#fics: the unwritten tinder fic

[reliablejoukido]

some Daikeru for the soul

okay here's the gist of it

Daisuke has been in love with Ken since middle school

Ken asks out Miyako in his 2nd year of high school (her 3rd year). They become a couple

When Daisuke finds out, he pretends to be supportive, but he stays late after school crying in an empty classroom

Takeru finds him and after a difficult conversation, discovers that Daisuke was in love with Ken, and that Daisuke is bisexual

Takeru is the only person who knows this. They become closer friends because of this

And learning about Daisuke's sexuality becomes a catalyst for Takeru's own discovery

Takeru spends their 2nd and 3rd years in high school trying to figure out his sexuality. He realizes he is generally attracted to men

Takeru tells Hikari. Hikari is super supportive and is the only person who knows about Takeru's sexuality, other than eventually Yamato, who is also supportive

They graduate, and a year or so goes by

The 02 squad have a picnic in the Digital World one day (they try to get together once per season) and Wallace is there too. Takeru notices that Daisuke is being kind of flirty? with Wallace? He's acting like has a huge crush on Wallace. This rubs Takeru the wrong way, because he has a feeling Daisuke is going to get his heart broken again

Sure enough, Wallace casually drops into conversation that he has a girlfriend (which is why he just can't flirt with Miyako and Hikari anymore)

Takeru watches the color drain from Daisuke's face, and Daisuke's entire peppy demeanor seems forced after that

A few days later, Takeru goes to a gay bar. He gets hit on by some men, but none of them are really his type (he has no idea what his type is, and he wants to find out).

To figure out what he wants in a partner, Takeru makes a Tinder profile. And... almost immediately finds Daisuke's profile. Daisuke's profile is sort of interesting-- he's got some sporty photos and some fun ramen chef photos and even some cute photos with V-mon. And his profile is entertaining and very "Daisuke".

Takeru swipes right on a whim, thinking that there's no way in hell Daisuke would ever swipe right on him. He doesn't even like Daisuke in that way. He just... wants to be a little chaotic and see what happens

A few days later, Takeru gets a notification that he has a match on Tinder. He's had a few dozen of these over the past few days, so he ignores it for about an hour

But THEN he gets a text from Daisuke like "WHAT GIVES???"

Takeru's like ?????

Daisuke: Why did you swipe right on my profile, dude!??

Takeru: The only way you could know that is if you swiped right on mine 👀

Daisuke: 😳

Takeru: 😂

Daisuke: Am I the only one taking this seriously?? Are you even like... you know... I mean you don't have to tell me, but...

Takeru: I'm gay, Daisuke. And your profile was fun. I wanted to see what would happen

Daisuke: Well what's happening is that your stupid fedora pics are now seared into my brain

Takeru: You CHOSE to swipe right, Daisuke

Daisuke: Whatever

Takeru: You wanna grab dinner or something?

Daisuke: I guess I MUST want to grab dinner 'cause I'm CLEARLY into you because I swiped right

Takeru: 🤔

Daisuke: Fine, let's grab dinner

They grab dinner

They talk about Takeru realizing his sexuality back in high school, to which Daisuke says he wishes he knew, because he could have used a queer friend back then. Takeru says it was kind of because of Daisuke that he started thinking about his sexuality. Daisuke has no idea what to do with this information

Takeru asks Daisuke to dinner again, just for fun, and Daisuke agrees. They go out a few more times, as friends, and nothing really changes between them (nothing that they notice anyway)

At one point, they go to that gay bar Takeru tried out earlier, but they never seem to want to talk to anyone but each other

Takeru doesn't know why he's doing this, other than that it's fun to spend time with Daisuke.

Then they have another quarterly picnic with the rest of the 02 gang

Takeru and Daisuke think they are being subtle/normal, but pretty much everyone notices them flirting

Hikari catches Takeru alone and says she's really glad to see Takeru so happy with Daisuke. Takeru's like ?????

Hikari's like... aren't you dating Daisuke? I'm sorry, but it's really obvious that you like him

Takeru has an epiphany that he does like Daisuke. Maybe he's liked him for weeks, maybe he's like him for years. The only thing he can think to do is surreptitiously text Daisuke while they're still at the picnic, asking him to come over after they all go home

Daisuke looks up from his phone, raises his eyebrows at Takeru, and then grins at him

Daisuke shows up later at Takeru's apartment and Takeru feels a magnetic attraction to him. Takeru immediately pushes him against the wall. Daisuke's like oh hell yeah, and they make out

Daisuke: Dunno what took you so long, man. I told you weeks ago that I was into you

Takeru: You did?

Daisuke: And they call me oblivious. I told you when we first matched on Tinder! I said... wait hold on lemme find the exact text... "I guess I MUST want to grab dinner 'cause I'm CLEARLY into you"

Takeru: That was you telling me you were attracted to me? I thought that was weird texting sarcasm!

Daisuke: Take it or leave it, man

Thank you for reading my weird Daikeru thoughts today

[otterandterrierwrites]

okay, as per this poll, I did write 33 sentences for Tinder AU! They're not Han/Leia sentences though because barring the (so far unwritten) prologue, the fic begins with a girls' night out.

and I meant to keep writing it to see if I could wrap up that first chapter and then share 33 of those sentences, but today I'm working on the vampire AU instead and trying to finish this (smutty) chapter, so...

[tanoraqui]

The Magnus Archives!

@chucktaylorupset​ asked: you know we gotta ask you about the Magnus Archives for the fandom meme thing

funniest moment: 

Martin: So, you want my statement, right?

Daisy: Not really, no.

Tim, 5 min later: I guess you want my stupid statement.

Daisy: No. Why are you all so obsessed-

Elias, 5 min after that, knowing full damn well the previous conversations: You’ll want my account, of course. My recitation of events. My testimony. My statement.

Daisy: What is wrong with you people.

heartbreakingest moment: Tim, halfway through yelling at Jon just because he needs to be angry at someone, breaking off with the realization that “

heartwarmingest moment Melanie trying to offer Martin comfort after he got himself emotionally wrecked to distract Elias was actually very sweet? But really it’s Jon sounding like a normal cheerful person teasing Georgie about going on a Tinder date for an excuse to get Hungarian food with someone.

most badass moment: the sheer amount of static in Jon pulling the answers from Manuela, which certainly corresponds directly to the amount of power he brought to bear to drag those secrets out of the Dark.

most…okay, you know how I sometimes scream excitedly about things like narrative parallels or intricately constructed plot arcs? top moment for that: yeah, obviously, I was spoiled for pretty much all the worldbuilding, but really it was immaculately slowly built across many seasons of statements, and I particularly appreciate how they still keep coming up with clever takes on the Entities, like the idea that no one else is real for Lonely or debt for the Buried

something I dislike about canon/change I would make: this is petty, and he’s great as a character and I appreciate the creepy sound effect of it, but it is SO hard to understand Jared Hopworth’s voice. I want him to come back bc I like him but I cannot understand a goddamn thing that man(?) says.

1 unwritten fic idea I have for this fandom: I have a WIP statement fic framed as the latest-recorded of several dozen tapes that a woman leaves on the front steps of the Institute, telling the story of how she found a tape recorder to which she has been compelled to tell absolutely all her life story, until she is hollowed out and sore-voiced and hasn’t slept in days because it still demands more - and she was going to come in and report this, but from across the street she happened to make eye contact with a man (Jon) whom she recognized, in an instant, as the being on the other side of the tapes. The one the recordings are for/who has been listening the whole time. So she’s left what she prays can be a final recording for him, as well as all the other tapes and the tape recorder itself. 

What’s interesting about this fic is, when I started it like 2 months ago, the post-statement bit had Jon guiltily admitting that he knew what was on that tape before he played it, knew all the tapes, had known the second they made eye contact. He was pretty both that she’d be back tomorrow, because the tape recorder had been on her kitchen counter when she got home and she was telling it another childhood memory now, and that if he met her eyes again, he would tear her to pieces like he had Breakon, whether he wanted to or not. He...almost entirely didn’t want to.

But NOW, I think, I’d have to rewrite that ending. Jon might be (nearly) equally reluctant to accept this offering on a silver platter, but there’s no way Basira would let him listen to the tape alone, and then there would be snapping, chastising, defensiveness, sulking. 

...I’m not really sure I’m going to finish the fic. The previous ending concluded with a desperately but slightly hopeful, “Maybe I can just offer her a job.” I don’t think the new ending would be as happy. (I don’t think Jon would try as hard not to consume her.)

[uh-ohdaddyscalling-blog]

Letters

Note: This is the first fic I've had the nerve to publish, and I want to give the HUGEST of thank-yous to @gaycrouton for being my unofficial beta; her advice is just as wonderful as her writing, and she's just generally the absolute best.

Summary: Letters never sent.

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She is gone. He is floundering in a dark lake of endless questions, paddling uselessly against a current of conspiracies. He is afraid that soon his limbs will give out and he will drown.

It feels like yesterday that she was alongside him, keeping him afloat with her facts, her science, her unyielding trust even beneath layers of doubt and skepticism. Yesterday feels like an eternity.

He does not know if he will ever see her again. A dark piece of him wonders if perhaps it would be safer, easier to presume her dead. If she were never to come back to him, at least he would be prepared.

But if he gives in to this perverse doubt, the ghost of his life preserver will disappear and his lungs will fill with that cold, dark water.

So he writes her letters.

He hasn’t done that since he was sixteen and his mother found his letters to Sam while she was cleaning his room. She had said nothing, but that night he saw her stoking a quiet inferno in their fireplace and he knew that those tentative branches of hope were the tinder for the flames.

But now, he leaves Scully offerings on his hearth, begging her to come home.

In a cruel twist of fate, many of the things he says to her are things he had said to Sam. He tells her that in her absence, he speaks to no one. He apologizes for every single time he has been cruel or dismissive towards her, wishing that he could go back in time and make every moment spent with her a happy one. He promises that he will never stop trying to find her, and that when he does bring her back, he will give her everything she deserves.

Many of the letters are delicate and wrinkled with his dried tears, but he does not care. All that matters is that his fragile hope finds its way into the universe, so that perhaps she will feel it and return.

And she does.

But the homecoming is bittersweet, marred by the uncertainty of her survival. He knows that he needs to do more, that simply transcribing the feelings was not enough.

And so, when he rushes home to change and shower after days of agonized vigil, he seizes the sheaf of papers piled on his hearth without giving a second thought to the grief-blurred ink. When he returns to her side, he reads for hours, until his voice cracks and his eyes run dry.

Even after she wakes up, he will not burn these letters. He files them away carefully, hoping that someday he will find the courage to read them to her again.

~~~

She can feel the life draining from her, faster every day. The red rivulets dripping grotesquely from her nose grow more vivid, while the brass of her hair and the flush of her cheeks dull.

As her color fades, his intensifies. She can see his eyes burning bright with anger, with the need to fix it.

She wants to tell him to stop looking. She needs him to know that it isn’t his fault. She doesn’t want to spend the rest of her life fighting for a lost cause, and she sure as hell doesn’t want to do it without him by her side.

But every time she opens her mouth to ask him to just spend time with her, he flinches in anticipation. In anticipation of what, she cannot say for certain. Perhaps he is waiting for her to ice him out, or perhaps he is afraid that she will finally tell him that she is in agony.

She supposes that, in a few months, the reason won’t matter.

What matters now is that regardless of what she says, it will shatter him.

So she writes him letters.

She fills a book with the words she wishes she had the courage to say out loud. Her normally neat cursive trembles as the words trip over themselves to enter the universe, begging to be heard by someone, anyone.

She tells him everything he doesn’t know about her, because she doesn’t want him to have more questions than he already does when she’s gone. She apologizes for her unrelenting skepticism and her reluctance to profess her fears and her loves. She tells him that as much as the universe has screwed her over, she would relive it all again if it meant keeping him.

In the end, it reads like an epic, tragic love story.

She prays to God that he never finds it.

~~~

His mind is on fire, burning with a thousand tomes of others’ thoughts.

He cannot drown the voices out, no matter how he screams over their incessant crescendo. Nobody can hear him.

Can or will?

He supposes it doesn’t matter. The only person he wants to talk to is barred from his side, perhaps due to others’ fear that she will be the one to hear him.

He talks to her anyway. When the cacophony of betrayal becomes too unbearable, he writes her hundreds of thousands of letters in his head. Often, they are rambling and aimless, containing countless phrases playing on a loop in his mind. Sometimes, however, they say exactly what he needs them to.

He apologizes for doubting her, for betraying her trust. He tells her that he knows he is unworthy of that trust, that he knows he will never deserve her. Most importantly, however, he tells her that he will try. He will try to win her trust again. He will try to be good enough for her, in all her brilliance. And goddammit, he will try to tell her he loves her in the way she deserves.

He swears to himself that these words will not go unheard.

But then the noise deafens him, and he dreams.

He dreams of the life he had never dared to imagine. He dreams of happiness and white picket fences, of calm and quiet.

He knows that something is not quite right. When Diana is gone, he sits down at his desk and drafts letters to an unknown recipient, hoping that they will be able to tell him why something is always tugging at the back of his mind. When he is on the beach, the tug intensifies, yanking him towards the truth, but every time he feels he can reach out and touch it, he is violently jerked from the beach, waking up once more in the life he had never quite wanted.

Finally, she wakes him up, her bright eyes piercing through the disconcerting haze of manufactured happiness. She fixes him, like always. He goes home and sits down to write the words so that he can tell her properly. But there is still a deep hurt in her eyes which sinks its claws into his heart and crackles along his nerve endings every time he picks up the pen. Suddenly, he is terrified of giving the words life, fearing that they may only hurt her more.

The words remain unwritten.

~~~

He is gone.

He was everywhere.

And he is gone.

She cannot reconcile these facts in her mind. A world without him is illogical. It is impossible, when he was her world.

She buys a new journal and tries to make sense of the paradox. She begs him to come home and when the life inside her becomes impossible to ignore, she tells him the stakes.

Many of the letters are written in fury, usually at the cruelty of this new reality, but sometimes at him. She tells him that he is not allowed to ditch her now, not when she is carrying his child. On some days she is so angry that she tells him she will never forgive him for leaving her like this.

But then she remembers who he is and what he is to her, and she apologizes for her anger and tells him she loves him and that she will move heaven and earth to bring him home.

And then…

Then…

Then.

Then he is dead, and she screams until her throat is raw and cries until her eyes run dry.

She does not, cannot, and will not understand.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he is dead.

She comes home, numb, and burns the letters.

~~~

They do not celebrate Christmas their first year on the run. Seeing the lines to visit Santa is like salt in a fresh wound. They are their own family, but a broken one nonetheless.

Instead, they celebrate New Year’s Eve. They watch the ball drop on the motel television, and she kisses him at midnight. They pull away seven minutes into the new year, cheeks glittering with tears. He gives her a sad smile, and she cups his face in her hands, thumbing away the evidence of his quiet grief.

“Hey,” she says softly, “the world still hasn’t ended.”

He chuckles and leans his forehead against hers. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She kisses him tenderly, then turns to rummage through her duffel bag. “I have something for you.”

He grins and pulls a leather folder from under the bed. “Still haven’t stopped reading my mind, have you?”

She sees what he is holding and laughs. “No, I suppose I haven’t.” With a grin matching his, she hands him a small leather-bound journal. Inside it are the hundreds of letters she has written to him since he came back to life, telling him about their son, trying to work out ways to bring their family together once more. Grief and pain are spattered across the pages, but her love permeates even the darkest blots of ink.

He looks up from the first letter, tears already beginning to blur the ink. He is smiling, though, as he shakes his head in wonder. “Scully….”

She raises an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curling up, and he laughs. “I...here, you’ll see.” He hands her the folder and she opens it slowly, bemusement creasing the space between her brows.

In it are the letters he had written her when she was abducted, but there are new letters now, too. These are the letters he has written to her since he came back to life. Most of them are apologies: for not being there to see their son grow, for putting her for so much grief, for being cruel to her because it felt easier to distance himself from her in case he never came back. Most of all, he apologizes because he wants to spend every second of his life with her, and he has already wasted too much time.

She stares down at the fragile pages and laughs shakily. “I guess you haven’t stopped reading mine, either.” When she looks up, her eyes are shining with love and tears, and he guides her by the small of her back to the bed, where they sit side by side and begin to read each other’s letters.

Together.