#if you couldn't tell this is my favorite self-indulgent au

[fandom-zoomer]

I think I may have come up with the best worst tma time travel “fix-it” au (imho)

Inspired by Ketakoshka's 'dread spawn' idea in their dread child jon series, Dribbledscribbles' origin story for the dread powers and extinction entity interpretation in their extinction!jon fic (and some more of the latter in their post-eyepocalypse fic too), as well as my own love for making unholy (aka fun) fusions of things and sandboxing eldritch interactions with the 'mundane' . . .

. . . I have created a post-canon, Somewhere Else, time travel ""fix-it"" story that I think might be unique (at least I've never seen any fics like it– but if I'm wrong then please please share the link!! or dm me if it's your own work hehe but no pressure!!)

(mag 160+ spoilers after this point!)

(i'm about to wax poetics here (hopefully coherently)—so you can read the story-ramble OR you can scroll to the TL;DR at the bottom to skip it & spoilers to read the nutshell & see if you're interested :3)

so get this...

The big Change happens right? But this time the Extinction is a bigger player in the game than canon, and ultimately deeply marks Jon throughout the eyepocalypse.

So when the finale happens, since Jon is now connected to the epicenter of the whole show, his 'death' and the panopticon's destruction has the simultaneous effect of baiting the Dread Powers into the Hole (via his voice in the spools of tape)– and also killing everyone trapped by the Dread Powers in the world via Jon the walking detonator thanks to being entrenched in the Extinction's influence. —Combining both his best and worst plans and realizing his worst nightmare: killing everyone and spreading the Powers to an unknown number of worlds to wreak even more havoc.

How did this happen?

Simple—but first some backstory for context.

The Extinction was more of a 'lurker', much less "outgoing" than its 'siblings'. And when it was "grandiose", well. . . it tended to leave no survivors. Thus its unrecognition by those like Robert Smirke or Jürgen Leitner.

To go back even further, the Dread entities were originally one cohesive entity with many faces and limbs. Its faces reflected the same developmental complexity as the sources of their manifestation. So those with the most diverse species feeding them held the widest capacities. Namely: the Hunt, End, and Extinction. But being a singular entity, it didn't mean much.

But as human species' family lines develop and grow more complex cognitive ability, more esoteric Dreads developed, and more faces become more complex. And the Extinction was right there from the beginning as more species died out one by one. Quietly. (...maybe? 👀)

Over time humans discovered the Powers and bonded with them, then started to classify them. From here, the Dread entity fragmented into Dread entities.

They developed their own 'consciousnesses' distinct from the hive 'mind' they once were. And, eventually, sapience. Self-awareness. Desires. Personalities. But they were still connected, part of the 'system'.

The Extinction and the Web (newer, but always sapient) are a quirky pair, the Web seeking control over everything and the Extinction seeking ultimate entropy and change upon its catastrophe.

It's hard to distinguish the Extinction exactly, its work misidentified for others with few under its own unique umbrella. Things 'unique' to it get missed due to being a misnomer and not getting clocked. (But that is the nature of the Dread Powers after all.. being a fragmentation of their original singular mass.)

...

The Extinction represents the fear of disaster that will bring about the end of everything—everything you know, love, need to survive. Everything you built, worked for, hoped for. The destruction of stories and of life, of the very history written by your land—your home.

Your community. Your society. Your species.

You.

Annihilated in totality.

The Extinction represents the fear of those that come after you to replace you—worse than you, different from you. Leaving you and your history and stories (the driver of your continued existence) forgotten forever. The fear of life moving on after you, ignorant and apathetic. Your story meaningless, irrelevant.

Your community's story. Your society's story. Your species' story.

Your story.

Erased and written over.

The Web represents the fear of being controlled, fate being out of your hands—by malevolent authorities out of reach, by abusive companions or relatives, by invisible forces far beyond the human comprehension. Spinning, winding, twisting, pulling each decision in your life made for you. Until destruction of the self by your own hand.

Your struggle for change futile. Your feet following the same path. Your fate determined for you.

You forfeit control—your feet march you to your bitter demise.

The Web represents the fear of being conspired against. Scheming, plotting, planning your downfall. The loss of everything you hold dear, worked for, bled for. Spinning, twisting, scripting lies about you. Your credibility falls to pieces, your world shatters, and your story distorts.

You are kept alive by the spreading of your story. And the people have decided to trust the manufactured tale.

You are forgotten—twisted into an image of something wrong.

...

Sometimes they're at odds. Where one seeks to manipulate the threads of everything endlessly, the other seeks to destroy it all so thoroughly, with such finality, as to mutate it– the schemes, the pawns, the gameboard itself.

Sometimes they're complementary. Where you watch as you lose everyone you cared for one by one, spiraling down a path darker into entropy, the irreversible nightmare, and wondering if you ever really had free will in the first place– if anyone did.

What if the end for you really was just another game to them? What if this wasn't their first round? What if you're just the next step in the grand scheme, larger than even your own universe?

Alright, now with that out of the way, let's bring back the question.

How did the Extinction change Jon, and how did this cause the altered result of the finale?

The Web has been there since the near beginning, pulling Jon along and guiding him to his next milestone in the plot. She had known the world would come to an end one way or another, and wanted to bring it about on her own terms so that she—they all—could escape it.

So when the Web saw what the Eye was doing, she had an idea. So she aided their acolytes, seeing her sibling as the perfect way to bring all of them together for the final step. And the Web set her own card onto the board: Jon.

Jon had a natural disposition for the Eye; from stubborn curiosity to the reckless pursuit for answers to even the coldest cases. Whether he knows it or not, his mind is a gaping maw for horrible knowledge—chasing after experiences disguised as answers to his burning questions so dreadful they leave scars on him like sigils of a looming doom.

While he has no affinity for the Web's machinations, he is still hers. She has no issue with guiding agents from across the court, she knows how to share. Especially when it benefits her. Jon archives each event, every little detail, with such care and readiness that he makes the perfect vessel to pull them in—to guide them out. He'd flourish best as her tool in the Watcher's sphere.

After the Watcher's Crown and the Dread Powers came into the world, the Extinction started to make its presence known. It seeped into other Domains and fed on the people's dread for permanent catastrophic change, on their fear of ruin and total desctruction. And as Jon traversed them and lived through their fear, so was he marked by the Extinction.

It seeped into his skin like oil and burned through his veins like acid. It tainted his trails with the radioactivity of human hubris and greed, twisting and mutating both the mundane and Dreadful as he passed. It closed its grasp on him with the tightness plastic rings and infected his Perceived routes with the stench of mountainous landfill and the thickness of city smog.

The Web and the Extinction had a complex relationship, but in this moment they guided the Archivist in synchronous song like a soldier being led to his final mission: dropping the nuclear bomb.

Did Jon know?

...

No.

The twines of manipulation layer labyrinthine over everything, above and below and through every angle and dimension. Even the Nigh-Omniscient Antichrist and his All-Knowing God will never fathom its depths.

He might never know that he helped start the Extinction's ritual: Raze the Earth.

Or that both the Web and the Eye knew and did nothing. (honestly, the latter's only there for the show)

So when Martin stabbed Jon and Melanie lit the gas mainline, the threads around the world snapped and the glowing light of humanity's greatest sins exploded over everything—

—and they prayed—

—and they wept—

—and the Dreads rushed out torrentially. (pulling a few strays with them)

Now for the part you were all waiting for (well I was)—the Heart of this AU

The Dread Powers and the ones who were dragged with them were transported Somewhere Else– a parallel world in a parallel universe. But they were. . . Changed from their previous/original selves.

The tag-alongs—Martin & Jon of course, but also Annabelle Cane, Oliver Banks, Simon Fairchild, and Arthur Nolan—replaced their parallels at birth, and gained partial or full amnesia to their past lives. But their personalities are altered, reflecting some aspects of their pre-finale personalities.

Except for Jon. Jon, the Pupil of the Eye, the Warhead of the Extinction, the Spools of the Web, the Archive of the Dreads and linchpin to their escape. . . was significantly destroyed in the center of the storm. He got it and so much worse—a stick so short its existence was inverted.

While they did get reach the new universe, they had to reconstruct their linchpin/Archive that they're still connected to so that his total destruction doesn't tear them apart as well (being an Extinction avatar that's now deeply connected with them, he's capable of "taking them down with him").

When Jon was reborn, he was literally thrown into the world like a meteorite, landing with an explosive blast that rendered the surrounding area a lifeless wasteland in moments. High radioactivity and a deathly curse left few flora or fauna returning before wasting away soon after. Those that 'survived' did so by being infected by the Extinction or Corruption.

It would permanently remain uninhabitable, and it would take months before the withered stillborn spawn of the sapient eldritch Dread Entities would crawl out of the jagged crater on its own, none the wiser to its tragedies.

TL;DR

The Web manipulated Jon's attempt to put a stop to the Entities' reign, utilizing the Eye's easy influence to help the Dreads escape the world and into a fresh new one before they were also destroyed in the Extinction's "Raze the Earth" ritual (set up by using Jon to weave toxic-filled veins throughout the world he was traversing that'll explode at once 'grand finale' style).

Jon, now deeply binded to the Entities' purest forms and still an Extinction time-bomb, was mostly destroyed during the trip to Somewhere Else and the Entities had to reconstruct him so his death wouldn't destroy them too. This led to Jon being reborn a near completely different being (with some of him preserved) as functionally the direct spawn of the Dread Powers, replacing his parallel counterpart from the new world.

[togenabi]

the language of flowers

gojo satoru x reader (royalty au)

♡—All your life, you have been training for the role of Empress... But nothing could have prepared you to be Satoru's wife.

word count♡— 4.7k (I came back swinging y'all)

genre♡— fluff, royalty au

aged up characters♡— 18+

content notes♡— arranged marriage, romance, crown prince (maybe ooc) gojo, flowers, no use of y/n, afab!reader, ur a princess we're all princesses, minor chara oc's, mentions of my other au's, reader's father is a jerk, reader is tough but falls hard, not fully proofread

author's note♡— this took a while! september was ridiculously busy for me but I did my best with this to compensate! this is also very self indulgent, but I hope you enjoy it! xoxo, belle

As a child, you found out of your engagement to the Crown Prince by accident.

On a chilly winter's evening, you had been chasing the Royal Secretary's cat around the palace. Your father, the King, would frown upon you playing games at this hour. You should be writing essays, learning dance or banquet etiquette.

But all that can wait, you think. You've just spotted the end of a fluffy tail dart around the next corner.

When you catch up to it, the orange tabby is curiously peering into a room—whose grand double doors are slightly ajar. Eyes widening, you quicken your steps but make sure to minimize any sound. The last thing you needed was to be spotted skirting your duties right in front of the King's study.

You let out a huff of relief once you've gently picked up the cat, your arms hugging it to your chest.

Just as you're about to sneak away, however, you hear your name.

From the gap in the door, streams of golden light pour out; contrasting with the darkness of the hallway. The silhouettes of your father and his Secretary leave shadowed patterns on the floor.

You listen, as these silhouettes plan your future without you.

“Ha!” The King bellows. “My daughter. Empress. I never thought I'd see the day.”

Your heart stutters. What?

“When will you inform her, Your Majesty?”

The shadow on the painted tiles waves a hand dismissively as your father does.

“I'll leave that to you, Montgomery. Tell her that she should be honored.”

Heavy footsteps sound as he paces. “It was concerning to have a daughter as a firstborn. I knew she couldn't be made to rule what I've built, but I'll finally have a steady pawn in The Empire once she's sent away.”

Pain shoots into you. Your eyes begin to sting. You had always known your brother was the favorite despite all the hard work you've put in, but to be spoken of as a pawn... Could it be that you have not worked hard enough?

You suddenly remember where you are. Remember how slacking off brought you here. Heartbroken, you hug the cat tighter.

The words your father speak as you walk away deepens the dagger in your chest.

“Do not settle for anything less than perfect for her coursework. She's to be Empress, after all.”

On that chilly winter's evening, your heart froze over like the snow-covered branches looming outside.

...

Several years later.

The carriage goes over a bump in the road, but you do not show discomfort or act without grace. Your expression is controlled and your posture is correct as you balance yourself.

Across from you, Secretary Mont holds a newspaper up, the front page faces you as he reads. Large bold letters take up the entire upper half of the paper:

‘CITIZENS QUESTION IF EMPRESS-TO-BE IS WORTHY OF THE CROWN PRINCE’

You scoff. It makes Mont meet your gaze over the paper before flipping it; he frowns disapprovingly at the front-most article.

“Do not mind them, Your Highness.” He folds the paper and sets it aside—as if it would help prove his point. “The people are not used to your presence yet, but they will be. They will see how you are the perfect choice for Empress.”

The Princess is power hungry, someone who was interviewed had said. You wanted the Empire for yourself, apparently.

Jealous. Vain. Possessive. Dramatic.

Shifting your gaze to the window, you contemplate what you had done to garner such a negative image. Could you have done anything differently?

Your father's face appears in your mind's eye. That same ever-present scowl on his face as he says you should do better. You should be grateful. You should be nothing less than what you've been preparing all these years for. Everything must be perfect.

The Imperial Palace comes into view. It stands high and grand, shining under the bright midday sun. The cloudless blue sky above it makes the scene picturesque.

After the wedding in four months, it is to be your new home.

The Imperial Princess, your betrothed's younger sister, greets you when you arrive. You curtsy to each other, and she surprises you by reaching out to take your hands in hers. She gives them a firm yet friendly squeeze.

“I'm pleased to welcome you, my sister-to-be.” She beams, and you return the look with your own small, composed smile.

“I am honored to be here. Thank you for taking the time to receive me personally.” You gently lower your hands, letting her go.

She leads you inside, passing lines of palace staff as you enter.

“Congratulations on your own engagement, by the way.” You say honestly. After assessing her for a moment, you carefully remark, “I hear you and Prince Toge are quite happy.”

“We are.” She nods, smile glowing even more at the mention of her beloved. “Please allow me to say that I hope you and my brother find your own happiness, despite the ‘political arrangement’ of it all.”

“I thank you for your well-wishes.”

“Would you like an escort to your chambers?” The Princess offers once you reach a grand curving staircase.

“If you have other duties, I will not keep you.” You give her a bow, the ends of your dress brushing the polished marble flooring.

“Very well.” She nods. “A servant will inform you when dinner is ready.”

Gathering your skirt, you make your way up the steps to the east wing, where the guest chambers are.

Your eyes find the path to the west wing, where the royal families' rooms can be found. Soon enough, you would be heading there instead of east. Hopefully, the Prince will be amicable to live with.

The chambers reserved for you are exactly how you remember them. It's spotless and feels homey despite you only visiting a few times a year.

This is the only place you can be truly alone. Your father, try as he might, has no power here.

You step towards the balcony, opening the glass doors that lead outside. The wind caresses your skin like a soft kiss to your cheek, and you take a deep breath to savor it.

Four months.

That's all you have left. Four months of freedom here.

Another breeze passes. It carries with it a tiny dandelion wisp. Catching it almost feels like holding onto air, and yet it is there between your fingers. Small and weighing nothing, but there nonetheless.

For such a small thing, it strengthens your resolve.

You're not here for freedom. You're here to be Empress. And that's all that matters. You will not let anything get under your skin and interfere with your responsibilities.

...

So you said, only to find yourself in a very unexpected situation.

Dinner was uneventful, your only gripe was that your betrothed was not present. You had hoped to show everyone that you got along well... Even if you've only really spoken a handful of times.

However, once you returned to your chambers, you spot the balcony door open once more. Beyond it, looking out at the view of the city, was the Crown Prince himself.

You try not to let your unpreparedness get to you. Bowing respectfully, you greet him. “Good evening, Your Highness. May I ask what brings you here?”

The Prince turns to you, crossing one ankle over the other as he casually leans on the balcony.

“There you are.” Satoru says, his head tilting as he observes you.

You eye him warily, trying to decipher his intentions. If he wanted to see you, he could have simply shown up to dinner. “What are you doing?”

He steps forward. You step back. “Is it a crime to want time alone with my—”

Sighing, you should have expected him to want more time with the future—

“—wife?”

The word knocks the wind out of you.

Of all the names you have been called, ‘wife’ is a new addition to the list.

You are your parents' daughter, your country's princess, and are to be the Empire's most powerful woman.

And yet, to one person... to Satoru, you are to be his wife.

It's almost strange to think about. Your earliest memory of your betrothed is back when he was small and scrawny. It was difficult to take him seriously back then.

Now, something has changed in him. Or it could also be that he's always been like this, and this is a side to him he doesn't show to others that often.

Satoru watches you process the word, seeming to have something to say, but decides against it. You half expected him to tease you for being flabbergasted, but he patiently waits for you to speak first.

“Why are you here at this hour?”

He grins, eyes bringing shame to those distant stars hanging in the sky behind him.

“I didn't want our first meeting in ages to have so many spectators." Satoru explains. “If I had shown up earlier, the scribes would have taken note of how many times I blinked or how fast I chewed."

His jesting does not put you at ease at all. “I have a feeling you have something to say that should not be recorded or overheard.”

“That's true. However,” Satoru says pointedly, “The hour is far too late for all that I wish to say, so I will simply bid you goodnight with this...”

Out of nowhere, he pulls out a red flower with curling petals.

You keep your eyes on his as you reach for the flower's stem. Satoru watches you back, smiling softly. He's backing away before you can thank him, but he doesn't look like he minds. He seems to be happy you didn't reject it.

“Goodnight, my dear.” He bows, and makes his exit.

...Through the balcony. Again.

You step out and try to find where he disappeared to, but he's gone.

The moonlight out here allows you to get a better look at the flower. How curious. Usually, people in the Empire give roses, don't they?

The red carnation twirls between your fingers, and you think of how much more grand and tangible it is compared to the dandelion wisp that found you before dinner.

...

Carnations mean many different things, according to this book on the language of flowers you picked up. It all depends on the color.

Pink carnations symbolize fondness and remembrance. Some also consider it to mean not being able to forget someone.

White carnations mean purity, good luck, and new beginnings. It's a common way of wishing someone safe travels.

Yellow carnations have varying meanings. Sometimes, they are used for apologies. But most often they are given to express disdain, symbolizing a hopeless state of mind. You stare at the illustration next to the passage. The yellow watercolor is so bright and vibrant, it makes you wonder what it did to deserve such sad connotations.

Setting the book down for a moment, you rest your eyes by scanning the library. Countless shelves with even more countless books. A golden candlestick here. A priceless painting there. A stack of yesterday's newspaper lying a few tables away.

Something unpleasant settles in your chest. You ignore it and resume reading.

Naturally, as is the case for most red flowers, the red carnation means love. True, passionate love and affection.

You shut the book softly, tracing the embossed petals on the cover while thinking of the red carnation sitting on your bedside table.

Things could have gone worse, you suppose. At least Satoru didn't give you a striped carnation, which has no other meaning than rejection.

Secretary Mont enters the library before you could dwell more on that thought. He's arrived with several palace staff for additional wedding plans.

“Your Highness,” Only Mont greets you, but they all bow in unison.

You nod, and gesture to the table. “Be seated. Let's begin with the urgent concerns first.”

Apparently, the most urgent problem was that Satoru had not approved any of the table dressing color schemes. When you review the options, you think you can assume why. There can only be so many shades of white and cream and pearl.

“What shall we do, Your Highness?” One of the butlers ask.

“Give me a few samples, I'll talk to the Crown Prince myself.”

You almost regret saying that, because once you did, several staff began tripping over themselves, requesting you bring up other preparations with Satoru.

Secretary Mont asks if he should schedule an appointment with your betrothed, but you decline. Something tells you that he will show up again tonight.

And so, here you were after dinner in your chambers. A box of wedding planning materials rests next to you on the bed. You left the balcony doors open this time, and he shows up just as you predicted.

“Aw, were you expecting me?” He's smiling at you as he approaches, but it falters once he sees the box.

He lets out a loud breath before settling on your bed too, the box sits between you. “Alright, let's do this.”

“Start with these.” You hand him some fabric swatches, he looks at them in disdain.

“Pearl, then.” He says, barely even looking through all the options.

“Don't decide hastily.” You can't help but reprimand. “It's not just the color you have to consider, but the material as well.”

Satoru blinks, but presses his fingers to feel the texture of the fabric at your suggestion. “Is pearl not good then?”

“It's pretty, but it's too shiny.” You explain. “The sheen doesn't make it soft or comfortable to use.”

“Ah.” He breathes out, understanding what you mean.

You tell yourself your heart doesn't beat louder when he picks the one you had your eye on. Satoru holds the sample fabric up, the label attached reads ‘Snow’.

A clean, classic sort of white. Soft to the touch, almost fluffy. You don't have to tell him that you agree, he can already guess from the way you glance at him.

He doesn't need to know that your eyes strayed to his hair. Soft. Fluffy.

Clearing your throat, you change the subject by bringing out some tableware samples. “Shall we discuss these, next?”

An hour and thirty kinds of invitation cards later, a short break is due. You're writing down your decisions when Satoru calls your name.

You've moved to your desk by now, since your bed has become some sort of wedding moodboard. Something clinking together reaches your ears, and you turn to find that Satoru had tea brought up. He pours you a cup and carefully hands it to you.

“Thank you.” You respond gratefully, taking a sip before turning back to the lists in front of you.

“Aren't you tired?” Satoru asks, reading your writing over your shoulder.

“This is actually quite easy for me.” You admit. “Wedding planning is unexpectedly... Pleasant.”

Satoru laughs softly. “You're probably the only one in this palace who thinks it's pleasant to work with me.”

After a moment, he continues. “I suppose... That's a good thing, if we're to be wed.”

His words make you pause writing. You suddenly feel shy, warmth spreading on your cheeks. The kind you're sure isn't from the flame crackling in the fireplace.

How silly that you're becoming bashful after being engaged to him since you were children. The thundering of your heart can wait.

“I agree.” You respond, not turning to face him. You will not allow him to see you uncomposed like you did the previous night. “I wasn't sure what to expect from our marriage, but I would appreciate it if we were companionable.”

The rest of the evening proceeds smoothly, though you do notice Satoru becoming more silent as the night goes on.

The next day, you spot Satoru speaking to foreign delegates. Something is different in the way he carries himself in front of them. His posture is that of a proper Emperor, not a cheeky prince that sneaks into your room at night.

... It's probably best that no one finds out about that, lest a scandal breaks before you even get married.

When the delegates leave, you're about to approach and greet Satoru when he, unmistakably meets your eyes, then walks in the opposite direction.

You're left there, confused and perhaps even a little hurt. But you stone your expression and carry on as if nothing has happened. Your lessons taught you to be graceful, even in times you feel anything but.

By late afternoon, it's painfully obvious that Satoru is ignoring you. When he rushes through his lunch and gets up right when you take your seat, you try your best to look unaffected.

Hopefully, you're the only one who's noticed so far. If word reaches Secretary Mont, word will reach your father... That troubles you more than you can put to words.

Satoru doesn't show up for your scheduled wedding planning session with the rest of the staff. You're careful not to say that you'll speak with your betrothed, and thankfully no one mentions it even if it shows they wish you did. You're not even sure if he'll show up at your balcony tonight.

When the hour turns ten, the time he's usually here, he isn't. You sigh and can't help feeling a little disappointed.

Perhaps you said something wrong last night. Maybe you should apologize for something. Or he could just be busy, you tell yourself. You can't expect the Crown Prince to always have time to sneak away to you, can't you?

Something taps against the glass of the balcony doors. It breaks your train of thought, and causes your heart to leap just a bit.

But when you go to check, no one's there. You open the doors to find a single red carnation, just like the one he gave the first night.

You're only barely successful at hiding your relief. You reach for it and glance around once more, just to make sure if he left any other trace of him. There are none, but after you lock the doors and turn in for the night, two carnations in a glass vase calm you in a way you hadn't let yourself feel in a long time.

...

A maid knocks at your door a tad earlier than you're used to. When you ask about what's going on, she says she has to prepare you for the Crown Prince's departure.

“He's leaving?” You ask as you rise from bed, already headed for the bathroom to clean up.

“Yes, Your Highness.” She sifts through your wardrobe for your clothes. “He is to go on a business trip to settle trade agreements.”

“How long will he be gone for?”

“I cannot say for certain, Your Highness.”

Pausing in thought, you look to the balcony doors.

A rush of determination fills you as you ask the maid, “Could you prepare something for me?”

The head butler said that he could be gone for two or three weeks. Weeks before you see that face of his, which has a surprisingly forlorn expression on it.

“Thank you for seeing me off.” Satoru acknowledges you with a smile, but his eyes reveal how tired and troubled he truly is.

You say nothing at first, silently taking steps closer to him. You could practically feel the air freeze over as everyone watching holds their breath. This is the closest the two of you have appeared in public.

You reveal a white carnation held in the hand you hid behind you. The stem is cut short, just enough so that it fits into the pocket on his coat.

“I will take care of things here while you're gone.” You assure him, taking a step back to admire how the white flower suits him.

Satoru seems to be at a loss for words, but his eyes regain their usual spark when he addresses you again. “It seems I have nothing to worry about, then.”

You feel stares at your back as the carriage departs, but pay them no mind. You intend to keep your word and perform your duties while the prince is gone.

On your way to the library, you overhear the Imperial Princess and Sir Nanami speaking to each other.

They're in the next hallway, and you were just about to turn to it when you hear your name spoken. You press your back to the wall and listen.

“I'm glad Her Highness seems to have liked my brother.” The princess says. “And of course, I know Satoru would have been over the moon because of that flower.”

Sir Nanami hums. “His concerns were nothing to be worried about after all.”

The princess laughs. “Oh, what was it again that he said? That she friendzoned him?”

“It was that she companion-zoned him.”

You huff quietly. So that's why Satoru had been ignoring you yesterday.

“I look forward to their blooming relationship. I'm sure Her Highness will come around.” Is the last you hear of their conversation as they continue on their way, their footsteps fading further into the hall.

Come around? To what?

A grandfather clock chimes to signal the change of the hour, and you realize you've dilly-dallied for long enough. The rest of your way to the library has no people whispering about you and your betrothed or the flower you sent him off with.

But you would be lying if you said you'd forgotten about what the princess said.

...

Ever since Satoru left, he's been writing you letters. He said his sister gave him the idea.

You've given up on replying on every letter he sends. It seems as though he writes to you daily, and you simply can't keep up. He insists on writing no matter how busy he gets.

His fifth letter is so short that it should be called a note:

‘The flowers here are lovely. I had a bookmark made for you.’

That same bookmark, a dried pink carnation, sits between the pages of the novel you're currently reading. It makes you consider pressing the red carnations Satoru had given you so that they're not just left to wilt.

You write back once a week. But what you lack in quantity of letters you make up with the number of pages you write, and you tell Satoru as such. There are many things you want to report, so you don't hold back on anything.

Well, perhaps you don't quite tell him that you can't fall asleep until you spot the moon through the balcony glass. Or that you think of him whenever you're not distracted enough.

In Satoru's fifteenth letter, he brings the unfortunate news that his return will be delayed. He will have been gone for four weeks before he comes home, and the journey back will take three days at the latest.

Unable to express your disappointment outright, you instead imply that he should make haste for the wedding preparations. That he shouldn't miss the food tasting or the floral arrangements.

‘I trust my wife to make all the right decisions. Even if you don't, I'll consider them right anyway.’

There he goes again, calling you wife when you haven't married yet. It also dawns on you that Satoru has only ever called you by name, or addressed you as his wife. He's probably the only person who hasn't referred to you as Empress-to-be.

You're quickly learning that with Satoru, you're finding yourself again. It's rare for you to feel more than just a princess or Empress in training, but he makes it effortless with just a few words.

...

You begin counting down the days when Satoru writes that trade negotiations have finally concluded. He should be home in four days, and you can hardly wait to see his face again.

But of course, Satoru finds a way to bewilder you by arriving home early. In the middle of the night, no less. And naturally, through the balcony.

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you try to decipher if his visage is a dream or a trick or the light. But when he laughs, and tells you he missed you dearly, you need no further proof.

Satoru clasps your hands with his, running his thumbs over your fingers and knuckles. Your eyes travel down to his boots, which are filthy with dirt and grass. His hair is ruffled and windswept.

“Did you,” The word settles on your tongue when you pause. “...Rush here on horseback?” You ask incredulously.

Satoru laughs again, and wraps his arms around you. “Are you complaining?”

You blink, and tentatively wrap your arms around his middle. “No. I'm glad you're home.”

Satoru is so warm compared to the night air that surrounds you. You almost complain when he pulls back, but the serious look in his eye makes you keep your mouth shut.

He clears his throat and rubs your shoulders before taking your hands again. You're completely shocked when he sinks to one knee.

“I know that we're already engaged.” Satoru begins. “I know that we've been preparing for this for years, but I just wanted to ask you properly. Because you deserve it.”

He pulls out a ring, a diamond shines at its center.

“Marry me, and I shall spend every moment of my life proving my love for you.”

“Yes. I will.” You respond, and he slips the ring onto your finger. How does he keep getting more and more lovely?

You place your hands on the sides of his face, pulling him up to you. You kiss him, and the air ignites like a spark brought to life.

It's tender, and careful, and carries all the things you wish to say to him. How you missed him. How you love the flowers he gives you. How excited you are to have him by your side for forever.

When you break apart, he seems surprised to find you reflecting his happiness back at him. He's about to speak, but not before he can resist the urge to kisses you again.

You smile into the kiss, but place a hand on his chest, pushing him to ask, “You were about to say?”

“...I've always known I would treat you right when we got engaged. That was always a given.” Satoru cradles your face gently, making you feel like the most precious in the world to him. “You were chosen because you're smart, and you worked harder than anyone else.”

“...But I saw you one day, when we were kids.” He speaks carefully. “You were trying your best to impress your father, but not at all happy...”

“From then on, I decided to make it my mission to make you smile.” To prove his point, he places his thumbs at the corners of your mouth to drag them up playfully. You laugh and swat his hands away.

“A real smile, just like that! None of those diplomatic half-smiles you always throw out to please people. That won't work on me.”

“Before you are the Empress, you are my wife. And I will love and treasure you as such.”

...

He says those same words at the wedding. You jest that he has no originality, but it brings you to tears just the same.

The wedding happens in the palace gardens, surrounded by countless beautiful flowers that dance and sway under the sun when the wind blows. Everything is, in every sense of the word, perfect.

For this moment, you are not the Empress. Not yet. The world can wait a day, you decide. Everything else can wait while you bask in the glowing warmth this man offers you.

As you leave the ceremony behind with your arms linked together, Satoru leans into your ear so you can hear him over the cheering crowd. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Petals shower you both on your way, and you can't help but smile. “Just that we're perfect together.”

Satoru laughs in agreement. “Damn right we are.”

Several staff are positioned at the exit of the gardens, ready to escort you both to the carriages that will take you through the Empire to greet your subjects... But something makes you pause at the end of the aisle.

You pluck a red carnation from one of the floral displays before turning to your husband. You tuck the flower into the chest pocket of his suit, snug in front of his pocket square.

When you glance up to see his reaction, he's already beaming at you, looking indescribably happy.

“I love you too.” He says, taking your hand and pressing the softest of kisses on top of your wedding ring.

When you sent him away back then, you remember thinking how the white carnation matched well with him. Looking at him now, however, the red flower over his heart seems to overflow with all the love and all the words that need not be spoken. You like this one much better.

He leans down to pluck another identical flower, and gently tucks it behind your ear.

Satisfied, he holds your hand tight, leading you to the rest of your lives with the assurance that he will never let go.

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added or removed from my taglist

taglist♡— @flowerjun @mellozhi

[mrsshabana]

𝐆𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary It's your birthday and Gyutaro has something special planned for you! ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, modern au, fluff, mentions of sex, needles ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 1.5k words. Today's my birthday and I wanted to self-indulge! I did actually do this for my birthday so I thought it'd be fun to write about ♡

Today's your birthday and Gyutaro has something special in store for you. He refused to tell you what it was, he just insisted you get on his motorcycle. You have no idea where he's taking you, but knowing your boyfriend it must be something pretty spontaneous.

He's your first boyfriend and you've been dating for over six months now. Never in a million years would you have imagined you'd end up with a guy like him.

You are complete opposites.

He's your stereotypical "bad boy" while you're the exact definition of a "good girl." But they say opposites attract, and they couldn't be more right. Gyutaro loves corrupting you, introducing you to things you never would have considered doing before you met him. And you love giving him the affection he's never received before. Making this big tough man turn into mush around you. It's the cutest thing ever.

But the attraction is insane. He's the hottest man you've ever seen. Tall, long black hair, arms covered in tattoos, and face covered in piercings.

You were a virgin before you met him, but it didn't take long for him to change that. Taking your virginity was the greatest accomplishment in his eyes, every time he thinks about it he gets a devilish smirk. Not to mention the pregnancy scare you had after only dating for a few weeks. Not his proudest moment, but thankfully you got through it together.

Suffice to say, this man came into your life like a tornado. But despite the chaos it seems like everything is falling into place as it should.

And that brings you to where you are now. Tightly holding onto his waist as he speeds through the downtown streets. Narrowly avoiding multiple collisions as he speeds up to get through the yellow lights. Cackling when he just barely makes it.

You hold on tighter, squeezing your eyes shut and putting your trust in him that he won't get you killed on your birthday.

Eventually, he begins to slow down, parking beside a colorful brick building.

"We're here," he smirks, looking back at you.

With shaky hands, you reluctantly let go of him and look around, "Are we downtown?"

"Mm hm," he nods, hopping off his bike and extending his hand out to you, "Got somthin' real special planned for you, doll."

You can't help but blush when he uses that nickname. Taking his hand, you follow him to the front entrance of the building.

"Here we are," he says as he holds the door open for you, watching as your eyes widen when you walk inside.

"A tattoo shop?!" you begin to panic, "B-but Taro I-I'm not ready for a tattoo!"

"Shh it's alright," he chuckles, "You ain't gettin' a tattoo." He takes your hand and leads you past the front desk and to the rooms in the back. Like he knows exactly where he's going, and no one stops him either.

"In here," he takes you into one of the tattooing rooms where a strange man is waiting for you. He's short and has shoulder-length black hair. His eyes are two different colors, turquoise and yellow, and he has a large snake tattoo on his right arm.

Gyutaro walks up to him and they fist bump each other. "What's up man?"

"Gyutaro, my favorite client," he smiles, "I see you brought your lady finally. Started to think you were lying."

"Tsk," Gyutaro clicks his tongue then looks over to you again, "Babe, this is my tattoo artist, Obanai."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Y/N," he smiles and extends his hand.

"Likewise!" you politely shake his hand. Though you're still incredibly nervous about what your boyfriend has planned for you.

"So um," you say nervously, "What's my surprise, Taro?"

His lips curl into that devilish smile he's known for, showing off his crooked teeth and sharp canines. "You're gettin' your belly button pierced!"

Your eyes widen, "I-I am?!"

"You are!" he chuckles then mumbles to himself, "You're so fuckin' cute."

He remembers once when you were drunk together he asked you if you were to ever get a body piercing, which one would it be. And you said a belly button piercing. He never forgot about that, especially since he thinks navel piercings are so fucking hot. The mental image of you with one never left his mind.

This definitely wasn't the surprise you were expecting but you aren't upset about it. You're more so scared of the pain.

"W-Will it hurt?" you question nervously.

"It'll just be a pinch," Obanai responds, sitting down in front of you and putting some gloves on. "Stay still for a moment, I'm just going to mark the area ok?"

You nod, looking down as he inspects your belly button.

"Your navel anatomy looks suitable for a piercing so there's nothing to worry about," he makes a small dot with his marker above your belly button. "Alright, lay down for me please."

You do as he says, laying down on the long padded chair in the room. Gyutaro watches with amuzement as your face contorts with fear and anticipation.

"Don't worry, babe. Obanai did these ones for me last year and it barely hurt," he points to the two black hoops he has on both sides of his bottom lip.

"Really...?" you mutter.

"Really really. I promise you're in good hands," he says sweetly, moving your hair behind your ear.

"How's the placement look?" Obanai says as he hands you a small mirror.

You sit up to look at where he marked on your belly button, seeing how it moves along with you. "It looks good to me."

"Great, you can lay back down." He begins to prepare his tools. "Oh, which jewelry would you like?" He shows you an assortment of navel jewelry, all silver barbells but each one has different colored jewels.

"Hm," you think long and hard about which one you'll want to have stuck in you for the next 6 months. "This one," you point to the one with a clear jewel. You figured it'd be the best since it would be able to match with any outfit.

"Good choice babe," Gyutaro whispers to you, kissing your temple.

Obanai finishes sterilizing the jewelry, then he begins to wipe down the area around your belly button.

You begin to get really nervous now, grabbing on tightly to Gyutaro's hand. He chuckles in response, slowly rubbing the side of your hand with his thumb. "You got this," he whispers reassuringly.

Obanai positions his clasps around the mark he made earlier and clamps down tightly on your skin.

"Take a deep breath in for me," Obanai instructs.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. Obanai quickly thrusts the needle through the top of your belly button. A stabbing pain shoots through you for a quick moment, feeling a lot longer than it actually is. But the pain is excruciating, "Fuck," you curse under your breath.

"Breathe out for me, going to put the jewelry in," and as you breathe out he swiftly puts the silver barbell through the hole and twists the ball on top to keep it in place.

"Alright, you're all done," he steps back to make sure you're alright, "You did great Miss Y/N. Get up slowly, ok?"

You slowly open your eyes and look down, seeing the sparkling jewelry poking out through your skin.

Gyutaro lets you hold onto him as you carefully get up and look at yourself in the mirror.

"Good job, babe! You took it like a champ," he rubs your back and kisses your cheek. He's genuinely proud of you for taking it so well.

As you look yourself in the mirror you suddenly feel a wave of confidence wash over you. It looks a lot better than you were expecting. "I love it!" you chime, turning to Gyutaro and giving him a big hug, "Thank you so much! This is the best gift ever!"

Not only did he get you a cute piece of jewelry for your birthday, but he also gifted you confidence that you didn't know you could have.

You and Gyutaro thank Obanai before leaving the tattoo studio. As you walk back towards the parking lot you can't stop looking down at it. It hurt a lot in the beginning but now it's only a dull soreness, and there wasn't even any bleeding.

"Do you think it looks good on me?" you look up at Gyutaro with those big doe eyes that make his knees weak.

"Fuck yes," he bites his lip, "You look so fuckin' sexy babe. If you weren't sore I'd bend you over my bike and fuck you senseless in the parking lot."

Your entire face turns red, "W-well... it's not that sore," you say shyly.

"Oh yeah?" he smirks, "Well in that case..."

[rachiecrown]

Rachie cannot stop making up AUs

This is my 20//80 AU!! Yap sesh + closeups under the cut

(Takes the mlb ddvau love square and reverses it)

What led me to making this AU was coming up with a Cute Guy design and wanting to use it so so badly -> Coming up with a matching Hot Guy design -> Getting a funny idea and reversing the love square that Double Hearted AU has going on -> Actually building a story onto it

Pretty proud with how they turned out!! My first design on HG for the AU and my second of CG (who originally had a popped collar which I didn't like)

My main inspiration for the designs was the desert duo coffeehero au by @/enka-antix, which I then realized also has the reverse love square.. oops lol

Here's the full sketches for CG+HG and Grian+Scar

Two main details I want to point out that is outside of the outfit changes themselves is the fact Grian parts his hair differently than CG, and Scar wears makeup while HG doesn't.

I struggled a bit with what bird I wanted Grian to be, and decided he's a black capped finch, however he uses a bit of powder on his wings to give them a pink hue for when he's Cute Guy.

And yes I decided to be self indulgent and give Grian tailfeathers and Scar a long tail

^ Wheelchair users does this look comfortable

Genuinely this is my first time drawing a wheelchair ever I think, unless I did once and completely forgot. But yeah! Cue transformer bot stuff cause I don't know what I'm doing

A lot of the tracks that the parts travel along to turn into the legs or the wheelchair aren't actually drawn I've realized, but if you're not colorblind (/lhj) you can see I've colored where all the bits and bobs go

Btw that point at the top is rounded and padded off so it doesn't dig into Scar's back It was an artistic mistake whoopsieee

Some of their thoughts on each other and why Grian thinks Scar and HG can't POSSIBLY be the same person and why Scar thinks Grian is SO much better than CG.

And my most favorite drawing from the sheet (^_^) It's the introduction to the AU where Hot Guy saves Grian from the fourth floor of a burning building! Grian's a little cooked but he's fine.

Also I didn't draw his sweater burnt up cause I didn't feel like it so I slapped some texture on there and called it a day.

Finally, their logos :D

If you couldn't tell, I put the notes on this one in Hot Guy's point of view

[cuubism]

home for the season (2.5k) (E)

some more Hope/Morpheus reverse AU, aka my most self-indulgent special little blorbos

--

Hope's favorite season is spring. Morpheus thinks this is horribly cliche, and has told him so. What's your favorite season, then, you Prince of Night? Hope had of course quipped back. Winter, I assume?

Morpheus had found himself blushing. ...Summer, he had admitted at length. Morpheus struggled to stay hopeful at the best of times, and in winter, in the dark, the cold, the late mornings and early evenings, it was even harder to find his way. Seasonal depression, he supposed. But summer...

It reminds me of you, he had said. How I feel... when I am with you.

Sweaty and overheated? Hope had said, but his expression was... Morpheus almost couldn't look at it directly.

Yes, Morpheus had said, and blinded by light.

Now it is winter, and Hope has been gone for three weeks. He is often gone. The other Endless, Hope has told him, have realms to tend to, actual places in the universe. Hope has no realm in that sense, his realm is the world, and the space among its creatures. Which gives him leave to live with Morpheus, but he cannot just stay in London all the time. He must go elsewhere, to places where he is very much needed.

Sometimes Morpheus goes with him, but he tires of so much travel. He has worked hard to build a tiny space in the world where he feels comfortable and it is difficult to be away from it for long. But more than that... he does not want to burden Hope when he is performing his function. He knows well that when he is there, Hope feels that he needs to... tend to him. To make sure he is okay. And Hope has other things he needs to be doing. Others he must tend to. Morpheus does not want to stifle him. Hope should be free. He was trapped once. Morpheus won't be the one to do it again.

He has not voiced any of that to Hope. Hope would only argue with him, or feel bad for needing to leave to perform his function. It is what it is. Morpheus has chosen to love someone so much grander than human, and that means he cannot always have him.

He misses him, though. He misses him so much, and especially in winter. He does not know how he survived decades between their meetings in the past.

But he persists. Because he loves Hope. And loving Hope is hard. It's so hard. But it's worth it.

It's been another two weeks--five total, now, since Hope left on his most recent voyage--two weeks of cold January wind and Morpheus spending his evenings huddled before the fireplace because he still can't quite get used to central heating, it is not as comforting--when Hope returns.

Morpheus is asleep, and is woken by a crashing sound in his living room, and Hope's quietly uttered fuck as he presumably stumbles back to his feet. Morpheus jumps out of bed and runs into the living room. He does not jump or run, usually, but for Hope, he does.

Hope looks up at him guiltily from where he's straightening an end table he'd knocked over in his rapid arrival. Hope does not need to travel by mortal means, he just appears. But he does not always have the best spatial awareness. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Please, feel free to teleport straight into my bed and wake me as much as you wish," says Morpheus.

Hope grimaces, plucking at his shirt. "I'm all gross, though.”

"I don't care."

Hope is not wrong about being 'gross': his white t-shirt is soaked in sweat, his hair and face covered in dust. Morpheus does not know where he's been. Selfishly, he doesn't want to. If he asks, Hope will doubtless tell him some horrible tale of suffering that may even end with Hope himself murdered in an atrocious manner. Something which cannot kill him, but which Morpheus finds distressing to hear about nevertheless. It's selfish to not want to hear it. But he has never been a very selfless person.

What he does do is hug him. This, too, feels selfish, though he doesn't know why.

"I should really shower," Hope says, but lets Morpheus hold him, and sighs when Morpheus cradles the back of his head. His anxious thoughts never seem to care that Hope cannot be killed. Morpheus worries for him anyway. Hope cannot be killed, but he can suffer. Has suffered.

"I am glad you are safe," Morpheus says.

"I'm always safe," Hope says. This is patently untrue. But Hope does not always like to talk about his past imprisonment.

Morpheus presses his nose into his shoulder. Hope smells like sweat and grime and dry heat. Morpheus just holds him tighter.

"Alright?" Hope asks, and Morpheus nods.

"I have missed you."

"Ah." Hope kisses his temple. "I missed you too, darling."

Morpheus indulges himself in holding him for another few moments. Then says, “You will want that shower, I imagine.”

“Yeah. Come with me? I did wake you up, though, so if you wanted to go back to sleep—”

“I will come with you,” Morpheus says. He won’t sacrifice his limited time with Hope for mere sleep. He can sleep the rest of his life, when Hope isn’t there.

“Good,” Hope says, with a smile, then takes his hand and draws him to the bathroom.

~

Morpheus is quiet while they bathe. This isn’t necessarily unusual for him, he’s reticent by nature, but still it pings something in Hope’s awareness. Then again, Hope did wake him up in the middle of the night, so maybe Hope is just overthinking. He’s quite good at that.

“Alright?” Hope asks, and Morpheus sighs.

“I miss you when you aren’t here,” he says.

It’s almost funny, the contrast between his always-solemn voice and the shampoo suds stuck in his hair, but Hope doesn’t laugh this time. “I know, darling. I’m sorry.”

“Especially in winter,” Morpheus continues, and then Hope feels stricken.

Oh. How did he not think of it? Winter is always difficult for Morpheus, the cold and early nights make it harder than ever for him to manage his depression. Hope can’t believe he thought it was a good idea to leave him alone.

“Oh,” he says, voice small, guilt rising. “Oh, I should have stayed with you, love, I’m—”

Morpheus stops him with a finger to his lips.

"You do not belong to me, Hope," he says quietly.

"Kind of do," Hope says.

"You belong with me," Morpheus says. A subtle but important correction. "At least, I should like to think so. I miss you. But I should hate myself were I ever to stifle you. It would be far worse.”

“Being with you isn’t stifling to me,” Hope protests, but Morpheus just keeps giving him that serious look. He sighs. “Fine. I understand what you mean. I can’t stay here all the time. But. I don’t like to think of you just here, hurting.”

It breaks his heart, it does, to think of Morpheus alone. He knows Morpheus survived centuries meeting him only once every hundred years, but still. It doesn’t mean he should have to.

“I am only being dramatic, do not change your behavior on account of my stupidity," Morpheus says, but his eyes look wet. "You have done nothing wrong."

"Can I at least give you a hug?"

Morpheus nods, and Hope pulls him into his arms. Soap smears between them, water slips, but Hope holds him tighter.

“Are you well?” Morpheus asks. “I do not even want to think about what horrible place you may have been.”

“No place is horrible, only its circumstances,” says Hope. “I won’t tell you about it, don’t worry.” The last thing Morpheus needs is more heavy things weighing on his mind. Besides, Hope is used to this. Being with Morpheus is enough of a salve for his wounds.

“Later, perhaps, you can tell me about the not-so-horrible parts of your journey.”

Hope kisses the side of his head, and gets a mouthful of shampoo. “Oof. Let me rinse your hair, you’re more soap than man.”

Morpheus submits to this, bending down so Hope can scrub his hair, and when he’s properly rinsed they both tumble out of the shower, tired, and dry off, and then Morpheus, taking charge of the situation once more, takes Hope to bed. Hope cuddles up to him, relishing in the touch of skin to skin.

“I’m glad I have you to come home to,” Hope tells him, lips pressed to his throat. Once upon a time he would just wander place to place, making friends wherever he went but never staying. He couldn’t have known how good staying might feel.

“Even when you are gone,” says Morpheus, haltingly, “you always give me a reason to stay.”

Hope kisses him, lightly at first and then deeper, sinking into Morpheus’s mouth. Morpheus is a lovely kisser, firm and sure and passionate. Hope curls a hand around his rib cage as they move together, and Morpheus tugs him closer by his hip, presses them up against each other, Hope’s leg slung over his, bodies entangled.

Morpheus’s tongue sweeps into his mouth. Fates, how Hope wants him right now, his surety. He wants Morpheus to command him to stay with his body, tempt him into putting down his sword, at least for the night.

Morpheus parts from his mouth to murmur in his ear. “You are beautiful,” he says, that low rumbling voice that Hope hears soothing him in dark moments. “When I am without you, you live in my every dreaming moment; these are more valuable than waking moments, you understand.”

He reaches a hand between them, wraps his long fingers around Hope’s hardening cock. Hope sucks in a sharp breath.

“Dreaming moments are more valuable?” he echoes.

“They are where... where I feel I am alive. Where I can create, and where I see shadows, but also light. And in every dash of sunlight I see you.”

“My tragic poet,” Hope murmurs, the words shuddering over the steady motion of Morpheus’s hand on him. It’s a soothing, sleepy way of working him, drawing Hope inexorably towards him like the pull of the deep sea. “I believe you are still wooing me.”

“I must.” Morpheus’s hips tilt in, his cock sliding against Hope’s, bellies rubbing. They move languidly together under the covers, warmth building between them. Morpheus takes them both in his hand and works them together; Hope just holds onto him. “I must. I must have you know. And see. You must see it.”

“I do,” Hope says, but he’s not sure he does. It’s hard to truly get inside Morpheus’s head. He does his best, but his understanding of Morpheus’s feelings is always imperfect.

“You must.” He twists his grip, drawing a gasp from Hope, who thrusts into his hand, seeking pleasure. Fates but it feels good to have something good and sweet and nice after the turmoil he’s wandered through these past weeks. He sinks into Morpheus’s touch, closing his eyes as they rock slowly together.

“Are you falling asleep on me?” Morpheus teases, as Hope just sighs, leaning into him.

“Your touch could lull me to sleep,” Hope says. But the edge of pleasure is just bright enough that he wants to chase it rather than truly fall into it. He twines his fingers through Morpheus’s hair, brings their lips back together. Kisses him as Morpheus builds the pleasure between them, strokes his thumb over him. Hope tugs on his hair, pulling a moan from Morpheus’s throat, bites it from his mouth, brings him ever closer with his heel hooked around the back of his leg. Being with him is sweet, and warm, and makes Hope shiver, the release of the tension he’s carried in him since he left. He gives himself over to Morpheus’s hands and it’s such a gift. If Morpheus thinks he is the only one gaining hope from being together he is wrong.

“Morpheus,” he breathes, as Morpheus’s lovely hands bring him quietly over the edge. He shudders, hands tightening in Morpheus’s hair. Morpheus strokes him through it, touch light. Moves close to press their bodies together and grinds into the crook of Hope’s hip. Hope tucks his face into his shoulder, breathing hard as Morpheus brings himself off against his skin. He moves so beautifully, he is so beautiful, Hope doesn’t know how he ever manages to leave him.

Morpheus comes with a gasp, and not long after Hope feels tears on his cheek, pulls back to look but Morpheus only shakes his head, eyes wet.

“Ignore me,” he says, when Hope meets his gaze.

“I could never. Your pain is too loud to me for that.”

Morpheus huffs. “I am not in pain.” Hope just holds his gaze, and Morpheus concedes, “I simply do not want you to go.”

“Not going anywhere for a while,” Hope tells him, though the thought pains him as well. He wishes so much, in this moment, that he could just stay with Morpheus. But when he stays too long, when he’s idle, he feels his function itching at him. He’s not meant to be only in one place, no matter how much he loves that place.

“I’ll always come back to you,” he says, not for the first time.

Morpheus presses his forehead to his. “I know. And I will persist, and think of you when you’re gone.”

“Oh, darling.” Hope takes him into his arms, heedless of the mess that’s still between them. Morpheus clings to him, wraps all his limbs around him. The press of his body is soothing. Hope does get lonely while he’s away. He makes friends during his travels, but no one is a substitute for his Morpheus.

“How about this,” he proposes. “I’ll try to come back to you more often in winter, when it’s hard, hm? Fates know I miss you anyway.”

Morpheus nods. “I would be. Amenable to that.” He runs his fingers through Hope’s hair, kisses his lips. “For now, you must sleep. And so long as you are still here in the morning, I will be at peace.”

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Hope promises, for Morpheus, the nocturnal creature, is never awake in the morning. Hope usually rises with the sun.

“See that you do,” Morpheus says, and settles down heavy against him. Hope does a little subtle magic to clean up so he won’t have to move him again, then draws the blanket over them, banishing the remaining winter chill. In the morning, he’ll light the fire, because he knows they both like it, Morpheus especially. And they’ll cuddle up and pretend for a moment that every day is like this, that their time together doesn’t wax and wane with the turn of the seasons, that Hope doesn’t have to go and Morpheus doesn’t have to struggle. In those fleeting moments, reality, fears, duty and heartache are put aside and all that’s left is their love underpinning it all, all that’s left is them.

[mysticalsoot]

mission sims and missing cues

a continuation of my self-indulgent boarding school au

A/N; i am so in love with this au.. I've got like two other fics for this ay in the works. lmk if yall want more of this-- totally did not expect this to be this long but I mean that's okay. also thanks to lilly and elliot for just being motivation to finish this-- and thank YOU for all the love on my writing cause holy fucking mother of gOD there's 110 of you now?? what??

summary; reader and wilbur are close friends and classmates but both have feelings for each other without the other knowing! they're thrown into a mission simulation together as commander and pilot and slight flirting ensues.

tw// swearing, maybe a smidge of suggestive flirting, definitely thoughts

words; 6.3k

pairings; cc!wilbur x gn!reader

pronouns; they/them and use of y/n!

masterlist

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You loved every part of your school, you loved the classes, the teachers, and the activities but you couldn't help but favor the Mission Simulations above all else.

They were the most laid-back part of your academics, and it was a hands on experience that you could have any part in. You had the opportunity to do anything and everything with positions and experience and outcome. 

Although you were truly partial to being commander, you didn't mind any other position you found yourself in. Missions usually spanned around a week but in sessions. First two sessions would be training, and test runs, the third session would start the first half of the mission running about three hours and then the second half would be in the fourth session. You absolutely adored how they did this and found you got the most out of it, a real feeling for the position and role you'd be in and you could make a decision on if you liked it or not—and if you wanted to try the same position on a different mission another time.

Today's session was the first half, a three-hour run of the school's Mars Mission Sim and you had gotten the commander position. Your pilot being Wilbur. He was rather ecstatic about his role, only been put in mission specialist or station roles before—he was excited to be front and center in the mission, though it didn't really matter, he was just excited for a change of pace.

"So, have you come up with a 'first human on Mars' speech or do you need me to come up with it?" Wilbur is snarky in a playful way in the tone he uses, tossing a hash brown into his mouth as he watches you from the other side of the cafeteria table. You roll your eyes at him and fold your arms over your chest.

"Well, no-" He cuts you off.

"Good! I've come up with one!" He starts by standing up in a grandiose manner, not paying mind to any of the students on other teams staring at him.

"One step for humankind, one great step for alien kind!" He makes exaggerated steps, only a few before your crew trainer, Andy, looks over at Wilbur with this gaze of 'please sit down or I'm telling Evan' and he's quick to find his seat back in front of you.

"You're one of my favorites Wilbur, but you should be in drama school," Andy scoffs, looking down at his tray before standing and walking away to take care of it. Your gaze follows him before landing back on Wilbur in front of you. His elbow rested on the table and his eyes look past you.

You hum, "He's right, you should've applied to drama school instead," Then you shrug, chuckling to yourself as Wilbur's gaze lands onto you, turned into a playful glare.

"And miss out on the opportunity to steal my brother's best friend away from him? Never." His eyes shine with a playfulness to them, and he smirks. 

"So I'm just a pawn?" You put your hand over your heart in mock offense, a smirk of your own curling on your lips.

"Oh yes, just a pawn," 

Andy finds his way back to his spot, and he opens his teacher's binder to check the schedule, "I don't want to know what you two are talking about, do I?" He doesn't look up as he adjusts his glasses and sifts through the different pages.

"Wilbur says I'm just a pawn," You tell him and Wilbur gawks at you, offended at how quickly you told on him.

Andy looks up and ahead and then at you and then back at Wilbur, eyebrows knitted together and concern glazing over his irises, "Pawn in what?"

"My master plan to steal them away from Tech," Wilbur speaks nonchalantly, his glare dissipating and turning into a look of pride.

Andy hums, looks over at Wilbur and says, "Good luck with that." His attention is brought back to his binder before checking the time on his phone. He begins ushering the team to finish up with their meal, take care of their trays and stand in front of the glass wall just a few feet behind you when they're done.

"First one to the wall gets to say the first words on Mars," Wilbur smiles at you, eyes glinting with mischief and you can tell by his body language, he's ready to sprint.

"Okay, fine," You shrug and let him get a head start, subtly speed-walking over to clean up his meal, and take care of his tray. Although, subtly isn't the most accurate descriptor, his legs are long enough all he has to do is take longer strides and he can beat you almost immediately. You take your time, walking normally and then speeding up for a second, but you're still behind. Wilbur looks behind him at you and frowns.

"Why are you walking?" He tilts his head at you, stopping in his tracks.

"I don't want to win," You shrug at him, taking a few steps forward and follow behind him in line.

"Why not?" He's still facing you, his back towards the front of the line and you both put the tray's on the counter, taking care of the dishes and trash and putting them in their respective spots. Plastics, paper, plates, utensils, etc.

"Everyone will hear me and only a drama queen like yourself should get to say it," You smile lightly at your own comment, and you're out of line a moment later. You both stand by the exit of the short hall, the glass wall a few feet away from you both.

"You're such a pussy," He smiles and shakes his head as he runs off over to the glass wall, and you follow, yelling after him.

"Wilbur!" You grumble as you follow him, hot on his heels and of course, he's the first at the wall, his hand pressed against the glass and he sticks his tongue out at you, "You can't say that!"

He smirks, leaning down closer to your face teasingly and your breath hitches in your throat, "And why not?" 

You huff, moving to stand against the wall next to him instead of in front of him. You fold your arms over your chest and tilt your head up to meet his eyes, an annoyed glare filling your own, "You could get us both in trouble with that language, mister."

He leans down again, "Doesn't sound like a horrible idea, at least we'll be in trouble together," He smirks slightly, attempting to avert your attention from how pink his cheeks are, and how nervous his breath is.

"Wilbur," You warn, poking his chest and he giggles, leaning against the glass wall with you as you both wait for the rest of your team to meet you.

The rest of the kids take their time with meeting everyone else at the glass wall, both you and Wilbur growing anxious at how long it was taking. You tilt your head forward to look down the line for Tommy, making sure he isn't causing any mayhem too great for Andy. And then you lean back when you see he's just talking with his friends.

It seems that both you and Wilbur found yourselves at the front of the line, the rest of your classmates assumingly lining behind you both as a buffer between them and their crew trainer. To keep Andy from hearing the things they say, probably. He's heard it all from you and Wilbur, so he's far from bothered by whatever stupid thing one of you may say next.

It's a few moments and then he's at the front of the line, leading the hoard of kids down the ramp and around the corner in front of the training room. As per usual, only you and Wilbur are the ones in a proper line and it doesn't surprise anyone. Everyone else could care less and it didn't bother you or Will to speak to each other without facing one another. Plus, if anyone got in trouble for taking up too much space, at least it wouldn't be you or him.

Andy stops the group at the fence blocking off the training room and he tells everyone to stay put as he leaves to go into the back and talk to the trainers running today's mission. You and Wilbur decide to take a spot by the wall, and sit on the floor. You're squeezed up against him slightly, the rest of the group causing you both to get a bit squished. You do your best to hide the red that begins to crawl up your cheeks, looking away from him in hopes he won't notice. He does the same, without you knowing. Both of you are desperately trying to hide any inkling at the feelings you both harbor for one another. Letting that truth through creates vulnerability and being jokingly flirtatious is easy. It can be brushed off as a playful platonic joke. So why not be flirty and break your own hearts at the thought of unrequited feelings?

"You think they trained us enough?" Wilbur breaks the deafening silence with a playful question, mouth quirking up into a half smile, half smirk. His eyes glint with something you can't quite place.

You huff a laugh, "Do you think you paid attention enough?" You turn your head to face him, smile soft but mischievous. You lean against the wall, trying to subtly slink yourself a bit away from him. You don't really want to be away from him and his touch, but it makes you nervous and you don't want to make him uncomfortable. But you don't move, you can't make it obvious. He doesn't mind the touch either, but he too fears the possibility of making you uncomfortable.

"Hm, I think I have a decent grasp on the concept. It's just button pressing and reading lines, right?" Wilbur nudges your shoulder with his, a soft laugh of his own rolling off his lips, ones held in a smirk.

"Oh, you think it's that simple, pretty boy?" You try your best to hide the pink of your cheeks, plotting a response if he asks. For a brief moment he simply looks at you, mouth slightly agape before he shuts it, bringing back his previous smirk.

"Well, that's what it seemed to be, so I'd say it's pretty simple," He brushes past the use of the pet name and he looks away, a nervous smile replacing the smirk as he looks down at his lap. Oh, he's infatuated and dear god—he wanted nothing more than to fall out of love, out of the feelings he felt. They weren't reciprocated, and any point he may have thought they were, could easily be shut down by the excuse of playful jokes.

"Well, we'll see about that," You push up to stand, catching your eye on Andy and another trainer walking over to the team. He makes the motion to move along and follow him with his hand and so you jump to stand behind him, Wilbur following suit.

The group is led around the corner and into the mission control room. Everyone's instructed to put their backpacks and whatnot on the table far behind the rows of desks. Both you and Wil put yours down on the far end, next to each other's and your shoulders brush together when the rest of the group pushes towards you both. You try to shuffle backwards, but hit the wall that separates the rest of the room to the trainer's desk. Wilbur puts his hand on the small of your back, and guides you to stand in front of him when you get startled by the wall. He rests his hands on either side of your upper arms. You know you're blushing, you know it's obvious but you just hope he doesn't see or doesn't care or doesn't notice and—

"Alright, Andromeda, everyone split into your groups of who goes where and a space ghost will lead you out to your positions, alright?" Andy speaks over the loud conversations of everyone in the group, his hands cupping around his mouth to somehow assist in making his voice louder and heard.

You and Wilbur stay in your place, Tommy, Ash, Niki and James join you both in your corner. Tommy starts chattering about his position and Wilbur is quick to shush his younger brother, and Tommy grumbles in response, crossing his arms and huffing.

The six of you are silent as you await instructions, and another trainer comes over to your group, muttering something about following her and so you do, you first, Wilbur behind and then the rest in a clump behind him. It's barely a few feet around the corner to the capsule. The trainer walking in first, ducking in through the doorway. She stands over to the corner, letting the rest of you walk in and find your seats. Wilbur attempts to duck down but still manages to bump his head, holding back a few obscenities that would definitely get him in trouble.

You chuckle at the sight and he keeps his head ducked down as he finds his spot at his seat. He buckles in the best he can, and then the trainer tells him off, reminds him he has to put his suit on first. He grumbles to himself, and turns around out of his chair and joins the rest of you as you put on the white painters jumpsuits over your normal clothes. Light costume astronaut boots being put on your feet and velcroed in.

You look over at Wilbur and catch your eye on him as he struggles, trying to get his sleeves to pull down all the way, same with his pants legs. You huff a laugh at the sight, "Don't worry about it," You shake your head at him and adjust his collar, hands lingering on his chest before pulling them away to rest at your sides.

His eyes go wide in a playful way, lips curling into a slight smirk, trying to hold some semblance of a fearful gaze, "I could die, y/n!" 

You huff a laugh, turning away from him and sitting in your commander's seat, him following and sitting in the seat opposite you, "You, die? Yeah you're too stubborn for that," You open the small binder you were given and review it as you wait for the signal to start, a clarification from every position that they too are ready.

Wilbur follows suit and you swear you see him gaze at you from the corner of your eye. You smile softly and pretend you don't notice, "Wilbur?"

He hums, looking up from his book for a moment and he looks to you, a quizzical look on his features, "Yes?"

You nod your head towards the comms, "Joe asked for confirmation from you, pilot,"

"Oh!" Wilbur rushes to put his headset on, and presses the speak button, "Roger that SOCOM," He rests his head back against the headrest, sighing.

"Alright, I'll leave you guys to it. Remember the call buttons if you need anything at all, okay?" The crew trainer assigned to the Orion capsule then leaves out the door, being sure to get a verbal confirmation or a thumbs up from each of you.

"You'll do fine, Wilbur," You reassure him, going about various procedures, buttons and switches being turned on or off. Codes being entered and lines of numbers and codes being typed out on the screen.

"You think so?" His voice shakes, unsure of himself as he flips switches along with you, referencing his binder every few seconds.

You nod, "I know so," It's all you need to say as you press the last few buttons before the computer switches the simulation to launch. Voices muffled in your ear as you focus intently on what's needed to do next, when you get into Altair.

It's a few minutes of launch and then the program switches to a screen showing the stars and planets passing by. More switches need flipping and more buttons need pressing. You glance over to your right at Wilbur, his eyebrows knitted in concentration and anxiety. His finger skims the lines of words and instructions in his binder.

"You alright there, Wil?" You put down your book, keeping your eyes locked on him.

"Uh, yeah, fine, fine," He keeps his gaze locked on the pages before him. 

You revert your gaze back to your own work, still checking on him in the corner of your eye every once and a while. Everyone in the capsule was ahead of schedule, all buttons pressed and switches flipped so all you had to do now was respond to Mission Control and wait for docking. Wilbur's leg had started to bounce by this point and he was biting his tongue. His hands kept running through his hair and he seemed oddly stressed for a simple simulation. If you could stand up and walk over to him, you would. But you're buckled in (more like strapped in since there were no buckles and both you and Wilbur were insistent that you were secure in your seats), you couldn't unbuckle yourself and walk over to him, risking an unnecessary anomaly.

So, you reached your hand over to his shoulder, having to lean to your side to even reach him in the first place. His head shot up to look at you, eyebrows creased in a wrinkling worry and mouth drawn in a thin line. 

"Are you okay?" It was merely a whisper, only meant to be heard by you and him. It was intimate and private and your eyes were soft as they looked into his. He didn't know what to do with himself, the amount of care you showed him was overwhelming. His heart racing with anxiety and nervousness.

His face flushed pink, "Yes-"

You cut him off, tapping his leg that bounces and hits the console a few times with how lanky he is, "Your leg says otherwise," You smile softly to him, the softness matching your gaze.

"I'm okay," He tries looking away, up at the screen and he watches the digital stars. The white dots scattered on black in the monitor before him.

You rub his shoulder gently, "Can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong."

He sits there, fidgeting with his hands in his lap, eyes closing shut and a deep breath being taken, and then his head turns to face you, "What if I mess it all up?"

You smile, shaking your head, "That's not possible, I promise you won't," You pat his shoulder gently, soft and assuring smile held on your lips.

"What if I press the wrong button? Or don't get secured well enough? Or what if I mess up the O2 transfer, or--"

You cut him off, squeezing his shoulder gently. Mission Control is sure to be watching this all, but most are probably running around chasing someone so the thought isn't bothersome to you or Wilbur. The camera can't catch the light pink tinted on either of your cheeks anyways.

"I'll be right there to help, you're not alone. It's a job for both of us, if one of us goes down we both do. Triumphantly," Your thumb rubs over his shoulder, back and forth in a manner of comfort and consolation.

"They need their commander more-" 

You shake your head, "They need their pilot too," When the closeness is overwhelming, you back up, ruffling up his hair and finding your spot back in your seat, "Now, relax and ask MOCR if they're like, dead yet."

Wilbur smiles, wider now and he shakes his head with a light chuckle.

"Part of me hopes they're dead."

"Wilbur!" You scold him, smiling wide. The rest of the Orion crew is in their own world, not paying mind to you and Wilbur's bickering.

"Okay, not Joe, the rest though--" He cuts himself off with a giggle and presses the speak button on his coms box, "Mission Control, how is it over there?"

There's a crackle in your headphones and Joe speaks over the mic, "What do you think, Wilbur?"

"Ey, it's Pilot to you," Wilbur, while speaking with a stern tone, is smiling wide. Joe huffs and a scream is heard muffled behind him, "How bad?"

"Zombies, Wil, zombies," Joe sounds tired, exasperated and he leaves his mic on accidentally and there's a shuffle heard and more yelling.

"ZOMBIES??" Tommy yells and the entire capsule bursts out laughing, you, Ash, Wilbur, James, Niki-- Tommy just stands there oblivious as you all listen to the chaos in Mission Control.

"I didn't know there were zombies," Niki speaks up, giggling and sifting through her own guide book.

"I hope at least Mark survives," James then pipes up, and shrugs.

"What about the rest?" You ask him, turning in your chair to look back at him.

"Eh, they can get eaten alive," Everyone's heads spin to look at him and James simply shrugs.

"James!" You scold him, "You are both children," You look between both James and Wil as you speak and then you turn back to face the screen in front of you.

The speaker crackles again, "Docking is in five minutes, Orion," Joe sounds out of breath as he speaks, "You're on your own for now, half of my crew is dying,"

"Thank God," James mutters and Ash smacks his shoulder.

"James! Your mic is on!" Ash glares at his friend, huffing.

"Yeah, that's the point,"

Joe grumbles and his mic cuts off, now no longer any inkling as to what's happening in Mission Control, the six of you sit in silence, waiting for docking to complete.

"I don't want to jinx it--" Tommy begins speaking but he's then cut off by the rest of you yelling;

"NO!" in unison.

And then he draws his mouth in a thin line and crosses his arms, puffing his chest.

Silence blankets the air, and then a clicking is heard through the loudspeakers.

"Docked!" Ash calls out and Wilbur instructs everyone to unbuckle and follow you through to Altair. You crawl through the 'airlock' door between yours and Wil's stations and slip into the Altair capsule. Wilbur follows you, bumping his head on both sides of the airlock and then again when he stands. You giggle at him as you shuffle to find all the mic boxes and helmets and set them aside for landing.

"I'm not sure how you passed the first Astronaut evaluation-- You're much too tall for this job," You playfully poke at Wilbur and he rolls his eyes, finding his spot at the front of the room, by another control board. He puts on his headset, gesturing for you to do the same and then the rest of your crew all files into the capsule.

"They needed someone decently charismatic," He smirks smugly, looking through his guidebook again, landing on the page for Altair arrival and he begins the usual routine of button presses and switches.

"You? Charismatic? Yeah, no, they just felt bad for you," You chuckle to yourself, and he drops his hands from the control board in front of him, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall next to him, his eyes locked on you.

"You are so mean to me," He shakes his head, eyes still on you and your cheeks dusted pink. You averted your gaze from him, down at the control board.

"All in a day's work," You shuffle through your own book, pressing buttons and entering codes.

"Stop flirting, you two," James chirps up, rolling his eyes and messing with the screen in the far back.

You both turn bright red, focusing your gazes heavily on the control board in front of you, doing your best to ignore the words from your friends mouth. Tommy, Ash and Niki, find their own spots on the floor against the wall--James is too stubborn to join them and determined to stand as long as he needs to before landing.

"James, just sit," Niki is stern and pats the spot next to her. James looks over, watching her and shaking his head.

"I'm fine up here, Niki," He looks through his own guidebook now, nothing new for him to do.

"Alright, well, suit yourself," Niki shrugs, looking across at Tommy and Ash and striking conversation with them both.

You continue glancing over at Wilbur, his eyes intently focused on screens and buttons and words typed on a page. His face contorted into a focused gaze and it's endearing. Watching him so focused, working in a way. He's in his element--while you can't deny he's meant for music, something about him being in this STEM environment fits. A leadership role. If you weren't so bad at communication and speaking clearly, you would've immediately opted for Pilot--Commander was simply made for him. But then again, so was the position of speaking and commanding and communicating--and wow, he's so pretty. 

A few stray curls fall onto his forehead as his head tilts down to get a closer look at a separate screen, finger running over the words next to the O2 symbol. He's rolled up the sleeves on his jumpsuit, and he's stuffed a pen he grabbed, in his hair on top of his ear. 

You catch yourself staring and look away before he can notice, and when you look back at your crew, they all look away as if they were staring too. Probably at you, and most likely going to gossip later. You huff and squeeze through to the back, grabbing helmets and mic sets, handing one by one to each person. James first, since he's closest to you, then Niki, then Ash and lastly Tommy. He huffs, mumbling something about how he's obviously your least favorite. Which isn't true by any means, but the child insists.

And then you hand Wilbur his, and he nods to you, a curt smile on his lips in thanks. Your stomach flips and your cheeks burn but you shake it away.

A few more moments and Mission Control comes through the coms again, Joe sounding stressed and out of breath, "Landing procedure will begin shortly, please put your helmets on and secure your suits. Thank you," And then his voice cuts out again and Wilbur shrugs before pressing his coms button, responding with a short 'roger that'.

All of you begin readjusting your suits and hooking up your comms. Wilbur rolls his sleeves back down and to you that's slightly disappointing--but it's better than him 'dying' so you suck it up for the sake of the mission. James struggles with his helmet, grumbling and Niki giggles, helping him slide it on and secure it around his collar. He mutters something about it being stupidly difficult but you can't entirely hear. Your focus is on the boy in front of you, stumbling with his comms box as he clips it onto his belt and then he puts on his own helmet. Yours has already been put on and is perfectly adjusted. You'd be a liar if you said your suit was too small--it was much too long. So you had to roll the sleeves and pants legs to make it so you didn't trip. 

Wilbur struggles with the collar, fidgeting with it to get it to sit right, over the lip of his helmet. You hum, walking over to him, "Need any help?"

He nods, "Dear god, yes."

You smile softly and help flatten his collar and pull it up over the lip of his helmet. You fasten it in the back after ushering him to turn around and kneel a bit so you can reach. He turns around after you pat his back, facing you and smiling softly. Your hands linger on his chest for a moment, fingers messing with the edges of his collar to put it in its final place.

Wilbur speaks up, "Thank you," He smiles softly and you pull your hands away, eyes looking away and face turning a light pink.

"Anytime there, Wilbur," You turn to face the control panel, flipping the final switches before you all get the okay to step out.

Wilbur steps out first, freezes and mumbles "Mars, a new frontier," and the entire crew bursts into fits of giggles--Wilbur included.

You walk up to him, pat him on the shoulder and look up at him, smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth, "You regret making that deal, yet?"

He looks back to you, eyes wide with anxiety, "Perhaps," and he ushers you to the dome base just a few steps aside. You step through, the rest of your crew following like a line of ducklings. You all get settled in at your stations, familiarizing yourself with where things are and what things do what. 

It's calm and quiet, just waiting on further instructions from Mission Control when you and Wilbur decide waiting is for the weak. You both head out the door, over to Altair and begin oxygen transfer.

The plan is simple: connect the hoses to the oxygen tanks, begin the transfer at the computer and move it over to the base and repeat. It's a two person job, one manning the computer and the other with the tanks. There's a computer inside the base for transferring the O2 onto the base from Altair.

"So, I'll go on computer?" Wilbur asks as you both stop outside the doors to the dome, you look up at him. Eyes soft and you nod.

"That was our plan, right?" You smile smugly and Wilbur rolls his eyes, walking off and into Altair. You get the hoses connected and then Wilbur yells out;

"Ready?"

"Ready!" Your reply is loud, enough for him to hear but to not bother anyone else in the simulation room.

There's a simulated sound of hissing and the O2 transfers, a few moments pass and then you switch to the base and repeat everything you just did but in reverse, to empty it into the base's reservoir.

As you wait for the O2 to empty out, your mind begins to run off on its own accord. Wondering about Wilbur, if he's noticed any of your nervous glances, or the way your cheeks turn pink or red when he smiles--how you stared at him at his first volleyball game a few weeks back. Your dad told you off with a laugh--but it was hard to look anywhere but him. Anywhere but his ar-

You cut your thoughts short, bringing yourself back to reality when the O2 shuts off, and then you drug it back over to Altair. You looked around and noticed Wilbur wasn't in sight, nowhere near the base or by the computer--maybe he was inside of Altair, at the computer, waiting for you. You dropped the key to the O2 tanks and walked around the corner, sneaking into the door of Altair. No sign of the lanky nerd called Wilbur--you groaned in annoyance, hitting your head on the air lock opening when you stepped into the lander.

You shuffled yourself over to the computer, pressing a few buttons to get the transfer ready and you went back out; connected the tanks and went back in to press the final button for this transfer.

It was merely a waiting game as you patiently awaited the transfer to complete--if you were honest it was more impatient than anything, but no one needs to know that. You got bored, and partly frustrated and so you walked off while the tank filled and you went into the base.

"Okay, has anyone seen my Pilot? He's went missing and it's really difficult to transfer these," You wave your hands in frustration, "these, tanks!"

Tommy scoffs, Niki giggles and Ash closes the plexiglass door to the solitary bed James is laying in.

"Haven't seen him, sorry," Niki is the first to speak, going about her business grabbing medications and other things and handing them off to Ash.

"Not even an inkling?" 

"Nope," They all answer you at once, shaking their heads or shrugging. James' nope is muffled behind the plexiglass.

You groan and turn on your heels, dramatically exiting out the double doors. You drag yourself back into Altair, shutting off the transfer and continuing your previous routine, desperately looking for Wil as you do so.

"Y/n! I found it!" The familiar accent breaks through and you turn around to face him, a wide smile plastered on his lips and a small Mars Rover in his arms. He holds it up, smile still wide and warm.

"So that's where you disappeared off to?" You smile back, so soft and partially teasing. You fold your arms over your chest.

He nods wildly, "Yup! I'm gonna go fix it, I'll be right back out to help, okay?" Wilbur begins walking off and into the base, you chuckle to yourself shaking your head.

"You better, Wil!" You call back, desperately trying to hide the fluttering in your chest and the pink on your cheeks. There's no evident reason for your reaction other than just…him.

A few moments later and he's back out of the base, letting it loose on the floor and walking over to you. He pats your shoulder and slips into the lander, his legs sticking out for a few moments before he pulls himself all the way in. An ouch is heard along with a bang and you giggle.

"I'm okay!" He yells out, and you shake your head.

"It's already done, Wilbur!" You call out, the four words having been delayed by you until he got into the lander--just to mess with him.

You hear him huff and then slink out of the lander airlock. He takes a few steps down the ladder and walks over to you, "I dislike you right now," He holds a fake frown on his features, but his eyes are soft.

"Dislike is a strong word there, Gold," You smirk, arms folding over your chest again and eyes looking up, locking on his.

"Hm, it fits," He shrugs and turns on his heel, walking over to the satellite board, he stops and looks back at you, "Can you get the box underneath the medical bed? We need the pieces to fix this," If you didn't know better, you would've sworn he heard your thoughts back in Orion--maybe he did.

"I don't remember your role being commander?" You walk over to him, leaning against the board, a wave of confidence shooting through you.

"Might as well be," His lips curling into a smirk as he speaks, soft and quiet, "I'm better at taking lead, aren't I?"

This fucker-- You scoff, smirking to yourself and walking off into the base. You rub your hands on your face in an attempt to rid your cheeks of its burning redness and James looks over to you--

"Did you not notice how miserable I am? Or are you too busy with-" Ash yells at him, smacking the plexiglass before James could finish his remark.

"No-- sorry, both our mics are broken so we're pretty out of the loop," You mumble and kneel down to grab the box into your hands, "you dying or something?" 

"Yes!! I am!" James' tone is sharp and everyone giggles at his words, "Hey! Come on guys! That's what the Space Ghost told me!" 

Ash shakes his head, "No! They said you're having a severe allergic reaction, not dying."

James groans, throwing himself back on the bed flat, "I wish I was dying!" 

You laugh, shaking your head, "Alright, well don't treat him, Niki," and you walk out, box in hand.

You walk over to Wilbur, dropping the box in front of him and then putting your hands on your hips, "There you go, Commander, happy now?" 

He smirks, "Why yes I am, thank you," He leans down to open it and take out a few pieces, handing a good half of them to you and you huff, rolling your eyes.

"This power is getting to your head-- You're not even Commander," You start to place the pieces one by one in the way the instructions sheet requires-- it's not detailed instructions by any means. It's more or less an example of what it should look like which is plenty for you and Wilbur to go off of.

"Well, I might as well be. I thought you liked this?" His face never falls from the cocky smirk he holds, some sort of confidence of his own surging through his body. He looks over at you briefly, eyes locked down onto yours. "Me being in charge and all?"

Your eyes went wide and you hoped you were hallucinating-- or maybe daydreaming-- or maybe this was a dream. But you figured with how real it felt, your senses being in tact--that this was real. You felt your cheeks burn bright red and you simply stared, hand going limp and the piece of this big puzzle in your hand, falling and crashing into the box.

"I saw you staring, that's all," He smirks and shakes his head, moving along with his part of the puzzle and you swore you could see him blush too--

The thought is cut short when a Space Ghost comes out of the Mission Control room, ushering everyone to stop their roles for a moment and that we'll pick up where we left off next session. You silently thank the gods for this interruption-- keeping Wilbur from getting too cocky and you catch him wink at you as he follows the rest of the group into Mission Control.

Next session will be the death of you.

taglist; @sleepyburs @lillylvjy (just send me an ask or dm if you want to be added!)

[chinchillamajor]

So, drawing from the whole multiverse of pregnant Simon AUs that've been popping (no pun intended) up on Tumblr as of late, @cottagedeer had the utterly galaxy-brained idea to roll D&D dice to determine how otherworldly any particular AU's Golbaby power levels would be.

I saw what Vanilla Simon (love that name for him!)'s roll ended up as, and all I could think was: "omg, it's my dice!!"

Nobody could have known this, of course, but. I've always been a ridiculously lucky person, with the asterisk that my luck comes from all directions. I'm as liable to inexplicably skip out on an imminent Bad End (no joke-- I've managed to cheat death four times, so far) as I am to find the one-in-a-billion bolt in my pint of ice cream (as my one missing tooth can attest). Things just seem to happen *louder* around me.

And back in 2019, when I was told I probably had cancer for the first time, I ran a medical-bills fundraiser based around a die designed to reflect precisely my own brand of luck.

They were made of solid rose quartz (a nod to my favorite show at the time, Steven Universe) and only had two roll results: an evenly divided number of 1s and 20s.

Of the hundred dice I had made for the fundraiser, I still have *one* left, that I kept.

Out of curiosity, I rolled it today.

...Going by the numbers, I guess it's a *good* thing this universe's spontaneous kiddo never made it to term, because... just my luck, my Golbaby score was a 20. (I rolled it two more times. 20, again. And a third 20. I couldn't stop giggling.)

And then, the thought hit me.

It's probably among the most self-indulgent thoughts I've ever had, but. Hear me out.

*Someone's* gotta help out all those other pregnant Simons, in all those other universes.

So, to anyone with pregnant Simon AUs: I offer myself, in a handy-dandy fiction suit, as "Star Simon," a sort of messenger to all those other Simons finding themselves expecting by surprise.

Star Simon's own Golbaby never made it far enough to be born (too powerful; they had to be nerfed out of having a physical form), but appears as a teeny winged sparkle that follows Star Simon around, and allows him to dimension hop to where and when other pregnant Simons need to see some kindness, most.

After an appearance in each AU Simon’s dreams, Star Simon then has an 'in' to that Simon’s reality, which he only uses to portal in the fluffiest, coziest blankets, the most soothing cups of decaf coffee, and/or pep talks/advice, if needed.

Even in realities with the worst Bad Ends imaginable, Star Simon appears, to offer that Simon the biggest hug he can, and to tell his alternate self, "You did the best you could, and I'm so proud of you. At least *one* of us will always remember that."

...

Feel free to use the idea, or not. No offense taken, believe me!

But either way, I see what y'all are doing. You're building something truly wonderful. ❤️

It's only natural a fellow Simon-alike would want to help out somehow, haha.

[generic-sonic-fan]

Sorry to not go for Omega with this but I have GOT to go with "assimilated sonic AU." I must know what you are cooking!

Ack! That WIP seems to be a really popular pick! You're one of three people to send me an ask about it.

This post right here pretty much covers the gist of it. This fic would be my maximum gratuitous angst fic, where bad things happen to Sonic and all of his friends (and his enemies) have to come together to help him.

It's arguably my most self-indulgent fic idea? It's just a lot of hurt/comfort and friendship. Which, if you couldn't tell, are my two favorite genres of fic to write. Even Eggman gets in on some of the friendship happenings, as a sub-arc for the fic would be him and Tails comparing and contrasting themselves to each other only to find out (in horror) that they're not so different after all.

Which means that, yes, the fic would contain an Eggman redemption arc of all things. What can I say? I'm a slut for redeeming autistic-coded characters. I cannot change. I'm the writer and in my little universe I just want everyone to be nice and get along 🥺👉👈

[serendipnpipity]

hey dear ser 💖💖 im very interested in paper faces on parade (phantom of the Opera reference??? yes please) masquerade is my absolute favorite song and that scene is the best in the whole movie as well (lowkey thinking about the reprise at the end makes me feel like crying) anyway if you couldn't tell i adore phantom so yes id love to hear more about that wip 👀

context: ask about my WIPS!!!

Ahhhh dear Esmé, of course!!! This one started off as a comic for the phasquerade back in June, but I absolutely fell in love with the world and it's turned into an AU that I'll get around to eventually!!

This is fully a self-indulgent work, btw. I wanted the whimsy of Victorian-era outfits (lol what do I know about historical periods), but shhh who needs period-typical homophobia/gender roles?

Heavily heavily inspired by "Love Story"/"But Daddy I Love Him", so you've got that forbidden/disapproved romance going. It was initially going to be about them falling in love, but it very quickly turned into me writing 15 years of the dnp journey, building a life together, all that jazz... into AU form. I've got loose ideas for plot points that I want them to hit, but it's all for fun right now! Hopefully when I have time, I can seriously get a crack on writing it.

(And of course it's a Phantom reference! You know how I love my musicals <3)

[tired-fandom-ndn]

you got me in an acelu spiral with those last couple acelu posts lol!!! so pls if you have time, acelu for the shipcest game!

Finally! Someone is indulging my acelu obsession!

♡: They'd be really young, I think their relationship would probably start around when Ace starts puberty but it wouldn't become actually romantic/sexual (as opposed to the puppy love of kids) for a few years.

In terms of realizing the taboo. . . I don't know if they actually would? I can't think of any way they would find out on their own, being feral gremlin children living in the jungle, and I don't think there's any adults who are big enough parts of their lives to notice their relationship AND would say anything about it. Makino might realize it but she keeps her mouth shut. Maybe it's wrong to the rest of the world, but don't her boys deserve to be happy? Even if that happiness only lasts on this little island?

♤: Only Makino knows at on Dawn Island. The Strawhats find out when they meet Ace in Alabasta and they're confused but. . . Luffy is happy so they can get past their own hangups for him. In a semi-canon universe (you all know what the divergence is), the Whitebeards find out post-Marineford; my favorite AU is actually where Ace joins the Strawhats after that because he can't stand to leave Luffy again. The Whitebeard pirates are upset but. . . they understand.

◇: The Strawhats walk in on them SO OFTEN. Neither of them are used to having sex in places where they can be caught and they don't really have the shame to care anyway. Luffy is also VERY LOUD so everyone hears too. Beyond sex though, they've been caught cuddling so many times, especially with Luffy on Ace's lap, his brother's arms very securely wrapped around him :)

♧: Luffy just starts talking about his incredible big brother! Fire Fist Ace!! You've heard of him, right!!! The other person usually tries to clarify that they're asking about a romantic partner, and Luffy is just "yeah! :)" and the conversation is confusing and frustrating for everyone except him.

Ace LOVES to brag about Luffy but he tends to hesitate to refer to him as his romantic partner too. It's not shame or self-consciousness, he just worries about putting even more of a target on his precious baby brother's back. That hesitation disappears after Marineford and he proudly tells everyone about Luffy as his brother AND lover.

☆: I think they would still be drawn to each other and still fall in love tbh. They just click so well, but it would be more of a struggle because Ace wouldn't have had Luffy's brightness and joy and constant love giving him hope in a dark childhood. Luffy would definitely be fighting an uphill battle to convince Ace that Luffy genuinely loves him.

¤: It's not really a factor to them. There's no issues legally or anything, since Garp couldn't legally adopt Ace because it would leave a paper trail, and their brotherhood isn't a barrier to their relationship, it's just another example of how devoted they are to each other and how they'll always choose each other.

[thefourchimes]

For the Fic Ask Game: 🥭🍇🥝

My bad for the late answer! Here we go:

🥭 Rank from most enjoyable/fun to write to least: Fluff, Smut, Angst, Crack.

Definitely Angst, Fluff, Crack, then Smut

I'd argue angst and fluff are tied, with crack being second only because I don't actually know how to write it intentionally (or more accurately, if the thing I write is even funny at all), but if I had it my way, it'd be a three way tie because I love all of them so much and it's fun to write for all of them when I can

And then there's smut—as mentioned before, I'm personally uncomfortable writing it, not to mention I don't even know how to 💀

🍇 Is there a particular scene/episode/book/etc that you want to just write a million fics about, over and over? Which one?

Oooh, this is an interesting one...I'm not fully sure if there's a specific one off the top of my head, as I just go with vibes and ideas out of the blue for the things I write

Though I guess Casita's fall scene and my love for the cool sisters spawned that one time travel au I thought about with how the two older cool sisters get sent back to the past after going back for Mirabel as Casita falls and protecting her, but I haven't made any progress with it recently

I also have this funny thing when I enter a new fandom, I sort of have a rite of passage every time of me thinking "is it possible to throw these characters into the underground of Undertale?" that tells me I'm really in deep in a media, hence why the Encanto Undertale AU exists right now

And on a more general note, anything that I'm hyperfixated on will usually always have ideas zooming in and attempting to form, like Encanto is right now

Case in point: my 235 page document of a (super super) self indulgent Encanto AU I'm planning right now (when will Mic ever shut up about this AU? Who knows!)

I probably forgot to mention others, but those are what I can think of atm eheh

🥝 What’s your favorite trope/AO3 tag to write?

Oooh, I got a couple I can think of rn:

Found family (or Friendship tags, and for actual ones that have related family members like Encanto, the actual Family tags, I just love dynamics and platonic relationships so much)

Angst with happy ending

Hurt/Comfort

Any relationship tag with the & because gen and platonic relationships ftw lets go!!

[Insert Character] needs a hug (I may love angst a little too much...)

Also, this is less favorite trope and more just an ao3 tag I like to use because of how convenient it is: "There's a Tag for That"

I sometimes just can't think of the right tag at that moment and couldn't be bothered to then, so that's another one lmao

Again, there are probably others but I can't remember them atm oof

Oh well, thanks for the ask!! :DD <33

[landwriter]

38, 69, and 74 for the fanfiction writing asks!

such lovely questions, thank you anon!

What is your most self-indulgent posted story? Far and away the You've Got Mail AU. If we're talking completed stories it's def Saint Morpheus hahaha

What are your favorite fics at the moment? I'm on a bit of a reading pause because I don't have the time BUT I have made one exception - astolat is currently posting Winter's Crown which is this really lore-filled idiot-man filled GoT Long Night story. Winter has just fallen upon us over here so I have been unable to resist and am reading the chapter updates before bed each evening. i love lore. i love idiot men (it's largely just jaime but still)

Do you have a fic you wish got a bit more love? yes! my lord! YES. Oaths! Oaths is what I'm doing now that I've written a few things and think I can actually do it.

It is my first Real Story. It will be novel-length when done. I have never before been more enthused about a story which is why it is extremely agonizing and also very funny for it to be the one thing I've written to sink almost totally under the radar.

It's a bit mortifying and vulnerable to openly believe SO much in something you're making, but I do, and I want CONVERTS, alright, so I am setting my shame aside and telling you why I love this fic:

This is my love letter to Not Normal Hob, to Dream's Humanity, and to redeeming yourself from the belief that your story has a fixed ending - or trying to save someone else from theirs, at least.

This is the first thing I've written that has a real, fleshed out world and characters and stakes beyond Hob and Dream's romance. It is the most ALIVE. It has the best sex I've written. The best friendship, too. The best devotion and ferocity and stubbornness and hope. There are parts to come that will make you wail and gnash your teeth, and parts to come that will wrap you up in a soft woolen cloak and kiss you on the forehead and promise you that things will turn out in the end, and you'll believe it, I hope.

HOWEVER. It's been up and underway for nearly two weeks now, and is so statistically enfeebled compared to everything else I've put on AO3 that I was actually briefly UTTERLY CONVINCED after posting the second chapter that I'd gone and made something embarrassingly awful I just couldn't SEE. But the incredible and feral response of a couple people in particular (love u @xx-vergil-xx and @fishfingersandscarves) made me realize, ok, perhaps that is not precisely the issue⁠—yet I am still a simple woman with limited time, led along by all your attention and encouragement. The more people who are reading Oaths and telling me, the more I will be able to justify putting into it, for the same reason Saint Morpheus was drafted at 6K and then edited to 12K after I posted the first chapter. I want every excuse to do that again.

My fingers are crossed that it catches on a bit more soon! It's the longest writing adventure I've embarked upon, and I would LOVE your company.

(fanfic writing asks)

[firstelevens]

hi zainab!!! 💫 🌈 🎀 🤲💌 for the fic writer asks?

[Barbie voice] Hi Mak! Thank you for sending these in! 💕

💫 what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

Honestly I'm verklempt any time someone decides to leave a comment, but it is absolutely my kryptonite when they choose to highlight a specific line or moment in the fic that they loved. I don't know what the magic is but so often the thing that gets highlighted is a bit that I was nervous about and it always makes me happy to know that I managed to make it work. (See also: any time someone says they can picture the characters delivering the dialogue that I wrote.)

🌈 is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with?

I think I mentioned in the author's note on chapter 4 of the Bake Off AU (aka Bread Week) that I'd struggled with writing the chapter, but I'm not sure if I ever made it clear how much I'd struggled? Like, I joked a lot that it took two years to get the Bake Off AU finished, and a big part of that delay was me not knowing how to write that conflict in chapter four, and nothing else could happen until I'd made that happen. I fought it so hard and gave up repeatedly and distracted myself by making the cake chart and writing fake tweets but I really thought the fic would never get done because I couldn't get past that scene. Everything I came up with felt melodramatic or not involved enough or out of character and it simply was not happening.

And then I started posting the fic anyway, because I thought I might trick myself into being brave, and then when I got to chapter four, Emma literally called me on the telephone and basically held my hand through it and I managed to make it happen. I'm still very proud of that.

🎀 give yourself a compliment about your own writing

I feel like I usually have the same answer to questions like this, so I will change things up and say that I think I write non-romantic relationships pretty well, actually? I know I mostly write shippy fic so it doesn't come up as much, but I think I've been able to put texture and history into friendships and familial relationships and I'm proud of that.

🤲 what do YOU get out of writing?

I've been telling myself and others stories for so much longer than I've been posting them on the internet, and on my best days, I think that really is the thing I'm searching for while writing: if I do it right, I get to watch the unfolding of a story that I would really like to read, and I know it would never exist in that way if I hadn't sat down to create it.

I also just really like connecting with people over over storytelling? Whether that's going back and forth with someone in the comments or chatting about an AU with a friend or having a person with whom I am allowed to be my most creative and silly and indulgent authorly self, I don't think I would ever get that in quite the same way if I wasn't writing.

💌 share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

Okay well first of all chapter two of the Bake Off AU prequel is up and it is SUCH a fun time and everyone should read it.

However that fic is fully written and therefore technically not a WIP, so instead I will say that the Formula 1 AU grows in scope by the day and I recently had to increase the chapter count because I'd outlined an interaction that Sam and Bucky have with Steve and Peggy's daughter and that grew so rapidly on its own that I needed to reserve a whole other chapter for plot progression stuff because I couldn't squeeze it in. Sometimes you simply must devote a whole chapter to Wholesome Uncle Energy.

[pentacentric]

Oooh, tell me about "pretty when you cry"....??? 😊

copying some of what i previously answered for the background, since this is from the same series that's already stsrted being published. Things That Can't Be Seen is canon-divergent (but not excessively) AU, wincest, powers/magic-adept sam, heavy on the world-building (there's a bit more backgound and 2 excerpts under the cut)

firstly, i have to say Pretty When You Cry is named after the VAST song not the lana del rey one which i didn't know about at the time (it's also good but a very different vibe). the story's actually about 2/3 done and already ridiculously long. it was also actually originally started to fill a kinkmeme request (ikr) and it got out of control and then i ended up fitting it into the series

it's set during sam's years at stanford. sam's experiences have made him a lot more comfortable with the more extreme side of his sexuality than in the show, and he's lacking a very good idea of what normal is as well. he continues to mourn his relationship with dean throughout, but he meets brady and they become cluelessly reciprocally-pining friends and eventually lovers. they're into kink pretty heavily (sam's subby and masochistic and bratty, brady is brash and has some lovely repressed aggression but is also very empathetic). but also he and brady genuinely love each other. i'll admit this story is somewhat self-indulgent since i discovered i really love sam/brady while writing this. it's like 50% kink, 50% sam/brady banter, 30% world-building, 20% sam being awkward while trying to figure out how to act like a person. it will get around to demon brady and also jess as well

series background: the major world difference is that the hunting community is slightly more structured (though no less dysfunctional or dangerous, maybe more so) and that it includes dedicated magic users within it (though on the fringes and generally with a lot of reticence and, for some, active resistance). the magic and its systems are also somewhat different and much more developed than in the show. as far as the winchester family goes, john never bothers to hide hunting or the paranormal from either of them. sam starts showing signs of powers (and not necessarily demonic) from a young age. there's also a family ritual that involves painting sigils on one's body that is central to the story

excerpts

this is prob more than you wanted, but you get 2 excerpts because i couldn't decide. 1st is some banter between sam and brady because there's a lot of that in the story. the second is one of my favorite parts that shows some of the magic in this world. they're both kinda long, sorry!

excerpt 1:

............

He shrugs. "And, to top it off...I really didn't know if you were into guys, even."

Brady stares at him. "How could you not know??"

"Well, I mean, I never really saw you flirt with men or anything."

"Yeah, ‘cause I was kinda focused on getting into your pants, you know? Um, had my hands all over you? Sleeping together in the same bed?"

Sam flushes. "C'mon, you're pretty affectionate with everyone, so how was I supposed to know?!"

"You really think I treat all my friends like I do you?" Brady shakes his head in disbelief. "Damn, I'm kinda proud that you think I'm that easy."

"Well, you kinda are. Once you get past the do-you-like-me-check-yes-or-no notes stage." Sam grins.

"Maybe I should have given you one of those in the first place." He looks at Sam. "You know what it finally took to get me to man up and do something?"

"Um, getting me desperate and naked and sobbing in your bed?"

"Well, now you're just giving me ideas for later..."

"It's Thursday tomorrow."

"...seriously, you can be such a buzzkill." He huffs. "Sure, that was the spark and all, but the fuse was already primed."

"...you don't prime fuses."

"Well, maybe you don't...you know what I meant, bitch. Anyways, it was Nathan."

"Nathan? What does he have to do with it?"

"Well, what he wants to do is you."

"What?"

"...well, I'm kind of reassured that at least it's not just me you're oblivious to. Anyways, he saw you at The Crucible."

Sam almost chokes. "What??"

"C'mon, Sam, you think you're the only kinky bastard in our group of friends? I mean, you might be the most extreme and all, but, really? Like, tell me you at least know that Tara does photography for the kink scene?"

"..." 

"Oh, c'mon! It's not like she hides it!"

"Well, she didn't show us her actual pictures! When she said sexy photos, I figured, like, standard boudoir stuff, maybe some pinup."

"Nope. I mean, I think she does a little of that on the side, but most of her stuff is pretty hardcore. Beautiful, though. Hot. You should ask her to see it sometime."

"Huh. Wow. But, um...yeah, Nathan saw me at the goddamn Crucible. And told you about it?"

Brady shrugs. "He worried you might be runnin' around behind my back. Said he wasn't sure it was his place to get involved, and maybe we had an open thing going on, maybe at least where scening was concerned, but that if it were him, he'd want to know. When I told him we weren't like that, he was genuinely surprised. Didn't believe me at first, said everyone would be cool with it, we didn't have to hide anything. Once I convinced him, he was all well, I gotta warn you, if you don't go for it, I will. Told me I had no idea what I was missing out on, by what he saw."

"Oh my god. I only went there once, and...fuck." Sam shakes his head, swallows. "I'm surprised he can still look me in the face and act like everything's normal."

"Well, it's not usually your face I catch him staring at.' Brady smirks.

Sam groans and buries his face in his hands. "I think I've hit my RDA of humiliation today."

"Pssshh, Nate definitely didn't think any less of you for what he saw, I can tell you that much. Anyways, he musta seen something on my face, cause he backed off a little on the goin' after you. Said he didn't really believe in the 'calling dibs' thing, but it was clear you and I had something goin' on, even if we were clueless, and that he wanted to give us a chance to get our shit together. Told me not to wait too long, though. That was about a week before you showed up all fucked up at my door that morning." Brady rubs at the back of his neck. "Was gonna say somethin' to you on the night I made you dinner. Chickened out."

"Declarations of love over spaghetti? Very Lady and the Tramp of you."

"Shut up, bitch. You love to suck my noodle."

Sam shakes his head with a grimace of disgust. "No...just no, dude."

"Eh, can't land 'em all...shoulda gone with 'you're the one that's both the lady and the tramp,' yeah? Anyways, it all worked out in the end, obviously. I got my Disney princess." He picks up his pencil and turns his attention back to the papers in front of him. "Still kinda kickin' myself that I missed that night at the Crucible. Sounded pretty fucking memorable. 'S not my usual club, though."

Sam's brain stalls, reboots a few times. "Wait...you have a 'usual' club? You go to kink clubs?? Which ones? When?"

Brady smirks, doesn't look up, though. "Hmm, yeah, but I think that's a talk for another night. Might get us a little worked up, you know, keep us from gettin' to sleep right away." He turns a page in his book. "And it is Thursday tomorrow, you know."

"...I hate you."

"Whatever you say, Sammy." He innocently bats his eyes at Sam, who hasn't moved and is still staring holes into Brady's head. "Don't you have an essay to finish, baby?"

...

The next morning, as Sam's getting ready to walk into class, he feels the buzz of his phone in his pocket. He smiles, pulls it out, sees a message notification. Flips it open, and his smile disappears as he freezes in front of the doors of the Keck Building. 

G (2 new messages)

Gideon.

His heart clenches. Misses a beat, maybe two. He barely even notices the annoyed girl with the curly pink hair that elbows him; absently stumbling out of the way of the flow of students without lifting his eyes from the phone.

He selects the notification, presses the green button.

-Sam. None of your dreams will come true.

He lets out a long, shuddering breath, the relief outweighing the resentment. Thumbs down to the second message, opens it.

-I won't have to hold your debt for long. I'll contact you soon for assistance.

That feeling at the bottom of his gut; that cold, that clenching. It's not fear. 

It's not.

It's just relief that Dean, his dad are ok. Will be ok, for now. Everything else, he can deal with. It's all worth it, for that.

Right?

___________________________

excerpt 2:

............

"So," Brady says, arms spread out, slowly spinning, inviting Sam to take in the whole of the small harbor as if he, himself, had made the sand, waves, and towering cliffs. "This is Gray Whale Cove."

Sam tilts his head back, turning in place to take it all in. "It's amazing." He says, sincerely. "Beautiful."

So maybe he's looking at Brady when he says it.

"Yeah, not too shabby, right? I thought you'd like it here."

And Sam does. It really is spectacular; the slopes and peaks of the cliffs around them a mix of jagged grey stone and ground-hugging green brush, the half-moon of faded gold sand between the promontories jutting into the water on either side of them, the deep steel-blue of the Pacific churning itself through green into foamy white as it thrashes against the sand and crags. The air smells of salt and growing things, but with that base note of mineral you sometimes find in places surrounded by exposed rock. Everything's a little washed over and silvery with the sharp, pale winter sun. His skin prickles in the wind that whips through the cove.

But beyond even that there's a fierce power here that buoys and exhilarates Sam, sets his heart racing. Brady, while he's often so empathetic to the moods and needs of people around him that it still surprises Sam, doesn't have an ounce of sensitivity to the supernatural (and Sam has said a prayer of gratitude for that more than once). But even those without any gift sometimes feel the pull of places like this, without really knowing why. Sam can feel it thrumming through him, ramping up with each deep pulse through him, making his nerves twang like plucked chords, sparking tiny fires in his subtle body. It reminds him of the bass in the Impala vibrating through the seats when the sound's turned all the way up and they're pushing past a hundred on some straight-as-an-arrow, cornfield-choked, midwest backcountry road or a sandswept, broadly curving desert highway in the salt flats of the southwest.

Combined with his already nebulous state from the events of the nights before and today's blessing, he's soaring on it like a leaf in a whirlwind. He can't put away the grin that's cracking his face open. He'd worry about how his eyes must look to Brady (mad, crazy, dangerous) if he could bring himself to grab even a tiny thread of the concrete, the practical world right now. He closes his eyes for a second, trying to center himself a little. If he lets this build too much more he's gonna spin out. Do something dumb and hurt himself or Brady, or, at the very least, the surge is gonna burn through him too fast and he'll be left even more depleted and thinned-out after it's gone.

Regretfully, he pulls up a few of his barriers; not all of them, not all the way. Modulates the rush of energy tearing through him. Less firehose, more broad river to float in. He opens up his eyes slowly, nictitating their astral membranes at the same time, to get a look at the source of the energy swirling through the cove.

It's magnificent. A light-limned nest, a vast net of vital elemental magic and intrinsic etheric energy, woven, knit, exquisitely around them.

The major ley line that skims along the California coast, but only touches shore rarely, intersects here, running right up the length of the beach: a spitting, twisting, living rope of light, pulled taut between the bookend promontories, right over their heads, wide as a 6-lane interstate. But it also crosses no less than six smaller, less-deeply-sourced power lines. They spiral up and over and through the surrounding cliffs and hills; one even snakes up from the ocean floor, through the waves, its light refracting and breaking all green glowing through the turbulent water. But on top of that, there's also the confluence of three fundamental elements—the vast waters of the ocean, the earthy bare rock of the cliffs and hills, and the air of the blue sky high above and the wind funneled down into the cove. They're balanced well, the tension between where they push and pull and merge sending out fountains of branching, fractal luminescence at sudden and irregular intervals. 

Sam doesn't know all the power places in North America, of course, but he knows of the biggest, most important ones, and this place he's not heard of. It's much more modest than many of those famous ones in terms of sheer power. It's doesn't have the gut-wrenching sheer force of the convergence of two major ley lines that some spots have, nor does it have the fulgent potential of a place where all four elements meet in equal power, but the mix of the two types of earth energies makes for a delicious nexus of magics. It makes Sam want to strip his clothes off and bathe naked in it.

Which, considering the few other groups of visitors speckled across the beach, might not be the best idea.

Though he'd bet Brady would appreciate it.

With that thought pulling at the corners of his mouth, he turns and looks at his boyfriend standing on the sand behind him.

He's never looked at Brady before with the astral veil lifted, it's not something he wants to make a habit of in his new, normal life. But he can't resist, just this once, and he's not surprised to find the view just as magnificent as what surrounds him. In his own, entirely non-biased, opinion, of course. Brady's aura isn't simple, but Sam didn't expect it to be. It's tangled, knotted, bruised in some places, in others loops in on itself protectively. But it's bright, and threaded with colors that resonate and shift. And it's warm, so warm. It sends tendrils out in some place, seeking out the light of others; vulnerable, but full of a pure kind of desire to connect. Many of them keep drawing back to Sam, slipping along his edges, under the surface. Their borders melt together briefly when they touch, and Sam lets one of his barriers down, just a little, feels Brady penetrate him, warmth spreading out from where they touch. He shivers; it's so incredibly sensual, intimate; he can't help himself. He surges forward, drops his mouth to Brady's, slips his eyes closed; lets Brady's warm tongue and warm emanations push into him.

Breathless minutes later, he opens his eyes, the mundane world filling them now, all glimpses of the metaphysical tucked away again. Brady's smiling at him, bemused and fond.

"I guess you really needed this, huh?"

Sam smiles back. "I guess I did."

With his boundaries tamped down now, the thrumming energy of the place is muted now, in the background. And, while Sam’s still feeling some of the residual euphoria, it's more of a gentle invigoration instead of the inundation from before. He'll only leave here a little recharged compared to how he felt before, but he's also not at risk of spinning out on energy intoxication.

"C'mon," Brady gestures with his head towards the north end of the cove. "Let's walk a little."

[rolloollor]

Is there any background of How do you come up with your ideas for witting

Oh, thank you for this question, I'm flattered someone's interested enough to ask!

Brace for rambling about the writing process

This isn't something I think of consciously, so I may not be 100% sure about the answer myself. I mainly read literature (Dostoevsky's my favorite) and fantasy novels and I don't doubt that the things I've read have influenced me in various ways. I'm no Dostoevsky or Le Guin, though, much as I might like to be. I'd cut off my left foot if it meant I could write something like Tehanu...

Ultimately, I don't know where the ideas come from exactly. There's no, like, thing I do where I tell my brain to make something and then it does. Ideas are like a background process and sometimes it can take months before you come up with something. I don't try and model my writing on any particular story. Instead, my writing is an amalgamation of everything I've read/watched/played and experienced.

I will say that the epilogue ending to Dyed Dark as Night is similar in idea to something hugely self-indulgent I wrote years ago that I never shared and no one aside from myself ever read. I try to keep everything I write, since you never know what you can use later... I took passages (mainly things about Jehan) from my failed attempt at a dragon captive fic and put them in Sacerdos et Draco, for example.

I will say that I've lived abroad. I'm originally from the US, but I've lived in an Eastern European country and two East Asian countries (I'm in one right now). Living in these places and learning how to rely on myself and interact with a variety of people have helped my writing, I think. Writing is hugely aided by life experience. It's pretty obvious when you're reading a fanfic written by someone in high school, for example. Not that people shouldn't write until they're older, but just that someone in high school has a more limited range of experience, all things equal, than someone in uni or someone who's supporting themselves.

I'm mainly a panster when I write. I usually have a general idea of what I want to do, but no outline. Planning takes the fun out of it for me... Using Sacerdos as an example, I wanted to write something with priest Rollo getting seduced by dragon Malleus and it just kind of flowed from there. We start with Rollo in the church, Malleus appears, and then things just keep happening. The rhythm and pacing of the prose itself is always on my mind, so sometimes I'll write a scene and go, "Something different needs to happen right... here!" This pantser method requires a lot of revision, though. Like, at first, I couldn't decide whether or not I wanted Rollo to have magic, but after writing the first chapter, I realized it'd be way better and more interesting if he did. I sometimes will write a passage, realize it sucks, and mentally bookmark it. After some period of time, I'll figure out something better. Whatever you write, it will never be perfect the first time. Even huge writers have to revise and edit their work, though they usually have help. For the record, I don't have a beta reader...

For me, ideas are a waiting game. Either that or there's a general concept that appeals to me, like the priest AU or goat Rollo. It's also a lot easier to come up with ideas when there's already established lore and rules. I've written an original novel (never published) before and that stuff is, naturally, harder.

This isn't very helpful, is it? I dunno... You can't force ideas, but with mallerollo there were at least a few very obvious things that could be done (in my eyes) that I did. Now the obvious stuff is done, but I'm toying with other ideas. I'm considering doing a fairy tale adaptation, for example, but no promises since I'm not even done with the fic I'm working on yet.

If anyone's interested in writing, my advice is kind of what everyone else says. Read a lot and experience things. If I hadn't moved to another country, I wouldn't know what it's like to try and adapt to another culture. Sometimes it's physical things, like I wouldn't know what a blizzard is like if I stayed where I was in the US. But there are certain things you can't experience, like magic or seeing a dragon, that you have to approximate as best you can. Novels help with that.

Sorry to be vague... but I guess it's kind of a vague process.

[sneakyfox55]

1. I read your stuff and commented and you just started. Reading my stuff??? And you were so sweet???

2. And then when I found you in tumblr you just started talking to me acting like you. Were an equal to me when you were my inspiration????

3. You roleplayed with me and indulged me in my dumb stuff

4. You listen to my ramblings and you're actually the only non creator who knows of Wisp's Backstory not even my best friend for 2 years knows what happened.

5. You work yourself so hard and never let yourself relax because you're so dedicated which is admirable but please take it down a notch and care for yourself

6. Despite me not doing anything for you, you do so much for me??? I'm buried in debt to you ily

7. You are always fun and interesting and I love talking to you

8. Your mushy brothers is the reason I have mushy brothers because I was self conscious about it

9. Even if you don't know what I'm talking about you listen and my goodness ily

10. You make so much Giftfics for meee

11. It's so fun to bully Wisp because you're so entertaining to

12. I love being able to talk about true crime without having the other treat real people like fictional characters

13. You write so much skelebros... and you write them so well...

14. You read my stuff despite you being good enough to probably be with better more known creators

15. You're only 18 and you've made so much stuff and you've inspired so many people and you have so many followers

16. I'm literally so fucking weird and you don't even blink an eye at it???

17. You always cheer me up when I'm in a bad mood

18. Your Sans angst.... ouagh...

19. YOUR PAPYRUS ANGST... OUAGH...

20. The newest giftfic where Sans is so sappy where he tackles his brother out of love???

21. You thought about me and wrote a chapter inspired by me :')

22. Even with my delusional memories you comforted me and helped me so much

23. Even with my really angsty whump stuff you encourage me and tell me how you like it

24. Speaking of that you shower me with love and idk why????

25. You're so creative and I don't know how you get it???

26. You made an au inspired by my interpretation???

27. AND YOU PERFECTED IT SO QUICKLY TO WHERE IT MAKES SENSE WHILE MINE IS REALLY LAZY

28. I was supposed to be doing my homework but I'm doing this instead just for youuuuuuuuuuuuu

29. You light up my life so muchhhh

30. You're literally one of my favorite authors. When I see a Gmail with your name I scramble to open it

31. Almost every author I know there are parts of their work I think is less than stellar. Not with you. I can't think of one part.

32. You put stuff into words so well while I can't and just try to somewhat convey what I'm feeling

I'm actually tired af so I'm going to conk out and continue tomorrow ilyyyyyyyyy

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HOW

HOW

WOH

HOW

HOW

DARE

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

EVERYONE

EVERYONE LOOK

LOOK AT THIS IDIOT (AFFECTIONATE) AND WHAT THEY DID FOR ME WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS I LOVE YOU I DIDN'T EVEN??? I COULDN'T EVEN WORD MY OWN LIST WELL AND I WAS BAD AT IT YOURS IS SO MUCH BETTER BUT WHY DID YOU DO THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

(ALSO SORRY ABOUT, THE CONFUSION ABOUT MY BIRTHDAY/AGE, FOR ANYONE WONDERING I ACCIDENTALLY PUT THEM UNDER THE IMPRESSION MY BIRTHDAY HAPPENED ALREADY BUT I DON'T TURN ADULT UNTIL LATER THIS YEAR DSHJGDSJDSGJHDS)