#[canonverse]

[certainty2witch]

Oh Robin, you aren’t so far away from the truth.

original post

[kana-daydreams]

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 || 𝐙𝐨𝐫𝐨(𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐀)

summary: Zoro surprises you with a compliment and you express your appreciation with a surprise of your own—by unintentionally stealing his first kiss. genre: fluff cw: added just a li'l bit of spice wc: 3.3k kana's notes: This was originally suppose to be a drabble, but ig I couldn't help myself😓. Anyways hope you enjoy my fellow Zoro lovers :D

“Told you it was a waste of time.” Nami drawls as she continues to peruse through racks of clothes searching for an outfit to wear for tonight’s dinner while you sit, sulking in a corner next to a discarded heap.

“You don’t have to rub it in y’know.” You lift your head from off your knees to peer up at your friend with a pout. “I’m already regretting all my past decisions.” You say, feeling heat bloom at your cheeks as you recall the couple of model worthy poses (well at least you think they were) you’d mustered up the courage to perform in front of a certain green-haired individual as you tried on multiple styles of clothes ranging from cute to elegant along with a few that showed off some skin— none seeming to had piqued the swordsman’s interest. Not even shamelessly batting your lashes had been enough to earn an ounce of a reaction from him except for his concern that something might have gotten stuck in your eye.

You release a stifled cry at the embarrassing memory, plopping your head back down onto your knees.

“Why did I have to fall for someone incapable of giving a girl a decent compliment?” You say, your words muffled by the fabric of the outfit you’re wearing.

Fishing for compliments wasn’t a habit of yours and seeking validation for your appearance, especially from a guy, definitely wasn’t either. You knew you were a hottie— by your standards anyways. It’s just that you really had somewhat of a thing for Zoro who you’d known for some time now, and hearing him compliment you for just once in your life, no matter how small it was—even if it was only a single word—would be more than enough to send you, having lived a fulfilling life, right to heaven’s pearly white gates.

“C’mon, it’s not the end of the world.” Nami crouches down at your level, giving you a tender pat on the head and you peek an eye open at her to notice that she’s changed into a beautiful and traditional chinese dress; its red colour complementing her ginger-orange hair. 

“I’ve already told you, you look great. Sexy and cute— a deadly combination.” She gives you a wink and you giggle lightly at the action. 

“Thanks, Nami.” You smile.

“No problem.” She lightly pinches your cheeks before standing to her full height. “Now let's finish getting ready, shall we?” She extends a hand down at you. “I have a bet to win.”  

You playfully roll your eyes, remembering her bet with Luffy before taking her hand, the two of you making your way out the grandeur of the closet.

Later at night, under the dazzling lights of a grand chandelier, you and the rest of your newly formed crew along with Usopp—a boy you and the others recently befriended—stand scattered about the spacious foyer of Miss Kaya’s home, awaiting the birthday girl’s presence as you mingle and indulge your taste buds with lavish delicacies being served around on silver platters. 

While you and the crew wine and dine, Zoro stands amongst his own company near the staircase, nursing in his hands, his fourth glass of cocktail—deep brown eyes pinned on your form standing beside Luffy and Usopp.

He watches as you converse with them and as you chow down on platter after platter of food like it’s the last meal of your life alongside Luffy, his gaze drinking in your every smile, your every laugh and the adorable expressions you make as you stuff your cheeks full with every bit of food that comes your way.  It makes him wonder if you and Luffy are having a full on eating competition at the rate the two of you are going.

He only takes his gaze off you when he realises his glass is empty after he goes to chug some of the liquid down, discarding it onto a nearby end table laden with a few more empty glasses alike.

His eyes then search across the room for the server, wanting to satiate his taste for more alcohol, flitting over in your direction when he hears the sound of your voice calling his name. 

“Zoro, you’ve gotta try these!”

Zoro watches as you approach him with animated steps and glances down at the tray you carry in your hands to see chocolate, pink and milk-white covered squares.”

“Is that cho—”

“Yes! And it’s really good!” You bounce on the balls of your feet, the action making Zoro suspect that you’d had way too much chocolate than your sweet tooth could handle. 

“Here, you should try this one.” 

“Chocolate isn’t really my th—” Zoro cuts himself short when he sees one of your hands pick up a chocolate-coated square, offering it to him.

He looks down at the piece of chocolate pinched lightly between your fingers, then back up at your face beaming with a wide smile and then around the room at everyone occupied either in conversation or eating, before returning to settle his gaze back onto you. 

He heaves a sigh. “Does it have alcohol?”

“I don’t think so, but I can go ask if there's any wi—” 

“No, it’s fine.”

Zoro stops you before you can leave, and you watch as he leans forward a bit, shuts his eyes and slightly parts his lips, his actions causing your head to tilt slightly in confusion.

Your questioning look, however, doesn’t last long, slowly fading away and morphing into one of surprise when your brain registers the purpose of his actions.

You almost heave a cough, feeling heat creep up your neck; burning at your cheeks while your hand remains extended with the chocolate held between your fingers as you continue to stand there, unmoving, simply staring up at him— up at a sight you never quite expected to see or would ever see. 

When Zoro doesn’t feel any sign of sugary sweet pressing against his lips, he peeks an eye open to see you staring at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

“What are you waiting for?”

“N-Nothing!” Your voice immediately squeaks out.

Zoro only lets out a hum at your response before once again closing his eyes, waiting for you to feed him the chocolate square.

You swallow hard. And your heart rate picks up as you inch the chocolate closer to his mouth, its beat increasing more so when the tips of your fingers brush against his soft lips.

When Zoro feels a sweet warmth mixed with a hint of salt melting against his tongue, he doesn’t have much of a reaction and simply opens his eyes to look down at you.

“I-It’s good? Isn’t it?”

Zoro nods. “Yeah.”

Silence.

“Okay, well, um..I’m gonna go,” you say with a nervous chuckle, pointing a thumb behind you. “Gonna see what else they uh, gotta eat.” You slowly start to reverse your steps, bumping into the server behind you as you do, almost knocking her over along with the full platter of food in her hands.

You profusely apologise to the woman who sends you a disapproving glare before continuing with robot-like movement back in the direction you came, unable to see the hint of red that colours the tips of Zoro’s ears and also the way his gaze lingers on your retreating figure, all the while he stands there regretting that he still couldn’t find the courage nor the right words to tell you how beautiful you were in the outfit you’d chosen to wear tonight, and how cute, pretty—and sexy you looked in the many more he had watched you try on. 

When Kaya’s birthday dinner unfortunately comes to an early close due to her outbreak of rattling coughs, she’s kind enough to allow you along with your friends to stay the night unlike her overprotective butler who wasn’t keen on extending your stay, especially after Luffy and his big rubber mouth revealed that you were pirates.

However, instead of lying, snuggled under the thick, warm blankets of a queen size bed, you traverse through a dim-lit hallway in search of the kitchen to help yourself to a midnight snack.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have given up on looking for Luffy.” You murmur to yourself as you continue to amble along the empty halls with no sense of direction as to where you were going, involuntarily releasing a gasp when your body suddenly collides into another, one more firmer than your own, just as you round a nearby corner.

You look up at the figure that slightly towers over your form, a much less startled expression on their face. 

“Z-Zoro?!” You breathe a sigh of relief at the swordsman’s presence. “Thank the heavens you're not that scary butler. What are you doing here?” Your eyes dart down to the three swords attached to his right hip.

“I’m looking for a drink.” Zoro watches as you place a hand across your chest, attempting to calm yourself down from the jumpscare he’d unintentionally given you. “What about you?”

“Food hunt.” You look back up at him with a small smile.

“...Right.”

There’s a lull in the conversation as you notice Zoro’s gaze fall behind you and on instinct, you turn around to see where his eyes follow. 

“Where’s Luffy?”

The swordsman expected that if you were here; Luffy was here, as the two of you seemed to be joined at the hip everywhere you went, especially when food was involved.

You turn your gaze back to him. “Back in his room, I guess.” You say, your hand no longer attached to your chest trying to calm your racing heart. “I did plan on inviting him, but I don’t know where his room is.”

Something that wasn’t your fault since you were the first to be assigned a room and didn’t get to see where the others’ rooms were. 

“So…” you drawl and Zoro glances down at you to see your lips curve into a mischievous smirk. .

“Since Luffy isn’t here...” you continue. “Wanna be my partner in crime instead? You know, help me scour the kitchen for some gold?” You suggest, with a slight wiggle of your eyebrows.

Your words seem to pique the swordsman’s interest as similar to you, a smirk pulls at his lips and he makes a gesture with his head for you to lead the way and you do, him falling in step beside you.

Apparently, you taking the lead was not the best idea when it came to navigating through a house designed like a maze—a fact you should have known with hindsight—as you and Zoro still continue to roam around the mansion like headless chickens for what seems like about an hour. 

“Why is this place so huge?!” You groan and release somewhat of a frustrated cry, already feeling the urge to quit your endeavour of a kitchen raid. Though, you do not act on the tempting idea since you have no clue of the direction you and Zoro came from—the soft grumbles of your stomach doing little to curb your frustration.

Zoro, as he walks beside you, remains silent at your mini-breakdown, his head craning in your direction when he hears you speak again.

“By the way,” You start. “How was the party?” You ask, trying—key word, trying— to keep your mind from being occupied by the thought of food and mostly because you couldn’t let the opportunity of your alone time with Zoro slip past you.

“The alcohol was good.” 

You wait to hear if he will add more, but he doesn’t, not surprised that his reply ends rather abruptly.

“Yeah, it was.” You agree.

Zoro arches an inquisitive brow. “You drink?”

“Not exactly. But the mocktails were great and so was the food.” You smile and so does Zoro, one so faint that your eyes fail to catch it, when he recalls the happy expression on your face as you devoured any and everything that passed your way; continuing to listen at the soft and vibrant melody of your voice that fills his ears.

“...and what I loved most of all were the desserts, especially those choco..lates.” Your voice suddenly falls when the memory of you feeding Zoro pops into mind, together with how soft his lips felt when your fingers brushed against them.

“Something wrong?”

You glance to your right to see that Zoro is looking at you with a concerned expression, your face warming from his attention.

 “Ah, N-No. Nothing’s wrong.” You reassure him with a small smile. “Just got sidetracked, that’s all.”  You go silent shortly after your response when your eyes make the mistake of flickering down to his lips and quickly turn your attention away from him, dropping your gaze to the ground.

Zoro doesn’t know what causes your sudden silence which prolongs as you both continue down the hall, but he does know that he misses the sound of your voice which leads to him racking his brain for a topic that might be interesting enough to get you to speak again, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.  

“That outfit you wore tonight—It was nice.”

The words you think you hear Zoro say makes you slow to a stop.

When Zoro notices you’re no longer walking beside him, he turns to see your shock-filled features, immediately feeling himself go pale, and starts to regret the words that just spilled from his mouth—words he’d held back from telling you at Kaya's birthday dinner the entire time his eyes were glued on to you. 

“W-What did you say?” You recover just enough to ask.

Zoro, who stands no more than a few feet away from you, looks back at you and ponders if he should just play it off due to your reaction, but tells himself that doing so would be a cowardly move—and he was not a coward.

He directs his head to the side to keep his face that flushes a light shade of red away from your view. “The outfit you wore at dinner. It looked really nice on you.” He says again, his voice seeming to struggle to get the words out.

You feel heat rush to your skin.

So you did hear him right the first time.

You replay Zoro's words in your head before nervously raising your gaze to look at him. “So, um…” You fidget a bit where you stand. “You think I looked pretty?”

Zoro visibly flinches at your question, still very much avoiding any eye contact.

“Yeah.” He manages an answer after what seems like a couple of seconds. “You always look pretty.”

At his response, a full and goofy smile blossoms on your lips. Then, without thinking—so overcome with joy at Zoro’s one in a lifetime compliment of you that it pushes most of your nervousness aside— your footsteps start moving closer towards his direction, and you tip-toe, just a little to reach his height, aiming at showing your appreciation for his words by gifting him with a kiss on his cheek. 

However the supple softness that your lips meet when you kiss Zoro is not the softness of his cheek, but that of his lips instead when he suddenly turns his head in your direction.

Both Zoro’s dark eyes and yours widen at the realisation and you stumble back, away from him, watching as he touches a finger to his lips.

“I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that!” Your face steams as you attempt to explain yourself for the accidental kiss. “I-I was just trying to give you a kiss on the cheek—not on your l-lips.”

Dread fills you when you realise that Zoro doesn’t have much of a reaction towards your words and all sorts of thoughts race through your mind at what he might be thinking about the indecent act.

Though all your worries subside when Zoro eventually decides to speak.

“Can…we do that again?” 

Your eyes become saucers at his request. “W-what?”

“I..I want you to kiss me again.”

You almost choke.

Never in this lifetime or any lifetime would you think the stoic swordsman would utter such a request—one that you will be more than happy to fulfil, despite your buckling knees.

 “A-Are you sure?” 

In a few steps, Zoro closes the distance between you both; a gasp leaving your lips when you feel his strong arms snake around your waist pulling you into his larger frame.

“Yes, I'm sure.”

Your heart races as he silently stares down at you, noticing his gaze flicker down to your lips, then slowly back up to meet your eyes.

Heat creeps up your neck at the action, settling on your face and increases ever so slightly at the feeling of the heat that radiates off of Zoro's skin through his clothes from his body being flush against your own.

"You don't want to?" Zoro asks when he notices your somewhat hesitant expression. "It's fine if—"

"No. I do, I do." You rush out, reassuring him that the feeling is mutual. "It's just..." You hesitate. "I've never kissed someone. Well except for you—just now." You smile sheepishly. "I...I might be bad."

Zoro's gaze softens at your words. "Same goes for me."

You feel your heart swell and warmth rise to your cheeks. "That..I was your first?"

Zoro answers you with a single nod, the blush deepening on his face.

You let the revelation sink in: You were Zoro's first kiss.

A reality you can't help but take a moment of silence to relish in as you remain caged between Zoro's arms and the comforting warmth of his body, a warm smile subconsciously gracing your face.

"Can you close your eyes?" your voice comes out barely above a whisper when you're finished relishing in the moment.

Zoro's face wrinkles in confusion. "Why?"

"Because I want to kiss you. "Your voice quavers a bit as you speak. "Won't it be weird if we do it with our eyes open? Though if that's your thing—"

"No. I'll close 'em." Zoro says as his eyes immediately flutter close. And with his eyelids pressed shut, you can't help but stare back at him, admiring every inch of his handsome face and the deep blush that paints its tan skin.

Gingerly, one of your hands reaches up to caress one side of his face as you lean in, swallowing lightly when your lips near his, but pause just before they could meet. "You're really sure about this, right?" You can't help but ask the question again just for good measure.

Zoro shudders a little from the soft touch of your hand against his cheek, and also when he feels the warmness of your breath brush against his lips a few inches away from your own.

He doesn't answer your question immediately and it makes your heart sink that he might be having second thoughts until you feel his lips press tenderly against yours in a feather-light kiss.

The sudden action renders your body somewhat into a state of surprised stillness. But only for a beat, before your eyes flutter close, hands circling Zoro's neck as you lean into the kiss that starts off slow with you both savouring the taste of each other; before it escalates into one more confident, filled with longing and passion.

And the next day after you and Zoro shared a heated kiss at midnight in the dim lights of a lone hallway—forced to pull away, when Luffy unexpectedly popped out from nowhere— you both sneak a quick kiss at the shipyard, where eyes cannot lurk, before joining the rest of the crew who’d acquired a new member to its team, aboard its first ship—The Going Merry.

© 2024 kana-daydreams

reblogs appreciated🥰

[elmundodeflor]

And just like that, she’d fallen for him.

Spring. Summer. Autumn. The world had its cycles. There had been peace before war, and peace would come after bloodsheds and battles.

Katara looks at Zuko, at how he stares out to the width in the horizons. The curves of his nose and lips are soft, much like the colors of the leaves around them. The lines of his jaw and cheeks are sharp, in contrast.

He’s a beautiful man; she’s always thought so, even when they were enemies and he’d sworn he’d kill them. She likes it better this way, though— being friends, confidants, long-time companions. Kindness suits him more, either way. She likes how his face looks when he’s calm, — when there’s no rage to contort his scar, no scowl furrowing his brow.

She also likes that he knows her. That they can stand, silence pending between them, and it’s never too tense or uncomfortable. Zuko is just that good to her. He never puts too much pressure on her shoulders, — she’s had enough of that already. Instead, he soothes the rough edges. Lets her make her own choices and never judges her for them.

He looks back at her. An easy smile grazes his features; baffling, tortuous, beautiful. Katara has to fight the urge to freeze some water from her bottle and smash it across her searing face.

“Do you wanna…”, his voice cuts through the wind, raspy as it ever was. When he talks, it’s evident that he’s nervous. That he’s been circling around his thoughts and can’t seem to find the words. “I mean…”, he tries again. “Do you wanna stay here until you decide what to do?”

She hums, then turns her gaze back to the gardens. Aang had asked her to travel the world along with him, — to be by his side and help other people, from other nations and villages. She had yet to give him a proper answer.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to— go on missions, hear the masses’ suffering and be present in whatever way she could. Maybe, it was that she simply had pictured something different for herself. She could be so much more than just the “Avatar’s girl”! She could go home, lend a useful hand to Sokka and her dad advocating for their tribe. She could be an ambassador.

She could be with Zuko.

She can imagine the whole thing all too well, actually, — being on the palace, with him, until she could confront Aang about what to do. They could go for an evening stroll, feed turtleducks by the lake. Zuko’d make tea way past dinner time, and she’d laugh along with Suki when he’d burn his tongue by the first sip.

“There’s nothing I’d like more.”, she tells him, then. They are in one of the many balconies, staring out at the sun. The last scraps of summer have flushed with the breeze, and now the trees look all kinds of reds, yellows, oranges. Almost like they’ve caught on fire.

Zuko smiles at her again. A shy, wonderful thing that makes his eyes glint. His hair’s shaggy and overgrown, and falls limp between the honey of his irises. His cheeks burn a bright pink that, Katara deduces, might be from the gentle light warming up their faces.

“Okay.”, he says. He likes this, as well, — having her around. That he can open up to someone he can share his scars with, both the physical and the ones that lay underneath.

Katara inches close to him, just enough so that their elbows nudge together. The world has its cycles, she believes. Blue skies bleed into the darkness of the night. Ice defrosts when heated-up. And just like that, she’d fall for Zuko— delicate, and raw, and over and over. Helpless, like the moon that carries down the tides. Hopeless, like the autumn leaves that fall, ever so slow, and now gather at their feet like sea-foam.

“Okay.”

[trenchcoatimpala]

Love Me Undone

Hello everyone! The first chapter of my canonverse fic has now been posted to ao3! It is part of a series and the first part acts as a bit of a prolouge. You can read it here. The description for the main fic is below:

It's been quiet since Chuck's defeat; things have gone back to normal in the hunting world. Castiel has been out of The Empty for six months and Dean has taken his angel and found a nice little house to retire in. But where retirement might look good on paper, Dean struggles to adjust to this new life. When strange signs begin to show that something might be brewing on the horizon again, Dean is quick to jump right back into the fray, dragging Cas with him. After all, maybe all he needs is one last hurrah, even if it might kill him. He's not as young as he used to be, you know.

This fic is 100% complete and I will be posting a new chapter every FRIDAY!

tag list, ask to be added or removed

@undeadcas @tearsofgrace @hellerstiel @casgetoutofmyass0907 @wantstoflyafraidtofall @gayhuckleberryinatrenchcoat @thepixelagora@thelahatiel  @im-sam-fucking-winchester@piebook67 @bestiarum@theedeangirl@november5th@bixlasagna@ancient-fangirl@famouspsychicpizzabandit@you-cant-spell-subtext-without@bumbledumble1@cascigarette@addicted2demons @our-stars-graveside @fivefeetfangirl @evillittleguy @nekoshi13 @notreallyaroad

[crystalclear97]

and why should I deny what's all at once so crystal clear?

as usual, I hope you like it 🤍

[cordeliacordate]

the Pact of Ice and Fire

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon flies to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark.

CANON COMPLIANT FIX-IT | EXPLICIT | LONGFIC FIC LINK HERE | JACEGAN DISCORD SERVER LINK HERE

"They drank together, hunted together, trained together, and swore an oath of brotherhood, sealed in blood… the Pact of Ice and Fire." - Fire & Blood, George R.R. Martin

This is that story.

On either side of their lookout, the Wall extends further than the eye can see; a never-ending barrier of ice that shimmers even as it weeps—beautiful, yet haunting. "Welcome to the edge of your realm," Cregan murmurs. His gruff tone has softened, the words brushing over Jace's ear in a caress, coiling heat in his belly. The treeline echos the prince's paramour, rustling in the distance as if to greet Jacaerys. And he supposes it's an apt salute, for on the morrow, he will be the first Targaryen to step into the unknown beyond it.

The story that the House of the Dragon skipped right over; a mostly canon-compliant tale that begins with Jacaerys' arrival in Winterfell, extends through his journey up to the Wall, and will have a fix-it ending following the Gullet.

𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦'𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 @angkis

DO NOT REPOST THIS ART.

[edupunkn00b]

Go Back. Move On. Repeat.

Logan would do anything to fix the mistakes of the past. Anything to bring Virgil a peaceful night's sleep. Anything to take away the pain.

Anything.

Written for @tsspromptmonthevent's Sleepy Bean Fanfic Café, for @amateurmasksmith. Prompt: analogical, QPR-style canon-verse time travel, anything but crack or hurt/no comfort. Mutual pining, childhood best friends. If possible 5 & 1, & time loops, y’all are the experts, so feel free to be creative! -

The first night Virgil appeared at his bedside, black shadows stretched half-way down his face, Logan had simply peeled back his covers and patted the mattress next to him. Virgil had leapt in, hood still pulled down to his eyes, and curled into Logan's embrace.

"Shadowling?" he'd murmured, tightening his arms around him. "Have you had a nightmare?"

Virgil nodded his head, hands gripping Logan's pajama sleeves with such strength Logan heard two stitches pop.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Virgil shook his head, just as fervently.

Humming, Logan nodded his assent. Even in the safety of his room, where logic and fact and truth would tamp down on even the most fantastical of Virgil's fears, putting words to the images of a fresh nightmare could have deleterious effects.

"Very well," Logan had said softly. He pulled the covers up over Virgil's shoulders. "Would you rather I left the light on?"

Safe in his arms, Virgil had already fallen back to sleep. Settling back against the pillows, Logan closed his eyes and whispered. "Goodnight, Shadowling."

The second night, Virgil trembled in his arms, breath hitching as he fought back a sob.

Logan pushed, carefully. "Are you quite certain you would not benefit from sharing at least part of your dream?" He did not need to say aloud that the repeat nature of this nightmare seemed to be his anxiety's own way of raising some sort of issue Thomas—and therefore all of them—needed to work through.

Virgil looked up at him, unshed tears glittering in the low light. "You…" He looked away, burying his head under the covers. "I dreamt we were back there."

Heart caught in his throat, Logan remained silent and listened. "Like… like after the video we started. When…" He peeked out, shadow covering his cheeks. "The Guys and Dolls video. The one… You know…"

"Oh, Virgil…" Logan held him close, brushing back his hair. "We're all here and safe," he said gently, the words carrying a special weight in his room. "We're never going back there," he promised. "Never again."

"I know," Virgil nodded, holding tight as though no-one had informed his hands that Logan would remain by his side. "I know."

The third night, Logan was waiting for him. Arms curled tightly around Virgil as he slept, Logan lay awake all night, replaying the events of that day—well, days and weeks—in his mind. Patton's tears. The phone call. Virgil's panic attack.

Thomas' breakdown.

It had taken Janus a week to convince Roman to even open his door and it was months before he would even attempt to influence Thomas' decisions again. Disguised as his brother, Remus had stepped in, and Janus had had to work overtime to keep him sufficiently reined in so that Thomas could continue his livelihood and create enough to meet his financial obligations.

More than a year passed before Virgil would listen to him, let alone heed any of his advice.

The more he considered the events that had led to their near destruction, the greater Logan's conviction there was something else he could have done. If he'd tried harder, Logan was certain he could have stopped Thomas from speaking to his ex. He could have found another channel for Patton's broken heart, which would then have permitted Roman another mechanism to be their hero. With enough planning and effort, Logan could have prevented The Incident.

If he'd tried harder, he could have kept Virgil's trust.

Over the past seven years, through effort and patience and consistency, they'd finally gotten to where they were now. Virgil trusted him again, perhaps even more than he ever had.

But what if he'd never lost that trust in the first place? What if none of them had needed to fight back from the brink as they had?

The next morning, after ensuring Virgil had eaten and was safely occupied with a small trip in the Imagination with the others, Logan returned to his room and locked the door.

He approached his bookshelves and pulled down the books in the precise order. A Wrinkle in Time. The Midnight Library. Letting out a slow breath, he pulled down the last, This Is How You Lose the Time War.

The wall next to him shuddered and a tall thin strip cut through the plaster and wood. Bright light spilled out and Logan set the books down on his bed and approached. Pushing firmly on either side of the crack, he widened it until he could fit through. Peering in, he confirmed he'd found the correct moment.

His past self stood in his usual spot, past Virgil by his side on the landing, past Thomas in his own corner. Logan's voice dominated the room. "Thomas, it is time to move on. I feel like I'm... Heh, listen to me, 'feel like...'"

From his new vantage point, this time Logan caught how Virgil winced under the weight of his sarcasm and it took effort to hold himself back from leaping right in without preparing. "I feel like I'm... nearly out of productive things to say on the matter. I'm just frustrated."

Just as Logan remembered, Patton chose that moment to join them. "Hi, Just Frustrated, I'm Sad. I mean...

Cliched adages sometimes held wisdom and it was through the lens of crystal clear hindsight that Logan now saw the thinly masked pain in Patton's eyes. This! This was the moment he could change!

He took a deep breath and leapt in. "Patton?" he asked, truly giving the Moral side his attention. "Are you.." Gravity and entropy push-pulled him, fighting his effort to change the past. "Are you quite alright?" he finally managed.

"What?" Patton asked, eyes darting between him and Virgil. Avoiding Thomas'. "Of—of course I'm alright. I'm Patton!" he said, smile sufficiently bright to see from space.

"Yes," Logan agreed, glancing over at Virgil and Thomas. He played with his hoodie strings, but watching their interaction. Thomas had moved closer, peering closely at Patton. "You said you were… sad."

"Ha! I did! Slip of the tongue, there, Kiddo," Patton laughed, thin and brittle.

"Pat?" Thomas said, sitting down and tugging Patton's hand until he joined him. "Buddy, I know how I'm feeling and you…"

"Aw, Kiddo…" Patton pulled him into a long hug. "What's got you down?"

"'Never trust a hug,'" Virgil muttered. "'It's just a way to hide your face.'"

"Fantastic Doctor Who reference, but first…" Logan refocused on why he was there. "Patton," he said, overusing his powers a bit. "Patton, you are crying."

"Wha—I'm not—"

Thomas pulled back and searched Patton's eyes. Tears sparkled in his lashes. "Pat?"

Roman popped up. "I've got it! Thomas, you write down all of your thoughts and feelings in an eloquent letter and deliver it to him in a basket full of his favorite things."

"Oh?" Patton scrubbed at his face, sniffling. "That… that might be nice. Y'know…" He fidgeted with the velvety paws of his onesie. "To hear his voice again?"

Sitting up straight, Thomas radiated surprise as he looked between his Heart. And his Hero. "Yeah… Yeah, that's a good idea. I could—"

"WHOA, whoa, whoa... what?!" Virgil jumped into the center of the room. "You can't do that, Thomas!"

"He's been brainstorming all day and he has yet to come up with one productive, non-creepy idea." Logan's words spilled out on their own accord, the grooves of history too strong to fight.

"I'm not creepy, I'm joking, alright?" Roman sneered at him. "You just don't understand love."

His own anger layered over with his past self's reaction, fists at his sides. "I understand that it's—"

"He's right," Thomas interrupted, eyes still fixed on Patton's face. He'd begun to cry again, and Thomas was wiping his own tears away. "You just don't understand what it's like to love someone and to lose them."

Virgil's eyes on him were heavy and he couldn't quite force himself to meet them. "Thomas, no, this is categorically unwise. You—"

"Look at Patton!" Thomas cried. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks and they all felt the sharp cut of his pain. "I have to do something!"

Roman slid into the spot on Thomas' other side. "Why don't you call him?"

Virgil growled next to him, shaking his head. They exchanged a glance and Logan nodded, stepping closer.

But before he could find the words to dissuade Thomas from making quite literally the biggest mistake of his life, Thomas nodded. "Yeah," The scene replayed, the past repeating just as it had the last time. "Yeah, I should call him," he murmured, scrolling through his contacts until he'd found the right number and pressed Call.

The world collapsed onto itself and Logan found himself back in his room, the books still on his bed even as the crack was sealed as though it had never existed. He examined his memories, shaking his head. Everything played out the way it had in the past. The phone call, the meeting, the next failed date.

The hospital.

Dragging both hands down his face, Logan sighed then checked his watch. Barely ninety seconds had passed since he'd returned to his room.

He tried again.

...

"Look at Patton!" Thomas cried. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks and they all felt the sharp cut of his pain. "I have to do something!"

Roman slid into the spot on Thomas' other side. "Why don't you call him?"

"No!" Logan marched across the room and plucked Thomas' phone from his hand. He threw it to the floor, stomping on it. Glass and plastic crunched beneath his shoe.

"Logan! What are you doing?" Roman cried, shoving him away. "You are interfering!" he said, stooping down to scoop up the remains of Thomas' phone.

"Never fear, dear Thomathy!" Roman said, rising up with a gleaming phone in his hand. "What one part of your mind can destroy, another can repair. Here," he said, pressing the phone into Thomas' hands and casting narrowed eyes at Logan. "Call him."

Once again, Patton's room dissolved into black and Logan was alone in his room.

Logan tried again.

"It is illogical to call him when we have a full and complete understanding of why he broke up with us in the first place! Put down the ph—"

"Forcing him into a relationship with us will only lead to heartache and further pain. You must stop this, Thomas, you must—"

"Stop it! I must insist! It is unreasonable to believe that trying again will end in anything but—"

~

Logan failed. Over and over and over again.

Head in his hands, Logan sat on the edge of his bed. Perhaps he was focusing on the wrong moment to change.

He stood and reset the books. Then, centering his thoughts on a different exchange, he pulled them down once again.

A crack opened on the opposite wall and Logan peeked through. Patton was wearing his old grey cardigan, the proper one, not the onesie. He was smiling at Thomas, but had twisted his cardigan sleeves so tightly around his fingers they'd begun to turn white.

"… Virgil's room is where I have to go in order to heighten my anxiety." Thomas grinned excitedly at Patton. "I gotta think that your room is literally sunshine and rainbows.

Logan didn't need the vision of hindsight to see the panic washing over Patton's face. "Wha..." Remembering himself, he laughed. "I—" Eyes begging for support, he looked at the rest of them. "It's- It's not quite like that, uh..."

Thomas didn't see it. "Still, you're at the core of a lot of my happy feelings."

"I'm at the core of a lot of your feelings." Patton emphasized.

But Thomas wasn't listening. "Maybe going there and enhancing those happy feelings is what I need."

Virgil bounced on his toes, hoodie up. Logan met his gaze with a reassuring smile. "Everything will be okay," he whispered, then moved into the center of the room. "Thomas, I must object. This is a terrible idea in your current state."

"He's right!" Roman cried from across the room.

"I am?" Logan parroted. "I mean," he said, shaking his head and turning to face him. "I know I'm right, but you agree with me?"

"Yes, I'm just as surprised as you are, Erlenmyer Task," he said with a dismissive wave as he moved to Thomas' side. "Why waste your time wallowing in the past when you can be thinking about your future?"

"My future?" Thomas asked as Patton's face lit up next to him.

"All you need do is seize it!" Roman said, grabbing at the air like he could pluck dreams from the ether. "Call him!"

Virgil stood, feet frozen to the carpet, shaking his head. "Guys, this is a really bad idea…"

"Oh, he's right, Thomas!" Patton continued as though Virgil hadn't spoken. "Your future!" Patton and Roman grinned at each other and the rest of their plan spread through the Mindscape. "Your future with him!"

"Wait, Thomas, no!" Logan began, but Thomas had already pulled out his phone.

"My future," Thomas said, tapping at the screen before putting it up to his ear. "It's ringing!" he cheered.

And the world went to black.

"Dammit!" Logan roared, kicking his desk chair. It rolled away and hit the foot of his bed, spinning ineffectually. Just like him. Forcing calm, Logan closed his eyes and reviewed the new past few years. It hadn't worked. If anything, he'd managed to make everything worse. He looked around his room.

Gone was the extra chair by his desk, the extra nightlights he'd installed missing. The shelves were filled with more books, but the little nook he'd set up for him and Virgil to read together sat cold and desolate. No pillows, no blankets.

His heart heavy, Logan felt the loss of his old closeness with Virgil like a wound. Aching and not quite closed over.

He had to try again. But perhaps, this time, he might seek out help.

~

Janus' door was no longer next to his. For that matter, neither was Remus' Logan stood staring at the blank spot on the wall between his and Virgil's rooms for an unreasonably long time. Finally, he walked to the end of the hall and turned into the shadows. Remus' door, dimmer than usual, was the first he saw, followed closely by Lucas'. At the very end of the darkened hallway lay Janus', lightly glowing, the only source of light in this section of the Mindscape.

Logan knocked and a surprised voice answered. "Can I help you, Logic?"

"Well…" His formal address unnerved him, but he carried on, straightening his tie before answering. "Yes, I thougth that would be obvious given the fact I've come to see you, J—" His mouth snapped shut. "Dj—" he tried again. Realization hit and he stood a little straighter. "Deceit."

Janus opened the door, eyebrow raised. "Now that was interesting," he purred. "Do come in, my dear Logic. It's a pleassure to have you."

Taking his invitation at face value, Logan nodded his head and moved inside. Janus' room was colder than it usually was. Though, Logan had never actually gone to see Janus in his room before he'd been accepted, so perhaps this was how it always had been. He shivered, looking over the cold-blooded Side and frowned. "Thank you," he said, taking a seat where Janus indicated. "Deceit, I've…" He pursed his lips, loathe to admit a failing, but the ache of missing memories—and the sight of Janus settling a heated blanket over his lap in his own room—drove him forward. "I've made a mistake and I believe I need your help to repair what I've done."

"Really…" Janus murmured, sitting back in his seat, gloved fingers steepled before him. "Do tell. How has the great and mighty Logic erred?"

He supposed he deserved that. Swallowing back a retort, Logan told Janus everything. He told him of Virgil's nightmares, watching his snake eye expand and contract with hidden emotion. He told him of his plan to prevent The Incident and how he'd only succeeded in exacerbating the situation.

He spoke until he'd run out of words and sat there, quietly watching Janus think.

"So your plan has been to counter Thomas'—and Patton's—emotional need to connect with this man with an appeal to Logic?" he finally said, one eyebrow cocked.

"Well, yes." Logan blinked back at him, uncertain where he hadn't been clear. "And it failed."

Laughing, Janus shook his head. "Of course it failed. You're fighting emotion with ration and thought." Waving his hand, Janus conjured a small tea tray and pushed it closer to Logan. "Youngest pours, you know."

Accepting his task with a frown, Logan poured Janus' cup and then his own. "So how do I—"

Smiling over his tea, Janus raised both eyebrows.

"We," Logan corrected, suppressing an eyeroll. "How shall we fight an emotional reaction we know is doomed to fail?"

"My dear Logic," he purred as he lifted his cup. "We fight fire with fire."

~

Back in his own room, Logan faced the glowing crack in his wall, Janus at his side. "Are you quite certain of this?"

"Of coursse I am," Janus murmured, tugging at each of his gloves in turn. "Are you certain you can maintain your role?"

He stared at the empty spot where Virgil's chair usually sat, a metaphysical manifestation of the emptiness in his chest. "I am certain," he said and stepped through.

Logan held his tongue and listened as Thomas excitedly explained his idea to Patton. "Maybe going there and enhancing those happy feelings is what I need."

"Honestly, that does make sense," Roman quickly interjected. Logan scanned the room. There was no sign of Janus anywhere. "…everything in the past that you've cherished. I mean, it is PEAK proud papa."

Logan's eyes widened as he stared at Roman—not, Roman, though, but Janus. His eyes flicked down to the bit of black peeking out from beneath Roman's princely white tunic and Roman-Janus winked at him.

Virgil's knee bounced and he gnawed at his thumbnail, watching them all like they were a horror movie. Patton was equally unconvinced.

Ordinarily, any time Patton and Virgil agreed, Logan might be inclined to heed their wishes. But he'd seen the world where they remained here, trying to work this out. He stepped into his role. "Patton, don't you want to help Thomas move on?"

Patton blinked at him in surprise. "Well, yeah. Of course. I would love that, but I..."

"Good," he said, cutting off his objection and fighting to ignore the buzz of anxiety Virgil was barely suppressing. "Then it's decided."

~

The fuzzy veil of Patton's room fell over him, dulling his thoughts and pulling him into a haze of nostalgia. Despite his current artistic pursuits, the vast array of memorabilia from Thomas' education was solid proof of his continued acknowledgement of the importance of genuine learning. Lost in an unsubtle sense of vindication, it barely noticed Janus' slip when he described how difficult it had been to keep Thomas in denial during his teen years.

And it took him an unconscionably long time for him to notice Thomas'—and Virgil's—growing distress.

"Virgil?" he asked quietly, hand reaching for him nearly of its own accord. "Are you okay?"

Remaining silent, Virgil merely shook his head.

Glancing back at Roman-Janus, Logan caught his tiny nod as he played tunelessly on Thomas' old recorder.

No. He couldn't leave now. Not with Virgil so upset.

He began to explain. "...Nostalgia can have an adverse effect on their overall mood. It can sometimes cause them to look at the past compared to the present period in their lives and cause them to ruminate even more on how their present situation "pales in comparison", however incorrect that outlook may be."

Logan nodded hopefully as Thomas' expression shifted. Surely he could see Virgil's distress. "Their Anxiety worsens." Perhaps he could convince everyone to leave. Perhaps this time basking in the halcyon glow of Patton's keepsakes had been sufficient to steer Thomas away from attempting to rekindle am old flame that had been rightfully extinguished. Perhaps—

Thomas peered closely at his Anxious Side. "Virgil, that's not happening, right?" Virgil's tempest tongue spilled out. "No."

Roman-Janus stared back at Logan, slapping Virgil's own hand over his mouth before the truth followed.

'You must be ready to play your part, Logic. No matter what.'

No. There was still a chance.

It took every scrap of control Logan had to not simply grab Virgil's hand and sink out together with him. He needed the others to leave, as well. "I'm going to take that as a yes. Come on. Let's go."

They simply needed direction. "It's time to end this experiment right—"

"Wait, wait, wait, we can't go now!" Roman-Janus cried, the impersonation near-peefect. "We haven't even started reminiscing about all the Broadway shows that he's seen!"

Logan stared as his command of the room slipped through his fingers.

"And all these old photos! Look at this!"

No no no no no.

Panic seized him as he tried yet another appeal to reason, but Roman-Janus interrupted with an uncalled-for ad hominem attack.

Logan exploded.

"All of this because Patton can't let go of one person?"

Everyone froze. Patton looked close to tears. "Logan, can you stop? Please?"

Roman-Janus raised an eyebrow.

Now.

Logan sank down in an exaggerated huff worthy of any of Thomas's theatrical accolades. He stood in his spot in the common room, arms wrapped tightly around his middle.

Perhaps his emotional outburst hadn't been entirely for show.

It was all up to Janus now.

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, the look of betrayal in Virgil's eyes as he's left nearly too much to bear. He could always return, feigning recalcitrance or regret.

"Or you could just hang out behind the couch," Remus' voice tore him from his reverie and Logan spun around.

He lay sprawled on the kitchen counter, pushing back his cuticles with the spikes on his Morningstar. His clothes had changed, rather, we're how he used to appear before he'd revealed himself to Thomas. Eyeshadow darker and lips lined in green, he appeared both more alluring and more dangerous. Thigh high leather boots and shorts covering fishnet replaced his leggings. His green sash  dingy, mossy and dipped in what appeared to be blood.

"Do..." Logan could hardly believe he was prepared to take advice from Remus. "Do you really think that could work?"

Remus' grin sent a shiver down Logan's back, all teeth and entirely too pleased to have an audience. "There's only one way to find out, isn't there?"

~

Thomas' stood with his phone to his ear as Logan rose up partway and crouched behind the sofa. Damn, he was too late! He gripped the back, preparing to push up just as Thomas' ex answered.

Virgil interrupted them all with his tempest voice. "Hang up!"

And Thomas did.

Logan sat behind the couch, listening as emotion fought emotion. Janus was right.

"Now, Roman," Patton's emphasis on his name led Logan to believe Patton finally realized who stood in Roman's spot. "Lying is wrong."

The Mindscape shuddered as Thomas took Patton's side. "Yeah, that's a side of myself that I would prefer not to feed into."

And Roman-Janus let everything out, arguing the case for pursuing Thomas' ex as though he really believed they should. Pushing, prodding, eggin him on.

But Virgil stood strong. "GET RID OF IT!" he shouted, Thomas' eyes glued to his ringing phone. "GET RID OF THE PHONE NOW!"

Turmoil settling, the Mindscape stilled and the remaining Sides shared stories of the early days of their relationship. Soft and calm and bittersweet, Logan nodded to himself, preparing to sink back down to leave the more emotional Sides to work out these… feelings.

Then Patton told a joke, his laugh sharp and forced.

That was unnecessary, Patton.

"You know you don't have to do that, Patton," Thomas said gently and Logan's eyes widened, listening intently.

"What?" he asked, hiding behind a laugh.

Patton you needn't hide your feelings with humor. We know you are more than simply Happiness.

"Try to... " Thomas' voice grew more certain. "You don't have to hide what you're feeling with jokes. It's okay to be sad sometimes."

"I'm never sad! I'm your happy Pappy Patton! Just a fun-loving father figure figment."

Logan said aloud, voice overlapping with Thomas' "Falsehood."

Patton paused. Had he heard him? "You… you said yourself. I'm at the core of a lot of your happy feelings."

Thomas' mouth moved but Logan's words poured out. "You're at the core of a lot of my feelings... Happy or otherwise."

After that, Logan listened, the buzz of Thomas hearing him so completely slow to fade. "When I was younger, my uncle used to take me fishing…"

The rest of Thomas' story faded and Logan found himself and Janus standing together in his room. "Did… did it work?" he asked Janus.

Janus smoothed down his cloak, the yellow bright and pristine. He flexed his gloved fingers and eyed Logan. He wondered what parts of his appearance had changed. "What is my name?" he asked.

Logan smiled. "Your name is Janus."

Nodding slowly, Janus turned to examine Logan's room. Bright fairy lights glowed from every corner and a lush, purple throw was neatly folded over one of the desk chairs. A matching indigo throw sat on the other chair. The reading nook was filled with pillows and blankets in every color. Fewer books but more journals. A larger telescope was aimed outside the window.

"Yes, Logan, I believe it did."

Their heads swiveled toward a brushing knock at the door. "Come—come in," Logan said, smiling when Virgil poked his head inside, sparkly purple shadow filled in below his eyes.

"Shadowling," Logan whispered and Virgil smiled back at him.

"There you both are!" He stepped inside and grabbed Logan's hand. "Come on, we're waiting for you!" he said.

A silly grin spreading over his face, Logan followed, stopping only when Virgil looked back over his shoulder at Janus. "You, too, Jay. Don't think you're getting out of snow day in the Imagination."

Janus blinked and Logan suspected his own memories of their reconciliation were filling in. "Well," Janus said, a crooked smile belying his sarcastic tone. "I suppose someone has to test the twins' new sauna."

"That's the spirit," Virgil shrugged. "I think."

Still, he smiled brighter than Logan could ever remember. Except… he could. A tiny, relieved smile when he spotted Logan first after their return from Patton's room. A grin when Roman woke up after Remus' introduction. Remus' introduction!?!

"You alright there, L?" Virgil asked, thumb rubbing little circles into the back of his hand as Janus led the way to the Imagination.

Cradling Virgil's hand between both of his own, Logan nodded. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I believe everything is alright."

[arlerts-angel]

I needs some comfort Mack! I just watched the ending of AOT and I'm not okay.😭😭😭

a/n: since i know levi is your favorite, enjoy some levi comfort. 🤍

warnings: canonverse | post-war!levi | hurt/comfort | mentions of injuries, nightmares + flashbacks | reader is gender neutral

nobody could prepare for the devastation following the battle of heaven and earth, not even humanity's strongest.

a scar across his face, two missing fingers, partial sight, and now wheelchair bound; his days are spent relearning how to live life in a brand new, unfamiliar body. he'd argue that nights are worse as sleep is seldom, and what little sleep he does manage to get, is plagued by nightmares and flashbacks. he jolts awake, terrified when he opens his eyes and sees nothing.

right, he thinks as he sits up, i still have vision in my left. you're easily wakened by his shifting. "levi? do you need something?" you ask softly, words laced with sleep.

"just another nightmare's all." the veteran sighs. you sit up next to him.

"just? levi..." you start, but are quickly cut off.

"this is not a life you deserve, y/n. taking care of me like an infant... it was't supposed to be like this... i'm so sorry." his voice cracks as he finds the strength to continue. "i have to let you go because i love you and i want you to live the life i wasn't able to give you."

tears well in your eyes. "i love you too levi, but the only life i want to live is the one i spend with you. i'm not leaving you... for better or for worse; that was our promise... and i intend on keeping that promise, sir." you reply, reminding him of the wedding band he wears on his left hand.

he swallows the lump in his throat and hangs his head apologetically. "i don't deserve you, but i am grateful and i will spend the rest of my sorry life making sure you know that."

you hug him tight and kiss his cold shoulder. "c'mon now, back to bed we go." you urge, falling into the bed together.

"i love you, mr. ackerman." you yawn as your head finds it's home on his chest.

"i love you too," he replies, "thank you."

"for what?" you ask.

"for everything."

banners by benkeibear

[loveackermannn]

☰ ANYTHING FOR YOU –.ೃ࿐ 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧.

levi swears that he's a clean freak – that he can't bare to even come into contact with anything remotely filthy.. but it came to your surprise that on your sick days, he won't waste a second to be by your side the whole time.

levi swears that he's a clean freak, until he's literally laying right beside you and keeping a warm cloth on your forehead. he isn't afraid to be within the proximity of you so much so that he himself could get sick – but he didn't care.

"you'll get sick though, levi.."

"to hell with that. as long as you get better, i'll take care of myself later."

levi swears that he's a clean freak, but then the moment you feel yourself needing to vomit, he's gathering your hair in a ponytail with a small bucket placed in front of you. he didn't give one thought about what splattered on the bed sheets or the mess he'd have to clean up later.. all that mattered was you in that moment.

"i'm sorry. i got some on your shirt, i shouldve-"

"don't you dare apologize. forget about my shitty shirt, you okay? here, i'll get you some water."

levi swears that he's a clean freak, until he's wiping the snot from your nose with his handkerchief, letting you blow your nose until it felt empty. his brows furrowed with concern to which you thought was disgust at first – it's hard to read him sometimes.

"you don't have to do this. i know it can be gross for you."

"i want to do this, love. just blow, it's okay i've got you."

levi swears that he's a clean freak but when it comes to you, he'd push it all aside, forgetting that he used to wipe his blades on the battlefield after a bloody attack or how repulsed he felt living in the underground. he had forgotten what it felt like because now, he'd do absolutely anything for you, even if it meant getting his hands dirty every now and then.

☆ — 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @luvjiro , @youre-ackermine , @lovolee3 , @notgoodforlife , @averysmolbear , @bejewelledd , @leviismybby , @evas-leslas , @roseofdarknessblog @cometlevi , @21aurora (! ! 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝💌)

[mariaofdoranelle]

Stay a Little Longer - part 1

Masterlist

Written for @tomtenadia as part of the 2024 Rowaelin Secret Santa!

Happy Yulemas, Nadia!

I know you don’t celebrate Christmas, so I wrote you the regular canonverse(ish) pregnancy fic! It got much longer than I predicted (like 9k so far and a bit more to go), so I’ll be posting it into parts throughout the gift exchange period.

You cannot tell my excitement when I drew your name in that website. Your friendship is one I treasure so much, and I love discussing books and fics with you, crazy time zones be damned. I hope you’re having a wonderful time, and that your 2025 gets to be filled with peacefulness and joy the way you deserve. ❤️

Also, thank you @goddess-aelin for organizing the event!! ���❤️

Warnings: none

Words: 657

Aelin has never burned a drawing room before.

The intricate carvings in gold that decorated the walls would melt before the velvet draperies and furniture could catch it. She had never willed her fire to kill people, but to burn a room with four royals and Fenrys—Prince Rowan’s pet nobleman, or maybe it was the other way around—was a bold move nonetheless.

Two males from the highest ranks of Doranelle’s military. Even with Aedion alongside her, Aelin was sure her father would’ve vetoed this trip had he known Prince Rowan and Lord Fenrys are here as well.

As a child, Aelin would spend hours staring into open flame, watching its dance as a single spark slowly took over like dominoes cascading in a line; with her, not so much. With Aelin, one second, things were, and in the other they weren’t.

Aelin traveled all the way to Wendlyn in her human form without a worry about needing to use her powers for military purposes, it never occurred to her that her uncle might ask her to light his cigar.

“Are you quite all right, dear?” Uncle Glaston kindly asked, his cigar still hanging from between his fingers.

“Perfect,” Aelin said, smiling as she straightened in her seat. Behind him, Aedion was the one who looked unwell, terrified eyes begging her not to proceed. Rather discouraging, but he meant well. At the Orynth Castle, men didn’t ask her to light up their cigars—and if they did, a healer might check for their mental wellbeing.

The shifting to her demi-Fae form made her wince. It’d been too long since she did, and the heightened senses added to the lava bubbling underneath her skin, begging to be let out—for a moment, it overwhelmed her.

She inhaled deeply, begging the fire to stay put and let the smallest amount of it rise…

A crackling roar and a deep vibration boomed in the drawing room—it was immediately stifled, but followed by the horrifying sight of burn marks on Uncle Glaston’s chaise, along with the lack of sights of the cigar she was supposed to light up—not blow up.

Aelin used all her Fae speed to get to her feet and run her uncle’s way. “Did I hurt you?”

He waved her off. “It’s alright.” Glaston grabbed another cigar and held it up. “If you don’t mind.”

Aelin gave him a tense smile and decided on another route: turning her fingers into matches—lighting herself up was always easier than directing fire elsewhere. Safer. She focused her mind, body and strength on her pointer finger, willing for a single spark to show…

Only to watch her entire arm combust, tall flames dancing with the wind, brightening the room in ways no evening candlelight could.

It was a quick burst. Before Aelin could shovel it inside again, she felt the wind that sparked her flames stifle them—it licked over her arm, slowly sending the flames inside until only the tip of her finger was lit. However, she didn’t feel stifled. It didn’t feel suffocating like every other attempt reign over her abilities did—it felt like an embrace.

A tug in her gut took her breath away, but remaining little flame on her forefinger flickered. It was so vivid, it resembled an invisible string lassoing her from across the room. Frozen in place, Aelin didn’t notice her uncle lightning his cigar.

She felt like a shooting star—ethereal. A blink-and-you'll-miss-it event, yet impossible to miss. On a predetermined path that felt like she was free-falling into the unknown.

Her heart snapped shut like a suitcase’s fasteners did, and suddenly the room didn’t have 360 degrees for her eyes to wander anymore.

Her head whipped to the spot across the room that felt incandescent, like moth to the flame.

Only to find Prince Rowan Whitethorn of Doranelle already staring at her, looking as if he’d seen a ghost.

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@superspiritfestival

@swankii-art-teacher

@thegreyj

@throneofus7

@violet-mermaid7

@wishfulimaginings

[chenziee]

To Love a Geisha

Written for the adorable @opfluffzine!! It's a free digital zine that you can download right here ☁️

ALSO check out the amazing spot art by @beasttrash!! It's so so cute 🤖🌸

[ READ ON AO3 | KO-FI | COMM INFO ]

—————

“Hey, Franosuke, are you married?”

The question didn’t take Franosuke, a carpenter in the Flower Capital of Wano, completely by surprise. After all, a few of his coworkers had just spent the better half of their break complaining about their home lives—how their wives were on their asses about drinking and spending time with geishas instead of helping take care of the kids. Which was entirely in their right to do, in Franosuke’s opinion; a man should take responsibility and help his family, be it wife, kids, siblings, or parents!

But voicing those thoughts would go against his ‘role’, wouldn’t it?

And so, Franosuke simply laughed, shaking his head. “No way, man! I’m free as a super bird!”

“Good for you!” one of the men said, slapping Franosuke’s shoulder.

“Oh, but,” another one noted with a knowing smirk, “I hear you’ve got quite the favourite in old Tsugaru Umi’s teahouse.”

A small choir of ohh immediately followed as all his coworkers turned to look at Franosuke with wide, almost evil grins on their faces. A second later, a barrage of questions followed.

“It’s O-Some, isn’t it?!”

“I bet it’s Kisegawa!”

“The Oiran’s procession is going to be next month, I bet you switch your favourite then! Always happens.”

Honestly, Franosuke had no idea who or what they were talking about… but a happy smile still pulled on his lips as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. Because, while his coworkers speculated wildly about who his favourite geisha might or might not be, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering.

Wandering to the silky black hair, two-coloured blue eyes, and mind so sharp it could destroy a man in a second.

Shaking his head, Franky laughed loudly as he brought himself to the reality where he was surrounded by a bunch of dudes with the smell of wood and sweat in the air. “You’re making me feel super weird now, guys! She’s a super lady. I’m not going to replace her because some pin-up girl walks by!”

His coworkers exchanged a confused glance. “What’s ‘pin-up girl’?”

Oh.

Shit, he shouldn’t have said that.

“A beautiful, sexy woman?” Franosuke tried, wrecking his brain for an excuse. “It’s… a dialect.”

Several doubtful looks and murmurs of, “where is he from again?” were his only response and he felt sweat building on his back, his shirt sticking to his skin uncomfortably. What could he say? How did he change the topic without it sounding forced?

What a super dumb slip of the tongue that was…

“Hey, assholes!! Stop slacking or I’m gonna fire you!”

All the men on the construction site jumped at the angry shout, everyone immediately rushing to pick up their saws and hammers and get to work. Meanwhile… Franosuke was never more grateful for Master Minatomo and his awful personality.

—————

Walking down the familiar streets of the Flower Capital, Franosuke marvelled at how easy finding his way was now. After all, it had only been a few weeks since he had arrived here and at first, the roads felt incredibly confusing. Them all being named 1st Street and 2nd Street and 36th Street wasn’t helping either because… 36th from what?

It made no sense to him. The city he grew up in was huge too but Water 7 had never felt as hard to navigate as this.

Now, though, he could walk these streets blindfolded—at least the parts of the city he knew. Actually… how many times had he walked this route? Even his coworkers had started to notice he visited the place often… Some might even say too often; they might say he was pathetic, hopeless, throwing away money for no reason, for a fake dream.

But it wasn’t fake, a dream, or hopeless to him.

Instead, the sight of the teahouse attached to a certain okiya made him feel happy. Excited.

“Sir Franosuke, we’ve been expecting you.” The teahouse worker bowed deeply in greeting before leading him to his reserved room and bowing again.

Franosuke wondered whether this treatment would ever stop freaking him out; it was like he was a nobility whenever he walked in here, it was super weird. But, he supposed that was what went with exclusive patronage—honestly, it was a miracle he was even allowed in here. Not many were, certainly not people who appeared suddenly out of nowhere with no background and no connections.

Yet another reason to suffer old Minatomo and his tantrums; if it weren’t for his patronage of this place, his recommendation, and friendship with the owner, there was no way for Franosuke to even get a glimpse of the garden, never mind getting to walk through the doors to this small, private room.

Well, no reason to dwell on that. He was here and that was all that mattered!

The moment he sat down at the tiny, low table, the door slid open quietly once more. And when he glanced towards it… a wide smile pulled on his lips. 

Kneeling on the ground just outside the room was a geisha, her head slightly bowed, eyes turned modestly to the ground. She waited a few seconds before she rose to her feet, entered the room and kneeled again to close the door behind herself, then turned to face Franosuke directly for the first time.

“Welcome… my Lord,” she said in a sweet voice before her eyes turned to the side once more. This time, however, it was in a more of a coy way than anything.

The sight nearly made Franosuke start laughing.

“Seeing you act like this, I feel like you’re about to assassinate me every time, Miss O-Robi.”

Now, it was O-Robi’s turn to quickly cover her mouth with her kimono sleeve to hide her chuckle. “I think Luffy wouldn’t be very happy if he came here with Sanji only to find out his shipwright was now in pieces, being sold for metal scrap.”

Franosuke frowned, crossing his large metal arms over his chest. “Hey! Are you doubting my abilities? I’m not so easy to just take apart and sell, lady!” He paused, then added, “You would make a lot of money with me though.”

This time, O-Robi couldn’t hold her quiet giggle back. She didn’t bother hiding it either as she finally joined Franosuke at his table. “I’ll make sure to sell you to the underground. I know people would pay hundreds of millions of beri for that laser beam of yours, Franky,” she said, her voice light with amusement.

“You’d better,” Franky huffed, nodding to himself. “Those people’d appreciate my super armoured body at least!”

Shaking her head with an easy smile still playing on her lips, Robin grabbed the sake bottle off the table, pouring Franky a cup with practised ease. Up until now, Franky had never realised how elegant such a simple action could be; it was like watching art in motion. Robin’s graceful hands were holding the bottle gently, the sake trickling into the cup with precision, not a single drop wasted. She was leaning forward slightly, the collar of her kimono falling low in the back, exposing and accentuating her long, delicate neck.

Franky jumped when someone tapped his shoulder right then, breaking him out of his reverie—when he turned to look who it was, however, only a detached hand growing out of his own arm greeted him, before it scattered into flower petals.

“Staring is rude, you know,” Robin said, shooting Franky a teasing look.

The man huffed out a laugh as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to Robin’s cheek, careful of her make-up. “Sorry, Robin. Just admiring how beautiful my super geisha is.”

“A geisha mustn’t be touched, my Lord,” Robin said sternly, but the corners of her mouth twitched, her eyes dancing.

“Kick me out, then.” Franky grinned and, without missing a beat, kissed her again. 

Robin laughed. “You’re impossible.”

Finally, Franky grabbed the sake bottle from her, pouring her own cup for her. With a small thank you, Robin raised her cup to her lips, taking a sip—and then, as if completely letting go of her ‘role’, she leaned into Franky’s side, sighing contently.

For but a second, Franky froze. 

But then, something warm spilled inside of his chest and he raised his arm, pulling her closer to him. He almost forgot how it felt having Robin next to him, how comforting and exciting feeling her body heat seep into his skin—numb and hard with metal right underneath—was. The archeologist was so small next to him. Small and beautiful and oh-so deadly.

Franky knew that if she wanted to, she would be able to kill him in seconds. But she didn’t—wouldn’t. Not anymore. And Franky loved knowing that, loved that she chose every day to be here, with the crew. With him. She had gone through so much pain, but she was willing to open herself up and trust them even so.

He would make super damn sure she never regretted that decision.

Letting his smaller, human-sized hand out of his regular hand, Franky reached out, touching Robin’s cheek softly, making her tilt her head back to look at him. Robin hummed questioningly, but Franky only sighed. “I really wanna kiss you.”

“You did already.”

Franky clicked his tongue. “You know what I mean, Robin.”

“You’ll mess up my make-up,” Robin noted.

“And your teacher will yell at you, I know.” 

With a sigh, Franky retreated his hand; he really didn’t want a repeat of the first time he came here… Robin wasn’t allowed to leave the okiya for days after that, apparently something about proper geisha manners and perceived perfection and innocence. He didn’t really get it but he sure didn’t need a detailed explanation. Definitely not from the tiny old hag. She looked like she would go on forever given the chance.

Quickly covering her mouth with her kimono sleeve, Robin chuckled at Franky’s disappointment.

But then, Franky blinked when one of Robin’s hands came to rest against his shoulder, another on his chest as she rose to her knees with a soft smile on her lips—and a playful twinkle in her eyes. A third and a fourth hand cupped Franky’s face, gently guiding him forward—and a second later, their lips met, moulding together easily as they kissed properly for the first time in weeks.

Franky grinned into the kiss; the smell of the powder on Robin’s skin mixing with her perfume was tickling his nose, her lips soft against his own. The feeling made his heart race as if this was their first time.

It would probably always feel that way to him. With Robin, every day was like their first—especially now. After not seeing her for two whole years, it was as if he couldn’t get enough of her presence, her voice, her touch, her brilliance. 

She was just as beautiful, just as smart, just as perfect as she was when they first met. The only difference was that she was much more herself.

And Franky couldn’t help but love every last bit off her.

When his coworker asked if he was married earlier, Franky wasn’t being entirely honest. But… it wasn’t like he was completely lying either. He did have a wife but they were pirates, after all, and pirate weddings weren’t exactly official. Moreover, they were officiated by the captain. And their captain being Luffy… The whole thing pretty much consisted of Luffy saying ‘Marry you? Yeah, why not. Done.’ and then immediately asking if there was a wedding cake. 

Franky hesitated calling that a wedding. More like a super speed run of one. But—

It was enough for them.

Whether they were an assassin and a dismantler, an archeologist and a shipwright, or a geisha and a carpenter, Franky knew Robin would always be right there, by his side.

And Franky would always be grateful for it, ready to love her exactly the way she was in return.

[certainty2witch]

Iva loves bothering them, as it should be.

[natsuki208]

Sebastian: I could kill you if I wanted.

Ciel: Yeah? So could any other human being. So could a dog. So could a dedicated duck. You aren't special.

Sebastian:

[lockwood-fic-recs]

standing in your cardigan

by ScarletSlippers on ao3

Rating: G | Category: F/M | Relationship: Lockwood/Lucy

George shrugs, already heading back to his book. “No idea. I am however, as a result, an excellent knitter. It's rather methodical, really. Soothing, even.”

“So will you help me?”

He looks back up at her slowly, and takes a prolonged sip of his tea, pretending he doesn’t understand. “I failed to hear a clarification in your question. What exactly do you need help with?”

“I need you to teach me to knit.”

Lucy knits Lockwood a jumper.

[2toplibrary]

Let it happen by kaashisthighs

(E, 12K, 1/1)

“What the hell did you just say?!”

The whole bar quieted down and stared at their little high-top. He is about to tell everyone to fuck off when he makes eye contact with him again. This time Icyhot tips his head to the side and conveys as much confusion as his micro expressions allow. Katsuki can’t seem to fully look away.

Single huh?

Or,

Katsuki finds out Shouto is single.

[elmundodeflor]

The sun fits her body just like a glove would. It caves, and it trips, and it bends to every crevice that’s in her. The curves of her legs, her hipbones and waist, — they are all shaped by light and shadow. Contoured in pale paint-strokes that make her worthy of admiration.

Cait’s asleep right next to her, her breaths slow and steady, — almost peaceful. They are covered in nothing but bedsheets, coated in sweat. The hour before, they had tasted each other fully. Gotten to know the sweet, sweet ecstasy that’s to love, and be loved in turn. Vi can’t help but remember the first time she’s been here, right in this house. The rain was pouring, the world was crumbling. Oil and water, she’d said. Her and Cait couldn’t be more different, — two halves of a whole that would never fit together.

“Forget me, cupcake.”, she’d told her, back then. The pit-pat of the downpour the only sound that was between them.

Cait had extended her hand to reach her, but she was far gone, walking away already. At the time, that’s all she had wanted to do. It is crazy to think that, now, maybe, for once, she thinks she’ll stay. That, after a lifetime worth of running away, with Cait there, tucked inside her arms, the day has finally come for her to settle.

She strokes her cheek. Her hair’s blue, and it falls like the ocean waves. It’s wild and it’s free, — as seafoam outlining the shores. Cait, oh Cait. The fearless Commander, Piltover’s fiercest. She’s clean-cut and tidy. Strict and obedient. It sure is new to her, to see her like this now, — raw, and untamable, all too beautifully naked.

She had caressed her this same way, Vi remembers, — back when they were here, right in this very bed. She had talked about Powder, and how they’d play to chase their own monsters away, on those scary nights where neither one could sleep. Her hands had been careful, she recalls. Soft, and warm, and delicate, — as if she was made of glass, and she was afraid of breaking her up.

She puts a strand of blue behind her ear, now. Her palms are opposite to Cait’s, she notices, as she traces patterns on her face. Hers are harsh, and full of battle-scar, — her knuckles sprinkled up with callouses. But something wonderful could bloom from underneath, — she’s aware. It was in the way she’d undressed her bare, with a lifetime worth of yearn. How she’d marked her flesh, with a loyalty that unwavers, as bright as the day they met, still.

She smiles. At times, it appeared to her all her hands had known was fight. It was nice to see that it wasn’t all that true, at last. That they were capable of making marvelous things, too.

“Hi.”, Cait looks up at her, her eyes barely open. The sunset’s orange makes her irises twinkle. Paints sparks of gold within a cerulean canvas.

Vi snuggles up closer, takes in every scrap and figment of her. She’s gorgeous like this, basked underneath the afternoon colors. It seems to her, that she’s never been more like herself than here; — her breasts poking from beneath the covers, the freckles on her shoulders all the more visible.

She smiles again, — wider this time—, and thinks of that one night she’d been here. Back then, she’d been scared. As if the monsters her and Powder would dare chase away, were there inside her head, instead. Now, her wrappings lay on the floor, her arms and chest unraveled only for Cait to see. She’s stripped, unshielded both body and soul, — but she’s not scared anymore. She’s found, with Cait there, staring back at her, that there’s a ray of light that’s hushed away the monsters. That there’s no need to hide no more.

The hour before, she had taken the band aids with such care! Got rid of them, slow and tender, as if uncovering an open wound. It had made her feel safe, — how she’d touched her, then. So sheer, so delicate, as if her fingertips burnt. Every brush of her palms against her put her heart at ease. As if she was filling in the cracks that broke her, — fixed her inside out, outside in.

“Hi, there.”, she says, — and Cait leans in, lips to lips, nose to nose. She’s warm against her, almost like boiling water. Vi takes notice; she’s worn-out oil, in turn. The dry kind that sticks to plates and vases serving street food down in Zaun. But they mix well together, somehow, after all. Two halves of a whole that have found their way to make it work, if only.

“Let’s just stay like this a little longer, Cupcake.”