#a VERY strange fic for entry into december! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dialux · 5 years

Text

dawn is coming, open your eyes

Inspired by this picset, from ages and ages ago.

But where, exactly, this story comes from is very strange. It’s... a very long and very winding story into a Percy Weasley after the war, figuring out his demons and fighting past them and learning to be happy in his own skin, which... might or might not hold some personal demons.

Warnings for familial issues! Death also features prominently because it’s immediately post-war! And politics, as per the usual, because this is My BrandTM. Hope y’all enjoy!

...

there is a kind of love so filled with rage that i can’t even look at your face even as it exists in my mind.

...

“Hello Percy,” says Luna.

Your eyes are red. Your cheeks are raw from scrubbing hard enough to scrape away the top layer of skin. Your hands shake, when you think too much; they don’t shake at all when you forget, and somehow that’s worse.

Fred is gone.

It’s not your first thought in the morning when you get up, and that feels like a terrible kind of sacrilege.

“Hello Luna,” you say, and sit down besides her.

...

It isn’t-

It isn’t like that.

But you’re mourning, and you’re learning that you aren’t a quiet mourner. Things tend to explode if you stay still long enough to remember that Fred is- not here. As if he’s passed his love for explosions onto you with his last breath.

Nobody seems to understand, though. Everyone walks around you on eggshells, until you take your wand and a cloak and walk out of the Burrow one morning, skin itching something fierce. You walk and walk, feet blistering in your boots, hands sweating on your wand, eyes streaming with something other than tears.

“Hello Percy,” Luna says, slipping beside you as if nothing were amiss. “How are you today?”

You’d always ignored Luna, more than anything else. It felt kinder than to shout at her for her strangeness.

“Fine,” you grunt. “I’m just- fine.”

“Good,” Luna says, and lifts her wand, reaching out to you. “Because I have a job for you.”

You twist through a tiny, airless tube for endless moments, and finally land on a cold, dreary island before you can say anything more. It takes you a beat to realize, and then you do: it’s Azkaban. Horror clutches at your heart.

“You sent people here,” Luna says, softly, when it’s clear you’re unable to speak. “You-”

“I know what I did.”

“Then you’ll fight back.” She looks harder, brighter, than any Luna that you’ve ever known. You remember, suddenly- she’s lost a father where you’ve lost your brother, but Luna has no other family to hold her, or grieve beside her. “There are cells the Death Eaters sealed, here. Someone has to unseal them.”

“Sealed-” You break off. It’s been weeks since the end of the war; if they sealed them off to only outside influence the people inside might have had a week, at most, what with the lack of water and food. If the Death Eaters also sealed off the air, as most wards tend to do...

“The people inside must be-”

Luna nods. “Dead.”

Then why? You want to ask, before she smiles, sad and small.

“They deserve burials,” she tells you. “Burials in better places than this.” Luna swallows, and there’s a brief glimpse of a girl with sunlight hair in that motion; a girl whom you hadn’t ever loved, a girl you miss, suddenly, with a fierceness that surprises even you. “Flowers and tombstones and grass. Warmth. Wands.”

Oh. Oh, if their wands were taken- they must be-

“Muggleborns,” you whisper.

“Dead,” she repeats. “And you helped send them there.”

Ginny would have flung accusations at you, eyes shining like a hundred swords. Ron would have glared until you gave in, and then acted sanctimonious for all of a few minutes before forgiving you. Fred- he’d have probably painted your face with some week-old blood, trying to make his point and horrify you as always.

Luna doesn’t say anything more, but the undercurrent is clear to you: you can go back home, you can wallow in self-loathing and misery and continue to blow things up whenever someone startles you. Or you can try to fix what you’ve done. You can be of use, and it looks like no one else wants to do this job so it’s not like you’ll have to talk to many people.

You’re a Gryffindor at heart anyway.

“Let’s go,” you say, through gritted teeth.

...

That’s how it starts.

Luna asks, and you accept, and it hurts like you’ve got a splinter the size of a fist digging into your chest; but it feels good, too, in it’s own way.

There are a hundred people in Azkaban whose cells were warded properly when the Death Eaters fled. It was a mix of panic- the Battle of Hogwarts happened so quickly- and idiocy and bureaucratic mix-ups, but of the almost six hundred muggleborns that were locked up in Azkaban over the course of the year, more than five hundred escaped. Those who didn’t were the old, the weak, the quiet; from what you’ve been able to deduce, some people even sacrificed themselves to keep holes in the wards open long enough for others to flee.

It’s not like you’re the best warder Luna could have gotten. Hell, Bill’s better than you by a long shot; this is his actual job- but your mother’s always depended most on Bill and she actually needs him, now, what with- Fred. Charlie’d flunked Ancient Runes in his third year and taken up Divination instead; George might be better than you, now, but he’s too... something.

Broken, you think, and the thought burns inside of you, enough that you hiss out, flick your wand at an innocent bit of stone and watch it explode. Like a clock.

A hand settles on your forearm. “The nimbopaths tend to be stronger here,” she says. “Maybe we should drink some tea?”

“Just- thoughts,” you say, quietly. Nevermind that neither of you have brought tea with you; what’s important is that her hand feels very warm, and there’s something scarily like guilt rising up your throat. “I’ll finish this ward myself, don’t worry. There’s another one in the left hallway, if you want to map it out.”

Luna leaves. You knead your forehead and get back to work, carving runes with both wand and knife, carefully cracking the barrier until you can get to the gaunt corpse behind it.

You don’t scream when you see the bodies.

(You haven’t screamed since you saw Fred die.)

...

Nobody asks where you go, which surprises you more than you’d think. But they just accept that you disappear- even George, who’s been spending the most time with you. It’s regular, at least, insofar as that you leave at dawn and return only past midnight. The only people who see you are Harry and Ron and Hermione, and the three of them are strange enough that they don’t seem to find anything out of the ordinary in your wrinkled clothes or shabby appearance.

Finally, a week- or two, or three- later, Charlie sits you down.

“You need to rest,” he says, quietly. “You’re running yourself into the ground. Kingsley wouldn’t want that.”

I don’t give a damn about Kingsley, is on the tip of your tongue. I’ll run myself into the ground if I want to, is marching right behind it. I deserve this, is what echoes behind it all.

“There’s things I have to do,” you say instead.

Luna’s found a spell that keeps the bodies from decomposing. There’s a long line of them, now, arranged in one of the better-aired corridors of Azkaban; corpses in stasis that you both need to find graves for, names for, wands for. One of them had hair the color of a sunrise, streaked with a dye that sits next to your shaving cream in the store in Diagon Alley. You’d almost broken down three days ago, when you saw that purple box.

When you left that store, there was a box with Wott’s Ever-Changing Dye, Spec. Ed: SUNRISE! emblazoned on it, hidden with your daily supplies.

Maybe in a few months you’ll stop dreaming about your sins.

“I never even see you,” Charlie says. “You’re gone before I wake up, you come back after I fall asleep, you’re looking like a ghost. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, Perce, but you’d best stop before you break down. Mum can’t handle you going off your rocker, alright?”

You jerk away. “I’m sorry,” you say, precisely, each word crisp as the apples that grow in fresh spring, new and green and tart enough to draw tears to the eye, “that I am inconveniencing you.”

“Shit,” you hear him mutter, before Charlie launches himself forwards; but it’s too late.

You cross the kitchen’s threshold, and there- sitting, like a fucking mosaic of pieces that, through your tears, looks almost like Fred- is George. George and your mother and your father and the rest of your family, but Fred isn’t there, he isn’t there, he’ll never be there to tease you or frighten you or love you, not anymore.

“I’m fine,” you say, and it’s not a lie, though you can see that nobody believes you. “I’m fine,” you repeat, and Charlie’s behind you and he puts his hand on your shoulder and it’s not fine, but you’re fine, you’re fine and it’s the world that’s not fine at all.

Fred’s gone, and you’ve got a list of sins that you’ll spend the rest of your life scrubbing.

I’m not even twenty-five, you think, and I’ll never do anything great.

“I am,” you say, and this time it is defiant, as foolishly defiant as ever Fred had been, “fine.”

A shrug of your shoulders, and before Charlie can catch you, before anyone can believe that you’re going to do this again, the son who had loved rules more than he’d ever loved family- you’re gone.

...

The cliffside is cold, and you don’t have a cloak or the will to perform a warming charm.

You don’t cry, but when it rains, you don’t wipe your face either.

Your eyes are red.

...

“You haven’t told them?” Luna asks you the next day, when you show up in sodden clothes and hair as tangled as Potter’s on a bad day.

“Three more cells,” you reply. “We’re almost done.”

You reach for the doorknob, but it clicks shut with a finality that makes you whirl back to Luna. She looks back at you with a look in her eyes that makes you want to wince, her wand held high and stiff between you two. It feels like someone’s made you swallow ice.

“And after that we need to find names, and ground to bury them, and wands.” Her lips, already thin, depress further. “This will not end, Percy. Every day there will be something more, and you have to-”

“You don’t get to tell me what I have to do,” you whisper.

It’s nothing but the truth. Luna brought you here, but it’s your decision to actually do something instead of mourn. Your guilt is your own; no one, not Charlie, not George, not Luna- not a single person in the world gets to tell you that this guilt is lessened by coming here. They don’t get to do this to you. And if you want to spend the rest of your life righting the wrongs of a war that you were on the wrong side of, then there is nothing that will stop you.

“You need to tell them what’s happening,” Luna says, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. “They’re going to worry. Percy- Fred wouldn’t want you to do this.”

You step away, and slash your wand down, once, twice, thrice. The door falls into pieces, stripped wood, and you step out into the corridor. The wind catches at your cloak and hair, still soaked through. You don’t shiver.

“I signed forty-three documents,” you say softly, watching her, waiting for the inevitable horror, revulsion, hatred. “Did you know that? I signed away forty-three people’s lives. Fred’s the least of my sins.” A breath, and wood crunches under your feet as if they were bones, dried and dead. “You can tell my parents that, if you want to.” The ice in your throat spreads to your arms, to your fingers, to your heart. “But I’m going to break Azkaban’s wards today, and tomorrow I’ll find a burial ground for the dead, and the day after that I’ll find out how to make wands, and you can help me bury these people if you want to but I’m not going to stop, do you hear me?”

...

You’ve always been good with charms. Penelope’s always been good with potions.

The summer of ‘96, you have a long, explosive fight with her. You hadn’t been living together, not exactly; you’re both too independent for that. But you have an extra towel and toothbrush in your bathroom and the particular brand of rough-grain bread that Penelope likes in your kitchen, and it’s the closest you’ve come to sharing your life with anyone else.

She’s afraid.

You’re not just a Gryffindor, she says, blue eyes shining, face earnest, please, come with me- there’s other places you can succeed. It doesn’t have to be here, you-

I’m not going anywhere, you say, and you’re terrified, of course you are, you’re angry and grieving and alone and-

And you have done a lot wrong, in your life, but you haven’t run. At least in some small, aching way, you belong to Gryffindor for reasons other than your blood.

Penelope doesn’t say goodbye.

You find a thin vial resting on your bed that night- black and glittering, like the night sky ground into a liquid. You recognize it, of course. By all rights, you should turn it into the Ministry. By all rights, you should put her name on a list of criminals, for brewing one of the most dangerous potions in the world.

You pocket the vial instead.

...

(Your best subject had been charms.

But you’re even better at paperwork. It’s why Crouch takes you on- they mock you, your brothers, your family, but he took you on and he kept you on because you were good at what you did.

Forty-three people suffer for that.)

...

Azkaban surrenders the last of its sealed cells quietly, and you levitate the last body to the corridor where the rest have been lying for the past fortnight. Luna is there- her hair looks like moonlight-purified water, colorless and pure in the dull darkness.

She has a new wand, one that Ollivander made for her after the Malfoys took hers. It’s too temperamental for your taste; it reacts more to Luna’s emotions than to her words, and the results can be unpredictable. The day after you both uncovered one of the younger victims, it had only released saltwater for the full day, no matter what else Luna tried.

But it also matches Luna’s personality. Like right now: there’s a glittering charm bracelet that she’s woven out of light and some old metal scraps lying on the floor, and it shines around almost twenty people’s wrists and throats, pale blue or sparking purple or glowing yellow, like a strange string of faery lights.

"The stasis spell goes from darkness to darkness,” she says, folding one boy’s fingers open slowly, massaging the cold flesh.

You bite back the first words you think of, the acid bite of your previous meeting still concentrated. “What does that mean?”

“You have another three weeks,” replies Luna, softly. “Then the graves will rise up and swallow them once more.”

The stasis spell will fall, you realize. That’s what she’s trying to say. The spell will last from new moon to new moon, and it will fall soon and the bodies will rot, and that means-

“Graves,” you say. “Wands. We’ll need-”

“No,” says Luna. “Not us.”

You.

It had slipped your mind, but- yes, now you remember, Luna and Ron and Ginny and Ron’s friends- they’re all heading back to Hogwarts. Another week and they’re going to leave, and you’re going to have to do this alone.

Alone.

You know how that feels. You have it scored straight into your bones.

“I’ll handle it,” you say.

...

The Ministry is silent when you enter it.

It’s too early in the morning; fog still lines London’s streets, and the streetlights are still lighting up the city. The tips of your robes are damp. Your footsteps echo on the marble stone.

(The last time you were here, you killed sixteen men.

Yaxley had asked for tea, and you’d felt some shift in the air- you’d nodded docilely, you’d made the tea with careful, even hands, and then, when they were ignoring you, while they were casually discussing some crime on humanity, you’d poured Penny’s black, shining poison straight into the dark liquid.

You’d waited patiently, calmly, as they dropped.

Thirteen men like that- and then you left, quietly, and sealed the door shut. Three more men had chased you, up and down the hallways, and you’d killed two with quick wandwork but the last- the last you’d captured and carved, slowly, with your careful, even wandwork, and you hadn’t stopped until he sputtered out the truth of Hogwarts’ siege.

Nobody knows, of course. You couldn’t stand it if they did. But when you apparated to Hogwarts, it was with the blood of sixteen men on your hands.)

Kingsley’s in his office. It’s not the room where you tortured a man, not even on the same floor, but your hands tremble all the same.

“Minister,” you say, as you enter.

Kingsley looks- drawn. His bones are sharp under his skin, but he burns brighter than you remember from before, as if the pared flesh has revealed some of the fierceness beneath. When he waves you to a seat, it’s a sort of kindness.

“Percy,” he says. “I wondered when I’d see you in here.”

“Ah. I’m...” you think, for a dizzy moment, that you’ll just accept, that you’ll take the opening Kingsley offered and slide back into your old position as if nothing has changed. The nausea that rises with the dizziness clears your head, firms your voice. “I’m afraid I’m not here for the reason you think.”

“Oh?”

You swallow. “Do you know about Azkaban?”

“I read a report on it a few days ago, yes,” says Kingsley, spreading his hand on one of the stacks of papers currently crowding his desk.

I could file that, you think, abruptly seized by a desire for it. I could sort out this mess. I’d be good at it. I could-

You could. You’d reshape the nation. And you’d be scrupulously fair, viciously, steadily, fair. You’d know it, because you’d have all of it in the palm of your hand, you’d be the one doing it.

But there are other ways of doing good.

You know that now.

“Someone from Hogwarts is working on clearing it,” says Kingsley. “It’s going well, according to- ah, yes, I think it was Xeno’s daughter- a good girl, with her head in the air, perhaps, but- she’s smart, and got through a stint in Azkaban herself without breaking. Is there a problem with it?”

“No, no problem,” you reply. “But I’ve been working with her on clearing it.”

The world doesn’t stop turning when you say it out loud.

So you continue.

“We’ve recovered forty bodies. Muggleborn bodies. We’ll need place to bury them, before the stasis spell we’ve put on them starts to breakdown.”

Kingsley pauses. “Ah. I’d wondered- I thought you’d be here the day I entered, you know? But then I remembered your brother. When was his funeral?”

“Months ago,” you say, through clenched teeth, desperately trying to keep yourself from twitching. “A month after the Hogwarts- battle.”

“You’ve been excavating Azkaban all along, Percy?”

The kindness drags along your nerves. You don’t want kindness. You want professionalism, and crisp agreements, and not this- this stupid hurting rage.

“Not for very long,” you say, though, because Kingsley’s being kind while still remaining within the bounds of professionalism. “It’s going faster than I’d expected. But the stasis spell works only from new moon to new moon.”

“Did you have any particular rituals in mind?”

“I had some ideas.” You swallow. “There’s- I think, sunlight. That’s something they deserve.”

“Not something we have a lot of here,” says Kingsley mildly.

“There’s charms for that,” you reply. “And I thought- think- there’s an island. Off of Azkaban. It comes near enough to the anti-muggle wards that we won’t need to do anything complex. It’s abandoned, and...”

Perfect, you think, but don’t say. Nothing’s perfect, is what you’ve learned. It’s all just piece-meal attempts at cobbling together a vision that might, if one squints, look vaguely acceptable. But you’ve visited the island and it’s small and rough and scarred and still: perfect.

“I’ll see what I can do,” says Kingsley.

You force yourself to nod back to him.

“Percy,” he says, when you’ve gathered your coat and almost managed to leave, “your office remains empty. I look forward to seeing it filled soon.”

You freeze. You force air into your lungs. You say, without turning, “I’ll offer you a list of meritorious candidates when I get some time, Minister.”

“I need help,” says Kingsley, and his hand closes on your shoulder. You shudder. “You’re one of the few people from the old Ministry who hasn’t been arrested, you know, and we need the experience.” He pauses. “And you look like you could use the work.”

“I’m fine,” you say automatically. Then, slower, “And I cannot help you, Minister. I would be far greater a burden than an aid.”

“Percy-”

You shy away from the contact. Pull your robes around you. Nod, grimly, politely, and grind out, laboriously: “I thank you for the opportunity, Minister. But I... there are some things that cannot be- undone. Sometimes, people- people cannot be trusted. Not after they’ve- not after what they’ve done.”

“I know where your loyalty lies, son,” says Kingsley, but he doesn’t try to touch your shoulder once more. “We know where you fought when it mattered.”

Your lips twist in a facsimile of a smile. “All of you keep saying that,” you say, in a voice too low for addressing the Minister, but you don’t care. You don’t care. You are not off the rails completely, but you can taste that wildness and it is heady as much as it is frightening. “As if this war’s lasted for all of one battle. There has been a war in our country for three years, Minister Shacklebolt, and there has been a battle waged in every wizarding home within our borders. I know where I stood for too long- and I know that there are things that cannot be forgiven, no matter what else is done after the fact.”

Kingsley looks- old. His face is set in taut, narrow lines, and his eyes shine in the morning light, almost-gold. “I know this war, Percy.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” you say recklessly, before drawing yourself up. Breathing in. This, at least, you can offer. Advice, if not the work of your hands. “Children died, Minister. Muggleborns. Halfbloods. Purebloods. We all bled for a madman, and the answer that our government has for us is to sit tight. Is it any wonder people sit in their homes and ask when the next Dark Lord will rise?”

“Voldemort is gone.”

“Albus Dumbledore kept secrets,” you say. “And now, so does Harry Potter. History is set to repeat itself, Minister- and it is set to become as we once were, led by Lords and Ladies. Where do we, the common man, lie then? The chattel between lords at best. The victims, at worst. What we lost when we elected to turn our heads and bite our tongues and let a one year old boy become our savior...”

You trail off. Your hands are shaking, now, and your head is aching. There’s a small crowd surrounding the Minister, just a little ways off, but you can see the flash of a pink string quickly moving out of sight. Extendable Ears.

So now your political stance is solidified.

Nausea builds in your gut. You look at Kingsley, and regret swims before you. That he was caught even listening to your near-treasonous words might spell the end to his brief tenure as Minister. It’s quite a shame- you rather like him, even if he’s too willing to return to the status quo.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, and turn, and flee as quick as you can without actually running.

...

After, you get drunk. Roaringly drunk. As you’ve never done before in your life.

Impotent anger and bitter hatred and caustic self-loathing. It all melts underneath the touch of the- whatever- that the bartender gives you. At least you’d had the knowledge to go into muggle London, where there’s nobody who’ll report you to your mother; otherwise you’d be waking tomorrow to a howler from your mother and a quick, apologetic Hangover Relief from your father.

Only that’s how it might have been, once, for Charlie and Bill.

Now. You doubt your mother would even notice your absence. Even if she did, why would she care about one son drinking away his night when another’s buried six feet under the earth? So. No howler from your mother. No potion from your father either, though, and that’s a shame. Thank Merlin you probably have one stored away in your potions cupboard, just in case.

“One more,” you say to the bartender.

He shakes his head. Anger flashes through you, so hot it hurts. It reminds you of when you were a kid- your accidental magic had only ever come out when you wanted the twins to be silent. Once, you’d managed to silence the entire Burrow for a glorious three hours.

Fred and George had gotten you back for that, with interest; but you hadn’t cared.

“C’mon,” you say, levering yourself up those last few feet. “C’mon, you know I’m good for it, I need-”

The bartender shakes his head one last time, final, and the fragile bridge holding you to- sanity, or normalcy, or maybe just that land of reason that you’ve clutched onto your whole life- shatters. You lunge forwards and drag the bartender closer to you, and something is glowing at your feet so when you look down you realize that it’s not something but it’s you, and that glowing thing is coming from your fingers which are dripping fire.

Then there’s hands around your shoulders, dragging you away from the bartender. Hands that remain firm and tight all the way until you push through the door, and you’re stumbling, you’re choking on all the air you need but aren’t getting.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you hear from what must be the man who’s holding you, “can’t say I’ve ever seen-”

His voice wavers in and out, like a bad connection on the Floo. You vaguely register that it’s familiar; you don’t pay much attention to anything other than the blessedly cold air in your lungs and the rough stone beneath your shins. You feel sick.

“Weasley,” you hear, and it makes your chest want to shrivel up. “Weasley, hey, the fuck’s your name- it was- Percy, yeah, Percy, you hearing me? Up, Merlin, get up, would you? Obliviators’re on the way. Best if we aren’t caught here- Percy, hey- Percy!”

The world goes dark, and you don’t even regret it.

...

You do regret it when you come to the next morning.

Sunlight’s spearing through the butter-yellow curtains straight into your eyes. You make a mush-mouthed sound and flap your hand at it ineffectually. But trying to turn over hurts your head even more; you just flop backwards in the end, and close your eyes.

“Weasley?” you hear from a distant corner.

“Hnngh,” you say.

“Weasley,” sighs the man, entering your line of sight. It’s a man you vaguely remember- you’ve seen him around, though you think he was a Ravenclaw back in Hogwarts. A prefect, you’re fairly certain, below you. His hair’s damp and he’s wearing a loose tracksuit and he looks... unfairly put together for the misery you’re currently feeling. “D’you remember what happened last night?”

“Mmph.” Painfully, you swallow. Then, still aching, you lever yourself upright. Like hell’re you going to speak to a Hogwarts prefect lying down like an invalid. “Kind of. Fire?”

“You were dripping it,” agrees Prefect. “It was a miracle you didn’t burn the pub down.”

You wince. “I. It. I thought.” Then you pause, take in the entirety of your situation- you’ve just crashed on a stranger’s couch because you were too drunk the previous night after spending a full day getting wasted in a muggle pub and trying to burn it down, all because you chewed out the Minister for something that isn’t even his fault. There’s really only one thing you can say. “I was stupid.”

Monumentally stupid.

Unfathomably stupid.

“Mm,” agrees Prefect. He walks away, then comes back with two things: a copy of the paper, and a fizzing blue mug. “Drink that first. And- you are Percy, right? Percy Weasley?”

“Yes,” you agree slowly.

“You’ll want to read that paper, then.” Prefect’s eyes are sharp on your face. “You don’t remember me?”

“Prefect, right? Ravenclaw?” You shrug. “Don’t remember your name.”

“Roger Davies.” Davies nods to the paper. “Read it. And- Weasley?”

“Yeah?”

“Not all of us liked your brothers,” he says evenly. “Not all of us made the right decisions. A lot of us were- not brave. But we survived.” He pauses, and there’s something in his eyes that makes you want to swallow- something bright, and fragile, and perhaps brighter for its fragility. “A leader should know that.”

“‘m no leader,” you say, sighing as you sip the hangover relief. It blazes down the back of your throat. A good hurt, though, so you barely even grimace.

Then you look up, and Davies is frowning at you.

“Shame, that,” is all he says. “Think you’d do a good job at it. Always did.”

“Thanks for the relief,” you tell him, before you rise to your feet.

You shake his hand as firmly as you can manage. Stumble to the fireplace, mumble your address and manage three steps into your home before you collapse from the dizziness. When you open your eyes again, the paper’s crumpled tight in your fists. You let go. Smooth it out.

Your breath is snatched right out of your lungs.

“Fuck,” you whisper. You don’t like to swear, but there isn’t any other way to treat this. “Fucking fuck. Oh my fucking god!”

Hungover or not, you have to go home. You have to make sure your parents know-

Know what?

That you’re not a traitor? That you’re not the radical revolutionary the paper paints you as? That with a two minute speech to the Minister, you’re suddenly not the poster child for change from the top to the dregs of society?

Percy Weasley: Radical or Traditional?

You steel yourself. Get in the shower. Shave. Pick out some crisply folded robes. Comb your hair back. By the end of it, you’ve made your decision. Then you stand in front of your fireplace for a good five minutes, dithering, before you call out, “Roger Davies’ home!”

You don’t walk back into his home, just call and allow him the ability to pick up or decline. He does, after a pause so long your knees start to ache.

“Yeah?” he asks, wandering into view. “Forget something, Weasley?”

“My manners,” you say wryly.

“You said thanks already.”

“I know.” You swallow. You can still back out. But if you say the words, if you give them a voice... you can’t take them back. You can never take them back. “But I told you that I’m no leader. I’m not, you know, not a general. Not a Lord. I’m the normal one.”

“Yeah, I got that,” says Davies.

You tilt your head at him. “I don’t know if I’m the best for this. But... I think I can help you.”

...

You don’t return to the Ministry. But nobody stops you when you start clearing shrubbery to make a proper burial service, so you don’t stop either. You’ve told the Minister your plans, anyhow, and if someone has the temerity enough to attempt to stop you you’ve got his name ready to drop with a flatly insincere smile.

Luna comes to your flat two days later, Ollivander twitchy but at her side. She doesn’t mention the Prophet article, which you’re grateful enough for that you forgive her interference with your family.

(It’s not like you don’t understand, you soothe yourself. Everybody wants a happy ending, all the hurts smoothed away. And for Luna, who’s an only child, who has been such a source of strength to her father- it must seem even stranger, even crueler, for you not to desire with all your body and mind to return to them. Have the Weasleys not suffered enough? Why are you so fucking incapable of kindness?

But war has pared something away in you- worn down those pieces that wanted things with hard desperation, cut away those parts that made you want love or approval or appreciation.

What is left of you now?)

Ollivander hems and haws and looks increasingly insulted at your desire to bury wands with the Azkaban muggleborns; it’s very rare to lose wands like that, and usually done only for people who have nobody else in the world. No family, no friends. Nobody who’ll take or remember these people.

You don’t care.

These people had wands, but they were yanked out of their fists. There’s no way to track that down, now, and the injustice of it bubbles in your chest every time you feel exhaustion dog at your heels.

“The- the waste- it’s unconscionable- how can I-”

“Waste?” you ask mildly.

Luna leans back, starlight-hair glittering. She doesn’t look away from you, eyes level and warm. You straighten your spine and dig out the boy who’d bargained with pureblood supremacists, words cajoling; gaze unflinching.

“Their old wands will sit in some old pureblood vault for decades,” you tell Ollivander. “We cannot retrieve them; those records have been destroyed, or perhaps never maintained in the first place. If ever they see light of day, they will be in the hands of the very people who took them away.” You lean forwards, and take no joy in the subtle flinch of Ollivander’s shoulders. “We are burying wizards and witches, Mr. Ollivander, and they shall be marked as such. They will be given that dignity.”

His pale, silver eyes say everything he’s too polite to say.

Traitor, radical, fool.

Too angry to be any use. Too stupid to be quiet. Too cruel to be part of the Light.

Well, that’s fine. What use have labels been to you anyways?

Why do you care so much? sneers Ollivander, silent, wordless.

And you do not answer: Because I could have blown up the Ministry if I was pushed, and I don’t know why I didn’t push myself. Because I let the war pass me by and my family is made up of people who cannot forget that, even if they will forgive me. Because I am here, and I can, and so I will.

“I cannot make wands for people I do not know,” says Ollivander finally.

“I have their profiles arranged,” you reply, hand resting heavily on a stack of parchment. “Take your best guess.”

“I have not made wands in- months. The process- I cannot- the speed will be too low to-”

“Then I will help you,” you say lowly, and watch the flash of irritable defiance in Ollivander’s face flare and fade out. “Forty wands. We’ll get this done before the month is out.”

It’s going to be a challenge, of course, but you have never shrunk from honest, hard work before, and you won’t start now. Youngest aide to an official in the history of Britain; sharpest Weasley in a family that you had to claw distinction out of; the face of a burgeoning radicalist movement through the nation. You’ve done it all before, and you’ve done it well, and you’ll do this too, properly.

Beautifully.

#hp fic #percy weasley #luna lovegood #my writing #a VERY strange fic for entry into december!

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fanfic-chan · 3 years

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The Best Gift

Heya! This is my entry for @ticklygiggles Squealing Santa! I had a lot of fun writing this for @helloitsghost! I honestly think this is one of my favorite fics that I've written so far and I'm really proud of how it turned out! I hope you all enjoy and have a merry Christmas!

Summary: Kageyama is feeling insecure about his relationships with the team when volleyball isn't involved. Suga helps him out.

"Hey Kageyama, would you mind coming outside and helping me carry in the snack trays from my car? I'd have brought them in earlier, but I was afraid Tanaka and Noya would ravage them before we'd even started."

The younger setter looked up at Sugawara and nodded in response, scrambling up from his place on the gym floor whilst completely ignoring the two second years' shouts of outrage. The younger setter seemed quite grateful for the chance to excuse himself from the game of truth or dare the other guys were playing while they waited for Tsukishima and Yamaguchi to arrive. It was the first weekend of December, and since Christmas was right around the corner, the Karasuno volleyball team had all decided to have a Christmas party/sleepover in the gym to celebrate. They had already finished setting everything up, and were now just waiting for their two teammates to show up after agreeing to pick up a pizza on the way. Thankfully, Yamaguchi had texted not long ago saying that they were almost there, so it shouldn't be long now.

As the two setters made their way out of the loud gymnasium and into the cool winter air, the elder of the two couldn't help but notice his kouhai's quiet sigh of relief when the doors of the gym closed behind them, muffling the chaotic whoops, hollers, and general chaos of their other teammates as they continued their game inside.

"Hey, everything alright? You seem a little tense." He asked, feeling slightly concerned because, now that he thought about it, Kageyama had seemed rather distant today. He still squabbled with Hinata a bit during practice, sure, but not nearly as much as usual. Not only that, but his serves had also been less precise during practice.

Yeah. Something definitely had to be up. It was so absurdly obvious to him now that Suga could almost slap himself for not noticing earlier.

"Hmm? Oh, y-yeah. I'm fine."

Suga hummed softly in dissaproval of his kohai's flimsy lie, and the other boy averted his gaze guiltily. He didn't even seem surprised when the co-captain took him gently by the shoulder and led him over to a nearby bench.

"Alright, spill it. You've been acting strange all day and something is clearly bugging you. You don't have to tell me everything if you don't want to, but I need to know that you're ok at the very minimum. You aren't sick are you?"

Kageyama almost found it humorous how quickly Suga went into mother hen mode as the possibility of him being ill popped into his mind, and if it weren't for the heavy atmosphere, he might have even laughed when he took his gloves off and pressed his hand to his forehead fretfully while he checked him for a fever.

"I'm not sick, don't worry senpai, it's just… well.."

He flushed slightly as his upperclassmen pulled his hand away and put his gloves back on as he waited for him to continue now that he'd confirmed for himself that he didn't have a fever.

Trying to find the words to describe how he was feeling was hard. He'd never been good at this sort of thing, talking about his emotions and stuff, but he pushed forward anyways when he caught sight of Suga's patient smile out of the corner of his eye.

"I um, well, I guess I'm just not used to all of this yet you know?" He mumbled softly, avoiding eye contact as he fumbled to elaborate. "Err- The team bonding stuff I mean. I know we do it all the time, technically, at practices or after games and stuff, but when it comes to things like sleepovers or parties, stuff that isn't directly linked to volleyball, it's different. I… I wasn't exactly the best teammate in middleschool.. I'm not good at being optimistic like Hinata, or clever like Tsukishima, or friendly like Yamaguchi, or, or funny like Tanaka and Noya, or supportive like Ennoshita, Kinoshita, and Narita. Heck, I couldn't even begin to compare myself to any of you third years. I don't know, sometimes it just feels like.. the only way I can actually connect with people is through volleyball, and even then, I'm constantly terrified that I'm going to screw up, and then it'll-" He hesitated, "a-and then it'll be like middleschool all over again.."

Kageyama didn't even realize he was crying until Suga had already taken him into his arms, and by that point he couldn't really bring himself to care about how uncharacteristically vulnerable he was being at the moment. So, rather than struggle against the embrace, he instead leaned further into his senpai's shoulder as he tried to calm himself.

"Kageyama, can you look at me please?" Suga prompted gently after a moment, waiting patiently as the younger hesitantly sat up and met his gaze.

"Alright, I want you to listen very carefully to what I'm about to say, because it's important okay?" He said, allowing just a hint of firmness into his voice to emphasize that he was serious. It seemed to be just enough to get Kageyama's attention focused entirely on him, as his cries lessened considerably as he nodded into the elder's chest.

"First of all, I don't know what kind of person you were in middleschool, I only know bits and pieces, but I do know this; regardless of what you might have been like back then, regardless of what you may have done, that isn't you anymore. You're a different person now. You've made mistakes and you've learned from them, just like everyone else. It's as simple as that. It's all a part of growing up, and personally, I think you're doing a great job so far. It takes a lot of strength, humility, and determination to own up to your past mistakes and try to correct them, and you've already made so much progress compared to how you used to be, and when you make a mistake, like everyone does every once in a while, you can always count on your teammates here to help you. You're one of us now, and the Karasuno volleyball team never leaves another crow behind. Never."

Kageyama blinked up at the older setter in astonishment, opening and closing his mouth repetitively and looking comically similar to a fish.

The irony of Kageyama's name literally translating to 'flying fish' only served to make the comparison all the more humorous in Suga's mind, and he chuckled softly as he waited for the other to find his words.

He was completely caught off guard, however, when Kageyama opted to hug him as a response instead. The young setter rarely initiated much physical contact on his own outside of his playful squabbles with Hinata. Heck, the kid could barely manage a high five without it looking like the most awkward thing in the world, so this, this was a huge deal.

That realization alone was enough to bring tears to his own eyes as he returned the embrace.

Kageyama's shoulders were trembling slightly with barely suppressed sobs, and it wasn't long before he found himself absentmindedly tracing light soothing shapes up and down the younger's back, and that's when something surprising happened.

Kageyama giggled.

They both paused for a moment.

"Kageyama? Did you just-"

"N-No..."

"But I didn't even-"

"Whatever it is, no."'

Suga sat up slightly to look at Kageyama in confusion, and was even more shocked to find him blushing bright red as he averted his gaze. He seemed embarrassed for some reason, but why would he-

Oh.

That's right.

A devious smile slowly started spreading across his face as a resurfacing memory suddenly gave him a great idea of how he could cheer up his sad kouhai.

It happened a few weeks ago, when Tanaka and Noya had been messing around with the first years while everyone was cleaning up after practice. Suga had been helping Kageyama put the net away when the duo had targeted the poor setter. He 'd tried to escape, but had ultimately only ended up getting himself tangled up in the process. It had actually been pretty hilarious to watch the two tickle the usually stoic guy into oblivion while he was stuck, but the best part in Suga's opinion was how much Kageyama had seemed to enjoy it, despite his many flustered claims that he didn't. Between the childlike gleam in his eyes and his happy giggles, no one had really believed him.

With that thought in mind, Suga nodded a bit to himself decisively and quickly pulled the younger over to topple into his lap and wrapped him in another hug from behind.

"S-Suga-senpai? Wait what are you- AH! Ahahahaha! Wahahait!! No whyyyy?!" The younger setter immediately burst into a fit of barely suppressed giggles when the older started squeezing his gloved fingers up and down his sides mercilessly.

"Why? Because I want to cheer you up silly! Now stop squirming around so much and let me help you!"

"Thihihihihihihis isn't hehe- hehehelping!!"

"Oh it's not? How about this then? Does this help?"

Kageyama didn't answer, to busy covering up his mouth with his hands in an attempt to muffle his own embarrassing squeaks and laughter as Suga moved upwards to claw at his ribs, and he was suddenly really beginning to regret not zipping his jacket up despite it not being that cold out yet. At least it would have served as a bit of protection from his senpai's devious fingers. To late now he supposed. Though, he had to admit he was surprised and a little bit perplexed by how different this was from the other times the guys had tickled him. Usually it was quite a bit rougher, more playful and there were more taunts involved. But this, this was something else entirely.

Sure, it still tickled a lot, and Suga was still teasing him, but there was a certain air of gentleness and care to it that made him feel all giddy and warm inside. It made him feel loved, and despite his best efforts to convince himself that he hated being tickled and that it was childish, he couldn't help but finally admit it to himself. He loved it. He loved every tickle fight he'd had with Hinata, he loved when Tanaka and Noya would jump him out of nowhere, and he especially loved this new gentle kind that Suga was introducing to him now that seemed to make every ounce of sadness and doubt he had after tonight just evaporate from his mind entirely.

Suga kept at the gentle clawing for a little while longer, just listening and watching fondly as Kageyama laughed and squirmed, not even really trying to get away after the initial shock had worn off. It was as if he'd just melted into it after the first minute or so. He almost felt guilty for having to stop, but the other guys were probably wondering where they were by now and it was starting to get colder out now that the sun had set completely, so reluctantly he decided to go ahead and draw it to a close.

"Alright, alright." He soothed as he let his fingers slow and started rubbing the phantom tickles away instead, "Feeling better?"

"Y-Yeah. Thahahanks." Kageyama answered loopily, sitting up a bit as he caught his breath.

"We should probably head inside now before Tanaka and Noya start trying to eat Hinata or something. They're probably chasing him around the gym as we speak." Suga joked, chuckling slightly as he stood up and offered his hand out to the first year, who took it and smiled up at him gratefully.

On their way back to the gym, snack trays in hand, Kageyama spoke up.

"Hey um... Thanks, y'know, for talking to me and um... the other thing.. I..." He hesitated, a small blush appearing on his cheeks. "I liked it... It was fun, um... yeah, so thanks. For that."

Suga blinked at him, slightly caught off guard by the shy confession, but quickly recovered and shot him a gentle smile.

"Anytime Kageyama."

#SquealingSanta2k20 #Squealing Santa 2k20 SS2k20 #haikyuu tickle #ler!suga #lee!kageyama #hurt/comfort #tickling #sfw tickling #sfw

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n7punk · 3 years

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2021 Writing Journal

I’m kinda burnt out right now and that oddly felt like the perfect time to write this, so I’m doing a year retrospective/writing accomplishments post. I’m writing this on the 17th and will update the totals on the 31st to get in December.

Date format is dd/mm/yy. This is a 2021 retrospective but also includes some mention of the 2020 since I only started writing fic halfway through that year. This is like half writing and half personal stuff. It’s basically a writing journal entry.

It feels weird to say “I wrote about a million words this year” and also “I didn’t reach all of my goals”, but there it is. I met (most) of my word count goals, but I didn’t do as many projects as I wanted to. Still, I did a lot this year, so I’m going to try to focus on that while also not omitting the parts that I’m disappointed in.

Stats:

Total fic word count in 2020: 642,829

Total fic word count posted in 2021: 949,240 (according to AO3)

Total word count in 2021 (including unpublished projects but not content cut edits): 980,702 (according to my tracking spreadsheet. Includes my novel and upcoming, unfinished fics).

Total updates (chapters/one-shots) in 2021: 122

I think the AO3 total is inflated thanks to things like the DITM edit bringing over the 36k that were already there last year into this year’s total. I know that my total in the tracking spreadsheet should be, at minimum, 76k more thanks to unpublished projects, not to mention one shots and other chapters still in progress. According to my spreadsheet, I wrote 903k in fanfiction this year. It’s also possible that AO3 just tracks word count differently as well.

Goals:

I started this year with an 800k total word count goal for the year, which I considered a lowball goal (I wrote 642k last year in about six months, so theoretically should have been able to write 1.2mil in a year), but I knew I was going to have some health struggles this year (and boy did I) so I didn’t want to put too much pressure on myself to write. I ended up reaching that goal on 15/10 and set a new goal for 900k, which I reached on 18/11. I then set a goal for 1 million, which was really the minimum I had wanted to reach for this year despite my lower stated goals. I never reached that goal, sadly, but I at least came close.

Truthfully, I really wanted to write 1.2 mil this year, both because I knew it was kind of possible and because a friend told me about a fic they once read that was that long. Now, that fic was written over like 10 years, but I’m insane. It turns out that I burn out every few months though, so while it’s possible for me to write 105k in month (my highest count for a month this year, in October), there’s a backswing of unproductivity that comes afterwards, so I can’t do that for 12 months in a row.

I didn’t know that before this year, though. Writing has actually made it easy to see the pattern of my burnout and depression flares, not only because I can see my productivity in my word count, but also because I tie the emotions I was feeling at the time to what I produce so it is now very easy for me to recall how I felt in January because I remember how depressed I was while working on strange disease and I know I was writing it then. I’ve never had such solid markers to tie my mood to before, so writing (and tracking it) has really helped me to understand myself and my own patterns over the last six months.

Beyond word count, I wanted to make a dent in my “Upcoming Projects” list. I didn’t have a specific number of projects that I wanted to complete, I just wanted to go back to blitzing through an entire 10 chapter fic in two weeks like I was doing at the end of the summer in 2020. As previously discussed about burnout however, that really wasn’t possible. I’m trying to be happy with what I can do, because I know it’s actually a lot, but it is frustrating when my ideas pile up and I have new ones at a higher rate than I complete old ones.

From what I remember, I started 2021 with a list of about 7 projects that I wanted to write: strange disease (done), asgne (done), the greys (done), ihtwcyn (done), wdtfd (done), 5gr (not started), and oesab (not started). While I did write most of the things that I came up with last year, I also came up with a whole host of new ideas, to the point where I am starting 2022 with 7 fic ideas waiting again and have even more novel ideas. It feels like I’m cursed to always have more idea than I have time, but who knows.

This year has seen me shifting towards more interest in original projects (starting around the Catradora anniversary actually, that’s when the first novel idea I had this year started forming) and I’m kind of hoping that the more complicated/involved nature of these ideas means the number I have of them will be lower so it feels less like I can’t keep up with my own mind. Of course, these ideas also take longer to plan and write so....

Still, I’m not complaining about having ideas. I know it’s a good thing. I wanted to complete more projects in 2021, but I completed 10 “major” ideas in the form of multi-chapter fics, plus 1 novel. Counting my ongoing project for December, that’s about one major project a month (even if that average isn’t how things were written in reality. Some projects took two months, others like 3m2 took two days).

My other goal was to not adhere to a schedule anymore (after I found it was contributing to my first burnout period this year back in January/February) but to, on average, post at least twice a week. I sometimes went a week without posting (I think the largest gap, aside from the hiatus I took in November for my novel, was 15 days). Long gaps were usually in between projects as I planned the next one, got acquainted with the world, and wrote at least two chapters for the next project, but I didn’t want to force myself to write or get ahead in my writing, so I just post whenever I have one chapter edited and the next drafted, hence the “average” goal. For most of the year my schedule was 2-3 posts a week, leaning more towards two. I took November off posting entirely (after posting 3 days in a row at the start of the month) and then came back with the lesser goal of 1-2 times a week in December since I was struggling with burnout again.

I met this goal easily. I wish my posting wasn’t as variable with back-to-back updates and then an entire week of nothing, but its the nature of posting when something is ready and not holding it back, which I definitely prefer. I’m really happy with how much I posted and am fully planning to actually ramp it down in 2022 as I focus on personal projects more often (though I will be writing fic as well, I miss Catradora when I don’t).

Overall, reading this back it seems kind of ridiculous to be disappointed with how much I’ve written, though that doesn’t stop me from thinking “if I can write 10k in a day, why can’t I do that single day?”. I know it’s ridiculous, especially given the burn out thing, but it is something my brain does. Still, writing this made me feel a bit better about what I’ve done this year.

Writing Tracking:

On August 4th, I started tracking my writing in a spreadsheet. I did some research before going with a spreadsheet - I was certain there had to be a software or premade template that met my specifications - but I couldn’t find anything that met all my specifications, so I set about creating a spreadsheet from scratch. I have always loved making spreadsheets, but I usually use them for stuff like cataloguing or sorting. I was a complete novice when it came to Excel formulas, having never written one before, but I needed to learn it anyway so I taught myself Excel by creating this spreadsheet. I spent a lot of time working on the sheet in August, all while logging what I was managing to write at the time (which, given I was sick and burned out, wasn’t much).

I still tweak the sheet sometimes, and especially have been adding new features over time or fixing ones I implemented poorly initially, but it was mostly done in August or September. I love my writing spreadsheet and find it really helps with my motivation, as well as things like understanding my mood or burnout like I talked about above. I can see exactly how productive I’m being day-to-day in my monthly summary sheet and overall trends in my yearly summary sheet. I can compare statistics between my different projects in my projects sheet too, like tracking their length vs my predictions for them and how quickly I wrote them.

Community:

I was going to just put my final thoughts, and then I got a DM from a reader (my DMs are actually off unless I DM you once first, sorry) and I realized I would be completely remiss to not talk about another massive part of my writing experience: you guys. If anyone’s still reading at this point anyway.

All the engagement I get on my stories has not only been massively motivating, it has helped me improve my writing and gave me a purpose during the pandemic and my last year of health issues. I’ve had multiple people tell me that my stories helped them get through quarantine and I don’t have words to describe how that makes me feel. I often feel like I’m failing if I’m not meeting some certain, statistical metric and it makes me lose sight of things, but sometimes I remember the kind of impact my writing has had for some people and it almost feels like a purpose to life beyond the constant rat race of capitalistic life.

I got so many comments and asks this year, not to mention fanart and other things that when I think about make my head spin, and it was all because someone else enjoyed my work enough to dedicate a small part of their life to it. When my fics started getting more popular I remember thinking “the first time I get fanart from someone outside of my friend circle, that is when I will have made it” and then it... happened. And it just kept happening. It’s truly one of the highest compliments you can give a writer, to be so inspired by their art that you make your own, and that’s only scratching the surface of the stuff that has happened this year.

The engagement blows my mind as is, but it also inspires me. I’m much more interested in writing original stuff because I know there are people so invested in what I do. My entire life I have written and wanted to write (Remember, I finished my first full novel at age 11) but I always thought I would just write them for myself and maybe edit them to show my friends/family if I liked the draft enough. The way people have reacted has really motivated me to put more into crafting my original projects and actually doing something with them.

I don’t respond to comments/etc as much as I would like due to anxiety, nonverbal periods, and a general lack of spoons, but they really make a difference in my attitude. Sometimes the rare shitty comment can stop me from writing for the rest of the day, but the people who are truly kind or helpful really make a difference. Everybody who commented/sent an ask/drew fanart/etc this year: thank you. Without all the engagement I definitely wouldn’t have written or posted as much, even if my writing is ultimately for me. My writing came further in the first year of writing fic than it did in the decade of personal writing before that, thanks to stuff like people telling me their favorite parts that showed me what worked. You guys have made a difference in my life too.

Happy New Year, I guess, wherever you are. Here’s to 2022 being a better year (I’m not optimistic, but I refuse to be cynical either).

#mylife #ficmeta #fic rambling #all fics

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speakingskies · 3 years

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JSAMN Valentine’s Rarepair Fest 2022!

Last year we had a great time celebrating the lesser-spotted pairings and characters in our little (but sprawling) fandom, and I’m really looking forward to seeing everyone step outside their usual comfort zones again!

This year we’re starting the Rarepair Fest off a bit earlier to give participants a bit more time, and are also (very excitingly!) extending participation to artists, too!

For artists it will not be Big Bang-style “illustrate a fic fill”, but more like an art exchange where you interpret your given prompt in any way you wish.

Everyone in the exchange will receive either a fic or a piece of art based on one of their prompts.

The guidelines:

Please do not ask for these pairings. These are the most popular and dominating pairings in the “Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms” tag on AO3 from the last 3 years, meaning over 20 fics have been published in that timescale. We love these pairings, but this is a chance to tread new ground and to make rarepair fans very happy indeed! You can use these as background pairings, but please not the main focus of the fic.

BANNED PAIRINGS:

John Childermass/John Segundus

John Childermass/Henry Lascelles

Gilbert Norrell/Jonathan Strange

Arabella Strange/Jonathan Strange

Emma Pole/Arabella Strange

John Childermass/Gilbert Norrell

Any other pairings or ratings allowed! If you’d prefer gen-fic focused on a particular under-loved character then that’s great too! For single-character prompts, please also avoid any characters mentioned in the pairings above. If you’re struggling for inspiration, the Learned Society has kindly provided a crowd-sourced list of possibilities which you can peruse here.

Any ratings allowed

Minimum fic length of 1k words, no maximum.

Art fills must be a finished piece on unlined paper/digital, no sketches.

Age limit of 18+ due to explicit submissions

You will be allocated an exchange participant based on your pairing preference selection (more below!)

All fics and art will be uploaded to the AO3 collection, although you are very much encouraged to also post fills to tumblr/social media account of your choice

To participate you must:

Have an AO3 account (for artists, too, so we can keep all the final products together in this collection!)

Be over the age of 18

Love the underappreciated characters of the Clarkeverse!

Work well on a deadline!

To sign up, please send an email to speakingskies [at] gmail.com specifying in the body of the email:

Your AO3 account name

A list of up to three pairings or characters wish to receive a fic about or art of (please stick to three maximum for admin reasons!)

A brief (200 words max) prompt for each pairing, one that can be conceivably covered in a 1k fic or single piece of art

Any triggers, squicks or NOTPs?

Are you signing up as a writer or an artist? (Or if you are multi-talented, if you will make up your mind based on the prompt you receive)

Are you up for being a pinch hitter if someone drops out?

The deadline for signing up is 26th November 2021. After this a Google Form of submitted pairings will be sent out to you. You will rate your favourites and will be allocated a recipient based on your selections – if two people rate the same pairing as their favourite, the first person to have completed the form will be given that as their prompt, and the second person will receive their second choice.

You will be sent your pairing and full prompt before 10th December 2021.

The submission deadline for entries is 11th February 2022, and submissions will be revealed on the 14th.

You will upload your submission to the JSAMN Valentine’s Rarepair Fest AO3 collection, and gift it to your recipient.

The works will remain anonymous for a week after the reveal. After that, the authors will be unveiled.

Reminders will be sent a week before the deadline, so please do contact me using an email that you check regularly, or set up forwarding or alerts for that email. Please note that these are all hard deadlines. If you need to drop out for any reason, please let me know at the earliest opportunity.

If you have any questions please do DM me or email on speakingskies [at] gmail.com

#Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell #JSAMN #JSMN #JS&MN #The Ladies of Grace Adieu #LoGA #Susanna Clarke #fic exchange #art exchange #Valentine's Rarepair Fest #op

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all-things-fic · 4 years

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Somewhere Only We Know

A/N - Hello, you lovely lot! Hope you are all keeping well in these utterly shit Covid times. Who would’ve thought that we would still be here in December?! Please see my offering for @goldenbluesuit‘s Christmas Fic Challenge. Hope I’ve done a bit of justice with this piece.

I can remember Katie texting me telling me about the challenge, and I’ll admit I was given first dibs and now I’m absolutely shitting myself because I’ve seen all the brillaint entries so far and I’m not sure I really cut the mustard with this piece but I’m proud of myself for being able to put a solid 70% of this together in just one day (that one day being today).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Katie has done a brilliant job and I know how grateful she is towards anyone who has joined the challenge or supported by reading/sharing etc.... I need to stop rambling... Okay, thank you for sticking with me as always and happy reading! .x

***

The last thing you remembered actually reading in the group chat was “make sure you have your wellies”. You were glad that you remembered that part at the very least.

Winds whipped around you as you buried your face further into your cream roll neck cable knit jumper, all but hidden underneath your tobacco borg teddy coat that someone had already likened to Macklemore.

Nothing like being back home with your closest and oldest friends.

Mud squelched under your feet as you walked in line with two of your oldest girl friends, eyes looking over the four males in front of you as they led the way over the grassy hills.

There had been zero planning on what today’s events would bring. It was quite clear that the seven of you just wanted to be reunited with the country air and wind bitten cheeks.

It was nice. How simple it was. On the surface at the very least. That was until you zoned in on the little things.

Like his laugh. The same laugh that always carried somehow and it seemed like the wind was making it that much more prominent than usual today.

There was no denying, he had this glow about him. Even from the back of him. You felt silly for thinking it, but it was true. It was in the way he held himself as he attacked the grassy hills with his feet clad wellies and brown trousers.

Life had changed a lot in over a decade. Christ, had it been that long? You’d all gone from baby teenagers to fully fledged adults. The age range of your friendship differing slightly, the odd person here and there slightly older than a couple of people in the group.

Nonetheless, many of the experiences had been the same. The big job offers, and the even bigger promotions. The heartbreaks, regardless of their prominence or lack of, had been the felt the same. The flirtation between some of you sparked probably a bit more so now with a finesse that didn’t have you rolling your eyes but rather leaning into it.

Four out of seven of you were single. Jack and Jonny were virtually married off, however neither of them were with their partners this year with both deciding to spend Christmas at home and New Years with their significant others. Alice was still loved up and going strong with her fella, as was Grace who you hadn’t heard a peep from as she constantly checked her phone to see when the person she was besotted with finally arrived up North thanks to West Midlands Trains pulling into Crewe.

So that left Will, you and Harry. Harry who had quite publicly made it known that he was single. Well, according to your Mum he had, in several interviews. Including the one that she had described as an ‘incredibly relaxing watch and nice background noise to my Sunday evening brew and ironing session’.

That was a strange one for you, his honesty. In earlier years of friendship, he always seemed quite aloof. Like he was keeping his options open. Guarded in a way that frustrated at least 75% of the friendship group, in the nicest way possible. You knew that was a contradiction but any annoyance came from a good place.

You remembered one night in 2014 when he wouldn’t quite give you a straight answer over tequila shots whether he was shagging someone or not. You also remember the way he’d been pulled away from you tactfully by Alice that night when she sensed how you were about to blow up at his lackadaisical attitude.

The same had been felt in 2016. Not so much in 2018, but you weren’t single then so maybe you just didn’t care.

2019 was significantly different though.

See the thing was, you knew him now. Like, knew knew him.

Some would think it was a lapse of judgment, a reading that you would agree upon given what had happened two days prior if ever prodded about it publicly.

Others would vehemently disagree. Stating how long any sort of energy between the two of you had been bubbling for a number of years.

Looking back you couldn’t even understand why you’d attended his show. You lived in Camden and it made sense, but that’s where the sense stopped. Even the ways he had reached out had been one of the most random messages you’d received from him

There was no context, just a simple ‘I’m playing the Electric Ballroom and there’s tickets waiting for you if you want ‘em.’

And the thing was, you loved that venue. The grungy-ness of it all. The way you had stuck to the floor while trying to dance along to the likes of The Hives and Kings of Leon when seeing them playing there, basking in your sweaty happiness.

But the stickiness of the floor and sweatiness of the room didn’t compare to the stickiness and sweatiness you later found yourself partaking in as Harry took you from behind over the side of his couch.

A shiver rolled through you at the thought, one that you would blame on the December bitter chill because it was a secret. One that neither of you had mentioned since it happened on Thursday night, or to be technically correct the early hours of Friday morning.

He’d been good. Of course he had been.

He had that way about him that night that pulled you under a false sense of endeared security. From his dimpled smile to gleaming eyes. He was happy.

And the way he had shone as he found you on the balcony had warmed you like nothing you had known in the longest time.

It caused you to forget about the worry that had laden you limbs as you turned up at 9.13pm to the wooden doors of the building, wondering how many songs he was in to the set as you convinced yourself he would start at 9.00pm.

As you’d been ushered over to a clear box window and uttered your name to a dorky looking man wearing a tracksuit pull over and watched him handover a white envelope through the circle hatch.

You stood in the dark, next to two much younger girls who enjoyed the way his glances lingered over at their side. Eyes had found Gemma in the opposite corner of the balcony, her dancing and singing with some recognisable faces mainly more so because you had seen them on social media.

You, however, kept yourself to yourself. Until you were anchored in the tightest hug from Gemma that you had ever felt from her and swayed from side to side as she made it known how pleased she was to see you once the concert was over.

That familiarity had been nice. The vibrancy of nostalgia consuming you in your entirety.

Watching him work a room when he finally entered the after party was a sight to behold, in his navy blue pinstripe suit and yellow ‘I’m gonna die lonely’ t-shirt.

He wasn’t. Gonna die lonely, that is.

He glided so smoothly from one person to the next, spilling a drink down himself in the process you’d seen (and later felt when your hand clung to the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed), making time for everyone in his own unique way.

Big eyes followed you over Gemma’s shoulder when he had finally found himself within your circle and hugged his sister once more that evening. They were hard to read but also openly filled with a glimmer of hope as he dropped his gaze to see what you were wearing.

And when he approached you, he hugged you in a way that managed to pull you into the darkened corner of the dingy space. Spinning your body to keep your face concealed from any prying eyes.

He revealed to you how he didn’t think you were going to turn up, scanning you with his gaze as he spoke. You did the same, a bit taken aback by just how attractive you were finding him. He had always been handsome but the aura he gave off, made your fingers itch to have him closer to you.

Words ran away from you that night as he begged and pleaded with you to tell him what your favourite song had been. Based on first impressions, which the show has been, then Canyon Moon and Watermelon Sugar had smothered you and given you no other option but to pick them.

If he were to ask you now you’d probably say To Be So Lonely, thanks to the drive home being longer than originally thought and said album being your choice of road trip music.

Forget Driving Home For Christmas, nothing slapped more than one of your closest friends admitting to being an arrogant son of a bitch.

After your chat, he mingled some more but Harry was always tactile and that night had been no different. He veered conversations with people you had never seen before to take place by the zone that you all occupied.

He actively kept his back against yours, allowing the faintest of touches and brushing of arms - sometimes hands too if he dropped them down heavily enough with his arms as he spoke - to entice and create a spark.

You were kept late enough to miss the last tube. Battery dangerously low on your phone that you didn’t know if a transaction with Uber would be worth a try.

Jumping into the same car as him had been easy. His soft and tired eyes findings yours in the cab as he leant his head back against the headrest in the back seat and let his lips tip upwards in an expression of tenderness that had you melting in your seat.

“‘S been a while since we’ve both been a bit pissed in the back of a taxi,” he mused, pushing his fallen locks out of his eyes to ensure his view of you wasn’t obscured. “Come an’ cuddle me like you used to do when we went out a’ home and were worse for wear.”

Falling into his side was almost second nature, eyes closing as you let your forehead rest against his jawline and let his worn in cologne fill you senses and scatter your judgment.

You don’t even remember how you ended up kissing that night. A mixture of confessions about missing each other and praise of how good you both were in your own ways. The sound of his whispered, “are you coming home wi’me?” against your lips an offer too good for you to refuse as you sat pressed into his side and half in his lap.

The giggles that night, around dramatic shushes as you tripped and shuffled from the car to his front door were almost haunting in your memory as he tried to chastise you around spluttered laughter about being respectful of his neighbours.

Getting the key in the lock proved unchallenging - one of the better analogies aligned to your memories and latter sexual endeavours - as you slipped into the house. He enjoyed watching the way you walked ahead of him into his home, not realising how much he needed that visual of seeing how well you fit in.

While time seemed to slow in that moment, movements desperately sought the opposite. Hands gripped and clawed like their lives depended upon it.

Looking back now, both he and you wished it hadn’t happened the way it did. Skirt lifted and over the side of his couch. Teeth clashing and hips knocking.

It had been every inch a drunken fumble. A first meeting slightly cheapened but wanted nonetheless. Only made even cheaper by the hush-hush concealing of it ever occurring.

But a secret it was and a secret it would remain.

And oh how you wished you had a pillow you could press you face into right now and scream, this time for an entirely different reason. Unlike that night.

“Not seen a sign of any deer yet, mate,” you heard a voice break you out of your indulgence of recollecting past events. Harry was the worst at wanting to get a reaction.

“Christ, have a bit of patience would yer?”

You smiled at the bickering, just like it always was as the River Dane could be heard in the distance somewhere as you walked. If you listened really close, that is.

Lifting your eyes, your smile lingered as you watched Harry spin his body around and let his hands get lost in the massive pockets of his parka. He walked backwards holding your gaze softly with his eyes twinkling before he gently rolled them at the overreaction and impatience of your friends.

He seemed pleased that you’d enjoyed his teasing as you once again hid you smile into your jumper.

You’d be alright.

***

You heard giggles and screams ahead of you as your friends stumbled in the dark and messed about as you got closer to the viaduct. This place or the people didn’t change, and at times while it filled you with a warm nostalgia, it could be heavily jarring.

A soft and lazy smile pulled at your lips as you felt his heavy forearm lightly tug you closer to him, his lips finding your hair. And then there was Harry.

“Think we should go this way m’self,” Harry mumbled, the nudge of his hips against yours had you stumbling slightly in your heels away from the direction of your friends and somewhere completely different.

“And why’s that?” You turned your face slightly, cheeks warm and flushed thanks to the mixture of alcoholic beverages; eyes glazed as they lifted up to look at him.

“Cause you never would’ve let me when I was sixteen,” he admitted.

“You didn’t ask.”

“‘M askin’ now.”

With slow blinking eyes, you looked at his own unfocused vision. A soft shine to his skin, hair blowing gently against his forehead. The softest of smiles tilted at your lips.

“On yer go,” he nudged you forward, this time more so with his crotch and his hands, which wrapped around your hips to help steer you. Harry was met with only a small amount of resistance from you as you split off from your friends and turned in the different direction.

You bit back your laugh, dropping your head slightly as you felt your heels started to sink into the grass as you walked. Harry was level with you when you sunk down noticing the way you legs slightly gave way, a soft chuckle omitting from his throat as he asked, “You alrigh’?”

“I’m sinking in these bloody things,” you grumbled, pulling your heel from the grass and trying to place the sole of your shoe onto the ground beneath you first.

“So much for no’ being able to take the country out o’ the girl. London’s changed yer, swear it.”

Shaking your head, you cut your eyes to give him a harsh stare for his wind up. His amused expression lit a fire in you like no other. He really wasn’t one to talk though, was he?

“Gi’me your hand ‘ere,” he held his out to you, quickly cupping it when you handed it over and pulled it under his bent elbow. “Remind me again who’s idea this was, eh?”

He didn’t need reminding, he had been one of the keen instigators for the whole jaunt down Twemlow Viaduct. It usually was him, or Jack. The two of them often reminiscing on times they had both raided their parents' alcohol cupboards and managed to sneak out with some dusty bottle that held a liquor that tasted out of date and stale, and if not that then, cheap.

“‘S still fucking freezing down ‘ere, in’it?” He asked, lifting his left hand up to his mouth and blowing against it to try and get some feeling back into his fingers.

“We’re so close to the river, I don’t know why you’d expect anything different?”

“Is this why everyone was always so insistent on necking anything with over 11% alcohol in it when we came down ‘ere as kids?”

“Probably,” you softly laughed.

“‘S a bit different now though innit?”

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” you started to correct him, shrugging your hand out from under his elbow and reaching for your bag. Quickly fumbling with the clasp, you lifted up the quilted flap and managed to pull out the stainless steel hip flask.

Harry cackled a harsh laugh, his eyes crinkling as he slowly let his laughter die down and softly let his joy wash over his features. “Impressive. Gone all proper on me.”

“You know I haven’t,” you held his eyes watching as he nervously cupped at the back of his neck for a short while, a gentle bite down of his bottom lip, as you quickly uncapped the item and held it out to him. He looked like he needed the courage. You continued, “We’re just a bit more refined, that and we earn a good living. Some more than others, and by some I mean you.”

He held his hand up towards you with an amused grin at your comment. “You first, ‘s yours after all.”

Lifting the item and knocking back your head, you swallowed the whiskey with a small grimace, before offering it to Harry once more. This time he accepted, his right hand making light work of taking the item from your hands and sipping at the contents.

His face wasn’t as contorted as your’s when he swallowed, a fan of the chosen beverage if needs must. “‘S the proper stuff, tha’ is,” he commented with a quick lick of his lips before continuing, “Come a long way from sneaking the bottles of dusty Blossom Hill from the back of the cupboard.”

“Don’t know about that,” you smiled, taking the item and pushing it back into your bag. “I’d still drink if, if it were on offer.”

“‘M sure Mum’s got a bottle or two going at home?”

“Is that your way of asking me to go home with you?” You paused. “Again.”

Harry remained silent at your words. Both you and he knew it was going to happen. A mixture of sparks and lovelorn, lingering glances was enough to make anyone both want to give up, while also giving a burning confidence usually unknown.

Neither of you expected it would be you who started the conversation, however.

“It is, ‘f it’s gonna work. ‘M not sure I could wait any longer t’be’onest wi’yer.“

Laughing, you reached up to push at his shoulder. He always knew exactly what to say, but no way was he going to make a laughing stock of the whole thing. “Oh, give over,” you spoke, harshly swallowing when he kept your hand against the thick cable knit black jumper he had on. “You’ve made it this far, thus far just fine.”

“‘M not playin’,” he whispered, hand gently curling around your own and lifting it up to press against his face. His cheeks were warm underneath the cooler hands, despite the cold night whipping around you both and your mind quickly wondered if he was just as embarrassed for his lack of acknowledgment as you had been. “Homes nice, you’re nicer.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it,” you let your soft voice get taken by the wind.

“An’ what gave you tha’ impression?”

He did. He gave you that impression. By not mentioning it. By treating you how he always did.

“You.”

“Me?” Harry responded, indignantly, blowing out a sigh that had his cheeks puffing out underneath your hand. “‘M not doing a very good job then am I? I can’t keep m’eyes off o’you. ‘S not my fault you don’t bloody notice ‘em.”

But you had noticed them.

His eyes, gaze following your every move, near enough. Stupid little touches. Glances of approval. Not just now, but from years before.

Treating you how he always did.

Oh, treating you how he always did.

Bringing your eyes back to his figure, you saw the way his gaze darted and nervousness dragged at his features. A frown began to set itself between his eyebrows from worry.

“Changes everything.”

Running his tongue along his teeth, Harry pursed his lips. “Everythin’ has changed, changed a long time ago an’all.”

You dropped your hand down, it now massaging against the back of his neck and shoulder as you felt the tension of his body radiating through his clothes. Under the dim moonlight and the odd spotlight that had been added to the viaduct with each passing year for safety, Harry exhumed everything anyone would want in a boyfriend. He was soft, and so bloody gorgeous. Not just because he was personification of an almost six foot tall string of handsomeness, but his character did the talking for him.

He knocked the door before he walked into a room, for example. Who really did that kind of thing anymore?

But you could also still see the heartbreak that lingered, albeit not as strong as it once was, it was still there. And that was problematic and scary. To be on the receiving end of it. Not that you would hold it against him, because you had been him at one point too. At many points in fact.

When the two of you had shagged, because let’s face it that is exactly what it had been, while a sense of familiarity in the person was prevalent it was definitely overruled by the desire to just hit a euphoric high that if hit right could not be topped.

Familiar overruled in other aspects, and it wasn’t to be brushed away. But was familiarity a mask that would slip sooner rather than later? Was it the start and the end?

The both of you experienced similarities in your life that could not be matched by the friends in your friendship group. London had chewed you up and spat you out, ruthlessly so. While rewarding you with long hours but fat pay cheques, careers that catapulted you to new heights and enabled you to see parts of the world that two country kids (which in one way you were) could never have imagined.

Sure Harry’s had been on a much, much larger scale - you would not ever deny that - but you no longer fit in.

And neither did he.

This was a place that only the two of you knew. A place where you watched those around you fall in love and have the time to do so. A place where your friend's happiness was created a lot easier than it wasn’t and allowed a sense of success to weave its way in, through the most unexpected of happenings.

Not a place where you found happiness in your work because there was less of a space for happiness to blossom elsewhere. Not really. Not like you; both of you.

Understanding was vital.

This had been a place you knew like the back of your hand. A place that had you feeling the earth beneath your feet, fresh air in your lungs and had at times made it so you found yourself sitting by a river and finding yourself feeling complete.

Yet looking over at the almost 26 year old, that just wasn’t the case anymore.

And for once you didn’t feel alone.

The sound of the odd piece of cobbled pavement underneath Harry shoes, buried beneath overgrown grass and plants, broke you from your thoughts, as you watched him kick at the ground and scuff his shoes.

He sighed, head tilted back before he knocked it to the side and caught your eyes. A small scoffed laugh left his lips as he shook his head and dropped his gaze to his feet.

“‘S it fucked?”

You hummed, a small frown lacing your features.

“Fucked it, haven’t I? Fuckin’- idiot-“ he breathed out a noise as he clenched his teeth, one that wasn’t quite a growl but enough to let you know he was agitated. Only strengthened by how tight his jaw became.

Before you could even think, the back of your hand gently brushed against the pulsing hinge of his jaw. Muscles taut as you tried to soothe him in a way that your mind was screaming was far too intimate.

You didn’t want him having any internal battle about right and wrong. Not when you had both taken the same steps to get here.

“Thought it was just meant as a one time thing,” you admitted. “Like you needed it, and I needed it. Was what it needed to be at the time. Bit rough, bit sloppy-“

You cringed are the use of the word. Wanting the ground to swallow you in a weird fashion. You should be able to talk open and honestly with someone who you had known longer than hadn’t.

“Rough?“ Harry swallowed audibly, his face fallen. “That’s not-“

His eyes held an emotion similar to sorrow at the mention of the word. “That’s not the impression I wanted to give you.”

“We were both drunk, it happens.”

“Not with me it doesn’t. Not when it’s me, wanting to be wi’you.”

“I mean I was into it if that helps anything?”

“Were yer?”

You looked at him from the corner of your vision, watching his lips try to fight a smile as you rolled yours into your mouth to not give yourself away. You knew what you were trying to do by speaking those words aloud but you wished you hadn’t. Awkward breathy laughs were shared by the two of you as you held his eyes.

“Was I?”

You hummed in agreement to answer his question, letting your smile dance along your lips now and watching as Harry’s dimples started to show. His expression was youthful, slightly smug.

“Good t’know.”

***

Finishing saying your goodbyes to your friends and ignoring their suggestive expression because ‘Harry was stopping as an extra pair of hands’, you shut the heavy wooden door and reached up to close the deadbolt lock at the top. Shortly after, you let your feet drop as you stopped standing on your tiptoes and pressed your forehead against the door.

The silence of the pub was always a strange one to you. A place that was usually thriving, whether it was just your friends, or your parents friends. When the lights were turned out, it was actually quite a lonely place. Regardless of growing up around this sort of industry your entire life and having parents as publicans nothing was more depressing than an empty bar, lifeless and nothing like it was intended.

A suggested lock-in from Jack, who managed to interrupt both yours and Harry’s conversation earlier had not been a bad shout after all. You knew it meant that you would have to deal with the fallout with it being Christmas Eve, but it wasn’t very often that you found yourself in the setting.

Turning to move from the door, you almost jumped out of your skin when you heard the opening of a familiar Lily Allen song start to play over the speakers.

Harry emerged from the corner of the pub that housed the jukebox, slowly rubbing his hands together before he wordlessly picked up the scattered pint glasses that had remained on one of the tables that had been missed by the staff on the evening shift. His eyes glanced over at you, as you stood with a hand to your chest.

This wicked smile and gleam washed over his face as he paused his movement. “Did I scare yer?”

“Do you not think it’s a bit loud?”

He wrinkled his nose at you, a soft shake of his head no, to answer your question.

“‘S your fave innit?” He asked, head nudging to where the jukebox was now hidden.

With a small smile you nodded, “Prefer the Keane version in all honesty.”

“Don’t have it in the bloody jukebox though, d’yer? Can’t like it that much.”

Your smile deepened at his exclaim and how prominent his accent sounded as he spoke, the small clink of the glasses he was holding only heard if you really zoned in.

“Where d’yer want these?” He asked, holding up the five pint glasses he had collected. “Behind t’bar?”

Humming, you nodded and watched as he weaved his way through the tables to you. You frowned as he got closer, not understanding why he hadn’t bypassed you completely.

Once he was close enough to you, you watched as he reached for what you knew to be your own glass of wine that was almost finished.

“Fancy the rest of this or can it go too?”

Looking at him and down to the glass, you gently wrapped your hand around it and brought the lip to your mouth. You knocked the item back quickly, swallowing the rest of your wine, before handing over the now empty glass back to Harry.

“Good girl,” he joked, light laughter lacing each word. “Sit yourself down.”

Wearing an amused and quizzical expression, you let yourself sink down into the wooden chair. Resting your chin on your hand, you spun slightly in your seat to keep your eyes on Harry as he placed the glasses down and lifted the hatch so he could step behind the bar.

With your free hand, you started to tap the worn beer coaster labelled with the Cheshire Brewhouse logo against the table. Part of you hated how Harry had a knack for anything, including knowing his way around a bar.

He busied himself with collating the glasses once more as you let your eyes take in the surroundings you had known, loved and even grown out of.

Your parent’s pub was cosy and friendly. A truly

classic and quintessential British village pub, featuring open fires, bookcases found in the very far corner or the jukebox in the other, lots of old oak and a really pleasant garden with benches for the summat and heaters for the winter. You know the kind that had its regulars that had kids who had seen each other grow up.

The bar was the centre of the pubs house, with an extensive array of whiskies amongst many other delights. A nice range of local ales and a well-balanced, great quality list of wines on offer designed (which you would be taste testing if the service hadn’t decided to take a break) to complement the food menus designed daily by a team of chefs who all have a passion for great cooking using fresh, seasonal and local ingredients.

It looked as Christmassy as Christmas could get, with a real tree which was locally sourced from one of the many surrounding farms and traditionally decorated with golds and reds. Twinkly lights shone, not only on the trees but as part of the garland that was hung above the bar each year, much to the annoyance of your Dad and the delight of your Mum.

Slowly dragging your eyes back to the bar, you watched Harry as he poured you another glass of white wine and started to recap the bottle. He must’ve felt your eyes on him, his gaze meeting yours almost immediately.

“Service is a bit slow,” you jibed, once you knew he was with you. “Going to ruin the reputation of a fine establishment.”

His chuckle was breathy in response, but warmed you through as he turned his back and pushed his tumbler glass up against the device at the bottom of the Glenfiddich distilled malt whiskey, not once but twice going for a double.

“Helping yourself to the stock now, as well.”

“‘M sure your Dad won’t mind,” he responded, twisting his body back around to reach for your own glass and place it onto a tray that sat along the bar top. “In fact he’d probably make a comment about how it’d put hairs on m’chest.”

You laughed, unrestrained, knowing just how right he had been with that comment.

Over the otherside of the room, Harry smiled and shushed you as he walked closer, easily holding the tray with your drinks upon it. “Being a bit loud,” he taunted as he slid the tray down to the oak table.

“Oh, now you’re concerned about the noise.”

With his hand against the back of the chair which was currently housing your outstretched legs, you felt him start to wobble the seat to give you a warning.

“Hang on,” you said, “Plenty of other chairs.”

“This one’s mine,” he responded.

Wanting to roll your eyes but deciding not to, you let your legs drop down and gave the seat back to Harry. Once he was comfortable and he’d taken your drink off the tray, he gestured with his right hand.

Not entirely focused, he had to do the ‘come hither’ motion a couple of times before you finally cottoned on. He was willing to let you put your legs on his lap instead, while he may have taken the seat it didn’t mean he wanted to take away your comfort.

No sooner had your legs been raised to rest against his tan washed velvet corduroy trousers, was he fiddling with the buckle of your stiletto sandals.

“Got mud everywhere,” you commented, wiggling your toes that were painted a festive red and inspecting the little dots of dirt that were splattered against your skin, as Harry dropped the first shoe to the floor and quickly worked on the second. “Dread to think what they smell like.”

“Smell alrigh’ from ‘ere,” he mused, smirk faint but glaring obvious in his tone of voice as he threw a quick and mischievous glance at you. As you elongated your foot against his thighs, the tips of your toes were just about able to press into his thick jumper to try and jab at him for his comment.

Before you were able to put any sort of force behind your action, Harry’s hand clamped down around the top of your foot causing your eyes to snap up away from his hand and up to his eyes.

There he sat watching you, top two teeth pressed into his bottom lip keep his smile at bay. Releasing his lips slowly, his whispered threat left his throat, “I will tickle.”

You tried to fidget away but to no avail. With a whined laugh, you frowned as Harry goaded you by slowly raising his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

You had tried him.

Truth be told you wanted to again.

If he wanted to.

Reaching for your wine, you took a hefty sip and let the silence swallow you both. Harry, who kept his hand on your foot and his fingers dancing gently against the top, let his head fall back awkwardly against the hardwood. His head dropped to the side taking in his surroundings and their familiarity.

“Do you ever get tired of coming back?”

You hummed, sure you had misheard due to the way the blood was rushing around your ears. He turned to look at you, all double chin and puffy cheeks.

“Of everything being the same, but different?”

His whispers captivated you, hushed confessions not quite meant for anyone else but his own mind yet spilling from him with such an ease that he did nothing to fight them.

“I’ll admit, I come home for other people. Not for me.”

“People?”

“Mum, Dad,” you paused. “You.”

His smile deepened. His chin knocking down to his chest, his eyes looking up at you from underneath his curling hair from being caught in the moist winter evening just hours before.

“You can stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you did three nights ago.”

Harry breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring and his chest expanding. A lick of his lips, before his mouth dropped to sit slightly agape.

“What if I don’t wan’to? What if I want t’look at yer like this all the time?”

You found yourself unable to respond, nose burying itself into your wine glass as you pressed your lips against the cool outside to try and hide your burning smile.

His lips curled lightly, before he breathed a laugh once and gently shook your foot with his hand. “Eh? Come ‘ere-“

“Harry,” you breathed.

“C’mon, c’mere. ‘S room for more than just your feet.”

If it wasn’t for the creak of your chair as you slowly started to push yourself out of it, you wouldn’t have consciously been aware of how you were making your way to him.

His body relaxed, somehow managing to become closer to horizontal than sitting upright in his seat, as he peered as you walking the short distance over to him.

With his legs widened, he pressed his face into your side now that you were close enough. His nose inhaled the familiar scent of your perfume which was only faint now due to the other senses and scents it had mixed with throughout the evening.

Rolling his face out of your body, he knocked his head back and pressed his chin where his face had been. The face you showed him was worn with worry, an expression he did not want to meet.

“‘S wrong?”

His ask was lazy. Not wanting to dig deep and know. What if he didn’t like what he found?

“We know how this is going to end.”

“Do we?” He prodded. His eyes moved over your features quickly before they partly disappeared to him, thanks to your curtain of hair which slowly fell down.

His hand reached up, desperately brushing it away and cupping at the back of your head as best as he could while he remained seated.

“How’s that? Tell me.”

“Same, but different.”

You knew you shouldn’t use his words, not in a way that could be considered against him, but they - in the most ambiguous of ways - described everything perfectly.

“Not if I have my way.”

His words were almost lost against your stomach as he pressed his face against you once more and wrapped his hands around you; sweaty, nervous palms pressing to the backs of your thighs.

“Same, but better.”

Harry guided you down to his lap, his lips somehow managing to remain pressed into stomach, or your chest, or your clavicle, as your face became level with his.

“Different, but better.”

He kissed against your cheek slowly, nose nudging at your skin as he willed for you to relax against him. “I don’t know how you like it, like this,” he whispered in confession. “Show me?”

A puff of air left your lips as you turned to look at him with hooded eyes. His mouth was closer to yours than you originally thought, corners of lips brushing as you slightly pulled away.

When your lips met, it was in the softest of pecks that trembled under your nerves. Both sets of eyes looking back at each other as you innocently engaged.

If you were to take your eyes away from him in any way, you would notice those fluffy curls of his falling over his forehead and the lightest dusting of red blush making itself known against his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

He felt like a school boy, lost and clumsy. The kid who was once again flicking paper at you in science class just so he could pull a face at you over something your teacher was saying to get you to laugh.

Mouths hovering over each other, your breathing mixed, as Harry nodded to you slightly. You pressed your lips to his once more, feeling the way he gradually opened up to you, warmed and softened underneath the puckering of your mouth against his.

His hands, that slightly trembled, smoothed over your hips trying to pull your body so that it was more so flush against his. You moaned softly, your hands running over his jumper covered shoulders, fingers digging and pulling at the material just below the nape of his neck.

The chair beneath you moved lightly against the floor, not quite a scrape but a dull drag. Neither of you broke the kiss, but his hands against you allowed fingers to dig in to hold you steady to him so if you were to fall from where you were sitting, he still had you.

His lips slowed, moving to press against your cheeks again as he panted and his warmth breath bounced off your skin. “Think I got it,” he heaved.

“Do you?”

Harry hummed his ‘yea’, before pressing his lips so tenderly to your chin and the underside of your jaw. He felt how you swallowed heavily, throat dry from the way your mouth hung open and your neck further exposed itself as you lolled your head back.

You were falling further and further back, finding it hard to stay upright as he devoured you and made you weaker with each pulling kiss. His groans were needy, muffled and making your ache. While yours were silent and making his desperate to pull something from you. To build is confidence in that he was doing something right, you liked it this way too.

Hands fumbled and dragged upwards at your skirt, faintly aware now how it was similar - if not the same one - to the garment you wore to his show.

“Gonna take this off properly,” he mumbled, feeling the way your hips moved slightly from his hands to roll over him.

“You don’t have to-“

“No?”

Your voices were rushed as you spoke to each other, barely audible but loud enough all the same. His head was knocked back slightly as you hovered over him and you found yourself admiring his blissed out face even only in the lead up.

This was a sight that you hadn’t received last time, and if you had your way it was one you were going to greedily enjoy in all its glory.

Like watching the way his eyes closed and he softly grinned, the left side of his teeth started to show as the one side of his face reacted first while your hands blindly moved to lift up his jumper and the white tee he had on underneath, to allow you to find the button of his corduroys.

“What ya doing?”

“Nothing,” you mused.

He pulled a face, the kind that down turned his lips, eyebrows raised and head slightly tilted to the side. The kind that had you smiling.

“Not trying to get m’trousers around m’ankles for a second time within a week then?”

You giggled. “No.”

“Please do.”

A low moan left you as you pressed your forehead to his jaw and dropped your eyes. Your hands slowly started to pull at the brass button and pop it open before seeking out the zip thanks to his desperate plea, encouraging you to continue.

Hands quickly sought out the waistband of the trousers and gently pulled at the item. From the way that you were sat, you knew there was no way you were doing to make them budge.

“Stand up fo’ me,” he mumbled, quickly helping you get off his lap so that he could make light work of his clothing and pull down his trousers and underwear.

His bare bum made easy contact with the cushion leather beneath him, eyes carefully watching you as your hands moved to underneath your skirt.

The fabric of your underwear slipped so easily down your legs, his eyes just about caught the sight of them as they pooled against your ankles and you kicked them away.

Legs pressed together, you slowly untucked the v-necked blouse you had chosen and pulled it over your head. Wearing nothing but a fancy black bra, and a tight little skirt you hastily snatched for your wine and took a hefty gulp.

You could feel his eyes on you, a gruff groan catching in the back of his throat and when you finally turned your eyes from where they had been looking down at your heaving chest and how great this bra made your boobs look, causing him to move his hand down to start playing with himself.

His name left your lips in a breathy gasp, causing you to look up quite surprised at the find of his right hand gently tugging at his hard length.

“Keepin’ me waitin’,” he groaned, his left hand sloppily reached for the back of the collar of his jumper and tee, pulling the item roughly over his head.

“Fuck sake,” he mumbled under his breath, agitated that he was unable to get both items of in one go.

“Smooth.”

Harry stared up at you with a playful squint, before he gently fell back and moved the chair as he did so, the dull scrape heard once more.

And if you didn’t know he was flushed before, when you first kissed, you were definitely aware now. His eyes were blown out and hungry as they devoured you. Hair wildly haphazard before he let go of himself with a soft slap of his skin and harshly pushed his fingers through it.

“‘S it still a couple of quid for a strip of three,” his words brought you back to him. This smugness radiated off of him as he groaned and leaned forward to push his trousers down all of the way. Over his vans and socked feet, before he toed them off as well be harshly pulled at his white sport socks.

You didn’t even need for him to explain what he meant, staying silent as you watched his hands tug at his corduroys from the floor and retrieve his wallet. As his fingers moved around to find a couple of quid, the jangle of the coins was taunting.

One leg crossed over the other, you swayed and found yourself blushing when he looked up at you once he’d managed to find enough money and then some. With his wallet thrown on the table, he stood proudly from the seat and closed the short gap between your both.

Leaning forward he easily took your lips with his own before pulling away. With his face still close to yours he whispered, “Promise not to look at my arse.”

He didn’t hang around long enough for your reply, instead turning away and brazenly giving you all the time you would ever need to admire him, his fantastic bum and his hairy legs before he opted for a jog-walk type of thing, suddenly conscious that he was absolutely walking around naked from the waist down in a pub owned by your parents.

While you waited you took a quick pull from his whiskey, needing the heftier burn for Dutch courage. Nervousness returned when you heard the endings of what you believed to be Harry whistling.

“Machine ate all m’fuckin’ change,” he grumbled, regardless of the twinkle in his eye at the strip of overpriced condoms he had managed to score from the men’s bathroom. “‘S Durex. Business must be booming, your Dad’s definitely gone up in the world.”

“Please don’t talk about my Dad.”

He smiled brightly before he reached for your face with one hand and pulled you towards him mumbling his ‘sorry’s’ against your lips as he gave you several kisses in quick succession.

His other arm loosely wrapped around your back and pulled you with him as he walked backwards and slowly lowered himself back onto his previous seat. The chair creaked as you joined him, slipping into his lap and feeling the way he was smiling now.

Pulling away from your kiss, he quickly tore away one of the condoms allowing the others to fall without much care to the floor. Teeth took a hold of the foil-like packaging and he tore it not so elegantly with his eagerness.

With his cock nestled in the crease of his own thigh now, the heat radiating from it matched your own agonising yearning. Scooting back to give him space, you heard him groan as he gently rolled the condom down onto himself. Eyes looking up just in time to see him knocking his head back and breathing deeply through nose. The foil-like packaging was back in between his teeth once more as his hands were otherwise preoccupied.

Slowly your hand reached up to take it from his mouth, feeling some playful resistance as Harry continued to hold it in his teeth. His eyes were open and boyishly sincere, as you tugged at the item and he finally released it when you lightly laughed.

“Gi’me a kiss.”

Obliging him, you leant forward and slotted your mouths together a lot easier than you had done at the start of the night. A heat built easily between the two of you, as Harry gave you his tongue and you felt the flex of his jaw under your hand as he worked your mouths together.

He was eager, his hands tightening on your waist before he growled when he understood he had to grab handfuls of skirt before he could cup your backside. But when his skin met yours and you ground down onto his lap, the groan that left him was the most animalistic sound imaginable.

The frown your face fell into showed your desire to whimper, as he kept you atop him and marvelled in the way you writhed, both from satisfaction and keenness at the pressure of his cock against you.

“Can I have you again?” He asked, the startings of sweaty hair being pushed off your face. His eyes peered at you, searching for his answer as you seemed to be able to do nothing but pant and look back at him yearningly. “Are you letting me?”

You dragged your fingers down his t-shirt covered torso and lifted it slightly just to see the quiver of his stomach as pulled you onto him once more.

“Like this?” you voiced, meekly.

“‘F this is what you like then, yea’”, he breathed into your mouth, hands shifting your pliant body. “Is this what you want?”

You wordlessly nod, mouth falling open in a breathy gasp when he managed to move you so he sat so enticingly at your entrance. He was teasing both yourself and him, wanting to keep you both on the edge.

Harry blinked a few times as he looked at you, and you revelled in the way he couldn’t seem to concentrate. His hands held your flesh tightly, fingertips dipping into the skin of your bum cheeks as he gently guided you down.

An unattractive and dull, quite strangled noise, left your throat as you let your forehead fall against his temple. Eyes falling down you see the cups of your bra fall slack, you felt his hands softly gliding over your shoulder blades and shoulders.

He rid you of your bra, hands moving to your chest to squeeze your breasts. His jaw fell slack when you found yourself sitting snugly on his lap - on him - settled and already feeling spent.

This was so different compared to the last time; if not overwhelming so because of the way you both appeared to be so present. Each movement of your hips, and the way they rolled and grinded and dragged felt too much. So much so that you had become nothing more than a mess of short, quick breathing and blushing, sweaty cheeks.

Slack-jaw, you were unable to find it in you to return Harry’s kisses, and his joyful, breathy chuckle seemed to lead you to believe he was fine with it. In fact he was happy to keep going as you were.

Your movements were frantic, and despite the build up, not entirely driven by lust either. Harry continued to encourage you to move as you were; slow, grinding motions on his lap that caused the filthiest of groans and dirtiest of laughs from the two of you. Laughter that was only made stronger as the chair that held you both started to creak too.

You couldn’t do much about it though other than to breathe into each other’s mouth, and rock your hips together with more fervour each time.

“Yea’,” he breathed against your lips, left hand at the back of your head holding you to him, while his right rested just above your bum. “‘S better. That’s better.”

It was better. Better than last time. Better than anything before.

And while it hadn’t been frantic before, it was now as your legs that were hanging down either side of the chair started to tremble and your toes started to dig into the worn carpet beneath them. Hips knocking and your clit dragging heavenly against his public bone, you grasped his name as you buried your face into his neck and dug your nails into his nape.

Harry hissed his approval which fell to a groan as your nails pushed up into his hair and lightly pulled as you sought leverage. There were so many things you were learning this time around and his penchant for liking his hair pulled from time to time, was one of those things.

“God, ‘m gonna come soon,” he admitted, gruntly as he forced your hips down as he anchored his legs and widened his seating position. “Are you close?”

“Yeah,” you whined. “Yes. Like this-“

And as you pressed your face to his once more, he was everywhere. Soft but hard, loving but commanding. Smelled like clean washing detergent but of country air. Inviting and alluring, allowing you your lingering kisses between grounding breaths that became staccato in unison with the movement of your hips.

You aren’t ashamed of the whines that escaped your throat as you squeezed down on his cock, praised by indecipherable works that left Harry but were nothing more to you than lips moving against your rough and dry ones. Word that made the burning feeling of your pending orgasm spread through your entire body, warming you and setting you alight.

It was long and deep, with your toes curling into the carpet they were pressed against now. Barely able to catch your breath, sucking in harshly and shaking.

And when you came to, thoroughly exhausted, you noticed that he was waiting for your say so. That he could let go and enjoy the pleasure brought about by your shared labour.

“Coming-“ was all the warning that you got and was enough to encourage you to watch him as he came, his face completely void of anything other than pure pleasure. Wrinkles and frowns fade, his mouth falling open with his pink lips glinting prettily under the dim Christmas lights around you.

His forehead gleamed with sweat as he wrapped his arms around you tightly and his hips bucked up one, two and three times for good measure. “Fuck me,” he heaved gruffly.

You were suddenly desperate to feel his lips on yours despite the way you both continued to fight to get your breath back, but settled for resting them against the skin of his cheek, which was hot to the touch.

When you felt Harry start to go soft, you reluctantly pulled away and let him slip out of you. He wasn’t so keen to let you get too far, holding you just that bit higher than before with his hand cupping gently but firmly at your hip. “Where’d you think you’re going,” he hummed, eyes still closed as he continued to heavily inhale and exhale.

You softly smiled, taking in his soft face and responded by nuzzling close to him again.

Nowhere. Somewhere. Anywhere with him.

A place where only the two of you knew, like the back of your hand. The same way you knew each other. Now and possibly forever.

#gbsxmaschallenge #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles x reader #harry x reader #harry styles x you #harry x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles christmas #harry christmas

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liebste-kleine-dame · 3 years

Text

wilde jagd

Pairing: Enji Todoroki x Reader

Relationship: F/M

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Implied kidnapping

Notes: Reader is in her 40s, to avoid any confusion

Tags: @mulier-indomita

My entry for the bnharem Mythology & Folklore collab! Please check out all the other entries here!

I had some troubles with this piece, so constructive criticism is very welcome.

I picked something I grew up with: The Wild Hunt. My grandma really stuck to some things in this fic (no laundry during Twelvetide, no card games) - that said, this fic is set in middle Europe, because that’s where these customs are from. I hope it creeps you out a little, I love the days between Christmas and Epiphany a lot, they’re really timeless and weird!

The house is so quiet.

It’s like your childhood home lays dormant, buried under a thick blanket of snow, no fire to warm the old halls of the farmhouse, no busy hands to stir the pot that still sits on the stove. There isn’t even any dust on the dining table. The Jesus figurine that lords over the kitchen stares sadly into thick darkness, the shutters unopened for months.

What had been the bustling centre of your childhood once, filled with your parents, your brother, your aunts and uncles and all of your cousins every Sunday after church is now an empty husk full of stale air and sadness. The traces of your mother’s perfume (the terribly old-smelling eau de cologne¹ you had always hated, even after you had grown into an adult) still linger in the sheets of your parents’ bed, both sides tucked in neatly as if they’d return soon for a rest. Your cousin had suggested you sleep there, underneath scratchy sheets your mother had gotten as a dowry more than forty years ago, where she died in her sleep just a few weeks back.

Just the thought makes your eyes water.

You can’t resist but trace her childish face with your finger, those familiar eyes beaming up at you.

Losing your mother has been the hardest thing in your life so far. Now that she and your father are gone, you and your brother are all alone. And although you’re a fully grown adult with your own apartment, a thriving career and great social life, you suddenly feel like a little child again. Sad and lonely.

It’s a strange feeling - to have no one to turn to, to be fully on your own now.

After her funeral, you and your brother had tried to reach an agreement regarding the house - an old, ugly thing in a village no one really wanted to live in. But it is your childhood home nonetheless - while neither of you was willing to move here, it is hard to let it go, to have someone buy up the property and bulldoze it to the ground.

You hadn’t been able to set a foot on the premises, the wound still too fresh, the pain too great. Now that it is December you don’t even feel a bit better, but the house calls to you with promises of snowy memories and familiar faces, with roast and a christmas tree from the yard. And so you had packed your bags on the 21st, to reminisce with your family, to check up on the house and to heal.

It isn’t easy to be here, but wandering the halls and indulging in memories is weirdly cathartic. The old TV in the living room that is at least twenty years old, the odd porcelain figurines you had always admired as a child, the creaky stairs leading up to the attic… It’s as though every little thing sparks something in you. But the centerpiece of your memories is your old room.

It’s a weird mix of a storage room and time capsule. While none of your little knick-knacks you had accumulated during your child and teen years remain (either thrown away or safely tucked into a box at your apartment), your old furniture is still here. A couple of boxes are stowed away under your old desk, probably holiday decorations your mother loved to collect. Only a couple of framed photos sit on a dresser, you and your friends, you and your family and your cousins. Your mother had loved them too much for you to take them with you, so they watched over your room instead.

On top of your nightstand sits another picture, framed by green lacquered wood and with the colors so washed out it looks like it has been taken in shades of blue. You and your cousin, smiling and dressed in heavy winter clothes, standing somewhere in your yard, a sled right next to you.

You don’t need to check the back of the picture for the exact date: December 25th, 29 years ago. A day that has been branded into your soul, one of those defining childhood experiences that turned your whole life around.

Oh, your mother would be so mad. You’d probably be barred from reading the nice books she had gotten you for Christmas, but you were already too far down the beaten path, stumbling behind your excited cousin. You wordlessly followed her deeper into the woods, your little beechwood sled bumping along with every stone and wobble you stepped over.

The memory still haunts you. She was barely two years older than you, bored out of her mind during the long, eery days between Christmas Eve and Epiphany. As a whimpy pre-teen, you had felt the same but were still too shy to do anything adventurous on your own, so you stuck to her like glue.

She had been reading too many old books from the tiny library one village over, had gotten her head an inch too far into old fairy- and folktales and you as her baby cousin were the perfect chaperone, starry-eyed and naive.

With your sled in tow, the two of you had ventured out under the disguise of simply playing outside for a while.

The plan was to wait out until midnight, down by one of the crossings deep within the forest. According to a book she had read, girls could watch their future lovers pass by during the night of Twelvetide - but they couldn’t talk to them or watch them leave, or else he’d die an unruly death. As a child, this all sent shivers down your spine. You were torn between childish superstitions and a genuine trust in the supernatural, but when the twilight settled over the snowy landscape you damn well believed it.

During the day, you knew the land well enough from the numerous times you had either spent exploring or hunting for mushrooms in the fall. But at night it was a whole other beast.

With the sun going down barren trees turned into imposing pillars of black ink, blocking your view of the starry sky. Every rustle and noise made you turn your head in fear, every motion in the underbrush had you inching closer to your cousin.

You got to the crossing way before midnight, with no soul in sight. It was just you, her and the waning light. Clinging to her hand as if it was a life or death situation, you stood right next to her, looking down the path to your left with bated breath and a racing heart.

The cold barely got to you, too full of adrenaline and worry. There was a rustle in the trees, their dark and the long branches clinked together from the force of the brisk winter winds. You didn’t dare to speak a single word, too afraid that something might hear you.

The hours leading up to midnight are a blur to you now, years later, but back then felt like an eternity. Sometime in between staring into the darkness and holding your cousin’s hand in an iron grip, your legs had given up and you had to sit on the hard wood of your sled instead, arms curled around your body in an attempt at soothing yourself.

A couple of heartbeats passed when it suddenly became eerily quiet around you.

Your cousin was gone.

One moment she stood next to you and the next she was gone, with no trace to be found.

Your heart jumped in your throat as you fell off the sled in your panic, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of her. The trees stood silently and dark on the gleaming snow, but there was no sign of her and her cherry red wool coat. No call of her name was met with an answer and no matter how many times you strained your eyes, there wasn’t a single footprint indicating which direction she might have gone.

The tears wouldn’t stop falling, no matter how hard you tried to gather yourself. You knew you had messed up badly and that you could be dead by the morning as a consequence. Nothing a child wanted to face.

It was all too much suddenly - the scary atmosphere, your tired mind and now your missing cousin. At twelve years old, there was nothing else on your mind other than falling to your knees and weeping your heart out.

For a moment you feared for your life - a justified fear, you’d known years later - all alone in freezing temperatures, in the dead of night, a head full of scary folktales.

But through your helpless sniveling, something else ran through the woods. Something that didn’t bode well at all.

The scraping sound of hoofs galloping over frozen ground and the snorts of several horses echoed through the skeletal trees, moving into your direction at an alarming speed.

With them came an overbearing sense of dread that rolled over the land like a grey stormfront, the hollering of men and animals alike so loud you felt as though your head was about to burst. You tried to look around, to see whatever it was that pushed through the dark like a deranged hunting party, but you couldn’t even lift your head up anymore.

It felt like someone held your neck down with cold, clammy hands and you did nothing but stare at the ground with unshed tears in your eyes, praying for all of this to finally stop, to wake up and for this to be a nightmare.

When the ghostly cheering and shouting passed over your head the noise and dread came to a sickening crescendo, accompanied by your now loud, open wailing for anyone who could help. No one came.

The party moved forward with no regard for your presence, leaving you to bawl into your mittens. Although you could tell they had left, there was still an odd pressure close to you, akin to a ghost.

There was someone walking on the path.

Your sobs came to a grinding halt, reduced to hiccups instead.

You wanted to call out to them, but the strange pressure kept your mouth shut. So you sat with your knees in frozen dirt while you clutched the front of your coat for support, carefully peeking up to at least catch a glimpse of them.

It was a boy.

He was about your age, about the same height as you and even through the moonlight you could tell he had deep red hair. Bundled up in a dark coat, he almost floated down the path, taking the odd pressure with him.

He didn’t even spare you a glance as he stoically stared into the distance as though you two were passing each other on a busy street and not at midnight, all alone in a grotesque forest.

You didn’t dare to look at his face too hard, too stunned and too afraid to look closer, in fear of what might linger behind the harmless surface. Your cousin’s warnings played through your head, urging you to turn away, to run until you were back home.

You wanted to leave, but it was like his mere presence kept you in place. Although that eerie pressure was fading with each of his steps, he still commanded your attention.

You didn’t see him leave, but you knew when he was gone.

With him no longer present, the sounds of the forest returned with full force. Somewhere in the darkness a deer sprung back into the brush and the soft crowing of a magpie coaxed you out of your shell-shocked state. You were all alone again, having just experienced one of the scariest things of your whole life.

When the magpie’s calls stopped, you broke down sobbing until you ran out of energy and simply rocked back and forth next to your little sled.

In the end, it was your uncle who pulled you out of the bushes, cold and shivering, your eyes wide open full of terror. They found your cousin just a few hundred meters away, lips blue and eyes closed as though she was sleeping, barely alive.

You both were terribly sick afterwards, her more so than you. Where you had a bad case of the flu, she developed pneumonia.

Your parents didn’t even scold you for your stupid adventure turned disaster. They were too afraid of your fever dreams and your manic babbling about death, horses and boys with red hair.

You woke up your neighbors during your late 20s and early 30s with your chokes and screams from time to time, unable to remember what had happened but unable to shake that terrible sense of dread. You chalked it up to your pre-pubescent trauma - just like the memories, they grew weaker with age, but the oppressive sense of panic you felt as soon as the sun set during Twelvetide never really disappeared.

You could barely remember your sickness after it passed, but you saw how bad it had been on your mother’s face for weeks afterwards. You weren’t allowed to go outside without any supervision until the snowdrops slowly rose their heads above the thick snow and the sun made it sparkle like a million tiny stars until it melted away, leaving a cool March in its wake.

His dark, red hair has haunted you ever since then. It was around every corner, in every crowd, always in your field of vision, but always just out of reach. It was maddening.

You never met the mysterious man - part of you was glad you didn’t, part of you obsessed over your vision. As a teenager you had bought into the notion that he was the one, but over the course of your 20s you grew out of it. As your memory of that night became fuzzier and weaker, so did the sightings of his red hair. You still caught that familiar flash of red from time to time - when you were overtired and alone somewhere in the city or when you went on jogs in the early morning, when the sun barely kissed the horizon.

But the dreams persisted and oddly enough, he grew with you. Each year until you turned twenty he seemed to grow a bit, until he was a hulking mass of a man, still as scary as he had been to you at twelve.

When your cousin died four years ago, too soon at age 40, after a horrible fight with cancer, the dreams had started to be memorable again. You thought about her often and about that night so, so many years ago.

It was like a plug was pulled back then and he was back on your mind after all these years.

Maybe it was one of the reasons why you had decided to spend one last Christmas in your childhood home - a fruitless hope for a cure, to get back to the root of it all.

You spend the days leading up to Christmas helping your aunt with last-minute errands and your cousin with his animals. It’s odd to aid with farm work again after a solid twenty years of city-living, but you find yourself back in a rhythm surprisingly fast.

Your aunt and her eldest son welcome you with open arms on Christmas Eve², her smile as warm as if her sister hadn’t just died a couple of weeks ago. The evening is benign enough, full of talk of the past and present and you find yourself healing a little bit with the kitschy music and warm roast, topped off with little presents and spiced wine.

There is something in the air after that night, something you can’t quite grasp. It’s like the night tastes different when you prop up your windows to gaze into the inky darkness. It makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand up as though you’re being watched from the outside - and not by a guardian angel.

To counteract the bad feeling in your gut, you burn a little incense in old clay pots, as it is custom during every night of Twelvetide. The smell of juniper mixed with the warmth of the coal, both perched on top of silica sand, flows freely through the room, almost instantly calming your frayed nerves.

You’ll have to cleanse the whole house in the upcoming days as well, but now you’re too tired to burn juniper, valerian and sage in every room of the house while every window and door open and you blow the fumes into every corner, every nook and cranny.

With your little apartment back in the city, the cleansings of Twelvetide are not too much work, but the old farmhouse of your parents is convoluted, with a large cellar too. You’d tackle it tomorrow, after a long night of sleep.

Rest doesn’t come easy to you and when it does, you’re back in that damned forest. Something is different - the air is thick with tension as though there are a million eyes watching you as you stand around helplessly in your night clothes, waiting on that familiar silhouette to pass by.

It’s his eyes. You can see them for the first time in thirty years.

They’re blue, almost cyan even as they shine through the darkness - but there is no warmth there, just hardness.

Your breath is stuck in your throat when they turn to you, and with them his whole attention shifts.

His presence is oppressive, that familiar pressure from so long ago surrounds you like you’re submerged in it. It has gotten stronger and uglier, so raw it almost hurts to breathe the very air around you.

Your ears are filled with cotton balls as he simply stares down at you, his expression oddly solemn as if this is a goodbye, as if he has known you for years. You want to ask him questions - so many, but your brain is racing with confusion and excitement and the seconds pass wordlessly between you.

When your mouth finally opens he has already turned his back to you.

The air is so cold around you. You try to move through the sludge of snow and dirt, but it’s as though someone has tied weights around your ankles.

“Wait!”, you try to say, but your voice is muffled. “Wait up!”

It’s all in vain. His steps are fast and he disappears into the darkness again.

A gust of wind carries his stoic voice to you. “We’ll meet each other soon.”

And then he’s gone and you’re all alone again in ghostly hues of blue.

You wake up with a startle, slick with sweat and still incredibly cold. The window is wide open, the white curtains swirling with the cold winter air, giving them the appearance of ghostly schemes dancing in your bedroom. Your little clay pot has gone cold for hours, but the lingering scent of juniper seems to cling to you.

There’s a sheer layer of snow glistening on the floor and you curse yourself for your carelessness.

You’re up in an instant, although the cold almost hurts against your skin, trying to save the wooden boards from any lasting damage.

There is no more sleep afterwards, with the clock already at five in the morning and your mind in shambles.

Bundled up in a cozy sweater and heating up some water for a pour over coffee, your thoughts race through your head at alarming speeds.

It’s unsettling that your mind has decided to give the stranger a face now of all times, after you’d been searching for him for more than thirty years. You don’t know if it’s because you're back home, so close to the place where your near death experience had happened, or if it’s truly Twelvetide and its spirits that are messing with your head.

You want it to be a coincidence so bad, to go back to bed and forget all about it until you’re well-rested and fresh-faced, but deep down you can tell it isn’t.

That little voice of doubt flutters through your gut and you suddenly feel like the stupid little pre-teen again, too scared to move.

“We’ll meet each other soon.”

His words were so foreboding, so terrifying.

The rest of the day is a blur as you try to forget your dream, opting to cleanse the whole house with valerian instead. Sometime during the afternoon your aunt calls again to check up on you and make smalltalk until she’s satisfied.

The night comes quicker than you’d like. You fill another clay pot with sand and place juniper on top of the smoldering coal, intent on driving out even the smallest spirit hiding somewhere in your room as you get ready to go to bed.

But even with the incense spreading its calming scent everywhere, you still can’t find yourself at peace. Instead you stare restlessly at the clock, counting the second until midnight.

They’re already too close to your room, until there’s nothing more than thin wood separating you from the invader. There are three sharp knocks at the door, but you can’t even move your head. A breathless croak is all that leaves your lips as you wheeze and heave with the pain.

Twelvetide nights always feel like they’re beyond time and space, but the sensation currently pressing against your ribs is foreign even to you.

It starts out as throbbing just beneath your left collarbone, too high to come from your heart. Switching from laying on your side to resting on your back doesn’t help, so you count the seconds while you try to breathe into it.

No luck. With every swell of lungs the pounding seems to swell until it borders on painful. Even mellowing out your breathing doesn’t make it go away.

Instead, it starts to sting even worse and creeps further down your ribcage - your mind flits to a heart attack, but are those really the signs? Your cellphone is charging in the kitchen, a mile away it seems. Still, you have to try to get it before your condition gets worse.

Coughing, sputtering, you attempt to sit up, but there is something holding you down.

That familiar pressure.

Your eyes widen in panic and you lose control over yourself for a terrifying moment. This isn’t a dream. You’re wide awake, gasping for air in your old bed, not able to call for help.

You’re just as helpless as you were back then and just like that day, this is all painfully real. You want to cry, to scream, to at least fight against whatever is happening to you, but the pain simply crashes over with full force. Somewhere in the distance, the familiar sound of hooves and shouting reaches your ears as you sob quietly, covered in cold sweat, terrified of not even being able to avert your eyes from the evil that is searching for you.

Pictures of your cousin, your parents and your brother come to your mind and beg and plead with every deity there is for salvation.

It’s already too late when you hear the steps.

But you know.

You know who is waiting just a few steps from your bed, the bear of a man who has finally found a way to get to you, with his blazing eyes and impassive face.

He’s here to take you.

¹ Eau de Cologne - My grandma wore this all the time and good lord, it’s old people in a bottle

² German Christmas is celebrated on the evening of the 24th, not the morning of the 25th. The 25th and 26th are national holidays where you usually go out to visit relatives. You can imagine my confusion as a child when we watched American Christmas movies, haha

#enji todoroki x reader #endeavour x reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #enji todoroki #bnharem collab #my writing #mine

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docholligay · 3 years

Text

SHAMASH DAY DRAWING ANSWERS

MY top five on here each get an entry into the Shamash Day for Eight Days!

The neat thing is now that I’m using google forms, I can look at these without seeing your names at the same time, which please me because it’s slightly more objective!

question was: What was your favorite thing I did this year?

After much debate, I've settled on the history lessons you include in the Strange Empire liveblogs. I've formally study the time period in other countries, but I don't know the US/Canada (particularly the Western US) takes on it very well, and I absolutely love reading your dissections and explanations of society in that place and time. I would 100% read any book you put out on the subject. If the question had been since the last Eight Days, and not the calendar year. my answer would have been the Overwatch Christmas Carol. I went 380 pages back on your blog before confirming that Stave 5 was published December 31st. That was just an awesome piece of writing that had me make an occasion of reading each part. -- @pouncequick

After “having Midge” the second most popular answer was Strange Empire, which surprised me but made me very happy, and I think, should also delight @skylineofspace ! BOY HAVE I BEEN ON A JOURNEY WITH SLOTTER--someone else pointed out how he’s SUCH an interesting character, and I agree!

But you won versus the other Strange Empire people because I accept open pandering, and I worked SO SO SO hard on The OW Christmas Carol that it warmed my heart to see someone include it even if it didn’t TECHNICALLY count.

I mean I think having a baby was pretty cool and important, but aside from your amazing transition into motherhood and still being insanely productive on top of that (which I do not want to diminish because hot diggity KUDOS TO YOU AND YOURS FOR FINDING SUCH A GREAT BALANCE), I adored your recent series "Ghosts I've Met" - you do CNF really, really well, and I love getting these insights into how you polish your own experiences for sharing. I have them open in separate tabs waiting for when I have the capacity to comment on them like they deserve, and every time I go over there I have to reread whichever I've landed on because they're just so compelling. I also really liked the updates on your reading list! Our tastes only really overlap in a few very specific places, but I love hearing your thoughts on what you've read because I like your insight! -- @wouldntyoulichentoknow

Thank you! I really enjoyed “GHosts I’ve Met” as a thing to do, and was pleased to see CNF/ original fic be nominated a few times for Writing day!

You apologizing to Haru for calling her Usagi. I can't even explain why it made me laugh so hard but it did and I thank you for it.-- @annoni-no

I CONSIDER IT A SACRED DUTY also this won for being the only answer that made me laugh.

The book pitches/draws. It’s expanded my reading list and I love hearing your thoughts on books. Also writing, but that’s a given every year. My favorite recent writing is Michiru with amnesia on the serious side and the Michiru v. Rei cook off on the silly side. -- @automatuck9

I’ve REALLY enjoyed doing the book pitches, and I’m hoping as Midgie gets a little older and more independent that I can do more reviews of the stuff I read! There’s stuff I read that I would love to talk about but just don’t have the time.

The "Little Love Letter" series you did for Valentines day was amazing. The Haruka one was my favorite. Your voice for Haruka is so distinct and somehow charming - and it's always captivating. Reading how much that blonde little butch loves Michiru was so entertaining. Also your fic explaining your image of how Haruka cut her hair was also up there in my favorite things you did this year. --- @i-needa-nap-please

Thank you so much!

#eights days shamash drawing

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dramioneasks · 5 years

Note

Can you pretty please recommend some of your personal favorite dark!fics (like anything with either non/dub possessive!Draco ect?)

Here are some of mine (Warning: Some of these stories contain graphic depictions of rape):

Her Shoes by margaritama - NC-17, 19 Chapters - Draco Malfoy has demanded Hermione Granger head up an important new Wizard and Muggle venture he’s funding. They’ll be working at his home. Why would he do this? It’s clear he can’t stand her. Isn’t it?

Out of the Silent Planet by ianthe_waiting - NC-17, 39 chapters - Hermione Granger fulfills Severus Snape’s final wish, to journey to Japan to ‘retrieve’ something of importance.

A Slow Cruel Descent by SenLinYu - M, 2 Chapters - The war grinds on and Hermione Granger, the lead intelligence for the Order of the Pheonix, is captured. Unable to crack her through interrogation without risking her mind, Voldemort conceives a cruel method of breaking her that involves a reluctant Draco Malfoy.

The Unbreakable Bond by MrBenzedrine - M, one-shot - One Shot. STRONG THEMES. Very Point? What Point? Hermione forms an unbreakable bond with Draco- Smut to follow! ANGST 3Plus,Abuse,Anal,Angst,BDSM,Bond,COMPLETE,Contro,D/s,Dom,F/F,Fingering,H/C,HJ,Humil,M/s,Oneshot,Oral,Other VERY DARK.

Crumple by MissiAmphetamine - M, 11 chapters - As the war rages on two years post-‘final battle’, Hermione is captured by the other side and Malfoy is the only hope she has of surviving. [“Granger?” His voice is urgent, but she just sits there and breathes for a moment, feeling violated and still radiating pain, her eyes staring blindly at the cell wall opposite her, her brain frozen in what she thinks dully might be shock.]

Pieces by Kyra4 - M, 5 Chapters - Can the same person who broke you into pieces, be the person to put you back together again?

Voices by Kyonomiko - M, 3 Chapters - Hermione has long accepted she might not make it through the war alive, but after years on the battlefield, she never expected to be at the mercy of Draco Malfoy. Not untouched by his own experiences, his manic behavior leaves her living in constant fear of the unknown, suffering both affections and afflictions at his hands.

Stone Dragons by gravidy - R, 3 Chapters - Sometimes there are no right decisions. There are only actions and consequences. Hermione’s only choice now is who to betray.

And So No One Else Can Have You by flipflop_diva - E, one-shot - Hermione may be Draco’s slave, but she is not quite as controllable as Draco would like. And that is something that Draco needs to put a stop to. An AU world set after Deathly Hallows. Based on the prompt Hermione is a war slave. Not only that, she is Draco’s war slave. Draco is a cruel master, but he is also in love with her. She grows to love him back.

The Beggar-Thief by gravidy - NC-17, 8 Chapters - Hermione Granger doesn’t believe in things that have never been seen. But then, she doesn’t believe in a lot of things anymore. Hermione Granger has enough problems without worrying about Pureblood kidnappings and techno-geeks. The last thing she needs is Draco Malfoy breathing down her neck.

The Lions of December by Gravidy - NC-17, 2 Chapters - She calls me Goliath and I wear the David mask. I’d like to believe we could reconcile the past. Resurrect those bridges with an ancient glance. But my old stone face can’t seem to break her down. She remembers bridges and burns them to the ground.–Excerpts from 7Mary3 “Cumbersome”

Uncoffined by lady_of_clunn - E, 13 Chapters - When all is lost, we are willing to do whatever it takes to survive. 2nd place in the category ‘Best WIP’ in the 2009 dramione_awards on LJ.

Cold Side of the Moon by RZZMG - M, 10 Chapters - Released from Azkaban & tossed into the Forbidden Forest, Hermione Granger must escape the predators & survive for 8 days to earn her freedom. She doesn’t expect to make it knowing Werewolf!Draco Malfoy is somewhere in the forest, too, just waiting for the next victim of The Games to arrive. Dramione. 2013 HP-Darkarts Fest entry. Nom’d HPFanficFanPollAwards-Best Dark Fic. COMPLETE!

The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man by ianthewaiting - M, 28 Chapters - Ten years after the fall of the Dark Lord, Hermione Granger leads of life of self-imposed obscurity, that is, until the day Headmistress Minerva McGonagall is murdered and a certain ‘hero’ is responsible. DM/HG, written originally in 2007-2008, and finally making its debut here! AU, DH-EWE, non-canon elements, time travel, character death, etc.

Utterly Despicable by camnz - M, 24 Chapters - The death of both Voldemort and Harry Potter let the pureblood elite build the world they wanted. One that leaves Hermione in a vulnerable state, which Draco Malfoy is prepared to take full advantage of.

Manacled by SenLinYu - M, 77 Chapters - Harry Potter is dead. In the aftermath of the war, in order to strengthen the might of the magical world, Voldemort enacts a repopulation effort. Hermione Granger has an Order secret locked away in her mind. She is sent as an enslaved surrogate to the High Reeve, to be bred and monitored until it can be accessed. COMPLETE

The Gift by RZZMG - M, one-shot - After imbibing too much on Christmas Eve, Draco Malfoy decides to give himself a gift: Hermione Granger, his war prize slave. Can her gift of love tame the darkness in his heart? One-shot. Dramione/dark Draco x Hermione. A/U,Post-Hogwarts,EWE. COMPLETE!

Every Way You Look At This by tamlane - R, one-shot - Sometimes it’s difficult to tell who is indebted to whom. Which really has little to do with the means of collection, when you’re a Malfoy.

Save You, Save Me by flipflop_diva - R, one-shot - For five years, Draco Malfoy has kept Hermione Granger hidden away from the Dark Lord’s wrath. In exchange for her life, she’ll do what he says. But Hermione is about to find out that not everything is how it seems.

Worth The Risk by scarletladyy - M, one-shot - The world is a dangerous place for Hermione and other Muggleborns, and when she meets the Death Eater’s most infamous torturer in a dark alleyway, she thinks her life is over, until it turns out that this Death Eater may have a conscience after all.

His One Unforgivable Sin by DramioneInLove - M, 8 Chapters - In a world where Muggle-borns are the “lower class”, Hermione Granger works for Madam Malkin’s as an apprentice. When pure-blood women who have bought dress robes from Madam Malkin’s die mysteriously, Draco Malfoy starts the investigation, and Hermione is his first suspect. DramioneLove fest submission. Winner of Mod’s Choice: Best Dystopian Universe Fic. Warnings inside.

Master by AkashaTheKitty - M, one-shot -The war drags on and Hermione Granger is caught and then bought by her old enemy Draco Malfoy. But why did he do that when he obviously isn’t really interested in using her for anything? AU, very ugly themes, ONESHOT!

The Slow Thaw by camnz - M, 21 Chapters - Hermione is serving at Malfoy Mansion after the war was lost. In her bleak existance, she manages to find ways to cope. Contains nonconsentual. COMPLETE.

Subsistence by ratherbsailing - NC-17, 3 chapters - In times of war, people find different ways to survive.

Squirm by MrBenzedrine - M, 28 Chapters - Written for Halloween, 2016. Dramione. Rated M for non-con themes, as well as implied horror. TRIGGER WARNING. Draco Malfoy falls into a strange obsession with Hermione Granger. But it’s a risk -he holds a dark, sinister secret, and if he becomes too close, she just might find out what it is. Dark Fic. WIP. **WINNER: Best WIP 2017 Winter Dramione Awards** *Complete*

Crimson with a Silver Lining by Lady Cailan - M, 78 Chapters - It is six years since the fall of the Ministry to Voldemort. Those other than purebloods are deemed less than human. When Ginny’s daughter ends up in grave danger, Hermione sells herself to the Death Eaters to save her life. Draco/Hermione. Not fluffy.

His Beautiful, Haunting Eyes by thecellarfloor - M, 14 Chapters - Draco pushed her to the wall, kissed her roughly on the lips, then punched the glass window beside her head. It smashed into pieces and the crowd who had parted for him seconds ago gasped. Hermione couldn’t. She couldn’t even breathe. What have you done?

- AgnMag

#anonymous #favourite fics #dark fic #non con #tw: rape #draco: protective and possessive #draco: dark

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applebyear · 4 years

Note

What are some of your favorite sonadow fics? I'm in the need for some😂

Ohoho! I tried not to spend all day on this but there's literally so many I wanted to suggest so fuck it, here we go!

I'm positive everyone looking at this post is smart enough to find the actual fic summaries through the links, so I'm using this space to just share a few thoughts on these bad boys ^^

These fics are SFW, barring the occasional mild suggestiveness. I hope you enjoy them as much as I have ^^

anonymous blue

Trapped in a Box

Touched-starved Shadow fucks me UP. Consider this when you’re in a pre-Sonadow mood. Short and sweet ^^

annuska

Love

Sonadow Week 2019

We never met but can we have a cup of coffee or something?

Sonadow Week 2019 (Twitter)

singularity

Yes I literally put this author’s entire bibliography on this post. I’m in love with their sophistication and intricacy. And they have yearning down to a SCIENCE

BambixRonno

Hold Me Close (To Keep Away The Memories)

This author is one of those beautiful souls who looked at Sega’s mandate of never allowing Sonic to be emotionally vulnerable, and said ‘fuck that noise’. I’m eternally grateful </3

CarriePika

In Memory

Oh what’s that? You came here looking for light and fluffy stuff? Too bad—you’re gonna weep reading this what-if account of Sonic mourning at Shadow’s grave and you’re gonna like it!!

Draenog Glas

Crystal Heart

Corduroy

This author fills a special niche. Wistful, dreamy fairytale-ish AU stuff. Lots of heart and soul in it. Great bedtime stories ^^

Faded_Memoirs

To Every Story

It’s a second-person view story! Very unique. Very engaging ^^

idolatres

My prayers always center on your face

Sonadow Week 2019

I'll make you a believer.

Sonadow Week 2019: PRIDE Edition

This author is crazy excellent at creating wonderful snapshots of Sonadow’s life that make you want more. Dive in and completely forget the ship ain’t canon for a while <3 <3

InsanePurin

50 Sentences - Sonadow

If anyone looks down on minimalist or experimental works, they just don’t get it. The 50th entry gave me chills

LapseOfReason

Double Vision

Paparazzi

Read the first one when you’re in the mood to feel nothing but ‘whoa’ (seriously, it fucked me up). Read the second one for a good wholesome laugh to recover (seriously, you’ll need it)

Persephone1

Steps to Acceptance

A piece that focuses on Amy and her reaction to Sonadow, without demonising her. Author has my full respect for that!

RosyPumpkin

Home

Just... just so wholesome. Get you a man that loves you the ways Sonic loves Shadow in this one

shadowofthelamp

Untitled (Chubby Shadow)

Sometimes we love Sonic and Shadow for being epic heroes, and sometimes we want them to just be relatable. Technically not Sonadow but this one has good vibes, I promise

ShimmeringJade

Catch Me if You Can

Quality flirting and teasing over in this one. Author knows what’s up with our boys ;)

Skitzoism

Chained by Love

Hard to Express

This second one was literally the first Sonadow fic I ever read. I can’t argue that it didn’t inspire my lifelong love of this ship at least partially!! This author is very special to me :D

Skyblaze

Losing the Race

Dreams Don't Come True

Knight and Day

Hold On

This author is so goddamn on point with their romance—when they write handholding I scream. When they write kissing?? I explode

sonicbros

Realization

Shadow and the Buddy Buddy Temple

Of Loss and Love

A Gift of Evolution

Kiss Prompts

This author is amazingly versatile, not to mention a sweetheart ;) You want angst, fluff, the drama of reluctant feelings? Step right up!

SuperSonicBoom12

Friends

Another not-actually-Sonadow piece, but hits major beats on why Sonic and Shadow’s relationship is so engaging, very enjoyable ^^

tekina_fiction

this is home

Utterly utterly soft and wholesome. It’s all about the slow falling in love despite differences and the past. Gets to the core of Sonadow’s appeal for me

thag-the-upset

Movies

The Need for Speed

I cannot lie, both of these ones made me cry. The second one isn’t even romantic Sonadow, but the author crafts such a deep dedication and connection between the boys that it doesn’t matter. I dunno how to explain in a way that does justice. Absolute must reads

The Sky Sage

Eyes

Another not-romantic Sonadow (yeah this rec list is a strange one). But this is a beautiful and deserving story, author truly fleshes out how Sonic and Shadow have the utmost respect for each other

thekyuubivixen

Starlit Strawberries

Kissingkissingkissingkissingkissing! I’m sorry, it gets to a point where I black out from gorgeous fluff overload!

VocaSonic

Secret Santa

You don’t have to come back to this one in late December, it’s sweet enough to enjoy now. Indulge :)

#sonadow #fic recs #kjgoaway #phew there were so many more i could've included #but the authors have deleted :(#I have them saved but it doesn't feel right to put them out there #when the authors don't want that anymore #it's a shame but whatcha gonna do #this was fun! I'd like to do this again with particular themes ^^#i'm not opposed to making recs of nsfw/suggestive fic #but be over 18 before you ask!!

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creationcitystreet-em · 4 years

Text

His Southern Belle 1

Masterlist Full book 1 summary in the link

Chapter 1

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC (face claim: Rose Leslie)

Word count: ~2450

Summary: Maddi starts her new school in Brooklyn and meets some new friends.

Warnings: none

Author’s Note: I started this fic when I was still in high school, and I have worked really hard on it since. I’m not a fan of some of my writing from earlier chapters, but I don’t want to change them until I at least finish writing the entire story. I will be updating this fic here on tumblr one chapter a day until I am caught up with where I am at on the other platforms I’ve posted it. If you’d like to read ahead of that schedule, you can check them out on from the links on my masterlist. I just also wanted to make the fic available here on tumblr with the rest of my fandom interactions, so this is the plan to do that!

Unless otherwise indicated, all date entries are from Maddi’s POV.

September 5, 1932

I stood in front of the small class while my new teacher introduced me. I was in my best knee length dress trying to make the best first impression but I quickly realized the style in my hometown was very different from that of teenagers in New York. The girls seemed to have a little more money than my family as they wore nicer clothes and styled their hair to the newest fashion. My long red curls were probably a little too messy and I didn't wear the same socks and shoes as the them. I tried not to show how uncomfortable I felt when our teacher asked me to say my name to the class. I smiled and said "My name is Madeline Bennett, but my Mama and Daddy called me Maddi." I immediately heard laughter from the students and it made me feel twice as self conscious. It must be my accent, people in Brooklyn definitely sounded different than those in Tennessee. As soon as the teacher let me sit, I chose the only empty seat next to small and skinny boy with blond hair. He smiled at me but it was not cruel like the other kids when I walked to my seat, so I gave a small smile back.

During lunch, I sat alone until I heard the sound of a boy talking in front of me, "hey new girl, you know I can show you around if you want. I know some great places we can sneak off to together." I politely declined as I could tell his intentions did not seem innocent. He continued to push "Come on, look I know a lot of people laughed at you in class, but I can keep you safe baby doll. Once you're with me, nobody will be laughing." I immediately looked back down at my food trying to ignore the group of boys as they snickered behind the nameless boy who talked to me. I could tell this was probably a trick considering they were clearly still mocking me like before, and I just wanted to be left alone. I tried to hold back tears as I thought about how much I wished I could go back home with my family. I didn't want to be in Brooklyn hundreds of miles away from the only home I ever knew. I didn't want make new friends or learn how to live with a new family I barely knew. I wanted my safe little town where everyone knew who I was and nobody would dare pick on me unless they wanted my brother going after them. I missed my brother more than I ever would have admitted to him.

Just then, two more boys came to my table and I thought it would only get worse. "Leave her alone Jason, she clearly doesn't want to talk to you right now," the smaller of the two said. I now recognized him as the boy I sat next to in class.

"Alright Rogers, what are you going to do to stop me?" It was a fair questions, the boy was half a foot smaller than Jason and clearly much skinnier than the already developing teen.

"Listen Gally, I know you can see me standing right next to Steve here so you clearly should know when to keep your mouth shut. Now the lady said no earlier so I think you should respect her wishes and take your friends and leave." Jason Gally stared at the taller boy, who looked more like a man, and finally decided to leave. I continued to remain frozen in place after everything that happened, until I saw the two that helped me start to walk away as well.

"Wait!" I called to them as I wanted to tell them I appreciated what they did. They turned around and looked at me and I gathered up all the courage I had left to keep talking despite knowing they will clearly hear my accent. "Thank you for that. I got your name, Steve, but I didn't really catch yours," I said to the taller one.

"James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky."

"Well Bucky, Steve, thank you again."

"It was no problem, Maddi right?" Steve questioned to make sure he remembered my name correctly. I was pleasantly surprised and nodded my head yes.

I took a leap of faith and suddenly asked, "would y'all like to sit with me?" They stared at me for a second and I tried to explain myself quickly, "It's just that I'm new and don't have any friends yet. You two were so kind to stand up for me and I just wanted to know if maybe you would want to sit with me." I prayed I didn't just scare the two nice people in front of me off, but then they looked at each other and sat down across the table from me. I started to smile as they began to ask me about where I was from and why I moved to Brooklyn. "I'm from Tennessee, and I moved here to live with my Aunt and Uncle. They're the only family I really have left." they stayed quiet knowing I didn't want to go too deep into that subject just yet. The two nodded and didn't push anymore about it. I was very grateful for that.

It was towards the end of lunch and Steve said "Well Maddi, I'm glad we met you. Bucky is a year older than us but we still hang out after school. Where do you live, maybe we can walk home together?" I told them the general area I moved to and they both eagerly said they lived near there. We made plans to meet after school and for a brief second I thought that maybe moving to the big city wouldn't have been as terrible as I initially thought. I wished I could be back home, but knowing that I would never get to go back, having a couple friendly people here was the best I could ask for.

September 24, 1932

“How has school been going, Maddi?” Aunt Lily asked as I ate dinner with her and Uncle Ryan.

“Alright. I made a couple friends, but I don’t really seem to fit in with the class. They dress and talk different than back home.” I played with my food a bit while I thought about how the last couple weeks have been. Steve and Bucky were definitely very nice to call friends and I liked spending time with them, but girls still gave me strange looks and boys would bother me if I wasn’t with my new companions.

“Well, our neighbors have a granddaughter on the other side of town about a year or two older than you. I’ll see if she has any extra dresses you can have,” Aunt Lily offered. I knew she and Uncle Ryan felt bad for not having enough money to spend on me, but I really didn’t mind. With their two children already grown and moved across the country, they didn’t exactly plan to pay for an extra mouth to feed. Times were hard enough as it was without unexpected expenses. I never actually met these family members before: we never had the money to travel, but I heard about them a lot.

September 30, 1932

I wore my new dress that seemed to match more with the girls at school and it made me feel a little less nervous, but I also felt sad to be giving up more and more from my life in Tennessee. I sat with Steve and Bucky at lunch like I did everyday, and we talked about frivolous things until I asked Steve what was in the book he always carried around.

“It’s a sketch pad, I like to draw,” he said shyly.

“Can I see?” I asked and he hesitantly handed me his sketch pad and I flipped through the pages in awe. Each piece of paper had beautifully drawn pictures of buildings and landscapes. He had a few with people, but one close up of a young woman and man who looked in their early 20s. “Who are they?” I curiously questioned.

“That’s my parents,” he said quietly. “It’s from a picture when they were newly married. I don’t really remember my dad, he died in the Great War.”

“I’m sorry,” I said hoping I didn’t make him feel sad as I knew how it felt to lose a parent. “I lost my ma when I was young too, not as young but still I was 5 when she got sick.”

“Is that why you moved?” Bucky asked me.

“No, I still lived with my daddy and brother, Alex, until this summer when a storm hit and they both died. I was with a friend when it hit and a tornado took down my entire house and my family inside.”

“Jeez, I’m sorry Maddi,” Steve said as I fought back a few tears thinking about what happened.

“Don’t worry about it. I was lucky to have Aunt Lily and Uncle Ryan to take me when they heard, and now I got to meet you two so that’s good I guess.” I tried to look towards the better things in situations but it was always hard.

“Well, you’re officially our friend so there’s no getting out of it now,” Bucky said with a smirk.

“Only now it’s official? What has been the last month then?” I asked with a laugh.

“A trial friendship,” Steve stated smiling.

“Yeah, just to make sure you weren’t crazy or anything” said Bucky.

“I’m glad y’all think I’m worthy of being your friend then!” I winked at them as I continued the joke. We all laughed as we finished our food and headed back to class for the day.

December 24, 1932

“The snow is so beautiful on Christmas,” I sighed as I walked through the park with Steve and Bucky like we sometimes did together.

“It sure is, but I’ve always wanted to see snow where there were no buildings in sight. Just miles of it with nothing else to mess the blanket of white up,” Steve told me as we saw children running through the already played in snow.

“That is a sight to see, but I think that's just wasted? Look at how happy all this available snow makes everyone, that’s something worth drawing.” I said this as I knew that was one of the reasons he probably liked the idea of untouched snow: to be able to draw the scene. “Draw me and Bucky!”

“What?” Bucky questioned, not sure what he had to do with this topic.

“Draw us playing in the snow,” I requested with a smile. Bucky quickly got the idea and ran towards a clean pile. He made a snowball and threw it directly at me hitting me on the shoulder. “Alright Barnes, you have it coming to you now!” and I laughed while I ran to make a snowball as well except I missed when throwing it at him. He laughed at me until I made another and hit him square in the face. I heard a chuckle from Steve and I looked over at him sitting on a nearby bench watching us and making small rough sketches in his book. “Come one Steve, put it to memory and come play with us!” He looked slightly surprised for a second until he put his book down and came over to join our snowball fight. We did this for about an hour until we sat down on the bench to rest. Steve quickly went right back to his book to continue his scene he started on. We sat in silence for a while just taking in the day.

“What are your holiday plans, Maddi?” Bucky asked.

“I’m not sure. We haven’t really talked about it. We’ll probably go to Mass tonight and I got a small present for my aunt and uncle tomorrow. I don’t really expect much of a present for myself; besides, my favorite part has always been Christmas Eve Mass. My daddy and Alex and I would go and then always visit mama after. I guess I can’t see any of them this year since their all buried in Tennessee.” I had never really thought of that until now and it quickly took away all of my joy from playing in the snow before. “They would have liked you guys,” I added before they could reply. “You're both gentlemen and passionate about what you care for.”

“They’d like Bucky,” Steve tried to clarify as he continued to draw.

“No, they’d like you both,” I told him with confidence. “Especially you, your heart is much more kind than this silly guy sitting next to me,” I laughed as I sat between them and gestured towards Bucky.

“Hey!” Bucky said with a smile. “Just because it's true doesn't mean you have to say it!” Steve just stayed quiet and had a slight blush on his face.

I put my arms around both their necks and said “thank you for making Brooklyn more bearable.”

“You did that,” Steve said as he looked at me and I smiled back at him.

December 25, 1932

There was a knock on the door and I went to answer it. When I opened the door, Steve stood there waiting and I gave him a surprised smile. “Hey,” he started. “I know today is mostly spending with family so I’ll try to be quick. I just wanted to give you your present.”

“Steve, you didn’t have to get me anything!” I began to feel bad as I had nothing to give in return.

“It’s nothing, here.” He handed me a piece of paper and I saw it was a beautiful drawing of Bucky and I in the snow from the previous day. I just stared at it for a few seconds in awe before he continued, “Sorry it isn’t that detailed, I was trying to finish as quick as I could and the shading might not be-” I cut him off by hugging him.

“I love it!” I said as he wrapped his arms back around me. “I love the art you make, it’s so good. Thank you for giving me one, it really means a lot.” We both let go and and he was redder than I had ever seen him before.

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a chuckle. We then said our goodbyes and he went back home to spend the rest of the day with his mother.

Next Chapter

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memcaked · 4 years

Text

Fall

Source: Subarashiki kono Sekai | The World Ends With You

Relationships: Sakuraba Neku & Kiryu “Joshua” Yoshiya, Sakuraba Neku & Misaki Shiki & Bito “Beat” Daisukenojo & Bito “Rhyme” Raimu

Characters: Sakuraba Neku, Kiryu “Joshua” Yoshiya, Misaki Shiki, Bito “Beat” Daisukenojo, Bito “Rhyme” Raimu

Additional tags: Seasons, TWEWYTOBER, TWEWYTOBER 2020, Not beta read

Summary: The leaves crunch under Neku’s feet as he treads across the street until he passes by a municipal tree set in the tiny greenspace enclosure. “God,” he examines a bruised, brittle leaf barely hanging low enough for him to touch, “I fucking hate the fall.”

Beginning notes: im exhausted by all the sadness and wanted to take this literally so here's just. fall. kind of funny im writing this from the southern hemisphere but its fall. and joshua's here too and has friends rather than my usual idea for postgame where he's totally secluded from everyone else and it leaves neku so so directionless because of it

also remember seeing a headcanon about neku liking cold weather and while i normally dont knock on hcs, ive got my share of weird ones... the boy wearing a tank top and shorts? who is constantly associated with fire?? likes cold weather??? i have to laugh

Body: The leaves crunch under Neku’s feet as he treads across the street until he passes by a municipal tree set in the tiny greenspace enclosure. “God,” he examines a bruised, brittle leaf barely hanging low enough for him to touch, “I fucking hate the fall.”

Joshua lifts a barely-splayed hand to his chin, mouth o-shaped in that pseudo-intellectual pose he strikes. “Strange that you wouldn’t open your world to autumn, hm? A break from the heatwaves can do us good as a whole, dear.”

Neku pushes Joshua away, laughing him off. “Yeah, you say that ‘cos you’re so cold. Hey Neku,” he trills, stretching out the syllables slow, “feel how cold my hands are! Why, you’re dead so you never got a body temperature above thirty degrees again?”

“Could ask the same to you,” Joshua sticks his tongue out, notching his eyebrow. “Remember when I took your entry fee for the duel, and you didn’t know what it was? When’s the last time you’ve been able to touch someone like I did?”

Neku keeps walking ahead. “It’s just slapping your hands on their cheeks, don’t know why you’re wording it like a dating thing…”

“That’s your own prerogative,” Joshua retorts, clicking his tongue. “I could’ve made sure you would never reach again 37 degrees Celsius, 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, three hundred and ten point ten five Kelvin…”

“I literally got a fever in July. 38.5,” Neku points out. “Don’t be such a fucking smartass when you literally didn’t.”

“Fucking smartass,” Joshua returns the mimicking favour, deepening his voice and speeding up his speech. “You really need to stop swearing so much. I know you’re fifteen, but you’re not going to get anywhere--”

“Eyes on the road. We’re here.” Neku runs ahead, in that strange speed he’s built up ever since the Game. He touches off at the bronze touch of Hachiko, cheering and greeting his friends mobbed around it, waving and high fiving everyone.

Joshua crawls forward, with the same slowness he takes everything else at. “Friends, nobles, countrymen, lend me your ears!” he declares, a pace away from the group.

“Yo, Socrates, you could jus’ ask us to listen….”

“Joshua, please come closer,” Shiki says, “we can’t really hear you over the people, haha.”

“I think it's the pomp thing,” Rhyme sighs.

“Me and Neku have been partaking in this enlightening conversation about the seasons, and I must know what the public thinks of it. He hates autumn, and presumably all the seasons where you can’t speedrun melanoma,”

“Fuck off,” Neku interrupts. “Did you really just use those words? Speedrun melanoma?”

“Summer isn’t just sunburns, man!” Beat says. “It’s one of the only breaks from school too. Those one week offs fly by.”

“Spring,” Shiki stresses, “Spring! It’s the best for fashion. Me and Eri can always get to work when we see the flowers.”

“Says the spring baby,” Joshua retorts.

“Sure, but are you following dresses or Dragon Couture?”

“You don't give your friends enough credit,” Joshua turns to Neku, his voice pitched down so only he can hear, “they barely know me and yet they hit all my weak points,” He yells to Shiki, “I rest my case!” and she smiles and waves.

“I like autumn too, Joshua,” Rhyme adds cheerfully. "The leaves are very pretty."

“We have a tie? What are we going to do?” Shiki asks.

Joshua raises his finger in his eureka moment. “Well, proxies, Nekus, Sakurabas, lend me your ears. I’ll keep the rules extremely basic. We count down from ten, and on zero, we,”

“Fuck off,” he shoves Joshua’s face away and starts yelling at everyone, “Hey we just decided that summer was the best season, okay? Majority rules.”

Rhyme stares for a solid second. “But didn’t we just say we,”

“Phones sounds ‘ight to me though," Beat says. “Might’ve been a miscount.”

End notes: End notes were originally empty on the date of its original upload on November 19th, 2020. The entirety of these end notes were an addendum written December 8th, 2020.

reviews are in from my friend will makosinnergy, who i am publishing and bullying with his permission:

[Image description: Twitter Direct Messages between Eight noisereductions, the author, and Will makosinnergy, dated the night of November 24th, 2020 and the morning of November 25th, 2020. Will and Eight are both Australian. The messages read as followed:

Will: Eight I’m reading TWEWY fics and that includes your twewytober stuff and i found the fall one right

Will: and I didn’t realise it was yours and was going to DM you saying that Americans were a mistake.

Eight: LMAO

Eight: sorry mate

Eight: Doesn’t it say specifically in the author’s notes I’m writing it in spring or something

Eight: Will, you’re miscountrying me, you’re giving me dysphoria on if I’m not saying mate enough 💔

Will: IM SORRYYYYY

end image description.]

#twewy #the world ends with you #neku sakuraba #joshua kiryu #yoshiya kiryu #shiki misaki #beat bito #rhyme bito #19/10/2020 #fanworks #writing

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dorky-arsene · 5 years

Text

Day 3 -- Reunion

@shuakeweek

Welp, here’s the Day 3 entry of mine, using “Reunion” as the main sort of theme and “Meeting” as a secondary theme! This time, I feel I’d rather go with a fic. Also, kinda-sorta major spoilers for Persona 5 under here, since the endgame context is needed for this one. :p

Uhh, consider this one a Teen-rated fic, I suppose.

The first time Goro had ever met Akira, was because of that cat. It was pure chance his ears caught those words, and he realized upon retrospect that maybe he shouldn’t have heard them, yet did so anyway.

A voice like no other he’d heard rang out that day, and the thing he’d heard clearest was..

“...I wanna go to that pancake-looking place we passed on the way here!”

He’d decided on a tiny detour, as he knew the building just well enough by now to check out whose voice had spoken. The detective soon heard more talking among the group of people he heard chattering down the hall, so he kept his hold on his briefcase and kept going.

Yet, when he reached that bit of hallway at last, wanting to inquire about the pancakes thanks to his hunger, Goro lost his train of thought for a few moments. A distraction, as he’d called it in those days, presented itself to Goro. He locked eyes for the few moments he’d fallen silent with another teen, one of the three he saw in the hallway. His eyes seemed to Goro like a brewing, quiet storm behind his glasses, a tone of grey the detective only really saw on days a thunderstorm hung over Tokyo like uncertainty on his mind. The teen’s hair seemed akin to a bird’s nest, but was a very good shade of black, shining like a polished diamond in the lighting of the TV station’s otherwise bland halls.

Goro mentally shook the distracting attractiveness of the boy out of his mind temporarily to greet the teens, consisting also of a young woman with a hoodie around her waist and crisp blue eyes and platinum blonde hair, as well as a more rule-breaker sort of teen around the same age as the dark-haired one, with thick eyebrows and clearly dyed-blonde hair that turned out the color of a bright golden yellow.

“Excuse me, but I couldn’t help noticing your uniforms,” Goro settled on, recognizing the plaid all three teens wore. “Are you students of Shujin Academy?”

“Yeah, whatddya want?” asked the blonde male teenager, turning to him. His shirt was bright red, a little distracting, but much like any punk on the street Goro would hear about.

“Ah, well..” Goro began, walking forward again before continuing. “I happened to be passing by, so it seemed polite to greet you. We’ll be filming together, after all.”

The blonde-haired female teenager seemed to open her mouth to speak, but to Goro’s own surprise, the teen who’d caught his eye first spoke. “I think my homeroom teacher told me. You look familiar.. I’ve seen you on TV a few times.”

The voice of that teen seemed much different than the voice Goro had first heard, and it just further made the brunette so curious that he walked forward again, plopping himself in a way into the very middle of the three teens. A foreign, but not unpleasant, fluttering filled Goro’s heart at being told he was familiar, but he smiled pleasantly as always, to hide the strangely mortifying feeling of being known already to someone he’d practically just met who happened to be attractive as hell.

“..Hah, where are my manners? My name is Goro Akechi,” he said, instead of clarifying why he was on TV so often as he’d planned. The dark-haired teen seemed to catch on, somehow, and gave the slightest head tilt, a smile appearing on his otherwise neutral-looking face.

“Don’t worry about it, Akechi-san,” the teen said, but before Goro could let his cheeks catch on fire, his phone embarrassingly went off with the default ‘pili’ noise his P.A.D. came with. From looking at it, the embarrassed detective finally had his escape for the time being, so he backed off, putting his phone away.

“A-ah, I really was just passing by, my apologies,” he excused himself, finding that his palms had suddenly become wetter under his gloves over the past minute. “I’ve got a briefing for tomorrow’s recording that I have to attend. Goodbye now..”

As he’d turned around and began to walk away, Goro felt a very, very brief weight in his left pocket after a few feet, but he didn’t get around to checking it until he’d already ran to the elevator and closed the decently ancient doors. It was a slip of folded-up paper, and upon unfolding it, there was a phone number written on it, just that and a name. It, somehow, had been written in under a second, so it was just readable enough to tell the basic numbers and kanji of whoever wrote it..

Akira, the name said. No surname, just the name alone besides the number. Thanks to being all alone, Goro let out a shaky breath, feeling his cheeks flare up in warmth. How’d this end up in my pocket..?? How strange..

---

It was terribly hard for Goro to be in Yongen-Jaya again, many months later, after all that had happened. His wounds still hurt terribly, and after so long of being away from the public’s eyes, the detective had made his return. Shido’s reputation was well and shattered, but so was his own reputation (according to Sae), and he’d have to rebuild it slowly. At the very least, people at least weren’t heckling him and some of the social media hellstorm had quieted down by now, so that was good..

That was when he saw Morgana again, when he walked alone in Yongen-Jaya, for the first time since his defeat in December since somehow landing himself in the hospital until today, right on Valentine’s Day. The cat began to slink his way into the familiar alleyway leaning to Leblanc.. and for some reason, Goro found the urge to follow. The pancake-brown haired teen readjusted his new orange-brown coat and walked forward, as quietly as he could and as carefully as he could, as to not aggravate his many bruises and cuts that still haunted him.

So, eventually, Goro made it to Leblanc. It was, by his own interna; admittance, pretty damn late for coffee considering it was evening time, but he deeply missed the place, deeply missed him. Goro had tried so hard to get better just for him, and he wasn’t even sure if the guy was out of prison yet. At least, he’d been in prison by Sae’s words when Goro finally woke the hell up back in January..

Swallowing his anxiety, he stepped into the cafe, the bell chime dutifully ringing as he entered. Goro saw surprise flash in Sojiro’s eyes as he stopped in front of the door, on the welcome mat, with his hands in his coat’s pockets and a whole heap of worry burrowing into his stomach.

“H-hello, Akira. Honey, I’m home.”

Akira turned at the sound of his own voice, eyes widening as he tried to keep back what Goro assumed to be relief and mourning and a hint of disbelief from shaking him. Goro could see Akira’s lip wobble, and already the detective felt tears start to escape his eyes once he blinked a time or two.

“..Akechi? Hoo boy, it’s.. it’s been a while since you came in,” Sojiro commented hesitantly, rubbing the back of his head. “Akira.. well, he.. hm.. How do I put this..”

“W.. Welcome h-home!” Akira finally sputtered, abruptly interrupting Sojiro, and he finally succumbed to his decidedly relieved tears as he rushed forward, sliding right past Goro’s arms and burying his face into the crook of the other’s neck. Yes, the dark-haired boy who had taken Goro’s heart was crying, but Goro swore he saw a smile break out in the split seconds before the taller of the pair let out a small “Oof!”, feeling some of the wind knocked out of him.

Even so.. Goro couldn’t help himself but embrace Akira in return, feeling the shorter teen tremble slightly with his happy sobs and occasional sharp hiccups. Goro did feel a twinge of regret for being unable to tell Akira he’d been alive this whole time, as Morgana made some groan noise and attached to his leg as a way of saying “Apologize for breaking Akira’s heart!”.

“I’m sorry, Akira,” Goro humbly sighed, as if to answer the implied demand of the black cat’s claws poking through his jeans, squeezing his eyes shut and holding the dark-haired teen just a bit tighter. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner about my recovery.. I should have..”

Akira huffed, his tears soaking right into Goro’s sweater vest, the one the shorter teen had complimented about 50 times 4-ish months ago. “S-shut it, Goro.. I’m glad you’re okay. I.. I could barely take not having you around, in prison and all.. It hurt, Goro..”

“I’m here now, though.. I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon, either..”

At that, Akira huffed again, giving a light punch to Goro’s side. But, Goro knew that wasn’t really meant to hurt, and the further huffs now registered as some sort of laughter. Well.. It didn’t really work completely, though, as right after that Akira just hiccuped again, lifting his head with flushed cheeks and a nervous smile. “You -hic- goof.”

Sojiro took that moment to walk towards the two teens, shaking his head. “Seems like he’s gotten some hiccups.. Oh well.

Akira, take over for me, will you? I think I’d best leave you two to catch up.”

Morgana detached himself from Goro’s leg, flicking his tail. “Hey, Akira, don’t get too blubbery when you tell Goro, alright? I’m gonna be with Boss, but if anything goes awry, tell Futaba and I’ll come right back.”

With that, Sojiro stepped out of the shop with Morgana, and after a minute Akira detached from Goro, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. An awkward silence settled over the little cafe, and it still smelled faintly of coffee and curry. Akira, definitely so, and the warm smell of the stuff now attached to Goro’s own clothes thanks to the intimate hug.

After a while, Akira turned back towards the counter, shakily sighing with another awkwardly placed hiccup. “U-uh.. Hey, you can -hic-.. sit if you’d like. Do you want your usual?”

“..Certainly. Some curry would be nice, too. Hopefully it’s better than that damned hospital food,” Goro joked, removing his jacket and heading to a booth seat. “At any rate, at least you give a damn about nutrition and flavor..”

Akira snort-laughed, the tension he’d seemingly had before lifted from how he stood while setting everything up like normal. “I’ll make this curry extra good, then, if you just got out of the hospital today. W-well.. It’s also Valentine’s Day, so.. So d-don’t tell Boss I’m changing things up, okay?”

“Changing things up?” Goro inquired with a head tilt, his now too-long hair brushing against his cheeks. Admittedly, I’ve got to improve my look.. Nearly 2 months’ time does not do favors for maintaining one’s hair. Especially since Akira’s seeing the result of that.. Maybe I should’ve cut my hair before I went here..

“I mean, I made a dessert for you, since you like sweet stuff,” Akira clarified, as if in a mumble. “I made it anyway, j-just in case.. well, if you did come..”

Goro smiled at him, feeling his own cheeks go a rosy pink. “Akira.. That’s very sweet of you. Oh.. er.. I brought you something as well..”

Akira didn’t say anything to that or Goro’s goofy attempt at Akira’s preferred brand of humor, but Goro could see a brighter flush of red covering the teen’s cheeks as he prepared the coffee, curry and what Goro could distantly see had to be some kind of.. cake? Goro wasn’t entirely sure, as the dark-haired former thief kept standing in front of it a lot.

Maybe it’s meant to be a surprise, Goro thought to himself, thinking of the chocolates he’d picked up from one of the shops in Shibuya, with the intent of mailing them to Akira anonymously originally earlier in the day. The chocolates in question were somewhat expensive, a premium sort Goro had picked for being relatively bitter. They just happened to have ground coffee in the middle in a salted caramel.. and to Goro, they seemed much like Akira.

...

After what felt like an eternity of silence and the little sounds from Akira fixing up the coffee and curry and mystery dessert item, Goro heard the apron-clad Akira place plates and cups onto the booth table. There was two of everything, including the dessert itself- a little lava cake, from what it looked like, which had a little heart made out of strawberry syrup.

“..A-ah, is this some kind of romantic dinner?” Goro asked, smiling slightly in jest, in Akira’s direction. “How charming, Akira.”

Akira flushed red, shuffling into his seat and looking away shyly as he began to explain, all while twirling the ends of his curled bangs. Well, I guess I got it on the nose.. Makes sense, for Valentine’s Day.. But for me..?

“D-duh. And surprise..?

Lava cakes. They were a little simple to make, but I thought you might like them. Not sure if it goes with the curry, but.. Oh well.”

Goro took that moment to try the lava cake first, feeling a little rebellious and quite curious. Well, and he just really wanted some damn sweets, as he was pretty deprived of that in the hospital. The soft cake didn’t disappoint, and he was greeted with actual, real strawberries, a pleasant freshness coming along with the sweet syrup the strawberries came with, pairing nicely with the rich chocolate.

The detective knew he was grinning the second he put that bite in his mouth, and he felt the expectant gaze of Akira, hearing the teen’s pleased exhale.

“Oh, goodness me, excuse my manners,” Goro suddenly mumbled, putting down the fork that came with the lava cake. “You did really well with this cake, Akira. And fresh strawberries? A smart move, really. It makes this so much better than it already is, haha.”

Akira’s expression was something like art to Goro when he’d said that, a little pride and a lot of joy appearing in how the other teen smiled and directed his warm gaze at Goro. “T-thanks..”

The meal, after that, went quiet, until the curry and lava cakes had disappeared off their plates, leaving just the coffee. Goro felt a little nervous now that they were very much alone to their own devices, and now that he technically had no excuse to stick around besides the coffee. It was already a bit late by now, and the brunette sat awkwardly where he was, trying to think in his head of how he wanted to confess to Akira.

“..It’s a little quiet today,” Akira finally spoke up, seeming equally nervous as Goro felt. “Well, kind of. I saw a bunch of people bringing in their dates in today.. I kinda wish I had a date of my own..”

“Akira..” Goro hummed, putting a hand to his chest. “To be honest, uhm.. I’m not that experienced myself, I’m afraid.. B-because of my status, I never really was.. uh.. Encouraged to date.”

Akira, of course, went back to twirling his dark, curled hair, frowning timidly and not looking Goro in the eyes. “H-hey, Goro..? You won’t laugh if I tell you t-this, right..?”

“Of course not, Akira. I don’t want to breach your trust again like that. I promise I won’t laugh.”

The teen’s head lowered more, and his cheeks went pink. “W-well.. uh... The lava cakes aren’t the only thing I prepared for today..”

To Goro’s surprise, the teen shuffled something out of his apron pocket, a simple heart-shaped box, and he placed it on the table, right in the middle and right within range for the long-haired detective to take.

“Y-you see..” Akira began, his flushed cheeks becoming redder as he spoke, and his words breaking up with stutters. “U-uhm.. I.. I learned how to make chocolates for your sake. I m-made them myself. T-the box, I got from Yusuke. H-he said he was delighted to try and make something like that... I t-tried to pay him, but he insisted no..”

Goro gazed upon the heart-shaped box. Now that he looked at it, it appeared to have a look sort of like the striped malachite he’d seen Yusuke sporting way back in November, back when he’d been in the Phantom Thieves for awhile. Well, the wavy striped pattern was mostly in reds, golds and whites instead, roughly the same colors as his own secondary Metaverse outfit. Carefully, he pulled them towards himself, looking at it with a careful awe.

It’d clicked, suddenly, what must have been happening behind his back, besides that idiotic plan that could’ve had Akira killed. All that time..

“..Y-you.. You made the chocolates and had Yusuke do all that.. f-for me?”

Akira nodded, shyly smiling. By now, Goro was surprised the confessing teen’s cheeks hadn’t caught fire already, from how dark the red got, and the red had even spread to his exposed, pierced ears, brushing the tips as if Yusuke’s red watercolor had blossomed over.

“I.. I want you to have this, then,” Goro surrendered, pulling out his square box and sliding it across the table. “I.. well, I obviously hadn’t had the time to make mine homemade, b-but.. E-er, take them before I die of anxiety!”

“...” Akira didn’t say anything, wordlessly, taking the chocolates. Then, he smiled, seeming giddy as he got up from his seat and planted himself next to Goro. He held the detective’s given chocolates close to him, as if they were a Treasure he’d taken from a Palace, and he didn’t look at Goro directly, although Goro could feel the reciprocated happiness radiating off the dark-haired teen.

“I... T-thank you, Goro..” Akira finally said, scooting himself even closer and depositing his head on Goro’s shoulder, since he was tall enough to lay there. “I didn’t think y-you’d confess to me today, too.. but I’m glad y-you did. ..Jeez, I.. I can’t really think straight right now..”

Goro rolled his eyes, before putting an arm gingerly around Akira’s shoulders. “I think you shouldn’t have to anymore, Akira. I’m happy you love me back, too.. L-like I said though.. t-this is new to me.”

Akira snorted again, at Goro’s little joke, before closing his eyes and contentedly rubbing his head against Goro’s arm like the cat-person he was.

“Hey, Goro? Don’t move too much, please.. It’s sacrilegious to move a c-cat off you, y-you know,” the dark-haired teen joked, grinning madly. To Goro, Akira now seemed much at ease, since they’d reciprocated their feelings, and he seemed to go back to the silly jokester Goro knew him to be when comfortable enough.

“Of course not,” Goro hummed, then chuckled, his own self trembling with the laughing for a moment or two. “I’m comfortable right here, if you are.”

“Good, ‘cuz I’m not moving an inch, Goro Akechi,” Akira replied, shifting himself so he was in a little more of a comfortable way of sitting, even if his legs sort of hung over the edge of the booth seat awkwardly. “Oh, a-and.. Come visit me, will you? I’m still heading home to my hometown since my probation’s over and stuff..”

Goro grimaced at that, sighing disappointedly. Oh, that’s right.. Akira said his probation originally ended in March.. How could I have forgotten that..?

“..I’d forgotten, admittedly,” he confessed, and Akira looked back at him again, his smile fading. “Hm.. Surely there’s got to be a legal way to ensure you stay here, in Tokyo..”

“Argh.. Goro, please don’t break the law.. Only I get to do that,” Akira huffed, sticking his pink tongue out at the long-haired detective. “Besides, unless my parents say I can stay, I’ve gotta go back. Plus.. won’t you be busy with detective stuff..?”

“I’m on medical leave until the end of the month,” the brunette rebutted, turning himself around to hug Akira in some awkward placement of limbs. “Hrm. Maybe if you’d let me stay in Leblanc for the rest of the time, will that make up for it? I m-mean.. we did pine over each other for so long.. The least I could do until you leave is to make up for all that wasted time..”

Goro’s now-boyfriend grinned, closing his eyes again. “We can cross that bridge when we get there, then.. I’m fine with your suggestion til then. Morgana’s just gonna have to deal with it.”

“Damn right,” Goro agreed, gently putting his head on Akira’s. “And one more thing, honey.”

“Yeah?”

Goro gently kissed the mass of ink-black curls, still smiling, and he held Akira close to him, quietly enjoying the warmth the other teen radiated. “I love you, Akira.”

“..I love you too, Goro,” Akira replied. His voice was soft, but Goro could hear that the words held a sincerity he’d rarely heard until now.

...

I had a romantic evening with Akira..

---

END

#ShuAkeWeek2K19 #akeshu #frizzy hair #second advent of the detective prince #let us start the game #save point #fucking christ this took like ten billion years to write #well more like say 5-6 hours but hoo boy #this took AGES to finish #im so glad it's done tho bc if i work on it anymore it'll prolly turn out bad #enjoy ya'll

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redandpointy · 6 years

Note

⭐star⭐

ohhh. the scene I *really* want to talk about isn’t public yet. well. the first of a few.

So i guess maybe I’ll talk about the genesis of the whole series?

I got back in to WoW at the end of Draenor. I got caught up on the lore - reading the wiki entries and the books and pulling bits and pieces together and generally catching up. And it was all kicked off by someone in my raid team referring to Jaina as a “total bitch” when we did mythic siege after we all got our AOTC and being confused. So i read what happened to one of the characters I had really loved in WC3. (I still disagree with that guildie)

But I empathized with Jaina again and I really liked this teeny relationship she’d been written into with another soft magic nerd. And then we started to get information about Legion and there were bits and pieces coming out of the alpha that had me worried because WoW’s track record with female characters was not good. There were signs it was getting better, but still...

In my personal life, work was going well, but I was not as appreciated as I should have been but I was so afraid of not having a job I stayed. It was an okay job but they could have treated me better and it led to some serious workaholic habits I am still finding hard to break.

I was also just ending close to three years without writing anything that wasn’t RP. It was... not good. RP is fine and well and good and I love watching people do it - but I cannot tell *my* story doing it. I can be a GM and facilitate stories of others and that is wonderful and fun - but it is very much not *my* story. RP and, well, people, get in the way of *my* story and *my* characters. And once I truly realized that, it was better - because I could write my characters and I could do the RP thing and they were separate entertainments but for a very long while I tried them, unsuccessfully to be the same thing - because some people can bully/charm/influence their way into it being the same thing. But once I dropped that I was free.

And then right about then the Evil Ex, who I had been supporting financially for a whole year, who had been living with me after being in a long distance relationship - ghosted. A year. He got an “amazing” job in another part of the state and I was going to follow when I got a job offer. after a month - ghosted.

That was a bullet dodged. But it hurt. And at the same time, I was kicking some major ass at work and was losing a lot of weight and feeling pretty awesome and was really enjoying my current set of fannish things and was exploring the tumblr and fandom and so on and had kinda sorta thought about some writing in WoW. And I as far more interested in everything going on in the fandom and the news and in my head in WoW than I was in SWTOR and... I had some cool scenes I wanted to see. Some very grand, very epic battles and some very soft character moments and I considered “Did I want to get back into writing?” because I solidly hadn’t for close to two years and what I wanted to write was... not the big ships or the most popular thing and did I want to struggle in the same obscurity I had before and would that bother me?

And I also thought about the rumors of what would happen in Legion to the various favorites - because a lot of the time it seemed the thing I loved was the thing that was discarded or jossed or tossed aside or grossly underused or turned into a shitty trope I had seen and was happy to never see again.And so I decided that I wanted my epic visions. And I decided that I wanted my safe, happy AU bubble where things were as *I* wanted them to be with the “right” choices and Fuck. Canon, whatever it would be.

But I have this problem. I don’t like being OOC. I don’t like it when things come out of nowhere even if it’s “cool” like... there is a basis, a shared canon experience even if you or I reject parts or don’t know about things because it was in weird apocrypha - there is a basis. and part of the fun is taking that basis and expanding on it.So to bring about my pillowfort of self-care fanfic in the *legion* era, I had to start earlier. Much earlier. There would things which would need to have been different or changed prior. And those were very exciting possibilities.And, most of all, poor Jaina needed some goddamned therapy.So I started writing what became Red Crane in very late november. and I wrote... a lot. A LOT. I think I had close to a 50k buffer of words, some of them prose, some ideas, some side notes and side stories by the time I finally got the nerve to post in Jan 2016. Because I was originally just going to write for me because I needed it. And in that I was the most successful I have ever been in a creative endeavor. I was in a headspace barren of fucks and it was magically productive.The bulk became Red Crane. Over the december holidays I had an idea. and that too needed to have some substance at the base. And that was when I had ot think “do I want to start this epic muti fic project?” and I decided “fuck it, why not? no one is going to care but me and I need more rooms in the pillow fort.” I started Life-binder, because there was a story there too and I knew how it ended - I wrote the ending. but I needed to construct the beginning and to establish that solid base.And IN January I decided I had a buffer and momentum. and fuck it, I would post. I might be eaten alive by fandom, but mostly they probably would ignore me and my tiny ship. I set myself a goal - I would post at least once every 14 days if I couldn’t post once a week. and for the duration of Red Crane I met that goal, save for the final two chapters - one because they were large and two, because I needed to start Spell-Weaver at the same time.

The repercussions of deciding to write are... large. I met a whole host of new friends because of it. Because of them and because of the strange therapeutic act of getting back to me being creative for myself I ended up being far more confident and I kicked an incredible amount of ass at work (which I was not really recognized for) and then had the bravery to take a chance and ended up landing a job at a very selective company I had always wished I could go to. I mean hell, even the writing practice was key in me moving onwards and upwards to a much healthier place.

I am 100% where I am right now in life because I decided to write Red Crane and get Jaina some goddamned therapy.

#thanks for the ask #writing babble #sparklymanacakes

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promisedangel · 7 years

Text

PredatorShift- Chapter 14

First

A reminder that this is the final chapter of 2017, this story will resume in 2018. However, as I said here, I will still be writing in December. Hope you all find some enjoyment in the mini-fic that is to come!

Chapter 14- Puzzle

Serol ran off in a flash at first, ahead of Frisk and Asriel. He soon realized his mistake and waited for the two in embarrassment. He began to walk with Asriel and Frisk, still leading the way despite there only being one path to take. Frisk began to look around curiously, and they saw something strange attached to a metal pillar. They squinted their eyes to get a better loot. It was a broken camera. Frisk opened their eyes normally and spoke up with a raised brow, “Is that… a camera?” Serol perked up before he turned his head towards the camera. His expression dipped slightly, “Oh…” He gave a nervous laugh, “That iss... one of Dr. Gasster’ss camerass. I… I broke it ssome time ago while working on the puzzle…” He gulped and spoke nervously, “Pleasse don’t tell him I broke it. I’d like to ssstil be able to ssubmit thiss dessign to him, after all...” Asriel mirrored the worried laughter, “W-We won’t.” Serol smiled almost immediately, “Thankss.”

Serol led Asriel and Frisk further than they walked. They seemed to exit the tighter corridor of metal plating to a more open area. There was only one path, all else was a large pit with magma far below. The path seemed to divide into a set of twenty-five five-by-five feet squares with dormant lights on them. Beyond the twenty-five squares seemed to be space for two more rows of five, much farther than any of them could ever hope to jump. But, before all of the puzzle, along the edges of the first panels, was a small trench-like hole. None of them could see what lay inside. Frisk raised a brow after they had fully examined the puzzle, “What… kind of puzzle is this?” Serol approached the puzzle with a giddy smile on his face. He turned toward Asriel and Frisk, “Allow me to exssplain!” He motioned to the puzzle, “Oncce you sstep on any of the platformss, the puzzle will begin! You will have a limited time to sstep on all of the panelss before all panelss of the puzzle open and drop you!” Asriel’s eyes widen as he nearly covers his mouth, “This puzzle drops you?!” He turned his gaze to the side and below. He shook as he spoke, “I-into the lava?!” Frisk reeled slightly at the thought. Serol crooked his head in confusion for a moment. He gave a strange expression in realization before he snickered, “It will not drop you into the magma below! There iss a compartment below. Thiss puzzle iss meant to trap and sslow down humanss, not kill them.” Serol beckoned the children to the side of the path, “Come and ssee!” Asriel and Frisk approached cautiously. They turned their heads towards the side of the puzzle to see large mechanisms and a seemingly enclosed area within the mechanics. Below the puzzle was a layer of rock, about as deep as the puzzle itself. It was supported. It was safe. Asriel gave a deep sigh of relief as he saw this, “Phew…It just looks really scary from above…” Serol frowned, “Why would I assk ssomone to tesst ssomthing fatal?” Asriel gave an unsure look. He fiddled with his hands as he stepped away from the edge, “Umm… I dunno…”

Serol snickered once more for a moment. He then calmed and smiled, “Anyway… which one of you wantss to try firsst?” Frisk spoke nervously, they asked, “Will… the fall hurt?” Serol frowned and shook his head, “It’ss safe. The drop iss jusst under ten feet. You should land on your feet, and it should only hurt for a few ssecondss if at all.” “You promise?” Serol nodded, “I promisse, and I will only assk you two to go through onccce each. Iss thiss agreeable?” Asriel smiled softly, “Well… if it’s not dangerous… then okay!” Frisk nodded calmly, “It’s only once...” Serol smiled, “Okay! Jussstep on any panel and the puzzle will ssta-“ He cut himself off and widened his eyes, “Wait! Hold on!” Serol jumped off the edge, which made Asriel panic. He instinctually called out Serol’s name in shock. Asriel and Frisk ran up toward the edge and looked over cautiously. They saw Serol slithering and gripping onto the puzzle mechanisms, safe as long as he held tight. He seemed to fiddle with a few things before a small, mechanical sound echoed for a moment. It stopped soon after. Satisfied, Serol quickly returned to the path. However, instead of joining Frisk and Asriel on their side of the puzzle, Serol slithered and crawled until he reached opposite side of the puzzle without touching any of the puzzle panels. He returned to the path on that side of the puzzle, unharmed. That side seemed messier than the other. More notes and schematics littered the path, along with either warped or spare parts for the puzzle. Even a few substitute containers laid on their sides, obviously empty for quite some time. Serol ignored the mess and focused on the puzzle and its two testers. He gave a giddy smile towards Frisk and Asriel as he called out, “Everything iss all sset! One of you sstart when you are ready!!” He went to reach for something but did not immediately find it. Confused, he searched the mess around him. He tossed numerous parts and substitute cans aside. He let out an ‘ah ha!’ sound as he found what he had searched for: a notepad and a pen. He clicked the pen and opened the notepad. He was ready to write notes on the test run.

As Serol searched frantically for pen and paper, Asriel turned and smiled at Frisk, “I think… I’ll go first.” Frisk turned towards Asriel and frowned, “Are you sure?” Asriel nodded, “Yeah. Wish me luck!” Frisk smiled in response. Asriel became calm and turned their gaze towards the puzzle. He breathed in deeply before he expelled it to calm his nerves. He hesitated at first, but he soon gingerly stepped on the middle panel of the first row. Immediately, all the panels seemed to light up with a bright light. All except the one Asriel stood on. The one Asriel stood on began to shake. Behind Asriel, a metal-barred gate suddenly shot up from the trench-like hole, cutting off his chance to escape. Serol gave a quick nod and scribbled something onto the notepad. Asriel began to panic, “Aaaah! What do I do?!” Serol looked up from his notes, “Quick! Move to another panel!” Asriel ran to the panel to his left just before the original panel split in two and quickly opened to the area below. The new panel’s lights turned off. Asriel began to breathe quickly in panic before he noticed the panel had begun to shake as well. Asriel screamed and began to run wildly around the puzzle. He cried out, “Why do they keep shaking?!” Serol called out calmly as he took more notes, “It’ss part of the puzzle! It’ss to alert you to move! Hurry! Time will run out ssoon!” “What happens when time runs out?!” “You’ll sssee!”

Asriel suddenly came to a stop, in his wild run, he forgot to give any rhyme or reason to the pattern in which he ran. He had run diagonals and sharp turns and found himself trapped with open panels around him. He felt the panel shake below him, ready to open in a few seconds. Despite his legs shaking, he took the risk and jumped. Both Serol and Frisk had their eyes focused on Asriel as he jumped. But, Asriel did not jump far enough. He felt himself fall. He screamed as he descended into the mechanism and landed with a dull thud and an ‘oof!’ sound. Frisk gasped and called out, “Asriel?!” Serol turned his head downwards towards the puzzle, “Are you alright?” Asriel whined, “Yeah! Just… landed on my butt…” Serol nodded as he began to scribble more notes, “Good choiccce of cushion!” Asriel huffed, prompting a sigh of relief from Frisk. Before he could say anything, the three heard a buzzing sound. As the buzzer sounded, all of the panels opened simultaneously. They stayed open for about ten seconds before every panel, including the ones Asriel had stepped on, closed. The gate also dropped slowly, allowing Frisk entry. The puzzle had reset. Asriel whined, “How do I get out?!” Serol pointed his head downwards, “Do you ssee the two rows of panelss? Come to them.” Asriel did so, Serol could now see Asriel stand there nervously. Asriel called up, “Now what do I do?” Serol smiled, “There isss a release on the sside of the puzzle that would allow thosse panelss to come up. However, the panelss alsso risse when the puzzle is completed succcesssfully. Why don’t we allow Frisssk to try?” Asriel crossed his arms and pouted, “But, then I won’t get to see Frisk do the puzzle!” Serol huffed in annoyance as he put down his notepad and pen, “Fine. Ssstay sstill.” Serol turned his head towards Frisk, “Do not ssstart the puzzle yet!” Frisk nodded silently and began to space out. Serol, satisfied yet still annoyed, jumped to the side of the puzzle once more. There were a few mechanical noises before a click sounded. Mechanics whirred as the panels Asriel stood on began to rise. Surprised, he nearly fell down onto the rising platforms. The panels became level with the others and came to a stop with another click sound. Serol called out, “Go to my sside! Do not touch the other panelss, otherwisse the puzzle will sstart up again!” Asriel nodded silently before he walked off the panels and onto Serol’s side of the puzzle. He leaned around the edge and called out to Serol, “Okay! I’m off!” More mechanical sounds hummed from the puzzle before the two final rows of panels descended. The puzzle was once again reset. Serol made his way to his side of the puzzle, careful not to touch any panels. Asriel and Serol returned to the middle of the path. Serol picked up his notepad and pen before he turned the notepad to a new page. He turned his gaze towards Frisk, “Ready whenever you are Frissk!” Frisk blinked, their daydream ended. They called out from across the puzzle, “Okay!”

Frisk took a moment to examine the puzzle and think about its rules. They knew the puzzle would begin the very instant they stepped on any panel, as Asriel demonstrated. The panel they stepped on would shake and then open after a few seconds, which would then trap anyone that stood on them inside a lower compartment. Frisk didn’t time the entire length of the puzzle but saw there wasn’t much room for error. Frisk gave a determined gaze. They knew what to do. Frisk approached the leftmost panel in the first row. They stopped short of stepping onto it. They lowered their stance, ready to run. They closed their eyes and took a deep breath in before they released it just as slow. They opened their eyes, their eyes full of focus and determination. They sprinted onto the first panel. They heard the gate shoot up behind them and saw the panels all light up around them. The puzzle had begun. Frisk did not hesitate, they sprinted down the first row. They barely felt the panels below them shake as they only took a few steps before they made it to the next panel. Serol began to scribble down more notes as they saw Frisk dash across the puzzle with seeming ease. Frisk turned onto the second row and turn around to activate the entire row rather than activate the sides of the puzzle. They went for each row one by one. Serol nodded as he wrote his notes, “A good sstrategy! They are a puzzle massster!” Asriel raised a brow, “I… didn’t know that about them…”

As Frisk turned onto the fourth row, they felt their foot snag on the piece of loose metal. Frisk gasped before they began to fall and faceplant into the first panel of the fourth row. Asriel gasped at Frisk’s sudden fall, “Frisk!” Serol said nothing. He only scribbled a note before he continued to observe. Frisk groaned. They felt the panel begin to shake. Did they have enough time to move? Frisk had to try. Frisk got up as quickly as they could and began to run to the next panel. They felt the shaking stop. The panel opened under them. Frisk’s eyes widened, but they didn’t scream. They saw how close they were to the edge and grabbed onto it. Serol’s head moved forward to see what had happened, “Interesting…” Asriel called out, “Frisk! Are you alright!?” Frisk grunted as the pulled themselves up, “I’m… alright!” The panel they had grabbed opened, leaving only a small area to pull themselves up onto. Frisk nearly fell down as they lost the panel. They tried to pull themselves up but found that they couldn’t. With the sound of the buzzer, Frisk lost their grip and fell into the dark compartment with a worried cry. They landed on their butt, then their back. They groaned and slowly stood up. They examined their surroundings. On one side, near perfect darkness with cracks in the mechanics, where peaks of the magma’s light shined through. On the other, seemingly a way out. Two rows of panels, and above them was the only exit. Frisk could hear Asriel call from the exit, “Frisk! Are you okay?!” Frisk rubbed their back and answered with a slight strain in their voice, “Yeah… rough… landing…” Serol called out in worry, “Are you able to move, Frisssk?!” Frisk called out, “Yes!” Serol sounded pleased, “Pleasse move to the two rowss of panelss and sstay sstill!” Frisk made their way to the panels and waited. Serol soon helped Frisk out of the puzzle as he had done previously with Asriel. Once Frisk was off the panels, the puzzle reset with Serol’s guidance.

With the three on the opposite side of the puzzle, Serol landed near Frisk and Asriel. He beamed, “Thank you for helping me with my puzzle!” Frisk rubbed their back once more. Asriel frowned and looked at Frisk, “Are you sure you’re okay?” Frisk nodded, “Yeah… just a little pain.. it should go away soon…” Serol once more scooped up his notepad and began to flip through the pages, “I already know what to adjusst. I alsso will have to fix whatever you tripped on, Frissk! And find a way to keep humanss from gripping the sssidess of the panelss!” Frisk frowned, “Um… Serol-“ Serol nearly jumped in excitement, “You were sssoo clossse, Frisssk! I thought for sssure you were going to massster the puzzle! You moved like an expert!” Frisk spoke up slightly, “Serol!” Serol calmed down as they turned their head curiously towards Frisk. He positioned his head in front of Frisk’s head. Serol spoke calmly, “Yess?” Frisk gave a determined gaze, “I want to try again.” Serol’s head reeled back into place slowly, “Why? Our deal wass only one try each…” Frisk frowned for a second. Why did they have this sudden desire to try the puzzle again? Their mind drifted to Papyrus. They knew from their short time with him that he’d be proud of this puzzle. They could practically hear his voice cheering them on, despite his weariness. Encouragement such as, ‘That was so close! I’m sure you’ll get it next time…’ Frisk could see his smile in the back of their mind. Frisk could not help but smile at the memories as they spoke, “I… I just want to try and complete it…” Serol scratched his chin, “Hmm… I ssupposse it would be good to sssee if thiss puzzle can be completed fairly…” Serol nodded and smiled, “Okay! Let’ss do it!”

Frisk then looked over toward the other side. They raised a brow, “But… how do I get over there?” Serol crossed his arms and huffed slightly, “If I had my tail, I could carry you over with easse. But then again... you don’t look that heavy…” Frisk gave Serol a strange look, but before they or Asriel could react, Serol wrapped his arms around Frisk tightly. Asriel and Frisk’s eyes widened in tandem, and both were equally paralyzed in shock. Serol held Frisk tightly before he jumped across the puzzle, easily making it across in one jump. Serol let go of Frisk after the two had landed safely. Frisk’s expression was still one of shock and fear as Serol let go. Serol crooked his head in confusion, “Wasss… it that ssurprissing?” Frisk blinked and shook their head. Their heart pounded in fear, but their expression was calmed. Frisk gave a nervous expression, “A little…” Serol snickered, “I used to be able to jump much farther with the assssissstancce of my tail.” Frisk nearly paled at the thought of Serol’s potential mobility. Serol’s eyes widened slightly, “Are you alright? Are you sure that fall did not harm you?” Frisk normalized and shook their head. There was already enough strangeness to this situation. For a moment, Frisk regretted the desire to redo the puzzle. Frisk’s skin returned to normal as they shook their head, “I think… I was still shocked from the sudden jump.” Serol let loose a sigh of relief, “Thank goodnesss… you sscared me for a ssecond…” Serol turned towards the other side of the puzzle, “Ssstart whenever you are ready.” Frisk nodded just before Serol jumped across the puzzle one last time. Asriel quickly gave Serol his notepad back on arrival. Serol beamed at the gesture, “Thank you, Asssriel!”

Frisk saw Asriel and Serol patiently wait on the other side of the puzzle. Frisk decided to start at the same spot as their first attempt. They took another deep breath in and out. Serol nodded and muttered, “Sstarting in the ssame placce? Let uss hope it is not inssanity…” Frisk began the puzzle. They ignored everything around them other than the puzzle panels. Asriel’s cheers were drowned out in their concentration. Only the panels existed. They turned and went down the next row with ease, and the next. They came to the fourth row. Their eyes locked onto the piece of metal that tripped them up. They moved their feet in such a way as they wouldn’t have to jump over the metal. They simply ran beside it. They felt their pants tear slightly, but they kept going. They made it to the final row. They could see the final panel. They ran to it. They stopped on it. A new sound rang. A chiming sound. All the panels around them closed and the mechanics began to whir. In front of them, the two rows of panels rose and connected the path. Not with Serol’s guidance. Serol and Asriel both beamed. Serol rushed up to Frisk with unbridled glee. They hugged Frisk and spun them around, “IT WORKSSS!!” He gave a joyous, raucous laughter. Asriel slowly began to walk towards the two. Serol slowed down as Asriel approached. Both of them paused, their eyes filled with shock. Serol’s were more filled with confusion than shock. Frisk raised a brow, “Serol? What is?-“ They felt it. Wetting their sock and making their pants cling to them. They were bleeding. Serol looked down at Frisk in shock as they still clutched them. The blood was clear in their gaze. His voice was quiet, filled with confusion, “F-Frissk? You’re… human?”

#predatorshift #predatortale #storyshift #undertale au #fanfiction #fanfic #chapter 14 #asriel dreemurr #frisk #serol #sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger

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thisweekingundamwing · 7 years

Text

New in the GW Fandom! August 20-26, 2017.

Clara suggested that this be this weeks theme. Heh, so, on that note... here are the amazing things completed this past week in our very NOT dead fandom! ^_^

~Mod Hel

Fanfiction:

@anaranesindanarie

Death Unspeaking (Ch. 3 & 4) http://archiveofourown.org/works/11483196/chapters/26839467

What happens when a Gundam Pilot is mute? What happens when the other Pilots look down at him because of it? Will he overcome the odds or will the odds overcome him?

Eventual 3x2

@chronicwhimsy

Saudade (Ch. 8) http://archiveofourown.org/works/11352189/chapters/26915238

3X4, Trowa Barton, Quatre Raberba Winner

@claraxbarton

It Only Has to Happen Once http://archiveofourown.org/works/11858058

Sort of Sunday Sinning.

A bit smutty.

And 1x2x1 - rare for me!

Ready for You (Ch. 4) http://archiveofourown.org/works/11763066/chapters/26847633

A chance meeting ten years after the war leads Duo and Trowa down an unexpected path.

ExecutiveShrimp

The Princess With The Purple Heart (Ch.18) https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12584463/18/The-Princess-With-The-Purple-Heart

AU, 2x1: Don’t ask, don’t tell.

@isolavirtuosa

Unlikely Office Romances http://isolavirtuosa.tumblr.com/post/164631855479/unlikely-office-romances

1x2x1, probably PG-13ish though there are some mildly sexy times and the usual trashmouth

Dr. Heero Yuy, Preventers forensics expert, can’t seem to get over his crush on his former wartime comrade Agent Duo Maxwell. Agent Duo Maxwell can’t seem to stand the sight of him… and yet…?

I was so excited to be posting this story which I started writing 4 years ago, but then I realized who is even the audience for this ahahahaha

Parts 1-2

Jei/turnippatch

The Faithful and the Brave (Ch. 33) http://turnippatch.livejournal.com/157783.html#/cutid1%C2%A0

Fantasy AU/Adventure

1+2, 3+4

@kangofu-cb

The World At Large http://archiveofourown.org/works/11907273

Duo is lost, drifting, after the events of Endless Waltz, but he starts to find himself again, thanks to a travel blog and an online friendship.

1X2, Duo Maxwell, Heero Yuy

@lbro009

Show War the Door https://lbro009.tumblr.com/post/164442717650/fic-snippet-show-war-the-door-taster

Genre: Humour (I hope), silliness, fandom clichés galore

Throwback fic I started 10/11 years ago… ***

@outofworkshinigami

Special Needs (Ch. 7) http://archiveofourown.org/works/10549412/chapters/26818131

Also warning for those who are a bit squeamish: there's some vomiting towards the end of this chapter. You won't miss anything plot heavy by skipping over it. But the gist of that section (if you had to skip it) is that Une is a badass and still very much a strong woman and I tried to imply she's been there helping with Treize for a while when nobody else was. I hope that came through. Also Zechs is easily grossed out.

@post-settlement

PS: Mars Fic https://post-settlement.tumblr.com/post/164648376289/characterdevelopmentforwriters-has-your-character

Hilde Schbeiker, Duo Maxwell, Quatre Raberba Winner, Dorothy Catalonia

Shinohoshi13

By Demons Be Driven http://archiveofourown.org/works/11889852/chapters/26854797

or years she struggled to live, burdened by a long-forgotten past, an unclear present, and a non-existent future. War consumes her life, forcing her to live as if every day is her last. Fate has seen fit to gift her with unnatural abilities far beyond the normal human capacity. With those abilities, she leads a daily game of tag, putting her life on the line over and over again. Will a chance meeting with a young man give this tired young woman the will to keep fighting? And with the war escalating higher and higher, will she have the time to find out who, and what, she really is?

OCx05; slight implied 01x02, 03x04, 06x13; one-sided Rx01.) (Relena bashing.

Strawberrywaltz

The Forgotten (Ch. 4) http://archiveofourown.org/works/11686344/chapters/26833566

1X4, 4XOCs, past 3X4

The entire universe thinks that Quatre Winner is dead, but when Heero starts having strange black outs he begins to realize the rumors of Quatre's death might not be true.

TheManwell

May Demons Rest: Shinigami Sleeps (2017) (Ch. 17) http://archiveofourown.org/works/10944786/chapters/26759832

2X3, WARNINGS: language, angst

@renmaxwell

The Discovery: Part 1, Duo Meets Black Wolborg http://renmaxwell.tumblr.com/post/164598745471/a-few-hours-after-a-snarky-farewell-to-kai-duo

Duo Maxwell, snark

Fanart:

ArtStarZ95

https://artstarz95.deviantart.com/art/gundam-wings-701040348

Wing Gundam

@belgianbooleancg

http://belgianbooleancg.tumblr.com/post/164365573707/gundam-minimalist

Gundam Minimalist Posters

coddfootwalker

https://coddfootwalker.deviantart.com/art/Wing-Gundam-Proto-Zero-TV-ver-Head-off-outline-700430483

Wing Gundam’s head

@dangerstreet

http://dangerstreet.tumblr.com/post/164403440123/join-me-on-patreon-as-i-make-wing-zero-gundam-and

Mech making.

@downwarddnaspiral

http://downwarddnaspiral.tumblr.com/post/164471350106/i-was-a-little-lazy-with-the-shading-but-i-wanted

Trowa Barton and Relena Darlian/Peacecraft in Victorian dress.

@fictioncoefficient

https://fictioncoefficient.tumblr.com/post/164503732697/were-it-not-for-silly-anime-hair-no-one-would

Trowa Barton

https://fictioncoefficient.tumblr.com/post/164525458442/ew-came-out-twenty-years-ago-you-guys-we-need

Quatre Raberba Winner

@hainekoken

http://hainekoken.tumblr.com/post/164561750286

Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell

http://hainekoken.tumblr.com/post/164559655761

Quatre Raberba Winner

@hikaru9art

http://hikaru9art.tumblr.com/post/164567238432/duo-doing-what-he-does-best-being-annoying

Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell

@maevemauvaise

http://maevemauvaise.tumblr.com/post/164298101401/trowa-barton-from-claraxbartons-pas-de-trois

Trowa Barton

http://maevemauvaise.tumblr.com/post/164226808301/soooo-like-ten-years-of-no-war-and-the-government

Sanc commemorative coin.

http://maevemauvaise.tumblr.com/post/164556055246/they-know-youre-coming-of-course-but-it

Dorothy Catalonia, WuFei Chang

GW, Atomic Blonde, John Wick crossover.

mdtarmimi

https://mdtarmimi.deviantart.com/art/Wing-Gundam-Fenice-Rinascita-700092007

Wing Gundam Fenice Rinascita

@missingart

https://missingart.tumblr.com/post/164473680660/zechs-from-gundam-wing

Zechs Merquise

https://missingart.tumblr.com/post/164356592240/heero-from-gundam-wing

Heero Yuy

miura-n315

https://miura-n315.deviantart.com/art/Noin-699771122

Lucrezia Noin

@outofworkshinigami

http://outofworkshinigami.tumblr.com/post/164654333802/be-good-for-lady-it-had-been-four-years-since

Treize Khushrenada, Mariemaia Khushrenada, Lady Une

Timelapse drawing video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EKrSGDikGrc&feature=youtu.be

Simbiothero

https://simbiothero.deviantart.com/art/Giant-Robots-Battle-Royale-2-700863129

Crossover of Mechas

TheBRSteamer95

https://thebrsteamer95.deviantart.com/art/SFM-Two-Childhood-Crossover-700651547

Wing Gundam Crossover

thunder1928

https://thunder1928.deviantart.com/art/Gundam-Wing-Lady-Une-10-701104370

Lady Une

https://thunder1928.deviantart.com/art/Gundam-Wing-Relena-Peacecraft-SP-9-700391938

Relena Darlian/Peacecraft

https://thunder1928.deviantart.com/art/Gundam-Wing-Catherine-Bloom-3-700335110

Catherine Bloom

Cosplay:

@manabingu

http://manabingu.tumblr.com/post/164524249576/hey-superstars-everything-is-more-fun-with

Trowa Barton, Duo Maxwell, Quatre Raberba Winner, Heero Yuy, WuFei Chang

Photosets/Screenshots:

@ahsimwithsake

http://ahsimwithsake.tumblr.com/post/164499676598/ive-been-working-on-learning-photoshop-and-i

Trowa (photo manipulation)

@cyberbeastswordwolfe

https://cyberbeastswordwolfe.tumblr.com/post/164522689759/custom-build-1144-epyon-ares

Epyon & Aries

@exavaorgtfo

http://exavaorgtfo.tumblr.com/post/164470386885/ok-so-i-fixed-the-wings-now-prepare-for-the

Gundam

@lbro009

https://lbro009.tumblr.com/post/164569392415/randomness-sallys-changing-hair

Sally Po, Noin, Heero and random puppers.

@vyntic

http://www.vyntic.com/post/164436580868/desolation-after-war-created-by-hank-cheng

Wing Gundam

yefluga

https://yefluga.deviantart.com/art/MG-Wing-Gundam-Zero-EW-700022940

Wing Gundam Zero

Photo Prompts/Prompts:

@claraxbarton

http://claraxbarton.tumblr.com/post/164444487430/iqfashion-patrick-grant-source-tombunningcom

Old men pilots. ...deathfic?/main character death.

@fantwirls

http://fantwirls.tumblr.com/post/164487684730/are-you-doing-the-prompts-thing-still-if-so

Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell

1+2, comedic fluff

@kangofu-cb

https://kangofu-cb.tumblr.com/post/164471867417/fic-prompts-10-did-you-catch-the-book-thief

Quatre, WuFei, book thefts

https://kangofu-cb.tumblr.com/post/164487362817/prompts-2x5-4-21-30-or-35-although-someone-had

2X5, Sleepy grouchy WuFei

Head Canons:

@lifeaftermeteor

https://lifeaftermeteor.tumblr.com/post/164614477810

Trowa Barton

No Idea What To Put This Under:

@anaranesindanarie

https://anaranesindanarie.tumblr.com/post/164525730814/mobile-suit-ability-symmetry

Mech readouts

Calendar Events:

End of Summer Block Party @gwblockparty

https://gwblockparty.tumblr.com/post/164387388052/gwblockparty-tropes-guidelines-what-a

Tropefest! Get your trope on!

Entries to be posted September 1st - 4th!

Gundam Wing Eve War Event @gw-evewar

https://gw-evewar.tumblr.com/post/164079261510/an-open-gundam-wing-fandom-community-science

Open Science Fiction Themed Event

(Saturday) December 23, 2017 - (Sunday) December 24, 2017

*** event will be observing Universal Coordinated Time (UTC) ***

Submissions: Fanfiction, Meta essays, Personal Headcanon, Fan Art

Rules: All works must feature a science fiction theme. Alternate Universes, and cross-over fiction are welcome. There are no limits to characters, pairings, audience rating, time frame or universe.

OC October @gwoc-october

https://gwoc-october.tumblr.com/post/164521028355/update

For the month of October, we can post everything and anything pertaining to fan OCs in Gundam Wing with weekly themes and perhaps a featured OC every other day or so. This includes fic, snippets, art, OC profiles, headcanons, ships, discussions, and anything you have as long as it’s about an OC. Even if this OC of yours is still in the mulling-stages, we want to hear about it! Let’s embrace OCs and celebrate our collective awesomeness.

This Week in Gundam Events @thisweekingundamevents

https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/164453187095/hello-wonderful-fandom

Our new sideblog for helping to host Gundam Wing fandom events!

Check us out and hit us up!

#This Week in Gundam Wing #thisweekingundamwing #weekly roundup #20-26Aug2017

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