#also i have another ficlet i will do tomorrow

[vraisetzen]

V, you’re doing requests? Oh my gosh, I love your writing so much, I feel like I just… have to be cheeky and use this opportunity 🤭💕 my hunch is to say that I’d love for you to write something that inspires you, but I also won’t lie and will admit that I’m really craving some… boyfriend Koku related story? Perhaps in a modern setting too 😀 and because I’m… a bit greedy, I’d like to request semi-longform 🫣❤️🫶

𝑻𝒐 𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝑵𝒐𝒕 — 𝑨 𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕

Summary: Business trips are long, tiring affairs, and while absence only makes the heart grow fonder — both you and Kokushibo are adamant to make things work.

Tags: 18+, NSFW, PWP, Smut, Phone Sex, Modern AU, Boyfriend!Kokushibo

Author's Note: Thank you for the lovely request! I loved writing every moment of this ficlet — you can certainly read this as a standalone, or within the Kimetsu Gakuen AU, or the modern office AU that I wrote a while back. Enjoy!

"How was the meeting?"

"It went well." Kokushibo's voice was distant, and softer than usual. "We made good progress with the board of directors from the Teikoku Blood Bank, so that man thinks we can move on to the next step of negotiations tomorrow."

"That sounds good," you noted, lying on your side as you gazed out the window.

Through the sheer curtains, you could see the waning crescent looming over the city skyline, its faint glow surrounded by the twinkling of stars. Amongst them, the blinking of a satellite persisted — you cradled the phone between your cheek and shoulder, and wondered if Kokushibo could see the same moon and scatter of constellations that you did right now through his hotel room window.

As Kibutsuji Muzan's trusted second-in-command of the department, business trips were part and parcel of Kokushibo's duties, with him often acting as emissary and secretary for the division chief while the latter wove through networking luncheons and business drinks at cabaret lounges. And though they never lasted more than a week, you always made it a point to call him at the end of a long day if he was not too busy or tired.

It was not because you were afraid of him straying — Kokushibo often kept to his room in the evening whenever possible; and all you simply wanted was to hear his voice. On his part, your boyfriend more than welcomed these casual chats as you idled from one topic to another the way you would if he was right beside you. It was a point of familiarity, a semblance of home away from home.

"So that's two nights down and two more to go," you said absent-mindedly, your words trailing off as you yawned. Kokushibo was a few hours behind you, and you had been chatting longer than usual tonight.

"Are you in bed?" Kokushibo asked.

"Are you not?" you parried, stealing a glance at the digital clock on your nightstand. Quarter past one. Usually, you would be tucked in your sheets at this hour, but your phone felt particularly heavy in your hand tonight, and you were reluctant to hang up.

"I am."

"Then you probably should go to bed early," you suggested, with no intention of ending the call.

"I won't be sleeping any time soon," Kokushibo said. "I have emails to reply."

You hummed in understanding, and said: "Then we can keep going until one of us falls asleep then."

There was something strange in the air after you said those words, one on which you cannot quite place your fingers. It was rich with implication and unspoken intent, that you felt lingered on the tip of his tongue, waiting to spill; Kokushibo was not a talker, and he could very well be tired after a long day of work, but you felt that same pressing need from him to stall for however long you both could, and so you waited.

In the static silence, Kokushibo asked: "What are you wearing?"

"Hmm?" you replied, gazing down at your nightclothes despite knowing very well what you picked earlier this evening after coming out of the shower. "Just a shirt and an old pair of shorts."

"Which ones?" he pressed.

"Oh, you know," you began, picking at the frayed ends of the shirt and studying the design. You were happy for him to ask the questions, if you had an inkling of where he was bringing you. "The one with the donuts; nothing fancy."

"Right." The line crackled as you heard him take a deep breath, and you turned to lie flat on your back. "And beneath that?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Humour me."

"Well..." you drifted off, toying with the elastic waistband of your shorts as you drew out your answer.

"You're not wearing anything, aren't you?" Kokushibo interrupted before you could elaborate.

You were suddenly quite glad of the distance between the both of you as your ears took to a furious scarlet, shifting up to prop your back against the pillow.

"And what makes you think that?" you parried, the sensation of worn polyester stark against your bare skin. The slow buzz of Kokushibo's hum across the line drew shivers down your spine.

"It's been two nights," he explained slowly, his timbre a soft growl. You heard the rustling of bed sheets as he shifted on the bed, the sound of old springs creaking beneath his weight.

He leaves the words hanging, transmitting them across oceans and timezones even though you are miles apart. Lightly, you tickled the sensitive skin over your inner thigh, taking a shuddering breath as you recounted his words in your head.

Two nights — it was not a long time by any means, and certainly you have been away from each other for longer. The temperature of your room seemed to have risen by a few degrees, and you kicked off the sheets as well. What was that saying? That absence makes the heart grow–

"How wet are you?" he asked again, without missing a beat.

The assumption in his words were apparent, but you did nothing to quell his accusation; between your legs, the warm wash of arousal clung to the threadbare fabric of your shorts. You pressed an experimental finger against your cunt, and drew a silver thread of wetness.

But you were too embarrassed to answer; too embarrassed to make plain the desperation gnawing away at your bones. You wanted to tear off your sorry excuse of pyjamas — and that you did, discarding the thin clothes across the half-empty mattress. Your skin was fire across the icy-cool sheets; and as you reclined back on the bed, you set your phone beside your head on the pillows, turning the speaker on.

You closed your eyes, and imagined Kokushibo's hands on your sex — the callous on his fingertips that gave just the perfect amount of roughness on your soft skin, the insistent pressure he would apply to your clit as he traced up from your dripping core to your seam.

Your smaller, slight fingers were no substitute for his deft ministrations, nor were they an adequate replacement for how he was attuned to every note of arousal in your body; but the nearness of his voice, the static ricket of his breathing through your phone was a sufficient approximation for his being right next to you.

Through the receiver, you heard a strained groaned, and wondered if Kokushibo thought the same: how his hands would never compare to your tight, throbbing heat; that even if he could spit into his palms to ease the friction, he would much prefer sinking into your sultry wetness — the sound of which filled the room at present as you smeared your essence across your sex before coaxing your middle and ring finger within.

"Tell me how you feel," Kokushibo rasped, as you threw your head back on the pillow and gasped.

Massaging that sensitive bundle of nerves along your walls, you sighed: "It feels– it feels good, but..."

"But?"

"It's not as good as when you do it..."

"I see..." Kokushibo began, and you brought your free hand to your breasts, pinching your nipples. "And what would you want me to do?"

Through the haze of pleasure, your eyes rolled over to the call screen, over the small photo of Kokushibo that you had taken as his caller ID: a Mannerist portrait of long hair and pale skin, his stern brows softened in a rare moment of distraction as the colours of sunset poured over his oblique profile. That cold elegance, so at odds with the wanton conversation you were both sharing.

"I want you inside me," you admitted, biting back a whimper as you nudged against that same spot again. Dropping your other hand between your legs, you brushed your clit in time with your fingers.

Shutting your eyes, you imagined that it was not your hands on your body but rather Kokushibo — his cock, wide and warm as they split you open, stretching you along your clenching walls; the throb of his erection that struck you perfectly each time he pistoned his hips into your writhing form.

Your soft cries joined the ragged growls emitting from the phone as Kokushibo listened to your keels and the wash of your arousal on your fingers; could he hear, from your fervent moans, how much you craved him? Did he feel the same dissatisfaction as he gripped himself by the base of his erection, stroking his length to each of your breathless gasps, so as to join your pleasure in unison?

"Don't hold back," he grunted. "Tell me everything..."

Licking your dry lips, you pushed through the haze of pleasure to admit: "I wish — I wish you were here; I want you to touch me, and fuck me, and come inside me-"

"Shit," Kokushibo seethed, a rare break of composure as you continued to beg for him. He could not see you, but he knew as well how you were likely writhing on your shared bed, back arching as you came undone at the behest of your fingers. "When I come back-"

"-I'll let you do anything you want," you finished his words, tilting your hips to better slip your fingers into your depths. You were close, so close — and you would be closer if Kokushibo was here, tongue and hands and cock and all, pinning you beneath his frame; not even your best fantasies could replicate that torrent of heat that radiated from his body as he bruised into your core, skin smoothing against skin, sweat-soaked and flushed with impending climax.

Already you knew what you wanted to do, and want you wanted him to do when he returned — you could take his length into your mouth, and he could lick every drop of your essence. Savour every missed drop, making up for lost time; you would not even make it as far as the bedroom if you pounced on him in the cramped entryway of your flat, then the sofa, the kitchen counter. He could hold you against the wall, your body folded at the hip as your ankles found leverage on his shoulders, your petals pink and soaked for him to push easily inside your cunt without resistance.

"Come for me," he would command, and you would let go of all inhibitions and frustrations, the surge of your orgasm striking your body as a lightning in a vast ocean of pleasure; stars and sparks clouding your vision as it scorched through your veins, as bright and incandescent as the dawning sun in that fleeting moment. Thrashing beneath his continued thrusts, you would feel the spill of his seed, hot and thick, in your tightening depths, cajoling him for all he was worth, your pleasures coming together one potent potion of lust.

Your fingers drew to a gradual stop inside your sex, the clenching of your walls fading to a faint pulse as you descended from your high. You heard a faint squelch as you withdrew your hand, and studied the rivulets of your arousal trickling down your fingers. Just yours, you could not help but be reminded, as you searched the sheets for your forgotten phone. The call was still on, and you heard a rough panting that made you sizzle with want.

"I miss you." Your voice was small and timid against the enormity of your desire.

The line was silent for a moment before Kokushibo answered: "I won't be long."

You better not, you wanted to say, but decided against it. Studying your mottled reflection in the glass — bed head, bare skin — you chose instead to hit a logo in the bottom of the screen, just beside the speaker. Three dots skittered in an undulating dance as the call reconnected, and then:

Kokushibo raised a brow at you as you gazed at him through the video call, your attention falling first to his chest, and how they shimmered with a faint sheen of perspiration. He, too, swept his eyes over your tousled state; they dropped a fraction of an inch down to your naked body as you raised the front camera. Holding your fingers — still glistening with your juices, you licked them clean for him one by one.

"My phone's dying," he told you when you were finished. You took in his parted lips and how his Adam's apple bobbed up and down along the firm column of his throat, knowing he longed for the taste of your musk on his tongue. Still, Kokushibo sat up straight on his bed, the hotel mattress protesting beneath the sudden movement.

From this angle, you could see the half-mast of his cock, poised and ready for your taking; if only you could...

"So we'll just have to make this a quick one, my dearest..."

Thank you for reading!

For my longer writings, please visit my AO3 here.

[mandiemegatron]

ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜʟᴇꜱꜱ

Trafalgar Law x Y/N ficlet

Fluff, general care, hella smooching, slightly toasty 👀, hand massage, Law being a softie✨️💖

A/N: Something I thought up after seeing @kittycatzuka post here, it gave me the feels and this is what my brain thought up.

I hope you all enjoy! ✨️💖

Also, I just spent like an hour beta-ing it so if you see any mistakes, no you don't. 😎 okay love you my lil tangerines! ✨️💖

Header by @baka-tsuki / @baka-tsuki-2 💖

It was supposed to be a quiet night for the captain. All the man wanted to do was finish his paperwork, read some Sora and pass out into a restless sleep.

Since Y/N showed up, it never seemed to work out the way Law wanted. Every night, she'd knock on his office door to say goodnight, no matter the amount of times he tried to tell her she didn't have to, that she could just simply go to bed and he'd see her in the morning for breakfast. It never deterred her, her smiling face always popping in through the cracked door with a small wave.

This night was different.

Law glanced over at the clock on his desk, frowning to himself as he realized you were late, not showing up around the time you usually did. He then paused, curiously irritated at realizing the fact that he was worried, immediately thinking the worst had happened you.

He let his pen drop to the desk as his other hand ran through his hair, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath. God, he was exhausted.

There was a soft thunk as ceramic hit his desk, his eyes snapping open to see you placing a fresh cup of tea right above his incomplete paperwork.

"Y/N-ya."

You cracked a tired smile of your own before hiding a yawn behind your now free hand, lifting your mug in a silent cheers to him as you sat in the chair opposite his desk.

"Saw your light was on, thought maybe you could use a little something," your voice was soft as you spoke, unable to hide how tired you were from his prying eyes.

"While I appreciate it, you should be in bed already. We have a big day tomorrow," he replied, gently picking up the hot mug with a sigh through his nose. Yeah, he definitely needed this.

"So should you, dear Captain."

He huffed gently, staring you down before taking a long sip.

"I'm not done my job for the day."

You cracked a grin at the sight of him complaining, his distaste for the job showing itself very clearly.

"I can give you a hand, if that'll help?"

He hummed in disagreement into the mug, taking another sip before replying,

"You'd only make it take longer."

While there was teasing in his tone, you couldn't hide the way your grin slowly slid from your lips, your eyes glancing down at the mug in your hands. He kicked himself as a pain clutched around his chest, hating that he made you look that way.

"... I appreciate the offer, Y/N, thank you. Your company helps more than enough."

Your eyes flickered back to his at his words, your cheeks tinting pink as you murmured,

"... glad to help."

It was only for a moment but it felt like ages, the way his eyes bored into yours. It was like you were a puzzle he was trying to slove and couldn't, his frustration showing in his gaze. Your heart jumped into your throat, your mind screaming at him to just kiss you, to say something, to tell you everything you wanted him to say-

The moment broke as he went back to his scribbling, one hand around his mug while the other scratched away. You made yourself more comfortable in the large chair, your eyes wandering his face, not knowing he could feel your very hungry gaze on him.

Pride washed over him, his ego flaring as a smirk ticked up his lips. He did have a feeling you liked him, but this moment here proved to him that he was right.

"See something you like, Y/N?"

There was a heavy silence as your eyes widened, unsure of how to respond so you remained quiet, simply watching him for any signs of a joking manner.

You were incredibly confused when you could only sense a serious air around him.

It took a moment to gather courage but you did finally respond, looking down at your mug for a moment before glancing back to him as you commented lightly,

"Surely it's obvious that I do."

The air was so thick it could have been sliced with a butterknife. You both stared at each other for what felt like ages before you looked away first, unable to handle the heat of his gaze on you like this.

"... good to know."

His response caused you to grin, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you bit back a happy sound, not wanting to feed his already giant ego. A more comfortable silence covered you both as he went back to his work, now motivated to finish it quicker than before.

You'd drank your entire tea by the time he finally finished. You'd been slouched lazily in the chair, glancing around his office with mildly bored eyes, having already taken everything in to the point you could name off each book and it's order on the shelf. He yawned loudly, rubbing his face with both hands before standing, placing his completed work off to the side before coming around his desk to stand by you, leaning on it for support.

"You should get some rest," you started, giving a yawn of your own and going to move before you noticed him massaging his hand. You looked up at him, his exhausted expression filling your chest with a ache you didn't enjoy.

You had to do something.

Placing the empty mug beside him, you then reached out and gently took his writing hand into your own warm palms, you began massaging his own, your thumbs pressing down to the point where he grunted softly.

"Yeah, I know it sucks but this is what happens when you don't take proper breaks," you murmured, focusing on doing your best not to look up at him, your cheeks burning so hot that you began to worry you gave yourself a fever.

A particularly illicit groan left your Captain when you pressed at one point, your eyes finally flicking up at him for just a moment and you couldn't help but smile at seeing his relaxed expression. His eyes were shut, his chest rising and falling as he took slow, deep breaths.

Your heart clenched - you wished he looked like this more, so quiet and tender -

Your thoughts stopped as you looked back to his hand, your thumbs working down to his wrist and forearm, not noticing him leaning closer to you to give you better reach.

It took only a few minutes, letting his arm gently drop to his side as you held your hands palm up out for his other one.

"Other hand, please!"

He was silent the entire time, lifting his hand to you as you did the same thing, starting at his palm before going to his long fingers, showing them love and stretching them before moving down to his wrist and forearm.

You were so focused that you didn't noticed his free hand coming catch your chin, his long fingers lifting your face gently. Your eyes met and your stomach churned, knowing your face was still bright red as he looked over your face. Your fingers had stopped, clamped gently around his forearm.

You couldn't place the look he was giving you, trying to convince yourself that he was not giving you bedroom eyes - the man was exhausted, for fucks sake! But you couldn't help how your body warmed at his touch, wanting so desperately to lean into his touch.

The sudden fear of rejection hit you like a ton of bricks. You must have made a face because his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, almost as if trying to comfort you.

"You look worried," he breathed out, his breath so warm and so close that it danced across your face. Your eyes were locked in an intense gaze, his dark and craving; yours wide and needy in your own right. Warmth pooled in your lower region as his eyes looked down at your lips for a moment, the air suddenly heavy once again as his gaze met yours again.

"I... I am worried," you finally whispered, eyes never leaving his. He moved closer again, so slowly that it felt like he was teasing you.

"Why?"

Not a question, a demand.

"... because I'm scared that you'll kiss me and I'll get attached."

A slow, wicked grin came over his features when you finally spoke.

"As if you're not already attached."

His words felt like a punch to your gut, causing you to gasp out softly before his lips consumed yours, both your eyes falling shut as he took what he wanted. It wasn't a soft kiss, but it wasn't demanding either. It held just enough emotion that you felt the anxiety of earlier wash off you like a wave, your shoulders unconsciously dropping though your hands remained on his arm.

When he finally pulled away, you were a mess. Your heart was pounding so loud in your ears, it felt like vertigo. Your eyes slowly reopened, confusion and hope written across your face like an open book as you stared at him. You were nearly breathless as you somehow got out,

"Um... Wow."

Law blinked a few times before he broke down, laughing so loud and hysterically that he pulled away from you, leaning over with his hands on his knees. You sat there blinking, feeling even more confused, wondering what the hell was going on. His laughter echoed in the room, and probably the entire sub but clearly he was gone, absolutely fucked up.

Just straight up bonkers.

When he finally calmed, one hand came up to wipe away the laughter tears as he leaned back up, a wide smile on his face as he took a moment to collect himself.

He finally looked down at you, your own almost nervous smile etched into your face as you waited for him to explain himself.

"You, Y/N-ya, are something else, you know? How you've flipped my life upside down."

The amount of sincerity in his voice immediately made you begin to tear up, you're heart leaping from your chest into your throat and stopping you from responding. You simply gave your own genuine smile in return, one hand quickly wiping away the few tears that slipped out.

A heavy hand landed on the top of your head, long fingers rustling your hair as Law gave another chuckle. Your smile remained as your swiped at his hand, his own grin turning cheeky as he lightly slapped your hand away.

There was a pause between you two, with him running a tired hand through his hair as you rubbed at your face, biting back a yawn. As he took in your exhausted form, he knew it was time for you both to hit the hay.

"You crazy brat. Go to bed," he started, moving his hands to grasp your own and pulling you out of the chair. He turned you and walked you to the door just a few feet away, opening it but holding you to him, his hands on your shoulders. You noted they were shaking slightly through hazy thoughts as his warm chest hit your back.

"I'll see you at breakfast. Save me a seat?"

His breath brushed over your ear, causing your skin to erupt in goosebumps. He didn't give you enough time to respond, giving you a quick shove out the door before closing it behind you.

You stared at the wall of the Tang, blinking a few times before your mouth finally started working again.

"What the actual fuck just happened?"

A/N: HEHEHEE we love a sly, flirty Law 🙈🙈🙈🙈 I'm gunna smooch him so hard, idk abt you guys 😂😂🥵🥵🙈🙈 I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I did !

Smooch smooch, be good my lil tangerines! 🍊💋

[thlayli-ra]

Ficlet Request - Treat - Being playfully clingy in the mornings when one has an off day and the other has to rush to work - PunkIntyre + Seth Rollins (idk if they have a poly ship name yet?)

I’m sure plenty of people will request whump fics and I will enjoy every bit of it as it comes, but for now, I just want something cute and domestic 🥰😂

Something cute and domestic coming right up! 🥰

Treat - 'Being Playfully Clingy'

Characters - Seth Rollins, Drew McIntyre, CM Punk

Rating - Teen and up

Warnings - None apply, domestic fluff

Drew was a hugger. And that was fine! Lovely actually. Especially on those lazy Sunday morning where all three of them would be tucked up in bed with nowhere to go and nothing to do, and Drew (in the middle where he liked to be) would wrap both of his titanic arms around his boyfriends and snuggle them in close. The soft, comforting body heat would lull them all back into a pleasant doze and they would stay that way for hours and hours.

That was the beauty of Drew, really - there was plenty of him to go around.

However, when there was only the two of them at home, Drew could be, well, how to put it delicately, he was... clingy as hell! Seth knew this well, considering he'd been going out with Drew the longest, and he also knew that the Scot was really missing his newer boyfriend. The pout he wore when they went their separate ways after Raw was devastating.

'I'm sorry, Big Guy,' Punk lamented, trying to breath as the huge Scot wrapped his arms tightly around his chest and refused to let go. 'I'm staying at the hotel tonight and driving onto the next town for NXT, remember? Got my special guest referee duties to do.'

'He'll be fine,' Seth said with a warm roll of his eyes, finally prising Drew's massive hands off of Punk. 'You have a safe journey tomorrow and we'll see you Thursday.'

'Bright and early, I promise,' Punk said, accepting a kiss from his sharply dressed boyfriend. 'Oh, and thanks for lending me your booty shorts.'

'Yeah, well, somebody's gotta wear them,' Seth joked with a shrug, 'since they arrived too late for the you two's match at Summerslam.'

'Well, thanks to you, I now know what not to do when officiating,' Punk gave a cheeky grin, opening the door to his rental. 'Love you.'

'Love ya, hon,' Seth returned.

'Love you, Punky,' Drew chimed in, watching crestfallen as the car drove away into the night.

Ever since then, Drew had followed Seth around like a overly affectionate cat, no, not so much a cat, more like, a full grown adult male Siberian tiger, wrapping his giant paws around Seth and gently digging its claws in, refusing to let go.

And that was fine! When they were both off with nothing to do. But today, Seth was scheduled for some media work, the first of which started in two hours and he was still stuck fast in bed with Drew's anaconda arms and legs coiled around him. He'd been awake for a while now, ever since his alarm had sounded at seven, but Drew (still loitering in the middle of the bed, even with Punk gone and all that extra space available) had whimpered 'no, no', rolled over and grabbed him.

Seth had allowed it. He knew this would be a tough morning for Drew and he fully expected him to be even clingier than usual so they lay for another half hour, spooning, Seth the tiny demitasse spoon compared to Drew and his extra large serving ladle. But time was now ticking on and Seth needed to get showered and smartly dressed and be out that door on time.

Peeking over his shoulder he found Drew's eyes shut, a serene look on his face as he dozed peacefully. Seth carefully slipped his hands under Drew's and gently opened them up in order to free himself when they abruptly clamped down again, gripping tighter.

'Nooo,' Drew grumbled into his shoulder blades, rubbing his face against Seth's bare back.

'I know but I got to, sweetie,' Seth said. 'I've got work to do today.'

'No!' Drew huffed like a toddler. 'Stay.'

'Believe me I would love to but Hunter would have my head on a platter if I missed these appearances.' An idea popped into Seth's head. 'You wanna come shower with me?'

Drew practically leapt out of bed with excitement.

So they showered together. And that was fine! They'd just had a new, larger unit installed so that the three of them could fit in together, which, it turned out was for the best, otherwise Punk would have hogged it all the goddamn time. Steaming hot showers, strong coffee and baked goods - his three main vices, which was a damn sight better than drugs, cigarettes or alcohol. None of them drank, although Drew enjoyed an alcohol-free beer with Sheamus now and again, so at least they didn't any awkwardness with that to contend with.

Speaking of awkwardness, this current shower was proving to be difficult seeing as Seth had what he could only describe as the equivalent of a bear-skin rug draped over him like a cape. 'Hey Drew, you mind moving over so I can-' The bear gave a growl and buried its snout deeper into the nape of Seth's neck. 'Ok, fine. Not like anybody will be seeing my back anyways.'

He eventually managed to wriggle out from between the Scot's tentacles long enough to slap on a pair of dress pants and an immaculately pressed button-down shirt but as soon as he'd fastened one cuff, it was snared between two jaws of a colossal Venus flytrap. 'Uh, Drew,' Seth cocked a brow at the Scot who sat on the bed, decked in only a towel knotted around his waist, dripping wet with his long, drenched hair sticking to his neck and shoulders, 'I kinda need that hand.'

'Tough,' Drew smirked cheekily.

'Fine, I can do my other cuff when I get there,' Seth sighed, adding with a mutter under his breath, 'and my tie and put on my jacket and my shoes and...'

Normally Seth would make something filling like pancakes for breakfast, and while he stood at the stove, Drew would come up behind him, place his arms on Seth's waist and his chin on Seth's shoulder and comment on how delicious it smelled. And that was fine! But today, Seth had no time to make anything fancy for breakfast, so instead he opted for a quick bowl of bran cereal with a dollap of milk. But he couldn't bend down to open the dishwasher with Drew pressed right up against him, and had to shuffle to the pantry under both of their weight and Drew's huge arm around his shoulders made it impossible for him to reach up - 'Uh, Drew, honey, can you grab me the- oh, thanks! - and then he had to drag them both across to the fridge then he couldn't sit down because he was now two human beings, one of which was the size of a house, fused together so he had to stand at the counter instead and as soon as he dipped his spoon into the cereal and tried to lift it to his mouth, Drew grabbed hold of his wrist and peppered kisses down his arm and-

-and now, this was really getting into the 'not fine' territory!

'Shit, is that the time?' Seth gasped at the wall clock. He was officially running late, and Seth Rollins never ran late. So he hobbled off in a panic, Drew still clinging to his shoulders like a fucking silver back mountain gorilla who'd been raised by spider monkeys to try and find his shoes (which he had no hope of shining before he left) and his jacket (which he'd hoped to press but had to give up on that too) and his open cuff caught on a door handle and his ears heard a horrible shredding noise and now his entire sleeve was torn apart and flapping around and when he glanced back at the clock, another twenty fucking minutes had passed!

'DREW! GET OFF!'

'No!'

'I'm meant to be at the studio in ten minutes and at this rate I'll hit the rush hour traffic. I need to go now!'

'Noooo!'

'Punk will be back any minute, so please, you only have to be by yourself for an hour or so at the most-'

'Noooooo!'

'URGH!' Seth despaired, but another three minutes had passed and he had to get out that door. So he gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders and waded to the front door like a kid at the carnival dragging around the comically over-sized bear he'd won at the stalls. That was... made entirely out of glue and bricks for some reason! 'Drew,' he grunted with each hard-fought step. 'I really. Really. Have to. GO!'

Just before he reached the door, it opened. A man stepped in and immediately jumped with fright at the sight of a bedraggled Seth lugging a huge, hairy Scotsman in a towel on his back. 'Uh... hi,' he said.

'PUNKY!' Drew cheered, hopping off of Seth. 'You're home!'

'Perfect timing,' Seth said, flying past Punk out the door, but not before planting a cute kiss on his cheek and whispering in his ear. 'He's all yours now.'

On cue, Drew rushed towards Punk and lifted him right up off his feet in an excruciating bear hug. Out the corner of his eye, the tattooed man saw Seth make a run for the car, and sweet freedom. Joke was on him though. There was nowhere he'd rather be than right here.

'Hey Big Guy,' Punk smiled down at Drew, accepting every kiss and hug and nuzzle that came his way. 'I missed you too.'

[remapped-soul]

for the fic title thing i'm roughly translating part of an italian indie song

"where i'm from a kiss and a goodbye are the same thing"

in Italian: "da dove vengo io un bacio ed un addio sono la stessa cosa"

brocedes? rosquez? it's your pick, i'm in a angsty mood 😃

so. i know im half a year late. but. i hope this little ficlet i got for you will be worth it. all the angst and all that. i took the kiss part and ran away with it. inspiration suddenly arrived after ghosting me for months. also, this snippet is part of a bigger universe, set in the 5+1 au (the fabio fic on my ao3), sometime in the future.

Marc goes looking for Fabio, but he finds Valentino Rossi. Draped across the couch like he owns the place, Valentino looks up when Marc enters the motorhome as if he expected this all along. He merely blinks in Marc's direction before his focus shifts back to scrolling on his phone.

The door closes behind Marc with a soft sound. Fabio is nowhere in sight. Neither is Tom. No one enters Fabio's place without Tom's approval, but with Valentino here, Marc guesses Tom has been updated on the latest arrangements.

Marc stalls, unsure what to do. He planned this with Fabio a weekend ago. The time, the place. Did he forget? The idea sits wrong in the pit of his stomach. Marc could leave, try another time, but he has an interview in thirty minutes, a meeting with his team right after. Training and physio later in the evening. Beauty sleep at nine if he wants a decent race tomorrow.

Fabio wouldn't stand him up unless it was important.

Marc could leave. "Do you know where he is?" He asks instead, choosing English as his language, even if he speaks Italian as well. Neither here nor there, but meeting on neutral ground. They always yelled at each other in Italian. Valentino shrugs. "Do you know when he will be back?"

Valentino shrugs again. Doesn't even look up. Marc grits his teeth. He breathes in and remembers his agreement with Fabio, his love not finite, but so abundant he feels the need to share. At the end of the day, Fabio returns to him no matter what, but as Marc looks at Valentino, he is not so sure anymore.

Marc tries again. He always did. For Fabio he will always try. "Can you tell Fabio I looked for him? We had something planned. He…he knows why."

Valentino looks up at that, finally putting his phone away.

"I speak Spanish, you know?" He smiles, Spanish words rolling easily on his tongue. "I'm not sure when blondie will be back, but--" His eyes glint, and Marc bites his tongue to keep himself from snapping at Valentino. Valentino smiles like he knows this. "Can I help you with something?"

"It's fine," Marc replies in stilted English. He needs to get out of here. "I'll talk to him later." He needs to go before--

"I can help you with the arm."

Marc wants to scream.

"No, thank you." Marc had enough. He turns to leave before--

"Marc."

Before something happens. Something like this.

Marc freezes, ignores the stirring in his veins. Valentino hasn't called him by his name in so long. For fuck's sake.

"What?" Marc's Italian has always been harsher than his native tongue, than English. It's a blade sharpened to cut. He spins on his heels, feels his nostrils flare as he looks at Valentino, at the unreadable expression on his face. "What do you think you can do?"

Valentino gets up from the couch, hands raised slightly as if he is facing a rabid dog. Marc feels like one, heart pulsing on his ears, in the back of his throat. He searches Valentino's eyes and doesn't find hostility, nor mockery.

"Fabio has told me he massages your arm sometimes," Valentino continues in Spanish. "Whenever the weather changes. When it gets cold. Whenever you injure it." He doesn't mention the accident in Sachsenring.

"The Netherlands have always been cold."

Valentino sighs and stops a few feet away from Marc. "I'm trying," he says, still in Spanish. It grates on Marc's nerves. "We--"

"You don't need to do anything," Marc says. "I don't care what you do with Fabio as long as he's happy. Just leave me out of it." Marc pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to calm down. He doesn't want to yell. He did that enough when they still told each other i love you in Spanish. Now, they're strangers, and Marc wants to keep it that way. "It's not like you can change anything."

"For Fabio," Valentino continues as if he didn't hear Marc. "We should at least try for him. At some point we're all going to be in the same room. He deserves more than-"

Marc raises an eyebrow.

"This." He gestures between them. "More than us yelling at each other."

Marc raises the other eyebrow too.

"We won't be friends again, Rossi."

"We don't need to," Valentino says. "Just let me massage your arm. You have to race tomorrow."

Marc keeps close to the door as he watches Valentino, waiting. They both know the massage won't do jack shit for him. That's not why he asks Fabio to do it. But Valentino wants something and uses Fabio as an excuse. Marc can ignore everything but that. So he nods, smiles, and closes the distance between them, brushes against Valentino as he sits down on the couch and unzips his jacket, revealing his arm. Indulging, inviting. Holding his breath. Valentino follows.

Valentino's hands are cold on Marc's skin. He tenses his whole body, forbids himself to give even the smallest of tremors as Valentino's callused fingertips run down his biceps, pressing into the ridges slowly, as if Marc is made of glass. As if Valentino cares.

Marc scoffs. Side by side on the couch, he sees Valentino looking up from the corner of his eye. "You can press harder," Marc says. "I won't break. The scar tissue is dead anyway."

Valentino doesn't say anything. He keeps working the muscles, prodding and kneading the arm, breath warm against Marc's skin. If Fabio or Tom came, Marc doesn't know what his explanation is going to be. He mulls over words inside his mind, willing time to go faster, willing his heart to beat slower. Treacherous body, always acting erratically around Valentino. Marc focuses on keeping a steady hold on himself, so he doesn't notice when the air around him shifts, when the couch dips next to him. He snaps back to attention when Valentino presses his lips against Marc's scar, where healthy skin meets the dead tissue.

Marc's breath hitches.

"Vale--"

Valentino kisses down his arm. Slowly, reverence held in the corner of his mouth. He shifts closer, fingers closing around Marc's wrist, around Marc's thigh, caging him in, as if he is afraid Marc will spurt wings and take flight.

"Vale, what are you doing?" His voice breaks, a strange tune he doesn't recognise. Or one Marc chose to forget, reserved only for the nights when Valentino took him apart in the humid Spanish nights.

Valentino's mouth slips down his arm like silk, dry lips catching around Marc's scar, hot breath living goose flesh in its wake.

Marc shivers, leans towards the heat, head turning to see where Valentino is kissing his skin, so strange, so familiar. Valentino looks up at him through his eyelashes, the blue of his irises a whisper around his blown-out pupils. They breath in unison. Valentino leans back, reaches up, and Marc tilts his head down, thinking, thinking-- They haven't kissed since 2015. They haven't touched since 2016. Valentino caresses the edge of Marc's jaw, careful, careful. Marc pushes his cheek against his fingers, thinking, thinking-- is Valentino the same with Fabio? Careful, because he could break? Or rough, the way sometimes Marc is, pushing Fabio against walls, biting under his ear to get him to shiver, because that's how Fabio likes it, because Marc loves--

Marc wrenches himself away before Valentino can kiss him. He pushes himself to the other end of the couch, almost heaving, still looking at Valentino, at the flush on his face that probably matches Marc's own.

"Marc--"

"I'm done here," Marc says in English. "We're done." He leaves without looking back, door almost slamming behind him.

Marc announces he won't race after he leaves Assen early morning on Sunday, and doesn't see Fabio before that. Not in the morning, not the night before, after his duties are done. The only thing Marc gets from him is a text.

Valentino is here. I'm spending the night with him. Fabio doesn't ask for permission. Marc is not his keeper. He's just his boyfriend. So he texts back, Ok, take care. He doesn't text, I know. I almost kissed him. Marc puts his phone on silent and sleeps alone that night.

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Sketch in partial colour of Redemption era Parker and Eliot sitting side by side in the courtyard of their New Orleans base, in similar relative positions to when they had a heart to heart at the end of the hurricane job. Parker and her background are in colour, and she’s looking sadly down, hunched forward slightly. Eliot is in greyscale and wearing prison clothes, looking sad and serious. End ID] -

Day 29: alt. Prison

AU for The Turkish Prisoner Job, where Eliot gets stuck in the prison, and also the first part of the three-parter of ficlets, with the others on days 8 (dissociation, part 3) and 15 (experimentation, part 2). I know it’s backwards but that’s the way the days worked out 😅

Ficlet below the cut.

-

“Do exactly what they say,” were the last words they heard from Eliot for days, and they hadn’t even been addressed to the team.  He had been speaking to Romero, just as he was about to get released on a day pass by their marks, and then he was gone.  Taken away by prison guards under orders that overruled the detectives.

The confusion and surprise didn’t last more than a few seconds.

Sophie stepped in, had Breanna mute Eliot’s comm for all but her, and talked their client through how to proceed, keeping him calm and collected as he had to keep going now without a hitter for back-up.

The job had taken another turn, requiring a change of plan, new considerations, and they needed all of them involved to pull it off successfully, which meant it was two days before they had a chance to get back to Eliot.  If had been any member of the team other than Eliot, Parker would have been worried.

But it was Eliot and a stint in prison out of contact with his crew was nothing to him.

Regardless, she felt something unpleasant and annoying and she didn’t understand it.

“Babe, you okay?” Hardison asked, his image large in the screens as their long distance call connected.

Breanna had emailed him as soon as they lost contact with Eliot, just in case there was something he could do with his amazing exosphere hacking access. But the prison ran a closed network, no access from the outside even from the exosphere.

“It just feels wrong.”

Hardison frowned, “Eliot being in jail?”

“I don’t know. Yes. Maybe…”

For over ten years Parker had barely gone a day without one or both of Hardison and Eliot either right there beside her or talking in her ear. Now Hardison was gone, only reachable through a complicated video link thing or emails that took too long and were too impersonal, and Eliot’s voice was no longer there either.

“Babe?”

Parker realised she had let her mind wander and looked back to the screen.

She couldn’t place what she was feeling.

She was angry. Angry at Eliot for not just breaking out, angry at Harry for running the job so Eliot ended up in prison, angry with Sophie for letting Harry run the job, and angry with herself because it wasn’t Harry’s fault or Sophie’s fault.

This happened.  They did a dangerous job, especially Eliot, and this sort of thing could happen, and no one was to blame.

And she was anxious.  Worried about Eliot, which was stupid because it was Eliot Spencer and he was always fine.

“Parker? Talk to me.”

She looked up.

Hardison looked worried, sad.

She smiled slightly, feeling that rising warmth that came whenever he looked at her with so much emotion. The reminder that she wasn’t alone.

“I don’t like not having him here,�� she said quietly.  She wanted Hardison to understand.

“I know,” he replied, “I’m sorry I’m not there right now.”

She nodded, “Well, you’ve got satellite stuff to do.”

That earned her only a sad smile, and she looked down at the keyboard.

“Harry going into the prison tomorrow?” Hardison asked, “Playing the lawyer.”

“Yeah. We can’t do anything until we know more.”

“I’ll keep trying to dig up intel from my end too. Got an algorithm running right now to cross-reference each of his aliases and his real name against email communications between government agencies, prison networks, rich folk…anyone who might want to lock him up.”

“That’s a long list. We’ve made a lot of enemies.”

And Eliot had a lot more still from before Leverage.

“Yeah. It’s gonna take a while,” Hardison replied, “So, wanna watch something together tonight?  I can stream from any country in the world and share the screen.”

“Sharknado?”

Hardison sighed, “We got access to pretty much any film that exists on the internet, and you wanna watch Sharknado.  Again.”

She grinned, “We can watch Sharknado II after.”

Sighing again, but smiling properly this time, he got to work finding the films, and they began their movie night.

-

Harry’s visit to the prison had three purposes.  The first, to see if there was a quick route to getting Eliot released.  The second, if that failed, to find out what had happened and why Eliot had been detained.  The third, to get an earbud back to Eliot.

This required what was, essentially, a pointless and entirely fabricated lawyer-client conversation between Eliot and Harry, which Parker mostly ignored in favour of watching Breanna attempt to find a way into the prison security system now they were parked close to the building in the food truck.

The culmination of this conversation was that no, it was not going to be quick and easy to get Eliot released because he reportedly had committed severe infractions within the prison, as observed by the guards.  Eliot had been moved to solitary because of these supposed dangerous acts, which were false but backed up by multiple guards.  He hinted that he had some idea of why, but the conversation was recorded and monitored, with two guards in the room at the time, so he couldn’t say more.

But the third task was successful.

About half an hour after Harry returned, and while they were still outside the prison, Eliot’s comm came online.

“Welcome back,” Sophie said, seeing the feed on the laptop screen appear.

“Thanks,” Eliot whispered, suggesting he suspected someone may be listening, “Romero okay?”

“Okay and rolling in it,” Breanna replied proudly.

“Job’s wrapped up, everything sorted, so now we just need to get you out,” Parker added, “Any idea what got you locked in there?”

“Think so,” he replied, “Sorta.  Pretty sure I’ve been ID’d.”

That was no surprise.  It was among the theories they had discussed.

“Who by?” Harry asked, “It has to be someone high up for them to get you moved to solitary and multiple guards confirming a false story to keep you there.”

“Dunno, but I heard someone talkin’ outside my cell.  Think they were on the phone, an’ they told whoever they were talkin’ to that they had me - said my name, not the alias’s - locked down.  My guess is they’re gonna transfer me at some point.”

“Weakest part of any transit is when the goods are being loaded into the vehicle,” Parker repeated information she had heard from Eliot years before, “That’s where we rescue you.”

Breanna shifted her screen to bring up several views of roads, “Look, I didn’t manage to get into the prison cameras, but I could get into some CCTV on the roads leading to the prison.  A prisoner transport is gonna require an armoured car, right?  And it’s gotta go down one of those roads.”

“We’ll be ready for it too, now,” Sophie added, “You can tell us when the transfer is taking place.  We’ll get everything prepared to attack the car, and when you give us the signal, we’ll move.”

Considering the number of times they’d waylaid and broken into armoured vehicles in the past, setting up the plan for dealing with this one - and contingencies in case of an escort, alternative routes, timings being off, and so on - didn’t take more than a few hours.  And, with the plan established and it already nearing midnight, they all went to bed.

All except Parker.

She tried sitting at the bar and then the desk and then on the stage, and finally wandered out to the courtyard to sit on the picnic table there. It felt very empty to be sitting on that table without Eliot next to her. But then most places she was used to sitting tended to have their hitter there too.

She felt stupid. Ridiculous. Eliot had been away from them undercover or kidnapped or on some side-hustle job loads of times and she never felt this unhappy about it. Hardison had been away loads too, working on those hacker things only he could do, and she felt sad but not like this. Not this icky, distracting, fuzzy feeling in her brain like something was really really wrong.

She pulled her earbud from her pocket and put it in her ear.

“Hey, Eliot?  You asleep?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to listen to that podcast with all the facts. Wanna listen with me? We’re like six episodes behind.”

Eliot didn’t reply immediately. She heard a quiet background noise. His footsteps on a hard floor.

Then he spoke quietly, not answering the question.

“You doin’ alright, Parker?”

She tried to laugh properly but it didn’t work.  It didn’t sound like a laugh, even though she was meant to be good at grifting by now.

“I’m not the one sitting alone in a dark lonely cold prison cell.”

She could hear the smile in Eliot’s voice. The gentle, soft smile.

“I’ve been in a lot of prisons, Parker.  This one’s among the nicest,” he paused, and in it she could picture his expression perfectly. It was the kind, understanding, expression few people ever got to see.

The thought of it, so clear in her mind, finally made her understand what felt so wrong.

She was lonely.

She hadn’t been lonely in a very long time and now it hurt so much more than before.

“It’s just,” she began, looking down at her shoes on the bench, “First Hardison left. And now so have you.”

“Parker,” Eliot said softly, “I didn’t leave. I’m right here, an’ I’m always gonna be. Hardison might be a stupid number of miles away, but he’s right there with you too.”

“With us.”

“With us,” he accepted her correction without hesitating, “We’re not, either of us, ever gonna leave you. An’ I know right now it feels lonely, but you’re not alone. We’re here, Sophie’s there. Harry an’ Breanna are there. Hell, if you wanna call up Hurley I bet he’d answer any time of the day or night an’ probably make you talk to his damn cat.”

Parker laughed despite herself. She liked Hurley’s cat. Eliot didn’t, so the cat always sat on Eliot when they visited, purring contentedly while he growled at it to go annoy someone else, and trying to pretend there wasn’t a fond smile just on the verge of forming on his face.

Eliot left a long pause for his words to sink in, and for Parker to find the truth within them. When he spoke again it was in a more normal tone, saving her from falling too deep into emotions she couldn’t name.

“So,” Eliot said, “About that podcast. ‘Cus solitary’s pretty damn boring.”

Parker found herself smiling.

She already had it up on her phone, the first in their episode backlog ready to go.

“You hear it?”

The familiar theme tune started as she pressed play.

“I hear it,” Eliot replied, then added softly, just as the voices of the podcasters began, “Thanks, Park.”

She nodded although he couldn’t see, smiled, and settled in to spend the night happily with Eliot, even if there were miles and walls of concrete between them.

Parker went to sleep, still listening to that podcast with Eliot in her ear.

When she woke up, Eliot was gone.

His comms were off, and no amount of yelling into her earbud would get a response.

Harry went back into the prison, playing the part of his alias's lawyer again, but he was told that alias wasn't in the prison system. Never had been in the prison at all, according to the records. Hours of intense hacking from outside the walls and from the exosphere found that alias wiped entirely from the prison records, and Eliot's name was nowhere to be found either.

During the night, while his crew slept, Eliot had been made to disappear.

-

[searchforahero]

due to your post I had a vision of Brucie Wayne getting stopped by a cop and doing the whole Ron Swanson 'not to worry I have a permit' routine except the permit in question is just a picture of him and Commissioner Gordon making out

-redhoodinternaldialectical from the "main" blog

OH I LOVE THIS

i don't often write outsider POV but i was inspired so UH i tried to write a ficlet based on this LOL this poor guy is so confused

There's a black Porsche going eighty miles down Seventh Street. Granted, it's 3:00AM so there's not really a whole lot of people out-and-about for the grade-A jackass behind the wheel to hit, but Officer Knox prides himself on doing things by the rules, so he drops his bagel on the passenger seat and flicks on his lights.

Knox is expecting at least a bit of a chase, the kind of kids who steal their parents cars to joyride through residential areas in the dark hours of the morning are also the kinds of kids who don't stop for cops and tell their teachers to fuck off when they check for homework. Luckily, he's mistaken, and the driver slows down and pulls over until he's nearly got his front tire on the curb.

He gets out and walks over to the guys window, it's dark and the streetlight behind him is casting a glare over the glass, so he can't identify anything about the driver. He taps on the glass and waits for the window to roll down.

He is not expecting to see Brucie Wayne, hair messed up like he's been running his hands through it and eyes more tired than he's ever seen them look on T.V. Knox is not the type of man who gets easily entangled in the allure of the rich and famous, he doesn't know half the names that his children pass around at the dinner table, but like any self-respecting Gothamite he knows this one, and he can't help but be a little star-struck, a little lost for words. It was a Thomas Wayne Foundation program that got his daughter her internship, and a Martha Wayne Foundation one that put his son through school.

But Knox prides himself on doing things by the rules, so he holds up his badge and asks Wayne "Do you know how fast you were going sir?"

Wayne gets a sheepish sort of look on his face, Knox has seen it in interviews of course, but it's even more earnest looking in person, he scratches the back of his head awkwardly before speaking "Yes officer, I'm really sorry, it's just..." He makes a face, something like a grimace "I got a call from my son out in Bludhaven he's sick and he lives alone, I need to get him medicine and convince him to take off work tomorrow. You know how it is, surely?" His smile turns wider, more friendly, like he's commiserating with an old friend over the difficulties of fatherhood.

Knox does in fact know, God knows his daughter doesn't sleep enough, always going on about whatever they're researching at the lab, he's always having to remind her to get to sleep at a reasonable hour, but still, eighty in a residential area is unacceptable, and Wayne really ought to know that, what with all the kids he seems to have living over in that manor of his. It's not necessarily uncommon for stupid teenagers to wander around the roads in the middle of the night.

He reaches to write Wayne a ticket "Well, I'll make this quick then, just pay this and make sure you keep to the speed limit from now on Mr. Wayne and I'll let you get to wrangling your son." but as he's going to hand the slip to Wayne, the man pushes a piece of paper of his own up through the window.

In the dark, it's difficult for Knox to tell what he's looking at at first, it's a photograph, but it's difficult to make out right away. He just stares for a minute until he starts to recognize too men, one facing away from the camera, dark hair, presumably Wayne, and another towards the camera, they're kissing passionately, the grey haired man's hand gripping Wayne by the back of the neck, and it only takes Knox a minute more to figure out why that man looks familiar, before he realizes it's his boss. That he's looking at a picture of Commissioner Gordon, locked in a passionate embrace with frivolous socialite Brucie Wayne himself.

By the time Knox comes to his senses Wayne is rolling up his window and announcing that "I hope this will be sufficient", sufficient for what Knox isn't sure, but he's still too shocked to protest as Wayne pulls his car out of park and drives off towards Bludhaven, going a solid 60/MPH this time.

Knox returns to his vehicle and slumps into his seat, grabbing his bagel and trying to work through what he just saw. He can hardly imagine his boss, serious and dedicated as he is, holding a conversation with someone as airy as Wayne, much less kissing him. What could they possibly even talk about? He spends only five minutes pondering his new knowledge, before he decides it's none of his damn business and gives his level best to ignore what he just saw.

[bolognamayhem117]

Title: Rat-holed Memories.

Length: 4500 words

POV: Astarion

Pairing: Astarion/M!Elf!Tav(Rorik), rogue/paladin

Rating: MATURE 18+

Themes: mlm, consent, clarity of expectations, dissociation, manipulation, setting boundaries, light erotica, internal conflict.

Content Warnings: References to rape, incest, broken family dynamics, murder, slavery, mild knife play, anger, emotional outbursts.

Author notes: First and foremost, I created this character on my first playthrough after Robert and I bought the game a year ago. I picked up the controller with zero knowledge of the game's contents after being told you could play as a vampire. I said "That's bold of the developer, fuck it, I'll make Rorik's dumb ass and Smegol my way through the forgotten realms or whatever..." Turns out the person who told me that was referencing the Astarion Origin playthrough. I said "Screw It I'm Doing It Anyway! With the power of IMAGINATION." To my delight and surprise it really wasn't all that hard to use paladin spells, items, scroll hoarding, and armor to very closely model the homebrew build of Rorik the Degenerate Dhampir Sun Worshipping Paladin. He has his own issues which this ficlet hints at. He's cringe, be gentle.

@ghostkingart wrote a post desiring that the fandom wrote more fic about Astarion being denied intimacy due to concerns about intent and whether he's actually in the headspace to do so, with emphasis on his canon tendancy to go somewhere "a million realms away". I thought I could oblige. Digging in my docs for inspiration revealed that I'd basically already written this exact piece, give or take a few details. Decided to put on the Big Boy pants and be brave enough to post this.

I think healing is going to be messy for him. He's a big personality and these are some big complex feelings for a man who's been on the world's shortest leash for 200 years and also has had to solve every problem with either his body or a blade.

This fic also heavily implies that some healing and learning has already taken place so bear with me. Enjoy

“I don't know. It's veiled from me… I can't remember that clearly. Just. Parts… I think so.” Rorik told Astarion.

"Nothing? You remember nothing of circumstance or even who delegated to you at all?” Astarion scoffed and crossed his arms.

Astarion had been warned that some questions he might have may not have much of an answer, for Rorik was good at burying memories too sharp to hold. Knowing of the predilection toward purposeful forgetfulness didn't make this conversation any less frustrating. He wanted to know if Rorik had ever been sent to Baldur's Gate on loan, as Rainar often ordered him to do if a nobleman or another vampire lord bid high enough. He said he'd been to the city during that time, but maintained that he couldn't remember why.

“You want to know if Cazador ever paid Rainar to have someone vanish, don't you?” Rorik asked a new question rather than answer one they both knew the answer to.

“You told me the name Cazador Szarr was familiar, once.” Astarion probed.

“It is.”

“Then you should understand why that would concern me.”

"I do.” Rorik assured him with a single nod as he half-dozed, sprawled on his back.

Silence fell upon them as they lay still but restless in Astarion's slightly tidier than usual tent. Fitting two bedrolls in it necessitated some level of order. Frankly, Astarion hid the trash and used glassware behind his temporary abode. Rorik probably knew where the mess was, but said nothing.

“What would you say if you found out tomorrow that we passed like ships in the night long ago? What would it change?” Rorik inquired, appearing curious toward the demeanor of the bees in Astarion's bonnet.

“I'd ask what Cazador would have paid to have you do. I have to lay there, every damn night, wondering if that bastard sent the Gur down the street where I lost everything. It could just as easily have been you.” Astarion explained irritably. Sometimes Astarion felt like he had to spoon feed Rorik his thoughts. He should be able to string together the pieces by now.

"I have an opinion, Astarion, but it might not be a thought you want reinforced.” Rorik offered with a warning.

“give it.”

The dhampir spoke as if reading off law rather than opinion, the gravity of his tone leaving little room for argument. “Vampires are known to stalk a target for days. You should know, to a point. But lords, or true vampires, looking to create spawn for their own uses are different. They assign much, although sometimes arbitrary or even nonsensical, ritual to their pursuit. I'm certain, if he didn't send the Gur himself, he was already watching your every move for months.”

“...You're telling me he was inevitable.” Astarion muttered with venom and a curl of his upper lip.

“...I'm saying: vampire lords aren't spontaneous.” Rorik clarified.

“Well, all I'm saying is: you're missing my point. I wish you remembered. So I could be sure.” Astarion complained with a flick of his hands in the air above them.

“If it reassures you at all, I know for a fact that Cazador didn't send me. I'd have proper fucking killed you too completely to bring back.” Rorik abruptly stated.

“What!? Exactly what makes you so sure of that.” Astarion spat.

“Beating the guts out of a magistrate but not enough that a vampire cannot turn him sounds like a miserably delicate chore… I was never bought for things like that. I'm too heavy handed.” Rorik asserted bluntly.

In mostly mock hurt, Astarion went on the defensive. “No, I mean: what in the hells makes you think I was an easy mark?”

“Hmm? How much do you weigh?”

“Eh?”

Rorik sat erect to turn and loom over Astarion, arms caging the other as he held himself up with palms pressed flat to the floor by each of the elf’s shoulders.

He huffed through a smile full of sabers, he was about to tease, “Couple sacks of grain, if you were soaking wet, I’d guess. I could toss you over my shoulder and run up a hill without losing my breath. I imagine you wielded a quill and inkpot then. The sharpest thing in your arsenal might've been a letter opener.”

How dare this often bald cunt of a man wear that disgustingly smug grin, smear insults, and manage to be bizarrely charming all the while?

“Wrong,” Astarion rebutted, “men of Baldur's Gate are required starting at age nine to learn archery, and it is short sighted for an individual of my former station not to be prepared for scorned citizens challenging him to a duel over an unfavorable ruling. You would've bitten off more than you thought.” Astarion stubbornly asserted, completely guessing although he wouldn't admit that. He had no idea what he used to do in his spare time as a mortal, or where he lived, or even what his favorite food used to be…

“Hmm, you make a good argument, sure. But your hands wouldn't have known much hardship. Could they have fended off these ragged mits?” Rorik's right hand slid against the reed mat until fingertips found Astarion's elbow, from there encircling his forearm and following its shape until he met a wrist, then the hand he meant to squeeze.

Rorik's hands were square in their shapes, knuckles scarred until the skin remained thick and rough, crooked fingers from many breaks, and strange knots of bone that betrayed how many times he'd fractured his dominant hand as he gripped his sword and struck a shield or armor rather than flesh and bone. Astarion could feel every callus like a knot under the skin of Rorik's leathery palm. Their textures were jagged and would pull runs in fine silk.

Such a gnarled paw might've repelled Astarion a month ago. His always empty guts used to twist at the touch of a victim with hands like these. Those nights and those marks did feel as though they pulled vicious runs in the silk of his skin.

Rorik was just, as per fucking usual, the one outlier. Terrible hands on him, but they squeezed his fingers carefully, they were almost warm, and their textures were becoming nuanced to Astarion's touch. He was starting to think, perhaps, if you queued up ten men of the sword, whose hands were all terrible, he could pick out Rorik's while blindfolded.

He brought Astarion's knuckles to his lips, dragging them across his cheek with a sigh that teased a quick flash of his maw of ruthless thorns.

Rorik's eyes flickered an uncanny glimmer from the candlestick glow, the eyes of a smitten predator fixed to Astarion's equally haunting gaze.

“So soft now, softer still long ago I bet, but not as soft as your eyes.” Rorik cooed down to him from behind a finger he selected to kiss.

It made Astarion's throat itch dryly to hear that. His thirst always doubled when Rorik spoke of his eyes.

The bastard grinned against his hand with too many teeth showing. Rorik's way of flirting and giving a compliment was very different from Astarion's well practiced methods. He was much too frank. Rough cut gems was what the rogue called these moments in the relative privacy of his thoughts. Rorik was getting too cocky, however, so strange charms couldn't go unpunished.

Astarion hooked a heel into Rorik's knee, kicking that load bearing joint out from under him and destabilizing him just enough that the edge of a palm clapped around his jaw easily pulled him over. This allowed Astarion to roll with him, reversing the pin. His dagger, kept tucked under his pillow, was gathered in the lightning swipe of searching fingers and brandished at Rorik's jugular.

And Rorik? He simply went limp and chuckled. The Jackass had offered no resistance and gone slack under him, hands thrown back in surrender. It offended Astarion to be allowed to win their grapple, but Rorik's implicit trust in spite of the blade threatening him always made Astarion ache somehow. The inveterate crank under him snapped his jaws at anything that pressed his boundaries, but never Astarion. Adorable Idiot. To be fair, Rorik knew that these jabs and tussles were only fun and games.

“I was not entirely defenseless, and certainly no guileless lamb. Besides, you were no different than a spaw- pardon, but you were under the complete control of Rainar. If you were ordered to destroy a man without outright killing him, you’d have no choice but to comply.”

“I think you'd remember me. I'm not something you'd mistake for Gur. Unlike some people, I shall not name them, I actually look like an undead wretch.” Rorik shook his head -foolish to do with a blade pressed near to skin- and laughed softly against the cold kiss of Astarion's dagger.

The way the apple of his throat bobbed under the razor edge could wring any vampire’s stomach with hunger.

“...True, but not quite so any longer.” Astarion dragged a finger led by a languid arm from Rorik's navel to the space under his chin.

He meant to tilt this face for a closer appraisal. Rorik's expression changed, glazing over as Astarion's thumb followed the shape of his lower lip.

“You've turned rather pink since we began this little jaunt,” Astarion reminded him.

Interesting creatures, dhampirs. One foot in the grave at all times and a hand clawing a stubborn grip on life. Apparently, if they've been behaving like their undead half they will look the part, but Astarion had yet to observe Rorik feeding. That abstinence from the sanguine was reflected in his freckled, peachy skin. He might've been a touch sunburned across the bridge of his nose and the tip of each notched ear.

Rorik gazed up at Astarion, eyes searching, questing about his shapes. He stared as though he were looking upon that sun god he claimed not to love. Silly beastly thing. Blindly devoted damn fool.

“...Would you let me kiss you?” Rorik breathed.

What could one more impossible moment hurt? Who knew when Rorik would wake up and realize Astarion had no precious light to offer him?

“Mm, just this once, darling,” Astarion hummed with lips pulling into a loose smile. It was his turn to tease.

Rorik waited so very patiently, licking his scar streaked lips with what could be perceived as lewd eagerness, but eyes wide and full of something else that called softly.

Astarion retracted the dagger, slowly, making a show of it as he held it away from their bodies. Then, Casually, as he leaned back and settled his weight over Roriks lap, he allowed the blade to slip from his fingers and pierce the mats and dirt below. He left it sticking there, at the ready, but easily forgotten as he pitched forward to claim his companion's delectable mouth.

Rorik had tried to lift himself to greet Astarion, but palms clapped over his shoulders sent him back to the floor with a hollow thud resonating from his chest. The dhampir let slip the faintest moan of approval as his jaws parted for Astarion, offering the warmth within and the taste of his nightly herb brew. His arms wove themselves all about high elf.

Rorik always squeezed, held, stroked the rogue. It briefly repulsed Astarion that first time, when Rorik held so tightly and explored him so earnestly, but that had changed. The paladin longed to be close. He didn't want Astarion's body, Rorik wanted Astarion. That came with its own new form of revulsion. How could Rorik's standards be so low that he actually wanted all of the filth under Astarion's perfect surface?

Astarion knew the answer to that. He winced silently and masked the upset by delving deeper into the pleasures of Rorik's gasping mouth the moment he was done stealing a breath.

The ex-wife, Zarla, must surely be why Rorik found Astarion an acceptable partner. Astarion himself had uttered the perfect analogy for it once before. When you're accustomed to drinking from the sewer, even plonk is a marked improvement.

Anything at all must be better than being forced to swallow every last drop of misery to survive a borderline incestuous arranged marriage to a complete and whole nightmare of a woman.

Rough fingers massaged up the back of Astarion's neck, soon cradling the back of his head. Rorik seemed to like playing in his hair, since he had none of his own until very recently.

The moment Astarion thought of it, he moved to push his fingers though that scant half-inch of strawberry blond. Rorik had still been shorn up top the last time they… But he'd thought about it, curling his fingers in it, gripping it so tight, using it to shove Rorik's keening face in the pillow to muffle him.

Once, it was their second late night encounter, Rorik had mewled things in a tongue Astarion didn't know, both betraying the wellspring of his faint accent and revealing his patron god. A heathen sun diety which pre-dated Lathandor. That night many moons ago, Astarion had delighted in watching the paladin slap both hands over his gaped jaws to keep that holy name out of his mouth while he behaved profanely.

All Astarion could think about was gripping that short ginger crown and pulling Rorik’s head up from a pillow to hear his name mingling with half formed prayer. Oh, the things which come unraveled from Rorik's disciplined tongue when Astarion fucked him were always delectable. There was something sinfully gratifying in defiling a holy man. It must be the same thing which kept Rorik coming back for more and more of Astarion. He must crave to be engulfed by the elf’s tainted touch, like an addict who craved the deadly bliss in his own destruction.

Astarion slipped his curious tongue between the split halves of Rorik's. Maybe after, he'd ask why the man had his tongue sliced. Could be a faith thing, or perhaps a fun story, but hopefully not another rat-holed memory from worse times. He set aside the thought and chose instead to be gratified in the way Rorik arched under him.

Rorik's hands curled in hair and slid down Astarion’s spine, but that left claw hesitated at his waistband and instead formed a self-restraining fist in the elf's untucked shirt. No, no, he wanted Rorik to go further. He wanted to give Rorik his hit of destroying bliss, keep him close, keep him asleep and unaware of how unfit his favorite “pain in the ass” was for him.

His guts were grinding acid at the wolves playing tug-o-war in his silent chest. Rorik aroused Astarion's dead flesh and dead heart, that was true, but it repulsed him that the only catharsis he could summon for that were the things he could do to Rorik's flesh to lure him closer. It made it feel like working one of his marks, the men and women who’d walk and blush at his side without knowing they were good as dead. This felt like raping himself and Rorik with a predatory false self.

Astarion wanted to sink through the floor into the dirt and become beetle shit, he wanted to make Rorik wail his name, and he wanted to drag all of the beauty in the world through the tar in his soul for revenge. He hated feeling it all at the same time, but most of all, his worm-holed brain screamed to keep Rorik in place, with him, blind to his truth but with him.

Gods, five minutes ago he'd accused Rorik of potentially being involved in his murder, then held him at knifepoint while the fool giggled at the game. It was only a matter of time before he saw it all for what it was. The flailing of some irreversibly ruined creature. But he could keep Rorik coming back...

I just need a little more. Stay a little longer. A few more moments to last me once you-

Astarion flattened himself to Rorik's sprawled body to let him feel the arousal he’d inspired. Putrid. Rorik's lips stretched open to drag in a much needed breath, face screwing up as his head fell back while he was ground upon. He submitted to the desire to crush Astarion closer. His arms would snap taut about Astarion so fast when he became overcome by desire. This yearning squeeze was the signal of victory for Astarion every time. He'd won. Rorik was his. He'd pushed him to the-

Rorik broke from the embrace of their lips and turned his face away, sucking down two great breaths between his words “Solan's tits… Astarion?... Astarion, Wait.”

Rorik's arms loosened from him, then carefully lifted away. He put them at his sides and flattened his hands against the reed mat in a calculated manner. Astarion's command over the situation had slipped away. He could feel warm breath heating his cheek and sense eyes trying to find his own. Astarion didn't meet the other's gaze, he couldn't because he didn't want to see Rorik's bloody concern. It was worse than the most depraved leer.

“What? Darling, you're souring the mood. Wouldn't you rather…” Astarion tried to put them back on course by laying a perfectly placed kiss at the space just under Rorik's right ear.

Predictably, the man shivered at that delicate affection and his hands clapped over Astarion's thighs to apply their crushing squeeze of approval. Gods, you're easy. Right back on the road, like recalling a loyal mutt gone sniffing too far ahea-

The thought nauseated him the moment it completed itself in his head, comparing Rorik to an animal to be commanded. The revulsion turning his stomach gave him pause, stopping him dead in the middle of suckling a decadently soft earlobe between his lips to hiss mournfully.

Rorik's hands pressed over the mound of each shoulder. He pushed slowly, putting space between them. Chaos erupted within Astarion like a crowd of men shouting over one another.

No! Not yet… Gods, thank you… Don't leave!?

Astarion was made to sit up with Rorik as he rose from the mat. He was then seated in the paladin's lap, but there was nothing titillating about it. Rorik's eyes bore through him like drill heads. His stare made Astarion feel naked when they were like that, stripped, but not erotically. He just saw him. Through him. Into him. He used to hate that and it still unnerved him, being seen.

“Astarion, let's talk about this first,” He spoke much too softly, like addressing a sniffling child. It made Astarion feel infantile.

“Talk? Why? Don't you want to forget where we are? For just a moment?” Astarion pivoted, sliding a palm over Rorik's cheek to hook his fingers over the back of his neck, bringing him close again.

If he kissed and nibbled just right, between the scars, Rorik would offer a feed. Bastard loved pain. Probably needed it to get off at this point. A bite would put a stop to this nonsense, all Astarion needed was permission. It was time to bring a sword to a knife fight.

“Ast-... Oh my….- wait, wait! No.” Rorik forced his hands between them again to put a foot of distance between his neck and Astarion's fangs.

Gods damn it. Astarion's stomach twisted, but not out of hunger, at the word no. A word he barely knew how to use. He couldn't ignore it. Rorik had refused him. He had to stop.

“Astarion, I don't-... I want to be told what you want. I don't want to guess. We agreed not to, I want to be sure this is really what you want.” Rorik told him, again too gently, and let his hands settle at either side of the other's waist.

“I would have thought I seemed damn sure of what I wanted eight seconds ago, but I'm starting to think you've gone and robbed me of even that!” Astarion swatted at Rorik's hands to banish them from his body and spat bitterly before he could think better of it.

He’d lost at his own game, all because he couldn't hold his disgust at bay anymore. Rorik must have sniffed it out. Bastard had ruined him. Taken away the one thing he truly was good at. Or good for.

Rorik said nothing and only looked at him, brows pinching and turning upward just as his eyes revealed his exhaustion. Astarion had to look away. It hurt. It was fucking agony to be looked at that way and see how lost Rorik appeared on what to do or say.

I'm projecting. Fuck.

No, Rorik knew exactly what he wanted to do. He'd wanted clarification on what Astarion wanted and expected and asked. Astarion on the other hand…

“I-... I don't know what I'm trying to do.” Astarion lied and told the truth at the same time. Felt disgusting, hiding intentions but admitting uncertainty in the same breath.

“What do you not want to do?” Rorik asked, but Astarion wasn't sure what to make of the phrasing.

Ah! Yes, a reference toward Astarion's lurid tendencies. Yes, he used to pretend to “want” just about anything to hook a mark and gain their implicit trust. Astarion's palm struck Rorik, albeit not as hard as he deserved, upon the cheek and jaw to shove him away. Bastard's hands clenched in his shirt on reflex, making escape more difficult than it should be. “The hells is that supposed to mean? Do I have to spell it out for you again?! I played the role of a prostitute. It was all lies and-”

“No no! I meant that: Sometimes it's easier to know what you don't want.” Rorik barely restrained a bellow as he rushed the words past the hand which muffled him. He continued, more mindful of his voice. “Which is. I don't know… Something to go on.”

Gods, Astarion loathed to do it, to let go of the misfired anger, but the wisdom Rorik spoke was sufficient. He felt foolish for the misunderstanding, too, and he burned with renewed anger and irritability. He knew one thing he didn't want, and it left him feeling that he appeared inordinately needy as he dropped his hands into his lap uselessly.

“I don't want to be alone… Tonight I mean. I don't want to be alone tonight.” Astarion admitted part of the problem, painfully.

“And I am happy to resolve that. Anything else you don't want?”

Astarion was reassured, a little. Trying to think about what he wanted was, indeed, fucking impossible. He was too shameful to admit that he was trying to pick up where he left off seducing Rorik for fear he would one day leave him in the absence of sex. Astarion tried to figure out how to tell enough of the truth not to hate himself.

“I don't want to… I don't want to hate it. Sleeping with you. I don't want sex. But I want it.” Astarion gripped Rorik's shoulders tightly and mimed jerking him close, but his eyes soon had to crush shut to hold back tears. “...But I can't. The thoughts, the loathing. It comes when I used to be able to just. Put myself away and do what I came to do.”

Rorik's hands covered the back of Astarion's fingers where they pressed red marks into his shoulders, pulling them down to be held tightly between their bodies. Thumbs stroked over his knuckles so tenderly. It was far more than Astarion felt he deserved.

Rorik kept his eyes on their entwined hands. “I understand, I think.”

“I don't… Want to treat you like a victim. But I don't want you to..-” he lost his words in his throat.

Rorik lifted Astarion's left hand to his lips, as he so often did. He was starting to wonder if the man had a hand fetish. “You can tell me anything, I swear that I'll try to understand. What don't you want me to do?”

Why are you good to me?

“I just. Don't want you to leave… Tonight.” Astarion wasn't ready to tell Rorik that he was waiting for him to wake up one morning jaded and too exhausted from this game to carry on playing it.

lips pressed to the inside of Astarion's wrist. “Then you have me until Sol calls me to prayer, and then you'll have me again if you wish it. And you may do, or not do, whatever you like with me... And changing your mind is perfectly legal."

That made Astarion's chest tight. Bastard was getting too good at quelling the storms in Astarion's head. It scared him, the possibility that Rorik could use that new talent to manipulate just as he'd been manipulated. Drag along the carrot of innocent affections. But, to gain what? Rorik had offered it countless times with almost no gain. He just didn't seem work the way Astarion did.

I don't deserve this.

At least, for now, Astarion knew what he wanted after a moment more watching Rorik tenderly worship his hand with a savage mouth. He longed for more of that specifically.

“Would you let me kiss you?” He parroted, then added after another moment of careful thought, “...I want that. With certainty. I want to kiss you until our lips bruise, actually,”

Rorik smiled in Astarion's favorite way. His head tipped to one side while a silent laugh left him through a grin which pressed his eyes closed.

“I could gladly piss away the whole night with that if you let me, you should be careful what you wish for,”

“Oh? You're dealing with a professional. I doubt you'd last ten minutes.” Astarion goaded.

“Sounds like grounds for a bet. Loser has to be the big spoon.” Rorik taunted back.

“Done,”

Arms clenched tight under Astarion's weight, scooping him under the rump to smash him close. Rorik slotted his face under Astarion's chin for a kiss at the join of his clavicle.

“Cheeky,”

“You never specified where I was to kiss you, care to offer further instruction?” Rorik murmured into his skin.

Smart bastard, “You're tricking me into setting boundaries again, aren't you?”

“Yep,” was Rorik's shameless, one syllable admission of guilt.

“Fine, nothing below the neck.”

“And not my ears, please.” Rorik added.

“... Because that gets you-”

“Unreasonably hot, yes.”

A kiss brushed under Astarion's left jaw as Rorik's arms relaxed to let him sink again. It made him shiver.

“So, we have an accord?” Astarion had to beg one more assurance just because he knew he'd be given it freely.

Lips pressed dryly over his own before he got his answer. “Yes,” he heard right before another peck landed right between his eyes, followed by a chuckle.

“This isn't exactly what I had in mind.” Astarion complained softly, unsure what to do with the squirmy, restless feeling in his core. Rorik was being too endearing. That's what got them into this mess. Fucker kept making him feel- well…. Making him feel.

“Then, I will require another round of your instruction on how, precisely, Mr. Ancunin wishes to be kissed?”

“Gladly.” Astarion promised.

[a-driftamongopenstars]

in the after hour; inquisitor x blackwall ficlet

needed to write my beloved Sylani Lavellan and Blackwall together again, so here's a little ficlet after the events of the Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts :) a lot of guilt, some romance, some tension. the good stuff! also on ao3

It is strange that the night goes on after history has been made. Just some hours ago, Blackwall watched the Inquisitor prevent a coup and end a civil war in Orlais. She stood there, facing down the nobility, terrifying and bold. With her resolve and quiet fury, the night should have stopped in its tracks. The moons should have shone high and bright for as long as she wished for it. If she could order about an Empress, surely she could command nature itself. 

Yet, the clocks are ticking and the stars are gleaming and the moons hurry away behind the clouds. 

In the quarters assigned to the Inquisition, servants move around near invisible. There is weariness in the air, the smell of rich sweet wine. Cullen has long left for his room. Leliana is upholding Josephine by her arm. Poor Lady Ambassador is in no state at all, sputtering between amazement and frustration at all the work that is to be done tomorrow, and the day after, and more. The Inquisition has yet again meddled in all things political, exercising its will. 

“You don't need to do anything right now, Josie,” Leliana reassures her, guiding her away.

Dorian is quietly sipping a small mug of hot wine by one of the fireplaces, Vivienne beside him, joined in a quiet conversation. 

Inquisitor sits alone by another fireplace, her chin resting in her hands. Warm light flickers over her, highlighting the tiredness that set into her bones and skin. Her black hair is flowing down her shoulders, an elaborate updo undone, tiny red gems still flickering, woven in. 

“My Lady?” he asks, approaching, and she moves to make space on a cushioned bench. The folds and skirts of her dress whisper softly against the plush of the seat. Her lips turn into a warm smile of welcome, all for him, a rare sight for any other. 

“I can't decide if going to sleep is worth it anymore. It's almost sunrise.”

“You've done the impossible today. I think it has earned you a sleep in, at the very least.”

Sylani smiles and lets out a small sigh. 

“The impossible, huh.”

She gives the room a quick glance before leaning closer. Blackwall cannot help but admire the shine of her big eyes as she looks at him. His heart fills with quiet joy and yearning. If only the Winter Palace did not have eyes in every wall and corner, if only those walls did not listen. He would have kissed her. He would have made a beautiful mess of her red lips. Some part of him still wants to do it, caring little for those eyes in the walls.

“Speaking of the impossible… You've never told me. About the Silverite Wings of Valor.”

Blackwall feels a whiplash of warmth against his cheeks and coldness creeping up his spine. A sensation all too familiar. 

“I can only imagine the story behind that,” she adds. Staring up at him, admiration and awe in perfect mixture. She wants to know, she wants to drop the walls he built around himself, to get to the core of him. She wants to share in his bravery, to be proud of him.

If only she knew how close she was to making it happen. But sometimes even the most appetising fruit has a rotten core.

Blackwall takes her hands in his, her delicate calloused fingers looking so beautiful against his crude scarred palm. 

“A tale for another time, my Lady. It is not prudent to celebrate my victories when yours take precedent.”

He brings her hand to his lips, hating himself with every fibre of his being. Another lie. Another stone upon his consciousness, threatening to cause a landslide should it all come to light. When. 

Sylani’s free palm rests against his cheek. It's warm, divine and holy. He kisses it where the anchor rests, judging him by Andraste’s mercy. 

“Will you join me?” she whispers, her lips barely moving. “In my rooms?”

Oh the sweet tantalising dream. To have her in the heart of the Empire he used to kill for. To have her, loving and making love to her. To protect her from anything that would disturb her sleep. To be the man she deserves. 

To simply be with her. 

“Are we to become the talk of the Winter Palace, my Lady? That is one certain way to make it happen,” he chuckles.

Sylani returns a soft laugh. 

“I think they have enough to discuss after tonight. But very well. Come watch the sunrise with me, at least?”

She is not letting go of his hand, curling hers over his fingers. There is strength in her and resolve. The steel he has in his sword, but not in his spine.

“That I can do, my Lady.”

He presses his lips to her hand once again, eyes closed.

[munsonfamilyband]

This was just a random thought I had while I’m still trying to figure out how to finish my Valentine’s Day Ficlet

—————

After finding Eddie nearly dead and limp in Dustin’s arms, Steve managed to carry him out and through the gate. Nancy found his keys in the trailer and the five of them climbed into Eddie’s van, with Steve supporting him in the back. When they came to a squealing stop in the hospital parking lot, they all burst out and Steve ran inside with Eddie’s body in his arms still. He was quickly taken away and they were stuck in the waiting room.

The four of them were sitting in chairs, Robin leaned against Steve’s shoulder and she could feel him getting more and more relaxed, which seemed like a good thing before he spoke up.

“Robbie, I think-I think I’m gonna….p’ss out….” Before she could even respond he was going fully limp and half sliding out of his chair. They screamed for help and then it was just Robin, Nancy, and Dustin in the waiting room.

~~

Steve woke up to soft voices that he didn’t recognize, pain radiating from his sides and a too light blanket covering his legs. He forced his eyes open and saw three people he vaguely recognized sitting in chairs around another bed and made eye contact with the black guy sitting at the foot of the bed. The guy startled and turned back to the other guys.

“Oh shit, Harrington’s awake. Should I, like, go get someone or-“

“Eddie…?” Steve croaked out, his voice raw and he saw all three of them suddenly turned to face him with varying degrees of anger on their faces.

“Why the fuck do you want to know about Eddie? You’re probably the reason he’s here in the first place—!” The shorter one with big hair had stood and was stepping toward him when the third guy put a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Dude, pull back the third degree. He’s in a hospital bed right now. Jeff, go get a nurse or something.” The black guy nodded and stood up before leaving the room. The shorter guy gave Steve one last nasty look before he collapsed back in his chair.

If Steve’s throat wasn’t so sore he would have said something, but even swallowing felt like knives in his throat. It felt like the silence in the room stretched on for ages before the door opened back up. He got a glimpse of the black guy, Jeff he heard one of the guys say, and a nurse before long limbs and blonde hair were in his face and Steve gave a weak smile.

“Rob…” He tried to lift his hand up to touch her, needing to know she’s real but he found he was too weak to manage getting his hand up more than a couple inches. Thankfully, she saw him move and swooped in to grab his hand in both of hers.

“I am so mad at you right now, and if you weren’t in a hospital bed actively dealing with an infection, I would have already hit you. What sort of warning is ‘I’m gonna pass out’, Steve? And why did you decide it was a good idea to carry a human person while you were injured the way you were, huh?” He could see that she had been crying, and was fighting back tears at that moment as well, so he gave her a weak smile.

“No one else could lift him…is he-did he…”

“He’s fine, he’s literally in this room, Dingus, did no one-“ She cut herself off and turned to face the guys who had apparently been watching them the whole time. “Did he ask about Eddie?”

The short guy from earlier scoffed, “yeah, and I told him he had no right-“

“No right?! Who do you think brought him here, asshole?! Steve literally carried him here while also injured!” That seemed to get all three of the boys to freeze, looking between Steve and Robin. Robin just rolled her eyes and looked back at Steve, her anger immediately melting away. “Eddie’s fine. They think he’s gonna be out for another day or so just from the blood loss, but then again, they also said you weren’t going to wake up until tomorrow and-“

“Miss Buckley, if you wouldn’t mind stepping back, I really should be checking over Mr. Harrington’s injuries.” Robin’s eyes snapped over to the nurse and seemed to remember where they were, quickly stepping back.

“I am so sorry, I was just so glad he’s okay, I totally forgot he needed to be looked at.” The nurse gave her a gentle smile as she walked over to read Steve’s vitals on the screen next to the bed.

“It’s alright, you aren’t the first person to get in the way of a nurse out of relief that your loved one is okay.” She wrote down the information on Steve’s chart and turned to face him. “How are you feeling? In any pain?”

Steve managed a nod, swallowing thickly before he could speak. “My sides are really painful, and my throat hurts.”

“Well I can definitely fix that.” The nurse walked over to a tray that Steve hadn’t noticed and grabbed a syringe. The whole room listened to his heart monitor start beating faster as he watched her get closer, Robin sliding a chair up to the other side of his bed and grabbing his hand. “It’s alright, I’m just adding this to your IV bag, needle won’t go anywhere near you.” Steve felt his muscles relax but his heartbeat didn’t start to slow down until the nurse was putting the needle back on the tray. “There, some more pain killers should help with the pain in your sides. You already have plenty of antibiotics in your system but I’ll be back later to give you more of those. I’m going to go get you some ice chips to suck on, which should help with the sore throat.” Steve had already closed his eyes so he just nodded, and he heard Robin say something but he wasn’t paying enough attention to make out what she said.

The next time he woke up, there were more voices in the room, some he recognized and some he didn’t - though somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he had heard them recently. Unfortunately for him, when he tried to open his eyes every fiber of his being resisted and all that happened was he groaned. The voices all stopped at once, and then the whispering started.

“Do you think he’s awake?”

“Maybe, I don’t know if he’s made that sound while sleeping before.”

“He definitely hasn’t, but his eyes are still shut-“

“He could just be in pain-“

“If he’s asleep, you all bickering will certainly wake him up.”

“Hey! We’re just worried, okay? And just because you guys stole Dustin-“

“We didn’t steal Dustin, he came over here on his own.”

“Because you guys kept glaring at us-“

Steve finally gathered enough strength to speak, having had enough of the fighting that had just started, “would you all please shut up?” This did not work, and Steve asked himself why he thought it ever would, as multiple voices started shouting his name in excitement. Squinting one of his eyes open he saw Erica and Robin, and surprisingly, El, Mike, and Will all staring back at him. Immediately, Steve noticed people were missing, some of his kids were missing. “Were’s the rest of you?” He saw Erica glare over at the other side of the room - Steve couldn’t see what she was looking at, but he assumed there were people.

“Dustin’s been stolen, and they are refusing to wake him up so that he can see that his god damn-“

“Erica….”

“Shut up, hair boy. They won’t wake him up to see that you’re awake, just because they’re mad that Eddie isn’t-“

“Eddie? He’s okay?” Robin grabbed his hand, sitting down on the bed next to his leg.

“We talked about this yesterday, do you remember? You woke up and asked where he was, if he was okay. I told you he was fine, just out because of the blood loss.” Steve frowned, trying to remember but it was all so blurry.

“Oh…okay. Good, that’s…. Good. So, Dustin is… with Eddie?” He looked at Robin for confirmation before he kept talking. “Okay, that’s okay. Where…..is Max-did she?”

“I won’t lie to you, Dingus. She’s hurt, pretty badly. But she’s alive, and she’s been awake for a couple hours since coming out of anesthesia for her surgery. Lucas is with her, which is why they’re missing. But they’re both okay, Max is going to need a lot of help but she’s okay.” Steve just nodded, and he was so glad Robin knew him as well as she did, because she wiped away the tears that started falling so he didn’t have to. Just then, there was the sound of coughing from the other side of the curtain and Mike was running over to the other side of the room, only disappearing for a second before skidding back to their side.

“He’s waking up!” Robin stood quickly, still holding Steve’s hand.

“Then pull back the curtain, idiot! And go get everyone else!” El decided to go get the others apparently, as she gave Steve’s leg a gentle squeeze before leaving the room. Mike quickly rolled the curtain back and Robin helped Steve sit his bed up so he could look over at the other side of the room. There was someone standing in the way though, and by his posture you could tell it was intentional. “Gareth, I swear to god, if you do not move so Steve can see if Eddie is alive I will put a whole pack of chewed gum in your hair.” Surprisingly, that got him to move, albeit with some annoyed grumbling, and suddenly Steve could see Eddie for the first time since he got them to the hospital. He was curling into himself as he coughed, bandages covering his torso and parts of his arms, and his hair had been pulled back at some point into a bun-type thing.

Tension Steve hadn’t even been aware of melted away and he leaned more fully into his pillows upon seeing Eddie breathing and alive. When he finally stopped coughing, Eddie opened his eyes and gave a weak grin to the guys by his bed, including Dustin.

“Hey, guys, how’s it been?” They all started shouting at him, but the grin never left his face as he started looking around the room. That is, until he made eye contact with Steve. Steve knew he was smiling dreamily (Robin was going to make fun of him so much later) but seeing Eddie pause and then give him a soft smile in return made everything feel warm in Steve’s chest.

They were beaten and bloodied and Vecna wasn’t even dead, but Steve had a feeling they would be okay.

[quaranmine]

I enjoy making and analyzing timeliness. So I think, after I'm finished with Evergreens, I'm going to reread TIOADL and the rest of your FWAU ficlets as well as all the (non-crackfic) recursives and make one giant "fireverse" timeline. I promise you that this is my idea of fun.

BTW, ch 3 is basically finished, I just keep finding something to tweak every time I reread it, so I'm going to sit on it for another day at least.

Oh I would LOVE this!!! Obviously please share when you're done! It would probably help me too honestly. I did a good job at keeping things straight while writing the main fic, but now that it's complete and I'm no longer working on it daily, I have to double check things to keep my continuity straight.

I'm actually really watching your fic and especially @crazypercheron's work and trying not to intentionally contradict y'all with anything I add later! So for example I'd take your use of Bdubs as a ranger into account before attempting to introduce him anywhere in Alpenglow doing something else. Or I'm taking note of Scar's journal entries in IWGttEoB so that it harmonizes with one of the Alpenglow scenes set during the time skip. I really appreciate all the recursive works <333

Looking forward to your chapter 3! I'll probably reply to your review response tomorrow too in AO3....also at work

[alectoperdita]

20 questions writer meme.

Thanks to @heyholmesletsgo for tagging me <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

178 (one is a podfic)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,761,591 words

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I'm mainly in YGO only now, but in the past, have written for Lucifer, Sherlock, Gundam Build Fighters, Sailor Moon, and a few other random fandoms

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The sum of our choices (Lucifer post-S3 canon-divergent AU)

Side Deck (YGO post-canon kaijou)

obvious things observed by nobody (also part of the same post-S3 Lucifer AU)

Confirmation Bias (Sherlock, post-Reichenbach Johnlock)

The tomorrows we'll never have (YGO Battle City canon-divergent AU with hints of kaijou and Priest Set/Jounouchi)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yeah, I usually try to. I've definitely fallen behind in the last few months, though. I'm sorry. I try to tackle it when I have energy, but it's a rare commodity and I use it to write usually.

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

These are more open endings than specifically sad/tragic endings, but they could end up there because they're open. It's a toss-up between Chilled to my bone and the recent ficlet where Jounouchi was kidnapped by Hirutani.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of them are fairly happy because I tend toward happy endings. But I can't really think of which is the happiest?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Somehow in the last two years, I morphed into being a majority smut writer. I'm still in the experimental phase, trying to write different kinds of kinks/tropes, but I feel more practiced at it compared to when I started. Overall, my preference is to try and use smut as a way to advance character/relationship development.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Yes. It's maybe not crazy per se, but some of them may feel discordant(?) in their source materials. Like I find it amusing to write crossovers between animes and Western live-action properties.

We do ourselves no favors is a Lucifer/YGO crossover casefic.

Going forth by day is an unfinished Sherlock/YGO crossover casefic.

Said the spider to the fly is a Sherlock/xxxHOLIC crossover ficlet.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not yet.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Sorta? The Horny Cinderella Incident was an idea workshopped between wahwahwashbear and myself. I wrote the prose for the

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Kaiba and Jounouchi forever 😍

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I try not to give up on WIPs, as it may take a few years but I eventually get back to them. But if I'm honest with myself, I'm probably never going to finish he lit a fire with icicles 😔.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hmm... perhaps the smaller gestures characters might make that hint at their feelings?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue, especially in a way that distinguishes between characters via appropriate voice/cadence is something I generally struggle with. I also tend to be verbose even in dialogue, which means they require a lot of editing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Unless the point is for the reader to also not understand the dialogue, I prefer to not do that.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Sailor Moon

20. Favorite fic you've written?

It changes every once in a while but right now it might be Lure. 😈

Tagging @leechysmile, @arien-elensar, @worldendercharles, @chazz-is-a-zelda-fan, @bdeblueyes, @unfriendlyamazon, @kaijous, and any other writers that want to do this one. <3

(Give me permission to tag you on games here.)

[phoebe-delia]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love! 💙

Thank you friend!! @sugareey-makes-stuff this made me smile. I’m going to open this up to any writer who sees this and hasn’t done it in a while! Tag me, I wanna see!

this is me trying (T, 12k) is still my favorite thing I’ve ever written. It makes me proud and simultaneously fills me with doubt that I’ll ever write something as good ever again 😂

Goodnight, and Have a Pleasant Tomorrow (T, 1k) was both very hard and very fun to write. I wrote it for LCDrarry and it’s a Saturday Night Live AU with Drarry as Weekend Update hosts. I wrote all the jokes myself based on real news articles—just like they do on the real Weekend Update. I’m still very happy with how it turned out.

Stars By the Pocketful (T, 2k) is my Wireless this year. My brain was not very nice to me during the writing process or even after it was posted. I’m better now, and I’ve come to really like this fic in retrospect. And I’m proud that I pushed through and ended up with this. So as an exercise in being kind to myself, I'm including it here lol.

Just Between Us (T, 13k) was my first Wireless fic (it's from last year). I'm very proud of it because I challenged myself with the plot a bit. And it's the longest thing I've written so far. I put SO much pressure on myself with this fic because it's based on my favorite Taylor Swift song and I knew I'd kick myself if it wasn't as good as I could make it. It's also the first fic of mine to be translated into another language! Someone translated it into Russian!

I Knew You (T, three chapters add up to 1.5k) oh this fic, my beloved. I had a blast writing it and I'm very proud of how it turned out. It's based on three Taylor Swift songs that she wrote as part of a trilogy: "august," "cardigan" and "betty," with one ficlet for each song. This little series has a few of my favorite lines I've written.

Thanks so much again for the ask!!

[generalluxun]

Fanfic Author 20 Questions

Thanks to @erisluna35 for sending this along! 1. How many works do you have on AO3?

On AO3? Right now 63, soon to be 64(tomorrow probably) and a couple on FF.net

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,020,860 on AO3 plus another ~86K fic I never ported over to AO3, as my 'recent' stuff, starting back in 2021

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Miraculous Ladybug, I did others a long time ago before joining AO3, but that was a long time ago. I've considered a couple others recently too, but nothing yet.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

At The Gala- A Chlonette fic inspired by fanart, and actually the sequel to my #2 by Kudos. This is just a cute series of strange interactions with Chloe from Marinette's PoV, culminating in understanding and discovery on a fated evening.

Slippery slope- Little Chlonette ficlet inspired by a fanart. Very short, it's about how a single unexpected moment can change someone's entire world.

Ever After- A long chapter fic set more than a decade post-canon that looks into the idea that 'Ever After' can be a long time, and that expecting life to be solved at 14 is a recipe for eventual disaster. Yet at the same time life continues to offer new experiences, new possibilities, and new ways to grow. Ships include Adrienette, Chloadrien, and Felinette.

Showing Love- An alternate ending to Queen Wasp, where instead of reuniting Chloé with her horrible mother by highlighting everything horrible about her (seriously, what?) Marinette comes face to face with the reality that a mother really *can* not love a child. Being Marinette she can't let such a thing stand, even if it is Chloé. Marinette&Dupain-Cheng family goodness.

What Do you See?- Adrigami fic that kicks off right in the middle of Kuro Neko. While Adrien is struggling with the pain of giving up Cat Noir, one thing crosses his mind. He can finally give one important person the truth she deserves. After all, he *Was* Cat Noir, not *is*. The two both struggle to navigate the ramifications of this revelation, especially when Plagg shows up once more with the ring. (there's a little bit of eventual Lukanette)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to respond to most, especially any questions or curiosities. I love engagement.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh heck this is so not fair. I am in love with bittersweet ending, and have a couple of doozies.

I can't decide between three.

What Happened- The 'real reason' Chloé Bourgeois's redemption arc failed. What do you di when you do everything right, only to find out your happiness causes the end of the world, in every timeline?

A Modest Proposal- Marinette is happily impatient for Adrien to finally propose to her. Little does she know, a secret long kept is going to come back to haunt her. It's worse than you think.

The Risk Outweighs- A look into someone else's life during the episode 'Risk'. The courage to do anything finally gives Chloé the strength to break from the cycle. But the Ladybugs must set things right, and a few moments of clarity weigh nothing against a lifetime.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Again, lots with happy endings, though I prefer 'open' endings, so...hmmm

Cafe Noir- has an unambiguously happy ending, but I specifically set out to write a romcom so that feels like cheating.

Dog Daze- probably has the most comprehensively happy ending, Adrien's dad even managed to try to parent. They do go through a lot on the way to the happy ending though.

In Direct Opposition- My latest work, seems to end on a solidly happy note for all involved.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Ever After drew some upset people that expected their OTP to be the main ship. I never tried to deceive anyone, but a few people were just really upset.

I also had this weird thing where someone thought I was someone else, and stalked my comments for a while. That's why I use moderation now.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I've done M rated fics. I'm not sure 'smut' works for them, even if there's lots of sex narratively, it's usually mentioned rather than being detailed. I did one single 'this will be a smut fic' fic. And even that ended up with like, 5K words mostly plot, and about 2 paragraphs of (I think emotional and important) sex.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nah, I've never had the crossover itch. I generally find each world intriguing enough on their own.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of...

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yep! I had someone ask if they could translate one of my fics to Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. Talked about it before, but never went through with it. Not against the idea. I do a lot of rubber ducking for my friends though, so some of my ideas can end up in their finished fics.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I'm going ot have to go with adribrina, my goobers. I like exploring all kinds of ships, and these two I threw together on a whim but Oh, they're so comfy! I wrote Puppy Love to see how they would work, and then that evolved into Dog Daze, my Largest work to date. I had *intended* for them to amicably break up and Sabrina to be a wing-woman to Adrien in the canon ship of Adrienette.... but they just did not want to break up. Even if they wouldn't admit they were dating, they were just too *comfy* together. These two make me happy. (Marinette ended up okay though, she's happy!)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

A third fic in my Senti-Sentai AU. 'Worlds Collide'. It was set in 'vague eastern Europe country in the middle of violent conflict' and then that suddenly got too real, too quickly.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Character voice. I write third person limited, and I've been told many times that I do a very good job of writing characters as their canonical selves, just in different situations that bring about different outcomes or changes in them. I consider that a high compliment, because the characters are what I am here for.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Brevity. Even simplistic plots 'enemies to friends road trip' become detailed 'Marinette manipulates Chloé into chasing Adien and Lila across the globe to prevent Lila from wheedling an arranged Marriage out of Gabriel' and then that blossoms into a 98K fic.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I feel like my last of understanding grammar and colloquialisms for another language would have me sounding like bad google translate. Singular words used? Viable.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

SWATKats. My first ever fanfic was a 30K fic about that show.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

They are all my babies! This is so not fair. I've spoken about some of my favorites earlier though, so I'll use this spot to mention some other ones :)

He's Perfect- Gothic Horror Adrienette! It even has a sequel and an entire AU in my head if I can circle back.

The Orphan and the Marionette- Written to feel like one of Grimm's fairy tales. Chlonette(kind of) with a heavy dose of magic and a surprise appearance from Marianne.

There are so many more but I'll plug Dog Daze again, because I to like how it flows and the alternate S5 we get from it. It also inspired a raft of 'post story' one shots, and I have another chapter fic waiting in the wings to continue the AU. There's plenty of stories to tell here.

@taketwoinink Tag, if you would like to play.

[misc-obeyme]

Wow my masterlist really needs work, but at least all the new writing is on there now! Including the stuff from the Cozy Comforts event, which is now ended! Thank you to everyone who submitted a request for that event!

Since it's Arsenios's birthday tomorrow, I'm reworking his profile post so it's a little more organized. I realized I have barely posted any writing for him at all lol. It's like four chapters from Threads, two drabbles, and two headcanons that he was included in.

That's more than I can say for Ciaran, though, for whom I have not posted any writing at all.

It's weird because I have written a TON for both of these characters, I just haven't been posting it. And I didn't realize how much I haven't been posting it until I made a masterlist lol.

Anyway, I think I'll post a preview of Arrie's story tomorrow. I've been working on it for months now, so I might as well give you a snippet. I might also do another little drabble or ficlet for him.

I'm also reworking the entire OC/MC section of the masterlist. Since Arrie's story has led to the creation of like six new OCs oops. And Ciaran's story has three OCs, too. I'm making a masterpost so they can all be on there together. I'll make more detailed profiles for all of them at some point, but you know one thing at a time.

I'm also going to start working on a Ciaran series, so if anyone is interested in that, it will be happening at some point.

I still need to add all the lesson recap posts I've done from the last season to the masterlist... I will get to it! For now, you can always find them under the tag #misc lesson recap.

I'm also going to rework my request rules. Yes, I will be opening them again, but it's going to look a little different from how I used to do them. More on that at a later time!

As always, I love you & thank you for reading!

[steddieas-shegoes]

If life doesn’t CHILL OUT!!!

I promise you, I will be so annoying with posts very soon, but for now I’m so busy pre-writing a lot of stuff (mechanic single dad Eddie, birthday ficlets, @steddieholidaydrabbles, a server holiday exchange fic, planning other events starting next year 👀) that I haven’t been able to focus enough on one thing to actually post stuff.

Also, just, life! I drastically underestimated how fucking exhausting the hockey schedule would be (and all the social activities that come with it like a birthday party for a kid today and another one tomorrow), we’re launching a new product at work so I’m at a point where I’m working through my lunch often and rarely have any downtime, my classes are all 400 level so they involve a lot of writing (and they aren’t bad! They’re just much more time consuming), plus the always busier schedule that comes when we reach the beginning of holiday season, AND I still make time to actually read fic because I can’t just spend ALL my free time writing.

I’m not stopping, just being forced to slow way down against my will. Here’s some upcoming posts:

10/27 - an 8300 word birthday ficlet (do not LOOK at me this was supposed to be no more than 3500 words and then I got the context disease)

10/28 - Halloween Drabble for @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up round 3

10/31 - birthday ficlet that’s not technically finished or edited RIP me

11/4 - birthday ficlet that’s still in the early stages but I might catch context disease again

11/18 - bakery au Drabble for @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up round 4

I will also be updating the mechanic single dad Eddie fic at some point over the next week and a half. I set myself a deadline to have that finished by Thanksgiving, which is still very possible, but I know I can’t hold myself to it right now.

[naoko-world]

Sooo tomorrow is Encanto fools day, launched by @hectic-hector and I decided to post something for the day!

Tomorrow I'll also post a fanart! But until now, here is a ficlet you can also find here on Ao3!

Fluff/attempt at humor/arguing/pranks

931 words

Couldn't find anyone to proofread it so it's not proofread.

Who did the prank?

Summary:

Mirabel got down the stairs to find Camilo surrounded by his parents, her parents, Isabela and their Abuela Alma. Feeling curious, she approached to hear him whining, “I did nothing! I swear!”

Another day was starting at Casa Madrigal. Mirabel got down the stairs to find Camilo surrounded by his parents, her parents, Isabela and their Abuela Alma. Feeling curious, she approached to hear him whining, “I did nothing! I swear!”

Julieta sighed, counterarguing with sadness, “It can hardly be anyone else though.”

“But I didn’t! I didn’t have time to do any of my April’s fools jokes!” Then, pouting a bit, he admitted, ”I wanted to hide the oil so you would have to look for it all around Casita! But, when I arrived, you were already pranked.” 

Julieta looked sceptical, but didn’t reply anything. She mused on it, locking eyes with the other Madrigals as if looking for their opinion. 

Mirabel felt so bad for Camilo! She knew he wouldn’t deny any of his pranks. The boy was always happy to let people know they had been pranked! In order to help him, she asked as she stopped just beside her cousin, “Can’t it be someone else?”

To which, Julieta replied with embarrassment, “He was the only one up when I came down to cook, and I noticed the switch right away.”

“I’m innocent!” insisted Camilo, keeping whining. 

While she was trying to find a way to help his cousin out of this situation, Félix noted with a thoughtful look, "It's possible it really wasn't him. He isn't the only naughty one in the family and some of us have distance gifts."

He pointed at Isabela to mean she was another possibility. As she followed his finger, Mirabel finally noticed her sister was busy removing googly eyes from the leaves on her dress, her face scrunched in frustration. Not bothering looking up at them, she brushed it off by claiming, "I would have loved to have done it, but I unfortunately didn’t think about it.”

"It's not me though!" argued Camilo. 

"And you’re not the one who put these things on my plants either, I guess?” she growled, finally looking at him with suspicion.

He denied, shocked, “No! Again, I didn’t have time to do any prank!” Then, doing his best to manage a smile, he remarked, “One of them could have been made by Tío Bruno! He proved he can be pretty sneaky when he wants to." 

Bruno arrived just at that moment, getting down the stairs with a confused look. WIth his messy hair, his tired eyes and his lack of energy, he looked like he just woke up. “Huh? What’s happening?”

“Bruno! Did you switch the salt and the sugar?” Pepa asked him bluntly. “Or put googly eyes on-”

“Someone switched the salt and the sugar?” he replied, suddenly worried. 

He started looking in his pockets, while Félix added, “I also woke up with a streak of my hair dyed.” He pointed at his head, which was bearing a red section of hair, before keeping going, glancing at Camilo, “I immediately thought it could be Isabela since she has her way to do so but it honestly could be someone else.”

“It’s not me either!” denied Camilo, clearly frustrated.

“And I didn’t dye it,” shrugged Isabela. “Could be Tía Pepa, she sleeps beside you.”

He turned to his wife at the argument, admitting, “Good point! Amor, did you-”

Pepa started to thunder, complaining, “What? No! You really think I’d use that position to prank you?” 

He joked, “Well, I wouldn’t mind if it had been you!” Then, turning to others with confusion, he asked, “Who is it then?”

Before any of them could reply anything, Bruno beat them to it by complaining, “Someone strapped weird hats on my rats’ heads.”

The rat he was holding was wearing a funny banana hat, which it was trying to remove by shaking its head. Bruno was helping it, glancing nervously at another one with a capybara head hat on his shoulder. Mirabel hurried to help him, though she was holding back a laugh. 

Sighing, Pepa revealed, "I've been pranked too anyway. Someone moved my dresser on the other side of my room. I thought it was you, Félix."

"Mi amor! I'm so happy you think I'm strong enough to do that alone," he laughed, genuine. Then, in a more curious tone, he asked, "Someone pranked you?"

She nodded. Then, she turned to Isabela. "Now that I think of it, your plants are strong enough to move them.”

“I did nothing!” claimed Isabela, before explaining with a sigh, “I wanted to wrap Mirabel’s room with wrapping paper but I hadn’t got time to do so.”

Between shock and laughter, Mirabel exclaimed, “You wanted to wrap my room?” 

“Yeah...It would have been so fun...” Isabela said, saddened. 

“Well, if it’s not you then who is it? Can’t be that many people who are strong enough for that.”

"Luisa would be," remarked Camilo.

 Mirabel saw her Abuela visibly worrying, before easing when Pepa discarded it. "No way! That girl would never prank anyone."

While the family kept arguing, accusing one another of the bad deed, Mirabel got closer to her to whisper, “Abuela, did Luisa do it?”

Alma nodded, confessing in a low voice, “We did it together, she and I.” 

Then, she put a finger on her lips to signal her to keep quiet. She seemed to have a lot of fun watching her family looking for the trickster. Mirabel couldn’t blame her for that! It was great to see her family actually communicating after all they went through. Why she decided to stay on the side, watching the scene with her abuela, both of them enjoying themselves watching their family arguing.