#I forgot the excerpts because of course i would

[wlntrsldler]

thinking of you're on your own, kid and luke x reader.

warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, luke being a simp, hurt, betrayal.

i. summer went away, still, the yearning stays.

your first summer at camp half-blood was a whirlwind, as you assumed it was for anyone who finds out that they are a child of a god. you were one of the older ones, you've come to learn soon after arriving. at seventeen, you were years behind many of the children who inhabited the camp. still, you were treated like anyone new who entered.

you were greeted by the head counselor of the hermes cabin-- luke, he said his name was. it was an easy enough name to remember, but you knew him as the boy whose eyes looked honey-brown in the sunlight, whose lopsided smile made you feel a pit in your stomach, and whose voice made your head spin.

you'd gone to summer camp before. you knew what it was like to have a summer crush. in the third grade, you met a boy named evan kim in asheville. he always had his nose buried in a book. his glasses would slip down the bridge of his nose and he pushed them up with his index finger without skipping a beat. you found comfort that you could sit beside him under the shade of the tree beside the dining hall, not saying a word, just reading.

but the haze of summer subsided as the leaves on the trees changed colors, and by september, you could hardly remember what he looked like. and when he didn't return to camp the following year, you forgot all about him.

but camp half-blood was different, of course it was. and luke was different, of course he is. he stayed with you longer than he had to, but you didn't know that at the time. after all, you were new. you didn't know that all luke had to do was show you around on your first day.

he found you sweet. and really pretty. he loved how the tips of your ears turned a shade of pink when he said your name (he said it too often after he learned it, it just felt right rolling off his tongue). he loved how you smiled at him, looking up at him (he was thankful that he had a growth spurt the summer before he met you), and the crinkles beside your eyes were on full display. he loved how you giggled his name when he did the stupidest things (he did it to make you laugh; chris rolled his eyes, fondly, every time.)

the entire summer, he spent glued next to you. the campers knew that if he wasn't at training or doing his duties, he would be wherever you were. that often meant sitting at your feet while you read under the tree by the lake. too often, you'd rarely get any reading done because luke would ask you questions about yourself. he asked about your life outside of camp (what's your parent like? what kind of school do you go to? do you have a boyfriend? when you answered no to the last one, luke internally cheered.) sometimes he'd read over your shoulder, or ask you to read an excerpt to him, but he never brought his own book to read. he much preferred to watch you.

when you were claimed by your godly parent, luke feared that you'd stop hanging out with him as often (or really, stop letting him follow you around like a love-sick puppy.) because you'd prefer your own siblings' company. but he let out a breath of relief when he found you sitting under the tree the following day, reading your book.

you heard his footsteps, ones you've grown to love, and the sounds of the grass crunching under the soles of his shoes.

you grinned at him (with the smile you reserved for him), "took you long enough, castellan. thought you weren't gonna show."

he took his usual spot sitting diagonally at your feet and smiled, "there's no place else i'd rather be."

so yeah, you'd been to summer camp before. you'd had summer infatuations before, but not like this. not like luke.

when it was time for you to head back home after summer ended, you promised to return the next summer. you promised him that you'd write letters and he made a joke about how it was just like those romance books you read. he didn't miss the way your eyes widened in shock at the comparison. unable to speak, you kissed his cheek goodbye.

at that, luke made a promise to himself that next summer, he'd tell you how he felt.

ii. i waited ages to see you there.

luke waited for your return that summer. he'd grown bigger over the months since you last saw him. he was more muscular, more confident. the girls at camp were taking notice of it. sure, luke had always been a good-looking guy, but there was something about him now that made his charm undeniable. (he would never admit it, but the entire time you two were apart, luke was dedicated to making himself better for you. he wanted to impress you.)

annabeth rolled her eyes at the new-found attention her brother was getting and made it her mission to humble him every chance she got. luke made it clear to her that the attention would never get to his head. there was something unspoken there, but annabeth knew. the only attention luke wanted was from you.

she found it cute, a little gross, but cute nonetheless, so she waited with luke at the entrance of camp-half blood for you. when the sun set and there was still no trace of you, annabeth didn't comment on how luke's shoulders were slumped as they walked into camp together.

luke had faced a lot of disappointment in his life. from not being the perfect child his father expected him to be, to returning to camp as a failure after his quest, he'd gone through a lot of disappointment; far too much for a nineteen-year-old to bear, but this one was the worst of it all.

he skipped dinner to retire to the hermes cabin early. he pulled out a shoebox from under his bunk, the place where he stored all the letters you sent him over the months you'd been apart. he read through them, trying to figure out if you gave any indication of not returning to camp. but there was none.

at the end of every letter, you had written a countdown until you were back at camp. luke's excitement grew as the numbers on the bottom of the page dwindled to a week, the last time you sent him a letter. the last letter was about your eighteenth birthday. you had dinner with your friends from home and received new books to read for when you were at camp. (luke had a top three; he was really hoping you'd read them to him.) in the letter, you also managed to sneak him a polaroid of you before you blew out the candles on your cake. on the bottom of the photo, in your lovely handwriting, you wrote: "for luke."

he kept the picture in his wallet since he first got it.

as he was reading through the letters again (the paper was falling apart between his fingers. he had re-read your letters too much over the months because he missed you so much), annabeth came running into the hermes cabin. she was out of breath and luke could barely understand her. but when your name, "another kid," "grover," and "hurt" left her lips, luke ran out of the cabin to find you.

when he saw you lying on the bed, bloodied and bruised, luke's heart stopped. he ran to you, distressed, and held your hand, only hoping that you'd feel his presence. when you gave his hand a weak squeeze, luke smiled under the tears that spilled from his eyes.

as others tended to your wounds, luke sat there patiently, not once letting go of your hand. when you were finally cleaned up, luke let his sleepiness take over. he fell asleep on the uncomfortable, wooden chair beside your bed, making sure that he was touching you at all times. when his hand cramped from holding yours, he stretched out his fingers, letting his thumb rest on the pulse point of your wrist. he wanted to make sure you were really there.

waking up to a slouching luke castellan, face buried in the crook of his elbow as he snored softly, was arguably the best way to wake up on your first day of camp. softly, you moved your hand from under him and ran your fingers through his messy curls. he stirred under your touch and woke.

"thought you weren't showing up," his voice was deep. he cleared his throat to get rid of the drowsiness. "waited for you at the door."

"as you can see, i was a little caught up," you tried to joke, but failed when you winced. "ow."

"are you okay?" luke was fully awake now. his brows threaded in concern, his hand finding yours again. "do you need anything?"

"'m okay," you whispered, "or i will be, after i heal."

"you'll tell me if you're not okay, right?"

"of course, luke." you said, smiling. "don't you have better things to do than watching me heal?"

"no, nothing important," he replied. you knew he was lying. "being here with you is where i need to be."

iii. something different bloomed.

"can you read to me?"

it was one of those hot, sticky days at camp, but luke refused to get up from where he was laying on your stomach. sweat dripped down from his forehead, but he made no effort to wipe it away. he was too comfortable.

"sure, luke," you couldn't say no to him. you read a passage from the book you were reading (the book was from his top three) as luke listened to you. he hummed when you read a particularly well-written line. he made no mention of when you paused to highlight something. he waited patiently when you struggled with a few lines. you read to him until your voice was hoarse.

"you're a great reader," he said after you were done. "i always had trouble reading. the words get jumbled in my head."

"i wasn't always good at it," you confessed, closing the book and placing it next to you. you looked down at luke only to find him already looking at you. in the sun, his freckles were more prominent. they littered across his face. "when i was younger, i really struggled with it and it frustrated me a lot. but because i can't live with not being good at something, i tried really hard to get better. 'm still not the best at it. there are still moments when the words don't make sense in my head, but i learned to take my time when that happens. if i mess up, then i try again."

luke had a feeling that that last part didn't just apply to reading. he admired that about you. in the short time that he'd known you, he saw how determined you were. last summer, when he taught you how to sword fight, you stumbled a few times but never fell down. he must've spent hours on end with you because you wanted to learn. when he saw you in the infirmary on the first night after the attack on percy, he was thankful that he did that (even if his joints ached for days after.)

"have you heard from percy?" your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "are they okay?"

luke swallowed, "yeah, i talked to him and annabeth."

"are they okay?"

"they're okay," luke felt his voice betraying him so he let out an awkward laugh, "they're like an old married couple now. they're always bickering."

he was thankful that you laughed along with him. it was good that you didn't suspect a thing. he wasn't ready to tell you, not yet. he got up from where he was lying and sat up to face you. you smiled at him, reaching over to wipe the sweat off his brow.

"i gotta tell you something," you mumbled, eyes now looking everywhere but him. "promise you won't get mad."

"could never be mad at you," he said. his voice was sincere then. he meant it. "what's on your mind, darling?"

"i think i love you."

luke's face dropped, which you took as a rejection. with tears in your eyes, you began to fumble your words. you quickly got up, picking up the book next to you, and said some ridiculous excuse about why you had to go. you were about five feet away from him when luke realized what just happened.

he sprung up from his spot and chased after you, calling out your name with each step. he stopped in front of you and grabbed you by the shoulders, "where are you going?"

"luke, i don't really think it's fair that you're asking me that when you just rejected me."

"when did i reject you?" he asked. he racked his brain trying to figure out if his voice had betrayed him.

"i saw your face, luke," you sighed. "it's fine. i should've known. you're still just being nice to me because you have to be. i just got into my head thinking that you might like me, too, but it's okay if you don't. really, it is! i just need some time to wallow and-"

"oh no," he shook his head, "i was only upset because i was supposed to do it first."

"huh?"

"i was gonna tell you how i felt this summer, but since the attack, i didn't know when the right time was." luke wanted to kiss the cute look of confusion off of your face. he laughed, "i think i love you, too. was just upset i didn't get to say it first."

"oh."

luke really wanted to kiss you then.

"you love me?"

"mhm," he grinned, stepping closer to you. he moved his grasp from your shoulders to your waist. he pulled you in, letting his lips ghost over yours. "i think i do."

you placed your lips on his.

iv. you're on your own, kid.

"luke, what are you saying?"

"he has a plan," he explained, eyes wide and begging. it was only a matter of time before annabeth alerted everyone about percy. about him. "he has a plan for us."

"luke, you're scaring me," you said, backing up from him until you felt your back hit a wall. your hand found the cool metal of the blade he got you. your fingers wrapped around it, making you flinch.

this wasn't right.

you let go of your blade, letting your hands fall to your sides.

"no, no, darling, don't be scared," he said, "please, just listen to me. there's no time."

luke saw tears in your eyes and he cursed himself for making you feel this way. he tried to comfort you with his smile, but for the first time, it didn't work. you just stared at him; the same look of terror etched across your features.

he frowned, pleading, "please, just come with me."

there was a flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. luke thought, for a moment, that you would take his outstretched hand, that you would follow him and disappear into the night with him, that you would fight with him.

"no, i'm sorry, luke," you shook your head, "i can't. i won't."

his ears were ringing. he dropped his hand at the same time all of the commotion outside began. he looked at you, then at the door, panicked. his time was up.

he was on his own.

[eleonoraalbright]

I need some Peter Maximoff fluff😭🤚

Peter Maximoff x Asexual!reader that’s scared Peter will leave them over it

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Asexual!Reader

Excerpt: Peter laid a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, but you shied away from his touch. Withdrawing his hand, he had to strain his ears to hear your next words. “Peter…” You gulped and seemed to be steeling yourself. “I’m asexual.”

A/N: I did some research and on Tumblr, one user said that asexuality is a spectrum; some asexuals are sex-repulsed and some love it. The reader in this fic is a sex-repulsed asexual.

Peter Maximoff wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even he could tell something was troubling you. It started a week ago in his mom's basement on a peaceful Sunday afternoon. You were both relaxing by watching a movie that was playing on the TV. 

Technically you were watching the flick while he was racing in and out of the house and around the city, but he popped in often enough to keep up with the movie and show off his new knick-knacks to you. He had just come back from collecting an original Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots free of charge when he saw you rushing up the stairs in a hurry. 

He asked, “Hey, where’re you going?”

You froze as if you had been caught doing something wrong. “I—um—forgot I had some other plans today and I don’t wanna flake on them. Sorry, Peter, I’ll see you later.” You brushed past him without another glance and left. 

In the end, Peter shrugged it off. The excuse was pretty vague, but maybe you had a lot on your mind at the moment and just wanted a bit of time alone. Oh well, he’ll see you tomorrow anyway. He ran to his room and unboxed his game before rushing off again to find more cool loot.

Turns out Peter didn’t see you the following day, or at least he saw less of you than he would’ve liked. He showed up at your door to see if you wanted to hit the arcade and the comic shops. To his disappointment, you refused. You explained that there were extra chores that needed to be done and that they would take all day. He offered to help, but you declined. 

On Tuesday, you couldn’t go out with him because relatives were coming to visit and your family wanted you to stay. On Wednesday, Peter began to grow suspicious. When he popped over to your place, you said that you had been grounded for the next month. Peter didn’t believe you. Being grounded had never stopped you from hanging out with him before, so why should it now?

The obvious answer was that you didn’t want to see him. But why was that? Each time you had seen him since Sunday you avoided his gaze and kept him at arm's length. What had happened that could have caused this change in you? Peter mulled over the possibilities in his mind as he played ping pong with himself.

He recounted the things he talked about, but couldn’t think of an instance where he was careless with his words. Unless the playful argument about whether The Addams Family or The Munsters was the better show had not been as playful as Peter thought it had. Nah, that couldn’t be it. Peter stopped dead in his tracks. 

Had he forgotten yours and his anniversary? He checked the calendar nailed to the wall where you had written down important dates he should remember. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw it was in three months. Phew, so it couldn’t have been that. But then what was it! The mystery was driving Peter up the wall. 

All he wanted to do was see you! After a few minutes, he decided what course of action to take. He zipped to the flower shop and got a colorful bouquet. He dropped by the candy shop and procured a careful selection of all your favorite sweets and won a little stuffed orangutan from a claw machine. With this assortment of gifts, he raced over to your house and into your bedroom. 

You were sitting on your bed, thumbing through a magazine, and jumped when he made his presence known by pushing the flowers, the candies, and the stuffie onto your lap. He said, “I’m sorry for whatever I did. I can’t figure it out, but I’m really sorry. Can we talk again? What’s wrong?”

Setting his presents aside, you brought your knees up to your chest and hugged them. You replied in a quiet voice, “You shouldn’t be here, Peter.”

“C’mon, what’s the matter?” He crouched down next to the bed, a lop-sided grin on his face. “Did aliens abduct you?” He joked, hoping humor would help you open up. 

Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes and you began to rock back and forth. You covered your face with your hands and whispered, “I think we should break up.” Peter was shocked, nothing could have prepared him for that statement. You continued speaking, “I-I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” Tears streamed down your cheeks and a sob escaped your lips. “I didn't think it’d be a big deal, but things are getting serious and I can’t hold it in any longer.”

Peter laid a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, but you shied away from his touch. Withdrawing his hand, he had to strain his ears to hear your next words. “Peter…” You gulped and seemed to be steeling yourself. “I’m asexual.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. He had heard that term before. Using his powers, he ran to the library and retrieved a biology textbook. He read page after page until he finally found his answer. He returned to your bedroom and read aloud, “You have the capability to reproduce without exchanging genetic information with another organism through sex? Are you a mu–”

“No, no! Not that type of asexual!” You closed your eyes and shook your head. “It means that I don’t experience sexual attraction. My brain isn’t hardwired that way—I don’t have those sexual desires or feelings that most people have—it’s not a part of who I am. I just don’t wanna have sex.”

Still confused, Peter processed this information. “Okay, but what does this have to do with us breaking up?”

You stared slack jawed at him, dumbfounded at his question. “You mean y-you don’t care. You don’t want to break up?”

“No, of course not! Why would I?” Peter’s confusion grew when you burst into tears. You started crying and buried your face into your pillow. Peter rubbed your back and tried his best to provide support. “Babe?”

You sat up and threw your arms around him and hugged him as tightly as you were able. You gasped between sobs, “I was s-so scared you’d leave me over it! I didn’t wanna lose you. I was gonna break it off to save you the trouble.” 

Peter hugged you with equal fervor and stroked your hair. He felt terrible. It must’ve been a horrible week for you, convinced that he’d wouldn’t want to be with you anymore. He pressed a kiss to your temple and cupped your chin as he locked eyes with you. “I’d never leave you. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” 

He didn’t know how long you two remained in that embrace and didn’t care. He would sit here all night if it made you feel better. You wiped away your tears, saying, “Wanna go get some pizza to celebrate?”

“And what are we celebrating exactly?”

“Not breaking up and the fact I got that confession off my chest. I feel a million times lighter now.”

“I like the way you think, babe.” With the problem settled, he sped you and himself to the nearest pizza parlor to have a delicious dinner and revel in each other’s company.

[lillie98]

An excerpt from a Fic I wrote a while ago centering on Autistic!Mike. I wrote it from my perspective as a late-diagnosed female who found euphoria and purpose from this one little word. I hope you take the time to read it and understand the life-changing power of diagnosis. Autism is not a tragedy. Rather, it is a difference in the Human Condition that deserves celebration.

"Hey…Will, I almost forgot. I need to tell you something important". Will immediately flinches awake and startles, scanning the room for threats.

"What? Is something wrong? Are you okay?"

"No, nothing's wrong," Mike assures him, running his hand down Will's cheek. Embarrassment and shame course through him. He wishes Will’s nervous system didn’t overreact this way. He speaks quietly and clearly, emphasizing his words. "I'm okay. We’re safe.” Will leans into Mike’s touch and anchors himself in the present. He is safe, Mike is safe, and they are together. His eyes slip closed as he takes a few steadying breaths. He then shifts to his side to see Mike better, turning on the small lamp on the nightstand and propping himself up on his elbow. Mike looks anxious. Tears prick the corners of his eyes as he stares at the ceiling. Will places his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

"Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me, okay?” he reassures Mike. “I won't be mad. We'll work through it together. You know how much I love you.” Will's words ease Mike's anxiety. Here goes nothing.

"I talk to Robin a lot–just like you–but we don't just talk about boyfriends. We…we talk about…other things, too.”

"What kinds of other things?" Will probes. Mike swallows hard.

"We…we talk about…fuck, this is tough….about my…my brain.” He can't believe he said it. Will is even more confused. His brain? What about his brain? The last time he checked, Mike's brain was perfect. Why does this involve Robin? Mike cannot make eye contact. Will eyes stare directly into his soul. If he looks back, he will lose his sanity. His hands white knuckle the sheets–anything to ground himself.

"My brain is…different from most people's.” Mike’s not sure how to explain this without sounding completely insane. “I have difficulty connecting with people and holding on to relationships. I'm blunt and straightforward, and people think I'm rude. That's why making friends is hard for me. People don't understand how to interact with me.” The words are slow and halted, forced out like a reluctant child. Will hangs on every one. He has yet to see the whole picture but will keep listening until he does. Mike continues as bile creeps into his throat.

"I also struggle with change. I need routine and structure; it keeps me safe. When that structure changes, it takes me longer to adjust. Like when you and El moved away, or Max joined our Party.” Words come faster now. He’s held this pain inside for too long. “I don't understand why things change and how everyone moves on while I'm stuck in this perpetual loop. I get scared that everything will change because one thing is changing, and it’s too much to handle. I don't want to be hostile, but my brain tells me to protect myself. Routines also help me not feel overwhelmed by the world. Everything is loud…and bright…and fast. It's terrifying.” Tears spill out, emotions too much to contain. “If I stick to my routine, some of that stuff fades into the background. But as soon as it changes, that all comes rushing back in. My body shuts down, and I can’t stop it. I lose control, and it's scary, Will. It's…It's so scary!"

Mike breaks down and rolls into his boyfriend’s waiting arms. Will is dumbfounded. He had no idea. How has Mike survived this long? He rubs deep circles into Mike’s back, attempting to ground him. He wishes Mike had told him sooner. He would have helped him through it, been there for him when it was all too much. How did he miss it? Something so central to Mike's being unknown to the people he loves most. Will's mind drifts back to their childhoods when Mike would fall apart on the floor. Will would hold and rock him until he calmed down–not dissimilarly to what he did last week at the hospital. Then it clicks. Mike is describing those moments. Nights spent on the kitchen floor crying over a scratchy shirt tag or "wrong foods" touching. He got angry because Will canceled plans they made a week ago, even though his PTSD flared up and he was too weak to go out. His head swirles with examples, and each one makes more sense than the last. He holds Mike's face, wiping tears with his thumbs.

"Mike, I understand. I see how scary those moments are for you. I may not feel what you feel, but I see your pain, and that’s enough. You are not broken, and there is nothing wrong with you. Do you understand me?" Mike tearfully nods. "I love you so much, and I am honored that you feel safe enough to share this part of yourself with me. I will always be here to help you, just like you help me. We need each other, and I am so thankful to have you in my life. I do have a question, though. Is there a name for this, and why do you discuss it with Robin? Isn't that something a doctor tells you?"

Mike laughs at Will's innocent questions. "You should talk about it with a doctor, but most don't know much about it. It's called autism, and I talk about it with Robin because she has it, too. She's the one who saw it in me. The first time she explained it…I cried, Will. I had never heard a word describe me so perfectly.” As he remembers the moment, new tears form, and a smile radiates through his body. “It was like…I had a missing piece, and Robin found it. She unlocked me. I finally have permission to be myself. All of these struggles, all of this pain, it's real. It has a name. I've never felt this way, and I want you to know so you can feel it, too. I love you so much, Will.” Autism. Will rolls the word around in his mind. He's never heard it before, but it makes sense. It explains Mike. His bluntness, his temper, his everything. He pulls Mike close and hugs him tightly, tears mingling in their embrace as they celebrate the moment. It is not sad. Instead, it is euphoric.

[wordsofasarcast]

even in death (excerpt)

So I saw this prompt, and I was inspired to write a silly little something:

Will Solace was a chronic workaholic. He constantly worked in the infirmary and refused to take breaks or days off. His whole cabin was worried for him, for his tan skin had taken on a sickly sheen from days under fluorescent lights.

It shouldn't be, but it's almost a relief when Will dies. It was sudden, hopefully painless. He'd gone on a supply run to the local chemist as flu season approached, hoping to stock up their cough syrup supply before the infirmary was inundated with infected campers. A drunk driver - not even a Greek Monster - maybe that was for the better.

At least in death—his family and friends hoped—Will Solace would finally have the chance to relax. The deaths of campers during the wars had always weighed too heavy on him, his failures pressing down on his shoulders, and Will had wondered if that was how it felt to hold up Atlas' sky. He'd worked day after day trying to erase those mistakes—his failures—and then maybe he'd find a way to forgive himself.

So when Will Solace died, he didn't weep; he didn't curl up and wait for whoever would guide his soul to the next destination.

No, Will just went back to work. Because he didn't even stop to realise that his body was in some morgue no longer entwined with his soul, or that his limbs were hazily translucent, or that the sun didn't heat his skin.

No, Will Solace didn't realise he had died. Not even when his siblings didn't wave to him when he walked in for his shift or when Austin didn't bring him lunch for the first time in years when he forgot to eat himself. 'It was just a busy day,' he explained the occurances away, shrugging and returning to the paperwork still strewn across the desk from yesterday.

'Maybe they're having a bad day, ' he told himself when it happened again the next day.

And the next and the next and the next.

'Maybe it's a prank?'

'Definitely a prank,' he decided when Kayla outright screamed at him a week later.

"Holy schist, Austin, this pen is moving on its own!" She yelled, backing herself against the wall across from Will, knocking the height chart down from where Will had hung it on a nail almost six years ago.

"Okay, this has got to stop." Will sighed, pointing the pen at his sister with a frown. "What? Did I not give enough of a reaction when ya'll were ignoring me? You had to step it up, pretend I'm a ghost?"

"Austin? Get in here, right now!" Kayla screamed again, and Will was begrudgingly impressed at her acting skills. But she was a daughter of Apollo, drama was in their blood.

"Argh, whatever, I have work to do." Will turned back to continue scribing notes about Harley's recent asthma attack and subsequent infirmary check-up. He didn't get very far before Austin cracked open the door and stuck his head inside the room. His eyes had a certain far-away quality, but they quickly focused on Kayla's hyperventilating form.

"Kayla, what-" Austin turned to look at Will, "What the Hades?"

Austin closed the door behind him before he approached where Will was sitting at the desk, peering over his shoulder with a nervous look.

"It's doing our paperwork?" Austin sounded dumbfounded.

"Of course, I'm doing paperwork - something you two should be doing instead of bothering me with this nonsense." Will jabbed his pen towards his half-brother, and the boy stumbled back with a panicked shout.

"I don't think it's friendly," Austin said, pulling his weaponised saxophone from his back and holding it out as if he might swing at Will.

Will scowled at their antics, standing to usher them from the room; he had a lot to do, preferably before someone came to find him because the Ares kids decided to try teaching sword fighting again and got a little too competitive.

"Oh my Gods, it's coming over here!" Kayla clutched Austin's arm, "Dude, do you think it's like a demon?

"Doing our paperwork?" Austin raised his dark eyebrows.

Kayla shrugged, but her expression was painted with panic. "What do we do?"

"You could leave?" Will offered, putting the pen down in favour of slipping past the two towards the door.

"Hey, maybe it's gone?" Austin whispered. Oh, how Will wished he could curse his siblings to rhyming for a month. With a scowl, Will opened the door for them, "Go on. Out."

Kayla screamed shrilly, jumping back a foot as she pointed at the door. Austin whirled and took in the open doorway with wide eyes.

Austin sighed, "Yep, we're calling Nico."

end.

a/n this was so silly lol. i will probably write this eventually into an actual oneshot with Ghost King!Nico and Ghost!Will interacting so I guess this is a sneak peek. Ummm it's post-Gaea au but Nico didn't stick around so its pre-Solangelo, Will still has a massive crush though.

and you can read my other works here

[lexosaurus]

And I'm back on my nerdiness!

This fic is a crossover between Danny Phantom x The Martian. You do not have to have read or watched The Martian to understand this fic. Although, I've convinced a double-digit number of people to read The Martian since I started this fic and I think that speak volumes to how obsessed I am about this media.

xxxx

Summary: When Astronaut Mark Watney went to Mars, he knew there was a chance he'd never come home. Now, though, he's determined to last long enough for NASA to save him because this whole dying for science thing is not as fun as it sounds.

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton is just trying to keep his identity a secret amidst a potential crisis with his powers. Seriously, what's up with that weird current under his skin? Why is he having so much trouble controlling it? And why does it feel so familiar...?

In a fit of determination (and possible stupidity), Danny goes to Mars to save Watney, only to add to both their crises when he arrives and can't get home. Will NASA save them? Will Danny have a home to return to if they do?

Chapter WC: 5801

Fic Tags: Danny Fenton & Mark Watney, Canon Divergence, Ecton AU

Chapter excerpt under the cut

xxxx

“I’m the potato of—what day is it?” Mark glanced at the computer. “May seventeenth! The spooky seventeenth potato ghost!”

“You’re delusional,” was Danny’s response. “And also still not over the fact that you missed May fourth.”

Mark lowered the potato. “Well, usually, I rely on supernerd Johannsen for vital dates like that. But since she’s gone, it was your job to pick up the slack! Haven't you seen Star Wars?”

“Of course I have!” Danny exclaimed, crossing his arms. It was almost offensive that Mark would think for a second that Danny hadn’t seen Star Wars. “But you forgot about May fourth too! Don’t try to pin this on me. I’m not your personal C3P-O.”

“No, you’re more of a Chewbacca.”

Okay, now his angsty mood had entirely turned into offense. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I’m Han Solo, obviously.”

“Why do you get to be Han Solo?”

It was as if Danny had just asked why rockets exist if Mark’s expression was anything to go by. His eyebrows shot to his hairline, and his mouth opened with a comical amount of confidence—or was it arrogance—as he gestured to himself and answered, “Well, duh.”

As if that were supposed to sum it up.

“That explains nothing!” Danny argued.

“It’s quite literally the only bit of explanation you need, Chewie.”

“I’m not Chewbacca.”

“And the sky isn’t orange.”

Okay, all the prying into Danny’s personal business? That was rough, Danny had to admit. But this? 

This was unforgivable.

[rummigumi]

Excerpt from Vanitas Part 4 draft (Yes I'm writing it out before Part 3, I don't control my brain):

Jason stared at the old god, hands clenched as he fought down the repulsion curling in his stomach.

“You wanted to talk?” The voice echoed around Jason. He swallowed down his fear as he replied, “I…what did you do to me?”

The god's head cocked to the side. “I brought you back to life, as the deal required.”

Jason had read enough ancient myths and stories around deals with gods to know it was never that simple. They'd exploit every loophole, use half truths to trick the mortals involved - anything to remind everyone who was in charge. To put those seen as beneath them in their place. The anger he was growing used to was quickly replacing the fear in his chest.

“So you screwed me over, huh? The deal was to bring me back, but you thought it'd be funny to mess me up first? Make sure I came back wrong?”

“You didn't come back wrong.” The god said it so matter-of-fact it threw Jason off. Of course he came back wrong, why else would he feel the way he did? Why else would he feel so wrong? Like a piece had been ripped out and replaced with something that wasn't him?

“No…no I did. I…I wasn't like…like this before.”

“Like what?”

“So…so…,” angry, “emotional.”

The god was silent for a moment.

“Souls that have died often feel emotions more intensely than those that haven't.”

Stronger emotions didn't explain the burning pit that had made itself at home in Jason's stomach. They didn't explain why all he wanted to do was scream and fight and pound his fists against things until his knuckles bled and his bones creaked. They didn't explain why he'd look at Bruce and feel like he was dying all over again. Stronger emotions didn't explain that.

“But why…why do I feel this way? Why is it that all I can feel is hatred and rage?” He begged the god to explain why he was feeling what he was, because he needed someone to tell him. (He needed the god to tell him what he was feeling was reasonable, that he wasn't going insane.)

And the god just stared at him with its creepy unblinking eyes and dark expressionless face. When it finally spoke, its voice was soft in a way that only occurs when one is explaining death to a child. “You're angry because you are mourning, and in pain. You have lost who you were and the life you had before you died, and it's hurting you.”

That didn't sound right. Jason hadn’t lost anything; his life hadn't changed between pre- and post-death. He'd woken up, and aside from the worried glances and even more awkward hovering from Bruce, it had been easy to forget he had even died. How could he have lost anything when everything was exactly the same as before he died?

(Before he was killed.)

But Jason had changed. While living with Bruce he had grown soft, forgot what the world was really like, forgot that just because he wore a cape and believed in justice and doing the right thing and helping others it didn’t mean shit when push came to shove. He had forgotten what he had learned long ago while watching his mother spiral deeper and deeper into her addiction and he had to do anything to survive. Awful things happened, and the world kept on turning and the universe kept expanding and it didn't matter how good you were or if you did everything right, unless you won the karmic lottery you were screwed.

But dying had removed the naive beliefs that he had allowed to fill his head, had removed the rose-colored glasses Bruce had put over his eyes. Dying had changed him, but he hadn't lost who he was. If anything, it made him more of who he was before Bruce.

(Before stability and peace and enjoying being alive and allowing himself to be a kid-)

“No,” Jason's voice was choked and harsh, “you're wrong.”

And the god didn't smite him for daring to imply he knew better than it. It didn't even scold him. It simply asked, “Then what is causing your pain?”

[ddthebreadboy]

The Case of Jiang Cheng's Canon Selective Amnesia

Jiang Cheng at MDZS chapter 59:

"Lan WangJi and Jin ZiXuan and those people can just die! Just let them die! What's their deaths got to do with us?! To do with our sect?! Why did this have to happen?! Why?!

"Go die, go die, go die! Everyone!!!"

And yet Jiang Cheng at MDZS chapter 87:

Jiang Cheng mocked, "Look how forgetful you are. What does unwelcome people mean? Then let me remind you. It was because you played the hero and saved Second Young Master Lan, who's standing beside you right now, that the entire Lotus Pier and my parents went down with you---, "

From blaming Jin Zixuan and Lan Wangji, into blaming Lan Wangji alone🙃🙃

Why?

Duh of course because Jin Zixuan has married his sister🥱

The so called sin of causing a sect to be exterminated can be erased as long as you marry the sister~

Oh. I Forgot to add the REAL thought of Jiang Cheng at MDZS chapter 59:

In his heart, Jiang Cheng knew clearly that back in the cave of the Xuanwu of Slaughter at Muxi Mountain, even if Wei WuXian hadn't saved Lan WangJi, the Wen Sect would have found some reason to come over sooner or later.

Dude knew perfectly why the massacre happened at all. Yet refuse to face reality. C'mon, call some psychologist here, a delusional patient who refuse to see reality may have been spotted.

In addition, the REAL people whom Wen Chao wanted to kill and thus were saved by Wei Wuxian in Xuanwu Cave were (MDZS ch 52):

Wen Chao was enraged, shouting, "How dare you! Kill them!"

A few of the Wen Sect's disciples unsheathed their swords, rushing toward Lan WangJi and Jin ZiXuan.

Yes. It is Lan Wangji and Jin Zixuan.

Not only Lan Wangji but also JIN FUCKINN ZIXUAN!

Alright, next:

Wen Chao looked as if his mood was much better. He spat, "Talking back to me, what did you think you are? People like you really do deserve to be killed."

Who talked back to Wen Chao?

Oh, let's look back a while ago:

Jin ZiXuan lifted his brows, "Is that enough? It wasn't enough for people to be flesh shields for you, and now you want live humans to bleed for you to use as bait?!"

Wei WuXian found this somewhat surprising, So Jin ZiXuan really does have some nerve.

Wen Chao pointed at them, "Are you rebelling against me? Let me warn you, I've been tolerating you for a very long time. Right now, hang the brat up with your own hands! Or else none of the people from your sects can expect to return!"

Jin ZiXuan sneered and refused to budge. Lan WangJi also looked as though he had heard nothing, so motionless that he seemed to be meditating.

Oh MY GOD! The one who angered Wen Chao first and talked back to him, it turned out it was Jin Zixuan all along!

That mighty Heir of the venerated LanlingJin, Jin Zixuan!

My my my...

To think that Jiang Cheng acted as if it was Lan Wangji solely who offended Wen Chao and needed to be saved... But the reality were...🧐🧐

The young and mighty Sandu Sengshou must have problem with hearing and seeing for him to think that the one Wei Wuxian saved is only Lan Wangji, right?

Or maybe Selective amnesia?

Oh!

It is because Jin Zixuan has married the Sister so the "so called sin" Got defaulted🙃

(All Excerpts are from ExRebel FanTrans)

***

JC (toxic ones) Stan: Listen to our babyCheng, Lan Wangji is the reason YunmengJiang got destroyed!

JC throughout the MDZS: It's me~! Hi~! I'm the problem, it's me~! (The one who has problem with hearing, seeing, delusional tendency, plus selective amnesia)

[landwriter]

Throwing vague Hobrinthian inspiration your way. You'd write them so deliciously.

Thank you!! Back in January I wrote 8K of them - I think it's honestly my favourite thing I've written or close to it <3 Just Like Love. The Corinthian comes across Hob in a hotel bar after he's stood up in 1989. Things don't go as planned.

Here's an excerpt from the continuation of that 'verse:

---

Hob Gadling isn’t his boyfriend. Hob is better. He’s a soldier, a hunter, a haunted man, and it makes every grain of the Corinthian sing to know that one of the ghosts rattling around in there is him. Of course it is. He’s memorable. Doesn’t change how good it feels, though, to have been followed across the Atlantic by something almost as hungry as him.

Hob is holding a plastic bag, and the Corinthian can smell the meat from here.

“Fresh from Lancashire,” he says, all fucking casual-like.

The Corinthian walks over, hooks a finger into the bag and pulls it open to see what it is. Black pudding, he thinks. He’s standing close to Hob, close enough to feel how Hob notices it, how his pulse quickens a little. He still smells like airports. He thinks Hob will wrap an arm around him, pull him in. Kiss him filthy right here in his kitchen. Hob doesn’t do anything but let him inspect his gift. He looks up, and pretends he’s disappointed about the offering instead. He should be.

“I’m not a fucking reptile in a terrarium. You don’t need to buy me crickets.”

“Well. Thought this was more on the mice side of the scale.” And then his face does that hideous English thing, where he’s obviously hurt but smiles and pretends he isn’t, which isn’t half as fun when it’s just his feelings. “But you don’t have to-” he starts, all fake cheer, and the Corinthian grits his eyeteeth.

“Stop making that face,” he says, and snatches the bag away. Sees too late Hob smiling a little, and realizes he was playing at being injured, just to get him to come closer. He sets it on the counter, and feels Hob close right up behind him. There’s warm breath on the back of his neck for a moment before Hob speaks.

“You sure? Maybe it’s a bit like feeding wild foxes. Shouldn’t do that.”

The Corinthian turns and uses his height to bully Hob against the fridge, presses him there, then murmurs into Hob’s ear, threatening, just the way he likes. “You think I’ll forget how to feed myself?”

Hob is already hard against his thigh and he tilts his head up, to kiss the side of his neck. His heart is thumping so steady and strong the Corinthian wonders if he’s got a bigger heart working in there, one to power all his hunger. A horse heart, crushed into his ribcage.

“Maybe I’d like it if you forgot,” Hob says. “Maybe I’d like to spoil you. Maybe I’d like you to try eating out of my hand. See if you don’t like it better, to be fed by another.” He says it flirtatiously, covering up the tenderness there with hunger, because he knows the Corinthian’s mother tongue. But he hears the tenderness in it still, and it ripples over his instincts like a different kind of threat. A different kind of snare. Still wire-sharp. He knows he’d draw blood if he struggled in it, even if Hob would let him go the moment he really did. That’s why he stills, he figures. That’s why he goes all limp, submissive.

Hob feels it. Hob knows exactly what he’s done, and he runs a soft hand over the back of his neck, like he’s tamed him. The Corinthian finally twitches away roughly.

“Kinky.” He grabs the forgotten sausage and starts slicing it to be fried. And Hob just laughs, like it was the joke they were making together all along.

---

Twenty minutes later, he’s kneeling on the floor, still wearing his apron that says #1 Grill Dad, and Hob is feeding a cut-up piece of fried black pudding to him. It’s overcooked. They’d gotten distracted. He licks a stripe across Hob’s palm and feels the small muscles twitch under his tongue. Hob’s hand withdraws, and comes back a moment later to stroke the back of his head, dull nails scraping invisible tracks along him. It feels good. He hates it, he thinks.

He leans forward, and nuzzles against Hob’s crotch. The denim chafes his cheeks. Hob groans and ruts into him, his idle hand on his head turned greedy, knotting into his hair. Hob pulls him off, and he looks up, mouth hanging open.

“You going to bite it off if I let you?” he asks.

“Will it grow back?”

Hob sucks in air through his teeth and pretends like he’s considering it too. “You want to take the chance and find out that it doesn’t?”

“Nah,” he says, and Hob laughs and unbuttons his jeans.

---

He blames it on being fucked stupid for the first time in weeks. He blames it on being dark in the room. He blames it on Hob wrapped around him from behind, possessive. “You’d really care for me, huh?”

Hob scoffs, then seems to realize he’s not fucking around. His hand comes around and finds the Corinthian’s throat, and he strokes a line along where his pulse should be. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘course I would.”

“You can’t save me, Hob,” he says.

Hob huffs a laugh against his shoulder blades. “Well, then you won’t mind me trying, will you?”

[pleathewrites]

bellow the fire into my deadened lungs

chapter 1 excerpt — shigadabi heart to heart + dabi's final move read full story here

December

For the past two weeks, Shigaraki hasn’t said anything about the League’s newest recruit. It makes Dabi's skin itch. 

Shigaraki doesn’t trust Keigo. Dabi can tell by the way red bloodshot eyes constantly observe the — undercover — hero. He wonders if Shigaraki knows. 

Even though Shigaraki thinks so, he and Dabi are not cut from the same cloth — his leader was raised, practically groomed, by the biggest villain of all time. He was told what to do and how to do it. Dabi was rarely raised, especially not after his mother was sent away. His life has been on the line his entire life, demanding him to learn when to trust his gut and how to keep himself alive. 

Still, they both haven’t gotten this far by being naive. 

When Keigo left for the night, “I should get going, have patrol tomorrow. Do you wanna… come over?” and Dabi shook his head no, Shigaraki had beckoned his lieutenant to his room with a silent tilt of his chin.

He hasn’t really let himself be alone with Keigo after introducing the hero to the League, to Shigaraki. Dabi doesn’t quite know what to do with Keigo’s newly found possessive attitude. It was so easy, in the privacy of Dabi’s apartment, away from both their realities and other people, tucked in his little cocoon of dreams and heat. Outside that, though, Dabi realizes how fucking complicated he’s made things by letting Keigo kiss him that first night. By continuing to kiss him all those following nights. 

Which leads him here. In this great big mess. 

They’re in Shigaraki’s new room. It’s big, bigger than any of the hideouts the League previously would hole up in, and it’s spacious, decorated with quality furniture — a king-sized bed and a black-and-gold-trimmed divan sofa. 

Shigaraki had sat on his bed, and Dabi had a guilty suspicion that he wanted Dabi to sit next to him, so the patchwork man made sure to sit on the divan across from him, just to avoid any potential situations.

Shigaraki looks tired, more so than usual under these dim overhead lights. His eye bags are puffier than usual, the area surrounded by irritatedly-red scratch marks. Dabi knows his leader had recently taken a shower because his shaggy white hair is frizzier than usual, wild without a few days worth of oil and stress. His mouth looks ashen, lips probably dry from soap and forgetting to use the chapstick Compress had bought for him. Dabi can’t help but remember how they felt pressed against his own. 

Being conventionally hideous himself, Dabi learned how to find beauty in destroyed things.

He thinks Shigaraki is beautiful. He thinks it’s a form of the kind of ‘beautiful’ that reflects in Keigo’s eyes when they lie in Dabi’s bed and the bird won’t stop staring.  

Shigaraki’s voice is grating, though Dabi thinks it could be classified as having its own charm, “How do you know you can trust Hawks?”

‘Shit,’ Dabi forgot why he was here. He never really prepared an answer to this question. Very poor planning on his part, he knows. 

He overlooks the truth of Keigo’s intentions and thinks about what he’s often thought about since Keigo started frequenting his apartment. About the kind of stories Keigo shares, his frustrations and his hurt, about the things Keigo has said that makes something in Dabi want to try and persuade the hero to join the League’s side for real.

He’s honest when he answers, “Just like he’s told the other members, he thinks this society’s shit. Corrupt. Seems like he has a bone to pick.” Shigaraki’s eyes roll and, ‘yeah,’ Dabi knows his answer was pretty bad. While trying to maintain his facade of nonchalance, Dabi hastily adds, “He did kill that hero. Best Jeanist,” He shrugs his stiff shoulders and hopes it looks normal, “That counts for something in my books.”

Shigaraki, of course, still thinks it's all a crock of shit. 

“Are you serious, Dabi?” He sneers, “What does the Number Two Hero understand at all about us? About the way this society has treated us when he looks like that?”

Dabi gets it. He still gaslights, “Hey, now, Shiggy. Don’t judge a book by its cover, ‘n all that.”

Shigaraki starts to itch his neck, and Dabi feels so fucking guilty.

“You never take anything seriously. This is fuckin’ dangerous, and so fuckin’ stupid, and you’re just making jokes!” 

Shigaraki is itching so hard that Dabi can hear it, the gritty scritch scritch scritch, from where he sits, two meters away.

Usually, the members know it’s best to just let their leader scratch whatever stresses out — but the pained grimace, and the actual fall of skin flakes, and the o verwhelming fucking guilt of basically helping the Number Two Hero infiltrate their sacred space makes Dabi move. 

He grabs the small hotel lotion from Shigaraki’s dresser and sits next to the man, grabbing his wrist with a soft, “Stop.”

He thinks the shock of his actions is what causes Shigaraki to obey. 

He squirts a small amount of lotion on his fingers, “D’you mind?”

Red eyes open in vulnerability, and Shigaraki looks mildly scared. Dabi mentally curses and is about to hand over the bottle of lotion to the leader, ‘probably more comfortable with doing it himself, what was I thinkin’, just touching him like that,’ before Shigaraki’s eyes soften back to their trademark squint, and he tilts his neck in offering.  

Silently, Dabi uses the lotion-less hand to move Shigaraki’s curtain of hair out of the way to apply the cream to cracked skin. 

Shigaraki lets out a soft hiss, and Dabi murmurs an apology. As he works the lotion into the skin, he says, “I know this is your thing, Handjob, but itchin’ yourself to death isn’t gonna win us the war.”

Shigaraki grumbles, “Fuck off. Letting in a traitor won’t help us win, either.” 

Dabi chuckles lightly, “Don’t worry about the pigeon. I’ll keep him in check,” which is, at least, half a lie. A white lie, if Dabi wants to go as far as to lie to himself. 

“What if he ruins us?” and the softness in Shigaraki's voice is not at all what Dabi expected. It’s almost a whisper, and it feels like there’s a double meaning weaved in there, and Dabi feels so fucking guilty. 

Because if Keigo goes through with it, if he betrays Dabi, it won’t be the Number Two Hero that leads the League to their ruin, it will be Dabi. 

The lotion is fully absorbed — has been for some time now. Dabi may have heated his fingers a bit to distract Shigaraki from any itching sensations, and he thinks it worked. The leader seems calm, so Dabi pulls his hand away. 

“Take precautions,” Dabi finds himself saying, “Compress is dependable and doesn’t like to talk shop much anyways. Lunatic’s halfway in her own world, but she knows how to keep secrets. I don’t think she trusts new people that much, no matter how much she likes them. Same with the Lizard. He’s almost stupidly loyal to you. Two-Face, though, he likes to talk, so don’t tell him the really important stuff ahead of time. And don’t tell me.”

Shigaraki’s eyes narrow, “Really? The leader of my Vanguard Squad can’t keep his mouth shut?”

“Precautions, man,” Dabi shrugs honestly, “Who knows, maybe the Bird has a friend with a truth quirk and they jump me.”

Shigaraki nods, and Dabi hands out the bottle of lotion to him. He takes it, “This stuff smells like shitty flowers.”

“Better than itching all your skin off. Take it from me, y’wanna keep as much of it as you can.”

He winks, and Shigaraki crinkles his nose in disgust. 

When Dabi thinks about it, Shigaraki makes sense for him, they make sense for each other. ‘What on Earth am I doing with Keigo?’ Keigo knows Dabi’s story, sure, and has a few horror stories of his own, but does he feel Dabi’s conviction with the same burning passion Shigaraki does?

Shigaraki looks at Dabi like he’s waiting for Dabi, like he wants to burn the world down with Dabi and be his partner in crime. Keigo looks at Dabi like he’s savoring Dabi, like he wants to take Dabi away from the world and be the hero that Touya spent countless nights waiting for.  

It’s so confusing. What does Dabi want? 

‘The death of one man,’ he tells himself, over and over again, until it erases every other thought.

*

The guilt makes him lose his mind a little, in the end. 

So, Dabi let himself have one last Christmas. He lets himself go out with the memory of Toga’s attempt at caroling and Twice’s excitement at finally having a ‘family photo’ where he can reveal his face. Gives himself the mercy of seeing Shigaraki’s cheeks flush at the anonymous present of a soft grey-fleece pajama-set, and hearing Spinner’s cackles grow louder with each sip of eggnog. 

At the last second of his death, Dabi will summon the soft memory of Keigo’s smile pressed against his lips when a mischievous red feather floated above their heads carrying mistletoe, the way his lined eyes lidded to the point Dabi could see all three of his eyelids and his warm taloned hand made a home at the scarless curve of Dabi’s waist, wishing him a, “Very Merry Christmas, Hot Stuff.”    

He doesn’t say goodbye, only leaves with a soft, “Goodnight.”

It takes about a week to get his affairs in order. He doesn’t have much, but the little he does is spread evenly amongst the League and Keigo — his first-ever switchblade to Toga, all of his favorite movies to Twice, his Stain-inspired works and poems to Spinner, his favorite medical-grade all-natural moisturizers to Shigaraki, and the secret stash of his most cherished childhood photos to Keigo. He likes to think the Bird would want to remember him in this way, too — not only a rotten and damaged man, but once a smiling and loving brother with fat cheeks and pinked skin. 

He writes up a makeshift will to arrive at Giran’s doorstep after the announcement of his death, along with the tapes he pre-recorded revealing his identity and outlining all of Todoroki Enji’s crimes, with the inclusion of all the dirt he’s managed to scrape up on top heroes over the last decade and recently, with the oddly-eager bits of much-too-important information Keigo has been slipping into his hands since the hero found out his real name.

Dabi breathes slowly. 

Today is the day. 

“Todoroki Enji!” He calls out.

Dabi memorized the patrol schedule Keigo had given him a few months ago, and knows exactly which city Endeavor is going to be lurking around. 

“Come ‘n face me, you fuckin’ coward!” 

Blue fire surrounds the streets, and it’s enough warning to make every single citizen in the area run away, as far as they can. Terrified screams fill the area and it’s still not enough to draw the Number One Hero out. 

The heat is already so suffocating. 

Anger rips through him, and he uses it to make his location known, clapping his hand above him and shooting a giant line of blue fire towards the sky, a swirling vortex that would have made his father’s eyes gleam with pride a lifetime ago.   

Red fire glints in the sky above him like a comet.

‘Finally.’

That red fire races down to swirl around the pillar Dabi has created, and he almost thinks it looks glorious. 

A second later, the fire is gone and the ground rumbles under Dabi’s feet. He lets go of his own fire, and stares down his father. 

“Have you come with another Nomu?” Enji asks, his flaming face practically radiating with familiar fury.

Dabi’s laugh is so manic, he feels at least three staples pop, “It’s just you ‘n me, old man.”

The skin of his hands scream in agony, but for the first time in his life, Dabi welcomes the pain, embraces the consequences his body sets upon him as he will be damned if he dies in self-hatred. 

“I do not understand your goal here, Villain, but you will not succeed.”

Dabi hears the faint sounds of others approaching, and knows he cannot waste anymore time. 

“Oh really?” Dabi moves forward, slowly, with the grace of a cat circling its prey, and Endeavor’s stance begins to shift, “Is the great Todoroki Enji going to kill me…” His grin stretches wider and blood starts to streak down his chin and drip from his neck, “Again?” 

From the corner of his eye, two smaller bodies have joined Endeavor, slightly behind him, as if waiting for the hero’s que. 

Endeavor’s expression minutely shifts, “Again?” and his tone becomes indignant, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but who are you to use my name so freely!”

Blue fire begins to lick up his arms, and Dabi registers his body start to shake, “Really… Even up this close — you can’t even recognize me? You did this to me!” 

He’s in the air before he knows it, blue fire propelling his feet to push towards the hero at infinite speed, hands out and aiming for his father’s face. 

His father catches his burning hands with his own, an obviously pained wince that gives Dabi a sick amount of joy. His fire has always been hotter than his father’s, and unlike Dabi, Enji has never had the training to handle it. 

For the first time, it is Enji who cries out in pain. 

 A heinous laughter rips through Dabi’s throat, and he’s nose-to-nose with his father, his eyes so wide that the staples strain and blood trails his cheeks, “Aren’t you so proud of me, Daddy? Look how strong I’ve become!” 

Dabi sees the exact moment Enji recognizes him. The horror across his face is both immensely euphoric and horribly painful. 

“To...uya…?” 

The smell of burning flesh fills his nose. His skin feels like it’s bubbling, blisters forming, and his seams are melting apart. 

Blue eyes much like his own frantically move across Dabi’s face, desperately flicking from his eyes to his eyebrows to his forehead.

Dabi never got around to dying his white roots.

There is no red fire anymore, yet the large hands that grasp his own tighten. 

“Touya.”

All of Dabi’s self control snaps, and blue fire erupts everywhere, completely engulfing father and son. Dabi is going to burn them to ash and send them straight to Hell.

read full story here

my other works

[not-poignant]

Daily excerpt from today's writing, Underline the Black 78:

'How was he?' Gary said.  'Fine,' Faber said, his voice quiet. 'He didn't tell me when he was tired. He also didn't remind me that he needed to eat or take his medications and I, ah, rather forgot, Sir, so he ate lunch late, I'm afraid. Mid-afternoon.'  'That's all right,' Gary said.  'He was very helpful. Honestly, Sir, you really should be introducing him to be more people now.' 'Should I?' Gary said, like someone who was maybe amused at being told what he should be doing. Faber didn't reply, and as Gary's hand rubbed against his hair, he sighed and sank down once again.  It seemed only a few minutes passed, because Gary and Faber were still talking when he next surfaced again.  '...agree with you,' Gary said. 'He is capable. But as you've seen for yourself today, his body is still recovering from a lifetime of malnutrition. He sleeps quite a bit. Though I'll need to wake him soon.'  'There's something else I should tell you, Sir,' Faber said, his voice even and careful.  'Hm? Something alarming?'  'I think you'll be alarmed, but I also think you...have no reason to be. I think you might be angry, in truth. I did something without checking in with you or Temsen first.' Gary's fingers tensed in Efnisien's hair. 'Tell me.' 'Yes, of course. For lunch, I took Efnisien to the kitchens. He met Marikit.' A long silence, filled with tension. Efnisien woke further, but didn't want to open his eyes. Would Gary say he wasn't allowed to see people ever again? Even Faber wasn't rushing in to say anything.  'Faber...' Gary said. 

[02cm]

Free! S1 + CD dramas > Starting Days/High Speed! = The Final Stroke > Take Your Marks.

Both S2 and S3 were remade in movies, and still...

> S2 didn't deliver, at least not what it was obvious they were intending to when they introduced it to us. They made Rin the cause behind Haru and Sousuke's beef but I don't like how he remains oblivious about everything. I love the joke there's between the seiyuus about he being the oblivious heroine... but they didn't need to go that far, lol.

> S3 was like a spin-off about Ikuya; even Haru (you know, the protagonist) was mostly a tool for Ikuya's and his relationship with Hiyori's development 🤌

And yet, Rin IS -once again- the cause behind Haru and -this time- Ikuya's "beef"... and, once again, they didn't have the balls to make the characters talk about it openly (because in this metaphor where Ikuya is ~The Little Mermaid~ and felt abandoned by Haru, ~The Prince~... that can only mean that Rin is ~The Princess~ "the prince" falls for and makes him disregard "the little mermaid" completely, given that Haru forgot about his promise with Ikuya and everything else after what happened with Rin, and he's all Rin Rin Rin when it comes to swimming and not only that 👀). Utsumi never hid this fact.

Instead, they throw hints here and there; flashbacks of Haru's state after everything that happened with Rin are everywhere (and it's in the fact that they made Haru have an "I'm not swimming with Rin anymore??" crisis 3 times + 1 chill version in Take Your Marks) as a reminder of that being the reason behind all this drama, even if it wasn't on purpose... they're there as a reminder of Haru having Rin as his driving force (I never updated this set but there are more scenes like these after S2). So, of course he'd just forget about Ikuya (I mean, ignoring that this plot is an afterthought in itself, it still works like this).

And don't let me start on the whole "hero" thing and how Haru and Rin are each other's -as Zakki said himself- but they also didn't go deep into it because it would keep adding more and more to harurin and harurin only; and, at this point... they did it well enough since S1 anyways.

SO. S3 didn't deliver either.

---

I won't pretend I don't love all those hints, tho... I love Rin being the root of everything what's important to Haru (I'm not saying that even it was thanks to him that he learned to cherish his friends and enjoy having relays with them, but that's exactly what happened; so, if you like Haru's relationship with any other character, you should appreciate the effect that Matsuoka Rin had on him... not for nothing, he changed how he used to see things... that's why there's even a melody called You Changed My Life and the impact of it is BIG when it comes to the way he started treating the others).

... I guess that it's the reason why, as weird as it sounds, I'm ok with both seasons. They mostly bored me, but that's it. The truth is that I'm more than content with Free! as a whole. And, while I was writing this, I felt like putting a lot of links because there's so much material! I had to restrain myself, lmao. But just to add one more:

Since I talked mostly about S3, I was thinking how I'll always find ironic that Ikuya was originally the character that made Haru realize the way he was actually feeling about Rin leaving... In High Speed!, it was Haru the one feeling abandoned by Rin's departure, but he wouldn't realize until he witnessed Ikuya reaproching Satomi she was "leaving him". Not only this scene presents a parallel with Haru's situation with Rin, but he thinks: "This is that rumored ‘lover’s quarrel’ thing. One shouldn’t interfere." ??? loool. It's almost subliminal...

Here's the whole excerpt: x

It's a shame it didn't make into Free! but, of course, it's more of the same I mentioned before. This is, after all, an spokon, right? *wink wink*

All these are about sportsmanship and dudes being dudes

[firstelevens]

well ofc now I must ask about order up (i'm hot to go) ! 🍽️

Frankly speaking I put that one on the list and I was like, this is Jules-bait if I've ever seen it

order up (I'm hot to go) is a fic that I explicitly declared I would not be working on, so naturally it's already got an outline going. It's set in the Bake Off AU, and it started because I was like "hey this song would make a funny title for a fic that's just Sam's POV of the weekend where Bucky comes down to Delacroix to help with the food truck!" And then I remembered that canonically Sam once twirled and dipped Bucky in the truck and knocked over an entire pan of cobbler, and eventually I decided that it might be funny to have a fic that's just these two engaging in food truck-adjacent shenanigans over the course of their relationship

Unfortunately I do not have any excerpts at this time but what I do have is the image of Sam asking Bucky to move in with him and accidentally doing so in front of basically all of Delacroix because the truck was parked at the pier and they got so distracted they forgot to close the window after service was over

[fumbling-flower]

check out my AO3!

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

hi there!! i am once again advertising my AO3 account because i am shameless.

if you like a good mix of fluff/angst, or if you enjoy halsin/tav fics in any way—or, if you even just enjoy a good modern!AU/academia!AU, please come check me out on AO3 @ fumbling_flower!! i update my longfic roughly once a week, and i post one-shots from time to time. (for you barcus wroot lovers, i even have a barcus fic up, and i plan to make more <3)

i'll put some snippets of text below if you'd like to peruse, and if you stop by make sure to say hello or leave a comment!! i love hearing from my readers!!

when the day met the night

Summary: Filch had no desire to put himself back out there after his widowing years ago, but the man running the plant store down the street from his university is threatening to change his mind.

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: approx. 53k

Pairing: Halsin/Tav (Named Tav)

modern!AU, academia!AU, read here! excerpt below:

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

At least half a second passed before Filch was able to answer Halsin. He was enamored, there was no denying it, and he spent a moment taking in every detail of him. He had on a soft cream polo with small leaves embroidered into it, and his hair was fully tied up today with a tortoise-shell patterned claw clip. His ears were long and delicate he realized, the tips of them ever-so-slightly sunburnt, or at least, he thought it was sunburn. Halsin’s eyes flicked over his outfit for a moment, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Shit, what was the question? What had he asked him?

“I… was looking for a pot,” he stammered, finally finding his voice. “For the jelly bean. It’s getting too big for the one it’s in.”

“Already? You must be taking good care of it—not that I’m surprised to hear that.” A pink blush flooded his cheeks.

“I like to think I know what I’m doing.” The coffee suddenly felt very hot in his hand, and he held it out to him before he scalded himself. “Oh—I almost forgot. Here. Ah, don’t feel like you have to drink it if you don’t want it, but…” Halsin smiled.

“For me? Thank you! Don’t be mistaken—I very much need the caffeine.” He took a sip, then looked at him playfully. “Is coffee a love-language of yours?”

He was struck completely silent. Was that—he just—what had he just said to him? “I’m… sorry?”

“A love-language,” Halsin repeated. “You brought Jaheira a coffee the other day, too, to let her know you were thinking of her. I assume you gave me one for the same reason?” Behind his innocent explanation was a clear understanding of the situation. He could see it in his eyes. …Did he bring people coffees to show he cared? That tracked… unfortunately. What a terrible calling-card.

“I suppose… yes, I suppose that’s why I did.” And now he’d lost control of his vocal chords again. Excellent. “But never mind that. Pots, Halsin.” Halsin laughed.

“Yes, of course… pots. Come on in.”

He put on a hardened exterior as he went into The Grove and Halsin walked him to the shelf with all of the pots on it. He knew damn well where they were at this point, but he needed a moment to orient himself, and this was a great opportunity. If Halsin could just keep his mouth shut and quit flirting with him for five seconds, he’d be fine. “The one I gave you, it was a six-inch, was it not? So you would be looking for a nine-inch?”

Maybe he was looking for nine inches. Nine inches… Nine inches of—dear gods, his brain. “Yes, actually. I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“It was a nice plant, and you are nice company. It’s easier to remember than to forget.” His stupid, schoolboy heart skipped a beat. “Maybe something pink, or red? Since the jelly bean has those tones in it. Oh, I don’t know how your apartment is decorated though, I suppose.”

“No, that would be nice. The furniture in my apartment is green and taupe, mostly, but I’ve never bothered to organize the colors of my planters. That would get wildly out of hand.” He thought about Halsin seeing his apartment, letting him wander as he showed him all of his plants, his pride and joy. He would know every one of them, but somehow he felt like he’d let him talk like he didn’t anyhow. He felt so soft at the concept. Halsin was making him feel soft. “I can’t believe I’m holding on to this damned plant. I wound up attached to it because of you.”

“Oh dear. Sorry about that. I’m still glad it went to a good home, though. What did you end up needing it for?”

Halsin sat down behind the counter and listened as Filch explained his lab to him. He ran him through each one of the slides he’d taken and some of the neat photos that the students had gotten from the microscopes, and they took a moment to compare the cells between each one. Halsin admitted that he didn’t really know how fungal cells worked in comparison to plant or animal cells, (or if he had, he had said, he had long since forgotten), and it took everything in him to stop himself from talking his ear off and ruining the conversation.

“You know about that sort of thing, don’t you?” Halsin asked.

“Well, yes, but… I don’t know if you want me getting into that. I don’t want to occupy too much of your time.” He’d given hours long presentations on this subject. That was an understatement.

“Don’t be absurd. I don’t mind.” He drank the last of his coffee and tilted his head. “But… if you’re really worried, you could always give me the version you might give a freshman.”

“Hm… I suppose.” He went quiet for a minute, condensing information down in his head and making it more digestible. There were no introductory Mycology courses this semester, so he hadn’t done this in a while.

Deciding to just go for it, he began to explain. He opened with the fact that despite their major differences, it was difficult to tell the difference between a fungal cell and a plantae cell beneath a microscope, and that realistically, looking at the whole organism was much more effective. (He’d had to explain that to his students this week before it confused them too much.) But if one were to look past that and break it down regardless, one of the first major differences was the cell wall—both plantae cells and fungal cells had them, but while plantae cell walls were comprised of cellulose, hemicelluloses, pectin, agar, and other such substances, fungal cell walls were made up of chitins, glucans, and proteins. Both served the same purpose—to protect the insides of the cells—but unlike cellulose for example, which enabled plantae cells to maintain their structure via turgor pressure, chitin anchored to other molecules at the cell surface to provide structure. Beyond that, fungal cells didn’t store chlorophyll like plantae cells did, (though I’m sure you’re aware of that, he’d said). They also stored their food in glycogens instead of starches. All of these things together, he explained to him, were what brought fungi to be heterotrophic and reliant on their environments for food instead of being autotrophic like plants. “I could go on,” he finished, “but I will spare you.”

Halsin was leaning his head on his hand as he watched him attentively. A touch of color had crept into his face. “That was wonderful, Filch. I feel very informed.” He sighed.

“Well, thank you. It is what I am paid to do. I think the good people at Waterdeep should worry if I’m unable to explain something so basic, considering my field.” He grew suddenly melancholy. “I miss being in labs sometimes. It’s much easier to teach, don’t get me wrong, though it has its own challenges—I’ve just felt a bit disconnected from my roots recently… ah, no pun intended.” Halsin laughed, and he shook his head, continuing. “It’s why I have a space dedicated to growing fungi. Jaheira made me sound a bit insane, but I promise you it’s not all that exciting.”

“It never seemed insane. Just passionate.”

“Aren’t they one and the same?” Halsin raised his eyebrows, seemingly taken aback.

“Well, I suppose they could be, if you sunk too deep into it. But I would argue that’s not passion anymore, is it?”

“What I think I’ve done,” Filch said, “is started a pointless philosophical conversation. I apologize.”

“The philosophical is never pointless,” Halsin replied. “How else are we supposed to navigate life, if not via thought?”

That has to be one of the most attractive things he’s ever said to me, Filch thought. He had nothing to say to that—it was true. “No… you’re right.” Suddenly, he balked at himself and what he was doing. What had he come here for? A pot? No, he’d come here to see Halsin, and maybe get a pot in the process. That much had been made clear. He was taken by a sudden conviction, a need to see through his desires before he grew too timid. “Halsin… you had mentioned wanting to see my apartment before, hadn’t you?”

“Yes, I had.” Expectation lingered in the air as Halsin smiled at him. “How come?”

Filch shoved his hand in his pocket. Opened his mouth, tried to speak, then closed it again, words disappearing from his tongue. He couldn’t do this. No—he could do this. “Well, um… care to come over some time? I can show you my collection, if you’d like. Or I can spare you from that, and we can just talk while you’re not occupied with work.” Halsin’s soft smile grew into a full-on beam. His heart fluttered.

“I would love that, professor.”

“Ah—yes! Wonderful. Perfect.” He clapped his hands together, unsure where to look. His brain was melting down into mush.

“Indeed,” Halsin said. Hells, he was glowing. This was surreal. “Oh, you know what? Here.” He stuck his hand under the counter and pulled out a notepad, frantically scribbling something down as a customer opened the door. He ripped it out, folded it in half, and slid it to him. “Take this. Why don’t we pick out a pot for you the next time I see you? It sounds like it’ll be soon,” he said.

“Sure. Works for me.” He took the paper and shoved it into his pocket, then moved out of the way for the new customer. As frustrating as it was to be cut off (and to leave without his damned pot), there was no sense in directing it at Halsin. He had a store to run, after all, and they’d been talking aimlessly for an hour. They made eye contact as the customer was talking at him, and Halsin smiled again. He pretended to look at a couple of plants just to make his exit seem less dramatic, then finally found his way out the door and back onto the street.

Filch hadn’t realized his heart was pounding until he felt it standing outside. He leaned against the wall, the awning shading his face from the sun. The folded paper felt heavy in his pocket. Feeling it like this made a sense of deep unease come over him—it was too similar to Arryn’s note, too similar to the incident from only a week ago. He knew that wasn’t what it was, but it might as well have been like this, indistinguishable from any other sheet of paper. A bit like Schrödinger's Cat. He looked in through the glass and watched Halsin as he chatted with the customer, cheerful. He hadn’t stopped smiling.

☀︎☀︎☀︎

battle-weary

Summary: Barcus made the mistake of joking about a kiss one time, and he got one. Now, he wants more.

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 3,776w.

Pairing: Barcus/Tav (Named Tav)

PWP, read here! excerpt below:

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The Chionthar murmured against the chatter of the camp as Barcus found his way towards the river. He hissed at the pain shooting down his arm—he had a few injuries, but that one was easily the worst. A dagger had been slashed against the area just above his wrist, (perhaps in an attempt to cut his hand off? who was to say), and though he’d wrapped it in gauze to the best of his ability, it was bleeding through. Their travels to Baldur’s Gate had been precarious at best, and the attack of several githyanki as they approached the city had not improved that fact.

He slid down against a tree once he’d gotten far enough away, then began to undo the dirty bandages. The gauze stuck to his skin as he removed it and his eyes watered with discomfort. Sure, he’d heard that that Shadowheart woman could heal, but he was far too uncomfortable asking for help to… well, ask for it. And as far as their resident druids went, he wasn’t sure what they were capable of. It was better to just deal with it himself.

As Barcus looked at the wound, he realized that cleaning it was probably a good idea. So he stood right back up again and walked to the river, submerging his forearm in the water and washing the blood and scabbing away. It stung.

His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps crunching through the foliage. Suddenly nervous for a reason he couldn’t place, he scurried back behind the trees again to finish dressing his wound. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation—not right now, and possibly not ever, depending on who.

Oh… it was Finch.

He seemed weary, Barcus thought. Though they all were, realistically. Part of his leather armor had been damaged it seemed, and he fussed over it as he walked, slowly taking pieces off. He didn’t seem to notice him huddling in the brush as he muttered to himself. That was alright—like he had said, he wasn’t looking for conversation. Even if it was the one person he’d had the most conversation with previously.

Barcus dug in his pack and pulled out a new roll of gauze, and a couple of herbs in a bottle that were meant to help if you mashed them up. (These were, thankfully, pre-mashed.) He just didn’t want it getting infected. Then he really would have had to ask for help, and that would have been embarrassing.

His eyes flicked back up towards the river again for a moment, and he froze.

Finch, who had since removed all of his armor, was untying the lacing on his collar. What… what was he doing? He stretched for a moment, pressing his folded hands towards the sky, before tucking his fingers under the hem of his shirt and twisting it off, neatly folding it and setting it on the ground.

A hot, red blush crept across his cheeks. Oh, this wasn’t—he wasn’t supposed to be seeing this. Why was he undressing? Why hadn’t he done a better job of checking if nobody was around? Why on toril couldn’t he look away?

He had one of those soft-strong builds, the kind that had tough arms and shoulders, but pockets of fluff around the stomach and the hips. And he’d known that some sects of halflings were prone to hair, but being rather hairless himself it was still fascinating to follow the flow that washed over his chest and dipped down into his pantline. Barcus watched as he sighed and observed his side rather closely, then touched his hand to it. A soft golden light gleamed from his fingers, and the wound, now highlighted, began to seal. So he could heal after all—but what was he going to do, go and ask him for help while he was… like this? Absolutely not.

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Foxtrot Alpha Alpha - Chapter 20

Pairing: Hangman x Female OC

Word Count: 2679

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Hangman learned his lesson a long time ago to never show his true feelings when someone's words or actions hurt him. To do so showed weakness that could be exploited, and Seresin men couldn't show weakness. Of course, there was an exception to every rule, and Jake's always came in the form of women, three in particular: his mom, Juliette Kazansky, and the girl whose name he could no longer bring himself to speak. She was the girl that got away; she was his biggest 'what if' and his biggest regret; she would forever be the ghost that haunted his dreams. Jake believed that's where she'd stay, for he would surely never see her again after what he did.

Or so he thought.

Notes: This is the sequel to India Lima Yankee; I'm using the same callsign for the Female OC as in Ghost Story because I just really like it, but they are different characters; chapters in italics are flashbacks Half this chapter is from the promotional excerpt I did a while ago for it, but it's been altered to fit the route the story has gone :)

Chapter Songs: History This Everyday Love

****

Juliette

Rooster ambled into the kitchen, most likely due to the mouth-watering smell of bacon, eggs, and French Toast. Juliette bit back a smile at her hungover husband and wordlessly slid a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water over to him.

"How bad was I last night?" Rooster asked, scrunching his face in pre-mortification while he swallowed the medicine.

"How much do you remember?" she countered.

"I remember stumbling in and trying not to wake you and Ghost, but you two were already awake..."

"I'd been up, and Mav texted to let me know that I was about to have three men in a state about to enter my house."

"Fuck, I forgot Hangman and Coyote were there."

"I mean, none of you acted too differently than you normally do around each other. Coyote dropped to the floor to pet the dogs, you and Hangman were insulting each other, and Ghost, Mav, and I watched and laughed. Honestly, it wasn't that bad. The funniest thing was you and Hangman trying to whisper but doing it so loudly that you might as well have been speaking normally."

Rooster rubbed his face with his hands. "I'm so glad I didn't wake you up. You weren't waiting up for me, were you?"

"No, I'd fallen asleep and woken on my own when I started craving ice cream," Juliette said, sliding breakfast in front of him. 

Rooster leaned over the counter and kissed her on the cheek, thanking her for breakfast. "How are you feeling?"

"Meh. I'm going to try to eat because I'm hungry, but I also feel like if I eat one wrong thing, I'll hurl. It's a very fine line right now."

"You take it easy today. I'm going to work on the nursery since the paint should be dry by now. I'll get the simple stuff out of the way- curtains hung, lamp put together, stuff like that- and then I'll start putting the cribs together."

"Do you need any help?"

Rooster stared at her in exasperation. "What did I just say? I said I wanted you to take it easy."

"I didn't mean from me. I was thinking Ghost or Mav."

"Oh! Yeah, that sounds good. By the way, is Ghost okay? She seems off."

Juliette hesitated, unsure how much her friend wanted Rooster to know of her inner troubles. "She's acclimating to returning from deployment and is trying to find her place."

"She's got a place with us. Why don't you call her and invite her over?"

"I will after breakfast. I think she's with Jackie at the moment, and I don't want to interrupt." Juliette took a bite of her French toast, relieved when the nausea didn't hit. She pulled out her phone and dialed Mav's number, putting it on speaker. 

He picked up on the first ring. "Hey, Jules, how are you? Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, so far, but it's still early, so it could change," Juliette joked. 

"How's Rooster doing?"

Rooster swallowed his food and replied, "Could be worse. Hey, what are you doing right now?"

"I'm at the hangar. Why?"

"Oh, I was going to ask if you wanted to help me with the nursery, but I'm going to take that as a no." Rooster's brow furrowed. "Why are you at the hangar? You good?"

"Yeah, yeah, had to do some maintenance on the plane. Listen, I'll be back tomorrow. Why don't I come over and help then?"

The couple agreed and hung up. Rooster shook his head. "He's not telling us everything. He was just there last week doing plane maintenance. It shouldn't need it again already. Something's on his mind."

"He doesn't have to tell us everything, Bradley. If something is on his mind, he'll tell us when he's ready," Jules admonished gently, sliding her half-eaten breakfast over to him when nausea rolled over her. "Finish it for me. If I eat anymore, I'm going to be sick."

Rooster happily obliged, albeit eyeing her worriedly. Jules ignored the look and called Ghost in the meantime but quickly hung up after ordering her friend to go back to sleep. She recognized that tiredness all too well. Ghost promised she'd come by afterward to hang out.

Once Rooster finished breakfast and did the dishes, he headed to the bathroom and took a quick shower before tackling the nursery. Meanwhile, Juliette sat on the couch and reviewed some documents for work. Her boss had become extremely lenient with her working hours after learning of her pregnancy complications, and Juliette couldn't be more grateful. 

She'd gotten three-quarters of the way done when her phone buzzed with an incoming text. She snorted at Coyote's message: You'd think my hangover is from all the shots last night, but I'm pretty sure it's from Hangman and Rooster violently hitting me upside the head.

Rooster responded instantly: You should've been more quiet entering the house. You could've woken up the girls!

This time, Hangman chimed in: Says the guy who whispered louder than most people talk.

You did the same! Rooster said, his indignance clear through the four simple words. The text was followed by Rooster verbally saying from the other room, "The God damn snark of- OW!"

"You okay?" Juliette hollered in concern.

Ruefully, he answered, "Yeah, Raptor knocked the lamp over, and it hit my head."

"Maybe he was trying to tell you to lighten up." Silence ensued briefly, but she heard Rooster shuffling down the hallway. He appeared in the doorway and said nothing, only staring at her in entertained exasperation. Grinning, she said, "Oh, come on, you know you want to laugh."

He pursed his lips and then lied, "Absolutely not. Not a single laugh at that. I don't know watt you were thinking."

Juliette opened her mouth to respond, but an incoming text cut her off. Snickering to himself, Rooster returned to the nursery while she read the message. It was from Hangman, but this time, sent only to her: Joking aside, did we bother you too much last night?

Not at all. Ghost and I found the whole scene pretty funny. Besides, I knew you were coming. Mav forewarned me. 

Lol how's Bradshaw doing this morning? I haven't seen him drink that much in ages.

Shockingly well, actually. He's working on the nursery right now- trying to put the cribs together now by the sound of his cursing. How are you holding up?

I'm good. It takes a lot to get me drunk, let alone hungover. Texan genes doing me proud. Does Bradshaw need help with the nursery? Hangman queried. The question took her by surprise, but she wasn't going to pass up on the offer since both Maverick and Ghost were currently unavailable.

Bradley will never admit it, but yes.

Be over in thirty.

Juliette smiled to herself, pleased Hangman decided to join. She'd been concerned about him lately. While he hid it well, she could sense the hidden troubles in her friend that all started the night Ghost arrived. How much it had to do with her, and how much it had to do with the out-of-the-blue call from his family, Juliette hadn't figured out.

Right at the half-hour mark, the doorbell rang. Juliette struggled off the couch and hollered, "I got it!" 

Rooster let her, continuing his attempt (but failing) to construct the extravagant cribs that Sarah Kazansky had gifted the couple upon the announcement of her daughter's pregnancy. Jules shuffled to the door and, ordering Raptor and Lightning to stay back, swung it open, beaming at the man before her. "Hey, Hangman."

In his endearing Texan drawl and with his ever-present smirk, he replied, "Hey, Princess."

The two had formed a close friendship ever since the special training detachment mere months ago. Rooster didn't know it yet, but Juliette planned on making Hangman one of the twins' godfather. She'd seen him around her nephews at family barbecues and how wonderful he was with kids. She had swiftly made up her mind about it afterward. 

"How are my three favorite people?" Hangman asked, gently hugging Juliette and being careful to avoid her ever-growing belly. Then he knelt down to pet the excited German Shepherds.

"Nauseous, as usual, although it's slightly abated for now." Juliette moved aside to allow him entry. "Come on in. Bradley-"

"Hangman?" Rooster sounded from behind, his voice growing closer as he walked up behind his fiancée. "What are you doing here?"

"Princess said you needed help-" Hangman held out his arms- "so here I am. Your Lord and Savior."

Rooster looked down at Juliette. "Honey, I meant competent help."

"Any man who saved your life is competent in my book," she responded matter-of-factly, patting his cheek. "You work well together when you're not at each other's throats."

"And here I thought we were making headway, Bradshaw," Hangman teased. "Hell, I even brought sustenance."

Hangman lifted a six-pack of beer, and Rooster raised his eyebrows. "Sustenance or a bribe?"

"Both."

Rooster grinned. "Well, I guess some help is better than none. Come on."

"Before we get started-" Hangman pulled out a carton of ice cream and handed it to her- "I brought something for you too."

Juliette greedily snatched it up because despite having chills from all the nausea, something about the sight of the ice cream made her appetite return. Shooting Hangman a thankful smile, she hurried to the kitchen and ripped off the lid. Juliette grabbed a spoon and plopped happily on the couch, nausea miraculously gone, although she wouldn't complain or think about that too much. After all, she welcomed the reprieve.

For the first hour, Rooster and Hangman sounded like they were getting along. Juliette even swore they clinked beer bottles a couple of times. Of course, once that initial hour passed, she could hear some of their frustration coming out. 

After killing half the ice cream carton, Juliette went to put it away. As she shut the freezer, the doorbell rang. Perplexed as to who it could be, she went to answer it. Opening the door, Jules found Ghost standing before her. "Hey! What are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you for another hour or so."

Ghost shrugged. "Couldn't stay asleep. Is it still okay for me to hang out?"

"Of course! Besides-" Juliette stepped aside and allowed her friend in- "you're just in time for the entertainment." 

"I always did have perfect timing," her friend joked, shrugging off her jacket. "Is someone else here?"

"Hangman. He's helping Rooster put the cribs together, and I use the term 'help' loosely."

Distaste flickered across Ghost's face at his name, but she refrained from remarking about it. The two girls made their way to the couch and sat down. Raptor and Lightning lay on their feet. Ghost asked, "So, how's the nursery coming along?"

Juliette started to answer but stopped short when she heard Hangman demand in annoyance, "Bradshaw, is there anything you're actually capable of doing?"

Rooster responded with equal irritation and without a beat, "Putting up with you. You're supposed to be helping here!"

"It's not my fault the instructions are in Chinese and that you can't find the ones in English!"

"There are pictures for each step!"

"They're not clear enough!"

"Come on, we're smarter than this," Rooster said. Juliette could hear the confusion in his voice.

"Clearly, we're not," Hangman retorted before laughing mischievously and adding, "What does this look like?"

"You have the mind of a child."

"And yet, I'm still more intelligent than you."

"That's rich coming from the guy who forgot the word for 'sting ray' and called it a 'sea pancake.'"

"What does it say about you that you knew exactly what I was talking about?"

"That I am fluent in child from having worked with you for so long."

The boys continued their jesting while Ghost and Juliette eavesdropped, smothering their laughter at the continuous insults the boys hurled at each other and watching TV, content with each other's company. Another hour passed before Rooster and Hangman emerged from the nursery. The latter zeroed in on Ghost the moment he laid eyes on her, but he swiftly shifted his gaze to Juliette. 

"So-" Jules began, barely keeping a straight face as she feigned ignorance- "how's it coming along?"

"We're getting there," Rooster blatantly lied. "We're taking a break to go get dinner. What do you ladies want?"

"I'll defer to Juliette," Ghost responded. "Whatever she craves is the best way to go."

"I am craving seafood," Juliette admitted shyly, not wanting to force anyone to eat something they weren't in the mood for. "Is that okay?"

"Seafood it is, Princess," Hangman promised, bowing his head. "What would y'all like, and from where?"

"If you go to Pappa's Seafood, Rooster knows my answer," Jules said, standing up with the help of Bradley. "Crawfish platter."

"Ooh, what's on that?" Ghost asked.

"Fried crawfish, crawfish etouffee, and French fries."

"How big is it?"

"Enough for one person."

Ghost looked at Rooster. "Make that two crawfish platters."

"You got it," he said. He kissed Juliette and bid Ghost goodbye before strutting out the door. Hangman pecked Jules on the cheek, bowed his head at Ghost in acknowledgment, then followed Rooster.

Juliette waited until the door shut behind them before saying, "Want to take a shot at putting the cribs together?"

"Absolutely," Ghost agreed, following her friend to the nursery. The girls entered a chaotic scene. Bits and pieces were scattered across the floor in no particular order; some were put together but with no obvious evidence of where they belonged on the crib, and Juliette could only be thankful it belonged to only one crib instead of two—at least the second remained safely in the box. 

"We have our work cut out for us," Ghost mused, sitting on the floor in the middle of the madness. Juliette gently lowered herself to the ground across from her. "At least they had the sense to leave the nails and bolts in the packaging."

"I knew I should've supervised them," Juliette said, shaking her head. "Okay, where are the instructions? The English ones, I mean. I'm sure they're around here somewhere. Rooster probably set them down in some weird place. I'd say grab them from the second box, but I don't know where they are in there, and I don't want to risk adding-" she motioned at the parts strewn about- "to this insanity."

"You stay seated. I'll get up and look around," Ghost ordered, standing up. 

Juliette watched her friend, unable to hold back the question that had been on the tip of her tongue since Ghost's first day when she ran into Hangman. Leaning back on her hands, she asked hesitantly, "So, are you ever going to tell me how you and Hangman know each other? Because you are obviously more than old acquaintances."

Although Ghost didn't face her, Juliette saw the girl's shoulders sag. "How long have you known?"

"A while. Between the blatant tension between you two and the fact that Hangman called you an 'old acquaintance'- which is the same thing I called Rooster when Phoenix and Hangman picked up on our chemistry the day he arrived for the special training detachment- it wasn't hard to figure out."

Ghost scoffed. "Hangman and I don't have chemistry."

Uh-huh, and Rooster and I aren't about to have twins. Juliette disagreed with her friend but kept the opinion to herself. Now was not the time. "I wanted to wait until you told me about it, but something tells me it's been eating at you, him being here, I mean. So what is it? What happened between you two?"

Ghost sighed and shut the top dresser drawer she'd been searching. Facing Juliette, the female pilot said sadly, "Once upon a time, Hangman and I were best friends. We met in high school and were inseparable for almost a decade."

Bracing her elbows on her knees and leaning forward eagerly, Juliette asked, "What happened between you two?"

Ghost dropped her gaze to the floor. "He nearly got me killed."

****

Tags: @lgg5989 @shanimallina87 @polikszena @summ3rlotus @icemansgirl1999 @supernaturaldawning @thedarkinmansfield @lyannaforpresident @lapilark @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @simpofthecentury @shadeops21 @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @double-j @bradshawsandbridgetons @catsandgeekyandnerd @peachiicherries @multifandomcnova @fandomsstolemylife00 @bookloverhorses @mak-32 @midnightmagpiemama @luckyladycreator2 @ellamae021 @kmc1989

Chapters: Chp 1 Chp 2 Chp 3 Chp 4 Chp 5 Chp 6 Chp 7 Chp 8 Chp 9 Chp 10 Chp 11 Chp 12 Chp 13 Chp 14 Chp 15 Chp 16 Chp 17 Chp 18 Chp 19 Chp 20

If you're not on the tag list and want to be, just let me know :)

[away-ward]

Interesting! Some posts by PD on their FB group, from the pastinfound these days from X / Twitter

link: https://x. com/dearreadrr/status/1755958608171597855?s=61 (delete space between x. And /)

conversation from the link was about readers asking PD about what other pairing could happen, and some excerpt from PD i copy pasted from those links:

Pen Douglas

Michael and Banks. All day. It would be so hilarious. And Damon and Kai. He would soooo mess up Kai's clothes

And

Damon and Michael. I never got a vibe from Damon and Emory, but their connection is for life. Definitely.

2. Admin

Pen Douglas • 4 Oct 2022 •

Just a silly convo I wrote

***

Damon: I mean, I know we don't get along, but I do care about you.

Misha: You don't care about anything you can't screw.

Damon: And...?

Misha: 😳

Kai: 🤦🏻😆

Misha: I hate you. I've always hated you.

Damon: That hurts. Because I really love you. I mean, if we were stranded in the wilderness--and you were cold--I would warm you.

Will: 🤣

Damon: With my body.

Misha: Shut. Up.

Damon: And if I were dead and you were starving out there, Ikd want you to eat me

And i saw another extra that i forgot where i got:

Banks: Fine. I'll ask Kai if he wants to go, too.

Michael: No. Just you.

Banks: *laughs* | trust him around her. Now anyway. You don't trust her?

Michael: Of course I do. I just don't trust where my mind is going to go imagining you three alone in the dark together. Just make it a girls night.

Banks: I've been alone in the dark with her, too, you know?

Michael: Fuck.

(My note: wtf, so michael was always insecure when they're together? Wtf! So this wasn't new huh)

another one with Damon, Will and Emory, damon likes to spoil her. Again like PD said, their connection was for life, this too wasn't new. Wow, i think PD really already thought this out huh:

Pen Douglas • PenDragons-Penelope

Douglas Reader Group

Will: No. We do not need more chandeliers.

Emmy: 😥 But...

Damon: Ohhhhh, 70% off. *walks in store*

Emmy: 😊 *follows*

Will: 🙄

last one about readers complaining about why people hate emory and pd and someone else replied!

link: https://x. com/jurdandrew/status/1449132149894959107?s=61

(Delete space between x. And /)

conversation goes like this:

PenDragons-Penelope Douglas

Reader Group

Kétsia Mendes • 4h •

•••

Post: Emory Scott is definitely my fav character from Devil's Night. I don't understand why some people don't like her.

And I think she's almost a female version of Damon Torrance.

PD's reply:

Pen Douglas

Administrador

Many people had general problems with all of the heroines. We'll see the same thing in Hellbent. The double standard.

Or worse...the "Aro is so much better than Dylan" or "Tommy is the best girl" as if there's some competition between these women. It was one of the hardest things too see happen with Devil's Night.

But luckily, most understand Emory was at the survival level in high school and Will wasn't owed anything. Thankfully, her heart came around and she finally fought for him. 💕 I loved that SHE proposed. 😆 One of my favorite scenes. Will was so dang cute. Lol

another reader reply:

Donna Lynn Glushien

I didn't like her at first because Will is such a sweetheart to her and she treated him like dirt. But how she was, really added to her character.. and now I appreciate Emory a lot more. Love how strong and independent she is 💪🏼

original poster replied and quoted:

Kétsia Mendes Autor

Donna Lynn Glushien She explained why she treated him like "dirt" in chapter 29:

"Part of me resisted you because I didn't want to bring you into my horrible life," she told me. "I was embarrassed and full of anger and without hope. I couldn't give you anything."

I tipped my chin up, remaining silent.

"But a part of me also resisted you because I feared I'd just be trading one abuse for another," she explained. "How you coerced me, pushed me, wouldn't leave me alone when I told you to... Tried to scare me."

And PD liked OP's comment:

Pen Douglas reagiu ao seu comentário: "Donna Lynn Glushien

She explained why..."

There's ANOTHER surge of emory-hating video on tiktok too, and i think they probably didin't read thoroughly because they missed a lot of things that were going on in the text but luckily, that side of DN readers always are ride or die for emory!

link : 483 likes, 97 comments, ninguém é obrigado a gostar de ninguém e cada um tem opiniões diferentes 🤙🏻 https://vt. tiktok.com/ZSFFowdLU/ (delete space between t. And tiktok)

sometimes, i think some dn readers really don't have any critical thinking skills because they only read what they see, and even then, they don't read fully, as if they were just skimming. How are they gonna believe everything that damon and will said when damon likes to alter reality and mindfuck people, while will lies to everybody but emmy? Even damon and alex never knew his full story, AND their his best friends. And only for will to admit a couple times that emmy was right and he was just lying to convince himself he was right because he was prideful, arrogant, selfish, self-centered and spoiled? Like, if he admitted his flaws to be better, why can't these readers? And the thing that they're mad at her was not even because she was prideful, scared or a bit cowardly (like she admitted in her pov about her approach to her love life and will) but because she was caring for her grandma? 🤡 wtaf? Crazy!

some discourse happened too about will and her years of gone too:

https://x. com/raybanks/status/1755907408629485937?s=61 remove space between x. And /)

idk why but if pd can write all these headcanons about rika, banks, michael, kai, winter, will and damon, why is there nothing for emory? And it was half-assed too? I get that idea doesn't come easy, but still?

just wanted to share.

Heyy thanks for sharing! This was all very interesting to go through.

Thanks for putting the links together.

First, PD passing Damon around, and Damon literally wanting to sleep with everyone (except Emory apparently… which is so weird because he did say “it certainly wouldn’t be a chore” like…?) is kinda funny in that PD is exactly like the fandom in thinking Damon is like next level.

I still maintain that will would be the best lay. Damon said he's selfish and doesn't always keep his promises where that is concerned. why are they all lined up for him? We all know he only follows through for winter.

But at the same time my heart is like “Oh… so Emory is safe, right? No weird mash-ups?” And based on PD saying Michael and Banks and then following it was Damon and Kai, I can’t help but think it’s because those pairs have issues. Like they don’t really get along right off the bat, so there’s all this tension… which Emory doesn’t really have with anyone. So maybe that’s one reason why we never get HC with Emory. Because she’s just out there, being cute and not really causing any problems with anyone? Maybe??? I don’t know…

But it’s also weird that PD’s just like “Damon with Kai, Damon with Will, Damon with Misha, Damon with Michael… but I haven’t thought about Damon and Emory before.” Keeping in mind that Rika and Banks are the only other girls in the group besides his wife and they’re his sisters. If it weren’t for that fact alone, I really do think they’d be thrown into the mix.

And again… PD has thought about it before because they wrote Damon suggesting it. Like how have neither of them ever revisited that when the whole family is built on who Damon wants to have sex with, apparently? I’m laughing so hard on the inside because this all seems very…convenient.

Damon hassling Misha is fun. I can see it. Will and Misha are more like brothers, and we saw Will hassling Trevor in Corrupt. I think it’s probably a natural thing for them to annoy their best friend’s younger sibling. Now, if only Michael would stop trying to have sex with his best friend's little sisters...

As for the Michael and Banks convo, I didn’t read that as insecure. I read that as he didn’t want to be thinking about what the three of them would get up to alone when he could be there because he’d get turned on… and not be there. Such torture.

But gah.  They’re annoying.

Why would Will try to limit how many chandeliers Emmy has? I assume she would have a warehouse when she and Damon keep supplies for jobs. It’s not like she’s filling every inch of her ceiling with them. That’s just dumb design. So if she wants to have her collection of chandeliers, let her?

And of course, Damon has to spoil her. This is extra irritating because I went back and checked the tampon scene that PD wrote, and they ended it with “Damon probably went in and got them”

Like. I don’t try to defend PD’s portrayal of willemmy anymore. Obviously, I just don’t get it. But it would be impossible to do so when Will is constantly telling Emory she can’t have something or he won’t get her something, and then Damon goes and saves the day.

I feel like we get it, already. Damon is everyone’s everything, and Rika is the star of the show.

I also loved that Emory proposed to Will, and that he didn’t make a big deal about wanting to be the one to do it. But the thing about the favorites is… people are going to have favorites. That’s alright. People aren’t going to love every character on the page.

The reason there is a competition between the Devil’s Night girls is because they were in a competition for page time. It’s the most common complaint I see is that when we were supposed to be learning about Banks, Rika came in and made the scene about her. When we were supposed to be reading about Emory, Alex came in and made the scene about her. PD wrote the girls competing for time on the page and the reader's attention. Logically, the readers have a preference, and they will be jealous for their character. And since the series is what it is and there’s no changing it, of course that means readers are going to bash the character they didn’t want to read about who “stole” time from their favorite.

None of the girls had to be in competition. And I don’t think they are in canon. But PD definitely made it difficult to root equally for all of them when they weren’t all treated the same.

At least some readers are starting to see Emory more clearly, but I feel there will always be a bit of Emory hate. She’s really not given the same level of consideration from PD. Some readers do have a double standard when it comes to the girls, but it’s not always the case. Some readers just want the girls to be given equal amounts of attention across the series.

It’s not lost on me that Rika and Alex are the ones pitted against Banks and Emory the most. The fact is that Rika and Alex were developed during the first book when it was originally a stand-alone and not a series, so Banks and Emory often feel like an afterthought when the other two come around. That’s an issue with the writing, not the reader. And I’m not going to hold PD to the fire over it; writers will always have limits in their abilities. PD did the best they could at the time. But can we stop placing all the blame on how the readers are interrupting it and accept that somewhere along the line the author didn’t execute this in the best way possible? It's nothing to threaten PD over, but at least stop blaming the readers for being frustrated and championing one girl over the others.

And the tiktok… wow. But I can’t say I haven’t heard it before. It’s so strange how some readers are willing to hold Emory accountable for Will’s actions and not Will.

But as they said… we all have our own opinions.

And only for will to admit a couple times that emmy was right and he was just lying to convince himself he was right because he was prideful, arrogant, selfish, self-centered and spoiled? Like, if he admitted his flaws to be better, why can't these readers?

It really is weird, isn’t?

And the final bit of the discourse, not entirely sure what the post meant, but I feel like it relates to a post I made a few weeks back. Will wasn’t mad at Emory for leaving. He was going to let her go and live with the regret of what he did, even though it hurt. He wasn’t ever going to chase her down or seek revenge until he learned that she lied to him and about him.

His anger was never about Emory leaving. It was the lies and (what he saw as) betrayal.

Head canons really don’t come all that easy unless you’re obsessed and constantly thinking about even the most mundane things about a character. There has to be a little insanity around them for it to get that deep.

Again, I don’t really understand PD all that much, but if I had to guess… the boys started it all, and Damon is their favorite. So HC for them is easy. Rika was developed in Corrupt and came soon after the boys, so again, there was a lot of time to be a little obsessed. Banks and Winter aren’t mentioned nearly as much as those first, but still Banks more than Winter, but never without one of the boys or Rika.

I haven’t seen a winter hc or scene other than the alternative scene to KS.

I think the lack of Emory is just that PD was done with the series and the negative side of the fandom by the time they got to NF. If it’s true that they pushed NF out right after KS, then they might not have even had time to be obsessed with Emory.

This is a good or bad thing, depending on how you look at it. Sure, Emory has much less content and readers who favor other characters will find her an easy target. But the bonus of liking an unpopular character is that you’re free to do what you want, because nobody’s watching that character.

Nobody’s watching Emory’s fans. Let’s have fun.

-KO

[ehlnofay]

I wanted to post something for summerfest free day this year but I wasn't sure what to do... so here is an excerpt from something I wrote ages ago to flesh out how efri spends her time at the college. full thing is posted to my ao3 :)

Because she is sensible, Efri does not jump down through the hole in the landing built for the blue-light fountain to go through. Even though she very much wants to. (She reckons she could land well enough not to snap her ankles – but she’s been told the light is magic and raw and would burn all her skin off, and there’s not really any way to avoid that.) She walks downstairs, sedately, at least until she gets to the last few steps and jumps. She jars her knee a bit when she hits the ground. (Leaping down stairs is better in the snow, she thinks.)

She hits the ground running all the same, and half-jogs, half-stumbles to J’zargo’s door, choosing to thud against it like a wind-drunk seagull instead of knocking. She can hear talking inside that cuts off when she announces her presence.

There’s a brief pause, and then, “Efri?”

She turns the knob and lets herself in. “How did you know it was me?”

“J’zargo knows many things,” J’zargo proclaims from where he lounges on the floor, Kazari sitting comfortably on all his blankets; his put-on air of grandiose mystique is immediately destroyed when he grins hard enough his eyes squinch and adds, “Who else would come knocking that way? His other friends are much too polite. Except,” he waves a hand theatrically in Kazari’s direction, accidentally whacking them in the leg, “that one, but she hardly has other options. And she is politer about it besides.”

“Fair enough,” Efri says. She has to step over his wriggling body to get to the bedframe (he’s a bit like her, that way; never stops moving.)

Kazari makes a scoffing noise and lashes her tail in one of those weird wobbly motions that must mean something Efri can’t parse. (She has to lift her tail pretty high so J’zargo can see her do it from the floor.) J’zargo laughs and says something back, words throaty and rapid, spilling out of him like a waterfall. He likes the chance to talk in Ta’agra, Efri thinks. There are few Khajiit here. And of course Kazari can’t talk any other way. It’s lucky that they get along, in the swaggering (on his side) and pseudo-aggrieved (on hers) way that either of them get along with anyone.

They often talk in Ta’agra when Efri’s there. They know she’ll interrupt if she wants to join in the conversation, and most of the time she’s perfectly content to watch.

So she sits curled up on the hard slats of the bedframe, leaning on the wooden footboard, stick laid across the slats, watching. She can’t catch a word of what J’zargo says – he talks too quick for her to find the patterns – but she thinks she’s getting better at catching the miniscule twitches on both of their faces, the shifts in posture. J’zargo seems to talk with his tail just as much as Kazari does. (Efri wonders if he could have two different conversations at once – saying one thing with his words and another with everything else.)

There’s a splinter peeling off of one of the wooden boards in the bedframe; Efri helpfully picks it off. Kazari says something that makes J’zargo crumple in laughter. “Good joke,” Efri says, though she has no idea what was said; she slings an encouraging arm around Kazari’s neck.

Kazari leans into it – then tilts their head away, making a low noise. A twitch of the nose, ears briefly flattened, tail curling in a way Efri’s definitely seen before.

The noise, she’s not sure about, but the rest of it clicks.

“I forgot to wash my hands,” she says, drawing her arm back. “Sorry. I was making cheese in the kitchen. That’s probably why they smell funny.”

She hopes she didn’t get the vinegary smell of curdling pot-cheese on Errion’s clothes; he probably would have mentioned it if she did, though.

Kazari is looking at her now, instead of at J’zargo. They’re both looking at her.

Efri asks, “Can I have the water to rinse them?”

Something shifts in Kazari’s eyes. They signal something; Efri latches on to a twitch of one ear, a dip of the chin. (It’s a familiar motion.)

“I’m not sure what – um.” Efri shifts, pillowing her face on the harsh wooden footboard; it digs into her cheek as she says, “Am I not understanding? Are you understanding? Who’s understanding what?”

From the floor, J’zargo starts to cackle. He reaches for the bowl of water and holds it up, dripping it carefully into Efri’s hands when she holds them out. There’s no soap, but it will do, hopefully. She knows they can both smell better than she can and it would be rude to spread spoiled milk smells all over her friend’s room.

Kazari is blinking. Efri doesn’t know if that’s talking or not.

There’s no confusion as to whether J’zargo speaks. He says something – still Ta’agra, but slowed down almost comically, like each sound is forced out through a mouthful of treacle. He’s also grinning ear to ear and looking Efri right in the face. She’s not sure what to take from this.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she tells him.

He hoists himself ungracefully up to sit on the bedframe. (It would have been easier if he just stood up and sat down again.) “This one said that you are sly!” he declares, and elbows her in the ribs. He looks delighted. “You have been eavesdropping on us!”

Efri gapes. “I have not!”

He flaps a hand and says something. She thinks he’s calling her something. She’s not sure what the something is. “Rascal,” he adds, as an afterthought. He still looks entirely too pleased.

“I wasn’t,” Efri insists. “Urag said that immersion is the most important thing for learning a language.” He hadn’t said that, actually – the book she’d badgered him into reading a few pages of for her had – but what does the difference matter?

Kazari motions something; J’zargo snorts. “And how is immersion going for you?” he asks, nudging her again. She can’t tell if he’s translating or not.

“Slowly,” she complains instead of asking. She’d thought it would be a lot quicker. “I only know about five words, and I can’t even say them because I don’t have the right ears.”

“Kazari says they’re sure you know more than five,” J’zargo tells her. “And J’zargo says, if you wanted to learn you could have asked him!”

Efri wrinkles her nose. “I didn’t want to do lessons,” she says; J’zargo nods as though this is a weighty point. “I just wanted to figure it out.”

“You will,” he says with great confidence. He taps a finger to her forehead. “In no time. And J’zargo can tell you how to say things without ears. You could learn both the – eh – sound-talk and sight-talk if you learned it in the Ohmes way.”

All the words Efri’s learned to understand are body-words. Sight-talk, she guesses; she wonders if that’s a proper translation or just one he made up on the fly. “It’s like two different languages in one,” she says.

J’zargo scoffs at that. “Oh, many more,” he says, which Efri has to acknowledge must be true – if there’s so many different Khajiit with so many different types of bodies the language must be splintered impossibly to incorporate them all. It’s so complicated.

“Kazari is very happy that you are learning, by the way,” J’zargo adds after several seconds of silence. “Dearly appreciative. Moments away from crying ecstatic tears.”

Efri looks up. Kazari is glaring at J’zargo, and Efri can’t read all of her motions, but she knows the head-tip of no and the jagged gesture of bad.

“I don’t think that is what they’re saying,” Efri says. Kazari signals yes with their chin.

“No, they are,” J’zargo assures her placidly. “Just wait. The sobbing – ow!” and when Kazari headbutts him hard in the chest he manages to grab onto Efri’s shoulder and drag her down with him.

It doesn’t help him – he pulls her on top of him, so all he gets for his trouble is her bony shoulder in his ribs. Efri is perfectly cushioned. He’s the only one with cause to complain.

And complain he does. “Ow,” he whines again. “Don’t be mean, you need this one to translate.”

Kazari frowns down at him. It’s not no, but it’s close. Don’t, maybe. I don’t?

“Well, he needs to translate so he doesn’t lose his mind watching you play charades every time you have to ask a question.” J’zargo helpfully tips Efri off of him before he sits up himself. “It is hard to do this if he is frightened for his life.”

“You’re doing that project with Mister Neloren, though, right?” Efri asks. (She can never remember his first name – Sissel never calls him by it. It’s supposed to be master, she thinks, not mister, but she doesn’t like that title. It sounds so self-congratulatory.) (Maybe she’ll use it when Sissel is one. But not before.) “So once that’s done, you won’t need to translate anymore.”

Kazari’s eyes crinkle; J’zargo nods very seriously. “You’re right, Efri. She will have no use for J’zargo after it is over. His days are numbered.”

“No-one’s going to kill you,” Efri tells him; she’s pretty sure Kazari is signalling the same thing. (If they are, she likes the kill motion – a flick of the tail, curl of the paw, flash of the teeth.)

“You never know,” J’zargo says. He grins again. “J’zargo will die at the hands of a jealous rival – like that one – or J’zargo will never die.”

Kazari says something, face flat and unimpressed, that makes J’zargo laugh so hard he almost tips himself back onto the wooden slats again. Efri watches him, giggling a bit herself. It’s contagious.

She doesn’t get the joke yet, but she will.

(full piece here)