#one that though is that often these fandom weeks just drop the prompts on the first day and i would like to drop them in advance

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

!"are we still friends?" kiss w/ inumaki!

prompt// heartbeat getting faster with every passing second, their hands on your waist, one coming up to your jaw, whispering your name softly, before just going for it. coming absolutely undone as your hand reaches to tug on their hair (prompt from @jasminesfury)

pairing// toge inumaki x gn!reader

word count// 1.8k

contents// jujutsu high is a college, inumaki communicates through sticky notes, inumaki uses his cursed technique to get what he wants, ooc inumaki ?

notes// these kissing prompts r too good not to use sorry not sorry! also yes him using his cursed technique was inspired by that one anon... also any information i say about a character's likes? or like favorite food, i get from jjk fandom wiki dont come for me if its not right ok baiiii <3

You and Inumaki are best friends— or were. Right now, he’s not quite sure where the two of you stand considering how you’ve been acting towards him lately. He and, quite frankly, anyone with eyes could see how uninterested you were acting toward him. You avoided his touch, kept conversations short, avoided eye contact, hell, you tried to avoid him all together—you were ignoring him. It wasn’t like you were doing it on purpose, though! …Okay, you definitely were, but you also definitely had a good reason to. The whole reason this started was because of last week.

You and Inumaki are best friends; you’d obviously take any chance you could to hang out with him, and you thought that was the only reason why—because he’s your best friend—but that day you quickly learned that was not the case. You and Inumaki sat under a tree in a random park. When the weather was nice and your schedules aligned, the two of you would often have picnics together. On these picnics, you two had this unspoken agreement of bringing each other food; he’d bring you what you liked or what he thought you’d like, and you’d do the same for him. You watch him intently as he places all the food he got for you near you, and you smile when he’s finished and is staring at you patiently, waiting for you to do the same.

You ignore his gaze and what he wants, instead tilting your head at him and asking, “What’s your favorite food?”

Inumaki’s face drops, and a pout replaces his previous faint smile as he pulls out a sticky note pad and scribbles, “Are you joking?”

You commit to the bit. “No, I’m serious! What’s your favorite food?”

You watch him fervently rip that note off to write on another one, “Wait, you seriously don’t know?”

The way he’s staring at you makes you relent. “Just humor me for a second Inumaki?” you plead with a soft smile, reassuring him that it’ll be worth it.

He stares at you curiously before nodding and writing, “Tuna mayo onigiri.”

You hum with a nod. “Right, thought so,” you say. “Guess what I have!”

Inumaki’s eyes light up as he excitedly taps his finger against the words he just wrote. His reaction doesn’t take you by surprise; you’ve seen him react like this plenty of times before. It’s what you love about him—how excited and happy he gets about things and isn’t afraid to show it—but something is different. The sun is shining on his face perfectly; it gleams off his eyes, and the way the wind slowly blows past and the trees and flowers behind him sway softly with his hair has you completely mesmerized. So mesmerized, in fact, that Inumaki had to practically shove the notepad in your face for you to even realize you were staring.

You shake your head as if shaking yourself out of your trance, silently acknowledging to yourself that it was odd, but you digress. “Sorry! But yes, I do have that for you!”

He drops the notepad and holds out his hand expectingly, and you giggle as you place the onigiri in his hand. He bows his head slightly at you to say thank you before he digs in, and you smile warmly at him.

“I’ve been trying to get it for you the past few picnics, but they were always out,” you say, frowning. “But today I went early, and they actually had some!”

He acknowledges you with a glance, and your heart skips a beat just from the brief moment that your eyes meet. You try to ignore it, though. You try to ignore how you can’t keep your eyes off him, the butterflies in your stomach, and how warm you feel. Maybe you’re getting sick? Yeah, that must be it. You don’t know how long you got distracted by simply admiring him, but by the time you came back to reality, he was done with his food and writing something on his sticky notes.

He holds up the notepad, asking, “Are you okay?”

You scoff slightly. “Of course I’m okay.”

He frowns at you before scribbling, “You haven’t touched any of your food.”

You look down at the food before returning your gaze to him and awkwardly smiling. “Ah yeah, just not all that hungry, Inumaki...”

You watch him study your face quickly before writing, "Are you sick?” He doesn't give you time to reply before placing the back of his hand on your forehead, and if you weren't already flustered before, you most definitely are now. You're too shocked by his actions to say anything, but it doesn’t matter when he's already scribbling a new sentence. “You feel warm.”

“I'm sure it's nothing, Inumaki,” you try to reassure.

He hands you a sticky note that says, “We should get you back to your dorm and stop for medicine on the way,” before beginning to pack up the left-over food.

You roll your eyes and place your hand over his to stop him, and the way he looks up at you has your brain going blank, so much so that he has to shoot you a questionable look in order for you to realize what you were doing.

You quickly remove your hand from his and clear your throat. “It’s fine, I promise. I probably just have to sleep it off, okay?”

Inumaki doesn't bother writing anything down and instead just stares at you blankly.

“If I'm still ‘sick’ by tomorrow, we can go get medicine, okay?”

He nods, ultimately accepting that answer, but he wishes he didn't because tomorrow never came. You didn't die, obviously, but you might as well have. You started ignoring him the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, and... you get the point.

Inumaki has no idea what he did; he tried to ‘talk’ to you the best he could. He’d leave you sticky notes, and you would hardly acknowledge them or him. Did he do something wrong? He knows most people found him intimidating at first because of his cursed technique and were hesitant around him, but you never were, so why are you acting like it now? Maybe he came off too strongly; maybe you got suffocated being his only friend—well, not his only friend, but his closest friend; maybe you just had enough. Inumaki told himself he was just going to let whatever happens happen, but he couldn’t. So he said he'd find you after class and corner you if he really had to; you’re already ignoring him; what's the worst that could happen after that? But he couldn’t wait till after class tomorrow; he couldn't sleep; he just laid in bed anxiously, which is why he now finds himself standing at your door. He doesn’t think twice about knocking; he wants—no, he needs—to know why you're ignoring him.

You're surprised to see him there, and his twisted-up face makes your heart drop. You're not sure if he's worried, angry, or both.

“Inumaki, hey.” You’re afraid to look at him for too long, fearful that he’ll look back and figure out your feelings for him, so you leave the door open and start walking away. “Come in.”

He does so, shutting the door behind him. You’re a few feet away from him, so he tries to close the distance between you two, only for you to take the same number of steps back. Inumaki frowns and pulls out his sticky notes.

“Are we still friends?”

No, because you’d rather be more—if it isn't obvious by now, the entire reason you’ve been ignoring him is because you've finally realized how deeply in love with him you are.

You avoid his gaze and zero in on your floor instead, nervously laughing. “Of course, Inumaki, why wouldn't we be?”

You hear him scribble something down before the sticky pad shows up in your field of vision. “You’ve been ignoring me.”

You push his hand out of your vision. "No, I haven't.”

You hear more scribbling before one of his hands grabs your chin and lifts your head up to face him. Your eyes fluttered at the action, and you hope to god he didn't notice. He shakes the notepad in his other hand to draw your attention to it. “Yes, you have.”

You can't lie to him when it's like he's staring straight into your soul. “Okay, fine, maybe.”

Though you wish you did when his face drops and he slowly lets go of your jaw to write, “Why?”

You take a step back, and he takes one forward. “It doesn’t matter.”

He frowns and shakes his notepad slightly as if to emphasize his point, “Yes, it does.”

“It doesn't because I'm gonna stop ignoring you, okay?”

“But why were you ignoring me?” he scribbles frantically.

You sigh. “Just drop it, Inumaki, please?”

He shakes his head.

“Inumaki, just forget about it, and we can go back to normal, okay?”

He narrows his eyes at you and writes, “Just tell me! I won't get mad; I just want to know why.”

“Inumaki, seriously drop it,” you say as you turn to walk away, but you don't get far before you hear a clatter of Inumaki’s things hitting the floor, and he grabs your wrist, pulling you into him. He has your wrist to his chest, and your other hand is instinctively pressing against him, while his other hand is on your waist. You grow flustered by how you two are body-to-body, with no space to be found between the two of you, and you look at him wide-eyed, both of your breathing becoming heavier with each passing second. You're about to push yourself off of him or tell him to let go of you, but any thought of doing something vanishes the minute you see him start to open his mouth.

“Tell me,” he says softly yet firmly.

You can't even attempt to fight against his command as the words "I like you" pour out of your mouth against your will.

The minute the words leave your mouth, you go wide-eyed in shock from your confession, and from how he used his technique on you, he’s equally as wide-eyed. You try to yank your wrist free from his hold, but he has an iron grip on you no matter how hard you struggle.

You begin to murmur nervously, your voice trembling with embarrassment, "Inumaki-"

But your sentence is quickly cut short when he leans in. He hesitates for a moment before just going for it and kissing you. You don't kiss back at first in shock, but once you grasp what's going on, you quickly melt into the kiss, practically turning into liquid with the way your legs try to give out on you. You quickly tangle your free hand in his hair; he releases his grip on your wrist and places that hand on your waist as well, while you cradle his face with your newly freed hand. You two stand there kissing and holding each other for what seems like forever before he finally pulls away, both of you nearly panting.

“So, uh, does this mean we’re not friends or-“

© LITTLEXBIMBO

[ggukkiedae]

miya

[3:30am kst, 231217, wc: 620] [cw: jonghyun (read at your own discretion)]

(from c: i miss jonghyun loads. words can't explain. he has been one of my longest running role models, and i just really wish he's happy and at peace making music for all the angels and stars up there with our moon)

Yoonmi never felt lonelier.

Her members, her brothers, her constants were all in the military, and she had restricted access to communication with them. In fact, she wouldn’t be able to contact four of them for a few weeks at all. Her siblings by blood and on paper were both busy, and her boyfriend just arrived in the country and was probably tired.

She sighed to herself as she looked over to her photowall, a floor to ceiling section filled almost completely with photos, one catching her attention in particular.

Sitting up gently to keep from startling her pets, she approached one specific photo. One of her and someone she used to always go to for advice or comfort when she couldn’t ask her members.

“Hey, Rajah,” she looked at her kitten, “there’s someone I want you to meet.”

The small kitten just looked at her curiously, patiently letting her owner pick her up. After getting her kitten in a sweater and herself in sweatpants and a coat, Yoonmi grabbed her helmet and the body harness for her pets and made for her motorcycle.

The drive was cold.

There was no other way to describe it. It was the middle of December, the beginning of winter, but she didn’t care. Those thirty minutes she spent driving to him would always be worth it.

She silently greeted the security guard, one she grew familiar with over the years, and handed him a pack of brownies as she placed her helmet on her motorcycle. She knew the security guard would guard it like he always did. After a deep breath, Yoonmi walked past the gates.

It was a minute walk before she reached her destination, the person she wanted to see. With a smile, she sat down across from him and gave him a smile.

“Jonghyun oppa,” she bowed her head to his resting place in respect, “I feel like I’ve been bothering you too often, but you know you’re one of my safe people.”

She gently lay a brownie piece on her handkerchief and placed it by him. “I know I’m a day earlier than you probably expected, but I brought brownies! Though I will have to take this piece back when I leave. I don’t really want to litter.”

A laugh escaped her lips as she gently began to unfasten the harness around her torso. Small mewls filled the air as Rajah was shaken out of her comfortable position.

“Oppa,” she showed off the kitten, “this is my new baby, Rajah. Rajah, that’s Uncle Jonghyun. Isn’t she cute, oppa? Jimin oppa got her for me so I wouldn’t be too lonely over their enlistment period.”

She sighed as she set Rajah down, watching as the cat curled up just under Jonghyun’s name. “I made it through the SHINee oppas and their military service, but this is different, you know? I’ve had the oppas with me almost every day for the past thirteen years, and now all seven of them are going to be away for so long.”

“I guess I feel lonely.” A sad smile made its way to her face. “Especially because everyone’s so busy… I know you are, too, but you’re right here with me, right?”

Something, she didn’t know what (or maybe she did), prompted her to look up. Right in her field of view, a star shone brighter than the others. Maybe she deluded herself into thinking it had a slight pearlescent aqua hue.

“Thank you,” she smiled back at him, petting Rajah slightly and taking out a small paper slower she had made from her backpack and placing it next to his name. “I miss you lots, Jonghyun oppa. I hope you’re happy up there.”

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[astorythatwritesitself]

There Will Be Time

Fandom: Mass Effect

Rating: Gen

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Pairing: Thane Krios/Shepard

Additional tags: Prompt Fill, Memory Loss, Post-Reaper War.

Excerpt:

It’s been six months, since the war’s end. One, since the prognosis. ‘A matter of weeks,’ the doctor had said. 'Two or three months, if you’re very lucky.’ Adrian had taken it fairly well, all things considered. Vanished for a few hours, along the beach trails near their home, but there had been no tears when she returned. Hardly even a tremor in her voice, when she’d said: 'we always knew we were on borrowed time.’ Thane is simply grateful for each day that passes without incident.

Yeah, the AO3 version turned into a whole other thing lol. Original answer/draft is still up for posterity though, just no longer in the ship tag lol.

(Brief excerpt of The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Elliot)

'She could be wrong, siha-’ Thane starts. Starts, but the words catch in his throat as Adrian presses closer, arms tightening around his waist. Her lips brush his shoulder - or so he chooses to believe. He can’t bring himself to look, to see if she is crying.

‘You can rebuild a lot of things, but a brain’s pretty high up there in ‘experimental’,’ she replies, only the faintest of tremors in her voice. ‘I'd… always wondered. If it wouldn’t burn out fast, or break down - and that’s on its own, being around that much Reaper crap? If they were trying to indoctrinate me or anything…’

That’s as far as the conversation goes. The next day - week, ultimately - will be for shoring up what she’d prepared during her arrest, handling any other affairs. What remained of the night was simply to be enjoyed, to commit to memory all they could, before the chance passed by.

----

It's little things, at first. 

A misplaced item. More notes around the house - reminders of appointments, when to feed the fish, where things were. Tasks left undone. Dropping things, because her hands won't cooperate. Things that are easy enough to overlook - even laugh about, if it's a good day, things that could happen to anyone and mean nothing. He helps her clean up, she releases a statement that she is tired and done, and would like to enjoy some time with her husband, anyone looking for information can ask any of the other survivors of the war. 

Which is true enough.

That she's unable to completely recall the orders of events, or what even happened, isn't information the wider media needs.

----

There is still time, Thane tells himself, when he awakens to find Shepard still asleep. Some mornings he does get up - catch up on messages, let the others know how things stand. Sometimes he meditates, often he walks.

Sometimes, he writes, when it's too much to bear.

More often than not, though... he lingers. There is time, and he knows better, now, than to risk letting it slip away. Knows to enjoy the warm weight of her arm around his shoulders now, the soft, even sounds of her breath, and how lovely it is (all else aside), that she is able to sleep peacefully at last, old nightmares either forgotten or distant enough to no longer matter.  Things that will, yes, be only memory - but how often had he regretted every moment denied, with Irikah and Kolyat? Moments lost before he even knew they were there? 

Not again. 

---------

Four months along, and there are more notes, fewer models, more muddying of when something did or should happen. Longer pauses in conversation, where she struggles to find her words.

He asks (only partially from the doctor's suggestion) if she could share a poem with him - he loves hearing her recite, no two ever quite alike. Remembers from their time aboard the Normandy, the hazy warmth in her voice as the words flowed, swift and clear, her love for them sweeping him along even when they didn't translate so well.

The words do come. Slow and faltering and in a hollow, clipped tone - 

“And would it have been worth it, after all,

Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,

After the cups-

“No-" She shakes her head, biting her lip and drumming her fingers on her thigh.  "Wait, no that... that goes the other way around, doesn't it.”

Her voice trembles - breaks, just the slightest bit, on those last words.

"It's a long one, siha," Thane says. "You've stumbled on this one before, it's-" 

It's nothing to worry about, he wants to say, but can't. Adrian rests her head on his shoulder, eyes closed as if they could stop the tears trailing down her face. She's stumbled before, yes... but would that provoke such a reaction?

So, instead - he draws her close. Closes his eyes, focusing first on keeping his own voice steady as he picks up where she left off, then as she joins in, as he guides her through the rest. Better that, than leaving it silent and incomplete; and the shorter ones come to her quick as they ever have. 

----

He’s steeled himself as best as he can, to spend no time mourning now. Not while she's here, when there’s still more good days than bad. More days than they’d dreamt of having when they’d first met, more days than seemed possible, during the war.

A day like this, where Shepard is already awake, taking over the kitchen table with her latest ship model, and Thane almost believes that their future stretches out far and away, beyond anyone's predictions. Her hands are steady, and he can almost forgive the faint, burnt odor lingering in the air, because it means she’s remembered to eat on her own. He sits beside her, and they talk for a while - about Vega’s upcoming visit, the inaccuracies of the Normandy model strewn before her, Kolyat’s last message; and all the while, her words come without trouble, with no grasping or fumbling to recall this detail or that.

----

“We don’t have anything else going on today, right? I was thinking, maybe we could go to the beach,” Shepard says after a while, as she starts cleaning up her workspace. “It’s beautiful out there, today.”

Thane hums a brief agreement from where he stands, just behind where she sits, clearing up the last of the dishes of his meal. “That would be lovely, siha,” he replies. Sets the plate aside and turns, resting a hand on Adrian’s shoulder. Is about to say something, when she looks up at him, a faint and fretful half-smile on her lips.

“I think my translat-”

Her expression falters - confusion and then a slow, horrified comprehension.

( ’I think my translator just glitched. What did you call me?’ )

She grips his hand as if it were the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. He leans down, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head, all the while reminding himself, there will be time to mourn later, there is time together now.

But gods, it's growing short.

[rune-writes]

Hero

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Word Count: 1230

Rating: G

Pairing: Zack/Aerith

Summary: Set after losing Angeal in Modeoheim. Zack goes to Aerith's church where he crumbles under the weight of his grief.

Note: written for @zerith-week. Day 3 Prompt: Devotion / alt prompt: Hero

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

When Zack came into the church that day, Aerith thought they could spend the day outside. He’d been away for the entire week. The kids at Sector 5 said they missed “the big brother with the big sword”. Maybe Zack would indulge them in a game or two. And the sky looked clear; even with the plates, Aerith could tell when rain clouds had gathered. That particular day, the clouds that had hung ominously the entire week had frayed without even one drop of rain. A brief respite, perhaps? All the more reason to enjoy the sun as best they could. But when Zack entered the church with his face cast down and a sluggish gait to his steps, all plans for a date disappeared from Aerith’s mind.

Aerith rose half-way to her feet, his name at the tip of her tongue just waiting to be said, but before she could, Zack looked up and his face split into a smile—if one could call a stiff crook of his lips a smile. It didn’t even reach his eyes, as his smiles often did. “Aerith!” he called in a forced cheerfulness that, coupled with the way his brows drew back and his voice trembled ever so slightly, broke her heart. But Zack reached her nonetheless, feigning vigor and carefreeness, and asked her, “Were you waiting for me?”

Aerith knew grief when she saw it. She’d felt it herself before when her mother passed away; witnessed it not long after when Elmyra received word of her husband’s demise. She was no stranger to it, as was she not a stranger to how she had handled it. It had been precisely like how Zack was trying to hold up now, acting like everything was fine despite the tears she spied welling in his eyes. He blinked them away, saying dust was caught in his eye. And maybe it did. She decided to play along. Zack rewarded her with a laugh, quiet and languid, his eyes cast down once more, before he perked up—or attempted to—and crouched down by the flowerbed. 

Aerith gingerly sat across from him, carefully listening to him talk and muse about SOLDIER and Shinra and training and missions. About someone named Kunsel and Cissnei and Luxiere. How they were out of his favorite sandwich that morning in the cafeteria and he had to settle for some disgusting gray gruel. “Said it was good for stamina,” he went on. “Well, not good if it twists your stomach and locks you in a bathroom for a good hour afterwards. Kunsel said I just have a bad constitution, but I say his stomach is made of steel. Not that it’d mattered to him. He'd gotten the sandwich and not the gruel.”

Aerith figured she should laugh, but Zack’s face was oddly unanimated telling such a funny story that she felt a laugh would be out of place. It was disconcerting seeing him so listless. He’d always been full of energy, his presence like a shining beacon of light as though his soul was composed of nothing but sunlight. Aerith often stole glances at him as they worked at the flowerbed. He didn’t notice; or maybe he didn’t care. She’d offer responses, enough to make him continue talking. Because talking was good. Talking would distract him. She remembered how Elmyra would get her to talk—about flowers or food or her new home or the ribbon she wore. Got her to come to the kitchen and help with the cooking. Anything to distract her, really, because once she got quiet and the memories rushed in, she would plunge into a never ending spiral of self-loathing with only one sentence hammered into her brain: it was her fault her mother had died. 

Zack had gotten quiet. Aerith stole another look. His usually bright blue eyes were dull, like a faraway sky, locked in some distant recollection. Aerith searched for something to say. Then her eyes found the abandoned flower wagon they’d started building halfway before, and she began to ask, “Zack—”

She had barely said anything when Zack took a sudden sharp intake of breath. His eyes flew wild, gasping as though he’d just broken through water. And then he met her gaze, and Aerith saw the raw, unbridled fear, regret, and guilt swimming across those navy orbs, chipping away at the crooked cheerful mask he’d attempted to don and failed to regain. 

“I—” His voice broke. Tears welled and it seemed to take his all to keep them at bay. “I’m sorry,” he managed to say. He stood up. “I’ll make this up to you. I promise.” He backed away and probably meant to rush out, but halfway down the aisle, his legs crumbled under him. Then the sobs came, every rock of his body sent a shattering tremble to Aerith’s heart. Had it felt like this when Elmyra saw her broken self? Wanting to do something but unable to do anything. Knowing full well that whatever she said would not bring back whoever Zack had lost. Her own eyes brimmed with tears. 

Outside, the sun was still out. Aerith could imagine the sky spreading far and wide beyond the plates. Boundless. Endless. 

“Hey, Zack,” she began, fighting against the lump in her throat. “The sky is closer in the city above, right?” She rose to her feet. “Kinda scary, but the flowers might like it… maybe.”

The flowers at her feet swayed in a non-existent wind as though in confirmation, but when Aerith looked back, her attempt at distraction hadn’t ceased Zack’s sobs at all. 

Perhaps it hadn’t been distractions that Zack needed after all. He’d had plenty of it, judging from his ramble. He was seeking a quiet haven, free from prying eyes. Gods knew how many times Aerith had sought it—why she had sought the church all those years ago. And that was what it had become to Zack; what she had become to him, just like how Elmyra had coaxed her out of her little hiding spot in her room and pulled her into her arms. Aerith had never felt safer in all her life. 

Zack’s back shook. Somewhere along the way, it had shrunk, and before her was not the savvy SOLDIER who had crash-landed into her life, but a distraught seventeen-year-old boy who was trying his best to hold his ground while his world fell apart. Aerith moved and wrapped Zack inside her arms, small as they were.

“It’s not your fault, Zack,” she whispered to his ear.

Zack’s breath hitched, his body going taut. For a split second, Aerith thought she’d stepped over a line, but Zack instead grabbed her hands and cried into them. 

Later, she let him sleep on her lap. His eyes were puffy, but his breathing was even. He didn’t stir even when Aerith brushed his bangs back and patted his head. Aerith didn’t know what he had gone through, but she hoped he would tell her someday. With their fingers interlocked over his chest, rising and falling in a steady rhythm, she would like to think that he trusted her that much at least. She would be his rock and haven when all else failed him. 

With that silent vow taking root firmly in her heart, Aerith bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. Zack seemed to smile in his sleep.

~ END ~

[scoundrels-in-love]

20 Question Fic Writer Game

Thank you for @needle-noggins for tagging me! Using my limited energy right now to respond, because otherwise I never will, oops.

How many works do you have on AO3? 65. One of them is a collection of prompts with 14 different chapters so, technically, 78 fics total.

What is your AO3 word count? 169,932. Nice. (Almost half of them are written in last 7 months for Trigun.)

What fandoms do you write for? Currently, only Trigun, but there are chances I might drop a fic or two in JJK fandom for Chosoyuki and then disappear. I would also like to finish some WIPs for Braime from GOT, but I don't know if my brain will let me. Never say never, though.

What are your top five fics by kudos? What can I give that is all for you? These arms are all I have (But I hold you like I do love you) (396, Trigun, Mashwood) Everything about you is on the tip of my tongue (312, Trigun, Mashwood, my first finished proper multichapter and explicit monsterfucking) You hold me for a little (Curtains closed to the end of the world) (260, Trigun, Mashwood) If I'm gonna (lose) love someone, (don't) let it be you (258, GOT, Braime) this fucking fic that took me a week instead of day or two to write, ENJOY FUCKERS (or don't, I'm not a cop) (234, Trigun, Mashwood, Explicit monsterfucking) Really fascinating to see how much kudos my Trigun fics used to get when I now often only get 30-50 at best. But, alas. Such is the ups and downs of fandom and I hope it's not reflection of my writing quality vaning as well.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yes, I do. When I first started using to AO3, a writer I admired had the stance that it inflates the comment number and is 'cheating' when it comes to the statistics, but I realized that, at least for me, comments aren't any parameters I search fics by and also I really wanted to feel community and connect with my readers and writers, so I wholly threw myself in responding later on.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Oh, that's a good question. Several WIPs come to mind, but as for actual published ones... I suppose Before you leave, Remember I was with you (You must know you are beloved) could count because it follows canon ending of the Rogue One which means all of the characters die. But it is more of a bittersweet one. In similar vein, If this is communication, I disconnect (I need you, you want me, but I don't know how to connect) I think You taught me the courage of stars before you left (How light carries on endlessly even after death) overall might win, because it ends on open wound of grief, though it is also canonical death.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I don't think there is a singular one that is more happy than others. There are so many shades and nuances of happiness, who am I to judge which one is the most valid, the biggest?

Do you get hate on fics? I once joked in author notes that maybe the fic did contain traces of early polyam if you squint and someone was very upset about it, though in text it was just close mutual friendship and some teasing and only the tagged main couple was openly romantically involved. I've gotten some weird comments overall through the years, but thankfully nothing more hateful than that.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Much to my own horror, yes, I do now. And apparently mostly the monsterfucking kind. I don't know what else might be meant by 'kind'.

Do you write crossovers? No, that's not something that really comes to my mind. I am too engrossed in exploring every nook and cranny of the canon and characters that are my focus at the time.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not fic, as far as I know, but I have had my poetry and RP stories and plots stolen by people I trusted, such as my teacher and close friends at the time.

Have you ever had a fic translated? No, but I've had one podficced!

Have you ever cowritten a fic before? No, but I'd really like to give it a try, I and @bienchanter have a lovely Rancher/Western Mashwood AU we'd like to cowrite, we just can't quite figure how to go about it. I've also had the pleasure of having them write a companion piece to my fic (theirs and mine) and had the joy of writing companion pieces to @needle-noggins and @frappeflamingo stories.

What's your all-time favourite ship? I am a person who cannot pick just one. I'd say some of the most Rainy defining ones have been Han x Leia, Braime and Mashwood.

What's a WIP you'd like to finish but doubt you ever will? So, so many Braime ones. Especially the ones that are multichapter for fic exchanges. Their recipients deserve better.

What are your writing strengths? Emotions, evocative descriptions.

What are your writing weaknesses? Everything else. Okay, okay, before I get bonked from every direction - I struggle with dialogues and action descriptions and easily get overwhelmed when tackling larger, tightly packed plot.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I think it is perfectly valid and even good for characters that would actually mix the languages naturally. I've definitely thrown in some Brazilian words for my Wolfwood, for this reason.

First fandom you wrote for? The Labyrinth on ff.net in 2008 or about there.

Favourite fic you've ever written? I don't have a singular favorite, there is something that I love, something unique that makes me appreciate it in almost all of my bigger stories, even if it's just a joke that was made in conversations with my friends.

Whew, this was long, but fun. Tagging @bienchanter @it-may-be-dull-but-im-determined @firesign23 @sdwolfpup @chickiefoo and @tardisready as well as anyone else who might just want to. But no pressure to, on anyone.

[xviruserrorx]

Title: "Would We Be Caught Dead Here?"

I am oh so very late and I know I didn't do the interest check but I wanted to do the @elyan-fest so here is Day 1's for the prompt "Stop, coming back". Also 1. This fic seems really weird to me, I don't know what it is, I like the fic I really do, but there's something weird about it. And 2. From the get-go this was supposed to be Elyan/Merlin, like the situation, the image it was all merlyan... And then I wrote the dialogue and it was very much the way I normally write Mordred—but not they way I normally write Mordred's dynamic with Elyan though—but, but the situation, the actions are very Merlin (to me) but the dialogue is too much not-Merlin (how I normally write him) for me. And I can see Mordred doing the actions under a situation (the situation being this weird au). Okay... Yeah there's my weird dilema. This fic wrote itself, truly, it's not even the ship I originally wanted it to be which has never happened to me before. Anyways Enjoy! 😁

Elyan Fest - Tumblr | Ao3 - [-> Next]

Fandom: BBC Merlin

Prompt(s): "Stop, Coming Back"

Relationship(s): Elyan/Mordred

Character(s): Sir Elyan, Mordred

Important Tag(s): Canon Divergence, Post-magic reveal, Magic Reveal Gone Wrong

Rating: Gen

Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply, Mention of Blood and Death, Manhandling (kinda sorta)

Word Count: 1,659

“I'm risking it all just for you.” Elyan felt a shiver run down his body. Mordred's hand found his and he lifted the other to brush his fingers on his jaw. “I'm risking my capture just to say I love you,” Or After a long day Elyan returns to his chambers to find an unexpected person in wait for him.

Continue reading below or over on Ao3

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Elyan rolled his shoulders. His chainmail grew heavier with every move that even the weight of his cape seemed to make things worse. 

He swatted his arm back, grabbing the feet of cloth from dragging behind him. All need for his appearance dropped. The halls were empty, only the sound of his shoes against the floor filled the silence of the night. His normal company of one of the other knights had faded slowly but surely over the months. Though, he could say that for many things of the Camelot that he knew.

Camelot's once strict laws against magic somehow had grown worse in such little time. The leniency of the death penalty for those with or through any association of magic was all but gone.

Gallows were built more often, the executioner consulted more often, and the smell of burning flesh had little remedy to remove the after trace it left on his clothes, skin, and the air of Camelot as a whole.

The king was no longer the king he had promised to protect and serve. It'd been far too long since he had seen his sister's smile. The one he'd once teased her about; love and everything more for what she held for Arthur. He'd hardly seen them glance each other's way in weeks.

Missions that before had them picking on one another were nothing the same. Gwaine had little energy to display his usual charm; he was Camelot's best swordsman after all. He couldn't remember the last time he had talked to Percival, more so even heard the other knight say anything. But perhaps it was Leon he saw take it all the hardest. Comparing Camelot's records to when Uther reigned, none of them could have ever imagined those records matching, even surpassing the older ones.

They had been happier once at the peak of war.

Instead they were sent on tasks—hunt after hunt. It was nothing more than the king using them as a hawk as they brought innocent people one after another to his feet.

All of them hesitated just the same to continue to perform each task they were ordered. Elyan knew it was out of fear. Fear none of them possessed before everything happened, as if everything was the proper word to cover it all. 

Elyan let out a sigh of relief as he reached his room, his hand coming to undo his cape buckle around his neck. He yanked the leather free and felt the chill of the night come over him as he closed the door, the all too familiar presence partnered to close.

He'd done this before. Too many times before.

He pressed his eyes and edged the exhaustion further. “We can't keep doing this.” He turned around and tossed his cape to the side. 

His window was wide open as he had suspected. The figure he knew too well was sitting on the window ledge; legs crossed, hands gripping the sill, cloaked over in moonlight and yet still completely hidden in darkness. As if Elyan didn't know all of him to recognize him with much less.

He let out a scoff. “And you know it too, Mordred.”

Gold lit in the dark, a rush of something he only could find desirable from him as flames erupted at the wicks of the candles.

Elyan felt some of the day's tension fall away. Even though It felt wrong to find such comfort in something he imprisoned day after day.

The soft glow from the candles lit Mordred's face as he stood up. He removed the black hood from over his head and let the light take over him. An expression of something somber yet unreadable was all he showed to him. 

Mordred walked closer, his finger tracing down the exposed blade that laid on the table in his room. Elyan hadn't found the strength to properly clean it off since that morning, just the dried remnants of what they both knew, left there to be.

“Patrol has tightened,” he spoke. “More guards, more knights.”

Elyan nodded. “The king has things… different.”

His finger traced the bottom of the hilt where the name of his sword was branded. “Not different enough.” He pulled away, his cloak catching in a gust of wind through the window.

“I suppose not.” Elyan walked over, grabbing the empty scabbard from the other end of the table. “Still holes in our defense?”

Mordred cocked his head. “If you know where to find them.”

He sheathed his sword, placing it back on the rack with the rest of the weapons. Mordred watched.

“And how to make them,” Mordred continued.

Elyan stopped. He eased his shoulders to relax and to turn back towards Mordred. “Why are you here?”

He stood there, something mocking humor played at his lips. “You know why,” he said. He turned on his heal, looking around his room. “I've heard things have gotten worse around here since…”

That unspeakable incident. Perhaps they both wished it was all just some nightmare they were trapped in together.

“They have.”

“And Merlin?” he asked.

Elyan moved, following behind him. “He's been adjusting.” It wasn't a lie. It was all he knew. It was all both the king and queen had said about Merlin since they'd last seen him all those months ago.

Mordred scoffed. “The king's closest friend swears off magic. Sounds too familiar.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Did Morgana tell you that?”

He turned to face him. He shook his head. “Morgana’s still in Ismere, has been for a fortnight. Didn't want to go.” He glanced down at his feet. “I've been with my people.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

Mordred all but rolled his eyes then loosened the laces of his cloak. His robes and talisman around his neck all the proof he needed.

“You didn't tell me that.”

He raised an eyebrow, sarcasm dancing across his face as he pulled his cloak back around. “Because you think me a murderer.” He fumbled with his laces.

Elyan closed the distance and nudged Mordred's hands away and took over. “I think, from what I've heard, you possess very powerful magic, Mordred. Magic you can use to protect yourself.” He pulled the laces into a knot.

“Protect. Kill. Defend,” Mordred said. “It's no use when you see it all the same.”

Elyan took a breath and dropped his hands to Mordred's shoulders, straightening out his cloak and fixing his talisman. “Not me.” He let them fall back to his side.

Mordred smiled. “Not you,” He emphasized

Elyan knew at the end of the day they would have Mordred killed, no matter if there was blood on his hands or not. History or not, he knew perhaps that might have made him all the more wanted for Camelot's gallows.

“I know you know.” Mordred stepped closer. “And you know too, but…” He tilted his head to the side, their noses brushed one another's. “I'm risking it all just for you.”

Elyan felt a shiver run down his body. Mordred's hand found his and he lifted the other to brush his fingers on his jaw.

“I'm risking my capture just to say I love you,” he continued.

Elyan turned his head away but felt that gentle touch deepen and pull his head back forward.

“And you're risking just the same.”

He swatted his hand away and grabbed Mordred's wrist in the same strike. Watching that facade of bravery crumble underneath his touch as Mordred's expression twisted. Pain infiltrated in the cracks, leaving the same scared boy who had fled Camelot months back right in front of him.

“I have a chance,” he spoke through his teeth. “You don't.”

Mordred twisted his hand but he only tightened his hold. It would bruise. They both knew it. The longer Elyan held and the more Mordred moved and struggled guaranteed it.

“Stop coming back,” he continued.

Mordred cocked an eyebrow, teasing him with that feigned innocent look that turned mischievous all too quickly. “If that's what you want.”

“It is.”

He held his gaze. Neither of them wanting to give in till Mordred lowered his head and looked away. “Fine.” He yanked his arm free as Elyan loosened his grip.

Elyan breathed out, staying in place as Mordred turned around back towards the window. Until he stopped.

“What?”

Mordred turned around. “You and I both know that if you really didn't like this—me coming here night after night. You would've told the queen or king already.”

“I wouldn't do that to you.”

He lightly chuckled, a grin forming on his face. “You wouldn't,” he agreed. “Keep your space. Keep me safe, keep you safe. Is that not it?” He took a step back.

Elyan shook his head. “Our love isn't worth your torture.”

He smiled, something of hope there too. “Isn't it?”

Elyan swallowed past the lump that formed in his throat. “Go. Camelot isn't safe for you anymore.”

He gave him a pitiful smile. “Was it ever?” Mordred continued to walk backwards.

Elyan looked down, seeing how close he was to the open window. “Mordred?”

The back of his knees hit the ledge. That smile changed. “I'll just risk it again.”

He watched as Mordred leaned back his weight and fell out the window.

“Mordred!” He lunged forward, scrambling to grab the ends of his cloak but was too late. He stuck his head out the window, exhaustion no longer a thought as he looked at the drop to the ground.

No Mordred. No body. No cloak. He looked up. The cloaked figure that was in his chamber was walking away. 

Mordred turned around, still walking and looked up at him. He smiled one of his all too fleeting grins before he pulled the hood forward and turned back around.

Elyan watched as his cloaked figure walked on and disappeared without a sound on Camelot's grounds.

[katblu42]

Promises

For @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt #180

I'm super glad that @alexthefly covered the part I had in my head that I couldn't get to in the word limit, because I could not have written it that well!

And, since @gumnut-logic beat me to the first part that came to mind, and covered that so perfectly . . .

This bit kind of follows on from there.

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: G Word Count: approx 978

Virgil had made the request of Scott before he left for basic training.  The desperation buried layers deep beneath the words echoed in his own heart.  He had made the promise as much for himself as for his brother.

The two of them had been so close for so long, had shared so many moments, so many secrets, and such a strong connection that Scott found it difficult to adjust to not having the brother who had become his best friend around.  Often had he turned to say something, or ask something or share something with Virgil, only to feel his shoulders drop and the words die on his lips as the smile faded from his eyes when he realised he wasn’t there.  So often in fact that Smithy had commented on it repeatedly.

“Looking for your shadow again, Tracy?”

And the name had stuck.  To Scott’s Air Force buddies Virgil was now known as Shadow.  He would never say it to Virgil, but Scott saw the truth in the nickname.  He really did feel like he was missing a part of himself, and yet he was still whole. What was missing was the presence he’d come to think of as always being there, just over his shoulder, a few steps behind, or right beside him.

True to his word, he had written texts and emails almost every day, and called home as often as he could to speak to the brothers he missed.  His new band of Air Force brothers were great, but home was where his heart remained, and writing to Virgil was less about keeping his promise and more of a necessity for his own sanity.

*

A few years later, with Virgil and John both now away from home, in different cities, different time zones, and communications with Scott more restricted due to strict Air Force protocols while on missions, it had become customary for the two next eldest Tracy boys to call and chat at least three times a week before John headed to bed.

This particular night Virgil had played piano as they talked, mostly about the stars John had been gazing at, and a request one of his professors had made for some of John’s assignment papers to be used in new teaching texts.

Both the music and the stars were comfortingly familiar, a soothing balm for John’s conflicted mind as he mulled over his decision. 

If he agreed to what the professor was asking, some of the information contained in his assignments would need to be rewritten in a way that was a little less technical, a little more approachable for those new to astronomical study.  He wasn’t sure he could do that.

“I know you can do it, John.”  Virgil stopped playing for a moment.  “You have such a poetic way of talking about the stars, and an infectious enthusiasm for all the discoveries made through exploration of space.  Just write as though you’re explaining it to me.  Or, even better, write the way you talk to Alan about the stars.”

John sighed.  Virgil resumed playing.  John changed the subject.

“Is this one of your compositions?  I don’t think I’ve heard this one before.”

“It is.  It’s new.  Still working out the kinks.”

“Promise you’ll write this one down.  I like this one, and I’d hate for you to forget it when you move onto the next piece.”

Virgil gave a soft chuckle, not surprised that John was enjoying listening to a piece that was essentially an attempt to capture his brother’s love of the stars.

“I promise.”  Virgil stopped playing again and looked directly at the holocam, trying to look John in the eye.  “But you’ve got to promise you’ll write those teaching texts for your professor.  I can read through what you write and let you know if I think there’s anything that’s still hard to understand if you like?”

There was a moment’s pause.  “Send me a recording of this piece of music, and I’ll send you the new version of my astrology paper.”

“Deal.”

*

Another couple of years go by and the littlest brothers are growing up.  Gordon is Olympics bound, excited and apprehensive as he prepares to join the rest of the US swim team and depart for the games.  His bags are all packed and Virgil is here to drive him to the airport.

“Here,” Virgil thrusts a book into Gordon’s hand.  “You’re about to experience a whole bunch of new and exciting things, many of which you’ll never want to forget.  This is a journal.  Promise you’ll write everything down – how it all feels, the little details that catch your attention, the big moments you think you’ll never forget, everything.  I want to see it all through your eyes.  That way it’ll be like I’m there in the village with you.”

Gordon wrapped his big brother in a tight hug and held him there until the tears that threatened were back under control.

“Thanks, Virgil.  I promise I will.”

*

And soon enough Alan is navigating his way through home schooling on Tracy Island, racing ahead in the subjects he enjoys, but tending to lag with the assignments he’s less interested in.  All his big brothers, and his Grandma have helped supervise his studies, and taken their turns at keeping him on track.  Today it’s John who’s checking in on his progress.

“I know you like the math and science subjects more than English, but you can’t let your assignments slide like this, Alan.”

“I know, I know.  Education is important.”  The eyeroll was big enough to see from space.

“Promise you’ll write those two overdue book reports.  Get them done by the end of the week, then maybe I can show you the photos I took of that nebula we talked about.”

“Really?!  Photos from Thunderbird Five?  I promise!  I’ll get started now.”

[queen-korri]

You Feel Like Summertime (You Blow this Heart of Mine)

Fandom: Avatar: the last Airbender

Pairing: Aang/Katara

Rating: E (Explicit)

Prompt: One Bed (with a twist!) and Dom! Aang because he makes an appearance

Full Work Available on AO3

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Ahh my favorte time of year has come 😏 round again, happy Kataang Smut Weekend Folks! Thanks again to the mods over @kataang-dungeon for organizing this and making sure the fandom has an ample amount of Sweeties being spicy 🌶

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Sokka noticed it during the small moments, when no one thought he was looking.

One thing about Sokka, though; he always looked out for his baby sister. 

They’d all grown up together, the two of them and his best friend, Aang. Of course, that was a topic of heated debate between the siblings; who was actually Aang’s best friend. They often tried to one up the other just to get a rise out of the other. Nevertheless, the three of them were usually always together. 

Katara and Aang spent most of their alone time together, though. They just spent a lot of time together, in general. The same way that he and Sokka did! Except… 

It wasn’t the same. Not exactly.

The older brother didn’t think much of it at first. Katara had always been physically affectionate and doting, so the frequent hand touches and hugs really didn’t alarm him much. It was Katara’s way of showing support; more often than not accompanied by encouraging hope filled phrases. 

That’s when he noticed the hair tugging. 

The lot of them were all older now, studying their own various interests at the illustrious United Republic University. The first time he saw it (or rather, cared enough to take notice of it), Katara had dragged him and the rest of their friend group into a study session a few weeks before midterms. The Gaang started in the library but had, eventually, been shused out. Aang suggested moving their “study” session outside since it was such an unseasonably warm day in Republic City. Katara’s sour expression dropped the minute the airbender turned towards her for her approval. It was technically her study session they’d sabotaged and Sokka would be lying if he said he hadn’t felt the teensiest bit guilty (but only a little bit). 

Anyway, the Waterbender was suddenly all shy smiles and giving in giddily as she peered up at Aang through her lashes, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. The arrow tattooed man grabbed Katara’s unoccupied hand and led the rest of them out into the massive quad area of their school. Of course, no one else but Sokka would notice the way Katara continued to play with her hair throughout the rest of the day. 

Then, the giggling. Oh Spirits, the giggling.

The two of them would often laugh and joke at Sokka’s expense (much to his extreme annoyance). And, really, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Katara to find Aang funny. He was a funny guy! That everyone could agree on, best friends or not. 

This kind of giggling that Katara was doing, though… it was like she was laughing about a secret to herself; whether or not whatever Aang had said was actually funny. 

Once, during winter break, Sokka caught the two of them late at night around the fire pit. He hadn’t interrupted them but he’d seen it nonetheless. They’d all stumbled home drunk from a pub crawl in the ever-expanding city in the part of the South Pole they called home. Sokka thought they’d be knocked out by now (they were all pretty drunk); the only reason why he was up was to use the restroom. It seemed that the two of them managed to sober up a bit to speak coherently enough to each other. 

But not enough to be mindful of personal space, apparently. 

He saw Aang whisper something in her ear, softly gripping the thighs that draped across his waist. Before he could even finish his sentence, his sister was giggling uncontrollably; leaning into the airbender and burying her nose into his neck. Sokka shook his head and stumbled as quietly as he could to the bathroom. 

Nothing gave Katara away more than the blushing, though. 

Or, maybe it was the cheek kissing that sealed the deal? 

No, no. It was definitely the long, lingering stares combined with the “discreet” lip biting that did it.

Sokka couldn’t help but roll his eyes at how obvious those oblivious idiots were. 

Yes, Big Brother saw all and could recall plenty of times where he caught the two of them tap dancing over the line of “just best friends”. Whether it was the blushing, the touching, the sighing or just general lovesick oogie teenage awkwardness, Sokka had seen it all. There was only so much two people who were attracted to each other could do without actually speaking or acting on said attraction. Besides, Sokka had been around for a few of Katara’s crushes now. If it wasn’t obvious to her or anyone else, it definitely was to Sokka. 

Katara was in love with Aang. 

The only problem was that it was obvious to everyone except Aang and Katara.

-

Read the rest on AO3!

[wikiangela-fanfics]

Fictober22 - 7. Check that again, are you sure?

Fandom: 911

Ship: Buck x Eddie

Words: 925

Ao3

Note: Another buddie fic for fictober because this scene was literally my first thought after seeing this prompt - and ever since that summer camp conversation I wanted to write about that but didn't really have an idea haha

***

“... sunscreen, toothbrush, and toothpaste.” Buck continued to read the list in his hand. Of course he got a clipboard for that, which meant he was being annoyingly bossy again, but Eddie kind of loved that. It was kinda cute.

“Check, check, and check. It’s all here.” he said, zipping up Chris’ bag for the summer camp. They packed it all together, and then Buck insisted on making sure everything was packed, but by then Christopher got bored and went to watch TV. 

“Wait, let’s check that again, are you sure it’s everything?” Buck kept looking at the list, frowning. “What if we forgot to add something to the list?”

“Buck, relax, he has everything he’s gonna need.” Eddie rolled his eyes, walking up to him and taking the clipboard out of his hands and putting it on the desk behind Buck. “It’s only two weeks.”

“Two weeks is a long time.”

“He has his phone, he’ll call us every day, babe.” he took Buck’s hands in his, and looked into his eyes. “It’s sweet that you’re so worried, but you’re kinda overdoing it now. He’ll be fine.”

“I know.” Buck sighed, leaning against the desk and pulling Eddie against himself. “You don’t think he’s too young to be away from home for so long?” he asked once again, and Eddie just had to roll his eyes. He couldn’t help a fond smile, though. He loved how much Buck loved his- their kid.

“He’s old enough.” 

“But what if something happens and he needs us?”

“It’s not far, we can always go pick him up. But nothing’s gonna happen. He’ll have the best care, and he’ll be with his friends. He’s so excited, we can’t just change our minds now.” Eddie tried this approach, since Buck quite literally would rather die than make Chris upset. 

“I know.” he repeated. “I’m just-”

“Overprotective?” Eddie supplied, with a raised eyebrow. He put his hands on Buck’s arms and rubbed them up and down comfortingly. “I get it, I’m worried, too. But it’s gonna be fine. We have to let him do his thing. As much as I’d like to, we can’t hold his hand through everything. That’s part of being a parent. And if he changes his mind two days in and wants to come home, then we’ll take him home.” he shrugged. “Besides,” he smirked and wiggled his eyebrows, “now for two whole weeks we have the house just to ourselves.” 

“Oh?” Buck finally smiled. “You have something planned?”

“You bet your cute ass I do.” Eddie grinned, leaning in to kiss Buck softly. Buck chuckled into the kiss. Eddie had big plans that Buck probably did not expect. 

“I can’t wait then.” Buck responded with a smile, then sighed. “I’ll still miss him.” 

“Me too. He’s our kid, obviously we’ll miss him.” Eddie rolled his eyes again. “It’ll be good for him. And for us.” he added, already thinking about the one very specific thing he had planned.

***

Later, when they dropped Christopher off at the bus and were saying goodbye to him, just as Eddie crouched down to hug him, his son whispered into his ear:

“Don’t chicken out.”

“I won’t.” Eddie said quietly, looking up at Buck to see if he heard, but it didn’t seem like it. Then, Eddie added a little louder: “I’ll miss you and I promise I’ll keep Buck from calling every five minutes. Can’t promise no texts, though.”

“I guess that’s okay.” Chris sighed with exaggeration, then smiled widely, letting Eddie go and turning to Buck, who sank to his knees and wrapped the boy in a tight hug.

“I’ll miss you so much, buddy.”

“It’s just two weeks.” he said. “But I’ll miss you too.”

“You can call us anytime, about anything, okay? And please call often anyway.”

“I will.” Chris laughed. Then Buck released him, and Christopher looked up at both of them.

“Be good. We love you.” Eddie said, grabbing Buck’s hand.

“I love you guys too. And, dad,” Chris added, “good luck.” He attempted a wink, though it very much wasn’t a wink, but it was adorable, and Eddie had to smile. “Bye!” he exclaimed, already turning away to join his friends who were just getting on the bus.

“Good luck with what?” Buck frowned. 

“I dunno.” Eddie shrugged. “Dealing with you all by myself for two weeks?” he teased, and Buck shoved him lightly, chuckling, before both of them searched for their son on the bus to wave him goodbye. In reality, Eddie knew very well what the good luck was for, and his mind was already with the little box hidden deep at the very back of his closet, which contained a simplistic ring, more of a band, really, that was about to go with the most important question of Eddie’s life. He actually bought it around a month ago with his son, and it was Chris’ idea to wait with it until they had some time just to themselves. 

Eddie was nervous and excited, it wasn’t like a lot was going to change. Just their relationship status. After all, they’ve been raising a kid together since way before they even started dating, and everyone in their lives was already joking that they were basically married already. Still, Eddie wanted nothing more than to marry his guy and have him be officially and legally a dad to their son. He had the whole thing planned, and he couldn’t wait to pop the question, already sure of the answer he was going to get.

[fantastic-rambles]

Among the Stars

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Characters: Ainosuke Shindo (ADAM), Langa Hasegawa

Warnings: None

Word Count: ~500 words

Summary: In which Adam has a surprise planned for Langa on Valentine's Day at Crazy Rock. Written for Sk8 the Positivity's Valentine's Week [Day 2: Valentine's Day] and the Sk8 Heart Bingo Challenge [Prompts: Celebration, Fireworks, Night, Free Space: Costume/Mask]

"Come on, Langa-kun! Keep up!"

Adam laughs as he cuts along the inside of the curve, far too close to the edge of the cliff, with Langa only a beat behind him. His heart is thumping loudly as they race down the track together at a speed that would be reckless for nearly anyone else, their world narrowing down to just the two of them. It's a thrill that they can't find anywhere else as they swing around the turns and over the bridge that's been repaired, switching up the leads just like the first time they raced here together.

This time, Adam's the one who ekes over the finish line first, instantly swinging around to set them on a collision course with his arms outstretched. This Love Hug is different, though, and Langa smiles as he lets Adam pull up alongside and wrap his arms around him, bringing both of them to a halt.

"Congrats, Adam," he says, his heart still racing while the man hums, resting his chin on Langa's shoulder. The smooth curve of his mask is cool against Langa's cheek before he twists around to step off his board and onto Langa's, so that Langa's back is pressed up against Adam's broad chest.

"I have a surprise for you," Adam replies, still sounding slightly breathless. "Look up."

Langa obeys without question, looking up as a high-pitched whistle interrupts the cheering of the crowd and people start to look around for the source of the noise. The sound grows even more shrill before a flower of light explodes in the sky, the boom reaching their ears a moment later. The single firework is quickly joined by more, lighting up the sky as Langa stares at the show in awe. Even though he knows about Adam's penchant for theatrics, it's still always a surprise when he pulls off something showy like this. If he didn't know that the man was paying off the police to keep them away, he would have wondered why they didn't have raids more often.

The explosions drown out the sound of Langa's own heart as he relaxes against the older man, feeling Adam's arms tighten around him to hold him up. Whenever the adrenaline wears off, the exhaustion starts to set in, but he knows that Adam won't drop him. Together, they simply watch the light show as a pair of brilliant contrails spiral up into the sky, but when these ones explode, they're different from the generic shapes. A heart and a snowflake appear against the dark backdrop, overlapping each other slightly, and Langa feels warm lips pressing against his ear.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Langa-kun," Adam murmurs as the last echoes fade among the canyon walls.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Langa repeats, turning his head to press a kiss to Adam's cheek under the edge of the mask. He feels Ainosuke's cheek pull upward as he smiles, and then there's a gloved hand under his chin, tilting his face up so that they can exchange a proper kiss, to the whistles and catcalls of their audience.

[clairecrive]

Hello beautiful person! Do you take requests which ask you to write a second chapter for your writings? If you do, may I ask a second chapter for "Rare"? And if you don't could you please let me know so I can be careful for another time when I ask a request?

I hope this is not something that disturbes or irritates you. I love your writing, it is beautiful and sometimes I read your pieces over and over again. 😁

Thanks for blessing us with your writing. Have a nice day.💕

A/n: First of all anon, thank you so very much for your sweet words! They mean the world to me <3 Also, your request could never irritate me! I love them and I love the fact that you consider me half a decent writer enough to send me your thoughts <3 I'm sorry it took me so long to get around this but I hope you like this and are still around to read it x

I've decided to pair it with a request for juicy time with Eddie. there's no actual smut but it's suggestive let's say.

Warnings: bit of angst, fluff,

Word count: 2.4K

Tags: @mollybegger-blog, @evelynshelby, @br0ck-eddie, @fandom--0verdose, @shadow-of-wonder, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @sopxhiea, @fuseburner, @for-bebbanburg, @crazyclownchick ( fill in this form to be added to my taglist)

Part 1

TOM HARDY MASTERLIST

You weren't exactly new to heartbreak. You had been a teenager after all but your experience with adult relationships had not been that good either.

You knew that you'd be over Eddie even if it may take you some time. It's true that you had only been dating for a few months but you had really grown attached to him. It was one of the things you hated about yourself: the way you got attached way too soon, way too much.

Especially, in this case, seeing as Eddie hadn't been 100% in it in the beginning you had hoped that the more time you'd spend together, he'd see that you weren't so bad and that he'd grow to care for you. At least a little bit.

Turns out you were wrong.

As much as you hated being wrong, the thing that hurt you the most was that despite your best efforts, Eddie still didn't think you were enough for him. And how could you be when the benchmark was perfect Anne?

You stood no chance. You had been a fool for even trying. And now you were experiencing the burn for your foolishness.

This had happened often enough that you had developed a routine for dealing with heartbreak:

1) crying your heart out and indulging your sadness with whatever helped (mostly comfort food and Friends)

2) enough with indulging, it was time to pick yourself up. No more overeating although you still allowed yourself to cry if you felt like it

3) "I don't need him anyway" phase where you'd make a mental list of how your life was before and after whoever you had broken up with to remind you that they weren't as important as you made them out to be

4)"put yourself out there again" phase where you started going out again with the intention of meeting new people or simply having a good time.

As of this time, you were in phase 3. You noticed that there were some of Eddie's things littering around your apartment. So, you picked up a box and collected them with the intention of returning them to him, effectively closing this chapter. As you did, you made that aforementioned list. This time, with the added reason for your break up, it was a bit easier to remind you why breaking up had been the right decision.

When your hands closed on your favourite hoodie of his though, you couldn't help the pang in your heart as a flood of memories hit you.

You and Eddie doing a Friends marathon every Friday night.

Eddie giving this hoodie when you were sick because he knew how much you liked it.

Eddie taking the hoodie off for a whole other reason almost ripping it...

No.

Shaking your head, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Enough of that. It was over.

It was only a week later that you finally got the time to come around Eddie's apartment. Sure, you could have called him, he could have come himself to pick them up or you could have dropped them at his job but that would have required you to call him. And recalling how that went last time you tried to reach him you decided you'd spare yourself the humiliation of him not ghosting you again.

Taking a deep breath, you straightened your shoulders and knocked on his door.

"Y/n." You were met with a dishevelled Eddie.

He looked like shit but what's new with him. He also looked very surprised to see you at his door and you also couldn't blame it for that. You would have reacted the same way if the roles were reversed.

"Hi, Eddie," you hated your treacherous voice that wobbled when you spoke. Clearing your voice, you tried again.

"Sorry to come here unannounced. I've found some of your stuff in my apartment and I thought you'd like to have them back." You explained as you handed him the box, his eyes taking it in for the first time.

"Oh," he paused as he considered your words. Was that disappointment in his voice? "Thank you, y/n. You shouldn't have." He smiled weakly as he took the box from you, your fingers touching briefly.

"It's not a problem, Eddie. I was just passing by anyway." You and Eddie actually lived far from each other. The truth is that there was no reason for you to be in this part of town if it wasn't for him. Eddie knew that but he was kind enough not to point that out.

He just nodded, accepting your words as he held the box close to his chest.

You awkwardly stared at each other for a while, you didn't know what to say but neither of you wanted to end this exchange quite yet. When you felt that you had been standing like a fool in front of your ex's door, you went to leave but Eddie beat you to it.

"So how have you been?" Your first reaction was to scoff at this attempt of small talk. Neither of you was very good at it. And truthfully, it was rich coming from someone who had not made any effort to keep in contact with you even before your breakup.

The scroll of your shoulders was the only answer Eddie got. You weren't in the mood to pretend nor did you want him to know how you were still suffering for him.

"I should ask that to you." You reverted the question to him. He really didn't look well.

"yeah, it's been a rough couple of weeks," he confessed scratching the back of his head.

"That, I don't find it hard to believe," you hummed as your eyes took him in, really took him in since you knocked at his door. You could also see behind him that his apartment was a mess.

"Yeah, don't have to worry about me though. I'm fine."

"Of course." You nodded at his dismissal, remembering harshly the situation you were in."Well, I'm going to go now. Take care." Cold but still polite you turn around, ready to put this -Eddie and this exchange- behind you.

"Y/n, wait!" he called when you were about to climb down the staircase. "Do you want to have a drink or something?" Stay for a while? he meant but didn't dare to say.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Eddie." You called over your shoulder, hand still on the railing.

"Please, I owe you an explanation." You didn't know if it was the desperate note in his voice or the fact that he really looked like shit but you turned around almost convinced.

"Don't you think it's too late for that, Eddie?"

"Maybe it won't change anything between us but you deserve to know." You knew Eddie and you knew how much he cared about transparency and honesty. This may not mean that you were going to get back together but he was right, you deserved an explanation.

"Okay," you agreed as you walked back and then into his apartment. Eddie closed the door behind him and set the box he was still holding down behind the coat hanger.

The sneak peek you had before was definitely right: Eddie's apartment was even messier than usual.

"Why does it look like a tornado hit your home?" You couldnìt help but point out. You knew Eddie wasn't that bothered by tidiness but this too much even by his standards.

"That would be my fault," a new voice answered you.

At first, you didn't register the difference in tone or accent even though you should have had because Eddieìs voice wasnìt that low or raspy. But then a black tendril entered your vision field catching your attention making you turning your head to better inspect it.

What.the.fuck??

"Eddie?" You asked perplexed, eyes fixed on this thing? even if you were addressing Eddie.

"Y/n meet Venom, Venom meet y/n." He gestured awkwardly with his hands.

"It's so nice to meet you, Eddie's always thinking about you, you know? It's a bit annoying." this time the voice didn't come from a tendril but a face. A fucking alien face with long sharp teeth and wide white eyes.

His words went straight over your head. How the fuck was this true? What were you even seeing? Did this thing come from Eddie's body??

"Fuck, I know I'm heartbroken but now I'm even seeing things?"

"Y/n," Eddie tried to get your attention. You thought you had only thought that but apparently, you had spoken the words. "You're not seeing things, this is part of the explanation I owe you."

"I think it's better if you sit," he said motioning to his couch when you did nothing but stare at Venom. Prompting by Eddie though, you sat down and listened as he spoke.

He told you everything. About Carton Drake about his project with aliens, about Venom and their rather troubled relationship. He even explained how Anne had got involved and how she and Danny had helped him.

It was definitely a lot to take in. But somehow, the thought that he could be lying to you never crossed your mind. The proof was right in front of you, wasn't it? Venom, as he had introduced himself, stood next to Eddie while he spoke. It had never spoken again and you were inwardly thankful for that. That he was giving you space to digest all of this.

"Why didn't you tell me when you came around that day, Eddie?" You asked once you thought you had wrapped your head around it.

"I didn't want you to drag you into this mess," he said with a shrug, head cast down he didn't meet your eyes.

You didn't know how you felt about all of this yet but you nodded anyway. Well, there was nothing you could do anymore, could you? He had already taken care of everything on his own and it wasn't like you had any right to worry about him anymore.

"Thank you for explaining, Eddie. I appreciate your honesty." Did this change anything for you?

"I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren't enough of if Anne meant more to me than you did. That's not true but I didn't know how to tell you that without telling you what was happening." He nervously fiddled with his fingers without meeting your eyes.

You could see his point now that you knew what happened. Still, it hurt you that he decided to just keep you out of it without a word. He could have at least told you that something was going on, that he didn't or couldn't tell you anything - not right now. You would have understood and given him space. Did he really act like this to keep you safe or was it a way to dismiss you?

"I don't know if this changes things, Eddie. You still turned up to her when a major life-threatening event happened. I think this tells me everything that I need to know." You point out after a while, eyes fixed on the end of your shoes.

"She has been involved from the moment we broke up, Y/n. Hell, this was the reason we broke up in the first place." Eddie's head snapped up at your words. He looked surprised at your words like he couldn't believe that you thought Anne's involvement had been something he had actively sought out.

"That may as well be true, Eddie but still, you didn't tell me even after everything settled down. If I hadn't come around to give you your stuff I still would be none the wiser."

"I was afraid, y/n. How could I come back to you after how much I had hurt you? 'Sorry if I went m.i.a. for a while, I was infected with a parasite who knows permanently with me?' Come on, y/n, I wouldn't take me back either." Now upset, Eddie started to gesticulate frantically to prove his point. His eyes flickered between yours, he leaned toward you, his hands a touch away from yours as if he wanted to touch you but was preventing himself from doing so.

"I'm not saying I would have believed you straight away but still- aliens are way better than self-loathing you know?" You scoff at him- why was he so upset? He wasn't the one who had been beating himself up since that fight for being a worthless piece of shit, was he?

"I know I've never done a good job at showing you but I do care about you. Deeply." Almost as if he couldn't bear to not be touching you any longer, Eddie now reached for your hands. His hold on them tightening as he spoke the words.

You looked at him for a moment. Aside from that fight, your relationship with him had been good. The start wasn't promising, seeing as he was still taken by Anne but Eddie had treated you good. He was attentive and caring in his own way. Looking back to it now, you realized that the period where you started feeling him pulling back from you was the time when this whole alien thing had started.

But now you had settled this, right? So, could this mean...

"If I give you one more chance to show you," you spoke tentatively, enthralled by the twinkle in his eyes, "do you promise me to be fully transparent with me this time around?"

"What? Why would you do that?" He looked shocked but his eyes were hopeful.

"Are you trying to talk me out of it, Eddie?" You challenged him, arching an eyebrow.

"Like hell I am." He scoffed, a smile on his lips. "Nono, of course I do. I swear, y/n. You'll never feel like you don't matter to me again."

"Good." You gave him a small smile at the gobsmacked expression on his face. Oh, Eddie...

He does nothing but stares at you for a while. Like he hadn't seen you in a while and now that you were in front of him, he wanted to commit to his memory every little detail of your face.

"So," you said after a while, "do you plan to stare at me or would you like to get a head start on your promise?" you provoke him with a suggestive tone.

Eddie's mouth fell a little at that, Venom said something to him but you didn't understand him. Shaking his head, Eddie smirks at you.

"I would like nothing more." And with that, Eddie's lips are on yours making up for the lost time.

[amberskywrites]

Self-Care Days

Masterpost | AO3 Link

Fandom / Genre: Stardew Valley / Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: Elliott/Male!Player, Elliott & Male!Player

Warnings: Implied/Referenced eating disorder, Implied/Referenced suicidal thoughts, Self-harm, Parental abuse, Child abuse, Abuse, Bullying (Everything here is stuff that the characters discuss, and are not currently going through nor doing but admit to doing in the past), lmk if I need to add anything else!

Prompt: Requested by @hartlee-sux :

Elliott x male!farmer. I was thinking that Elliott visits the farmer while they're working and their sleeves are rolled up/they're wearing short sleeves and he notices old scars. The farmer obviously doesn't mind them being on show and it leads to a conversation about both of their mental health and their struggles. Is that something you'd be okay with writing?

Summary: Sometimes, it's just nice to vent. Even on a good day.

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It wasn’t often that Elliott visited the farm.

More often than not, it was the farmer who visited his shack or caught him on the docks or joined him in his trips to the saloon. And it wasn’t that Elliott didn’t want to go to the farm, he absolutely did, he could just rarely find the time to drop by as inspiration took hold and allowed him to make progress on his novel.

Though it had been a while since the farmer had last visited - okay, he’d last visited Elliott a week ago, but for Elliott, their time apart seemed to have lasted a month by now. Not that he’d ever admit to that aloud. The farmer didn’t need any more ways to tease him.

The break in the farmer’s routine, the lack of his presence even just for a few days, sapped Elliott’s motivation to write completely dry.

Curse the writing gods, making a busy farmer his muse.

So that’s how Elliott found himself visiting the farm for the first time in far too long. He had told Elliott to drop by whenever he wanted, though Elliott hadn’t ever taken him up on the offer. He was coming to the conclusion that he really should have.

Elliott remembered how rundown the farm was when he first arrived, the cabin falling apart and weeds overtaking the entire place as though they were kings of old conquering new land for their mighty empires. Now, though… now the farm looked almost unrecognizable in the best possible way.

The sign leading into it was much the same, and the farmer either just hadn’t gotten around to redoing it or he decided to keep the faded but nostalgic entrance. But beyond the wooden gate?

Elliott felt pride well up inside him, unable to suppress a grin at all the farmer had managed to accomplish in his time here. The farmhouse was in a far better condition than the one Elliott had seen pictures of when the farmer’s grandad still lived there. Most of the weeds had been cleared, new buildings had sprouted up and animals wandered around the growing summer crops.

He finally spotted the farmer, cutting down a tree a little ways down a path the farmer had made early on in his journey to becoming a farmer. Elliott remembered running into him that day at the bridge leading to the beach, and he’d excitedly shown the first person he saw a new path layout he’d received from Robin that day. At the time, Elliott wasn’t sure what to make of the brand new farm layout plans that the farmer had pushed into his hands to look over, nor did Elliott understand how the farmer was so excited over pathways of all things. Walking towards the farmer on the very same pathway Elliott had seen blocked out on a blueprint just months ago - almost a year now that he thought about it - there was a skip in his step.

The farmer didn’t notice Elliott at first, still working on cutting down the trees into smaller and more manageable logs, along with the stumps they left behind. But when he did finally notice Elliott, a smile so bright it put the sun to shame lit up his face, and a weight that had been on Elliott’s heart finally eased away.

“G’afternoon, Elliott!” The farmer said as he dropped his axe onto the nearest stump.

“Good afternoon!” Elliott exclaimed, sidling up to the farmer and taking another look around. It was hard not to, now that he was in the middle of the farm. They were in a tree patch that the farmer had complained about having to keep tidy over the past month, adjacent to a mini-orchard with some rows of trees looking close to giving fruit. At the end of the path they were on, Elliott could make out a seating area peeking through the trees with flowers surrounding the bench. 

“This all looks incredible,” he said in awe. The farmer’s cheeks took on a pink hue, and he laughed lightly.

“Thank you!” He too glanced around, his smile full of complete and utter pride. “It’s really nice to see it all coming together, y’know? With how long it’s taken to get to this point.”

Elliott nodded, looking at the pile of wood the farmer was creating for a moment before looking back to the farmer. “I can imagine. Wanna show it all off with a tour?”

The farmer somehow perked up even more, a grin splitting his face. “Y’know? That sounds like a great idea!” He grabbed Elliott’s hand and pulled him along the path - not that Elliott needed much prompting to follow.

--

After a two-hour long tour of the farm - Elliott may have gotten sidetracked by the farmer’s baby cows and goats for a while - they finally retired to the sitting area Elliott had spotted before, and it was prettier than the glimpse he had caught the first time.

The farmer had a slight flush on his face and a grin, rolling his sleeves up as they settled on the bench. “Sorry about Mira,” he chuckled, “I wasn’t expecting her to go after your hair like that.”

Elliott slung an arm over the back of the bench, laughing gently himself and touching the place where said baby cow attempted to grab his hair. “It’s fine, really. Impossible to stay mad at something so adorable.”

The farmer hummed contentedly, slumping into the bench himself and closing his eyes, practically basking in the afternoon sun. Elliott took the chance to not-so-subtly look over the farmer.

He’d found his gaze lingering on the farmer longer and longer every time they spent time together. At first, Elliott would catch himself and correct his behavior - because, really, how gentlemanly was it to just stare at someone? - but after a while and catching the farmer doing his own fair share of looking, Elliott decided that it wouldn’t hurt to admire him occasionally.

He’d noticed the farmer primarily wore long-sleeves, even on the hottest summer days, and today was no different. But Elliott had never seen him roll up his sleeves before, and he found himself staring at the farmer’s arms.

The joy of the afternoon very quickly sapped out of Elliott the longer he stared at the farmer’s arms, and instead of fluttering like always when around him, Elliott felt it sinking. Littered across his arms were thin scars of all sorts of lengths, scars that didn’t align with ones that came from monsters in the mines. They were too clean to have come from monsters other than the ones Elliott knew could plague one’s mind.

The farmer peeked at Elliott through one eye, startled when he noticed Elliott’s intense stare trained on his arms. “Elliott?” Elliott finally tore his gaze away from his arm. “You alright?”

His eyes flickered between the farmer’s face and his arm, mouth opening and closing a few times as he tried to find the right words. The farmer tilted his head, frowning slightly.

Elliott finally seemed to give up on trying to figure out what he wanted to say and, hesitantly, rested a hand on the farmer’s arm, tapping just one of the many scars.

The farmer looked to where Elliott was pointing and relaxed as he realized what had gotten Elliott so worked up. “Ah, those.”

Elliott cleared his throat, removing his hand from the farmer’s arm. “Obviously, you’re not obligated to say anything, but… but when did you… get these?”

He hummed, tracing the scars on his own arm for a moment as he thought. “I… used to cut throughout most of my teen years and a little bit into college,” he admitted. “I haven’t done it since the beginning of third year.”

Elliott’s brow furrowed, and he couldn’t stop himself from asking the most definitely not-his-business question he could ask: “Why?”

The farmer’s gaze flickered over Elliott and he tilted his head again. Elliott was quick to rush out, grimacing at his own rudeness. “Sorry, sorry- that was insensitive, you don’t have to share.”

He shook his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I don’t mind sharing. But, it’s… not the easiest thing to digest when someone tells you. Are you in a good enough headspace to hear?”

Elliott nodded. “Yeah, I am.” Really, he hadn’t been in a bad headspace since moving to the valley. In a writing slump, sure, but his mental health had gotten so much better since moving here. “What about you, though?”

The farmer smiled reassuringly. “I’m good.” He took a deep breath. “Alright! Feel free to stop me at any time if it gets to be too overwhelming, okay?”

Elliott nodded again. “Same goes for you.”

The farmer shifted on the bench into a more comfortable position, and Elliott followed suit, knocking their knees together lightly as the farmer considered where to start.

“Okay. So. My dad was, most of the time, a good man. He treated me well when it was just the two of us, and when he was sober. Until around junior high, there were days he’d get egregiously aggressive drunk. So I’d have to walk on eggshells around him. It wasn’t until middle school that he finally started dealing with it, seeking help and going to AA meetings and all that. He got better. 

“My biological mom, on the other hand, was terrible. Not the worst mother to ever exist, but she was still abusive. To both me and Dad. She was…” He drummed his fingers on the back of the bench, pausing for a moment to think on how to phrase it. “She was controlling, to put it simply. Overbearing. She was never physically abusive. Never hit me or Dad, never threatened to hit us. But she micromanaged our lives, and from what I’ve been told, she only started to get like that after she married Dad. She… cut him off from most of his friends and family, and after they finally got divorced Dad once told me that he was scared of her because for the longest time he thought he needed her, and if he lost her he’d lose everything.”

He cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Sorry, getting off track a bit. So. What she did to my dad, she did to me. I wasn’t allowed a phone until high school, she would control who I was friends with and if I made friends with someone she didn’t like, she’d threaten to take away certain things. Once, when she found out from a teacher that I hung out with someone in class that she despised, she destroyed my favorite stuffed animal as a ‘warning’. When I got my phone, she’d randomly go through it so I could never really do anything on it.

“And, because Dad was scared of her leaving him if he stood up to her, he never stood up for me. I had… I had no control whatsoever over my life. I couldn’t do anything without mom always breathing down my neck. Then, one day, I was helping Dad cook dinner on the rare night that mom was out with her friends and accidentally cut myself. I had ignored Dad’s warning about cutting toward me and sliced my hand a bit. Not seriously, and it still hurt, but… it was my choice to cut toward myself. And then I had this… sort of sick realization, that this was a way for me to have control over something in my life.”

He looked down at his arms and sighed heavily. “Mom… never found out about this. She bought all my clothes, and they were usually long-sleeved, so they were easy to hide from everyone. My parents finally divorced my junior year of high school, and… and mom got full custody of me. Didn’t allow contact or anything. Threatened to bring him to court if he tried. Then I went to college, still cutting as a way to control something in my life. Because mom even dictated what I should major in, and threatened to stop paying my tuition if I tried to do anything against what she said. I’ll be honest when I say the only thing that stopped me from committing suicide was my dad. My dad and his new wife.

“I managed to contact him without mom knowing through a friend of mine. I didn’t ever tell him that mom was worse than when he was married to her. But then one day in my second year, I wasn’t careful and that friend who helped me contact Dad in the first place found out about my self-harm. And. And they told him. They told my dad and stepmom - Mama - about my cutting and…” He clenched his fists, and exhaled slowly, a little shakily. “And they were stunned. Worried. Furious. After they found out, and since I was technically an adult, they helped me get away from Mom. I dropped out of college and moved far, far away, and cut all ties with Mom. At one point she tried to get the police involved because she thought I was missing, but threats of a restraining order got her to turn tail real quick.

“Mama and Dad helped me get onto my own feet, and I got a therapist, and it was hard, y’know? But I slowly got better. I relapsed twice, and I’ll admit, sometimes I’ve wondered if it’s really worth it, trying to heal. Actually healing. But I got better, and I’m getting better every day. I haven’t cut in years, I’m in control of my own life, and that wench is out of my life for good.”

The farmer took a deep breath and laughed, shaking his head. “Sorry- that was. A lot. I didn’t mean to dump all my emotional baggage onto you like that.”

Elliott, who had listened to him silently the whole time, sympathy and despair and anger boiling just under his skin, grasped his hand and held it tightly. Elliott shook his head.

“Don’t apologize. I’m- you’re right, that was a lot. But I’m happy you told me. And it makes me happy to know that you’re doing better.” He took a deep breath, shifting his hold on the farmer’s hand to intertwine their fingers. “I… I also have had my fair share of struggles with mental health.”

The farmer squeezed his hand, rubbing small circles into the side of Elliott’s hand. Elliott smiled slightly at him. “Throughout school, I… I always had problems with other students. It was difficult for me to make friends, no matter how hard I tried. The friends that I did make weren’t… the greatest. They were, plainly said, toxic. I’ve had ‘friends’ who would mock me, belittle me, and then pretend to be my friend for an easy grade. It took a major toll on my self-image, and on my mental health. My parents began to take notice after a while, but when they tried to intervene I was so nervous about becoming an outcast in school that I lied and then cut them out.

“The bullying continued, I continued to lie to my parents… and I just went into denial about everything. Denial, and a shut-down of sorts. At the time, I thought, that if I just ignored it, and pretended to feel nothing, then it would be over sooner. But I was miserable. Eventually, it started to take its toll. Because pretending could only get me so far, and it was a flimsy way of trying to deal with everything. My grades began to drastically drop, and I could no longer hide that things were wrong to everyone else because it started to bleed into my physical health.

“I had no motivation to take care of myself. Skipping meals to avoid talking with my parents, to avoid my so-called friends at lunch. My hygiene began to deteriorate, too. It was just… so hard to get out of bed every day.” Elliott was silent for a minute, taking a deep breath and grounding himself. “Eventually, my parents had had enough. They did care a lot for me, but I had just been shutting them out and refusing any help they could have tried to give me. So, around junior year of high school, they decided to move. We moved to Zuzu city, I went to a new school, but I wasn’t better at all. They thought that my first school, and the people there, were the problem. And they were. But, by that point, it was no longer a simple fix.

“My parents forced me to see a therapist, after a couple of months at the new school went by and no improvements were shown. I didn’t… it took me a while to start opening up. I did eventually, though. My therapist suggested giving some kind of creative activity a try - any creative activity I could think of. I tried different kinds of art, music, gardening, writing… When I tried writing, I ended up liking it more than I thought I ever would. I liked it more than I certainly ever did in school as well. So, I continued with that. And… and things slowly got better. Writing was my escape for the rest of high school, and I went to college as an English major as a result of my enjoyment. A lot of my earlier works were vent pieces, and when I first wrote them I was still somewhat in denial of how things were.”

He took a deep breath and offered the farmer a small smile. “I’m much better now, happier. Sometimes I do have the occasional bad day, but that’s to be expected. Writing has helped me, so much. But so have the people I’ve met since getting help. Like Leah! I met her in the city and we just clicked, and while she moved to the valley before me we still remained friends. She was a huge help, alongside my parents, encouraging me to continue writing and always cheering me on.”

The farmer gave Elliott’s hand one more squeeze and a small laugh. “That’s great to hear,” he said. “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do on bad days?”

Elliott hummed softly. “The most I end up doing is getting out of bed, getting dressed, and brushing my teeth. Sometimes I read my favorite book, and sometimes I’ll write a vent piece, but when those are too exhausting I’ll just sit in bed and try not to think. What about you?”

“My self-care days come early when it’s a bad day. I can’t exactly neglect my chores, so on the bad days, I get them done as fast as I can and then spend my day in the kitchen messing around with recipes because it gives me something to do, and even if I make a monstrosity it usually ends up being fun and still something that I can control. When that’s too much, I’ll sit in the animal pens and spend time with them for the day.”

“You have self-care days?”

“Mhmm. Mama told me about them. Every other Wednesday is a self-care day for me.”

“Why Wednesday?”

The farmer shrugged. “Pierre’s closed on Wednesday, and there’s no way I’m buying from Joja if I can help it. So, I usually don’t have too much of a reason to go into town on Wednesday unless I want to go talk with someone.

“What about you?” he asked. “Do you have any self-care days?”

Elliott shook his head and sighed, once again slumping into the bench. “I didn’t even consider them, now that I think about it. It does sound like a good idea, though.” He hummed softly. “Don’t really know what I’d do, though. Because my bad days aren’t self-care days. They’re just a way for me to make it through the day.”

The farmer tilted his head. “Well, when you think of a self-care day, the perfect activities to help you relax, what do you imagine?”

Elliott stared at him for a moment before a soft smile appeared on his face.

“Honestly?” The farmer nodded. “Doing anything with you.”

The farmer’s cheeks dusted red, but he grinned nonetheless.

“Y’know, I can get behind that.”

[insaneoldme]

Can you rec buddie fics? Pretty please?

OMG it's my time to shine, bitches!!!

Sorry if I went a little nuts, but this fandom has some of the best writers I've ever seen. I have 186 Buddie fics bookmarked in my AO3,

I'll link here if you are interested in taking a look cause if I put them all here it would be too long. Also, I tried to show here some fics I very rarely see recced, and a little bit o the classics. This fandom has some very underrated authors, everyone in my bookmarks is worth taking a look really.

Please take a look at the warnings before reading, enjoy!!!

I Hate Accidents (Except When We Went From Friends to This) by morganofthefairies (Rated E )

Buck and Eddie had always been unconventional. Neither of them gave it much thought – they were just them. Buck and Eddie - partners, best friends, co-parents – just as entangled in each other’s lives as any actual couple in the 118.

Or, the story of how Buck and Eddie went about their relationship in entirely the wrong order.

My Heart's Been Borrowed by ElvenSorceress (Rated E)

aka the one where Taylor gives Buck his ultimate fantasy and uncovers far more than either of them expected, forcing him to confront his long held feelings for Eddie

Half Awake in Our Fake Empire by HMSLusitania (Rated E)

Buck 1.0 fathered a child and Buck 4.0 comes into custody.

Love and Bullets Both Shatter Hearts (But Only One Can Put You Back Together) (Rated E)

Agent [Redacted] Diaz is the best at what he does. Usually. But lately there's this real pain in the ass* who's been ruining his missions: Code Name "Buck."

Keep It On by R_E_R6 (Rated E)

When Eddie walks in on Buck, bent over in nothing but a hoodie, their plans for the night immediately change. Buck's outfit though? Well, Eddie requests that it stays the same...for reasons.

Heart of Flowers / Heart of Gold by ElvenSorceress (Rated T)

Buck nearly loses everything and Eddie has to follow his heart

hungry for your love by evcndiaz (Rated G)

prompt: "who’s gonna write a fanfic where chris is not cooperating with buck and eddie accidentally says “listen to your dad”?"

or; breadsticks are a metaphor for love and boning

keep your eyes on the road by iriswests (Rated M)

A glimpse into buck and eddie’s developing relationship, told through ten moments stopped at a traffic light

when things fall into place by woodchoc_magnum (Rated M)

In which Eddie asks Buck to move in with them during lockdown to help look after Christopher, which leads to certain unresolved feelings being resolved.

Carbon Date Me, Excavate Me by extasiswings, letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

Evan "Buck" Buckley has made a name for himself as the independent bad boy of archaeology. At least, until Professor Eddie Diaz shows up with his fedora and good looks and starts beating Buck to the punch more often than not.

Buck hates his stupid six-pack covered guts.

Except for how... he might not.

Objects in the Mirror by SevenSoulmates (Rated E)

The voice had always been around, Eddie remembers it, like a stream of consciousness that babbled incoherently to the point where Eddie just tuned it out.

But then the voice started speaking directly to him. Conversing like he was a whole person standing right in front of him. Like he could see what was happening around Eddie.

Eddie shook his head. No one was talking to him, and Eddie most certainly was not talking back.

He wouldn’t talk to the boy in his head ever again. There was no boy in his head.

ripples all the way down by iriswests (Rated M)

christopher partakes in some parent trapping

dream of some epiphany by extasiswings (Rated M)

Evan Buckley is lost.

It’s happenstance that he wanders into the navy recruiting center—he’s been in San Diego for a few weeks, bartending late nights and weekends, living in a house with three other guys not because he needs the roommates but because he doesn’t want to be alone, and the military is…respectable. Stable. So Buck thinks maybe and opens the door.

Buck leaves ten minutes later with a set of printed instructions for sending his first letter, assured that he can drop it off whenever he’s ready, and a name.

Staff Sergeant Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz.

Relationship Advice from Complete Strangers Online by HMSLusitania (Rated T)

Hi, I’ve never made a Reddit post before and I’m not 100% sure what I’m doing but I need advice and can’t ask anyone in my real life. So, I [30M] have this best friend [34M]…

Leading with the Left by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico."

And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?"

In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.

fireflies where my caution should be by littlesnowpea (Rated M)

“You never talk about your parents,” Eddie says, which is not even remotely what Buck expects Eddie to say. He frowns, tilts his head, but it isn’t a question, as evidenced by Eddie charging on. “I never asked because I figured it was your business, but the look on your face any time they’re brought up tells me you don’t get along.”

Buck swallows hard, against a lump in his throat. His parents? Eddie’s right, he never talks about them, for good reason. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, not sure what he’s even going to say.

Eddie takes it as the answer Buck is trying to make it out to be. He squeezes Buck’s wrist again, takes a deep breath, like he’s on a call with someone who’s panicking. Buck finds his breathing slowing to match Eddie’s, and Eddie nods as Buck gets it under control.

“There are people on the porch,” Eddie says, voice even. “Saying they want to meet their grandchild.”

Asked, Offered, Given, (He's) Taken by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

People like to flirt with Buck on calls. It kind of makes Buck uncomfortable.

And that makes Eddie frustrated.

I Hit the Accelerator (But the Car was in Reverse) by extasiswings, letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

When Buck is forced to confront the truth about his breakup with Abby, having casual sex with his hot new coworker seems like the best rebound idea.

Unfortunately, that hot new coworker turns into his best friend. But best friends can keep having sex with each other, right?

There's no way this could possibly go wrong.

Memorable by JessicaMDawn (Rated T)

Six times Buck got recognized by people he saved during the tsunami, and how his team realized he was a hero.

All Bets are Off by NobodyKnows_U (Not Rated)

Or, the five times the firefam realized Buck and Eddie were in love, and the one-time Eddie finally did something about it.

fire on fire by extasiswings (Rated T)

Or: Buck and Eddie get in the habit of sharing a bed while living together during quarantine. It's platonic until it isn't.

Better Together by Randomfandombloggs09 (Not Rated)

5 times Eddie sees Buck wearing his last name and 1 time its not just his

Daddy and Pops by EdithBlake (Rated M)

When Christopher calls Buck 'Pops' things get a bit confusing. Buck and Eddie have a talk with Christopher that ends up with both of them being even more confused by how right it sounds.

the meaning of the words you see by florenceandthemachine (Rated E)

unknown sender: Hi!

unknown sender: Just wanted to say thanks for letting me buy you a drink, and for your number. Sorry I had to run.

unknown sender: I’m Eddie by the way.

sent: hey um

sent: i don’t want 2 be this guy but

sent: i think u mayb put the wrong # in ur phone

the dream you wish will come true by woodchoc_magnum (Rated M)

In which Christopher Diaz cannot understand why his father would want to date his former teacher when Evan Buckley is right there.

vienna waits for you by mottainai (Not Rated)

Eddie doesn't deserve a soulmate.

Work Husband by hideeho (Rated T)

“What...what have you done with Buck?” Eddie is going to kill him for messing with his phone. No, that’s too extreme. He’s going to maim him. Just a little.

“Check under H,” Chim offers helpfully, shooting a look over to Hen with a smirk.

Why the hell would he be under—

Then he sees it.

Husband.

Bad Neighbors by firstdegreefangirl (Rated E)

Eddie's new neighbors are keeping him up all night. He calls on his best friend for a little taste of their own medicine.

Cross the Line by Sirencalls (Rated E)

Eddie laughs, short and quiet and almost to himself. “No. If you want to learn, then I’m gonna be the one to teach you.”

Buck is pretty sure his brain stops working. “What? Why?”

Eddie turns to look at him and steps closer, their chests only a few inches apart. “Because there are people out there who will take advantage of how naïve you are. They’ll hurt you, and I won’t.” Eddie’s eyes are so intense that Buck doesn’t have any choice but to believe him. “If you want someone to do this for you, to—to dominate you, it has to be me. I don’t trust anyone else to do it right.”

pretty in pink by dykeevans (Rated E)

Buck forgets that he and Eddie made plans to hang out until Eddie shows up and Buck's in the middle of laundry day.

His laundry day outfit consists of a small pink crop top and grey sweatpants.

Eddie loses his damn mind. Me too, though, me too.

the distance to the stars by cloudydaisies (Rated G)

“Didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

Buck just laughs. Like, honest to god giggles. Eddie is stuck fighting off doubly massive waves of butterflies and confusion, all while Buck just gazes down at him.

“That’s cute,” he hears Buck mumble, just before climbing into the truck, calling Eddie after him.

-or, everyone knows eddie is dating buck except for eddie, literally.

Something Old, Something New by dumbhuman (Rated E)

“Damn, I love weddings!” Buck’s face lit up as he closed the door.

If asked later, Eddie wouldn’t have been able to explain what came over him in that moment to make him ask the question. Or, at least, he wouldn’t have wanted to explain. The exhaustion was an easy excuse, but he knew deep down that it wasn’t a real one.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

one of the few things by thatnerdemryn (Rated G)

five times that Eddie tells someone else that Buck is Christopher's legal guardian plus one time he finally tells Buck.

I Didn't Know I Was Lonely 'Til I Saw Your Face by HMSLusitania (Rated T)

Total strangers Buck and Eddie go to couple's therapy together to get out of the therapy requirements their captains have placed on them.

things we shouldn't do by Ingu (Rated T)

“Why is everybody taking my relationship status so personally? Can’t I be fine with being single?” Buck said.

“Hey, you don’t have to say yes, be sad and alone if that’s what you want,” Josh replied. “But, I’m just saying. I’ve seen photos and this guy is volcanic levels of hot. Also, single dad, super cute kid. Saves lives for a living like you. I think you should give it a go.”

(the one where Buck and Eddie accidentally get set up on a blind date with each other, and everything snowballs from there)

Keeping It In The Family by Wolves_of_Innistrad (Rated T)

A young man shows up at the firehouse looking for Buck. Turns out Javier was a Bartender with Buck in Mexico. He’s back in LA, looking to reconnect and very flirty. Cue Eddie realizing Buck is not as straight as he thought.

kiss me (like your ex is in the room) by rebeccaofsbfarm (Rated E)

Eddie Diaz gets drunk and protective and signs up for a fake double date to get back at his friend's ex.

Leave the Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by HMSLusitania (Rated M)

An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is… missing presumed.

While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home

All my Buddie AO3 bookmarks

As I said this fandom has some very talented people, some of my favorite Authors's Tumblrs below, I recommend all the things they wrote and their blogs are very good.

@elvensorceress, @hmslusitania, @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels, @extasiswings

For gifs:

@arrenemris, @skylessnights (very lovely AU gifsets)

@from-nova(good gifs & content)

For Podfics: @mistmarauder everything she ever read is amazing, her podfics are high quality and she has a very lovely voice and her presence calms me down lol I recommend it

I'm sorry there are a lot more people but I'm kinda in a rush haha most of the people I follow are amazing, but the ones I mentioned here are enough to get you started or entertained for a while.

Buddie fics are amazing, this pairing has spoiled me so much, everyone I met because of it is nice and so active and talented.

Sorry mutuals if I forgot someone! 

I hope I helped Anon, have fun!

(Tell me if any link is wrong please, thanks)

[estrel]

Christmas, Early Mornings, and How to be Free

destiel december 2020 prompt: decorating | wc: ~1.3k

[READ ON AO3]

Dean often forgets that angels don’t sleep.

The soft knock at his door at—he checks his clock—four in the morning, however, serves as a gentle reminder.

He sits up, brushing off popcorn crumbs from his shirt, and blearily rubs his eyes. Dean hadn’t been sleeping, per se, but he was drunk and dog tired, eyes burning from staring at his TV for what must have been hours on end.

His door opens and light from the hallway streams in, bright like the white-hot burn of an angel being killed. Dean blinks once, twice, and there stands his own angel, a hand on the door knob.

“Sorry to wake you,” Cas mutters. “Ah, Jack and I were wondering if you were—if you wanted to help us with something.”

Dean looks at the clock again, more for show than to actually read the time, before redirecting his gaze back to Cas.

“It’s four in the morning, Cas.”

Cas shifts his weight. “I don’t—”

“You don’t sleep,” Dean finishes for him, already throwing the blanket off of himself. The wave of cool air over his calves where his sweats ride up make him shiver. He pulls the fabric down back over them and stands.

“Yeah, I know. And lucky for you, I barely do.” Dean comes to a stop in front of Cas. “What’s up?”

Cas pushes the door open and turns, leading the way for Dean to follow.

“Jack and I—we were discussing the bible,” Cas starts.

“As you do.”

“—And Jack was curious about how humans celebrate the birth of Christ.”

“Uh-huh.” They step through the kitchen and Dean eyes a half-eaten snack on the table. He quickly nicks it, gives it a once-over, and takes a bite. The taste of chocolate caramel nougat makes him let out a low groan of satisfaction.

Cas shoots him a glare over his shoulder. Dean shrugs.

“He told me you all celebrated it once,” Cas continues, “Along with some other holidays, though I can’t imagine how I managed to miss that. Anyway, he has friends in town that celebrate the christian Christmas, and now he’s got…um, ideas.”

Dean frowns. “What ideas?”

They round the corner into the library, where Dean’s confronted with several large boxes that are set on the nearest table. Scattered around them are various decorations like ornaments, tinsel, and what look to be Santa hats in a few different colors and patterns. Dean’s gaze pulls away from the mess to look at Jack, who has his arms elbow-deep into the box nearest to him. He smiles wide at Dean.

“You’re awake! Hey—is-is that…my candy bar?”

Dean looks down at the bar and stuffs what’s left of it in his mouth. He holds a finger up when Jack pouts, chewing until he can form words.

“Finders keepers, kid,” he swallows, “It’s a lesson you gotta learn while you’re still young. What are you doin’, anyway? What’s all this crap you’ve got out?”

Jack’s smile is back as he pulls out an ornament. “Christmas! I thought we’d decorate.”

Dean blinks at him. “Dude. Four in the morning.”

He hears Cas sigh and turns his attention to him instead. “I’m serious! You couldn’t have waited a couple more hours? And hey, wait a second—how come I’m up and Sam’s nowhere to be seen? This is, like, his usual wake up time.”

“It is,” Cas says, “He’s actually out on a jog right now, he said he’d be back to help with the baking.”

“The—” Dean runs a hand over his face, pressing briefly over his eyes to wake himself better. They’d already done Christmas this year, and all the other holidays, for that matter. Of course…

He opens his eyes.

Not with Cas.

Dean lets his arm drop back to his side and strides the few steps over to Jack, picking his favorite ornaments out of the box from when Mrs. Butters had first showed them to him. He hands a blue one over to Jack.

“Besides,” Jack studies the bulb, “We’re starting late. Christmas is only a week away, and I know people who start decorating in November!”

“We don’t even have the tree up yet,” Dean grumbles in feigned annoyance. “Hell, we don’t even have a tree.”

“Sure we do,” Jack says. He turns and points over at the table behind them. A small tree no more than 16 inches tall stands bare in the middle of the table.

Dean stares at it, eyes wandering over to Cas after a beat for an explanation. He’s standing on the other side of Jack, now, and catches Dean’s gaze.

“It’s fake,” Cas says, “We found it with the decorations. It’s…a substitute—at most—for now.”

Dean nods slowly. “Okay,” he accepts.

After that he finds the smallest bulbs that won’t take up too much space on the little thing, passing them to Cas who hands them to Jack to put on the tree. Working like clockwork, the tree is decorated sooner rather than later, and Dean straightens up in time to hear the front door open with a metal squeal.

Sam steps inside, closing the door behind him, and looks down at the three of them with a smile. He pulls an earbud out.

“Nice tree,” he says, clamoring down the stairs.

Dean, feeling strangely defensive, mutters, “Up yours,” and rifles through the box for something to fling at him. He comes up short, but Jack rids them of Sam as he bounds off to meet him in the kitchen, giddy to start on their baking as soon as possible.

Dean pulls out a Santa hat in the wake of it just being him and Cas in the room and, holding his breath, turns to place it on Cas’ head.

Cas stares as Dean slips it on, adjusting it here and there so it sits right, pulling away lest it becomes too...

Cas catches his arm before Dean can withdraw it.

“How...How come I get to wear the hat and you don’t?”

Dean chuckles, pulling lightly in an attempt to get out of Cas’ grip. Cas tightens his hold by a fraction.

“’Cause you look better in hats? I dunno,” Dean mumbles. He feels his heart racing, chances a glance over to the kitchen where he can hear Sam and Jack clanging baking supplies around while they set up to make the cookies. 

His eyes meet Cas’ again, dropping momentarily to look at his lips before Dean forces them to stay on Cas’ baby blues. 

“That’s not true,” Cas frowns, “You are very attractive for someone of your gender and age.”

Dean swallows hard, face warm. “Yeah?” His voice comes out higher than intended, so he clears his throat before speaking again. “Thanks.”

Cas lets go of his wrist, backing away a little. “You are welcome.”

They stare at each other, transfixed, and Dean thinks Cas looks more innocent with this hat on, more so than, say, that cowboy hat Dean had made him wear once. Almost silly enough for Dean to let his guard down, to lean forward, and—

Cas' breath ghosts over his cheek and chin in their newfound proximity, faces just a few inches apart.

Dean licks his lips, once, and closes the space between them. He presses his lips softly to Cas', trembling a little due to the action. It's chaste, and feels simultaneously like it lasts an eternity and only a few seconds—something Dean thinks only Cas is capable of doing.

And he knows, dazedly, that it's likely the latter, even if a lifetime was lived in this moment alone. Dean pulls back to stare at Cas like he just hung the stars rather than some simple plastic ornaments on a dingy fake Christmas tree, holding his breath as he gages Cas' reaction.

This close, Dean can see Cas' pupils blown wide. The angel has that look about him that Dean remembers seeing a long time ago, like a soldier with newfound freedom—unsure where to go or how to use it.

Dean licks his lips again, and though his hands are still shaking when he lifts them to cup Cas' face, he feels his mouth smooth into a smile.

He ducks his head to kiss Cas again. And again. And again, until they hear the shout that the cookies are ready, and Dean takes Cas' hand in his.

Freedom isn’t a length of rope, Dean thinks, but rather a red string, tying them together and guiding them home every time without fail. Maybe they could teach each other, this time—about Christmas, early mornings, and how to be free.

tag list (ask to be added/removed):

@castiels-a-lamp @jellydeans @writtenmemxries @cestladean @randomblabbling @fluffiestlou @dreamnovak @weird-dorky-little-d @depressivedemonnightmaredean @jackleslongcon @friedchickenangelwings @galaxycastiel @destielle @dickspeightjrs @on-a-bender @organicpurplepants @casbelieves @samuelswinchester @spacegirlstuff @seffersonjtarship @winchester-novak @professorerudite @squintingg @holmesemrys @imnotrevealingmyname @festivemish @good-things-do-happen-dean@angxlsgrxce @casandeans @castielscrookedtrenchcoat @destiel-in-its-natural-habitat @gracelesschoice @superduckbatrebel @iheardyourprayer @top13zepptraxx @that-one-fandom-chick @scoobydean @destiels-canonahhhhhhhhhh @maxguevra @cursed-or-not @i-think-im-humanbut-cant-besure @fitinmypoems @madilineskingdom @awolfnamedaliac @castee-yel @tearsofgrace @credentiast @fivefeetfangirl @my-favourite-hellatus @gray-is-neutral @sunflower-vol-28 @ensignabby @ar-bi-trary

[solinarimoon]

Little Sea - Part I

AN: This is my first time writing outside of The Last Kingdom fandom, but I originally joined tumblr to find Hvitserk content.  So I hope my writing for him does it justice.  This is for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie Congratulations on your milestone love!   This story is a Vikings/TLK crossover but Sihtric is basically placed into the Vikings universe.  I know in our heads these two belong in the same universe, so enjoy.  My prompt was a reimagining of The Little Mermaid fairytale. The story got too long so I am breaking it into two parts.  Sjór means sea in Old Norse, at least according to one website I found. I have more notes at the end of part two.

Warnings: Angst, unrequited love, suicidal imagery/implications, Vikings canon Ivar cruelty

My Masterlist

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

She swam, racing the currents in the sea.  The water’s hazy depths constantly shifted and mottled in a swirling dance.  Hues of blue and green mixed with inky darkness but faded to the rays of the sun’s light filtering through from the surface.  

The cold temperatures below the fathoms began to warm as Alba swam towards the surface.  Swishing her fins, she felt the drag of the water as she climbed higher until slowing and ultimately stopping herself just before breaching the surface.

His face stared down at her above the water.  His lips spoke words that she could not hear.  His face was calm and serene. Happy.

The only sound was the rushing tumult of waves breaking, crashing upon rocks at the base of a cliff.  

Alba flicked her tail trying in vain to break through the surface.  She wanted nothing more than to rise above the water and envelop Hvitserk in her arms.

The fear and the panic began to rise instead.  And without warning, Alba felt her terror intensify as her tail had been replaced with two legs.  Hvitserk’s face grew farther and farther away while she sank back below the dark depths.

~~~~~~~~

Alba woke with a start, sitting up in her bed and breathing heavily.  Her hands clung to the furs draped across her, pulling them aside to reveal two legs and feet.  The sight still seemed surreal to her. 

This was not the first night she had awoken from this dream.  It was occurring more and more often as she felt the pull to return to the sea.  Return home.  And as she watched Hvitserk continue to move further and further away from her.

Slowly, the young woman stood from her bed steadying herself as her legs wavered like someone returning to shore after living on a ship for weeks.  She draped a cowl of furs around herself and pushed aside the door leading from her small hut on to the beach.

Only a few paces brought Alba up to the water’s edge.  The waves lapped over her toes and Alba breathed easier.  Salty spray drifted across the cove where the waves were always harsh and ragged against the cliffs to the north.

Alba trained her eyes on the grey horizon, watching as the mist began to fade and the shadows melted away.  She breathed in the taste of the ocean’s air and for a moment felt content.

But that moment was broken when she noticed a set of forlorn footsteps approaching her.

“I knew you would be up and on the beach already.”

His voice was low and groggy as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders with a gentle squeeze.  Alba wondered if he had seen his own bed that night.  

“I wish I could help you find whatever you are looking for on the water, little Sjór.”

Alba turned her face ever so slightly to question him with a silent gaze.  And to see his braids looking disheveled. And a small bruise just under his jaw. 

“When we met, it was not unlike this,” Hvitserk paused when Alba turned her face towards him fully, furrowing her brow in confusion.  “I mean it was very different because I still have no idea how a half drowned young woman came to be lying between the rocks on the north edge of the cove, covered by nothing but a ragged boat sail,” his lips had pursed slightly trying to ward of the smirk Alba knew he was fighting.  Shuffling his feet in the sand and clearing his throat, he continued, “so it was different but you also still had that look I see so often. The one you had moments ago. Like you’ve lost something. And you’re waiting for it to return to you.”

Alba turned her eyes back to gaze across the water before dropping her face to the sand with a huff.  “Looking for your voice, perhaps?”

Alba looked up with her mouth dropped open in shock to see the young man grinning fully while she pushed him lightly away. Hvitserk let out a true laugh before wrapping his arm once more around Alba’s shoulder. Comfortable and brotherly. 

Scuffing a bare foot in the sand, Alba moved away from his side and began ambling down the beach knowing Hvitserk would follow. 

It was no use trying to hold that one sided conversation again. Part of the enchantment prevented her from revealing the truth about where she came from, about what she was…is…would be once more.  So even if they played a crude pantomime game, she still could not reveal if his guess were to be correct. 

Her time on land was almost spent. Her time with him would come to an end. Alba knew in her heart that Hvitserk was not in love with her.  And the binding nature of the enchantment would not bend. No matter how much love she felt for him. Or how much she had become endeared to him. That was not the problem. He did love her. But it was not true love. Not for him.  So she would return to the sea, but not today.

Alba sighed, straightened her shoulders and raised her head, breaking herself from her thoughts. 

She turned to look at Hvitserk walking alongside her, scuffing his boots beside her bare feet. Gently, Alba reached out her hand and tapped his neck where she’d noticed the small bruise. 

Hvitserk met her eyes with a mischievous smile. 

“Oh that, there? That is nothing, little Sjór.  Only a slight bite I received from one of the forest trolls while I was searching for mushrooms.” 

The pair laughed at his jest, her silently and him with gentle chuckles before he continued, sincerity beginning to lace its way into his words. 

“I was with Thora last night.”

Alba arched an eyebrow at him. 

“Yes, again.” Hvitserk chuckled lightheartedly. He missed Alba’s eyebrows relax and the smile on her face fall as she listened to him talk about the new woman.  

~~~~~~~~~~

Alba woke to the sound of rain pelting the thatch roof of her small cottage. Sleepily, she opened her eyes just as a streak of lightning illuminated the sky. She had seen the flash through the leaking cracks of her shutters. 

Several moments later the booming echo of Thor’s hammer against the clouds brought a slight curve to her mouth.  A rain storm was dangerous on the water. Perilous. But under the water, Alba and her sisters had been fond of watching the crash and roll of the tumultuous waves. The lightning scattering crystalline lights across the surface of the water. A beautiful orchestra of light and movement. 

A rain storm did not startle her. A rain storm felt like home.  Alba nestled further down into her furs, feeling their weight and warmth bringing her back to sleep. 

Except this thunderous booming continued on far longer than any true thunderclap. And it was now accompanied by a muffled voice. 

Hvitserk. 

No one else ever came to her door. Barely another soul knew she even existed or much less where she dwelled.

Alba opened the door to a torrent of rain blocked only by Hvitserk’s tall frame. 

For a moment, they stood staring at one another, the rain continuing to sleet down on them.

In the dark, Alba could barely make out the features of his face.  She searched his face, her eyes questioning.  But only for a moment before Alba grabbed his arm, ushering him inside and closing the door.  

In two strides, Alba moved across the room to gather up the furs from her bed and drape them across Hvitserk’s shoulders then settling him down on the short bench next to her cookfire.  Alba stoked up the flames from the low burning embers before turning on her knees to look at him. 

Beads of rainwater still tracked down the strands of his hair that had come free from his braids and he had made no move to wipe the dampness from his face.

He met her eyes as he spoke, “It’s Ivar,” he stated simply.

Alba shuffled closer to him and placed her hand on his arm, atop the furs.

“He is sending me as his messenger to King Olaf. In Norway,” Hvitserk paused to turn his head.  He clasped his hands together while bringing them up to rest against his mouth.  He was staring off towards the other side of the room.  His next words were muffled against his fist.

“I don’t know what my brother thinks he is going to do,” he chuckled then continued, “my brother the god king.”

Alba starred while Hvitserk worked through whatever thoughts were raging in his mind.  Increasingly in the past weeks, Hvitserk’s worry over his brother’s rule in Kattegat had grown.  Though he did not often openly criticize Ivar, it was clear to Alba that he carried many burdens for his younger brother. Burdens that left him questioning his path and his fate. And questioning the path his brother was forging.  

The young woman scooted herself closer to him and placed her palm against his cheek, lightly pulling his face back to meet hers. 

She saw the torment and frustration in his brow. It was mirrored on her own face.  She opened her mouth but could only huff and furrow her brow more. Sighing, Alba looked around the room, searching for everything and nothing before finally settling her eyes back onto him. 

“Even if you had words, little Sjór, there are none you could speak that would save me.”

At this, Alba felt her face shift from frustration to concern, her eyes frantically searching his face for more answers. 

“I must do as Ivar bids. And I leave you behind to deal with Ivar’s tyranny. His madness.” Hvitserk dropped his head into his hands, continuing to talk. His words came more easily now as his emotions boiled over. “And my love, Thora. I leave her behind but she does not have the anonymity you do to protect her. I fear for her. I fear what Ivar may do to her while I am away.”

Hvitserk hung his head and sighed heavily.  Alba felt her chest stutter as she realized she was holding back tears.  He truly did love Thora.  And Alba could not help herself from liking the young woman as well.  

Hvitserk had brought Thora to the beach to meet her one day.  And though it made her heart ache, Alba could not deny that she saw the love that was blooming there.  From the casual way that she saw their bodys lean into one another to the way Hvitserk watched Thora when she did not know he was watching.  While Alba was watching him.  That night, she had cried silent tears alone on the beach, while the ocean’s mist cried with her.  And the ache in her chest now was the same.

Trying her best to quell the sobs threatening to escape her lungs, Alba shifted herself once more to sit beside him on the bench.  Gently, she cradled him in her arms and stroked back the strands of his hair, now drying by the heat from the fire.  Hvitserk hugged her knees and closed his eyes for a moment, taking comfort from the care and love in Alba’s touch.  

“I will miss you while I am away.  I know you enjoy your solitude. But if you can, keep an eye out for my Thora. Ivar has made comments. Said things that make me fear she may be a target for his frustration.  She sees how dangerous Ivar has become. It threatens him.”

The more Hvitserk continued on, the more Alba’s heart continued to tear. Her prince's concern and worry was for another.  He was in love with another.  She let out a silent sob, but laying in her lap, Hvitserk felt the jolt of her body. The pain she could no longer hold back. 

Sitting up, he questioned, “What is it, Sjór?”

Alba closed her eyes and felt the tears cascade down her face as she shook her head.  

Hvitserk took her face in his hands, turning his body so that he straddled the bench. The furs around his shoulders dropped to the ground, forgotten.  

“Hey, hey look at me?”

Alba opened her eyes to see concern etched across his features.  Silently cursing her tears, she pushed his hands away and stood, wrapping her arms around herself and stepping away towards the door.  He was tormented enough and did not need to add her pain to his. A pain that she could not explain to him. 

“Sjór, I….” He started, standing to face her and grabbing her arms, firm but gentle.  His words fell silent as he watched the tears continue to track down her cheeks. 

Huffing in frustration, Alba wiped the tears away. The two stood silent except for Alba’s shaky breaths for several moments. 

Finally, Alba brought her fist up to thump against her chest. Over her heart. Gathering her courage, she took her fist, relaxing her fingers and placed her hand over Hvitserk’s own heart. And then brought her head to rest against her hand, feeling his breath and the questions in his stance. 

Taking a step back and removing her hand to wipe another stray tear, Alba met his eye. With more force she took her fist to thump against his chest. In the same spot, over his heart. 

Looking down to her hand, Alba tapped her fist against him once more then brought her hand up and pointed a single finger towards her window.  Towards Thora, towards his love. 

She watched as Hivitserk’s brow, a deep line of confusion, slowly relaxed.  A look of realization spread across his face. 

To then be replaced by something more unbearable. 

Pity. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Bare feet found their way along the soft mosses and lichen carpeting the ground up the paths surrounding the northern side of the cove.  Alba stepped slow and deliberate, feeling the air growing cooler.  The spray of the mist off the sea left salty pin pricks of water glistening across her bare arms.  

Low in the distance, the rumble of thunder rolled.  As she crested the height of the cliffs, Alba found the crash of the waves joining in the thrum of the oncoming storm.  The energy in the air was mounting.  Mirroring Alba’s rising anguish. 

Thora was dead.  A cruel and horrifying death.

Ivar was rampaging.  His madness was building and unstable.  

And Hvitserk.  Her sweet Hvitserk was gone.  If Ivar was to be believed...If what he said was true, he was lost.  Dead at the orders of King Olaf.

Alba fell to her knees at the cliff's edge.  Her hands gripped tight onto the sharp rock’s edge.  The rough surface painful and grating at the pads of her fingers.  She clung to the edge.  Her eyes staring down at the waves below.  The maelstrom of the waves calling to her.  To end her suffering.  End the anguish and pain.  

Alba stood, the wind whipping her dress as the rain began, drops gently splattering across the terrain.  The young woman looked up towards the clouds and closed her eyes, feeling tears spill over across her cheeks.  

Silently, Alba let the anguish wash over her.  Knowing he was lost.  And the sea was calling her to return.

Alba’s time on legs would soon be done.  She had not found her love returned.  And she could not stay.  The pull of the sea was calling to her stronger and stronger.  Her sisters called to her to return to them. 

Slowly, she dropped her face back down to the tumult below and took a step forward.

“Don’t!”

The voice stopped her movements.  The roll of thunder boomed again. Several tense moments passed before Alba heard the voice again.

“Please don’t.”

The voice was deep and soothing.  But Alba could sense something else behind the words.  Panic.  Desperation.

Weakly, she turned to face the nameless voice, her head turning back to look across her shoulder.  The rain was cascading in steady rivulets now.  Mingling with the tears staining Alba’s face.  Her dress had quickly become sodden and clung to her skin.

When her eyes came to the tree line, she saw him.

He was tall.  Dark.  His hair plastered to the sides of his face from the rain.  Hands raised to indicate he was no threat to her.

Slowly, tentatively the man stepped forward to stand beside her before he spoke again.

Alba’s eyes tracked his movements.  

When he was close enough to touch her, he spoke once more.

“Please.  Do not succumb to it.”

When Alba did nothing but stare, the man continued, “To your grief.  Please.”

It was the please that caught her.  The gentleness and the kindness in his eyes as he pleaded with her.

His arms caught her as she collapsed atop the cliff, allowing the despair to wash over her.

The man held her while she cried, silent sobs that shook her to her core.  Her fingers twisting and clinging to the folds of his shirt.  His arms steady and firm around her shoulders as he cradled her. He held her until she stilled while the rains continued their lament.  And when she was half asleep, ruined with exhaustion he carried her back down the path.  

He settled her down underneath his own roof, beside a comfortable fire to dry her clothes and hair.

The man handed her a small bowl full of warm broth.  

“Go ahead,” he coaxed, “you must get dry and eat.  You do not want to catch cold. And then you should sleep.”

When Alba stared at him questioningly, he added, “You have nothing to fear from me. I am called Sihtric.”

~~~~~~~~~~~ To be continued in part II

Tagging my usuals.  Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my taglist.

Tags: @maggiescarborough @pokeasleepingsmaug @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @morosemagick @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream @obipoelover-deactivated20210806 @ecarroll1978 @93xdiagonxalley @nobodys-business-world @evelynshelby @trenko-heart @0hsappho

[fictionissocialinquiry]

FISI’s Favourite Zutara Fics

A lil late for ZFAW’s Saturday prompt, sorry about that! Haven’t had any internet over the weekend. But better late than never!

I’m not gonna lie… a lot of these are angsty af. But I promise you they’re not gratuitous angst! They’re well written, beautiful stories that will make you feel like a better person for having read them. These are my favourite all time fics, ones I’ve read more than once and will continue to read (even though I’m taking a week break from fandom and fic).

 Multi-Chaptered Fics

The Sparrowkeet Series by audreyii_fic

To be honest, this story’s summary doesn’t do it justice so I ain’t including it. Originally a one shot, Sparrowkeet is headcanon for me now. Move over canon, this is where it’s at. Audreyii_fic’s characterisation, world building, and writing is exquisite. It’s incredible. She manages to channel the same fun and whimsical energy from the show while allowing the characters to grow and develop to places I wish they had actually been taken.

This one is a fandom Must Read and one I return to regularly.

 Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow by sadladybug

It is not the memorial she deserves, nor the one she would want. But it can't be helped. He owns no property in the other nations, and he needed to keep her close. Closer than she was in life, anyway.

Zuko's reflections on a life lived and a life that could have been.

This is one of the best written fics I’ve ever read. It’s tragic and deep and will hurt you in all the tender places but you would be doing yourself a favour if you read this. There’s a real bittersweet feeling to it and the love between them is just… urg, visceral.

 Lovable by LadyCharity

Zuko knew that he could not save Azula. He could only try to forgive her. Fittingly enough, those two were one in the same.

I love stories that make Zutara their centerpiece but every now but then a story like this comes along. A story where their relationship builds almost incidentally because the plot and character development straight up hijack your emotions. I got so invested in this story. Zuko is amazingly well characterised and his complicated thoughts and feelings around his father and Azula are incredibly well written!

 One Shots

Lunar Ephemerality by @formerlygoldilocks (goldilocks23)

After multiple failed attempts on his life and years of self-set expectations, Fire Lord Zuko is a shell of the man he used to be. But Katara won't turn her back on those who need her.

I really didn’t expect this to hit as hard as it did. This straight up snuck up on me, fly-kicked my feelings, and by the end I had written an 800 word comment that was too big for AO3 and I had to contact the author directly to send it to her. Awkward. I couldn’t help myself. The side to Katara we see here is so good, her empathy and love for her friends are one of the things I love seeing most in AtLA fanfic. I’m a sucker for Zuko having complete breakdowns and having to piece himself back together too. So sue me. I like it when they suffer a lil bit. The writing is absurdly good and I will be keeping an eye out for any new stories by goldilocks23!

 31 Minutes by @ifyouwereamelodymeg

It's quite astounding, really, how quickly she's learned to translate him. They've spent a grand total of zero time together outside of training, and he's hardly big on chat so she knows next to nothing about his life.

But she knows him, probably better than she knows anyone at the moment – with every tap of his fingers, every crook of his lips, every turn in his voice, he just...

He makes sense to her. It's weird.

I’m a sucker for fic writers playing with style to make the story pop and boyo does this fic deliver. This is one of the rare times that I’ve been dumbstruck at the end of a story— I just couldn’t accept the ending. Because I’m a sucker for pain, (and this story will bring The Pain) I loved it. The ease of Zuko and Katara’s growing relationship in this bowls you over, it’s absolutely beautiful and you find yourself nodding along emphatically when Zuko calls himself an idiot for waiting… “Life’s short, kids, live each moment as though it could be your last,” says this fic as it pulls my heart out and dropkicks it off a cliff.

 i count to five (and life passes by) by @markedmage

Five heartbeats.

I still haven’t forgiven Mage for this one. I think it’s the best thing she’s written to date! I mean, tragic and painful and heart-rending but holy shit is it powerful <3

 The Lake of the Dismal Swamp by @thewhiitelotus

Spook af. Spook (horror) is real hard to do well but thewhiitelotus is coming for your goosebumps and those shivers down your spine. She has a way of balancing beautiful, evocative imagery with action (in this and other stories of her) that just keeps you reading!

 Calloused by @rideboldlyride

Iroh hadn’t been able to watch. The pure horror of a man - a father- burning their child for a slight infraction... He couldn’t do anything to stop it, but he will stop his brother from destroying entirely the kind boy he knew Zuko could be.

This is a painfully underappreciated fic for how great the characterisation is. I know we in the zutara fandom tend to not read stories that aren’t Zuko/Katara centric as often but do yourself the favour of reading this (or listening to it: RideBoldlyRide has done us the gift of recording a podfic for this and it’s stupidly *good*). This story is Iroh confronting Ozai just after he burns Zuko’s face and it kicks.

 four days and three nights by @hinaoyamas (lettersfromnowhere)

Zuko discovers firsthand that nothing is more fleeting than happiness, or more enduring than memory.

Do you like reading stories with a distant, omniscient narrator? The kind that read like a myth from the ancient world? Welp, hit the hyperlink, friend, cause this one’s for you. Not only is the writing exquisite but the characterisation and painful inevitability of the plot is grade A.

 For the Fire Nation by tullyblue12

He falls in love with her for his country before he falls in love with her for himself. A Zuko/Katara AU that explores how love and duty aren’t always mutually exclusive.

There are about 40,000 exquisite lines in this story but here is just one of my favourites: “He falls in love with her for his country first. That’s what his people never understand.” This fic says a lot with so few words, which is something I really look up to! In 2,800 words, tullyblue12 does what some 100,000k fics cant: They make you feel.

 Guide Me Home by Rashaka

To sleep, perchance to dream. Katara and Zuko find a friendship they never expected in a place that seemed impossible.

This is a one shot I will forever wish for a continuation of. The setup is just… so juicy. There’s a real sorrowful innocence to this story that the unique short, dialogue only scenes really punch home. I know some people don’t like dialogue only fics but when done well like in this one, it leaves you with the impression of something deeper than a 1,185 word fic has any right to! 

 Other Favourites!

Hopeless by tullyblue12 — Kids grow up fast when a cruel world awaits them. In times of hopelessness, Katara and Zuko grow together. In times of separation, they hope to see each other again.

Speechless by goldilocks23 — Zuko has a medical condition. Or: Zuko speaks in haiku at inappropriate times.

Don’t Follow Me Down by eleventy7 — Katara is the dread queen of the underworld, ruler of the dead, destined to reign her cold kingdom alone. Until a sun god catches her eye. A Hades/Persephone retelling with incredible writing.

I Don't Speak Meow Language by @botherkupo (Boogum) — In which Zuko adopts a cat and Katara just wonders what spirits she pissed off to deserve this fate.

I have the privilege of being friends with some of these authors (they know who they are) and am in near daily awe and gratitude for the works of free fiction they provide us, the fandom. And not just any old stories: Guys... Really good ones!! Can I ask that if you go check out these fics, can you just drop a kudos or a comment their way? If you’re feeling shy just copy and paste this into the comments box anonymously: “WOW! Loved this! Thank you so much for writing it!”

I know it would mean the world to this talented bunch <3