#might end up editing the fuck out of said snippet later on though

[anto-pops]

Here's a lil snippet of the Auror! Sebastian smut cause this covid brain fog is kicking my ass and I can't think coherently despite trying

The entire time he was talking, his hips were rocking against you– shamelessly deriving his own pleasure from the friction the movement provided. The entire display really had no business being so attractive, especially considering you were literally locked in Marlowe Selwyn’s downstairs bathroom. Much as you’d expected, however, Sebastian was working you into a tizzy with sorely little effort, and you were as keen to feel him as he was to feel you. 

Sebastian hoisted your dress up your legs slowly, taking his time and observing your every reaction in the mirror with an intensity that made your head spin. “You’re certifiably insane, but fine,” you relented, dragging one of your hands in front of you to gingerly grasp Sebastian’s forearm. “We have to be quick though, I really don’t want anyone to come looking.” 

With your dress hiked up mostly out of the way, Sebastian had enough leeway to run his palms up your bare stomach, gently scratching his nails along the soft, smooth skin as he went. “The absolute last thing I want to do is rush through this… you know I like to take my time.” 

“Then save the rest of your horny fantasies for after we get home. Unless you secretly want someone to walk in on us. Are you that eager for your boss to see your cock?”

You felt Sebastian’s deft hand scale down towards your aching center once more– only this time he slipped the appendage under the thin cotton of your underwear, and his fingers were instantly met with your pooling slick. He practically guffawed at your taunt and flashed you a cunning smirk through the mirror, “Now who’s certifiably insane?” 

[leiawritesstories]

a snippet

LOOK WHO'S WRITING AGAIN????? it feels so good to be back, thank you thank you thank you to everyone who puts up with me :))

enjoy this very small piece from Until Proven Guilty, which will (hopefully) be going into the editing phase soon! 👀

“Hey.” Elide poked her head into Aelin’s office. 

Aelin barely glanced up from her computer. “Yeah?” 

The petite woman dropped a slip of paper on Aelin’s desk. “Thought you might want to see this.” 

“Mhmm.” Distractedly, Aelin took the paper and set it by her keyboard, not really looking away from whatever she was busily typing. “Thanks, Ells.” 

“Aelin.” Elide’s voice was not the kind to be brushed off. “I need you to look at that. Now.” 

The steel in her second’s voice jerked Aelin out of her focus mode. She blinked, shook her head, and properly came to attention. “Okay.” She picked up the small paper and scanned the short message, and her eyes widened slightly, the only outward sign of her shock. “What.” 

“Go check on it.” Elide grasped Aelin’s hand and practically hauled her to her feet. “I’ll handle anything that comes to your office for however long it takes you. Go. Now.” 

Barely remembering to close her computer, Aelin hurried upstairs to her other office, rushing through the security protocols, and dropped into her boss chair. She snatched the small headset that rested in the second drawer of her desk and turned it on. The earpiece was barely in her ear before she was barking commands into the device. 

“Boss?” Nox answered within seconds of her ringing him. 

“I need to hear the chatter.” Aelin gave no explanation–she knew Nox would know exactly what she was talking about. 

“Right.” There was a series of clicks and taps on the other end of the line as Nox found the audio he needed her to hear. “Timestamp: 1147 this morning, Orynth PD Channel 074.” He pressed another button, and radio static crackled in Aelin’s ear for a few seconds before resolving into a few male voices. 

He’s supposed to arrive today.

Who?

The special forces officer, you jackass! Didn’t you listen to the captain’s briefing?

The hell would I? He hasn’t said anything useful for weeks. 

There was the unmistakable sound of someone swatting someone else upside the head. Whatever. Special forces comes today. 

Hope he’s able to get some kind of info on this godsdamn case. A snort. If he can’t, I hope to the bloody gods they toss the whole thing, cuz I’m just about done waiting around for some criminal who doesn’t exist to leave evidence of their supposed crimes.

The hell d’you mean, ‘doesn’t exist?’ We wouldn’t be on this fucking case if the criminal didn’t exist! Stakeouts take time, officer.

Not this much time. That was a new voice, Aelin observed, and she could hear the muffled curses and rustles of surprise that followed this new voice’s entry into the conversation. 

Just who the hell are you? 

Special forces. Interesting. Aelin filed that little fact away for later. 

Fine. Welcome to the investigation. Ain’t shit worth investigating, though.

The special forces officer chuckled sarcastically. That’s what all you morons think, isn’t it?

Who the fuck are you calling a moron?

All of you. I wouldn’t be here if you were competent. Where’s the case file? I need it. Aelin knew it was bad of her, but gods, she liked this special forces officer. He wasn’t afraid to call Orynth PD out on their incompetence.

~~~

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

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@backtobl4ck

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@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@sunshinebingo

@hiimheresworld

[andypantsx3]

subtle | 2 | Shouto Todoroki/Reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

status: complete

length: 2,265 words

summary: Someone leaves chocolates on your desk. You’re determined to track down the sender, certain it’s a mistake, and Shouto Todoroki makes himself as unhelpful as possible.

tags: romance, reader-insert, fluff, valentine’s day

warnings: aged up characters (no smut though!!)

notes: Hi all! Happy Valentine's Day! I'm posting a follow up chapter because so many people asked for it in my inbox. It's completely unedited because I just decided to write it today, and I wanted to get it up before the holiday was over! I promise I will come back and edit at some point in the next few weeks.

No one had come for the box.

You’d made a point to be out of your office as much as possible throughout the day, leaving plenty of opportunity for whoever the sender was to sneak back in and correct their mistake. But every time you reentered the room, there the box was, crowning a pile of your paperwork like a coronet of ineptitude.

You’d checked in with Shouto several times as well, anxious to learn whether or not he’d overheard anything as he changed out of his uniform from patrol, but he proved just as unhelpful as he’d been earlier this morning. He simply leaned towards you, looking almost conspiratorial--spiking both your heart rate and your hopes--only for him to murmur in his low voice, “No one is coming for it.”

Which was so fucking unhelpful.

So you’d set about the office yourself, lingering hopefully on the fringes of people’s conversations, peering about for clues on the agency staffer’s desks, but there was nothing to give the sender away, no whispered snippet of conversation or receipt laying amongst some expense sheets. You might have resorted to sifting through people’s garbage cans, if only Shouto hadn’t taken to suddenly appearing wherever you were investigating, watching you with a wry little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You knew he hadn’t the slightest modicum of romantic interest in you, but that didn’t mean you wanted him to witness you digging through people’s garbage either. That would have to wait until you could get him out of the building.

Which was also proving to be an impossible endeavor. He usually had a habit of lingering after his shift, coming into your office to make queries about one thing or another that almost always devolved into conversations deeply unrelated to work. But today he was especially resistant to leaving, seeming content to lounge around in the chairs you’d set out for clients, draping one distractingly muscled arm across the backs and watching you intently with those heterochromatic eyes.

“Shouto, get out of my office,” you hissed, coming back in at the end of the day to find him still in one of the chairs, his phone clutched in those long fingers.

He glanced up at you, eyes fastening to your features in that attentive way he had. “I work here.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” you asked, trying to suppress a small spike of irritation with him. “Because it looks like you’re scaring off the box sender to me. How are they supposed to sneak in here and take it back if their boss is looming in here like their worst nightmare?”

Shouto looked unconcerned. “I’m not.”

“Not what?” you asked. Maybe he wasn’t their worst nightmare, but being caught by your boss in the middle of correcting a romantic mishap was probably at least a nightmare.

“Not scaring anyone off,” he said, putting his phone away into his pocket. “I know who the box belongs to.”

You stopped short, your attention snapping fully towards him. A thrill of excitement went down your spine, even as regret poured through you. A little part of you had maybe hoped you would end up getting to eat the chocolates, even if they weren’t yours. But this was good news.

“You do? Why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded.

Yor feet guided you to the chair where he sat, and you stood, looking down at him expectantly. He watched you through his long lashes, eyes glinting strangely.

“It’s mine,” he said finally, after a moment that stretched long and slow, like warm taffy.

Your breath caught in your chest, a swell of confusion rising within you. The box was his?

Was he being truthful or was this another attempt to make you take it? Why would he have tried to make you think it was from a secret admirer, then? Why have let you run around all day, attempting to find the sender, if the chocolates had been his all along? Unless...

Unless he was embarrassed. You didn’t know why he might have left them in your office, but you suspected maybe force of habit had drawn him here. Maybe he was operating on autopilot after his distracting shift this morning, since he usually spent so much time in your office, and then you’d come in to find them before he’d had a chance to realize it. And the rest had been history.

But then that begged the question of who he’d really meant them for--your heart sank as the thought occurred to you.

Obviously, you had known since you’d first met him that he wasn’t interested in you. You’d spent years with your thoughts all muddled around him, quelling every blush, never straying into his personal space or staring at him longer than was appropriate. You’d been so, so careful around him, but you’d never had any indication that Shouto was as careful around you. On the contrary, he was always calm and intent--he never looked away from you in a fit of bashfulness the way you had him, and he seemed to have no qualms about getting into your personal space, leaning over you as you looked through reports together, putting a hand on your back to guide you through publicity events.

So yeah, you had known he was basically immune to you. You had known it for a long time. But it still smarted to think of him giving that box to someone else.

God, how embarrassing for you. How mortifying, really, that Shouto had been thinking of someone else all those days that you had been nursing your crush on him.

But you were a professional, you could deal with this.

All you had to do was play it cool, give him back the box and laugh it off like it hardly affected you. And then you could head back to your apartment and binge ice cream and be all wistful and embarrassing for one evening. You could allow yourself that before you had to come back and be doubly professional, smile and congratulate whichever analyst or support staffer or fellow hero had caught his interest.

You could be happy for him. You’d miss the chocolates though.

Drawing yourself together, you looked down at him, pulling out a small but genuine smile. Shouto was your friend, and he was going to nail it with whoever the box was meant for--you could give him your support. But then Shouto was unfolding himself out of the chair, standing up so he could look down into your face, taking a step closer to you.

You tried to ignore the flutter in your stomach at his sudden proximity, the hint of his clean cologne and the lick of warmth coming off of his left side.

“They’re, uh, they’re yours?” you managed, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “You are in such big trouble for coming in here and peddling conspiracy theories instead of owning up to it. You at least owe me a coffee for being such a brat.”

Shouto watched you quietly, saying nothing.

“But we can hash that out later,” you said, waving what you hoped was a casual hand at him. “You need to move quickly. You should try to catch whoever you meant these for before they leave--daytime shift is over in a couple minutes.”

Shouto’s brows knitted, a small frown pulling at his mouth. “You still think they’re not for you,” he said.

It took a minute for you to register the words he’d spoken. The comment struck you dumb when you did, a thrill of disbelief going through you. Was he trying to be tactful now? Now, of all times?

“Shouto, seriously, you can make it up to me later. This is not the time to fuck around, the day’s almost over,” you said.

His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to you, close enough that you could feel him exhale. You took a step back in surprise, your hip bumping your desk.

“You promised me,” he said in his deep voice, “that if no one came looking for them by the end of the day, you would take them.”

You stared up at him, your mind churning wildly with all kinds of insane thoughts, wild insinuations that brought heat to your face. He absolutely could not mean what you thought he meant.

There was literally no way.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say,” you admitted. “But if you’re telling me I can take them just because you promised them, I don’t want them. I think you should give them to who you meant them for.”

That wry little smile played about his mouth again, and Shouto took another step closer. The back of your thighs dug into your desk and you wobbled, putting a hand down to keep your balance.

“To think I trust you with my career,” Shouto intoned, ducking his head to look into your face. You felt the heat of his left arm at your side as he placed it gently on your desk, caging you in. “Let me be plain, then. I did give them to who they were meant for.”

Your cheeks went hot, both with his proximity and the implied insult. But the rejoinder died on your tongue as the implication of his last few words sank in.

He had meant them for you? Shouto Todoroki, number four hero, your coworker of several years and your most patient, attentive, and mind-numbingly handsome friend, had gone to Grégoire Chardin, for Valentine’s Day chocolate, thinking--of all people--of you?

For a moment, it felt like the earth was sliding out from under your feet, but then you realized it was just you, tipping backwards on your desk. Your elbow banged into the side of the chocolate box, and you accidentally sent a small pile of papers fluttering over the side of your desk. You cringed, embarrassed, but then Shouto was over you, both arms braced on either side of your head.

“You don’t need to accept them if you don’t want,” he said quietly, watching your face. The intensity of his focus made your head swim, and you tried to focus on what he was saying, rather than the shape of his mouth as he spoke, the heat from his skin. “But I wanted you to know. I like you.”

You gaped at him, the words feeling like they were embedding themselves in your brain.

“You...like me?” you echoed in disbelief.

Shouto grinned, the expression so disarmingly charming that even your nose went hot. “Yes. Very much.”

A swell of emotions welled up inside you, like the unstoppable tide of a coastal flood, and you were gripped with the sudden desire to lean up and kiss him, to press your mouth to his and see if he meant it, if any of what he’d just said to you could possibly be real. Suddenly, that was the only thought in your entire brain.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” you heard yourself utter stupidly.

You hesitated for just a second, realizing that maybe you should pinch yourself first to see if this was actually happening, but then Shouto was already there, covering your mouth with his.

His kiss was hot and soft and utterly perfect, and very quickly there were no thoughts in your brain at all, nothing but the feel of him over you, one muscled thigh pressing insistently between yours, his long fingers tangling gently in the hair behind your ear. You clutched him to you tightly, an embarrassing little sound escaping you, and Shouto groaned, pressing more of his weight down on you, licking firmly into your mouth.

You were half-delirious with the feeling of him by the time he let you up for air, and you could feel yourself grinning like an absolute fool.

“I had a secret admirer,” you said. “You were being serious.”

Shouto smirked, leaning in to press a hot kiss to your throat. Your thighs clenched involuntarily. “Yes, I had been secretly admiring you for a while.”

For some reason, the words embarrassed you, and you tucked your face into his broad shoulder. “I...this is so embarrassing. I’ve been...admiring you, too.”

You heard Shouto huff a soft laugh, and then his calloused fingers were gripping your chin, angling your face back towards him so he could seize your mouth again. You went slack and pliant underneath him, enjoying the press of his mouth on yours, your toes curling when he did something particularly talented with his tongue.

“I did tell you,” Shouto said after a while, pulling back, one of his hands gripping your thigh.

“Tell me what?” you asked absently, wondering how you could get his mouth on yours again.

His eyes caught yours, the blue of his left glittering at you conspiratorially. “That I could be subtle.”

You laughed, feeling stupid--but more than that, flushed and completely pleased. You didn’t know if subtle was exactly the right word, but you weren’t going to argue specifics at the moment. “I guess you can be. Though you might have been a little bit more overt before now.”

“Then if you don’t mind,” Shouto said after a while, something like amusement in his voice, “I’d like to take you home and admire you quite overtly now.”

You were answering before he could even finish. “Yes, oh my god, yes.”

Shouto laughed again, smoothing a large palm down your side.

And then he did. And not even chocolates from Grégoire Chardin could compare.

[lostinfantasyworlds]

Teaser for Under the Northern Lights, Chapter 8: Stay

I CAN’T EVEN TELL YOU HOW EXCITED I AM TO SHARE THIS TEASER.

This is the moment for this story. 

As in, one of the very first moments I imagined when I first came up with the idea for UTNL. Basically, everything that has happened so far in the story was just a lead up to this one scene I had imagined months ago.

This is a long ass teaser (almost 2k words), but this is going to be one of those ridiculously long chapters again, so it’s still only a small snippet. I have a feeling you guys won’t mind the length for this one 😉 .

This is still subject to light editing later on, even though I spent 3+ hours editing this one small section today because I am a crazy person.

Taglist (let me know if you want on or off!): @aelianadawn​​ @alisanangel​​ @alysssa-inukag​​ @bluehawaiicat​​ @born-for-eachother​​  @deactivated2431545484​​ @goshinote​​ @gruviyasharuto​​ @inussunflower​​​ @julyzaa​​ @keks-creations​​ @ladyaerilla​​ @littleredwritinghat​​ @liz8080​​ @malditamigs​​ @neutronstarchild​​ @purplemys​​ @redflamesofpassion​​ @rocioanime4​​ @sailorlolo​​ @sangoslays​​ @sunsetskys​​ @superpixie42​​ @theinuyashareader​​ @zukkosbaby​

Inuyasha smiled before standing up and walking to the coat hooks by the door. With the fire roaring, it was finally warm inside the cabin, making the coat he was still wearing feel like overkill. 

Kagome watched as he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on one of the hooks, gasping when she saw what was underneath. Inuyasha’s sweater had been completely torn to shreds on his left side, dark red blood staining the frayed edges of the fabric.

“Inuyasha!” Kagome exclaimed, standing up abruptly. 

“What?” Inuyasha asked, alarmed by her tone. Why did it sound like he was being reprimanded all of the sudden? 

“You’ve been taking care of me this whole time when you have even worse injuries?!” 

Kagome pointed to his side where his shirt was torn, starting to walk around the back of the couch so she could inspect his wounds. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Inuyasha looked down at where she was pointing, vaguely surprised to find his sweater in bloody tatters. 

“Keh, this is nothing for someone like me. Just scratches,” he said nonchalantly, twisting a little as he inspected the wounds underneath. He brought his hands to his side to move the torn fabric out of the way, his mild surprise turning into annoyance. 

“Sucks that this sweater got ruined though, I just bought it a few days ago.” 

What a fuckin’ waste of money. Stupid wolves.

Inuyasha sighed a little, gripping the hem of the ruined sweater and pulling it off over his head. He walked around the breakfast counter to stand at the sink, balling up the sweater and throwing it in the trash along the way. Tearing a few paper towels from the roll on the counter, he wet them in the sink before starting to dab at the patches of blood on his torso.

All while Kagome stood transfixed, frozen in place, unable to stop her jaw from dropping. 

Not only were his wounds already closing up on their own, but Inuyasha was now standing shirtless in front of her.

The man she felt more attracted to than all of the other men she had been with, combined.

Half-naked. 

Right there.

And we’re completely alone…

It was a scenario she had envisioned since she first saw him in the daylight. Finding herself alone with him, getting to see the hidden planes of his body. It was something she had thought about in the shower in Denali, imagining his hands were the ones running across her body, instead of her own. 

She had produced quite the detailed fantasy in her mind of what he might look like underneath the layers of clothing he typically wore, and yet, it couldn’t compare to real life.

He was so hot.

So ridiculously fucking hot. 

She couldn’t even think of a more eloquent word to describe him, due to the fact that her brain had short circuited the moment his fingers slipped under the hem of his ruined sweater. It felt like she had been hit by a freight train of lust, rendering her utterly useless as she watched his large muscles rippling underneath his tawny skin. 

It didn’t help that the position he was in only accentuated the very features that had her heart racing faster by the second. As he wiped the blood from his skin, his forearms and biceps flexed subtly, his well-defined abs tensing from the twisted position. Every last ripple and bulge was an ode to his strength, the raw power that had kept her safe.

The way he had protected and cared for her over the last week tapped into a primal, instinctual desire that she wasn’t even aware she had. An attraction to his chivalry and brawn and that was deeply ingrained in her subconscious, and only made her want him that much more. 

She wanted to feel that smooth skin and solid muscle underneath her fingertips. To grip him as hard as she could while he surrounded her with that delicious body of his and she surrendered to him completely.  

Kagome had to stop herself from letting out an audible whine as she watched several drops of water slide down his side, trailing down until they met the belted cargo pants that hung low on his hips. 

She had to be in a movie. 

Or a porno. 

People don’t just look like that in real life. 

Men don’t just show up, with adorable dog ears and chiseled jaws, and steal your heart in a matter of days. They don’t just appear out of nowhere at the last minute to save you from being eaten by wolves. 

And they certainly don’t just casually undress in front of the person they had been flirting with for days like it was no big deal.

As if they hadn’t been about thirty seconds from fucking each other in the middle of a restaurant yesterday.

He seemed to have genuinely forgotten for the moment, not even looking in her direction as he inadvertently flaunted his body. Apparently, he had no inkling of the effect he was having on her. 

Finally managing to tear her eyes from him, she turned away so as not to get caught staring. Her mind raced a mile a minute as she stood awkwardly near the front door, unsure of what to do with herself. 

She knew he wanted her too, but where did they stand after everything that just happened in the last twenty-four hours?

He had just saved her life, risking his own in the process.

He had invited her into his home, something he claimed he had never done for anyone else before.

It was all so overwhelming that it felt wrong, in a way, to try and make a move on him right now. Especially when his mind was clearly not following the same train of thought at the moment. 

She already felt like a voyeur for staring at him unabashedly when he had only been trying to clean up his wounds. 

This was his home, a place where he probably felt safe and in control. He had to be the one to make the call. If he wasn’t thinking about finishing what had been set into motion two days ago, after everything that happened, then she couldn’t blame him. 

Unfortunately, Kagome was losing any semblance of self-control by the second. The freight train was now off the tracks and barreling towards Inuyasha with no way of stopping it. If she didn’t leave now, there was no telling what she might do.

Inuyasha finished wiping the blood off his torso, the deep scratches he had sustained from fighting off the wolves already mostly healed over. He threw the blood-soaked paper towels into the trash, and was just about to go grab another sweater, when he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes snapping to Kagome.

That scent...holy fuck.

He had caught whiffs of the delicious spicy-sweet addition to Kagome’s scent that indicated her arousal before. Most notably during the ending of that game of truth-or-dare, and last night when he spread her legs under the table at dinner.

It had been hard enough to keep himself in control those times, wanting nothing more than to give in to his desire and take her right there. 

But now?  

Her scent was stronger and smelled more delicious than any of those times before. He could already feel himself salivating in response, wanting to taste the sweetness of it on his tongue.

But what the hell had caused such a strong, sudden infusion of arousal into her scent? He looked around for clues, everything clicking into place as he realized that he was standing there half-naked, Kagome pointedly looking away from him. He could faintly hear her heart beating faster than usual, her cheeks flushed. 

Kagome was smelling like that...from him taking his shirt off? 

Well, that was certainly an ego boost. 

He had done it without thinking, completely distracted by his wounds and every other fucking thing that had happened that night. He had been in “protect” mode, focused solely on dealing with the situation and making sure Kagome was okay. There had been no room in his mind for thoughts of the current state of their relationship, only the overwhelming need to ensure her safety.

But now...it was as if a switch had been flipped in his mind. 

They were finally alone.

She was unharmed, and clearly wanted him.

She was...putting her boots back on like she was trying to leave?

Huh?

“Uh...Kagome? What’re you doing?”

Kagome still seemed unable to look at him as she picked up her camera bag.

“I should probably get going. I...want to check in on Miroku and Sango first thing tomorrow, and...you — you’ve already done so much for me, I don’t want to put you out any longer,” she said distractedly, fumbling over her words like she was trying to make up excuses as she went along.

Inuyasha stood dumbstruck and utterly confused, unable to come up with any kind of coherent response. 

“Uh…”

He watched her secure the strap of her camera bag across her shoulder, trying to make sense of the disconnect between what his nose was telling him and the way she was acting. Her scent had only grown more potent in the moments since he first smelled it, but now she was acting as though she couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

What the fuck was going on? 

Had he done something wrong?

Inuyasha walked around the breakfast bar, not sure what he was about to do, but needing to do something. He halted, standing in the middle of the cabin, when Kagome finally turned to look at him. 

She looked even more beautiful than usual with her cheeks flushed, her eyes burning bright with the same desire as her scent.

“Thank you, again, for everything, Inuyasha. I’ll see you tomorrow at noon.”

Her voice was quiet and sincere, if not a bit shaky. She smiled warmly at him, giving no indication that he had done anything wrong.

Every sign pointed to her wanting him.

But, if she wanted him, then why was she leaving? 

Unless she thought he had changed his mind since last night?

Inuyasha watched her turn towards the door and reach for the handle as if in slow motion, her long black hair sliding over her shoulders. She was wearing his sweatpants, and for some reason, it was the sexiest thing in the world.

And that fucking scent of hers was driving him absolutely wild.

There was no way he could let her walk out that door.

Gathering all the confidence he could muster, he spoke clearly and loudly enough to get her attention.

“Or…”

Kagome’s hand froze on the doorknob, turning her head slightly towards him in a clear indication that she was listening.

Inuyasha’s next words were quieter, his voice trembling a little despite his best attempt at confidence.

“...you could stay.”

[alexseanchai]

Fanfic 2020 in Review

I got tagged by @kasienda @noirshitsuji and @marvelousmsmol and I am tagging whoever wants to play!

1) List of fics completed this year in the order they were finished:

*filters own works to complete and updated in 2020*

1 - 20 of 57 Works by AlexSeanchai

nope. *adds filter to include only works of at least 1000 words*

unless otherwise indicated, these are all Miraculous Ladybug:

“don’t bake it lying down”, post-reveal Marichat vs Felix Graham de Vanily

“veracity”, canon divergence from “Ladybug” featuring Mister Bug and Verity Queen (so also Marichat, I guess)

“(no request is too extreme, if) your heart is in your dream”, in which Hawkmoth wins, for the thirty seconds or so before Emilie saves Ladybug and Chat Noir’s lives

“tell me you love me and make me believe it”, in which trans girl Chatonne Noire ropes Ladybug into helping plan her civilian self’s escape slash social transition

“kingmaker, oathbreaker”, in which Hawkmoth wins and Emilie watches her son remove himself from the family

“stay and let me watch you break it down” (Twelve Dancing Princesses), a modern setting

“set a course for winds of fortune”, in which trans girl Chatonne Noire has already escaped and Gabriel and Nathalie are trying to bring Gabriel’s son home

“we ground love in a hopeless place”, in which post-reveal Marinette’s attempt to remain resolutely not in love with her partner dissolves like sugar in coffee when they start a pun war

“ring the bells that still can ring”, in which Alya is deeply confused about why Adrien and Marinette are planning a wedding when last night both were single

“burning wishes at both ends (the cold wind and long loud wail remix)”, in which Gabriel made a monkey’s paw wish and Emilie makes another

“words cannot espresso”, in which Marinette’s OC roommate is justifiably worried for Marinette’s safety, and meanwhile Adrien takes care of Marinette

“the compromise of truth” (the chronologically second-earliest part posted to date of nine lives, snake’s eyes), in which Adrien tells his friends how he won some freedom and respect from his father

“At The Present Time”, the Ladrien/Ladynoir marriage proposal follow-up to @art-deco-shrimp‘s  “Your Presents Required”

“j'ai rêvé (so I don't have to dream alone)”, in which the events of canon must just have been a series of dream sequences, Marinette and Adrien both think, until they both arrive at Chloe’s Halloween masquerade dressed as themselves from the dreams

2) Number of words written:

ahahaha no. I am not counting all my scattered fic drafts and trying to figure out what I did and didn’t write in 2020. I refuse.

AO3 says I posted 162K in 2020. it is counting all of keeps you guessing (like any real love), which (a) I started posting in 2019 (b) is co-written by @galahadwilder​; it is counting all of my meta snippets collection, much of which was written in 2019; it is counting the Vimeo passwords for my vids. but I probably cleared 150K by a safe margin.

3) Your most popular fic:

“veracity” has a four-digit kudos count, wow, when’d that happen? this is also the 2020 work with the most hits and the most bookmarks, but “tell me you love me” has four-thirds as many comments as its nearest competitor.

4) Your personal fav:

“cannot break us, not with a thousand swords”, no question about it. this is the one in which Ladybug proposes marriage to Chat Noir via Princess Bride meme on Tumblr. (if you intend to download the work or otherwise to consume it with creator style off, you want the accessible version instead of the primary version.)

5) Your fav scene:

aaaaaaaaa

—okay so this is cheating and I know it, since Uncertain Humors (the one where Marinette/Adrien is both Orpheus/Eurydice and Theseus/Ariadne) is nowhere near finished, never mind posted (maybe I'll get “Sanguine” done to post on my birthday?)

but it is still my favorite of the year. as you might guess from that description of the story, this scene has content notes for character death:

Hell is a maze. Marinette walks.

This acrid passage has little to see but damp stone, seeming blood-stained in the dim carmine light. At about the height of her heart, the faintly glowing thread cuts through the not-clammy air; it ought to be pulsing at the same rate as the heart it's bound to. She might be able to see her own reflection if she looked down at the open sewage pipe, or at one of the puddles that now and again she splashes through, dampening the canvas of her shoes. She might see reflected what's behind her.

She remembers Mme. Mendeleiev lecturing on human physiology. In healthy humans old enough to have learned how, urination is a voluntary action: one may not know which muscles one tenses and relaxes in order to do so, and probably isn't paying attention to those details when one is doing, but one has conscious control over whether one does. Usually. Stress and anxiety mean some people are unable to relax the relevant sphincter muscle and others are unable to stop themselves. It's voluntary for cats, too: it's one way they mark their territories. Cat-boys have other ways.

There is a moment in every human life when all one's muscles relax at once. Some Parisians have had several such moments.

The thread is braided with itself around her left fourth finger, rows of tiny red half-hitch knots, and falls loosely over the back of her hand to loop twice around her wrist. She holds it wrapped between the fingers of her right hand to keep it at a constant tension, as though knitting with this insubstantial thread, so fragile for something two (two dozen, two million) lives hang from—too thin to sew with, no thicker than one strand of his hair. As she walks, she winds it around and around and around her wrist.

Between her ring finger and her right hand, it loops twice.

Marinette's shoe lands in a puddle she didn't see. The rainwater splashes soundlessly onto her bare ankle and on the stone.

(With cat-like tread, upon our prey we steal— It's a very loud song.)

She walks on.

6) A fic or scene that challenged you:

where the firelight fades, no contest. this is the second story I’ve ever been able to stick with more than a couple hundred words past the 20K mark, but it’s easily the twentieth novel-length I’ve begun. (though also, you know that kedreeva post? well, 90K later, I’m less than 15K from completing this 10K fic! I think.) and I have been learning so much about long-form fiction.

there has also been a lot of weeping and tearing my hair. case in point: I just trashed the chapter 15 draft because I figured out the reason it wasn’t going anywhere! I can probably keep the first few hundred words of that draft without any editing, and another few hundred with some revision...

7) A line of writing you’re proud of:

from “j'ai rêvé (so I don't have to dream alone)”:

Everything about their partnership is fragments of sentences in the dream diary Adrien writes in ultraviolet pen. Disjointed flickers of thought even when examined under the black light he hides in the snack cabinet under packets of Super Yoyo sandwich cookies and bags of cheesy Monster Munch potato chips and boxes of petit écolier butter cookies (chocolat noir)—none of which explains the gym-socks smell. All fleeting incoherent flashes, invisible between the mundane lines of La Modification shelved at his bedside between Leroux and Dumas. None of it is solid. Adrien has more proof his room's haunted.

okay let me break this down for you!

* Adrien started a dream diary to make sense of the memories

* in invisible ink, in a book that (according to Wikipedia) is thematically appropriate and won’t (if Gabriel sees it) look like anything other than Adrien developing an interest in French literature

* shelved between Phantom of the Opera and The Three Musketeers

* look I didn’t come up with the name “black light”

* or “chocolat noir” for what English speakers call “dark chocolate”, or “petit écolier” (that is, “little schoolboy”) for that sort of butter cookie

* also not my fault that “chocolat noir” sounds remarkably like “Chat Noir”, which, attentive readers may have noticed, is not a name that appears in the story after the header and before Miraculous Cure

* I found the website of a store in Boston, Massachusetts that caters to French expats, and the yo-yo cookies and the monster chips were right there in the photos, y’all

* the snack stash and the black light live in the cabinet where, in canon, the Camembert lives; yes, that cheese smells in the real world like gym socks

* this story’s akuma was not able to affect anything but squishy human memory: nobody affected remembers anything about Ladybug or Chat Noir or Hawkmoth, not in any solid way, not even when they read news articles about the subject, and this includes Marinette and Adrien not being able to see or hear or remember their own kwamis—but you know what Adrien’s Insta post about his poltergeist and Adrien’s Insta post with the floating sock don’t show and don’t explicitly refer to?

* I love this paragraph so much (my housemates may have been lovingly mocking me over it)

8) A comment that touched you:

there are people (y’all know who you are) who said y’all are studying my style. I ded of blush.

9) Something that inspired your writing:

by volume of fic drafts that can be blamed on any particular person, the winner is probably @norakwami​

10) Your proudest accomplishment (that one scene; finally finishing that one fic; posting your first fic; etc):

so that longest-story-ever-written record I set in 2007 with the 89.5K story that, till where the firelight fades, was the only story I’d gotten much past 20K?

I broke that fucking record!

and then I deleted the draft of firelight chapter 15 😭

11) Do you have any writing goals for the next year?

I’m starting work on a fantasy novel, a Sleeping Beauty retelling in which I explore (among other things) the economic consequences of the king’s ordering all the spinning wheels burned, and I want to make significant progress on that. and I want to not make my hands any worse; I kind of need those!

(breaking news alert: bodies fucking suck. so does giving yourself repetitive stress injuries in doing one and a half to two people’s worth of work for an organization that was never ever going to pay you more than one person’s worth of pay.)

[goldencuffs]

ok idk if this has been done before but hear me out. call me by your name au with elio!laurent and hot older oliver!damen 🤤 (happy ending tho bc i’m not a masochist) all this talk of older damen being hot as all hell got me THINKING

!!!!!!!! idek if this is ask is meant for me but as someone who genuinely loves the movie (not so much the book lol) i can get on board with this!!

also......on a completely different note....i actually have a wip that is heavily inspired by call me by your name. it takes place in summer, features postgrad damen who is helping out professor aleron, and laurent who is very smitten with damen and his muscles. here is a snippet from it (aka the only part that is semi edited):

It isn’t until Rochert tells everyone on the football team that Laurent is a desperate, whorish, cock-hungry slut that Damianos finally begins paying attention to him.

Damianos, or Damen, as he insists on being called, is Papa’s latest research assistant. Every year, Papa promises a sedulous student of his free residence in their guest house for an entire year, while cultivating said student’s brilliance. It’s part of Papa’s grand plan to create as many philosophers in a “philosophically unchallenged era”. Usually, the students have to dedicate a certain number of hours a week to help Papa research new material for his classes, grade papers, and translate niche, long poems no one besides patrons in Introduction to Classics reads. Damen himself is an enigma; he’s at the very least 6’ 5”, quite possibly taller, especially when he wears boots, bronzed, dimpled, and he spends nearly all his free time at the gym, on the field, or in the kitchen with Mama, sampling a bizarre new creation of hers.

He has also been the object of Laurent’s fascination and sexual dreams for the last three months. In fact, upon meeting Damen for the first time, Laurent’s first thought had been, I want him on top of me. Since then, his initial inner monologues haven’t deviated much. The only problem is this: despite Laurent’s continuous efforts to get Damen to grunt more than one syllable in his direction, Damen doesn’t seem to ever notice him. Even when Laurent lingers around the guest house doorway wearing his limited-edition Givenchy jacket and jeans that are a size too small, all Damen ever does is give him a polite, mostly uninterested nod.

At the end of the third month of pining with little reciprocation, Laurent decides that pursuing Damen is an unworthy, impossible task. His mind is mostly made up, until one Tuesday afternoon, as Laurent is leaving for his Philology class, Auguste and Damen come barrelling in through the kitchen doors, instead of through the patio doors.

The patio doors offer a direct path to the guest house; after a particularly vigorous training session, Auguste and Damen directly head through there to get high and drink. Auguste can’t do that anywhere besides the guest house; he had insisted on living on campus, with his other football teammates, even though their house is down the road from university, and at most, a five-minute walk.

Laurent is too distracted by the tightness of Damen’s shirt around his biceps to actually notice Auguste, until his brother pushes him to the side in order to get to the freezer.

“Oh my god!” Laurent gasps. Auguste is bleeding heavily. There’s red smeared all over his nose, dripping into his lips as he tries to stop the flow. Wrapping a paper towel around some ice cubes, Auguste tilts his head down. Damen hovers over him, saying something that is too quiet for Laurent to pick up on.

Laurent breathes in sharply through his nose; the dizziness he feels is sudden. He sits down at the dining table, a hand pressed to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut.

“You alright?” Damen calls out from the other side of the kitchen. He’s handing Auguste more ice. Laurent can’t even celebrate the fact that Damen is addressing him because he thinks he might pass out.

“Mmm hmm,” he says, or at least tries to.

“He’s scared of blood,” Auguste says. His voice is muffled around the paper towel.

A moment later, there’s a glass of water being placed down near his elbow. Laurent looks up at Damen, who isn’t quite smiling. He says, “Drink up. It might make you feel better.”

By the time Laurent has finished drinking his water, with shaking hands and a dry mouth, Auguste seems to be in better shape. There’s no more blood all over his face, just a streak of mud on his temple and sweat in his hairline.

“What happened to you?” Laurent asks. “Thanks,” he adds belatedly to Damen, who only nods, already back to his usual stoicism around Laurent.

He’s surprised by the anger twisted in Auguste’s features; Auguste is rarely antagonistic. “Do you know what that motherfucker Rochert has been saying about you?” Auguste’s voice is a brittle, biting sound.

Laurent almost says who? It takes him more than a few seconds for the name to register in his mind. When it does, he blushes, hard. “Um.”

He has a concrete idea of what Rochert could have said to piss Auguste off to this degree. The changing rooms aren’t soundproof, and yesterday, when Laurent had dropped off some papers to Damen as a favour to his father, he had heard Rochert’s booming voice telling Jord and Orlant that Laurent was a slut, always ready for cock.

Damen had stepped out of the changing rooms the moment Rochert had said, “He’s a straight up whore. Seriously. My cock was on fire and he still wasn’t satiated.”

His voice had carried into the space between them. It was as though Rochert was standing next to them; his voice was clear and unbroken.

Damen’s eyebrows had risen. Laurent, face hot, fumbled with the papers. “Here.” He shoved them into Damen’s hand.

Damen, wearing his letterman jacket and smelling like a generic soap brand, took them. For a moment, it looked as though he was going to say something. Then he smirked, and his eyes travelled over Laurent’s body in a leisurely place. It was the kind of once over someone promising a good fuck would do. Laurent had felt like his whole body was on fire, and not just his face.

Damen said, “Thanks,” smirk still firmly locked in place, before he turned around, heading towards the coffee shop.

On his walk to the other side of campus, Laurent had managed to convince himself that he had just been imagining the look. Damen had been staying with them for three months now, and in that span of time, the only thing he had said to Laurent that was longer than two syllables was, Does your dad stock any Patran dictionaries? It wasn’t conceivable that Damen now would suddenly look at him like he was a five-course meal.

Now, however, Laurent swears Damen is giving him the same kind of look, even if his mouth is set tight.

Still, there are more pressing matters right now. Taking in Auguste’s rumpled jersey and his glittering eyes, Laurent makes his conclusion. “Did you hit him?”

“Did I –” Auguste breaks off with a slow, incredulous shake of his head. “Yeah, I hit him! That little shit was saying the most disgusting things about you.”

Laurent recalls the conversation from yesterday. “I mean, it’s not – he isn’t that bad.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Auguste is getting more incensed. He’s practically vibrating with anger, hopping from one foot to the other. “Look Laurent,” he begins, and Laurent mentally groans; Auguste has gone into his lecturing mode. “It doesn’t matter who you sleep with or what your tendencies are in the bedroom, you never let someone talk about you like that. Alright? Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” Laurent says dutifully.

“I can’t believe the nerve of that guy,” Auguste says. “Apparently he’s been spouting this bullshit for a while now; he just waits until I’ve left practice. It’s lucky I forgot my wallet in my locker today.”

Laurent hums. Truthfully, he doesn’t care what Rochert – or the other football guys – say about him. Aside from a comment here or there, they don’t ever talk to him anyway.

Regardless, he’s touched by Auguste’s protectiveness.

“Thanks,” he says. “For protecting my honour and all that.”

Auguste throws him a fond, exasperated look. “Don’t thank me. Just… you know.”

“Yes,” says Laurent.

Damen says, “You going to class?” even though he knows Laurent has classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

“Yes,” says Laurent. “Philology.”

“I took that in first year too. If you need any help, let me know.”

“...Thanks,” says Laurent.

[keatsblue]

City Lights, Chocolate Skies, & How to Treat A Villain Right

Snippet from my fluffy, emotional support oneshot -- Dabihawks edition.

***

The city lights were beautiful as ever, stretched out below like upside-down constellations, sidewalk-chalk galaxies. And still, Hawks couldn’t bring himself to appreciate them—not tonight, of all nights.

For probably the hundredth time that day, he second-guessed his decision, the small box he held cradled to his side. He supposed he could always drop it. It would be… easier, in a way, to beg off butterfingered excuses to Rumi, later. It was only wishful thinking, of course. He would never go through with it.

His friend had helped him concoct the contents of the box, had tied the perfect bow on top when his own hands trembled. And that, that, meant more than any answer the little box might garner.

Hawks didn’t have many friends. He couldn’t much afford to lose one.

So, he continued on his path. At this altitude, the chill of the high winds easily ripped through the protective covering of his flight jacket, making the hero shiver. He was cold, and alone, and had never been more cognizant of the fact.

In the end, nothing had changed. This was his usual, his modus operandi. Hawks was a single man on White Day, and that was that.

It was true, that he had his pick of admirers. As a young, popular pro hero, he’d received box upon box of carefully-crafted chocolates on Valentine’s, all shipped via priority mail. He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t at least a little bit flattered by all the attention, even if the tradition itself left a strange, hollow feeling in his chest.

Hawks didn’t know those women. They’d fallen for the guy in front of the cameras, not him, not really. It was Hawks, the dashing winged hero, that had captured their attention—not Takami Keigo.

Every year, Hawks pushed those feelings aside, in favor of drowning himself in insincere chocolates until White Day rolled around. And every year, Rumi paid him a visit—because she was his best friend, and she understood more than most, how lonely the life of a pro hero could be. They’d usually sit on his couch, under the comfort of one too many blankets, and watch the saddest movies they could think of until they were both nonsensical, blubbering messes.

It was therapeutic.

But this year wasn’t like every year. No, this year Hawks wasn’t participating in this all-important ritual, because he had a meeting. One he couldn’t miss.

Earlier that day, Rumi had heard of his plans to meet up with someone, and had immediately assumed the best. She’d arrived at his apartment in the early morning, a grocery bag under each arm, and had bulldozed right over Hawks and into his kitchen while he was still sporting fucking pajama pants.

Today, Kei, she’d declared, I’m going to teach you how to make chocolate. And you’re finally gonna land that special someone, if it kills ya!

Little did she know, his special someone was indeed truly special—the illegal kind of special, that could actually kill him. Because today, Hawks had a meeting with his top-secret villain contact. His key to finally pulling off this infiltration shit so he could get back to his damn job.

Dabi, of the League of Villains.

Hawks hoped he liked chocolate.

They’d been meeting for some time now, clandestine rendezvous on the rooftops of old buildings, punched-out darktown warehouses that had long fallen into disuse. He remembered the tension of their earlier conversations, when the villains had let his gaze rove over Hawks like he wasn’t entirely certain whether he wanted to gut him or recruit him.

Somewhere along the line, they’d… gotten used to each other. It wasn’t trust, not quite yet. Dabi still wouldn’t tell Hawks a fucking thing about Shigaraki, or the rest of the League. But, they’d built an unsteady camaraderie, of the sort that could sometimes be formed between two parties who were relentlessly forced to interact. They’d even shared a few laughs—two, to be exact—but no, Hawks wasn’t counting. Not at all.

He barely resisted blowing out a sigh when he caught sight of their usual meeting spot, finding it abandoned. Hawks was always punctual, right on time, which meant that Dabi was running late. Again.

Feathers shifted, adjusted their geometry, as he affected a quick descent. He alighted upon the warehouse rooftop on silent feet, and wasted no time in drawing his flight jacket tighter around him.

Still just as cold down on the ground, this time. He hoped this wouldn’t take long.

Then again, once he showed Dabi his little surprise, chances were high he might get a searing-blue fireball chucked at his face. That would warm him right up, for sure.

Hawks chuckled, so caught up in his imagination that he missed nimble footsteps on the building’s rusted-out fire escape. Missed his contact’s approach, entirely, until the villain cleared his throat behind him.

He whirled, and was met with an uninterested, raised eyebrow. The villain drawled in his signature roughened tones; the ones that never failed to make him sound just a little too dangerous.

“Lookin’ sharp tonight, birdie.”

Hawks nodded. “Dabs.”

He readied himself to get this over with, to shove his box of chocolates into the fire user’s hands and be done with it. But then, Dabi shifted, something uneasy in his expression, and moved something from behind his back to the front.

It was—

It was a box. Simple, innocuous, and yet.

The shape of it was unmistakable. It was wrapped neatly, tied together with thin red ribbon. Dabi gripped the box with both hands, looking anywhere but at Hawks’ face.

Something warm bubbled in the hero’s chest, and he couldn’t quite identify it. Still, the feeling only grew as he looked longer upon the gift in Dabi’s hands, expanding, tingling all the way down to his fingers and toes. Heat rose unbidden to his cheeks, and to distract himself from it, the hero pulled out his own box, from where it had been tucked away under a wing.

He could pinpoint the exact moment the villain saw it, as Dabi’s eyes widened. There was a moment, frozen in time, where Dabi just stared at the hero’s box, and Hawks eyed Dabi’s. The atmosphere around them shifted to something serious, something fragile.

Had Dabi really brought him chocolates? On White Day, of all things?

Hawks opened his mouth, then, ready to release a quip to lighten the mood, but one glance up at the villain cut him short.

There was a growing, tense line to Dabi’s shoulders—so much so, they were beginning to hunch in on themselves. He watched as his contact’s brow furrowed, the thinning of his lips before he licked away the dryness. The villain’s grip on his box had turned white-knuckled, unsure. The cardboard groaned, buckled a bit under the strain.

At first, Hawks was only confused. But then, clarity struck like a flash of lightning, and the hero tried not to let his shoulders visibly sag.

Ah, he thought, growing more and more certain of it every minute Dabi remained silent. They’re not for me. He’d probably scared the guy half to death, too, busting out his own chocolates like that.

What had he been thinking? The villain hated him.

Now more than ever, the fact that Hawks knew next to nothing about Dabi’s life reared back to slap him in the face—or so it seemed. The man was certainly shrouded in a cloud of mystery, for sure, though Hawks had been just arrogant enough to imagine himself a bit of a ‘Dabi expert’ by now. After all his nights spent socializing with the villain, after countless discussions that had ended only with the sun’s rise, he’d thought he’d had a grasp on all the villain’s various idiosyncrasies.

He knew how to surprise a chuckle or (god forbid) a laugh out of the guy, just as well as he knew which subjects were best avoided, with him. He’d figured out where the villain was completely closed-off, and where he was merely sensitive. The difference between the two. He’d memorized his damn coffee order, the exact distance he could fly with Hawks before getting sick to his stomach, and the fact that his favorite color actually wasn’t blue, or black, but white.

He felt like all his knowledge of the villain had culminated to this very moment—which was absurd to think, he knew. And if he had a premonition that more was riding on this interaction than he’d previously thought, well.

He kept that to himself.

It was easy to see that he’d made Dabi uncomfortable, though. So, Hawks did what he did best.

He shoved all his emotion, all his frustration down, ignoring the odd, constricted feeling in his chest. Took a deep breath, and smiled. Deflected. The chocolates were tucked back under his arm, out of sight and out of mind.

“So, what’s the League got for me today, hot stuff?”

Dabi blinked once, twice, as if recovering from a stupor. Piercing eyes rose to Hawks’ face, and the hero ignored the tiny frown that formed. Ignored the wrinkle in the villain’s brow, the way his lips barely curled in distaste. If possible, the villain was gripping his box even tighter between his hands, now.

Hawks wondered what kind of person Dabi would give chocolates to, and felt a sick heat broil low in his gut, too-warm and unsettling. That heat only grew stronger once the villain stepped closer, and began their meeting in earnest.

Hawks tried his best to ignore it, too, even if the steps he took to push away the stubborn feeling were mostly fruitless. Each time he caught sight of that damned box, the fire burned just that little bit hotter, roaring beneath his skin. He wondered, absently, if Dabi could feel it.

The meeting itself, at least, was fairly standard. They sat beside each other near the roof’s edge, let their feet kick in the air with the ease of familiarity. It was always the same when they talked business—all short, clipped phrases and carefully measured words. Hawks trying his best to swindle just a little more information out of Dabi, any minor tidbit that could point toward the League. The villain, tight-lipped as ever, refusing to give it to him.

Hawks soon found he didn’t quite have the energy to maintain the charade, though. His attempts were half-hearted at best, and he kept having to stretch his neck, to roll his shoulders and pop the joints there, just to stay awake. The result was an even more stilted conversation than usual, though if Dabi noticed his sudden reticence, he let it slide by without comment.

In fact, the villain was also much more soft-spoken than usual. The tension within his frame never dissipated—seemed to intensify throughout the meeting, if anything, now that Hawks was picking up on it. The hero watched on in wonder as Dabi tugged on a stray thread on the tendrils of his coat, all dark lashes fluttering around downcast eyes as he kept his head ducked in concentration.

Hawks only realized he had stopped paying attention to what the villain was saying when the other jerked his head up, a flicker of annoyance flashing across his expression. “Are you even listening, bird—"

The fire user’s eyes widened once he met Hawks’ gaze, tracked his line of sight. Then, if Hawks wasn’t absolutely mistaken—

He flushed, a pretty pink tracking below the scars underneath his eyes and climbing all the way across pale cheekbones. Dabi quickly ducked his head again, dropping the thread in favor of clenching both of his hands into fists atop his thighs.

When he spoke, it came out as a gritty rasp, like sandpaper down a dry throat.

“What? What are you staring at?”

Hawks blinked. He hadn’t expected that much of a reaction, really. He didn’t know what to say, either, so he remained silent.

Until he heard Dabi’s voice, again. Quieter. “It’s the scars. Isn’t it?”

At the angle Dabi’s hair fell across his face in this position, Hawks couldn’t see Dabi’s eyes. Couldn’t read his emotions as well as he would’ve liked. Still, it didn’t take a genius to decipher the meaning behind the harsh line of the villain’s mouth, the barely-there hitch in his breathing.

There was a reason Hawks had never asked about Dabi’s scars, before. It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing he expected to build rapport, and given the sheer extent of the villain’s wounds, Hawks would bet money that the circumstances surrounding them weren’t any less painful than the burns themselves looked. They were… a part of Dabi. That was it, end of story.

A particularly cool breeze pierced through the lining of his jacket, sending the hairs on the back of the hero’s neck standing up. Beside him, Dabi shivered, too.

Hawks didn’t even think before he stretched out a wing, shielding the villain within the crux of vibrant red plumage. When his companion’s head snapped in his direction, glittering gaze brimming with a mixture of messy, unidentifiable emotions, Hawks was able to answer him truthfully.

“No.”

He turned, and the warm glow that emanated from the city proper seemed so far away. A mere sliver of light, lining the horizon of an otherwise gloomy netherworld. He could feel the intensity of Dabi’s regard, burning up the side of his face.

It was a good thing Hawks was used to it. Being examined for falsities.

Dabi snorted, once he’d finished his inspection. A warm weight brushed against the hero’s sleeve. “You really don’t go for the obvious thing, huh.”

“And be boring?” Hawks said, allowing a small smirk to stretch across his features. “Ouch, Dabs. I thought you knew me better than that, by now.”

“I know you’re a pain in the ass—”

“Hey!”

“—but you’re my pain in the ass, yeah?”

Dabi’s expression was different, somehow, when Hawks turned to look at him. The fire user had this tiny smile, the gleam of teeth just visible underneath. Even his face looked softer, like all of its harsh lines had gone up in smoke.

Fuck. He looks nice when he smiles.

Hawks must’ve been staring a bit too long, because that delicate flushed tone spread itself across Dabi’s cheeks once more as the villain abruptly broke eye contact. He brought a hand up in front of his face, forcing a cough that sounded fake even to Hawks’ ears.

He felt the roughened texture of scars on his wingtip, and then the appendage was being shoved away with the back of a forearm as Dabi stood up, shoes scuffing against rusted-out roof tiles. Hawks barely registered when the villain grunted out an end to the meeting, a simple goodbye. He couldn’t focus on anything, except the sinking feeling in his gut the view of Dabi’s retreating back inspired.

He didn’t bother getting up, yet. It took enough effort just to turn his head, back toward that beautiful, horrible horizon.

Now it was Hawks’ turn to clench his fists, to rein in the sudden broiling emotions that threatened to overwhelm. It was colder, without Dabi by his side.

Alone again. On White Day.

“Hey, Hawks! This is f-for you, dumbass!”

Hawks straightened, then whipped his head around—

That had been Dabi’s voice—

Just in time to be brained in the forehead by an object flying at high speeds toward him. If it weren’t for years of training, of drilling exercises to be stripped of his natural responses, he probably would’ve closed his eyes on reflex. As it was, Hawks kept them open.

So, he had a perfect view of the way the box that had just glanced off of him exploded above his head, raining down chocolates in every direction. On pure muscle memory, several feathers detached from his wings, shielding him from the aerial assault.

Having narrowly avoided death by chocolate, Hawks reached out toward a piece that had landed beside him. Grasping it gingerly between two fingers, he held it up to the faint glow of the dying light.

It was a little hard, and somewhat misshapen. Probably could’ve taken his eye out. And yet—

It was perfectly, wonderfully, damningly… handmade. Clearly crafted with care, and no small amount of hesitance. As Hawks examined it further, he was even more certain of where it came from.

He looked up, not entirely sure what he was going to do—maybe give Dabi an earful for throwing something at his head, or worse, fucking smile about it or some shit.

Instead, he was met with an empty rooftop.

Although—

If he strained, he could hear it. The pounding of footsteps, clanging down the fire escape. Hawks’ eyes narrowed, and he shot one arm out to grab his own box, where he’d set it aside sometime during the duration of their meeting.

That bastard’s not getting away. He can’t just—

He shifted to a crouch, and using his legs as a springboard, launched himself into the air. It was almost disgustingly easy, to locate the villain, just as Dabi reached the last rung of the fire escape. He let his wings beat up once, twice, before dropping into a dive.

Technically, it was an advanced maneuver, difficult for anyone with a winged quirk to master. Even Hawks rarely attempted it, this close to the ground.

Functionally, though, it meant he landed directly in front of the fire user, right as the villain stepped foot on solid ground.

Dabi was breathing hard from exertion, his shoulders visibly moving up and back down again with every rattle of his lungs. That didn’t stop the hero from planting a palm against his sternum, from pushing until the villain’s back connected with the thick metal of the warehouse wall.  

He could see the whites of Dabi’s eyes, how they widened while his pupils dilated in the same instant. Could feel the inherent heat of his punched-out breaths, their faces were so close.

Then, Dabi’s face darkened, rearranging itself into a snarl. He thrashed, but didn’t light up in flames, so he didn’t break the hero’s hold. After about a minute, he seemed to give up, having apparently decided to reallocate his energy into glaring daggers at Hawks’ face.

“Well,” Dabi growled, like he didn’t know exactly what the fuck was up. “What’s the big idea, asshole?”

Hawks only raised an eyebrow. “You threw chocolate at my head.”

Dabi moved to cross his arms in front of him, which must’ve been difficult with Hawks’ arm in the way. Somehow, he managed. His response was bitten out through gritted teeth. “So?”

“At my head, Dabi.”

“It’s not like you need your stupid brain anyway, you fuckin’ trash pigeon!” Dabi countered, with way more vehemence that Hawks thought necessary. “It was a gift, just accept it and—”

The villain cut himself off, a look of such horror on his face that it would’ve been comical had Hawks not known it was genuine. Under his palm, he could feel the proof in a racing heartbeat, a stuttering exhale.

Before the hero could respond, though, Dabi had already slapped both hands over his face, hiding it away. “Oh my god, oh my god.”

“Dabs?” Hawks asked. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, not yet. “Did you… make me holiday chocolate?”

If Dabi was serious, then—

Then—

The villain groaned. He hadn’t moved his hands. “Just go on hero, get outta here. Don’t ya have your own chocolates to deliver, or some shit?”

Hawks smiled. He moved to tuck his box under one arm, so he could use both his hands to reach up. To pry Dabi’s fingers away from his face.

The fire user didn’t resist as much as he expected. Instead, Dabi allowed Hawks to dictate his movements, going pliant beneath his touch.

“Chocolates to deliver, huh. Yeah, I got some.”

He held onto Dabi’s wrist with one hand, mindful of the delicate line where scars met healthy skin. With the other, he placed his own gift atop the villain’s outstretched palms.

If Dabi was serious, then… he wouldn’t be alone, anymore.

It was adorable, how Dabi wrinkled his nose when he was confused. He cradled the box between loose fingertips, like it could spontaneously combust if he moved it too suddenly.

“Hawks, you don’t have to—"

“Made ‘em for you!” Hawks declared, proudly, before his smile turned sheepish. He raised one hand, to scratch at the back of his neck. “Well, technically, my friend helped me. I’m not a great baker.”

He was staring at a whole lot of nothing on the ground, fighting against his own measure of heat that burned at the tips of his ears, when he heard it. A tiny gasp, like the very beginning of a sob.

By the time he looked up, though, Dabi’s face was placid. If a little softer. His eyes glittered, blue-bright and luminescent, even from where they stood in the shadows.

“Thanks, birdie. I—I really appreciate it. This.”

Dabi smiled, almost fond, and the hero felt his own breath catch on the inhale. It was too real, this moment. Staring into the eyes of this man, specifically.

After all, he was still supposed to be infiltrating the League. Even if it felt like he was putting less effort into it by the day.

“I’m glad.” Hawks chuckled, suddenly nervous, and took a small step back. “Guess I’d better go gather my winnings from up there, huh?”

He turned, ready to stretch his wings, and almost jumped when a solid, warm weight landed across his shoulders. Dabi’s voice was close, low. He could feel the vibrations of it against his ear when the villain spoke, though he doubted that was intentional.

Nevertheless, it sent a shiver down, between his shoulder blades.

“Nah, they probably suck,” Dabi said. He was even closer, now. Hawks could feel him, a line of heat pressed tight against his side. “We’ll just split the ones your friend made. They seem like they knew what they were doing.”

***

Later, once the cover of night had truly settled over Kyushu, Hawks would fly them up to the tallest building he knew of, with the prettiest view. Dabi would twist his fingers behind Hawks’ neck as he held on, getting chocolate in his hair because the villain hadn’t been able to resist ripping into the box immediately.

They would share laughs and chocolates and get into messy, half-hearted food fights.

Dabi would smile in that nice, wobbly little way that made Hawks’ heart feel like it was about to burst out of his chest and maybe, just maybe—

Hawks would sit back, weave sticky, chocolate-smeared fingers through Dabi’s fringe in retaliation. Because he was happy, because for the first time he wasn’t alone and—

He would think, but only privately: 

Yeah, Rumi—you might have been onto something, here.

[bomberqueen17]

more replying to replies birthday edition

aisatsana441 replied to your post

“replying to replies with bonus boob-centric fic snippet”

Happy birthday!!! Despite the boob chafing, I hope you're having an awesome day and doing something nice to celebrate!

Oh it’s healed now, but last week had some moments. I am celebrating by writing boob-centric femmeslash, LOL. Later we might get takeout. I would blame the pandemic but honestly that’s sort of my ideal night out anyway.

sonnetsandswingouts replied to your post “replying to replies with bonus boob-centric fic snippet”

Boob sweat is the WORST, I end up having to put a scrap of linen in between during reenacting season to avoid Bodice Cleavage Acne From Hell due to the sweat and lack of circulation.

WHY is no lingerie ever made of linen, I fucking love linen as a next-the-skin layer. I have in the past worn bras OVER a linen camisole. If you can get the creases to be in just the right place... I think they make jersey-knit linen which would be stretchy but I have always assumed that would be too spendy for me. But-- there’s been a trend lately to make wool bras, and I suppose if you got your merino/spandex blend right they’d be fine but guess what size they don’t come in, that’s right, Average And Above = a no-go for all Ethical Fashion so I don’t know why I bothered looking through every company’s identical size charts... THat, I didn’t feel so righteously mad about because I am pretty wildly statistally an outlier with bra sizes. (Though, unlike when I was young, you now can get 36I or 38H in several places, the Internet has made a few things easier!)

anyway yes when they’re in that mood the ladies must not be allowed to touch one another. I have a patented method but the linen kerchief is 👍

sorrelchestnut replied to your post “replying to replies with bonus boob-centric fic snippet”

okay yennefer critiquing the tiddy spell was exactly what i didn't know i needed today, thank you

She’s having a great time and so am I.

“There is one thing I quite badly want to do to you,” Yennefer said, “and I promise it won’t hurt, but then after that I’d be perfectly delighted to give you a thorough demonstration of the skill you came to me seeking to learn.”

“One thing,” Keira said, raising her eyebrows.

Yennefer snapped, and the spell dissolved, and Keira’s freed breasts nearly, but not quite, fell out of her shirt. “Oh!” Keira said.

exrayspex replied to your post “replying to replies with bonus boob-centric fic snippet”

i am SO looking forward to hearing more about keira's titties, bless you. also, re: summer chafing, i recently discovered these sweat-absorbing bra insert things that you just tuck under your boobs, then put your bra on as normal, and they have been so helpful in eliminating underboob rash hell. i can send you a link to them if you want, they're cheap and so so nice

A man wrote her, undeniably, and in every tiny facet of her character you can find evidence of that, in every interpretation thusfar, but just because she was created largely for the male gaze does not mean that I cannot also gaze.

Huh! I could take a look at a link for those. I’m actually fine now-- but what happened was that I was taken in by those great tomboyx bralettes, and I bought a set of the rainbow striped one and some matching underpants, and yeah sure it’s a passable sleep bra, it keeps my boobs from escaping through my arm holes or whatever, but I wore it during the day one day because I couldn’t resist the allure of the matching set (normally unattainable at my size) and that was absolutely stupid, it was entirely unequal to the challenge of my considerable topography in conjunction with a busy active day of physical activity. So that was four or five days of last week, alas.

But-- ah yes! An exception to the Ethical Fashion Is Only For Thinner Than Average Women-- Tomboyx! Gender-neutral, and while they don’t have something for *every* body, they go from a 26″ waist to a 63″ waist, so that’s a bigger spread than the other companies I was looking at. too bad they don’t sell trousers like I need.

clotpoleofthelord replied to your post “New Fic: Learning Experiences”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, THIS IS LOVELY

well thanks. :)

A commenter just said that reading the story was like looking at Geralt’s baby pics and I am unutterably charmed by the image.

[radramblog]

Linkin Park Retrospective Part 6: The EPs

I can’t listen to One More Light yet. Don’t have it in me to tackle that. So instead, we’re going to cover the two EPs released by the band, Collision Course and Songs from the Underground.

Collision Course

…who’s idea was this?

Apparently MTVs, as part of an “Ultimate Mashups” series, though their involvement seemed mostly hands off. A 6-track Jay-Z/Linkin Park crossover album isn’t an idea I would have tried to sell, but Mike and Jay seem pretty into it based on the snippets of studio chatter you get in between tracks. The album opens with that, in fact- Chester (?) going “I ordered a Frappucino where’s my fuckin Frappucino?” is certainly one way to start things off.

I’m just going to make it clear now that I’ve never heard most of the Jay-Z tracks being mashed up here, so I can’t really comment on that end. As these tracks are mashups with songs I am quite familiar with, though, I can at least give some degree of assessment. And unfortunately, I’d argue Collision Course compares unfavourably to Reanimation as far as crossover albums go. Largely speaking the remixes done to the Linkin Park instrumentals are uninteresting, though they do match the new vocals done over the top of them, and Jay-Z is basically fine but not overwhelming.

I think my biggest issue with this album is that a bunch of the songs just drop just about everything new about them and are just the Linkin Park track for the last like minute or so- Dirt off your Shoulder/Lying from You, Jigga What/Faint, and Points of Authority/99 Problems/One Step Closer are all pretty guilty of this. That isn’t to say that the rest of these tracks aren’t good, but this in particular is a sticking point I couldn’t ignore.

Track-by-track, then. Dirt off your Shoulder/Lying from You is the most straightforward track on the whole project, and probably the biggest sufferer from eventually just being Lying from You (seeing as that’s kinda the worst of those three LP tracks). I have no idea whats going on in the instrumental from Big Pimpin’/Papercut, but the Papercut verse on top of that sounds just sort of weird- Jay-Z’s verse fits better, but also, that’s probably the one written for that instumental isn’t it. Jigga What/Faint is interesting, with the first half’s backing being a heavily remixed version of the verse instrumental from Faint, but a minute in it’s just Faint oops. With that said, Jays bars over that instrumental actually does fit pretty well.

I don’t know rap that well, I can’t really comment on the flow or anything, but while the vocals are new recordings, they are the same verses from the songs being mashed up, so some originality is lost there.

Numb/Encore is the one single from this album, and it’s definitely one of the better ones, yeah. You’ve got Mike and Jay both working together in bits, the remixed Numb instrumental feels like exactly the extrapolation you’d want for a track like this, and that “what the hell are you waiting foooooor” is super satisfying. Unlike some of the other tracks, the final bit (with Chester, yknow, doing Numb) maintains that remixed instrumental, making it stand out a bit better from the original versions, which is nice. However, Jay-Z basically just isn’t on the latter half of the track, making it extremely awkward when he did a live performance of it after Chester’s passing.

For a song called Encore, however, it’s a bit weird that it’s not the last track on the album.

Izzo/In The End opens with this really bright instrumental and Mike, thanking a live audience like it’s a concert, sure. It’s just super odd that this is the same song with the In the End vocals, the emotions not really fitting the fun of the instrumental and previous verse. It is performed significantly more light-heartedly, but it still feels like an odd fit. To be fair, though, I’m not sure what Hybrid Theory/Meteora era track would have worked better there, so fair play. The album ends with Points of Authority/99 Problems/One Step Closer, ther first half of which I actually think is better than Numb/Encore. It’s got an actual fresh verse from Mike over Points of Authority, and him doing the cop bit from 99 Problems’ pull over bit actually works super well. Unfortunately, when the instrumental switches over to One Step Closer, the song gets a bit worse- the mix on Jay-Z’s vocals is way too low for a lot of it, being drowned out by the instrumental most of the time, and the last minute is just One Step Closer again but also Jay-Z is occaisionally repeating the 99 Problems line. It’s a weak finish to an otherwise solid song and album.

 Songs from the Underground

Released in 2008, Songs from the Underground is a collection of tracks from Linkin Park Underground collated into an EP along with a couple of unreleased live recordings. Linkin Park Underground, or LPU, is the official fan club, which gets a yearly CD as part of membership that has assorted demos and live versions on it, which is where this EP pulls its tracks from- its also a set of CDs I desperately want to get my hands on but their limited nature makes their price obscene. I have managed to get LPU 9, which is the one I wanted most, but the remainder have eluded my grasp.

My precioussssssssssss

Side note, this album isn’t on spotify, and the only Youtube upload I could find was a shit recording, so you’re best off looking for each individually.

This compilation opens with Announcement Service Public (from LPU6), a pretty decent instrumental with Chester screaming unintelligibly in the background. This is more of a joke than anything- as the name suggests, it’s a PSA reversed, and reversing Chester’s vocals reveals he’s yelling a reminder to brush your teeth and wash your hands. I mean, I’ve been in an LP mosh once, and I can confirm that this was an announcement that needed making.

The second track QWERTY (LPU6), sounds like it wasn’t even written by Linkin Park, rather, one of their contemporaries. Allegedly, they wrote it on a long, long plane flight, which I could see- a non-studio environment leading to a more different track. Honestly, this could fit right on to Meteora, as much like Faint or Nobody’s Listening it’s a different take on the sound they’re known for. This one’s a lot of fun- the riffs are sick, and the chorus, if simple, is solid to sing along to. This deserves main album status.

And One is one of the tracks on this album that’s actually a rerecording off of the EP made by the band when Hybrid Theory was their name and not just their first album (though the EP was self-titled, so it’s pretty confusing). This album would later be rereleased as the first LPU, and then again (with an official video) along with the 20th anniversary edition of Hybrid Theory. And One is interesting, as it’s the first track recorded after Chester joined the band back in the day, and it’s so fucking edgy holy shit. I think it’s pretty decent, but unlike with QWERTY I’m kinda ok with this being a little by the wayside. With that said, I really like the little breakdown at the end, and the verse Mike is doing over it.

Sold My Soul to yo Mama (LP4) is a real track, huh. It’s a short, heavily electronic piece, ganking lyrics from Points of Authority and Papercut, but like, it’s mostly just Joe Hanh fucking around for 2 minutes. Not a huge fan of this one.

Dedicated (LP2) is another of this album’s better songs. It’s very Lose Yourself, that sort of emotional rap track about doing a rap track, and while obviously it’s not at the same level as that one it’s still excellent on its own. This is just such an excellent demo, one of Mike’s best performances- and considering he’s carrying it on his own (I’m not sure Chester’s even on this, unless those background aaaahs are him) that means a lot.

The next track is Hunger Strike, actually a live recording by Chris Cornell (of Soundgarden and Audioslave fame) with Chester as a feature. They were good friends, which is going to come up tragically when we get to One More Light. To be honest, though, this track kinda sucks dick. It is far from Chris’s best performance, nor Chester’s, and the instrumental is fucking boring. It picks up around the two minute mark, but at that point it just sounds like a bad Audioslave song, and I’m not really down for that, yknow. Just go listen to Like a Stone or Black Hole Sun again.

Another live recording is next, My December (a B-Side from One Step Closer, also on LPU2). My December is far from my favourite track- I think it’s kinda overdone, and this live version is so much worse. Look, it’s just Chester singing over someone (maybe him?) playing the song on piano? It doesn’t work, man. Not a fan.

The album’s final track is called Part of Me (HTEP/LPU1), and feels a lot like a better version of And One, if I’m honest. Mike’s actually going hard here in the verses, especially in the pre-chorus, and said chorus is actually pretty solid, even though the instrumental there is a little weak. It’s a slow, chugging song, heavily affected through Hahn’s DJing, that does do a nice little build to the track’s ending.

Except it doesn’t end, because there’s a hidden track in it. I don’t think this one has an official name anywhere, but it’s an electronic instrumental. It’s basically ok. Tangent, but I remember thinking when I was younger that if I was ever in a band, I’d want to write an electronic instrumental named Oxymoron- because of course, it wouldn’t have any real instruments in it.

That closes out Songs from the Underground, and I’ve never really broken it down in my head before, but it’s a lot more mediocre than I thought. The live songs are not good, and several demos or rarities that should have been on it absolutely weren’t- Across the Line, Drawing, A6, and where the fuck was High Voltage? Honestly, more of a miss than I remember. If I’m low on ideas, I might break down LPU9 individually, but I probably won’t spend any other time on LP demo stuff- I’m sure you’re sick to death of me talking about Linkin Park by now.

[hardnoctlife]

Author Asks

Decided to go ahead and answer these for anyone who might be interested.

1.       Describe your comfort zone—a typical “you” fic.

Domestic fluff, modern or school AU, with a sprinkling of angst. I’m really trying to work outside of my comfort zone, but I don’t really like too many crazy AUs.

2.       Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

I really want to do enemies-to-lovers, but it’s so hard to pull off convincingly and I’m afraid I’m going to mess it up.

3.       Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole?

MPREG…just…no. Also, most dub-con.

4.       How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

I’m currently working on a rewrite of one of my first fics “The Insomnian Academy for the Elite.” It’s called “Stand by You” in the new version! That’s it right now other than brainstorming for the Promptis Big Bang and trying to finish WDES Verse 2.

5.       Share one of your strengths.

In writing? I think I do fun and convincing dialogue.

6.       Share one of your weaknesses.

I’d say I spend more time writing dialogue than descriptions. I also sometimes have issues with pacing.

7.       Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it. 

Chapter 10 of “Write Drunk, Email Sober.” I feel like I nailed everything about that chapter, from the emotion, to the dialogue...it’s my favorite thing I’ve written.

In that moment, something clicks into place for Prompto, like being shifted from the shallow to the deep end of a pool. He realizes there is much more to Ignis Scientia than just his ease on the eyes, and Prompto knows that he wants to dive even further into his depths.  

Prompto’s smile comes naturally, full and delighted. Ignis mirrors it with his own.

“Boyfriend to Professor Scientia has a nice ring to it,” Prompto agrees. Ignis touches their noses, rubbing them together briefly before bestowing a kiss on the blond’s lips. They sink back into the bed and downwards, and Prompto is amazed to discover you can be lost and simultaneously found.

8.       Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it. 

Most of “Rain or Shine and Everything In-Between,” because I felt like the dialogue was natural and fun, but also very true to life. My favorite scene is what I think is the most hard hitting of the entire fic: 

“Tell me what’s the matter,” Ignis said as soon as the man had left the room, and Noctis made a show of studying the tips of his naga-skin boots, putting more weight on his good ankle. “Noctis?”

“I can’t do this, Ignis.”

“It’s only a tie, Noct—”

“No, this.” Noctis waved his hands at the whole room, and although it wouldn’t have been clear to anyone else, Ignis knew what he meant.

The prince’s advisor felt his heart skip a beat as he studied Noctis in the mirror, their eyes finally meeting as the prince’s chin jutted forward, stubborn, yet beautiful.

“What are you saying?” Ignis asked, pragmatic and cautious.

“I can’t do this, Iggy!” Noctis’s voice rose, skipping off the marble floors. “I won’t! I’m going to tell my father everything. I’m fucking gay for Bahamut’s sake, how I am supposed to make an heir, let alone have sex with my wife—”

“Shh,” Ignis implored, coming forward to squeeze Noctis’s shoulders in warning. “Shh,” he said a little more quietly, bringing his head to rest against Noctis’s cheek.

“I can’t—I can’t. Please, don’t make me do this!” Noctis’s heart was breaking, and Ignis’s was breaking along with it, and all this was so much more than choosing a stupid tie.

9.       Which fic has been the hardest to write?

I’d say, “Daemons that Live in the Dark.” It was the heaviest content-wise. I had to take a lot of breaks to mentally and emotionally recharge between chapters, and the ending gave me the most trouble.

10.   Which fic has bee the easiest to write?

“Write Drunk, Email Sober.” It was so fun to write, and I didn’t stop writing it from start to finish. It felt easy!

11.   Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

I’d say a bit of both. I wanted to be a writer since I was in middle school, and even aspired to be an author at one point. I didn’t rediscover it until last year when surgery made me unable to be active and I needed something to do to manage my mental health.

12.   What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

When you get stuck, don’t be afraid to skip ahead and write scenes out of order. For me, this is especially helpful because I get certain scenes in my head that I want to jot down, but sometimes have trouble leading up to them.

13.   What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Not advice, exactly, but the idea that more kudos/hits/comments on a certain fic on AO3 = good/better. There have been popular fics that I have hated, and other ones with fewer kudos, etc. that I have absolutely loved. Everything is going to hit different from person to person, so you need to be true to you and what you like and not compare yourself to everyone else.

14.   If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

“Write Drunk, Email Sober” for sure. It would be hilarious to watch.

15.   If you only could write on pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

Does OT4 count as a pairing? Because I vote that.

16.   Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

Typically from start to finish unless I’m have a particular scene in mind that I need to get out, or if I’m having trouble writing a scene I might skip ahead and go back later.

17.   Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

No…I probably should. I use prompts a lot though, and music for inspiration.

18.   Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in a basement. Do you have a muse?

Yes—my wife.

19.   Describe your perfect writing conditions.

Rainy day in a coffee shop, big latte, and spotify playlist on in the background.

20.   How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting.

I read through it once myself, let my wife read it and make edits, and then read it again. After posting I’ll read it a third time and usually still catch any errors I missed.

21.   Choose a passage from one of your earlier fics and edit it into your current writing style.

I’m currently doing this with my fic, “Stand by You.”

22.   If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?

“Stand by You” and “Dawn of the Godslinger,” mostly because I loved the concepts, but I feel like my writing has improved dramatically since I first wrote them and they’re in desperate need of updating.

23.   Have you ever deleted on of your published fics?

Yes, a few of my earlier ones. The writing and characterization was cringey.

24.   What do you look for in a beta?

My wife has an MFA and is an editor so I’m lucky to have her as my beta.

25.   Do you beta yourself? If so, what kind of beta are you?

Yes! You have to edit your own work…I look for typos/grammar errors and characterization mostly.

26.   How do you feel about collaborations?

With the right people they are a ton of fun! But if you have a bad partner they can be miserable. Overall, I really enjoy them.

27.   Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

Crazyloststar – mostly because she and I have very similar writing styles and she has GREAT characterization and very fun ideas. Definitely look up to her!

Carolyncaves – because they wrote one of my favorite fanfics ever, “Something Just Like This,” which is a great example of an ace person in a relationship and makes me think of my wife.

HigharollaKockamamie – because they wrote one of my other favorite fanfics, “The Temptation of Saint Anthony, but with This Guy,” which is the only fic that has ever made me like Ardyn.

28.   If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

Oh man...probably something by @crazyloststar

29.   Do you accept prompts?

Yes! I love them 😊

30.   Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

I like to keep character’s personalities as canon as possible, but other than that it’s fair game. My number one pet peeve when reading fanfic is when authors don’t get the characterization right.

31.   How do you feel about smut?

I enjoy it if I’m in the mood to read it, but I’m not a huge fan of writing it. I’d rather focus on the emotions behind character relationships rather than the physical aspects.

32.   How do you feel about crack?

I’m not a huge fan of crack fics, reading or writing them.

33.   What are your thoughts on non-con and dub-con?

IF and only if it is woven into a story artfully, I can tolerate it. I do not like fics that focus specifically on non-con or dub-con as being sexy or attractive, and I refuse to write those kinds of fics. With that said, one of my fics does revolve around the idea that the antagonist rapes the main character, but it is not glorified in any way.

34.   Would you ever kill off a canon character?

If it furthered the plot and I was going for angst, sure.

35.   Which is your favorite site to post fic?

Ao3

36.   Talk about your current wips.    

Currently I’m working on “Stand by You,” my Promptis HS AU rewrite, and gearing up for the Promptis Big Bang. I also still have to finish WDES Verse 2.

37.   Talk about a review that made your day.

Pretty much any of the comments on WDES…any comment, really.

38.   Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

I’ve gotten a handful. I typically delete them and move on. Otherwise, I respond to all comments.

[monstersandmaw]

Poodle the Gnoll... (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

So, @thecriticalcanuck​ has been patiently trying to get a commission off me for months for this story, and I finally had the chance to do it, so here it is.

We’ve met ‘Poodle’ before, in a snippet where he sat chatting with his friend beside a river which I can’t seem to find any more :( , and in a series of asks/idea-bouncing sessions which you can read by following the 'fluffy gnoll’ tag linked.

This story features a male gnoll, nicknamed ‘Poodle’, who ranks absolutely at the bottom of his clan because of his ridiculously fluffy coat. Humans coo over him, gnolls laugh at him and abuse him, and he has only one friend in the whole world, a mid-ranking female gnoll.

I used my previous headcanons about gnolls and their society for this one (based off hyena society), in case anyone’s curious about the social dynamics and roles etc.

Length: 3337 words Content: bullying and abuse, both verbal and physical, young orphaned child, angst, and, well, fluff.

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“Oi, Poodle!”

The shout rang out but he barely had time to flinch before a pail of freezing river muck was upended over his head. The fur, which had been standing wildly on end in the stiff wind blasting across the hunting plains, became plastered to his head in seconds, and the yipping, wheezing laughter of the other gnolls carried a long way across the whispering grasses. The commotion drew a small crowd, and his heart sank. Here we go again.  

He cursed as the foul slime dripped down his face and into his bright, golden eyes.  

“That’s hilarious! Look at him!” one of them snickered, shoving the distracted, muddy gnoll over so that he landed hard on his hip, causing more laughter.

“Hey, you could use all that shit to style that fluff of yours, Poodle,” another sneered. “Give yourself a nice quiff or something!”

“Yeah, slick it back off your face. Show all the girls those pretty eyes…”

“Or don’t! Who’d want to look at you?”

The group of four females and one male paced and circled around him as though he were a wounded satyr as he rubbed the mud from his face. He bit back the habitual hurt that blossomed in his chest at their words.  

He was used to it.  

He’d always had a coat that was three times thicker and fluffier than any other gnoll, and, being a male, he ranked lower than any female in the clan, and because of his looks, he fell below all of the other males. It didn’t matter that he was damned handy with a war axe. Outside of a raiding party, he was bottom of the pile, and even during a fight he ranked pretty low.  

“Get up,” a harsh female voice snapped, and as she joined the hooting and guffawing gnolls, she cuffed him around the ear so hard he saw stars. “For fuck’s sake, look at you. Go and bathe. We have to go into town and I won’t have you stinking like the back end of a minotaur.”

He sighed. “Yes mother.”

“‘Yes mother’,” the others all parroted, still snickering.  

The high-ranking female only shook her head in disgust at the sight of her son and stalked away as he pushed himself up onto his hind legs and shuffled off towards the winding, fast-flowing brook to wash himself off. And of course, the torment didn’t end with that single bucket of sludge.  

Herah and her best friend, Zila, were apparently not satisfied with simply messing up his coat, and followed him down to the freezing water. He was struggling to rinse the disgusting slime out of his thick fur as they trotted the last few yards over to him and pounced on him while he had his head under.  

“Wash it out well and good, Poodle,” Herah snarled in his ear as she yanked him back up, sputtering and coughing.  

“No one’s going to groom you, Poodle. But we’re gracious females. We’ll offer our help…” Zila added, placing her paw-like hand on the top of his head and dunking him again.  

Water rushed into his open mouth and he began to cough and struggle, but Herah was huge. As the daughter of the clan’s lead female, she was built for brute strength, and there was no arguing with her. She and Zila were his chief tormentors.  

Beneath all the fur, he was a lithe, muscular gnoll, and might even have been an attractive prospect for one of the females, but because of his stupid pelt, he’d never attracted anything but derision and ridicule from the females, save for one.  

Herah and Zila soon grew bored with ‘washing their little puppy’ and had left him, bedraggled and gasping on the riverbank. By the time his thick, wet fur dried off, he’d be even fluffier than he had been before all this started, and from the howls and shrieks of laughter and the looks on the bullies’ faces as he approached to the camp, that had been their plan all along.  

Kira trotted over to him just as he returned, somewhat shakily, to the encampment and gave him an affectionate noogie on the top of his head. She was taller than him, but not by much. “What’s up?” she said. “What happened?”

He shrugged. “The usual.”

“You get ‘Poodled’ again?” she asked, ears flicking softly.  

He nodded.  

“Come on, a group of us is going into town. Your mum has some things she wants to trade, and I want to talk to the blacksmith to see if I can get a new axe. You want to come with me?”

“Mother says I have to come anyway. Normally she shuts me away in her tent when she has to go, so I don’t know why I’m coming along this time. Maybe she thinks a bit of light relief among the clan while the humans coo over me will be good for morale…”

Kira punched him on the arm. “Don’t let them get to you.”

“Easy for you to say,” he snarled, lifting his lip slightly in a gesture that would never have been tolerated amongst the other females. His best - and only - friend merely laughed and slung an arm around him, nuzzling her wet, blunt nose into his ear and eliciting a high, silly laugh from him in response.  

As he’d predicted, the harsh prairie winds whipped his soft fur up into a mass of dandelion fluff by the time the small contingent arrived at the nearest town. Ordinarily, the arrival of eight or so gnolls at a human settlement would have sparked panic, but this clan was known here, and had agreed not to raid the inhabitants, in exchange for the right to trade and some degree of protection for them from other neighbouring clans.  

The two friends followed the rest of the group into the backwater town, and while his mother and a few of the other high ranking females took themselves off to barter for better weapons from the blacksmith, the pair waited by the fountain at the centre of the town. Hierarchy was everything, and, whether at war or trade, the elite got the first pick of everything.  

Lingering in the shadows, two females were watching him and occasionally yipping and laughing. He kept one large, rounded ear locked onto them, listening as they gossipped amongst themselves.  

“They’re doing it again,” he muttered softly to Zila out of the side of his mouth.

“What?”

“Herah and Zila… they’re making bets on how long it’ll take for a human to coo at me.”

“Oh fuck them,” she growled, but no sooner had she said it than a pair of human women began pointing at him and covering their mouths in a poorly veiled attempt at hiding their giggles.  

He flicked a piece of gravel into the well and turned away.  

As he turned, he caught sight of a human girl in a ragged, faded dress, with bare feet and dirty hair. Something lurched in his chest at the sight of someone so vulnerable wandering around on her own. The other gnolls spotted her a second later.  

They dropped to all fours and began to whoop and yip as they advanced. He didn’t think they’d actually hurt her, but the look on her face told him that she didn’t know that. He’d been in that girl’s position before. He knew what it felt like to have two full-grown females advancing on him, licking their teeth and laughing softly.  

Instinctively he made a step towards them but Kira grabbed his arm. “Leave it,” she warned. “It’s not worth it, and they’ll tear you to pieces. You’re not protected by the treaty; she is.”

“I don’t care,” he said, yanking his arm free. “It’s wrong. They can pick on me all they like, but she’s…” he choked a little. “She’s just a kid, Kira.”

Kira’s face softened, and he made a split second decision.  

Dropping to all fours too, he trotted over to them and circled round in front of the advancing females and behind the girl. He sat down beside her like a huge guard dog, ignoring the way it instantly demeaned himself further in their eyes, and stared straight at the females.  

Taken by surprise by his gesture of absolute defiance, they drew up short. “What’s this, Poodle?” Herah asked in a soft, dangerous drawl. He fought off a shudder of fear.  

The little girl heard the nickname, however, and giggled, all fear forgotten. “Poodle!” she exclaimed and grabbed hold of his arm, hugging him and pressing her mud-smeared cheek against the soft fur and snuggling him. “Poodle,” she repeated, almost like a prayer.

The gesture sent something soft and protective shivering through him in a way he’d never experienced before. Male gnolls were fairly well known for being the broody, protective ones, while the females were aggressive, warmongering protectors, but he’d never felt anything like that; no desire to mate, no desire to raise a brood of pups, and yet, confronted with this small, helpless human who found his fur a source of comfort instead of ridicule, he felt that feeling surge in him. He blinked, fighting the unexpected prickle of tears. It was a brotherly, even paternal, kind of protection that he’d never experienced, and it lent him strength.  

He stared the females down hard. On this, he would not back down. “Pick on someone your own size,” he growled. “There’s no sport to be had here.”

“Well, well.” Herah lowered herself down slowly onto her haunches and tilted her head, smiling humorlessly, and her friend, Zila, took a step closer to him, lips curled, canines showing.  

“Careful, Poodle,” she crooned in a low voice. “You’re courting more than just ordinary trouble if you keep this up.”

The little girl let go of him and, putting herself between the two gnolls, she crossed her arms across her chest, pouting and staring up at the female. “Leave Poodle alone,” she squeaked. “He’s a nice friend.”

Herah burst out laughing so hard she toppled over sideways, one hind leg kicking. “Oh my fuck,” she swore. “That’s precious. That’s so fucking precious. You just got told off by a fucking human pup, Zila!”

Zila took exception to that and launched herself at her friend, and the two began to scrap in a cloud of snarls and dust.

Taking the opportunity, he stood up and took a step away. Halting suddenly, he glanced down at the little girl and saw her wide eyes staring up at him. A heartbeat later he found himself saying, “Come on. Let’s leave them to it.”

Before he could turn and walk away, she slid her hand into his leathery palm and squeezed her fingers around his index finger. Tears swam in his eyes but he swallowed them down and led her quietly away from the fighting females.  

Kira stood by the fountain still, her ears pricked forwards and a dumbstruck look on her face, but she was no longer alone; she’d been joined by a male human.  

“Getting yourself into trouble again, I see, Elsie…” he chuckled at the child. “Ah, it’s a shame she’s got no one to look out for her.”

“What?” the gnoll asked, his grip tightening on her hand slightly.  

The man nodded. “Yeah,” he said heavily. “She’s nearly four years old, but her folks died a little while back and she just sort of… drifts from home to home. No one has the time or the funds to support her really.”

Kira turned her head as the group of females left the blacksmith’s, and she said, “They’ve finished. Come on, let’s go. Leave her…”

He shook his head. “You want to come with us?” he asked, and Elsie nodded.

“I love Garrett!” she giggled. “He gives me cookies sometimes.”

The fighting gnolls gave a snarl and the child cowered slightly, scuttling around to his other side.  

“You can’t keep her,” Kira hissed.  

“I know,” he retorted. “But while they’re there, I can’t just…”  

His friend sighed. “You’re too gentle, sweetheart,” she said.  

The blacksmith’s was empty in the wake of the small trading party, but the half-orc was still standing there and watching their approach from his doorway. “Well, well, Elsie,” he said when he saw the three of them. “You’ve charmed yourself a new friend, have you?”

“Poodle is my friend,” she said proudly, and, embarrassed, his rounded ears swivelled back to lie flat against his fluffy head.  

“Poodle, eh?” the blacksmith chuckled, looking the gnoll up and down. “Well, I’ve met stranger folk than you. What can I do for you?”

While Kira headed off with Garrett to look at the remaining selection of war-axes, Elsie reached her hands up and demanded, “Pick me up, Poodle!”  

He swallowed thickly. How could something so defenceless and so… so useless be so… endearing. Was this what it felt like to be a ‘proper’ male in the clan? To have his protective and nurturing instincts toyed with by the innocence of little ones? Acting on those instincts, he stooped and picked her up, settling her down on his hip and letting her sink her fingers into the thick fur of his mane. He was wearing his usual leather jerkin, but her explorative hands reached for his curved, sensitive ears, and she laughed wildly when he flicked one out of her tickling fingertips. He found a little smile on his own muzzle, and her hands then found that, and began to play with the soft, fuzzy velvet of his dark nose and lips, poking and pulling at him.

“Stop that, you pesky little scrap,” he chuckled as she yanked his ear again.  

Kira returned a while later to find him sitting with her in his lap on the floor at the foot of an anvil, whittling a little dog out of a spare piece of kindling with his belt knife. It wasn’t a whittling knife, so it wasn’t the cleanest of sculptures, but her friend had always had an artistic flare.  

She paused and watched him until he eventually looked up at her. Kira took half a step back at the look on his face. She’d never seen him look like that. Gone was the haunted look, the hunted, jumpy glances, the humiliation and torment. He looked soft and sweet, and truly happy. She swallowed the lump in her throat and sighed. Her own female urge to protect her friend suddenly intensified.  

As if responding to that, he tilted his head and whined a wordless question at her.  

She smiled and shook her head. “What are you making?” she asked, coming over and adding, “Mind if I sit too?”

Garrett looked out of the doorway into his workshop but didn’t interfere. The half-orc left them to it, pleased that Elsie was finally getting some attention.  

“I’m making her a little poodle,” he said.  

Kira leaned her cheek against his shoulder and murmured, “You could leave, you know?”

He stiffened at that, the knife falling quiet in his hands. He drew a deep breath and then let it go gently. Elsie was looking at the half-formed sculpture that lay across his palm and started to fiddle with it, her fingertips tracing the outline of the figurine. Then she yawned openly. “I could,” he said. “But… you mean, with her? Fuck, Kira, I’m a nobody. What would I do with a child? I don’t know how to raise a gnoll, let alone a human.”

Kira shrugged. “I think you’d do alright. You’ve got the empathy, you know. I think you’re the first person who’s really understood her. Or maybe she’s the first person who’s really understood you…”

He looked up at her and blinked. “Come on,” he murmured. “You get me…”

She nuzzled his ear the way he liked. “Mostly, but… I’ve never been alone the way you have. I’m a female. I have rank -”

“Despite hanging around with me,” he joked.  

Kira didn’t laugh. “Yeah. And that sucks. Your parents have practically disowned you, you’re the clan’s whipping boy, and you’re miserable. Think about it… alright?”

Elsie sighed and he felt her weight sink against his chest. She yawned again and leaned further into the warmth of his body. He murmured her name, but she was closing her eyes already. “No, no, no,” he said. “Don’t…”

He looked up and found that Garrett had returned, clearly wanting the use of his forge back.  

“Where does she live?” he asked, keeping his rough voice low and quiet.  

“She sleeps at the temple,” he said. “The priestess takes care of her mostly. When she’s got time…”

“I’ll take her back then.”

Kira took the half-finished figurine from him and slipped his belt knife back into the sheath for him, and he stood carefully. The action slightly dislodged Elsie, but she shuffled and clung to him. He looked up at Kira and said, “I… I can’t…”

“C’mon,” she said, nodding a grateful farewell at Garrett, who returned the gesture and watched the strange trio leave his workshop and head towards the temple at the far end of the town. Kira looked at the way he held her and said, “Buddy, you’re a natural at this. They missed a trick back at the clan with you…”

He smiled. “I’ve never… I mean…” he swallowed.  

“Playing house, Poodle?” a shout rang out across the street, and he froze, tail stiffening. “Happy families?”

Herah and Zila were stalking down the road, and they’d gathered a few of the others too.  

Kira braced herself beside her best friend, and Elsie stirred in his arms, waking as the tension rolled through the group. “Poodle?” she murmured.  

“Shh, it’s alright,” he said gently. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

With the innocent faith of a small child, she believed him and turned her face from the others, burying it in the thick mane around his neck.  

“No gnoll wants to mate with you,” Zila jeered, “Not even Kira here, so you’ll, what, steal a human child?”

“It’s not even stealing,” Herah cackled. “They told me that one wants that one. He’s literally just picking up the trash.”

Something snapped in him then and, unthinkingly, he handed Elsie to Kira. His lips curled back and his hackles rose. “Say that again and I will kill you,” he said. “I mean it.”

His hand found the haft of his axe and he shifted the weight of it, ready.  

Herah actually faltered. They’d seen the way males could get when defending the pups, but admittedly, that was over gnoll pups; clan pups. This was new for them.  

Kira murmured something softly to him and he twitched his ear. “What?”

“Leave it. It’s not worth it. If you get hurt, you won’t be able to see the priestess and ask if you can take care of her.”  

The steady gaze and sound advice of his life-long best friend filtered slowly through the pounding rage in his skull and he finally nodded curtly, returning the axe to its holster. Elsie was nervous, her eyes wide, but he took her gently back from Kira and turned to Herah.  

“I’m leaving.”

He turned his back on his clan, the folks who had made his life a misery, and, with one final look at Kira, one final smile, he added, “Thank you.”

“I love you,” she said. “Take care of yourself, and her, alright? Don’t vanish forever…”

“I promise.”

With his back to the red disk of the setting sun, he made his way to the temple. The priestess was more than happy for him to take the child, deciding that she’d rather keep the temple offerings to feed her own habits than feed the girl, and he continued on his way out of the other side of the village into the quiet evening.  

“Poodle?” she asked sleepily. “Where are we going?”

“You know that’s not my name, little one?” he chuckled fondly as she yawned, settling herself more comfortably into his arms.  

“What’s your name?”  

As the sun sank below the hills, he paused. Turning into the very last rays of red light, he looked back. “Aten. My name is Aten.”

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If you like gnolls, you can read Brenn’s story here: Male gnoll/hyena boy (Brenn) x female reader Part One (nsfw) Part Two (sfw ish) Part Three (sfw) Part Four (nsfw) Part Five (nsfw) Part Six/Epilogue (sfw)

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[pengychan]

Regarding your Heaven and Earth series, could you share a bit more on how Héctor, Imelda, and Ernesto’s parents met and got together?

Oh, I’d been planning to write something about it! But in the end, the focus should have stayed on the trio, so I scrapped it. 

I didn’t come around to think up anything very detailed for Imelda’s parents past the fact her father was enough of an idealist to voluntarily leave his family to go to war and die. 

With Héctor’s parents, I like to think they met when already in their thirties and had Héctor later in life, when they thought they were simply too old to actually have a child. The idea was that they both worked in the market, would look dreamily at each other from afar, and were basically Too Fucking Dumb to actually act on it, leading literally everyone else present to collectively roll their eyes and start forcing them into situations where they had to interact. (I have this image in my mind with her being a total klutz and knocking down stuff while repeatedly apologizing, while he watches from afar sighing and going “isn’t she just perfect”. And meanwhile he’s like, pouring coffee into an overflowing cup.)The wedding was no surprise. The baby that followed was. EDIT: oh wait I found some snippets about them too, scroll to the bottom! 

As for Ernesto’s parents, I actually started writing something about their first meeting. I dug it up from the scrap folder, here you go! By the time they met, Adela had no family left. Estéban never had any to begin with. 

***

The man laughed at her, which only made Adela angrier. She had worked hard to mend those trousers quickly; he shouldn’t get to walk out without paying.

“You have to pay for those!” she protested, taking a step forward. Her anger was met with a sneer.

“Or else what? You want them back?”

“I–”

“Want to come take them off?”

Three realizations hit Adela García at the same time. The first was that they were rather far from her home, halfway to the village, and that no one else was in sight. The second was that the man’s grin was just a little too wide. The third - he could overwhelm her in moments, and if he chose to–

Adela opened her mouth, to protest or scream, but she had time to do neither. She would never know whether that man had meant to do anything or was just trying to scare her away, because someone else spoke up, suddenly, loudly - more a growl than spoken words.

“How about you give her the fucking money, she stops shrieking about it, and I get to eat in peace?”

“… Huh?”

Both her and Delgado turned towards the source of the sound. There was a man sitting in the shade of a tree, which was… odd. Maybe she had seen him before, but it was hard to tell, because it was covered in dust the way only miners are, when it sticks to sweaty skin and hair and clothes. Miners usually ate their meals together, but he was a good walk away from the mine by the stream; he was sitting under a tree, a half-eaten piece of bread in his hand, glaring at them both like they’d just stepped uninvited in his living room

Adela fought back a bizarre impulse to apologize for the intrusion while Delgado scoffed. 

“You can mind your own business and keep eating, cabrón,” he snapped, and walked off. Or tried to, because the man stuffed the rest of the bread in his mouth - barely visible amongst dusty black bear - and stood. 

He was tall, broad, and probably strong as an ox, the way miners are. Delgado was not a small man, but all it took was a glance to see who would be worse off if it came to blows. And the man very much looked like he’d love an excuse to deal the first one.

“Call me that again,” he said almost calmly through the mouthful of bread. He swallowed, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Delgado took a step back, all arrogance gone. “Listen– I don’t want to fight.”

“And she wants her money. Plus an extra for making her run after you.”

“Who are you, some kind of–”

“Shut your mouth and pay her.”

For just a moment, it looked like Delgado might argue; but in the end, self-preservation prevailed over his pride. He almost threw the money at her, and left in quick strides, giving the other man a wide berth. Adela grinned - it was easily twice the amount he’d have paid if he hadn’t tried to run off, served him right - and picked up several coins. 

“Thank you for–” she began, and trailed off when she said the man was already walking off towards the mine, without another word. 

Rude. 

“What– wait! Wait a moment!”

For the second time in less than ten minutes, Adela rushed after a man - but this time not to ask for money. He stopped, turned to her, and scowled when he realized she was trying to hand him part of what Delgado had given her. 

“I need no charity,” he snapped, causing her to recoil.

“Oh! I meant no offense, it’s just– as a thank you, for helping me. This is more money than the job was worth. It seems only fair.”

He scowl softened in a look of mild surprise, and for the first time Adela noticed that, beneath the dust and grime, he was rather good-looking. In the end, however, he shook his head. Only later she’d come to know how much he despised the mere idea of charity - how humiliating he’d found as a boy, with the nuns running the orphanage reminding him to be ever so grateful for every scrap thrown his way. 

“I don’t need it.”

“Then let me offer you something to drink,” Adela insisted. “Or to eat before you go back to wor-” 

The church’s bell rang in the distance, and the man tilted his head towards it. “Got to go back now.”

“Dinner, then?”

He turned back to her, blinking. Adela’s brain caught up and oh God, she was rather sure her face was about to catch fire. That was stupid– what was she thinking– an unmarried woman living on her own, just inviting over a man she didn’t even know and had no relation to and–

“Or– or I could prepare some lunch for you tomorrow?” she spoke again quickly, faintly hoping the ground would open up to swallow her. “I’ll be making pozole, making a bit more than usual wouldn’t be a problem at all– you can come and pick it up. I’m not that good a cook but– better than just bread, no? Or maybe a few eggs, I have hens…”

He blinked again.

Shut up. Oh God. Stop talking.

“… I’d like that,” he finally said, a little astonished. He had nice eyes, a lighter brown then her own, almost amber under the sun.

*

(Ernesto has plenty of charm and precisely none of it came from his papá. But for some reason Adela’s brain short-circuited for a moment there. And by ‘some reason’ I mean ‘oh hey hot loner guy’.)

Also here’s what little I could find that I wrote about Héctor’s parents before I scrapped the idea.

“Maybe you need to sit down.”“Ricardo, I am fine.”“Maybe the baby needs to sit down.”“Ricardo.”The mixture of amusement and exasperation on Emilia’s face caused him to grin a bit sheepishly. She was right, of course - she was smart enough not to push herself too far, and countless women went on working while pregnant since the dawn of time - but he couldn’t keep himself from worrying.The old crib in their home had stood empty for so long, he couldn’t begin to contemplate the possibility something might happen and–“Mamá! Mamá! Mamá!”“I’m coming, Tito, just a moment–”“Maaaaaa…!”Making a face, Ricardo turned to the source of the unpleasant shrieking. A boy who couldn’t be older than three or four was dragging along a woman whose face was the very epitome of a suffering parent - a clear glance into what would likely become of him in a few month’s time.He couldn’t wait.“Adela! It’s good to see you,” Emilia, always better than him at recalling names, walked around the counter to greet them. “My, how he’s grown.”Adela smiled. “Big and strong like his papá. And how are you? It can’t be long before–” she trailed off when her child looked up at Emilia’s belly, as though confused, and reached up for it. “Ernestito, no! Not without permission!” his mother chided him, but he didn’t even turn: he just rested a tiny hand on Emilia’s stomach and tilted his head in a mute question. She smiled down at him.“There’s baby in there.”

Also

“Wait, what?”“What happened?”“They say something happened in the mine–”“Christ, what’s all the smoke?”“Madre de Dios!”“Someone call for–”“My husband works there.”Adela had spoken so softly, so calmly, like she was stating the weather; yet her skin was suddenly an ashen gray, her eyes huge and full of horror. Ricardo instinctively reached out to catch her should she falter, but she did not. Instead she turned - not to him, but to Emilia. Mother to mother. And Emilia knew what to say before she even uttered a word. “We’ll look after him,” she said, putting a hand on the child’s shoulder. “You go now.”

[thechaoscryptid]

Writer’s Tag Game, Bouncy’s Edition

Many thanks to @tipsyraconteur for tagging me ❤❤ I know I said this was going to be my strictly Naruto blog but there’s definitely some of my other fandoms that are going to worm their way in heh.

Rules: brag to your heart’s content, you’re awesome, and then tag 5-10 people to do the same.

I’m tagging (if you’d like to play, no obligation): @magnustesla, @scarecrowinthewoods, @dunloth, @caped-ace, @alexianite, @benicemurphy, and @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul (you Voltron peeps, it’s Ary 😉)

1) What’s a paragraph you’ve written that you’re really proud of?

From Order and Obedience (KakaIru): 

“Think Konoha’s dog is going to be an easy fuck, ranger?” Kakashi asked, eyeing every possible exit. Just in case. “That my allegiance is so easily swayed?”

“I think if you were still wearing your boots you’d be trembling in them,” Iruka said without missing a beat. “Your desire to serve the light may not make sense to me, but even I can see that the way your skin drinks in the moon would be pleasing to any god. I’m not demanding darkness, only obedience.”

2) Pick a favorite scene from your longest fic!

The scene in Wake the White Wolf (KakaIru) where Sera and Kakashi part ways. I still get chills at the lines “You are no longer my problem. I am no longer your whore.” There’s plenty of fantastic scenes from that fic, but that still remains one of my favorites. That whole arc, really, from when she finds out the news to when it’s finally 100% over. 

3) Give us a snippet of your most recent WIP:

Voltron! This is a part of one of my stories for the Sheith Big Bang coming up:

A galaxy will never be enough to contain my love for you. 

Mechanically, Keith’s hands go through the motions of powering up Black as Krolia’s voice comes through the comm link. It’s another diplomacy mission--another he’d rather skip in favor of liberating some far off colony from oppressors or just staying in bed, unmoving. The lion doesn’t speak to him the way she used to, and neither does anything else. The universe, for all its glory, has become simple.

Dull.

Grey, even with color sprays from passing planets and nebulas.

He chews on the side of his lip as he lets his head tip to the side, checking to make sure things are in order. His mother’s still rattling off information about the mission and he just wants to tell her to be quiet, he’ll figure it out on his own later. He wants to hear the ghost of Shiro’s voice whispering it loves him again.

Keith…

Ghosts are never enough, but Shiro’s I’ll love you until forever ends echoing in his head assuages the pre-mission blues. “Not that it’s ever anything else these days,” he says under his breath. Krolia asks what he said, and he blames it on a squeaky chair. “Gotta get in here and tune up the cockpit when I’m back. Project for Shiro and I.”

“Well, just as long as it doesn’t interfere with things now. You ready to give ‘em hell?”

Keith pastes a smile on his face, though he knows she’s not on the video link. “Would you expect anything different?”

4) If all of your published fics sparred, who would win and why?

Ohh, tough one...based off of stats, Wake the White Wolf, no question. Off of personal preference? Probably Crescendo (SakuOro) right now. 

5) What’s a fic/author you’ve taken inspiration from and in which one of your works did you incorporate that inspiration?

I won’t lie, Tipsy, a lot of my recent style choices came from Scar Tissue 😅 I found I really enjoy storytelling in present tense, with longer flowing lines punctuated by short lil ones for emphasis. It’s appeared in...most of my recent stuff? I switched within the last year or so.

(putting the rest under a cut because there’s some longer answers)

6) Which fanfiction character do you enjoy writing the most? In which one of your fics do you think you wrote them best?

This is another tough one xD I think I actually have to go with a three part answer here, though really, I enjoy writing so many more.

Kakashi Hatake: Shatter Me (KakaIru), best fic

Dazai Osamu: Marionette (Dazushi), best fic

Keith Kogane: since I can’t tell which one of my bang fics yet, I’ll go with my favorite published, which is Unsteady (Sheith). Truly, it’s going to be the fic from the above snippet hehe

7) Smut or fluff? Give us a sneak peek of your favorite fluffy/smutty scene you’ve written.

Mmm, smut. I’ve really got to be in the right mood for fluff, and my not-so-guilty pleasure reading is angsty smut.

My favorite fluffy/smutty scene...I think it’s probably from Reciprocity (KakaSaku)!

He wishes he still had the Sharingan to capture these moments. Sakura’s still got her thin undershirt on, but the delicate hollows of her collarbones call to him as she reaches over to light their lantern. There will be no fire tonight save for the one burning low and heavy in his stomach, as if he’s swallowed molten rock.

“Do I need to do the rest?” she says, dragging her hands up her legs as she stands. “Should I strip for you, Kakashi?”

He stands along with her and tugs off his mask first, then his shirt. Sakura gasps as the angry red of fresh scars is revealed, fingers twitching toward him before he shakes his head. “Let me,” he murmurs.

Inch by inch, the pale curve of her stomach is revealed. Shadows flicker and dance over it along with the flames, and when Kakashi pulls Sakura’s shirt the entire way off he thinks not even the prettiest sunset could compare. There’s several scars--no shinobi makes it out without them--and no shortage of muscle packed into her small frame, but somehow she makes a battleborn body beautiful.

Sakura makes life beautiful.

Her breath hitches when he tells her this, something shifting in her at the tender touch of his lips against her forehead. “You’re sure you don’t want me to just jump you right now?” she says breathlessly.

“No jumping,” he says. “Only falling.”

8) What’s a scene in one of your fics you wish you would receive fanart for?

Uh, literally any one 😅 My top choice, though, I think would be of my favorite OT3 in Desperately:

“I’ll be a lot cuter when the day comes.” Sakura shoved the bandana up and crunched her nose as she looked back with Ibiki. “You might have to leave me at the altar to catch everyone fainting at the sight of me.”

Ibiki’s laugh rumbled through the living room as he gathered her back to his chest. “We’re never leaving you there, baby, you know we couldn’t,” he said. “Or maybe we could take turns catching them. How d’you think your clothes will hold up, Rai?”

“They’ll be fine. I volunteer for catching duty as long as it’s you two falling for me at the end,” he said, spreading his arms over the back of the couch as he watched them sway. “And of course, falling into bed with me later.” Ibiki cocked an eyebrow as Sakura giggled into his scarred chest. “What, you think I”m joking?”

“Never considered it,” Ibiki said. He pulled away from Sakura to trail his hand up her arm, urging her to spin. His uniform lifted from her creamy skin and Raidou sucked in a breath as the purple lace on the bottom of her underwear was revealed. She knew he couldn’t resist those, and Ibiki certainly didn’t mind them either.

“Come here,” he said. Ibiki let her go and gave her a gentle push toward Raidou’s outstretched arms before flopping next to them as the song began to repeat. “I saw those. You can’t hide them from me.” Her hair tickled his face as he kissed over her cheek down to her ear. “Wearing my husband’s shirt and my wife-to-be’s favorite underwear, how scandalous, Sakura,” he purred.

“I’m sure your wife-to-be will be so very displeased I stole them,” she said, pulling back with a mock pout before turning to beg a kiss from Ibiki. “I hear she picked them specifically for tonight because she wanted to get laid.”

9) Would you ever consider turning one of your fics into a podfic? If no, why not?

Not on my own? I have hearing problems, so it’s just really never occurred to me. If anyone else wanted to, though, I wouldn’t say no!

10) The best (or your favourite) 5 reviews you’ve ever gotten! Don’t forget to tell us which one of your fics received them!

There’s so many 😭😭 My commenters are all fucking awesome, but I’ll trawl my saved comments for some highlights!

P5eud0Nym on Wake the White Wolf (KakaIru omegaverse): So, I just wanted to say you’ve been doing a fantastic job. I appreciate that this isn’t, and hasn’t at any point been, a dumb tropey kink fic. That you’ve taken the time to put so much heart into all of this. The fact that you’re exploring the politics, the social issues, and writing all of the characters as being more than just their A/B/O designations, so good. The multifaceted way you write is just really and truly refreshing. It’s obvious how much work and thought you put into this. You’re tackling a lot of really important stuff, from consent to civil rights, and it’s some grade A USDA certified Good Shit. Thanks for the fic and keep up the good work <3

Lilmeliz on Monster (ShigaDabi): AAAAAAA GUARANTEED I CAN BLOW YOUR MIND mwa. Please excuse the lame dua lipa reference I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I couldn’t-- Delicious. Finally some fucking good food. I want to congratulate you. This is such a beautiful, touching, heartwarming masterpiece. I even cried a little. I usually read shiggy with his dark past and his (soul) scars and all that jazz, and venturing into the thought of him having a mere fiber of good will in himself, in his actual self, is risky and prone to be ooc. But here it sounds right. It feels personal, private and even possible, my boi :( Dabi is an angel, I’m dying. I like the reminder “they lie, they kill...” Yes he’s an angel but he’s still evil. I don’t know what else to add but really, this is stunning! IM GONNA TATTOO THISSS amazing work 

Prism0467 on Forbidden (KakaIru): You have written their mutual dependency with such nurturing attention to detail I feel as if I know them. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt...embraced by a work of fanfiction before now...this may well be a first. Your enthusiasm for this pairing comes through loud and clear, I’ll tell you that :)

PearlBear on Crescendo (SakuOro): Wow. Just wow. This is brilliant, heart-wrenching, creative and extremely, extremely well-written. You have such a way with words, I was actually crying. And you adapt their lives as shinobi so seamlessly to situations that happen in real life (how many partners give up on possibilities for their significant one and get nothing in return?). This story managed to move me deeply and all the while, they all were in-character (it hurt when Tsunade looked at Orochimaru in the same way they all do, also loved how Tobirama and Madara are his parents). The omegaverse wasn’t heavy at all, instead it’s well integrated enough that I, who don’t particularly like it, barely noticed and completely accepted it. It’s just the way things are. You manage to convey so, so much in a few words. I’m amazed. So, thank you for sharing this! I am very, very excited for what’s next, whether Orochimaru experiments to save himself, whether Sakumo commits suicide (or worse, dies on this mission), whether... So many possibilities. Your story is outstanding. Thank you for writing this gem!

(insert special shoutout to Tipsy’s review of Testing the Waters...)

and no comment appreciation section would be complete without at least one from @magnustesla! 

This one from Of Scale and Steel (Sheith naga AU): Ary, sometimes I am left speechless and I don’t quite know how to articulate my thoughts after reading one of your fics. Like, everything is just so...so brilliant that it’s like my brain fucks off when I try to get my thoughts down onto a page. Turning well known and beloved characters into something else entirely isn’t easy and often they miss the mark leaving the reader not really connecting with it. But you, you are brilliant and clever in all that you write because damn, I love Naga Keith. It feels like it IS part of canon. And your oc? Super adorable and she just belongs. I really loved her interactions with Shiro and the chewing on his finger had me rollling because it reminded me of when J would test everything by chomping it. Not relevant but it sparked a good laugh from me, especially because it is totally something kids do. I’m so fucking proud of you and I’m excited to see you get your mojo back with this fandom. Love you ❤

[sculptorofbeginningslibrary]

Black Eyes & Bloodlust - Chapter 15

My Masterlist

Black Eyes & Bloodlust Masterlist

Summary: Dean has never met his Omega, never even thought there could be one waiting for him–but she’s out there, and they’re connected in ways they could never have imagined.

Characters: DeanxReader, Sam, Cass, a few OC’s

Warnings: Eventual smut so typical A/B/O warnings,Slow burn (and I mean it. SLOW BURN GUYS.)Language, depictions of mental illness, Gore and Violence, (Warnings will apply to all chapters just to cover all the bases.)

Word Count: ~3,140

A/N: New aesthetic/header by @tumbler-tidbits​ and I loveeee it! Thank you so much! ALSO! Chapter 16 WILL NOT be the last. The end is in sight, but it’s not here yet ;) 

Unbeta’d for reasons, but heavily edited by me, so if you find mistakes that irk you PLEASEEEE  message me so I can fix them :)

Enjoy!

__~*~__

Halfway to the hospital Sam broke the silence, taking a quick scan of the poor Omega girl, Carrie, to make sure she was still fast asleep before speaking. “Cas, we can’t let him do this.”

“It’s done by now, Sam.” Castiel didn’t miss the clench of Sam’s jaw, but with what he now knew, this had been inevitable. In this particular fight against Fate, they’d lost miserably. “It was done the moment we let him take her. Getting between an Alpha and his Omega is never an intelligent decision, but I felt their connection, Sam. When I healed Y/N I sensed her soul and it was--” Castiel huffed, frustration seeping through as he came to terms the new information in his head, then tried to form the words to make Sam understand. “--Her soul is damaged similarly to Dean’s. It’s whole, I think, but I don’t believe either of them will ever be the same. The Mark is--”

“I know, Cas.” Sam whispered, “I know what the Mark does.” A long silence stretched as Sam attempted to sort out what this all meant for his brother. “You know...this is the worst time for Dean to shove off into some--some, extra jacked up Bonnie and Clyde murder act. I mean Cas, she killed like nine people, and that’s only what we know of! She killed a hunter, you said so yourself. We’ve killed monsters for less, and Dean’s barely holding on as it is--”

“--It’s not her fault Sam. Y/N is not a monster, she’s a human. I would think that you of all people--”

“--It’s just that throwing himself into an Omega just as messed up as he is--” Sam’s knuckles whitened where he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“--Is a recipe for disaster, yes, I know, but they are true mates. There’s nothing we can do.”

“There always something Cas.” The silence resumed, loaded and heavy, and continued even after the girl had been properly dropped off at the hospital. 

__

Sam didn’t quite understand why Castiel hadn’t flitted off to somewhere less stressful, normally he’d be gone by now. Instead of leaving, Castiel stayed by his side as they walked back to their own motel from Lane’s.

“True mates, huh?” Sam asked after a while, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The concept was so foreign; he wasn’t sure either him or Dean had ever even believed in any such thing, especially with the lives they lived. The side streets were dark and empty, devoid of anything interesting enough to keep Sam from overthinking. The Alpha knew the Angel was right about one thing, atleast: it wasn’t Y/N’s fault she’d gotten wrapped up into this mess they’d created. Castiel nodded solemnly.

“That must be the source of their psychic connection.”

“I thought that was just some fairy tale...or just genetic compatibility or something.” Castiel shook his head.

“Not at all. They’re rare, but it is a soul connection. You probably have one waiting somewhere as well.” 

Sam avoided Castiel’s last statement. “Did you see anything else while you were in her head?” The side-eye Castiel gave him before looking away spoke volumes. “What? What did you see? Anything that could help us figure out the Mark?” Sam found he was almost afraid of the answer as Castiel inhaled deeply.

“I saw...everything Sam, but there’s nothing inside Y/N that can help us find a cure.”

__~*~__

Dean’s thick fingers kneaded into your shoulders, lazily exploring the dip and curve of your muscles. Your smile was soft as you let his tingling touches wander your skin while your fingers trailed over the keys of the cheap keyboard, playing ‘See You Again,’ the song that had been haunting him. When he’d explained how you had followed him in that way you’d had to giggle. It wasn’t your favorite song like he, and apparently Lane, thought--oh god, Lane, you thought, but pushed it away-- it just happened to be the one you’d been playing when you had collapsed the first time. It had haunted you too, you thought. It was hard to be sure.

Memories were still surfacing and rearranging inside your head, forcing you to sift through the mess. However, the night everything had begun had been clear as glass since it had come back.

An average day in your average life had ended with a glass of wine and your piano, grumbling about your shitty workday and contemplating yet another dating site until suddenly you’d found yourself in searing pain and curled into a ball on the floor. From then on it had been nothing but nightmares and sleepless nights until you’d been committed.

Telling Dean that part of the story was equal parts cathartic and painful, but you hadn’t been able to explain past being released from the facility. Those memories were still too much, but Dean knew enough to fill in the blanks on his own.

He’d dreamt your experiences as you had his.

Dean connected the timelines for you carefully, and realized you had been connected since he’d taken The Mark. Then he’d managed to explain what the Mark of Cain even was, and how he’d come to recieve it. That story had culminated with your tears but ended with you on all fours, just like every snippet of conversation the two of you had attempted since mating the first time. His bite mark throbbed deliciously, igniting the heat still simmering under your skin.

He couldn’t keep his hands off you, even when he wasn’t fucking you. The need for your skin on his was almost a physical presence it was so intense, and your scents had long ago combined into something intoxicating that kept you both on the edge of arousal for what had seemed like days, though it had only been overnight. The sunlight peeking through the curtains and spilling onto the shitty carpet was mesmerizing as you tapped the last key and held it, letting the sound linger. Behind you, Dean raised up and planted a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

“It’s so much prettier when you play it.” He mumbled, his mouth settling over his bite to worry his teeth at the healing scar.

“Mmm, yeah. I’ve had some practice...but I think I’d rather hear you sing it.” Dean knew you’d heard him sing before, while you’d been sleeping, but he groaned at the thought of having to do it again.

“Not today sweetheart.”

“Oh come on,” you turned around and pressed against him, forcing him onto his back so you could crawl over him. “I love it.” When you pecked your lips teasingly against his, Dean grabbed your hips and pinned his erection between your bodies, following your mouth up as you tried to pull away.

__~*~__

Sam hadn’t slept well, spending all night after Castiel explained what he thought had happened to you doing research. He’d sent the Angel to the bunker for some books he thought might help, but in the end Sam had fallen asleep at the little motel table, drooling over the ancient tomes until the shrill ringing of his cellphone dragged him from the fitful rest.

“Agent Betts?” Officer Bishop asked the second his call was answered.

“Hm?” Sam grunted, sleep leaving him confused for a moment. “Oh, yeah. Yes. Can I help you?” The voice was familiar, and he shook the grogginess off quickly when he realized it was Bishop.

“One of Y/N’s doctors is back at the station, and uh...he says he has information about her he needs to share, but he won’t talk to anyone but you.”

“I’ll be right there.”  After hanging up, Sam checked his messages. He hoped there would be one from Dean, but there were only three missed calls--all from Lane--and a text from Castiel about having some business to take care of. The latter worried him, but not as much as not hearing from his brother.

Half an hour later, Sam was sitting across from a seemingly different man than he’d met the first day they’d arrived. Instead of bristling when the giant Alpha walked through the door, Doctor Cameron slouched his shoulders and shifted his gaze down to the table. Sam frowned, immediately realizing the man had been through the ringer. His initial theory that both doctors were in on Y/N's situation was revised upon seeing the doctor was disheveled, sporting a deep black eye with a giant knot beside it.

“Morning, Doctor,” Sam said evenly as he dropped to the chair across from Cameron.

“I know you’re not FBI,” Cameron conspiratorially leaned forward and whispered, his normally flat voice holding a frantic edge.

“That so?” Sam raised an eyebrow, only mildly surprised at the turn of events. Maybe this doctor knew more than Sam was giving him credit for.

“Yes. I know Doctor Mara wasn’t human. And I know your name is Winchester.”

Sam didn’t like the sound of that, and leaned forward menacingly. He kept his eyes locked to the other Alpha’s and his shoulders squared. Cameron bristled when Sam’s scent strengthened, dominating his own. The hunter’s voice held a dangerous edge, telling Cameron to tread carefully as Sam growled out,  “I’m listening.”

__~*~__

“Do you think it was the hypnosis or the magic?” You asked breathily, right hand stretching over Dean’s ribs at the spot over his heart. The thick thumps were just as frantic as yours, but slowing down as he recovered from knotting you the umpteeth time.

“Huh?” He grunted before realizing what you meant. Dean shifted lower on the pillows and tucked you closer into his left side. He was enjoying these moments too much, and held you tighter for fear you could disappear at any moment. “Oh, that connects us? I dunno. Hard to tell when you mix magic and science like that.” Your unsure ‘hm’ had him pressing his lips to your forehead. Rationality was starting to creep back in as the adrenaline ramped down, leaving your bodies all but useless for the time being. “I’m sorry I did this to you.”

The apology was unexpected and you pulled away, propping your head on his bicep to look him in the eyes. “What do you mean?” The greens seemed alive as he stared at you with new intensity, guilt hiding transparently behind the vibrant colors. You couldn't recall anywhere in the story where he'd personally inflicted you with the Mark, and your confusion was obvious.

“If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be in this mess. You wouldn’t have--”

“Don’t say it,” you snapped, body stiffening against his. You held your Alpha’s gaze for a moment before burying yourself back to his chest.

“Omega,” Dean warned, but you sat up in a huff to glare at the wall, unable to meet his gaze if he was going to force the conversation.  

“I know what i did, but I don’t wanna talk about it, okay?” When you turned to look at him, for the first time you didn’t see lust...not in the way he was looking at you, nor in the way you were seeing him.

For the first time you were reminded that you were strangers. Connected in two very important, disturbingly strong, ways, yes, but still completely alienated from one another. He’d been inside your mind and your body, but the lives you’d lived were lightyears apart. Tears pricked at your eyes as you forced yourself to look back at the ugly wallpaper across the room.

Would it be possible to ever close that distance? You didn’t even know yourself any longer, how could he?

The venomous thoughts whirled in your gaze, and Dean saw them clearly because he’d seen that look in the mirror a thousand times.

“Hey,” his voice was quiet but firm as he sat up beside you, his giant shoulder bumping against yours playfully. “I’m gonna sort it out. All of it. The Mark, your...case. You’re not gettin’ in any trouble for this, sweetheart, I swear it” Your own guilt slammed into you as he wrongly assumed what you’d been thinking; the lives you'd taken, the things you'd said...you knew those weren’t your fault, but under the confusion it was still a heavy weight. 

When you looked up into his earnest gaze however, you were lost again, the chill of moments before being replaced by the familiar warmth emanating from your arm.

He hissed when you did as the warmth increased to painful levels, and a moan escaped your chest when you were forced to shake off the quick flashes of blood and eyelids. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, pulling your arm close to inspect the vague rash. When the angel had healed you it had gone away. Disappointedly, you realized you should have known it was too good to be true. Everything was going to crash down around you soon, you could feel it as well as you could smell the coming rain. “I guess even Angels can’t fix us.”

__~*~__

“Something highly unnatural is going on with Y/N,” Doctor Cameron said around a mouth full of croissant. After verifying he wasn’t full of shit, Sam had brought him to a diner for breakfast before heading to the motel to see Dean and his Omega. They needed to arrive with arms full of refreshments for the newly mated couple or risk being torn apart by Dean for even knocking on the door.

“You think?” Sam scoffed, but kept his voice low as he continued. “You let a demon fuck with a psychiatric patient. What did you think was gonna happen?”

“I didn’t know what she was!” Cameron defended. “I thought we were conducting--”

“--Highly unethical, unauthorized, treatments on mentally ill patients? Yeah, much better.” The Doctor balked at Sam’s interruption, but Sam ignored it. “In another life, I would have been the one making sure you ended up behind bars for pulling something like this, but I’ll just have to settle for fixing your mistakes instead.” Sam beckoned with two fingers toward the spiral notebook Cameron had kept on his side of the table. With a glare he slid “Doctor Mara’’s notebook across to Sam.

“We were conducting unprecedented research in the field of Omega Psychiatric Studies, I don’t deserve jail time, Mr Winchester, I deserve a Nobel!” Cameron snapped indignantly. “Doctor Mara didn’t tell me what she had going on, but it’s all in here. Very disturbing. Explains why she never let anyone look at her notes, not even Doctor Adams.” Cameron grudgingly dug back into his food as Sam flipped through the pages of a demon’s journal. He knew Cameron wasn’t lying, but he was disquieted with how easily the hypnotist had accepted this new knowledge of the supernatural, like demons were no big thing compared to the fact that his research had been compromised. It was disgusting.  

“Who’s Doctor Adams?” Sam frowned at the name, thinking it sounded familiar.

“Oh, he was Y/N’s psychotherapist. In charge of her meds and all her therapies, but Mara was always sticking her nose in since she was the lead on the case. Shame, really. Seems like he’s one of the few that actually cares about their patients in that place.” That’s where Sam knew the name from, Y/N’s file.

“Why didn’t he come when Y/N disappeared, if he cared so much?” The poor excuse for an Alpha just shrugged and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Had a full case-load when we got the news I guess. I didn’t ask because he’s a nosey asshole.” Cameron cleared his throat as he finished his food and spoke up again. “If you’re thinking about calling him, he can’t help. Only I can. You see, Y/N is still technically hypnotized.”

Sam’s head snapped up from where he’d gone back to looking through the notes in his hand, long hair whipping him in the face. “Come again?”

“Yes. When she attacked me I tried to release her from the session, but whatever dream she was in had her locked inside. Something about a man named Lester,” Sam blanched, but Cameron didn’t notice. “Then Mara pumped her full of drugs, which probably made everything worse despite all appearances. You’ll have to look in there--” he motioned to the cursed notebook that contained nothing good, “--to find out which ones, but, technically speaking, Y/N could still be locked inside a dream. I need to see my patient, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam growled, his unexpectedly protective hackles rising. It suddenly dawned on him that if Dean had marked Y/N, she was family now, and after what he’d done, Cameron would never touch Dean’s Omega again. Especially now that they had another option. “I don’t think so. We’re done here. Breakfast on me.” Sam dropped a $50 bill on the table. “Thanks for this,” he said dismissively, tilting the notebook toward Cameron before standing to his full height. Sam used all 6’4” at his disposal as he loomed over the doctor who’d assisted in the mess they were in. The atmosphere in the restaurant shifted as he did, the challenge made clear for anyone to see, or smell. “You need to go back to wherever you’re from. Today. Now. And if I ever see you again, especially near Y/N, I’ll shoot you.” Without a backward glance Sam left the smaller Alpha glaring at his back and coming to the realization that everything he’d worked for was effectively leaving with the hunter.

__~*~__

Cold showers were a staple of Omega life, but having an Alpha in there with you brought the experience to a whole new level. Dean’s fiery hands contrasted perfectly with the freezing water, soothing and exciting you simultaneously. Your nipples were sore from the constant attention, but thankfully your Alpha had realized this and softened his touches to a light caress.

The bruises littering your skin made you smile as you examined them in the dim lighting, physical evidence that you finally had the Alpha you’d always pretended not to dream of. Part of you thought maybe you’d set feminism or the Omega rights movements back a few years, but couldn’t find it in you to care as you turned in his arms under the spray. It had come with a hefty price, but when Dean’s body slotted so perfectly against yours better than anything you could have ever imagined, you knew it was worth it. He was worth it.

The dead eyes of your combined victims dancing in your nightmares begged to differ, but that could wait until reality set in.

__

A knock on the door pulled Dean from the nap you’d both succumbed to late in the morning, and he groaned as his shoulder protested the awkward position your upper body was pinning his arm into when he tried to sit up.

“Go away,” Dean grunted, already knowing the scent of his brother before he’d fully woken up. Sating his rut had helped the immediate rage he held for his younger sibling and his angelic friend, but all wasn’t completely forgiven.

“I have bacon,” came the muffled response, and a quick sniff confirmed Sam was telling the truth. He’d brought greasy diner food, which went a long way with Dean in the moment considering neither of you had eaten in almost twenty-four hours.

“Alright, hold on.” The conversation had already woken you partially, and Dean finished the job by rolling into you and snuggling his nose close to your ear. “‘Mega,” he whispered, “we’ve got company...and the company has bacon. You might wanna put some clothes on before I let him in.” He smiled when you cracked one eye open.

“Bacon?”

__~*~__

Questions? Comments? Incoherent screaming?

Bring it on!

🖤

__~*~__

Black Eyes & Bloodlust Tags: 

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[whimsicallytwisted]

Six Sentence Sunday: Massive WIP Edition

A bunch of snippets from wip’s I have that may or may not ever be finished.

1) Title: ???? This was supposed to be cute and it started getting angsty so I dropped it. I may or may not pick it back up.

Imogen’s crown of bright orange blooms and green leaves was jammed onto her head so quickly that Vyxen thought she’d accidentally snap it in two. “This is fabulous, it clashes perfectly with my hair!” A few pins ensured the acrobat could still do flips without the thing flying off her skull and she was happy to carry on her merry way, now 30% more tacky than before.

Zercey’s crown was made of lilacs and she laughed when they were handed to her. “Lilac’s mean first love,” the green haired half-blood informed her as she placed it on her head, “you basically just confessed to me.” Vyxen assured Zercey that she was the light of her life and hugged her super hard. She then used her new flower knowledge to dramatically profess her undying love to the ever patient Raemina, placing a crown of lilacs and dark purple blooms upon her head. She’d even made a mini crown for Nyxx, who accepted it less graciously. 

Scyanatha’s crown was done in moss roses, one of the few flowers of which Vyxen already knew the meaning. She did love Scy though, so it was fine and the faerie queen had been delighted to don it. Similarly, Abaddon had been happy to be thought of and titled their head forward so Vyxen could fix the extra-large crown of yellows and pinks around their horns.

Nyima’s crown had been made of pale blue and purple buds, but the ice queen politely declined it, not keen on having nature strewn about her hair. Vyxen tried not to be personally hurt by the rejection. It got harder to pretend it didn’t sting when Tundra loudly proclaimed, ‘not it,’ and vanished out of the house as fast as possible when presented with a second pale blue crown. She’d made it so his and Nyima’s matched.  Were supposed to match, anyways.

2) Title ???? Something in the Water

The upcoming battle was too great, their enemies were too many. Scyanatha and Inari were trying to remain hopeful, with hollow promises that Cthul would help and that Maraxis, the snake, would turn up with warriors at his back. She didn’t trust it. They needed more than soothing words and the hope that enemies would come to help them face other enemies.

She grabbed the hull of the small wooden boat she was borrowing from whoever owned it. It was difficult dragging it through the wet sand and somewhere in the back of her mind, that single brain cell responsible for all her good sense was telling her how stupid this was. The waves were rough, the ocean was black as the night around her and she was alone. She should ask for help, she should wait for the wind to die down, she should, she should, she should…

But she wouldn’t.

3) Title ???? Mildly NSFW, Fertility Festival WIP

There were many things that Seth thought he might find when they arrived at the small village of Akaiga. He expected homey taverns and cozy bars, maybe some vendors stopping to sell wares on their travels. What he did not expect was to walk through the village’s gate and be greeted with a 10ft tall penis statue, made of hay and mud and decorated with brightly colored ribbons. The sight was so startling that he stopped dead in his tracks to stare openly at it, unable to utter a single word to correctly translate just how confused his brain was.

“So… what the fuck?” Tundra was the first to speak, his voice figuratively breaking the ice.

“It’s a penis, haven’t you seen one before?” Imogen asked.

“I think he’s afraid of them,” Vyxen chimed in, happy to throw Tundra under the bus.

“That has to be rough,” Imogen let her eyes roam over his form in the most obvious way possible, “doesn’t he have one?”

“He does,” Nyima responded automatically. Her cheeks flushed dark blue a moment later when she realized what she’d said.

“You’ve seen it?” Imogen shook her had solemnly, “poor girl.”

“I bet it looked like a finger puppet.” Vyxen added her own view in. She, Zercey, Seth and Imogen all promptly dissolved into a pile of giggles.

Tundra did his best to ignore them.

4) Title ???? In which Avari and Salem have a moment.

Salem was silent, it was starting to concern Avari. The mission they had been on did not go perfectly, but it was still a success. No one got hurt and everything was resolved in the end. They were on their way back to Las now, with barley a bruise between them and enough supplies to last the trip comfortably. As far as she knew, there was nothing to be somber about. She expected to have to endure Salem and Ghenha being ridiculous the entire trip and depended on Rhoe to hold her back from flinging them both of a cliff to their deaths.

There we go! Excerpts from some short stories that might eventually be finished, or might never be finished. Who knows? Not me.

[decaffeinatedcatastrope]

EDIT:  jfc i forgot the readmore i’m sorry for the massive post on your dash xD So this is a snippet/draft from the big fic-in-progress, but it’s holiday appropriate and really cute.  

warnings: mentioned character death (he got better) smoking, mentions of drinking, cursing, and naughty santa innuendo between two emotionally constipated magical skeletons who can’t decide if they wanna date each other or punch each other.  except one knows he can’t be punched or he’ll die and he uses it to pester the other skeleton to no end.

-ahem-

Red and Sans are invited to Tori’s for a small gyftmas/christmas party.  It’s technically Red’s first christmas.  (Asgore is not invited for reasons, Red finds out later)  It’s...a party.  Red is a bit uncomfortable being included in the festivities, and feels a little out of place.

----- Just as Red was considering the eggnog as an escape from his state of constant, unending anxiety that someone was going to turn around and stab him, the whole party went quiet for a moment.  Everyone turned their attention to the front door, and the group of children started making an ungodly noise.   “the fuck??”  Red muttered, willing himself to get closer to the group so he could see what was going on.  Wait. That was Sans.  That was very clearly Sans, dressed up in a red, velvety santa suit and a shitty fake beard.  He hadn’t even bothered to take off his ratty slippers.  Holy shit.  Red fumbles with his soda as he tries to clap one of his hands over his mouth before he bursts out laughing.  Holy shit.  Holy shit.   Suddenly everything was worth it.  The anxiety, the stress, being around people who cared about him too much for whatever reason;  this made it all worth it.  This made his whole fucking year, seeing Sans dress up in such a stupid-- Then Papyrus screamed “SANTA!!  YOU MADE IT TO THE SURFACE!!” and practically tackled Sans.  The two skelebros laughed, and Sans patted Papyrus on the back.  They were happy. Red felt...something kinda warm and fuzzy curl up in his soul.  He gave Sans a genuinely affectionate smile, and he felt the tiniest bit proud of him for doing something like this for his brother.  Even though he’s damn sure Papyrus knows exactly what’s going on, and is just playing along because it makes them both happy. Red decided to keep his mouth shut, and tried to will the warm fuzzy feelings to chill for a bit while Sans started handing out presents to various party goers.  Papyrus and Frisk were the first, then he moved onto a couple of the Snowdin kids, Undyne and Alphys, and then Toriel. By the time he got around to Red, Red’s amusement had resurfaced, and he was trying his best to behave. He failed.  As Sans started digging around in his bag for Red’s present, Red gave him a mock-offended look as he scoffed.  “wait, no way.  after all the shi--”  Toriel gave him the Mom look.  “--stuff i’ve done this year, i’m not on the naughty list?” Sans looked a bit caught off guard, but recovered quickly with a shrug.  “eh, santa is forgiving, especially after what you’ve been through--” “damn, i’m guess ‘m gonna haveta try harder next year.”  Red gave him a wicked grin. Sans’ smile soured a little, and he shrugged.  “...well in that case, you get nothing.”  Off he went to the next person. “wh-”  That wipes the smile off Red’s face.  “wait, no, i--” “nope, too late, you’ve been bad.”  Sans stated, ignoring him. “hey!  wh...”  Red frowned at him, crossing his arms to keep himself from flipping the shorter skeleton off.  Sans almost wanted to go back and poke fun at him for actually pouting, but kept his act going. --- Later on, Sans was finally done being Santa.  After listening to Papyrus’ long explanation about how he’d missed out on meeting the jolly man in the red suit yet again this year, he just wanted to sit back and enjoy some time to himself.  Which meant finding Red.   He looked around the house, but it seemed like Red had vanished.  He had a good idea where his double probably was, though.  He asked Tori to make two cups of hot coco, then headed for the back door where the porch swing was.  For some reason, Red always ended up back here. Sure enough, Red was on the porch, although the swing was abandoned in favor of the steps.  And he was smoking again.  Sans was pretty sure it was still the same box of cigarettes Red had from the wedding. Sans didn’t try to be quiet when he opened the back door, so Red wouldn’t be too startled.  He did look back to see who was coming, but the relief on his face when he realized it was Sans was tangible.   “hey.”  Sans called, approaching quietly.   “...hey.”  Red replied, taking a drag of his cigarette.  He paused when Sans offered him a mug of coco.   Looking between his cig and the coco, Red eventually flicked his cig into the snow and took the offered mug with a warm smile.  “...thanks.” “no problem.”  Sans replied, sitting next to him on the steps.  “too much?” “...yeah.”  Red muttered, taking a sip of his coco.  He brightened.  “this is good.” “i can’t take credit, Tori made them.” “still good.  and ya still brought it to me.”   Sans hummed slightly, before nudging Red.   Red fumbled in an attempt not to spill his coco, and chuckled.  “what?” He thought he could see the faintest flicker of nervousness as Sans’ smile tightened a little.  “...you uh.  do you still want that present?” “thought i’d been too bad for presents.”  Red teased, nudging Sans back.   Sans took a moment to stare into his coco, before he set it aside and fished a thin, wrapped package out of his inventory, and held it out for Red to take.  “you deserve something, especially after i caught you pouting like a spoiled child after i told you you wouldn’t get one.” Red threw him an only slightly irritated glare and snatched the gift from him.  He was expecting something stupid, like Papyrus’ gift; a cookbook, except every recipe had ketchup in it. He wasn’t disappointed.  His gift was also a book, but it was a...coloring book?  The word “FUCK” was emblazoned on the front of it in fancy text, and framed with all kinds of artsy shit.   “the fuck is this?” Sans burst out laughing, and Red had to hold himself back from chucking the stupid thing at him.  Sans was doing that thing again, that dumb honest laugh of his turning his soul to mush with good feels. Once Sans managed to get a hold of himself, he held out a cheap pack of markers.  “it’s a coloring book.” “...Sans, it says FUCK on it.” “yeah, i saw it and thought of you.  open it.” “gee thanks, you ass.”  Red scoffed, flipping through a page or two.  He was assaulted with more curse words in fancy, flowery script.  Then, a horrible idea popped into his head.  “looks like a perfect activity to do with the kid next time i watch ‘em.” Sans’ amusement shifted to horror.  “oh god no - Tori would kill me--”  His arm snapped forward faster than Red expected in an attempt to snatch back the gift, but Red managed to hold it just out of the smaller skeleton’s range.   Red laughed as Sans tried to climb over him after the book, totally ready to chuck it across the porch if he had to.  Sans paused and gave him a strange look, a twinkle of something in his eye lights before he started trying after the book again with renewed vigor. Red kept laughing and fending him off until he felt something softly brush his skull.  A pastel shred of paper fluttered into view, and Red followed it with his eye lights until it landed on his lap.  The book was forgotten momentarily, and he didn’t even react when Sans snatched it from him. Then Sans noticed the slip of paper Red was oh so carefully holding in his hand.  A ticket, for the supernova event at Mt. Ebott observatory next year.  The same ones Red had died trying to get, weeks prior. Red said nothing, instead his gaze shifted and the two of them locked eye lights.  Sans was starting to get a little nervous.   “...you...i uh.  heard there was this big thing going on at the observatory next year, thought it’d be neat?  so i got two tickets, and uh, maybe you...could go with me?”  Sans grinned at him, but Red just continued to stare.  “i mean, if you wanted to.  i thought maybe...space was your thing too.  like mine?  i, uh...” Sans was beginning to worry that the aftermath of that whole situation might be a painful memory for Red, that it was stupid to dredge that pain back up during a time they were supposed to be happy, that-- Sans tensed when he felt Red loop one of his arms around the back of his neck, and leaned forward to click his teeth against Sans’ own, his soul welling with warm and fuzzy feelings.  He could pull away if he wanted, Red wasn’t holding onto him tightly.  But...friends don’t kiss, Sans. Sans leaned into the kiss, his arms slipping around Red’s waist of their own volition.  It was gentle, not heated or desperate.  Warm, calm, comfortable.  The two of them stayed like that for a good while, until Red pulled away first. They stared into each other’s eye lights until Red looked down at the ticket clutched in his free hand.  “...i uh.  i’d like that.  the space thing.  with you.”  Red’s voice sounded oddly tight, and it felt like his soul was getting ready to flutter right out through his ribs.   Sans wasn’t much better off.  He quickly retracted his arms to fiddle slightly with the fluff on the hem of his costume.  “good!  that’s...good.  ‘cause then i’d have an extra ticket.”  He cleared his non-existent throat and gave Red a grin.  “so uh.  you okay?” “...yeah?”  Red asked, quirking a browbone at Sans.  “why?” “no reason.”  Sans replied quickly. When it was clear Sans wasn’t gonna give him a real answer, Red scoffed and fished out his wallet.  He tucked the ticket inside, so it didn’t get...misplaced.  “it’s so hard to take you seriously in that stupid costume.”  He mused. That broke Sans out of his nervousness.  “oh, yeah i saw you trying so hard not to make fun of me.  good for you on behaving.”  Sans gave him a pat on the back. “don’t patronize me.”  Red snapped, before his expression shifted into something...warm.  Happy.  “i just...i didn’t wanna spoil it for Papyrus.  he was so fucking excited to see you show up in that stupid - sorry, to see Sansta show up tonight.” Sans shrugged.  “eh, he knows it’s me.  it’s just a thing we do.” “i figured, but he still enjoyed it.  it’s just...nice to see, ya know?  you two, doin’ nice shit for each other.  you’re a good brother, Sans.” Sans wanted to ask if Red had ever done something like that for his brother, but...something told him that he should probably keep his mouth shut about it.  “uh, thanks.” The two of them sat in awkward silence for a while after that.   “...so if you hadn’t decide to behave, what would you have said?”  Sans asked curiously.  It felt like poking a hornets nest, but he was genuinely curious, and the warmth in his soul from that kiss was stirring up other thoughts. Red snorted, before dissolving into downright laughter again, and he leaned on Sans for support.  Sans’ soul flipped in his chest at the sound. “haha, i can’t, i can’t say it.  i don’t wanna get kicked outta the house over somethin’ that stupid.” Sans casually glanced around the porch.  “we’re kind of already out of the house.” That made Red pause.  “...yeah, i guess we are, huh?” “so uh.”  Sans tugged a stray piece of fuzz off his sleeve. “why do you wanna hear what i’da said so bad?” “i need a laugh.  and a reason to put you on the naughty list.” Sans felt a twinge of regret the moment the words had left his mouth.   “oh really?  you need a reason?”  Red gave him a wicked grin, his gold tooth glinting in the dim flicker of the christmas lights around them.   “well, uh, i have plenty of reasons, but i just--”  He went silent with shock as Red maneuvered himself into Sans’ lap, the larger skeleton straddling his legs.  “uhhhh--” “oh, i’ll give you a reason.”  Red gave him a heated look.  “...how about i jingle yer bells, Sansta, and then we...fffuck i can’t--”  Red suddenly burst into laughter again.  “oh my god, that’s fucking terrible, even fer me.  ‘m sorry shortstack.” Sans was silent, frozen as his eye lights bore into Red’s own.  Red’s grin fell slightly, and his laughing ceased.  “...hey, i warned you it’d be stupid.”  His face lit up faintly red, and he moved to climb off of Sans when he felt Sans’ phalanges dig into the crests of his hips, holding him in place. “uhhhh.”  Red muttered. “uhh.”  Sans replied, looking between them.  He chuckled sheepishly.  “...i snow you wanna be on the n-ice list, but wow.  flirting with Sansta?  that’s definitely ultra-naughty list material.  i might have to stuff your stocking with something better than coal.” “holy shit." Red wheezed and started laughing uncontrollably again.  “oh my god - how - how long did you stay up last night thinking of naughty christmas puns?  holy shit, Sans!” Sans laughed too.   What was he even doing?  Had Tori put something in his coco?  “i just wanted to see if we were on the same page.”  He pointed up at the lights twinkling along the railing.  “while your pun was bit lacking, i’m de-lighted to see that you at least tried.” “we both know puns are shit and you prefer knock-knock jokes, you peppermint flavored gremlin.” “wow i take it back, you didn’t even try there.  back on the normal naughty list.” Red scoffed in mock offense. “didn’t even try??  well shit, lemme lick yer candy cane and find out what flavor it is then~” Sans’ face practically went navy at that, and he uttered a soft “fuck.”   Red snorted, pleased with that reaction.  “so, do i win now?” “y-yes.”  Sans managed to reply, hiding his face against Red’s stupid christmas sweater. “you gonna gimme a present?”  Red whispered against Sans’ skull, digging his sharp phalanges into the cheap, velvety red suit. “oh god.  uh.  not that.”  Sans shivered slightly, trying so hard not to do anything naughty on Toriel’s back porch.  But his mind was swimming with terrible puns.   “what, afraid i’ll bite?” “yes.  very yes.”  Sans was very aware of what those teeth could do.  And he wanted them no where near his...oh god. “wow, you trust me so much.”  Red deadpanned, before just...hugging Sans.  They were still in that slighly awkward position, with Red in Sans’ lap, but Red was comfortable, dang it.  He gave Sans a sheepish grin.  “hey, relax.  ‘m just playing.” “no you’re not, you’re corrupting me.”  Sans whined. “huh?” “i can’t - i can’t stop thinking of dirty puns.  oh god.  what have you unleashed.” Red laughed.  “don’t blame me fer that!  you were probably doin’ that long before i came around.” “no, i--” “hey.”  Red started.  “knock knock.” “...uh.  who’s there?” “coal.” “coal who?” “coal me if you hear santa commin’.”   Sans snorted, and Red felt some of the tension leave him.  Red smiled.  “why does santa always go down the chimney?” “i dunno, why?” “because it soots him.” Sans snorted again, before laughing. Feeling brave, Red continued.  “knock knock.” “who’s there?”   “...tanks.” “tanks who?” “tanks for givin’ me a good christmas, Sans.” “...o-oh.  you’re welcome Red.  you deserve it.”  Sans looked away with a soft smile, his face dusted with cyan.   Red shrugged.  “lies, but i’ll take it.  hey, why does Santa always land on your roof?”

“why?” Red leaned forward and whispered “because he likes it on top.”   That cyan shifted back into navy, and Sans gave Red an absolutely incredulous look.  “really?” Red grinned.  “i dunno, Sansta, you tell me.” The noise Sans made was amazing.  Red couldn’t help but laugh.  “okay okay, i’ll stop.”  He replied, trying to climb off of Sans again, but Sans still held him fast.  “...okay, my legs are fallin’ asleep here, Sans.”  He relaxed again, but jolted when he felt something that was definitely not a lump of coal, nope. “yeah?  well uh...”  Sans looked absolutely mortified, but he leaned in close and whispered something so quietly, Red almost didn’t hear it.   But he did hear it.  And his face went absolutely scarlet.  “...uhhhhehe...fucking hell, Sans.  that’s uh.  wow.  you sure yer not the one on the naughty list instead of me?” Sans still looked mortified, but he managed half a grin.  “so...uh, wanna move this party back home?” “i think we should.  ‘cause we’re probably gonna stain this fancy suit of yers if we continue.”  Red slipped his arms around Sans’ shoulders, quietly steeling himself for a shortcut. “yeah.”  Sans looked at the cups of abandoned coco, which had long since gone cold.  They really should return them.  Then he felt Red shift in his lap again, and Sans’ mind was made up.   --- “...nng.”  Red’s sockets fluttered open the next morning as the muted light of a cloudy day shined in through the window.  Right into his face.  Willing himself further into consciousness, he felt around for the familiar lump that was Sans, only to find him missing.   Swinging his arm behind him, it collided with his missing lump.  Sans let out a quiet groan at the assault.  “ow.  why.” “couldn’t find ya.”  Red mumbled, rolling over so the light wouldn’t bother him anymore.  “bright.” “mm.  i thought you liked sunlight?” “’s christmas an’ ‘m too full of lazy right now to care.”  Pulling Sans into a cuddle, Red relaxed and tried to go back to sleep. Sans snorted and let himself be cuddled.  Red’s bones still buzzed with his magic, and Sans smiled sheepishly. “merry christmas, Red.” “yeah.” “stars, you must still be tired.” “shuddap an’ go the fuck back to sleep.” “i would, but i don’t think i can.  the official Papyrus wake up call should be soon.” “the what.” Suddenly, there was a pounding knock on their door.  Red jolted in surprise.   “SANS, RED!!  WAKE UP YOU TWO LAZY BONES, IT’S CHRISTMAS!!  THERE’S PRESENTS!!”  Papyrus called excitedly, before his thudding footsteps bounded down the stairs. Now that both of them were sufficiently awake, Red groaned.  “i don’t wanna get up yet.” “we gotta.  if we don’t, i don’t think Paps’ll let the whole ‘we might not be decent’ thing stop him from barging in here to--” “’m getting up.”  Red replied, rolling himself off the bed with a muffled THUMP.  The quilt followed.   Sans laughed, before rolling himself off the bed after him.   “oof - get offa me.”  Red growled, his voice muffled by the quilt.   “huh, you’re actually kinda comfy.”  Sans replied, letting himself relax on the pile.  Red easily shrugged him off and stood up, balling up the quilt and tossing it onto the bed.   Sans let himself remain on the floor for a moment as he watched Red get dressed.  Red ignored him for the most part, but Sans didn’t miss the way his cheekbones were tinted ever so slightly scarlet.   “...i think i’ll make pancakes.  that sound good?”  Red asked after tugging his christmas sweater over his head, drawing Sans out of his thoughts. “yeah.”  Sans yawned and sat up, before retrieving a pair of shorts from the floor and tugging them on.  He wasn’t even sure if they were his.  A pair of clean sweatpants landed on his head.   “i don’t feel like having yer bro throw a shit fit over you wearing crusty floor shorts.” “they’re not crusty.”  Sans replied, picking at a questionable stain that might not quite be ketchup.  He frowned.  “sweatpants it is.” There was a clatter downstairs, and the two of them shared a look before Red left the room. --- Sure enough, Papyrus was gearing up to make them a breakfast feast.  Red yawned and took a moment to pour some coffee from the pot right into his mouth before going over and wrestling the cast iron from Papyrus’ grip.  Thankfully, Papyrus didn’t fight him.   “GOOD MORNING, RED!  MERRY CHRISTMAS!”  Papyrus beamed, before clapping an oven-mitted hand over his mouth.  “Was that too loud?” Red quirked a brow bone at him, and set the pan down on the stove.  “...no?  you don’t gotta be quiet in the house, Paps.  ‘s just us.” “...OH.  I THOUGHT YOU AND SANS HAD GOTTEN INTO THE EGGNOG YESTERDAY, WHICH IS WHY YOU WERE NOT UP EARLY, LIKE YOU NORMALLY ARE!”   “nah, i decided i wanted to remember my first real christmas without a hangover.”  Red replied simply.  “pancakes sound good?” “BUT RED, HOW WILL YOU COOK WITHOUT YOUR HANGOVER INDUCED GENIUS?” Sans took this moment to enter the room laughing.  Red shot him a glare, before giving Papyrus a tired look.  “i think i can manage pancakes.  i’ve made ‘em enough sober now that they’re not a complete mystery.” “CAN I HELP?” Red smiled. “’course, you can help me get the ingredients together.” Papyrus quickly went to go raid the fridge for ingredients.  “CAN I HAVE A SNOWMAN SHAPED PANCAKE?” “...i can try, i guess.” “can i have one shaped like a reindeer?” “yer gonna get a circle and yer gonna fucking eat it.” Sans chuckled and sipped on his coffee.  It was actually really sweet, just how far Red was willing to go to try and make Papyrus happy.  Yet something was still bothering him... Red’s brother.  Other Papyrus.  From what little Red had told him, and the... questionable things Alphys had told him, it really bothered him to imagine his sweet, naive little bro as...well, someone like Red.  Someone with LV.  Violent.  Paps had the potential to be dangerous, yes, but not the intent.   It would’ve had to be something devastating to get Papyrus to fight back to the point he gained LV.