposes of this fic, so please keep in mind, this is only fiction. 

A big shout out to @ultraluckycatnd​ for beta reading and to @onceuponaprincessworld​ for letting me share my ideas with her!

Chapter 1

“Thank you.” There’s a rare appreciation in Emma’s tone as she steps inside, offering up a slight smile at the stranger holding the door open for her. 

“You’re welcome,” he replies with a downward nod, his smile mirroring hers. 

He’s easy on the eyes and evidently a gentleman, doting on the pretty brunette attached at his arm who’s neither surprised nor offended by the polite gesture he’s offering another woman. Or at least, she doesn’t appear to be. 

Emma looks back, peering through the glass doors to admire the happy couple as they make their way down the sidewalk. The man places his hand on his date’s back as he kisses her temple, and the woman leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Emma smiles at the palpable love and affection they show each other before disappearing from her view.

Sometimes Emma wonders what it would be like to have something like that. But then the reality bomb explodes in her face, reminding her of the love she’d lost, the love that ruined her life. She’s reminded that she’s just a lonely twenty-eight-year-old who’s never truly been happy. Well, she was once, but it was too short-lived to count for anything. The memories make her stomach churn, her smile quickly fading into a frown. 

Shaking the thoughts away, she spins around on her heels, her bright, fire red stilettos clicking on the floor, golden curls bouncing around her shoulders as she looks around, searching for the dining area. She doesn’t need the hard work, the sacrifice or the baggage that tends to accompany relationships. She doesn’t need the heartache. Which is why she’s here at Juliet. The name of the restaurant is a bit ironic, though, considering she’s no Juliet, nor is she looking for her Romeo. 

Her eyes circle around the dining area until she spots the man she immediately recognizes from the photo. His face is buried in his phone but he has the same brown, curly hair and handsome profile. 

Emma approaches his table with slow, uncertain steps, an apprehensive expression etched in her features. “Graham?” 

He peers up from his phone, his eyes immediately lighting up when he sees her. He springs up from his seat to greet her and sticks out his hand, flashing an easy smile. “Emma…”

His cologne is a little too strong and she almost chokes on the vapors as she slips on a smile and slides her palm in his. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he greets in a warm tone as he shakes her hand. His grip is timid and shaky, and his palm is a bit sweaty, but she can tell he’s nervous, so it’s par for the course. “Wow, you look...” his words trail off when he releases her hand, his eyes moving up and down to appreciate her form, “...much prettier than I expected.” 

“And you’re more handsome than I expected,” she compliments with a cheeky grin. “Photos from the internet can often be—”

“Fake? Outdated? Photoshopped?” he says, pulling out a chair for her.

“Exactly,” she laughs and sits down, scooting her chair up to the table as he reclaims the seat across from her. She sets her clutch purse on the table and can’t help but notice the booth to the right, where a couple is sitting on the same side of their table. She hates when couples sit on the same side of the table at a restaurant; it’s just sketchy and weird. The only time this should be acceptable or appropriate is if they were on a double date. But this couple is clearly not. The man is cozied up comfortably with his date—who, not to mention, appears to be half his age—with his right arm wrapped around her as he whispers in her ear, the wedding band on his left hand resting on the table, glinting in the soft, luminous light. Emma can’t tell if his date is also wearing a ring or not, because she’s sitting on the other side of him, but it’s highly unlikely. She looks too young to be married, but then again Emma was only eighteen when she eloped. That’s a different story for another time though.

“What would you like to drink?” the waitress asks, pulling Emma from her reverie.

Feeling a desperate need for some liquid courage, she peels her eyes from the couple to address the waitress. “I’d love some Moscato, please.” Even in her early twenties, she never drank wine or any alcohol really, but then she discovered its value as a social lubricant and how much easier it is to perform her job when she drinks, so she forced herself to develop a taste for it.

When the waitress leaves to fetch the bottle, Emma rests her hands in her lap as she kicks off the conversation. “So, tell me, what do you do for a living, Graham?” 

Graham places his arms on the table and joins his hands together, his nervous demeanor melting away. “I’m a police officer, hoping to be a detective someday.” 

“Hm,” Emma hums in genuine interest. “A detective, huh? So, you must be good at solving crimes, then? What can you tell me about the couple at the table next to us?” she asks, nodding toward them.

“I said,  someday,”  Graham chuckles. “I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but I’ll humor you. The man is either cheating or just recently divorced,” he says, without even glancing at the other table. 

“How can you tell?”

“For one, spouses don’t sit next to each other at a restaurant, they sit across from each other and gaze into each other’s eyes and wait to cuddle up on the sofa in the privacy of their own home like normal people. And two, he has a ring on his finger, but she doesn’t.”

Emma turns her head and stretches her neck, trying to see over the man. “How can you tell she’s not wearing a ring?”

“I noticed when they sat down. Besides, she looks young enough to be his daughter, she’s way too young to be married.”

“I know, right?” Emma agrees with a strained laugh, pointing a finger at him. “You’re going to make a fine detective one day, Officer Graham.”

He blushes, a nervous laugh escaping his throat as the waitress returns. After she drops off the requested bottle of wine, Emma brings the wine glass to her lips, appreciating the heady fragrance and the well-balanced mixture of sweetness and bitterness on her tongue as the liquid glides down her throat. “What about you, Emma? What do you do for a living?”

“I fix up houses,” she answers simply, setting her glass on the table.

“Ah, so you’re like a handyman, then?”

“Handywoman,” she corrects. “My dream is to start my own reality show like the Property Brothers.”

He lifts a flirty brow. “A woman who’s good with her hands? I like that.” 

Emma blushes and holds up her open palms, a sly grin curving her lips. “Believe me, I’ve worked wonders with these things.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” he says with a smirk, shifting in his seat. “So, how did you get into that line of work?”

“When I was eight, I got bored one day, so my grandpa gave me a hammer and told me to go play.” 

Graham looks at her, wide-eyed, his jaw falling open.

Emma laughs. “I’m joking. My grandparents were house flippers long before house flipping became popular and they’re the ones who raised me, so handiwork sort of became second nature to me.”

“Ah, I see,” he says before taking a sip of what she determines is whiskey, based on its distinct, yeasty smell and amber-brown liquid.

“So, tell me, Graham, if you don’t mind me asking—how is a guy like you single?”

He chuckles and sets down the tumbler, rejoining his hands on the table. “Well. I’ll be honest, Emma, I have a fear of commitment.”

Emma raises a brow toward her hairline. “Oh really? I have to say, based on your Zoosk profile, you strike me as a guy who’s into something more than a casual fling.”

Graham reaches for his drink again and curls his hand around the glass as he stares vacantly into the tumbler. “Well, I used to think I could be in a serious relationship. I was dating this woman I really liked, but things just went way too fast.” He glances at Emma, guilt clouding his face. “She talked about getting married and having kids, and I’m just not ready for all that yet. I’m still young, you know?” he says before taking a sip of his drink.

Emma nods in understanding and crosses her arms on the table, leaning toward him. “Well, since you felt comfortable sharing that with me, can I let you in on a little secret?”

Setting his drink down, he mirrors her position and leans over the table so their faces are only a few inches apart. “Of course.”

“I don’t do commitments either. I don’t like to be tied down…” a cheeky grin overtakes her face as she adds, “well unless I’m being tied down in bed. I like to live in the moment.”

He smirks, discernibly aroused by her confession. “Well, then we want the same thing.”

Emma nods in agreement, even though she’s not buying it, and throws back her wine like it’s hard liquor, gulping it down quickly before setting the glass down on the table and wiping off her mouth. “So, what do you say… wanna get outta here?”

She doesn’t have to ask him twice before he’s tossing some cash on the table to pay for their drinks, before he’s rising from his chair and offering his hand. “My place?”

She glances at his hand briefly before lifting her eyes to meet his gaze. “Perfect.” She grabs her purse and slips her hand in his, rising from the table. She’s feeling warm and slightly buzzed as they head toward the exit doors, his hand resting on her back. Alcohol always makes this so much easier. 

Once outside, his arms are around her and his lips are on the shell of her ear while they’re moving quickly but clumsily, and she’s giggling when his beard tickles her skin. Before they make it to his vehicle parked in front of the restaurant, she tugs on his sleeve to stop him in his tracks. 

He removes his lips from her ear and pulls away slightly, lifting a questioning brow, resting his hands on her hips. 

“Before we go to your place, I have to be upfront with you about something.”

“Okay,” he nods, waiting for her to continue.

“I failed to mention this in my profile, but... I only do one night stands.”

“Oh, uh… that’s cool,” he says, but she can tell by the way he removes a hand from her hip and scratches his head and the uncertainty in his eyes that he’s not being completely honest with her. Or himself. “I’m totally down for a one-nighter.” 

Emma's shoulders rise and slump with relief as she flashes a toothy grin. “Okay, well now that I know we're on the same page, I do have a few rules you should know about.”

He nods, urging her to go on. She hasn't scared him off yet, and instead, he seems to be intrigued. 

“I don’t do any type of intimacy. So no kissing or cuddling, no foreplay,” she pauses when he furrows his brows in disappointment, his smile quickly dimming, “and this next rule is very important…”

“What’s that?” he asks, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You have to wear a pillowcase over your head as you fuck me. I can’t risk getting attached to anyone.” Emma has to suppress a smirk when she sees the doubt clouding his eyes. “Oh and one more thing…”

He forces a small smile. “I’m afraid to ask…” 

She can tell he’s not nearly as interested as he was before, so what she’s about to say will definitely push him over the edge. She’s sure of it. 

She leans in closer, whispering in his ear. “You’re my second date tonight, so if I’m already leaking cum before you enter me, that’s why.”

Graham quickly removes his hand from her hip to cover his fake coughs. “I’m sorry, I’m feeling a cold coming on and I don’t want to get you sick, so I’ll have to take a rain check.” 

She waves off his words with a flick of her hand. "Oh, it's okay, I don't mind. Who knows what other ailments—or diseases for that matter—I contracted from the other guy anyway," she laughs. “I don't believe in condoms. Or any type of contraceptives for that matter."

Emma has never seen a man hightail away from her so fast in her entire life. Not even that one time when she told a guy she was on a first date with that she would cut off his balls if he ever so much as looked at another woman. 

She smirks as she watches Graham jump into his car, the tires squealing as he peels away from the curb, racing down the street. 

Emma turns on her heels and casually strides over to her car, thoroughly satisfied with how the date ended as she digs into her purse for her phone. She gets in her car and waits for her screen to light up. 

Three... Two... One…

Like clockwork, her phone buzzes and she answers it, bringing the phone to her ear. “Emma Swan.”

“You’re a freaking genius! I don’t know what you did or said to Graham, but he just texted me and wants to get back together!” 

Emma looks at her fingernails, admiring the manicure she'd gotten earlier after receiving a paycheck from her newest client. “I didn’t do anything. He just needed a little reminder of how hard it is to find someone like you, that’s all. Remember, Kaitlyn, you’re a catch. I just helped him realize that.”

“Oh, Emma, thank you, thank you, thank you! A million times thank you!” she cries into the phone. 

“Well now that he's reaching out to you, remember to dial down the intensity, okay?”

“What do you mean?” Kaitlin asks, confusion evident in her tone.

“I mean, he told me the reason why he broke up with you is because you were moving too fast for him. You have to give him time to catch up with you. But don't worry, he'll get there eventually. You just need to move at a slower, more natural pace to get him where you want him to be. Otherwise, you'll be calling me up a month from now, asking for my help again, but I never do the same job twice, got it?”

“I got it, but you have nothing to worry about. I won't screw this up again, I promise.”

Emma hopes so both for their sakes. All of her first attempts have so far proven to be successful, with the exception of one case (it's not Emma’s fault the guy turned out to be gay), but a second attempt would just be wasting her time. If a relationship doesn't work out the second time around, that usually means it wasn't meant to be. 

“Okay, just remember what I told you and you'll be fine.”

“Okay, I will,” Kaitlyn says before there's a brief pause. “Oh, I’m sorry, I have to go. Graham’s calling me. Thanks again!”

After the call ends, Emma tosses the phone in her purse and inserts the key in the ignition. When the engine roars to life, she turns on the radio and pulls out of her parking spot, looking forward to changing into pajamas, lounging on the couch and watching Point Blank. She looks forward to sleeping in her bed all alone and pleasuring herself with her battery-operated friend without worrying about having to impress anyone in the sack. And the next morning she’ll wake up refreshed and trot off work like she does every day, waiting for the next distressed woman to show up at her office in a mess of tears, begging Emma to help get her man back. 

And she’ll agree to it because it’ll take her mind off of her own lonely, depressing life and allow her to focus on someone else’s problems. She not only helps women repair their broken relationships but, unlike broken pipes, she fixes them quickly and efficiently with no clean up required. She does it with a smile on her face and her heart locked up tight because she’s a professional and she's amazing at what she does. 

But hey, they don’t call her Miss Fix-It for nothing, right?

#cs ff #captain swan #miss fix-it #my fic

[coltdancer]

You Matter to Me (A Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure Short Story)

A security breach of the alchemy lab results in a daring decision that has consequences for Varian.

Set after Eugene and Rapunzel are married, Varian has explored, learned, and returned to Corona as the Royal Engineer/Alchemist and Cassandra has completed her personal quests and returned to serve Corona as a member of the guard.

Inspired by CJeanne's/OriginalDisneyDescendants absolutely beautiful work here on Tumblr (not sure it’s around anymore), she graciously allowed me to run away with my own story. This is pure hurt/comfort FLUFF, my people. My happy place, my M.O., my zone. **AND NOW THERE IS ART by @lizpotentielle​!  

“What did he take?!” Cassandra shouted, dodging the ornate vase launched at her head, nearly careening into the wall of royal portraits when the move shifted her balance but did not account for her speed. “Uh...I’m not sure, exactly!” 

“What did he take?!” Cassandra shouted, dodging the ornate vase launched at her head, nearly careening into the wall of royal portraits when the move shifted her balance but did not account for her speed.

“Uh...I’m not sure, exactly!”  

Ahead of her, his long legs giving him an advantage, Varian lunged toward the Soporian thief and very nearly made an impressive tackle, but the body-check inadvertently shoved their target through the door leading down to the dungeons and aided his escape. 

Cassandra sprinted past and Varian scrambled to his feet to join her.  

“We can catch him when he hits the cells!” she huffed, concentrating on skipping steps without twisting an ankle.  

“Not if he beats us to the sewage outlet; it’s how he got in. It will already be open,” Varian panted just behind her, and they hit the bottom to find that indeed, the doors leading through the main thoroughfare of the dungeon were all hanging wide open, providing the bandit a clear path.

With a straight and unhindered shot, Cassandra pulled the bolas from her belt and hurled them towards the Soporian’s legs with a grunt.  It was enough to make contact and wrap around the man’s ankles, sending him pitching forward.  He writhed impressively mid-air to skid across the floor on his shoulder, the glass vial he had stolen skittering from his pouch and across the bricks, out of his reach.  Varian pounded past him, dodging the swipe of his arms and making it to the end of the hall to shove the wooden door closed and block his exit.  

Cassandra breathed with relief when, panting heavily, he stooped to scoop up the vial and inspect it.  Because Varian had interrupted his heist, the vial likely wasn’t what the thief intended to make off with, but Cassandra knew that any number of the alchemical compounds Varian held in his main lab could be potentially serious or deadly in the wrong hands - the negative rumors and town talk that would create buzz in the neighboring kingdoms almost as much so.  

Best to keep these things quiet.  And most definitely out of the wrong hands.

Cassandra placed her knee between the Soporian’s shoulder blades to finish rolling him onto his stomach, reaching for his free arm to pull behind him, when he suddenly flipped onto his back and had her by a fistful of tunic and a dagger blade to her throat.  

Varian’s cry of warning was swallowed with a gasp.  The edge of the blade was close enough that her skin prickled and she froze, daring to make eye-contact.  Cold, brown eyes - so dark they were nearly black - narrowed with malice and she sat back as the thief used his impressive core strength to right himself, the knife never wavering from its precarious position against her jugular.  Even had she been wearing her armor, her neck would have still been exposed.  She made a mental note to rectify that if she was so lucky, her jaw clenching when he drew his legs close enough toward himself to reach down and release the bolas around his feet.  

“I was warned about you and your skill, my dear,” the thief breathed silkily, leaning in close enough that Cassandra could smell his breath and sweat.  It was repulsive.  He was rising smoothly to his feet and guiding her with him, a cruel twist to his mouth as she felt the cold metal press against her skin.  She held her breath and stood, his free arm unnervingly blocking a counter-attack to his midsection. She chanced a glance at Varian.  He looked slightly horrified, but surprisingly calm, and stock-still.  She knew his mind was racing with calculations and weighing his options.  She tried to shake her head to warn him not to do anything, but a nick at her neck and her stronger arm wrenching painfully behind her made her stop.  The muscle in Varian’s jaw clenched and he made a move to reach inside his vest.

“Ah-ah,”  the thief warned, “You keep your hands where I can see them, pretty boy. And unless you plan on accompanying me, just hand that tube over, and I’ll let this little wench go.”

Varian’s eyebrow shot up at the insult and something dangerous flashed in his eyes that Cassandra recalled from long ago, and then it was gone, replaced with a resolve that she decided in an instant she did not like one bit better - just as he threw his head back and swallowed the entire contents of the vial. 

“Well, can’t say it will do much for you now…” he responded dryly, suppressing a shudder, both Cassandra and her captor gaping in shock.

“It might if I slice you open and siphon what drains from your guts…” the Soporian snarled, just before he drew back and head-butted Cassandra in a rage.  

Spots and stars exploded from the contact and she felt herself tossed to the ground as the man lunged forward, swinging.  There was a whoosh and the clang of iron as a cell door slammed shut.  Cassandra shook her head and squinted, wincing at the sound as Varian locked himself safely inside and away from the blade.  His eyes darted to hers and back again, assessing that she had not yet recovered from the blow. 

“Wow, that’s exceedingly graphic.  You Soporians are so violent,” he quipped, keeping the focus on him.  “How about ‘no’? I rather like my guts where they are, thanks.”  

“They said you had a smart mouth, you little traitor. Didn’t know when to shut up.  Perhaps I should just let you keep talking and at least garner the satisfaction of watching what it does to you.”

And he did sound just a little too eager for that, Cassandra thought, blinking widely and trying to focus on Varian.  The alchemist almost looked bored, his shoulders dropping with a long-suffering sigh. “Absolutely nothing,” he responded.  

“What nonsense is this?”

“Do you even know what you took?”

There was just the briefest of pauses.  “Yes.  It was Belladonna.”

“Or you grabbed bimberrry juice,” Varian rolled his eyes.  “Tell me, did you actually see ‘belladonna’ or did you just snatch a vial marked with a letter ‘B’ on it, because that’s all you could read?”

The Soporian’s eyes were practically bulging and all he could do was splutter, and Cassandra felt her stomach unclench.  She wanted to laugh.  Instead, she felt for the hilt of her sword.  

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”  

The sound of metal releasing from its sheath as Cassandra brandished her own blade grabbed their attention then, and with one last glare and clang on the iron bars of Varian’s safety cage, the Soporian bolted down the corridor toward the sewage grates.  

Cassandra lunged after him, but halted abruptly, rushing back to the closed cell.  She was patting down her pockets and looking around frantically on the floor, but the keys were nowhere to be found.  She looked up to find Varian dangling the keyring over his index finger. When had he snagged those?

She choked out a laugh. “ Why do you keep bimberry juice in your lab?”

He shrugged.  “For medicine. Makes it taste better.”

“Oh.  So it was really just bimberry juice?”

“No, it was belladonna.”

“ WHAT ?”

“Cassandra.  That low-life is getting away.”

“We have to get you out of there.”

“Go catch your man.”

“What - no!  Open the door.  We have no idea what that stuff will do to you!”

“I’m pretty sure I have a good idea.” “I am going to kill you.”

Varian tilted his head, a wistful, amused expression crossing his features. He shook his head.  “Sorry, but I’m not going to need your assistance this time around, Cassie.”

Her eyes widened with realization and she gripped the handle, rattling it furiously.  

“ Varian . This isn’t funny. Please tell me you have some kind of antidote.”

He smiled, but the beat of silence was too long.  “Of course.”

Cassandra’s stomach dropped like lead.  “ VARIAN. OPEN THE DOOR -- ”

With a huff of a chuckle, Varian stepped forward and through the bars pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, stunning her momentarily speechless in its acceptance.  “He’s getting away, Cass. Let me handle the science stuff. You catch the bad guy so he can answer for this.  Go on, now.”

She was horrified and angry and... scared ...which made her angrier, still, and she whipped around with a howl of fury intended just as much for the fleeing criminal as the maddening man she was leaving behind to potentially die a slow death.  

 Corona did not see a lot of high crime; the populace had nearly as infamous a reputation for squelching suspicious activity as the kingdom guard.  When the infrequent circumstances arose, however, the reaction was generally well-executed and swift.  Today’s heist was no exception, but it had created quite a stir.  The chase had resulted in Cassandra pursuing the Soporian interloper through the drainage tunnels below the dungeons and out the spillway into the moat, a sure test of her endurance, before gaining enough ground to make him change course right into the trap Eugene and his guard had waiting.  

And then it was over.

Cassandra had been anxious to report to the Captain, but he’d taken one good look at her, pulled a face, and insisted she shower first.  He might also have alerted her best friend and Princess to her need for a good meal and in the meantime paid his own visit to the newly occupied dungeons to question their captive.  She was begrudgingly grateful for the respite.

Now, as lamps were being lit and the sun dipped low on the horizon, Cassandra finished giving Eugene her version of the events and he scribbled notes in his parchment book about as furiously as she recounted them.  He had grown so very efficient in his role and Cassandra could not help but be impressed - they squabbled to the point of aggravation sometimes, but she knew he took the role seriously and worked hard.  She had often dreamed of holding that position.  However, even as Eugene carefully closed the book he was writing in, his fingers lingering over the cover that reeked of Rapunzel’s handiwork with a small smile, Cassandra found she did not harbor ill will or even any resentment.  She’d made her choices.  The fact that she has been able to return to Corona and work her way into duty at all was rewarding, and the capture they made today proved once again that she was capable and Eugene’s faith in her was justified.  But with the recounting of that chase and how she wound up jumping into the muck after their criminal, she was freshly reminded that she had left another man behind.  That was not a decision she could commend, no matter how logical it was.  No matter how confused it left her.

She blinked and looked up.  Cassandra wasn’t sure how long she had been silent, mulling it all over again.

Eugene leveled her with a penetrating gaze before standing from behind the desk.  He was disconcertingly adept at reading her. “C’mon,” he barked, and just like that Captain Fitzherbert was put away and he was “Eugene” once again.  “Rapunzel was getting Varian a change of clothes.  Let’s go check on him.”

Cassandra tensed, but knowing Raps had been with him and Eugene had procured his statement of events earlier as well...that had to mean Varian was fine and nothing untoward happened as a result of his daring strategy earlier.  Her shoulders relaxed marginally and she cleared her throat, rising to follow him from the room.  “How...how is he?”

Eugene snorted as he opened the door, sweeping his arm toward the threshold in a polite motion to usher her through first.  “Been puking his guts up all afternoon, but whatever that nasty stuff was that he concocted and choked down seemed to do the trick.”  He shuddered and grimaced.  “Did you see that stuff?  I’ve seen Shorty consume more appetizing sludge than that black tar-slime he mixed up.  But...I guess if you’re poisoned, you’re not too worried about the taste, eh?” 

Cassandra felt her jaw clench, ire returning as they walked down the hall toward the infirmary.  She could see Rapunzel hovering at the door and as they neared, a bundle of clothes clutched in the princess’ hands. “Since he was foolhardy enough to do it to himself instead of oh, I don’t know , smashing the bottle on the bricks, I’d say that’s what he gets.”

Beside her, Cassandra could practically feel the dubious eyebrow Euguene was lifting.  “A split-second to take a single course of action and save the Kingdom’s face - oh! and you,” he unnervingly summarized, and she just knew he was wearing that smug, all-knowing expression on his face as they came to a halt, muttering a “Yeah, it scared the hell out of  me, too.”

Eugene bent to kiss his wife on the cheek.  Worn thin by her concern (not that she’d admit it openly), Cassandra glowered at him and rather unceremoniously snatched the garments from Rapunzel’s grasp, continuing on for the infirmary door.  Rapunzel stammered, unsettled, and reached out to halt her progress into the room.  “Cass - I don’t think now is a good time -”

“Ah, Sunshine?  Why don’t we just let Cassandra go on in.”

“But Eugene -” the princess hissed, even as the Captain of the Guard began to wrestle her away.

“Trust me.”

And God bless Eugene as he tugged on her arm and Rapunzel fell silent.  Cassandra yanked the door open and stalked into the softly-lit antechamber, marching across the floor toward the only partitioned area that held anyone at the moment, on a mission to give Varian a piece of her mind for the worry she’d been fighting all afternoon - 

And was halted at the edge of the make-shift curtain by the unmistakable sound of retching.  

It took a moment for her to compose herself before she took a step forward to peer around the curtain where Healer O'Shea, a kindly man with silvering strawberry-blond hair, was positioned in front of an obviously still very ill alchemist. The doctor glanced up at her briefly, one eyebrow arched in silent query.  He was bracing Varian with a gentle hand to the shoulder and supporting a basin as Varian’s whole body strained forward with a round of horrible, empty gurgles that made Cassandra cringe.  Finally, he coughed and spit with a pained gasp.

“That’s it, lad.  I think you’ve just about got it all out - and then some.  This should be slowing down, now,” the physician murmured with approval.  “Let’s try a little bit of ginger tea this time around, see if we can settle that stomach and start getting you rehydrated.”

Varian, if he registered what was said, did not outwardly respond.  In fact, he seemed unaware of anyone standing there at all.  Chalky white and panting for air, he was slumped over a bolster wedged between his arms and his stomach - the only thing that seemed to be holding him upright on the edge of the cot.  Cassandra nodded, subdued, as the healer dipped his head in silent excusal, leaving her alone with Varian and feeling exposed.  Whatever she was expecting after speaking with Euguene, it wasn’t this.  

He looked... dreadful. 

And just like that, she felt her anger dissipate.  If it was even truly anger, to begin with.

“I’d rather you not see me like this…” 

It was such a low rasp she wasn’t sure she heard it.  But a few moments later, Varian mustered the strength to lift his head, the hint of a smirk in his voice, “Unless you came to make good on your offer?  You’ve got your sword, right?”

Cassandra let out the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding, stepping closer.  “You must be joking!”

“Only - mm, only half -” he grunted, then went positively ashen with a small groan and barely managed to find the basin beside him as his stomach heaved again.  

If she thought it was bad mere moments earlier, Cassandra was certain Varian’s insides were trying to claw themselves out, now.  His grip was white-knuckled and desperate as he fought through it, bringing absolutely nothing up, his stomach completely devoid of even the thick and tarry-looking charcoal Eugene said he had been bringing up for hours.  Cassandra found herself reaching out to awkwardly pat at the shirt plastered to his back.  He was hot to the touch and she could feel the muscles coiling angrily beneath her hand; it had to hurt.

Varian folded over the pillow again, trembling from exertion, and she managed to grab the bin from him before it could clatter to the floor.  “Please, jus’...” then his head was in his hands and he gave up trying to talk.  She wasn’t sure if he was begging for her to leave or for it to just be over.

Cassandra felt utterly inept; maybe it would be best to just leave the change of clothes for him and excuse herself quietly.  He was a mess and she did not know what to do.  She would have wanted to be left alone in this sort of scenario, but then, Varian was nothing like her.  He was tenderhearted and tactile and...this was definitely Rapunzel’s department.  The healer had disappeared to make the tea - naturally, she thought, setting the garments she held down on the bed.  She hadn’t planned to stay, for goodness sake, and in no way would have agreed to play nursemaid.  Sure, she and Varian certainly shared a level of comfortable camaraderie with one another; there had been the occasional long conversation when neither could sleep, mutual royal projects or endeavors, one exceedingly rare late night at the Snuggly Duckling when they’d both imbibed a bit too much and had chatted and giggled all the way back to the castle on Fidela.  She looked back at the miserable man beside her and remembered leaving him behind in the dungeons.  While not as powerful as fear, guilt was a fair motivator.  Cassandra would be the first to admit she was no good at the “soft stuff”, but she realized that she wanted to try for him.  

She chewed thoughtfully on her lip, searching the room and wracking her brain, then her eyes landed on the washstand against the wall.  Quietly, she stepped over to it and pulled on the silver levers, letting the water run hot before filling a large basin from a stack of them on the side.  She absently wriggled her fingers under the stream, as she almost always had since her return to Corona, marveling at what Varian had done with all the pipes and his huge fancy boiler mechanism, smiling faintly at a memory - and was quickly reminded of the man across the room.  Cassandra threw a few of the folded rags over her shoulder and slowly returned to the bed as the healer arrived with a small cup of warm, pale liquid.  

“Just a sip or two at first,” he told her and relegated the task by handing the cup off to her once she set her wares down on the bedside table.  She stood there, gaping at the doctor’s back as he traipsed over to his desk and resisted the urge to tell him this was his job.  She was beginning to smell a conspiracy.  

“Hey, you still with me?”  she asked gently, prodding Varian to sit up and relinquish his hold on the massacred cushion beneath his arms. 

His breathing was a little easier and with a pang, she hoped he hadn’t dozed off.  She picked up the tea and held it before him.  It looked inoffensive enough and smelled pleasantly of meadowsweet, but Varian grunted with disapproval, turning a nasty shade of pale and green when she pressed the cup to his lips.  Stubbornly, she waited him out until he finally took a few sips.

“There. Not so bad?” she murmured.

He managed a noncommittal noise in reply.  

Cassandra went back to chewing on her lip, wondering how long it would take for the tea to come back up, if it was going to.  “I bet you have some ideas on how to improve on the formula,” she finally added with forced brightness, and set it down, her smile fading when he said nothing.

Yeah, he was in pretty bad shape. She watched him drag in a deep breath, releasing it heavily.  “You gonna be sick again?”

He seemed to be taking inventory. “No…” he swallowed hard, “...not yet,” he finally whispered, still breathless.  

“Uh...Raps brought you some fresh clothes…”  she offered quietly, but it just sounded silly when he could barely even hold his own head up.  She frowned, and then pursed her lips in frustration.  Why was this so hard?

Time for a purely practical decision.  He needed help, and she ...could help with this.

“What’r y’doin?” Varian slurred, sounding agitated and batting altogether uselessly at her when she reached for his shirt. “Cass -”

“Hey, hey! It’s alright,” she soothed, enclosing his wrist in her small hand, waiting for him to look at her.  He swayed against her and the magnitude of what she was asking wasn’t lost on her.  Suddenly, her gracelessness no longer mattered.  “Can I...Can I help you with this?”

His eyes, dull and bruised, slid closed. To her dismay, a small tear trickled from the outer corner and he nodded. He was exhausted.  

Though she knew he couldn’t see it, she smiled with much more confidence than she felt.  Maybe he wouldn’t hear it, either. She gave his shoulder a squeeze.  “Okay.  It’s okay, Varian. You’ll feel better soon.”

She pulled the sweat-dampened shirt over his head carefully, steadying him as his chin dipped toward his chest. She tried not to, but could not help but notice that his shoulders were peppered with a similar smattering of freckles as his face. It absolutely did not soften her smile.  She turned to the bowl on the table to drop in the rags, swirling them around in the hot water to warm them up.  “You know, what you did today...that was really stupid, Var.”

“This is supposed to make me feel better?” he mumbled irritably, and she cringed.

Speaking of stupid… 

“Sorry, that came out poorly,” she muttered, abashed, wringing out a rag and gently pressing it to the back of his neck.  He jumped beneath the initial touch, then sagged with a mewl of relief that made her stomach feel funny.  Cassandra swallowed and drew the washcloth along the sweep of his shoulders, concentrating on removing the clammy layers of sweat and salt down his back and arms.

“I mean,” she tried again, slowly, “It worked, but it wasn’t worth your life.”

Varian sighed.  “Admittedly really dumb.  I’ll do better next time.”

Cassandra paused then, rag dripping over the bowl as she reached out and snatched his bearded chin, lifting it so that he was looking at her. “No!” she replied, eyes wide with alarm.  “Varian, do not scare me - us… ”  She took a breath, recovering herself and dropped her tone.“Don’t scare us like that again.”

He blinked dazedly but held her gaze until she reached up to gently wash his face, ignoring that funny feeling that came again when his eyes fluttered closed and he trusted her to it.  She placed the rag in his hand so that he could make a pass or two at his front, then helped him thread his arms into the clean shirt, lifting it over his head.  His hair was sticking up in all different directions and she bit down on a giggle. The urge to tame it with her fingers was strong, but Cassandra busied herself with the teacup instead, steadying it when his hands shook and encouraging him to work on it some more.

It did seem to be helping.  With the modicum of relief from his nausea and taking in some fluid, the tension was draining from his posture.  He could no longer keep his eyes open.  She took the empty cup and gave in to thread her fingers through his hair - purely under the pretense of smoothing it back into place - and he leaned more heavily against her. She thought she heard her name, the ghost of a whisper on his lips when he was suddenly dead weight in her arms.    

“Varian?!”  The alarm in her voice and the shattering of the teacup drew the attention of the healer, who was quick to rise from his notes and return to the bedside, helping her ease Varian’s limp form to the mattress.  

Cassandra stood by with wide eyes as he took Varian’s wrist and measured the pulse with practiced ease, gently tilting Varian’s head toward the lantern on the table, pushing back his eyelids and watching the pupils react to the light. He then took a moment to remove the instrument around his neck, listening to the sound of Varian’s breath in his lungs, the rhythm of his heart.

“It’s all right,” he assured her, straightening and reaching to pull up the blanket.  “He’s just finally passed out.  No small wonder.  Maybe he’ll be able to get some rest, now.”

Cassandra let out a shaky breath and pursed her lips together, swallowing hard.  Relief washed over her with astonishing force and she blinked against her silly, watering eyes.  Healer O’Shea was watching her carefully.

“You may stay a bit longer; make sure our winsome engineer is comfortable,” he murmured, skirting the foot of the cot and bending over with a crack of his back to pick up the broken pieces of the smashed cup from the floor.  “But then, unless you wish me to remove you from Captain Fitzherbert’s active duty roster, you’ll let me give you a check-over and will retire to get some rest as well, hm?”

The tumult of the day’s emotions and weariness threatening to overwhelm her, all she could do was nod in agreement.  She knew there was nothing she could do for Varian, but found herself at war with the decision to leave him - again .  He did not budge in the least when she needlessly fussed over the blanket, resting her palm across his chest, reassured by the gentle thump of his heartbeat.  Somewhere, sometime over the course of their friendship, she realized how very much she’d grown to care for him.  In the quiet of the infirmary, now, she could admit how right Eugene’s earlier dig at her had been: today had scared the hell out of her.

“What are you doing to me, you big nerd?” she whispered incredulously. 

Cassandra scoffed then, and rolled her eyes in exasperation, swiping at her eyes once more and shaking her head.  The healer cleared his throat across the room.  She straightened and followed his gesture to a new cot, but not before she took one last moment to return the kiss Varian had bestowed upon her from behind the cell door, her lips pressed tenderly to his forehead as she bid him a silent goodnight.  

 She did feel better, Cassandra admitted, after a few hours of sleep and some breakfast.  Much to Eugene’s chagrin, she even reported for duty.  The Captain, however, seemed assuaged by her reasoning that she needed the distraction and she accepted his compromise to take off after lunch. 

She was returning from the kitchens (making her way through the Great Hall since a steady thundershower rendered the courtyard an undesirable path) when Cassandra caught the back of a familiar mop of black hair heading in that very direction - and likely to the old ammunitions holds that had been converted to his main lab, near the garden.  

“Varian?” she called, both concerned to see him up and about when she’d left him very much unconscious the night before, and relieved.  

He turned at the sound of her voice and smiled wanly, waiting for her to catch up to him.  “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.”  she narrowed her eyes.  “You’re looking…better?” she offered unconvincingly, to which he chuckled sheepishly.  

“Yeah, I know...I’m kind of a mess,” he muttered, gesturing to himself, and she was dismayed at how hoarse his voice sounded.  

“You look pretty peaked, actually,” she revised.  “Are you sure you should be out right now?”

“Released on my own recognizance,” he puffed, but quickly deflated under her stare.  “Yeah, okay.  So, released once I kept down some lunch,” he admitted.  “I just wanted to give the lab a once over, make a few notes.”

“Right.  Where we’d find you slumped over the workbench at dinner time because you lost track of the hour,” she chuckled at the indignant noise he made. “Varian, I know you.  And, I know what you went through yesterday with that stuff - it could have killed you!  May I remind you of the antidote you spent all afternoon and evening bringing up --”

“Okay, okay...keep pushing it, and you can see what I had for lunch, too,” Varian groused, looking decidedly uncomfortable and definitely too pale.  

And darn it, she’d let her blunt mouth run away with her again.  “See?  All you need to be doing right now is taking it easy.”

She stepped behind him to take Varian by the shoulders and direct him toward the other end of the hall, toward the bath chambers.  “THAT way.  Go use those hot showers you made possible.  If you still feel like you’ve got it in you to check your lab, then we’ll talk.”

He spluttered as she began pushing him across the floor, but she could tell he wasn’t putting up much resistance, physically.  “I don’t have clean clothes…”

“I’ll bring you some. Go on.”

Varian planted his feet and glowered at her, but then his shoulders slumped in defeat.  He threw a longing glance at the bath doors and looked back at her. “It....would feel nice…”

Cassandra smiled triumphantly. “Right?”  

When he continued to look uncertain, she could tell he was at war with something he felt he needed to do and what he wanted to do. She frowned and reached out to touch his elbow, lowering her voice.   “Hey.  What’s got you so determined to push yourself right now?”

He was silent for a moment, then met her eyes. “I really should make some notes.  I - I need a way to better track, and secure, my inventory,” he answered ruefully.  “Yesterday was a reminder of the real danger in some of the work I do, and how imperative it is to protect the kingdom’s assets - both from misuse and misconstruction.”

While the solemnity of his response was reassuring, Cassandra couldn’t help but think Varian had completely overlooked another important aspect of the “kingdom’s assets” - his own well-being.  

Security detail was one of her specialties, not his, and before she could second-guess herself, she suggested, “How about you get that shower, take a load off and rest.  You could...tell me what’s going on in that big brain of yours, and I could write the notes down for you.”

Varian’s expression shifted so swiftly to surprise that Cassandra found herself back-pedaling in case she’d offered too much.

“I mean if you - if I -”  she rolled her eyes with irritation at her bumbling and huffed, feeling her cheeks burn.  “If you trusted me to.”

Varian’s eyes softened and the smile he gave her made her stomach do that weird thing again.  His voice dropped.  “Of course I trust you,” he reassured her, and then it was his turn to look embarrassed.  He reached up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck.  “It’s just...you’ve done a lot already, you know? And this doesn’t really matter all that much to…”

“It matters to you.”

“Well, yes.”

“Then it matters to me.”

Varian blinked, confounded.  “Wow, Cass - that was almost….touching.  Eugene would ask if you hurt yourself.”

“GO,” she growled good-naturedly, punching him lightly in the arm.

Varian flinched playfully and wobbled, off-balance, but even as Cassandra steadied him with an apology, he only chuckled and assured her he was fine, at last giving in to her suggestion and plodding off to the bath chambers.    

She had been right, too, after hurrying back with clean clothes from his chambers - while the hot water and steam had brought back some color to his face, it had also left him rather loose-limbed and, if possible, wearier.  She took him by the arm and steered him toward the steps of the garden tower, prodding him along like a drunken villager to his rooms.  They were cold and felt damp with all the rain, so she set to starting some kindling in the grate of the bedchamber to chase the chill away as Varian kicked off his boots then crawled into his bed and collapsed with a groan.  The flames soon took hold and, after placing some larger logs, Cassandra glanced over her shoulder.  Varian hadn’t moved.

Thunder rumbled outside and a gust of wind splattered rain more heavily against the window, but the chill was dissipating and heat was spreading out into the room, now.  Cassandra poked at the logs for something to do, hoping that if she gave him enough time, Varian would drift off to sleep and actually rest.   It would certainly do him a world of good.  Her eyes wandered over the eclectic arrangement of artifacts and trinkets on the mantle; some of them she recognized, but others she did not.  She tilted her head quizzically at a glass urn, filled with what looked like a marbled mixture of ash and sand, labeled with nothing more than sketched flames. 

“Go ahead, open it,” Varian spoke drowsily. “Spread some of it across the fire.”

Cassandra threw him a wry, “why are you still awake?” look, but reached up to gingerly remove the jar, setting the lid on the mantle’s ledge.  She pulled out a scoop of the fine granules and studied them more closely.  They sparkled slightly in the light of the flames and she found herself curious, scattering them across the expanse of the grate.  The powder sparked and popped, surprising her, but then the flames were suddenly awash with changing color, blazing from jewel-toned blues and greens to bright oranges and pinks.  

“What is it?” she breathed, delighted as the flames continued a steady burn of flickering color.

“Just a mix I’m still trying to get right,” he replied, but she could hear the surprise in his voice at her interest. “Potassium and copper chloride, lithium chloride...some alum. Sugar and salt.”

Cassandra shook her head fondly at his list of mostly unknown, scientific ingredients, still mesmerized.  “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” he responded groggily, but she could feel his eyes on her, instead.

Cassandra felt her cheeks redden and she offered him a small smile, uncharacteristically self-conscious with the attention.  She felt warm all over.  “How are you feeling?” she asked finally, replacing the jar and coming to stand at the bedside.  

Varian shrugged half-heartedly. “Eh. Head hurts a little, but it’s not too bad.”

Translation: enough for him to mention it, though.  Cassandra frowned, tugging the covers from beneath him and pulling them up to his chest.  She stepped over to his desk and plucked the blanket from the chair. It was obviously one Rapunzel had knitted for him, large and heavy and very soft, its colors mirroring that of Ruddiger’s fur.  It...smelled faintly like Varian.  She wrapped it around her shoulders and then, after a moment’s consideration, rummaged in the armoire for an extra pillow and situated herself beside him on the bed with a quill and one of the parchment books he kept on the table.  Varian wriggled under the blankets and finally settled on his side, snuggled surprisingly - and comfortably, she realized - close to her hip.

“Okay, first things first,” she began, and Varian craned his neck to look up at her.  “You need a better lock.  Maybe more than one. And lock it every time you leave...even for just a few minutes.”  

Varian hummed in agreement, nodding against the pillow.  “I should talk with Xavier.”

“Noted.  How often do you check inventory?”

“I…”  Varian frowned.  “Not enough,” he admitted ruefully.  

“It seems redundant much of the time, I know,” Cassandra responded patiently, adding to the page, “Especially if you’re the only one in there and you’ve not left all day...but, I recommend it.  Sometimes you catch discrepancies.  We do the same with armor and munitions.”

“Makes sense,” Varian yawned.

Cassandra’s mouth twitched and she glanced down at him.  “Line of sight,” she added quietly. 

“What about it?” he asked, fighting to open his eyes again.

“We should rearrange your workspace so that your back isn’t to the door.  So that you always have a line of sight when someone comes in.”

“I hadn’t thought of that...that’s a good idea.”  

“We should also add a sentry. I’ll talk with Eugene about it.” She scribbled down a few more notes and he yawned again.  “I think that’s enough for us to start with,” she assured him, leaning over and whispering, “Get some rest.”

“...Cass, could you….?”  Varian stopped himself short, his cheeks turning pink as he burrowed into the pillow.

Cassandra set aside the parchment book and quill, brow furrowed.  She tried to surmise what he could possibly have wanted or needed that would embarrass him so after everything he’d been through.  Tentatively, she reached out to comb her fingers through the long fringe at his forehead and he sighed as if he had been waiting for exactly that... oh.  When she’d done it for him the night before, he’d finally relaxed enough to let unconsciousness claim him.  She could not help but smile now as it seemed to work again.  He really was a tactile creature.  

“How’s that?” she asked, her thumb circling gently at his temple.

“Mmm.”

“Mmm?”

There was barely a grunt, but he seemed to nestle in just a little bit closer.  She sighed and sank into a more comfortable position, allowing her eyes to close for a respite.  Just a brief one, she compromised with the part of herself that railed against the domesticity of the whole thing.  The rain continued to patter at the window and it was warm, cozy, and... nice , she decided, with Varian tucked against her side and breathing deeply.  She would slip out once Varian was asleep.  Her fingers continued threading through his hair and he hadn’t stirred in the slightest.  As she began to drift off, herself, Cassandra had one last thought before the morning sun would finally wake her hours later:  that Euguene’s ridiculous grooming habits had worn off on Varian and she now had the perfect dig that would drive Eugene bonkers.

Varian’s hair was definitely thicker and softer.

#varian #post rapunzels tangled adventures #hurt/comfort #sickfic #poisoning #fluff #cassandra #post tts #post tangled the series #post seven kingdoms too #adult varian #adult cassandra #cassarian #Eugene Fitzherbert #Rapunzel #shameless #gratuitous fluff #did I mention fluff? #plot #development #coltdancer writes #trash for this series

[pernatius]

Lost in Space Part 9: Ch 2

Previous

Summary: Syco and the unnamed Space Explorer question their choices

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Lots of diagrams. Plenty of banter but no signs of Ashley, Mikrovos, or Skeema. In the end, though, I can’t say it was a complete waste of time. I know where they are, and I also know where Syco is in terms of his state of mind. 

“I’ll look more into it.” His projected image vanishes, and the symbols that were once circling Syco float back down to the platform. Once again, it's just the two of us. His back is facing me. A purple glow is facing him. The compass, what Commander Knox was referring to before leaving the meeting, is held in Syco’s hand. It's held in his other hand, the one not ranked with death. Its symbols have yet to be translated. The two are stuck, Syco especially as he remains standing on that platform, refusing to look at me. 

“I loved it. I loved the feeling. I loved the power I had. I took so many lives. I took too many lives. The Commander, he,” he sighs, and his grip loosens, “No. No, I can’t blame him. It was my fault. It was all my fault. I let my dark desires take over. That’s why I stopped. That’s why I took that oath, but I broke it.” 

He shakes his head. Briefly, I see a smirk. It’s not the villainous smirk I’ve grown ill towards. It’s the type of smirk that says: “I fucked up then, and I fucked up once again.” 

Continuing his monologue, “I’m trying to do what’s right. I’m trying to make up for what I’ve done. I'm trying to walk forward, but I keep walking backward. I’m trying to save lives, not end them. It’s times like these I question if this war is worth it. Have I become what I’ve grown to hate? I’m insane, but you already know that. 

“I can't trust my inner circle. I can’t even trust myself. I never could. Human, you’re the only one I trust. So, please tell me, have I become the villain in this story?” Finally, he turns to face me. For once, our height difference doesn't bother me.

“We’re the villains in our stories, but there’s no such thing as justice. There’s just us and our decisions. Make one that helps us, and it hurts others. Make one that helps them, and it hurts us.” 

“The universe isn’t infinite. It’s finite. It crushes, breaks. It kills life. The truth is ironic, but we’d rather believe lies. I don’t want to be like everyone else anymore. I don’t want to be me anymore. I hear and see things that aren’t really there. I don’t sleep. I can’t because they’re always nightmares. I’m restless. That’s why when we finally write ourselves in the last chapter in this story I want my story to end with you. 

“I disagree with your earlier statement, though I can see where you’re coming from. There is justice in this abyss we call the universe. It’s when I find myself meeting with and gasping underneath your blade.”

Instead of a set of glowing purple eyes glaring at me from afar, hunting me for my reaction, is two sets of eyes looking at each other. Both are stiff, serious. One of them switches from looking at someone I have to call my friend, as the only way of surviving is by having friends, to her screen. “It just looks like chicken scratch to me.”

The symbols on her screen are the same ones that were written on me. I touch my chest. They’re gone now, but I imagine the red paint had rubbed onto my hand. It feels like blood. It looks like blood. I get a chill thinking about seeing the reflection of that thing from the trial onto the imaginary stroke on my hand. 

It’s when I step inside the room the two finally take note of me. They look up, but Shiitakee returns to inspecting Saamuki’s screen. “Any news,” she asked.

“Yeah. How far away are we from Quadrant Forty?”

“It's about a two-hour trip, but that's a lot closer than I expected.”

“They’ll be there a while.”

“But I still can’t figure out how to access the code.”

I join Shiitakee. “What’s this about?”

“The symbols that were on you are the same ones that Sakhra painted on himself. I see the same ones whenever I glow. It’s the same one I heard The Speaker speak.”

“Are they the same as the ones on Syco’s compass? I haven’t gotten a good look at it yet.”

“Me too, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it is.”

Shiitakee cuts in, cutting out of his daze on Saamuki’e screen, “Fine, let’s say I believe you. Okay, this isn’t just some chicken scratch. Out of the millions of languages in the known universe, whoever first started this whole strange trend decided to use a language I haven’t heard about until just a few minutes ago. Why?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out, but maybe if I were to look around Quadrant Thirty-Nine’s library I could find something.”

“And how would you do that? We’re two hours away at the very least, remember? Besides, I hear it’s the most guarded place right now.”

“Also, I don’t think Syco is going to let us just get up and leave anytime soon. It’s not the best time right now,” I added. 

“That's fine I wasn't planning on leaving this room. I know of a way to set foot in that library without actually setting foot." Both Shiitakee and I look at each other. Following our shrugs is Saamuki continuing with, "It's a lot of explaining. But basically..." 

The way was by sending holograms of us first flying across the universe at unimaginable speeds, then swimming in miles of electric currents to eventually abruptly being smacked onto some dusty, browning tiles I pictured being cold. For the most guarded place in the universe, it sure looks abandoned. One of the lights above is flickering. It goes on and off for a minute before it completely dies. At least the other lights above, thousands of dim lights, can keep on. They shine across the jaw-dropping rows upon rows of books. Piles of them, rather than being properly organized by nuzzling against each other in bookshelves, are stacked high. Three nearly reach the roof, which I need to add this building is three stories high. All of the piles are taller than our three heights combined. Why must aliens not use bookshelves?

At the very center of the ceiling is a perfectly square window lying just behind a cage. On the other side of the window, squeezed between the nest of what I hope aren't bones, is a purpling sky. It’s twilight here. 

Gleefully Saamuki whispers, “It worked.” 

Footsteps are heard coming our way. I gulp. 

Saamuki reminds us, “No one can see us.”

The guard’s footsteps die down as they turn and move away from us.

“Although, we have to be careful with our voices." She raises her head and looks around the library. "Sounds bounce around here quite easily.” 

Shiitakee looks around before replying, “Curse me for not asking more but don’t tell me we’re actually going to look through this mess to look for a book or two we don’t even know the name of. Must I add, for a mere theory? Who knows maybe it’s just a coincidence, or maybe you’re overthinking. Maybe I was actually right for once.”

“I didn’t force you to come, Shiitakee. I asked you to come.”

“Yes, you did.”

“You can still go back.”

“That’s the thing I could. I will after a few minutes. Maybe when I can’t take this bore anymore, but it was really boring waiting for you two to come back last time.”

“Then, let’s get right into it.”

The three of us went our separate ways after promising to meet back there. Saamuki went straight, going deeper into the jungle of books. One minute she's waving bye to us. The next, she's been swallowed by the books. My other companion just turned away and flipped through the nearest book. I went right. The books here are smaller than the books Saamuki traveled into, but they’re much more portly. They’re almost five inches thick. I scan the titles. Many I find interest in, thinking they held the answers Saamuki is looking for. I find myself skimming through them, and in those brief moments, I try to figure out how to cope with how much time I wasted. I groan. Little blurry pictures. So few creative titles. Too many tiny printed words, most of which are long. I despise reading. It always makes me so sleepy, but I force myself to the next book and then to the next. I must’ve skimmed through a hundred, barely a tenth of the books around me, before my eyes become too watery to read. I reach around for another book, but I fall on my butt. Accepting my new predicament, mainly because I'm too tired to get up, I note the book is coated in just as much dust as the floor, if not more. I blow on it but soon regret it. I cough and try to hold in the noise. I try fanning away the fine particles. When they eventually blow away, I frown because I can’t read the title of this book. Maybe if I flip through the book I’ll find at least a word I can read. Nope. It’s all simply just lines, circles, and dashes to me. They have no meaning to me, but the stars above do. It’s well past midnight. We’ve been here for hours, but find ourselves no better than where we were before coming here. I sigh and lay back to look up at the ceiling. 

I hope Saamuki is close to finding something. I also hope I get to see the others soon. I reach my hand up, thinking I’m somehow able to reach out to them lightyears away from where I’m laying. Then, I hear static. With a guard swinging his flashlight across my clearing, I chalk the strange sound to his shuffles even though I knew that doesn't make sense. That’s why I’m not surprised when I get the real answer. I hear a voice I haven’t heard in some time. Hearing it has me get up, get watery-eyed, and look around for the unlikely. “Skeema,” I asked quietly. 

A moment. No reply. I was about to rethink my recent judgment until he finally replies, “It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“W-Where are you?” I look around again, thinking Skeema would pop out of nowhere with tea for us to share. Of course, that doesn’t happen. I remain alone in this crevasse in the sea of books listening to the guard walking away. 

“Light years away from your location.”

“How are you talking to me?” At first, I thought I'd truly gone insane like Syco. Then, I remembered what Syco did all those weeks ago before the tournament. Although, unlike then, I don’t get to see the face behind the voice. “Right. My chip.”

“Yes.” A cough rushes out of Skeema. It sounded painful. I felt it. It’s as if my chest is collapsing in on itself. 

“Are you alright, Skeema?”

“It’s nothing. Don't worry about it. I don’t have much time. Knox is planning something big. Don't come looking for us. For the time being, remain where you are.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t have the time to explain, but I’ll let you know when I can.” A blaster goes off on his side. It rings in my ears, and right after our call goes static. I try calling out his name. Nothing. 

Looking up at the window, I wonder what's coming. Then, instead of getting an answer, but it’s not like I would’ve gotten one, I see a black silhouette looming over me. I get out my sword, and they just tilt their head.

#220 #lost in space #my writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr