#a couple of my fic titles did come from poems

[tiger-moran]

I need a working title for this modern fic

[wehangout]

So, the amazing Calli @callivich came up with this beautiful idea for DVD commentary, fic style, and the amazing questions that go with it. As suggested, I'll be indulging myself while talking about:

Thicker Than Forget. Summary: He blinks at you. “What was your first name?” “Erato.” “Erato,” he repeats. “No need to roll the r.” “Like the muse?” You grin. “Poet, meet muse."

AU. Ian is a poet. Mickey is his recently-corporal muse. They eat an absurd amount of stupidly named ice cream, try to find beauty in things, and fall hopelessly in love.

This was fun! Let me know if you want commentary on any other fics!

Give us some stats - (when you wrote it, word count, how long it took to finish, is it a one-shot/multi-chapter, etc)

So, I wrote this for the Shameless Big Bang in 2021. I couldn’t tell you how long it took me to write (Word is giving me conflicting info), but it was probably my easiest write to date. Word count sits at 30-ish thousand words.

What was the initial inspiration for your story?

It was initially inspired by a novel. I don’t remember which one, but it was either Lament or Ballad by Maggie Stiefvater. The only similarity between that one and mine is that a character falls in love with their muse. The plot itself is very different.

If the story is written from a character’s POV, why did you choose this character?

Mickey. Because it’s almost always Mickey lmao. I did try from Ian’s, but this had to be from the muse’s POV and Mickey had to be the muse.

What was your favourite scene to write?

The smut 👀 if you’ve read it, I hope you understand why lmao

How did you come up with the title?

From the poem, Love is Thicker Than Forget! It fits so well with Ian being a poet and the overall theme of the story.

Are there any little moments or references you hope readers will notice?

I went a little meta on fanfic, fandom, and shipping in this, which was so fun. I think only one person seemed to really notice and mention it, though, haha.

Was there anything you struggled to write? If so, how did you overcome this?

I didn’t struggle to write it, but figuring out how to end it was tough. It took a long time for me to figure that out. When I originally came up with the idea it was for an original story, and did not have a happy ending.

Favourite line in the story?

I’m gonna go with lines, plural, because I have a couple

He kisses you and he kisses you and oh. Oh. This is what they were writing about. All the poets, every word of creativity they took from you … it’s this.

He closes his eyes and continues to sigh sonnets into your skin

Also, the last two lines of dialogue, and, I mean, “Fuck the connection” has to be right up there.

What are you most proud about in the story? (plot, characterisation, dialogue, twist/cliffhanger, etc)

The writing, actually. I’m not a poetic person, none of the poems in the fic are mine, but I’m pretty proud of the poetic nature of the writing.

Are there any ‘behind the scenes’ info you’d like to share - e.g. what’s going on in a characters head in a certain scene or how you came to write a certain line?

So, this is the fic that made me realise I needed to stop taking things so seriously lmao. @captainjowl can attest to the research I tend to do. In this case, every ice cream name was a legit flavour at the time, taken from a Baskin-Robbins website. The mural exists. The flowers and trees in the botanic gardens are flowers and trees found in that exact botanic garden. The hoodie! Taken straight from the Brooklyn Zoo website. The pasta they eat at the North Pond – I used Google Maps to make sure there was an Italian restaurant nearby and looked up ponds in Lincoln Park.

I've since tried to be more chill. Sometimes I fail.

Reading back the story now, is there anything you’d change or add?

I’d make it longer, if possible.

Would you ever write a sequel to this story?

It’s a nice idea, because I’d love to write something pretty again, but I have zero inspiration for it.

Are there any ‘easter eggs’ in your story - e.g. references to other stories you’ve written, a trope you often use etc?

Uh, if you’ve read this and Suncatcher you might notice that I, like Ian and Sandy, have a thing for The Doors.

If you’ve chosen your most popular story, are you surprised by the popularity?

I don’t know if this is my most popular story, but I was definitely surprised by the intensity of the comments I received. It was one time when I knew I’d written something good, but the way it made other people feel definitely took me by surprise.

Anything else you’d like the readers to know about the story?

I love that this was loved. I still go back and read it every now and then and just sigh.

[stevethehairington]

for the fanfiction writing asks! 6, 15, 22

vio, my beloved 💕💕 thank you for sending this in!!

6. What’s the last line you wrote?

“And we didn’t hide away to suck face, jesus,” Steve mutters, snatching his water bottle back up. He waves it at Dustin, who scoffs like he's not fooled.

15. What’s your favorite time to write?

the answer to this sort of tends to jump around depending on like. where i am in life i guess? lol

like, when i was in college i did a LOT of my writing in the dark hours of the morning, i'm talking like 1-3 am type of range lol. for some reason the inspiration bug would ALWAYS hit me then, and it was great!! i wrote SO much in college it was crazy.

as of late though, i would say early morning still but more towards the 8-10 am range lol. this is mostly because i am usually the first person to get into the office at work, and other people don't start rolling in until like 9 at the earliest, sometimes way later. so if i don't have a lot of actual real work to do lol then i will spend that alone time writing. i have gotten a LOT of writing done at work lol. (if my place of employment sees this, no you dont <3)

22. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process?  How do you come up with titles?

i would say that probably about 97% of my fics get titled after i have finished writing them. there have only been a few that i have thought of something to call it during the writing process, and an even smaller number that i had a title ready to go before i've even started writing for.

and just about every single one of my fics is titled with song lyrics. there are only a couple that come from poems, and a few that are just things that i (or a friend!) have come up with.

it's funny because i have a whole entire doc filled with song lyrics that i think would make INCREDIBLE titles or that i would LOVE to write a fic around one day, but those almost never work for whatever i do end up writing lol.

and like when i look for a lyric title i try to find lyrics from songs that fit the fic, either in terms of the plot, or just the overall vibe sometimes. it's GREAT if the lyrics of the song completely match the fic, but sometimes that doesn't happen and there will be like just one stanza that goes with it, but i'm not that picky so that will work just fine for me lol. i just generally try to use songs (and lyrics from those songs) that match, whether it's the plot, the lyrics, the feelings/emotions, the general vibe.

i will say, though, picking a title is sometimes the Hardest thing in the entire world. no, you know what, not sometimes, it is ALWAYS the hardest thing skglgssf. i have literally had my whole entire fic finished and ready to be posted, but then i spent whole entire hours, plural, scrolling through songs to find something that will fit.

titles and summaries are the BANE of my existence (as are transitional scenes, my beloathed).

Fanfiction Writing Asks

[taegularities]

I ALSO

Read Silk and Stones today and 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

There's something that's pure magic about your writing and it just... your fic just took OVER, not only is it written and developed so WELL but every single moment of it just hits DEEP and builds and builds onto the character's growth and connection with each other

There was something so achy about reading in past and present because her present was filled with flashbacks and it was post-Tae, it was from a point in her life when she'd already lost him and yet what we get is how they fell in love and the depth of the FEEEEEELS in it were just 😭😭😭

When I realised in the present tense she was mourning the loss and absence of him in her life... that at some point between past and present Tae isn't THERE anymore it terrified me that it was an angsty ending 😭😭 but like MC, I couldn't move on and accept he HAD gone

When his past came out... I just absolutely refused to believe it or even entertain the idea because Tae's character was just too raw, too genuine, too much in pain and silent torment and entrapment to have been what the gossip and rumours made him out to be and to hear the REAL story behind it... of course Tae would take the blame at the cost of his reputation and safety 😭

And your writing embodied the achy vintage feel of poetry and stories of a time past, the writing of a historical story and then the art of writing reflected in writing... it was beautiful

Your poetry intertwined in the story was just 🥺🥺🥺✨️ and I love loved it

I loved how Tae spoke in broken, incomplete poems because it left that bit of magic and unknown to it because maybe...cos maybe if poems are an expression of love and longing and torment he leaves them incomplete because he's feeling them in the present and poems are words gone and written... his feelings haven't been written yet UNTIL THEY ARE and he writes poetry on her

I LOVED the depth of pain and longing we got when he left and the pain of heartache because somewhere in falling in love she knew something MORE waited, that it seemed temporal and limited but they couldn't help it anyways

I think I might have been left shattered irreversibly if they hadn't found each other again🥺

Instead my heart is shattered but in the same way they pick up the pieces to heal again, the ending did the same to me...

And the title made me realise and wonder that even if you dressed the stone in all the silks and simple luxuries that Tae did, because a part of him WAS stone and turned hard by pain and bad experience... even all the silks couldn't hide it and eventually though... the stone did crack and he was alive again

And also Tae's safe space was a glass sphere and MC became the stone that caused the cracks in the transparent surface... because it WAS a safe space, it did feel like safety... but it was lonely and isolating and confining

And maybe SHE was the silk and stones for him

Dressed in silks

The stone chipping away at the hardened barriers

Until they crumbled

so… i went to reread s&s before answering your ask, and combined with whatever i put in there and your words, i'm left a mess :') i don't usually say this about my own writing, but something about this fic is so truly beautiful. i wish i was able to write like that today, bc god. it's a piece.

i'm so glad the fic felt vintage to you.. i was definitely opting to make it feel nostalgic and poetic, and very very heartbreaking, so i'm beyond thrilled that you said what you said. and the poetry 🥺 !! just like s&s tae, i don't find that genre very easy, so coming up with a poem that was as meaningful as pretty was difficult lol. so yeah thank you <3 also, if i spoke about everything you mentioned, i'd still be sitting here tmrw, bc i'm in my feels lol but i do want to mention a couple things..

the fact that you recognised that he was speaking in fragments and kept adding to the poem as his feelings grew is so important. like, every single time he spoke a line of a poem, he was trying to indicate how he was feeling about her that day. like only wanting to kiss the air that lately kissed her – perfectly aligned with his urge to kiss her, too. other than that, i love LOVE how you interpreted the fic's title.

tae was certainly colder and harder when they first met than he was at the very end. she replaced those stones with a beating heart, and made all of him feel silky and cotton-y – then again, she was the stone breaking that glass cube, too. she broke it the moment he saw her walking up that hill. she replaced the cold of the glass with warm nature, and showed him that he wasn't supposed to feel cosy in his loneliness. that he only liked being alone bc that's when he couldn't hurt anyone and wallow in his pain. she showed him that with her, he could have something far better than an empty cube – which is home, right with her. reality was better than his dreams, and she was just that reality, yk?

so yeah, you're so fkn right. honestly, this made me tear up. i forgot how much i love this story bc it's so lowkey and not many ppl have read it, but just. ugh, thank you so much for reading it and for reaching out. your message is truly so much more meaningful than you might know, so yeah. i love you, i do <3

[poptod]

Cyber Security (Elliot Alderson)

Description: An online ad leads him to you, though in reality he has little interest in your ad. What interests him is how you accidentally doxxed yourself and how oblivious you are to that fact.

Notes: idrk what to say about this one its one of those things that i wrote at midnight after almost falling asleep to a fantasy and then realizing it could work as a fic. like i did this same thing with ‘close your eyes’ that one was also a before-bed-to-get-to-sleep fantasy. this is also not a particularly romantic interaction, though it can be read as such WC: 2.2k

+

Sweat drenched his sheets, bathing him in the cold wind that breezed past his only air conditioner lodged in a nearby window. He stared blankly upwards, half shivering and half overheated, as he once again found himself in a familiar predicament—the practice of sleep.

It was no secret he had trouble calming himself down, and that aspect of himself reached into the evening, as well. He already downed three melatonin pills hours earlier, along with smoking a joint that should’ve put him to bed. Unsurprisingly, that did not work.

“Xanax,” he mumbled to himself, hearing it bounce back from empty walls. “Need to get xanax.”

In the meantime he raised himself to his feet, padding across freezing floors to his computer. With a click of a button the white screen buzzed to life, shining bright onto his sleep-heavy eyes, that did their best to acclimatize to the sudden change.

Hypnotization—strange as it might’ve been—had worked a couple times before. Not all the time, but decently enough to give it a try. He had work in the morning and he didn’t need to be more miserable than usual, especially since he hadn’t slept almost the entire weekend.

sleep hypnosis

The blinker flickered for a moment before his fourth finger slammed down on enter, the last step in calculated movements. What popped up first was a video titled [ SLEEP HYPNOSIS ] 8 Hour Loop with a screencap of a spinning black and white screen. Below that, however, was something he hadn’t seen before—a YouTube video titled exactly what he’d typed, lacking the caps just as he had. The title screen appeared to be some sort of poorly-drawn painting.

Curiosity overcame his hazy, aching head, and he clicked, finding a playlist of videos containing what could be the titles of songs, along with several different poorly-drawn title screens.

The first video began to play before he could realize it. What he first noticed was it was bereft of ads—that meant the publisher made no money off the album.

Sat in the presence of God

whose name means filthy old fraud

Captions had been manually added by, he assumed, you. The author. There were three views on the video, no comments, and no likes, leaving few other options.

Maybe it was the melody—maybe the lyrics, who talked of a world plagued by aristocrats. But he found his eyelids heavy, dropping dark eyelashes in his vision that blurred the screen. By the third song, reciting verses of an Islamic poem, he was slouched in his seat.

He slid down to the floor, crawling his way back to flop onto his bed. The music continued to play till the first ad popped up, at which time he opened his eyes, seeing a music video from Katy Perry, at which time he promptly reached over and unplugged his computer. He wasn’t sure which cord he pulled out, but the screen still went black. With that, he just barely sneaked into his covers, dozing until the morning.

It was far too easy to get information on you. Your full name was stated clearly in your youtube bio, alongside several different social media tags leading to instagram, tumblr, and facebook.

Facebook alone provided him the means to your address, and he didn’t even have to go looking for it. Your most recent post was an ad, searching for someone good with computers to aid you in your recording process, which you noted as ‘dismal’.

Are you fucking kidding me? He thought to himself, reading the ad once more.

Your address, your real, physical address was stated as the place you wanted to meet those interested in helping you. On the internet. You had doxxed yourself after less than a year of being online.

Okay, he thought, clicking on your listed email. Someone needs to be taught a lesson.

Three days later—after about two weeks of listening to your echoing voice every night—you replied, sending a cheerful email detailing when you would be available to meet him. After shooting a short message back, the date was organized.

Two more days and he was standing at your doorstep, his neck craned upwards as he scanned your tall, narrow home squished between two other apartments. He just barely knocked before the black door swung open, revealing a familiar face belonging to a stranger. Elliot was dressed in his black hoodie and jeans, a stark difference to your long, colorful robes, coming out of a sort of fantasy world.

“Hi,” he said, his voice grating with how low and quiet he kept it.

“Hello,” you said with a smile that did not match his hunched posture. “Are you Mr. Alderson?”

“Elliot,” he corrected, his chin just barely raising to meet you. “Elliot Alderson. Elliot works.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Come inside? I was just making tea. Do you like tea? Or do you prefer coffee?”

“I... I’m fine, thanks,” he said softly, scooting past you when you opened the door wide enough for him to enter. He sucked in a breath as his chest brushed yours.

Your home was modern—far fancier than Elliot’s own apartment, with large windows flanked by soft grey curtains. A small, upright piano was in the corner of the living room, set upon a reed mat lined with Korean symbols. The couch was clinical, made of a sort of black plastic leather that matched the grey skies beyond the window panes.

He sat down, shifting his feet closer together as his fingers dug into his palms, continuing to scan the room in its’ entirety until you returned with your own tea.

“What kind of experience do you have? School counts,” you said, setting your cup down on a tiny plate whose decorations matched your teacup.

“I’ve been... experimenting, with computers, since I was around 9,” he said, mumbling the words out as his shoulders hunched awkwardly down. “Have a job at a cyber security firm. Started a while back.”

“You still have that job?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod. “Jus’ thought this would be... fun.”

The dead look on his face indicated no humor whatsoever, but you took his word as it was.

“How’d you find the ad I put out?”

“I... I listened to your music,” he answered honestly for once. “Helps me fall asleep.”

“Oh,” you said, clearly taken aback. Your face grew warm as you glanced away with wide eyes. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re not very good with technology, though,” he said in his usual low, grating voice.

“Not really,” you chuckled sheepishly. “That’s why I put out the ad -“

“No, not that,” he interrupted you. “You put your physical address on the internet. You doxxed yourself. Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

The lyrics of your songs pointed towards a kind of brilliance, balanced against emotions felt thoroughly on pages and screens. It didn’t match your actions at all.

“What’s doxxing?” You asked.

Elliot had to physically stop himself from sighing and leaving.

“You want everyone to know where you, a minor celebrity, live?”

“I’d hardly call myself a -“

“I could’ve been a murderer,” he said, reaching into his bag.

He looked you in the eye as he pulled out a gun, clicking on the safety before he pointed it at you.

“This is how easy it would be to kill you.”

As expected, you stiffened at the sight of the iron barrel, your fingers withdrawing to your chest. Your lips pursed as you met his gaze once more.

“Please put the gun down,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He did as you said, resting the gun on the table.

“That’s a hell of a way to start an interview, Mr. Alderson,” you said quietly. “Please get out of my house.”

His heart sank. What had he expected? For you to fall to your knees and sing to him as he desired you to do? He threatened you with a gun to teach you a lesson, and you reacted accordingly. Calmer than others would.

Elliot stood on shaky legs, sliding the pistol into his backpack before he zipped it up. Throwing the pack over his shoulder, he swallowed through a tight throat, shuffling as he delayed his departure.

“Keep safe from people like me,” he said in a strained mumble. “Take that ad down. Meet people from the internet only in inhabited, public areas.”

You tapped your fingernails on the table for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. Suddenly you stood, tugging on his sweatshirt sleeve to get him to face you, instead of staring at his feet.

“Alright. If you’re really so good at the internet -“

He ignored your incorrect grammar.

“- and... if you actually do want to help me with my songs,” your tone softened, “then you’ll be able to find my real name, not my stage name. If you do.. I’ll hire you.”

“Alright,” he said monotone, knowing the battle was already won.

Even though he knew your name already, he turned away and left to his apartment, immediately going to work on figuring out everything he could about you. If you willingly still offered him the job after that, he knew it would take a lot to scare you off. He could impress you.

It was, after all, the only thing he was good at.

Two days later he showed up at your apartment again, quietly thanking you when you let him in. The clean floors and walls remained unchanged since his last visit, and you led him to the same table, sitting him down on the same seat.

“Your name is (Y/N) (L/N),” he started with. You already appeared to be surprise. “You grew up near LA and you’ve had a chronic illness all your life. At eleven you saw your first therapist.. that must’ve been when you first got diagnosed with depression... and anxiety.”

“Killer duo,” you muttered.

“Your parents split when you were thirteen, which came at the same time as your dog, Penelope, died. Or... sometime that year. When was that... 1997?”

“1999,” you said quietly.

“Your mom homeschooled you,” he continued. “That’s probably why you don’t know how computers work. Rather eclectic, in a.. boring way... an ex-Amish, right?”

You nodded and his heartbeat tripled. Everything was right thus far despite a two year difference in his guesstimate of your life’s timeline.

“Then there was your dad... logger in the Redwood forests. Burly guy. Not a great man, from what I saw,” he said.

“He was fine,” you said with a small shrug as you looked away. “Didn’t ever hurt me, or anything.”

“Abuse isn’t always physical,” he said faster than he could think, dizzied by his own memories playing behind his eyes.

“I know,” you murmured.

You went silent, so he continued, hoping to pry more precious words from you.

“Your favorite color is yellow,” he said, leaning closer to you. “On Valentine’s you get chocolate strawberries, and on easter you get kinder eggs.”

Nothing.

“You studied mythology as a kid, and you made paintings of the forest you lived in with your mom. Santa Cruz mountains, I think.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I miss the forests.”

“I know. You want to visit Ireland again because it’s a land of faeries and moss, it’s a breeding ground for your song lyrics.”

“How did you find all this out?” You finally asked.

“You use the same password on everything,” he said, though that was far from the actual answer. “Your web browser tracks all your movements and you don’t try to stop it, or hide ads, or stay away from sketchy websites. Your parents aren’t much better, either.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you brought your hand to massage your brow.

“You’re way too smart to be helping me,” you said with soft laughter, blushing with your smile.

“It’s better than working for E Corp,” he said, huffing out a laugh that was hardly humored.

“E corp?”

“My.. uh, place of work,” he brushed off his slip. “My point is... I’d rather work with you and do easy work than work with my current fucking coworkers.”

You laughed, truly and fully this time, curling into a little ball that shook with the force of it. Your feet tucked into your tiny chair, making you even smaller.

“Bad people or just annoying?”

“Stupid,” he chuckled. “Don’t let me wear my sweatshirt.”

“Ooh, now it’s my turn,” you suddenly interrupted him, earning a strange look. “I’ve noticed things about you, too. I couldn’t learn anything off the computer, but you, you have anxiety too. Probably some childhood trauma.. maybe a dissociative disorder of sorts or a form of PTSD. Your jacket is like your home, and... you have sensory issues. Few types of fabric, don’t like to be touched, if I had to guess I’d say you might be autistic.”

“Blunt,” he said after a full minute’s silence.

“Do you mind?” You asked.

“No, not really.”

“Good. Then you’re hired,” you said with a smile, extending your hand for him to shake. “If you still want the job, of course.”

He watched you with evident apprehension, but took your hand after much thought, shaking with a firm grip.

“When do I start?”

[spencers-renaissance]

i can't forgive me & you can't forget

Summary: Spencer is happy that his boyfriend is as compassionate as he is, but watching Derek do everything he can to help Strauss with her alcoholism when he stood by and did nothing back when he was struggling with his dilaudid addiction is beginning to take its toll.

Tags: hurt!spencer, miscommunication, angst, insecurity, est. rel., hurt/comfort, cuddling & snuggling, angst w a happy ending, fluff TW: referenced past drug use, addiction, and overdose, implied/referenced alcoholism

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 4.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // The other fic in this universe

Inspired by @marisatomay’s post here!!! The title is from the second part of the poem Betrayal by Lang Leav.

It’s pushing ten pm by the time Spencer finally hears the front door open and close with a soft click, hears the rustling of Derek ditching his leather jacket on the crowded coat rack and toeing off his shoes — no doubt placing them neatly at the side of the hall like he always does — and listens to his footsteps as he nears the bedroom where Spencer’s been holed up since Derek left.

“Hey, baby boy,” Derek says with a warm, relaxed smile, his fingers already working on undoing his shirt buttons, before digging through their wardrobe to find a more comfortable top.

“Hey.”

Spencer watches him with tired eyes. He’s been feeling as hurt and despondent as he does this evening for weeks now, but tonight is the first time he doesn’t have the energy to hide it. He’s spent the entire afternoon in bed, and he’s certain it shows in the imprints of the creased pillowcase on his cheek and his messed up hair, and where just a couple of days ago he’d rush to hide those tells, he simply doesn’t care enough anymore.

Derek turns around from the wardrobe and shrugs off his shirt, replacing it with a soft blue t-shirt Spencer’s always liked on him. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”

Spencer shakes his head. Derek undoes his belt and switches his trousers for a pair of grey sweatpants before walking over to the bed and climbing onto the mattress, grinning cheekily as he rolls over Spencer’s body and leans down to press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose.

It’s sweet and romantic and so painfully normal, and maybe that’s exactly why he suddenly finds himself swallowing back tears. He’s hardly spent any time with Derek outside of work in weeks and he’s hurt and sad and struggling, and it’s only making it worse that his loving and attentive boyfriend hasn’t seemed to notice. Really, Spencer knows he needs to communicate, and that a significant part of his pain is his responsibility, but the shame—

“Well that just won’t do,” Derek murmurs, interrupting his thoughts as he brushes his fingers over a lock of curly hair resting on Spencer’s temple. “I’ll go and make you something. Or we can order in? What do you fancy?”

Spencer shrugs, looking away. He’s not trying to be difficult, it’s just incredibly hard to think about food and a relaxing night in with your partner when you feel like your insides are splintering and you’re just barely holding yourself together.

Even without looking directly at his face, Spencer can see Derek’s brow furrow and his happy expression fade, and soon enough Derek’s fingers are at his chin, gently moving his head until he’s looking at him again. “Hey, pretty boy,” he says gently, looking so concerned it makes his chest ache, “what’s wrong? Tell me what’s going on in that big old head of yours.”

So much of him wants to give in and tell him everything, wants to spill his fears and his anxieties and his anger and his shame onto the sheets of their bed and lay it all out for him. He wants to shout, “See? This is who I am! This is all my mess and my pain and my regret! Look at it!”

But he can’t. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again to meet the swirling worry in Derek’s deep, beautiful brown eyes and he wills himself not to cry. “Nothing,” he lies. “I’m just tired. Hungry.”

He knows Derek doesn’t believe him, but there isn’t much he can do if Spencer isn’t willing to communicate, so he nods reluctantly and leans down to place a kiss on his forehead this time, lingering there for a moment longer than he usually does. The feeling of his boyfriend hovering over him and asking him what’s wrong and kissing him so tenderly is all Spencer’s craved for weeks, but now it’s here, he still feels sad and empty and hollowed out by shame and bitterness, desperate for something more without so much as an idea as to what exactly more might entail.

“I tell you what, I’ll go make you some tortellini, alright? There’s a pack in the fridge and it only takes a couple of minutes so I’ll be back before you know it,” Derek promises, and Spencer can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Regardless, Derek hops off the bed and heads out to the kitchen, leaving Spencer alone in the softly lit bedroom. He pulls the duvet further up to his chin and buries his face in it, the soft fabric gentle on his skin, and the comforting scent of Spencer’s shampoo mingling with Derek’s cologne settling him slightly.

Derek had spent the afternoon with Strauss at the rehab centre. And not for the first time.

The problem is, how can Spencer be mad at him for that? Really, it’s the epitome of his character: genuine, constant, unconditional compassion for everyone around him, no matter who they are or what his history with them might be. Of course he’d see Strauss struggling with her addiction and swoop right in, getting her settled in at the centre and spending hours with her on visiting days, fighting alongside Hotch to persuade the director to let her keep her job.

But watching him leave every week, watching him text her encouraging messages, hearing him talk about her progress and recovery… it strikes a nerve deep inside Spencer. He isn’t proud of how he feels. He knows it’s petty and illogical, but he can’t help it.

Because somewhere deep in his soul, an old version of himself, a sad, lonely, scared, addicted-to-dilaudid boy is crying out, why didn’t you do that for me?

It’s that question that really plagues him. They’re called into work the next day for a fairly interesting case in North Dakota, and there are some fairly strong links to the world of academia, so usually, Spencer would be all over it, reeling off facts and statistics and reaching out to his contacts to further the case. But for some reason, he just can’t get his head in the game.

He finds himself zoning out on the jet and wandering off at crime scenes without even knowing where he’s going. Initially, his team had assumed that he was thinking, or was going somewhere deliberately that might help them with the case, they’d all counted on Doctor Reid to come up with some brilliant theory to bring them closer to catching their unsub.

But Hotch had quickly realised that his head was somewhere else and kept him close to his side from then on. At least staying at the police station with Hotch and being tasked with reading through the unsub’s literary work and constructing a geographical profile both gives him something specific to focus on, and — as much as Spencer hates to admit it — keeps him away from Derek.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Hotch asks gently when they both find themselves at the coffee pot in the late afternoon. He doesn’t look over at him, his eyes focused on the stream of coffee and creamer headed straight for his mug. Spencer knows it’s a tactic to make him feel less ambushed and more relaxed, but that doesn’t stop it from working.

“No,” he says honestly.

Hotch nods in acceptance. He puts a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezes briefly. “Well, you know where I am if you change your mind.”

Both JJ and Emily eye him suspiciously throughout the case as well, but no one is more confused and concerned than Derek. Spencer tries not to think about the irony.

“Baby, what’s got you all distracted like this?” Derek asks softly when they’re finally alone in their room that night, full up from the rushed dinner they’d all had in the lobby before crawling to their rooms for a couple of hours’ sleep before the manhunt continues in the morning. “This is so unlike you and you know it.”

Spencer doesn’t reply, just continues quietly changing into his pajamas before brushing his teeth and washing his face. Derek’s still sitting in the same position when he comes out, looking frustrated and contemplative, and Spencer feels guilty for making him feel this way, but he just doesn’t know what to do. He can’t act like everything's okay because it isn’t, and he’s tired himself out from pretending that it was for weeks, now. But he can’t tell him what’s going on either.

The thing is, how is Spencer supposed to admit that he’s still hurt over something that happened almost five years ago now? And how is he supposed to admit that Derek doing the right thing is only reopening wounds he’d tried so hard to heal and close? That both Derek and Hotch had specifically helped him heal and close?

He doesn’t know how to verbalise his feelings without sounding petulant or pathetic, so he doesn’t. He keeps them buried deep inside him and hopes desperately that no one comes digging.

“I’m fine, Derek,” he lies again, leaning down to kiss him gently before rounding the bed and crawling under the covers. “Just having an off day, I guess.”

Derek sighs but doesn’t push any further, clearly knowing a lost cause when he sees one. Instead, he follows in Spencer’s footsteps and gets ready for bed silently, whispering a quiet good night before switching off the lamp and climbing into bed on the other side.

It feels like the expanse of white sheet between them goes on for miles.

It’s the first time Spencer’s regretted Hotch’s decision to continue letting them share a room.

The question continues to plague him over the next week. He gets marginally better at pretending he’s not falling apart at the seams, and it’s enough to make almost everyone back off, but Hotch is still concerned and Derek is still confused, and he can feel himself drifting further away from the team each day, as though his rope tying him to the others has been cut, and now the current is having its way with him.

Nothing much changes. He continues in his hurt and lonely quietude, and Derek continues to ask what’s wrong, sighing sadly when he gets nothing out of him, and they exist in tandem.

It had always felt — ever since the beginning of their relationship — as though their relationship was a salsa dance. They were tangled in one another’s lives, both physically and emotionally, and they existed in this relaxed kind of ease that Spencer’s only ever seen before in long-term relationships. They’d fallen into a lucky, easy kind of love, and it was never as much work as everyone had promised him a relationship would be.

They’ve been together for four years, and their worst fight was over whether the cheese grater went in the cupboard next to the sink or above it. (Granted, it had spiraled into some other disagreements that came along with cohabitation, but. Still.)

Spencer knows he’s introducing a dynamic they’re unused to, and he hates it. Guilt plagues him, mingling with his shame and sadness until he’s drowning under the weight of it, no way to claw himself to the surface to take a breath.

They exist on parallel lines: next to one another; yet never crossing over. Their relationship is no longer a salsa dance.

The next off-day they have, Derek can’t get out the door fast enough. “I’m off to visit Erin,” he tells Spencer, and it still makes him irrationally angry that he’s stopped calling her Strauss and now refers to her like a friend.

Is it better that Strauss is now Derek’s friend? Him helping someone he actually cares about makes him not caring about Spencer all those years again slightly less of a gut-punch, he supposes. But the fact that Derek and Strauss of all people are becoming closer while he and Spencer drift apart hurts in a way he can’t even begin to explain.

This time, he spends the entire day crying. Every time the tears slow down and he catches his breath, another wave of grief and pain and anxiety and shame and jealousy crashes over him, and all of a sudden he can’t breathe again. It’s an exhausting cycle, and by the early afternoon his stomach muscles are aching and his ribs feel bruised.

It’s also the first day he gets a craving.

He’s an addict, right, he’s had periods of intermittent cravings over the years, that’s completely normal. Sometimes, even thinking about it in passing is enough for the itch to come back, to whisper the number of his old dealer in his ear, to recall in both his physical and mental memory the feeling that came with each press of the syringe.

This is the most intense one since his withdrawal immediately after waking up in hospital following his accidental overdose in his parking garage. It’s so intense that it scares him.

Crying harder than he thought it possible, he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and — fighting the temptation to type in the digits of his dealer — he dials the number he’s had memorised since he was nineteen. He can’t speak through his gut-wrenching sobs, but he knows the sound of him crying this hard will be enough, so he lies in bed and continues his pity party until he hears the front door swing open and the rapid steps through the hall.

Soon enough, Hotch is pulling him into his arms and he finally feels a little less alone.

Hotch lets him cry himself out, and only when his tears have dried up and the hiccups have subsided does he say anything besides the reassuring murmurs he’d spoken into Spencer’s ears as he cried.

“Spencer,” he says — somewhat desperately — “please. You have to tell me what’s going on. Let me help you, okay? Whatever it is, I’m here. I won’t let you suffer on your own anymore, I promise.”

Spencer doesn’t raise his head from its position buried in Hotch’s t-shirt, but he does finally say something. He doesn’t know what overrides the shame that’s kept him quiet — maybe it’s the exhaustion or the loneliness finally winning out — but whatever it is, he’s glad it does.

“I had a craving today,” he whispers, because it seems like a good place to start. “Haven’t been feeling good since, uh. Since… Strauss.”

It’s hopelessly phrased, but it’s the best way he can explain it and Hotch, being the miracle profiler and father figure of Spencer Reid, figures it out instantly.

He feels the way he slumps slightly, hears the tired, frustrated sigh, and knows he’s probably beating himself up for not figuring it out sooner.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just… I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.”

Hotch shushes him. “You don’t need to apologise for that, Spencer, don’t be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry for being so blind, and I am. I hate that you’ve been suffering like this and we’ve all been too stupid to realise why.”

“It still, it still hurts,” he says quietly, sadly, regretfully, “it still hurts that no one helped me until it was almost too late. But everyone dropped everything to help Strauss— I’m sorry, it’s so selfish, I shouldn’t be—”

“Hey, Spence,” Hotch interrupts him, caressing his arm gently. “It isn’t selfish. It’s human. And you’re right, we should have helped you sooner and it’s always been my greatest regret that we didn’t, and that because of that dereliction of duty, we almost lost you.”

“I’m not, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or anything—”

“Spencer, I know that. But you need to stop feeling guilty for how you feel, alright? It makes complete sense that this is bringing up both the feelings of rejection and betrayal, and also cravings for the drug you were addicted to at the time. It’s so obvious that I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier.”

Spencer nods, but he doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. “Derek’s been visiting Strauss on our days off,” he admits quietly. “I’ve barely seen him for almost a month now, and that— it isn’t helping.”

“I can understand that. Have you talked to him about any of this?” he asks, even though Spencer’s sure Hotch already knows the answer.

He shakes his head.

“I know it’s hard, Spence, I really do, but I think you need to talk to him. Obviously, it would’ve been better if both he and I had figured it out without you having to tell us, but clearly, he isn’t going to realise by himself. I know that as soon as you explain it, he’ll understand completely.”

Spencer sighs. Some part of him had known this was coming, he just didn’t know how it would come about. He wouldn’t have put money on Hotch being involved, but maybe he should have done. He always seems to come to Spencer’s rescue.

“He’ll probably be out for a while. He usually stays out for hours when he goes to visit her.”

“Well, how about I stay until he comes home, and then you can talk to him? How does that sound?”

Spencer looks up at him. “What about Jack?”

“He’s out with a friend and their family anyway,” Hotch reassures him, smiling as he runs a hand down his arm. “Now how about I make you some tea and we go and sit on the sofa?”

Spencer reluctantly agrees and moves from the safety of his bed to the comfort of his sofa, but he has to admit that the light streaming in from the big bay window and the feeling of sitting up makes him feel just a little better straight away. Once Hotch is back and placing a cup of chamomile tea into his hands, he doesn’t feel quite so much like he’s going to burst into tears at any moment.

“I have to ask, Spencer,” Hotch says carefully, “did you buy any dilaudid? Or attempt to contact your dealer?”

“Thought about it,” he admits, not meeting Hotch’s concerned eyes, “but I didn’t.”

Hotch relaxes. “Good. I’m proud of you, you know.”

Spencer looks at him with a hesitant smile that only grows when Hotch beams back.

They spend the afternoon watching nature documentaries — and Spencer admittedly dozes through a lot of them, exhausted from the burden of carrying so much pain around and the physical exertion of crying so hard — until Derek comes home at just gone five thirty.

“Hotch?” he asks, confused, and his voice wakes Spencer up from one of his unintentional naps.

He scrambles to sit upright, going inexplicably red at the thought of what he knows is coming. For some reason, he feels like he’s done something wrong and he’s about to be told off. He hates that this is what his relationship with Derek has come to.

“Hi, Derek,” Hotch says, squeezing Spencer’s ankle and getting up from the sofa. “Spencer asked me to come over earlier” — which is a bit of a stretch when really Spencer sobbed into the phone until Hotch showed up — “and I was just keeping him company until you came home.”

Derek’s eyebrows only furrow further, looking between them, confused. “Right.”

“Spencer,” Hotch says, meeting his eyes, “are you okay if I go now? You’ll tell Derek what we talked about?”

Immediately, Spencer blushes red as Derek’s scrutinising eyes fixate on him, but he nods and smiles weakly at Hotch, following him with his eyes as he lets himself out, if just to avoid meeting Derek’s.

“Pretty boy?” Derek says cautiously, slowly taking off his jacket and approaching the sofa like Spencer’s a wild animal liable to be spooked away at any given moment. He supposes it’s probably quite a good analogy, actually.

Spencer shifts nervously in his seat, moving his legs out of the way to give Derek more room to sit down on the sofa.

“You finally gonna tell me what’s been up with you these last few weeks?” Derek asks, and Spencer isn’t oblivious to the hope in his voice. “I’ve been worried about you, baby.”

Spencer nods and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a couple of deep breaths to compose himself. He’s told one person, and it went fine— it went well, actually. Derek is his life partner, his soulmate, and they tell each other everything. He just needs to start at the beginning. He needs to tell him all of the disclaimers, remind him that he’s not angry at him for doing the right thing or for being the compassionate person he is, he just needs to— He needs to focus, and he needs to tell the truth.

“I called Hotch earlier because I was scared of myself,” he says, finally opening his eyes and looking into Derek’s. “I was having some of the most intense cravings I’ve had since being sober, and I was seriously considering calling my dealer, but I managed to call Hotch instead, and we talked about how I’ve been feeling.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” Derek says regretfully, his face melting into the very picture of apologetic as he scoots a bit closer on the sofa so he can grab Spencer’s legs and pull them over his lap.

“I know,” Spencer replies, ignoring for now that him not being here is why they have a problem in the first place. He moves on. “I’ve been… struggling… over the last month or so with feelings that I haven’t really known how to rationalise or explain, and when I finally did make sense of them, I felt that I couldn’t share them with anyone, which is why I’ve been so distant and private. And I’m sorry for that, by the way.”

Derek just smiles, caressing his bare ankle with one hand as he rests his other over his shin.

He pauses for a moment, trying to find the best way to word his thoughts, but before he can think about it too hard, the words come spilling out, unbidden. “I’ve found it hard to reconcile your attentiveness and willingness to throw everything at helping Strauss, and the way no-one helped me with my addiction back in 2007.”

Derek’s face instantly falls, and saying the words out loud brings all the emotions he’d managed to control back again in full force, and suddenly his face is crumpling, too. Derek surges forward, moving them both until he’s situated between the sofa cushions and Spencer, cuddling him as close as he can while Spencer cries into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking as he begins to cry as well. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything then and I’m sorry I didn’t put two and two together to realise why you were struggling so much. I can’t believe I was so oblivious, Spence, oh God.”

They lie there for a long time, crying together as Derek runs his hands through Spencer’s hair and Spencer clings desperately to the fabric of Derek’s t-shirt.

“I was just feeling so distant from you because we weren’t spending as much time together, and I had no idea how to admit that I was feeling hurt about something that happened almost five years ago,” he continues when they’ve both calmed down again, and they’re ready to resume the conversation. “I guess I just felt… ashamed of both my feelings now and being jealous, which is so ridiculous, I had no idea how to tell anyone how I was feeling. And I’m so sorry that my lack of communication affected us so much.”

“Oh, baby,” Derek sighs, leaning in to press a kiss to Spencer’s lips. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry that I was hurting you when I should’ve known the effect my actions would have. This whole mess is on me for so many reasons.”

“Der, I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Spencer says insistently, urgently, looking at him imploringly. “You’ve apologised enough for what happened back then, and there’s no way we can change what happened. You were just being the same kind and compassionate person you always are when you were helping Strauss.” He reaches out and cups Derek’s face gently, hating the tells of guilt and self-loathing he can see all over it.

Derek sighs and moves Spencer’s hand to his lips so he can kiss his palm. “When I was sitting in that hospital room waiting for you to wake up,” he explains, “I made a promise to myself. I told myself that I would never let anyone down like that again. I was never going to stand back and watch anyone else I knew fall into the same trap you did. So when I realised Strauss had a drinking problem, all I saw was an opportunity to keep that promise.

“The only problem was that I was so wrapped up in doing the right thing in helping her that I wasn’t doing the right thing by you. I should’ve realised all the feelings, physical and emotional, that this would bring up for you, but I didn’t think. I’m so sorry, baby boy, I really am.”

Spencer cuddles back into Derek, burying his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder and relaxing into the reassuring scent of his person. “I know, Der. I forgive you.”

“How about we order in some Thai for dinner from your favourite restaurant and watch some Doctor Who?” Derek suggests after a couple of minutes of silence. “I think we’re long overdue for some quality time together.”

Spencer smiles at him, feeling so much of the heaviness that’s been weighing him down over the last few weeks lift that he feels almost like he’s floating. “I think that sounds like a plan.”

They set the living room up to be as cosy as possible, lighting the candles Penelope had made for them and using only their soft lamps to light the room, before piling the couch high with blankets and pillows until they’re cuddled together in a little nest.

The evening is spent eating their favourite food and watching their favourite season of Doctor Who, and while Spencer’s still hurting and they still have healing to do, this feels like a damn good start.

“I’m proud of you,” Spencer whispers to Derek late into the night, when they’re close to falling asleep in the comfort of their blanket pile.

Derek turns to him, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

“You made a mistake when you let things get bad with my addiction back in 2007,” Spencer explains, “and when you saw someone headed down the same path, you stopped at nothing to make sure you didn’t make that mistake again. If anything shows me how much you regret not doing anything sooner, it’s your devotion to Strauss’ recovery.”

Derek smiles at him, his eyes a little watery, and holds his chin gently as he leans in to kiss him. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I love you so much.”

Spencer kisses him again before cuddling back into his side. “I know you do, Derek. And I love you, too.”

And really, when it comes down to it, that’s enough.

Ahhh, this was the first fic in forever that actually felt fairly easy to write thank GOD. I loved this concept and writing that good, good angst was so much fun. Plus, we always love a happy ending in this house! Also, a reminder that how other people when you confront them with the way they hurt you or made you feel is not your responsibility.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds @wifeyprentiss @cmily @love-pyramus @notevanbuckley @thebipolarbisexualnerd (add yourself to my taglist here!)

[deadpoetsmuses]

"inspiration". | neil perry, dps.

in which a summer is spent with the poets, with a significant feature of neil perry.

✧ title: "inspiration".

✧ pairing: neil perry x fem!reader.

✧ genre: fluff, with slight mentions of angst.

✧ word count: 2,733.

✧ warnings: written in headcanon format, home life mentions, the reader lives in meeks' grandma's house, knox being a simp for chris.

✦ author’s note: requested by @mybabysweetascanbe! it's kinda funky how i wrote this as a headcanon but it still ended up being my longest fic lmao. also i wrote the poem that neil made for the reader myself so i'm sorry if it's kinda cheesy 🗿 but i hope you all enjoy this one !! don't forget to take care of yourselves guys <3

✎ The summer holidays had always been a time for the poets’ relief.

✎ Their academic year was constantly filled with difficulties for the poets, but it was harder for some when they were home for the summer.

✎ Neil felt as though he couldn’t be himself-- he loved reading and writing even more so than he did with accomplishing any of his parents’ wishes, like heading into medical school. He especially loved to act, and it was rough to keep that concealed around his dictatorial father.

✎ Todd’s older brother would be at home as well, and it was worse enough being in his shadow; but it had gotten worse with every one of his parents’ daily proclamations.

“We were quite disappointed with your grades from last semester, son,” His father reprimanded, looking down on him with stern eyes. “I just don’t understand what’s gotten into you. Your mother and I raised you quite well and you have your brother to guide you along. You know that he’s remarkably intelligent and well accomplished. Why can’t you be more like your brother?”

✎ Charlie and Knox had been just like Neil. The constant pressure that their parents put on them about becoming a banker and a lawyer was daunting; and all they wanted was to simply live as regular teenagers without concern for their future.

✎ Fortunately, Meeks’ grandmother was a woman who had a colossal and motherly love for the poets with a sizable residence in which her grandson’s friends could inhabit during their vacation.

✎ Thus, the poets resided in the Meeks household in the summer before their senior year so as to escape the stress and troubles brought to them in their own homes.

✎ Even though the summer was fleeting and their time was short, the poets found their time to be everlasting when they met the student boarder of the house.

✎ She went by the name of Y/N, which was a name that sounded just as sweet as the lady to whom it was attached.

“Hello, everybody! I’m Y/N!” The girl said, reaching out her hand to shake one of the poets’. Truth be told, it had been quite some time since any one of the boys had been in close contact with a woman; so they found themselves to be quite the martians in the situation. It took a few moments before one of the poets-- Neil Perry-- could offer his hand and shake hers. “I’m Neil! We’re friends of Meeks and his classmates from Welton.” The boy swore that he felt a spark as their fingertips touched, but he tossed the feeling aside; along with the apparition that he saw of a faint glimmer in Y/N’s eyes.

✎ The boys instantly took her in to their little group, and they all fell in love with her personality-- which was a platonic statement of course; but Neil Perry found this to be otherwise as he actually began falling into love with the new girl.

✎ He loved the way she cared for her new friends, the way she projected her personality through the clothes she wore, and all of the little smiles she gave him.

✎ With every beam and twinkle that she delivered, Y/N found herself to be falling for Neil as well.

✎ He provided a feeling for her that made the blacks of her eyes expand and butterflies to quiver inside-- which was the very same one Neil had felt when he first laid his eyes on her.

✎ She had been a fantastic addition to the band of poets, and the boys could not have had it any other way.

Despite the summer coming into fruition, the poets did not fail to meet up in their little cave every once in a while to read poetry, discuss girls, and laugh. The first meeting of that summer was simply like any other. “Guys, what do we think of Y/N?” Meeks questioned. A clamor of answers that ranged between “I think she’s great,” and “Do you think Mrs. Meeks has any more people in her house like Y/N?” echoed in the dark cave. Clearly, the boys had favored Y/N; but certainly not to the point where they’d be infatuated with her. “Yeah, I think she’s nice. She’s really pretty too,” Knox added. “Woah there Knoxious,” Charlie replied, expelling out a chortle. “I don’t think Chris would like to hear that. And besides, she looks more like she’s Neil’s type than yours.” Charlie’s words weren’t incorrect, but it was needless to say that Neil had strongly agreed with that statement.

✎ Over the summer, they would all begin to get to know each other better.

✎ The poets eventually introduced Y/N to the intricate realm of poetry, and she wholeheartedly fell in love with every line that was recited.

✎ They enjoyed every moment of their fleeting time together. Of course, there would be times where the boys would get into small fights and bickers.

✎ Pitts would always be yelling at Charlie for taking an ungodly amount of time in the shower, while Charlie would be yelling back about how Pitts always seemed to inhale the food that Mrs. Meeks provided for them before he himself could even take one bite.

✎ Cameron did his best to do some summer reading at night, but he found it quite hard as his room was beside Knox’s room, and Knox would spend hours on end talking to Chris over the phone.

“Oh, Chris. How do I love thee?” Knox sighed, lacing the telephone cords in between his fingers. “That’s the title of a poem we learned in Mr. Keating’s class. It reminds me of how lovely you are. Of course, she’s not as pretty as you are,” Knox’s giggles not only erupted through the phone; but it travelled through the walls as well, disrupting Cameron from the climax of his novel. “We get it, Knox! You’re a romantic poet! Now why don’t you go tell Chris about how you finished with a D minus in English!”

✎ While all of the little squabbles took place, they hadn’t even noticed the slight change in Neil and Y/N’s behavior.

✎ Y/N seemed to be keeping to herself more often, while Neil appeared to have possessed an undying smile on his face around the poets; particularly in the mornings when everyone gets up early except for him and Y/N.

✎ Little did they know, Y/N’s room had been vacant for the past few days since the arguments began-- which was approximately three weeks after the boys had arrived to the Meeks’ residence; and Neil seemed to be giggling in his room every night when the rest were asleep.

✎ In the duration of those three weeks, Neil had become more familiar with Y/N than any of the other poets had been.

✎ They’d walk along the nearby river every morning, discuss poetry in the late afternoons, and eventually fall asleep in each other’s arms at night.

“How long have you been living here?” Neil inquired, peering into Y/N’s eyes. His vision didn’t have to stretch too far as his face had only been a breath away from Y/N’s. The pair laid together under the warm covers of Neil’s bed with their legs entangled in one another’s and their hands interlocked, talking about anything and everything that came to their minds. “It’s been two years since Mrs. Meeks took me in,” She replied, gazing over Neil’s chiseled face. “In the whole time I’ve been here, I think you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to me,” Y/N added, beaming up at Neil. Hearing her words, Neil slowly leaned his lips onto Y/N’s forehead, giving her an endearing kiss. She too had been the most interesting thing to happen to Neil in a long time.

✎ For each and every day that they were together, Neil wrote love poems.

✎ His poems revolved around his time with Y/N and included detail of all sorts; such as how colors appeared to be more bright and more vivid when he was with her and how lovelier the birds had sounded in the morning during their walks.

"My love,

The luminosity of the golden sun

does not compare to the radiance

of your glowing skin.

In this air full of morning dew,

the most beautiful scent in the air

is still you.

The sounds we hear of the melodious

birds are all because of your presence,

and they sing only for your beauty.

I look into your eyes and I see nature

reflected back at me; but it is much more

pleasant to perceive than if I were to do so

through my own set of eyes.

Though the morning lasts for a mere set of hours,

My fascination for you can go for as long as

this smooth river flows.

✎ Neil felt embarrassed about being so infatuated with Y/N, so he kept his poems hidden for the time being.

✎ Somehow, the boys had failed to notice Neil and Y/N’s constant disappearance.

✎ Although, they’d make little remarks from time to time that ran along the lines of “Ooh, Neil found a muse!” and “Y/N definitely likes somebody here. It’s probably me.”

✎ The last comment came from Charlie, which later earned him a smack on the head from Neil.

✎ So, Neil and Y/N did their best to keep their relationship hidden throughout the summer.

✎ The two were rather domestic in their relationship; they did all of the typical-couple activities that everyone else had done.

✎ To anyone else it would have been rather common to witness, but to them it was simply extraordinary being with one another.

It had been a scenic day at the river that morning. The beauty of the nature surrounding it had been ordinarily pleasing to Y/N; but all of its best qualities were magnified for Neil as his hand was in hers and the only thing he could smell was her fragrance. He had been quite nervous for the entire morning as he promised himself the night before that he would finally gather the courage to say those three magic words he’d been imagining to say for quite some time. Unbeknownst to him, Y/N had been thinking the same and had been visualizing how she would say it at that moment for the past few hours since. Just when the cascading waters began to relax and the chirping of the birds started to quiet down, the pair stopped on their trail and those three words were finally professed by Neil in a sudden manner while Y/N had spoken the same in a clear and gentle tone. They looked into each other’s eyes, recognizing the same look of love and eventually realizing what was said. As it was acknowledged, the two lovers simply smiled at each other and kept walking along; their hearts now beating on the same rhythm and their minds thinking of nothing but one another.

✎ Time to time, they would go up to the attic and listen to the music from Mrs. Meeks’ old gramophone, caressing one another as they slowly dance along to the lyrics of Ella Fitzgerald’s songs.

✎ Neil would always sneak a flower out of Mrs. Meeks’ rose garden and leave it on Y/N’s bedside table for her to wake up to.

✎ One of Y/N’s ways of communicating her love would be recommending books to Neil that she thinks is encompassed with his personality. Since then, Neil’s library had enlarged to a great extent.

✎ There would also be some occasions where one of them-- mostly Neil-- would get a little cheeky and try to express their love for the other out in the open.

“Eat up, boys! You know there’s plenty more of where that came from, so don’t be afraid to dig in!” Mrs. Meeks endorsed, setting down a bowl of mashed potatoes. With a jubilant ‘thank you’, everyone at the table promptly began to tuck into the mouthwatering cuisine. The boys soon found themselves distracted with the heavenly taste of Mrs. Meeks’ cooking; and Neil took this opportunity to covertly sneak his right hand onto Y/N’s thigh under the table. A scarlet blush crept its way up to Y/N’s cheek as she sent Neil a glare. Though her eyes expressed the message of “Not here!”, every other signal in her body sent the message of ‘Yes, Please’ to a very triumphant Neil.

✎ The summer inevitably came to an end and the boys were forced to return to Welton, much to their dismay.

✎ They couldn’t stand ending their summer; and they especially couldn’t stand leaving their new friend behind while the rest of them stayed together.

“Oh God, How are we supposed to leave this beautiful girl all alone in this big house?!” Charlie pleaded, theatrically dropping down to his knees and shouting out loud to the heavens. “It’s all just too emotional for us,” Pitts added as he went along with his friend’s act, his head bowing down to the ground in grief as he placed a comforting hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Just take me with her, God! Let me be with Y/N at her all-girls school!”

✎ Despite all of the inconveniences they put upon Y/N, the poets really did leave a mark on her. These boys showed her a new way of life-- she knows what ‘Carpe Diem’ means, and she knows how to seize her days because of them.

✎ Of course, Neil had a harder time coming into terms with their departure more than anyone else.

✎ Leaving the Meeks’ residence meant that he was leaving Y/N, which was something that he hadn’t prepared himself for.

“I’m not ready to leave you,” Neil confessed. Tears were beginning to form in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. After the individual hugs and goodbyes Y/N had given to the rest of the poets, the ill-fated time had come when she had to bid her own farewell to her lover. Neil believed that though their time was short and fleeting, it truly had been something special and something that he’ll never forget. Y/N was his first love, his first muse, his first everything; and no amount of riches could ever sum up to the prominence of that. Y/N placed her hand on Neil’s face, stroking away his tears with her thumb as she felt her eyes begin to swell up as well. “I’ll write to you every day, Neil.” Naturally, Y/N was on the brink of tears as well. She couldn’t bear to leave Neil after everything he’s shown her. It feels like she’s known him forever, yet everything felt so new and exciting with him. She loved him too much, and she knows she’ll continue to love him long after.

✎ Neil was afraid that she would forget about what they had soon after she had left, so he decided to give her all of the poems he had written about her.

✎ As her hands clasped the thick set of parchment, the tears she had been trying so hard to conceal had all poured out, staining the paper and her hands.

“Neil… these are beautiful,” She croaked. Her eyes skimmed over every title and date, realizing that there had been a poem for each and every splendid day that they had been together. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. That’s why I wrote these,” Neil corrected. “Everything I love about you is in these poems, and all of the love I have for you is written in each letter. I just don’t want you to forget about me while we’re apart.” The absurdity of Neil’s words made Y/N chuckle softly before she stepped forward and linked her hands around Neil’s neck, reducing the space between their lips. “I love you, Neil. You’re always going to be in my mind and you’ll always have my heart in the little pocket of your Welton blazer.”

✎ Y/N felt truly fortunate to have met Neil. This summer had come as quite a surprise for her-- she did not expect to fall in love so soon and with such an extraordinary person like Neil Perry. He was everything she’d ever looked for and he gave everything she deserved.

✎ Even though the bright days of the summer had ended and the early falling leaves of the autumn was yet to arrive, the change was of no concern as the only thing that mattered was what had been consistent-- and for Y/N and Neil, the thing that stood still for the two of them despite all odds was each other.

dedicated to these lovely people!! @mybabysweetascanbe @disagreeingpoets @catflowerbean @galaxyrhytm @nananostalgic @ughgclden @towriteabetterlife @neilsemeraldsweater @yourpal @willowestelle

[jeongvision]

unconditional love

synopsis. if you were to ask yourself, ‘when did you realize that you were in love with lee jeno?’, you wouldn’t know how to respond. in fact, there was never a moment where you weren’t in love with him. but what happens when he asks you the same question? you might have to take a rain check, literally.

pairing. best friend! lee jeno ✗ fem! reader

genre. fluff, humor, childhood friends au, friends to lovers au

word count. 1.6k

warnings. none! but highkey though this made me fall in love with jeno :(

song. walking in the rain by chancellor & younha

author’s note. happy birthday @sehunniepotwrites​!​ not sure if this is fluffy enough for you but hope you enjoy this lil blurb! cheers to another one of your milestones and many more in life!

ps. there are two lines in this fic that are from a poem written by e.e. cummings! not going to say which ones or the title of the poem bc it might spoil future plans i have oop

You were one of the few fortunate people on the planet to still be friends with someone from your childhood. To have so many worthwhile memories shared with someone must be cherished at all cost. And many times were you afraid that Jeno might get tired of being friends with you, but being the ethereal person he is, he casted all your worries away and assured you that he had no plans on leaving you any time soon.

And perhaps somewhere down the line, the love you had for him went far beyond what people would label as ‘friendship,’ and dared enough to say, you were in love with him. If a stranger were to describe how you looked whenever you were with him, many would describe you to be enamored.

And if you happened to be enamored for your childhood friend, then so be it.

You fear no fate, for he is your fate, your sweet.

“Can I ask you something, y/n?”

Currently, you two are sat outside of a café near your home: 7 Dreams. It was a beautiful day out, the sun warming the air around you, flutters of clouds scattered throughout the blue sky. You expressed your desires to Jeno earlier that you wanted to sit out on the tables they placed outside their shop. It has been a little chilly from the past few days with occasional rain showers here and there, and you want nothing more than to relish in the warm weather after days of being forced into the solitude of your home.

“Sure. What is it?”

But before you could take a sip of your green tea latte, you’re thrown off by his question.

“When did you first fall in love with me?”

Your fingers stilled at the ceramic handle of your mug. You didn’t know what brought that question to the latter’s mind. Granted, you two have had your fair shares of flirtations and courtship, but never acted beyond past it. It was all done with jest, as you two would put it. You could easily lie to him, saying that you only saw him as a friend, but never to yourself; your heart betrays you with palpitations and inclinations for your best friend from just the mere thought of him.

You forced a stoic expression on your face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He huffs out a breath from your response.

“Y/n, there’s no point in trying to hide it. I’ve known you for almost my whole life, so I know when you’re lying to me. The look you give me is different from how you looked at Johnny when you two were together.”

A snort escapes from your lips.

“And what does my ex have to do with this?” You could see a teasing grin poke through his demeanor, prompting an eye roll from you.

“So you admit that you do look at me differently then.”

“No, Jeno, I am not admitting to anything. And even if I did look at you differently, how would you know if I was in love with you?”

“Because you would’ve denied it by now. And right now, you’re just stepping around the question.”

You squint your eyes a little, to which Jeno does the same back.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy now? How about when I asked you for the name of the person you liked a couple years back?”

And so, his eyebrows rise a little at your bold question, head tilted a little to the side.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he counters.

You couldn’t help but let out an incredulous laugh, your head shaking from disbelief.

“Oh, don’t fake naivety, Jeno. Senior prom, when we were each other’s date because you ‘didn’t receive any prom-posals from anyone’, when I knew fully well that you received many of them from both guys AND girls. You just denied them all.”

You could clearly play the memory out in the back of your head, a movie projector showcasing your youthful-self slow dancing with a bashful Jeno in the middle of the dance floor, your arms wrapped his neck and his hands on your waist. Both of your feet moved in sync with one another, eyes searching within the depths of each other’s soul, oblivious of the whispers and stares around you that spoke nothing short but envy for the sight that laid before them is one worth capturing.

“We were dancing to Hearts Don’t Break Around Here. You know, the one by Ed Sheeran?” you followed.

His smile grows fond at the memory of it.

“Oh, we’re in love, aren’t we?”

“Jeno!” You give a light slap on his forearm and he laughs at your response. “Now is not the time to start saying song lyrics!”

It’s a wonder how you managed to last this long from professing your feelings out to him. You two did almost everything together and experienced many firsts together. First road trip together, first beach date together - you even experienced your first pet purchase together. So what’s stopping you from confessing to him?

“Look, what I’m trying to say is that I have a feeling that you’re in love with me,” you said.

There’s a glint in his eyes filled with mirth.

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Because of the way you look at me?”

“And it’s the same way as how you look at me?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure.”

“So you admit that you’re in love with me.”

Before you could continue on with your playful banter, you stopped yourself short. You take a moment to process his words in. Wait, did he just? Your words get caught in your throat. Did he just admit that he feels the same way towards me?

He notices your shock and uses this moment to his advantage to continue on, each word laced with certainty.

“If you’re saying that the way you look at me is the same as how I look at you, then that means that you are in love with me, because I don’t know how else to say that I am very much in love with you, y/n.”

Heat resonates all throughout your body. Your heart beats erratically and you’re at loss of words. Flustered you are, but who wouldn’t be? For years, you’ve pinned after your best friend, hoping for the day to come where he reciprocates your feelings. You had an inkling that he had some sort of romantic feelings for you as he always seemed to reject everyone’s relationship proposal, justifying his reasoning to be that there’s already someone he likes.

“Who is it?”

“An angel.”

“What’s their name?”

“Something pretty.”

“Jeno.”

“Y/n.”

And you just drop the conversation like that, frustrated by his vague answers. But nevertheless, you could never get tired of him. Something about him gravitates you towards him, the feelings you’ve harbored in secrecy burning brighter than ever whenever you’re by his side. He’s not perfect, but to you, he’s the best thing to appear in your life. From the crinkling of his eyes to the sweet smiles of his lips to the red tint of his neck and ears.

You want no world, for he is your entire world, your true.

“Look, it’s raining.”

Breaking out of your reverie, you look up to Jeno to see him peering out on the streets. You follow suit to see raindrops falling onto the pavement. It slowly gains momentum, growing heavier and louder with each passing second. Fortunately, you two are shielded from the rain with the veranda attached to the cafe. The sun peaks through the crevices of the clouds, still lighting the world around you with a subtle rainbow blossoming up into the spring sky.

You hear Jeno let out a laugh, bringing your attention back to him. There’s a wistful smile on his face when he asks you, “Remember when we were little, we would always run out in the rain on the concrete and just jump around? Pretend that we were in some kind of movie?”

You mirror his expression, your mind replaying a distant memory you shared with him.

“Our parents would always yell at us for that, saying we’ll get sick if we don’t stop.”

Your gaze trails back out onto the pavements. Then, you felt an itch in your fingers, an itch in your feet. Not literally, but you have this sudden urge to move. To dance. To celebrate. To relive those moments once more.

It’s almost as if the stars were aligned at that moment and heard your wishes, because you see Jeno get up from his seat and take a step forward and immerse himself out into the rain. His entire figure instantly gets drenched from the falling raindrops, not caring for a single second that he might catch a cold from his actions. Before you could call out to him, he looks back at you with a grin, and perhaps it might be your most favorite accessory he wears on himself.

He offers his hand out to you.

“May I have this dance, ma chérie?”

You’re taken back to the same distant memory again. Every single time, without fail, young Jeno would always ask for your hand to dance with him under the rain, to which you would always oblige with, “Well, of course mon cher.” But this time, you decide to switch it up a little.

You stand up from your seat and step closer to your best friend, a push away from falling victim to the rain with him. Your pupil flourishes with adoration for the man that stands before you.

“Only if you hold onto my hand, mon cher.”

He raises an eyebrow at your proposition. Amused he is, for there is a sliver of smirk adorned on his lips.

“Is that a threat, ma chérie?”

If Jeno were to ask you again when you first fell in love with him...

“It’s an invitation, mon cher.”

… you would say that you were always in love with him.

“If it’s like that, then I’d never let you go.”

[didnt-want-to-be-a-halfblood]

Kitten Me This

Heyyyy, so I know some people that have weak wifi connection and can’t access Ao3 so I decided to post my fic here, too.

Summary: "No, no, you don't understand. Lou..." Will took a deep breath, petting the cat gingerly as if afraid it would suddenly shatter in his hands. "This is Nico."

"Nico... di Angelo? Your boyfriend, Nico? Son of Hades? That Nico?"

"Yes! That Nico! He's been turned into a cat!"

***

"Lou! LOUUU!" Shouted Will as he practically broke down the door to the Hecate cabin.

"What??" Lou Ellen opened the door, irritation evident on her face. Her dark hair was rumpled, and her winged eyeliner was slightly smudged on one side as if she'd just woken up from a mid-afternoon nap. "You do realize that this cabin is built with magical stones? If you dislodged one with all your yelling and banging-"

"Yes, I could explode or turn into a tree- That's not important!" He moved past her and collapsed dramatically onto the nearest bed. "This is an emergency! Look!" He lifted up a small bundle of black fur.

"What's that?" Lou Ellen stepped closer to examine the bundle. The fur twitched and two brown eyes looked back at her. "A kitten? Did you bother me during meditation-"

"You weren't meditating, you were sleeping-"

"-To try and get me to take care of this scruffy thing? Will, my cabin is too dangerous to house an animal like this. It'd be getting into potions, ruining spells, and my younger siblings will try and do transformation experiments on it. Leave it here and it'll be a piglet by tomorrow."

"No, no, you don't understand. Lou..." Will took a deep breath, petting the cat gingerly as if afraid it would suddenly shatter in his hands. "This is Nico."

"Nico... di Angelo? Your boyfriend, Nico? Son of Hades? That Nico?"

"Yes! That Nico! He's been turned into a cat!" Will set the kitten on the bed, and the little guy stretched before laying down, curling up into a perfect little fuzzy black circle. It was admittedly a super cute cat.

"Are you sure that's Nico?" Lou Ellen hesitantly reached out to pet the kitten. Immediately, the cat perked its head up and hissed at her. It wasn't particularly scary, but she got the message: No touching.

"It's okay, Nico." Will cooed. "This is Lou Ellen? Remember her? She's our friend." He gently ran his fingers through its fur and cat-Nico began to purr softly.

"Okay, maybe he is Nico." She admitted. "What happened, exactly?"

Will shrugged, "We were sitting by the campfire, just talking! And I was like 'Oh, by the way I was thinking instead of going to normal lunch today maybe we could go someplace special to celebrate our anniversary.' And I searched through my bag to find my coupons for 'Benedetta's Pasta' which is this Italian pasta place in New York, and okay yeah it's not the fanciest pasta place in the world, but they do have a guy who knows how to play Taylor Swift songs on accordion and-"

"William. Focus." Lou Ellen snapped her fingers. "The longer this takes the harder it could be to transform him back."

"RIght! Uh, and when I looked up Nico was gone! And this little guy was sitting on the log, just staring at me!"

"You didn't see anything else?"

"No, I was looking for coupons."

"No magic sparks or incantations or flashes of light?"

"No, I was busy looking for coupons!!"

"Will, there's only so much I can do if I don't know how he turned into a cat. He needs the same kind of magic used to transform him into this to transform him back."

"Oh gods." Will put his head in his hands. "You're the most powerful, talented sorcerer we have at camp. If you can't do it then it's hopeless." Will sniffed as if beginning to cry.

Lou Ellen sighed. "You really think I'm the most powerful?"

"And smart, too." Will pouted up at her, hitting her with puppy-dog eyes. "If anyone can figure out how to save Nico, it's you."

"Ugh, fine. Alright. Let's talk to the satyrs and nymphs. They can talk to animals. Maybe Nico himself can tell us what happened."

So, the daughter of Hecate and the son of Apollo walked through the forest until they wound up by the riverbank. All things considered, it was a beautiful day. Hopefully the day was perfect enough that all the nymphs would be in a good mood and willing to help. Will stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Hi! Hello! Um, I was wondering if someone could help us? We're trying to communicate with this cat." Will lifted the black kitten above his head like baby Simba in the Lion King movie.

No response.

"Please?" Will tried again. "He's actually my boyfriend and I'd really like him to not be a cat anymore by the end of the day, y'know? Isn't there anyone here who knows what it's like to be in love? To have that love taken away from you?"

No response. No movement. The trees and bushes and plant life didn't say a word.

Lou Ellen put a comforting hand on his shoulder and smiled sweetly. "Why don't you let me try?"

"Sure."

"Hey!" Lou Ellen shouted harshly. "Listen up! This here is a child of Apollo! If someone doesn't give us five minutes of their time then he's going to start reciting some of his dad's greatest poems of the 20th century! And Apollo wrote a lot of haikus in the 80s." It was definitely spoken as a threat.

The trees and bushes began to rustle as if talking with one another. Will nodded to Lou Ellen in approval. They waited for about two minutes before she spoke again.

"Okay, Will! That's it! From the top, the poetry reading begins now! Don't say I didn't warn you all-"

"Wait!" Juniper hastily walked toward them. "I'm here! It's okay, everyone. I'm here now!"

"Hey, Juniper!" Will smiled, happy to see a friendly face. "What's up?"

"Will." She smiled back. "I was just out talking to Rosemary. She needed relationship advice." Then her voice dropped to a whisper. "A lot of shrubs are envious of my stable relationship with Grover. They find most satyrs to be... unreliable in showing consistent affection. Grover and I? We're the satyr-nymph power couple. I'm kind of like the local marriage counselor nowadays."

"And I'm sure you're wonderful at it." Will said sincerely. "Can you talk to cats?"

"Hmm, well, my feline might be a little rusty. We mostly get squirrels and birds out here, but I'll see what I can do!"

"That's all I ask." Will leaned down and carefully set cat-Nico on the ground. The kitten curiously sniffed at the grass.

"Cute little guy." Juniper grinned. "Tell me little one, what's your name? How did you come to be like this?" The cat gave a little meow-squeak in response. "I see..."

"What?" Will looked back and forth between Juniper and his feline boyfriend. "Does he not remember who he is?"

"They go by the title 'The Ruler of All Darkness.' Claims to have come to the mortal realm to 'incite fear into my enemies.'"

"Nico is always so dramatic..."

"You're one to talk." Lou Ellen rolled her eyes.

"Juniper, can you ask him if he remembers me?"

Juniper asked.

"'Yes, the one who smells of sunshine. Indeed, he is tolerable.' And... something about being worried you're going to abandon it?"

"What, just because he's a cat now? Nico, I would never!" Will leaned down and let the kitten nuzzle his hand. "Neeks, we're going to change you back. And- and if for some reason we can't, that's... that's okay. Alright? You'll stay with me, you'll be the most pampered and taken care of cat in the whole world. You..." Will got choked up at this point. "So what if the love of my life is a cat now? So what if... if... We can't do any of the things we planned to do together? So what if at the most you'll only live to be another twenty years?" Will started actively sobbing. "I won't abandon you. Ever. I'm sorry, Neeks. I should've payed attention. I should've stopped this from happening. I should've-"

"It's okay, WIll." Lou Ellen hugged him. "Shh, it's okay. Maybe we still don't know how to change him back yet, but we will. I promise."

Will leaned into her and cried. "This is all my fault."

Juniper joined in on the hug. "I can ask around and see if any of the nymphs saw what happened. We have eyes and ears everywhere, surely someone saw something..."

And who knows how long Will would've kept crying when suddenly they all froze at the sound of a familiar voice.

"There you are!" Nico's voice rang out from behind them. "Will, I've been looking everywhere for you!"

They turned slowly to face a very human, very not-a-cat Nico di Angelo. He was dressed in a nicely tailored suit and his hair had been neatly brushed. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, but they were beginning to wilt as Nico's anxiousness caused them to decay.

"Why... why is everyone crying?" Nico awkwardly tugged on his suit. "Why are you guys looking at me like that?"

"Nico! You're- you're human!" Will stood up, glancing down at the kitten.

"How nice of you to notice." Nico said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I mean..." Will frantically looked to Juniper. "But he said 'Ruler of All Darkness.'"

"Hmm... To be fair, most cats talk that way."

"She said." Lou Ellen corrected, examining the cat, much to the kitten's displeasure.

"What?" Will asked.

"She. This cat is female. Animal transformations can sometimes change the sex of the person in question, but not usually. That's, like, basic shapeshifting 101."

"I..."

"Can someone explain to me what's going on?" Nico crossed his arms. "Will, I thought you wanted to go out for lunch? We're going to be late."

"Uhh." Will took the cat from Lou Ellen. "I got us this cat for our anniversary!" The black kitten stared at Nico and gave a pitiful meow.

"You what?" Nico sighed. "I tell you 'Hey, babe, give me five minutes and I'll shadow-travel to Italy to find us a real Italian restaurant for lunch.' And I come back to find this?"

"Ohh, is that what you said? I didn't hear you exactly because I was... busy looking for coupons." Will sheepishly avoided eye-contact with Lou Ellen. Still, he could feel her death glare.

"Will, I love you, but you are not using coupons at a restaurant for our anniversary. I'm rich. Just let me pay." Nico walked up to Will and traded him the flowers for the kitten. "Where did you even find this thing?"

"Uhh..."

The kitten reached out a paw and booped Nico on the nose. It gave another soft meow.

"Oh,' Juniper giggled. "She said, 'You smell like death. Perhaps we shall form an alliance, bathe in the blood of our enemies. Together, we can destroy them all.'"

"You got us a homicidal kitten?" Nico laughed. Gods Will loves it when Nico laughs.

"Only the best for you, babe." Will casually winked, ignoring his eyes were slightly swollen from crying.

Lou Ellen huffed. "I'm going back to bed. Will, you useless homosexual, you owe me." She marched away. Juniper politely nodded to Will and Nico before following suit. She probably had more couples counseling to do.

"C'mon, Solace. Let's get you dressed. We can go shopping for our newest little family member after lunch." Nico cooed at the kitten and she snuggled up against him. "Or maybe we can sneak her into the restaurant. Would you like that, piccolina?" Nico proceeded to call her a series of cutesy names that Will didn't understand.

"Nico?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"Interesting. You know what, Will?"

"What?"

"I love you, too." Nico gave him a peck on the cheek. "C'mon, let's go..." They walked together in silence for a moment. "So, you thought I turned into a cat, huh?"

"Okay, in my defense, weirder things have happened!! It was a perfectly reasonable conclusion to come to, alright!! You absolutely would've done the same thing-"

"Ha! Yeah, right-"

"You totally would have! Look, I'm just saying-"

The End.

[septemberrie]

Hi! I was wondering how you came up with the titles for your fics, especially PoNR and IWJR; did you think of them before you started writing or did it come to you after? What do they mean? (even though I have an idea, I'd like to hear your explanation for them) Finally, have you ever wished you could change a title after you'd started posting chapters or after you finished a fic?

Hi anon, this is such a sweet ask and I'm so grateful, sorry for the delay but I've been Going Through It™.

I don't have a tried and true method for creating titles because it's the weakest part of my creative process! I have friends that start with the title first and I don't know how they do it. 😭 It's always the last thing I do and nothing ever fits exactly right. There's a few titles I'm actually proud of like "Lies My Parent Told Me," "En Garde," and "Brewing Chemistry." They always come after the fact when I try to find lyrics, or phrases, or lines of poems that relate to the thesis of the work.

"Point of No Return" was intended to reference how far a person can descend before they can redeem themselves (in the case of Riven) or even just recover (in the case of Saul, and in a different way with Musa with the mind thing or Sky with the burden of command). A working title was "The Devil to Pay" in reference to what Riven would have to do to redeem himself.

"It was just red." was harder, I think I delayed posting a couple days because I had SUCH a hard time with the title. 😅 I can't even tell you how many Taylor Swift lyrics and bad turns of phrase I went through (I did consider "A fairytale, with guns" as a title because I wanted to be IN YOUR FACE about how brutal it would get, but BARF). But the quote is from Kait Rowkowski, “Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.” and was intended to reference the rose-colored glasses that Saul ascribes to his memories at Alfea. Isn't it so human to remember things fondly when they were actually super shitty. It's like Frost's "The Road Not Taken" but 10000x more intense. Sometimes life is only beautiful in memory.

I always regret fic titles but I don't think I regret them enough to change; I think that would only be the case for multi-chap fics and I'm settled enough on those to not worry about it.

Anyway anon if you're a writer and/or you have suggestions for picking fic titles I am all ears!! but were your theories correct anon?

[thequibblah]

Also any tips on titling a fic?

i'll say that most of the advice on titling i've been giving has been one on one since i need to have context before i can be really helpful haha. and also most of my titles (this is so obnoxious but i swear it's true) kind of just. pop into my head without much thought

the best titles ask a question — not explicitly, but they prompt the reader to be interested in what the "answer" is, which you'll especially notice in real books or movies. but you can totally apply it to fic too, like, what we do in secret — what do they do in secret?

SO let me say as a blanket, using my own fic as examples

can't go wrong with a song lyric, but don't feel obligated to pick a lyric from a song that's IN the fic unless it's apt [come together, blink three times, wtrf, i come back to the start, even just to reach]

rework a phrase you particularly like [ct chapter this time will be different]

don't be afraid to play around with phrasing until something sticks

irony is your friend — e.g. with in pursuit because i wanted this faux-regency vibe run-on title, and i wound up especially happy because it's like. nothing in that fic was in pursuit of magic for its own sake! also with if we never meet again, when the whole fic is about them meeting again and again, or if we ever part, when the whole fic is about them constantly parting

nothing wrong with being to the point [five ways] if it serves a purpose

pick a theme (that you think you can get mileage out of), as i did with wtrf chapter titles and with tis the fucking season, in which each chapter title contains a swear and a loose holiday pun

when in doubt try general poetic rules: 1. alliteration is good [to wed and to woo] 2. pairs of things sound nice [i have a wip called love and attrition, and to wed and to woo is also a nice pair, ct chapters love and propaganda, asked and unanswered, quill and ink, flying and falling] 3. rule of three, aka when you're listing something out it's pleasing for it to be x, y, and z (e.g. the ct chapters mates, dates, and big mistakes and sun, summer, sonorus, and lmaof is a list too though i won't say what each item is) 4. say it aloud to yourself a few times to test if it rolls off the tongue

i keep like a mental list of nice phrases from books, poems, etc i want to try and use, and for a couple of multichaps i even have a running chapter titles list. this is how we ended up with ct chapter noli me tangere, which is because i was reading hilary mantel and thinking of "whoso list to hunt"

[baticorngirl]

Title: Scribbles of Love

Rating: General Audiences

Relationship(s): Talia Al Ghul/Bruce Wayne (Brutalia), Talia Al Ghul & Unnamed Child, Bruce Wayne & Unnamed Child,

Characters: Talia Al Ghul, Bruce Wayne, Minor Original Character(s),

Summary: Miraculously, Bruce and Talia have been married for quite a long time now. In fact, their first year anniversary is coming around the corner, and it's suddenly dawned on Bruce that he doesn't have anything to give her. He soon decides he wants to give her a love poem, but there's only one problem: Bruce sucks at writing poetry. As the anniversary comes closer and closer, will Bruce manage to write a half-decent love poem in time?

A/N: This fic is for @brutalia-week Day 1: “I made it for you”. It takes place in an alternate universe where Batman: Son of the Demon worked out. I think that’s all you need to know before you begin, so... enjoy!

(The fanfic is under the line below, but if you’d prefer to, you can also read it on Ao3(x) and FF.net (x)!)

__________________________________________________

Talia was training, as usual. Her feet were planted to the ground like a tree's deep roots, with her knees bent ever so slightly to get a good stance. The smile on her face was soft, but she made sure her strikes were anything but. Like Ra's has taught her so many years back, her moves were smooth and fast, a bit graceful… but powerful. The sword in her hand would've demolished anything in its path, as it zoomed around the room…. if she had been aiming for anything but an imaginary opponent, that is. Her hair flew into the air as she abruptly bent down (while still attempting to keep her feet as well-planted as possible) to swipe her "opponent's" feet. She pulled up and jumped, imagining that they were doing the same move back to her. Continuing to imagine each move, her arm twisted and turned to hit their sword back every time, getting faster and faster and faster and faster and…..

Knock, knock. Talia pulled herself up, mentally clearing herself from the perilous fight, at the sound of knuckles softly pounding on the door. "Come in," She called, slowly trotting over to the door. Just outside the door, Batman stood. His cowl was casually flung back to uncover his real face, and as he began to pull on his gloves and belt, it became clear he was about to get out of the vigilante gear. He sighed, neglecting to look at her as the pulling became more of just fidgeting and less of actually pulling them off.

"I… have to go." He began, his eyes still looking off into the distance. "It's just… a… small errand. I won't be long. Maybe an hour or two, but….. I can't keep watching the baby while I'm gone so I figured I should let you know." He immediately turned and began walking away as soon as he had conveyed the necessary information. Talia's eyebrow rose, noticing the odd behavior, but quickly shrugged it off. Her husband always acted secretive, so she doubted there was anything to worry about.

"Okay, Beloved. Farewell!" She quickly leaned in to kiss him on the cheek a moment before he left. Batman turned back towards her, his classic vacant expression turning into a smile for a moment. It only took less than a moment to go back to normal, though, as he quickly continued walking and went into a walk-in closet to get ready for his "errand". Once he was out of sight, Talia made her own way over to the baby's nursery in the opposite direction.

She swiftly picked the baby up, watching as the baby's eyes lit up in a giggle. The baby continued to smile and laugh even more as she kissed his small, round little nose. Talia rocked her child in her arms, ambling around the nursery. Soon, the high-pitched laughter had faded into the peaceful squeaks of a sleeping infant. The baby was slowly set back down into his crib. Talia patted his little head as gently as she could, before setting up the baby monitor and going to a nearby room to train a bit more.

Meanwhile, Bruce had just arrived at what he had told Talia was just an errand. He went into the front door, and was greeted by a friendly-looking person, sitting on a lounge chair just a few feet in. They smiled at him, and motioned for him to sit down at one of the many desks spaced around the room.

"Welcome. You're a bit early, so we'll just be getting started in a few minutes." They explained. He simply nodded in return. Luckily for him, they seemed to be unaware of his fame back in Gotham. Talia had still been doing some work under Ra's, and so they hadn't been in Gotham for quite a while due to where her father wanted her. Bruce had been enjoying the lack of fame and the dreaded paparazzi through their whole trip, and this was no exception.

Silence followed for a few moments. They both looked down their laps, unsure what to do or say. Awkwardness plagued them both, but eventually, the person in front of Bruce decided to start talking again to get rid of it.

"I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Riley, what's your name?" They asked, reaching a hand out to shake hands. Bruce put his hand out as well, and they shook for a few seconds before he answered the question.

"My name is B-" He quickly got interrupted by a flood of people coming in. The clock had finally ticked that it was 10:00, meaning it was the exact time to start. Everyone sat down quietly. Riley jumped up from their chair, rushing up to the front.

"Welcome to this poetry class, everyone. I assume all of you are here to improve your knowledge of poetry to a level beyond what you were taught in school, or possibly even to build up to a career as a poet. My name is Riley, and I'm your instructor." They explained, and a wave of nodding ran through their audience. Bruce nodded, but stared for a moment in awe of the fact that he hardly remembered even just what he had been taught in school about poetry. He looked down at the desk in front of him, the idea finally occurring to him that maybe focusing all his later teenage years on training to become Batman instead of paying attention to High School was a mistake.

But there was nothing he could do about it now. Poetry hadn't ever been necessary until this situation. But here he was, lying to Talia that he was just "going out on an errand", because there was absolutely no way he could write her a love poem without extra help. It was an embarrassment, really, but poetry just wasn't one of his strong points. It required so much emotion, so much expression of it, and expressing his emotions just wasn't something Bruce naturally did.

"Of course, this is more of a beginner class, so even though some of you may become poets some day, we'll be starting with the basics for today's class." Riley continued the class introduction. Bruce sighed in relief. Perhaps he would actually be able to follow what the instructor was talking about, and be able to give Talia a half-decent poem when it was over. "First of all, most good poems have a lot of figurative languages. These are things that stretch the literal meanings of the words you use, and create an image or effect using them. Some examples are how saying 'Your eyes looked like stars' is a simile, a type of figurative language. There's also metaphors, which are essentially the same thing, but without using the word 'like'."

Bruce thought about this for a moment, and got out a piece of paper to attempt to start his poem with some figurative language. "What's Talia like?" He mumbled, remembering everything about her that he loved so much. She was such a good fighter, and yet kind of graceful, which he was sure he could relate to something, so he took note of that. Her eyes were kind of jewel-like, shiny and beautiful, and her dark brown hair was like chocolate, so he wrote that down, as well.

But most of all, what he loved about her was how much she tried for love. Even though everyone would say that her fighting abilities are her greatest power, her secret weapon, Bruce knew none of those meant anything. Not without the love she used those abilities for, at least. He wasn't quite sure how to say this poetically, though, so he decided to get back to it later.

Eventually, the class ended, and Bruce came back home. Then, next week, he went back to the class and continued to work on his poem. Every week this continued, until their anniversary came around. By then, his poem was nowhere near perfect, but he had tried. There was no way he could back out now, after spending so much time working on it.

Bruce stuffed the poem inside his pocket, and went to their room to get Talia. She sat on a stool, brushing her hair nonchalantly. She had already gotten changed into a beautiful dress, going down to her ankles with embroideries. Bruce stared for a moment, thunderstruck. An embarrassingly goofy smile was on his face, but he quickly shook it off and returned to his default, impassive expression.

"Are you ready, Talia?" Bruce asked, reaching his hand out to help her up. Talia got up herself, but took his hand anyway, nodding. Both bringing along a present, the couple held hands as they made their way to the car. They were planning on going to a fancy restaurant for their anniversary, and exchanging gifts after dinner.

"I can't believe it's been a year since we finally got together, Beloved." Talia said once they were in the car, smiling, "It's been so happy. We were so sad, and we kept having to reject each other, but then this happened, and now… I don't think anything will ever get in between us again." She clutched her necklace, thinking back to the time, almost a year ago, that he had given it to her. For once, she could think about that kind of time with pure joy and hope, instead of longing.

"Yes… I don't usually consider myself cheerful, but you're right. I honestly don't think we could be happier." Bruce looked down at his lap, lost in thought. "That baby is going to have everything. Our love, a family, a home, and of course, happiness. We've really done it." He mumbled.

Talia nodded, right as they pulled up to the restaurant. She scooched out of the car, pulling Bruce along with her. They went inside together, got seated, and ordered their food. As they waited, they decided it might be fun to give each other hints about the presents.

"I'm going to give you two gifts, technically." Bruce explained, feeling his pocket for the poem, plus the earrings he was going to give her along with it. "One's just…. A fairly basic anniversary gift. But the other thing, well, it's a bit more from the heart… I suppose. I don't know, I tried to make it special." He sighed.

Talia smiled, "That sounds wonderful, Beloved. I can't wait to see it." Bruce gulped at the thought that he may have gotten his hopes up for his half-baked writing, but she didn't seem to notice his nerves. "I just got you something basic, too, but it's the sort of thing that's customized to be quite special."

"That sounds wonderful, too." He replied, reaching across to put his hand on top of hers romantically. She wrapped her hand around his in reciprocation. They both leaned in to kiss, smiling.

"Here is your food," They both got knocked out of their romantic moment by the sound of their waiter's voice. They both pulled out of the kiss, and leaned back on to their own chairs. "Oh, was I interrupting something?" The waiter asked with a chuckle, before setting down both their dishes in front of the one who ordered it.

The waiter left, and both Talia and Bruce ate dinner. They talked and smiled as they ate, both attempting to get the other one to slip up and tell them what their present was, with little to no success. Soon, both Bruce and Talia were finished eating, and they quickly got out their presents.

Talia picked up a bag that Bruce had noticed she'd been carrying along throughout the trip, and reached inside. Out she pulled a little box, wrapped in bright, colorful, wrapping. She pushed it in front of Bruce, grinning.

"Go ahead, open it." She insisted. Bruce slowly began to peel the wrapping off, and opened the box that was inside the wrapping. Inside was a beautiful pendant, covered in small gems of all kinds of shapes and colors. The jewels sparkled, almost like magic, and a smile grew on Bruce's face.

"It's… beautiful." He commented, flipping it over in his hands cautiously. He stared, mesmerized at all the jewels. His fingers clutched it tightly. Talia's grin only grew. He was even more happy with it than she thought he'd be, and he hadn't even opened it yet.

"Open the pendant, it's even specialer inside." She nudged, slightly impatient. Listening to her words, Bruce gently flipped the pendant open. Inside, there was a picture of their sweet little baby. Talia reached over, touching a little bump on the back. He flipped it over, realizing it was a knob. Talia turned it, and the image changed to a picture of herself. "There's quite a few different pictures in it, and the knob changes it. I tried to get all of your closest loved ones, plus a picture of yourself in case you're ever in the mood to be vain." She laughed.

Bruce pulled it closer to himself to see it better, and began switching the knob between them all. "I… I love it." He leaned over to her, quickly pecking her on the cheek. "It's perfect." Her smile grew even more than it already had as he opened it. Bruce adjusted the knob to be on Talia again, and put it on.

"I'm really glad." Talia reached over and squeezed Bruce's hand. "Now, would you like to get out what you're giving me?" She beamed with excitement, almost as much as she had beamed when he opened his own. Bruce pulled the earrings out of his pocket, and nudged them in front of his wife.

"I suppose I thought you might like those, but I put a lot more effort into my other gift." Bruce spoke cautiously, too focused to let himself smile anymore. Talia took the earrings, which were actually quite beautiful and expensive, and exchanged the earrings she was wearing currently with them. As she does that, he pulls his poem out of his pocket. "I wrote you something. I know you were probably concerned about how I kept going out at the same time each week without telling you where I was going, but that was just because I had to take a writing class if I wanted to make this even slightly decent."

Talia frowned, "You keep a lot of secrets, but it's nice to know that at least one of them was out of love, and not fear or mistrust. Either way, thank you for the earrings. They are more than beautiful." She let go of the frown quickly after getting it, and gestured for Bruce to go on. "Now, I'm more than excited to hear what you've made. Go ahead."

"When you are here, I can only think about you, But even when you are far, I simply do it with longing, too;

I love you all the time, Day… or night, In the ocean, ground, or even sky, And this why:

Your eyes look like jades, And your smile like beauty in a solid form; You hair looks like silky chocolate, Your entire body is something I adore;

You are stronger than you seem, But so very graceful, as well; You fight stronger than a demon, With an angel's good intent, and morale;

Yes, you move like a swan, But much, much, more than that:

You love deeper than anyone could ever know, Just something that you have taught yourself, Your intentions are more than just moral, But an emotion, in itself;

So with that much personality, It is my honor to be able to love you back."

Bruce spoke the poem as clearly as he could, trying not to stutter or chicken out. It felt odd, showing this much emotion, but in a good way. Once he was finished, he looked up from his poem, smiling. Talia was rubbing her cheeks, wiping away the tears that had formed. Bruce leaned over to kiss the unoccupied hand, desperately attempting to make the moment even more romantic.

Before he had leaned back on to his own chair, Talia quickly pulled him into a kiss, "I love it, Beloved. Almost as much as I love you." She took the paper from Bruce's hand, folding it up and putting it in her pocket. "If you don't mind, I want to be able to remember this moment. Forever."

"Of course," Bruce said, trying to pretend he wasn't surprised that she had liked his poem so much. Perhaps she was simply humoring him to spare his feelings, but if she was, she was doing an incredibly good job at it.

They quickly paid for the meal. Bruce and Talia both beamed as they rode off into the night, hand in hand.

__________________________________________________

A/N: Okay, now that you're done, some disclaimers:

I am not necessarily saying Bruce's poem was actually bad. He views it as bad, and it's certainly not perfect, but... I'm not necessarily saying it's bad myself, if that makes sense, (although I definitely did purposely not spend too much time on it when I was writing this).

Also, I'm not sure where this fanfic takes place, lol. It's just not in Gotham, but the rest if up for interpretation.

Oh, and I'm aware this entire fanfic is quite boring. The plot isn't very interesting, I'm afraid, but... oh well.

[burberrycanary]

Oh I HAVE to ask about The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart, you know my love of that poem.

A perennial favorite of mine, too! And while the doc titles don't show it, more than one of my WIPs draws from this poem for a title—eventually, I'll get one of them published.

I wrote a lot of Rogue One a few five years ago, but only ever ended up finishing one fic. The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart was a Jyn/Cassian/Bodhi story and my first real attempt at writing poly, which isn’t in my comfort zone as an author, at all. Also not helping this fic get finished was how it was shaping up to be a lot of sex scenes, which I was not that comfortable writing at the time. Plus, I hadn’t yet figured out the sort of betaing that works for me and I got some negative feedback that ended up discouraging me. All that taken together, this never got finished.

But there are some scenes that I did like and enjoyed writing! And working with Bodhi’s distinctive speech patterns was great. (I adore writing characters' speech patterns.)

This started with Cassian/Jyn as an established couple and moved to Cassian/Jyn/Bodhi. I was interested in writing these characters as all bi but having a range of gender-based preferences—Bodhi having a strong preference for men while Cassian about equally attracted to men and women—and how these general sexual preferences end up influencing the specific internal relationships within this triad; while at the same time, it was important to me to not have a relationship being less sexual mean that it was less meaningful. 

Looking back on what I’d written all these years later, I can say that writing poly relationships is probably never going to be my strong suit. But it was interesting to try.

As the proposed summary would have put it: love and pain and desire—but the words get it all wrong. Thanks Gilbert. Here are three snippets, pulled from the graveyard <3

—

He’ll never know if the morning after would have been awkward, since Bodhi has to leave at 0400 hours to prep for a 0530 take off. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Bodhi whispers into the dark as he silences the alarm after the first ring. Jyn tenses awake just long enough to bat at the nearest piece of Bodhi she can reach—his elbow, sliding up his arm—and mumble, “Back safe,” before dropping to sleep again, still pressed tight against Cassian’s side. 

(Cassian used to take that as a sign of trust until he saw over and over how easily she can sleep in exposed and insanely dangerous places in a way Bodhi can’t and he struggles to.) 

Bodhi finds his clothes by the light of a datapad. Cassian watches him dress, considering how the bluish-tinged light catches on the abstract lines on his body. 

Bodhi sits on the edge of the bed to put on his socks and boots, then dims the pad screen down to low and hesitates. As Cassian’s eyes adjust to the near darkness, he makes out the uncertain angle of Bodhi’s shoulders, caught between opposing motions—turning nearer or making a polite, simple exit.

“Hey,” Cassian offers quietly. “Come here.”

He pushes up on one elbow and meets Bodhi’s sweet, surprisingly dirty kiss. Bodhi’s hand rests on his shoulder.

Bodhi smiles a little against his lips and pulls back, glancing down at Jyn. Cassian can’t make out any telling details of his expression in the dim light.

Bodhi may get away with kissing the top of Jyn’s head when she’s awake, as long as no one else is around and he draws no pointed attention to the gesture, but he decides against pushing his luck and settles for brushing his fingertips over the back of her hand. 

Good call, the detached part of Cassian’s mind observes. 

(The trust doesn’t show in how Jyn falls asleep. It’s in how she wakes up again.)

Jyn always sleeps near knives. But Bodhi figured that out months ago.

—

“What do you want?” From this? Cassian doesn’t add, just glances at her mouth without moving to kiss her. From me? 

The number of things he wouldn’t do for her keeps narrowing down, the qualifications gradually dropping away. But they both know what he’s capable of too well for that to be something he’d ever admit out loud. 

She reaches up and brushes her thumb over the top of his cheek. Whenever she touches his face, he can’t keep from turning a little into her hand. 

“You’re mine.” Her voice has a quiet certainty he’s heard from her most often when she’s making herself be brave. “Aren’t you?” 

He closes his eyes and feels the tension that had built up over days unwind from his shoulders. He hadn’t expected that simply being understood would hurt, but he doesn't have another word for the sharp, unfamiliar sensation expanding inside his chest.

“I am. You know I am.”

She leans in and kisses just under his jaw. “You can have Bodhi, too. If you want.” The without me hangs in the pause, unspoken. She drags a kiss along the side of his neck. Her mouth and her hand on his face are the only points where they touch. The space between their bodies doesn’t change as she presses a delicate kiss just below his ear and whispers, “That won’t make you any less mine.” 

Then Jyn pulls him down into a final hard kiss that transmits, with perfect clarity, I’ll miss you. And walks away. 

He thinks he’ll see her again in three weeks, maybe two.  

(He’s wrong. He won’t see her again for nearly two months.)

—

Bodhi lifts a hand and reaches out, only to stop just before touching his arm.

“You and Jyn talked, yeah? I mean, she and I talked.” He gives a weak laugh and amends, “Sort of. A very short, not very helpful and at points terrifying talk.”

“Bodhi.”

“Not that you need much protecting, but she’d rip the heart out of anyone who hurt you.” His hand settles against his arm, soft but not uncertain. “And you already know that.” 

Bodhi’s hand slides up towards his shoulder as he takes a step closer. 

“But the thing is, she’d do the same for me. Well, she said gut, I think—but the principle’s the same.” 

They’re so close, their clothes brush. Cassian doesn’t stop the impulse to tilt his head as the distance keeps on collapsing inward. 

Bodhi leans in closer and pauses again. His eyes are serious and steady when he asks, “Is this a bad idea?”

Probably. Cynicism is an easy reflex that Cassian considers and looks past. In a standard minute, he could come up with ten reasons why this will backfire or fall apart. But his gut says lean in and he’s not going to stop trusting his instincts now.

Bodhi’s mouth is wide and soft. The kiss opens out with a banked, unrolling intensity as he brings his hands up to Bodhi’s face, brushing his thumbs out from the corners of Bodhi’s mouth over his beard and back, taking in the details he’d been too keyed up to notice before in the tense, dream-like rush of getting to have them both.

[janegrey9]

you said forever

ok so for the first jatp fic i am EVER POSTING ON THIS WEBSITE ofc it had to be something angsty 😈 and after listening to olivia rodrigo’s new song drivers license i was feeling mega inspired so… here we go i guess! also its kinda short but oh well im pretty proud of it so you can deal with its length

summary: the boys crossed over more than a year ago, but julie’s still mourning. she just got her driver’s license, and a memory comes flooding back (i’m not exaggerating when i say i legitimately listened to drivers license on repeat while writing this).

word count: 1,257

Julie wanted to cry. No, not wanted - needed. She needed to cry, to show some kind of emotion, to stop bottling it up, but she just couldn't. She needed to be strong more than she needed to cry, and what would her dad think if he walked in on her in her room, crying? He didn’t know what had happened. No one did but her and Flynn, and Julie had already spent too many hours crying on Flynn’s shoulder. 

It was a good thing, she reminded herself, a good thing that the boys crossed over after the Orpheum performance. They could be at peace now. They were with her mom now.

But, God, did she want them back. When they left, Alex, Luke, and Reggie had left behind a cosmic ache in her chest, a hole that could never be filled. Alex, with his dry comments and comforting words and dance moves. Reggie, with his honesty and loyalty and joy. And Luke, oh God, Luke. Luke with his passion and his love and his stupid, stupid smile. Some days, Julie missed her boys so much she wanted to just curl up in bed with Flynn and not move. 

Going into her mom’s studio had become a whole new level of hard. Seeing their instruments and clothes on top of her mom’s things? The mere thought of doing that made her want to cry. Julie was strong, but even she couldn't bear losing four people in less than two years. She had barely known them, time-wise, at least, but she loved them. Julie loved her boys with everything she had, and now they were gone.

Of course, it’s not like she could show it.

It’s not like she could just stop playing music again.

Not that they'd want that, anyway.

So Julie had kept going. She had gone on with regular life, acting like everything was normal when in actuality, she felt like she had shattered into a thousand pieces.

She had continued on with her life, and as most teenagers do, Julie had just gotten her driver’s license. The glossy card had a picture of her, wearing Alex’s pink shirt and Reggie’s leather jacket and Luke’s wallet chain. And as the seventeen year old looked at her name printed on the license, she couldn't help slipping into a memory.

Julie and Luke sat next to each other on the sidewalk. It was growing dark, the sun disappearing over the tops of the palm trees, and Julie was getting nervous. In a few minutes, Flynn would get there and they’d have to go inside to perform their song, Finally Free, for a café of record execs. Reggie and Alex were already inside, watching the other bands, but Julie couldn’t bring herself to go in and Luke stayed with her.

As a car sped past the two of them, a question popped into Julie’s mind.

“Did you ever get your driver’s license?” She asked the boy next to her. “While you were alive, I mean.”

“Yeah. Me an’ Reggie got ours on the same day.” Luke responded, a smile on his face as he remembered the day. “Why?”

“Just curious. I’ve had my permit for a couple of months.”

“You like driving?”

“I’m not sure yet. It’s kind of stressful.”

“Yeah, I get that. Alex is the same way with it.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Like driving.”

“Oh. Yeah, I love it. My parents could never afford to get me my own car, so I usually drove my dad’s or Bobby’s car.”

“What do you like about it?”

“I dunno. The freedom, mostly, I guess. And you're stalling, by the way.”

Julie blinked innocently at Luke, finally tearing her gaze away from the road. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said.

“It’s okay, Jules. I got you. Me an’ the boys, we've got you. You’re a star, you’ll do great out there.” Luke said, looking as if he wished desperately to be able to reach out to her.

“You got me?”

“I got you. Forever.”

Julie smiled slightly at her new band mate, before looking back out at the road and spotting Flynn walking towards her. She hauled herself to her feet, whispering a small “thanks” that Luke just barely caught, and walked over to meet Flynn.

“I got my driver’s license today, Luke. Just like we talked about.” Julie said softly, leaning back onto the headboard of her bed. A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another one, and another one, until they were flowing freely.

“I drove through the suburbs, and I pictured I was driving home to you.” She said, hoping he could hear her somehow. “I saw the sidewalks we crossed. I still hear your voice in the traffic.” 

She could still see the boys in her room, poking around in her dream box and looking at all her pictures. She could still hear Reggie’s laugh, still see Alex’s pacing, still feel Luke’s hands on her cheeks that last moment before he left her.

“Forever, Luke. You said forever.”

Julie let her head fall to the side as the tears slowed and spotted a familiar notebook next to her dream box. She wiped the last of her tears away, got up off her bed, standing on shaky legs, and got up on her toes to reach it. As Julie walked back to her bed, she opened it, almost scared of what she would see in it.

The songbook was filled to the brim; songs, poems, and miscellaneous thoughts, lyrics, and melody snippets. Julie’s smile grew every time she came across a Julie and the Phantoms song or Trevor Wilson song, but when she got to the most recent page, her smile fell.

It wasn’t a full song. It was just a title, melody, and a few lyrics, but she swore her heart stopped when she read what was scrawled across the top of the page in what was unmistakably Luke’s handwriting.

My Star.

It’s what he used to call her. A star. His star.

She sat there, holding that journal in shock, for what felt like centuries, before her brother’s voice sliced through her thoughts.

“Julie!” Carlos called from downstairs.

“Yeah?” Julie yelled back after a moment.

“Dinner!” Her little brother responded.

“Okay! Be there in a sec’!” Julie said before going back to the songbook.

She looked at that title again, needing to know it was real. Once Julie could confirm she wasn’t seeing what she wanted, she scrambled to read the few lyrics he had written, desperate to feel like he was still there. “I know we’re not perfect but I’ve never felt this way for no one. And I just can’t imagine how I’ll be okay once I’m gone.” Twenty-six words. He had written a measly twenty-six words, but it was more than she needed. Julie fumbled around on her bedside table for a pencil, the lyrics flowing from her like water in a stream. All she had to do was imagine his face, his eyes, his smile, the way he acted with the other boys, and she was filled with inspiration. Julie remembered the looks they shared while performing, the way she felt after he came to visit her at school, the way she felt that night outside the café and soon she had a new song. 

It was a sad song, a heartbroken song, but it was the last song she’d ever write with Luke. Her Luke.

Even when he was gone they made each other better.

[whatstheproblembaby]

AO3 Tag Meme

@klaineharmony tagged me like last week and I’m just now getting to this, oops. >.<

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

273, although I have collection of <1000 word stories that I originally posted individually on here and FFn, so technically I’ve written closer to 300 fics, probably?

2. What is your total AO3 word count?

497,239. Not half bad for a one-shotter!

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

5, if we count my Newsies/Supergirl crossover for both fandoms. The others are Glee, Riverdale, and Call the Midwife. (God, that’s eclectic to list.)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

They’re all Klaine fics, to the surprise of absolutely no one:

1. But Now I See, my blind!Kurt/sighted!Blaine fic. (Tbh, I don’t love that I took this prompt and made the big moment in this one curing Kurt’s blindness, but I wasn’t aware of how ableist that trope is when I wrote it. I’m not going to delete it because that feels like sweeping it under the rug, but please know that I know better now.)

2. Unforgettable, a Cheerio!Kurt/nerd!Blaine AU based off this prompt: “You probably don’t remember but you saved me from some bullies once in middle school and god damn it every year you just get hotter"

3. Finally Found the Boy, a florist!Kurt/barista!Blaine AU in which I utilized every trope known to man: “#okay but combine all four: person a works at a coffeeshop #person b works at a flowershop #they start fake dating to cover for person a who's lied to their parents about meeting their soulmate #but then they do whatever thing reveals soulmates while fake dating and start REAL DATING #THE END”

4. Covert Cupid, aka your classic nerd!Kurt/jock!Blaine gift-giving AU. (You know, like Secret Santa, but for Valentine’s Day.)

5. Make A Move, a Cheerio!Blaine based off this anonymous prompt: “a klaine alternate meeting fic where one of them is working at a kissing booth and the other one keeps coming back with money and asking for kisses “for charity” and they basically end up making out in front of everybody bc the kisses are so great okay love u bye” (Yes, I DID use a One Direction lyric for the title; no, I am NOT sorry.)

5. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Every time! At the very least, I drop a “thank you” and a heart, because I’m just that grateful that anyone has enjoyed my fic enough TO leave a comment. If there’s a more specific comment, I try to address it, too.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Uh, probably none of them? Happily ever after or BUST, pals.

...

Okay, I literally looked through all of my fics and this drabble is the only thing that even REMOTELY ends angstily. Plenty of my work has some kind of drama in the middle, but I firmly don’t believe in tragic endings. 

7. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

I’ve only done one proper crossover (e.g., featuring characters from both universes), but I’ve done plenty of AUs based on other pieces of IP! My one true crossover is Just Be Real (Is All I’m Askin’), which mixes Newsies and Supergirl with a dash of past lives/reincarnation. Listen, when you put Jeremy Jordan in two things I love, I’m gonna find a way to combine those things, friends.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I once got called out for using the term “maiden name” in a fic, but I’ve never truly been flamed or anything. Hope that stays true!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not often, and not outside of the Klaine fandom, at least as of right now. In those fics, I leaned a little more M than E in my ratings, and there were some D/s leanings, but that’s really based on how I saw that pairing. If I ever do smut for another fandom, I may totally mix up my kinks depending on how I see the couple/throuple/etc!

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I think I had some stories posted to at least one of those random pirate sites back in the day? But I’ve never been deliberately plagiarized that I know of.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I’ve definitely tried! Truffles and I worked on at least one co-authored fic once, but I don’t remember if we ever posted it.

12. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I’m only supposed to have one???

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Like many Millennials, I’m sure, it was Harry Potter. If you go digging in MuggleNet FanFiction, you should be able to find my terrible acrostic poems from when I was 14.

14. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Oof, again with the favorites? I have a couple that I’m more proud of than others.

Of my Call the Midwife fics, I love What’s in a Name? the most, simply because I included so many characters and feel like I managed to capture all their unique voices/personalities. And I created a moment I want to see on the show!

For Newsies, my 9k beast We Just Might Win proved to me that I can write more than 2,000 words without having to base the story on another piece of IP, and I’ll always love it for that. (And for Jack, Davey, and Kath, of course!)

I’m proud of all my Klaine fics on some level, because they unlocked a creative output level in me that I genuinely will not ever be able to match again. I think a crowd favorite of mine was my Sound of Music AU, My Heart Will Be Blessed, but if I had to pick a personal fave? I’d have to go with Destiny. Caroline @thehouseofthebrave gave me this incredible prompt for it, and I just love how I filled it.

I think a lot of people have been tagged already, so anyone who wants to do this should tag me as their tagger, but I also want to see @knightsofthegaytable‘s answers!

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: purple lilac (shine a little love) 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: usui masumi/gn! reader (not director) 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 1.3k+ words

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: basically masumi working up to a confession  𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was a normal fic which got combined with a flower fic, hence the alt title. full a/n + dedications at the end of the fic.

It was strange. He was being strange, or at least that was what he thought of himself. Even with his headphones positioned atop his head, blasting one of his favourite songs in the playlist, he found it difficult to block out his thoughts. Specifically, his thoughts of you.

You shine a little love on my life You shine a little love on my life You shine a little love on my life And let me see

Masumi was surprised by himself. When it came to Izumi, he had always been vocal about his adoration for her, romantic or otherwise. Previously, he had little to no issue with bombing her with (ultimately pushed aside) proposals, (not taken seriously) confessions, (failed attempts to give her) gifts on days that weren’t even special occasions;

yet he couldn’t so much as speak up on his growing affection for you.

Having approached him for the pure intention of wanting to be friends, with enough persistence it wasn’t very difficult for you to worm into his heart, different from the rest in the sense that it was something beyond the friendship he’d slowly come to know during his stay in the dorms.

“Family, then?” when he expressed those feelings to you some months ago, you quickly turned away from him, gaze avoidant as you closed your eyes. It was a befuddling reaction, but it seemed like you were just taking your time to think before coming to a conclusion.

“Family…” he repeated those words to you, testing out how it sounded but more importantly, testing out the idea of family with you in the equation.

“Yeah, like siblings or something… oh, nevermind! Guess I won’t be calling you onii-chan~ any time soon.”

He must have cringed visibly, because you were quick to laugh it off and bounce back with a different topic ready at the tip of your tongue.

Family and siblings were an entirely different thing.

Masumi hoped you didn’t take it the wrong way, that you took it as him not liking you enough to be on the same level as the Spring troupe or even the other actors in Mankai Company… he wouldn’t spend so much time talking to you otherwise, but there was no way in hell he could see you in the same light as Sakuya or Tsuzuru, or heaven forbid Chikage or Sakyo. Gross. Just imagining himself being all affectionate with the latter two makes him sick in the stomach.

Remember, tonight We're gonna say, we'll never stop We got a good thing going on

Hours after that conversation and finally in the comfort of his room, he pressed his face against his pillow, finally coming to the realization that he was thrust upon a familiar situation once again, similar and yet all the more scarier.

Masumi wasn’t the type of person to joke around or play with someone’s feelings, you knew that well. The moment he finally articulated into words how he felt for you, then everything would change.

Would you feel the same? Yes or no?

He didn’t want to ruin anything.

So he lets the months pass by and though he remains mostly quiet about it, his actions speak differently. He neither wanted to just sit quietly and wait for his feelings to go away (they weren’t any time soon, by the way things were looking), nor was he about to wait for you to make the first move (you didn’t look like you had any plans to). The nosier guys in the dorm quickly found out and tried to help him, but he’d this time… he’d rather just do things his way.

Making you a playlist of songs he thought you’d like, offering to help you pick out new earphones after you broke your old ones, late night calls and messages.

It wasn’t like there was no pay off either.

Everything he’d do, you’d respond in kind.

A day after he sent you his playlist, you quickly followed up with one of your own, a playlist of songs that made you think of him, apparently, and with your words alone you rendered a blush out of him, not that you were physically there to see it. However, his roommate looked far too amused for his liking.

Then you wanted to test your new earphones by sharing the two pieces between yourselves, and though he was more of a headphones guy there was something heart fluttering about the distance (or lack thereof) between the two of you, shoulders pressed together as you listened to the same song (coincidentally, a song from the playlist he made for you).

And on the nights that he chose to stay up with Tsuzuru as the latter wrote the night away, you’d be there a call away, keeping him company for as long as you could before eventually falling asleep. Your steady and quiet breaths, a telltale sign of your slumber, warming his heart as he lingered for a few more seconds before ending the call.

Even if you somehow got the hint and tried reciprocating, as Muku and Kazunari so often insist, nothing would be official until one of you said something.

I know you've heard it all before But I really need you, darling Every day, I need you more

“Do you know about flower language, Masumi-kun?” Tsumugi asked him, on the way home after doing street acts together all afternoon.

He was being pretty sus. Normally Izumi would decide for them, but Tsumugi had specifically requested for the two of them to be a pair under the guise of having a specific idea for an improv, which while interesting wasn’t exactly groundbreaking.

“Only a little bit.”

Tsumugi hummed in response, and the younger boy couldn’t help but wonder what the Winter troupe leader was up to.

“Not everyone expresses their feelings the same way. Flowers are a good example– it’s indirect and subtle at first glance, but the gesture and meaning of whatever you choose make your feelings clear as day.”

Though his nonchalant tone implied otherwise, wasn’t his small talk actually a disguise for something else?

He’d been pretty doubtful of the “confession techniques” suggested to him by the others, from a poem (he’d rather just straight up confess) to a kabedon (wouldn’t that just confuse you?) to getting down on one knee and– (a proposal?);

Coming from Tsumugi, however, the suggestion didn’t seem that bad. Actually, you might like it– he didn’t doubt that you’d at least appreciate both the aesthetic and thought put behind the present.

“What if they don’t get it?” although the blue haired man’s smile remained perfectly serene, but something hidden within his eyes spoke volumes about his true intentions.

“Then you either, A, explain out loud and confess, B, tell them to look up the flowers online, or C, mix some red roses within the bouquet. Nothing’s more obvious than red roses.”

Tsumugi’s pace slowed to a stop, looking somewhere thoughtfully. Even without glancing back, the flowery scent quickly invaded his senses. Taking this route home… even this much was planned, then?

“Masumi-kun, is it okay if we take a look here before going home?”

Can you understand (yes, I understand) Can you feel it's right (I know it is) Will you be the same (I'll do it all again)

When he presents you the bouquet he’s chosen, you make the same expression you did all those months ago, shut eyes and head turned sideways. The only striking difference being the red patched across your face, matching one of the flowers in the bundle of 12.

The sight gives him more confidence, squashing some of his nervousness and giving him the courage to keep talking.

“The meaning of the red roses should be obvious, but you said you liked purple so I added lilacs to the bouquet, too… I thought you’d find them pretty. Do you like it?”

You peeked at him first, before focusing your gaze on the red and purple ensemble as you stumbled to say yes. Cute… if you keep acting this cute, he’ll just buy you flowers every day, then. Anything to get you this flustered again.

You shine a little love on my life You shine a little love on my life You shine a little love on my life And let me see

“Then, do you like me back?”

“ thank you for your hard work today at the flower shop! here, feel free to take home this purple lilac with you~ ”

【 purple lilac 】 represent the beginning of love or a first love, and are a perfect gift for new couples

“ maybe you’d like some more flowers before heading home? ”

-ˋˏflower series masterlistˎˊ- |  -ˋˏregular fic masterlistˎˊ-

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨: for inspiration I listened to progressive rock bands, and I honestly… really vibed with them. Electric Light Orchestra was one of the bands I liked most. the meaning of this song is different, but I decided to just pick and choose the lyrics that have a more innocent/pure pining connotation, please don’t fight me progressive rock fans ue ue.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i realized that going “hey, this fic is dedicated to xyz” kind of put off people from reading huhu, even though i still made sure it was written to be readable by anyone so i’ll just put all the dedications below huhu. again i apologize if you didn’t get your favourite character huhu

𝐝𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: aish, ☔M~, lyd