#prompted by the last post about like catching self deprecating thoughts

[newtthetranswriter]

He Would Want You To Be Happy

(Art by me, it is also being posted to day over on my main blog)

Summary: Nacht was never a fan of his birthday for obvious reasons. Asta wants to celebrate it and after Yami foils Y/n’s plan to keep it a secret, Y/n needs to comfort and talk some sense into the Shadow mage.

Word count: 4314

Paring: Nacht Faust x Gn! Reader

Warnings: Talk about Morgen's death and Nacht’s self deprecation, talk of smoking and cigarettes, possibly ooc Nacht, possibly grammar or spelling mistakes

A/n: just wanted to say Happy Birthday to Nacht, the moody mage who would love MCR if he ever listened to it. Any way If you couldn’t tell this is just something i wrote for Nacht from Black Clovers Birthday. It’s a little angsty and a little fluffy, but I hope y’all enjoy. Anyways, have a great day and Remember to hydrate or diedrate. (we wouldn’t want y’all ending up like Morgen now would we.)

    I’ve known for a long time that Nacht hates his birthday, and like every year before now I was planning to ignore it like I agreed when I first heard his reason for not liking it. Sadly it seemed that not all of the Bulls were aware of Nacht’s past and well Asta being Asta, started pestering me about when the Vice Captain’s birthday was. I had tried to just focus on going on missions and ignoring the young man, but damn is he persistent. His pestering lasted from the moment I left mine and Nacht’s room in the morning to when I went back to bed, of course he wouldn’t pester me when the Shadow mage was around but it was near non-stop.

    All of this led to now. It’s two days before Nacht’s birthday, and all I wanted was for Asta to get hung up on something else. I was sitting in the dining hall just enjoying my breakfast with the rest of the squad, minus Nacht as he was off doing who knows what, when Asta rushed into the room. Trying to hide my groan, I tried to focus on my food.

    “Oh, Y/n you’re still here. Now, please tell me?” He said vaguely, knowing I already knew what he was asking of me. His vague question caught the interest of everyone else in the room. The whole squad quickly turned to look at me, curious to what the magicless boy wanted.

    I sighed before responding as quickly and with as little information as possible. “Asta, I’ve told you a thousand times already, it’s not happening.” Ignoring the looks of my squadmates I continued eating.

    I felt as Asta moved closer to where I sat, clearly trying to catch my gaze and attempting to persuade me with puppy dog eyes. “Come on, Y/n. You’re the only person here who would know, please?” Like clockwork, Asta was back to begging. “Ooooo what if I promise to do all your chores for a month?” And now he’s one to poorly thought out bribery.

    Apparently Asta’s poor offer finally piqued Yami’s interest. “Hey kid, you already do all the chores around here. And what are you asking them? From the sounds of it they’ve told you no quite a few times.” Yami spoke, pulling Asta’s attention away from me.

    Like an alarm went off in his empty head, Asta quickly spoke. “I just realized you probably know the answer to my question too.” He quickly moved to be standing next to where Yami sat. The Captain raised his eyebrow as if prompting the boy to go on. “Well I was wondering when is Vice Captain Nacht’s birthday? I’ve been asking Y/n because their his partner and I figured they’d know it but they refuse to tell me anything about it. And just now I remembered that you have known the Vice Captain for a long time.” Asta rambled on.

    Yami let out a laugh before responding. “Nacht’s birthday is April 30th, but why do you want to know?” The Captain answered without even acknowledging my signals to shut up.

    “That’s in two days!! Anyway I wanted to know so we could do something to celebrate his first birthday back in the Clover Kingdom and with the Squad.” Asta explained.

    “I don’t think that’s a great idea Asta. There’s a reason -” I tried to explain before Yami cut me off. 

    “That’s a great idea. Go for it kid.” The Captain encouraged with a laugh as Charmy, Vanessa and Gordon started offering ideas on what the party should be about.

    While the majority of the squad was excited to have a party, whether they cared about the reason or not, I quickly left the table. Hoping to find a way for Nacht to not have to deal with the rambunctious squad on a day he normally likes to be left alone on. Before I could get very far Yami stopped me. “Come on Y/n, you know Nacht needs to loosen up a bit, and a birthday party is perfect.” 

   “You know that’s not what will happen, you also know why I wouldn’t tell Asta in the first place. Now if you’ll excuse me I have things I have to do.” I said in a rather aggressive whisper. It’s true that Nacht could stand to lighten up, but something just feels wrong about all this. Especially Yami encouraging it, he knows what Morgen’s death did to Nacht. Trying not to focus too much on what I was going to do two days from now, I started to get ready for the rest of the day.

   Luckily by the time Nacht returned to the base that night everyone had stopped talking about the surprise party they were planning. Unfortunately, Nacht is a very perspective person and quickly picked up on the fact that something was off. Being the only person he truly trusted, he quickly approached me. “What happened while I was out?” He asked voice never changing from his normal level tone.

   I took a moment to finalize my thoughts on what was being planned by our insane squadmates. “Nothing much, just Luck stole some of Magna’s food again and the resulting ‘fight’ has left everyone tired.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Luck did steal Magna’s food again and the fight lasted most of the afternoon leaving everyone annoyed with the duo. Even though Nacht was well aware of the chaos the two caused, it was clear from the way he squinted his eyes at me that he didn’t fully believe what I was saying. 

  “Okay, let’s head to bed. If everyone is finally this quiet we may actually be able to sleep a decent amount tonight.” I let out a sigh of relief accepting the hand he offered, glad that he wasn’t going to press further on the subject.

Time skip to April 30th

  I had accepted that no matter what I did, Nacht would have to deal with what the rest of the squad had planned. If he gets upset about it then so be it, I tried to prevent it and even warned Yami that it was a bad Idea and he knew it. I just hope Nacht believes that I did in fact try to stop it. Okay and maybe there is a part of me that hopes he is okay with it and actually has a good time.

  Anyway the morning was the same as always, except for Yami making Nacht stay at the base because he had a so-called ‘emergency captain’s meeting’ to attend and wanted Nacht to make sure no one blew up the base. With the fact that Nacht was forced to stay back at the base, breakfast was quieter than it normally is. Most of the squad tried to hide their plans for the evening and the others had already left the base to get what supplies they had been trusted to get.

  The rest of the day was pretty much the same, everyone quietly trying to bring in food or decorations for the planned party without disturbing the Vice Captain. Which was admittedly harder said than done as Nacht decided he was going to sit in the living room of the base reading and occasionally chatting with Gimodelo. You might also be wondering what I was doing during this time, and well the answer is simple. I’ve been trying to make sure neither Nacht or his Devil actually figure out what's happening before everything is ready, while also trying to act normal.

   Turns out I’m not the best actor, as just after Vanessa walked through with yet another crate of booze, Nacht decided to speak up. “I know what you’re doing and I’m not participating in any of it.” I just looked at him shocked. “Don’t try and hide it. I sent Plumede to check on things here the other day while I was out and they informed me that the others plan on throwing a party.” He explained, voice never changing from its normal tone. 

   I took a moment to think of how to respond, finally deciding to stick with my original plan for when he found out. “I tried to tell them it was a bad idea, but you know how Yami is. He likes to mess with you and I bet him encouraging Asta and the rest to go through with a big party is just another one of his plans to get under your skin.” I started to explain, expecting a sigh or comment about how much he dislikes Yami, but when I looked back at him, he was frozen. His face mostly still showed no emotion but his eyes were slightly wide, like he just remembered something important. “Nacht? Are you okay? I am truly sorry I know how difficult today can be for you. I really did try to keep Asta from finding out but again Yami likes to cause trouble and he wouldn’t listen to me.”

  It was silent for a few moments before Nacht stood up and turned towards the door. However before he could reach it, Asta busted through the door. “Oh, Vice Captain, I was just coming to get you. I also wanted to say Happy birthday.” Asta spoke, not receiving any response from the quiet mage, who just kept walking to the door. “Uh Y/n, is everything okay with the Vice captain?” Asta asked as he watched Nacht leave, not even bothering to acknowledge his squadmates trying to get his attention.

  “No Asta, nothings okay. This is why I didn’t want to tell you his birthday.” I said quickly before going after Nacht. “Nacht wait a second please. Talk to me.” I called after the tall man, unfortunately it seemed he was unreachable at the moment. As I finally made it out of the hideout about to reach out for him, Nacht used his magic to slip into the shadows and disappear. Dropping my extended arm, I stayed in my spot for a moment just staring at the shadow my boyfriend had used as an escape route.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the rest of the squad coming to find out where Nacht had run off too. “Is everything alright? The Vice captain looked upset.” It was Finral who spoke first. His question was followed by a chorus of ‘is he okay?’s and ‘what happened?’s .

  I sighed before deciding it was probably best to just explain what I know. “First, I don’t know if everything is alright, I’ve never seen Nacht like that. Second, what happened was Asta pushing to find out Nacht’s birthday after being told to drop it multiple times.” My voice was a bit harsher than intended but I was worried that Nacht wasn’t going to come back.

  When I turned to the group I could tell everyone was confused, well almost everyone. Noelle on the other hand decided to voice her thoughts on the matter. “So, what you’re saying is that Nacht stormed off because Asta found out about his birthday? That’s just dumb, what’s the big deal? People who care about him want to celebrate him so he should be happy.” While her statement was harsh it was reasonable.

  “It’s not the fact that people want to celebrate his birthday. It’s the fact that it’s his birthday.” I started to explain. “He’s never liked his birthday, when he was younger it was because he would constantly be compared to his younger twin. But around two years before I met him, his brother died and now his birthday just serves as a reminder of what he lost. When we met and I asked about his birthday, he made it clear that he doesn’t celebrate it or want to acknowledge it in any way. I agreed and that’s why I didn't want to tell Asta, I didn’t want him to make a big show and upset Nacht. But fucking Yami had to open his dumb mouth and try and cause trouble.” I rambled out, trying to explain why Nacht was upset.

  I watched as most of the squad nodded in understanding, with a few mumbles of ‘sorry’s. Once again Noelle decided to speak up more than the rest. “Okay he lost his brother, but wouldn’t his brother want him to be happy with friends instead of alone brooding somewhere?” Again valid point.

  Sighing, I responded to the royal. “While I agree with you on that, Nacht has never been the kind to think like that. He’s pessimistic, and it’s hard to get through to him on things like this. Anyway, you all enjoy the food and stuff you prepared. I'm going to wait for Nacht to get back.” WIth that I headed inside, leaving the rest of the Bulls outside with the barbeques they had set up in front of the base.

  At around 8pm, the doors to the base opened. Hearing the creak I sat up straight hoping it was Nacht, but unfortunately I was greeted by the distinct mana of Yami. I groaned before going back to waiting in silence. Sadly Yami had other plans. “You know you should go talk to him.”He said, voice gruff as always but with a hint of concern for his old friend.

  “Why do you care? You’re the one who told everyone his birthday and said he just needs to loosen up.” I said, giving him a glare before looking back to where my hands rested in my lap. “Besides, where would I even look for him?” I said quietly.

   I heard Yami huff as he sat next to me on the couch. “I’d bet he’s probably in the same place I found him on the first birthday after Morgen’s death.” I turned slightly, raising a brow at him. “I’m trying to say he went to sit and wallow at Morgen’s grave. It’s where I found him multiple times before he met you.” Yami explained. “Also, the idiots told me what you said about me wanting to cause trouble for Nacht, and while it’s not entirely a lie, I just wanted Nacht to realize he can finally be happy.” With that Yami stood up leaving me to think on what he said.

  Deciding that both Yami and Noelle had a point. Nacht does need to realize that it’s okay to be happy and enjoy his birthday with the people who care about him. After thinking about what I was going to say, I left to go get my boyfriend and hopefully talk some sense into him.

  I had visited Morgen’s grave before so I knew exactly where to go, and after my conversation with Yami it was no surprise to see the cloaked figure sitting near the headstone. What was a surprise though was the distinct smell of cigarettes wafting from the shadow mage. Before I could say anything I heard the sound of Gimodelo talking, and decided to listen for a moment.

  “Mister Nacht, why are you out here alone? Y/n is probably worried after you left without a word.” The small imp said to his friend. While Gimodelo doesn't like most people other than Nacht himself, he’s always been kind to me so it was no surprise he was worried about my feelings on the situation. “Also when did you start smoking again? Y/n won’t like that.”

  “Be quite Gimodelo, Y/n won’t mind because Y/n won’t know. Now buzz off.” With the command to buzz off the imp disappeared. I should have been upset by the wording but all I could focus on was how broken his voice sounded.

  Deciding Nacht had enough time to brood alone, I moved to stand next to his sitting form. “You know, if you really are smoking again you’re going to start smelling like Yami and neither of us want that.” I said hoping to lighten his mood even if only a little bit.

  Instead of responding Nacht just kept staring at the headstone in front of him. “Nacht, It’s okay to be sad and miss Morgen. But you can’t just storm off because your friends want to celebrate your birthday.” I started. “I’m sorry they found out about it, but after talking with everyone I realized something and you need to realize it too. Morgen would want you to be happy and have fun, not spend your birthday alone and upset.” As I spoke I lowered myself to the ground, quickly grabbing the pack of cigarettes from the ground beside him and stuffing it in my pocket so he couldn’t light another.

  I had expected him to say something along the lines of being fine with ignoring his birthday, but what he actually said surprised me. “I forgot it was my birthday.” Hearing that I looked at him confused. “I spent so long in the Spade Kingdom focused on stopping the Dark Triad that I never noticed my birthday had passed. When I figured out everyone was setting up for a party, I thought it was one of Yami’s usual plans to make me bond with the group, but then you mentioned it being for my birthday and it all rushed back.” It was no secret that Nacht spent years trying to help the neighboring country but I had no idea he was focused enough to forget his least favorite day of the year. 

  “I trust that you tried to keep Asta from finding out and that it was Yami’s doing, so don’t think I’m upset with you. I’m more upset with myself. It’s my fault Morgen had so many birthdays ripped from him. It should have been me, I should be the one buried under this stone, not him.” Nacht had voiced how much he blames himself for Morgen’s death many times before, and each time it was the same. “Morgen would be so much better at this and he would have been better for you.” Okay, blaming himself and wishing he was dead is nothing new, but suggesting Morgen to be a better choice for me is completely different from past conversations on the topic.

  Before Nacht could continue, I decided I had enough. “Nacht Faust, I have heard all of this from you before, and each time I’ve told you the same thing. It’s not your fault your family led you down a questionable path, and it’s not your fault Morgen stepped in to stop you. Suggesting Morgen would have handled your death better than you are handling his a decade later is bullshit. I may not have met Morgen but if he was as caring and kind as you and Yami have told me, he would probably be doing exactly what you’re doing right now. And as for saying he would be better for me, that’s a lie. I fell in love with you. I love how you’re blunt and don’t let others' emotions affect you, I love how even though you act like you hate the Black Bulls, you still stick with us. I love how you put your own life on pause to prevent Psychopaths in another country from destroying the world. I love you for you, so stop putting yourself down over something that happened in the past and think about all the good you have done since then.” I rambled on, hoping to get my point across.

  “Like I said before, you have people here now who care about you and want to take the day to celebrate you. You should be happy and having fun. Again I may not have known him but Morgen loved you enough not to tell the rest of the Magic Knights at the time about your devils and instead risked his life to save yours. Morgen would have wanted you to enjoy each day and I bet he would have been overjoyed to hear you found people who love and accept you.” I finished leaning my head on his shoulder. The whole time I spoke to him, his eyes were set on the gravestone in front of him, but it was clear from the way his shoulders relaxed and the sigh he let out that he listened and understood.

  We sat like that for a while, just sitting in silence thinking. It was Nacht who broke the silence first. “Thank you. I know I can be difficult to deal with. And I’m sorry for just walking out and not talking to you. Also you’re right, Morgen would have been overjoyed that I found you, and the Bulls even if I hate to admit it.” It was strange hearing him admit that he found some where he belonged, but I couldn’t hold back the smile.

   “Okay so now that you’re done wallowing, how about we head back to the hideout and hope that Charmy and Asta haven’t eaten all the food.” I said, raising my head looking at him. He turned and gave a gentle smile with a nod. “Good let’s go. Also be ready to come back here with me tomorrow.” I informed him as we stood up, earning a confused look from the shadow mage. “Every year on May 1st I bring Morgen flowers for his birthday.” I explained watching as Nacht’s face went from confusion to shock to thankfulness.

   “Thank you.” Was all he said before taking my hand, and activating his magic to transport us back to base.

   When we arrived it was clear the rest of the Bulls were still enjoying the food and free time Yami had given them for the evening. Our arrival didn’t go unnoticed, because as soon as we emerged from the shadows Asta basically bounced over to us. “Vice Captain Nacht, I’m sorry I upset you and didn’t listen to Y/n when they told me no.” Asta apologized quickly.

   Before Asta could start rambling too much, Nacht silenced him by simply raising his hand at the boy. “It’s okay Asta. I just need to come to terms with a few things and Y/n helped me with that. Now if there’s any left I would like to eat and possibly chat with you all.” Nacht explained to the boy, but directed the last sentence to the rest of the Squad who were watching the conversation.

   It was clear everyone was stunned by Nacht saying he would like to actually join them. Unsurprisingly Vanessa was the first of the group to speak up. “Of course Vice Captain, how about you start off with a nice drink?” She said slinging her hand over her shoulder waving a beer in Nacht’s face. Seeing Vanessa offer Nacht a drink everyone else started to approach him. Offering food, asking to talk with him, or in Luck’s case asking to fight him.

  As the night progressed it was nice to watch as Nacht relaxed and actually spent time with the Black Bulls. It was clear that he had finally accepted that this was his family and that they would always have each other's backs.

  “You know I don’t think I’ve seen him smile this much since before I joined the Magic Knights.”It was Yami who walked up beside me.

  I smiled as I reached into my pocket handing him the pack of cigarettes I had taken from Nacht earlier in the night. “Before you ask, no I didn’t buy them for you, our dear self deprecating friend over there had them when I found him. I figured it’s probably best to give them to you so he doesn’t fall all the way back into that habit, and I know you won’t let the money go to waste.” Yami was about to respond when Nacht joined us, wrapping his arm around my waist pulling me to his side. “Nuh uh, I was nice earlier because you were upset but now that you’re functioning like a person again Imma make this clear. One no hugs, cuddles or kisses until you have bathed at least twice to remove the smell of the five cigarettes you smoked from your person. Two If I ever catch you with one again I’ll make sure cigarettes are the thing that kills you, as I’ll stuff the whole pack, wrapper and all down your throat.” I said pushing the mage away, and going to join Vanessa in trying to get Zora and Grey to stop hiding in corners.

  As I walked away from the Captains I could hear Yami cackling as he slapped Nacht in the back. “You messed up buying these, didn’t you buddy?” The Captain of the Black Bulls laugh could be heard for miles as he watched Nacht’s face go from shock at my comment to murderous intent at Yami’s.

  Turning to the boy’s one last time, triggering yet another laughing fit from the dark magic user, I made one final comment. “You also owe Gimodelo an apology for telling him to buzz off.” With that I turned to start dragging a cowering Grey from under one of the tables set up outside.

  By the time everyone called it a night, it was nearly 2am. As me and Nacht got ready to settle in for the night, I couldn’t help but smile, earning a quizzical glance from the mage sitting in front of me. “I’m just glad to see you relax and get along with everyone.” I said, placing a kiss to the top of his head as I helped brush his freshly washed hair. He just gave a quick nod before relaxing into my touch, having long since expressed how he enjoyed when I brushed his hair saying it helped him relax. After finishing with Nacht’s hair, we both moved to lay down. Sharing brief good nights, we both quickly fell asleep, at peace with our minds and looking forward to facing the future with our large chosen family.

[angel-inrealtime]

November F1c Prompts Day 11

Day 11 - Sight (Landscape)

You wake up in an unfamiliar bed, take a second to remember where you are (LA) and whose bed it is (Daniel’s).

He really wasn’t part of the plan. Not that you’d really had one – just if you had, he wouldn’t have featured. Probably.

He’s devastatingly your type, actually, but the timing...the whole point is that racing was supposed to be a post-messy-breakup hobby, a thing you could share with friends that was just... straightforward, for fun. A trip to Spain is always fun. A friend of a friend wasn’t supposed to know someone in his garage, invite you all to a much more exclusive party than planned, and even then, you were going for one drink and then back to your hotel. You were certainly not going to giggle at ‘enchante’ and a cheeky smile.

Except you did.

And then there you were. He won Monaco and then you were in his bed, because what’s a bit of casual sex between new friends?

(then France, then the UK, then Germany, then Hungary)

Then it’s summer break, and the work you lined up in LA long before you ever met him is the perfect excuse to continue this whatever-it-is.

You hike up behind the Hollywood sign just because you’ve never been, catching up about how the season has been so far. He has Things with a capital T on his mind, you can tell. But he listens as attentively as ever as you fill in the blanks between the last time you caught up (though you text sometimes, now, it’s not just whatever races you can make it to).

“Can I tell you something?” He asks finally, bottom lip bitten puffy by his anxious mouth, but golden tan and shiny with sweat under the beaming sun.

You knock your shoulder into him, part reassurance (part a reminder to the warning bells in your head; he screams commitment issues about as loudly as you’re sure you do, it’s not That). “Always. Penny for your thoughts, sunshine.”

It makes him smile, fleeting but real. “I think I need to get out. Of Red Bull. It’s...” You let him have the space to get his thoughts together. “I don’t like who I might be, if I stay.” He rubs his knuckles unconsciously (the ones that went through the wall, black and blue and angry). “It’s not...” He keeps his eyes down, hands clasped from where his elbows are resting on his knees, surveying the hazy city landscape and the dirty sky around the letters. “It’s not how I thought it would go. But I haven’t...” His huff of a laugh is self deprecating and finally he looks at you, and you wonder if he knows that the name for what he’s feeling is vulnerable. “I haven’t told anyone. Not yet.”

You try to look at him like you would a frightened animal – it seems the same. “It’s a big decision. Even to think about. I’m always here if you want to talk it through, or whatever. So you’re not carrying it all on your own, you know?” You nudge him again, gently. “That’s what friends are for, sunshine.”

(You wonder if he knows it’s relief on his face, like you’ve taken a weight off his shoulders just by stating what – to you – is obvious)

“Friends.” His full, wide grin reaches his eyes and then some, seems like it comes from deep within, bursting bright light out to whoever it’s aimed at. (Devastating, you think). “That’s us.”

You sip from your water bottle, watch his eyes watch your mouth even as your lips curve into their own grin. “Comprehensive benefits offering, too.”

His laughter breaks around gasps, loud and so fucking sincere.

(the pride when he puts it out there a few days later is an unexpected feeling in your chest)

/

It’s quiet along the bay in Abu Dhabi at night, your shoes slung onto your fingers and over your shoulder. It feels like skipping class (if class were his own leaving party).

“Thanks for coming with.” He says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence you’ve been walking in. He gives you a rueful smile. “It was just…”

“A lot?” You guess. Daniel nods, curls bouncing on the top of his head. “I can imagine. It’s not, like…” You search for the right words. “Easy attention to just sit with.” He makes a curious noise that makes you think you’re on the right track. “I mean it feels like disappointing people, right? They didn’t want you to leave but you had to make the right choice for you. And so they’re sad about it, but they want to be excited for you and it’s all just…” You shrug, give him an encouraging smile. “A lot.”

The grin he returns to you is distracted (but you still think you were right). Eventually, without a word, he slings himself down into one of the benches, taking in the manmade landscape in front of you. You perch on the back of the bench, legs stretched out next to his upper body. Your thigh, where the dress has the slit up as high as is decent, presses against his arm. Daniel leans into the contact. “We can go back in a bit – or you can whenever you want, sorry, that was probably...rude.”

“Danny, it’s fine.” You hold out a hand, pinky finger extended. “Promise.”

He looks fragile, and small, blinking up at you. But he smiles anyway (he always smiles anyway) and locks his finger through yours for a second. “Thanks.” He clears his throat when he realises how softly it came out. “Thank you.”

You nudge him with your leg. “It’s all good.” You comb your brain for something to distract him with so he doesn’t brood the night away like this. “When are you back home for Christmas, then? You must be looking forward to it.”

His smile goes warm. “Yeah, for sure. New York for a bit after testing, then into Perth mid-December. Hang out on the farm. Probably teach Isaac some more bad words by accident.”

You snort. “Still saying cash money bitches, huh?”

“Will not be deterred.” He slings his arm over your legs, comfortable proximity seemingly welcome. He’s still looking over the landscape, but he seems more settled, less frantic with the need to be out and away from that specific attention. “What are you doing for Christmas? In the cold.” He screws his entire face up at the thought.

You lean back on your hands, tilt your face up to the moonlit sky. There aren’t enough stars here, too much light pollution. In the desert though, you bet you can see them for miles. “Don’t know yet. Haven’t really made any plans.”

“What do you mean?” He sounds confused.

You peer down at him with one eye shut, confirm the incredulity on his face. “I just haven’t made plans yet?”

“But…it’s Christmas?”

It’s been long enough that it just is what it is (though it was hard earned). “One dead parent and one occupied with their replacement family do not a happy Christmas make. I spent it with Raf’s family the last few years, so…” You shrug, look back up at the sky. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Why don’t you come to Perth?” He says immediately. “There’s plenty of space to stay, and you can tag along with whatever, if you want. I always have friends over for holidays so it’s not…” He hesitates and then you feel him shrug. “It’s not weird, or anything.”

You think it might be a bit weird, to bring a girl home for Christmas when you’re just friends with benefits. But it’s not like you have any other plans (might have been avoiding thinking about it, actually). “I could give Summer Christmas a try.” You muse out loud.

“It’s the superior Christmas.” Daniel says with a smile you can hear. “It’s all good if you don’t want to. Just…you’d be welcome.”

You touch the back of his neck and he jumps, clearly not expecting it (you stifle a laugh). “Alright. If it won’t be weird, then…it sounds like a plan.”

It only feels like that’s what changes the landscape in hindsight.

[bitegore]

being able to catch your fucked up mentol eelness thoughts when they happen not being able to tell that they're fucked up except from an outsider pov is so genuinely weird. like, i'm used to them being from shit like anxiety or depression or random hallucinations which i thought were normal until like last year and those all have a particular flavor, that like. makes them wrong. you know? like you can tell something is wrong.

i got really upset with a friend the other day and was talking to someone else about it, not shit talking them, just. talking, you know? to get the feelings out, because i knew it was in confidence and i didn't particularly want it to go anywhere and it was that or spit my brain on tumblr or twitter the way i do. and midway through my friend was like "uh dude these statements make no sense" and like. i blinked and went oh yeah okay that was deeply uncharitable. maybe true, maybe not, but uncharitable. and like it wasn't even true, honestly, after i sat for a while it didn't really make that much sense, and my friend also pointed that out, but like- i spent quite a while sitting on the bpd dsm-5 page going "well shit, i do all of this but the splitting, huh" and nope! no, i apparently very much do do that! i just literally can't tell because it just feels like being annoyed and uncharitable, and then when i'm back to baseline i am like "wow i was really pissed off and uncharitable earlier but now i'm good and that was incorrect" and like. huh

how am i supposed to stop doing something i can't even tell i'm doing?

[lesetoilesfous]

I can’t decide if I want “sensory overload” or “on a leash” for Fenris and Fenders, so um, whichever sparks your interest please!

Oh my gosh I had too much fun with this. And "on a leash" gives me a bingo, thank you so so much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Prompt: On A Leash

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Slavery, Brainwashing, Mindwipe, Implied Sexual Abuse, Attempted Prositution, Graphic Depiction of Injury

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders, Isabela, Varric Tethras, Merrill

Additional Tags: Angst with a Bittersweet Ending, Hurt/Comfort (mostly), Evil/Red Hawke, post-canon, what if Hawke sold Fenris back to Danarius and then the gang went and saved him

Anders knew it was going to be bad. He was - had been - blinded by his own ignorance and pain in the past, too busy trying to scream loud enough to get people to stop ignoring the people murdering children to listen to anyone else. He’d been young and single minded and irrational, and then older and bitter and furious with a terrible, poisonous kind of pain that made it hard to see the world around him. But he wasn’t naive. He’d spent ten years nursing criminals and refugees. Before that, he’d spent nearly a decade in the Grey Wardens, with former slaves and blood mages and Dalish hunters and Antivan crows. Anders had not been naive since he’d first drunk from the Joining Chalice.

Still.

It’s almost impossible to see in the placid, polite, half-naked man the proud warrior he’d once known. Fenris’ hair has been shaved close to his head, a fuzz of powdered snow that’s bright as the moon against his brown skin. There’s a thick, silver collar hanging around his neck, and in it the reflections of his lyrium tattoos twist and shine like mercury. His chest is mostly bare, and thin white linen is wrapped in a loose skirt around his waist. His body is sculpted and unmarred and beautiful, and Anders does not for a moment believe that it means he has not suffered pain. His wide, green eyes no longer hold any of the intelligence, or humour, or fury that Anders had once fallen in love with. Instead he stares, docile, into the middle distance. A greatsword is slung on a strap of leather over his back, but like this Fenris looks no more capable of wielding it than a kitten. Again, Anders knows better than to trust in appearances.

Attached to the collar is a long, silver chain that ends in a black loop of leather. There are runes stitched into the leather in silver thread, though Anders cannot see what they are from where he’s sitting. Opposite him, relaxed, fingers hooked in the loop of Fenris’ leash, Danarius studies him with open curiosity.

Anders tries very hard not to vomit.

“So, you’re a Spirit Healer?”

Anders ducks his head, feeling his fingers beginning to shake and fighting hard to resist the urge to fidget. There’s a clocktower visible through the white marble arches of this balcony. He only has to last until the hour. Five minutes. He can do this. He tries very hard not to look at Fenris, or the way Danarius’ thumb is stroking possessively over the handle of his leash.

“I - I am, yes. I showed a talent for it when I was young.” Anders twists his hand in the air, summoning a wisp without catching his breath, and Danarius gives him the same indulgent, condescending schoolteacher kind of smile that Uldred used to offer before he beat you. Anders snaps his fingers, and the wisp returns to the Fade. At the back of his mind, Justice shifts uneasily, trying hard to resist his own urge to set the whole blighted mansion on fire. Anders tries to ignore the heat racing up the back of his neck and into his cheeks, and clears his throat. “I, uh, heard you were looking for apprentices?”

He can’t help the nervous tic that has him looking up, again, at Fenris as the lithe strength of his muscles. Again, he looks into those green eyes, searching for the spark of defiance that had drawn him so close so many years ago, like a moth to a flame worth dying for. “I’ve read your work an anatomical augmentation. It’s...fascinating.” Horrifying, he means. Anders had read the essays, in preparation for this. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop having the nightmares. Not least the ones which superimpose Fenris’ face and body over the all too familiar anatomical sketches of Elven Subject 003.

Danarius twitches his hand with a tinkle of the chain like the ringing of a bell, and to Anders’ horror Fenris folds onto his hands and knees in one fluid motion to kneel beside Danarius’ feet. No emotion passes across Fenris’ face. Danarius runs his fingers over the fuzz of Fenris’ shaved head, and Fenris shuts his eyes in open, simple pleasure and Anders nearly throws up. Danarius runs his fingers down the back of Fenris’ neck, squeezing the back of it posssessively before looking up at Anders’ with a terribly possessive gleam in his clear grey eyes. “You’re a fan of my little wolf, then.”

Anders swallows the bile in his throat and stares at the clocktower. Three minutes. He can do this. Sweat tickles down his spine beneath the loose Tevene linen robe he’d bought for this occasion. He resists the urge to fuss with his hair, braided out of the way of his neck and ears in a fashionable Minrathous style. He forces himself to incline his chin. “Y-yes. Among other p-things. Among other things.”

Danarius chuckles, sitting back with a creak of his wicker chair, the crushed purple silk cushions huffing behind him as he moves. “Why so nervous?” Anders forces himself to huff a self deprecating laugh. “You knew him, didn’t you. In Kirkwall.” Anders’ jagged, insincere smile stiffens on his lips and Danarius laughs, moving forward to press both hands onto Fenris’ bare shoulders. Fenris shudders and looks up at him, eyes wide as a child’s. Danarius caresses the back of his head, and leans down to murmur intimately close to his ear, still loud enough for Anders to hear. “Do you recognise him, little wolf? Do you know who this is?”

For the first time since Anders had arrived at Danarius’ damn mansion, Fenris’ expression shows a flicker of emotion. Confusion flickers across his brow in a brief wrinkle followed by sudden, mute fear that freezes his expression with stiff tension when Danarius slips his fingers beneath Fenris’ collar and shakes him, gently. (Like a dog, Anders thinks, and imagines what setting this man on fire would smell like.) Danarius laughs, polite and performative. “How rude, Fenris! This man has come all the way from Kirkwall just to see you! Go on, thank him.”

Fenris hesitates for a millisecond, and Danarius sets a sandaled foot on his shoulder and kicks him forward hard enough that he chokes, briefly, as the leash goes taut and pulls on the collar around his neck. Anders sits forward without thinking, the muscle memory of ten years spent protecting this man’s life before Garrett Hawke ruined them both taking over any conscious thought of deception. Danarius doesn’t remark on him giving himself away - Anders is well aware that that game is long since given up.

Instead, the magister sits back, adjusting his grip on the handle of Fenris’ leash as Fenris sits up with tears of pain bright in his eyes, his fingers moving to dip beneath the skirt of Anders’ robes as he lowers his head towards Anders’ lap.

Anders has about three seconds to look up at Danarius and see the perverse glee in the old man’s eyes before Fenris' mouth bumps his cock through the fabric of his robes and his smalls, and suddenly Anders is two years younger on his back in The Hanged Man with his hands buried deep in silver hair thinking hopelessly that he’s fallen in love again.

Then he’s touching Fenris - ignoring the lightning bolt of rage that twists Danarius’ face as he does so, and gently pushing him away. Fenris looks up at him with an expression of quickly stifled terror, and Anders’ heart shatters. “No, no, it’s alright, it’s not you.” His fingers squeeze, reflexively, against the warm, smooth skin of Fenris’ biceps. “It’s going to be ok. I promise, love.” Again, a flicker of confusion wrinkles Fenris’ brow.

The clocktower strikes twelve. As the bells ring throughout the city, Anders becomes abruptly aware of the street below them: the sound of hawkers and tourists, the shouting of slaves and soft music of minstrels. Danarius is staring at him with a sneer twisting his thin lips blue. Anders gives him a wide, open smile. “Well, since we’ve given up on pretenses.” Then he punches Danarius in the face, harder than he's punched anyone since he escaped Kinloch Hold, relishing the way the man’s nose buckles beneath his fist.

He has a heartbeat to think, Nice job bleeding a Blood Mage, idiot, before Danarius’ blue-veined hand is curling into a rigid claw, and Anders’ body is lifting off the ground, his limbs contorting behind him in an agonising rictus that rips his left arm out of its socket and twists his ankle until it cracks.

Then there’s a thunderous BOOM that rumbles through the building, shaking plaster dust from the painted canopy over their heads, and the balcony on which they’re standing begins to list like a ship at sea. Danarius loses concentration on the spell, and Anders falls to the ground. He doesn’t take the time to breathe through the white hot splinter of pain in his ankle. He grabs the leash and pulls fire into his hands until his fingers are blistering and melts the metal until it breaks. Then he turns to Fenris.

Fenris, who has drawn his greatsword. Anders stares at him, and thinks about sitting with him beside a fireplace, sleepy and soft with wine, and stroking his hair as Fenris admitted that of all the things he feared, one of the ones that terrified him most was killing his friends. The building lists with a grinding rumble like a broken bone beneath a qunari sten, and amphorae and flower pots go flying across the tiled floor, hitting the building across the street in fireworks of soil and clay dust.

Anders’ bad ankle slips on the tiles and he grunts and turns it into a smile, and meets Fenris’ eyes. “No matter what, I want you to know that I forgive you.”

Then he runs forward and tackles Fenris, throwing them both off the side of the balcony. Behind them, Danarius screams, and Anders calls up a shield around them both that materialises a hair’s breadth away from the clinging red vines of Danarius' magic.

It’s only when they’re airborne that Anders registers the blade skewered through his chest.

He breathes, and salt and copper splatter against his lips and tongue. For a moment, in the golden, multicoloured kaleidoscope of sky and street, suspended in the air in a terrible embrace, everything is quiet. Fenris frowns at him, and blinks, and his green eyes flood suddenly with recognition and grief as he looks down at the sword hilt between them, intimate as a lover’s embrace. “Anders.”

Anders grins at him, and thinks he isn’t crying because of the pain, his tears rising behind him as they fall like backwards rain. He cradles Fenris’ head in his hand, and wraps his arms around his shoulders, and chokes as his organs shudder against the blade attempting to split him in two, and he feels Justice’s presence building in his mind like lightning in a thundercloud. “Be right back.”

*

What happens next returns to Anders in snatches of lucidity. Justice takes over, and draws the fade around them like a cloak as they fall through the wall of the building across the street like a comet. Fenris is unharmed and panicking, covered in Anders’ blood, his white linen skirt pink and red with it, the damn collar still locked around his neck. Justice had drawn the sword out of their chest and filled the wound with a magic simulacra of the blood vessels, muscles, organs and nervous system that needed to be there, in the way he had once reconstructed Kristoff’s corpse. (Both of them had quailed, at that comparison, but neither had time to linger on it.)

The building they’d fallen into was, of course, riddled with magisters, but before Justice could exorcise his frustration with a little smiting, all three men and women were dead with a bolt to the back of the head. Isabela appeared from the shadows in a puff of smoke like a mage herself, and Varric waved at them to follow him onto a waiting carriage. Merrill barely waited for them to get on board before she snapped the reins, and they bolted into the panicking crowds, most of whom were running to get away from the collapsing mansion.

In the carriage, consciousness had begun to make its slippery way out of Justice’s hands like a wriggling fish. Both of them had registered Fenris’ wide-eyed panic: the way he’d stared at their old friends with no hint of recognition, and held Anders’ arm so tightly it would bruise. But at that point, the blood loss had overcome them both, and they had passed out to Fenris shouting Tevene interspersed with Anders’ name, and Isabela trying to understand why.

*

Two years after Garrett Hawke sells him back into slavery, Anders, Isabela, Varric and Merrill free Fenris from Danarius’ service. They don’t go back to Kirkwall - all of them are too conscious of the so-called Champion’s stomping grounds to trust those streets. But Isabela has a contact in the Antivan Crows (or formerly of them - it’s complicated), so instead they go to Antiva City. Two days later, Anders wakes up.

Fenris is staring at him, wearing real clothes that seem to sit uncomfortably on his shoulders. His collar is gone, and there’s a small frown on his brow - a lifting of his eyebrows towards the bridge of his nose that he always used to wear when he was puzzling over particularly cramped handwriting (or, later into his studies, when he was attempting to accurately interpret and summarise abstract Qunari poetry). Anders breathes, and his chest sets itself on fire, and he groans and lets his head fall back against the richly perfumed pillow behind his head. It does relatively little to drown out the thick stench of hot leather that is as thick in the air as molasses.

Fenris startles when he moves, and stands, moving to the door. Anders frowns at him, turning his head to one side with all the energy he can muster. “Where’r’you’goin’?”

Fenris hesitates, turning back to him before lowering his gaze to stare at his still bare feet. There are new scars there, Anders registers, sadly, in neat white bands around his ankles. “I thought I’d fetch the mistress.”

Anders snorts, “Have you told her you’re calling her that?” He tries again to force himself to sit up, and Fenris starts forward, hands freezing in the air between them. His fingernails are neatly, perfectly filed and it ruins Anders’ tentatively building appetite.

“You really shouldn’t be moving.”

Anders grins, trying to ignore the sweat running down his temples as pain racks through every muscle in his body. “Why? Worried I’m going to split in two?” Fenris grimaces, and Anders grunts, giving up and collapsing to the bed with a thunderbolt of pain. “OW. Sorry. Bad joke.” There’s a rustle of fabric, and when Anders is able to stop seeing stars, he turns to find Fenris on his knees beside the bed, head lowered, hands palm up in front of him. “What in the name of Andraste’s perfect silky knickers are you doing?” Anders asks as if he doesn’t know. He thinks it’s going to be easier not to take this seriously, at first. At least whilst he recovers from the mortal injury.

Fenris flinches, and Anders regrets his bad attempt at humour, feeling Justice rumbling in the back of his head like a bowel movement. “Sorry, sorry. Look, Fenris, I’m not going to...punish you, or fuck you, or whatever it is you think I’m going to do to you. I actually have a very busy day planned of, uh, staring at that crack on the ceiling and pretending it doesn’t hurt when I breathe. Or speak. Fuck. I talk too much. I need to - ow - work on that.”

For a long moment, Fenris says nothing. Outside, there’s the sound of someone playing violin in the street, and the rich, warm sound of Antivan spoken loudly and with laughter. Now that he’s acclimatising to the leather, Anders thinks he can smell cured meat frying, and he’s beginning to reconsider his aborted appetite. He’s trying so hard to see if he can actually hear the sizzling of street food that he almost doesn’t hear Fenris’ voice when he speaks, barely above a whisper. “Why?”

“Because I love you.” Anders responds, more muscle memory than conscious - hey he doesn’t remember anything about you maybe we should start slowly - thought. Fenris stares at him, eyes wide, though his mouth twists in apprehension before he smooths it back into impassivity.

“Domine - My master loves me.”

Anders sighs, falling back in the bed to stare up at the crack in the ceiling and try to ignore the hot-cold flushes of pain rocking up through his body. “You don’t remember anything about me, so I’m not going to take that personally.”

Fenris is very still. “You do not...like him?”

Anders chuckles, and regrets it when his tattered organs throw a violent protest. “What gave that away.”

“You broke his nose.” Fenris says, solemnly, and Anders does laugh then, so hard he thinks it splits something open, and he finds himself clutching at his side in the sudden fear that his organs are going to fall out. When he can breathe again, he coughs on his dry mouth and shifts his gaze to Fenris, who’s watching him with wide eyes and the curl of a smile at the corner of his lips which Anders doesn’t think he knows he’s doing.

Anders’ gaze falls to a pewter jug of water on the bedside table and a wooden cup beside it. It may as well be in the Nocen sea, for all the nauseating pain running through him.

“Would you please pour me a glass of water?”

Fenris immediately hurries to obey with a soft, stifled sigh of something terribly like relief. He offers Anders the cup, and when Anders’ shaking, sweating fingers slip on the wood his hand comes up to cup the back of Anders’ head whilst the other pours the cup against his lips. The feeling of Fenris’ fingers in his hair, after so many years, holding him like this, is almost too much for Anders to bear. He keeps his eyes shut for a long time after swallowing, and breathes as tears tickle between the seams of his eyelids and run quietly down his cheeks.

Fenris’ thumb gently catches a tear and brushes it away from his skin, and Anders forces himself to open his eyes and stare up at the elf in the sunshine yellow and orange painted room in which he’s been laid to recuperate. Fenris meets his eyes, so briefly Anders thinks perhaps he imagined it, and draws his hand away. “My master said that I knew you. But that I had forgotten.” Fenris hesitates, mouth stiffening into a firm line that is so painfully familiar Anders thinks he’d choose the greatsword again. Then he looks up, “Did I - did we - it seems as if I meant a great deal to you.”

Anders smiles at him, though his lips tremble, and tries to ignore the feeling of his heart breaking. Outside, on the street, an older woman walks past, singing quietly to herself and humming when she forgets the words. “I think we meant a great deal to each other.”

Fenris purses his lips, and looks away, out of the window. Over the street, the silver-green leaves of an olive tree brush the windows of nearby buildings. Elsewhere in the building, Anders can hear the familiar purr of Isabela, and Merrill’s chirping, and the soft old gravel growl of Varric. Occasionally, the floorboards creak when they move across the lower floors. At last, Fenris’ shoulders drop, and he shakes his head. “I don’t remember you.” The words are rich with regret and apology.

Anders blinks against the new tears tickling his cheeks, and shakes his head. “I know.” Then he reaches out, his fingers cold and numb with pins and needles. Stiffly, fumbling, he grabs Fenris’ fingertips in his own like a much older man, and squeezes them. “I just wanted you to be free.”

[shadowdianne]

Fic writer review [Or a fic writer tag game if you prefer]

I was tagged by @naralanis and I can already see her grin all the way from where I am xd Thank you, dear, for the tag, let’s see what are my answers, shall we.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

*bursts out laughing* Adding both pseuds I have… 535 according to the account info but by counting them all I’m reaching 541 so I’m guessing it’s counting some drafts I need to re-find.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

I seriously hated you for this one xd I was going to do it by hand by I decided one-third there that I value my mental stability a little bit more xd according to the stats page back at a03 that number would be 1257884. It may be wrong. I think there should be a few more numbers up there but the majority of my works are one-shots so *shrugs* There’s also the fact that counting my ao3 things only is shaving off like half of it Xd Anyway, can we laugh at the fact that I’m a pain in the ass and that I’ve written a lot? More than I should have, that’s for sure

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

Trick question because I haven’t crossposted everything I wrote back in ffnet and I actually erased some fics from my account back there so the numbers are a little blurry there.

When I had the entirety of my work posted both in ffnet and a03 I had written for: Twilight (Bella/Alice) Glee (Faberry and there were a couple Pezberry and I don’t fucking remember the pairing name for Santana and Quinn), Harry Potter (Hermione/Ginny, Hermione/Narcissa, Hermione/Bellatrix) OUAT (SwanQueen and several oneshots focusing on the mad hatter and the blue fairy solely back at ffnet that were written in Spanish and never translated), I actually had a veeeery old au prompt of Frozen (Elsanna in where I wrote them as non sibilings), Rizzoli and Isles (Rizzles), Dishonored 2 (Emily Kaldwin/Alexi Mayhew), Lara Croft and Wonder Woman, Supergirl (SuperCorp/Supercat) I had a 100 one -or maybe two??- (Clexa), The Shannara Chronicles (Amberle/Eretreia [Or Princess Rover], Rwby [Blake Belladona/Yang], The Worst Witch (Hecate Hardbroom and Pippa Pentangle), The Half of it, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (Madam Satan/Zelda Spellman) and… I think that’s it(?) I may be forgetting some but probably nothing important if I’m not remembering it lol.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

Ah, we are going to go there, uh? Xd My works are not the kudos and comment getting type Xd So I was quite surprised when I went to check this.

1: Cracked it I wrote this one back in 2017, it was a prompt done by an anon: Lena is nerding with one of her projects at home, mumbling mostly to herself because she’s stuck and Kara casually mentions how to solve the problem like it’s nothing. I really had some fun with this. It was back when some us, SQeeners were fully doing the jump between OUAT and SuperGirl (I mean, there had already been some crossover as for fandom is related but this when the girls were actually getting their conjoined voice within the fandom)

2: Dateless I honestly needed to check what this one was about but I think I can see why this one shot has the amount of kudos it has. It’s a short and sweet idea and responds to the Teachers Au that went SO well with SQ. Everyone thinks they hate each other and try to set them up with other people whilst they, in truth, are dating. I don’t remember if I wrote them as married rather than dating but despite being from 2017 as well is one cheeky enough to be cool Xd I probably would edit some lines now *shudders*

3: After you I truly didn’t expect this one to be top 3. Makes me think of a lot of things, if I’m being honest Xd. After you was a one shot written almost feverishly as an answer to the fabulous drawings that Sejic did of both Lara Croft and Wonder Woman back at 2018 or something. It’s just Lara and Diana being himbos but not at all with each other.

4: How about… How about is one I remember perfectly, it was my answer to the ending of the Half of it film. I had SOME thoughts about it, let’s just stop there Xd I really liked the film itself but I think and I thought at the time that my response to wishing for a final scene at the very end of the credits responds to me being in a different personal moment than the characters. I really wanted to explore my feelings about it and so I wrote about them finding each other again after some time passes. It was also something I wrote after quite the hiatus so I took it as something I could write about without focusing too much on the why.

5: Come to me

Ahh, SuperCorp Xd I remember this one actually. A friend of mine and I were talking about descriptions, and she mentioned quite off-handedly how she wanted a fic in where Kara’s back was described. I complied… more or less.

Fun tidbit, despite the big volume of my work is obviously set in ouat there’s only 1 SQ fic there as you can see, the others are either SuperCorp or the random one shots I created for Wonderwoman/Lara Croft and The half of it. *sighs in deep thought* I’m also not going to look too much into how almost all of the fics were posted and written back in 2017. Nope, not at all.

*Small voice screaming you peaked in 2017 and everything else is garbage jumps back and forth*

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

I tend to always respond, yup. I truly value comments. I might have gone for spells of time in where I didn’t have the mental capacity to check in old fics because I truly didn’t know what to answer but I treasure every single comment and you all who comment know that I can start to ramble in the answers xd -sorry about that- I really really REALLY love interaction.

6. A fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending:

Ok, Nara, come on, this one is a catch for me. I’ve written angst in far too many fics to remember the angstiest one :P I have the most recent one, though, that is the easy one to think about: Goodbye.Written for @delirious-comfort. I’m just going to say “Kisses with their last dying breath” as an idea of what awaits inside but I’ve written about death and loss and angst quite a lot. There were some I wrote back to SQ with Regina needing to kill Emma during the Dark Swan arc that, to this day, I still love and some others in where Regina is the one that dies, again and again, trapped by magic while Emma watches. I have the loss in mental destruction form and… I REALLY like my angst y’know xd

7. Do you write crossovers?

Not counting Lara and Wonder Woman not really! I think it comes from the fact that I loooove worldbuilding as a whole and some pairings would require all my focus into making the world perfect which in turn would make me self conscious on the OOCness of it all.

8. Ever received hate on a fic?

*snorts* I’ve received hate due to the pairing I’ve written about, how I’ve written about it, the amount I’ve written, how slow or quick I can be, the usage of some tropes, the lack of usage of those same tropes… Let’s just go with: yuuuup.

9. Do you write smut?

I’ve written smut, yeah! But I can already see the pointed looks of some so let’s elaborate Xd I write smut when asked and sometimes when not asked but there’s a part of me I like to call a terrible tease that prefers writing the beginning of a scene, taunt it, focus on what happens before the sex scene per se as I find it more enjoyable to write. The process of escalation is always the best for me to see what can I do it by using both dialogue and descriptors tbh, so I tend to tease more than show.

9. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

A few weeks ago I’d have said: Maybe(?) But trying to follow the trail of some other fics that had been stolen from some friends -I think it was me trying to find more about the page that stole something from your Nara!- I found some pages in where my fics had been reposted. In some it was stated that the person posting the fic wasn’t the author but I had never been contacted in order to see if I’d say yes to such a thing and in some others the page was locked up but I could still see someone was pretending to be the author. I did the thing and got some of those down.

Pointed note: Ask me if you want to post or translate or anything. I will look into you and answer you if you seem honest about the thing. But despite every joke and self-deprecating comment those 500 and then some fics represent MY time so very kindly I say fuck off to those who wish to steal from me and if I catch you… you don’t really want to see me angry, trust me.

10. Ever had a fic translated?

I’ve given permission to some, yeah, but never heard it back from them so I’m guessing it didn’t stick.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic?

I’ve written series alongside other authors as @stregaomega for example. And some others that are unpublished -looking at you @carsonnieve - I’ve also done collabs… but fics co-written in the sense of two authors same chapters I don’t have anything posted I’m afraid :P

13. All-time favourite ship?

*snorts*, I guess the obvious answer is SQ uh? And I do think they were the ones that allowed me to read and write SO much. The one I feel more strongly about, however, is Bering and Wells from Warehouse 13.

14. WIP you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

All of them counts as a valid answer? But if I only could finish one that would be Arcadia. With A forgotten Promise second and the one I did as an Assassins Creed AU third. (I don’t remember the name so there’s no link, sorry xd)

15. Writing strengths?

Uhhhh, you REALLY want me to say that? I don’t fucking know!! To me everything I write is garbage. I always try to go for the feelings so I guess. Dunno xd I’ve been told I’m good at worldbuilding and to be honest is what I enjoy the most.

16. Writing weaknesses?

Everything Xd Pacing? What I hate the most sometimes is dialogue, I would count it as a weakness but I’m always far too focused on description rather than dialogue. I don’t think it’s a bad thing per se but it’s something that I don’t do as much.

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I’m conflicted. Always. Majorly because I think that having bilingual characters in fanfiction is portrayed and expected in a way that I don’t feel it’s honest with how bilingual people -us- talk. So if I go by what I know I do I think it’s not what readers hope to see when it comes to that and if I go for how canonically is hoped to be found I don’t think it’s logical. But that’s me and my overthinking Xd If I have the option I like to do it.

18. First fandom you ever wrote for?

Belice! Or Bella/Alice. Worst first fic ever but oh, well, I’m always saying that :P

19. What’s your fav fic you’ve written so far?

Uhh… Don’t make me do this XD Agh, I don’t know. I’ve always been very vocal about Metallic Ink because I let myself enjoy the process of creating a magic system almost out of zero and that was fun. Despite hating some of the writing process and that I’d do it differently now I think I’m going to stick with that answer. Or anything that had any steampunk-based undertone. To be honest I like more thinking of concepts, I had one in where Emma was a thief and it involved the robbery of a ring that was Regina’s one way ticket to freedom I then later repurposed that I adored thinking about so let’s go with…. Yeah, I love having the option of changing things up a little and focus on how characters would fit in different aesthetics for this one Xd

Annnd… these are four pages, gods. I’m just going to tag @waknatious @carsonnieve @stregaomega here and see what they do- Enjoy the questionnaire ladies :P

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Scuffed Souls

Pairing: Midge Maisel/Lenny Bruce Rating: M Word Count: 2769

Summary: Despite her declared intention to go get herself a taxi, Midge can't seem to leave Lenny's hotel. Parts of it aren't so bad—the ocean view, the pool, Lenny. She could be persuaded into a little recklessness.

It’s the way he says it—“before I’m dead”—that has her twisting on the soles of her new shoes to turn back towards him with an equally twisted smile that can’t fully perk up to the uncomplicated amusement she usually feels when Lenny cracks a joke. It just didn’t sound like one.

And now she’s probably scuffed the black soles on the wretched, fine-pebbled stone of these slabs surrounding the pool of what’s otherwise a really rather sad hotel. He knows it, she knows it, and she can’t blame him for wanting her to come into his room, if only to liven it up for a few minutes. She wonders if anybody’s ever died here. Wait, she thinks, of course they have. It’s a gracelessly aging Floridian hotel. The count for patrons who’ve left unscathed is probably lower.

“Is that a long list?” Midge calls back to him.

Like the melancholy, reluctant romantic he is, Lenny’s still leaning in his doorway, watching her depart. Until a moment ago. Now he’s watching her stand here in kind of a weird realm: the post-date, non-overnight stay who issued a spoken plan to find herself a taxi like a big girl. She’s loitering. Then again, unlike at home in New York, you can do that here. Loiter your heart out. Cross that heart and hope not to die before you’ve slept with the woman whose martial status changes from minute to minute. Roll the dice! No, that’s Vegas.

Even from this distance, she can see Lenny cock his head in that way he has—playfully subservient as a child and publicly tactful as a monied, middled-aged woman. Some days, he could mirror her mother. What a gag that would be.

“Things you wanna do before you’re dead,” Midge explains with a tight gesture of her arm. Just the elbow down. God, is she nervous? She seems to be suddenly doing an imitation of Susie meeting Lenny for the first time.

“Not really. I think of somethin’ good from time to time and, of course, when I do, I can’t find the paper I started the list on and I have to get a new one… so it never really gets that long.”

“I just wondered. You know, how much time I have.”

“The length of the list determines my distance from death? This I did not know. Powerful,” Lenny notes emphatically, producing the same noncommittal smile from Midge. “I guess I better look harder for the next one I lose. Handy thing to refer to.”

“There’s that,” she agrees, “but also…” She takes a step back in the direction of his open doorway. The pool shimmers at her side. He’s right about the pool. Somehow, a pool at night looks glamorous no matter the courtyard. She hopes she looks half as good. “I wonder if there’s sort of an implication in there that—” Midge rolls a modest hand over the crassness she’d have no trouble blurting out on stage, no matter which of her relatives were in the audience. “—the quality of it would extend your life.”

He’s smiling wickedly at her. She’s gotten away with nothing and has no option remaining but to clutch primly at the handle of her purse with both hands.

“If anybody else told me that,” Lenny warns, “I wouldn’t believe them, but you I know to have been engaged to a doctor, and so I assume that any medical information you may have to offer vis-à-vis sex—” Spoken in a harsh stage whisper that nearly makes her (her) blush. “—comes certified by some type of professional board.”

“I didn’t say it was the truth, I said I wondered whether it were what you were implying.”

“Me? Well, you can’t trust that guy. Still, worth chancing, wouldn’t you say?”

Midge’s scuffed soles have brought her many steps nearer to Lenny than she remembers being in lucid command of. She’s slow-tongued as she stares at his impish expression. Flat-out flustered when he tips his head back with a smile to rest it on the doorframe.

“In there?” she asks with eyebrows arching like the next stop on this tour is St. Louis. She points sideways, where his bedside lamp glows. “On one hand, eternal life—on the other, whatever diseases are living in those sheets.”

“Oh, they’re very well mannered,” Lenny assures her with a casual brushing aside motion. “We split the rent fifty-fifty.”

“Hmm, then I’m not sure there’s room for me in that scenario.”

“The shower’s not bad,” he counters.

“Water pressure?”

“No, cleanliness. Haven’t you ever—” He employs the hand roll she should patent if it looks like that when she does it. Elegant. Prudent. Half what she wants to be and the other half what she has no hope of becoming. “—in a shower?”

Because Lenny’s looking at her like she’ll either sidestep (metaphorically—the shoes have suffered enough these past few minutes without risking anything more than a regular forward walk) or say no, she takes very great pleasure in smiling devilishly back at him.

“A shower sounds luxurious. Never done it in a bathroom with a shower before. You look scandalized,” Midge notes. “Do the diners in your neighbourhood have showers in their ladies’ rooms?”

“You had sex in a diner bathroom? I’m impressed,” he allows.

“Thank you. I needed that. I carry every compliment about the encounter back to my closet and console my wedding dress with it. Poor thing never did look the same after rubbing up against those walls.”

“Is this in your act?” Lenny demands, leaning towards her earnestly. “Why haven’t I heard this?”

“Put it in my act? Lenny, please. I’m a lady.”

“Hence the ladies’ room, I suppose.”

She giggles lightly with her lips pressed together. He earned that last line. Set her face on fire to get there, so she’ll let him have it. Speaking of letting him have it. Midge finds herself dropping her eyes so they don’t get into their second intense staring contest of the night. Can’t look straight ahead, can’t look to the right because that’s where his room is and the bed is highly prominent. Almost too eager. The bed is the bump in the front of a virgin’s pants on prom night when his date’s skirt brushes a little too close as they dance. Those crazy kids. Oh, to be young.

Midge looks left.

“The ocean,” she observes, and says, like an idiot. She even does another fucking gesture towards it, like he’d miss it somehow. “It’s… big.” Clever. Real sharp.

“Bigger than in New York? I think so too. Alligators though.”

“It’s ok, you’re talking to a fellow New Yorker. You can use the real term. Pre-handbags,” she prompts when Lenny gives her an inquisitive look.

He lets her have the wrap joke this time, but he’s more persistent about trying to catch her eye. She gets it. She is still standing here making alligator jokes when she was supposed to be in a car on her way back to the type of hotel it would be kinder not to tell this hotel exists. A hotel containing her parents, Shy Baldwin and his entourage, the boxer shorts Susie sleeps in and forgot to pack when she went to save Sophie’s ass. Hopefully Susie doesn’t need to cover that famous, demanding ass because she left the best equipment behind.

Lenny tosses his coat into his room and pulls the door shut, startling Midge.

“How ‘bout the pool?” he asks as he steps around her, arm extended to point. She swivels (damn, damn, damn, her shoes) and chases him. “You ever done it in a pool?”

“Actually, no.”

“I heard the pause and, trust me, I’m enthralled that you even had to think about it.”

“Did I mention I hit my head doing it in the bathroom? Pretty hard. All my memories before that day are hazy, so it’s really anybody’s guess.”

He gifts her an indulgent little smile and stops at the side of the pool. As she looks on, he removes his shoes and socks. Midge hears herself make the noise she makes when she denies Ethan a cookie only to see Zelda handing one over when she returns to the kitchen. The noise says, Is that wise? when her adult mommy brain knows for damn sure that it’s not. Lenny wets his foot and flicks water at her. The mommy noise had no effect on him at all.

“It’s nice,” he says, clasping his hands behind his back. “Warm.”

“Of course it’s warm. The air’s warm. Everything here is warm.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” When Lenny frowns, it’s tragic. The most tragic thing you’ve ever witnessed. “You see, I’ve been so cold since the end of our dance. I really may die if I can’t hold you against me.”

Midge tilts her head back and laughs.

“You’re worse than the guy I tried to scare off at the bar by mentioning dick jokes. And you’ll die? Really? All of a sudden, I’m the cause of your death rather than the agent of its postponement?”

Though he smiles, his eyes remain soulful. There really is something tricky about trying to be funny when he’s looking at her a certain way. She’s probably returning the look.

“Take a dip with me.”

“Why?” she asks, smiling.

“Because I want to admire you with that rose in your hair without the rest of it to distract me.” He nods down at her dress.

“My outfit is distracting? Terrific. Now I know I wore a distracting outfit on Brye Adler.”

Self-deprecating thoughts trickle away, accompanied by the gentle slosh of the ocean behind them. A rambling, improvised bit about what she’s wearing won’t change the fact that Lenny said what he said and she heard it.

“Are you going to call me a taxi if I keep standing here?” Midge asks.

“I had no intention of reminding you of that plan.” He rests a thoughtful forefinger against his upper lip. “But you do seem to be stuck. You won’t brave the room, but you also haven’t left.”

As though demonstrating how to do it, Lenny crouches and trails his fingers through the water of the pool.

“Still warm.”

He gazes up at her with needful brown eyes. The need feels equal to hers. She’s tired of being the only one needing.

“You have neighbours.” It’s between a question and a statement.

“Ah, they’re all either young and stoned or old and asleep.”

Midge makes a decision.

“Gimme your key. I’m going to change in your room.”

“Change into what? Do you have a bikini in your purse?”

She leans close to snatch the key he’s withdrawn from his pocket for the second time tonight and grins.

“Into nothing.”

Lenny takes a visibly shaky breath, not trying to hide it from her.

“Well, I’ll be here performing the role of guinea pig by stripping for any neighbours who may be watching. Should you hear wolf-whistles…”

“I’ll run right back out and join the audience,” Midge promises.

They smile at each other until Lenny tests the tension by loosening his tie. Her eyes drop to watch and she realizes she’d better go do what she said before he’s naked enough to make her lose her nerve. She hurries, high heels clapping on the stone.

His room isn’t quite as bad as anything she and Susie experienced on their first road tour, but it definitely isn’t anything to write home about. Not that he’d need to, seeing as this is his home ‘til Friday and likely beyond. Standing beside Lenny’s bed, Midge unfastens her dress. For the first time since Joel, she does it quickly. For the first time since splitting up with Benjamin, she does it alone. Beneath the dress, she’s cinched in pretty damn tight and she rubs at the red lines in her skin as she takes deep breaths that she lies to herself about—telling herself it’s the relief of being free of her undergarments. She lays her dress on his coral bedding. She positions her purse on his nightstand. Adjusting the rose in her hair, she slips her feet back into her shoes and dons Lenny’s carelessly-discarded suit jacket. Though it’s no beach coverup, it hides enough to get from here to the pool.

She spots the pile of his clothes before she sees him, head bobbing up through the surface as he slicks his wet hair back and swipes water from his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Midge teases to his stunned expression as he locks onto her approaching figure. “The shoes are coming off momentarily. I know they’re distracting.”

As if he’s even aware that she’s wearing shoes; his eyes are fixed on her legs as though she’s an exotic species of butterfly and his gaze is a mounting pin.

“That’s all I see when I look at you,” Lenny says, arms thrusting to propel himself backwards across the width of the pool. He halts at the far side and rests his arms on the stones, chest above the line of the water. “One big pair of shoes.”

Midge shoots him a coy smile as she steps out of them, wary to avoid treading on his watch. That’s what gets her: his watch. She stares down at it, resting there, the glass face catching the light, second hand ticking away. Before they’re dead.

“Aren’t you going to close your eyes or something?” she asks, standing in bare feet, Lenny’s jacket, and a rose. “Or are you only a gentleman when it comes to sharing a cigarette?”

“For you, I will go through the charade.”

He places a hand over his eyes. His mouth smiles below it.

Watching him, she swiftly sits on the side, dangling her legs in the water. With tentative fingers, she undoes the first button on the jacket. His hand doesn’t move. She undoes the second. Nothing from Lenny. Jacket open, Midge shrugs it from her shoulders. As she pushes off the wall, dropping into the pool, he lowers his hand.

“Hey!” she complains, spluttering on water, but he raises both hands helplessly, then goes back to holding himself up at the opposite side of the pool. “That was a dirty trick.”

“I would repent if I could find it in my heart to do so, but I just don’t regret it.”

Midge laughs, shaking her head and treading water.

“By the way,” Lenny adds. “The rose looks wonderful.”

She managed to keep all but the very bottom of her hair dry and can feel the flower still tucked between the strands. Fleetingly, she thinks of where she’s supposed to be tonight. What would Carole have to say about a situation like this? Maybe Midge can be the one who knows how a situation goes for once, without warnings or tips. Just… living it. That’s how she gets the material for her act, which what’s happening tonight could never be part of. ‘So,’ she imagines telling a crowd, ‘I finally fucked Lenny Bruce. Plenty of people already thought I had, so I doubt anybody’s still betting on it, but if you had money on it happening in a swimming pool in Florida, happy days!’

“Can you see it from way over there?” she asks coquettishly.

“A little.”

“Seeing a rose ‘a little’ won’t do. Do you think Shakespeare only bothered to see a rose ‘a little’ before writing that line about how sweet it smells?”

Lenny shoves away from the side and swims lazily in her direction.

“What does yours smell like?”

“Pool chemicals, probably.”

“An underrated scent.”

Midge’s heart surges and her throat seizes up, tongue awkward in her mouth as he draws nearer. With the glow and distortive properties of the water, his body’s nothing but a blur below the surface, as she’s sure hers is as well.

“It’s like a forcefield,” he notes. “I get close enough to you and, it’s not that the world stops being funny, it’s…”

“It’s that it becomes somebody else’s job to make the joke.”

“That’s it,” Lenny agrees softly as they begin to slowly circle each other.

Gradually, they work their way over to where it’s shallow. Midge’s toes skim the bottom when she begins to uncurl her legs. Her body gets used to the weightless feeling of the water, muscles relaxing, but her heart beats harder and harder. Finally, she cuts across their circle and wraps her arm behind Lenny’s neck as she presses her mouth to his. His hand cups her cheek, then shifts, knocking the rose from her hair.

[the-lincyclopedia]

* adapted from @librajiminn on twitter

A fun game to celebrate 2020 ending! The rules are simple: recommend your favorite OMGCP fics so everyone can enjoy them, while trying to fill in enough slots to get a bingo!

This is going to get long, so I’ll put it under a cut. Also, I’m too orderly to try to shoehorn my favorite fics into these particular prompts, so I’m just going to go right to left, top to bottom, taking the prompts literally, until it’s bedtime. 

1. first fic you bookmarked: “Here Comes the Sun” by @doggernaut, 19k, G, no warnings, Zimbits

For the past month, the man with the baby and the sad blue eyes has been stopping in for a cup of coffee an hour before closing. He always sits in an overstuffed chair in the corner and drinks his coffee while his baby sleeps next to him in the stroller. Sometimes he pulls a book out from the diaper bag he carries with him; other times he just stares straight ahead as if in a daze. He never asks for a refill, always respectfully gathers his things and leaves ten minutes before the shop officially closes. Eric desperately wants to ask him what his story is. 

My notes: I read Check Please over the course of two days in June of 2019. On the second day, right after catching up, I looked at @peppermintfeminist‘s AO3 bookmarks and found a fic by @doggernaut. Then I read just about everything @doggernaut had ever posted. It was glorious. This fic in particular is so cute. 

2. most recent fic you bookmarked: “Flight Check” by @edgarallanrose, 15k, E, no warnings (though there is a creepy/handsy guy at a club to watch out for), primarily Zimbits with most of the other popular pairings in the background

Flight attendant Eric “Bitty” Bittle has been working his way up at Samwell Airlines for the past four years, and his new promotion has provided him the opportunity to work with a brand-new crew. Unfortunately for Bitty, that crew includes an incredibly handsome but equally grumpy pilot, Captain Jack Zimmermann, who seems to want nothing to do with Bitty. Even worse, Jack refuses to eat any of Bitty's baked goods. Will Bitty be able to win the captain over? Or is there another reason Jack has been avoiding Bitty?

My notes: There are a lot of great things about this fic--Jack’s character arc, Lardo’s dialogue, that scene in Seattle--but the reason I bookmarked it is the scene where Bitty’s basically slut-shaming himself and Jack gently but firmly tells Bitty not to do that and that it was the creep’s fault. 

3. a fic that made you cry actual tears: “a little bit more” by @ivecarvedawoodenheart, 14k, T, no warnings, Holsom

“I just wanted,” he says, “a perfect day. With you. Because it’s our last day together and our last day being here as undergrads and we’re kissing the ice tonight, and the weather’s supposed to be beautiful, and you’re moving tomorrow and Holtzy I just — I don’t want to be missing you already.” Holster wipes his eyes before he even realizes he’s crying. Behind him, Ransom sighs. “One more day where everything’s the same,” he says, feeling around blindly for Rans’ fingers. He feels Rans nod as he laces their fingers together. “Yeah. Yeah, Rans. I’d like that a lot.” __________________________

Holsom after graduation and throughout the subsequent six months after Holster signs to an expansion team in Oregon, and realizes his feelings for Ransom too late. Holster's POV :) kinda angsty, but there's a happy ending :)

Inspired by shitty-check-please-aus: "Holster moves to Oregon while Ransom stays on the east coast. The time difference makes it difficult to talk and one day they wake up and realize they aren’t best bros anymore."

My notes: I almost never cry at fics. I searched “tears” in my fandom email account and only a handful of my fic comments came up, but Syd is a literal master of Holsom angst, always. 

4. longest fic you’ve read: “Like Real People Do” by @xiaq, 153k, M, No Warnings, Kent Parson x OC

Parson gestures with his spoon toward Hawke. “So am I allowed to ask about the service dog or is that not PC?”

“My medical history is more of a 3rd date conversation," Eli says.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because. No one sticks around afterward and I like to live in glorious denial for a short period beforehand.”

It comes out more self-deprecating than he intended.

Parson looks…thoughtful. “Well, does this count as one or two?

“Pardon?”

“This. Ice cream. I mean, technically it’s a second location, but still the same night. So is this one date or two?”

“One,” Eli says firmly. “If it’s happening within the same three-hour period.”

“You’re the expert,” Parson says, which, he’s really, really, not, but ok.

“So still two dates to go then?” Parson continues.

“I—what?”

“We’ve got a roadie coming up but then we’re home for almost two weeks. When does your semester start?”

“You want to do this again?” Eli asks.

Parson stops idly twirling his spoon.

“You don’t?”

He does, Eli realizes. He really does. Because apparently he actually likes Kent fucking Parson.

My notes: Okay, this fic has my whole entire heart. I’ve read it multiple times in its entirety, and it’s almost twice as long as the full-length novel I’m querying. Eli is one of my favorite OCs I’ve ever seen in a fic (probably tied with Damian Navarro and Ari Paxton, both brainchildren of @fozmeadows). Anyway, this is probably going to be the next thing @themeaningoflifeischeese and I read out loud to each other. 

5. a fic you almost didn’t read: “when all else fails (i’ll still be right here)” by @whoacanada, 6k, T, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings (and I don’t remember if I think there’s stuff to warn for, sorry), Zimbits

The National Hockey League is resurrecting the Quebec City Nordiques, and the expansion draft hits the Falconers much harder than expected.

My notes: Given that this was for @omgcpheartbreakfest, I was worried this would be all angst--all hurt and no comfort. Which made me sad, because I love @whoacanada‘s writing but I wasn’t up for reading unresolved angst. But @doggernaut reblogged the fic, so I asked if the ending was sad, and it’s NOT! There is quite a bit of angst but the ending isn’t sad. 

6. a fic that convinced you on a ship you didn’t ship before: “it drops with the gravity of rain” by @geniusorinsanity, 16k, T, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings (attempted sexual assault by an OC), Nurseydex

It happens like this:

“I don’t--this is a bad idea,” Dex says, his lips still tingling, his hands shaking on Nursey’s hips where he’s shoved him away. “This is a really bad idea, Nurse. I can’t--We can’t do this.”

And there’s hurt in Nursey’s eyes and his bottom lip is swollen from Dex’s teeth, but he says, “Okay.” And then, “It’s chill, Dex. Just friends, then.”

It happens like this:

“Actually,” Nursey says, talking more to his granola than to them, “I kind of have a date.”

It happens like this:

When Nursey calls, Dex almost doesn’t pick up the phone.

My notes: So I was really confused and a little disturbed when I first found out people shipped Nursey and Dex. Like, Dex just wasn’t someone I trusted. But then I was moving out of the house I’d been living in, and I needed stuff to listen to as I packed and cleaned, and @khashanakalashtar‘s podfics came in clutch. I gave this one a try even though I didn’t like Dex, and @geniusorinsanity blew. My. Mind.

7. a fic from an unusual POV: “Excuse Me While I Kiss This Guy” by @porcupine-girl, 8k, G, no warnings, Zimbits

Jesse Snowden knows all the best restaurants and gourmet food shops in Providence, so when Jack Zimmermann starts bringing in incredible baked goods, he's eager to find out where the new bakery is. When he meets the man behind the pies, he decides that there's no way Jack could really appreciate this guy's talent the way he does, even if they are friends. He starts hiring Jack's chef on the side, in the hopes that maybe once Bitty's done with college he'll come work for Jesse.

Good thing there is absolutely no way whatsoever that Jesse could possibly be misinterpreting this situation.

My notes: Oh my gosh this is so funny. The secondhand embarrassment factor is huge, but like, the hilarity. 

8. a comfort fic: “Don’t Need to Compromise” by @khashanakalashtar, 11k, E, no warnings, PB&J

“Hey,” said Kent, unknowingly setting off a chain of events that would change his entire life, “you said that like you know from experience. Have you done this before?”

Jack and Bitty have not done polyamory before, but they do know Ransom and Holster’s polycule, which contains March.

And March?

March is trans.

My notes: I’m in love with @khashanakalashtar‘s entire Directionverse series (and honestly a lot of their other writing), but “Don’t Need to Compromise,” which is the second fic in the series, just makes my heart swell especially much. The gender feels are so good, and all the characters are so good to each other, and when I listen to this on walks I have to actively try not to arm-flap. 

9. a fic you wish could be a movie: “Ice Crew Please!” by @petals42, 61k, T, no warnings, Zimbits

Jack Zimmermann was drafted first by the Providence Falconers when he was eighteen years old. He is good at hockey. Very good. His team won the Cup his second year and now, in his third year, they are looking good. Jack should be on top of the world. And some days, he manages to convince himself he is.

He’s not, of course.

Enter the Ice Crew.

AKA: The Ice Crew AU

My notes: This fic has its tender moments, but what I love most about it is the sheer goofiness. Ransom and Holster and Shitty are HILARIOUS in this one. I’d love to see their shenanigans in movie form. 

10. a WIP you read as it was updated: “Something Borrowed” by @fozmeadows, 48k, M, no warnings, Kent x OC

All things considered, Ari did his best to prepare himself for the advent of Kent Parson, Potentially Difficult Housemate and New Star Liney. The problem was that his best was an idiot.

My notes: So technically I didn’t start reading this until the first 19 chapters were posted. But there was still plenty of anticipation for the final few chapters. And like, @fozmeadows (as mentioned above) makes EXCELLENT OCs. And I love how their fics consistently convey that having bad things happen to you does not mark the end of your story. 

Okay, it’s bedtime, so have 10 excellent fics. I got bingo twice, because I went straight across on the top two rows.

[zutaraangtastic]

Could you do a little drabble about zuko and aang sharing dreams? maybe that is how zuko’s relationship with aang and katara starts, like it is what sparks it all :)

Also inspired by this post by @vomara! (Reminder that we are not accepting new prompts; we received these before July 1.) - Mod J

The moonlight pools in a pale circle on the dark water, perfectly still until Aang lands. His light footsteps cast ripples outwards as he spins Katara for an extra few beats in the air. Her eyes are squeezed shut with laughter as he guides her down gently, but she opens them, a gleam of mischief in their blue depths, and takes the lead as soon as she finds solid footing.

Aang gladly follows, letting her twirl him out to the end of her arm’s length and bring him back in. They sway together for an easy, quiet moment, with his back to her front and her smile pressed to his shoulder. He feels secure, wrapped up in her embrace, as he always does.

It’s a dream he has often, dancing on the sea with her—it’s one he never tires of. In the back of his mind, he knows she’s sleeping peacefully right next to him, so it’s not like it’s coming from a place of unfulfilled desire, as far as he can tell. They dance together all the time in their home, at fancy Republic City functions, at the Fire Lord’s galas. It’s just nice to steal away this extra secret time with her between night and day.

Even if it’s not quite the same as in real life, his mind does a pretty good job of conjuring Katara in a sleek sky-blue dress that tapers down one leg, her shoulders bare and her hair cascading in waves down her back. She’s utterly enchanting.

She dips him low, and Aang raises a hand to her cheek, his heart so full of love he feels like he could drown in it. “Baby, you’re my moon and stars,” he whispers, watching for the way the corners of her eyes crinkle with a smile as she leans in to kiss him. His own eyes flutter shut.

Something changes at that moment, heats up on his skin, brightens against his face. He doesn’t think much of it until he peeks his right eye open just a crack and gets a close-up look at an unmistakable scar—closer than he’s ever seen it in real life, close enough to see rivulets of pale tissue and faint pockets between rough scarlet ridges.

“Uh,” says Zuko.

“Um,” says Aang.

Neither of them moves. Around them, the scenery has turned to a soul-baringly sunny day, the water glittering beneath their feet. Zuko’s hands are where Katara’s were, one supporting Aang’s backwards lean and one resting high up on his thigh, Aang’s other knee raised up to frame Zuko’s side. Golden light, reflecting off the pool, dazzles in Zuko’s wide eyes, which soften little by little with something like gratitude.

Finally, he breaks the stillness of the moment with a somewhat dismayed laugh, letting go of the breath he seemed to be holding. Aang could almost swear he catches a sharp firewhiskey aftertaste brushing warmly over his lips. It’s an oddly specific detail, for a dream.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Zuko says, his mouth curving in a rare, secretive smile. “You’re just the person I wanted to see tonight.”

Something about it rubs against the grain in Aang’s mind, doesn’t quite add up the way it should, but he finds himself laughing, too, settling with ease into the firm hold that shifts to his waist. His own arms naturally find their way to wrap behind Zuko’s neck.

“You’re a lot smoother when I’m asleep, sifu hotman,” he remarks, and if Zuko’s brow furrows momentarily, he doesn’t really think twice about it after Zuko quickly twirls him a few times, catches him again by the hand and shoulder and steps with him in perfect sync.

Briefly, in the back of his mind, he wonders about Katara, but she wasn’t really here, and neither is Zuko. Even if his keen gaze makes Aang feel just as flustered as it does in real life, when he judges Aang’s firebending forms to “keep him sharp.” Even if the hand gliding up his side through the open slit of his robe makes him feel as hot as the sun.

He loves Katara. If he could love Zuko, too, he would—or, well, he already does, he thinks, but what difference does it make? All he knows is the real Zuko is sleeping soundly on the other side of the world. This can’t do any harm.

A little bit of sparring seems to blend naturally into their exchange. Instead of breaking apart to do the full Dancing Dragon, they stay close, trailing rainbow fire from their footsteps and trading precarious kicks around each other’s knees, legs crossing back and forth over one another as they move to and fro. The water doesn’t sizzle when their bending makes contact with it but splashes up into crystallized leaves of amber flame, scattering in their wake.

Aang ends up in the lead at some point, supporting Zuko’s weight in a high lift and a descending spin, their orange and red robes catching with a friction that might as well make a spark of its own. Several long strands of hair have strayed from Zuko’s topknot, falling messily around his face, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. There’s a simmering, unwavering intensity in his eyes now, never leaving Aang’s face. Aang flings him this way and that, dips him low and whispers, grinning, “Baby, you’re my sun and stars.” 

Zuko smirks invitingly, only to backflip over Aang’s bracing arm before Aang can act further. He lands easily, links his hand with Aang’s again and steps in close and fast to snap one leg up around Aang’s hip. They lean together, an unbroken line of contact from chest to thighs, breathing heavily. The shared hallucination of rhythm and music fades, and the utter brightness of the sky, too.

The closeness is so tempting, would make it so easy to kiss Zuko, but Aang decides to let his subconscious decide whether Zuko might make the first move instead.

“I didn’t know you could dance like that,” he says, with just a teasing note of accusation.

Zuko snorts, rolls his eyes with a distinctly affectionate exasperation reserved for Aang alone. Unthinkingly, Aang reaches to brush the loose hair back behind Zuko’s ear. His hand lingers gingerly against Zuko’s scar, warm, real, solid. Zuko doesn’t flinch away. Aang expects this dreamed image to melt away at any minute, but it doesn’t.

Before he loses the nerve, he blurts, “I didn’t know you would ever want to. With me.”

At that, Zuko chuckles, a self-deprecating sound edged with hopelessness that makes Aang’s heart clench. He closes his eyes and says, seemingly more to himself than Aang, “I knew this was all just stupid wishful thinking. That’s what happens, going to bed after too much to drink. Stupid.”

His eyelashes paint delicate, spidery shadows towards the arch of his cheek, shining damply, and his eyebrow digs down into a tense furrow. Aang doesn’t know what to do. This doesn’t make sense anymore—everything was going so well, and he thought that at least in a dream he might get a happy ending. He can’t put his finger on what went wrong. 

Lost, he bends his head slightly to press his lips to Zuko’s forehead, as the last golden light is swallowed up in the gray dawn all around them.

When Aang blinks slowly awake, the morning sky through the window is the first thing he sees, the first rays of sun stretching up into the receding blue. Katara is snoring gently, facing him, with her hair spilling over half her face. Aang lifts her sleep-heavy hand and works his fingers between hers, bringing her knuckles to his lips to kiss them softly.

He doesn’t know how long he lies awake there, watching the sun turn the clouds a rosy orange. Normally, he would get up and find somewhere to meditate. But he feels reluctant to leave Katara’s side this morning.

He stays long enough that she wakes up, though he’s sure she’ll doze off again soon enough. She squints at him with a reflexive, familiar smile and rasps, her voice rough with sleep, “What are you looking at me like that for?”

“Like what?”

“The way you always did when you thought I wasn’t watching you, back then.”

Aang laughs, and Katara does too, their breath stirring together between. “I can’t help it. I just love you.”

“Mm.” Katara scoots closer, snuggling her head under Aang’s chin and draping her arm over him. “Something’s on your mind, though. You always looked at me like that, all in love, ’cause you didn’t know how to tell me yet.”

Aang falls quiet. Reading the tension in him, Katara raises her hand to rub his upper arm gently, expectantly.

“I had a dream,” he says eventually. “About you…and Zuko.”

Katara leans back to look at him sharply. “Sweetie, you know you can’t let the tabloids get to you like that. I love you,” she says, with just a hint of scolding in her voice. “Zuko’s just a good friend.”

Aang opens his mouth, then closes it. “Yeah,” he says, pushing down the regret in it. “He is a good friend.” 

He can’t explain this to her, can’t ask her to understand something that might very well tear them apart. And that dream, as weird and real as it was…there’s just no way that Zuko feels like that, too. 

When Katara eventually does slip back into sleep, Aang kisses the crown of her head, carefully disentangles himself, and wanders down to the seashore to practice his firebending forms.

[mimik-u]

Fragments III, 1-100

300 drabbles about Steven Universe/Future, 100 words each! These are the first 100 prompts and writer’s choices that have been fulfilled.

Asterisks are placed next to my personal favorites that I’ve written.

Baggage* — Steven meets his new therapist!

Eternity —How about a Bellow interaction you've always wanted to see in canon but didn't get to?

Foe —Jasper is simultaneously satisfied and yet left deeply empty inside by her self-isolation on Earth, and doesn't understand how to even begin to process this dichotomy. (So she doesn’t.)

Letter — Young Greg's POV when he wrote those letters to his parents Steven found on Mr. Universe episode.

Sword —Connie interacting with someone she doesn't usually talk to by herself (ex Jasper, Bismuth, Lapis, etc.).

Reconciliation — Idk about you but I wanna see more Mega Pearl. The others have not met Mega Pearl.

Marks —How about... Spinel, and the tiny, everyday baby steps towards healing?

Tangled — Peridot finds out/is told about PD/RQ? (And is confirmed in her guess that Pearl is fancy...?)

Challenge* — How is Steven’s TubeTube channel doing?

Bruises — Priyanka tends to Connie's wounds after training sessions with Pearl. [Writer’s Choice]

Rest* — Yellow Diamond gets to relax. (She's the one who most expresses regret and real understanding. Let her take a nap! She deserves it!)

Barbecue* — Post-movie, during cleanup, Steven and Lars talk and plan the BBQ we got a glimpse at during the final song.

Ghost — Yellowtail and Greg talk about fatherhood and how it can be ruined (mentioning Marty and Greg's father subtly).

UNO* — Date between Pearls (platonic or otherwise).

Height — The pebbles!!! They're so small???? Where are they? *Sobs, points at the Heaven and Earth Beetles.*

Embrace — Steven gets a well-deserved cuddle pile from family and friends.

Constructs — Bismuth and Peridot have a lot more in common than they think.

Horns — Amethyst makes an unexpected new friend at Little Homeschool. (Whichever other character you feel would fit best!)

Garden — Pre-show scene. While having a funny chat, Greg mentions something that reminds Rose about her abandoning Spinel, which makes her regret more of her choices.

Advice — Garnet can tell when Stevonnie has a lot on their mind. [Writer’s Choice.]

Hum — Yellow and her relationship with music.

Love* — Pearl considering her romantic feelings towards someone and thinking about how she's finally moving on from Rose. (Doesn't mean she'll ever forget her.)

Kid — A glimpse into “Sadie Killer.” Maybe when they played their first show, while Steven was still in the band. Celebrating afterward or a discussion on why Steven didn't stay IN the band?

Troubleshooting* — Integration of gem communication networks and Earth Internet and phone lines and the resulting inevitable disaster.

Fairytale — Connie gets a tour of Little Homeworld.

Hope — Jasper finally starting to let her guard down and realize her self worth.

Song* — As for prompts... Steg? Like, him in general, just being himself. It's a bummer we only got to see him in the movie.

Mistakes* — Steven talking to someone (not a therapist, just another character) about his trauma?

Forgiveness — The Topaz fusion reconnects with the Crystal Gems at Little Homeschool and apologizes for her role in the kidnapping all those years ago.

Visions — Sapphire and Ruby reflect on the events of "Together Forever." [Writer’s Choice]

Reunited — Maybe a scene where Yellow comes home from a long escapade and is reunited with a worried Spinel?

Beginnings — After CYM, Lapis and Peridot discuss where to live since the barn is destroyed.

Pet* — White Diamond happily announces one day that she has decided to take in a small creature (of your choosing) as a pet.

Together — What were Doc, Army, Navy, and Leggy doing during Future?

Desert — Steven meeting Lion from Lion's perspective. I dunno, I think it could be neat.

Freedom — For a post-CYM/SU:F prompt, what do you think about the exact moment it hit either Blue or Yellow Pearl that they were completely free to follow their whims?

Apologies — Greg apologizes to Steven due to the incident in “Mr. Universe” and both have the talk they should've had in that episode.

Change — Blue and Yellow Zircon's relationship has improved even if they are now rivals in the new democratic Homeworld. This last tiny bit is related to the “Homeworld Bound” episode.

Hug — Bellow cuddling. Yellow has no idea what to do, but Blue is loving it.

Valentine* — Steven gives Peridot a Valentine's Day gift. [Writer’s Choice]

Spite — Aquamarine and Eyeball are distraught at knowing they won't be rewarded for their actions because their worst enemy, Steven Universe, has been labeled a hero and royalty by the Diamonds.

Reevaluation — How about more Peedee and Steven friendship? Like, Peedee noticing Steven’s change in demeanor the farther along the show we get?

Camp — Connie kicking ass at space camp.

Family — The night after the events of the movie, Steven gets some quality family time.

Homestretch — Peridot, Lapis, and Bismuth spend time together while preparing Little Homeworld.

Enough — We know what Jenny, Sour Cream, and Buck are gonna do for their futures, but what's Kiki been up to? Is she gonna take over the pizzeria?

Spillage — Vidalia and Amethyst catch up after Steven's monster episode.

Reformation — White Diamond has learned how to be so extremely empathetic to the point that she literally becomes another person, but has she really begun to understand others?

Comment* — Sardonyx makes some Internet videos.

Unicorn — While traveling through California, Steven encounters two fishermen arguing about unicorns. [SU/GF crossover.] [Writer’s Choice]

Worry — Andy and Greg stay in touch.

Homerun* — I hopal for Opal—perhaps she will attempt some baseball.

Skydancer — Post-CYM, Pearl getting to “truly” take Steven out for a joy ride through the cosmos in a properly operational ship of her design.

Mercy* — The shattering-is-wrong discussion between Rose and Bismuth that led to Bis being bubbled.

Happy — Smoky Quartz hasn't made a self deprecating joke in a while—is it Steven's therapy?

Electric* — Yellow’s gloves—I feel like they’re covering something up, maybe.

Cake — Fusion Cuisine 2: Electric Boogaloo.

Belonging — The Rose Quartz sisters visit again.

Transcendence — Fluorite offers someone wise caterpillar grandma advice.

March — Connie and Steven reflect on changes in life after the pandemic. Not canon compliant. [Writer’s Choice.]

Understanding — Onion be doing Onion things.

Ocean* — Andy and Steven post-”I Am My Monster”? I love their relationship, lol.

Ignorance* — Does Lapis even realize Bismuth was probably the one who poofed her?

Reflection — Did I already say more Mega Pearl? ‘Cause there can never be enough Mega Pearl.

Possibility* — Yellow deciding she should try putting shattered gems back together. (She probably broke the most.)

Storyboard — Peridot’s budding career as a storyboarder.

Fall — Lapis and Steven talk about trauma and recovery. Pre-The Future.

Limbo — How the dismantled gempire has affected the lives of noble gems like Emerald, Holly Blue Agate, and others.

Now — Garnet reminds herself to live in the present.

Grief* — Alexandrite forms for the first time. [Writer’s Choice]

Inauguration — Wait, did Connie's parents ever meet Stevonnie?

Please — Did Kevin ever learn anything? Naaaaaah....unless...

Friend — General prompt? A sequel/prequel to this, please [White D’s panther].

Treatment — Greg starting to learn more about gem stuff to be more involved in Steven's life if something ugly happens.

Numbers — Pearl, please do something with all those phone numbers in your head.

Generations — Rose continues to discover the wonders of Earth, even after all this time. (No angst allowed in this one, just pure wonder.)

Survival — The Off-Colors used to have more members in the past.

Acting — How did Rainbow 2.0 even get invited to babysit Onion?

Kindness* — Former Mayor Dewey coming to terms with his new position in town.

Play — The Gems and Greg try to capture Steven's first moments on a bike. [Writer’s Choice]

Documentary — Ronaldo makes a real actually informative documentary about Little Homeworld.

Rain — Blue Diamond still cries sometimes.

Zoophobia — Also, I saw Z and my immediate thought was "Zoophobia.”

Echo* — Why does the tiny floating whale have Rose's voice before Steven ever heard it in the tape?

Sketch — Steven and Connie discover an anime character/mythological figure who bears an awfully similar resemblance to Obsidian.

Unironically — Why does Buck wanna be a doctor?

Club — How did Bismuth, Lapis, and Peri become such tight friends?

Nostalgia — Greg considers a comeback tour.

Pressure* — The creation of the Diamonds, maybe?

Coping — Amethyst and Pearl grapple with Rose's pregnancy. [Writer’s Choice]

Theatre — Sugilite, meet Rainbow 2.0.

Dadhood* — Whatever happened to Mrs. Fryman? IS there a Mrs. Fryman, or was it only a passing on-and-off thing that resulted in kids?

Lingering — Jasper finally lets Malachite go.

Human — Steven talks to his therapist about his mom, the feelings of before and the now. (It was left open-ended—his relationship with his mother.)

Words — Kofi is proud of his daughters.

Quest — [Letter prompt] Quest.

Picture — Sour Cream and Steven talking about absent parents and bad parenting. Post-The Future.

Bittersweet* — Shep finally gets to meet the notorious Lars.

Gemini — Spinel discovers memes and we're all doomed.

Weird — When he's younger, Steven doesn't quite know how to label the Gems.

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: Icarus, and the Fire

Author: @thatsrightdollface

For: @bebexox4

Pairings/Characters: Hajime Hinata/Nagito Komaeda.  Other characters mentioned.

Rating/Warnings: T.Self-deprecating/self-destructive thoughts.  Religious and folklore-based imagery.  Mentions of ritual sacrifice.  Non-graphic descriptions of canon-typical violence.

Prompt: Chapter 5 Angst with happy post game ending (I hate sad endings :( ) Arguably, the second part of this could be used for your third prompt, “Post-game romantic confessions under moonlight,” too!  To a degree.

Author’s notes:  Hello – I really hope you enjoy this gift!!!  It’s the second prompt of two you can expect for this season’s Komahina Secret Exchange.  I hope you’re having a great day and doing as well as possible.  Thank you, again!!!

Just before Nagito Komaeda died, the fire reaching for him seemed ruinously golden, bright and hot as the sun, and he heard Hajime Hinata’s voice from the door of the plushie factory.  Of course his killing game classmates would get the fire extinguisher grenades before the flames properly ate at Nagito’s skin, catching on the ragged edges of his coat.  Nibbling at his hair.  Of course.  The fire wasn’t what was supposed to kill him, technically, according to the plan he’d dreamt up like a prayer, falling to his dirty knees at Hope’s feet.  This was an offering.

Nagito knew he was going to die here, however it happened, and he only had a few breaths left.  They were smothered, horrible breaths, too, and the world smelled like so much burning fabric.  Nagito’s mind was smoke and pain, pain like static, straining to hear Hajime’s voice before the end.  Why Hajime Hinata?  He was the enemy; he was a Remnant of Despair; he was the only one of Nagito’s killing game classmates he absolutely knew he couldn’t trust.  Hajime had been the sole survivor when the entire talentless Hope’s Peak Academy Reserve Course was lost…  a different ritual offering, you know, but this time to the stiletto-heeled, snickering Goddess of Despair.  Junko Enoshima.  Nagito saw Hope as something greater than all things…  something to make this whole world worth it…  and he was offering himself to Hope, just now.  This was different.  This was what he’d decided — no, what he knew — had to be done.

It was terrible luck to be caught in Junko Enoshima’s killing game…  truly, just awful.  But it was an amazing opportunity, too.  From despair came Hope, after all — that’s what Nagito had been preaching to everybody here on Jabberwock Island, and that’s what he had to believe with his whole soul or else how could he have ever made it this far?  Hah.  It was simple, really.  One of Nagito’s classmates was a member of the Future Foundation, even if they didn’t realize it yet, and only that one person among them all hadn’t become one of Junko Enoshima’s monsters.  And so, you see?  It was wonderful luck, now, that Nagito could save that single near-holy classmate, even if it meant he and everything else on this island went up in flames.  Hajime Hinata, too.  Even if it meant this might be one of the last times Hajime spoke outside of a class trial — with Nagito straining to listen, even if he willed himself not to, even if he knew he shouldn’t want to hear.

Hajime’s laughter, self-conscious chuckles in the back of his throat.  Hajime’s indignant, baffled exclamations, trying to keep the peace among their group…  Hajime��s earnest frustration, struggling to understand Nagito even when everyone else they knew here had given up.  Hajime’s voice could get so stumbling and soft, when he and Nagito were reading together on the beach; Hajime had ridden the island’s rollercoaster with some of their classmates a while back, and Nagito had been able to pick his whooping scream out from everybody else’s.  He’d listened for it, then, too.  

It had been wonderful luck to meet Hajime Hinata.  Nagito would have told you that from the first time they spoke.  Hajime was earnest and warm, and it had been easy to walk beside him.  They could slide together almost like friends, at first, before the killing game really got going.  Unspeakable, wasn’t it, that someone would actually want a friend like Nagito Komaeda?  And yet, it had been true: Hajime’s eyes had relaxed a little, finding him, and Nagito had felt his lips curl up into a soft smile even when he had no right to it.

It didn’t really feel like that long ago, with Hajime shaking even more sand out of his shoes and Nagito frantically scanning his mind for interesting things they could talk about.  Sometimes Nagito would ramble on sing-song tangents for way longer than he’d meant to, and he truly believed Hajime tried to hear every word.  That was a new feeling.  There was no one else Nagito would have wanted squeezing his hand as he lay limp in yet another hospital bed, sick with the killing game’s Despair Disease.  Nagito’s hand would have been sweat-sticky and feverish, but maybe if he’d understood…  maybe if he’d stayed…  Hajime wouldn’t have minded.  He could’ve washed his own hands afterwards, even, and then just sat on a chair by Nagito’s bed if he was alright with that.  Would he have been alright with that?

Things had changed, even before Nagito reached the Final Death Room and the wicked truths inside.  Who Hajime was.  The Hope’s Peak Reserve Course.  All that.  Hajime’s eyes were tired and beseeching, watching Nagito like he might be important to him, sure, but also like he might slide a knife out of his sleeve at any second.  They hadn’t understood each other yet, but even so it had been one of Nagito’s luckiest moments, falling into step beside Hajime Hinata.  And so, logically, it had been one of Nagito’s unluckiest moments when he realized Hajime wasn’t the one he would have to save.  

Hajime had tried to confess to the “crime” of belonging to the Future Foundation, because he thought maybe it would save their friends’ lives.  Nagito had said he wished he could believe him, and that thought was grabbing at him, even now, hot against his skin as the flames. What if Hajime could be kept safe? What if Hajime could stand for Hope, too, and they might both have statues set up somewhere grand, reborn in beatific metals?  Reborn from fire.  But of course, Nagito’s luck wouldn’t let him stay close to someone like Hajime, someone who made him feel solid and nearly steady inside.  Fortune and tragedy were two sides of the same coin: Nagito had always known that.  He was the Ultimate Lucky Student, after all, and his luck was ridiculous.  His luck was easy to see as something mythic, from time to time, when it made him feel as helpless as he felt just now.  

Let’s say Nagito’s luck was like the story of Icarus, this time.  Whenever he got too happy — whenever he wandered endlessly high, too close to the sun — of course his wax wings would melt, next, and he could do nothing but fall.  

Nagito had let himself fall in love with the hope sleeping inside Hajime Hinata, and now he would die with ash in his hair, cheeks sticky with tears.  Of course he’d taped over his mouth so no one could hear him scream when it happened.  Whatever Nagito’s last words would have been, no one could hear them.  If Hajime was the sun — just as good luck was the sun, shall we say? — Nagito had wax dripping down his back in oily bubbling rivers, now.  He should have known…  no, he had always known…  this was the most he could have hoped for.  Nagito was a stepping stone for Hope.  Wasn’t that enough?  

And so why was he listening for Hajime Hinata’s voice, up until the end of things, even as he clutched that final-death spear of his so tight, even as he reminded himself this would all be worth it soon?  Alright then.  And so what if he was?  What next?  Maybe the Ultimate Lucky Student was like Icarus again, enjoying the sunlight on his skin even once the fall had already begun, and the world below was hurtling closer all the time.    

***

Later.

Much later.

Nagito Komaeda was sitting by a bonfire, and tasting smoke in the air again.  Everything was different, this time, of course.  The fire was crackling golden, true, but it was cozy in the dark of a starstruck Jabberwock Island night, and if Nagito fell back there was someone close enough to catch him.  No killing game plots, no burning plushie factory curtains.  Hajime Hinata was near enough that Nagito could feel the sand rustle beneath them both as he shifted, gesturing with his hands as he spoke to their classmates.  No, not their classmates — they were the former Remnants of Despair, all of them left behind, and they hadn’t been a “class” in a long time.  Their “friends,” then?  Nagito was huddled in close, part of the circle, and when he’d hung back at the edge of things too long it had been Hajime who pulled him in.  Hajime, with a soft hand on his back.  Hajime, who murmured, “Sit by me?” into the curve of Nagito’s cheek, breath against his neck.  

And so Nagito was here, watching the other former Remnants of Despair burn campfire wood by the edge of the sea.  The sparks drifting over that dark water reminded him of faraway fireworks, and… despite everything that had happened…  it did feel like they should be celebrating.  Nagito and his teammates had their minds back, and they belonged to each other so much more completely than they had ever belonged to despair.  (Or, so Hajime had told them during one of those rallying pep talks of his — he’d been looking straight into Nagito’s eyes as he said that part, and Nagito had swallowed hard.  Aching to believe him.)

The Remnants of Despair had helped the Future Foundation put an end to a despair-inducing mind control video not too long ago, and then they’d come back here, to where their second chances began.  It had all been so much to wrap their heads around…  the killing game being a simulation, for one, and all of them being criminals the Ultimate Hope was defying his higher-ups to rehabilitate.  The only Future Foundation member hidden among them had been an AI, after all, a shadow of their friend who had died at despair’s hand so long ago.  But the Ultimate Hope… Makoto Naegi…  believed in all of them, and Nagito had been able to shake his hand, once.  It had been broad and warm, so different than Nagito’s own pale spindly fingers, crisscrossed with scars his relentless luck left behind.  

The Ultimate Hope had asked why Nagito’s hand was so sticky; the Ultimate Hope had fought to keep the people Nagito tried to execute for Hope’s sake kicking around in the world.  The Ultimate Hope shared his title with Hajime Hinata, now, some people said.  That had been a lot to try and comprehend, too…  that Hajime, reinvented with every talent under the sun, godlike and impossible, could still be so much like he was before.  It was oddly comforting, smelling his cheap shampoo, imagining reaching out to play with his spiky hair.  They could sit in silence, together, and Nagito could almost forget there was no reason Hajime should ever want to spend time with him.  It had been Hajime who’d fought to piece Nagito’s brain back together after the simulation…  it had been Hajime who refused to leave him behind, and built him a mechanical arm to replace the one that was… ah…  gone, now.  Looking at Hajime for too long was like staring into the sun, nowadays: it burned Nagito’s eyes worse than the salt wind over the ocean.  But that mostly meant Nagito had something to say to him…  that mostly meant Nagito might cry, if he thought too hard about what it would have been like if his plan had gone exactly as he thought it needed to go.

“I’m glad you aren’t dead, Hajime Hinata,” might have been a good place to start.  “Seeing you work for Hope’s sake is amazing, but even if you weren’t — even if you were still a talentless nobody from the Reserve Course — I’m so glad I was wrong and you aren’t dead.”

It could’ve been Hajime already knew those words were waiting on the tip of Nagito’s tongue.  He kept offering his hand, after all, and now… sitting by a bonfire on Jabberwock Island, listening to his friends work through where they’d have to go next…  he rubbed Nagito’s shoulder a bit and offered him an exhausted, resolute smile.  They couldn’t stay here long, given that it was only a matter of time before people tracked their boat — given that it was only a matter of time before they were caught, and maybe locked away, maybe killed.  Hajime had vowed to lead the Remnants of Despair around the world, spurring society on towards Hope.  They needed a battle strategy, for something like that.  They needed outrageous, harebrained schemes, kinda like the ones Nagito had come up with during the killing game.  They were going to make something near-holy of themselves yet.

But when Hajime grinned at him, Nagito leaned in closer…  not for Hope’s sake at all, really.  Nagito imagined Icarus again, flying towards the sun even though he knew what could happen.  Nagito dangled on the brink of happiness, shuffling his feet against the edge of the cliff and deciding to let himself feel.  He offered Hajime his own hand, this time, and their fingers twined together against the sand.  Palm trees swayed in a gentle wind; the Ultimate Musician interrupted this planning session to try and start up a campfire sing-along.

“You should be careful, you know,” Nagito whispered, his voice starting up even though he tried to hold it back.  Even though it would ruin this moment, under so many stars, with salty wind in his hair and firelight catching in Hajime’s mismatched eyes.  Red and green, Ultimate Hope and useless Reserve Course student.  “If you let me like you too much, it’ll be dangerous.  My luck…  you know who I am, Hajime.”

You know what I almost did to you…  what I was willing to do to everyone.  You know, you know, you know.  And so why?

Hajime sighed.  He reached out so slowly and brushed a little sand off Nagito’s cheek, there where all the rest of their classmates… friends…  could see them, if they managed to glance away from this sing-along train wreck long enough.  “Yeah, I know who you are,” Hajime said.  And that was all.  He said it in the same sort of voice someone else might have said, “I love you,” Nagito thought.

Maybe it was Hajime who was Icarus after all, in this scenario — maybe they flew towards each other, and if they fell together it would be enough to break the fall.  Soft wax wings and golden light.  Sand and ocean and a million places left to go.

Hajime didn’t pull his hand away, not for a while.  He explained that his fingers had fallen asleep, when he finally did.

[magniloquent-raven]

for the I Love You prompts: harringrove, 20) “You can borrow mine.”

thank you so much for the prompt!!! hope u enjoy what i did with it lol

posted on ao3

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It’s been two years since the Hargrove-Mayfield family moved to Hawkins, and Billy is still here. He never planned on staying this long—in fact, he started coming up with an escape route the second his boots hit the ground, and yet…

Well, plans change. He didn’t plan on getting stabbed through the chest by a thirty-foot-tall spider demon made of people sludge either, but shit happens. Life happens. Falling in love happens, apparently. Not that Billy thought it would ever happen to him.

But here he is. In Hawkins, Indiana, head-over-fucking-heels, hanging around like a pathetic stray hoping for table scraps of whatever Steve Harrington’s willing to give him. They’re friends now, and Billy’s savouring every moment he can, while it lasts.

Steve asked him, one afternoon, why he was still here. “Figured you’d take off after graduation is all. Hawkins doesn’t exactly have much worth hanging around for,” he’d laughed, a little self-deprecating. “Besides, uh, a lot of bad memories here. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave.”

And Billy hadn’t known what to say. Muttered something about sticking around for Max, which wasn’t exactly a lie, but wasn’t anywhere close to the whole truth.

He spends a whole lot of time in that grey area. Weaving just enough reality into his cover-stories to make them solid enough to hide behind. It’s fucking exhausting. And sometimes a dangerous line to walk.

Especially since Steve seems to buy into his bullshit less and less lately.

Maybe it’s the fact that dying and coming back changes your perspective a bit, or hanging around Steve so much is making him soft, or some combo of both, but he’s starting to wonder if maybe he could let go of it entirely, and just…live honestly.

Which isn’t an option, not really. But sometimes, in the small moments when Steve smiles at him and the weight on his shoulders doesn’t feel as heavy, he thinks maybe, maybe, it could be. And it scares him a little. How much he wants it to be an option.

It’s a cold evening in mid-November the first time he really slips.

They’re at Robin’s house, of all places. Despite Billy’s jealousy over the closeness of her and Steve’s friendship, he gets along with Robin. Almost too well, according to Steve.

So, it’s a thing. All three of them hanging out at her place.

Her dad makes awesome mac n’ cheese. Her mom is friendly, but not too friendly. And they let Robin hang out in her room with two boys without making a huge fuss about it.

It’s nice.

Billy almost makes it through the whole evening without doing something stupid, but then Steve (somehow) spills an entire can of Coke on his jacket, and Billy opens his big mouth without thinking.

“You can borrow mine.”

The thing is…Billy doesn’t really get cold anymore. He gets warm still. Way too easily. Sometimes he’ll bundle up just to remind himself he can get warm without it hurting. Without the thing inside him dying of it and destroying him in the process. So, he still wears jackets, sweaters, whatever-- probably more often than he used to, actually-- but he doesn’t need them.

Sometimes he wonders if one day he’ll freeze to death without noticing, or if frostbite isn’t a thing for him anymore. He hasn’t had the balls to test it.

Either way it’s like the world’s dumbest super power. Just another thing reminding him of shit he doesn’t want to remember.

Steve is staring at him. At the jacket in his hand. It’s his leather one. The one Max bought for him after he came back from the hospital. She’d wrapped it up all pretty with a bow and note that said “glad you didn’t die” in purple ink. Susan was mortified when she noticed it but Billy laughed so hard he nearly busted his stitches. 

He’s worn the jacket almost every day since. 

Robin is staring too, with a weird, calculating look in her eye, and he doesn’t like it.

“I…” Steve’s gaze wavers, flickering between Billy’s face and his hand again, “I can just—”

“Just take it, Harrington,” Billy interrupts, hoping the gruffness covers for how pink his cheeks are. He tosses the jacket, and Steve catches it reflexively, still looking at it like he’s not sure it’s real.

“Are you sure?”

Is he sure. That he wants to know what Steve looks like in his jacket? Yes. That he wants anyone else to know that? No.

Billy shrugs, aiming for non-committal. “Not like I need it,” he gestures vaguely towards himself, “Not entirely human anymore, remember?” Bitterness creeps into his tone without his permission.

“Hey,” Steve admonishes. Quietly, softly, but still a reprimand. His eyes are wide, concerned. Billy tries to wave him off, but Steve shakes his head and takes a step closer. “Don’t do that. You’re not a monster.”

“I—” he can’t hold eye contact anymore, not with Steve looking at him like that. He stares at the ugly yellow carpet beneath his feet instead. “Didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did,” Steve responds immediately, tone firm and direct. Because he knows. Knows Billy better than anyone has in a long time. Which is saying something, because Billy is friends with a girl who’s literally been inside his head.

It makes Billy want to curl up in a hole somewhere and never speak again. Run as far as he can. Cry ‘til he can’t anymore. Break shit. Blow up his life and start over. Being known feels so foreign, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

But under that there’s something delicate, warm and fragile, tentative. He’s afraid to get near it. Like it’ll disappear if he looks too closely. Shatter into pieces if he tries to bring it out of hiding.

“Alright. Alright, fine,” Billy mutters weakly. “But just… wear the jacket, okay? Really. I don’t need it. Besides, it’d look good on you.”

Whoops.

Somewhere off to the side Robin makes a small, amused sound, and alarm bells go off in Billy’s head. But before he can completely panic, backpedal and pretend he was joking despite sounding entirely sincere, Steve grins.

They’ve been friends for over a year now and Billy’s world still stops for a moment when Steve smiles at him.

And then he puts the jacket on and…

Wow.

Okay.

Billy has always liked looking at Steve. He’s never really hidden that fact, just banked on nobody figuring out the why of it. He’s aware-- painfully aware-- that Steve is incredibly gorgeous. 

But this is...

This just isn’t fair.

Steve looks a little sheepish, and stuffs his hands in his pockets, hair falling in his eyes when he ducks his head. And he’s blushing. It’s faint, barely-there, just a light pink tinge to his cheeks that nobody would’ve noticed if they weren’t paying close attention, which. Well. Billy is. 

He wants to feel it under his palms, feel the warmth of it. Wants to know if he can make that blush spread, see how far it would go, chase that heat with his mouth, drop to his knees and watch Steve come undone. He wants--

So much.

He’s sure it’s written all over his face, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Well?” Steve raises his eyebrows, grin turning teasing as he spreads his arms, glancing down at himself pointedly. 

Billy clears his throat. Blinks. “Suits you,” he answers after a too-long pause. 

“Can we go now?” Robin interjects, rolling her eyes. Her tone is more fond than exasperated, but Billy still flinches a little.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, gaze flicking over to Steve for a second before he looks back at Robin. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He “forgets” to ask for his jacket back before he goes home that night. There’s no guarantee that Steve would wear it again, but Billy can hope. 

And for once in his life, he gets what he wants. Steve starts wearing it all the time. But Billy’s starting to see why people say “be careful what you wish for” because the whole situation is a very mixed blessing. 

He keeps catching Robin giving him weird looks, and, really, he can’t blame her because he’s been so unsubtle lately, it’s embarrassing. And terrifying. Because it’s going to get him noticed by the wrong person someday. 

But he can’t fucking help it, not when Steve’s walking around looking like that. 

Though, Steve’s been acting odd too. Staring at Billy when he thinks no one’s looking, face all pinched and thoughtful. It’s getting worrying. 

Then one afternoon Billy walks into Family Video and Steve pulls him into the back room. No hello or anything, just a hand around Billy’s wrist and a determined set to his jaw. 

He locks the door behind them.

“Steve?”

“I talked to Max this morning.” 

“O...kay?”

Steve sighs, runs a hand through his hair. His other hand is still wrapped around Billy’s wrist. “She said. Um. That jacket was a gift?”

Oh.

Shit.

“Yeah, so?” Billy flinches at his own tone but Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. His grip tightens, fingertips pressed to Billy’s skin hard enough to feel his pulse pounding. 

Steve takes a step forward. They’re close enough that Billy can see the purple shadows under Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t get enough sleep. Always asking Billy if he’s still having nightmares, never worrying about his own. Billy’s heart aches, and he hopes Robin will take care of Steve if this conversation ends his and Steve’s friendship. Someone needs to look after this boy if Billy isn’t there to do it. 

He hates that thought.

“So, I… Billy, why’d you give it to me?”

“Because…” Panic hits him hard, belatedly, as he tries to imagine actually answering that question. His stomach clenches, flips, and he curls in on himself. “Because you needed it,” he finishes lamely. 

But of course Steve sees through him, of course he does. “Really?” Steve sighs, rolling his eyes.

“What do you want from me, Steve?” Billy snaps, nervous energy making him jittery, he feels cornered, caught up in all the ways this could blow up in his face, trapped. He calms down a smidge when regret hits him, and he takes a breath, hates himself a little for snapping. 

“I want you to tell me it meant something, asshole.”

Billy freezes. 

He looks up at Steve, really looks at him, sees tension in his shoulders, the nervous twist of his mouth, uncertainty in his eyes. 

Oh.

“You...really?” Billy breathes, quietly, terrified of shattering the moment. “It does--it--it did, I--” Words have never failed him so completely. He used to be good at this. It would be utterly mortifying if not for the sweet smile spreading across Steve’s face. He’s strangely okay with making a fool of himself if it means Steve looking at him like that. “I wanted…” he squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself, “I wanted to take care of you. I always...want that. You needed something and I--I’d give you anything--” 

Steve’s hands are warm. He cradles Billy’s face gently, so careful, and tilts his face upwards until Billy meets his eyes. 

“Anything?” 

Well. No turning back now. Might as well embrace this whole honesty thing. “Yeah, pretty boy. Anything. Besides, you look hot as fuck in leather.”

Steve grins at that, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he lets out a huff of a delighted laugh. “In that case, I’m gonna need you to kiss me--”

He barely has time to finish his sentence before Billy lunges forward, crashing their lips together. It’s messy at first, desperate, Billy’s fingers threaded through Steve’s hair, pulling him closer. A whine escapes him (that he would deny later) when Steve pulls back, but he’s only gone for a second. He presses forward again, but gentler this time, slow, one hand falling to Billy’s waist and the other sliding to the back of his neck. 

Billy could’ve stayed like this forever, but a loud, insistent knock at the door makes them both jump.

“Steve, I don’t care if you’re mid-BJ right now, it’s my break, and you locked yourself in there with my stuff!” Robin yells through the door. 

Steve rests his forehead against Billy’s shoulder and he muffles a laugh into his shirt. “Goddamnit, Robin,” he mutters, and lifts his head to glare at the door, “Alright!” he calls, then turns to Billy. “To be continued?” There’s a question in his eyes, more than what he’s saying out loud.

Billy brushes a lock of hair from his face, and grins, “Count on it.”

[the-currian]

Could you please do a prompt with "I don't know who to choose" with reader, omi and masumi??

I see you, anon  👀👀👀 This prompt isn’t actually on the list – the closest would be “I don’t know which one to choose.”

If you really meant that prompt, this would be an entirely different scenario. But since I thought of a scenario already when I saw the prompt you sent in, I’ll let it slide…

But for future reference, please follow the rules of the posts I make, everyone!

Anyway, I’m not mad. I just wanna stick to the rules of my blog^^

Also, I’m gonna assume Year 3 ages so this will be less squicky for me. Therefore, Omi is 22 and Masumi is 18.

“I don’t know.” Ideas

“I don’t know who to choose.”

Your sketchbook was settled securely on your lap as you perched upon a fountain, lost in the scenery around you at the local park. As you try your best to commit the image to paper, your mind registers the faint shutter sound of a camera in the background. Used to hearing the sound around the scenic park, you pay no heed to it and continue to sketch. Strangely, the shutters of the camera slowly become closer and closer. You try your best to ignore it up until the point when the shutters become too close for comfort. Annoyed, you look up to see a (quite attractive) young man standing a few feet away from you sheepishly lower his camera.

“Er… hello…” he greets, trailing off with an awkward laugh.

You narrow your eyes at him and set your sketchbook aside, standing up to stride over and give him a piece of your mind. Probably sensing the aura of righteous fury you radiate, the brown-haired man raises his arms up in surrender as if trying to placate you.

“Wait, wait!” he cries out. “Hey now… let me explain, please.”

‘The audacity…’ you think to yourself but cross your arms expectantly, waiting for his explanation.

“I’m Omi, a photographer and actor.” he says, extending his hand for a handshake. When you refuse to offer your own hand, still pretty pissed at his intrusion of privacy, he pulls his hand back and rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. “So, um… I came to the park looking for still life to photograph, but then you caught my eye and I kinda just thoughtlessly snapped a shot. I’m really sorry –”

“Can I see the picture?” you interrupt.

“Of-of course.” Omi obliges. His cheeks flush in embarrassment, but he dutifully shows you the picture he took of you. You marvel at his use of light, manipulating the angle to catch your sharp features as you appear to be in complete focus, fixated on your own artwork.

“Wow… you made me look great in this photo…”

Omi murmurs something that you don’t quite catch but when you ask him to repeat it, he flushes an even darker shade of pink and diverts the conversation to his interest in photography, showing you other shots of the still life that he claimed to be taking pictures of earlier. You find yourself drawn in by the passion glowing in his eyes as he talks about the photos.

Over the course of your conversation, the two of you move to one of the parks benches. Mid-sentence, Omi glances at the park’s clock and he pauses.

“Everything alright?” you ask.

“I didn’t realize the time…” Omi replies, looking at you with a troubled gaze.

“Hey, no problem. Don’t let me keep you.”

“But–“

“I frequent this place a lot for inspiration, so I’ll see you around?” you say, standing up. Feeling bold, you give him a playful wink and say, “And next time you want to take a picture of me, just ask! See you soon, Omi!”

You run off without glancing back, a bit embarrassed to find out what his reaction was.

--

Later that week you visit your favorite music store. As you browse through some vintage vinyl, you can feel someone’s eyes on you. You quickly swivel around but find no one else in the aisle with you. Warily, you turn back to the music selection only to feel someone’s presence somewhat uncomfortably close to you.

“You’ve got good taste.”

You jump at the proximity of the stranger’s voice and take a few seconds to calm yourself before facing the guy.

“E-excuse me?”

“I’ve been watching you make your rounds through the store.” He says, absentmindedly twirling the cord of his white headphones. “I prefer post and progressive rock, but I know how to appreciate some of the older gens of music.”

As he goes on, you notice that he slowly inches his hand closer and closer to your face. You close your eyes – in fear? anticipation? – and are surprised to see that he merely pulls out a record from behind you and starts scanning its contents.

‘Weird…’ you think, watching the stranger. ‘But he is kinda cute, I guess…’

Noticing the title on the case of the vinyl, you instantly perk up, forgetting your earlier apprehension.

“Hey, that’s one of my favorites!”

Before you can second guess yourself, you pluck the vinyl out of the stranger’s hands and march over to the store’s vinyl record player. When the stranger fails to follow you, you throw him an expectant glance and he dutifully makes his way over. As you play the record, a smile makes its way onto your face, and you bop your head to the beat. Again, you can feel the stranger’s eyes on you, but this time you pay no heed – actually basking in the attention this time.

“My name is Masumi, by the way.”

You smile at him.

“Nice to meet you, Masumi.”

Before you close your eyes to lose yourself in the vibe of the music, you could’ve sworn you saw a dark blush on Masumi’s cheeks as he stared at you but quickly shoot down that idea.

‘It’s probably nothing…’

--

Weeks pass since the last time you’ve seen those two – admittedly handsome and charming – strangers. Remembering yourself, you shake your head to clear your cloudy thoughts.

‘Focus. You’re here to support Izumi’s play.’ You think to yourself as you take a seat in the packed theater. You review the playbill given to you at the entrance. ‘A mixed troupe play by the Spring and Autumn Troupes, with the leads played by – ‘

Your eyes widen.

‘Omi Fushimi and Masumi Usui?!’

You’re shaken out of your thoughts by Izumi’s voice ringing throughout the theater, announcing the beginning of the play. Sure enough, the two strangers you met earlier this month come out on stage. Thankfully, neither of them seem to be able to see you among the crowded audience.

‘I asked fate to give me a plot twist this month… but not like this!’

--

“Izumi!” you yell your friend’s name, practically barreling her over when you see her after the show. “You did so well!”

“Ahahaha, hello to you, too.” Izumi returns your hug before pulling away. “But you give me too much credit – it’s the actors who carried out the show, after all.”

“Don’t you dare give me that self-deprecation, Tachibana!” you scold, mockingly shaking a fist at her. “The director is just as important as the actors!”

Izumi laughs, waving off your playful anger. “Yes, yes. Come on, I wanna introduce you to the cast.”

Remembering who exactly the lead actors were, your mood quickly turns sour. “Uh, maybe not… I wouldn’t want to bother them right after the show. They need their rest if they want to keep going for the rest of the week.”

“Nonsense!” Izumi says, linking her arm with yours. “Let’s go!”

Izumi whisks you backstage, you desperately trying to escape her grip and trying to make excuses up along the way, but Izumi has none of and before you know it the door to the dressing room is unceremoniously thrown open. Immediately, you can feel several pairs of eyes on you, and are particularly attuned to two of the actors’ gazes which you try your best to avoid.

“Great job, everyone!” Izumi greets, oblivious to the atmosphere in the room. “This is one of my friends from my old theater troupe. They said they really liked your performance, and they’re here – “

“- for me.” Two voices cut in.

Omi and Masumi stare at each other, surprised. A few beats pass and Masumi gets a feral look in his eyes, which Omi meets with a smug smirk. The two quickly make their way over to you and Izumi, who is looking more and more confused by the second.

“I had no idea my favorite muse would be coming to watch our show.” Omi says with a cheeky wink. “If I had known you were interested in theater, I would’ve invited you myself.”

Before you can reply, Masumi butts in.

“Your favorite muse?” Masumi sneers condescendingly at the older man. As Masumi focuses his gaze on you and Izumi, his entire demeanor does a 180.

“My angel of music here obviously heard about me being the lead and came over to see me. How kind of you to bring them backstage, director. You’re the best. How about the two of you join me for dinner?” Masumi says, outstretching his hands to the both of you. Beside you, Izumi sighs but seems to be accustomed to Masumi’s antics.

Omi gently nudges Masumi to the side, offering his own hand. “Oh, but it wouldn’t be fair to split your attention between the director and your… angel of music, now would it, Masumi? How about you take the director out to dinner, while I go to dinner with – “

As the two men bicker, you shoot a desperate look at Izumi, who seems to finally have a grasp on the situation. Looking at the men’s hands offered to you in invitation, you feel an internal struggle rise.

‘I…I don’t know who to choose!’

Mercifully, Izumi finally comes to her senses and comes to your rescue, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“How about we go with the whole cast in celebration for a successful opening night?” Izumi says, more of a command than a question. The two men immediately stop their argument and defer to their director, but both have pouts on their faces, brows furrowed.

You and Izumi walk out of the theater, arms linked. Omi and Masumi are close behind the two of you, with the rest of the cast leisurely trailing after. As you chat with Izumi, she suddenly looks back with a stern expression. Omi gives a kind, but obviously strained, smile in response, while Masumi does his best to school his face into an innocent expression. You and Izumi glance at each other and sigh.

‘This is gonna be a long night…’

[emospritelet]

Desperation 15/16

Oh, don’t mind if I do! As soon as you sent me this prompt I knew how I was going to write it :))

This chapter is also dedicated to @timelordthirteen​, who made this wonderful aesthetic post for this fic and has been patiently waiting for these two to touch :)

[AO3]

Oh, the rating went up 

x 

Belle wrapped the robe she was wearing around herself a little tighter, looping the belt tight as Gold closed down the laptop and shoved the pad containing his budget notes into one of the kitchen drawers. She took two wine glasses from the cupboard as he rummaged around on one of the higher shelves in the larder, finally taking down a bottle of red wine. He held it up, looking uncertain. A stylised black cat with a curling tail was on the label, looking out with tilted green eyes.

“I’ve no idea what it’s like,” he said. “Not exactly a connoisseur. I’m guessing it’ll be red and fairly alcoholic. Aftertaste of wine.”

Belle giggled.

“Can’t ask much more than that,” she said. “Besides, it has a black cat on it. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Gold’s eyebrow twitched, and she felt her mouth drop open as she realised what she’d said.

“Uh - I - I meant with the taste,” she said lamely, and his eyes gleamed as he tried to hide a smile.

“Well, let’s hope so.” He stepped past her, reaching into one of the drawers for a corkscrew. “Come on, let’s take this through to the lounge.”

She waited for him to uncork the bottle, following him through to the lounge and setting the glasses on the coffee table before turning on the lamps. Gold eased himself onto the couch, picking up the glasses one by one and pouring wine into them.

“Cheers,” he said, raising his glass, and she smiled, sitting down next to him and picking up her own.

“Cheers.”

They clinked glasses, and Belle took a sip. The wine was pleasant enough as far as she could tell, its warmth spreading down her throat as she swallowed.

“Considering my sense of taste has all but disappeared, it seems pretty good,” she said, and Gold nodded.

“Honestly, it’s so long since I had a drink, anything would taste good,” he said. “But I’ve definitely had worse.”

He took another sip, and settled back against the cushions with a sigh as he relaxed a little, stretching his legs out.

“How long is it since you just kicked back with a glass of wine?” she asked.

“Probably New Year’s Eve,” he admitted. “Didn’t stay up until midnight, or anything. Bae and I had been to Granny’s New Year’s party, but I had a glass of wine when  he went to bed, and I drank the last of the whisky I had. Sat here in silence and thought about the year that had gone and the one that was to come.”

“I have to say that my New Year’s Eve was similar,” she remarked. “Only with far more alcohol and many more regrets.”

Gold chuckled, taking a sip of wine.

“I was thinking it would be a good year,” he said. “A better year. Didn’t see any of this coming, of course.”

“None of us did,” she said. “Although I have to say this whole experience has made me reevaluate things. Think about what’s important in life.”

“Has it made you regret coming to Storybrooke?” he asked. “You would have had more freedom to move around if you’d stayed in the city, I imagine.”

“Oh, I could never regret coming here,” she said at once. “It’s a wonderful town; admittedly I haven’t seen all that much of it yet, but it certainly seems wonderful. And coming here just before a crisis hits, being a relative stranger in this place - well, it’s made me realise how much strength and compassion there is out there. And how important it is to have a community. To belong.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “This town certainly pulls together in a crisis. And you do belong, Belle. You’re one of us now.”

She smiled at him, and there was a comfortable silence as they drank their wine. It had made her cheeks flush a little, and by the time she finished the glass she was feeling a gentle buzz from the alcohol. Gold took her empty glass, setting it on the table beside his own and pouring them another. 

“Did Bae say anything to you earlier?” he asked. “He seems a little down today.”

“Oh.” Belle chewed her lip. “Yeah. He was talking about his mom.”

“Ah.” Gold nodded. “Yes. He mentions her less than he once did, but I’m sure he still misses her.” 

“He told me about the last time they spoke,” she said, picking up her glass. “He said she promised to visit and bring presents, but she never showed up.”

Gold gave her a thin, bitter smile.

“No,” he said. “He must have asked me when she was coming fifty times over that Christmas period. I didn’t have an answer.”

“And you haven’t heard from her since?” asked Belle.

“A couple of postcards, gushing about how wonderful it was to travel,” he said dryly. “Full of empty promises about how she would come and see him and tell him all about what she’d been doing. The last one of those was over two years ago. I don’t even know if she’s still alive, and frankly I don’t care.”

He hung his head a little, his mouth flattening as he turned the glass between his fingers.

“That sounds bad, doesn’t it?” he said quietly. “I don’t - I don’t wish her harm, I just - she hurt Bae a lot by breaking her promises all the time. She always said she loved him, and that she’d keep in touch, and it just - never seemed to happen. I’d get him ready for a weekend with her, and she’d be late, or she just wouldn’t show at all.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry.” Belle wrinkled her nose. “Poor little Bae. That must have been so hard on him.”

“Sometimes I think it might have been better if she’d said straight out that she didn’t want any access,” he said. “Just left him with me when he was born and gone and lived her own life. At least then he wouldn’t have missed her. Still. Hindsight, and all that.”

“Maybe she wanted to try to do the right thing,” ventured Belle, and he shrugged.

“Maybe,” he said. “She made enough of a point of wanting access in the divorce, but perhaps that was just because she wanted to create some drama, I don’t know.”

“So she has your address?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” he said dryly. “I made sure she always knew how to contact him. As much as I could. Last time she wrote to him, she said she was taking a boat out to the Caribbean. God alone knows where she ended up.” 

He ran a hand through his hair, huffing air through his lips.

“God, I’m sorry to rant about my ex. I’ve never really had the chance to do it before. Wouldn’t be fair to do it in front of Bae.”

“I think he’s forming his own opinion of her, anyway,” said Belle, and he nodded.

“Perhaps he is. Not much I can do about it either way, it’s up to her to make their relationship work. If she’s interested.”

“You think she’ll ever come back?” she asked, and he pulled a face.

“In the absence of needing a kidney or something?” he said, making her grin. “If I had to put money on it I’d say it’s unlikely.”

There was silence for a moment. Gold took a swallow of wine, shaking his head as though freeing himself from the ghosts of his past.

“What about you?” he asked. “Any depressing relationship failures you want to tell me about?”

Belle pulled a face.

“Mostly a long list of failed first dates,” she said. “A couple of relationships, but nothing that got too serious. Sometimes I think I’m cursed. Or too picky, one of the two.”

“You should be picky,” he said. “No sense in settling for less than you deserve. You deserve the best, Belle. You deserve to be happy.”

“So do you.”

Gold inclined his head.

“I am happy,” he said. “Most of the time. You know, when there isn’t a deadly pandemic and the threat of financial ruin hanging over the town.”

He sent her a grin, to lighten the statement, and Belle smiled, taking another drink.

“Have you dated much since you got to Storybrooke?” she asked, and he snorted.

“No. Haven’t had time to think about it. Despite Granny doing her best to set me up with every single woman that visits the diner.”

“Sounds like the potential for a bunch of dates as awful as mine was,” she said. “My friend Ariel kept arranging blind dates for me back when I was living in Boston. Unfortunately Ariel’s idea of a hot date and mine just - well, they don’t really match up.”

“I daresay she and Granny would get along well,” he remarked, and Belle giggled.

“Well meaning and wonderful but really missing the mark,” she said.

“God bless ‘em.”

He raised his glass, and she clinked her own against his, still chuckling.

“It hasn’t put you off relationships entirely, then?” she said. “Getting divorced?”

Gold eyed her for a moment, and shrugged.

“No, I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “I haven’t become bitter and cynical, no matter how badly things ended with Milah. No matter how badly they began.”

Belle turned towards him, drawing her knees up onto the couch.

“You were married,” she said. “You must have cared about each other once.”

“We married because of Bae,” he said wearily. “I wanted to do the right thing, give us some stability. But yes, I suppose we did care. She told me she loved me, anyway. In the beginning.”

“Perhaps she did.”

He gave her a tiny, twisted smile.

“Perhaps,” he said. “For a time.”

“What happened?” asked Belle softly, and he sighed.

“We wanted different things out of life,” he said simply. “And the things she wanted, I couldn’t give her. Things weren’t great to begin with, but then I did this.” He tapped his bad leg. 

“How did you do it?” she asked curiously, and he pulled a face.

“One of my jobs in New York was a courier,” he said. “Motorcycle courier. Had an accident. Caught a wheel on a patch of fuel and took a trip under a truck. Lucky to come out of it with just a busted ankle.” 

Belle winced.

“God, that sounds awful. I’m sorry.”

“Is what it is,” he said, and took another swallow of wine. “Made things impossible between us, though. I hadn’t been much of a catch beforehand, but with a limp and a cane…” He gave her a self-deprecating grin, shrugging.

“You broke up, huh?” said Belle, and he nodded.

”She grew - resentful,” he said. “Restless. It was only a matter of time, really, the accident just made it happen sooner. She wanted money, good times, new places and new people every month. She never wanted the life I could give her. Such as it was.”

“You’re a very generous person,” she told him, and he smiled.

“With what?” he said. “I have nothing to offer. As she told me repeatedly.”

“Don’t say that,” she said firmly, and he shrugged.

“It’s true,” he said. “Milah wasn’t wrong about the facts, however cruel she might have been in the delivery. I have no money. No prospects. Nothing but the skills I’ve taught myself.”

“And a kind and generous nature, and a sense of humour, and a selfless heart…”

Gold chuckled, eyes glinting in amusement.

“You make me sound like a Jane Austen heroine.”

“Take it as a compliment.”

“Oh, I will,” he remarked. “I suppose there’s a lot to be said for trying to be kind in the face of adversity. However unheroic and unmasculine it might be considered by some.”

“As a librarian, I’m qualified to tell you that here are many different types of hero,” she said. “Besides, who cares about money and - and wild parties and things? None of that means anything. Not compared to family and belonging and making a life together. Milah was wrong to think it did.”

“Well, like I said.” His tone was wry. “We wanted different things.”

There was silence for a moment, and Belle took a drink, watching as the light caught on Gold’s hair, picking out gold and silver threads in amongst the brown. He glanced across at her, licking a droplet of wine from his lip, and she thought how handsome he was in the warm light, with his high cheekbones and his soft eyes, long fingers tapping against the wine glass. 

Another drink, the heat of the wine in her mouth, on her tongue. Gold took a sip of his own, lean throat bobbing as he swallowed. There were tiny flecks of new stubble on his jaw, and she licked her lips, wondering how rough it would feel, enjoying the sudden tug of desire deep in her belly. She had been analysing what she felt for him for several days, the growing fondness for his gentle ways and his kind nature, the attraction that pooled and swelled and made her heart thump. She wondered how it would feel to have him touch her. How he would taste if she kissed him.

Belle put down her glass, taking a deep breath, her skin tingling.

“So you said Milah left when Bae was four,” she said, and he nodded, glancing across at her as he took a drink.

“That’s right,” he said, setting down his glass.

“And since then, you’ve loved no one,” she said softly. “And no one has loved you.”

Gold stared at her for a moment, as though he was unsure what she had said, then slowly leaned forward, the couch squeaking a little as he moved. He was very close, and she could feel her breath quicken as his eyes bored into hers.

“Why did you stay with me?” he whispered, and she swallowed, the tip of her tongue wetting her lips.

“I - I wanted to help,” she said. “I thought - I thought you needed me.”

He lifted a hand, his movements hesitant, seeming to catch himself momentarily before gently cupping her cheek, his fingers sliding across her skin. Belle sucked in a breath at his touch, her heart thumping, and as uncertainty flickered across his face she put a hand over his, holding him there. He leaned in a little closer, until she could feel his cool breath against her lips.

“I do need you,” he whispered. “I need you, Belle.”

“I need you, too,” she breathed. “And - and I want you, Rum. So much.”

It was as though sparks were dancing between them, making her skin prickle and her lips part. His breathing had hardened a little, and his eyes were dark and deep, staring into hers. She could feel her pulse throbbing high in her throat, and she leaned in and briefly pressed her mouth to his, a gentle brush of soft lips. Gold sucked in a breath, a shiver going through him, and she kissed him again, lips pressing a little harder before she pulled back. He was staring at her wide-eyed, his palm still cupping her face, and he reached up with the other hand, fingertips brushing stray curls back from her face as he leaned in to kiss her again.

He was hesitant, a little breathless, his lips brushing gently against hers, his fingers sliding into her hair. Belle shifted closer, hands dropping to slide around his waist, and she moaned as the tip of his tongue gently parted her lips, pushing inside to stroke against hers.

Belle shifted closer, pushing him back against the cushions as the kiss deepened. Her heart was thumping, her cheeks flushing as their lips slipped and slid, Gold’s fingers stroking against the nape of her neck, tangling in her hair. She slid a knee across his legs, straddling him, and his hands moved down her back, tugging her close against him as he let out a groan of pleasure. She could feel the edge of his belt buckle against her lower belly, and she rolled her hips, sinking down a little and feeling the hard line of his cock pressing against her core. Gold gasped into her mouth, hot breath and wet lips against hers, and pulled back a little, breathing hard.

Belle nuzzled her nose with his, and he reached up to stroke her hair back from her face, running his thumb over her lower lip, his hands trembling a little. She kissed the tip of his thumb, catching his eyes with hers, her chest heaving as she slid her hands up his chest. He shook his head.

“I feel like I’m dreaming,” he whispered, and she smiled.

“Did you dream about this?”

“Too many times,” he breathed. “I never thought - never hoped you might—”

She kissed him again, and he let out a low growl, his hand clutching at her hair as the kiss grew hard and messy. His chest was hot and firm beneath her hands as they slid upwards, his hair just as soft as she had expected. She pulled her mouth from his, sitting back a little as she tried to catch her breath.

“Take me to bed,” she whispered.

He stared at her, his mouth a little slack, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth, suddenly uncertain.

“Do you - not want to?” she asked, and Gold’s eyebrows flicked upwards.

“Oh - no no, of course I do,” he said quickly. “It’s just - well - you’re sick.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Just a little tired, that’s all. Going to bed would be the best thing for me, in the circumstances.”

He grinned at that, and inclined his head.

“I can’t argue with that,” he said. “But I didn’t see any condoms in Mayor Mills’ grocery box.”

Belle giggled, and kissed his nose.

“I take birth control,” she said. “So - so we could. If you wanted.”

He smiled briefly, his eyes glinting.

“I want,” he breathed, and kissed her again.

Belle undulated against him, pressing her body to his, feeling the heat of him through his shirt, and his hand dropped to her thigh, sliding upwards, moving over her hip to squeeze her rear. She pulled her mouth free, pressing her forehead to his.

“Bed,” she whispered, and slipped from his lap.

They left the wine, Belle grasping his hand in hers and pulling him with her up the stairs. The lamp was on in the bedroom, a pleasant, warm light, and she shut the door behind him, hoping that Bae was sleeping soundly and wouldn’t decide to wander around in the middle of the night. She stepped forward, reaching for him, and their mouths met, her hands grasping his belt and tugging it open as his hands stroked over her shoulders. Gold pushed the robe from her, and she quickly pulled the belt open and let it fall, stepping closer and rising up on her toes as she pulled her mouth from his and kissed down his neck.

He let out a low groan, head rolling back, and she reached for the buttons of his shirt, eager to open it up and bare his skin. Her hands shook a little as she unbuttoned him, and she trailed her mouth around his throat, breathing in the musky scent of him, feeling the scrape of his stubble against her tender lips. She got the shirt open, tugging it from his jeans, hands sliding over hot, firm muscles as she pushed it from him. Gold shrugged out of it, and she bent her head to his chest, letting her tongue swirl over a taut nipple and making him groan. His skin tasted of salt and very faintly of the shower gel he used. She breathed him in, nuzzling his skin with her nose, and tasted him again, sucking the nipple in between her lips.

Gold ran his fingers through her hair, rumpling her curls as she sucked at him, her tongue circling. His fingers gently scraped against her scalp, making her shiver deliciously, and she slid her hands down his sides, feeling the lines of his ribs, drawing her fingertips around the waistband of his jeans. She let his nipple slip from her mouth and raised her head, breathing hard as she plucked at the button of his fly. Gold cradled her face with warm hands, kissing her tenderly, his lips soft and wet.

She got his jeans open, breaking the kiss as she pushed them down over his hips, and stepped back as he kicked them off. Gold reached for her, hands gently grasping her hips and pulling her a little closer. His thumbs slipped beneath the shirt of her PJs, brushing against the skin of her waist and slowly pushing upwards, lifting the shirt. Belle raised her arms to let him pull it over her head and toss it aside, and she shook out her hair, watching him study her, his eyes roaming over her curves.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful.”

She smiled, reaching for him, stepping close and sliding her hands around his waist as she raised her head to capture his lips with her own. Gold groaned, hands sliding down to cup her rear and pull her close, her breasts pushing against his chest, his skin hot against hers. He pulled his mouth from hers, kissing down her neck, and Belle rose up on her toes with a moan of pleasure. The sensation of his lips against her skin made her shiver, and he pulled back, nuzzling her nose with his as he pushed her pants down over her rear.

Belle stepped out of them, turning and pulling him with her as she lay down on the bed. He stumbled a little, kneeling heavily on the mattress beside her before lying by her side, and Belle shifted over a little, reaching up to kiss him, hands stroking through his hair as he pulled her close. He rolled her onto her back, kissing down her throat, his hair brushing against her chest as he kissed lower, his tongue painting circles on her skin. His hands cupped her breasts, and Belle moaned, arching upwards as he sucked at a nipple, a low groan coming from him.

She let her head roll back against the pillows, eyes closed, enjoying the heat and weight of him pressing down on her, and the feel of his lips against her skin. He kissed lower, his fresh stubble scratching at her belly, and she sucked in a breath as his tongue swept over her navel, lips pulling at her skin. His hands slid down to her thighs, pushing them apart, and she opened her legs wider as his nose brushed against her tender flesh. Gold let out a low growl as he kissed her, and Belle answered him with a tiny cry as his tongue dipped in between her folds. She let her hands drop to push through his hair, moaning as he licked her, his tongue swirling and stabbing, brushing over her clit and making her skin hum with pleasure.

“God, Belle!” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin, and put his mouth to her again, his tongue circling, soft and wet. 

Belle moaned, arching her back, pushing against his mouth. He had settled into a rhythm, his tongue moving in slow circles, and she lost herself in the feel of it, letting the pleasure build deep in her core. His hand moved, a finger teasing her before sliding inside, pushing deep, and Belle gasped at the increase in sensation, her fingers tightening in his hair.

“God, that’s good!” she breathed. “So good.”

He was sliding the finger in and out of her, his tongue stroking against her, and she could feel the heat rise up through her body, flushing her cheeks and making her breath quicken. She whimpered, clutching at his hair, pushing her hips upwards, her body rocking against the bed in time with his thrusts. He had quickened his pace, his tongue flickering over her, and she could feel her muscles tense, her body tightening as her pulse seemed to pound in her head.

She came with a cry, shoving a forearm over her mouth to muffle the noise as a wave of pleasure broke over her. Gold groaned, drawing the finger out of her, his mouth covering her, devouring her, and she moaned as her hips jerked in tiny, rapid movements. He pressed kisses to her, lips trailing over her inner thighs before making his way up over her belly, and she slid her hands over his shoulders as he reached her breasts, his hands cupping, lips gently pulling at a nipple. His body was pressed against hers, and she could feel him against her thigh, a hard, heavy heat that made desire surge within her.

He pushed up on his elbows, breathing hard as he gazed down on her, and she reached up to push his hair back from his face, his skin damp and sticky.

“That was amazing,” she whispered. “You see? Very generous.”

He grinned, his eyes glinting.

“I could be even more generous, if you like.”

“Maybe later,” she said, sliding a hand down between them. “I’m in the mood for something a little more - mutual.”

She grasped his cock, feeling the hot, rigid length of him in her hand, squeezing gently, and Gold groaned low in his throat, a bass, rumbling growl. Belle ran the pad of her thumb over the head, spreading a bead of slippery fluid, and opened her legs a little wider, guiding him into her. His breath caught, the muscles in his arms tightening, and he let out a shuddering sigh as he pushed slowly inside her, sinking deep. She moaned, lifting her knees, sliding her feet along his thighs and up over his rear, wrapping her legs around his back.

He felt good inside her, and she lifted her hips, feeling the heat of him, the friction of his skin against hers as he began to move with long, slow circles of his hips, a rhythmic grinding motion. His hands pushed into her hair, fingers still sticky with her fluids, and he kissed her, his tongue gently pushing between her lips. Belle caressed his shoulders, running fingertips down his sides and up the groove of his spine to stroke through his hair. He shuddered, gasping into her mouth, his hands cradling her face, his lips brushing against hers as he thrust into her.

Belle moaned, head rolling back against the pillows, and he drew his tongue up her throat, sucking at her skin. The feel of him inside her was incredible, heat and wetness and the friction of his body against hers sending bursts of sensation through her. She kissed along his jaw, feeling the rasp of his stubble against her lips, drawing the warm scent of him in through her nose. She could feel bliss rising through her once more, swelling upwards and making her skin hum. Her thighs gripped his sides, sliding against him, holding him tight, and he groaned against her neck, his movements quickening, his cock pushing deep inside her. 

She could feel him tense, his muscles hard and taut beneath her fingers, and she bucked against him, tugging at him, a moan bursting from her throat and becoming a cry of pleasure as she came, stars bursting in her vision. Gold let out a deep groan, his cock pulsing as he followed her, his thrusts rapid and shallow as his hips pumped. She clung to him, letting out tiny moans in time with his thrusts, and he slowed to a stop, breathing heavily, hair brushing her face as he pressed his forehead to hers.

Belle tried to catch her breath, feeling the heat of him against her, perspiration making their skin slippery where their bodies joined. She tilted her head, gently brushing her lips against his, and Gold smiled, nuzzling her affectionately.

“Hey,” he said, and she smiled.

“Hey.”

He kissed along her jaw and down her neck, slowly pulling out of her and rolling onto his side with a heavy sigh. Belle turned with him, sliding a hand over his waist and down over his hip. She felt wonderfully relaxed, her skin still tingling from her orgasm, and Gold was watching her with a tender expression, his eyes heavy with sleepy contentment. She walked her fingers up his body, laying her hand over his heart and feeling its heavy thump against her palm. Gold smiled, putting a hand over hers.

“I’d forgotten how good it feels,” he whispered, sliding his fingers through hers. “To be touched. To touch like this.”

“It’s been a while for me, too,” she said, and his mouth curved in a lopsided grin.

“Has it been six years?”

“Well - okay, maybe not that long,” she admitted, chuckling. “But this was worth the wait.”

“Indeed.” He kissed her gently. “It was perfect.”

“Not bad for a couple of invalids,” she added, and he chuckled, his eyes gleaming.

“I’m still not entirely convinced this isn’t a wonderful dream,” he said. “And when I wake up, I’ll be alone again.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on sleeping on the couch again,” she remarked. “Your bed is too comfy. And way better when you’re in it with me.”

“Good,” he said softly, and kissed her again. “Stay with me tonight, Belle.”

“I’ll stay,” she whispered. “I won’t leave you, I promise.”

[felques]

I’m challenging myself to write more for 2021. I challenged myself to 1000 words any day I didn’t have kendo activities. It’s... I have no idea how well this will go, considering this first day was still really tough to do. I’ll try to post any that are fandom-related.

These likely won’t be edited; aside from format, this is just how I wrote this prompt.

Canon: Tales of Xillia 2 (AU) Prompt/first line: “He was at a crossroads and whichever path he chose would ruin someone's life.” (taken from Squibler)

----------

“He was at a crossroads and whichever path he chose would ruin someone's life.”

Troubling. He had no way to know what the world would think of his decisions. Did he truly care, though? The fact of the matter was that, without these made decisions, there would be no world in which he could have critics. And he was by no means a weak enough man to think that destroying the world was worth it to get rid of any critics he may have. He waged war for another man's vision, after all; he knew very well what it took to shoulder the burdens of eyes and tongues and sneers. In the past, his allies -- his coworkers, his subjects, his followers -- were men and women of different tribes scattered across the the whole of Auj Oule. Now, he could count his allies on a single hand, and that fact alone should probably have troubled him more than it really did.

When one man could shatter the existence of an entire world, did he really need more than a few people beside him?

He thought of the Chimeriad, to whom he had entrusted the protection of Gaius; he knew them to be a strong group, even if Agria was still lacking in experience that he would prefer she had. Perhaps that was why he was glad to give them the opportunity to do different things, even if he suspected there was no little amount of resentment that could grow out of his "abandonment." He did not think of it as abandonment. Perhaps a type of self-exile, if he was feeling particularly self-deprecating. A time of necessary self-reflection, if he was feeling charitable to himself. The world had changed with the coming of the Advent (or the Second Advent of Maxwell, if one truly wished to be accurate to Milla Maxwell's exploits), and he still struggled to make sense of it all.

He admired Gaius' ability to accept this new reality, even as a festering anger within him resented him relenting in the face of Jade Mathis and Maxwell's goals. But perhaps Gaius' strength was only superhuman -- nothing that could withstand the shared dream of a human and spirit both. That in itself was at least progress from how he thought of their win in the weeks following Gaius' loss and the dissolving of the Schism. He was changing and accepting the new reality of the world.

Good. It took over a year, but he was catching up to the others at last.

He grumbled to himself, thrusting his GHS in his pocket and instead reaching into his other to pull out the foreign accessory he had only recently received. The wary look he had received when he picked up the strange pocket watch spoke to the mysteriousness of its existence and the extent to which others were not supposed to know about it; it was only through stern prodding that Julius finally relented and explained what the pocket watch was supposed to be for the Kresnik Clan.

Their strength. Their curse. Their fate.

Horrifying.

He had idly thought of the spirits possibly having cruel intentions in the past, but there had never been proof one way or another until the recent happenings with Maxwell. Now this trial by the Great Spirit Origin seemed to spit in the efforts made by Maxwell and her predecessor, using a tiny sliver of humanity to act of representatives and judge their worthiness to exist.

To exist.

He breathed deep as his head ached with the throbbing feeling of intense disgust that sometimes plagued him. A symptom, Julius had said. A symptom of the end of their world that few could actually see, let alone feel. The wariness with which Julius had explained this “symptom” soon morphed into sympathy.

Feelings that were his own, but not. Warped and twisted into something that could explode should the right person come along with the trigger.

So this intense anger and hatred had some basis in his own feelings, but were exacerbated into something that felt downright murderous at certain times.

As the headache left him, he focused on that fact. No matter how he was frustrated with how things had turned out for himself, he did not place the blame at Gaius’ fault. He did not hate him, let alone want to murder him for his decisions. It was his decision to step away, to allow Ilbert to step up and bring Auj Oule and Rashugal together as best they could.

Even if he was no longer at his side, everything he did was still done with his king’s goals in mind.

The pocket watch in his hand stirred with a power that was undeniable. When he had spoken to Julius of the pocket watch, the chromatus, he had reluctantly explained that the watches were “gifts” from the Great Spirit Chronos that were rarely given to members of the Kresnik Clan at birth as a means to undertake Origin’s Trial. Chromatus bearers were rare enough that the extended Kresnik Clan manipulated each other to better position themselves to be in control of chromatus bearers, with Spirius Corporation being the most recent incarnation of that control.

Chromatus bearers could also use multiple watches to amplify their powers. The pointed way with which Julius divulged that information had led to accusing him of wanting the watch for his own uses. At the time, Julius had not denied his words.

Slowing his breath, he listened to the pocket watch tick. A murmured word, and the ticking increased speed.

Haste.

Another word, and the ticking slowed down dramatically.

Delay.

He was no stranger to the assortment of spirit artes that existed. Some of the spirit arte names seemed to exist as long as spirit channelers did, carried down through the ages through written or spoken word. Some were given names at the discretion of the channeler – usually when the spirit arte took on unique properties apart from those usually taught.

The chromatus told him the words. Channeled the energy to turn the words into reality.

When Julius witnessed the chromatus’ reaction to his words, he rescinded any plans of taking it away. Before his eyes, the other man’s face pinched with concentration as his mind raced.

Channeling artes from a chromatus watch. Impossible. Completely unheard of.

A partnership no one would see coming.

[lampd-intheface]

Sterling Silver

warnings: none

pairings: LAMP, heavy Prinxiety

author's note: this one's based off of a very popular tumblr post (kudos to you if you recognize it) but i can't seem to find who to credit for that? either way, i just really wanted to write smth smth for the vampire au since a lot of you really seemed to enjoy it

“Virgil, my darling, please. You're being unreasonable.”

As soon as the words left Roman's mouth, he already knew it was the wrong thing to say. Even Logan, who was merely observing from the couch, cringed at his mistake.

Virgil didn't just cringe. He scowled.

Roman was in deep trouble now. He could just tell that Virgil was much more upset now than he was before. Roman had a habit of being impulsive like that and, in these situations, he wished he would learn.

“Okay, I'm sorry for saying that. You're not being unreasonable at all, my sweet--” Roman moved to hug Virgil from behind before grimacing and quickly changing his mind.

What made him change his mind wasn't just the way Virgil cringed away from him (though, in normal circumstances, that would've been enough).

Wrapped around Virgil's waist was a clearly glistening chain of silver. It acted as Virgil's belt but Roman knew better. It wasn't just for holding up Virgil's pants. It was for repelling Roman.

It wasn't just the belt either. Virgil's fingers were covered in silver rings and his ears had silver studs. There was a choker around his neck decorated in silver spikes. He had even put in a silver lip ring.

Now, when exactly Virgil got his lip pierced, Roman didn't know. All he knew was Virgil looked good and Roman found himself hating the lip ring with a passion.

He couldn't even fathom where Virgil got all of these bonafide sterling silver jewelry. Did he just have all of this in stock for times like this? Or did he find a time to sneak out and buy all of them? Knowing Virgil and how stingy he was with money, it most likely wasn't the second option.

“Heya, honey bee, it's your turn to pick what we're gonna have for dinner.” Patton suddenly called from the kitchen, apparently oblivious to Roman and Virgil's current dilemma.

Virgil made eye contact for the first time in a while with Roman as he answered “Why not Italian?”

Roman made a soft whining noise in the back of his throat and Patton laughed “Oh, honey bee, you're so funny. You know we can't have that stuff!”

“Oh, I know.” Virgil drawled out, eyes still directly staring at Roman.

Patton, probably concerned, walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron, only to be stunned by Virgil's get-up “Virgil, honey, what's with… with uh… all of this?”

“Why don't you ask Roman?” Virgil crossed his arms and, as he cocked his hip, the belt at his waist jangled.

Patton, definitely much more concerned than before, turned to Roman who only groaned “It's all my fault.”

“Now, what's all your fault, Roman, darling?” Patton reached out and placed a gentle hand on Roman's shoulder.

“We were at the college because I had to pick Virgil up, you know.” Roman began to recall exactly how he got into this mess “I had overheard this girl telling her friend something or another about my dashing good looks.”

Logan and Virgil practically scoffed in unison.

Roman chose to ignore that, pouting all the while “In any case, you know how Virgil doesn't like it.”

Virgil looked a little embarrassed at that but it didn't lessen the rather sour expression on his face.

Patton just nodded, focused solely on Roman's retelling. Virgil had a habit of being self-conscious when it came to his vampire boyfriends. He had this odd notion that they were 'out of his league' and, whenever passerby mentioned it, Virgil grew self-deprecating.

“Well, I had thought a bold romantic gesture would help put my darling's troubled expression at ease!” Roman declared as if he found no problem with his plan.

Virgil's cheeks and his ears practically glowed red at this point. Though, if it was because he felt embarrassed by Roman or because he was recalling the events in his head, Roman couldn't tell.

Probably a healthy mix of both.

“If you had thought the entire thing through thoroughly, you would have come to the same conclusion as I.” Logan stated a-matter-of-factly “Our little starlight here does not favor any sort of bold or grand gesture.”

“Especially if it attracts a crowd of people!” Virgil added in agreement, his scowl less in anger and more in embarrassment. His hand even flew up to cover some of his face as if it would help cool it down.

“But, my love! I only meant to show them how dearly I love you and how the two of us are enamored with each other!” Roman protested, his hands forming fists as he pouted, a tone of passion in his voice.

“I would've even been okay with a kiss! Just a small kiss!” Virgil's other hand flew up as if covering his entire face would help with the situation at all “You didn't have to twirl and dip me before kissing me!”

Patton just nodded, grimacing a little “I see… And this prompted the get-up how?”

“Now he won't be able to make a scene anymore.” Virgil stated a-matter-of-factly, his tone almost copying Logan's from earlier as he lowered his hands.

Patton chuckled “Well, now, I understand where you're coming from, honey bee, but you do know you're keeping ol’ Logan and I away too.”

Virgil made a face that screamed ‘And what about it?’

Logan sensed this and turned to the group with his own little scowl “Wait, excuse me, are you stating that we must suffer through this as well?”

“I mean, we're all vampires here and you know silver stings the dickens outta vampires, Lo.” Patton gestured vaguely towards Virgil.

When Logan stared incredulously at Virgil, the human stuck his tongue out, revealing a tongue stud that gleamed silver.

“Okay, well, that seems a little excessive--” Patton tutted at the sight of the tongue stud and Roman made a dying grunting sort of noise in agreement.

When Virgil didn't seem to respond to that, Patton put on a thinking face “Well, now, I guess I'm about to get a little bit hurt here.”

There was a moment of silence as Virgil, Logan and Roman turned to Patton, all three of them with almost matching expressions of confusion. Virgil, though, looked more suspicious than confused.

“What do you mean?” Virgil finally broke the silence, his feet automatically taking a step back out of habit.

Patton didn't smirk but there was a gleam in his eyes “I haven't hugged you since last night! So, I'm gonna hug you right now.”

“Patton, I am covered in silver--” Virgil started to say but, when Patton inched forward, the words died in his throat.

“Patton, no--” Virgil took a step back and Patton, determined, took two steps forward.

The two took turns taking steps as Logan and Roman watched on. Eventually, though, the backs of Virgil's legs hit the coffee table and there was nowhere else to go.

At that point, he thought Patton would stop but, instead, the vampire kept inching forward.

Virgil seemed to catch on to what Patton was planning and groaned loudly, hastily putting his arms up as if to stop the vampire “Okay, okay, okay, chill! Let me take these off first!”

With little flourish, Virgil took off the chains and the rings and the piercings, letting all of it unceremoniously fall onto the coffee table.

Patton made a noise of happiness and dove right in, hugging Virgil tightly but not too tightly. He even spun Virgil in a little circle. Virgil just sighed, hugging back with a little less vigor.

It seemed his plan had backfired and, though he hadn't been all that serious about it, Virgil was still a little miffed at how easily Patton had--

His thoughts were interrupted by Roman who saddled up behind him, joining in the hug-fest. Virgil made a guttural noise of protest but didn't move away at all.

Logan seemed satisfied by the turn of events and turned back to his book.

“Logan, dear, you better drop that book and come over here.”

Logan, looking less satisfied than before, sighed and placed a bookmark into his novel before he, too, saddled up, further squishing Virgil.

It was Patton's turn to look satisfied.

“Now, honey bee, I'm sure Roman didn't mean to make a scene. You should be a little more lenient on him.” Patton gently reminded Virgil “He has a lotta love to give and sometimes he forgets where he is when he gets his fanciful ideas.”

“And, you, mister, you need to tone down your public displays of affection!” Patton peered up at Roman over Virgil's shoulder and Roman returned the look with his own sheepish one.

“Yes, of course, I apologise profusely.” Roman nodded, pressing a kiss to Virgil's temple and just, in general, basking in Virgil's warmth.

“Now, in all seriousness, what do you want for dinner, honey bee?”

“Anything's fine with me.” Virgil's tone was resigned but he seemed content enough with how their little spat had ended.

Patton looked glad and, reluctantly, he left Virgil's embrace to skip happily to the kitchen. That left Virgil secured tightly in Roman's and Logan's arms.

Logan hesitated for a second before pressing a kiss to the corner of Virgil's lips and another on Roman's cheeks “I must help Patton with dinner since it's been delayed.”

As soon as Logan had left, Roman sighed and his breath tickled as it blew past Virgil's ear “I deeply truly apologize. You know I hadn't meant to-- to-- to make you uncomfortable--”

Virgil rolled his eyes, leaning back into his dramatic vampire's hold “Okay, I get it, princey. It was embarrassing but I might've overreacted too. Just don't--”

“Do it again? Gladly.” Roman's voice sounded strong and sincere as he promised, his lips leaving small kisses against Virgil's temple and along Virgil's jaw before his face settled into the crook of Virgil's neck “I will leave the heavily amorous displays of affection for when we are in the privacy of our own home.”

Virgil snickered at that, content with the promise.

[redphlox]

2 am

i’ve risen from the ether with this post-canon more-than-friends-but-not-quite-lovers-yet drabble for day 1 of soulxmaka week 2019. thanks to @soundofez for giving it a glance and making sure I didn’t spell ‘Soul’ as ‘Soil’ <3

Parked car conversations at 2 am with Maka are usually therapeutic -- when she’s not putting him on the spot. Opening up at night feels safer, like the darkness puts distance between him and the rough edges he's not yet figured out how to soften. It's a catch-22, because the silver moonlight outlines Maka’s profile just right as she peers at him with her head slightly tilted sideways. Something about the slant of her cheekbone makes him want to pull her in and kiss her until the sun rises, until he boards a plane in a few hours and leaves her temporarily.

Yeah, that fever-like fascination with her doesn't seem like a good sign to Soul, who just sits there in the passenger seat staring back. Self-consciousness inspires him to shift his weight and tap a finger on her beloved Jeep’s dashboard.

Soul scrambles for something coherent to say, but nothing comes to mind. “Don't know,” he finally answers.

Her eyebrows knit with stark disappointment. Disbelief. Terror. Heartbreak. “What do you mean?”

How does he explain that he's a goner for her, that one day he made a mistake of realizing that he liked her a little too much and it got out of control and now he's not sure how much longer he'll be able to keep all his feelings locked away?

“I asked you if you thought we'd be together forever! I need a little reassurance, what with you leaving tomorrow for Death knows how long. It's not like I was proposing to you--”

His whole face heats up, her statement sparking embarrassment because that's exactly how he had mistaken her question the first time she asked. “Maka, forever is a long time and I can't promise that. Things change! And you know I feel weird about commitment.”

“Especially when we’re more than friends, and I’m not as brave as you,” he wants to add, but he can’t – she’s the leader in this partnership. They’ve been caught in-between for a while now, lingering between friends and lovers, Soul petrified of making the first move and scaring her away…

A hollow laugh bursts out from Maka’s lips. “Ha! If either one of us has commitment issues, it's me. It's in my blood, remember?”

Soul slumps lower in his seat, the discomfort of the door pressed against his shoulder blades paling in comparison to the guilt of inadvertently bringing up her serial-cheating and overprotective papa bear, Spirit Albarn. Ugh. Even though Maka gets along better with her dad, the divorce is still a tender spot for her and might always be.

Some things don’t change.

“That's not what I meant,” is all Soul can come up with, stumped when Maka then asks him to explain exactly what he did mean.

His anxiety is getting the best of him, yelling, “What if your forever and my forever aren’t the same thing?” But instead, he says, “Uhh… Just, like, you know… I do want to be with you forever, but what if I have to move away for longer than I thought, or if I go on a mission without you or something and I die?”

“Without me?” she challenges. Her eyes are fire, burning him alive with a fierce stare as she leans toward him. “You really think you'd go on a mission without me? Or die without me?”

The weight of her words hits him like a bullet to the skull: of course he never pictured either of those situations happening. The possibility of either coming true is zero to none. He and Maka have been together since they were eleven, so why wouldn't they continue to always be together? The implication of that thought process must short circuit Soul's brain because he can't even breathe or blink. If he does move, he might cup her cheek and seal her mouth with his.

But, despite those rosy dreams of forever-and-always, the realist in him knows nothing lasts forever, and there is no exception to this rule. He wants to point out that life is unfair; he had a life before he met her, and there'll be life after her, somehow.

“You're my partner, Soul. Not just my weapon.” She's trembling, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Now he really does have to battle with the urge to touch her - maybe if he runs a finger down the slope of her nose or trace her collar bones, he'll feel the passion buzzing beneath her skin and finally understand why they're having this conversation, where this emotion is coming from. “I mean, sure, you're a tool, but you're my tool!”

“I feel so special,” he manages to joke, though it comes out weak and self-deprecating to his own ears.

Maka shakes her head and clutches him by the shoulders, drawing him closer. “You really are special to me. Don't forget that, okay?”

He sucks in a shaky breath, not allowing himself to cry in front of her, not forgiving himself for being drawn to her like a magnet. Moments pass as Maka watches him gather his composure, disappointment playing out in her features, like there is something she wanted him to understand and he hasn't caught on yet.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to understand… maybe this is Maka making the first move.

When they're both calmer, Soul goes back to tapping on the dashboard. “So, is this what you had to tell me?”

Maka tinges pink. “No.”

Raising a brow, he prompts her to continue by nodding. “Mhmm?”

“I just wanted to say…” She lets go of a deep, deep sigh, her eyes welling up again. “Just wanted to say that I love you. I don't know what to do with how much I love you. I love you so much.”

There is no denying it… This is Maka Albarn making the first move.

Soul breaks into a grin. He wants to say that she has absolutely nothing to worry about. His life is here with her in Death City, and he's only going back home to make amends with his parents and brother, maybe apologize for running away all those years ago and tell them he's okay, he's finally okay. He'll be back home-home with Maka in no time. Where else would he go? She's making this seem like a final goodbye --

Well, the more he thinks about it, maybe this is a final goodbye... The Soul who arrived at Shibusen was a lost kid looking for a place to belong, who somehow manage to make a makeshift family with a pigtailed girl with high ambitions, an abundance of bravery, and little hesitancy to speak her mind. The Soul who grew alongside Maka is now leaving. Now that he's going back to visit his old life, will he come back to this life different?

Oh.

Ohh.

He's stupid for not understanding her sooner.

She's afraid of change. Terrified that the two of them outgrowing one another, going in different directions, and never meeting again like they did the first time after months of getting to know each other. All those arguments, miscommunication, building trust and loyalty… it's lead up to something more, something she's ready to try, if he's reading her correctly.

Oh.

Soul swallows a poignant lump in his throat. He had thought that it would be strange facing his demons without Maka at his side, but it must be equally strange for her to watch him grow from afar, living in fear of not recognizing the person who returns. He wants to tell her that she has nothing to fear, that he's not something in her life she'll have to worry about ever leaving her for long, but all he can do is wear his heart on his sleeve.

“I love you too, Maka. I love you today and tomorrow and next week. I’ve never been surer.”

She sniffles. “And all the weeks after that?”

He nods. “Even when you're threatening to lock me out of the apartment because I don’t pick up my boxers from the bathroom floor.”

That earns him a soft laugh. He pulls her into a hug, Maka burying her head in the curve of his neck. Her hair is so soft, her skin against him feeling so right. The romantic in him starts to plan to kiss her for the first time right now, or as they're saying bye at the airport tomorrow. But maybe it's better not to leave any room for misunderstandings…

Besides, a welcome-home kiss would fit them better. Plus, it'll serve as motivation for Soul to get back to Death City ASAP.

When they pull away, Maka notices his expression and asks, “What's with the goofy grin?”

Soul gently bops her on the nose. “Just thinking about how much I love you. Things will be different when I get back - but in a good way, I promise.”

Now she's the confused one, skin between her brows rumpling the way it does when she overthinks. “Five minutes ago you couldn't even give me a straight answer to a dumb question… How are you so sure now?”

He shrugs, grinning so hard at the thought of confessing that his cheeks are beginning to ache. “You'll see when I get back.”

When she finally smiles, 2 am doesn’t seem so dark, but it's funny - he still feels safe without it, feels brave enough to cup her face and slide his hand down to caress her neck. “Wait for me, okay?”

He feels her melting in her hand, relishes her voice vibrating against his palm as she hums, “Promise.”

/FIN