#my summaries usually are half summary and half quote from the fic because of this too

[darsynia]

Adversarial 1/? (Bucky/Mechanic!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | RO ROLL MASTERLIST | gif by @dailybuckybarnes

Summary: The textbooks all say that finding your soulmate feels like figuring out your place in the world, something you’ve always thought was utter bullshit, but--

…but your soulmate has a mechanical arm

Word Count/Warnings: 4,000 | explicit sex

As 2/7 of my birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, adVERsarial is a Soulmate AU 'enemies to lovers' with a brash, outspoken f!reader. Stay tuned for more, and feel free to drop a comment if you'd like to be on the tag list!

Excerpt:

“Are you the lead mechanic? Stark said I could find them here.”

“I am, and I’ll be honest, I’m more than a little bummed out that those aren’t the words written all over my mitt, here,” you tell Captain America, holding up your (grime-covered, unreadable) left hand.

A ripple of… something tugs his eyebrow upward for a few seconds, and he smiles politely. “I get that a lot.”

You feel the burn of triumph in your chest and move in for the killing blow. “Oh really? I wish you’d kept a list, Rogers, because I’d love to meet more female mechanics.”

Adversarial

Your soulmate can go straight to hell.

First of all, your Words are written on your fucking hand, and it almost takes up the whole thing! Who the fuck thought that was okay?

Schools don’t let you cover your hands, did your jerkface soulmate ever think of that? No? Classic.

Oh, and then there are the bullies. So. Many. Bullies. Telling the new kids to come up and say the words to greet you was predictable, but exploiting teachers’ inherent laziness-- ‘but Mrs. DoNothing, I was just reading the words off her hand!’ --was icing on the shit sundae.

You graduated from that hellhole, moved as far away as possible, and got a job that would cover you in gunk so you wouldn’t have to think about your Words every single day.

Now it’s seven years later and your boss asks you to come along on his fancy-ass job at the Avenger Hideout in upstate New York. You’re sure you’ll be kicked to the curb when you meet Stark himself, though. The man is snark incarnate, and you can rarely pass up an opportunity to mouth off.

“‘Sit down and shut up if you want to stay alive,’” he quotes, right after the handshake. The smug look on his face is warranted, because working with the Avengers is one of the few times your soulmate words apply to regular life.

“Yeah I’ll stay standing if it’s all the same to you,” you smile, with too many teeth and everything. You usually choose something more spicy, but you really want this job. Besides, Stark’s soulmark words are well known, so you don’t have to speak to history here.

“As long as you keep your death wish to yourself like everyone else in the asylum, we’re cool. Welcome aboard.”

The Avengers Compound is pretty sweet, actually, and your coworkers don’t seem like the typical stooges. It takes almost a month to persuade them that you really do enjoy the dirtiest, toughest jobs, and after that everything is smooth, filthy sailing. It’s always a good day if you end it needing a long, hot shower and half a bottle of degreasing soap.

There’s an iPad mounted within floor-view for people to text you if they need something. It doubles as your personal DJ, so when the sound cuts out, you slide your ass out from underneath the Quinjet you were servicing to find a pair of boots standing next to it. As you rise gracefully (read: clamber) to your feet, their owner speaks.

“Are you the lead mechanic? Stark said I could find them here.”

“I am, and I’ll be honest, I’m more than a little bummed out that those aren’t the words written all over my mitt, here,” you tell Captain America, holding up your (grime-covered, unreadable) left hand.

A ripple of… something tugs his eyebrow upward for a few seconds, and he smiles politely. “I get that a lot.”

You feel the burn of triumph in your chest and move in for the killing blow. “Oh really? I wish you’d kept a list, Rogers, because I’d love to meet more female mechanics.”

Until this point, he’d been holding himself like the soldier that he is, with the same stiff courtesy you’d seen from his rare television appearances. That all falls away, now. Rogers clears his throat, hitting his fisted hand on his chest as though knocking loose his initial impression of you, then extends that hand out for you to shake.

Your eyebrows skyrocket at just how much grease he’ll end up with if he goes through it, but Captain America’s outstretched hand doesn’t waver.

It’s time for you to knock loose your first impression. You give him a respectful nod and grasp his hand firmly. The grip slips as you shake, but you don’t offer any apology, and Rogers doesn’t seem to need one, not even when there’s a squishing sound as you both disengage. You take pity on the man and snag him a blue towel from your workbench.

“So, what do you need that Stark couldn’t Lord it down here and ask for himself?”

The towel is doing nothing. “We’ve got a mission coming up that will involve some repair work mid-way. Refugee camp in the middle of a regional conflict, with aggressors who like to send self-destructive drones to ruin our day. Army thinks it’s cheaper if it’s us, and not them.” He gestures towards your large tool bag. “We’d like to get in, get fixed back up, and get out in a hurry, and Stark says you’re the…” he pauses.

“Say it.”

“‘Gremlin’ for the job,” he says, apologetically offering back the newly-soiled towel with his still-soiled hand.

“Sounds about right. Have his Jeeves give me the details, yeah?” You start whistling as you scooch back down to finish up the job you’d been working on when Rogers had come in. It takes a not-inconsiderable amount of time for him to walk back out, and you count that as a win.

They were… not kidding about the danger of the mission.

The trip out had been unpleasant as hell, gaining you some unwanted on-the-job experience with what it’s like being motion-sick under fire. As expected, the vehicle is hit by two diligent little destructo-bots, but you take care of the first one handily. Getting the second off and its damage mitigated is made more difficult by the urgency in the comms.

The team is on the way with the refugees in tow, and they want to take off as soon as they get back. Doing that with unknown damage is a terrible idea.

“All right, you heat-seeking little bot-barnacle, you ARE coming off, even if I have to pry off a panel of the ship to do it!” you snap, five minutes later. You're bluffing, since can’t even tell if the damned thing’s done any damage or if the sum total of its effect is ‘skewering the hull and sitting there smug as hell about it.’ The team is getting closer and closer, and the pounding of your heart is so loud you can hear it like a drumbeat in your ears.

They turn out to be footfalls, not your heartbeat.

A metal hand appears out of utterly nowhere and grabs the attack drone, ripping it out of the hull and throwing it with enough force to send it a half mile away. You’re left with your mouth hanging open as the owner of the hand (the arm. It’s an arm, and it’s the most gorgeous piece of machinery you’ve ever, ever seen) turns to face you. He’s wearing tactical gear and a sour expression, and every one of your blood vessels have converted themselves to gasoline at the very sight of him.

“That’s quite an arm you’ve got, soldier,” you quip.

His face twists into fierce fury as he points to the ramp leading into the Quinjet. “Sit down and shut up if you want to stay alive.”

For once in your life, you do what you’re told without complaint or combativeness. The phrase ‘internal combustion’ has never been so apt. The textbooks all say that finding your soulmate feels like figuring out your place in the world, something you’ve always thought was utter bullshit, but--

…but your soulmate has a mechanical arm.

The rest of the team shows up mere seconds later, and from there you’re caught up in the whirlwind of weight balancing, choosing what to ditch to fit every last person in the vehicle. For a few crazy minutes, it seems your grouchy soulmate might be left behind to fend for himself (you have no idea who he is, but you’re completely certain this man could wipe out the entire platoon that Rogers says is heading their way), but you and Stark figure out an overspeed hack that can work for just long enough to get somewhere safe.

You’re too busy keeping your ride in the air to think about anything else, and once you’re all back on solid ground, disembarking is a madhouse. You and Stark are the last two off the thing. He flips up his helmet and gives you one of his thousand-watt smiles.

“Great job today. Forgot to tell you Barnes was with us for this one.”

“Barnes?” you ask, distractedly running your calloused fingers over the rift where the perfect man had pulled out the drone. It looks like a patch might work, rather than having to get a piece machined. 

“James 'Bucky' Barnes. The Vodka Popsicle?” Stark comes over and makes a show of frowning at the way you’re just shrugging. “See, if you were fun, you’d be pretending you have no idea so you can milk me of all the good nicknames.”

The soulmate thing is burning a fuse in the back of your mind, and you don’t have enough left in your tank to banter. “I really don’t know, Motor Mouth. I just kept my head down and did my job.”

You smack the hull of the Quinjet and start toward the elevator bank, secretly pleased with your own stupid nickname. ‘Barnes’ sounds familiar, but you can’t place the name.

“Come on, CS, you had to have seen his arm!”

This stops you in your tracks so quickly you can almost hear the record scratch sound. Right at that moment, you realize where you heard the name Bucky Barnes: in your high school history class! This has to be fake, some stupid Superhero hazing or something.

You spin on your heel, about to accuse Stark of only remembering the name because he had a hot teacher that day, but at the very last minute you remember his father was a WWII war hero. Fine, you can go with 'snark overload' instead. “Friend of your dad’s, then? What happened? Time machine?”

“Fascist Russian trauma, actually,” he says, herding you into the elevator. “JARVIS, can you take over? I need to fly home to the Missus.”

“Wait, Stark--” He’s in the air before you can finish objecting.

One enlightening elevator ride later, you make your way to your workshop in a trance. This whole thing is a coincidence. It has to be. The man has gone through hell, vanquished hell, joined its army only to claw his way out... and his reward is what?

You?

“Took you long enough,” a voice says from the darkest corner of the space. You don’t have to guess who it is. There’s only one person it could be.

“That’s funny as hell in context, you know that?” Shit. Even to your own ears, you sound defensive. “Look,” you rush to add. “I picked this job to keep my Words to myself as much as possible, and I’ll keep doing that. I don’t want anything from you.”

You’re lying. You want a look at his arm like you want coffee in the morning, like you want air in your lungs after a brutal run. If he were anyone else you’d be planning a charm offensive, and you’re not what most people would describe as charming.

“One problem,” Barnes says, stepping out of the shadows with his flesh hand outstretched toward you. It’s so cinematic you forget he’s basically danger incarnate-- and then he makes contact.

Pleasure sizzles up from his grip on your wrist, skin to skin, soul to soul. It’s mind-numbing in the same way as the aftermath of an orgasm, so similar that you stumble a little bit when he lets go only seconds later. You’ve only read about Sensitivity or seen it depicted in movies, and neither did the full glory of it justice.

“Holy fuck,” you whisper. 

He doesn’t look affected at all. “Yeah. One hell of a weakness.” 

You go from shaken to pissed faster than the Quinjet hits cruise speed. “Get the fuck out, then! My workshop is invite only.”

“Is that right?” Barnes asks, insultingly unphased. Your arms are crossed, and he just glares right into your eyes and taps one perfectly articulated metal finger on the newly silver Words on your hand. “Stark’s AI updated our medical files. If you’re unconscious, this gets me into your hospital room. That’s invitation enough.”

Fucking great. “Well, either knock me out or fuck off, then, Barnes. I have work left to do.” Your gut is twisted metal right now, jagged and raw from disappointment and desperation. This man is a legend, a warrior with a marvel of machinery for an arm and a past that would make the devil blush. He doesn't want you, and he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t. With misery staining your heart black as old oil, you stalk over to the nearest workbench before he can tell how upset you are. 

“It’s not personal,” he says flatly.

Soulmate words are as personal as it gets, which means he’s saying it to fire you up. You won’t rise to the bait. Most people are uncomfortable with silence, but you use it as a weapon. The minutes tick by as you clean off the work table, with no other sound than the clink of metal on metal and the slide of heavy tools on the hard, solid surface. 

Soon, all that’s left is a bucket half full of sand. At least this is simple and easy to understand; a cheap, abundant material used for friction, stability, and sometimes even a mold to pour hot metal into. As you burn away your fury with your impossible soulmate staring silent holes into your back, you wonder whether you’re half as valuable to him as this.

“Look. I don’t want or need--”

You shove the bucket off the side of the work table and spin around, your next words practically exploding out of your chest. “You think I don’t know that? I get it. I’m nobody. Neither of us want--” He’s advancing on you and you hop up onto the surface of the workbench, primed to kick, scratch, and scream if he tries to melt your brain again with your goddamned soulmate connection. 

“Jesus. Just-- stay inside, will you?”

With those cryptic words, Bucky Barnes walks out.

You’re speechless, and the worst part is how much your body is craving the glorious, drugging feeling of his touch on your skin.

JARVIS calls out your name just as you force yourself to assess the sand mess you’ve tantrumed everywhere. Your ‘what?’ is as short and annoyed as you can make it.

I thought you ought to know that Sergeant Barnes spent his time after leaving the Quinjet checking on your safety. He requested I adjust the camera angle to more fully catch the doorway to your room, requested the visitor logs--

“Which you denied, yes? Yes?” you snap, gripping the broom handle like it’s your soulmate’s neck.

Of course. Despite his assertion, mutual consent is required for such things, barring a formal, legal relationship.

“For the record, it’s bullshit that it took until 1973 for that.”

I heartily agree. As I was saying, Sgt. Barnes took it upon himself to--

“Blah blah safety, you win the award for meddling, JARVIS, but what I really need from you is a magical ability to clean up this mess.”

Deepest apologies, but there is a purpose to this endeavor. The door to your suite did not meet Sgt. Barnes expectations, regarding your safety on-site.

“What the hell are you-- Wait.” You drop the broom and head out, speaking angrily up at the ceiling as you stalk down the hallway. “Tell me there’s still a door there, JARVIS.”

I’m afraid I cannot.

“Yeah, you should be afraid!” you hiss. “Tell me where he is or I’ll take a blowtorch to the wiring in the server room.”

Stark’s damned AI doesn’t even have the grace to sound concerned. 

I see why some say you have a fiery temper. Sgt. Barnes is in one of the basement sparring rooms. Shall I arrange for an elevator?

“I’ll walk, thanks.”

The bank of exercise rooms is open to everyone on campus, and the doors only close when there’s someone in there. That makes it easy to figure out where to knock.

The door swings open, and your mouth runs dry.

Barnes is sweaty, wearing only a black tank and tight pants, and the harsh hallway light glistens on the metal of his arm. You’re completely certain that touching it will feel just as good as the skin-to-skin contact earlier. You drift forward, captivated, and the door shuts behind you. The clicking sound brings you back to furious reality.

Through gritted teeth, you say, “You. Owe. Me. A. Door.”

He scoffs silently, looking you up and down as if gauging how little effort he’d have to expend against you in a fight. “Stark owes you a door. I just proved that.”

“What the fuck gives you the right--”

Barnes interrupts not with words, but with quick, jerky movements at his waist, unbuckling, unzipping, and shoving. He slaps the flat of his palm against the Words on his bare thigh and says, “This. Every single woman I came in contact with was in danger. You’re not secure here.” He strips the pants off completely and throws them into the corner of the room before advancing on you, somehow just as menacing in briefs and a tank. “Not until we get this out of our systems.”

He’s lithe as a cat, and you’re only able to stumble back a few inches and scrunch your eyes shut before he encircles your wrist with one hand. 

The cool metal is soothing despite being inexorable. You suck in a surprised breath and open your eyes just in time to watch the clever shit that is your soulmate dip his head to kiss you.

The pleasure is sudden and devastating. Your heart seizes up, stutters, and starts sending napalm through your veins as he walks you back against the wall and presses the full length of his body against yours. If each touch is a contact high, these kisses are full-throttle erotic warfare, with your brain offline and your hindbrain keening. You 'fight back' with everything you have, fingernails scratching at the back of his neck, teeth grazing his inner lip, all with your Words pulsing encouragement on the back of your hand.

If you’re not careful, this soulmate bond will acid-etch the narcotic joy of this moment right into your heart.

As if he can hear your thoughts, Barnes lets out a deep groan and pulls back to look you directly in the eyes. “This is a strategy, not a relationship.”

You’re touch-drunk, but you’re not in love. “Look, Deathsquad, I only want you for your arm.”

Barnes’ smile is like the sun coming up, damn him. “Fuck me enough to get past Sensitivity and I’ll let you have a whole afternoon with it.” As if to emphasize how much you’d both enjoy that plan, he slides his flesh hand past your waistband and grabs your ass, holding you steady for the twist of his hips.

Your smarts are offline, your lungs are at half capacity, your cunt is criminally empty, and you fully understand how people end up falling for stranger soulmates, if this is what Sensitivity does to a person. 

“Fine,” you snap, hoping to hell you sound less needy than you feel.

The two of you glare at each other for a charged second, and then there’s a race to strip the rest of your clothes off. Not even sixty whole seconds later you’re kneeling on a thick floor mat, more nervous and excited than you’ve ever been in your life, damn him. Barnes comes up behind to set a warm, drugging hand on your hip, and then it’s bliss, sexual rapture from the very first thrust.

“Fuck, that’s insane,” he rasps into your ear, his right hand coming down hard on the mat beside you as he curls over and into you. “Perfect,” Barnes breathes, the word almost a whine, like he’d tried to hold it back and couldn’t. 

You’re almost at white-out, already seconds away from the kind of orgasm that rearranges a girl’s blood chemistry, but you can’t let this one go. Arching your back and leaning to the side, you rock your hips in a cadence that unbalances the two of you just enough to force him to brace with his left, instead. You’re moaning insult-adjacent nonsense syllables now, but you gather enough willpower to clutch his metal hand with your marked one.

“Now it’s perfect,” you grit out.

Barnes’ sexy chuckle in your ear sends you into a black-out orgasm for the ages.

You wake up alone, which feels like a statement, but you notice when you roll over that you’re not sticky. The clothes you’d torn off and thrown in wild abandon are folded next to you, too. You scramble to put them on, stepping curiously into the shared adjoining bathroom to find a wet washcloth draped over the towel rack and a sticky note marked with a large B on the mirror.

“Don’t get sentimental on me, asshole,” you mutter as you snatch it off.

Crankshaft:  Don’t get sentimental on me.  Wednesday at 4? B

The words are printed, even the B, meaning that while you laid there naked and insensate, he’d gone and printed something out instead of just waking you up. On top of that outrage, someone’s told him your nickname, which for some stupid reason feels more intimate than anything that just happened. It’s something that’s just yours, not influenced by stupid-ass destiny genetics, and if he tries to use it verbally, you’ll… you’ll… You sigh. There’s not one thing you can do to influence this guy, except possibly make him angry that you exist at all.

One big Sensitivity-struck security risk, that’s what you are.

You’re about to crumple up the note when you see it’s got something else hand drawn on the back, a sequence of numbers and letters in a jagged sort of rectangle. The shape looks familiar, but you’re sated and stupid after however long without caffeine. You gather up your things and make the walk of shame back to your apartment, realizing when you’re almost there that the fucking door is probably still missing.

It’s not. There’s already a brand-new door there, and on it is another sticky note. This one’s just the hand drawn shape and accompanying symbols. You snatch it up and go inside, vindictively locking the door with both locks until you remember Barnes’ whole thing about safety.

With a sour feeling in your stomach from doing exactly what he’d want you to, you lay both notes down to examine the shapes, finally sketching them out on a third piece of paper.

The numbers and letters work out to be a room and floor number, probably for his rooms here at the compound

Combined, the shapes look just like the plating for his metal arm

You refuse to be taken in by this, even if it is right up your alley.

“JARVIS?”

At your service, Miss.

“Will you locate a small, neutral space for a… meeting between myself and Sgt. Barnes tomorrow at four, and let both of us know the location once you’re finished?” There’s no way in hell you’re doing anything that even hints at girlfriend behavior with this guy, so no bedrooms. What’s between you is literally just biology, nothing more.

If you insist.

“I do. And don’t use my nickname with him. He doesn’t deserve it.”

The singing in your veins makes a good opposing argument, but that’s just biology again, and you won’t be swayed by it. The only thing you’ll be swayed by is his marvel of arm engineering. Everything else is just window dressing to help get you through the absurd pleasure-bond shit that comes with soulmate biology.

You skip dinner and go to bed early, dreaming all night of the purr of Barnes’ muscles over and against you, the gravel-drag of his stubble on your skin, and the hum of an engine starting to rev.

to be continued...

[happiness-of-the-pursuit]

2023 Fic Round Up (Part 2: Fic Quotes)

For favorite lines, I tried to choose quotes that may have less visibility—maybe they haven't made it into a tumblr post or the summary, but I love them all the same. To make this easier for myself, I'm limiting this to quotes from my three published works that I'm the most proud of, plus the two WIPs that I've worked on the most recently.

Presented in reverse chronological order, I present fic quotes:

Unnamed Porn Star x Filmmaker AU

I literally wrote both of these as I outlined two days ago, so they have not reached their Final Form. Also, Smut Warning.

Alex is jealous of the wax. An inanimate object. For being spread across another man’s body. He’s pretty sure he’s completely lost his mind.

Moments later, Henry comes all over Basil’s hand as he uses it to stroke Henry, coating the deep blue wax that’s slowly hardening on his dick. A completely fucking mess. Alex wants to get his mouth on it.

Honey, You're Familiar (From My Mirror Years Ago) aka the Dads Fic

I've shared a lot of my favorites, but I don't know if I've shared this—pretty prose has never been a strength of mine, so I'm pretty proud of this:

June glances up at Henry, studying him for a moment. He wonders what she sees, if she can tell that he’s a crystal vase filled with a bouquet of emotions—absolutely transparent and if nudged too hard, the carefully crafted container might just crack apart, contents spilling out, shattering all remnants of what might have once been construed as beautiful.  An unavoidable mess. The hyacinths, taking up most of the space, for regret and remorse. Tulips, a bit hopeful, for forgiveness. Purple lilac, stubbornly wedged in the mix from the first moment Alex flashed his smile at Henry, for love at first sight. He thinks maybe June does catch a glimpse of the blossoms, because the next thing he knows, her eyes face softens a bit, and she’s turning back to face her cousins with her hand pressed against Henry’s back. It’s not the touch of the Claremont-Díaz sibling he craves, but it still settles him somehow, even before she speaks.

(Dil)Do It Yourself 

Chapter 1

“Pez, like the candy?” Alex blurts out. He doesn’t have much of a filter on a good day, but hot people make his porous coffee filter turn into a goddamn colander.

Also Chapter 1

"If I find that you have somehow managed to muck it up, how should I plan to contact you?” Alex grins back at Henry. He has no fucking clue why this British elf who speaks like a Victorian orphan and looks like he stepped out of a Calvin Klein photoshoot has him thinking about getting a second apartment key made, but here he is. Mentally googling routes to his nearest hardware store. “Well, usually, when it’s for business I just give out my fax,” he drawls, unable to contain his smile as he gets to the second half of his sentence. “But since I’m fairly interested in mixing this with pleasure, I guess I can share my cell number.”

Soft stuff before the less soft stuff in Chapter 3

What he’s absolutely not prepared for is the look on Henry’s face when he spots Alex entering the shop—like Alex just saved babies from a burning building or cured cancer or something. It’s way too fucking much when Henry doesn’t even know about Alex’s coffee addiction or the way he incessantly taps his foot when he’s focused or how Alex accidentally interrupts people when he starts getting really passionate in a debate. Maybe Alex can accept that Henry’s into his jokes or his smile or his dick. But basically, Henry hasn’t learned about all the other stuff that comes with spending an extended period of time around Alex. He’s not getting his hopes up. Except when Henry smiles, and softly greets him with “I missed you,” Alex absolutely gets his hopes up.

Claremont 2008 

Both of these are from the final chapter of the fic:

Henry’s sitting at his desk, a heavily annotated Norton’s Anthology of Poetry propped open to his left, a notebook full of beautiful, neat cursive laid open to his right. The soft glow of his lamp warms the small space, coupled with the changing light from the window as the early sunset fills the room with an orangey light that makes Henry appear golden, like he’s been blessed by Apollo, or Helios, or some other sun god.

Finally arriving at their door, Henry unlocks it for the first time, the movers having finished up while the two of them went over to pick up a nametag for their new roommate. After taking a few steps down the hall, they enter into a cozy living room already filled with both their book collections and their family photos all jumbled together. The Lightning Thief sits next to Pride and Prejudice like they’re two puzzle pieces aligning, a photo of Henry and Arthur on a sailboat hangs next to one of Alex sitting on his abuela’s lap: two homes side by side. 

Freaky Friday (I woke up in my enemy's body) 

Alex waxing poetic about Shaan's ass

“You can, er , go,” Alex directs him, though it comes out like more of a question. Apparently it was effective enough, though, because the guy exits, and the phrase “hate to see you go, love to watch you leave” pops into his mind when he gets a view of his ass strutting out of the room in that suit.

The Great Dick Soliloquy

Eventually, and to Alex’s great shame, he gives in. He just has to know, okay? It’ll just be a brief glimpse, he assures himself. Alex is not kidding when he says that he took one glance at Henry’s dick and it changed his life. He really did intend on it being a brief glimpse.

Thank you to @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @firenati0n @anincompletelist for the tags!

Sorry if I missed one of y'all doing this, tagging @littlemisskittentoes @ssmtskw @affectionatelyrs @read-and-write- @matherines @rockyroadkylers!

To see all my 2023 fics in Part 1, click here.

[storiesofsvu]

https://www.tumblr.com/storiesofsvu/756561724151414784/ask-game-for-fanfic-writers

How about every integer of 10? 🙏🫡

10,20,30,40,50,60,70,80,90,100

(or less if that's too much)

ooo bless!

10. at what point in the process do you come up with titles and how easy or hard is that for you?

fuck. i HATE titles. 99% of the time it's the very last thing I do and half the time i forget about it until i open tumblr to make the post. For one shots i generally read through it again and pick a phrase or repeating word and use that. For series: i'll usually pop onto discord with a brief summary and ask if ppl have ideas, otherwise i have a note in my phone of potential titles that are generally song titles or lyrics. i like my series titles to actually mean something and tie into the story whereas i dont give a fuck about the one shots LOL

20. what is your favourite trope to write?

forbidden love? we're gonna pretend that's a thing lol. like, stories have to have conflict and what's better than two people who wanna fuck/date/whatever and either can't or shouldn't, or like, their bosses would frown upon it, right? like, any and all degree of it, not particularly totally forbidden.

30. most inspirational quote you've ever read or heard that's still important to you.

christ. i cannot think of anything rn. My mind went straight to disney because there are so many things that light up my passion/motivation. the last time we were there we saw the "new" (lol) fireworks show and it had this little speech that was all "no go, let your dreams guide you, reach out and find your happily ever after" and it was kinda the resurge i needed at the time to be all "oh fuck, that's right, i just need to focus" as the old fireworks show had a bit that i like, wished on every fucking night and always made me cry about cause of how i related to it. wow i'm SO cool HA.

in high school (performing arts) certain people got to sign the theatre crossover wall at graduation and i got to and i singed it with a Fosse quote but i cannot remember it anymore for the life of me loll

40. best piece of feedback you've ever gotten?

bruh ive got no clue. i dont get/ask for feedback basically ever. esp recently people have been more just "omg so good" or "next part??" uhh... yeah, i dont think anyone ever has minus like a comment here and there with a friend when spitballing and i have a goldfish brain so i cannot remember.

50. do you plan or do you write whatever comes to your mind?

bit of both! for one shots it's usually just the prompt i was given/found and MAYBE a bit of a blurb scenario.

series: i will not start until i have a much more detailed outline and a rough idea of how it's going to end. nothing is specifically labelled and as i work on the story the outline gets longer, more fleshed out, sometimes there's full conversations or smut pieces in the outline and eventually ch's get labelled and sometimes it's like "ch 4, they go to this hotel and fuck" lol

60. where is the most dangerous place that you're written fic?

work. was stuck in the bar (that guests dont have access to) during service time with nothing else to do. my manager literally came in and teased me about not working and then later asked what i was working on and i said "fanfic, but that's all i'm telling you cause a lot o its real gay and real dirty" LOL

70. are you ever critical of your own writing? how much do you find yourself editing (either during or after the fact?)

i'm SO critical, but it's like, when i'm rereading it months down the road and it's been posted and too late to edit LOL. and it's mainly me just looking at old works that are SO trope filled and slightly cringe and include lot of the stuff that i no longer write.

I don't edit too much at all lol. I'll catch most typos or grammar while going/on a brief read through but it's VERY rare i'll actually go back to edit a full passage the next day or anything. Hence my very detailed outlines! i will edit from there to the fic cause i'll add to the outlines whenever something sparks in my brain and i know its good lol.

80. do you try to put themes, motifs, messages, morals, etc in your writing?

uhh... no? LOL. sometimes i do, and sometimes they just end up there completely by accident.

90. do you notice your own voice in your writing style?

absolutely. why do you think there's so much profanity? LOL. but also as someone who writes mainly reader insert, there is a little bit of me in every yn i write

thanks for asking!! <3 (and that's never too much lol)

[its-all-papaya]

🫧 (sheets and towels lol)

I was wondering how you usually go about outlining? I’ve always been so terrible at it so if you had any advice or even just explaining the process a bit that would be lovely.

YAY ALL MY LOADS OF LAUNDRY ARE AT LEAST STARTED TYYYY

assign me a chore!!

i'm actually probably a bad person to ask about this because i'm usually kind of awful at "outlining" fics in any definite way. however.... i do kind of have a process, it's just not usually a formal outline.

my USUAL process is to kind of just dump every thought i have related to a fic in a bullet point list that gets added to and subtracted from as the fic develops. if i have pm's with a mutual that inspired a fic, i'll copy paste those into the list to start. if i have ideas for scenes, i'll add those to the list. if there are irl quotes or events that are relevant, those also go in the list. from there, i'll kind of rearrange things in the order that makes sense (either chronologically or by "type" of thing - i.e. for the hollow hereafter, i had a section of quotes with sub-bullets that were just transcripts from each segment of media, then i had a section of "vibes" that were like "lando just wants it all to end, can't imagine ever feeling right again after how dramatically everything inside of him has shifted", etc). once they're in an order that makes my brain feel good, i put them below a page break and start typing actual sentences at the top of the fic in a blank page. then as i'm typing a fic, if i have thoughts about things i want to do down the line NOT in the scene i'm currently typing, i'll add those to the list too as not to disrupt the actual "proper" text i'm building. once i use a thought off the list, it gets deleted so i can see what's left in the bank more clearly. basically everything that is ACTUAL COPY I INTEND ON PUBLISHING gets written from the top of the doc down, then every stray thought i want to preserve gets added onto the bottom of the doc until i use it. there are usually like sections and sub-bullets on that list to keep things semi-organized.

when i DO outline more formally, such as dad lando, it's honestly kind of stream of consciousness. i started with rough, one-line summaries of what i thought each chapter might be (i.e. one was "first meeting", two was "start texting" etc etc until we get to "epilogue"). then i filled in in sub-bullets what i wanted to include in each chapter. some, such as "oscar meets emma" are like SUPER SUPER vague rn. like three sentences. some, such as "lando goes golfing with max" had really clear inspo in my head and are like two pages of rambling. because i felt strongly about how i wanted it to go, i just started typing in half-coherent sentences (honestly how i answer asks here sometimes? this is a good example of the flow i'm talking about). however, half of that extremely rushed, just-trying-to-get-it-down-on-paper musing about this golf outing is probably word-for-word going to end up in the fic because i just let my brain work. and that's how it works a lot of the time for me. i start typing thinking it's just going to be the gist of plot points, and it ends up prose i really, really like because i'm letting my brain work freely.

my MAIN advice for outlining based on my own learning curve:

write down LITERALLY every thought you have related to a fic. whether it's half a sentence, a guiding vibe, a real event that inspires you in ways related to the fic... literally anything. you obviously don't have to use it all, but sometimes those stray thoughts help re-center me when i get kind of lost in the sauce of a fic. when i'm stuck, i just scroll the list and see if anything sticks out to me to use or draw from to get me out of the block.

don't FORCE yourself to outline every moment or plot point. like i said, some of my dad lando chapters are really thoroughly outlined, some are suuuper vague. i didn't force myself to try and plan out any of chapter three bc i wasn't feeling particularly strongly about how i wanted it to go, and it just worked itself out in time as i typed instead. i've outlined what i've figured out, and i'm going with the flow with the rest. the outline mainly motivates me and reminds me what i'm building towards, ultimately, instead of dictating every little thing i want to include. i'm never afraid to say "and then ????? but they end up kissing" and revisit once the vibes have built around a moment.

may seem obvious, but outlines are not final. i've pushed sooooo much shit i meant to include in chapters one and two of dad lando to chapter four bc it didn't hit right when i thought it would. my outline for thh was like six times as long as the actual fic bc i cut out so much stuff i thought i wanted to use. outlines are literally just to keep track of thoughts, imo, and like i said, to guide you. doesn't have to be fully formed to be useful.

hope that was helpful!!! a lot of this is very very similar to how i used to process my research papers in college, so i've had upwards of like eight years now to refine my process and find what works for my brain specifically. so i guess last tip is just try different things and use what works and throw out what doesn't in terms of methodology. everybody's different!

love u good luck writing feel free to ask more about any of this if you'd like 🫶

[archaickobold]

I think for pride month, I should actually post about my ocs, and maybe share some of my writing?? I've done a lot, and these characters are near and dear to my heart and I would love to share them, the problem is knowing how, especially because I'm still learning at how to pitch things. Usually for my summaries I just take quotes from the fic, and then give a half joking summary, but that probably won't work without some established connection to the world and characters 🤔

[forabeatofadrum]

An imperfect symphony

Summary: Tempest comes to visit Percy in New York. Unfortunately, he has bad news.

Notes: Alright folks, here’s the deal. I am reading the entirety of the Camp Half-Blood Chronicles for the first time so I am totally new to this series! I finished the Burning Maze and I read the first few chapters of the Tyrant’s Tomb and all I could think of was “what will Percy, Annabeth and Nico think?”. The others of the Seven and Reyna know about Jason by know. I assume Nico felt it. That leaves Percy and Annabeth.

Here’s my take on how Percy finds out. Again, I haven’t even finished this series yet so I do not know how Percy will eventually find out (no spoilers please!) (I assume he does), but this idea just got stuck in my head.

Title is from a quote about horses, because yes, I Googled “quotes about horses”: A horse in the wind – a perfect symphony.

As I said, I am new (hello!) so I can’t remember right now if Percy’s horse powers also apply to Godly horses. I’m pretty sure this doesn’t work in canon since Tempest isn’t really a horse, but a storm spirit, but as they say, it’s my fic and I decide the reality of the situation! Enjoy!

AO3

--

Horses aren’t supposed to materialise in the living room of a New York apartment, but horses also aren’t supposed to be made of clouds and thunder.

My mom called me. I was in my bedroom, studying for upcoming tests, when she yelled my name. The tone in her voice startled me and I drew Riptide before running towards the living room.

Tempest was standing on Paul’s newly bought rug. I lowered my sword in shock. I haven’t see Tempest in a while and I definitely didn’t expect him to be here in my apartment.

My sword turns back into a pen and I tell mom and Paul that everything is alright.

“Heya, buddy,” I say and I walk towards Tempest. He lowers his head and I scratch him. “Where’s Jason?”

Percy Jackson, his voice echoes in my head. I know my mom and Paul must hear neighing, but as usual, I can perfectly understand him.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

To my surprise, Tempest’s front legs buckle and he falls to the ground. I try to catch him, which is stupid since he is literally a horse, but it’s an instinct. Once he’s on the ground, I crouch in front of him.

I come to bring bad news, he says solemnly.

Bad news. Well. I am used to that. I’ve had enough bad news to last a lifetime and I am still in high school.

“What happened?” my mind is reeling. What could he be referring to? I haven’t heard anything yet, but again, all demigod communication is off. If Tempest is the first to reach me, then what does that even mean.

Where did Tempest even go?

Really, why isn’t Jason with him? Jason is basically his human the same way I am Blackjack’s human and Hazel is Arion’s.

My stomach falls.

In that moment, I know, but I don’t want to believe it.

“Tempest, where’s Jason?” I ask again, sounding desperate, and the dread only grows.

Have you ever heard a horse cry? I have, actually. A lot of horses died in the wars, but nothing could prepare me for the wail that Tempest lets out.

He is dead, Tempest tells me, Jason Grace is dead.

Around me, glasses of water shatter. My mom yelps and Paul also has to jump away from an incoming shard. As for me... for a few second I feel absolutely nothing.

Jason Grace cannot be dead.

I stare at Tempest, as if I am waiting for him to tell me that he got it wrong, but that doesn’t happen. A sob escapes from my throat and I lean my head against Tempest. A small electric shock runs through me, but I don’t care. The next thing I know, I am full on sobbing and my mom puts her arm around me.

She doesn’t ask me what happened. I am not sure if I have the words to say it.

Tempest sadly tells me about a boat and a spear. He tells me that Piper was there too, together with two people he didn’t recognise. A teenage boy with a bow and quiver and a little girl with a bright green dress and glasses.

I recognise them as Apollo and Meg.

Tempest says that Jason’s last words were instructions. Tempest needed to save the others, which he did. And once they were safe, Piper demanded that Tempest went back for Jason, but it was already too late. Tempest carried Jason’s body to shore. When a mortal appeared, he turned around and left.

And then I came here, Tempest finishes his story.

I don’t know how long I am sat on the floor, sobbing in my mom’s arm, holding Tempest’s face. I don’t want to believe this, but Jason sacrifising himself is definitely something he’d do, because he is such a good person. Not is. Was.

He was sixteen. Like me, he was trying to find his way into this new post-war world. I feel sick. I didn’t go along with Apollo and Meg because I needed to study. Should I have gotten along and prevent this? But could I have prevented it?

I feel like I didn’t get to know Jason well enough. We were friends, but I thought I’d have time to get to know him even more. Once Annabeth and I would go to college in New Rome, Jason would be there too, busy with his plans to rebuild Temple Hill. We’d stroll around New Rome together. We’d have friendly sparring matches. We’d travel between the camps with others by our side... but that time is lost.

Tempest and I cry. I’ve seen a lot of death. Being a demigod means that there’s a high chance you die early. I’ve lived through two wars. Still, it never gets easier and Jason was one of my friends.

My friends.

“The others. Do they know? Demigod communication is a mess...”

I do not know, Tempest answers, Piper knows. She will make sure Jason will go to Camp Jupiter.

“But someone needs to tell Camp Half-Blood.”

Jason was part of both camps. Nico is still at camp, so maybe they already know, but even if they do, I have to go to camp. I have to be there.

I wipe away my tears, to no avail, and I try to stand up. My mom helps me. I am still a wreck and grief is overtaking me, but I have a mission. I need to get to camp. I need to tell the others. Camp Half-Blood also needs to remember Jason.

“Can you take me there?” I ask Tempest, but to my surprise, he says no.

Jason was the last person who ever rode on my back, Tempest explains, I’d like to keep it that way.

I nod. I understand

I will send help. Someone else can take you to camp, Tempest says. He gets up as well.

“Where will you go?” I ask.

Anywhere, Tempest answers shortly. That’s fine. He’s a free storm spirit and he can go where he pleases. I was always so grateful for Tempest help.

“I will not forget you,” I pet him again. It’s a goodbye. “We will not forget you.”

Don’t forget Jason, Tempest says in return.

“I won’t.”

And just like that, his body dissolves into the air. A string of dark storm clouds dematerialises, leaving a lightning scorch mark on the rug. For a while, it is silent apart from my sobs. My mom is holding me again and she says nothing. She doesn’t even know what just happened, so I try to tell them, but every time I try to say Jason’s name, a new round of tears hit me.

But eventually I manage to croak out the three words.

“Jason is dead.”

“Oh. Oh honey,” my mom seems lost for words too.

“I need- I need to go. I need to tell the others.”

“Of course,” my mom sounds strained. The idea of me going away after hearing someone we know has been killed must be terrifying, but she understands that I need to go to camp.

“I will be back,” I tell her.

“Be safe,” she says in return.

She tightens her hug.

“Uh, guys...” Paul trails off. He’s staring at the window and my mom and I follow our gaze.

Blackjack is flying outside of the window. My mom lets go of me so that I can walk towards him. I open the window and the cold airs hits my face. The tear tracks feel cold.

Hi boss, Blackjack sounds sad, Tempest told me you have to go to camp.

“Yeah.”

I’ve never dreaded going to camp this much. I turn around to tell my mom and Paul goodbye for now, and then I leap out of the window and land on Blackjack’s back. Together we fly to Long Island.

--

Notes: Thanks for reading. If you want some more pain, the fic for even when i’m far away, i’ll always be in your heart by Rehearsal_Dweller is a great one about Nico finding out.

[storiesbyrhi]

Angel of the First Degree - Chapter 3: Honey

Eddie Munson x Chubby & Inexperienced!Reader 4823 words A sneak peek at what to expect from this fic here

Previous Chapters: 1 - Valium; 2 - Carrie

Warnings: Anxiety; fatphobia including internalised; drug use; bullying; body issues; discussion of body function and fluids; period shame/stigma; disclosure of sexual assault (chapter 2); disordered eating and thoughts of food; shitty/abusive/critical parents; no beta; warnings updated each chapter

Synopsis: When Eddie Munson finds you in the midst of a panic attack, it is the beginning of something. A fic featuring body and sex positivity, Eddie in a dress, soft small moments, scary big truths, and all the usual special feelings you’d expect from one of my stories.

Chapter Summary: It's been three months and Eddie can't repress the feelings anymore. Bonus: Fic title context reveal and Eddie's acoustic guitar.

The whole first term drags on with painful banality. A quarter of a fucking year and Eddie can’t bring himself to hold your hand or give you the gifts he’s got a stockpile of or ask you out. He doesn’t skip a day of school unless he knows you’re not going to be there. He watches the rest of the cafeteria like a hawk scouting for danger; the moment any of the cheerleaders or basketball players look in your direction he’s creating a distraction or making you come with him to help with homework in the library.

Worse though, is he can’t stop thinking about you. All his lyrics are about you. During Hellfire, every elf and witch and princess has your beautiful face. At night, despite the women in his dirty magazines, it’s always you he’s pretending to touch.

Eddie imagines how you’d be if he had you all to himself. How your skin would be soft and responsive, dipping where his hands pressed hard. How your cheeks would be hot under his palms. How his name would sound if he could just make you feel good.

A quarter of a fucking year and Eddie was on the cusp of crying whenever you smiled in his direction, which, thank the Lord above, was a lot. That was the problem though. Eddie knew you had grown to rely on him.

You trusted Eddie and let him look after you. You let him feed you half a valium when you needed it. You let him tell Haley and Jason and Andy – especially Andy – to go fuck themselves whenever they brought their cruelty too close. You let him in on all your secrets. The way your parents treated you. The fears you had about your body not being normal because your period wasn’t ever regular and even when you shaved your legs like the magazines told you, you still had spots and roughness. He was the best friend you never had and always deserved.

Eddie was terrified of fucking that up because of some dumb fantasy that you’d love him back. So, when he accidentally painted himself into a conversation corner, no way out other than the truth, he honestly thought he was about to lose it all.

“Can I ask you something?”

Eddie was working on his Biology homework, leaning over the library table with bad posture and a worse attitude. He froze when you asked the question, his eyes darting to you.

“When we first started to… hang out, like right at the beginning, you said I wasn’t like Hayley.” Eddie didn’t remember, but you weren’t finished. “You said she gave cheerleaders a bad name or whatever.”

Eddie sat up and pushed back from the table a little. “Oh, yeah. I mean… I know I talk a lot of shit about everyone’s little… groups… but….” He shrugged. “I don’t actually think that it’s easy as all cheerleaders are prissy assholes. I mean, in Middle School Chrissy Cunningham said my band was, and I quote, ‘a bit scary but still cool,’ so…”

“But you said, me specifically, that I wasn’t like her. I just… I don’t really remember talking to you much so…”

“Ooff, should I be hurt you don’t remember one teeny tiny near-conversation we had last year?” Eddie asked, holding his hands over his bleeding heart but grinning happily.

Last year in the English class you shared? The one you were a year early and he a year late for. Eddie could see your mind searching for the memory.

“It’s alright. It wasn’t a big deal. We were doing poetry. Had to read ours out to the class. I guess I took it a bit too seriously. Should’ve gone with the gag poem.” Eddie shrugged, tried to play it off as casual, but the memory clicked into place.

Eddie had told the class his poem was a song. There was a melody and without it, the words may not flow. He’d brought his acoustic guitar to school and sung. Eddie was confident, sure that maybe he’d get an A on the assignment. Instead, all the girls laughed at him, and as one of the basketballers got up for their turn, they ‘accidentally’ knocked Eddie’s guitar over, kicking it across the room.

You hadn’t laughed. Eddie remembered the look on your face as he sang. That dreamy expression. And, when the bell rang and everyone was packing up, you walked to his desk and apologised on behalf of the basketballer. You’d said, “And it was brave, what you did. None of us could do what you do… Your song is really sweet, too.”

That was the memory in his mind. Vivid and formative.

“Your song,” you said to Eddie. He nodded. “I told you it was good,”

“Yeah, but… It was more that you were nice to me,” he admitted.

You looked at each other for a second before you looked back down at the Biology textbook.

“What did you end up getting for that anyway?” you asked.

Eddie laughed one of his hurt little chuckles and shook his head. “I passed. Barely. She said I used a gimmick to get attention.”

You frowned, angry for him. More angry than he was for himself.

How Eddie remained so kind and so bubbly was a miracle. You knew what it felt like to be ostracised, to be a pariah. It made you so prickly and sad. Eddie not only had that, but had most of the adults in his life actively working against him. How did he stay so soft?

“I’d listen to your songs all day,” you told him.

Eddie perked up, throwing his pencil onto the table and swinging back on the library chair. He looked up at the ceiling, smiling. “We could do that,” he said, then rolled his head to face you. “A secret show. Acoustic set… Just for you,”

“For me?” you said, voice lowered. You chewed on your bottom lip as you watched Eddie closely.

He nodded. “Yeah. Can’t ruin Corroded Coffin’s reputation. We’re the heaviest band in all of Hawkins, after all,”

“I think you’re the only metal band in Hawkins,” you replied with a laugh.

“Exactly. Anyone finds out I’m doing ooey gooey acoustic songs, they’ll smell blood in the water. They’ll come for the throne,” he said dramatically.

“Riiiiight. I won’t tell anyone,”

“Good. Saturday then? I can come pick you up?”

Butterflies were ripping themselves from cocoons in your stomach. There were too many of them, all fluttering in time with your heartbeat and squirming against the walls of your insides. You were shaking, felt like you needed to move, to run and jump and scream. You were warm, getting warmer, getting too hot. It took supreme effort – but you nodded. Wildly.

Eddie smiled. “Yeah? ‘Kay. It’s a date.”

…

Eddie was spiralling, his own voice echoing in his head. It’s a date. It’s a date. IT’S A FUCKING DATE?! Had he freaked you out? Made you feel pressured? Sure, it was just an expression. But you were so… What were you? How did Eddie see you?

Although he truly believed you were stronger than you gave yourself credit for, there was no doubting your fragility. Always teetering on the edge of falling apart, with only your relentless resilience pulling you into the future.

He looked at himself in the mirror and experienced a weird sort of dysmorphia. Is that me? Is that what my hair looks like? FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK. It was too late to do anything about his appearance, not that he’d know where to start.

He wore his good jeans – the black ones with no rips. They weren’t too tight, which was important because Eddie was sure he needed the room to… breathe. They sat messily tucked into his heavy boots, courtesy of Dr Marten. Most of his t-shirts were either dirty or crumpled in drawers. However, on a hanger, he found a shirt with the iconic man in a snow jacket on it, beams of light shooting from his face. Leather jacket and Dio denim vest, he was ready to go.

On the drive to yours, Eddie played Metallica so loud he couldn’t hear himself think. It left his ears ringing when he cut the engine but it was worth it. He was calmer, ready.

You answered the door almost at the same time as his knock, bouncing with joy.

“Hi!” you greeted, pushing Eddie back and closing your front door behind you both.

“Oh, you don’t want me to meet the parents?” he joked, but you ignored him, taking the lead down the path and to his unlocked van.

The drive back to Eddie’s was quiet. He watched you wind the window down and move your hand through the air, riding the waves like a dolphin. “You okay?” Eddie risked. You shrugged, kept looking out the window. “I, uh, didn’t see the ol' Ford Escort in the drive,”

“Yeah,” you replied. “They went shopping,”

“Do they know… you know, where you’re going?” he asked.

You knew what he was implying. Do your parents, who already give you shit for breathing in the wrong direction, know you are hanging out with Eddie Munson at Forest Hills Trailer Park? Do they know you’re dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight?

“I was asleep when they left,” you answered. Eddie dropped the conversation at that.

Home, Eddie welcomed you into the trailer. “This is, uh, my castle,”

“There’s… a lot of mugs,” you observed.

“Yeah. My uncle is…” Eddie looked for the right word.

“Eccentric? Like you?”

Eddie grinned. “Yeah. One of the few good genetic traits, I guess. Sometimes I hide stuff in them, but he’s never said shit about it, so guess he hasn’t found anything,”

“What kind of stuff?” you asked, walking to a shelf. On your tiptoes, you looked into them.

“Uh… Just like, stuff I pick up off the ground? Like, funny lookin’ rocks. Coins,”

“Is this a snail shell?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry – I didn’t sacrifice him. It was empty when I found it,” Eddie assured you.

You looked over at him where he was leaning on the kitchen counter. He was grinning, remembering some of the other objects hidden. Eddie really wanted Wayne to find the thing left in his Garfield mug.

“Can I see your room?” you asked. Eddie stood up straight and you saw a flash of nervousness cross his face. “Only if that’s okay!” you added quickly. “I don’t-”

“Course you can,” he said with a beckoning wave. “Right this way.”

Eddie had cleaned his room. The definition of ‘clean’ is relative though. He’d pushed anything on the floor into the cupboard or under his bed. Dirty dishes had been removed and he had neatly cast his quilt over his bed. While you slowly made your way around the space, Eddie picked up his acoustic guitar and took a seat on his bed, back to the wall.

“What’s the verdict?” he asked, glancing up at you while he tuned.

“About your room? It’s very you,” you said. Eddie chuckled. “That’s good!” you clarified.

He was used to your nervousness, but this was a different type. A happy kind of nervous. Not all the way to excitement. You were engaged, comfortable even.

You turned as soon as he started to play. The grin on your face could have been the end of Eddie.

“I promised you a show,” he reminded you.

Immediately, nothing else mattered. Despite Eddie wearing his boots on his bed, you took off your shoes and crawled onto the mattress. He moved, arched his legs up so you could sit directly in front of him. Almost between his legs, your own crossed, you lost yourself in the moment.

Eddie had never had someone watch his hands so intently. Every chord held and every note played, your attention followed the music. You didn’t get bored, even without words sung. Two songs, a stripped back version of Wild Child by W.A.SP. and the instrumental Ozzy song Dee, and you were still wide-eyed and happy.

“Are they both from your metal bands?” you asked.

Eddie nodded, smiled at ‘your metal bands,’ then told you, “Yeah, but I have leant something new. Not my usual sound, ya know? But I could use your opinion.” Eddie started to play but stopped suddenly. “And, ah, I’m gonna sing this one. ‘Kay?”

You nodded eagerly, squirming a little to get closer.

B flat, D minor, E flat, F. You recognised it and let out a gasp. Eddie grinned between the lyrics he had begun to sing.

You can take all the tea in China, put it in a big brown bag for me.

Eddie had spent a while learning a song… for you. It had to be for you. As he got to the chorus, you didn’t catch the tear in time, and it rolled down your cheek and dripped from your face.

She’s as sweet as tupelo honey. She’s an angel of the first degree.

Eddie wasn’t really a Van Morrison fan. You’d begged him to listen to more, promising that he’d love the storytelling and melodies.

You can’t stop us on the road to freedom. You can’t keep us ‘cause our eyes can see.

It wasn’t your favourite of his songs, but that made it better. It meant Eddie had listened to his records. He’d picked this one in particular. Did it remind him of you?

She’s as sweet as tupelo honey. Just like honey, baby, from the bee.

Eddie couldn’t watch you. You’d brought your hands to your face, trying to soak up the tears before they made a mess of you. He’d done good, he knew.

Oh, you know she’s alright. You know she’s alright with me. She’s an angel.

He focused on strumming, on getting the words right.

She’s my babe, yeah, don’t you know right. She’s my baby babe, she’s my babe, yeah, don’t you know. She’s my baby.

Eddie drew the line at jazz scat, but he hummed out the song, added an extra ‘she’s an angel’ or two, then fell silent. Your gaze was still on his hands. Eddie knew you well enough to know you needed a moment. When a few had passed, he did what he did best - attempted to break the tension with a joke.

“That bad, huh?”

You looked at him, expressionless but easy to read. It didn’t matter how obvious the act was, all your insecurities would be finding reasons to not believe it. Eddie could almost hear your brain telling you that it was a coincidence that he’d played you a Van Morrison song. And even if he picked it for you, it didn’t mean anything.

Eddie took a deep breath as he put his guitar on the ground beside the bed.

“You were right. He’s an excellent songwriter,” Eddie said as he kicked off his boots and sat cross-legged like you.

“What was your favourite song?” you asked, voice cracking.

He didn’t want to talk about Van Morrison, but if it helped. “I haven’t listened to his whole discography. There’s a lot. But, gotta give it to Listen to the Lion.”

You laughed. “Of course, you do!”

“What?”

“You would pick the longest song ever,” you said.

“Yeah, didn’t really think other genres did it. So, thank you for the education,”

“You’re welcome.”

The banter hadn’t really broken the tension as Eddie had hoped. You were still an exposed nerve, waiting to be cauterised.

“So, um, just in case it wasn’t… clear… That was… for you. I learnt that for you,” Eddie stated. He’d lost your eye contact and he was terrified he was going to lose more. “Figured Crazy Love might be a bit too obvious...”

Ever since he’d found you behind the woodwork shed, Eddie had been at the forefront of your mind. How had you gone so long not noticing him? How had you sat by Hayley and the others as they gossiped and bullied? You felt so guilty and bad. You felt like a bad person.

Eddie was more than kind. He’d invited you into his world, shared his friends. He told you everything, all the time. Told you about how Wayne slept on a fold-up bed. About his childhood and lack of parents. He told you when his pee was a weird colour. He let you pop his pimples. He created the type of friendship where you were almost excited to tell him the things you thought were strange or gross. He loved hearing about it all so much that it felt like you were rewarding him with every piece of information.

You’d convinced yourself that the type of friendship meant you were ‘one of the boys.’ You’d spent three months repressing any thought that you meant something special to him. And then, he sang you Tupelo Honey and the foundations of your walls were crumbling, everything threatening to collapse.

“Listen,” Eddie started again, trying to get it right. “I know you’re… That you’ve been through some fucked up shit… And you can, you know, tell me if I’m way off here. Say the word and I’ll shut the fuck up and never bring it up again. If that’s what you want… But, um, I kind of think you’re…”

You were biting your tongue so hard that you’d be able to feel teeth marks for a while, but you still forced yourself to look up at Eddie, at the vulnerable expression on his face.

“Super fucking cool,” he whispered. “Like… Basically the dream.”

The thoughts shredded through Eddie’s head faster than the time he tried coke and decided never again. It was all jesusHchristwhatthefuckamIdoingthisissostupiddon’tfuckthisupI’mfuckingthisup. Meanwhile, your mind had simply stopped. No thought. No feelings. Not even a grey buzz of white noise.

Eddie’s big brown baby cow eyes watched you for a reaction. He waited while your lips parted, a breath escaping just to be sucked back in too quickly.

He couldn’t stop himself. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna… Like… I don’t know. Whatever. Whatever you want is good with me. I want what you want. Or whatever. What… Uh, what… do you want?”

You.

Eddie. You wanted him. That was an easy answer but you still had to fight the urge to answer with an annoying, ‘well, what do you want?’

You could be brave. You’d done it before. You’d survived.

“I want, um.. this,” was the best way you could word it. Eddie nodded, which helped. “I’ve, um, never had a boyfriend. Even when I was like, thin and cheered.” Eddie stopped himself from interrupting. He was desperate for you to stop making that the highpoint of your existence, but he couldn’t believe he was so close to getting what he wanted. He kept his mouth shut as you continued. “I don’t… I don’t know what I’m meant to do… Or what… like, I’m… okay with. But… I want to find out.”

Eddie nodded again. “Yeah. I’ve never had a boyfriend either, so we’re even. Or a girlfriend," he said grinning. 

It was true, although it had been easy for Eddie to live in the unknown. He’d never liked anyone in the way he liked you. He wasn’t a virgin, but he was new to the romantic world of dating. On the flip side, you had spent years dreaming of Friday nights at the drive-in and Sunday morning picnics. Of valentine’s day and anniversaries. Your mind slipped into those daydreams often, and with anyone who showed even a little kindness.

Eddie continued. “We can… Go slow. I just really wanna be able to like, hold your hand and tell you your pretty all the time.”

He was kind of emotionally punching the air out of your lungs but it felt good. You both sat with wide smiles and too warm cheeks.

“You can do that,” you told him.

Immediately, he took both your hands in his, fingers threaded through. He raised them so they were arched between you.

“You’re really pretty,” Eddie said.

“So are you,” you said back, settling into the new feeling of letting yourself be loved.

“I was fucking terrified to do this,” Eddie admitted.

“Why?” you asked, even though you mostly knew.

Eddie was emboldened by the success of his show. “We got something special going on and I, you know, didn’t want to ruin a good thing. Didn’t want you to think I was…anything like…”

You both knew the unsaid name.

Eddie stopped himself from saying more. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed, which meant you were probably already there.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m very okay.”

Eddie played you a couple more of his favourite songs, then you moved out into the living space for VHS and bowls of cereal. The Cheerios were a carefully planned thing. Eddie thought you could control how much went in your bowl. They weren’t deemed junk food, so he knew you’d be more willing to eat. When you drank the milk from the bowl, he was so happy.

That day, not a lot changed in terms of how you acted around him. While he kept you in arm’s reach, holding your hand whenever he could, it wasn’t like you sat in his lap or angled for kisses. You didn’t feel pressured to either. 

When Eddie took you home, he kissed the back of your hand before you climbed from the van and ran inside to meet curfew. It was all easy and felt natural. It felt like a promise that maybe it could be like your daydreams.

…

Monday morning you awoke to conflicting emotions. You couldn’t wait to see Eddie. But how were you meant to act? What if he didn’t want to hold your hand in front of other people? Maybe it would be, like, a secret relationship type of thing.

When you turned the corner to see Eddie leaning against your locker, all those insecurities dissipated.

“Hey, angel,” he said when you were close. Eddie pulled you into a hug and held you, resting his chin on the top of your head.

Angel. That was new.

“You’re here early,” you noted.

“Wanted to see how you were before another week of torture starts.” All warm fuzzies. Your entire body. “How’d it go with your ‘rents?” he asked.

Your parents had been none too pleased to find you M.I.A. on Saturday. When you were home only minutes before curfew, they went from displeased to enraged. Even your mother flinched at how loud your father yelled, but she had turned away from you when you looked to her for help, your pleading and crying eyes making her feel guilty.

“It was fine,” you lied, but Eddie had heard it before. It was essentially code at that point.

He sighed. “I’m sorry,”

“It’s fine,” you repeated. You’d pick being happy with Eddie over being sad with placated parents any day. Every day.

“So, I just wanted to… check we’re on the same page. You’re good with, like, people knowing… about us?” Eddie sounded nervous.

You looked up at him, at his sparkling eyes. “Are you?”

“Oh, yeah, are you serious? I’m on cloud nine,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Of course,” he said in his mock-outrage whispering voice he used often. “We’re gonna get shit from the guys, but you can just flutter those lashes at them and they’ll shut up.”

Grinning, you leaned back into the hug and let him hold you until the first bell rang.

By lunch, all the smiles had faded. Jeff was at the table when you arrived.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, his sour expression a not often seen thing.

“The usual bullshit,” he said with a shrug.

Gareth arrived next, throwing himself into his chair with all the kinetic energy of a pissed-off teenage drummer. “Swear to god, I’m going to fuckin’ pop every goddamn basketball in this place,”

“What happened?” Jeff asked, beating you to it.

“Dodgeball. I think they were aiming for the face,” he answered, nodding over to the table of cheerleaders and basketball players.

Dustin and Mike arrived then, slamming their lunch trays down and bickering with Lucas about ‘joining the dark side’ and ‘what’s more important than Hellfire?!’

The whole group joined the argument, only stopping when Eddie scared the shit out of everyone with a hand thudded against the tabletop. He’d appeared suddenly and sat just as quick, eyeing the boys.

“What’s got everyone’s panties in a twist?”

“Nothing,” Lucas answered quickly, shooting the others a look that Eddie definitely caught but pretended not to.

Eddie motioned for everyone to carry on, and the table returned to a semi-normal state.

“Hey,” Eddie greeted, pulling his chair closer to the table, closer to you.

“Hi,” you replied quietly.

Eddie held his hand out to yours, fingers pointed up and palm out. You pressed your hand against his, the pressure and warmth grounding. He shifted his hand slightly, letting your fingers fall between his.

“Oh shit, you finally did it?” Gareth called across the table, loud enough that everyone looked over.

Your instinct was to drop Eddie’s hand, avoid eye contact and try to make yourself small. Before you could, Eddie’s hand tightened around yours and he was smiling at his friends.

“Did what?” he asked coolly.

Dustin, always truthful and often missing the social cues, answered for Gareth. He pointed to you and said, “You know, ask her out?!” Eddie said nothing but raised his eyebrows at his little friend. Dustin continued, redirecting his attention to you. “We knew he liked you before he said shit,”

“Language,” Eddie chimed in, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

“He was all like-” and Dustin did his best Eddie impression, “She just needs a friend, man. She’s really cool, maaannn.”

The whole table were giggling. Mike joined in, his impersonation a little less accurate but still just as funny. “I haven’t seen her today. Has anyone seen her? Where is she?!”

“Remember when she gave him that list of words?”

“No, remember when she wore that black skirt?”

“No, no, no, I’ve got it. Remember when he wrote her name on his arm and tried to hide it?”

The boys had, as the Australians say, lost themselves in the sauce. They were cackling, tears rolling down their cheeks from laughing so hard. You hadn’t realised you’d started to breathe a little heavier. Eddie tugged on your hand, drawing your gaze back to him.

“I told you. You’re the dream,” he said, grinning. “As for you degenerates… It would seem as though you have forgotten that I am currently writing the next campaign,”

“So?” Dustin said with a shrug.

“So, you’re all going to burn.”

…

If it was physically possible, Eddie had his arm around you or your hand in his. If it wasn’t, he was thinking about it. He was thinking about how you’d trace the rises and falls of his rings gently. How your skin was soft. How you looked at him.

He thought about how you stopped saying ‘I’m going to the bathroom’ and started saying ‘I need to pee.’ How you didn’t hide the shorts under your skirt anymore, finally explaining that they stopped your thighs rubbing together and leaving itchy angry skin.

“I thought it was so nobody saw your underwear,” he had said, reaching out and poking your thigh.

“Added bonus,” you replied with a shrug.

It was the same for you. You thought about how you folded a thin but long braid into Eddie’s hair, and how he seriously offered to cut it out so you could keep it. “Is that weird?” he’d asked.

“Yeah, but I like it,” you replied, holding his face in your hands. “But don’t cut your hair,” you quickly added.

School days were spent flicking through your History textbook. It had become a makeshift flower press, writing a new history of the wildflowers Eddie picked on his way to you each morning.

School nights were spent alone in your house, as far from your parents as you could get, writing love stories that were incredibly Eddie-coded. They were somewhere to put your love when you couldn’t give it to him.

Weekends, that’s where the glory was. Eddie would collect you early in the morning, as in, as soon as he woke. Sometimes it was barely dawn. He’d knock on your window, then disappear back to the van parked down the street. You were always ready, a bag packed with clothes so you could run outside in your pyjamas and change at his.

Saturdays went by too quickly. Sometimes Eddie would take you on little dates, but most of the time you stayed home listening to vinyl record scratching and watching rented VHSs. You’d hold hands and sit closer and closer until both of you were giggling lovesick messes.

And, if you asked real nice, Eddie would perform Tupelo Honey.

“For you, angel, anything.”

CHAPTER 4

End Note: If you know anything about me, you know that Van Morrison is my love language.

AofFD Taglist: @ajeff855 @b-barnes04 @eddie-munson-is-a-sweetheart @grungegrrrl @nerd-squad-headquarters @word-wytch

All Eddie x Reader Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @munsonlives @sweetpeapod @depressooexxpressoo @thorfemmes @hawkins-high @corrodedhawkins

[plant-flwrs]

Heyy!! I wish you would write a fic where Fred is lowkey really into Shakespear and Romeo and Juliet and tries to woo the reader cs she’s muggleborn? Idk but it would be so cute!! 🥺

romeo and juliet // fred weasley

masterlist!

summary: Fred reads Romeo and Juliet and can’t help but fall in love

a/n: schools out, so hopefully that means more time for writing! thanks for the request anon i thought it was adorable, hope you like it!!

(2.5k)

At first, it was a secret. Fred had no intention of actually enjoying it. He had simply accepted the book Professor Lupin had lent him, thumbed through it, and stayed up all night to read it by accident.

Maybe it was because Lupin had seen the way Fred looked at you across the class, separated by hidden bloodlines and upbringings. You, with your muggle pens that you smuggled in. You, with your muggle records you used an entire bag to carry onto the train. You, with your muggle magazines that spread through the common room like wildfire. You, with those weird little things called cigarettes that you sold in your third year to the older students. You, with the way the older pureblood witches would sit and ask you to do their hair for them because only you could do all the newest muggle styles. You, with your reluctance to Quidditch but your love for soccer.

Fred was gone, absolutely gone for you. He was even more behind than usual in class because he couldn't help but find you with his eyes, no matter the room you were in or the distance between you both. Remus Lupin, the secret romantic, asked Fred to stay after class.

"Mr. Weasley," Professor Lupin called, feet kicked up on his desk while he levitated a novel wandlessly in front of him. A half-eaten apple rested on a napkin beside a chocolate wrapper and Fred was forced to remember the breakfast he had barely eaten, choosing to instead pretend he hadn't noticed the fact you had only sat a few seats away.

Fred stood in front of Lupin's desk, waiting as the room emptied out and George shot him a wink from the doorway.

"Yes, Professor?" Fred rocked on his feet, hands stuffed in the pockets of his robe. He tried not to wonder if you had noticed that he had been called behind, or if you had noticed him at all. He vaguely registered that this might what his brother would call 'pathetic'.

"You never turned in that essay on wandless defenses," Lupin said slowly, the book moving to rest on his desk as he moved his feet to the ground.

Fred was quiet, biting the inside of his cheek as he couldn't seem to recall the last time a teacher had bothered to talk to him about his assignments instead of deeming him a 'lost cause' or a student who 'simply wouldn't apply themselves'.

Professor Lupin sighed, moving again to stand. Fred thought he caught a flash of pain on the professor's face, perhaps a wince as he stood, but the moment was gone before Lupin was giving Fred a calculating and sympathetic glance.

"Do you need an extension?" Remus offered, leaning his hip against the desk and inclining his head to show Fred the importance of this offering.

"I'd appreciate that, Professor," Fred admitted.

They were silent again, Remus still looking at Fred like he was something to figure out. Remus shifted, eyes dropped to his desk and lips lifting.

"What's got you so preoccupied?"

Fred was blushing before he could think of a lie, and then he realized he didn't want to lie. He hadn't even told George about his crush on you- no doubt it was obvious. Fred had had flings and crushes on loads of girls, all fun and easy, but this felt heavier. He didn't want to have a fling with you.

"I guess-" Fred sighed, removing his hands from his robes and wiping them on his trousers, "I've just been distracted recently. A lot on my mind."

"Ah," Remus smiled fondly, nodding slowly.

A book began to move from a pile in the corner, elegantly and easily avoiding the tall stacks of clutter and various lumps of papers to levitate to Fred. Fred reached out for it, moving it in his hand to read the cover. Romeo and Juliet.

"I'll make you a deal, Fred," Professor Lupin said, his voice sounding so mischievous that Fred was surprised he hadn't become ten years younger right in front of him. "You can either write the essay on wandless defenses, or you can read that and write an essay on 'Romeo and Juliet'."

Fred thumbed through the book, eyebrows furrowed. He had never liked reading, most of the books at the Burrow belonged to Bill, Percy, or his father. He was pretty sure that George would find Fred reading Shakespeare to be just as funny as the time they released Cornish Pixies in the Slytherin changing rooms.

"Yeah, alright."

Fred managed to eat dinner that night, with you safely at the opposite end of the table. The curtains to his fourposter had been closed for hours and the light from his wand had been steadily bright for just as long. He had gone from laying on his back, head propped up beneath his arms, to resting his back against the headboard, to sitting upright in the center of his bed, head propped on his fist, to laying on his stomach, to laying on his back again with his head at the foot of his bed, and soon enough, the sun was flooding through a crack in the curtains. He had just finished Romeo and Juliet when he heard the showers starting.

"Lupin!"

Remus stopped and watched Fred catch up to him. He looked tired and simultaneously wide awake, his hair was a mess, and Remus was almost certain that he was wearing his pajama pants beneath his school robes.

"Mr. Weasley," Remus said cordially, continuing his walk to the greenhouse.

"I wanted to talk to you about that book you lent me-"

"Oh, you can keep it, if you'd like. I've read it dozens of times."

Fred hesitated, a wide smile spreading over his face, "Oh, thanks, Professor! It's just, I wanted to tell you I really liked it."

"You've finished it, then?" Remus asked with an impressed smile.

"Read it last night," Fred admitted, somewhat embarrassed.

"I look forward to the essay, then," Lupin said with a kind smile and a nod, turning into the greenhouses and leaving Fred in the corridor.

Inside his robes, he felt the weight of the tiny book against his chest. He kept it in a pocket there, fingers itching to hold it and read it again.

He couldn't help the roaring thoughts in his head. The idea that you were his Juliet, that you and he could find a hidden love, just for you two, amongst your external differences. He was oddly disappointed by the ending and decided he might not completely finish the book if he read it again, perhaps pretend it ended differently. He leaned his back against the stone wall behind him, fighting a blushing smile from his face.

So, Fred loved Shakespeare in secret. He loved reading in secret. He loved the weight of the book in his hands in secret. He loved the words and the phrases in secret. He loved the way it made him think in secret. He loved you in secret. He loved in secret.

Until you started dating Thomas Meadowbrooke. Thomas was a Ravenclaw, wickedly smart, handsome, kind, and the victim of many of the Weasley twins' pranks for a while. George didn't directly ask Fred why they were suddenly pranking this one boy so relentlessly all of a sudden, but he didn't need to.

Thomas wore blazers with patches on the elbows and combed his silky hair down the middle. He always had a flower in his coat pocket to give to you and he always carried a book of poetry with him. He was sensitive and wistful in all the ways girls loved, including you.

You thought Thomas was painfully boring. He would fawn over you in the most annoying ways, giving you poems that he wrote (horrendously awful, they were) and quoting lines from old and boring books to you. He didn't listen to Joan Jett or Janis Joplin and he cringed when you played your records. He suggested Bach or Debussy instead. He was boring.

You had only agreed to go out with him because he asked. Thomas Meadowbrooke may have been able to put a cornish pixie to sleep just by talking to it, but he was undeniably handsome. Well, he was more handsome before he had fallen victim to a particularly entertaining Weasley twin prank that turned his hair gelled and spiked up for a few days.

You broke up with Thomas soon after. He took it well, saying it gave him fuel to finish some poetry he hadn't been inspired enough for before.

Remus heard this gossip quite excitedly.

"She did, did she?" Remus tilted his head, a coy smirk on his lips.

The smell of fertilizer was strong, but he learned not to mind it as he watched the merry witch digging in various pots.

"He was quite heartbroken, the poor thing. Filius said that when he did routine bed checks, he could hear Thomas crying for weeks!" Professor Sprout sighed, patting down the soil and checking for weeds.

"Teen romance is always quite fickle," Remus commented, following Pomona as she moved to the next pot.

"Says you!" Pomona playfully scolded Remus, her red cheeks filling as she smiled.

Remus chuckled, thinking back to Sirius who would sneak into his office later to distract him from grading papers.

"You know, Pomona," Remus said in that voice of his, the one that got Sprout to drop her trowel and lean in close to hear the latest gossip. "I think Fred Weasley's got a bit of a crush on Y/n."

Pomona gasped, dirty hand flying to cover her mouth. She paused, scrunching up her face and sticking her tongue out to spit out the clump of dirt.

"He hasn't!" she continued, not minding Remus' amused smile and the clean rag he offered her to wipe her hands.

"He's always staring at her," Remus said, thinking on it. "I reckon he's quite the secret romantic."

Pomona cooed and awed as she continued to tend to her plants, she and Remus trading anymore gossip that they could think of.

The weather changed at quite a convenient time for Fred. With the slightly warm but still a bit chilled fall weather, Fred could dawn his lighter coats. His lighter coats that happened to have wonderfully shaped pockets on the inside, just the right size for a book.

Fred wondered if you had gone out with Thomas because Ravenclaw book nerds were your type, or if you had broken up with him because Ravenclaw book nerds weren't your type. Fred had spent almost all of the warm weather contemplating how he was going to continue to live if he was determined to remain secretly in love with you. By fall he had figured it out.

Fred wasn't going to hide anything, not the books he had recently begun to love, or the way he loved so strongly. He wasn't going to miss meals because you were so distracting. He wasn't going to suffocate under his crush on you.

It was a beautiful day. George was up in the dorms with Lee working on a prank and Fred had decided to take a walk down to the Black Lake. His lighter coat was a bit heavier because of the book in the pocket, and Fred pushed his hair out of his eyes as he looked down at the ground to avoid stepping on tree roots. He found a nice spot beneath a tree, resting against the trunk and reading.

"Hey, Fred," a voice called, coming closer as they easily avoided the maze of tree roots.

Fred looked up to see you, in those perfect muggle clothes you wore any chance you could, hair styled in that wonderful muggle way, one of those muggle cigarettes tucked behind your ear, walking towards him.

"Hey," he responded, surprised by how easy his voice sounded.

"Have you been reviewing at all for Lupin's?" You sat next to Fred like it was the easiest thing in the world, brushing your shoulder against his.

"No, not really," Fred closed his book with his thumb tucked between the pages saving his spot.

"Mmm," you hummed, leaning your head back against the tree and closing your eyes. "What're you reading?"

"Romeo and Juliet," Fred replied, looking at your profile while he had the chance.

"Didn't think that was your thing," you said playfully, opening one eye to catch Fred looking at you.

He flushed and turned his gaze to his hands in his lap. "Me neither," he admitted, swallowing.

"I always liked ‘The Taming of the Shrew’, personally."

Fred smiled to himself, because of course, you had also read Shakespeare, and of course, you would have a cool favorite.

"I like that one, too," Fred said lamely, enjoying the way you were smiling at him.

By winter, Fred had devised a plan. It was perfect, more perfect than any prank he had created or any Zonko's product he had bought. He would die if he kept all this love to himself, so he decided all he needed was one kiss.

The Yule Ball was in full swing, the classical and slow music long forgotten as everyone moved to the dance floor and rocked to the loud and fast rhythm. Fred had seen you when you first arrived, noticing with glee that you were alone, and hadn't lost sight of you since. He had removed himself from the heavily crowded dance floor, stumbling to the table with the juice he and George had spiked hours earlier. He loosened the collar of his robes and pushed his already disheveled hair out of his face.

You watched Fred move through the crowd like a tornado, a mass of energy that you felt required to look at and admire. He strode to the table, a quiet and self-satisfied smirk on his lips as he took a long sip of punch.

Fred caught you staring at him with pleasant unexpectedness. You looked just as beautiful as you did when the night started, skin glowing and everything dawned upon you with your magical muggle-ness. Fred put his cup down, a comfortable pink hue warming his cheeks, and approached you. He touched his hand to yours.

"Hey, Fred," you said with an entertained smirk, glancing down at his hand on yours.

"I need you to do me a favor," he slurred, voice easy and breath warm as it landed on your skin.

"What kind of favor?"

"I need you to kiss me," Fred pulled his mouth away from your ear, looking to your face.

He didn't have much of an opportunity, though, before your lips were on his and you stole his breath. He tasted of the spiked punch and his hands were trembling and careful as they rested on your waist. You grabbed a fistful of his robes, pulling him close to you with urgency.

He pulled away, lips red and swollen, with his eyes still closed.

"I need you to do me a favor," you said, mouth hovering above his.

"Yeah?"

"Kiss me," you whispered, just loud enough for Fred to hear.

He listened, and held onto you with less trembling and more confidence as you kissed for the second time.

[sineala]

Tony Stark and Arthuriana

Coming to you by special request, a very long post about 616 Tony's interest in Arthuriana, with a focus on all of Tony's run-ins with Morgan le Fay!

I feel like I should disclaim the extent of my knowledge here, which is that I still haven't managed to read anywhere near every issue of Iron Man -- at least, not yet, anyway -- so I'm just going by the things I know I've read, and Morgan le Fay's Marvel wiki entry is frustratingly under-cited, so it's very possible I've missed something relevant, but I'm pretty sure I've got the big stuff down. My other disclaimer here is that I'm not as big an Arthurian nerd as Tony is, which is to say that most of my familiarity comes from modern retellings -- T. H. White's The Once and Future King, Marion Zimmer Bradley's The Mists of Avalon, Mary Stewart's The Crystal Cave, Rosemary Sutcliff's Sword at Sunset -- and not so much the usual classic sources on the Matter of Britain, though I've read bits and pieces of them.

(This is because I wanted to read versions of them that were as close to the original as possible but so far have not ended up finishing any of them because, well, that's hard. So I've never read the Mabinogion because I do not know Welsh. I've got the Norton Critical Edition of Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur, which is probably the best student edition if you're looking for something without modernized spellings, as I was. I've also got -- well, okay, it's my wife's but I'm borrowing it -- a relatively recent Boydell & Brewer edition (ed. Reeve, tr. Wright) of Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia Regum Britanniae (History of the Kings of Britain), which is, you guessed it, in Latin with a facing English translation. I haven't gotten very far in it because, in case you didn't know this about Latin texts, the beginning is pretty much always the hardest, so I gave up and read some Plautus adaptations instead. Anyway, if for some reason you too want to read Geoffrey of Monmouth in the original Latin I'd recommend that one, but I can't recommend any particular English translations because I've never read one by itself. I bet you didn't think you'd be getting Latin prose recommendations in this post. I mean, maybe you did; it is me, after all.)

Okay. Right. King Arthur. Here we go.

We've got:

Flashbacks to Tony's childhood in late Iron Man volume 1

A brief discussion of Morgan's origin story and Avengers #187

Iron Man vol 1 #149-150: Doomquest

What If vol 1 #33: What if Iron Man was trapped in the time of King Arthur?

Iron Man vol 1 #249-250: Recurring Knightmare

Iron Man: Legacy of Doom #1-4

Avengers vol 3 #1-4: The Morgan Conquest

Civil War: The Confession

Mighty Avengers vol 1 #9-11: Time Is On No One's Side

In terms of universe-internal chronology, we know from Iron Man #287, from 1992, that Tony has been a fan of King Arthur since childhood. This is an issue of a fandom-favorite arc which features Tony having a lot of childhood flashbacks, including the famous "Stark men are made of iron" line (in #286) that for some reason MCU fandom decided it loved; I mean, seriously, I've seen that quoted in way more MCU fic than 616 fic. But slightly later, in #287, we get an entire page devoted to Tony's love of King Arthur.

The narration reads: "Over the next few years, I learned as my father intended. Discipline of body. Strength of character. But in what free time I was allowed, I worked my way through the school's library. At thirteen, I discovered Mallory [sic], who showed me a whole new world. A world of dedication to a cause greater than oneself. Of chivalry and honor. And the fantastic deeds -- of armored heroes."

The art shows Tony as a child sitting under a tree, reading a book labeled Mort D'Arthur by Mallory [sic] -- no, don't ask me why nobody at Marvel checked how to spell either the name of the book or its author -- and daydreaming of King Arthur, the Sword in the Stone, knights, et cetera. Just in case you somehow missed the extremely blatant hint that we are meant to understand that Tony's knight obsession heavily influenced him becoming Iron Man as an adult, we see one of his armors mixed in with all the drawings of knights. So, yes, canonically Tony is Iron Man at least partly because he's a giant King Arthur nerd, which I think is so very sweet. I love him. He's such a dork!

(This issue is currently in print in the Iron Man Epic Collection War Machine, should you need your own copy.)

This isn't actually the only reference to Tony as a King Arthur fanboy in this era of canon, either; a little later, in IM #298, we see that one of Tony's passwords is actually "Mallory." (Yeah, no, they still couldn't spell. But it's cute.)

But in terms of actual publication order, this is definitely not the first time we have seen in canon that Tony is into Arthuriana, as I'm sure you all know. I would assume, in fact, that giving Tony a childhood interest in Arthuriana is because Doomquest is one of the most beloved Iron Man story arcs of all time, and that all started at least a decade before IM #287 here was published.

The villain of Doomquest -- the one who isn't Doctor Doom, at least -- is Morgan le Fay. Yes, that Morgan le Fay. Yes, Arthur's evil half-sister Morgan le Fay. Yes, all of this King Arthur stuff is canonically real history on Earth-616. Morgan's first appearance in Marvel, per the wiki, was in Black Knight #1 (1955), which I have not read, and judging by the summary I feel like this is probably just supposed to be a straight-up comic retelling of Arthurian legends for kids; I don't think Marvel really had the whole Marvel Universe in mind as a concept in 1955, so I'm not sure this was meant to connect to anything else. I feel like this is another one of those instances of Marvel discovering that they can write comics about characters in the public domain for free -- like, I'm pretty sure that's how we also ended up with, like, Norse, Greek, and Roman mythology wedged into 616.

As far as I can tell from the wiki, the first time Morgan tangled with the Avengers (or indeed the larger 616 universe) in any way actually predated Doomquest -- it was in an early arc in Spider-Woman (#2-6) and then Avengers #187, which came out in 1979, actually right when Demon in a Bottle was happening over in Iron Man comics. If you read #187, Iron Man is not in it because he's off the team due to his drinking problem and also his accidentally murdering the Carnelian ambassador problem. So Wonder Man's filling in instead. This issue is part of Michelinie's rather sporadic Avengers run, which makes sense, I guess, considering where we see Morgan next.

Anyway, Avengers #187 is the classic issue where Wanda is possessed by Chthon, but what you may not remember from Chthon's backstory (I sure didn't!) is that he was summoned by Morgan le Fay because she was the first person who tried to wield the Darkhold to summon him. As you can imagine, this did not work out especially well for her and her followers and they had to seal Chthon away in Wundagore Mountain, which was where Wanda found him. (The Spider-Woman stuff is only slightly earlier and also appears to be about Morgan and the Darkhold; the Darkhold is not one of the areas of 616 canon I am especially conversant with, alas. It's on my to-read list.)

Doomquest, as you probably know, was a classic Iron Man two-parter in Layton & Michelinie's first Iron Man run that set up Tony and Doom as rivals; Doomquest itself was IM #149-150, in 1981, and then in their second IM run they came back and did a sequel in 1989, Recurring Knightmare (IM #249-250), and then the much later four-part sequel to that was the 2008 miniseries Iron Man: Legacy of Doom, which was also by Layton & Michelinie but generally does not seem to be as popular as the first two parts. They've all been reprinted, if you're looking for copies; I have a Doomquest hardcover that collects the first four issues and then a separate Legacy of Doom hardcover. Currently in the Iron Man Epic Collection line there's a volume called Doom, which confusingly only collects the 249-250 part of the storyline (as well as surrounding issues), because for some reason the first Layton & Michelinie run isn't in Epics yet but the second one is. So the beginning of Doomquest isn't currently in print, as far as I can tell. I'm sure you can find it anyway.

So what's Doomquest about? Okay, so you remember how Doctor Doom's mother's soul is stuck in hell for all eternity? Well, Doom's obviously interested in getting her back, and the strategy he has embarked on is to try to team up with other powerful magicians who can help him out, and he thinks Morgan le Fay would be a good choice, for, uh, his quest. Doom's quest. A Doomquest, if you will. (If you've ever read Doctor Strange & Doctor Doom: Triumph & Torment, you're familiar with the part where he later ends up waylaying Strange for this and they go to hell together. And if you haven't read Triumph & Torment, you really should, because it's amazing.)

So Doom is off to his time machine to go team up with Morgan le Fay and Tony thinks Doom is up to something -- Doom has been stealing components for his time machine from a lot of people, including Tony -- and he follows him and it turns out one of Doom's lackeys has a grudge and wants to trap Doom in the past forever, and Tony gets caught up in it. Now they're both in Camelot. Surprise! #149 is actually all setup; they don't get to Camelot until #150.

IM #150 begins with Doom and Tony thrown back into the past; there's a fandom-famous splash page of them locked in combat, only to realize that they have found themselves in Camelot.

They are then discovered by knights; Doom would very much like to attack them, but Tony, who naturally would be happy to LARP Camelot forever, persuades him to play nice. Also Doom thinks Iron Man is only Tony's bodyguard so he keeps referring to him as "lackey," much to Tony's annoyance. Somehow everyone thinks they're sorcerers. Can't imagine why. The knights take them to meet King Arthur himself, and Tony has clearly had his introduction all ready to go, as he introduces himself in a timeline-appropriate manner, says he's here to apprehend Doom, and demonstrates his "magic" by levitating Arthur's throne. Doom's response is essentially "I'm the king of Latveria," which is, y'know, also valid. So they're guests at Camelot for the night while Arthur figures out what to do with them.

We then have a page devoted to Tony alone in his room, musing sadly about how alien he feels, how he doesn't know if he'll ever get home, how he could never fit in here without his beloved technology. Then a Sexy Lady shows up to keep him company for the night, and he decides maybe it's not all bad. Thanks, Marvel. I guess they can't all be winners.

Doom is using his evening much more productively; he compels one of the servants to tell him where Morgan's castle is, because he's still interested in having that team-up. Then he jets off. Literally. He has a jetpack.

The next morning Arthur's like "one of you is still here and one of you has punched a hole through the castle wall and flown off to join Morgan so I guess I know which of you is more trustworthy." He then explains to Tony who Morgan is, because Tony professes ignorance, because clearly we had not yet retconned in Tony's love of Arthuriana. Tony offers to go fight Doom and Morgan with Arthur; meanwhile, Morgan and Doom have teamed up and Morgan has offered to help get Doom's mother out of hell if he commands her undead armies against Arthur because for Reasons she can't command them herself anymore. So that's a thing that happens.

So, yes, it's Tony and Arthur versus Doom and Morgan. Fight fight fight!

Tony tries Doom first but then decides to hunt Morgan down, and in the ensuing fight we get what I think is Tony's first ever "I hate magic," a complaint that we all know he still makes even to this day.

Anyway, Tony freezes a dragon with Freon (mmm, technology) and Morgan gets upset and disappears, so the battle comes to an end, and of course Doom is extremely mad at Tony because he blames Tony for Morgan not sticking around to save Doom's mom, because I guess Doom trusted her to keep her word? Weird. (Like I said, for the next chapter of Doom saving his mother, go read Triumph & Torment.)

Doom says if he and Tony work together, the components in both of their armors can send them both home. So Tony has to trust Doom. Which he does, because he really has no other choice. They build a time machine and Tony makes Doom agree to a 24-hour truce when they get back, so they can both get home. So it all works out okay, and they end up in the present, and Doom tells him, ominously, that they will meet again. Okay, then. That concludes the original Doomquest. It's fun! You can see why fandom likes it.

So that's all well and good, but you might have noticed that Tony's ability to get home hinged on Doom actually being trustworthy. And Doom was. But what if Doom hadn't been? What if he'd just stranded Tony in Camelot forever As you may have surmised from the form of that question, that is in fact a question Marvel asked themselves, because, yes, there's a What If about this! What If v1 #33 is "What if Iron Man was trapped in the time of King Arthur?"

The divergence point from canon, as you can probably guess, is the very end of Doomquest. Instead of Doom bringing Tony home, he deceives him and leaves him in Camelot. And since Tony cannibalized a lot of the tech from his armor to make the time machine, he doesn't have a way to go home.

This is not a story where Tony comes up with a way to go home after all. He really doesn't get to go home. But instead of drowning his sorrows in mead -- because, remember, Demon in a Bottle has already happened and Tony is sober now -- he decides he might as well just play the hand he's dealt. So with what's left of his armor, he defeats some enemies that Morgan rounds up to send against Camelot. And for his services, he's knighted. He is now Sir Anthony.

Tony acknowledges that he is both living the dream and would also like very, very much to go home.

He does end up having some fun in Camelot; it's not all miserable. But he obviously doesn't want to be there.

So if you're at all familiar with King Arthur, you know how this goes, right? Arthur fights Mordred and Mordred kills him. And that does happen in this version. Except Tony is right there, and with his dying words, Arthur asks Tony to rule Camelot... and Tony agrees.

So, yes, Tony Stark becomes king of the Britons after Arthur's death and he never goes home again. The end. Man, I love What Ifs.

Heading back to main 616 continuity, there is still more of this arc to go. The original Doomquest was only two issues, yes, but it was popular enough that Layton & Michelinie did a sequel a hundred issues later, in their second run of Iron Man, and that's Iron Man #249-250, Recurring Knightmare. (In the intervening issues were Denny O'Neil's IM run, specifically the second drinking arc (#160-200), and then Layton & Michelinie came back and most famously gave us Armor Wars (#225-232). I would have to say that Armor Wars is definitely the standout fandom-favorite arc of their second IM run; for their first one, I think a lot of people would have a hard time choosing between Doomquest and Demon.) But anyway, yes. Recurring Knightmare.

Recurring Knightmare is... well, the best way I can describe it is "a trip." It is definitely a sequel to Doomquest, and it is also definitely not a sequel you  would ever have expected to see for Doomquest.

Much like #149, #249 is pretty much just setup. Fun setup, but the big action is in the next issue. We open with Doom in Latveria, on his throne, pondering which of his servants he should have disintegrated. Anyway, he's just hanging out there when a mysterious object appears. In California, Tony is suited up and entertaining the crowd at a mall opening when the same object also appears! He takes it to his lab. Please note that this is after the Kathy Dare incident, so Tony is still recovering and is walking with a cane. Doom sees on the news that Iron Man has found the same object, which cannot be carbon-dated, and he shows up at Tony's house. He criticizes Tony's taste in art.

Anyway, Doom basically orders Tony to work with him. Tony refuses, and then Doom sends some robots to attempt to steal Tony's version of the object because he thinks if he has them both he will be powerful. Doom manages to steal it, and when he puts the pieces together, both he and Tony disappear.

So where do they go, you might ask? Camelot?

Not exactly. The future! There is a great callback to the Doomquest splash page.

It turns out they are in London in 2093. Merlin brought them there. Tony still hates magic. And in the future, King Arthur is still there, except he is now a child, because he has been reborn. But he does remember Tony from Doomquest, at which point Tony kneels. Doom, of course, is not impressed. He asks why they have been brought to the future.

The answer is that things are going wrong in the future. If you do not personally remember United States politics in the 1980s, I need you to google the words "Strategic Defense Initiative" right now. I'll wait.

Back with me? Okay, so this is a future where Reagan's Star Wars program actually happened the way he wanted it to, and the satellites are still hanging around the Earth in the future and messing everything up, and Arthur and Merlin need Tony and Doom's help to stop them. Doom once again flies away with his jetpack, of course.

Tony is game to help, but he's not in an armor that can stay in space for long. This is when Merlin takes him and Arthur to the mall and Tony manages to get everything to upgrade his armor at Radio Shack. You see what I meant about this issue being weird.

Tony is out in space trying to disarm the SDI platform, which is where he runs into his future descendant, Andros Stark, who is in armor you will probably recognize from Iron Man 2020. He is referred to as "the resurrected spawn of Iron Man 2020" so I assume he's actually directly related to Arno rather than a direct descendant of Tony; Wiki confirms that Arno is his grandfather. This is all from way before Arno was contemporaneous with Tony in canon. Anyway, he's fighting Tony.

Oh, by the way, Future Doom exists. Future Doom would like to rule this future Earth and for some reason Andros would like to help him. Meanwhile, Present Doom finds out from Merlin that he can't leave except by magic and he can't leave without Tony, so he is reluctantly on Tony's side.

They need help from the Lady of the Lake, except the lake has been paved over and is now a parking lot. Merlin makes the lake come back and then of course they get Excalibur. Arthur is a kid, so he can't wield a longsword; Doom assumes he's going to take it because he is basically a king, and he's pretty grumpy when the sword picks Tony. Tony then uses Excalibur to destroy the space lasers, and I bet that is a sentence you never thought you would read. It's pretty cool. Tony concludes that magic has its good points. Tony stops Andros and Doom stops, uh, himself, and the world is saved and they get to go home. Also, Doom finds out Tony is Iron Man, but when Merlin sends them back he conveniently erases their memories, so neither of them remember anything about this and Tony's secret is still safe. And that's the sequel to Doomquest.

And if you think that's weird, wait until you see Legacy of Doom.

Iron Man: Legacy of Doom is a four-issue miniseries from 2008, also by Layton and Michelinie. Even though it's from 2008, it's set during a much more classic time in Iron Man, continuing on from where we left off in this Doomquest saga. We start with a framing story in 2008. Tony, who has Extremis now, is busy scrapping some of his older armors and reviewing his logs when he suddenly remembers that there was a whole thing with Doom that happened that he seems to have forgotten about until right now. So the whole thing is narrated by Tony in flashback.

Tony's in space fixing a satellite when a hologram of Doom shows up and summons him to Latveria. It's not really clear why Doom needs Tony's help in particular here, but Doom tells Tony that he's discovered that Mephisto would like to bring about the end of the world, which Doom finds, and I quote, "presumptive." So Doom has his Time Cube, and with it he takes Tony to hell.

(Yes, I promise this is relevant to Doomquest. There will be some Arthuriana shortly.)

Doom brings Tony to Mephisto, and it turns out it's a setup! Doom trades Tony for an item he wants from Mephisto, leaves, and Tony's going to be trapped in hell forever! Oh no! (I mean, he's not. But it's quite a cliffhanger.)

At the beginning of issue #2, we find out what the Arthurian connection is, which is that we learned that after the events of Doomquest, Morgan had been granted sanctuary by Mephisto in exchange for a shard of Excalibur that she had somehow stolen. Doom still wants Morgan's help with some magic -- he doesn't mention what it is here, but he says he needs someone of Pendragon blood, and that'd be her -- so he traded Tony to Mephisto in exchange for, I'm guessing, Morgan and the Excalibur shard.

I have probably mentioned this elsewhere, but Legacy of Doom #2 is one of my favorite issues of Iron Man ever, solely because of the next scene. We return to Tony in hell. Howard Stark is also in hell, and he is now a demon, and Tony has to fight him. Mephisto brings popcorn and watches. This is the one time in canon when Tony actually confronts his father, and okay, yes, it's a fistfight in hell and Howard is a demon, but that's comics for you. Howard spends several pages insulting Tony -- specifically insulting his masculinity, but that's a whole other essay -- until he finally insults Maria too, and that's when Tony fights back, because his mother taught him to be good. Honestly if you're a Tony fan I'd recommend this issue just for that scene.

Anyway, we go back to the Doom and Morgan plot, and Morgan casts the spell Doom wanted, which was fusing the Excalibur shard with Doom's armor. Then Doom sends her back to Camelot rather than hell, because he's still mad that she never helped him get his mom out of hell like she said she would.

Tony freezes Howard with Freon -- yes, the same trick he pulled on the dragon back in Doomquest -- and tells him, "You're no father of mine." It is immensely satisfying.

(I had been going to mention that I thought it was a shame that neither canon nor fandom seems to have really engaged with this confrontation, and I know canon never believes in narrative closure but fandom sure does -- and then, anyway, it occurred to me that since the framing story of Tony remembering this is set when Tony has Extremis, there's a very good chance that he no longer remembers remembering it. Goddammit, Marvel.)

(If I got to retcon one canon thing about Tony, I think "the entirety of World's Most Wanted" is up there. I mean, okay, a lot of things are up there, but WMW is definitely on the shortlist.)

Okay. Tony has now engineered his way out of hell, and he's back with Doom in Latveria. Doom has Excalibur. Doom would very much like to fight him. While wielding Excalibur. You get the sense that this is going to be bad. Another cliffhanger!

Legacy of Doom #3 opens with Tony destroying Doom's lab to buy time and running away from Doom and Excalibur. I should probably mention that Doom still doesn't know Tony is Iron Man (anymore), so he thinks he is dealing only with Iron Man, Tony Stark's lackey. Meanwhile, some scientists at SI think there's something weird going on with space. Meanwhile meanwhile, Tony is in a forest taking a breather when a mysterious old man walks up to him.

It's Merlin! Surprise! Merlin wants Tony's help to stop Doom from doing whatever he's doing with Excalibur. The sword makes you invincible and the scabbard makes you invulnerable, so Merlin sends Tony to Scotland on a fetch quest for the scabbard. Doom has now magically sent the sword in search of the scabbard, so the sword flies away to meet it and Doom follows. Turns out the thing that's wrong with space is a thing that's going to hit Earth at the exact place Tony and Doom are. What a coincidence! So Tony and Doom get trapped in a stone circle and fight some stone warriors and then Tony ends up with the scabbard. And by "ends up with," I mean it fuses to his armor. Next issue!

Legacy of Doom #4 is when things really, really get weird. A giant demon made of eyes (???) appears, and this demon is apparently what Doom had been preparing to fight (because it's mad that Doom stole one of its spellbooks), and now he can't, because the sword and the scabbard aren't together. Thanks, Shellhead.

That's when Merlin shows up and says all is not lost. They can defeat the demon... if they put the sword into the scabbard.

"But I'm the scabbard now!" Tony says, uncomprehending.

"Yes," Merlin says. "You are."

Then Tony gets it.

So, yes, Doom has to, um, penetrate Tony. With Excalibur. I love comics. I love comics so much.

So that's a thing that happens.

And then Tony flies off and, I guess, resolves to never, ever think about any of this again.

We head back to the framing story, in which Tony, now having remembered all of this, flies to Britain, buys the land the lake is on, and paves it over, presumably so it will be there for Merlin to bring back in Iron Man #250. The end.

Whew.

Okay, yeah, I know I didn't have to summarize the whole thing, but Legacy of Doom here really is one of my favorite Iron Man miniseries. And I just want to share the love. Please read it. It's great.

But the Arthuriana fun doesn't end there! In fact, now we get an Arthurian-themed arc that actually isn't in Iron Man comics. It's in Avengers! Iron Man is involved, though.

(There is also apparently a Morgan arc in Avengers #240. I actually haven't read it. It seems to be yet another Spider-Woman arc. I get the impression that this isn't really Arthuriana other than having Morgan in it fighting Jess, though, so it doesn't seem quite as relevant. Morgan also apparently has some appearances in FF, Journey into Mystery, and Marvel Team-Up, but those seem like more of just basic villainy. Also, probably not involving Tony.)

Kurt Busiek's 1998 Avengers run, volume 3, is in large part the kind of Avengers run that is a nostalgic love letter to older comics. Heroes are heroes and villains are villains and good triumphs over evil. The Avengers all live in the mansion and are BFFs. I love it. It does assume that you are already a fan of the Avengers, because it starts out by summoning pretty much everyone who has ever been an Avenger and is available to the mansion, and that is... a lot of people. Thirty-nine, by my count. Also, when the entire team is magically whisked away, we are treated to the following narration, as Steve disappears: "And Captain America's last thought, as the world goes white around him, and he with it -- is that Iron Man would hate this."

The narration doesn't tell you why Iron Man would hate this, or how Captain America would know that Iron Man hates this. This is not explained later on. But if you have read comics -- or if you have read the above summary of Doomquest -- you know that Tony is absolutely, one hundred percent, thinking, "I hate magic." And Steve knows it.

The reference is not relevant to the plot; if you don't get it, you'll be fine. But that's what I mean when I say this is a nostalgia run. There are definitely Easter eggs for people who have read a bunch of comics. Busiek does this a whole lot in his work -- there's a reason you can buy an annotated edition of Marvels -- and, yeah, it happens here too. Just know that there will be references you're not getting, if you're new to comics.

Anyway. So Busiek's run actually starts out with an Arthurian arc, #1-4, "The Morgan Conquest." The name is a dead giveaway. Yes, Morgan le Fay is back. Again. For once, Doom is not involved.

The Avengers are all back from their sojourn on Counter-Earth after fighting Onslaught -- don't worry about it -- and mysterious things are happening. There are a lot of monster attacks. So pretty much everyone who has ever been an Avenger is summoned to the mansion, at which point we learn from Thor about some mystical artifacts that are being stolen. (They are the Norn Stones and also the Twilight Sword. That sounds like something from a Zelda game, doesn't it?) The Avengers go to try to stop this, end up in Tintagel, and then they run into Mordred. He wants to capture Wanda, presumably for Magic Reasons. Morgan le Fay casts a spell on all of them, reshaping reality. Yes, all of them. Surprise!

So now all the Avengers are living in a medieval castle and/or town; Morgan is their queen, and thanks to the power of mind-control they are all basically living in Ye Olden Times. The Avengers are all some variety of knight, except for Wanda, who is chained up in the dungeon so Morgan can steal her magic and use it to fuel all this reality-warping.

Wanda calls for help, and that snaps Steve (Yeoman America!) out of the mind control (or altered reality or whatever you want to call it) pretty fast, because Steve's always been very good at resisting mind control, and then Steve promptly goes and snaps Clint out of it, because I guess Steve is also good at inspiring people to snap out of mind control. "Oh, man!" Clint says. "Not another alternate reality! Not again!" (I assume he's referring to Counter-Earth? Maybe?)

So Steve and Clint go around reassembling the Avengers and orienting them as to reality. They get Jan and Monica easily, but then Steve insists on trying to get Tony because, I guess, he likes Tony and would really like to hang around Tony, who is half-naked and asleep in his bedroom, and certainly I am reading nothing whatsoever into this. Clint tells Steve it's not going to work. Tony has historically been fairly susceptible to mind control; it was only pretty recently at this point that he'd been doing Kang's bidding in The Crossing. But the more serious impediment is that this is Tony Stark and he would obviously like to LARP being a knight forever and ever. Tony, therefore, does not believe Steve, and throws him and Clint out of his bedroom and into the barracks.

"Iron Man's a good guy, normally," Clint says. "But he's waaay too into his whole nobleman/lord of the manor trip. That spell musta hit him right where he lives!"

Clint speaks the truth, clearly.

Anyway, they go around and manage to make pretty much every Avenger in the room other than Tony snap out, and attempt to rebel against Morgan while Tony is stil fighting them because he is Still A Knight. There's a lot of punching, because some of the Avengers still aren't free; they weren't ones Steve found.

The day is saved when Wanda manages to channel Wonder Man and break free. This gives the Avengers a fighting chance against Morgan and the Avengers are all lending Wanda their power when Tony finally snaps out of it and is on the side of good. 

Then they take Morgan down, go home, and attempt to figure out which of these thirty-nine people should be on the active Avengers team. Hooray.

But that's not the end of Morgan le Fay showing up to screw around with Tony's life! There's more to come! Not much, but there is one that I know of, and at least one more memorable reference. 

(I haven't read all her appearances or anything, but one of them definitely involves Tony; I can't swear that he doesn't appear in any of the other books Morgan shows up in, but it'd be a cameo for him, because I only know of one more arc that she's in in a book that Tony stars in.)

In a few more years, we have now entered the part of Marvel Comics history where Brian Michael Bendis writes all the Avengers books at the same time for, like, seven years running. It was sure A Time. There were a lot of word bubbles.

And the thing about Bendis is, Bendis looooooves Doomquest. If you're familiar with the very end of his tenure at Marvel where he made Doom be Iron Man after Tony got knocked into a coma in Civil War II, you have probably figured out already that he likes Doom. But he also likes Doomquest, specifically.

I mean, if nothing else, the giant splash page in The Confession where Maleev redrew the climactic Doomquest fight while Bendis had Tony talk about how deeply meaningful to his understanding of the world this all was -- and how it allowed him to predict Civil War -- was probably a big clue, right?

As far as I am aware, Morgan le Fay makes exactly one more appearance in Tony's life. And that's in Mighty Avengers vol 1 #9-11. Only one of those issues is named, so I'm going to assume the arc is named after it: Time Is On No One's Side.

You remember Mighty Avengers, right? The deal with the Avengers books at the time was that after Bendis exploded the mansion and made the team disband in Avengers Disassembled, the main Avengers book was no longer called just Avengers. Instead, the main Avengers book was New Avengers, and that was the only Avengers book. Then Civil War happened, Steve got killed, and New Avengers became the book about what was left of the SHRA resistance (i.e., Steve's side) after the war. So about halfway through New Avengers, Mighty Avengers starts up, and Mighty Avengers is about an extremely fucked-up and grief-stricken Tony Stark trying to run the official government-sanctioned Avengers team, with Carol's help. This is the comic with the arc where Tony turned into naked girl Ultron. You remember.

So, anyway, there's this Mighty Avengers arc where Doom is Up To Something (there are symbiotes and a satellite involved) and somehow Tony and the Avengers end up in Latveria, punching Doom. Also, by the way, Doom is visiting Morgan in the past because he likes her. The Avengers attacking his castle made him have to come back to the present, so he's kind of cranky. And he fights Tony, and in the course of the fight, his time platform explodes and sends Doom and Tony and also the Sentry to... the past.

This is one of those times where you should definitely look up the comics if possible because the way the past is visually indicated here is that it's colored with halftone dots the way you would expect old comics to be colored, although they have modern shading and color palettes. It's very charmingly retro.

So the three of them are stuck in New York in the past, and naturally they would like to leave. There's one person in this time who has a time machine and it is, of course, Reed Richards. Doom and Tony have a lot of banter in this arc; I think it's entertaining.

Sentry has to be the one to break them all into the Baxter Building because of that power he has where no one will remember him. So they do that, travel forward in time, and end up in Latveria in the present again except Doom is gone and also things are currently exploding where they are.

Doom, of course, has made a side trip to visit Morgan again and he asks her to help him build an army, because I guess this is what their relationship is like. So the rest of the Avengers are captured by what look to me like Mindless Ones and are in a cave in magic bondage, because comics. Jess comments that at least they aren't naked, because she too is remembering that memorable New Avengers trip to the Savage Land. Doom threatens Carol in some creepy sexist ways and eventually it turns out that Tony and the Sentry are fine and everyone kicks Doom's ass. Business as usual.

And the last page of the arc is Morgan alone, wondering where Doom is. So technically Morgan and Tony don't come face to face here, but I think she counts as being at least partially responsible for ruining Tony's day here. And then Secret Invasion happens and Tony has a very, very bad day.

There are a few more Morgan appearances after this, but, as I said, I don't think any of them involve Tony. She shows up in Dark Avengers, apparently, which was one of the post-Civil War Avengers titles I didn't read, and I know that recently, on the X-Men side of things, she's been in Tini Howard's Excalibur one, which I have only read a little of. No Tony there. Just a lot of Morgan and Betsy Braddock and Brian Braddock and the Otherworld.

If you are interested in Morgan's other appearances, you might like this Marvel listicle that is Morgan le Fay's six most malicious acts. I pulled some of the Darkhold backstory from their discussion, but it's not really focused on Morgan and Tony.

So there you have it! That's everything I know about Tony's love for King Arthur and every run-in I know about that he's had with Morgan le Fay! One of two terrible people in Tony's life named Morgan! Actually, I don't think we've seen Morgan Stark in a while. I wonder if he's alive. There should be a Morgan & Morgan team-up. I should probably stop typing and post this.

The tl;dr point is that you should all read Doomquest and its sequels, especially Legacy of Doom. They're great!

[h2bakugou]

hi i really like your stories! can i request a bakugoxfemreader where bakugo gets hit by a love quirk and it kinda lingers for a bit and everyone teases him. then it goes away and he kinda humiliates y/n and she goes off on him and he feels bad? fluff ending please? <3!!

a/n: hiii!! thank you so much hun! of course, this idea is actually really cute omg skfkdjh yes lets do this

summary: after getting hit by a love quirk that makes bakugou a little more interested in you which only makes everyone tease him. when its effects begin to wear off, however, he insists on teasing you.

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff, some angst im so sorry what is it with me making like borderline love angst fics lately yall-

wordcount: 2.2k

;cut for length;

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»»————-　★　————-««

“We’ll just have to wait for the effects to wear off, there’s nothing we can do.” Recovery Girl was telling the truth, whether Bakugou believed it or not. He was fed up with this.

“You’ll return to the dorms, be thankful we have tomorrow off.” Mr. Aizawa instructed, letting Bakugou leave to head back to the dorms. Grumbling something under his breath, Aizawa shook his head as he watched Bakugou leave past the doors.

“Look after him.” Mr. Aizawa stated to the few class members that had come to see if he was okay. Those few students consisted of Deku, Mina, Sero, Kirishima, Kaminari, and you.

You were worried about Bakugou. Not only that he’d be dealing with the effects of a quirk for however long it lasted, which Recovery Girl estimated up to 72 hours.

But because the blast that hit him was hard. He’d took a pretty good beating from the villain alone, but he sure showed them who was boss. But not before declaring his love for you.

It was an effect of the quirk.

Bakugou was now feeling the effects of being madly in love with you. You happened to be right beside him when he was hit, making you the first person he saw when you helped him up off the ground, making you the target for his feelings.

Of course, he was under influence of the quirk, so you knew not to get ahead of yourself.

It felt awful. You felt worse than you could’ve felt. Watching your crush parade around calling you ‘his’ and acting like you really were an item, all while the rest of your classmates teased him, finally calling him soft and vulnerable.

But for the sake of not letting anyone know how you truly felt, you kept a smile on your face. You kept your head up, and only let it fall when you were in the privacy of your room, all while Bakugou blew up your phone with texts.

The effects of this god forsaken love quirk were at it’s peak on the second day when Bakugou attached himself to you. Holding you, hugging you, holding your hand, he had to be touching you or he claimed he was in agonizing pain.

So you just let it slide. You didn’t mind it, or mind his warm breath on your neck when he laid on you in public. His breath against your neck only made your face hotter, but you knew it was just the quirk.

You had to remind yourself that it was just the quirk.

“Kacchan’s all soft for you! How cute.” Kaminari teased. You shook your head. Then you heard the snap of a phone camera. 

Kaminari now had a collection of pictures, all consisted of Bakugou clinging onto you somehow.

Sending it in the group chat shared between the Bakusquad, Mina was the first to respond, quoting that you should take him out on a date while you had the chance.

You didn’t feel right taking advantage of him. None of it felt right. But you couldn’t peel him off of you. You wanted this to actually be him, to actually be Katsuki Bakugou holding you close, whispering that he loved you in your ear just loud enough for you to hear.

“I’m gonna head up to my room.” You mentioned, finally pulling Bakugou’s arms off of you, but he quickly stood up.

“Where are you going, Babe?” Bakugou’s voice was the same, and it made chills run down your spine as you heard it.

“Awe!” Kaminari smiled, already shipping the two of you together.

“Shut up dunce face.” Bakugou turned to Kaminari to insult him. Kaminari just smiled and hugged him, Bakugou hugging him back for once.

You took the opportunity to run to your room. 

Looking through the group chat that included Bakugou, you saw nothing but photos of Bakugou being nice. Being kind, being not himself. Hugging you, and others, being nice to Deku, like without screaming at him.

Most of the photos included you and him somehow, whether it be like just now where you were cuddling together on the couch, or how he’d held your hand.

There was still a bit of Bakugou that hadn’t completely disappeared, that was beginning to show up more and more as the effects of the quirk began to wear off.

But the pounding on your door was more than enough to keep you out of your thoughts.

Kaminari and Sero were lurking around the corner, keeping an eye on Bakugou as he knocked on your dorm door.

You quickly opened the door thinking something was wrong.

“Bakugou-”

His lips slammed onto yours, with just enough time for Kaminari to snap a picture.

Pushing him off of you, you could feel your heart racing. You shook your head and just stared at the blonde as he smiled at you.

“Go to bed, Katsuki.” You showed him your phone to indicate that it was way past his usual bedtime.

“Let me kiss you one more time idiot.” Bakugou’s voice was still so eerily familiar. It was the same one that called you a dumbass on the regular, the same one that you heard yelling as you sparred.

You didn’t know Kaminari and Sero had seen the kiss, let alone taken a picture of it. 

“This isn’t you. Just go to sleep.” You were hurting, more than you should’ve been. Why couldn’t you just tease him like the rest of your friends? Why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be Bakugou?

You stayed in your room the following day, asking Jiro to politely bring you some food during lunch and dinner. 

She didn’t ask questions, but she had a feeling she knew what was wrong. But she didn’t bother you, she just told you to feel better and went along with her day. 

Bakugou’s texts eased up and by the end of the night, they had completely stopped.

Finally, after about two and a half days, the effects had completely worn off and the usual grumpy, egotistical, and crass Bakugou was back.

Class had gone by fine, you sat in your seat beside Bakugou, knowing he knew. Knowing he’d seen the texts, the pictures, all of it. He was a bomb waiting to go off, quite literally.

As the time dwindled down, you were on edge. 

And finally it happened.

Heading to the stairs to go back up to your dorm for some alone time, to hopefully get your mind off of Bakugou entirely, he stopped you, slamming you into the wall near the stairs.

“We need to talk.” Bakugou’s eyebrows were knitted together, his red eyes were glaring into your own (e/c) ones.

“What’s there to talk about? I know you’ve seen it all already.” You looked away, taking interest in the floor.

“I know you know I know. Don’t think that it was actually me.” Bakugou didn’t want to say that. Despite being under the influence of some love quirk, those were his true feelings.

Sure keeping it all bottled up was his way of doing things, but that quirk freed up a lot of his emotions. How he felt toward you. 

He didn’t want to be saying all of this, but he was.

“Don’t you think that I already know that?” You looked back up at him, hurt written all over your face.

Kaminari and Kirishima peeked their heads around the corner watching as the two of you talked. More classmates came over, watching the exchange.

“You should. I don’t like you.” Bakugou was lying. He just couldn’t say the truth. It was easier to lie about it, it was easier to keep it all inside, but seeing you like this was destroying him.

“I have liked you since we met back at the entrance exams. Do you know how awful it was to sit and watch you act like you were actually caring for me? Like you had even just the tiniest bit of interest in me? I knew it wasn’t you. I knew it was just some stupid quirk. I knew it wasn’t fucking you. Do you know how bad I wanted to kiss you back when you kissed me? Do you know how bad it hurt t shove you away like I didn’t fucking love you?” You shoved Bakugou back, now painfully aware of the audience watching you.

“Hey-”

“Save it. It’s time for you to go to bed right? Eight-thirty?” You turned and began to walk up the stairs, leaving him behind.

You picked up your pace once you were out of sight, tears beginning to flood from your eyes as you clenched your chest, your heart finally shattering into a million pieces.

“Woah dude.” Kaminari approached Bakugou.

“What?” Bakugou stared at the blonde, watching as Kaminari just sighed.

“You might want to go talk to her.” Kirishima stepped in.

“I know.” Bakugou mumbled, proceeding to head up the stairs after you.

Bakugou had his hands tucked in his pockets as he approached your dorm door. He didn’t know what to say, or how to say it.

In the middle of searching for the right thing to say, all he could think about was how he hugged you, how his hand fit perfectly in yours. How your lips felt for the few seconds they were on his.

Knocking quietly, Bakugou looked away as you pulled the door open. You didn’t say anything as you stared at him, your eyes red and puffy as tears still fell from them.

You went to close the door but Bakugou stopped it, pushing it back open as you took a few steps back into your room.

You were silent save for the muffled sounds of your crying which you cushioned with the sleeve of your sweater. You didn’t face him either. 

Bakugou stared at your back. He stood quietly as he searched harder to find the words to say, to fix this mess that he’d made. Or at least had a hand in making.

“I am an asshole.” Bakugou started. Whether it bruised his ego or not, it was the truth. He couldn’t believe he’d actually said that.

You didn’t reply, despite wanting to agree with him.

“But I am so fucking in love with you.” Bakugou raised his voice just enough so you could hear the strain behind his words. Your eyes widened as you froze in place.

“And I can’t explain how I feel. I’ve never been good at it. And I was heavily influenced by that stupid fucking quirk but I swear, behind it all, I wasn’t doing it absentmindedly. I love you.” Bakugou admitted.

“And I saw all of the shit that happened and I just wanted to erase it. Because I didn’t know how you felt. I felt like an asshole even more for acting like a dumbass.”

“And I know I am an asshole but just please look at me.” Bakugou pleaded. His voice was soft again. You slowly turned around and met his eyes.

“I don’t regret anything. And I certainly don’t regret this.” Bakugou took a few steps, almost like he was running at you, and cupped your wet cheeks, bring your lips to his.

It was perfect. The feeling of your lips on his. The way they fit against his. The familiar feeling that Bakugou recalled the first time he felt your lips. 

He savored it, even the vaguely salty taste from your tears. He didn’t stop, he couldn’t. He needed this. It was his antidote. You kissed him back, your hands slowly rising to meet his.

And when your palms cupped his hands, he pulled away, holding your face still as he butted his forehead to yours.

“I fucking love you, dumbass.” Bakugou smiled, the same smile he wore whenever he was being a jerk, the same smile he taunted all your classmates with, the smile that you knew belonged to Katsuki Bakugou.

“You are an asshole.” You cried, more tears falling from your eyes as you shook in his hands. Bakugou’s eyes widened, not knowing how to react.

“I love you too.” You smiled. It was all Bakugou needed to pull you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you, holding you like you were going to slip away.

After a few hours of explaining and talking, the two of you were on the same page, completely understanding of how one another felt, despite it being difficult to open up about it.

Waking up the next morning in each other’s arms was not how you expected the school day to start. You rubbed your eyes as you stared at a sleeping Katsuki hugging your side. 

“Hey, wake up.” You smiled, nudging his shoulder. Bakugou quickly opened his eyes at the sound of your voice.

“Oh shit.” Bakugou glanced at the clock that sat on your bedside table and darted up.

“I’ll see you in class, love you.” Bakugou gave you a quick kiss before running out of your room and over to his.

You smiled, feeling so much better. Talking about it helped. And Bakugou was now proud to call you his. And even more so, he wasn’t ashamed of the pictures taken of him, or the dozens of messages he’d sent to you.

He was going to fill his camera roll with dozens more of pictures of you and him. Ones that allowed both of you to be open and loving toward one another, without some second-hand quirk getting in the way.

And it started with one picture of Bakugou kissing you while you laid together.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[jen-with-a-pen]

THIS HOUSE HAD SWING IN IT - These Things Remind Me of You

One

gen summary: Following the events of the Battle of Earth, Bucky is graciously pardoned and decides it's best to return back to his roots. Shelbyville, Indiana, to be exact. Recovering from his time in Wakanda, his brutal past, and the loss of his best friend, Bucky tries his hardest to finally find peace. In his attempts, you come along and change everything.

chapter summary: Meeting. Table. Memories. Jazz.

pairings: indiana!bucky barnes x reader

a/n: here's the second installment. again, i can't believe i actually got this started and written out after being in my head for so so long. enjoy!

cover art: original art from The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #1 by Derek Landy & illustrated by Federico Vincentini | edited by me via photoshop

want some background for this fic? check out my playlists for this work!

This House: The Swing Collection

This House Had Swing In It

disclaimer: the only places you'll find this fic, and my writing, will be my blog and my AO3. =)

It’s raining, again.

Not that the rain wasn’t normal, especially for this time of year, especially for this type of town. Shelbyville, Indiana, just like all other towns in the state, is in the middle of one of its whirlwind seasons, with one day being cold and cloudy and the next being stuffy and storming.

Downtown Shelbyville seems quieter than usual, given it is a Saturday afternoon. Families and individuals alike are sleeping in, running errands, the usual, despite the unfortunate weather conditions. The small diner only has a handful of patrons today and a few employees behind the counter attempting to busy themselves.

The weatherman always gets it wrong.

“Hey, Bucky?”

Sam Wilson snaps his fingers in front of the other man’s face. His counterpart jerks out of whatever clouded thought he’s having and glares at his partner across the table, annoyance prominent in his eyes. Sam throws his hands up in mock surrender, brow raised in tandem.

“Hey! Hey, sorry man, just makin’ sure you’re here,” he defends, shaking his head and lowering his hands back to his club sandwich. Bucky Barnes sits across from him— back to the kitchen and eyes to the door, same seat, same table, just like every week prior. A moment passes and he finally relaxes, slouching in the chair. His eyes flick from the diner’s front entrance, to Sam, to the street just outside the window. Door, Sam, street, repeat. He had already checked and triple-checked the number of people in the dinr— seven, including them, to be exact.

Sam takes a bite of his meal and looks at his partner.

“You are here, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, ’m here,” Bucky mumbles. He picks up his coffee and sips it, grimacing at the burning liquid as it travels down his throat. It’s bitter, like him.

“Alright, makin’ sure,” Sam chews, “It’s just, ya know, I have to check up on you. We both know this is the only way you can stay here. Hell, I’m just glad they let me be your parole officer,” he gestures with air quotes.

Bucky absently nods, turning to his reflection in the window. A ghost of a man stares right back; how the dark and sunken skin under his eyes fails to hide the evidence of his insomnia sleep, long strands of chestnut hair fall from his half-assed pony tail. His overgrown stubble creeps down his neck and up to his cheeks.

Sam shakes his head and huffs. Another bite, a sip from his drink, a swallow.

“Bucky, look at me,” Sam pleads, “I just wanna check up on you. Not only because I have to, but because I want to.”

The brooding man reluctantly breaks his gaze with his reflection. He softens when he’s met with a distinct type of desperation behind Sam’s eyes, something he has only seen with one other person before. Someone who is long gone, now.

Picking up his coffee, he takes another sip and considers his friend.

“I’m fine, really.”

The lie isn’t hidden very well, but it’s the best he could do. Sam mulls over the response for a moment.

“Alright, if you insist. You’re free to go, jailbird.”

“If anyone’s the bird, it’s you.”

Sam chuckles and shakes his head, taking another bite. He eyes Bucky as he rises from the table with coffee in hand.

“If you need anything you know where to find me, how to reach me, all that good shit.”

“Yeah, thanks, Sam. See you next week.”

Just like that, another meeting in the books.

★

The house is empty.

Bucky stands dripping in the doorway from the attached garage, a damp bomber jacket in one hand and a cold coffee in the other. Wet strands stick to his neck and face as it falls out of what’s left of his ponytail.

The clouds presented a clear gray sky by the time he was halfway home, the rain pausing momentarily. Five minutes before he pulled into the driveway, however, said clouds decided break time was over.

Fuckin’ forecast, stupid weatherman.

Grumbling, Bucky closes the door and steps into the kitchen, draping his jacket over a chair sat haphazardly at the dining room table. A thin layer of dust covers the dark-stained wood, along with the scattered folders and documents fanned over one another. On another chair sits a couple of unpacked cardboard boxes and envelopes of assorted government papers; proof the set is hardly, if ever, used for eating and more for sloppy storage.

He pauses briefly, moving a folder off the edge of the table. It reveals two small markings carved into the weathered wooden bevel of the outer edge. An ‘R’ and a ‘J’, childishly engraved into the grain. He smiles to himself, running his Vibranium fingers over the letters.

A flashback. A black and white movie plays in his mind: he and Rebecca find their father’s Army-issued pocketknife, brainstorming the ingenious idea of carving their initials into mama’s wooden table, finishing up the last bend of the ‘J’ when father walks in. Rebecca immediately points to James— the brains behind it all— who, in turn, decides to blame the vandalism on Millie and Maggie, who were only toddlers at the time.

He chuckles to himself, thumb pressing into the very same curve and tracing the letter over and over. A small smile begins to crack over his face when the thoughts begin to flood in, uncontrolled, unprompted.

The film reel in his mind skips to the last day he was home: the look on each of his sisters’ faces when the cab arrived to whisk him off to Wisconsin for basic training, quivering lips and glassy eyes from each of them. He kneels, promising them he’d bring each of them a souvenir when he comes home. He feels how hard they squeeze him goodbye, pecking his cheeks with as many kisses as they could.

That’s the one memory still ingrained in his mind. Resistant, he found, to the brainwashing.

He remembers when he first came out of it all: how he found out he was reported M.I.A., how the realization that he never came home sank in. He never got the girls their gifts, never got to see them grow up, to grow up with them.

Bucky’s smile fades and he palms the table. The Vibranium mechanisms hum as he pushes lightly on the engravings.

He fights the recollection of the day he found out his mother willed the dining room set to him. After he hadn’t come home in months. In years. After father’s death. After an Army rep, with a hat over his heart, presented a neatly folded flag with a Western Union telegram informing his mother and sisters he was M.I.A. That he was missing.

The confusion, hurt, anger, heartbreak.

The thought of his mama, believing he was alive, adamant until her final breath, without him there. Without him. He was robbed. He was cold. He was—

Crunch.

Bucky’s eyes fly open, tears sliding from the corners. He blinks, looking down to find himself gripping tightly onto the edge of the table. Relenting, he glances at his hands. A few splinters caught in the grooves of metal brush off on his jeans. His jaw tightens when he sees a decent-sized split in the old grain.

Moving into the kitchen to further prevent any more damage, Bucky stands in front of the sink and dumps the rest of his coffee down the drain. The window above displays a show of rain pelting the trees in the woods behind his house. With the clouds and the usual colors muted and dead, the rain just adds the right amount of gloom to the already depressing palette that paints the rest of the outside.

He tosses the paper to-go cup into the garbage can, moving to the stairs to kick his boots off at the bottom. Bucky ventures up to his second-floor bedroom, flesh hand sliding along the railing. The door creaks open as he enters his bedroom off the landing. A flick of the light switch allows him to let go of the breath he was holding when he sees what he’s walked into.

A white cat is sprawled across the middle of his bed, sleeping peacefully and unbothered by her caretaker’s entrance. She hasn’t moved from the position Bucky had left her in when he left earlier that morning. Attached to her brown leather collar is a tag with a phone number and a name engraved onto it.

Alpine.

Smiling to himself, Bucky carefully sits at the edge of the bed and continues to shed his damp clothing without waking his cat. His efforts prove futile, however, as Alpine yawns and stretches, purring when she realizes who has disturbed her slumber.

“Hey, girl,” Bucky greets softly. His flesh hand stretches to scratch her cheek while his prosthetic haphazardly tosses his socks into the hamper across the room. Alpine gladly accepts his scritches and rubs along the length of his arm and across his broad back. He slips off his t-shirt and pulls on a hoodie, complimenting it by trading his jeans for athletic pants. Finally dressed, Bucky rises and takes Alpine into his arms. He cradles her as he exits his room, crossing the open hallway to a door across from his, one he has to unlock with a skeleton key he keeps by his bed. Worn, faded away, and old.

Kinda like him.

The lock clicks. Bucky pushes the door open and turns the light on as he bends to set down his cat. The soft yellow lighting illuminates the small room, with wall-to-wall bookshelves, stacked chests and cardboard boxes, and a heap of blankets and pillows placed in the middle of it all. Books, journals, newspapers, magazines, vinyl records. Old media fills every square inch of space of the room, scattered across the floor.

A few feet from the side of the door sits an elongated Magnavox 3-way, complete with original cathode-ray tube television, record player, and radio. It sits at the front of the room like a king on the throne of its country of outdated media.

Bucky’s shoulders relax the minute he shuts the door. Alpine mews as she jumps onto the top of the wooden television cabinet and looks at Bucky with expectant blue eyes.

“I know, girl, just gotta pick out what we wanna listen to, first.”

He kneels at one of the chests, opening it to reveal more vinyl. A moment passes as he skims the various sleeves, finally pinching one out of the middle and sliding it out of its place. Carefully, he unsheathes a gleaming black record and places it on the platter. He delicately positions the needle on the edge and switches the turntable on. Static and noise answer for a moment, the crackling filling the silence as Bucky plops on the ground.

Alpine jumps from her perch and joins him, kneading into a blanket beside him. He waits a moment and places a hand on Alpine to stroke her. Softly but surely, Ella Fitzgerald begins to croon from the antique speakers accompanied by Louis Armstrong. Bucky sighs, eyes fluttering as the music fills the room and his soul. He lets the song play a minute more.

As the chorus swells, he reaches over his cat to grab a leather-bound notebook and the pen sitting on top of it. He opens it, dating the top right corner.

The ballad continues as he starts to write.

[clarissalance]

Wolves

Pairing: Kaeya x fem!Reader, Diluc, Crepus

Warning: minor swearing, cheesy flirt, dry humour

Summary: All men are wolves.

A/N: Muahaha I have came back and brought you the blatant cheesy flirt. Welcome to the first lesson of flirting with Kaeya. Lol, guess who is coming next? 

Also, I’m planning to write a wind-trace fic because the game is so fun. (p/s: I waste 3 hours playing it) Guess who is in it? 

Okay, the first fic for my lover boy. Please give Kaeya a lot of love!! (*￣3￣)╭ 

Another beautiful day, another day of wasting the lovely weather to stay inside the study room, bury your head into the pile of books next to you. You let your eyes wander to the window again, gazing rays of light fleeting through the window, golden hues on the wooden floor. Tiny specks of dust accumulate overnight, fluttering around the curtain. Outside, the chirping birds bathing under the sun, casually chilling on the window. Oh, how you wish you would be able to relax like those carefree animals.  

“You might burn the birds crips the longer you stare at it.” Startled by the quiet voice, your head snaps toward the blue-haired teenage direction, and you can’t help but scowl at his statement. You can’t be the only person in the room who wants to go out and play. Knowing Kaeya, he’s definitely trying to find an excuse to end the class early. 

The only person who is diligent, hard-working, and does not have thought about leaving this room is the young master Diluc. The young man is sitting opposite you, eyes burning holes on the thick textbook. 

Archon, how can a 16 years old overly enthusiastic person like him enjoy the excitement of reading Descartes philosophy? Maybe he is the only child in Mondstadt, no, maybe in the whole Teyvat who enjoys something torturous like that. Shivering at your own thought, you shift your chair closer to Kaeya, giving Diluc a terror gaze.      

“Aren’t you going to finish the essay?” Pointing at the half-full parchment on the table, you ask. “ Diluc and I already finish it.” 

“ Oh, how do I know? How am I suppose to understand Kant and Descartes theories, and then link them to deductive and inductive reasoning?"  Kaeya lets his finger running through the silky blue hair and pulls them out of frustration. On the other side, Diluc shoots him a glare, annoyed by his brother complaint. 

 “How did you guys do it?” Kaeya asks boredly, his finger pokes the quill. 

You put your hand under your chin, beaming him charmingly.  “ You know Kaeya, it is something I call improvisation. Words just flow out of my tip.” Under your lashes, you can see his cheek dusting pink. Cute! 

“ Just read the books, and you will get it.” Diluc unhelpful adds. 

Both of you stare at red-head incredulously. Is he being serious? 

Like always, Kaeya knows he can not take your advice to heart. One is a genius, and the other is just pure luck.  

Suddenly, the door is burst open, and you quickly shove your feet into the shoes, eyes darting to see the intruder. Internally, you hope that person is not lady Elizabeth, your etiquette teacher. Your blood runs cold at the thought. You can already imagine her sharp tones commenting how horrendous and un-ladylike your act is. 

“How is your study going?” A deep, strong voice booming from the back, and finally, you get let out a breath. Diluc looks up from his book, beams brightly at the man. 

“ We are done with homework, father. These are just extra reading.” Well, for the record, these are his extra readings, not yours. And Kaeya hasn’t finished his 2 feet scrolls of essay yet. 

Master Crepus nods in satisfaction. “ If that is finished, you kids can take a break. The young lady from the Gunnhildr family is here with her father. Maybe you can give her some accompanies.”  The middle-aged man directs the words at you, maybe feeling guilty for leaving a young lady like you in his two sons care. 

Your parents left you in the Ragnvindr care every Summer because of their hectic schedules and frequent business trips at this time of the year. In addition, your mother says it is essential for you to have good relationships with the heir of Ragnvindr and his brother. “Maybe you will need their help someday.” She left it vaguely. 

“ Are you guys going to drink again?” Kaeya suspiciously questions, his eyes glinting with playfulness. 

“ Hey, what’s wrong with men having a drink together?” Crepus defensively retorts, notices how Diluc gives him a disproving gaze.

“ When you guys grow up, you would enjoy it too.” The three let out opposing noises, clearly not having the same idea as him. The man waves dismissively return back the topic. 

“ Let’s come down to greet the head of Gunnhildr first.” He heads toward the door, down the hallway.   

“And be nice to the young lady, boys.” The master emphasizes the phrase, his eyes pinning at the guilty-looking Kaeya and the absent-minded Diluc. Finally, he exits the room, not forgetting to close the door. 

“ Father says as if we don’t treat people nicely.” Kaeya pouts, right after Crepus footstep drifting away from the study. “ The workers never complain anything about our behaviours, right Luc?” 

Sitting next to him, you can't help but let out a snort. He dares to say that? Kaeya raises eyebrows at you, annoyed by your shaking shoulder. The boy in red has a blank face, maybe not interested. 

“ First, you guys ignore me for 2 weeks when I just came here.” You burst out in laughter, recalling back at the very first memory when you just arrived here.

“When I tried to approach, you both avoided me like the plague.” Your whole body is shaking vigorously, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. This is too hilarious! Somewhere in between, you can spot Diluc burning cheek. 

“ Haha, and haha-later,” You can hardly breath, laughter bubbling up. “Adeline told me your reason is ‘It's b-because she doesn’t have a willie.' ” Dramatically air-quoting, you even imitate their stuttering childish voices. This earns you a pointed glare from Diluc and a smack in the arm from Kaeya, but a good laugh is always worth it. 

Both of them freeze on their tracks, faces puff red as tomatoes, steaming almost coming off their ears. If the young heir is to wear a red suit, you are sure he can blend in well with the mansion roof. 

Diluc shifts stiffly in his chair and abruptly stands up, heading toward the exit. Maybe he is too embarrassed at the mention of his dark childhood. 

“Where-haha, are you going, Luc?” You are still in the middle of your giggling, noticing how Diluc is dashing to the door. Letting out a coughing fit, he quietly mumbles. 

 “ I'm going down to greet the Gunnhildr family.” His figure vanishes right behind the door, not letting you tease him further. Outside, the painful sound of Diluc tripping on his own feet make you almost fall off your chair. You have too many good laughs today. 

“Right, I-I should get going too.” Next to you, the blazing Kaeya remembers to dig a hole and hide. His hand slams hard on the table and the youthful teenager stands up, gracefully heading toward the door. Maybe he wants to avoid becoming another joke.  

" Ah, wait-" You follow instantly, but the moment you stand up, something slips, and the next thing you know, the ground is shaking, and you see the ceiling is getting further. 

Your first instinct is to grab the closest object, and then close your eyes, waiting for the painful impact with your head. Clench your jaw tightly, and you hold your breath, hoping it will hurt less if you tense your body. 

Right after tensing up, you feel someone just grab you by your shoulder, and your feet step on something bumpy. And then, your head makes an impact with something hard. A grunting is followed. 

Heart hammering in your chest, you cautiously peek, expecting yourself to see the ceiling, but instead, greet with an unusual sight. A pair of dark colour trouser paired with leather shoes. On top of it is your feet, loosely wore low heel is stepping on that leather shoes. Shit, you stepped on Kaeya. In a panic, you rush down from his painful sore feet, but your head jams in his ribs. He just let out another woeful sound.   

This time, you carefully keep your position in place, slowly remove each foot one by one, moving away from him. Craning your neck upward, you finally meet his gaze, his eyes are full of concern and uneasiness, spooked out by your sudden incident.

 “Did you hit your head hard?” Kaeya asks you nervously, his voice laced with anxiety. He must have been terrified when you slip. You shake your head, hands grabbing his shirt.

" I should be asking you that. Are you okay?" You give him a worrying gaze, your fingers running along his ribs, checking if your stone head broke anything. " I didn't break anything, right?" Hesitantly, you look into his deep blue eyes, noticing the diamond shape. Has he always has this in his eyes? 

Kaeya snorts inelegantly, shakes his head. " Your head is hard as a rock, but that much can't break my ribs yet." This earns him a hit on his arm. 

"Hey! I'm trying to be considerate, and this is how you treat me?" You jab him, hand purposely smack his chest, but he doesn't budge an inch. How strong is this guy? This time, you put all the force on your arm, slapping hard on his chest again. The young man in the blues shoot you a shit-eating grin, clearly not faze.  

 "How is my chest feeling?" He pokes, his palm engulfing yours. 

" Too hard for my liking." You give him a complex look, trying to escape from his tight grip but fail miserably. You wiggle your hand again, shaking off his iron clad. Why is he so strong? 

While you are attempting to flee from his firm grasp, the young man leans down, face an inch away from you. Flushing at the sudden closure, like usual,  you avoid his burning gaze. You hold your breath when your noses almost touch. What is this rascal doing again? 

" You shouldn't be touching men like that." Kaeya opens his mouth, saying something completely out of nowhere. You tilt your head in confusion, while your eyes travel down, you notice your hands still on his chest. O-oh, so he is saying about this. 

" I  don't normally touch random people." You mumble defensively, your eyes lower. " I was checking for your injury."

"They will misunderstand." Kaeya cuts in right after, not accepting the excuse. But why would they misunderstand? You are just being nice, right? 

Like he can understand what is going inside your mind, Kaeya reminds you.

"All men are wolves, you should be more be careful with them."   

You give him a confusing look. 

Kaeya is not one of them, right? 

Eventually, he let out a soft sigh and moves back, allowing you to savour your personal space. Just right after your throbbing heart finally calms down, he brings your tight-griped hand in his to his face. Your meet with his alluring look in his eyes. It is pulling you in, telling you to give in the temptation. Plump lips brush your knuckle teasingly, he blows a warm breath on the back of your hand. He gives you a saccharine smile.

" And if not be careful." His husky voice ringing in your ears, the numbing spark runs along your spine. "They might devour you." 

[delicatewerewolfsoul]

Praise Me - Lee Felix

–pairing: lee felix x reader

–genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, school au

–word count: 2,1k

– summary: what happens when reader stumbles upon a beautiful person singing?

– @districtninewriters writer’s room, inspired by bar’s quote (@yyxgin) in her fic sweet night :

“ I wish you sang more, I like your voice”

You find yourself scrolling through the empty hall of the third store of the school for the third time this week. It was exam week and you were desperate for a quiet place to study. The halls around the actual classes and the wards outside were too chaotic and stressful for you to actually be able to relax and be able to concentrate easier, and since the third floor was actually almost always empty, since most of the classes were downstairs, it remained empty for the most part of the day so it perfect for studying. You pass all the empty classrooms and take a seat at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the rooftop. You put your open book at the stairs and open your drink to sip it as your eyes take in the material in front of you. You still had time till that test but you felt it was better to finish studying the materials quickly to have more time for more difficult subjects. 

How long will this continuing routine of studying keep going? You think as you finish studying the first half of what you had to learn. It was the student's duty to learn what the teacher said like the back of their hand, but what would happen if you didn’t learn the way it is in books? What if you took a step back and actually thought before consuming everything? You sign, putting your back against the wall of the building, taking a look outside of the big windows of the halls. Too many thoughts on your head, but you decide it’s not worth putting energy in them, deciding on finishing your school life peacefully. 

A faint voice, coming from across the hall, breaks you out of your thoughts. A sweet, yet deep, musculine melodic voice was coming  from somewhere, pulling you in. Curious about it, you stand up to investigate. You’ve never heard that beautiful voice before in the music events the school heard before, who was that person, singing so beautifully?

You slowly approach towards the open doors of the classrooms, coming closer and closer to that sweet tune. You hear his sigh midday in his singing, he seems unconfident, and it’s making you frown. What is making him feel like that? His singing is wonderful and definitely worth praised for. You finally peek inside the room he’s into and you almost gasp.

A beautiful boy was sitting beside the window. His eyes were closed as he sang the song over and over again, obviously getting tired for the many times he practised the same thing, but still not satisfied by it. He looks too pretty for this world, sun falling nicely on his freckled skin, the slight wind browning his hair back slightly. You swore to yourself that there wasn’t a more beautiful sight as the one you had in front of your eyes. In your daze, you move your feet slightly and it accidentally hits the door, startling both you and the poor kid. You take a few steps back in panic at the fear of him catching you looking at him singing and you run, you run to hide back at the same stairs you were hiding before. You put your back against the wall again letting out a breath as you put your hand on your fast beating heart. What did just happen?

“ Do you mayhaps know who he is?” you say pointing to the boy that was currently leaning on his friend's shoulder, covering his mouth as he was laughing hard at something someone told him. Hyunjin turns around and smiles as he spots him. “That is Felix actually, one of the popular kids, why?” he says putting their head on his hands, very interested in your very sudden interest towards the well known sunny boy.

“Do you know what club he’s in?” you say, your attention still on Felix, as he is now asking something, his friend and you smile slightly, as you swear you notice stars in his eyes. “Volleyball” he says and they raise his one eyebrow in question. “What’s with all these questions y/n, please tell me” he says and you sigh and you put your chin on the table in front of you. “You know… I caught him singing yesterday” you say and he gasps. “you caught Lee Felix singing? When?”

Startled by the volume of his voice, you put your hand on his mouth to sush him panicked. “Not that loud! From your reaction, I’m guessing people don’t know about this” you sigh as you lean back, “anyways, it was yesterday, while I was studying in the third store”. “His voice was truly amazing but I think he wasn’t really confident about it” you sigh thinking about all the times he gasped in between his singing, frowning. 

“The real question is… Does he know you heard him?” Hyunjin wonders and you flinch at the memory of almost getting caught. “No he doesn’t… He almost caught me listening but I got away fast” you say and Hyunjin laughs at his awkward friend in front of him and it’s sudden interest in another human being.

“But I think I’ll reveal myself today… I want to actually compliment him, if i get to hear him again” you say and he nods his head smiling, happy with how everything is going. It felt like it was the best way to do this. No one knew what would come out of this new interaction, new friends or a love interest? Regardless of the outcome, a little compliment never killed anybody, maybe you’d be able to boost his confidence and then he’ll be able to bless everyone with his miraculous voice. All you had to do was take the first step and approach him.

Free period comes again and you can’t help how excited you were. You go up the stairs quickly with your books clutched to your chest, quickly plopping on your usual spot, with a big smile on your face. Was he going to sing today? What was the right thing to say to him without sounding weird? Deep on your thoughts again, you almost miss the soft singing, softer than last time and definitely more hesitant than yesterday. “He must be hesitant since what happened yesterday” you pout and you stand up, not missing any more minutes.

You approach him slowly and you spot him again in the same chair as yesterday, his back turned to you, as he sang the same song from yesterday.

“I wish you sang more, I like your voice” you say softly, without even thinking, the words are already out of your mouth. You gasp when you realise what you did putting your hand on your mouth and he turns around shocked, a light blush decorating his face. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you” you say putting your hands up, and your palms forward, clearly showing how flustered you are. You wait for a response, anything, that would show that you didn’t actually destroy the very important first meeting by speaking your mind without any filter beforehand. 

What you don’t expect him to do is to shyly smile at you, and rub the back of his neck “Really?” he says kinda high pitched, clearly not believing what you said. “Definitely, I was mesmerised yesterday… I would love to hear you sing again” you say smiling back at him, relieved that he didn’t actually think you were a weirdo. 

“I swear, I won’t bother you, I’ll just sit here silently and read” you say taking a seat close to him and he laughs finding your attinks cute.“I would really enjoy it if you joined my singing sessions, really, I would love to have someone here with me… Maybe then I’ll be able to sing live”. You didn’t talk more that day, you just simply stayed by his side, as he practiced his song over and over again, with a smile on your face because of how the vents turned out.

From that day on, you kept getting closer and closer to Felix. It became a routine to spend the free period in that empty classroom, next to him. Felix started becoming more confident with his singing, day by day, his voice getting more clear and strong around you and you couldn’t be happier. But with all of what’s happening, you notice some changes in the way he treats you as well. He became more sweet around you, he treated you more gently than his other friends, greeting you with a big smile in the busy halls between all these loud students. He brought drinks for you and even gave baked goods, and that made everyone confused, as to why he was taking so good care of you.

“y/n, what is this container?” Hyunjin laughs as you get into class struggling with holding your books and the big container Felix gave you. “These are brownies, Felix gave them to me” you say as you put the container on your desk, and your books in your bag. “This is weird, this is the third time this week that you have a container this big in your hands. First cookies, then cupcakes, now this, there’s no way this has no meaning behind it, he wants to tell you something” he says and his eyes land at the orange note stuck at the back of the container. “AH” he gasps “What is this?” he says as he takes the note as his hands and opens it:

“Dear y/n,

Inside this envelope is a ticket for the little concert the music club does at the end of the next week, I would be incredibly happy if you’ll be able to come

yours, Felix”

“This is it y/n, he’s going to confess!” says Hyunjin, waving the note above his hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no way” you say, feeling your heart starting to beat faster “he just wants me to be with him during an activity that he loves, that’s all” you say excited for the event.

You arrive at the event that Friday and you can’t wait for what’s about to happen. Since you never hang out with Felix outside of school, you don’t really know what to expect. You enter the room and Hyunjin waves at you, so you can come closer to him. 

“What are you doing here?” you whisper yell at him as you take a seat beside him. “I’m here to watch the show!” he said and you roll your eyes since you know he means you. “Anyways, your seat in the front, Felix told me, go sit there” he says and you obediently go and sit on the front, waiting for Felix to appear.

The show starts with no sign of Felix. You start feeling antsy, did he stand you up? You look at Hyunjin and he smiles at you, murmuring to you to be patient. A text for Felix appears, saying that he won’t be late and you sigh in relief, sinking back in your seat.

What you don’t expect is Felix to appear on the stage in front of you, dressed so elegantly, and beautiful you can’t help but gasp. “Hello, this is Lee Felix and I’ll sing a song about a very special person that helped me be more confident in myself and praised me whenever they could” he says, locking eye contact with you, giving you a sweet smile and you really can’t believe your eyes. Lee Felix, about to sing in front of a crowd. The boy that couldn’t even sign without his voice shaking of fear, being confident enough to do it. 

And he starts singing, and you feel your eyes watering, too many emotions from the beautiful voice that made you fall in love, for that boy that with a single glance, stole your heart. You feel yourself lost in the moment his voice taking you in, a single tear dropping from your eyes. As the song ends, he bows at the crowd and you stand up to clap at him, and the whole does as well.

“This song was actually made for y/n. I wanted to thank them for helping be more me and taking care of me” he says into the mic and gasp, not expecting to actually mention your name. He steps down from the stage and takes  delicately both of your hands in his and says “I don’t really know if this is okay, but will you date me?” he says looking hopeful in your eyes. In the back, you hear someone cheering, and you’re sure it’s Hyunjin.“Absolutely” you say and kiss his cheek, making him burst into giggles.

tagging: @fluffyskzclub

[gallifrey1sburning]

How not to comment on fanfiction

Alright y’all, buckle in, because I am in a mood about a comment I just woke up to in my fandom email.

I was going to quote, but I didn’t want anyone to go find or respond to this person, so I decided to synopsize. It starts like this:

Hi! I haven’t read this yet, but I want to share some thoughts on your summary because I’m nitpicky like that.

Friends, this is not a good start.

What’s even less good is that it goes on for FIVE PARAGRAPHS about what this person thinks is wrong with the summary of my work. Someone spent the time to write a literal essay that is at least 2-3x longer than the summary it is about just so that they could tell me that they don’t like how I wrote it. I can’t tell you exactly what it said, because I stopped reading as soon as I realized what was happening.

I don’t know if this person writes fic. I’m going to guess not, because I would like to think that anyone who knows how much time and effort and care goes into writing fanfiction (or anything, really), and how much nervousness and imposter syndrome an author might have to fight through to be brave enough to post it, would realize that this is not an okay way to interact.

Usually, checking my fandom email is a highlight of my day. I love seeing the kudos roundups and knowing that people have enjoyed something I’ve created. I love getting comments, even if they’re just a sentence saying “aww I liked this!” because it means something I wrote made someone happy enough that they took the time to tell me so. Long comments? They’re like a free shot of serotonin.

Long comments full of criticism? Those are a kick in the face. Always. And I’ve gotten some doozies—I had one where someone ripped one of my fics to shreds, complained about every tag, told me they hated my characterizations, and then told me I shouldn’t write about anxiety because I obviously haven’t experienced it. (For the record, I’ve been on and off every depression, anxiety, and mood stabilizing medication under the sun for more than half my life. I have been hospitalized for mental health issues. Don’t say shit like this to people you don’t know.) But a long comment full of criticism from someone who hasn’t even read the thing they’re commenting on? I don’t even have words.

...Well, I do; that’s why I’m here writing an irritated rant about it.

I am sharing this because I’m mad. But I am also sharing this because I think sometimes readers don’t think about the fact that there are actual human beings writing the things they read and waking up to comments tearing them down. These comments? The shitty ones with ridiculous criticisms that I am completely aware are ridiculous? They still haunt me. When I’m deep in the the throes of that anxiety that I supposedly don’t have, reliving every time I might have embarrassed myself or upset someone or been less than perfect, these strangers’ words sneak in and tell me “You’re not good enough. People hate what you do. Why do you even bother?”

Is it rational? No. But it’s how my brain works, because my brain is an asshole, and from what I’ve gleaned over my 30+ years of life, this is common. I am not an exception or an outlier. Most of the people I’ve talked to about this frustrating phenomenon say that their brains do the same thing.

It’s been said before, but it bears repeating. Fan works are created by actual people who are pouring their time and efforts into creating something, for free, because it means something to them and they want to share it with other people that it might mean something to as well. It can be an extraordinarily nerve wracking thing to do. And shit like this? It can make people stop writing altogether. Because why spend dozens of hours outlining and brainstorming and researching and writing and editing, just to have someone show up and say “here’s what I think you did wrong”? My first Harry Potter fic is a WIP that will probably never be done, because it got a few mean comments on the first couple chapters I posted and I just... couldn’t bring myself to write the rest of it.

So yeah. I don’t really know how to wrap this up, so I’m just going to reiterate the many posts on fandom etiquette that already exist: Please don’t be shitty. If no one asked for your criticism (“constructive” or otherwise), don’t give it. If you don’t like something, don’t read it. The back button exists for a reason.

[theseusernamesarehard]

Heavenly pastries and mediocre coffee - Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: On an adventure for some coffee one morning, Fred Weasley happens to wonder into a bakery where he meets a flour covered woman who will leave quite the impression on him.

Warnings: None except this might be a bit boring :/

Time: This takes place the summer before the war so in the beginning of the Half-Blooded prince

A/N: Hi! This is my second fic on here and I would love some feedback especially since it’s a tad different from my other one (meaning that this might be a tad more boring). I had this idea and wrote it out, but while reading it I realized that nothing happens in this. So I would love to know if you enjoy calmer fics like this since I still liked this one!

Word count: 2,8k

gif isn’t mine credit to whoever made it!

“Oi, Fred!” George yelled from downstairs while Fred was still struggling to get out of bed.

“Whaaaat?” he groaned.

“The coffee machine is broken and I cannot fix it for the life of me.”

“Have you tried reparo?” Fred said as he got out and walked to the kitchen where George was standing next to steaming coffee maker.

“Have I tri-Of course I’ve tried reparo! What do you think I am, a bloody idiot?”

“Fine, fine. What do you reckon we do? I’d much rather have a coffee this morning, but I don’t think there’s time to go to a café before we have to open the shop.”

“I can handle the shop if you go get coffee? I’m sure there’s a good place around here somewhere.”

“All right, I’ll go. Want anything special?”

“Just a normal coffee and a pastry of some sort.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can!” Fred promised as he rushed back to his room to get dressed.

“I’ll get everything set up!” George promised.

In twenty minutes, Fred was exiting the shop, now fully dressed and hair still a little damp from his shower. He was on a quest to find a good place for coffee, which there were surprisingly little of on Diagon Alley. Finally, after walking around for a bit, he saw a little bakery that he was quite certain hadn’t been there for long. He entered with a hope that they had at least some sort of machine that produced anything caffeinated and walked up to an empty counter where he rang the bell.

After a moment, a woman erupted through a door that presumably led to the back space of the bakery. She was calm and walked over peacefully despite the fact that her face was almost completely covered in flour.

“Good morning and welcome to Bailey’s bakery! What can I get started for you?” she said enthusiastically, but Fred was trying his hardest to hold in his laughter, so he couldn’t answer right away. “What? Do I have something on my face?” she asked innocently, but the corners of her mouth were twitching as well.

“Perhaps a bit of flour, but it’s barely noticeable. Bailey, I assume?” he asked after chuckling slightly.

“Oh no, I’m actually Y/N. Bailey, the owner, is in the back preparing all the baked goods and trust me, that’s how you want it. I’m truly horrendous at baking.”

“If you don’t bake how do you have all that flour on your face?”

“Well let’s just say Bailey has been a bit stressed with the opening of this place and was not having any of my antics today.”

“So she threw flour at you?”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t think bosses are supposed to treat their employees like that.”

“They are when the employees are their best friend since Hogwarts and truth be told the aforementioned employee kind of deserve it.”

“I don’t know if anyone deserves a face full of flour first thing in the morning.”

“Well that just comes to show that you haven’t met me before. Now, what can I get for you?”

“Right, I meant to ask, do you have any coffee here?”

“Oh yes we do! And it is in fact extremely mediocre.”

“Aren’t you supposed to say it’s excellent?”

“Well see now that’s the trick. If I say the coffee is excellent, you’ll know I’m saying it just because I am meant to sell it. But if I say the coffee is mediocre, your interest is peaked and you’ll have no choice, but to try it and see for yourself. Am I correct?”

“I suppose I am more intrigued by the coffee now.”

“Exactly. So technically, this is a better way of selling coffee.”

“You are right.”

“So a coffee it is. Here or to go?”

“Two coffees actually. And both to go.”

“Two? Seems as though I am a better saleswoman than I thought.”

“Perhaps you should open your own shop.”

“As much as I clearly have a knack for selling things, I think I fair better as a worker who offers anecdotes about coffee and then pours that coffee”, she laughed and presented her skill to dot he latter. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually. I was asked to bring some sort of baked good, but I have been given no other instructions. Any recommendations?”

“I’ll go and see what our ever-so-cheerful baker would say.”

With that, the young woman walked to the door and stood behind it to open it so that she was not in front of the door when it was opened. She clearly knew what she was doing as another handful of flour was thrown out the door onto the floor immediately.

“Ha! Missed me”, she smiled, now standing at the door. Unfortunately that was when she got another face full of flour, but she just shrugged at Fred and grinned widely. “I’ve also got a customer here, don’t know if that’s worth mentioning.”

“You do not!” a woman’s voice yelled in horror.

“Oh yes I do. A very lovely gentleman who needs some recommendations on baked goods. have any to offer him?” she smiled.

“Go get yourself cleaned up, I’ll take it from here”, a frantic looking woman with an apron and a bit of flour on her forehead appeared from the door and pushed her grinning friend inside. “I am so sorry sir. We are not usually this unprofessional it has just been quite the morning. It’s just me and her right now and she has a tendency to get a bit snarky, so hopefully she wasn’t too bad”, the woman, who Fred figured was Bailey, started to ramble.

“Oh not at all, she was an excellent saleswoman I’d say.”

“Well good. Now you apparently need to be recommended something to eat?”

Fred mostly zoned out on the conversation with Bailey although she seemed to be very passionate about baked goods, asking multiple questions which he tried to answer. Unfortunately his thoughts were quite focused on the worker who he had been talking with. 

After a lot longer than expected, he was finally returned to the shop, which was now full of customers and went to find George who seemed to be on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

“Thank god you’re here! Where did you go to get coffee? Ireland?” he asked as he took the cup of coffee and pastry bag with a simple pain au chocolate inside it.

“Found this new bakery with some interesting workers”, Fred chuckled.

“You can tell me about it later, ‘cause right now we have a shop full of customers and I cannot handle it by myself anymore!”

“Let’s get to work then!”

The next morning George entered their kitchen and figured he must still be dreaming. He had never seen Fred this cheerful on this time of day (Christmas as children didn’t count) without any coffee.

“What are you doing up already?”

“I figured since the coffee machine is still broken I’d go to that coffee shop again”, Fred explained. “This time a bit earlier so you don’t have to manage the shop all by yourself for as long.”

“So which one is it?”

“What?”

“Yesterday you told me there were two women working at that bakery so which one do you have a crush on?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I bet it’s the worker, not the owner. The one with flour all over her face.”

“I do not have a crush on either of them!”

“Oh please! You never wake up early and besides, if you didn’t have a crush you would’ve made me go get the coffee since you did it yesterday. So which one is it?”

“This is completely ridiculous. I’m going!” Fred declared and left to the shop.

“Get me another one of those pastries!” his brother yelled after him.

George smiled from the satisfaction of knowing he had hit the nail on the head. Fred on the other hand chose to ignore him. Sure he had thought that Y/N was funny, charming and she seemed to be a sight for sore eyes with and without the flour all over her face. 

He got further proof of this when he entered the shop and saw her ringing up a customer this time face clean. She had her hair in a slight updo away from her face and was smiling while she thanked the customer and handed them their pastry.

“Good morning again. Here for more coffee?” she asked.

“I am indeed. Two cups to go again, to be specific, please”, he replied and she got on with pouring the coffee. “And my brother found his pastry tasted like, and I quote, ‘it had cascaded down from heaven into his mouth’ so I have been asked to bring another one.”

“I’ll tell the baker her work was appreciated and get another one in a second. Would you like anything else?”

“I think I’m obligated to try this heavenly chocolate thing, since he didn’t give me any yesterday.”

“I’ll go get those for you”, she smiled and Fred couldn’t help, but notice how her smile seemed to light up her whole face.

Needless to say, the twins didn’t get a new coffee machine. George made fun of Fred for it quite a bit, but as long as he had his pain au chocolate there was no way he was going to actually complain. Fred kept on going there and talking with her while they waited for his pastries to get baked or while she was pouring him coffee was his favourite part of the day. He couldn’t help, but notice that even when she had other customers, although she joked around with them for a bit, she would always return to him and continue their conversation while she was done ringing them up or telling them to wait for their baked goods. This was all the encouragement he needed to ask her out and after a week of going there and talking with her every morning, he realized that there was no way he wasn’t going to do it So he walked to the bakery and smiled slightly when her face was once again full of flour.

“Morning Fred.”

“Bailey stressed again?” he smirked.

“Yep. There was some misunderstanding with the supplier and now we have 10 extra sacs of flour. I very politely asked if she would like me to get annoying again so she can throw it at me and looks like that was enough for her.”

“You seem like a very helpful worker.”

“Oh yes, I’m indeed excellent to have around. So the usual?”

“The usual.”

“Two mediocre coffees and two chocolate things coming right up.”

“You know, I meant to talk to you about that, because I have a complaint.”

“Really? Is it the flour throwing? Because unless we throw it at you I don’t think you have the right to complain.”

“No, I’m accusing you of false advertising.”

“Her name really is Bailey, if that’s what this is about. I’m sure I can find a way to get her to show you her birth certificate.”

“This is actually about the coffee. About how you keep advertising it as mediocre? I’ve come to the conclusion that your coffee is actually quite good and definitely deserves to be described as such instead of mediocre.”

“Seems as though you haven’t had really good coffee then. Ours is definitely good, but it’s still right in the middle of the scale. It’s very possible that you just haven’t had any coffee that’s on the better side.”

“Where does one even find that kind of coffee then?”

“The secret is little muggle coffee shops. They have the best coffee ever! I think it’s because they never use any magic to speed up the process or anything. Has a really authentic taste.”

Just as Fred was about to suggest that she could show him one of those places he heard a familiar voice behind them.

“Fred! I didn’t know you come here too!” Lee Jordan laughed.

“Hi Lee, actually just found this place a few days ago.”

“Hi Lee”, Y/N smiled form behind the counter. 

“Hi Y/N, can I get a cup of coffee and one of those strawberry pastries you have?” Lee ordered. “To go.”

“Of course, I’ll go get some. We might be out of the french chocolate things that I don’t know how to say the name of, but Bailey can whip them up pretty fast if you don’t mind waiting there”, she explained, addressing the last part to Fred.

“Don’t mind at all”, Fred said and she disappeared behind the door. 

He was just in the middle of catching up with Lee when she returned with Lee’s pastry and started pouring him coffee, which made him excuse himself to go talk to her.

Fred didn’t catch that much of their conversation, but he started listening more carefully when he realized Lee seemed to be explaining some sort of date. talking about dinner, a walk and stuff like that.

“So how does that sound?” he asked by the end of his explanation.

“Make it the nice little Italian place nearby and you’re good”, Y/N replied

Of course! Fred realized that the last time he was over, Lee had told the twins hew was kind of seeing someone, but wouldn’t tell them who. It must’ve been Y/N. Fred sighed at the lost opportunity to ask out the girl.

“Great!” he said and tried to hand her money, but she claimed it was on the house. 

A date and free coffee? Unfair. Fred thought again.

“And Lee?” she yelled after him as he was about to leave. “Three roses. Not one more and not one less.”

Fred nodded as she told him she’d go check in the back if his pastries were ready. And soon enough she came out with a bag and handed it to him along with the two coffees. He thanked her and walked away, still thinking about the missed opportunity.

Over the next few days he still kept going to the coffee shop, despite George reminding him they could always get a new one. He made sure he was being more careful, though, since he didn’t want to accidentally flirt with Lee’s girlfriend.

Y/N seemed to notice the change too. It wasn’t anything monumental and she only had a few previous encounters to compare it with, but the man was clearly being more reserved. He barely chatted with her while she was getting his coffee and she kept on wondering why. One afternoon, Y/N decided to take matters into her own hands. After she got off work, she ventured on to the streets of Diagon Alley and went to find the joke shop.

Y/N smiled as she saw the bright orange and purple store front and stepped in to find complete chaos inside. She found Fred standing around and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hi!” she grinned. The man looked at her, confused and it seemed like she didn’t recognize her. “Err...it’s Y/N? From the bakery? Just less flour in my face and no apron.”

“Ah I assume you’ve come to find my brother”

Brother? Y/N thought and then remembered. “Right! You’re twins! So you’re not Fred then?”

“It’s alright. I forget we’re identical sometimes too. Makes for scary mornings. Anyways I’m George. George Weasley, nice to meet you”, he extended his hand and she shook it. 

“Nice to meet you George, like I said I’m Y/N. Do you have any idea where Fred might be?”

“I’ll go get him. Wait here”, George grinned.

Y/N waited and looked around all the products. She grinned at how creative they were.

“You were looking for me?” Fred appeared behind her. 

“I was. I got off work and decided to stop by and see the shop for myself.”

“Well, does it match your expectations.”

“I don’t think anyone could expect this. In a good way. This is amazing!”

“Why thank you. Were you looking into buying anything here?”

“I actually came to ask you about something. I was thinking that maybe once you get off work I could take you to one of those muggle coffee shops and show you what actually good coffee tastes like?”

“Okay, hold on. Aren’t you dating Lee?”

“What? No, why would I be dating Lee?”

“The other day he was clearly asking you out. The Italian place? Three roses not one more not one less?”

“That? No, no you’ve got it all wrong. Lee’s dating my roommate and he was running his plan through me since he wanted to make the date special and I know her pretty well.”

“So he took your roommate to the Italian place and gave her the three roses?”

“Yep, I’ve never been a fan roses anyway”, Y/N smiled. “But I do like Italian food.”

“Perhaps I’ll have to take you to that place sometime.”

“I’ve already asked you out to coffee, you can’t ask me out during the same day”, she laughed.

“Can’t blame a man for trying.”

“You still haven’t answered me about the coffee, you know.”

“I figured asking you out on a date means that I wouldn’t mind going on a date with you.”

“So what time do you get off?”

“Right now”, George replied cheerfully. 

“Were you eavesdropping?” Fred asked.

“No, I just happened to be stacking shelves over there and couldn’t help, but to hear some flirting. You can go, I’ll take it from here.”

“Thanks, Geore. Why don’t you lead the way?” he said, addressing the last part to Y/N, who didn’t hesitate in taking his hand and leading him outside.

[krisdreaming]

PART 2 | A PLAN

｢ Masterlist ｣  |  Next >

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x gn!reader

Summary: Somehow, you ended up agreeing to bring your non-existent boyfriend to the family Christmas gathering at your grandparents’. Your chem lab partner and fast friend, Kuroo Tetsurou, agrees to play the part. Your developing feelings for him won’t cause any problems, right?

WC: 1.7k

A/N: As you’ll (maybe) notice there are a few small tidbits I lifted from the original fic, but this is very different from it in a lot of ways! I hope it isn’t seeming too repetitive for those of you who have read the first one. Also, I know it’s a bit of a slow start, but I promise it’ll really get going in the next part.

You plan to meet Kuroo at the coffee shop again a week later. This time, you beat him there, which gives you the perfect opportunity to gather your thoughts. As you wait in line to order, you remind yourself for the hundredth time that this is really happening. Kuroo Tetsurou with his messy hair and his teasing jabs and that stupid smile has agreed to spend three whole days pretending to be your boyfriend. What could possibly go wrong?

Luckily, before your mind can concoct an answer, your turn to order comes up. Remembering last week, you order a cup of black coffee in addition to your usual macchiato. It’s a french roast, described as “dark and bold” on the menu. For the guy who reminds you daily that adding anything to coffee is only for the weak, it seems fitting. The comment is always paired with a teasing wink that shoots right to your middle, but that’s definitely not what you need to focus on as you carefully carry the two mugs to a table by the window.

You get situated and you’ve just taken your first sip when Kuroo plops down across from you. “Hey.”

“Hey! Here,” You push the mug in his direction.

“Oh,” He peers into the mug and gives a small, approving nod, “Thanks, you didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s for last week,” You say with a wave of your hand, watching as he lifts it to his lips and takes the first sip. When he sets it back down, he holds the mug in front of himself with both hands.

“You were right,” He says suddenly, “This coffee shop is better than the one on campus.”

“Oh really?” You grin smugly.

“Don’t look too proud of yourself,” He laughs, lifting his mug and taking another sip, “You’re the one who has to hire a fake boyfriend.”

“I didn’t hire you,” You snap back quickly, “And it was your idea, if you’ll recall.” You sigh, propping your chin on your hand. Judging by the expression on his face, he’s already enjoying this far too much.

“Details, details,” He waves his hand. “Doesn’t matter. I am curious, though. Why exactly did you tell your family you have a boyfriend when you don’t?” The question comes from a place of genuine curiosity, but you still feel your cheeks begin to burn. You glance down into your own mug so you don’t have to look him in the eye.

“It just gets old, you know?” You mumble to your coffee. “Having everyone ask about it at every family gathering. It seemed so easy to just make up a tiny story. It wasn’t supposed to get this big,” You laugh weakly. “I know it was stupid to lie. I guess I just didn’t want them to be disappointed in me.”

“I get that,” He says softly. “But hey, what do you need me to do?”

You shrug. You haven’t thought about that end of things as much as you probably should have. “Just... be my boyfriend. Charm their socks off. I know you’ve got it in you.” You chuckle. “It’ll be nice to have someone there,” You add after a beat.

“Yeah?” He says, leaning in a little closer. You’re a bit surprised by how much he genuinely seems to care. Half of you had expected him to treat this whole thing like it’s a big, elaborate joke.

“A lot of my cousins have significant others already. Maybe that’s why I felt like I had to make one up. Sometimes I just feel like the odd one out. Don’t get me wrong, I love them,” You add quickly, “But it’s just…”

“I get it,” He saves you from your floundering. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there. And as an honorary grandson, tell your grandma she can feed me as much as she likes.”

You stifle your laughter behind your fingers. “You think it’s a joke, but she might just take that as a personal challenge,” You shake your head, already feeling a little bit lighter. “Anyway, we need details, don’t we? About our ‘relationship’?” You lift your hands to make exaggerated air quotes.

“Probably a good idea,” He nods, “How awkward would it be if our stories didn’t match?”

“I’d rather not think about it.” You squeeze your fingers tighter around your mug. “So we started dating a few weeks into the school year, I guess?”

“Sure, makes sense,” He props his chin on his fist, his lips curling into a half smile as a teasing tone cuts into his voice, “And was it love at first sight?”

You think back to that first day of class. You’d been running late because you were having trouble finding the room. You’d slid into one of the few open seats left, next to that ridiculous head of hair, and you’d glanced at him in a silent apology as he flashed you a quick smile. Love? Probably not, but you can’t forget the slight leap you’d felt in your middle and chalked up to nerves.

“Why not?” You say lightly instead, adopting his teasing tone. “And for our first date… we saw a movie, then came here for coffee after. That’s normal, right?”

“Sounds like it to me,” He shrugs. “And you can call me Tetsurou. I don’t mind. Or even Tetsu.”

You think about it for a moment, mentally testing the words on your tongue. His full name seems strange enough, never mind shortening it to a nickname. “Tetsurou,” You clear your throat, “Tetsurou is fine. Thanks. And you can call me Y/N.”

“Perfect. Y/N.” He says it experimentally, a strange small smile on his face. Something in the air between you feels just a little heavier, but you push forward before you can think about it too much.

“And I should warn you,” You run your fingertip absently around the edge of your mug, “My grandma is going to show you every single photo she’s ever taken of me. Last year, it took her almost an hour to get through them with my cousin’s girlfriend.”

“Oh, perfect, I was running out of things to make fun of you about,” He just barely dodges your hand as you reach across the table to swat him.

“And my family loves all kinds of games, so we’ll probably end up playing a lot of different ones,” You continue, choosing to ignore the playful jab. “So I hope that’s not too boring for you.”

“Are you kidding? Boring is sitting at home with my dad and eating the dinner he ordered from the store. Honestly? I’m looking forward to this. Christmas with your family sounds kind of like paradise.” He looks into his mug for a few moments before lifting it to his lips and draining the last swallows. “If you want the truth, I think you’re pretty lucky.” He finishes softly.

Your breath catches in your throat for a few moments. You forget, sometimes, that not everyone has a close, crazy, embarrassing family like yours. You open your mouth, but before you can come up with a response, his expressions shifts back to his easy smile as though he hadn’t said a word.

“We’re going to have a great time. I won’t let you down,” He lifts his hand, pinkie extended, and you don’t catch on right away. “Promise,” He prompts, sticking his hand out a little further. After a moment of hesitation, you reach out and link your pinkie with his. He grins.

“Thanks. Hopefully I don’t let me down,” You say with a chuckle, pulling away and lifting your mug to swallow the lukewarm dregs in the bottom. “I should be getting back,” You say as you set the mug back down, “I have a history exam before break starts, and I really need to study for it.”

“I should get back too, I have an assignment due tomorrow that I haven’t started yet,” He admits sheepishly.

“Tsk, tsk,”  You tease as you push back your chair and stand, knowing full well that you’re the last person who can scold him for procrastinating. Judging by his incredulous expression, he’s fully aware of that fact. Side by side, the two of you step out into the early winter darkness.

“Really though, thanks for helping me out,” You say as you start making your way down the sidewalk, your words puffing steam into the air, “I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” He knocks his arm against yours. “To be honest, after all your talk about your grandma’s cooking, I might have tagged along even if I didn’t have to pretend to be your boyfriend,” He laughs.

“You certainly won’t go hungry,” You agree, “She’ll make sure of that. Just don’t blame me if it affects your volleyball physique.”

“Don’t worry, I’m naturally slender,” He pats his middle, “I’ve got the quickest metabolism you’ve ever seen.”

You shake your head with a chuckle. “If you say so.”

The remainder of the walk back to campus is relatively silent, the two of you walking with your hands shoved down in your pockets against the cold. Occasionally, his arm brushes against yours. It’s nice in a way, just being next to him like this. You don’t feel any pressure to fill the silence with mindless chattering, and he obviously doesn’t either. You’re content to just walk together through the chilly night.

Winter break starts in less than a week, and you and Kuroo will be leaving for your grandparents’. In an odd way, you’re looking forward to this. Of course you always enjoy spending the holiday with your family, but knowing that Kuroo will be there too has you anticipating it just a little more than usual.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that it takes a few moments to realize you’ve come to a stop in front of your dorm building. “Alright, guess I’ll see you in class Tuesday,” Kuroo says, lifting his hand in a wave.

“See you then,” You wave back, watching his retreating back for a few moments before turning to go inside. You close your hand into a light fist at your side, remembering the feel of his pinkie linked with yours. It isn’t until you’re back in your dorm that you realize that, despite the long walk in the chilly evening, you don’t feel cold at all.