#I do write fics! but I do it in a very petulant way lol. I always say I wield this medium like a bat

[bacchuschucklefuck]

Do you write fh (jy) fan fiction? If so is there a way I can read it? Thanks :>

I'll say I am writing fh fanfics! but its currently in my computer and nowhere else. maybe one day I'll get what I'm writing done and somewhere not my computer and I'll let folks know!

[satsuma-unshiu]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ shobio fic recs

i like the way your clothes smell by Mysecretfanmoments ✰

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: M

Word-Count: 75k

Summary: `Power outages, ghost stories, and the presence of a certain orange-haired boy lead to bad decision-making on Tobio's part. He'd planned to keep his crush a secret; the universe has other plans.'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: a given, i know. but if you haven't read this yet and are a sucker for good writing and kghn, i implore you, please do, because this one's pure gold

somniloquy by emleewrites ✰

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 12k

Summary: `

“Hi-Hinata…”

The spark of awareness ignites and Shouyou blinks his eyes open again fully, humming in response to his name. Kageyama doesn’t reply, as he’s still completely asleep, shuffling slightly as his breaths start to catch in the beginnings of snores.

“Kageyama?” Shouyou stage whispers.

“Hinata,” Kageyama grunts back, before smacking his lips and devolving fully into snoring.

(In which Shouyou falls in love slowly during his high school years, and Kageyama talks in his sleep.)'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: ugh. so cute!!

summers spent in your light by yu_writes

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi

Rating: T

Word-Count: 10k

Summary: `The final scores flash up on the screen. Kageyama gapes at the cheerfully-blinking animations. “There’s no way you’re that good on your first try.”

Hinata grins. “Who said it was my first try?”

“You—!”

Hinata sticks his tongue out at him as the arcade machine spits out a small stack of tickets.

And glancing over, next to their drumset—both of their mouths drop—sits a flushed, triumphant Yachi and a thoroughly-trounced-looking Tsukishima.

“Wow, I didn’t realize how easy it is to get the hang of this!” Yachi beams at them as the machine spits out a small mountain of tickets. Yamaguchi, who has been watching over Tsukishima’s shoulder, muffles his laugh at the petulant look on Tsukishima’s face.

(the karasuno first years, who are then second years, and then third years. and, of course, kageyama and hinata, who are... well, kageyama and hinata.)'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: summer hangouts with the karasuno first years - love how their dynamics were written in this one :3

life is a highway by emleewrites ✰

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 98k

Summary: `Kageyama Tobio is a professional racing driver, the new rookie sensation who's about to take home the Piston Cup in his first year.

But a race run recklessly leads to an unprecedented three-way tie, and a tie breaker race is set for a week's time. On the way to the International Speedway, Kageyama gets lost, and ends up crashing into Karasuno Springs - a small country town in the middle of nowhere, ruining their main road in the process. Forced to stay and fix it, Kageyama feels the whole thing is a waste of time, until he meets the town's handyman - Hinata Shouyou, a local dirt track racer.

They're very different, but a shared passion for racing draws Kageyama in, as he tries to work out why Hinata is just a handyman in the first place despite his talent for racing. And over the course of the week he ends up discovering that maybe there's more to life than winning races all by himself.

(A racing AU; based on the story of Pixar's Cars, but everybody is human.)'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: such a vibe, honestly. very well-written to the point that it manages to place you inside the cars universe (except as the summary stated, everyone is human here lol). all the other works in the series are worth a read, too!

Saffron and Cayenne Pepper by dontsaycrazy

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka (Mentioned)

Rating: T

Word-Count: 30k

Summary: `Cooking is hard. Even if you have your very attractive, very grumpy neighbor there to help you.

In which Hinata's lack of cooking skills are a danger to him and others. Luckily (or not), Kageyama is willing to teach him, if only for the sake of avoiding any burned down apartments.'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: hinata is me as in i can't cook for the life of me either. love kghn's dynamic!!

You Can't Play Volleyball In A Blizzard by KingsHighway ✰

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 12k

Summary: `The "blizzard of the century" comes bearing down on Miyagi Prefecture, closing down schools and trapping everyone in their homes. With nothing to do to pass the time, and an unlimited amount of energy, Hinata finds an unlikely texting buddy in his volleyball partner Kageyama. But it's just texting, it can't matter that much, can it?'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: such a sweet and wonderfully written one-shot with an adorable concept (seriously, go read it)

burnt by sunbeams by emleewrites ✰

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 12k

Summary: `Tobio drops his hands from his face at Hinata’s bright voice and looks down. Hinata beams up at him, wide and blinding, a ball of sunshine on a gymnasium floor. Tobio kind of feels like he’s burning when Hinata looks like this – sunbeams personified – but that’s okay.

He’ll happily spend the rest of his life getting burned by Hinata Shouyou.

(Kageyama thinks that being in a relationship seems to be simple at first. It's just Hinata; there's just a lot more kissing involved. But no relationship is without challenges. And for Kageyama, he'll weather them all, so long as he gets to bask in the sun.

Hinata and Kageyama: a relationship study.)'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: another lovely read from emleewrites :) the way they write kghn is aaaaaaaa

thirty-three days of mist and mountains by tinygumdrops (curryramyeon)

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 36k

Summary: `Tobio runs by himself every day. Even though he can't shake off that awful feeling that something's closing in on him, he still does it. It's habit now.

When he gets a phone call that Hinata Shouyou is thinking of coming to Italy, Tobio feels like he has to run even faster.

(Or: Tobio has a month to prepare himself before his high school rival comes to visit him. They haven't spoken to each other for two years, and Tobio can't even remember what food Hinata likes. He's got a lot to think about.)'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: kageyama uses sticky notes as a means to prepare for hinata's visit - another wonderfully written fic with a great concept

In Transit by Mysecretfanmoments ✰

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 4k

Summary: `Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: they're so cute and dumb and ugh

a long distance type of love by xllx (exasperatedmoron)

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 42k

Summary: `shouyou and tobio learn about the world and each other from 17,380km apart.

(two dumbasses and their ability to maintain a long distance relationship despite being absolute wrecks when it came to everything else in their lives. (oh, and they’re engaged))'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: engaged long-distance kghn and texting shenanigans with the karasuno first years

Olympic Thirsting Hours by Kelpiejz

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio (Minor)

Rating: T

Word-Count: 4k

Summary: `Alone in Brazil and desperate for some kind of human connection that won't make him homesick, Hinata Shouyou decides his best bet is to communicate in broken English with strangers over the internet. They only have one thing in common - volleyball.

sunshinetangerine: not watch olympics now, at work sunshinetangerine: but kageyama very good setter AnArchyCountry: he really is, wow thirstea: just snuck my phone in class to see a photo and holy hell he’s hot sunshinetangerine: yes sunshinetangerine: playing volley a lot get hot sunshinetangerine: drink lot of water after!! (＾▽＾) thirstea: oh sweetie, not that kind of hot

(Or: a look at Hinata's growth after high school from the perspective of people who don't know who he is.)'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: cute lil fic in which hinata is bad at english and still manages to connect to others who know nothing about him

discovering the smile of one kageyama tobio by emleewrites ✰

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 8k

Summary: `Kageyama blinks once before a grin of his own spreads over his face. Shouyou’s breath halts in his lungs at the sight, and he wills for time to stop, just so that he can drink it in. He sees it sometimes when they’re playing - Kageyama’s fierce smile when they pull a combo off just right, when they show their opponents how possible the impossible can really be. But then there’s another serve, another rally, and the moment is gone.

'Shame,' Shouyou thinks to himself, as he lets his eyes roam over Kageyama’s stupidly happy face, taking in the creases that are from joy rather than frowning for a change. 'It’s a really nice smile.'

(In which it's their third, and final, year in high school and Hinata has only one goal: to make Kageyama smile outside of volleyball.)'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: you should know by now that i love anything emleewrites writes

[faith2wood]

hey! i just finished beholden. i wanted to ask what got you writing, what had you stop for a decade, and what got you back in?

Ahhhh! Asking me why I write? You wanted word vomit? You're getting word vomit.

(There's a little spoiler for Beholden under the cut.)

What got me writing?

RAGE. 

No, really.

I was a lurker/reader in the Buffy fandom at the time, and I'd only occasionally read HP fics — 95% gen!fic, 4% low rated canon romance, 1% Sirius/OC smut, because the rest of my faves were kids, and I wasn't interested in anything else. 

And then after DH, with Draco getting pushed to the brink of redemption, but not crossing the line, and with Harry's view of him changing — always so sorry, so sad for him, always noting how scared he seemed, even switching to calling him 'Draco' — I was left with such a need to read that pairing. I wanted Draco to cross that line, and I wanted that soft understanding Harry had found for him to get explored. 

So, I tried reading Harry/Draco fics. And OH MAN. 

I was no stranger to character-bashing and unusual interpretations of canon — Buffy fandom was pretty damn crazy — but I knew my way around that place. With Harry/Draco, I stepped into the WILD. Fic after fic, all I could find was everything I loved and everything Harry loved in canon torn apart to pieces. His friends, his girlfriend, his House, his beliefs, his humor, the things that he wanted, the things that he fought for, the things that he was willing to die for, his character growth in DH, the confident brave man he became after Dobby's death, all of it dismissed, usually in a handful of exposition paragraphs. Endless apologies for the pure-blood supremacists. Draco 'redeeming' himself by quoting lines written by his fans on discussion boards, and therefore showing me he's not regretful, just full of excuses. Or he's not even redeemed, just cool and rich and suave (lol) and so much wittier than that bumbling, irrationally angry Harry Potter that felt plucked straight from OotP with all his teen angst painfully exaggerated. And then in those fics Harry just goes with it because he thinks Draco is hot. 

I could go on. I won't. 

So, I had that petulant moment where I thought, "Fine. I'll do it myself. How hard can it be?" 

Well, pretty damn hard, apparently. It's hard to create convincing drama. It's hard to get the characters in the right frame of mind so your plot could work. It's very hard to write smart and witty characters. It's hard to convincingly redeem someone. It's hard to juggle a cast of side-characters. It's hard to spell the word nesscscseary. It's especially hard to take that perfect, plausible, well-thought out story in your head and write it down without losing at least half of what makes it good. It's also hard to find time to write and write well. And of course your personal opinions on canon and fanon can seep through no matter how hard you try not to preach, and it can totally ruin a story.

That realization tempered my rage. It didn't mean I was willing to read the things I don't like, of course; I always liberally use that back button. But I did eventually find fics that I love and reccers I can trust, and learned to forgive when authors cut some corners.

Oh, but the taste of POWER writing gave me. The fact that I can just write the things I want to read. Cater to my own preferences. Simply not include the things I don't like. I want it, it's there; I don't want it, it's not.

So that's why I started writing. So I could read exactly what I wanted to read. Stories perfectly tailored for me. Honestly, I'm my biggest fan. I'm my own writing bitch. It doesn't even matter if I fail to do a good job while writing down the little movie that played out in my head, because I know my own intentions. I thought it all through. What I've written might not make sense to a reader sometimes, but it always makes sense to me. And I can always forgive myself if I feel like I failed. I find it very, very easy to forgive myself. Others, not so much, especially if I start to suspect they don't love Harry enough.

What made me stop writing?

I didn't stop writing. I stopped posting. I stopped interacting with fandom. I felt like I had my fill. I'm happy to recycle plots and read and write similar things over and over again, because I want what I want, and I won't apologize for it, but apparently I've reached a limit after all and felt like I have nothing new to offer.

I kept writing stuff. Fanfic for other fandoms, original stuff, even HP fics. Most of it unfinished and unedited and unpresentable, but enough to satisfy my occasional cravings for specific things. Which, as I said, is the whole point of my writing.

So I'll rephrase your next question: What got me to finally finish a Harry/Draco fic and post it? 

THE CURSED CHILD. lol I haven't seen it. Or read it. I haven't even read the synopsis. Next gen, eh, I was never interested. But I caught some spoilers about it on tumblr and reddit — about Draco's wife being ill and dying. That's some incredible stuff. Draco being so loving and dedicated, standing up to his parents, so heartbroken when the person he loved died but still being a wonderful father to his son. It's like I discovered a whole new Draco to think about. It got me all inspired. It's everything I ever wanted for him, except of course his wife dying. So he got to save his seemingly terminally ill lover in Beholden, and got the chance to be a loving, tender husband I wouldn't dare to even imagine after finishing the books, as it would feel too OOC to soften him up to that degree.

It likely wasn't visible, but in my mind, Beholden is kind of a Cursed Child fix!it fic — for that tiny part of the story. I needed it so desperately, I actually finished and posted it.

I have a few more asks in my tumblr inbox, and I'll very happily answer them, but it might take some time.

[slytherizz]

20 Qs for fic writers

@writing-intheundercroft you’re so Julia ✨ thanks for the tag

How many works do you have on AO3? 9️⃣

What's your total AO3 word count? 195,627

What fandoms do you write for? Hogwarts Legacy but I do have Tedromeda in the works 👀

Top five fics by kudos? Whatever it Takes, In the Shadow of Us, Everything with you, Bludgered, A different kind of wager

Do you respond to comments? Yes - I love responding to comments! I’ve made some really good friends getting to know people that way 💕

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? ‘Playing God’ by far. My only fic without any kind of happy ending

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? All my other fics are happy endings (if a tad bittersweet). I’d say my ‘ItSoU’ has the most fleshed out ending. Most of my one shots are smut so those are some very happy endings 😂

Do you get hate on fics? No - thankfully.

Do you write smut? every device I own is haunted by Sallow cock

Craziest crossover? The Secret history x Hogwarts Legacy

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of

Have you ever had a fic translated? no - but that would be a vibe

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Nothing published but most of willow shipping is just the girlies cooking together (personal fave is this crack ship has a Dentist AU)

All time favorite ship? Willow 5 eva’

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? So many! I’m struggling rn with the 2nd chapter of playing god, a Xmas Dad!Seb fic I haven’t touched in months and there’s a fluff fic in drafts called ‘Owl Post’ which will probably never see the light of day.

What are your writing strengths? I think I write quite good metaphors and similes? Also angst. Lots of angst

Thoughts on dialogue in another language? I headcanon Seb as bilingual so I do pepper in the odd phrase in some of my fics (and probably do a terrible job of translating it).

First fandom you wrote in? Drabble for twilight when I was like 12 lol. HogLeg is my first proper fandom writing experience in all honesty.

Favorite fic you've written? This is a hard one. On opposite sides of the spectrum I love my shortest fic ‘Petulant’ I like the smug Seb I wrote and men falling in lakes. On the flip side, my longest fic ‘In the Shadow of Us’ was a labour of love. I’ve never written anything that long let alone finished it and think I improved as a writer because of it.

No twentieth question - but to continue the positive vibes. I love HogLeg fandom, it’s the first time I’ve ever had the confidence to publish any writing or finish anything I’ve started. I’ve made so many lovely friends and I’m so pleased I stopped just lurking on AO3.

No pressure tags💕: @sebastianswallows @cuffmeinblack @thetotomoo @adylorewrites @peanutslore @kaidynsarell

[diminuel]

You got any advice for getting out of a art block? (feeling like the Greek guy trying to push boulders up hill)

I often feel that way too...!

I think the reasons I get art blocked are: 1) I've drawn so much due to an inescapable rush of motivation and then get burnt out, 2) I have to draw under pressure instead of for pleasure and there still lives a petulant gremlin child inside of me who stomps her feet and says "no, I don't wanna if I have to!" or 3) I haven't drawn in a while and the pressure is rising to make something "good" which means I'm not allowed to draw something "bad" and since "bad" is all I can do when I'm rusty and stressed and overly critical, I block myself further.

What I think usually works is distraction or "drawing for the sake of drawing". For distraction I let art be for the time being and turn to writing fanfic or maybe I'll let creativity rest completely for a while to recharge while I "consume" (be it fic, shows, books, youtube videos etc).

Drawing for the sake of drawing is when I usually just look for a reference and copy it. Screenshot redraws to help me me practice or what's also very fun is to go on pinterest and browse fashion posts and redraw it as a character (helps with poses and delights me when I get to put some of my faves in funny little outfits).

I think the point is that I don't have to think much, just draw? I don't have to tell a story with the art, I just have to make art. That tends to help me remember that I can draw. At least somewhat. I still routinely tend to forget how anatomy works and everything looks weird if I don't have a good reference *lol* But I often post it anyway, wonky anatomy and all.

[tomato-fendo-writes]

Fun Fax: OLM Chapter 12

THIS HURT SO MUCH TO WRITE SHDKFJ LEMME TELL YOU. but also, so very fun! writing panic, spiraling thought patterns, and the snappy, warring ideas and emotions is something i enjoy immensely, and this is one of the first times i really get to do it in this fic

in ways, this chapter was one of the easiest to write in a long time, probably because i knew almost exactly how it would go. however, it was edited a TON and i trimmed about 400 words off before publishing

one of the sections trimmed was Jin briefly asking Kaz's favorite color to fill the silence (purple, btw), but it was cut because of the crazy word count, and to make room for the bit where they talk abt Lee! another cut bit was Jin doing a kata with Kaz, again cut for word count

for the record, i originally had Kaz and Lee younger when they met, but after the first draft the wiki got updated with a source saying Lee was 12 when he was adopted. as the source was an old japanese manual that i couldn’t read, i couldnt dispute it, and begrudgedly aged them appropriately. i’m still mad dhjs

Kazuya’s “hands only” line and training sentiment was based on how Heihachi trains Jin in Bloodline! im figuring they were trained similarly enough, or at the very least it was something Heihachi used on Kazuya growing up as well, so i wanted that to carry over

the kata i have Kazuya start with is based very much on Sanchin Kata, a Goju-Ryu style one that i have mentioned in Fun Fax before - in reference to Heihachi. this doesnt mean anything in particular, but i do find it interesting that this unfortunate sequence starts with Kazuya copying his father

the whole slow build up to Kazuya snapping and telling Jin the most traumatic event of his entire life out of spite is a concept i had VERY early for this fic - the first version of that scene was written back in february 2023! that version was a lot less, uh, mean, and more unfortunate than anything else. he didnt make jin really upset (on purpose) in that one 😬 art for that draft version HERE

the “If I wanted you to know me, I would have stuck around, wouldn’t I?” line had me screaming into my hands and my jaw dropped when i first thought of it. HES SO MEAN HES SO MEAN WHY IS HE SO MEAN

i have SO MUCH FUN writing juvenile Jin, oh my gosh. his petulance and inner monologue (”that jerk,” “whatever,”), his teenagerness is so fun to work with, and im gonna miss it when it eventually has to go with his maturity 😭 but not his moodiness! thats here to stay, or its not Jin sdjf

me writing “a gun to his head” in reference to jin

extra, one of my betas literally got a bag of popcorn to read because the drama in this chapter was so good to her hdksjd. the other was lamenting and saying "i hate this man" aloud, and even commented "DIE YOU BASTARD" on the doc itself sdhfjk

ALSO. just wanna say. this chapter was fully written ages before the release of 8, and i nailed a few lines without even knowing hdskbd. kaz being impressed with jins resilience, “little shit,” tiny things but things nonetheless lol

[llettucestuff]

This was supposed to be a short thing about a hc I have where Chase’s frame is a bit colder than normal, and Heatwave’s a bit warmer. Instead, this kind of derailed and became… whatever this is. It’s very self-indulgent and probably a little OOC lol. This particular fic has Chase and Heatwave as Amica Endura’s btw, but I won’t always write them like that.

ALSO I haven’t written for Transformers in like, a REALLY long time so please excuse any missed terminology :]

ALSO ALSO Chase is kinda inspired by @/delkios HCs here on tumblr from like 2016, and this series on AO3, which is also inspired by delkios. More on that in the tags. Enjoy!

———

Chase muses about the general nuances between him and his Amica, and their overall relationship in relation to Griffon Rock.

Or, Chase runs cold. Heatwave runs hot. They make it work.

—

Despite his core temperature being at an optimal point for functioning, Chase still ran decidedly cold, through no fault of his own. He’d been that way ever since he was a sparkling, sitting in front of heaters trying to warm up his endlessly cool servos and pedes, never really feeling truly warm, servos always either burning hot or in their natural state of permanent cold.

His Amica, the mech after Chase’s own spark, on the other hand, ran hot like an earth furnace. Chase recalls being told various stories of Heatwave trying to cool himself down, sneaking into freezers and other places mechlings like him shouldn’t be. It was almost funny, the way they were trying to achieve the opposite of what the other was. Maybe that’s why they work so well together.

Chase’s servos were always a touch too cold to be pleasant or fully “normal,” digits sometimes stiff with inclement weather coupled with a chilled frame, Heatwave’s palms always warm and grounding, frame hot like his temper.

They were equilibrium for each other, opposites in the regard of outward frame temperature, always ready to cool one down or warm the other up. It worked, and that’s why they were Amicas.

(Not just for that sole fact, Chase would input, musing that Heatwave’s companionship meant much more to him than his admitted handiness as a personal heater).

That fact, that is, their cool and heat swapping tendencies, hasn’t changed in the many, many vorns that they had known each other, even pre-Amica Endura status. So, given that, it isn’t expected by either of them for it to change once they meet the rest of the Sigma-17 rescue team, where they meet Blades and Boulder, or when they hit Griffon Rock and discover their new mission— and it doesn’t, as they predicted so.

(It’s a touch curious and a bit of a wonder how neither Boulder nor Blades discovered their Amica status before Griffon Rock. It’s not like either we’re being particularly subtle, but they supposed that their combined general professionalism probably skewed the other two bots’ perception of them, and any private time between themselves was usually during recharge time, or so subtly done that it was overlooked. Chase would find it funny if he wasn’t so concerned about his friends perceptiveness.)

Apparently, after scanning their new vehicle modes, Chase and Heatwave’s frame temperature translated, to a degree, to the inside of their cabins. This doesn’t necessarily cause a bad problem, but, minor complications do arise.

Sometimes, Kade would gripe about the heat during the summer months, complaining that the heat made him sticky. Sometimes, Chief Burns would be a touch chilled when first entering Chase’s cab, though he never really commented on such.

Both were easily fixed and placated with the flick of a dial that had the Chief murmuring gratefully, sinking in to the warmth with a subtle but firm pat to the dashboard. On the other hand, it had Kade and Heatwave grouching at each other loudly until Heatwave finally cranked the AC as high as it would go, and, in a most petulant manner, they would spat for a few minutes longer, then acquiesce; although both Chase and Cody were proud to announce the fact that these spats and arguments had become fewer in frequency over the course of time, a fact that they took immense satisfaction in: it meant they were getting along, working together, tolerating each other’s presence. They still fought, surely, because that’s just who they were as people (and cybertronian).

(Chase would not divulge Heatwave’s late-night ramblings about his parter, ranging from words not meant for the likes of little audials, to worries about his human friend. Heatwave was shudder-to-think that Kade would actually realize that Heatwave listens to him, much less cares about him, in the covertly roundabout way that Heatwave does when he meets new people that seem to grow on him. Yes, Chase was sure Heatwave’s quiet affections were born out of nothing but pure concern about the fragileness of his squishy human partner and the rest of the Burns family.)

At the end of the day, when they had the time to spare and a near-certain guarantee of no impending emergencies to disrupt them, Heatwave would sit on the bot-sized couch, Chase’s helm cradled delicately in his lap, and they could bask in each others’ presence and talk in their native vernacular, occasionally watching human TV or reading datapads and books alike. Of course, they would swap positions interchangeably— it all depended on how the two felt on that particular night.

Heatwave’s heat would leach into Chase’s cool, and the two mechs would sit there, basking in the steady, familiar equilibrium of their soothed sparks and evenly-temperatured frames.

Sometimes, one of them would instead lay down on the couch like it was a squishy berth, and the other could lay on top, trading coolness for warmth (and vise versa), and let the steadiness wash over them, EM fields melding lazily, and systems shutting down to fall into an easy, quiet recharge.

It was peaceful. Routine, when they could afford it. Nice, even, though they would argue on separate fronts that any one-on-one time with their Amica was beyond just “nice”.

It was the perfect way to recharge, Heatwave thought, never one to shy away from physical affection (in the many gruff forms he typically dished it out in) with someone he loved. If Chase could have it his way, they would do this every night, holding servos and muttering halting words and conversations half-thought out to each other into the gentle quiet of the bunker.

Chase’s normally rigid, borderline inexpressive field going almost wiggly and boneless, blanketing over them as he grumbled tiredly over his Amica, shifting as he knocked their helms together gently in a spur of the moment bout of (what sometimes felt like an overwhelming amount of) affection.

Heatwave gave his servo a gentle squeeze, making soothing little sounds to calm the policebot back into recharge and settling his own field over the two of them, engine purring quietly in contentment. Heatwave was quick to glare and snap at any of the other bots that might come near them that were in the “living room” part of the bunker with them, mostly for fear that they might make a nasty comment on their admittedly compromising condition, though that happening in and of itself was a rare occurrence due to the timing of their little quiet moments, and the sheer respect the other two held for them.

It was actually Boulder who found them the first time it happened on Earth, Heatwave recharging so deeply his engine was stuttering, with his helm cradled in Chase’s lap with one of Chase’s servos supporting his neck plating.

Boulder had stopped and looked, eyeridge quirking up in a decidedly learned human gesture, to which Chase merely brushed him off with a wave of his free servo and a flick of his field dismissively, returning to his datapad. Boulder, ever the calm, non-confrontational mech, had never mentioned it after the fact, drawing his own conclusions in the privacy of his mind (with maybe a few snapped photos for his memory files, just in case).

The second time, it was Blades who found them, Chase soundly recharging while leaning against Heatwave, their servos clasped between one another even in his recharge. Heatwave glanced up from the TV and glared at Blades with a viciousness that would earn him a scolding later, who skittered off without a word of question, a touch too skittish to try and ask the angry firemech until much, much later.

Heatwave was protective and touchy when it came to his Amica and their status, sue him.

Over the months, Boulder finally gathered some courage to ask Chase about their potential relationship, with all the grace of a thudding ballerina.

“We’re Amica Endura,” Chase had simply said after Boulder’s shy, stuttered question, almost smiling and most definitely pleased with himself, if the way tender emotion seeping onto his faceplate was any indication, “and have been for many vorns.”

“I see,” Boulder had replied, grinning and nodding, grateful that admittedly tactless way he asked the question hadn’t upset the policebot. “You two were partners back in the Academy.” It’s more of a statement than a question, prodding at the prospective double-meaning of the word.

“Heatwave was the only mech who wanted to be around me back in the Academy, given my… unique circumstances.”

“Unique—? Oh. Right. Sorry, Chase, I didn’t—“ realize, didn’t remember, didn’t know it affected your life like that— a frown, field tugging in, then Chase’s reassurance:

“It’s quite alright, Boulder. No bodily damage or any vulgar obscenities said, as the Chief says.”

“You mean ‘no harm, no foul’, Chase?” Heatwave entered the room with thudding pedesteps, looking between the two with half-formed suspicion lingering in his optics, arms crossed right against his chest. “What’s this about?” His field tugged at Chase’s with question and apprehension lingering between them, a silent what’s going on both said and not.

“Boulder was just inquiring about our Amica Endura status,” Chase informs, tone bordering on bright, his audial twitching in a different direction— most likely he heard something from upstairs, “And I find that we are the most probable source of reliable information about the subject, Heatwave, and our friend was merely curious.”

“Right.” Heatwave grunted, field tugging Chase’s briefly in something like relief and acceptance before patting his shoulder armor firmly and moving on, the brief contact exchanging both pleasant warmth and much-needed coolness.

“I think he’s a little…” Boulder trailed off, searching for a word that was less-rude than “prickly” or “overly worried”.

“Protective?” Chase hummed in question, helm tilting to the side, “I feel the same, but it is entirely warranted, given our past, and he is my Amica.” Chase says, like it explains everything, and, well, maybe it did, “I will stick by him, rites-willing.”

Boulder smiled in that soft, knowing way of his, optics warm. “Must be nice, having a sparkner all this time. I’m glad you have each other.”

“As am I. I’m grateful to have Heatwave for so long, and I’m want for nothing more in a partner.”

“That’s awfully sweet,” Bounder’s field went all soft, his affection tugging at Chase’s stiff field. “You balance each other out, now that I think about it.” Remembering all of the times Chase was able to calm Heatwave when he was on an irate, angry warpath with a servo to the shoulder plate and some hushed words exchanged in soft Cybertronian; all of the times Chase was stuck in a cyclical, logical thought-process and couldn’t see things from a different light had Heatwave telling him the facts point-blank, trying to drill his way through and urging Chase to attack the issue from a different, still somewhat logical connection.

Now that he thinks about it, Boulder recalls how Heatwave was always the mech that ran the warmest when they were on the Sigma, practically radiating heat in the endless, desolate cold of space that even they could feel. Chase was always the coldest, seemingly emanating a unique sort of cool that seemed permeated the space around him in some circumstances.

Opposites, indeed. But, Boulder thought, it was kind of fitting. Chase’s mouth tugged into that half-grin of his, “That we do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Boulder, I have some studying to do.” And with that, Chase sauntered off, likely in search of his police manual.

“Huh. Wonder how we didn’t see it before.” Boulder mumbled to himself, shaking his helm fondly and turning around to go back to the bunker through the garage.

“See what?” Blades asked, turning the corner, “If there’s any gossip, I want to know!” Primus, he was sounding more and more like Dani every day.

“I, uh. Well, you see,” Boulder attempted, still unsure if the two Amicas wanted their relationship aired out.

Blades shot him a look, both teasing and intrigued. “Well?”

Scrap.

[mangoisms]

MOSSSSSSS. I just caught up on frmb!

Miyuki and Eijun's relationship is SO cute in these chapters. The scene where they spot everyone in the crowd, giving them the boost they need to close the game out!!! And then the reunion with their family and friends!!! And Miyuki chooses that moment to confront reader about the costume contest!!! Lmao…

Miyuki's self-blame and shouldering of all the responsibility for the calls. It's SO him. I love that you've written reader as someone who is constantly reminding him that they're willing to help shoulder that too.

SPEAKING OF READER. There's SO MUCH relationship progression here omg! Miyuki mother hen-ing reader about their knee! The petulant "Eijun did it" with the hug??? The little touch of reader's neck??? Grabbing their hand??? Reader cleaning his face??? Miyuki coming around with reader's cane??? The paparazzi scene with Miyuki being SO considerate??? The hand-holding after??? MOSS. You're killing me.

“So, you can tell me you love me but you won’t drive my car?” PLEASE Miyuki I will do anything you ask of me. (This is not true, I will give him shit forever)

AND CHRIS. He plays such a small but stable background role in these chapters. After all of this wildness is over, I cannot WAIT to start writing that dang Chris fic, you're making me love him so hard, even as a side character.

I can't WAIT for more Halloween stuff! Eijun as a lil kitty T_T what a precious image. And Miyuki's self-consciousness about the Tombo glasses is SO endearing.

I know you always apologize for the gameplay parts in the notes but honestly I loved them lol. I love that you intersperse the action on the field with crowd/reader/friend reactions and conversation to break it up and make it feel alternately social and tense like a real game. PLUS like…they play baseball, there's obviously going to be some baseball! Just curious: are these gameplay sections based off of real games too?

Ugh sorry I keep meaning to read the frmb updates as they come out so I can lose my mind in your asks every week but instead I have written you this condensed wall of text lol

HIIII FROGGY finally getting around to actually answering this but just know i read it when i first got it and just :DDD <3333 so thank you so much

thank you!!! miyuki really is the person to shoulder all the blame, particularly as eijun’s catcher and then considering the stakes of the game and where they are at… he and eijun both have their moments of struggle throughout this whole thing handling the pressure of the playoffs. but reader is there to help! and their family and friends too!!! 

YUP we are still in the slow burn stages but things really are trucking along and start trucking along during these games!!!! especially their talks afterward!! it’s truly a persisting theme here and really does inform their actions and interactions with each other when playoffs finally end (as we can see with the paparazzi stuff but also miyuki very willing to tell her to call him by his first name before they got interrupted (which is on me sorry i couldn’t help myself we have a little more ways to go!) and then also miyuki being a little shit about reader telling him that she loves him HAHA)

WOOOOO happy to constantly push my chris agenda 😎 i just can’t help myself. i was like. i need a character to do all those things and be here. and who else can it be other than my number one daiya boy, the reason i got into it, mr. chris!!!! i, too, cannot wait to see what you will write!!!! (but as always take your time i will be happily here ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹)

eijun really did look cute but he hated it because miyuki was being, yet again, a little shit about all of it LMAOOO. but it’s ok the glasses evened out the playing field HAHA

AHH thank you for saying that :’) genuinely so relieved to hear it. my thing was i lack that experience with Actual gameplay so i was kind of shooting in the dark and by the time we got to posting this stuff, i was like. Hm. maybe too much. and also at the risk of not being accurate? but you are right! it’s a baseball fic! also again very very glad to hear that you enjoyed it anyway!!! with that, no, the gameplay sections were not based off real games, other than a couple parallels with their game against the astros being 18 innings (but with the mariners winning this time 😎) i just made it up and hoped it was good KSDJFK

and it’s totally okay!!!!! take your time!! it’s honestly so nice of you to send in these asks at all and to read the fic too!!! no apology necessary froggy ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹🫶🫶 i don’t mind the length, just am very appreciative of any support at all! so thank you sm for all of this, it was so lovely 🫶🫶🫶

[izzyspussy]

(these are all for that word wip ask game thing btw, & you can take creative liberties and do whichever tense or meaning or anything, go wild :3): ensue(s), whatsoever, fierce, slay (lol), competition, intrigue, habit, shower, blinds/curtains, crystal, music, nap, pizza, and because im petulant and want more content: prosthetic

ensue

whatsoever [SUGGESTIVE]

Two months pass, and three. Eddie seems to have a checklist of sex acts he's methodically working his way through, which Richie has no objections to whatsoever. He's kind of cottoned on to the fact that he might be this guy's X-treme Midlife Crisis, despite the fact that they seem to be about the same age and if you'd asked Richie before Eddie picked him up he'd have said Eddie was out of his league. He's not stressed about it though. He's not falling in love, because there's no fall. He feels... settled, and that hasn't changed since the first moment Eddie touched him.

from gold rush (IT fic), currently 26k

fierce

Get out of bed, Eddie thinks, fiercer and more frustrated with every repetition. Get up. Get the fuck up. Get up. But she never manages to move.

from Curse The Messenger draft 1.2, currently 7k

slay

competitive

"Yeah," Richie confirms. "I think. I don't actually remember. You're getting killed." Sandy's head jerks back to the screen, her automatic response, his safety net. She's got a competitive streak, Sandy, and it never sleeps. So she manages, by the very skin of her teeth, to keep her character alive just long enough for Richie to tell her that all his memories from before college have been scooped out of his head like pumpkin seeds out of a Jack-o-Lantern, that he's talked to his parents, and to doctors, and to shrinks, and that the best he can say is - something bad probably happened to him.

from idle wild (IT fic), currently 4k

intrigue [SUGGESTIVE]

She presses minutely between his shoulders, and Shane is going down onto his elbows almost before pressure is applied. Sara hums, approving and intrigued. Taking note of what all of this is doing to Shane so that she can use it against him in future, no doubt. Lucky him.

from Fit For The Throne (Watcher RPF), currently 3k

habit

There's a lamp on the table but Eddie doesn't turn it on to write, scribbling haphazardly across a page that looks like it's probably blank. She opens her hands and lets the book and pen drop to the floor when she's done, and flops onto her back. It's supposed to help, writing it down, fuck knows how. But it's habit now.

from Curse The Messenger

shower

"I don't know," Eddie says, and it sounds like a curse. That same helplessly angry tone that Richie can hear from the other side of the door on the days Eddie has to shower more than once. This time, Richie thinks he gets it. He debates not changing the subject, but ultimately succumbs to the well-worn instinct to hide.

from gold rush

curtain

"Well, I've got, uh-" he glances quickly at the time; two hours to curtain. "-an hour to make you feel my love." It's not so hard to say it in a campy come-on like that, in a joke. Easier every time, though, and practice makes perfect in all things. Any fucking minute now, Richie is sure, he'll say it for real. Eddie smiles sweetly, one-dimpled, like he hears it. Richie hopes he does.

from gold rush

crystal

Fred came up with the symbols xemself, sigils to make the ordeal of connecting to the crystals easier on xem, and to help xem actually do what they intended. Even with the help, often Fred still ends up connecting to something that doesn't help them. Xe has near-equal chances here to find Jay's diamond as to end up spiritually trapped in a Shane Company warehouse.

from Curse The Messenger

music

The lights go down and the crowd quiets. This part, right before the cheering and the music start, is Toby's second favorite part of a concert; the hundreds of them in the seats or stands or on the floor, all waiting with the same baited breath. It's like they all become one, if only for a minute.

from Encore draft 1.0, currently 1k

nap

Finally, Nicky mutters, "Should be just about done with his nap," and breaks the unbearable eye contact to shuffle off towards Seong's room. In fact, Seong is long finished with his afternoon nap and is probably quietly working away at one of the puzzles Kenzie helped Nicky make for him some months ago.

from The Babysitter's Here draft 1.0, currently 7k

pizza

Nicky turns away into the kitchen and makes them quesadillas for a late dinner. They're just strips of bacon embedded in melted shredded cheese between two tortillas, but Nicky cuts them up into pizza triangles and finds some unopened sour cream in the back of the fridge to serve them with. The three of them sit on the couch to eat, Seong tiny in between the two adults, opening his little mouth as wide as he can to take too-big bites of his food, bacon grease all over his face. He falls asleep on Nicky as Nicky's wiping him off with his own sleeve.

from The Babysitter's Here

prosthetic kaslfkjlsk I know what you're after but esbionage doesn't have a doc yet

thank you ollieeeeee <3

[i-did]

I would like to hear more of your opinions on fandom depictions of Neil, if you don't mind! Your post made me realize some things I wasn't even aware of when reading aftg fic!!

Yeah sure I have a lot of thoughts on this. I think this is an overall fandom issue and not just an aftg fandom issue, but the feminization of neil as well as the ironing out of his personality to make it more palatable is definitely a thing.

I've noticed in a lot of fics hes a lot friendlier, a lot less distrusting, and a lot more oblivious. I also noticed the amount of demand for vixen neil, and neil in dresses and skirts and crop tops, neil crying and being vulnerable isn't a challenge on traditional masculinity because andrew and the other guy foxes don't receive nearly the same amount of demand.

There is heavy emphasis on people wanting not just neil but andrew to be softer, and while that's okay, it's important to remember the moral of aftg is that trauma makes some people hard, and intense and not traditionally likeable, and that those people aren't broken and don't need to be fixed. So when people just, ignore that and make andrew and neil a lot softer, neil always sitting in andrews lap and other things, lots of expressions of PDA, and other out of charter moments, it erases the idea nora was trying to convey.

I've stated before about how the fandom also often doesn't mention body hair but when it does its andrew having facial hair and neil having less typically, but also there is usually emphasis on andrew having a deeper voice than neil, who sometimes gets written almost as whiney and petulant or pouty.

-nsft text below-

I also think there is an overall lack of understanding of mlm culture in fandom which is largely a women's space. I won't go into detail here but how pwp is written (especially a lot of the trans andrew or neil ones) are not with a mlm gaze in mind, after all if it was proper gay porn then only mlm would be turned on by it, but the consumer in mind isn't mlm at all, both because the authors are almost always not mlm, but the readers aren't as well. There is emphasis on neil being more vocal and whining, mewling, whimpering, and moaning, all common in how straight porn treats the woman, while andrew is emphasized in being a lot more quiet, maybe grunting and groaning.

Lingerie is not common in gay porn outside of fanfiction, jock straps?? Thats a thing thats a huge thing, but in all the pwp I've seen of them in their exy gear I haven't seen it mentioned before, not a cup or jock strap or anything like that.

Neil is also the one being put into the lingerie and there is emphasis on him feeling pretty rather than handsome and him being petite and slim rather than a bulky athlete

There is also an overall lack in realism in preparation and dynamics that are physically impossible or unsafe but thats a whole other thing.

This is just off of the top of my head, I can get into the fetishization of trans andrew fics another time thats a whole other thing, but yeah this is just my unprepared thoughts and observations I've noticed.

Fanart also tends to lack the men having bulges, i respect trans hc but i have possibly never seen a flaccid penis in running shorts neil is wearing. They don't go away they sit there and take up space.

-end nsft text-

I have more to say when it comes to the dealings with trauma in fanfiction but for another time. I also have a huge rant about how fanon deals with the race in fics, both nickys canon race as well as the fanon everyone else's race

Overall, people can write what they want to write, and fiction is fiction and i cannot stop anyone from doing anything, and people can interpret the characters how they want. But when writing fiction, the authors own biases can slip though, the charters are written by them after all. An author who writes a torture scene isnt someone who has done that, but an author who writes let's say nicky as even more predatory, slutty, stereotypically gay and "ayeyeyye" in fanfic is unknowingly being racist and homophobic.

A person existing in real life fitting steryotypes is one thing, I've been told like once a week that im stereotypically gay since I've been alive, and have been under a lot of fire for being both "too mexican" and "not mexican enough" but an author who is not mlm and is white can still fall into these pre conceived notions they don't realize they have. There is no such thing as a real life queer couple being heteronormative, but someone else writing one can be because they're not real people, they're characters.

Why does this dynamic appeal to you? Are you projecting? In what way? Why do you think x character is more passive and y is more aggressive? Are they like that in canon ?

When quarantine started I threw myself into aftg even more, but quickly became depressed and felt gross and watched, I felt lonely as an mlm and isnt white in a dominantly white wlw/wlm fandom. Most of tumblr is queer white women dominant tbh, in the same way its American dominant, and fandom is like that too. I still have a hard time talking to my friends who aren't mlm about fandom stuff sometimes because I will tell them something bothers me and I'm not sure they understand or take it seriously. I was so depressed because my personal escapism was making me feel worse.

My depression has gotten better since then, but I still get very uncomfortable with the word "twink" being applied to not just neil, but now any queer man, especially when not said by someone mlm.

Okay I'm gonna stop here lol this was a longer ramble than planned. Ah. Don't cancel me don't twist my words I swear I don't care what others do this is just my observations

[fizzingwizard]

personal life stuff venting etc (also tmi menstruation warning)

I'm feeling ok now, but the weekend was weird.

It's been very busy at work. Like, nonstop busy, no time to sit down, no time for a break. Mostly due to people being out sick and no subs. The rest of us have to pick up the slack, etc. It's gotten worse, though, because we have had days that we literally couldn't make ratio. We are just sending teachers to different rooms during the most difficult times and dealing with the ratio being off at quieter periods... It's so difficult to get crafts and stuff done this way. Usually this is my favorite time of the school year, my kids are as grown up as they'll get, and we can have so much fun. It's still fun, but mostly it's me and my co-teachers moving frantically from one thing to another. A lot of it is due to covid, of course. Just gotta hustle.

anyway. I really wanted to be on time updating Fox this weekend, and I wanted to finish my Valentines fic too. But Idk, I was in such a weird headspace. I just hate everything I make sometimes. But when I get that way and I don't write, I tend to lose momentum. It's happened a ton in the past. So this year I made a resolution to push through with writing projects even if they suck. So that's what I did, and I finished the chapter of Fox and I finished the Valentine's fic, and I wrote the majority of both of them over the space of two days. (Which I'm sure the amount of typos can attest to :P)

But I am not in love with the new chapter, even though it's one I was really looking forward to. It just feels off. And then the Valentine's day fic. I almost deleted it four or five times. Like, "closed the document and started to drag it to the trash bin" deleted it. The whole time I was writing it I was like really?? why is this what I'm writing?? it's not that I think it's so terribly awful, but kind of uninspired.

And then I wondered... could I be about to have my period? Bc I had expected it a whole week ago and it didn't come, but I'm often a little irregular so. Idk if I can blame my weird feelings while writing on hormones, but I just felt extra irritable, extra impatient the whole time, it was really frustrating. And then this morning I was indeed sucker-punched by my period. Which doubly sucked because today was HORRIBLE in terms of getting any down time at work xP I was in so much pain. In activity time I just said to my coworker "Let's have all sixteen of them sit down at the table and do coloring pages" (which works now that they have the attention span to sit there for a while lol). We were supposed to paint our solar systems but TOO BAD, Fizz's uterus has mutinied, she needs to freaking sit down for five min without getting up because someone dropped a spoon or bumped their head or needs to go to the toilet right this very second yadda yadda

also this weekend i got to video chat with both my parents at the same time. and boy that was weird. not gonna go into it right. but since the divorce any time we talk separately it feels bad. but they were hanging out together for the superbowl and it felt the same as when i was a kid. actually im tearing up now typing this. during the call i kept thinking how their divorce completely upended how i felt about marriage and relationships, and now seeing them together with things seeming so much the same even though they're so different is freaking me out all over again in a different way. thats neither here nor there but may also have been a factor in why my weekend was weird. by the way yeah im an adult and im behaving like a petulant kids re: my parents' divorce. i know i know.

anyway so I do think maybe hormones were part of it. but im also just generally feeling bad about writing lately. maybe its just that i hadnt done it for a good while, and when i finally got back into it was like a honeymoon period, and now im like wait this is supposed to be fun little escapism. i literally had to bargain with myself back in june when i posted my first fic in ages that i was going to write whatever i wanted, regardless of what other people thought of it, even if it was massively unpopular. i was going to be one hardass mofo who didnt give a shit. welp. unfortunately im still me lol. i know i can just rewrite the bits of those fics i dont like, im just frustrated that right now, i go in to edit and cant think of anything, its like my heads in a fog. words? i know some? haha. gonna keep blaming it on hormones tho.

this is just a vent post so no one take it too seriously. also i know these whiny posts about extremely small problems sound self-centered and are annoying so sorry about that. if i were smart id delete every post in my personal tag. i wont say im never self-centered but makes me feel better to write it down, and putting it on my blog so it's "out there" even if not a single person reads it (i dont really want anyone to, lol) makes it feel less locked away than just writing something private, if that makes sense.

as always im also absolutely swimming in blessings to the point that its seriously ridiculous i feel sad at all. but that's life. anyway i will get over it, probably by next week, lol

just noticed i stopped capitalizing things halfway thru haha

[pinkpastels113]

Author asks: 3,7,13? Please n' thank you.

hai my koala and of course, ask awayy :DD

3. Do you write fics from start or finish, or jump around?

lol this is actually such a funny question for me bc um... both? like i would have "the scene" in my head and then start to write the intro and then i would get frustrated that it's going so slow and i would write a sentence or two a few paragraphs down and then continue to write the intro and then tweak the body depending on the flow with the words that i had written when i get there and then i would leave it to literally write the ending and then finish the rest of the fic/ficlet according to the feel. skjdhsjh that is literally how the "oh, the naive youth" ficlet with dr. mitchell's pov went, i wrote the ending and the last paragraph before going "beca is building a snowman with chloe."

7. Which part of writing do you struggle with most?

believe it or not, dialogue. like i know most people think dialogue is a piece of cake and can write it so easily, but i just can't, it just isn't my forte, and i always get so self conscious when i post something bc i would go like "is the dialogue okay? it doesn't sound too lame or meaningless does it? i hope it isn't too repetitive or anything; i hope it's okay" bc like, i just feel so weird about it lol. i love details tho, and would rather write a fic with a whole character analysis thing with inner thoughts with zero ounce of dialogue than the opposite, bc that's just easier to me, easier for me to get inside a character's head and tell everyone what they are thinking inside rather than outside. i dunno, maybe it's bc i was kept from socializing much in my childhood years, but i just struggle with dialogue.

i can joke around tho, like:

chloe- beca that isn't how you open a jar of pickles.

beca- stops trying to dislocate her shoulders wrapping her entire hand around the lid and pushing at it, looking over her shoulder* what?

chloe- sighs and makes her way over, walking around the kitchen stool that beca had been using as her seat to finish her bacon and lettuce and tomatoes sandwich* here. let me do it.

beca- reluctantly hands it over, crossing her arms in a petulant gesture to look not caring as she watches intently*

chloe- takes a kitchen towel and pops open the lid with just three fingers* tada. it's not that hard bec.

-bc it's not a whole fic and it’s not meant to be super fluent/structured sksjshsb.

i always think about collaborating with someone very loosely to talk details (me) and dialogue (them). i think it would be so fun and educational.

13. Is there a trope you wouldn’t write [even] if it was the last trope on earth?

r*pe and/or major character death with crushing grief and/or regret bc... fanfiction is supposed to be fun and light damn it i don't wanna ruin myself with ugly waterfall tears and anxiety attacks while writing about chloe missing beca while putting away her sounding board sksjdhksj. * cries in soft heart *

thank you for these k! i loved them :,))

behind the scenes fic writing

[artsoupsoupart]

I don’t know if you’re doing prompts, but if you are.. Can you write a hicsqueak fic, please. A spell mishap of meddling young witches resulted in Cackle’s and Pentangle’s castles merging. Hecate and Pippa woke up on their now joint bed. Their wardrobe and chambers are merged too and it took them a whole week (maybe longer) to fix it and find the culprits. Thanks! Love your hicsqueak fics btw

It’s not exactly the prompt but I hope you enjoy it! Sorry it took so long, it’s been like 3 weeks but it kinda got out of hand lol! Also: I’m not not taking prompts, but I write slow so if anyone sends one, sorry if it takes a while to get it filled! 

Cacktangle’s Academy for Witchcraft and Wizardry 

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270871 

“Lights out, girls,” Hecate bellows as she glides down the corridors. Around her, doors shut closed and lights turn off as young witches clad in matching pajamas scurry into their rooms from their friends’. Each one bids her goodnight (some more confidently than others), something that didn’t use to happen, and she can’t quite pinpoint when it had started. Perhaps she had gone soft in the last few years. Not that she necessarily minds. Anymore.

She’s just about finished with her rounds when one Azura Moon slips out of her door and wraps her arms around Hecate’s middle. 

“Good night, Miss Hardbroom” the girl says as she smiles, as wide as she ever does. Hecate still freezes at the contact she should be used to after two years (especially because Azura takes every opportunity to hug her and for some reason she just can’t tell the girl to stop) but she does eventually return the embrace, tapping the tips of her fingers against the girl’s shoulder, silently noting not for the first time how much taller she’s gotten. 

Then she’s turning the perpetually exuberant witch away from her and to her room. “Good night, Azura. And do tell Miss Jones she has precisely three seconds to return to her own room.” 

Hecate doesn’t even get the opportunity to begin her countdown when the other girl pokes her head out of the room with a sigh. Azura simply continues to smile as she hugs her friend and they part ways for the night. When the door shuts behind Azura, Hecate stops and listens. With Isabella securely in her room in the Citrine hall, the castle seems quite enough. Even Mildred is tucked away in her room, though she’s not sleeping by any means. But Hecate won’t disturb the girl tonight. Not when she knows Mildred has been staying up later and later to research witching colleges (a fact that brings the older witch a bit of joy). Instead, Hecate transfers directly to her rooms for the night. 

She takes extra care getting ready for bed. Her shower is hotter and filled with lavender essence. The last few showers had been quick spells after long, tiresome days and they definitely weren’t as satisfying. She chooses a softer, silkier nightgown and takes her time moisturizing. By the time she settles at her vanity to call Pippa, Hecate is relaxed and pliable and she begins brushing out her dark locks. 

“Good evening, darling,” Pippa grins through the mirror when it connects. She’s already lying in bed, propped against her plethora of pillows. Her hair is slightly wavy from being freshly washed and it fans out against the pink silk, her face free of makeup and her freckles on full display. This is perhaps Hecate's favorite Pippa, relaxed and serene, unencumbered of being headmistress and modern magic activist. She’s delicate in a way that she can’t be during waking hours and Hecate feels a bit of pride at being one of few who has gotten to see her this way. 

"Evening, Pippa," Hecate smirks. "You look comfortable." 

The blonde snorts and launches into the events of her day. The tale is one filled with students who could stand to be more observant, mischievous fae friends, and strict council members. All things Pippa had had to deal with more or less by herself due to her deputy being otherwise preoccupied in securing more scholarships for next year. 

"But that's all in the past, Hiccup. I'm already better," the blonde breathes out. "Tell me about your day, darling." 

As Hecate recalls about her day, she notices the glassy, dreamy look that passes over Pippa’s eyes. That look that lets her know that while the blonde is definitely still listening, she’s daydreaming, most likely about her hair. Pippa has always been weird about Hecate’s hair. Smitten. That’s the look. Hecate now knows that she saw this look many, many times when they were teens and she’s been on the receiving end of the look more times that she can count since they’ve started dating, but it still makes her heart flutter. 

“I love brushing your hair,” Pippa mumbles. It’s as if she just let out a secret as tanned cheeks blush a brilliant red and the blonde looks away from the mirror. 

“Yes, I know you do,” Hecate says, as casually as she can manage. 

“I would do it every night if I could,” she says, referring to brushing. It only makes Hecate smile wider and she reminds her that while that would be fantastic, they have other responsibilities that prevent that. The petulant look on Pippa’s face is almost comical as she huffs and pouts. Hecate simply placates her that she’ll be able to do so when she visits, whenever time allows. The two go on to talk in soft hushed tones as Hecate herself settles into bed for the night, falling asleep together without ending their call. 

Meanwhile, back in the Ruby corridor, two very awake and very excited witches sit in front of their mirror, whispering away to their friend. 

“Come on, Izzy! Think of it! Addy is going to be at Pentangle’s most of the time. And we’re going to be here. Wouldn’t it be great if we could just open our wardrobe and boom? We’re there or she’s here.” 

The redhead purses her lips in thought. The Addy in questions has hope in her eyes as she holds up the spell they can do to essentially make a portal connecting the two rooms. It’s restricted use of magic but it would be nice to visit whenever they wanted. “Okay, fine! What do we do?” 

So, they set to work. Addy lists off the ingredients and directions while Azura mixes them together. Izzy then takes the combination of ingredients and crawls into the wardrobe. 

“We should put in a clause! That no other people here or at Pentangle’s can find the door.” 

“Especially, HB.” 

“Oh yeah, she’d go bats.” 

So, they add a few lines to the spell and with slightly shaky hands, Izzy closes her eyes and begins the spell. Her hands trace the back panel of the closet and then she knocks three times. All three girls wait and wait and wait, confused until the light pulls at the edge and a new door forms. 

“It worked! We did it!” Azura whisper-squeals before crawling through the new door.

Hecate wakes slowly as her alarm charm tings to life at 6 AM. With eyes still closed she lifts a hand to silence the charm, breathing deeply and stretching like a cat, back arched and limbs straight. And suddenly there is a set of arms and legs, warm and secure around her own body. Her eyes shoot open. She stiffens. She wants to panic immediately. A voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like a certain blonde tells her to Breathe, Hecate. Assess. Her gaze looks down to the hands now around her middle. Pink nails, tanned arms. Pippa? 

“Pippa?” She questions out loud, voice still raspy from sleep. And then she turns as gently as she can. It doesn’t stop her from startling the blonde, whose hazel eyes fly open as she lets out a high-pitched squeak. 

“Hiccup?!” The blonde puts a bit of space between them, chest heaving as she stares at her. “What are you doing in my bed?” 

“Your bed? Pippa, you are in my bedroom.” 

Pippa looks around, gathering her bearings, surprised that she is in fact not in her own bed, or even her own room. So many of her things, however, are perfectly placed. Her soft pink silk pillows differ greatly with Hecate’s deep burgundy duvet. Her creme bedside chair had made it to the room. Her favorite blanket and the plush donut Hecate won at the All Hallows’ Eve festival the year before sits on said chair. Her jewelry box and makeup reside on Hecate’s otherwise bare vanity. It’s as if she’s moved in overnight. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Neither. Do. I.” Hecate’s brows are furrowed as she looks around. “But we’re going to find out.” 

With that, Hecate throws on her leather robe. She pauses briefly to hand Pippa one of her others, opening the wardrobe to find it clustered with bright sky blues and soft pinks. Light washed jeans that increase to pairs of black leather are neatly hung. There’s pumps and sneakers and flip flops in just about every color. It’s as if her wardrobe has been split right down the middle, the two sides now contrasting so vibrantly. One being a rainbow of color and the other darker and subdued. Hecate’s eyes almost bulge out of her head, but Pippa silently places a hand on her shoulder as she reaches for her own robe in the wardrobe. 

As a habit, Pippa slips her fingers between Hecate’s and all but drags her from the bedroom. The living space is even more spliced than the bedroom with the large windows from Pentangles’ front and center letting in the bit of sunlight that has already started to peak through the morning clouds. It stops them both in their tracks, but Hecate quickly recovers. They don’t have time to dwell on just how strange this is. They have to figure out what’s going on and fast. 

They twist and turn through the castle until they reach an equally distraught Ada, who is attempting to calm a fuming Miss Tapioca, whose kitchen is now cluttered with items from the other school and arranged differently. Hecate and Pippa cautiously approach when the familiar faced teachers arrive. Dimity rounds the corner with Abigail, Pentangle’s fitness witch. Peter and Christopher, the flying instructor and librarian, arrive with Theodore Daisy and Lavinia Crotchet, Cackle's new chanting instructor. Soon the entirety of both staffs are ushered into the Teacher’s lounge, which unsurprisingly has also been combined with the one at Pentangle’s. 

“Did anyone cast any renovation spells recently, any chants?” Ada asks when Hecate finally gets the room to quiet. 

All the teachers shake their heads in unison. 

"No, a staff member didn't do this.” Hecate says, eyes squinted in thought. “A student did. The magic, while definitely strong is highly simple and misguided." "Well then," Ada starts, "we need to find the stu-" 

An eruption of chatter and a knock at the office door stops the headmistress in her tracks. Hecate flicks her wrist to reveal Mildred with the rest of the sixth years behind her. Surely the other young witches are not far away. 

"Miss Cackle," Mildred stumbles inside, eyes wide and confused. "I woke up early because I just know we're going to have a pop quiz in advanced myths and legends, and I got out of bed and Melinda Merriweather from Pentangle's was in my room! And her things. Her bed, her posters, her clothing. Everything." 

"Mildred Hubble," Hecate begins. The girl starts to say something, but the witch holds up her hand. "All students are to report to the field. Pentangle's and Cackle's, organized by year and name." 

Mildred's mouth drops open, but she simply nods instead of rebutting. Perhaps she has learned something in her two years as head girl. Ever the lead, Mildred turns around and addresses her fellow classmates and the girls shuffle outside. It's loud and the lines will definitely not be neat, but Hecate has at least bought the two staffs a bit of time to devise a solution. 

"So, the whole school has been, what? Merged?" Pippa asks. 

"It would seem so." Hecate flexes her fingers in thought. "We'll have to do a thorough inspection, but with the amount of merging that seems to have happened it might take weeks to undo." 

Dimity, who had been watching the girls file out to the field, adds, "It could take months." 

The entire room stops. Eyes searching eyes for some type of hope that it doesn't take months to restore order. 

"Well," Ada tries to smile, "Let's hope that's not the case. Now, let’s quickly find a solution for today. Those students can’t stand outside forever.” 

It takes all of five minutes for the headmistresses and deputies to quickly form a plan. The students will be given a free day of no classes while the staff members catalogue the damage done, that is after they find the perpetrators. Then they’ll decide how to best proceed in educating their students. They are, after all, witching (and wizarding) academies first. 

With a plan for the witches and wizards, the teachers file outside after casting freshening spells and changing their clothes. Pippa and her deputy address the Pentangle’s students and let them in on the details of what’s happening. Hecate, though, immediately turns on her strict and scary facade (though she’s quite pleased at how well the girls have followed direction. She wants to praise them, but now is not the time). 

"Mildred Hubble?” She stands in front of the girl, brow raised. 

“It wasn’t me, Miss Hardbroom. I promise! I haven’t caused any trouble in months. Promise!” 

Hecate squints her eyes at the teenager. The deputy head scans the lines of girls, eyes blazing. Some cower, some look utterly bored. She turns to the next trio of suspicion. Beatrice, Sybil, and Clarice all shake their heads when her eyes land on them. No, not them. Hecate lifts her head, sniffing the wind as a lioness to her prey. Her feet lead her to where the third years have lined up. Head tilted; she walks the line. Walks and walks until she stops right in front of the exact girls, bending down slowly to meet them eye to eye. 

“Azura Moon and Isabella Jones.” 

“We’re sorry, Miss Hardbroom.” The young redhead blurts out immediately. For once, Azura, the perpetually cheerful girl, looks positively stricken with fear. “We didn’t mean to merge the booth schools. Just our doors. Like Narnia.” 

“We just wanted to see Addy.” Azura interjects. 

The girls talk in tandem, explaining their reasoning. Adelaide cautiously takes her place by the girls, with Pippa in tow. All the while Hecate grows more and more red, her back straightening to her tallest height. 

“Silence!” She hisses as her eyes blaze into the three very shocked, very scared third years. Had this been another time, perhaps a few years ago, Hecate thinks she would simply snap. Instead, she lets the steam shoot from her ears and lets out a stiff breath. Pippa’s doing. With clipped words and fire still in her eyes, she continues. “Azura Moon. Isabella Jones. And Adelaide Peppercorn. You three will have detention every day until this is fixed.” 

Azura opens her mouth to speak but thinks differently when Miss Hardbroom’s piercing cold eyes snap to her. “Get ready for the day. Breakfast will be served early, and every student must return to their newly merged room until Headmistress Cackle and Headmistress Pentangle formulate a solution. No student will be caught outside of their room without permission lest they want to join these three in detention.” 

And with that, the Cackle’s witches were dismissed, shuffling away with the softest whispers. Pippa then dismisses the Pentangle’s students, who follow the others inside. 

“Well, I suppose we should join the students for breakfast and then take inventory of the damage.” Ada says. 

Breakfast is.... a struggle to say the least, but they manage it well enough. Miss Tapioca and Miss Cassava have their spats resulting in a mix of a meal. There’s a mix of cold oats and bright fruits. None of the dishes match, which Miss Tapioca scowls at in disgust. The now enlarged Great Hall luckily added the necessary tables and even extended the teacher’s table to sit everyone, so they’re not strapped for space. The hall is buzzing with chatter as some of the young teens fawn over being with their friends, others over the wizards they’ll be sharing space with for the foreseeable future with. (A message will have to be sent out to the parents. There will definitely be quite a few upset families). Hecate has half a mind to punish everyone and make the students eat separately and in total silence but her own thoughts of how to separate the two schools overtake disciplining at the moment. 

After breakfast, the students are all sent to their rooms and the staff begins their inspection. Most of the classrooms are heavily bound together. The bedrooms too. The only rooms that can realistically be separated sooner rather than later surprisingly seem to be the storage rooms. Everything else will take at least a week, some more. Even some wards from Pentangle’s have replicated themselves at Cackle’s, making some of their own unstable. It’ll take well over a week to reverse those. 

The stress of the situation radiates off the blonde, but she gives Hecate no chance to comfort her, choosing instead to fully delve into the title of headmistress. But Hecate knows it’s clawing at her to see her school not be her school. Pippa and her deputy depart soon after a plan is made to begin the separation to check on the Pentangle’s location. In the meantime, Hecate busies herself with potions needed to fix the wards. 

Pippa rings about two hours later and to the untrained eye she looks reasonably and understandably stressed. But Hecate notices the red that rims her eyes, the way her mouth is down turned. There’s a brittleness to her voice. She knows Pippa won’t let it show (she never does) but the blonde is positively devastated.  

“At least the young wizards’ rooms aren’t combined with the girls. It’ll be easy to get them back to Pentangle’s when the time comes.” Pippa attempts to find some silver lining of this situation before she informs them that they’re headed back. The subtle wobble in her voice doesn’t go unnoticed to Hecate. Had she had the time, she’d call her privately, let her cry and rant and feel. Instead, she has three third years in detention to attend to. 

Azura, Isabella, and Adelaide arrive to the potions’ lab five minutes before Hecate. They’re seated at the cauldrons, with guilty faces. The dark witch materializes at her desk in the middle of the room, the palms of her hands planted on the spokes of her chair. 

“Open your witches’ code.” She speaks lowly. Knowing this punishment will last at least a week, she’ll start their disciplining simple enough. For every code they broke, the girls will write and rewrite and rewrite line after line until it’s memorized. Then she’ll figure some other punishment, perhaps a particularly challenging potion. Either way, she’s certain they’ll never use magic so recklessly again. 

When she returns to her rooms after detention and bedtime rounds, Hecate is both shocked and pleased to see Pippa already there. But her heart immediately breaks when she sees her sitting on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, staring off into space as if she’s lost in thought. 

“Pippa?” 

The blonde turns to her, tears hanging just off the edge of her eyes. Though the room isn’t very large, Hecate transfers right to Pippa, pulling her against her chest. Pippa’s breath shudders. No tears fall, Pippa’s holding back the urge to fully sob. Hecate holds her tighter when she feels her press her nose to her neck, puffs of air hot against it. Pippa’s body shakes and shudders but she never lets the tears come, something worries Hecate immensely. 

“Pippa,” Hecate tries again. She receives a small shake of her head, so they sit there silently until Pippa mumbles that she’s ready to go to bed. 

The next morning Pippa is as bright as she can be, refusing to talk about the situation outside of what needs to be done. For the rest of the week, the two schools attempt to find some sort of common ground. For the most part, they can continue as they normally would. Some classes have been combined. Dimity and Abigail have a blast sharing exercises for the students while Lavinia and Pippa mesh together traditional and modern chants. Others are left as they were before, something that relieves a bit of Hecate’s stress as she doesn’t have to share her classroom or curriculum. They continue on and slowly, day by day, something gets undone and returned back to its proper place. 

...

Wednesday morning breakfast announcements the next week begin with a chiming of bells. Cackle’s is full of life in a way it has never been before. Students in purple vests file in next to witches in grey dresses, chatting a mile a minute even at the early hour as they pile oats and fruit into their bowls. The setup of the great hall is awkward and a bit too crowded, but surprisingly it’s been an easy adjustment. The easiest parts of Pentangle’s have been returned to their proper place. Spells and potions have been brewed for the corners. The two schools have only been joined for six days, but they’re working like a semi well-oiled machine. Each morning Ada or Pippa announce what part of the school has been returned and an estimate of their time remaining. It’s not much of one as they try to keep hope alive but not too high. Only a few of the students have been caught sneaking out to the wizards’ corridors and vice versa, joining Azura, Isabella and Adelaide in detention. 

Pippa is just finishing her announcements when someone from the crowd interjects, “But, Miss Pentangle, what about movie night?” 

“It was supposed to be this Friday,” another little wizard steps forward to say. 

“Oh,” Pippa starts, stumbling in surprise. “Well, I suppose we will just have to postpone the movie night until we return to Pentangle’s.” 

Every single wizard and witch from the modern academy groans in disappointment. It radiates throughout the room as the Cackles’ girls’ mouth “movie night?” at each other. 

“I know you all were looking forward to it, but good witches and wizards always look for the bright prospect in gloomy situations. A postponement is not a cancellation.” Pippa reminds them. That gets them nodding and some even try to convince their friends that it’s alright, but the atmosphere in the great hall is discontented and unhappy as students file off to classes for the day. 

Hecate transfers directly to the potions’ laboratory when breakfast ends, checking the supplies. Between practically doubling the amount of ingredients used in class for both schools and the amount necessary for the separation, each ingredient must be heavily inspected and accounted for. Her back is turned to the young first year witches who dutifully take their places at their cauldrons when she overhears one mention how unfortunate it is that Pentangle’s can’t have their movie night. Another agrees in a soft whisper. What causes her ears to perk is when one of her students mentions Pippa and how the headmistress seemed just as disappointed as her students. Normally, she wouldn’t give such gossip a second thought, but she can’t help but question how Pippa is feeling after having to console her more than once. 

And they’re right. Pippa has been off kilter since announcing the postponing of their school wide movie night. Hecate definitely remembers the blonde gushing about how fantastical it would be a few weeks ago. They had been on a mirror call and the blonde had gone on and on about popped corn and fizzy drinks and a movie or two projected outside, under the stars. 

Hecate enters Pippa’s office after detention, tapping on the open door. 

“Pippa, you need to rest.” 

Unbeknownst to many people, Pippa is a worrier. She’d like to be known as the put together, awe inspiring super witch many have made her out to be, but the truth is she stresses more than she would ever let on. She had worried herself sick when applying for Weirdsister’s. Every competition, every presentation, every speech she’s ever had to give has been rewritten, rehearsed, and regurgitated to perfection. Because she is Perfect Pippa and right now Perfect Pippa’s perfect academy is a jumbled mess.

“My school, Hiccup,” her eyes water just as they did the first night. This time, though, they streak down her face, the dam finally broken. 

The brunette kneels at Pippa’s feet, taking her hands in her own. “Your school isn’t a building, Pipsqueak. You know that.” 

The blonde nods, “I know.” 

“And you know you’re doing the best you can to still adequately provide for every student and faculty member.” She goes on to say. Pippa nods again. “It’s not just you who has to fix this and it’s not your fault.” 

Pippa sighs and presses a hand to a pale cheek. “Between waking up here and seeing Pentangle’s empty, like a dismembered puzzle and just having to figure things out I...” she trails off, a lump in her throat and tears welling up once more.

Hecate raises up to grab a few of the light pink tissues in the desk. She brushes away tears that threaten to drip down Pippa’s chin and hands the blonde a couple more. “It’s alright. You can’t let yourself take on all of the responsibility, Pippa.” 

Then she smiles. It’s watery and sad, but Pippa smiles and Hecate thinks perhaps it’s the first time she’s seen a true one in days. “When did you become the sensible one?” 

Hecate scoffs, “I always have been.” And with that, she presses the smallest and sweetest kiss to the hand that is still clutched in her own. The one against her cheek guides her forward for a real kiss. The dark witch finally convinces Pippa to leave her office, to return to their room and rest just a bit. They sit in silence, curled together on the couch before Hecate must take her leave to ensure every witch and wizard are in bed. 

During her nightly rounds, Hecate takes the stairs to the old but still familiar room in the tower. She silently greets the bats that hover outside before transferring into the room unannounced. 

“Mildred Hubble,” Hecate begins, startling the girl who had been studying. “I require your assistance. Report to the potions’ lab after classes tomorrow.” She raises her hand to transfer away but she pauses. “And do bring Miss Spellbody, Miss Hallow and Miss Foxglove.” Then she’s gone, leaving a stunned Mildred, mouth in a small “O”. 

The next afternoon, after classes have finished for the day, Mildred finds herself leading Maud, Ethel, and Felicity down the corridors of Cacktangle’s. She already feels her head throbbing after trying to convince a still skeptical Ethel that she wasn’t trying to play a prank on her. Though, she should get her back for the soap incident that may or may not have happened in the Pentangle’s pool a few days before. She puts it on her mental to-do list. (Just because they’re older and fight with each other less doesn’t mean they can’t play a few tricks every now and then). 

“And Miss Hardbroom didn’t tell you why she needed us,” Ethel asks — well, states — for the tenth time. 

“No, she just said to bring you,” she sighs, growing more and more frustrated with the blonde. 

“Weird. Miss Hardbroom always has a reason for whatever she wants,” Ethel mutters to herself. “Are you sure?” 

“Ethel! Why would I lie about Miss Hardbroom needing us?” Mildred tries her hardest not to shout as she pushes open the door to reveal a potions’ lab littered with small bags for popcorn and candy and sugary drinks. Isabella is cutting red and yellow card stock while Azura twines on little twist-ties around baggies filled with lollipops and bubble gum. In another corner, Adelaide is taking inventory of the beverages. Hecate is in the back of the lab, finger pointed as she checks off item after item on a piece of paper, and she looks up when she hears the girls gasp in shock. 

Without wasting a second, Hecate puts Felicity on movie duty, her maglet instantly unlocked as she tracks down the topmost popular movies and activities for the uninterested. Ethel, having just mastered a penmanship spell, is set to work on signs and labels. Maud and Mildred are sent to round up any and every spare blanket, comforter, and pillow for their guests. 

Detention (or extra tutoring as most consider it but would never let Hecate know) normally lasts an hour. When Hecate had gone to dismiss the girls, saying they’d rather help, she’s shocked that they refused and continued going on. They continue for another two hours until they’re finished. It’s a gesture she’s not sure she’s really received from anyone outside of Pippa, Ada and the Cackle’s staff, this extra voluntary assistance. Hecate definitely isn’t one to ask for help outright. So, they stay until it’s time to ready for bed. The potions’ teacher shuffles the girls, who are both exhausted and buzzing with excitement, off to their rooms. 

Hecate is just about to transfer away when Azura calls her name. The instant she turns, head high and brows raised in question, she’s enveloped in that familiar hug again. 

When the girl pulls away, she sports a sleepy smile after she yawns into her elbow. “It’s really cool of you to give the Pentangle's students their movie night.” She giggles at the pinched expression on Hecate’s face before skipping back into her room with a soft but cheery “Good night, Miss Hardbroom.” 

Breakfast on Friday morning is quiet, none of the Pentangle’s students are very talkative. They're all still upset of their postponed movie night. There had been talk that there would still be one as most were skeptical of Felicity and her inquiries the day before but since word hadn’t come from any of the teachers, the students shrugged it off as Felicity simply being an aspiring journalist. Had she not been so utterly exhausted the night before; Hecate would have told Pippa and they would have had an announcement at the ready. Instead, she had showered and brushed out her hair before slipping into the warmth of the bed that's only been increased by the presence of an extra body. She still has some last minute preparations to do before the first class begins (and to tell Ada -- something she had neglected to do in her haste) so instead she'll just have to announce the movie night at lunch. 

The time rolls around and she stands from the teacher's table and walks to the front, following slightly behind Ada. Pippa had been obviously confused when she had walked away with an almost ominous smile. Everyone grows silent and suddenly Hecate is transported to the countless amounts of times she had been forced to speak in front of her peers. Her palms sweat. The unnoticeable tendrils of hair that have fallen from her bun tickle at her neck. But like then, she looks out to the crowd and finds confused hazel eyes waiting for hers and she breathes easier. 

Ada starts with a sweet “Good morning, everyone” and then launches into a reminder that Pentangle’s magical maze is still off limits as it continues to change every hour instead of every Friday, making it very easy for any and everyone to get lost. She then turns to Hecate for their special announcement. 

She sniffs, tilting her head upward, “All students will be excused from their final periods in order to prepare for,” Hecate pauses for effect. “Special cinematic viewings of select entertainment beginning at 6 pm.” 

There’s chatter instantly which Hecate lets go on as she steps down from the stage and back over to the teachers’ table. 

“Hecate, did you?” Pippa starts to say. 

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” 

“You did!” The blonde’s eyes brighten and glaze over slightly. She drops her voice. “That’s why you were working late last night. Oh, Hecate you didn’t have to.” 

With shoulders high and a smile, she tries not to let show, Hecate says “Yes, well...” 

There’s absolute hearts in Pippa’s eyes. She leans closer to Hecate who tries her hardest to keep a neutral expression when she says, “Remind me to kiss you silly later.”

The school vibrates with energy after lunch. While most of the Pentangles students are out for the day (Hecate still finds Pippa’s insistence of having four day weeks strange) the halls are cluttered, and excitement is in the air. Cackle’s has never had a movie night. Hecate can recall previous students mention is once or twice, but she’s sure she had always turned down the idea with a stern look and a hissing denial.

Now, however, she’s sitting on a blush pink plush quilt on the grass as the sun sets, behind over one hundred students, waiting for the blonde to return from the makeshift concessions. Pippa had known she’d want a bit of their privacy and picked a near perfect spot. The nearest students happen to be Mildred and company and even they are well out of earshot. Dimity and Abigail are to the other side, though they’re a bit less covered in shadows. 

There were supposed to be only two movies shown before curfew began, but Hecate had been convinced by more than one student and staff member for just one more. She folded. It’s not like she’d be watching it anyway. She had already sat through two supposed classics, one being about a group of teen witches dabbling in dark magic with no thought of the repercussions and thus reaping what they sow. When the second movie had ended she turned to a very comfortable Pippa, who had been laying against her side at the back of the audience and asked if she could transfer them. Now they’re taking the final stairs to the top of a quiet tower. 

“What will the students think?”  

Hecate rolls her eyes at the playful tone, “I am a very powerful witch, Pippa. The students wouldn’t dare say anything to me. They’d have to be worried for an entirely different reason.” 

“Oh? You would finally pretend to be the big, bad potions’ mistress you aspire to be?” 

They exit the door to the tower, high up with the stars when Hecate pulls Pippa to her, nose to nose. “I do not pretend. I am all that you say and more.” She takes Pippa’s breath away, who melts against her embrace. Pippa wouldn’t have even looked away had it not been for Hecate’s own urging her to look around. Red candles outline the group of fluffy pillows, a darker burgundy blanket and darker plush blankets are scattered around for when the wind gets to be too much. There’s wine and dessert and the twinkling stars in the night sky. Hecate twirls her hand and the soft melody of a timeless chant begins to play around them.

The couple settle against the pillows, making themselves comfortable. Hecate pulls Pippa close, one arm around her middle and the other resting on her thigh. They laugh together in hushed tones as to not give away their location. Pippa keeps her promise to kiss her girlfriend silly and Hecate almost, just almost, concedes to sleeping atop the tower for just one night Hiccup, please? They don’t, though she does let Pippa lean against her as she rests for a few precious minutes before transferring them to their shared room. ... One late afternoon, after almost three weeks of domesticated life, Hecate sits at the desk in her rooms, marking the last few fourth year quizzes feeling... different. She’s not as tired as she normally would be. She hasn’t even taken a wide awake potion in maybe a week even with the amount of magic she has expended in the separation process. Her mouth isn’t down turned in a frown at the missed questions and miscalculated math. She’s lighter, and her heart beats a little stronger, a little faster in time. Hecate realizes perhaps for the first time in a very long time that she’s more than content, she’s tranquil. 

Hecate is lost in this thought when Pippa breezes through the door with a smile and small skip, her ponytail swinging happily behind her. As always, Pippa greets a lounging Morgana and a stoic Artemis before she primly sits on Hecate’s lap in an attempt to not wrinkle her dress (though she is done for the day) with a greeting and a kiss, arms sliding around her neck. She nuzzles her nose against Hecate’s temple as the brunette returns her embrace and it’s the most natural thing Hecate thinks she’s ever done before. Because it’s become so normal. It’s second nature, like brewing a levitation potion. Pippa, not surprisingly being headmistress, works longer days than Hecate and while she has always greeted her in this manner, the hugs and kisses seem better, warmer, just right.  

She can’t have this forever, she knows. Pentangle’s is almost back to normal and then Pippa will be off again, and they’ll be distance lovers once more, meeting when they can. It tugs at Hecate’s heart that eventually she won’t wake to warm puffs of breath against her neck. That she won’t fall asleep to Pippa’s gentle snores. She won’t have to set out an extra mug for tea. The laundry will decrease, dishes too, and she’ll be left to her own devices. 

“Hecate, darling, are you alright?” Pippa voice pulls Hecate out of her thoughts. 

The brunette nods her head. “Just thinking.” 

Pippa hums softly, “About what?”  

Could she be completely and totally honest? Why not? It’s Pippa. She’s Pippa’s girlfriend (though she abhors the word) and who else could she be honest with.  

“I’ll miss this.” 

Pippa softens, holds her a little closer. She readjusts on Hecate’s lap, soft smile on her lips. “I’ll miss it too, darling. So, we should enjoy it while we can.” … Ada and Hecate had been sitting in the headmistress’s office the next day, chatting numbers over tea when there’s a knock at the door. Hecate stands and flicks the door open to reveal Adelaide, Azura, and Isabella with Mildred behind them. The older girl gently nudges them forward and when they give her an apprehensive look at Mildred, she just gives them a more confident one back. Hecate raises a questioning brow, noticing how the younger girls shift from foot to foot, fingers twirling around their sashes. 

Azura steels herself and turns to Ada and Hecate with her head high. “Izzy, Addy and I want to lead a project to properly sendoff everyone from Pentangle’s.” “And to apologize again for the mess we caused.” Isabella adds while Adelaide nods her head in agreement. 

Mildred steps in, “They’ve got a plan for music and food and decorations.” She pushes Adelaide forward. The younger girl shuffles to Ada and Hecate, waving her hand to produce a booklet of plans only three fourteen year olds could produce. 

She and Ada look over it. It’s not a horrible itinerary, some things will have to be changed and adjusted for practical reasons but for the most part it’s doable. Hecate has to stop herself from giving them too positive a reaction. They can’t know she’s proud. Not yet at least. 

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Miss Cackle sweetly smiles at them. The girls brighten instantly, looking to each other as if they had had their fingers crossed in hope. 

And thus, begins the preparation for a farewell dance. Like preparing for the movie night the previous week, Mildred, Maud, Ethel, and Felicity join Hecate and the girls during detention to assist. There’s decorations prepared and stored away, menus to give to Miss Tapioca and Miss Cassava, and posters and fliers to hang up though Felicity’s post on her blog will no doubt spread the news fast enough. (In fact, the girl had known about it before Mildred even asked if she wanted to help. Hecate still doesn’t know how she does it.) 

Instead of transferring to her room when she and the girls had finished, she finds herself tapping on Pippa’s still present and ever open office door. For some reason, Pippa’s office has been one of the most difficult places to return to Pentangles, coming second to the ever changing maze. The pink witch looks up above her equally pink reading glasses and instantly smiles. 

“I’ve almost finished this last page. I promise, darling.” 

Hecate takes her place in the chair across from the desk, a flippant hand waving away the promise. “No need to rush.” 

They exchange a brief gaze before Pippa silently returns to whatever paper she was reading. One minute passes. And then another. And then another. Hecate has to stop herself from tapping her foot as the minutes tick by. Her eyes study Pippa. The way her lip is caught between her teeth, her nose scrunched ever so slightly as if something doesn’t make sense. Earlier her hair had been pinned up into a low chignon bun at the nape of her neck. She must have taken it down when classes had ended as it’s now in a slightly higher ponytail. Her matching jacket hangs on the back of her chair. 

The brunette is still studying her when Pippa looks up and finally removes her glasses, fingers already pressed to the bridge of her nose. 

“There’ll be a farewell dance at the end of the week,” Hecate bluntly states. 

“Yes, I heard! It’s supposed to be a fabulous event, you know.” The lift in her voice lets Hecate know the woman’s being playful. 

The brunette hums as she leans forward, fingers tapping against the quartz paperweight on the desk. “Indeed, it is. Of course, as headmistress and deputy of our two academies we’ll be expected to attend.” 

“Hecate Hardbroom, are you asking me to be your date to the farewell dance?” Pippa bats her lashes and props her head against her hand, a silly but pleased smile playing on her lips. 

“I was attempting to be modest, Pippa. Perhaps some sly wizard got to you first” she jokingly says with a roll of her eyes but then looks expectantly at her. 

“And I would turn down each one for you.” Finally, the blonde stands from her desk, smile still perfectly in place as she reaches for Hecate with one hand and flicks the door closed and shut with the other. “I’m done here, transfer us, darling?” 

“With pleasure.” ... The night of the Farewell celebration, Hecate is a ball of nerves and she can’t really say why. Sure, Pentangle’s and Cackles have been perfectly separated. There’s spare rooms still in place for everyone to sleep in for the night but otherwise they’ll return to normalcy in the morning. She should be happy, and a part of her is. But another dreads the silence that will come when they’re officially two separate schools again. She doesn’t think Cackle’s should be coed but teaching young wizards had been a pleasure she hadn’t expected. The food might lose its flare. The halls will be less congested. There’ll be no Pippa. That really grates at her nerves as they silently ready to the sounds of Pippa’s modern chanting records. 

“Zip me?” Pippa asks, already turning her back to Hecate who silently slides the zipper up and up and up. 

“You look beautiful, Pippa.” 

The blonde smiles brilliantly as she puts the back on her earring, turning to Hecate. “As do you, darling.” At the risk of ruining both of their lipsticks, she presses a light kiss to her lips. “Now, let’s go before we’re late.” 

“We could just not go.” 

“Hecate,” Pippa almost scolds. 

The brunette rolls her eyes as she smirks. “Fine, fine.” And they take their leave, twisting and turning down corridors that no longer have large modern windows to the great hall. 

The room sparkles with warm yellow lights. Students are already dancing to whatever pumping beat is playing. Hecate immediately shifts into chaperone mode, finding a place on the wall that she can see the entirety of the room. Ada joins her for a moment while Pippa goes off to mingle with the students and staff, but for the most part she’s alone as she listens and watches, scanning the room for sneaky young witches and wizards. Azura, Adelaide, and Isabella stop to bring her cookies they know she won’t eat but are really hoping she does. She nibbles at one of the plainer ones as she spies Mildred on the dance floor, her movements still as clumsy as they had been years ago. 

The night goes on and some begin to take their leave when Hecate finally moves from her spot, transferring across the room. 

“Dance with me?” Hecate asks as she appears next to Pippa. The blonde doesn’t flinch like she used to when the brunette would unexpectedly transfer next to her, Hecate notices with a quirk of her lip. 

“I’ve been waiting all night for you to ask me that,” the blonde beams, hand reaching for Hecate’s before leading her out to the dance floor. 

A Hecate before would have never put herself on such display, a thought that is ridiculous to her now. She loves dancing, has always loved twirling and stepping around a dance floor, her dress flaring at her ankles. But for years she prevented herself from being the center of attention, hating the eyes on her. With Pippa, dancing is even better. She holds and is held closer, tighter. Their steps are synchronized to perfection. They’re cheek to cheek and the students and staff fade to the far distance of her mind leaving just her and her Pippa. 

“Marry me?” Hecate asks softly in Pippa’s ear. It’s not exactly how Hecate pictured she’d propose, without the roses and the low light and the ambiance. Perhaps she should have done it the week before when they were alone atop the tower. 

Pippa is speechless. Absolutely and fantastically speechless. But also, she isn’t. She has been waiting for this day since who knows when. She has been hoping that would happen sooner rather than later. Perhaps sooner rather than later meant well over thirty years. They’re standing still when she looks into Hecate’s eyes and she pulls them away. Away from young ears and the gazes that don’t even know the question asked. Pippa drags her away until they’re alone and she can breathe and make sure this is real. “You don’t think we’re moving too fast? I mean, we’ve only been together for-“ 

“One year, six months, two weeks, four days, five hours and,” Hecate takes the moment to open the time piece hanging from her neck. “Twenty six minutes.” Pippa, as stunned as ever, asks through a small chuckle, “Why do you know that?” 

The brunette shrugs as if everyone knows exactly when they made things official, fair skin deepening to a full blush. “I’d tell you the seconds but I’m sure I stopped breathing when you said yes the first time.” 

Pippa loses her own breath. Curse Hecate and her way with words. She doesn’t think she can breathe without this dark-haired, even darker eyed beauty. So, she kisses her. Pippa kisses Hecate until they are both gasping and out of breath. “Yes, yes I’ll marry you.” 

The brunette grins, beams. And they kiss. And something about this feels like a next step. Something about this feels final. Something about this feels right. Like forever.

[chocosvt]

connect!universe extra

⚬ pairing: cyborg!hansol x reader | future!au ⚬ word count: 6482 ⚬ warnings: alcohol consumption ⚬ genres: angst, heavy fluff, mutual pining, elements of a futuristic/dystopian society 

✧✎ synopsis: hansol is the first cyborg you’ve ever met. he seems human enough, but clearly a little damaged on the inside, and you wonder if he’s ever known what it’s like to be loved. 

✧✎ a/n: can you BELIEVE that this is only my second vern fic? he’s one of those members where i can think of multiple plotlines for him, but struggle in writing all. i’ve wanted to try a cyborg/futurey au since like three yrs ago lol, so i hope this came out well ,,,, 

You poked the plastic spoon further into the cold cup, trying to search for a small chunk of strawberry buried under the soft, vanilla peaks. In actuality, you already purged all the strawberries out from the ice cream; you were only pretending to look occupied so that you could escape the awkward aura of being next to this cyborg you met an hour ago, the two of you sat on a ridiculously uncomfortable curb outside a dessert parlor, beneath the midnight sky. It was an unorthodox situation. You wondered where your friends went.

From the tentative corner of your eye, you glanced at Hansol’s half-emptied cup of cookie dough ice cream. The parlor behind you had closed down, though the night street still flooded with a twinkling, neon spectacle, the additional hovercraft humming high above as they travelled along the aerial space-paths. You continued staring at Hansol’s cookie dough. If it had been Changkyun or Yoojung sitting next to you, then you would have already dipped in your spoon and tasted each other’s ice cream as tradition. It would be too weird to ask Hansol.

Scraping some vanilla ice cream onto your tongue, you swallowed thickly and decided to initiate conversation again, even if it was just prevaricated nonsense to beat the time.

“Is cookie dough your favourite flavour?” You questioned Hansol, though stared at the loose laces on your sneakers rather than him.  

Hansol started shaking his leg as he shrugged. “I like chocolate too. And cheesecake.”

“So you have a sweet tooth?”

“I guess, yeah.”

Okay – well that was officially the dying spark of another conversation. You were uncertain if he was anxious, shy, perhaps socially awkward, or maybe he was attempting to signal that he just didn’t like you. It was quite rare to encounter a cyborg. Ever since you could remember, they had an uncordial notion of being dangerous, sinister. They were meant to be contained in laboratories as a government order, so technologists could perform their invasive studies. You didn’t know if Hansol was an escapee or a discarded project, nor was it your place to ask.

The strawberry ice cream was beginning to melt into pink and white puddles the more you stirred. One last time, you attempted to maintain some sort of conversation with the cyborg.

“So where do you live? I’ve never seen you around before.”

That time, you made the effort to stare at him, a hazy and violet light bathing the sharp side of the boy’s face and igniting features you hadn’t noticed beforehand. His eyelashes were long, resembling gentle fern leaves, and he had a very strictly cut line defining his jaw. Through the coarse layers of his dark brown hair, you noted small, inked numbers were tattooed just in front of his ear, though you pretended you hadn’t been looking there when he faced you.

“I don’t have a place.” Hansol said nonchalantly, poking the spoon into his cookie dough. “I’m kind of a floater.”

Your eyes widened, though you couldn’t help it.

“Really? But you do have a job. You’ve never tried renting a motel room or something?”

He shook his head and shoved a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. From what Yoojung had told you, Hansol worked with her at her dad’s auto-repair business, prompting you to wonder if she knew the boy was homeless. Knowing he wasn’t surrounded by the comfort of a family had already caused a pulsing ache in your heart, and you felt somewhat obliged to help.

“Does Yoojung know?”

Hansol hesitated slightly, licking the sweet taste of the ice cream from his lips.

“No.” He finally answered in a torpid manner.

There was a stiff bit of silence, and then the boy was looking directly at you, his knee and elbow so close to yours that they kept bumping together. His eyes, which were usually as brown as a square of dark chocolate, were suddenly beaming in a shade of ice blue. You had never seen such a thing before, and yet you could sense the anxiety rippling from him in invisible waves.

“You aren’t going to tell her, right?”

Your throat felt incredibly dry as you shook your head, heightening your desire to stick a large spoonful of softening strawberry swirl in your mouth for some form of moisture.

“If you haven’t told her then I won’t either.” You replied, making sure to maintain eye contact.

Immediately, Hansol relaxed, the ice blue that glowed from his gaze slowly fading away until the familiar brown replaced it. Even though you assured Hansol his secret was safe, it didn’t thwart your disquieting feelings from echoing throughout your chest, though you attempted to swallow them with the pink dessert that just liquidized onto your tongue. You two continued eating in silence underneath the white stars, Changkyun and Yoojung still nowhere in sight.

“Y’know,” you began quietly, “we just met and all that… but I definitely wouldn’t mind if you stayed at my place for a few days. And I wouldn’t let Yoojung know a thing.”

For the first time that night, you saw the faint beginnings of a smile pull at the boy’s lips, and despite him staring straight at his sneakers you managed to catch a glimpse of rose light emanating from his eyes. He didn’t look at you until the pretty hue completely died away.

“I don’t want to bother you.” Hansol admitted, his gaze tracing your warm expression.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t. It’s just me and a powder puff cactus I bought last month.”

It took a couple of seconds or so, but the boy eventually nodded, and an immense relief toiled away the discomfort that earlier plagued your chest. The air no longer felt so awkward, in which you had been pointlessly scavenging for strawberry slices in your ice cream just to feign some degree of distraction. In fact, you made an offer you would have never anticipated when your night with the cyborg first began: you asked Hansol if he wanted to try your strawberry swirl.

“Okay,” he obliged, “wanna taste some cookie explosion?”

You switched cups and scooped some of his cookie dough ice cream. There weren’t any cookie chunks left amongst the chocolate-vanilla mixture, and you wanted to laugh upon thinking that he must have been doing the same as you.

“You’re walking home with him? Are you sure…? Are you sure that’s like, a good idea?”

Your face quickly warped into an expression of bewilderment as you stood across from Changkyun, who was clearly apprehensive to have Hansol walk you home. That was the fake story you told your friends, and you had expected it to pass with flying colours, though you came to a roadblock due to your ex-boyfriend seeming petulant. Yoojung was close with Hansol therefore she depicted no air of disagreement. She gave Changkyun a steely side-eye and partly stepped on his foot.

Folding your arms over your chest, you cocked your head. “What are you implying, Changkyun?”

The young man dug his hands into the deep pockets of his coat and gave a casual shrug, his gaze following a distant hovercraft that whirred quietly in the skies above.

“I’m just saying that—”

“He’s saying I’m not safe.” Hansol cut in, though not with any contempt or bitterness. “I understand. Not the first time I’ve heard it.”

The rebut locked onto your tongue was instantly forgotten, to which you glanced at Hansol with a soft sympathy. He was awfully calm, not upset, not angry, just calm.

Yoojung groaned loudly, throwing her head back. “Oh, for crying out loud. Changkyun, he’s not some lump of artificial intelligence that got thrown together by a mad scientist and now he’s out to obliterate mankind. He’s a good kid with some bionics in his arm. Get over it, would you?”

A scarlet colour mottled in the apples of Changkyun’s cheeks and he dragged a hand through his slick black hair, disrupting its style. You looked to Yoojung appreciatively, who was already beginning to wind her arm around Changkyun’s elbow so that you could be on your separate ways. It was an hour past midnight, a thick drowsiness resting just behind your eyelids, blurring the purple-blue neon lights. A part of you still loved Changkyun, yet the other often festered in uncertainty.

“Goodnight guys.” Yoojung said with a tired smile.

“Night.” You and Hansol murmured in unison.

When Changkyun remained silent, Yoojung stepped on his foot again with her red sneaker.

“G-Goodnight.” He was forced to mumble. Changkyun then looked at you, nodding at the slim cellphone tucked in your hand. “Text me when you get home.”

“Okay.” You replied in a small, plain voice, chewing on your bottom lip while watching them walk away down the street together.

The guilt was bubbling like a disastrous magma beneath your skin, continuously growing hotter as you introduced Hansol to the couch in your living room. Changkyun certainly didn’t represent your own morality, and you were still a little overwhelmed that he would make such a piteous remark, especially to Hansol’s face. Maybe it came from a place of care, affection, perhaps even jealousy. The person who made that comment wasn’t the Changkyun you knew, the Changkyun you loved, and you felt obliged to apologize on his behalf, despite knowing it should come him rather than you.

Hansol sat down on the couch while observing curiously around the room. You couldn’t help but think he was adorable, and you wondered if Yoojung was telling the truth about the bionics in his arm. For his eyes to adapt sensory colours, you knew he must have a chip implant too.

“Sorry, no extra clothes.” You told Hansol after handing him a fleece blanket and a pillow.

As he fluffed the pillow out against the arm of the couch, you sat down on the coffee table.

“I just want to apologize… For what Changkyun said. He’s not that type of person, I think he made a comment like that because it’s still a bit weird between us, and he wasn’t using his head.”

Hansol’s indifferent countenance made it difficult for you to read if he was truly offended. He seemed like the easygoing type, one who doesn’t ruminate or tend toward conflict.

“Yoojung kind of filled me in about you guys,” he admitted, shaking his knee, “Changkyun still worries about you. I get it.”

You stared into the clasped hands on your lap, noting that you’d been unconsciously playing with the gems on your bracelet. It seemed like you both had your nervous ticks.

“Breakups are weird,” you sighed, “I don’t know if we should have stayed friends.”

Out of the blue your body grew rigid, and you wished to retract the words back into your mouth. Your relationship dilemmas weren’t something that should be pushed onto Hansol, a boy you just met, especially a matter so individualistic and personal. Rubbing the bleariness from your eyes, you let out a sleepy laugh, shaking your head in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that – It’s getting too late for my brain I guess.”

Hansol shrugged. “It’s fine. I should tell you I have to get up early tomorrow, for work.”

Conveniently, the auto-repair shop was within walking distance. You were happy that Hansol had been able to find employment, that Yoojung’s dad was kind enough to hire a cyborg, even when they were ultimately spurned for being metal projects and safety hazards.

You stopped tugging on your bracelet and looked at Hansol fondly. “Mr. Choi is so nice, right? He fixed my electro-board when I was little.”

Hansol sprouted in a timid smile. “He’s great. He’s the one who always fixes the circuit panel in my arm when it bugs. I couldn’t control it if it weren’t for him.”

Undeniably you were curious about what sort of bionics had been installed in Hansol’s body. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence to meet a cyborg, though you frequently heard tales about the different technology the laboratories were practicing. Androids were also in maintenance; however, they were a very clandestine operation, and people were known to disappear completely if they leaked information from inside the core. Still, it only fuelled your intrigue.

“Let me guess,” Hansol said, “you want to see my arm, don’t you?”

“Um…” Heat pricked into your cheeks and you failed to meet the boy’s knowing glance. “Only if you want to show me.” You responded bashfully.

“I don’t care,” Hansol huffed while he pulled his hoodie above his head, letting the fabric drop into a ball beside him on the couch, “you’re nice about it.”

Hansol placed the underside of his arm atop his leg, revealing that underneath the thin, synthetic layer of skin, there were bright circuit pathways glowing in different colours. You could see small signals blipping through them, passing onto other networks which travelled up his muscle until they disappeared under his shirt sleeve. Never had you witnessed anything so mesmerizing, so unparalleled, and you stared at Hansol’s arm in a childlike wonder.

Leaning forward slightly, you murmured, “how hard it is? Can I touch?”

“Yeah.” Hansol replied, regarding you with a gentle smile as your fingers pressed down cautiously on his forearm.

His skin was soft, warm, just like ordinary flesh, but then you immediately felt the metal bionic installed beneath and you became somewhat frightened of pressing too hard. There was one particular circuit that started at his wrist, which glowed in a pale lavender hue. You saw a tiny current fire from its sensory orb, and gently, with your fingertip, you traced the signal overtop Hansol’s skin until it faded away at the crease of his elbow. You sat back in awe and smiled.

“That’s amazing. They’re like veins.”

“Yeah, I thought that too.” He agreed.

The boy’s eyes were ignited in a sweet, bubblegum pink. You could only assume that pink had something to do with being flustered, or maybe a fast heartbeat. When you giggled, his cheeks flushed rosy like a cherub’s and Hansol stared straight down into his lap.

“I love how your eyes change colour,” you reassured him delicately, “you shouldn’t hide it.”

Hansol thanked you in a quiet voice, to which you could sense that he was nonetheless embarrassed.

“How does Yoojung’s dad get access to the panel?” You asked, changing the subject.

“I have to open it for him, like this.”

You jolted backward on the coffee table when a translucent, blue screen suddenly projected from the boy’s eyes. It was lined with unintelligible runes and peculiar symbols you had never seen before, some of which flickered by so quickly you didn’t get the opportunity to differentiate them. Somehow, Hansol was navigating his way through the code by controlling a box that highlighted certain text. Upon selecting the correct sequence, there was a tiny beep.

A rectangular section of Hansol’s forearm was outlined in red. Like a safe door, it automatically swung open, uncovering a dense and intricate network of wiring, panels, and metallic instruments that made you feel anxious just looking at them. You couldn’t fathom something so complex was resting beneath Hansol’s synthetic flesh, even as you stared into the thick of it. He didn’t keep the panel exposed for long, and in the next minute Hansol’s arm was restored.

It felt like someone had just crushed your brain between their hands.

“What do people say when you show them that?” You chuckled.

Hansol grabbed the fleece blanket and started pulling it over his lap. He paused for a second, biting his bottom lip.

“I’ve never shown anyone else, apart from you and Mr. Choi.”

However, he didn’t seem interested in delving further on what just happened. Instead, Hansol thanked you for letting him stay for a few days, then wished you goodnight as he got comfortable on the couch. Once you were tucked into bed, you grabbed your phone off its doc station and started texting Changkyun to announce that you made it home safely. Afterward, you slowly dozed off with a strange feeling in your chest and tummy, sort of like butterflies.  

Except they weren’t because of Changkyun.

With Yoojung’s arm wound firmly around your lower back, she helped walk you to the front porch, ensuring that your ankle wouldn’t suddenly capsize as she prevented you from haphazardly stumbling in your drunken haze. It was Changkyun’s birthday, and to celebrate, a large congregation had swarmed the downtown club, marking a night that was already beginning to fizzle from your memory. Yoojung never drank alcohol. She had always been the one at your side to nurture any incoming hangovers, though she wouldn’t be available for the weekend.

Instead, she had a Maglev train to catch bright and early the next morning. Her parents lived apart, and for the whole month she’d be away at her mother’s house.

Yoojung grabbed the spare key you kept under a flowerpot to unlock the door.

“Text me tomorrow.” She advised. “Tell me if you’ve puked your guts out or not.”

“G’night, sexy.” Your words spilt out in a jumble. You still felt like you were floating.

Pressing your hand against the wall, you fumbled to remove your shoes. You deserted your jacket in a clump that sat on the foyer floor and proceeded to stagger into the living room. Hansol occupied the couch, scribbling in his notebook. In the beginning, the boy was only supposed to stay for a few days. Two weeks had passed and he was still with you. For some reason, you didn’t possess the heart to see him go, and while you knew he felt guilty extending his welcome, you believed his presence was becoming an integral part of your life.

Changkyun had invited him to the club, though Hansol politely declined, instead wishing him a happy birthday over the phone. Whenever the boy wasn’t working at the auto-repair garage, he was extremely attached to a black, faux leather notebook with sallow-stained pages. You never asked what he wrote about, thinking it might be something like a personal journal. Upon seeing you at the threshold to the room, Hansol bloomed into his usual faint grin. There was still a thorough concoction of liquor in your blood and a black raspberry flavour burned your throat.

You wobbled toward the couch, mumbling in your garbled vernacular about how elated you were to see him after such a tiresome and long night.

Collapsing next to him, you rubbed tightly into your eyes and started humming.

“Need me to get you anything?” Hansol offered kindly.

Cracking one eye open, you glanced at the boy before bursting into intoxicated giggling.

“Oh, nonono, dn’worry about it. M’fine, Hansol. So, so, so fine.”

“You’re smashed. You should get some rest.” He suggested the most logical option, staring at you slumped deep into the cushions from over his shoulder.

But then you sat up, stretching your arms high into the air until you felt the muscles shake. Your hand fell on the boy’s shoulder, and you looked through your clouded gaze into the beautiful, rich earth of Hansol’s eyes. He tensed ever so slightly at being in such a new proximity to you, probably smelling the tangy alcohol straight from your clothing.

Placing your forehead on his shoulder, you slurred, “y’know, you’re r-right. I need to sleep.”

“I can help walk you to your ro—”

Hansol’s suggestion was merely cut in half as you raised your head from his shoulder, pressing your mouth to his in a soft, short kiss. He blinked like a clueless fawn, eyes rounded and glistering, unable to formulate a single thought let alone a sentence. If your veins weren’t engorged with fiery alcohol, then you certainly wouldn’t have kissed him, but in that heart-fluttering and completely sense-devoid moment, you didn’t have your rationality to guide you. His eyes quickly warmed to their adorable rose tint as you rested your head on his lap.

“Dn’wanna go to my room. M’gonna sleep here.” You purred, nuzzling into his thigh.

The boy completely froze. He didn’t know what course of action to take. Settling his notepad and pen on the arm of the couch, he saw you were already falling asleep.

“You’re so comfy…” you sighed, sensing the blackness pull you deeper. 

Hansol gulped tensely, “y-you really don’t want your bed?”

“No.” Your brow slanted, and you glanced up at the boy with a misty, intoxicated film in your eyes, your cheek smudged rather cutely against his firm thigh. “Just want to lay here, w’you. Please, Sollie? Do you not want me?”

Hansol’s gaze had never shone such a vivid shade of pink. 

“N-No, I do— I mean! I-I don’t mind,” he tripped over his words and ran a nervous hand through his hair, “you can stay there. It’s fine.”

You chuckled in a tipsy, bubbly adoration upon watching Hansol falter. “Y’re soso cute.”

“Do you want the blanket?” He quickly worked to change the subject. “So you don’t get too cold.”

“Yes please.” You hummed, your eyes fluttering shut while the boy grabbed the fleece blanket from the back of the couch.

The material was light yet warm as it was draped gently over your body, prompting you to curl into a ball with Hansol’s thigh pretending to be your pillow. You slurred a polite goodnight, feeling the boy’s gaze roam freely across your face. One of the last things you recalled hearing was a goodnight whispered back to you, though it was very quiet, sincere, alongside the scribbling of Hansol’s pen in his black notebook.

You dreamt that he was writing about you.

“Are you really sure? I feel like I can’t… It’s been a month already.”

Hansol wouldn’t stop fretting about his stay at your house, how he felt undeserving to be living with you, that it was eating him up inside knowing he was taking away a degree of your privacy. He was so inclined to confess his concerns that he hardly touched his warm cinnamon toast or slices of bacon, and you could hear the rapid motion of his leg shaking underneath the table. It hurt to see him like this. Neither Yoojung or Changkyun knew he was living with you, but if you truly wanted the boy to stay, then you would need to be completely candor and voice the reality.

Scaping the last bits of oatmeal from your bowl, you shook your head.

“This is working out, isn’t it? You’re so much safer with me. And I love your company.”

The boy leaned back in his chair, shoulders slumped with uncertainty and his eyes seeming distracted by antagonizing thoughts. You couldn’t help but think that Hansol wasn’t used to someone caring about him in the manner that you did.

“It would be awesome if you stayed.” You made another attempt to mitigate his worries. “The only thing is we would have to tell Yoojung and Changkyun.”

Hansol looked at you, the morning light that pierced through the cloth curtains igniting a golden flare in his eyes, and powdering his long lashes. Your cheeks started prickling just from staring at him. You always wanted to tell Hansol how beautiful he was, but you were too shy.

“I know.” He sighed, reaching for his glass of apple juice.

“Yoojung probably won’t care,” you knew that was a fact, “I’m not sure about Changkyun, though.”

Hansol would leave for work at the auto-repair within the next fifteen minutes, while you made plans the night before to help Changkyun shop for his new apartment. You weren’t exactly sure where you stood with Changkyun, or the direction your heart leaned toward. Whenever you were alone with him, he became the most endearing, sweetest version of himself – a complete charmer, engendering you to laugh so ridiculously hard that you’d choke on your own saliva or playing such a smooth move you’d feel your pulse quicken. He utterly confused your emotions.

To make the matter more conflicting, you still hadn’t forgotten your drunk kiss with Hansol.

He played the incident off casually, in a frivolous nature that helped erode the viscid layers of poignancy you were swathed in the next morning. Almost every night you thought about the kiss, addicted to the butterflies and the cottony feeling that would overwhelm your stomach.

“I should get going now.” You announced, slipping your jacket off the back of the chair.

A small, fainthearted grin appeared on Hansol’s mouth.

Underneath the table, you set your hand on the boy’s jumping knee. He instantly cemented, looking to you with still-water eyes.

“I just want you to know that I’m really glad you’re here. Seriously. You make my life better.”

Your heart was rippling like a kite caught between a harsh wind. After giving the boy’s knee a gentle squeeze, you rose from the table, left your bowl and utensils in the sink, and texted Changkyun to meet you at the hovercraft port next to Grand Station. Small, pearled tears were slipping down your cheeks as you kept a brisk pace along the sidewalk, though you hastily wiped them away with the sleeve of your jacket, pretending they had never fallen.

You were starting to think you were in love with Hansol.

A menacing and wrathful thunderstorm had developed overtop the city throughout the day, the cinder clouds completely swallowing any sunlight as they thickened and grew rotund with water vapour. The bullet rain didn’t start falling until the evening, and the booming reverberations of the thunder made it seem as though the sky was splitting itself apart. Your mother used to say it was the angels bowling, and it thundered each time they hit a strike.

Around ten-thirty at night, you grabbed a quick glass of water from the kitchen and wandered into the living room, wanting to see Hansol before you went to bed. However, he didn’t pay any attention to you. He was looking out the rain-splattered windows and into the darkness, where the thunder still roared barbarously. When you sat next to him on the couch, he sensed how the cushions slightly dipped, the boy jerking in surprise upon noting your presence.

Taking a drink of water, you mumbled a muffled “are you okay?” while eyeing him skeptically over the rim.

He shivered, brushing his own arm. “I dunno, I hate thunderstorms.”

Suddenly, there was a harsh, almost deafening crack that echoed from the sky. The lights flickered for a transient moment until the aftershock faded away.

“S-See what I mean?” Hansol stuttered, his eyes glowing in a lambent, soft-tinged blue.

Your heart immediately pined for him, and you experienced an urge to tuck him away in your pocket so he couldn’t be harmed. After setting your water glass on the coffee table, you offered a tenacious solace that made your palms dot with moisture.

“If you want, you can sleep with me in my bed—I mean! not like, sleep with me, but just—we’re both sleeping and nothing else, is what I’m trying to say…”

You internally wilted and admonished yourself for making the request so painfully awkward. To your relief, Hansol chuckled innocuously at you.

“I didn’t think you meant it like that,” he admitted, his eyes flitting from blue to an orchid pink, “If it’s okay, then I’ll do it.”

“It’s okay.” You reassured him. “It’s completely okay.”

At first, neither of you could fall asleep, instead staring blankly at the shadows of the popcorn ceiling while raindrops pelted against the glass. You two attempted keeping as much space as possible between you, for even the slightest brush of your leg or arm rendered you both to instantly recoil and spew apologies. At a little past eleven o’clock, your eyes were fluttering open in response to a particular sound. It was Hansol’s leg again, shaking beneath the covers.

Turning your cheek into the pillow, you faced him with aid from your alarm clock light.

“Your leg is going like crazy. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Hansol looked at you, gulping tautly.

“My leg does this all the time. I-I can’t help it. It’s harder to control the bionics there.”

“You have bionics in your leg too?”

“Yeah, mostly in my knee, some in my shin.” His expression was apologetic. “I’m sorry, you can’t sleep because of it, right?”

Hansol held his breath when you grabbed his hand beneath the covers.

“I don’t care.” You promised him, calmly stroking the ridges of his knuckles.

A few moments passed where you simply observed the dark slopes and outlines belonging to each other’s faces, your breaths slowly beginning to synchronize as the raindrops softened against the window. Tentatively, you touched the side of Hansol’s cheek, your thumb running just below the warm, silk skin of his eye, treating him akin to a fragile art piece. You could sense the rigidity within him dissipate like mist, especially as he moved closer to you, pushing his head into your chest. An intense fluttering sensation immediately consumed your lower-tummy.

“Will you please hold me?” He mumbled in his husky, tired voice, his ear settled right over your thumping heart. “I always sleep better when I think about you holding me.”

“O-Of course.” You stuttered, rather taken aback.

That was the first time he had ever been so forward with you.

You fleshed your fingers deep through the boy’s brown locks, feeling the thick, velvet-like strands wrap around each digit and tickle your skin. Continuing to softly coax down his scalp, you brushed against a hard, plastic slit near the back of his nape, and realized it must be the area where Hansol’s sensory chip had originally been inserted. His leg was no longer shaking, and you felt the rhythmic pattern of his breaths against your chest. In the darkness, you could properly see the small circuits that dimly glowed beneath his eye and ran across his cheek.

Under your breath you murmured, “you’re so pretty.”

Almost immediately, the circuits lit up in a deep shade of fuchsia, and you could just see the boy’s mouth twitch coyly. Your entire body, head to toe, flushed with warmth as Hansol only turned his face further into your chest, attempting to hide the sappy blush staining his cheeks. He was inexplicably more than just pretty, Hansol was precious, and you wished to keep him pressed against your side so that the cruel world may never wrap its hands around him.

About a week later, you met with Yoojung at the internet coffeeshop. She had recently returned from her stay at the opposite side of the city with her mother. You two picked a window seat at the front house, using the translucent screen in front of you to select your orders. As soon as you were finished, the screen blipped off, revealing the bustling city street.

“Changkyun wanted to come too,” Yoojung said, fiddling with a sugar packet, “but his aerospace class is going on a tour of the Sky Hub… He won’t stop talking about you, y’know?”

You cringed slightly, which didn’t go unnoticed by Yoojung.

She couldn’t repress her laughter. “What’s that about? You hate him now?”

“I don’t hate him.” You also grabbed a sugar packet and started pushing around the granules inside, using it as an excuse not to face her directly. “It’s weird being only friends.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Yoojung frowned.

“I thought that was what I wanted. I feel like… I kept him as a friend because I was too afraid to lose him completely. But now…” You heaved a sigh and chewed pensively into your bottom lip.

“You’ve moved on.” Yoojung acknowledged. “But with who?”

Taking in a breath to relax your pulse, you looked at Yoojung seriously and admitted: “Hansol.”

“Hansol?” Her jaw almost fell off the bone. “What the hell! How come you never told me you were in love with the hot cyborg? When did this happen?”

There was a silver disc on the far side of the table that automatically slid open, and a tray pushed up that contained Yoojung’s coffee and your honey tea. Once you took the tray, the silver disc closed.

“Like two months ago,” you confessed, handing Yoojung her coffee mug and the small pitcher of cream, “he’s living with me.”

“I had no idea.” She sounded in complete awe. “But now that I think of it, you two always seemed to connect really well.”

You felt an unbridled smile pull at the corners of your mouth, but tried not to make your giddiness too obvious.   

“Can you please not tell Changkyun? If he finds out, I want it to be through me.”

“I won’t say anything.” Yoojung promised, drawing a cross over her chest with her finger.

After you spent a few minutes blowing at your tea, you swallowed coarsely and asked Yoojung about a matter that had always allured your curiosity.

“What are those numbers by Hansol’s ear? I’ve never asked him.”

“I don’t know really,” Yoojung replied, shrugging, “my dad said it’s like a barcode that they use in laboratories.”

“Do you think Hansol was an experiment of some sort?”

Yoojung poured a dash of cream into her coffee and stirred it. “Most likely. I think that’s why he writes in that notebook all the time. My dad told me that the laboratories are evil. They do cruel experiments, and a lot of the cyborgs need a mental escape. Apparently, they’re allowed to write or paint. Ever since my dad found Hansol, he’s had that notebook.”

Her expression turned sorrowful and the contours of her face filled with gloom. “I don’t think Hansol is used to being treated like a human. Just because he has bionic parts, that doesn’t mean he’s emotionless, like some android. He can walk and breathe and laugh, like any of us.”

You stared into the golden, swirling colours of your tea and nodded solemnly.

“He can love too,” Yoojung hummed, “he just needs to be shown it first.”

Ivory rays of moonlight followed you home, until you slipped through the door and quietly clicked it shut. You hadn’t expected to stay out so long with Yoojung, though you weren’t entirely surprised considering her month-long absence.

Hansol was sitting on the couch, the lamp aglow on the side table as he scribbled into that faux, black leather notebook, a few stray locks of hair tickling his eyes. Your expression couldn’t help but split into one of firm ardour and love, a contented smile decorating your mouth while you opened the fridge to look for a quick snack. 

You pulled out a container of sliced strawberries, washed your hands, and ate nearly half the sweet summer fruit. After wiping off your fingers with a paper towel, you sat next to Hansol on the couch and rested your chin on his shoulder. His writing was crooked, rather messy, and you couldn’t quite read anything from the paper, though you held a moment of silence, continuing to watch him make his scribbles. Eventually you set a hand on his bicep, squeezing gently and feeling the hard, metal component beneath.

“Did you have a nice day, Sollie?” You asked him, mindlessly stroking his arm.

He turned his head slightly and caught your curious eye. Never had you yearned to kiss someone else so badly, and you were forced to squash the notion that moving your head just an inch forward would have your lips to his.

“It was fine.” Hansol replied, his gaze tenderly studying your face. “You?”

“I saw Yoojung today, so we caught up on some things...” tracing circles against his strong arm, you added shyly, “I thought about you a lot too.”

The edges of Hansol’s lips fluttered into a smile. “Yeah? Nice.”

“What are you writing about?” You hummed, simultaneously reaching into a pocket on your jacket, pulling out a lip balm.

Hansol chuckled, “you can’t read it?”

You pressed the smooth end of the stick against your lips and shook your head.

“No,” you scoffed lightheartedly in response, staring into the boy’s brown eyes, “not saying you have bad hand writing. It’s just… a little indiscernible.”

He examined the paper again, and his countenance became timid, even a mixture of anxious.

“Good.” Hansol huffed, his leg starting to shake.

“Why good? C’mon, I want to know at least the topic.” You shoved away your fruity lip balm with a large pout.

“If you don’t have a clue now then you’ll never have one.” Hansol teased.

Scratching your arm, you said the first thing that came to mind. “Is it about me?”

Hansol didn’t say anything, he just pressed his lips together in a small, sheepish smile while that familiar rose tint flickered in his eyes. He nodded, then set his book and pen on the side table.

“Do you think that’s weird?”

“What?” You questioned him. “That you write about me? I don’t think it’s weird.”

You expected him to appear more relieved, but Hansol’s face only filled with new shadows of uncertainty and doubt. He peered into his lap again, and you could see a very prominent circuit on his neck fire a multitude of luminous, twinkling signals. Something clearly wasn’t right with him; something was still causing him pain. Carefully, your fingers grazed Hansol’s sharp jaw, turning his head so that he could look at you forwardly. You swept away the tresses that were touching his long lashes, a deep concern shifting the once chipper nature to your face.

“What’s wrong, Hansol?” Your brow furrowed, knuckles stroking softly along his jawline. “You can tell me anything.”

“W-Would—,” he stumbled, and you saw how his irises faded into a beautiful aurora of ice blue, “would you love me more if I weren’t who I am?”

Immediately you tensed, and your eyes widened. Your hand fell from the boy’s jaw while a thorough shock bottomed out in your gut. Hansol looked at you so purely, so intimately.

“Because I’m in love with you,” his gritty voice trembled slightly, becoming as thin as the paper attached to his notebook, “and I can’t stop thinking about you, or writing about you. When you touch me, I feel the sensors in my body light up like crazy, and when you say my name, I replay it over and over again in my head. I’ve never felt this way before. But… I’m not like Changkyun, or Yoojung, or you. I can never be human in the way that you all are. ”

You shook your head, the inside of your mouth feeling horrendously parched and your heart aching tight against your ribs. Pulling the boy’s hand into your lap, you interlaced your fingers.

“Don’t say that,” you pleaded, a surge of hot, liquid salt lining your eyes, “those bionics in your body don’t take away from the fact you can feel real emotion. I don’t care if you had circuits in every part of you, or none of you. You still have a heart that feels pain, and love, a brain that helps you rationalize your emotions and thoughts. That alone makes you human enough, Hansol. I’ll love you no matter what.”

His cheeks were rubescent, eyes developing a thin film of teary gloss.

“Do you promise?” He croaked between a small sniffle.

You cupped his face in your enveloping palms and pressed a deep, calming kiss to his mouth.

“I promise.” You assured him, resting your forehead against his. “I love you, Hansol.”

The boy was unmarred by hesitance. Delicately, he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck to gently push your lips against his, slightly angling his head so that he could better coordinate with your movement. The kiss was slow, but blooming with passion, and you felt the heat pool in the pit of your lower tummy as Hansol started guiding you to lay on your back. Your lips never separated, and the contact only grew more fervent upon tasting the mild fruit of your own chapstick from Hansol’s pink mouth. While your fingers tangled through his dark brown hair, pulling softly at the strong roots, his hands crept underneath your t-shirt.

He squeezed tenderly along your waist, the rough callouses gorged into his large palms turning your insides to a warm puddle. As the boy pressed open-mouth kisses beneath your jaw, one hand reached for his bicep, feeling the hard metal underneath upon digging in your fingertips. By the time Hansol reached the crook of your shoulder, he was panting faintly, to which you let the boy adjust his weight as he wriggled himself against your side, sleepy and overwhelmed with how the night unfolded. 

He nuzzled into your neck and tucked an arm around your stomach, attempting to keep you as close as possible, like you could disappear into thin air.

“Goodnight, Sol.” You murmured, gently scratching the top of his head.

His breath tickled the sensitive flesh of your neck, his rough voice already heavy with remnants of his incoming slumber as he repeated the phrase back to you. Just before you shut your eyes, your lips kissed the barcode tattooed to the sweet spot just in front of his ear.

I’ll love you no matter what.

✧✎ a/n: :-) hope u liked it! hearing ur thoughts is always appreciated!! i was actually supposed to post seokmin’s prince!au next, but that one is like 12k and since my mingyu purge fic was also really long, i just wanted to write smth short and sweet in between. maybe some of u would not consider 6k “short” lol but to me who physically CANNOT shorten my writing this is actually an improvement! anywho, i like writing hansol as a BIG SOFTIE!!!!

[reineyday]

geraskier zoom conference hc's based on that 'and they were video conferencing' post

(this has turned into a fic in point-form oops; also it's more pre-slash 'cuz this quarantine is ongoing and i don't have any specific ideas about how a relationship discussion would go or be handled over zoom haha)

it starts as a group conference call between yennefer and triss and jaskier and geralt probably because yen and triss and geralt run some sort of small business and they need jaskier for something artistic probably (he's a freelancer)

let's say they have some sort of start-up to do with children's education somehow, inspired by ciri, and they want to start a small educational web series and they want music in each episode and so hire jaskier as a composer

geralt is in charge of episode content because this web series is gonna be about mythology and he has a masters in it and has done a fair amount of traveling for it (and lowkey has been learning about different kinds of myrhs and legends and heroes and monsters all his life alongside swordfighting thanks vesemir)

ANYWAYS at first they just talk about work: geralt knows which myths he wants to talk about and how, but can't quite come up with a good narrative because he has a bad tendency to ramble on about very precise specific details that get boring, and he also doesnt know how to set the tone for children despite having one himself

jaskier suggests they make the show centre around a hero that is a witcher who goes off on adventures meeting all these creatures, and jaskier already has some fun ideas for songs

jaskier thinks geralt isnt very forthcoming but he's clearly interested in the project and there's excitement in his eyes when he says ciri will like something they write together

geralt also gets kind of moody about inaccuracies (like a nerd 'cuz he is one lol), and jaskier thinks it's funny and likes to pull his leg by saying they should just change this detail or that detail and that he's allowed bc he's the composer and he's taking creative liberties

about three zoom meetings in, they decide the witcher should have a horse and jaskier says they should give it a name and geralt says "roach" and jaskier laughs and asks about cockroaches and geralt looks... petulant??? and says there are fish called roach too and he meant the fish, and jaskier feels fond and relents and says yes fine the horse's name is "roach"

the next video call they have, they start talking again about work and jaskier's trying not to focus too much on the fact that geralt has shown up with his hair braided but goodness it makes him look softer with the way it pulls back and some strands of hair escape to frame his face

geralt eventually notices and hmms his questioning hmm (and when did jaskier start distinguishing the difference?) and when jask asks about the braid, geralt's face goes EVEN SOFTER and says ciri can't practice braiding on her friends' hair at school anymore so she practices with him and jaskier's like "well fuck that's it this is it ive never even seen him in person but here we are this is a crush oh shit"

the first time geralt laughs is because in one of their meetings, jaskier decided he was gonna be chill and wear a work shirt but just his boxers with stupid cartoon pizzas on them, amd he feels so comfortsble he forgets he's just wesring his underwrar 'till he gets up to grab his acoustic guitar and geralt sounds like he was startled into laughter and yeah, that's right, he's wearing stupid boxers and he flushes but geralt looks pretty amused and jaskier did that so he's not too embarrassed

halfway through the session after that, where jaskier has given up on slightly professional looking clothes but has committed to wearing something over his boxers at all times, he hears some barking and he sees a german shepherd's nose enter the bottom of the frame by geralt's arm

jaskier is obviously like YOU HAVE A DOG and geralt explains ciri usually plays with him during their meetings but they decided to go earlier that day and when jaskier asks what the dog's name is, geralt pauses and looks a cross between irritated and embarassed and then says "roach"

jaskier laughs and laughs and geralt just looks on stoically and it's not on his mouth but jaskier can see the pout in his eyes, but after he's done laughing, all he says is, "like the fish" and geralt smiles a tiny smile and shakes his head and jaskier's a goner, truly

one day, jaskier is caught on trying to find the perfect wording and chord progression for one of the episodes, and focuses on his guitar and keyboard for a while as he toys with this key and that rhyme, and when he looks up, geralt is in a kitchen putting on tea and mixing something in a pot and it's an hour past when they usually hang up

"you could have stopped me, you know?" jaskier asks, but geralt looks at him and hmms and jaskier feels all warm goddammit

he tells jaskier to go take a break and jaskier obliges and brings his laptop to his kitchen and they kind of just have tea together for twenty minutes before something dings and geralt has to go 'cuz it's dinner time for him and ciri

the next meeting, geralt shows up and his daughter's there in the background and she has hair like geralt's and a sunshine personality the complete opposite of geralt (though they both give off disintguished kinds of vibes)

jaskier is charmed; she's a great cheerleader and a wonderful person to run ideas by especially considering she's the target age group for their show, and when she makes a comment about how she wishes she could play the ukulele she got as a gift two years ago, jaskier brightens up and says he can teach her

now jaskier zoom calls a little earlier so ciri can have a short ukulele lesson before his work meeting with geralt, and it's so nice whenever he hears ciri practicing off to the side or roach barking from out of the frame and jaskier wonders what it would be like to truly be in the house with them

the next meeting after, they go a bit too long again bc they were arguing (well, jaslier was actually pulling geralt's leg some more, to be honest, but he can't help it if that's how he flirts), and ciri shows up and says it's time for food and when jaskier says he'll leave them to it, ciri suggests he just stay on amd they can eat together

geralt doesn't immediately say no and actually seems to be waiting for jaskier's answer so jaskier says yeah okay, and he grabs some food and they all have dinner together and they get to talking and jakier and ciri bond over disney movies and ciri says she wants to watch them together the three of them and yennefer and triss

the watch party happens and over zoom yennefer seems deeply amused the entire time and triss keeps giggling and geralt seems extra annoyed for some reason but jaskier enjoys himself and sings along to the movie and he tries not to imagine sitting right next to geralt on his couch on the side not occupied by his daughter

jaskier wakes up with a headache very close to their meeting time one day, and kind of just opens his laptop while he's lying in bed and opens the window to wait for geralt to start the meeting while he reaches over to get his ukulele 'cuz it's the closest instrument to his bed and the easiest on his brain when it's pounding like this

when he settles back against his headbkard and pillows once more, geralt is looking at him with a frown and asks if he's feeling okay, to which jaskier replies he's fine it's not covid he just gets headaches every now and then and it sucks but he can still compose (and he shakes his lil uke at the camera)

geralt says no he should sleep and when jaskier pouts he says he's going to sit here and wait for jaskier to put down the damn ukulele and drink some water and eat a granola bar and then tuck himself back into bed and he looks all fierce about it while he says it and how can jaskier not lug his laptop around while he does these things and fall a little more in love

eventually it becomes totally normal for jaskier to just hang out for long stretches of time, whether or not they talk about their witcher web series, and they cook together and hang out in their pajamas and jaskier and ciri have their music lessons and their disney nights and geralt even starts getting him to work out during some of their work breaks by doing 8 minuts abs

(jaskier was pretty adamant about not exercising but said he's do it just the one time but after 8 minutes of pain, geralt was flushed and kind of sweaty and said he needed to chamge his shirt anf then just took it off right there on the camera before he walked out frame to grab a new one and jaskier had to rush to pick his jaw off the floor before going to change out of his own sweaty clothes and yeah so he does 8 minute abs with geralt sometimes now)

once, geralt sends him a zoom link for a meeting at 2am on a night when jaskier can't fall asleep (his sleeping schedule's been so fucked since quarantine started) and when jaskier joins him, he looks like hell and he apologizes but when jaskier says he probably won't sleep for another three hours anyways, geralt looks the tiniest bit grateful and asks if they can work so they do, and if jaskier writes a song that's a little more like a lullabye dyring their meeting, and feels like his heart is about to burst when geralt, who'd moved from his desk to his couch, nods off while jaskier softly sings to him, well... jaskier doesn't know what to do with himself after he makes sure geralt is properly sleeping and then leaves the zoom meeting

they work and work and really get to know each other and then, all of a sudden, there are no more songs to be written for their witcher series and jaskier says "that's the last song, i think" and geralt hmms but neither of them hangs up

jaskier bites his lip and says, "i'll see you at the team meeting we'll have with yennefer and triss to wrap up my contract, i guess?"

and geralt says, "you should add me on facebook; we should keep in touch for future projects"

jaskier tries not to feel too bummed out because this is still a connection point and also yay more creative projects with the hot man he is probably definitely in love with and also potentially more money! but he's still a little bummed and then he decides if he's going to feel bummed he should at least do something about it and he says, "i will! you know facebook has video chat too"

and geralt hmms again but there's definitely a smile, and it's even an actual smile! "im aware," he says, and then before he hangs up the zoom call he looks stern and adds, "dont forget about ciri's ukulele lessons" and honestly jaskier wasn't expecting to continue with them but he's relieved they can still keep doing those

he shoots geralt that friend request and sates the need to scroll down his wall by going through geralt's past previous profile photos instead (they're usually of him and ciri and they're adorable)

and then, delight of delights, the next day around when they usually have their meeting, there's a video chat request from one geralt of rivia coming through facebook, and even more delightful: geralt's clearly on his phone and he only waits on the screen long enough to make sure jaskier's there and to give him a quirked eyebrow and a trademark hmm before he turns the camera around and jaskier is treated to an outside view and a walk with geralt and roach via mobile

and thus geralt becomes a fixture of his every day life

[fancifulwhump]

i'm LIVING for your jaskier fics omg!! would you be at all interested in writing a prompt where Jaskier is riding Roach because he's not feeling well, but Geralt doesn't realize how bad the fever really is until he falls off? (if that's not interesting or too specific, I can try again! no pressure to write this!)

anonymous asked:  would LOVE to see a sick Jaskier with a cold while they’re traveling, and how Geralt would treat him being feverish and sniffly/how Jaskier would complain lol

AN:   absolutely! so sorry this took a hot second, but here you guys go  ---  hope you enjoy!  ;)

The language of Jaskier is above all a loud one... but just as subtle as any beast’s dialect, filled with intricacies and rhythms that Geralt cannot help taking note of the more he listens. It’s really not the same thing, of course. Non-speaking monsters really can’t use their words; they have no way to express how they feel, except by eating you. Jaskier hasn’t tried to do that. Yet. (Sometimes the way he eyes Geralt in the bath leaves him feeling the day’s not far off.) 

To the contrary — if anything, Jaskier is too verbal. He doesn’t know how to shut up.

Getting used to this took longer than Geralt would have liked. It also demanded considerably more patience than he realized he had. Somehow, staking out a monster’s lair for days in complete silence is bearable... but Sitting through one of Jaskier’s endless rambles is asking too much. Even Witchers can only endure so much.

“Do you ever shut up?” Geralt demanded one day, cutting off the motor-mouthed fool in the middle of another tangent.

Jaskier blinked at him, as though seriously considering the question, then shrugged. “Not a talent of mine, really.”

Miraculously, he did, for a moment. Despite all his instincts screaming to the contrary, Geralt nearly allowed himself to believe his outburst had worked... until Jaskier steppes on a twig, just a bit too loudly, then said, “I was asked the very same thing in bed not too long ago, actually, by this glorious milkmaid — granted, her accent was too thick to make out a word, so she might have been asking me to pass her my ruddy lute, who knows. But she was very enthusiastic —“

And that started him up all over again. Damn the gods.

In spite of it all, Geralt would be lying if he claimed to hate Jaskier’s blathering too much. Sometimes it’s... unique, not being constantly surrounded by silence. He wouldn’t call it nice, not be a long shot, but... it isn’t altogether unpleasant. Jaskier can make for entertaining company in his better moods, and he does keep things interesting. A routine pack of wargs can turn into a colorful job, so long as Jaskier is along to elaborate on it later. Geralt doubts he cuts such a striking figure “swinging his sword to the leaping beast’s belly”, as Jaskier’s latest gig claims, but...

Sometimes, it is nice not to be surrounded by silence. Even if that means putting up with Jaskier’s mouth more than he would like.

Case in point:

“Geralt.” A whine, then a cough, then a passionate sniffle. “Can we slow down? Please? I’ve asked thrice already —“

Four times. Geralt’s been counting. 

Gritting his teeth, he urges Roach a bit faster, conscious of the sound of struggling bard trailing a bit behind him. Jaskier makes no effort to be discreet when he moves, so Geralt can hear everything in perfect detail. The crunch of twigs beneath his heavy feet; the strain of his breaths, a bit more labored than they should be, a bit more congested; the way his chest rattles when he launches into another coughing fit. Even with a nasty cold, Jaskier’s loud.

“Just because I can’t catch it,” says Geralt once the latest fit has passed, “doesn't mean you need to cough on me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I’ll be sure to aim my dying gasps towards the wilderness next time.” Backtalk is a talent Jaskier can’t help himself honing, even sick as a dog. His brows, foreword with childish petulance, draw even tighter together as he wraps both arms around himself, hunching in. A shiver courses through him; Geralt distinctly hears the rattle of chattering teeth. The second Jaskier catches his eyes lingering, however, he plays up his misery for the perceived audience, pouting and wiping at his face. Geralt rolls his eyes, looking away.

Geralt understands the patterns of many beasts, but Jaskier’s language was one of the easiest to learn. The Law of Jaskier: as long as he’s talking, he’s fine. 

And he hasn’t stopped talking since early this morning. No, not talking — complaining. Gods help him, Jaskier hasn’t stopped complaining.

He still stubbornly follows Geralt out on the road, however; in spite of his red nose and phelmgy cough, Jaskier refuses to be left behind. It wouldn’t be the first time he chose to linger in a particular village which Geralt went on ahead, but Jaskier insisted the last one one didn’t appeal to him — “Everyone looks half-starved there. No wonder, the food tastes like shit. At midnight I half-expect them all to gather into a mob, hunt down the nearest visiting bard, and fry him on a spit. I have just enough meat on my bones, Geralt, but I wouldn’t be tasty —“

That rant devolved into a coughing fit that left Jaskier doubled over on the side of the road for five minutes, gasping and heaving. Geralt actually had to stop and wait for him. By the time Jaskier recovered, raising himself shakily up from his knees on the dirt road, he looked a mess. His face was bright red, tears lingering at the corners of his eyes; his chest still heaved. That was the moment any sensible person would have turned back… but Jaskier simply steeled himself and carried on.

Fool of a bard, Geralt thinks now, listening to Jaskier’s heavy footsteps behind them. He’s lagging, slowing them both down. His scent has picked up something unfamiliar, an edge of sour sweetness that can only be a fever. At least he’s walking on his own… but he’s not walking fast, is the thing, and they have to walk fast if they want to reach the next town before nightfall. As it is, the prospect looks doubtful; Jaskier has slowed them enough already.

“As soon as we find a bed, I’m collapsing in it —“ Jaskier pauses to sniff again, and clear a hoarse throat. “Then not getting out for a year. A year, Geralt. You’ll have to — drag me by my feet or something.”

“Something,” Geralt agrees, his mind flashing to images of swords and steel. Oh, he’d get the damned bard out of bed.

The trail gets rougher as they make their way further into the mountains. Even Geralt stumbles in places, and he’s built for this sort of travel. He’s wearing the boots for it.  Jaskier is distinctly neither of these things. As Geralt’s must focus more of his attention on their way forward, he almost misses what’s going on behind him — the harshness of his companion’s breaths growing more and more labored, the way Jaskier’s coughs pick up force and frequency, the times he must stop — physically stop — to sneeze or hack his lungs out. Geralt tries to ignore it. He really does. But the fact that he almost manages, for about fifteen minutes, is what alerts him to a much more alarming fact.

Jaskier has stopped complaining.

As soon as Geralt realizes this, he jerks to a halt on the trail. Roach follows his lead… but Jaskier, his head down, doesn’t notice. Instead, he walks straight into Roach’s backside, nearly toppling off his feet. 

“Agh — damn it, Geralt.” Even his indignation sounds listless. “Give a man warning next time, will you?”

“How,” asks Geralt, through gritted teeth, “do you feel?”

Jaskier blinks, appearing to weigh the likelihood that his companion is genuinely concerned or just annoyed. Whatever he decides, he isn’t wrong. Instead of offering an answer, he makes an inarticulate ‘hmm-mmm’, shrugging his shoulders. Geralt’s hard gaze bores into him. Jaskier shrinks under it. After a moment, the pressure grows too much; he breaks. “My head is pounding, to be honest. Feels… dizzy. I don’t know. It’s cold out here.”

“You have a fever,” Geralt observes. 

Jaskier raises his eyebrows, then laughs softly, like he’s not surprised. “Right, yep, that makes sense. Figures you know me better than I do…”

He breaks off into another fit of coughing, which leaves his entire body quaking. Geralt has to actually grab his shoulder to steady him, just in case Jaskier should tumble over. As soon as he’s regained some kind of composure, though, Jaskier pulls away.

“I’ll be fine.” This time, there isn’t a trace of whine in his voice; he isn’t scraping the barrel for pity, but being deadly serious. “Not too long to the next village anyways, is it? I can make it.”

Geralt eyes him for a long moment, weighing the likelihood of getting there in a reasonable amount of time with Jaskier lagging behind. It’s not good. They’ve been making poor time as it is, because he’s had to slow his pace for the damned bard, but Geralt would prefer not to camp along the road overnight. (Because he doesn’t feel like sleeping on hard ground; not because Jaskier in his current state needs a warm bath and bed. Absolutely not.)

He sighs through his teeth. “Get on the horse.”

“What?”

Either Jaskier’s fever is high enough that he can no longer comprehend the common tongue, or he really is an idiot. “The horse,” Geralt emphasizes, patting Roach’s hindquarters in preemptive apology. “If you ride her, we may make it to the nearest village before nightfall.”

This is the one and only time Geralt has ever offered his precious horse; Jaskier knows this, as well as he knows this chance will never come around again. Maybe he’s just an opportunist. Maybe the promise of a roof over his head is that tempting. Either way, Jaskier doesn’t weigh his options for long before doing the sensible thing and getting on the damn horse.

Roach whinnies, making her displeasure at the entire situation clear. Jaskier isn’t helping matters, a dead weight on her back. The horse stamps her hooves, shuffling in dismay, but a look from Geralt chastises her. For the moment, getting the bard out of the woods will have to be more important than her dignity.

No, Geralt doesn’t like it either. One look at Jaskier’s face, though — the hollow-eyed pallor, and the distance, as though he’s drifted out to sea already — reminds him why it is necessary.

This time around, they are able to set a much faster pace. Roach keeps up, just as Geralt knew she would, even carrying the burden that is Jaskier. The sick man doesn’t help his case; rather than ride, Jaskier has both arms braces against Roach’s neck, clearly focused on just keeping his balance. There’s a precarious list to his posture which Geralt keeps an eye on, but he doesn’t actually fall; every time it seems like he might, he rights himself, and a new dawn of clarity rises over his face. It lasts only a moment, of course, before fading away… but it’s something.

It isn’t long before the woods begin to thin out. Geralt tracks their location by the trees, and by the hues of purple and gold beginning to blend together on the horizon. They haven’t far to go, and enough time to do it. Unless they run into any roaming monsters on the way…

He takes his eyes off Jaskier, and there’s the mistake. He forgets. When Jaskier was complaining, at least he was present; by airing his grievances he ensured that he could not be ignored. This quiet Jaskier is a foreign one, and Geralt isn’t used to him. So, he makes a mistake. He looks away, and doesn’t look back… until a gruesome thud echoes from behind him.

Geralt stops dead in his tracks. Roach lets out a distressed whinny. Jaskier says nothing at all.

“Fuck!” Geralt hisses, rushing back to the bard’s crumpled body. Face-down in the dirt, Jaskier makes no attempt to pull himself up. When Geralt hauls him upright with both hands on his shoulders, Jaskier groans, head lolling against his own chest. 

Mud stains his cheeks, and a bruise is sure to form where he hit the ground hard. Even when Geralt seizes his face, though — and damn it, he’s on fire, worse than Geralt thought — Jaskier proves incapable of focusing. An incoherent murmur passes through parted lips. It does exactly nothing to alleviate Geralt’s minor panic.

“Jaskier! Wake up!” Is he even asleep? Geralt can’t tell. “Say something!”

He means it, and the realization comes as an icy shock — never did he imagine he’d ever miss the bard’s incessant prattling. Yet in the sudden absence of Jaskier’s voice, silence rings louder than ever, and it’s smothering Geralt to death. He should have seen this, should have known, should have realized, damn it —

“Jaskier,” he hisses, hauling his companion to his feet. The full weight of Jaskier’s limp body melts against his own. When Jaskier’s burning forehead falls against Geralt’s shoulder, he shrugs, trying to rouse him… but nothing does the job. Even when Geralt, grumbling furiously, is forced to haul Jaskier back up onto Roach and leap up after him, the fever permits Jaskier to do little more than melt against him. His head lolls, eyes half-open and staring into nothing. Worse than it all, he is completely silent.

For once in his life, Geralt misses the damned bard’s complaining.