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therealsasori · 3 months ago

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To talks and being honest, and oh good coffee Pt.3 (a hidekane fic)

(I am finally back on my bullshit. This took way longer than I had intented but I wantef it to be as good as possible and I think I am pretty happy with it. Enjoy!)

Snippet: Acting more on autopilot than really thinking about his actions, which wasn't unusal for Kaneki in retrospect- the half ghoul retracted his hands from his friends in favor of fisting them tightly in Hides shirt and pulling the human up and up towards him.

The kitchen felt cold and sterile, only bathed in the low glow of the small table light that had been switched on. Then again you could assume a ghouls kitchen to be sterile, not a lot of cooking going on there.

Hide was tired. Cycling across the city past 1 am to meet up with his crying best friend, he had been trying to avoid for the past week, had not been in his bingo cards.

To top it off he hadn't been doing a whole bunch of sleeping for the last 7 days in general. It was definetly catching up with him.

More than a little awkward and a whole lot of uncomfortable, thats how Hide was feeling sitting in the ghoul kings kitchen. Kaneki was currently taking a quick shower, the blonde had thought this would give him some time to think things over - as it stands the waiting was just down right terrible. Prolonging his torture.

Hide had listened to the shower running, heard it being turned off and only a few minutes later another person entered the darkend room. Kaneki had looked, for lack of a better term, rough when Hide had gotten here. Now his pale friend looked a lot more clean but still just as miserable.

Sighing Hide turned to face his childhood friend, he had known that they eventually would have to talk about this. He just didn't want to.

"How are you feeling? Any better?" The human part of the duo decided to break the silence. He felt sorry for the white haired boy - Kaneki seemed so small and fragile. Any other time Hide might have thought of it as funny.

Said 'boy' groaned and shook his head, hiding his face behind his hands.

"Not really. Hide... I am so sorry for making you come here in the middle of the night thinking something bad happened to me, when I was just - just upset."

It was quiet for a moment, Kaneki peeked trough a small gap between his fingers and said in a soft, tiny thing of a voice.

"I- i would however like for you to stay. I really missed you."

Hide was conflicted. On one hand he had also missed his friend, more than he could ever put into words, he also felt sorry for Kaneki in this situation. The last thing he had ever wanted is to cause the half ghoul suffering or pain. But.. Hide didn't want to have this conversation. He was scared as all hell. Dreaded it. This conversations he had been avoiding for a week. The conversation he was sure would tear him apart.

But he will do it. Has to. So he stays.

Two cups of steaming coffee later they were both seated across from each other, at the small kitchen table Kaneki owned. Neither quit sure how to go about this. It was frustrating. Hide wanted to pull his hair out and maybe some of Kens, for dramatic effect.

"Ok, this sucks balls,dude. Worst sleepover ever."

Hide had always had a way with words. Very eloquent.

It had its desired effect though. Which was making the other part of this conversation laugh and cutting trough the thick tention.

"It really really does." Kaneki chuckled and gave the blonde a soft, shy smile. He seemed more at ease.

And Hide was a goner. An absolute fool. He would do anything for the half ghoul just to see him smile like that. Shit, he'd rip out his heart and serve it on a silver platter if Kaneki so much as asked him to.

But he also knew this had to be a serious conversation. Dealing with true emotions and vulnerabilities and he was no big fan of those. Hide didn't like putting his real feelings and thoughts out there. It made him easy to attack and he always avoided that. But this time he had to.

"Alright. Kaneki I think we both know- we have to talk. Like seriously talk. About... what happened between- eeeh - us...?" The human closed his eyes and shook his head, throwing his hands up.

"Let me start of by saying - I am so incredibly sorry. I should not have done that, at all. I understand if you feel uncomfortable about it and I want to make it clear that something like that will never happen again. Seriously not cool of me dude."

Never happen again? Feeling sorry about it? Kaneki was perplexed that his first reaction to Hides words was- disappointment? He was certainly not feeling satisfied with that answer but couldn't quit pinpoint why.

The half ghoul cocked an eyebrow at his companion, looking rather unimpressed by said mans speech. He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Hide for a long moment. Yes, the only reason the brown eyed man was here is because Kaneki called him while crying - however, Kaneki felt a lot calmer than he expected. He was and had been confused about his emotiones and thoughts for the last 7 days and this was his chance to get to the bottom of them. He needed this conversation and he was determined to take it to the finish line. Deciding to brush over his friends words for now, and shaking off his conflicting feelings, he decided to go with:

"You've been avoiding me."

The words seemed a lot less accusatory and more so, plain sad. Kaneki couldn't hide the pain in his voice, the same pain he saw in the humans eyes.

"I know. I am sorry about that too. Wasn't the most adult way of handling the situation, I'll admit. I just didn't know how to face you. I -" The blonde was clearly struggling, words getting caught in his throat and twisting on his tongue. Kaneki knew he needed to be patient. Hide had never been one to talk much about his feelings, trying to shield Ken from anything that could possibly upset him. So the half ghoul gave his friend his best encouraging smile he could muster and waited.

Pinching his nose, eyes closed Hide took a deep breath.

"I was ... scared. Shit. I still am."

Kaneki nodded, trying to understand Hides feelings. Taking in the words. He had to ask, even if he already knew, he had to hear it.

"Scared of what?"

Hide, who had intently been studying the pattern of the wooden table, snapped his head up. The sudden movement making the ghoul king flinch. Incredulous, big brown eyes were staring at him. Something about the way Hide was staring at him made him want to sink into the ground, take back the question and just move on. But he couldn't back down now. He needed this. Needed Hide to tell him everything.

The blonde was tense, jaw clenched he averted his eyes. They sat in silence again for what could have been minutes or hours, Ken didn't know. His best friend finally nodded slowly as if he made a decision in his mind.

"I am not good at this sort of thing, Ken. Talking about feelings has always scared me to be honest, maybe because I never learned how to as a child...but no getting out of this one I suppose." he shook his head and chuckled, a sad one. It made Kanekis heart hurt.

"To answer your question - I was scared, no wait, I am scared that I ruined everything. Because I was selfish. Because in a stupid moment of weakness I might have ruined my relationship with the most important person in my life. I am scared that you'll look at me differently now, that you hate me even. That you are possibly uncomfortable around me, when all I ever wanted was to make you feel safe and cared for, loved. I hate to think I've ruined that for you." Hide took a big gulp of air, feeling like his lungs were going to collapse on him. Every fiber of his being was on fire, he felt hot and cold and all together like an absolute mess.

"Hide -" Kaneki started to speak but Hide couldn't let him. Not yet. Shaking his head vehemently he cut the half ghoul off.

"Please let me finish Ken. You know how people say that home doesn't have to be a place? That it can also be another person? I always wanted to be that for you. I am sorry if I ruined this for you. That was never my intention. Advancing on you like that was never my intention. I had been totally planing on and content with keeping this all inside and just being by your side. That's all I ever wanted. But, as I have put this out there... there is no point in denying it anymore. I love you. So much. And no not like a best friend should, not like a brother should. I am in love with you. I had never planned on telling you this. I don't want to interfere with your relationship with your wife. Honestly all I ever wanted for you was to be happy. And if thats not with me, so be it. Sucks for me, I guess. But you are so much more important than me. You deserve happiness Ken. I'll always cheer for you from the sidelines. Thats a promise." Speaking so fast made Hides head spin, his mouth felt like the desert, his heart was hammering against his ribcage but his shoulders felt oddly lighter.

He had done it. He had confessed to his best friend. Looking at Kaneki finally Hide couldn't help but smile. He loved the half ghoul so much and now said half ghoul knew, no matter what that was a fact. And Kaneki deserved to know how loved he was. Always.

Kanekis heart was doing summer saults, stomach in a knot. This was plenty to take in. He felt tears well up in his eyes. Hide was in love with him. Kanekis vision got blurry, focused and got blurry again. He had to blink away tears.

"How long?" The half ghoul sounded alot more breathless than he intented. His throat closing in on him, overwhelmed by emotions.

Hide, as usual, understood him perfectly fine, even if Kaneki couldn't phrase a complete sentence. The blonde laughed airily.

"How long have I been in love with you? Honestly, forever maybe. I can't really pin point it- maybe since we were around 12ish. Thats when I clearly remember being aware of it. But maybe even earlier. Seriously, dude, hearing you talk about all the ladies you liked over the years really sucked. I am glad you found the right one tho- hey, man, why are you crying? Don't cry please, Neki. Shit."

Kaneki was a mess. Again. A slobbering, snotty, crying mess. Hide was by his side in seconds, hovering around him like a satellite. Not sure how much physical closeness Kaneki would allow him. It made Kaneki wail. Grabbing blindly for Hide he caught him by one hand and the collar of his red shirt. Kaneki pulled him close, buring his face in the crook of Hides neck.

"I- i'm so sorry!"

"Nah, man you're fine. Really."

"B-but weren't you h-hurting? Wh-why didn't y-you say.."

Using his free hand Hide took the risk and started to stroke it trough Kanekis hair, that used to always calm the crying boy down.

"Yeah, but it's alright, Neki. It's fine and nothing you should worry about. And well - I was scared to loose you, silly. You're my favourite person in the whole world after all."

After a few more minutes of sobbing and head petting, the mighty one eyed king seemed to have calmed down. Kaneki lifted his head of off Hides shoulder, hands still firmly grabbing the humans shirt, keeping him in place.

Glassy, puffy grey eyes were studying Hides face intently. The blonde gave a lopsided grin and wiggled his eyebrows. Acting like a dumb clown usually did the trick of getting out of too tense moments.

It only earned the human a shake of the head though.

"You're incredible. I- feel so stupid. How could I have never noticed? I only ever saw my problems and-.... Hide! I could never hate you! NEVER, you hear me? You are home to me. You always were. I- i don't deserve you. You're way to good for me. You could have anyone you want. W-why me?"

The blonde couldn't help but gently wipe away the tear rolling down Kanekis cheek. Hide smiled at his friend, eyes warm and sad.

"Because I just love you. I don't need a reason. But if you so desperatly need one-" Hide knelt down in front of the chair the half ghoul was perched on and took both of Kanekis hands into his.

"You're the most amazing and complex person I have ever met, Neki. You're so smart, witty, funny and gentle. You're loving, you try to see the good in everyone, you're forgiving. And you are so so incredibly strong. I love how your brow creases when you read a interesting passage of a book. I love how passionate you get when you talk about and totally nerd out about something you like. I love how groggy you are in the mornings. I love how eloquent you are with your words and how you always go out of your way to help others. I love the sound of your voice. I love the crinkles by your eyes when you laugh. I love when you smile at me. I love your eyes so much because they hold so many emotions. You are just beautiful. Everything." For a moment Hide was looking down at their hands, watching his thumbs stroke gentle circles on the paler skin.

"I know you think you are hard to love Kaneki. You aren't. Not to me. Never."

Kaneki was stunned. Eyes wide and breath coming hard. Never in his life had anyone used words like these to describe him. How Hide always knew exactly what to say was a mystery he could never figure out. Hides touch was burning holes into his icy hands. Kaneki couldn't stop his heart from beating so fast it almost hurt, bruising his chest with its force. He couldn't look away either, transfixed by the warm chocolate ones holding so much love.

The ghoul kings head was a mess. Too many thoughts to sift trough, to even make sense off. They were circling and coming so fast that most of them got interrupted by the next. One was persistent though, a mantra in the back of his head almost. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

He had been mulling over that kiss for the past week, couldn't even make it out of bed because Hide refused to go out of his way for once to aknowledge him and take care of him. Because Hide for once took time for himself to nurture his own wounds. And yet, Kaneki had made him come to him in the middle of the night. Wanted him to come to him. Made Hide practically spill his guts and lay it all out in the open. Kaneki needed to give Hide an answer. A conclusion. Something. Anything.

Acting more on autopilot than really thinking about his actions, which wasn't unusal for Kaneki in retrospect- the half ghoul retracted his hands from his friends in favor of fisting them tightly in Hides shirt and pulling the human up and up towards him.

Hide gasped, as his body was maneuvered by strength he couldn't imagine. He felt momentarily disorientated by the ghouls reaction. His heart had already been jumping out of his chest as he had spilled it all. Hide stretched out his arms in reflex, stabilizing himself by gripping the back of the chair his friend was sitting on. As all movement ceased Hide stared down at Kanekis pale hands. Said hands were shaking by the force they were gripping his shirt with, as if Ken was scared he would dissapear if he let go. The blonde lifted his gaze from the hands and ended up with Kanekis face only inches, barely even- he could feel the half ghouls breath on his face, away from his.

Everything stopped- his breathing, his heart, the world spinning, everything.

Kaneki had honestly no idea what he was doing. This close he could study Hides face- from the warm brown eyes and the long dark lashes framing them, the strands of blonde hair hanging slightly in Hides face since the human has been letting his hair grow, the spotting of freckles across his cheeks and between those thick brows. Hides tan skin, that looked so soft and Kaneki had always thought Hides skin color was so much prettier than his. In general his friends overall coloring had always been something Kaneki admired - Hide was all incompassing warmth, from his hair to his skin to those beautiful eyes. Hide was beautiful. Letting his grey eyes drift over his friends freckled nose and down to those soft pink lips. He could observe faint scaring but all the procedures the human had gone trough and modern technology had accomplished restoring Hides face almost completely. Kanekis eyes snapped back to those lips in an instant. Said lips had opened slightly and Kaneki could make out a slight tremble.

"You're really pretty, do you know that?" The half ghoul murmerd. Delighted he took in his humans stuttered breath and the lovely blush spreading across those delicate cheeks. The blonde numbly shook his head, no. Amused Kaneki smiled, removing one of his hands from Hides shirt, using it to gently trace the blondes jawline in fascination.

"I gotta be honest, I - i have never even considered this, you. I had no idea Hide, really. It never occured to me-"

Swallowing loudly the human shook his head again, "it's fine, Ken. I understand completely- you don't swing that way and that-"

Tightening the grip on the blondes jaw slightly and earning a adorable gasp, the ghoul king tskd.

"You don't get to decide that. I might actually very much swing that way. Also it's rude to interrupt someone while they're speaking. Now, what I had wanted to say was - it makes total sense. If I think about so many things in our past now, it makes perfect sense. Thank you, for everything really."

Hide went slightly slack jawed. He couldn't help but think that this was him witnessing more the demeanor of the one eyed king than bookworm Kaneki. It probably gave Ken confidence to speak more freely without shying away. Hide didn't dislike the whole situation, he actually liked it very much. He had to gain back his composure and control himself. Wait, what?

"Y- you MIGHT SWING THAT WAY? KANEKIII WHAT THE HELL- What are you saying?! Do not play with me right now" The human had decided grabbing his friends shoulders and shaking him, while decidedly not controling himself was the best option.

Said friend, laughed an airy melodic and beautiful laugh, wrapping his hands around Hides wrist to stop the shaking.

"God, Hide don't yell at me! So loud. And stop shaking me, please." The grey eyed gave him a soft smile as the shaking came to a halt.

"And you heard what I said, Hide. I might swing that way, actually. I just had never considered it before." The half ghoul shrugged.

Hide was gaping at his friend. Opening and closing his mouth multiple times, the clever blonde tried to find the words. Swallowing the hope stupidly blossoming in his chest.

"Neki.. you gotta understand what you're implying here. You're practically saying you could possibly be into men- That's insane. Why would you think that? I mean why - don't say that stuff to me, if you don't mean it. And I am sure you don't actually mean it right now."

Kaneki decided to stop Hides rambling and to ease that inner turmoil, so clear by his furrowed brows and that desperation in his eyes. Resting their foreheads against each other Kaneki took a deep breath. Glanzing at Hides lips and back up at those warm eyes, the half ghoul offered a shy smile and whispered gently.

"Then tell me why I've been thinking about kissing you this whole time. And if I am being honest with myself for the last 7 days."

Every ounce of self control Hide had, left the building the exact moment Kaneki had whispered those words. Letting all the air in his lungs rush out Hide closed the little sacred space that had been left betweem their faces. It was a timid, gentle kiss. More a soft brush of lips than anything else. Too scared to cross another boundary Hide stopped himself from deepening the touch. It was all Hide had ever wanted but over to soon. About to pull away he tried to bask in the moment that had only lasted a few seconds.

A hand slid into the hair at the back of Hides head, a caress of his jaw line with a thumb and Hide was pulled back in. Lips colliding alot firmer than before and Hides head was spinning. A soft noise escaping his throat and his hands cupped soft cheeks. The kiss was still only lip on lip contact, nothing crazy but it lasted longer and still made Hide forget how to breath.

They pulled apart and he was staring into light grey eyes and realization struck. Hide pulled away like he had been burned, stumbling and falling onto the ground, landing on his butt with a pained oof. The half ghoul gasped and jumped up immediatly wanting to reach for the blonde.

"Oh god, Hide. Are you alright?" Concern was clearly laced into Kanekis words. Hide waved his concern away with his hand. Brown panicked eyes met grey worried once.

"Shit, what the hell. You're married! Oh no, Touka is gonna have my head. I am so dead. Shity fuckery fuck." Hide whined trough his hands, which he had decided to hide his face in.

And Kaneki, just laughed. Incredulous Hide glanced at the laughing form of his best friend trough his fingers. Kaneki was laughing so hard he was holding his stomach and needed to wipe some tears from his eyes. Hide just stared at the display in utter disbelief.

After seemingly having finished his laugh attack the ghoul king regarded Hide with a wide grin. In a speed way out of range for a human to react to, Kaneki had crawled over the floor and advanced onto Hide. Crawling onto his lap and looking rather triumphant the half ghoul giggled. Kaneki seemed to make up his mind and leaned down to nuzzle his nose against Hides.

"Relax, Touka knows. You're all I've been talking about for a week, of course she wanted to know what happened. She was surprisingly understanding. Told me I needed to figure this shit out, and that you are way to good for me. And whatever we come up with she's fine with it and supporting it. She's honestly so cool, I have no idea how I pulled her." He laughed, having set up again and looking down at Hide.

"But then again I seem to have a talent for pulling the most amazing people in the world it seems."

The half ghoul leaned down towards Hides face again, licking his lips. Hide followed the movement transfixed.

"Hide, can I kiss you again?" Ken asked breathily.

Hides heart was hammering against his chest, he swallowed, nodded.

And so Ken did. It was still rather timid. Exploring, curious touches of lips. Sliding against each other and gentle hands. Hide thought he was going to explode, even more so when Kaneki let out a soft satisfied noise. Pulling apart, they stayed close for a moment, breathing the same air. Kaneki set up again, chest heaving and flushed face.

"Dude, you're so hot." Hide blurted, mouth again faster than his brain. He slapped a hand over his mouth watching Kanekis blush deepen and his eyes going wide, breath speeding up even more.

Kaneki bit his lip, taking a breath with closed eyes. When he opens them again he looks calmer and more collected.

"Hide, I- i don't know exactly what this means. I just know I really don't want you to leave, ever. I want you close, all the time. I was so scared of losing you, it almost killed me. And- and I want to kiss you many more times. Over and over. You mean the world to me, Hide. I need you to believe me. I want to try this with you. I really do."

Kaneki looked so determined and serious, Hide thought it was down right adorable. It also made his heart stutter and his stomach fill with warmth, but that was besides the point.

"Look at me, kissing a married man. I never knew I was such a Player." Hide chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows.

Kaneki laughed, smacking Hides chest.

"Shut up." Ken groaned.

#tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul re #hidekane #hideyoshi nagachika #ken kaneki #kaneki ken #i miss them #i love them #they deserve happiness #my writing

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samarqqand · 10 months ago

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hi! i recently discovered and have eagerly been reading (and re-reading) all of your fics - your writing is astounding and weaves a story so beautifully, you’ve quickly become one of my favourite silm writers ☺️ in a few comments/notes you’ve talked about other fic - bits you had posted on tumblr that i suppose have been deleted? and you also mentioned another maglor/melkor fic - would you ever post these tidbits? i’d really love to read them even if they’re unfinished!

but if not, thanks for sharing what you already have and know that it’s very much appreciated ☺️

hey hi hi -- i 100% cannot tell you what this message means to me!! seriously, i'm so humbled and so so pleased that these little fics have landed for you!! so thank you, thank you so much for taking the time to read. and! for taking the time to compose this thoughtful message. you've made my week. :']

i think a number of wip snippets or excerpts ended up deleted when i uhhh accidentally deleted my tumblr a while back (all that curation-!!). fie on me.

here's a chunk from early on in that melkor/maglor one -- it's extremely long, and even more extremely unwieldy (i've written myself into some tangles here), but the conceit is Melkor befriending & seducing Maglor in Valinor during the Noontide, & this secret companionship of course cedes to disaster (and monsterfucking, with Melkor's less porcelain, less pleasing form) once the Darkening hits.

again, thank you so much for your interest and superb-kind words. :] (& sorry for any wip-type mistakes in this except, and for the lack of the beloved ë in Makalaurë!!)

Tools to nurture or desecrate; tools to reap and sow. Tools to convert. Sharp tools, dull tools.

Melkor gathers each one according to his design, wrenching each free of its moorings and testing its mettle.

He follows Makalaure and two of his brothers home as a dark breeze: harmless as hearth smoke if not for its whispers of the East beyond the Sea.

The three Noldor princes fall over themselves laughing, made pliant with drink. Casting aside pretense in Tirion’s streets, they join hands and circle into a dance. Makalaure demonstrates a complicated footwork that he insists is in vogue in Valimar; the preeminent bard would know, after all.

Maitimo is a fast learner, but over-tall: Carnistir yelps and shoves when Maitimo steps on his foot. Maitimo kicks at him, grinning. The two abandon the dance to gallop kicking at each other instead: carefree just beyond their majority and expectant of nothing more or less than this lukewarm paradise promised to them.

Only Makalaure, laughing, carries on dancing alone. He countervails his brothers’ happy warfare with defiant grace. A twist of his wrist, fingers upturned in invitation, and swift soundless steps, he entices the breeze.

He entices the breeze.

And the breeze, enticed, curls in on him; it twists into his hair and swifts around his waist with a lover’s persuasion. Just there under its current, the suggestion of a gale: howling, hard-hearted.

And the breeze pulls.

Makalaure feels the pull. He halts and whirls around, the smile on his lips dying as he looks toward the vacant alleyways and doorsteps.

Maitimo and Carnistir take his hands again; they dance him away before he can wonder.

III.

It begins with a chime.

The faint peal, spectral and displaced in Makalaure’s bedchamber, stills his composing.

Quill in hand and oud reclining across his crossed legs, he frowns down at the parchment as he listens. He holds his breath to better hear the tone and intuit its meaning.

He glances about his chamber.

When he turns to his bed, he finds a jagged shadow sitting upon it.

He quails back; the oud upsets from his lap and thuds against the carpet.

Such a dark. It rests in the way of a thing that has been biding its time.

“Do you know me, child of Fëanáro?” asks the shadow in a many-throated voice felt before heard.

When heard, rich as velvet, beautified for Eldarin ears.

Makalaurë ducks his head against the sound, his eyes rapidly scanning his parchment and the polished oud as though to glean a means of escape.

Melkor’s voice is beautified for Eldarin ears, but it is not beautiful.

— Makalaurë’s voice is beautiful.

Melkor’s voice is —

The shadow moves to stand before Makalaurë, a penumbra stretching before his eyes.

Ruinous, Makalaurë distantly recognizes.

“Do you know me?” Makalaurë returns then, his voice level to counter the apprehension evident in the set of his shoulders. “Do you know my name? Or indeed is Fëanáro and his ire what you would seek, imposing so upon his house?”

A bright grin slices through the shadow.

“You have the wrong chambers,” Makalaure finishes, clipped.

“Impetuous are raised Feanaro’s sons,” arrives the low voice, accented with a moribund tongue. Makalaure shivers again to hear it; he slips his hands inside his robe’s sleeves to smooth at his arms. “Comforted by the futility of their lot, emboldened by the clutch of their captivity.”

Makalaure glances toward his door, meaning to depart, to hurry from his wing of the compound and call for his brothers. And yet he stays seated, cogitating on the divinity’s words so akin to his father’s. The similarity compels his cautious eyes to return to the Vala.

Fair-minded as is Eldarin wont, he responds to the familiarity with a pale hue of due respect for a Vala: “So what is it, then, that Melkor would request of Feanaro’s son?”

“Fair is the second son of Feanaro,” Melkor speaks, “with his rare gift.”

Is it worship to share a gift?

“A song from his commanding lips.”

Makalaure grasps for his oud’s unfretted throat and straightens his back, immediately assuming a performer’s bearing even as incredulity creases his brow.

“A song.” He hesitates. “Want of a song compelled you all this way to my chambers?”

A rippling silence impresses upon the space they make between themselves.

“I do not understand.”

Such a dark. A dark new to him; for all Makalaure’s words, eluding description. He blinks into it.

“Which song would please you, Lord Melkor?”

“A song none but mine ears shall hear.”

Makalaure pauses again before he blinks down to his writing. He pages back the parchment once, twice, to where a composition’s scrawl trails into blank eggshell white, unfinished. With his eagle quill pick, he coaxes the oud’s coupled strings into a tentative rhythm. “I can offer you naught but a draft, then.”

When he drifts into singing, the wash of sweet words clear his uncertainty; they build a shelter from apprehension. Comfortable for now, commanding for now, he sings of silver inside the rock and silver from the Tree. Silver of the chattering runnels and silver of the fish that glimmer therein.

Of serenity he sings, the serenity of Valinor: all he knows.

And yet, while the words tide through well-trod sentiments, Makalaure still smiles through the sequence of satisfactions.

Telperion’s light winding through unbound hair; the silken shadows caressing fair faces.

The silken shadows caress fair faces.

Melkor smiles.

An oud string snaps.

The bleak twang rattles Makalaure out of his performance. He starts and clutches at his oud like a child he would comfort. “I am sorry,” he murmurs, distracted, “I have never known these strings to give — “

“Thy voice is the fairest in Aman, son of Feanaro,” Melkor intones again, a deep twist of sound. And suddenly he is crouched before Makalaure upon the floor, having closed in with such immediacy that Makalaure takes a moment to react to Melkor’s visage — a little intake of air — now freed of darkness and distance. Melkor is handsome, and and unnavigable as a cliff’s sheer stone face.

Slowly, Makalaure draws up his knees around his oud, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. “You humble me,” he responds. He glances away from Melkor to guide the Vala’s attention to where Melkor’s flower, wilted now, rests on his writing desk. It had blackened away quickly upon its arrival at Feanaro’s house, insult for an insult.

“More sweetly I would reward thee, second son.”

Makalaure’s fingers press against his broken string. They look at each other.

A knock at his door. Makalaure turns to it furtively. “Yes?” he calls.

“Me,” Maitimo announces through the oak.

Makalaure looks back to Melkor.

He finds himself alone in his bedchamber.

His shoulders slump — an exhale — a tension untying. An emptiness that would leave him questioning if he had ever been anything but alone in this place.

He feels at the snapped string in his hand, considering.

Then he swiftly moves the oud out of sight, as though a shame he would hide.

#melkor #maglor #tolkien fanfiction #thank you so much-!

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imagoddamnonionmason · 1 year ago

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~WIP WEDNESDAY~

Was tagged by the lovely @socially-awkward-skeleton to show a little bit of progress with one of my works-in-progress! Which... there are many cause I spin too many plates- anyway!

I... wonder which I should show. Maybe Call of Booty? Shall we? Yeah, we shall.

"The oil lamp in her hand grew heavy and she took a deep breath, as she watched the flame dance inside its little confined space happily. It flickered this way and that, beckoning her to come closer, to see how it wanted to be free, to hear its pleas. Nadežda took a sweeping look at the secret room, her face lacking emotion, but her eyes filled with that little dancing flame. Without effort, she tossed the oil lamp into the room, and as it smashed against the floor, the oil spilled. The flame consumed the liquid at the rate of a starving child, quick to relieve the hunger that it felt. Then, the flames shot to the pages. Within mere moments, the room was awash in a devilish glow of flame and the fire gnashed and clawed at everything it could consume to satiate its hunger." Call Of Booty: Chapter 5 - Where there is smoke

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Only a little snippet! I don't want to ruin the vibe I have for this scene. It's currently going through its second heavy edit and may possibly be out some time this week.

This snippet may also change, so if it's not the same when the finished chapter comes out I'm sorry ;u;

But yes, Nadežda comes across something that will haunt her waking moments and apparently the best way to deal with it is... uh, fire.

Who doesn't like a bit of Golden Age arson every now and again, right? Right?!

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Tagging (but with no pressure to take part): @efingart @edandstede @iamcautiouslyoptimistic @deeptrashwitch @welldonekhushi @adlerboi @adlersoldspice @angstkings @alypink - if there is anyone that would like to take part and show off a little something that you're working on, then by all means! Use this as your inspiration <3 I'd love to see what others are working on, so I can hype you up <3

As always, have a wonderful day/evening and I am sending you all very loving good energy ^u^

#wip wednesday #thank you for the tag skele!#my writing #bocw oc #jodie hall #nadezda pugachev #call of duty #black ops cold war #cod fanfic #uhhh can't think of any other tags- my tagging system must be all over the place lmao #anyway yes jodie causes a fire but are we surprised #she probably needs to burn some bridges esp in this au

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born-to-riot · 1 year ago

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WIP Wednesday

Since there is exactly one week until the day I plan to post my @polyacotarweek fic, I think it's time I share a little snippet of Nesta's adventure with Amren and Varian.... in their bed hehehehe

TW: NSFW

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[So 900 words may be too long for a snippet but just so you have an idea of what you're getting into, this is the message I sent @acourtofladydeath when I came up with this idea: (I think there is a sore lack of vamren in the community and shall I fix that by having them invite a third? Shall it be Nesta? Shall Amren show her how to harness her potential by taking it out on a needy overstimulated Varian?)

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“Oh sweetie, I’m sorry, did we leave you alone too long,” Amren coos to her lover. Varian sits exposed on a simple wooden chair in the middle of the couple’s bedroom. The Summer Court male’s head is hanging low, his white tendrils of hair acting like a shield in front of his face. Nesta did not pick up on any sort of response from the male that indicates that he acknowledges their presence. She takes a quick peek over at Amren and decides not to worry after finding the other female to seem emphatically unconcerned. Nesta watches on silently as the tiny fae takes a couple soft predatory steps towards the subdued male. Nonetheless, she stills to take in the view of the delicious specimen of man in front of her. Nesta can admit fully that she has never really given much thought to Varian before, not really having much time to assess him in the short three months after the war with Hybern. However, now, she can’t seem to look away from the large male’s thick muscular thighs, his heavy cock, his beautiful dark skin–fuck, Nesta feels her cunt throb in anticipation.

“Baby boy,” Amren releases another coo, causing Varian to finally raise his gaze to meet his Mistresses and causing Nesta to shiver for a different reason entirely. Now, not only does she have a better view of the male himself, a white blindfold and ball gag rendering his sight and ability to speak obsolete; but also she can see his nostrils flaring and his muscles twitching. Nesta is absolutely enraptured in the scene in front of her as she watches Varian suddenly seem to try to lunge in Amren’s direction, the man trying and failing to get closer to her, his muscles bulging in their effort to win a one-sided battle against his restraints.

But it isn’t until Nesta spots Varian’s collar, large and heavy on his neck, that she feels her nipples harden and another bout of wetness starting to form between her folds. Here, on Varian’s neck, in Amren’s apartment in Velaris, was one of the Summer Court’s infamous blood rubies. The massive jewel's weight was supported by a two-inch thick diamond encrusted platinum band. She knows it must sit heavy on his neck, it seems almost impossible that a jewel that large could be fixed upon a collar without falling, but here it stands.

Last Nesta had checked, the source material of Prythian’s most common nightmares had decided to use this ‘threat’ as a paperweight. Although, she can’t deny how much the pathway to her center steams at the thought of the Summer Court male being made to wear a sign of ownership stamped with the ultimate symbol of betrayal of his own court, an invocation of a feud on a personal level.

Nesta can’t help but muse over what the thrill of incurring such a depth of loyalty from another must taste like, she wonders too, greedily and needily what it feels like to be such a fearsome predator to surpass the laws of societal expectation. Is this Amren’s subtle yet personal way of invoking her own feud, a remnant of the possessive creature that once roamed inside of her that is furious at the land for claiming ownership of something that she marked as hers. She also wonders heatedly, enviously, what it would be like to be wanted that furiously. Need starts to play at the strings of her core, she can feel it heating and readying itself for something more.

“Don’t be shy now boy,” Amren instructs Varian, the man immediately turning his head in the direction of her voice, clearly desperate for her touch. Nesta would be lying if she said the palpable smell and taste of his desperation didn’t cause her clit to start to throb.

The sweetness of the pair in front of her simultaneously puts Nesta on edge as well as incurs yet another thrum of heat inside of her. Amren is never sweet. Nesta watches on as her mentor finally reaches her lover–no, her pet. Amren looks Varian up and down with a hungry gleam in her eye before grabbing his chin roughly, causing what sounds like a gruff moan to escape the large man’s lips. That’s all it took? Nesta thinks to herself.

“You haven’t even been touched boy and you’re already sweating?” Amren tuts, roughly maneuvering his chin as she gives him a thorough inspection, the male seemingly keening into the contact despite its roughness. Nesta tries not to get whiplash as Amren softly pats the male’s cheek twice with her free hand before letting it drop to rest on her waist.

“Pathetic,” the ancient one scoffs, finally releasing her other hand’s grip on his chin.

Nesta realizes that the male in front of her is not the same one that has been a frequent guest at their dinner table over the last couple of months. No, tonight she is not looking at the same captain of Tarquin’s guard nor the commendable battle tactician that she has come to know. Instead, Nesta finds herself looking at Amren’s pet. As soon as the thought crosses her mind though, Nesta is hit by a shudder that rolls through her entire body, a shock of a reprimand from something deep in her core, something primal. No, Nesta reprimands herself, straightening her posture as she starts to make her own way towards Varian. Tonight, he is her prey.

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hehehehe if you liked this then feel free to come back next week to see the full thing (hopefully I will come up with a title before then)

EDIT: im slow so this is going to be posted on the free day!!!!

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lillywhitefield · 8 months ago

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Wip Thursday? 🥺

Aaaaaaa I'm sorry I've been so deep into editing that I haven't checked my social media for a hot minute! As an apology, here's a little snippet from next chapter of the new fic I just posted!

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A week later she was once more at Philippa’s home, visiting with her sister and her new niece.

Thankfully, there was much less screaming.

“Did you decide to hire a wet nurse?” Pen asked as she held little Philomena, the baby making strange gurgling noises in her arms.

“I don’t see why I would take on the additional expense,” Philippa replied. “I don’t exactly need one.”

“I doubt I will, either,” Pen mused.

Though they could afford a wet nurse—not that Pen would ever tell her sister that—Pen doubted they would need one. Already her breasts were leaking, which was not surprising considering how much they had grown since the start of her pregnancy. It was not fashionable to nurse one’s own child, but Philippa’s lack of worry comforted Pen and solidified her choice in her mind. Perhaps it was instinct, but the thought of handing her baby off to be fed by someone else felt odd. If she was able to, she would be happy to feed her baby.

“She might need to be changed,” Philippa mentioned. Pen looked confused. “How will I know if she—”

“You’ll know.”

Pen still did not know what she meant, but she turned her attention back to the baby. Philippa could still hardly walk, so they were in the parlor upstairs. Prudence was also meant to be taking tea with them, but she was not feeling up to it so it was only Pen and Philippa fawning over Philomena.

The baby had the sweetest red hair, and the biggest eyes that would shift into their permanent color at some point in the next several months, and she was so very small. Pen had not held very many babies in her life, and was quite surprised to feel just how light the baby was, but somehow still so very heavy. Even now she could see traces of her sister and Albion in Philomena’s face, in her nose and chin and the shape of her lips.

She wondered what her own baby would take from her, and what it would take from Colin.

#polin #polin fanfiction #bridgerton fanfiction #lilly answers

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yanderefairyangel · 10 months ago

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What are you talking about with the pan vani cafe? I haven't seen anyone say anything weird? Is this drama coming from outside tumblr.

Ok so short story below

On twitter, the Pan x Vani official twitter account announced a countdown releasing with snippets of Alice and OZ

and some "Anime and manga" account shared this under the deceing title of "Ohh Pandora Hearts announced a countdown" which lead people to expect a remake/reboot

However, during the entire week all illustrations were published by the Cafe account, Jun only retweeting them

So when the countdown was over and that the full illustration released explaining the events organized at the Pan x Vani cafe 10000 of people replied with rude and offensive remarks towards Jun and the team because of the lack of Pandora remake

They all acted betrayed when the event was very explicetely to be about the cafe and neither of the manga exclusively

It also doesn't make any sense to expect Sensei to be sharing those illustrations from the CAFE account if it was for a reboot, if it was a reboot an anime studio/publisher would have made more sense

But nope, they still felt "betrayed" and went to complain about it saying terrible stuff, see here

(2) finn ✦ vanitas in my pocket on X: "getting art for characters whose manga ended 9 years ago and whining because YOU didn't check the account the announcement would be on and got your hopes up about something that was never happening. https://t.co/84vMaBISUt" / X

I haven't seen aything on tumblr either, I was mainly complaining about the state of things on twitter, and that's worse because Sensei having an account here she can see those and can be targeted more easily by those hence my rant (I am sorry if it was misleading)

Like I get wanting a PH reboot I want one too, but GOD, I can't stand this entitled mindest that she doesn't have the right to celebrated her 20 years as a mangaka when she spend years making manga for us

#vanitas no carte #pandora hearts

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myjunkisyuzuruhanyu · 1 year ago

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I mean, seeing what the ISU Awards has become... do we really want Shoma (and Stephane) to be involved in that mess? It's so... self-celebratory, lol. The phrase "I'll scratch your back if you'll scratch mine" comes to mind. Saw a FS fan who was at Zurich tweeted that the crowd don't even know or care much about the skaters when they were given awards... honestly even Stephane, a Switzerland citizen (!!!) chose to go to Tokyo this week to do dance classes and watch the Paris Opera Ballet. Anyway if people really want to watch a really good ice show, Daisuke's ice show KASSOUYA in Fukuoka was also running this weekend and they allow fancams... from what I can see on X/Twitter it's much better than AOI, sorry not sorry.

KASSOUYA seems indeed a wonderful ice show. The snippets look very cool. I wonder what brought them to allow fancams and if they keep it that way or only because they wanted to promote the show in sns 🤔 In Japan ice shows are growing. I am glad for every opportunity for the skaters.

In a way Shoma is involved in the award anyway. He was in the nominations, even if he didn't win. Not that this award has any sort of negative or positive impact on anyone really. I think Shoma would just deserve more recognition by the ISU. That's all, not that the award itself is worth anything. I guess nobody will be remembered for earning a skating award. Yet Shoma and Kaori not winning against Ilia when Ilia is here for two seasons and did get one title only feels odd. If it's solely on social media engagement well than Adam's backflip gained huge attention at Euros, Kaori's SP last season was literally retweeted by Janet Jackson herself, Livia Kaiser's FS was retweeted by Rachel Zegler and beside that it shows that ISU is not aware of what Shoma did for the sport. OPOI brought another crowd to figure skating. (SOI in the US just got canceled for the season for a lack of interest as it appears btw) But ofc this whole award show is playing into the hand of those ppl who always had a say in skating North America and Europe. Ilia's management is practically involved in the show, so winning an award two times in a row - one which was just invented for him last season - a devlish thought may come to mind 🙃

I think the crowd for an ice show is different than for a competition. At Nebelhorn Trophy usually the arena is more packed for the gala than for the actual competition. Those ppl there don't come bc of the names of the skaters, they come for a fun evening like going to the circus. I also went couple of times to Holiday on Ice, I was also at Disney on Ice (ice shows that come to my hometown are an easy choice to go to). At Holiday on Ice last year Papadakis/Cizeron were invited and I totally chose a date where they would perform in the show bc of them, however in the crowd most ppl didn't know who they were and didn't care. They liked their performance but you could see just a few excited fans. You can see by the reactions to the jumps (which are usually just doubles) that the cast performs there that ppl don't come bc of the sport but bc of the show. They would clap as enthusiatically for a double than for a triple. So I am not surprised the ppl didn't care much for the winners at Art on Ice, most ppl there probably didn't even know them but came for an ice show.

Stephane performed often on Art on Ice so I don't think it had anything to do with that, probably didn't rather fit his schedule. Makes you wonder though if he would have won if he would have performed there. Because very comically all winners were also present at Art on Ice...🙃

Maybe Shoma didn't win because he would not attend Art on Ice at this point of the season 🤔😂 just kidding...

I am not against those ppl that won at all, even happy for Deanna Stellato Dudek, she deserves the world as a role model. Just being the only Pairs skater to even get anything is showing how much ISU cares for all disciplines. Also the nominations of most categories just show that ice dance and Pairs have no value.

#figure skating #replies #skating awards #i am giving this award a lot more attention than i intended...

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straytrax · 2 years ago

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I accidentally deleted the request- but the one who asked for my Sniperspy headcanons: thank you for asking! I’d love to share cause, I too, have enormous brainrot!

Firstly, I'd like to say that these headcanons are with Red Sniper/Blu Spy. They’re not much different from a relationship with Red Spy, but he has certain headcanons that differ from his Blu counterpart and he has a different scenario in which he meets the Red Sniper.

They met, formally and without drawn blades, in an uncommon rickety bar in Teufort. It began with a mocking barb from Sniper, who had just walked in, and an unusually placid threat from Spy, who was evidently tipsy and more. Sniper felt almost guilty looking at the man so disheveled outside of working hours, and lacking a team no less. It was dangerous; the respawn system was off, after all. He hesitantly took a seat beside the spy, and before he had a chance to speak, Spy’s tongue was as loose as local gossipers having overheard new profound knowledge of the mercenaries and their little fort. Most of his tangent was nothing of importance (especially his snarky retorts towards Sniper) and half in French, so Sniper hardly followed. However a small sliver of dismal emotion stirred up in Spy, catching Sniper’s attention. Before he went any further, Spy paid for his drinks and carefully walked out of the bar. Following the incident, Spy targeted Sniper for the whole week until they met again at the same bar. This time Spy was sober. (Of course there’s more to this, but it’s an abstract snippet of how things started to get the ball rolling between them!)

(Okay, here’s them in a romantic relationship) Spy loves to stir up Sniper’s gravelly yet elated laugh, and Sniper loves to rouse an infatuating bubbly snort from Spy. Whether it be through ludicrous shenanigans, tickling, and, god forbid, dad jokes (contrary to what you might think, Sniper’s the one loaded with them. He secretly stashes 101 so bad, they’re good dad joke books) it doesn’t fail to make the other laugh. They get extra giggly when they are drunk. Sniper pulls out his infamous dance moves, tripping on his own feet and bringing everything he touches down with him. Meanwhile Spy tries to sing the best he can, which is equivalent to a cat being dragged through a bagpipe.

They do, however, have a mutual correlation that when things feel quiet, it’s nice to stay quiet. They share the pleasant silence while lounging or cuddling, or taking up smaller activities. Sniper likes to knit during these times. It’s easier to prevent extra stitches and tightened stitching than end up frogging most of it when talking, since it disrupts his focus. Spy savors reading and drawing. Sometimes he doesn't have to bring any books over, Sniper reads himself— just not much— or he’s already left a couple books from his previous visit. That being said, Spy still never arrives empty handed— without taking his weapons into account. He carries a notebook with a well worn pencil tied to it. While Sniper’s engrossed, Spy will sketch the man, sometimes discreetly or right across from him. He’d earn a bashful murmur and a foot tap from under the table when he’s noticed, but he’s never told to stop.

Following up with Spy never coming empty handed: he also brings food! He normally brings it on days when his counterpart, Red Soldier, or Red Demoman butcher their turn to cook (which is almost always), but will happily indulge his lover with more sweets and spices whenever he desires to. Spy also brings gourmet and pastry magazines he’s had stashed or exported from Europe to Sniper’s van, and they both review the ones Spy could possibly prepare and return with. Sniper knows he’s not as adept in culinary as Spy and will instead hunt the local critters, prepare them for cooking, and give them to Spy to fix. Sniper handed a prepped python to Spy once and he came back with a delicious soup that hit the spot stronger than any game he’s had before.

Sorry it’s so short! Hopefully I can write more in the near future.

#tf2 #sniperspy #bloody suit #tf2 spy #tf2 sniper #tf2 headcanons #their relationship is so intresting once you break it down

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ilyuu-archive · 2 years ago

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hiatus.

(dw you didn’t read that wrong,,, can you tell this is me trying to lighten the mood before i dampen it?)

that’s right folks. in bold (and in a pretty rainbow imo), i’m going to take something of a hiatus, or, at the very least, a semi one.

meaning i’ll fade form the surface of the earth and never come back………….

alright, alright, i’m kidding. it’s mainly because i feel like my mind is spiraling down in a bad place every time i open this app, relying way too much on it to the point that it’s unhealthy. really. it’s almost ridiculous. those few past days when i did leave the app alone, a week or two ago, for the lack of a better word, felt relieving to me and i also felt bad for feeling that way - do you see the pattern here?

that and i feel bad every single time that another day goes by and i’ve yet to post something for all of you - a drabble, or one of those smau snippets - and i know i shouldn’t be, as i’m not obligated to, like writing on here is as much as a choice as anything else, but the feeling stays and it gets only worse from there on.

to the point that, many times, i was very, very tempted to delete this blog altogether and add another one to bite the dust.

there’s also the recent milestone that i’ve reached, all 10000000000000 of you here and, at first, i was very happy about it. it was the highlight of my day until it faded and i was left with the question of “what now?” i don’t feel like writing as much as i used to, and every thing i put out there seems mediocre compared to everything else i see. in a way, or maybe it’s exactly that, i have no reason to try and keep up on this anymore and felt a bit like a wanderer (no pun intended, hehe) with every day that passes.

all in all, i feel, and excuse me for the language, like shit. everything just feels wrong to me while feeling like i could’ve done more.

so, for an indefinite amount of time, i’ll take some time off for myself. i’ll be lurking around here and there though, answering some asks (because it’s still summer break for me and what the heck am i supposed to do for the next two weeks?) but just less.

and to all my moots, thank you - this almost sounds like a goodbye and, i promise you, it’s not. thank you for making me feel better every time i interact with any of you, doesn’t matter what, it makes me happy enough just to be talking to you, really. it makes me happy knowing that you’re feeling alright, it makes me happy knowing that you have a path ahead of you, it makes me happy seeing memes, drabbles, and a whole lot of others things in my inbox - it makes me happy waking up in the morning and seeing all the chaos you make on my dash, and that i was able to meet and talk to you all. i’m just sorry i wasn’t able to reciprocate it all as much as i could’ve.

and so, take care! i love you all so very much! <3

#‼️#also fun fact #i’ve had this hidden in my drafts since 700 followers #so yeah it’s been a bit

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what-a-weird-rose · 2 years ago

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PandaLily: The Things You Are (Literal Art)

Pairing: Lily Evans / Pandora Lovegood

Rating: E

Prompt: Oral

Word Count: 2.8k

Lily pulls her hair back, tying it in a knot at the base of her skull.

Four hours is nowhere near enough time to finish a piece this massive- least of all when her subject has up and vanished off the face of the earth. She shouldn’t be surprised; she knows she needs to curb her disappointment with him. But after almost a decade of friendship, Lily would’ve assumed she would have the slightest bit of priority over Severus’ time- especially after he’d promised to help her. Call her naïve; God knows all her other friends have. Lily tries to see the good in everyone, even if it’s left her blindsided on more than one occasion, but even she knows there’s only so far she can be pushed.

She scrambles for a bit, genuinely considering whether or not she can pass with a failed final project. Then, Lily mopes and cries and spends ten precious two-hundred-forty minutes feeling sorry for herself. Finally, and with great resolution, Lily sends a quick text to Mary and Marlene to ask if they know of anyone free and willing to sit in her studio for the next three hours; they respond almost instantly.

Apparently, there was a new girl on campus that Mary and Marlene had met in the library so odd weeks ago. Supposedly, they’d been trying to plan a meeting between Lily and Pandora -as they’d called her- but the two’s schedules were always packed. However, Lily thought it was a subtle jab at herself more than anything. Mary had set the group chat up with Pandora, Marlene, Lily, and herself, then made quick introductions before kicking Marlene and leaving herself.

Pandora was. . .

nice, for lack of a better word. Very willing to help, asking appropriate questions, then finishing the short interaction with, ‘Where would you like to meet? :)”

Lily had hesitated, though she would never in a million years admit to it. She had never seen this girl before, and, as much as she trusted Mary and Marlene, there was no guarantee that Pandora would fit the piece- and how was she supposed to tell a stranger that? But, she decided, at last, she might as well try.

Lily had rearranged her studio four times in the seven minutes it took for Pandora to read her text and show up. Instead of sitting imposingly in front of a drab-wallpapered background -as Severus had insisted- Lily had decided to put Pandora in front of the large bay window -only after stalking the girl’s Instagram. Pandora posted little of herself, if at all. There were snippets of her hands, hair, shoes, and skirts, but most of her feed was the world around her: friends, plants, food, and the raccoon that had made friends with her cat. So, as much as it distressed her, Lily forced herself to set the portrait based on the aesthetic choices of someone she’d never seen in person.

Then, the knock came.

Severus had told her on many occasions -re: every time he visited- how ridiculous the security in her building was, as though she had any say in the matter. He had also made many a ‘joke’ about how easy it would be for a ‘low-life’ -she assumed he meant Remus- to break in and hurt her -his joke rarely ended well. But in this scenario, Lily thought she might agree with him- she felt incredibly unsafe, with clammy hands, a swirling stomach, and a rock in her throat.

But feelings be damned, Lily Evans had a task- and she never left a task unfinished.

The door swung ungracefully, getting caught on its hinges halfway open. At the same time, an ear-splitting screech filled the open air as the old hinges decided halfway would just have to be well enough. Lily thought about poofing into thin air.

“The architecture of this building is quiet fascinating,” the short, blond girl before she stated severely. Lily momentarily thought this was a mistake- that this girl couldn’t be ‘sweet, lovely’ Pandora, not with the serious stare and cutting commentary. “My friend, Regulus, is studying to become an arcitect and he said-” she coughs once as Lily steps aside to let her in, “’ you can always tell when the builder was lazy based solely on the longevity of the building.’ Or something to that effect, he always gets so prissy when he talks about design.” Pandora giggles, and suddenly, it’s like a unicorn-sunshine hybrid has walked into Lily’s home, talking about the intensity of too-smart boys who try too hard for too little.

Lily is caught almost completely off-guard, especially as Pandora sits on the plushy bench before the window and stares wide-eyed in Lily’s direction. It’s almost as if the air in the room huddles around Pandora, forcing Lily her way lest to suffocate.

“You’re very pretty, though I’m not sure if I’m surprised or concerned. . .” Pandora trails, suddenly shifting to look out the glass.

“Why might you be concerned?” Lily says with as much grace as she can muster; she turns on the kettle for safety.

“I have a thing.” Pandora states with the utmost gravity. Lily raises her brow in question, and Pandora nods seriously. “Everytime I meet a pretty girl, they fall dreadfully in love with me.”

Lily wants to laugh, but there is something about the way Pandora says it that makes her think the sentiment is hardly a joke. “And that’s a bad thing?” Lily shuffles her rack of teabags toward Pandora- lavender and lemon.

“It is, yes. They fall head-over-heels for me, except I never realize until they’ve long moved on, and the worst part,” Pandora begins as Lily motions to situate herself on the ottoman. “Is that by the time they’ve gotten over me, I’ve developed a crush on them!” She wails, though it seems to be only for comedic effect. Lily tries to laugh politely and ends up snorting.

“I see, quite the issue you’ve got there.”

“It’s horrible. And I would ask my friends to tell me whenever they know because they always know, but they would just laugh!” Pandora leans back against the exposed brick wall beside the window, allowing the steady orange glow of the slow sunset to highlight her.

Lily feels every fiber of her being hone in, feels the moment the charcoal touches her fingertip, and her consciousness evaporates. But it’s nice, in a way, that her painting models have rarely been before. Pandora is thoughtful, asking questions about the project -a portrait of a ‘beautiful person’- and the medium -anything and everything- and what she needs to do -sit as still as possible. And she’s generous, playing soft classical music from her phone that doesn’t affect Lily’s flow. Suddenly, an hour has passed since Pandora arrived, and the sketch is done. Pandora thinks it is lovely, and she can leave now if she’d like since it’s getting so late. But Pandora asks if she can stay to see how it turns out, if only to make quiet conversation with a shell-of-a-person. And who would Lily be to say no?

Pandora plays with her bracelets, the beaded one, the chains, and the metal bands. She tries her hardest to stay still despite knowing that Lily doesn’t need her to stay exactly where she is anymore. Pandora keeps herself still because, from the angle she sits at, she has a perfect view of the face Lily makes as she rubs oil pastels into the canvas, the perfect view to watch the face of concentration that overtakes her as she mixes paints, searching for the right shade. Pandora wishes the easel was tilted slightly more, if only so she could see how Lily interprets her- how this woman sees another.

Pandora shivers and hopes Lily doesn’t notice. She leans forward and grasps at the handle of the magenta mug before her. The tea is long cold, but Pandora has never been particularly picky about such things. So, she takes a long sip and watches over the mug’s rim as Lily readjusts herself. Pandora licks her lips.

A decently sized wooden antique clock hangs on the far wall behind Lily. From what she can read on it -Evan swears up and down she needs glasses- it’s about 9:30 at night, and Pandora can feel the exhaustion finally begin to set in. Her heart aches as Lily makes another disgruntled sound, tears a paper towel from its roll, and drabs gingerly at the canvas.

“Is there anything I can do?” Pandora whispers into the empty. Lily pauses momentarily, almost startled, then turns and nods vaguely.

“Coffee, if you would? I’ll take it however at this point.”

Pandora rushes up and into the kitchenette, two coffees.

By 11:59 p.m., Lily feels on the verge of a mental breakdown and a hallelujah moment. She sends the photo of the decorated canvas to the professor, McGonagall, who requires digital and physical versions of students’ work. As the clock strikes midnight, Lily can feel her adrenaline, anxiety, and emotions drain out like the water in an emptying bath.

Lily turns to Pandora, who had passed out on the ottoman near the three-hour mark, and gently grabs all the mugs that littered the end table. She makes her way into the kitchenette as quietly as possible, setting mug after mug onto the counter to be washed later.

“Is it over?” Lily hears Pandora whisper.

“As of two minutes ago, I have officially finished my final project.”

Pandora shoots up, not unlike a rocket, and beelines to where Lily stands near the stainless-steel sink. Pandora’s arms are loose and gentle, yet tight and intense. She holds onto Lily like a lifeline, plunging her face into the crook of Lily’s neck.

“I knew you could do it,” Pandora whispers into Lily’s skin.

“You helped more than you could ever know.” Lily replies, whispering into the wild curls of Pandora’s hair.

“I’m glad,” Pandora says, pulling back to look at Lily in the eyes.

Lily hears the words before she registers, saying, “I’m going to do something stupid.”

“What brand of stupid?”

“The kind that someone sleep-deprived and high on adreneline uses.”

Pandora stares at her, and Lily wonders if she dare to kiss this beautiful, mysterious stranger.

Their lips connect before Lily has the chance to second-guess herself.

Pandora tasted Lily’s cheap coffee, the lavender-lemon tea Lily had bought in bulk, and the copious other snacks they had been devouring throughout the night. Pandora tastes of long nights and gentle mornings, summer rain and winter sun, and dark flats in early summer as the school year approaches. Pandora tastes of the future, near and far alike.

Pandora runs her hands down Lily’s sides, pushing the pair out of the kitchenette and into the living space. The sofa is wide enough to support the both of them as they collapse into one another in a tangled, twisted mess of limbs and love.

Lily situations herself so she can lay with her head propped by two throw pillows and the armrest; Pandora leans over her, leaving bites and kisses as a breadcrumb trail of their adventure.

The flat is all but pitch black, the only light coming from the lamp Lily had been using to paint. The room was left to the faint glow of the white light bouncing off wall after wall to reach them- it never would.

Nothing could reach the two of them now as they tangled into one another, pulling and tugging and pushing and biting, anything and everything to allow the slightest consumption of empty space. Pandora seemed hell-bent on climbing her, and Lily could hardly stop her. Instead, Lily found herself grasping at the thick woven belt tied around Pandora’s and using it to haul the other girl up and into her lap.

“More.” One of them whispers, and neither knows which.

“Yes.” They say in unison as their hands meet and their lips join again.

Eventually, Lily unties Pandora’s belt, shimmying her shorts off and onto the ground elsewhere.

“More.” Lily says, and this time, she is certain it’s her.

“Yes.” Pandora replies, yanking her top off with relish.

Lily presses a soft, beautiful kiss to the top of Pandora’s breast, cupping them in her hands, “Tell me what you want, darling.”

“You.” Pandora says, even though she knows it will be cheesy. She tucks a strand of red hair behind Lily’s ear. “Give me whatever you’re willing to give.”

“Okay,” Lily whispers into Pandora’s skin. Her tongue glides over Pandora’s breast with experience, lapping at perky nipples and moles and small acne scars. Her lips follow the same route, kissing over Pandora’s breast, sucking nipples into her mouth to pull and kiss and feel, over and over again. She licks and kisses and breathes in Pandora.

Then, as she feels Pandora shift in her lap, Lily grips her hips, pulling them down to grind against her own.

“How far do you want to go?” Lily questions, sucking at the soft spot behind Pandora’s ear.

“I want to watch you cum.”

“Fuck.”

Pandora shifted them once more so she was kneeling before the sofa. The hardwood was certainly uncomfortable, but Pandora seemed to not notice it as she lowered her head down to nip at the clothed crotch of her partner.

For perhaps the first time in her life, Lily regretted her choice of jeans as her painter’s outfit. Mostly, Pandora made disgruntled noises as she continued to nip listlessly at the offending pants. Eventually, Lily pulled them off alongside her crusty painting top and panties, if only for her own sake.

Pandora made quick work of returning to her station between Lily’s legs, licking and sucking and kissing at Lily’s thighs and cunt. She also seemed prepared for Lily to beg for more as she quickly offered her fingers to be sucked.

And perhaps it was the combination of the two -having her clit viciously stimulated and having a pretty finger in her mouth- that led to her quick orgasm, but either way, Lily was distraught.

“Sorry, sorry, I-” she started, even as Pandora continued licking and sucking, “fuck, I didn’t mean to cum.”

Despite her attempts, Pandora seemed unbothered, remaining steadfastly between Lily’s legs, lapping up cum and spit and wetness.

At some point, not long after, Lily had wrapped her hand in Pandora’s hair, using it to guide how Pandora moved.

“More,” Lily says again, and Pandora moves quickly as she uses her middle finger to push into Lily’s cunt. There was a moment of complete silence as Lily let her head fall back and felt every millimeter of Pandora’s finger push further inside.

Then, Pandora began pumping- in and out and in and out and in and out and-

With her tongue pushing right into Lily’s clit- her left-hand working overtime to not only spread Lily’s legs but also rub tight circles into her clit-

Lily felt the waves rolling into shore again- her orgasm left her legs shaking and her brain fuzzy.

“You now.” She mumbles, and Pandora smiles, gently shuffling them so she can lay spread on the couch, and- “No, no. On my face.” Lily says tightly, already laying back.

Pandora pauses before nodding and scooting up and near Lily’s head. “Are you sure?” she whispers, moving again only after Lily confirms. She swings her leg over Lily’s head and uses the armrest as leverage to hold herself up. Lily begins slowly, softly giving tentative licks to Pandora’s dripping cunt.

Pandora moans, loud and guttural, as Lily grasps her sides and pulls her down to rest more of her weight on Lily’s face. Lily groans in reply, the vibrations following up and into her tongue. Her tongue seemed to have a mind of its own as it viciously licked at Pandora’s clit.

Lily’s hands hold tightly onto Pandora’s waits even as she writhes through her orgasm, nearly spasming over the two. Lily considers continuing, much like how Pandora did, but holds herself back as Pandora shuffles and taps gently on the hands that hold her.

“Are you alright?” Lily asks immediately, suddenly very self-conscious.

“Oh, yes, I’m just not sure that I could stop myself if we kept going.” Pandora says sagely, opting to scoot closer to Lily on the defiled sofa, “I have classes. . . later this morning that I have to be at, unfortunately.”

“Which mean you have to go?” Lily unhappily murmurs, and Pandora nods, pushing herself off the seat in one huff and reaching around to tug on her clothes. Lily watches, entranced, as Pandora ties the woven belt back around her waist.

“You have my number, yeah?” Lily nods dumbly, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, “good, be sure to use it, pretty girl.”

#(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets #Tales from the Hogwarts Broom Closets #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp #mwpp era #pandora lovegood #pandora lestrange #pandora rosier #lily evans #pandalily #pandora x lily #smut

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bi-bats · 2 years ago

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so intrigued by ALL of those titles 👀 tell me more about “the couch” please?

adkjfalksdf didn't expect that to be the one everyone wanted to know about so I'll tell you about the reason I started writing this fic since I just posted a snippet of it!! (and if you want to ask about one of the others feel free)

(...and I'm going to put it under a read more, because it got much longer and more personal than I expected it to be)

So, I used to have a couch that was... horrible. I bought it with my ex during covid with our unemployment money since we needed a new one, and it was a disaster start to finish. It was the wrong color, it was small and too low to the ground, and it was horribly made.

But also, he always sat down on it too hard. And I always told him he was sitting down on it too hard and that one day, it would break. And then the next day, he would sit down on it too hard, and I would tell him the same thing.

And one day, unsurprisingly, he sat down on it too hard and one of the center beams broke. He blamed it on the couch. Which was not necessarily false, it was not built to last, but it wasn't the whole truth. He also strained it until it broke by refusing to be aware of his own actions.

Obviously, this was also representative of our relationship as a whole. We had been together for 5 years, and in January of 2022, I broke. I finally managed to get out of that relationship (not for lack of trying, for the record). It was one of the best things I ever did for myself.

But I still had the couch.

It was ugly; it was obviously broken; it was uncomfortable to sit on. Friends would comment on it being uncomfortable, tell me I needed a new one (not unkindly, but still). And I knew I needed a new one. There were many factors in me not getting a new couch for a while, including plans to move in with a friend that fell through (we were going to pick one together) and plans for my own future that fell through (not getting into the phd programs I applied for, which was a gift in disguise) and generally recovering from being in an abusive relationship.

But every time someone pointed it out, I got mad about him all over again. I hated having the thing, and I hated that it was broken, and I hated that it reminded me of everything that had been broken in our relationship and how he essentially treated me as carelessly as the couch. And ALSO, I'd always hated it!! It was supposed to be RED!!!

So, in May of this year, I bought a new couch. The new one came before I could get rid of the old one, and for a week, I had both couches in my living room. My new couch is fucking gorgeous and I'm obsessed with it, by the way:

It felt so good to see my beautiful new couch, the one I got to pick for me, the one that I unpacked and assembled (okay, screwed the legs onto, but you get the gist) and moved myself, next to the ugly reminder of a shitty situation, and know that it was going to be gone in a week.

And in that week, I started writing The Couch. It's obviously very different from what I just wrote about if you saw the snippets, but the gist is that there's a busted, broken, fucked up couch in Jason's safehouse that he won't get rid of and Tim doesn't understand why, because he doesn't know about the memories attached to it.

It's sort of self-indulgent but it's cathartic and sweet and soft, and it was what I needed that week. Hopefully, it won't read like me pasting my feelings onto it, but I think it has a heart of its own.

Alright, sorry that got so long and personal!! Thank you for the ask and sorry that this DEFINITELY wasn't what you were looking for when you asked this, and feel free to ask about a different one if you want. Regardless, thank you for giving me a space to get this off my chest 💕💖💚

#bibatrambles #tag games

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cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal · 1 year ago

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Scarlet Welly Boots please!! And also, if I can be cheeky and ask for two, any Adam du Mortain WIPs in here? As an extra treat :x

Oh, Jack just asked about Scarlet Welly Boots here.

As for other Adam du Mortain pieces, I've got a few up my sleeves for some small snippets...

He pauses as he notices the distinct lack of the detective behind his desk. The sight makes him frown and he closes his eyes as he lets himself listen a little more clearly to the bustle around the office. It takes a few seconds, but he catches the steady, even beat of Callaghan's heart. He's definitely nearby. Adam casts a glance around. He sees no sign of the man. Still, he steps into the office all the same. The detective will, no doubt, return shortly. He's struck by the faint smell of tobacco as he steps in. It causes him to pause. Adam doesn't think Mason has been in the office in a couple weeks, but the smell is more recent. He inhales deeply. It's definitely the same brand as Mason's. Perhaps his chainsmoking has seeped into the walls at last. Adam sighs at the thought. Another little bit of ammunition for the detective to needle him about, no doubt. Adam finds his eyes drawn to the corner of the desk at the thought. It's still wrapped in dingy silver tape, most of the worst splinters having been cleared off since he shattered it. He had offered to replace it twice now, but each time the Detective had waved him off. He'd shoot off that crooked smirk, his hazel eyes shining with amusement, "Put your money to something useful. It's a cheap desk anyway." Adam suspects the Detective likes to keep it around to taunt Adam. A daily reminder of Adam's slipping control.

From Old Habits, about Adam discovering a moment of weakness in Raine.

But Raine's eyes are trained at the carpark, his mouth set in a grim line. He reaches out, grabbing the edges of Adam's jacket, and tugs him close. Adam lets him, half out of surprise and half out of the desire to not break Raine's fingers should he jerk away too roughly. His back presses into the wall, Raine's hands still tangled in his jacket, and they are perhaps inches apart. He can feel Raine's heartbeat in his own chest, just as fast as his own. Raine winces as he mutters, "Sorry about this in advance, but just go with it please." Before Adam can ask what, exactly, he means, Raine's lips crash into his. It isn't like the kiss they shared after the auction. Raine isn't gentle and tentative now, but kisses him roughly. He trails his lips up Adam's jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his neck. Adam fails to catch the moan before it escapes his lips. He's swept up, caught in the feel of Raine's chest pressed against his, Raine's knee slipping between his own. Heat burns deep in Adam's chest, the flames of it licking further down. He should push away. He should-

Another snippet from Undercover. Raine's methodology vexes Adam, but they are effective methods...

I'm also working on your dancing prompt, don't you worry. It's just too early in drafting for a snippet.

#cigs writes #fic: raine

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disastrousfeline · 2 years ago

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HI sorry for the late response i have been agonizing over this for weeks <- anxiety

anyways i think it's best if i begin with a preface from our esteemed gm @sekiyo:

i think we agreed that our playthrough is even weirder in context so uhm . i'm just gonna explain what we've shared on tumblr. but if you want more context anyway feel free to ask 👍 in particular @crunchy-lesbun is VERY excited to share about buns blorbos

anyways i'll try going through this chronologically:

this very post oh god do i have to explain everything . fine okay - a burning hill: do i need to explain this . i am the fire, i am the forest, and i am a witness watching it. i stand in a valley watching it. and you're not there at all - because dreaming costs money, my dear: in the scenes preceding the tachyon, marthe (callsign 9 thermidor) (@sagit---taurus's pc, as mentioned) had an extensive breakdown because she's from fourthcomm and knew feather. in the scene immediately preceding it i (as my pc sou spacious lynk, callsign alsciaukat) referenced this song because i was listening to mitski for hours recently at the time. to comfort her. we will manage somehow. seki even commented that the scene is really pretty with this song. i can still smell the fire. though i know it's long died out. the smoke still hangs in my hair. and on some quiet evenings it burns my eyes. yeah . - i'm your man: you believe me like a god; i'll destroy you like i am. - my love mine all mine: alice (as mentioned, @crunchy-lesbun"s pc) sang this while we were unwinding from the tachyon with a karaoke. her homebrewed bond is the lover and a lot about her is about loving. she is our polycule recruiter. - goodbye, my danish sweetheart: as i said, just a snippet and several combined hours of rotation . there's some kind of burning inside me; it's kept me from falling apart. and i'm sure that you've seen what it's done to my heart, but it's kept me from falling apart. - heat lightning: honestly this one's just vibes and SO MANY combined hours of rotation. sorry. i think it's understandable once you've rotated it enough though - last words of a shooting star: i quoted this when seki mentioned that s'more (its pc) keeps draer apartment pretty much unchanged so that, in the event that drae dies, drae does not leave much to clean up. seki agrees - a horse named cold air: vagueposted character has been revealed. the leviathan. please note that our group LOVES fucking around and finding out and thus we found out about A Lot of things before we should have. anyways the vibes do check out i think

trick or treat pt 1 marthe is. eccentric. a weirdgirl who lacks a sense of personal space. i say this affectionately. anyways yeah she's in a relationship with alice, as is like half of the team and several npcs

trick or treat pt 2 these are alice and cŵn annwn, an enemy npc from the capella fight that we got attached to and subsequently recruited to the polycule and team. she's graduated to a pc now by the way, still played by seki of course

trick or treat pt 3 i don't think i need to explain this. fuck rodericke steele all my homies hate rodericke steele. as a side note we might kill him soon (on ch 3 rn)

trick or treat pt 3.33 no relation to the previous trick or treat i just think it's a shame if it's not 3. anyways the other players don't know what characters this vaguepost is about yet. as a side note, this ransom note meme is made from snippets of yi sang's poems. yi sang the real life author wrote a lot of poems about mirrors

trick or treat pt 4 another reference to alice and cŵn annwn. also only tangentially related but sagit---taurus told me to mention that annwn was a farmgirl. so there's also that i guess

trick or treat pt 3.33 pt 2 seki didn't tag this with #in golden flame but. more dogmirror posting. wink wonk

FALLING, FALLING, FALLING INTO THE FLAMES at least seki and i are fans of the mechanisms and their song titled hellfire is so good and like. y'know. apocalyptic fire. and attempts to prevent it. i couldnt not brainrot about it. why alsciaukat? their bond is (a variant of) the magus and. yeah

more alsciaukatposting wooo my silly little pc, yeah. i use this as their tupper pfp now btw

vickposting i think @omaticwriting explained it pretty well already

my friends (@sekiyo @sagit---taurus @lemonorangelyr @crunchy-lesbun @omaticwriting) and i ended up associating a suspicious amount of mitski with our igf campaign for some reason (several combined hours of rotation) . here's a list (which im guessing will only continue to grow as our collective brain mold grows)

a burning hill

because dreaming costs money, my dear

i'm your man

my love mine all mine <- less about the campaign and more about a specific pc (alice, crunchy-lesbun's character)

goodbye, my danish sweetheart <- kinda like just a snippet of it but shhh

heat lightning

last words of a shooting star <- also more about a specific pc i think (s'more, sekiyo's character)

a horse named cold air <- character associated with it hasn't appeared yet but gm (sekiyo) vagueposted about it so

bonus (courtesy of sagit---taurus, 9 thermidor's player):

#in golden flame #lancer rpg #oc: alsciaukat #friend oc: marthe #friend oc: alice #friend oc: s'more #friend oc: vick #we will not burn

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empoleon · 2 years ago

Text

are you always so restless (yes you are, is that hard?)

rated t, one shot, 4233 words

also available to read here

Wolfwood purposefully ignores the tickle in the back of his throat. It’s nothing, but on the off chance that it is something, it’s likely caused by the ever present sand dunes that are really starting to make his eyes hurt.

But again, it’s nothing. He squints for a moment as he glances up at the sky, almost stopping to wonder if this is some sort of cruel joke—there is absolutely no way the sun was this hot a few hours ago.

‘The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.’ He recalls a specific passage and almost trips over a large rock, struggling to regain his footing.

What a load of shit, Wolfwood grunts.

It’s nothing.

Meryl is talking about something with Roberto—reports, news articles, perhaps including that they need to charge the Jeep again soon—Wolfwood mostly tunes it out.

He catches her glance at him a few times, something akin to worry knitting her brows, but it’s gone within minutes.

They’re all waiting for Vash to come back with their canteens, having elected him to be the one to fill them this time.

It’s been almost half an hour though, and Wolfwood isn’t sure how much longer he’ll be able to stand without—

A sneeze rips through him once, then twice, and he has to steady himself by grabbing the Punisher.

A deafening silence follows.

“Not a single word—” Wolfwood starts to threaten, but he’s cut off by the one voice he doesn’t want to hear.

“I’m back!”

Vash is trotting towards them—a feat in its own right, with how uneven the sand below their feet can be—arms filled with their supplies and none the wiser to anything that happened moments before his arrival.

Or so Wolfwood thinks.

“You know,” Roberto starts, “it’s probably those Worms you keep eating, Undertaker.”

The ride in the Jeep had been peaceful until that exact moment.

Wolfwood grunts and crosses his arms. “Haven’t you heard of allergies? I’m fine, old man.”

Meryl is staring straight ahead as she drives, but her eyes flicker back at him from the rear view mirror. “He may have a point, you know.”

She drives over a particularly rough patch of sand, sending the Jeep into a steady shake. It makes Wolfwood’s slowly persistent headache feel even worse than he thought was possible.

“Not you too, shorty,” he grumbles, reaching to steady himself by grabbing his seat. This is really starting to grate on his nerves. “I keep tellin’ ya, I’m fine—”

Meryl steps on the breaks right as a giant sandworm launches out of the sand a mere few feet away from the vehicle. The action causes Wolfwood to lurch forward, hands weakly stopping his face from ramming into the headrest of the car seat in front of him.

Vash, sitting across from him, doesn’t even have a chance to react—he does faceplant into the uncomfortable leather of the car seat and whines, rubbing at his eyes.

“Meryl, I can drive for a while, if you want—”

“No,” is heard from both Roberto and Meryl at once. Vash frowns.

“Well, maybe we should stop for the evening? If the Worms are becoming active—”

“The next town isn’t that far off,” Wolfwood finally speaks once he’s certain that things aren’t moving in his vision. He can’t remember the last time he ever felt so dizzy. “I’d rather sleep in a bed.”

Vash glances between him and Meryl. Wolfwood’s tone really didn’t leave much room for any arguments.

“Okay, I’ll try to drive… better,” she starts the Jeep again and grips the steering wheel. “We should be there by nightfall.

Roberto huffs a laugh. “Better buckle up.”

Meryl starts in on that, arguing with him while they continue to travel. Vash remains oddly silent, casting a few curious glances at Wolfwood.

“Nick?”

His voice is quiet, almost a whisper amongst the chatter within the vehicle. He turns to look at Vash, brows furrowing as he mouths ‘what?’

And then Vash, the absolute bastard that he is, gives him a grin that physically hurts Wolfwood to look at and pats his lap, as if he’s volunteering a secret service that only he can provide.

Technically, he is, but Wolfwood is not about to try and unpack those thoughts. His head hurts enough as is.

He settles for what he hopes is a very scathing look, because seriously, there is no way he’s about to rest his head on Vash’s lap.

Meryl swerves the Jeep to the left, presumably avoiding another sandworm, muttering a faint apology that does nothing to help Wolfwood’s throbbing head.

A warm hand carefully touches his shoulder, and suddenly all he can see and feel is Vash.

“Just for a little while,” is all he says while gently tugging on Wolfwood’s arm. “You know I don’t bite,” he adds after a moment, light and teasing.

He wants to say something witty in return, but merely hums a tired reply instead—just this once.

Maybe awkwardly laying down would help. Vash’s lap is simply an added perk.

When Wolfwood comes to, he immediately notices three things:

The first being that they’re still in the Jeep and it’s definitely gotten darker out. That nearby town must’ve been further off than he thought.

The second is something that he is actively trying to fight—there is an overabundance of saliva in his mouth. That never ends well, in his experience.

And the third—Vash’s hand is in his hair, carefully playing with a few strands of it.

He wants to say something, because this is oddly intimate, considering everything, and there is a lot to consider whenever it comes to Vash.

The jeep makes a slow turn and Wolfwood can feel his stomach rolling with the movement. Shit. He swallows and settles on grimacing for now.

“How is he?”

Meryl’s voice is filled with concern, and if Wolfwood knew he wouldn’t be sick, he’d speak up and mock the reporter for being such a softie. Vash must be rubbing off on her.

Vash’s fingers untangle from Wolfwood’s hair and move to his forehead, resting there for a moment.

“He definitely has a fever,” Vash murmurs. He traces along Wolfwood’s brow line. “I wish he had said something sooner.”

“That’s rich coming from you, kid,” Roberto comments. He earns a glare from Meryl and he shrugs.

It is, Wolfwood thinks. He feels Vash move his hand back to his hair, choosing to not say anything else to Roberto’s comment.

Wolfwood tries to focus on Vash’s hand, willfully ignoring the growing unease he feels deep in his stomach.

A comfortable—or rather, a tolerable silence falls upon the Jeep, save for the radio in the background. The voice he hears singing sounds familiar.

Except it’s not quite singing—humming?

Vash is definitely humming. It’s sort of like a soft rumble, one that Wolfwood can feel, but not quite feel, hear and not hear—it doesn’t make much sense. Even with his eyes closed, it’s as though there’s a soft glow accompanying the noise.

It’s extremely pleasant, along with Vash’s fingers in his hair and he prays it can last a little while longer.

Truly, God must have it out for him, because the next thing he remembers is bolting upright and gasping for air as he starts to dry heave.

The motel bedroom has seen better days, probably. Having one grown man practically falling apart in the bed and the other teetering around nervously surely isn’t anything new.

Wolfwood could do without Vash’s nervous energy, though.

“Blondie,” he struggles to speak and it comes out strained. “Stop. Moving.”

Vash freezes by the side of the bed. “Wolfwood?”

“Going to burn a hole in the carpet,” he mumbles, and that finally gets Vash to smile, even if it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

Like shit. “’M fine,” he says instead, because it’s easier.

Vash kneels beside the bed and rests his head on his prosthetic. “You sound awful.”

“Thanks,” Wolfwood says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Where—”

“Down the hall,” Vash answers him before he can finish asking. “Roberto paid for the rooms, he said something about you owing him cigarettes, though.”

Wolfwood snorts, but it turns into a wet cough. “He owes me—”

Vash ignores the comment. “I chose to stay with you since I can’t catch… whatever it is you have.”

There is an unspoken acknowledgment there in the way Vash words it—he knows what caused it, but won’t say as much.

“It’s just a bug,” Wolfwood argues, because again, that’s easier. “I doubt I’m contagious, hell, this is nothing—”

“You threw up blood,” Vash tells him, a deep frown forming on his face. “It certainly isn’t nothing.”

Well, shit. “Spikey—”

“Don’t, Nick,” Vash’s voice is entirely too soft now. “Just—don’t, okay?”

Wolfwood sighs and closes his eyes. “Okay,” he gives a small nod of his head and winces, regretting the movement.

“You should rest,” Vash says after a moment. He still doesn’t move from where he’s sitting on the floor.

It’s annoying when Vash gets like this, even more so when Wolfwood can’t do much to fix things.

So he does what his fever-ridden brain thinks is right and stretches out an arm to pat the empty space on the bed next to him.

It’s a start.

“Did I throw up on you?” Wolfwood asks after they have lied together in a shared silence for roughly a half hour. It feels out of place to speak almost, like he should have simply let the quiet air continue to fill the room.

But unfortunately, Wolfwood has to know. He isn’t going to sleep until then.

Vash pulls a face, and even in the dark of the room Wolfwood can tell he’s wincing. “Yeah, but it’s okay, I caught most of it.”

“What?” Wolfwood sounds horrified. “Like, with your hands?”

“Kind of? I mean most of it landed on my lap, so,” Vash shrugs a shoulder. “Meryl was worried about the Jeep getting dirty—”

Wolfwood slaps a hand to his forehead and groans. “That’s disgusting, she can fucking pay for a cleaning if the damn thing needs it.”

“Hmm, you know,” Vash sounds a bit too thoughtful when he speaks, “we’d probably save a few double dollars if we cleaned it ourselves…”

“You’d make a sick priest work?” Wolfwood feigns shock, moving to press his wrist over his eyes. “That’s just cruel, needle-noggin.”

“And here I thought you lived for charitable acts,” Vash slowly starts to sit up, but he’s stopped by a warm hand encircling his wrist. “What?”

Wolfwood, seemingly about to speak, instead starts to cough again.

Vash waits, because he has the patience of a saint—a real one, at that, Wolfwood decides, not some shitty uncanonized one—simply sitting next to him. He moves his wrist out of Wolfwood’s grasp and decides to hold his hand.

When Wolfwood catches his breath, he clears his throat to try again.

“Don’t… go,” he says—he asks, but it’s a very weak attempt.

“To the other bed, you mean?” Vash quirks an eyebrow.

Apparently Wolfwood didn’t catch the fact that the room did have two beds.

He tries to ease his hand out of Vash’s grasp and fails, miserably, all the while Vash, still being the absolute bastard that he truly is, laughs.

Vash helps him to the bathroom twice when he starts to feel nauseous again. Nothing happens at first—once he does throw up Vash is quick to kneel beside him, but hesitates to reach out.

Wolfwood spits into the toilet and lets his head rest on the cool porcelain. It’s soothing.

The hand that eventually starts to rub his back is an added bonus, also cool to the touch, and it makes Wolfwood shiver.

“Sorry,” Vash murmurs, prosthetic hand faltering to settle near Wolfwood’s shoulder. “You okay?”

The feeling is so featherlight and Wolfwood partially wonders if Vash can feel the heat emanating off of his bare skin.

“Yeah,” he replies after a moment, “’M good.”

He can hear Vash sigh and the hand on his shoulder is gone.

“Think you can stand?”

Of course, he wants to say, it’s not like I’m—

“Nick?”

Oh. That tone of voice made sense to him now. He should have realized sooner. Irritation made sense, but this? This is—

Vash is scared for him.

Wolfwood pulls his face away from the ceramic bowl. “Help me up, blondie.”

“You know, if you wanted a hug you simply could have asked me,” Vash’s face is pressed near Wolfwood’s shoulder, more so on the pillow than anything, unable to pull back as he’s being held there by the other man.

He easily carried Wolfwood out of the bathroom and back to the bed in the motel room, but once he stopped near the side of the mattress to help him lie back down, Wolfwood didn’t release his hold around Vash’s shoulders.

Which now led to Vash standing—or rather, half bent over—awkwardly embracing Wolfwood.

It’s not as though he doesn’t want to, but this position is starting to make his lower back twinge with pain.

“Nick, come on,” Vash tries to pull away, “at least let me get comfortable.”

“This is comfortable,” Wolfwood says into the fabric of Vash’s shirt, to which he hears a quiet groan.

“You are such a pain in the ass, you know that?” There is no bite in Vash’s words, but he says it so suddenly and so seriously that it causes Wolfwood to laugh and ease up his grip.

“Hey, it takes one to know one,” he quips.

Vash ultimately decides that he’s right and goes limp, letting his full weight rest on top of Wolfwood, who immediately protests.

“Okay, okay! Get off me already, you idiot,” he pushes Vash to the side of the bed with a huff.

“Now will you rest?” Vash asks again.

He probably should, but the thought of having to lay there in silence with his own thoughts is starting to make him feel nauseous again.

“Talk to me,” Wolfwood turns to his side and is met with Vash giving him a questioning look, eyes softly illuminated in the dark. “I’ll fall asleep faster if you speak.”

“Rude,” he mutters, “is my voice that boring to you?”

“Oh, absolutely, spikey,” Wolfwood exhales through his nose slowly. It helps, a little. “You could tell me a story.”

Vash shifts on the bed slightly. “A story?”

“Used to do it back at the orphanage,” is all Wolfwood says at first, and he knows Vash is waiting for him to continue. “When the kids were sick. It was comforting.”

He doesn’t open up about it much—distant memories still too fresh and constantly present in his mind.

“I’m not sure if I can provide that kind of comfort,” Vash sounds uncertain, and it hurts, because that is simply not true—not true at all.

“Well, you won’t know unless you try, yeah?”

“When I was… huh, I’m actually not sure how old I was,” Vash pauses to consider it. “Definitely half a century ago, I think. Maybe a bit more—”

“I’m gonna start callin’ you grandpa,” Wolfwood decides. “Grandpa Stampede—”

Vash reaches over and pulls his cheek, earning an annoyed swat at his hand. “Shush, let grandpa finish his story, all right? Now where was I…”

The story is a strange one. Vash describes visiting half-empty towns in his youth, stopping to help when help is needed. A true hero’s tale, if Wolfwood ever heard one.

It doesn’t have a happy ending.

“There was this family,” Vash is staring at the ceiling, the too-bright cerulean glow of his eyes faint. “They let us stay for a few days during a bad sandstorm. It was a little cramped, but Brad and I didn’t mind. We were—we were grateful, really.

“Not many families would do that for someone they… didn’t know,” Vash chooses his words carefully, “despite us having helped out the Plant that was ill.”

Not many families would do that for someone like Vash. For someone like him.

“They had a little boy, I’m not sure how old he was, but he couldn’t have been more than five years old.

“He was sick. Some illness that Brad had to explain to me. I asked him if—if it was similar to how my sisters…”

Wolfwood swallows. “Blondie, you don’t have to—”

“I was so naive. I really thought—”

“Vash,” Wolfwood is slowly moving to sit up this time, “stop.”

“I couldn’t help him,” Vash doesn’t bother to look at Wolfwood, knowing full well he can see the tears trailing down his cheeks. “I couldn’t help—humans. And I wanted to so badly. I haven’t tried to do that ever since—”

“Today in the jeep,” Wolfwood is leaning over him now, both arms caging his head on the pillow while he peers down at his face. Vash blinks up at him, frozen.

“In the jeep,” he repeats himself, “I heard you singing earlier.”

Vash lets out a breath he had been holding. “I’m sorry.”

Wolfwood can’t help his sigh of annoyance. “I’m not mad, needle-noggin, but why did you… why?”

Why me?

“I don’t know,” and Vash is being honest, for once, about it. “I wasn’t really thinking too hard about it.”

“Obviously,” he drawls, and Vash snorts wetly. “That’s not—not what I meant, though. Why after all this time?”

Why try again?

Vash closes his eyes. “Because I love you.”

He hesitantly peeks one eye open, possibly expecting the worst after such an admission. Wolfwood is a lot closer now, a mere few inches away from his face.

“We should do it properly, then,” he insists, resting his forehead carefully against Vash’s own.

“Nick…”

Vash brings his hands up to cup his face, flesh and metal thumbs stroking along Wolfwood’s jawline.

He wants to cry. He is crying—he never did stop, and Wolfwood simply remains there through it all, basking in the ethereal glow that Vash’s body emits.

“’M not going anywhere, spikey, you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vash’s laugh is warbled. “I hear you.”

“You’re still burning up,” Vash presses his lips to Wolfwood’s forehead.

“Can’t help that,” Wolfwood mutters, eyes closed, “you’re the one who’s a furnace.”

Vash hums in agreement. “I did offer to sleep in the other bed.”

Wolfwood doesn’t argue with that, but he does reach under the covers to grab hold of Vash’s arm.

“I’m not, don’t worry,” Vash teases. He feels the hand on his arm loosen, ever so slightly, but never completely lets go.

“Sleep, Nick,” he loses track of how many times he’s asked the man beside him to rest. The night isn’t going to last forever and they’ll have to leave tomorrow morning.

Again, silence. It stretches on for some time and Vash waits.

Then, “Spikey? Could you… one more time?”

“Could I do what?” He hears a huff of annoyance and smiles.

“Pain in the ass,” he echoes the insult from earlier. “You just want to hear me say it.”

“It’s nice when we’re honest with each other, right?”

Vash moves under the covers, one arm holding it up as an invitation.

Honesty. Definitely not one of Wolfwood’s stronger attributes, but for Vash he can try.

He scoots closer, opting to curl one arm around Vash’s waist, face pressing into his neck.

“One more time. Please,” he whispers against the thrum of Vash’s pulse. This is about as honest as he can get, given the current circumstances.

Vash pulls the blanket up to his shoulder, careful and precise. He angles his head in a way to place a kiss to the crown of Wolfwood’s hair, replying with a soft ‘okay,’ and then he starts to sing.

“Should we wake them?” Meryl’s voice is quiet when she speaks. “They both look… peaceful, surprisingly.”

Roberto leans against the doorframe. “Probably the only peace we’ll be getting today—you heard the innkeeper this morning.”

Bounty hunters were already on the move again, hot on their trail. Nothing new.

“He deserves it,” and whether Meryl is referring to Vash or Wolfwood, no one can be certain.

“Fine,” Roberto steps out the door and into the hallway. “Come on then, newbie, let’s leave them to it.”

The floor creaks and the door is closed softly with an audible click.

“I know you’re awake, needle-noggin,” Wolfwood’s voice is muffled by equal parts blanket and Vash’s shirt.

Sunlight is shining into the inn room now and onto the bed. It feels good, better—definitely not as torturous as it was the other day.

“What gave me away?” Vash asks, disbelieving. His face is still partially buried in dark strands of hair. “I was perfectly still!”

“Well, the squeeze to my ass, for starters,” Wolfwood points out. “You can stop now, by the way.”

Vash does nothing to remove his hand from the area. In fact, he keeps it there for good measure.

“When the door opened it startled me—”

“Right, and you’re still recovering from that?”

“You know me so well, Nick,” Vash croons.

Wolfwood doesn’t dignify that with a response, choosing to slowly untangle himself from Vash’s wandering hands and steadily sit upright. The blanket pools near his waist, and only then does he realize how damp it feels.

“Shit, guess I sweated out the worst of it,” he says. “Sorry if any of that got on ya—”

Vash sits up so unnaturally fast, moving to place a hand on Wolfwood’s chest. His skin is warm, but not too warm, and his heart is steadily beating underneath his fingertips.

He feels so relieved until he sees Wolfwood’s shit-eating grin.

“Couldn’t resist feelin’ me up after all, could you?” He laughs as Vash feels himself start to boil, deftly retracting his hand with an eye roll.

“I’m not—”

“While I’m flattered you like my tits,” Wolfwood catches his hand with ease and brings it up to his lips, “I really should be thanking you for putting up with my sorry ass last night, so,” he presses a kiss to Vash’s knuckles.

Vash’s mouth twitches humorously. “Surely that’s not all?”

Wolfwood releases his hand and leans closer, a mere hair’s breadth away from Vash’s face.

“Definitely not all,” he murmurs, placing a kiss to the corner of Vash’s mouth and nothing more, waiting for permission.

His stubble tickles and it makes laughter bubble up in Vash’s throat. When he tilts his head back Wolfwood aims for his throat, peppering even more kisses across his skin.

He works back up towards Vash’s jaw, lingering there, and Vash finally meets him halfway while cupping his face to bring their lips together.

It’s chaste and it has Wolfwood feeling light, airy, much like the sudden, soft-white downy feathers that curl outward from Vash’s temples.

Huh. That’s new.

Wolfwood should probably comment on that, but Vash is tentatively licking at his bottom lip, and really, all it takes is that one movement for him to open his mouth further and let Vash have him.

But there’s a hand tapping on his shoulder entirely too soon, causing him to pause and take a breath.

Vash is giving him a well-practiced apologetic look. “You taste like vomit.”

Wolfwood doesn’t miss a beat. “You have feathers growing out of your head.”

That gets a rile out of Vash, immediately reaching for his hair with an indignant squawk. Wolfwood’s cackle is downright wicked, but a welcomed sound.

Now all Wolfwood needs are three things:

His shirt, a smoke, and some food. Preferably in that order, but he can make do with what he gets.

The shirt, his beloved white, button down—Vash had used it to clean up the Jeep.

“You’re kidding me, right?” he stares at the blonde when he steps out of the bathroom, the taste of vomit now a thing of the past.

“Ah, no, sorry Nick,” Vash grins sheepishly. “I had to use something!”

“You—damn it, needle-noggin,” he stalks over to the bed where Vash is still lounging. “All right, fork it over.”

He holds out his hand in front of Vash and waits.

Vash’s gaze flickers between his hand and face before shrugging and clasping Wolfwood’s hand into his own, giving it a firm shake.

He even has the audacity to smile at him.

Wolfwood squeezes Vash’s hand hard—prosthetic be damned—as his mouth sets into a scowl. “Your wallet,” he clarifies.

“Oh! Sure,” Vash lets go of his hand and reaches for his jacket, fumbling around inside the pockets. “Why do you…?”

“You’re paying for a new shirt,” Wolfwood informs him. “Nicest one I can find—most expensive I can find.”

It doesn’t faze Vash in the slightest.

“Think you can bring me back a box of donuts too, while you’re at it?”

(Meryl sneezes later that evening when they stop at a local diner before heading off.

Roberto is quick to leave the table, muttering something about how he’s ‘too old to be dealing with this shit.’

Wolfwood follows in suit, pausing only to blow Vash a two-finger kiss and an offhanded remark of ‘good luck!’

Somehow, Vash becomes the designated caretaker anytime one of them falls ill now—he doesn’t mind.

Meryl, however, has a long list of complaints that fall on deaf ears—she is stuck with Vash until further notice.)

#trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #vashwood #fanfic #fic #texte #my writing #well. i did it again and remarkably fast (sort of) (ok not really i had been slowly working on this one for like a few weeks GJDFHGS #when i say these 2 make my brain feel funny #anyway ww is sick in this fic because there is a lack of sick ww fics #why aren't u guys making him suffer from the silliest ailments!!!! give him the sniffles i do not give a fuck about his fancy vials #also there is an abnormal amount of dialogue in this fic i am so sorry but i gave these motherfuckers diarrhea of the mouth #it always happens i can't help it i just love dialogue #ok so next fic: small specific wv orphanage au snippet + their gaggle of children (I Am Working On It)#guess what it features? another scene involving a bed!#if i write something and i don't include a scene that involves cuddling/sleeping/whatever in a bed am i even writing........#who knows man. ok i'm done speaking like a fool goodbye peace & love 2 u all <3

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