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seventfics · 3 years

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Autumn Birds

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: We fell in love, but your previous lover reappeared/returned Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier (w/ past!Geralt/Eskel and past!Geralt/Jaskier) Rating: T Content Warnings: None Summary: They’d met just as the leaves were turning yellow.

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* * *

They’d met just as the leaves were turning yellow.

Jaskier had heard of a witcher staying in town and, as was his prerogative since his acquaintance with a certain White Wolf, he’d ventured to see what the man was all about. It was not so often one got to meet someone of their caste. Why not have a little courage to break the ice himself?

The whispers spoke of a witcher with a terribly scarred face. Two swords strapped over his back, their pommels shaped into wolf heads. The women said he had a voice like a dog’s growl, so grave that when he spoke, it made children cry.

He thought that last bit was rather mean, and followed the trail of curses into a grimy tavern where a fight was about to break out.

“You promised fifty.”

“The best I can do is half.”

Jaskier’s hand freezes on the door. Whatever he’s come to doesn’t look good. The witcher’s back is to him, his padded shoulders raised with tension. The village’s alderman paces in front of him, fuming over a contract’s fee. There’s a few antsy people in the crowd too. The anger written on their faces makes him nervous.

He’s seen how this ends a dozen times. It’s gotten his own arse kicked butting into the middle of a witcher’s bargaining, actually.

“Now, now, gentlemen,” Jaskier interjects boisterously from the doorframe anyway. “This is no mood for drink and cheer. Calm your spirits with a little of the former—”

The alderman grumbles under his breath about merry idiots meddling in what they shouldn’t. “Shut up, bard. This here’s serious business. And I’m not about to be robbed by a witcher’s ridiculous high prize.”

“It’s not ridiculous. The contract says fifty, and,” the witcher stops to lift the bloody stump of a water hag’s head, “it’s already done.”

“That contract was up weeks ago. The reward’s gone down. You’re lucky half’s on the table at all.”

The witcher grunts—a familiar sound to Jaskier’s ears which translates to wordless annoyance—and drops the head on the floor. “You’re lucky the hag didn’t move closer into the village in that time.”

“Is that a threat?”

At the rising outrage in his tone, Jaskier slips closer to stare at the alderman over the witcher’s swordless shoulder. “Ah, I believe the witcher means more of your people would have died, had he not taken care of the problem so promptly. The reward hardly sounds like an unreasonable amount. I could get twice as much on a profitable eve of singing. In fact,” he flips to the witcher, who does not yet deign to look back at his unforeseen defender, “I could turn this place around and earn us both a decent share in one night. I’m no fop on the job!”

It’s then that the witcher looks towards him, but the bard only manages a quick glimpse of an incredulous set of eyebrows before the alderman starts shouting.

“Get out! Both of you! Out of my town or I’ll have the dogs chase you out!”

They both take that as their leave, Jaskier with a bit more speed in his jog.

At the outskirts the witcher turns fully, and at the sight of his whole face Jaskier almost gasps out loud. A long scar runs through his cheek, from eyebrow to jaw, and over his lips. It puckers the skin all around it, disfiguring half of his face.

Whatever caused that scar must have hurt a lot.

The witcher shifts in place, quiet for a long second as Jaskier does his best to hide his nerves. “I’m sorry to have involved you.”

“Oh, please, don’t be. I involved myself. Jaskier’s the name, by the way,” he introduces himself, hand extended in greeting.

The witcher scratches the back of his head. His lips twist to one side, bashful. One of his teeth peeks through the scarred tissue over his mouth. “Uh. Eskel.” He takes the offered hand and shakes it.

It’s the firmest handshake Jaskier has ever received.

“Well, Eskel. Are you short on coin? Because so am I.”

The snort he gets is—soft. Not at all like the gruff from before, with the alderman.

“I’m not doing too bad, I’d say. Just currently fifty short of what I expected to have at the end of the day.”

"How about I help with that? I wasn't lying when I said I could earn both a decent share, given the right crowd."

It's the sunset hour, and the leaves were falling on top of them. Everything is gold. The sky, the trees. Eskel’s eyes when they blink at him and he breaks into a genuine laugh.

Jaskier knows he’s a romantic. His heart flutters every odd day over strangers with pretty smiles. He’s just never seen such a shy, sweet smile on someone with such an intimidating facade.

Making him smile again became a personal quest.

* * *

At the next town over, Eskel speaks to the alderman there. This one is more reasonable at least, and up front about the sort of beast that lurks in the northern farms. Which brings up a whole new conversation as Jaskier doesn’t part from Eskel’s side despite the obvious danger.

Eskel grunts and sits him down, not unlike the times Geralt tried—and failed—to convince him to stay put. Jaskier just blinks his pretty blue eyes and says, “and how will I write a song of your prowess in battle if I am not there to witness it?”

“This is a dangerous contract, bard. It would be best if you let me handle it alone.”

“Oh no. No, no, I’ve heard that before a dozen times.”

Eskel pauses at that. “What?”

“I am perfectly capable of staying out of your way.”

The wyvern they encounter says otherwise.

To be fair, he had done a good job of staying out of the witcher’s way for most of the fight. It is only when the beast slams its tail into Eskel’s side on a backswing that Jaskier shouts in worry from his hiding place and brings undue attention to himself.

Wind whips around him for a split second, scattering dust into his eyes. It takes a moment to wipe them clean so of course he doesn’t see the great shadow flying at him. Doesn't realize the immediate need to hide or flee for his life until a giant claw snatches him by the bunched fabric on his back.

Jaskier's stomach plummets as he soars up. The ground recedes. His clothes start to rip. This is it, he panic-screams in his mind, this is his final day. Either as monster food or a blood splatter on a rock, his time has come.

A severe overreaction, and his own mistake for not trusting in a witcher's skill. He doesn't realize it in all, what with all his flailing about, but Eskel fires a crossbow bolt perfectly at the wyvern’s eye.

The beast screeches terribly loud in his ears. It flaps its wings once, twice, before twisting midair and letting him go.

They both fall, but Eskel catches him.

By the silence that follows after an earth-shaking crunch, he knows the witcher's won. Victory is not immediately on his mind, though. The way his sight spins and the sun paints a halo behind Eskel's hair, Jaskier dumbly thinks, oh—I've quite literally fallen in love.

“See?” he says instead, breathless with terror at almost having died, “I’m perfectly fine.”

Eskel raises a thick brow at him. And he's smiling too, the bard thinks. Could just be the scar making it look like a lopsided smile, but he wants to believe that he's made the witcher smile again with his foolish sense of humor.

“Are you alright? The tail,” Jaskier frets once his vision settles. Some of these monsters have poisoned stingers on the end of their tails. Are wyverns one of them?

But Eskel waves him down before he can consider the worst. “Relax. I cast Quen in time.”

“That’s a, uh, magic shield, right?”

Surprise colors Eskel's features. So it seems he's right. A point of pride on Jaskier's belt for remembering witcher signs.

Getting proof of a contract well done takes the witcher a good minute to collect. Wyvern skin is tough. The head would normally satisfy as proof, but it's too heavy to be lugging around town. He will have to make do with the wing tips. Should they question him, the remains aren't going anywhere.

“Come on, bard. Time to get our day's work done. And after that, we're going west.”

“'We'?” Something about the proclamation has his heart beating fast.

“'Course. I'm not letting you out of my sight now.”

He makes a show of bowing dramatically. “I wouldn’t want to be elsewhere.”

* * *

“You’re a friend of Geralt’s.”

Jaskier looks up from his notes.

Traveling with someone is always interesting—with a witcher even more so. So far he's learned that Eskel has far more routines than Geralt ever did, like counting his coin at the end of every week, and making sure he has two of every potion ready.

Jaskier quirks a half-smile. “I am. How did you figure? I never said his name.”

“Your song.” He points to the scribbled mess on his lap. “Or, I guess your work in progress. I see an expression he uses a lot, that he learned from me.”

“Oh?”

Eskel sits by him and nods, as if finally understanding Jaskier’s odd ease partnering with a witcher, and starts the story of where the expression in his handwriting originated from.

It’s funny at first, imagining a much younger, somehow more foolish Geralt together with this huge, frightening man who is not frightening at all to talk to. Eskel speaks so softly, so tenderhearted about the old memory—two boys, witchers-to-be, practically joined at the hip, making crude jokes. So he reciprocates with a tale of where he comes from, as destiny deigned to put them in each other’s paths.

As it happens, a lot of their first stories aren’t even their own, but Geralt’s.

And Eskel has many more over his. He’s more than happy to share them over camp.

Some of it leaves Jaskier’s throat aching. This is someone who clearly cares about his big grumpy friend. It's someone he can understand.

Then Eskel claps a bare hand on his back, his thumb and forefinger a hot press just under his nape, and oh, he’s more than a little foolishly in love actually, as his head is emptied of all reason at the small touch.

“Am I to become your travel bard,” Jaskier quips with an airy giggle. “I’m excellent entertainment at parties.”

“Not for long. It’s almost winter. Soon I’ll have to head north to meet my brothers.”

His heart sinks. “Oh.”

Eskel squeezes his shoulder with careful strength. “You better keep out of trouble while I’m gone, you hear?”

“Of course. I don’t go looking for trouble.”

“No, trouble just finds you.”

Well, if ‘trouble’ is a scarred, smirking witcher, he sure hopes that to be true.

* * *

They meet again when the trees are just beginning to color with spring blooms.

There is also a griffin tearing through the town's cattle, but that’s besides the point. Easily dealt with. Which is good, seeing as Jaskier had been near the scene and probably next on the menu. No one had told him about the griffin, so really. He's just as surprised to find Eskel as he is about the beast.

“You alright, bard?”

“I am now.”

Matter resolved, Jaskier walks in step next to Eskel. The town opens before them, welcoming the witcher not with smiles, but grudging gratitude.

“You sure? Trouble didn’t come knocking while I was gone?”

“Only a man with a lover’s grudge come to kick my ass out of a wonderfully luxurious establishment. Didn’t even get to enjoy the hot bath I paid for, which is such a terrible waste of hot water.”

A deep hum comes out of the witcher. “A lover’s grudge?”

“Just a past dalliance that won’t forget me.”

Eskel stops and shifts on his feet, like he wants to say something but he doesn’t know how to start.

Oh, witchers and their awkward conversation skills.

“You know what, I’m starving. I think a good, hearty meal is owed between us. What do you say we go collect your reward and we break fast at the alderman’s recommendation?”

“We don’t have to get the coin right now. I could go for some food.”

“First tavern we see then. Come on.”

Right as he says it, he wraps his arm around Eskel’s, and maybe he’s just being too obvious, too hopeful, but Eskel doesn’t shrug him off. They make their way to a large and welcoming tavern, him talking his head off about the barn smell that permeates the whole town and ignoring the dark looks people give them down the street, as Eskel listens, not a word coming from his mouth. It worries Jaskier a minute that he’s becoming more annoyance than the teasing meddler he wants to be. But Eskel is just scratching his chin, looking down and letting Jaskier lead.

When it becomes clear that Eskel doesn’t have any rented lodgings yet, Jaskier offers his own. “I’m sure the innkeeper won’t mind us bunking if we pay for two, at the end of our stay.”

Eskel doesn't say no. He also doesn't say yes. It takes them finally being settled in a table of their own, full of fruits, cheese and bread, neither of them taking the first bite to eat, for Jaskier to nervously ask, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” comes the too-quick response.

“If I overstepped in some way, please tell me.”

“It’s nothing like that, I—uh.” Eskel shakes his head, his expression scrunched up unpleasantly.

“Whatever it is, I won’t be offended.”

He's already writing a million apologies in his head for any of his imagined offenses, that he's not quite prepared for what Eskel says instead.

“You are...different from what I expected.”

Jaskier blinks. “How so?”

“I don’t know. You’re just. Human. You’re normal.” He makes a point of gesturing at the table, the people keeping their distance. “I don’t get why you do all this for me.”

It's slow-creeping, but once the pieces align, Jaskier starts to understand what he means. That confusion, he’s known it with Geralt. Why do you stick with me? What does a witcher have to offer a human that isn’t the service of a silver sword? What does a human want with a mutant when there are plenty of other ordinary, uncomplicated folk in the world to have for company?

“Because you’re a good man,” he tells the witcher gently. “Because you saved my life and I want to repay you in kind. Most reasonably of all, because we’re friends, and friends take care of each other.”

Of course there’s more to it than that, but if a friend is all Eskel wants, then a friend he shall be.

The rumble of the tavern fills the air as Eskel stares at him a little wide-eyed. Jaskier gives him a slight smile. As a close, he pushes the platter of cheese forward with an encouraging, “now eat your fill, my friend.”

Once Eskel returns his smile, he thinks that, well, that everything will turn out alright.

And they’re happy eating their food when Geralt shows up for the griffin that’s already dead.

At his distinct silhouette, Eskel stands up. “White Wolf.”

“Eskel,” Geralt calls back gravely.

They clasp arms and pat each other’s shoulders in sync. It might not seem like much to outsiders, but what a rare sight to behold—two witchers, two mirrored grins on both their faces.

Eskel is the first to part from the hug with a chiding, “You didn’t come for winter.”

“I know. I had a lot going on. Saw your handiwork hooked to your horse’s saddle.” Then he looks down, and spots Eskel's table company. “Jaskier?”

“Geralt.”

Their held eye-contact feels longer than it is. Looking away, Jaskier half expects the whole tavern to be staring at them, but as it turns out, no one cares to pay the witchers and their odd bard any attention now that the monster's been dealt with. It's just him, imagining his heart hanging out of his sleeve for everyone to judge.

And maybe Eskel senses something's up between them, because he leaves them with the excuse to collect his coin.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Jaskier says after Geralt takes Eskel's abandoned seat. “Have you really been so busy that you couldn’t let your friends know you were alive?”

Geralt's silence is its own answer—a little shame, a little remorse. He remembers how Eskel had said that as time went on, Geralt just, lost touch. There had been something heavy in Eskel’s eyes when he said it, and Jaskier had felt it in his soul. Now he understands why. Him and Eskel, they'd both gone through the same impossible task of loving someone who doesn’t believe he can be loved.

By gods, he still loves Geralt, but Geralt's heart is a rusty cage, and neither of them can coax the old bird that lives in it anymore. Soft words and gentle promises have run their course.

“So,” the witcher starts, “you and Eskel? Didn't know you knew each other.”

“Maybe if you’d met either of us during winter you would have heard.” The phrasing's rough, but there's no resentment in his voice. He would have liked to know that Geralt had been safe in his wintering home, with Eskel.

“Yeah. I’m...surprised.” Jaskier raises his brow at him. Which just earns a quick shake of Geralt’s head. “He doesn’t make friends easily.”

“Neither do you, and yet look at us.”

“Look at us,” he echoes, staring at the empty plates.

“We missed a lot of opportunities together, didn’t we?” It doesn't make the truth any easier to swallow, but acknowledging the what-could-have-beens has always made him feel better afterward. Like closing a book, and getting ready to open a new one. He hopes Geralt knows that there's no bridges destroyed between them. Only those missed moments.

He still very much cares for Geralt, and he knows that Geralt does as well. They just have to come to terms with what's over—and what might come next.

“I won’t lie to you,” Jaskier adds more seriously. “I don’t want to miss any opportunities with him.”

The 'him' in question is unmistakable. Geralt nods. He looks down, one end of his mouth drawing up to dimple his cheek.

He says, like an olive branch offering, “His favorite flower is yarrow. Not because they’re pretty, but because they’re useful in the most surprising ways.”

* * *

They spend the day catching up, all three of them, before Geralt is on the road again, taking his own path. Jaskier sees how it brightens Eskel’s spirits to have seen him off, and cheers up twofold.

“I’ve known him practically my whole life,” Eskel tells him.

“I’ve known him half of mine.”

“So you understand.”

“That he’s a prat? Oh yes. Good at heart, backwards about verbalizing it. Cheeky when he wants to be. Oh by the way, here.”

From out of his little travel bag, Jaskier pulls a swathe of yarrows.

“Saw some at market street,” he explains, presenting them. “Thought you might find use in them for your potions.”

Eskel turns to him, his bright witcher eyes bouncing between him and the yarrows. Jaskier feels his heart climb up his throat, wondering what runs through Eskel's mind that makes him pause for so long.

Then Eskel takes them with one hand and with the other, he touches Jaskier’s face. It's big, warm, calloused against his skin. And sudden.

“‘Cheeky when he wants to be’, right?”

Jaskier stutters to say, “Well, yes, I mean, but this isn’t about him—”

He forgets how to speak after Eskel kisses him. It’s the lightest peck on the corner of his lips, so light that once he draws back, he wonders if he's not still dreaming back in their rented room.

“Thank you. I know just what to use them for.”

The yarrow gets tucked away with the other herbs in Eskel's saddlebag. A few glasses clink together as he moves things around so they don’t get crushed. And then, as Jaskier stands there, stupefied and slack-jawed, Eskel mounts his steed, a soot-black beauty that neighs softly at Jaskier’s face.

“Where are you headed for now?”

“Nowhere. Anywhere.” Wherever you’ll go, he thinks to himself. Wherever you'll have me.

Eskel grins wide at him, and it's the most beautiful sight, his smile, with all his teeth gleaming.

“That sounds like trouble.”

#jaskel #jaskier x eskel #rarepair summer bingo #myfics #tt

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hopeswriting · 4 years

Text

FANDOM: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

EVENT: Flufftober 2020

PROMPT: “Oh No, They’re Hot”

AUTHOR: @hopeswriting

RATING: G

PAIRING: Adult!Colonnello/Adult!Skull

SUMMARY:

Colonnello officially meets Skull for the first time, and he finds him way more hot than a could-be, easy, bully target.

TAG WARNING: Swearing, Sexual Innuendos, Implied/Referenced Bullying

WORDS: 1603

How hard could it be to be a punctual human being?

Surely not that hard, seeing as Colonnello was one all his life.

You’d think he would have mastered the art of waiting by then, but if this Skull guy doesn’t show up in the next five minutes, he’ll just leave without looking back.

Or maybe he’ll stay until he shows up, so he can give him a piece of his mind, depending on how long he can make his drink last.

Colonnello rolls his eyes, bumps his head against the wall.

This whole “meeting the Arcobaleno one-on-one as your now teammates” is ridiculous. What is he, a new student at school trying to win the favor of the popular kids?

Colonnello was always among the popular kids, thank you very much. He can’t believe Lal would support this idea, but no matter now.

He just needs to meet the Cloud to be done with it all for good.

Colonnello hears it long before he can see it.

A black and purple motorbike rounds the street corner in a very sharp turn, an equally black and purple driver riding it.

He speeds past the cars in no time, driving around them but keeping so close it’s a wonder they don’t make contact, the sound of the engine revving and the tires against the concrete drowning everything else.

He speeds right past Colonnello, then makes an abrupt u-turn, his motorcycle tipping sideways so low Colonnello doesn’t comprehend how he doesn’t fall, switches lanes, and smoothly parks right in front of him on the sidewalk.

Is this guy… trying to show off to him?

Because it’s working alright.

Colonnello laughs breathlessly, goosebumps up his arms. A chill runs down his spine, adrenaline running through him from just watching.

Oh, he absolutely needs to earn himself a ride.

Skull casually walks up to him, not seeming to care about all the eyes on him. “Hi, I’m Skull. Sorry, I’m not too late, am I?”

Colonnello glances at his watch. Thirty five seconds before five minutes.

This fucker.

“Hi, I’m Colonnello. You are late. I thought we both agreed on the meeting time?”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I got stuck in traffic.”

Colonnello subtly narrows his eyes. He just can see Skull grinning despite his helmet, and he sure as hell heard it.

This little shit.

“So. You met all the others already?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” Skull puts his hands in his pockets, fidgets uncomfortably. “Well, I’m sure you heard all kind of things about me from them, but, you know, I wouldn’t exactly call them Skull specialists.” He shrugs, raises his hand to his head. It bumps against his helmet. “Oh right, my helmet. Hold a second.”

Colonnello’s drink goes down the wrong pipe. He doubles over in a coughing fit, his drink slipping from his hand entirely.

“Woah man, what the hell?”

What the hell?

This guy is hot.

“Are you alright?”

Colonnello pushes his helping hand away, still coughing a little.

Skull’s purple eyes watch him with amusement, highlighted by his purple smokey eye, with heavy mascara on his eyelashes that somehow only draws the gaze more to his eyes.

He nips at the piercing on his bottom lip, linked with the one on his earlobe by a silver chain. Plump lips smeared with purple lipstick spread in a smug smile, emphasizing the teardrop tattoo under his left eye.

His purple hair points in every direction in a stylish mess of a haircut, a fringe falling above his left eye.

And really, it’s a lot of purple, but holy shit the guy is gorgeous.

How did that not come up even once during Lal’s briefings?

“I’m fine, I just swallowed wrong.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Colonnello straightens himself up, shakes his hand from the drink that spilled on him. He licks off the last of it, and oh, he knows that look in Skull’s eyes.

Good. Now they’re even.

“Sorry about that by the way,” Skull says. “These kind of accidents just keep happening around me, and I really just can’t figure out why.”

“Yeah,” Colonnello says, trying to play it off as casually as he can, “can’t imagine why either. I really don’t see anything that could provoke these kind of reactions.”

“Sure.”

“Listen, I’m a really smooth guy, alright?”

“I guess I’ll just have to take your words for it.”

“Fuck off.”

Skull snickers, something purposefully meant to rile him up further. Colonnello doesn’t take the bait, and bites the inside of his cheek to not laugh too.

Shit. Are they flirting? Colonnello can’t have that.

He has a reputation, and standards, and this guy... could very easily meet them, actually.

But he wears leather jumpsuits, chose purple as his defining color, and going on with the design on his helmet, octopuses of all things could get involved at some point.

And unfortunately Colonnello knows for certain it’s not just the symbol of the Carcassa famiglia.

“Oh shit, Immortal Skull?”

They both turn to the pair of teenagers, wide-eyed at the sight of Skull. Skull’s face lights up. He waves his hand excitedly, and poses for them to take a picture.

Colonnello raises his eyebrow.

Right. Stuntman shows, death defying stunts, famous guy.

He snorts. “Isn’t that cute? You have fans.”

Skull’s smile dims, and disappears entirely once the teenagers are on their way. “As a matter of fact, I do. It kind of comes together with being famous.”

“Yeah,” Colonnello scoffs, “famous for riding bikes.”

Skull doesn’t wince, not quite, but Colonnello catches his face twitching. He puts his free hand in his pocket, hunches his shoulders.

His voice is carefully neutral. “Yeah, for riding bikes. With hundreds upon hundreds of hours of training behind the handle, but no big deal right? Listen, can you...” he sighs deeply, meets his eye again “... just not? We literally just met? Or at least don’t come for the literal greatest passion of my life right off the bat, maybe? I don’t know man, just cut me some slack.”

“Sorry.”

Skull blinks. Colonnello blinks.

Well, that came out embarrassingly easily. And it did sound an awful lot sincere, if Skull’s more open face and posture is anything to go by.

Fucking hell, what is he doing? Playing nice? Is he actually trying to get on Skull’s good side?

“Thank you, I really appreciate it.” Colonnello watches the last of Skull’s hesitance disappears in his eyes, a smile slowly pulling at his lips until he grins at him again. “So, should we wrap this up? Or maybe we could keep meeting each other for a bit?”

Colonnello peers above his shoulder, at the sleek black and unfortunately purple motorbike.

Now, how much does he really want this ride?

“Sure,” he says, walking past him. He puts a leg over the bike, and sits comfortably on the back seat.

Maybe if he’s really good, Skull will let him drive it.

“Excuse you,” Skull splutters, “do you think I just let anyone ride my baby?”

“Excuse you,” Colonnello shots back, “take another good look at me and maybe you’ll realize I’m not anyone.”

“Right, you’re doing me a favor, is that it?” Skull crosses his arms on his chest, in what Colonnello supposes should have been an intimidating move. “I mean, you’re really hot alright, but I meet plenty of hot people on a daily basis. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Take another really good look at me, and maybe you’ll realize I’m a category of my own among hot people.”

Skull laughs, very clearly despite himself, the hard-to-get act nowhere to be seen. He chews on his lip a bit, but Colonnello knows he already won the argument.

“You just doesn’t have any will, do you?”

“Oh, hush.” Skull rolls his eyes, shoves him playfully. “Maybe I’m just weak for pretty people.”

Colonnello mournfully watches him puts his ugly helmet back on, and rethink his life choices. Really, this goddamned Curse just might have affected his tastes too.

“You know, I did hear things. And I must say I don’t understand.”

Skull throws his hands up in the air. “I know right? You’d think I would have gotten laid with, I don’t know, at least three of them by now. Well, minus Luce of course.” Colonnello gets whiplash. What even—? “No offense to you. I know you have a thing going on with Lal.”

“No, let’s stay focused. That’s where your priorities lie?”

Skull shrugs, takes his place in the driver seat. “I mean, in exchange of all this shit I didn’t sign up for? I think it would have been the barest fucking minimum.”

Colonnello bursts out laughing, because really, what else is there to do?

Not that he doesn’t strongly share the sentiment. He met the others too, and does vividly remember what they look like.

Skull revs the engine, and hell yeah, here they go.

Colonnello wraps his arms loosely around his waist, leans a bit too comfortably maybe against his back, rests his chin on his shoulder.

“Tell you what.”

Skull catches his eye in the rear view mirror. “I’m listening.”

“If you impress me really hard right now—”

“What, with my driving skills you mean? Is that supposed to be a challenge?”

“—and make me spend a really nice time with you,” Colonnello continues, ignoring him, “I just might do an exception for you to the “not on the first night” rule.”

Skull chuckles low in his throat, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He lowers his visor.

“This better be a promise, because I’ll hold you to that.”

The anime watchers only might not know that, because the anime did him so dirty, but Skull is straight up handsome.

I, for one, at the very least, find him very pretty, really handsome, and yes, straight up gorgeous. And it’s a hill I will die on, and I won’t hear any criticism on that.

Also I enjoyed myself writing this so much. Could you tell? Because this is my khr otp as of now, and I wish they’d be hundreds more fics about them for me to read.

Rarepair hell is, well, hell lmao.

Thank you for reading! Any and all review are appreciated ^^.

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #khr fanfic #flufftober 2020 #khr skull #khr colonnello #oh no they're hot #colonnello x skull #otp immortal soldier #guys guys guys #IMMORTAL SOLDIER #i found it that's what their ship name would be #i'm still open to propositions but let's be real #it's a VERY cool ship name i have there #also sex at first sight am i right #because yeah they do make out that day asdfghjkl #i said what i said

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sh-rare-pair-exchange · 4 years

Text

Bones In The Ocean

For @jesssssah

Summary: There was one simple fact about Jace’s life. He could not live without Alec. So, when Alec was taken out into the ocean never to break the surface again, Jace knew that he had to follow him, no matter what it took to do so.

A/N: This is a gift for Jessa as part of the shadowhunters rarepair fic exchange! I hope you like it! I started and restarted this fic so many times because I kept coming up with different ideas, so I hope you like where I ended up with it. I didn't quite intend to write so much before getting to the underwater part but... I hope you end up liking all the long build up anyway.

Read it on ao3 HERE

Alec had been gone for about a month before Jace finally broke. For a month, Jace managed to pretend that everything was okay. He managed to close himself off, force down all his emotions, go to work everyday and be a shadowhunter, not Jace, not the man who used to be Alec’s parabatai, not a man who was missing half his heart but a shadowhunter. He was just a shadowhunter and he managed to keep that up for a month before all at once, he snapped.

All at once, he wasn’t a shadowhunter anymore. He wasn’t even Jonathan Herondale - greatest shadowhunter of their generation. He was Jace, a twelve year old boy who’d come to the Institute as an orphan, a boy who’d found solace in Alec, a boy who needed his parabatai back, no matter what the cost.

Jace knew then that he needed to get Alec back. He needed to see him again and he needed to make sure that nothing could ever separate them again. Now, he didn’t know how he could do that but he knew that he’d be willing to do anything to make it happen.

Jace dug up anything he could find of the fae. Anything that shed light on the elusive class of them that preferred to hide in the depths of the water, away from human civilization and fae civilization alike. They were the one class of fae that had their own government entirely separate from the Seelie Queen. Her influence couldn’t quite reach them under the water and apparently, they preferred it that way anyway.

This also meant that information on them was hard to come by. They rarely surfaced at all. They wrote no books Jace could read. They weren’t very forthcoming about any information regarding them whatsoever but what Jace did know from personal experience was that they could turn people, much like a vampire or werewolves could, though their ritual relied on magic rather than saliva or venom. Those who were turned weren’t as powerful as those born to the water nymph. They didn’t inherit the magic the others were born with. Turning was also very rare, hard to do and dangerous for everyone involved.

Jace didn’t manage to find out much else but that simple information was enough for Jace to wonder. Was Alec even still alive? Had he survived the transformation? If he had, what was his life like now, being so powerless compared to his new peers? Did he know how to survive by himself? Was Magnus helping him? Had the vicious nymph slaughtered him, regardless of what Magnus had promised Jace? Had Alec even survived a week?

Other things Jace thought about too. What did Alec look like now? Would Jace even recognize him? Did he look like the water nymph in the sketches Jace had found? With huge dark eyes, clawed hands and those sharp teeth that gave Jace nightmares, though he would not admit it. Did he look half as viscous as the sketches did? Did he really look like that much of a monster now?

That was all of course, if Alec had even survived the transformation. If he hadn’t, then none of those concerns were valid at all. He’d simply died in the water, probably in pain with no one who cared about him there to comfort him before he went but Jace tried to push that thought away. He had to believe Alec had survived. If he was proven wrong, Jace didn’t even know what he’d do.

If Alec had died, Jace didn’t imagine that things would ever be okay again. So, he couldn’t be dead. He simply couldn’t be but that belief didn’t help Jace when he had no clue what to do next. He needed to contact him or he needed to contact Magnus and unfortunately for Jace, he had absolutely no clue how to do that.

Asking around about the water nymph was not easy. Downworlders didn’t like shadowhunters and even if they knew something, few of them would be willing to share downworld secrets with him, especially about a species as elusive and powerful as the water nymph were. They rarely got involved in above water debacles but Jace did know there were rumors about their armies and their strength, so no one really wanted to anger them.

Jace didn’t even know if that was true. He didn’t know if they really had armies at all. He knew so little and no one at all seemed willing to help him fix that or they also knew nothing, which was almost worse. If no one knew anything, that meant there was no way Jace could get any information. That meant that he had no clue what to do and he had no plan and he had no way to even find out if Alec was alive at all.

Jace just needed to talk to him. He needed to know if Alec was okay. He couldn’t think about anything else until he did.

Jace finally got a lead a few days later. There was a faerie who apparently had close connections to the water nymph. Tracking him down was a hassle in and of itself but Jace finally found himself standing in the woods in some isolated park, weaponless as requested, feeling as if he was walking into a trap and finding it a little hard to care. He needed to find Alec. Even if he knew this was a trap, what else could he do but come and try?

Jace was jittery, looking around at every noise, waiting to have seelie weapons drawn against his throat but that didn't happen. When the faerie finally arrived, Jace looked up and simply found him standing there a few feet away. He was wearing armor with a blade across his side, looking ethereal and deadly all at once.

Jace, with his plain clothes and empty hands, felt entirely underdressed and under prepared but Jace supposed that was the point.

“Shadowhunter,” Meliorn cooed. “I hear you’re asking around about the water nymph.”

Jace took a deep breath in. “Yes, my parabatai-”

“Alexander,” Meliorn cut him off. “I’m aware of what happened with your parabatai.”

Jace didn’t ask how he knew. Word got around, he supposed but if Meliorn knew about Alec it had to mean he knew someone who had contact with him. Word had gotten from the water out somehow and Jace needed to know how.

“I need to know if he’s okay.” Meliorn’s eyes flickered up and then down Jace, frowning. “I heard you’d like to know a bit more than that. I heard you want to know how to do it.”

“It?” Jace murmured, knowing what Meliorn meant but asking anyway.

“You’d like to join him.” Meliorn said evenly. “It’s rare for a shadowhunter to be willing to undergo such a transformation. Are you sure you’d like to do it?”

“No, I’m not.” Jace snapped, his eyes flickering away. “I just… I need to know if Alec is alright and after that-” “You’ll decide if you can live without him or if you’d rather be cursed, like he is?”

Jace’s gaze sharpened into a glare. “Alec isn’t cursed.”

“He might disagree,” Meliorn murmured. “He’s alive. He survived the transformation. Magnus has been caring for him. I hear he’s grown quite fond of him.”

Instantly, Jace’s eyes snapped up. “You’ve heard from him?”

“I’ve heard from Magnus. He also told me that you should move on. He said Alec is safe and he’s adjusting and that you should adjust as well.” Meliorn stared at him for another moment longer before he kept speaking, “He’s not part of your world anymore, Jace. Trying to contact him would only make it harder for you both.”

“Alec is my parabatai.” Jace snapped. “I can’t live without him. I don’t know how.”

“And yet, you have to.”

Jace tightened his jaw in his mouth. “You won’t help me?” He asked finally.

“I think I already have. If you’re asking if I’ll help you contact him again, the answer is no.”

“Great,” Jace snapped bitterly, already turning to leave. Jace made it nearly twenty feet before he heard Meliorn call out to him, making him stop in his tracks.

“If you really want to do it, find Ragnor Fell. He’s Magnus’ oldest friend and one of the only people above water that he keeps in contact with.”

Jace spun around instantly, scanning Meliorn’s face as if to see if he was lying but Faeries couldn’t lie, could they? “Thank you,” he said finally, breathless in his disbelief.

Meliorn pressed his lips. “Don’t thank me. He probably won’t even talk to you.” Meliorn turned away before Jace could say another word.

Jace watched him leave, struggling to comprehend the fact that he had an actual clue. Alec was okay, Jace thought, repeating it to himself until the words sunk in. Alec was okay. He hadn’t died. He was alive somewhere and for now, Jace’s life was not over and thanks to Meliorn, he even had a lead.

Ragnor Fell. Jace had heard of the warlock before. He couldn’t be that hard to track down. If Jace was lucky, his address would be in the Clave’s files and it would be as easy as that to find him.

Jace, as it turns out, was not lucky. Ragnor Fell was in the Clave’s files, listed as one of the most powerful warlocks the Clave had ever worked with. His last known residency was a loft in London, one that had been long abandoned. He had no known address on file, only a small annotation that read ��seen last in New York- 1997.’ There was a little blurb about him owning a club in New York but that wasn’t as helpful as knowing where the warlock lived.

Jace had to hold back a sigh as he read it and then searched through the system again, hoping maybe there was more information filed under something else that would help him. There wasn’t.

Jace finally spun away from the monitor, jumping as he came face to face Isabelle, who had clearly seen what he’d been searching for. “Ragnor Fell?” She demanded. “What the hell do you want with such a powerful warlock?”

Jace froze for a moment, not even able to come up with an excuse. “It’s nothing,” he said before he was pushing past her.

“Nothing?” She echoed, darting after him. “Jace, I know you’re looking for Alec,” She snapped when Jace refused to slow down.

“No, I’m not,” Jace said simply.

Isabelle reached out and grabbed his arm, forcing him to a halt. “Yes, you are. You’ve been asking everyone how to get a hold of Magnus. You didn’t think I'd hear?”

Jace turned to her, frowning. “So, what if I am?” He said at last.

“So what?” She snapped, appalled. “Jace we were told not to contact him. It was part of the deal. They don't like shadowhunters. You could be putting him in danger.”

It had been part of the deal. Magnus had told them that if he took Alec, he didn’t want any other shadowhunters bothering him again but how could Jace just move on? “I don’t think I am putting him in danger,” Jace said finally.

“What do you mean?” Isabelle asked cautiously.

“Magnus has been taking care of Alec. He likes him. He’s grown fond of him. Magnus isn’t going to hurt Alec.” Jace turned away from her, heading down the hallway towards the supply room.

After a second, Isabelle darted after him. “Ragnor?” She questioned simply.

“He’s Magnus’ oldest friend. He’s the only one Magnus keeps in contact with up here,” Jace explained as he walked into the room, darting over instantly to the weapon’s rack, where he snatched up a blade and started to head towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Isabelle asked behind him.

Jace paused for a moment, turning back to look at her. “Ragnor used to own this club downtown. He hasn’t been seen there in years but someone might know where he is.”

Isabelle hesitated for a second before she grabbed her own weapon off the shelf. “Fine, I’m coming with you,” She said, heading past him and starting to go out the door without another word.

“Are you sure?” Jace asked, as he followed her outside. “It’s not only going against what Magnus said,” Jace reminded her. “It’s going against Clave orders.”

“I’m sure, Jace,” she said and Jace could do nothing but nod in response. Secretly, he was a little relieved to not be going alone. He was so used to doing everything with Alec. Having to do everything alone was one of the hardest parts of him being gone.

He was used to being two parts of a whole and now, it was just him, trying to find his other half again.

The pandemonium was as full as Jace imagined it always was on a Friday night, being that it was the most popular downworlder club in New York. Jace made his way through the people towards the bar after splitting up with Izzy, both of them agreeing to do what they do best - flirt and try to find information. Though, normally on a mission like this, Alec would be there watching from somewhere, waiting to jump in if they encountered trouble.

It made his absence all the more obvious, not as if Jace had been able to think of anything else since Alec had been gone. Jace settled at the bar, ordered a drink to look casual and then started smiling at people, flirting, dropping Ragnor’s name when he thought he could without raising any red flags but if anyone did know how to contact Ragnor, no one was very forthcoming.

On the outside, Jace knew he looked at ease. He knew it looked like his attention was on everyone around him but in reality, Jace’s mind was only on one person and he was reliving one thing in his head, no matter how much he tried to push it away and focus on the task at hand.

He was thinking about Alec. He was thinking about what had happened to him. He was thinking about what Meliorn had said about his parabatai being cursed and he was thinking about that awful day that they’d lost him, the last day Jace had seen him.

It had been a simple mission, a deceptively simple mission. They’d been trying to chase down a couple of Shax Demons that had popped up on their sensors. It had been a little odd how the demons had clustered in the same area and showed up at the exact same time but they didn’t really question it before they set out to find them. Either way, they needed to kill the demons.

They’d found themselves in a graveyard, a small one Jace had never been to before despite living in this city for most of his life. One of the demons had popped out. Alec had taken it down with one arrow and that was supposed to be how the rest of the mission went. Simple. Easy. Kill them and get out but when they finally made their way towards the back of the cemetery, they’d seen something they were entirely unprepared for.

They’d seen a rift and without a warlock present, they had no way to close it. They could only fight the demons that kept spilling out. Izzy called the Institute. Alec and Jace kept fighting, trying to hold them back until enforcements got there and hopefully, a warlock as well but then, the unthinkable had happened.

A demon had dived at Alec and Alec, with his attention on a demon that was going towards Jace, hadn’t noticed. The demon had tackled him and before Jace could even blink, Alec had disappeared with the demon into the rift.

A warlock finally came. They closed the rift. Jace raced back to the Institute, clutching his parabatai rune. He could tell Alec was alive still but he was so hurt and they had no clue where he was. The Institute finally got the call that Alec had popped out of a rift that had opened on the sea coast. Alec, already injured from the demon attack, had fallen nearly twenty feet before he’d hit the sand.

Jace wasn’t quite sure what happened after that. He wasn’t there and he couldn’t convince a warlock to open a portal for him on such short notice. Magnus Bane had been there, somehow. He’d come to check out the rift so close to his ocean and he’d seen Alec, a crumpled bloodied mess on the ground.

All of Alec’s bones had been broken. Even with all the help the Institute could get him, Alec would not survive and then, something Jace still didn’t understand happened. Magnus offered to take Alec. He offered to change him and either Alec would die during the transformation or he would become one of them, stronger with Magnus’ magic, healthier, more vicious, never to leave the ocean again, never to again be human or nephilim, never to speak to Jace or any of them again.

It was part of the rules when things like that happened. If a nephilim became a vampire, they were not to talk to them again. If a nephilim became one of them, well the same rules applied along with the fact that the water nymph did not like them, would not tolerate communication between them and lived in the ocean, so far disconnected from modern forms of communication like the cell phone.

Magnus had offered to turn Alec only if he would not have to deal with any other shadowhunters again. He made it clear Alec would not be worth his effort, if he was going to be cursed having to deal with nephilim for the rest of his life. If any of them contacted him about Alec again, Magnus would simply kill him and move on.

But how was Jace supposed to do that? How could he possibly move on and leave Alec behind, especially now that he knew Alec was alive? Besides, Jace was kind of banking on what Meliorn had said. Magnus was fond of Alec. He was protecting him and keeping him safe. Surely, he wouldn’t kill him just because Jace tried to contact him, right?

Jace was jolted out of his thoughts when someone stepped in front of him. It was a warlock, Jace recognized instantly. The warlock had horns and skin that could have been off colored but Jace couldn’t tell in the flashing colored lights of the club. Finally, the lights flashed white for a moment and Jace could see the emerald green skin.

“I hear you’re walking around my club bothering all my patrons to try and find me,” Ragnor posed, looking exceptionally unimpressed. “Find your sister and follow me. I’ll give you five minutes if it will make you never contact me again.”

Before Jace could say anything, Ragnor turned and was heading towards a room in the back of the club.

“What do you want?” Ragnor snapped, sounding as if he was already reaching his limit with the situation at hand.

Jace started speaking instantly. He wasn't going to push his luck with pleasantries.“I need to contact Magnus Bane. I hear you know how.” Ragnor eyed him, not looking any more impressed with Jace’s explanation. After a second Jace kept speaking, “My parabatai, he-”

“I know who your parabatai is.” Ragnor said before sighing, turning away from them both to head towards a drink cart Jace saw in the corner.

“I need to talk to him,” Jace insisted.

Ragnor peered at him, pouring a drink without looking at it. “Magnus told all of you not to contact him.”

“I know but-”

“What do you want Magnus to do anyway?” Ragnor continued. “You know your parabatai survived. What, do you just want to meet up and have a chit chat about life? There’s no reason for you to have to contact Magnus. Your parabatai is in a different world now. You knew that when you agreed to have him changed. Trying to contact him isn’t going to do anything but make it harder for you both.”

At that, Jace hesitated and after a moment, Ragnor’s eyes widened just a fraction. “Magnus isn’t going to change you too.” He snapped, sounding shocked Jace would even consider it.

Next to him, Isabelle finally seemed to find her voice. “He doesn’t want to be changed,” she said confidently before turning to Jace and seeing just how unconfident he looked.

“Why wouldn’t he?” Jace asked quietly, ignoring what Isabelle said all together. “He was willing to do it for Alec.”

“Jace-” Isabelle snapped, looking horrified. Jace ignored her and kept his eyes fixed on Ragnor.

“Yes well, Magnus has a soft heart for shadowhunters who are bleeding out on his beach. You are decidedly not bleeding out and you don’t know what you’re asking for anyway. It’s a painful transformation, one you probably wouldn’t survive, one your parabatai almost didn’t.” Ragnor stared at him for another moment before he sighed, placing his drink down. “It must be… hard losing him-” Ragnor said, sounding as if he was trying to find a single sympathetic bone in his body and struggling. “But Magnus isn’t just going to change you because you’d like it. That’s exactly why he hesitated in doing it to Alec- he didn’t want all of you bothering him.”

“I’d just like to talk to Magnus once.” Jace murmured softly. “If he tells me no, I’ll move on,” Jace said, only half meaning it. There was no moving on from Alec but if Magnus did say no, what other choice would he have?

“I’ll ask him and I’ll let you know.” Ragnor said at last, “But I wouldn’t expect an answer other than no.” Ragnor waved his hands towards them both. “Get out of my club before I change my mind and don’t ask at all.”

Jace hesitated for a brief moment before Isabelle reached out and grabbed his hand, starting to gently pull him towards the door. It was only outside in the cold crisp air that Isabelle spoke again. “You can’t really want to join him, Jace?” She asked softly.

For a moment, Jace kept walking, ignoring her. At last, he snapped, “Of course, I do. He’s my parabatai, Izzy. ‘For whither thou goest, I shall go’ and he had just-” Jace broke off with a shaky breath.

“He had just told you that he was in love with you,” Isabelle finished softly. “He told me.”

Jace stopped in his tracks, his hands clenched into fists at his side. “I didn’t react right. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t tell him that I loved him too and now, he’s gone.”

Isabelle sighed softly. “That’s a big choice, Jace. You’d be leaving everything you’ve ever known behind.”

“Except Alec.”

They stared at each other for a moment before they both started walking again, in silence.

Ragnor’s answer came the next day in the form of a short fire message. “He said yes. He’ll meet you at the dock near the Los Angeles Institute at midnight tonight. If you’re late, he will not see you again.”

Isabelle said she’d come with him, though Jace tried to convince her otherwise. Magnus was centuries old. He had a greater demon’s blood and he was one of the most powerful beings the Clave had on record. If Magnus did not like them, this could go bad very easily but Isabelle insisted she’d come. This was about Alec. Of course, she’d come. Besides, she told Jace if he ended up not coming back, she wanted to be there to say goodbye.

How could Jace argue with that?

The meeting spot Bane had requested was isolated enough to make it a hassle to get to without a portal but at last, they managed to find the right spot. It was an isolated dock that Jace wouldn’t quite describe as close to the Los Angeles Institute. It was more vaguely near, if you considered a couple miles of nothing as near.

Regardless, they made it there only a little late. Ragnor’s words about not being late rang through Jace’s head but Magnus wouldn’t really leave because they were a few minutes late, would he? They walked out onto the dock and both of them, even with their most important runes lit, almost missed the fact that there was a man standing on the dock, looking out at the ocean, as still as if he’d been a statue.

They both froze a couple of yards away. Isabelle’s hand snapped to her whip. Jace reached for his blade but didn’t pull it out yet. For a moment, it almost seemed as if the man hadn’t heard them and them, he turned and peered across them both only looking mildly interested.

Jace knew at once that this was Magnus Bane. It could be no one else. His cat eyes cut through the darkness sending a chill down Jace’s spine. The man was nearly naked and not seeming to find that fact disturbing one bit. For a moment, Jace was thankful he could only just make out the shape of Bane’s body. He couldn’t get distracted. Not now. This was about Alec.

“Bane,” Jace called, knowing it was him but needing some kind of confirmation. Bane was a water nymph and yet, he stood here, his body more human than not, his scales mostly gone, his fingers twisted, humanish in the light and his legs.

Jace had heard rumors that the sons of greater demons could do what the rest of the water nymph could not - they could shift and move to walk among the humans but Jace had always assumed it was rumor. Apparently, he’d been mistaken.

“Lightwoods,” Bane called over, sounding unimpressed with them already. “You’re late.”

“We had a hard time finding you-” Jace started but Magnus waved him off before he could keep going. Jace fell silent instantly and that seemed to make Magnus smirk in the darkness.

“Oh, you’re obedient. What a pleasant surprise.”

Jace stayed silent and he wasn’t even sure why. Magnus had told him to be quiet, more or less, and he wasn’t going to speak and mess up whatever chance he had at seeing Alec again. Jace told himself that was the only reason why but in the back of his head, he knew it was something else too.

Magnus was commanding. He held himself with such confidence that even Jace paled in comparison to. It was hard to not want to listen to him, that and the fact that he was unnerving, scary in the way that monsters who appeared human were.

Magnus’ eyes flickered to Isabelle at last. “You can go,” he stated simply.

Instantly, Isabelle started to protest. “I’m not leaving him here alone.”

Magnus’ eyes flickered to Jace and then back to Isabelle once more. “I wasn’t asking,” He said mildly. “You can see him again when we’re done talking. I’d like to speak to him in private.” Isabelle opened her mouth to protest again but Magnus raised a finger, silencing her. “Or, I can just leave,” He threatened.

“Go, Izzy,” Jace said without looking over.

They stood for a tense moment before Izzy finally turned and started walking off the dock, leaving Jace and Magnus completely alone. Jace was happy that Isabelle left without a fight. He knew she didn’t want to leave him. Truthfully, being alone with someone as powerful as Magnus made Jace nervous but it was better than Magnus leaving and Jace having no chance of seeing Alec ever again.

Magnus eyed Jace for a moment before he turned to face the ocean like he had been when they’d first walked up. “Come,” he murmured softly.

For a moment, Jace was surprised Magnus would turn his back on someone who stood there armed but that also meant Magnus knew he had nothing to worry about. Jace wouldn’t be able to hurt him and besides, Magnus had Alec. Jace wouldn’t hurt him, even if he could.

Jace eased his hand off his weapon and walked forward, until he stood a few feet away from Magnus, his body tense all over. Magnus was completely naked, Jace could see this close. He put his eyes pointedly forward, watching the waves crash out on the dark ocean.

“You’re human,” Jace said finally, unable to stop himself from saying it.

“No,” Magnus murmured. “I’m not. I just look it.”

“Could Alec-”

“No,” Magnus said simply before the hope could grow in Jace’s voice. “He couldn’t. The transformation is permanent. He isn’t like me.”

“Oh,” Jace whispered, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. If Alec could look human again, that could change everything. Jace could come here and they could visit. Alec could talk to him. Alec could walk up on the beach and tell Jace all about what he’d been doing recently but that was just a fantasy. Alec was stuck, with literally an ocean keeping them apart.

“Why did you want to meet me, after I explicitly told you not to contact me?” Magnus spoke mildly but there was a twist in his words that reminded Jace he’d already disobeyed him by asking him to come here at all and yet, Magus had come to meet him.

“Meliorn told me you were fond of Alec. I was hoping you wouldn’t really hurt him.”

“That’s not a reason. That’s a justification.” Magnus turned to look at him and Jace found that his eyes were almost hypnotizing this close. “Why did you want to talk to me?”

Jace swallowed, his throat suddenly incredibly tight. He thought about telling him he wanted to ask how Alec was. He thought about telling him that he needed to know that Alec was okay. He thought about asking him to tell Alec that he loved him and that he was sorry he ever hesitated in saying it back.

That was all true but that wasn’t really what Jace was hoping to get out of this. “I want you to take me too.” Jace said, something pleading breaking out in his voice. “I want to be with Alec. I can’t live without him. I want to come too.”

The moment Jace said it, Magnus’ entire face softened. He stared at Jace and in the pale moonlight, he almost looked sorry for him. “Ragnor told me you wanted to do it but I didn’t believe him. Most shadowhunters would choose death over a life in the ocean.”

“I’d choose a life in the ocean over living without Alec,” Jace said and there wasn’t even a flicker of hesitation. He even surprised himself with how sure of it he was. He hadn’t wanted to admit it to Meliorn. He hadn’t wanted to admit it to Ragnor or Izzy but it was true. He wasn’t just thinking about it. He didn’t just want to make sure Alec was okay. He wanted to go with him more than anything. He needed to go with him.

For a beat, Magnus eyed him as if fully taking him in for the first time. Finally, he looked back up to Jace’s face and though nothing in his expression had changed, Jace got the impression he was pleased. “You’re lucky you’re cute and not as incredibly annoying as you seemed when you were asking about me to anyone who would listen.”

Jace didn’t know how he knew he’d been asking around about him, nor did he ask. He didn’t want to risk suddenly appearing annoying and having Magnus change his mind. “So, you’ll do it?” Jace asked, half in disbelief.

Magnus raised an eyebrow, “You do realize there’s a great chance you won’t survive. I’m surprised your parabatai did. I had to do a lot to keep him alive. The chances of both of you managing to survive is slim.”

Jace nodded. “I know.”

For a moment, Magnus kept eyeing him, as if he was waiting to see any hesitation, any glimmer that showed Jace did not want to do this. Instead, he saw nothing. Magnus turned back towards the ocean, letting out a soft sigh.

“Go say goodbye then,” Magnus said.

Jace turned and started walking down the dock towards Isabelle before Magnus changed his mind completely.

Jace had almost expected Isabelle to try to talk him out of it but she didn’t. They’d both come here knowing that if Jace was given the chance to join Alec, he would. He loved Alec more than anyone in the entire world and if Alec was somewhere, Jace had to go with him. The fact that Isabelle had ever been surprised he’d wanted that was shocking in and of itself.

Isabelle didn’t try to talk him out of it. She didn’t even comment. She just hugged him tight for a moment and then, she let him go. They both knew they wouldn’t see each other again. The ocean was vast and after Jace changed, if he even survived, they would speak entirely different languages. Jace was leaving her behind here but Alec had already left them and Jace had always been Alec’s anyway.

“I love you,” he murmured as he let go.

She nodded, looking as if she was trying hard to keep the water out of her eyes as she responded. “I love you too,” she murmured. “Take care of him.”

Jace nodded and after a moment, he turned away from her. Shadowhunters didn’t say goodbye and though Jace wouldn’t be a shadowhunter soon, he wasn’t about to break that trend. Saying goodbye would almost be like tempting fate to make him not survive this and he needed to survive this.

Alec would blame himself forever if Jace didn’t, so there was no other option. He needed to survive. He needed to join him. He couldn’t let Alec do this alone.

Jace walked down the dock until he met Magnus, where he stilled. Jace hoped Isabelle had started to walk away already. She didn’t need to see whatever would happen now. Jace didn’t even know what would happen now. Would Magnus do it here on the dock? Would he drag him to the bottom of the ocean?

Magnus turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you ready?” He murmured.

When Jace nodded, he frowned, his eyes flicking up and then down Jace. “I do hope you survive,” Magnus said at last. “You’ll make a pretty one.”

Jace didn’t even have a chance to respond to that before Magnus grabbed him, his grip tight on Jace’s upper arm as he pushed him and then, the world disappeared in a blur of dark blue. Jace was suddenly freezing. For some reason, he hadn’t expected the water to be so cold.

Something moved in front of him and the dark figure made Jace flinch, his shadowhunter instincts yelling at him to find a weapon, to get out of the water where he’d be able to defend himself more easily but after a moment, Jace’s eyes focused on what the figure actually was and his heart started pounding in his chest.

It was Alec. He looked nothing like Jace remembered him but it was him. Jace would recognize him anywhere and he was suddenly ashamed that he’d ever questioned if he would or not. He was huge, which probably shouldn’t have surprised Jace as much as it did. Alec had always been big as a shadowhunter. He’d been bulky and tall and his form now was even more so.

His scales were dark blue and in the water, Jace could just barely see the way they shimmered in the pale moonlight- flickering in light blue, touches of green, turning his body from a dark almost black blue to a cascade of different hues. He had claws now too, long dark spikes that came off his webbed fingers into claws sharp enough that they looked like they’d stab right through Jace, if Alec wanted to do so.

He looked dangerous and terrifying and he looked like Alec. His eyes flashed across Jace and Jace could see that same concern in them that he saw when he got hurt and Alec was there, trying to save him. Jace saw something else moving and it took him a moment to realize it was Magnus. He’d changed now and he looked so entirely different from how he’d looked a moment before, on land.

He was so different from Alec. His scales were bright gold even in the dark, shimmering in hues of red as he moved. His eyes glowed bright in the water and he moved like a blur around Alec, leaving Jace to only see the flash of his tail before he’d moved out of sight again.

Alec darted forward suddenly, pressing his cold mouth against Jace’s. Jace was startled for a moment. Of course, he wanted Alec to kiss him but he was surprised that was his first reaction. Then, he felt Alec pushing air into his lungs and Jace realized what Alec was doing.

Jace was drowning. He was trying to stop Jace from drowning.

Alec grabbed Jace as he pulled away, being careful not to stab Jace with his claws as he did so. He moved like he was going to pull Jace to the surface but Magnus was suddenly there again, grabbing Alec to stop him and chattering in some language Jace did not understand. Whatever Magnus said came out in a series of chirps and noises. Jace wondered if Alec had understood him instinctively when he was turned or if he’d had to learn their language.

Jace had never been fantastic at languages. That had always been Alec’s thing.

Alec pulled away from Jace, looking angry. He seemed to argue with Magnus about something for a moment before Jace felt Magnus grab him and start pulling him down, leaving the pale light from above to start disappearing as they sank.

Alec froze for a moment and then, he darted after them, following them as they went to the bottom.

It was just about then that Jace realized his lungs had started to burn. He was drowning, he realized after a second and this time, Alec was not there to push air into his lungs. Jace didn’t know why he was surprised by that. He’d kind of expected that he’d just change before he had to feel this awful choking feeling but that apparently wasn’t the case because even when they stopped going down, neither Magnus or Alec did anything about the fact that Jace couldn’t breath.

Alec just hovered, looking exceptionally concerned as he made circles around Jace’s drowning body, looking like he wanted desperately to do something to help him but couldn’t.

Jace passed out at some point and when he woke up again, the only thing he could feel was pain. His whole body was lit in pain and that horrible feeling was still burning his lungs. He felt like he was so far past drowning. He felt like he should be dead by now but he wasn’t.

It was a few moments later that Jace started breathing, somehow. He could feel himself doing it in the water but he couldn’t even think about how because everything suddenly hurt so bad that Jace couldn't think of anything else. It felt like all his bones were breaking and it felt like his skin was being torn off but eventually, the pain subsided and when Jace opened his eyes an unknowable amount of time later, everything was different.

At first, Jace didn’t notice that he was different. He noticed that everything around him was different. The ocean, which before had looked like nothing but dark shapes, was lit in a way Jace had never seen before. The light wasn’t actually coming from anywhere but Jace could just see through the darkness now. He could see every particle floating through the water and every small creature fluttering by. He could see the rocks and the grains of sand at the bottom of the ocean. He could see to the water line far above and the warmth.

The water had been freezing when Magnus had pulled him in but now, it felt like a warm bath. It felt like it was the perfect temperature to live in forever and when Jace finally looked down at himself, he realized why. Suddenly, he remembered exactly what happened and he realized for a startling second that he was breathing in the water.

Which made sense, considering that when Jace looked down, he had a tail. It wasn’t as bright as Magnus’ or as dark as Alec’s but instead, it was somewhere in between. Jace’s scales almost looked like Magnus’ gold scales except they were muted, shimmering more in hues of silver and green instead of the bright red of Magnus’ own.

It was beautiful, he thought for a moment but he still didn’t quite feel like that could possibly be him but when he moved, his tail flicked softly and he knew that he was undoubtedly looking at himself.

The moment he moved, he saw a flash of movement next to him and before he even registered that someone was there, he was looking up at Alec. Alec’s eyes were wide and frantic, flicking over him as if he was expecting to see an injury that it didn’t seem like Jace had.

Alec’s mouth opened and he was speaking suddenly. Jace could hear two things happening at once, he could hear the individual sounds that Alec was making, the clicking noises that Jace had heard before, the sounds that had sounded like nothing meaningful at the time but now, Jace could understand him. He didn’t even know how but he could.

“Are you okay?” Alec asked and even though it sounded so different from english, Jace could hear that same alert tone in Alec’s voice that Jace was so used to.

Jace opened his mouth but english words couldn’t seem to find their way out. He fumbled for a moment before Magnus was there at the other side of Alec, speaking softly, “He’s fine. It’s going to take a while for him to be able to speak,” he said, seeming as if he was reminding Alec of that fact. “Remember you?” Magnus asked.

Alec nodded but his eyes didn’t move off Jace. Finally, Alec darted forward and Jace felt Alec’s arms wrap around him. Their tails curled together and Jace felt Alec huff what sounded like a laugh in Jace’s ear.

“I’d have killed you if you died trying to come to me,” Alec murmured to him.

If Jace knew how to speak, he’d have told Alec that he should have always expected Jace to follow him but he didn’t know how to say it, so he just held Alec closer, trying hard to be aware of the talons he now had and not dig them into Alec’s side. If he could have, he’d have told Alec that he loved him too but he couldn’t, so Jace could do nothing but let it wait.

After a few moments, Magnus said they should go home and then, Alec pulled away and Jace got to learn how to swim for the first time.

‘Home’ it turns out was a cave. It was a nice cave admittedly, but still a cave and still very different from anything Jace had ever considered a home before. There was coral growing all around the outside of the cave along with other plants that looked like they had been intentionally placed there. Long flowing strings of seaweed obscured the entrance but they really looked more decorative than truly placed there to hide the cave.

Inside, it was even more intentionally decorated. Jace looked around and found shells. He found pretty, intricate looking gems and stones. There were glass containers pressed into the crevasse of the rocks, containing some things Jace recognized - vampire fangs, feathers - and some he didn’t. There were some human things too.

There was a small row boat pressed into a corner, almost looking like a bed. There was a net hanging across part of the ceiling, swaying gently in the water like a hammock in the wind. Jace could see live fish caught in another smaller net, fluttering around as they attempted feebly to escape.

There were lights here too, lit with some force Jace didn't know of. There were glowing stones across the walls and they reminded Jace of witch lights, something that comforted him and reminded him of home all at once.

Alec didn’t let Jace look around for too long before he was pulling Jace and pushing him gently into the boat, telling him that he needed to rest. Jace sank into the boat without much protest. He wasn’t that good at swimming anyway, especially not if he didn’t have Alec by his side to help him.

Besides, Jace was exhausted. Jace relaxed into the boat and let himself close his eyes, well aware of the fact that Alec was hovering around him anxiously, keeping a close eye on him as if he expected Jace to disappear.

Even that anxious vibe that Alec gave off was comforting. Jace didn’t think he’d ever feel Alec stress him out again.

It was apparent to Jace rather instantly that before he’d arrived, Alec and Magnus’ relationship hadn’t been strictly platonic and now that Jace was there, neither of them seemed to know where they stood. Neither of them said this to Jace but Jace could just tell and suddenly, Meliorn’s words of Magnus being fond of Alec rang a little differently in Jace’s head.

Jace wanted to say something about it. He wanted to talk to Alec and tell him that he loved him but that if he’d moved on, Jace was happy just being with Alec again but his ability to express himself wasn’t quite on par with saying that.

He understood Alec and Magnus instinctively and some part of him knew how to answer them too but trying to actually get the sounds out of his mouth was a hard and difficult process. Apparently, Alec had taken to the language much more easily, which Jace wasn’t really surprised by.

Jace had always gotten praise because he was more flashy than Alec and he excelled at catching everyone’s attention but Alec was always innately more skilled than Jace was, he just kept it to himself. It was only ever people like Izzy and him that noticed but here, the difference was apparent.

Even so, Jace didn’t find himself annoyed by it. He’d thought he’d lost Alec for so long and if it was Alec’s time to outshine him, then Jace was fine fumbling as he tried to speak, as long as Alec would stay with him while he did.

Jace didn’t actually find the words to try to talk to Alec for a few weeks.

Jace was eased into things like he was a baby. Magnus caught his food for him. Magnus showed him how to eat it. Magnus corrected him when Jace swam wrong. Magnus snapped at him when he strayed too close to something dangerous or too far away from him and Alec at all.

Alec himself seemed more than comfortable hovering around Jace and swimming slow circles around him that Jace couldn’t do if he tried, while Magnus did the actual teaching. It occurred to Jace that Alec might not actually know what was dangerous and what wasn’t yet, that or he just referred to Magnus’ judgement anyway.

The three of them had fallen into some kind of hierarchy and Magnus was undoubtedly at the top. When they went out, they went where Magnus brought them. They listened when Magnus spoke. If they came across others (which had only happened once and apparently did not happen often), Magnus was the one that spoke for them.

Magnus was bigger than them and more powerful and far more knowledgeable and that was a comfortable thing to fall into. Jace could see that Alec liked having someone who took care of everything for them and handled all of the important stuff. On the surface, Alec had always had so much on his plate and it must be rather nice now having someone else who took that role. Jace didn’t really mind it either. He’d always been strong headed and even with Alec but here, it was nice that Magnus corralled them like they were children. The structure felt nice in a world that was so foreign, even if Jace really wanted to touch the spiky thing just to see what would happen.

If there was anymore of a hierarchy beyond Magnus being at the top, it was certainly Alec and then Jace. Magnus would ask Alec’s opinion sometimes. They would have discussions that Jace was never involved in and he had the feeling that even when he was able to talk, he wouldn’t be but he wasn’t offended.

He was at the bottom but that came with a freedom that Jace breathed in as easily as his new gills pulled air from the water. Magnus and Alec took care of everything. Jace was safe and he could dart after fish and try to catch them (a task that Magnus did very easily, Alec was good at and Jace hadn’t quite mastered yet) and be dragged back like a child when he got too close to the drop off only Magnus ever seemed to venture into.

He was at the bottom but that was a comfortable place to be. He was taken care of and for once in his life, Jace let himself accept that. He’d never really been taken care of before. He’d never really let himself be but he was learning fast that it was a nice feeling.

In the end, it wasn’t actually Jace who broached the topic of their relationship. Jace had been planning on waiting a little bit longer before he tried to talk to Alec about it but when Alec brought it up, Jace couldn’t exactly tell Alec to wait until he could say more complex things.

It was one of the times Magnus was gone that Alec finally said it. He’d gone out to look for something he was out of, leaving Jace and Alec home alone in the cave. Alec had been folding seaweed, making a little rug out of it that Jace had seen them use like a basket. Truthfully, Jace didn’t think they needed any more of them and the ones they had looked better than the one Alec was making but maybe, Alec just liked having something to do. Jace himself was perfectly content curling against Alec's side, watching him maneuver his claws and trying not to cut the seaweed as he did.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Alec said at last, not even looking up from his task. “Before,” he murmured softly. “It’s okay if you don’t love me but I meant it and I’m glad to have said it but I’m sorry if it upset you.”

It took Jace a second to even process Alec’s words and then, even after he did he wasn’t sure how to respond. He knew what he wanted to say but he didn’t know how in the world to go about saying it, so before he could possibly overthink it, say nothing and react even worse than he had last time, Jace started speaking. “You didn’t,” Jace snapped frantically.

Alec paused and looked over to him, a small frown coming across his dark, scale flaked face as he waited for Jace to continue.

“Upset me.” Jace said, only recalling how to say it because Alec just had. “You didn’t upset me,” Jace repeated, finally stringing his thought together into a full sentence. Jace frowned himself, fully expecting Alec to cut him off as he struggled to find the words but Alec didn’t, he just waited and Jace was thankful for it.

Jace looked up to meet Alec’s eyes again, “I love you too,” he murmured. “I just didn’t-” Jace shook his head, frustrated. “I was scared,” he started again, scraping his unfinished sentence completely. “But I love you,” Jace repeated, hoping if Alec heard anything in his mangled words that he’d hear that.

Alec’s eyes were wide and soft. He looked away, not exactly looking disappointed but more shocked, as if the world had shifted in a direction he hadn’t expected and he didn’t quite know how to process it. Jace understood the feeling.

“Magnus?” Jace posed simply.

Alec slowly looked up to him. “Do you like Magnus?” Alec posed simply in response.

Of course, Jace liked Magnus. Magnus took care of them. Magnus saved Alec. Magnus reunited them by taking Jace too and besides, Jace did like Magnus even personally. Jace liked watching Magnus. Jace liked doing stuff Magnus didn’t like him to do, just so Magnus would roll his eyes and stop him. Jace liked how easy on Alec Magnus was and he liked how Magnus always seemed to know what not to say to Alec, to avoid pressing all those insecure buttons that other people had always seemed to press so easily.

Similarly, Jace liked how soft on him Magnus was too. Jace was still testing that boundary with Magnus but so far, Magnus never seemed honestly annoyed with him. He was always lighthearted about it, even when what Jace was doing probably was annoying to a centuries old all-powerful being but Magnus never lashed out at him and he ever seemed to get aggravated with Jace, not really.

But even besides all that, Jace knew that wasn’t what Alec was asking. Alec knew Jace liked Magnus. It was obvious but he was asking if Jace liked Magnus and the truth was, Jace wasn’t sure.

Magnus was beautiful. He was charming and he was fun to be around. He certainly flirted with Jace enough to indicate that he was interested but… it was obvious that Alec and Magnus were drawn to each other. Certainly, Magnus couldn’t really be interested in him too? That’s just how Magnus was. He flirted where others would normally do anything else.

“Does Magnus like me?” Jace asked instead of answering.

For a second, a brief almost amused smile flickered across Alec's face and then, someone else was speaking from behind them.

“Smooth way to avoid the question,” Magnus called over. “I haven’t peaked your interest yet?” He asked, half flirtatious and half joking. He raised an eyebrow and at once, Jace wanted to point and exclaim that that was why he didn’t believe Magnus was ever actually interested in him.

Magnus flirted with Alec too sure but Magnus also leaned close to Alec. He’d touch him softly and murmur to him. With Jace, Magnus only ever did this - he’d flirt, always half joking, never completely giving Jace any reason to think he meant it.

“You’re joking,” Jace snapped, his tone flat.

Instantly, the smirk on Magnus’ face disappeared.

“You never flirt with me like you do Alec.” Jace continued. “You’re always kidding.”

For a moment, neither Alec nor Magnus responded and then, Magnus opened his mouth, looking confused. “I’m not kidding,” he said softly. “Have you thought I’ve been kidding?”

Jace had the urge to deny it suddenly and avoid the embarrassment but after a second of hesitation, he nodded.

Magnus looked astonished. “I wasn’t kidding,” he insisted. “I just-” Magnus gestured over to Alec. “I knew Alec was interested, Jace. We talked about it before you came.” Magnus paused for a moment, frowning. “I didn’t know if you were or not and with you here, I wasn’t exactly sure if I was being cut out.” Jace stared, his mind struggling to process exactly what Magnus was trying to say. “So, you weren’t kidding?” Jace asked at last.

Magnus' expression flickered in an amused smile but there was something a little… self conscious beneath that. “I wasn’t kidding,” he confirmed.

“Oh,” Jace said, struggling to come up with a response.

“Disappointed?” Magnus asked, his lips quirking like it was a joke even though he didn’t seem to find it amusing.

“No,” Jace said hastily. “Surprised,” he insisted instead. They both stared at each other and after a pathetically long moment, it occurred to Jace that Magnus was scared Jace didn’t like him. He thought that somehow, Jace didn’t like him. “I’m not kidding either,” Jace said, which didn’t really make sense because up until now, Jace hadn’t really said anything at all, let alone something that Magnus might mistake as a joke but Magnus seemed to understand what he was saying anyway.

Magnus nodded slowly, “And… you two?” He asked, glancing between them.

Jace looked to Alec. “Not kidding?” He asked after a moment.

Alec huffed a soft, chipped laugh. “Not kidding,” he assured.

For the moment, it seemed it was as simple as that and there really wasn’t anything else to say until Magnus finally spoke again. “Well, let’s go,” Magnus said, turning towards the entrance of the cave that he’d come from a few moments before. “You’re finally going to catch a fish,” Magnus called over his shoulder.

Jace groaned softly before following, as Alec laughed an adorable, distinctly inhuman sound behind him.

Jace’s new life was easier to fall into than he’d expected it would be. He thought it would be a struggle all the way through and while some things were, even the struggles came easier than Jace had expected. Jace struggled to speak but neither Magnus nor Alec rushed him to get better at it any quicker than he did, so it didn’t seem like it was that big of a problem. Jace sucked at catching fish and he wasn’t stellar at swimming but Magnus caught them food and besides laughing at Jace’s attempts to be as elegant as Magnus was in the water, they didn’t rush him on that either.

Similarly, Magnus and Alec were easier to fall into than Jace had expected. With assurance that Jace was in fact interested, Magnus was more blunt with his flirting. He’d lean into Jace like he did Alec. He’d brush Jace’s golden wispy hair back and he’d press kisses onto Jace’s cheek, being careful to keep his sharp teeth and claws safely tucked away (something Jace learned that he was not fantastic at, when their relationship started to involve a bit more interactive things).

Alec was a bit more hesitant with him and it didn’t help that Jace felt equally as unsure with Alec. It was easy to fall into that relationship with Magnus when the man himself was the one initiating it but neither Alec nor Jace seemed quite sure how to go about it with each other. For a long time, they’d been friends and then, they’d been parabatai and now, they didn’t quite seem to know how to be something else, even if they both wanted to be.

In the end, they realized they were both vastly overthinking it. Nothing about the way they interacted had to change. Jace didn’t have to push aside his playful nature to try and flirt and Alec didn’t have to push aside his predisposition to be annoyed at what Jace did, so they could try to be more romantic.

Their same banter was fine and at night, if Jace wanted to tuck his tail around Alec’s and bury his face in the man’s neck, he could and that would be fine. If Alec wanted to wake him up by kissing him, he could and overthinking the way they interacted otherwise helped no one.

It was Magnus who so very helpfully pointed this out, after awkwardly watching both of them try to fumble around their new relationship for a few days. They both realized very quickly that Magnus was right, as he often was.

Looking back on it, joining Alec hadn’t exactly been a choice. He hadn’t really thought about the consequences or what life would be like underwater. The only thing he’d thought about was Alec and that he needed to follow him, regardless of where he went. There hadn’t been another choice but overall, Jace found that he couldn’t regret what he’d done at all.

Shadowhunters thought of those underwater as cursed, vicious creatures. The latter, Jace could understand given that he thought Magnus could kill someone in a second but the former? No, Jace didn’t think they were cursed. The real curse would be a life trapped away from Alec. The real curse would be knowing that Alec was here with Magnus and being stuck above.

Jace was not cursed. Alec was not cursed. Their lives were just different now and besides, if it meant that Jace could spend eternity with Alec and Magnus, how could it be anything less than a blessing? How could anyone pity them?

Besides, Jace also learned fairly quickly that his new anatomy was quite a bit more fun than what he’d had as a shadowhunter. Magnus said that their bodies were more sensitive than human bodies and that was a fact that Jace was more than a little excited to explore himself.

If Jace had been cursed with anything, it was an astounding appreciation for everything his new body had to offer. Things were different but overall, Jace really couldn’t complain, even if he never quite seemed to get the hang of the spinning maneuver that Magnus and Alec could do in the water.

Jace really, really wanted to be able to do it but he had a long time to practice and Magnus had a long time to be able to laugh at him as he tried to do it. Jace really thought that things could have ended up far worse for him than a life like this, with two boyfriends who he was not worried would get sick of him and a home full of water where he was safe from scary predators when his far more capable boyfriends were away.

Jace didn’t think that a life cursed to remain in the ocean was that bad.

#shrarepairexchange #sh rare pair gift exchange #shadowhunters #shrarepair2021 #jesssssah

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doyelikehaggis · 4 years

Text

Rowing the Rarepair Rowboat: Sophie Moore (Batwoman) x Freya Mikaelson (The Originals)

Requested by @the-demons-behind-your-smile

Freya ducks down behind the makeshift shelter Sophie's created from a long table. She nearly startles her, Sophie's hands already moving to raise her gun, but she quickly places a hand on her wrist.

Recognition comes, then Sophie sighs, briefly closing her eyes. "You really need to not sneak up on me, especially when we're literally trying to avoid being murdered by people we can't find."

"Couldn't find," Freya corrects, and procures the few strands of hair from her pocket. "I did a more basic but also slightly more complicated version of a locator spell and projected myself to where they are in the building."

Sophie's eyes grow and her mouth starts to open, some incredulous lecture about to fall out.

"Don't worry, they couldn't see me," Freya waves it off, "but they're up on the third floor now and have a lot of weapons, so either you call for backup from the rest of the Crows, or your strange vigilante ex, or you let me use magic on them..."

She trails off, making it clear which option she'd prefer. Sophie groans, but she visibly relaxes, her hands loosening on the gun.

A beat passes in silence and Freya just waits for her decision, watching her expression. There's the slightest twitch to her right eyebrow and she knows before Sophie even opens her mouth.

"Fine," she says, "but can you promise me that you won't kill any of them?"

"When have I ever killed anyone?" Freya asks, furrowing her eyebrows, and Sophie's shoot up with a scoff. "You can't count the vampires who tried to attack us back in New Orlenas, I've told you a million times that they don't count."

"Yes, I absolutely can and they do."

"They were going to kill us. And, I'm not even sure I actually did enough damage to kill them. They were probably just, you know, desiccated for a couple hours."

Sophie gives her that disbelieving, exasperated look. A muffled crash stops Freya from replying. It's followed by faint voices, shouting over each other a floor above.

"Alright, you use your magic on them, keep them distracted, I'll find a way around so I can find your sister, okay?" Sophie says, and Freya nods. "Though, knowing Rebekah, I have a feeling all that noise has something to do with her."

Freya grins. "There's a good chance."

She follows at the motion Sophie makes, leaving the hiding spot and crossing the empty room, avoiding the shells littering the floor. Something about the sight of all the empty cells with their rusty doors wide open makes her skin crawl. Asylums aren't really her favourite places to be considering, and Arkham certainly isn't the best of them all.

They quickly climb the stairs, light on their feet. When they reach the corner, Freya stops them from rounding it.

The shouting is much clearer now. Sure enough, she catches Rebekah's voice in the mix. Screaming, swearing. Threatening, of course, mostly to tear someone's head off with her teeth like a ripper and also to descale someone.

"Killer Croc?" Freya mouths. "I thought he was dead."

Sophie silently groans. "I guess Arkham wanted him alive for something. These idiots. God knows how many other inmates are running around in here."

"Unlucky for us to have gotten trapped in the middle of a riot-induced lockdown, huh?" Freya jokes.

Sophie cracks a grin. "More unlucky for them, I'd say."

Freya mirrors her grin. She throws a quick look around the corner to count.

"Seven inmates," she mutters to Sophie. "Five guns, one sword, and one... knife-cane thing? But she also looks like she might have a grenade on her so I'm not feeling too confident about her."

"Red hair? Really pale? Scars around her mouth?" Sophie asks urgently.

Freya checks again, then nods.

"That's Duela, Joker's kid. She'll definitely have something else on her. Probably explosive. Definitely lethal."

Freya draws back to look at her. Rebekah's still cursing everyone somewhere down the hall, her rather graphic threats bouncing off the walls. For the most part, she sounds unharmed and in little danger, but royally pissed.

"Alright, how do you wanna do this?" Sophie asks.

Thinking for a second, Freya's grin widens. "Remember our first anniversary?"

Sophie's face lights up in understanding, saying, "Of course. Werewolf pack. Hostage situation."

Freya raises her eyebrows, and Sophie nods.

"Let's do it."

The arguing rises up louder. With a wave of her hand, Freya mutters, "Invisique."

#batwoman #the originals #sophie moore #freya mikaelson #freya x sophie #sophie x freya #moodboard #aesthetic #ficlet #drabble #rowing the rarepair rowboat #myedit*#they would be very very good together #and they are very married #sophie is comfortable with who she is and very in love #the-demons-behind-your-smile

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susiecarter · 5 years

Note

I wanted to say that I love your Croc/GQ fic so much — for two characters who had very little screen time you've really done an incredible job fleshing them out. I wanted to ask, do you ever think about their future? Do they both vaguely assume they'll die on the job? would they ever manage to get out and go live in a house on a swamp in Florida somewhere?

/o\ :D Aw, man, thank you so much, anon! I'll be honest with you: I love love love that people like my Bruce/Clark work so much, and it makes me so happy ... BUT there's something a little extra awesome about making a rarepair like that convincing and engaging for anybody but me and Hecate (who convinced me with an exchange request alone), and I couldn't be gladder that you've enjoyed all my fics about them so much. \:D/! Haha, and I'm relieved you don't mind me taking liberties filling in the blanks, either. ;D

AS FOR YOUR ACTUAL QUESTION, on the one hand I'd feel silly doing anything but acknowledging that dying on the job is ... probably the most realistic outcome for them both, considering. (Like, canonically, that WAS the outcome for GQ, at least unless Suicide Squad 2 says otherwise; and when Croc's not on the job, he's in Belle Reve. I somehow doubt he gets to retire with hazard pay.) But on the other hand, if realism were what I was here for, I wouldn't be writing fic about a SEAL doing magical black ops and the mutant crocodile man he's in love with. :D

So, yeah, I am 3000% here for them both assuming they'll die on the job, and being vaguely surprised when that's not how it happens—when they keep on going, maybe save the world publicly enough that nobody can get away with stuffing Croc in a box afterward; when it gets awkward to do anything but let them both retire quietly, in exchange for them not telling anyone what else ARGUS has gotten up to. Which with me at the wheel probably results in some angsty stupid thing where they both realize they were assuming they'd be together forever, but MAYBE THE OTHER GUY WANTS SOMETHING ELSE, oh no, and they don't talk about it for ALMOST too long but then they do, and also they bang. :D

And thanks to @amaronith, I also have epic schmoopy daydreams about the most ridiculous slow creeping found-family fluff you can imagine, where they're figuring their futures are going to end because of the Squad, but instead it turns out, like—that IS their future, and it's a pretty good one (Croc finding a mutant egg on a mission! Hiding it from everyone and sneaking it back to his cell! Looking after it like the Best Taciturn Crocodile Dad! GQ discovering it one day and helping him! AND THEN IT HATCHES and everything dissolves into mutant crocodile kidfic and protectiveness and parenting without realizing how committed you are until you are Real Committed ;-; because y e s. Does Croc try to give their crocodile baby to GQ because Belle Reve's no place for a kid? Does GQ refuse and instead wrangle some kind of special dispensation, because ARGUS wants to study the baby and GQ's not above using that as a bargaining chip? DOES THEIR BABY GET STOLEN BY EVIL SCIENTISTS, and there is a rampage and a big rescue mission and everything is hearts? PROBABLY YES :D). Which, by the way, dioscorea wrote accidental baby acquisition ALREADY and it's so good and I love everything about it. ;-; JUST A PSA.

And there is DEFINITELY some kind of longfic in my heart where ... like, GQ gets an opportunity on a mission somehow to dig the bomb-thing out of Croc's neck for him, and does it, and tells him to get the fuck out while he can; and Croc stares at him for a minute until GQ really yells at him because somebody's going to notice the bomb-thing signal going dark or whatever, and then does go; and GQ pretends to everybody else that Croc died on that mission, and assumes Croc's making the most of his freedom and that GQ's never going to see him again. ;-; But he's Okay With That because At Least Croc Got Out, and Probably Croc Looks At Him And Sees ARGUS Anyway, and It's Better This Way. ;-; BUT THEN he gets injured somehow and has to take like six months, a year, to recuperate—or even cursed rather than injured, and he's being put on furlough until it can get broken—and he lets himself be shuffled off to some ARGUS safehouse (except maybe he gets to pick which one, and picks the one close to a swamp because it ~reminds him of ~someone). And he's living out in the middle of nowhere by himself for like a month, recovering, doing PT, before one night he thinks he sees something move in the water. :D And he doesn't dare let himself believe it's Croc, but IT TOTALLY IS, and Croc tracked him down on purpose and doesn't leave, and they end up with this whole weird domestic routine where they're sort of living together in the marshy wilderness, and they don't talk about it until they do, and then they bang. /o\

So, uh, yeah. Their immediate future is definitely filled with missions and adventures and probably getting accidentally soulbonded. :D But I love love love to think about how they could end up sticking together over the longer term, alive and looking after each other and living together next to a lot of water. ♥ THANK YOU FOR ASKING, SORRY ABOUT THE ESSAY

#asks:anonymous #susie is a suicide squad fan #despite her good sense and judgment #fic recs #seriously click the readmore there is NEW GQ/CROC IN THE WORLD \o/#and it is fluffysweet delightful temporary accidental baby acquisition #BEST TROPE OR BEST TROPE???#i think we all know the answer to that one #asks

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

She Calls Me Your Highness - Sharon/Willam - pureCAMP

A/N - not sure how i managed this because i literally have an exam on monday but in the space of a few hours in the afternoon i wrote this and voila i guess its a fic challenge entry!

i went with sharon/willam for my rarepair (we need more of this wtf) and see if you can spot some of the silly cliches in here! i hope u all enjoy and pls send me lots of love bc i need it, like tinkerbell

(this is so long idk why aaaa)

Willam has an odd relationship with Sharon.

Well. That’s one way of putting it, anyway.

It started, she pondered, the moment they had met, eight years ago at the tender age of thirteen. Sharon was this scruffy thing, tall and skinny and entirely too long to look normal, dressed in ill-fitting scraps with a keen glint in her eyes. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek that Willam’s gaze had fixated on immediately.

The large, stocky man behind her coughed subtly, nudging Sharon with his foot. Willam had waited patiently, her parents stood protectively either side of her.

It was the first time anyone had ever forgotten to curtsey.

A sharp thwack to the back of Sharon’s head soon corrected that wrong, and then she grinned at Willam as if to apologise. Which, whilst charming, was definitely not the correct protocol to address a young princess.

“Sharon.” The handler hissed. “Do you intend on eating tonight? Introduce yourself.”

Willam pursed her lips and remained silent; after all, she had been taught to do so. It was polite to allow non-royal folk a chance to exercise their poor attempts at grace and decorum. As a future ruler, it would make her look kind and down-to-earth, which was a desirable image. Everything was about cultivating the right image, as Willam would come to learn.

Sharon ran a hand - skeletal, with long, knobbly fingers - through her ratty almost-white hair. “Hello.”

Her voice was plain, provincial, with a hint of theatricality behind the emphasis in the way she spoke. There was nothing too offensive about it, but her parents had gasped as though affronted and the handler, who Willam was beginning to dislike, delivered another well-placed slap to the back of Sharon’s head.

She had forgotten to address her properly.

Rubbing the tender spot, she tried again. “Hello, Willam?”

Back then, Willam hadn’t known that she should be taking offense, but all children learn through doing. Surely, logically, judging by the muttered curses of her father and the utter mortification of the now-exasperated handler, she should be highly taken aback. She did her best to mimic their expressions, and to suppress the slight twinge of sympathy she felt when yet another blow struck the young girl.

At that point, it had seemed like Sharon was truly at a loss. Looking back on it, she hadn’t behaved insolent and rude, she had simply behaved like a child who didn’t know any better - or a child who knew better but had evidently forgotten in the face of a brand new situation.

“Princess?” Sharon attempted a third time, the glint in her eyes replaced with a nervous, hopeful shine.

The final blow came out of nowhere, and knocked the unsteady girl to the ground. Her height meant nothing in the absence of adolescent strength, and she hit the floor with the full force of an adult man. The handler placed his foot in the centre of her back, grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched her head upwards so that, as she struggled for breath, her eyes could meet nobody’s except for Willam’s. Her face was directly level with Willam’s feet.

“G-Good to meet you, Your Highness.”

Satisfied, Willam’s parents and the somewhat cruel handler left the room to begin their business discussion, something that Willam was no doubt too young to understand or take part in. She didn’t know why Sharon had been brought to her, or why anything that had happened in the last few minutes had actually happened, but such was the life of a princess learning to be queen. Sharon stayed on the floor, her gaze still level with Willam’s feet, her breaths shaky and uneven.

Everyone said that was simply her place; on the ground, far beneath Willam. A lowly serving girl and nothing more.

It only took a few lessons in grace and status for Willam to learn that it was indeed the truth, and to quietly, complacently accept that girls like Sharon belonged where they were, and were treated how they were treated for good reason. So after that it was okay, she presumed.

–

Then they were fifteen, and Willam’s parents were holding a ball in the palace. It was fantastic news for Willam, who had been dying to meet with her friends for ages only to find them all busy with various courtly duties. Princess Alaska of the neighbouring kingdom had been away in some special school, no doubt nurturing her singing talent, and Willam had missed laughing with her. Princess Courtney hadn’t exactly been busy, per se, but she lived so far that the expenditures for travelling were a little too high, so letters had to suffice.

That meant that Willam’s only real company - discounting the governesses, who didn’t count because they were fucking boring - were the servants. Most of them didn’t really speak to Willam all that much, hyper aware that saying the wrong thing could cost more than their job was worth. Only one ever seemed to have the sheer gall to bite back and engage - and to nobody’s surprise, it was Sharon.

Willam reasoned to herself that she had requested Sharon specifically an hour and a half before the ball began because she was entertaining. Yes, that was it. That was the only reason, of course.

Her entrance was less than graceful, starkly different to that of the other serving girls. She didn’t lightly pad in, delicately opening the door and balancing the teapot and tray in the other arm - oh no, not at all. Sharon, ever the practical one, opted to barge the door open with her hip and charge in with the tea laid out in the tray which she held steadily with two hands.

Practical, yes, but unconventional and unbecoming of a palace servant.

“Hey, it’s my favourite ever princess. Afternoon, Willam.” She settled the tray down on a nearby table and flashed a grin - showing off her hideous gap tooth. It wasn’t hideous, really, and Willam was quite fond of it, but she had been told it wasn’t desirable, so she pretended she found it disgusting.

“You’re not supposed to call me that.” She retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sharon shrugged. “What, princess?”

She was being pedantic. Sharon was always pedantic, which would’ve been infuriating if Willam wasn’t secretly the same way. Plus, although it was a secret she would never share, Willam was sure that if Sharon wore nicer clothes, tended to her hair and scrubbed off the dirt that appeared habitually on her cheeks, she would be quite pleasing to look at. Only if she made all that effort, though.

“No, Willam. You’re not supposed to call me Willam.”

The argument was pointless. Sharon shrugged a second time.

“It’s your God-given name, isn’t it? Am I not allowed to address you as God would?”

“You’re not God.”

“And thank fuck for that.”

Yeah, that was another thing about Sharon; she swore like a sailor, and it had gotten her in heaps of trouble throughout her time at the palace. Willam, nevertheless, appreciated the refreshing colloquialisms that reminded her that life existed beyond the palace walls.

Sharon picked up the tray again, starting towards the parlour that led off from Willam’s bedchambers. Still laughing, Willam shook her head and flopped onto the bed beside her ballgown, which was laid out ready for the evening.

“Sharon…” She whined, deliberately elongating her name. “Just do it in here, I can’t be bothered to walk all the way into there.”

The fatal mistake came when Willam grabbed Sharon’s forearm, forgetting that her hands were perpetually icy and shocking to the touch. Sharon jerked instinctively, and time seemed to slow down as the tray clattered to the floor, the teapot spilled open, and its entire contents splattered over Willam’s ballgown.

Willam stifled a laugh, which stilled into a chilling silence as she studied Sharon’s face. She had frozen in place, her mouth open ever-so-slightly, her eyes wide and filled with fright. Fragments of the now-shattered teapot littered the floor as evidence of the mistake and the dress… The dress was utterly ruined.

“Sharon, it’s okay-” Willam began, before one of the governesses came to discover the source of the sudden commotion.

“What is- Oh, you useless girl!” She cried out, grabbing Sharon by the wrist and forcing her aside. “Look what you’ve done to that beautiful dress! That cost more than your whole family could earn in ten years!”

The analogy shook Willam a little bit, wondering if it meant that the dress was expensive, Sharon’s family was poor, or an upsetting mixture of the two. More worrying was the attitude and confidence that had drained out of Sharon and puddled on the floor along with the tea.

“I-I know, ma’am, I’m sorry.”

Willam remembered being so annoyed that Sharon was taking the blame. She hadn’t done anything wrong, for crying out loud, and yet she had clammed up uncharacteristically and accepted her responsibility for it.

“Ada, be reasonable.” Willam tried to calm the angry governess. “Look, all that happened was that Sharon was carrying the tea into the parlour and I-”

Sharon cut in swiftly. “I stumbled and dropped the tray, ma’am. I-I truly didn’t mean to, and if you would permit me to express how sorry I am I would like to redeem myself by helping Her Highness prepare for the ball.”

The governess snorted. “Hmph. Insolent girl. You may help the princess, after you have been punished for this silly amateur mishap. Do not let this happen again or the consequences will be much more severe. In the meantime, I will have Governess Nina bring out the spare gown.”

Willam lay on the bed and closed her eyes after they left, humming to try and drown out the sound of the whip cracking through the air and the pained cries that followed each one. She turned over once and then again, her stomach churning with a mixture of guilt and anger that didn’t sit well with her at all. She would never be able to figure out Sharon Needles, she decided, as a particularly agonised scream had her curling in on herself, sure she had caused that pain and simultaneously adamant that she hadn’t, given Sharon’s insistence.

She was fucking confusing, that was for sure.

Still as unwavering as ever, Sharon had appeared nonetheless a short while later, her hair more dishevelled than before and her face adorning a tight smile. Her steps were slow and deliberate and Willam ached to think of the damage the cruel whip had done to her, for no reason. She said nothing as Sharon let herself in, and examined the new dress on the bed.

“Well. If anything, I think this dress is prettier than the first one.” Sharon said dryly.

Willam rose to her feet, incensed. “Why the fuck would you do that? You know damn well that was my fault and she would never have fucking whipped me for it, so why even bother taking the blame? Are you an idiot?”

“No, Willam, I’m a servant. I’m beneath you. It’s my job to take the flack when shit like this happens.”

She had crossed her arms, and Willam’s eyes darted unwittingly to her chest before rising up again, only adding to her flushed cheeks.

“Your job is to serve, not to lie and take the heat for me.”

Sharon rolled her eyes and began to prepare the dress for Willam. “You’re welcome.”

“…Thanks.” Willam acquiesced, huffing slightly. “I’m not gonna apologise for going off on you, because I meant it and also I don’t apologise, but thanks for doing that. It wasn’t necessary, but it was nice I guess.”

It hit Willam all of a sudden the many times she had broken or ruined something, and the many times she had received no penance for it. Perhaps it wasn’t such a coincidence that Sharon always had dirt on her cheek, a bruise on her arm, a limp in her walk. Surely she hadn’t been taking responsibility for that the whole time?

God, if Sharon could stop and make sense for five minutes, it would make Willam’s life a lot easier. She still couldn’t work out if she actually liked Sharon, or if she didn’t.

“You’re not… you’re not mad at me, right?” Willam breached the topic as she stood before the mirror, Sharon behind her.

Sharon’s fingers were still long and knobbly, but swift and adept at performing most tasks she was asked to do. She fiddled with the laces of the corset and raised an eyebrow in nonchalance.

“Sounding a little insecure there, Willam.”

Infuriating. “No, I just mean - God, you’re an asshole. I mean for taking all the hits for me.”

“I’m not mad.” Sharon replied shortly.

She tugged on the corset strings, and Willam bucked forward, all of the air in her throat exiting in one strangled gasp as Sharon viciously tightened it to suck in her waist.

Oh, she was mad. Yeah, Willam didn’t like her again.

–

Eighteen years old. Another ball. Courtney was somewhere fraternizing with the rest of the foreigners (as Willam affectionately called her family and the rest of them), and Willam would rather die than talk to Vicky, so she started looking around for Alaska. She should’ve known the leggy blonde wasn’t there from the absence of her screechy laugh, but she paced the ballroom for a short while before deciding to step out into the gardens in a fit of anger.

Alaska wasn’t even in the ballroom, and Willam knew she hadn’t skipped out on the event because she had seen her sweeping in with her parents, her petite figure hidden beneath her opulent blue gown.

Where the hell had she got to?

Willam grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing servant and began to wander through the garden, stewing in her own frustration. The tightness of her corset wasn’t helping matters, either, as she tried to sit on a bench a few inches from the barn and found the task nearly impossible. Briefly, she thought about the freedom of the birds that fluttered above her in the branches, before dismissing the notion as too cliche and sickeningly cringy. Willam had more freedom than she cared to acknowledge - her only real constraint was fashion.

Still, she kicked a trowel out of her way and began pacing again, irritated at Alaska’s absence. She better have a good explanation for it, or else Willam would have to write to Vicky after the ball and tell her that Alaska was absolutely enchanted with her, and they should meet up as soon as possible to discuss a family alliance. It was cruel, yes, but it was what she deserved for leaving Willam all alone. She sighed, and turned back towards the palace.

The barn light was on.

Why the hell was the barn light on? Nobody was in the barn. There weren’t even any horses in the barn, or whatever else was kept in there (Willam didn’t know, having never been allowed to step foot somewhere so dirty). If some idiot servant had left the candles lit amongst all that hay, there would be hell to pay - that is, if the entire fucking palace didn’t burn down.

She considered fetching Charles, the gardener, but figured that it wasn’t fair to bother him on his night off. Her mind filled her with instances of Sharon - fucking Sharon crossing her mind again, annoying bitch - taking the blame for Willam’s messiness, and she decided perhaps it was her time to help out a forgetful servant.

The door to the barn was heavy, but opened slowly and silently as Willam pushed on it. It allowed her ample time to examine the room before her, taking in nothing but piles of hay and candles lit all around the edges to give the place some light. Empty, it seemed.

Or not. The silence of the door and Willam’s light footsteps gave nothing away as she slowly stepped in, snuffing the two candles either side of the door. It made little difference to the amount of light in the room, but it was a start. Two more steps forwards towards the next candle and Willam suddenly heard a rustling that made her heart stop.

Was it some kind of wild animal? Or a trap, maybe, designed to lure an innocent - allegedly - princess to her grisly end? Okay, maybe not so much the last one, considering the amount of variables that had led to Willam entering the barn in the first place. Still, some kind of crazy raccoon or fox wasn’t really off limits, not yet.

Willam held her breath as she began to tiptoe around the largest mound of hay, which rose up several feet beyond her height. Then, filling her with first fear, then dread, and lastly confusion, she heard a giggle.

“Do that again,” A voice floated out, ever-so quiet, and yet oddly familiar in a way Willam couldn’t place. She stood still and listened.

Another voice replied. “What, this?”

Both voices seemed far too familiar, but in her confusion Willam had no idea who they were. She kept straining to listen, hoping that the more she heard, the sooner she would remember who the voices belonged to. In the meantime, she heard a soft gasp and a satisfied hum.

“If someone saw us right now-” The first voice said, though she didn’t sound worried at all.

“What would you do?” The second asked, and did something that caused the first to giggle again.

“Probably keep kissing you.”

A gasp. “You’re so bad.”

“You’re a bad influence on me, baby. Oh my god!”

Whatever the oh my god was in response to, Willam didn’t care to find out, because the voices suddenly registered in her mind and it was enough to send her reeling. She stepped out from behind the hay to confront to two.

“Okay, what the fuck?!”

Willam wasn’t quite sure what she expected, but this certainly wasn’t it.

Alaska lay against the hay, her beautiful gown still thankfully draped across her but her hair and her lipstick all in disarray. Her eyes were sparkling with what initially seemed like arousal, but something deeper and more tender filled her gaze. Straddled over her hips was Sharon, dressed in a manner than Willam had never seen her in before, her eyes clouded with the same amalgamation of lust, desire and affection as Alaska’s. For starters, she was wearing breeches, which were impossibly tight and brown and clung to every sinful curve of her ass and thighs in a way that was deeply inappropriate for any lady, even a poor one. The off-white blouse she was wearing had long, billowing sleeves that were rolled up to her elbows, and it was half ripped open, presumably by Alaska’s hands, to reveal her breasts. Her chest was heaving up and down and Willam couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“Willam!” Alaska screeched, pushing Sharon off of her and shooting to her feet. “I - uh - we were just-”

“Save it.” Willam nearly spat, not sure why she was angry but too incensed to step back and think about it. “I can see what you were doing, it’s clear as fucking crystal. Are you insane?! She’s a servant!”

Alaska babbled helplessly, fussing with her hair and trying her hardest to save face. Sharon, now stood a few feet behind her, was breathing heavily, evidently also angry, but her failure to button up her shirt had Willam going dizzy.

“You’re a princess, and she’s a servant.” She repeated, well aware that this was what was causing Sharon’s fiery glare. “And you’re making out in my fucking barn? Don’t you have any common sense? Aren’t your parents in the midst of planning your fucking marriage?”

Alaska had the decency to look ashamed, but still attempted to defend herself. “Actually, they’re not, Willam. I did what you said and I told them I’m not ready, and they said it was okay and they’ve given me more time.”

“How did you even meet? Is this the first time that you’ve-” The words caught in Willam’s throat, but she didn’t know why. She refused to meet Sharon’s eyes and directed her fury to Alaska.

“I-”

Sharon stepped forwards, and Willam hated how shameless she was with her nudity. “No, Your Highness, this isn’t the first time this has happened. But not here.”

They both fell silent. Neither of them told Willam where they had met, and her wrath only incurred further. Still, Alaska’s eyes were filled with guilty tears, and perhaps it was time she doled out some of her anger on Sharon instead.

“Your mother wants you. Go find her.”

Alaska didn’t need to be told twice, first shooting a pained glance in Sharon’s direction and then lifting her skirt to exit the barn as quickly as she possibly could. Willam redirected her anger to Sharon, who looked exquisite in the softly flickering candlelight.

What?

“Don’t be so harsh on Alaska, this isn’t her fault.” Sharon said roughly.

Willam snorted derisively. “What, so you’re taking the blame for everything she does wrong now, too? Guess I’m not so special after all, huh.”

Sounding a little insecure there, Willam. “Wrong?”

It was only one word, but it was laced with a dangerous tone that sent shivers running down Willam’s spine, and yet… a peculiar feeling pooling in her lower half. What the hell was Sharon doing to her?

“Whatever. Listen to me, Sharon, I want to know -”

“No.” Sharon came closer, and yet again Willam found her eyes somehow mesmerised by her exposed breasts. “No, I wanna talk about why you think it’s so disgusting and wrong for someone like Alaska to be kissing someone like me.”

Willam swallowed angrily. “I didn’t say that.”

“You meant it though, didn’t you? All you fucking royal folk are the same, you think I’m some kind of dirty plaything that everyone wants to look at but won’t touch. I care about Alaska.”

“All of us royal folk? Can you even hear the bullshit you’re spouting right now?” Willam spluttered.

Sharon’s face hardened. “You haven’t stopped staring since you walked in. I know exactly what I fucking mean.”

She sighed heavily. “I met Alaska at the ball six months ago, when I was on serving duty. She was sweet and she started asking me about myself, and I didn’t tell her anything because that’s my fucking job as a lowlife servant, but she kept trying and she was so kind that she wore me down. It wasn’t long after that when she found out about my side-gig and she begged me to show her. This is my fault, not hers.”

Willam’s blood ran cold as she pictured the two of them together in more intimate situations - various states of undress, or perhaps entirely unclothed, kissing hard and fast in sleazy taverns across the kingdom.

“Your… side-gig?” Despite her best efforts, Willam’s voice was wracked with confusion and - regrettably - a hint of fear.

Sharon shook her head, like the assumption offended her. “I’m not a prostitute, Willam, I wasn’t offering her my services. I - There’s a group of us down in the outskirts of the kingdom who grew up poor and working on our scraps of farm land. There used to be a ton of bandits, so we learned how to fight them off and they’re gone now, but there’s this small sparring club where we keep fit and teach others to fight. I’ve been privately sparring with Alaska for the last few months, and… I guess one thing led to another.”

Sparring? That was an improvement from prostitution, sure, but the trust and the intimacy of it didn’t escape her mind. She could see the two of them sweating and panting, Alaska dressed in the same inappropriate garb as Sharon as their limbs connected, blocking and dodging and swerving with some kind of alluring grace that made no sense. She could see Sharon’s muscles flexing in the tight breeches, watch her chest rising and falling with exhaustion as she ripped the shirt open and poured cold water over her head to cool herself.

What was happening to her?

“Teach me.”

The command came out of nowhere, but a command it was.

“Huh?”

“I said, teach me.” Willam repeated. “And I won’t tell anyone about this.”

Sharon laughed mirthlessly. “Are you blackmailing me?”

This time, it was Willam who stepped closer. They were merely inches apart, and if Willam were to do as much as to suck in a deep breath, her dress would be pressed against Sharon’s bare chest. The very thought had her pulse racing.

“Not blackmailing you. I just… want to learn. Embroidery is boring, and… if I tell the governesses I’ve taken up landscape paintings, they’ll send you with me to keep me safe…”

She smiled gently, not sure where her anger had gone but not missing the blazing heat it had inflamed inside her. It didn’t make any sense, and she was glad it had gone. Her tummy fluttered as Sharon grinned, shyly at first, until her face split into her usual amused expression. God, she’s fucking beautiful in this light.

“Alright, Willam. You’ve got yourself a deal.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “I guess I should do up my shirt now, huh.”

Willam eyed the beginnings of a love bite on Sharon’s neck and felt the familiar flames licking at her insides once again. She turned away to leave.

“Should doesn’t always mean you have to. I usually take should as a suggestion, nothing more.”

–

For two years they sparred together, and for two years Willam’s relationship with Sharon seemed to get weirder and weirder. Sparring was just as she’d predicted, hot and heavy, and it was a shock to the system being so physical with someone. Sharon’s boundaries disappeared once they were out in the open, safe from everyone in miles upon miles of green grass that stretched far enough to obscure them from sight.

Most of the time they sparred and talked; sometimes they just sparred; sometimes they just talked. Willam wasn’t as good as Sharon, but she was learning, and most importantly, she was spending time with her.

Not that she was really sure why that made her so happy, but it did.

When Willam arrived at their usual spot, thanking whoever was listening up above for the perfectly cool, fresh weather for training in, she found Sharon alone with a piece of paper held between her hands. She hadn’t noticed Willam’s presence, and didn’t even glance up as she called her name.

Why was she so desperate for Sharon’s attention? She was a fucking princess, everyone paid attention to her.

“Uh, Sharon? Hello?”

Sharon looked up, only for a moment, and then her eyes dropped back down to the paper in front of her. “Yes, I can see you.”

So fucking irritating. Some things would never change, Willam thought to herself. Even as she had grown older, more beautiful, capturing Willam’s attention - she was still a bitch with an attitude far too uncouth for a serving girl. Then again, she supposed, out here Sharon wasn’t a palace servant. She was a sparring teacher and a free woman, a liberty she could seldom enjoy. Willam’s authority didn’t mean shit here.

“Are we sparring today?” Willam tried to tone down the hopefulness in her voice. In truth, she had been looking forwards to it for a fortnight. Her parents had dragged her to another kingdom to sit in on their business relations, in order to get a concept of what she would need to do when it came her time to be queen, but she felt stifled and bored without Sharon to bounce off of. She had declined the offer to come along on the trip, leaving Willam to take some other stuffy maid who lived only to serve, never to laugh or put Willam in her place.

She had thought about Sharon the entire time. Missed her, even. It didn’t make much sense, but she knew that was how she had felt.

“I’m not in the mood.”

Sharon’s words were clipped. Willam sat down beside her, already kitted out in her own breeches so that she didn’t have to worry about grass stains on her clothes, and sighed frustratedly.

“Ugh, thanks. Make me walk all the way out here for nothing, huh?” She complained, wincing at how entitled she sounded. Sometimes being a princess had its downfalls, and this was one of them.

Sharon scowled. “I didn’t have to sit here and wait for you, ungrateful bitch. I came just so you wouldn’t be all freaked out that I ditched you. I just don’t want to fucking spar, that’s all. Go practise with the dummy if you really wanna fight. Work on your precision.”

Willam started pulling grass out of the ground in handfuls, trying and failing to quell the feeling rising in her stomach. What even was it, anyway? Disappointment? Resentment? Anger? Jealousy?

“Too worn out from Alaska, huh?” She remarked petulantly, kicking a clod of mud from the ground and watching it fly through the air.

Sharon folded the letter. “Actually, we split up if you must know. Is it fun being an asshole all the time, or do you ever get bored of it?”

Something stirred inside her, but she didn’t know quite what it was. The concern she felt for her friend - if she could even call Sharon her friend, because she truly had no idea what the relationship between her and her servant would even be called at this point - only appeared afterwards, in the wake of the sudden surge of warmth.

“Shit… God, I’m sorry, Sharon. Is that letter from her?”

Sharon nodded, her mouth set in a hard line. She pulled her knees close to her chest and frowned. “It’s been a long time coming, to be honest. I knew it would arrive at some point, I just didn’t know when. Ever since her coronation she’s been different. She doesn’t want to know me anymore.”

“That’s not true.” Willam attempted to comfort her, reaching out a shaky hand to rub Sharon’s back. That was what people did, right? A normal, friendly action. Electric sparks seemed to jump from her fingertips at the slightest bit of contact.

“She’s been stressed, Sharon, it’s a difficult job. I’m sure it’s not that she doesn’t want to see you.”

“She’s changed.” Sharon insisted, her words tinged with bitterness. “I’ll tell you the truth about her, Willam, she’s just fucking ambitious. She’ll stop at nothing to make herself and her kingdom powerful, it’s all she cares about now. When was the last time she wrote to you? Alaska, she… she’s been distant with me for months now. Doesn’t want to train, doesn’t want to meet up, too busy to care that it was my birthday and I waited up all night for her… All she wants is to have power. Last I heard, she’s in the midst of a proposal from Grigolia. She doesn’t love him, of course, but they’re incredibly influential. It’ll be great for her kingdom.”

She sighed, and it was strained with unshed tears. “I’m happy for her. She got over the anxiety she was having over being a queen and now she’s thriving. I just didn’t realize that I had to be out of the picture for that to happen.”

Willam sucked in a breath, unsure of what to say. She hadn’t even known that Alaska was so worried about her future as a ruler, but then she guessed that she had confided in Sharon during their stint as passionate lovers. Not a single letter had arrived from her in the past few months but again, she had just assumed Alaska was busy with her new duties and her old flame.

“I’m not upset.” Sharon added, sounding far more upset than she was trying to play it off as. “I knew this would happen. I’m - This is what’s best for her, and I got over that long before she even broke up with me. It’s this fucking letter that’s got me. Here, see how fucking different she is now.”

Dear Ms Sharon Needles,

It is regrettable that I inform you of the termination of our relationship. Truly I have loved you for a long time and every moment we spent together I shall treasure in my heart and honour in my memory for as long as I live. Still, I find it pertinent that I explain to you my decision and my reasoning, so that you are not left hanging on to a feeble dream of what once was.

When we met, I was a young princess still unsure of my fate, and you were the escape into the wilderness that I had always dreamed about. How fantastically romantic it was, and thrilling to escape with you and to learn skills that no self-respecting princess should know. It was exhilarating and you, dearest, were breathtaking.

However, I know that you are as aware as I am that a relationship between a simple servant and the queen of a kingdom should never exist. A marriage between us would be impossible and thus, I have to put my loyal subjects and the future of my home before a fling with a heathen. I know that you understand this.

Perhaps we will keep in touch, and I may see you once in a while, should I visit Princess Willam’s home. Rest assured I bear no ill will towards you, but that it is only status keeping us apart.

Farewell and best wishes,

Queen Alaska E.J.T,

Glamatronia

“So politely worded.” Sharon muttered, as Willam came to the end of the neatly-written letter. “Such a kind, loving way to tell me that she’s given up on us because I’m poor and my lowly, shit-shovelling status won’t help her progress in life. I honestly - honestly! - don’t care, it’s just…”

She tore the letter from Willam’s grasp and tucked it into the front pocket of her shirt. “We never talked about status. That never mattered. She was a princess and I was a servant but when we were together, none of that meant anything. She was just Alaska and I was just Sharon.”

A pause. “Sorry. Shouldn’t be talking shit about your friend. Off with my head, right?”

Willam shook her head fervently. “Sharon, this is… I’m so sorry. I don’t know why she’s done this. I don’t… who in their right mind would break up with you?”

Sharon’s eyes shot up. “Huh?”

Did I really just say that? To Sharon? What the hell does that even mean?

“I mean, uh… Well, I mean what I said. Really, what reason does she have besides some bullshit about status?”

Sharon smiled, but it lasted only a moment. “You’re sweet, Willam. But I’m not exactly a catch and I knew that when I began this shit with Alaska. I just hate that she had to remind me that I’m nothing.”

“You’re not nothing. Who says you’re not a catch?” Willam had no control over any of the words that left her lips. She needed to move, or leave, or do something, before she ended up saying something that she would regret for the rest of her life.

This time, Sharon let out a proper laugh, and the harsh, barking cackle was like music to Willam’s ears.

“Are you serious? Willam, look at me.” Please, Sharon, I’m having trouble tearing my eyes away from you. “I’m not marriage material, I have nothing to give. I have no dowry, my father is unknown and so I bear my mother’s maiden name purely because it’s the only one there is, and she died six years ago.” I don’t need money. I don’t need anything, you wouldn’t have to give anything to me. “Plus as far as wifely duties go I’m a mess, sure I can serve but I drink and swear like a sailor and absolutely nobody would find that attractive.” I do, I find it incredibly attractive, I think you’re more beautiful than Aphrodite herself. “I don’t even dress properly, for fuck’s sake. I’m either in a servant uniform or these breeches and shirt, neither of which are appropriate.” But my god do they look good on you, does everything look good on you?

What the hell is happening to me?

“Sharon, come on. You’ve never looked in a mirror and once thought that you’re beautiful? You’ve never heard me laughing at your jokes and realized how funny and charming you are?”

Just like that, Sharon’s features softened. She looked up at Willam, and god, her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue. They reminded Willam of the sky at night, dark and inky and shining with flecks of stars, and all at once everything made sense to her. The misplaced anger, the confusion, the rising jealousy…

Sharon had been setting her heart aflame for years and she had been ignoring it for way too long.

“You… you think I’m beautiful? And charming?” Sharon ran a hand through her hair, an action Willam had become accustomed to watching her do when she was nervous. “God, with all the shit I’ve said to you in the palace over the years I should be sat in a dungeon, not being complimented by you. This makes no sense.”

Willam shook her head softly. “Fuck… Sharon, you’ve never made sense to me. I don’t think you ever will.”

Sharon’s hair was as soft as it looked, and her skin was smooth and warm, and somehow they were kissing and Willam’s heart was racing and her pulse was heightened and my god, she had been pining for this for so long and now nothing else in the world mattered. All that mattered was here and now, and if the world erupted into storm and fire around them she wouldn’t have noticed or cared, because she was kissing Sharon and she had wanted to kiss this fucking girl ever since she was fifteen, serving girl or not.

They broke apart moments later, and Sharon’s eyes were wide with surprise and confusion. A torrent of hateful thoughts began to flood her brain and Willam didn’t know what to do other than stare.

“I have to go.” She blurted out, her stomach jolting so horribly that she was sure she was going to vomit. As quick as she could she bolted away, leaving Sharon alone in the grass, certain she had ruined any kind of friendship they had managed to build up over the years. It had always been on tenterhooks and just as Sharon was at her most vulnerable, Willam had ruined everything with a kiss that she didn’t even want and that was it, friendship over, and every day for here out was going to be an utter nightmare all because Willam’s heart wouldn’t stop flipping and somersaulting at the thought of Sharon, all because her hands snaked south when she pictured Sharon as she had done in the barn, her breasts exposed and her skin shining with sweat, lying beneath her in Alaska’s position.

Everything, ruined, because of one stupid kiss.

God. Willam hated Sharon.

–

Twenty one. Six months passed, Willam turned twenty one, and Sharon was pretty much nowhere to be seen. Willam heard from another servant that she was taking some of the dirtier jobs, checking the dungeons and scrubbing the kitchen floors, so she wasn’t tending to Willam and helping her get dressed and making her laugh anymore.

It was official, Willam had ruined everything. The only time she saw Sharon was to spar with her, which they still did, but Sharon was nothing other than a teacher, harsh and ruthless and blunt, but never laughing, never smiling. She was closed off and distant and this, this must’ve been what heartbreak felt like because the pain in Willam’s chest never left. Their sparring conversations were brief but it was something, and Willam would do anything just to bring back their old laughter.

It was still agonising to spend so much time watching Sharon grow sweaty and breathless and to watch her muscles flexing as she demonstrated moves Willam could only hope of learning to do. Willam loved the tightness and the seriousness of her face as much as she loved when it was full of laughter and light, so at least she still had that to fall back on.

Loved. God, she had it bad.

It was January, a freezing cold winter, and Willam was winning a fight. Contrary to what she had expected, this victory didn’t make her feel good whatsoever. Sharon wasn’t even trying, and Willam understood that they weren’t on the best of terms right now, but this was just downright insulting. She didn’t need some stupid fake victory to boost her self-esteem.

“Fucking hell,” She swore, lunging at Sharon and cursing as she dodged poorly and ended up being struck squarely in the shoulder. “You’re seriously out of shape. I’ve barely even broken a sweat and you look like you’re about to pass out.”

She swept her leg in a smooth circle - a move that Sharon had spent weeks teaching her and had perfected the dodge for. Instead of leaping over it, which Willam knew Sharon was capable of, the strike threw her to the ground and knocked all the air out of her lungs. Willam was painfully reminded of when they had first met, at thirteen, and that image gripped at her heart. Instantly, she knelt beside Sharon, who hadn’t moved.

“I’m fine.” She croaked. “Out of practise.”

“Bullshit.” Willam swore again. “Someone like you doesn’t just get out of practise. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Sharon denied vehemently. “Willam, I’m fine. You won, I’m proud of you.”

The fight had been more like a warmup than anything else, so Willam started to get concerned. Sharon’s face was pale and glistening with a sheen of sweat where, as she’d previously taunted, Willam’s was dry. Slightly worried, she pressed a hand to Sharon’s forehead and hissed.

“Jesus fuck, Sharon. You’re sick. Why the hell are you out here fighting with me if you’re sick?”

Sharon struggled to her feet, swaying slightly as though she were drunk. “I’m not sick.”

“Sure. I’m not a princess, either. Sharon Needles, you’re sick. Come with me, now.”

Before Sharon could protest, Willam held up a hand to silence her. “I hate to do this, Sharon, and you know it, but as a princess, I have a right to command you to do as I see fit, and right now I see it fit that you take my coat and put it on, and walk with me to the palace so that I can get you inside and get you warm. At no point during this will you protest against what I have told you. Understood?”

Sharon grumbled, and Willam raised an eyebrow.

Then she cracked a smile and started to lead Sharon back to the palace.

Neither of them talked about their interlocked fingers. Sharon was cold, and being cold was the worst for anyone who was sick. Willam was simply warming her up, preventing her from getting any sicker. Anyone would’ve done it.

Once they made it into Willam’s bedchambers, somehow miraculously unseen by anyone who would go tattling to a governess (which Willam didn’t need, being twenty one and no longer in need of an education, yet still had), she stripped away the coat and handed Sharon one of her silky nightgowns.

Sharon stared at her.

“Come on, bitch, I know you’re not stupid. This is a dress worn in bed. Put the damn thing on.” She watched Sharon expectantly.

“In front of you?” Her voice was thick, now, clear evidence that despite whatever she claimed, she was most definitely sick.

Willam shrugged. “You’ve dressed me hundreds of times, get your clothes off and get this on. I’m going to call on the kitchen real quick, when I get back you better have the dress on and be tucked in bed, got it? No complaints, hop to it.”

Sharon opened her mouth to protest, but judging by the sudden wince, her throat was too sore to say anything in response, and Willam darted out to speak to someone who could relay a message to the kitchen. She asked for hot soup and broth and tea and bread, trying to think of anything she could that might make Sharon feel better. Camomile went on the list, as did peppermint. Perhaps it was a little excessive, but Willam really, really cared about Sharon, and she knew winters could be cruel.

Her heart nearly melted when she re-entered the room, taking the tray from the young servant and opting to carry it in herself. Not only did Sharon look beyond beautiful in her dress, flattering her figure better than Willam had seen on anyone else, she looked ridiculously sweet and helpless in the middle of her huge bed, huddled beneath the layers of sheets.

Willam smiled tenderly, happy that the kitchen had honoured her strange request of a slightly damp, cold flannel to go with the assortment of teas and broths. She placed it on Sharon’s head to attempt to relieve her fever, ignoring her protests of how cold she was.

“I know, I know. I got sick last winter and it was horrible.” Willam told her, stroking her hair. “Here, have some of this tea. Drink it slowly, I think it will help.”

Having lost the energy to fight, Sharon just did as she was told. The tip of her nose had turned a rosy pink and Willam wanted nothing more than to kiss it.

“Sit with me.” Came her request, whispered so quietly and yet registering in Willam’s mind as though she had shouted it from the rooftops for the whole kingdom to hear. “Please.”

She was truly unable to say no. Without another thought, Willam slipped underneath the covers beside Sharon, who was absurdly warm and soft and jesus christ Willam had thought about this scenario so many times and it wasn’t happening how she had imagined it and yet still, somehow, Sharon was in her bed and she was a warm soft weight and really, what else mattered?

Sharon shuffled close and lay her head on Willam’s shoulder, and it was all she could do not to explode into a million tiny pieces.

“You know, I thought I had ruined everything when - when I kissed you.” She found herself saying, almost tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. “I ran because I was so sure you hated me for doing that to you, especially right after Alaska…”

She caught herself before things got too personal. “Then I hardly saw you and it just confirmed my fears and I’m so, so sorry. Sharon, I care about you way too much to hurt you like that, and it’s so confusing to me. Sometimes I swear I hate you just because I don’t understand why I like you so much.”

Sharon snuffled, nestling closer to Willam. “I thought you hated me.” Sharon replied sleepily, and somehow the proximity of their two bodies was right, as though two jigsaw pieces had perfectly slotted together. “I was scared to come by you in case… in case you didn’t want to see me.”

“I always want to see you.” Willam reassured her, and then bit her lip from how forward it was. “I mean… I never know what to say around you. I’ve never wanted anyone to like me so much in my life. Our friendship has always meant so much to me, and the thought of ruining it…”

“Liked it.” Sharon murmured, her words becoming more and more nonsensical as she drifted into a sleepy trance. “Liked when you kissed me… always been pretty…”

Willam chuckled softly, careful not to jostle Sharon too much. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Thank you for the tea… and the bed… and the cuddle…” Sharon told her, and it was so fucking sweet that Willam could’ve cried. “Love you…”

Willam kissed the tip of her nose. Sharon fell asleep in her arms and it was exactly where she was meant to be.

It was a weird relationship. All Willam knew was that she loved Sharon so, so fucking much.

#rpdr fanfiction #sharon needles #willam belli #alaska thunderfuck #shillam #fic challenge #purecamp #rare pair #lesbian au #royalty au

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its-love-u-asshole · 6 years

Text

Count on Me [fic]

Pairings: Kawanishi Taichi/Tendou Satori

Summary: Taichi thinks about his life and his struggles, and how his best friend never fails to be there for him every step of the way. It's no wonder they fit together so perfectly.

Rating: T

Note: Hello again! This was my piece for the @middleblockerzine <3 It was an honor to be involved in this project, and I love being able to write rarepairs every once in a while! Enjoy!

Read on AO3!

Taichi doesn't have a bad temper.

Quite the opposite actually. He considers himself fairly neutral when it comes to most situations. Sometimes he can get annoyed at small things, like obnoxious laughs and stupid drivers, but he's the last person to snap or blow up at someone for no reason.

He prides himself on it, can't help it.

Downstairs he hears his mother yell at his dad, and there's a loud, deliberate crash.

Another broken dish, he supposes. He'll be told to clean it up later, so he guesses he'll find out then.

Taichi frowns at the ceiling of his bedroom, though it's not a drastic change in his expression. He's always frowning. Always glaring. Or, that's what everyone says about him.

"Kawanishi-kun is so cute! But he looks so mean...I don't know if I should ask him for his notes..."

"What's wrong with you huh? You always look like you're having a shit day man!"

"Kawanishi-san, you should tell your son Taichi he needs to smile more."

"Is he even happy he scored that point? What a prick..."

Yeah. That's just how it goes.

Again though, Taichi doesn't consider himself an angry person, not by a long shot.

The yells from downstairs get louder, and Taichi reaches over to his nightstand with a sigh, ready to block out the vicious noise with the playlist Tendou had sent him earlier that day.

The music is soothing, the lyrics just ridiculous enough to remind Taichi that yes, Tendou totally made this himself. Taichi laughs, twirling his headphone cord in his fingers as the notes loosen the tension in his body.

But his dilemma won't leave him alone.

'Resting bitch face' would be putting it lightly, he thinks. He knows he looks mean okay? He's seen the family reunion and birthday party pictures, he doesn't need to be reminded that he has an issue.

Damn.

Taichi pouts, turning onto his side.

It's not his fault his face looks so pissed all the time. He's not aware of it 24/7, and it's not something he can up and change right off the bat.

And he figures at the end of the day, he doesn't care. People can judge him all they want, he knows who he is on the inside.

In fact, now that he thinks about it, Taichi loathes bad tempered people. They get too worked up and bring others down (not to mention how sore their throats must be from all that damn yelling), and it's not a personality trait which works well in Taichi's life. In volleyball. Which really, might as well been a synonym for Taichi's whole existence.

The thought eases his nerves a little more, as does the quick text from Tendou about the movie they're going to see next weekend.

He wonders if Tendou can sense it, when Taichi needs him.

Taichi smiles, and though he's not physically on the court at the moment with the other boy, he squirms in his bed, eager to change that.

Playing would sure help calm him down anyways, but it would also mean he'd have to go downstairs, so he passes on the thought.

He feels his phone vibrate again on his chest, and he picks it up eagerly like he always does.

For him, as embarrassing as it sounds, Tendou is his ideal person. The opposite of the spectrum. Where Taichi appears withdrawn and agitated on the outside, Tendou is boisterous and expressive in ways so grand, Taichi used to have a hard time telling truth from false. For a lot of people, the redhead is too much. Too eccentric, too noticeable, too everything. But Taichi has never been too anything in his life except too distant, no matter what he does to change it. Tendou is the first person to see and appreciate Taichi for things other than his bleak lack of expression, and as a result, Taichi really can't get enough of him.

They fit like that.

Taichi: sounds good, just tell me what I owe you for the ticket Satori: Taiiichiiii, what kind of commentary is that? That trailer was supposed to blow your mind!

Taichi rolls his eyes, but his fingers are already typing back. Normally, Tendou is right, like he usually is. Goddamn him.

Taichi should've responded more ecstatically, more upbeat. But well, it felt too fake right then.

Taichi: idk, it feels pretty blown Satori: .... Satori: you're frowning

Taichi's brow furrows at the suddenness, and at the same time, he hears his parents stomp down the hall through his headphones, the yells closer and louder.

Taichi: when am I not frowning?

The little bubble which tells him Tendou is typing makes Taichi weirdly anxious. It shouldn't since he's used to this. He's gotten over the panic which came with initially trading numbers with the other middle blocker. The worry of being interesting or entertaining enough...those fears are gone. The obnoxious butterflies are not, but Taichi has grown to expect those too.

He knows what to expect before he even reads Tendou's new messages, but it doesn't make the electricity travel up his body any less.

Because sometimes...sometimes Tendou just knows, and it makes Taichi's heart and lungs squeeze.

Satori: mmm Satori: I guess Satori: but you're frowning for real this time

The words lack punctuation because Tendou doesn't see the point in it, the slam of a door down the hall takes the place of a period just fine.

Taichi closes his eyes, and wills himself to relax his face, knowing it still looks as pissed and disgruntled as always. But if Tendou were there, he'd know it to be anything but.

In truth, maybe Taichi doesn't have a neutral personality at all. Maybe he's as emotional and impassioned as Tendou is, all his feelings swimming below a calm surface, and he's quietly bursting at the seams.

But rather than pour his heart out explicitly, he tells Tendou only what he needs to for the other to get it, and that's never been a lot.

Taichi: yeah, guess I am

Tendou sends him another playlist after about a minute of silence, and the songs on it are more soothing and positive this time around. Taichi smiles, big and bright, and no one can tell him he's not.

Taichi is eleven years old when he feels the rush of block for the first time, when his addiction starts for both the sport he loves, and the boy he blocks beside.

He jumps up on pure instinct, his feet aching and his forehead sweating from a long practice game in his gym class. He doesn't really know why he'd been trying so hard in the first place. Something had simply clicked in him at the start of the game, and when all his teammates began to move slower, when all the plays became careless, Taichi still put in one hundred percent of his effort.

The reward for this is a high he'd never get tired of, a drug administered with a fast beating heart and a swift leap off the ground.

The sting against his arms feels hard enough to leave welts, but it takes his breath away to see the ball bounce off his forearms, hitting his opponent's side of the court with a deafening slam.

Completely shut out.

The realization travels up his spine and along his nerves, and nothing is the same after that.

His arms are red and burning, and no one else seems nearly as into the game as he is, but the moment is everything to him, and he knows he could play volleyball forever and a day.

He's not the only one.

"Whoa, how did you know where the ball was going?"

Taichi, who is tasked with helping put the net away once the final point is scored, jumps at the voice. He spins around, and his shock doubles.

The boy in front of him is a little shorter than him, but he stands out more than anyone Taichi has ever seen. His eyes are too wide and searching to look natural on his chubby face, his arms long and hanging at his sides.

Taichi is young, so he admits it to himself, the guy looks weird. Not only that, but Taichi knows exactly who he is, because how could he not? Shouts and whispers of the school's resident freak or monster are hard to miss, no matter how much Taichi doesn't care.

Still, he's wary, because he knows nothing about the redhead in front of him, and whether or not he deserves those cruel nicknames in the first place.

But Taichi also can't resist talking about volleyball, and anyone willing to indulge him for once instead of avoiding him like the plague are already off to a good start in his book.

"The setter kept favoring his best friend for the spikes, so it was easy to guess he'd toss to him for the last point," Taichi says, picking up stray balls around the court. He's being followed, but the redhead's hovering isn't bothersome.

In fact, Taichi welcomes the company, no matter how strange.

He can see the skip in the redhead's step at the subject of volleyball, and Taichi can relate. His nerves are still on fire, and he bites his lip, wishing the game didn't have to end.

"Ah I see, I hadn't noticed, so I guessed wrong," the other says, and there's a shrill whine in his voice which makes Taichi actually laugh. Because yeah, he'd have been pissed too if he'd misjudged.

The redhead's eyes get wider, an impossible feat in Taichi's mind, and his laugh dies. Maybe I'm being awkward...shit...

There's a brief, strained silence while Taichi continues cleaning, but his eyes won't leave the redhead's shocked expression. Taichi arches a brow, too afraid to ask the question on his mind.

The hell?

"You smiled," the other boy says, and the awe in his voice is enough to make the back of Taichi's neck burn.

Well, no one has said it that way before.

"Yeah I...I do that," Taichi replies, dumbly, and curses himself a second later, his face falling back into his natural scowl.

All of a sudden, the other boy is laughing so loud the rest of the gym is staring at them, and Taichi groans, because he can practically hear the new whispers going around.

Do you think that Kawanishi kid is friends with the freak?

It would make sense, they're both no fun to be around.

Yeah, sounds about right.

Taichi is coming to the age where he cares less and less though, far too used to being misconstrued for every single thing he does.

So he focuses back on the redhead, pouting to himself. "Hey, what's so funny?"

The other contains his giggles poorly, but Taichi can understand him well enough. "Nothing! Sorry sorry! I was surprised! I figured you couldn't smile, like a medical condition or something."

Taichi straightens like a rod, rigid and humiliated. It's nothing he's not accustomed too, but somehow it hurts in that moment, maybe because he'd been riding the high of the game. He knows he always looks unhappy, upset for some reason or another.

But...he doesn't like that he looks that way even while he's playing volleyball. Today is the first time he's ever played, and he loves it so much already.

Apparently, it doesn't show.

Taichi is ready to tell the other to buzz off and find his own private place to sulk until the school day is over, when the redhead continues.

"Everyone says you're never happy, so I wanted to see for myself, but you looked like you were on cloud nine scoring that last point, even with that frowny mug of yours," he says, and he's laughing again a second later, unperturbed by Taichi's stunned expression.

Taichi looks stupid. He knows he does, like a dear in the headlights, and his hands drop the ball he'd been holding as a foreign warmth envelops him.

I...looked happy?

The words don't really process right, but the emotions rage regardless. His emotions always do. That's the screwed up part.

Taichi is a real cry baby on the inside, little things make him happy every day, from his favorite songs to a good book. But no one notices, and nowadays he doesn't expect them to.

But today, someone did.

The other boy continues to babble in front of him, and Taichi can't object, doesn't want to. Like a soft blanket, the pleasant feeling in his veins continues throughout lunch as he sits near his new and unexpected friend. It persists when he gets home, and they text for the first time.

It even lasts until the week after, when they join a community volleyball club together.

For a long time, Taichi didn't know how to explain the feeling, but now he knows it simply comes with being around the other boy.

Of course, he learns this boy's name is Tendou Satori, and that his guesses are seldom wrong, but that with Taichi, Tendou never needs to guess.

He notices right away how Tendou is. Or, how he wants people to think he is.

So expressive. An open book, carefree, only hiding his intentions on the court.

They stick together throughout middle school, and as much as Taichi hates admitting it, they're practically glued at the hip.

Going to Shiratorizawa together is a dream of theirs, and they do whatever it takes to make it. He worries about his lack of expression hindering him from making the team despite his obvious skill, but Tendou has enough energy for the both of them (and probably about fifty more people), and his personality overshadows Taichi’s in the best way.

To say Taichi feels grateful would be an understatement.

“Geez Taichi, you’re practically vibrating, calm down,” Tendou says with a smirk as they walk home. It’s Taichi’s turn to host their after school “study” session, but he knows deep down they’ll just end up watching old volleyball matches and playing videogames.

Taichi snorts, because he really doubts he was vibrating. In fact, next to Tendou, he probably looks a little too stiff. The redhead hasn’t stopped skipping or jumping since they’d left the school. But Tendou has it right, as he usually does. Taichi is ecstatic, and he could climb the world’s tallest mountain right then if asked.

They jostle each other all the way home, proudly able to call themselves best friends and teammates now.

Of course, during practice, and really every other moment, Tendou shouts his excitement and smiles too wide. Taichi is used to this. Again, Tendou is vibrant and dynamic where Taichi resembles more of a statue.

Although Taichi likes his teammates, he can tell they haven’t completely warmed up to him yet. When everyone cheers aloud, Taichi simply stands there, same blank expression on his face while a storm rages in his chest.

It’s okay though. They’ll come around. That’s what Tendou thinks, and Taichi never has much reason to doubt him.

Well, in most things.

See, the thing about Tendou is that he only seems like an open book. If anything, Taichi comes to realize that he has more issues communicating than Taichi does. It might be hard to discern what Taichi actually feels from his face and actions, but when asked, he doesn’t have much trouble coming clean.

“You’re making me feel kind of left out.”

“I was worried when I didn’t hear from you last night.”

“That playlist you gave me was amazing.”

It gets to the point where he makes Tendou blush on accident, and the redhead stutters and chokes on his words for the first time, complaining that Taichi is far too blunt for his own good. Taichi’s entire body heats up all the same, and the rest of their study session that day ends up veiled by some unknown tension.

So yeah, Taichi can express himself in his own ways. After all, words are really all he has.

But Tendou’s emotions never have an outlet. Taichi finds this out the first time Tendou gets openly bullied in middle school. The kids are punks and refuse to let him play a set with them, and Taichi sits out with him in defiance. If he can’t play with Tendou, it’s not worth it. Tendou is still all jokes, all smiles. His cunning guesses are spot on and eventually the other kids get tired of his commentary and leave the court free. Taichi is impressed with Tendou’s wit, his sheer confidence and ability to laugh off all the cruel insults.

But when they get home, he sees the walls crumble. Tendou is agitated and shaking, but he refuses to admit it, as if Taichi can’t tell. The redhead wipes his eyes one too many times, and Taichi can’t bear to pretend anymore. It takes over an hour to coax a confession out of Tendou, and when he does, the floodgates open. “It hurts…when they say shit that’s not true.”

The statement hits Taichi like bricks upon more bricks. And yeah, he can definitely relate. Taichi doesn’t really know how to cry anymore, but he feels his heart ache, and he only hopes Tendou realizes it.

Of course, he does. They get into the habit of comforting each other with soft hugs and subtle touches, when they both feel the familiar pain. When people whisper about Tendou, or criticize Taichi, or when Taichi’s parents scream too loud.

They’re together through it all.

Even now in high school, Tendou still struggles to tell Taichi when he’s upset, when he feels like crying. But Taichi notices, and it’s only fair that he does. Understanding each other goes both ways, and Taichi never hesitates to pull Tendou close when he needs it.

In the end though, they grow slowly, and Taichi prefers to not rush progress. His teammates can tell when he’s on fire, when he’s drunk off a good block, and he welcomes their high fives with a slight smile.

It’s the most he can manage, but it speaks volumes.

And naturally, Tendou makes his own progress too. After all, Taichi was always the blunt one, the upfront one, the one who initiated the tough conversations.

But now, staring blankly at Tendou behind the school gym, Taichi thinks he might’ve misjudged him a bit.

“I like you.”

It’s an oddly placed confession. Taichi had been worried throughout the whole practice that maybe he’d finally upset Tendou somehow, but now…

Wow, they’re both idiots.

Taichi stalls mid-step, letting the words wash over him. They hit him gently, but steal his breath all the same.

“I like you.” It echoes, over and over, like his head can’t get enough.

You…

Tendou bows a little, eyes fixed on the floor, and he’s biting his lip so hard he might break skin and— dammit, I told you to quit doing that.

It’s less annoying than usual though. Instead, Taichi feels like he might explode with joy, and that probably wouldn’t be romantic…having to scrape his remains off the walls. The messed-up thought is evidence enough of how he’s let Tendou influence him, and Taichi only feels happier at the observation. He’s grinning. Absolutely grinning, like a madman.

A delicate mixture of shock, embarrassment, and familiarity wash over him, and naturally…

Ah, screw it. He should probably just say it huh?

But well, if Tendou is really trying to show how he’s grown, the least Taichi can do is show how he feels.

So he does.

Taichi grabs Tendou’s hand, pulling him into a hug which sends them both to the floor, and the redhead’s eyes widen even more than usual as he’s pulled down. Taichi, because he’s a loser with no knowledge of what he’s supposed to do or how to react, buries his face in his best friend’s neck, taking in the smell of cinnamon and something specifically Tendou.

The redhead coughs from the suddenness, but Taichi is too happy to care. His grin doesn’t go away. It makes sense too, how Tendou is the one who ultimately keeps the cursed expression on his face.

It makes Taichi laugh, along with Tendou’s stunned, blushing face as they pull apart.

Taichi’s smile turns smug, and he bumps their heads together, and yup, Tendou looks like a fire truck now. Mission accomplished.

Taichi just laughs into the small space between them, unable to contain himself, and it’s pretty much the best feeling in the world.

“I like you too.”

Later, they find out that the whole team had been betting on when they’d get together, but Taichi is too overjoyed to plot his revenge yet.

Eventually, he thinks. Eventually.

When he’s done replaying all his favorite memories, Taichi knows his parents have gone to bed. The house is quiet, but there’s tension running through his body, and he has no plans of sleeping any time soon.

He’s waiting for someone after all, and they’ve never let him down before.

There’s a knock at his window, and Taichi takes out his earphones instantly. Tendou’s playlists are his favorite, but the redhead himself is much preferred.

Ugh, I’m getting cheesier. So be it.

Tendou’s smile on the other side of the window is soft, with just a hint of mischief present, and Taichi can’t help but mirror it as he unlatches the locks.

“Some midnight practice?” Tendou asks automatically, and Taichi is already grabbing his volleyball.

In fact, he’s already in his workout clothes, because he sort of saw this coming. But the predictability isn’t unwelcome, far from it. It’s just how they are. They grow together each day, following in each other’s steps and keeping track of every stumble.

This probably counts as a stumble, but it hardly feels like one, not with Tendou looking at him like that.

Taichi could let the emotions get to him, could pull Tendou inside and rant about his parents until they fall asleep, safe together.

But they had plenty of time for that, for now…

For now, he wanted to play the sport he loved with the boy he loved, and nothing was going to stop him.

He tugged on his tennis shoes excitedly, meeting Tendou at the window with a swift kiss. He let it warm his body, the pleasant chill travelling up his spine like it never failed to do.

He didn’t let Tendou chase after more kisses, like he always tried to. Again, plenty of time for that later. The redhead pouted, but matched Taichi’s grin, because he knew that just as well as Taichi did.

“Let’s go,” Taichi whispers, clutching Tendou’s hand, something which is like breathing to him. The touch is returned automatically, and with that, they disappear into the night, carefree.

Briefly, Taichi’s mind returns to his previous problem. His expression, or lack of one, isn’t something he can probably ever fix. It’ll be annoying yeah, and people will never stop whispering or talking about how upset he always looks.

But right now, he knows they’re wrong. His grin is bright enough to blind, and he feels so many things at once, more than he can truly comprehend.

So yeah, he doesn’t care. As long as his teammates know who he is on the inside, as long as Tendou can read him like an open book, Taichi knows he’ll never have to worry.

He has what he needs, and he’s sure to gain more. But in that moment, it’s more than enough for him.

#haikyuu!!#kawanishi taichi #tendou satori #kawaten

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bloggish · 6 years

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Fic (Excerpt): Performance Art

aka. asoiaf rarepairs week just started and I realise I cannot possibly get my fill for the first day done today (esp. as I'm already a whole day late and just taking advantage of the timezone difference so y'all won't notice), so I'm going to post the first scene here so I can feel like I've accomplished something, and finish the rest of it, er, whenever

Characters/Pairing: Bran/Theon, various Rating: Teen Spoilers: None really Warnings: Cursing, implied homophobia Prompt: Faking Dating

Okay, this is stupid. Bran is not going to pretend the whole situation isn't stupid. If someone was coming up with a list of reasons why he is not yet a mature and responsible individual and should not be trusted to make his own decisions (which he suspects the rest of his family has done behind his back), this whole evening would probably end up pretty close to the top.

He was just trying to be a good friend, go see the art gallery when Jojen asked. He even managed to talk his mum into letting him go on his own, telling her that Jojen's sister would drive them and her car had plenty of space for the chair. He was anticipating a nice, relaxing evening, looking at art and nodding along with Jojen's explanations of what it all means, feeling like a proper grown up.

Of course, forgot to account for the fact Jojen is Jojen, so he's buggered off somewhere in his infuriatingly mysterious way, and left little Bran all on his lonesome, trying not to panic.

And then he gets cornered.

Because why not?

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Bran winces, and reluctantly turns around to see – Joffrey Baratheon, bloody hell. He hasn't even seen Joffrey Baratheon in years, not since the tool finally graduated, something Bran is grateful for every day.

As long as he can remember Joffrey has held this irrational grudge against his family, ever since Sansa dumped him when they were like thirteen. You'd think he'd move on eventually, but no. And Joffrey might not be very physically intimidating, but because his family are so rich (and probably mobbed up) he's very good at making physically intimidating friends. And Bran, typically one to be cautious about conflict and get his own back through less direct methods, starts looking for exit routes.

“Er. Hi Joffrey,” he says, his eyes scanning the room, probably looking quite a bit like a deer in the headlights. See Jojen, this is what happens when you pull your disappearing trick on me.

Joffrey, having clearly not become any less of a budding psychopath in the past two years (or, okay, given he's like twenty now he probably doesn't count as 'budding' anymore), seems pleased to see Bran is uncomfortable, and takes a step forward. “So what are you doing here?” he asks, but he doesn't pretend to care about the answer. “I can't believe my mother talked me into coming into this stupid exhibit. Urgh. I can't stand modern art.”

Bran has mixed feelings about modern art himself, but feels an instinctive need to come to the defense of all the creators who put their hearts and souls into the works on display only to be thoughtlessly dismissed by a boy who's never been invested in any work of art that doesn't feature a baby being smashed open with a hammer. Then he remembers he's trying to avoid being beaten up.

“Uh, well, I'm here with my...” he says, somewhat cowardlily (if that's a word). Joffrey raises an eyebrow. My what? thinks Bran. He's mostly here for Jojen's sakes, but telling Joffrey he's here with a friend could mean anything, and if Jojen never actually shows up again, he can only work so much as a human shield. And even if Jojen was here: with all due respect, he weighs as much as some twigs. How much of a disincentive to Joffrey having some of his buddies throw Bran in the alley out back could he possibly be?

“...boyfriend.”

Wait, what?

Bran sees Joffrey's claw clench immediately, like he disapproves, but Bran knows he has to be careful about what he says, ever since his mother – who also happens to be mayor – got caught on tape making disparaging comments about Mrs. Merryweather's sexuality, and has been desperately trying to repair her relationship with the local LGBTQ community ever since (Bran's pretty sure he's saw Mrs. Lannister and Mrs. Merryweather holding hands under the table at official functions before that as well, confusing the matter for him, but he's not one to gossip).

“I see,” says Joffrey. Bran now realises what a stupid thing that was to say. He just wanted to warn Joffrey that he does in fact have someone waiting in the wings who can and will beat up anyone who messes with him.

Except, you know, he doesn't. He has no boyfriend anywhere in his life story. No girlfriend either, for that matter. He's a nerd. And if Joffrey finds out he lied, then he's definitely getting beaten up.

Joffrey gives him a thorough once-over, then snorts. “Didn't know you swung that way, Stark,” he says, and Bran finds himself blushing. Admittedly, he doesn't think about his own sexuality that much – mostly because it is general a pretty theoretical subject. “Still. Shouldn't be surprised.”

Bran is just about to lose control of himself and snap when suddenly, a hand lands on his shoulder and makes him jump (as best he can anyway). “Hey Bran.”

He spins around and sees a figure looming overhead. Tall. Older. Handsome. And with muscles specially trained from years of swim practice, enough to make any of Joffrey's cronies think twice. Bran is swamped with relief, and throws his arms around the man's waist desperately. “Theon!”

Theon jumps, understandably startled given that despite having been his older brother's best friend since forever, Bran doesn't really like him, has never really liked him, and they've certainly never greeted each other with hugs before. Bran doesn't know why, but Theon has always just gotten under his skin for some reason, with his clever grin and dirty jokes that he only says when he thinks the kids (and he is still very much a kid in Theon's eyes) aren't listening, but always manage to make him blush. Usually whenever he's over hanging out with Robb, Bran spends the time safely secluded in his room, being irrationally and inexplicably frustrated by the situation.

Under ordinary circumstances, Theon Greyjoy is the last person in the world who he would ask to be his pretend boyfriend. Especially because Theon is absolutely going to tell Robb, and then Bran is never going to live it down for the rest of his life. But, Bran reasons, Theon is the person unfortunate enough to have wandered in now, and you know what they say about desperate times and desperate measures. Annoying as he is, Bran does trust Theon, more or less – at the very least, he's certain Theon can't let him get beaten up without Robb murdering him. Ergo, he'll do in a crisis.

Confused as he must be, Theon does lean down to very awkwardly return his hug. Bran takes advantage to whisper in his ear: “I'm really sorry about this. Please just play along?”

Theon seems seems bewildered when he stands back up, but when Bran grasps his hand and clasps it tight, he starts to get the idea. His eyes go wide, and then he purses his lips together, like he can hardly keep from laughing. When Bran looks at Joffrey again, the boy looks disgusted, but is trying to hide it. “So,” he says, “is this your...?”

“Mm-hmm,” says Bran, maybe too quickly. “He's older though, off at uni, so you don't see him around much. And he's off at athletics training most of the time. He's really strong.” He hopes that sounds more like hormonal gushing and less like the veiled threat it really is. Theon lets out a brisk laugh, and Bran smacks his arm to keep him from giving the game away.

Joffrey squints at Theon suspiciously. “You look familiar somehow.”

Crap. Bran's heart races. He was really hoping Theon graduated long enough ago that Joffrey wouldn't remember him. Theon gives Bran a questioning look, and Bran can only shrug at him, not sure what to say. “You might have seen me in a magazine or something?” Theon eventually suggests.

Magazine? Who even reads magazines? But Theon has started the lie and Bran is better off just going with it. “Yeah, with his school swim team,” he adds. “They're very successful, so they get in all the sports papers and stuff.”

Joffrey looks at them – then scoffs, muttering something under his breath about 'oh, is that the sort of magazine he's in?' Bran gets annoyed again, but Theon squeezes his hand before he can do anything stupid. “Well, my mother's probably looking for me by now, so anyway,” Joffrey declares imperiously, giving them both a withering glance. “...Bye you two.”

The naked contempt is still annoying, but Bran is too busy being relieved when Joffrey decides to leave him the fuck alone to worry much about it. He lets out a sigh, and he expects Theon to let go of his hand as soon as possible. Instead, he simply feels the hand still in his own start to shake, as Theon can no longer contain his laughter. Bran groans loudly. “Oh, don't,” he says, fully aware that Theon is not going to take any notice.

“Sorry, kid,” Theon forces through his guffaws, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “Still, do I want to know? Are you trying to stick it to your ex or something?”

“What? No. Ew.” Bran looks up at gives Theon his own withering glare, which at least quietens the laughter, if not stopping it entirely. “He's Sansa's ex, remember? Yeah, he's had a grudge against our whole family for years. And given his family connections, I was a bit afraid he'd have me beaten up if he thought he could at all get away with it.”

“Right, that cunt,” Theon nods along, laughter mostly under control now, and Bran finds himself blushing at how casually Theon drops such foul language. “So, am I your valiant protector then?” he asks, winding his arm around Bran's shoulders and the back of his chair. “Your knight in shining armour?”

That doesn't help Bran's blush, and he finds he's surprisingly hot given Theon is barely making any actual contact with him. The air conditioning in this place must be broken. “You're a person I know who's reasonably tall and has done some sports,” he says, dropping his gaze to the floor. “Don't let it go to your head.”

Theon laughs once more at that, and Bran sighs, starting to wheel away – he ought to figure out where the friend he actually came here with has gotten to. As he starts to move however, he realises that Theon is walking alongside him, and he looks up disbelievingly. “What, are you going to follow me around all night?” he asks.

He gets an equally disbelieving look in return. “Well, yes,” says Theon. “If I'm pretending to be your boyfriend kid, we might have to spend time together,” he points out. Bran opens his mouth to argue, and then realises that no, Theon is one hundred percent right. Dammit. “Besides, you're a terrible liar. There's no way you're pulling this one off if I'm not there to do the acting for you, and then you really will get beaten up, and then Robb will kill me. Not worth it.”

As if to prove his point, Theon leans over once more and kisses Bran – totally chastely, on the top of his head. Still, Bran turns bright red again, and wraps his arms around himself protectively. “Fine,” he mutters, annoyed. In hindsight, it would have been easier if he let Mum come with him after all.

When he looks back up, Theon is grinning like he's looking forward to this way more than he ought to be.

#asoiafrarepairs #asoiafrarepairweek #bran stark #theon greyjoy #bran x theon #(i may be the only person in the universe who ships this but anyway)#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #fanfic

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leofemt · 7 years

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Being a fic writer is a horrible, thankless, vain pursuit. This is an objective fact.

tl;dr: I prove it: on two opposing fic- for both of which this meta-writer vouches for the quality- less than 10% of readers left kudos, and less than 1% commented.

A few facts:

Let's take one fic. A Tiger & Bunny fic for a rarepair. Personally, I love this fic. This is the best fanfiction of all time. Every time I reread it, I end up in tears and almost incapable of finishing it. It's long, artful, and emotionally devastating. It should have a great reception, right? No.

This fic has been on ao3 for more than 5 years. In its time, it's gotten almost 2.5k hits- not bad for a rarepair. It's almost 80k words long. I can personally vouch for the quality. Do you see how many comments it has? 23.

Of course, this can vary by popularity of the subject matter you're writing for- I've written a 7k fic that has more individual comments than this, just because the pairing is popular- but generally speaking, this is the case. Let's turn to some statistical analysis.

What percentage of fic readers leave kudos? In this case, 145 out of 2483 readers who opened this fic left kudos. 145/2483=0.0584, so 5.8% of fic readers leave kudos. (This doesn't account for quality of writing or people who are just trying out a ship, but even that's not that large a margin.) 6% of your readers will take the time to click a button to say "I enjoyed this!". 6%.

Of course, that can be the case for other forms of art as well, in which case you shrug and say, producing art sucks, viewers take what they want and leave, let's move on. (If I were to do an analysis of the difference in response to popular fanart-type artists, though, I would look at view vs rt statistics on twitter. One place where this differs is: profit. Making actual money. How many artists do you know sell some kind of merch, or have a patreon, or do commissions? Probably a good number of relatively popular ones. How many writers do you know sell hardback copies of their fic? None, probably, unless you personally know EL James. How many writers do you know who actually get commissions? I don't know about you, but I can think of maybe 3 off the top of my head. Visual art is much quicker to consume than written art, and much easier to propogate, since it takes little effort to take in. How many visual artists take open requests on their blogs, instead of commissions? How many writers? A clear pattern starts to emerge.)

And now we move on to the most depressing part- comments. Of course it means a lot whenever someone comments, even if it's a few words of encouragement or telling the author you enjoyed their work. What percentage of fic readers leave comments? This example fic has 23 comments. 23 comments after writing almost 80k words, and I know for a fact that 3 of those comments are mine. This author doesn't reply to comments (which is relatively common, and don't take it personally- it doesn't mean they don't take your words to heart), so this is 23 individual readers who expressed their appreciation for this work. 23 comments out of 2483 hits: 23/2483=0.00926, or 0.93%. Less than 1% of readers left comments on this 80k behemoth of a fic. And 13% of that less than 1% is me.

Of course, you can say, how do you know an abnormally large amount of people didn't just open this fic, decide it wasn't for them, and close it again? Maybe this is the Spider Georg of fanfiction. This is not the case, but if you propose the challenge, I will prove it to you. 145 readers enjoyed this fic enough to read all the way to the end to leave kudos. Don't forget that this is only a little less than 6%. 23 comments out of 145 kudos-leavers: 23/145=0.1586, or a little less than 16%. Of readers who liked this fic enough to leave kudos, 15.9% liked it enough to leave a comment. On normal fics, a comment isn't even that long- probably a sentence or two, unless the commenter is particularly moved, or happens to be me- and only 16% of the 6% that deigned to leave kudos decided to leave one. For an 80k word fic. I haven't even looked to see how many of them are followers of the fic who had commented on multiple chapters as they were published.

What kind of response can you expect for your work, you ask? Surely, if I'm good enough, you think, the praise will come flowing in. Surely, you say, others will see the brilliance of my idea. Tough shit, Pinocchio. Writing sucks. Readers suck. Writers grovel for any kind of recognition of their work. On this fic, 23 comments were left on a total of 78491 words. 23/78491 is such a small number that my calculator went into scientific notation to try and figure out comments per word. The number is 0.000293 comments per word. Of course, no one expects a comment per word, so let's extrapolate a bit- let's see how many comments this fic got per 1k words. 0.000293*1000 is 0.293, or about .3. Less than a third of a comment per thousand words- and remember, average comment length is a couple sentences, or a series of emojis, or, "I like this!!!!! Thanks <3", which takes the average human maybe twenty seconds to write. Despite this, and despite the fic having nearly 2500 hits, only 23 users commented.

And 3 of them were me.

If this doesn't convince you of the futility of writing, and that if you are a fan-content writer, or want to be one, not to base your writing's worth on the amount of comments or make yourself miserable catering to the whims of the masses, I don't know what will. For balance's sake, let's observe another case study. The fic I think is my most popular one- the aforementioned 6.6k fic- was written in 2016, over the span of a week and two days. It's for a popular pairing in a popular fandom.

8110 hits?! You shriek. For less than 7k words? While that other masterpiece, by a writer far greater than you, had only a measly 2.5k hits?!

Let me calculate it- this fic recieved 8110 hits for 6633 words: 8110/6633=1.223 hits per word. That's more than a hit per word, which is outrageous, but that's beside the point. This statistic in itself should convince you that popularity as a writer is based not on your actual talent or skill but on both the whims of the massless entity dubbed "the readership" and the objective popularity of your subject matter. Writing blows. Writing for an audience blows. Never write for anyone but yourself, if you choose to write at all, and if you do, do not be disheartened by a lack of reception. Readers take writers for granted. This is a given fact.

I'll do the same calculations I had done in the previous case study. In this case, of 8110 hits, 745 users decided it was good enough to leave kudos. (Again- this is literally the act of pressing a button. Not too strenuous, though appreciated.) 745/8110=0.0919, or 9.2%- so performing a little better than the 80k rarepair fic, though not by much. This is still <10% of readers.

Further, on the subject of comments- this fic garnered 33 comments, none of which I, the author replied to, just like the case of the previous fic. 33 comments from 8110 hits: 33/8110=0.004069, or 0.41%. What does this mean? This means that, firstly, larger viewships are sometimes a curse, because of something like the bystander effect- more popular ships means more material by other amazing authors, and less focus concentrated on one work- and secondly, this statistic is no different from the first case. Unless a fic gets wildly popular in itself, and becomes a staple and a brand-name and all those other things, you can expect little to no return on any investment you put into writing. This is a terrible fact and a solid truth.

Readers are thankless, insatiable, demanding consumers who take for granted that the stories they crave will be there, prepared for them, and give little thought to the author behind the characters. Of course, this is the case in the professional writing industry as well, which is why writing is an undertaking that can only be undertaken with one purpose- something within the author that compels them to write. Writing sucks. Objectively, if you're looking for ways to be validated in your work, it's a waste of time, and sometimes I wish I could take all the fanfiction archives on the internet down for a day or two, just to see readers panic. People take for granted what has always been there. Don't write unless you want to.

Readers- the consumers I've bashed so thoroughly- if you are a fic consumer, and you've read all the way to the end, I implore you- show some gratitude. If you are someone who regularly leaves kudos and comments on fic you love, congratulations. You're probably some writer's favorite person. If not- well, I don't have much to say to you. Books should be free, but fan content writers write for less than free- they write at a loss. Appreciate them, just a little. Every time I see a writer groveling for a handful of comments, the lack of respect for something so many people claim they "love to read" and "don't know what they would do without" makes me hate "the readership" even more. Being a writer is a thankless, horrible, useless pursuit, because few people care deeply enough to do more than consume the content and leave- you can make it not so much so, just a little bit. Just a few words, and you could bump that comments button up a number. You could be the reason that percentage improves. All it takes is to give back, just a little, to the people who provide you your fan-content for free, at the expense of their own time.

#fanfiction #writing #fanfic #writing tips #meta #captain's log #i hate writing...

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ollie-oxen-free · 7 years

Note

Ollie! Congratulations on 100+ followers! No one deserves it more! If you're still taking requests, how about 83 for Swapfell!Sans/Original Papyrus. Because the rarepairs need love, and I know you like a challenge. ; )

you come into my home and you give me a rarepair and expect me to not slam my car door on my fucking skull, okay. after deliberation i’ve discovered that i may or may not like this ship that there’s literally nothing for, thank you for that.

WARNINGS: fake edgy, mention of death, non-graphic violence

He hates this perfect version of his brother. Not that he likes any of their alternates that much to begin with, tolerating them at best and openly antagonizing them at worst. They were weak, and Razz hates them for that. He’s had to hate weakness for so long that at this point it was just common practice to do so.

Being on the surface in Undertale was supposedly “good” for them, away from the bloodlust of Fellverses and the war on the surface. Not that much of a war was going on when they had left, of course. Waking up one morning to see monsters spreading from the mountains across the surface was apparently cause for war for most humans. It was almost hilarious how quickly any wants for peace were immediately extinguished after the Queen had ordered the clearing of the towns of humans at the foot of the mountain. By any means necessary.

He was Captain, of course. So he complied.

In the end, monsters never really stood a chance. Razz had watched as the guard that he had commanded for most of the war was wiped out easily. Humans were weak unless dragged into an encounter, but the last thing they were expecting was for there to be so many of them. Every wave that they wiped out seemed to be replaced by more, and more, faces and colors of uniforms differing, dozens of languages shouting out at once as monster lost any ground they had gained, forced back under the mountain.

The surface was more like the underground than he had thought. No mercy was offered, given, as humans stormed the mountain, swarming in from every direction like ants, hunting down every last monster.

In the end, he was certain he was one of the only left. Slim had been part of the ranks of an entirely different armada, and was likely dead or off hiding somewhere as he waited for death as well. He’d barricaded himself inside a cave in Snowdin, bones crossing over the only entrance as Razz waited inside, a sword in each hand and blasters summoned in an arc over his head. The mushrooms inside washed the area in a faint blue glow, mixing with the furious mauve from his magic to send odd shadows arching over every wall.

And then the explosions and gunshots had started. The barricade that he had made cracked with every blow, every shot, spiderwebs of cracks spreading out over their entirety until he was certain the next shot would make then shatter. With a heavy finality, he had crouched to run, intending to rush the entrance the moment they were broken, swords swinging and blasters firing. He wouldn’t be brought down without a fight.

And then he had heard the crack of magic beside him, arms wrapping around his torso before the familiar feeling of a teleport enveloped him. He��d been dragged through the basement of his old house, through a portal, and before he was truly aware of his surroundings, there were a few shouts, and a crash.

In a blind rage, he had swung out the sword he had managed to keep a hold on, aiming for the nearest figure to him. Before he could make contact with anything, his soul was turned blue and he was thrown back against the furthest wall, gaze clearing from red and snarling beginning to quiet when he realized where he was. It was the basement of his home, but reversed, and somehow kinder-looking, and with a start he realized; he was in Undertale.

A quick survey had left him seeing that the machine to travel between universes had been destroyed, and the room was filled with their alternates. And his brother.

He almost could have laughed, as they explained what had happened to him. It was hilarious how, despite Fell and Red supposedly being so much better than him, the humans had apparently reacted in much the same way. Though the Fell brothers had been defeated much more easily, and had ran to the softer universes with their tail between their legs.

Or something like that.

Razz had stopped listening after a few moments, but he caught enough to understand that the others had been… worried about Slim and himself, and had come to find his brother near death at the hands of a group of humans. After he had been healed, they had come back for Razz himself, destroying the Swapfell machine after them.

There wasn’t any going back now.

The Swap brothers and Fell brothers had left soon after they were certain that Razz wasn’t going to kill anyone, or perhaps they left after they had made sure that he had gotten back safe. If they had left because of the former reason, then they had left far too soon.

But that was all in the past. In the now, he hates everything about the universe that he was now trapped in, hates the way that the humans cower in fear as he walks past, hates how fucking soft everything is, hates how the treatment of the monsters on the surface isn’t near close enough to the hatred that he was so used to. All this hate inside of him had to direct itself somewhere, and so he’d chosen Papyrus and his fucking pity.

Somehow, Papyrus manages to be kind through it all, almost to the point of fault, and it’s so far out of the norm that he can’t help but want to smash his fucking skull in until the collapsed bone is wider than that stupid fucking smile he always has on his fucking face. Nothing he ever does seems to garner any reaction but that sad smile and an encouragement to do better. Even Blue isn’t as single-minded in his reactions, tolerating it for only so long before he would snap back. And it wasn’t near the violent lashing out that he wanted, but dammit it was something.

Papyrus believed in him, and believed in him, and he kept on fucking believing even when Razz had tried to strip away every hope that the other could ever have.

It was infuriating.

And he was alone in this sentiment. Slim is content- no- he fucking enjoys the softer universe and all the comforts with it, relaxed and satisfied and happy. It makes Razz sick. Nothing is the way that it’s supposed to be.

Razz realizes that he wants to go back to his universe. He craves it like a drug, longs to feel the crushing bones under his hands and blood under his feet again, even if it inevitably leads to his death. He misses the familiar, stubborn dread that came with trying to survive yet another day, the feeling replaced with this day-to-day monotony.

In the past, when he’s wanted something, none of the powers of hell would dare try to stop him. He wanted to be in the guard, and then he wanted to be the Captain, and then he wanted to keep that rank at any cost, wanted to feel the grit of dust between his hands. And now, having snuck down to the basement (god it was so easy to move around here, and he was honest to god surprised that the Tale brothers were still alive if they were this fucking dense), staring blankly at the blueprints for the machine and the printout for the codes of the universes, Razz knew that he would get what he wanted.

The plan wasn’t hard to put in order.

When he had first arrived, on one of their little fucking outings, a motorcycle had caught his eye. He had looked away quickly, of course. Not quick enough for Papyrus and his damned kindness to notice, though, and it wasn’t long before he had been led to the garage, where a sleek, black bike was waiting just to the side of Papyrus’s convertible, a paper for lessons sitting atop it. He’d hated it at the time, coming damn near close to blasting it apart. He hadn’t, though, the pure glee on Papyrus’s face at showing him shocking him into inaction.

No matter now. It gave him an excuse for what he was doing, anyways.

Papyrus’s kindness isn’t hard to take advantage of when the other is so willing to give it, and so when Razz comes to him about needing parts to work on his bike, the taller is ecstatic, driving him to the auto shop for parts, and not questioning it when Razz says he needs sheet metal for additional upgrades.

It’s so easy that it’s almost laughable. He doesn’t laugh, though the action is tempting when it’s almost hilarious how Papyrus reacts like clockwork, chatting easily away as they go wherever for what Razz needs to carry out his plans. Razz finds out that Papyrus loves solving puzzles more than making him, that his favorite color is bright red, that he doesn’t actually like spaghetti all that much, and that one of his favorite things to do is to just go on a drive with someone he cares about.

He says this last one often, and punctuates it every time with a smile in Razz’s direction so bright that it nearly brings him physical pain. He always responds in turn with a loud curse and a threat to watch the fucking road. Papyrus always laughs, but does as he says. The sound of the other’s mirth had gotten less obnoxious as Razz had been in their universe for longer.

The routine was almost set in stone. Razz would walk out of the shed or come to Papyrus in need of parts, and Papyrus would take him for what he needed, stopping occasionally to get something to eat or for Papyrus to show him something about the surface that he found particularly interesting. After a while, Razz comes to almost enjoy their drives.

It’s not a shock when it all ends. After living in a Fellverse his whole fucking life, Razz should have known better than to let himself fall into a schedule, to let his guard down. But now, here he was, standing in front of the almost finished machine and entering in the coordinates for his universe as Papyrus stands just inside the door, looking at him in shock.

“What’s… What’s this?”

Razz glares back, glancing at the loading bar on the screen built into the side of the device before looking back at the taller. “What the hell does it look like? I’m building another universal transporter.” He turns to the machine to get away from the look of betrayal on the other’s face, pretending to busy himself with a small bunch of wires that are hanging from the open panel just below the screen. “I’m going back home.”

Papyrus flinches, visibly retracts into himself as he rubs his upper arms. Razz glances up at the other, following his gaze across the shed. Sitting in the back corner was his once-proud bike, now coated in a fine layer of dirt, obviously unused for a while. Papyrus winces again, obviously recognizing the fact that he’s been lied to for the past month or so about Razz’s true reason to hang out with him.

Razz tells himself that he doesn’t give a shit about the hurt look on the other’s face.

“Why would you build it in here?” His eyes are roaming around the interior of the shed, voice quieter than Razz thinks he’s ever heard it.

“Can you not get it through the thick skull of yours?” He sneers, the action familiar as an expression he’s made often in his time here, but this is the first time it’s ever felt so unsatisfying. “I didn’t want you to see this. So why don’t you just go and get the fuck out of my way.”

Shifting, Papyrus takes a half step forward, only to move right back when Razz growls at his movement. They stand there in a stalemate for a while, Papyrus in shock and Razz in forced anger, holding his glare even as the invisible muscles of his throat clench in nausea. Papyrus turns not nearly soon enough for Razz to miss the orange-tinted tears in the corners of his eyes, making his way to the door of the shed. “I will leave you to that then.”

And with that he’s gone, leaving Razz staring after him in shock as the machine begins to beep with the coding finished. Razz ignores the twisting around his soul as he steps away, going to look back over the blueprints. He’s missing a few parts, he notices, and he’ll have to get them to help build a stabilizer to hold the portal open long enough for him to step through it. What irks him the most about this situation is how this was the first time he had managed to make Papyrus cry, yet it left him with… something, and it wasn’t satisfaction.

Razz waits a day or two before he comes up to Papyrus again about needing parts, not bothering to say that it’s for his bike now. Papyrus stares at him silently for a few moments, and Razz is almost convinced that he’s going to say no and run off and prattle to Sans, and then Razz will have to deal with that whole fucking fiasco, but then Papyrus smiles, strained, as he agrees, walking out the door without another word.

Razz watches him leave, and hesitates for a moment before following after, stepping into the passenger seat of his car and buckling up as they pull out of the driveway. For the first few moments, Papyrus is quiet, and Razz thinks that he’s going to just stay silent the whole ride until he starts to speak, voice starting out soft and then growing in confidence.

He talks as they drive to the store, and when they get the items that he needs, and then as they’re driving back, and somewhere in the overflow of language Razz hears mention of a new observatory that’s opening in the town. And then Papyrus asks him slowly if he wants to stay just a little longer for the opening night. Razz sits as he considers the offer before giving a small nod, leaving the car and cursing his soul for racing at the other’s grin.

It starts small like that. There’s a new movie coming out, the sequel to that one that we watched the other movie night. Would you stay for that? You don’t like crowded theaters? We can just wait for a few months until it comes out on DVD! Christmas is coming soon. Stay for a month longer? You don’t have to give any gifts if you don’t want to.

Back underground, Razz had considered himself a master manipulator. He knew the extremes to go, how far to push to get what he wanted, when he wanted. He could bend monster’s wills to his own with threats, bribes, with fear. But he hadn’t noticed Papyrus’s snare until too late, when the rope had already tightened and escape was futile. Papyrus worked in increments, getting him used to it and making him take just a little more every time until Razz found that he…

He didn’t really want to go back to Swapfell. Hilarious how dying of age like a coward was starting to gain more and more appeal.

On their second year anniversary in the Tale universe, Razz comes up to Papyrus as he had the first time, arms crossed over his chest and his expression almost bored. “I need to find a place to get rid of a bunch of useless scrap metal,” he says, looking at his gloves in disinterest.

Papyrus stares at him in confusion for a few moments until it clicks, and then he’s beaming down at him with a joy that Razz hadn’t seen directed at himself before, nodding and going on about how they can dismantle it, or he could call someone else to do it, and usually the material could be sold or recycled for money.

Razz listens to him go on, the grin on his face still there as he talks, hands moving as if conducting his own speech. Something warm blossoms just under his soul as he watches the other’s movements, and he finds that he doesn’t entirely mind it.

It’s a lot easier to make Papyrus smile.

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chuuyazai · 7 years

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Tagged by: @shitabukenjirou Thanks love!! These were super interesting!!!

1. How did you come up with your username and what does it mean?

Well, I was really into the bungou stray dogs fandom when I changed my username to chuuyazai and it’s basically just Chuuya and Dazai combines (not their ship name unfortunately) and I’m an uncreative piece of shit so I use this as my AO3 account too. And my writing blog I wanted to make bnha related so i just did bnheadcanons-scenarios. It was originally kaminari-damnki cuz why not then I changed it to what it is now.

2. Which fanfic of yours has the most feedback? (bookmarks/subscriptions/hits/kudos)

Swim with Me probably because it’s my longest fic plus mermaids

3. What is your AO3 profile icon and why did you choose it?

It is a picture of Uno from Nanbaka because I love him

4. Do you have any regular/favorite commenters?

Yeah, actually! If you comment on my stuff there is a 99% chance I’ll recognize you in my other works and stuff. But no matter if you’re a regular or a one-time guy, I love you anyway.

5. Is there a fanfic that you keep going back to read again and again?

I never really reread my own stuff becuase cringe and there aren’t really many others I reread because I don’t have time anymore.

6. How many stories are you subscribed to? How many do you have bookmarked?

I don’t have any bookmarked but I do have 7 that I’m subscribed to. I subscribe more to authors than fics though.

7. Which AU do you kind yourself writing the most?

I don’t know...I write a lot of fantasy AU’s a lot or Soulmate AU’s or Coffee Shop AU’s....I have a wide variety lol

8. How many people are subscribed and bookmarked to you in total? (you can view this on the stats page)

User Subscriptions: 23

Overall Subscriptions: 133

Bookmarks: 266

9. Is there something you’d like to write about but are afraid of people judging you for it?

Shrug. Not much I can think of right now...

10. Is there anything you would like to be better at? Writing certain scenes or genres, replying to comments, etc.

Updating. Definitely.

11. Do you write rarepairs or popular ships more often?

Popular ships simply because most of the time I love them more than rarepairs, but I do write rarepairs frequently too.

12. How many stories have you posted on AO3 to this day (finished and unfinished)?

18.

13. How many stories do you have saved in/with your writing program?

A lot. I have 1 wip for my writing blog, 2 wips for my friend, and at least 5 wips that I have saved to work on and finish at some point to post to AO3.

14. Do you write down story ideas, or just keep them in your head?

i aggressively write them down on a new document whenever I think of one.

15. Have you ever co-authored a story?

Kinda? Never was published and it was more like I was just the editor.

16. How did you discover AO3?

Long, long ago when I discovered fanfiction, I scowered the web for a good site and it was either AO3 or fanfiction.net and I liked AO3 better because it was easier to navigate.

17. Do you consider yourself to be a popular or famous author in your fandom (s) on AO3?

Fuck no.

18. Do you have a nickname or fandom name for your readers?

Not really? I call everyone “babe” or “love” but no special nicknames. I’m not popular enough for that.

19. Was there an author who inspired or encouraged you to write?

Of course. Everyone who writes fanfiction is an inspiration to me.

20. What writing advice would you give to a beginning author?

Write for yourself at first. It’ll make things so much easier. Write whatever you want to write and don’t get frustrated if it doesn’t turn out perfect the first time around. Your first fanfiction won’t be the best but don’t let that discourage you. Keep pushing forward!

21. Do you plot out your stories, or do you just figure it out as you go?

Kinda both? I have a clear start and end game but the middle isn’t plotted out. Hell, sometimes the end changes too depending where the flow of the story takes me.

22. Have you ever gotten a bad comment on a story? If so, what did you do?

Again, kinda? Like, they were more of constructive criticisms than bad comments and I took them in stride to fix my writings. One was on my very first fic I ever published (i recently deleted it actually) and it said I had to work on my dialogue, one was telling me to work on reducing the amount of epithets I use, which I know I need to work on, and one was to stop using so many curse words (but I was writing Bakugou so cursing is very expected with his character that one I just kind of ignored)

23. Is there a certain type of scene that you have a hard time writing? (action, smut, etc...)

Smut probably is my worst area, simply because I’m a science nerd so I want to call everything by it’s proper name but it sounds awkward.

24. What story(s) are you currently working on now?

Current;y, I have a request I’m finishing up and I’m also trying to finish a chapter of a new AU i want to post eventually.

25. Do you plan your next project(s) before you finish your current ongoing story(s)?

I don’t really plan anything? If i have an idea, I write it down and get to it when I feel the motivation.

26. Do you have a daily writing goal set for yourself?

I try to get at least one request done per day but I’ve been falling behind unfortunately.

27. Do you think you’ve improved as a writer since you first started?

Fuck Yeah

28. What’s your favorite story that you’ve written?

Swim with Me

29. What’s your least favorite story you’ve written?

Smells like Home. I don’t know why but it just didn’t feel right to me when I wrote it but I said “fuck it” and posted it anyway.

30. Where do you see yourself (as a writer) in 5 years?

No clue.

31. What’s the easiest thing about writing?

The ideas.

32. What’s the hardest thing about writing?

The motivation.

33. Why do you write?

Because I like it. Simple as that. I don’t really write to make other people happy, though it is an added bonus and I enjoy it when I do make people happy, but I write because it’s something I want to do.

Tagging @kakuseis and @eien-misui-ni-goodbye and whoever else is a writer (i’m blanking my dudes sorry)

#tagged #fic asks #thanks love!!!

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aliens-teeth · 7 years

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Rarepair Week Day 1: Aquarium/Iibaku

Bakugou and Iida go on their first date to the town aquarium. Things don't go well. Also on Ao3.

It's awkward.

REALLY awkward.

Bakugou doesn't say anything when Iida first knocks on his door, doesn't even give him a 'hello'. Iida doesn't move from his spot, hand still held out with flowers wrapped in white paper for protection. "Hello, Bakugou-kun," he says. "These are for you--"

"Who said I wanted fucking FLOWERS?" Bakugou growls. He snatches them from Iida's hand and throws them on his desk before slamming the door closed. Iida watches carefully before sighing and following after him through the hallway, past Kirishima and Kaminari playing video games in the living room, and out the door.

"I bought your ticket for you," Iida tells him. Bakugou turns around but doesn't turn his head to look up at him, just stares eye-level at his chest before Iida pulls the tickets out of his pocket. "Do you perhaps want to hold them?"

Bakugou snatches them from his hand and stares at them. Two tickets. Fucking Iida.

"Why did you buy mine? I'm not fucking poor."

"I never said that," Iida says quickly, hands flying up now that he isn't holding onto tickets or flowers or anything else equally sappy and stupid and shitty. "That's what dates are supposed to do. Buy things for each other. If I'd known, I would have let you buy your own, or even mine, if you really wanted to-"

"It's whatever," Bakugou cuts him off, and turns around to keep walking towards the bus station. He can hear Iida following him and refuses to turn around. Iida might not say anything about the blush he's sporting but he sure as hell would be thinking about it, and that's too much for Bakugou to handle at the moment.

"The bus should be here any minute," Iida tells him, and Bakugou chances a glance to see him looking down at his watch.

"Good," Bakugou mumbles. Iida looks up at him and Bakugou looks away again, even if Iida probably got stupid angel face to fix his hair, even if he probably got pikachu to pick his outfit.

The bus pulls up and Bakugou gets on first.

"I'm paying for TWO people," he nearly snarls, and the bus driver watches with wide eyes as he holds out enough change for his and Iida's seats.

Iida sits beside him, but the second an older man gets on the bus he stands up and of fucking course offers his seat, and Bakugou is stuck sitting next to an ancient crocodile while refusing to look up even higher than he normally needs to just to see Iida's face.

Tall people piss him off.

At the aquarium there's not a lot to see at first; they keep the dry exhibits closer to the entrance so initially, all they see are lizards and geckos. At one point they pass a frog exhibit and Iida stops for long enough that Bakugou has to turn back and wait for him to speak so they can finally get moving.

"What?" Bakugou asks at last, yet Iida still doesn't say a word. He looks up to see Iida staring at him--DIRECTLY staring at him. As much as Bakugou loves being the center of attention (because he deserves to be), it's different like this, when Iida is the only person in the room, the only person looking at Bakugou like so very few people ever have.

Bakugou looks into the glass cage to see a frog staring at them.

"I imagine Tsuyu-san would appreciate seeing this," Iida says seriously. "Perhaps it will feel like she's looking at a close friend."

Bakugou actually snorts at that. "I'm sure frog face would appreciate that," he sneers. Iida lets out a quiet hum and takes a step forward to signal that he's done looking at the exhibit. "I'm surprised you know who i'm talking about."

"We've been in the same class for months--"

"With angel face and pikachu and bird brain?"

"Shut up," Bakugou growls, and turns, ready to see Iida fucking staring at him again--

--but Iida is looking ahead towards the next exhibit with a small smile on his face, and Bakugou quickly averts his gaze to keep from blushing again.

By the time they reach the saltwater fish they've lapsed into complete silence. Bakugou looks at Iida every once in awhile but doesn't say anything, even when Iida stops to look at the tropical fish for a second longer than the other glass containers. They pass a pool of horseshoe crabs and Bakugou tells the assistant that's staring at them to "get off his damn--"

"Case," Iida finishes for him, before Bakugou can get them kicked out of the aquarium.

"I don't need you to babysit me," Bakugou tells Iida once they're in another room. "I'm not babysitting you, Bakugou-kun," Iida tells him, hands lifting up in what looked like self defense. "I just want to enjoy our date."

"Don't fucking interrupt me next time," Bakugou warns, "or I'll leave. Right now."

"Please don't," Iida says quietly after Bakugou has already turned around. The soft plea makes him grit his teeth but he pretends like he didn't hear. Instead, he stands still, waiting for Iida to move again.

The tense atmosphere has skyrocketed, and the longer they sit in silence the worse Bakugou feels. He doesn't know whether he fucked the date up, or if Iida fucked it up, or if he's just a complete fuck-up and he can't handle being alone with another classmate for two hours without blowing his lid. He's mad because he can't get himself to fucking talk, even though he keeps repeating it in his head like a mantra: 'say something, say anything, JUST SAY SOMETHING TO HIM'.

But he doesn't say anything. He grinds his teeth and keeps his lips pressed together and stays quiet.

They reach the larger exhibits after another ten awkward minutes. Iida pauses a lot more now to marvel at all the fish they can see-- sharks, large fish, even the pufferfish that gasp and blow up every time Bakugou looks at them. Bakugou turns a corner and he hears Iida hurry after him so he stops walking. When Iida turns the same corner he bumps into Bakugou's back and Bakugou grunts in surprise. Of course, Iida takes it the wrong way.

"Sorry," he blurts, before Bakugou's even had time to turn around. "I thought you had gotten bored and gone ahead, so I--"

"I'm not going to leave you here," Bakugou snaps, irritated. He thinks he can still feel how warm Iida was when they knocked into each other. Iida's hands are moving rapidly as he tries to think of something interesting to say, but when nothing comes he stops and sighs, putting his hands in his pockets and walking besides Bakugou again. Bakugou curses at himself mentally. Why the FUCK was he the one out of the pair to want to hold hands? Where did the atmosphere at the frog exhibit go? What the fuck was wrong with him? He hated being distracted from everything else solely because he wanted to hold Iida's hand, but his stubbornness was as big a problem as ever.

And because Bakugou was now completely distracted, both by his own anger and also by his stupid fantasies of holding someone's hand (GROSS, he tries to tell himself), he fails to notice the wet floor sign as he stomps ahead of Iida again--and slips so fast not even Iida can catch him when he falls and hits his head on the tiled floor.

"Bakugou-kun!"

His ears ring but he doesn't feel any pain in the first minute, just staring up at the dark blue ceiling. He rolls over and stays on his hands and knees, refusing to look up. "Just leave," he finally manages to say. His face is a thousand degrees hot and he's just so DONE with everything he doesn't even feel like exploding anything, for once in his life. "What?" Iida asks. "Just fucking leave me alone," he snaps. "I know I fucked this up, okay? Just fuck off."

Iida doesn't listen, just crouches next to him, and Bakugou feels a large hand press into his hair and pushes Iida's arm away. He sits on his ass and pushes himself away from his date with his feet, reaching up to put his hand where Iida's had just been. "What the fuck--"

"Please come here so I can check your head," Iida says. His tone is stoic but his face is full of caring, and Bakugou thinks the least he can do is at least listen to Iida just once. He pulls himself forward using his feet now and turns around, refusing to look him in the face any longer. Iida's hands are surprisingly gentle. "What exactly did you, um, mess up, Bakugou?"

"Please don't tell me you're using my fucking backflip as an excuse to talk to me."

"It seems to be working, though," Iida says. Bakugou sighs and focuses on the tank opposite of the wall they're closest to. There's a bright blue fish staring at him. He flips it off, just to see if Iida will react, but the bespectacled boy doesn't even respond to it. "Don't act like you don't know," Bakugou mutters. He pulls his knees up to his chest and stays still, even as Iida moves to sit beside him on the still damp floor.

"Your ass will get wet," Bakugou warns.

"What if I said I was being honest?"

"Then you're the stupid one," Bakugou says, and Iida actually laughs at that. "I flipped out when you bought me flowers. You probably got that off some stupid American romance movie."

"I… might have."

"And aquarium tickets when you probably went there like a week before to make sure it'd be open."

"I… also might have done that."

"Normal dates don't get mad when you do normal things for them."

"But I don't really think you're normal, Bakugou-kun."

Just when Bakugou turns, ready to snap at Iida, he continues. "I think you're a unique individual with a, perhaps, explosive personality in the best way, but nobody at UA is 'normal'. Especially not you."

"I yelled at a fucking aquarium worker. Who was doing her damn job." Even he knows how shitty that is, especially when he thinks about how angry he was at Iida for trying to keep him calm afterwards.

"Accidents happen."

"This whole date's been a shitstorm," Bakugou says. "I fucked it up for myself--"

"You make it sound like I'm not willing to go on another one."

Bakugou is incredulous. "ARE you?"

"We still have several more hours before the aquarium closes. We could backtrack and look at the tanks we passed through earlier."

"You're a big fan of tropical fish, aren't you?"

Iida shrugs. "I think it's nice to be able to appreciate such vivid colors even below the sea--"

"You're such a nerd," Bakugou says, but stands up. His head still hurts but at least he's not bleeding. "Do you feel all right?" Iida asks, still looking concerned. "If you seriously hurt your head, we should return to the dorms early--"

"S'fine," Bakugou says. His hands twitch but he ignores the feeling, closing them into fists. "It doesn't hurt," he lies. He doesn't want to leave, not when Iida's just given him a second chance.

"Well," Iida says, a little louder than usual. He waves his hands in the air and the more words he gets out, the faster he moves. "I was thinking--if we were to backtrack, and perhaps more parts of the floor are wet and perhaps one of us doesn't notice the wet floor sign--" He sighs, lets his hands finally fall still, and… offers one out.

"Perhaps it'd be a better idea if we held onto each other?"

Bakugou doesn't know how to respond, and luckily, he doesn't need to. Taking hold of Iida's hand is enough for him to smile, and Bakugou begins walking, tugging him along.

#iibaku #bnha rarepair week #bnha #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #iida tenya

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yodepalma · 7 years

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ffxv rarepairs week day 3: fairy tales

Title: the best thing | ao3 link Rating: PG/Teen Pairing: Dino Ghiranze/Noctis Lucis Caelum Summary: Noctis gets turned into a frog, and then gets worse. Fair warning: this is like 4,300 words long. I don’t know what happened.

Being a frog sucks. Noctis croaks miserably as he huddles in a crevice of the rocks and resists the urge to rub against them. He's so slimy. And a minute earlier he'd eaten a fly. He'd just been trying to get comfortable and the stupid thing had buzzed over his head. He hadn't even thought about it. His tongue had just....reacted. It had been terrible. It's still terrible. He's going to have nightmares.

A shadow falls over his hiding place, and he has to force himself not to jump in alarm at it. He glares balefully up at the person leaning into the rocks. He hopes it's not someone else who's going to try to kiss him. Even Luna hadn't been able to break the curse. There's no way some random stranger is going to manage it.

A hand moves toward him and he presses himself flat against the rock. Maybe he'll jump on their face. It'd serve them right for putting their lips all over him.

Except the hand passes by him entirely. Noctis makes another stupid chirruping croak as some dirt falls on him.

"Easy there," a voice murmurs in a soothing tone. "I just want a look at this rock. You're safe."

A pebble lands on Noctis' head and his legs are moving before he registers the alarm. He lands on the person's arm and tries to whine, but it just comes out as another croak. He shifts on his unwanted perch so he can turn and glare. Or whatever the frog equivalent to glaring is.

"Well, if you insist," the man says. His whole arm shakes under Noctis' feet, and the man makes a startled little noise before he slowly pulls his arm toward him. Noctis almost slides off, but the man catches him in his other hand. HIs fingers close around Noctis gently. "Careful."

Why won't the guy just put him down? Noctis tries to wriggle free, but it feels like he's in a cage. And the man completely ignores him in favor of inspecting the rock, though Noctis doesn't see what's so interesting about it. Admittedly, pieces of it are very shiny and the light reflects off it to make a little rainbow on the man's face, but it's still just a rock.

"Lovely," the man says, and puts it in his pocket. Weirdo. Then he turns his attention to Noctis, moving him closer. "Now let's get a look at you, hm?"

The man loosens his grip and pokes at Noctis with a finger. Noctis croaks and shuffles away. He can't believe things are still getting worse.

"I've never seen anything like you before." He runs a finger down Noctis' back, which actually feels kind of nice. Noctis sits still and waits for the inspection to be over. "You're the exact color the rumors say the prince is. But that's just silly, isn't it?"

Noctis makes a tiny hop in the direction of his face. The man smiles and pets his back again, then leans down to deposit Noctis back in the rocks. Noctis refuses to move until a finger pokes at his butt. Rude. He hops back into his crevice and tries to glare again.

Shockingly, it doesn't have any effect. The man looks at the sky and says, "I'd better get back before the sun sets."

Oh no. Noctis hadn't even thought about the daemons. It wouldn't be a problem if he was human, but how was he going to protect himself as a frog? Maybe daemons didn't eat frogs. He might be fine. He probably shouldn't risk it.

When the man starts walking away, Noctis croaks as loudly as he can and hops after him. The man doesn't notice until Noctis gets annoyed and jumps in front of his feet.

"What in Eos?" The man bends over so he can get a good look at Noct. "You again? Please don't tell me you're actually the prince."

Noctis jumps onto his shoe.

The man sighs. "I'm choosing to believe you're an actual frog. Just really strange. And fond of me for some reason." He scoops Noctis up and starts walking again. "All I wanted was a rock."

Noctis lets himself doze as the man carries him, so he's startled when he's suddenly deposited on a hard surface. He leaps forward in alarm, and then he realizes there's another person. He turns around and hops back toward the man, trying to find somewhere to hide. Why are there people? People are the worst.

"Dino, why is there a frog on my counter?" The new voice belongs to a woman wearing a red chef's jacket. She leans on the counter. If she kisses him, Noctis is going to pee on her counter. "Black like the prince, hm?"

"You noticed that too?" Dino's voice sounds sour, but he covers Noctis with a warm hand. "I'm worried he might actually be the prince."

"That doesn't seem very likely." The chef finally moves away and Noctis relaxes a little. "It's a very long distance for a frog to travel from Insomnia."

Noctis wonders just where in Lucis he is. He knew it'd been a long drive in the truck he'd stowed away in, but he'd found it hard to track the distance when he couldn't see where they were going. He wishes he could smell anything properly. He hadn't realized until now just how much information there was in the way the air smelled.

"It's not so far by truck, though." Dino taps his fingers on the counter next to Noctis. "And the Crown never denied the rumors that the prince had gone missing this morning."

In all fairness, Noctis can't be sure that anyone in the Citadel realized he was gone. It wouldn't be easy to find a frog even if he was still there. As far as anyone knew, he was hiding in a corner sulking somewhere. Which is what he'd intended to do anyway, and then the stupid truck had driven off before he could find a way out of it.

Noctis doesn't have many regrets, but getting in that truck is definitely one of them.

"Have you tried kissing him?" the chef asks. Her voice is ridiculously calm considering her stove appears to be on fire.

Dino chuckles. "I'm not kissing a frog. Why would I even want to?"

Noctis feels kind of insulted. What's wrong with kissing him? Prompto had said he was an adorable frog, and if it worked Dino would get to marry a prince. Everybody wants to marry royalty.

"Hmm, but I heard the prince was very attractive." The chef gives Dino a quick smile. "Prettier than you, even."

"Coctura." Dino shakes his head like he’s disappointed in her. "Nobody is as pretty as me."

Noctis croaks in disgust. He's totally prettier than Dino. How dare he.

Coctura laughs and brings a plate over to the counter. Whatever's on it makes Dino smile, and he lifts his hand off Noctis' back to reach for his fork.

"I was thinking of taking him to Insomnia," Dino says. He takes a bite of his food and chews thoughtfully. "I'm sure the king would know if it's his son or not."

Probably not. Noctis is just a frog like any other frog, and his dad certainly hadn't gotten close and tried to kiss him. Oh man, now he feels sick. He hops closer to the plate and thinks about jumping into Dino's food.

But he doesn't feel like being that much of a jerk right now, so he opts to just sit next to it. The heat from the food makes him drowsy, and the conversation going on over his head about jewelry isn't helping. He's still tired anyway. A nap won't hurt anything.

Dino brings Noctis to his room afterwards, dumping him onto the bed as he wanders off toward what’s probably the bathroom. It's hard to hop on the soft mattress, Noctis’ feet getting tangled in the blankets, but eventually he makes it to the pillows. After a half dozen failures, he manages to climb up onto it and flop down in the very middle.

He looks up when Dino comes back into the room, but he has to shut his eyes immediately. Dino's naked. Noctis wants to yell at him to put on clothes, but he's still a fucking frog. He doesn't think he can make his croaks emote.

Dino flops onto the bed and sighs. "Of course you take my pillow." He pokes Noctis in the side. "I doubt a real frog would be acting like this. I didn't think you'd be so shy, Your Highness."

Noctis wants to bite him, but frog teeth are completely useless. He can't wait to be human again. If only it didn't take so much kissing.

"Well, we'd better get some sleep." Dino's voice softens just a little and he gently pats Noctis' back. "Tomorrow's going to last forever."

Dino wakes Noctis up way too early in the morning. Noctis croaks his displeasure, but Dino ignores him as he heads back out to the restaurant. Coctura is still there, yawning at the lack of work. Noctis wonders if there's anything on the menu that he can eat without getting sick. He would kill for a piece of cake. Or some fish.

He doesn't get to find out, because something big and buzzing flies right by him. Noctis leaps from Dino's hand without thinking about it, and he feels lucky to land on the counter. Even if he is swallowing another fly whole. Ugh.

"Do you really think he's the prince?" Coctura asks as she sets a couple of dishes down in front of Dino. "He just ate a fly."

"Well, he is a frog at the moment." Dino carefully picks Noctis up and deposits him in a bowl half-filled with water. "What do you think, Your Highness? You were looking a bit dry."

The fresh water actually does feel really nice. Noctis closes his eyes and lets himself float in the middle. He won't drown if he falls asleep, right? How do frogs breathe underwater anyway?

"I suppose he likes it." Coctura dips her fingers in the bowl and sprinkles some of the water over his head. Noctis decides he likes her. "You better hurry up and eat. The hunters are getting ready to clear out."

"Already?" Dino's voice is whiny, but he keeps his complaints to himself and makes short work of his breakfast. "Thanks again for the bowl. I'll return it when I get back."

"Take your time." Coctura pokes at Noctis in his bowl. "And if you are the prince, little frog, stop by sometime. I'll make Dino buy you dinner."

Noctis definitely likes her.

Dino says goodbye to Coctura and walks away from the restaurant with the bowl held close to his chest. The water Noctis is half submerged in sloshes as he walks. Noctis moves to the side of the bowl and tries to look over the rim.

"Please stay in the water." Dino prods him back into the middle of the bowl. "You're going to fall out."

Noctis realizes he misses being able to sigh. Why couldn't Ardyn have changed him into a dog?

The hunters Dino asks for a ride from seem bewildered by him. Noctis listens with half an ear as they talk, and eventually Dino climbs into the backseat of a cramped little car. He balances Noctis' bowl on his knees and reaches for his seatbelt.

It doesn't take long for Noctis to start dozing, but it still seems like too short of a time before they're pulling to a stop. He peeks his head out of the water curiously.

"No, I'll just stay here," Dino says. "With my frog. And the car."

There's a short pause before the hunter says, "You don't know how to fight, do you?"

"Not a clue." Dino sounds way too cheerful about that, considering where’d been just the day before. How does he survive if he can't fight? Maybe Noctis should introduce him to Gladio. Or Cor. Cor would eat Dino alive.

"We'll try not to be long then," the hunter says, and the car door slams loud enough to make Noctis' water shake. Jerk.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, Dino puts the bowl down on the seat beside him. "I'm going to stretch my legs," he says when Noctis looks curiously up at him.

Noctis supposes that's fair. He watches Dino get out of the car, but when he's no longer visible through the window, Noctis closes his eyes again.

The hunters take forever to come back, and Dino doesn't return to the car until they do. Noctis croaks as loud as he can so Dino will know he's annoyed. And bored.

"You could've just gone back to sleep," Dino says, apparently completely unconcerned about how crazy he looks talking to a frog. He settles the bowl in his lap again. Noctis turns his back to him instead of croaking again. Dino chuckles and pokes his butt, and Noctis nearly jumps out of the bowl. Why won't Dino stop poking him?

Maybe Dino will be just as touchy-feely with Noctis when he's human again too. He doesn't know how to feel about that idea.

The rest of the drive takes about ten years. Noctis has never been so bored in his life. Except during council meetings. Which don't count, because every time he sits in on one he swears he's been suddenly transported to Hell.

When they finally make it to Insomnia, Dino doesn't waste much time thanking the hunters before he heads for the nearest subway. It takes anotherten years before he seems to figure out where he's going.

If Noctis had thought the subway rides were awful when he was human, it's nothing compared to how miserable the trip is now. He tries to hide in his bowl so nobody can see him, but he can’t keep himself from sliding around every time the train turns a corner or stops. At least it's the off hour, so when the water inevitably splashes right out of Noctis' bowl it doesn't land on anybody. Well, at least not on anyone who will complain.

"This better be worth it," Dino mutters to Noctis when he gets off the train. "If you're not the prince, I'll make soup out of you."

Dino rushes across the courtyard and up the stairs, practically skidding to a halt in front of the reception desk. Noctis pokes his head over the side of the bowl to see who's working. Laura looks up at Dino with a politely baffled smile.

"Can I help you, sir? I'm afraid visiting hours are over."

Dino clears his throat and shifts the bowl in his arms. "I'd actually like to request an audience with the king," he says. He doesn't even sound nervous. "I found something he'll want back."

Laura's eyes immediately fall to the bowl. Noctis thinks a glare at her really hard. She's going to brush Dino off, he just knows it.

"Sir, you can't just bring a frog in from the pet store—"

Dino interrupts her with a huff. "I found him hiding in some rocks, not a store." His voice is icy. "And do you really want to be the person who turns away a man who might be holding the king's only son?"

Damnit, now Noctis actually likes him. He hadn't been expecting that.

"I'll see what I can do," Laura says, her polite tone disappearing. Her voice is quiet as she picks up her phone and speaks to someone, but eventually Cor comes down to take Dino to the throne room. Noctis ducks back into the water before Cor can get too close and glare at him.

"Follow me," Cor says, and walks off without even a hello for the receptionist.

"Pleasant man," Dino murmurs. Noctis croaks at him, amused. He guesses he can see how Cor might seem unpleasant at first, but Noctis has known him all his life. Cor doesn’t like to say anything that doesn’t need to be said.

Cor silently leads Dino to the elevators. He silently pushes the up button and ushers Dino in. They stand awkwardly next to each other in absolute silence. Noctis breaks it with the loudest croak he can manage.

Cor sighs. "I see why you believe this frog is the prince."

Dino's still snickering when the elevator door opens to let them out on the right floor.

Cor turns to Dino before he opens the door to the throne room. "What's your name?"

"Ah, it's Dino Ghiranze."

Cor's eyes narrow. "The reporter."

"I'm not here for a story," Dino says quickly. He holds up the bowl and Noctis croaks at Cor encouragingly. "He wouldn't leave me alone."

Cor stares at Dino for another long second. "All right." He opens the door and walks in without waiting for Dino to follow. Dino sticks close to him as they walk across the cavernous room. Noctis supposes it is kind of imposing if you're not used to it.

"Wait here," Cor tells Dino and walks up the steps to the throne. There's a brief silence.

"Mr. Ghiranze," Regis says in his stupid king voice. "The Marshall says you might have my son with you."

"I do, Your Majesty." Dino shifts on his feet. "I found him while I was looking for gemstones by Galdin Quay."

"And for what reason do you believe this frog is Prince Noctis?"

Oh no. Noctis hopes Dino doesn't mention how much he embarrassed Noctis by sleeping naked right next to him. "He doesn't really act like a frog, Your Majesty," Dino says, his tone thoughtful. "And he's attempted to respond to things I've said, though I'm not sure I always understood."

Regis taps his fingers on the throne's armrest. "And have you tried kissing him?"

"What?" Dino's voice cracks and he clears his throat. "I really don't—I'm sure it's not really necessary. Is it?"

Regis taps his fingers a few more times. It's even starting to make Noctis nervous. Finally he sighs and says, "Ignis, please verify the frog's identity."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Noctis finds himself relaxing a little at the sound of Ignis' voice. If anybody will recognize Noctis it's him.

Ignis adjusts his glasses as he peers over the rim of the bowl. Noctis stares back. "Do you mind?" Ignis asks.

Dino must shake his head, because Ignis immediately dips his fingers into the water beneath Noctis' stomach and lifts him up to his face. Noctis wonders if he'd stick to Ignis' glasses. As soon as he's close enough, he reaches out a hand and presses it against the lens. Yup, definitely sticking.

A tiny smile curls Ignis' lips. "I do believe this is actually the prince, Majesty."

"Excellent." Regis sighs again, but this one sounds relieved. "We can get back to attempting to break the curse in the morning."

Oh, fuck no. Noctis has had enough of kissing every person in the kingdom. He turns back toward Dino and leaps for his face. He lands on Dino's forehead and sticks.

"Noctis, please be reasonable." Regis says. Noctis climbs into Dino's hair and nestles there, croaking. He turns around and watches Regis pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Fine. I still have matters to attend to. We can take up the discussion tomorrow. Ignis, could you please show Mr. Ghiranze to Noctis' bedroom for the night?"

"I—of course, Your Majesty."

Ignis leads Dino through the hallways to the living quarters, his footsteps echoing eerily in the silence. He unlocks Noctis' door and steps inside, looking around like he's expecting there to be a new mess since the last time he stopped by to clean up. Dino steps past him and heads for the bed, putting Noctis' bowl on the nightstand.

Ignis closes the door behind himself. Dino turns toward him, and Noctis croaks softly when he sees Ignis’ crossed arms.

"What are your intentions toward the prince?" Ignis asks, flicking a brief glare up to Noctis.

"I was merely trying to see him home." Dino's sounds unperturbed. Noctis kind of wishes he could see Dino's face, though the expression on Ignis' almost makes up for it. He gets the feeling Ignis has already decided that he doesn't like Dino. "Please don't look so sour. I have no interest in the throne."

Ignis' eyes narrow and he leans toward Dino. "If any harm comes to the prince because of you, I will be the first person you answer to."

"Then it's a good thing I have no intention to harm him, isn't it?" Noctis can hear the smug smile in his voice. Ignis snorts, but he must consider Dino to be threatened enough, because he leaves without saying anything else. Dino watches him walk out the door.

"That's quite the protector you have, Your Highness." And he hasn't even met Gladio yet. "I don't suppose you'll get out of my hair now that we're safe in your room?"

Noctis thinks about it for a second. He supposes he could, but Dino's head is pretty comfortable. He shifts position a little to make sure he doesn't fall off. Dino sighs and sits on Noctis' bed.

"If I try to break the curse, will you leave me alone? I do have things to accomplish back home."

Well, Noctis supposes he can't keep Dino around forever to fend off people trying to kiss him. He croaks and jumps down into Dino's lap, looking up at him expectantly.

"I don't know if it will be worse if you turn into the prince or if you don't." Dino makes a face at him, and puts his hand on his leg with his palm facing up. Noctis jumps onto his hand and Dino lifts him to his face. "Though I suppose anything has to be better than letting Aunt Viatrix kiss me again. It always felt like a dog was slobbering on me."

Dino hesitates for a few more seconds, frowning down at Noctis. "I just want you to know that this is the worst thing I've ever done." He pulls Noctis toward him and finally presses a very gentle kiss to the top of Noctis' head.

Noctis has a second to think that nothing will happen, and then he can feel the magic working. It tingles through his body like static and he closes his eyes when a bright light surrounds him. Dino lets go of him, but Noctis doesn't have far to fall before he lands back in Dino's lap, human again.

He opens his eyes and stares at Dino, who's covering his eyes with one hand and leaning away from Noctis. Dino slowly lowers it, blinking slowly in the aftermath of the light show.

Noctis swallows nervously. He hadn't really taken notice before, but now he realizes that Dino is actually hot. Like, really hot. And Noctis is sitting in his lap. Naked.

"Fuck." Noctis scrambles off Dino's lap and looks for something to cover himself with. But his room is spotless thanks to Ignis, and he can't get to the blankets beneath Dino. He covers himself with both hands and feels his blush spread down his neck. "Do you have to stare?"

Dino leans forward and grins. "It's just such a lovely view." When he stands up, he towers over Noctis. Not as badly as Gladio, but being as tall as Ignis is bad enough. "And I did break the curse, didn't I?"

He steps forward until he's practically on top of Noctis. Noctis tilts his head back and glares up at him, but he refuses to back away. He's the prince. He's not going to blink first.

Dino brushes the back of his fingers across Noct’s cheek and his smile turns soft. “I don’t suppose you’d let me kiss you for real? Being your true love and all.”

Noctis doesn’t even want to think about how red his face must be. Dino’s pretending he doesn’t notice Noctis’ lack of clothes, but Noctis can’t help being hyperaware of it. He licks his lips and nods anyway. Who’s he to argue against true love? Anyway, after being kissed so much as a frog, he feels like he deserves at least one as a human.

Dino’s lips press gently against his. Noctis’ heart flutters nervously in his chest, but he presses forward despite it. Dino slides his hands over Noctis’ shoulders, deepening the kiss until Noctis feels dizzy. Noctis clutches the front of Dino’s shirt and decides he doesn’t care that Dino is smoothing his hands down his naked back. It’s not like anyone will know about it except them.

There’s a short knock at the door, and it swings open before Noctis can yank himself away. The heavy silence stretches for a small eternity.

“Well.” Ignis clears his throat. Noctis groans and leans his head on Dino’s shoulder. Of course it’s Ignis. “I—brought you some toiletries.”

“Thank you, Ignis.” Dino doesn’t remove his hands from where they’re resting on Noctis’ lower back. Why isn’t he embarrassed? Noctis feels like his skin is going to literally catch fire.

“I’ll just. Go inform the king of this development, shall I? Welcome back, Highness.”

“Thanks, Specs,” Noctis mutters into Dino’s shirt. He’s not going to be able to look Ignis in the eye for weeks.

“That rather ruined the mood, didn’t it?” Dino’s hands press into Noctis’ back a little harder. “Perhaps we should get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Noct says. “I’ll just find some pajamas. Unless—unless you want—” He tugs on Dino’s shirt.

“I do prefer to sleep naked.” Dino leans down and his lips brush against Noctis’ ear. “If you’d care to join me.”

Noctis doesn’t let himself think about it, just kisses Dino again and fumbles at his buttons. He’s going to end up marrying Dino anyway. What’s the worst that can happen?.

#ffxvrarepairsweek #dino/noctis #dino ghiranze #noctis lucis caelum #alternate universe #fairy tale #ffxv #fic post

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