#is the fic what I would consider good by my own standards? debatable

[white-weasel]

Damn just sat down and churned out my first Saw fanfic which is a wild sentence to even think about tbh

[bacchicly]

A few imperfect thoughts about writing fat characters respectfully

By me :

A short (5'2"), fat (approx 300 pounds), middle aged (turning 42 thank god), married to not a fat man, mother of a pre-teen, white, CIS, Anglo, Canadian, upper-middle class woman who writes fic (including smut) about a character who is fat by TV and Hollywood standards (Penelope Garcia)

Note: fat hate or debates about whether being fat is healthy or not will not be tolerated on this post. That is not what this post is about. This is about giving some insight into what writers may want to consider when trying to respectfully include more fat characters in their work and generally moving towards writing doing less harm to fat people.

This post started with me wanting to respond to someone honnestly asking "how do I write good descriptions of fat people" because they wanted to write more fat characters and write them authentically (and I assume in a way that would be respectful to fat people) which is an awesome! ...Or maybe it started a few months ago when a writer friend asked about whether a fat character in a fic borrowing a shirt or hoody from her fit boyfriend made sense. ...Or maybe it started way back when I started writing my first fan fic featuring Penelope Garcia partly in response to being irritated about how so many writers wrote her as a young woman and were often silent on her size or spent a lot of time on her insecurities about her body... anyhoo that's where I come from... doesn't make me an expert except maybe on my own unique experience with a fat body...rather more a fellow muddler / fat character writer enthusiast.

THE BASICS

This first part is a quick list of basics you'll read in other posts about writing characters in general - but we'd better get them out of the way because they apply:

Every character is unique and they way they act and think and feel tends to be a product of some mix of what they look like, how their body works or doesn't, how their brain works and doesn't, their "personality", what they were taught, their unique experiences, and the situation/society they are currently in. There are patterns (which is why we get tropes) but the fun thing is that small things can make big differences. So to write an authentic character, it helps to have a fairly clear sense of at least some of those elements and do some imagining about how all of that would funnel into the moment your writing.

The amount to which you describe character bodies and the style which you use to describe them tends to depend on genre, what the heck is going on in your story, the pov you're writing from, the reason you're writing etc. So their are no hard or fast rules. There may be norms for certain styles of fiction, but then it's up to you to decide if it's stronger for you to lean into those norms or to write "against" them at a particular moment.

In order to be more respectful and less harmful to fat people (especially if you see value in actively challenging the anti-fat status quo), you may have to change how you describe all bodies in your work, as well the attitudes both fat people and non fat people have about bodies in general.

Now that that's out of the way... let's get specifically to my thoughts on writing fat characters. I'm going to divide this part into tips for DESCRIBING FAT BODIES, FAT BODIES IN SPACE, and THINKING AND FEELING IN A FAT BODY.

TIPS FOR DESCRIBING FAT (OR OTHER) BODIES

I would say that both consistency and diversity across the work is important, by this I mean :

Consistently describe bodies in about the same amount of detail across your work for the same type of character regardless of body type. So protagonists should get about the same depth and breath of body descriptions as each other regardless of body type. Same goes for vilalns, supporting characters etc. Sometimes people are mute about the look and shape of "strait sized" character bodies (because what's to describe - they are just "normal") but then spend a bunch of time on "other sized" bodies or vice versa (in this case, the fat body is erased usually because of some form of internalised fat hate or phobia paired with "if you can't say anything nice" don't say anything at all.) If you're doing either of these things, I'm not saying it's wrong and has to be fixed- I'm just saying it's a flag that you may want to think about why you are writing differently about different body types and what your work is saying about what bodies have value and which don't.

Diversity Bodies in the real world come in a lot of different shapes and sizes (I know I know obvious woman strikes again) but if you are writing stories with fairly large casts and everyone has the same body type - there better be a good reason for it within the narrative. Truthfully there are cases where this does make sense to some degree... if you're writing about a group where there are physical requirements and standards for the folks in that world (ballet dancers, fire fighters, cops, soldiers, fbi agents) there may or may not be less diversity in body type and more homogeneous attitudes to body norms within the group - and certainly those who are outside of the norm may be commented on or feel like they are "other". But if you are in a more free setting - if you write without a diversity of body types - especially in settings where there is diversity - that is probably a clue that you're not thinking enough about what your various characters look like and may be "normalizing" one type of body over others. Similarly, if you are writing about a real time and place where there is evidence that there were fat bodies and you have none...that's another flag to ask yourself why.

The magical tools in your toolkit for describing fat and other bodies: Body neutrality and POV

Body neutrality is about not loving bodies and not hating bodies just accepting bodies as they are....or in this case describing them as they are. No poetic language. No judgement. Just this is what this character looks like. If you're struggling to do this, I suggest doing a body map for at least two characters with different body types - possibly one that you find easy to think of positively (in this case likely someone thin or at least fit) and one that you find more difficult to describe positively (in this case someone fat).

Describe them head to toe, naked and then clothed, in detail - acurately but not poetically. Start with their feet and then work up bit by bit. Pay attention to things like hair, scars, shape of joints, acne, tightness or looseness of skin, colour of skin, nails, fat, lack of fat, muscle tone, where do they hold their stress, what's in the bowels, how well they do or don't work, do they have their appendix, what they ate last, proportions (is their torso long or short compared to their legs), lungs - how much do they hold, are they healthy? - now describe their throat, shoulders, hands, hair, then end with face.

The only rule is no positive or negative connotations to anything. it's neither good nor bad that they have stretch marks - they just do and they have faded to silver. Now that you "see them' clearly - now look at them through the eyes of someone who loves them in a familial way...what do they see most? what words do they use? now through someone who is attracted to them sexually and love them and aren't ashamed...what do they see most? what words do they use? Now through the eyes of someone who hates them or wants to change them? or a child? or a dog? Now... how does your character feel about these descriptions? Now you have a variety of words you can draw on to describe the body and you also should have a fairly good idea of what is a more skewed view of the body and a more realistic view.

Also...it can be helpful to remember there are no consistently good or bad words to describe bodies - it depends on context and who is using the words. It's a lot like how sick can be used to describe something negatively or positively depending on the agreed upon meaning of the word by a group.

DESCRIBING BODIES IN SPACE/MOTION

Ok here's the thing - for every activity you can think of - there is a fat body that does it well and a fat body that can't do it easily or at all and there are a lot of reasons for both. Often it has to do with the fact that a lot of equipment is built for people who are 250lbs or less; and anything for bigger people tends to cost a premium. Also, if it's not an easy new skill to acquire with the body you've got...it may take longer and more bravery to keep pushing through to achieve mastery. People may try to discourage you from pursuing things. Sometimes out of prejudice, sometimes out of impatience, sometimes out of caring.

So deciding what your character's body can do easily and what it can't and why is more important than me giving you a list of words for how to describe fat movements.

My suggestion is: do your research. What sorts of body types have done the activity in the real world? What are the exceptions? What changes? So for example if a fat person is climbing a mountain - do they need more help? Different equipment? A different route?

Things to consider:

- equipment / things that can have weight limits: bunk beds, roller coasters, scooters, waterslides, camping chairs, elevators, trampolines, some bikes, life jackets (finding one that fit was a nightmare), exercise balls, airline seats (learning to ask for the seatbelt extender without second thought or shame was a lifesaver)

- not all fat people have pain, those who do will move taking into account the specifics of the pain - same as a lean person

- when I was pregnant I just got more cylindrical and did not get a classic belly. I moved well and easily all the way through my pregnancy, I had none of the back pain or ankle pain some people get. I stood for a lot of my labour. I gave birth on my hands and knees. Other fat people will have had different experiences of pregnancy...but that was mine.

- clothing can have a huge impact on what bounces or jiggles and what doesn't

- most (but not all) fat people I know are particularly sensitive to appearing sweaty or smelling bad

- how winded someone gets is not directly correlated to body size, neither is heart rate or breathing style; I have theatre training and grew up swimming - I breath very slowly and very deeply normally - so when I talk a slow deep breath...it is very slow and deep indeed. I have always been fat but can swim forever - I have always gotten winded and kind of dizzy running... Other fat people may be opposite.

- people do not "see fat" consistently. People regularly underestimate how fat I am (by 100+ pounds or many clothing sizes) because I am short, well spoken, proportioned in a way that is seen as fairly typical, and very mobile and very light on my feet. Someone who weighs less than me but is slower moving, dull witted, in a sour mood, is illl, or poorly dressed may be perceived as much heavier than than someone the same weight or heavier who is behaving/clothed differently (which can change how much fat hate someone experiences) and definately heavier than they are. Height also changes how people perceive weight.

- many stores still don't carry plus sized clothing, but eventually i sort of got used to it - although some days it makes me angry and other days sad

- chairs with arms or the occasional booth can be uncomfortable or just plain impossible to sit in, it's probably partly my ADHD but I often forget this until it happens; for taller and fatter people than me this can be a much more regular occurrence.

- once (if) a character figures out how to dress/move their body in a way that feels comfortable and meets general standards (or at least theirs) of respectability - they may not think that much about their body...or at least until something external draws attention to it

- I don't like feeling like I'm squishing people, so I will make myself small and still on buses or at the theatre, I also don't like sitting on laps or being lifted or carried.

- I often feel much taller than I actually am - except when I am standing right beside someone taller or am trying to reach something on a high shelf. The same principle applies - I feel larger next to smaller people and smaller next to larger ones.

- clothing and what I'm carrying also changes how I move (just like my lean counterparts)

- I don't lounge, my car seat is set almost straight but I sit further back than my brother in law who has a similar height and weight - he leans the seat back but pulls closer. I don't nap. My leaner husband both lounges and naps.

- some fat folks eat, walk, and move quickly - some slowly; figuring out which your character does, when they behave "out of character", and why these are their preferences will go a long way to creating an authentic feeling fat character

- acne is a thing and learning to accept ones rolls and tummy aprons (and thus take care of them properly) is a common challenge; although many do it naturally without thinking much of it. You lift your breasts and wash underneath - you lift you belly and wash underneath.

- fat bodies have the same reactions as everyone else: they tingle, burn, get numb, get goose bumps, like to be touched in certain places and in certain ways, feel the breeze, get hot, get cold, shiver, stretch, relax, get aroused, feel release, hold tension, feel capable and strong, feel weak...no matter who you are sitting in a chair that's too small for you will put pressure on your body and feel uncomfortable or safe ..you can explore what that is like. Sometimes it is a reassuring sensation. Sometimes it is uncomfortable. This is the same for fat bodies. It just may happen more frequently and depending on your character's context and experience the emotional reaction / thoughts that are generated may be a bit different.

THINKING AND FEELING IN A FAT BODY.

I think I touched on some of this in some of the earlier sections...but here I want to talk a bit about my experience of being fat and my thoughts about it - your fat characters may or may not feel similarly...but my hope is that you at least think about options as opposed to only writing one or two types of fat character.

I mainly "feel" fat in moments when it is pointed out to me or I am limited in what I can do because of it

I quite like my body, it is my home and I feel very connected to it's features. In my experience this is unusual for many people in North American society regardless of actual body shape or weight. Sometimes I feel guilty for not hating my body the way "I am supposed to" and wonder vaguely if my body would be different if I could hate it more (although as I get older I doubt it).

I do feel some pressure to be a cheerful "good" fat person as a way to stay safe and survive.

Nothing makes people more uncomfortable than me calling myself fat without judgement or asking for accomodation matter of factly. It took me a long time to feel comfortable doing so, but I do it now all the time and it makes my life better.

I felt some pressure to be the fun friend who people feel comfortable eating whatever they wanted with and I often felt like I was depended on to order dessert so they could too. This may have been all in my mind though.

Fat bellies can be very intimate places.

Not all fat people have dieted, but many have. I was lucky enough to never be forced into a diet. I did try keto once but it was a bit intense and nuts so I stopped. I learned a bunch doing it though.

Medical people not treating you appropriately when your fat is 100% a thing.

Internalised fat hate and fat phobia is a thing for many fat people and it pops up at weird moments.

I don 't.give a damn about being in a bathing suit. As long as it fits and my boobs and butt.aren't.falling out - I am happy and feel very attractive. In fact I am probably at my most comfortable in a bathing suit or naked. My body is mine in both those instances.

To reach the "healthy weight" for my height - I would have to lose half of my body mass. That is a lot of me to loose. Embarking on something like that would be totally different than loosing 5 or 10 pounds. Trying to navigate the various medical opinions about whether being fat is bad or not is exhausting.

For me, being fat and older is easier than being fat and younger. This could easily be the opposite for someone else.

Some fat people are into sex, some are not . Some folks are into sex with fat people and some are not. Some are nice about it. Some are not. Some want nice. Some do not.

Fat people are all around you living their best life or their worst life or somewhere in between. We know we are fat. We sometimes care and sometimes don't.

Ok that's it. I don't know if it will help anyone or if it's just a collection of rambles - but at the end of the day...fat people are just people. We are not going to go away. We are all sorts. We are the heroes of our own stories. We are people who are loved, depended on, hated, ignored, and/or spotlighted.

Some fat people think about being fat all the time. Some rarely. Just please don't erase us or other us.

Just by taking the step to interrogate your own biases and any feelings / assumptions you have about fatness/thinness is a huge step and will help limit the harm you could unintentionally do to fat people...actually to all people. Like all forms of hate and intelorance - Fat hate hurts EVERYONE. I would argue it privileges a few...but even that can be excruciating for the individuals who strive to retain that priviledge. We need to dismantle it.

[readychilledwine]

Hey Liz! I've noticed you don't use MDNI for your smut. Can I ask why?

Warning - controversial opinions below cut and a long post

I have several reasons, but I want to start by saying that I respect everyone's opinions on this, and I hope that even if our opinions are different, we can discuss this like civilized humans.

To give you all some background:

I grew up in a fairly strict traditional midwest home. My parents held my purity to a very different standard than my brothers. My virtue was to be a gift to my future husband, and my body was to be a temple and treated with kindness and worship. We can get into my whole sexual awaking later, but I will tell you all, smut fanfics, lemons as they were once lovingly called, were part of my sexual education and how I learned my body was reacting normally as a teen. I lied about my age on fanfiction websites constantly because I have always preferred fanfiction smut over traditional porn. So, as someone who grew up in my background, let me first say, I can understand why a minor would make the choice to read on here instead of watching.

Anyways, to my reasonings:

1. The children I legally have responsibilities to and monitor are my daughter and occasionally my nephews and nieces when we are watching and caring for them. If my daughter came to me as a teen and said she found a smutty story online, we're going to discuss it and make a plan that best fits us regarding everything. As all parents should, from jump, when allowing children and teens access to the internet.

2. Legal ages are different everywhere. 18 to 19 is a good standard, but there are countries where teens as young as 16 are considered adults and countries where you are not considered an adult until 21. I ultimately am not creepy enough to stalk your page, ask where you live, figure out how old you are, and then look into majority laws in your country. That's how you end up on the registry.

3 - Putting MDNI will not stop a minor from reading my fics. They're going to do what they're going to do, and there are very few jurisdictions where I can legally be held liable for that due to the following reason:

4 - Nothing is preventing a minor from lying on their profile regarding their age. We've all done it. Let's be adults and admit that. As long as you are not actively sending "pornographic content" (which in itself is debatable as to what that means in different locations,) you normally cannot be held liable.

5 - Trying to message me is like pulling teeth from a bear right now, so I very rarely interact with people in my messages, and I am getting horrible regarding my comments (and I'm working on that, please know I see them and am always grateful.) The people I do actively message back, I do stalk you all a little (because i do love you and want to talk to you💕) and I do not actively send those people smut related things.

6 - video related porn is incredibly harmful to the young mind. That's coming from someone who has a sex positive lifestyle. Porn sets unrealistic expectations for teens and young adults regarding how sex should look, how it feels, and how it should sound. It's actually a huge topic of debate and discussion in the psychology and sex therapy world. I personally would rather have a teen read smut instead of watching porn. I could write an essay on this alone.

7 - Smut novels are also easy to purchase and access for teens. I do not see a difference in allowing in allowing a teen to read a smut novel versus smutty fanfiction. Again, AS LONG AS THE AUTHOR IS NOT DIRECTLY SENDING IT TO THEM.

8 - Using the "You are responsible for your own consumption" divider with my warnings and a cut is typically warning enough. By seeing that divider, seeing the warnings, and making the choice to open it and read any ways, the minor is now choosing to do something and accessing it by their own choice.

Is all of this to say I want minors actively interacting with my smut? Negative. Please don't.

I think it's very important to make sure you are marking it with something, but I do not think explicitly putting MDNI is going to do much more than just using the above divider.

Again, this post is NOT me saying minors should interact with my smut stuff or message me about it. Read in peace and don't tell me.

I'd like to leave you all with one of my favorites poems:

Fantastic Breasts and Where to Find Them by Brenna Twohy 💕

[khaleesiofalicante]

Hi! Absolutely loved the last chapter of LDV!

I just wanted to ask for a few recommendations, mostly about trans people in sports competitions and events like the Olympics

You see, where I'm from, it's still a pretty "controversial" debate. People think trans people shouldn't be in sports because "they got an unfair place" let it be an advantage or disadvantage.

I know most of the people that say that, don't really care about trans people, they only care about excluding them.

But others are ignorant. Myself included. And I'd like to educate myself more about it, about the rights of trans people and how they are constantly discriminated (it can also be in other places, not only sports. God knows people like to turn a blind eye on that too) because I'll like to point out the discrimination and unfairness of all this, but I don't have enough knowledge to give a solid argument

Even with my friends, they agree with those people sometimes. And I know they don't do it out of cruelty rather than ignorance, but I would like to call them out and make them see the reality, not just what transphobic and misogynistic people tell them

Sooo, do you perhaps have some research or books about it? Anything is welcome! I've been wanting to ask this for so long, but I don't know why I just never got around to do it.

Thanks <3

Oh, I’m so glad you asked about this. The reason why I include these topics and information in my fics is to make people think and to encourage more conversations like this! Good on you for wanting to know more! 

The first thing is that each country (and its governing sports body) has its own regulations about including trans people in sports. But two common things across most countries are - a) it primarily affects trans women. They are the ones who are scrutinized and subjected to examinations and then banned from the sport. b) the main ‘test’ used to eliminate trans woman from sports (mainly athletics) is their testosterone level. Each country (and even the Olympics committee responsible for this) has a bar/standard for the acceptable testesterone level for female athletes for various sports and if you have more than this, you can’t compete in it. 

Now while the above might sound fair to many, the things to consider here are that 1) the limit they’ve set is concerningly low. This means that some cis women (like those who have PCOS or any other hormonal condition) might even be cut off because of this strategy to eliminate trans women from various sports. 

Some countries/states on the other hand, like certain states in America (As we’ll see in LDV) outright ban trans people from participating in certain sports. This includes Idaho, Texas, Tennessee, Alabama etc. At least 20 of them, if I’m not wrong. It’s the same in my country. In many countries too. 

You are so right to point out that a lot of people would actually prefer trans women out of sports because they think trans women take up spaces that are meant for (cis) women. But if you really think about this, this whole “trans women are trying to take your place” argument was created to distract us from the real barrier to women’s sports - which is the patriarchy (this is a whole other topic and I can rant all day). But pitting cis women against trans women for the sake of ‘fairness’ is truly awful, but we do see it happen a lot - mostly out of ignorance, not malice. 

I did however bring intersex into the conversation - because the experience of intersex athletes are so different from that of trans athletes. Some intersex people don’t even know they are intersex, and then they suddenly find out about it when they are put in situations like this where their participation in a sport is banned/eliminated because of their testosterone level. The people who are usually targeted are masculine-looking and extremely well-performing athletes in women’s sports. If you fall into this category, then you might be asked to do a testosterone test (just because!) and then you might be eliminated from the sport. 

But wait. It gets worse. We’ve had actual cases where intersex athletes have had forced surgeries performed on them under the guise of allowing them to perform in the sporting event. Can you believe this is an actual thing that is happening and people aren’t talking about it? Some famous case studies you can read/watch about is Caster Semanya (which is very recent and literally ongoing). 

I didn’t know much about this either (I learned about it in my sexuality class) and decided to include it in LDV because it seemed so fitting. But I’m glad you want to know more. 

Here are some quick resources. I’m sharing both reading and watchable materials depending on your learning preference. 

VIDEOS:

A great!!! video about understanding trans people in sports - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Fb48tivB-0

Intersex people and their olympic experiences - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4rAHqh9OghY AND https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HWP6OuifFOw

READING MATERIALS: 

A good introductory article that has some research too

A case study about intersex people and the olympics

https://www.katrinakarkazis.com/testosterone-an-unauthorized-biography (Definitely read Katrina’s work!)

I hope this is helpful. Keep looking for answers and ask good questions! 

[dramionediscussion]

Hey, so I'm the original anon that started the whole 'novel wordcount debate' (sorry about that 💀💀💀).

First, I'd like to say that I didn't know you were using the Hawthorne and Vine website, so that on it's own was enough of an explanation to me, thank you for answering.

But now that the debate has started, I think I should just clarify my point of view and what made me write that ask in the first place: I've seen a lot of people in ff discourse claiming that 50k words are 'short fics' or 'novellas' and they only ever care about reading longer fics. And it's just not true, going by the broader definition of what a novel is. And when I saw that post on dramioneasks, I guess I just felt the need to point that out. I never meant to be rude.

As an author myself, I know how incredibly hard it can be to write a story (and it's a fact that not all readers are aware of). On a good day, I can write 2-3k words at most and on bad days, I don't write anything at all. So to me, reaching a wordcount of 50k is quite an achievemnt and it makes me proud to be able to write a novel! It's a very nice feeling.

But then, I go on the internet and I see that people think 50k words aren't considered a novel and I guess I just feel disappointed with myself, I guess. (Which I know it's silly, but that's just how my brain works).

And maybe I missed something, but I ever only see you guys updating the 'novel lenght' tag with those 200k words fic. There isn't a separate tag nor a masterlist for the 50-100k (as far as I know, the tags have been acting up as of late, so forgive me if you do have a masterlist for those). And I don't know about other people, but I always bookmark those masterlists on my computer, so the chances of someone picking up a fic to read from your blog is greater when they are in masterlists (at least from what I understand)

This is what I meant when I said it was 'unfair' for the rest of the authors that don't write fics as longas 200k.

But I do know that you post lots of fics everyday and I love the work that you do. I didn't mean to sound as if I was trying to change the way you do things.

So yeah. Sorry for sparking up that debate. I hope I cleared my point of view up.

Hi.

I get it. Seeing the post unintentionally added on to your frustration.

We do have tags for other types of fics. Oneshots, T rated, short chapters, etc.

The thing is, some dramioneasks followers asked for fics of that length. They asked for longer fics. Someone specified "novel length 200k fics". That's what they called it, that's what H&V called it. So after a few asks, I made a post that I can send people to when they ask again.

Fics of that length are not common and we continued to get asked about those types, so I continued making posts.

I didn't mean to discriminate against authors who don't write fics of that length. We never had anyone say that before. That wasn't my intention.

I was just giving our followers what they want. They asked multiple times, I made a general masterlist type post for them. No one asked for 50k word fics. And if they do, it would be a bit impossible to make lists for it since 50k - 100k is standard lengths for most fics.

I feel like there was just one big miscommunication between us.

- Lisa

[obsessivelycartoonish]

Hello again~ It's the anon who asked about the 2012/Rise brotherly love debate from earlier. Thank you for the answer, it was actually really helpful. ^_^

I just feel stupid for the fact that I had such a hard time understanding it myself.. I guess maybe it's because I myself am an only child who's never had to deal with rowdy siblings that like to tease you, roughhouse you, throw jabs at you or would beat you up for taking the last oreo in the cupboard (which I now consider a blessing), so I'm just not very used to the idea of that "non-overt" or rough type of love.

Ironically enough, there was a time when I used to strongly envy other kids who had siblings when I was very young; I would've loved to have a cute little baby or a kid my own age to play games with every single day! (That was just what I thought having a sibling was meant to be like back then. 😅) But now? As a 21-yr-old introvert who cherishes her privacy, when I think about all the all the annoyances & inconveniences and fights, to the downright brutal physical/emotional torment that I've seen some siblings put each other through, whether in media or irl, I realise that the life I have is perfectly fine without one. No offense. 😅

(Not *all* siblings, I know, some have truly shown how caring & loving they are and are always look out for each other and I love that~♡^_^ But still, I'm good. 😄)

Okay, okay I'm getting off track, back to the turtle debate.

I don't know if you read the fanfic and saw the comments, but I saw someone say they think the partial reason why people like to bash the 2012 brothers in their crossover works is because it is their way of getting revenge on all the people who frequently bashed Rise TMNT and judged/treated it unfairly; according to them a lot of those people were 2012 TMNT fans, but I don't know for sure how true that is.

Based on that claim, what do you think?

I don’t speak for everyone on this topic, but I personally wouldn’t put it past ppl to bash works because one side of the fandom was treated unfairly. People are going to feel what they feel, and sometimes people will make comments/arguments that shouldn’t be said because it won’t respect the other side. (Sadly that won’t stop em tho)

That being said, people are allowed to have their preferences and opinions (whether they like 2012TMNT or RiseTMNT or a diff version or ALL of them) - they just shouldn’t enforce their own opinions as the correct opinion because they think their side is better. It doesn’t justify putting down other peoples preferences just because they don’t like it themselves.

I just read this persons fic and I can honestly see where the frustration is coming from when it comes to the sibling debate. I really liked their take on the 2012TMNT siblings - and when reading the comments I saw someone bring up how 2012TMNT takes a more serious tone while RiseTMNT takes a more comedy based tone. And I agree; sometimes fans of the show look at the different reboots with the “same lense” and that shouldn’t be the case. You can’t really judge these reboots and their versions of the siblings with the same standards all the time - that’s art for ya!

I love both versions of the TMNT siblings and I don’t really compare them too much because these shows are meant to have different takes on the siblings/franchise - anyways that’s my take on this

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Melted Mask

awitchbravestheverge prompt: I don't know if you're still taking prompts but you are a master of hurt/comfort and would sell you my soul for some of that for Janus. Maybe where he's feeling insecure or like he's worn out his welcome post acceptance, or maybe a little touch starved, or both. Preferably with Virgil or Patton as the comforter, but if not thats ok. I just have a never-ending need for fic where people are soft and gentle with the snake boy, and I love everything you write with my whole heart

Thanks for the request, babe!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: DLAMPR, focus on anxceit and moceit, can be platonic or romantic you decide I don’t mind

Warnings: uhhh sympathetic deceit and remus

Word Count: 4804

 “How many masks of your own face are you currently wearing?”

 “At least four.”

Between the gloves, the cape, and the hat, there’s not an awful lot of Janus that is seen most of the time. Not that he particularly minds. There is a certain benefit that layers upon layers of clothing provides. One, they’re perfect for concealing his cane—the others always look so surprised when he summons it from nowhere. Two, he is Dark Side, thanks to Roman’s fantastic naming system. There is an aesthetic standard that must be met. What was he going to do, show up in some ratted old hoodie?

 Three, well—there is an awful lot to look at. If the others are focused on the clasps at his throat, the shock of the yellow gloves, the logo hidden under the black fabric, they’re not looking at him.

 If they were, they’d see his scales.

 He is the only side with a visible animal trait, after all. The scales cover the left side of his face, down beneath his collar. He doesn’t mind the stares—come on, it’s so easy to catch them off guard, how could he?—but sometimes he does wonder if they’ll ever get used to it.

  To him.

 The scales are a reminder. That he’s different. That he’s not like them. He’s not like the others, he doesn’t look like Thomas, at least not to the extent that they do. Thomas doesn’t have golden scales along the side of his face. Thomas doesn’t have a mouth that curves up along his cheek. Thomas doesn’t have a slit-eye pupil. No, no, Thomas is normal.

 How dreadful.

 Then, of course, there are the lies.

 ‘Deceit.’ Such a funny word. And so…polarizing.

 ‘Deceitful,’ ‘dishonest,’ ‘dastardly’—lot of ‘d’s, here, hmm?—all of the words that just mean he’s a liar. And lying must be bad, right? So it follows logically then, because we simply adore logic in this house, that he must be bad.

 He’s not to be trusted, he’s a liar. He’s not honest, he’s a liar. They have to double and triple-check everything he says because he’s a liar.

 They always conveniently seem to forget that you can always trust a dishonest person to be dishonest. It’s the truthful ones you have to watch out for.

 Janus knows he’s a liar. Frankly, he’s quite proud of it. He’s gotten very good at it too; twisting the words together just right in order to tug slightly at a heartstring there, block off just a little rationality there, get the job done. The others always get caught up in his words, too busy focusing on the minutia of it, the details, leaving him free to step around them and speak to Thomas.

 They see the gloves, they see the scales, they see the lies.

 They see the masks.

 Oh, sometimes he’ll put on a little bit more of a show if he needs to make a point, if the normal masks aren’t quite enough to get Thomas to listen. He’ll tie a hoodie around his shoulders, push a pair of glasses up his nose, knot a tie around his neck. Problem is…those ones are a little easier to see through. No matter how hard he tries, all of his disguises end up being a self-portrait.

 Which is how he ended up here.

 “You know the rules,” Patton says, his hands on his hips, “no impersonating others outside of filming!”

 Janus rolls his eyes and idly flicks a speck of dirt off one of his gloves. “Oh, please. You don’t want me to do it during filming either.”

 “No, I don’t, but we made a compromise, kiddo, now we both have to stick to it.”

 Janus raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m sure the others will be relieved to hear so.”

 “What have we said about impersonations?”

 He sighs. “The others may be idiots—“

 “Oi!”

 “—but idiots are also deserving of respect,” Janus finishes, glancing at Virgil draped over the back of the couch. “And I would never dream of being anything less than perfectly respectful.”

 Virgil snorts. “What do you even get out of it anyway?” He sits up a little straighter. “Wait, you haven’t been tricking Roman into telling you how to impersonate us better, have you?”

 “Now why would I do that?”

 “Janus!”

 “What? Like you don’t make a habit of going to the others for advice.”

 “There’s a difference between openly asking for it and tricking them into giving it to you.”

 Janus levels a stare at him. “I suppose there is, isn’t there?”

 “Hey!” Patton steps between them. “That’s enough.”

 “Oh, well—“ Janus makes a show of resettling his cape—“if you say so.”

 Patton sighs. “Janus, we are trying, okay? You heard Thomas, you’re…well, you’re more welcome now.”

 “And you’re doing a marvelous job of that.”

 Patton doesn’t quite deflate, but it’s close. “Well, maybe we could all try a little harder.” He gives Janus a pointed look.

 “Yes, I’m sure my efforts will be richly rewarded.”

 “Well, you could start by showing up as yourself more often.”

 “Myself?” Janus gasps theatrically, putting a gloved hand to his scales. “Who’s that?”

 “Dude,” Virgil sniggers—Virgil did always appreciate his sense of humor—“how many masks of your own face are you currently wearing”

 “At least four.”

 Patton lets him go with another verbal slap on the wrist and Virgil flips him off. Janus sinks out, striding down the hallway near his room. It’s quieter here. The walls hum a little less. He can think.

 He hadn’t gone to Roman to gets tips on his acting. He’d gone because Roman doesn’t want to talk to Janus.

 Janus, the liar. Janus, the manipulator. Janus, the Dark Side.

 Janus shuts the door of his room and instinctively slumps, the cape hanging off his shoulders. He knows Patton means well, and Virgil’s…Virgil, but sometimes it stings a little more than it should. Not that the others will ever see it.

 He’ll never forget the look on Thomas’s face when Logan said he was the side that acts with the one priority of self-preservation. Of how it instantly demonized the idea of protecting yourself. Of Thomas keeping himself safe.

 He looks at his hands, sees the gloves. They still don’t fit quite right, even after all these years. He can’t get the seams to run down the sides of the fingers, not curve around to the front or the back. It really shouldn’t be this difficult. Especially considering how much use he’s gotten out of them.

 Lying kept Thomas alive. It kept him safe. He helped keep Thomas safe. When Virgil couldn’t breathe, when Logan faltered, when Patton froze, Janus would quietly make his way over to Roman and whisper a suggestion. Just a suggestion. To lie. To keep Thomas safe. To get them out of here. And it saved them. So many times.

 Janus walks over to the mirror. It’s a fairly modest thing; about the size of a small sink, oval, large enough so he can see himself completely if he takes a few steps back. He ignores his own face and reaches for the golden latch on the side. He turns it.

 The cabinet swings open to reveal a dark velvet interior with several small podiums. Each has a thin mask laid atop it. They gleam in the low light of the room. Janus reaches out and carefully makes sure each is perfectly centered. As he does so, his gloves linger on the fine print beneath the podiums.

 Everyone has masks. Versions of themselves to present to the world when they need to. A mask that keeps you safe, a mask that keeps you alive, a mask that has the courage to speak when you don’t. The mask they wear around their homophobic relatives, the mask they wear when they need to make a phone call, the mask they wear when they need to pretend they’re something they’re not.

 Janus is very, very good at making masks.

 He never wears these. These are for Thomas. When Thomas needs help, Janus slips one of these out of the cabinet and sets it on the desk in front of the mirror. He looks at it, then at the mirror, and works. These masks are what helps Thomas.

 He shuts the cabinet with a decisive click, suddenly confronted with his own face.

Janus is so good at making masks that he doesn’t even need a mask to wear one.

 A mask because you’re the bad guy. A mask because you can never be trusted. A mask because when you try to be vulnerable they won’t listen. A mask because they don’t want you, they want the character that you embody to survive.

 He pities the others sometimes. They don’t have these masks and they hurt. They can’t distance themselves, pull away just a little more, embody a role so that when it’s over, when they’re safe again, they can take it off and breathe. But they don’t. So they just get hurt. Over and over and over.

 Janus’s lips involuntarily curl up into a snarl. The hand on the mirror closes into a fist.

 They’re not supposed to get hurt. That’s not how this is supposed to work.

 He’s not supposed to hurt them.

 Part of him argues that he has to. If he keeps working the way he’s been working he can get right to Thomas, who is who needs the most protection. If he tries to do it their way they risk Thomas getting hurt and Janus won’t have that.

 Part of him whispers that this is good for them. If he can make them a little tougher, help them get thicker skin, they’ll be safer. And then it won’t matter if they hate him. They’ll be safe. That’s all he cares about.

 The rest of him—

 …well, the rest of him is currently the reason he’s having trouble looking in the mirror right now.

 The problem with wearing so many masks is that it becomes harder and harder to figure what’s the mask and what’s not. And he’s gotten so good at making them that now…now he doesn’t have to think about it.

 A mask for when Logan asks to debate about philosophy. A mask for when Remus wants him to help him and Roman make something new. A mask for when Patton wants to bake. A mask for when Virgil comes to him for help.

 A mask for all of them. A mask for none of them.

 Janus doesn’t want to wear the masks all the time. He wants them to be warm, to care, to smile when he comes into the room, or even ask where he is. He wants to laugh as Patton smears batter all over his nose accidentally. He wants to listen to Logan ramble about some new advancement in quantum gravity. He wants Virgil to come plop down next to him while everyone else is in the living room. He wants Remus to stay with him while they watch the others get into ridiculous fights over board games. He wants Roman to not be afraid to come talk to him.

 He wants.

 Janus is selfish.

 But he isn’t stupid.

 He knows they don’t want him. He knows they don’t want him, even without the masks. Deep down, he knows they don’t need him either.

 But Thomas does.

 So here Janus will stay, in the dark, in the cold, wearing too many masks of his own face to keep count.

—————————————————————

The Mindscape is cold. It never quite feels solid. Drafts blow in and out of the walls, through the little gaps in the floor, from places that Janus can’t find, no matter how many times he looks for them. He bundles himself up in his cloak and his hat and does his best to hold still, sink in as much warmth as he can. He sneaks up behind the others, pressing himself up near them, purring in their ears, just to snatch their body heat. They always shove him away with flustered protests and blushy little faces. They’re so adorable.

 Plus, he knows that’s all he’s ever really going to get from them.

 But he’s cold, goddamnit. Why do they keep the air conditioning so high in this house? Snakes are cold-blooded. They get slow. Lethargic. Hypothermic, if it gets very bad.

 Janus can’t afford to be slow.

 So he wears his gloves, his cape, his hat. He stands opposite the window so he can get the most sunlight. He finds the patches of warmth where none of the others will find him and he can curl up for the warmth he needs...

 …and fine, maybe it’s a little more than just being cold.

 The others are…touchy. Patton throws his arm around just about everyone. Bumps his hip against theirs. Pats their shoulders, squeezes their hands, kisses their cheeks. Roman sweeps people into his arms, pulls them in for hugs, keeps an arm around their waists for as long as he’s allowed. Remus can and will just tackle whoever he wants. Logan holds himself a little further away, but even he’ll lay a comforting hand on someone’s arm. Janus will admit he was shocked when Virgil started exhibiting spider characteristics. That Side is a cat and you will not convince him otherwise. And everyone knows if a cat falls asleep on you, you’re not allowed to move until it wakes up.

 Not that Virgil has fallen asleep on him recently.

 Janus is not too proud to admit that at first, he didn’t want their touches. He had a job to do, he didn’t need to be distracted. But now…now he does.

 He sees the way they move around each other and it stings. The accidental brushes he gets from standing too close or when they aren’t thinking about it sear through layers and layers of clothing to burn into his skin. When he stays close to them—close, but not too close—his whole side begins to tingle, reaching for them, their warmth, for them. But now it’s too late. His mask is already firmly in place and they know Deceit hates being touched.

 That’s another reason for the layers. For the gloves.

 Janus knows that if they ever touch him directly, skin to skin, his mask will shatter. And that is too dangerous to risk. With his gloves, his cape, his hat, his masks, the only way that would happen is if one of them tried to touch his face.

 And that is certainly very likely indeed.

 The clothes give him a barrier. A last line of defense. No touch is better than unexpected touch.

 But that doesn’t stop him from being cold.

 He can tell it’s going to happen when he can’t quite close his fingers around the end of his staff in the middle of their conversation. His gloves don’t catch on the wood quite right and he has to fumble to grab it properly. He glances up. No one’s looking at him.

  Are they ever?

 He tucks his hands smoothly out of sight, frantically burrowing them into his cloak to see if they’ll warm up. He locks his knees. No good. His fingers start to hurt as he flexes them. They’re still not moving faster. It’s cold.

 He glances at the clock. Two minutes. He can last two minutes. Or so he thinks, until his jaw starts to clench. He clenches it harder, ignoring the protest from his neck, his shoulders, trying to make it stop. He takes a deep slow breath and tries to relax, to stop his muscles from tensing. It works, barely.

 One minute.

 His hands aren’t responding properly. He can barely move his fingers. He just needs to get out of here. If he gets out of here he can get warm. He has his electric blanket, he has everything he needs. He just needs to leave.

 Thirty seconds.

 The conversation draws to a close and Janus nods deeply, tossing one last barb over his shoulder as he sinks out, only to collapse in the hallway as soon as he does. A draft flows out right next to his shoulder, freezing fingers dancing up his arm, along the back of his neck, diving into his collar to snatch more of his warmth. He curses, heaves himself to his feet, and makes it to his room. It’s so cold.

 Something tugs in his chest. No, no—!

 “I suppose there must be a good reason for summoning me back,” Janus drawls, snapping his gloves right back into place as he appears in the living room.

 Patton and Virgil stare back at him. Patton fidgets with his hands. “W-well, we, uh, I had a question for you.”

 Damn. “Well.” Janus spreads his arms, trying to play off how slow he’s moving for dramatic effect. “I’m here. Ask away.”

 “I, uh, a few days ago you mentioned that you didn’t feel as welcome here.” Patton looks at him with such an expression of sincerity that it makes Janus’s tongue itch. “And I wanted to know what I could do to help.”

 “Aren’t you sweet?”

 Patton won’t be deterred, it seems. He stares at Janus, resolute as ever. It’s so cold in here he’s going to start slurring in a moment.

 “Janus?”

 “That is my name, yes.”

 “Are you…are you feeling alright?”

 Janus gestures to himself, movements growing slower by the second. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”

 Slow. Too slow.

 Patton frowns. He gives him a look. “You don’t seem like you normally are, are you sure?”

 “I am entirely in one piece.”

 “That doesn’t answer my question.”

 “Honey, if you’re looking for a straight answer, I’m afraid you’re looking in the wrong place.”

 Virgil moves. Right, Virgil was here too. Janus is slow. Too slow. He can’t move. He can’t get away. His mask forms a bored expression on his face, quirking an eyebrow. Virgil approaches him and holds out a hand. A cold part of Janus’s chest leaps.

 The lips of the mask part. “And what exactly do you intend to do with that?”

 “This,” Virgil mutters, and cups the side of Janus’s face.

 Everything stops.

 Distantly, he feels Virgil’s hand leave his face. Hears something about being too cold. Sees a blur of blue rush away. But all he can focus on is—

  Warm. Virgil touched you. Warm. Warm. So warm. Keep the mask on. Don’t let the mask slip. Warm. If the mask slips everything will be ruined. Warm. Don’t you remember how to take the mask off? Virgil. Patton. Warm.

 “Janus? Janus!”

 Janus blinks. Virgil is still standing in front of him. There’s a little wrinkle between his brows. The mask is frozen in place, iced into a neutral expression.

 “Hey,” Virgil says quietly, “you’re freezing, bud. You gotta get warm.”

 Janus can’t speak. The mask is so cold.

 “You remember what happens when you get too cold,” Virgil continues, taking a step closer. Janus can’t move. Virgil’s frown deepens and he tilts his head. “What’s going on, Janus, you don’t normally let it get this bad.”

  Yes, Virgil, we’re aware.

 “You could’ve asked, dude,” Virgil says, taking another step closer, a little exasperation mingling with the concern, “any of us.”

 The mask smirks. Barely. “Yes, because I’m sure everyone would be so willing to cuddle me so I could steal their body heat.”

 “You don’t know that.” The mask doesn’t move. Virgil glances over his shoulder. When he speaks next, his voice is lowered to a whisper.

 “You don’t have to keep that on right now, Jan,” he says quietly, “it’s okay. It’s just me. I know you. You can…you know. Emote and stuff.”

 Janus huffs a laugh. It’s weak. 

 “You ever wear a mask so long you forget how to take it off?”

 Vigil pauses. “Huh?”

 “Ever pretended to be something for so long you forget which is real and which isn’t?” Janus’s smile turns sad. “Made yourself believe it too?”

 Virgil’s eyes close for a second. When he opens them, the concern in his gaze takes the last of the warm breath from Janus’s lungs. “Does this have anything to do with…?” He waves in Janus’s direction.

 Janus nods, slowly, so slowly. “I can’t. Because I’ve been…I’ve been trained out of it. I built my masks to hide behind. And now I can’t take them off.”

 “And we haven’t been good about helping you do that, huh.” He sounds so tired. He’s been through so much…

 “I’m…”

 The mask won’t let him apologize.

  Like they would ever accept it.

 “No, no,” Virgil says, “don’t apologize. You aren’t to blame for what you’ve been put through.”

  Oh, Virgil…

 Virgil glances over his shoulder. Then he shakes his head. “Just…look, go.”

 “What?”

 “I know this isn’t the time to talk about stuff. You’re not in any sort of shape to do that and Patton will understand. Go get warm.” He gives Janus a pointed look. “You take care of yourself first, okay?”

 He tries. He goes back to his room and buries himself in blankets, in pillows, in more layers than he can stand. The pressure is good but it’s still so cold. The weight of the electric blanket is nothing compared to the warmth of Virgil’s hand. Everything in here smells sterile, clinical, detached. It’s all so cold.

  You take care of yourself.

 The last sentence rings through his head late at night. He wants. But everyone’s probably asleep by now, and god knows they need to sleep. Surely it’ll be alright if he just goes to the living room? That’s not too far, right?

 There’s a fire going in the fireplace—since when did they have a fireplace? And there’s someone sitting on the couch. Hmm. Maybe if…if he’s quiet, if he doesn’t make too much noise, he can slip in and soak up some of the warmth. 

 Virgil turns around.

 “Hey, Janus,” he murmurs, standing, and comes over to him. “Can’t sleep?”

 Janus shakes his head. It’s warm in here, but he’s still cold. Virgil can see that, apparently.

 “Here,” he says, handing him a cup of tea that appeared out of thin air, “drink. It’ll warm you up.”

 Janus takes it cautiously. Isn’t it Virgil’s? There’s no way Virgil would’ve know Janus was coming…right?

 “This is my third one, figure I should let you catch up first.”

 He gestures to the couch, an encouraging smile on his lips.

 “Sit. C’mon”

 Janus does, sinking into the plush couch and cradling the warm mug in his hands. The couch groans as Virgil sits next to him. He can feel Virgil just out of reach, just there…

 “I like watching the fire,” comes a low voice from next to him as he sips the tea. “Helps me think. Or stop thinking.”

 He keeps talking in that low voice and the warm tea flows through Janus, sapping the cold slowly away from his body.

 Distantly, he feels someone steering him down onto the couch, and heavy arms around him.

 “Or maybe you just need a cuddle. Go to sleep, Janus.”

—————————————————————

 “ — stop twitching, Remus! You’ll make a mistake!”

 “Stop tugging his arm all over the place and then you won’t.”

 “Will you two pipe the fuck down? You’re gonna wake him up.”

 “Says the loudmouth!”

 “Roman, stop it.”

 “Stop moving his arm!”

 What is…? He’s lying on something. It’s warm, really warm. It smells like…coffee, makeup, and…cinnamon? He shifts slightly, and oh he slept on his neck wrong. A low groan escapes his throat.

 His pillow stiffens. “Shit. He’s awake.”

 “Good going, Remus.”

 “You were the one yelling!”

 “Shut the fuck up, both of you.” The chest underneath him vibrates. “Shh, snake-face, go back to sleep. You’re alright. Go back to sleep.”

 Janus shifts again, trying to look around, but he’s held down by another strong arm. A hand cards itself through his hair—where’s his hat? “Shh, be still, buddy, you’re okay. Can’t we get you back to sleep?”

 “What…’s going on?” His tongue feels heavy, swelling up in his mouth.

 “I believe the chances of getting him back to sleep will increase if you tell him what you’re doing.”

 It’s…Logan? He appears, fuzzy but definitely there, over the back of the couch. Janus tries to turn to make it easier to see him but his right arm is pinned and he can’t move—

 “Easy, J, easy, shh, shh, you’re okay, you’re safe, just keep your arm nice and still, okay?” Virgil, it’s Virgil he’s lying on, runs his hand through his hair again. “I’m pretty sure Roman would pitch a fit.”

 “Hah.” Roman snorts from somewhere close to the ground. “If this got ruined, yours would be too.”

 “If you hadn’t insisted on going last,” Remus says, “this wouldn’t’ve been an issue.”

 And then he feels it. Something is drawn sharply across his right wrist.

 “Shh, shh, Janus, breathe, breathe, you’re okay, damnit, Princey, stop! You’re making him freak out!”

 It’s gone, the contact is gone. His arm is still hanging over the edge of the couch but it’s held there by Virgil’s arm and another hand.

 “Hey there, Snakey.” Remus appears over Virgil’s shoulder. “You’re okay. We’re just making sure you’re okay.”

 Roman snorts. “There’s something wrong with how you phrased that.”

 Then suddenly Patton appears out of nowhere and doesn’t surprise him at all. Luckily, or unluckily, Janus is far too exhausted and disoriented to react more than rucking up the fabric of Virgil’s hoodie a little. Patton looks at the couch.

 “There isn’t room, Pop-star,” Virgil says, lazily stretching so his bulk takes up all of it, moving slow enough so Janus isn’t jostled too much. Then Virgil yelps and their lower bodies are lifted and he can feel the couch sag under another body.

 “What the hell, Pat.”

 “Now there’s room.” Patton reaches up and ruffles Virgil’s hair.

 There are so many people and it’s warm but why are they all here? Did he miss something? Does he need to leave?

 “Looks good,” Patton says, interrupting his train of thought, “it’s coming along well.”

 Logan clears his throat. “Would someone like to inform Janus about what exactly ‘this’ is?”

 “Oh, right, sorry, Snakey,” Remus says, crouching back down, “let’s show you.”

 Virgil turns over slowly, lifting his arm and using the leverage to shift Janus onto his chest. “Jeez, Janus, you’re light. Patton, have we been feeding him enough?”

 “I suspect there’s been a lack of communication, kiddo.”

 “Now is not the time to yell at him, Patton,” Logan says quietly.

 “I’m not yelling! But yes, now is not the time.”

 Virgil coaxes his head to one side, and Roman lifts his arm by the back of his hand.

 Janus’s mouth drops open.

 There are little animals drawn on his right arm, from his wrist to his elbow. There’s a navy cat, simple and clean, near the vein. A light blue frog with little glasses. A purple and black spider. A green octopus with large black tentacles. And an unfinished red dragon right near his wrist.

 “If I could finish,” Roman asks softly.

 “Alright, calm down, here.” Remus lowers his arm and holds it steady. Roman puts the brush back to his arm and starts painting again. Virgil and Remus start arguing about something, probably, but he can’t focus on anything besides the soft bristles of the brush on his arm, the rumble of Virgil’s chest, and the warmth of the weight on his legs.

 Logan stands behind his head. “You don’t need to wear a mask here, Janus,” he says softly, “not unless you want to.”

 No one else hears him except for Patton. He gives Janus’s leg a squeeze.

 It’s warm. It’s so warm.

 He wants to watch as Roman paints the dragon but he’s tired but he doesn’t want to sleep yet…not just yet.

 Patton reaches towards his face. His finger lands on his forehead and drags gently down the bridge of his nose.

 What…?

 Oh.

 As he follows his touch, Janus’s eyes drift closed.

 It’s so warm.

 And a warm hand on his cheek wipes the last of the mask away.

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[cant-think-of-anything]

All my energy was used on the fic, you don't get a title

Basically I took the scenes of lord of shadows and replaced the characters

( @littlx-songbxrd helped me develop the plot a lot so thank you Zia)

TW: descriptions of blood and injury, mentions of homophobia and ableism

Thomas had quickly come to the conclusion that he hated the land of Fae. Not because the location itself harboured ill experiences, but rather because of his travel companions.

He glanced at said travel companions. Alastair and Christopher were attempting to assemble a fire, struggling greatly because London wasn't exactly a place of forests. Alastair's face was stern with concentration, eyebrows drawn together as they always were, a permanent appearance of disapproval. His lips were turned down slightly, frustration causing him to scrunch up his face.

It wasn't adorable, Thomas scolded himself, it was intolerable. And entirely unenjoyable. He breathed a sigh, turning away from them and back at the rushing waters of a river. They'd been sent to be audience to the Seelie court and request their assistance to defeat Belial. It was a useless excursion, the Faerie wouldn't intervene unless their own land was being threatened. But the Clave had sent them regardless.

Christopher called his name, his voice a whispered yell as to not draw attention from whatever lurked in the forests. He picked his way back, settling on his sleeping mat and looking up. Without a fire, only moonlight made anything visible. Christopher had curled up already, but Alastair was awake. He was staring up at the stars his eyes wide with something like wonder.

The sight was disarming, but Thomas turned away, before Alastair caught his stare. Nothing good could result from that. The Sanctuary was a few weeks past, and what had started as longing glances and tortured pining turned into short tempers and quick annoyance. They hadn't talked, not the way Thomas desperately wanted to, but they had argued and bickered nearly every time they crossed paths. And he despised it.

Curling his hand into a fist, he turned onto his side and willed himself to sleep.

____

Alastair was fairly certain they were lost. It was as if Faerie shifted everytime they were on the correct path, and it accomplished nothing but adding to his frustration. And apparently, Thomas's.

"We should go north." He said, his eyes glinting with annoyance.

"Are you stupid? Do you want us to get killed? We'll end up there either way."

"Your method would take longer and time is something I don't fancy to waste."

"And your brilliant solution is to- what? Traverse through an entirely unmapped territory? It's far too dangerous, and I would like to keep my head adjoined to my body."

"Maybe sometimes it would do you some good to do something dangerous."

"Oh?" Alastair whirled towards him, their faces inches away from the other, each sparked with anger. "Do something dangerous? Like you? To my memory, it got you imprisoned!"

"Perhaps it would suit you to travel in solitude! Since you always seem to prefer that anyway!"

"I do not-"

"I really do not think we should be causing this much of a disturbance," Christopher chimed in, his face twisted in confusion, head swiveling between both of them. "They're simply... directions?"

"Without directions." Alastair said, "you end up lost." His eyes stayed locked with Thomas's, head tilted to meet his infuriating height.

"We won't get lost," he hissed back.

"For someone with a tattoo of a compass you truly have a horrendous sense of direction-"

"We could just," Christopher started, flipping the map over, before looking up with wide eyes. "Go through here." He gestured at the map.

"Absolutely wonderful. Let's leave, I wish to depart as soon as we're able."

A few moments passed before a loud screech like noise emerged from the forests. Because why, Alastair thought drawing out his weapons, would anything ever be simple for him. Christopher and Thomas pressed closer when the creature burst forth from the trees. And really creature was the only world he had for it. It appeared as a demon but not one Alastair had ever studied, and from the looks on the others faces they hadn't either.

"Do we-"

The creature lunged faster than any demon could, a flash of the murky green that colored it's scales. It's claws flashed, charging at Thomas. Alastair briefly registered slipping in between the two, lodging the wooden shaft of his spear between it's jaw. He sought out Christopher sliding under the thing to stab it with his blade, killing it quickly but not quickly enough to prevent when the creatures claws raked against the top of his chest.

Air rushed out of his lungs and he felt familiar arms wrap around him, catching him before he could fall. His eyes fluttered shut on their own record. He fought to regain conciusness, he refused to be unconscious around the likes of his companions, but he felt himself dragged into blackness regardless.

---

Christopher was accustomed to his friends odd relations. He had certainly gained enough practice observing the spats they often had. But whatever anger his cousin held towards Alastair was always a puzzle to him. He was sure it was a puzzle to them too considering their never ending shifts in emotion.

He looked over at Thomas who's face was twisted in something between intense worry and sorrow. His eyes dropped to Alastair who had still not woken up, bandages covered the scratches that stretched from his shoulder to the top of his neck. He winced remembering the injury, bleeding profusely with no runes to stem it. His own worry for Alastair had occupied much of his mind. James and Matthew would be furious at such a thing but Christopher found he didn't care.

"I'll go stand watch," Christopher offered, making his way to the outside of the cave they'd taken shelter in.

Thomas hated being in debt, he remembered. When they were younger he would never accept help unless it was forced upon him, his stubborn nature preventing it. And now after Alastair had risked his life twice to help him, he must feel like he owed something.

Christopher pulled himself onto one of the rocks resting outside of the cave and tipped his head back. He missed his home. Not whatever had overtaken it in the months past, he missed Henry, he missed his parents who he'd barely conversed with since before the killings had happened. He missed Alexander even if the child cried a storm. He glanced up at the sky, noticing the first rays of dawn breaking through the clouds. He pulled himself off of his rock with a sigh. He wished for normalcy more than anything. But he doubted it would grace them anytime soon.

He ducked under the entrance of the cave, opening his mouth to call out for Thomas to get ready to depart. But Thomas wasn't awake.

He was curled onto his side, facing Alastair, both evidently asleep. Their hands stretched out the distance between them and were laced together.

Christopher sucked in a breath. "Oh, Thomas," he breathed.

He'd known of his cousin's vauge feelings for Alastair from the time that Thomas was quite a bit shorter than him. But he hadn't fully understood what the two felt towards each other. He knelt between them, gently attempting to pry their hands apart, but both their grips tightened. As if through the small action they were able to pour every unsaid emotion they'd held.

Christopher wasn't a stranger to the way the Clave treated anyone they viewed as different. The way they shut down every attempt Henry had made to better the Shadowhunter world, the way they would continue to deny any of his own attempts. They claimed to want happiness and order for all but the moment someone proved to differ from their standards they would shut them down and rid of the evidence. They would remain under the pretense of fairness while they claimed credit for any accomplishments him or his uncle managed to force into them.

Thomas never had chosen himself, never his own happiness. Christopher let go of their intertwined hands, then looking at Thomas's face. It was almost drawn up in concentration. He stood, glancing at them once more before returning to the front of the cave and yelling for Thomas to wake up so they could depart to the castle. It wasn't as much as he wanted to do, but it was all he could.

___

Thomas dumped their small pile of belongings near the foot of the bed. The Seelie Queen had apparently chosen graciousness that night and permitted them two rooms. Christopher claimed the first one, leaving Thomas and Alastair to occupy the other. Not that Alastair had woken yet.

Thomas crossed the room, refusing to look where Alastair was laying on the bed, where he would soon need to lay next to him. He made his way to Christopher's room, too tired to truly marvel at the tall marble pillars and regal decor adorning the halls and bedrooms. Christopher was cross-legged on the bed, scrawling something into a notebook under the dim lights that shone through the waterfall close to the wall.

He pulled himself onto the bed next to him, worrying at the material of his nightshirt. Christopher looked up after a moment, fixing his peculiar eyes on Thomas.

"Are you all right Tom?"

The question shouldn't have startled him as much as it did. "I'm okay."

Christopher lips tightened. "You're lying. You usually do when people ask you."

Thomas breathed a soft sigh, pulling his legs up onto the bed. "I know."

Christopher studied him for a few moments, debating something in his mind before saying "You don't have to sacrifice yourself to make us happy Thomas. Anyone who truly cares for you will not love you any less for your decisions."

Thomas startled, looking at him with widened eyes. Something in his heart sped up, as if a weight had lifted from it causing it to beat faster in it's absence. "I don't- I don't understand-"

A hand gripped his forearm. "Go back to your room Thomas. I suspect he'll wake soon."

___

When Alastair woke he wasn't in a forest. He had known the Faerie were images of royalty but the room seemed ridiculously extravagant. He wanted to pull himself up in the bed but a sharp sting on his neck forced him back down.

The door swung open then, Thomas entered with a odd look on his face. It switched to overwhelming relief when he saw Alastair.

Swallowing, Alastair rose a hand his neck. The Faeries must have worked on the wound, it had healed over somewhat but not enough to relieve him of the pain.

He heard Thomas clear his throat. When Alastair looked up again, he'd moved to the other side of his bed. "You had gotten injured in the forest. We're in the Seelie Courts now, you've been indisposed for a few hours."

"Oh." He wasn't sure what else to add.

Thomas stared at him for a few unnerving moments before making a frustrated noise. He slid onto the bed, folding his legs underneath him and giving Alastair an imploring sort of look. "I'm sorry. For everything I've done. And I'm sorry I couldn't give you the right words in the sanctuary. I'll try to give them now."

Alastair inhaled sharply, from surprise rather than pain. "I don't understand. You shouldn't be apologizing-"

Thomas half smiled before cutting him off. "Let someone apologize to you for once. You deserve as much after the way we've treated you."

Biting his lip and looking away, Alastair noticed the pile of clothes and other luggage in the corner of the room. Oh. He turned back.

"Well Mr. Lightwood I find your apology to be satisfactory, despite it still being unnecessary."

Thomas smiled fully then and something in Alastair's chest loosened.

"Does this mean I am permitted to use the bed alongside you?" His voice was teasing.

"As long as you manage to stay on your side of it."

But that rule was quickly broken, Thonas shifted close and carefully curled his body around Alastair, his head resting on in his curls and limb wrapped loosely around him. Alastair breathed a small breath of relief before pressing his face into Thomas's neck and sleeping peacefully for the first time in years.

Happy birthday Zia!! Ilysm and you deserve literally every good thing in the world, you're amazing and very talented and yeah <33

Tagging: @adoravel-fenomeno @thewarthatsavedmylife @eugeniaslongsword @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @alice-got-the-blues @writeforjordelia (lmk if you want to be added or removed)

I'll tag @youngreckless for thomastair week

[cafeinthemoon]

The Home I Crave - Chapter 1

Title: The Home I Crave

Genre: Fanfiction

Pairing: Tobirama Senju x reader

Rating: teen and up

Word count: 1317

Chapter: 1/?

Symbols: ⭕ | ➕ | 💛 | ▶️ 

Warnings: Lots of angst, bottled up feeligs, fights and heated arguments

N. A.: Dont mind me, I’m just putting a self indulgent fic out there lol The idea for this story has been on my mind for months, but I never found an opportunity to write it vecause I was too worried about all the unfinished works I already have, but yk who cares about that? Let’s be self indulgent because we deserve it

Summary: Your clan kept some business with the Senju since the Warring Period, but now the Hokage of Konoha and head of the powerful clan, Hashirama, wants to strengthen their alliances with your family through marriage. You, the eldest daughter of your clan’s head, is the chosen woman to represent your side of the treaty, while the other part will be performed by Tobirama, Hashirama’s younger brother and a man you’ve never met in your life.

“So why don’t you leave me alone

Say you were wrong”

(Plumb, Jekyll and Hyde)

As the eldest of five daughters in an important family, you always knew that more was expected from you in the primary aspects of life. To primary, of course, your family understood the duties of a woman of your class, which could be summarized in training to be the good wife in an arranged marriage. The same destiny waited for your sisters as well, but you were the one to open the way for them.

Your family was not only a noble one, but the clan’s head’s family. Being a clan of warriors who fought side by side with the most prominent of the Land of Fire during the Warring Period, all of you were raised as capable kunoichi taught since childhood to value the shinobi ways. Joining forces with another powerful clan through marriage was then the natural goal imposed to you.

You weren’t the greatest enthusiast of it, but neither you were its main antagonist. You thought you could do it as your mother did and just move on with your life. Would there be room for love in your life after you get married? No one knew, but it could be good. Maybe if you got some time to know the man chosen to be your husband, to talk to him a few times during the engagement period, the seeds of such sentiment could have been planted. When you compared your clan’s standards to others you were allied with, you could say yours were liberal as no other and your father was a reasonable man, so that you were counting on his wisdom in that sense: he would introduce the candidate to you first, you would discuss his strong and weak traits and come to an intelligent conclusion both for you and your family.

Well, this is what you were expecting. But life doesn’t always gives us what we expect.

One day, you just came back from a training session and were cleaning yourself in your room. Your parents came to talk to you, and just by their cheerful expressions, you sensed something extraordinary – but much expected – has happened.

When you questioned them, they alternated between themselves to explain the situation.

- A messenger just came from the newly-formed Hidden Leaf Village, y/n dear – your father started – The crest on his clothing indicated that he was sent by the Senju.

- By their head himself – your mother added, uniting her hands in joy.

The Senju head? Who was he… Oh, of course, Hashirama, the same man who was chosen to rule the ninja village he created alongside the Uchiha. The news were spreading fast, and you heard of many clans deciding to join them everyday. Considering that you had some business your own clan had with the Senju, it seemed that your turn has come.

But you didn’t hear the full message yet.

- Hashirama-sama is inviting us to a meeting at the Hokage’s residence – your father continued – He wants to discuss some details about the already existing alliance between the Senju and our clan. According to the young man who brought the message, his leader is studying a way of strengthening our connections. And he wants to do this as soon as possible.

As soon as possible? Indeed, things were happening fast these days when the war is over and people were directing their efforts to different projects.

- You must have heard that he recently united the Senju and the Uzumaki by marrying the young Mito, their head’s daughter – your mother pointed out – Now, he wants to propose the same type of alliance to us!

So, it finally came. The arranged marriage. You should have seen it coming when the word alliance was mentioned. Still, you were interested now: the Senju were one of the most powerful and influential clans of that time, as old as it could be, just like the Uchiha and Hyugga, so marrying someone from them wasn’t to be taken lightly.

- You, being our first daughter, are naturally his main interest in this, y/n – your father explained – Alongside the man chosen to represent the other part...

The other part – your future husband. Who was going to be the chosen one? Maybe one of the Hokage’s closest men of trust, or a cousin or…

- His younger brother and advisor, Tobirama.

Younger brother? You crossed your arms.

- I… I didn’t know Hashirama Senju has a younger brother – and in a lower tone – I thought he lost all his siblings in war when they were kids.

Your father laughed, if at your ignorance or your morbid comment, you couldn’t tell.

- No, dear, he still has a brother who works by his side since the creation of their village. According to what I’ve heard, this young man is competent as no other: he takes care of the paperwork when his brother is too busy, mediates negotiations, presides meetings and perform all the boring part that falls on your shoulders when you have an older brother who is too invested in changing the world’s politics.

You needed a moment to process all you’ve heard. So Hashirama Senju still had a brother, and he was the backbone of his political career. And now he was intending to take a new step on the alliance you’ve already had with his clan by setting a marriage between this brother and you. You thought about it: men like this one were necessary in any system that wants to keep functional, because they were the only ones who could get used to have all eyes to their work and no time to rest. Smart, wise, they usually were; a pleasing company outside the office, well, that was debatable. But with a few of them you could to talk to.

You tried to show some amusement by the news, in respect to your parents who were so excited for bringing them to you, as well as to give this man you didn’t even know the benefit of doubt. Maybe a few practical questions about the meeting would calm down your anxiety.

- So, Hashirama is inviting us to a meeting at his office to discuss the this marriage and for us to meet his brother.

When you asked that, you sensed a hesitation in your parents’ manners that you didn’t like. What was wrong?

Your father was the first to speak.

- Well, actually we are not going to see Tobirama in this meeting, dear. He was sent to a mission in the Land of Wind and must not come back before the date set to the encounter. However, his brother and him came in agreement about the marriage with a young woman of our clan and set the conditions to the treaty, so that he knows everything that is going to happen while he’s away.

You definitely didn’t like this arrangement. You would be there to discuss something that would change your whole life and the other main part wouldn't even come to look at your face? Something like this just couldn’t have much chances to end up well, no matter how good were preparations that the Senju man could have done. You wanted to tell this to your parents, but something held your tongue: they probably have thought of this while talking to the messenger and even dedicated a line to these worries in their written response to the Hokage; besides, you wanted to see how things would unfold. You’ve learned, in your life as a shinobi, that one gains much more when they show patience rather than precipitation, so you would wait until the day of the meeting to see the rest. Of course everything would be fixed during it, and all your doubts and insecurities about this arrangement would be clarified.

Of course they would be.

[angstymarshmallow]

just as long as you’re okay - m!blaine x f!mc

[a little note: hey I need to write more. Here’s a little fic that was in my head today. It’s just some wine and inner thoughts].

[words counted: 1146]

“No no – you’re doing the impression all wrong.” Her feet dangles on the edge of the roof as she mimics their etiquette teacher’s lesson earlier that week. The lesson was great to be fair, but the delivery leaves something less than desired by her standards. “The accent has to be a little more of like – like a drawl, like thissss.” She keeps her tone low and husky, reveling in the words and barely managing some semblance of the accent before Blake erupts in a fit of laughter.

“God, that’s so spot on!” He shakes his head, grin wide enough to make Ryan’s heart sputter.

Almost. She’s getting quite good at hiding it.

“Alright, Rutherland – you win. This time.”

“Ha! In your face!” She’d do a victory dance around the quad but settles for thrusting a finger at him in triumph instead. Almost immediately after, she fumbles to catch the bottle of wine he hands back to her.

“Woah, careful.” An arm reaches out as if to steady her but stops halfway when she manages to sit upright on her own again. “I always knew you were a sore loser Rutherland, but not a sore winner too.”

Instead of answering, her tongue juts out and she angles her chin.

“You’re lucky.” Dark brown irises fleck in amusement. “Who knew winning would look so good on you.”

She scoffs at his compliment, doing her best to ignore the sudden heat in her cheeks. She takes another long sip of wine. The very expensive wine they managed to swindle on their last trip to one of the most prominent wineries this side of the coast. It’s like honey on her tongue. “Everything looks good on me Hayes. I know we haven’t known each other long but eventually you’ll figure it out.”

He lets out a throaty chuckle, leaning in and bracing both hands on either side of her.

It’s almost too close for comfort. She can’t keep drinking and think straight with him this close. She thrusts the bottle back at him.

“I think I’m beginning to.”

His eyes dart the way they often do to her lips and her heart, the way it often does – reacts in a way that makes her fight the urge to pull him closer. They’re supposed to be taking a break from their project not pinning for each other before another one of their big debates.

Ryan wants to look away first but can’t seem to manage to. “You’re really good at that.” She watches for his reaction.

He takes a long swig, and breaks eye contact first. When he stares back, his expression is a little hard to read. “At what?”

“Y’know - schmoozing, smooth-talking.” Ryan makes a gesture with her hands, trying to keep steady while bumping the back of her heels against the roof’s cement surface. “You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit.”

Blaine doesn’t respond at first. He hands her back the nearly empty bottle. His dark eyes zero in on the view in front of them, lights spanning across the campus on a cool Saturday evening. It’s a pretty nice view up this high, without the press or anyone else watching. They’d have a field day if they caught them. But despite knowing the risks, he can’t help but think the view beside him is even better. Too much in fact, that he blurts out what’s on his mind.

“I don’t want to be a politician. That’s what they want– but that’s not me.” Truthfully, he doesn’t know what he wants – he hasn’t quite figured it all out yet. But Blaine knows it doesn’t involve the path his parents tries to carve into him.  He believes in helping his people the right way, whatever that looked like. “Nah, I’ll pass. I’d much rather keep using my devilish charm for good and not evil.” He continues, his tone softening a bit.

The wine isn’t supposed to make him too serious. It’s supposed to help keep things light…keep things fun. They’ve been having lots of fun lately. He should be thinking about all the other ways they can keep having fun and not about how fucked up his parents expectations are. Or how the very thought of going back home early if he doesn’t get his shit together makes him want to scream –

All his thoughts go quiet when he feels her hand, resting over his. It’s supposed to be a simple gesture he thinks, not something that sets off a series of sparks buzzing between them. But it does anyway.

He sucks in a breath, it’s always been like this between them – as much as he doesn’t want to admit it.

It’s even worse when she looks at him like this, all soft – no teasing in her voice, no challenge in her eyes. He hates that he likes it. He hates it that he wants more.

Before she’s able to speak Blaine swoops in, cupping the back of neck – kissing her underneath the brightly lit sky. It’s as much for him as it is for her, pressing his lips against hers – pulling her closer, wanting her to be closer still.

When they come up for air, Ryan’s eyes are lit with excitement. Her body seems to hum in pleasure “You’re deflecting.” Her voice comes out all breathless.

“Yup.” Another kiss, one by her nose this time. “I’m very good at it.”

“Delectably so,” Ryan agrees, kissing the corner of his lips. She pulls back. “But I’m worried about you.”

Her cheeks are flushed in a way that has less to do with the wine and more with how embarrassed she feels admitting it. “I’m not used to worrying about people, so just –” she stops short, blows out a breath. “You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to, privacy is hard to come by here. I just need to know you’re okay.” Wine forgotten, she cups his cheeks - framing his face. “And when you’re not okay, you can tell me that too.”

His eyes widen a little in surprise.

“Okay?” She prompts again because Blaine hasn’t answered her and it’s scary talking about things like this if he doesn’t want to.

But Blaine nods once, his eyes more open and expressive than it has been in days. His mouth grows wider than his eyes – a smirk that catches Ryan off guard. “Aw Rutherland, I didn’t know you cared.”

Of course I care, you idiot. She curses him silently, unable to say the words out loud. She can never say them out-loud. It’s not possible for people like them. People like them, don’t get to choose.

Instead, Ryan half-considers pushing him off the roof – only if she knew he’d land down there safely of course. “So long as you keep supplying the wine, I’ll keep caring.””

-

[falconfriend]

Central character: Zane

A/N: Pixal isn’t here? Yet, and ideally she’s coming in on part 2. I goofed on the transition originally because I had some canon facts about her timeline wrong, so I’ll be editing that soon. People who’ve followed me since I was more active will know I love Pixal very much; let’s write some fic involving you soon, my girl. (It’s been a while since I published fic at all.)

There’s a part 2 coming.

Warnings: Major (robot) injury, death references, some existential themes going on, minor burns.

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

The hard surface of Nya’s workbench rattles into Zane’s skin, rattles because he’s shaking—

“Zane!” Nya startles, bustling over to him. She puts a hand on his arm as if to pull him back onto his back, but snatches it away, shaking it out at her side immediately. “That’s good. Keep pulling in those deep breaths, Zane, you’re overheating. Oh…”

Nya’s voice holds a sense of command that she’s put there, deliberately, for Zane to latch onto, but also a little for herself. She stares at him for a little longer, hands hovering in the air between them as if looking for some way to help him, before she turns back to her screens, eyes scanning rapidly over line after line. This is the part where she can help him.

She presses a call button, and a much calmer version of her voice rings through the Bounty: “We could use a bit of a hand down here, asap.”

“Nya,” Zane gasps.

Nya winces. Oh, she doesn’t know how to do this part… 

She has grown close with all of the ninja, they’re her family, but aside from trading quips, she and Zane have always… struggled to connect. Kai’s the one who’s good with other people’s emotions. Nya’s just good at calling Kai on his own feelings, and building things, and pulling off logistical feats—

Zane had rolled onto his side when he woke up, and now he’s facing away from her. She walks around the table to him and crouches in front of him. She can’t use a metal workbench with Zane, the electronics need an insulator (though sometimes she runs a cable to ground in case of emergency), but if he stays like this much longer he’ll burn parts of this one dark brown.

“Hi, Zane,” Nya begins, at the same moment that a voice saves her from the doorway with, “Hey, Frosty.” 

Nya could melt in relief. She stands to welcome Cole in, remarking, conversationally, “Not so frosty right now, watch out—”

(This conversational tone is a performance for Zane’s sake, too, like the way some grown-ups can be about tragedies and disasters when a child is in the room.)

And Cole has already rested a hand on Zane’s back. Nya winces, knowing how high the metal has heated, and Cole winces too, pulling his hand an inch back and sucking in a quick hiss through his teeth. He recovers quickly. “Okay, big guy, okay. You’re safe. Eeeeeeasy, Frosty. You’re safe. We’ve got you.”

Nya watches from a step behind him, slightly flummoxed, amazed she once thought they were similar people. It’s more of this as she turns back to her workstation to try to figure out what had even happened, Cole’s voice droning on over her shoulder.

“That’s right, Astroboy. Let’s slow it down—Nya, should he be breathing like this?” And then Cole’s voice turns severe, softer: “We will always come for you, Zane. You hear me? We’re always coming for you.”

“Slower is better,” Nya confirms, as Kai and Jay come into the doorway. Her voice has gone softer, now, too. “He is overheating, so I thought that was his fans working on overdrive, but he’s having a panic attack.”

“How can we help?” Lloyd has joined our doorway crew, now, too. It seems less kind to linger in the hall, but the room is so cramped already, and Zane probably needs air.

Nya considers Jay, who looks, though he’s trying not to, like he’s chomping at the bit to ask to double-check her wiring work. She would ask him to if she thought it wouldn’t freak Zane out right now—he tolerates being prodded at like it’s nothing, but it can’t actually be nothing. The part of her that’s learning to be wrong really wants to ask him to anyway.

She checks herself, four times, for overconfidence. Better to stress Zane out and get a second opinion to keep his physical body safe if she has to. But her readings show a clear signal coming from Zane’s CPU and everything else on her screen says there’s nothing wrong.

“Just be a friend right now, I think.”

Zane came into her workshop today totally trashed. She didn’t feel the need to document and explain every one of them to him this time, he’s grown a lot less attached to the original hardware since he rebuilt himself, but she had to put in a lot of new wiring. Welding work. Multiple circuit boards scorched, and half a motherboard she’d assigned Jay to replicate—he keeps spares. 

Jay had found him on the ground torn open.

He must have held off a massive crowd at once. Thirty, fifty. He’d kept fighting long after he should have been on his knees, and most tellingly, he hadn’t let any of them get behind him—the damage is on his front.

Cole has shifted to rub Zane’s back again, now that the temperature’s dropped enough for it to be thinkable, but there’s still a little grimace on his face. 

Kai steps in once he notices that it’s burning him, offering— “Here, I can—”

“I got it.”

And the room settles into this tense sort of quiet.

Cole knows he was a little too sharp.

“I was just letting Zane know we’re always coming for him, and that he’s safe right here on the Bounty. We’re hundreds of miles away from the battle, isn’t that right? Kai, you’ve been manning the bridge.”

“Autopilot right now,” Kai clarifies, “before you worry, Zane. Cole’s right, we’re hundreds of miles away.”

“And what Cole said! We are, uh.” Jay fumbles, because it’s not sounding as good out loud now that he’s saying it. “Always coming for you.”

The stillness really wasn’t fixed by this.

Kai shifts uncomfortably on his feet. 

“No, you know what, that’s not what it’s going to be,” Kai asserts, already decided. “We’re not going to need to keep coming for you, because it’s not going to happen like this. Isn’t that right, Lloyd.”

Lloyd perks up, grateful for something to do. Cole’s eyes are still trained on Zane’s face, Jay watching anxiously over his shoulder, everyone else’s eyes on Lloyd. Nya’s paused in her work to listen.

“That is right.” He decides, then and there. “Zane, if you are in any situation where one of us would retreat or we would die, I want you to retreat. It’s the same standard for everyone. Not any more of this.”

“Retreat wasn’t an option.” Zane croaks out. It’s the second thing he’s said all night. His voice, for all it’s just been through, is surprisingly calm. Cole very gingerly jostles his shoulder, the same way he would ruffle someone’s hair.

“...Okay. I believe that.” Lloyd sounds a little chagrined, voice pulling away from its leader-y command. “I’m sorry it happened that way. We’ll keep a better eye out, alright? No, I’ll keep a better eye out. No one’s running off and getting surrounded anymore—that goes for all of you.”

There are a few very quick murmurs of assent, a quiet aye-aye Lloyd from Nya.

Kai sits on the workbench by Zane’s feet. He reaches as if to touch him, to be here with him somehow, but he’s unsure how to and Zane has already brought his breathing back down. Cole is keeping his hand draped behind the other’s back where Zane can’t see it. Kai notes that the palm’s a little burned.

Zane rolls onto his back, and Cole and Kai move out of the way.

He turns his eyes up toward Nya, who stills, pausing her fidgeting. “Nya, what are my diagnostics.”

Nya rattles them off, one by one, clear and moderately-paced. “You can’t access those yourself, or you just wanted to hear a voice?”

“I wanted a voice.” It’s easier, too, not to need to think for them. If anything is wrong, anything permanently damaged or even just hurting for an extra night, he’d rather not look at it directly.

“Okay, anytime.”

-

It’s well past dark when Kai finally moves toward bed later that night, speeding through the hall with the kind of quiet you use when you’re the only one left awake.

“Retreat was not an option.”

Kai halts. That came from Zane, fully alert—when he walks back to peer through Nya’s door, he half expects Zane to have sat up to face him, but he hasn’t, of course, he’s still curled on his side. He still catches Kai’s eye from the door, all the same, and Kai’s step quickens without waiting for him to ask it to as he steps inside.

“Oh, Zane, are you still-? Lloyd isn’t mad at you, he wasn’t saying-“

“No. Retreat wasn’t an option.” Kai has by now reached his side, and takes Zane’s hand where Zane lies on the workbench. He debates hopping up to sit on its edge, but by the time he’s finished thinking it, there’s already been too much quiet, and he can tell with an uncomfortable internal squirm that Zane is as empathetic to his predicament as he is to Zane’s. He opens his mouth to do something about it, just before Zane shakes his head and cuts in faster, like he’s racing him to break the silence on purpose. “I was built to-“ his voice chokes.

Kai’s eyes lock on Zane’s, and he takes a slow, comprehending kind of breath. He grips Zane’s hand, Zane grips it tighter back.

“...To protect those who cannot protect themselves,” Kai’s mouth helpfully, carefully supplies; he says it like he’s not sure Zane wants it said.

There’s a little moment, somewhere in the space they share right then, when Kai grows something unreadable on his face. A hint of the Kai from years ago who might have snapped on this, who might have given the problem an immediate villain and a villain he wants to punch. He has grown either the maturity or the embarrassment to bite the anger back, and Zane is selfishly grateful for either.

Zane pulls their hands closer to his face, affirmative hum interrupted by a full-body hitch. This part has never been hard. They’re brothers. Zane squeezes his hand, and Kai squeezes it back.

“We can protect ourselves. Zane. We can. Do you believe that?”

Zane shakes his head, not that he doesn’t believe, but that: “Retreat wasn’t-“

“Okay.” Kai cuts him off before he can explain himself into the ground. “You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna make sure you’re safe, Zane.”

-

“Sorry I’m late, Kai.” Lloyd’s entry, arriving at the door with posture that says ‘casual’ and through the door with posture that says ‘leader,’ turns the half-baked gathering into a Meeting. “You wanted everyone on the bridge?”

“I actually wanted everyone down in Nya’s workshop, but I thought we should get there all at once. We need to talk about this.” 

Lloyd nods in acknowledgement; we all know what ‘this’ is. “You asked Zane?”

“I suggested it, but no, actually, Zane asked me.”

Lloyd nods again, once up and down, and once over his shoulder at the door. Jay, craning his neck up from the back of the room, gives him a smile, Lloyd takes that smile and gives it to the room. His expression goes serious once more, with his head on straight. “Alright, everyone, Zane called a meeting. Did he say right now?”

“Sooner is probably better.”

“Let’s head down.“

[elfyourmother]

I’m old enough to remember going to a site every day to look at fic, manips, amvs etc and then without warning it’s just gone, bc it got C&D’d into oblivion

sites disappearing when free web hosts like Homestead etc completely died in favor of blogging platforms like LJ and eventually social networks. multiple purges, losing stories and vids

it’s just hard to explain to ppl who haven’t been thru this over and over again the sense of loss you feel, and the powerlessness, the relationships you lose when communities just vanish, when shit is just gone. I still miss a specific thread on Fametracker years later (Good Movie Manners Cost Nothing) and the various TWoP boards I hung out on (Buffy and Angel and even 24 of all things). nowadays things don’t disappear due to purges, not now that the corporate conglomerates who control our media have discovered there is money to be made in fandom. now it’s watching fan communities get snapped up by the big media corps and gutted of their fannish soul to be monetized and sold back to us and then inevitably shut down. over and over again this has happened. I get why ppl are so adamant about preventing that. And I bristle when mfers say nothing of value would be lost if AO3 shut down tomorrow just bc of some of the garbage posted on there. there are too many writers of color, queer & trans writers doing amazing ownvoices fic on there for me to ever believe some shit like that.

idk. shit is just really complicated. having lived through the progression of internet based fandom in real time gives a kind of perspective on this endless war over AO3 and its TOS. I don’t like how extreme it is and what it protects, at all. I have been candid about the role fic played in my own grooming and abuse in pre-web internet. we desperately need a moderated fic archive with standards, by fans for fans and not for advertisers. But I also don’t know that I would trust some of the loudest voices in these debates not to turn it into a circle jerk clown show of infighting and respectability politics. numerous times I’ve seen basic, extremely reasonable and innocuous moderation policies get weaponized and turned on the very marginalized ppl they’re meant to protect. there’s also a human cost to moderation that needs to be considered, who is doing the job of keeping ppl safe and how are they being supported. (I’ve read one too many articles about the toll of sifting thru vile content daily on the exploited workers who do it for FB, YT, etc) People who disingenuously twist SJ language they don’t understand to fight garden variety ship wars abt cartoon characters don’t really fill me w confidence.

[beka1820]

I Hear The Secrets You Keep

Five Times TK confesses a secret to Carlos when half asleep, and the One Time he's wide awake.

A little while ago, @bellakitse told me she needed more Tarlos and actually believed in me to write for them. And well, several weeks later I have tried to deliver for her. So this is really all her fault. A huge thank you to all of my Junkyard friends for continuing to encourage me and listen to me whine as this took on a life of it's own.

This fic can be canon compliant up until episode 8, because yes I was working on this for that long.

Read on AO3

“You wear really tight pants.”

Carlos was positive TK was asleep moments before this so he jolts a little when he speaks. They’re curled up on Carlos’ couch, having spent the evening watching movies and eating takeout. This type of evening is becoming pretty common for them when their days off line up. Carlos has no idea what they are, or what they’re doing, all he knows is that he enjoys every second that he gets to spend with TK. And now that TK is willing to spend more quality time together with their clothes on, he tries to take advantage of it as much as possible. Carlos can’t deny that he appreciates that it’s also amounted to more quality time with their clothes off as well.

“What did you just say?”

“Your jeans, they’re really tight. Your shirts are too.”

Now that Carlos is paying attention he can tell that TK is mumbling the words. He pulls away a little to look and sees that TK’s eyes are half-closed so maybe he is as close to being asleep as he thought.

TK just moves his head back to bury it further into Carlos’ shoulder. He also puts a hand over his chest and absentmindedly starts playing with one of his accused shirts, which Carlos will admit is maybe a little tight.

“I see. I didn’t realize you had such a problem with my clothes. Is that why you keep ripping all of them?” Carlos can only grin and try to stay focused on the present, even when his own words bring up several distracting memories.

TK snorts at his comment.

“Oh I love that you wear such tight clothes, I love seeing you showing off all your amazing assets.” He can tell that TK wants to grab his ass right now but since they’re sitting he settles for patting his hip and wedging his fingers in between his ass and the couch. He sighs contentedly so this must be a good enough compromise for him for now. “I just don’t know if I love everyone else getting to see your incredible ass on such fine display.”

Carlos can’t help but preen a little at TK’s confession. He knows he’s a decent looking guy and that he gets looks when he’s out, but all he ever notices when they are together is how everyone is checking out TK. And he doesn’t blame them, the man is gorgeous and also a complete hypocrite right now for talking about Carlos being the one who wears tight pants.

He can’t help but be a little hopeful, that maybe he’s not the only one who wants to put up a sign saying “Taken, Get Lost” whenever anyone looks for too long.

“You think I have an incredible ass?”

“With or without clothes it’s probably the best ass I’ve ever seen in my life. I can’t even begin to explain to you what you're missing out on by not getting to look at it like I get to.”

Carlos can’t help the blush that crosses his face and figures maybe it’s time to try and change the subject but the slight pause seems to have spurred TK on.

“I mean, you know I'm a faster runner than you right?”

They’ve started jogging together on the occasion when they are both off work, TK admitted that being active helps clear his mind and Carlos is always looking for ways to help and spend time with him. Plus getting to see TK sweaty and panting is becoming one of Carlos’ favorite pastimes.

But TK falls a little behind several times on their runs and Carlos tries to gently remind him as much.

“Yeah no. When I’m not with you I run that route about 5 minutes faster.”

Carlos scoffs in disbelief because this is definitely news to him.

“I’m not even sorry, and you wouldn’t be either if you got to see what I get to see when I fall behind.”

Carlos can’t help the full-body laugh that bursts out of him and TK makes an annoyed noise at being disrupted by his comfortable position. He burrows in a little further and within minutes Carlos is positive this time he’s fast asleep.

Carlos can’t even be bothered because he’s left with this amazing new bit of knowledge about TK. He’s suspected before that TK is a little more open when he’s tired and his guard is down by some of the comments he’s made or how he seems a little extra affectionate. This conversation all but confirmed it for him.

He loves it and stores it away in the compartment in his mind where he keeps everything he can learn about TK. Carlos finds that he falls for him harder with every new piece of information, but that is something he accepted would be the case almost from the moment he asked TK to line dance with him in a bar.

He hopes there’s genuineness in these moments. He thinks there could be and imagines they could help him as he navigates whatever this thing is between them.

As he starts to drift off himself he smiles when he realizes that TK still has his hand touching his ass like he’s claiming it, so maybe there is some truth to his half-asleep confessions after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It happens again a couple of hours after their first fight. Carlos had barely considered it a fight as it was happening, just something they would move past once they got a few small frustrations out of their system. But the way that TK had become more and more restless as it continued made Carlos sit up and take notice.

They’re lying in bed facing each other, they had talked it out and Carlos is confident they’re better than ever. He’s more worried about TK’s reaction to the fight.

He’s gotten really good at reading TK the more time they have spent together. He recognizes when he starts to go inside his head and when Carlos should try and intervene and pull him back out or step back and let him work through it himself.

He’s at a bit of a loss this time though, TK’s reaction didn’t seem to match with the conversation and the small disagreement they were having.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He knows this may not be fair, TK looks incredibly tired and Carlos doesn’t want to disrupt his peace now that he seems to finally have it, but he’s also worried that if they don’t talk about it now, it might be too late and he wants to understand.

“I thought we did talk,” TK smiles sleepily at him and Carlos tries not to get too distracted by one of his favorite smiles lighting up his face.

“I don’t mean about the disagreement, we’re good there,” he says and gives TK a soft kiss to make sure he’s getting his point across. “I’m talking about your reaction to it.”

TK doesn’t say anything for a minute and Carlos debates whether he should push the subject or back off for the time being.

“The last fight Alex and I had was about how I never loaded the dishwasher correctly,” he starts with a resigned sigh. “I know that wasn’t what broke us, we were broken long before. But I think back on that fight and how small it might have been but how clear it was I couldn’t do anything right by his standards.” He admits with his eyes closed and his head ducked down a little.

Carlos thinks he’s starting to understand, their fight was about something small and inconsequential as well, so it can’t have felt good to remember a similar one he had with his ex.

“I’m sorry this was a painful reminder for you Ty, I—“

“I’m constantly terrified of the day you’re going to realize I’m not worth it.”

Carlos thinks a punch to the face would have hurt less than to hear those words.

TK resignedly continues, “You might be the most amazing man I have ever met. And I know I’m doing better, and I'm healing, but you have always deserved better than me. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up to that fact.”

Thankfully TK’s eyes are still closed so it gives Carlos a second to reign in his emotions before he says anything.

“Sweetheart.” He’s thankful for his training that’s helped him keep a calm and steady voice despite the fact that he’s breaking inside for the man laying in front of him. When TK doesn’t respond he reaches out to touch his face only to realize that the man is asleep. That heartbreaking statement was his last thought of the day.

Carlos fights back tears as he quietly gets out of bed and heads to his back porch to get some fresh air. When TK doesn’t have to be on alert he sleeps like the dead so Carlos knows he has some time to be alone without him waking up.

Usually if TK’s ex is mentioned in any way Carlos does what he can to put him out of his mind. The worthless piece of shit that he is, who tried to break TK little by little over the course of their relationship, Carlos learned. He does his best not to let himself think too much about the coward, he has more important and worthy people to occupy his thoughts. But tonight he doesn’t even try to deflect.

Carlos isn’t jealous of the man, he’s sick of him. He wants the ghost of him out of their relationship. No, what he really wants is the man and every single memory gone from TK’s mind and heart. He has come so far, Carlos is so proud of him. But his heart breaks a little every time he sees TK, this strong beautiful man, struggling with his self worth because of what that fool of a man did to him.

He knows he can't’ push too hard. He and TK have made great strides in their relationship, they’re officially together and telling people as such.

He knows he just has to be patient. He’s in this for the long haul and he’s willing for it to take however long it’s going to for TK to understand he’s amazing, every messy and beautiful part. And that he’s everything and more that Carlos could ever have hoped to want.

He takes another couple of deep breaths and shakes off the dark thoughts as much as he can. He’d rather focus on what matters, on TK. And making sure that if he wakes up, Carlos is right beside him.

When he gets back in bed, he pulls TK close to him and kisses his forehead while vowing he’ll do whatever he has to do to show him that he is worthy of every good thing he could ever want.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They’re laying in TK’s bed spooning late at the end of the day. It’s TK’s birthday and Carlos and Owen threw him a surprise party with pretty much every first responder they’ve ever worked with. It still managed to be a casual bbq dinner, Judd brought over games like horseshoe and cornhole while the “New York pretty boys” as Judd called them watched with side-eyes and skepticism.

At the end of the night Carlos had planned to leave but TK had pulled him close and asked him to stay while his arms were wrapped around his shoulders and their lips pressed together. They both know that Carlos is unable to say no to him because TK had merely smirked and led him upstairs to his room.

“Did you have a good time today sweetheart?” Carlos asks, kissing him on the shoulder and burying his face in TK’s freshly washed hair and taking a deep breath.

“Yeah I did, thank you babe. It was a lot of fun and probably the most relaxing birthday I’ve ever had.”

“Oh yeah? What did you do in New York for your birthday?”

TK hums a little and Carlos can only smile as he feels TK holding on to his last grip on awareness. He takes a deep breath and launches into all the traditions and events and places he was often taken to for his day, by his friends and his dad. It ends up sounding like it would take more of a week to fit everything in and TK confirms as much with a slightly wistful sound to his voice.

“All of that sounds amazing sweetheart. It’s good you had so many traditions to celebrate.” He suddenly feels woefully lacking and he can’t shake the feeling. He thinks of the casual gathering they just had and realizes how small it must have been compared to one of the fancy restaurants or clubs he used to go to in New York. He knows TK had a good time, but that doesn’t mean he made him feel as special on his day as he deserves. Or that Austin is where he really would have celebrated if he had the choice. “I’m sorry you missed out on all of that this year.”

It seems Carlos didn’t do a good job of reigning in the insecurity in his voice because the next thing he knows a sleepy and confused TK is looking back at him. The expression on his face must be just as bad because TK rolls around till he is facing him.

“Talk to me babe.”

Carlos wants to roll his eyes, that’s his words and the tone he uses when he sees TK going into himself and he wants to lovingly draw him back out. They decided they would do their absolute best to talk and be open about how they were feeling, as hard as it is. Carlos is currently regretting ever making this agreement.

“It just sounds like you always had so many amazing things to do and people to be with back there. Austin falls majorly short when you compare.” He pauses before adding, “So does the party today,” he mumbles knowing TK will hear him but wishing he wouldn’t. It’s not a trait he feels often, but right now he can’t help the insecurity and slight embarrassment that are rearing their ugly heads. He closes his eyes in hopes to reign it back, this isn’t the way he wants to end TK’s birthday.

“My amazing boyfriend threw me an amazing party in the place where I’m happy with my life with all of my favorite people so I’d kindly ask you to not insult him or anything else that way.” TK’s eyes are soft when Carlos looks at him, but his tone is determined.

Carlos has to look at TK for a minute to make sure he heard him right. He knows TK is flourishing here in every way, that he’s enjoying his time with Carlos, and has made his crew into his family. But this is the first time he’s said anything like that in reference to Texas.

“You’re right though, I have been comparing. My old life and new life.”

Carlos can only nod and wait. He knows the party and Austin can’t compete with what TK used to have. He tries and fails not to think about the fact that he may never be able to compete with it either.

“I actually have been thinking about it a lot lately,” TK says steadfastly. “And I think the life I have now is becoming everything I have always wanted.”

Carlos tries to swallow around the lump in his throat, and barely manages to rasp out, “Do you mean that?”

TK takes a second to let out a sigh. “Look I know I didn’t get off to the best start here. I thought I was going to go stir crazy when we first arrived. I cared about my new crew from the start, but everything had changed so quickly. I didn’t really have time to catch my breath and you saw how much of a mess I was at the beginning.”

It’s such a testament to how far TK has come that he can say things like that so easily and without being detrimental to himself. Carlos can’t help but smile and reach out to cup TK’s cheek. TK pauses for a second to turn his head slightly and kiss his palm before continuing.

“But now that I have distance, I can see my life in New York wasn’t what I made it out to be in my mind. I never felt at peace there, I just didn’t realize it at the time. And now that I’m here, with the 126 who are truly my family. And with you... I think I’m finally understanding what true happiness is for me.”

Carlos has to blink rapidly to try to keep away the tears that are threatening to fall. But he sees that TK’s eyes are just as shiny and is thankful he isn’t the only one feeling overwhelmed right now.

When TK senses that Carlos is too emotional to say anything, he grins at him.

“Was that too cheesy?” He jokes even though it’s clear he meant every word.

“Absolutely.” Carlos finally manages to say, “but you shouldn’t let that stop you.”

TK only laughs and leans forward to kiss Carlos on the nose, and Carlos just closes his eyes and revels in the moment.

TK decides to finish him off. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more at peace than when you’re by my side.”

Carlos gives up completely and lets a couple of tears fall as he pulls TK even closer. “You know I feel the same right? You know I’m not going anywhere?”

TK manages a wobbly smile of his own. “I think I’m starting to get that.”

Carlos briefly thinks back to months before when TK was convinced he didn’t deserve Carlos or anything good in his life. To see him finally realizing that he does might be one of the best moments of his life.

Carlos tilts his head and gives TK a long lingering kiss, both reluctant to pull away.

“Thank you for my amazing party Carlos.”

“Happy birthday Tyler Kennedy”

“Ugh, why did you have to go and ruin the moment?” TK whines as he turns back around, and Carlos can only laugh and pull him close where they fall asleep with their hands entwined over TK’s heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re sure you’re ok?” TK asks for what is probably the tenth time that evening.

“Yes dear, I’m fine” Carlos teases in an overdramatic sigh.

TK reaches forward and hits his chest softly to show he’s not amused with his sass. Carlos just chuckles and grabs the hand that hit him and tangles their fingers together.

They’re settled on Carlos’ couch lengthwise, TK has his legs apart so Carlos can lay in between them with his back to TK’s chest. It’s a role reversal from how they usually like to lounge, but TK insisted so he could rub Carlos’ aching back and shoulders before he laid back to rest.

He got rear-ended while out on a call today. Thankfully no one was injured, but the other car was going fast enough that he’s already sore and knows he’s going to be feeling it for days to come. He still doesn’t even know how TK found out so quickly, it wasn’t a long process, but by the time he was leaving the scene he already had a dozen texts and calls from TK begging to know if he was ok.

He messaged that he was going home and told TK he’d call him and tell him what happened then. But TK was already waiting at his house when he got there, wearing an expression Carlos had never seen before.

Without a word he kissed him hard and led him inside where he could triple-check that Carlos was ok, completely ignoring his protests that Michelle had already looked him over. TK finally accepted that he was just sore and achy. He made Carlos take a hot shower and then told him he wanted to help him with the pain.

Now laying here together on the couch, he knows they should probably get up, this isn’t the position he needs to fall asleep in despite how comfortable he is right now. But he can’t seem to make himself move so he closes his eyes and figures they both can take a small nap before heading to bed.

“I was so scared.”

Carlos’ eyes pop back open when he hears TK speak again. He’s got the thick tone to his voice that Carlos’ associates with exhaustion so he knows this is another of TK’s sleepy confessions. He can also sense something different in the tone than normal, something raw and emotional. He grips TK's hand and brings it to his lips while he lets TK speak his mind.

“All I heard was you had been in an accident, no one could tell me how bad it was, if I needed to find you at a hospital or….” He trails off, unable to finish his dark thought.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, you know I never want to worry you.”

“I know. I just, it’s hard. Being completely helpless and having to wait to get any kind of news. That was the longest hour of my life. I was terrified.” TK takes another deep breath. “And so angry at myself.”

And that, that catches Carlos off guard.

“What do you mean, what could you possibly have to be angry at yourself for?” He grips TK just a little tighter while he waits. He loves when TK opens up but always hates how hard he is on himself.

TK takes so long to answer that Carlos thinks he fell asleep. He loathes to wake him up, but that also wasn’t a comment he can just let go, but before he can sit up and decide, TK speaks again.

“I have a routine.” He mumbles and Carlos’ breathe catches because he thinks he might know where this is going. “Remember that time we were on the phone and you had to go because there was a robbery in progress?”

Carlos can only nod.

“I felt so helpless, sitting at work with nothing to do but wait to hear if you were ok.”

It’s gratifying to hear, Carlos can’t even pretend. He remembers the incident well. It was at the beginning of their relationship, weeks before they even defined what they were doing as more than casual. Carlos’ has no doubt that TK has never wanted harm to come to him, but to hear how worried he got even back then, it’s a pleasant revelation.

“I didn’t have any cleaning or maintenance or paperwork to keep me busy, so I got on the treadmill and ran. I made it to about three and a half miles before I got a text from you that you were ok. I remember the exact number and the speed I was going.” TK absentmindedly starts running his hand through Carlos’ hair and he can tell it’s helping to ground him. “Now whenever I hear that you are heading to any kind of rough or dangerous call, I get on the treadmill and run exactly the same distance and speed. And I didn’t get to do that today.”

Carlos can’t pretend he isn’t a little stunned. TK always seems fairly composed whenever they talk about Carlos having a dangerous call. But then again, he knows he does his best to keep his self-control whenever TK’s safety is on the line.

TK pauses again. “I know it’s stupid—-“

“Every time I hear there’s a fire while you’re on shift I have to immediately leave my desk and walk past the coffee shop across the street and to the one 5 blocks away and get an Americano with cream and two raw sugars. Then I have to take the long way back to work. Even if I just had coffee or even in the pouring rain.”

TK pauses his hand combing through Carlos’ hair for a second. “Really?”

“You aren’t the only one who worries, love.”

TK takes another breath and then admits in a whisper, “I also have routines if I’m on a call or if I’m not at work.”

From almost the beginning he’s known that he and TK just understand each other in a way they never have with anyone else.

Carlos twists a little to look up at him. “Yeah me too.”

“Well ok then.” TK says and kisses the top of his head and Carlos knows he’s not imagining the smile being pressed there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carlos realizes he’s going to have to come up with a new ritual because the next time it happens they’re in the hospital.

He’s doing his best to stay calm as he sits by the hospital bed his anxiety-inducing boyfriend is lying in. When he looks over at TK he thinks he’s probably having a harder time than TK even is with all of this.

All in all, he got off lucky. TK had a ceiling collapse on him and only walked away with a mild concussion from it. The doctors did a thorough check and were in the process of releasing him. They had already given Carlos a list of symptoms to look out for and ways to help or ease TK’s pain and discomfort.

“I love you, you know that?”

Carlos smiles at the man, thankful that he managed to break him out of the dark thoughts that were starting up again.

“I do, you say it a lot.” He does. Once TK was able to finally say the words a little while ago, he says them all the time. Carlos could tell he was ready to say them weeks before he finally did and now it’s like he’s making up for lost time. Honestly, Carlos couldn’t be happier.

“I love you so much I would fold your laundry for you.”

That, however, is new and Carlos’ startled laugh seems to only amuse a half-asleep and half out of it TK laying on the hospital bed watching him.

“Ok well, that’s… sweet of you?” He manages to say.

“It is sweet of me. I rarely even fold my own laundry, but I love you so much I’d fold all of yours.”

Carlos can’t do anything but lean over and give TK a soft lingering kiss after something so adorably sweet like that. Sleepy and playful TK is just another sign that he really is feeling ok and the knots in Carlos’ stomach that have taken residence since he heard the shouts about the roof collapsing loosen a tiny bit more. Of course he still had to mess with him a little bit.

“This is amazing news sweetheart, because I just so happen to have some clean clothes in the dryer waiting.”

TK only smiles wider. “You’re just always ruining the moment, aren’t you?”

Carlos can only laugh as a nurse pokes their head in to let them know TK’s discharge papers are ready.

“Finally,” TK sits up and waits for Carlos to help him stand up where he sways into his arms. The concussion along with exhaustion is taking its rapid effect and Carlos just wants to get him in bed as soon as possible where he can hold him and try and forget what a close call he had today.

“You ready handsome?” He asks, as TK cuddles closer in his arms.

“I am. Take me home babe.”

“Oh. I thought I’d take you to my place? So I can keep an eye on you.” Take care of him is really what he means, and he knows TK knows it too. But if he says it out loud TK will try to pretend like he knows how to take care of himself. He doesn’t.

“That’s what I meant. Take me home.”

Carlos gives him a small smile, loving that in TK’s mind, his home is like a home to him too. He gave him a spare key a little while ago, which he uses liberally. Carlos is also pretty sure half of TK’s clothes are in his closet or dresser. He sleeps there pretty much every night they don’t have shifts. Carlos wants him there every night and day but he’s trying to be thankful for what they have for now.

“Is that ok? That I called your house my home? We can just forget it, it doesn’t have to mean anything.” He looks so nervous all of a sudden and Carlos realizes he mistook his expression and silence for something other than happiness.

“Sweetheart stop, of course it’s ok. You know I want you over always. I want you to feel welcome and it means everything to me that you feel comfortable enough to consider it as a home.”

“I think of it as my actual home,” TK responds quietly as if hoping his confession won’t be a big deal if it’s not said too loud. “Wherever my dad is will always be somewhere safe and welcome to me, but when I think of home now, it’s always with you.”

“With me?” Carlos asks him happily, rubbing his hands up and down his arms.

“Mmhmm.”

“With me and our house?”

TK looks up a little surprised but mostly hopeful and Carlos smiles at him.

“It’s always been your home TK. From the moment I gave you a key, and hell even before that. I just never wanted to push or rush you before you were ready.”

“Mmm, yeah you’re good like that,” TK says and leans in to kiss him softly. “Well, I am more than ready now. And I think I have been for a while too. Honestly I’m pretty sure about three-quarters of my wardrobe is already there.”

“Do you mean to tell me you actually have more clothes?” Carlos mostly pretends to be appalled.

“Yep, but I’ve already moved in so no take-backs.”

Carlos laughs. “I love you.”

“Yeah?” TK says with that way he gets where he’s fishing for more. Despite his exhaustion he’s got a smirk on his face.

“Mmhmm.” Carlos leans in to whisper in his ear. “In fact, I'm even willing to fold your insane amount of laundry when you bring the rest over. A handsome smartass once told me that’s true love.”

TK can only laugh at that and let Carlos pull him in for a hug before they leave to head home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They’re laying in bed in what is probably Carlos’ favorite way to fall asleep these days, with TK practically on top of him, with his head on his chest. TK told him once how calming and reassuring it is for him to fall asleep to Carlos’ heartbeat. He is open and free with his love and affections now, but he still manages to catch Carlos off guard sometimes and he couldn’t be more in love if he tried.

He could feel TK fall asleep moments before and he closes his eyes ready to join him.

“I think we should get married.”

He somehow manages to keep his eyes shut, he’s too intent on calming his racing heart and telling himself TK must be talking in his sleep. He won’t, he will not let himself get his hopes up about what that might mean because TK is asleep and it isn’t fair of him to read into it.

He keeps his eyes closed and stays quiet and hopes that if he doesn’t encourage TK to continue talking this will be forgotten and he can go back to trying his best to be patient and wait for the right time to ask that question himself.

He feels TK moving around a little though but before he can really understand what is happening he feels as if something is suddenly right in front of his face. He loses his control and opens his eyes to stare directly at TK’s hand inches from his face. With a beautiful gold band between his fingers.

Carlos would estimate it took him about 3 days to stop staring at the ring before he finally looked at TK’s smiling face, TK will tell him later it was a little shorter than that.

He seems to have lost the ability to speak because all he can do is stare in wonder. He knows his expression must be ridiculous, but it doesn’t even matter because TK is laughing at him and it is the most beautiful sight he has ever seen in his life.

TK must finally pick up on the fact that he’s rendered his boyfriend speechless and decides to take mercy on him and speak first.

“What’s the problem babe, did you think I was asleep?” TK asks with a twinkle in his eye. They’ve talked about it and TK knows all about how he gets when he’s tired and his guard is down. He would never have thought his menace of a love would use that knowledge to his advantage and mess with him like he just did. And honestly, Carlos couldn’t be happier.

“That might have crossed my mind, yeah.” He finally finds his words.

“Oh,” the cheeky asshole replies, “I understand. It’s ok, we can pretend I was really tired just now and put this away…” TK starts to turn away as if to put the ring somewhere, anywhere else but on Carlos’ finger and Carlos has them flipped and is on top of TK before he even realizes he had moved.

“If you think for even a second that that ring is going anywhere else but on my hand right now—”

TK surges up to kiss him but they both can’t stop smiling or laughing for it to last long.

“So is that a yes then babe?”

“You know you technically haven’t asked me a question,” Carlos says, so giddy he can’t help himself from teasing.

“Mmmm. I haven’t, have I?” TK pauses for a moment to stare at Carlos and it takes his breath away to see the overwhelming love and happiness that is on display right now. One that is for Carlos only. It’s an expression he had always hoped to see and it manages to get better every single time.

“Carlos Reyes, love of my life, will you marry me?”

Carlos blinks several times, trying to keep the tears at bay so he can continue to look at TK’s beautiful and hopeful face, but his answer is immediate. “Yes, mi corazon, yes.” He whispers.

He knows TK’s blinding smile is from the answer and the name and he smiles in responses and kisses TK with everything in him. TK pulls back all too quickly and Carlos starts to protest before TK reaches for his left hand and places the ring on his finger. They both stare at it till TK looks up at him and kisses his knuckles.

“I love you.” TK says, his voice rough with emotions.

“Oh, I love you too. So much.” Carlos can only reply as he strokes TK’s face with his new favorite hand. The band compliments TK’s skin so well, Carlos can’t wait to see the two next to each other for the rest of his life.

He leans in again and kisses TK with the full intention of showing him exactly how excited he is about being engaged and smiles when he can feel that TK is determined to do the same.

Later on, when they are both laying on their sides facing each other and catching their breaths, Carlos’ mind wanders to their sock drawer. A cliché hiding place he knows, but TK is incredibly picky about his socks he learned from the beginning. He never needed to worry about him grabbing one of Carlos’ pairs and finding the ring by accident.

“Can I be honest with you about something?”

“I would hope so, fiancé,” TK grins at him.

His insides light up at the title and he swears if they didn’t just finish he’d be rolling TK on his back again in a heartbeat. “You’re going to use that a lot and kill me aren’t you?”

TK full on giggles at him. “Yep. Now that I’ve seen your reaction, I’m gonna use it all the time.”

“I can’t find it in myself to even pretend like I’m upset by that.”

“Good,” TK says as he picks up Carlos’ hand and starts playing with his ring, Carlos is pretty sure he could spend the rest of his life in this moment. “What did you want to be honest with me about?”

He blinks and remembers his early thoughts. “Right yeah, so I might have one small issue with you proposing to me tonight.”

“Oh?” Carlos has TK’s full attention now it seems as he stares at him in expectant confusion.

“I have a ring in the sock drawer. I've been planning to propose for a little while now. I was just waiting for the right time.” He’s not sure why but he’s desperate for TK to understand that this next step was also in his plan too and that somehow for once TK managed to beat him to it. But only barely.

TK’s smile is blinding. He’s never seen him so content in all their time together. “Well, then I’m really glad I got to ask first. I finally beat you to one of our milestones.” He leans over and kisses Carlos for a couple of long seconds. “But I am going to need that ring now.” He holds up his hand expectantly.

But Carlos can’t quite let this go. “I just need for you to understand that this has always been my plan and hope for us, for you.” Now that he has gotten started he realizes why he’s so desperate for TK to understand. “You deserve everything, I wanted to show you that. I wanted you to see that you’re worthy of a moment like this, and—“

“Hey,” TK manages to startle Carlos out of what was absolutely going to turn into a long-winded rant if he wasn’t careful. He pushes Carlos till he lays on his back and then quickly straddles him so he can look down at him and keep his undivided attention.

“I already know I’m deserving, ok? And I wanted to propose to the man who helped me remember that.”

TK seems to have no problem with the fact that he’s rendered Carlos speechless because he keeps going. “From the moment I met you, you started showing me that. You being you, loving and taking care of me and being patient with me. You challenged me and called me out when I needed it. You helped me understand I deserve this, I deserve to be happy. And to be happy with you.” TK has tears falling from his eyes but he’s never looked happier. “And you made me so confident in that and our love so I could do this tonight with no hang-ups. I didn’t have one hesitation or fear and that’s because of you.”

Thankfully TK seems to understand that Carlos needs a few moments to recover. He thinks back over their time together, and how all he’s ever wanted for TK was everything that TK just says he gave him.

“Well, I can’t argue with that can I?” Carlos finally manages to say with his own tears streaming down his face.

“Not so much, no.” TK starts peppering kisses all over his face before he pulls back to glare at him. “But I swear if you don’t go get my ring right now and get it on my finger I will—“

Carlos stops his threat with a kiss and laughs as he moves TK off of him to rush to the dresser. He told himself before that he would be as patient as he needed to be in their relationship. Now as he puts his ring on TK’s hand he finds he’s more than eager to start the rest of their lives together. And by the look on TK’s face, he’s just as ready.

[a-libra-writes]

Imagine Being the Sister of the Baratheon Brothers

heyyyy, this is …  not my usual thing, i’ve only done it one other time, but it kinda got away from me! I started brainstorming the backstory for the requested Davos x Baratheon!Reader fic and idk what happened? w/e here we go

You were the third child of the Baratheon household, born several years after your two older brothers. Lady Cassana was so pleased to have a girl. You distinctly remember how she’d brush your hair and teach you songs. She’d embroider little turtles in your clothes - the sigil of her House Estermont - because she knew you adored them. Your lord father was just as doting. He liked carrying you on his shoulders while he walked around Storm’s End, talking to his men with a straight face as if there wasn’t a toddler pulling at his ears. 

Your father would seriously lecture Robert about not teasing you, telling Stannis to set a good example, and insisting to both of them that you were to be protected. You were their only sister, he’d say, and your virtue and safety was important. These lectures just embarrassed you and bored Robert; Stannis seemed to be the only one paying attention.

It was a great surprise when your mother had Renly. You were delighted to not be the youngest anymore, and you were fascinated by him. You liked to carry him around and insisted on helping look after him. Storm’s End had become so boring since Robert went off to foster with Lord Arryn, and while your mother liked your enthusiasm, she also put Stannis in charge of dragging you out of the nursery when you kept pestering the baby.

You were often restless and left to your own whims. Robert thought you were too much of a child to play with, and a girl besides; Stannis wasn’t one for your silly games and Renly was a baby. Your parents indulged you and allowed you to play and run far more than other young ladies, and you had become an adept rider at a young age. Your childhood was carefree, for a time.

Robert was visiting the week it happened. You didn’t recognize him, and he could carry you on his shoulders like your father did. He talked all about the Stark boy he was friends with, and you asked if they could really turn into wolves. As the sun was setting, you carried Renly as you followed Robert and Stannis to a high point on Storm’s End. All of you wanted to watch your parents return from Essos. They’d been gone so long.

You’d  never seen a ship crash, although your father had told stories of it. You didn’t expect the noise of the wood breaking against the rocks to carry in the wind and reach you, nor did you expect the horrible silence that came afterward. Robert screamed and cursed and ran off the wall, as if he could make it to the bay. Stannis was so still he could have been a statue. You just sunk to your little knees, holding the babbling Renly in your arms. He was crying, but he didn’t understand. Robert’s yelling had scared him. 

The nightmares were constant for the first few months. Ships breaking against giant waves, bodies sinking to the bottom, screams drowned by water. You’d run crying to Stannis’ room in the middle of the night, and he’d walk you back to your’s and tuck you in. During the day you’d want to look after Renly yourself, because he was young and confused and kept asking for your parents. You didn’t know what to say. You often left Storm’s End to ride in the forests around the castle, sometimes for hours, and Maester Cressen was exasperated with how you’d skip your lessons. 

It took a long time, but you soon became the Lady of Storm’s End, having to take on a number of duties, just as Stannis had to do. While the two of you usually worked well as a team, you often butted heads on Renly’s education and talk of your marriage. You were confident in making your own matches, and besides, Stannis hadn’t even considered his own. In hindsight, it was all silly bickering compared to the war that followed. You knew Robert. He’d stop at nothing until he felt his vengeance was satisfied, and you were petrified at the idea of him and Stannis dying in battle, leaving you and Renly alone to defend Storm’s End.

You don’t like remembering the siege, and it’s awkward when ladies bring it up in pitying voices. You remember how terrible it was at first, how hungry you were, but then the days and weeks began to blur. You were cold all the time, your head hurt, but most of all, the blanket you stayed under felt like an impossible weight. Every action took too much energy, energy you didn’t have. The last words you remember speaking, before speaking became too difficult, was telling Stannis to feed Renly first. He’d gotten so thin and pale, and had become too weak to cry anymore. 

Then one day, someone put food in front of you, and you scarfed it down without questioning what it was. In your delirium, you tried to get up and bring it to Renly, but Stannis caught you before you toppled down and hit your head. You stayed in bed for a week while servants fed you - onions, you later learned. It was mostly onions you were eating.

Even today, it was difficult to eat them without bringing up a slew of troubling memories. A smuggler brought them in, you heard, and later you heard Stannis had knighted the man after taking his fingers for his crime. It wouldn’t be until long after the siege when you’d meet this Ser Davos, and he was taken aback by the tight hug you gave him. 

Your dear temperamental brother was crowned, and he had the rest of his siblings move into the Red Keep. You’d only visited it once or twice as a girl, and it still amazed you. Renly took to the court life right away, and Stannis couldn’t stand it, both outcomes you expected. While you didn’t like the foolish self-serving politics that carried on, you ended up finding your own place. Between attending balls with Renly, debating this policy or that with Stannis and trying to curb Robert’s temper and vices, you were quite busy. 

Nevermind the poor suitors that tried to impress you. Yes, you were the sister of a king, but courting you meant contending with all three of your brothers. Renly was full of thinly-veiled mockery and japes at the lord’s fashion or family, Stannis could make the largest man feel an inch tall with his judging gaze and high standards, and Robert would just tell the men to fuck off. If he was in a more sporting mood, he’d ask for a proper duel, which you always had to talk him down from. 

Some days your brothers and the Red Keep’s politics truly tried on you, but you could escape to the Kingswood to ride your favorite mare. You could attend whatever galas, feasts and tourneys you wanted. It had been years since you’d felt this free of worry, and you couldn’t help but think back to your easy childhood days. Things were completely different now, of course, and your brothers quarreled worse than old women, but you had endured much, and you were just happy to have all your brothers safe and close by.

[fairiesherefairiesthere]

Nothing if not an opportunist (Fraxus)

Short summary: Freed gets kidnapped and Laxus picks his ass up, bc being together is what nice boyfriends do uwu

Intro: 

A more than agreeable way to start one's morning would be with a nice cup of coffee and some baked goods of choice. Should the weather be pleasant, this delightful breakfast could've been taken in his garden. The flowerfilled wonder would look and smell heavenly in the soft light of the morning sun. But alas, hypotheticals are merely that and Freed is having a far less enjoyable morning so far.

Rest of the fic under the cut!

It goes without question that a group of people ambushing you on your way home is far from ideal. It only gets worse when they decide to tie you up with magic-blocking handcuffs right after that and throw you in the back of some dinky carriage. Rude.

With a sigh, Freed repositions himself, trying to find a posture that doesn't cut off his blood circulation. Thanks to an ungodly amount of yoga sessions with Bickslow, he quickly achieves his goal but it's still a far cry from his cozy couch. Inspecting the space, he tuts in disapproval. No cushions, no blankets, not even a beanbag. They should really level up their accommodations if they wanted to avoid the wrath of their temporary guests. A shame they didn't keep that in mind, but Freed sure as hell will.

While he's debating what exactly the awful stench invading his nostrils is, he catches the men in the front talking about a certain topic that catches his attention. His ransom note. Briefly, he mentally deducts some points from them for not putting silencing runes in place.

As the men talk in a not at all hushed tone of voice, it quickly becomes clear that there's no interest in him personally. It's Laxus they're after. A bit predictable and consequently, a bit boring. He mentally deducts a few more points. If they keep this up, they'll end up becoming the worst team that kidnapped him in the shortest amount of time.

Because he considers himself a graceful man, raised right as well as raised to be a bastard, he puts his face between the bars separating him and his kidnappers. "Good day gentlemen," he starts politely and in return, one of them spits in his face. Disappointing. He'll keep it in mind. Outwardly unperturbed, he continues. "I have been listening to your attempts at writing a threatening ransom note for the past half hour and quite frankly, I am not at all impressed. Please try to be at least intelligible, we wouldn't want them to get wrong impressions right?"

"Shut up, I'll torture and kill you", one of them growls and Freed nods enthusiastically. "That's it! Clear and to the point. Now please describe exactly how you'll do it and I'll rephrase it for you. I want my ransom note to be up to my standards. I expect both eloquence and elegance. Maybe even a hint of cheekiness if we're feeling up to it." As the man starts a litany of threats and curses, Freed carefully paraphrases everything, which only heats the man up more. As he gets his enjoyment out of harassing the man, he catches his accomplice writing down his more concrete, paraphrased version of the threats.

Although he missed out on a nice, peaceful morning he can't say that he isn't enjoying himself right now. Being a pest is an artform he's fully mastered.

Laxus hasn't seen Freed all day and to be honest, he hadn't really been worried. That is until he's sipping on a beer while Bickslow and Evergreen are making themselves a tad bit too comfortable on his couch. They had thrown him off and are currently engaged in a fight for the sole rights to the leather-worn throne. Seeing how vicious the fight is turning, he's glad that he had already been eliminated from the fight.

A letter is shoved underneath his door and although Laxus is lightning fast, he's unable to catch even a glimpse of the mailman. "A secret love letter!" Bickslow exclaims from his place on the floor and Evergreen rolls her eyes in response. "If that was a love letter, I'd throw it in the trash. Look at the shoddy thing!"

She's right, Laxus realises. The letter looks awful, crumpled and stained with what seems to be blood. Worry increasing, he opens it up and quickly scans the content of the text. His concern reaches a peak when he spots the long lock of green hair attached to the letter and as he holds it up, Evergreen and Bickslow hiss in unison. "Our baby got kidnapped again, didn't he?" Bickslow asks and Laxus nods.

"They've included an address and say I should come weaponless and with magic-blocking cuffs already on. They say they have to settle a score with me and if I don't come within the next 48 hours they'll kill him. With every hour the torture also increases."

Bickslow whistles between his teeth. "Guess ya gotta go huh?" Evergreen frowns. "Do you even have magic blocking cuffs?" she asks and he points at the ceiling. "In my bedroom", he says and while Bickslow cackles, Evergreen's frown only gets deeper. "Why are there magic-blocking handcuffs in your bedroom...?" When Laxus returns with the green, fluffy cuffs, Evergreens' disappointment is palpable. "They've got little lightning bolts on them!" he tries to defend himself and it sounds ridiculous to his own ears.

Trying to desperately change the subject, he asks if they want to come along on the rescue mission. The answer's a firm no. "The aftermath of these situations are never pretty", Evergreen whispers, eyes clouded with a distant emotion. "I don't want to see the violence, the effects of hopelessness", Bickslow adds, swallowing dryly. Laxus understands their sentiment better than anyone. "Then I'll be bringing him back", he promises, although he knows he doesn't have to. They know he does it every time without fail.

Laxus arrives at the castle at twilight, light and dark intertwining as he enters the too quiet place. Normally castles of this size should be alive, the hum of the hustling and bustling of servants forming the core of it's sound. Although he can hear people scurrying about far away, there's still the lingering feeling that it is way too quiet. It's as though the castle is awaiting his arrival with baited breath.

Upon entering the hall, he's greeted by a quivering maid. Unable to look him in the eyes, she asks: "Master Dreyar, I presume?" while directing her gaze at the floor. "Take me where I need to be." He doesn't mean to be so brusque, but he has no time to spare for useless pleasantries.

She quickly guides him to the main room and even before he enters it, he knows that the room will be a show of absolute opulence, meant to intimidate him from the get go. As soon as he enters, his suspicions are confirmed.

The ceiling is as high as the ceiling of most gothic churches and the candles lighting up the room are a mere few. Nevertheless, every grim decoration in the rooms is properly lit. The decorative skulls, the chains, everything is immersed in the same eerie glow. In this faint light, Laxus can make out the servants stationed at the sides of the carpet leading to the throne. Behind them, there are scratches on the walls, destroyed tables and what seems to be... bits and bops of human beings. It's like an Ikea set of human remains.

A cough draws his attention to the throne. The glow of the lights reflects of the crown of the man sitting on it. The light also bounces off the bejeweled cape draped across his shoulders and Laxus can't help but stare. Perched on the throne like a lazy cat who has very much made a place formerly belonging to someone else is his own, is Freed Justine. "Hello Laxus, I was wondering when you'd show up. Did you like my letter?"

As Freed slinks of the throne and walks towards him, with every piece of jewelry that comes to light as he draws closer, jingling softly. The sound matches Freed's natural sound well and the lavish jewelry take his already handsome looks to another level. That and the horns accentuating the crown, the little tinge of red left on his too sharp teeth as well as the glow in his usually hidden eye.

He's not surprised at this situation in the slightest, as this is how Freed's kidnappings usually go. The man is simply too charming, too cunning and too powerful to be contained by a few simple bandits. The only reason Laxus comes to pick him up, is because he knows Freed enjoys being walked home. It's the simple things, like this form of domesticity, that makes their relationship so enjoyable.

"I asked the servants to prepare us a meal before we set off? Would you join me Mister Dreyar?" he asks teasingly. "It is our date night after all." With a smile he agrees. "It is, this is very considerate of you." Freed gives him a chuckle and a wink in return. "I'm nothing if not an opportunist." They toast to that later on.

Once back at the guild, Makarov flags them down, concern evident on his face. "You've got to take better care of him", he hisses at Laxus and before Laxus can tell him that he really doesn't have to, Freed smoothly cuts in. "Please don't worry about it master, he already does such a splendid job of saving me every time. A man can't ask for more than a splendid hero, right?"

Although it's a lie totally dicrediting Freed's own skill, Laxus doesn't correct him, even though he wants to. He knows Freed by now, knows that every lie, every piece of omitted information is probably part of a scheme of a sly mind that never stops working. He knows that the image of a mage depending on Laxus makes him a walking target and Laxus knows that the man enjoys nothing more than a good fight. Maybe there's more to it than Freed's hobby of beating up people, maybe there isn't. Either way, Laxus loves watching Freed's plans unfold, even if it means that he has to hold his tongue sometimes.

[zwritestuff]

if you fall, i fall [jackie/nicky]

a/n: for the lovely layla @portfoliono​ ! i hope you like it, it’s 7.4K of tooth rotting nackie fluff, because you said you like jackie and your favorite ship is nackie, so i ran with it. i hope i did it justice. the prompt for this fic comes from @dailyau​ “We’re teachers and our students keep getting in trouble and causing general mayhem to try to get us together so let’s just pretend to date so they stop doing that and whoops I think I kind of like you now.”

 also- thanks for frey for beta-ing and catching the plot holes. what would i do without you?

ao3 link.

***

Jackie has to bite her lower lip to prevent a loud laugh from escaping her mouth, but as Nicky keeps on talking, it becomes nearly impossible. 

“And then they promised me they’d stop cheating on the tests if I asked you on a date. I wonder if they’d keep that promise, though, because some of them clearly cheated on these exams,” she finishes, holding up two paper sheets with same mistakes, and Jackie erupts in laughter.

It’s already a routine for them to have a second breakfast together in the teachers room on Fridays, since Nicky rarely eats breakfast on her own, and talk about the crazy stuff their students say and do to convince them they should date each other. Jackie’s not sure how it all started, nor where did they get the idea, but it had been going on ever since the school year started and at this point, they’re finding it more amusing than annoying.

Well, Jackie finds it amusing. Nicky not so much.

“The little shits are getting on my nerves,” Nicky declares solemnly, earning a slap in the arm from Jackie. “What? I’m not wrong,” she says with a cocky smile, sipping on her coffee.

Jackie cocks a brow, taking a bite from her toast. “No, you’re not. But don’t call the kids ‘little shits’,” she scolds her, and Nicky puts her hands up in mock surrender.

She’s not a fan of calling their students names —what teacher is?— but she definitely has to agree with Nicky. They are little shits. Not all of them, clearly, but the overwhelming majority is, anyway.

Jackie slouches in her chair, stretching her wrists as she sighs, looking at the pile of papers she has yet to grade. She takes a long sip from her mug and rests her head in her palms, watching closely as Nicky grades exams, muttering words in French and occasionally complaining to Jackie that an exam is clearly done with Google Translate. She chuckles softly, making the oh so typical comment about how they didn’t have Google Translate when they were in Middle School, and Nicky laughs wholeheartedly.

“When I was in Middle School, I didn’t have half the guts the kids have these days,” she says, grabbing her red marker and circling a few mistakes in a sentence. Jackie hums in agreement. “Not that it’s bad, it’s amazing. These kids are the future. I just wish they’d use it for something more important than convincing us to go on a date.” Nicky rolls her eyes, discarding the red marker and moving onto the next exam.

Jackie thinks for a moment that it doesn’t bother her half as much as it should, because they’re still children and it’s normal for them to act childishly, and that, if anything, she’s flattered the kids think her and —in their words— “the pretty French teacher with a nice accent” would ever go on a date with her if she tried hard enough, because half of the teacher staff is already after Nicky.

Well, anyone with functioning eyes is after Nicky, which only makes it more difficult to even have a shot with her.

She doesn’t care, though. Nicky and her have been good friends since Nicky started working at school eight years ago, and Jackie is fine with just being friends. For real. Nicky is fun, has great taste in movies, and always has a cup of wine ready when Jackie needs to vent after a bad day.

They work well as friends, no matter how many times the kids insist they’d go well with each other and that when Jackie is teaching the French revolution, she could have Miss Nicky over to help her with the class. 

Out of the blue, an idea crosses her mind. It’s stupid, not practical at all, far too cheesy, and, all in all, not something a grown woman in her thirties should be even thinking of doing — but it settles in her mind, buzzes around incessantly until she can’t help but say it out loud.

“We should just tell them we’re dating already, that’ll get them to stop, surely,” she says, trying to sound as convinced as someone who just suggested to their colleague they should fake-date to stop a bunch of twelve year olds from interrupting their classes.

Nicky cocks an amused brow, a smile creeping on her face as she sets her coffee mug down.

“You think? Isn’t that just adding gasoline to an already burning fire?” She inquires, sounding far too dramatic. Jackie laughs shortly, biting the inside of her cheek, regret slightly washing over. Until a complimentary idea pops up in her head.

“Well, maybe. But if we say we went on a couple dates, or, I don’t know, dated briefly and broke up, maybe that’ll be enough for the kids to drop it,” she suggests, chewing on her lower lip.

She knows it’s stupid to go to such a length to get the kids to drop it, but they’ve reported it to Principal Hall and she just laughed, saying it was just a matter of time before they stopped, or that it’d end once they advanced grades.

Nicky seems intrigued by the idea — how wouldn’t she? She loves those cheesy rom coms with that same trope, or the friends to lovers one, or anything that’s cheesy and sugary enough to leave her longing for a great romance.

Jackie’s not expecting her to say yes, though. Because Nicky is a responsible adult and-

“Alright, let’s do it.”

Oh.

Jackie blinks repeatedly before she registers what Nicky said. “For real?” 

Nicky shrugs, giving her a playful smile before taking a sip from her coffee. “I don’t see why not. It’s convenient for both of us, and if I get you to take me to a dinner during it, I have nothing to complain about.” She briefly looks up at her and gives her a sly wink.

Jackie stares at her for a moment. So it’s just as simple as that?

“Alright. Let’s do it,” she echoes, and goes back to grading papers.

And it is as simple as that.

 ***

 It may not be that simple.

For starters, they have to figure out a lot of details; like when was their first date, what did they do, and where did they go. 

They get together on a windy Saturday, in a cafeteria that serves the best pastries in the whole city, or so Nicky claims. The least thing Jackie cares about are pastries, but she appreciates it when Nicky buys her one and sets it next to her mug of hot chocolate, claiming that she has to try it or she’s breaking up with her. 

Jackie lets out an over the top offended laugh. “Why don’t we tell people that we broke up because we had an irreconcilable fight about pastries?” She suggests playfully, taking a bite of the pie. It tastes amazing, but she’s not giving Nicky the satisfaction of agreeing with her.

Luckily, Nicky is busy devouring her own slice.

“I think that’s a pretty solid reason to break up,” she replies, her mouth is half full, and Jackie scolds her softly, but Nicky dismisses her with a wave of her hand. “I don’t know why are we still fake dating if you don’t consider Shuga’s pastries the best in the whole city,” Nicky teases, and Jackie rolls her eyes with a grin.

“You got something here,” Jackie says, bringing her hand to Nicky’s chin and leaning over the table. Nicky freezes mid-movement, staring intently at Jackie as she gently brushes off the crumbles from the corner of her mouth. “There.” She smiles and withdraws her hand, not thinking much about the way Nicky brings her hand to touch where Jackie’s thumb was just seconds ago, hesitating before going back to what she was doing. She doesn’t think about it at all.

“Thank you,” she mumbles with a small smile. Jackie grins again, dismissing it with a wave of her hand.

They resume their conversation about what the hell they are going to say if questions about their relationship come up, which they will, and Jackie can tell Nicky’s seen one too many movies, because she comes up with stories worth of a Hollywood romance that Julia Roberts probably stars in.

Jackie turns her outlandish ideas a few notches down to make them more believable, and Nicky complains because, to her, it’s totally believable that their first date happened on the coldest day of the year, having dinner over at Nicky’s apartment when the power went out in the whole city, so they lit up candles, wrapped themselves in all Nicky’s blankets and cuddled until the next morning.

It sounds like something, but not a believable something.

Nicky folds her arms with a childish pout, mocking Jackie for her lack of ability to have fun with their little trickery.

“We’re already living our own Hollywood drama, we might as well have fun with it,” she debates matter-of-factly, raising her index finger and straightening her posture. Jackie knows that position and tone, it’s the one she uses when she scolds the kids. She chuckles softly.

“We could have fun, but we gotta make it believable. The kids aren’t idiots,” she points out, and Nicky clicks her tongue, placing her chin on her palm, tapping the table with her perfectly manicured nails as she thinks of another explanation.

Nicky hums thoughtfully as Jackie takes a last sip from her hot chocolate, setting the mug aside. She stares at Nicky, counting and connecting the beauty marks on her face. They remind her of the stars, and before she can get any more cheesier, an idea comes to her mind.

“You know this restaurant called Avril’s? The one that’s on a rooftop with the glass ceiling?” Jackie asks, Nicky nods shortly. “Let’s say we had dinner there and the waiters wanted to kick us out, because we stayed over closing time and were too busy stargazing, talking about everything and anything,” she offers, wondering if it’ll meet Nicky’s standards of romance. 

Apparently it does, because she claps excitedly, and her smile is so bright Jackie swears she could outshine the sun.

“That sounds amazing! And something you could treat your fake girlfriend to, y’know,” Nicky cheekily suggests, a playful grin growing in her face.

Jackie snorts. She’s not sure if she means it, but she agrees anyway. Besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen if Nicky texts her one night, demanding to be taken to Avril’s? They’ve had dinner together before, it’s not a big deal.

 ***

 It’s Valentine's Day when they decide to start with their little white lie.

The kids from the students’ council are selling flowers, with personalized little notes for an extra dollar. They do it every year to collect funds for some of the many projects they have going on. If you’re not courageous enough to buy a flower and send it to the person you like, they deliver it anonymously for five more dollars. The middle school kids are always sending each other flowers anonymously, with the occasional brave boy that walks up to his crush —usually a girl from higher grade— and gives them the flowers before running away. 

Jackie knows it’s Nicky’s favorite part of the entire year — of course it is — so she wasn’t the least bit surprised when Nicky suggested she gives her a bouquet of roses right in the middle of the hallway. Jackie preferred something a little more lowkey, but Nicky put on puppy eyes and batted her eyelashes prettily, and she said please several times, so Jackie lost the war before it began.

The bell for recess echoes through the entire school and Jackie calmly collects her stuff as the kids exit the class with clear enthusiasm. She bids them goodbye, tells them to remember to do their homework, and soon she’s alone in the class again, suddenly wondering if she should go with the plan.

Almost as if on cue, a text from Nicky comes through. 

I’m waiting for you already, xo.

She bites her lower lip. She can do this, it’s just buying flowers, walking a few feet to meet Nicky, and then hiding in the teachers’ room before she has to teach her next History class. Easy peasy.

Jackie walks up to the nearest flower stand, noticing how a few of the students she’s just said goodbye to are floating around. Perfect.

She greets the students, asks how the sells are going, and they chirp excitedly about all the anonymous deliveries they’re doing.

“Do you wanna buy some flowers, Miss Cox?” One of the girls, Melissa, asks sweetly, batting her eyelashes and pushing a bouquet of roses towards the teacher.

Jackie laughs wholeheartedly. “Sure, why not? How much for these?”

“Ten dollars.” Melissa’s smile doesn’t even quiver. Jackie quirks an eyebrow. She’s making Nicky buy her a slice of pie for this.

“Alright.” She pays for the roses, and the kids ask if they’re for her mother or someone especial. “Wouldn’t you guys like to know,” Jackie teases, thanking them for the bouquet and walking away, heart racing in her chest as she walks towards Nicky.

Nicky’s talking with the art teacher, Crystal, perched against the door of the art classroom, looking casual as ever. Sometimes Jackie wonders if Nicky really is as laid back and relaxed as she always seems or if she’s a great actress. 

Jackie takes a deep breath, and it’s not long until she can hear Crystal ramble about the art exhibition she’s prepared with the kids, and Nicky nods with a polite smile, saying something Jackie can’t quite make out.

It’s then when it hits her that other teachers don’t know about their little scheme.

Shit.

“Jackie! Hi!” Crystal chirps excitedly upon laying eyes on her, and Nicky turns to see her with a smile shiny like that day at the coffee shop. It makes Jackie feel a little lightheaded, but she manages to babble out a greeting. “How have your classes been so far?” She asks sweetly, and Jackie awkwardly settles herself next to Nicky.

“As good as they can be on a day like this, and you?” She politely asks back, and Crystal happily babbles about the cheesy projects her students turned in when she said the theme for today was love.

“One of them did a realistic portrait of a rose, and it was so pretty! It was like the ones you have,” Crystal points out innocently, but she stops for a second, blinks repeatedly, and looks back and forth between Jackie and the rose bouquet she’s holding. “Oh, you have roses. Are they for anyone in particular?” She asks, but by her tone Jackie can tell she hasn’t quite caught on the way Nicky leans against her, wrapping her hands around her bicep.

Nicky’s touch sends shivers down Jackie’s spine, and, for the love of everything holy, she tries not to blush and to keep her voice steady as she speaks.

“Yeah, they are,” she vaguely says. Because Crystal didn’t ask for who they are. And besides, she probably has an idea of who-

“Aw, that’s nice! I hope your Valentine likes them. I’m gonna buy some flowers for my own Valentine too, see ya around!”

Oh. So it really wasn’t a lie that Crystal is oblivious.

Jackie just stands there awkwardly, with Nicky still hanging off her arm. She turns to see her and hands her the bouquet.

“For you,” she simply says with a meek smile. Nicky coos, grabbing the bouquet, smelling the flowers and slightly pressing it against her chest. “You owe me a slice of pie from Shuga’s,” Jackie whispers in her ear, and Nicky rolls her eyes, smile still present on her face.

“Consider it a date,” she teases, tugging on Jackie’s arm so they start walking. “That went better than I expected,” Nicky mumbles close to Jackie’s ear and stands on her tiptoes to press a kiss to her temple. It makes Jackie’s stomach twist, but she dismisses it as nerves. A few students stare, but they act as if they didn’t notice it.

“I think so,”  Jackie replies, Nicky giggles as if she just said something funny and rests her head on Jackie’s shoulder.

For the rest of the day, Nicky sporadically texts her about her student’s reaction and how they all want to know who gave her the roses. Nicky never said her name, but she did act flustered when one of her students said Jackie’s name. It was all they needed to jump into conclusions.

Some teachers gaze at Jackie out of the corner of their eye when they see her in the teachers’ room, but she pays them no mind. 

At the end of the day, Nicky grabs her at the entrance of the school and kisses her cheek to say goodbye. Jackie’s heart skips several bits, but all she does is touch the mark of lipstick Nicky left behind, replaying the feeling of Nicky’s lips on her skin for what feel like forever, before snapping out of it and heading to her car.

 ***

 The next day everyone, teachers included, seem to know there’s something going on between them. Jackie feels as if she was sixteen all over again when she walks through the hallways, trying to keep her poised facade, while students follow her with their gazes and whisper something to their peers. 

And she thought she’d be more respected as a teacher. 

She doesn’t have any classes to conduct during first period, so she pathetically hides in the teachers’ room. The new maths teacher is there, too - Gigi, if she recalls correctly - and she stacks pens and pencils in her bun as she grades homework, seemingly not noticing Jackie’s there. So Jackie just settles herself, grabs the papers she still has to grade from her bag and sits on the other side of the table.

They exchange just a couple of words; the only time Gigi talks to her is to ask if she has white out, the rest is just her mumbling curses and wondering aloud what on God’s green Earth she’s reading.

“Do you have any idea who’s the literature teacher in eighth grade? It’d be really nice if they gave these kids some calligraphy exercises,” Gigi comments in an annoyed tone, and Jackie chuckles. 

“Oh, I tried it too. It doesn’t work, believe me. They either don’t do it or pay someone else to do it,” Jackie says with an eye roll, and Gigi quirks a brow.

“Huh, the worst part is that this is actually what I was doing when I got calligraphy homework,” Gigi chuckles, rubbing her eyelids as she sets the papers aside for a moment. “How long does it take until I can read chicken scratch?” 

Jackie laughs wholeheartedly, if Gigi knew that after all this years she still can’t read some of her students writing.

“Give or take, a couple of years,” she says instead, because she’s not about to stress this young teacher this quick and early in the morning. “It gets better the more you get used to your students.”

Gigi sighs heavily, standing up from the chair and walking up to the sink. 

“I wonder how Nicky deals with bad calligraphy, since most of the homework and exams she has to grade is already unreadable sometimes,” she says, and Jackie shifts in her seat a little, wondering if she brought Nicky up intentionally because she heard the rumors, or-

It’s too early for Jackie to be overthinking already.

So she snorts and rests her chin on her heel of her palm, loosely looking over her papers.

“She’s, uh, she’s used to it by now, I guess. She has this, um, this instinct that never fails her, y’know?” Jackie offers, trying not to stutter and failing miserably. But she sounds like someone that’s so excited to talk about her girlfriend that she can’t get the words right, so she guesses it’s a good thing. It’s the little things that sell this fake relationship.

Gigi turns around to look at her, taking a sip of water and quirks an eyebrow, the sign of a smile creeping on her face as she sets the cup down.

“How long have you been dating?” Gigi asks, straight to the point. Jackie bites the inside of her cheek. Well, that was quick.

“Couple of weeks,” she answers, suddenly noticing Nicky and her didn’t talk about how long they were dating for when they had planned this whole thing. Shit.

It seems like a good enough answer for Gigi, so she goes back to her pile of papers and takes a green pen from her bun.

“She’s never told me anything about it,” she mumbles. “You guys wanted to keep it a secret, I’m guessing? I’ve been told shit spreads quick around here,” Gigi says jokingly, causing Jackie to chuckle. That’s probably the understatement of the century.

“Sort of. We’re just taking things slow,” she comments softly, with her cheeks getting a slight shade of red. This is the first time she’s talking about her fake relationship and for some reason, it makes her feel warm and fuzzy, as if this was real and not a pretend game. 

Gigi looks up to meet her gaze one last time and smiles. “Well then, good luck. Nicky can be a bit of a pain in the ass sometimes,” she teases with a smile and goes back to grading.

Jackie mumbles a soft thank you, wanting to say that Nicky is actually funny to be around, that she always looks forward to seeing her because she always makes her laugh, and how everytime she smiles, Jackie feels lightheaded. 

But she doesn’t say anything, just goes back to grading in silence, and bids goodbye to Gigi when it’s time to leave for her class.

Her students have clearly heard the rumors, and they try to pry by asking if she’s hung out with Miss Nicky recently and if she would consider telling her to tone down their amount of homework. Jackie just laughs and announces she’ll give back the homework she took for grading. That shuts them up almost immediately.

Some of the students that like to cause problems once in a while try to bring it up again, but Jackie shuts them down at lightning speed, using the stern voice her mother used on her when she was their age. That gets the job done and makes the students fall back into silence. 

At the end of the day, she finds Nicky at the entrance, and she’s about to say goodbye to her, when Nicky places a kiss on her cheek, leaving her lipstick behind.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, honey,” she says, winking at her before turning around and heading towards her car. 

Jackie stands there for a second, watching Nicky leave as she smiles dumbly. She wouldn’t mind if this became a routine.

 ***

 “Do you wanna go roller skate tonight?” It’s the first thing that Nicky says when Jackie picks up. 

Jackie cocks a brow. It’s a Wednesday afternoon, and Jackie’s watching “I Dream Of Genie” yet again, cuddled up on her couch with a blanket. Their scheme had been going on far too well at school. Everyone knew about them, including Principal Hall, who had pulled Jackie aside to get all the information she could. And Jackie couldn’t lie to Jaida, she was her best friend after all, so she ended up telling her everything and made her swear on Beyoncé she wouldn’t say anything.

Jaida said she wished her luck trying to not fall in love with Nicky, that she’d seen how this plays out in movies, and that it was a matter of time before they end up dating for real.

Jackie had ended that conversation by leaving, saying she had work to do and hiding the blush on her face by burying her nose in her scarf.

“Nicks, we have work tomorrow,” Jackie tries to argue, and for some reason she can feel Nicky rolling her eyes on the other side of the line.

“It’s disco night over at this skating rink I know,” she says, blatantly ignoring Jackie’s complains. “Can we go? It’ll be just for a little while, please? We’ll be back before your bedtime!” Nicky teases, and Jackie laughs shortly.

“My bedtime is at nine.”

“The rink opens at seven thirty.” 

There’s a short-lived silence on the line as Jackie tries to fight back a smile. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say this is a date. 

“I’ve never roller skated before, will you teach me?” She asks, standing up from the couch and walking towards her closet. 

“Oh, I’ve never roller skated either,” Nicky confesses nonchalantly, and Jackie gasps, taken aback, immediately asking why she’s inviting her if she’s never skated before. She can almost see Nicky shrugging. “We can figure it out together. If you fall, I fall, cherié,” she offers, making Jackie blush just a teeny tiny bit.

“Alright. You’re picking me up, I suppose?”

“Of course! Wear something cute,” she says, and Jackie has no way of knowing, but she’s ninety percent sure Nicky winked when she said that.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” is all that Jackie replies before Nicky hangs up.

 ***

 Nicky is terrible at roller skating, but Jackie isn’t any better either.

They hold onto each other for dear life, rarely letting go of the edge of the rink and laughing loudly when one of them falls. 

The rink is filled with people far more talented than them, that skate in tune with the songs blasting through the speakers, and Nicky is just getting up and shaking off the dust from her butt when her favorite song, “Pookie”, comes in. It’s as if a switch is flipped. She grabs Jackie’s wrist and does her best to copy what the seemingly professional skaters are doing, while Jackie complains that she’s going to make her fall.

“I’m counting on it,” she replies with a cheeky smile, grabbing Jackie’s hands and chanting the chorus of the song as she drags her around. “Loosen up, babe!” Nicky exclaims happily, and Jackie giggles.

The fact Nicky called her babe most certainly does not make her heart race. Absolutely not.

Jackie tries to follow Nicky’s command, but she ends up stumbling again, except this time she brings Nicky down with her.

Nicky is laying next to her, and Jackie apologizes profusely once she’s able to sit up, but Nicky just laughs so carelessly and wholeheartedly that it infects Jackie too.

“Wanna grab a cherry cola?” Nicky asks, pulling Jackie up. Jackie cocks a skeptical brow.

“They still make those?” She inquires. Her hand is still laced with Nicky’s, but she doesn’t bring it up nor tries to break the contact. It’s nice, and Nicky is keeping her steady, anyway.

There’s an area with snacks and drinks, tables scattered around, so they take off their skates for a moment, and Jackie looks for a table while Nicky gets them drinks. Jackie complains, because Nicky won’t accept her money to buy snacks, to which Nicky simply replies, “I’m paying, because that’s what fake girlfriends do,” she assures her, though Jackie can swear she hesitated when she said “fake girlfriend”.

She tries to convince herself that it’s just her mind, because Nicky knows this is just a casual hang out and their relationship is still fake. They’re just friends. Nothing else and nothing more (a tiny part of Jackie wishes it wasn’t like that, though).

Nicky comes back shortly after, with two cans of coca cola and two bags of chips, jokingly saying that dinner is ready. 

“I haven’t forgotten about your promise of taking me to Avril’s,” Nicky teases, making Jackie chuckle as she sips on her coke, spilling some of the drink down her chin.

“You really haven’t, huh?” She replies, aiming for the tissues, but Nicky grabs them first.

“Let me pay back the favour,” she says, and Jackie is about to ask what she means, when she takes her chin with one hand and gently wipes away the drink with the other.

Nicky’s touch shouldn’t give Jackie chills down her spine, shouldn’t make her feel butterflies in her stomach, and on top of all, it shouldn’t make her heart beat uncontrollably.

It shouldn’t. But it does. And the smile along with the soft stroke of Nicky’s thumb against her skin when she’s done definitely don’t help.

“There. All clean,” Nicky announces with a satisfied smile. Jackie gathers herself to muster a thank you, and busies her mouth with the chips. “Hey, let’s take a selfie.” She pulls out her phone before Jackie can swallow, scooting herself closer and focusing the back, so it shows that they’re at the roller skating rink. It disappoints Jackie a little that this is probably a part of their scheme, but she smiles with her cheeks full of chips either way. 

“You look cute,” Nicky compliments her, and before Jackie can say anything, she adds, “You are cute.” There’s a softness behind her words that surprise Jackie, heat spreading down her neck, and she has no way of knowing, but she’s sure she’s blushing ever so slightly.

“You are pretty too,” she returns the sentiment once she gains her voice back. Nicky smiles sheepishly, looking down at her phone. Jackie stares at her out of the corner of her eye, and if she was a bit more delusional, she’d say Nicky is blushing.

Her own phone lits up with a notification and she sees that Nicky posted the photo they just took together, captioning it with “Love this goofball @cox_jackie” and a string of red heart emojis.

It’s the word “Love” that makes Jackie’s heart go wild.

Almost immediately she has Jaida in her DMs, along with other nosy teachers like Crystal and Brita, asking if she and Nicky are together-together for real. She covers her face with her hands, completely flustered, and hears Nicky giggle mischievously.

“I hate you,” Jackie says, her hands still covering her face.

“You love me,” Nicky teases, snuggling to Jackie’s side as she scrolls through Instagram.

“Maybe I do,” she mumbles quietly, hoping it got lost in the noise of the rink. Nicky looks unfazed, so maybe it did.

Jackie notices it’s not long before nine, but she doesn’t bring it up and neither does Nicky. Instead, they stay for as long as they can, falling flat on their butts and helping each other up, leaning on the other for balance. 

Her ass will hurt tomorrow, and she’ll have to lean on tons of coffee to survive her class during the first period, but it’s worth it. Having a nice time with Nicky is worth it.

 ***

 Their scheme is maybe getting a little out of hand.

Neither Jackie nor Nicky can step into the teachers’ room without being attacked with questions about how their relationship is going; Nicky is the cheesy one that comes up with intricate answers for simple questions. She talks about Jackie as one talks about their crush when they’re fifteen and experiencing love for the first time.

It’s adorable. It makes Jackie want this to be real oh so badly.

It was a few weeks into their pretend relationship when Jackie realized she might like Nicky more than a friend and a fake girlfriend; she wants to kiss her, give her hand a squeeze when they’re watching horror movies and there’s a scary part, buy her coffee on her way to the school because she knows Nicky doesn’t have breakfast most of the time, to text her random cat photos she finds on the internet, buy a succulent with her and take care of it, slowly adding more plants to their collection.

Well, they technically have done all of that already - except the plants part. But Jackie wants it to be real, to stop doing it to get coos in the teachers’ room and showing off on social media. 

Jackie blames it on the almost daily dates, the constant texting, the kisses she gives her at the end of the day, leaving her lipstick behind, the cuddles anywhere and everywhere. Plus, Nicky is a very convincing actress, apparently.

She’s getting too attached to all of it, but she can’t. They will “break up” eventually. So when the other teachers, and even friends out of school, ask about her relationship, she keeps her answers short, polite, and precise. Nicky always excuses her by saying she’s just very private.

Jaida, on the other hand, likes to make fun of her for the situation she’s willingly messed herself into, and the jokes only increase when Jackie admits through gritted teeth that she may or may not have fallen for Nicky. Jackie can only shut her up when she brings up how Jan, the new football coach, has been working at the school for less than a week, and yet she has a big crush on her.

It’s a Friday morning, the only day they have a little bit of peace, and Nicky is talking about how stressed the kids make her, because, apparently, they are still keen on using Google Translate instead of checking their damn notes. Jackie listens and tries to cheer her up, but there’s a question burning on the back of Jackie’s mind, though she’s not sure if she should bring it up right now.

“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” Jackie asks out of the blue, just to stop her mind from going back to those three words. Nicky shakes her head, saying something about spending it grading, binging Project Runway, and ordering take out. Then, Jackie remembers the promise she made Nicky when all of this mayhem started. “Do you wanna go to Avril’s on Saturday?”

Nicky blinks repeatedly before a smile breaks onto her face, nodding enthusiastically. “I thought you forgot,” she says softly, fidgeting with her fingers.

“I didn’t, I wouldn’t.” Jackie offers her a shy smile, biting the inside of her cheek. “Is nine okay for you?”

Nicky cocks an amused brow, “I thought your bedtime was at nine,” she teases. Jackie laughs nervously.

“You changed that, I guess.”

***

Jackie makes an effort for their fake date (but is it fake? who knows anymore), puts on her favorite dress, a pair of heels, and braids her hair carefully. Spring is coming, and so is the warm weather, but she brings a jacket just in case. Who knows, maybe Nicky might need one?

For a change, she picks Nicky up, and does her best not to crash the car because of staring at Nicky out of the corner of her eye. She looks beautiful, but what else is new? Besides, it’s the first time she’s seen her wearing a suit, and the sight makes Jackie easily flustered. It’s casual, yes, but it’s not what she would normally expect from Nicky - who definitely won’t be needing her jacket tonight.

Little did Jackie know, it was just the start of a night full of surprises. 

A waiter takes them to their table, leaves the menu and says he’ll be back to take their orders. Nicky whistles once he’s gone, looking at the place.

“Well, this sure is fancy,” she comments to break the ice. Jackie hums in agreement as Nicky looks up, her eyes widening at the sight of the ceiling. “It’s so pretty.”

Jackie’s eyes, however, are still glued to Nicky. “I’ve seen prettier things,” she says, and Nicky pulls her gaze to meet Jackie’s, a cocky grin setting on her face.

“Like what?” She inquires, and Jackie hums, feigning thoughtfulness. 

“Well, for starters, Shakira-” Nicky yelps, offended, clutching her chest. Jackie laughs wholeheartedly. 

“And here I was, thinking you’d say something nice to your fake girlfriend!”

Jackie hates how she adds the “fake” before “girlfriend”, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s not the time, not yet.

“If it’s worth anything, I think you look beautiful tonight,” she says earnestly, and her heart skips several beats when Nicky bites her lower lip, looking away with what Jackie can only hope is a blush.

“You look stunning,” Nicky returns the sentiment, and Jackie beams.

They place their orders and talk about random topics before their food arrives. Jackie can’t say she’s sure, but at times she swears she can feel a different air hang around them. An air of unsaid words and glances that linger a second too long, of blushes hidden behind drinks and flustered laughs. She hopes she’s not imagining it.

They fall into a comfortable silence once their orders arrive - well, the silence lasts just for a moment, because Nicky moans when she tastes her lasagna and insists Jackie has to try it. After a few moments of goading, Jackie complies, and is taken aback when Nicky holds out her fork and urges her to eat it before it ends up on the tablecloth. 

Jackie locks eyes with Nicky as she leans forward on the table and wraps her lips around the fork, and there’s something in Nicky’s piercing gaze that makes her shiver.

“Tasty,” Jackie concedes with a giggle, Nicky smiles proudly, but Jackie’s sure she sees her swallow thickly. She parts her lips slightly, but shuts them almost immediately, stuffing her mouth with lasagna, and Jackie follows suit by going back to her risotto.

Dinner goes by in the blink of an eye, and Jackie feels her skin prickle with anticipation and anxiety; she just wants to say it. To lay her heart out in front of Nicky in order to get an answer for once and for all, so she can start getting over a fake relationship that, for being fake, got under her skin.

She wants to bring it up, she’s itching to say it, but she can’t gather the courage to do so in a casual way that wouldn’t sound so calculated, but she doesn’t want it to be a spur of the moment either. Jackie wants to give Nicky the Hollywood romance confession she deserves - whatever happens after that, happens.

The night is coming to an end, and Jackie feels like throwing a childish fit. She can’t let it end without telling Nicky. Jackie wishes she had ordered wine, maybe that would’ve let her tongue loosen up a little.

“Should we order dessert?” Nicky wonders, vaguely looking at the menu. “I dig the chocolate fondue, honestly,” she says, looking up at her through her eyelashes, Jackie quirks an eyebrow.

“Isn’t that a little too much for one person?”

“We can share,” Nicky offers almost immediately, making Jackie snort.

“Alright, habibi.” The word slips from Jackie’s mouth before she can think much about it. It’s nice though, even if it feels a little more personal than just calling Nicky “babe” or any term of endearment in English.

“You should call me habibi more often, I like it,” Nicky comments with a giggle. And she may not know it, but it makes Jackie’s heart swoon with happiness.

***

The chocolate fondue is probably the best idea Nicky has ever had.

It’s tasty, messy, and they get their lipsticks ruined by the chocolate with the first strawberry they dip, but damn it if it isn’t worth it. Nicky repeats the action of feeding her, and Jackie feels bold enough to return the favour. Their eyes are locked the entire time, and Jackie feels as if she’ll drop the bomb at any moment.

It certainly doesn’t help that Nicky starts making jokes about never wanting to break up with her if these are the perks of their fake relationship. It stings only a little, though it creates an opportunity for her to tell Nicky the three little words that have been burning at the back of her throat for the past weeks.

“If we break up, can you still take me here? These weeks with you have been way better than most of my relationships,” Nicky comments nonchalantly, almost making Jackie drop her chocolate-covered strawberry. Her heart starts pounding against her chest, forcing herself to look up to meet Nicky's gaze.

She's staring right back at her, with a look she can't quite decipher.

Jackie inhales sharply, realizing her opportunity had arrived. She breathes in deeply, licking her lips and hoping her voice doesn't betray her.

“Aw, you're exaggerating,” she says, trying to play coy and hoping and praying it goes the way she wants to. 

It does, sort of. Nicky softens up her gaze, smiling gently at her.

“Well, not really. My relationships haven't been all that great; maybe because I'm too much of a hopeless Hollywood romantic, and I expected a lot of my relationships. I know that's bad, but- During all this time I've spent with you, it was easy to feel as if I was in a movie,” she confesses earnestly, evading Jackie's piercing gaze.

Jackie can feel her heart beating in her ears, a rush of adrenaline overtaking her as she grips on the fabric of her dress, trying to form a coherent sentence.

“Says the one who lives on reruns of ‘Breakfast at Tiffany's’,” Jackie teases, her voice coming out breathier than she would've wanted, but Nicky laughs and her nerves melt away. “If I'm being honest, I like being your fake girlfriend, it's probably one of the best ideas I've had, if I do say so myself,” she proceeds, trying to sound jokingly, but before she can get another other word in, Nicky interrupts her.

“Yeah, it's your greatest idea, though there's only one thing I don't like about it,” Nicky says, her voice quivers every other word, and Jackie frowns, not understanding for a moment until it clicks.

She stares into Nicky's eyes, and she stares right back. And then she sees it. The feeling Jackie couldn't grasp on—it's love. Or something awfully familiar.

There's silence between them for a moment, until it gets awkward, and Nicky frowns slightly, opening her mouth to say something, but Jackie interrupts her this time.

“I like you,” Jackie admits in a whisper, low and breathy, staring right into Nicky’s eyes. And for a moment she thinks it got lost in the noise of the restaurant, but by the way Nicky’s eyes grow wide, staring right back at Jackie with a sparkle she’d never seen in them, Jackie knows she caught it.

“I like you too,” Nicky says softly. “I’ve known for a while. Even before this,” she confesses, and Jackie can feel her head spinning, her heart is pounding so hard against her chest that she’s sure if Nicky tries to listen carefully, she’ll hear it despite the noise of the restaurant.

She can’t believe this is actually happening. 

“I wanted to tell you sooner, believe me, but the words wouldn't come to me, and I was afraid you would reject me, because you're so pretty and cool, and all the teachers have a crush on you, and I felt like I wasn't good enough, and-” Nicky interrupts Jackie's rambling by reaching across the table and squeezing her hand, looking at her as if she's the most precious human to have ever existed.

“All the teachers may have a crush on me, but I have a crush on just one of them. Guess who is she?” She teases, giggling giddily. Jackie smiles, her cheeks getting as red as the strawberries in front of them.

“You're so cheesy,” Jackie says with a snort, allowing herself to get lost in Nicky's soft touch for a moment, until the curiosity takes the best of her. “So, uh, does this mean this is our first real date?” She asks shyly, stroking the back of Nicky's hand.

Nicky smiles, bright and beautiful, and if it wasn’t because Jackie’s sitting, her knees would inevitably buckle.

“The first of many, hopefully.” She winks, and Jackie holds back an excited screech. 

“So, this was indeed my greatest idea,” she says, and they laugh happily, the night slipping away between giggles and blushes they don't bother to hide anymore.