These days I was very busy with my university projects, BUT I CAN DELIVER IT! (I only have one left!) and finally I have more time for my Aus! I will leave you these forgiveness sheets of the two Aus!
touch prompt: pls 15 or 17 give me back hugs and/or head caresses i beg i beg
Thanks so much for the ask @sssammich !! Now okay, okay…it’s soft, I promise. You get your back hugs and some head caresses too. They are just a little…uh...hard won.
from the touch prompts list - "a chest pressed warmly against a back"
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a geometry of bodies (Kara and Lena)
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The falling always begins before she knows she's falling.
No edge. No moment of stepping off. Only the sudden understanding that air has replaced the ground. The rushing sound of wind. Her organs lifting up inside her body. Stomach floating. Heart suspended. The specific terror of acceleration without control.
Thirty-two feet per second squared.
Her body reduced to an object. An equation.
But it's not the ground she hits, never the ground. Only ever Kara's chest. Always Kara's chest.
Hands finding ribs with desperate accuracy.
Pressure almost painful. Almost breaking something
Kara's breath against Lena's neck is quick. Panicked.
Then — nothing.
Only Kara still.
She feels something forming beneath her skin. Not quite pain, not quite a bruise. She doubts it will be there when she looks.
Behind her, Kara breathes slow, even.
The room smells of sleep. Of skin. Of imagined ozone.
Lena closes her eyes again.
------
Again.
She is falling again.
It is different this time. Each time. She tastes copper before she understands why.
There's blood in her mouth. Her teeth have gone through her lip.
The air cuts across her cheek, it has teeth of its own.
She collides with Kara's chest.
There is a crack of bone. Of breath knocked loose. All the sounds a body makes when it's caught at the exact moment before shattering. Hands grabbing, gripping. The cotton of Lena's shirt pulling, ripping.
The violence is mutual. Equal. Necessary.
Lena's body folds backward into Kara's. Spine curving. Head snapping back. The whiplash of stopped motion. Her skull connects with her shoulder. Stars explode behind her eyes.
Thirty-two feet per second squared
The mathematics of dying.
But instead of acceleration, Lena is thinking about the specific feeling of Kara's chest against her back. Warm. Familiar. The notches of their bodies matching bit by bit.
Newton never accounted for this.
"I've got you," Kara says. Or doesn't say.
But the ground doesn't come. It never does.
She wakes up instead. Inspects her body. Ribs intact. Limbs unbroken. The copper taste fading as she wipes her tongue across her teeth. The inside of her lip still tender. Raw.
Evidence of something that happened. Or didn't happen.
Behind her, Kara shifts, arm slipping across her waist.
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There is a strange comfort in familiar catastrophe.
Her body turns as it always turns. Limbs caught up in the unrestrained tumble of her body. Arms reaching for nothing. For someone.
The impact spreads across her back one vertebra at a time.
She feels Kara exhale against her neck. Long and deliberate.
Lena is familiar now with the geometry of her body.
The particular slant of her collarbone.
The dip where her throat meets her sternum.
Kara's chest rises and falls.
Up, down. In, out.
One body making room for another.
One shape meeting another.
Lena feels her heartbeat against her spine. Not just the rhythm but the force of it. Blood pushing through its chambers. The wet sound of valves opening and closing.
The violence is small. Measured. Necessary.
"Lena," she says.
The syllables vibrate through them both.
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Lena stands in the bathroom. Lifts her shirt. Expects to find some kind of evidence. The faint outline of fingers. Faded yellow-green skin.
But the light reveals what it always reveals. Her body whole, unblemished.
She goes back to bed. Slips into the gap between the sheets and Kara's body.
"Stay," she murmurs against her hair. The word thick with sleep, barely formed.
Later—years later, minutes later—she will try to explain this to someone.
Maybe even herself, standing in a different bathroom, looking at a different reflection.
But explanations require distance. And here with Kara, distance will always seem impossible.
Physics offers its formulas, of course. Conservation of energy. The transfer of momentum. The predictable behavior of falling objects.
But physics can't account for the way Kara's ribs feel like they were shaped specifically for the contours of Lena's shoulder blades.
She'll call it faith then, or at least something like it.
As she keeps falling.
As they both become good at it. Practiced. Professional grievers of gravity.
Maybe love is just catastrophe rehearsed.
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Lena keeps falling until it barely feels like falling at all.
Until she is used to the peculiar pull that exists between them.
But for once, they are lying together, and the only downward motion is the mattress beneath them dipping with the compression of its springs.
Her back curves to fit Kara's chest even in this uncommon stillness.
Her shirt smells like Lena's detergent. Something borrowed and then given back again. The fabric grown soft from washing, thin from use. She can feel the heat from Kara's skin easily bleeding through it, warmth gathering between them, a flush spreading across her cheeks.
She wraps her hand around Kara's forearm as her palm spreads flat against her hip, slips just under the hem of her shorts, fingers spanning the distance between bone and soft tissue. If she thinks about it enough, she can feel the lines on her palm, the texture of her skin.
Kara tucks her knees up behind hers. Lena lets herself be gathered, rearranged. Feels herself sink even further into the well of her body.
She counts the places where they touch. Shoulder. Elbow. Foot. Ankle.
Each one feels more necessary than the last.
They have been lying this way for three hours. Or perhaps twenty minutes.
Kara's hand finds her hair, fingers working through the tangles that have found their way in. Each strand pulled gently apart.
She looks around the room as if she is waiting for the illusion of it to disappear. To be replaced with sky. With traitorous atmosphere. But the room maintains its simple shape. Four walls. A ceiling. A floor. A window through which the evening is a different kind of blue.
I am also a lover of them loving eachother's insecurities. In your personal view what do you think comes first? Kyoko shows her hands or Celestia shows the physical Taeko?
ok ok I do have thoughts about this. I think physical Taeko comes first mostly because Celeste is more likely to let Taeko show through and also the bit of Taeko she sees and the mystery is something I think really draws Kyoko in, so she's more likely to ask or try to get to Taeko.
also logistically, Kyoko keeping her gloves on at all times is a lot more simple than Celeste keeping up her persona and fake accent, and keeping her makeup, Celestia outfits, and hair extensions on at all times, especially if they're at the point where they're staying overnight in each other's rooms (which tbh, i don't think they would even need to be in a romantic relationship for), although there's definitely degrees of the reveal, like Celeste is committed to the vibe, and i do already say i hc that she tends to fall asleep in her makeup, sometimes accidentally, but also if Kyoko is over she'd do it on purpose, but I think she's at least give in and take off her hair extensions (that or she has like a long black wig to make it look like her hair is down?? could go either way tbh)
I don't actually have an "official" hc for the Taeko reveal or Kyoko's gloves, because there's too many possibilities to pick just one, but I'm definitely partial to the angsty/hurt comfort options. big fan of Celeste somehow ending up crying in front of Kyoko and that's how Kyoko ends up seeing her without makeup for the first time. I have many thoughts on the gloves but they are lowkey tied into and dependent on the Kyoko essay I haven't written yet so stay tuned
Mary's finally standing at arrivals wearing Zombie Sirius as a backpack. Her smile aches and she holds her neon sign low that's actively shedding glitter because that's just what glitter does. When she sees Remus and Reggie coming down the escalator she hands Sirius the poster who holds it high over his head as she holds onto his legs.
She watches Remus read the huge neon sign and he chokes a bit on water, accidentally knocking over his carry on. Then chases after it while it bangs loudly on each step as it goes. After reading the sign Reggie doubled over himself then crouched to hold his stomach before he went rolling right behind Remus. Then Remus catches his suitcase before it hits this elderly couple. The old man, Italian, probably kisses him in thanks and Remus blushes into a bruise. Sirius almost falls off Mary's back when he sees Regulus trip at the bottom of the escalator, still laughing.
Mission successful you could say.
Remus really does try his hardest to book it out of the airport but then realises he left Regulus behind and Regulus has everything for the hotel booking and also everything else because he's simply more responsible but also argues like an Asian mom.
Remus is trying to pull Regulus out of the airport by his arm and Reg just cannot be bothered. Remus fully considers hauling Regulus up off the ground and carrying him toddler tantrum style out of there before he remembers he will break his shoulder this time. “Reg, I couldn’t be more embarrassed confessing to my 9th grade crush in powerpuff girl underwear. Regulus. Please. Get-”
“Moony!” Remus instantly gives up ‘cause at this point everybody’s watching and decides to just sit criss-cross in front of Regulus. He just holds his face in his hands and lets Regulus lean onto him who’s laughing turns to tears and complaints about his stomach hurting. “Alright down there? I feel like I've been waiting my whole life to say that to you.”
Mary picks Reg up off the floor bridal style to stand him up, who says he wants a picture for his future kids. So Regulus stands next to Remus who is still criss-crossed on the floor with his head in his hands and Sirius who is fake glaring at him while Remus begins to accept the reality that he might die in this airport from the sheer social anxiety.
Regulus is smiling so hard his face hurts and tears are running down his face. He’s holding a neon pink sign up to his chest that reads in sparkling pink glitter ‘Welcome Back From Conversion Camp’ and then underneath in multi-colour neon cutouts it reads ‘why is my brother pregnant?’
Mary takes one of them then turns around for a selfie of it all with her eyes and the top of her head at the bottom of the screen. She sends it straight to the band's instagram story with the bar of text across saying “idk if camp worked but it's all perspective i guess”.
Regulus wipes the tears out of his eyes and hugs Mary, asking if he can keep the sign because he’s going to frame it. Sirius holds a hand out to this stranger with the curly brown hair and freckles and scars over his face and eyes like swirling chocolate. “If you don’t want to catch some evolved form of ebola I’d recommend getting up off the floor of an airport.”
“Would you?”
“I do. I’d also recommend walking off with the handsome stranger in front of you.”
“Where?”
“We’ll find your glasses, don’t worry.”
He pulls Remus up and stumbles backwards a bit. The guy had at least 10cm on Regulus which meant he probably had 18cm on Sirius. Remus immediately steps back though to give Sirius space. He doesn’t try to lean over him to intimidate him or make him uncomfortable. He just seems really sweet and considerate. It makes Sirius’ skin itch, he might be allergic.
Mary hands Regulus the sign, who's taking a picture of it to send to.. someone? She stumbles her way over to Remus with a drawn out---Sirius can't really tell, it sounds like she starts off with a drawn out impression of a cow and then cuts off abruptly. She falls into him with a huff and lazily throws her arms around him. The height difference is only 10cm between them, same as with him and Regulus; meaning Mary and Reg are the same height, meaning Sirius is the shortest person here.
Remus pats Mary on the top of her head and says with a fake smile, and a soothing voice, "I saw you five days ago, I was not off at war. We both know I can hold your body weight but don't test that while I just came of a 12 hour flight and am groggy."
Mary backs up to look at Remus' tensely concentrated face. "Awe, you're really trying to be on your very best behaviour." She pats his cheeks with both hands and he gives a tiny smile. "Reggie, we gotta go. Remus is already hangry." Mary tousles Remus' hair and grabs his suitcase, "You're being a very brave boy, we'll get burgers, yeah?"
Mary walks over to Reg and they start for the exit. “Remus Lupin.” The guy extends a warm up hand and Sirius takes it and is such a science geek because all he can think about is the heat energy transfer that’s happening between them. Mainly because Sirius was born an ice cube and Remus is a radiator. All he can think about is the reason his hand was cold and is now warm because of heat conduction and the way heat moves from one body to the next by transferring it from molecule-.
“Sirius. Lovely meeting you.” Sirius grabs Reggie’s carry on and walks side by side with Remus after his little brother and Mary who turns to look at them while walking backwards.
“Yeah, I still can’t get over that. How have you two never met?”
“I’m actually the mastermind behind that one.” Reg nicked Tomny's keys from her twirling fingers to find the car and started after it with Mary following behind asking about his mysterious mastermind plan.
“Aren’t you curious too?” Remus tilts his head to ask like a baby beagle whose head is too heavy.
Sirius snorts though, “No, I already know why.”
“Twin telepathy or something?”
“No, alas, incest has a firm hold on the family tree. Also I-I’m, I’m Mary’s age. Your age.”
“I’m younger than Mary, so, Reg’s age.”
Sirius stops talking for a while as he puts their suitcases in the trunk. “Guess you’re off limits then. Very strange if I think about it like I’m dating someone my brother’s age. Even if he is a year younger than me.”
“I don’t remember mentioning I was on the market and,” Remus closes the trunk, “I don’t think you have the palate for my appetite.” Remus’ deep, rich, southern accent came out then leaving Sirius redder than Taylor Swift’s signature lipstick.
i kind of forgot my existence for a bit and this has been sitting in my docs and im sorry if you were actually waiting for it. i'll post the next one in 2 hours tops i think. i can remove you from the taglist if you want just say something :)
