#but no you must simply be referring to a fic one of my friends wrote

[pocketramblr]

I didn't have AfO taking Kotarou out on romantic dinner dates and Kotarou being all giddy to see him on my bingo card for this year. Here we are however!

What

[shift-shaping]

colorful aravels and long yellow grass

the inquisition's representatives reach wycome, then venture forth to clan lavellan.

rating: t

pairing: solavellan

previous fics | 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

The Inquisitor's unannounced absence from the ship had caused commotion among her retinue, but Solas wasn't particularly concerned. She had left a few random belongings behind, but her armor and staff were both missing. The ship had hugged the coast for most of its journey, so a trip to shore wouldn't be out of the question for someone who knew how to row. That this was a particularly dangerous area was less than ideal, but it was well within the borders of her homeland.

Perhaps most importantly, Solas knew she wasn't actually alone. Cole had been keeping a low profile on this trip, to the point that Solas was fairly sure only he knew of the spirit's presence. But now that Enaste was gone, so was Cole. Between his backup and Enaste's knowledge of the area, Solas had faith she'd be fine, and figured she went ahead to meet her clan.

Leliana had sent along one of her agents, a skinny city elf named Jester. That Enaste had managed to slip out from under them had set the agent on edge. Even after the Inquisition members disembarked in Wycome, he noticed Jester surreptitiously looking for any signs of what path she might have taken.

An older human woman with bobbed, greying brown hair waited for them on the docks. She wore a neatly tailored dress of high quality materials: a pale-brown, tooled leather bodice over a deep blue skirt. She greeted Jester politely, and introduced herself as Lady Guinevere Volant, the Inquisition's ambassador to Wycome, in a faint Orlesian accent. Then she looked past the agent, to Roshan and Loranil.

"I was informed the Inquisitor's family would be among her party. Forgive me if I'm being presumptuous, but would the two of you fit that description?"

Roshan smiled. "I am her uncle, yes, but this one," he elbowed Loranil, who jumped. "Is a more distant relative from a clan in the south." He lowered his voice and covered the side of his face, pretending to keep something secret from Loranil. "You know southern boys, always a bit on-edge."

"I can hear you just fine, hahren," Loranil said, exasperated. The young warrior had spent a significant amount of time with Roshan during the journey, though the latter seemed to do most of the talking. At first Loranil looked excited to speak to an elder from a different clan, but as Roshan's tendency to meander through subjects became apparent, the boy was less enthused. Solas had joined them at times, as had Enaste, but he'd mostly stuck to the Inquisitor's company or played cards with Blackwall.

Lady Volant smiled warmly. "Andaran atish'an, my friends. It is good to meet some of Her Worship's family, no matter how distant." She seemed genuine in her words, or perhaps was simply a good liar. She looked to Solas then, and though he braced himself for misidentification, she evidently knew enough about the Dalish to quickly determine he was not one of them. "I was told there would be another elven mage with the Inquisitor." She gave a short bow, which surprised Solas. "Lady Montilyet wrote that you are highly skilled, and serving as something of an arcane advisor to the Inquisitor. It is an honor to meet someone that both the ambassador and Her Worship hold in such high regard, messere."

Solas nodded to her, and made a mental note to thank Josephine for her kind words. "Thank you. There is no need for such formality, however. I am simply Solas." He returned her smile.

Finally she turned to Blackwall, who stood stoically at Solas's side. "And you must be the Lady Inquisitor's personal guard, the Grey Warden Blackwall?" Solas had noticed Enaste refer to Blackwall as her personal guard on a few recent occasions. It wasn't an official title, but Blackwall wore it proudly.

Blackwall bowed to the ambassador. "Yes, my lady."

However, that Enaste's "personal guard," "arcane advisor," and family members were present while she was not was incongruous, and Lady Volant looked expectantly up at the ship. Isabela stood at the railing watching the group. No one else was coming. The ambassador raised her brows at Jester. "I was told Her Worship would be present. Perhaps I've misunderstood?"

Jester shook their head. "The Inquisitor will not be meeting us in Wycome. She has gone first to her clan. We will rendezvous with her there."

"Oh," Lady Volant was taken aback by this, but recovered quickly. "I see. I had hoped to introduce her to-- well, it doesn't matter now." She gave a polite smile. "I will join you, the location of the Dalish camp is not so far from here."

Lady Volant had a cream-colored horse, a Ranger, if Solas recalled one of Wisdom's lectures correctly. Most of the Inquisition's mounts were Ferelden horses, but Rangers were a breed specific to the Free Marches. The saddle, like her clothing, was straightforward and utilitarian but decidedly high quality, with subtle floral details worked into the dark brown leather. The blanket underneath was the same shade of light green that the Inquisition's agents and soldiers wore.

Between Roshan's directions and Lady Volant's information, their journey into the city's outlying plains to find Clan Lavellan was fairly short. It was still mid-morning by the time they saw the first Dread Wolf statues come into view. The camp was in a small valley, hidden among trees and spread across a shallow river. It was longer than it was wide, following the contours of the hills on both sides, and easy to overlook; were it not for Roshan and Lady Volant, they could easily have spent all day searching. Even the colorful sails of their aravels blended in with the tall trees and reddish rock around them.

The longer he looked, the more he saw; this was easily the largest Dalish camp he'd encountered in his travels. Wind rushing over the hill and through the grass around them stole away its noise, but as they ventured down into the valley a lively chorus rose to meet them: snippets of drums and wind instruments being played in short spurts, shouting from a training yard, laughter, banter, and above all, the shrieks and giggles of small children. He smelled campfire smoke, and burning herbs, and cooking fish that made him realize he had hardly eaten that morning.

Seeing the size and liveliness of her clan explained a lot about Enaste's steadfast defense of and pride for her people, but Loranil's reaction alone was proof enough that this was not typical for the Dalish. The warrior's eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open, the wonder in his expression almost child-like.

It ached to know that even this modest success was atypical, that a clan able to fill a small valley was not the norm.

The shape of the camp meant that they came immediately to a bottleneck. Two guards, a man and a woman, tensed and reached for their weapons. Before they could say anything, Roshan stepped forward and greeted them both warmly. The guards relaxed, but returned the greeting with more confusion than welcoming. "Who are these people, hahren?" One of the guards asked in heavily-accented elven.

"You can't tell?" Roshan put his hands on his hips and smiled. "This is the Inquisition!"

The woman guard frowned. "Surely this is not... the entire Inquisition?"

"No, no, just its best!" Roshan announced, still grinning. The guards exchanged glances and a few quick words, and the man quickly retreated into the camp. "Go get my niece!" Roshan shouted after him, still in elven.

The remaining guard frowned, now even more confused. "Enaste isn't with you?"

Loranil glanced at Solas nervously, knowing they both understood the conversation. Solas's brows furrowed, but he kept his expression otherwise neutral for the young warrior's sake.

"Ah, no," Roshan replied, also concerned. Even without knowing the language, the turn in the tone of the conversation set the others on edge.

Jester stepped forward, bowed to the guard, and apologized for not speaking what should have been their shared tongue. "Are you certain you have not seen the Inq-- Enaste?"

"No." The guard raised an eyebrow. "Abelas. I'm... I don't understand. Should we have?"

"No, well, maybe," Roshan said. He shifted his weight. "I'm sure she's fine. Just a little lost, probably."

It was then that the other guard returned with a short, white-haired woman in deep purple Mythal vallaslin --the same kind Enaste wore, but much more extensive. Her hair was in complex braids, decorated with weaving silver that looked somewhere between tree branches and halla horns. One of her ears was decorated with extensive piercings, also silver. The other was hidden by her braids. She wore a Keeper's robes, with green- and violet-dyed halla fur and leather in brown and white.

Solas knew this was Keeper Deshanna, and despite her diminutive stature --she was at least a foot shorter than Solas-- her aura commanded respect. But to his surprise, she did not begin by giving orders or even addressing the Inquisition's party. Instead, the first thing she did was smile kindly at Roshan and pull him into a tight hug. She whispered something to him, and he shook his head.

Only when they pulled apart did Keeper Deshanna address the Inquisition. "Andaran atish'an. What a pleasure to welcome you all to our home. I am Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel of Clan Lavellan." Her dark gaze swept over them, and she nodded slowly. "My First is not with you." Jester opened their mouth to speak, and Deshanna raised a gentle hand. "Hush. She will arrive shortly." Jester tilted their head, confused, and the Keeper went on. "I know my First. She is safe, but delayed."

Solas narrowed his eyes. Her confidence was impressive, but he had no other reason to believe her. Except, of course, that he also knew she was at least still alive: if the Anchor was gone from this world, he would feel it.

"Come," the Keeper said. She gestured into the camp proper. "We will feed you while we await her arrival." She smiled to Roshan. "I think you will be impressed with what Lahalaan has been up to since your departure."

"I sure hope so," Roshan said, but his happiness sounded forced. "It certainly smells good."

The Keeper led them past the guards, past the wolves at the entrance, and into the beating heart of Clan Lavellan.

<- prev fic | next fic ->

[nerdnag]

"Now then, Sunshine," Hubert said, plucking a fresh sheet of parchment from the corner of his desk and readying his quill. "Tell me about this person you wish to bring into Lady Edelgard's service."

"Really, Hubert, you should be ashamed not to have heard of my dearest Sara before!" Constance crowed. She unfurled her fan purely to brandish it for dramatic effect. "Her talent for the magical arts is simply extraordinary! Th-though, no match for my own, of course…" she added nervously.

"Yes, yes, your magical prowess is unparalleled," Hubert intoned, waving a dismissive hand yet smiling fondly. "Continue."

Constance stomped her foot. "Hubert! Have you forgotten which of us is the more skilled with Morfean magic?! Anyway… Sara is really quite accomplished in her field! She is trusted with the most important clients, and many of her coworkers rely on her expertise and insight. It is marvellous how skillfully she interprets contracts of privacy law and explains them to others! And the other day, she came up with a most revolutionary Excel formula as well! Why, I believe that with the proper training, she and I could truly be Sister Sages of the highest calibre!"

"And that is not all," Constance continued on. "No no! Sara has many talents off the battlefield as well! She pens the loveliest stories. In fact, you should read the wondrous tale I commissioned her to write about our activities on our wedding night—"

Hubert choked on his coffee.

"And she draws quite skillfully also!"

"Please tell me you didn't commission a painting to go with that story," Hubert groaned, head in his hands.

"Oh, no, I mainly commission her to paint flattering portraits of myself," Constance replied airily. "One of my favourites is a particularly striking one of me against a starry sky that I'm sure you shall like to see sometime!"

"Ah, but I can see you against a starry sky any night I wish, lovelier than any painting."* Hubert smirked as Constance flushed and began fanning herself, clearly flustered.

"I— yes, well—" Constance took a moment to compose herself again. "Let me finish telling you about my dearest Sara's redeeming qualities! She is an excellent friend: a joy to be around, and her presence is sure to brighten one's day. She is funny and kind, and, dare I say, very nearly as charming as myself!"

"I see. She does sound quite promising." Hubert put down his pen. "I shall have to conduct a background check, of course."

"Is my word not enough?!" Constance protested. "Need I remind you that for all your repute as Imperial spymaster, you had not even heard of such a dazzling star as is Sara before?"

"Need I remind you who it was that brought Epimenides himself into our midst?" Hubert shot back, but there was no real fire in his voice. "Based on your personal recommendation, I shall expedite the process. If all goes well, we will send this Sara a formal offer by the end of the moon."

Constance huffed, unable to argue the point. "I suppose that is agreeable enough."

"It's settled, then. Now, I believe we have tea with Lady Edelgard to be getting to." Hubert stood and offered Constance his arm. "Shall we, my dear Countess Vestra?"

Constance took it, positively glowing at the form of address. "Yes, Count Vestra, we shall!"

* Eifie double dog dared herself to write this line.

OH. MY. GOD?! You wrote this for me..? 😭💚

Original Eifie work! So cleverly written!! Lots of references to my fic and little details about me and incredibly well-characterized! You even went out of your way to include romo 🥹

THE EXCEL FORMULA ASDFGHJKL it truly is like magic. Also I LOVE the idea that every single art work and fic I've ever made of/about Constance has been commissioned by her. That is hereby canon.

Thank you for taking me into consideration for the position!! 🙏 (Though I must admit I'm a little scared of what Hubert's background check will mean for me......)

[sflow-er]

Hi Sflow! Hope your having a good writing day :)

May I ask you 14, 30 and 39? (If you don't like or don't feel comfortable with any of these feel free to skip/ignore them).

Thank you!

Hi!! <3 I am, thank you. Lost a bit of time on a couple of unexpected things but most of it has been productive. And these are really interesting questions, thank you so much for the ask! :)

14. Are there any tropes you would only read if written by a trusted friend or writer?

Honestly? Anything too dark (e.g. abusive relationships), or even just super explicit smut. I generally steer clear of such content, but I might make an exception for a writer who I know is really excellent and/or a close friend. There's also other stuff I don't particularly enjoy, such as love triangles and cheating, so those can sometimes fall into this category too.

30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

God yeah. I think everyone who's read 'Other people's secrets' or seen me rambling about it here knows all the stuff about asexuality was extremely personal to me and putting it out there was therefore well out of my comfort zone. It profoundly changed my writing, as I'm no longer afraid of writing about it (or other personal stuff), and I will probably keep doing that in some form.

But I'm sure you'd like to learn something new that was out of my comfort zone to even write, so... I can also reveal that I once wrote kind of graphic smut. I was 18/19 and it felt like the story I was writing needed it and the readers probably expected it - so I went ahead and wrote some, basically just emulating stories I'd seen and read. At the time, I still thought the parts I felt disconnected from would make sense to me one day, and in a way, writing it was fine. It really did fit the story, and the feedback was extremely positive. But I also knew I never wanted to do it again, so all my stories since then have either faded to black or just not included sex at all.

Right now, I'm at a place where I'm open to including sex in some form if the story demands it, but I don't think I'll ever write anything even remotely explicit again.

39. Is any aspect of your writing process inspired by other writers or people? If so, who?

Wow, what an interesting question! Maybe my compulsive planning, research and obsession with detail. It's partly inspired by my work as a translator, but I'd say part of it has definitely been affected by authors I've read. I'm sure there are many, but only two come to mind right now.

One of them was an author I don't want to name because she's an awful, toxic, dangerous person. She doesn't deserve the credit, but her ability to hide hints about future events in the series in the early books really impressed me when I was young (it seemed to demonstrate some serious planning). I must stress that I had no idea what she was like, and I was completely blind to all the problematic aspects of the books at the time. I'm sorry to even allude to her now.

On a more positive note, I'd say Don Rosa has also been a pretty big influence! Not sure if you know him, but he's a now-retired comic book artist whose history/adventure stories are some of the most meticulously researched and detailed I've ever enjoyed in any medium. Through that realism, he manages to create levels of suspense, drama, and sometimes even emotional tension that are simply incredible (for example, I get goosebumps just thinking about this one scene set in a burning saloon). This is all particularly impressive because Rosa's protagonist is none other than (a young version of) Disney's Scrooge McDuck! So in a way he's actually a pretty good idol for fanfic writers, haha.

Thank you so, so much for the ask! I hope you're having a lovely night. <3

Ask list for reference.

[ectojyunk]

Summary:

"It's comical to be told what I really am from someone who doesn't even know who or what they are." A little ficlet I wrote down to explore Aro and G'raha's friendship. G'raha has very strong feelings, even when they are platonic and Aro, well, he just wants his most trusted confidant to know the truth.

Fic below read-more if you wanna read it here!

“You did it again.”

“Huh?”

Aro stared at G’raha with a stern look. “I told you, stop praising me like that, or at the very least don’t call me ‘hero’... in private company at least. It makes me feel… like we aren’t close.”

G’raha opened his mouth to say sorry but… It didn’t feel right to leave it at just that. Lately, Aro would rebuff every compliment he threw at him, and not accept the titles everyone would call him when it came from G’raha. And G’raha only. He had to ask this time.

“I suppose the title can feel rather weighty, but I’d like you to look at it positively. It’s not only me who calls you that after all…”

Aro put his drink down with an elegant motion, the action contrasted with his furrowed brows. “If I were to correct each single stranger or acquaintance on what I want or don’t want to be called— I’d be exhausted. G’raha, you are my bestest friend, which is why it’s important that you know; that you know how that title ill fits me.”

G’raha looked down at the table, he shouldn’t push this but he couldn’t let it go either. His friend deserved to feel good about himself, about his accomplishments. Why couldn’t they just see that?

"But, I don't understand! Everyone would want to be like you. A saviour of the people. Heroes are kind, majestic, selfless and inspirational."

"G'raha… I am none of those things. My deeds, I don't care what they are seen or described as- but I simply am not a hero."

"You are all of those things to me, and many others besides. Doesn’t that have at least a small amount of value to you?"

Aro dismissed the question and instead fiddled with the handle of his cup’s handle with an annoyed expression. He sighed and tried to explain himself. "What you see in me or have read about me are merely snapshots from a far away vantage point. Most of it is fictional. Up close, all of that prose falls apart. Tout the literary descriptors used for me all you like but when I look in the mirror, I see a tool, a pawn. Not a hero. And before you say it- I'm not belittling myself, I simply know what I am, and I'm proud to be useful to others. I do what is required of me, nothing more, nothing less. That is what I am."

G’raha reclined on his seat, at a loss. On one hand, Aro was right, the hero he envisioned in his mind for… decades upon decades, much longer than he’d actually known the man, didn’t exactly match up with the person in front of him. But on the other hand, little trivialities like attitude and morals not lining up perfectly with the descriptions and his idealisation of him was a mere small deviation from the truth. History was always full of untruths, as he had learnt. Yet this untruth, he could not reconcile it with reality.

Aro tapped the table impatiently. He sighed and clasped his hands together.

"What if I referred to you as a vagrant- or a tramp?"

Surprisingly, G’raha wasn’t taken aback by the question as much as Aro had anticipated.

"I… it'd be out of the blue but I wouldn't mind. I'd grow accustomed to it, I guess."

"But you are not a tramp. Correct?"

"Correct."

"And there's my issue. Why are you okay with being referred to as something you are not?"

Aro stood up and made his way out of the tavern. G’raha scurried to leave some money on the table and catch up to him.

When Aro stopped walking, G’raha stood behind him and continued his answer.

"I'm… not really attached to my identity. If a friend sees me a certain way, there must be a reason. And if it makes them happy, I'd be glad to fill that role to the best of my capacity." 

Aro scoffed at the response. Not because it was disingenuous, he knew that G’raha was being honest, but it was for another reason. Aro turned to face him.

"It's comical to be told what I really am from someone who doesn't even know who or what they are."

This time, G’raha was taken aback. The words pierced him like the cold icicles hanging from the tavern roof.

“I…” He tried to say something, anything. He searched for the wise answer he’d say as the Exarch… but he found nothing as him either. All those years of experience, learned experience from hurt and trauma and misery— and he had nothing to say right now.

“G’raha.” 

He snapped out of his catatonic state from hearing his name. It still felt… So nice— to be called that. To be called by that name.

Arodaeus brought up his hand to his mouth to hide his slight chuckle. “You’re stubborn. And I know you want nothing more than to see me view myself as the vision that gave you- still gives you hope and inspiration, and to have that inspiration help myself as it has helped you.... I’m sorry. I’m stubborn too. Our views on… individuality— the very core of how we view the state of “being”- it differs. And it's no surprise. Your view makes sense for someone who lived through what you did… As does mine.”

He took a breath and tentatively put his hand on G’raha’s cheeks. He wanted to reassure him that there was no hate between them, he was well aware of how hostile he could be with even the smallest conflicts. He was tired of driving away dear friends because of it. G’raha did not deserve to feel driven away just because he was a bit too in his head at times… and a little presumptuous. Okay, very presumptuous, Aro thought. But despite his looks, he was an old man, one that lived many years. He could afford G’raha the slight arrogant estimations elders would make over the young.

“My friend. I hope you’ll accept my answer, even if it wasn’t what you were looking for. There’s nothing more I’d wish to continue being your immaculate motivator, your inspiration. But I don’t want to lie to you, maybe I’d continue the charade for someone else, but not you.”

“Y-yes… I understand.” G’raha let a tear fall as he cupped his friend’s hands. He closed his eyes and lowered them to keep a steady hold.

“I’m sorry I… Said something -a lot of things- untoward to your character and- and wrongly thought I could make you see more value in yourself. I was selfish,” he mumbled through held-back chokes.

“No you-... it’s alright. You could’ve never guessed my unique disposition towards this.”

“Still. I’m sorry.” G’raha sighed. 

Aro chuckled, “All forgiven. It's me who should apologise, you had to put up with my shite for longer than necessary.”

“And you mine,” G’raha replied with a playful smile. He was so strong, Aro thought, to smile through his genuine tears. Truly, sometimes the man should acknowledge his strength over fawning over others, Aro thought not-so-seriously. 

Aro pulled him into a hug and gave him a kiss on the forehead to soothe him. “Hey. There’s plenty of heroes that deserve recognition which help keep this world safe as much as I. Finding some others who like the praise won’t be so bad, right? I’m pretty for Emet-Selch is all for it, and you could argue he’s as every bit a hero to his people as I supposedly am. Hah, maybe I got it from him, or maybe Hypnos did, wouldn’t you say?”

G’raha chuckled at the comparison, but Aro wasn’t wrong. From what he had heard of Hythlodaeus’s hushed retellings of the trio’s adventures, Emet-Selch had been renowned for being as helpful as Azem was, despite never taking the credit. In that, Aro and young Hades were the same. “It’ll be hard letting go of a century-old habit though,” He took a deep breath and looked up to his friend, “But I’ll appreciate you the way you wish. And… even though it feels like no one will ever measure up to you- I know that way of thinking is flawed. Now I do anyway.” 

“Of course it’s hard letting go of a bias. You’re capable enough though G’raha, you give so little credit to yourself when your feats are on par with mine.”

“No-”

“Ah- No. No disagreements there,” Aro tutted.

G’raha huffed, albeit with a smile. Aro continued.

“So, when you understand how amazing you are, I’m sure you’ll also see others in a different light too. Estinien is a fabled dragoon in the future, yes, but he’s also my insufferably absent friend. Lyse is a good leader and I’m sure she’s been written down as one as well, but she’s also a girl who’s had to play as her sister for years and suffers the repercussions of the ordeal still.”

“Mm… The sides of people that don’t get written down.” G’raha looked down. He knew so much history yet, it was so easy to forget how sided it could be when what was written lined-up with so much of his own assumptions.

“Yes. And that’s why it's so hard for us to know what the people of the past were actually like. Allag for example, was way more different than you had read, correct?”

“Yes, most definitely so.”

“Yet you still hold them in some sort of high esteem when they’ve committed atrocities.”

G’raha grimaced a bit, he didn’t like his appreciation for Allag’s sciences to be mixed up with the notion of approving their methods.

“That… I’m not as blind to it as before, perhaps I got a bit overzealous with my positivity when young but I assure you I never condoned their practices.”

“I’m not blaming you for the positive attitude mind- But it's nice to hear you were always aware of it.”

“Perhaps I should don my more dour attitude as I did as the Exarch for you?”

Aro laughed and ruffled his friend’s hair.

“Whatever feels best for you— Hey… You’re amazing, don’t forget that, yes? I’ll see you soon.”

G’raha huffed in amusement through his nose at being pet like a young Miqo’te. Though he didn’t chastise his friend for it. Perhaps he should remind his friend of their age discrepancy more often.

“Thank you for your patience, Mr.Not-Hero.”

Aro laughed and patted G’raha’s back. They said their farewells and headed off to their own way. G’raha felt a small sense of disappointment at the years he spent idolizing something that wasn’t true despite his wisdom. But that sense quickly dissipated- there was another feeling that took over, a sense of wonder and perspective his friend had given him anew, something that he could accredit to Aro’s acts of heroism yet again- but he shook his head. No, this feeling could be given by very unique people, not just heroes. And Aro might not be special to him the way G’raha felt, but he was special in his own way. He hoped that diverting his attention of praises to Emet-Selch wouldn’t let that man’s ego fly through the roof, or maybe Hythlodaeus could get used to receiving more credit for his incredible talents. Ah- Y’shtola should receive some praise for the tenacity with her inter-rift travel research. Oh- he never thanked Urianger enough for keeping his secret as the Exarch… G’raha thought of the many people he had to talk to in the upcoming days as he strode along the snowy path.

[ao3feed-gochi]

Friend You Can Keep

by anisapprentice

A drunken mistake had awakened feelings that Goku and Vegeta hadn't known existed, underlying beneath their friendly rivalry. But ultimately, there is something much deeper there than they want to admit. Bulma and Chichi find solace in one another, discovering a deeper sense of intimacy than they'd ever knew possible. But they still loved their husbands, and their husbands loved them. They must work through their emotions and see where these relationships lead them, even if that means they have to split apart.

This is an old fic I initially wrote in 2015/16, and slowly updated it. I've decided to rewrite it a bit! I'm slowly working on it. This fic has always been my baby, and it's a cathartic mess that I hope you guys can enjoy too.

For reference: this simply used to be called "Vegekaka" on Wattpad. (It's no longer posted over there, but if any of you happen to recognize this, that's why.)

Words: 1788, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Dragon Ball

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi

Characters: Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Son Goku (Dragon Ball), Bulma Briefs, Chi-Chi (Dragon Ball)

Relationships: Son Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Bulma Briefs/Chi-Chi, Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, Chi-Chi/Son Goku (Dragon Ball), Bulma Briefs/Chi-Chi/Son Goku/Vegeta

Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Eventual Relationships, Polyamory, Infidelity, Drunk Sex, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Intimacy, Fluff and Smut, Making Out, Dry Humping, Eventual Smut

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/48550975

[freewayshark]

🪜👽💔📺

🪜 Tell us a random fact about any fic!

Must be some kind of twist was actually originally not a Christmas fic! I had started it over the hiatus between season four and five, wrote like half of it and then got very stuck. And then it got a little closer to Christmas and, boom, I realized I had an angle.

👽 Strangest fic you ever written?

If we’re talking specifically that I’ve published it would probably be amongst friends simply for the ship it involves but my Google docs are full of some weird little ideas, like the one where Buck is a literal shooting star lmao

💔 Least favorite ship you have written about?

You know, you’d think it would be the Eddie/Lucy fic I wrote for Five Alarm Fest that I just mentioned in the question above but actually it would be Taylor/Buck/Eddie. I wrote the majority of that fic during all the blackout speculation back when we didn’t really know what the bucktaylor relationship was gonna be like and then finished it for kinktober and now I look at it like 😬 it definitely does not have good Taylor characterization lmao

📺 Any references to other media that you put in your fics?

Yes! I named a different firefighter MacReady after Kurt Russell’s character in the Thing. Can’t actually remember what fic that was though lol

[bokettochild]

The Worries and Woes of Heroic Hair

Y'all were busting out hair headcannons before I left, so I saved a few and wrote a fic for them.

Featuring:

Pre-maturely grey Twilight

Curly haired Legend

Long haired Four

(As well as a reference to long hair Sky)

Warriors had gained the unfortunate title of ‘pretty boy’.

In a group of beautiful men and boys that literally sent women swooning, no matter what world they were in, he’d somehow been labeled the “pretty” one. Never mind he was more mature looking than half of their number. Never mind that Legend and Hyrule looked like a pair of porcelain dolls hand painted by a master artist. Never mind that Wild literally had half of his world falling heels over head for him. No matter how many women in the War of Ages had gushed about the adult Hero of Time (much to Mask’s annoyance). And sure, let’s just forget that Wars had heard not one, but two princess’s complimenting Twilight’s ass.

Yeah, okay, he was the pretty boy, sure.

Maybe that was because he was the only one in the group that actually had any understanding of a little thing called personal hygiene! Honestly! Had no one introduced the vet to a bathtub when he was younger? Or Wild to a hairbrush? And Hyrule... oh Hyrule...

Honestly, it was a pain, trying to not say something to his brothers that might be taken as rude or offensive. At least his own two boys were a bit better. During the war he’d pounded some sense into their heads after scrubbing their ears clean enough that they could actually hear him when he spoke, and Time and Wind both showed some (although not much more than the others) level of personal grooming, even if it was the basic wash and brush that Wars had required of all of his soldiers.

The others though? He had been beginning to think they might be hopeless, but then he’d had a chance to do something about it.

“Wars?”

“Hmm?” Bright blue darted up from the journal Warriors had been writing in, meeting Wind’s pout with a soft chuckle at his baby-faced brother. One day, Wind would be as grizzled and scruffy as his grandfather (would be his grandfather) but for now he would take him time teasing the kid for his baby-face. After all, it wasn’t like he’d be getting another chance to get revenge on the man who’d teased him up to his wedding day for his “lack of masculine charm”.

“My hair is knotted. In the back.” Wind didn’t even bother waiting for a signal, instead just plopping down in the captain's lap and dropping a brush by his knee. And really, with how the war had gone, Warriors should have expected that.

Any injury that impeded movement meant Wars was helping his two boys with whatever was needed during the war, and near the top of that list had been brushing hair. Broken arm or sprained wrist or whatever Hyrule had diagnosed it as (he’d been a bit too wrapped up in helping hold Wild still so he and Legend could treat the kid’s crushed hand to hear the healer’s final word), he was always happy to help the younger hero sort out his problems.

At least Wind let him help, instead of sending him scandalized looks and rude signs at the mere mention of a bath, like Legend did, or simply darting away like Hyrule.

“Wind,” Sky frowned slightly. “You didn’t have to disturb Wars, any of us would have been willing to help.”

The sailor cocked a brow, leaning back into his touch as he worked over the knot with nimble fingers well accustomed to working through tangled golden curls. “Says the Hero of Eternal Bedhead.”

Crystal blue eyes darted up to messy bangs. “Is it really that bad?”

“Yes.” Sailor and captain deadpanned together, matching grins on their faces as they stared at the Skyloftian.

“Oh feathers.” Sky huffed, running his hands through his hair and looking at the two expectantly. “Is that better?”

Wind snorted. “Sky, you need a hairbrush for your bird’s nest.”

“But,” Sky cocked his head like a confused puppy. “I don’t have a bird’s nest?”

“He means that your hair is a mess.” He chuckled, pausing in his work to pat the ground at his side. “Here, I’ll do you next, ‘kay?” And bless Sky for being a patient and reasonable person, because at the very least the Skyloftian just sauntered over easily and sat hot-cross-buns on the ground beside him, watching lazily as he worked at the sailor’s messy hair.

“It’s not that bad,” The Sailor huffed. “You can’t honestly be taking this long.” The kid wasn’t fooling him though, Wind was leaning into the touch, almost slumped against his chest in a boneless pile of teenager.

“You’re dry as a desert.” He scolded softly in response, rubbing some of the bristly hair between his fingers. “I’ve told you salt water dries your hair out, you need to take care of it or it’ll never grow out properly.”

Wind shifted awkwardly. “I didn’t have time. I did try, I mean it! It just... We’re always so busy and...”

His hands were already reaching for his pack. “You’re lucky mine dries out too. I’ll need to get more in the next town, but I think this oil can last us both long enough to get you some again.”

“Oil?” Sky frowned thoughtfully. “What for?”

“Split ends and dry hair.” Came the practiced answer as he rubbed the substance in question over his hands and began to card it through the sailor’s parched curls. “I suppose you could say it’s like with birds. They have to oil their feathers to stay healthy, right?”

“Oh! Okay, yeah, that makes sense.” The Skyloftian mulled over the concept for a moment. “We need to do that to our hair?”

Long fingers stopped mid stroke, royal blue blinking slowly in the clueless sky child’s direction. “Oh, you poor, clueless bird-boy you, your hair must be parched!”

Wind’s giggles shook them both, but Sky simply looked hurt. “I try. How was I supposed to know?”

Fingers slick with hair oil curled to point at the other hero. “I am massaging this stuff into your thirsty scalp right now. Wind, move.”

The sailor tumbled, giggling from Wars’ lap, leaving Sky to stare down at the captain’s crossed legs. “I’m- Warriors I am not sitting in your lap.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Brush in one hand and bottle of hair oil in the other, Warriors moved to stand behind the Skyloftain. “Just stay right there and let me work, and I swear if someone else tells me to my face that they’re not taking care of themselves- Sky! Look at this!”

The Skyloftian shifted, trying to look for only a moment before huffing. “Warriors, I can’t see the top of my own-”

“When’s the last time you trimmed this?” Brittle tips crinkled under his fingers as he stared at the mess that was Sky’s hair. “Your split ends are horrible!”

“Crimson usually trims it for me.” Came the softly mumbled response, and Wars had to hold back an affronted squawk at the words.

“You’re entrusting the care of your hair to a bird? Sky, my lovely, my dear friend, my brother, what the actual Ladies?”

“He does a good job!”

“If you call this rat’s nest a good job! Honestly, it’s no wonder Legend finally agreed to let you cuddle him, he must feel right at home with this mess!”

“Ouch.” Sky huffed, crossing his arms loosely and pouting.

“That aside,” He began working the first knot out, fluffing Sky’s hair lightly in his fingers. “It’s a good color, nice volume too. Have you ever considered growing it out? Without the split ends?”

“Huh?”

Caramel hair parted easily in his hands, springy and soft despite the brittle ends. “You’d look fetching with long hair, Chosen One. My, imagine what Sun would say if she saw you!” Sky stiffened as the soldier ducked down, voice lowering and eyes glinting with mischief as he whispered in his friend’s ear. “If she wasn’t already swooning at seeing you again, she’d be dizzy at the sheer beauty.”

“Wars!” Long ears twitched, tellingly red as the Skyloftian battled a fierce blush.

But the captain was already lost in his rant, taking pleasure in making Wind continue to giggle as Sky whined softly in protest at his teasing. “I can see it now! You arrive fresh out of battle, sword in hand and hair whipping in the wind, cape swirling like the wings of the goddess herself! She sees you. Your eyes meet. You shoot her one of your dashing smiles and she stumbles back, breathless, and you have to dart forwards to catch her before she swoons away altogether, so bedazzled she is by your handsome visage!” He flourished with a smile, letting oiled locks fall over Sky’s eyes with a laugh as the Skyloftian blushed brighter, not bothering to shift his bangs and instead hiding behind them, trying and failing to hide a pleased smile.

Wind didn’t stop giggling until Sky had had to punch the captain in the leg to make him finally cease the teasing.

“Smithy,” Twilight’s laughter rung through camp as he brushed long bangs out of the smithy’s eyes, the younger hero still smushed against the rancher's side sleepily, headband askew and half hanging in his eyes. The boy’s hair curtained his face, falling back into place the moment Twilight lifted his hand again, producing rumbling laughter form the farm-hand. “Four, you- when in Ordonia’s name did you last trim your hair?”

“’s not that long.” Came the murmured reply as Four pressed his face further into Twilight’s side, nestling closer with an irritable huff. “Leave ‘lone, Twi.”

The smithy might have denied it but... his hair really had grown out.

It wasn’t really that apparent with the headband keeping it back, and Four was decent enough at keeping his hair out of his face. But headbands, no matter how trusty, didn’t stay up forever, and when one was as active as a Hero of Courage, it wasn’t uncommon to find one’s self with their hair swinging loose in battle. Not that most of them minded, Wild kept his hair tied carefully and Legend tucked all of his under a hat, meanwhile the others all had shorter locks that, other than the swishing of their bangs, mostly stayed out of their faces.

Four on the other hand...

Four’s headband had fallen loose into a mud puddle, and until he was able to clean it the smithy had been walking around like a sheepdog, bangs fluffing into his eyes and making the shortest hero huff in an annoyed manner as he kept swiping his bangs aside. Unfortunately, they weren’t long enough to tuck behind his ears, only to hang in his face and send him stumbling over and into all sorts of things with sharp yelps and soft swears as the hero closest to him would have to offer a hand or scoop up the small smithy again.

Wars didn’t say anything, but when Four finally approached him one evening, eyes flickering icy blue as he dashed his bangs out of the way and tugged at the scarf draped around the captain’s neck (the others’ favorite way of getting his attention he had found).

“Hey there, smithy, what’s up?”

“Cut them.” Four huffed, pushing the loose hair back again only to have them drift back over his glinting eyes, and then, as if an afterthought, he tacked on ‘Please?’.

Royal blue darted up to Sky, who smiled on the edge of the campfire, a knowing look in his eyes. “Did Sky tell you I could help?”

“No. I figured that out myself. He just... pushed me.”

Laughter bubbled up in his chest. “Ah.”

“So, can you help? Or do I need to wander around looking like a Mogma?” Sky could be heard muttering across the camp at that, and Four’s ears twitched as he huffed, clearly having taken offense at whatever had been said.

He nodded, a bit unsure why Four glared across the fire at Sky, but willing to help. Oh goddesses, was he willing to help; Four’s hair bugged him nearly as much as Wild’s did, and he had been dying to fix it for the smithy. He wasn’t sure what Sky had said, but he was thankful for the other knight’s willingness to aid him in his battle against poor hygiene, and if he could turn another hero with the power of a good haircut, well! “Anything you have in mind? Just what you had before, or...?”

“Bangs.” Four dropped down hot-cross-buns, just like Sky had the other day, in front of him, arms crossed and expectant as he huffed at his long bangs.

“Right.” His brush and scissors were already sitting at the ready as he reached out to gently push the hair out of his friend’s eyes. “You good?”

“Annoyed.” Four sulked. “I can’t see anything and Twilight has been called me a sheep-dog.” Accurate. “I just want my hair short again, but the last time I cut it, it looked like I was attacked by a cat.” The smithy shivered, clutching at his sleeves as he shook his head, hair falling back into his eyes as he did so. “I just let it grow after that, but the bangs bother me if I can’t push them back.”

“Noted.”

Four’s hair was a bit silkier than the others’, but similarly brittle, although that was likely due to the heat of the forge rather than sea salt and extended time in the sky. He didn’t even bother asking about oiling the locks as he worked, brushing out all of Four’s hair with care and sectioning out the bangs with the same amount of agonizing detail Legend put into his paintings or Wild put into his cooking.

“Hair cut?” Twilight called from across camp.

“You could use one too,” Four huffed, unmoving save for his eyes darted to glance over his shoulder. “Your hair is beginning to look like wolf ears, rancher. Wolfie might take offense that you’re stealing his look and come maul you.”

Chuckles sounded around the camp, Legend wheezing lightly while Time and Wild shared a look. Wars didn’t know what that was about, but he smiled as he worked, humming lightly under his breath as he clipped a bit here and a touch there, releasing the hair to stare at it, adjusting it a bit, taking another section in hand and snipping it, and repeating the whole process.

Four was still as a statue the whole time, occasionally humming along to whatever tune happened to be on Warriors’ mind at the moment, but otherwise as poised and picturesque as a statue as the captain worked over the smithy’s blond locks.

This close up, Warriors was beginning to wonder why they never met any lovely admirers of the smithy, Four was certainly not lacking in the looks department, and had the kid lived in his time he’d find himself having to beat off girls with a stick. Honestly, how was he the pretty boy here?

“Nearly done?” Came the patient hum, and he snapped himself back to reality as he brushed Four’s bangs back into place, trimmed and tidy, along with the rest of his short hair.

“Yep.” The scissors finally came to rest in his lap as he whisked away the cloak that he’d used to catch the trimmed hairs. “My, my, smithy, you almost look as if you were going courting! Legend, lend a man your shield for a tick, would you? Four needs to see his new cut.”

The veteran rolled his eyes, but the shield was offered readily enough when Four trotted his way over, and while the smithy looked a bit surprised that Wars had bothered to braid most of his hair out of the way during the cut, he didn’t look at all displeased.

Wars counted that as a win.

He’d run out of oil a few days ago, and already his hair was beginning to frizz in this thrice-forsaken heat.

Being born with curly hair was nothing of the blessing his mother had made it out to be, no matter how she liked playing with her ‘baby boy’s’ hair. Of course, his beloved liked it too, but he was going to chalk that up to being a woman thing, curls were a pain if they weren’t on kids, especially if they were eon him.

Thank Hylia that Lilith had taught him to straighten it all out, he would have been driven half out of his mind if he hadn’t been able to control it on his way through basic, and the teasing would have been so much worse than it actually had been.

As was, the captain was only too happy when they next came to his Castletown, and after he’d made sure the others were settled in the castle with his cousin, he’d gracefully made his exit and headed out to the town. Getting through the streets was a pain, his armor and scarf giving him away as the hero and practically inviting the whole market to start competing for his attention, along with the hundreds of shoppers who surged close with questions and thanks and admiration. Not for the first time, Warriors found himself thankful that he handled crowds better than many of his fellow soldiers, and even if all the attention was a bit much, he wasn’t overwhelmed like poor Wild would have been.

Oh heavens, the day they finally figured out how to explain the portals and heroes nonsense to the public to excuse the sudden aging of the Hyrulian Hero’s child, Wild was likely going to have to start wearing a hood or something when they went into town.

The dye shop was a way into the market, and it had taken quite the bit of fancy footwork to avoid stepping on anyone as he’d answered questions and received thanks from the enthusiastic, if not slightly push, people of Hyrule. If he closed the door of the shop after him with a sigh of relief though, that was between him and Gyssel, the shopkeeper.

“Back again, Link? Same materials as the last time?”

“If you please.” He nodded with a smile. “Though I might have a bit of a glance around, I’ve a friend in need of a few things.”

The old woman nodded with a chuckle. “Right then. Oh, and if you see those two lovely gents who popped in here earlier, would you be willing to lend ‘em a hand? Poor dears looked lost as two minish in a fairy pond when they stumbled in here, but I’ve been batting a thousand with the customers all day and haven’t had a chance to pop over and offer help. You know the shop same as I do, so, if you have a moment, could you check in on them while I wrap your things?”

“Of course.” He nodded, smiling his best as he moved towards the back wall.

The other voices in the shop were mostly those of tittering ladies and mischief making pranksters, all too young and too high to belong to the ‘lovely gents’ that Gyssel had been speaking of, and it wasn’t hard to trail the rumble of a man’s voice to the back of the store where the hair dyes were. He grinned as he rounded the corner, but froze when he found himself face to face with a startled, and maybe somewhat abashed rancher.

“Twilight?”

“Warriors?”

“Shit, Wars is here?”

Royal blue darted down to meet the snapping violet of the veteran. “Legend? What are the two of you doing in here of all places? Are you lost?”

“No.” Legend huffed, foot tapping agitatedly at the floor as he gnawed his bottom lip, a sure sign of awkwardness if one knew the vet.

“What are you doing- oh.” Twilight’s face faded from confusion to understanding. “You’re the city boy, of course you shop in joints like this.”

He cocked a brow, hands coming to rest on his hips as he stared down the two other heroes. “Says the guy who’s been wandering around looking for something long enough the owners worried. Honestly, what could the two of you even need?”

Midnight and violet glanced warily at each other, and to his surprise, twin flushed lighted his friend’s faces as Legend had crossed his arms and Twi had rubbed at his neck.

“Hair dye.” The rancher admitted softly.

“And shampoo.” Legend had tacked on.

Warriors let his eyes blow wide an overdramatic gasp sounding in the small corner of the shop as he rested a hand on his collar. “Why, vet, you don’t mean to tell me you’re planning on actually taking a bath, are you! My heavens, what next? Will Hyrule somehow produce a wedding cake in time for Time and Malon to announce they’re having a baby?”

“They’re what!?!” Twilight yelped, sounding, ridiculously, like a dog that has just been kicked.

“I’m teasing, rancher.” He chortled. “Trust me, if Time knew of such a thing, he wouldn’t have shut up about it. Miss Malon’s still trim and terrifying as last we saw her; I have little doubt.” At the rancher’s breath of relief, he shook his head. “Honestly though, soap? Vet, last I checked-”

“It’s hot.” Legend interrupted, avoiding meeting his gaze by rolling his eyes.

“And?”

“And in case you didn’t know, our resident vet is a-”

“Don’t say it!” Legend huffed, glaring at Twilight and tugging his blue cap tighter over his head.

Come to think of it, Legend hadn’t taken the baby-blue cap off in ages...

“Is a what?”

Twilight looked down warily at the seething veteran, face twisted up between a playful grin and a wary frown, as if he didn’t yet know whether he wanted to tease and face the vet’s wrath or hold his tongue and avoid making a scene.

“Look,” Warriors sighed, glancing between the two country boys with a sigh. “I won’t tease at all, alright? But the sooner you own up to whatever nonsense you did to yourself, the sooner we can find you what you need and get ourselves out of here.”

The flush on Legend’s face darkened, eyes darting down as the vet shuffled his feet, and Wars found himself being reminded that for all the vet’s snark and sass, he really was as much of a kid as Wild and Wind were, just more accustomed at having to act otherwise.

Thin fingers rubbed at the rings on the vet’s pale hands. “Well, you see- that is- augh!”

Something inside him blossomed with warmth, a smile stretching across his face. Golden Three, Legend really was just an awkward teenager, wasn’t he? He even stumbled over his words when he was embarrassed, just like Time used to. Of course, Time had been twelve and Legend was nineteen, but that was beside the point.

“So-” The vet was nearly pouting as he struggled with his words, fingers rubbing steadily at his rings as he avoided Wars’ gaze. “You know how Ravio has curly hair?”

“Yes.”

“And you know how Ravio and I are- uh, each other's- reflect-”

A laugh bubbled out of his throat unexpectedly as he reached out to ruffle what could be seen of the vet’s frizzy bangs. “You’re a curly top! Why didn’t you say sooner?” Legend glared at him with a huff, but violet didn’t shift to indigo, so he knew it was all just an act. “Wind and I are too, I was actually in here to get some things for the two of us, and Sky too. I can help you as well if you don’t mind, just let me-” He motioned to the blue cap that was pulled snig down to Legend’s ears.

The vet huffed, but reached up to finger the blue fabric. “You won’t laugh, right?” Stern eyes met his own.

“Of course.” He smiled reassuringly.

Legend’s gaze searched his face for a moment, wary, but open, and even if it made him uncomfortable (the odd glint of gold at the edges of the vet’s eyes was a bit unsettling) he withstood it until Legend nodded, seemingly to himself, and pulled off his cap.

Pink curls spilled down to the vet’s shoulders as a bright blush colored pale cheeks. Twilight didn’t make it any better by reaching over to ruffle the vet’s head, chuckling soft and warm and surprisingly fond as Legend hissed back at him.

“Can I- that is- do you mind if I touch? I can help you find what you want better if I know what you need.”

A stiff nod.

The pink hair was just like fairy-floss, but less sticky (still dirty though) and he had to remind himself what he was doing once he got his fingers in it. A quick check at the texture and ends of Legend’s hair, as long as a quick check of the scalp and roots told him all he needed.

“Whatever dye you used to do this messed you up, vet. Honestly, I don’t know what you were thinking, but you’re dry as a mulduga’s arse. Did you bleach your hair before dying it or something?” There was a murmur in reply, but not anything he could really make out. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said that’s me natural color.” Legend huffed, tensing under his hands. “I bleached it blonde a few months back, but no, I didn’t dye this shit, it just happened.”

Twilight, very unhelpfully, giggled.

Warriors blinked. “You have pink hair?”

“Yes.”

He fought the chuckle that built up in his chest, but it did little good as he ruffles the frizzy curls and let Legend replace his hat. “Alright then! Well, I’d avoid bleaching again if I was you. The pinks out and it’s healthier if you give it a rest between dyes. I have to admit though,” He settled his hands on his hips and looked between the two other heroes with a smirk. “I never took either of you two as the sort to dye your hair.”

“Throws off the guards.” Legend huffed, tugging his cap back over his hair and making Warriors wince. Ah yes, Legend’s Hyrule’s guards.

“Fair enough. I can find you something to help with the drying out and dye damage. Twi though...” He frowned, stroking his chin in thought. “Why do you even need hair dye? Trying something new?”

Now it was the rancher’s turn to look embarrassed, rubbing at his neck and ruffling his hair. “No, actually. I jist need- rather- want? I guess? I-”

Legend huffed, patting the rancher’s arm in a rare show of compassion. “He’s been greying early and it’s making him self-conscious. I told him we could look for a dye to hide it, since he didn’t want to go about stealing Time’s position as the resident Old Man.”

Oh. Well, that made sense. “Right! Fair enough. So, you want your natural shade, yes?” At the rancher's nod he pressed on, clapping his hands as he listed what they needed. “So, hair oil, some dye, and shampoo for Legend, preferably meant for damaged and curly hair. Anything else?”

Even though the two shook their heads, they all walked out with a bit more than what Warriors had listed, but despite the fact that Legend complained about it all, no one seemed to mind too much when he pulled the three of them together after the others had gone to bed and helped show them had to use the various toiletries without making too very much of a mess. It cost a pretty penny to get them all sorted, but Legend was clean, Twilight was a brunette again (the silver streaks were rather fetching though, and he’d made sure to make sure Twilight knew that before they dyed it all away) and Wind and Sky had what they needed to prevent their hair drying out again.

And even if it made a sizable dent in his wallet, he’d refused to be paid back. It was worth it anyway, since now he and Legend both had straight hair again (and the vet had actually washed!).

He could see now why Wild and Hyrule liked playing with their respective mentors’ hair though, it was almost addictive.

Time took one look at the three youngest and groaned, and Warriors almost echoed the action.

“What were you three even doing?” His now-eldest huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh as he tried not to look at the three teens, all of which were covered in mud and grass stains, and only looking slightly remorseful, despite their horrid clothing and scraped faces.

Had it been anyone but Wild and Wind, Wars would have sat back and watched as karma paid her long overdue visit to the mischievous mask-loving hero, but since it was his kids that caught up in paying back the silver in his own hair, Wars had to stand with Time and try his very hardest not to chuckle at the sight before him.

It took no trouble at all to picture Mask sitting, unrepentant, amid the other youngsters, a challenging look on his face as he dared the captain to even try and ground him for running off again.

“We were exploring.” Hyrule grinned sheepishly, rubbing at the mud that had dried on the side of his neck. “We um-”

“We fell in a swamp.” Wild snorted, wrinkling his nose and shaking some gunk from his hands with a pout. “Even I think we stink.”

Time’s lips twitched, brows struggling to remain in a scowl as he answered, voice wavering with a hint of laughter that made Wars smile to himself. “Is that so, Cub?”

“We smell like boko guts.”

“Or boko crap!” Wind cackled, the only one not soaked in swamp goo but instead spattered with ordinary mud that came from likely tripping and falling in the dirt from laughing too hard.

“Bathe.” Time chuffed, shaking his head fondly. “All three of you. Rivers there and I’m sure Wars has soap aplenty to help.” Hang on, what? Time’s eye met his own, blinking- winking? with a bright and shit eating grin. “Have fun with you sons, dad.”

Oh Ladies, Karma messed up again, didn’t she?

“Mask, I swear-” He growled, glaring at his- was Time his eldest now? His middle child still? The youngest since he’d been the last to join the family?

“Don’t, you’ll set a bad example.” The overgrown forest gremlin chuckled, walking away with a condescending pat of the shoulder.

Some things really never changed, huh?

“Right then.” the captain turned to glare stillness back into the three youngsters, two of which were already trying to sneak away, and the third- of thank Hylia for Wind, the kid was standing at perfect attention with a smirk on his face that screamed ‘I’m the eldest and I’m about to watch my little brothers get scolded and I’m going to enjoy every second of it’, snotty little salt-bathed brat. “Jump in or I punt you.”

Hyrule and Wild exchanged a look, a sure sign of danger, and both sprinted in opposite directions.

He huffed a laugh. Amateurs. Mask and Wind had run him ragged during the war, but once you’ve fought to pre-teens on the daily, there's nothing a pair of teenagers can pull on you that will truly surprise you or throw you off. It was the work of moments to have Wild slung under one arm (wolf pups, honestly, Mask was the same way) and Hyrule by the back of his collar (Wind’s customary position).

“H-how?” Both boys stammered.

“Experience, mud moblins.”

“Do I weight anything to you?” Wild stammered, staring up at him with wide blue eyes.

The grin on his face was easier than usual in situations like these, but then again both teens had given up fighting against him sooner than the last two had ever done. “Hardly. You’ve always been a lightweight.” And with those words he promptly administered a light kick to Hyrule’s lower back, knocking the kid floundering into the stream, and following up with a well-practiced toss that send Wild rocketing in after.

Wind, already stripped down to his shorts and standing waist deep in the water, raised his hands with a shit eating grin. “Six out of Ten, Wild.” The little sea monster called to a spluttering Wild as the kid surfaced, only his face peeking above the surface as he treaded water with a pout. “You need to work on your form, but otherwise- ack!”

A wave splashed up from Hyrule’s direction and Wild sent an appreciative grin the other boy’s way while Wind’s grin melted into a playful one, eyes glinting dangerously.

“Oh, that’s it! You’re just asking for trouble now! Never start a water battle with a pirate, you two, you won’t like how it ends!”

Another, mischief filled, glance was exchanged and both feral heroes descended on the young sailor. It was like watching cucco’s descend on a bokoblin, and Warriors watched with laughter bubbling in his chest as he stripped off his gunk-stained tunic, courtesy of the mud-covered boys he’d wisely decided to pick up, and moved on to his chainmail. The sound of the three youngest heroes' shrieking and shouting sweet music to his ears as Time and the other older heroes made camp just off of the riverbank, teasing each other and generally messing around.

“Wars, why are you- are you joining us?” Wild cocked his dripping head with a curious look as he watched him.

The undershirt slipped off easily as he waded into the stream’s center. “Of course, you two got me muddy too after all, and it’s not like I trust y’all to actually clean up by-” At the slowly spreading grins on the faces of the three, the captain realizes his mistake. “I don’t trust you all to clean up properly, so I’m-”

“Warriors said ‘y’all’!” Wind chortled, eyes glinting madly as a grin stretched over his face. “Oh boy! Just wait ‘till I-”

“Slip of the tongue.” He clipped back, hands settling on his hips as he stared down the three teens. “You tell Twilight about this and I will personally wash your mouth out with soap.”

“You’re the one who said it!” Hyrule pointed out.

“And whoever tells the rancher is committing a verbal atrocity that will only lead to far more in the future.” He huffed. “No one tells, you hear me?”

Wild looked between the others, brows furrowed and lips pursed as he took in Wind’s triumphant grin and Warriors’ scowl. “What’s wrong with saying ‘y’all’?”

The captain staggered back dramatically, hand on his chest and a horrified expression on his face as he stared at his son. “No! Never say that word! That word is an abomination!”

“What word?” Hyrule cocked his head, eyes glinting knowingly, but the captain failed to recognize it in time.

“’Y’all’!” He spat with contempt. “We do not say ‘y’all’ in this house! ‘Y’all’ is a cursed word and the next person who says it is-” - ‘Is on Mask watching duty’ was his go to consequence, but that wouldn’t exactly work right now; Time was a bit old to actually need a supervisor- “is on clothes washing duty with Legend.” He settled on at last, choosing the chore that everyone except, surprisingly, the veteran minded.

“Say the man who just said it four times in a row.” Wind teased, darting out of his grasp with a wide grin.

“Wind! I was trying to see how many times I could make him say it!” Hyrule huffed, pouting at his brother adorably.

“I still don’t get it.” Wild grumbled. “It’s a word? There’s nothing wrong with it as far as I know, ‘y’a-” The captain’s hand was clamped around the kid’s mouth before he could finish his sentence.

“Let's just not.” Warriors huffed; he was beginning to mourn Twilight’s mentor position at the moment. Fortunately, Wild was willing enough to still in is hands and not push the topic, unlike the other two who just egged each other on with ever widening grins. “Right.” He rolled his eyes. “First one with a clean face gets the strawberry scented soap; go.”

Silence fell as nothing save splashing rang over the stream as faces ducked beneath the water, all three boys falling for his favorite trick of all time. Heck, even the old man would probably still cave to the offer of strawberry soap, even now that he was an adult, and Wars couldn’t blame him at all; strawberry scented bubbles were the best bubbles and Twilight and his goat-milk soap could go sniff a skunk if they wanted to contest that.

It took hardly any time at all for all three to emerge, fresh faces and glowing, three sets of eyes al sparkling up at him as a warm chuckle blossomed in his throat. Naturally, he gave the promised soap to all three, citing the ‘I can’t tell who finished first so you all win’ excuse that Grandfather had taught him ages ago.

Wind dutifully set about scrubbing himself clean, and in the meantime, he guided the less experienced duo. “Take so much,” He dolloped a generous potion into Hyrule’s cupped hands. “And rub your hands together, yes, just like that, work it up to a nice lather and just scrub it all over. Take care you get the smelliest bits first so you don’t run out of soap before you get there, yeah?” Both forest children nodded, dutifully following his instructions as he moved to help scrub the traveler’s sopping curls.

It was an easy pattern to fall into, scrubbing the two heads with especial care to remove any sticks and twigs he found along the way. Hyrule was the easier of the two, but Wild held still better while he worked, almost melting under his fingers as he messaged suds into his son’s long locks, a light smile playing over both their faces as he worked, content to sit in the cooling water of the stream as the sun began to set, hands buried in his kid’s long hair as he worked out mud and filth and who knows what else.

Rinsing the sweet-scented bubbles started out innocently enough, but Wars was given a front row seat to watching an accidental splash descend into a full-on war on the water as he scrubbed his own hair clean, and well, if he joined in once he was finished, well, someone had to show Wind that he wasn’t the only hero with some experience on the water.

Wars sighed as he watched Time stirring quietly on his bedroll.

Honestly, his middle kid (he’d finally settled on letting Wind retain his position on oldest, since there was no way Time could be the eldest brother with his gremlin behavior) was something of an idiot. Oh, he loved all three of his boys dearly, but Time was an ass and everyone who knew him well knew it (except maybe Twilight, but that guy was an ass too).

Time hadn’t been sleeping recently, and it was easy to see in the dark bags around his eyes and the almost drifting expression on his face at nights. It was for lack of trying either, the kid- man? - the hero would settle down on his bedroll every night same as the others, but even with sharp eyes shut tight and blanket pulled to his ears, the ‘Old Man’ couldn’t lie still for more than thirty minutes, constantly shifting and fidgeting on his bedroll even as the other heroes steadily dropped off to sleep.

It was just the two of them now, the captain on watch and their leader trying to pretend he was asleep with a scowl on his face.

He was scratching again.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” war clapped his hands against his knees and pushed himself p, staling over to stand over the largest of the bedrolls and staring down at the lump within. “What’s up, Sprout? You normally snore like a hinox all night long, what’s eating you?”

A single blue eye stared up at him wearily. “If I knew, I would have killed it by now.”

Oof, bad night then. “Do you have any idea what it could be?” He was already settling down next to the group leader’s head, hands reaching to grasp Time’s own and bring them down from where he was, likely unconsciously, clawing at the sides of his face.

“No.” Came the frustrated huff.

“Missing Miss Malon?” He suggested, running his fingers through short blonde hair thoughtfully, mind miles away in a two-story house at castle town as he fell into the all too familiar trap of playing with one of his boys’ hair.

“I thought so at first, and while I do, it doesn’t usually stop me from sleeping.” Time grumbled, staring up at the night sky with pursed lips. “It’s not nightmares or visions either, if anything my dreams have been normal for once.”

“Anxiety perhaps? Are you worrying about the others? Twilight, maybe? Wild?” At the questioning glance he received he shrugged. “Kept me up enough nights, even if you two were there. A bad thing happens once and you're not likely to forget it.”

“Hmm.” Time hummed, leaning unconsciously into his hands and settling on his bed-roll, shoulders falling lax as his single good eyes fluttered softly. “Maybe.”

Whatever it was, it wasn’t bad enough that War’s fingers didn’t put it to rest, and time was asleep in mere minutes, soft snores rumbling over the camp as the captain continued his ministrations, eyes and ears sharp and alert for any disturbance near in within the camp, but body relaxed as he kept the steady rhythm of his fingers through short and silky hair.

When his watch was over though, and it was time to wake the veteran to take his, Wars found himself stuck. Time's fingers were curled tightly in his blue scarf, the man’s head resting easy against his thigh, and any motion small of subtle, would likely send majestic blue fluttering open again with an exhausted air.

Ah well, time to be creative.

Legend grumbled, as usual, at being woken by having his feet touched, and the captain echoed his discomfort as he wrings is sore and likely sprained hand. Time was still asleep though, so there was that at least. Now just to figure out how best to position himself so he could sleep.

Soldier’s experience won over logic, and Wars was asleep in seconds, leaving the camp under Legend’s watch and Time snoozing blissfully at his side.

[lost-khione]

Making Up for Lost Time

Be My Valentine Content Creation Challenge by @xxsycamore and @chaosangel767

Day 5 prompt - “I made you miss me. I want to make up for that.”

Fandom: Ayakashi Romance Reborn

Setting: Modern World/Future Era. This story is a continuation of the fic I wrote before [Until We Meet Again] about the future after Futaba died. This is the era where Futaba is reincarnated again and they met as college students. Gaku went to college just because he had this gut instinct that it might lead him closer to Futaba’s reincarnation. Soon, they met each other and got together again. This will be their first Valentine’s day since finding each other.

Note: I’ll be referring to Futaba’s reincarnation as MC. I’m not really good at thinking up a meaningful name so I’ll leave it to your imagination.

Word count: 1905

----------

It had only been a couple of weeks since we found each other again. It made all those years of waiting worth it. My friends even thought that I was crazy for having these dreams about my “boyfriend” when he doesn’t exist. They all thought that “Gaku” is just my imagination, that guy in my dreams that maybe I got from reading too much romance manga. In the end, whenever I talked about him, they just accepted it as that. I hardly cared what they thought so long as I knew that Gaku and our past lives were real. And I guess, I am happy enough that they listen to me no matter how crazy they actually think I must be.

I remembered my promise to him. I promised that I would find him this time. I can still remember the happiness I felt when we bumped into each other on my college campus. I stopped in my tracks when I heard the clear sound of bells in my head. I stared at him. He must’ve sensed my gaze because his eyes met mine. I felt like we stood there like that for a while until my friend tapped my arm.

“Hey, MC. Who’s that guy you’re staring at?”

With bated breath, I spoke one word, “Gaku.”

Having said that, the guy in front of me widened his eyes. He muttered softly like he couldn't believe his ears, “Futaba?”

My friend grabbed my arm in disbelief and whispered, “So he really exists?”

I got back my composure and smiled. “I told you Gaku is real and he’s my boyfriend.”

After declaring that, I broke free from my friend’s grasp, grabbed Gaku’s hand and ran away.

“Hey! Where are you going?” my friend shouted after me.

I stopped for a moment to shout my reply, “It’s been a while since we met, we have a lot of catching up to do.” Then, I pulled Gaku away with me.

After we got far enough from my friend, I stopped running. 

“This should be far enough.”

I was about to let go of his hand to wipe at the sweat on my brow when this time, it was his turn to squeeze my hand. 

“Is it really you?” he asked with hesitance. 

Instead of simply saying ‘yes,’ I decided to just tell him that I remember and said, “I promised you didn’t I? That when I am reborn again, I’ll be the one to find you. Have you been waiting long?” 

I tentatively brought my free hand up to touch his face. I let my hand stop in midair for fear that he might not want me to do it, after all, I’m a different person from my past life. He raised his other hand to touch my frozen one and touched it to his face.

“You really remembered.”

I saw the joy in his eyes as he said that and pulled me tightly into his arms.

After our reunion, we spent a lot of time trying to catch up to each other. I remember everything that happened in my past life as Futaba so I knew that she made him promise to write about his life**. He told me about the 300 years while I was gone. It seems that indeed I managed to fulfill both my promise to come back earlier and to remember him. 

It’s Valentine’s day and I invited Gaku on a date. He wanted to be the one to plan it but I insisted against it. I wanted to do something for him. I feel my heart ache for him at the thought that he really kept on waiting for me. I want this to be memorable. Besides, I already have a destination in mind. Something that I have been planning for a long time now.

He arrives on time at the train station we agreed to meet with a bouquet of forget-me-nots.

"Happy Valentine's, MC"

"Happy Valentine's, Gaku"

After he hands me the bouquet, he asks, "Hey, have you been waiting long?"

"Not really," I answer as I inhale the scent of flowers. Compared to how long you waited for me this is nothing, I thought to myself.

"Thank you for the flowers. I love forget-me-nots. Kinda symbolic of our promise. How nostalgic."

"Yeah. It is symbolic of our promise. But I also want it to mean that we should make lots of memories in this lifetime for us to remember and look back on in the future. I'm giving you these not because you were her in your past life but because you're you today. It might sound weird to say that because it totally looks like I only approached you because you were her but I guess, like I said last time, I want to get to know who you are now because I love you no matter what," Gaku says as a light blush starts to color his cheeks.

"Gaku," I call his name softly and take his hand, squeezing it. I feel like he'll just ramble on if I don't stop him. "It's okay. I understand don't worry. I told you before, didn't I? I remember all about you and Futaba and I've seen in her memories how you sincerely loved who she is whoever she was in her past life. So, you don't need to explain much. Besides, I'm the one who dragged you with me the first time we met again, right? So don't worry about that anymore and let's just enjoy this date."

He squeezes my hand, exhales and replies, "You're right. Thank you. Now where do you plan to take me?"

"It's a secret. You'll know when we get there. Let's go!" I pull on his hand to board the train headed towards our destination.

When we arrive, I can't hide my excitement.

"Ahhhh, I can finally come here!"

Gaku raises an eyebrow at me in confusion and asks, "You haven't been here before? This is the most famous amusement park here."

I shake my head and answer, "No. I declined all of my friends' invitations to come here. When I learned of this place, I vowed that I'll come here for the first time with you. I knew how much you liked admiring mechanisms and stuff and thought you'd appreciate the machines used for the rides in the amusement park."

"I've been here before though," he says bluntly, just like the Gaku I knew in my dreams.

"I thought that might be the case. But this will be the first time you're here with me and I think it's a nice place to make memories, don't you think? Besides, I also thought that, waiting for a few years to be able to come here for the first time is nothing compared to how long you waited for me," I admit the other reason for choosing this as our date spot today.

He squeezes my hand and I see him smiling at me and looking at me with soft eyes.

"Then, I'll be your escort for today. Let's make memories."

This time, it's his turn to pull me forward. 

After enjoying the rides and shows that the park has to offer, we stop for a break and buy some ice cream.

While eating, I realize that Gaku has his phone pointed at me.

"Wow, I didn't know you can look pouty while eating an ice cream," he says while inspecting something on his phone.

I realized that he took a picture of me. "Hey! I must look bad in that, delete it!"

"No way!" He moves his phone away quickly before I can snatch it. "Why are you pouting anyway?"

"I knew you already came here but I feel like I'm the only one enjoying the rides. You were totally not showing any reaction while I'm screaming my lungs out."

Gaku laughs.

"What's so funny?" I feel myself pouting again.

"Well, I'm not really afraid of heights so you can't expect me to shout during rides. But like you said, this is my first time to come here with you so I used the time to properly look at you. I enjoyed all your reactions."

He grins at me and takes out his phone again. This time, he shows it to me and scrolls through his gallery.

"Oh my god. You took a lot of pictures of me? I look bad in some of them. It's embarrassing!"

"No, you don't. I think you look cute in all the pictures I took," he replies with a serious face.

I feel doubtful about what he said when he adds, "I never flatter, remember?"

He's right. He's not the type to flatter. He says what he wants to say without holding anything back. So he's really not making fun of me with those photos.

"Fine, I believe you. But don't show those to Yura!"

"I don't plan on showing it to Brother anyway. I'll only show him pictures of us but those pictures of you that I took will be for my eyes only."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

We spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the park, going for a few more rides, taking pictures and talking a lot. I feel like I've learned more about him, more than what Futaba's memories have shown me. I'm sure he also feels the same, about knowing more about who I am today.

At last, it's nighttime and it's time for the fireworks show. We stand at the open field with the rest of the guests to wait for it.

"Hey, Gaku. I had fun today. Waiting for you until I come here for the first time was worth it."

"I had fun too. Thank you for inviting me today."

I can hear that the countdown for the fireworks is down to the final ten seconds.

I have one more surprise for him.

"Hey, Gaku. You say you've seen everything in this park already but I bet here's something you haven't seen yet."

"Sorry to burst your bubble but I've already seen their fireworks."

“I made you miss me. I want to make up for that.”

"Three, two, one!"

Just as I hear the countdown reach 'one,' I utter those words and move in front of him.

I vaguely hear the sound of fireworks rising behind me but all I see is Gaku and I hear the loud pounding of my heart. I close the gap between us, close my eyes and press my lips to his.

When I pull back I see a look of surprise flash in his eyes, he gives me a soft smile as his hands find my face. I feel myself flush.

Was that too bold of me?

"You're right I haven't seen that yet."

He moves to close the gap between us again but I get self-conscious and push at his chest.

"Wait! There are a lot of people around."

"Huh? You were the one who did it first without caring about the people around us. I thought you wanted to make it up to me? Besides, they're busy looking at the fireworks."

This time, I don't protest and we share another kiss. After that, we stare at the sky together and enjoy the rest of the fireworks show.

Looking at the fireworks' ephemeral glow, I say a prayer in my heart that this time, our time together will be longer than before.

**This is not really part of “Until We Meet Again.” I originally planned to include it there because it didn’t sound right to include with the flow of that story although that was a headcanon I had thought even before writing it.

[karanoid]

about top joe discord

LET ME ADDRESS A FEW POINTS:

There has been many fear and anxiety regardless the top!joe discord I made. I understand how it gives my discord a bad reputation. Somebody has kindly reached out to me to ask me addressing several points, which I’m now gonna clarify:

1. I am racist, I asked why, and they said mostly because of my dismissive behavior to people who called me out for drawing yusuf adorned in gold jewelry which made their friends feel unsafe. So, I am a muslim and was raised in a muslim household and community. I am fucking brown.

I didn’t say it because you don’t need to know that about me. What bothers me is how some people feel the need to come to my inbox informing me “maam yusuf is a religious muslim who prays 5 times a day and do all the supplementary prayers all while he drinks alcohol and fuck nicky in the dailies, he wouldnt be wearing gold maam no maam.” as if I didn’t know any better. so please, now don’t do that. If you care so much about the littlest details like wearing gold then you’ll also call out yusuf because he draws living beings and drinks champagne. yes it’s true muslim men are forbidden from wearing gold AND silk but let’s not forget, nothing in the comic and movies imply yusuf has ever been religious. It’s easier to see nicolo as religious because he was a fucking priest. Yusuf was a fucking merchant, it’s easy to see that he’d be less faithful because he would have been travelling and seen many kind of people to broaden his horizons and not contained to a little bubble of hyper religious community. However, let me remind you: whether yusuf AND nicolo are religious or not is entirely UP TO THE AUTHOR/ARTIST. It’s totally fine to make him religious and if you can respect it THATS GREAT, I ALSO LIKE HIM THAT WAY, but please remember it’s not even canon and hey sometimes I just draw things because I like the aesthetics. Also please, do not harass writers for getting a thing or two incorrect, even white people cannot get christianity correct, even between two muslims could be a disagreement whether this fic’s yusuf is problematic or not. I wouldn’t even expect anything more and THAT’S OKAY. Just don’t be an ass to muslims of color in real life and don’t fall into the believe that it’s a religion of violence. you can say that greg made him that way bc he knew nothing better but hey, I have no problem with that. again, it’s fine to make him religious, I’d be delighted but it’s ALSO fine to make him not religious.

2. I think that people only write Top!Nicky out of political correctness. OKAY. I apologize for this. I thought like this because I have accounts telling me that they were pressured into writing top!nicky or they wanted more readerships so I make a BIG assumption. I realized this is only a small part of switch and top!nicky fics and the big bulk of this must be out of genuine care. So yeah, I apologize for thinking that people only write top!nicky out of political correctness. I think writers should be allowed to write whatever they want. Yes this includes top!Nicky. And in whatever kinks they want it. However, this still doesn’t change that the discourses do scare people away from writing top!joe. Write top!nicky however you want, but stop vague-blogging about top!joe. racism isn’t inherent to top!joe and you can always remind people to be mindful with their writings but discouraging people from writing top!joe is not the solution. 

3. Top!joe is racist and people in the discord are racist. Okay, I am gonna touch several aspects why top!joe discord is considered racist: (1) because I don’t like to switch them, therefore I am racist. Sorry that’s not how it works. I have a clear preference and that’s just how I roll. Besides, a lot of people in the discord (including me) think either they switch (because they are 900 yo) or joe just doesn’t like bottoming. I’m not the kind of people who refers to reality for fiction I consume but people who prefer to top or to bottom exist (2) i want to be away from accountability and responsibility. Nope. The reason I made it is because I wanted to gather people with same interest as mine. 

4. I paint Yusuf as aggressive and the whole discord like him being an aggressive top. I think this is the only reason why the discord is seen in a negative light. Because wow what a coincidence that someone vagueblogged my discord at the day I celebrated about Nicky suggesting 20 years and wrote a post about how Joe is allowed to be angry. And beside someone made the WRONG assumption that we are focusing on Joe’s anger and violence (what). Okay, I don’t know how to break this down. But I will try. First, yes I was overjoyed at the news. Because I’m one of the people that do not like feral!nicky headcanon. I liked it at first bc it was funny but then it was twisted into Nicky being cold. So I don’t like it (lol), I still like it though but like I don’t seriously think that way. However, I never liked the idea that Nicky suggested higher than Joe. Because then his character just doesn’t click with me, there was a cognitive dissonance for me because joe clearly says nicky’s heart overflows kindness, you can see nicky as a medic in the credit montage. Also, from their body language and from the way the movie set em up, I think Joe is the one who suggested higher and I am glad to be proven right. Second, I did write a post about how Joe is allowed to be angry at Booker. People agreed with me, so I was not alone. But the reason I wrote that post is not because I wanted to paint yusuf as aggressive, but because I’m tired at people who think Joe shouldn’t display any negative emotions. I think it’s out of character. I do NOT think Joe is aggressive. That is NOT his wholeass personality. If you looked at my tog art tag, never once I portrayed Joe as anything aggressive. If I do, please show me. Third, people are conflating this with my post where I reblogged with a comment that implies aggressive Joe isn’t racism. Okay in this, the context is IN BED. It’s Joe being aggressive in BED. It’s literally BED ROLES AND FANTASY. I don’t even have a particular scenario in my head when I reblogged that, the original post clearly refers to bed roles with manhandling and kinks etc. like, why would you spank someone in public? Lastly, about the discord, NOPE, most people in the discord agree that Joe is either a GENTLE DOM or SERVICE TOP. But in my opinion, if someone likes Joe as an aggressive top (again, bed roles baby) I really don’t think it’s racism. It’s just... projection? 

anyway, back to joe’s emotions, these are posts from a moroccan man (paragraph #7) and a brown woman whose posts I agree with. Let’s be real, people of color are expected to shut up in favor of white people’s fragile feelings.

Now, about racism in fandom. I understand the concern because muslim men are painted as violent and aggressive. You know what I will never forgive those radicals for taking away innocents lives and to leave a lasting damage in how muslims are perceived in the west. However, you have to keep in mind, Joe in the movie is far from being stereotyped. I mean, Gina and Marwan practically greenlit him? Now, you might have concerns that writers are gonna turn him into a walking stereotype which is... okay, I understand that concern. But the solution is to communicate this ‘hey I think you make him too stereotypical in this etc etc’ not “write more top!nicky AND shame top!joe” because again, top!joe is not inherently racist.

also some people mentioned that they hope I recognize racial bias in the ship. dude, that goes without saying, all aspects of your life will be influenced by racial biases. however, this kind of thing is not specific to fandom/shipping. Like I said I’m fucking brown, friends and families with facial features that cater to white expectation are treated better. I did say at the bottom of this post, yeah I did notice why it’s always a brown character who’s always openly mad. And that’s in itself a form of racial bias. Racial biases affect everyone, white or POC, it doesn’t matter. But I got an issue with how people think this is racism. like how convenient, if by falling to racial biases mean you are a racist then what about those white people who created this racial biases in the first place? and I noticed the persons who got the audacity to cry about everything in this fandom is white?? I mean okay, they don’t know what I am, but not everyone is comfortable with sharing their private information like ethnic group, faith, etc. what if they really don’t want to share it? Because like you said, racial bias, whether good or bad will affect me. Now, I don’t know what white people are feeling, I’m not white. However, based on my interactions with them. We’re all just people sharing same interest, it could be they fall into racial biases, but all we shared about are just regular HCs. Even people making a conscious effort to combat racial bias still in essence fall for racial bias. You just cannot escape it.

According to this post, fandom assumes that the bottom is the proxy of writers, I don’t think this is applicable to everyone but let’s just say it’s true and people tend to write about their projection better so I’m gonna assume the racism part comes from the fact that..yeah I do think the bottom usually gets more fleshed out as a result of them being the writers proxy, so somebody posted this in the discord which I agree because yes I do think there’s a lack about yusuf’s background especially when it comes to crusade era:

but since I know most writers aren’t muslims, to me it’s not so much about racism but they simply know nothing about it, and not always out of ignorance either but in this climate, if you get a thing or two wrong you’d get harassed. so *shrugs* I understand the reluctancy. But here’s the thing, this is not about top/bottom issue but because most of the fandom are white so they have more freedom in writing the white character. Anyway, plenty of people have projected themselves into yusuf already, the whole “top/bottom” thing in this fandom is not even a thing. Yes, some writers project on the bottom so if you prefer bottom!joe that’s fine, somebody in the discord is doing a research and it turned out top!joe wasn’t even a CLEAR majority in JULY. So clearly they got their share already?

so please, let’s stop with the vitriol. if people are preferring top!joe it’s clearly because of different preferences. it’s not that deep. it’s the same way with how some people are preferring top!nicky. But we’re being driven out based on a hypothetical scenarios? like what do you want? for us to cease existing??? don’t be ridiculous.

I know people won’t listen to me. So this is my suggestion: LETS JUST IGNORE THINGS YOU DON’T LIKE. LET’S ALL JUST AGREE TO DISAGREE. 

[shera-dnd]

I do believe we’ve gone too long without a good antagonist, so it’s time I introduced two in one go.

Also there is a joke there that I wrote before I even started writing the fic itself and I’m sure y’all will immediately recognize which one that is

“Amitola.”

Ilia blinked awake. It was a cold morning in their little camp, and her body was still sore from last night’s sparring session. She wished for nothing more than to stay inside her bedroll just a little longer, but a feeling of unease kept her from resting once more.

She recognized the voice, she certainly recognized the name, but there was no possible way she had actually heard that. That must have been a dream or perhaps she had simply misheard something in her half asleep state.

That didn’t matter, the sun had risen, and there was no doubt her dutiful knights were already awake and waiting for her to join them. So she quickly placed her usual glamour upon herself, donned one of her fine dresses, and stepped out of her tent.

“Good morning, my fair lady,” Weiss greeted cheerfully.

She sat by the campfire, preparing their breakfast as Belladonna watched her in amusement. She clearly didn’t expect the Schnee to know how to cook.

“Morning, Schnee,” Ilia replied, “what has gotten you in such a pleasant mood?”

“It was you, of course,” she explained, “last night has brought me such great joy.”

Ilia should not have expected the Schnee to know how to mind her wording, if the black knight’s grin was anything to go by.

“Is it safe to ask what has happened in this camp while I was gone?” Belladonna asked.

“I cannot say,” Ilia replied, unamused, “is it safe to ask why you’ve been gone all night?”

Weiss looked between the two of them in confusion, “is it safe to ask what you two are on about?”

“Oh, no, it certainly is not,” Belladonna chuckled.

“Then I believe a change of subject is in order,” Weiss declared, trying her best to evade whatever it was her companions were talking about, “Lady Rose and Lady Polendina have invited me over for target practice today. If my lady would allow it, I’d like us to make our way to their camp as soon as we’re done with this meal.”

“I…” Ilia wasn’t sure how to answer her. Her dream had left her unnerved, and spending time with the lovebirds would do nothing to ease her worries.

“I find myself indisposed today,” she settled on.

Weiss was visibly disappointed, but was quick to hide it behind the mask of a dutiful knight, “then I shall let them know we won’t make it today.”

“No, wait!” Ilia interrupted, not because she cared about the Schnee’s feelings, but because she did not want to spend all day in the company of a moping human, “just go if you want to. Don’t let me keep you.”

Weiss’s eyes went wide, clearly taken aback by this response, “are you certain, Lady Ilia?”

She scoffed in annoyance, “I wouldn’t have said so if I weren’t.”

At that the knight-to-be smiled at her in a way that certainly did not set her heart a flutter, and most definitely did not ease her worries like she were some fretting damsel. In fact, the only thing that got any reaction out of Ilia was when the Schnee decided to go on a tedious ramble, going on about how she would not forget such an act of kindness.

“Yes, yes, I’m a goddess amongst mortals,” she interrupted, “now shouldn’t you be making us breakfast?”

“Of course!” She agreed, promptly returning to the task at hand.

The resulting meal was surprisingly not deadly. In fact, as loath to admit it as Ilia was, it was in fact quite good.

“That was quite the astounding meal, Lady Weiss,” Belladonna praised, “I did not expect an atlesian noble to know how to cook.”

“Do not inflate her ego any further,” Ilia chided, “just be grateful the Schnee did not poison us.”

At least an attempt would have made her unease feel more warranted.

“You both flatter me,” Weiss replied. Though her smile was proud, it was closer to that of a farmer being recognized for their hard work, than that of a lord listing off their titles. It was charming in a way.

Not that Ilia would ever say that out loud.

“Great, you’ve made the Schnee happy, what a way to spoil my meal,” Ilia complained, though neither of them bought it, “shouldn’t you be on your way? Wouldn’t want to keep the lovebirds waiting.”

“You’re right, of course,” Weiss surrendered, getting up as she spoke, “I only request that you do not miss me in my absence.”

“Never has a request been so easy to fulfill,” Ilia replied, rolling her eyes, “now be gone.”

With that Weiss left them. Though Ilia assumed she’d get a moment of peace, it was clear Belladonna had other plans, for she kept looking at Ilia with the most insufferable of expressions plastered across her face. She knew what that look meant, she knew the conversation that would follow, and she most certainly did not want to partake in it.

“Not a word, Belladonna,” she threatened. It was a futile endeavor, all that did was work a smirk into that unbearable face of hers.

“You and ‘the Schnee’ seem very close,” she commented, to her own amusement and to Ilia’s great pain.

“I do not appreciate the implication in your tone, seelie,” Ilia complained.

“You have yet to tell me what has gotten Lady Weiss in such a cheerful mood,” Belladonna insisted.

“We sparred,” she replied, “nothing more to it than that.”

“Funny, that’s just what me and Yang did last night as well,” Belladonna commented.

“I still cannot comprehend what you see in that human,” Ilia shook her head.

“She eats for ten men and could take down just as many with her bare hands, and yet she could name every constellation in the sky and every flower in these fields,” she explained, her voice was sweet, but tasted like bitter jealousy to Ilia’s ear, “she fights like a mad woman, but speaks like a poet, and I have yet to decide what attracts me most.”

It was harder than it should have been, to accept Belladonna’s happiness, to be happy for her as well. Even now, so many years later, a part of Ilia still wished that her friend would speak of her in that way, that they could be more than just friends.

But she had accepted that this was not meant to be, and if the chieftain made Belladonna happy, then she should be happy for her as well.

“I take that to mean that you wish for her to speak poetry between your thighs,” Ilia joked. It was somewhat forced, but she tried.

“I cannot say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind,” Belladonna replied, “though for now I’m content with our walks and our sparring sessions.”

“Do you plan on telling her what you are?” Ilia asked. Jealousy aside, that had been her primary concern when it came to that human.

“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” she assured her, though that only served to confuse poor Ilia, “I believe she has figured us out already.”

“She has what!?” Ilia demanded.

“She has been slowly wearing less and less iron around me,” Belladonna explained, “yesterday I caught her taking off her bracelets before coming to greet me.”

“How could she even know!?”

“I’m not certain,” she replied, “regardless, it was very sweet of her.”

“How so? Iron doesn’t seem to have any effect on you,” Ilia asked, though there was a near accusatory tone to her words, “she might as well be removing that cloak of hers for all it matters.”

“It isn’t for any practical reasons really. it’s simply that she cares enough about my comfort to do so,” she replied, “hasn’t your human done the same for you?”

Her human?

Though the thought itself wasn’t entirely unpleasant - it had been far too long since poor Ilia had anyone to call hers - the fact that it was aimed at the Schnee of all people soured it for her. Certainly Belladonna knew she had better taste in women.

“Please, never refer to her in that way ever again,” she complained, pinching the bridge of her nose, “and besides she has put away the armor for her own comfort, not for mine.”

“Clearly,” Belladonna replied, amused, “of course our favorite knight wanabee has abandoned her signifiers of knighthood of her own volition, and only for her own benefit.”

“You’re a fool if you believe the Schnee cares for anyone other than herself,” Ilia bit back.

“And you’re a fool not to see how devoted she is to you,” Belladonna countered.

“I did not ask for devotion!” She shouted, “I did not ask to be her damned quest!”

With that shout came silence.

Neither of the fae had much to say from that point on. Though she did not enjoy having what had almost been a pleasant conversation sour so quickly, she also did not regret her outburst in any way. The simple idea of Ilia ever being with the Schnee in any way was both impossible and insulting, and the both of them just had to accept that.

“Amitola,” whispered the winds of the forest, like they had in the depths of her dream.

Ilia looked around frantically. There was no one around besides her and Belladonna. None who could know that name, or even what it meant. She turned back to her fellow fae, but she hadn’t reacted at all, still just sulking as she stared into the dwindling embers of their campfire.

“I should be going,” Belladonna said, seemingly unaware of anything wrong, “I’ve been neglectful of my duties to my order. I should rectify that.”

“Yes, of course,” Ilia replied, masking concern with bitterness, “return to your beloved humans.”

“Ami… Ilia,” she called, “you know I still care for you and for our kind.”

“Of course you do,” she almost hissed, shrouding her own unease with familiar venom, “now be gone already.”

Belladonna sighed, “as you wish.”

In little time she had suited up and set off to serve humanity once again, leaving Ilia alone to deal with the voices in the wind. She wasn’t a fool, she knew this was the doing of her people’s magic, and she recognized their summons when she heard them. What had worried her was that very few people knew that name, and fewer still had the means to travel this far north.

“Amitola,” the name echoed again, not spoken with a voice, but made to be from the wind itself.

This time Ilia answered its summons.

She ventured into the woods by herself, stripping her body of her glamour as she travelled further and further, far away from nobles and knights, from their pointless titles and empty oaths. Until once more she stood within the domain of the fae.

The forest was quieter here, a little pocket of peace set aside for her and her host.

“Amitola,” twin voices called in unison. That name, her name, was loaded with disappointment and contempt.

“Fennec,” Amitola greeted, lowering her head, “Corsac.”

From the shadows among the trees emerged the large gestalt form of the fae twins. A singular body of orange and white fur, caught somewhere between the shape of a man and a fox. It looked down on her with its four eyes, gleaming in the light that came through the branches.

“It has been too long, sister Amitola” Fennec spoke, and his voice felt like wind.

“We didn’t think we’d find you among the humans,” Corsac followed, and his breath smelled like embers.

“It makes one wonder why you left so suddenly,” the twins commented.

It was an unsettling sight to behold.

“I do not seek to join them, if that is what you’re insinuating,” Amitola returned. She was no traitor like Belladonna, and she would not be treated like one, “I seek to infiltrate them.”

“Of course,” Corsac agreed, “but what is it you have to gain from this?”

“I--”

“Don’t tell us you forgot to plan ahead, little sister,” Fennec added.

“I did plan ahead!” Amitola insisted, “I wished to…I wished to see the human world. I wanted to know the things they’ve built from our suffering. The festival felt like the best opportunity I’d get.”

“So then, did you come here only to bolster your hatred of their kind?” One asked.

“Or did you only wish to don a dress and play pretend?” The other followed.

As they spoke they circled her like a predator, their words following much the same. They had not yet betrayed violence in their intent, but it still unnerved her to be treated like prey.

Though words failed to come to her defence, her rage at being interrogated like this still burned bright, and it took the form of the same glare that had many times targeted her companions over the past few days.

The twins laughed.

“Do not worry, little Amitola,” Fennec reassured her, condescension weighing heavy on her name, “your goals may be shallow.”

“But your skill can still be put to use,” Corsac noted, “after all, you have acquired not only the perfect disguise.”

“But also their trust,” they spoke together once more, wind and fire amplified by one another, “and you will put it to good use.”

The shared body of the twins stood before her, larger, more fearsome than any singular being could ever dream to be. Under their gaze it was easy for rage to die down, and for fear and guilt to take over.

“You will do this for us, won’t you, Amitola?”

[bnhayyy]

Burning In Carolina

Wordcount: 3.9k

Ao3 Link: Click 

Notes: I wrote this fic for @bnhatraumazine ! Leftover sales are currently open, so go check them out! And if you enjoyed the fic, maybe consider buying me a Ko-Fi? I do all my best writing when properly caffinated!

Summary: Despite the success of the initial interrogation, further attempts to pry information or recognition out of the villain known as Kurogiri prove fruitless. Aizawa keeps trying anyway.

It was possible to miss someone to the point of physical pain. This was a truth that Aizawa had learned long ago.

The pain never left him—not completely. It threatened to consume him. But he did not curl up and cease to function, no matter how tempting it was at first. Instead, he forced himself forward, even as that pain followed his every step, echoing in his actions, his appearance, his demeanor. It molded who he was. And, eventually, it became a part of him. Eventually, he reached a point where he could sometimes forget that the ache in his chest, the bleakness that coated the world, the empty space in the fabric of his life was something born of loss and not just the way things were. He didn't remember it unless he was actively thinking about it. For the most part, he tried not to think about it.

Then everything changed. There was a call from Tartarus, a horrible revelation, and suddenly he had no choice but to think about the things that made him who he was. The person who made him who he was. The one who would have been ten times the hero he could ever be.

It was one thing to be haunted by the past. It was another entirely to try and bring it back to life.

Aizawa slid into the cold metal chair. He was familiar with the ache it sent up his spine by now. In a different situation, he would slump forward to provide it with some relief, but his muscles were too tense for him to slouch even if he wanted to. In contrast, the figure on the other side of the glass didn't show any tension at all. He seemed to rest easily in his restraints, eerie yellow eyes staring unwaveringly at Aizawa.

His mouth felt dry. Only seconds in the room and he already felt as if a lump had formed in his throat. Yet when he pushed himself to speak, he took care to ensure that his voice would be calm and steady. Ideally, he would be able to keep it that way this time.

"Kurogiri," he said. The name was a lie. Even so, he did not let himself say the one that he wanted to—not yet.

"Eraserhead," the prisoner returned. There was a slight shift in the black mist around his head. With it came a hitch in Aizawa's heart, but no, it must have just been an indication of movement. Unsurprising. The miasma of darkness that composed Kurogiri had not once parted since that first fateful meeting.

There was a moment in which neither of them spoke. Then, before Aizawa could muster himself to continue the conversation, Kurogiri asked, "Do you have any news regarding Shigaraki Tomura?"

This question again. It was always one of the first things he asked. Distantly, he supposed he could understand, but that didn't erase the wrongness of it. He never should have even known Shigaraki, let alone been programmed to care for him. Maybe even come to genuinely care about him. But he did. And that meant Aizawa had to answer the question, over and over again. He could say something that might stop him from asking again. He could tell him the truth: there hasn't been any news on him in months.

He wouldn't say that. Partially because he wasn't supposed to. Partially because...

He wouldn't say that.

The villain patiently waited for his response. Aizawa sighed. "No," he said.

There was another minute shift in his mist. Another moment that gave Aizawa pause even though he shouldn't. A soft 'hm' reached his ears, only just managing to penetrate the glass even with the speakers installed on either side of the interrogation room.

"Why are you here, then?" the villain asked. "You must know by now that I won't give you any information."

Aizawa's hand twitched, a small, unintentional spasm that came in time with the phantom compression of his chest. You already did, he didn't say. We're investigating the hospital. Similarly, he didn't give in to the burning behind his eyes that urged him to point out, I came anyway. You would have. Instead, his lips thinned as he tried to find the right words. Again, the captive waited patiently. So silent in his patience, so unlike the energetic chatter that once filled the air, ready to offer a push when it was needed and content to just be there when it wasn't.

"What do you think?" Aizawa slowly asked.

The man behind the glass gave a tired sigh. "Aren't my insights trivial in this situation? The most the musings of a prisoner can offer is more ammo for their captors, and we have established that you will not be getting that." He said one thing, but after a few heartbeats with no response, he sighed and added, "Perhaps it is some misguided sense of heroic perseverance."

There was no pain like losing someone you held dear. Except, perhaps, mourning them when they were right across from you.

Aizawa felt something sinking in his chest, like blood from an internal injury. Except blood was never so cold. "Oboro..." he murmured.

"I do not know who that is," the prisoner responded. "I am Kurogiri, the caretaker of—"

"Shigaraki Tomura," Aizawa muttered in time with the other speaker. He knew this song and dance. But he also knew, he knew, that there were more steps than this. He dropped his gaze down to his hands for a moment. When he raised it back up, something was burning behind his eyes. Maybe passion, maybe desperation, he didn't know. Whatever it was, it gave him the power to force out words that, while true (always true), threatened to get lodged in his throat. "I'm here because I am your friend."

They had all been friends once, him and Oboro and Hizashi and Kayama. And now… 

Black mist writhed and twisted, agitated, but didn't dissipate. "I am a villain."

"No," Aizawa asserted, "you aren't." You are a victim.

"You appear confused. I am Kurogiri of the League of Villains. I—"

And so it continued. Perhaps he should have been more forceful, broken down like he had the first time. However, even if he got through to him for a moment, it was impossible to have a conversation when the other party was unconscious. And if it caused any permanent damage... no. There was merit in trying a gradual approach.

When he made his departure after ten more minutes of fruitless attempts at conversation, his thoughts drifted back toward what the prisoner had said. Heroic perseverance, huh? In different circumstances, he might have chuckled at the irony of it. If he had any heroic sense of perseverance, it was only because he had learned it from Oboro.

And look at how that had worked out for him.

*

The fruitless visit echoed in his dreams for the next several nights.

*

Aizawa followed Hizashi toward the interrogation room at a slower pace than the Voice Hero. He was meant to be moving slowly because he was calm and steady. However, the way Hizashi's eyes flickered toward him as they came upon the interrogation room told him that he had noticed the extra drag to his feet, as if metal chains had been wrapped around his ankles to make every step that much harder.

With the door to the interrogation room only a few steps away, Hizashi came to a sudden halt and swung around to face him. Aizawa withheld a sigh. It wasn't hard to tell what was going through his mind and he had hoped to avoid something like this. No such luck.

"Hey, man," Hizashi began, "you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Aizawa pursed his lips in an attempt to stop a more active frown. "I know," he said.

Hizashi shook his head. "No, really." His voice was low, by his standards, but it grew a little higher with every syllable that left his lips. "This might not go well, and—"

"Hizashi," Aizawa cut in. "I'm fine." It was a blatant lie. As much as he might want to think that this situation hadn't emotionally compromised him, they both remembered their last visit. He'd had more time to process it, but that didn't mean that a fresh reminder wouldn't hurt. Hell, Hizashi probably didn't even need it as a frame of reference. He knew how close Oboro and Shouta had been. He knew how much he meant to him. There was no way he could see him without it feeling like a knife being driven into a wound that hadn't had the chance to heal. It simply wasn't possible.

At the end of the day, it didn't matter that it hurt to see what was left of Oboro. He wasn't going to abandon him again.

When Hizashi began to open his mouth, Aizawa shot a glance at the guard standing uneasily a few feet behind them. Hizashi followed his gaze and tightened his jaw. His gaze bounced between the two for a moment before settling back on Aizawa. He took advantage of the temporary silence to remind him, "I saw him alone last time and was fine."

Hizashi snorted, sharp and abrupt, before lowering his voice to a much lower tone. "You shouldn't have done that in the first place."

"I can make my own decisions." Even as he spoke, he was aware of the almost defensive edge that had entered his tone and he hated it. There was no reason for him to be defending his choices. It wasn't something that needed to be defended, nor would his words do anything to put his overly worried friend at ease.

"I know," Hizashi said. "Believe me, Shouta, I know. But..." His fist clenched as he floundered for words, a mix of desperation and dismay etched upon his face. "You shouldn't need to go through that alone!" he exploded. It sounded like trying to keep his voice from escalating into a shout was causing him physical pain. His voice fell lowered further and the pained air grew even worse, although Aizawa got the distinct impression that it wasn't from trying to control his volume this time. "You don't need to go through it alone."

Once again, Aizawa simply said, "I know." Oboro's presumed death had not affected him alone. Hizashi and Kayama had been Oboro's friends as well; he was not alone in this. Yet taking the time to visit Tartarus on his own was... something he had to do. 

Just because Hizashi had done a better job of holding himself together didn't mean that Aizawa couldn't tell just how much the situation was hurting him. The thought made him examine his friend a little closer. He took in the frayed edges of the spikes of his hair, how unnaturally tight his jaw was even when held loosely, the bluish-black marks of bags forming under his eyes and the strain around their edges.

A pang of guilt echoed in his chest. He wouldn't cut off the arms of his friends just so he could hold their hands whenever it was time to confront the brutal truth. Voice low enough that it hardly carried at all, he said, "You don't have to do this either." He knew just how useless the offer would be, but he had to say it anyway. Aizawa hadn't spent the last fifteen years making his friends carry his weight. He wasn't about to start now.

Hizashi laughed, the sound utterly humorless for all that it was bright. "Don't act like you're okay and then start fretting over me," he chided. He managed to infuse a degree of lightness back into his voice despite the weight of the strain that could be heard lurking just below the surface. He really was an incredible actor.

They fell back into their previous actions as if time had merely stalled for a bit. The guard hurried forward to unlock the door as Hizashi closed the distance between himself and it, his eagerness to escape that moment the only real sign that their conversation had even happened.

"Hey, bud," Hizashi called as he swung the door open. He entered the room with all of his usual swagger and dramatic flare, Aizawa slinking in behind him.

The villain behind the glass wall didn't so much as blink. "We are not friends," he pointed out, his voice as impassive as usual. "Nonetheless, I must ask: do you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura?"

And so, the tone of their meeting was set.

Despite how much it must have worn at him, Hizashi spent the entire time trying to remain bright and energetic. It made Aizawa wonder if he was acting that way in an attempt to remind him of old times, of the hyperactive teenager Oboro used to be friends with. If he was, he wasn't having any success. The overt reminders he tried to sprinkle in didn't have any effect either. No wavering, no hesitance, no sign of Oboro —only confusion and dismissal.

With every passing second, the barely visible weight pressing down on Hizashi grew worse.

With every instant where something could have happened and nothing did, Aizawa felt his heart sink lower and lower.

And he found himself wondering if they were only moving backwards.

*

The next week saw Aizawa visit with Kayama. They spent an hour in that interrogation room, spoke new words, but ultimately found themselves repeating the steps to the same painful dance. Even when Kayama pulled out a reminder that she'd hoped would be a trump card - the cat that had helped solidify their friendship - they found themselves unable to change the routine.

Aizawa had made a point of maintaining his composure during the fruitless meeting. He liked to think that he was getting better at it. However, upon stepping outside the room, he couldn't keep his shoulders from drooping. A soft thud made him glance to the side, where Kayama leaned heavily against the wall. She cradled Sushi's cat carrier close to her chest, causing its occupant to let out a surprised mew. He noticed the way her fingers slotted through the mesh in the front. It was a small detail, but one that made the motion resemble a hug more than an attempt to use the feline as a shield.

If he were a better friend, perhaps Aizawa would have hugged her himself. As it was, he just watched with an uncomfortable lump in his throat. His concern was marred by the cruel gratitude that he wasn't the only one who couldn't completely hide his fractures.

Haunting silence floated between them for well over a moment. Some errant thought eventually drove Kayama to hunch her shoulders in on herself. It made her look so much smaller than she was, so unlike herself. (Like she had on that day.)

Aizawa cleared his throat.

Kayama looked up, a smile as delicate and deceiving as spider-silk weaving across her lips. She stayed slumped against the wall as she said, "It's... a lot."

"I know," Aizawa said. Even if he wished he didn't.

Kayama let out a gusty sigh. "Do you think he'll...?"

Aizawa's gaze dropped to the floor. Something in his chest clenched, froze, and began to crumble, flecks of stone breaking away from an already-tarnished whole. The flecks morphed into a tingling numbness that ran down his arms and legs, settling into his fingers and toes.

If she had asked him after that first meeting, he would have said 'yes', that they would make him remember, cling to those lingering shards of Oboro and put him back together. Now...

"I don't know," he croaked.

He missed his best friend. He missed his best friend and had gotten used to it. But the discovery of the warp gate's identity had made him see echoes in the care he showed for Shigaraki. He was seemingly indifferent to everything else, and the contrast brought the old hurt back into searing definition. The echoes, that glimpse he had actually managed to catch of Oboro, it had ignited a damning spark of hope, and maybe that hope was still rattling around in the back of his mind. But...

The quiet that had begun to envelop them once more was broken by Kayama saying, "We need to keep trying."

Aizawa thought about the continued questions as to Shigaraki's well-being. Of the subtle wisps of annoyance that sometimes leaked into Kurogiri's voice at his questions. His confusion over his continued visits.

"Yeah," Aizawa murmured.

Truly, the worst thing about hope was feeling yourself start to lose it.

*

The end of the school day had brought with it another solo visit to Tartarus.

Another pointless visit.

Aizawa held back a heavy sigh as he stepped into his apartment. The television could be heard faintly echoing down the hall. He allowed himself to close his eyes for half a second before strapping his usual neutral expression into place and striding into the living area, where he could see a head of blonde hair peeking up over the top of the couch. Hearing his approach, Mirio turned to look at him. There was the gentle rustling of blankets and squeaking of couch springs, then Eri's head peeked up beside him, her hands braced on the back of the couch as she leaned against it.

"You're back!" she cried.

"I am," Aizawa confirmed. To Mirio, he asked, "Did everything go well?"

"Of course!" Mirio said. He stood up and made his way to Aizawa, only to, as always, decline the offer of payment.

"You don't need to pay me to babysit, sir! Spending time with Eri is hardly a chore."

Aizawa tried not to let himself think of who Mirio reminded him of. (After all, Aizawa had seen Kurogiri only moments ago and he hadn't reminded him of the boy he once knew much at all.)

"If you're certain," Aizawa relented.

From there, it was a simple matter of Mirio saying goodbye to Eri and heading home. He was a kind boy who had sacrificed and suffered much, one whose presence Eri enjoyed. Nonetheless, he found the tenseness of his shoulders lessening once the boy closed the door. He allowed himself to sigh, too softly to be heard, and turned around.

He was greeted by the sight of Eri standing in front of the doorway, eyes wide and face creased in concern. His heart dropped into his stomach at the sight. However, before he could say anything, the little girl blurted out, "What's wrong?"

Aizawa felt his brows furrow. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said, slowly crouching down to her level as he spoke.

"You keep coming home sad," Eri said. She took a few cautious steps forward, paused for a second, then walked the rest of the way. Aizawa remained still as she reached out to place a gentle hand on his cheek. "It's not every day, but sometimes you come home really tired and sad. You don't say anything, but... I notice it. It's like..." Eri glanced down and nibbled on her lower lip. "It's like you forget how to smile," she finished, the words barely more than a whisper.

Somehow, Aizawa's heart managed to sink further. It was accompanied by cold tendrils of guilt squeezing at his chest. He had thought he was doing a decent job of hiding his emotional distress from Eri. A foolish assumption to make. Children, for all of their naivety, were not stupid, and Eri in particular was a very empathetic girl—especially when it came to loss. He should have known that he would have to try a lot harder if he truly wished to hide the situation from a child so familiar with things such as this.

"I'm sorry," Aizawa said. "I didn't mean to worry you." He lifted his arms up and, after a moment of hesitation, Eri dove in for a hug.

"Where have you been going?" she mumbled into his chest.

Aizawa shuttered his eyes for a second. There would be no escaping this conversation, it seemed. "Let's talk in the living room."

*

"I've been visiting... a friend."

Once again, Aizawa walked into the interrogation room alone. He sat down in the uncomfortable chair and looked directly into the luminescent yellow eyes on the other side of the glass.

"And it made you sad?"

“Eraserhead,” Kurogiri greeted. “I don’t suppose you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura this time ?”

"Yeah. You see, he was a hero. But a mission went wrong and he was... hurt. Really badly."

“I don’t,” Aizawa confirmed. “And I’m not looking for information, either.”

"Like Mirio?"

The captive made a noise that came surprisingly close to a scoff. “In that case, you have a peculiar way of spending your time.”

"...Sort of. But in a different way. And... he doesn't seem like he's been getting better. We don't know if he will."

A corner of Aizawa’s lips twitched up into the faintest of smiles. “Perhaps,” he acquiesced. “How have you been?”

"Oh. ...Mr. Aizawa, have... have I been getting better?"

Aizawa would not claim to be an expert at reading his friend’s altered features, but he could have sworn he caught a hint of surprise at the question. “I am a captive,” Kurogiri said.

"Eri. It is truly incredible how much you've healed since I met you, and I could not be more proud of you."

“I know, but you must do something to pass the time,” Aizawa pressed.

"But it's taking so long."

In some ways, the visit played out the same way as the others. In other ways, it didn’t. Kurogiri didn’t spontaneously profess to remember his life as Shirakumo Oboro or give new information about the League of Villains. At the same time, Aizawa didn’t press him to. They simply… talked. And once an hour had passed, Aizawa sighed, “It’s time for me to go.”

"You can't force recovery, Eri. You went through a lot and need to get better at a pace that's right for you."

Kurogiri nodded placidly. “Of course.” He hesitated for a moment, or at least, the way his mist momentarily stilled made it seem as if he were hesitating. “I suppose I will be seeing you again soon?” he eventually asked. The first time he had said anything of the sort.

"But what if it takes too long?"

Something in Aizawa’s chest flickered and then flared. Hope, its flame reignited by a passing breeze. “You will,” he confirmed, swallowing down every other word threatening to fight its way past his lips. There would be time.

“It won’t.”

Maybe it was foolish to hope. Maybe it wasn’t. What mattered was that Aizawa was willing to take that risk, just like Oboro would have for him.

“How do you know?”

Kurogiri nodded again, probably in dismissal. Aizawa stood up to leave. However, before approaching the door, he looked the warp gate in the eyes once more. And, just for a second, he could have sworn he caught a flicker of blue. “I’m not giving up on you, Oboro.”

"Because no matter how long it takes, I'll wait for you."

Kurogiri watched the pro hero depart with a placid gaze. Yet, spurred on by an undefined haze pulsating through his heart and head, as ShoutaEraserhead walked through the door, he whispered, “I know.”

[casey-v]

Valentine

Ethan x Casey

I haven’t written any fics for quite a while, but with OH3 coming soon I’m getting these vibes again….

I always wondered: what would the closing of Edenbrook mean to E x MC’s relationship? Here’s my attempt to this part of the story.

Sorry in advance for any mistakes, English isn’t my first language.

Warnings: none, I guess (maybe a few smutty thoughts)

Words: 3K

Disclaimer: all characters owned by PB

Participating in @choicesfebchallenge Day14: Valentine

“Good morning Dr. Valentine. This is your day today, isn’t it?” The nurse Rose greeted Casey as she entered the free clinic.

“Good morning. Yeah, I get that a lot.” Casey tried a friendly smile. Since she had been a child everyone referred to her last name on Valentine’s Day, making a remark or joking around. As a teenager it had made her feel special, but by now she was tired of hearing it. Especially today.

She had been in a bad mood since she woke up and it had nothing to do with her last name or Rose. But it had everything to do with the man who simply ignored this day today, probably didn’t even know it existed. 

It was perfectly clear to Casey, that these kinds of traditions meant nothing to Ethan. Nevertheless, her disappointment was huge because she had had great expectations for today. After a few difficult weeks she had hoped that a romantic dinner could bring them closer together again.

After the gala and their public kiss everything had seemed perfect and she had spent some time on cloud number nine. But then Ethan gradually became distant and a little grumpy again. They both often worked double shifts and meetings outside the hospital became rare. And they never talked about their life after Edenbrook’s closing. Whenever they got close to that topic, Ethan would change the subject. And Casey was also in denial; she hadn’t applied to any jobs outside greater Boston because she didn’t want to lose Ethan. But maybe it was too late now anyway, she didn’t even know what point in their relationship they really were at.            

“Has he told you yet?” Sienna interrupted her thoughts.

“Hi Sienna. No, I still have no idea what we’re doing tonight.”

“Oh, that’s so romantic. For sure he has something incredibly special planned for the two of you.”

Casey tried to maintain a cheerful façade even though she actually felt like crying. But Sienna’s enthusiasm was also kind of sweet, so she managed a smile.

“You seem more excited than I am.”

“I’m hosting a lonely-hearts roomie dinner tonight, so at least let me enjoy the romance in your life.”

Casey felt bad that she was being dishonest with her friend. It was silly, but she would rather spend the night at the movies on her own and then sleep in an on-call room than admit to her friend that Ethan wasn’t going to take her out on a date. Besides, talking about it would make it more real: their relationship was probably on the rocks.

 A busy morning at the clinic kept Casey occupied and gave her no opportunity to dwell on her misery. As she was preparing an IV for a patient, she suddenly sensed someone right behind her.

“Dr. Valentine, can you please run some tests on this patient and then get back to me as soon as possible?”

Usually her favorite baritone voice quickened her heartbeat, but today it sounded businesslike and not appealing at all. When she turned around Ethan didn't meet her gaze. Instead, he just thrust a patient chart into her hand and was gone before Casey even had the chance to respond.

 At first, she stood there with her mouth open, unable to move, a dreadful feeling spreading through her chest. She had barely seen him all week and that was all she got?

When her vision started to get blurred by tears, she quickly ran to a supply closet, locked the door and sank to the floor.

 What now? She couldn’t decide whether she was more sad or mad. How could it be, that things went wrong so fast after everything they had been through together? And how dare he talk to her like a random intern, shoving that patient file into her hands so rudely. He wasn't even her boss anymore.

She still held the chart clutched to her chest and now wanted to check what seemed so urgent. But what she saw didn't make any sense. There was only a last name on it and an address, but everything else was blank. As she turned the page her heart took a leap. She wiped away a few tears and stared at the blank piece of paper. Two words stared back at her.

Dinner tonight?

When she finally remembered to breathe again, she flipped back to the first page and now the pieces were falling into place.

Sorellina, Huntington Ave.

She knew the name had sounded familiar. “Sorellina” wasn't a patient's name; it was the name of a fancy Italian restaurant in the Back Bay. To be sure she pulled out her phone and searched the internet. And what she found there brought a bright smile to her face.

 …the ultimate destination if you're looking to really impress a date…

.. one of the most romantic spots in the city…

…awesome place for date nights…

 So he didn’t forget after all! But why the strange behavior? Some things didn’t add up. You don’t get a reservation like this one day in advance. He must have planned this weeks ago. A lot had changed since and now maybe he just wanted to give them one last shot? He wouldn’t be so heartless to dump her on Valentine’s day, would he?

Casey was totally confused. Was she just misinterpreting the whole situation? But she couldn’t be that paranoid. Something was brewing and she was determined to find out tonight, no matter what. This time she would confront him and for once she wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily.

But first she had to get through the day somehow, and she had to head home during her lunchbreak to choose a breathtaking dress. And pack an overnight bag, just in case. Not to forget the special brand of scotch she had ordered for Ethan. And she had to tell Sienna. And…

Okay! First of all, she had to calm down and concentrate on her work. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she took a pen out of her pocket and wrote below Ethan’s message.

Tell me when and where and I’ll be there 💕

After leaving the supply closet she randomly grabbed two other files, placed hers in between and handed them to an intern. “Please get this to Dr. Ramsey immediately.” Then she went back to her patient, who was still waiting for his IV.

The day seemed to drag on endlessly. In the afternoon she found the piece of paper out of the fake patient file in her coat pocket.  

Dinner tonight?

Tell me when and where and I’ll be there 💕

my office, 7 pm 😊

 He had even drawn an emoji! Smiling she added one more line.

Dessert at your place?

Then she quickly ran upstairs, sneaked into Ethan’s office, and put the piece of paper onto his desk. Her eyes fell on the big clock on the wall: 4 pm! Three more hours to go.

 *******

Ethan sat behind his desk, already dressed in his tux, trying to focus on some files. But instead of working, he kept repeating in his head what he wanted to say tonight.

It was ridiculous. Usually, he gave speeches in front of hundreds of fellow doctors and here he was, being nervous about talking to one single woman. The difference was that he felt very qualified to talk about his profession, but he was totally insecure when it came to talking about his feelings. With Casey, he wasn't Dr. Ramsey, a famous and respected diagnostician; with her, he was simply Ethan, a man struggling with the changes in his life.

The sound of high heels echoed through the hallway and announced Casey's arrival. Trying to calm his nerves Ethan busied himself with his paperwork as she entered the office. He didn't raise his head, instead he just glanced at her over the rims of his glasses. As he did, she put her hands on her hips, pushing the winter coat aside to give him full view of her stunning dress. And it had the desired effect. The small piece of black nothingness took his breath away.

 “Dr. Ramsey, don't you think it's inappropriate to look at a colleague that way?”

He swallowed hard, but he wouldn’t let her tease him like that.

“Dr. Valentine, don't you think it's inappropriate to wear something like that in your workplace?”

She smirked at him.

“Not as much as taking it off right here in your office.”

Defeated he shook his head, a smile showing at the corners of his mouth. He had to fight the urge to leap over his desk and take her right there against the office door, but instead he only sighed deeply and reached for his coat. This had to wait.

“We better get going or I don't know what I'll do!”

Together they left the office and walked to his car, holding hands. But despite their little banter just now there was an odd silence between them.

*******

The restaurant really was the perfect setting for a special date. Casey was overwhelmed and also kind of intimidated by the atmosphere. To her, it felt more like a first date with a guy she had a crush on than a dinner with the man she had been dating for month. And Ethan seemed equally self-conscious. But after some champagne, they both loosened up and had a really great time.

Almost.

Casey knew Ethan too well by now not to notice that something was strange about him tonight. She couldn’t shake that nagging feeling in her gut.

Back in his apartment, after she had given him her gift, he sat down on the couch with a serious face and asked her to sit down as well.

“I have something for you, too”

Blushing slightly, he handed her a small box and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I wanted to…, I mean this is… Oh, just open it and then I’ll explain!”

Carefully, she lifted the lid of the box and saw, lying on a tiny silk cushion, a key. From the looks of it, she assumed it was the key to his apartment. Casey gave Ethan a questioning look and waited for the promised explanation. But it didn’t come. Ethan seemed uncomfortable and pinched the bridge of his nose. Finally, he just blurted it out.

“Want to move in with me?”

Of all the things she had expected him to say, this certainly wasn’t on the list. But why now? Hundreds of different thoughts whirled through Casey’s head all at once. At first she just stared at him, then she burst into tears. For a long time Ethan looked at her helplessly, finally he ran a hand through his hair in frustration and murmured: “Obviously not.”

At that, Casey’s head snapped up. “No, no, no! I do, of course I do!” She wiped some tears from her face and explained between occasional sobs.

“The thing is: Whenever I imagined moving in with you, I got sad about not living with my friends anymore. And now I’ve just realized it doesn’t matter because in a couple of weeks they’ll all be gone anyway, scattered across the country. I’m going to miss them so much. And since I don’t know where I am going to be, there’s no point in moving in with you either.”

She shook her head, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess, it just seems that everything is falling apart. This morning I wasn’t even sure whether you want to break up with me or not and I thought that…”

“Whoa, hold it right there. What on earth are you talking about?”

From Ethan’s shocked expression Casey could tell that it had obviously never occurred to him to break up. Slightly embarrassed she continued in an unsteady voice.

“I mean, the way you’ve been acting lately, especially this morning, you’ve been so rude….”

Ethan gently caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, wiped away her tears, and sighed.

“Oh Casey, I’m so sorry. But you know me; you know that I hate talking in front of patients. And I had a lot on my mind; I’ve been nervous all day about our date.”

He smiled shyly and shook his head. Then his gaze darkened again, guilt clearly written on his face. His brows furrowed, and he backed away a little.

“Although you’re right that I’ve been putting some distance between us lately. But I needed clarity about the whole job situation. And us. All my life I’ve planned everything three steps ahead and then suddenly it felt like I was losing control. I know I can’t ask you to stay because you have to finish your residency at one of the best hospitals in the country. Thus, I have tortured myself to figure out how we can make things work and I’ve been miserable all this time. Until I realized the answer is fairly simple.”

Casey couldn’t believe that they had both been so distraught for weeks, and instead of sharing and confiding in each other, they were just brooding over the challenges ahead, each to their own. Slowly, the uneasy feeling inside her stomach began to dissipate, although she had no idea what he was talking about.

“What answer?”

Ethan took her hand and he gently drew circles on the back of it with his thumb, his eyes following its movement.

“Edenbrook has been my home for almost 12 years now, and if they take it away from me, what else is there? Naveen, of course, and my father nearby, but other than that ….”

All this time Casey held the box with the key in one hand. Now he took it from her and raised the key to eye level. Her gaze wandered back and forth between the key and Ethan. He cleared his throat in search of words, but they didn’t come. Her heart hammered in her chest, the tension almost unbearable. Finally, his blue eyes met hers and he found the courage to speak, his voice husky and low.

“This isn’t just the key to my apartment, Casey. This key means I want to live with you, wherever that may be.”

His last words were only a whisper. “If you’ll have me, that is.”

Casey couldn’t even begin to grasp what it all meant. She would be able to apply to any hospital in the country and Ethan would be with her. Live with her.

An overwhelming feeling of happiness spread through her body.

“You really would do this for me?”

“No, if I’m honest I’m doing this not for you but for myself. I don’t want to go back to being that grumpy cynic I once was before I met you. I’m lost without you.”

The full meaning of his words sent a prickling sensation down her spine, but she was also amused.

“Ethan, you’re one of the most famous and respected physicians, you’ve managed perfectly fine without me for 36 years.”

Ethan put down the key and the box from her hand and took both her hands, his gaze intense.

“But it’s taken me 36 years to find out what it means to be genuinely happy.”

Those last words took all her breath right out of her and her heart was ready to explode. His eyes pierced hers as he waited for a response.

He moved closer und squeezed her hands tightly, his eyes still dark.

“So, what do you say?”

She couldn’t resist the temptation to mess with him.

“Let me get this straight: You’re telling me, if I said no, there would be no one to tell you if you’re acting like a goddam diva again?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth realizing what she was getting at. “Probably.”

Grinning she went on. “And who would be there to help you with your social media accounts?”

“Nobody.”

Ethan’s eyes began to light up as she moved onto his lap, mischief in her smile.

���And there would be no one who would dare to tease you?”

“Right.”

Their faces were now only a breath away.

“And nobody there to make you pancakes?”

“Exactly. What would become of me?”

Her mouth moved to the side of his neck. After a line of soft kisses, she started nibbling on his earlobe and whispered. “And no one, who would do this?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not hard to find someb…”

She quickly backed away and punched his arm playfully. “Don’t you dare!”

Ethan was now gleaming all over his face. He tucked a finger under her chin and gently nudged her nose with his. “So is that a YES?”

“Do I even have a choice?”

“Not really!”

And then at last his lips found hers, first slowly, barely touching, until they both gave in and melted into each other. All the tension of the day, all the pent-up emotions of the past weeks fell off and there was only him and her. While the kisses grew more and more urgent, his hands started to roam over her body and slowly he unzipped her dress. As his warm hand gently slid down her back, Casey felt his hot breath on her ear.

“If I remember correctly, you promised me dessert.”

“We already had a selection of delicious Italian desserts.”

“But I’m still very hungry. And first of all, this dress has to go. The sight of it has been tormenting me all evening.”

*****

The bedroom was almost dark. Ethan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He was unable to put his mind to rest after the events of the day. He turned over to watch the stunning woman sleeping next to him. The moonlight on her face made her even look more beautiful. From now on, he would have the privilege of waking up to this sight every morning. That thought alone made his heart leap.

Gently, he draped the sheets over her shoulder, brushed her hair out of her face and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek; always careful not to wake her.

Smiling down at her he whispered. “I love you, Casey Valentine.”

Never before had these words left his lips. And now didn’t even count either because she couldn’t hear them. He had tried to tell her many times, but the moment never seemed right. Today would have been the perfect occasion, but he had chickened out again.

It was absurd. They had started to plan their future together. Why was it so hard? Three simple words!

Laying back down he whispered, more to himself.

“I’m going to tell you. Soon.

Maybe tomorrow.”

----------------------------------------

Thank you if you have made it so far.

This piece has really been a challenge, it took me forever. I’ve changed it a couple of times and I am still not quite satisfied, but at some point you just have to let go.

Tagging seperately.

[hogwartsfirebolt]

Aaaand we’re back!!! I can’t believe it’s been a year since the last time I found myself typing one of these, but here we are, and WHAT. A. YEAR. Full of the highest ups and the lowest downs and through it all, so, so many wonderful stories that have made this my best reading year in fandom, ever. If you’re interested, in no particular order, I’d like to share some of my absolute favorites with you ❤️ Banner art is by the immensely talented @upthehillart and with nothing else to add, here’s my

FAVORITE FICS I READ IN 2019 PART ONE

1. Grounds for Divorce - @tepre - 122k - Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

This is the only thing on this list that is actually in order because DAMN. Because HOLY SHIT. This is my absolute favorite fic of all time and that’s not... I’m not exaggerating. I have INFINITE things to say about it, and actually, I have. Let me refer you to my long, gushy rec specifically about this masterpiece and just BEG you again to read it because it’s beautiful and it will change you and and and-

2. amid this warm and steady sweetness - warmfoothills - 21k - Harry is not living in a period drama, no matter what his friends or his new house or Malfoy’s sudden affinity for horse-riding might suggest, and if one more person uses the word courting, he’s going to start hexing people.

This is just beautiful. Every word feels like it’s been laid down with gentleness and the entire setting is vibrant, sweet, so lovely it’s almost palpable. I had never read anything for this pairing that was modeled after a period drama, and it was perfectly done, it made me laugh at the outfits and the teasing and the ridiculous situations all around, and go “awww” when it became sweet and now I just want to keep it close inside my heart. You simply have to read this. 

3. Star Quality - who_la_hoop - 118k - Two years after the war, and Harry’s content with his life. OK, so it’s a little annoying that he keeps winning Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor award, and he’s really not looking forward to the unveiling of an enormous gold statue of himself, but he loves his friends, and he loves being an Auror. And if he yearns for something more, something he can barely bring himself to think about, well, he’ll probably get over it. No one’s happy all the time, are they? But then everything changes, and Harry’s thrown into a new and dazzling world he’s not sure he can actually escape from. And as time goes on, he starts to wonder: does he actually want to?

Incredibly creative and executed so masterfully that I couldn’t stop reading and finished it in a day. Features a fed up Harry (always appreciated in this house), alternate realities, concerts, retail jobs, wishes upon stars, balloons, boys not knowing how to communicate but still inevitably falling in love, and just hours and hours of FUN. 

4. And One To Play - @tackytigerfic - 21k - Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are the best team in the Auror Department, even when they're driving Gawain Robards up the wall. When Malfoy is injured on a mission, it causes Harry's magic to go haywire. Meanwhile, a mysterious criminal is draining people's magical cores and turning them into Squibs. Can Harry stop blowing Malfoy away in time to solve the case? And will Malfoy ever stop trying to get the last word?

GUYS THEIR DYNAMIC IN THIS ONE IS JUST PERFECT. The author wrote this absolutely incredible relationship where they trust each other and have so much fun and are so perfectly attuned to each other and I just sucked it right up because it’s so good. The case is interesting and engaging, Harry’s little predicament makes such a mess, and still their dynamic and friendship is the backdrop of it all. This fic is a really, really good time all around. 

5. That Old Black Magic - @bixgirl1 - 77k - Centuries ago, marriage contracts were the norm — ready-made alliances between families, expected and complied with, without complaint. But norms have a way of changing, and when a long-dormant contract flares to life, Harry has to navigate an unexpected splintering of the path he'd thought would be easy after the war... with Draco Malfoy.

Reading this was one of the best moments of my entire year. I read it in a day, couldn’t put it down because the writing and the pacing and the dynamic are so incredibly good it blew my mind a little bit. It’s a slightly different take on the arranged marriage trope than what I was used to, and I loved it so, so much. It might be my favorite fic of Bix’s, ever. 

6. On a Clear Day - saras_girl - 41k - Draco Malfoy is waiting for his real life to begin, and it appears that he’s not the only one. Coffee, charity, and the wisdom of the elderly.

!!!!!! That’s all I can think to say!!!! In trying to read ALL of saras_girl fics I have found such ABSOLUTE GEMS and this is definitely, definitely one of the best of them in my opinion, it’s just so incredibly lovely in every way and I’m so weak for when they slowly let themselves be vulnerable with each other the more they get to know each other, and help each other be brave and !!!! again. This paints it so beautifully I just want to read it again and again. 

7. Renaissance - dysonrules - 33k - Harry awakens after a long sleep to find things terribly changed. He's not in an alternate universe... it just seems like it.

Surly, moody Harry is a weakness of mine, and the way he navigates the extremely difficult situation he finds himself in in this one was so interesting to read. I always do love Draco being capable and good at what he does, trying to become a better person through his work. A really, really good fic with fantastic characterizations and a plot that kept me on my toes the whole time. Definitely recommended. 

8. At the End of the Day - sara_holmes - 7k - No brooms, a distinct lack of balls, no comprehension of the offside rule and a Malfoy who apparently has magic feet. Harry never knew this stupid game could be so much fun.

This fic is so light, so lovely and young that I went back to it over and over again during the year. It carries that feeling of tentative new beginnings, letting go and reconnecting with those around you after going through terrible things, all of that in a way that never loses sight of the fact that they’re still teenagers and still deserve some fun and light in their lives. So, so cute.

9. take my hand once more - @candybarrnerd - 8k - Harry finds himself standing in front of the door to the Room of Requirement with no memory of having walked there or having walked past the required three times either.-Everything feels like it's falling apart, his second marriage is failing, and he would actually kill for a decent nights sleep, which must be why the Room of Requirement provides him with the solution of a bed when Harry steps through the door. When he wakes though, he finds it's so much more.

Oh god I ache just remembering this. It’s so, so good. Every word paints every feeling so effectively that I felt it etched into my chest and all of Harry’s love for Draco was mine and his sorrow was mine and what he felt after the Room of Requirement gives him what he needs is what I felt too and I was just broken and repaired completely in 8k words in the best way ever. You MUST read this now. 

10. Eternally Consistent - @alychelms - 44k - Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter assumed they would never be anything but civil enemies, until Potter lands on Malfoy's doorstep, bleeding, covered in curses, and acting very strangely indeed.

THIS IS EXCELLENT, REMARKABLE, EXTRAORDINARY!!! Omg every word, I swear every word had me on the edge of my seat and you see that time turner tag? Do you see it? It’s played in the BEST possible way, the case is so freaky and incredible and the work with the destroyed time turners and those... wizarding physics applied to it were so incredibly interesting. The characterizations are delicious, every moment Draco and Harry work together is fantastic, and in the end, when everything falls into place, it’s perfect. I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. 1000000/10. 

---------------------------------------

Each of these fics is incredibly close to my heart and I enjoyed them immensely. I hope they bring you all joy as well, and I’m ALWAYS here to gush about any of them ❤️ Happy holidays!

[deanstop13billyjoeltraxx]

Empty Space

A fix-it fic because we were ROBBED.

I wrote this for my own closure, and it is unedited, but I thought I would post it here anyway. 

Dean didn’t want to open his eyes.

He couldn’t feel the chains and the heat, or hear the screams. Not yet. But he knew it would come. He wanted to savor these final moments of simple nothingness. A story left unfinished. The bliss that came before eternal suffering. There was no coming back this time. 

He could still feel Sam cradling him. His last breath. The pain in his back.

This was it.

Dean stood for god knows how long, willing himself anywhere but where he knew he was. The Veil, the Empty, hell, even being reincarnated as a tree would be better than whatever was waiting in front of him. 

A bird chirped, startling Dean’s eyes open. 

He stood in the middle of a field adjacent to a road, tall pines lining the asphalt. The sun nearly blinded him, and he put a hand up to shield his eyes. It shone in that in-between kind of way, as if it was the middle of October, everything in flux. He could see a small, wooden building not too far ahead. Dean looked at his hands, then back up at the sky. 

“Huh,” he huffed. “I made it.” 

It was both a statement and a question. I made it to heaven. How did I make it to heaven? Dean took a step towards the house, half expecting the jig to be up at that point. When the ground didn’t crumble beneath him, and the bright blue sky didn’t melt away into hellfire, he took another step, one with more conviction. And then he was walking toward the building.

Dean’s mind was racing. With what memory would he be spending eternity? If his life hadn’t flashed before his eyes at his death, it sure as hell was now. Dean swallowed hard at the revelation that there were too many heavens for him, that his life had so many more good memories than he had ever given it credit for. Motel rooms with Sam, Lawrence with Mary, Jody’s dinner table… And Cas. Bars with Cas, the Impala with Cas, the bunker with Cas… 

He knew Cas wouldn’t be in his heaven. That was more torture than paradise. Dean would look at Cas and only see all the things he never said.

Finally, Dean reached the building. Someone was sitting in a rocking chair -- 

“Bobby?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“Hey, kid,” Bobby said with a smile. “Took you long enough.”

“What memory is this?” Dean had realized he was standing on the porch of Ellen’s roadhouse. But where was Sam, where was his mom, where was -- 

“It’s not a memory,” Bobby said.

“What? But I thought --”

Bobby shrugged. “Things have changed around here. Your boy, he shook things up. For the better,” he added, opening the cooler next to his chair. “You can sit, you know.”

Dean accepted the invitation, settling into the rocking chair across from Bobby. He graciously accepted the beer from Bobby’s hand. “So… Jack did… all this?” He asked, taking a sip. 

“Well,” Bobby sighed, shifting in his seat. “Cas helped.” 

Dean nearly choked on his beer. Not that it would matter. I’m already dead, his brain joked, helpfully. 

“C-Cas?” He whispered, searching Bobby’s face for answers. 

Bobby just raised his eyebrows and took another swig. 

Dean stared down at his hands. Bobby was explaining the logistics of this new heaven, how Rufus lived five miles down the road, how Mary and John had a place not too far from Bobby’s. Dean could hear him, but his mind was miles away. 

“Dean?” Bobby prodded, evidently having finished his explanation. Dean nodded at him, a wry smile on his face. 

“It’s almost perfect,” he said, and he meant so many things. If Sam was here, it’d be perfect. If Jack was here, it’d be perfect. 

If Cas was here, it’d be perfect.

“He’ll be along,” Bobby said, referring to Sam. Dean nodded again. “It’ll take time, but he’ll be here.” 

“How long?” Dean asked, looking up to meet Bobby’s eyes. 

Bobby just shrugged. “Time passes differently here,” he answered. 

“What do I do?”

“What do you want to do?” 

Dean considered the question and realized it might be the first time he’d ever asked it of himself. 

“I think I’ll go for a drive.” 

Cas watched Dean die from a distance. 

He might have been able to find some comedic irony in the whole thing. Dean Winchester, who beat God, killed Death, saved the world…  killed by a rusty barn nail. 

Cas watched Sam burn Dean’s body. 

Cas watched new hunters.

Cas watched old friends.

Cas watched humanity learn to live in a world without his family protecting it.

But mostly, Cas just watched Dean. 

He watched him as he opened his eyes in heaven. He watched him talk to Bobby. He watched him get in the Impala.

He watched him drive. 

Dean drove for miles, windows down, Led Zeppelin screaming through his speakers. Cas watched him bellow the lyrics offkey, watched him pump his fists in the air, watched him push 120 with his eyes closed because, of course he would, it’s Dean. 

Cas watched all of this, but he did nothing.

Cas had fully expected the eternal sleep of the Empty. Embraced it, really. But instead, he simply woke up in heaven. It was a little bleak for a while there, with Chuck attempting to destroy the universe and all that, but then there was Jack. 

“What am I doing here?” Cas asked. “I’m supposed to be…”

“The Empty can’t take you,” Jack replied with a smile. “You have a soul.”

Cas tilted his head in confusion. “I’m an angel,” he said in monotone.

“Yes,” Jack said. “With a soul.” 

“How is that even possible?” Cas asked, now entirely at a loss. 

Jack shrugged. “It might have something to do with your true happiness.”

Cas blanched at that. 

Jack was glad to have him in heaven. He needed all the help he could get, he said, changing the place, making it more of a paradise and less of a prison. 

Cas was happy to oblige him, but quietly, reservedly. 

What was it? Your moment of true happiness?

Cas couldn’t tell him. Not while Dean was still alive, while he had a chance at a normal life. Jack would want Cas to see him, talk to him, to do something, and Cas couldn’t. He wouldn’t take that chance from Dean. Not ever. 

And now? Dean was dead. His story, over. No more second chances. Cas knew he would have to do something eventually.

And still, he watched.

He watched Dean pull the Impala to a stop on top of a bridge. Take a deep breath. Get out of the car. Look around. 

Cas watched Dean bow his head. 

And, finally, Cas watched Dean pray.

This might be the dumbest shit I have ever done.

Wait, can I swear in heaven?

Hmm… Fuck?

Awesome.

Anyway, this is definitely the dumbest shit I have ever done. I’m in heaven. Who prays when they’re already in heaven? But, anyway, it worked in Purgatory, so I figured it might work here…

I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry I got myself sent to hell and you had to save me. I’m sorry that every time you tried to do right by me, I told you how you fucked it up. I’m sorry that you rebelled for me. I’m sorry that you gave up an army for me. I’m sorry that you died to save me. More than once. 

Jesus, am I sorry you died thinking anything but the truth.

Cas, I don’t know where you are, or if you’re busy, or if you never want to see me again. But if you got time… I got something to tell you. 

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes shot open. His heart was pounding -- weird, I still have a heartbeat? -- his mouth had gone dry. He felt rooted to the spot, as if turning around and seeing one more bit of perfection might shatter the rose-colored glass. 

But he turned around anyway. Slowly. Deliberately. 

And there he was, stupid trenchcoat and all.

Cas.

Dean could barely swallow over the lump in his throat. Cas was regarding him with a curious, reserved expression, his hands in his pockets. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean whispered.

“I heard your prayer,” Cas said, and it was all Dean could do to choke back a tearful laugh. “You said you… had something to tell me.” 

And, shit, if Dean had thought being dead would make baring his soul any easier, he was dead fucking wrong. 

“Uh,” he shifted on his feet. “How long you been back?” 

Cas shrugged. “I never really left,” he said. 

“What? I saw the Empty take you.”

“I don’t know. I woke up in heaven. Well, the other heaven,” Cas said. “Jack seems to think I somehow… Gained a soul.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “It makes sense… I think,” Cas continued. “My moment of true happiness, it fundamentally altered who I was. Happiness is a uniquely human experience. When I finally achieved that, something in me became human.”

“Well, Jack is God, now,” Dean said with an awkward chuckle. “So he must be right. All-knowing or whatever.” 

“Right,” Cas said, eyes narrowed. 

“I guess you’ve been busy,” Dean said. He didn’t say, that’s why you didn’t come to see me. 

“Indeed.” 

How can I still manage to fuck this up in heaven, Dean yelled at himself, looking anywhere but Cas’ suspicious face. 

“Dean?” Cas prodded, and that was enough. 

Dean closed the distance between them in three long strides, wrapping Cas up in his arms. Cas went rigid with surprise, but eventually, he hugged back. 

“I thought you were gone,” Dean whispered. “Like, really, really gone.”

“I did too,” Cas replied. 

Dean’s face was wet with tears, but he buried it in Cas’ shoulder anyway. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck. Okay.” 

He lifted his head, but didn’t release Cas from the hug. They stood, locked in embrace, while Dean screwed up his courage. 

“You can have it, you know,” he said softly over Cas’ shoulder.

It seemed like every atom in Cas’ body stopped moving. His shoulders tensed, and he maneuvered out of Dean’s arms. 

“What?” He asked. Dean panicked for a moment, seeing Cas’ guarded eyes. He almost convinced himself to laugh it off, punch Cas in the arm, make some joke about how this really must be heaven if the Impala can go that fast, but he stopped himself. 

“You told me, before you… That the one thing you want, you can’t have it,” Dean said, forcing himself to hold Cas’ gaze. “Well, I’m telling you now, you can have it.” 

“I don’t understand --” Cas tried to say, but Dean leaned in and the words were gone. 

The kiss was everything he could have wanted and nothing he could have dreamed of. The feeling of right, of home settled into Dean’s molecular makeup, as if this was all it would have taken to fix him all those times he had been broken. As if the gaping hole in his chest was always just Cas-shaped empty space. 

Cas pulled away slowly. Was he in a dream? Was he actually asleep, in the Empty, and now it was playing with him?

“Dean,” Cas said. “Are you --”

“In love with you? Yes,” Dean finished, urgent. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it back there. I didn’t -- you left so fast.” 

Cas blinked. “I wasn’t expecting a response,” he said, his mind feeling more than a little fried. 

“You weren’t…” Dean trailed off into a chuckle. “Really?” He asked, smiling, his eyebrows raised. 

Cas would have spent every eternity in the Empty for that smile. 

“Really,” Cas said, smiling wryly back. “Evidently, I was incorrect in that assumption.” 

“You gave me a whole speech, Cas,” Dean said. “What was I supposed to say?” 

Cas gave him a serious look. “You needed to hear those things, Dean. I couldn’t leave without you knowing how I felt about you.” He swallowed. “You are real, though?” 

Dean stared at him for a moment, then pulled him into another kiss. Cas thought he must have a soul, and this must be heaven, because nothing in his millennium had ever felt like kissing Dean Winchester. 

“That answer your question?” Dean said after pulling away. 

“Yes,” Cas said softly. “It does.”  

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

Bellarke Fanfiction: Favorite Five

I am feeling very emotional and thinking about everything I’ve created for THE 100 given everything, and thought to turn it into something positive and self-reflective! And I thought I’d share some of my favorite fics (and art in another post) I’ve written and why. Tagging anyone else who wants to, because I love you all very much. <3

1. THEN HOPE FLEW AWAY: Season 5!Canon Divergence - Diyoza comes to Octavia with an offer involving Clarke's mother, so naturally, Clarke and Bellamy crash the meeting. Except the deal involves one of them in the worst possible way.

This fic is so special to me. It was my very first fic for the fandom and it opened so many doors! I remember when I wrote the first chapter, it felt like screaming into a canyon since I didn’t know anyone and was brand new. Then, I started meeting people and talking about the show, and I remember being so excited simply to speculate and work further. Honestly, this fic got me back into writing, because I had stopped and was considering if I wanted to even do it further.

2. THE PRICE OF PEACE: Season 6!Spec Fic -  Upon landing in the new world, it seemed like humanity finally had a chance at peace. When suddenly something is taken from them, Bellamy and crew must find a way to navigate this new world when it feels like it's falling apart.

When I started this, I just started to talk to people. Because of this fic, I ended up meeting people I consider true, genuine and beautiful friends. I never really thought much of my writing, but the fact that writing something helped me get beautiful friends, I’m forever grateful.

3. THE COLOR OF GRIEF: Modern!AU - After tragedy alters Clarke’s outlook on life, she turns her back on everything set out before her: medical school, a life of privilege, and most importantly, family. When she rents a room in The Ark – a brewery converted into living spaces – she’s forced out of her comfort zone when surrounded by the tenants who live there. Particularly a curly-haired brunette with a tendency to combine insults with historical references, intentionally keep her awake, and even most frustrating, make her not stop thinking about him. What a dick.

This fic... means a lot. It’s loosely based on something I did - sorta backwards to Clarke. I moved across the country and moved in with people I never met after I had something big happen in my life. I had to start over and it was so scary - and as I wrote, I wrote how I felt about the world through color and art. It’s very personal, so writing it was so very scary.

4. ONCE UPON A DECEMBER: Anastasia!Season 2 Canon AU - Three months after the rescue of Mt. Weather, banished from Arkadia and missing his family, Bellamy starts to hear rumors on the Ground. Rumors that say there is one additional member of Skaikru that everyone seems to have forgotten - a Clarke Griffin, daughter to the Chancellor. It makes Bellamy realize there are pockets of missing memories of his time on the Ground, hell, he was banished because the Council can't remember why they pardoned him in the first place.It's the perfect opportunity to find someone who looks like the Chancellor, teach her how to act like a princess, and come back to Arkadia a hero so he can finally live with Octavia and the 100. The only issue? Of course the person he's chosen is a bossy, obnoxious, feisty, know-it-all who seems to like to contradict him just because she can. The Anastasia!AU with a canon twist that no one asked for, but I wrote anyway.

Y’all can fight me on this one - Anastasia was one of my favorite movies when I was younger, and I had so much fun writing this. It wasn’t as angsty as some of my longer fics, but I still just loved writing the Bellamy x Lincoln friendship I always wanted.

5. OF COFFEE AND MAGIC: Coffee Shop Magic!AU - When Clarke opened Coffee Ground-ers Café, she knew that it may not be the medical career she thought she’d have, but she could still help people. It was small – almost imperceptible – but Clarke liked to put a little bit of magic in her drinks to make people’s day better. A sprinkle of cinnamon and a dash of luck. Of course, even with the smallest of magic, there are some consequences – she takes the pain from them in order to make her customer’s days a little better. Or as she explains it to her friend Wells, she bears it so they don’t have to. When a customer breaks her out of her morning routine, she does what she always does: takes whatever is hurting him. Except it’s not that simple. Clarke can build the perfect latte, but this doesn’t make sense. He’s not cute. He’s not funny. Seriously, Wells, he’s not.

I wrote this for thelittlefanpire for Valentine’s Day and I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun writing a fic. Because I usually write something pretty serious, but this was just fun. Writing Delinquent friendships without stakes, and I love baking and was a barista, so I got to write all my favorite things and just a fun romance. This was honestly just a joy to write, and it made it even better that it was a gift. <3