#actually so tempted to write a one shot were my usual suspects share bed. they have so many issues

[official-nina-hopkins]

Just had a vision. The "Ah, yes. Me. My girlfriend. And her 500 dollar dollar four foot tall mareep" but it's The Usual Suspects so it's like "Ah yes. Me. My best friend, his other best friend, and My other best friend", pov is Reynauld btw

[merinnan]

Fic Tag Game

Grabbed from @hils79, because it looked like fun.

Name: Merinnan, which I’ve gone by for... fifteen years now, I think? Prior to that, I mostly used Calicia (and sometimes Zoi).

Fandoms: Like Hils, I’m only going to list the fandoms I’ve actually written fic for.

Star Trek: My very first fandom, and the one I’ve written the most fics for (so far - I suspect that DMBJ will overtake it. It certainly already has in terms of word count). I was (and am still) primarily a DS9 fan, and was a huge Kira/Dukat and Garak/Bashir shipper back in the day. Most of my Trekfics are DS9 fics, but I also dabbled a little bit in TOS and TNG, and had one or two crackfic crossovers that involved Voyager characters. Discovery has tempted me with a few fic ideas, but I haven’t written anything for it yet.

Bishoujo Senshi Sailormoon: aka, the show that first had me seriously questioning my sexuality. Look, Haruka and Michiru are #goals, don’t judge me. This is also where my Zoi name came from, after the first season villain Zoisite, whom I cosplayed several times. Unsurprisingly, my main ships are HaruMichi and KunZoi. Despite this fact, neither of my published Sailormoon fics are HaruMichi.

Bubblegum Crisis Tokyo 2040: A short-lived fandom, but one I still liked enough to write a fic for and get the OST CD.

World of Warcraft: I wouldn’t say I’m really part of the fandom, per se, but I’ve been playing since the dying days of Burning Crusade, am a huge lore nerd, and started writing a crossover fic that is currently on indefinite hiatus. I do plan to come back and finish it, but first RL got in the way, and now I have to try and remember where I’d actually been planning to go with it.

A Court of Thorns and Roses: That crossover fic I just mentioned? Yeah, this is what it’s a crossover with. ACoTaR fandom went sleepy for awhile, but it’s back up and kicking now that A Court of Silver Flames is out - if any of you are still following me, it’s great to see everyone active again! To the surprise of no-one who knows me, I’m a big Nessian shipper.

Mo Dao Zu Shi / Chen Qing Ling / The Untamed: I came to this fandom via ACoTaR, actually, after a certain person (hi, @rhysand-vs-fenrys!) wouldn’t stop gushing about it :-) This is the fandom that really and seriously got me back into regular fic writing again after 15-ish years. I’m a multishipper here, and have written / am writing WangXian, NieLan, XiCheng, XuanLi, and XiSang.

Guardian / Zhen Hun: MDZS fandom led me to Guardian, which, along with DMBJ, has devoured my life in a way that hasn’t happened since my Star Trek days, and I love it! WeiLan is my major ship, but I’m also quite fond of the DaMian life raft.

Zhu Yilong: Yes, I’m going to list a person as a fandom. Zhu Yilong is one of the stars of Guardian, and is both incredibly pretty and an incredibly talented actor. So much so that I have suffered through some truly terrible dramas just to watch him in them. I do not write Z1L-fic, since RPF of living people is a personal squick of mine, but I am working on a massive crossover fic of most of his characters.

Mo Du: Guardian led me along to more of Priest’s works, such as Mo Du, which is now officially my favourite book, and I adore the main WenZhou ship. The Mo Du fandom right now is pretty tiny, and I’m still working on my first fic for it, but I hope that it will grow with the donghua due out this year, and the drama having just started filming.

Daomu Biji / The Lost Tomb: I initially came into this fandom because of Zhu Yilong, who played Wu Xie in the Reboot / Reunion / Chongqi drama, and then I got sucked into the fandom pit of all of the books and dramas and spinoffs, and it’s wonderful and fantastic. I have written so much for it, and have so much more planned. PingXie and PingXieSang are my main ships here, but I’m also a HeiHua fan, and very much enjoying the RiSang pool noodle that @kholran created.

Tropes: Hurt/Comfort and crack are my major ones.

Fic I spent most time on: A toss-up between Endings and Beginnings and Reunion, both DS9 fics. Endings and Beginnings is an alternate ending to the show, while Reunion is a Gul Dukat-centric fic set around, oh, season 5ish? Both were written for and initially published in print fanzines, so in addition to time spent writing, there was a lot of back and forth for editing, etc.

Favourite fic(s) you’ve written: Look, I honestly couldn’t say. I like most of the fics I’ve written, and there are several that I’m really proud of and really like.

Fic I spent least time on: Silent Graves, a super angsty DMBJ/Lost Tomb Xiaoge fic. I think I wrote it in like 15 minutes.

Longest fic: Cat’s Paw, a DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXieSang canon rewrite fic I co-wrote with @xantissa, at  247 826 words. For fics written by just me, not with a co-writer, then that would be Nevermore, my WIP MDZS/CQL XiCheng Pacific Rim AU, at 22 276 words and counting.

Shortest fic: Every entry in my DS9 Drabbles series, with each one at exactly 100 words. Although if you count them as a quintdrabble, then Indiscretion (a DS9 missing scene vignette about Gul Dukat, set during the episode of the same name) at 169 words.

Most hits/kudos/comments/bookmarks/subscriptions: The answer to all of these is either Cat’s Paw or Nevermore, so I’m going to give the next highest.

Hits:  Those who fear darkness have never seen what light can do, a DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXie supernatural AU fic co-written with xantissa.

Since this fic also takes the highest kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions after Cat’s Paw/Nevermore, I’ll skip to the next fic along on each of those.

Kudos: Stars fall like diamonds, a DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXie missing scene fic from Reboot/Reunion/Chongqi.

Bookmarks: A Knight in Bloody Armour, another DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXieSang supernatural AU fic (but a different supernatural AU) co-written with xantissa.

Comments: Ears and Other Related Calamities, yet another DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXieSang supernatural AU fic (of a different again supernatural AU) co-written with xantissa.

Subscriptions: The Rescue Job, a Guardian WeiLan Leverage AU, currently at one chapter complete and posted out of a planned five chapters.

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: We have plans for a prequel and a sequel to A Knight in Bloody Armour, and a spinoff fic for The Zhang Identity (a DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXie AU that is complete but not yet posted. It will be posted in April as part of the Small Fandoms Big Bang).

Share a bit of a WIP: This is from an as-yet-unnamed post-canon fix-it fic for the Guardian drama:

It was hurting again. Zhao Yunlan curled up into a tight ball under the hospital blankets, trying to ignore it enough to try to get back to sleep. He knew it wouldn't work, because he couldn't remember a time when it ever did, but it was always worth a shot, right? He squeezed his eyes shut and held himself tightly for a few...moments? Minutes?...before grabbing his stuffed cat and clutching it while he forced himself to breathe deep, slow breaths the way the doctors back in Spring City had taught him.

Eventually, the pain died back down to its usual dull ache, the one that was bearable and let him play, and watch TV, and do school lessons with his mother. One day, she said, they'd find a doctor who knew what was wrong, why he hurt all the time, and the doctor would give him medicine that would keep the worst pain away so that he could go to an actual school and meet more kids than the ones who lived in their apartment block or who frequented the same playground that he liked to go to.

Zhao Yunlan tried closing his eyes again, seeing if he could go back to sleep, but he was far too awake now. He sighed, sitting up in bed and looking around the room. Again. It was just like the hospital rooms in Spring City, and in Kiyota City. He figured that if the doctors here in Tomorrow Mountains couldn't help, his parents would take him to yet another city, and the hospital rooms there would probably look the same, too.

Then, over the faint beeping of hospital equipment, and the quiet murmurs further down the corridor of nurses at the nurse station or seeing to other patients, he heard a soft sniffling sound, like someone was trying not to cry too loudly. He picked up his stuffed cat and looked at it.

"What do you think, Dead Cat?" he asked it. "Should we go and find them?"

Dead Cat didn't answer, of course, but that didn't stop Zhao Yunlan from assuming that it agreed with him, and slipping out of bed. His feet touched the cold tile floor with barely a sound, and, still holding Dead Cat tightly, Zhao Yunlan padded over to the door. He looked up and down the corridor, then left his room to track down the sniffling noise.

He wasn't surprised that it came from the next room. He was surprised that it came from another kid, a boy who looked to be about his age, huddled in bed and wiping his eyes.

"Hi," Zhao Yunlan whispered. The other boy looked up in surprise, then stopped to clutch his chest as he began to cough. Once he'd finished coughing, Zhao Yunlan and Dead Cat were perched on the end of his bed.

"I'm Zhao Yunlan, and this is Dead Cat." He held up Dead Cat, moving one of the paws to wave hello. "What's your name?"

The boy wiped his eyes again. "Shen Ye."

I tag: ALL OF YOU! Are you a writer who hasn’t done this yet? Consider yourself tagged if you want to be.

[october-rosehip]

30 Day OC Challenge, Day 3: Inventory

Macsen shouldn't have been surprised.

They'd hurried all day, carrying their packs because it made no sense to make Bodahn run his pony cart back and forth between the Circle's docks and Redcliffe when he could fleece the Redcliffe citizenry for a few days, instead. (Macsen tried not to judge.)

Anyway, after stopping an undead uprising, discovering Jowan so badly hurt in the Arl's dungeons, drinking too many lyrium potions to deal with the constant drain on his magic, and now jogging, burdened, well into the evening to save time; Macsen felt badly prepared for doing much of anything useful. Nevertheless, he'd tried.

Paper was far too precious outside the Circle to waste it when he was too stupid from the lyrium, heartsick from everything, and exhausted from constant fighting to even spell his name correctly. He sighed, and wrapped his treasured notebooks in oilcloth. He placed them deep in his pack, surrounded by clothes. He should really just go to bed.

Macsen arranged his pack at the head of his bedroll as an improvised pillow. He stretched. His shoulders popped luxuriously. He looked over to ask if Zev still needed the light from the wisp.

Zevran leaned comfortably on one arm, regarding him.

Macsen blamed the tiredness for the fact that he hadn't felt Zevran staring. “Were you going to ask me something, Zev, or just watch me for the fun of seeing how long it took me to notice you?”

Zevran smiled. “Can I not do two things at once? Truly, I wondered what it was that you had been so studiously working on? You treat it much more carefully than you do the other notebook, which I supposed to be your journal.”

“My journal is pretty important. I've outlined my plan for the Blight in case anyone finds it who needs to... take over for me. Well, I've tried. We're sort of winging it ourselves. They'll get the gist as well as I could spell it out. But this is much more precious to me. I guess it would depend on your perspective.

“I was in trouble with the Revered Mother again. I always was. One time, she punished me by making me sort through a closet full of outdated books nobody had opened in decades, probably. In with the hymnals from the Blessed age and outdated alchemy textbooks, I found books of elvish lore. Many of them were in elvish! It took me forever to translate it. I speak it but never read it, til then. I'd never found anything more important in the library. I read them all over and over.”

Zevran's eyes widened the tiniest bit. “I can only imagine how that would feel! I suppose it might have felt like the spring monsoons falling in the desert?”

Macsen smiled at the poetic way of saying things. “If you mean my brain was thirsty, yes, just like that. I learned so much! My clan didn't have much time to teach me of elvhen things. The shemlen caught me when I was a tiny da'len. I'd take whatever I could get, now.”

“How many elves could consider such a thing a treasure? Many have had even less to do with things elvish.”

“I thought the same thing! So, I copied them all into my own hand. I made them look like diaries, then I hid them. The tower is- it's such a mess right now.” He paused to let the wave of grief crash over him a moment. It took his smile with it. “I am luckier than I deserve that they were where I left them, and unhurt. The books I put in front of them shielded them. Maybe the creators helped. I'm sure I was meant to bring this knowledge out of captor hands, to those who might not have it. I added to it, too. One of the books is every song or story or recipe or bit of craft I could get from the elves who came from the alienage raids. I can't deal with thinking that they might have been taken for nothing. What they went through is part of the elven story.”

Zevran “hmmm”ed and ran a finger over one of the strange metal studs in the unique belt he wore. “Some of these stories might be very important indeed, I would think? I do not suppose that...” The customarily confident man lost his footing. He usually looked directly into a person's eyes far more than Macsen was used to, but he looked away, now.

Macsen understood. “Do you want to read them?”

“Would you allow this? I understand if you have important plans for them, and there will be no hard feelings if not.”

“I do have plans. I meant to give the writings to my clan when I find them, but then I thought there should be more copies. It's not like Clan Surana are the only elves. So I started a second set. Anything there are two copies of, you can read without me staring over you. Actually, how's your handwriting?”

Zevran laughed. “Passable. I was not trained as a forger. Now there is some penmanship, eh?”

“Wow, I never thought of that before. Bet you're right.”

“But you... wish me to copy these for you?”

“With me. We can get them done faster that way.”

Macsen guessed he'd said something right, as Zevran shot him such a warm smile that it lit up something in Macsen's core as if someone had set a fire in the hearth.

Zevran sat up straight, evidently so he could use his hands more easily to talk. “I consider myself an Antivan first and foremost, yes? It is where I am from, and I share a culture and a history with all the other people of the land, do you see? But... my mother was Dalish. I have had little enough opportunity to learn of her or her people. She died during my birth. My first victim, as it were. So, she was not there to teach me, and who else was there to do it? I think it will be a good thing to remedy some of the gaps in my knowledge. But, if I may ask, Warden, why go to the trouble to copy everything? Why did you not take the originals? Surely, you do not think the Circle came by such things honestly?”

Macsen clenched his fists. “No. I suspect they came by them about as honestly as they came by me. Everything elvhen in that tower is stolen, I'm sure of it.”

“Then, my question stands. Why do you go to such trouble? Surely, you deserve those books more than those who did not even bother to read them?”

“Yes, I do. But I don't deserve them more than the next stolen child who might take comfort in them.”

Fang chose that moment to shove his giant doggy body through the tentflap, circle the foot of Macsen's bedroll three times, and flop immediately into contented, snoring, sleep.

“Yeah, you're right, boy,” said Macsen. He felt grateful for the massive dog hogging most of his space. He'd sleep warmer. It happened sometimes that others bribed Fang away for a night with whatever treats they could find.

Macsen looked over at Zevran. “I was going to ask before. I'm headed for sleep. Do you need the wisp for light anymore or can I send it home?”

“Haha! I am half tempted to stay up reading which is a very unusual thing for me to wish to do. But, morning will come too soon, will it not?”

“Yes, it will. Goodnight.” Macsen sent the little glowball home to the fade until the next time he should call.

They settled down to rest, but nobody's breathing changed. Fang stayed asleep, Zevran stayed awake, and Macsen's thoughts spun in circles.

“Zev?” he whispered, after a while.

“Yes, Warden?”

“Macsen. Keep trying, please. You know how the Circle is full of stolen elvhen things?”

“We spoke of this perhaps a half hour ago, yes? Alistair's shield did not crack my skull so badly as that.”

“Fair. I was just thinking about something the Circle's Quartermaster had for sale when I restocked before going in. He has a beautiful old leather belt. It's been really well cared for. The designs were elvhen, and looked like it honored Andruil, goddess of the hunt. He didn't have that before that I can recall. Maybe I'm being too harsh but it bothers me, you know? It looked so ancient, that I doubt any elf would have traded away something so historic. I think its old owner is dead, and this shemlen didn't even know what it is, really. I mean, I don't even know what it is. Someone's treasure is just in there with the potions. He wants like a hundred gold for it.”

“And this pains you?”

“Yeah, it does, very much.”

A moment passed before Zev continued. “I can understand this. I mentioned my mother, yes? I had her gloves. She was a whore in the city, working off her dead husband's debts, but she had kept that one token from her previous life. They were of traditional Dalish make, and beautiful. I treasured them, and kept them safe. When the Crows bought me, I had to keep them well hidden, for they do not allow such personal things. But, how could a child keep a secret in a house full of experts on secrecy?”

“So they found them?”

“Of course. How could they not? They were my only link to my history, but to my Master, were they any such thing?”

“No, I suppose they were just a broken rule, and a bit of coin.” Macsen rubbed the ironbark pendant that had been his mamae's.

“Just so. I suppose you know this dance?”

“I do.”

“Things like this... they are memories made solid, do you not think so?”

“That's exactly right. Oh, I'm sorry about your gloves, Zev.”

“Thank you, but it is in the past, no? And the morning is a fast approaching future.”

“True. Good night again, lethallin.”

“Buona notte.”

Macsen stared at the fabric above. Lethallin was a word for close friends; who shared a link. He hadn't thought about it before it was out of his mouth. It was true. They were the same. Macsen understood. The Circle had stolen him and kept him for itself, and he had thought it happened only to mages. But no. Zevran had also been stolen, for all he insisted he'd been paid for. It didn't sit well with Macsen. Who said the brothel had the authority to sell him? People could be owned whether they were mages or not, evidently, and possession was most of the law. Who'd argue for them when their own families didn't or couldn't stand up and say “no, this person belongs to us”? Macsen rubbed his face in tired frustration. There was nothing else for it. Their families hadn't been able to help, the Wardens were gone, the Crows were hopefully distant... who owned them now? They had be one-another's clan.

Macsen took too long getting to sleep, but the next day he felt decent, anyway. Maybe it was the lack of fighting on the road so far, he mused. Or maybe you found the energy you needed somehow. He always had.

They arrived at the Circle later that day. Macsen had no idea what to expect from the First Enchanter. It was a terrible, selfish risk coming back to the Circle for help with Connor's demon, but if Jowan killed someone- a noble!- with blood magic, he would die. Macsen could not stand that certainty.

Irving stood in the entry hall, surrounded by bloodstains in the stone, as though nothing at all were the matter. He agreed to help the possessed child, and even Greagoir said nothing about it. Maybe he realized they needed more mages, and more tranquil, immediately.

Irving invited them to stay while the mages prepared for travel and gathered the ingredients for the ritual, but Macsen had meant it when he'd said it- he would never spend another night on this island. They set off again even as the sun set.

Zevran appeared at Macsen's side several miles on from the docks. He held out a wrapped bundle.

“Hm? What is it, Zev?” Macsen felt a bit blurry round the edges. They had traveled too far, too fast.

“If you unwrap it, you will know, yes?”

Macsen did. A heavy, supple, well maintained leather belt, tooled intricately with elvhen symbols fell into his hands. “The blessings of Andruil fall upon me”, Macsen read before he fully grasped what was happening. It's even more beautiful up close, Macsen thought.

“Zev... you didn't... buy this, did you?” Macsen asked, stunned.

“Did I have a hundred gold on my person or in my things when you searched me?” Zevran laughed.

“No.... OH! Well that's all right, then.” Macsen handed it back to Zevran.

“No, I intended it for you, if you would like it. One thing the Circle has lost, for another.”

Several things happened at once. Macsen felt his face light up like a rod of fire and he found he'd turned to Zev without any conscious decision on his part, and kissed him. They were still kissing, and Macsen had no idea how that had even begun but Zev's hands felt right on his waist and...

A giggle sounded from behind them.

Dammit, Leliana.

But the world returned. It had to, once brought to mind.

And then Macsen's stomach fell.

He learned slowly, at times, but he did learn. In the Circle, Macsen had always said yes, when asked. He didn't know until later that he couldn't have said no. A yes meant nothing from someone whose no meant nothing.

I am your man, without reservation.

Zevran had offered “bedwarming” as a service provided with his vow. His no meant nothing. So his yes, the yes Macsen felt on his lips at that very moment, meant nothing. He broke away with remorse.

He knew a Trade when he saw one. In Zevran's position, Macsen would have been angling for favors, too.

He wouldn't apologize, or make it awkward. Macsen simply took a step back. “Thank you, Zev. I'll put it to good use. But I guess we should keep going.”

And so they did, until exhaustion made them stop, too late for talking. Too late for anything but a hasty meal and sleep.

Macsen sought distance from that wonderful moment. He would not take advantage of Zevran's complicated yes.

[princeyandanxiety]

Ways to Say ‘I Love You’

Bella, why did it take you almost two weeks to write this? 

Lack of motivation and having to study

Also this is around 1,700 words whaaat

Inspired by this from @ask-prinxiety

Read on AO3

Summary:  Anxiety is receiving flowers from a secret admirer, but little does he know that each flower has a secret meaning...

It started with a pansy.

For the record, Anxiety had no idea how his secret admirer got a pansy. All he knew is that one moment, he was sitting on the table, staring up at the roof and internally screaming at how small and insignificant he was in the grand scheme of the emotionless void that is time. The next moment, he looked down, and there was a single pansy sitting next to him.

He slipped his headphones off, but heard nothing. Anxiety had no idea how long the flower had been there. He had a tendency to forget about something as meaningless as time when he had his staring matches with the roof. With a slight frown on his face, Anxiety gently picked the pansy up, holding it like it was made of glass as he brought it to his nose. While lovely, he didn’t exactly understand why it was there.

He ended up keeping it, when no one appeared to claim it back after an hour. He put it in a small glass of water, and, though he’d never admit it, whenever he saw it in his room, he smiled. Just a little.

A few weeks later, it was daisies.

They had organised a Disney marathon - all of the personas, as a way of bonding. Prince had arrived last, which was unusual. After they had settled into the movie, Logan and Morality shot strange looks between them. Logan especially. He seemed to be trying to have a conversation with Roman, but only through his eyes. Anxiety merely tried to focus on the movie, and not the fact that there wasn't actually that much space between him and Princey due to how crowded the couch was. It wasn’t easy. His thoughts had been tending towards the regal persona even when he wasn’t around. Having him this close? Anxiety might as well have given up.

It wasn't until everyone else had gone to bed that Anxiety realised why they had been staring. After reaching up to run his fingers through his hair, he found a flower crown of white daisies. He set it on his desk, a confused look in his face as he realised the most likely suspect. Roman. He had been the last to arrive.

He quickly dismissed the thought. It was probably Thomas’ mischievous side, Pranks, playing getting up to their usual tricks again. They had been pretty active recently, and making Anxiety (and the others, he wasn’t the only victim,) look like an idiot was their MO. And he had seen the amused look Pranks shot him during the movie. And Prince had no reason to give him flowers. The only time he ever gave anyone flowers was when he was in love, and it was usually accompanied by some dumb, grand gesture. There was no way that Roman could ever be in love with him.

The forget-me-nots were the ones that surprised him the most.

Not because he was getting flowers again, but because they seemed to have just… appeared out of nowhere. Then again, he had been a little preoccupied the night before.

Anxiety had managed to eat far too much food. It happened, sometimes, when they saw movies together. His stomach did not take kindly to such treatment, and he subsequently found himself hunched over the toilet bowl for most of the night. Morality ended up keeping an eye on him while Riman got a glass of water, and later, made toast when Anxiety felt well enough to eat something.

No one could blame him for not noticing the pretty blue flowers scattered about his room, really. Besides, Princey and Dad had blocked his vision when they led him to bed anyway.

But in the morning, when he finally woke up? He definitely noticed. There was one on his nightstand, and one on every shelf, three on his desk. There were even a few hidden in his closet, and resting atop his guitar case. He gathered all the little flowers up, taking them with him when he went to the kitchen to put them in some water.

“Who are they from?” Anxiety jumped, startled by Logan, and subsequently shrugged.

“They were all around my room when I woke up.” He muttered, getting out a glass to put them in. He felt sluggish and gross, and Logan looked how he felt as he made a cup of coffee.

The two personas looked to the door when Prince walked in, a smile on his face and a spring in his step. They shared a look as Logan sipped his coffee. Roman was such a damn morning person. “Good morning, you two! Oh, Anxiety, those are some lovely flowers! Where did you get them?”

Anxiety merely shrugged, stealing the coffee that Roman had just poured out and taking it and the forget-me-nots back to his room. In his haste to go, he didn't notice the suspicious look that Logan sent to Roman, or the dreamy smile on Roman’s face as he went about making another cup of coffee.

By the time he received the tulips and the carnations, he was kind of expecting it.The only problem now was figuring out the culprit.

They were carefully wrapped up in a beautiful bouquet, lying in the spot that Anxiety always claimed as his own when he was invited to movie night. He frowned as he moved to pick them up, a little note attached confirming that they were for him.

“You have to have realised what these flowers mean by now.” Anxiety let out a short scream when Logan seemed to come out of nowhere. “Oh - sorry. I did not mean to scare you.” He patted Anxiety’s shoulder in the awkward way that he had become used to. At least with Logan, there was minimal physical contact. “But, seriously Anxiety, you’re not stupid. Even if you don’t know the meanings of the flowers.”

“I figured it’s a secret admirer.” Anxiety blinked once. Twice. Then turned to Logan. “Wait, what? What do you mean, meanings of the flowers?”

“Floriography. It was rather popular in the Victorian era as a way of communicating. It’s made a small comeback recently.” Logan nodded to the flowers in Anxiety hands. “All of the flowers that you have received thus far have certain meanings attached to them.”

Anxiety’s mouth dropped open for a moment as he stared at the bouquet. “Are… you going to tell me? What they mean?”

Logan smiled awkwardly, and shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask the person who is giving these flowers to you. I made them a promise not to tell.” He replied quietly, moving to grab his book from his own spot on the couch. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of questions for them as it is. What’s a few more?”

Anxiety was quiet as he stared at the flowers again. They were obviously lovely, but what exactly did they mean? He wondered how soon he would find out, moving towards his room so he could put the flowers into water.

“I see you received flowers again, Anxiety.” Another squeak came from the usually brooding persona, and he turned to face Roman. He was getting a little annoyed with everyone sneaking up on him, honestly. Then again, he couldn’t stay too mad at Roman. “Who are they from?” There was a look on his face that Anxiety found hard to decipher, which was strange. He thought he knew the many expressions of Roman after staring at him so damn much, but apparently he was wrong.

“I… don’t know?” He shrugged, gently trailing a finger over a tulip. “Logan said they have a certain meaning. But he wouldn’t tell me what.”

Another unreadable expression flashed across Prince’s face. “I could tell you.” He offered quietly. “I know who they’re from, too. If you want, I could tell you everything.”

Anxiety almost accepted. He was so tempted to. He bit his lip, looking at Roman for a long moment. He felt himself getting caught in Roman’s web, a strangely intense gaze that threatened to steal his breath in the best way. But he remembered Logan’s words, and smiled wistfully down at the bouquet of red. “I think I’d prefer it if they came to me.” He said softly. “So I can thank them properly.”

He didn’t say how much he hoped that it was Roman, even as he let himself into his room, closing it behind him and leaning heavily against it. He heard quiet footsteps down the hall. The sound of the Prince returning to his own room.

Of all the flowers Anxiety received, the last was the most obvious. A single red rose, in full bloom, held by Roman himself.

He hadn’t had to wait long. About an hour after they talked about the bouquet, there was a quiet knock on his door.

On the other side was Roman, a nervous look on his face and the rose in his hand. He held out the flower for Anxiety, his smile slightly strained. “I… You said you wanted me to come to you.” After a moment, he added, “You don’t have to worry about thorns.”

Anxiety nodded wordlessly, carefully taking the rose. He gave Roman an inquisitive look, stepping aside to let him into his room.

“It means ‘I love you’,” the royal murmured, that intense gaze back and focusing wholeheartedly on Anxiety.

“And the others?” He nodded to the tulips and carnations. Roman moved to the bed, sitting on the edge. Anxiety quickly joined him, still holding the rose like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Pansies are for lover’s thoughts. Daisies, innocence and loyal love.” Roman began, tilting his head as he watched Anxiety. “Forget-me-nots for true love. Red tulips are a declaration of love, while also saying ‘believe me’. Red carnations, to tell you that my heart aches for you.”

“And the rose to say that you love me.” Anxiety finished quietly.

Roman nodded, gently taking his hand and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “I do love you.” He murmured, looking straight into Anxiety’s eyes. “Are my affections returned?”

Anxiety, with his face burning under his makeup, nodded. His heart pounded as he leaned in, and then they were kissing.

After that, Anxiety kept receiving flowers. But from then on, he knew that they were always from his boyfriend.

[kuriquinn]

Prompt/Request: Sasuke’s おめでとう

Anonymous said:

im so excited that you're taking requests because I love everything that you write!!!😇 could you maybe write the recent ss moment with the hawk and what sasuke was thinking

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: Somehow, it’s right that she be the one to convey his congratulations to Naruto. She is the warmest, most genuine person he knows, and if anyone can best convey his feelings about Naruto’s nuptials to the loudmouth, it’s the woman who probably knows him the best in the world.

Rating: K

Warning: Spoilers for pretty much everything up to Chapter 699.

Canon-Compliance: As close to canon as fanfiction can possibly be. With a few personal additions :P Takes place during the Blank Period.

AN: Originally, this was just meant to be a quick drabble in response to a prompt and meant to honour of the last episode of Naruto Shippuden. But then my brain decided to put some more details in, and we got this little one-shot. Enjoy.

Not attending Naruto’s wedding is one of the hardest decisions Sasuke has had to make since the end of the War.

It’s a mark of how much he has changed in his years of wandering that he not only recognises this fact, but also continues to feel conflicted about it long after he’s made the choice. In the past, he made decisions and simply moved on—what has been done cannot be changed, after all—but for once, his personal feelings have a place in his rationalizations.

That’s also new.

Sasuke has never wanted material or arbitrary things. His desires have always been firmly rooted in goals: aiming to surpass his brother and to be acknowledged by his father, to avenge and restore his clan, to destroy the village that destroyed his family…

Not until he left his home the second time with a barely deserved pardon did he have a chance to experience the world outside of his own ambitions.

He learned to appreciate a warm bed and sleeping long past sun up. The satisfaction of playing with a stray cat or eating food for pleasure instead of only sustenance (he apparently has a weakness for bitter, dark chocolate that he never even realised).

And for the first time since he can remember he wants things.

He wants to read a book for leisure, and not because it might hold some long lost clan secret or technique. He wants to travel to as many places as he can and see if the sunset looks different in Iwa than it does in Konoha. He wants to climb a mountain just to breathe the crisp air, instead of seeing it as a stepping stone to some broader goal.

He wants to go to his friend’s wedding.

Naruto is in many ways his brother, through time and through shared experience, and the only close friend he will ever have.  (He doesn’t see Kakashi as this; to him, the older man will always be the mentor, the surrogate parent where he had none. And Sakura…she’s something else entirely, in a category he is only just starting to understand). He owes it to the blond idiot to be there, especially after everything that has happened between them.

And yet…

He knows he can’t.

The thing about redemption is that there’s no concrete way of determining when it has been earned. And shrugging off his cares to celebrate Naruto’s good fortune feels too much like a reward. Whatever else he remains ignorant of, Sasuke knows that he is not yet worthy of that.

It doesn’t help that Kakashi has not been subtle in his suggestions that he return for the event. He’s all-but formally requested it in letters and coded messages, alluding to how much his presence would mean to the groom and the bride. Hell, the fool actually created an official mission for all Konoha shinobi to find wedding gifts, which Sasuke patently ignored.

The greatest gift Sasuke can give to Naruto and Hinata is his absence.

He knows if he were to show up, unexpected or not, the occasion would immediately be overshadowed by his return. Whispers, distrustful stares and awkward conversation; his teammates creating a protective wall around him to counter the village’s collective wariness—

Sasuke cares too much about Naruto, and has enough respect for Hinata, to do something so disrespectful.

Decision or not, however, it is no coincidence that as the cherry blossoms begin to bloom, Sasuke finds himself travelling in the environs of Konoha. Or that on the actual day, he remembers that there is a cliff overlooking the valley which offers the perfect vantage point of the entire village.

It’s the closest he has come to setting foot in Konoha since that business with the moon.

That’s not to say he hasn’t been tempted before; no one will ever know how often or how close he has come since leaving. Perhaps Naruto suspects, if only because he can’t help but sense Sasuke’s chakra wherever he is. And maybe Sakura, too, because she’s always had oddly accurate intuition about his presence, going back to their genin days.

He only ever contacts anyone inside as a last resort. Usually it’s requests for intel from Kakashi, sometimes a note for Naruto about information he has learned about Kaguya or questions to Sakura about poison remedies. If required, he will send messages via Sai’s ink scrolls, or summon one of Garuda’s underlings to do so.

Or to deliver small packages, such as a certain nondescript white box meant to be tucked into the branches of a tiny tomato tree in the ruined Uchiha district.

But Sasuke has always kept himself from walking through those giant doors.

He does the same today, albeit with some difficulty.

It’s no trouble to find the tree-ringed grove where the reception is to take place, and with eyes like his, he can make out the tiniest detail with ease.

Naruto and his bride-to-be have not arrived yet—Sasuke doesn’t know if they intend to marry before or after the reception—but from the steady thrum of Naruto and Kurama’s chakra in the vicinity of the Hyūga compound, he knows it doesn’t matter. All is well, Naruto is happy and safe, and that’s really all Sasuke needed to make sure of while he was here.

It doesn’t stop him from searching out the rest of his comrades.

Sai, who even though they did not start out on the same team has earned Sasuke’s respect in the past two years as his most direct liaison to the village, holds hands with Ino Yamanaka. Despite their cold first meeting, Sasuke has become grateful for the former Root operative for being there to protect his teammates when he wasn’t. Given what he knows about the other man’s history, he’s glad that he, too, was offered his own chance at redemption. And Ino is a good, strong woman, despite the irritating tendencies Sasuke remembers about her. He hopes they’ll be happy.

(And that’s another new thing. Caring about other people’s happiness.)

Across the reception area, Kakashi is scrambling out of his official white robes, trying to straighten his suit while handing them off to a harried looking Shizune. Then he makes a sudden beeline for the table with the wedding cake, just in time to snatch two identical white-haired toddlers away from it. Behind him, Manako Inuzuka appears, heavily pregnant and laughing unapologetically at the Hokage’s aggrieved expression.

Sasuke’s eyes widen in amazement.

As genin, Sakura once confided a vague suspicion about their sensei and the village’s demolitionist, but he never paid much attention to it. Even if he had, this outcome would still be surprising to him.

Kakashi deserves happiness as much as Naruto and Sai.

Speaking of Sakura…

There’s no point to searching her out, because she might as well be a beacon in his peripheral vision. The embodiment of spring in a dress that matches her hair, she hurries around the cherry-blossom lined grove, directing people to the gift table and helping Tenten wrangle Gai and Lee into their seats with only minimal damage to human or furniture. He watches her lecture them—that’s what she has to be doing, judging by the finger-wagging and penitent expressions of the two taijutsu masters—and Sasuke can’t help smirking.

She was always bossy.

He imagines that she has made it her personal mission to ensure today goes off without a hitch, and woe betide anyone who tries to challenge her. There are no safer hands to leave that task in, he knows.

Watching all of this, the people precious to him and the village he came from, he feels a distant, long-forgotten tug in his heart. For the first time in his travels, he wants nothing more than to return to his home and his people.

But he can’t.

He hasn’t yet earned the right to be here, and there are still those individuals roaming the world that want to get to him. Enemies who might seek him out here, and if they realised his presence, might go after the people he wants to protect.

(It doesn’t matter that all of those people are formidable warriors, he knows better than to tempt fate.)

Sasuke’s brother fought and died to protect this village, the peace and happiness of all the inhabitants; Sasuke must now do the same.

And so he doesn’t stay.

Instead, he digs out a crumpled piece of paper and jots down a quick congratulatory note—because he did come all this way, he might as well mark the occasion somehow—and summons a hawk to deliver it.

As he is tying the paper to the bird’s leg, he opens his mouth to direct it to Naruto.

Then he pauses.

His eyes are drawn back to Sakura.

She is no longer a whirling dynamo of energy, but a portrait of utter serenity lingering on the sidelines. As she watches the other guests enjoying themselves, the light spring breeze teases at her hair, and she stares off into the distance at something he can’t see. There is a wistful curve to her mouth, the barest traces of pink across her cheekbones.

Sasuke is struck, for the first time, with the realisation that Sakura Haruno is beautiful.

He’s not quite sure what to do with that epiphany.                                                                       

He has always had a vague consciousness of her being pretty, but that was ancillary to her personality. Childhood memories remind him of a clingy, too-loud, too-emotional girl who seemed to have made it her mission to drive him insane. Years later, those features gave way to determination and sadness, and through it all she was so annoying.

Looking at her now, he sees her without context, without him nearby to affect her demeanour, and with no dark purpose hanging over their heads.

She is still sad, and he doesn’t have to be a genius to know what (or who) she’s thinking of, but there’s a calmness to her. Among a sea of families and couples, she is alone and yet all he can see is a stalwart strength. It’s a state that he is infinitely curious about and jealous of.

Another reawakened sensation. He hasn’t felt envious of Sakura since she learned to walk up trees before he did.

A small sting of pain flares through him, and Sasuke jumps as the hawk snaps at his fingers. It shoots him an impatient glare to remind him of the task he has become distracted from.

“Take this to Sakura,” he finds himself saying and releases it into the air.

Somehow, it’s right that she be the one to convey his congratulations to Naruto. She is the warmest, most genuine person he knows, and if anyone can best convey his feelings about Naruto’s nuptials to the loudmouth, it’s the woman who probably knows him the best in the world.

There are other reasons, of course, but none he is quite ready to examine just yet.

He sticks around long enough to watch the hawk find its way to her. She is still standing alone, still peaceful but any trace of a smile has disappeared, and she holds herself almost protectively, with her elbows drawn inward. The posture is too reminiscent of the uncertain girl he left on a cold bench so long ago, and so when Sakura’s attention is drawn by the hawk’s cry, Sasuke is relieved.

He watches as she automatically reaches out for the hawk and takes the message, carefully unwrapping it with an expression of curiosity and studying the single character there.

As her cheeks darken and her smile returns, Sasuke turns to leave.

He’s not ready yet.

But one day, he will be.

W終わり

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome, but if you feel like keeping me caffeinated out of the goodness of your heart, it certainly would be appreciated! I’m also starting to post original works to my patreon.

I’m only able to keep writing as I do thanks to the support of readers like you, so every bit helps!

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