#If we had a fandom I would be so much less embarrassed but it crosses my mind that you could look up the game and see my shit like nooooo

[gudvina]

Hayffie prompt - married in secret during the whole hunger games trilogy

The things I do to keep you near.

Ship: Effie Trinket/Haymitch Abernathy

Fandom: Hunger Games

Chapter 1: Wedding Bells.

Picks up after Sour Comments but both can be read as standalones!

can be read on AO3! <3

71st Hunger Games, reaping season.

District Twelve’s sweltering heat was heavy on Effie Trinket’s skin as she made her way to the Victors’ Village, taking in the blooming fields around it. Despite the heavy coat of ashes by the city the earth there seemed cleaner, with wildflowers and ivies taking over the village’s walls, making it look almost picturesque. It didn’t resemble any of the gardens she’d seen in the Capitol, even the ones meant to replicate perfect wilderness couldn’t quite catch the restlessness of that land.

She crossed the iron gates, trying to ignore the weight she felt in her chest. Another reaping. Another set of children sent to be slaughtered. Every year it was harder and harder to stomach, and the option of leaving it all behind her was always itching in the back of her mind. But she couldn’t.

And not only because of the usual mantra “once in the Games, always in the Games”. When she arrived at the door that seemed to await her every year she took a moment to sport her brightest smile, in case anyone was watching, and knocked. Chin up!

She heard a thud and a bit of rustling behind the door, which soon opened to reveal the one reason she couldn’t leave.

“Didn’t hear the hovercraft” he said, barely awake. His hair was dishevelled, there was a huge stain on his shirt that she suspected- and smelled- to be vomit, and the hand that leaned on the door frame held a bottle of some sort of spirit. A rush of tenderness swept through her and her smile sweetened. She was ridiculous, she knew, but she couldn’t help feeling oh, so happy just at the sight of him.

“Well, that’s not the polite way to greet guests, Haymitch! Come on, let’s get you ready, we have a big, big day ahead of us” she quipped, making her way in, successfully ignoring the unpleasant smell of the house.

She set down her bags on the floor, not trusting the sofa, and turned to him with a wrinkle of her nose. “Now, how about you freshen up? We don’t have the whole day, according to my schedule in four hours the stage will be ready!”

Haymitch was visibly embarrassed by the state of the house, or maybe his state, but he just grumbled something under his breath and went upstairs. He was aware that Effie would attempt to clean around, just like she had done all those years before, but it didn’t make it easier. At best, he used to be irritated by her misplacing his things, at worst, he used to hate that a Capitol would get to see his worst.

But there was never pity in her eyes, and slowly they’d learned to work around each other.

When he was finally presentable he went back downstairs, finding his house looking a lot less like a dumpster and a lot more like a house. He found a shapely shimmery piece of fabric on his armchair and followed the smell of coffee that led him to the kitchen.

She was leaning on the counter, her eyes on the brewer. “So, sweetheart, you found us someone other than Chip and Chop?”

“Name-calling is incredibly rude, Haymitch! And no, for your information Tulsia and Tallia are still our stylists. Seneca was not willing to drop them” she answered, trying to sound unaffected by the facts. She didn’t like their stylists any more than he did, but it would not do to dwell too much on it, especially since they were much better than the ones before. She had raged after the stunt of putting naked children on blast, no matter how hiding coal could be.

“Uh, what is it, boyfriend ain’t budging?” he sneered, knowing she didn’t like to be pressed about her relationship with the young Game Maker. They’d had a relationship in the early years of her escorting career, the power couple for every little Capitol girl who dreamed of marrying a man whose destiny was killing children for fun. Pictures of them in high school were flying around, and constant rumours of an upcoming marriage made waves through Panem’s scene.

All of that stopped when they broke it off, announcing to the press that they were still friends, but their lives were taking different directions and they still supported one another. If he hadn’t fucked her throughout the entire relationship, maybe Haymitch would have been shocked by the news as well.

She’d never told him what truly happened between them, though. Not even a hint. Crane still made her puppy eyes from across the room, that was enough to know that the split wasn’t mutual, but otherwise, he had no idea of what happened, nor did she offer any explanation. And he didn’t know if he wanted her to.

“He said he couldn’t find any interesting stylist this year, but he’ll press for the next”. She sighed, ignoring him to pour two cups of their coffee.

“Uhm, maybe you’re still salty he didn’t sail the wedding boat with you”.

“Why, Haymitch, it appears you know about me more than I do! Pray, any other insight?”

“Well, if you insist, princess, I happen to know exactly what might cheer you up” he smirked, letting his hand grab the soft flesh of her ass, pressing her against the counter. The soft moan she let out should have been illegal.

“Haymitch, behave, please” she whispered, but her voice was not convinced, and she suspected he could tell as well.

“Think you like it when I misbehave, sweetheart” he whispered, letting his hands wander over her body, relishing in the fact that she was wearing a dress that was airy enough to let him touch her bare skin under it. Her moans and the way she gripped the counter spurred him on, and he soon had his hands in between her legs, pressing soft circles in the sensitive flesh of her core.

She let out a soft ‘oof’ sound when he stopped his ministration, backing away a little to unbuckle his belt and free his shaft. Effie turned towards him, coffee forgotten, and got down on her knees, making quick work of taking him in her mouth, sucking him just the way he liked it.

He usually didn’t fuck her so early into the Game, but the previous year she had disappeared for half of the edition, and he truly wanted, no, needed to feel her around him.

Before he could lose it he gripped her jaw and pulled out, bringing her to her feet again. He kissed her hard, an angry battle of tongues and teeth, before pulling her legs up around his waist and pressing her onto the kitchen, sheathing himself inside her. She moaned greedily and held him tight, kissing the crook of his neck as his thrust picked up speed. She delighted in their reunion.

He couldn’t think of anything else but the softness of her against his hardness, and when her walls tightened he rode her orgasm, chasing his own. It didn’t take long. Her whimpers drove him wild and soon he was spilling inside her. He left soft kisses on the flushed skin of her collarbone, trying very hard to avoid leaving marks on her skin.

“And now you have to take another shower, I don’t know why I bother!” she started with her little sing-song tone, and he smirked, detecting the strain in her voice. Effie looked at him, his air was all over the place again. She didn’t dare move too much or touch him too softly, especially now that he’d already found his release.

After last year’s mishap, his behaviour had changed slightly. For years they’d shared mad, violent nights, taking each other any time they needed some solace from their realities, but gradually the violence had waned down a little to leave place for a connection she couldn’t quite name. She didn’t even dare admit it to herself, what he was for her. What she felt for him.

Haymitch didn’t move, deciding to keep playing with the soft skin of her chest, his stubble tickling her a little as she relaxed against him. Her eyes took in the kitchen, the golden summer light seeping through the window exposing the freckles of dust in the air. Time seemed to have stopped and she relished in that stillness.

Suddenly she felt him start to grab again at her skin, and despite his purpose in doing so all that did was bring her back to reality. “Haymitch, we need to leave in a few hours and, tell you that, I don’t want to be late”.

“When do you ever?” he groaned, pulling out of her as she took a handkerchief from the counter to clean herself up.

“Never, we need to decide what you’ll wear for today and make sure everything is ready before the Peacekeepers come to get us,” she said, and then continued for another while as she fretted about what to do and about what was the state of the clothes she’d bought him the previous year.

It was interesting to see her transform from Effie, the girl who’d just blessed his kitchen and ears with sounds that would be shameful even in a brothel, into Effie Trinket, the escort who needed to be on top of everything. He felt a lot for Effie. He didn’t get to see her much in the light of day, and missed her until her return, when the night brought down her wigs and masks.

In that moment Effie Trinket had taken over, and there was nothing he could do but get himself a drink and follow her lead.

***

Haymitch wasn’t drunk enough to deal with Tulsia and Tallia’s mindless chatter, so he got up and took a flask of alcohol with him. The two did nothing but talk about the same three subjects in rotation, their voices overlapping because supposedly “twins have a special connection” and fuss over what might happen at whatever event. The children had retired for the night, a boy and a girl of twelve. This year, much more than the year before, it was hopeless. At the very least the girl was cute enough that some sponsors might just take pity on her, but he wasn’t even sure they’d survive the bloodbath.

He moved through the train’s carts, before finally coming to the one he was directed to. He entered and knocked on the door of the compartment he knew she was in, waiting for her to open. The soft padding of bare feet against the carpet could be heard behind the wood panel and then she appeared before him; no wigs, no makeup, just her in a nightgown.

“Haymitch, it’s incredibly late and I’m about to settle for bed. What is it?” she whispered, looking behind him in case there were waiters around. But the train had stopped for maintenance in District 7, and they were all slaving after the twins’ whims.

It took a while for him to answer, transfixed by the golden tresses crowning her visage. He knew he was about to do something stupid, but when she looked like herself being stupid didn’t sound so bad.

“I want to take a walk, come with me and bring matches” he whispered, before disappearing into another compartment where he stole a loaf of bread. Maybe last year’s absence had gotten under his skin more than he cared to let on. A part of him was screaming that it didn’t matter, that she was free to do what she wanted, and this wouldn’t change anything. But his madness for her won over any common sense.

Maybe twelve’s traditions had some meaning. Maybe it would influence something. He was mad. And drunk.

He stepped outside the train, putting on his best show by slurring to Peacekeepers that he wanted to take a walk, disappearing right outside the stations where an expanse of wood met his tired eyes. Good.

He didn’t dare step too far, just enough to be hidden by the guards, and sat down on the ground.

A bat of an eyelash and a worried mention of appearances was enough for Effie to convince the guards to let her search for him on her own. What was wrong with her, she wondered. Why did she always follow him around? But she couldn’t help it, she was curious and even though the humidity made her gown cling to her skin she stepped outside, searching for him.

Her eyes surprisingly adapted to the darkness, and soon she found him sitting on the ground, holding something between his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Give me the matches”

Effie hesitated, but she couldn’t detect his expression, so she gave him the matches. A few minutes later he’d lit up a small fire, and her eyes took a minute to adjust to the light. When she took a better look at him his expression was unreadable, but his eyes were set on something, and now she saw that what he was holding was a small loaf of bread that he was trying to toast on the fire without burning himself.

She was stunned into silence, looking as he turned it around.

Then he held it to her.

“Can you toast it a little better for me?” he asked, slightly amused by the confusion on her face.

Her brow furrowed, but she took it and did as he asked, turning the loaf to make sure it wouldn’t toast too much. She didn’t understand, the train had a toaster that got the job done quite well; there was no need to scamper about in the cold of the night. And yet she couldn’t stop herself, concentrating her energies on the task at hand. Of his drunken acts up, this was by far the least harmless. After all, he’d been almost polite.

When she was satisfied with the golden crust she returned him the bread, enjoying the warmth of the fire, when he surprised her once more. He took the loaf and broke it into two pieces, setting his half on his lap before placing the other half in her hands with uncharacteristic gentleness.

“Cheers!” he smirked and took a bite, his eyes fixed on her.

“I’m sorry?”.

“Eat the bread and shut up, Princess”.

“But… did you put something in the bread?”

“What, you wanted butter?”

“I- no, I… is this a joke?”

“What?” he asked, worry creeping on him. Did she know? He didn’t think Escorts required knowledge of the districts they’d take on, but still, if she knew…

“You force me, a lady, outside in the middle of the night to toast some bread when there are perfectly good toasters inside the train. It sounds like a joke, doesn’t it?”

Relief. She didn’t know.

“It tastes better like this, this is why I left you the other half, to be proven right. Now eat the damn thing and shut up” he shrugged and took another bite of the delicious bread. Avoiding danger had never felt so rewarding.

She looked at him, confusion still taking over her features, but did as he asked. They both ate in silence, listening to the sounds of the night, the cackling of the fire, and the station workers doing their job.

When they were done Haymitch got up, moved closer to her, still sitting on the ground, and grabbed her waist as he let their lips meet in a chaste kiss, where he could still taste the bread. He interrupted it before any of them could turn it into something more.

“Let me put out the fire and we’ll be out of here”.

It wasn’t a fancy thing, and she didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he hoped it would do the trick. Good luck on leaving him, now that she was his wife.

They returned to the train station with much fanfare from her and incoherent slurring from him, the usual show. When inside, he waited a few minutes to join her in her compartment, curling around her small frame and holding her close. If he was lucky he might be rewarded for his troubles in the morning, but for the night he was content with just holding her, lulled to sleep by her soft breath and the faint smell of peaches on her skin.

[apocalypticavolition]

10 Characters 10 Fandoms 10 5 Tags

Tagged by @iliiuan

Rules: choose 10 favorite characters from 10 different fandoms -- no double dipping! Then tag friends or mutuals to complete the game as well.

(Oh god oh god picking favorites what did I do to deserve this???)

Top 10

Rand al'Thor of Wheel of Time - I know that like, virtually every major character in the series has a bigger following than this boy, but dammit people he's just a regular dude on an epic quest that takes and takes and takes until there's nothing left but it's not done taking yet. I love every POV section he gets and every bit of suffering he has to go through.

Uncle Iroh of Avatar: The Last Airbender - Normally it's your Sokkas or your Zukos or your Tophs who would grab me but in a cast of shining stars Uncle Iroh is a particularly radiant entry. I would die for this man. He makes me feel I'm not drinking enough tea.

Koshirou "Izzy" Izumi of Digimon Adventure - I think part of the reason Digimon stuck with me all this time is the belief the first series had (and really the shows as a whole, but especially the first one) that none of the kids were bad or flawed for being who they were, only for how they might be hurting the others. Izzy was more comfortable with computers than people but his skill set kept the kids alive on plenty of occasions and he was never any less part of the gang for being a nerd except the times he hyperfixated while the others were in need.

Karkat Vantas of Homestuck - Homestuck was... Yeah. That sure was a thing, huh? But Karkat's constant shouting and cross-temporal feud with his past and future selves was endearing, as was his obvious hate-crush on the protagonist that was resolved in the most embarrassing way possible. And frankly, his continued disbelief at the late-comic antics more than made up for how shitty the late parts of the comic were.

Mercymorn of The Locked Tomb - Virtually every character in these books is iconic, but Mercymorn, the Saint of Joy is the sort of character who would have hundreds of gif sets of her if only she existed in a visual medium. Immortality and waging an impossible war give her nothing but contempt for our heroes, our villains, and frankly anyone else she's in the room with.

Jak of Jak & Daxter - I think I just have a thing for dudes who get tortured beyond all reason and struggle between their innate heroism and the corruption that's been burned into them by outside forces. Also he gets some cool guns, you know? Can't argue with cool guns.

Garak of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine - An exiled spy doomed to spend his days in a port/fortress owned by one set of enemies and administrated by another? A wide array of possible backstories, each one equally plausible except for how they all contradict each other? A slow onset of madness from the grief and isolation kept at bay only through chemical abuse and a homoerotic relationship with the galaxy's smartest idiot? And he's not even a main character!

Sheila "Dr. Girlfriend" / "Mrs. the Monarch" Fitzcarraldo of The Venture Brothers - Sheila starts out a complete joke (but then, who isn't a complete joke in her series) but grows into one of the most competent and compelling members of the cast. I'm still not quite sure what she sees in the Monarch but I enjoy how she's both fully supportive of his goals while still set very much on her own thing with the Guild of Calamitous Intent as well. I hope the show comes back so we can see what she gets up to next, or at least see her in that pillbox hat one more time.

Max of Sam & Max - Hyperkinetic lagomorphs are always a plus, and I enjoy the way he's pure id in a franchise where superegos are already in short supply. I'm gonna hafta replay the games one of these days.

Susan Ivanova of Babylon 5 - Learn the Babylon 5 mantra: Ivanova is always right. I will listen to Ivanova. I will not ignore Ivanova's recommendations. Ivanova is God. I have nothing else to say on this particular front.

@checkoutmybookshelf

@notmuchtoconceal

@butterflydm

@mashithamel

@bashircore

[saywhatjessie]

Sleigh Bells Ring

Day 24 of the Advent calendar! Using this list. Day 24: Gift Giving Fandom: Ted Lasso - Pairing: TedTrent 1.1k[Ao3]

The Diamond Dogs decided to do their own gift exchange outside of the staff secret santa so that Trent could be included, even though he no longer worked at Nelson Road. This was completely unnecessary and made Trent well up with grateful tears when Beard told him about it.

The team and staff were doing their exchange during the half day of training on actual Christmas so Trent stopped by on Christmas Eve, coming into the coach’s office while the lads were training in the weight room, a small collection of gifts under his arm.

There were so few Diamond Dogs, they didn’t bother with the secret santa, just picking a budget and deciding to get something for everyone. It was a little more work but Trent felt like he knew the Diamond Dogs pretty well at this point. Knew what they liked. So buying for them wasn’t much trouble at all. And it was nice to be able to show his appreciation for this little community he’d been included in.

The pleased greeting that met him when he entered the office really did make him feel fuzzy inside. What had Ted done to him?

“Glad you’re here, buddy!” Beard told him. “Because we need to give you your gift before Ted logs onto Facetime.”

Trent paused, freezing in his act of arranging the gifts he’d brought on Beard’s desk. “That’s fairly ominous.”

“Yup!” Beard answered, brightly. “Roy?”

Trent did not like the look of Roy’s smile as he pulled out a very tall, very threatening looking present.

Trent looked at it, mistrustfully. It’s not that he didn’t trust his fellow Diamond Dogs, it’s just that he was pretty sure that they’d all at some point picked up on his crush(-ingly in love) feelings about the former gaffer and the fact that they were doing this without him meant there was probably about to be some teasing at the very least.

Trent sighed, stepping forward to accept the package. He could take some teasing. He knew they were not about to be mean but he also knew he was probably about to be embarrassed.

Trent glanced into the weight room to see if any of the team were paying attention. Colin was, of course, because he was Trent’s friend and also had some kind of supernatural ability to sense when teasing material was being presented to him. Jamie was also looking but he looked like he was trying to be subtle about it. Roy probably told him what was going on. Trent sighed again.

He ripped the paper off the box, having to lean it up against a desk to yank the flaps of the box open and inside was Ted Lasso.

Well, it was an illustration of Ted Lasso. Looking soft and rumbled and printed on a body pillow.

Trent dropped his head and everyone else clapped.

“Why would you do this to me?” He asked his shoes.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” Roy said, crossing his arms and looking smug. “We all miss Ted.”

“I have one, too,” Beard told him, holding up his phone to show Trent a picture of, yes, that’s Beard proudly holding up his own dakimakura of his best friend like an American holding a fish.

Trent hummed. If Beard had one too, it couldn’t be that weird (he thought, lying to himself. As if Beard taking part in something would ever make it less weird.)

“We all got you other things too, to open in front of Ted,” Nate contributed. “But we all chipped in on this as well. Because it was funny.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Higgins contributed with his dadly smile. “Who wouldn’t want to have a snuggle with the old gaffer?”

“So have you all got one, too?” Trent asked, hopefully.

Roy snorted. “Fuck no. I have an actual boyfriend to cuddle with.”

Everyone looked over at Jamie who was being less subtle about watching now and waved at everyone, smiling cheerily.

“He’s an idiot,” Roy allowed. “But at least he’s not a pillow.”

“Roy, be nice,” Beard said.

“I am being nice! I got him a pillow! I had to commission that drawing, you know, do you know how embarrassing that was?”

Trent couldn’t help but smile at that. “Thank you, Roy. And thank you to the rest of you as well.”

They all started howling in acknowledgement, Trent woof-ing right along with them.

Beard clapped his hands together. “Okay! Let’s get pillow Ted put away and pull real Ted up on Facetime so we can get this DIamond Dogs gift exchange underway.”

Trent smiled around at the assembled men in the room. His friends. It was nice having a group of people who could rib him for a crush but he knew didn’t really judge him. Who supported him.

And, really, he could feel his own face and the stupid thing it was doing when Ted came up on screen. If they had to deal with him being that embarrassing, they were entitled to some ribbing.

He accepted presents last and everyone else took their gifts from him well, making him feel pleased and accomplished. The other presents Trent received from the Diamond Dogs were a thoughtful assembly of writing tools, vintage band t-shirts, and hair accessories.

Ted himself got Trent a new blazer, corduroy in a deep but vibrant plum color. Casual enough for every day but also very much a statement jacket.

“You deserve to stand out a little,” Ted smiled at him. “People should look at you.”

Trent’s neck felt very hot and he was very grateful they disconnected from the call with Ted not long after.

He wasted no time in dropping his head against the wall and groaning.

Beard silently pulled the Ted pillow from the box and held it out to him. Trent took it, burying nis face in Pillow Ted’s chest and saying no more.

Years later, when the state of education in America took a true nosedive and Henry decided to try his luck at secondary school in London, Ted was back! Coaching the women’s Richmond team and learning how to live for himself again now that is son was almost grown.

What this meant was that the Diamond Dogs received a picture to the group chat about a week into Ted being back taken from Trent’s bed. It was a selfie Trent with Ted asleep in the background, clutching fast to the Ted Lasso body pillow Trent had kept for those years.

The teasing that came down on him for the picture was worth it. At least now he had his own boyfriend to cuddle as well.

[z-h-i-e]

New Year's Fanfic Asks - 4&5/5

The final installment for my good friend Anonymous...

16. Do you have that one fanfic that you wrote a ton for, ages ago, but never posted? Will this be the year, come hell or high water, that it WILL get finished and posted?

Oh, Unforgettable. You are basically done.  Someone just has to get my ass in gear and get it all put together and posted.  Probably me. But peer pressure helps, too.

17. Do you typically answer all comments/reviews individually? Do you plan to change the way you interact with your readers this year?

>.> This is something I am terrible at on AO3, but great at in emails and on Discord.  If you connect with me on Discord and show an interest in wanting to discuss what I’ve written, chances are we will end up in a voice chat where I will tell you stories that may never get written down and will wish you sweet elfy dreams when we part. Emails, there’s a good chance I’ll answer back and we’ll become email penpals and start writing fic together.  On Tumblr, I am likely to answer back.  On AO3, I have an embarrassing amount of unanswered comments (maybe someday we’ll play guess a number); I used to take one Friday a month, take myself to lunch at Panera, specifically one that I used as the basis for Salgant’s home, and answer AO3 comments. Then pandemic. So I need to get a routine going again.  But until then – I’m .zhie. on Discord, and I can be poked there. Or here. Here is good, too.

18. Do you typically post multi-chapters as you write, or finish it all and then start posting? Would you like to change your posting method? 

I am chaos. Both. Either. And I’ve even written and posted chapters out of order. I’ve posted them so out of order I’ve posted endings before the middle has been figured out. 

19. Would you consider non-fandom writing events, like NaNoWriMo or writing contests? 

Oh.  Oh, you have no idea.  I spent about 12 years as a NaNoWriMo ML, I run a state-wide writing Discord for the state I’m in, and I do in fact enter writing contests.  I was published as a poet when I was in high school, placed in a playwriting contest as well, had three different plays I wrote produced in a community theater type setting (I got to direct two of the three – two were comedies [those I directed] and one was a drama), and three times in five years been chosen for a local short works contest to be in their chosen ten for writing, and one of the years was a chosen photographer for the same contest (ten or less photos are chosen, and ten or less written works, and then they are read in public at an event night), and I perform at open mics on the regular, so locally, in person, not just online, a fair number of people know me as Zhie as well. (And at some of the public open mics, I do sometimes read fanfiction. The first one I read was back in 2005 or 2006, and it was a story about Celegorm, and then there’s been various stories since then, the latest one I recall was about Celebrimbor and Feanor reuniting in Valinor.  I read these while on a stage or in the middle of a room filled with people drinking fancy coffee drinks and eating pastries and there’s a couple of IRL fans who have recorded some of the readings, so they’re probably out there somewhere.) And I do all of those how to write sessions and events – at one of the writing groups I regularly attend (I’m a regular member of two in-person writing groups at local libraries) a member gave me the title ‘The Book Doctor’ and I kind of like it. 

20. Any plans to work on original fiction this year?

Yes. Fingers crossed. I need this fantasy horror story out of my head and on paper. 

21. Will you try writing software, like Scrivener or those programs that won’t let you stop writing?

I have used some of those in the past, but I don’t really have much of a need for them anymore.  I do still enjoy a good session of written? kitten! from time to time, and I’ll use Fighter’s Block during nano or any time I need to write much faster. (It’s the only reason I managed to write 50K words in 10 days during NaNo a few years ago.) 

22. Do you plan to take writing classes this year?

I’m kind of at the point where I give writing classes. I enjoy going to the two in-person writing groups because I think it’s important to interact with other writers outside of one’s normal genre, and I have a lot of different people I interact with.  One of the groups leans more nonfiction, and the other is more fiction.  So there’s a guy who writes these nonfiction essays about dead people (basically, famous people, but they have to be dead, I think so that he can have a definitive end, but he’s recently started writing a book about banned books), a WWII vet who writes poetry about the war, someone who professionally is a blogger, someone who writes social psychology pieces, someone who writes these one-page anecdotes that relate back to a Bible passage, someone who writes anecdotes about Jewish life in the 1960s/70s, someone who writes blogs about libraries and books, someone who writes about economics. Then there’s someone who is a children’s author (3 books published), someone who writes YA fiction, someone who is an illustrator, another who is writing a theatrical play for a specific band’s music, someone who writes those nostalgic books full of postcards, someone who is writing her family stories down for her grandchildren to read later when they’re grown up in case she’s not around when they start asking about family history, a scifi writer, a romance writer, a fantasy writer, a songwriter. And me. Those live writing groups are better than any writing class. I get exposed to so many ideas and levels of writing and things I would never write but analyzing them gets me thinking about other things, and all in all, makes me a better writer. 

23. Would you like to go on a writing retreat?

I would like to host one.  I’ve done college-level coursework in convention and meeting planning, and I’ve done a lot of convention and event planning.  However, at this point, one of the above mentioned people in one of the groups does run a writing retreat, and she has two of the events of that retreat open to the public, so I went to one of the events this past November, and I enjoyed it.  So maybe I’d consider going to her retreat, especially since I wouldn’t have to majorly travel to get there. 

24. By the end of this year, you want your fandom to think of you as “that author who _______.”

I don’t need to wait until the end of the year.  In the back of a dresser somewhere there’s a shirt that has a big purple rabbit on the front and on the back, it says something to the effect of “I’m the author that brought your fandom cheesecake and flamingos and purple bunnies”, and that’s pretty much what I do and what I’ve been doing.  I brought a little chaos, as a treat, and people seemed to like it, so I just keep doing weird shit, like licking virtual couches in Yahoo!Groups or running an event called Screw Yule just because I could. I bounce around, from the fanfic and fanart groups, into the crafting groups, over to the gaming groups, around to the bookclub groups, sliding into the scholarly groups, and I’m always just a little quirky and a little unexpected and very authentically me–I’m just tiggering my way around, and like tiggers, the wonderful thing about zhies is that I’m the only one. 

25. If you answered questions from this list last year, find your answers and compare your goals to your results. How’d you do?

I did not answer these last year, but now that I have a full slate, perhaps I’ll have to revisit next year.

[weishenmaa]

Ummmm I want to post ship art… should I(?) Yes or no

[crellanstein]

Prodigious

I find it odd how the fandom focuses so much on Aang’s childhood being ruined when he learned he was the Avatar at 12, but there’s very little talk about how discovering she was the Avatar as a toddler affected Korra’s life and how she was raised.

But we’ll circle back to that...

Because this is a good starting point to talk about one of the most prevalent themes in the story, which the mainstream discussion of tends to only focus on a few characters -- That is the Child Prodigy. 

We’ll start with the two most obvious. The ones we always talk about.

Azula.

The clearest example of your typical child prodigy (if there is anything typical about a prodigy). Azula showed early mastery of very advanced Fire-Bending techniques, and is the only Fire-Bender to use blue flames, which was intended to make her stand out amongst the other villains but is also indicative that her Fire-Bending is more pure and powerful (blue flame is produced when burning pure O2 or fuel without contaminant at a very high temperature). 

All this lead to her being praised and favored by Ozai as a child, but as double-edged swords go, this also meant she had a lot of pressure on her shoulders to never fail, and she rarely did. Her ego matched her talent, and let’s be honest she was the baddest bitch the show had ever seen. Conquering Ba Sing Se, defeating the Avatar in combat, and dropping some of the most devastating lines of dialogue in villain history; she was a force nobody wanted to reckon with. 

And that become a problem for one asshole in particular...

Being jealous of his own child is just one item on a laundry list of reasons why this guy is the worst father in the history of fathers. Azula had begun to outshine him with her victories, and Ozai’s maniacal ego couldn’t handle that, so he left her behind to babysit the Fire Nation while he went out to burn/conquer the world, which also was her idea.

And while this wasn’t the only thing that aided in her demise, it certainly was the final straw which sent her spiraling down into this...

In the end Azula is a sad example of how certain unfair expectations are placed upon talented children, and the more they succeed, the more these expectations grow and weigh on the them until they either disappoint those looking down on them or surpass and embarrass their elders.

It is a lose-lose situation which inevitably destroys them.

There is a similar example of the child prodigy, but his story goes a little different.

Aang.

Even as a twelve/thirteen year-old boy Aang by far has the most impressive stats among any character in the Avatar universe.

Basically mastering 3 of the 4 Elements in less than a year, after mastering Air by the time he is twelve (not to mention inventing his own Air-bending move, the Air scooter). 

Aang is an example of a child prodigy who had too much thrust onto him at too young an age because of the talent he showed; because of this he panicked and ran away, and the world was worse off for it. 

Aang/Sokka/Katara’s story is all about how in times of War, responsibilities normally handled by adults are pushed onto kids who then have to grow up very fast in order to deal with it all.

The message is clear. War robs the young of their childhoods. 

Now, let’s talk about a different kind of child prodigy.

The Unacknowledged. 

Yes, of course I’m talking about Toph, the greatest Earth-Bender to ever live.

Because of her blindness, Toph’s family tried to keep her sheltered and safe by hiding her from the world. Refusing to believe she could ever be more than helpless. Anyone who has seen the show knows that is far from the truth.

But because her potential went unseen, there were some negative effects to her personality. Initially, she resented her parents, and rebelled; which established a certain level of independence, a bad attitude, and a hot-headed streak. Over time spent with the Gaang these behaviors subsided because she finally had friends and they accepted her for who she was. By the end of the series she was fully willing to accept aid from them when she needed it, like holding on to Sokka’s arm in environment where her bending couldn’t help her “see”. 

Toph’s story is a foil to Azula’s, both showed immense talent and badassery, but while recognition of Azula lead to ever-mounting pressure for her to succeed; the lack of recognition for Toph created a need for her to be acknowledged and set an undercurrent of frustration which leads to her acting out in the ways she does.

The lesson to take from Toph’s story is not to shelter your kid from the world out of fear for their safety, and to be open to recognizing their talents, not shun them.

Next are two more Unacknowledged.

Katara and Sokka.       

Their story, and the reason behind their circumstances, is one of the more complicated and nuanced ones in the series, so here we’ll focus on how it fits into the subject of discussion.

Because of the War, Katara was robbed not only of her mother but also of any Southern Masters to train her, and any role models Sokka could have looked up to left with his father to fight. Because of this Katara’s potential and Sokka’s genius went unacknowledged not due to neglect but rather due to circumstance. (Yes, I think Sokka is a genius, how many 15 yr olds do you know that can plan an invasion, design submarines, and spit poetry off the cuff?).

This is a further example of how War robs kids of necessary childhood experiences, and these two robberies had particular effects on both Katara and Sokka’s character developments.

Sokka had the responsibility of protecting his home put upon him at a young age. The men of his tribe leaving prevented him from completing his rite of manhood until the Gaang ran into Bato of the Water Tribe, and early on Sokka was constantly trying to prove himself as a man and a leader. Sokka is one of the smarter characters of the series, but he rarely got credit for it until the third season. Not to mention that because he wasn’t a bender he often seemed less useful than the others. The circumstances of war made his talent go unnoticed and because of that he often was unsure of himself and overcompensated to prove something.

Speaking of talent going unnoticed.

Katara is definitely one of the more talented benders of the series. After training herself for years with little progress, she essentially mastered Water-Bending in a few weeks under Master Pakku. While her anger towards the Fire-Nation mostly centers around the loss of her mother, it can’t be ignored that the delay in her training was a direct result of the Fire-Nations’ actions.  Toph’s anger and frustration vented itself as rebellion. However, the same frustration and anger is within Katara, but because she wasn’t as natural a bender as Toph she sought to learn and be respected, and when that was denied to her is when that anger bubbled to the surface in some terrifying ways. 

While Toph’s talent went unnoticed because of her families neglect, Katara and Sokka’s wasn’t acknowledged because there was nobody to acknowledge it. Because of that both brother and sister wanted to prove themselves to the world.

And then there is Zuko.

I know what you’re thinking. Zuko wasn’t a prodigy, his Fire-Bending skill didn’t catch up with Azula’s until the finale and he never mastered Lightning-Bending, but this section is about the Unacknowledged.

Zuko had many other talents besides Fire-Bending, he was a master swordsmen, and was able to successfully break into every secure facility he attempted in the show (which was almost every secure facility the show featured).  Unfortunately, these talents were never recognized, because the only thing the royal family cared about was bending ability (It’s possible the reason he learned the sword was because he lacked skill in Fire-Bending). 

As per usual with Zuko, this part of his tale is quite sad. Many can relate to being outshined by a sibling, and when it becomes all too clear that one cannot match another’s talent it’s quite understandable to focus on what they do excel at, but even then there is no promise of recognition for their own talent. Zuko was even mocked by his father during the solar eclipse when Ozai tried baiting him into attacking with his swords. 

This lack of recognition is one of many sad aspects of Zuko’s early life, but it is a definitive example of one of the hardest unacknowledged prodigy’s cross to bear. The Outshone prodigy, one whose talents are never noticed because a bigger and brighter star stands in the way of such recognition, and arguably the most frustrating type mentioned here. Toph/Sokka/Katara all came from situations were there was no recognition being given to them or anyone, but Zuko had to bear watching massive amounts of praise be piled on to his sister while he and his accomplishments went by the way side.

Ozai summed up the situation best.

“Azula was born lucky, Zuko was lucky to be born”

Alright now where have I been going with all this?

So, far we’ve covered a lot of wrong ways to treat a child, whether they show talent or not, and how the circumstances of war can also take many things from children.

But what happened to Korra?

(Before we get into to this I should state that I like Korra, and the purpose of this is not to bash her as a character or her arc, but rather to give a little of my insight into it.)

It’s well established that Aang was told of his heritage too young, and that was a detriment on his development into an adult, but what would have happened if he realized his powers himself not long after he could walk? We’ll never know, but we do get to see the effects it had on Korra. 

When she revealed herself as the Avatar, Korra set her entire life in a new direction, and because Aang tasked the White Lotus with finding and training her that direction was out of her control. There are two key differences between Korras’ and other Avatars’ lives.

1. She grew up in isolation on a White Lotus compound.

Every Avatar before Korra we know of spent a portion of their early lives traveling the world in order to master the elements; along this journey they not only learned how to bend the other 3 elements, buy also many things about the 3 other nations and the world they are tasked to protect as a whole. By confining Korra in safety and bringing the masters to her the White Lotus deprived Korra of this opportunity to learn and grow and understand the world and the people within in. It also deprived her of learning modern bending styles until she reached Republic City.

While this might have kept Korra safe from the Red Lotus, it grew within her a naiveté about how the world worked, and because of this when she actually did venture out into the world she was terribly unprepared for it.

2.  She was trained and mastered 3 of the elements by the time she was 16.

Most Avatars don’t know they have this power until they reach 16 and then they spend several years learning to control it. Korra’s natural talent in the bending lead to her training being expedited not by necessity like Aang’s, but due to her talent and eagerness. Korra excelled at the physical part of being the Avatar and because of this by the time she reached maturity she had become over-confident in her abilities and true to what her Fire-Bending master said in Ep.1 she lacked restraint.

I’m not saying her bending isn’t great, but rather because it is so great it’s her go-to solution to anything, and she enjoys that so she uses it with enthusiastic gusto and not a lot of thinking before striking.

This overconfidence coupled with her naiveté of the world is what lead to many of her rash decisions and actions, most of which had negative consequences, and I believe are the reason behind some fan are dissatisfied with her. Aang had been almost the complete opposite, even by the age of twelve he was an experienced world traveler and an incredibly humble guy. 

Some may have been dissatisfied by these character decisions, but they served a purpose, they are only the beginning of her arc. The internal challenge Korra must overcome through 4 seasons is to humble herself before the world, and learn from it. This was finally achieved in the 4th season when the metal poisoning in her body forces her to face others in the world as equals, only then had she completed her journey.

And why did it all go this way?

Because she is a very unique child prodigy, what she demonstrates in the first episode of LOK would be akin to a toddler playing the violin or hitting a three-pointer; she could bend 3 elements close to just after learning to walk. That is the kind of prodigious talent rarely seen because it is mostly impossible. How does a rational person handle a child like that? 

It’s a tough question, and something this essay has been circling around the whole time. Each example here is the wrong way to handle talented and different children, but what is the right way?

As always look to Iroh.

Who treated his surrogate son Zuko with both respect and compassion. 

Unlike Toph’s parents, Iroh worried over Zuko’s well being, but also allowed him to be independent, make his own decisions, and take his own risks.

Unlike the Nomad Leaders, he didn’t want Zuko weighed down by his position in the world and the responsibility that came with, and always encouraged him relax and take advantage of the moment.

Unlike Ozai, Iroh would always be there to support Zuko in his victories and his failures. Iroh shows him the right path but does not force him down it.

And even after Zuko betrayed and abandoned him.

Iroh was never angry with him, and embraced him upon his return.

He wanted Zuko to grow and be a better man. Even if Zuko wasn’t a prodigy like his sister. 

And that is the answer here. The way to raise a prodigy is the same way anyone should raise any child. Love, Support, a Guiding Hand rather than a Forceful Shove, Recognition of What Makes Them Unique, and Forgiveness When They Falter. The problem comes along when you start treating children differently because you see them as different or special. All children are different, all children are special.

Kids are kids, and they all deserve a proper childhood.  

[reverie-starlight]

{plant person ~ M. Osamu}

Character: Miya Osamu

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Reader: Gender Neutral!

Genre: F L U F F (so much of it)

Summary: You never used to be a plant person, but your boyfriend's habit of showing up with flowers every week changed that. This is the conversation where he finds out.

Warnings: none!

"Before we started dating I wasn't a plant person at all, you know," you said to him, after thanking him for the flowers he had brought you, and letting him into your apartment.

"No? But you're definitely one now," Osamu observed, looking at the potted plants in the entryway. He followed you into the kitchen and watched as you filled a vase (you had bought it after the third time he surprised you with flowers, figuring if this was going to be a regular occurrence, the least you could do was actually try to care for them) with water to put this week's bouquet in.

"I used to be horrible with plants." You dumped the packet of flower food into the water before carefully arranging the stems to fit properly.

"You? The one who has an apartment full of them and a whole balcony garden? I don't believe it for one second," he refused.

"It's true! Growing up, my mom would try to get me to take care of small plants in my room but they all died. I kept forgetting to water them," you said, still focusing your attention on the flowers.

"Then how are you so good with them now?" He asked, glancing at the small succulent on the counter next to him, then to the other small plants on the windowsill.

You suddenly got very embarrassed. "Uh, well..."

"What is it?"

"You started bringing me flowers..." you trailed off, rubbing a hand over the back of your neck.

He couldn't stop the mischievous smile that presented itself. "Oh?"

"And... because of that... IwantedyoutoseethatIcouldtakecareofthemsothatyou'dknowIappreciatedthegestureandraisethechancesofyoudoingitagain." You huffed and crossed your arms.

He blinked once, trying to process your words. You spoke very quickly. Once he registered them, however, he laughed.

You groaned, fully turning away from him to hide your face, but it only made him laugh harder. (He wouldn't tell you this, but what you said made his heart beat a bit quicker.)

"Why are you so embarrassed by that, my love?" He questioned, grinning and coming up to hug you from behind. His arms circled around your waist.

You whined as he started swaying you back and forth, not even bothering to turn you around so you could face him. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"What ever could you mean?" He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and lightly kissed the spot his mouth hovered over. "You know that if you wanted more flowers you could've just asked. I wouldn't have minded," he moved his lips up to your cheek.

"But then it wouldn't have been on your own accord and it definitely wouldn't have turned into a genuine interest of mine if it happened any other way."

"That's true," he said, "though, I'm surprised that your plant parent journey began all because I noticed a flower shop on my way over after work and wanted to make you flustered one day."

"Oh my god, shut up," you covered your face with your hands.

"I've noticed that whenever you say that, you're just telling me to stop making you blush."

You stayed silent.

"Baby," he prompted, moving a hand to your side and making you jump a bit. His mouth turned up slightly at the sound of your stifled laughter. He left his hand there.

"What?"

"I love you and I love that the flowers make you happy." His voice was softer and less teasing now.  "And I'm happy that from it you found a new hobby."

You turned in his arms to look up at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he nodded and kissed you quickly on the lips.

Then he smirked. "When we move in together, I can't wait to help raise our dozens of plant children."

"Oh my god," you pulled away and walked out of the room, shaking your head.

"What?" He laughed. "C'mon, it was funny! (Y/n), please come back." He stumbled after you, dodging plant pots and moving boxes that would soon be in your new, bigger, shared apartment.

You didn't know it yet, but after that day, when the two of you were lying in your bed, he promised himself that he would never stop buying you your weekly bouquet.

[ectoentity]

Late Night Answers

Ectoberhaunt Day 5: Witching hour vs Twilight

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Rating: G

Characters: Danny Fenton, Kitty, Johnny 13

Tags: Witching hour, ghost culture?

Danny keeps waking up in the middle of the night. The same exact time every night. He decides to take a flight around town and runs into a couple ghosts who're willing to give him some answers.

Read on AO3 here.

Danny’s eyes opened. It was night. Above him, the stars on his ceiling gave off a dim glow. He was still wrapped in his blanket. There was no cold ache in his throat that would indicate his ghost sense had woken him up.

He glanced at his alarm clock. The red numbers read 3:00. Danny grumbled and turned on his side, away from the clock, and tried to go back to sleep. This was the third night this had happened. For the last two nights he’d woken up at exactly three in the morning for no reason. He’d tossed and turned in bed until around four.

This night apparently wasn’t much different. He laid in bed for about ten minutes, but his brain just kept going back to worries about the next day. It wasn’t restful at all. Danny sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. If he was going to be awake for a while, he should at least do something useful.

In a flash of light Danny transformed. He flew through the wall into the chilly night air. He could feel the cold against his face, but it didn’t bother him like it would a normal human. There was no moon tonight - it had set before nightfall - but he could see perfectly well. Danny decided to head towards the city park. The night was fairly quiet. There were some cars on the roads, but not very many. Just a few night shift workers and late night travelers.

His ghost sense went off when he was halfway to the park. It felt familiar: kind of spiky but not painful or aggressive. Danny was slowly getting better at identifying ghosts based on how his ghost sense felt, but it was more of an art than a science. He had no idea who this could be. Who would be out at the park in the middle of the night and not causing havoc?

The sound reached him before he saw who it was. A motorcycle revved its engines, and someone shrieked in joy. It had to be Johnny, Shadow, and Kitty. Danny landed near the park fountain. They didn’t seem to be causing much trouble aside from being loud. He sat on the edge of the fountain and waited for them to come around again. It wasn’t long before Johnny’s ghostly bike flew in from the opposite area from where they’d left. As expected, Kitty was hugging Johnny as he did some spins that would have been dangerous if they’d still been alive. They rose up on the front wheel of the bike and spun three times before landing again. Then Johnny pulled into an empty parking spot in front of the fountain.

“Hey, kid,” Johnny called. “Surprised it took you so long to come out.”

Danny shrugged. “Didn’t seem like you were really causing trouble tonight.”

Behind Johnny, Kitty giggled. “You mean the last three nights?” she asked.

That got his attention. Danny floated up into a standing position, though his feet didn’t touch the ground. “What do you mean?” he asked. “What’ve you been doing?”

“Chill out, kid,” Johnny said. He got off his bike and offered his hand to Kitty. She grabbed it and jumped down from the bike. “We’ve just been riding around. Witching hour season, you know how it is."

Danny didn’t know exactly what Johnny meant, but he had a feeling it had to do with why he kept waking up. “I keep waking up at three,” he admitted, settling down to stand on the ground. “What’s that about?”

“How long’ve you been a ghost?” Kitty asked. “Or, whatever you are.”

Danny’s eyes flashed. “A little over a year.”

Kitty put a finger up to her chin. “And you didn’t notice last year? That’s a little weird, with how strong you are.”

“You guys kept me up almost every night for three months straight last year,” Danny grumbled. He was still a little bitter about that. It had ruined his grades. Now that he’d cemented his ownership of Amity Park, ghosts didn’t try to challenge him as much, but it had been a really awful for a while.

“Oh, right.” Kitty at least had the manners to look embarrassed. “Well, this time of night is when we’re more… present, I guess?” She looked at Johnny for confirmation, but he just shrugged. Kitty frowned and looked back at Danny. “The closer we get to Halloween, the more it affects us. I can be out of the Zone a little bit longer, Johnny and Shadow can ride faster, that sort of thing.”

On the one hand, Danny was glad to get some kind of answer for why he kept waking up. On the other… “So I’m gonna wake up in the middle of the night for no reason for a month?”

“Two months,” Johnny corrected. “Sorry, Phantom. It doesn’t just stop on November first.”

Danny sagged. He wiped a hand across his face in frustration. “Great. Thanks for telling me. I guess I could… get homework done,” he said weakly. It sounded like the worst possible thing to do in the middle of the night.

Johnny and Kitty stared at him and then burst out laughing. Danny glared until they quieted down enough to talk.

“Oh, Ancients, you’re such a goody-two-shoes,” Johnny snorted. “That’s awful. No, kid, this is ghost time. You can’t do lame shit like homework.”

“What do you want to do?” Kitty asked. “Really? Do you wanna do homework, or… I dunno, fight people? What do you even do when you’re having fun as a ghost?”

Danny frowned. “I don’t have fun as a ghost.” He gestured to his glowing, jumpsuit-clad form. “I’m only like this when I have to fight ghosts.”

The ghosts shared a glance before looking back at Danny. “That’s really sad, kid,” Kitty said. She brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. “Do you even know what you’re like as a ghost?”

He blinked at her. “I mean… I’m me? I’m more, uh. Protective of stuff.” He blushed green and looked away. He didn’t really like thinking about all the weird ghost instincts that had popped up over the last year. It made him worry about being less human.

Johnny snorted. “No shit. You spent the last year beating the crap out of anyone who laid a foot in your territory.” Kitty elbowed him in the gut.

“Come on, Johnny, he was just a mote. We weren’t too chill for a few years, either.”

“Ow! Babe, we weren’t… you know!” Johnny waved at Danny, indicating his whole self. Danny raised an eyebrow.

“You did kind of try to take over my sister’s body and then possessed one of my classmates,” he reminded her.

Kitty rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but that was before I knew you were just a kid. Like, really a kid. Most ghosts don’t get near as strong as you in their first year, you know. We both thought you were super old but just acted like you were a kid.”

“Even though my human form looks just like me?” Danny asked, crossing his arms.

“Yeah?” Kitty said with a shrug. “Look, the only other one like you we’d heard about was the old guy. He’s been the same age for like, fifteen years or whatever. Why would we think you were any different?”

A lot of questions crossed Danny’s mind. Did that mean Vlad stopped aging? He knew the fruitloop looked weirdly young, even though he had grey hair, but he figured that was botox or something. Did that mean Danny was going to stop aging in a couple years? He was pretty sure he had grown some in the last year, but what if-

No, he had immediate things to deal with. These two probably didn’t know any of the answers to those questions.

“Okay, so, let me get this straight,” Danny said, “Witching hour is for doing ghost stuff. And I’m supposed to figure out what I like to do as a ghost, so I can do it for a couple months.”

“I guess?” Johnny said with a frown. “Not like we had to figure that out.”

Danny picked up his feet so he was hovering a couple feet above the ground in a seated position, one leg dangling and the other hiked up so his knee was in front of his torso. “I guess I like flying? It’s pretty nice. I can go over a hundred miles an hour.”

“Yeah, we can tell,” Kitty said, a hint of a laugh in her voice. She picked up her legs too so she hovered in a cross-legged position in front of him. “That’s not really a you thing, though, is it? Most ghosts like flying.”

“I still prefer the bike,” Johnny said.

“Objection noted, sweet heart,” Kitty teased. “You like protecting the town, right? Maybe you should fly around to make sure it’s okay?”

It wasn’t a bad idea, but something about it felt sour. “I do that all evening anyway,” Danny grumbled. “It’s not like I hate it, I just… It’s not fun.”

Kitty hummed. Danny was very glad she didn’t poke at that. Fighting ghosts could be fun sometimes, but mostly it was something he felt driven to do. He didn’t enjoy it like he would playing a game, or watching a meteor shower, or…

His eyes lit up. “There’s two meteor showers this month,” he said, remembering it suddenly. “The Draconids are in just a couple of days, and then the Orionids near the end of the month.”

“That’s like shooting stars, right?” Kitty asked.

“Exactly. It's rocks from space burning up in the atmosphere,” Danny said, a smile spreading across his face. Why hadn’t he thought about this before? He could get up above the clouds, away from the light pollution. “I bet I could get the best view in town now.”

“Of course he’s a nerd,” Johnny grumbled. Kitty shushed him.

“That sounds like a great thing to enjoy,” Kitty said to Danny. “Wanna ride with us one day and get out of town? Away from the lights?”

Danny hesitated. “You’d be okay with that?” He glanced from her to Johnny. Kitty seemed friendly enough when they weren’t fighting, but Johnny was the one who drove the bike.

Johnny frowned for a moment. He looked back at his bike. Danny could practically see the gears turning in his head. Finally Johnny turned back to Danny and said, “If it gets us out of this dump, yeah, we’ll take you stargazing.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Danny was hugging Johnny. “Holy shit thank you I haven’t gone in years I won’t let you regret it.”

After a few moments had passed, Johnny gently put his hand on Danny’s shoulder. “H-hey, it’s no big deal, kid.”

Far in the distance, a church bell rang.

“Well, that’s our cue,” Kitty said. “Same time tomorrow?”

Danny straightened up, a little embarrassed that he’d just hugged Johnny of all people. “Yeah. See you then.”

When he made it back to his bed, he fell asleep instantly.

[anasticklefics]

Trust Exercise

Fandom: MCU/The Falcon and The Winter Soldier

Characters: Bucky, Sam

Summary: Bucky shows trust by allowing Sam to touch him. Sam shows trust by reaching out to touch.

A/N: Second part is partly based on @aisawriter‘s prompt: tfatws prompt - sam has no concept of personal space, that's it, that's the prompt.

Words: 1 252

Bucky would sometimes run his fingertips over his metal arm, imagining the sensation of something soft, something calloused, something firm, something hesitating and timid, a question at the tip of the nails, asking permission, or maybe not.

Someone had once told him he was lucky his dominant arm was still flesh - still able to serve him, lead him, touch him without any clumsiness, any impersonal material he was still learning how to use - but Bucky had gotten too caught up with his metal arm that had done so much harm to feel any gratitude. 

“You’re not your arm,” his therapist had told him. “But your arm isn’t your enemy either.” In a way that was true. His arm hadn’t gotten brainwashed. The serum in his veins wasn’t caused by his arm. It was simply a visible reminder of the way his body had been used, the way his mind hadn’t been his.

Sam caught him caressing the arm one day, fingers curling at the inside of his elbow, remembering how he’d squirmed at being touched there, like this, not exactly ticklish but also slightly too unbearable, a giggle bubbling up his throat if the touch lingered for too long.

He felt nothing now, except maybe embarrassment as Sam sank down beside him on the couch, a curious tilt to his head. “Can you feel that?” he asked, Bucky’s intentions unquestioned and yet seen through so easily.

“No.” He flexed the metal fingers, somehow, and he could imagine he felt the limbs move even though he didn’t. How the skin should’ve strained, the lines on his palm stretched out. It was all in his head, his unreliable head.

Sam grabbed his non-metal wrist and pulled it to his side, pulling at it once. “Face me.”

Bucky did, not questioning him either even though he hadn’t understood yet. Their time as partners, or whatever they were, had led to silent communication which freaked even Bucky out when he pondered over it too much, but he trusted Sam. He’d never told him that, but Sam knew.

Both of them sitting cross legged like children, Bucky feeling safe as one as Sam guided him, he watched him straighten his back and place his fingertips on Bucky’s palms, tapping once on them both. “You feel that?”

“I feel half of it.”

“Feel all of it.”

Bucky remained still as Sam’s hands moved over his skin, travelling upward slowly, calloused and yet soft to the touch, nails so short Bucky could barely feel them. He let his eyelids fall shut, freezing up ever so slightly as Sam moved further up, closer to sensitive skin. He could imagine it on his lost arm simply because it would feel the same. As tingly and trusting and nearly forbidden. He hadn’t realized they’d crossed this line; that Sam was enough of someone in his life to be able to do this. He’d asked so silently it had barely been a question, but only because he could apparently read Bucky well now. The thought would once have been terrifying, but Bucky found himself comfortable with it.

He heard Sam laugh softly, blinking up at him to catch the death of the chuckle. “What?”

“You’re tensing up. You ticklish?”

Just the fact that he knew exactly why Bucky reacted the way he did should’ve been enough of a reason to shut him out, but Bucky couldn’t anymore.

“Shut up.”

Sam’s grin grew, all teasing, all playful familiarity as he curled his fingers over his skin just beneath the inside of his elbow. “Oh, we definitely have to try the underside of your arms. You know, for closure. Can’t leave any spots out.”

Bucky lowered his gaze, but didn’t stop Sam from continuing, his cheeks heating up in that slow and obvious way Steve used to tease him about. He refused to smile. If he smiled he would laugh and then he would squirm and Sam would probably find it too funny to not tickle him properly.

(But then again, what would be so bad about that?)

“You trust me?” Sam had asked him once, both stuck in peril that could easily lead to actual death, and Bucky had had no choice and only realized later that his panicked reply had been true.

As he sat there, their knees touching, his back curving as he fought his instinct to move back, away from the touch, he realized this was as much of a trust exercise as any. Quiet and unprovoked, unnecessary and therefore speaking so many volumes they could nearly fill a library.

Sam stopped on his shoulders, only an inch or so away from his neck before changing direction and moving back down, over the inside of his elbow without commenting on Bucky’s sharp inhale, over his forearms, and back to his palms, letting his fingers curl so lightly Bucky could nearly feel it on his missing hand.

“How was that?” he asked and Bucky pulled his hands back and rubbed them against his thighs.

“Ticklish,” he didn’t say, but Sam’s grin told him he knew.

*

Bucky realized the way he showed Sam trust was connected to the way Sam showed trust for him only because he saw him interact with his family. The way he hugged his sister, pulling her close, a hand resting on her arm during a conversation, his thigh brushing against hers on the couch. Small, nearly unnoticeable things, but also big ones; a squeeze to the nape of her neck, a poke to his nephews’ ribs, lips pressed to protesting cheeks to coax out familiar laughter.

Sam was a man who had been failed by the world and yet kept showing it forgiveness, but the more time passed the less he trusted people to get close to him like that. He was polite, kind, always smiling, but on his guard unless he had love for you.

Bucky noticed it because he was suddenly touching him. Not always with a purpose, but mostly just out of habit. It wasn’t all just fingertips on his arms, but a light slap to his back, a friendly punch to his arm, even a lingering touch to his shoulder when they parted. At one point Sam had decided to trust him like he trusted his family, and the thought made him want to cry.

“You have no concept of personal space,” he said once, Sam’s head on his lap, having decided that rather than kicking Bucky off the couch he would just use him as a pillow.

Sam poked his knee. “Hush. I’m relaxing.”

“On top of me.”

“This can barely be considered on top of you.”

Bucky breathed out a laugh, recalling how Sarah had stuck her fingers beneath his chin and chest and had made him move off immediately earlier that week, but he couldn’t find it in him to do it yet. Instead, he let his fingertips fall onto his side, pretending to push while really using so little force it was more of a poke.

Sam jerked away, protesting, laughing, all the things Bucky couldn’t do, but didn’t get up until Bucky had done it twice more. When he was sitting, huffing at him, Bucky didn’t expect him to retaliate and he didn’t. All in due time. The way he kept invading his space, never when Bucky didn’t want it, somehow, would definitely lead to eventual bravery. For now it was all brief, all subtle, all within their current comfort zone. It wasn’t a dance, but a growing thing.

[collecting-stories]

Conflict - JJ Maybank

Request: Can you write a Jj imagine where the reader is kiara’s cousin and dating jj? They all sit at john b’s house when jb comes with sarah and while kie is angry, jj tells them that they are dating (they wanted to keep it private actually). And john b is like “you date jj but dump me?” Because they had something going on a year before but they were both too insecure to talk about it. Plus, she started dating rafe and broke up during that year. Like jealousy and tension but a good end? Thanks xx

A/N: I altered it slightly. 

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

You stood in the hallway of the Chateau, hands covering your face as you tried to calm yourself down. If you took your hands away you knew exactly what you would see, Kiara standing across from you, arms crossed and looking more judgmental than you could ever remember her being in your entire life. If she hadn’t been pissed when John B had walked in the door with Sarah than she was now, having heard JJ out the two of you as being together, John B further complicating things when he announced that you had kinda-sorta dated him the year prior.  

“John B and JJ? Did you date Pope too?” Kiara snapped. You got why she was upset. In her mind she wasn’t sure who she was supposed to be feeling overly protective of, her best friends or her cousin.  

“Lay off Kiara.” You muttered. 

“Come on Kie,” JJ’s voice came in and you lifted your head to see him standing there at the end of the hallway. He walked over, putting his arm around you and pulling you into his side.  

“Is Sarah still here?” You finally asked, looking at JJ.  

“She left.” He replied, stepping back when you pulled away from him.  

This probably wasn’t the best idea you’d ever had but you were seconds away from losing it completely and you more than a little pissed at John B for saying anything about the two of you. JJ knew about your thing with his best friend, you’d been honest with him about it when you first got together with him, but you had never told anyone else. And for John B’s sake you had been keeping your relationship with JJ quiet too.  

You left the Chateau altogether, stepping outside to where John B and Pope were hanging out, the screen door clamoring shut behind you. “John Booker! What the fuck is wrong with you?”  

For Sarah’s sake you had waited until she was gone to say anything, too embarrassed to be standing there in front of her when John B, her current boyfriend, flipped out on you for dating JJ and keeping it from them. Now that she was gone you weren’t going to sit around and cower, be upset about your choices, or let someone bully you about who you were dating.  

When you and John B had dated, more than a year ago, you had been much shier. He was your first boyfriend and you were just excited that some guy liked you. But as you spent more and more time with Kiara and her friends, as they slowly became your friends, your feelings about yourself and about John B changed. You weren’t that shy, insecure freshman that you had been in the beginning. You knew what you wanted and you wanted JJ. He wanted you too.  

“What’s wrong with me?” John B shouted back, clearly; he hadn’t exhausted his ability to yell at you. “You date JJ but you dumped me?”

“I told you I didn’t have feelings for-”

“Yeah, because you were sneaking around behind my back with my best friend!” John B snapped. “I did everything for you! You couldn’t even bear to tell Kiara we were dating but I guess you and JJ are just right out there in the open with it. Who the fuck cares if you’re breaking the rules or if you hurt me, fucking parading around your new boyfriend!”  

“I’m not parading around with him, god. We were keeping things quiet because I didn’t want you to find out from someone else. I was trying to be considerate.” You replied. The door swung open and shut behind you, hinges squeaking, JJ’s heavy footsteps on the stairs followed by Kiara’s flip-flops smacking the wood.  

John B’s gaze veered off to the side and you knew he was looking at JJ. “You dumped me for him? So you could what? Spend every weekend making sure JJ doesn’t drink himself to death? Run around getting weed for him or fronting him money because once again his paycheck is mysteriously already used up the second, he fucking gets it? What?”

JJ’s jaw tensed but he said nothing in response, just stood there at your side, more than willing to take whatever John B had to dish out. JJ knew that he would be upset when he found out, that was why the two of you had taken so long in letting him find out. And it might’ve been longer but John B seemed perfectly happy with Sarah when he brought her to the Chateau so JJ didn’t see any issue mentioning that the two of you were together.  

“I did dump you for JJ. I dumped you so I could have date someone who doesn’t question everything I say or make me feel like shit or treat me like I’m just some pretty accessory on their arm. Say whatever shit you want John B, at the end of the day none of it is true. JJ is a better boyfriend...and a better person...than you’ll ever be.” You said, turning to JJ, “come on.”

He nodded, following you to your car but still saying nothing. You weren’t sure if he was too upset to say something or if he really didn’t feel like there was anything to say while his best friend insulted him right there on the front lawn. Either way, he climbed in the passenger side of the car and you started the engine, reaching across the console to grab his hand.  

JJ squeezed your hand back, bring it up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles, looking over at you with that same mischievous grin he always wore, as if he had something devious planned out that he just hadn’t let you in on yet.  

You would call Kiara in the morning to see where things stood with the pogues and the gold. You were pissed at John B but that didn’t mean the hunt was off or that he was any less a friend. Just a shitty friend for the time being.  

“Food or home?” You asked, backing out of the driveway.  

“Food and home?” JJ suggested, still holding your hand in his.  

-

Taglist: @heavenlymama @vindictive-hearts @alexa-playafricabytoto @dontjinx-it @randomficsandshit @niamhobrien @strangerthanfanfiction713 @tovvaa @freckled-and-daydreaming @harleylynn @bibliophilewednesday @dpaccione @bolaurel @poguestyleskye @beautyandthebleh @under-a-canyon-moon @outerbankspreferences @stevie-buck @bijleegiregi @vitaminekabc @minigranger @teamnick @just-smile-darling @obxsummer @damonsalvawhore27 @isqbella @tomzfrog @fangirlvoice @phantompogues @98starkeys @ilovejjmaybank @lemur46 @khiaraaa-in-spacee @babygal-babygal @niya-savage @divvrx @princess-of-the-fandoms @thecaptainsgingersnap @jenjie @yourprincess-maybe @wowmaybankk @goldeng1rl8 

[fanficsandfluff]

That Damned Laugh

To the anon who informed me of Rainbow Rowell's RACISM, i am writing this for my love of the characters, not the author's writing skill or fame. fuck her. i am still very much aware of what she wrote about and how she portrayed a character, but i cannot stop this inspiration when it comes to me. (wait to be clear to everyone reading this who hadn't seen the anons and my discussion, carry on wasnt the accused racist book. that was something else.)

If you, anon, end up seeing this and maybe don't like what I'm doing or whatnot, I'd love to hear from you again.

For those of you who maybe do practice Death of the Author, I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Carry On

Characters: Simon Snow, Baz Pitch

Words: 1,905

~~~~~

BAZ

Simon Snow does not laugh, full stop.

(Well, to be fair I'm not a cackler much myself, but I do at least guffaw from time to time.)

Snow spent so much of his youth being weighed down by the 'Chosen One' moniker and being tormented by yours truly. Still, I know of that little list he kept of things he liked about Watford and all its experiences and people. It seemed he did take joy in most of it all. After all, I'm sure he had fun at Bunce's house on many an occasion.

But just being around him and in this way for a while now, you start to notice. He's seen me laugh. A few times, in fact. And hard. I'm not very proud of it; what that man can do to me and make me do. He doesn't like when I cover my hand over my smile. It's habit, though, I've reminded him countless times. The fangs and all. We're working on it.

But Simon may just smile or huff. I've giggled with him on our particularly soft nights or togethertimes.

All this to say... I've found a new hobby/goal/obsession recently.

Make Simon Snow laugh.

My cheekiness all these years has kept my humor to cruel, lowbrow tones. Maybe it makes me less funny, I don't know. But once or twice I'd nail a comeback or snarky one-liner (of course with a bit of flirt thrown in) and Snow will giggle and shake his head. But that's all I've achieved! A small, pandering, boring -- though still admirably adorable -- (Damn that Snow) giggle.

I've moved on to physical humor. I tried throwing myself dramatically over him when he's in bed, but he just seems to think it's all part of my Pitch flair.

Today I made a minor breakthrough.

I was in the kitchen trying to mix myself a smoothie. Bunce has been gushing about a smoothie craze for weeks now, so I finally figured why not. The damn lid wasn't on tight enough. Not-yet-smooth smoothie shot everywhere. There was a pause as it happened, my one hand on the Liquify button, my other resting nonchalantly atop the lid that didn't do any lidding, dammit.

Snow looked up at me from his seat by the kitchen counter, eyes drawn from his phone. A beat. He barked out a laugh. A much louder one than I think I'd ever heard him make.

"Put a sock in it, Snow," I growled, to keep with my facade, though inside I was jittery with glee. I wanted to hear more.

Snow convinced me to binge a new show. Crime Minds. Something like that. No, criminal. It's Criminal Minds.

You wouldn't expect this to be a series fit enough for a cuddle, but Snow and I are an unexpected couple. So it works.

A few dumb jokes are littered throughout the show, in between corpses and the same police station set being reorganized and shot from different angles every episode. One such joke was so inconspicuous and so nothing that I cannot even recall it now. But both Snow and I chuckled at it. Then Snow made an additional comment to it, making me laugh. And soon we were both giggling together like schoolboys, like we had early on when we were maybe still a bit bashful with each other.

He shoved his face into my ribs and snorted when I whispered the new inside joke much later on in the episode. I was also grinning like a madman, but the soft tickle his action gave me didn't exactly---

Oh.

In bed. Perfect. Lovers fool around all the time in bed. Not fool around as in sex--well, no, of course sex, but I mean they also play around-- never mind.

SIMON

Baz has been acting off lately. I can't quite put my finger on what it is. He seems distracted. More like how I act. I'm always thinking of something else, not able to stay focused on one thing for long. He's like that, but trying to act like he isn't.

We're doing something odd today. We're in bed at sunset. It's hardly sunset, as a matter of fact. The sun isn't seeping orange and red into the flat yet. Penelope took us out on a hike today. It tuckered the both of us out. Baz drained a buck when we got home.

I'm laying perpendicular to Baz (or is it parallel? composite? I could never remember mathematics), my legs resting over his stomach. He's reading and I'm playing a puzzle app on my phone.

BAZ

Now's the time, Baz. Just do it, don't think.

His socked feet are right in front of me. There's only been a handful of times we've sat in this position, half of them being my lower half resting on Simon's sturdier upper half. It's now or never.

I stare at his feet for too long, zoning out and forgetting that I was left staring at them, so it definitely looked like I have a fetish for feet. Which I don't. Focus, Basilton.

I take a finger-- no, two fingers. I scratch quickly at his heel. His leg jerks, foot being pulled back.

"What?" he asks me, as if I hadn't been plotting this for weeks. As if I just did it to get his attention.

"Something on the bottom of your sock, love."

Simon went right back to his head hanging upside down off the side of the bed, phone held out in front of his eyes.

Well, that proved one thing. He's ticklish.

He places his ankles right back where they originally were, crossed, atop my stomach. I try again, this time on his arch. I apply more pressure.

"Bahaz!" Simon shakes his foot out, "Is that how you start a foot massage?"

"Would you like a foot massage?"

"No. Not if it's going to tickle like that."

My cheeks heat up. Damn that buck. I'm rosier than I usually am.

"You're ticklish?" I ask, coolly. I barely stuttered.

"I wouldn't try it," he's back to looking at his phone again, "Penny did once and I nearly broke her elbow or something. She wouldn't stop talking about it for days."

"So you're very ticklish, then."

"Don't," this is the first time Snow seems to tense up.

There's a moment of quiet between us. A tense quiet. I lunge for his ankles and he shoots up into a sitting position. I scratch at his arch with four fingers now and he screams.

"Baz!" Simon whines a bit and he somehow yanks his legs free, not without losing one of his socks in my grip.

SIMON

He's grinning at me. No. Sneering.

I still hate when he does that. Reminds me of back when I wanted to throttle him. Sometimes I still do.

"Baz," I warn. His whole posture changes into a predator's, like he's the lion and I'm his fresh zebra. The new stance sends a shiver down my spine, with his shoulders hunched and all, ready to pounce.

"Baz... Baz, Baz, Baz..." I say over and over again because he's smiling at me, and then I start to smile, too, "Bahaz!" I try once more, but his name is all that's coming out, and now I'm giggling. I'm nervous. He did this to me.

BAZ

He's already giggling and I haven't even laid a hand on him.

"Yes, Snow?" I respond to his many calls of my name before I lurch forward, sending my whole body crashing on top of his and trying to pin him. I dig my fingers into his sides and don't stop for as long as I can maintain contact through his squirming.

"Gehehet off!" he's already crumbling, words being broken up with short laughs.

I slide my fingertips to his stomach and scratch there; Snow bucks. It gets even better when my cold fingers make contact with his warm skin beneath the shirt he's wearing. He yelps like I've never heard him yelp (like he's burnt his finger, but he's also 11-years-old again), and he dissolves into loud, beautiful laughter.

"St-Stohohop! Baz! I'm going to end you!"

"Isn't that how we always said it would end? Snuffing each other out? I'm perfectly happy that it's now going to end in my favor. You should've told me you were this easy to defeat earlier on, Snow."

"Shut up!" he cackles, legs kicking wildly behind me, as my body is thrown over his torso. Now I have both my hands buried into his sides, squeezing and squeezing. I get curious, my cheeks still burning with blood, and I lean down to his neck and... (no, I don't bite) I start nibbling. Snow loses it.

His whole face scrunches up, as I watch when I pull my head back. His smile is huge and bright. And the laughs bubble up from his stomach, releasing softer into the air like he sucked a little of the joy from it before releasing to keep for himself.

"Dohon't do that!"

"I thought you love my kisses."

"Not tha-HAAT!"

He shrieks again, hands too slow to stop my face from moving in. I nibble and even lick a few times, careful not to touch him with my fangs.

Did I mention that my hands are still tickling at his sides and ribs while I'm nibbling? Oh yes, I've waited so long for this sound. I wasn't going to make it come out lightly.

I blow a raspberry and that's when Snow's laughter catches and turns all hiccuppy. The noises are infecting me, starting to make me giggle. I shift, and my face now descends towards his stomach, which is bared after I rucked the shirt up.

SIMON

"TYRANNUS BASILTON G-GRIMM FUCKING PITCH-- OR WHATEVER YOUR LONG STUPID ARSEHOLE NAME IS--"

He's laughing at me. I keep laughing even without him tickling me.

"I swehehear I'm going to fucking kill you and your whole family if you do that dohown thehere--" I'm hiccuping. Crowley, how embarrassing.

BAZ

He's got me. I can hardly breathe from laughter. I keel over into him or he into me, but soon we're a laughing pile together on top of the mussed up sheets on the bed.

I make a loud snort and that reels us both back in again, laughing til we're red in the face and til my cheeks hurt.

Simon is giggling away, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself, but he just keeps on giggling. I'm able to sit up a little more and Snow's head is in my lap. He's beaming and looking up at me through squinted, teary eyes.

"That was fun," I say, and I don't think it's the brightest or smartest thing to say. But I say it.

"I love you," Snow's smile is still wide, like he's drunk from it. There's a moment where I feel like I've died again, color drained from me.

It doesn't seem to bother him, that he's said that. For the first time. I run my fingers through his reddish curls once, letting them tangle in the locks towards the back of his head. I hunch myself down so I can kiss him.

"I've wanted to hear that for so long," I whisper.

"That I love you? You haven't figured it out by now?"

"No, you idiot," I say with nothing but fondness, brushing my nose along Simon's jaw, "Your laugh."

[jojosbizarrefanfics]

Hello! Can I order up a Jotaro x childhood friend(he has a crush on her ahdhhehshda) and she's kinda like Microphage from Cells at work? Motherly, a stand user(so she tags along on the journey), and she's busty so she accidentally smothers the joot in them? Not nsfw, but maybe something a bit light hearted and funny bc theres so many angst and we need more silliness. Hope you're okay with this, and hope this isn't vague or anything! Bye~!♡

One order of Jotaro x busty lifelong friend reader coming right up! I got carried away oops

I’ve never seen Cells At Work but the fandom wiki + your request being not-vague = I think I got what you’re going for and I love it for Jotaro fkkdfkskfkskfk

You were friends with most of your class in elementary school, but that changed once you hit puberty. Jotaro was the only friend who didn’t care that you suddenly had boobs, and you were the only girl in the class that didn’t have a weird crush on him. You valued each other as people and had a deeper bond than most people even realized.

Holly loved you and often made comments when you weren’t around about when you two would start dating. Especially while he was still in high school, Jotaro always shrugged her off, insisting that you two were just friends.

When his Stand awakened, you were there for him. Along the way to Egypt, you’d explain to him how you were born with yours but no one could see it and, as a child, your parents and teachers just dismissed it as an imaginary friend so you never brought it up to anyone. Your bond only grew deeper, and as you joined him on the quest to defeat Dio — he tried to tell you it would be too dangerous, but you refused his refusal — you two just grew even closer, especially over nights of you dressing his wounds and grieving lost friends. Your Stand, called Macrophage, took the form of a stark white woman wearing a maid outfit and would often cuddle with Star Platinum during these intimate moments.

You both shared your first kiss during one of your Stands’ cuddle sessions after you helped patch each other up. It was in a hotel room in Egypt and you both weren’t totally sure you’d live to see the next sunrise. Neither of you ever spoke about it again.

Ever since returning from Egypt, Jotaro started to wonder if there was any merit in what Holly was suggesting: should he ask you out, or was it better to not risk ruining a decades long friendship?

He decided against testing those waters. He convinced himself that kiss you shared was just the heat of the moment and from a fear of dying. But over the years, he noticed you denying men left and right — just like how he’d deny women. He knew why because he experienced the same thing: people tended to not care enough to look beyond the surface.

Josuke Higashikata was still trying to figure out the enigma that was his nephew when he saw Jotaro heading to the train station. Was he leaving already? It didn’t look like he had a ticket. Josuke, alongside Okuyasu, followed Jotaro in from a distance, but before they could approach to ask, a train pulled up and the passengers departed. They decided to linger back and wait.

You spotted Jotaro instantly: he was hard to miss due to how tall and broad he was, so you always knew to look up and go wherever you saw one of his signature hats. Josuke saw Jotaro smile for the first time when the gorgeous and large-chested (HC) woman ran up to him and jumped up, her arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Jotaro was quick to lift you up into the hug, strong arms wrapping around your torso. This wasn’t his style, but it was yours and he knew by now to just let you have your moment of affection. There was no stopping you and resistance was pointless.

“How’s my favorite marine biologist?” You asked.

“I’m the only marine biologist you know, (YN),” he replied as he set you down.

You ran your hands over the lapels on his jacket, then one up to cup his cheek. “You look good. But have you been sleeping?”

“Trying to,” Jotaro said. “It’s good to see you, (YN). I’m glad you came.”

“Come on, now. My best friend tells me there’s some weird, potentially-Stand related activity going on in a normally quiet town and you think I’m not gonna drop everything and catch the next train?” You said with a laugh.

“Do you have any other bags?” Jotaro asked.

“Just these two. I tried not to overpack but you know how well that works out for me,” you said with a nervous laugh.

“やれ やれ だぜ,” Jotaro said playfully as he picked up your bags. “Don’t even fight me on this. Come on, the hotel’s not far from here.” He swallowed, not sure why he suddenly felt nervous asking you, “Are you okay with sharing a room with me? I’m not sure how dangerous things could get.”

“JoJo, please,” you said. “You should know by now that it’s okay.”

“Did she just call him JoJo?” Josuke asked Okuyasu. Now that you two were on the move, it was easier to overhear.

“Look at her! Do you think it’s his girlfriend or somethin’? Man, she’s hot!”

The hotel was just across the intersection, but you stopped Jotaro before you could cross. You held a hand up and took a deep breath. Macrophage emerged and confirmed what you thought for you.

“What is it?” Jotaro asked.

“We’re being followed,” you said. “Two men... no. Teenage boys?”

Jotaro groaned. “Remember what I told you with my grandparents?”

“Oh, is this..?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you like him?” You asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” Jotaro said flatly.

Suddenly, the two of you were much closer to one another: it was almost as if the space between you two vanished into an invisible vacuum. Jotaro, carrying your bags and not expecting the sudden shift, lost his balance a bit and, as you tried to help catch him, his face ended up firmly planted between your chest.

“(YN), forgive me,” he said as he stood. You noticed a hint of pink to Jotaro’s cheeks, a rare sight indeed.

“It’s ok. Is your... uncle?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Is he a Stand user?”

“I swear that half this damn town is,” Jotaro said. Just when he felt the embarrassment fading, he felt someone pushing him and his face landed right between your breasts again.

“Clearly they want a show,” you said. You looked around, saw no one on the street, and to Jotaro’s surprise, you pushed his face further between your breasts. “Trust me, ok?”

“What the hell?”

Suddenly, the sound of Josuke and Okuyasu screaming could be heard clearly as they ran from the alley they were hiding in. From there, you helped Jotaro stand up.

“I’m so glad you were never like that as a teenager,” you said with a laugh.

“Jotaro-san!” Okuyasu cried as they approached you both. “We’re sorry! Miss! We’re sorry!”

“Please tell your Stand to not kill us!” Josuke cried, hands clasped together.

Jotaro was hiding his face with his hat. He was equal parts furious and mortified, hoping you wouldn’t think any less of him.

“If you two got your heads out of your pants you’d have seen Macrophage coming,” you said. “ばかやろう...”

“Her Stand is just as deadly as Star Platinum,” Jotaro said. “You two should be more careful next time you decide to snoop around.”

“We’re sorry! We thought it would be funny!” Josuke said nervously.

“Is this your girlfriend, Jotaro-san?” Okuyasu asked.

You looked to Jotaro, who simply picked up suitcase with one hand, slung your backpack over his shoulder, and then grabbed you by the hand and dragged you across the street. They didn’t follow.

“You okay, JoJo?” You asked.

“I’ve decided I don’t like them.”

You stifled a laugh. “I can’t tell if you’re pissed off or flustered.” He never let go of your hand. “You don’t have to worry about it, you know.”

He was silent still, so you said nothing. You knew pressing it wouldn’t get you anywhere. But, you noticed, he didn’t let go of your hand.

Jotaro sighed in relief once the hotel room door was closed behind you both. The Morioh Grand Hotel lived up to its name, you thought. Once Jotaro set your things down, you sat next to each other on the edge of the bed.

“You have this look in your eyes that I know all too well,” you said. Jotaro looked up at you and you both made eye contact. “There’s something you want to say. And it’s not about the Stand users in Morioh.”

“Do you remember that last night in Egypt before we faced DIO?”

You nodded. “I’ll never forget it.”

“Have you ever thought about what it would be like if I were to kiss you again?”

You smiled. “Yes. I do, and frequently.” It all made sense now, why he was so nervous when Josuke and Okuyasu pulled that prank with their Stands.

“And I’m not just thinking this because of what just happened.”

“I know,” you said. “I know you better than that, JoJo.”

Jotaro didn’t say anything else. Instead, he just kissed you again. This time, the world wasn’t ending. This time, he allowed himself to feel everything in full.

[fangirlings-things]

38 to 58%

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female reader

Word count: 1.6K

Summary: on your very first day on the Bureau that seemed to be going just fine, what was supposed to be just a mug of coffee turned out to be much more chaotic than that

anon said: hey could I please have something cute with Spencer Reid, like when a female reader and him first meet in the Bureau? I'm not being very specific but I love your ideas, so hope this is okay!!

A/N: hii lovely anon! I loved this request, it was so sweet and is the first time I'm writing a Spencer story so yayyy! I hope you like this, lots of love and thank you for requesting 💖

GIF IS NOT MINE || TAG LIST: @imaginesofyourfandom ; @locke-writes ; @regalbanshee

You couldn't believe it was finally happening.

After fours years in college studying criminology, two more in the Academy to prepare you in every way needed and a lot of stress in psychological analysis and interviews, you had finally been hired. The Federal Bureau of Investigation gave you a call two days before and congratulated you, because you were now an agent. And as yourself had chosen to be, a profiler in the BAU division.

You had got to the official building very early as instructed to get your credentials with Chief Strauss, a woman who you quickly realized wasn’t someone you would should ever disappoint. After that, she had said you could wait around freely while waiting for your direct superior, the leader of your team, to arrive.

You firstly had sat in silence in some available chairs on the same floor for more than thirty minutes. You waited and waited, and then waited some more. Nothing. No one came up to you like she had said they would. And so, you saw something that attracted your attention. A few other agents, carrying around mugs of something that from the smell, had to be coffee. Turned out, you loved coffee. And as the thought of just sitting around for more unpredictable time made you anxious, you decided after a few seconds of hesitation to get up and make your way to from where those agents had came from.

You decided that for sure, that would be your favorite spot at the Bureau. There was a long counter in one of the corners of the incredibly large division of the floor that you had just entered, over which there were various mugs and the smell of recently made coffee filled the air. Incredibly satisfied and feeling more calm for the first time since you had waken up on that day, five minutes later you had a mug filled with coffee with just the amount of sugar you liked.

Now, you could wait peacefully for as long as you had to.

You began to make your way back to where you had been waiting before, close to Chief Strauss' office. There, you thought, it would be easier for your superior to find you and if there was something you didn’t want, was to cause problems to the man on your very first day.

Your eyes were on the mug, watching the drink wave around a bit inside of it as you walked in a soft, careful pace. You were halfway there, when suddenly everything ceased to be fine and turned into chaos as a body collided hard against yours.

First, you felt it. The hot of the liquid you had intended to drink now burning your chest and hands, making instinctively jump backwards. Then, you felt the wetness of it on your previously dry, white shirt and finally, you smelled it. You were exhaling the smell of coffee as if you had just become a mug filled with it yourself. Oh, no. No coherent thoughts crossed your mind as all you could feel was a slight panic. No, that couldn’t be happening on first day. It couldn’t.

The other person, a guy, looked as bad as you. His brown coat was now filled with dark stains in multiple places and he too smelled like coffee. What was worse for him though, it that he was holding a book. Or had been, at least. Now the pages were wet and partially destroyed. You hated yourself right then and there.

“I am so sorry” you said firmly, imagining to be looking completely stupid, now holding an empty mug. For a brief second, you let yourself really look at the guy and you realized that he was quite beautiful, with short messy hair and curious eyes that had their gaze fixed on you. “I am really sorry, I wasn’t looking and…”

“It’s fine, I wasn’t looking either” he stated, in a tone that held nothing of the anger or frustration you had been expecting to hear. In fact, he didn’t seem bothered at all. “Did you know that statistically, of all burns requiring hospitalization in one year, 38 to 58% are due to hot liquids or steam?” he probably noticed the shocked expression on your face, because he quickly continued talking. “Not that I or you will need hospitalization. I was just telling you a curious fact”

“Oh, I didn’t think that…” you stopped talking, took a deep breath and actually managed to smile, even though you had just ruined both yours and his clothes for that day of work that was just beginning. “I was just shocked because that’s a very unusual cool thing to know”

“You really think so?” the guy with messy hair also smiled and did he have a nice smile. Before you even realized it, he had one of his hands out, offered in your direction. “I’m Doctor Spencer Reid”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)” you shock his hand with the less dirty of coffee of yours. When you pulled your hand back, your eyes went to his book again and you sighted heavily. “I’m sorry about your book” and then, you looked at his coat. “and your clothes”

“Oh, I've read this book five times already. I was just bored” he closed the dripping coffee pages and you were able to read the title. Fundamentals of Physics. That guy was definitely, not ordinary. “And as for my clothes, I have a travel bag in here. I’ll just change”

“Oh” you mumbled, feeling a great amount of relief fill your whole being. Also, a bit of envy. “Wish I had one of those” for the way he frowned at you, you assumed it was normal for agents to keep travel bags in the office. “It’s my first day” you then explained, shrugging.

“Oh, that’s great. BAU?” he asked and you nodded. “Welcome to the job” as you smiled back thankful, a thought seemed to cross his mind and seconds afterwards, his face lit up with something you assumed to be an idea. “Come with me”

You both stopped back at the counter for a moment. He threw the book in the trash can and you placed the empty mug inside the sink. Using napkins, you both dried the most wet places of both of your clothes and then you followed Doctor Reid as he walked through the agent’s desks, completely familiar with the place.

“Emily” he called when you both approached the desk of a brunette agent that standing up with her arms crossed over chest, talked with another agent, a man. They were both laughing at something and suddenly, you felt like an intruder. They both turned to look at Doctor Reid and consequently, at you. “Do you have a shirt to borrow to (Y/N)? It’ her first day and we… well” he looked down at his own coat, and the agent named Emily understood what he meant.

“Yeah, sure” she knelt down and pulled something from under her desk. A black travel bag. Looking inside of it for a few moments, she then got up again and offered you a blue shirt.

“Thank you so much” you couldn’t even believe your own luck and that stranger’s kindness. “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N)” you grabbed the blue shirt with one hand and the other, you gave out for her.

“Emily Prentiss” she smiled warmly and sympathetically, shaking your hand. “And please, I’m happy to help. We’ve all had first days” when she pulled back her hand, she crossed her arms again. “Are you going to be in the BAU?” you nodded.

“Congratulations. Hi, I’m Derek Morgan” the other agent gave out his hand and you shook it with a smile on your face. “Who is your unit chief?”

“Aaron Hotchner?” Doctor Reid risked, with something in his voice that you couldn’t quite identify. The others two though, seemed to read right through him by the way they looked at him with small smiles before looking back at you.

“No, Sam Cooper” you answered, repeating the name Chief Strauss had told you before. At the mention of your now boss, you widened your eyes, thinking about the possibility of him having arrived and be looking for you like crazy. “I really have to go. Thank you, Emily. Can I have your phone number, to call you later and return this?” you raised the shirt a bit, smiling, a bit embarrassed.

“Absolutely” Emily turned around to grab a pen.

“Why don’t Reid keep your number?” Morgan suggested, shrugging with a big smile on his lips. From the corner of your eye, you saw that Doctor Reid was looking at him with eyes as widened as yours had been seconds before. “He can give you a call one of this days, we can all go out for drinks or whatever and you can return Prentiss' shirt”

“Yeah, sure” you replied, surprised by the suggestion. Emily gave you the pen she had caught along with a post-it and quickly, you wrote down your phone number. Then, you gave the post-it to Doctor Reid. “Again, I’m sorry Doctor Reid. It was a pleasure meeting you. You all, in fact” you smiled at Emily and Morgan too before rushing your way to the bathroom to change.

“My, my, Reid. Her first day and you already have her phone number. That’s my man” Morgan put a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, teasingly. “How did you manage that?” he then asked, although it had been him who suggested that you left Reid your phone number, just to provoque the other.

Eyes still on the door through where you had disappeared moments before, Spencer thought out loud. “I bumped into her and told her the statistics on required hospitalizations related to burns”

[suddencolds]

I don’t go here, but I really like how you’ve written Diluc and Kaeya, so: lost voice for the bingo?

Thank you so much for the request!! Also, thank you for reading despite not knowing the fandom, I’m really happy you enjoyed nonetheless! <3 I hope this is okay!

—

Familiarity | Genshin Impact

Kaeya loses his voice, and Diluc is more considerate than expected. | prompt fill for [this]!

—

Diluc, despite himself, knows Kaeya’s order.

It’s not that he’s paid attention—just that Kaeya’s presence in the tavern isn’t exactly easy to miss, whether he’s here drinking with the knights or striking up a conversation with the regulars. Diluc knows his order, but he also never makes it in advance; it’s always been easier not to acknowledge that he’s become something of a constant in Diluc’s life again—predictable, and consistent to the point that it’s almost cruel.

Kaeya’s here alone tonight, seated at the counter, strangely quiet. Some of the knights are drinking at one of the tables in the back, talking loudly enough to suggest they’re well past drunk. Kaeya doesn’t join them. Diluc busies himself with polishing the glasses they leave behind, finds himself pleasantly undistracted, and relishes the silence for the first hour and a half.

It’s only when the last of the Knights stands up to leave that he starts to think something might be wrong.

Kaeya still hasn’t ordered, and he hasn’t said so much as a goodbye to the knights, which implies that he’s here for some other reason—a loaded conversation with Diluc, maybe, or a proposition for the Darknight Hero’s involvement in some new ploy, neither of which Diluc wants to be discussing right now.

“That seat is for patrons only,” he says.

Kaeya’s eyes snap to his. He smirks. “Oh? Protective about the seating arrangements, are we?” “If you’re not here to drink,” Diluc says, “I’m sure you can find a better place to spend the night.”

“Fine, fine,” Kaeya says lightly. “One Death After Noon, please.”

He’s speaking more quietly than usual. There’s a dullness to his eyes, too, when Diluc looks back at him, blinking.

It’s… frustrating, to say the least. Kaeya is never entirely straightforward—he’s never as honest as he had been when they were both children, but he must be here for a reason, and he isn’t doing either of them any favors by not speaking up about it.

“What do you want from me?”

“Oh? What makes you think I want something from you?”

“You didn’t order anything until I asked,” Diluc says.

Kaeya smiles cryptically, resting his chin on one hand. “Maybe I just came here to unwind.”

“Nonsense. You haven’t spoken to anyone all night.”

“So you’ve been watching me?”

Diluc scoffs. “You are usually the most talkative customer here. I would have to have been exceptionally unobservant to not have noticed your silence.”

It’s not a secret that Kaeya isn’t here to see him. He’s here because it’s one of two taverns in Mondstadt, and because moreover, it’s a more popular spot for the Knights than the Cat’s Tail is, for days when he’s here more for conversation than for the drinks. Even when he’s here for strategic reasons, though—on nights when he’s enticing whoever he’s with to drink just enough to loosen their tongue—he always orders something for himself.

Tonight is an anomaly. But Kaeya doesn’t offer an explanation for it, and Diluc has never been one to press, so he occupies himself with procuring a bottle of white wine from the upper shelf.

Behind him, Kaeya coughs, but the sound is a little muffled. Diluc turns, instinctively, half expecting that Kaeya’s trying to direct his attention to something.

But Kaeya merely raises an eyebrow.  “Does my presence bother you so much?”

“No,” Diluc says. “If you are waiting for someone to show up...”

“I’m not.”

Diluc goes back to pretending that a drink he can make in his sleep is taking up all of his attention. Behind him, Kaeya sniffles—quietly enough that it almost goes unnoticed, except for the fact that the tavern’s empty except for the two of them, so late at night on a weekday.

At first, Diluc thinks—hopes—that he’s misheard. But then Kaeya sniffles again, loud enough to be confirmation, and then the silence suspends itself for a soft intake of breath.

Diluc thinks that if he grips the wine glass in his hands any tighter, it’s going to fracture. Is Kaeya… crying?

What could possibly warrant a reaction like this? Why here, of all places—so openly in front of Diluc, who he’s not supposed to trust? But before he can think more about it, there’s another sharp, desperate breath behind him, followed by—

“hihH’DXxt!” A pause, and then another gasp. Diluc whirls around, surprised, just in time to see Kaeya’s eyes flutter shut, as he pitches forward with none of his usual grace, roughly enough to jostle the cups on the countertop.

“hIH’ISCHHh-uu!”

It sounds rough, and... miserable, really, like it’s somehow both desperately necessary and barely relieving.

This is certainly… unexpected.

“...Bless you,” Diluc says hesitantly, if only to break the silence. Kaeya looks up at him, blinking distractedly.

“Thanks. You’ll have to excuse me,” he says—quieter than usual again, except now Diluc realizes it’s probably more out of necessity than anything—Kaeya’s voice is nearly shot, now that he’s paying attention.

Diluc turns back around—mercifully, perhaps—and tries to pay attention to the precise ratio of dandelion wine to white wine in the glass he’s holding.

It’s not long before Kaeya’s breath is hitching again.

“Hh… - hIiH! hHh - hH’ESHhh’uu!”

It’s so desperate and vocal. Kaeya lets out an exhausted sigh, reaching across the table to grab a handful of napkins. If he’s been doing this all day, it’s no wonder that he’s lost his voice.

“Are you getting sick?” Diluc says, though he suspects he knows the answer.

Kaeya laughs. “Why? Are you worried?”

“Only deciding whether I’ll have to wipe down the tables when you leave,” Diluc answers.

“Don’t worry. I assure you, you won’t catch this.”

“You are not doing a good job of convincing me of that.”

Kaeya hums, slumping further in his seat. He’s moved so that his chin’s resting on his hand again, but now it looks like less of a casual gesture. He just looks tired.

“I’ll be careful, I promise.”

It’s barely even a retort. Diluc stares at the half-finished drink in front of him. Then he pushes the cup aside so that it rests on the other side of the countertop, leaving the space in front of him clear. “You shouldn’t be drinking like this.”

Kaeya watches him warily, suppressing a shiver. “Thought the wine would warm me up.”

“You’re cold,” Diluc realizes.

By the way Kaeya’s eyebrows furrow in response, Diluc can tell he hadn’t meant to admit it so plainly. “I didn’t say that.”

Diluc ignores him again in favor of swiping a mug from the cupboards. Kaeya sniffles, sinking lower in his seat to rest his head on his forearms. Has he been so tired all afternoon? Diluc hadn’t expected that he’d do something like this—just sit here quietly all afternoon, waiting for someone to notice. Diluc can count the number of times Kaeya’s fallen ill on two hands, with room to spare. Back when they’d been close he’d sought Diluc’s presence whenever he fell ill, but it’s been years since then, and Kaeya is exceptionally popular—Diluc is sure anyone in Mondstadt would be happy to keep him company. This isn’t the same.  

Kaeya’s eyes are lightly shut when Diluc sets the mug in front of him finally, still steaming. Diluc considers tapping him on the shoulder—or checking his forehead, or something—and then decides against it. “Apple cider,” he says, instead. “Don’t burn yourself, it’s hot.”

Kaeya opens his eyes, sits up. Diluc pushes the mug towards him, and his fingers curl around the sides. He shivers again, lifts the mug with both hands, and takes a tentative sip.

“Adelinde says it’s good for your throat,” Diluc says, unsure of what else to add. “Or… it’s what she always tells me, in the winter.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Kaeya murmurs. He coughs into a fist, his shoulders trembling with the effort. “It’s good. Was I asleep long?

“The tavern closes in twenty.”

“Is that so?” He sniffles, his eyes watering as he sets the mug down hurriedly, ducking into his elbow. “Hh— hIIH’ESCHhuu! hH!… snf, sorry to keep you, then.”

He says it without a trace of sarcasm, which feels… unfitting, if anything. Whatever Kaeya does, he does it unapologetically.

Diluc regards him for a moment. “It’s my shift. I’d be here anyway.”

“You’d be closing up if not for me,” Kaeya says, which isn’t untrue. “I’ve been here long enough.”

The why goes unaddressed. Diluc isn’t sure why Kaeya’s here—Kaeya is unpredictable, but he’s also deliberate. Diluc doesn’t believe he’d be here for no reason—the tavern is warm enough, and crowded enough in the evenings to be pleasantly distracting, but that’s about where the benefits end. Kaeya—where’s he’s hunched over the counter, exhausted and shivering—looks like he’d be more comfortable anywhere else.

“Are the Knights aware that they’re assigning you too much work?”

Kaeya averts his glance. “It’s nothing like that.”

“When is the last time you’ve slept?”

This time, he smiles, raising an eyebrow. “Concerned?”

It’s an accusation that Diluc would normally dispute. Now, he settles for crossing his arms. “You’re exhausted.”

“I don’t see why that’s relevant... hh — hH-ESHhh-uu! We’ve had more domains than ever to cover, is all. Nothing out of the ordinary, but you’ll understand why I couldn’t... ” Kaeya stifles a yawn which he half-hides, embarrassed, behind one hand. “I couldn’t afford to take time off even if I wanted to…” His eyelashes flutter shut, his shoulders tensing up in trepidation as he gasps, jerking forward. “Hh! hiIIH... hiih... hh—IIISHHh’uu! hiihh’iIhTSSHHew!”

Sheepishly, Kaeya lifts the drink to his face, carefully enough that Diluc almost misses the wince when he swallows. Almost. His throat must be sore sore; it explains why he hasn’t been talking much.

“If Jean had a good look at you, I’m sure she’d send you home,” Diluc says. The look on Kaeya’s face, in response to that, is telling enough. “You’ve been avoiding her, then.”

“Jean has enough on her plate already.”

“So you have no reservations about lying to the Acting Grandmaster.”

Kaeya shrugs. “I didn’t lie to her. I simply neglected to inform her that I was unwell.” He trails off, blinking dazedly. “Hhih… hIIH’EZCHHuu! Snf… HIHH’IZCHh-uu!” Sevens above. Even his sneezes sound wrung-out, as if they’re using up the last reserves of the voice he’s about to lose.

Kaeya sighs, reaching for the bar napkins. “On second thought...” He swallows again, eyebrows drawing tighter. “Maybe wiping down the tables would be a good idea after all.”

“I was planning to, anyway,” Diluc says. Kaeya has always been dramatic. But if this is all some ridiculous ploy to get him to worry, it’s working. “It would be bad for business if you managed to infect all of my patrons.” Kaeya huffs a quiet laugh, which immediately turns into a particularly harsh coughing fit.

“Is it helping?” Diluc asks.

“What?” Kaeya’s voice breaks on the syllable, and Diluc falters.

“The drink. With your sore throat.”

“It’s working wonders,” Kaeya says, almost convincingly nonchalant, if not for the quietness with which it’s delivered. “I’m sure that by tomorrow, I’ll be good as new.”

He can’t seriously believe that. “Don’t tell me you actually intend on going to work.”

Kaeya tilts his head in question. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m feeling much better now.”

“You’re not.”

The smile on his face falters, gives way for something a little more honest. “You’re right,” Kaeya admits, after a pause. “I’m not. But it’s fine, you know. It’s just a cold. You don’t have to—” He stops again to cough, his shoulders shaking. “—be so worried.”

“Archons,” Diluc snaps. “I know. Stop talking.”

Kaeya opens his mouth—probably to protest, but Diluc cuts him off before he can speak.

“You’re losing your voice,” he points out, by way of explanation. “If you keep pushing yourself, you’ll postpone your recovery for days. How do you think Jean would like it if you ended up bedridden?”

There’s no response to that.

“If it is customary for a captain to work through illness, it’s no wonder that the Knights are always so terribly inefficient.”

Kaeya’s breath hitches, and he ducks voicelessly into his elbow, his eyelids fluttering shut. There’s a beat, and then—

“hHH’DSCHhh!”

...there’s that, too. Diluc crosses his arms. “Not to mention, if you are contagious...”

“I’m very careful,” Kaeya whispers, which is an irritating workaround to Diluc’s rule. But it doesn’t seem like it hurts his voice—what’s left of it, at least—so Diluc lets it slide. “You underestimate my abilities. It’s just—”

“A cold. I’m aware.” He turns aside, moving to pour the half-made Death After Noon into the sink. Kaeya, if anything, is a good liar. Even if Diluc somehow gets him to promise he won’t push himself too hard, Diluc doubts he’ll take it seriously.

It was easier, he thinks, when he’d been away for those three years, too distant and too caught up in Fatui affairs to care about Kaeya’s destructively selfish tendencies. Now they’re distant, less than acquaintances, but he sees Kaeya everywhere, and on days like this it feels almost cruel. It’s like they have some sort of mutual agreement to play strangers. Like caring too much would be overstepping.

“Just… don’t get worse,” he says resignedly. For once, Kaeya is silent behind him. When Diluc turns around to take his cup from him, Kaeya’s expression is unreadable.

“I’ll try my best,” Kaeya says, uncharacteristically sincere. Diluc really wants to believe him.

[cloud-9ine]

Roses are pretty cliché, don't you think? (pt 1)

⤷ pairing - bakugo katsuki x (fem) reader

⤷ fandom - bnha

⤷ warnings - swearing, very slight angst

⤷ summary - bakugo was already out of his element when he went to buy flowers; so he didn’t take kindly to you criticising his preference for roses

⤷ word count - 2.2k+

⤷ notes - i have never written bakugo before and GOD is this hard. i imagine older him would be a lot calmer and a lot less quick to blowing something up but he still feels ooc. tell me what you think!

⤷ pt 1, pt 2

The card Bakugo held was slightly crumpled within his clenched fist. The pretty pastels evidently not enough to calm his fired nerves. It was Mina’s idea, he reasoned, she was the one that knew what girls liked. If anything went wrong, then it was her fault.

Although, if it was up to him, he probably would never apologise. 

Bakugo knew he was an asshole. He knew he fucked up. He also knew he would sooner die than admit it. It was a fatal flaw that he never fully grew out of, much to the chagrin of both himself and his friends. The self-loathing was hard to ignore in the dark veil of the night, nor the quiet light of the morning, when the tension lay as thick as the pillows that separated them.

“Pfft, you look like you’re about to shit yourself.”

He huffed at the words from the man next to him, the snicker that left his lips only serving to spike his emotions further. 

“Shut it, sparky.” Denki only regarded his insult with a small laugh, shaking his head lightly. 

“Come on, you don’t have to look so scared. (Y/N)’s super nice, not to mention cute as a button too!” he grinned, clapping a couple times out of excitement. Bakugo sighed, cramming the business card in his front pocket without care. 

“I don’t think Kyoka would be too happy to hear that.” Denki sniggered, waving a hand around dismissively.

“If I didn’t know my wife any better, I would say the same, but you and me both know that she’d agree with me.” The impish grin on his lips was enough to make Bakugo roll his eyes.

“Where is this place?” Denki didn’t fail to notice the way he changed the subject, but for concern of his own safety, he didn’t draw attention to it.

“It’s literally right there,” vermillion eyes landed on the building in front of him, a quaint shop tucked in between two office buildings. The outside was a remarkable shade of lavender, with a small chalk-board sign outside painted with bluebells woven between opening times. 

“Oh.” A light tinkle of a bell rang out from the door as Denki pushed inside the shop, a quirk that wasn’t commonly seen with more modern establishments. Immediately upon entering the threshold into the store, Bakugo was pummelled with the overwhelmingly cloying scent of pollen. 

Resisting the urge to cough out of a begrudging politeness, he looked around. It was a small place, with bouquets of all different colours and types jumping from the tables in a dazzling a bounty of delight. In the centre of the back wall protruded the front desk, attached to the left of which was a small glass case filled with sweet-looking pastries and cakes. There was a small table in front of it, lined with a chequered table cloth, and two beautifully crafted wooden chairs tucked underneath the table with care.

“Long time no see, Denki,” Bakugo’s attention snapped to the presence behind the counter, where you leaned on your elbows with an easy smile on your face. Muted pink blouse tucked into a high-waist black skirt partnered with a cute little bow wrapped underneath your collar of a similar colour and you were already beginning to remind Bakugo of someone he knew quite well. It looked like a uniform, but it was informal enough to appear flattering.

“(Y/N)! How have you been?” Denki cried, sauntering over to the counter with his arms thrown wide in the expectance of a hug. You laughed, accepting the gesture with little hesitation.

“You here to pick up your little birthday gift for Kyoka?” you questioned once pulling away, eyes darting over to Bakugo and narrowing for a second before quickly returning to the other costumer. He nodded exuberantly, bright beam on his face.

“Of course! I’m excited to see what you thought up,” you grinned with a small nod of acknowledgement. 

“Great, I’ll be right back.” With that, you shuffled to a door behind the counter, swiftly stealing away to the small room at the back of the store. 

“She has more flowers in there?” Bakugo muttered, brows furrowing. Denki hummed, leaning on the counter whilst idly tapping his cheek.

“Yep. Flowers everywhere here.” He only nodded, eyes returning back to his surroundings. In less than a minute you had returned, clasped in your hands a beautiful bouquet with the stalks wrapped in brown paper. All Bakugo could see was a mess of purple and white with an air of coordination that tied it together, but it was enough to make Denki squeal.

“Oh, that’s stunning! What flowers are they?” you smiled, placing down the bouquet on the counter in front of him.

“Well, Kyoka’s a simple lady, so I used purple irises as the centre piece-” 

“That’s her favourite flower!” you snickered, rolling your eyes at the blonde’s words..

“Well, duh? Are you really surprised that I remembered?” you shook your head before continuing, “It’s hard to find colours that go well with purple without it looking too unconventional, so I complimented them with baby breaths and white jasmines, and magnolias in the middle to bring out a contrast in the yellow.” Denki was already pulling out his wallet before you had even finished.

“This is perfect, thank you so much! She’s gonna love them!” your smile turned smug.

“Of course she is, there’s no way I could disappoint a costumer,” Bakugo didn’t fail to notice the teasing coo in your voice, a proud glow on your face that he recognised was often replicated on his own expression, “will that be all?” Denki shook his head, handing you an indiscernible amount of money which you accepted before pushing half back. It seemed not even years on Denki was able to do simple math.

“Not all! I want some cake and my friend Katsuki here needs his own flowers!” Bakugo lurched forward from the rough shove from Denki, sending him a venomous glare with a small growl. Your eyes were amused as they landed on him, a smirk pulling on your lips.

“Hey, nice to meet you, Mr. Bakugo.” Bakugo wasn’t surprised you knew of him (being an incredibly successful pro hero and all) but the lilt to your voice as you drawled his name didn’t sit right, as if you were goading him in to ridicule. 

“Likewise.” You delicately pushed aside Denki’s bouquet to fully face Bakugo, the former having already been distracted by the sweet treats in the case.

“What can I do for you?” He straightened his back, shoulders tensing. He didn’t exactly know what he needed, having only bought flowers once or twice before for his mum. It was an underlying itch of feeling out of place that brought his next words forth, an urge to leave as soon as he could. 

“Roses, I guess. Red.” You snickered, and Bakugo’s eyes narrowed, “What?” You shrugged, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Roses are pretty cliché, don’t you think?” 

What.

Bakugo could feel the snarl that worked it’s way onto his face, a familiar tick of irritation welling up in his chest, only exacerbated by the mocking expression painted on your face.

“She’s right.” Denki called from his position crouched on the floor, gaze not even on him as he eagerly eyed a strawberry shortcake. 

“Didn’t need your input, dumbass!” He snapped, face heating at the bemused look on your face. It wasn’t often he felt embarrassed, and it was even less common that Denki would have a part to play in it.

“I’m just saying it’s better just to let her have free reign, that’s what I do.” Bakugo considered the words of his friend for a moment, before letting out a begrudging sigh, eyebrow twitching as he turned back to you. 

“Fine.” You tilted your head, leaning forward, similar to how his friend had stood earlier.

“So, why are you buying flowers?” Bakugo grunted, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his gaze.

“An apology gift. For my girlfriend.” You whistled, the noise pounding at the front of his skull.

“Damn, okay, how long have you guys been together?” Denki pulled out a chair, allowing Bakugo to sit down in front of the table as you pulled out a small notebook. 

“Since just after high school,” he muttered, resting his chin on his palm as he fiddled with the end of the table cloth, “it was great at the start but now we seem to be arguing more and more.” 

He shut his mouth. He wasn’t quite sure why he started to talk- it wasn’t like him to indulge a stranger in his life story. He bristled, resolve hardening.

“Why does it matter, anyway?” you hummed, looking around thoughtfully.

“Just trust the process. Describe this girl.”

“She would love this place.” Bakugo responded earnestly, a hollow laugh pushing past his lips as you nodded. It didn’t seem like much, but you got to work.

“Denki, pass me that bundle of tulips, please,” Denki nodded, obediently standing and pulling the tulips from one of the stands at the side of the room and pushing it towards you. You nodded your thanks, gaze returning back to Bakugo, who was watching you with a gaze eerily akin to suspicion.

“Look, this is gonna be a lot more awkward if you keep staring at me,” you grinned as he tutted, looking away. 

“I want that strawberry shortcake,” Denki exclaimed once you had settled again. Bakugo resisted the urge to roll his eyes while you just smiled. 

“Sure, let me get that for you,” you crouched down behind the glass case, “anything for you, Bakugo?” 

“No.” he responded, eyes narrowing at the cheeky smirk Denki shot at him. You pulled out the cake, rested delicately on a china plate with raspberry patterns coiled around the edge.

“Let me give you a drink, at least,” you offered, moving to the back room without giving him a moment to respond, and quickly reappearing with a teacup and saucer, “I had some lavender tea brewing. It soothes anxiety,” you passed the tea alongside the cake to Denki, who brought it back to their table with a grateful nod. 

Bakugo sighed as Denki placed the saucer down in front of him, a look of disdain on his face.

“Sugar’s on the table,” you called, snickering as you saw the small look of surprise on his face as he tasted the drink. Returning back to your work station, you fiddled with the tulips, taking some out and placing them in a glass vase. You moved out from behind the counter, flitting around the room and mulling over each flower.

Bakugo watched you with subtle interest, eyes narrowing when you shook your head or made a small noise of disdain. It was a fitting distraction from the loud mouthed Denki across from him, who was relentlessly chatting in between bites.

Seemingly having settled on several flowers, you moved back over to the tulips, weaving them together with pink and white bows in a way that Bakugo couldn’t begin to understand. 

The explosive blonde tended to pride himself on his achievements- his ability to become skilled in anything and everything carrying him through his life. But apparently flower arranging was where he fell short, and the annoyance of this fact making his nerves tick.

It wasn’t clear how much time had passed until you were done, hands never relenting even for a second as you worked, but it was evident that your project was finished when you took a step back to admire the bouquet. Your eyes flashed to him for a second, scouring his face for approval. 

Again, Bakugo didn’t really understand the big deal about flowers, but the passion in which you conducted yourself when producing them was something that he could respect. He stood, moving to get a closer look at what you had made.

“What’s in it?” you grinned, seemingly pleased at his fairly lackadaisical reaction. 

“Well, I used pink tulips as the base, and then I complimented them with white carnations and freesia. I didn’t want to add a contrast because if this is an apology, I wanted it to be fairly low-key, but still pretty. Do you like it?” He nodded, listening to the way you huffed in pride.

“Cool! Since it’s your first time, and because I like you, it’s free of charge, but just this once,” you gave him a pointed look, as if you were expecting to see him again.

“Thank you, I’m sure she’ll love them.” You nodded in acknowledgement, wrapping both bouquets in a protective layer before handing them out. Denki appeared beside you, accepting the flowers with a large grin. 

“I’ll see you later, (Y/N)! You’re coming, right?” 

“Yep, I’ll see you then,” you turned to Bakugo, eyes flashing with something he couldn’t discern, “I’ll see you later, too.” He huffed out something similar to an agreement, still unsure of his standing within your views. 

“Sure. Thanks again for the flowers.” Another grin.

“You’re welcome. Hope she likes them.” 

“Me too.” 

[freaoscanlin]

In the Arms of an Aila

Fandom: High Rollers Aerois Campaign

Notes: Rated PG, 4438 words, trigger warnings for minor blood mentions. This is a Uni AU wherein the Storm Chasers are a group of students sharing a house on Stormchaser Avenue after their dormitory burns down. Shout out to @obishenshenobi for being amazing and co-writing this series with me!

Summary: Four times Aila carries the party, and one time they return the favor.

Read it on AO3

“Hey, Aila?” Nova said.

“What?”

“Just...thanks.”

“Very welcome. Just do your part and hold on. Sentry will get mad if I drop you.”

Nova

The blister set in somewhere between mile two and mile four. Since it was supposed to be a five mile hike, and a torrential downpour hit at the end of mile two, soaking them to the bone within minutes, a blister was the last thing Nova needed.

Of course, who really needed a blister? Rubbing an actual sore onto the skin as the first step on the way to a callus was an absolute stupid function of humanity, and human feet should not be designed this way. In fact, all humans were composed of stupid engineering. Her thighs burned, her lower back ached, she was muddy and cross and cold, and the pain rubbing along the back of her heel made her actually want to cry.

“We’ll get to the end soon.” Sentry kept a cheerful look in place. This whole hike had been her idea in the first place, and she’d led the pack all the way out to the waterfall. Which, admittedly, had been very pretty. On a sunny day it might have even been gorgeous. But Nova could feel her teeth chattering, and she must have looked miserable because Sentry had been making remarks like that for the past twenty minutes. “And then we’ll be in a nice warm car. And we’ll get some hot chocolate.”

“Coffee,” Nova managed to say through her chattering teeth.

“Or coffee. Sure. Coffee’s fine.”

Lucius, following behind Sentry without too much trouble, should have looked bedraggled and miserable. But he’d packed a fancy purple camping jacket for the adventure. Quill, trudging behind him, kept flicking a hand through his sopping hair and sending water droplets everywhere.

Aila, after the first time Nova had landed on her ass, had taken the rear. Every so often, she reached out to grab Nova and keep her from careening off the edge of the path.

“Let’s take a hike,” Nova muttered under her breath as she limped along. “It’s beautiful, Nova. You’ll love it, Nova. Just think of the pretty views, Nova. This is great. Just great.”

She stepped down and hissed in pain as her boot moved against the blister. Instantly, the three people ahead of her turned to look. “Are you okay?” Sentry asked, her brow furrowed.

“Fi—I’m fine. It’s just a blister. I’ll be fine.”

It took a great deal of reassurance that she would be fine in order for the others to believe her. They had less than a mile to go, soon they’d be in the car, she could grit her teeth through it. After a day of holding the group back to her pace—it wasn’t her fault she lived with a bunch of jocks who preferred the gym to the library—the idea of stopping just because her foot hurt made her burn with shame. So she waved away their protests and gamely set off.

For a couple hundred meters, at least. At that point she began to whimper.

Something rustled behind her, followed by a sigh. Aila grabbed her arm to stop her. “What? Was I about to fall?” Nova asked, looking down at the steep incline beside the little trail.

“Hop on.” Aila turned to face away from her, bending her knees just a little.

“What?”

“I’ll give you a piggy-back ride.”

“But it’s so far still.”

“You weigh less than a sack of potatoes. I’ll be fine. Hop on.”

The others, having missed all of this, continued on their way up the path. Nova glanced back toward them, wondering if she should just suck it up and run to catch up. The thought alone made her want to cry.

Red-faced and embarrassed, she climbed onto Aila’s back and wrapped her arms around Aila’s neck. The relief of being off her feet came instantly.

“Comfortable?” Aila asked.

“If I get too heavy—”

Aila snorted at that. “Please. This isn’t even a workout. Hey, Sentry, wait up!”

In no time at all, she caught up to the group, trotting along as though she wasn’t even burdened by Nova’s weight. Nova decided she’d feel embarrassed later, when she wasn’t so wrecked. Aila was big and sturdy and warm, and it was the first reprieve from misery she’d had in over an hour. Quill gave her a small smile of commiseration, letting out a “hey” when she tiredly reached out to muss his hair.

“Hey, Aila?” Nova said.

“What?”

“Just...thanks.”

“Very welcome. Just do your part and hold on. Sentry will get mad if I drop you.”

Nova rested her cheek against the back of Aila’s shoulder, watching the landscape go by around them, and obeyed.

Sentry

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

Sentry, about to reach for the pantry door in the darkness, froze. A split-second after Aila’s voice rang out through the kitchen, the lights flooded on. Sentry didn’t need a highly active imagination to fully see the picture it painted: Aila by the switch in an ancient pair of joggers and one of the hundreds of tacky free T-shirts they handed out during orientation week. A massive gulf of space between the pantry and Sentry’s bedroom. And Sentry herself in her Tom Servo sleep tank and shorts, balanced on one foot to stay off of her bad knee, right by the pantry—with her crutches nowhere nearby.

“Ah, um, ah,” Sentry said, looking about for an excuse. Her shoulders sagged. “I just wanted a snack?”

“And you decided, ‘oh, I’ll just hop to it, then, will I?’”

Sentry spread her hands wide, sheepishly. “Yes?”

Aila’s expression could melt steel. “Even though you’ve got a perfectly good pair of crutches by your bed.”

She hated the crutches, yes, but in that moment Sentry decided she hated disappointing Aila more. Still, she pushed her shoulders back. “I’m allowed to put a little weight on it—”

“In two weeks! You’re supposed to stay off it for now, or you’ll make it worse.”

“I’m only getting a snack. That’s not that strenuous.”

“For somebody who mothers the rest of us when we’ve so much as got the sniffles, you’re a bad patient yourself.” Aila strode across the kitchen and before Sentry quite knew what was happening, scooped her up. Just as quickly—though a little more gently—Sentry was deposited into one of the kitchen chairs. “You could have called one of us to get you a snack if you hate the crutches so much.”

“You were all asleep, and you need your rest.”

“We need our Sentry in one piece more than we need rest.”

Aila stomped into the pantry. A bag of crisps sailed through the air, landing in front of Sentry on the table. Grumbling under her breath the whole time, Aila emerged and stormed about the kitchen, collecting a midnight snack for herself. Sentry angled a chair over to prop her recovering leg up, trusting that Aila would work through this head of steam eventually. At long last, Aila sat down across from her with a glass of water for each of them. She dug viciously into a yogurt.

“Feel better now that you’ve bitched me out?” Sentry asked, digging into the chips.

Aila considered. “A little, actually. Now I see why Nova does it all the time.”

Sentry saluted her with a crisp. “Glad to help. Thanks for getting these for me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You don’t need to keep me company if all you were coming down for was a glass of water or something, though. I don’t want to keep you up.”

“Sentry,” Aila said in a measured voice. “If I leave you there, you’ll just hop right back to bed. So I’m going to stay here until you’re finished and I’m going to eat my yogurt and then I’ll carry you back to bed, and we’ll not tell the others any of this ever happened because they’ll scold you.”

“That might be the most I’ve ever heard you speak,” Sentry said.

“Yeah, I’m a real chatty Cathy at this hour, apparently.” Aila nudged one of the glasses toward her. “Drink your water. It’s good for recovery.”

“Yes, Mom,” Sentry teased, and Aila rolled her eyes at her.

Lucius

Lucius saw the blood, had a brief eternity to think whoopsy, there I go, and when time returned to its normal course of business, fainted. Well, he went woozy, at any rate. He felt his knees buckle, but from afar like they weren’t his knees anymore, and his vision squeezed into one narrow point of blankness, and he staggered.

He slammed into something very solid, but warm like a person. “Oh, no, you don’t,” said a familiar voice in his ear.

“S-so much blood,” Lucius said, his voice sounding as far away as his knees.

The entire world seemed to tilt and a feeling of warmth suffused him, reminding him of the earliest days with Nanny Nophir. That changed abruptly, though, when he realized that instead of being cradled like a small child, somebody had slung him over a shoulder like a bag of cement. Not just anybody, he realized in a muddled storm of thought. Aila had him over one shoulder, bracing him with an arm behind his knees.

Muzzily, he twisted his head to see Sentry hurrying out of the kitchen and into the shared living room. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“Nova’s got a nosebleed,” Aila said. “His majesty still faints at the sight of blood, apparently.”

“Hey,” Lucius said feebly, as the dig felt a little unfair. He let his body hang limp, too wrung out to really protest beyond that. There had been so much blood...

“I’m so sorry,” Nova said, her voice muffled by either a towel or her hand. “Lucius, I’m so sorry, I forgot you don’t like blood. It’s just so dry—”

“Let’s just get you cleaned up,” Sentry said kindly, resting a hand on Lucius’s back as she passed. “Maybe put him on the couch?”

The last must have been directed at Aila, for she moved over and Lucius found himself being lowered onto the divan. They really should have gotten a proper fainting couch for the living room, even though it clashed with the rest of the furniture he’d hand-selected. Though the ultimate irony remained: if Aila hadn’t caught him, he wouldn’t have made it to said fainting couch anyway.

Lucius, feeling queasy, glanced over. He spotted the bloody towel that Nova had instinctively put over her face to staunch the blood, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

“Hey—hey!” Something snapped loudly in front of his face and Lucius opened his eyes. Aila snapped her fingers a few more times. “None of that now. Turn that way.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Lucius said, automatically obeying. “Good heavens. I could have cracked my head open on the coffee table if you hadn’t caught me.”

“Doubt it.” Aila snorted. “Hard as your head is, you’d have cracked the coffee table in half.”

“Oh really, do you think?” Lucius couldn’t help but be a little pleased at the thought. Having somebody like Aila think any part of him was tough—she’d certainly made enough jokes about lacrosse in their first days together—was quite exhilarating. He studiously kept his gaze focused on the back of the couch, deliberately not looking as Aila took the bloody towel out of the room and returned with bleach wipes. “Oh, I do hope she didn’t stain the carpet.”

“Eh,” Aila said. “I’ve gotten blood out of worse. Though I’ll let Nova clean up her textbook on her own. I’m nice but not that nice. It should be safe for you to look now.”

Lucius swallowed hard and sat up, rubbing his head. He’d come in to inquire of Nova, seated at the coffee table with a textbook and a soap opera on in the background for noise, if she wanted to perhaps grab a quick dinner with him before their evening class. And she’d turned to him in horror, blood leaking and...

Well, he’d prefer not to remember beyond that point. Instead, he resolutely turned his thoughts to more pressing matters (after all, Sentry was taking care of Nova, which meant she would be just fine). He cleared his throat. “Aila, I do have a question for you.”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Do you think we should get a fainting couch in here? For the aesthetic?”

Aila stared at him for a long time, then turned on a heel and left without saying a word or even making a face at him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Lucius said, and began to set his mussed clothing to rights.

Quill

No matter how they jeered and teased, there was no getting Sentry into the water. Even the triple dog dare, which would have worked on Quill without fail, held no effect. She merely gazed at them serenely from her lakeside lounger, told them they were all very clever, and closed her eyes once more, returning to sunbathing.

“Boo,” Quill called, cupping his hand around his mouth. He tried to splash water in her direction, but Sentry had wisely set her chair out of range.

“Oh, quit bugging her,” Nova said from deeper in the lake where she was treading water in her cute old-fashioned swim suit. Even in the water, she hadn’t taken off the elbow-length glove she wore to cover the scars from her lab accident. “Let the woman get some sun away from our shenanigans.”

“I refuse to let my best friend be too much of a coward,” and Quill raised his voice over his shoulder as he swam toward Nova, “to swim in the lake!”

“Love you too, Quill,” Sentry called back without opening her eyes.

The sun did feel nice, admittedly. Their first day at the cabin—one of Lucius’s family’s many, many vacation properties—had been gray and cold and unpromising, but today the skies were clear and the air was warm. Donning a pair of swim trunks and cannon-balling off of the private dock was the only logical choice to be made, in Quill’s opinion. And the others had followed not far behind: Nova in her one-piece, Lucius in speedos that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and Aila in what Quill suspected just to be her underwear, as she hadn’t gone shopping for their vacation, even at Sentry and Nova’s urging. Sentry herself had donned a tankini but was staying far, far away from the water, having made it clear just how much she found the thought of parasites and other lakely dangers distressing.

Swimming wasn’t as easy as it had been before his accident, but Quill made it out to Nova and began to tread water beside her. She closed her eyes and tipped her face to the sun. “This feels so nice. I didn’t realize how much I needed a break. I had more than four hours of sleep last night, Quill. It felt like a miracle.”

“I may never go back,” Quill agreed. “Do you think Lucius would mind if we, like, just moved in permanently? There’s a bidet. Have you ever stayed in a place that had a bidet?”

“Can’t say that I have.” Nova turned. “Aila! Have you ever stayed in a place with a bidet?”

“When would I have done that?” came the reply. Aila didn’t even lift her head up from where she was floating on her back, eyes closed.

Lucius swam up, popped underwater, and emerged so that his hair flowed back in perfect waves. The sunlight caught very faint freckles on his shoulders. “I’ve been meaning to bring that up. It’s rather a travesty that we don’t have one at home. We could have one installed quite easily.”

“Eh,” Aila said, eyes still closed. “Feels bougie.”

“How dare you,” Lucius said.

Aila merely opened one eye a slit and smirked at him. Lucius, after a moment of grumpiness, smiled back.

“Did we bring a football or anything?” Nova twirled herself around in the water like a spinning top. “Or some kind of water game we could play? Not that I don’t love swimming.”

“We could play Chicken,” Quill said. When the other three merely gave him varying glances of confusion or interest (or disinterest on Aila’s part), he tilted his head. “Did none of you ever play Chicken as kids?”

“The thing where you dart out in front of cars and stay there until they almost hit you?” Nova asked.

“No, the bit where one person gets up on somebody’s shoulders and tries to knock another person—on somebody else’s shoulders—over into the water. Here, here, I’ll show you. It’s fun.” Quill glanced between the three of them and did some quick calculus that he would never, ever tell anybody else about. “Here, Aila, let me up on your shoulders.”

Aila kept floating for a few seconds more before she seemed to shrug to herself. “Eh. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Left to his own devices, Quill was positive that he would have made it awkward to clamber up on Aila’s shoulders. But he’d forgotten just how strong rugby made Aila, and how often she went swimming. As they approached the shallower depths, she disappeared under the water. Quill felt something almost hit him from behind, and then he was launched toward the sky. He yelped and clung on for dear life as Aila straightened to her full height, the water coming up to her shoulders.

“Ooh! Ooh! I want to try. Lucius, let me up.” Nova scrambled over to Lucius and climbed up on his shoulders, kicking her feet excitedly (Lucius winced a little). She held her arms up like an old timey boxer. “You’re going into the water, bird-boy.”

“Hey, now,” Aila said. “Let’s make this fair. One hand behind your back.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, Quill.”

“I don’t need two hands to beat you,” Quill said, though he nearly disproved his entire point by overbalancing and almost falling off of Aila’s shoulders.

She merely locked her hands around his knees. Nova put her scarred hand behind her and waggled the fingers of her remaining hand at Quill.

“Oi!” A voice from the shore made all of them turn to look at Sentry, who’d sat up and set her book aside. “What are you doing? That looks dangerous!”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Lucius called back. “Aila and I have it all in hand.”

Sentry hovered on the edge of the lounger like she wasn’t entirely sure she believed that. “Well, just—just be careful.”

Quill used the distraction to lean over, scoop up a handful of water, and fling it in Nova’s direction.

“Hey!”

And just like that, the battle commenced. Aila charged forward with Quill holding on, Lucius did the same with Nova, and a wrestling match for the ages followed. Nobody would ever come up with a consensus on who actually hit the water first, though. Lucius swore it was Quill, Nova agreed, Quill argued vehemently that it was of course Nova, and Aila remained the neutral party, content to be the base for many, many games of Chicken afterward.

And Sentry remained on the shore, pretending she wasn’t keeping a close eye on them for injury and doing a horrible job at hiding it.

All in all, a pretty perfect summer morning, if you asked Quill.

+ 1 Time They Carried Her

“Sign up for survivalist camp, she says. It’ll be fun, she says. We’ll learn cool new techniques to surviving in the wild. Great bonding time!”

“To be fair,” Nova said from behind Aila’s head, where Aila couldn’t really see her without craning her neck, “we were having a great time bonding until, you know, all of this.”

Because Aila couldn’t see her, and moving to do so would only get her scolded, she had to imagine Nova waving her free hand in aggravation.

“I for one am having a perfectly lovely time,” Lucius said.

Aila could never tell when he was being sarcastic, and she didn’t see that changing any time soon. She suspected in this case he might be genuine, though. The course instructor had complimented him on his very fancy camping vest (“It has so many pockets,” Lucius had said) and nobody had yet found the heart to tell Lucius that had been sarcasm. So all through this hike he’d been in a particularly good mood. That made him the only one, probably.

Things had been going rather well during the whole course, up until this morning: the morning of their final day in the course, when they would be tested “randomly” and, using little but their wits, a compass, and a map, navigate themselves back to the parking lot. Camping with her friends had been fun, even if it meant being squished into a two-person tent with Sentry and Nova (the latter of whom had very bony elbows) at night. Aila liked the outdoors. She liked the feeling of self-sufficiency that this course had brought with it. She imagined herself as something of a pioneer. In the olden times, she would’ve kicked ass at all of this.

Unfortunately, it was nigh on impossible to kick ass with a “broken leg.”

And she wasn’t hiking out of the woods. She was being carried. On a stretcher. This sucked. The instructor had folded his arms over his chest in a rather smug fashion as he gave them their final assignment. His eyes had lingered between Sentry and Aila, easily the tallest members of the group. And he’d narrowed in on her, which was why she was being lifted by her friends on a tarp stretcher that they’d improvised.

“This sucks.”

“Yes,” Quill said, grimacing. “So you’ve said multiple times. We’re not having the best go of it either right now.”

Aila closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She’d already had to fold her arms close into her chest like a sleeping vampire to avoid being bumped and jostled about. The tarp they’d fashioned into a stretcher smelled bad. She felt like she’d been stuffed into a tiny little space, not great when she suspected she was a little claustrophobic anyway. “I’m bored.”

“I’ve got several books you could read,” Nova said, completely earnest.

That would only make this day worse, having to read. Fortunately Sentry, who was planted on the right side above Aila’s head and therefore easy to see, laughed. “I don’t think a book will help.”

“I was up late reading all about the local fauna in case there was a pop quiz,” Nova said. “I could tell you about some of them?”

“I’d rather read the book,” Aila said.

Nova tilted her head, considering. “You know what? Fair.”

“It’s not long to the parking lot,” Lucius said in a cheerful voice, though he was a bit out of breath.

“Feels like miles,” Quill grumbled.

“That’s probably because it is. I was lying,” Lucius said, tittering nervously.

Aila had pointed out that the course instructors couldn’t see them, so she could just get up and walk for a bit until they were nearing the end and all of her friends could be spared, but Nova had looked so abjectly horrified at the thought of cheating on a test that Aila had backpedaled and felt a little actual shame. Just a tiny bit, though. Not enough to fully penetrate the thick barrier of indifference she liked to carry about.

“Fine,” she said now, with a sigh. “Tell me all about these fascinating plants of yours, Nova. Not like I can do much else right now.”

Nova squeaked in excitement, reaching down to grab Aila’s leg.

“Ow,” Aila deadpanned. “That one’s broken.”

“I thought it was the other one?”

“It’s not real,” Quill said. “She’s messing with you.”

“Right. Right! Okay, so to start with, these are deciduous trees—”

Aila tuned her out in record time. Since there wasn’t anything to do but lay stiffly with her arms in a stupid position and the stretcher swaying nauseatingly below her, Aila let the patter of Nova’s excited overexplaining wash over her. She closed her eyes to stave off the nausea of watching the canopy overhead.

Sleep didn’t come right away, though it drifted near enough that she dozed a few times. Finally, she heard Nova whisper, “Did I do it? Is she out?”

“Think so, yeah,” Sentry replied.

“Oh, thank H’esper.”

“Quill!”

“We’re the ones marching miles carrying her and she’s whining?” Quill whispered back. “Have a care for my legs. I can’t feel them anymore.”

“Me either,” Lucius said.

“Meanwhile, all she has to do is lay there and be carried!”

“Which for Aila is torture and you know it,” Nova hissed.

“I do suppose she’d whine less with an actual broken leg,” Lucius said, thoughtfully, and Aila nearly gave up the game by grinning. “She does have that stoicism thing going for her. I rather admire it at times. Daddy always said that I should be stron—ow, splinter!”

“You okay? We can take a break if need be,” Sentry said.

“I’ll endeavor to carry on,” Lucius said, but he sounded tearful.

Aila almost opened her eyes again, but joining this conversation would require more mental energy than she was willing to expend. Maybe if she did actually fall asleep, this nightmare of a hike would be over sooner.

“She does look kind of peaceful,” Nova said. “In a very Angry Aila way. Nobody tell her I said that. Either of those things.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Sentry promised.

There was a long silence. The stretcher continued to sway, though not in a soothing or repeatable pattern that promoted sleep, and her friends were quiet apart from the sound of heavy breathing as they tromped through the woods. Not a bad day for a hike, overall. She really wished she could just get up and walk alongside them, but if she had to be carried, so be it. At least she had them around her.

Aila nearly opened her mouth to tell them so (and ruin the illusion that she’d been napping this entire time) when Quill cleared his throat. “We are agreed, yes, that she’ll be driving the whole way home since she’s been napping this entire time anyway?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Duh.”

“Why, obviously. I’ll be completely knackered by that point.”

Aila’s smile probably betrayed her, but she elected not to care about that. She merely let the group travel on, carrying her to their final destination in their survival course. There were worse ways to spend a Sunday afternoon, even if it meant being the one to drive them home afterward.