#I hate writing this title out

[sexynetra]

share one line from your wip that you think highlights the vibe of this fic (but no cheating, don’t explain the actual vibe. it’s gotta be explained through your one line !!!)

This was shockingly challenging to do when I only have the intro written but please enjoy <3

~~~

“I don’t think you’re a good judge of what’s smart and what isn’t, considering the ass-backwards ideas you keep proposing. Now if you’ll shut up and let me explain—“ Luxx paused to make sure Anetra wasn’t going to interrupt before continuing on. “I messaged Marcia.”

[robinfollies]

and we believed ourselves when we said we’d never be alone again 🌼🌈💖

[sp0o0kylights]

There were a lot of things Mike hated in life.

The demogorgon, and how it had essentially destroyed his life.

 Brenner, and the madhouse laboratory El had survived. 

How each and every one of his friends now did something weird--were weird, because flashing lights or fireworks or some stupid tune a toy horse played dragged up memories that made their eyes flat and faces hollow. 

Most of all though, Mike hated how much they relied on Steve.

There was no reason he should be the person to call when it started pouring and no one wanted to bike home from AV. 

Steve wasn’t Nancy, or Jonathan, or a parent--he wasn’t even dating anyone related to any of the Party anymore so what excuse did he have to keep hanging around? 

(Even if Jonathan was always working, and Nancy was always busy with some club or homework, and everyone’s parents all seemed to be in a race of who could get back to normal the fastest…) 

They should at least try to get a hold of other people, instead of constantly going to Steve first.

“Why?” Dusitn had scoffed at him the last time this had happened, feeding quarters into a phone and staring at Mike like he was the one being unreasonable. “I’m not gonna waste money just to hear your sister tell us no again when we all know Steve will do it.” 

Which was perhaps the most infuriating part of it all.

That Steve would do it. 

Show up and help them, even if he bitched the whole time. 

Hell, Steve Harrington knew more about Mike’s life offhand than Nancy did, and that made him want to punch a wall more days than it didn’t. Why the hell was Steve so involved? 

It was stupid. 

Weird, even! They weren’t friends, (even if Dustin and Max and El of all people said the opposite) he wasn’t being paid to babysit, (Mike had double checked; going round to ask Ma Henderson and Mrs. Sinclair, only to get an earful of how wonderful Steve was from both.) he had no reason to hang around! 

It didn’t make sense that Steve could be harassed into picking them up from school. 

Would take them to get ice cream, or hand over extra quarters for the arcade. He even gave out advice like some kind of--brother that Mike had never wanted. 

Above all?

Mike hated that when he needed someone, the number he punched in on automatic was Steve’s.

“I need you to come get me.” He said into the receiver, mad at himself and the world, but mostly mad that beyond the normal amount of squawking Steve did, he shut up and came. 

Drove up in his rich boy car, stepping out and herding Mike into it like the rain hadn’t already seeped into his bones. 

“You wanna tell me why you snuck into a bar two towns over?” Steve asked, long after Mike had slung himself into the passenger seat, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“No.” 

One of Steve’s hands went right to his hair, running through it before adjusting the mess he’d just made. 

It was a nervous habit, and Mike hated that he knew that too. 

“Okay, well.” Steve’s hand fell back to the steering wheel, clenching tight around it. “Next time you want to do something dumb could you at least come talk to me about it beforehand?”

“What the hell would that do?” Mike bitched, staring firmly out of the window. 

“Not waste my gas for starters.” Steve bitched right back. “But I dunno man, we could have taken some bats and gone and wailed on cars in the junkyard and talked or some shit, not--whatever this all was.”

‘This all’ was accompanied by a wave of his hand, indicating not just the bar Mike had been standing in front of, but his general sopping wet state. 

“You’d actually go to the junkyard with me?” Mike challenged, doubtful. 

Steve made a face. “Did you lose your hearing in there? I just said--.” 

“Why?” Mike interrupted. “Why the fuck would you come out with me?”

Matching his entire aggressive tone, Steve said; “Because it’s better than trying to sneak into the one local gay bar when you’re barely fourteen, Michael.” 

And that? 

Steve being oddly aware of shit he really shouldn’t have?

Mike hated that too. 

“You knew what the bar was?” He asked, his voice coming out much smaller than he intended. 

“Everyone knows what that bar is, except it’s more of a biker bar than a gay bar.” Steve shot back--which did actually explain about ten different questions Mike had about the place. “Also, language you little shit.” 

Under his breath, Steve continued in a muttered; “I swear I’m going to start carrying around soap.”

“You cuss more than we do.” Mike responded, and if his own voice was a little strangled as he fought back the sudden swell of tears, then that was between him and God. 

He was not crying in front of Steve Harrington, he outright refused. 

“The point I’m making is that there are way better bars to sneak into. That one’s not nearly as welcoming as people make it out to be, probably because they’re sick of all the rumors.” 

Steve seemed to realize what he was implying because he quickly added; “Not that you should be sneaking into any bars at all!” 

“You’re not my mom.” Mike’s voice turned wet as he lost his battle with his throat, voice cracking as he failed to choke the tears back.  

“No shit Wheeler.”  Steve said, and at least he was good enough not to call attention to Mike’s crying. 

If he had, Mike was pretty sure he’d just up and die of embarrassment, right there. 

“I don’t get why you care.” He muttered, angrily swiping at his eyes. 

“I didn’t keep you alive this long just so you could die of something stupid.” Steve countered easily.

Which was kinda fair, if you thought about it.

Mike very much did not want to think about it. 

Any of it.

Ever. 

“Are you gonna tell my parents?” He asked after a painfully long moment. 

Long enough that Steve had begun fiddling with the radio, trying to find a station as they drove back that wasn’t wailing country or gospel music. 

“I’m not a narc, so no.”  

“Not about the bar.”  

Now Steve just looked confused. 

Probably because he was, because he was without a doubt the stupidest almost adult Mike knew. 

(Not that he could say that out loud--last time he had, Max had made one of her pissy faces and then El got mad because Max was, which led to a break up, which led to Mike having to beg his way back into his girlfriend’s good graces while explaining that he hadn’t meant it like that.

“How did you mean it then?” Max demanded, and Mike wasn’t sure how he managed to dodge that entire conversation but he had, on grounds that untangling his own emotions regarding stupid Steve made him want to pull his hair out and scream.) 

“What about then?” 

 “You know. Don’t make me say it.” Mike absolutely didn’t plead, even if it did sort of, kind of, sound like pleading. 

Steve flicked his eyes away from the road to give one long, weird look at Mike. The same one he gave Dustin when he went off on a rant about Cerebro or Lucas when he started discussing the stats of different D&D weapons. 

Unlike those times, Steve’s face cleared. 

“Oh.” He said, blinking, and Mike could practically see the light bulb flash above his head.

Then; 

“Nah.” 

Mike waited.

And waited.

And kept waiting as Steve went back to searching through radio channels, as if that was the end of the conversation.

It couldn't be the end of this conversation.

Not when this was the part that was eating Mike alive.

He didn’t know if this was Steve repressing it on purpose or if this was what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life if he kept trying to figure his own head out, but either way, he knew he had a choice to make. 

To let the unspoken part of today die quietly. Go unsaid, and remain unsaid, for all eternity--or he could let it out. 

Shove the “gay” part of “gay bar” in Steve’s stupid, jock face. 

Make him acknowledge it, even if it got Mike kicked out of the car, and who cared if it did? 

Steve wasn’t the person who should have picked him up anyway. 

The anger climbed higher and higher in his chest, tears and rage combining until Mike spat it all out, furious. 

“You’re not going to ask if I’m gay?”  

Steve didn’t turn to face him, but Mike saw his eyebrow cocking anyway, given how he was currently glaring a hole in the side of the older teen’s head. 

“Do you want me to?” 

“No.” Mike bit out automatically. “Yes. I don’t know!” 

Steve’s hand found its way back into his hair. 

“Okay then.” Steve paused, clearly fishing for something to say. 

Gleefully, Mike watched him struggle. 

“Do you like guys?” He managed finally, looking like he was navigating a minefield more than just talking.

“I don’t know.” Mike stressed, sinking lower in his seat. “Why do you think I was at the bar? I was trying to figure it out!” 

“Honestly I assumed this was some sort of stupid dare--but!” Steve held up a finger, before Mike could interrupt, “But let’s--shit, hold on, I had a speech for this but I kinda wasn’t expecting to use it this soon. Um.”

“You have a speech for me being gay?”

“Not for you.” Steve rolled his eyes. “For--in general! It was an in general, just in case speech!” 

He rounded on Mike, for longer than the younger was comfortable with given Steve took his eyes off the road to do it. “Okay--you can like boobies, you can like, uh--not boobies, and that’s fine! It’s all totally fine!” 

“You are not making it sound like it’s fine.” Mike said, feeling like he’d been taken out by hearing Steve say the word “boobies.” 

Gross, gross, gross. 

“Well it is.” Steve said, in a tone that felt like he was two seconds from adding in a smarmy ‘so there!’ at the end. 

“But I’m dating El.” Mike whined, which really, was both the heart of the matter and the eye of the storm that had been growing in his head for months now. “I can’t be gay if I like her.” 

“Don’t you guys break up and get together like four times a week?”

“No, that's Max and Lucas, El and I are stable.” Mike scoffed. “Or we--we were stable.” 

Before he started to have thoughts about people that weren't his girlfriend. 

Or women.

“Stable for being in middle school, sure.” Steve snorted. “You don’t just have to like one or the other you know. You can like dudes and chicks at the same time.”

Which Mike did not know, on account of being fourteen. 

He did his absolute damndest not to show that realization, instead adding that to the list of reasons why he hated Steve Harrington too.

Steve shouldn't be the one teaching him about who you could like!

“The point is that who you end up loving isn’t a problem.” Steve finally looked back to the road. “Other people might be an issue, and those people we can punch in the face so long as the cops aren’t looking, which isn’t part of the speech so let’s not tell people I said that part, but whatever you do choose, there’s nothing wrong with you.” 

Steve’s voice went firm, as he apparently recalled his speech or something close enough to it because his next words sounded a little rehearsed. “You have people who are here for you, no matter what. Okay?” 

Oh God, Mike was crying again. 

He wanted to punch Steve in his stupid face.

Wanted to hold onto the fury he'd built inside himself. Thrash around, throw himself out of the car, get away from the emotions that felt too big for his chest to contain. 

Instead he felt it all break on Steve's acceptance. On word's he didn't know he needed to hear until they'd been spoken, and sniffed out a quiet; “Okay.” 

Steve of course had to take it too far by reaching over and patting his knee, which they both regretted judging by how quickly Steve took his hand back and the face Mike made at his hand--but it…

It was appreciated, even amongst all Mike's rage.

Steve was appreciated. 

Not that Mike would ever, on pain of death, tell him that. 

Neither said a word for a while, Steve finally landing on a radio that was playing some Top 40 hit, Tears for Fears singing about ruling the world while Mike found himself trying to rebuild his own once again, tired of it having shattered so many times over. 

At least he finally felt better, even if he refused to admit Steve was the reason for it. 

He wasn’t quite done though.

 There was a piece Steve had skipped over, that Mike felt was critically important, if only because it was partly the reason he was having thoughts about being gay in the first place. 

He had to know if Steve saw it too. 

That it wasn’t just him and his stupid head, making up things that weren’t there. 

“Hey Steve?” 

“Yeah?”

“Who was the speech for?” 

Steve sighed. 

“Rule one of the whole queer thing Wheeler, you don’t out other people.” 

Like there were written rules or something.

(Maybe there were, it wasn't like Mike knew.)

“Was it Will?” Mike asked, and pretended like he didn’t desperately want the answer to be yes. 

 Steve didn’t say a thing, but the fact he nearly took the car off the road was a pretty solid answer in itself. 

“We’re not playing guessing games about other people’s sexualites!” He yelped, hands gripping the steering wheel as Mike felt a wave of relief crash through him. 

Will was--maybe, possibly, also--queer too. 

Which didn’t make this any better but it--wasn’t the not preferred outcome, either. 

(It wasn’t just Mike struggling alone, trying to figure out if his best friend wanted to be more than that, if El was breaking up with him and more and more because she wanted to be less than a girlfriend, if things were changing and he would have no one--) 

“I’m not out here picking Will up from a gay bar dipshit, I’m picking you up, and this is your reminder that next time, you should just come talk to me!” Steve ranted. 

Mike snorted.

He absolutely hated Steve Harrington, but--

“Fine.” He said, talking so low he could barely be heard. “I will.”

--maybe Mike did have someone in his corner after all. 

Even if it was just Steve. 

xXx

Bonus: 

“Between you and me, that kid is gayer than a two dollar bill.” 

“Wow Robin,” Steve teased, “Isn’t that like, a slur or whatever?” 

He snickered when she rolled her eyes and threw a roll of stickers his way. 

“I’m just saying. Did you see the way he was looking at you when you were showing off your stupid biceps?” Robin said, nudging her shoulder into Steve’s. “Will’s gonna have a rude awakening later if he hasn’t already.” 

Steve nudged her back, but kept his gaze on the Party as they trooped their way from Family Video to the arcade next door, the realization that they now had connections for free rentals making them downright gleeful. 

Will was the last one in, and Steve watched him hurry so as to not be left behind. 

He didn’t like to worry about the dipshits, but Robin was just putting voice to a thought Steve knew he wasn’t the first person to have.

And if he noticed it, then it didn't exactly bode well as being kept a secret. 

“Should we like…talk to him about that?” He asked after a long moment, turning to face Robin.

“Us?” She pointed at herself, before turning her finger on Steve. “Why us?” 

“Well you’re into girls.” He gave her a pointed look, glad that the store was empty of everyone but them so he could actually voice all this. “And I’m fine with it.”

“Yeah I’m sure he wants to know you’re fine with it.” Robin taunted, but she had her thinking face on, eyes out to the middle distance. “I barely know him. You barely know him--he’s the quietest out of all your kids.”

“They’re not my kids.” Steve argued automatically. “They're like a weird cross between shitty siblings and that kid in your class who never leaves you alone.” 

A fact Steve no longer took for granted, even if he made it sound like the worst thing ever.

“I just think it’d be nice if he knew that he had people in his corner, you know? Who supported him and shit.” 

“Steve, you compared my crush to a muppet, that wasn’t supportive.” Robin countered, but it too was on automatic. 

Softer she admitted; “You’re right though. If I had known other queer people, if I had known people would accept me...it would have made things a lot easier.”

A very long pause, in which both of them stewed for a moment, before Robin abruptly slapped her hand down on the table.

“Okay, you got me. We're doing it, and I'm making us a speech.”

“A speech?” 

“Yes dingus, a speech. I know you, you’re terrible when you’re put on the spot with this kinda thing, and trust me with things like this the moment will be spontaneous.”

“It’s Will, how spontaneous can it be?” Steve challenged back. “Getting a dinner order out of him is a chore.” 

“Stop whining and hand me that notepad. Im telling you its gonna happen when you least expect it and then you're gonna thank me later.”

“It better not happen without you.”  Steve sighed, but passed the notepad over.

God the things he did for those stupid kids. 

Bonus x2

Steve would later go on to use the speech on himself, in a gas station bathroom mirror, eyes wide and freaked out after Eddie Munson called him Big Boy in a van they stole, while Robin snickered behind him. 

He would turn on her, snapping that she; “Help me with this dammit!” 

In return she’d remind him that Tammy might sing like a muppet but Eddie  was the guy who stepped on lunches while giving speeches at lunch and sticking his tongue out, and “Really Steve, I think I won best gay awakening, here.” 

Which would promptly start an argument regarding how it wasn’t a competition, which would continue for another fifteen or so odd years before finding its way as a reference into both of their speeches as each other’s best man. 

Nancy and Eddie wouldn’t get it at either wedding, but Mike would.

[viperwhispered]

Too Hard

Woop part 2 of the trip inside Jamil's head. Part 1 here.

The next time Jamil caught sight of you on campus, his first instinct was to turn around on his heel.

What a stupid thought to have because of you.

Besides, that would only make him more conspicuous, not less.

So, when your eyes met his, Jamil gave you a short nod in greeting. He would’ve left it at that and kept on his way, had you not walked up to him.

“Hi Jamil! How’s it going?” you said with that impossibly disarming smile of yours.

Why was it so difficult to look at you like he normally would? You had no right to make him feel so stiff, so unnatural.

On autopilot, Jamil exchanged a few pleasantries with you - those lessons from his parents had been instilled too deep in him for him to falter too badly in a simple exchange such as this. Still, Jamil quickly excused himself by telling you he still had to find Kalim before his next class.

Jamil didn’t miss the way your smile faltered. Had you hoped to get something out of him?

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you two later, then.”

Something about that irked him, though Jamil did not allow himself to dwell on it further.

His heart really had no business still racing as it did when he walked away, unaware of the frown on his face.

Just act normal. That’s all he needed to do.

After all, he had no time for dwelling in silly fancies.

If Jamil had been acutely aware of you before, it only seemed to worsen now that he was making a conscious effort to not act any differently with you. In fact, the harder he tried to keep you out, the more you invaded his thoughts, unsettling him.

The most innocuous words from you looped in his mind, and even the simplest actions caught his eye. For goodness's sake, he’d found himself staring at you while you were queueing up in the cafeteria the other day, not even doing anything other than standing around and looking bored!

For once, Jamil found himself grateful for all his duties. At least they provided him with something else to occupy himself with.

After all, if he was busy enough, it was difficult to think about those bright eyes of yours, your sweet laugh, or the way you bit your lip while thinking.

Still, sometimes it felt like no matter which way he turned, you were there, ready to throw him off-kilter. Not like it was his fault that often the most convenient route to class intersected with your daily routines. Or that your face seemed to jump out from any crowd, catching his attention.

Which certainly did not help his basketball performance. Jamil certainly did not recall you having such an interest in sports before, yet suddenly you were always there, distracting him. What had changed?

Could you possibly-

Jamil scoffed to himself, forcing his thoughts back on track for the nth time that day.

He picked up the tray of food and started taking it to Kalim. After dinner, he’d need to help Kalim with his homework, there were some housewarden tasks that would need dealing with, not to mention the preparations for the next-

Jamil froze in his tracks.

The voice he heard was quiet, but it was unmistakably you.

Really, it should not have come as such a surprise to him. You had become a rather frequent visitor to Scarabia, and Kalim often invited you to stay for meals. In fact, Jamil had started planning the dorm’s meal prep with your tastes and dietary restrictions in mind, just in case.

Jamil rounded the corner with strange exhilaration, his heart fluttering needlessly.

Yet, his mood evaporated when he saw you.

Why did you stop talking and look so guilty as soon as you caught sight of Jamil?

Jamil knew that look you gave to Kalim, had used it himself a thousand times. The one telling Kalim to keep quiet about something.

What could there possibly be that you would be comfortable sharing with Kalim, but not with him? That would give Kalim reason to sit so close to you, a comforting hand on your shoulder?

Jamil's mind raced with possibilities, yet could not settle for any single explanation.

He’d have to ask Kalim about it later.

Jamil gave you a short, polite greeting, his eyes lingering on you in an attempt to read what you were hiding.

“If I’d known you were coming over, I would’ve prepared something for you to eat as well,” Jamil said, already thinking about which parts of the dorm’s dinner to spruce up for you.

“Oh, no need, just figured I’d pop by. I’ll get out of your hair soon enough,” you said, something sheepish about your expression.

As expected, Kalim asked you to stay and dine with them, and with just a bit more persuasion you agreed - though not before telling Jamil that he should join you too and have himself a breather.

And since Kalim agreed with you, Jamil soon found himself sharing a meal with you and Kalim. Yet, even as he sat down with the food, his mind raced.

Had you been getting particularly close to Kalim lately? But surely Jamil would’ve noticed such a thing. Maybe someone from the dorm had been giving you trouble? But if that was the case, then surely you could let Jamil know about it, too. Unless for some reason you did not want to? But if it was something that concerned Kalim, then sooner or later it was bound to concern Jamil, too.

All the while, Kalim was talking to you about this and that, the latest topic being the animals kept on the Asim estate.

“I’ve got some pictures, let me show you!” Kalim said with an excited grin.

Only, a thorough patting of his pockets and a look around confirmed that Kalim’s phone was nowhere to be seen.

Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose. Where had Kalim left it this time?

Before Jamil even had the chance to say that he would handle it, Kalim sprinted off. Jamil hesitated for a moment, automatically halfway up from his seat, before he decided that leaving a guest unattended would be a worse offense than not helping out his master.

Jamil slumped back down with a sigh, mentally tracing the path Kalim took today, trying to recall the last time he saw Kalim handle his phone.

“Breathe. He’ll manage,” you said. There was the faintest of smiles on your lips, and Jamil could not decide if it was knowing or amused. Perhaps both.

Somehow, despite his frustration, Jamil’s own lips wanted to curl up too.

“Hmm. Maybe he will.”

Sure, Jamil could’ve called Kalim’s phone, to make it easier to find, but it was not that urgent, was it?

Jamil took another bite of his food, keeping an eye on you from the corner of his eye.

How was his mind so empty and so buzzing at the same time?

“You know-”

“So-”

You looked at each other, both just as surprised that the other had spoken up at the same time.

Even your surprised look was so-

“You first,” Jamil said. The way you bit your lip... Jamil had to raise a cup to his lips, slowly sipping his drink.

“Just… Feels like it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you be still, you know. Or exchanged more than two words with you,” you said. You were attempting a light, joking tone, yet it was quite clear there was more to it.

“You say that like it would be unusual for me to be busy.”

He was not prepared for the way your soft sigh tugged at his heartstrings.

“No. It is not.”

You were both quiet after, poking at your meals. Normally, Jamil would’ve cherished such a moment of peace, yet this particular silence between you two was decidedly awkward.

Where was your usual chatter? Why weren’t you looking at him like you usually did?

“If you’re worried about me, don’t. I’m fine,” Jamil said, some softness creeping into his tone despite his best intentions.

“That's what Kalim said too,” you said. Yet the way you looked at Jamil made it clear you were still skeptical.

Wait.

Had you clammed up earlier because it had been Jamil you had been talking about with Kalim? That Kalim had comforted you about?

The thought twisted his stomach into knots.

Eta: you can find part 3 here, part 4 here, and finally part 5 here. Hasdhfsdf the way I fought with that last scene I swear. I don't even want to know how many versions I went through, trying to figure out how to say what I wanted without rubbing it into your face or making it too veiled. The joys of trying to convey things through a limited pov. Hopefully it came out reasonably balanced in the end. Rip to all those sentences that were lovely on their own but didn’t work for the whole. Hopefully I can rehome y’all one day. I do have thoughts for part 3 and part x (might be some chapters between those two as well, who knows at this point), so maybe we'll see those at some point, too. Tag list: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist @twstgo If you'd like to be tagged for future works, let me know! (Just be aware that sometimes I do also write nsfw, though you can certainly ask to be tagged only for particular kinds of works.)

[lovesickeros]

lord its so dark in here the sahara desert of tsaritsa content you are like a shining oasis. your characterisation of her compels me & mihoyo would be hard pressed to top it imo.!! caaaaan i humbly request yr thoughts on her first meeting w a reader of any kind, or maybe even multiple kinds (sagau, sagau god au, isekai, etc) if you so desire...

it really is like a desert here. being the fan of a character we aren't getting until the last damn nation is driving me up a wall but i will persevere bc if nothing else i support morally bankrupt women in media. we r in a severe drought over here but i do my best. unfortunately nothing i say is ever coherent so pull out your translation notes its abt 2 be messy

also this got out of hand but thats bc first meetings w the tsaritsa are tricky to write + a LOT of her characterization lies in deeper exploration then just surface level yknow...NOT A DIG AT YOU this is just my excuse for rambling. gently pats the tsaritsa she can hold so much complexity i do not have the word count to delve into it completely :]

gonna talk cult au for a bit here though because that's 99% of my content. and honestly? she thrives in sub au's of the cult au like villain au + imposter au. it's basically made for her. i mean, early days, the imposter au had been going around for a little while but one of the first few ideas was the Fatui taking reader in so like. it kinda technically actually was. pretty sure cult au Tsaritsa popped up because of the imposter au. a lot of it's writers kinda left though which. man am i getting old or.

anyway.

there isn't much of a chance her first impression is all that positive. at best it's usually neutral, imo, but rarely if ever positive. specifically because i view the Tsaritsa as someone who isn't as fanatical as most of the acolytes typically are towards the creator. she's not exactly going to worship the ground you walk on unlike a certain geo lizard. which is partially why i think she thrives in the sub au's i mentioned.

imposter au, for example. she meets you at your lowest. there's no gaudy extravagance or pampering from the acolytes waiting for you because your own acolytes have turned on you. for all intents and purposes you aren't a "god" at all. which is why i don't think she meshes well with normal cult au reader. the Fatui are made up of outcasts, basically, and imposter au slots right in just perfectly. you're weak, at your lowest, when you meet the Fatui in the imposter au. and the Fatui can help you, too.

a mutual exchange, really. the Tsaritsa sees a tool she can use to one up the rest of the nations and especially Archons, and she has no qualms about you using her and the Fatui in turn. you both want something out of it, after all. whether you just want to be safe from the rest of the acolytes, or you want revenge, or whatever else..she'll give you the power to fulfill it, and she gains the strongest piece on the chessboard when all is said and done.

the best way i can describe the first meeting is "practical", i suppose. she sees an opportunity in you. the ultimate gamble. because if she "saves" you, and you dont trust anyone else because they tried to kill you, well..she holds all the cards, doesn't she?

but the Tsaritsa, imo, is just as capable of being just as fanatical towards you as anyone else. she just won't worship you as the creator. but as yourself? clawing your way back to your divine power and taking back what belongs to you? the Tsaritsa is, to me, a character who's character flourishes in long-term fics more because she changes a LOT between "just met reader" and after having been with reader for some time. she's practically apathetic at the beginning but a lot of her character, in my characterization, shines through LONG after the first meeting.

[shrimp1y]

Can someone with brains please please PLEASE talk about the disgusting portrayal of cops, crime, court proceedings, justice system and prison incarceration in genshin impact's fontaine update because I cannot SIT HERE and see people completely destroy their brain cells just so they could play a mediocre game and make some fictional men fuck in their mind

I'm deadass surprised there isn't more people talking about it??? I'm honestly so ??? It's literally presenting prison labour as a good thing. Wriothesley, the prison administrator, got rich off of making his inmates build police robots for the state AND HE'S PRAISED FOR IT. AND THEY'RE PAID IN COUPONS THAT CAN ONLY BE USED IN JAIL. HE WAS REWARDED FOR IT WITH HIS DUKE STATUS.

The fact that the fucking MC's mascot was like "oh the prisoners get one free meal a day? you're making life too good down here what if no one wants to leave :(" what in the bullshit. What in the. There's also a fighting ring in the prison, by the way, and you can bet on it with your coupons you just can't bet on both fighters.

The. This is a scene people think is hot. "But that's a bad guy!" THAT'S HOW THE NARRATIVE IS WRITTEN. THEY ARE ALWAYS THE BAD GUY IN FICTION. THAT'S HOW COPAGANDA WORKS, they make you think people in power can just beat the shit outta anyone and of course the person deserves it because they are clearly always the bad guys! And the people in power are always right! This is sarcasm btw.

Neuvillette and the magic judgement machine are literally seen as undeniable justice ordained by magic and NO ONE KNOWS HOW IT WORKS. NEUVILLETTE HIMSELF HAS NO CLUE WHAT HE'S DOING HE'S ACTIVELY FIGURING SHIT OUT AS WE SPEAK. And yet it's what sends people to The Worst Most Dangerous Super Scary Prison Ever Where There's No Laws [but 1 meal a day's great /s].

"But he feels bad!" Genshin has repeatedly chosen to highlight the pains and troubles of the oppressors [Eula] [Ei/Shogun] and there's literally never any repercussions for them aside from when they portray The Haterz clearly as villains or they turn it around and say "Well it was a misunderstanding all along! No one's to blame here!"

I'm not smart enough to go into details I'm just saying. This. needs to be talked about. I'm not telling you to stop the game bc Hyperfixations not really smth that can be controlled or whatever I get It I Got Back into the game when the first trailer dropped I drew neuvillette fanart and then everything just went downhill since then and I'm like why the fuck did I expect anything better than racist, pro cop dogshit from Mihoyo It needs to be talked about ESPECIALLY by people who still cares about it to critically. assess what the fuck you are absorbing because this shit isn't okay. This is literally paw patrol for weebs they just didn't call anyone a "cop"

PLEASE. TALK ABOUT IT.

[vasito-de-leche]

okay I read your analysis on Forget Me Not and I'm in tears now thank you. (No but really thank you, it's such a touching piece.) Can you PLEASE for salvation of our fans souls write anything to like,,, give him hope? Forget Me Not x reader but it doesn't have to be actually all-out with hugs and kisses. We may,,,,,,,, just show him a new hobby? Any hobby of your choosing or idk play an instrument together. Just to give him something else to focus on, to channel at least part of his energy from self-destructive activities to something less hurtful. I'd personally like to bandage his (not actually wounded but still) hands as if they were bleeding. Something of the kind. Sorry for mistakes writing is incredibly inconvenient cuz tears aaa.

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - "hands, fingers, scales"

Forget Me Not x Reader. 2.3k words. self-harm implied You've befriended Forget Me Not the same one befriends a rabid, beaten, old dog. And while he's much too busy fighting his inner demons, you're more worried about stopping these "pernicious habits" of his. A casual afternoon trying to make sure he's taking care of himself turns into something deeper.

thank you so much for the ask, nonnie!!

I got a little carried away with this request because thinking about how fucking insufferable and confusing FMN has to be just to indulge in HAND HOLDING and GETTING A FUCKING HOBBY made me so deranged and feral as if hes not fucking TOUCHSTARVED lmfao. this guy's love language is straight up worshipping, mf is not subtle about it

either way, hope you like it! here's the lil preview!

Sometimes, Forget Me Not understands the reason men and women kneel at the pew to worship and pray.

Devotion is something arcanists and humans share, whether honest or not. He's witnessed the rich and the poor, the pure and the depraved, and every binary that rules this world - all of them begging, pleading and praying at the end of their lives, casting away the pride they've held on for so long for the chance of salvation. Once stripped down to their core, there is nothing to do but hope God has enough love in His heart to look their way. 

And sometimes, Forget Me Not prays that you’ll find someone else - anyone but him - to fill the role of devotee.

The gentleness in your eyes whenever you look at him is enough to bring him to his knees, and Forget Me Not doesn't know what to do with himself but to worship and pray. Praying that you'll continue to look at him for a little longer, silently begging for your attention until you finally tire of him. Do you think yourself holy enough to replace the vitriol in his veins?

He does.

On good days, he even hopes that you can save him.

You never asked him to become your one and only believer, of course. You're not even aware of the space you take in his mind, nor the conflicting images he keeps conjuring of you at night, he's certain of this. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, holding his hands and inspecting them for any injuries. This role is one of the many self-imposed tragedies in his life.

Your thumbs knead and massage his palm, as if you could soothe the pain away, and yet you refrain from pressing down hard. He's at your mercy, why hesitate? What do you see that he cannot?

Something is bothering you. It's obvious in the way you touch him, like you're afraid of hurting him, as if you were the one with a body count between the two. Every so often, your movements come to a halt and you both sit in silence, until you return to your ministrations, filling the nothingness with your sighing and humming.

All he needs is to look up, right at your face, to know everything he wants to know - but he's too much of a coward for that. Instead, light grey eyes follow your index finger as it slides under the cuffs of his shirt. You trace over the bone of his wrist and continue upwards.

He can't tear his eyes away.

Normally, Forget Me Not wouldn't mind. There is an addictive thrill to witnessing the shock of anyone who dares get so close and personal, but he feels himself shrink when you brush against his scales and recoil away on instinct. That's when he raises his head and finds your eyes in the dimly lit staff room.

That expression on your face - surely, you were regretting every choice that led you to him. By now, you might've surely realized that there is nothing for you to salvage in this shipwreck he calls a life. All attempts to check on him were surely a façade for whatever ulterior motives you continued to withhold from him. He's stubborn, believing that he can read you like an open book, but now he's just as lost as you are. When he opens his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and he grows a little restless at your words.

"Sorry, sorry! Did I, uh, hurt you? Dumb question, you would've definitely told me if that were the case. Anyway, it looks like you're okay! I don't know why I was so worried, actually."

His silence prompts you to continue, and all Forget Me Not can focus on is the absence of your warmth.

You raise a hand to gesture dismissively at your behaviour, brush it off to ease your embarrassment, that much he understands - though it's painful to watch you fumble like that, to deny what he hides under his clothes. Forget Me Not thinks of filling the space between your fingers with his own, just to drag you back to that quiet, albeit suffocating, moment of peace. Instead of doing that, he retreats and places both hands neatly on his lap.

"Thanks for indulging me and, yeah uh, again - sorry about that? It just caught me off guard. I should've been more careful."

But you were never careful with his space or his rules, plunging in and out of his life and leaving him to figure out where he stood in his game of push and pull. Why were you being careful now?

"It's nothing, I understand," he lies. Everything you do means the world to him and he doesn't even understand why. "It cannot hurt to know what sort of things the person pouring your drinks might be hiding under their sleeves."

The word "hypocrite" lingers at the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out with as much venom as he can muster, but it stays lodged behind his teeth because he knows he's even worse: Forget Me Not prays that you'll stay with him, while also opening the door right out his life for you. As much as he wants to, he has no right of calling you out.

He's not used to receiving apologies and so he chooses not to think too hard on yours - though he's dreamed countless of times for the perfect situation in which he finally rips out one apology after another from the throats of those who wronged him, this one feels different. Undeserved, even.

His heart, that wretched lump in his chest, finally settles down and he prepares to end this interaction to save you the awkwardness of addressing his "deformities". But then you go and surprise him once more.

"Come on, I already told you..." You sigh and he inhales in tandem, but you're much too busy rolling your eyes to notice. "That whole thing you do, when you start scratching or, like, picking at your hand? You've been doing it more lately. It had me worried you might've been doing, I don't know - something."

Forget Me Not's eyes widen in surprise. The audacity to notice such things about him? And to put them on display without a warning? What else did you find out?

Part of him wants him to embrace his nature and scare you away, but that's the side of him that's been slowly losing this battle of attrition in his heart - you're a bad influence for him, after all. The other part... Well, it's still trying to sort itself out.

He settles for slowly undoing the buttons on his sleeve. It only takes a moment to roll up the fine fabric to his elbow, knowing you're staring right at him, through him maybe. The expression on his face is one of indifference, one he fights to maintain - this is the most vulnerable he's felt in decades.

That unsightly pattern begins exactly where his sleeves usually end, coiling around his forearm not unlike a snake and traveling upwards. The scales are dark, an iridescent black that reminds him of an oil spill in the middle of the ocean, and the ones at the edges fade away into lighter hues until they mix with the pale, sickly tone of his skin. He knows the sort of beauty he holds, one that can only be admired at a distance, turning into a grotesque imitation of a man when up close.

Forget Me Not presents himself to you and, with his free hand, gets ready to pluck one of the scales off.

"Wait, don't do that-!"

Seizing his arm and holding it close to your chest, you deprive him of the catharsis that comes with this level of self-mutilation. He knows you're connecting the dots, feeling the scattered, empty spaces from all the times you saw him pick himself apart and more. Your fingers brush against his bare skin looking for said spaces, counting them in your head, mourning their loss.

Some scales are in the process of regrowing like unwanted parasites, and he wishes he could feel anything at all just to be closer to you.

"God, what is wrong with you?! What was the point of that?"

Something compels him to laugh (perhaps it's your heartbeat reaching out to him loud and clear through your clothes, he feels it faintly) it comes across as sinister and condescending, the only way he knows how to express joy. Like he's making fun of your concern.

"Apologies," Forget Me Not begins to say, readjusting his glasses. The way you try to keep his own arm out of his reach doesn't go unnoticed. It's such a petty, childish gesture that makes his grin widen and your frown deepen. "I was under the impression you found this little oddity distasteful. There's no need to worry - they will return in a few days, they always do."

"Still, don't do that. It's not funny. It must...hurt a lot."

"Ah, but it doesn't. If else, I'd compare it to being pricked by a very small needle."

"You're just going to find something to nitpick and contradict everything I say, aren't you?" It's the least he can do to repay all the headaches you've given him, and for forgiving his transgressions too easily.

An intrusive thought makes itself known from the depths of his mind - would you forgive him just as readily if he were to kill someone in front of you? If he showed you just how destructive his arcane skills could be when given free reign? Where would you draw the line? And how much could he continue to push his luck before he lost you?

Before Forget Me Not realizes it, you've loosened your grip on his arm and returned to that previous moment of suffocating peace - the only difference is that you've gone from being deep in thought to troubled and miserable, one hair away from darting out the room and refusing to speak to him. At this, his pinky finger wraps around yours and neither of you mention it.

"Can't you... I don't know, do something else?"

"I could be doing my job, but alas, you're keeping me prisoner here." He says, like he's not delighted to be given your undivided attention. There are no complaints when you step on his foot with a huff, he deserved that one.

"I'm talking about the scales thing! You could wear gloves. If it happens when you get distracted then, I could hang around to make sure you stop in time." A pause, and then the sound of your voice becomes unsure and so very small. "Maybe if we covered them with bandages...? But that could be annoying. Band aids? No, no - too unprofessional. It would ruin the whole aesthetic you're going for."

You continue to trail off, coming up with many different ideas and solutions to a problem he caused. He doesn't understand why you'd even bother in the first place. For you to reciprocate the attention he gives you, to care about him? That's the hardest pill Forget Me Not has ever swallowed - it's something he twirls around with his tongue, as if deciding whether to poison himself with bliss or spit it out and continue latching on to his doubts and insecurities.

Outside, in front of everyone at The Walden, he's the one leading the crowd and talking for hours on end, commanding their attention and manipulating the flow of every conversation.

Behind closed doors, all he does is listen to every nonsensical thought, unnecessary opinion and strange anecdote you throw at him.

"...No, that won't work either." Absentmindedly, you fix and button his sleeve back into place.

You've grown used to his silence the same way you've adapted and grown used to his flaws.

"I mean, it worked on me - getting a little slap on the wrist whenever I started biting my nails, but..." Without even thinking, you rub circles with your thumb across his knuckles.

You might as well be the stupidest angel in heaven.

"Why don't you just get a hobby? That's good enough, right? It's been so long since I've heard you play piano, the one by the stage." And just like that, you're on your feet attempting to drag him outside for a demonstration. "You could teach me! That way, we get to do something fun and I get to keep an eye on you."

Forget Me Not knows he has nothing to offer to this world, but when his saint looks at him with such hope, he cannot refuse. The path to recovery seems almost doable when you bump your shoulder into his, challenging him to play the hardest song he knows.

The stars in your eyes whenever you recognize all the songs he plays becomes intoxicating, more so than the sweet, sweet revenge he's yearned for since he spiraled into decadence.

Some days, his patrons join with their own singing or humming, and he forgets that he hates each and every one of them for as long as his fingers dance across the keys - a momentary reprieve from the constant stream of negativity. It doesn't take long for his body to remember his training and soon, he's improvising.

A melody for gloomy, rainy days. A whimsical tune here and there for celebrations.

A song for you and himself - the first one he teaches you and the only one he plays in private, when he's all alone with nothing but his thoughts. Solitude has gone from a noose wrapped around his neck to the perfect time to compose and hone this long forgotten passion. For the first time in forever, he doesn't dread the silence of an empty room, the endless wait between his shifts at The Walden - not when he can simply fill them with more and more music.

And so, Forget Me Not plays, hoping that you'll continue to cheer him on. Hoping that this tiny spark you've ignited in him can truly become his salvation.

[plutolovesyou]

i wanna show yall this rn because i'm excited about it tbh...it's gonna be cheesy and fluffy and silly. (can you tell i have way too much fun in picsart- that means i genuinely can't tell if the header thingy looks atrocious, cringe sure but legit can't decide just how bad). the imagine that inspired this.

[aq2003]

i saw a post saying boom was good bc it feels like it could be done with any doctor/companion duo and honestly that was one of the things i felt was wrong with it

[m1d-45]

new hopes

summary: shinobu and itto find you on the beach hiding from the shogunate, and decide to help

-> warnings: n/a! just general imposter sagau things

-> lowercase intended!

the night is calm.

shinobu walks along a road near the beach, taking itto from the police station again. they’re taking a detour so they can both enjoy the night, and the cool breeze is helping to soothe heated tempers. she’s less mad than normal, since this time he’s not in trouble for causing a ruckus, only for speaking up about the ‘imposter’ situation, but still. he should know better, especially when the authorities aren’t his biggest fans.

he suddenly stops, a hand tapping at her shoulder for her attention. “shinobu, look!”

she does, leaning forward to see you sitting on the beach. you don’t seem to be in the best of shape, and though outlander merchants are often left with nothing, this… feels different.

she’s not sure why, but she’s not going to get involved, that’s-

itto grabs her arm and pulls her with him as he walks over to you, and she sighs.

-not going to happen.

“hey there!”

you jump, violently, and shinobu’s eyes narrow. itto doesn’t seem to notice, continuing down the beach.

“what are you doing out here?”

you stumble to your feet, fear evident in the moonlight, and shinobu stops itto with a harsh tug.

“i- i’m not-“

“we’re not with the shogunate,” she says, putting you out of your misery, and you relax somewhat. “what are you out here for? you’ll get sick.”

“i’m… i was hiding.”

“hiding?“ ittos loud voice makes you flinch again, and he seems to notice, lowering his volume significantly. “what are you hiding for?”

shinobu rolls her eyes. it’s clear, at least to her, what happened to you, and she pulls him behind her. “don’t mind him. why is the shogunate after you?”

you stare, distrustful, and she doesn’t blame you. “i dont know. i don’t know what i did. i barely got to give my name and-“

she politely ignores the way you choke up before even finishing, looking you over. the tears on your clothes are too neat to be simple wear, but you don’t match any wanted posters she’s seen.

“you didn’t do anything?”

“n-no, i just- i barely had a chance to walk into the city before i was stopped by guards.”

itto crossed his arms with a huff. “well, that’s just wrong! at the very least they should tell you what rules you broke, and to try and arrest you so quickly? i’ve barely met you and i know you’re trustworthy!”

“boss, you shouldn’t decide things so rashly-“

“oh, don’t be silly! and even if they end up causing trouble i’m still the one and oni!“

“boss-“

“come on, you really think it’s wise to leave somebody out like this? what kind of oni would i be if i let somebody walk around in winter like that without even trying to help?”

shinobu is not sure when or why the conversation shifted to ‘let’s help you’ instead of ‘who are you’ but… itto was right. you would quickly get sick with such clothes, and the shogunate would swiftly catch you without proper shoes. considering that they didn’t even list out your charges(something she’s fairly certain is illegal, but she might have to check with heizou on that) and that she herself feels like she can trust you..

she takes off her jacket, as small as it is, and puts it over your head. though you tense, she notices that you don’t move away when she gets close. odd.

“that should help hide you from any guards. when we get to the base, i’ll get you a proper mask like mine.”

you smile.

it’s late, so most of the gang is asleep, a fact shinobu is very grateful for. considering how much itto frightened you.. she doesn’t want to subject you to the raucous chatter of the whole gang just yet.

she brings you to the bathroom, showing you which bottles are which before promising to return with clothes.

hopefully genta won’t miss a set.

when you come out, collar askew and holding the extra layers in the hat, she wants to smile and punch a shogunate official at the same time. how could you be a threat? how could they need to arrest you when you apologize as she straightens out the ribbons? how could they take such drastic action against somebody who could barely figure out inazuman clothing?

she sits you down and gives you a plate of her specialty, omurice waltz. sure, it’s late, but she doubts you’ve eaten anything of substance in a while.

the speed with which it’s gone, almost like you’re afraid she’ll rip it away before you’re done, confirms it.

she’s definitely keeping you from the shogunate. anybody with eyes could see you’re not a threat, but it appears the police force has gone blind.

you weren’t sure how your life had taken so many wild turns after another. first you were almost arrested by the tenryou commission, and then you were resting by the beach, and now…

you sat in the corner of the gang’s dining room, some bowl of meat and rice in hand. though you’d been ushered in by itto—whose booming voice made you jump so high you’re surprised you didn’t hit the ceiling—and sat swiftly, he hadn’t spoken to you since. it was shinobu that had passed you your food, and the spoon you held since your grip wasn’t strong enough for chopsticks. she was not, however, the one to defend you when the gang started asking questions.

somebody sitting close to your corner turns, throwing an arm over his chair to point at you. “who is that by the way, boss?”

shinobu’s mouth opens, some diplomatic remark already on the tip of her tongue, most likely, but itto beats her to it.

“thats a refugee we found on the beach!” you’re a what-? “they were gonna get sick with the weather, and were hiding from the shogunate, so we took them in. shinobu told me that even her doushin friend didn’t know why they were being arrested, and he even helped divert the police!”

‘doushin friend’?

wait.

besides him, shinobu nods. “the most we could gather is that they were charged on no evidence, which is against the law. detective shikanoin is certain that they haven’t committed any crimes, and so they will be staying with us until it gets settled.”

‘detective shikanoin’…?

did shinobu know heizou?

you could feel your chances of survival rise with every second that went by.

“oh, alright then. what’s their name?”

“well you see, we kinda didn’t really have time for introductions since we were worried about the shogunate more than anything, so-“

shinobu sighs, and you’re suddenly frozen by her eyes on yours. “what’s your name?”

you remember your run-in with the guards, about how you barely got your first name out before they drew their spears-

you lie, give a fake name, and shinobu nods.

“hm… you mentioned them getting aggressive immediately after you introduced yourself, right?”

did you? you don’t really remember.

you nod anyway.

“i don’t remember seeing any cases with that name recently, but i’ll pass it on to detective shikanoin anyway. we’ll see what we can find.

a downside to having such a brilliant detective on your case was that he could expose you to everybody within an instant, and could probably predict your next move with pinpoint accuracy… but the possibility wasn’t as awful as having the shogunate itself after you. even if he ended up finding whatever file the tenryou commission had on you, being arrested at the hands of somebody you knew was a much better fate, in your opinion.

hed be a fatal enemy, for certain, but a perfect ally all the same.

the conversation had turned away from you, redirecting to some other crime the gang had accidentally committed. itto was waving around a half-empty glass, shinobu watching with amused eyes despite the harsh words coming from her mouth.

“you shouldn’t speak of the shogun that way.”

“why not? if she really had a problem with it, she’d strike me down with her lightning!”

“boss…”

the gang was loud, shouting across the table at each other and shoving those at their side in jest. the room was filled with the scent of spices and the sound of laughter, a sense of camaraderie and friendship settling in that you haven’t felt in a while.

perhaps…

perhaps you’d be alright.

[blooming-cecilia]

sweetest dreams | venti x reader

venti wakes up in the middle of the night. he's still half awake, very much sleepy, and he doesn't know what woke him up. but as always, the first thing he does when he opens his eyes is to look at his windblume—only to find them already looking at him.

"huh...? windblume...? it's still dark out, why are you awake?"

they don't respond. in fact, it doesn't seem like they've heard him at all. they look dazed, in a trance, just looking at him. it's kind of creepy actually...but i'm not one to talk when i like to watch them sleep.

worried, venti lifts his upper body up to get a better look at them, squinting in the dark and gently placing a hand on their arm.

"my love? what's wrong, you okay...?nightmare...?"

they still don't use their words, but they do shake their head and scoot closer to him for a cuddle. his body moves to hold them close. their head on his chest, arms wrapping around them, his hands gently caressing their hair then leaning down for a kiss on the forehead as he always does.

he's still confused on what's gotten into his beloved at this hour, but it's nothing unusual. they're not a very talkative person, especially when they're all curled up in bed, so he does not push, and instead just lets himself relax at the warmth from their hug and their soft gentle breathing.

he's close to falling back to sleep when he feels them shift to look up at him again. curious, he looks back down and almost coos at the sight: his windblume is sleepy—droopy eyes peering up at him, the same fond look in their eyes that makes his heart flutter and their hand holding him by his waist, gently pulling him even closer to them.

"'love you..."

barely a whisper, but he hears it loud and clear. he hopes you too, hear his heart start to race as your words sink into him, his own fond look appearing on his face, and he quietly giggles, pulling you close and kissing your forehead again.

"oh windblume... is that it? is that what kept you awake? heh, so silly...but i love you too."

his hands go back to carding your hair, and you shift again to get comfy—finally resting now that your little mission is complete.

"go to sleep now, dearest. i'll make you breakfast when the sun rises in the morning. sweet dreams."

[artemisiatridentata]

I just finished reading Fourth Wing after picking it up because of all the hype, and because I love dragons, and... I have to say it's the worst book I've read in quite a while lmao. the dragons were its only redeeming quality

[falldogbombsthemoon]

How can one stare at themselves in the mirror for hours and feel like they are the hottest mf on earth but as soon as a stranger looks at them, they feel like a shrinkled up pickle. Like God please.

[p4nishers]

can we actually take a moment and remember swan upon leda? can we actually shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down and think about our lord and savior swan upon leda because i'm tired of doing it alone every single day guys

[theflyingfeeling]

okay I'm not expecting anyone to care all that much, but I was looking at the prompts for the 18th Day of Gift-Giving for my Olli/Allu fic advent calendar and I'm between two options on what to do with them, so if anyone out there wants to put in their two cents...

(see the pros and cons in the tags of the original post)

[letteredlettered]

Draco was wiping the counter when Harry Potter came into the shop3

(I love how long this title is)

Two people already asked; I guess because you can tell it's H/D. The document title is named that because that was the first line of the fic and I couldn't be bothered to come up with how to save it.

Anyway, this is a coffee shop AU, except not really an AU because it's EWE and otherwise canon. The premise was that Draco works in a Muggle coffee shop. It's not that far from the Ministry of Magic and Aurors start getting coffee there. Eventually Harry comes to check it out because he hears Draco works there; although there was an alternate version where Harry first discovers Draco there because a suspect was spotted at the shop or something similar and Harry comes to investigate.

The fic was really supposed to be about Harry's sexuality; he's struggling with Ginny and they break up, and then for a while he's very confused because he thinks he's supposed to be dating but isn't really feeling it. Then he starts thinking he might be gay but really feels like he has no idea how to tell.

Draco meanwhile has been in lust with Harry since like first year and has tried to do some very healthy things to get over it, such as throw away a very vast, heavily labeled collection of memories he puts into his Penseive to get off on, and become so proficient and Occlusion that he doesn't even know when he's Occluding most of the time. So when he hears Harry is struggling with his sexuality he VERY CASUALLY (as is Draco's wont, because of the Occlusion) offers to show Harry the ropes, as it were.

Harry has been coming to the coffee shop a while now and almost thinks of Draco as a friend; Draco has this bartender role a bit where Harry will talk about cases and then later personal issues and Draco nods and listens and offers encouragement. So when Draco offers VERY CASUALLY to sleep with him Harry is like well why the hell not.

So they kiss and maybe touch a little and Harry pretty much instantly knows HOLY SHIT I'M SO GAY and also we the reader know but Draco remains oblivious and Occludes so hard that he actually manages to succeed in acting like it means nothing to him. And then Harry wants to do more and so of course Draco says yes and Harry is right off the bat extremely intense and passionate and into it and it's obvious to the reader that he's pretty much fallen head over heels now that he understands more about his sexuality, and Draco acts like it's nothing.

And this goes on for a while and eventually Harry is like look, I care about you, and Draco acts like it's nothing. He kind of assumes it's a phase and Harry will get over it, best to protect himself.

And they continue to sleep together for a while and at last Harry can't stand it and is like, I'm not sure I can really do this anymore because I'm so in love with you and I know you don't care about me, and it's killing me. And Draco opens his mouth to say he does care--but can't.

Like he literally can't; he's Occluded so much that he's actually magically fucked up his ability to share his emotions even verbally; and Harry is like "say something" and Draco is like "I can't," and Harry is like "ok but why can't you" and Draco can't explain that either; the Occlumency has fucked him up so much that he actually can't stop Occluding against even explaining the situation.

So Harry eventually leaves and we are very sad and Draco gets therapy and Harry eventually starts dating Michael Corner or somebody and maybe they're even going to get married or something and Draco finally unfucks himself up enough to be able to tell Harry what was happening like two years ago and Draco knows it's too late but he's loved Harry all along and happy ending.