#the fact that the blacks match is actually a miracle considering how impossible that usually is

[buckynats]

Absolutely making shit up as I go. Still finishing the other one and then I have to figure out how to attach them without ruining it all. I actually made my own pattern and cut fabric out to it without crying or panicking this time. So that's progress.

(Ignore how uneven those look, that's my abysmal posture at work. They do actually match in length when I'm standing still. And despite the lighting weirdness, it all matches.)

[sushiandstarlight]

Clearing the Air

Read this story on AO3

It had been two weeks since the world appeared to be at it’s end- and then, wasn’t.  Two weeks after they had shared a terrified bus ride, hands clasped on the seat between them.  Scared that this was the end of all things, that it was the end of them and all that they had shared.  Scared, perhaps even more so, that it may be the very beginning of all things for the two of them.  Uncertain, to put it mildly, that tomorrow may put an end to this tiny sprout of a thing.  Or, might create a world where they had to live with the consequences of the thing.  Six thousand years they had run: from their sides yes, but ultimately from this thing between them.

And then... the world didn’t end.

They had chosen this world as the place they would stand their ground and they had chosen one another- their side, their world.  They had worn each other’s skin to protect what they had- both, in the quiet tension before detainment, having thoughts that only a short time ago they’d held this hand.  That they knew the shape of it, the warmth, the rough spots, and the softness.  Feeling that connection to the other side.

There wasn’t time to discuss it and, really, that wasn’t something they did.  Drunken nights discussing flailing Kraken or dolphins [the fate thereof] or trying to figure out if ducks had ears in the park as the sun crested the trees.  Afternoons with the angel’s nose in a book and the demon gleefully stirring up trouble on his mobile.

There had been numerous times in the years spent on this world that they had gone long bouts without contact.  Early on, their meetings were purely accidental.  Or, at the very least, not planned on their own parts.  Thwarting and miracles and stirring up trouble- it was just the job.  They didn’t get a choice on where they were sent or when.  And, even afterwards, when they found they enjoyed the company they moved like chess pieces: trying to keep the air of random chance when really it was anything but.  In those times, they could go months or years without a sighting of one another.

There had always been plenty of time.  Being immortal meant time slipped along like a quiet stream.  You could take a dip and enjoy the moment, but the steady movement was really irrelevant in the long run.  The sun shining down, the same way.  It was still the same stream or light, all things considered.  Things changed, but they also stayed very much the same.

But, being reminded that that immortality was actually only at the will of some higher power or in the hands of a capricious ruling body in Her stead?  It made every handful of water, every face full of warm sunshine, feel more precious than before.  One could focus on a moment of skin on skin and fixate.  Moments could become worlds all their own.

That didn't mean it was easy to acknowledge them.  Far from it, in fact.  Because what if a moment meant more to you than it did to someone else?  A moment of connection shared in a dark, stressful time might be only that: a brief need for comfort, taken when it was needed and never sought after again.  Or, it could be more.  Something longed and hoped for- an impossibility made real, somehow.  Something forbidden and rebuked, but impossible to shake.  A slow-burning ember, just waiting to be coaxed into a roaring flame.

It had been two weeks and neither of them knew which it was to the other, only what it meant in their own heart.

Aziraphale was, he thought, a patient enough being.  He was usually content to be alone with his books: a millennia of human stories.  The stream of time could ebb and flow outside his cocoon of a bookshop and there was very little to mark it.  The thwarted apocalypse had marked it, surely, even if only because his safe place had been threatened, destroyed even, though, thankfully, he had missed the sight of it.  Even that he would eventually compartmentalize, given enough time and distance from the event.

But, that bus ride.  That moment of connection.  That hope that blew hard on the ember that had, for so long, clung to life despite his efforts to ignore it.  In another millennia, he would not forget it, regardless of whether it meant as much to both of them or not.  Only, one option would hurt more.  Who else did he have save Crowley?  Who else would he ever find?  There were no other matches- only two beings on their side.  A fact  recently acknowledged, but that was how it had always been.  He had been truly deluded to ever think otherwise.  The companionship in heaven had never warmed him the way that just sitting, side-by-side, on a park bench with Crowley had.

The slip of paper he found wedged under his shop door came as a welcome surprise.  It was clearly the demon's scrawl.  Even his penmanship, or the lack thereof, was enough to make the angel's heart flutter.  Crowley hadn't disappeared; he wasn't done with him.  Their friendship had meant more than a means to an end.  Yes, it said all of that to Aziraphale, but in context.  Context had been most of their communication over the years.  All of it, really.  Rarely had they ever spoken of the things that truly mattered in plain terms.

“The park, 11am, Tuesday. -C” was all it actually said.  What Crowley would hate to know was what Aziraphale easily detected: this was the last of several attempts to write a note.  The impressions of all the previous words left hills and valleys all over the paper.  He couldn't read them, of course, but he knew what they meant.  They meant that Crowley had been nervous about contacting him.  This wasn't an assignment.  It wasn't to discuss world-ending business.  It couldn't, at all, be written off as work-related.  Crowley wanted to see him just... because.  At the very least, he missed Aziraphale.  At the most... Well.  Aziraphale tried not to dwell too hard on the possibilities.

Crowley had missed their time together.  If that's all it was- that he got to see the demon.... That they stuck to discussing squid communication strategies over actually talking about what they were- that was okay, right?  They had fought for and won the time again.  They could ignore the stream and sit in the shade together.  The world could go on around them and things could stay the same as they had always been.  But, it was hard to shake, this feeling of mortality that shivered down his spine.  He had been ended.  His life that should have marched on into eternity had been over.  Yes, he had returned, obviously.  But, the movement of time, the way it ticked by relentlessly, that was difficult to leave behind.

The days until they were to meet seemed to stretch and ache with the wait of it.  Why did Crowley need so much notice, he groused to himself.  What pressing things did he have to do that meant putting Aziraphale off?  But, really, he just missed the demon.  A few more days shouldn't be any worse than the prior two weeks.  Oh, but time was cupped in his hands now.  He held it and then it slipped away.  He held the next and watched it go.

Before he knew it, despite counting the moments, it was Tuesday.  Absurdly, he found himself in front of his bedroom mirror, every bowtie he owned strewn across the rarely-used bed behind him.  It was nearly 10:30 now, but none of them seemed right.  He wasn't sure why he was worried about which bowtie to wear to see Crowley.  Crowley didn't seem to actually like any of them.  Still, it would, perhaps, give the demon something to comment on.  Something to break the two and a half weeks of confusing silence.  But, none of them seemed to be the right one and he had no time to get another.  He could miracle one, of course.  But that wouldn't be the same.  Too much detectable effort for something that should be trivial.  Crowley would know.  It could spook him.

Aziraphale gave it up as a loss, going without.  It felt a little scandalous: having his shirt undone at the top and exposing a little bit more of his throat.  There was precedent for that, though.  There had been ages before bowties existed.  Terrible times.  Okay times.  Now was better, surely.  Not just because of bowties, but they certainly helped.  None of this forethought stopped him when he reached the gate of the park and paused to straighten the absent bowtie.  His hands fluttered at his neck for a moment before he clasped them, resolutely, behind his back.

It wasn't nearly as hard to find Crowley as he'd thought, considering the lack of direction in the note.  A demonic miracle floated on the breeze, he could smell it.  Somehow, the light smell of char settled him.  It was familiar, as was the prickling that went down his spine and ruffled his tucked-away feathers.  That's what it felt like to be around Crowley and it was a greater relief than even he thought it would be.

He followed the sensations down a winding side-path that he was certain had not existed the last time he had been to the park.  It was dotted along the sides with salvias in full bloom- red and blues mixed together.  He was vaguely familiar with the flower from one of Crowley's many long one-sided, often drunken,  discussions on plants.  It occurred to him that they might be meaningful, but if Crowley had mentioned a meaning for them, he couldn't remember it.

The path abruptly ended and opened into a perfectly circular clearing.  And there, in the center, sat Crowley.  Under him was a blue and red checkered blanket strewn with the contents of a picnic basket which sat by his right hip.  There was no way all the treats had fit inside that basket without a miracle- the finger sandwiches and pastries, coffee and mugs, wine in a bucket of ice with it's own glasses that perched upright on the blanket against their will.

The most arresting bit of all, though, was Crowley himself.  His wings were out and spread in great arcs over the picnic.  The feathers caught the sunlight as it streamed down on him, bouncing it off his black feathers in shimmers of blues and greens and even gold.  And, speaking of gold, Aziraphale paused  at the head of the trail when he noticed that Crowley's glasses were nowhere to be seen.  When Aziraphale dared to meet the demon's golden eyes, Crowley swallowed hard, but held his gaze.  The very trees in the clearing seemed to bend their leaves around he demon with a very peculiar, but not entirely uncomfortable, tension.

Here he had thought a miracled bowtie would be too much of a give-away and Crowley had miracled a secluded alcove in the park, a picnic of everything portable that he enjoyed, and he was barring himself in near public as he had never dared to do since the beginning.

Aziraphale approached slowly, hands now fidgeting in front of him, unable to tear his eyes from Crowley's.  His heart hammered all the harder the closer he got, no matter how sternly he told it that the pounding was unnecessary.  Finally, after just a few moments that felt like something more, he was at the edge of the blanket.  He knelt across from Crowley and took in his friend, smiling genuinely if a bit nervously.  This all definitely looked like... something.  But, there was always, always room for misinterpretation. 

“No bowtie?” Crowley was smirking and it did wonders to settle the angel's flip-flopping stomach.  This was Crowley.  He was safe, no matter what the context.

“No glasses?”  Banter.  Banter they could do.

“I thought,” and Crowley broke the eye contact they had thus far maintained, but then seemed to shake himself and resume it with purpose, “I thought we could meet here, with- without pretense.”

“No pretense?”  Aziraphale settled down further onto the blanket and if his knee was nearly brushing Crowley's, well, that was okay now, right?

“Open, honest, without walls,” a ripple went through Crowley's wings and it seemed he might put them away, “I thought we could be... us.  Just us.”

“Just us?” Aziraphale shook out his own wings and watched with no small amount of pleasure as Crowley's eyes traveled over them, his face going slack before smiling a beautifully genuine smile.  When was the last time he'd seen the demon smile?  Not a smirk, not a grimace, but a smile?  It made Aziraphale want to dare the world- to leave his wings out for the rest of eternity- just to ensure that he could go on pleasing the demon, “I think that sounds lovely, my dear.”

“Ngk,” at the use of the endearment, Crowley's eyes snapped away and then, resolutely back to his, “it's not like we have excuses now, anyway.”

“Excuses, what for?”

“Don't be a complete bastard, Angel.”

Aziraphale smirked at him and cocked his head in question.  His confidence was rising by the moment that his was exactly what he thought it was.  Still, he wanted it confirmed.

“I missed you, okay?”  Crowley bumped his knee with his own and then... left it there, the two of them pressed together.  Aziraphale pressed back and watched, in wonder, as Crowley relaxed.  His wings stopped shifting.  He seemed to somehow melt back down into himself.

“You could have just dropped by the shop,” Aziraphale trailed off as he watched the demons eyes dart away again, “or called?”

“I'm not sure I can... I wondered if...,” Crowley cursed and took a deep breath, “Openness: I may need time getting over seeing our home in flames, Aziraphale.  Knowing... knowing that you were gone.  That I was alone.  And, I don't- I don't just mean against the end of the world, you know?  I mean, if I won?  What would I really gain if you were still gone?”

“You would have gone on, darling, yes?” Aziraphale only noticed after he had done it that his hand was now resting on the demon's other knee.  He left it there.

“... yeah, but it wouldn't have been the same...”

“Why not?”

Crowley gave him an incredulous look even as Aziraphale squeezed his knee in encouragement.  Aziraphale was leaning closer to him now, even as Crowley sat still, starring grumpily at him.

“Obviously, you have gone to a lot of trouble here for me, Crowley.  No walls, no pretenses.  Whatever it is you're trying to tell me you know you can just say it, right?”

There was a long pause where Aziraphale watched the demon struggle with himself, his eyes darting down and then up, as if looking for help somewhere, anywhere.  He swallowed and then shuddered, his mouth opening and then shutting again.  Finally, the angel took some pity on him.  He offered his hand to Crowley and the demon took it.  Then he pulled it towards him slowly, pressing a soft kiss to the palm.

“It's just us, Crowley, no walls.  You invited me here because you want me here and I am glad for it.  I came at your summons as I always will, darling, because I wish to be with you.  There's nothing you could tell me or ask me that would send me away save the direct instruction to do so.  Even then, I would try to dissuade you of the notion before taking my leave.”

“I've half a mind,” Crowley chuckled damply, “to test that, Aziraphale.  All the times you've sent me away.  No, let me finish.  I know why you did it.  Really, I understand.  I pushed you too hard because I was scared.  I wanted you on my side- our side- I thought I was running out of time.”

“You were,” Aziraphale squeezed the hand he now held captive in his lap, “you- we- were running out of time.”

“It worked out though.”

“Yes.”

“And we're on our side now.”

“Yes, dear.”

“That's what matters,” Crowley nodded resolutely, “All of this... I wanted to celebrate that.”

Aziraphale took in the spread of food and drink again before responding.

“That's all?”

“You're going to make me say it, aren't you?”

Aziraphale stared up at him through his eyelashes, but the look was ruined when he laughed.

“I love you, you bastard.”  Crowley tried to tug his hand back, but Aziraphale held it steadily in his lap, smirking as the demon struggled.  Then, without warning, he stopped fighting and allowed himself to be pulled forward with all of Crowley's force.  Crowley tumbled backwards, his wings stretching out to either side of him as he fell- there was no way they could catch him.  Still clutching his hand, Aziraphale landed, sprawled on top of him.

“What?” Crowley blinked up at him in shock, both his hands- one just freed- hanging in the air on either side of the angel smirking down at him.

“Oh, my silly serpent,” Aziraphale pressed his forehead to Crowley's and met his eyes without mercy, “I love you, too.”

What happened from one moment to the next was unclear.  He had missed a burble in the stream of time and lost it.  All he knew was that Crowley's lips were on his and his hands were in his hair.  When the stream resumed, he kissed him back with fervor.  He worked his hands under the demon's shoulders and pulled him over as they rolled, knocking over the ice bucket and the glasses- though neither cared.  He reached behind the demon, over his shoulder blades, and into the delicate feathers that connected them to his wings.  Crowley whimpered and arched into him, finally breaking the kiss.

“Why, Angel, is that a hardback novel in your pocket or are you just really happy to see me?”

“Crowley... I am always more than happy to see you.”  And then to ensure no more interruptions, he kissed him again.

A breeze rustled through the clearing, combing through feathers entangled: ebony and ivory.  It traveled upwards and away from them, carrying a relieved sigh through the leaves of the trees.

[indestinatus]

Falling For You

TIVATOBER 2020 // DAY 18

↳ prompt: Hayride - rated T (1,860 words)

summary: In which Tony just isn’t able to contain whatever he is "feeling".

A/N: To be completely honest, I had no idea what ‘hayride’ meant, so this is my take on a story surrounding an awful lot of hay haha oops features some confusing feelings and unfair libidos. 

read it on AO3 💘

It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t. Maybe it was this annoying, almost familiar pang at the pit of his stomach, but if he lied to himself long enough, he could blame the barbecue sandwich he had for lunch and leave it be. 

Tony looked down from the first floor of the barn to study the man again. 

With his broad shoulders and sculpted arms, the farmer looked idly bored as he waited for them to search through the piles of hay, slouching against one of the pillars as he chewed on a straw. It had been a couple of hours since they were trying to find a missing slug that had accidentally pierced through one of the walls, its trajectory coming from another farmhouse miles away. So far, no luck. 

It usually didn’t bother him. How some guys were more ripped than him, that was. It only meant that Tony was dedicated to his job, otherwise, he would’ve had the free time to bulk up as much as they did. 

Though he had had the time to drive to the other side of town to get Sally’s special barbecue sandwich that morning but… It was worth it. That had been a hell of a finger-licking sandwich. 

The guy glanced upwards again, and Tony puffed up his chest. He didn’t look away, and when a smirk started to twitch at the corner of his mouth, Tony made sure to put his hands on his hips, accidentally displaying his badge as he did so. He could show off his calendar figure all he wanted, but Tony was still the authority there. They both knew that.

The younger man was the first one to call off the staring match, and Tony felt a flicker of pride.  

That’s right, cowboy. No one messes with a federal agent, and especially not with his girl.

Girl? Where did that come from? Gun, he meant gun. 

Tony glanced at Ziva, scared that for a moment she could’ve read his mind. Half hoping that she had actually done, he suddenly felt like an idiot, because she continued to search for the missing slug, completely oblivious to the peacock fight happening right next to her. 

The familiar discomfort flickered again inside his chest. It wasn’t annoyance, it wasn’t excitement, it was… nervousness? Worry, perhaps? But worry about what, exactly? He knew Ziva for years now, it shouldn’t matter what she thought of him by then. She was his coworker, and that was as far as they could go, and why was he even thinking about it? It wasn’t as if she would break any rules for him. 

That woman was more dedicated to the job than anything, and their bickering was just how they communicated. It meant nothing. Yes, it was fun, and it had always felt strangely natural, but that was all it was. A game. Mindless banter just to pass the time, and he knew that. She didn’t really think about it, and he also knew that. 

It confused him so much Tony had decided for some time now it was better to ignore it, whatever it was that she made him feel. 

He eyed the farmer again, wondering what she had seen in him to respond so openly to his flirting earlier. Of course, Ziva had always been skilled in flirting with men - especially ones that could easily be intimidated by her - but it bugged him for some reason. Tony didn’t know exactly why, but with every guy she did that, he just wanted to punch them in the face. 

It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t.

“It might not be too smart to use it here.”

Tony jumped a little, his heart beating faster as he turned to face her. He prayed that the heat he was feeling on his cheeks wasn’t visible. Then Ziva gave him an amused look, arching an eyebrow, and his heart did that weird thing when it went still and then started racing, tattooing the inside of his ribs.

“Use what?” asked Tony, clearing his throat. 

Ziva cast him a sly smile. “Your laser vision,” she teased, motioning with her chin to the ground floor, “This is a haystack. It might catch fire while we’re still inside.”

“Ha-ha,” Tony returned the tight smile. “The air is too damp for that.” 

Tony looked downwards again to eye the man with suspicion, narrowing his eyes when he caught him ogling Ziva again. “It’s always reasonable to assess the competition,” he said more to himself than to her.

“I like fall,” she stated, and he wondered if she had listened to what he’d said. “Sweater weather, yes?”

Ziva motioned vaguely in his direction, and Tony remembered he was wearing a gray sweater today. Did that mean she had liked his sweater? Oh, she would most definitely look good in it… real good. 

Tony shook his head, tightening his jaw as he tried to calm down his confused libido. She was just talking about the weather, it was only small talk. His mind was putting words in her mouth, and suddenly Tony felt really frustrated. Couldn’t things be black and white, at least for once? A habit of speaking in riddles really screwed up his brain sometimes. 

“What’s the point?” Tony whined. “It would only be good if money did grow on trees.”

Ziva frowned. “Why would money grow on trees?”

Tony glared at her. Not quite believing how oblivious she was, he huffed, “Sometimes I—”

His words were cut short when Ziva let out a strangled cry, and Tony turned just in time to see her disappearing down below, falling from the rather high first floor of the barn. 

Rushing towards her, relief flooded him the same time something resembling anger started to boil inside his chest. 

She looked a bit disheveled and wide-eyed in the arms of the young farmer, as if not quite believing she had fallen from so high and managed to get away with it. The man smiled broadly towards her, clearly proud of having caught her. Tony was certain now the heat in his cheeks was visible. He felt his whole face burn for that matter - the guy had no business holding her so tightly like that. 

“Woah,” said the farmer. “I guess…” his smile widened, “You’re falling for me.”

“Oh, for God’s—” Tony wondered how long someone would take to discover a body there because right at that moment, he really wanted to kill the guy. That was already a crime scene anyway, it would make no difference.

Feeling his blood boil, Tony hastily took the stairs down, stomping his feet. “What?” he barked when both of them glared pointedly at his storming entrance. “No ‘Rapunzel, let down your hair!’ for me?”

Ziva sent the farmer an apologetic look as if to say thank you and then turned to him, her eyebrows shooting upwards to the barn’s roof. Tony didn’t miss how her hand had stayed for far too long on the guy’s chest, nor how they’d shared smirks between them when he’d let her to the ground. This was getting ridiculous, and even if he hated the color of the navy yard walls, Tony would pay a lot just to be there instead.

“Tony,” Ziva said with narrowing eyes, then gave up and sighed, “Don’t be too harsh on him. Johnny was just trying to help.”

“Johnny?” Tony huffed a perplexed laugh, “I thought you’d be calling him ‘dear’ by now.”

Ziva watched him for a moment, and any comeback he was expecting didn’t happen when she smiled to herself and started looking for the bullet again, going through the piles of hay. 

The ache in Tony’s chest increased a thousandfold. Was she laughing at him? Could this woman be more confusing than she already was?

Then he remembered she had actually fallen from the first floor, and the fact that she was walking was a miracle by itself.

“You okay?” He tried to meet her eye but couldn’t, busing himself to search for that missing piece of evidence instead. 

“Yes,” was her quiet reply.

The sirens inside his head started blaring. Had he done something wrong? He needed to learn how to control his reactions more. Was she actually okay? Or was she lying about what she felt like they were used to do? He wished he was the one who’d caught her instead. What was he thinking? He knew she knew how to take care of herself, but it was his job to have her back. And he failed once again, however minimum that had been.  

“It would take less time finding a needle around here,” Tony tried to clear the air, hoping Ziva would forget the jealous incident. 

Jealousy? No, not jealousy. More of a brotherly type of protection. Yes, that’s what that was. 

“I thought we were meant to find a bullet,” she replied, glancing at him with a soft smile from where she was crouched down. A weight he didn’t know he was carrying disappeared, his chest hurting a little less. She seemed alright, considering. 

“Sometimes I really envy your brain, David.” Tony offered a weak laugh, glancing at her with caution. 

“At least I have one.”

“You think Dear John’s cowboy hat is big enough to fit his?”

Damn, it was amazing how sometimes his filter could fail him. As soon as the words left Tony’s mouth, he winced, cursing to himself. His brain felt like scrambled eggs, confusion making it impossible to block his own unconscious. 

“He was right, though,” she said. “About falling.”

Tony’s heart fell, insecurities bringing a bitter taste to his tongue. Of course, she would make advances on the guy. Of course. It was too easy of a target and Ziva would be a fool not to enjoy that. Sure, he was known for having more dates than most, but he hadn’t had one in what felt like forever. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, but she sure wasn’t doing the same. 

“For him?” asked Tony, a bit annoyed, trying to hide his disappointment. He just wanted to go home. 

“In love.”

He frowned. 

What? 

Tony looked at her, finding Ziva already watching him. It was a different kind of look, cautious, almost curious. He wondered what she was thinking. If she had really meant what he was thinking she had… Damn, he knew exactly what that tingle in his stomach was about. 

“And what… What do you mean by—” Tony stuttered, the way his heart was racing feeling really unfair.

She smiled, the butterflies inside his chest fluttering again at how her eyes sparkled. 

“We should go,” Ziva said, showing the palm of her hand. “I found it.”

The missing slug felt like a Christmas present in mid-October, and when she stepped forward to press a soft kiss to his right cheek, Tony felt like it was really December. 

Money didn’t grow on trees, but maybe this Fall wouldn’t be so bad. 

Ziva bid the farmer goodbye and they left the barn behind, Tony managing to reach the car before a grin stretched across his face.

[shytalia]

A Prince and a Pirate’s Fate (USUK fanfic)

Summary: When the future King and Queen of the Spade's Kingdom come of age, a mark appears on their body. Alfred is the kind Prince of Spades, heir to the throne. Arthur is his fated husband, the future Queen. The only problem is, Arthur is one of the most infamous pirates to sail the seas, a wanted man in all four kingdoms, and he violently refuses his place in the castle.

No attempts at capturing him have been successful and he remains on the run, fulfilling his lust for defiance. Alfred, following his nineteenth birthday, decides to take the task of bringing Arthur home into his own hands.

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Also available on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shytalia

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Chapter One

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Sometimes, Alfred swore The Gods were laughing at them.

As he kneeled before an altar, dressed in shabby clothes and in a small, port town with nothing but fish and brothels to its name, he wondered how this had all happened.

Arthur Kirkland, one of the four kingdom’s most wanted pirates, was named the next Queen of Spades.

Alfred had laughed at first when he heard the news since he figured it had to be some sort of shitty joke, only the punchline never came. It was confirmed that Arthur was, in fact, the correct person. It wasn’t easy, of course. A lot of people tried to take fake ownership over the title, brandishing their skin with false symbols of the Spades. But they were each debunked as frauds and the search for the real queen had continued.

Usually, it was not this difficult to find the queen. When the next King and Queen came of age, slowly a mark began to appear on their bodies to reveal their true destiny. So, as one might imagine, a deep, navy mark in the shape of a spade on someone’s skin coming out of nowhere was fairly hard to ignore. There were no rules as to where it appeared, it could be flashy and materialize on someone’s wrist, for all to see. Or, it could be more intimate, on the small of their back or on their thigh.

Alfred knew his mark was due to appear soon after his eighteen birthday and it wasted no time making itself known on his right hip. His many fans marveled at the placement, it was easy to cover up, but it also conjured seductive fantasies into their minds at the prospect.

Of course Alfred expected the reaction, ever since he had been a young teen, girls and boys alike wished to see the matching mark appear on their own skin. Not only for the power and the wealth, but many wanted Alfred himself. Why wouldn’t they? He was the Spadian Golden Boy.

Everyone swooned over his tanned skin, revealing in the way it shone with sweat when he sparred or practiced his weaponry skills. They simply wanted to run their fingers through his wheat blonde hair and stare into his eyes, often equated to the vast, blue sky in which their gods shone down on them. Everyone wanted him.

Well, almost everyone.

Arthur’s mark had appeared before even Alfred’s had, considering he was a good four years older. By this point, he had already become one of the most hated people in all the kingdoms.

He had started to make a name for himself early on, seemingly coming out of nowhere but with such a feisty attitude, wit, and the will to fight, he quickly rose from just some shabby nobody to a master of strategy on the sea. He gained a following and by the age of seventeen had already accumulated enough loyal people to call himself a Captain. This also meant he rose to the top of most wanted criminals, but despite the navy’s best efforts to collect him, Arthur always managed to escape. Almost.

There had been one faithful day in which the British Spadian had not been as lucky and was promptly detained by military guards. They had been following the Captain and cornered him in a coastal town, managing to lock him up and report back to the castle that they finally had the menace in custody. All they needed to do then was escort the prisoner back to the capital to face judgement.

That was how it was supposed to go, anyway. But before they could make it to their destination, they had to prepare the prisoner to enter the castle. They surely didn’t trust a pirate not to have weapons hidden on him, after all, and a change of clothing to better prepare him to stand before the current king and queen was only proper. That way, they wouldn’t have to subject themselves to peering down at a rogue pirate, dressed to fit the description. He had been in torn, black pants, a low cut shirt, jewelry no doubt stolen, piercings in his ears, and a deep, blood red coat to show his authority. That power held no meaning with the guards, however, as they began to strip the bound prisoner to change him into more moderate clothing.

It was then that the fate of the Spade Kingdom would change forever.

As they undressed him, they could tell the captain grew more and more agitated. He turned and twisted, making it progressively difficult for them to take off his shirt. Eventually, one of the guards buckled under the annoyance and pulled out a knife. Reportedly, Arthur had not shown any fear at the blade and only matched the sharpness with his own, cold glares.

His resolve wavered slightly, however, when he realized the knife was not meant for his skin but for his clothing. In one quick movement, the guard had yanked his shirt and cut through it, making it impossible for Arthur to fight the removal any longer. It was then that both guards stopped and stared, questioning their sanity as well as their positions to the crown.

Before them was a man, gagged to keep his curses muffled and hands cuffed to keep him from running. A wanted gunman with blood on his hands. But on his back, between his shoulder blades, was a distinct, dark mark perfectly in the shape of a spade.

Having been trained relentlessly to find the queen should they come across them, like all royal guards and military personnel, their first instinct was to test if the mark was truly what they feared it would be or if it was just a normal tattoo. To their horror, the truth was revealed that the pirate in their custody was marked as their next queen. They sent word immediately to the castle, who at first did not believe them, but upon inspection after inspection, and test after test, there was no denying the horrible fact that Arthur was indeed Alfred’s intended by fate.

He was to be brought to the castle immediately.

By some miracle, at least in Arthur’s eyes, the wagon was intercepted and he was freed by members of his crew and, strangely enough, a new friend they had made along the way. His name was Lukas, he learned, and he was not only a devoted priest of The Gods, he was an excellent mage with magical powers almost unmatched. With his help, the loyal crew members were able to rescue their captain from his undesired destiny.

Shortly after, word spread of the shocking revelation. People didn’t believe it, not at first. But, as the gossip spread farther and farther, the infamous Arthur Kirkland became wanted less for the crimes he had committed and more because the royal family wanted their rogue queen apprehended and brought to them.

Alfred was finding it particularly hard to pray when all these thoughts kept swirling around in his head. It was said that The Goddess herself marked the new queens with the royal symbols, but the young prince simply couldn’t understand why She had to mark Arthur Kirkland of all people.

He had lots of dreams about his future and the person he was going to be spending it with. He had prayed fervently to The Goddess in hopes to have a joyful and easy love life with his mysterious, future queen. Many monarchs simply tolerated each other, if they didn’t down right loathe one another, and very few ever actually fell in love. Alfred didn’t want a life of hating his partner but now, as he kneel before a statue in Her honor, he could only imagine she was laughing at him.

It had been nearly four years since Arthur’s secret was discovered and in those years, the royal military had tried desperately to claim him. Their navy occupied the seas he sailed, their guards watched many ports and coasts like hawks, they even put out a handsome reward for anyone who could capture the elusive Brit and deliver him. All these attempts at capture had failed miserably.

Many balked at the way Arthur evaded his fate, shouldn’t he want to claim his place? He was practically promised riches, food, clothing. Anything he ever desired, he could have in the palm of his hand. The royal court had tried desperately to play on this mindset as well, promising the Brit that if he surrendered himself, he would face no judicial punishment based on his past actions. It was unheard of! For a pirate captain as notorious as him to be given full pardon, everyone figured it was only a matter of time before Arthur came waltzing up to the castle gates himself. But as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, they realized the stubborn pirate was not interested.

--- ♠ --- ♠ --- ♠ ---

Alfred’s eighteenth birthday had been celebrated with a feast and loud celebrations. He had finally come of age and was expected to marry his queen soon. The lack of the new queen at the festivities put a sour mood in Alfred’s mouth, despite his signature smile and all the gifts. Don’t get him wrong, he was not at all thrilled about being married to Arthur-renegade pirate-Kirkland, but he was the Prince and therefore, needed to put aside his own feelings for the betterment of the kingdom. It struck a nerve in him to think that Arthur was considered any sort of ‘betterment’, he had no idea what The Goddess could possibly be thinking with this.

Nonetheless, it had been years since that fateful day his future husband was found out. Every single day they had failed ceremoniously to bring him home. So now, at age nineteen, Alfred decided he would be the one to bring Arthur back himself. He had waited patiently, as he was told to, but now that a year had past since his eighteenth birthday and they still were no closer to capturing Arthur, he grew tired of being idle. He was past his coming of age and Arthur was already twenty three, well past the usual marriage of a future queen. It was only adding insult to injury.

So here he was, in a small, modest temple fit dimly by candles and incense. He finished his prayer and stood up, walking out into the chilly, sea-salt air.

He had not been permitted to leave the castle on his own and surely not on some wild goose chase after a wanted criminal. That was why he had to sneak out, he was a prince after all and he knew how to evade his guards so he could go have a good time. He was notorious for sneaking out and just having fun in the capital, talking, helping, eating, drinking, and dancing with the locals. It was part of why he was so loved by them, he felt like one of them, not just some up-tight kid sitting on a throne of privilege. Alfred loved his people and showed it openly and without apology, and in turn they adored him for it too.

Now, those secret passages out of the castle grounds served a new purpose, to get him out so he could find Arthur. That’s exactly what he did, only pausing to leave a parting note for his dear parents.

He also made sure to dress less extravagantly, he didn’t want to tip anyone off as to who he was or get robbed. Many people knew his name and who he was, but surprisingly many also did not know his face as well as they thought they did. Once he managed to sneak out of the main capital, it became easier and easier to blend in. In towns and villages not as close to the castle as the big city, less people recognized him and that made traveling easier. After all, they weren’t as invested in the royal family as those closer to the castle. They had hard jobs to do dealing with agriculture and fishing, too busy working with their hands to provide for their families to care what some rich people looked like.

That worked in Alfred’s favor as he made his way to the coast, in a little town near where he had heard Arthur was last sighted. He searched for clues and asked subtle questions, but found himself disappointed when not much was revealed. After a couple of days, he was starting to lose hope in his search, as no one he talked to seemed to have any sort of lead for him to follow. That was, until, he heard someone mention a large ship coming towards the dock. His ears perked up at that and he listened in.

A large ship of some sort was coming to dock at their shores and the people of the town readied themselves. They were either there to pillage or to spend money, and being in a coastal town, you had to be prepared for both.

Alfred took this information and ran with it, making his way towards the waters to see just what ship they were talking about. Upon lying his eyes on it, he knew there was no mistaking it.

This was a vessel he had never seen with his own eyes, but had heard described like it was a prayer. The dark, mahogany wood stood proud against the cool waters of the sea. The masts, to Alfred, were a synonym for depravity and refusal of divine fate. But, it was the figurehead that protruded from the front of the ship that was truly a dead giveaway, no other ship had anything like it.

It came in the shape of a wooden woman facing outward, her hair curling around her face and behind her, as if the wind itself was blowing through it. In her hands was a bow and an arrow, ready to be shot at the foes foolish enough to stand before her. She was a symbol of fear to those unlucky enough to come across her wrath but a thing of beauty and grace for those who simply watched it bob from the waves. It was the famed figurehead of The Siren's Arrow.

Alfred knew he couldn’t let this chance pass him by, so he slowly made his way closer to where the boat had stopped and allowed some of its passengers to exit. Thankfully, they all looked rather docile at the moment, laughing with one another and heading right for humanly indulgences in the form of either food, bars or brothels.

The young prince watched them each carefully, but his frown sunk lower when each passed that didn’t match Arthur’s depiction. He had never seen Arthur in person, obviously, but there were enough “Wanted” posters around to know what he looked like.

Finally, after a painfully long half an hour in which he lazily leaned against a wall and watched, he caught sight of something that made him catch his breath. From among the crew members still spilling from the ship, he pinpointed a bustle of messy, blonde hair. He moved to lean in closer, squinting his eyes to watch the newcomer as he stepped off the ship and onto the pier.

He was smaller than Alfred expected. He had heard stories of the unlikely captain, that he was not as tall or large as many other pirates tended to be. In fact, he looked petite beside his rough cohorts. He was also rather attractive. Alfred caught his thoughts before they trailed off too far and kicked himself for thinking that the man walking casually onto the beach was anything but a slimy criminal. Small or not, the prince knew that Arthur was a dangerous man, not above breaking the law or killing him if he saw him as a threat.

He was also sure he would be less than pleased to see a royal, of all people. This was where Alfred’s plan came to a fault. He had been evading guards and gathering clues as to where Arthur was, with no real plan of action to actually get him back home with him. He surely was stronger than him physically, just based on their bodies, but he couldn’t exactly pick the Brit up and run all the way back to the castle with him. Surely, he’d be dead before he even got out of this town.

He had been so trapped in his thoughts again as he watched Arthur, he didn’t process that the man in question was growing ever closer to him. He also didn’t notice that the other blonde noticed him staring intently.

--- ♠ --- ♠ --- ♠ ---

[illusmeta]

s7 thoughts, in no particular order (spoilers yes)

1. Bex was right. This season hurt more than s6, if that’s even fucking possible...the last five episodes were just the most painful ride i have ever been on

2. HUNK DEVELOPMENT! IT’S A B O U T FUCKING TIME. I’m just. gaAAAAAAAH. 

2a. ok but WHY MUST HIS FAMILY BE THE ONLY ONE THAT ISN’T SAFE. the scene where keith talked to him was really fuckin sweet but also....just...give hunk his family??? 

2b. that being said we now know hunk’s connection to yellow is comparable to keith’s with black. yup. s3′s hunk not wanting black paladin was foreSHADOWING BICTH and it makes sense bc hunk is literally the team’s stability now soooooo <3 he honestly is the biggest hero of the team, fucking carried the team, deserves the world

2c. and HUNK HOLDING THE TEAM TOGETHER IN EPISODE 6??? i fuckin SCREAMED he deSERVES THE WORLD and i would die for him he’s my fuckin role model 

2d. self-care is making my inner voice HUNK and having him tell me to take care of myself...my crops are FUCKING WATERED

2e. and hunk care...is seeing shay again <3 my loves!!!

3. james griffin turned out to be less of an asshole than he could have been, give him a fucking medal lol but the subtlety of his learning to accept Voltron and specifically keith was pretty sick actually. apart from the heart-wrenching, this season had a great deal of subtlety in character development like that (before s8 or 9 when the stakes go way up of course) and i for one appreciated it 

3a. his team...also awesome. especially the girls, i love them 

4. ok but after that last episode when the whole thing just went silent...I legit thought the showrunners did it. fucking murdered everyone. keith said “it’s been an honor” and my tiny heart just broke. i keep telling myself that the showrunners can’t keep loading on impossible situations with everyone with their backs to the wall and still have it be believable but in that last scene...I believed it. I thought their luck had run out. and these guys...in a lot of ways, it feels like i’ve grown up with this show, from the end of freshman year to now. it felt like i was losing my real friends. and i thought that james’s crew had been brought on to replace them. kudos to the show for making something so incredible, but also...fuck. the adrenaline and tension has literally given me a massive headache and after i write all this down i’m gonna take a realllly long nap

5. I could write an essay on why Admiral Sanda was valid and then write another essay on why she wasn’t, but i could write a fucking thesis on why the showrunners got her arc just right

6. episode six...ohhhh my god. you know how s6 stuck a knife in my heart? well, that episode twisted it, pulled it out, and dragged my innards out with it. 

6a. seriously, think of the psychological horror of that episode. it’s one thing to die in battle, feeling you have a clear purpose and strategy and knowing you died for something. it’s another to die slowly, and painfully, without any sign that your actions ever mattered or that they can ever matter again, without any sign of hope. it’s another to die uncertain and afraid, unsure of what world you’ll leave behind, unsure of the people you’ll leave behind. small wonder everyone wanted to believe they were home. it was the first thing that kept them from going completely insane. they had to believe in it. 

6b. consider: the sheer mental force of will Hunk had to force the team forward and away. Think of just how in-tune with himself he has to be, how brave he has to be, to go against his own heart and his own team and push back and believe in himself. Honestly, Hunk is a miracle. he uses his caution to make him stronger. keith was right to admire him. he really was. 

6c. small bone to pick: i guess keith’s leaving the team has finally been...dealt with? i don’t think it’s finished but i generally think emotional development needs more focus in voltron. That’s what headcanons and fics are for, i guess? after all, it is still a kids show, and i guess the showrunners want to make sure the pacing matches that... 

7. sooooo. ships. we gotta talk about that. Wasn’t super happy with how axca was coded to be a love interest for keith. personally i’m still holding out for them finding out they’re related bc axca just seems like she’s coded to be waaaay older than keith but then again that might just be me. also: allurance maybe confirmed? I do hope that if the showrunners really want this to be endgame, they take some time next season to fully flesh out why allura’s not using lance as a rebound. like...come on. everyone knows he deserves better. 

7a. on the bright side: zethrid and ezor. nice. 

7b. double bright side: hunk and shay. NICe

7c. klance is gonna get all its mileage from episode 4 and the fact that red and black make cool wing boosters, calling it right now, the ship will never fucking sink lol tbh i don’t care that much anymore??? like, the whole show is just coming together so well and i’m happy with whatever??? as long as there’s no toxicity and everyone loves each other i’d be perfectly happy if keith and hunk became a thing 

8. the paladins with their families is just. Nice. 

8a. KEEF GOT A HUG MY BABY IS LOVED 

8b. Hunk’s flashbacks...honestly, he’s even more of a mama’s boy than lance is and he’s just. perfect. 

8c. lance and his sister lmao. veronica knows what’s up 

8d. pidge <3 again with the subtlety of the emotion the showrunners pulled off this season...10/10. everything shows on her face and it’s wonderfully done and alSO COLLEEN HOLT IS SUCH A BADASS. just fucking SNAPPED and gave Sanda the what-for. she’s valid 

8e. but question: where the FUCK IS SHIRO’S FAM I am INSULTED are you just gonna be like, “hey shiro can put his life on hold and pretend like he’s not hurting too? he came back and adam was dead. after all this time, thinking adam would outlive him. that’s harsh and i’m feeling it 

9. can we go back to the atlas? ok. that shit was fuckin relentless 

9a. so much screaming and sciency-mumbo-jumbo i feel like the showrunners were just throwing in random words with ‘o’s and hoping it worked 

9b. and shiro, powering up an entire voltron XL through his arm and his connection to altean magic?? completely implausible. honestly tho? i don’t fucking care. Shiro is magic, friendship and resilience are magic, the paladins’ resolve is basically the only thing holding voltron together at this point, and I DON’T CARE. they’re fucking badasses and they can do what they want. at least the showrunners used the small details, like sendak’s memories and the castle crystal thing. there’s my bar -- using past story details. everything else? whatever, i’m using this fiction to escape reality, not constantly poke holes in it 

10. if i had to pick favorite episodes: 6, 9, 10. maybe 12 and 13 for sheer emotional trauma. 

10a. this might be my favorite season, tbh. i honestly don’t know yet bc i’m still really Shook(TM) but while i can’t say the season made me happy (it actually fucking ripped up my heart and stomped on it), i can say it left a mark. and I think voltron has a future in saving the universe with the earth as its home base. 

10b. ok but allura needs to pull out that quintessence mumbo jumbo and give the lions a fucking UPGRADE WE ALL KNOW THAT’S WHAT HAGGAR’S DOING WITH THE COLONY AND HER WEIRD ROBEAST THINGS and ALLURA HAD THE SAME CRASHCOURSE IN ALCHEMY FROM ORIANDE SO GET ON IT PLS 

11. ngl, the characters in this season? fine. 

and now: a list of girls i thought were cute: 

- Allura (as always)

- Veronica (called it) 

- the girls on the MFE team (Leifsdottir and I forgot the other girl’s name, started with an R i think, either way she’s cute) 

- Ezor (i’m a simple fool)

- Romelle with her hair up is such a Look and I love it 

a list of guys: 

- Keith (as usual) -- seriously, why is his animation always 100000X more expressive and beautiful than everyone else’s?? someone up there loves anime pretty boys and I am NOT COMPLAINING like in episode 5 his faces of fear were just so beautifully and expressively drawn 

- HUNK. 

- james & kinkade (is that how his name is even spelled lmao) 

ANYWAY. i had feelings, thought I’d share

[amorremanet]

For the three-sentence fics: Sheith, flower shop AU?

pairing + AU setting = “3-sentence” fic (the post)i would like to formally apologize to regris but not for my deliberate failure to understand the word, “three”

also posted on AO3 because whoops, it got long

“Here’s what I don’t get about your situation with Regris,” Shiro announces, pushing up his black-framed glasses with a sigh that wishes it were pensive.

Mostly, he sounds like someone’s trying to drag him out of bed against his will. On the plus, he doesn’t sound like he’s been moping in his room all day, while blasting his favorite angsty girl singer-songwriters, sad acoustic songs by artists Keith has never heard of outside of Shiro, and the occasional hour-long loop of “Careless Whisper.” He also doesn’t sound like it’s noon-thirty on a Saturday, he’s only gotten up to take his meds, and he doesn’t want to admit to or deal with any problems that might have a hand in why he’s napping all day.

But on the downside, his, “I know I have to go to campus today, but God, five more minutes? Stop expecting me to wake up, eat breakfast, and put on pants like an adult” whine isn’t much better. It only has a slight edge because he’s being difficult, but at least he isn’t actively disregarding himself again.

For his part, Keith shrugs without looking up from the arrangement he’s working on. It’s a special order, made up of red roses, yellow lilies, pink orchids from the Blooms of Marmora’s private hothouses out back, and pink juniberry flowers. Keith took this exercise in sculptural horticulture as a commission from Lance, something suitably unique for his, Hunk’s, and Allura’s upcoming “triad-versary.”

This project being a commission for a kinda-sorta friend is irrelevant. Keith owes it to himself and to his work to focus. Besides, Lance’s rich-ass parents don’t mind letting their youngest drop over a grand on something that’s going to wither, wilt, and die within three weeks. He promised Keith an extra tip to go with his commission fee, if Keith, “can really, truly capture the no sé qué of True Love? Like, dazzle me. Find a way to embody how Shiro looks like someone drop-kicked Red into rush-hour traffic when you used to making out with Regris, but do it with flowers. Okay, Mullet? Can you make that magic happen for me?”

Which doesn’t help, as a direction, because the fluffy, black cat-shaped diva who Keith and Shiro belong to would never allow someone to do that to her. Also, Shiro never once looked like that when Keith was still with Regris. But hey, whatever. The money’s good, and Keith knows way more than he likes about how Lance looks at his significant others. He’ll portray that in this arrangement, and everything will be copacetic.

Except for the part where Shiro apparently needs to ignore Keith’s silence, swish out his ponytail, and pipe up with: “Granted, there’s a lot about the situation with Regris that doesn’t make sense to me? You like him, he likes you—”

”And we like each other better when we aren’t dating. When we aren’t screwing around either, for that matter.”

“Keith.” Folding his arms over his chest, idly drumming his left hand’s organic fingers against the high-tech prosthetic on his right-hand side, Shiro digs the small of his back at the counter. “Come on, I’m serious.”

Taking several deep, slow breaths, Keith tries to remind himself that he loves Shiro. Ghosting his fingertips up one of the lilies’ petals, he tells himself that Shiro means well, and that Shiro deserves for his alleged best friend to listen to him when he’s trying to help out. Never mind that there’s nothing to help with, because despite the ostensible focal point of the conversation, this is more for Shiro than it is for Keith.

This works great until Keith’s mouth takes over: “I’m being serious,” he blurts out. “Just because Regris and I like each other doesn’t mean that we should be together. We weren’t working out, so we’re over like that. It’s not a big deal.”

“Six months together isn’t anything to sneeze at—”

“What, it’s not that long.” Keith huffs. “Or are the standards different because I’m a hot mess with Mommy issues, Daddy issues, abandonment issues, and whatever other shit our therapist tells you about me?”

As soon as he says it, Keith chokes down a sigh and a chilly feeling of regret. He can barely force himself look at Shiro, now. Whatever’s glimmering behind his eyes makes Keith want to bolt to the break-room and throw up. The worst part is that he hopes the look in Shiro’s eyes is hurt instead of disappointment — as if Keith needed any further confirmation that he is wrong while everyone else is right, and he’s broken, which will leave him alone in the end, whenever everybody he cares about realizes how much better they deserve and runs out.

At the absolute best, he might only be dropping uncomfortable surprises on Shiro’s head. Normally, Keith doesn’t mind Shiro hanging around the shop while he’s working. Shiro has more free time than Keith would’ve guessed came with an MFA program and holing up in the apartment is terrible for him, emotionally. Keith’s bosses and coworkers have taken a liking to Shiro and he helps out without expecting anything in return, so they don’t mind. Technically, it’s against protocol for Shiro to spend his free time writing here instead of pretending to write at a coffee-shop or a library like his classmates and the undergrads he’ll be teaching next semester.

Selfishly, Shiro steadies Keith’s nerves when customers are being assholes. He keeps Keith motivated when Kolivan’s being impossible to please, and keeps him focused when Ulaz won’t listen to anyone but Thace even though his latest big idea sounds completely asinine. He keeps Keith from going off the handle too badly when Antok’s acting like he knows Keith intimately just because his husband’s kinda taken Keith on as a floristprotege, or whenever Murphy’s Law finds some new way of crashing the party.

Most days, Keith wouldn’t even mind Shiro leaning on the counter, swishing out his ponytail, and refusing to admit that he’s feeling upset about something and desperately wants Keith to give him some extra attention. After so long with each other, Keith recognizes that behavior and understands it. He can usually deal with it fine, even when he’s up to his goddamn eyes in actualizing Lance’s pseudo-surrealist floral love letter, and placing the flowers to Lance’s annoyingly precise specifications.

Most days, however, involve Shiro chilling behind the counter with a notebook or his reading for class, not interrogating Keith about his most recent ex. Never mind the fact that Keith and Regris romantically split up almost seven weeks ago. It’s a fair enough point to Keith, but apparently, Shiro doesn’t think that it matters.

Shiro takes a deep breath of his own before he points out, “If you didn’t want to let Dr. Hall talk to me about you, then you didn’t need to waive confidentiality. You can change your mind and back out of that whenever you want.”

“Yeah, because Coran and Kolivan will really let me get away with that.” Rolling his eyes makes Keith feel petulant, but whatever. Hopefully, Shiro’s looking at the ceiling, so if Keith aims his expression at these roses, maybe Shiro won’t see anything. “It’s bad enough that they ganged up on me about how it wasn’t fair to make you see a therapist without doing anything for myself—”

“They talked to you about your well-being because they were concerned—”

“It was worse enough when they dragged the gang into a godawful bullshit interv—”

“Again?” Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose with his prosthetic fingers. He winces, possibly losing control of how much pressure he’s applying again. “They were concerned and doing what they thought they had to do to make you care about yourself—”

“They should’ve listened to you. I mean, you told them not to do the stupid intervention. You told them how I’d take it…” Keith should have something more to say about this. Something better. But he should also be able to look at Shiro, given that he’s the reason why Shiro might be deliberately squeezing too hard on his nose, and Keith can’t manage to look up from his arrangement.

He fluffs one of the orchids, so it looks like he’s doing something.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” he says. “If they heard I wasn’t letting you keep tabs on me, they’d flip out at me like I’m a five-year-old.”

“It’s not their therapy.” Shiro sighs as if it’s taking a massive amount of effort for him not to snap at Keith right now — which it probably is, considering how much of a headache Keith is, even on his best days. “The fact that they helped talk you into seeing Dr. Hall does not mean they get to have a say in what your treatment—”

Keith cringes at his flowers with an audible ugh, even though none of this is their fault. “Well, I wouldn’t feel good about doing it, okay? You waived your confidentiality with her for me. Doing the same for you is only fair.”

In all likelihood, it’d be fairer if Keith told Dr. Hall half as much as Shiro makes himself open up about in his sessions — but still. Shiro gets to ask Dr. Hall whatever he wants about Keith and vice versa. For now, Keith gets to wrinkle his nose at a clutch of juniberry flowers that refuses to match up with Lance’s sketches. He furrows his brow at one of the laminated sheets that he’s working with and tries to ignore the way that Shiro’s hugging himself in perfect silence.

“Look, for what it’s worth?” he says, when Shiro stays quiet for so long that it’s a miracle Keith doesn’t go puke. “You were right about me and Regris liking each other and clicking well. That’s why we pulled the plug. Broke things off before we started hating each other—”

“But why would it need to have ended that way with him?” Shiro protests, ever hopeful about Keith in ways that make no earthly sense. “Who says that you couldn’t have made it work in the long run and been really happy together?”

“Why do you keep asking me questions like that?” Keith can’t get his juniberry flowers to behave, so he moves on to arranging the little section of orchids and roses. “You know I never have a good answer to them. Since, ‘Because books and movies and TV lied to me, real-world relationships always end in pain if you don’t get out of them quick enough’ is a logical fallacy now or whatever?”

To his credit, Shiro doesn’t take Keith’s bait. He could do what he’s done before and point out that it’s always been a logical fallacy. Instead, he shrugs as if he’s trying so hard to stay casual that it might literally kill him.

“Maybe I keep asking because I know you’re capable of finding an answer, if you try a little harder. Maybe I think finding that answer could help you.” Tucking his long, bleached-white fringe behind his ear, Shiro says, “Also, you’ve started shutting down when anyone else in the gang makes an effort.”

“I talk to Matt and Allura very openly by my standards.”

“Your standards make dead men look perfectly forthcoming. And I understand why you do things like that, Keith, I get it, but…” Shiro heaves yet another sigh. Unfortunately, this one sounds like he’s about five seconds off from crying.

Even in profile, the wide-eyed, lip-quivering, open look on his face makes Keith amend that estimate. Shiro’s probably more like two seconds away from a crying jag. His glasses slide down his nose as he hangs his head, and Keith’s breath hitches in his throat. He curls his fingers tight around the handle of his pruning shears. Shit, there must be something he can say to make Shiro stop looking like that, to fix things so he doesn’t feel so upset and cry. Doing that exhausts him, and Shiro has class tonight, so God help him, Keith has to figure out how to keep Shiro from crying when he deserves so much better than this—

“I promise, I’m not trying to put you under a microscope,” he says, more gently than Keith deserves. “But you’ve been logging way too many hours here since you and Regris broke up—”

“I’ve been working with Lance on this anniversary piece.” Keith’s hands tremble as he lets up on the shears and adjusts the roses. “We had some pretty intense negotiations. Then, I had to fit in extra time in the greenhouses. Ulaz grew these orchids, I couldn’t use them without doing the legwork to replenish—”

“Lance only commissioned you three weeks ago, Keith.” Shiro turns to face Keith properly, slouching at the hips and looking down to meet his eyes. “You started taking all this ridiculous overtime six weeks, almost seven weeks—”

“I know when Regris and I broke up, Takashi. Unlike you, I was actually there for the conversation.”

In the face of his given name being sneered like that, Shiro arches an eyebrow and squints at Keith over his glasses. For a moment, he holds that unimpressed expression, the one like he can see right through whoever’s on the receiving end of it and there’s nothing they can hide from him. Keith’s heart stutters — he might have worked his way from disappointing Shiro to legitimately making him angry.

Given how rarely he shows it when someone’s getting to him so badly, Shiro should be ready to throw a punch. Keith’s more than earned it, by now. He’s been stubborn and difficult, short-fused with a hot temper. More than anyone else in Keith’s life, Shiro’s the one who’s gotten stuck putting up with the worst of Keith’s habits, all the signs that he isn’t worth the effort that it takes to show him any kindness.

When Shiro’s prosthetic arm twitches away from his organic one, that has to mean Keith’s got something painful coming to him. A smack, a punch — it doesn’t matter what. Shiro’s finally going to hit him now, after so many years of never doing that to Keith and seeming like maybe he never would. Pursing his lips, Keith nudges the arrangement down the counter, so it won’t block Shiro’s shot. As Shiro reaches out toward him, he knows that he deserves it. Expecting a fist, Keith flinches.

All that Shiro does is caress Keith’s shoulder. He’s so gentle about touching Keith with his prosthetic, so ginger about squeezing him that, if not for how heavy this arm is, Keith might not have noticed anything.

He should say something now, most likely? That’s probably what you’re supposed to do when someone you love, who has every right to be fed up with you and every right to take a swing besides, chooses to show you mercy instead? But as his eyes go wide, as they sting at him and his lips tremble, Keith can’t find the words. Or any words, for that matter. His throat barely manages to make a wobbly, bemused little noise.

“Keith, you’ve been miserable since you broke up with Regris.” Shiro’s lips quirk almost like he’s trying to give Keith a reassuring smile. “If you’re scared being hurt, or scared of how you feel about him? I understand that. And if you feel like you don’t deserve him? I disagree, like… I’ve told Lance and Allura so many times that he was great, but he still didn’t deserve you. But if you love Regris so much, then dumping him won’t make you feel better. You’ll just watch him with other people and hate yourself for feeling jealous—”

“That wasn’t why I broke up with him!”

Gasping at his own voice, Keith lets his eyes dart all over the shop. He glances in every corner until he’s sure that no one else is in here with them. It’s been a slow morning. No other customers, and aside from Keith, only Kolivan’s come in. He’s back in the greenhouses — right, of course there’s no one else in the shop… No one but Keith and Shiro.

Shiro, who is currently half-agog and blinking at Keith. The question he doesn’t say makes itself obvious: Why did Keith break up with Regris if he wasn’t running from his feelings and the threat of letting himself get attached to another person, the way he’s done with so many other people who’ve tried to get close to him, whether romantically or not.

Keith inhales deeply and looks down at the counter. “It didn’t feel right, okay?” he says. “Being with him when I can’t shake someone else. He deserves better than that.”

“But that’s… Keith, what are you…”

When Keith manages to look at him, Shiro has his entire face scrunched up like a bunny who’s trying to read one of Thace’s invoices. His confusion kindles something warm in Keith’s chest, makes it flare up brighter than fireworks, but — no. No, Keith can’t. Surely, Shiro would’ve done something by now, if he felt anything like Keith does. He would’ve said something. Maybe he doesn’t agree with the obvious truth that he’s too impossibly good for Keith, because Shiro insists on believing in Keith so much that it hurts sometimes. But if he felt even half of what Keith does, then he would have—

“Okay, so who can’t you get out of your system?” Shiro tries to beam at Keith, but his tight, wobbly smile is so obviously fake that Keith wants to scream. All it does is make Shiro look like part of him is dying.

Why do you even need to ask that question? — the thought burns Keith’s throat but he doesn’t let himself say anything.

Squeezing Keith’s shoulder again, Shiro forces a chuckle. If it weren’t so clearly phony, the affection behind it might manage to make it reassuring. “I mean, as long as it’s not Matt, there’s hope, right? You can’t really do anything about him being aromantic, but… Come on, who is it? Someone lucky, obviously, but that goes without saying? As long as they’re open to it, we can figure something out. If they really don’t want you back, we can try to find…”

Shiro trails off as Keith’s hands ball up in his sweatshirt. However that sentence was meant to end, Keith doesn’t want to know. 

Craning his neck and standing on his toes, leaning over the counter between them, Keith yanks Shiro down into a kiss. Their noses knock against each other but Keith tilts his head, throwing himself into this. His chest feels empty but his pulse bangs in his ears and behind his Adam’s apple. He clings so hard to Shiro’s shirt that, if not for the fabric, his nails would be digging into his palms. This is not good, this is going to go wrong, Shiro might not kill him exactly, but oh shit, oh shit, oh shit — Shiro can’t like this, he won’t, but his mouth is so warm and God, Keith’s thought about this for so long… Shiro’s prosthetic hand lets go of Keith’s shoulder, and of course, he’s going to shove Keith away soon, there’s no other way this ends, but—

Keith whines as Shiro’s prosthetic cups his cheek, as Shiro wraps his organic arm around Keith’s waist. As Shiro deepens the kiss, Keith can’t tell where his heartbeat’s gone. It’s not until he needs to breathe that he lets any space between his mouth and Shiro’s. While Keith pants, Shiro doesn’t give up on holding him.

“Oh, my God… I can’t even…” Shiro huffs, nudging his forehead into Keith’s. He lets out a breathy, half-strangled laugh. “Lance and Allura are never gonna let me live this down… I kept telling them you didn’t? That you’d never—”

“Shiro, I love you so much,” Keith says, backing up just enough to let Shiro get a full view of his face. “But Lance and Allura are not invited to this kiss, okay?”

“Duly noted.” With a fond, open smile, Shiro presses his lips into Keith’s like he never wants to let this go.

[celestialarcadia]

Dear Chocolatier

This ended up kind of long. I really hope this doesn’t come across as too picky! While I’ve included prompts and general rambling, I can’t predict everything that I’d be interested in--so as long as your idea doesn’t fall under my DNWs, I’ll be happy to read whatever you come up with! This is mostly geared towards fic, since I’m not very good at talking about art, but I’d also be ecstatic about art fills. Full letter under the cut. (Note that I missed nominations, so I was limited to whatever was in the tagset; not all of my favorite relationships in these works are represented.)

What you need to know about me is that most, if not all, of my favorite pairings include some element of opposites attract. I’m not sure that’s the right phrase to use, since it’s often not literal opposites that attract me to a pairing. What I love is when characters have some sort of large difference(s) between them that is impossible to ignore, requires there to be communication between the members of the pairing, and (this is the big one!!) all the members of the relationship love each other in part because of the differences between them as well as recognizing the similarities they have. It’s a bit hard to explain in words, but I hope that helps. To use examples from the pairings I’ve requested: human/elf, human/alien, alien/different alien, human/robot AI, mage/warrior, warrior/diplomat, witch/fairy, angel/demon...I let out a dreamy sigh just typing those out, which should explain how much I love this trope lmao.

I want happy endings. There’s a place for tragedies, but I need to be in a very specific mood to gain satisfaction from them, and right now in my life I can’t really appreciate them much. I generally prefer a “happily ever after”, but “happy for now” is also acceptable (and is more appropriate for several of the pairings on this list). While I enjoy fluff, I’d also be happy with something more dramatic as long as it ultimately has a HEA/HFN. I’ve enjoyed hurt/comfort, but I usually prefer them to be heavy on the comfort.

Regarding smut: I’m fine with or without it. I’m asexual and porn does nothing for me sexually, but I can enjoy erotica, even PWPs, as an exploration of intimacy between characters. (Not necessarily even romantic intimacy--I’ve enjoyed smut about friends with benefits.) Stuff I enjoy in smut: blindfolds; body worship; bondage; cunnilingus; edging; facesitting; femdom/malesub; gentle domination; intercrural; mirror sex; multiple orgasms; mutual masturbation; pegging; praise kink; service topping; vibrators; wax play. And if the scene goes into BDSM territory, aftercare!

However! I am also a very, very big fan of non-sexual intimacy. Kissing, hugging, cuddling, spooning, literal sleeping together, massages, holding hands, words of affirmation...I could go on and on. Love it all. If you headcanon a character in a requested pairing as asexual, go for it!

Special shoutout to characters bathing together (preferably in a very large bathtub or similar body of water). It can easily lead to sex, and I don’t mind if it does, but I almost prefer if it doesn’t cross that line.

General DNW: 24/7 D/s, A/B/O, abuse between characters in requested pairings, ageplay, amnesia, ass to mouth, BDSM society AU, bestiality, bloodplay in settings without magical healing, breathplay, cancer, canon bi character portrayed as straight or gay, canon gay character portrayed as straight or bi, cheating/infidelity by character in a requested pairing, crossovers, daddy/mommy kink, death of a character's parent(s) as a major plot element (references to canon parent death OK but try not to linger too long on it), describing genitals of any kind as "weeping", dub-con, eating disorders, enemas, explicit underage, fake relationship, feederism, fisting, guro, hatesex, humiliation kink, incest, inflation, kidfic (canon kids OK but I'd rather not have a fic centering around them), lactation kink, love triangles, maledom/femsub, necrophilia, nipple clamps, permanent death of a character in a requested pairing, petplay, plots centered around prejudice or -isms, pregnancy, rape/non-con, rape roleplay/consensual non-consent, reader insert, rimming, scat, school-related AU, self-harm, sex in public places, soulmates AU, sounding, spanking, vore, watersports/omorashi, zombies

Some of these fandoms/pairings have more written about them than others. Please don’t take that as an indication that I’ll be disappointed if you pick a pairing or fandom I’ve written less about here--I really will be happy with any of these pairings!

Cinderella Phenomenon

(Psst...this is a free game...consider playing it?)

Delora/Parfait: I didn’t consider this pairing until I saw it in the tagset and now I 100% ship it. Love me a goth witch and pastel fairy couple. I’d like to see them negotiating around the drastically different perceptions of witches and fairies in Angielle. Or maybe something a bit fluffy, like sharing a stolen moment away from the Marchen, or just taking a break from the trials of everyday life.

Pairing-specific DNW: Work set during/after Rumpel’s, Waltz’s, or Fritz’s routes

Lucette Riella Britton/Karma: While I enjoyed the game as a whole, I think Karma’s route was my favorite. For all his eccentricities, Karma recognizes Lucette’s terrible upbringing and how it affected her before the other characters do, and the fact that he’s a prince means that you can get up to some really nice royal intrigue and politics with this pairing. (Also, I wonder--does Karma continue to wear dresses after his curse is broken, just for the fun of it?)

Pairing-specific DNW: Explicit smut (fade-to-black is fine)

Dragon Age

Fandom-specific DNW: Warden/Hawke/Inquisitor sides with templars, rivalmances for DA2 LIs, Cullen as major character

Alistair/Male Surana: Oh, Alistair, my first DA love. Even though he never actually became a templar, he was still trained as one, and I think that could cause some issues in a relationship with a mage. And being an elf mage? Whew. Even though I don’t want something where Alistair becomes king, I’m fine with something where they discuss the possibility of Alistair becoming king, as long as they ultimately decide not to put him on the throne. You could also do something set after DAO/Awakening, where both are active Wardens--maybe they’ve been separated for a few months for Warden-y reasons and they’ve just reunited?

Pairing-specific DNW: Alistair as king, Loghain recruited into Wardens

Fenris/Hawke: Any gender Hawke is fine (I just have m!Fenhawke tagged because it was in the tagset). My Hawke is female, but feel free to write male or nb Hawke; my Hawke is also a mage, because I like the idea of them falling in love despite the tension that causes between them--but if you’d rather write a warrior/rogue Hawke, that’s also good. (If you want to include specific details about my Hawke: she’s named Samantha, specializes in healing, and is mostly purple/joking with a blue/diplomatic streak. I headcanon her as asexual even if it can’t really be replicated in the game. But I’ll be fine with whatever Hawke you choose to write.)

Zevran Arainai/Warden: Like with Fenris, I’m not picky about which genre or origin you pick and only put in the tags in the set for matching purposes. My Zev-romancing Warden is a f!Brosca, but if you prefer another gender/origin, do whatever you want. These two are my favorite enemies-to-lovers pairing, in part because Zevran never had any hard feelings for the Warden in the first place. (And the Warden telling Nathaniel “Some of my best friends have attempted to kill me” during Awakening gains a whole new level of hilarity with romanced Zev.) Zev comes across as a devil-may-care flirt, but he turns out to be a respectful lover if you actually put the effort to get to know him beyond surface level. (Also, that cool-ass Crow armor from the World of Thedas artbook. A+)

Female Lavellan/Josephine Montilyet: Josie! (｡♥‿♥｡) And I romance her with a f!Lavellan, so it’s a nice coincidence that this was in the tagset lol. I’ll be good with just about anything you come up with for this pairing. Josephine is one of the few non-Dalish characters who at least tries to be respectful of Lavellan’s Dalish heritage, even if she is a bit clumsy about it sometimes. My Lavellan is a lesbian mage named Ilena if you’re interested in including those details, but I’ll be happy with any f!Lavellan.

Josephine Montilyet/Cassandra Pentaghast: Fun fact--I ship this because of a bondage fic I read lmao. They have a very interesting dynamic--a warrior who kills on a regular basis (even if for a good cause); a diplomat who has renounced violence. I won’t be picky about anything for this pairing, either.

Good Omens

Fandom-specific DNW: Reverse AU (I don’t mind these but I’m not interested in receiving one), Aziraphale falling, smut involving Crowley’s snake form, work set before Crowley’s fall, strict top/bottom dynamics

Note: I’ve read the book and watched the series. I’m fine with stuff set in either canon (hence why I requested both). If you want to combine elements from both, that’s cool too.

Aziraphale/Crowley: My most recent love. I have lots and lots of feelings (at least a billion) about these two. Enough that I have a goddamn LIST.

I’m fine with any combination of genders/presentations/efforts/pronouns for these two. I headcanon Aziraphale as being agender with he/him pronouns and Crowley as genderfluid, but again, anything works. Lately I’ve adored fics and art of butch female-presenting Aziraphale, too.

Chubby Aziraphale!! I love!! So much!! Dovetails very well with my interest in body worship (sexual or otherwise). Crowley loves his soft angel!! So much!! And! So much cuddling potential!! (More serious note: I’m not a huge fan of stuff where Aziraphale is extremely self-conscious about his body. Surely he’d miracle himself a different shape if he hated it so much? And he’s been around for millennia, so he’s witnessed beauty standards change drastically over time. It makes more sense in human AUs, but it’s still something I tolerate more than enjoy.)

I’m a big fan of “Aziraphale and Crowley through history” stuff. Pick a time period you like and go wild. Personally, I have a huge soft spot for the 1920s--Crowley would look amazing in a flapper dress. (Realistic or Hollywood-style, take your pick.) (I know that according to the TV script they didn’t see each other between the fight at St James and the church scene, but...bah. Flapper Crowley!!) Some great opportunities for mutual pining, or if you want to write an AU where they got together before the Notpocalypse, go for it.

I have a big soft spot for stuff where Crowley is in his snake form (no smut, please--if the story turns that way I want him in his human form for sex)

I will never ever get tired of “first love confession” or “first kiss” stories for these two because I am a romantic sap who just wants them to be happy (they’ve spent so long not being able to be close to each other! they deserve it!!)

Outsider POVs: “random normal person weirded out by bizarre relationship between fussy bookseller and his goth husband” is one of my favorite fandom tropes

Praise kink! I mentioned this in my general smut likes but it bears repeating here. The major fanon is Crowley having a praise kink, which is wonderful and valid (tfw your crush calls you nice and it turns you on so much you try to play it cool by shoving him against a wall). I’ve seen some stuff recently with Aziraphale having a praise kink and now that’s an idea. (He’s spent so long just wanting to be good for Heaven! Even though Heaven’s standard for what’s good is kind of terrible and they hate him anyway so he’d never be good enough for them! But Crowley knows that Aziraphale is good and he’s more than willing to tell him every little thing he loves about him! aaaaaaaa) Regardless of who has the kink, I think they’d be a bit embarrassed at first at having it found out (Crowley: “Being turned on by compliments? C’mon, that’s not me” [it’s totally him]/Aziraphale: “It’s...a bit selfish, isn’t it?” [but since when has that stopped him]), but the other would be more than willing to indulge. (And while Aziraphale is naturally suited to provide praise, given how good he is with words, I think Crowley could grow into the role too, in his own way.)

Heart of the Woods

Tara Bryck/Morgan Fischer, Abigail Dalsing/Madison Raines: I put these two together because they’re so intertwined in the original game, but if you want to focus on one pairing over the other, that’s great! Something that really interests me would be seeing how Morgan and especially Abby would react to the...idiosyncrasies of modern-day America. Also, Abby being introduced to the internet could be hilarious. (Also also, Morgan getting to live her best butch life, and Tara being her slightly overly enthusiastic cheerleader.) On a more serious note, how does Maddie move on after leaving Taranormal?

Lake of Voices

(Psst...this is also a free game...consider playing it too?)

Kikka/Margret: I’m less interested in fluff for this pairing thanks to how dark the original material is, but I’d still rather not have something totally grim. Margret’s route isn’t truly romantic, not really, but considering the short period of time the game takes place during, that’s not surprising--so I’d like to see how their relationship progresses after the events of the game.

Mass Effect Trilogy

Fandom-specific DNW: Sabotaging the genophage cure; Control/Synthesis/Refusal endings; synthetics dying in Destroy ending (yes I know this is canon, no I don’t care; please don’t do post-ME3 if you aren’t willing to work around this); dead Wrex; no peace between geth and quarians (for ME3)

Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian: While Shakarian isn’t my favorite ME pairing, I do still love it. No Shepard without Vakarian, after all. They work so well as a battle couple and have such great chemistry. My Garrus-romancing Shepard is a Paragade Vanguard named Elliott, Earthborn/War Hero if you want those details.

Female Shepard & Mordin Solus: Death DNW doesn’t apply to this one; hit me with all the feels over Mordin’s death (I don’t like what you have to do for him to survive). Or avoid the issue by doing something set during ME2. Alien Sex Ed is always a classic trope, or something more serious regarding Mordin’s past as an STG operative or his work with the genophage.

Grunt & Female Shepard: Shepard is very proud of her strong krogan vat bby.

Kolyat Krios & Female Shepard: With or without Shep/Thane (”YOU’RE NOT MY REAL MOM”), either works. If there’s romance, how does Kolyat react to his missing dad showing up with a human girlfriend? Does Shepard try to become a part of Kolyat’s life or does she try to stay out of it? There’s less reason for Shepard to get involved if there’s no Thanemance, but I think there’s still opportunity there, since Kolyat and Thane keep in contact after the loyalty mission is completed.

Pairing-specific DNW: Thane dying

Thane Krios/Female Shepard: My favorite ME pairing! At least until BW fucked it up in ME3. (I still kind of haven’t forgiven them.) They have a very mature relationship, I think--both of them a bit weary--and they find solace in each other, at least until the inevitable. I would prefer a fic set during ME2, or in the time period between the end of ME2 and Shepard being detained before ME3. If you want to make something set during ME3, I’d like to see him receive treatment (not necessarily a cure, though I won’t complain if you go that route, but preferably something more realistic than “oh I took a pill and now I’m all better!” or similar) for Kepral’s. I also don’t like the defeatist “well, I guess I’m just gonna lay down and die now” attitude he has when you meet him at Huerta in ME3; it clashes so much with his entire ME2 arc, which has him realize that he does still have things to live for (his son, for one, and Shepard if you romance him). If you’re interested in details about my Shepard: her name is Diana; she’s a Paragon Infiltrator, Colonist/War Hero.

Pairing-specific DNW: Excessive focus on his illness (I know it’s a big part of his character, and I don’t expect people to avoid it entirely, but I don’t enjoy stuff that’s centered totally around it); Irikah bashing or trying to portray her as unimportant

Nyreen Kandros/Aria T’Loak: (STILL SCREAMING ABOUT BADASS TURIAN LADY) I want to see something from when these two were still together, or a fix-it where Nyreen doesn’t die and she and Aria enter a (possibly uneasy) truce. Less concerned about happiness for this one as long as neither of them dies; I’m fine if it ends up that their relationship just doesn’t work out.

EDI/Samantha Traynor: Geeky lesbian with a robot kink + sexy fembot = ooh la la. On a serious note, how would a human/AI relationship work? There’s a lot of possibilities here.

Stardew Valley

Fandom-specific DNW: Player siding with Joja-Mart

Abigail/Female Player, Elliott/Player, Leah/Female Player, Maru/Female Player: I’m putting these together not because I think they’re interchangeable (they’re not), but because what I want is basically the same for each of them--slice-of-life about the farmer and their partner (either dating or married...or dating then married; no kids please), with emphasis on how the partner’s personality and lifestyle meshes, or doesn’t mesh, with the player’s farm life. Maybe there’s conflicts that have to be resolved, compromises that have to be made. (But I do want them to eventually work it out and be happy together.) If you pick Elliott/Player, I’m fine with whatever gender farmer you want.

Sweet Fuse: At Your Side

Inafune Saki/Meoshi Kouta: One thing I enjoyed about Meoshi’s route is how he doesn’t have to give up games entirely in order to deserve love and improve as a person, he just develops a healthier relationship with gaming. I like the idea of Kouta participating in a fighting game tournament with Saki cheering him on...or maybe he taught her how to play and she’s a competitor too now? DUN DUN DUN. (but it’s all in good fun)

Pairing-specific DNW: Explicit smut (fade-to-black is fine)

Original Work

Dethroned and Dishonored Queen/Lone Loyal Female Knight

Lady Locked in a Tower/Lady Who Turns Into a Hawk

Female Werewolf Hunter/Her Boyfriend Who Gets Turned Into a Werewolf

Female Tall Muscular Badass/Female Short Chubby Nerd

Hiker/Sporty Girl Who Sprained Her Ankle Miles from Nowhere

Grumpy Lonely Sorceress/Female Courtesan She Hires for a Ritual

Female Witch/Female Werewolf

Female Witch/Female Demon She Accidentally Summons

Female Knight/Female Bath Attendant with a Crush

Female Gamer/Female Bookworm

Female Court Painter/Impatient Princess Sitting for a Painting

Female Armorsmith/Female Warrior Who Needs Frequent Repairs

Female Adventurer Lost in the Snow/Female Fire Spirit

Male Speakeasy Bartender/Male Speakeasy Piano Player

Librarian/Her Monster-Hunting Wife Who Keeps Dragging Her Into Wacky Supernatural Adventures

Sensible Royal Guardswoman/Arrogant but Skilled Court Sorceress

Dark Mage/Light Mage

Beleaguered Playwright/Actress Cursed to Ruin Any Show She’s In

Female Vampire/Female Vampire Hunter

Victorian Lady/Victorian Lady

GO WILD. Just don’t hit my DNWs. For the pairings that don’t specify the genders of both members, I’d prefer f/f works.