#looking at his concept arts makes my heart flutter with joy

[meownotgood]

it's been a year since we first saw aki's anime concept arts <3

[t0wnspersonb]

Hot Springs (Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader)

Word Count: 2,570

Rated: Explicit

Warnings: SMUT, bad language, public, my shit writing, Ushijima being a beautiful man

Summary: You couldn’t remember the last time you and Ushijima got to spend proper time together, so when he suggests going to the hot springs for a date how could you refuse? Although, you two are doing a bit more than just enjoying the hot water. 

~~~~

GUYS! I know it’s been a fucking minute😫 I’m still trying to get my shit together for school lmao. BUT I’ve been working on this fic for a while tbh, I was just never motivated to finish it until recently. I apologize in advance if it’s trash😂 BUT, I do have a couple of things to go over. First of all, thank you guys so much for being patient with me the past couple of weeks, I’ve definitely missed putting content out to you guys, I’ve just been super busy with life and school. Second of all, I know I have requests sitting in my inbox, I will do them. Eventually. The only reason why I’m even posting something new is because this story was already in the works, so since it’s done I decided to post it (it’s probably garbage idk lol). Third of all, I love you guys so much  😘😘😘😘 it’s been such a joy writing for you all, and I hope I continue to put out content you guys enjoy! As always, this story is dedicated to @sunshinewitchz​ because she’s the biggest Wakatoshi simp I know, and I love her so much and her endless support. 

I hope you guys enjoy the story! Please let me know what you think of it😊😊

~~~~

“- Would you like to go?” Ushijima’s deep voice filtered through your ears; although you only heard the last part, you had no idea what he had said beforehand.

 “Hmm?” you finally looked up at him, the paint brush in your hand stilled.

 A soft frown coated his lips, sometimes you were far too engrossed in your art projects. Usually he didn’t mind, today was different though. It had been two weeks since the last time he had seen you, both of you far too busy to make time to spend together.

 Of course, he would want your undivided attention, he missed you. 

 “I’m sorry Toshi, what were you saying?” you smiled sheepishly at him, carefully setting down the paintbrush, your eyes focused on him completely now.

 “The hot springs. Do you want to go?” He asked again, his eyes flickering over your face.

 Your lips pursed, your brain wracking through the dates to make sure you didn’t already have a prior commitment. “When?”

 He let out another sigh, Ushijima loved you deeply, but when painting was involved… well, you were in a completely different world to the point that it was hard to hold a conversation with you.

 But he also loved your passion for it, he loved how talented you were, how confident you were in your skills. It was proven time and time again whenever you produced your master pieces.

 Although, all your artwork in his eyes were masterpieces.

 You were the best masterpiece of all. Ushijima could stare at you for hours, he could watch you paint for hours, but right now, he wanted to be your sole focus.

 “Do you want to go to the hot springs with me tomorrow?” he asked once more.

 “Okay.” You smiled brightly at him, you didn’t have anything to do tomorrow, except to drop off a painting. Any chance you got to spend with Ushijima you would take. 

 “Okay.” he repeated, a soft smile coating his lips. “Finish up, we’ll go get food once you’re done.”

 You definitely loved Ushijima.

 ***

 “Ushijima-senpai! Y/n-senpai!” Goshiki exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here!?”

 “Your grandma asked for a commission piece! I’m just dropping it off now.” You smiled widely. “I didn’t know you would be here today!”

 “I-I’m just visiting.” he stuttered out, his eyes awkwardly flickering over to Ushijima who paid him no mind, his eyes scanning the outer exterior of the house.

 “I need to collect the money; do you know where she is?” You asked sweetly.

 “She’s out in the garden, please come in.” He said awkwardly, stepping aside. 

 “I won’t be long Toshi!” You said cheerfully, pardoning yourself before you entered the home, leaving Goshiki and Ushijima standing at the entrance.

 “This is nice wood, is it oak?” Ushijima asked suddenly, his eyes tracing over the large door.

 “I don’t know Senpai…”

 Silence once again surrounded them, but like you had said, the exchange didn’t take too long as you came walking up to the volleyball players cheerfully.

 “All set Toshi! Let’s head out yeah?” you smiled up at him.

 He nodded before taking your hand into his and waving goodbye at the male.

 “Bye Goshiki! See you around!” you called out behind your shoulder.

 Sometimes it was a wonder how you and Ushijima ended up together. The concept of “opposites attract” seemed to be in play for this. 

 Your bright and bubbly personality contrasted greatly with his. Ushijima’s blunt and rough exterior was the complete opposite of your gentle and easygoing one. 

 However, you guys shared one trait, and that was the undeniable confidence you guys had in your skills. Ushijima with volleyball, and you with art.

 But despite the contrasting personalities, your relationship worked, the love and respect you guys had for one another was always present.

 “That was really nice of that lady to give us our own spring. I didn’t even know that a place like this could have private ones!” You said happily as you guys walked towards the changing rooms.

 “Yeah.” Ushijima nodded briefly, “see you in a bit.”

 You grinned at him widely before skipping off into your own changing room. 

 You bummed softly to yourself as you began undressing. The showers felt incredible against your skin and you couldn’t help but sigh in content, a trip to the hot springs was something that you definitely needed after working so hard on your commissions.

 You carefully wrapped yourself in the towel and started heading towards the spring. The change in temperature caused a shiver to run through your body, shuddering gently as the steam curled around your damp shoulders. You breathed in the soft scent of earth, sighing softly as your body relaxed in the hot springs air. 

 Your eyes scanned over the area, before pausing on a figure that left your heart racing and your stomach flipping.

 Ushijima paid no attention to his surroundings; his stare was focused on the scenery before him. But that gave you plenty of time to drink in the tall male before you.

 He was truly the most beautiful person you’ve ever met before. His broad shoulders and rippling back muscles were completely exposed to your greedy eyes. 

 How you ended up with such a beautiful man was beyond your comprehension. 

 “What are you waiting for?” His deep voice filtered through the air, your gaze met his olive eyes and you felt your face flush immediately.

 “Just appreciating the view.” You said cheekily before dropping your towel and settling yourself down into the water.

 A long sigh escaped your lips as you submerged yourself completely. This was heaven; you couldn’t remember the last time you had been to the hot springs, and the fact that you got to spend it with the man you loved the most, it was definitely pure heaven.

 “The scenery is very nice here.” he agreed, eyes scanning over the area once more.

 You laughed softly at his statement, your hand gently pressing into the bulging muscle of his bicep. “I wasn’t talking about the scenery. I was talking about you Toshi.” 

 Ushijima felt his expression soften considerably as he looked down at you. You were resting your head against his arm, your eyes closed in absolute bliss.

 This time Ushijima decided  to scan over you, and fuck… you were the best thing he’s ever seen.

 His eyes drank in every inch of your beautiful face, his gaze trailing over the strands of wet hair clinging to your face, wrapping around your collarbone and then your shoulders and…

 Oh.

 He shamelessly stared at your exposed breasts. He could feel his heart rate beginning to pick up as he started to register in his mind that you… no both of you were extremely bare to one another.

 Ushijima couldn’t understand this sudden shyness that began to bubble up in his gut. He had seen you bare so many times before, he’s touched you so many times before, he’s had you in every way that he could think of; and yet… What was this sudden rush of arousal spiking through his blood right now?

 Your eyes fluttered open and met intense olive colored ones staring right back. You felt your mouth go dry, your stomach twisting in a way that was all too familiar.

 The only times Ushijima has ever looked at you like that was when…

 “What is it, Wakatoshi?” You teased slightly, the flush in your face was something that you could blame on the hot water, not the fact that your hunk of a boyfriend was blatantly staring at you like he wanted to devour you whole.

 “You’re beautiful.” he said simply, reaching out to tug on a strand of your wet hair. His strong, thick fingers gently began trailing against the skin of your throat, skimming across your collarbone. Despite the hot water, you couldn’t help but shiver at his gentle touch. 

 “I meant… is there something that you want Wakatoshi?” You asked, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you stared at him through your lashes.

 “You. Always you.” he answered simply; his large hand curving gently around your jaw, cupping your face carefully.

 Your stomach twisted pleasantly, an all too familiar burn bubbling deep within your gut, but also... your heart. Once again you were in awe of the man before you, the amount of love you held for him was far too much for your heart to contain, bubbling up and spilling over the longer you looked at him.

 “You have me.” you said quietly, carefully pressing yourself closer to him, your hands rested gently against the bare skin of his chest, strong and oh so broad.

 “Then kiss me.” he demanded, olive eyes burning into yours. Love and passion could clearly be seen in them.

 So, you did. Your hands grabbing at his strong jaw, forcing him to stoop down to your level so you could properly kiss him.

 Kissing Ushijima was possibly the best thing on the planet, his lips were full and strong as they moved against yours, unhurried, but incredibly needy and forceful. 

 His tongue licked against your mouth, hot and wet and deliciously perfect. You eagerly pressed yourself against his large body, melting against him completely. You were too hot, your body overheating immediately.

 It was from the hot springs, right? Not from the hunk of a man that was currently grabbing at your bare waist and yanking you tighter against him, right? 

 Your head spun dizzily, pleasure rippling through your body, a soft whimper tearing through your throat as you felt his growing member press tight against your thigh.

 Ushijima heard you, his grip on your body tightened slightly as he continued to devour your mouth. He began moving you, carefully backing you up further away from the deep end of the hot spring, and then your body was being lifted up until you were no longer in the hot water, rather, you were now sitting on the ledge of the hot springs.

 Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your nipples hardening into pebbles under Ushijima’s watchful eyes.

 From your perched position on the rocks you could easily kiss Ushijima and he could easily…

 “W-What are you doing?” you whimpered out, the back of your hand coming up to cover your mouth, your heart was racing, faced flush, as you stared at the tall male.

 His large hands were gripping your thighs, carefully moving them apart, his eyes gazing hungrily at your weeping cunt.

 “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked slowly, and then he was stooping down until his face was between your legs… a hot, fat, tongue sliding up your slit.

 You gasped loudly, eyes fluttering shut, as you leaned back on one of your elbows, your hand covering your mouth shot out and tangled into his damp hair.

 Ushijima hummed slightly, tongue gently flickering against your throbbing clit. 

 He wanted to do this here? Now?

 A thick finger slid easily into your wet entrance, causing your thighs to tremble at the sudden intrusion.

 Apparently yes. Yes, he did.

 When you finally opened up your eyes, the scene before you was absolutely sinful. Your swollen lips parted in awe as you made eye contact with Ushijima.

 His pupils were dilated, the soft olive color completely gone. His wet hair clung to his face, you could see his tongue flickering in and out of his mouth as he continued to eat you out.

 How was he so fucking perfect?

 “Toshi… please.” you begged, pressure beginning to build up, you were so close, but you wanted him. You wanted his thick cock to stretch you out completely right now.

 “Is there something you want?” he asked, voice deep and thick with arousal. His plush lips were wet, coated in your slick.

 Oh fuck.

 How did he look so fucking good between your legs?

 “You. Please. No more foreplay, I want you inside me already, please.” you trembled, watching as he stood to full height.

 Your eyes greedily ran down his naked body. He was just so… so fucking big, in so many ways.

 The strong muscles of his arms, his chest, his stomach, stood proudly on display for you. But as your eyes traveled lower; you could almost drool over the sight of his erect cock, standing proud and ready to be engulfed in your tight heat.

 His fist enclosed over his hard member, pumping up and down his shaft a couple of times before he finally stepped between your trembling legs. Carefully rubbing the head of his cock against your soaked folds, your eyes fluttered at the touch.

 But then with a quick snap of his hips he entered you, bottoming out immediately. 

 His lips slammed down against yours, muffling the loud moan that was about to escape your lips.

 Fuck, you were so full. No matter how many times Ushijima had you, you could never quite get used to his large size. 

 It was almost too much. But he knew that, which was why he waited for a moment, allowing you the time to get used to thick intrusion.

 One of his large hands grabbed at your hip, the other was resting near your head against the ground.

 After a few moments, your legs wrapped around his thick waist, a silent invitation that he could start moving.

 Ushijima didn’t even hesitate, his hips snapping forward, his cock pressing into the deepest part of your tight heat.

 The pace of his thrusts was unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to fuck you, despite the fact that you guys were at a hot spring.

 “Do you hear that?” he murmured; soft squelching could be heard from your lower region. You were absolutely soaked, drenching his thick cock as he slid in and out of you perfectly. 

 You gripped at his broad shoulders helplessly, soft whimpers escaping your lips as you trembled under his large body.

 It was too much… the hot springs, his body, his kisses, the grunts that were coming from his lips, the fact that your boyfriend was fucking you in a public place…

 “I’m close.” you squeaked out, nails digging into his skin. The familiar burn, the ache for release; was coming up quickly.

 His deep thrusts began to speed up, his hips hammering into you.

 “Then cum.” he demanded, his hand reaching down to rub harshly at your swollen clit. 

 So, you did, gushing around him easily, your slick coating his hard member. He grunted loudly, immediately pulling himself out of you, his fist once again enclosing around his member as he hurriedly pumped himself, searching for release.

 Thick ropes of his warmth shot onto your lower belly, hot and heavy against your skin. 

 You watched tiredly as he brushed the wet hair away from his forehead, his eyes trailing over your bare body, a soft expression easily covering his face now. Carefully he pulled you back into the water, situating you on his lap easily as you rested your head against his strong chest.

 You sighed in content as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

 “I love you Wakatoshi.” you said quietly, you peered up at him, a sweet smile coating your lips.

 “I love you too.” he said eyes flickering down at you, a small smile appearing on his face.

 A trip to the hot springs was definitely a good idea. 

[tinnchan]

atotsweek2021 day 7: We will never be apart, indefinitely

This is going to be long! And I know these type of posts can be annoying to some so I am going to put them under a cut. Click to just read a long, wordy attempt at gushing at so many people in the fandom.

Favourite gifset/graphics

Honestly, this fandom is so talented when it comes to graphics and gifsets it's almost impossible to pick one so bear with me as a list down all of the atots giffers out there.

@ataleofthousandstars is one of the most creative person in fandom. I keep constantly getting floored by her amazing gifsets. The way she grasps on themes and concepts easily for her gifsets. It's like storytelling.

@atotsphutian is massively talented and her agenda of giffing smiling Phupha and Tian is so valid. This piece might be my favourite of yours, Lara. It's so beautifully done.

@barncsbucky 's play with light and dark gifs is one of the best thing i've seen, especially this!

@billkinsdancing is king of blending. The rendering and colours of his gifsets are always so creative and pretty. No one does it like Quan and this gifset lives rent free in my mind.

@kaonoppakao idk man, maybe this belongs in the Louvres or something.

@mixmetawin 's lyrics and quote sets are the most amazing atots work i've had the privilege to see and everyone should def check them out especially this one.

@phapundao do you ever look at a piece of art and feel like home? This is how I feel about Nuria's gifs. I see some gifsets on my dash with those specific colour schemes and feel and I know they are hers. This still takes my breath away.

@taleofstars every Kit gifset is my favourite gifset until the new Kit gifset comes along. Kit always chooses the best themes and the best scenes. Always keep giffing our hornbills Kit otherwise I'll </3. This just feels me with so much warmth.

@tiansgalaxy 's gifsets are lil, precious gems. The colours and letterings are always so gorgeous and these gifs are just so beautiful.

Favourite fanart

@ktrless style is so so lovely. Do you all want to get emotional over a great, funny comic starring birds?

@viriyanon Angela!! You are also an amazing text poster and writer but I am putting you in the fanartist cathegory because your wingmen art brought me so much joy <3 Please keep fan-arting!

@evenasyoungastheyare makes the most amazing charcoal pieces and linking only one would be a disservice. Go check them all out!! They make my heart sink and flutter.

Favourite fmv

If i ever only have under 5 minutes to live and I need to recapture the essence of Phutian and atots in the most perfect way I will watch this video by the talented @thranduel.

Favourite fic/meta/textpost etc

@serannes is the most hilarious person in the asian drama/BL fandom and have these as exhibit A.

@eyepietime All of Maria's metas and posts and her fic are my favourite things ever because she is the most intellectual smort person in this fandom. You all just go read all of her tags under atots posts for some of the most brilliant and inciteful lil nuggets (it's so sad that you keep em in the tags!! the world deserve to know).

@thebadmoonsrising is one of the fandom's most amazing writer. She has Tian and mostly Phupha nailed to the T. Her characterization is amazing. Please everyone, go check her on going photography!AU for some of the most beautiful and vivid descriptions ever though my other fav fic of hers is here.

@morathicain has written my favourite piece of Phutian fluff ever. It is absolutely precious and beautiful.

and amazing blogs I love interacting with or whose tags always make me smile or including other amazing creators (whether for atots or not) whose content you must all check out: @thedownloey @nct-oli @everybodyelsesgirl @nanzhujues @onlyifyoubadd @laowen @earthmixs

[madfantasy]

شكرا..

Even between the constant nudging feelings of being unable to create something relatable, to be noticed, or understood. The silence, the diminishing digital numbers, and the constant wondering if I'm doing something wrong or if it simple life effects, fall out of interest, vague differentiation of cultures and shifting tides. Being out of luck, or the faint wrestle of fandom-ic opinions, moods and sides. And between my reality at home, being told on daily basis with colorful variety that my art isn't feeding me as such, its not important, and my efforts are stupidly wasted.

I am thankful

For those special ones who I met and left me a memory to revisit, brief our encounters were or graciouslly still flourishing, I'm grateful for the time and every word and support you've bestowed upon me, allowing me to treat myself and remain connected to my only window to the world and haven- online. When I could, I have saved in treasuring manner your messages and reread under the blanket of white noise, almost unconsciously and tirelessly running my sight across the lines, for being such wonderful spiritual excursion I could hardly believe I'm deserving of and can't get enough of. And grateful for those who follow my trail silently and faithfully with every new burst of randomness that leaves me, and welcoming those who came to company my wavering drawing journey, even if my words don't reach you

Used to having the concept of time as meaningless almost my entire life, but now dears came to inhabited its space, I couldn't help but count every second. Three years now amongst you, witnessing humanity I've never tasted before, grateful for to have the fortune of it happening in my life

Loving to mention personally who comes to mind at the moment, regretting who I'm forgetting already (im sorry

@suffer-my-displeasure Tinni, so thankful to have you as the wonderful talented witty kind hilarious person you are. Thank you for the art you do, for the inspiration and the tickling thrill to rush and draw as to match the passion you give. Thank you for simply the vibrant times in doing art and complaining about it lol

I treasure our art adventures and always wish you the best and look forward to everything you do, don't keep us waiting :"

I still love this drawing we did on Magma studio, wish to do more :"

(Guys remind me to interduce you to it, so we can maybe draw together some time!)

@thepomegranatejuice Pom, thank you for the release of the exhilarating imaginary side of language; the poetic flow of words you smoothly relay along side the stokes of my brush, like the gentle grace of a passing wind on a shuddering clear mirror of water, reflecting their joint wonders. Thank you for your beautiful perception and the motivation you cause me. I wish you always the best of things, you amazingly warm-hearted soul

@snapecentric my dearest Katt, thank you for everything. Thank you for your much needed nudging encouragement in me using Ko-Fi for the first time, thank you for helping me overcome my embarrassment in advertising and explaining my situation. Thank you for the luscious killer use of words and creative awesome input, and your immense kindness to others. You're a miracle in my life, and I'm sure in other's. Bless your soul my dear, may your always filled with the joy you give

@willmoanbutdonothingtochange Ali, thank you dear for always making giddy with your appearance that blessed my notifications board. Your way with words, your thoughts, compassion and utter sweetness overwhelms me, an angel you are, bless your bones

@omgverybouquetkoala deary, thank you for being an extension to family, thank you for everything you've shared, all your little stories and craft, I love your bookmarks, wish you all the best my dear

@snapessexual precious dear, thank you for all the fire and the excitement you bring me, with your wizarding way with editing vids and bringing pictures to life, all the love

Also would love to thank my top supporters, according to ko-fi hehe

Blessing me with their commissioning

@kaboom-eye with his awesome daring fic scenes and saving me from a tight spot of disappearing from online, @friedgreenpickles all the lovable sev as you are @snapelynn with your cute Althea and teeny Sev fanfics <33

And everyone's generosity in supporting me and commissioning me @its-itsjustice-love , @kirasnapeaddict @sherrasama , @francis-sinbin , @rose0jam , @sluthyrin , @gcgraywriter, and those who I'm sorry that i don't know their handles; Mantra, Nyara, BronzeWool, Gruselnudel, Naomi

Thank you for all the dear that bare with me and make my heart flutter @mybianca112 lovvve uu dear , @lovewithmidnight قُتلت خلاص، قلبي ماع You're so wonderful 😭 @clowne-depot u PRECIOUS and everybody, Salem, Harry,,,,

I want to thank all the writers and artists that have tickled my fancy and were a joy to spot on the feed and remembering some;

@deathdaydungeon , @alinearthp @blog4snape , @myobscureimaginarium , @lo-pizzaeater

Also thank you for dears who mentioned me, who also supported me and I adore their art mizzadamz , capysnapeart , hpprincealice

May your year brings you the joy that you deserves, and the fortune your heart desires, despite all the odds 🙏

Have this Kaka from Mani

3.1.2021

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART XVII — masterlist

concept: you surprise chris for his birthday while he's shooting in italy. the slowest of slow burns. the ever anticipated part eighteen of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fluff. just prepare to melt.

author's note: everyone can thank @tonystankschild for this one. she was deep in the dm's asking for fluff and i intended to deliver the fluffiest of fluffs.

You liked to consider yourself a rational person at the best of times.

That consideration, however, was entirely negated by the fact that you were now on a flight to Italy to surprise Chris for his birthday. There was nothing rational about it.

But you had saved for this trip, and Chris had done so much for you in the past year or so, that you had wanted to do something for him.

And you had decided that no one should be alone on their birthday, no matter how far away they were.

You had caught a flight from Boston after making the forty-four hour roadtrip to drive Dodger there, not having the funds to fly him to the Evans' household. The fees of bringing an animal on board were astronomical, and you were still balking from how high the number was.

Chris was a wealthy man, however, and those types of costs never quite fazed him as much as they did you.

So you had driven him to Lisa's, a thousand thank yous on your lips as she delivered you to the airport to minimize on the extra cost of leaving your car at the airport parking lots.

Scott – who had still been there from the Patriot's game, "tryin' to get as much family lovin' as he could" as he put it – smiled knowingly at you when you had brought Dodger in.

"You go, baby vamp," he'd whispered to you. It was an outdated saying, but you knew it anyways, and laughed him off.

"We're just friends, Scott."

"Yeah, just like these highlights are from the sun."

He had given you a tight hug, wished you luck on your trip, and – like Lisa would later do at the drop off – made you promise to wish Chris a happy birthday from them.

When you touched down in Italy, it was early morning, that hovering between night and dawn.

You had once again called Chris' agent – Mark – to get details on the shoot, ones which he reluctantly handed over.

You thought that perhaps he was trying to save Chris the PR scandal of being seen with another woman while publicly in a relationship with Lily, but you had pointed out that you had been clearly established as friend of the couple with your global third wheel memes. It didn't take much pressing, because Mark knew how much you both cared about each other and how happy you being there for Chris' birthday would make the actor. So he emailed you the shooting location, with a schedule and call sheet. The tagline was very quick: "Don't interrupt shooting :)"

After a quick shower at the affordable three star you'd rented for the weekend, you got ready in spite of the weariness the plane left you with. Hot water did wonders to waken you, and a touch of makeup never hurt.

You stepped out in the warm breeze, the wind toying softly with the skirt of the summer dress you wore. You easily hailed a cab, and, after failing at the pronunciation of where you were headed, let the cabbie read the location off your phone.

The first person you saw when you got out of the car was Chris.

He was stood off to the side by the craft table, a crewmate quickly doing a last minute adjustment to his hair as he went over his lines. Dressed in an Italian pinstripe suit, you remembered what the film was about.

The indie flick told the tale of an arranged marriage between the son of an Irish mob boss and the daughter of a New York mafia don. Most of the film, however, was set in Italy, where the son, Mickey, had to travel to win the favour of the extended mafia family for the blessing on the union. Briefly, the scene with the strawberries popped into your mind.

You were stopped by security, but Mark – who had been waiting for you – vouched for your admittance.

You stood a little ways away from Chris, within eyesight, but not obvious. It was a surprise, after all.

You called him, watching from where you leaned against his trailer wall. Chris, ringtone blaring for his attention, quickly patted down his suit pockets before finding the device. His glance at the caller I.D. was followed by his whole face lighting up, soft smile on his lips.

"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty," he said into the receiver. "Isn't it a little late in L.A.?"

"It is," you replied. "But it's your birthday tomorrow, and I couldn't resist."

"You know, I've been told I'm irresistible before," he chuckled. "Just never thought I'd hear you say it."

"Well, what can I say? Suits do it for me," you smirked, dropping your first hint.

Scott was right. Chris really could be clueless. "You'd love the one they just put me in then," he murmured, distracted by the food on display at the craft table as he perused the options. "A real classy number."

"What are your plans for the rest of the weekend?"

"They gave me the weekend off to celebrate, but you know me... Probably will go wine tasting by myself and look at some art or something. Oh, man, read a book. Yeah, haven't done that in a while."

You watched as he plucked a strawberry from the table, and your stomach fluttered.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Hmm?" He hummed as he bit in to the sweet fruit.

"Aren't you sick of strawberries by now?"

Chris froze, eyes wide in shock. Running his tongue over his teeth smoothly and swallowing the bite, he began swiveling his head, trying to look out for where you may be hiding. "Where are you?" He grinned.

"Guess."

And then he saw you.

And then he had you wrapped in his arms, the force of the running tackle hug sending your back crashing into the trailer, metal creaking.

You laughed breathlessly, hanging up the call as you hugged him back.

"Chris," you strained against the bone crush of his fierceness. "Oxygen–"

He loosened his grip, but didn't take back his arms. "You have no idea how much I missed you."

His whispery breath in your hair as he deeply inhaled the apple scented shampoo clinging to you had electricity coursing through your veins. "My bones have some idea, I think you might've fractured a rib."

The rumble of the chuckle reverberated through his body and into yours, and heat dusted your ears and cheekbones. "Sorry, I just can't believe you're here. I had to make sure you were real." And then, the question you'd expected: "Where's Dodger?"

"Dodger is in Boston with your mom. And I'm here, I'm real," you reassured him, smoothing your hands over the back of the meticulously woven cotton of his suit. "But you also have a real job to get back to."

"Oh, right," he groaned sheepishly. In his joy, he'd almost forgotten where he was. "Just hang around for a bit, we're only filming a little today before we're off."

So you did. You got given a seat, just off camera, and watched Chris do his thing. His performance was breathtaking, the way he embodied such a dangerous man. It was enough to make you flushed, the square of his shoulders, the confidence in his stride – the danger lurking under Italian silk lined cotton. You'd never quite seen him like this.

And it thrilled you to see a man you usually felt so safe around look so menacing.

It was the love proclamation scene that served to be your undoing, however.

The director kept hounding Chris, demanding retake after retake. He wanted that genuine love to flow through, and it simply just wasn't.

"Think of someone you love," the director suggested. "Put them in your mind's eye. You have a girlfriend, yes? Would it help to bring a picture for you to look at off camera? Tell the picture you love her. Someone get me a picture of this man's lover, please! Imagine you've never told her how you feel. And you've been feeling it for a while, and even though it was very... what is the English word? Uncommon? It was uncommon meeting circumstances you met... You love her. Si?"

Chris grit his teeth and nodded, ready to comply. And once the picture was brought out, the call for quiet on set rang out.

But once the director called action, Chris didn't look at Lily. Your heart clenched, your breath catching in your throat.

No, his eyes found you.

"I love you," he said the words you'd never thought you'd hear him say – at least not to you – and the sincerity in his cracked voice was overwhelming. His eyes were watery, relief dropping his shoulders – as if he'd kept this inside for too long and a weight had been lifted. He sighed it again and again, as if it was the only thing that was going to save him, as if it's the only words he'd ever known.

And when the director called cut, singing Chris' praises, he was still looking at you.

———————

"I still can't believe you're wearing that," Chris chuckled.

You dipped your sunglasses lower on the bridge of your nose to observe him critically. He was leaning against a Vespa, arms folded, the sleeves of his loose white cotton button down rolled up to his elbows, barely containing the bulge of his muscles. Black trousers clad his legs, on his feet a pair of black Italian leather loafers he'd gotten as a gift from his co-star. He wore his own pair of sunglasses, hair swept back, being tousled by the passing breeze.

The statement had been made in reference to the silk scarf you wore, twisted around your neck delicately in a way that was reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn. "If I'm going to have a Roman holiday," you giggled, tripping a little on your way to the Vespa – Chris moved to catch you, but you righted yourself, "you best believe I'm going to fucking look like it."

You had gone to a wine tasting in a vineyard on the outskirts of Rome, somewhere far into the countryside. You had both goofed off the entire time, earning yourselves scolding looks from the sophisticated tourists and the locals, who had wanted a peaceful afternoon at the farm.

You sniffed the wines, obnoxiously listing all the strange terminology the haughty wine connoisseurs would throw around casually, before taking your sips.

It became somewhat of an inside joke between the two of you, finding yourselves lagging behind the group because you couldn't stop laughing. And whenever you were shot a dirty look, it would only make you laugh more.

"You're meant to taste it," he'd whispered to you.

"I am tasting it," you shot back.

"No, you're chugging it like a sixteen year old whose parent made the unwise choice of leaving unsupervised."

The tour guide had been eyeing the two of you up, waiting for your silence. The rest of the tour group turned their critical gaze too, and you gave Chris' foot a soft stomp to get his attention.

Both of you shut up, giggling under your breaths as Chris had practically bowed in his gesture for the guide to continue.

But now it was time to go back to the inner city, and Chris had waited patiently for you by the Vespa while you'd gone to freshen up a bit. The cobblestones were hell for your tipsiness, but you were wine and laugh drunk, and hadn't a care in the world.

"You know how they say there's always that one pair of annoying people on wine tastings that ruin the experience for everyone?"

"They do?" Chris' brow creased in question as he grinningly handed you your helmet.

"Of course they do. Well, I couldn't find them, so it must be us."

Chris clicked his own helmet in place as he caught sight of the hostess by the front door giving you both a dirty look. "What finally gave it away?"

He slid easily onto the Vespa seat, heeling up the kickstand and righting the orientation.

"Hop on, princess," he beckoned you with a nod. You regretted wearing a dress for this part, but you were serious about the Roman Holiday aesthetic.

Serious enough to risk flashing someone as you mounted the scooter behind Chris. But luckily you didn't.

"Hold on tight," Chris called over his shoulder. You complied, encircling your arms around his waist, pressing your bodies together.

You could feel his heart rate pick up, but before you could think too much about it, he took off – cobblestone streets and ivy climbed buildings flying past you in your bliss.

————————

Two of the three worst things that could've happened to you while riding a scooter in the countryside did.

The scooter had broken down and it had started to rain. Not only rain, but fucking pour. You were drenched through to your skin, pulled over on the side of the road, Chris trying to kickstart the machine into working again.

After his fifth attempt, he came over to you, squinting in the rain.

"It's not working," he shouted over the droning rainfall. "Let's just find some shelter and come up with a game plan!"

There were nothing but open spans of green fields and wheat as far as your eyes could see. But a little while back, just over the hill, there had been lights in the haze of rain, a little nondescript sign on the side of the road that you'd whipped past suggesting the shelter that you so desperately craved.

"I think there was a house back there," you yelled back. "Maybe they could help out."

He nodded imperceptibly in the shower of droplets, hand on the small of your back, fitting so seamlessly in the curve of your spine, and began guiding you.

You both dashed across the road, and then you were tearing through the long grass in a shortcut to the twinkling beacons of the lights in the windows, looking like eyes peering at you in the darkness.

Somewhere along the way, you'd found out that Chris was a little ticklish at his waist, and after you'd discovered it – he'd flinched away from you and begged you to stop, but you'd continued just to antagonise him – you wouldn't let it go. It took you much longer to get there than would be normal, but soon, you were both stood, shivering and drenched on the porch step.

There was a sign on the door telling you it was a little inn – an underused bed and breakfast, most likely for road weary travelers on their way to Rome.

You didn't bother knocking as you entered the lobby, spilling inside with laughter still on both your lips. Muddied shoes squelched, and your sodden clothes dripped onto the floor.

You immediately moved to the fire while Chris went to go confer with the front desk.

His two months in Rome had taught him a fair amount of Italian, but it was still quite broken, and he found himself floundering with a lot of the words.

The landlady – a portly old woman with an extraordinarily kind smile and crows footed crinkles by her eyes – understood the predicament.

She explained to him in English – loud enough in the silence so you could hear over the crackle of the fire – that the road services would probably only be available to come out so far tomorrow morning, and that it'd be best to stay the night.

She didn't seem like someone who would scam you into staying at her little roadside hostel – even going so far as to give Chris some white fluffy towels for the both of you.

He paid for the last room available with soggy money, and returned to you, fresh towels in his arms.

He draped one over your shoulders first, and when you reached out to cling it to your frame, your fingers brushed.

That same electricity jolted through you both, travelling with lightning quick velocity down both your spines to spark alive the restless butterflies you had well and truly thought you had put to rest. You were the first to withdraw, allowing Chris to put a towel over himself.

He ran it through his hair, the pieces that had been plastered to his skin with water raising into spikes.

You laughed, reaching out a tentative hand – giving him ample time to withdraw should he need to – to smooth it back and away from his face.

But your laughter died down, as it inevitably did whenever he looked down at you like that. Because how the hell were you meant to function when his eyes were on your lips the way they were now?

And you damn near choked when he started leaning down, lips pressing closer to yours...

But before they touched, he broke into a gut-wrenching smirk, moving past your tingling and awaiting mouth to whisper in your ear. "I dibs the shower."

And then he was sprinting up the stairs.

You were so in shock that for a minute you couldn't even register what had happened, and when you did, you cursed at him, following him up, swearing you'll skin him alive.

And all the while, the landlady was watching the two of you, a knowing glimmer in those kind eyes. She muttered something in Italian, one she repeated many a time during your stay, a saying you would come to know as "young love."

And she didn't even care that you had tracked mud into her hotel and soaked the carpets through from your wet clothes.

She just cared that there were still kids in love in this world.

———————

Once you had both taken a shower and were wrapped up in your complimentary hotel bathrobes, you realised that neither of you were tired.

Your clothes were laid out, sprawled over the backs of chairs, drying by a fire Chris had taken the liberty of building.

So you both decided to go downstairs, and see what activities you could engage in with the other guests. It would do well to help you forget the prospect of having to share a bed with Chris.

According to the landlady, this was the last room available. And of course, Chris had offered to sleep on the floor, as gentlemanly as ever.

But you couldn't do that to him on his birthday, so you'd told him it would be fine, as long as a pillow fort was built to prevent any unnecessary contact.

The common area was woefully empty, save for a couple of sleepy looking musicians, poised atop their makeshift stage, on the brink of passing out on their instruments.

When you and Chris entered, however, they livened up, striking up some traditional Italian melody you may have heard before in passing.

It wasn't that late, so the bar was still open, and Chris managed to purchase a bottle of wine.

Most of the seats had been stacked on the tables, and he helped you pull some down before seating yourselves.

He poured you both wine, and you sat there in your robes, listening to the music.

The landlady came by, at some point, to light the tea light candle on your table.

When you thanked her, she said the same thing she had said earlier – in Italian, so you struggled to understand.

Chris, however, who had been taking a hearty sip of wine, nearly choked. "Mille grazie," he winked.

She scoffed, patting his cheek affectionately, much like a grandmother would her grandson. You didn't catch much of what she said, aside from one word. Cacciatore, in reference to a flirtatious man.

"What did she say to you?"

"She said amore giovane. It means young love."

You turned to try and find her – wanting to correct the innocent mistake of having her assume that you and Chris were in love. Fact of the matter was, there was still with Lily, and you couldn't stand to think of the PR nightmare it would be if it were to get out that he was at an admittedly romantic bed and breakfast with you of all people. "Oh, no, we aren't..." You faded out awkwardly. "He has a girlfriend!"

"Actually," Chris said softly, as if he had been wanting to tell you this for a while. "I don't. Not anymore. Not since the last day at the Hamptons."

Relief flooded you, followed by something undetermined – hope, you would later discover – before you were floored with absolute sympathy. "Oh, Chris. Chris, I'm so sorry."

You reached over to link your fingers in a reassuring hand hold, and his focus was pulled to that singular touch, that point of joining.

"If there's anything I can do to help..."

"No, it just..." He swallowed, finally pulling those ocean eyes to you. "It just wasn't meant to be, I guess. She wasn't the one."

His eyes told a story much deeper, hinting to something that you didn't have the strength to uncover. You'd been hurt too many times by these false feelings, you really weren't sure how ready you were to face them once more.

"What happened?"

"She thinks I'm in love with someone else." When you didn't say anything again – too stunned to do so – Chris cleared his throat. "I, uh," he tried for a smile, "I believe you owe me a dance."

It took you a while to recall him asking you to save him the last dance at the charity gala, and when it registered, you grinned, questions of who dissipating. "Let's go dance."

The band saw you and Chris approach the dancefloor, and immediately switched to a slow waltz. Chris took you in his arms, and as you both swayed to the music, you could almost imagine you were back in Vegas, before Lily, before everything, when the biggest problem in your life was that you had kissed your best friend on your birthday.

His body was so warm pressed to yours, that you felt every tense muscle in your body relax. That hand – forever fitted so perfectly to the groove of the small of your back – traced delicate patterns through the flannel of the gown.

Your cheek was on his chest, and your eyes were closed, and you couldn't see the way he was looking at you.

Because in his eyes – those beautiful ocean eyes – was a love. The love that you were incapable of seeing, but one that everyone else had – including Lily.

There was worship in every sapphire fleck, and there was pure adoration in the inky depths of his pupils.

And as he held you, body nestled so perfectly against his, knew that the angels would damn themselves for you. Because he sure as hell would.

———————

When Chris had gone to get more drinks – the bottle you had shared being finished – you had gone to speak to the musicians.

And surprisingly, they had what you had requested.

Chris was uncorking the bottle when you had hopped up on stage.

There was no microphone this time, and the musicians were glad to receive a break, joining the landlady at the back for a drink – leaving you and Chris alone in the room. Their departure caught his attention, and he glanced at you, before doing a double take.

You were sat at the edge of the stage – feet dangling off to graze the floor every now and then – and in your hands was a ukelele.

The memory of the last time you played for him was chased away by the excitement of this next song.

You were tuning it when you finally noticed Chris watching you. He had that look in his eye – one you were so used to seeing, but one you never quite let yourself understand – and he slowly sank into his seat to watch you. He propped his head on a fist, candlelight flickering in his eyes.

And without much of an introduction, you plucked at the strings delicately, beginning a ukelele rendition of "La Vie En Rose."

His smile broadened into a beam when you started singing. Never had he felt absolute peace like this – at least without having you in his arms.

Hold me close and hold me fast

This magic spell you cast

This is la vie en rose

You looked up at him, your expression earnest. You always found yourself being much more capable of conveying emotion in your actions, rather than with your words. Words made things messy. Music... that was beauty incarnate.

When you kiss me, heaven sighs

And though I close my eyes

I see la vie en rose

Chris breathed in deeply, his heart stuttering, but heavy in his chest. The hold – that spell – you so flawlessly cast on him was rising again, and he knew, with all certainty, that he would not wish to break the enchantment for anything in the world. He was Icarus, and you were the sun – the magnetic pull he felt was that strong.

When you press me to your heart

I am in a world apart

A world where roses bloom

Your eyes found his and you grinned, beguiling him. As you played the interlude, you mouthed to him "happy birthday;" and it was. It was perhaps one of the happiest birthdays he'd had in a while, because it was the one he'd spent with you.

And when you speak, angels sing from above

Everyday words seem to turn into love songs

His heart was swelling, throat thick with emotion. His eyes burned, but he was almost certain the tears gathering was from a lack of blinking. He didn't want to pull his gaze away from you, not for a single second. He had told you he had loved you earlier that day – and this felt like more of a response than he'd ever receive. He knew how difficult it was for you to say those words. And he was okay with that. He'd take what you gave, and you were giving him this – a song as lovely as the woman who was currently singing it. And he thought he was going to simply die when you looked up at him with those eyes, and that smile, and that voice reaching out to him, singing that final verse.

Give your heart and soul to me

And life will always be

La vie en rose

Little did you know, you already owned those things.

You'd owned them since the night you met.

[fleckcmscott]

The Falls

Summary: Arthur and Y/N reach Gotham City Hall. Two weeks later, they share a taste of newly-wedded bliss.

Warnings: Swearing, Adult situations

Words: 5,953

A/N: This request came from @jokerownsmysoul​. I'm grateful for it - it was a real challenge. I can't wait for more! I also need to extend a hearty thanks to @sweet-nothings04​ for her support. I've been going through a rough period, which is why my output has slowed. She encouraged me, listened to and helped me work through my doubts, and gave me great feedback. Also, send love to @howdylilflower​ for reading through this, sharing her thoughts, and pointing out my obvious errors!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Gotham City Hall was, to put it briefly, imposing. Statues of former mayors and city founders stood on either side of its massive staircase. The Corinthian capitals of the portico's columns rose three stories above the entrance. The glass and copper doors, made heavy by their vertical, iron security bars, provided a sense of elite exclusion, regardless of it being a municipal building.

As Y/N and Arthur dashed up the marble steps, their buoyant laughter filling the air, none of that mattered. All that pomp and circumstance was immaterial compared to the leap they were about to make. The leap she hadn't expected that morning but had craved for months. The leap into wedlock and all the dedication, trust, and responsibility that went with it.

The Office of Licensure and Registration was far busier than she'd assumed - it was set to close in half an hour. Two clerks worked the winding line of people dealing with the unremarkableness of bureaucracy. A woman complained about the cost to renew a dog license. ("But he's only a mutt!") At the window, a man was being told he needed to head down the hall and to the left. One guy was muttering to himself about what he was going to have for dinner once he was "out of this hellhole." The atmosphere, admittedly, was not ideal.

However, the love of her life standing beside her, clutching her hand a tad too hard, made it perfect. She examined Arthur's profile as he stared ahead. The joy and relief hadn't left his visage after she'd accepted his proposal. Pensiveness hid in the flare of his nostrils, though. In the repeated clench of his jaw. In the quiet bounce of one knee.

She pursed her lips. Taking off up the street and demanding to be married straight away had been pushy. Under no circumstance did she want him to feel pressured, especially not when it came to this. But, she considered, it was natural to be anxious. And he'd appeared ecstatic, too, nearly yanking her onto his lap on the bench at Lemmars Park.

Tucking back the stray, chestnut strand by his temple, she murmured, "I'm the happiest woman on earth right now." She gently loosened her fingers from his grip and hugged his slim waist. With a bashful duck of his chin and quick puff, his arm went across her shoulders. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes told her his tight-lipped smile was sincere. That he needed this as much as she did. That he'd be all right.

The clerk, whose nametag read "Kyle," was polite and indifferent. Leaning on the counter, they hastily retrieved their IDs from her purse and Arthur's wallet. She rattled off her social security number from memory, while he had to find his card. After paying a fifteen-dollar fee, a slew of typing, and Y/N promising to provide a copy of her divorce papers, Kyle handed them a fountain pen and beige piece of parchment.

Floral borders decorated the edges, an art deco design out of the twenties. The title "Marriage License" leapt out, printed in a font belonging to a carnival barker's wagon. Their names, cities of birth, and birthdays were listed. A final paragraph stated the following: "The undersigned are both of sound mind, are consenting adults, and willingly commit to the bonds of matrimony." They merely had to sign on the respective "bride" and "groom" lines to make it official.

Y/N bent to sign the paper without delay. Not wanting to smudge the ink, she forced her hand to go slower than usual. Arthur grazed her knuckles as she passed him the pen. Only a couple seconds went by, then he jotted his name, a scraggly "A. Fleck." She heard his breath catch as the clerk notarized the document.

The paper needed to be mailed to central office for processing, Kyle explained (which Y/N already knew). A photocopy was made so she could change her name. The official marriage certificate could be picked up in approximately three weeks. To her surprise, he said, "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Fleck" before closing the window's shade.

And that was it. They were husband and wife in less time than it took to register a new car.

Exhilaration fluttered in her abdomen. Pumped its way from her heart to the tips of her toes as they strolled arm-in-arm towards the closest subway station. Y/N suggested they grab a bite to eat to celebrate, maybe go to Kao Wah. But Arthur stated he wasn't hungry. "I'd like to be home. With my- with my wife." He averted his gaze as he said the last words, the tip of his tongue darting to his top lip as if to the savor their flavor.

Given how much he'd learned about traditions from old movies, she'd suspected he'd try to carry her over the threshold. She was grateful he didn't. Instead, he pressed her into the coats and jackets hanging on the wall. Kissed her with his entire body. "I need to make love to you," he uttered into her neck. The softness of the euphemism was strikingly different from his urgency as he unbuttoned her blouse. He'd have likely taken her in the entranceway if she hadn't led him to the bedroom.

The intensity with which he fucked her into the mattress hadn't been experienced since he'd shown up at her apartment drenched, lost, and unable to fully accept she loved him. But this moment was distinct. Although the lines of his face were taut, his eyes were filled with ardor. He entwined their fingers, crushed her to him, drove her hand into the pillow. "Say you're mine," he implored, the jerks of his pelvis deep and uneven. "Please. Say you're all mine."

It wasn't like her to give herself to someone. To allow that person to own her. She'd tried that before; it hadn't been good for either of them. Yet, she'd pledged her fidelity to Arthur barely two hours ago. She knew what his request meant. He didn't want to change or dominate her. He simply needed to hear her answer. To know he was no longer alone in the world and wouldn't be for the rest of his life, even if he doubted.

Caressing the expanse of his back and his distended shoulder, she responded. "Of course, I'm yours, Arthur." The tip of his nose met hers, and she savored the smile he pressed against her cheek. "Of course, I'm yours."

She absentmindedly played with his hair. Holding him to her breasts, she went over everything she had to do the following day. Having a plan calmed her, aided her in thinking straight. And the list she was making was a pleasure because everything on it involved him. "I have to call the landlord to add you to the lease. Go to the DMV to get my name changed. Add you to my insurance at work. Oh, we need to combine our bank accounts, too." She peeked at the top of his head. "I have a feeling I'll remember to write 'Mrs. Fleck' easier than '1983' when the new year arrives."

The emerging rigidness of Arthur's frame and the burps that suddenly left him alerted her to his tumult. He pushed himself off her, swung his legs over the side of the bed as guffaws ripped their way from his throat. She scurried behind him to see his palm hover above his ribs as he covered his mouth with the other.

It had been weeks since his condition had flared up around her. Even longer since he'd tried and failed to hide it. Acceptance of his affliction was a concept that was sometimes hard for him to accept; her kindness and love couldn't erase thirty-five years of distress. But he had gotten better at believing it and she was proud of him. Not wanting any of his progress to be lost (especially not on their wedding night), she helped him through it, as usual. Kissed his bicep. Reminded him to take deep, even breaths. Blessedly, the attack didn't last long.

He was wringing his hands, the shaking of his head almost imperceptible. "What if I-" He spoke lowly, fear emitted with every syllable. "What if I wake up in Arkham? Or taking care of Penny again?" Y/N continued to listen as she searched for the best reply. "I never thought I'd have what I wanted." A humorless chuckle as he swiped his nose. "I don't want it to go away."

She wondered if what he was saying was due to trepidation or illnesses. Then she realized the differentiation was irrelevant. What mattered was soothing him. Letting him know it was all right. And real. Slowly, she knelt on the floor in front of him. "I'm not going anywhere," she confirmed, cupping his weathered cheeks. "I adore you." Smiling, she claimed his lips. "I'm your wife."

His toothy grin caused her pulse to skip, and he drew her to his chest. "I'm your husband."

"There's no one else I'd rather be married to."

Laying on the mattress, he closed his eyes. She stroked his lean pectorals, delighting in his resulting sighs. Once the tension in his sinews seemed to ebb, once he looked relaxed, he made a thoughtful sound. "Are we gonna have a honeymoon?"

~~~~~

For as long as he could remember, Arthur had ridden buses. They were usually crowded, stuffed full of humanity. A cushioned, plastic seat was free about a third of the time. Apart from the engine, the rides were fairly quiet. Everyone wanted to get to their destinations instead of conversing. He'd gathered that from observing them. From trying to figure out how to make a connection.

The tour bus he was currently on felt like the pinnacle of luxury, with its padded, fabric chairs and tinted windows. A newer adventure movie played on the tiny television built into the ceiling, its volume so low he could make out only half the dialogue. There was a bathroom (a bathroom!) in the rear, cleaner than any public one around the city. Passengers were few. A young couple sat across the aisle, playfully teasing each other. Sights like that had sparked melancholy in the past. Now the corner of his mouth quirked.

He'd yearned to get out of the city. To go somewhere warm, beautiful, and calm. To have space but not loneliness, which was readily available at home. The postcards he'd kept in his locker at work and on his refrigerator had been a feeble attempt to keep the hope of leaving alive. A co-worker had asked about them once. Arthur, seeking to cover-up his vulnerability in a room full of tough guys, had mumbled a quick, "They're just pictures."

California's distance from Gotham had made it a promised land. He would have liked to walk its shores. They had to be cleaner than those of the city. Meet the people there. They were likely kinder due to the sunniness of the state's weather.

He'd lain on his worn sofa or written in his journal, particularly on chilly nights, fantasizing about playing ukulele on the beach with a pretty Hawaiian girl. The light shining off her tan skin, a contrast to his own pallor. The sway of her hips while she danced the hula would match the rhythm of his novice strumming. After a shallow dip in the ocean, they'd make love in the sand. The sun would be setting to their left. A campfire would burn bright on the right. It would have been great.

But the woman currently dozing on his shoulder made the reality he was experiencing finer.

It had been difficult for him to admit his disappointment upon learning Y/N hadn't thought of a honeymoon. The notion had been unimportant to her, as unimportant as having a wedding. When they'd married two weeks ago, she'd said, in her usual, casual manner, "You're my husband and I'm your wife and that's fine." He'd believed he'd gotten her meaning - that frills and fusses were unnecessary, so long as they were partners. But his chest had ached all the same. He'd awaited the opportunity to let out the old romantic in him for years. Those frills and fusses were crucial to him.

The brochure for Niagara Falls had been one of many in the travel agency's window. Its bright blues and greens had caught his eye when he'd passed by on the way home from therapy. He'd heard of the tourist spot on television. Weekend trips were awarded as prizes on game shows. A magician may have gone over them in a barrel. It was supposed to be the honeymoon capital of the world. And it was only four hours from home. He'd figured it would be easy to sell her on the idea.

He'd shown her the pamphlet as soon as she walked through the door, prattling with anticipation as she slipped off her heels. "There's a Skywheel. We've been on the Ferris wheel as Amusement Mile but this one's taller." He'd pointed at a picture while taking her coat. "There are a lot of restaurants. And a town we can walk in..."

Trailing off, he'd lifted one shoulder. "I know you've done all this before. A honeymoon, I mean." His brows pinched. "But not with me. I just want-" The interruption of Y/N's lips had stilled him, the twine of her fingers in his hair switching the racing of his brain to the pounding of his heart. Once they'd parted, the affection in her eyes reassured him.

"That's wonderful suggestion," she'd said. "We'll call a hotline for motel recommendations after dinner. I'm sure I can wrangle a free Friday from Phil." Her eyelashes had fluttered against his neck and she'd snorted. "You should have seen his face when I changed my name. And told him you'd be joining me on every business trip."

The memory made him feel fuzzy in spots he hadn't known existed until she'd seeped into them.

It was early evening, cold, and raining when they arrived. Y/N held her pop-up umbrella over them as he retrieved their shared suitcase. Thank goodness the stroll from the bus depot and to their lodgings was short. Only shallow splashes got on their pants during their scurry up the sidewalk.

Arthur had chosen the Honeymoon City Hotel for a few reasons. The ad had promised a view of the falls from every room, which he'd thought charming. A special newlywed's suite had been offered, Jacuzzi, cable television, and free breakfast included. And the place's corny name. Its silliness had touched the part of him that had bought a rose when he'd had no clue what he was doing, having dinner at a woman's apartment like a regular man. The part that compelled him to impulsively grab her hand while they stirred pots on the stove. The part that could, every so often, envision a brighter future for himself because he had her.

The motel, however, stated there was a problem. The room had been double-booked, a mistake blamed on a new employee having forgotten to note their reservation. The other guests had checked in earlier and couldn't be moved.

Having had a plethora of first days, Arthur understood what it was like to be new on the job. But he was still irritated. He asked where they were supposed to stay, then muttered to himself. He didn't want to be upset on their special weekend. Graciously, Y/N patted his arm and stepped in. He self-soothed with nicotine and noted how, in her kind but direct style, she negotiated a stay in one of the business suites and a ten percent refund. The front desk person told them their bag would be in their room.

They were also given a coupon for the nearby revolving restaurant. He'd been intrigued by the mention of it in his brochure, but he'd assumed it was too expensive. It was just beyond the Canadian border in Skyfall Tower. Because of the discount and no passports being needed, they decided to catch a cab and go.

Though Arthur usually didn't eat a lot, they opted for the buffet. He'd thought it a better value, and it would allow him to try new dishes without worrying he'd be stuck with something he didn't like. The novelty of the made-to-order stir-fry felt opulent. And it was fun adding broccoli, carrots, and mushrooms, but no water chestnuts because their texture was bizarre. Y/N appeared to enjoy the chicken Kiev and quiche, going back for a second helping of the latter.

Gazing out at the panorama provided by the windows surrounding them, Arthur titled his head. Droplets ran down the pane of glass, obscuring the view. The multi-color illumination of the falls were hazy from the rain. The plaque at the entrance had stated they were fifty-five stories up. In Gotham, he'd never been worth enough to go above the tenth floor. He wondered how fast they were spinning. He couldn't feel the momentum, but their position had changed slightly during dinner.

In his peripheral vision, Y/N was licking the rest of her chocolate mousse off a spoon. Nonchalantly, as if she didn't know the effect it would have on him. "This was almost worth the mistake the motel made," she said. But she winced as she straightened, put her palm on her stomach. "I'm not going to be able to move for the rest of the night."

Rolling his eyes and giving a half-smirk, he stood and guided her out of her seat. "You just need to walk a little." He slipped her jacket around her back. "Come on."

~~~~~

Y/N tried to stifle her laughter at Arthur's bewilderment. The room was...not what either of them had anticipated. (And a reminder why she was dubious about motels that had silly names.) Saying it left something to be desired was being generous.

Brown wood grain paneling, too dark to be considered cozy, was on the walls. Two twin beds, about three feet apart, were on the right. She chose the one closest to the windows, and it creaked and groaned as she sat on it. ("I hope the walls are thicker than they look.") Dim lamps with avocado green shades were on the nightstands in the middle. A thirty-two-inch television sat on the bureau across from the footboards. The room's saving grace was a fireplace in the back corner.

He popped his head into the bathroom, stated the shower was smaller than theirs, and grumbled that there was no whirlpool bath. She did not mourn that loss. The couple of times she'd used one, the pumps and jets had been loud and distracting. Besides. They were bound to test one out eventually.

Arthur made his way to the acrylic curtains and opened them. "I see...a parking lot." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his tan jacket and sighed. "This wasn't what I pictured."

She knew he'd blame himself because he'd picked the place, which was ridiculous. They'd both agreed to it. Disappointment and guilt on their honeymoon? That wouldn't do. "Vacations never go as planned. That's why you return home more drained than when you left." Reaching behind her, she flipped on the radio. Searched for and found a station playing upbeat music. Kept the volume at a level where the notes of "The Hustle" were barely audible but could still cheer. She stood and flipped back the covers. "Well, the sheets are clean. Help me push these together."

Chuckling, he brought the lamps she'd unplugged to the nearby desk, then moved the nightstands out of the way. There were four or so inches between the mattresses when the bed frames met, but they'd make the most if it. The ease with which he'd moved his bed against hers impressed her, prompted her to squeeze her thighs together.

While Arthur stuck his head out the window for a smoke, Y/N got to work. She dug out the sparkling wine she'd packed (not champagne, which he found too sour) and unwrapped the plastic cups by the ice bucket. After screwing off the top and pouring them both a serving, she stripped to her bra and panties, a lacy dark green set she'd bought for the trip. Then she tip-toed to him. "Mr. Fleck, would you do me the honor of starting the hearth?"

He flicked his cigarette, stood, and turned to her. The desire and love in his intent stare as it roamed up her body, and the softening of his features made her blush. She looked at the brown carpet demurely. "I only packed lace."

The raging flames were half a yard away, a yellow and orange glow illuminating them both. She traced his spine to the beads of sweat gathering in the small of his back. They'd begun mere minutes ago, but she was already light-headed. Not only from the satisfaction of him repeatedly filling her, the joy of joining with him entirely. But also from the blazing heat.

She focused on the drop perspiration rolling down his forehead to his nose, then felt it fall onto her neck. "Arthu-" The last letter was stolen by his lips, the tip of his tongue teasing hers. She broke off, gasping. "Can we take a break?"

Blinking at her, he stopped, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. "A break?"

Gently, she pushed at his hips and nodded. "I feel like I'm going to melt. And not in the good way."

He left the grip of her body carefully and went to the knob next to the fireplace. "I think it's on a timer." She watched his grimace as he attempted to turn it counterclockwise. "It won't budge."

Y/N scooted away from the fire, rolled onto her side, and grabbed her mostly full cup. "We'll have to wait it out." He pouted at her and she laughed. "Hey, waiting will make the quenching sweeter." Taking a sip, she beamed up at him. "I don't think I told you how I got to Gotham."

There was a pause before he swiped back his damp locks. "What do you mean? It was your old job." He stretched to lie beside her, propped on his forearm.

"That's true but there's more to it." Entwining their calves, she draped an arm over his hip so she could caress the modest curve of his rear. "I used to get groceries every Tuesday in Missouri - the shop was further out, so I couldn't go and get a couple of ingredients, like you and I do." She turned onto her back, surveyed the off-white popcorn ceiling. "It would be empty. Lines were short. New stock would have come in.

"I always bought three newspapers for the help wanted section: the Daily Planet, the Toronto Star, and the Gotham Journal. One week I had to work late and go on a Thursday, and the store was out of the Journal." She giggled and shook her head. "I was so annoyed. I'd avoided the Gotham Globe because it looked like a trashy tabloid. But I settled."

The skim of his fingertips across her belly was a series of tender, repeated lines. Her gaze flicked to his, her smile breaking her face wide open. "That's where I found the ad for Shaw and Associates." She brought his knuckles to her mouth. "That annoyance is what got me my job. Allowed me to move to Gotham." She grasped his chin, ran her thumb along his deepening dimple. "What led me to you." Arching a brow, she gave a little shrug. "It's almost enough to make me believe there's a reason for everything. Not quite. But almost."

The concentration in the lines of his forehead told Y/N he was trying to find the right way to express himself. He gave it a go. "You're my reason."

She winced. It was a conversation they'd often had. While she appreciated what he said, held every word in her heart, he tended to aggrandize her and not give himself proper credit for how well he was doing. For going to treatment, for trying different medications. For being honest. She was still finding the kindest, most effective ways to correct those notions. To emphasize they were equals, through and through. "Arthur, I can't be your only reason."

"That's not what I meant." He rubbed the side of his face. Sitting up, he hugged his legs to his chest and his eyelids fluttered shut. "I don't hate myself as much as I used to. Not every day."

He fidgeted with the carpet. Y/N put her palm on his foot, traced the tendons of his ankle. Tried to help bolster him to confide whatever he wanted. "My mother would say she was the one who knew my purpose. That she didn't mind my laugh, because I was happy all the time." Scoffing, he took Y/N's proffered cup. "If she told me I wasn't funny or I did something wrong-" He swallowed hard and finished her wine.

She got it. Penny, along with his experiences in and perceptions of Gotham, had hammered into him that he was hard to love. An egregious, groundless lie. The pain underlying what he'd disclosed settled in her stomach, a dull ache for what he'd lived through. She was about to speak when he wiggled his toe to stroke her wrist. "I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable."

"Psh." She sat to hug him across his back at the waist. "I've never been uncomfortable around you. Not once." He leaned into her as she kissed his temple. The reflection of the hearth in his light green eyes was beautiful, flecks of brown and hazel shining. Gladness lurked in them, undeterred by their earnest exchange. She tousled his curls, ran her nails over his scalp until a pleasured moan escaped him. "Don't ever apologize for telling me how you feel."

A prolonged but companionable silence, then. As the fire died down, she lay on the floor. Pulled him to follow her until his wiry frame covered her. "I hate to break it to you, but you're not that weird."

Enfolding their fingers, he squinted at her. "I'm not?"

"Sorry to let you down." She wrapped her legs about his middle, squeezed him tight as he opened her lips with his. "Loving you is one of the easiest things I've ever done," she purred. She kissed his face in a line, then whispered in his ear. "Planning to proposition a man on the third date was never a habit of mine."

"Hm." At the weight of him hardening against her thigh, she gripped his shoulders and arched towards him. "Did you always flirt with men in the grocery store?"

The mild pinch to his bottom was instantaneous.

~~~~~

After procuring two apples, bananas, and donuts from the breakfast buffet and bringing them to their suite, Arthur decided to journal. He'd been awake since four. There was only so much smoking, staring at the walls, and trying to go back to sleep he could do. So as not to disturb Y/N, he went to the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet, notebook on his lap.

The pen flowed freely and he snickered. It always felt good when jokes came easily. "My mother wud say (change voice here) 'mariage isn't for everyone.' But I found the one person who wanted to marry me. Sorry, mom. It's funny." "I have a wife. It's great to have one special person to steel the blankets from."

Tears pricked a couple punchlines later. He wiped at them with a square of tissue paper. "Today I feel good," he jotted. "I think it's because I like being maried. I'm so proud of myself for sticking with Y/N. The worst days are better. I used to wunder how long I could live with noone caring about me. But I don't half to anymore. I hope I never do again."

A yawn beckoned him and he padded through the doorway to peak towards the beds. Y/N was opening the drapes, just enough to let a strip of sunlight illuminate the room. She was pretty, barefoot, her nightdress ending mid-thigh as the rays framed her silhouette. He sidled up behind her. "What do you call two spiders that just got married?"

Turning, she tapped her chin, apparently giving it a good, long think. "Mr. and Mrs. Arachnid?"

Even if she was wrong, he appreciated her effort. "Newly-webs." Giggling, she hugged him around the neck, stretched slightly to kiss him. "I was on a roll this morning. Maybe I can make them part of my act."

She clambered into the bed beneath the covers and patted the narrow space next to her. It was a tight fit, but he climbed in eagerly, anyway. As he brought her half on top of him, she said she'd looked at the TV schedule and found a movie to start the day. One starring Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn. The film was new to him, though he'd heard of it. He enjoyed the unexpected love story between two people from completely different backgrounds. Nibbling on a chocolate donut, he wondered if Y/N saw the parallels. If that was why she'd chosen it.

When they finally got dressed and headed out, they discovered the Skywheel Arthur had been looking forward to was closed for the season. It appeared they'd gotten married too late in the year for a lot to be open. There was a wax museum and an arcade in the nearby town. Neither appealed to him. But as they wandered the streets, they found the Houdini Magic Shop.

The manner in which she was browsing the props and instruction cards made it was obvious Y/N was out of her element. The only clown performance she'd seen in years had been his. But she was sweet and enthusiastic, and pointed out items she thought might be of interest. He was polite when he declined them. In the end, Arthur picked out a color changing blossom and a never-ending scarf. Although it was a store for performers, he found pens Y/N could use for work. He presented them to her with a flourish, and she promised she'd use them daily.

They stopped by a nearby souvenir shop. It was small, about half the size of their living room. He bought a few postcards to go with the ones on his vanity. She chose three, scrawled "We're hitched!" on them, and mailed them to Patricia, Mabel, and Penny. There was a photographer's booth, too, and he convinced her to have their photo taken. The cardboard frame he chose had "We're honeymooning at Niagara!" emblazoned at the top in bright blue letters. It wasn't her taste. Not at all. But she claimed to like it, stating simply, "At least you're gorgeous."

And now, after a quick lunch of sandwiches and soup at a nearby cafe, they stood on the observation deck overlooking the falls.

Beyond city parks, Arthur hadn't seen a lot of nature. Though he appreciated the majesty of the place, he wasn't mesmerized by it. Not really. The height intimidated him. There had been periods in his life during which he would have gladly flung himself into the depths. Not to die. Just to make everything stop. Smiling slowly, squeezing the hand of the woman next to him, he was grateful not to feel that now.

He swiveled to study her. She was peering through coin-operated binoculars, a contented look on her face. She offered him a turn but he declined, already having the best view. He ran his thumb over the gold band on her left hand and shut his eyes.

He'd heard a song once. The lyrics had said he would be nobody until somebody loved him, and until he found somebody to love. It was plain the love the person sang about wasn't the one he'd felt for Penny. He'd thought half the equation might have been enough. But he hadn't felt much improvement when he'd fallen for his neighbor. He'd grown to hate it, going so far as to hawk the LP, despite liking the other tracks on it. He'd known he'd always be a nobody - he didn't need a tune to rub it in.

Nothing in this world, not even its natural wonders, would ever compare to the beauty of Y/N understanding him for who he was. Of her choosing to care for him even after seeing him. Of him finally having the ability to demonstrate the love he'd always wished was buried somewhere inside him.

Of her confirming his existence.

Her hand going to her forehead caught his attention. He tightened his grip on her, blinked away his musings. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Just a little vertigo. I'll be fine." Resting on the metal railing, she let out a long exhale. "It's too bad we have to head home tomorrow. This is miles better than my first honeymoon."

A burn came across his cheeks. "Oh?"

"My monthly started the second day. My ex's entrance exam for law school was reschedule, so we cut it short." Their gazes met, her irises glittering. "And you weren't there." Her eyelids fluttered and she cleared her throat. "It helps that I'm with a man who won't tire of my tenacity."

That wasn't a word he knew, but he figured it out from the context. It was strange that anyone would be put off by Y/N's strength of character. Her courage had been what had saved him on the subway. He'd found it odd, at first. He'd met so few people with any hint of it. Hoyt had shown his fortitude by yelling. Randall had talked him into shitty jobs and lied.

Didn't she know her strength supported his own? That her confidence, both in him and herself, made it easier for him to function? Lent him an inkling of what it was like to matter?

He palmed her side, took her hand in his, and leaned forward to whisper, "If you close your eyes, you can pretend we're alone." Flights of fancy were harder for her, he knew. He was pleased when she acquiesced. Kissed her browbone and pushed the bridge of his nose to it. Humming softly, he did his best to imitate one of their favorite songs. He didn't lead her in a dance, but a gentle sway from side to side.

Chest on the verge of bursting, he longed to accurately convey the emotions rushing through his core. Such positive experiences still felt new. He chose to use the phrases he would want bestowed upon himself. "I love you because of your...tenacity." Shrugging, he pressed his lips together. "You were always so nice to me. I think you're the best thing I've ever seen. I don't want you to change, Y/N."

The delicate caress of her fingertips on his neck made him shiver. "Should I nag you to quit smoking when I'm ninety? And you're pushing me around Gotham in my wheelchair?"

"Yes," he laughed, nodding swiftly at the idea of them being together for fifty years. That would be heaven. "And that I need new socks." He smoothed his hand down her back until she was flush against him. "And to take my medication." Palming her hip, he grinned down at her. "And to make love, if you still want me then."

She giggled, fisting the front of his jacket. "Definitely." On her tiptoes, her lips seized his. "I'll never stop wanting you." Groaning, he grabbed her face and kissed her fiercely, knowing he'd lose himself in her as soon as they returned to their room.

~~~~~

Van McCoy - The Hustle

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[rokutouxei]

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 5 OF 22

It’s not on purpose.

Theo isn’t intentionally testing her determination or anything of that sort. He just can’t wrap his head around her persistence.

He doesn’t purposefully make himself hard to contact to shrug her off. It’s just that he’s not as fond of social media as the next person. Sure, he does have accounts for the biggest names in the industry—Instagram, Facebook, the works—but he doesn’t use them regularly, or posts on them at all. The easiest and more surefire way to contact him, really, is through the usual, plain old messaging app on the phone, or maybe through a call.

(And he’s not so sure about giving her his number so suddenly.)

He doesn’t give the most roundabout answers to Arthur’s questions to keep her hanging. He just doesn’t want Arthur sticking his nose in business that isn’t his to begin with. He doesn’t find any reason to tell his coworker anything about their book exchange, even if—after Arthur’s admission—this entire friendship began with his orchestration.

He’s not doing it on purpose.

He knows how easily this could lead to understandable frustration. Maybe even the vague feeling that maybe he’s only attending their little book exchange sessions at the Grove because she gets Vincent to tell him. Maybe she won’t have the patience for him. Maybe she’ll just drop it.

But she doesn’t.

And that makes it even more confusing.

“Why are you taking this so seriously?” Theo asks one day, after they’ve handed the next week’s books to one another. He’s looking at her with a stern gaze, as if calculating every minuscule twitch on her face.

She only shrugs her shoulders and looks up at him innocently. “I’m having fun, aren’t you?”

As if the extra steps he’s making her take are not wasted time. As if she sees that she’s already slowly melting ice. It’s not that Theo is shunning her—but it’s safer like this, keeping her at a distance. Theo has his own priorities, and all arrows point to Vincent. The least he can do is make sure the books he lends are good; make sure he has the appropriate insight to bring with him. And she, in turn, sends every pass-the-message text (to Arthur, to Vincent), leaves all the notes in between lent and borrowed books, shows up to every meeting with that unbeatable smile on her face.

And in truth, Theo isn’t sure where this is going. Theo isn’t sure what she’s going to do to him, why they’re doing all this. But for now, he’ll just let her keep on doing this. For now.

They just both have a good feeling about it.

--

There is a certain art of choosing books to recommend to people. There is, of course, the matter of having a certain level of being well-read, as choosing from a hundred books allows more elbow room than choosing from ten.

But she knows better; there is more to it than just that.

If there’s one thing she is absolutely sure about the world, it’s that books—fiction, nonfiction, poetry, name it—all have the ability to bring people elsewhere. It’s magic she wishes she could have in real life. Sneak in between the pages and find yourself transported to an entirely separate timeline of the universe where these things happened. Slip a hand at the center-point and find yourself in a different world, where things are different.

Wouldn’t that be amazing?

But it’s not just about the bringing into, but also the bringing with—what do the books carry with them that will be useful to the reader? Which of its commendable qualities will match the receiver? Is it its storytelling, the way it weaves each character through their growth and journey? Is it the message, the core of it which it carries throughout the text through every plot point that happens? Is it the imagery, the space between the real and the imagined, where the infinite possibilities exist?

This is the tender part. This is the part that feels the most raw.

Romance has never been at the top of her priority list. She’s no newbie to it, but it’s just never been the most important thing in her life. It’s never been on the list at all. Getting into a relationship, the dating scene, being romantically attached to people—she understands the joy of it, she’s definitely dipped her toes into the water, but it isn’t what she wants right now.

She figures choosing books for people is the closest she can get to that feeling for now.

It’s not only Theo, of course—sometimes Arthur asks her for some recommendations too, and sometimes Dazai does, as well. To her it’s nothing more than a way of showing her affection, a little, “I had you in my thoughts,” as she matches a book to its recipient. It becomes more than just another title, not just another author.

She clutches the book Theo’s lent her for the week close to her chest as she crouches in front of her bookshelf to browse her own collection. She thinks, matching their theme to her heart: which book would best suit Theo’s needs? Which things might he benefit from hearing?

Pulls a book out from the shelf and wonders—which one would grace his life with a little bit of stardust?

--

That week, Theo asked her to “lend me the book you wish everyone would read at least once”—and when she answered with “no, that’s impossible, I can’t lend you 39 books at once?”—he clarified, “the one you’re still coming to terms with.” And that’s a really odd way to describe a book you’d want everyone else to read—Theo himself knew that—but somehow it made perfect sense to her, and the week later she hands him the small bound book.

She had passed onto him Neruda’s Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.

An interesting choice, really, for that book to have fit under the said category, but Theo’s stopped trying to make sense of the surprises she brings up for him at this point. The book isn’t really lengthy—this particular volume is less than a hundred pages long, and it only took Theo a good hour to go through the contents, even while relishing every word of it. (She does the opposite, speed-running every book as fast as possible, because she “can’t be patient about what happens next”, a concept he cannot understand—“The book is not leaving, why don’t you enjoy what is written?” “I can’t wait! I need to know!”)

It’s not a complicated book.

But it sure has complicated feelings.

So he kind of understands why she had chosen that one.

Theo has a complicated relationship with love. Not that he’s had any sort of traumatizing past relationship or a lingering resentment for an ex, but there was just something about the concept of romance that doesn’t sit…right with him.

It’s not that he doesn’t know what it is, he does. There are books he loves—books he is very thankful for having found in this lifetime. There are food he loves, food that fills his stomach with warmth and makes his heart flutter and makes him feel like maybe world peace is achievable, and it’s in a spoonful of this creamy sugary pancake after all. And most importantly, he loves his brother very much; would like to see Vincent do great things in the future, or, if not that, then at least be happy, and live the life he wants to live—that’s what love is, isn’t it? To enjoy something wholly for what it is, and what it does to you. To want the best for a person.

His problem with love is he doesn’t know what to do with it.

In the same way that he still loves his parents even if they don’t understand why he’d go through such lengths for Vincent. In the same way that he still loves the people who’ve left him behind in the past, friends, old lovers, even when his heart was still pouring. And isn’t that what love is? To love something wholly for what it is, what it does to you, to forgive it of its mistakes and shortcomings?

Even when the cost is yours to bear?

What to do with a love that can live in his heart when the other no longer wants it?

Theo reads Neruda’s poetry book once. And then reads it again. And then reads some of his other books for good measure.

--

It’s pretty common to find Arthur walking around the campus with his hands in his pockets and the many eyes of adoring (or maybe loathing) girls on him—for all the understandable reasons. Today was a little different though, because he is outside the Arts Building in the late afternoon, reading some sort of a flyer.

“Arthur!”

He hastily keeps the flyer into his bag as she jogs up to him. “Hello, little miss. Nice to see you around.”

“What’re you doing here?” she asks, trying to peep into his bag.

Arthur, instead, pushes himself off the wall that he’d been leaning on, smoothly slipping his arm around hers. Months of friendship had gotten her used to him being touchy; she lets him. “Labor of love. Walk me back to the bookshop?”

She’s not surprised, but she asks anyway. “Are you on your shift?”

“It was an important errand to run, no need to be so incensed,” he says, half-laughing. “Let’s go back before your boyfriend has more than words for me.”

Pinching Arthur’s arm, she quips back: “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Why, that’s exactly what he told me! You know you don’t need to keep it a secret from me.”

“You’re the absolute worst, Arthur.” The two of them fall into an even pace walking down the sidewalk. She relies on the silence to get them there, but there is something about the biting intrigue that snags her. “…What did Theo say?”

Arthur smirks. Openly. “Curious suddenly?”

“He doesn’t exactly talk to me about things like this,” she huffs. “It’s just books and literature with him.”

“That just means you haven’t cracked him.”

She pouts. “You’re not supposed to need to crack people.” She tugs at Arthur’s sleeve, insistent. “C’mon, tell me. He has to have told you something, right?”

Confidently, Arthur says, “Theo tells me everything.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I suppose my information is subpar, then, so why should I—”

“Arthur!”

“Yes, yes, okay,” he says, finally relenting. “He won’t say it to your face, but he really enjoys spending time with you, little bird.”

Her face lights up like a little sun. “Really?”

“Oh, dear. Whatever will he feel, ratting him out like this—”

“Please, we all know you do not care because we are your source of entertainment,” she says, elbowing him. “…I was doubting it, honestly, but that’s a relief.”

“He never stops talking about your book club, actually.”

“No way.”

“Always masked in a complaint, but always about it all the time,” Arthur says, watching the smile grow on her face. “You’re a good influence on him, at least he’s not brooding away in a corner all day long. The customers have enjoyed his new, refreshed presence. All the lovely girls coming in now, what a joy.”

She squeezes his arm as they round the corner. “Why do I feel like this is going exactly according to your plan?” Arthur does not attempt denial. 

--

Theo does not stop asking for poetry books.

Only because he knows that even if she doesn’t voice it out loud, she’d want to lend him poetry books anyway. She, on the other hand, changes genres every week. Poetry, nonfiction, YA fiction, children’s fiction. She jumps from Ariel to A Little Life to The Girl Who drank the Moon to On Earth we Were Briefly Gorgeous. She has so much to say and so much to ask.

It’s just about driven Theo insane.

(It’s a good thing he enjoys her company.)

He won’t admit it, of course, but he shows up anyway. He frowns at every text she sends Vincent but he’s there. Every single Saturday. Reads every stray fast-food receipt note she slips in between the pages of the books she returns. Spends time on the books she lends him.

Ah, what did he get himself into?

Whatever.

Today, he’s brought with him Kerouac’s On the Road because she asked for a book that made him want to go away.

“Why am I not surprised that you brought me a Kerouac?” she asks while taking the book into her hands. She always holds them so gently. “His style is so interesting, though. Is it a shame to admit I’ve only read his poetry?”

“Only a little,” Theo says, but he’s joking because the corner of his lip is curled up ever so gently.

She flips the book to read the summary at the back. “Beat Generation, huh.”

“They wrote about liberation,” Theo says, sounding somehow defensive of his choice of a book. “Gritty and maybe even sloppy writing, but they wrote about freedom. Breaking the norm, finding yourself, facing the reality… doesn’t that fit your criteria of making one want to go away?”

She turns to him curiously. “Have you ever wanted to go away, Theo?”

He doesn’t turn to her. “I’m more the kind of person that stays.”

“Well, being a househusband isn’t bad work,” she comments, to which Theo snorts. “You know, I’ve really found that you have some sort of… classical, helpless romantic kind of aura on you.”

That makes him turn towards her. “What.”

“I mean, the books you’ve lent me—they all have some sort of romantic quality to them, you know? No matter how serious they get. I’m still recovering from A Little Life, you know.” She laughs. “Plus, all you’ve been asking me to lend you is poetry. Have you perhaps changed your mind about poetry?”

He narrows his eyes. “I don’t see how that makes me a romantic.” He sighs. “I didn’t think lowly of poetry, it just wasn’t my priority,” Theo clarifies. “We agreed to let the borrower decide the genre of the book but you’re so insistent on poetry that I’d rather take what you have instead of asking for something else. You’re pretty annoying when you’re insistent.”

She doesn’t deny the fact that she’s always saying about how she already has a poetry book to lend him every week. “I’m not annoying,” she says, pouting. “Geez, Theo, all you need to do is be honest and say you love poetry now and it’s because of me.”

“Is this a cause of yours? Getting people into poetry?”

But then, the banter stops. She falls silent for a moment that feels too long. Theo feels like he has to take back what he says, when, “Yes, something like that,” she says, softly. “They’re like love letters to the universe, I think they’re great.”

“That’s an interesting take.”

She frowns. “Do you not like love letters?”

Theo shrugs. “They’re classical.”

“That’s a non-answer,” she huffs. Holding her palm upward to the sky in a gesture, she says, “I just think they’re neat. It’s like a different experience in every book, every collection. You ever get a feeling that some poems find you, instead of the other way around? Like you were meant to find it at that exact moment?” Theo lightly shakes his head. “Really? Maybe you’ll experience it with some of the stuff I give you.”

He doesn’t know what’s hiding behind that serious expression, that other reason she’s so attached to poetry that she isn’t quite ready to say yet. He can feel it though. He doesn’t have the right to ask yet.

Instead, he raises his eyebrow and says, “You seem awfully confident.”

“I’m planning to make you read hundreds and hundreds of them, so it’s just a matter of numbers,” she says with a grin. “C’mon. Have any of the books I’ve given to you at least had a poem that resonated with you?”

And Theo pauses. Resonated, that’s a heavy word, it carries a lot with it. One could wish what they create would resonate with a lot of its consumers, whether that’s paintings or poetry or philosophies, but it’s not an exact art, and sometimes it’s all just a question of luck. Theo hesitantly shakes his head. “Not that I can think of,” he says. Thinks of the lines he’d copied out of the books to be remembered later. They were good lines, but hardly ones that resonated.

She hums, not sounding too put down by his answer. “Well, that just means we have to keep looking, right? I hope today’s at least gets some emotion in your face, Mister-Statue-Face-With-No-Feelings.”

“Hondje… What did you just call me?”

--

That day, he gives her his phone number.

--

She doesn’t know why everyone keeps asking her about it.

Sure, she had a crush on him, but it was really only entirely out of aesthetics. There was no denying he was hot, but he’s rather rough on the edges and has a rather sharp personality to be someone would want a boyfriend out of. Really, at this point, all she wants is to hang out with him and maybe reads some of the books he reads. Again—she doesn’t have space for distractions right now.

But everyone keeps asking her about it. Non-stop.

When she goes to the bookshop and Theo is at the back, Arthur comes up to her and asks her how The Friendship is going—as if it were something more special than just your regular old friendship. Most of the time she doesn’t know what to tell him, because somehow all he ever says to her after hearing about it is a small hmm like the answer didn’t quite fill in what he wanted to hear. Well, Arthur, sucks to be you, but you’re not hearing what you want to hear, she says to herself. Arthur’s a secret sucker for romance, the playboy that he is, and she’s not giving him a show.

But it’s not just Arthur. Vincent, too, asks her regularly. And considering she spends a good amount of time in the café he works at, the questions aren’t exactly that avoidable. She’ll order her drink and a pastry and Vincent will go, “is Theo being nice to you?” or any other variation of that sentence. (Somehow that feels like Vincent knows Theo is just mean in general, and that’s a kind of relief she doesn’t know how to explain. If his brother thinks he’s regularly mean, maybe that’s really just who he is, and also kind of forgivable.) Of course, she can’t exactly tell Vincent that Theo isn’t being nice to her, but oppositely, Theo isn’t really being mean to her either. He’s tolerating her every attempt to annoy him—or really, not annoy him, just hang out with him—and he hasn’t pushed her away exactly, so it must be going alright, right?

Of course, Dazai is curious as well, despite his earlier misgivings with Theo. (Dazai’s had bad experiences with business majors and romance in the past.) He’s not as persistent as Vincent and Arthur, but every chance he gets—say, an offhanded remark about a book or the bookshop, any little topic he feels he can reasonably steer towards the direction of Theo—he does ask. He asks in the way a friend would be curious of a new relationship—it is one, just not romantic, she insists—all full of worries for said friend. She appreciates this in many ways, because she knows Dazai can give her advice that will be very valuable to her. Still—the attention the thing pulls is kind of ridiculous, to her.

It doesn’t end with Dazai though, and at this point, it’s just going to be a long laundry list of people who are looking for gossip between her and Theo when—there really isn’t any. Despite being a literature major, she’s actually part of the campus’ local astronomy club, because why not? Stars are neat and she can’t quite catch up with the rest of the astrophysics majors that is actually with her, but the stargazing with the telescopes definitely makes it worth it. It’s just that Dazai is friends with their club head for a reason or another—a graduate student in astrophysics, Isaac Newton, and when Dazai knows there really isn’t any much harm, he runs his mouth, so—Isaac’s asked her at least once about Theo as well. Luckily Isaac is more on the awkward side—and they really aren’t that close quite yet, club aside—so he asks once, sees her reaction of despair and exhaustion, and never asks again.

She wonders if Theo gets the same barrage of questions as she does. From Arthur, for sure, but—Theo doesn’t exactly talk about other friends of his. Maybe they just haven’t gotten close enough for him to bring them up. Besides, whether or not people ask him about them or not, he’s sure that he already knows about the little crush—he’s just playing at it. Playing for what, she doesn’t know, and somehow, she’s fine with that.

That was all it was ever meant to be, anyway—a passing crush, a nice face, a sight for sore eyes, something to fall back on to refresh herself after long days of pushing her mind to the limit, working herself to exhaustion.

He was meant to be a breather, not a distraction.

To be friends is more than enough.

She screams into a pillow and grins.

[tcstu]

October’s Honorable Mentions

As I mentioned in my other post, what stood out to me most about the entries for this month was the wide range of settings envisioned for this piece. Stories ranged from the present, to the future, to the ancient, to the timeless. I hope anyone seeing this will enjoy reading the stories below and the various interpretations of this work.

As a reminder, The artistic piece for this month’s contest is a digital art piece titled,  “Hero of Uruk" created by Ozzie Sneddon @thelibrarium​. It is beautifully captioned by the artist with:

“TRIM THE FRAYED CHAOS FROM THE ROPE OF CAUSALITY. WITH RESEARCH AND LOVE WE ARE BECOME THAT WHICH CAN NOT BE UNWOUND.”

If you like dark fantasy art, make sure to check out this artist’s page to see more original work!

Ozzie Sneddon is also creating a pretty awesome video game that you can see samples of here.

Now without further adieu, here are the Honorable Mentions:

(The stories below are presented in the order they were received and do not reflect a system of ranking.)

“The Chosen One”

Submitted by: @evanthenerd83​

“B-but the prophecy said—“

I scoffed, digging the knife deeper into the temple wall.

Icgore started to flow from the cut. It made patterns. It opened its infinite eyes.

The elder gasped as I stood up, then looked over my shoulder. “I am saving the world.”

A scream. The wall became like flesh.

A gurgle. God opened his mouth.

I smiled.

“From the light.”

“Communication”

Submitted by: @winterrose42​

Hero of Uruk, he was called, though the memory of why was pitted with dark spots deeper than the corners of his room. The thought left as quickly as it had come, wings fluttering in small, cramping spasms as their tips brushed the edges of the sealed room. His predicament hardly bothered him anymore, being closed off and isolated serving him better than any other environment would. Pushed to investigate so long ago that which the rest of his kind refused to understand he had grown accustomed to the darkness, finding light where few others had dared to even look.

Language was a slippery thing; hard to learn, harder to read and write, harder still to speak. Stories were told of the runes that made one’s intentions instantly understood, a shared sort of empathy between what one saw and subsequently felt. Simple lines and curves conveying an entire history in the swells of anger and grief, replaced with the peace and understanding that came with wisdom. Streamlined communication that left intentions too clear to be manipulated or skewed by the ill will of some and ignorance of others. All within minutes of scanning the scrolls that appeared with little more than a thought.

He sat hunched, consuming centuries worth of something else’s history, bleeding and sweating and sobbing runes that fluttered like feathers and glowed with unnatural lumosity simply taken in stride as the question of whether he was consuming knowledge or it was consuming him laying long dormant in the far reaches of his mind. His dark frail feathers replaced with streams of sturdy parchment, skin crinkling with creased ink, eyes aglow with the shared intensity of the words he took in with reverence, stories bleeding together one after another by the hundreds of thousands, each capturing something different as his heart and mind were pulled to experience it just as it was.

The runes spoke of ordered chaos broken neatly from the fractured understanding that once was. They spoke of a love so strong he need only feed from the idea alone to survive. They spoke of hatred gone unchecked and exploding outwards in feats of awesome force that leveled entire galaxies with their strength. Joy so bright a star was born in the absence of warmth, driving the chill away to other worlds that had yet to truly feel.  As he was wound tighter and tighter in the throes of the stories gentle embrace he found acceptance in the fate he was pushed to, drawn to the absorption of research leading him infinitely closer to what he was becoming.

A hero indeed as his story glowed brightly amidst the eons worth of runes, joining the sacred communication at long last.

“Sacrifice”

Submitted by: @sarcasm-for-free​

Time was a concept, life a construct.

Knowledge was the only thing he cared about for the last thousand years.

From the moment he entered the sacred chamber of forgotten gods, hidden in the deepest part of the darkest forest, he started to absorb the wisdom dripping from the walls.

He became timeless. He became an abstract entity, more idea than person, a vessel for utter illumination.

How ironic it was that, as time that didn’t exist and a life he didn’t lead ticked by, he lost the knowledge of his own name.

Untitled

Submitted by: Emily Fowl @emilyelizabethfowl​

Breaking into the Archives of the Ancient Magics Department wasn't something he'd usually do, but desperation was a convincing mistress.

Not that he was hard to convince in his current state. Having not slept for the past three days, with his veins full of redbull and energy elixirs, even the dumbest of ideas seemed perfectly reasonable.

Last time he swung by his flat, the walls were caked in flyball posters and there was a winged pig in his bed, a pink heart-shaped callar proclaiming its name to be "Fluffy". There was no explanation given, and frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted one.

He just hoped the pig was refundable - he could handle heights about as well as an unicorn could handle a merry-go-round. Only his vomit was usually less colourful.

Perhaps if he had spent all that time studying, instead of digging up ancient texts, he wouldn't be in such a pickle, but he was only half-human. Prone to making mistakes, that is, and he really couldn't afford anything but a perfect grade.

Let's just say History of Art Forgery wasn't the easiest subject to pass, and leave it at that understatement.

Besides, it's not like he needed his soul. And he'd already have a job guaranteed if his Liberal Arts Degree didn't work out.

How hard could it be to take care of books in some ancient, semi-conscious library, anyway?

[forgiven-whimsy]

The Red Violin

FFXIV write 2020 prompt 2: Sway

Shiloh’s song  Shiloh and Emet’s duet (note the spotify version has a longer piano opening.) 

Anyways, touches of Lominsan/Vylbrand headcanons (they’re the ff Newfoundland, imo)  Aumortine music and art headcanons, and Garlean headcanons. Imagery leaning heavily on 5.3 revelations, while I don’t use express spoilers, reader beware. 

Set After Rak’Tika, but before Ahm Areng. 

Rated T - Angst

Wol x Emet-Selch

(Why yes the Red Violin is one of my all time favorite movies, why do you ask?) 

~

“I am a patron of the arts, always have been, the best your kind has to offer is found in the arts, incomplete as it is, there’s a certain charm to be found in it.” Emet-Selch sipped from his wine glass, swiping his gloved finger over the bars surface then wrinkling his nose. 

“What do you mean incomplete? Art is by its very nature subjective, therefore art’s completeness is defined by the artist, not the audience.” Shiloh replied, not particularly keen on hearing about all the ways she was inferior, but curious about how his timeless people made music, or art, the idea of Asciens being artists was a foreign concept, yet getting to know Emet-Selch, not entirely far-fetched. Solus Zos Galvus was historically a patron of the arts, she’d been aboard the Prima Vista and seen the reach of his patronage.

“It would be easier to show you.” And with a snap of his fingers the Crystarium vanished and he transported them to an entirely different environ. They were in a theatre, great gold trimmed red curtains, on stage a spotlight centered on a sleek black grand piano, surrounding it was all manner of string instruments, violin, cello, lute, harp, and even others she couldn’t name, Shiloh itched to touch them, to try them and see what sound they might make. The stage jutted out in a half moon, far more open than anything she’d ever seen, the audience seating surrounded the stage allowing a certain intimacy between artist and audience. Above, there was a massive chandelier whose teardrop crystals twinkled in the soft theatre lighting, the balconies climbed three stories, each gilded and carved with vines and flowers, painted in reds and golds, opulent. Stage left there was one particular balcony that caught her eye, the carvings more elaborate and draped in finery. 

“This is the Great Arena Theatrum in Garlemald,” Shiloh near gasped out, before rounding on Emet-Selch, “you brought me to Garlemald?” She had just let him, an Ascien, teleport her to the heart of enemy territory, and she wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed, furious or ashamed at being taken so easily. The musician in her near fainted with joy. Regardless of Garlean politics, every musician, actor, and dancer worth their salt has dreamt of performing on the Theatrums stage, Shiloh was no exception. While she was the daughter of a Doman refugee, she had been raised in Vylbrand, and the island's lifeblood was music. A house wasn’t a home without a piano, and a fiddle, and she’d been taught both as a child. She could recall playing her fiddle standing on the kitchen table imagining herself on this very stage. 

“Calm down hero, we are in an approximation of my own making, hidden away from prying eyes here in Norvrant, my fool grandson let the Theatrum fall into disrepair.” He sniffed derisively, “when I have proven my point to you I shall return you to the Crystarium without a hair out of place. It wounds me that you still don’t trust me.” He gave her a smile that did not inspire trust. 

He walked her into the spotlight, his gloved hands touching her lightly at the elbow, the twinkling light from the chandelier painted stars onto the raised top of the grand piano exposing the finely curved wood and strings within. Sitting on the piano bench was a violin case, Emet-Selch presented it to her with a flourish. Shiloh sat and opened the case to reveal the most exquisite violin she’d ever beheld. The spruce top had been stained a deep red with a bow to match, she delicately ran her fingers over the curving wood, the strings, the bow. Shiloh made a noise in her throat as she lifted the rare treasure into her arms, that prompted a chuckle from her Ascien companion. “A peace offering, the only condition is to play me something that stirs your soul, something original if it please.” He lifted her chin forcing her gaze from the violin to him, “move me, and I shall show you what your music once was.” 

“No pressure,” Shiloh held his gaze, seeing a spark of something she couldn’t describe in his golden eyes. “It’s been years since I’ve played, anything.” The weight of his expectation was heavy. He only smiled. 

“I have faith in you, dear hero.” Emet-Selch snapped his fingers and he disappeared into a black portal, she heard it re-open stage left, and there he sat, every inch an emperor in his gilded private balcony. “Take whatever time you need to warm up.” he called from his lavish chair, glass of wine in hand. With that, the theatre lights dimmed, the instruments, all save the grand piano, vanished, the spotlight remained on her. 

Shiloh felt like a mouse being toyed with by a cat. Squaring her shoulders she set the violin to her chin and prayed to all the Twelve and Kami, The Light and Dark both, that the bow would glide across the strings without screaming. The last time she’d picked up a violin was at Haurchefant’s funeral, at the behest of Lord Edmont, nearly two years past. A lance of grief sliced through her.  She could refuse, she could tell him to bring her back to the Crystarium, but then, she’d never know what Ascien music sounded like. It was the memory of Haurchefant, the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder playing a silly duet on his childhood piano in the Fortempt music room that steeled her spine.

She started with a slow scale, each note sung and not screamed, to her considerable relief. Shiloh exhaled, it wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t terrible, her fingers remembered the strings. She warmed up with scales, old childhood lullabies, folk songs played around the kitchen table. Finally she played an Ishgardian waltz, the sheet music a gift from her departed friend. She felt herself smiling, eyes shut, tail swaying in time with the tempo. Her mind filling in the missing instruments as the red violin sang with a full and mournful voice. So focused on practicing and remembering, Shiloh didn’t hear Emet-Selch’s portal behind her. 

“All very lovely, my dear, I’m sure Master Jevant Dufet would be pleased with such an able rendering of the Midnight Waltz, and without sheet music, most impressive.” 

Shiloh startled, spinning around to face him.

Emet-Selch tutted her while he approached, he placed gentle hands at her waist, spinning her back into the spotlight. He was in her space and she could feel his warmth, smell his scent. “I didn’t ask you to stop.” His long arms reached around lifting the violin back to her collar bone, he tilted her head just so before tracing a gloved finger along her jaw and arched neck. “I want to hear the song that resides in your soul.” His breath ghosted along her cheek, the timber of his voice resonating along her horn, and she felt her skin pebble. “Will you play it for me?” 

“I don’t know, I don’t have any original composi-” 

“Stop thinking, close your eyes, listen, and play.” His voice was patient, while he lifted her bow arm to the right position. 

Shiloh inhaled, and did as she was bid, listening, for what, she didn’t know. She felt the quick beat of a Thanvarian flamenco fluttering in her chest and slowly bow met strings, and the song that flew out was urgent, her bowing quick and precise borrowing heavily of the Thanvarian style, but so too was there a distinctly Ul’dhan quality, in her mind's eye she felt as a bird flying over the dunes, weaving over the rising heat. 

Emet-Selch’s touch was soft, gone was the silk of his glove, replaced by warm skin, his snap fit within her song and suddenly the guitar, the percussion, the accompanying strings, the piano, the light horns, the full voice of her song burst forth, the violin threading through each section. “Open your eyes.” he whispered against her horn, and she did. 

Gone was the theatre, they were bathed in the colours of the sunset, and above them flew a phoenix, dipping and diving along all the lands she’s seen, and saved, and loved. “Don’t stop.” he whispered, setting a hand on her hip and squeezing. She gasped at the sight, at the raw beauty. And she played with a bursting heart, tears slipping from unblinking eyes unwilling to look away from the dancing phoenix. She increased the tempo, bowing more quickly, the notes tumbling along the winds of the star, knowing that it would end if she stopped, and she didn’t want it to stop. She let the fire in her soul burn as brightly as she could, uncaring of the ach in her fingers, knowing only that the creature above was born of her music, and so she played for it’s pleasure, and it soared, the violin it’s voice and heart. Until in a burst of flame it was consumed, and the song ended. 

She swayed on her feet, consumed by emotion, bittersweet tears running down her face. She leaned against Emet-Selch who remained behind her, his hand at her throat, and hip moving gently, caressing. Overwhelmed she exhaled a shuddering breath. 

“Do you understand now, what was lost?” He asked quietly, voice heavy with the same emotion she was feeling.

“How did you?”

“I assure you my dear I did nothing but lend you a sliver of my power, the song, the image, everything, was born of your heart, your soul. And so it was that all art was created in a similar fashion. The full intent of the piece complete.” 

Shiloh spun in his arms, still clutching bow and violin, she was met with a half quirked smile and a softness in his eyes she’d not thought possible. He tenderly brushed the tears from her cheeks, “yours was always a beautiful song, so full of passion.” 

Shiloh’s head was swimming, she wanted to keep playing, she had so many questions, and yet she found herself drowning in the liquid gold of his eyes, the same pale gold as her own. She licked her lips, and leaned against the palm of his hand where he held her cheek. 

“Play with me?” she asked breathless, “before we go, play with me, a duet.” He closed his eyes, his expression pained, “please, Emet.”

“How can I turn down so earnest a plea?” he gave her a rueful smile, “but, first.” He pressed his forehead to her own, and she felt something, cool, and comforting wash over her, where her song, her aether, she belatedly realized, was like the sun, Emet-Selch’s aether, his soul was as the moon. Her own aether responded, curious and warm, until their essence mingled, until there was no ending nor beginning between them. “There, that should serve.” 

Shiloh both did and didn’t understand what he’d done, he stepped back going to the grand piano. His presence remained, slowly curling around her, lazy and familiar. “As before, listen, and play.” 

Shiloh lifted the violin, and tilted her head, giddy with anticipation, moving to be in sight of him and waited. 

Emet began the song, quiet notes on the piano, Shiloh did not close her eyes this time. With each passing note the theatre fell away replaced by blackest night until a city made of stardust rose around them. He met her eyes and nodded and she knew her part had come and she joined her song to his, she knew the notes, a song from a past she couldn’t place, suddenly the starlit city filled with people wraithlike and sparkling. But it was two individuals that caught her eye. Emet-Selch changed the tempo to a style she’d never heard before, yet it was familiar, she adjusted her tempo to match. The two wraiths danced, spinning through the grand city, there was joy in their movements. Unadulterated love between them. One lifted the other, and she could swear the one who was lifted laughed, when placed down they ran from the first, a game. The first chased, sometimes catching them in a kiss, sometimes missing, until the other rounded back to jump into the firsts arms. Shiloh’s heart ached, the song and starlit players a half remembered memory. The song changed again, mournful, the city fell away, one of the wraiths, the one who played, faded, leaving only one, until it also faded, and the song ended. 

She felt the pain thrumming from Emet’s aether still entwined with her own, his head bowed over the piano. Shiloh set the violin back in its case and went to him, wrapping her arms around his back, anything to ease the overwhelming sadness. His hand grasped at her arm, and she felt a shudder from him. 

“I’m here.” She whispered against his ear, soft hair tickling her nose. 

He shook his head. 

“I’m here.” She repeated, not understanding all, but knowing what she witnessed in their shared song had been a glimpse of their story.

He twisted in her arms, anguish on his face, “you left.” his voice a harsh whisper fraught with emotion. 

She had no answer for him, nothing to ease the pain, she didn’t understand, didn’t remember, whatever her soul had been to him, was gone, but it’s echo knew him, called to him, and she kissed his angry mouth, a despairing sound whimpered from Emet’s throat. He grabbed her and kissed her again, and again, hungry, lost, full of longing. Their twined aether created a feedback loop consuming them. His hands were everywhere, and Shiloh arched into him. In a moment he had her against the piano, discordant notes interrupting their growing passion. It was enough to stop them, and for a half beat they stared at each other panting. Emet-Selch was the first to move, tearing his aether from hers, and she winced, the withdrawal a physical pain. He snapped his fingers, returning Shiloh to the Crystarium, as promised, without so much as a word.

She made her way back to her room in the Pendants, still processing everything she’d learned, and seen, and felt. Every so often touching her kiss swollen lips. She slid into her room meeting no one she knew along the way, no one to question the high blush on her cheek and chest, or the dazed look in her eyes. Distracted as she was it took a minute for her to notice the violin case sitting on her kitchen table. She knew before opening it what she’d find within, a promise, a memory, her red violin. 

[gma-crafts]

The Purrposal

The biggest thanks to @iloveyou-3000 for beta-reading faster than I could say Boom! You’ve been such a big help! A big smooch to @robertdowneyjjr for being such a sweet co-parent to the feline trio - check out her fics about the catdad!ironhusbands linked below!

Word Count: 3,286 Warnings: just loads of fluff, “very soft and gay” - test readers Characters: James Rhodes, Tony Stark, and their cats Mochi, Susu and Jonathan Summary: Tony lost something. Rhodey offers his help. But sometimes you only know what you’ve been looking for when you find it.

*

“Honeeey?” “What?”  “Where’s my super suit?” “Whaaat??” 

“Where the hell did she go?” 

Rhodey drew his attention away from the movie he was watching. It’s not like he was able to actually concentrate on it anyway, ever since Tony slid into the room wearing his fuzzy socks  ten minutes ago, and started opening  drawers and doors, growing more and more frantic each time. Mochi, who had been sleeping on Rhodey’s lap, posing as a fluffy white bun, woke up from the ruckus and hopped off the couch to find a less noisy spot somewhere else in the house; and, honestly, Rhodey couldn’t blame her. 

“You good there, Tones?” He asked over his shoulder, though he doubted he’d get a proper answer. Ever since he and his boyfriend moved in together two years ago, those hectic outbursts with Tony forgetting about everything and everyone within a two-mile radius became one of the less pleasant parts of their everyday life. 

Don’t get him wrong, Rhodey loved waking up next to this beautiful disaster of a man, brushing back the mess of curls and watch those Bambi eyes flutter open. His military operations had him exposed to raw, untouched wilderness all over the planet, from desert sunrise to dusk setting over a snow-covered tundra. None of those ever had him stop and stare as when Tony’s soft, chocolatey gaze fell on him, spreading a warmth he almost felt physically. 

But while Rhodey was a romantic at heart, as well as hopelessly in love with his oldest friend, he also was a calm and rational man - you’d never see him run around like a headless chicken in search for anything. Whenever something would be misplaced (and Rhodey liked to make clear that he was in no way affiliated with losing it in the first place), he would track it down systematically. 

Tony, however, was different. He could hyper-fixate on a scientific concept for weeks, only to then revolutionize it in his basement workshop on a Friday afternoon. He kept track of  a multitude of important things with an ease Rhodey only could envy. But if Tony discovered his favourite hoodie, the Stark Tech drafts Pepper had been expecting for weeks or Jonathan’s catnip toy weren’t where he assumed they’d be, the genius was gone in no time. You could set a countdown from ninety seconds down and watch him turn from chill to hysteric once it hit zero. 

The time must’ve been up way before Tony dashed into their living room. Rhodey’s question went unheard and the bang of the highboard’s bottom drawer sounded particularly final. Rhodey hopped over the backrest with a small sigh - this goddamn hectic! - and squatted down next to one of the world’s richest people squirming on the ground, face pressed into the small gap between the expensive leather couch and the Italian oak floorboards , cooing and frolicking with a tremor in his voice that replaced Rhodey’s bewilderment with worry. 

“Care to tell me what you’re looking for?” 

“-t now, she’s gotta be here somewhere, f'god’s sake..”, came the muffled response. Rhodey gave his nose a small rub with his knuckle, more to gather himself than  to cure an itch; he then hooked his fingers in the belt loops of Tony’s cargo pants and tugged him closer, ignoring the small yelp of protest, and cupped his boyfriend’s face firmly. Rhodey would tear up over the pout Tony sported later, he had to remain serious now. 

“Babe. We talked about this. Stop making yourself all panicky and tell me what’s up.” Rhodey emphasized every sentence with planting a kiss on the absolute mess of curls, and with each, Tony’s grip on his wrists loosened a little. Finally he let some of his tension slip and leaned into Rhodey’s touch, still a bit out of breath from crawling all over the floor. His eyes were suspiciously bright when he finally answered.

“It’s Susu. I can’t find her! I looked for her all day, went through every room twice, I checked the laundry, all the drawers, I shook the treat box til I spilt half of them on the stairs, JARVIS went through the tapes for the last 48 hours, I checked all the beds and scratch trees. She. Is. Gone.” He huffed and slumped down against Rhodey’s chest, who immediately wound him into a hug. 

“I lost my baby, Platypus. Probably locked her out days ago without even noticing and now she got run over by a car or froze to death or the Chitauri abducted her to-” 

“Tony”, he cut off his boyfriend’s ramblings “First of all, nobody freezes to death in Malibu, especially not in June. Second of all, if she really had gotten lost outside, JARVIS wouldn’t have tracked her chip to still be inside this house. That was the very first thing you told him to do, remember?” 

Tony nodded, his hair tickling Rhodey’s cheek. “Remind me to enhance the accuracy down to the very inch she’s standing on”, he mumbled against his boyfriend’s shoulder, hands gripping tighter on the fabric of Rhodey’s henley, his cheek vibrating from the chuckle the taller man let out. 

“Anything, babe . But first let’s get you a snack and some water. Something’s telling me you haven’t eaten all day. And then we’ll find Susu together.” 

Tony frowned at that suggestion, and Rhodey would’ve laughed out loud ‘cause it made him look so much like that genius, stubborn teenage boy that burst into his dorm room years ago, throwing his world upside down. Instead, he just smiled into Tony’s disastrous bedhead one last time before urging him towards the pantry. 

Five minutes later, a granola-munching Tony followed Rhodey around as they searched for the smallest member of their feline bunch. It’s been almost a year since the two of them had adopted the pitch-black ball of fluff along with their oldest cat, Jonathan. Officially, they were brought into their little family to keep their first furbaby, Mochi, company; in reality, Rhodey had suggested taking in another cat after Mochi declared him his favourite person, and after Tony became less and less efficient in hiding that he was genuinely hurt by this decision. 

While Jonathan never missed the opportunity to strut all over Tony’s face with a satisfied purr every morning, Susu and him grew especially close. Of course, Tony turned down any attempt of Rhodey’s to point out how much alike they were - tiny, soft, energetic bundles of joy, always on the jump to their next adventure, experiencing the world around them with a mind so sharp and a curiosity so insatiable Rhodey gave up on trying to understand them long ago. And every time  he thought he finally had it sorted out, discovered the pattern, they’d turn around and surprise him with an entire new facette. But yeah, he was totally making all of that up. 

They decided to start with their bedroom, since this was where Susu was most likely to be found - if she wasn’t napping in one of the twelve cat beds scattered in Tony’s workshop. While both Jonathan and Mochi mastered the art of coincidentally wanting to take a nap in the room you were already in, Susu never made her affection for Tony a secret. Rhodey often caught her checking in on Tony between naps with her high-pitched meows, her soft purrs, sometimes shamelessly bumping her head into his arm until he caved in and gave her some much-needed  belly rubs. Those two chaotic goblins clinging to each other like conjoined twins made it even more suspicious that Susu hadn’t been seen for some hours now. 

Rhodey tried his best to hide that he began to worry about the kitten’s sudden disappearance. With Tony still padding along behind him, he entered the bedroom and decided to start his search counterclockwise. Rhodey made sure to include Tony as best as he could, make him feel useful and not spiral further down; he asked him to hold up the sheets while he tried to squeeze under the bed with soft coos, or made Tony get the treats while he went through the first third of their wardrobe. Tony did as he was told, way calmer now as if Rhodey’s presence alone helped him to not lose his marbles. 

He was in the middle of searching the top of their wardrobe as well as the upper compartments, when Rhodey heard a soft “Oh!” from across the room, where their dresser stood. He half jumped, half tumbled down the chair he was standing on and hurried over to where Tony hunched over the second to bottom drawer - the one with the old shirts Tony wore in his workshop. Rhodey sat down next to him, hand reaching to pull his boyfriend into a comforting hug, when he caught a glimpse of why Tony was on the verge of crying. 

Two very yellow, very sleepy-looking spots were blinking up to him from between two stacks of black shirts. He now realized that Tony wasn’t sobbing, but non-stop mumbling to the little black cat squeezed into the already crammed drawer; a wild mix of profanities and affectionate murmurs. Rhodey let out a sigh of relief and reached over Tony’s shoulder to scratch Susu’s ear, much to her delight. 

“-was so worried you stupid tiny fur noodle… checked this drawer like three times and you didn’t even wake up”, his boyfriend croaked and quickly wiped his face with his sleeve, before bending down and planting a big smooch on the kitten’s head. Susu responded with a friendly mewl and nuzzled her face against Tony’s cheek as if she hadn’t been M.I.A. for the past few hours, as if she was just checking in on him as usual, and yeah, now Tony cried. 

Carefully he wiggled his hands around Susu’s tummy, lifting her a bit before placing one hand underneath her hind legs for support. But Susu, who had been fast asleep not even two minutes ago, wasn’t so eager to leave her hideout yet, and when Tony pulled her closer to his chest, two of the shirts came along with the cat, attached to her claws only by a couple of threads. And with the shirts and a small thud, something else fell to the floor, and Rhodey’s heart jumped to his throat. 

“What’s that? You’ve been hoarding treasures in there, you stinky gremlin?”, Tony cooed, Susu pressed against him with one hand as he leaned down. Rhodey suppressed a small yelp; he had forgotten what he had put in that drawer until now. He tried to snatch it before Tony could see what it was, but both his hands had been too busy with running his boyfriend’s back up and down in soothing circles. A slim, calloused hand closed around the fine leather, and the soft words muttered into the kitten’s fur faded into silence. 

Rhodey waited for a reaction, any reaction, but Tony just sort of froze, staring at the box he held, dumbstruck. He had no doubt Tony recognized the logo embossed into the lid immediately, connected the dots, and the longer the only audible sound was Susu purring like a fuzzy Bentley, the more anxious he became.  

“Rhodey, is this what I think it is?” He didn’t look at the taller man, just slowly turned the box over and over in his hand, brows furrowed. Well, that wasn’t exactly a No, right? With gentle fingers Rhodey took the box from Tony’s grasp and flipped the lid open with his thumb, his eyes not leaving Tony’s face. 

The frown slipped off his boyfriend’s features like a heap of snow from a rooftop, his eyes glistening with emotion and a sob tugging on the corner of his mouth. Tony lifted Susu a bit higher, buried his face in her fur for a second before he gently sat her down on the dresser, and reached to touch the slim metal band sitting in a bed of dark velvet. 

“It’s made from our suits’ old chest plates. Y’know, that ‘piece of my heart’ thing. It’s sappy I know, but I liked it better than some fancy white gold or platinum,” Rhodey explained, more to calm his nerves than to actually share the info. Tony remained quiet, his thumb brushing over the anthracite metal, separated by a thin line of hot rod red and the tiny aquamarine sitting on top of it. Was that a smile? Yeah, but a sad one. Rhodey waited in anticipation for Tony to say something. 

“I, um… I guess you want to keep that now.” Rhodey’s heart death-dropped from his throat to the soles of his feet. What? 

“Tones, what are you talking about?” While he spoke, he set down the ring box on top of the dresser, where Susu gave it a curious sniff. 

“I spent way more time on coming up with the perfect moment to give it to you than I’m willing to admit. The only reason I haven’t asked to put it on your finger yet is ‘cause I’m having the hardest time finding words for just how much I love you, and how happy it’d make me to be at your side, as your husband.“ 

Tony still didn’t look at him, arms wrapped around himself tightly and, oh no, Rhodey knew what that meant. They were back to spiraling, but the different kind. Quickly he closed the gap between them, his hands squeezing into the space between Tony’s biceps and ribs, gently forcing his crossed arms apart. The smaller man giggled involuntarily, and shied away from getting wound into yet another hug, but Rhodey wasn’t having any of it; his hands remaining on Tony’s waist, he pushed slowly, but firmly, until his boyfriend had to give in to the pressure. 

Stumbling backwards until he hit the bed, Tony found himself harboured in by Rhodey’s arms on either side of his face, anchored down by the taller man hovering over him, so close he could feel Rhodey’s warm breath on his neck. It was hard letting your insecurities take the best of you, when the man you loved smiled down at you warm and tender like that. 

Tony had a history with pushing through hard times alone, no one there to offer him comfort, even if he had been able to ask for it. Rhodey knew that isolating himself became one of Tony’s default responses to emotional stress, and he tried his best to let him know, at least physically, that he didn’t need to endure everything alone. Little did he know that for Tony, every kiss and every hug felt like a heating pad on an aching muscle. 

"Tony. You’re the most brilliant yet most dense man I’ve ever met. Honestly, who looks at an engagement ring and goes ‘Oh, whoops! Must’ve been a mistake, that can’t possibly be for me’? I’ve spent years trying to figure out how that beautiful mind of yours works, and all it got me was a thinning hairline. So, Tones. Babe. Tell me what on earth makes you think I wouldn’t wanna marry you right here, right now?" 

Tony squirmed around beneath him, his eyes glistening again; Rhodey didn’t move an inch. They’d talk this out, and they’d do it now, before Tony fled into his workshop and had JARVIS lock him out for three days straight. 

"I- it’s just…”, Tony started, rather at a loss of words than reluctant to open up to his boyfriend; but eventually, the dam broke. 

“I don’t see how you could possibly wanna marry me after I spent all day going bonkers over a cat, after I roamed the entire house twice, like an idiot, cried about seven times and didn’t even think of asking you for help 'til you physically dragged me away from crawling underneath the couch and- and”, he caught a quick breath, before continuing twice as fast “And I’m clearly not fit to be a good and supportive husband to you when I can’t even keep my shit together over a trifle like this, and just bottle up instead of asking for help, when I disappointed you and Susu with acting like an actual five-year-old and I don’t even know wh-" 

The rest of the sentence was muffled by Rhodey’s lips on his, taking the breath for further rambling straight out of his lungs. The first sobs escaped Tony, and Rhodey switched to covering his face with pecks, kissing away the tear on his temple, brushing a thumb over the corner of his mouth until it lifted up into a tiny smile. Underneath him, Tony’s body was pliant now, and he just let Rhodey shield him from the world. 

“Sweetheart. Dearest idiot mechanic. You may have synthesized a new element, but being brilliant apparently made you forget that you threw no less than seven birthday parties for your bots. And that I attended all of them. Going feral over a missing cat is not what makes me love you less, it’s what made me fall for you in the first place. You care about things most people wouldn’t even notice. The only idiot here? Clearly me for waiting so long with proposing and finally make you mine, with all your quirks. If you want, that is,” he added quickly. 

And now Tony beamed, and he sobbed, and he hiccuped all at once, and goodness gracious how did he manage to look so disastrous yet so beautiful, Rhodey would never get used to this. Slender fingers tugged on his neck, pulling him into another kiss. 

“Of course I wanna marry my Platypus. ‘course I wanna be yours”, Tony muttered against his lips, the tears rolling down his face not only his now. Rhodey smiled into the kiss, hands finding their way into Tony’s hair, lips trailing down the arch of Tony’s neck like they did countless times before. And when he got a soft, delicate moan as an answer it really couldn’t get any better- Only that it could. 

“Hang in there for a sec”, Rhodey muttered and got up, scurrying over to where he left the ring on the dresser, with Susu guarding it like a fluffy loaf of bread. He reached for the box when a streak of muffled cusses erupted behind him. 

“G’dammit Jonathan! Off my face you fuzzy bastard I’m. Not. Catnip!” 

Rhodey turned around just in time to see the big grey tabby stretching out contentedly all over Tony’s head, as if he were his favourite toy. Tony’s efforts to get Jonathan off of him were sabotaged by Mochi, who had entered the room along with the older cat, and now took a seat on Tonys arm, making it useless in the man’s attempt to not suffocate. Rhodey grabbed both Susu and the box and hurried over to save his boyfriend - no! - his fiance. 

“Didn’t strike you as the one to wear fur, Tones”, he quipped as he lifted the tabby off of Tony. Jonathan shot him a disgraceful look, before he scattered off to see if he could find some more of the treats Tony spilt earlier; Mochi and Susu followed heel. While Tony sat up and wiped the cat hair off his face with his shirt, Rhodey smiled down on him, opening the box once more to finally place the ring where it belonged. The small ‘click’ made Tony look up; and when Rhodey reached for his hand, and the cool metal settled against his flesh, his smile didn’t falter for a second. 

“So, Babe,” Rhodey spoke after a minute of silence. He leaned forward until their lips met, softly pushing further, and Tony let himself sink back all too willingly. “Wanna pick up where we left off?”

[dio-roga]

After years of stalling, this is finally seeing the light of day and thank actual jesus for that. There’s more fic out there than you’d think for the best boys, but like all things, sturgeon's law’s in effect when it comes to quality (big time actually, around 35 fics on this list from a rough 350 in existence). I read them all so you don’t have to.

Higher rank the better (though obviously YMMV) and the rest should just be ordered by word count. I have a place in my heart for everything on this list so no matter where it is or what I say about it, trust me, if it’s here, I think it’s worth your time.

Will do my best to keep things up to date. I F5 tabs like you wouldn’t believe. Love you guys ❤

[SSS RANK] ABSOLUTE TOP SHELF

ego, opinion, art & commerce 24parts

We hopefully all know it, we certainly all love it. The canon-compliant, rock-band road-trip AU that’s destined to rule the entire ship one day; the cryde child of prophecy. Go in hard and this’ll take you away like nothing else. The only thing not absolutely perfect about this fic is (like the rest of us) you’ll have to wait for the ending. I know waiting sucks, but please don’t let it stop you bingeing this story right now. I am not exaggerating when I say it’s better than most published books you’ll ever read.

let your heart hold fast niente

Literally the best finished cryde fic ever written as of time of writing this. The boys have grown up. Clyde’s a writer, Craig’s distant, and familiar circumstances bring them crashing back together. The cast of characters are a complete joy, it’s fully drenched in canon, and sports an amazingly rich post-series lore with all manner of cute nods and easter eggs for fans of the show. Nothing short of a masterpiece. Written with such love. Treasure your first read of it.

[SS RANK] AMAZING READS GAURANTEED

Pulling Mussels SekritOMG

A divisive fic maybe, but a classic all the same. Get ready for a fresh take on normal fic conventions to be sure. Personally? I’d consider it top shelf, no question. But to others? They might end up absolutely hating it. A strange midlife odyssey wherein a fed-up, lonely Craig begrudgingly reconnects with an out-of-shape, stagnated Clyde. Memorable to say the least, packed to bursting with detail and personality; go in with the right mindset and its glorious set pieces with burn themselves into your memories. Possibly the fic I’ve re-read the most ever.

Darkness Falls Vampiracy

Do you like cute, gorgeously written things? Set during the three days of Stick of Truth, it tells the behind-the-scenes story of Craig’s growing infatuation with the Lord of Darkness. Everything about this is clever and charming and just generally heart-warming. Best read after playing the game for maximum enjoyment, feel smart and accomplished as you pick out all the references. This fic’s adorable and pure and can do no wrong. 

Chicken Vampiracy

The gateway fic? Huge question mark? This story is cryde personified. Like the author distilled the ships very essence into this amazingly funny and light-hearted story about the boys playing the world’s most drawn out game of gay chicken. It’s impossible not to love this story, it’s perfect for what it is, and will leave you feeling happy by the end every time. What more could you want? Show this one to your friends and they’ll finally ‘get’ cryde.

the remains of our sky traiyadhvika

I’ll level with you fam, this story will emotionally cripple you, prepared or not. The writing is precise, sublime, and utterly heart-breaking. It tells the story of how Craig deals with the aftermath of Clyde’s death on Everest. Obviously a heavy topic, but I can tell you with complete confidence that this fic not only does the subject matter justice, but also manages to tell a story of love and hope despite it. Like Butters said, it’s a beautiful sadness. This fic had me obsessively researching mountains for weeks, and anything that can light that kind of fire in you is something special.

C & C, The Mystery Duo Darkyfoot

There is nothing in here but pure fluff, joy and happiness. This story will lighten your soul and brighten your heart. It tells the tale of the boys discovering a life-long obsession for hunting mysteries, and will resonate with anyone who’s ever held a strong passion in their lives (which is probably most of you, if you’re hunting down SP fics to read). The written equivalent of a warm blanket and a steaming hot mug of cocoa on a cold winter’s night.

[S RANK] THE REALLY GOOD STUFF

Equality Donkerblauw Fluweel

A good chill-out fic? Cataloguing a series of parties over the summer in which Clyde starts cozying up to Craig after much alcohol is consumed; and like a good drink, the fic mixes all its elements together nicely. It’s nothing ground breaking, but it’s got a super relaxing flow to it, and will brighten your mood by the end. It nails the party atmosphere, so if you’ve got no-where to go this Friday night, maybe pour yourself a little something and give this one a read.

Craig Likes Vanilla (Ice Cream) themuffintitan

The cuteness equivalent of porn. If you’ve got a list of cliché ‘aww’ scenarios, chances are they’ll play out in this fic. If hand holding and sharing an ice-cream make you melt (hahanotfunny) then this one’s definitely for you. For a fairly simple story about Craig and the squad visiting a waterpark, it’s remarkably detailed (check that word count fam), and has a killer summer atmosphere to boot. It certainly made me hit up a park last July. The writing does let it down in a few areas, but overall you’ll probably be too busy enjoying the ride to notice.

The Silent Lie Donkerblauw Fluweel

Guilty pleasure? Okay you caught me red-handed. This fic’s practically porn. Read all about how Clyde learns to surrender his heterosexuality as Craig massages away all his football injuries in the steamiest way possible. If I’m being totally honest? The story’s pretty obviously there to frame the smut, and writing can be a bit all over the place. But I can’t deny it just works. It’s hot AF. Come here for the sexies and you won’t leave disappointed. Read it after dark. ;)

Press Play flappySp00kster

Arguably unfinished, but the only thing missing is apparently a mostly superfluous epilogue. We’re in full AU territory here as Clyde hooks up with Craig on a dating app during a rough-patch with his long-time, and now ex, girlfriend. Your mileage may vary obviously as the story’s not canon compliant; however the boys behave like you’d imagine and the romance is nicely fleshed out and unique. Bonus points for a bit of kink in the sex scenes, which is rarer than you’d expect for this ship.

What Happened in 1637 pinkfloyd1770

One of the most strikingly unique stories out there; it’s essentially a flower shop AU in which Clyde embraces his Dutch heritage and sports and encyclopedic knowledge on tulip facts. Written in medias res during a seemingly long since established relationship with Craig, this fic merely offers a look into this unique take on the couple as they go about their lives. The detail is stunning, and you’ll find vivid mental pictures coming to life in every scene. If you can get past the fact Craig bottoms (let’s pretend he was feeling generous that evening) then you’ll certainly be charmed with this one. (1637 is the year the tulip bubble finally popped. In case you were wondering.)

Around My Head wendybirb

Are you looking for something that’s light and fluffy? Maybe you like reading Clyde’s inner monologue as he fumbles around high-key pining over his best friend? Perfect, sign yourself up to this fic; it’s a quick and easy read that’ll give you your daily dose of wholesomeness from one of my favorite authors. Nothing overly flashy or complicated here, just boys being cute and kissing.

hey there demons traiyadhvika

This spooky affair is thankfully a lot less of an emotional roller-coaster than it’s cousin ‘remains of our sky’, but that’s not to say it doesn’t grab you and refuse to let go. Have you ever wondered what Craig and Clyde would be like trying to host one of those dorky haunted house shows? Bonus points in that Craig can legitimately see ghosts? It’s a fresh concept that’ll really get your mind racing with the cutest hosts you could ask for. Kept me glued to my seat, ready to throw down if any bad spirits came between the best boys. Slept with the hall lights on for a couple nights ngl.

As Good a Reason as Any Vampiracy

The last of the sacred trinity that also includes Chicken and Darkness Falls, the only reason this fic isn’t ranked higher is because it’s also the authors shortest. Watching Clyde try anything and everything to spend more time with Craig is as endearing as it sounds, and the only thing that sucks is that it doesn’t overstay its welcome; when honestly, you’d like the fic to stay for dinner and spend the night. Quality everything. No joke made my heart flutter. Read it and know true happiness.

Kiss It Better dokidave

A one and done story of Craig trying to cheer Clyde up after a difficult day. This fic’s a nice double whammy if you’re looking for some hurt and comfort mixed in with some steamy sex scenes. It delivers exactly what is says on the box; don’t expect too much in the way of plot of development, but certainly feel free to gush over the sappy sweet character moments. A good pick-me-up fic if you’re having a lousy day.

Take a Chance (You Say It's Your Birthday) Miaou Jones (miaoujones)

So here we have Craig being drunk and vulnerable, while Clyde’s radiating raw sexuality as he dances for Craig’s camera. I’m usually all about Craig giving off that top energy, but the way this story frames (hahakillme) the whole dynamic is very soft and endearing; you can fully understand why Craig’s the one feeling thirsty this time around. This is a fic that really knows how to set a mood. Read it and feel like you’re being pampered.

You Make It Easier glowworm888

Pure comfort; Clyde’s feeling understandably miserable about the thought of growing up without his mom, and Craig’s doing his best to help Clyde cope. Wholesome dumb teenagers looking out for each other and low-key falling in love. I dare you not to feel all happy inside as Clyde slowly begins to feel better as Craig looks after him. Adorable throughout, the ending is very much them. Another good read for making a crappy day a better one.

Miss you x Vampiracy

A true hidden gem by one of the best authors in the whole fandom; we have here the best fic in which Clyde doesn’t even appear. The whole schoolyard gang give their two cents on Craig’s spiraling mental state as he tries desperately to justify a typo to Clyde during an obsessive summer-long texting marathon. Legitimately funny from start to finish, with buttery-smooth dialogue and a big soft ending that’ll have you grinning ear-to-ear for completely different reasons. Love it, cherish it, and dream of more. Vampiracy ̶ we’ll miss you x.

[A RANK] SHORT AND SWEET

Whatever Gets You Through The Night Miaou Jones (miaoujones)

There’s a lot of mixed feelings for me in this fic. A love-letter to Clyde and his parents, in which Craig gets caught up on the whole ‘love’ part of it, having trouble fully expressing himself due to some heavy personal baggage. The Donovan’s really shine in this story. Betsy’s alive and massively comforting, Roger’s family values personified, and Clyde’s being a sweetheart to end all sweethearts. It’s confronting, more than a little emotionally messy, but it’s none the less a story that’ll stay with you. Check the comments for a hidden stinger.

Some Dieting Donkerblauw Fluweel

Clyde’s self-image problems are the focus this time around, doing a commendable job pushing the ideas of healthy progress, properly looking after yourself and feeling comfortable letting others help out. It’s a good length for the story it is, and although the writing gets a little spotty in parts you’ll be unlikely take too much notice. Like Clyde, this one’s hearts in the right place.

If Time Could Stand Still WeCryde

I used to stumble across this story semi-regularly back in the day, wondering if I’d missed it before realizing we’d already been well acquainted. The amount of show rather than tell is fairly distracting, with the entire meat of the relationship relegated to backstory. There’s still something here though. Perhaps in the way it deals with long-distance relationships and just distance in general. Maybe the hopeless romantic in me resonates with the plight of two idiots with thousands of miles between them. See if it works for you?

The Edges of the Atmosphere Miaou Jones (miaoujones)

There should be some sort of law that states that confessions in cryde stories have to be some level of stupid or convoluted. These two are physically incapable of expressing such feelings to each other in any standard normie way. So enjoy some classic spaceman Craig tropes while Clyde juggles being cute and awkward like a pro. Trigger warning for some racy hand-holding action; we’re talking interlocking fingers here.

Standby Flier Cheesebirb (Hi Mark ;)

So upfront, this story isn’t even a romance quite honestly. It’s just a cute bromance sort of affair at most, in which the boys share a hotel room together while waiting on a flight back home. You could quite certainly interpret it as the start of something deeper, as the fic gladly provides hints to support it; however there’s nothing to see here apart from the two personalities bouncing off each other, and sometimes that’s enough. A memorable little story that might resonate that little bit extra if you’re a frequent traveler.

Bust and Boom Azul_Bleu

Clyde fumbling with the realization that he’s got the hots for Craig isn’t new ground, that’s about the only ‘downside’ I could give this story. What it does with this premise however is deliver some pitch-perfect characterizations, snappy pacing, a good variety of settings, and some surprisingly touching moments given its brevity. It’s also loaded with lines that stand up off the page and stick with you and those are always worth their weight in gold; the author really squeezes a lot out of the short word count.

Forts Can Be Fun wendybirb

In which little Craig builds a pillow fort and little Clyde is invited. It’s a soft story with some cute exchanges, if you’re looking for a more innocent kid-cryde vibe then this one can scratch the itch. Short and sweet by definition. Go read it and give yourself a little smile.

Ennui dsfgajkh

This simple story’s a real blink and you’ll miss it; detailing some introspective thoughts Clyde’s having about the monotony of small town life and his fascination with his much more interesting best friend. At nearly a decade old, this story pre-dates Pandemic, which solidified the usual stoic Craig tropes that came after so it’s an awesome little time capsule back to those days where apathetic Clyde and flamboyant Craig was as good a guess as any. There’s a line about skittles that makes it worth the ten minute read.

Neighbors Vampiracy

So remember that time that Vampiracy wrote one of the most realistic and precious depictions of little Craig and Clyde playing with toy trucks in the backyard, but then it got buried in the depths of tumblr? Try not to smile when Clyde beams over the prospect of making a new friend and being able to show off the hole he’s dug; I completely and utterly dare you. Bratty Craig is my spirit animal and I’d die for more adventures with him at the Donovan house. I’m such a sucker for cutesy pre-school fluff I swear; just like you will be when you’re done reading this.

Shine On How You Shine On Miaou Jones (miaoujones)

Real talk? I’m a sucker for all things Brokeback Mountain, and this fic’s just neatly slotting in Craig and Clyde as the cowboys sharing a rough and confusing night in a tent together. The story is exactly what you’d think if you’ve read the original, and it hits all the same thematic beats. Guilty pleasure alert in full here. If you’re in the mood for hearing Clyde Twist tense up as Craig Delmar spits on his hand behind him then I won’t judge if you don’t. I’d unironically read ten more chapters.

Two Weeks toddintops

Yeah-yeah I know I’m stretching the definition of fic with this one, it’s barely a half thousand words; but hey, better five hundred words that make you feel something than ten thousand that leave you feeling the same. A short, sharp dose of angst with some beautiful art accompanying, what have you got to lose? Something about Clyde’s smile, coupled with the bittersweet lines near the end has always managed to stay with me. Maybe it’ll strike a chord with you too.

UNFINISHED (BUT STILL GREAT)

Ask Craig obitotxt (Password is 12345)

Hop on board the angst express; with the last stop being yourself when you realize the story comes crashing off the rails and never hits the end. Is the fact this blog never reached a conclusion one of the great tragedies of our modern era? Yeah, kinda. Fact is, this is probably the only cryde-centric askblog-formatted story out there; and yeah, it’s hyperbolic at times, but goddamn if it doesn’t make you feel something. Packed to the brim with boys being boys, memorable moments and just so much heart, you’ll be pressing F (and F5) for days after you reach the final unfinished pages.

One More Year llexxii

And here’s a weird way to recommend something: you probably don’t want to read this one. It’s very long, it’s very dead, and it has a fairly submissive Craig coupled with a rather unlikable rendition of Clyde. So why’m I even talking about this, and really, I’ve not got much of an answer for you. Just that this fic, despite everything, has some consistently excellent writing. The flashback scenes to Craig and Clyde as young kids are total gems. There’s stuff to love here, and maybe it could have been something great; if nothing else, maybe check it out as an interesting look into the ships history.

Turn It Around, Get a Rewrite wendybirb

This one hurts, in just about every respect. Prepare for angst story wise as we follow along with the life and times of Craig, reconnecting with a clearly troubled yet desperately pining Clyde, who seems scared shitless about his dying claims to heterosexuality. I genuinely love this story. It’s raw and emotional and angry and sexy, it comes across messy and real and does an amazing job making you care about the boys while also showing their more frustrating attributes. I’m still holding out hope it’ll one day take its place with the greats, but until then, the hardest gut-punch is always that “unfinished” tag.

January White (Love Is a Stain) Dovakiin

Here we’ve got a different kind of tragedy. The usual formula is a promising author burning out after an amazing opening run, but here we’ve got a story that never even made it past the kickoff. It’s such a shame. The eponymous metaphor and the solemn tone throughout is honestly pretty captivating; I would love to see how this take on the characters would have played. Spare ten minutes from your day and give yourself something to reflect on with this abandoned beginning.

NOT FULL CRYDE, BUT CLOSE ENOUGH

ask MARSH and BROFLOVSKI jovishark

You know what? Fuck it. I’m putting this one here and no one can stop me. This ask blog is practically fandom required reading at this point, and I couldn’t in good conscience not mention it. Stan and Kyle answer your questions, the plotline reads like something from a CW show, and Craig and Clyde don’t even end up together. I love it genuinely. If you pressed me, this story might be what got me into the fandom; pressed me harder, it’s what got me into cryde (again ironic as cryde isn’t endgame here). Always worth a read or a re-read. Pretend Craig and Clyde sorted things out in college if you need to.

Brace Yourself skyline

Okay so it’s a style story, let’s get that elephant in the room well and truly pointed out from the outset. If it’s a deal breaker for you that cryde isn’t the focus, then move along, but I guarantee for those that stay, there’s a charmingly written cryde side-ship playing out in tandem to Stan’s quest to win over his super best friend. There’s a lot to love about this story, the writings sharp and surprisingly powerful at times, and the characters are a joy to watch. Watching the cryde story unfold from Stan’s POV is a unique experience that you won’t really find anywhere else.

Remove Before Flight skyline

So remember Brace Yourself from literally just one entry up? Okay, same concept, same author. This is a different timeline in which Kenny’s the lucky protagonist trying to win Kyle’s heart, but like before, you’re treated to an enjoyable cryde sub-plot playing on in the background of the K2 drama. The writing’s still on-point, the characters are still great; if you liked the authors other story (which I’d advise reading first), you’ll definitely enjoy this one too. It’s cute how Craig and Clyde always seem destined for each other in this universe.

[antonfm]

can     u     believe     that     a     whole     entire     day          after     the     rp     opens          ,          i     finally     have     my     shit     together     enough     to     post     an     intro          !          can     u     fuckin     believe     it          !          anyways          ,          i’m     elliot          (          she/they          )          ,          i’m     20     n     i’m     a     supreme     dumbass     who     needs     2     get     their     life     together     on     so     many     levels          .  .  .          it’s     fine     though          !          completely     fine          !          totally     n     utterly     fine          !!!

(          timothee     chalamet          &          cis     male          )          who          ??          these     days          ,          it’s     all     about     anton     olivier          ,          who     comes     from     manhattan          ,          ny          ,          and     is     making     headlines     as     an     actor          .          he     currently     has     a     fan     count     of     45.9k          ,          no     thanks     to     the     rumours     of     them     being     vainglorious          !          but          ,          on     the     other     hand          ,          his     most     devout     fans     say     he’s     actually     retiary          .          last     i     heard          ,          he     caused     quite     a     buzz     when     he     was     caught     leaving     multiple     lovers’     houses     despite     being     in     an     allegedly     ‘     committed     ’     relationship          !          it’s     no     wonder     they     remind     me     of     inky     black     as     a     beautiful     contrast     to     stark     white          ,          tastes     of     fake     blood          &          bourbon     dancing     a     mistimed     tango     on     your     tongue          ,          stacks     of     literary     classics     like     small     mountains     on     your     living     room     floor          ,          abandoned     chastity     ring          (          ruby     red     gemstone          ,          isn’t     it     ironic          ?          )          ,          heat     -     slick     kisses     smeared     to     the     corner     of     your     mouth          ;          dark     academia          /          technicolour     ghost     disappearing     in     the     middle     of     a     crowd          ,          slipping     into     the     back     of     a     lecture     theatre     abound     with     rapt     attention          ,          pressing     bruises     into     not     -     yet     -     ripe     fruit     for     the     thrill     of     watching     it     wilt     beneath     satin     touch          .

𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯     𝔬𝔫𝔢     .          rudimentals          .

full     name:     anton     françois     olivier     . nicknames,     aliases:

ant     .

mon     cher     .          (          by     his     mother     .          )

age:     twenty     -     three     . date     of     birth:     october     fifteenth     . place     of     birth:     manhattan         ,         new     york     city     . nationality:     american     . ethnicity:     caucasian     (     french     )     . spoken     languages:     english          ,          fluent     french          (          spoken     in     household     more     commonly     than     english          )          .

zodiac     sign:     scorpio     . hogwarts     house:     slytherin     . myers     -     briggs:     infp     -     t     .

career     claims:     charlie     heaton     ,     some     of     bill     skargsard’s     stuff     .          (          i’ll     write     his     imdb     page     later     .          )

𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯     𝔱𝔴𝔬     .          physicals          .

height:     six     foot     three     . weight:     157     lbs     .

complexion:     pale     ,     scarily     so     .     nothing     medical     about     it     ,     just     a     natural     pallid     sheen     to     sharp     features     .     a     small     ,     light     dusting     of     freckles     over     the     nose     and     cheeks     and     forehead     .      face     shape:     heart     -     shaped     ,     incredibly     angular     .     sharp     cheekbones     and     jawline     ,     square     and     dashing     in     a     sinister     kind     of     way     .     very     thin     ,     very     gaunt     .      facial     quirks:     in     some     lights     his     left     eye     is     ever     so     slightly     lighter     than     the     other     ,     but     it’s     a     trick     of     the     light     .

hair:     black     ,     naturally     so     (     your     mother’s     hair     )     .     has     a     slight     natural     wave     that     sometimes     springs     to     a     loose     curl     .     recently     ,     you’ve     grown     it     out     so     that     it     curls     around     the     nape     of     your     neck     and     falls     into     your     eyes     .     typically     ,     strands     are     tucked     behind     your     ears     unless     they     fall     out     of     place     .     soft     ,     incredibly     so     --- -     cherry     blossom     shampoo     and     conditioner     ensures     that     . eyes:     bright     blue     ,     cobalt     .     golden     rings     around     the     pupils     ,     with     green     and     hazel     flecks     throughout     .     lashes     are     unfairly     long     and     dark     ,     a     prettily     sooty     smudge     against     the     high     ridge     of     your     cheekbones     .     brows     are     dark     and     expressive     ,     unruly     ,     arched     ever     so     slightly     .     dark     indigo     bags     underneath     your     eyes     aren’t     an     unusual     sight     ,     results     of     too     -     long     nights     and     a     strange     work     schedule     . nose:     your     mother’s     button     nose     ,     small     and     straight     and     ‘     lovely     ’     according     to     your     rabid     fan     base     .     nothing     much     to     say     about     it     otherwise     .     you     considered     piercing     it     when     you     were     fifteen     and     going     through     it     for     unknown     reasons     .      mouth:     relatively     normal     lips     ,     slightly     plusher     lower     lip     but     that’s     not     saying     much     .     chewed     ,     bitten     ,     chapped     like     nothing     else     /     favourite     flavour     of     burt’s     bees     is     pomegranate     .     teeth     are     white     ,     straight     ,     pretty     good     teeth          ;          indents     of     which     often     find     themselves     deep     in     that     lower     lip     .

scars:     none     of     note     .     the     typical     petite     white     scars     of     childhood     across     knees     and     elbows     ,     but     nothing     too     serious     . tattoos,     piercings:     none     .     there     are     plans     in     the     works     ,     but     currently          ?          nothing     . more     body     modifications:     again     ,     nothing     .     bitch     is     boring     .

𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯     𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢     .          biographicals          .

not     quite     your     typical     tale     of     boy     -     meets     girl          ;          art     gallery     curator     curator     watches     broadway     ‘     ingénue     ’          &          falls     head     over     heels     in     an     infatuation     that     borders     on     obsession     but     is     returned     tenfold     .     adele     st     .     croix     can’t     believe     her     luck          (          moved     to     manhattan     just     two     years     previously          ,          resumé     builds     beyond     belief          ,          engagement     to     a     big     name     is     imminent          !          )          and     pierre     -     louis     olivier     has     never     been     so     deeply     in     love     before          .          the     courtship     is     wonderful          ,          twilight     walks     in     the     park          ,          regular     dates     at     terribly     romantic     restaurants          ,          soft     kisses     on     random     stoops     and     rough          ,          impassioned     kisses     on     your     own          .          the     engagement     comes     in     1995          ,          &          a     year     later          ,          marriage     is     a     cover     story     and     a     four     -     page     spread     in     all     the     glossy     tabloids     your     mother     loves     to     collect          .          

your     conception     comes     as     a     shock          ,          of     course          .          neither     wanted     children     so     early          ,          just     a     year     into     their     marriage     but     the     very     first     time     that     your     mother’s     silky     -     smooth     hands     rest     on     the     then     -     flat     expanse     of     her     belly     it’s     over          .          unspoken     talks     of     termination     that     weighed     uncomfortably     heavily     on     unmoving     tongues     are     quashed          ,          replaced     by     fluttering     anticipation     of     a     child          .          your     impending     birth     is     announced     three     months     after     your     parents     find     out     they’re     expecting     you          ,          &          soon     enough     your     own     infantile     chunk     of     their     upper     east     side     penthouse          (          a     grandiose     wedding     present          )          is     carved     out          ;          decked     in     earthy     tones     and     warm     creams          ,          pastels     of     all     shades     and     joy     woven     into     each     choice          ,          you     are     a     source     of     joy     to     rival     the     sun          .

birth     is     almost     perfect          ,          only     one     day     past     your     due     date          .          naturally     your     first     breath     is     a     noisy     one          ,          wailing     and     crying     and     oh          ,          how     they     adore     you     already          !          adoration     seeps     into     your     bones     from     the     first     time     mother     holds     you          ,          presses     a     kiss     to     your     head     and     breathes     in     that     lavender         ,         fresh     -     linen     new     baby     smell          .          from     that     very     first     moment     love     is     ingrained     into     every     single     pore          ;          love     is     what     you     breathe          ,          what     you     feed     on          ,          what     you     see     the     world     through          .          your     mother     and     father     are     almost     sickeningly     in     love          ,          true     dotage     in     its     finest     form     and     later     in     life     you     suppose     you’re     lucky     to     have     grown     up     with     such     a     wonderful     idea     of     what     true     romance     is     meant     to     look     like          .          they     love     each     other          ,          and     they     love     you          .

childhood     is     wonderful          ,          if     you’re     perfectly     honest          .          it’s     a     blur     of     ice     cream     at     fancy     parlours     after     your     mother     picks     you     up     from     school          ,          renting     movies     and     getting     wonderful     takeaway     and     laughing     until     your     sides     ache          .          it’s     freshly     -     laundered     uniforms     that     just     look     so     damn     precious          ,          school     ties     in     immaculate     windsor     knots          .          (          schools     are     all     catholic          ,          of     course          ;          some     things     die     hard          ,          but     your     mother     and     father’s     commitment     to     their     faith     dies     harder          .          )          church     on     sunday     mornings          ,          followed     by     brunch     and     a     movie          /          picturesque          ,          absolutely     perfect          .          ignore     the     paparazzi     trailing     behind     you          ,          though          .          ignore     the     fact     that     despite     everything          ,          a     childhood     dripping     with     luxury     and     privilege     is     not     really     a     normal     childhood          .          normal     children     don’t     dress     in     such     expensive     clothes     in     their     free     time          ,          normal     children     don’t     understand     the     complete     and     utter         hedonism     that     you’re     enabled          .          

it’s     only     a     matter     of     time     before     you     find     your     calling          ,          though          .          you     are     fourteen          ,          already     a     gangly     mess     of     too     -     long     limbs     and     charming     smile     and     curls     that     melt     even     the     iciest     of     glares          .          you’ve     sat     in     the     backs     of     theatres     while     your     mother     rehearses     for     your     entire     life          ,          and     stepping     into     the     harsh     spotlight     itself     feels     like     home     in     a     way     you     can’t     possibly     describe     in     either     of     the     tongues     that     crowd     your     mouth          .          your     first     performance     is     macbeth          ,          and     you     dominate     like     nothing     else          ,          tragic     figure     with     a     mouth     of     steel          .          for     the     next     few     years     of     your     high     school     education     you     always     score     the     leading     role          ,          not     through     anything     but     the     sheer     force     of     your     talent          .          acting     is     second     nature     to     you          ,          a     comfortable     set     of     skins     you     fall     into     like     it’s     nothing          ,          like     they’re     nothing          .

sixteen     when     you     get     your     first     gig     ,     a     guest     appearance     in     some     established     police     procedural     ,     but     it’s     a     rush     like     nothing     else     .     one     gig     leads     to     another     ,     and     another     ,     and     another     !     it’s     not     until     you’re     hired     by     netflix     to     do     their     biggest     hit     ,     some     then     -     untitled     sci     -     fi     horror     80s     thing     ,     that     you     take     off     like     nothing     else     and     god     ,     it’s     like     nothing     you’ve     ever     known     .     blockbusters     are     offered     to     you     after     your     second     season     airs     ,     you     find     yourself     in     cameos     in     fucking     marvel     movies     ,     &     yet     nothing’s     quite     as     thrilling     as     horror     .     something     crawls     under     your     skin     the     first     day     you     shoot     stranger     things     ,     and     it’s     stuck     ever     since          ;          you     make     a     good     archetype     ,     the     dopey     yet     helpful     boyfriend     ,     the     white     knight     .     you’re     barely     nineteen     when     you     decide     what     your     avenue     is     and     make     a     conscientious     decision     to     stick     to     it     .

and     now          ?          your     imdb     page     glitters     ,     cacophany     of     roles     quite     unlike     each     other     ,     bad     guy     and     good     guy     and     killer     and     saviour     ,     all     crammed     in     together     .     didn’t     think     you     had     time     but     somewhere     you     met     someone     ,     fell     in     love     ,     started     dating     ,     all     that          ;          but     that     bleeding     ,     genuine     heart     of     yours     can’t     be     contained     ,     falls     in     love     five     times     a     day     ,     catches     itself     upon     the     hooks     of     others     and     impulse     control     is     a     long     -     forgotten     acquaintance     .     newspapers     call     you     a     heartbreaker     ,     but     you     never     break     hearts          ;          you     simply     leave     your     scent     on     bedsheets     and     heartbeats     alike     ,     prettiest     kind     of     ghost     .     sometimes     you     play     up     the     ‘     arrogant     heartbreaking     dipshit     ’     spiel     for     interviews     but     with     you     ,     what     you     see     is     what     you     get     :     passionate     ,     driven     ,     emotional     .     a     fervour     .     a     lover     ,     a     romantic     ,     altruistic     kinds     of     chaos     .     the     prettiest     kind     of     confusion     ,     all     wrapped     up     under     that     surname     .     oh     darling     ,     you’re     the     nicest     kind     of     sweet     nightmare     and     you     don’t     even     know     it     .

𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯     𝔣𝔬𝔲𝔯     .          wanted     connections          .

the     committed     relationship     .

the     string     of     lovers     he’s     been     seeing     .

exes     ,     on     any     kinds     of     terms     .

school     friends     from     forever     ago     .

co     -     stars     .

rivals     !!!!

literally     anything     PLEASE

[ilyasterisk]

The aftermath of the kiss scene in Lucio’s Book 7. ghost!Lucio version under the cut.

First fan art and fan fiction of him with my apprentice Celio! Poor boy got a lot more than he was expecting, clearly eyes aren’t the only thing Lucio can turn red. I’ve rewritten/transcribed the entire scene for my MC under the cut, you can find the alternate art at the end!

Ignoring the flip his heart gave at the suggestion, Celio mirrored Lucio’s own cheeky expression and proceeded to taunt him with a roll of his eyes. “Well, then. What are you you waiting for-”

Out of the corner of his vision there was a blur of white, red, and blonde. He had no time to finish his sentence or process what had happened. Suddenly he felt the unmistakable warmth that had been upon his cheek, now colliding with his lips.

He was still adjusting to the feeling of being lifted by the waist and spun excitedly by the now much more corporeal Count. There wasn’t much human contact he knew, other than sleeping beside Asra and coincidentally waking up in a tangle of limbs. This was alright, though, nothing he couldn’t get used to if Lucio was going to keep reveling in his new form by smothering Celio with it.

Unfortunately for the magician’s stoic facade, Lucio was a much more uninhibited current of joy and proceeded to crowd his lips onto Celio’s cheek. Stunned into place as he was let back down onto the snow, the dull rush of blood in his ears rose in volume and his eyes widened. Taking a step back, a smile of disbelief grew on his face. His eyes rose to meet Lucio’s own red stained ones, squinting to try and clarify the situation in his own mind.

It wasn’t long before he breathed out a chuckle. “Did you just-?” Tentatively raising his hand to feel the warmth still on his cheek, his gaze was fixed on the other man in front of him. “Kiss me?”

Lucio already seemed perfectly aware of what the question would be, hip cocked to one side and grin plastered on his countenance. He assumed an air of thought regardless. “Hmm. Pretty sure I did.” The answer was topped off with a salacious wink.

Celio dropped his hand and huffed out a breath at the forwardness that came next.

“Do I have to work harder to get kisses in return? I can do that.” There was a shameless flirty lilt to the Count’s voice now, sauntering towards Celio and gesturing with both arms as he continued. “I’ll just say it, Celio. You’re a lot of fun.” First time he had heard that one. He blinked and shut the jaw he only now realized was hanging open. “We haven’t known each other long, but you’re a smart, cute, hotshot magician. What’s not to like?” Lucio was no more than two feet in front in him now, each word dripping with sensual intent, yet sincere in attitude as his lips quirked.

The game of harmless flirtation was something Celio prided himself on recognizing at an instant’s notice. It was a trick learned from Asra to barter his way around the market, commonly engaging in it as practice at home. Straightening his posture, he raised his eyebrows and prompted Lucio to continue, prepared to rebut anything he would say by one-upping him.

“So… how about I kiss you properly this time?” Lucio ducked his head and a smirk graced his face again, hand resting on his hip.

Ignoring the flip his heart gave at the suggestion, Celio mirrored Lucio’s own cheeky expression and proceeded to taunt him with a roll of his eyes. “Well, then. What are you you waiting for-”

Out of the corner of his vision there was a blur of white, red, and blonde. He had no time to finish his sentence or process what had happened. Suddenly he felt the unmistakable warmth that had been upon his cheek, now colliding with his lips. Instinctively bracing his hands on the other’s arms and doubling back, Celio’s lips part in a gasp against Lucio’s own. Taking this as incentive, Lucio presses his body closer into Celio and wraps a cool golden hand into his blonde nape, his warmer right arm reaching around his narrow waist as his tongue slips onto the other man’s bottom lip and past it to meet tongue. Celio’s eyelids drift shut at the new sensation.

The stutter his heart had given before was now a full-blown riot in his chest, feeling every inch of Lucio’s front pressed into him. A cold breeze rushes past them both, making Celio grow aware of the burn in his cheeks and ears. He savors another ravenous swipe of Lucio’s tongue and finally shifts his face to the side for breath.

His hands had twined themselves into Lucio’s white lapels in the frenzy, and he stares at the Count’s smooth bare chest, drags of breath slowly returning to normal. Loosening his grip and dropping his shoulders, he finally raises his eyes again to gauge if he was the only frazzled member of the kiss. A first kiss for him, as far as his faulty memory was concerned.

Lucio’s eyes twinkled minutely before flashing the brightest smile he had since the two had met. “I’m terrible at waiting…” There was that incorrigible wink again. Celio found he was already used to it, leaning into Lucio’s gentle touch upon his reddened cheek. In both of their eyes was a yearning that had felt momentarily settled.

Touch.

It seemed the blonde had more to say, however, as he smoothed his golden hand down Celio’s shoulder, “and I love instant gratification,” down his flexed arm, “and I’ve been told that I move fast,” sweeping over his chest to rest on his fluttering heart, “but I like to think of it as seizing every opportunity for some good fun.” His lips flitted upwards at the corners as he stepped backwards from the other man, leaning against a tree they had somehow managed to miss in their fall through the realms.

The pose he assumes is utterly conspicuous, elbow resting to support his entire weight as he hooks one leg in front of the other. His chest becomes the main point of attention, gauntlet hooking into his lapel and drawing it out of the way. Celio’s face only continues to divulge his flustered thoughts, lit up in a crimson haze. As his eyes wander over Lucio’s form, he notices snowflakes landing and melting on the pale skin. Something spurs in him, competitive nature still not appeased from the checkmate he had been played.

Lucio’s next words flow like melted butter, playful nature bouncing off of each syllable. “You know, Celio, I’m also a generous kind of guy.” He quirks an eyebrow, rouge eyes opening and smirk ceaseless. “So… would you like more? I’d totally understand if you did. Just look at what a glorious specimen I am!” Underneath Lucio’s confidence, there’s a silent plea to have his own wish for more granted.

He had unknowingly given the brunette the perfect opportunity to play the best hand at his own game. Celio had already felt his entire body on him, mouth merging with his. There was nothing wrong with making him wait to be indulged with the touch he craved once again. Celio slowly lifts one foot in front of the other as he stares Lucio down. “Hmm… I’m not sure. That’s a tricky question.” Another step and a husky voice escapes his lips. “What exactly do you mean by more?”

With Celio’s eyes locked on him, Lucio’s smirk melds into a genuine and eager smile as he awaits his approach. “More of me, of course! The Count of Vesuvia, beloved ruler and valiant warrior.” As he speaks, his smile becomes toothy and proud, as if a little boy was bragging about winning against his friends. The stance he commands sells the concept, chest puffed out with fists resting on his hips. Celio’s predatory gaze falters as he takes the sight in, a silent huff of laughter escaping through his nose.

“You know, you look a little chilly for a valiant warrior.” Finally meeting Lucio at the tree, his hands drift upwards and begin to lace up the front of his white shirt, eyes trained on his deft work, carefully sliding his nails every so often over the skin.

Lucio’s smile falls and his eyebrows quirk into a nervous furrow, a breathless voice trying not to waver. “Hey, you’re not playing fair.” Celio keeps his head ducked and he eyes him through his eyelashes.

“What are you talking about? I’m making sure you don’t catch a cold.” There’s faux-innocence in the gentle smile he gives him, very aware of how soon Lucio will crack. Each shudder pulled out of him from Celio’s feather-light fingertips matches the growing intensity of Lucio’s gaze on him. He’s about to latch the final cord of the shirt onto the button when his wrist is grasped forcefully. Hand now splayed onto the chest he’d been avoiding, he watches as Lucio’s skin raises goosebumps from the contrast of human warmth to melted cold snow.

Celio straightens his neck, and Lucio’s promiscuous expression throws him off his own kilter, a mild blush tinting the Count’s face. “Oh, you’re so mean.” A tight-lipped smirk appears, and Lucio cants his face forward, a breath’s width away from Celio’s own as he purrs out, “and I’m alright with that.” He remains in his space, daring Celio to defy him as he focuses on the mouth in front of him.

The magician finally cracks as well, forgetting the game entirely as a grin spreads across his face and he leans in to meet his lips again. As he presses Lucio against the tree, he allows himself to savor the wet warmth he’d been too shocked to truly appreciate. Taking the initiative Lucio had before, he slides his own tongue onto Lucio’s and slips out a groan from deep in the other’s throat. Their arms tangle into each other’s clothing, covering every inch of surface they can manage, Lucio beginning to hike his leg up Celio’s thigh when another forceful breeze interrupts their session.

Lucio rips their mouths apart to scowl, and catch his breath. “I hate the cold.” He presses his face into the juncture of Celio’s neck and shoulder and smiles against the skin there. “Though it’s not so bad with you here.” Leaning back to reach for Celio’s hands, he coaxes them together in the space between their chests. A smile reaches his eyes as he blows on both pairs of hands in an attempt to warm them.

Celio takes a moment to marvel at the intricacy of the golden gauntlet, now that he’s become so intimate with it. The pulsing white veins call to him and he wonders if perhaps he could influence the magic there to act as a temporary heat pack. He opens his mouth to inform Lucio of the idea, when another harsh wind flies through the trees and rustles the resting snow on the branches above. Celio barely has time to react as Lucio twists away and shields himself, front remaining untouched but back entirely covered in the powdered ice.

“Ack! Pbbth! Rude, tree!” Lucio practically growls upwards at nothing as he shakes himself off like a wet hound. “Interrupting our fun…” He swipes at his cape, movements futile as the snow melts into his body heat. Celio manages a chuckle before stepping behind Lucio and leaning over his shoulder to propose a solution.

“Let me help. You’re going to get both of us all wet.” Lucio turns back towards him, and his demeanor placates as their eyes meet, waving an arm in invitation. Celio waggles his fingers, recalling the thought of heat magic to begin to skillfully evaporate the snow off of Lucio’s clothes. Reaching around his collar, the blonde presses his lips to Celio’s hands as he works, peppering fleeting kisses of gratitude and infatuation. As the magician lifts his hands to dry Lucio’s hair, he catches one of Celio’s wrists in an open mouthed kiss, laving his tongue over the heated skin. Celio startles and his magic fades, one hand tangled in Lucio’s hair and the other at the mercy of his teeth.

Lucio’s gaze is the very definition of coquetry as he drawls out a response to the bemused look in the magician’s eyes. “Don’t mind me. Just showing my appreciation.”

Celio sighs out the breath that had caught in his throat, eyes scanning the snowy expanse around them. “Riiiight. Of course.” Once Lucio releases him, he takes note of the flush that had spread to the Count’s chest as he steps away from the tree. He realizes that although they showed their dazed states differently, one seeking it out unrepentant and the other making effort to quell it; they were still very much both flustered at how entranced with each other they had become.

Through all of Lucio’s unpredictability, the promise of wanting more, regardless of how, seemed to hold. Celio’s eyes drift over the impossibly tall tree, and he locks away the thought that he wouldn’t mind sharing those promises if Lucio was safely returned back to the realm of the living.

His mind refocuses on the task at hand, magic overwhelms his senses and he’s happy to put away the thought of ever having kissed the Count as a meaningless moment in meaningless time.

Here’s the promised ghost version. If you took the time to read my first Arcana fic and made it this far, I can’t thank you enough and I hope you like it.

[magic-magpie]

Brilliant

I’m here with another fic! Well, a drabble, really. To me, calling a person ‘brilliant’ is the best thing you could call them. It implies intelligence, a shining personality, and an incredible amount of talent. It implies that to you, they shine like a star against the night sky. I wanted to use the word for a fic, so here we are! It’s UsUk. ^^ Also, happy new year to you all! I wanted to write a New Year’s fic, but I never got round to it. I hope your 2018 goes well for you!

Word count - 1,303 words

“Hey,” Alfred said, sitting next to Arthur on the bench as they waited for the train, “if you had to choose one word to describe me, what would it be?”

Arthur didn’t even have to think about that one. He’d known the answer for ages.

Alfred F. Jones was brilliant.

Alfred was brilliant in every sense of the word. He was as intelligent as they came, amazing Arthur with the completely random facts he came out with (consequently, Arthur was now rather knowledgeable about quantum physics and archaeology) and scoring incredibly high on each exam. Ever since Year Seven when he was the only student who came out with a better test result than Arthur, he’d known that Alfred was something else. Top of the class in half the subjects, second after Arthur in the others, and joint in a few. Now they were in college and although they weren’t in the same classes anymore, Alfred was still the best in his. Honestly, he could solve complicated equations in his head and recite important dates better than he could recite his own phone number. The boy was a genius, and the chances of him not getting into the world’s most prestigious university were incredibly, incredibly minimal.

His intelligence was not the only thing which knew no bounds; Alfred had an imagination to rival his own. It wasn’t uncommon for him to assist Arthur in world-building for his stories, collaborating with him to draft plots and sketch maps and doodle concept art. But although the ideas he came up with for Arthur’s stories were rather sound and down-to-earth, his other ideas were a completely different ball game. They were outrageous. Messing around with people’s cells to prevent the body from aging? Modifying DNA to create a ‘superhero’ in order to stop global warming? They were insane, and Arthur made it his job to show him just how insane they were. But – and this was the unbelievable part – his stupid ideas made sense. Highly illogical, impractical, and probably illegal as they may be, they still made sense, in a weird sort of way. These ideas were simply testament to how much of a genius he was.

Aside from being a genius, the boy was also incredibly talented. Not in the art department, nor the musical area (he could sing decently, but his voice tended to be a little on the squeaky side), but in the sports department. It was as if he was made for sport. He’d been on practically all the sports teams in secondary school, usually being the Captain and star player, too. In college he was only on the football one due to time management issues, and lo and behold, he’d been elected Captain. Arthur remembered their P.E. lessons and how he’d hoped to God he’d be put on the same team as Alfred, because he was as bad as Alfred was good. They’d sometimes play football by themselves at lunchtime, and Alfred would double over laughing at Arthur’s attempts to kick the damn ball into the net. The best (or worst) attempt in both of their opinions was when Arthur had kicked the ball high and far, and instead of going the way he’d wanted it to, it had smashed through one of the windows right onto the headteacher’s head. After that fiasco, they’d agreed that they’d play far away from buildings. Arthur never did get better at the game, but he was fine with that. He was content with watching Alfred’s games, watching Alfred gleefully jump about when he scored the winning goal, taking his picture when he held up that trophy proudly, grinning for all he was worth.

Speaking of grinning, Alfred was brilliant also in the sense that he was the personification of shining optimism. He complemented Arthur’s pessimism perfectly; whenever Arthur had a negative thought about a situation Alfred would swoop in with a wide smile and shine his optimistic light – the resultant view would be not pessimistic, not optimistic, but realistic. Arthur liked Alfred’s optimism. It meant the boy was happier, and whenever he was happy it was as if he exuded light and joy. His loud, obnoxious laugh was infectious, and so was his smile. Honestly, his smile was dazzling, and Arthur wanted to be the one to make it be there all the time. Whenever Alfred smiled because of him it sent the butterflies in his stomach into overdrive, fluttering with everything they had. Arthur figured it was because of this that he’d inadvertently become wrapped around Alfred’s little finger. He’d never admit it, but he’d do anything for him. Alfred wanted to eat at McDonalds? They were going to McDonalds. Alfred wanted this new comic book but he didn’t have enough money? Arthur was already taking out his wallet, not caring that Alfred insisted it wasn’t important. Alfred wanted to go to Comic-Con? You could bet your arse that Arthur had already bought the tickets. All to see that perfect smile.

Along with that smile came an inexhaustible amount of hyperactivity. Honestly, he never seemed to be tired. Even just before he fell asleep he didn’t act tired, he just dropped off to sleep. The only way Arthur would ever see him tired was if he’d been doing an incredible amount of work, in which case he was very much exhausted (Arthur had to pretend not to like these moments, because Alfred almost always ended up resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder or lap, and Arthur had to resist stroking his soft blond hair) – otherwise, he was as energetic as a child. Running about, twirling, skipping, he’d do it all as Arthur would look on with a fond smile, wondering how he’d managed to be so lucky as to get Alfred for a friend.

Alfred was energetic and would get excited over the simplest thing, but he would be startlingly mature when the situation called for it. Alfred was a huge dork who liked superheroes too much and was a complete idiot, but at the same time, he was anything but an idiot. Ever since Arthur had first met him, he'd shone out against everybody else, a star against the night sky.

If Arthur had to pick one word to describe him, he’d choose ‘brilliant’.

But Arthur couldn’t tell Alfred that, and risk revealing what he felt for him. So instead, he gave a little laugh.

“I think I’d choose... ‘idiotic’,” he answered, smirking when Alfred shoved him and stuck his tongue out, blue eyes behind silver-framed glasses sparkling playfully.

“Yeah, well I’d choose ‘sarcastic little shit’ for you!” Alfred retorted, smirking himself.

“That’s three words, idiot.”

“...Shit, it is.”

The train pulled up, and the two of them stood up and manoeuvred their way to the front of the crowd. It was busier than normal, meaning that Arthur had to grab hold of Alfred’s jacket to stand a chance of staying together.

“Here-” Alfred held out his hand-“hold my hand, it’ll be easier. Don’t want to lose ya.” He punctuated his words with a playful wink. Arthur merely rolled his eyes but took his hand anyway, heart beating faster as he willed himself not to blush.

The doors opened, and Alfred got on and quickly pulled Arthur up. The pair were soon squashed up next to the opposite door, holding onto each other for stabilisation as the train started moving.

“At least we’re together,” Arthur said, his hold on Alfred momentarily tightening as he felt himself about to fall.

“And whose brilliant idea ensured that?” Alfred said with a grin.

“Honestly, you only held out your hand.”

“Yeah, but it got us together, didn’t it?” He grinned. “I’m brilliant, you just don’t want to admit it.”

Arthur simply rolled his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. That you are, Alfred.

[jacquievandegeer]

communication 2021

Very 2021.

I am surfing the net.

I see a performance on the net and I like it.

Cool people.

A drummer and a dancer.

Short explosive fun.

Very 2021.

Nice.

Cool.

Click.

Liked.

Very 2021.

The drummer contacts me.

I will call him You.

You invites me as a new friend on Facebook.

We have like 26 friends in common, mostly from performance art.

It seems okay for me to accept.

Click.

Done.

Nice.

This is 2021.

I try to keep up with the times.

We befriend people on the net non stop and most of the time it stays a contact on the book of beautiful Faces in the form of pix, likes and invitations for performance and art events.

Cool.

You sends me a message and thanks me for accepting.

Nice.

I like that.

Nothing wrong with making the contact a bit more 'real'.

You asks me where I live.

It is written in my profile but okay who reads nowadays so there it is: Montreal.

And you? I ask.

Berlin.

Oh Berlin, I feel fluttering flames, I will go to Berlin this summer, well if the pandemic allows me, that is.

It is 2021 remember?

Let's meet then, let's work together You writes to me.

Oh wonderful, how generous, I think.

I love that.

A possible collaboration in my beloved Berlin.

Cool.

I see some of You's work on the timeline , mostly a drum explosive performance with a blonde dancer, she looks like an angel.

I ask You to send me some examples of his music.

You now sends me stuff from three years ago.

That is okay.

Like we all got stuck in the Pandemic a bit.

2020 was a weird year for creating.

Anyway.

I am happy to learn more about You’s art.

I listen:

free jazz, which sounds kind of okay and I find some experimental tracks

( I like that, it opens possibilities in my imagination of possible collaboration projects, nice)

and a most beautiful collaboration with a pianist, lovely work.

I see on You's time line that You collaborates on a daily basis in open air street performances.

On a bridge in Berlin.

Playful stuff.

Wild and fresh.

With that same beautiful woman at You's side, she is dancing in vintage costumes while You drums.

Sometimes it is a performance with You and two women, the blonde angel and an Asian princess.

Nice.

How promising.

A promise in 2021.

Bless the net!

I send You my website and a song.

Oh, I love to sing.

Then I start to wonder if this could be possible.

You being active in music, I could sing and perform, maybe we can work something out this summer and prep already before hand.

By now we communicate on messenger, email, Whatss- app.

Good heavens...it is really 2021.

Dreams about Berlin summer-jams with You and who knows, the wonderful women!

They seem such fun too.

I know I am dreaming.

You likes the work.

Nice.

You likes the song he writes.

Cool.

Then the love-bombing starts.

Very 2021.

But I am naive and do not recognize it.

Did not know the expression.

Love-bombing.

Not yet.

I only feel that I am overwhelmed more and more, after each message of You on the different platforms we use.

Drugged bit by bit.

Message after message, with compliments, with warmth, oh so much needed in these isolated times.

2021, remember, the year 'it' is not over yet.

So I am flattered, off course.

Good heavens, what a friendly and special man You is.

Nice.

It feels like You is really interested for us to get to know each other.

Amazing feeling that this is possible through the net.

Bless the net!

In spite of the Pandemic, I can start to develop a new friendship, a future collaboration.

Cool.

Bless this time!

2021, everything is closing down but not the net!

When You is texting me that he is falling in love after hardly four days, I have to write to You about my feelings.

It feels nice, off course.

I look forward to his messages every day, oh yes.

Yes You, I feel the pull as well.

And man isn't it seductive...

To say: yes yes yes, You  me too too too...

An old gap that wants to be filled, a very old gap from long time ago.

I have to warn you my new Facebook Friend.

I am slowing down when I feel I am moved into a pull like this.

I hardly know you, neither do you know me.

Even though it is 2021, I need to slow down, friendship first.

It feels a bit scary to communicate all this.

I do not like it to feel  that I am old, old fashioned, but I have to honor my feeling.

What is wrong with doing the slow old fashioned pace?

Oh, to take things slowly with elegance and grace and to build connection from there,to enjoy the development of friendship.

I feel that I need to digest it all, all the texting and stickers and a nice picture.

Yes You sends me a picture, a man, in front of a car, with a rose in his hand.

The ultimate Valentine promise.

Is it You?

Could be.

Or not.

I am not sure.

I realize I have no idea what You would look like in real life.

So I scan the net.

2021 galore!

I know now You has tattoos.

What is the story behind them?

What is You's story?

I feel very old all of a sudden because I realize nowadays we do not share much of ourselves.

This is 2021.

Messages.

Stickers.

Four word lines.

But not much content.

2021.

What to do, what to feel?

I feel hunted.

Fear in my belly.

Heart open though.

I long for friendship first.

Who knows what can develop then.

I am curious and want to know You better.

I write You all this and more.

My age.

And I do expect a silence.

But You writes back to me.

Immediately almost.

Nice.

You  writes that he loves the letter.

And yes, he will write more soon.

Bless the net!

You likes the concept of writing letters.

Cool.

You promises to write more about himself and I like to read this off course.

But it does not come through.

You has fantasies, You writes, he has fantasies about me.

You wants to share them.

I wait, I am hoping the fantasies are about play, and art, and joy.

Nothing else happens, except that You keeps asking me for pictures, to send pictures of me.

So I send You two pictures, me in the snow, me in the studio.

You keeps 'bombing' me and I call You in an impulse.

You seems to be off guard.

I love it when people are off guard, myself included.

Off guard is the best.

You seems a real person to me for the first time in our contact.

Realness is the best.

You is telling me real a thing, he is prepping.

Prepping for a school-concert with kids.

For the next day.

Wonderful.

Something real is shared.

I start to feel for You, in this moment of realness.

In this moment of intimacy.

And I love the picture of You and the kids the next day on his timeline.

They explode with joy.

And so do I.

Nice.

Cool.

The messages are slowing down now.

Oh boy, did I communicate to pull away?

I meant slow development in communication.

I wait.

You keeps asking for pictures.

It bothers me.

2021.

It bothers me that within a week this direction, this weirdness crawls into my daily life through all my devices.

I receive only this request again and again: send me pictures.

Sexy ones please.

I do not like this.

No judgement, but it is not what I find seductive, 'sending sexy pictures'.

What is ‘sexy’ anyways?

2021, a most not sensual time frame.

Yikes.

It seems all very predictable, all of a sudden.

‘Sexy ones.’

You wants to see what?

Bare breasts, naked ass, a vagina spread open?

It is not exactly what I want or need or long for or fantasize about.

What to write to You now, what does You care about me?

I don’t like this You being so 2021.

I thought You was different, but that was my fantasy.

You is a stranger after all.

Very 2021.

Should I ghost You now?

Probably that is how people do it nowadays.

Very 2021.

Should I block You?

It feels cold and heartless this time frame.

Very 2021.

Does You exist?

He does.

Is it wrong to ask for sexy pictures?

No, but do not lead up to romance and promises of collaborations my Facebook Friend, ask it right away.

But it was not lost, this time.

I am grateful You reached out to me. I wish him the best, I do.

I learned a lot, thanks to You!

I now gained more knowledge about how I love to open up towards realness, intimacy and collaboration. I will stay what one calls old fashioned.

Because I do want to keep my dreams alive and therefore I resist 2021′s rules of communication.

When I will visit Berlin this summer, I know which bridge to see from the other side.

I crossed it.

[fromthe-seoul]

Seventeen Ways to Succeed in College: Do Your Reading

“neither of us bought the expensive textbook but there is only one copy in the library and it can’t leave the building”

genre: fluff

words: 1.9k

a/n: welcome to the first in a new series; seventeen ways to succeed in college! we begin with our beloved leader, s.coups, who is honestly a joy to write. i hope you all enjoy this new endeavor, and let me know what you think!

The first week of classes is always an unfortunate shitstorm of finding rooms, poring over syllabi, and deciding which textbooks are worth going broke over. In an executive decision, you had decided that your microeconomics textbook just did not make the cut, and as a result, you would be spending a solid hour in the library every other day to do your reading. Thankfully, your professor had anticipated that the majority of you were without books for at least the first week, and you were going to take advantage of every scanned-in page you could. 

Whoever came up with the idea that college textbooks should single-handedly have the ability to make a student go broke can go die in a very long, very deep hole. Whoever decided that there could be only one copy of said expensive textbook on reserve in the library can also be subjected to a long, torturous existence. 

Alas, the kindness of professors only lasts so long, and you tried to make as little noise as possible shuffling through the stacks of books, on a long hunt for the elusive economics textbook. After consulting both the librarian and the online catalogue, you knew you were in the right aisle, but after craning your neck sideways to read the titles, you came upon a solitary empty slot...right where your textbook should be. It took everything in you not to swear loudly in the middle of the deadly quiet study floor. 

After taking a moment to compose yourself and not commit a minor crime, you resigned yourself to having to bullshit your way through discussion this week and headed for the stairs. However, out of vague curiosity and boredom, you decided to peek through the windows of the private study rooms as you walked by. Several project groups were already having disagreements, and you shuddered at the thought of having to deal with something so asinine this early in the semester. Yet amidst all the stressed out students, in the very last study room before the door, you spotted a vaguely familiar mop of messy black hair, accompanied by sleepy brown eyes and a jawline to die for. Your feet stopped in their path and you inched closer to the window. 

Inside the tiny little room sat a boy from your discussion (...Seungcheol? Was that his name?) and on the table, open to the first chapter, was the textbook you were desperate to get your hands on. Without thinking, you gently rapped your knuckles against the wood before twisting the handle and slipping into the room. 

“Hey...Seungcheol?” you exclaimed as said boy craned his neck to see who was invading his study room. A light of recognition flashed in his pupils and he granted you a gummy smile (which you tried to brush away with the flip flop of your heart).

 “Hey, _____! Are you looking for the econ textbook?” 

He gestured to the chair beside his own and you inwardly sighed in relief before flopping down. Seungcheol had been nothing but sweet for the few weeks you had known him within the realm of your discussion section. On the first day, he lent you a pen since you (like a true upperclassman) forgot a writing utensil. And it was a nice pen, and he didn’t even remind you to give it back. It was perhaps unnatural and slightly unbelievable how nice he was to you, but if anyone was going to have the textbook at this moment, you were glad it was him. 

“Yeah,” you sighed, “this class just isn’t worth the hundred and fifty dollars for a book I’ll never use again.”

“Same here, I figured I’ll just come here every time we have reading, but I don’t mind sharing!” He chuckled, and you couldn’t help but join him, hoping that whatever good karma you had apparently racked up to reward you with two hours with a hot, nice boy every week wouldn’t come back to bite you in the ass. Perhaps sharing one copy of a library textbook wouldn’t be so bad. 

So began your weekly meetups with Seungcheol. Every Sunday and Wednesday you would snag the empty study room at the end of the hall and settle in with a nice long brain-melting chapter of economics. It felt natural, with Seungcheol’s easygoing nature it was less monotonous and you felt less like smacking your forehead with the book trying to read about GDP and supply and demand curves. If one of you struggled with a concept, it was an unspoken rule for the other to try and explain the best they could, and if not, the both of you would just accept defeat until next class. 

Slowly but surely, these meetups turned into study sessions even beyond economics. You learned that Seungcheol was an elementary education major and loved working with kids. 

(“Why are you even in this class then? It has nothing to do with teaching.”

“Listen, I just need a math and science credit.”)

It also turned into sneaking food into the library for the long hours ahead, and even cups of coffee with enough talent and luck. 

(“How did you even get that cup in here without spilling? Your backpack doesn’t even have pockets!”

“What can I say, I have an exceptional sense of balance. Now hurry before I spill it all over my computer.”)

Sometimes you even bagged the idea of studying altogether and used the oversized computer monitor for purposes completely unrelated to education.

(“An hour-long vine compilation? Are you serious right now, Seungcheol?”

“I have had eight-year-olds yelling in my ears all day, I  deserve this.”)

Somewhere between him buying you your favorite candy to snack on and you lending him your earbuds when his broke on the bus, the universe shifted slightly. Not drastically, but just enough where you noticed, like someone shifted all the furniture four inches to the left. Just enough to catch your knee on the sofa. 

You suddenly became dreadfully aware of Seungcheol’s constant attention to you. Your heart began to flutter and nearly cave in whenever he would gaze at you with that beautiful smile. His thoughtfulness made you feel special, and even when in the worst mood Seungcheol could bring mirth to your lips. Sometimes, only when you were quick enough, you could catch him studying you with a curious expression amidst his features. You’d glance his way and his eyes would revert back to their signature sleepiness, and against your will, your cheeks would burn with inexplicable heat. Those traitors.

There was no “aha!” moment, no magical realization that you liked Seungcheol, that you like liked him. It would come and go in waves of your stomach dropping whenever his puppy eyes were trained on you, when you snuggled yourself into the cologne-tinged hoodie he wordlessly gave to you when he saw goosebumps on your arms, when he remembered minute little details you had spouted on a whim once. You weren’t quite sure what to do with this new information. Seungcheol never once mentioned a girlfriend; he was seemingly preoccupied in keeping track of his twelve closest friends, who, in your mind, hadn’t yet mastered the art of self-sufficiency yet. But the way he smiled when he recounted all their crazy antics made you curious to meet these boys. You wondered half-heartedly if he had told them about you, but brushed that pesky thought aside almost as quickly as it came. Why would he tell his brothers about little old you?

Soon the leaves began to fall from their branches, the sun hidden earlier and earlier, and exams were looming; the unspoken month of communal exhaustion and giving up taking its toll on everyone you see on the sidewalk was upon you. With the final economics exam taking up a large portion of the stress emanating from your body, you were holed up in the library more often than usual, Seungcheol usually joining you in fighting for a study room amidst the hundreds of people looking for a quiet place to break down. He fed your caffeine monster with enough coffee to power a marathon runner, and in exchange, you provided enough snacks to feed an entire soccer team after a championship game. Your system just worked, and the stability it brought you was enough to make you think there might be a light at the end of the tunnel called finals week. 

Seventeen hours before your final economics exam, late in the night after most sane students had abandoned their studying to finally collapse facedown into bed, the two of you sat in your usual room. The well-worn textbook rested on the table, witness to the birth and growth of a beautiful friendship, and perhaps silent receiver of the mourning of unrequited feelings. You stared blankly, body exhausted and mind drained. It didn’t seem like this would be the last time you would “have to” meet up with Seungcheol, the vague guise of sharing a textbook long gone. You didn’t want to think about what would happen after you left the room, after the exam was over, after you finally got to rest. 

Would Seungcheol still want to be your friend? Would he still give you his hoodies, bring you coffee, and tell you bad jokes? 

“So.” The boy sitting opposite you broke the silence, shaking you out of the spiral of negativity and bringing your attention to his face. His face was sallow, dark circles framing his eyelids, and his grin twisted wistfully, wrenching your heart in a way you didn’t think would hurt that much, but it did. 

“I’m kind of kicking myself for waiting so long to ask you this, but now I realize I’ve run out of time.” 

You gave him a quizzical look; he was never one to hold back in asking you anything. You wanted to respond, but nerves and the burn of your parched throat stopped you. Nevertheless, he continued.

“This semester, I was fully prepared to absolutely hate my life, but you managed to brighten it to the point where even my friends were asking who you were, and they didn’t even know you existed.” He chuckled wryly, casting his gaze to his fidgeting hands. “I’ve never been very good at expressing my feelings, and I hope I’m not ruining our friendship by asking if you’d like to go out with me.”

All at once it seemed like the air whooshed out of you. Your eyes felt like they would pop out as you snapped your head up to look at him. Your mind reeled as it tried to process the idea of your huge crush actually reciprocating your feelings, but Seungcheol seemed to take your shock as rejection. He quickly began to backpedal, but you would sooner fail every single one of your exams than let this slip by.

“Nonononono, Seungcheol, no,” you interrupted, frantically shaking your hands to prove your point, “I would love to go out with you, I promise.” 

You watched as his expression molded from horror to relief, his shoulders sagging, then shaking with self-deprecating laughter. His hands rubbed across his face, eyes peeking out at you with the smallest smile, which you tried to return amidst running a hand nervously through your hair. 

“Well,” he began, tucking his notebooks and pencil into his backpack, “how about we start tomorrow? After we both pass this goddamn exam?” His radiant, gummy smile was one you could never refuse. 

“Absolutely,” you agreed resolutely, following suit and shutting the textbook gently. 

It was finally time to go home and get some rest, for the big day ahead was now one to look forward to.