#this is the first time I've written fanfiction

[meraki-sunset]

This is a long letter of gratitude. Embrace my endless words of pure gratefulness.

Dear Autor of the most amazing thing I've ever read.

I was writing this letter from the moment I reached the middle of your Crow Strider AU fanfiction. There is so many things I want to say and I'm so happy that I can say it to you all here without words limit. Forgive me for exuberance, I'm squeezing out all my abilities to express what I feel in this foreign language that's not of us first language.

Let me list all the things I'm grateful for, because I'm autistic and I love listing:

1. Crow Strider

The arc of Davesprite you created is masterpiece of writing. The process of deconstructing his personality, forgiving and letting his part behind as well as embracing his new identity and new body is written so thoughtfully with such a care of details. I love how you made him so different from Dave as well as still kept his Daveness in full glory of Striderness. You made him happy and more emotional available and open, at the same time it felt so natural for him to be that way because of the proper build up you gave him. Thank you so much for creating Crow Strider and letting us read his well written arc.

2. There's a Dave for everyone

THERE'S LITERALLY DAVE FOR EVERYONE. You have no idea what struggles I went through trying to understand what person Dave ended up with in canon, and then being sad of what happened in epilogues. I wanted Dave for Karkat. I wanted Dave for Jade. I wanted them to be happy. And you did it. You made it possible. You made them all happy. I love it so much. Thank you so much for making them happy. You even gave Teresi one Dave for her. I can't believe it. It's so beautiful it's unreal.

3. More Davepeta

This part is simple, I simply love Davepeta and you gave me a lot of good Davepeta content. Thank you for that.

4. You made me like characters I didn't like

I wasn't big fan of Tavros. I got tired of Vrisca by the end of Homestuck. I didn't really see Hal as an interesting character. I honestly hated Gamzee. And Jasprosesprite squared was so annoying for me

Well, not anymore! You somehow managed to write these characters more compelling for me than Hussie did. Now I love Tavros and Hal, I mean, cat Hal? Is there anything more cute and cool at the same time?

And NGL I genuinely wanted Gamzee to die and I can't believe that now I'm not, because I just read a very good redemption arc of this clown. I also love the way you dealt with Vrisca. Heck I love all characters written by you!

5. God tier Karkat

I've dreamt of seeing a good piece of god tier Karkat. I was so curious how does it even work to be Knight of Blood, we didn't see any version of Blood god tier in canon. I'm big fan of your version, it fits the character and the aspect so well, and the execution of his arc as he is chosen to open the door... Honestly? I prefer that over canon, though it wouldnt make as much sense as in your fanfiction. It just feels like you took a much better care of Karkat than official ending of Homestuck. Don't get me wrong, I love Homestuck an it's ending, your fanfiction wouldn't exist without it. I honestly think that Hussie didn't really have as much time and space to give his characters as extended arcs as you gave them without losing the dynamic of his story. But you could. And you did. Thank you so much.

6. So many people got better, more extended arcs

Like above. You made Jas much better. You gave Nanna much better, more compelling arc than she had in canon. You made Hal and Tavros much more relatable and gave them very well character development plot, even if short. You took your time to write very needed and wanted dialogues between characters than didn't have their time to interact in canon. Like Jake and Dirk (ESPECIALLY THEM OMG). Like Erisol and Feferi. Like Jas and Rose. And I didn't even know that I needed the last one. Thank you so much.

7. You made ships that I didn't know where even possible and I like them????

Seriously, Tavros and Jane?? Erisol and Arquius??? Josh and Dirk??? I love how your brain works

8. You absolutely nailed the delicate topic of transgender

I used to not be a big fan of June, because there were no realistic signs of John having any kind of thoughts or doubts about his gender in canon. You made a very much needed and really great thoughtfully written arc from June and Josh, even caring about the topic of transition and executing it really great. Thank you so much for yet again being so good at writing arcs.

9. Eridan and Sollux

I love them both and their weird toxic rivalty, and I absolutely love that you gave them some attention and let Eridan grow and try to redeem himself while also helping Sollux with hii2 p2iioniic problem2. I download almost every single frame of it.

10. YOUR ARTSTYLE

You're artstyle. I don't know where to begin with that. It's so amazing. Expressive, dynamic, cute, beautiful, colorful. I love every line of your comics. Your style is the way I always wanted to draw. It's just perfect. And also perfect for Homestuck fanfiction. It's just so similar, yet gives it a bit of softness as well as the kind of expressiveness I love, that makes every single shot more appealing. Warm scene are so warm, sad scene are so sad, dynamic scenes are so epic, it's like so delicious. Yes, I just ran out of words. Let me grab a dictionary...

Your style is outstanding. It gives me this feeling of familiarity, it's similar of Homestuck style, yet so different, its fresh and new while also feels like home.

I wish you have a printed version of your fanfiction (but I probably can't afford it sadly). There is something so soothing in this simple colors, it's not too loud, not too many colors, yet so many and smooth colorful lines. I will learn to draw like you, I'm sorry for adapting your style, but I really want to draw like that and you even posted some tutorials how to draw like you.

Thank you so so much that you put so much time and effort into making this wonderful comic and then share with all of us completely for free. You drew so many expressive pages, sometimes even 10 pages per static dialogue, which means you officially outbested the master of overdoing Andrew Hussie himself, that did maximum of 3 pages per 1 static dialogue scene. I noticed you slowed down a bit at the end and drew much more simplified panels as well as you started using same panels many times. Good. It's okay to go the easier way. No one wants you to overwork yourself and burnout. No one wants you to have trauma with drawing and not wanting to draw comic ever again. It's extremely generous of you that you posted for absolutely free such a wonderful and huge piece of art. I'm endlessly grateful.

11. The plot

I love how you started from one simple idea of giving Crow more arc, and then gradually extended it into a whole huge fixfiction. It went so smoothly it looked like really one different decision of one person can change the whole timeline. It went so naturally, it felt so realistic as if I read something that Andrew Hussie wrote as a coexisting canon.

I have to admit, the whole idea of not doomed and not canon timeline is pretty ridiculous, and I love every bit of it. Paradoxally, it sounds so much like something that could actually exist in Homestuck canon. I love it

A few little things I didn't like that much

I wouldnt be myself if I didn't comment on some stuff that wasn't perfect. I'll be bery brief with that, because these things didn't really bothered me that much, I just want to share a little bit of criticism I have.

I hope it won't sound rude when I say that I didn't really felt like you understand the character of Nepeta very well? She didn't felt that like Nepeta in your fanfiction, at least for me. I felt like some stuff were explained a bit too many times. I know that characters needed that, yet we as viewers already know some stuff and didn't need to read it again. Also, I really missed the type styles of characters. I know how hard it is to keep it through entire fanfiction, especially writing some of the characters with quite complicated type style. I just missed it a bit. On the other hand it made a few characters much more comprehensive.

I hope I didn't hurt you with this few words of critics. Now I want to share a few of my favorite pages, I hope you don't mind if I end this letter with fangirling over your drawings. I actually wanted to do a lot of comments during reading your fanfiction, but the website didn't let comments. Sadly. That's why I'm writing here. And now is time I will do what I wanted to do back then:

This scene, my fav scene in Homestuck, got so extended in your fanfiction, I felt so gifted and it wasn't even my birthday

I cried.

This. Made me laugh so hard. And it's even funnier without context.

I just reached photos limit. Sadly. I'm so grateful for your comic. I love it so much. Thank you again for making it. You're a wonderful person

Hey there! Thank you so much for the letter, and for taking your time translating it to English for me to understand. Since it’s in a list format, I guess I’ll answer as list as well! So:

Crow strider

It was challenging writing Crow because I needed to basically write Dave but with a twist in his personality due to living with the Harley-Egberts and their grandma, in a very cozy and caring environment.

Honestly I don’t think I managed to portray enough Daveness, his personality is very particular and difficult for me to replicate, but I did the best I could and my friend and editor will help me reach the right amount of striderness in the epilogue

2. A Dave for everyone

Indeed, there’s Dave for everyone. The homestuck epilogues made me realize how lonely Jade ended up, and I always loved Davesprite and jade, but with one being human and the other one a Sprite the relationship was bound to fail, and even tho I wasn’t fond of JadexDavepeta, still i would’ve prefered it to jade being all alone and Davepeta dying fighting Lord English. So now, not only Jade has Crow, and they’re happy, but the Karezi – davekat – daverezi mess all got fused into one, because I love them and their trip was a Little different from in canon. And also Davepeta is around, I don’t think they’ll end up with anyone, but they’ll vibe on EarthC.

3. More Davepeta

They’re alive, and I like showing the craziness that comes from them knowing all timelines but being above them and detached from them. 

4. The characters you didn’t use like

I like exploding underused characters. Because with them, you’ve only seen the Surface, but at the same time you have info about them that can be used to make them more profound. If Tavros got revived, why isn’t he mad at Vriska? What was he doing those 3 years in the bubbles? If Jasprose is a seer and has knowledge of all timelines due to being ultimate self, doesn’t that make her the ultimate clairvoyant? Doesn’t that mean she’s the key to winning? Does she miss the mother like rose does? If there’a already an Arquius, why make another? Why not have just Hal as a Sprite and have him figure out what being alive is actually like?. You get the Surface of the characters and knowing what you know about them, you dig deeper, until you find their humanity and write about it.

5. Godtier Karkat

I love Karkat on Homestuck, but I feel like the character lost weight towards the end of the story, he stopped being the leader and while everyone went and fought someone important like the Condesce, the jacks, the dogjack, or Lord English, he was just somewhere else doing whatever. I wanted to give him his hero moment that closes his development.

As for the door, I feel like in canon john was the right choice to open the door, he’s the hero and the leader, not to mention it’s a human session, it makes total sense and I wouldn’t change it

Every story has things that don’t get to be explored, because that would make them too long and cut the flow, making it unreadable. That why we love fan fictions and AUs so much, they take the pieces and reassemble them into something new, filling the empty spaces.

What makes the events on AUs fun is that they didn’t happen in canon. So if John opened the door in canon, and it was right, then Karkat can open this one, and it can be right on this specific timeline. He gets closure from the door he never got to open, and takes back his role as a leader, even if it’s just for a moment, since the battle is over by now. He’s the leader once again, but this time he understands the weight of it in a way he couldn’t grasp when he was 13, claimed he was in charge and let everyone down. He now understands it’s not just something you ask for, it’s something you earn, he’s now the Knight of blood, god of bonds, he took down the Condesce in the name of his species, and will open the door for his peers to enter the new universe they created together where they’ll create a free society, he became what the signless predicted, his rightful successor. His arc is completed.

6. Extended arcs

Jas was planned since the beginning to close crow’s arc about his rose and his regrets about leaving her behind. It’s only when he’s made peace with losing her, has left his old self behind and is ready to face the battle and his future, that he gets his reward. He gets her back, in the strangest way

With Nanna, i just though nobody ever focused that there was an actual adult around during the whole adventure, Nanna would’ve spent a lot of time around john and jade, them being each others remaining family. So I tried to give her the role of a guardian, breaking a Little with this “orphaned children on their own” that all characters have.

Honestly I tried to make it as interesting as I could, sometimes I would take characters that didn’t have any screen time and think, what can they do? What’s in their mind at this moment that they could tackle in conversation? And with whom? Who else needs screen time?. And that’s how you get, Jake and Tavros bonding, Nepeta, Fefeta, Davepeta and Feferi ship-chat, Arquius telling Terezi and Karkat about Erisol, Hal comforting Eridan, ect.

It’s actually a really cool writing exercise I do sometimes. I grab two characters that have nothing in common, and write a conversation between them. What’s the common ground? Are their stories alike in some way? Do they have a common hobby or worry? It’s really cool because you find stuff about the characters you never paid attention to before

7. Unlikely ships

Tavros and Jane came from me wanting Tavros to be more assertive. In canon Vriska instructed him to not interact with the Alpha kids during those 6 months, but since this Tavros doesn’t listen to her because he took self-esteem lessons from Rufioh, I felt like he probably spent that time actually being a guide to Jane and then becoming Friends while solving puzzles, Jane being a fan of mysteries and Tavros probably missing his flarp days. Also theres a funny thing about Tavros and Jane, and it’s Tavros is supposed to represent Peter pan, while Vriska is supposed to represent both Tinkerbell (she dressed up like a fairy for him and later became an actual fairy) being attracted to him but being short fused when rejected, and also represent Captain Hook, Peter pan’s enemy (with her flarp persona and her ancestor being a pirate), but she’s not Wendy in any way, and I feel like Jane is, she’s the homeschooled girl, with blue eyes who looked through her window waiting to be free because her father wouldn’t let her out (also Wendy’s brother was named john who used big glasses). She’s a normal girl coming in contact with this fairy boy from a world of only children. Idk, makes sense to me. (besides, Wendy darling’s daughter, who Peter pan later takes on adventures too was named Jane, who also has blue eyes)

Erisol and Arquius was a crack ship that suddenly made sense, because it’s one-sided, and I feel like arquius is a caring person, he just has a difficult time socializing like a normal person. He’s just really happy to be a sprite and is pissed by Erisol’s insistence on wanting to explode.

Also, Arquius promising Fefeta that he wouldn’t break Erisol’s neck unless he had a good reason ( he kinda wanted to) and eventually having to break his neck for the good reason of god tiering him (he now doesn't want to and feels bad about it) was something I planned for months

Josh and dirk, i think it’s funny. Dirk wouldn’t have dated jade because she’s a girl, but Josh is a boy so it’s good, AND, he’s like a more direct, version of Jake who takes no bullshit.

8. The topic of transgender

Originally the second spaceship post retcon was supposed to arrive empty, or with only Davesprite, but I saw an opportunity to solve a division in the audience. Some people were interested in John remaining as he was, while others wanted to see June. Since John never showed any doubts about his gender in canon, it wasn’t in my original plans for June to make an appearance during CSAU, because the comic only covered the same period of time as canon. But when it came time to write the retcon I realized I had an opportunity to make them both coexist, making a shift in the timeline, but said shift being there both since the beginning and for the purpose of surviving the recon. Making June and Josh a reality since the beginning, so the timeline would survive the consequences of the two Egberts crossing paths post retcon.

It’s nice to hear you liked it, I know not everyone did. I tried to be respectful but at the same time be true to the nonsensical nature of canon Homestuck that makes timelines twist and change to the story’s convenience, making the events real but chaotic. Also since i knew John’s dad wasn’t coming back and Jane’s dad wouldn’t make it, June would be the last remaining conection to John’s old home and so John would be June's, relying on eachother for comfort when it comes to the loss of their father and home.

9. Eridan and Sollux

I want to cover Eridan’s redemption in the epilogue, since all we know is he grew as a person during his time in the bubbles, leading to his change of heart interacting with Sollux and Kanaya

10. Art style

Thank you! I like to give the characters a full range of emotions and for the surroundings to accompany that

No need to be sorry for learning through my art, in the end my style, like everyone else’s, is bits and pieces from other artists we’ve seen, admired and/or learned from. Just make sure to add your personal touch to make your artstyle trully yours

It’s true that by the end I reused more static panels for dialogue, both because there was a lot for the characters to say, not that much action left, and my battery was running low haha

11. The plot

I tried my best for the story to be a big butterfly effect steaming from crow’s decision to ascend, working towards the most possible outcomes like Crow getting grimdarked by the Condesce too, the sprites surviving because of Nanna and so on

I wanted this timeline to coexist with canon because I don’t like the idea of overwriting it, canon happened and was important, CSAU just happened to be taking place close by

12. Things you didn’t like

I do in fact not understand the character of Nepeta very well, I reread Homestuck in order to get the original troll's personality better, but Nepeta is a character I don’t get. On top of that, she doesn’t appear much in CSAU so didn’t have much time to develop her.

I do struggle with over explaining, I think is stems from not wanting the reader to be confused (it has happened on discord that people come and ask me what was going on in the story when i thought I had written it in a way people could understand with no problems), which leads to me explaining everything too bluntly sometimes, so the characters sometimes ramble TOO much, and I wish I could go back and reduce the dialogs, but that would involve going back to the page’s codes to delete certain pages and replace others, and also changing the programming for the page’s backgrounds, not to mention my computer crashes when I try to modify pages too far back, since they’re 4000 of them. It’s one of those things I can only learn from and try to do better in the next project

The character’s typing was a core part of Homestuck because it was mostly portrayed as blocks of texts and the quirks made it easy to know who was talking even with people having the same typing color. The reason I didn’t use them it’s simply because I could barely write good enough in English, let alone add quirks. My friend offered me to add the quirks at some point when we were revising the dialogs, but I declined because some people found it easier to read without them and I didn’t want to add another step to the render of the pages.

13. Favorite pages

I also cried with that Gamzee panel, I planned it for months and i waited a long time to draw those last panels, I’m glad they made people laugh

Haha, also yeah, the Strider reunion got really extended with so many extra striders. Davepeta, Crow and Hal making the reunion complete

Thank you for this message! i'll do my best to write a good epilogue (which by now is actually a secuel) and i hope you have a great day🌻🌻🌻

[kaszuma]

Mockery | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 0 of “Certainly Yours”

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x fem!reader

summary: Mina Ashiro needed a team. But the moment she found one, she was at a loss at what to do when her Vice Captain and Lead Technician got off on the wrong foot.

warnings: Slight Kn8 B-side Manga Spoilers, Mentions of Soshiro struggling with self-worth, Mentions of slight animosity between you and Soshiro but nothing too major, First-time meeting, Mentions very few graphic depictions of slaying Kaiju.

wc: 9,712

–

note: Hello! Sorry for the long wait.

I originally planned to write Part 7 first. but decided to write Part 0 as a special chapter since I've hit a hundred followers. But by the time I finished, we hit 150. Thank you lots!!

There is less romance on this one, since it's a prequel to Part 1 of Certainly Yours. I originally wanted to incorporate a rivalry or an initial animosity between reader and Soshiro. So this was my best attempt on the subject.

There is a lot more interaction and inner pining because it's still in the initial stages in the relationship. And I had a difficult time cross referencing B-side manga with the things I've already written thus far. I’m disappointed we don't really have much information on Soichiro. And I have big plans to incorporate him in a separate part in much more excruciating detail later down the line. Involving jealousy..

Anyways. For now, I shall write Part 7 and give ya'll the comfort you need. Might be the big I love you's, you're looking for. Wink wink.

Also, please tell me if I missed any warnings. None of these are proof read and my phone lags really bad when I post 9k words worth of fanfiction.

–

The feeling of being needed was a foreign concept that Soshiro Hoshina had never experienced for himself.

The road that he paved himself had always been a lonesome one. Carved by the very callouses of his own fingertips. Where he'd dive headfirst into the nose of a cliff filled with criticisms and comparisons. The world familiar to him had always been accompanied by a sense of mockery for his craft. A sneaky way to bury his existence in the wake of the world that had been full of firearms and expert Kaiju exterminators.

In the face of it all, he had always been frustratingly average.

Not nearly as bright as the way his older brother had burned for the adrenaline of the battlefield. The use of firearms, specialized tools and weaponry that had been modernized to slay larger than life Kaiju. Had always been stacked against him. Someone who was not born with the innate ability to tackle such large threats. His use had been chained to the blade. One so sharp and pristined to the point of no return.

For as long as he remembered, it had always been like this.

Even before he had joined the Defense Force of his own volition. He had always felt inferior in the way his brother Soichiro had bested him in every sense of the word. A genius incarnation that had rarely been born into the Hoshina family's already impressive lineage. In a family who prided themselves as generational Kaiju-slayers.

By all means, Soichiro Hoshina was the perfect man born for the front lines. His presence alone dominated the field. Any Challengers he'd face would be a place where normal people would never be able to reach.

He mastered a variety of martial arts at a young age. Already flipping over instructors each time he was paired to a battle in an attrition of self-defense.

The sword techniques passed down within the generations of his ancestors, had all been perfected to improve upon his own. His sword an extension of his arm each time he wielded it. And in terms of firearms? Soshiro couldn't begin to imagine ever reaching the height of his brother's skill. The gap between them in terms of long ranged attacks had been far too large for him to delusionally think he'd ever make it. Let alone surpass.

And although their youngest was plenty good at the progress of his own swordsmanship. Soichiro was on an entirely different level than he was.

A genius, some would call him. A fact the younger Hoshina was far too aware of.

The dust he left behind when he ran forward was often a sight Soshiro was familiar with. Sweeping him off of his feet each time he'd issue a direct challenge with his older brother.

And although he hated to admit it. Soichiro Hoshina's existence was both an inspiration and a mockery to his own.

A frustrating truth that even he had no choice but to believe.

His enigmatic older brother had always been a person who was destined to become the Captain of the sixth division. And his junior of five years, who had not excelled in anything but his skill in close quarter combat. Had all but stood in his shadow, destined to live a much ordinary life as an instructor like his family suggested.

Not a single person expected him to keep fighting.

To keep swinging that blade of his which had been both a boon and bane for his existence in the defense force.

Each humorous jab, or critical comment directed his way, had always been replied with a simple smile on his cat-like features. Far too exhausting to correct the people who had never dreamed to understand what he wished for.

And even if they never did, even if no one ever believed that he'd be able to survive the chaotic life of killing a Kaiju with a blade alone. He'd fight tooth and nail if he had to, In an effort just to keep his style of combat alive.

Because swinging the sword had always been something he found extreme joy in.

He refused to let this be the written ending for his story. Refused to let fate decide on the path to his future actions. Not when his undoing had all been decided by his unlucky birth.

Had Soshiro existed in a different era, far away from Soichiro. Things may have turned out much differently, he imagined.

But alas, he was stuck fighting. Climbing the gritty stairs of progress. Dragging the heavy weights of his blades all the way to the bloody top. And It showed in the way he never stopped practicing. His personalized equipment had always remained in top condition. The sharp end of that thinly-cut mass of iron had always been razor edged and cut-throat in the way it was maintained. Not even a dent could be seen on the damn thing.

By all means the weapon he held had always been ready. Waiting in fact, for the day Soichiro would mess up and stumble.

And for some reason? Soshiro had a feeling that day would be today.

It was their usual four round duel. An agreement between brothers who'd meet up every afternoon at the end of their respective classes for the weekday. Books packed hastily in an effort to rush home so that they could clash blades in the open spaces of their house's courtyard.

It had been a daily routine at this point.

Often, Soshiro would be the first to come home. Dropping his bag onto the floor of his bedroom and rushing to wear his hakama which had been prepped on the foot of his bed. And the moment he puts it on, he shows no hesitation when he grabs an appropriately sized bamboo blade that he kept nearest his closet.

Soichiro, who was the last to come, had always returned home with his little brother already waiting for him at their usual spot. Stance wide and ready to begin their matchup.

And although he often found his determination awe inspiring.

The older brother was far too aware of his own blood's presence. His eagerness to catch him off-guard had been made clear. Always at the ready in the case he'd make a mistake so that he could close the gap in skill between them.

And Soichiro. Who was as equally as cunning as he is. Had always been one step ahead, at the ready for any of Soshiro’s practiced attacks that even he knew could catch up to him at any moment.

Genius my ass. What's the point of being called that when your younger brother was so close to surpassing you? His progress in the blade is abnormally fast.

And to Soichiro. It was utterly terrifying.

“Yer too stiff ya’ little wimp. How do you expect to swing and hit me when that stance of yours is too rigid.” Soichiro pointed out. His chin pointed at the darker haired boy's much smaller feet. The boy hadn't even hit a growth spurt yet. And at this point he had been much taller than Soshiro's current height. His little brother barely reached the waistband of his Hakama giving him an ample advantage in build.

“Tryin’ something new. Now shut yer’ trap and let me hit ya!” Soshiro replied. The same serious look plastered on his face.

And such a challenge is met by his brother's own smirk. “Quite the yapper today aren't ya?” He laughs.

“-Fine. If you managed to hit me once, I'll let you go at me for another round. That ‘a deal?”

“Don't even need to ask.” Soshiro smirks. And with quick footwork, the boy had already reached his older brother's inner circle.

His steps were precise in the way he wasted no unnecessary limbs in his movement. In three short steps he had been faced to face with him. The tip of his bamboo sword already pointed at the very sky. Ready to strike him in the shoulder in an attempt to have him drop his own weapon. A technique he had done plenty of times to Soshiro before.

But the braided haired boy had been quicker. More experienced for his age. Foreseeing the minor tells his brother would exhibit when striking his sword down. And he wastes no time, pouncing to the side. Narrowly avoiding the heavy hand that had almost hit him on the jugular. Where he knows would've hurt.

It was done in quick succession. Soshiro didn't even have time to realize that his brother had turned on his heel. His blade held with one hand, had swept the ground to hit his very ankle. Effectively throwing him off balance. Making Soshiro yelp as he landed on his rear. Sword slipping from the tight grasp of his fingertips which had not grown enough to garner a steady grip yet.

And he could hear Soichiro’s obnoxious laughter echoing from in front of him. Slapping his leg to try and calm his breathless laughter.

“Whoops, nearly thought you had me there didn't ya?” He places his free hand over his stomach whilst he slung his sword over his shoulder. Trying not to pop a vein while laughing so hard.

And the jolly expression on his face alone had made Soshiro grit his teeth.

“Hah!? One more round and I'll make ya’ eat dirt you big bonehead.” Soshiro had replied. Already scampering about to grab his sword from the sidelines. Readying his stance for another round.

But a little known fact about Soichiro is that his interests never linger on him for too long. Only allowing the younger boy a total of four rounds per day. No more, no less. Had that number exceeded. He'd spare no glance and show disinterest on entertaining the boy no more. And his laughter soon dies down.

“Nope, No way! That's the fourth loss in a row. That's ‘bout enough for today Soshiro.” The older boy shook his head nonchalantly. Fixing up the loose strands of his braid as he turned to walk away. Uninterested now that the battle had ended quickly.

“You coward–One more round! I ain’t done with you yet!!” Soshiro yelled. But he sees the way his older brother was already kicking the wooden sandals off his feet. Walking back inside where the scorch of the afternoon sun would not hit him. And mock reply he'd refuse much louder than before.

“Nope.” His mouth popped.

“Them's the rules, I'm afraid.. Now I’m starvin, let's go grab a bite to eat.”

He sees the way Soichiro had not spared a second to look back. Immediately making a beeline to the Kitchen where he knew a few snacks would be waiting for them.

But unlike the eldest, Soshiro had stubbornly stomped behind his brother. Trying his best to keep up with the older boy who had much larger strides in his steps.

“That ain't fair, you said you'd give me five rounds today!”

“I said I'd give ya an extra round IF ya’ managed to hit me. And beggars can't be choosers here seeing as how not one of your attacks managed to graze me at all.”

“-Looks like you'll need more trainin’ ya little twerp.” His hand had reached to pat him on the head. But Soshiro had slapped it away before it could ruffle the tips of his hair.

“Quit callin me twerp ya Bonehead! I'm not the one who's running away–Come back here so I can kick yer’ sorry butt!” He chased after him. A common sight for the household who often saw the siblings bicker with one another.

But Soichiro was too fast. The pleasant smile on his face remained as he grabbed a rice ball nearest the counter. All the while effectively avoiding the smaller one's tackles.

It had been a few seconds more before Soshiro would give up in his pursuit. The sound or his grumbling stomach made Soichiro want to laugh. But he figured he could spare the poor boy the embarrassment of pointing that out.

Eventually, Soshiro stopped. Grabbing a rice ball of his own, he chooses to sit at the tatami nearest the windowsill of their home. And with much delight begins munching on the rice ball with a fuming look on his face.

He hadn't given up..he’s just a little hungry. That's all. He reminds himself.

“One of these days I'll beat ya’ on the first swing. Just you wait.” And that sentiment makes his older brother smile.

“That so?” Soichiro replied. Sitting beside the younger boy who had taken large bites from his own food. And unbeknownst to Soshiro, a smile appears on the corner of his older brother's lips.

“Well, guess I should buckle up and train too. Wouldn't want my wimpy little brother here to get ahead of me. Now do I?” The younger one couldn't help but roll his eyes. Clearly unamused that his brother had taken to scorn him again.

“Train with what? You're already plenty good at everything else. Yer’ just being mean.” Soichiro couldn't help but chuckle at his brother's small pout. Already grabbing him another rice ball to hand to him, as a form of apology. And Soshiro wastes no time to accept his offer. Enjoying the fresh grains of rice wrapped in that salty seaweed sheet. A singular pickled plum had peaked from within the blankets of warm grains.

“Sure. But I ain't about to slack off and give ya an easy-win.” Soichiro chuckles. Though for some reason, his voice had been far kinder than usual. “-Besides…”

Soshiro pauses, raising a brow at his older brother who had stared at the golden rays nearest the open window. And a strange expression was etched on his very face.

“I'm willin’ to bet that someday..yer’ gonna find someone who's gonna need you. With or without that blade of yours.”

And he raises his head to meet his older brother's strange smile.

It had been a selfish, childish desire for sure. One that disliked the idea of his younger brother overlapping him one day. The sheer dedication and progress he had been making was a far cry to his own. But those words, he meant sincerely. And whether Soshiro was aware of that, he was sure that one day he'd at least think back on it as simply words of mockery to discourage him.

And he did not bother to correct him.

…

It had been a few years since then. And for some reason those words stuck to Soshiro like a moth with a lamp.

It was uncharacteristic of Soichiro.

Even after he cut ties with his older brother. He had always found that sentiment of his, strange. The enigmatic Soichiro did not usually go out of his way to comfort him. Let alone aid him in his training. In fact, he distinctly remembers all the times the braided haired boy discouraging him each time they dueled. Demotivated him to stop in his endeavors.

It wasn't uncommon for his anger to boil when it came to Soichiro’s demeaning behavior. His words, often echoing on days where he’d fail to prove his worth to the defense force.

And although he knew Soichiro was only teasing him. His constant onslaught of berations had made him think he needed to improve upon his flaws even more. His words of mockery, a lingering thought on the back of his mind that would've normally made a person give up. Had only strengthened his resolve. And his actions only lead to even longer strides of hard work that only evolved each passing moment he'd swing his sword.

So why was it that those words of his didn't sound like mockery at all?

Had his brother meant it? When he told him he'd find someone who'd need him with or without the skill of his blade?

It had been almost an entire decade since he last saw his brother. Who had gone straight ahead and became a captain of his own division. And Soshiro had just about joined the defense force. Hoping to prove his worth.

But that was easier said than done.

It wasn't until Mina Ashiro had walked in. Scouting him directly from the Kansai District. Offering him a chance to join the Third Division and rise to the top to become her Vice Captain. But even then, it had still felt like a blow to his existence who had been fighting just to stay in the game.

“I need your abilities. Will you join my force, Hoshina?” Captain Ashiro of the Third Division had spoken. Unabashed upon his entrance to her office. It had been one of those rare instances where he got to visit the Tokyo District. And he wondered if the woman in front of him was being serious in her resolve.

“Me?” He gives a wry chuckle. “Not sure I follow Captain.”

“You're a blade specialist. Yes?”

“That's correct.” He spoke with a weary formality.

“We can't overlook the possibility of miniature-sized Kaiju cropping down the line.” The Captain had spoken with determination. And her eyes meet Soshiro's with much the same determination she had when she first offered him a place next to her.

“When I need to shoot a threat, can I trust that you'll clear a path for me?”

…

Soshiro was frozen on the spot.

He was practically unable to answer her. Too shocked at the mere possibility of being offered a need for his skill with the blade. He had been forced to carry a gun with him before, and that didn't end well. Yet here she was, seeking assistance in a blade specialist who had so often struggled to keep up with entire platoons who had wielded firearms instead of steel.

So why now? Why was it when he resolved to only use blades did Captain Ashiro of the Third Division scout him out? Modern Kaiju of this day and age were large. Gigantic with plated shells that even firearms had struggled to pierce through. What good would a sword do in that situation?

And yet even then, he thought about it.

The possibility of fighting his way in the midst of soldiers who carried firearms and freezing rounds. The sheer thought of rushing forward and slicing Kaiju with the perfected combat abilities he had been polishing way before he had resolved to join the Defense Force.

But before he could resolve to make an answer, the door had opened. And you had entered the fray.

“Him? Well I suppose this isn't the first time the Third's willing to recruit strange people.”

Strange?

Soshiro had looked to the side. Catching a glimpse at your figure as you slowly closed the door behind you. Hands shoved to the front pocket of your lab coat as you walked right next to him. Saluting towards Captain Ashiro to formally greet her upon meeting her gaze.

“Captain.” You addressed. Right beside Soshiro. And you could feel his stares poking through your sides.

“At ease.” The Captain looks back towards him. “Officer Hoshina. This here, is the Third's Lead Technician. She's a weapons specialist and will be here to provide your support should you choose to join our division.”

The sweet smile on your face had not faltered. Taking you back to a relaxed stance as you came face to face with Soshiro’s own scrutiny. His raised eyebrow had been an indication of his hesitancy towards you.

Your eyes had made contact with his. And although squinted, you could see the glimpse of his wine colored eyes. Observing you thoroughly from head to toe.

You weren't exactly sure what was running in his thoughts at the moment. But his skepticism was met by a similar opinion of your own. Not entirely sure if he was as good as Captain Ashiro praised him to be. Though you had to admit, he was at least somewhat nice on the eye.

“I heard about you.” He tilts his head. Fox-like in his gaze. And a smile had stretched amusingly on the corners of your lips.

“Oh? Good things I hope?” He looked unbothered. Though in a sense that his kindness was only a front that he had all but gotten used to in hiding. Likely from your comment from earlier. And you had an inkling that he had a few things to say of his own. Sly in the way he'll word it.

”I suppose..” His reply was curt.

“Heard yer’ one of the few technicians that actually make Specialized Bioweapons, that about right?”

You nod. “Only for the strange ones.”

“-Ones that can't conform to the normalcy of standard firearms. Much like you, it seems.”

This makes Soshiro’s lips quirk. Suddenly very aware that your statement had been a jab of sorts. One he had gotten used to from his own division. And such a challenge was directly and expertly countered back in tandem.

“Well yer’ not so normal yourself ya’ know?” His accent had been made much clearer. And your eyebrows raise. Slightly irate in the way he jabbed at you. Though you let him continue, just to see if he could keep up with his own feist.

“-Heard you were the Technician that was kicked out for bein’ so stubborn to work with.”

And you had to hold back a wry chuckle. It seems his smile had a few sharp claws to fight back with. “So you've heard.”

“-But I suppose you too are used to that very sentiment, yes?” Your words seem to make that easy smile of his falter slightly. It was a miniscule comment, but judging by the way he had remained silent. The tension of the room grew weary as the two sparked a similar glare for each other. And although he found the situation slightly amusing, his displeased conversation had definitely soured his thoughts of joining.

Maybe the Third Division wasn't the place for him either.

What were the chances he'd have a different point of view should he switch divisions now? Your existence proved the very mockery his brother had implied. His Father who was normally supportive had not praised him for wanting to join the Defense Force when all he had was his skill in the blade. And the thought alone is enough to convince him otherwise.

Captain Ashiro's offer had been tantalizing, but not definite. And he has half a mind to excuse himself before things could escalate.

But as luck would have it. Captain Ashiro had been observant. Her intentions were never to have them be at odds with one another. And she clears her throat in the hopes she could ease the tension in the room slightly.

Administering as the only superior officer in the room. Who needed to take much responsibility.

“Sleep on it, Hoshina. We could use a close combat specialist like you out there.”

And whether or not she meant that. There hadn't been much time before an alert went off. A pin placed on his thoughts as he had found himself participating with the Third's mission to exterminate acid spitting Kaiju on the eastern side of the Kanto region.

…

Despite his hesitance. The thought of it still remained. And as if magnetized, he found himself willingly transfering to the Third Division. Somehow surviving a Kaiju attack that he had helped fend off with Captain Ashiro's help.

His sword. One he brought with him from back home. Had all been melted to the hilt. Its black steel had an unnatural wave of color on it. A result of his reckless actions when he remembered having to cut through the insides of a Kaiju's mouth. Saving both himself and a child from being devoured and melted.

Had Captain Ashiro and Okonogi; the Third's Lead Operations gal. Not hac impeccable timing, he was sure he would've been dead meat by now. And yet here he was, alive coupled with only a few bruises on his sore body.

After a few days, he had recovered fairly well since then. Deployed from the hospital after a back and forth discussion between the Tokyo and Kansai district. And he had finally gotten permission for his official transfer. h

His things were readily packed as he made his way to the bunkers of Tachikawa's base.

And just as he had stared at the broken blade, he had debated on whether or not he should've just thrown it out to get a new one.

It took ages to convince the Kansai district to forge him a blade. Steel that could withstand the strength of Kaiju skin. Or have a high enough melting point so that the acidic burns of its saliva and stomach were not affected by it. But that type of material was hard to come by. Let alone, he doubts command would grant him access to such weaponry when he had done nothing to prove his usefulness.

So even then, when he had been given the minimum necessity, he had been careful in its uses. Unsure whether or not his platoon leader would allow him to be given a replacement blade when he had so little opportunity to showcase his skill infield.

He’d likely have to ask Platoon Leader Ebina for a replacement. He had so few extra blades to spare. But the Third had at least been kinder to him than his last division. Surely they'd grant him better access to the weaponry of his choice, right?

Though just as he loathed the thought. His footsteps halted.

And in the middle of the empty hallways, nearest the corner where the sleeping quarters should be. Your eyes had met with his once more. The first time in a while since your encounter in the confines of Captain Ashiro's office.

“It's you.” You had spoken.

Suddenly aware that he had been staring at the broken blade in his hand. Unfazed by the heavy duffle bag he had carried with his other arm. The sudden softness of your voice had been unexpected to say the least. Given the last animosity you both displayed towards each other.

You walked closer to inspect the melted steel. Having already heard the report from Captain Ashiro’s latest mission. And for a moment, he feels as if you had looked almost displeased at the weapon. Guilty for having assumed the worst of him. “Looks like the acid's melted it down. I assume you have a spare?”

He nods. Sheathing the broken shortsword back in its holster. Making it look like it hadn't been broken at all. “That's right. Though I ain’t excited that I'm gonna hafta' throw another one out.”

This makes you smile. And his eyes had widened ever so slightly at the sight of your pretty teeth

So that's what you looked like when you smiled.

“Figures. It isn't very common for people to use steel against Kaiju nowadays. Let alone swords.” You spoke slowly. And this time, you see the way his mouth visibly frowns. A stark contrast to that usual unbothered smile of his when you had first met him.

“Well I ‘spose I'm not your common folk.” He spoke tight-lipped. And you cringe inwardly at your thoughtless words.

You hadn't meant that. A force of bad habit it seems. One that came from a place of wanting to help.

A soldier’s life, especially one that dealt with monstrous Kaiju, had always tipped the balance between life and death. And you had thought it reckless to see him remain stubborn when you first heard your Captain praise Soshiro's skill in the blade. Your impression on him, had made you think he was a reckless fool who did not value his life. At least not enough to learn how to handle firearms.

Though now, after having witnessed his actions through Okonogi and a few key witnesses from that day. You knew that you had been wrong in your assumptions. Planning to make amends the only way you knew how.

Your place as a Technician who could only fight through the weapons you made. One that you hoped would help people survive. Even for just a minute longer, just to make a difference.

“I didn't-” Your words were cut short. Not entirely sure why your voice had cut from the tip of your tongue. So instead you move closer grabbing the hilt of his blade from his fingertips. And that alone makes Soshiro tilt his head in confusion. “Here, let me have a look.”

And he watches you admire the weight and feel of the weapon. Staring at the black leather hilt that he had so often found himself gripping. Enough to cause a few dents in the area. Only further proving his dedication to his craft. But he did not understand your actions. Far too vague in deciphering you when he barely knew much to tell if your actions had been one of curiosity or just sheer brazenness.

“Do you…have something against me? Or is there somethin’ I’m missing here?" He blurts out. Unsure if your earlier comments were made from a place of ignorance or as a way to insult his way of fighting.

And your eyes had so easily pried from the blade and back to his face. Surprised that the relaxed persona of his had momentarily disappeared.

And for a second, you felt the weight of added guilt in the way you had addressed him earlier.“Against you? No, I-”

You sigh. “Not really. If anything I'm interested in you.” Managing to blurt out, almost frowning at the way you stumbled to admit that. Somehow that had been hard to say in front of his face.

“That so?” He tilts his head with a smile. “And here I was, under the impression that you hated my guts.”

You had half a mind to roll your eyes. Make another comment that might've irked his feathers for a bit. But you stopped yourself. Finding the smile on his face much more pleasant than you had imagined. A far cry from the masked practiced one he had adorned when you first met him with. And this time, you had made an effort to be more sincere.

“You've gained my trust.” You simply spoke. This time in a much more pleasant tone than you had anticipated. “I was wrong. I misjudged your confidence for stupidity.”

His eyes had trained over each other. And silence swept over them before you spoke hesitantly once more.

“I thought you were unwilling to adapt to change. But I see now you are much more careful than I anticipated.” Your admission makes him look away momentarily. Suddenly unused to such sincerity after their last meeting.

“Your skill in the blade is impeccable. And instead of being stupid, I'll replace your weapon for you.”

He raises his brow. Not entirely sure what you were getting at until you held the weighted blade with one hand. Unused to the way you had spoken softly this time. Almost apologetic even.

“You mean replace my weapon of choice?” He had assumed as much. Maybe you’d hand him a gun and see just how terrible he'd be at it. But you had almost smacked yourself on the head for wording things so vaguely.

“No.” Your reply was immediate. Making it clear that you had not meant to insult his skill in swordsmanship. That much was for sure. And maybe that had been the first spark that finally got through the both of you. That you had not meant to offend each other. Not this time.

“I meant–the material your weapon is made out of. It's barely functional, let alone made for slicing thick-skinned Kaiju. I didn't mean too.. yeah.”

Your words had caught his throat dry. And Somehow the awkwardness you had displayed had made him chuckle in response. Amused in the way you too, had stumbled in your words when you had so confidently spoken to him last time. He wonders if you were even the same person who'd responded with the feist he had experienced first-hand. Jabs and all.

Normally conversations like these would lead to persuasion. A simple comment to get him to use other weapons. To give up on his hard work with the blade.

By all means, he was used to the impracticality of his craft.

He was good with the blade. A prodigy some would call him. But his weapon of choice had not been suited for practical use. Often delegated as a Martial Arts technique, required to join the Defense Force as a form of experience.

But it seems he had forgotten who he was talking to.

For you had not been a very practical person either. A technician who made specialized weapons for the odd who would not dare conform to the standard way of fighting a modern Kaiju. And this time, he understood the words you had struggled to say out loud. Your apologies were clear, and you wanted to help. Even if you did look adorably helpless in trying to offer that option to him. “So, what I'm getting at is that, yer’ offering to help me. Yeah?”

“Yeah. Cause I have no idea how you survived for this long with such a flimsy weapon.”

“‘Scuse me?” He couldn't help but laugh a little more. Finding your bluntness a charm. Your aura had been quite different from his initial assumptions. And it seems you were just a bold individual who was unafraid of speaking the truth if need be.

And the thought alone made him smile. Much more genuine in the way he realized he'd be faced with.

“Normally people just tell me that I'm bein’ stubborn by sticking to the front lines. But never that..” He chortled again. Finding the amusement almost breathtaking to stand upright.

And the sound of his laughter had been similar to the pretty bells you once heard during the peak hours of a windchimes's ring. Nice and genuinely pretty.

If he had laughed like that everyday, it might make things a little harder for you to deal with. But you ignore the quick pace in your heart strings. Rolling your eyes as if nothing changed in your demeanor.

“Oh please. I've seen it from the Operations Room. You're more than capable. But the weapons they've given you are…subpar to say the least.”

“-If you actually want to do more, you're gonna need a stronger steel base than this.” You had flicked your finger against the holster of the blade. And the sound of contact had echoed to his ear. And suddenly he is all too aware of that soft smile plastered on your face.

A confidence brimming in you that told him all he needed to know. A thought that you'd help him. To stick by his side and pave a way for him. Starting with a better weapon.

“And I can help you. If you let me.”

“Oh. So you're offering to fix my blade for me?”

“Even better. I'm offering you specialized blades. Ones that won't break so easily.” You beamed. And the sight of your eagerness had made him almost giddy. It almost sounded like a pipe dream in the way you had offered no hesitance in supporting him. It was a breath of fresh air amidst the many who had given up on him.

“Though of course, you'd have to rise through the ranks. Command will only authorize special made weapons for the strongest Officers after all.”

“Like Captain Ashiro?” He had spoken out of turn. A tilt on his head at the memory of her rather peculiar specialty. “I assume you'd want someone who can dish out firepower as strong as hers.”

It was no secret that the Captain of the Third Division had an unusual affinity for firearms. Her large weapon was akin to a cannon, fit to destroy larger than life Kaiju should they appear before them. But you had all but shook your head at his comment. Already one step ahead to stop his doubts from formulating. And somehow, despite the difficulty in reading him. You found yourself able to at least grasp a feeling of his inferiority. One that had been beaten down on his very body that had made you feel guilty at the words he endured.

The very same words you've mocked him with.

“No. The rest of the command can have Mina Ashiro for all I care. It's you I want.” You pointed to him. your finger squarely on his chest. And he hopes you couldn't feel the vapid way his heart was hammering upon its contact with the fabric of his standard uniform jacket. Eyes fixated at your determination and unexpected confidence in him.

“But why? Wouldn't ya’ prefer someone more capable in both long and close range weapons?”

“Like who?” You had inquired. And suddenly his thoughts shift to that amazing but annoying recruit he's encountered during his entry exams. One that he had formed a small rivalry with since they had entered the force right around the same time.

“Maybe someone like Gen Narumi?” He shrugs. Though you could tell he was hesitant in his choice of words. Which makes you chuckle. “The soldier who requested a ridiculously large bayonet? No.”

Somehow that made Soshiro visibly relaxed.

“He’s good but there's nothing I can do that can help him further. But you on the other hand?”

He raises his brows. Seeing the way you tilt your head forward towards him. And his breath is caught on his lungs, unencumbered in the way you speak your mind openly and in confidence towards him. Comparison did not exist in your mind. And from the look on your eyes, there had not been an edge of doubt in the way you responded almost immediately to his doubts.

“I'd be a pretty bad Technician if I didn't see your uses beyond that sword of yours.”

“So ya need me?” He spoke incredulously. And although it embarrasses you, you give him a curt nod. That makes a chuckle escape from his lips. “And suddenly I'm beginin’ to feel special since I joined the Third Division.”

“Well, it's true. The rest may not be able to see it. But I know it.” You paused. Looking at him in sincerity. One that he was not used to seeing. And he flinches upon your hand grabbing his own. Feeling the way his skin had rich blisters that had been replaced with heavy calluses over the time he spent training.

“You'll save more lives than I can count, and the only way you'll do that is if you're given a proper blade.”

“-Created by yours truly of course.” You let go of his hand. Hopefully he hadn't noticed the red tint on your cheeks as you looked away. And his laugh is the first thing you hear that makes you want to admire his pretty face.

“Yer crazy..” He shook his head.

Though more of a vapid insult. The smile remaining on his pretty lips had indicated it was done on jest. And for a moment, you were suddenly all too aware of how husky his voice had been, or how much taller he had shadowed over you. Or how much better he looked when he smiled.

And you find yourself taking a few steps back. The broken blade already slotted on your shoulder. Ready to take it to your lab and get a head start on designing a suitable prototype for him.

“So I've heard. But the Third Division is already full of that, don't you think?” And he couldn't help but nod. Watching the way you had slowly walked passed him. Already unused to the given space you had provided. For a moment, he wished you had held his hand longer. It had made him miss the warmth of your closeness from earlier.

“I suppose so. It's a lot different from the Kansai district, I'll give ya’ that.” He turned. Watching as you retreated slowly. And with a single glance, you had all but piqued the very last of his interest.

Suddenly, it was like getting caught on a hook. And he’s afraid he'd be seeking you out everyday. If he can help it.

If you’d allow it.

“If they couldn't make you shine then I'll make sure to pave that way for you. No kaiju is gonna break that sword of yours.” You turn around. Already taking a step forward. Hiding your pink face from his sight. Which he was admiring rather languidly had you not turned your head.

“You have my word.” You had finished off. And before he could even reply, Soshiro was left in the empty hallways of Tachikawa base.

The sudden absence made him slacken, who had gotten so used to your comforting presence. But in spite of his disappointment, he somehow found himself smiling on his own.

It sure is strange hearing someone say that to him.

Mina Ashiro may have been the first to ask of him. To request an offer for his help in the field. His assistance would prove helpful in the face of her attacks, which was made for long ranged weaponry. And he had finally gotten a chance to prove his worth to the defense force. By means of paving a path to slay the Kaiju that got in her way.

But you had been the first to offer that yourself. To pave a path for HIM should any Kaiju get in HIS way.

You offered him a chance to shine.

And he'd be damned if he doesn't reach that expectation of yours.

The one who had challenged him to go beyond a greater height than he had ever envisioned himself climbing. To be needed.

It wasn't after half a month later had he come back boasting the highest melee kill count from small to midsize threats of Kaiju. His actions ebbing a spark in the third's outlook on Bladed users. Inspiring a few onslaught of officers to join a few joint training sessions held swordsmanship. The Kendo match between districts has become a much more popular feat than before.

Now, learning the blade wasn't a simple formality anymore. It had been another path forward. And although only a fool would continue to wield a blade instead of the practicality of long ranged weaponry. Hoshina Soshiro had been that very same fool. He who pushed forward like a madman and insisted on using his signature shorthanded blades, despite the odds stacked against him

And Mina Ashiro had placed a great deal of faith in him. Enough to promote him to a platoon leader. And eventually a Vice Captain of the third Division.

And your eyes had never lingered elsewhere in his pursuit.

Often following his line of sight when you'd seen him train on the very confines of the training room. And even now, you had stared directly at him. Unable to look away.

Not when he had entered your lab with the unusual formality of his standard uniform. His star studded pin hooked on the left side of his jacket's chest. An insignia that had been a symbol of his inauguration as the new Vice Captain of Third Division's upper ranks. His title attained by the mere fraction of his efforts and hardwork.

And you dare not face him with such petty grievances like you had in the past. A smile etched on your pretty lips as you greeted him in a mock salute. As if to tell him you had been expecting this day to come.

“Took you a while, Vice Captain. I almost thought you'd given up on me.” Your joke had made him let out a chuckle. Closing the door behind him as he walked up to your place nearest the desk.

“And miss out on yer’ startled face? Never.” He had spoken more informally than you had imagined. Which made you drop the mock salute you had given him. Rolling your eyes as you moved to stand. Heading to the next desk over as he followed you suit.

“I think you're the one that should be startled.” You had hinted with a giddy giggle.

The correction made Soshiro tilt his head. A sort of curiosity washing over him. And you watch as he closes the gap between his and the proximity of your bubble. Braving to graze his shoulders against you as he crosses your side. Eyes magnetized in the way it had seen your pretty smile. “Oh. Didya' have a surprise for me? Didn't peg you as someone who gave gifts often.”

And you lean forward, nearest his chest. As if to whisper your little secret that you've been meaning to show him for a while now. “In case you forgot, let me remind you.”

Upon landing his gaze on the small glass case on the desk, you had moved your hands to slowly remove the top cover. Revealing the two refined swords around the same length of his arms.

The outer casing, its holster. Was tinted purple like his dark hair. The hints of military green had no doubt matched that of their Combat Suit's design. And it veered to life the moment his eyes fell upon the familiar insignia of the Third Division's logo atop of its hilt. A sign that this weapon had been his.

Well at least, he assumed as much. Judging from the proud and almost excited look on your face. “I finished your swords.” You spoke factually. “Just need your verdict on the matter.”

His eyes had widened. This had been a stark difference from his previous blade. The way it was made was measured perfectly to the length of his arms. The sword bent in a grip for just the way he preferred it to. And its tip? The one where a pivot was placed had been an indication that it was designed so that he could connect the two blades. Form it into one long sword, if he truly wished to.

That alone was an indication that this was likely not a normal melee. Made of simple bronze or steel.

No.

This was a bioweapon. Made from Kiaju to kill Kaiju. One that was only granted to the strongest in the Force. One that had been ready for his use. Built in custom to his preferences. And their eyes met, only confirming his suspicions when she had given him an awkward shrug of her shoulders. Acting as if invisible ink had occupied the space between their feet.

“I said I'd make you a weapon that won't break easily, didn't I?” In an instant, a hot flush billowed in his cheeks. Much the same when your normally hidden shyness had finally resurfaced.

The rare times it did, he couldn't help but stare. Far too enraptured in the gap that had swung between your feist and your awkward responses. And he nods in turn. Suddenly aware that you had been doing such a task so diligently to perfection. “I don't know what to say. I didn't think you'd actually make it.”

You hear him chuckle. And your shoulder had pushed him forward. Towards the weaponry you had made for him.“Go on, it's not like anybody else can use it.”

Soshiro had looked at you, hesitant in the way you had so readily offered him such a gift. Your words had been proven in the way your assurances hit his heart. And his hand had a mind of its own as it grabbed the hilt of the blade. Sliding its cover right off so he'd have a chance to see the refined structure of the thinly cut mass of iron.

One he had been accustomed to weilding since he had been born.

Though instead. He was met with the dark shade of a similar material. Stronger than Iron, nor any steel for that matter. It was a blade far too distinct to forget. Luminous in orange hues as if it burned with the same heat that had allowed him to move in the enhancement of his suit.

And it had been clear this weapon was far stronger than the rest of his blade. Bound to cut a Kaiju's outer shell much easier than his previous ones would let him.

And the light one that breathed with an eery calm had reflected his own wine red eyes on the blade. The very movement caused a sound cutting through air when he'd expertly move it with his fingertips.

A sight of which had glued your eyes onto him. Finding his stupor rather mesmerizing than usual. His concentration had not been a rare sight for you, especially when you had caught glimpses of the many nights he'd spend alone in the training room.

But being this close. Seeing the joy nipping at his face. Somehow it makes your heart flutter strangely. And you had to shake your head to snap yourself out of admiration for the man. Suddenly focusing your attention back to blade one which vyed for his approval.

“So, do you like it?”

Soshiro had hummed. The usual grin on his lips remained unphased despite the giddiness in his chest. “Mmm...I ‘spose it's subpar at best.”

“Excuse me? Rude.” He laughs at your comment. And he puts the blade back in its holder. Already placing it on the back of his waist, right where it belonged.

“I'm kidding.” He spoke immediately after. A laugh bellowing from his abs. Though your scrunched nose had made it difficult for you to believe his immediate reply.

“No, I'm serious. You've outdone yourself sweetheart. Never seen a sword this sharp before..” He looks you over, admiring the easy smile on your face. That and the nickname seems to have made your cheeks flare up in surprise.

And he had to remind himself to engrave that very image of you on the back of his mind. Fearing that he may never get to see such a sight again.

“Well say that first! It's kind of difficult reading your facial expressions, you know?” You huffed. Though the easy laughter of his had remained. And a smile soon replaces your hefty frown.

“Sorry, sorry. Is there a price I hafta pay ya’? You know, for making me such a nice weapon and all that.”

You shrug, scooting your way right in front of him where he could just as easily close the gap between the two of you.

Have your chest pressed up against his, hand gripping the plush of your lower back. Admiring the gentle way you'd likely stare up at him with flamed cheeks. But he stops, already feeling too guilty to indulge himself further. And your reply had been quick enough to distract him from any incoming thoughts that had pushed his mind to try and get closer to you.

“Only your help, when it comes to a few suit upgrades.”

Help huh? He supposes this would be a good excuse to go see you more often. Though the simplicity of such a task was a little more suspicious on your part. And he had an inkling you had a few things in mind that involved more than just that.

But then again. He couldn't exactly read you either. Not completely at least.

Not yet.

“Quite demanding, aren't we?” He nods.

You had rolled your eyes at his teasing.

“You're the one that offered. But fine, be like that.” You had crossed your arms. Already backing away, and you had felt the way he had firmly pulled you back. Hand against your elbow. Making you face him whilst he tilted his head in your direction.

“Now, now..I never said anything about refusing you didn't I?” He chuckles. And the deep rumble makes your stomach churn in small caterpillars. Ready to form butterflies should he continue.

“Wasn't that already implied?” You spoke. Aware of the way his palms had steadied you by the elbows. The hint of warmth against his skin was almost tantalizing to make you lean forward. But before you had the chance to, he let you go. Leaving only an inch of space between the both of you.

“Shh..” His finger had raised itself against your lips. Shushing you before you could make another smart quip at him that was sure to insight another bout of witty banter. One that he knew he'd grown accustomed to in the future.

“I was just messing with ya'” He laughs. Only confirming that he had been hooked indefinitely by you. And he moves his free hand to tug your hair behind your ear.

“Do you, or do you not want to help me?” You had asked incredulously. Already finding his musings rather annoying. But the way he looked at you had your breath caught in your throat.

His gaze, although clouded by the silent promise to himself. Had not seen the way you too had a similar look on your face. And whether or not you had been aware of this promise. It doesn't fail to make your heart pick up its pace. His voice was almost reminiscent of prayer when he spoke your name in a whisper.

“I do want to help.” He spoke slowly. And your eyes flutter closed wondering if his touch would linger for a bit longer. But his fingertips remained curt. Pulling back just as soon as it grazed your skin.

“And how do I know you're being serious?”

“All ya’ have to do is call me. And I’ll Certainly be Yours, if you want me to.”

And he meant it. He was sincere in his intention to get close to you. To help you like you had sworn to him. Use his skill to protect you, should you ever need it.

And somehow, he is reminded of the time his brother had spoken to him long ago. Back when they were kids, dueling with simple bamboo swords back in the peace of their own home. Eating those childhood rice balls in the afterhours of their respective schools.

Soichiro be damned. Because somehow he was correct in his predictions. His words were every bit of a mockery to his craft. And although it was a rare sight to have him be soft in his presence.

Somehow, that was the one time he did so dissolutely.

And now, it looks like he's found someone who needs him. With or without that blade of his.

And this time, there was genuinely no sense of mockery in the way he had met you.

He only hoped he wasn't too late.

[itsagoodluckkiss]

Hi, I wanted to make a request about Luffy x female reader. The reader is feminine but clumsy, emotionally-reserved, unexperienced and kind-hearted. Smart and funny, with a soft spot for Luffy. . As for the plot, "she fell first, but he fell harder", slice of life with a little angst would be perfect. I'm desperate for fanfiction about first experience in everything kinda stuff. I'm not a minor, so it would be very good to see some sensual and awkward smut. I would be glad to read anything you'll write about Luffy x female!reader and I hope that you liked my request (^o^)/ sorry for bad english

It's Okay ~ Luffy x F!Reader

First of all, thank you for being my first request, you made me really happy and I'm really sorry for the really long wait, we had a really rough couple of months. Also, it's the first smut I've ever written so read this with patience. English is not my first language either and I'm sorry for any mistakes. Anyways, I had fun writing this, I hope you'll like it, lots of love!

Words: +3k

Warnings: hurt/comfort, op spoilers, ptsd, mentions of character death, comfort sex, smut with plot, oral (f!receiving), virginity loss (both), unprotected sex, cockwarming, fluffy ending kinda?, no use of Y/N

MDNI

Quiet days on The Thousand Sunny were as rare as mythical zoans. Not only because of dangerous encounters but also because of how calm the whole crew was today. Even your walking ray of sunshine captain was not as wild as usual. But you couldn’t really complain as you could focus on your task in silence.

The tailor of the crew, responsible of sewing, stitching and mending every piece of fabric on the ship. And that included the sails. Strong winds the night before managed a large tear and the next island was a couple of days away. So you had a job to do. Standing on a rope ladder, you effortlessly worked through the sails with elegance. Every piece of fabric in your home deserved care, as you’d always say when you mended the torn up clothes of your crew mates.

You were proud you could provide your family with loved and cared clothes and everything else they needed, top priority along with the dream of becoming the best tailor the seas had ever seen. Your mind wandered away to the smile of your captain every time you placed the fixed straw hat you came to love so much on his head, while you automatically repaired the sail. But your gracefulness started and ended at the needle in your hand.

Looking away into the sea for one second resulted in you prickling your finger. The sudden feeling caused you to lose your step and balance and you yelped as you fell from the ladder, expecting a hard fall and a trip to Chopper’s infirmary. But the land never came, arms wrapping around your frame, drawing you to somebody’s embrace. In fear, you wrapped yourself around your savior’s waist like a koala, your flower patterned dress coming up slightly. Your face went to the crook of his neck for one second, immediately recognizing who it was, and you raised your head to look at him in embarrassment.

“Hi there!”

“Luffy, thank you, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s alright. Was on my way to check if you needed help. Guess I was right.” he said laughing.

You smiled and hugged him tightly as he put you down on the deck. You were embarrassed, part of it because of your own clumsiness, another part because of the way Luffy’s hands lingered on your waist before letting you go.

“Are you almost done? Picked up a new card game from the last island and I want to play with you.”

“Oh, ah, I, I still have some, some work to do...?”

You didn’t. You also didn’t know why you said that. You said a lot of stupid stuff lately. You loved spending time with your captain, especially when you knew there wouldn’t be a crazy fight following you in a few hours. Falling in love with his brown eyes, his goofy and brave personality and his loyalty to his friends was the reason you said yes to joining the Straw Hats after you helped them save Robin in Ennies Lobby.

But ever since you returned to Sabaody, it’s gotten harder to contain the feelings for your first love. The other night while you two were keeping watch and talking about things you loved, an “I love you” escaped your lips without thinking, proceeding to an inept attempt to cover it by saying how you loved he is such a loyal friend. You felt the blush rushing to your cheeks as you looked again on his face and noticed something you were seeing more and more these days. His trademark smile was reduced to a small upward line and in his eyes there was a gleam of sadness. You couldn’t have that.

“It’s fine, I’ll see you around later I guess-”

“On another note, I can always finish it later. Let’s go play, Captain!”

And you grabbed his arm, running like a child playing chase across the deck toward Nami’s tangerine trees, laughing as you tripped on your two left feet, Luffy holding you upwards and laughing in the process, always there to catch you.

~

The ship was in motion, light rain falling from the night sky as Luffy found himself walking aimlessly on the empty deck. His black hair tousled, his straw hat dangling from the string around his neck, his posture slumped, trying to find some sort of relief in the breeze that hit his face. His trembling hands grip the railing, his gaze lost towards the vast ocean, unable to back focus on anything but his most recent nightmare. Memories of Ace's death spreading, like poison in his veins, once again. He tried to steady his breathing but failed as hot tears run down his cheeks, silent sobs leaving his body, trying not to wake up his crew. He hadn’t talked to anyone about Marineford. There was no reason for his friends to see him in that weakened state. He could tell that everyone felt guilty because they weren’t there for him, he didn’t want to feed that ugly feeling inside them.

You felt restless, worry prickling your skin like a hundred needles at once. Sleep wouldn’t do you a favor so you hoped off bed to get some fresh air on the deck and some moments of peace to think. Luffy’s sad eyes lingered in your thoughts. You couldn’t help but think about how much he had changed since you first met. You remembered the scrawny, eager, brave boy he was. Now his hair was longer and spikier, and he looked stronger than ever before, he was almost a man. Despite his carefree looks, a lot had changed about him. Yes, he was still as eager and resilient and determinated as ever, yet more mature, as much as maturity applied to him. And that big scar across his chest was the only testament of the fight he gave alone two years ago, as he hadn't talked to any of you about it. Not that he had to. You all knew you would wholeheartedly give him the support in any form he’d need. You’d do what you knew best. Take care of the people you loved. And from the moment you joined the crew, you knew your heart belonged to the straw hat captain.

You spotted Luffy in the front of the ship. It was unusual for him to be up and alone this late at night. Your eyes filled with concern, you walked closer to him as you noticed the trembling in his form, worry rising in your chest. Your hand caressing his shoulder slightly, you didn’t want to scare him or make him feel worse.

"Luffy?" you asked softly, voice barely audible over the wind.

Luffy wiped his tear streaked face quickly and tried to control his heavy breathing, wanting to be like his usual self, even if he knew it was too late for acting.

“I…”

He took a deep breath trying to hold it all in. He was the one that was supposed to help people through their crying and problems, to protect them. He couldn’t protect his friends in Sabaody, he couldn’t save his brother. He swore he’d never let anything like those things happen again. He didn’t want to be seen as weak. Not again. Not in front of his crew. Not in front of you.

“It’s okay, Luffy.”

His eyes met yours, a warm and safe gaze, always inviting and full of love, ready to be a place of comfort and joy to anyone that needed it. You wrapped your arms around his shoulder and back, taking him in a comforting embrace. His arms went immediately around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as silent sobs left him once again. He hugged you tightly, hyperventilating as he let every last feeling of grief and pain out. You felt your eyes well too, the pain your favorite person carried alone enough to make you want to scream.

“It’s okay… you’re okay… it wasn’t your fault…”

“I couldn’t… I thought you… were all dead… and… I was right there… I couldn’t save him… he left… in my arms… it should have been me!”

Your heart ached listening to Luffy's sobs, tears running down your face as well. You pulled back slightly, cupping his face in your hands, and looked into his red, puffy eyes.

“Listen to me! Don’t say that again, ever! We all know you’d never let us down. You did everything you could, Luffy, you always do, and it’s enough for us." You said, voice shaking, carrying all the sincerity in the world. "And you always were there for him. You gave everything you had! He loved you so much and you saved him because you showed him how loved and cherished he was! You're still doing everything you can to keep his memory alive. That's what he would want! Don’t do this to yourself, please.”

You wiped the tears off his face and squeezed his cheeks like you usually did when you shared food and laughs together, managing to drag out a small smile from the boy.

“How about we go grab some tea and biscuits from the kitchen before Sanji comes down from his watch and go to my room?” you suggested, knowing Luffy would never say no to food.

“It’s on!”

Stealth wasn’t your strongest suit as you somehow always managed to hit on something. And with Luffy beside you, havoc was almost always certain. Getting out of the kitchen as fast as you could, before Sanji’s yells could reach you, you run into the ship, down to your handicraft’s room. The warmth of the cabin enveloped Luffy, feeling a little more like his usual self now, as he took in the room. That’s were all your great works laid, with needles, threads and sewing machines all over the place. From clothes and blankets to large embroideries hanging from the walls. You laid a soft, fluffy blanket on the ground to sit on. You sipped your scolding tea as Luffy munched on a cookie, taking in your works.

“I don’t know how you can make beautiful things like these.”

“I’ve practiced it a lot. And I love it. I’m glad you like it, Captain.”

You smiled widely, gaining a toothy grin from him.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For always being here.”

You were thinking your next words for a moment before moving the cups and plate from the blanket, taking his shoulders gently as you both laid on the ground, your eyes looking at each other, taking his hand into yours.

“It's alright to not be fine, you know… I'll always be here for you, no matter what.”

“It’s… I’m not thinking about it most of the time… I just have nightmares… it’s hard sometimes.”

“And that’s completely logical, Luffy, you’ve been through hell! I collapsed when I heard the news and couldn’t be with you. I would have run to you if I could. I love you so much and I’m sorry I wasn’t there and…”

You were the one tearing up now, cheeks red from embarrassment as the words slipped through your mouth without thinking. You knew Luffy would be shattered when you heard about Ace. The only thing you wanted was to hug him until you pulled all his pieces back together. He met your gaze. Luffy was never interested in romance. He didn’t thought he needed it. Until he met you and for the first time, he wanted someone to join his crew not only because he wanted them as a friend and they’d be a great addition, but because he felt something different, something he couldn’t quite understand. The only thing he knew was that he loved you a little differently than the rest of his friends. It was his turn to brush the tears off your face now and you melted from his touch. You tried to speak but before you could, his hand, warm and slightly trembling, cup your cheek. His lips pressed into yours, just for a moment, before drawing back only inches from your face.

“I think I love you too.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, heart pounding against your ribs. Never had you thought you’d hear those words from Luffy. Of course, you knew he loved everyone in the crew, but this felt different. You felt like you would burst into flames as you blushed even more.

“You, you do?!”

“Yeah… you’re sweet and strong… always by my side… you’re very important to me…”

You let out a gasp of surprise as you hugged him tightly and crushed your lips into his clumsily, both of you laughing at your enthusiasm. Small, sweet kisses evolved into longer, more passionately ones and soon you were underneath him, his hands caressing your thigh beneath your dress, your hands slowly pushing his vest off of him.

“Are you okay?”

“I am, you?”

“Me too.”

Soon, your clothes landed somewhere else in the room as you felt him caressing your skin everywhere and you gasped into the kiss, him taking advantage of your parted lips to push his tongue into your mouth, tangling it messily with yours. His lips travelled down your neck and lower, soon to be between your legs. A feeling of self-consciousness crept over you as you closed your legs and he smiled up at you as he caressed your thigh.

“Hey, it’s okay, we can stop if you want.”

“No, I want this, I’ve just… never do this before…”

“Neither do I. We’ll find it together. But I want you to be comfortable. You can stop me if you don’t feel okay.”

You smile down at him and relaxed a bit, allowing him to spread your legs and start kissing the inside of your thighs. It felt so good to share another experience with him, and his touch was gentler than you thought it would be. He positioned your thighs on his shoulders and before you could react, his mouth was on you, his tongue licking a stripe before latching onto your clit. Your head fell back immediately as a choked out moan slipped through your mouth, one hand flying to his hair, pulling on his locks gently as the other grasped the blanket beneath you. His eyes were on you, his look was magnetic and focused on the task of making you feel good. A finger circling your tight hole, it pushed inside you slowly as he sucked on your clit, making you whimper from the pleasurable feeling. The stretching inside you new and welcomed, a combination of his mouth and a second finger breaching in has your orgasm approaching faster than you expected. He curled his fingers upwards, hitting repeatedly a spot you had never reached before on your own and it pushed you over the edge unexpectedly. He smiles against you as small moans left your mouth, your whole body shaking, your head spinning.

Coming down from your high, he crawls back on top of you and kisses you passionately, your tongues intertwining. You can taste yourself through the kiss, and it makes you long for more. He breaks the kiss and smiles down at you.

“How was that?”

“Luffy, it was… amazing. How did you know-”

“Didn’t. Just did what felt right. Are you okay to continue?”

You nodded eagerly and he grinned at you, his lips back on yours again. Your hand sneaks between your bodies to grab his dick, gently pumping him up and down, bringing him close to your folds. He moans into the kiss and swats your hand away, gliding himself between your now soaked pussy, his tip touching your clit every time, sending small jolts of pleasure down your spine. He breaks the kiss, his face only inches apart from yours, staring into your eyes.

“You’re sure?”, he whispered.

“Yes captain, please…”

A shiver run through his body as he hears your plead, and he moves his tip against your entrance, pushing in. A small gasp escape you and a sharp hiss leaves his mouth as he slowly slides into you, his movements awkward but gentle, the feeling of your warmth around him making him slightly tremble as he bottoms out. It felt slightly uncomfortable for you at first but the pain you expected to feel was nowhere to be found. His lips were on your neck, nibbling and sucking gently while his arms roamed your body, trying to make you relax as he stayed still, waiting for you to adjust to him. A few moments passed and your hand cupped his chin, bringing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss.

“Feels better now?”

“Yes, Luffy… please, move…”

He smiled down at you and placed another soft kiss on your lips as he began to move, taking it slow and tender, setting a rhythm that made you gasp, the pleasure spreading over you. One of his hands on yours, intertwining your fingers as the other grabbed your thigh to keep you against him, his forehead on yours, eyes closed as you both relished the feeling of your bodies pressed together. His speed picked up slightly as he finds a steady rhythm and you moan his name, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close. He smiles widely and kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth, your fingers running through his hair, gently tugging at his dark locks.

One hand gripped your thigh rougher now, pushing it upwards, the shift in position allowing him to go deeper, the other sneaking between your bodies to rub at your clit. Your face buries in the crook of his neck, trying to choke down your moans, the knot in your stomach tightening as his thrusts grow faster and sloppier, you feel that he’s close too.

Your lips connect again in a messy kiss and your back arches as you come undone, crying out through the kiss, your nails dragging down his back. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw and neck, his hands grab your hips to drag you to him as he fucks you through your high, his hips stuttering, feeling your walls squeezing him tight, pushing him over the edge with you.

You stay like this for a while, hands wrapped around each other, his face buried in the crook of your neck, savoring the moment. He places a tender kiss on your cheek and turns to face you, his head on your shoulder.

“How do you feel?”

“I feel… wonderful…” you say with a sigh as you smile up at him. His hand caressing you cheek, he placed another sweet kiss before stretching his hand to grab another blanket nearby, covering the both of you. He then lies flat on top of you again, his arms wrapping around you, and closes his eyes, still inside you.

“Luff, we…”

“Can’t move, I feel snuggly right now.”

You laugh softly as you hug him back, feeling his breath slow down as he slowly falls asleep, your eyelids getting heavy as well, a content smile playing on your lips.

“Goodnight dummy…”

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 11: Papa Time

Touring takes its toll, but there's nothing a ghoul pile can't fix.

Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and to @ghuleh-recs for making the dividers! <3

If Copia wished to know anything about touring before he had become the frontman of the Ghost Project, he wished he had known just how exhausting it was.

He rubs at his temples, slumped on his back on the couch in the front lounge of the tourbus. It rockets down an American highway, one that he can't remember where it starts or ends up. It's late, a tear-down run late, another run of Rituals upcoming. The rocking of the bus, usually soothing, is enough to shift and rattle his protesting brain.

Copia's subconscious tells him he needs to ask Aether for some healing quintessence, but then he remembers he's back at the Abbey, helping to pick up some slack in the infirmary, taking a step back from the spotlight. Aeon is a skilled guitarist, but needs some more time and teaching to get a handle on their magick.

He tries, Lucifer he tries to sleep, he knows he needs it, but the headache pounds on the inside of his skull like a kick drum. Copia huffs, slinging an arm dramatically over his mismatched eyes in a pitiful attempt to block out the light, already turned down for the night.

He's just managing to slip into a restless sleep when a tiny hand touches the sleeve of his tracksuit. Copia grumbles, blinking blearily up at his smallest ghoulette.

"Come join us, Papa?" Aurora asks, voice melodic even when she's just speaking. There's traces of Ritual paint still smeared around the corners of her mouth, the fine lines around her eyes.

"My ghoulette," Copia hums, trying to keep his voice down. "My head is not agreeing with me currently. Perhaps, eh, a rain check?"

Aurora's dainty fingers, clawed with sharp nails even in human glamour, curl around the cuff of his sleeve. "Papa, we all want you to join us. Come join the pack. Promise we'll make it better."

He cracks a smile, and she's been wrapped around his little finger from the moment he helped her stand after pulling her through the brimstone of the summoning portal, and he lets her pull him up from the couch. He groans as his back creaks. Aurora leads him back to the back lounge. As they get closer, the sound of seven purring and chuffing ghouls gets louder and louder. She slides the door open, and seven pairs of glowing eyes snap open.

Copia's eyes adjust to the darkness, watching as all of his ghouls sit up, expressions brightening at the sight of him.

"You got 'im, borealis," Cirrus says, her feather tipped tail swaying lazily where it's wrapped around Cumulus's thigh.

"Did'ya think I couldn't?" Aurora giggles as she leads Copia to the ghoul pile, snuggling up in between Swiss and Dew, who nuzzle up to her. Cirrus reaches over and ruffles her bubblegum pink bangs.

"Never doubted you for a second."

Copia hesitates, eyes darting within the mass of limbs and tails, trying to figure out where he'll fit in best. You've been in ghoul piles before, his mind oh so helpfully provides. Just get in there-

Before he can spiral any more, two big hands shoot out of the pile and wrap around his wrists. Mountain and Rain, in sync, pull him gently into the pile with an oof.

"Evenin', Papa," Mountain purrs sleepily, helping him arrange himself comfortably in the pile.

"How long were you waiting for me?" Copia asks, hoping he hadn't kept his ghouls up any later then they'd wanted.

"Not really that long," Rain shrugs, nuzzling up to Copia's side, skin cool against his warm, human body.

"Just didn't feel right without you," Swiss says, glowing gold eyes blinking shut in the darkness. "Me, Bug, and Rory all could feel it, your mind racing. You need some juice, Pop?"

Copia hums, headache just barely beginning to subside, knowing how safe he is, in the middle of his pack of loyal hellbeasts, ones he trusts and loves. "Eh. It would not hurt, my ghoul."

There's a flash of teeth in the darkness, and Copia fights the animal impulse of fear at the sight before Swiss reaches over, touching his temple. There's a shock of something tingly rocking through his nerves. The ache and pressure eases, and he sighs in genuine relief.

"Grazie," he says, sinking further into the pile of limbs and tails and bodies. Something deep inside of him relaxes, finally at ease.

He rests his head on Mountain's chest, listening to the deep rumble of the earth ghoul's purr. Aeon shifts in the pile, resting their head on the soft pudge of his stomach, chuffing happily and wrapping their arms and tail around him. Copia reaches down, playing absentmindedly with their white forelock, and the chuffing gets louder. Not overly so, definitely soothing. The warmth and contact and the bone-deep, draining exhaustion of touring all creeping up on him.

"Sleep, Papa," Cumulus hums, voice trilling softly. "We'll be here in the morning."

He smiles, reaching to pat her arm fondly before he falls into a much-needed, restful sleep.

[casdeans-pie]

"Close Your Eyes, Dean."

The field he’d chosen was empty and wide open, with grass swaying lazily in a calm breeze, lit up brightly by the roundness of a large full moon. Almost too perfect – as all nights in Jack’s Heaven were.

But it was a great spot for what he wanted, Dean thought.

“C’mon man, I’m already dead, this body in heaven isn’t even real. What’s seeing your true form gonna do? Burn out my non-existent eyes?”

“It might,” Cas rumbled. A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw.

 “You’re such a shitty liar, you know that right?”

Cas sighed and his broad shoulders slumped down into a slouch that made his trench coat look baggy and crumpled on him. His eyebrows downturned as he looked up at Dean from under his lashes and sad, sad hooded eyes. “I don’t…” he started, swallowed, and tried again, “I don’t want you to see me any differently. This is more me than anything else now.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his mouth, guilt twisting in his gut – unable to resist the power of that expression. “Dammit Cas, I won’t pressure you, but you know nothin’ like that is gonna bother me. So what if you’ve got tentacles or a hundred eyes or whatever-”

“-I don’t have tentacles,” Cas interjected.

“-Point is, you’ll always be this dorky little guy to me no matter what you’ve got stuffed inside,” Dean said.

Cas squinted his eyes and straightened up. “That feels like a backhanded compliment.”

Dean laughed with enough force that his head threw backwards. He shook his head with amusement and felt himself mirroring the smile he’d finally coaxed out of Cas.

Dean reached over and patted his shoulder fondly. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep working on being sincere.”

Green eyes met blue, and Dean’s chest warmed with the intensity of his affection.

Cas was still looking at him with a sad tilt to his eyes, but the pain had gone out of his expression. Moonlight highlighted strands of his dark hair, ruffling slightly in the breeze, and picked out the blue colour of his tie against his white shirt. It was just Cas. No matter what.

Dean took a breath and looked up at Heaven’s stars, shining in a pattern that he wondered if Jack had designed himself. Probably. The kid loved stuff like that.

“I mean it though Cas. Nothing you show me’s gonna change how I feel,” Dean said. Exactly what those feelings were, he wasn’t exactly sure… but that was a train of thought for another day. One life changing event at a time. Dean brought his gaze back down, though he swore he could still see the stars reflected in the blue of Cas’ eyes. “You’ve seen me at some of my worst, man. You literally met me in Hell.”

Cas stared with such dedicated focus, like Dean was the only thing that was worth paying attention to in the whole world, and it made pleasant sparks skitter through his veins.

But Cas said nothing in reply, he simply waited for Dean to continue, as if he was always enraptured by anything he had to say.

It was an intensity that Dean had so much affection for. So much. So freaking much-

“You saw me as a Demon,” Dean said quickly, drowning out his thoughts before he could go to a place that he knew was coming but wasn’t quite ready for tonight. “And you still… You still saved me. You still stayed with me. You still said… Shit, what did I even look like as a Demon? Like, my ‘true face’ or whatever?” Dean tripped over his words as he struggled to push down his feelings. “Actually, y’know what, I don’t wanna know- doesn’t matter-”

“You were beautiful,” Cas said in a warm, quiet rumble, even though his gaze was still just as intense. “You’ve always been beautiful. Even then. You’re still just Dean Winchester, no matter what. The most beautiful soul I’ve ever encountered and ever will.”

“Cas…” Dean sucked in a deep breath through his teeth, while those skittering pleasant tingles across his skin increased. There was a warmth at the back of his neck and a heat blazing in his chest. He swallowed thickly, past the lump growing in his throat. “Then you know I feel about seeing Angel-You,” he eventually managed, keeping the eye contact.

Cas finally blinked and looked down at his feet. He shuffled them a little and it was such a nervous human gesture that it made Dean smile.

“Close your eyes,” Cas commanded, in a voice that reminded Dean of when they first met.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up in excitement. “Seriously? You’re doing it?” Cas gave him a flat look and Dean held up his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay, I just- I mean, this is gonna be awesome.”

“Close your eyes, Dean.”

The commanding tone coupled with Cas saying his name certainly did something to him, but again, not the time to examine that. Dean cleared his throat and closed his eyes. Everything went dark. “This the part where you tell me, ‘Be not afraid’?”

A bright blue light shined past his eyelids and Dean shielded them with his arm, while he became aware of a shrill noise that rose higher and higher until he had to abandon his eyes for pressing his hands flat over his ears. He scrunched his face tight at the assault to his senses.

Finally, the light faded and there was silence.

“Cas? You, uh- you okay there, buddy?” Dean asked, with his eyes still closed, guilt and concern churning in his gut.

-It is safe to open your eyes-

Dean winced again at the high-pitched whining that accompanied the voice, like bad feedback from a busted stereo.

-Apologies… It has been… a while since I’ve used this frequency-

The whining noise stopped mid-sentence and Dean could finally just hear the voice. Cas’ voice. His true voice. It sounded like a mixture of twinkling wind chimes and a single, long, resonant note plucked on the string of a harp.

Dean flung his eyes wide open and felt his whole body lock up at the sight. “Cas?” he croaked, almost unable to believe what he was looking at.

Gone was the man in the trench coat and tie, and in his place stood what looked like a giant crow – easily the size of a house. The huge crow was covered in gleaming black feathers, giving off a sparkle of blue that shimmered and glowed in the air around it, and Dean noticed that the feathers themselves, seemingly black at first, shined with an iridescent spectrum whenever they moved slightly and caught the moonlight. Its black, almost scaly legs ended in silver talons that looked like they were made from the same material as an Angel Blade, the same silver that its sharply curved beak seemed to be made of. It flashed wickedly as the crow leaned down to preen its chest feathers suddenly, like a nervous habit. When it straightened back up Dean’s attention shifted to the long, thin ring above its head – spinning slowly and blazing with a fiercely bright blue fire that cracked and popped blue embers into the night. They floated up and disappeared, past the faint outlines of many blue eyes that were suspended above the halo, blinking in and out of focus.

Finally, Dean looked at the crow’s face. Straight into two glowing blue eyes.

Not a crow.

Castiel.

Cas.

-Uh... Be not afraid?-

-------------

Continued in part 2 soon

[immunetoneurotoxin]

ENTANGLEMENT | Part I, Chapter I

A Portal/Half Life Universe Fic from Chell's Perspective Rating: Explicit Overall Word Count: 10,730 Chapters: 1/20 Where to Read: AO3 | Google Drive | // ?UN?/KN@?#WN

SYNOPSIS

Location Unknown, Michigan, USA.  Aperture released her, set her free. That ought to have been the end of it. But cast out into a world rendered unrecognizable after a mass extinction level event, Chell is forced to fend for herself, navigating a war-torn world in the aftermath of the seven hour war that devastated the states in a bygone era.  Mere days into her newfound experience on the surface, Chell finds bizarre technology inside a Michigan radio tower, discovering that the same interdimensional forces that started the war were still around, scouring the area in search of technology from the facility she hoped to never see again — Aperture Science.  With no choice but to go back to the facility to deliver a dire warning, Chell tightropes on the cusp of two worlds, unaware of the consequences of pursuing the past and surviving an uncertain future alongside an unlikely ally.

It's finally here!! A former roleplay thread with @sarcasticgaypotato turned novel, this story follows the events of Half Life 2: Episode 2, and is an inspired continuation of the ending of Half Life: Alyx from the perspective of everyone's favorite Aperture-dwelling characters. Chell, whose mission is to protect Aperture technology from getting in the hands of the Combine, must also act as GLaDOS's protector and keep her safe. GLaDOS, on the other hand, has to figure out the complicated ways of the world from a new perspective - literally. This story is friendly to those who don't know Half-Life lore, and a treat for those who do! This story is a close-to-canon survival novel fic with ChellDOS as a major focus. Full of survival, interactive elements, complicated feelings, and a beautiful slow burn robot/human love story. <3

[strawurberries]

Hello Berry! I just wanted to slide a request your way cause I'm not gonna lie the fanfic you wrote with vash where the reader has stretchmarks almost had me in tears cause I'm so self-conscious about mine and it just made me so happy to read it.

So, I was wondering if I could have a fanfic with that same premise with nai? 🥺

I want all the plant boys!

🍰Anon (if it's okay to be called that)

Stretch Marks (Knives Version)

Summary: Knives find himself enamored with a little human quirk he was previously in the dark about.

Authors Note: Hello!! I'm so glad my writing was able to help you! That's really all I've wanted from my writing, to have people read it and feel better about themselves and/or just enjoy it in any way! I hope you enjoy this one just as much as my Vash one! (Also, you're totally welcome to be the 🍰 Anon) And, once again, here's your tag @blackkiwi :) hope you all love it !

Warnings: Mild nudity, sexual themes, self-hate

His fascination with the human boggled everyone, even his great mind was submerged deep in confusion; so much, in fact, that at first he was completely convinced they were an independent like him. There was no possible way a human could garner his attention (and later on, his affection) so, therefore, the only logical solution to this little puzzle was that she was, in fact, not human. Every moment—well, every moment he wasn’t brooding over the melancholic mood he had decided to live within—was spent thinking about her. She’s strange, kind, and unbearably interesting. It took a month or so for him to finally come to the conclusion—and accept said conclusion—that she was human, nothing more nothing less. Of course that realization was detrimental in so many different ways it would take a hundred years to write about the emotional turmoil and confliction he felt; but, on days like this, he supposed his feelings weren’t all that bad.

“Are you going to drink it?” She sipped on her tea and pointed at the steaming cup (it was ceramic and a painfully awkward blue that clashed with the entirety of her kitchen, but she said she bought it because “it reminded me of you”. Despite his protests, and the want for a different, less ugly cup, she had assigned him to the blue cup; and only the blue cup).

He looked at the murky liquid, “no.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want it.”

“So you just came all this way to stare at me?”

He huffed and took the cup, looking around at the quaint little house he had somehow found himself in. “I was in town. That’s all.” He really shouldn’t be here, more pressing matters nipping at the base of his heels, clawing at his back like starved, abused dogs. The world was begging him to leave, to complete his mission and his faith, but for the first time in a long time, he ignored it.

He took a small sip. 

She smiled, “Oh yeah, right. Just in town, decided to stop by. That’s the story you’re going with?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Nai.”

He didn’t know if he was annoyed she had the audacity to use a nickname, or excited at the prospect that she loved him enough to do so. “You’re the only one who’s ever said such a thing to me.”

“That’s because everyone else is too scared. You know, you’re a little bit intimidating.”

He couldn’t stop the indignant noise that left his throat, “a little?”

She set her cup down and pinched two fingers together, “just a tad.”

“A tad,” he deadpanned. 

“Sorry,” she grinned, “a smidge.”

He took another sip of his drink and ignored her. Bastardly human, he cursed in his head. If it had been anyone else, especially a human, that dared to tease him like that, they’d be dead before they knew it; sliced and diced into neat little squares, perfect enough for a tea party snack. Not that he ever had tea parties, or ate people, but the mental image alone was enough to ward off the majority of pests.

She grabbed her cup and walked over to the sink, rinsing it off before putting it away. She yawned and raised her arms, “it’s only seven o’clock but I feel exhausted.”

Nai looked up at her, swirling the cup in his hands idly. The tea wasn’t the best, nor was it something particularly homey or nostalgic enough to make him drink more, but she had poured her time and heart into creating this so, he supposed, drinking it was the least he could do. He took another sip before his eyes settled on her again, most of her body covered by the cup from his perspective.

She groaned, “I have to go to the market today. I’m running low on. . . well, everything. Or, oh no. It’s too late for that I guess. Tomorrow would be a good enough day to go.”

He finished the drink and set the cup to the set (still mildly upset at how ugly it was—the colors really clashed with the rest of the house. If it was his choice, he would’ve gotten rid of the mug ages ago and replaced it with something that matched his taste, or, at the very least, matched the aesthetic of the house). “You do tend to procrastinate.”

“Oh shut up,” she rolled her shoulders back, her shirt riding up ever so slightly. “Give me your cup.” She beckoned him with a wave of her hand.

He wordlessly handed it to her. 

She washed it, dried it with an old rag, and slid it in the cupboard next to her favorite mug. “Next time you get to do the dishes.”

He opened his mouth to respond, an insult whipping on the tip of his tongue, but he caught the sight of her bare skin. It looked softer than he had imagined, smooth and—he tilted his head, mind momentarily reeling at what he saw. Little markings, he blinked, like me. He didn’t know how or why, but his chest constricted and the only thing he could feel was the intense blazing emotion of curiosity and. . . something he couldn’t identify.

She has markings.

Like me?

Like me.

He stepped forward and grabbed the hem of her shirt, yanking it up to her chest. The fabric gave way easily enough, revealing what had interested him so. Swirls and lines decorated her belly, wrapping into each other like the galaxies he had seen oh so long ago. The only thing he could think of was how absolutely divine it looked. His view though, his beautifully artistic view, was interrupted with a shove and a loud gasp. 

“Wha–what was that?!” she grabbed her shirt and pulled it down, the fabric taunt in her grip, “usually you ask before you go taking people’s shirts off!”

He was focused on her now covered stomach, mind short-circuiting. “Show me again.” The sight was burned into the forefront of his mind, heart giddy with the possibilities. Maybe she was a plant, an independent. Or even, partially so—he’d take that, he’d take anything as long as she wasn’t human. . . would he? Suddenly his excitement turned into a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The thought of rejecting her for being something different from him, it made him sick for a moment. He may be a God, something divinity has blessed, but he was undoubtedly seduced by mortal wiles. Though, and he shoved this thought to the back of his mind, I don’t really mind. 

She shook her head, “no–wait, what am I even showing?”

“Those patterns,” he raised his head up, watching her intently, “I want to see them again.”

“Patterns?” she thought for a moment, before a strike of realization hit her face, “my stretch marks?” Her grip loosened every so slightly, before quickly regaining her previous strength.

“Whatever they are,” he raised his hand before pausing and bringing it back. I ask before I take her shirt off. “They’re like mine.” To drive his point home—and, really, looking back he doesn’t know why he gave her the courtesy of understanding his intentions, or his needs, but in the moment it felt right—he let his markings quickly show on the surface of his skin, a low bleeding blue edging out into the country house. 

She blinked and whispered, a child-like awe on her face. “can–can I touch them?”

She had known he was a plant since the day they met. He, stealing a dependent from a town, and her watching him with mild confusion and amazement. But she hadn’t seen this side of him—the destruction, hate, and blood, yes. But the somber blue and quiet hums of his soul? No. He hadn’t shown anyone that in a long, long time.

“I suppose,” he looked down at her, “as long as I can touch yours.” The deal was fair enough, he tried to argue in his mind, shoving away the anxieties and sickness at the thought of being touched. It’s all in the pursuit of his curiosity.

She puffed out her cheeks, hesitation clear in her eyes, “fine, but you can’t say anything mean about them okay?”

“Why would I be mean?”

“You’re always mean.” 

She reached out and touched his face gently, as if she was afraid he would disappear into the sand dunes that surrounded her home. She traced one line from the right side of his jaw to his nose, before trailing her fingers to his exposed neck. “You’re so pretty,” she mumbled. The skin under her became heated, flushed.

Whether it was a conscious decision or not, he leaned into her touch, the soft feeling of her fingers making his heart stutter. Several markings glowed brighter before he was able to shut them down, pushing his excitement—or, no, he wasn’t excited; he was disgusted that a human was touching him, that’s what it was (oh, what a terrible liar he is). Despite his momentary panic, he let her explore his face and neck, hoping the blue of his markings drowned out the red of his embarrassment. He didn’t have a real reason for why he was letting her do this to him, he should’ve stopped her a while ago, but it felt. . . nice. This was something he had’t experiences in years, a feeling so foreign he had nearly forgotten it. 

She pulled back, not missing the way he subtly leaned forward to feel her for a moment longer. “Why do you even want to see my stretch marks?” she whispered, fingers itching to touch him again. 

“Because they’re like mine,” he matched her tone, towering over her with no malice or hate, but silent admiration. The thought of her—her touch, her looks, her voice, by God, all of her, it entrapped him in a spell of nothing sort of Love. That's what it was, this feeling. Love. He could feel the anxiety in the back of his throat, the crumbling of his beliefs and ideologies, but those were problems for another day, right now? He was busy falling deeper into this sweet little hole he had dug. 

“No they’re not,” she laughed slightly, sadly, “yours are way cooler.”

He tugged at the hem of her shirt, this time asking, “can I?”

She sighed and let her head fall into his chest, “a promise is a promise.”

He resisted the urge to tell her that she needn’t keep her word if it caused her pain, that he would rather she feel happy than obligated. He didn’t though, the well of his curiosity ever growing. “You’re human,” he mumbled, less than gently tugging the shirt off her, “and yet your markings are so similar. . . so beautiful?”

“They’re not markings, well, not in the way you’re thinking of.”

The low light of the setting sun barely reached the windows, slowly plunging them into darkness. Without thinking he grabbed her hips and hoisted her up, momentarily enjoying the sounds of surprise she made as he put her down on the counter. His hands resumed his search, trailing the pads of his fingers across her belly in a loving motion that he had never known he was capable of. “What are they then?”

“Stretch marks.”

He huffed, “explain.”

“They’re like little scars that appear when our skin stretches too fast. I think it can happen when our skin shrinks too? I don’t really know the specifics. I just know they’re annoying and ugly.”

He paused, bringings his hands up to grip her chin, “what?’

She blinked at him owlishly, “what. . .?”

“Are you calling me ugly?”

“Wha–” she let out a laugh, “when did I say that?!”

He ignored the happiness that stabbed his heart when she laughed. “I said our markings are the same, if you say yours are ugly, you are calling mine that as well.”

She thought for a moment, “I guess that makes sense, but you’re forgetting one thing.” She raised a finger and tilted her head, a little grin on her face—the expression did nothing to hide her fear and anxiety.

“What may that be?” he said with a hint of amusement, fingers still holding her jaw.

“You are handsome, I am not. So the markings look different between us. I’m not calling you ugly, don’t worry. You’re actually quite attractive.”

He frowned and leaned forward, forcing her to place her hands behind her on the counter in order not to fall. “You’re right. You’re not handsome.”

She rolled her eyes, “so romantic.”

“You’re stunning,” he savored the squeak of embarrassment that left her mouth, a knowing smirk on his face. I want to hear more, he thought as he trailed down to her stomach, kissing each mark on her belly, “beautiful,” he muttered. “Your loveliness cannot be described.” He reached the band of her pants, hooking a finger around it before he remembered his manners. “Can I?” He looked up at her, grin still present and eyes twinkling with something she couldn’t describe. 

“Y–yeah,” she whispered. 

He didn’t go any further, tilting his head with a waiting expression. 

“What?” she tried to hold his eye contact but it became too intense, and she looked away, chest starting to rise and fall rapidly. What have I gotten myself into?

“Look at me,” he commanded, pleased when she obeyed without a second to spare. He should talk to her like that more often, maybe indulge in her flesh if she listened so deliciously like that. “I heeded your words, didn’t I? You said I have to ask before I do things like this, yes?”

She nodded.

“Say you’re proud then.”

“I’m proud,” she stumbled out, all hints of her teasing nature drowned out by her bewilderment (and pure, unrestrained excitement).

He pulled back, trapping her in between his arms, “that’s boring,” he muttered, “come up with some creative praise. I’ve been so nice to you, haven’t I? Isn’t it only fair?” He whispered in her ear, laughing at the shiver that racked her body. With a hum he trailed back down her body, saving his softer affections for her stomach, her marks.

He reached her pants again in no time, looking at her expectedly.

“You’re beautiful,” she blurted out. 

“Not good enough.”

“Divine,” she uttered. 

“Think, Darling, or else I’m going to stop right here.” He played with the edge of her pants, thumbing the material as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. God, how he loved to play with her.

“Y-you’re,” she tossed her head back and groaned, mind flying as she tried to think of a compliment. After a moment she wrapped her legs around him, making him give her a questioning hum, and grabbed his face. “You’re my God,” she whispered, “mine alone. You’re wonderful and strong, a holy being that I am blessed to have around me.” 

He could’ve sworn he died at that moment—and if he had, he would’ve gone happily.

She buried her face in his neck, practically whining with embarrassment. “I can’t believe you made me say that.”

He wrapped an arm around her, pressing her into the counter, collecting himself before he spoke, “that was good. I knew you’d learn eventually.” With a deep, burning red, he hid his face in her stomach, going back to tracing her stretch marks. Faint blue markings glided up his neck, curling around the flesh of his face—he didn’t bother to stop it this time. With a single motion he helped her rid herself of her pants, letting out a deep sigh when he saw the rest of her markings. 

“You didn’t say you had more.”

“Well,” she finally gained her confidence back, letting out a huff, “you never asked.”

He, with the same awe and amazement as earlier, observed her thighs as if he was a starved man, denied of any mortal pleasures (though, he supposed he had never done anything like this before). “I want to see all of them,” he tugged at her underwear, “they’re too beautiful to hide.” If it was up to him, he'd have her naked in his presence all the time, solely for observing how heavenly she looked.

She grabbed his hand and snapped it away, “you didn’t ask that time.” 

He tilted his head and smiled wickedly, “I guess I didn’t hmm? Where are my manners? Here, can I see all of you? Bare and unobstructed?”

She gripped his hands and turned her head away, “you’re a bastard.”

“That’s not a compliment,” he whispered.

“You’re my bastard.”

He laughed, a sound she cherished deeply, “that doesn’t count.”

[weekend-whip]

Baaaack at it again with another @ninjago-valentine-exchange Entry, surprise! And we've got—gasp—LAVA?!? Never expected that one from me, huh? ;P

But, it feels good to do something a little different for a change! And I only hope you enjoy!

Words: 4.5k (a "short" fic) Pairing: Cole/Kai (Lavashipping) Summary: Kai and Cole cope with the same problem in opposite directions during one of the team's Date Nights.

[foolishlywandwaving]

one of the joys of dumping tom marvolo riddle into 1990s london is the knowledge that he has no choice but to encounter the spice girls

[necro-man-sir]

A window closed, a door opened

You're killing yourself.

That's preposterous. She was too clever for that, no less than a genius. One of the more learned scholars one could find. If she didn't already know, she could find the answer. She was reliable. She was competent. She was able.

She was...

Lost.

Matoya was right. Aethersight was killing her. It had been weeks of near constant use - months, really - since a scare in her dreams.

Over the years, they had become a haze of aether as well. Her memories of her friends, of their faces - their physical faces - were fading. She couldn't rightly describe them anymore. In her waking hours she couldn't place their features. Did Thancred have a hooked nose? Which side did the twins hair part, again? How much taller than her was...

Her brows steeple in the dark of her inn room where she stood. She didn't know where she was. Citystate, yes, but the room was unfamiliar. She was exhausted, her body was withering around her and her aether was spent.

She couldn't see, now. It was just... Darkness, no flickering of the aether that made up what was around her.

She was too proud to exit the room and ask her friends for help in finding what she had dropped. It had clattered off ahead of her, but...

Her ears pin back, the end of her tail flicking in sharp, snapping movements, hands balled into tight fists. She bit down at the corners of her lips, jaw tense. And she weeps.

She lowers herself to the floor, gloved hands lifting to her face to hide the shame of her tears. Any sobs were left quiet, choked back and pitiful, her breath strained as she fights to get it together.

They had crossed the universe, she was capable of that, but unable to find a simple ink pen she dropped when she near tripped over a chair that was left in the middle of the room. It wasn't an important pen, why did it pain her so much to have lost it?

Her friends would be more than willing - happy, even - to help her. They wouldn't even blink at it, no side glances, no questioning, nothing. All she would receive was kindness and still she wept over the need to ask.

She had a cane at the door. What good was it, though, when she was too stubborn to practice?

Her breathing staggers inward, rubbing her hands into her cheeks, smearing make up that had run down from her eyes. Slumping there, she wills the tears to stop, failing at that, too.

"That was -- ing! You think -- did?" an enthusiastic voice sounded beyond her door, her ears snapping back to listen as she froze in place. She didn't breathe, fearing a sob would escape, her eyes wide. The conversation and footsteps continue, and then backtrack again, growing closer, quicker.

A knock at the door sounded out, rapping rapidly and startling her heart.

She takes in a short breath through her nose, pushes herself up from the floor, and quickly clears her face with her hands. She reaches into her bag to retrieve a small mirror, and on the first glance into it, her expression twists once more.

Right.

"Just a moment," she calls in the selfsame steady tone she wore, her hand extended out in front of her, unsteady, unsure steps, a scraping of wood as that "Damned-able chair!" dared to be in her way, again.

She hears a murmur beyond the door, and she stills, listening, setting the little mirror down on the chairs seat. At least the door was easy enough to find, the faintest light through the crack between the frame and wood. She makes her way over with a degree of care, her knuckles bumping into the frame, sliding down. Which side was the knob on, again?

It twists, and she pulls open the door, standing with her head high, her gaze forward, falling somewhere between the two who were there to greet her.

"Y'shtola, 'tis good to see--" the faintest hint of concern tinged her name, but, Urianger continues without missing a beat. "Pray, doest thou have a moment? I will not impose my company upon thee, but I had hoped that I might spend some time with thee, if thou art amicable."

She feels the slightest tinge of her hackles rising, and she makes a direct point to relax her ears and lower her shoulder. "I did not have plans for the evening. I had been going to bed," she had been, but she wasn't telling him no.

He doesn't let himself in, from there, standing patiently, and the time ticks by. "..."

She could hear him smile, his breath caught a certain way when his lips pulled. Her eyes narrow in the slightest.

There is a shifting of fabric, but there was no indication on what that movement was. More, still. Was he removing his jacket?

He really meant to stay, didn't he?

"Wouldst thou let me in, Y'shtola? There is a table to thy right that I cannot circumvent." His voice was so steady, so sure. She expecting him to be mocking, a chuckle at her being in the way. "... Apologies, come in," she says, turning her head to look at that table - or the best approximation she could manage, and she steps aside, holding the door open. He bids someone farewell, and she blinks. Who...?

Familiar, sure footsteps make their way off, their friend, leaving the both of them with what she was sure was nothing but their good graces and a light wave.

Surely they had some things to wrap up for the evening, it had been a long day.

Urianger makes his way in, speaking to her about somesuch as he hangs up his coat and sets something down on that little entrance table.

"I shall move this chair to the bed and seat myself. Dost thou require mine aid? Might I keep this light on, or wouldst thou prefer it dimmed?"

She stood there, stunned, her hand remaining on the doorknob, half closed but frozen. She hadn't even thought about the lights. "Go ahead." The chair lifts with a soft clunk, and then again after a few steps as it was set down in front of the nightstand. She hadn't realised her bed was all the way over there.

She couldn't ask -

"I brought with me a book, and I would read a passage to thee, if thou wouldst allow it. It moved me greatly in summers past, and I thought that thou might find the humor therein."

There was a smile, the slightest upturn of her lips. "Urianger. There is no need for that," she half refuses, stepping forward with a tad too much confidence, and she was fine for the first few steps, but, something rounded and long pressed into the ball of her foot, and she slides with the object scraping under her weight.

A yelp was let out, a clatter of the chair, and she hits the ground before he could catch her. She wasn't hurt, not physically, but she was horribly embarrassed.

... At least she knew where that damned pen had gone.

She pushes herself up without help, no awareness he had reached his hand out to her. He stands there with his hand aloft, his fingers curling, arm slowly falling as she straightens her clothing.

Y'shtola makes no comment on that fall, and she steps forward again, her shoulder knocking into Urianger's, and she simply sits down onto the bed as soon as her knee hits the edge of the mattress.

It's quiet for a moment as he picks up the chair and sits down again. She doesn't realise he's staring at her, not until that silence between them stretches on too long to be comfortable.

"...What is it?"

"A thought occurs to me… Pray don't take offense, as that is the last thing which I would wish to inflict upon thee, but hast thou considered a walking cane? Thy stubbornness is admirable, but perhaps thou couldst entertain it with more ease with its aid."

Her brows furrow.

"It would bring me naught but the greatest satisfaction to aid thee in thy practice."

She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest, making a point to give him a look, but she was a little off. "That isn't necessary, Urianger," she first refuses, but, her curiosity does spike. She decides to ask, albeit somewhat skeptical. "This book of yours isn't to convince me, is it? I doubt you know how to use this walking cane first hand."

He didn't exactly need one, nor did she.

Urianger only smiles, that same, calm tone laced with a fair amount of quiet passion he usually spoke. "On the contrary, my friend. I had ample time with which to practice when I lived amongst the fae in Il Mheg. My hosts did, on occasion, 'trick' me by stealing away my sense of sight. They did so at my behest-- that is to say, I tricked them into stealing it, for I wished to glean more of how thou seest, or perhaps feelst, the world, that I might learn to aid you in navigating it with greater confidence."

He was being genuine.

Her shoulders do relax again, she couldn't believe, too, how patient he was.

She couldn't remember a time he lost that patience, and by all accounts, he would... be an excellent teacher, wouldn't he?

A quiet moment passes as she actually does consider that, paying no mind to the turning of pages while he searches the passage he wanted to share with her. Her hands fall to her lap, her gaze falling now somewhere onto the floor ahead of her.

"May I ask you a question?" She didn't need to specify that she wanted a genuine, true answer out of him. That was a given. At least in these cases.

"Thou mayst."

"Is it unnerving when I look at people?" Oh, that felt odd. She immediately wanted to retract the question, it felt a little too vulnerable. A little too late. Was it silly, now, to ask something so unimportant?

He doesn't let that beat skip at all, his answer spoken with confidence, and... She could tell he was teasing her.

"No, thy gaze is intimidating, as fierce in both its passion and its intelligence as it ever was. Even without sight its keenness can be felt as a knife, and any creature of mortal ken or beyond would be wise to cower under the weight of thine intense and palpable displeasure."

Had she been the type to roll her eyes, she probably would have, but she does look more pointedly at him, as if in demonstration of his assessment.

He smiles, a laugh tailing the expression.

"Very comforting," she scolds, but, it was. She was glad he could take humour in her and not make this feel so... Sad. He wasn't holding her like she was shattered glass in bare palms.

He doesn't comment on that further, the seed planted, and he simply starts to read from the book he had brought to her.

It was a story of a couple of friends with grand plans to see every corner of the star, he explained. This passage, he continues, was the moment they - both terrified - stood atop a large waterfall, looking downward over the edge into the deep water below.

Too scared to decide who would jump first, they take each others hands, and they count down from three, no, ten, no, three!

And they jump together, screaming the whole way down, plunging into the water, and as they resurface, they laugh and hug, proud of themselves for their show of bravery together.

She asks him to continue reading to her.

The next morning comes, Urianger waking in the chair, his legs stiff, back aching.

They get breakfast.

And then they go outside of the city where no one would see them, and he holds her elbow to let her lead him down the path, both of their free hands holding long hollow canes. He stops each time the ends hit a stone or some such, stating what it was, and he leads her around it.

They make it all the way to a little settlement, where they're met with congratulations of many familiar voices of the Scions.

She weeps; this time, with pride and ire both.

[thefollow-spot]

"Untitled" (Keeping)

Lancelot/Merlin ● General Audiences ● WC: 200 ● No Warnings // Written for @merlinmicrofic 2024, for the prompt 'Enough'.

---

You’ve taken an arrow for our prince. Home, we’re alone in your room. Your blood is stopped, but needs redressing. Pale, you’ve always been too fair. Your smiling eyes crinkle, hiding anything that hurts.

“Least Arthur’s safe,” you mutter. “Didn’t even have to use magic.”

Always for Arthur: wounds, scars, soul. Never will you put this down. Couldn’t I be enough for you? I know the answer. Cupping your face; kissing your lips. Take my swordsman’s hands, put them to work. Cleaning jagged skin; replacing the bandage, rotting red. I can’t fault you: I know what loving in service is.

◦◦◦

When you touch me this way, you’ve got a sculptor’s hands: strong, reverent. I wasn’t made for this—you know that, don’t you? I’m only half of a set (so the Dragon says). Properly, I can’t belong to you, even if I wished I could.

Shuddering, you breathe against my neck: “You’re too reckless, my lord.”

Later, my head in your lap, we steal time by your chamber hearth. I rest my wounded leg; you hum songs from your boyhood. Could you love me anyway, and make this be enough? Please believe me when I say I can’t be more.

[electricaquarius]

EDIT: It's posted! Linking on mobile so apologies if this doesn't work but it's here!

Fanfiction readers, I just finished writing something at 4am about my self insert tav taking a bath with Astarion, Karlach, Gale and Shadowheart. No smut, the slightest little bit of bloodweave, some Gale/Tav, but mostly platonic stuff with Karlach. It is so intensely self indulgent but I'm quite proud of it. If this gets even 1 note, I'll post it.

[nights-are-better]

me: *sat in lesson typing*

my friend: what are you doing?

me: ... revsion

me: *turns to forthwall* don't look at me like that

[toburnup]

Heeey Vio, I know you said we’re gonna have to wait a bit until the next iylo chapter but how do you feel about a little previo maybe?😁 pretty please🙏🏻

AHHH I'M SO SORRY, i meant to post this days ago, because. good news! new chapter coming very soon.

previo below <3

Eddie lays back on the couch and closes his eyes, pretends not to be listening to the sound of the water running. It's hard not to imagine Steve in there. When he comes out, he smells like his soap. Eddie watches him dry his hair, run the towel behind his ears. Scrubs it back and forth and Eddie feels like a freak more than he ever has before, wants to run his tongue over his cheek, bite his earlobe. He sits on his hands and watches Steve go to his room, sees water droplets sitting low on his back.

it's that time again :) :)

[sideblogforcrimpy-plus]

Rinse; Repeat

Words: 4,478, chapter one of probably two.

Rated: Handle with care, cw suicidal thoughts/discussion, canon typical violence, hints at abuse/bullying

Summary: Spencer and Derek meet before either of them are in the BAU. Spencer is hesitant as a deer to be close and all Derek wants is to be close (so does Spencer). Spencer is clearly Troubled and Derek just wants to love him softly, honestly. Like filtered afternoon sunlight and sepia filters.

but for real I just, I saw a post that made me laugh and go 'ahaha, unless?' and then sat down uncomfortably on the floor for three hours and wrote this.

For my own comfort/entertainment, Derek and Spencer are closer in age than my recent google search would lead me to believe. Thank (●'◡'●)

---- 2003

Derek was having a truly sucky day. The academy was rough, and as good as he was at all the physical stuff, there were some real smart people and he was so scared that he was all brawn and no brain. Not that he’d readily use the word ‘scared’ to describe himself if he could help it, but he was.

But realistically, he did get this far. So he did have some of the brain, but was it enough? Had he set his sights too high on the BAU?

Still, the doubt and insecurity wasn’t going to have him quit early. Partly because he really, really wanted this, but also partly because what would he tell his family if he’d put so much time into this and failed?

They’d comfort him and say they’re proud; he knows it. But would he be proud?

He doesn’t want to find out.

Dead tired despite the lack of physical training that day, he walked through the house and out to the balcony, only part stopping to shed his jacket and backpack.

The sun was long gone by now, and the stars were too hidden in such a built up area, but he braced himself with his arms on the railing and stretched his neck, trying to relax.

God, how many people even got through the academy each year?

“Chances are, if you’re already in the academy, you’ll come out the other side.”

God?

Had he asked that aloud?

Derek just about jumped out of his skin, training be damned. He was on the top floor and roof access was blocked. He must have made some sort of noise, because the sad, quiet voice came again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m not- I wasn’t… Startled.” Derek rubbed his forehead, hoping his voice didn’t sound it; startled. He wasn’t sure he’d heard that organically in conversation, more something you come across in text, in books and things.

“Oh. Sorry for assuming?” The speaker was hesitant, like they’d started apologising before they really knew why. Curious, and not thrilled someone had roof access and it wasn’t the guy (and his sister) who had the top floor apartment, Derek leaned out over the railing and twisted his neck, trying to see who answered him.

Before he could get a glimpse, he heard them step back.

How close to the edge was he? He watched as a bit of rubble fell past him and to the concrete below.

“I don’t think that’s something you need to apologise for, man. How’d you get up there, anyway? I was told we weren’t allowed because they don’t have railings. Or insurance, I think.”

“Well, that makes sense. Although a fall from a five story building isn’t guaranteed to be fatal; you’re better off on the eighth floor for that. But then again, there have been people that survived from even that height so, you can’t really win, can you? If you’re scared of heights or something.”

Derek’s curiosity took a quick dive into concern that sped right down to worry.

“Now I think you got that the wrong way around, better off on the lower floors if there’s no railing, right?”

There was a long pause, and Derek wondered if he’d be able to get up onto the roof in a reasonable amount of time if he had a sense of urgency pushing him.

“Perhaps. Can you imagine the injuries you’d be left with after surviving the fall?” He heard a foot scuff the ground above him and thought he’d started sweating despite the cool breeze. “It’d really suck to not have insurance then, huh? As the building owner, I mean.”

“Okay man, well, that’s a dark topic. And since there’s no railing, or maybe no seats up there either, why don’t you join me on my balcony instead? I might even be able to find a beer or something for you.”

“It’s not safe to go into a stranger’s house.”

“It’s not safe to think about people surviving and not surviving falls while you’re alone on a rooftop, close to the edge, and there’s no railing.”

“Well… Perhaps that’s a reasonable counterpoint.”

And that’s how Derek started becoming friends with a bundle of limbs and greasy hair that hid an incredible but haunted mind.

–

Spencer didn’t have a phone, so he’d just show up at Derek’s apartment intermittently. Well, his and Sarah’s. His mother had put money towards them renting it for the duration of Derek’s time at the academy and Sarah’s short term study since they lined up almost the same, with him likely finding some place more permanent for himself after.

He didn’t do well in the claustrophobic, shared dorms of the academy so would escape to the apartment when he could, and Sarah was completing her course close enough to make the apartment almost worth it. 

It had two shoebox rooms, and they had to share a bathroom, but it still had two rooms so it was a step up from the low bar the academy set. But she was out often with friends, study, and a part time job while he was still largely sleeping at the dorm, so they hardly saw each other.

He’d come back to Spencer hanging out near the block only a couple times; he didn’t seem to like loitering, like he was concerned Derek’s neighbours would get suspicious.

More often, though, Derek would go out onto the balcony and make some sort of noise, and Spencer would respond from above. Over time, Derek was relieved to note that Spencer was usually not so close to the edge as he was the first night.

But most of the time, unfortunately, was not all of the time.

Spencer wasn’t all that interested in drinking, but he was interested in sharing whatever he’d learned about recently. He absolutely did not share much about himself at all.

Despite how private Derek felt as a person though, he found he was sharing quite a lot about himself with Spencer. It was hard not to, inviting Spencer into a place he and his sister were living in though. She’d met him in passing once or twice, and had commented after he left, thankfully, about how shy he seemed to be.

Spencer was a bit like butter from the fridge; he needed time to soften up every single time he came over to Derek’s.

His most recent obsession, to Derek's suffering, had been body farms. After finding out that Derek was studying at the academy (which he was loath to share on account of those ever-present insecurities), Spencer had told him that he was interested in criminal behaviour, among other related things.

Not in a ‘watch true crime documentaries just for the nightmares, apparently’ kind of way, but more to work out the why, and sometimes guess at the how, of everything. He’d dropped stupid time into geographical profiling, in Derek’s opinion, for someone who wasn’t pursuing a career in a related field.

“And they have one, a body farm that is, in East Tennessee. Did you know that they run ten week courses there? Something they’ve done recently is watching for changes in hair for a body left in a car for two months. That’s so specific, isn’t it? Hair changes in a car? Although it’s safe to assume they’re obviously looking for more at the same time.”

“Obviously,” Derek agreed.

Spencer was way too excited for the topic at hand.

Derek continued before Spencer went back to talking about something like maggot life cycles. “Okay, so if I get through to being an FBI agent and I see a body in a car, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“You mean when. I don’t have a phone.” Spencer’s lips had a little curve, like he was self-conscious of smiling still but couldn’t help it fully.

“Right, right. Can you tell me how to summon you then, or will I just have to come here and call out at the roof until you appear?”

Now that was definitely a smile. Why did that feel just as good as high test scores?

The next time Derek was at the apartment, Spencer didn’t show. But there was a phone number written on a paper plane that had been thrown onto his balcony. Three, actually, and one he picked up on the way to the apartment that was stuck in a sad, over-pruned and under-watered hedge out front. How many had Spencer made that Derek didn’t find?

Eleven, it turns out. Spencer was a horrible shot, but Derek liked watching his long fingers folding the paper in what was ‘the most aerodynamic plane folding method’ the next time he was over. It felt a little silly to challenge him on it, especially since Derek knew fuck all about the aerodynamics of paper planes. And Spencer called him out on it.

“Superior hand-eye coordination doesn’t mean your plane folding method is superior, it just means you’re good with your hands.”

Derek wiggled his eyebrows, but continued speaking after he let the flush of Spencer’s cheeks sit for a moment.

“So you want me to throw one of yours, to see if I can do it better with your method?”

“It’s a reasonable request. You can’t test two theories for quality results if the testing methods are different.”

“You’re a sore loser, you know that?”

“You’re an unfair winner, did you know that?”

“So you admit I’m a winner?”

Spencer felt terrible that his next plane hit Derek in the eye, so Derek only milked it for half the time he would have liked to.

Spencer shoved his shoulder when Derek finally caved and laughed, indignant.

“You were playing it up!”

“It’s paper! It can’t hurt me that bad.”

“It did hit your eye. They might be the fastest healing body part, but they’re not impervious.”

“Pretty boy, if you want to kiss it better, I won’t stop you. But you don’t need to worry that much about it.”

Derek saw that sweet rush of colour on Spencer’s neck and cheeks, and the smile he was trying to hide before now took a shy edge as he tried to look casual.

“Well, if I injured you, I should do what I can to help.”

His voice was so quiet that Derek almost missed what he said. He tilted his head in question, raising a brow while trying to figure out if this was more word-based flirting or if one of them would actually take it further for once.

Spencer’s eyes were focused on his fingers, picking at lint that certainly wasn’t on the leg of his pants but held his gaze anyway. His eyes flickered up to Derek’s face though, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips just after.

“Well, you’re the doctor out of the two of us, what do you think I need?”

“I’m not a medical doctor.” Spencer’s voice seemed to be getting quieter, but Derek liked that his gaze was flicking more to Derek’s lips now.

“Maybe so, but I bet you know more about first aid than I do, especially with that fear of germs you got.”

“Me not shaking your hand is normal. The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to kiss.”

Derek almost laughed at how embarrassed Spencer looked at that line, but knew if he did Spencer would think he was laughing at him and might take offense.

“So I should kiss you goodbye when you leave? Doctor Reid, who knew you could be so forward?”

“That’s not what I was saying! I just-”

Derek held up his hands, placating, while Spencer seemed to flap his. “Now now handsome, I didn’t say I was opposed.”

Derek thought he was floating when Spencer, so quickly it was barely a kiss, pressed his lips to Derek’s cheek when he left that night.

–

The next time Derek heard Spencer’s voice from above his balcony, he was almost back to his subdued, distanced self from when they first started speaking. It was over an hour before Spencer let Derek coax him inside. He was shocked when Spencer came to his front door, hair lank and pulled forward to try and cover his eye and cheek that were dark with bruising.

“Spencer, what happened?” He ushered the younger man in, directing him to the couch.

“Nothing. An accident. What were you saying about the fitness test?”

“You’re not interested in fitness tests, what happened?” He tried to bring his hand up to Spencer’s cheek, tilt his head up into the light and assess the damage, but Spencer shied away from him, getting up and heading to the kitchen instead.

“I’m interested in the fitness test.”

“I’m not. Since when are you interested in that?”

“Since you’re the one talking about them.” Derek tried not to feel warm and fuzzy with that comment. Spencer was being genuine, the man was a terrible liar, but he gives away shy truths when he wants to distract.

Derek leaned against the tiny kitchen counter while Spencer turned the kettle on.

“I thought you didn’t have tea at night because of the caffeine.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight anyway, so I may as well enjoy a tea.”

Derek scrutinised him, wordlessly getting a still sealed pack of decaf tea from the cupboard and putting it down beside Spencer’s hand on the counter.

“You know this isn’t truly decaffeinated? It’s just lower in comparison to other teas.”

Derek stayed quiet and watched as Spencer started to squirm under his gaze. He turned then to face Derek, a frown on his face that softened when he saw whatever emotion Derek’s expression wasn’t hiding. Concern, probably.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t use your behavioural training on me.”

“I thought I wouldn’t feel the need to with you.”

Spencer’s lips pressed into a thin line before he turned back to the kettle, mumbling. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

When Derek put his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, Spencer jumped, then looked guilty.

“Sorry. I don’t-” He looked at Derek’s hand, which he’d pulled back like he'd been burnt when Spencer flinched at his touch. “I don’t mind.” He wrung his hands, nervous or something like it and unable to look at Derek with that soft red on his cheeks again, marred by bruises. “I don’t mind. The contact, if it’s you. But I’d rather not be surprised by it just now.”

“I get it, pretty boy, and I’m sorry.” He held out his hands, palms up, for Spencer to take. Spencer’s hands shook a little, and he’d forgotten to pour water into his mug now.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, I won’t ask how you got- that.” He jutted his chin to try and gesture at Spencer’s purpled skin while his hands were occupied. “But is what I see all you have, or is there more?”

Spencer bit his lip, watching his own thumb as he rubbed it against Derek’s fingers.

“Spencer, please.”

Spencer shrugged, still unwilling to meet Derek’s eyes.

“It’s not just that. My face. It’s-...” He lifted their joined hands, but didn’t let go of Derek’s to gesture any better. Instead, he pressed their hands to Derek’s chest, just beneath the collar of his shirt, then slowly moved them down and around a little to Derek’s sides. The movement was awkward, but Derek appreciated the tight grip on his hands, and the touch Spencer was initiating, and the information being shared all in the way Spencer was capable of.

“It’s all over, isn’t it pretty boy?”

Spencer hesitated, almost nodding before deciding to try and move on. “I don’t know if I qualify for that. Not normally, or especially now.”

The shy smile was back, and too self-deprecating for Derek. But fighting Spencer on that too strong right now would push him away, so he let some of that anger slide away before he spoke.

“You callin’ me a liar, handsome?”

“No, I think I’m calling you a sweet-talker.”

“But a lying sweet talker, hot stuff?” Spencer pursed his lips as he looked up at Derek, finally, to suppress a smile.

“I’m starting to think you have a biased opinion.”

“I’m starting to think you do too, although on the other side of the spectrum. Why are you so hard on yourself?” 

Spencer squeezed Derek’s hands before letting them go, turning back to pour hot water in his mug. Derek bit back a sigh when Spencer changed the subject again.

“So only two weeks before you’re done at the academy, huh?”

Throughout the night, as Spencer started melting into his more comfortable self the longer he was there, he was less aware of the bruising on his face. It wasn’t until he caught his reflection, or Derek staring, or felt it twinge when he smiled too wide, that he remembered it and grew self-conscious again. That he pushed his hair back in the way of it like if Derek couldn’t see it then Spencer could forget he was injured.

He’d foregone contact lenses and worn his glasses that night, like he did most nights, and Derek thought it might be so it felt like there was another barrier between his bruises and the rest of the world.

Derek wanted to kiss them better, and then all the other hurts Spencer seemed to have. And Spencer sure seemed to have a lot of hurts.

Hurts like how his expression tightened when Derek asked about his childhood, his parents, his friends, or his time at school. How Derek, in the earlier days, made a comment about Spencer missing social cues, and heard a bitter ‘well I can’t pick up on cues if I don’t have anyone to teach them to me’ in reply before Spencer tried to cover it up.

How if he had a particularly bad day, he was so jumpy near Derek that Derek almost wanted to sit on his hands to show he wasn’t going to use them for anything.

How on days when Spencer’s eyes were sunken with a lack of sleep, and the clothes he wore showed how thin he was, and he was so so close to the edge of the ledge on the roof above Derek’s apartment that he thought Spencer just might not care if he fell over the edge.

Like he’d had a lifetime of hurts and still had to face more each day, and Derek only saw little slivers of him and couldn’t learn enough to help him as much as Spencer needed; as much as Derek wanted.

God, he was going to make a terrible profiler.

“Derek?” Spencer looked hesitant, and Derek realised he’d spaced out; probably while staring at Spencer’s bruise again going by how he’d tried to angle his face away awkwardly, unable to fully turn and hide it while looking at Derek at the same time.

Derek couldn’t help it, he just kept on staring. Spencer’s tongue darted out to wet his lips again, and Derek’s eyes tracked the movement. He knew Spencer noticed that, too, by the way his breath seemed to stutter.

Slowly, he shuffled forward on the couch, eyes holding Spencer’s gaze as he did so.

This time, Derek’s name from Spencer’s lips was much quieter, like he was asking for something instead of questioning him.

“Spencer,” The younger man’s eyes dropped down, watching as Derek’s hand came up to his arm; his shoulder. Watched it still as it moved higher, cupping his unbruised cheek. Spencer turned his head, almost pressing a kiss to Derek’s palm as his eyes closed and his bruised cheek was fully on display.

“Spencer, I’ll be gentle. May I?”

Spencer didn’t open his eyes, just hummed in agreement, nosing at Derek’s palm. 

Goosebumps broke over Spencer’s neck when Derek’s breath hit his cheek, and Derek felt him shiver. Careful to avoid the worst of it, Derek skated his lips over Spencer’s cheekbone, pressed them just in front of where his earlobe met the back of his jaw, then trailed them down his jawline.

Spencer tipped his head, allowing easier access as Derek watched Spencer’s fingers grip the couch cushion beneath him. Unsure if it was entirely due to sensation or something going on in his mind, Derek didn’t push further. Using his hand on Spencer’s cheek, he turned the man’s head to nudge his nose to Spencer’s.

“This is alright?”

In lieu of an answer, slowly, Spencer lifted his chin and kissed Derek on the lips. Derek’s chest swelled and he smiled into it, his other hand coming up to Spencer’s side.

They shuffled closer to each other, to be able to press themselves into each other more comfortably. Spencer’s mouth opened beneath Derek’s lips, and he could taste that terrible decaf tea and honey, and the cashews Spencer liked to snack on while reading.

He wondered what Spencer would think he tasted like, the cheap vending machine snacks and the god awful protein water he’d bought without realising it was terrible.

Suddenly, he had the urge to brush his teeth. He made to pull away, but Spencer’s fingers curled in his shirt and his resolve weakened.

Their hands were slowly moving over each other, everything was moving so slowly. Sweetly, like they were learning each other and had all the time in the world. Derek’s fingers found the hem of Spencer’s shirt, and he tugged the man’s lower lip between his teeth as his fingers slipped under the fabric and brushed against Spencer’s skin.

God it was soft, but it felt thin, too. He became scared of hurting Spencer, especially when remembering he had some other injuries too. So he kept his touch light, fingers probably tickling as they travelled further up Spencer’s side as Spencer laughed into the kiss.

Spencer tugged at Derek’s collar, then his fingers slipped around to cup the back of Derek’s neck. Caught up in being able to touch, they quickly moved back down, trailing over his shoulder and down his chest, then Spencer’s hands lingered there. They would have moved further down, Derek thinks, with his hands now pushing Spencer’s shirt up, if it weren’t for his sister coming home.

They didn’t realise until they heard her laugh, surprised.

“Oh, Sorry! I didn’t text ahead, my phone died. Go about your business!” She laughed again, more of a giggle, then her bedroom door clicked shut. Spencer was rigid beneath him - when had he pressed Spencer into the couch beneath him?

‘Sorry, Spence, I didn’t-”

Spencer pushed him up and off, the heat flushing his face more than the usual shyness or what Derek might expect from making out on a couch could bring about. More than embarrassment of being caught, even. He scrambled to get up and right his clothes, walking to the door and scooping up his bag on the way.

“Spencer, wait! Where are you going?” He didn’t want to pull Spencer back by catching his arm, knowing the man wouldn’t react well. His eyes seemed watery and Derek was lost.

And he stayed lost, when, after three weeks, Spencer hadn’t come back. His texts went unanswered and when he called the number was disconnected.

And he kept right on being lost when Spencer didn’t come back to visit him before he had to move out.

–--- 2005

Derek scowled at the scene before them. 

“You’re saying someone was turning people into books?”

The local officer walking them through the scene nodded, nose wrinkled but face otherwise resigned.

“Yup. See, we had a couple people go missing here and there. Transients, runaways, you know the type. And we’d thought they went missing by choice. Sure, we looked,” not enough, Derek thought. “But we never thought they’d end up. Well. As books.”

“As books.” Derek’s skin crawled.

Aside from a specific wrinkle in his brow, Hotch didn’t even look perturbed. “These materials, would they be specialised? Potentially unique or traceable?”

“The tanning stuff? Not as far as we can tell. Out here, we got people doing this the normal way, tanning hides and such.  A lot of leather workers out here. As far as we can tell, it’s basically all the same stuff.”

Hotch looked back at Gideon who shrugged and looked at Derek. “He’ll take a breather now that we found his workshop; he’ll need time to set himself up again. Derek, you’re going to a library to speak to someone about human skin book binding.”

Derek and Elle looked at each other before Derek held his hands out, gesturing broadly.

“We just have someone who knows about human skin being made into books?”

Elle smirked at him. “And you get to visit them. How nice.”

Derek wasn’t thrilled about it, and the feeling that his skin was crawling and unclean hadn’t left since they found the workshop their unsub was using. It reeked in both usual and unexpected ways, and the forensic investigator on scene and all too happily told him that urine could be used in the tanning process.

Perhaps a clean, quiet, library would help in easing his mind, but the subject matter wouldn’t. Derek flashed his badge at the desk, and the librarian assistant he’d found nodded without him needing to explain.

“Agent Gideon called ahead, I’ll lead you through to the doctor now. The books were already here, we’ve held them for ages, but the doctor only arrived recently. Good timing, too, what with this horribleness happening.” She chattered as she led him through shelves, picking up carelessly placed books as she went and piling them up on her other arm.

“Wait, the doctor showed up for the books after the murders?” Derek frowned; Gideon hadn’t called that far ahead, had he?

“Yes, though it’s not his first time here. He’s such a joy to have.” She looked at Derek, then laughed. “You don’t think he did it, do you?”

Derek shrugged, and she shook her head. Then, they stopped outside a room labelled ‘staff only’, and she knocked before pushing the door open.

Derek patted down his pockets for his notepad and pen, then stopped short when he looked up.

The assistant kept talking.

“So this is the doctor Spencer Reid, the veritable specialist on these books. Our Margaret, who usually cares for these books and who we’d recommend you to normally for this, she’s been unwell. But we’re lucky to have Dr. Reid here,” After that, she looked between the two, and her smile slipped into confusion.

“Do you two know each other?”

Derek swallowed, and Spencer barely moved.

“Well, I’ll just leave you two to it, then.” She cast a hesitant glance at Spencer, who nodded to her, and she seemed to take that as a sign it was safe for her to leave them alone.

“Spencer?”

[gentil-minou]

Xiantober Day 10 - Fanartist!Xian

WlW Wangxian Week Day 2 - Queen for a Day @wlwangxianweek

NSFW (masturbation, body worship, thirsting over your own art)

--

The email sat in her inbox untouched for days, heavy and daunting, the sender's address highlighted and glaring at her. It arrested her breath every time her cursor hovered over the unopened message.

Wei Ying has been creating fanart for years, and recently her clay sculptures have achieved widespread recognition for their level of detail and stunning paintwork. It's not uncommon for her to get emails asking to commission her.

But not all of those emails are sent from famed cosplayer Hanguang-jun's official email address, titled "Commission Request" in bold unassuming font that might as well be plastered on a neon sign for the way Wei Ying can't look away at all.

Hanguang-jun wants to commission Wei Ying for a tabletop sculpture to scale of her latest elven cosplay. She's willing to pay generously for Wei Ying's time and labor, well above her usual rates. She has a small list of specifications and offers to meet one on one for measurements.

How can Wei Ying explaing to HGJ, the queen of cosplay herself, that she doesn't actually need her measurements because she's spent the last few years memorizing her body by sight in all the the thousands of elegant cosplay photos HGJ posts on a weekly basis.

What would HGJ think if she knew the entire reason Wei Ying is lauded as one of the premier up and coming sculptors of her generation is because she's spent years honing her craft for the express purpose of being able to perfectly capture the essence of HGJ in inanimate form?

How did HGJ find her anyway?

Okay, actually, that's a dumb question. When Wei Ying started sculpting a year ago one of her first videos was a time lapse on tiktok with a clay model of a HGJ cosplay of a xianxia character.

And admittedly, Wei Ying did spend the entire video thirsting over HGJ while in her small studio surrounded by her fanart of HGJ and okay yeah so that video has several million views and quite a few cheeky comments tagging the queen herself…

So okay, it makes sense how HGJ found her, but it still doesn't explain WHY she chose to commission Wei Ying directly.

Like, here's the thing. Wei Ying knows she's good. She's super good. She didn't get to quit her boring day job for no reason, and she's spent practically all her life getting this good, she's not gonna pretend to be humble.

But HGJ never commissions people. She doesn't even reshare fanart or even respond to fan's comments. Her photos and videos are cinematic and expertly shot, but she doesn't do lives or anything like that where she talks to fans. Wei Ying has never been to a convention to see her personally, but with her expert internet sleuthing skills she knows that when HGJ does meet and greets, only ever for charity or some good cause, she doesn't do more than nod politely before posing with them.

So why would she all of a sudden reach out to Wei Ying and go against all of that?

But it doesn't matter why…because Wei Ying just responded to her email and took up the offer to meet Hanguang-jun to talk about her commission.

She's going to meet HGJ…in the flesh…outside of costume.

Wei Ying looks arond at her walls, plastered in artwork and photos of HGJ in all her glory. She stares at the smattering of sculptures she has displayed in a place of honor. At the life-sized cardboard cutout she got of HGJ cosplaying as Shego a couple years back, glaring menacingly in a way that makes her spine tingle...

Wei Ying is going to have to clean up her studio before she meets with HGJ…

What is she getting herself into?

--

Wei Ying likes to make prototypes before she meets with any client. It's not really a courtesy so much as a necessary requirement. A sculpture is way more taxing on her resources after all. She needs to make sure her client likes it before she gets started on the real deal.

She might be…spending more time on the prototype for Hanguang-jun than she has for anyone else…especially considering she's sculpted her enough she knows its good but, well…

She almost can't help it. Whenever she makes art of HGJ, it's like she's under a spell and can't resist. It's mesmerizing, watching the block of clay taking form and shape, transforming into a temptress that leaves Wei Ying glued to her desk until she finishing the final touches and sits back to admire her work.

Wei Ying used to exclusively make fanart of fictional characters. She mostly liked donghua and manhua, and rarely ever caared for things that were live-action or realistic. It took away the fun, she'd always thought. She lives in the real world so why would she care about something like that in her work?

Then, she saw Hanguang-jun cosplay her favorite character from her favorite novel. It was all over from there.

It wasn't even one of HGJ's more scandalous cosplays that showed off her ample cleavage or milky white thighs. She was completely covered up, wearing an intricate set of robes that must have been embroidered by hand with long black hair too silken to be a wig styled up in a top knot.

The costume was stunning, but it was HGJ's expression that ensnared Wei Ying. Fiercely intense, and a gravity that made the character come alive.

For a moment, Wei Ying forgot she was looking at a fanmade cosplay. For a moment, it was like the character she'd admired so much had come to life right on her computer screen, all elegant lines and secret curves. Her hand had reached into her shorts of its own accord…bewitched.

And so followed a mad scramble to get as much content about HGJ as she possible could, imbibing every last ounce until Wei Ying felt like she knew everything she could about HGJ.

Despite being notortiously private about her personal life. HGJ regularly shares bts about her costume work and and what goes into creating cosplay. There was a panel she'd done for a con where she explained how she'd sewn every costume painstakingly by hand, and how long each costume took.

That more than anything, pulled Wei Ying deep into HGJ's orbit.

She'll never forget listening to that video, the soft cadence of HGJ's delicate voice, so seldom heard when she plays so many silent and serious characters, as HGJ spoke about her love for her craft. Wei Ying was lost to the moment, to the wonderful sensation of someone knowing exactly why one would spend hours and days on creating something. The pure love for her craft, shining in the golden contacts HGJ wore, the stage lights giving them a twinkle that seemed to come from within.

That's when Wei Ying realized her crush on HGJ was more than that.

But until this moment, she didn't have to worry about it. Wei Ying was perfectly content making artwork from a afar, ever getting any closer. A fan and her muse, the simplest pairing there was.

Except now Hanguang-jun is coming to her studio. For a private meeting. Today.

Needless to say, Wei Ying is feeling woefully unprepared. She'd at least had the wherewithal to hide her more salacious fanart away. HGJ does not need to know how often Wei Ying has imagined and tried to paint her breasts…that would be a bit too far.

Her studio as ready as it is ever going to be, all she needs now is to finish the prototype.

It's a crude model, really. Meant mostly to test the pose HGJ requested. It's not even painted, though Wei Ying did spend more time on it than she has for anyone else.

The clay is still wet to the touch, as the model sits on her workbench and she trails a careful finger down the side of HGJ's face. Her eyes are still hollow and blank, but the shape is correct, the lines meeting at the corners to taper off underneath arched brows she's etched in.

HGJ's high cheekbones were carved at an angle over a mouth with a tiny smile, barely there. The reference photo Wei Ying had used for HGJ's expression wasn't from the official photo shoot, but a bts video on HGJ's brother's feed (also public, and filled with so much delicious content). HGJ wasn't even looking at the camera. She'd been holding her pet bunny in her lap, smiling so sweetly down at it, the corners of her mouth just barely lifting up and the softness of her eyes breathtaking. Wei Ying had felt like she'd been suspended in midair with the force of that little smile.

She'd fully intended to use one of the more serious expressions from the photoshoot, but when the time came it's like her hands had a mind of their own. It was instinct and the image of that sweet smile that guided her as she etched in the lines of the model's face.

Once it was done, there was no way she could smudge it away. And so the small smile stays. Wei Ying's hand trails over to the slope of HGJ's nose, and she giggles as she gives the figure a gentle boop. The clay sculpture is pretty large, about the size of her torso (also not the standard. usually these reference models are smaller than the sized asked for. But well...if Wei Ying has to give the final sculpture to HGJ maybe she can keep this prototype for her collection...) but that doesn't mean she's willing to risk damaging it when it's still so fragile. She'd be devastated if something happened to HGJ, in whatever form she's in.

Her finger slides down over plump lips that Wei Ying has spent many lines drawing over and over again, sketches of that mouth in every expression, closed and pursed into a frown, even open and waiting… She has the lines of HGJ's lips practically memorized. Can imagine how they'd feel when she traces over her own.

She does that now, the fingers of her right hand tracing over her own lips as the pad of her left index finger trails back and forth over the model's lips. Chapped against glossed. Plush pink. How would HGJ's look free of lipstick, smudged and wiped away at the edges onto someone else. Lips bitten red.

Wei Ying's breath hitches and she pulls her lips into her mouth to bite down on. Her right hand falls into her lap.

She lets the tip of her finger trail to HGJ's pointed chin, then curves it down as if Wei Ying is lifting it up to draw her towards her. That would be ludicrous, to kiss a statue…except….

Wei Ying had taken care to carve HGJ's elegant veins that jut out from her neck, and follows them down her slender throat and over her collarbone, to where the shape of HGJ's breast sit, exposed to the frigid way that would surely harden her nipples into soft rosebuds if they were real.

Wei Ying has spent many nights staring at the ceiling of her room, idly tracing figure 8s around and around her small chest as she ruminates on HGJ's full breasts, the way they effortlessly lift and nearly slip out of her costumes, though the never actually do.

How they must be twice the size of Wei Ying's own, leaving her to lift her own and wonder how heavy HGJ's must be. Imagine the weight of them in her palms, how they'd look when she squeezes. The sounds HGJ would make, her quiet gasps echoing in the silence of the room. The way those honey brown eyes, her real ones, not the fake contacts she uses for her cosplay, would be fixed on Wei Ying's, long lashes fluttering as she leans forward to give Wei Ying a better angle.

The heat inside Wei Ying flares up, and she lets her hands pull her shorts away so she can lip her hand inside, trialing over coarse curls until she reaches the place that's hottest within her. Not for the first time, she wonders what it would feel like to touch HGJ in this place. Would it feel the same as it does when Wei Ying touches herself? Would it feel like something else entirely?

She draws circles around her lower lips with the fingers of her right hand as her left index finger trails down the center of HGJ's chest, over the valley between her breasts.

Perhaps she should have sculpted the mounds of her breasts closer together so they'd create the cleavage HGJ is known for. But like earlier, when she'd felt out of control with the need to carve her smile, Wei Ying had wanted to let HGJ voluptuous breasts hang free and apart, natural the way she always imagines her.

Besides, it would fit with HGJ's request to create a sculpture of her recent cosplay of Galadriel.

Wei Ying had just about lost her mind when she'd seen the gauzy fabric of HGJ's dress, how it left only the most intimate parts of her to the imagination as the sheer dress draped over the curves of her body. How she could so clearly see the outline of her full breasts, with no bra restraining them only a simple fabric to tastefully cover her nipples. Beneath her chest, the dip in her slender waist flared out into wide hips. The curve of her thighs, with a wide slit in the dress that revealed the tiniest tantalizing peek of pale skin…

The pale blue, nearly see through fabric had been both too little and too much. Wei Ying had felt like she needed to look away. She'd also felt like she never wanted to stare at anything else ever again.

Remaking the exact gauzy lines in a clay sculpture will be a fun challenge. She can already see the way she can carve the lines so the creases of HGJ's dress show it's there while the rest of the fabric clings to her shape and form, a glimpse of something that shouldn't be seen. That Wei Ying sculpts herself, a shrine to a goddess.

The thought makes Wei Ying gasp, as she dips one finger inside her, slipping through her drenched folds with ease.

The heat is jarring, almost burning where it stokes a fire deep within her core, spreading outward, consuming everything in its wake.

In contrast, HGJ's clay figure is nearly ice cold against her heated skin. But as her finger rest against the figure, it turns warm, as if a heart truly beats beneath that clay chest.

Would it be the same if she was trailing her fingers across the real HGJ's chest? With a frozen exterior melt into warmth? Would a pink stretch across her torso, matching the lips she bites down? Would her heart beat just as fast as Wei Ying's?

Wei Ying rocks against her finger, but one just isn't enough. She adds another, strokes herself with intent even as her eyes flutter closed as her other hand slides down to the contours of HGJ's flat stomach, then to the v that points towards a place Wei Ying can only imagine in her wildest dreams.

If she doesn't pay attention, she can almost imagine her left hand is touching something else, something alive and real.

She whimpers, feeling the fire burn bright and hot and all encompassing. She wants to throw her head back, let her gasps echo off the ceiling. She wants to recline in her chair, give herself completely over to her pleasure. But how can she, when that would mean she can no longer touch HGJ, even this mere imitation of her?

At the thought, she opens her eyes again, gasping as she struggles to keep them from shutting, as she shudders from her approaching climax, curling those fingers and rubbing at her clit, faster and faster.

HGJ's model is haloed in a yellow spotlight from her desklight, drawing the eye and entrapping it.

It's not the real deal, but if Wei Ying squints her eyes she can pretend the burnished red figure is Hanguang-jun, blurry but real. Here, in front of her, panting breaths a match to hers.

She can almost see it, hear the intake of breath as HGJ watches her. What would HGJ think id she saw her? What would she do if Wei Ying called out for her? If she begged for her aid?

Would she hang back and watch? Would she be mortified? Intrigued?

Would she…would she dare approach? Would she stand over Wei Ying as she lies back in her chair? Would she draw her hand down the side of Wei Ying's face, past her chin and her neck, following the path Wei Ying traveled along her clay figure? Would she let her hand pass through the valley between Wei Ying's smaller breasts, fingers feather light, down, down over her stomach to join where Wei Ying's fingers slide in and out, pumping rhythmically as she chases her release.

Would she slip inside as well, bending over her, only touching that one most intimate place, Would she watch Wei Ying, those honey-brown filled with a new sort of intensity, something she's never worn for any of her cosplays. A vision just for Wei Ying.

Would she smile at her?

Wei Ying's orgasm crests and flares over her, all at once, rocking through her as the fire burns and burns and burns. She cries HGJ's name into the ceiling, caught in a wanton moan that goes on forever, obscenely so, until all that's left are Wei Ying's panting breaths.

When she returns to her body, feeling lightheaded, she registers the sticky wet sensation of her right hand as she pulls it out of her pants, feeling hollow inside. The tiny studio smells of sex as sweat beads down her back,

At some point during her climax she must have knocked over HGJ's figurine to where lies forlornly on its side.

"Shit," she whispers, checking over it with her clean hand and setting it down securely in its base. Thankfully it is undamaged, and she moves on to look for something to clean herself with.

It's not the first time she's done this here. She really should be more prepared for this sort of thing.

She cleans her hand as best as she can with her water bottle and hand sanitizer, wiping the rest away on her shorts. There's no mirror in this room but she's got enough time she can probably go to the bathroom and fix herself up, maybe air out the room before Hanguang-jun arrives—

There's a knock, quiet and polite, unintrusive, on the door to her studio, and Wei Ying jerks her head up in shock.

It's too early, she's supposed to have another ten minutes at least… it can't be.

The knock goes off again, this time louder and more firm. Wei Ying yelps, before covering her mouth with her hands. But it's too late.

Someone calls from the other side, "Is this the Yiling Matriarch's studio?"

It is. Fuck. Wei Ying is shaking, but she can't put this off any longer.

She opens the door.

TBC

(threadfic here)