#but also yeah so this is a 6 page chapter summary for the fic and I’ve just started on chapter 2 and this will help a lot when

[daincrediblegg]

Nothing wrong with me

[seiya-starsniper]

Six Degrees of Separation - Ch 4 (Sandman x Dead Boy Detectives)

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland, Crystal Palace/Charles Rowland (DCU), Johanna Constantine/Jenny Green Rating: Teen & Up | Status: Incomplete | Chapters 4/6 | Words: 7.3K

Tags: POV Multiple, Hob Gadling gives live advice to a bunch of teenagers, while helping them solve cases, that's it that's the fic, also he maybe plays matchmaker for his hot mess bestie, fic starts out as crystal/charles and ends with charles/edwin, Mutual Pining, Slice of Life, Hob Gadling adopts the Dead Boy Detectives

Summary:

The Dead Boy Detectives run into a familiar pub while out on a case, and Crystal has to contend with an unfortunate event from her past. Hob Gadling wasn't planning on adopting three teenagers and a full grown woman, but stranger things have happened in his long centuries of life.

Tumblr Posts: Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

Read Chapter 4 below, or at the above link on AO3

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

“Jenny, can you help me with these boxes?” Hob calls out to the kitchen as his supplier finishes unloading their cargo from the delivery truck. It’s early, and only the two of them are at the Inn at present. Hob had told Jenny that she didn’t need to come in the mornings when she’d first started, but the former butcher had wandered in anyways on her first week, claiming she needed to do something with her jet lag or she’d go insane. 

Almost two months later, Jenny’s still on the morning shift most days and Hob’s grateful for it, honestly. Having run her own place back in the states means she’s efficient, and doesn’t take any nonsense when suppliers are late or trying to argue with him. She’s also great for commiserating with, whether it’s about customer service or really annoying supernatural occurrences. Like the poltergeist in her apartment that the boys had to exorcise the week before. 

When they’re done unloading everything, Hob stays back in the kitchen to put everything away, while Jenny gets ready for opening. There’s not usually a lot of people right at opening, except on Sundays, when all the hungover university students are craving brunch, so Hob’s not worried about leaving Jenny alone out there while he preps in the back. 

When he finally emerges a little after 1:00pm, right when the lunch rush starts to pick up, one of his newer regulars is chatting happily with Jenny, and he can tell by her body language that she seems utterly charmed by the American. 

“She seems nice,” Hob teases his newest employee later. “Pretty too.”

“Yeah I’m not—really into blondes,” Jenny replies, and something about the caginess in her voice tells Hob that there’s a story behind that. He’s not sure if it’s related to how she ended up with the Dead Boy Detective Agency or not, but he makes a note to ask Edwin about it later. He was coming by later to look at Hob’s tomes again to see if there was a spell in there that could help with their latest case.   

“Ah well, plenty of fish in the sea,” Hob says easily. “Especially when you go from living in a small town in America to great old London. How are you adjusting, by the way?”

Jenny happily accepts the subject change and takes the opportunity to complain about her flat. The boys had exorcised the poltergeist, but not before it had flung nearly all of her belongings about the entire place, and put a few holes she’d have to fix before her landlord noticed. Hob had offered to help her find a new place while the whole incident was occurring, but Jenny had been stubborn and refused to move. Still is refusing to move, in fact.

Godspeed to her, Hob thinks. Hopefully another ghost won’t move in.

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

“Niko attempted to play matchmaker with Jenny by arranging her to meet with her secret admirer,” Edwin tells him later that afternoon as he peruses the pages of one of Hob’s, or rather Mad Hettie’s, cursebreaker books. “Unfortunately, Maxine also revealed herself to be Jenny’s stalker, and when she saw that made Jenny uncomfortable, tried to kill her.”

“Oh bloody hell,” Hob says, nearly choking on his tea. “Yeah, I’d swear off dating for a while too.”

“Indeed,” Edwin says, flipping through the pages of a particularly heavy looking volume. “Relationships seem so much more…complicated in this day and age,” Edwin notes casually. Hob studies him for a moment, wondering if Edwin had come to talk to him about something that wasn’t quite related to his work.

“They are,” Hob agrees, taking another sip of his tea. “But there’s a lot more freedom too. You can choose who you love now, regardless of status, race, religion or…gender,” he adds, carefully studying Edwin’s face for some sort of reaction.

“Ah ha! Found it,” Edwin exclaims, either completely ignoring Hob’s comment, or too caught up in his discovery to notice what the immortal had said. He looks up at Hob and smiles. “Do you mind if I borrow this for our case? I promise to bring it back unharmed.”

“Go ahead,” Hob nods, waving casually. Edwin snaps the book shut and heads towards the door of Hob’s flat, then abruptly stops. Something tenses in the boy’s shoulders and Hob thinks he can guess what it is Edwin wants to ask him. 

“Mr Gadling?” Edwin asks, turning back around to face him.

“Hob,” Hob corrects him. “What is it? Did you need something else?”

“No I—this is a more—personal question, if you wouldn’t mind,” Edwin says, his tone now shy instead of confident like it had been moments before. 

“All right,” Hob says, shrugging and trying to look as non-threatening as possible. “What is it?”

Edwin’s face goes through a multitude of emotions before the boy finally seems to find the words he’s looking for.

“How long have you known your proclivities tended towards men as well as women?” Edwin asks, and the bluntness of the question causes Hob to choke on his biscuit. He coughs violently into his sleeve, which catches most of the small crumbs he manages to dislodge from his throat. When he looks up next, Edwin is staring curiously at him, arms wrapped around the book he’d decided to borrow, waiting for Hob to answer his question.

“Uhhhh…” Hob coughs again, then gulps down the rest of his tea, dislodging the last of the offending biscuit. “I guess since the 14th or 15th century?” he says uncertainly, flailing about as he tries to recall the first time he’d ever fancied a man. “I know when you were alive there was all this—” he gestures vaguely, “nonsense around homosexuality, but well—things weren’t always like that. So I guess I’ve known for. A while,” he finishes somewhat lamely.

Edwin sighs, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He looks like he wants to follow up on his question, but doesn’t seem to know how.

“Something you want to talk about?” Hob asks after a brief silence. Edwin sighs again, then steps back towards the living room, and Hob makes a mental note to make more tea for this longer conversation. 

“It was brought to my attention recently that I am in love with my best friend,” Edwin says, still as straightforward as ever. “But I assume you already knew that.”

Hob shrugs helplessly, not willing to confirm or deny his conversation with Charles. Edwin seems to understand the gesture immediately though. 

“I don’t require the details of your conversations with Charles,” Edwin follows up. “However, I suppose I am seeking some���commiseration. For a broken heart.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right spot,” Hob says with a soft smile. “I know a thing or two about unrequited love with your best friend and all that.”

Edwin tilts his head curiously. “You are speaking of your patron? Death’s brother?”

Hob chokes again, this time only on air.

“Why,” Hob groans, burying his face in his hands, “Does everyone seem to know this?!”

“I am a detective,” Edwin replies, deadpan. “However, you are also extremely obvious in your affections. Perhaps more so than Charles is about Crystal, and that is a feat, I assure you,” he adds, rolling his eyes.

Before Hob can retort that he is very much not obvious, and that Edwin himself is oblivious to just how affectionate Charles is about him, there’s a loud rapping at the front door, which causes both Hob and Edwin to jolt in surprise.

“Oy, Hobsie! Open up, I need your help with something!” a female voice yells from the other side of his door. Hob sighs, knowing the source of the voice all too well, and then reluctantly gets up from his comfortable position on the couch to answer the door.

Johanna Constantine strides in without so much as a hello, making a beeline straight for his study, but then stops suddenly, making direct eye contact with Edwin.

“Hobsie, don’t be alarmed but there’s a dead child in you flat right now,” Johanna says. “And it looks like he’s stealing one of your books.”

Edwin scoffs. “Excuse you, I am borrowing this tome, with permission, I may add.”

“Right,” Hob interjects before Johanna can get another word in. “Jo, this is Edwin, Edwin, this is Johanna Constantine,” he says gesturing between the two of them. “We’re all friends here, no one’s stealing anything.”

“Oh, a Constantine!” Edwin exclaims with delight. “How ever did you get involved with her?” he asks, turning to Hob.

“Long story, kid, but I don’t have time for that right now, I need some help with a case,” Johanna says. “Unless you’ve got any expertise on weird fish men who live in swamps and eat people.”

“Actually, I do,” Edwin says, much to the shock of both Johanna and Hob. “1974,” he adds, as if this explains everything. “I’m happy to help, and I’d love to pick your brain on an old cursed fountain pen, while we’re at it, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Johanna stares at Edwin for a moment, her eyes narrowing.

“You’re those ghost investigators or something, aren’t you?” she asks. “I’d heard of you, but I hadn't realized you were actual children.”

Edwin scoffs. “We are the Dead Boy Detectives, thank you very much, Miss Constantine,” he says. “Now would you like our help or not?”

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

A week later, Hob is questioning whether he should’ve introduced Johanna and Edwin as he hangs suspended above a supposedly haunted pond. 

“Are you sure this is safe?” Hob yells from his precarious position. 

“Don’t worry Hobsie!” Johanna yells back as she adjusts the rope to lower Hob closer to the pond. Hob swears he hears a weird growling coming from below the water’s surface. “This shouldn't be low enough to kill you, I think,” Johanna continues. “And anyways, if it is, you’ll just come back!”

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN I WANT TO DIE IN THE FIRST PLACE JO!” Hob shouts back. 

“Not to worry Mr Gadling!” Edwin pipes in. “Charles and I shall ensure your library is well guarded should you unexpectedly perish and we’ll help Jenny out the Inn. Crystal is also quite experienced at sneaking bodies out of hospitals.”

“That was one time!” Crystal exclaims indignantly.

“If you die, do I still get paid on Friday?” Jenny, who has inexplicably decided to tag along for this case, asks. “Or is there like, a 3-5 business day turnaround for resurrection?”

“You better still pay her, Hobsie!” Johanna chimes in, and Hob can see her grinning devilishly at his employee. “A girl’s gotta eat after all,” she adds with a wink towards her.

Terrible. These people were all terrible and he was going to have to die and start over with a new life. And he was going to find some new friends while he was at it too.

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

Hob doesn’t die, but he does lose a chunk of shoulder to what’s later revealed to be some half shark, half man monstrosity. At least the damage from that will be gone by tomorrow. Hopefully anyways. Even if Hob did have to cover it up, it certainly wouldn't take nearly as long to heal as a whole resurrection does.

“Jenny is romantically available, by the way,” Hob hears Edwin tell Johanna in a low voice once he's been let down and wrapped in five layers of bandages.

“Is she now?” Johanna asks, in a tone Hob knows is definitely interested. “And you’re so interested in my love life because—?” 

Edwin shrugs, and Hob catches the barest hint of a smile on his face. 

“I think you’d like each other,” is all he says, enigmatic as ever.

“Are you trying to play matchmaker to distract yourself from your own love life?” Hob asks Edwin later when the boy comes to return Hob’s book. “Because I can tell you from first hand experience it only makes you more sad when you do that.” 

Edwin hums. “It’s something Niko would’ve wanted to do,” he says. “She felt so bad after the whole thing with Maxine. But she’s no longer here, so I’ll have to do it in her memory. At least this time I can guarantee Miss Constantine is not a serial killer. The rest of her character though...I suppose she seems...pleasant?”

Hob howls with laughter. “Yeah okay, that’s fair. Need some help with your little scheme then?”

Edwin’s eyes dance with mischief and delight, and Hob’s painfully reminded of Robyn in that moment. He’s never had another child with anyone else besides Eleanor, not knowingly anyways. Being a father was far too painful when you would easily outlive your own child.

But Edwin was already dead, and would be around forever, just like Hob, so perhaps it was inevitable that Hob would love him like a son.

“Okay, so let me tell you what I know about Johanna—”

[offside-the-lines]

tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier | Ep 2. Winter

This is a completed series! Read Full Fic | 🧸 Series Cover Page/Masterlist 🧁 | 🎵 Playlist 🎶 << Previous Episode || Ep 2 || Next Episode >>

Chapter Summary: Tito injures his wrist in the first game of 2024, he’s out for 6-8 weeks and then his car breaks down. He thinks maybe he’s cursed. Evie becomes a shoulder to lean on. Barzy gets suspicious.

A/N: You can refer to cover page for the series summary, author's notes, tropes, general warnings and other fun tidbits. This series contains mature themes. Minors DNI. Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team.

Word count: 4.4k // 44.5k

Requests (open) | Masterlist & Who I Write For | Join My Taglist

I. Winter

Evie — December 31

In the past few days, her text chain with Tito has settled into a nice rhythm. At first, it was a couple of texts a day: when one of them saw a funny Instagram post or reel, they would send it to the other. 

Things changed on Friday when she broke her usual routine of curling up on her couch with a blanket and book and instead found herself watching Tito's game. Her book lay untouched in her lap as her eyes tracked number 91 across the ice. After the game, she stayed up later than she meant to, eagerly picking up her phone every time it vibrated with a new text from Tito.

So, she concluded, I watch hockey now.

Which is why Evie ends up being late for the New Year’s party that Kelsey had invited her to. She couldn’t bear to leave when she had planned to, watching as the score kept ratcheting up for the wrong team. Her stomach curled every time Tito’s frustrated face is shown. 

To Tito 🌞🏒: i’m sorry about the loss, tito. fucking sucks. i hope you’ll still try to enjoy your new year’s eve?

By the time she gets to the party, she’s glad she can slip in among the partygoers without much fuss; everyone’s already a little tipsy on champagne. She knows she keeps pulling out her phone to check her notifications, but she can only hope she doesn't seem too rude.

It’s almost 11:30 pm when her phone buzzes, and she’s surprised to see it’s an incoming call and not a text. She slips out to the balcony as she connects the call.

Tito’s voice comes through too loud, “Evie!”

She laughs, “Hi, Tito. You good?”

“Yeah, you said I should enjoy my New Year’s Eve, so I went out with some of the guys,” he says, his words slurring ever so slightly. Evie can hear the background noise dim through the phone as if he had also stepped outside.

“New Year’s Eve in Dallas; you living it up?”

He laughs, “Dickie’s taken us to some fancy bar he used to go to. There’s a bunch of the Stars guys here too. Not that I really want to see them right now,” he groans.

“God, yeah. I saw, I’m sorry. That was a rough way to end the year.”

“Yeah, well…” He clears his throat and tries to inject some levity into his voice, “I don’t want to think about that right now. We’re trying to have fun, right? What're you up to?”

“Kelsey— my coworker— she’s also friends with Leanne— she invited me to a party. I’m at someone’s penthouse apartment. I have no idea whose. It’s pretty cool, though— Great view. There’s a lot of people, actually.”

Tito whistles. “A lot of choices for a midnight kiss then, eh?”

“I guess?” she laughs. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not that much,” he says unconvincingly. Evie can picture him scrunching his face at his own blatant lie.

“Okay,” she laughs, “I’ll have to let you go back then. Get some more champagne in you.”

“Nah,” he whines a little. “No midnight kisses in there. Fuck! I’m going to be even more unlucky next year if I don’t get a kiss.”

It startles a laugh out of her. “Anthony, buddy, I don’t think that’s a thing,” she chuckles, shaking her head.

He hums and doesn’t say anything else.

“Are you making friends at least?” she asks.

“Eh… more like passing time. A party’s a party, right?” 

“Come on, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“They’re not!” he says a little too loud before repeating himself, “They’re not bad. That isn't what I meant. I just… I don’t know. I don’t really know if we’re friends, so much, just teammates.”

Evie softens. “Jason and Alandra were nice. They seemed to be trying to be your friend, at least. I bet he had to drag you out tonight.” 

“Yeah, he’s cool. It’s just—” He groans. “I think we’re both a little too drunk to try to figure out the difference between a buddy in the league who I’ll spend a couple of months playing with and will almost never talk to again and a friend.”

Leanne catches her eye through the glass and raises an eyebrow in question. Evie sends a small smile back. 

“It’s tough, Tito, to move around. I’m sorry this year has been so fucked for you as well.” She sighs. “Listen, I gotta get back inside. Leanne's making weird faces at me. And you should go back inside, too.”

She hears Tito suck in a shallow breath, voice once again full of false cheer, “Of course, of course. Shit, sorry for being a fucking downer. I promise I’ll go back inside and have a good time.”

“Have fun, dude. You’re a hot professional athlete at a fancy bar on New Year’s Eve. I think you’re not going to have any trouble finding someone to kiss at midnight.”

“You think I’m hot?” his voice genuinely lightens; she could hear the smile lighting up his face.

“Goodnight, Tito,” she laughs pointedly, “Happy New Year.”

She hears him finally let out another genuine laugh, a sound that warms her despite the cold Chicago air, “Happy New Year, Evie. I’m really glad we reconnected last week. It’s nice to have a friend in the city.”

And with that, they hang up, and she slips back into the throng of party-goers. She doesn’t get far before Leanne catches her elbow.

“What was that?” Leanne asks, handing over a new champagne glass.

“Oh. It was Tito.”

Leanne’s eyebrows immediately jump. “Oh yeah? You guys are calling now?”

“I mean, I guess? That’s the first time we’ve called so,” she shrugs.

“Mhmm,” Leanne hums, clearly unconvinced, a smirk lacing her lips.

Evie bumps her shoulder. “Oh, shut up. His team just lost 8-1 on New Year’s Eve. It fucking sucked. Cut him some slack.”

“Yikes. Okay, in the spirit of the season, I’ll let it slide just this once.”

Evie laughs and rolls her eyes, letting herself relax into the drink and the rhythm of the people celebrating around her.

Evie — January 2

To Tito 🌞🏒: shit, just saw the hit. are you okay?!!

Evie sits on her couch and stares at her silent phone, her knee bouncing. She hasn’t been able to sit still since she saw the hit, and it just got worse with each replay, so she turned her TV off. But now, she's just sitting in unsettling silence— I’m not entirely sure that this is better.

She checks her phone again. It has been 15 minutes since she watched Tito skate himself off the ice, clutching his left arm. She calms herself with the thought that his silence doesn’t mean there’s something very wrong; if they were running tests, it might just take a while before he sees his phone. 

She decides to make a cup of tea and pick up her book again. It makes her feel a little settled, but not enough, as she’s still checking her phone every few seconds. If she’s honest, she's just reading the same page over and over.

Finally, an hour later, her phone lights up, and she picks it up so fast it almost flies out of her hand.

Tito 🌞🏒: doc says it’s probably broken. they’ve immobilized it but i have to come home for more tests.

“Shit,” she says to her empty apartment, hitting Dial on her phone. She fiddles with a loose thread on her shorts as the call tone rings before she finally hears the click of Tito picking up.

“Tito,” she says too loud, leaping up from her couch. Her book crashes to the floor, startling her; she sits back down in embarrassment.

“Hey,” his voice sounds tired.

“Hey,” she responds, voice gentler, “Shit, I’m so sorry about your wrist, Tito.”

He sighs, “Yeah. It was so fucking stupid. I shouldn’t’ve had my hand like that there.”

“Hey! Dude, no. This is not your fault. And maybe it’s not the other guy's fault, either. But it’s definitely not your fault. How many times have you done the exact same thing and not been hurt? It’s not your fault.”

Tito’s silent for a bit; she listens to the jagged ins and outs of this breath. Eventually, with a voice so quiet, she’s only able to hear him due to the utter silence in her apartment: “Yeah, I guess. Thanks.”

She feels a lump form in her throat and tries to clear it away. “You said they’re sending you home?”

“Yeah. It’s definitely broken, so I won’t be playing for a while. It’s probably too late for a flight tonight, so I’m probably going to be on an early one tomorrow.”

They're both silent for a moment, letting that hang in the air.

“Can I pick you up from the airport?”

“You really don’t have to do that. The team’ll pay for a Lyft.”

“Are you going to be on pain meds?”

“Yeah. I’m already feeling it, to be honest,” Tito says with a light laugh.

“Are they sending you back alone?”

“Yeah, it isn't a concussion, so I don’t need supervision.”

“Okay. Then, I would like to pick you up if that’s okay.”

“I—” He pauses for a long time, breaths getting heavier. When he continues talking, his voice comes through thick, “I really don’t want to put you out, but if you’re offering, I would really like that.”

“Well, I'm offering, so I’ll see you tomorrow. Text me the deets?”

“Yeah.” She feels something in her chest loosen. “And Evie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

She chuckles, “No problem. Text me. And try to have a good sleep.”

“You too,” he whispers, pausing before hanging up.

Putting her phone down on the coffee table, she lets out a shaky breath.

Evie — January 3

“Are you sure you want me to drop you off at yours?” Evie asks, looking over to Tito in her passenger seat. His curls poke out under the hood of his sweater, and his skin looks pale and clammy. His usually bright blue eyes are dulled, shadowy smudges betraying his lack of sleep. 

He sends her a soft smile before closing his eyes and leaning back against the headrest. “Yes, please.” His voice sounded as tired as he looked.

“Okay.” 

Evie reaches over and gives his good hand a light squeeze before pulling away from the airport. She keeps the drive to his apartment quiet, and she's surprised that she feels less tense than on her drive to O’Hare despite the silence. 

Every so often, she peeks over at Tito, cradling his wrist, eyes closed, and face carefully neutral. She doesn’t feel good about leaving him alone in his apartment, but she also knows that they haven’t known each other long enough for her to insist.

Half an hour later, she pulls into the entrance of a very fancy-looking apartment building in the center of Downtown Chicago. The doorman helps them unload Tito’s suitcase and drags it into the lobby for him. 

Too soon, they're left standing at the curb.

“Thank you so much,” Tito says, his tired eyes warming a little as he regards her.

“It’s absolutely no problem. Please let me know if you need any help, okay? I make my own hours and work from home for a reason. Call me anytime.”

His smile broadens. “Seriously, Evie. Thank you. You didn’t have to come get me.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

Tito leans in for a hug that Evie reciprocates, careful to avoid his broken hand. They stay connected for a few seconds longer than normal, but neither complains.

“Alright, I’ll leave you be then,” Evie says after they disconnect, stepping into her car with a nod.

Tito remains at the curb, one hand in a sling, the other reaching up for a wave as she pulls away. His figure stays in her rearview until she turns the corner.

Tito — January 11

The days that follow the injury become monotonous quickly. Tito wakes up. He does his morning routine. He takes his pain meds. He rides with Foligno and Bedard into the training facility. He gets poked at by some doctors and told to not do anything with his hand. He rides the bike by himself while everyone else gets to skate. He avoids Bedsy angrily pouting in the hallways; not his rookie, not his problem. He goes home and sits on his couch, just clicking play on whatever comes up on Netflix. He eats his microwavable frozen meal plan. He watches the team drop three of four games. He sleeps. 

Rinse and repeat. 

It has only been a week, and he's close to losing his mind already. The only bright spots are his ongoing text conversation with Evie, and his daily FaceTime calls with Barz. The boxes still sit unopened in the corner; well, at least he has a good excuse now. 

Today was meant to be a break in the monotony. While the team is on a short road trip, Tito’s schedule is a little different. No one ever talks about how uncomfortable it is to drive with a broken wrist. The facility is only 15 minutes away, so he figures that he’ll go in to see the trainers and maybe do some grocery shopping afterward. 

The plan was going quite well until he noticed that he had a flat tire on his way to the grocery store. 

He pulls over to the side of the road and just sits there for a minute, fighting the urge to cry. He rests his forehead on the steering wheel, letting out a small scream before he gets out to assess the damage. He mutters a few choice swears when he eventually finds the big nail in his tire. 

He pulls out his phone and texts Evie while he returns to the driver's seat.

To evie 🧁: i told you my year would be unlucky [attachment: photo of his flat tire]

He starts looking for the roadside assistance card, but since it's a new rental, he’s still frustratedly fumbling around when his phone rings.

“Hello?” he answers, not even looking at his phone.

“Tito, what’s going on?”

He pauses his rustling, surprised to hear Evie’s warm voice pouring through the sound system. The familiarity of the French immediately relaxes him. He sighs.

“Oh, um. I was driving to the store. And I just realized the tire was flat. I think the hole has been there for a while, but because of the wrist and stuff, I hadn’t driven since before the roadie.”

“Shit. That’s annoying. Where are you? You wanna drop me a pin or something. I can help you change your tire; you definitely can’t do it with a broken wrist.”

He pauses, surprised by the offer. “Oh! Um… I was just going to call roadside assistance. If I can just find the card…”

“Don’t be stupid. That’s gonna take ages. If you’re close by, I can come help.”

“Um… Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” she huffs, “I could use a break from the computer anyway. I’ll grab my coat and keys.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. I’m probably not far away because I just left the training center like 5 minutes ago.”

“Sweet, no problem. Drop me a pin, and I’ll be right there.”

In less than 10 minutes, Evie is stepping out of her car in her wool coat, leather gloves, and an oversized winter scarf that cocoons her up to her nose. She smiles and waves as she jogs over to give him a tight hug. Whatever tension was left in his body from the long week drains from his body as her arms wrap tightly around him. 

They remain connected for a few seconds, his face buried in the mess of scarf and hair around her neck; her perfume fills his lungs with warmth despite the cold Chicago winter air.

“Thanks again for coming.”

“Stop thanking me. My god.” She exaggeratedly rolls her eyes as they finally separate. She starts getting all the tools as she says, “I want to help the city’s best winger. It’s a public service. I’ll forward the bill to the owner. Or maybe even the mayor.”

It startles a laugh out of him, relaxed by her light-heartedness. He realizes that he has been kind of down recently, only leaving his apartment for meetings with trainers. 

“Well, I hope you’ll charge them a fair rate, considering the express service surcharge. You did get here very quickly.”

She nods mock-sternly, “Yes, of course.”

With all the necessary tools laid out next to her, she bends down to begin jacking up the car. He fishes out his snow jacket from the trunk and hands it to her. 

“Here. So you don’t have to kneel on the ground.”

She smiles up at him from where she’s knelt, “Thanks.”

The rest of the tire change happens in silence; Tito’s content to let her focus on what she’s doing. He watches intently and doesn't want to acknowledge his embarrassment that, at 26 years old, he still doesn't know how to change a tire. 

As she’s working, it starts to snow lightly. The flakes stand out against her glossy coffee-dark hair that has fallen to curtain her face, and Tito resists the urge to brush it back so she can see better in the overcast dimness. He stuffs his hands in his pockets to have something to do with them.

When she’s done a short while later, she spins around, still kneeling, beaming up at him with pride as she sings, “Voila!” 

At that moment, as she sparkles up at him, their eyes meet, and a snowflake catches on her eyelashes. It hits him square in the chest; this might be the most stunning thing he’s ever seen. The realization knocks into him so unexpectedly that he has to fight through the tightness in his throat to exclaim back in excitement.

“Awesome!” he strains.

“Yep!” Her voice is bright and melodic as she turns back to lower the car. “It’s all done. You’re going to need to get this tire patched or something at a shop, though, and—”

She continues to explain some important details that are totally lost on him as he tries to quash the twisting of his guts. She is indeed beautiful, engaging, and scarily competent, but none of that matters. 

None of that matters because his stay in Chicago is temporary. So he takes that feeling and shoves it down deep. But, he hopes that a transient athlete who is, as it turns out, not very good at his job will adequately fulfill the role of Good Friend.

Being a good friend is something he can do. 

Being a good friend is something he’s good at.

“— groceries for dinner, if you want?” 

He tunes back in just in time to catch the end of what she's saying. Maybe he should also retract the previous statement about being a good friend.

“Um, I’m sorry. I’m feeling kinda out of it. What was the question?”

She laughs and squeezes his elbow sympathetically. “Tito, it’s okay. You’re kinda pale right now. Like, you look like you’re gonna be sick. Look, I know you said you were going to the grocery store, but I really don’t think you should be driving and stuff right now. I’ve got plenty of food at mine. I was probably going to cook pasta or something tonight. Just come over and hang out? It’ll make me feel better.”

He mulls it over, and the dull throbbing in his wrist convinces him to nod. It does sound much better than what he had been doing this past week.

So they do just that. Tito isn't complaining: not about the delicious home-cooked meal or watching B99 again. He didn’t realize he was waiting to watch it with her. They find themselves pausing the show numerous times just to chat about something the show brings up: a memory from childhood, something from her life in Toronto or his life in New York, or just a passionate opinion that they have. 

He's burrowed deep into the opposite end of her couch with the latest cup of tea she has made him, feeling more at home than he has in over a month when he discovers the time is so much later than he thought.

“Oh crap, it’s past 10 pm. I really should get going,” Tito says, finally sitting up.

“Shit, I didn’t even see that,” she laughs. Evie looks out the window. “You know. It’s really late, you’re on pain meds, and the roads look kinda slippery with the new snow. Why don’t you just stay here? This couch actually has a really comfy pull-out bed— my brother Will said so anyway when he visited.”

“Oh,” he pauses, comfortable and heavy-limbed but uncertain, “I don’t really have anything with me.”

“That should be okay. I’ve got a bunch of extra toiletries and some of Brandy and Will’s clothes.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, if that’s really okay with you, I’d love to not have to drive home with my wrist. It sucks.”

“Of course,” she smiles, reaching over and squeezing his knee before standing up and walking into her bedroom.

He figures he should help, so he moves the warm fuzzy blanket she had over her legs and the throw pillows to the corner of the room. He clears the tea mugs that litter the coffee table before pushing it back. He’s inspecting the couch for the pull-out function when Evie returns with a small pile of sheets and clothes and a few pillows.

“Oh, thanks for clearing the space!” She smiles at him brightly. “So, I found you a T-shirt and some sweatpants. There are spare toiletries under the sink.”

“Thanks. You’re truly the best.”

“You are so right,” she winks, laughing softly. 

They put together the couch-bed in tandem, and both take turns getting ready for sleep. Eventually, Evie, in her pajamas, bids him goodnight warmly before shutting her bedroom door, and he's left lying on the pull-out bed looking around at the living room, lit only by the city lights streaming through with big windows. 

Tito — January 19

“Wait, so you’re telling me you’ve been replacing me with this girl, and you haven’t even bothered to introduce us?”

“Okay, Barz, that’s a little dramatic. I have not been replacing you.” Tito desperately pleads with his eyes for Mat to stop talking so loud in this somewhat nice Italian restaurant he and Evie had discovered a few nights ago.

“No, seriously. Why didn’t you invite her? You should invite her. You know what? I’ll do it. Hand me your phone—” Mat makes a desperate grab for Tito’s phone that was sitting face down on the table. 

Tito puts his hand on it and whispers. “Dude, stop it. I’d like to come back here again sometime. The food’s actually so good.”

Mat grins and wiggles his eyebrows, “Oooh, come back here again, like on a date with Evie?” he says, dragging out her name in a suggestive tone.

“No, Barz. Not a date. We’ve been over this. We’re just hanging out- like you and me. We’re friends. That’s it. Neither of us even wants to date right now anyway.”

“Okay, bud. If you say so.” Mat rolls his eyes while taking a sip of his wine. “So, you’re saying if you were both open to dating, you’d be interested.”

“No— Well—” Tito pauses and sighs. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. And it’s not what’s happening, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, come on, Beau. I’ve known you for ages, dude. There is no way— you’re telling me that you’ve seen her almost every single day, for most of the day, this whole month, and you haven’t even thought about it?”

Tito sighs pointedly, clenching his jaw. “Yes. I haven’t thought about it. Because there’s nothing to think about. We text. We hang out. We watch TV and eat food. We—” He cuts himself off abruptly. He knows if he mentions the sleepovers, even though he's always on the pull-out couch, Mat will take it the wrong way. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I get to see you, like, twice during the season. I want to hear all your dumb stories.”

Mat eyes him skeptically but eventually relents. “My stories aren’t dumb. But okay. So, last week…” he excitedly recounts.

The night returns to a familiar rhythm. He misses this: the easy conversation with a guy who’s known you for ten years. There are no awkward lulls or having to explain a joke or backstory. It’s just comfortable, and it feels like home: a warmth burrowed deep in his chest. 

There’s a gaping vacancy that gnaws at him later when he’s lying in his own bed, unable to sleep. It’s almost as if Mat took that feeling of home with him when he gave him a lingering hug goodbye, squeezing Tito so hard it hurt a little.

He stares at the ceiling and thinks about how his favorite sleep shirt— one of his early Islanders t-shirts with a 72 on it— was still at Evie’s apartment. He also thinks about the hoodie that he left there.

The team's about to head on an extended roadie while he remains behind, doing not much. He hates it when he’s the one left behind watching the team play without him. That’s the thing with professional sports. You’re around a team all day, every day, for most of the year. You know everything about everyone. You’re almost never alone. Which makes it all the more stark when you’re with a new group of faces. Or when you’re suddenly stuck at home, injured, and alone.

He leans over and picks up his phone, the sudden brightness of the screen making him squint. 

To evie 🧁 : hey, so on second thought, if the offer still stands, i’d like to stay over this week? totally okay if you changed your mind. just figured it’d be nice to have some company, and you’re much closer to the rink. To evie 🧁: and you still have my favorite hoodie. i want it back.

Series Cover Page/Masterlist || Next Episode >>

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[awakefor48hours]

Stolen Hearts

[Fanfiction.net] || [AO3]

Fandoms: Miraculous Ladybug & Avatar the Last Airbender Warnings: None Characters: Marinette Dupain Cheng, Azula Relationships: Azula/Marinette (Azulanette) Additional Tags: bisexual marinette, lesbian azula, one shot, Aged up, Marinette and Azula are both 28, slight OOC

Summary: After a successful heist, Paris’s most infamous cat burglar, Ladybug, goes home to her roommate, Azula, who has big news for her.

After scouring the internet for a long while, I have come to the conclusion that I am the only person who ships these two. I checked basically everywhere for a fanfiction, fanart, AMV, or even just an edit of Azula and Marinette, I checked tumblr, reddit, instagram, AO3, fanfiction.net, livejournal, wattpad, quotev, tiktok, youtube, and even the third page of google so welcome to what I will confidently say is the first ever Azula x Marinette (a ship I’m calling Azulanette) fanfiction.

I'm so glad you're here to watch my brainrot of this crack ship I've slowly come to love. Once again, since I can confidently say that this is the first ever Azulanette fanfiction in the world, I'm going to ease myself into writing about Azulanette as I'm planning to write a longer/multi-chapter fic in the future, I want practice writing these two before I take on something like that. The only "plan" I have is to just experiment, see what works and what doesn't work before that fic is published. I also need to rewatch ATLA again as the last time I saw this show was back in 2020.

For nearly five years, Paris had been intimidated by a cat burglar that goes by the name of Ladybug. Ladybug was a criminal mastermind. The only known information the police had on her was that she always wore a ladybug-printed outfit and would always rob places in the morning or dusk, never at night. Wearing a bright red outfit in the middle of the day should make her out to be a very easy target but somehow she would escape before the authorities would even realize that they were robbed.

That begs the question: where does she go after a heist?

Ladybug ran on the rooftops of Paris at dusk. She knew it would only be a matter of time before the bank realized that they'd been robbed but she didn't worry about that because she was almost home. She took a giant leap, jumping over the street below her, to a new rooftop and saw her apartment just a few meters away. A few seconds later, she made it to her bedroom window, opened it, then jumped through. Just as her feet touched the floor, she heard police sirens start to blare outside.

Another successful heist.

She popped her head out of her room to greet her roommate, Azula. They've been roommates since the beginning of Ladybug's crime spree. It was their secret and the reason and they were only people who knew. It was nice to have someone like her. 

"Hi, Marinette, how was your heist today?" Azula greeted. 

Marinette, the name of the person behind the mask, smiled then pulled out her magic yo-yo and pulled out some of the cash she stole. She was currently holding 6 thousand euro but left the other 2 hundred thousand inside her yo-yo. "Successful, as always." Marinette said proudly.

Marinette moved back into her room and changed out of her Ladybug outfit and into a comfortable red sweatshirt and gray pants. Once she was changed, she talked to the kitchen to start making croissants. Making pastries after a heist was a habit she started a while ago. It helped to calm down and remind her of home. Azula also loved this habit so Marinette always made sure to make enough for both of them.

Marinette walked around the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients she needed. But before she started, she noticed Azula standing at the threshold. "Marinette, can I tell you something before you start?"

"Yeah go ahead." Marinette then put down the flour she was holding and walked towards Azula.

When she walked over, Azula took Marinette's hands and looked at her. "Marinette these past five years have been some of the most amazing years of my life. You're so imaginative, smart, funny, and make the best pastries I've ever tasted."

"You're homemade tea is definitely the best I've had." 

She chuckled lightly. "You should try my uncle's tea. His tea is much better than mine."

"Then you should try my father's pastries too. He and my grandfather make some of the best pastries ever made."

"I look forward to it. But I really want to tell you something." Azula looked down, sighed heavily, then looked back up. "You are truly amazing. Especially the way you've managed to steal anything that you put your mind to, it's always impressed me and recently you've stolen something from me."

Suddenly a slight feeling of panic set in. What did she steal this time? She's had problems with accidentally stealing from Azula's stuff in the past, usually her phone, but she always gives her stuff back in the end. She doesn't even know what she stole this time so she didn't know where she may have put it this time. She has nearly 2 hundred thousand dollars in her room right now so she could at least pay it back.

"Marinette, you stole my heart." 

In that moment, Marinette felt her worry melt away. Her face started to heat up and the air left her lungs. She could barely believe this was happening. They've been roommates for a while and Marinette had definitely started to develop feelings for Azula too. She just never thought they would be reciprocated.

“Well, you should know you stole my heart too.”

They looked at each other for a moment then leaned in for a kiss. It was like heaven, an eternity of happiness, despite the fact it only lasted for a short moment. Once they separated, Marinette said, “I guess we can get our families together when we tell them the news.”

And with that, the first ever Azulanette fanfiction is done. I cannot express to you how hard this was for me. I’ve written and rewritten so many things about this fic should go, this is actually the third attempt/fanfiction I wrote. After a while, I had to realize that I just needed to sit down and write this. In fact, the rough draft for this fic was handwritten because I had some extra time before one of my classes.

Also, and I’m sure this might be a bit obvious, this fic was inspired by Batcat. An anon mentioned that Azulanette reminded them of Damienette and I realized I should integrate myself in the DC x ML side of the fandom so I’ve been binging DC content because it’s been a while since I’ve really sat down and enjoyed DC content outside of Harley Quinn (character and show). Anon, if you’re reading this, you played a big part in this fic and thank you for pointing that out. 

With that being said, I’m proud of this. It took about a month and an embarrassing amount of times falling asleep at the keyboard to write this fic but I couldn’t be happier that it’s finally out in the world. Once again, I do plan to write more (especially the other two fics I started to write) but right now I’m mainly just focusing on how Azula and Marinette’s relationship would function. 

[fogsrollingin]

Moonlight Readings!

Wow it’s been a long time since I’ve posted a list of fic recs. See below a J2 AU RPS, two OFMD Gentlebeards, a Hartwin Kingsman fic, and the most devastating traumatized!Dream with Hob to the rescue fic everrrr. Love all these fics - hope you do too :) 

PS you’ll notice my links to my ficrecs are now hosted on my neocities website. I’ve moved these ficrecs around a lot over the years, from tumblr pages (which then broke) to tumblr posts, to dreamwidth posts, but it just never felt right to keep my reclists - which involve a lot of behind-the-scenes organizing, archiving, etc. - as something so ephemeral as a blog post. So now they’re on their own static webpages 🥰 If you’re also on neocities let me know I’ll follow you we can be moots

Happy readings!

Every Old Town’s Just Your Past Burning Down by whisperedstory. Explicit, J2, 41k words. Summary: The world ends and those who survive are left with chaos; cities and towns are in ruins and there's a shortage of food and an outbreak of diseases that soon lead to panic and violence. With nothing keeping him in Texas Jensen decides to leave, wandering back roads and wilderness with no destination in mind. His path leads him to a secluded farm in Wyoming and a ragtag group of people. There, he ends up finding more than he dared to hope for: a home, friendships, and maybe even a chance at love with Jared, who Jensen is instantly drawn to even though he can't quite figure him out. [reposted, first posted on livejournal 13/6/2013] ao3.org/works/4758260/chapters/10879586 My thoughts: I loved the devastation in this fic and then the slow soft recovery of a small group of survivors. The group dynamic gets stressful for Jared as the leader of their troop and Jensen’s there for him and ahhhh yeah that scene just got me in the feels. I’ve added this to my Desolate Post-Apocalypse reclist.

look what the cat dragged in by KiaraSayre. Not Rated, Gentlebeard, 11k words. Summary: Stede and his crew acquire a cat, whether they like it or not. https://archiveofourown.org/works/38246497 my thoughts: Yay fairy tales and animal transformation curses. Cat!Ed is hilariously and endearingly in-character and Stede’s inexplicable, increasing fondness for the creature just makes you want to roll into a little ball and make lovey noises. Added to my favorite OFMD fics.

Renaissance by Fyre. Explicit, Gentlebeard, 25k words. Summary: Ed heard the gunshot and the following scream when he was busting out of the barracks stores with a sack of food. Panicked. Familiar. He was running before he even realized he’d stepped on the guard and dropped the bag of loot. Running in the little shoes was a bugger of a thing, but he ran anyway, almost turning his ankle more than once, out into the dark, out into the woods, away from the barracks. https://ao3.org/works/40485996 my thoughts: Really well-written and lovely fix-it fic with charming and feel-good character development, romance, and reunions. Added to my favorite OFMD fics.

Laid to Rest by mauzymorn. Explicit, Harry/Eggsy, 84k words. Summary: After the chaotic mess that had been V-Day, everyone's got to learn to get back on their feet, right? Finding out Harry's alive does wonders to that end for Eggsy - that is, until ghosts from the past rise up to ruin it all. How could Harry not have seen this coming? Archnemeses that can't stay dead seem to come with the territory of being a spy. It's too bad that this particular ghost isn't one of Harry's... It's Eggsy's. https://archiveofourown.org/works/5397506 my thoughts: I am such a sucker for traumatized and past!Rentboy!Eggsy and this is a really amazing long fic of PTSD and recovery with Harry being there for him AHHHH so good. Added to my favorite Kingsman fics recs.

Dulce et decorum est by Moorishflower. Explicit, Dreamling, rape/noncon warning. 9k words. Summary: "This one is a special case," Burgess says. "He is a war hero. Do you understand? You will be on your best behavior. You know what happens when you are not." Two years into his imprisonment, and Dream of the Endless has not given Roderick Burgess what he wants. Yet if he cannot have back his son, then he will have whatever else Dream has to give, and sell it to the highest bidder: body, powers, and all. Hob Gadling, newly back from the Western Front, has barely slept since 1889, and is desperate for any sort of relief, even that peddled by mad old men claiming to be warlocks. https://archiveofourown.org/works/43424929 Jesus fucking christ Morpheus crying into Hob’s chest while he's inside him and Hob being perplexed bc that's not typically how these dreams go was sooooo, omg. This fic of chock-full of really disturbing sexual abuse and torture trauma but it’s so harrowing and emotional, brilliantly written with a violent happy ending. I mean, when Hob rescues him… fuck, man /cries/. This fic was amazing. Added to my favorite Sandman fics reclist.

[plothooksinc]

👋 fic writer asks: 6, 9, 16, 22?

Oh I like these questions :D

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

Yes! If I really like a fic it'll probably get reread like... six times in the first week I found it, rofl. Or at least parts of it will. I tend to bookmark fics that I know I will go back to over and over again. Many of them are the indulgent type for me, so if they touch on tropes I enjoy a lot and I imagine the scenes a lot I keep them around to reread.

9. Do you write every day? If you wrote today, share a sentence of what you’ve written!

Almost every day! I find it easier to write if I make it a habit, seeing as my brain is so much soup these days. So I write a page a day, and I give myself a day off after every update to recharge (and read delicious comments) and occasionally don't write when I have to, say, go spend an unexpected seven hours in ER. Rude.

From today:

“Mhm, mm-hmm.” Mikey nodded, shifting enough to sit cross-legged on the bed, and pretended to write into a notebook. “Patient very sensitive on this subject, a little too late on deflecting comment and accompanying I am full of shit smile…”

16. At what point in the process do you come up with titles?

LMAO very late. I often don't have a title in mind until I'm uploading, so it's the second last thing to be created, right before the summary itself. My working titles/save files are all extremely dull (the three prompts I've written recently have been labelled CaseyLeo, Hueso, and Dinner respectively). I'm generally thinking about it while I write, but getting the first chapter down also helps me come up with ideas, so.

22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing?

In very broad strokes, usually. I will know the general vibe I want to end with at the very least. In detail? Nah. That gets defined as I go, because plot points, much like plans, don't survive intact after contact with the enemy the page so yeah the enemy. This is probably why the outline for NRFTW literally ends with the words "???? profit" lmao

Thank you for these delicious questions!

Fic meme questions here.

[grymmnox]

weekly fic recs #15

ok yeah i kinda forgot to do this on saturday. this time i didn't read like any oneshots surprisingly enough

fandoms: bungo stray dogs

ships: soukoku, fyozai, fyolai

Completed Fics

Because I'm not me without you; millelav - bungo stray dogs

mature | 8 chapters | 29.3k words | chuuya/dazai | READ TAGS

summary:

“So, you went to a pumpkin patch together, which you do every single year, with Chuuya.” Dazai nodded happily. Oda nodded back, speaking slowly to get the point across.

“Chuuya, the same Chuuya who told Ango to ‘go die’ when he complimented his ponytail, agreed to let you compare his hair to every pumpkin you saw, and then proceeded to pay for the one you found that matched, no questions asked. Then, he allowed an employee to say you two were a couple, and even accepted it in front of you. And now you are confused as to why he didn’t correct them.”

Dazai beamed at him and clapped his hands together.

“Exactly! Odasaku you’re always so smart! I knew you would get it!”

Oda just chuckled wryly as Ango pressed his fingers to his temple.

“So what’s the problem then?”, Oda shrugged.

Dazai and Chuuya have been best friends for ten years, attached to the hip even after all of this time. But, what will happen when Chuuya disrupts the precious balance of their friendship by not correcting an assumption that they are a couple? How will Dazai react?

hey look, the sky's falling apart; saffroncassis - bungo stray dogs

teen and up | 4 chapters | 24.8k words | chuuya/dazai, chuuya & oda, akutagawa & chuuya, chuuya & everyone

summary:

The facts are this: Chuuya is a compassionate person. He cares too much and too fiercely. He gets attached easily and is undyingly loyal to the people around him. He also happens to be the strongest ability user this side of Japan since the turn of the century.

At age 16, Chuuya defects from the Port Mafia and drags his partner with him not so much kicking and screaming as silently begrudging, and the rest follow suit in time.

kintsugi; saffroncassis - bungo stray dogs

teen and up | 7 chapters | 29.1k words | chuuya/dazai, dazai & Q, dazai & kouyou, atsushi & dazai

summary:

6 years after defecting from the Port Mafia with his partner, Dazai has many things on his mind: what to do about the freaky mind control kid who is now his orphan to take care of; how to defeat the Guild before they destroy Yokohama entirely, without any intel or plans yet; and… the prospect of marriage. With his boyfriend. Yeah, there’s a lot to figure out.

sequel to hey look, the sky’s falling apart

not yet corpses (still, we rot); itotypes - bungo stray dogs

mature | 10 chapters | 27.4k words | dazai/fyodor, dazai & fyodor | READ TAGS

summary:

"Let's take it from the top. Hi." He gives out his hand. "I'm Dazai Osamu."

Fyodor glances down at the hand, as though it's a trap. To be fair, it could be. But he likes traps. He likes unwinding them. So he grasps Dazai's hand and shakes it, once.

Or, Somewhere in the remote landscape of Meursault, Fyodor discovers that whatever is fundamentally “wrong” with him, is also “wrong” with Dazai Osamu. They proceed to destroy each other, to their heart’s content.

Three-fold Fate; devilrin - bungo stray dogs

not rated | 16 chapters | 60.3k words | chuuya/dazai, ango & dazai & oda, dazai & oda

summary:

Chuuya stands on the shore, his red hair a scar against the cool sea breeze. Behind him, there is a braid of smoke through a page-blank sky. Vaguely, Dazai can smell the stench of gasoline and engine oil of the motor boats about to head out to sea. It is a serene, grey sight: the sun is still a couple of minutes away from the horizon, and Dazai feels winter on the tip of his nose.

A boy. The sea. The lingering taste of violence in his tongue.

Dazai watches as November finds its home in the dawn reflected in Chuuya’s bright, blue eyes. He squeezes the fabric over his chest, not knowing when his hand had moved.

His heart is still beating.

~

At some point in the distant future, the final curtain falls over the biggest conflict the world has ever known. Fyodor dies, the Book is destroyed, and Yokohama knows peace for the first time in decades.

And then, the most curious lead lands on the desks of the ADA–– Nakahara Chuuya, the most feared of the Port Mafia executives, has officially turned in his resignation.

Naturally, Dazai thinks, as the other half of Soukoku, the only acceptable course of action would be to resign in solidarity.

[sugoi-and-spice]

2 6 and 13 for the ask game?

2. Has your writing changed over time?

Most definitely. I mean, I started writing fanfiction when I was like, 13? On Quizilla and then FFN -- so improvement since then obviously goes without saying.

If we want to go off of fanfiction I'm actually willing to show people, well yeah - even then, super different. I ran a Sports & Shounen anime imagines blog before this one, started it my senior year of high school back when I was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed lol -- so the content was pretty dang vanilla.

Now, I'm a jaded working professional on antidepressants with a whole-ass screenwriting degree -- so the way that I write and the things that I like to write about are drastically different, lol.

6. If you plan, what does your planning process look like?

Hoooo, boy -- do you have an hour? Lol

Yeah, I'm a big planner. Outlines are my bread and butter, although the beginnings are a little more free form. I'll usually get an idea and start writing a couple pages (or chapters, if I'm already planning for it to be a long fic) to see if it's actually a viable idea I want to commit to, and then once it is, I'll take some time to outline it.

As mentioned above, my education and professional background is in screenwriting -- so I tend to take an approach that's pretty similar to different stages of a script or story bible.

First I write a brief, broad premise of the whole story. It's not particularly pretty writing, much more like a Wikipedia summary - just kind of a way for me to determine the beginning, middle and end.

From there, if it's a long fic, I'll expand it into a Beat Sheet. I map the fic out chapter by chapter with about a paragraph or so summary of what happens in each one. It helps me a lot to know what exactly I'm building to and to not start with a blank page every time. If I have ideas for dialogue in that scene, but know I'm not going to get to that chapter for a while - I'll usually throw some of that in too.

Here's what Play Nice looked like at that outline stage:

From there, I'll go through and track the different Plotlines and make sure they all get the time and beats they need to arrive at a compelling resolution.

You can also probably tell that, by this point, a lot of plot points have been fleshed out and locked in, and look a lot more like what was actually in the chapter than in the original, vaguer outline. I'll usually do a lot of character and theme work during that time too - writing out backstories, wants and needs of the characters, etc, etc.

And then that's what I work with. I don't behold myself to the outline completely or anything. Sometimes plot points change, get rearranged between episodes, or get cut altogether. Sometimes scenes last longer than I expected them to or I get some new ideas that I really love and I have to add more chapters. But having a roadmap like this really helps me stay motivated, keep track of where I am and what I'm trying to say with the story, and, maybe most importantly, stay on course towards the ending, even if I take a couple of detours.

13. Multichapter fics or one shots?

Haha I guess multi-chapter fics, but I do like both. A lot of the time when I'm writing a one-shot, I get way too invested in the idea and want to expand it into a multi-chapter (lookin at you Play Nice and Burnt Bridges lol -_-)

[toiletwipes]

and i'd give up forever to touch you

the masterlist

COMPLETED!

Summary: Simpbur has done everything he can to get closer to his comfort streamer, from donating large sums of money, to applying and getting accepted to the same college, to even getting a different job just to afford her. And yet, he's been unable to get to touch her, to talk to her.

And then you come in. It's simple, practice and record a cover for your listening experience only, and he can get close to the girl of his dreams. Except things get complicated.

Because for the first time in his life, someone likes him for himself. And it's not the girl he's been chasing for years.

main masterlist

WARNING: this story is rated 18+, minors dni

Fic Playlist &lt;3 (made and curated by michelle/music anon, love them so so much for doing this &lt;333)

Rosie's Playlist &lt;3 (ALSO BY MICHELLE/MUSIC ANON AAAAAAAA)

CHAPTERS

01. the mortifying ordeal of being known (aug. 15, 2021) ~2k words. ao3 link.

02. will's social ineptitude (aug. 16, 2021) ~1.6k words. ao3 link.

03. eyes on fire (aug. 17, 2021) ~2k words. ao3 link.

04. just the two of us (aug. 19, 2021) ~2.4k words. ao3 link.

05. don't vandalize pianos propaganda (aug. 21, 2021) ~2.4k. ao3 link.

06. normalcy (aug. 23, 2021) ~2.2k words. ao3 link.

07. opening up, inside and out (aug. 26, 2021) ~2.1k words. ao3 link.

08. saturday, wait (aug. 31, 2021) ~1.7k words. ao3 link.

09. turning page (sep. 5, 2021) ~2k words. ao3 link.

10. don't wanna talk (sep. 12, 2021) ~2k words. ao3 link.

11. have i found you? (sep. 23, 2021) ~2k words. ao3 link.

12. unspoken, unbroken (oct. 7, 2021) ~1.7k words. ao3 link.

13. you're so golden (oct. 21, 2021) ~2.3k words. ao3 link.

14. tommy eat world (nov. 13, 2021) ~2.5k words. ao3 link.

15. the bill comes due (dec. 5, 2021) ~2.1k words. ao3 link.

16. a haze, a brief moment of clarity (dec. 16, 2021) ~3k words. ao3 link.

17. ah yes, what could go wrong? (dec. 16, 2021) ~3k words. ao3 link.

18. a wreck you cannot look away from (jan. 5, 2022) ~3.2k words. ao3 link.

19. choking on the toxins (jan. 9, 2022) ~3.3k words. ao3 link.

20. catching up (feb. 2, 2022) ~3.8k words. ao3 link.

21. neon lives (feb. 17, 2022) ~3.2k words. ao3 link.

22. the party's wake (feb. 21, 2022) ~3.2k words. ao3 link.

23. from stage left, enters rosie (mar. 7, 2022) ~3.9k words. ao3 link.

24. you're fucked (may 14th, 2022) ~3.2k words. ao3 link.

25. a little self-indulgence (jul. 21, 2022) ~3k words. ao3 link.

26. tell me we both matter, don't we? (aug. 26, 2022) ~3.4k words. ao3 link.

27. the cruel beast / i am seen (sep. 2, 2022) ~5k words. ao3 link.

28. cirice (sep. 3, 2022) ~5.5k words. ao3 link.

29. epilogue / the start of something new (sep. 6, 2020) ~3k words. ao3 link.

total word count (this is more for me than it is for y'all skdhdhd): ~82.9k words.

With that being said, this will be updated as I go &lt;;33

extra chapters!! strays from the canon timeline!! because I have ideas that don't fit it but still want to share with y'all!!

01. you'd bleed just to know you're alive (sep. 19, 2021) ~800 words.

02. all i can breathe is your life (sep. 30, 2021) ~3.4k words.

03. subdued (apr. 1, 2022) words.

warnings: simpbur being a "bit of a stalker", mhmhm angst tho, then! a tiny amount of comfort, there will be smut eventually I promise, slow burn, college au, band au, x reader type beat, mmm i tag it as simpbur x y/n but I don't always like using y/n so mostly I use the word you or allude to using your name, iris by the goo goo dolls cover, simpbur is tall awkward and social inept to deal with a fan, right person wrong time 💀, i have to say it again: angst out the wazoo, oh yeah there's going to be smut so minors you're not allowed to read this fic even if there's far and few adult scenes, this is a story written about and for adults only.

i tag as i go

tag list: @ruminationnn @ghostburlovebot @waterproofgravy @roygbivvie @boiled-onionrings @mayempress @comonlokbut2 @tiredofsatansbullshit @serendipityryn @facelessmatchstick @dogsandrocketsocks @unhelpfulghosty @struggling-with-time @spilltheearlgrey @dreamwvrld @despicablenotions @jubileelineee @the-icarus-thatneverflew @jessica89diangelo @fischlvonluftschloss @ninkieminjaj @savannahjade1208 @ghostwriteser

The tag list is currently closed!!

(if you do not have an age in your bio/if you're a minor, i will not put you on the tag list)

The Review Column

"... is good soup." - @wolfie-doggo

"mother kay says yes." - @dreamwvrld

[queridopascal]

The new job (Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Part 1 of the “Ad Astra” series

Summary: as your eyes scanned the page, the words “spatial coordinates” and the phrase “writings and symbols no one has been able to decipher” made your eyes widen and your interest spike... (word count: 1.7k)

Warning: mention of food and drinks

A/N: my first ever Mando fic/series (even though we don't get to meet him in this first chapter)! Huge thanks to @hnt-escape for beta reading, and I hope you guys enjoy it ✨

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated ❤️

NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

Sitting alone in your home office with a mug of coffee in your hand, you shuffled through the heap of unopened mail you found upon your return from your last expedition: advertising brochures, leaflets, bills and, at the bottom of the stack, a cream-coloured paper envelope with slightly torn edges.

Prompted by curiosity, you put down the mug and opened the letter with an old knife you kept in the first drawer: it was typewritten, dated 25th of September and signed at the bottom by a certain Elizabeth Williams.

As your eyes scanned the page, the words “spatial coordinates” and the phrase “writings and symbols no one has been able to decipher” made your eyes widen and your interest spike. Your work as an archaeologist had given you the opportunity to travel the world, discover different types of artifacts and ruins, get closer to cultures and their ancient origins; but something inside of you, a feeling in your gut, was telling you that what was described in the letter was unique and, possibly, something you had never seen before.

Without giving it a second thought, you dialed the phone number scribbled underneath the signature and waited with bated breath as you began fidgeting with a pen, clicking it open with every beeping sound coming from the other side.

“Hello?” a calm tone greeted you.

“Mrs. Williams?” you asked, clearing your throat.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Hi, I’m-”

“I know who you are, I’ve been waiting for your call.” the woman said with a smile in her voice.

“Oh,” you gasped, “I... received your letter and I would love to hear more about this artifact you mention.”

“Great. I’ll have someone pick you up tomorrow morning at 9 sharp.”

“Thanks, Mrs Williams,” you nodded, “do I… have to bring anything?”

“Your knowledge will be sufficient, my dear.”

Once you both ended the call, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, feeling anxious and impatient for what was about to come and reliving the exact same sensations you had experienced the day of your very first excavation.

After a sleepless night, you were awakened by the furious pitter patter of heavy rain against the windows. The dark grey of the sky made every room of your house incredibly cold and humid, and you put on your favorite cardigan as you dragged your feet into the kitchen to prepare something for breakfast.

When you finished eating, you took a quick shower and got dressed in your favorite black pencil skirt and a white blouse, a matching blazer and a pair of heels completed the look. You took a seat on the couch in your living room and waited for the driver.

At 9AM there was a knock at your front door, and you immediately grabbed your blazer and your purse and walked over to it.

“Good morning, Miss,” the driver bowed his head a little and extended his gloved hand to you while opening a black umbrella with the other. “Please, follow me. Mrs. Williams and her colleagues are waiting for you.”

You put your hand in his as he walked you over to the sedan; he opened the car door and waited for you to get in, shutting it swiftly once you got comfortable in the cream leather back seat.

After a two hours drive, the car stopped in front of a wired mesh and barbed wire fence, lined with several “Military Zone” signs. A couple of seconds later, the guarded gates opened with a screech, letting the car enter what looked like a tunnel carved inside of a mountain.

The driver pulled up in front of a large white door with soldiers on either side, where an elderly woman waited with crossed arms.

“Goodmorning my dear,” the woman stepped towards you. “I’m Elizabeth. Welcome to the Falls Hill military installation.”

She hugged you tightly and you stiffened at first, looking at the two soldiers, whose eyes were fixed on a point in front of them.

“Come, I’ll show you around.”

One of the guards stepped to the side and held the door open for you and Mrs. Williams. The large corridor that extended in front of you reminded you of a war bunker: it was grey and cold, illuminated by pale neon lights, and it had the same distinctive smell you would find in the subway.

You followed her obediently, and when she reached the end of the corridor, she slowly opened a set of double doors bearing an "Authorized Personnel Only" sign; taking a step forward, your mouth dropped open in wonder as soon as you laid eyes on what looked like a giant stone ring covered with strange inscriptions.

“I've never seen anything like this,” you gulped, keeping your eyes fixed on the object.

Mrs. Williams chuckled, pleased at your reaction. “No one has, my dear.”

“Can I…?” you asked in a trembling voice as you pointed at the artifact.

Elizabeth nodded and you walked over to it, placing your hand on the rough surface of the stone to feel the engraved characters under your fingers.

“These inscriptions,” you started, turning to her, “might be hieratic or maybe cuneiform, I think I've seen some of those symbols before.”

“Perhaps you could help us with the interpretation?” she moved to stand beside you and tilted her head to the side, looking at you expectantly.

“Yeah, of course. I'll get to work right away.”

The hours passed quickly, and between one cup of coffee and another, it was already evening. The succession of symbols and characters engraved in the stone kept repeating in your mind, a mix of infinite combinations and interpretations, from the most logical to the least plausible.

Wrinkling your eyes for tiredness, you looked up from all your papers and notes, finding a new possible interpretation of the second row that made your heart race.

“Mrs. Williams, was anything else found in the proximity of this object?”

“I was hoping you'd ask me,” she smiled and motioned you to follow her.

Elizabeth led you through a hallway and stopped in front of another door, resting both hands on the opening handle.

“You are not to speak of this to anyone, understand?”

You simply nodded, your breath catching in your throat at her request.

“Mrs. Williams, I haven't issued any new authorization papers for this lady.” a baritone voice captured your attention, and you turned around only to find a soldier in uniform staring back at you.

“Colonel Shaw, it's nice to see you again,” Elizabeth greeted him with a gentle smile, but the man looked at her with a serious and impenetrable gaze.

“Mrs. Williams, I don't think I'll have to remind you that what's inside this room is classified.” he walked over to the both of you, his expression unfazed.

“She's the new addition to my team, Colonel,” she said, looking him straight into his icy blue eyes, “a world-renowned archaeologist who is going to help us decipher the inscriptions on the stone ring.”

“Exactly. Then why are you here?” he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Because,” you cleared your throat “the second row of inscriptions refers to another object, described as the portal.”

The Colonel raised an eyebrow at you and sighed, then looked at Elizabeth.

“Permission denied.”

“Excuse me, Colonel Shaw. I was told you would have given me carte blanche, especially since the government authorized this project,” she stepped towards him with her usual calm tone.

“Not for long,” he retorted, “you have one more week Mrs. Williams, the clock is ticking. And since she doesn't have any authorization at the moment, I won't grant her access into this room.”

“Then I guess I'll have to ask Captain Gallo,” she crossed her arms. “See, he was the one who helped us get started with this project and I'm sure he would authorize this young lady in a heartbeat.”

The Colonel exhaled angrily, his jaw was clenched in frustration and you smiled to yourself.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth “You have my permission.”

6 days later

Staring at the portal, the inscripted characters on dark metal and stone looked so similar to something you had seen before, but also so different. You felt intimidated by that object, almost in awe, it was as if it gave off vibrations within the room, as if it wanted to give you clues to solve that riddle that had been keeping you and the rest of the team awake for days.

“Morning guys,” Elizabeth walked into the research lab with a box of donuts, “I brought something to eat.”

“Thanks,” you beamed at her as you took a glazed donut from the container. “I really needed something with sugar.”

“How is the research going?”

“Bad,” Linda, one of the members of the team, shook her head, “no matches whatsoever.”

“Is that so?” Elizabeth turned to you, her expression somber.

“Yeah,” you sighed, “even if the inscriptions look familiar to us, when comparing them to all the material we have available, we found no similarities. We’re missing something and tomorrow is the last day.”

“I’m gonna ask for a permit extension, I'm sure they'll grant it to me,” she stroked your back, comforting you.

“I found another reference!” Linda squealed with excitement “Shall we start with the comparison?”

“Absolutely,” you rushed to her side and took a seat on the corner of her desk, looking at the monitor of her computer.

The documents she had just found showed incredible similarities, and referred to an engraved metal fragment found a few months earlier in the Atacama Desert.

“These three symbols are exactly the same ones of the central row!” you exclaimed, not believing your eyes.

Linda nodded, then gulped, “They also say here that they found out some symbols represent a stylized version of constellations, and that this type of metal is not…”

“Terrestrial,” you added as you kept on reading the description under one of the pictures.

Mrs. Williams looked at the both of you with a proud smile, then she walked over to the other desk and dialed a number on the phone.

“Captain, we finally found a match for the inscriptions.”

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @withakindheartx @katiebits1 @evelynseventyr @derretendotoda @darnitdraco @janebby @mswarriorbabe80 @audreyispunk @agingerindenial @jediknight122 @princess76179 @elegantduckturtle @t3rradactyl @cheekygeek05 @serini-ty @tobealostwanderer @tothejedi @castleamcc @thatgirlselectryc @rosie-posie08 @snow30285 @radiowallet @heythere-mel @hnt-escape @kestrelmando @greeneyedblondie44 @carstwirs @hb8301 @sara-alonso @pedrostories @phoenixhalliwell @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @sleep-tight1 @jennacide02 @aana4664 @jasterslegacy @almaeunice @hexedeslichts @midwesternwitchery @what-iwish-you-knew @littlemisspascal @ew-erin

[izur-x]

Hey!! I’m new here and saw your posts a lot so I just followed you and came along :)

Can I request an S/o who’s from the Last killing Game and get memories of the past killing game the more it goes on and doesn’t trust ANYONE and don’t want to build any relationship with the students to prevent losing their ‚friends‘ hurt more than it does. But Nagito, Peko and Chiaki get suspicious about how blunt they are and question the s/o about it eventually (separately of course)

If you don’t understand the request then please ignore it and I apologise for taking your time :,)

-🍉anon

Blunt s/o because remembers the last killing game

Pairing ~ nagito/reader, peko/reader, chiaki/reader

Genre + warning ~ hm... I don't know what genre is this.. angst? Fluff? Idk–, also! Major spoiler :'), manipulations, long fic

Summary ~ reader remember the last killing game and doesn't build any relationship with anyone

Note ~ hello! Of course I'll write! Thanks for giving me such a detailed request melon anon! Hope you like this and comfortable in my blog!

❛without you...the world will turned gray!❜

Nagito komaeda

–he accually noticed it right from the beginning, when you two were Introducing yourself, he noticed that you were aware that something is going to happen.

-he decided to let this slide, but not for long.

-when the party was being held, you didn't come, like fuyuhiko. And because of fuyuhiko was actually shown motions a lot, unlike you, he became more suspicious.

-when he tried to talk to you + manipulating you (ex: "oh... that's pretty understanding! Of course you don't want to talk with someone like me!) It's.... Didn't work, he surprised his manipulations didn't work!

-by that he was totally suspicious of you.

-when everyone got out from the roller coaster ride, monokuma hands out the last killing game was held, there's isn't your name in it... Which lead you to act suspicious at the book.

-and of course, nagito notice this.

-everyone got into monokuma trap which is the fun house! By coincidence, you entered the final dead room while investigating (ex: fuyuhiko was in the grape House.)

-and you found nagito too in there "oh, hello there (y/n)! What's bring you hear?" "I could ask you the same." You begin to search some clue to solve the final dead room, which is easy. In your opinion.

-nagito was helping too, until the russian roulette happens. You thought to yourself 'if nagito was here, could i get a goodluck or a bad luck... Or should i trust my own luck'

-with brave you loaded 5 bullet to the chamber, but... You miss count, and now it was loaded with 6 bullet, nagito noticed this, it was too late to warn you.

-you pull the trigger—

-nothing happen. "Is this gun broken or something?" You speaking to yourself, nagito sweatdrop, as you pointed the gun at some where else, the was working like a normal gun.

-"okay then... Nagito it is your turn, we cannot open the door if you haven't do this thing." You said to him. both of you succeeded the final dead room, "this isn't final death room to be honest..." He chuckled and begin to investigate the octagon.

-you both discuss about the structure of the fun house before the class trial. "Oh yeah! We should open the book that's monokuma give us for clearing final death room." He suggests.

-you nodded and had a bad feelings about this. As nagito open the book and flip the page over, and found out that hajime was a reserve course student, and you were from 78th class.

-"but...the 78th class haven't even started yet! (Y/n)." He look at you in serious way "i recommend you to tell me everything that you know to me, after we get out of this fun house." While holding your chin up and lock you into the walls.

-you sigh in defeated and nodded.

Peko Pekoyama

–pekoyama was always suspicious of everyone, in order to protect her master which is fuyuhiko.

–when you and peko had a small conversation, unlike nagito, she's always suspicious of everyone. Especially you, she thought to herself, what make you to be this blunt?

–because Pekoyama was a straight forward person, she asks you what is wrong.

–you surprised that she noticed how suspicious you are to her, and obviously you need to change the subject, luckly, everyone got called to the hotel.

–after the first trial was done, Pekoyama had to be careful around you, and of course didn't let you to come near fuyuhiko.

–and Pekoyama keep asking you the same thing, until you were tired of hearing it too. "Fine, I'll tell you." She surprised that it is working.

–you tell her to come with you, both of you were going to your cottage, as you arrived, you quickly lock the door, make sure no one is around.

–after that, you tell peko everything, she has no ideas that this world would be a program, she keep asking you, but you tell her no, because she always know so much.

Chiaki nanami

—she already knew it, since she was working with the future foundation or monomi told her. But she could not believe that you could remember any of that.

—first that was the biggest red flag, second, she aware that nagito and you were working together, and of course nagito was manipulating you in chapter 5.

—although that didn't happen, because of you were always be careful of your serounding and keep thinking what is going to be happen next, plus you don't trust anyone.

—when Chiaki come to you, she's a bit surprised that you didn't avoided her, Chiaki thought to herself; did they figured it out that in the traitor?. The answer is yes.

—you did figure out that Chiaki was the traitor because of you remember the last killing game, you didn't work for future foundation nor junko.

—in order to survive the world, you have to be like the remains despair, that's why they capture you. Chiaki asks you what's wrong, "hey, are you alright? You seems dose off..." "Yeah I'm fine, just remembering something.."

—Chiaki look around and see if there's someone near you both, she drag you into a more private area, and— "i demented you to confess about it already, don't worry i will never tell anyone."

—"welp, sane goes to you, i will not tell anyone either." "So you knew?" "Yup, pretty sure i did, with no doubt."

Side note ~ hope you like this melli anon!

[the-hero-of-jk-its-len]

A Flower by Any other name. - Chapter Four: The End Begins.

A.N: So, it's been a while, uhhh, listen, I'm going through a legal process rn so, writing at all kind of, well it got hard, but now that I'm the waiting part of that well, I got enough time to finish this chapter, I'm trying my best to make them at least 5-6 pages long, and hopefully longer. but uh, yeah. anyways. enjoy.

Reminder: Aster uses he/him pronouns!! You can exchange his name if you want and i won’t mind, and also this isn’t beta’d at all because I have no friends in the LOZ fandom.

Disclaimer: I don’t own The legend of zelda (gods I wish), the linked universe au or any of the franchises and works I may reference in this fic, this is a work for fans by fans and all credits go to the respective owners.

Summary: Aster has feels, Link has a duty and The beasts awake.

Word Count: 2231 (oh hey new record)

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death,

So, here’s what people won’t tell you when reading about characters in new worlds, it’s basically going cold turkey from all of those little vices you used to have back home, and it’s even harder to remember you are not at home in the mornings.

Which is why every single day I wake up looking for the glasses I don’t need, feeling around on my bedside table for a phone that isn’t there and waiting for the steady noise of a nonexistent computer turning on, I have the sheikah tablet of course, but I can’t very well read the latest instalment of my favorite fanfiction in it, nevermind the fact it’s been well over a decade since I came here, and if time flows back home like it does here then it has definitely been wrapped up for ages now.

So yeah, being Isekai’d is not all that fun.

And that was just things i have had to get used to going without, another matter entirely is the fact every morning a whole team of maids wait for me to wake up and then work themselves to the bone trying to make me look good, mind you these are all people who were assigned to me as a kid so I don’t actually worry too much about it but still, sometimes it’s just…

“So what do you think, your highness, should we add gold thread to the new coat, or just order a silver one instead?”

A bit much.

After clothes there is breakfast, which I take with the king, the only meal we actually spend together, afterwards I take my lessons, have luncheon and then just disappear into the garden.

So many years have passed since my mother passed away, and yet, her rose garden is as lively as when she took care of them. For my part I’ve mostly settled on the other side of the greenhouse, a place forbidden for any servants to enter.

Unlike me who has spent most of their life around these plants, building up a slow immunity, the servants have never been exposed to poisonous plants and flowers like these, and I would much rather keep it that way, no need to give the king one more reason to shut down more of my pastimes.

There is of course still a lot more to do but, at least, looking at the steadily growing berries of the nightshades gives me a bit of hope, even if I know that these will all be destroyed in the future, my flowers, my mother’s roses, all withering away, their watering canals full of malice.

It isn’t a pretty picture.

It’s one I’ve been thinking of more and more often though, the truth is up until now despite measuring things I had just lived freely, naively even, the calamity afar thought, now? Not so much, the talk with Hylia only a month back reminded me of it, reminded me of the fact I had to make it so an entire kingdom was evacuated in under a day, of the fact my closest friend would have to wither away on a battlefield, The death of the champions I had not even met, that of a soldier who would answer to a call from the castle in the next year and would die leaving a house in Hateno vacant for a council of people to demolish.

Every so often I couldn’t even look at Link, much less his father or the little sister I had seen hiding behind her grandfather’s legs every time we visited Deya village, the fact was that the place would be in ruins next time Link went through it, without memories, and without knowledge of what would be lost to him.

The only thing left behind, a diary of a thief, telling him the location of the tunic another hero wore in ages past rescuing his own family.

“..ster, Aster!” Well, that was a nice voice to come back to reality for.

Link was in front of me, closer than had been in a month, holding back my arm from where I was definitely going to over-prune the plant closest to it, several branches of it already laying on my feet.

“You are back.” I said, putting down the scissors and taking off my gloves.

“You say it as if we didn’t see each other daily.” he tried to say jokingly, that face of his relaxing into a sad smile.

“Certainly didn’t feel like it.”

“Aster I-”

“Look -” I interrupted him, “I understand, It couldn’t have been easy to look at me after that, I can’t blame you for needing time,” Hylia knows I often have the same problem. “But I have a feeling things are going to keep changing and I-”

I looked at him then, really looked at him, with all his scars and beauty marks, to the hero I had so devoted myself to in a past life, the last true link (and wasn’t that ironic) to whatever I could remember of who I used to be.

“I can’t lose you, so please, please, next time something like this happens, yell at me, rage if you want to, but don’t just disappear for a month”

To his credit, Link did seem a bit regretful even as I got closer to him, my height short in comparison to him, much to the discredit of the actual height zelda had in the game, still enough to hold his face and make his eyes look to me instead of the floor. “But I don't blame you for doing so, please know that it was my mistake that forced you to such a sight.”

“Now, how about we get out of here, the smell can’t be good for your lungs, and I am rather hungry” I said taking a step towards him, eyes wet and emotions wild, holding the face of a surprised knight, close enough should anyone see us a scandal would arise, but comfortable enough neither of us wold back away “besides, we are late, and our beloved cook won’t stand for it.” The smile in my face didn’t offer a hint of lies, Giovan would undoubtedly try to get food to us if we didn’t get there soon, and Link knew it too, smiling at the memory of the old man running all the way to the training grounds the one time we had been two hours late for a meal.

We left the poisonous garden together, and as we walked there was this feeling of loneliness between us, not everything was resolved, but knowing what would happen, it was probably better that way, as it was, the fact I was so close to Link worried me sometimes, the original Zelda and Link had nowhere near as much a friendship as we did, Link bound by duty to protect the ungrateful princess, and even when it’s hinted at the fact Zelda might have had feelings for the knight, the closest friends from the flashbacks were more than likely Mipha and Daruk.

But I knew for a fact Link only ever saw Mipha on rare occasions, even as a childhood friend whe barely ever spoke of, between training and aiding me on other experiments I doubt he had enough time to keep up with something like that, and it worries me, what if this meant that because of the lack of closeness Mipha never made him the zora tunic he would desperately need to defeat ruta in the future?

Was two years enough time? The efforts to uncover the divine beasts would bear fruit soon, and by this time next year I have no doubt the champions will be chosen.

By the time we had reached the kitchens where a grumpy chef gave us our food, relieved but angry at us for our lateness, I had made a decision, if the reason Link and the others had grown so close was the lack of companionship in the form of Zelda then there was only one choice.

I had to start making more space between us, an emotional barrier, and unfortunately for my heart and mind, I knew exactly how to do that.

So when the meal was over and Link went off to do something or another I stayed behind, a visit to the king was in order, and I for one couldn’t dread anything more than that.

.

.

.

.

.

.

It went well, surprisingly, though weirded out by the sudden request he had indulged me after seeing the benefits, starting tomorrow I would be seen by priests and priestesses, trying to channel the holy power inside me to the best of my ability.

But this would also mean something else, the new lessons and teachings would leave little room for leisure, room I would use to care for my plants and little more, there would be no time for Link anymore, actually going through with it hurt, watching Link’s face fall as I explained we would not see each other regularly anymore though, was heartbreaking, but ultimately goodnights were said.

And If I cried myself to sleep that night well, that’s my business isn’t it?

But let me tell you this, and I never thought I’d say it, but meditating can be exhausting, over the last week of lessons I’ve been put to meditate most of the time, trying to find that magic which guided the princesses of the past to their destiny, but by goddesses it was just not working out.

Day after day, week after week, nearly three months passed when the slightest bit of progress had happened, a small shine from the joint hands on my lap, and while the priests and priestesses celebrated, a knock came, a winded out soldier saying the king called for me.

The Divine beasts had properly reappeared.

And in a small room where only my father, his advisors and I had been previously welcomed, there was the golden hair of link, who looked as tired as I felt, sporting a new scar on his cheek still red from healing, I hadn’t seen him in weeks now, sent away with the rest of the knights in some hunt the king ordered, by the looks of it, it hadn’t gone too well.

By the end of the meeting, letters were being drafted, one to each of the free people of Hyrule, so that the riders of the beasts could be chosen.

But I knew who it would be already, and went to bed that night with the knowledge heavy on me.

Not one week later the four candidates had arrived to the castle, and for the first time since the funeral of my mother, I was face to face with her best friend Chief Urbosa of the Gerudo, and Princess Mipha of the Zora, who in ten years hadn’t changed a single bit.

Alongside them was Daruk of the Goron, a great strong man with a fatherly voice, and Revali, the Rito’s greatest warrior

And though I welcomed them with a gentle smile, my leather-clad hands shaking their own, as I saw them talk and interact not only with each other I see only the teal and fiery versions of them, spirits trapped into the vehicles they had been brought to ride, in a year and a half’s time, all the people in front of me will be dead, and in Link’s case, asleep.

But I can’t save them, I know this much, though sad, and one of the things I knew would forever haunt me, saving them was just not something I could do, how could I? Even with my all powerful player knowledge I knew no future where things went well for these champions, certainly nothing short of a miracle.

But there was work to be done, and moping around people who I couldn’t afford to be attached to wasn’t going to make it go away.

So I left them alone, walked away, the feeling of cerulean eyes watching me as I did, knowing if I turned around to meet them I wouldn’t be able to go.

So I did as I had for the last three months and a half, I didn’t look back, and ignored the stare of the one person I actually loved in this whole world, knowing every minute like this would just bring more strain to a frail relationship.

It was necessary, this, this was for his own good, for Hyrule’s own good, in any case, he wouldn’t remember this in a hundred and two year’s time, too occupied by trying to figure out how to get a good photo of the dragons to bother with trying to remember the silent prince who yearned for his company.

So when the months passed on, and I saw behind glass windows my childhood friend turned hero be healed not by me but Mipha after training I was happy, prouder than I had ever been, I swear I was, so then, why is it I can feel water dripping from my face, why was it that it was this what finally brought me to tears.

Why did I have to fight for a future I was never meant to be part of, to give up the one person I’ve ever loved to the hands of a fate so cruel I choked up even thinking about it.

Why?

[tennessoui]

Hi there! Your Obi-Wan/Anakin fics, especially your sith Obi-Wan and Pretty Bird, are some of my favorite fics for that ship ever for some of the reasons that were mentioned over the past couple days. Namely I find it refreshing for Obi-Wan to be the one mostly doing the perusing and doing what it takes to be with Anakin. You mentioned you have read some good fics with a similar dynamic that were AU and Cannon. I’m wondering if you have any fic recs??? Even if they are outside of that dynamic I’d love recs but since you mentioned you read a few good ones I thought I would ask 🙂

Hey!!! I am about ten days late, but I'm finally getting around to really answering this. These are fics I can remember off the top of my head where Obi-Wan pursues Anakin/does what it takes to be with Anakin.

There's only 8 here which I'm bitter about because I know I'm forgetting so many good ones I've read and genuinely enjoyed but my AO3 history is literally 640 pages so. So. If anyone has any good recs that fall under this category, please send them in!!

Also if you haven't already read these stories and you like them, remember to leave kudos and comments!!

1. Open Circle (rated M) by Calyss. Oh god, this fic? I absolutely love it and it's on my To Rerereread List immediiately. It features a Sith!Obi-Wan who will stop at nothing to have Anakin by his side again. I love Anakin's POV in this as well, because he swings so believably from wanting to be with Obi-Wan to feeling guilty because clearly everything Obi-Wan is dong is because of the Dark Side and he should try to save him. A scene that still makes me laugh is the scene where Obi-Wan is massaging Anakin's shoulders and Anakin to himself is like, 'wow the Dark Side is getting very inventive/really taking this seduction thing seriously'. Also I do like what the author does with the Jedi Council and Padmé's character, because the main narrators are Obi-Wan and Anakin here, and both are biased to extreme ends which very, very comes through at different parts of the fic. I would say it's not a kind story to the Jedi, the Republic, or Padmé, but it is a great story for obikin if you like reading them just absolutely obsessed with each other.

2. The World Undone (rated M) by lilyconrad. Also on my Rerereread List and has been for weeks now. I am low-key obsessed with this story. It's a Sith!Obi-Wan (again), who pursues and eventually wins over a Jedi Anakin. There's so much intricate plot weaving and world building here that I don't actually want to say anything else in case you haven't read it? But you should. You. Should. Everything about it just pulled me in, and I love Obi-Wan's genuine love and affection for Anakin in this fic. It's also. Not super kind to the Jedi, but it has Ahsoka in it!!! And I love Ahsoka. So.

3. Burning Down The House (rated M) by goretier. This is only about 13k, but I absolutely love what they have so far. If we're talking Canon AUs, I think I love Senator!Obi-Wan almost as much as Sith!Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan here is much more confident in his sexuality (ok he's a bit of a whore) and Anakin is at turns blushing and lustful.

4. Speak Easy (rated E) by @unpheenix. Okay, I am so excited for this fic that I'm including it now. It's got 2 chapters and you better enjoy the hell out of them because they're absolutely amazing. It's a possessive!Obi-Wan, set in a modern AU but historical modern? They're not aliens, they're bootleggers, basically. Anyway. Please. It's great.

5. Negotiation (rated E) by Glare. I am not going to pretend this fic is for everyone, it's definitely not so please decide for yourself because this is definitely dark stuff. It's a modern AU, where Obi-Wan is a serial killer who is obsessed with Anakin and kidnaps him to a cabin in the woods. There's absolutely no rape/non-con, but there's definitely a lot of stockholm syndrome going on, so I really advise looking at the tags and the summary and maybe even scrolling down a bit to see if that's something you're comfy with!

6. Parrots, Parkour, Pirates, Punk, and Perfect Strangers (rated T) by Ghost_Owl. This is a one-shot that's very light-hearted and cute, which means I loved it! I'm not sure how well it fits the theme of this list, except that Obi-Wan decides Anakin is cute enough to try and impress with some casual parkour. Super cute modern AU!

7. My Anankē (rated E) by @intermundia. OOF. I'm including this here because I think it kind of fits, as Obi-Wan in this is very much interested in keeping Anakin with him (in a healthy way, which is a first for this list maybe?). I absolutely love everything in this story and would wait on more with my dying breath of course, but every chapter is pretty stand-alone. It's a modern!AU, with Obi-Wan as a professor and Anakin as a student--but they wait to get together until the very last moment, which is just torture to the audience (me) to read because the author does so well building up the tension and anticipation.

8. to touch the light, darkest (rated E) by @treescape. This series is so new and absolutely amazing and dirty and great. Highly recommended. Definitely mostly porn. Obi-Wan fucks Vader back to the light. Yeah. Yeah. It's great. I think it falls under this category because Obi-Wan is pretty possessive here, even though he is technically Vader's captive. It's just. Damn!!

[kittenshift-17]

I’m a writer with an ever-growing pile of WIPs, and I sometimes find it difficult to go back to my older stories once I’ve started something new. Do you have a trick that works for you when you want to work on one of your older stories that hasn’t been updated in a while? I’m finding my ‘poke it with a stick to see if it’s still alive’ doesn’t seem to work too well 😩

Hey love,

My best trick is to re-read it from the beginning again. It helps to refamiliarise yourself with the plot and any little easter eggs you might've snuck into the story - which can help get the creative juices flowing to draft an update building on one of them - and it means that the whole story is fresh in your head so you don't re-write a scene you've already done, or throw in the face of a previous scene/conversation between characters something that directly opposes an earlier one. Re-reading what you've already written is key, even if you find typos and such, because you can usually find the spark that got the story off the ground in the first place.

I also tend to find that if I go back and listen to the music I had playing when I was writing it the first time can really help to bring back some of the ideas that were flowing while they were playing. I've got a whole playlist for Fervidity that I put on when I need to get back in that mindset, and it's the same for a bunch of my stories that the songs I was listening to when working on them bring back the ideas every time.

Beyond that, my only other tip is not to go into opening it, re-reading it, and working on new content for it with the set goal that you MUST write an entire chapter and publish it in one sitting. You don't have to. And if you're sitting there feeling like you must spit out an entire chapter, you'll either end up blocked because of the anxiety, or you'll pour out waffle and filler content to try and bring the word count to something reasonably acceptable to pass off as an update. And I can tell you from experience that the readers will call you out on it being filler and a wasted chapter - especially if it's been a long time since the last update.

It's always best to go into it thinking that even if you only get one new sentence, or one new paragraph, or one new page written, that's okay. Some of the most famous authors in the world get their writing done with the 6 Sentences rule. Wherein they set themselves a rule only that they have to write 6 new sentence each day. Typically, when you hit six, the ideas start flowing and you can manage more but if 6 is a struggle, that's okay. You can set it aside and work on something else.

Trying to force your writing will only lead to a lack of enjoyment in the hobby and a lack of creativity as a result. Writing is supposed to be fun. As much as it's nice to keep the readers happy with regular updates and fresh content, it's better for you and for the readers if you enjoy what you're working on. I've crippled a couple of my fics by pumping out chapters to please greedy readers when I wasn't in the headspace to be writing a certain fic, and the chapters are second-rate at best. You've got to be having fun while you work on the story, or it won't feel fun to the reader.

But yeah. In summary:

- Re-read often and from scratch.

- Revive songs and playlists that inspired you in the first place.

- Don't go into it feeling like you have to complete the chapter in a sinlge session.

- Aim for 6 sentences a day.

- Don't force the content.

- Remember, this is a hobby and is supposed to be fun.

[daydreaming-in-daisies]

Relief (Jack White x Reader) [Chapter 1]

PLEASE READ Author's Note: Y'all... this is the first fanfic and smut I've ever written, so if it's a mess please don't drag me lmao. I started writing this on Wattpad when the pandemic first started, so this fic was born out of complete and utter boredom. It was also born from the fact that there's barely any Jack White fics out here, and many of the ones that already exist are on abandoned Tripod or Geocities fan pages from 2003. Another disclaimer is that the first few chapters are a bit slow, and as of right now I'm like 90% finished with the whole fic. So yeah, keep all of this in mind. Also, this is just the first chapter. I'll post the rest slowly. Thanks for reading! xo

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning: Swearing (this chapter); Smut, dirty talk, oral sex, face fucking, domination (to a degree), swearing (for the coming chapters)

Summary: (Y/N) is a massage therapist at a high end spa in Nashville and winds up getting Jack White as a client. After having your hands on him for an extended period of time, you decide to take things a bit further.

Wattpad Link Here

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

"She's got stickers on her locker,

And the boy's number's there in magic marker,

I'm hungry and the hunger will linger,

I eat sixteen saltine crackers then I lick my fingers..."

Just like every morning, I woke up to the sound of my alarm blaring Sixteen Saltines by Jack White. I generally hate hearing such loud noise in the morning, but I loved Jack White, so I made an exception for him. Plus, having such a song as my alarm definitely helped me get up out of bed every morning, even if it scared the living shit out of me sometimes.

I turn my neck to my left towards my nightstand, lazily reaching over to my phone to turn the alarm off.

"Ugh, 6 a–fucking–m..." I groaned. I don't normally wake up this early. In fact, I can't even remember the last time I was actually up this early. The only reason why I'm even up is because I have a client coming in a bit early today and it takes me about an hour to actually get to work, so I gotta get up a little early to give myself time to get ready. I'm not even gonna lie, I was having that moment we all have in the morning when we try to determine if school, work, hanging out with friends, or whatever the situation may be, is actually worth getting up for. For a second I very seriously considered just texting my boss with a simple, "Hey, I'm not really feeling too well today. I've been feeling a bit under the weather lately, so I won't be able to make it in today. My apologies for such short notice." It didn't help that this specific client–whoever it was–scheduled kind of last minute. Like... literally a few hours ago last minute. I got the notification for it at around 1 A.M. The preview for it on my lockscreen said "New 8:30 A.M. appointment made for..."  and I couldn't see the rest.  I was too tired to give a shit at the time I got it, so I simply glared at the screen for a few seconds and went back to sleep. As I'm contemplating whether I want to leave my bed, I think to myself, "no, (y/n), that's just the tiredness talking. Just get up. Do you really wanna stay home in your apartment and do nothing for the entire day?"

I stare at my plain white ceiling for a few seconds, sigh, and finally muster up the energy to get out of bed. I put on my plush robe, drag myself down the hall, and make my way into the bathroom. I see my roommate, Ashley–who just so happens to also be my best friend–is in the bathroom brushing her teeth. She notices me trudging into the room like some kind of undead creature in heat and gives me a perky smile.

"Good morning!" She chirps with a mouthful of foamy toothpaste. She's such a morning person. It was kind of endearing and impressive, but also kind of annoying on mornings where I needed quiet. This was definitely one of those mornings. However, I knew she didn't mean any harm, so I decided not to take my slight crankiness out on her.

"Hey." I exhaled as I wet my toothbrush bristles and grabbed some toothpaste. "So how are you on this fine morning?" I flatly asked while brushing, still barely awake.

Ashley chuckled a little. "I'm doin' alright." She shrugged. "I got a psych test today that I'm about to fail, but whatever."

I shrugged. "Eh, we've all been there. You do pretty well in school, so one shitty grade won't kill you, yeah?"

"Probably not." She stated after spitting out her mouthwash. "Alright, I'm gonna take a shower in the other bathroom. I'll probably be outta here before you're finished getting ready so I'll see you tonight!"

I did a slight wave and responded with a slightly monotone "See ya."

I finally felt myself beginning to wake up. The bright lights in the bathroom hurt my eyes significantly less after a few minutes, and my brief conversation with Ashley definitely woke me up. After brushing my teeth, washing my face, and all of that other morning jazz I put on my uniform for work. I'm a massage therapist at this high end spa in Nashville. It has its inconveniences but it's a pretty chill job for the most part. The customers can be kind of a pain in the ass, though. But they often tip well so I can tolerate the haughtiness for an hour or so. Since it's a luxury spa, the uniforms are a bit more "fashionable" than other places. It's basically a slightly fitted black tunic with a pair of black trousers and white sneakers (since I'm on my feet most of the time). After quickly checking myself out in the mirror I grab my possessions and head out the door to my car.

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

I probably should've at least checked the name of the person who made an appointment with me. It was only 7:00 A.M. when I headed out, so I had a little bit of time to kill before I left. I got into my car and turned it on just so I could warm up the engine a bit before I officially left. For some reason, I was weirdly eager to see who it was. Maybe it was just because it wasn't often that people successfully made appointments that last minute. It's a pretty high-end place, so you have to pull some strings to do such a thing.

I swipe up on my phone screen, enter my password, and immediately open the app we use to receive appointment notifications. "New 8:30 A.M. appointment made for John G." I furrowed my eyebrows in slight confusion. Normally, people put both first and last name when making an appointment. However, I didn't think much of it. As long as the client is paying that's all that really matters to me. I scroll down a bit to view what services he wanted.

Service(s) Requested:

- Active Recovery Deep Tissue Massage, 110 minutes

"Alright." I nod and mumble to myself. I'm thinking this dude must be an athlete of some kind. We get a lot of those since we have some NFL and NBA players who live in the area. They're pretty susceptible to things like lower back pain, so they're pretty regular. I'm not into sports, however, so it's not like I'm trying to figure out who it is. I connect Bluetooth from my phone to my car and put my playlist on shuffle. "Nice," I chuckle to myself as I hear the familiar riff Evil Eye by Fu Manchu pound through my speakers as I back up out of the parking lot. Nothing like some good ol' 90s stoner rock to liven up my morning commute. Traffic was a bit lighter than usual, so I got where I needed to be by around 7:52 A.M.

I park and make my way into the building, greeting my coworkers and a few regulars as I walk through to get to my designated "Therapy Room" on the 6th floor. As I'm preparing the supplies needed; oil, towels, robes, and all that other good stuff, I physically and mentally prepare myself for the first session of the day. Working on people's bodies all day can get exhausting, so I usually eat a few snacks beforehand and drink some water before and between sessions to keep myself sane. After adding the final touches of lighting a few candles, dimming the lights a bit, and doing a quick shower check (making sure everything was clean and in its place), I take a look at my phone.

8:14 A.M. Almost time for my first client.

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Yep, that's Chapter 1. Thanks for reading y'all, I'll be back with the second one soon. :)

[izlaria]

Someone you like (part 6)

This is the final chapter of my “Someone you like” inspired fic. It’s also available on AO3 in case you prefer that platform.

Special thanks to @rueitae for betaing this chapter and to @onlysilvy for being a darling this whole time. Your support means everything. Also, sorry, Rue, I have no self-control.

Summary: Lance falls in love with Pidge on two different occasions. They eventually figure it out.

25 and 23 years old

The end of Lance’s first year as an MFE fighter saw him standing in front of Pidge’s room, wringing his hands. Anxiety clawed at his chest, but he had made up his mind to finally confess his feelings. With the anniversary of Allura’s death fast approaching – it was only two months away –, both Keith and Hunk had advised him to either spill his guts soon or wait for the new year. Lance had taken this to heart.

His work in the Garrison didn’t put him in direct contact with Pidge, but the two of them always made up excuses to see each other after hours. They would spend evenings in his apartment, playing video games or watching movies, or they would go over to Shiro’s for a round of Monsters and Mana, enjoying how excited Curtis got over the storylines.

Most of the time, Lance felt like they were already a couple, with how much they bantered. Even Veronica assured him that they were insufferable. So, every day it got harder for Lance to control his instinct to pull Pidge to him and kiss her, to finally let her know how much Lance wanted her in his life, forever.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

Before Lance could make up his mind to knock, the door slid open to reveal Romelle. She stood there with a hand on her hip, her blonde hair pinned in a bun at the top of her head.

“You do realize there’s a sensor on the door?” There was laughter in her voice. “And a camera. I’ve been staring at your distressed face for almost five minutes.” Alarm must have flashed through his expression, because she snorted. “Don’t worry, she’s not here right now.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Romelle,” he said with little-to-no enthusiasm. The girl continued to grin at his misery, stepping aside so Lance could walk into the room. “When did you even get here?”

She moved to the bed, where several books were scattered around, and plopped back against the pile of pillows. Around the room, machinery parts and clothing pieces battled for the floorspace. It was an aspect of Pidge that never changed, the organized chaos of her room that no doubt reflected that brilliant mind of hers.

“Keith stopped by Altea to pick me up. Hunk wanted me to bring some produce from that quadrant, because Colleen’s last harvest was apparently jeopardized by a flood a junior botanist caused.” Romelle shrugged. “Katie didn’t know the specifics.”

Her use of Pidge’s given name no longer surprised Lance. People around the Garrison usually referred to the Holts by their titles, since their ranks within the organization demanded a certain level of reverence, but many of their colleagues from the war still called her Katie. Especially those who spent their time with Sam and Colleen, like Romelle.

“Have you seen Hunk and Matt yet?” Lance took a seat on the couch. It was old and gray, but comfortable enough. He and Shiro had dragged it into Pidge’s dorm after one too many nights of eating dinner on the floor.

The blonde shook her head. “Hunk and Shay are grabbing me for lunch and Matt is busy with his girlfriend.” She leaned against the headboard and, although her posture remained relaxed, the look in her eyes spoke of mischief. “Katie said I could chill –” she made quotation marks with her hands – “here while I waited, but if I’m interrupting something…”

Lance gave a spastic wave of his arms that probably did nothing to deny her suspicions. It was just his luck that Romelle was there again. She’d already witnessed his struggle when asking Allura out and now she could see right through him.

“Interrupting?” He forced a laugh. “Nah! It’s fine! Always good to see a friendly face!”

Romelle didn’t have the skill to emulate Pidge’s unimpressed look, but being best friends with Matt had certainly helped her get close to it. However, she also didn’t seem invested enough in his drama to pry, going back to digging through the books.

“I’m sure it was not 

 face you had hoped to see,” she commented nonchalantly, still looking down at the different covers. “Alas, it is what it is. Katie is in a meeting, so you might as well keep me company.”

Lance frowned at her, but chose not to follow through with the subject. “What are those books for?”

“It turns out that an education based around the teachings of a megalomaniac prince did not actually cover as much astrology as I had hoped.” Romelle looked down at her palms. There was an edge to her smile that Lance was sad to recognize as self-deprecation. “Hunk helps with what he can, but Matt and Katie are the real connoisseurs, apparently, so they gave me some material from when they were younger.” She heaved a sigh. “It’s a lot.”

“I’m really proud of you.” Lance smiled at her, a little awkward. “Allura would be, too.”

“What? Where did that come from?” Romelle made a face at him, but she was smiling as well. “I am simply trying to do my best. There is a lot I don’t know.”

“Yeah, but you’ve done your best since I met you and it’s always been enough.” Lance shrugged, shifting his gaze to the whiteboard that hung over Pidge’s bed. The equations there meant nothing to him. “Without you, we wouldn’t have been able to stop Lotor or Honerva. Besides, the Holts are very selective of the people they like. They don’t just take on hopeless cases.”

Romelle blew out a breath. Their eyes met tentatively, as they were both embarrassed by the situation. “You know, it is surprisingly easy to forget that you are a good person.”

“I’ve been told,” he deadpanned, much to the Altean’s amusement.

“Look, I do not need you to cheer me up. I appreciate it, but you can keep your compliments for Katie, who we both know would enjoy them more.” Even as she said this, it was clear that Romelle felt a little better. She picked up one of the books. “If you want to help, just quiz me on chapter ten.”

Lance got up from the couch to accept the book, grinning when he recognized the title. “Hey, I know this one!” He sat back down and flipped to the table of contents. “Yeah, I had to read this for a summer course I took when I was fourteen. That’s when I met Hunk,” he added for Romelle’s benefit.

“Hm, funny, that one is Matt’s.” She kneeled on the bed to look at the cover. “And there was one of Katie’s ribbons in it, so I believe she also read it.”

“One of her ribbons?” Lance frowned at her in curiosity. He had never seen Pidge carry ribbons around, but what would have been a ridiculous image in their teen years was now utterly charming. It was lovely to find out these small details about her.

“Yes. She used them to mark the pages when younger. There, there!” Romelle pointed to the book until Lance reached a page where a green ribbon laid across the words. She grinned. “Isn’t it adorable?”

It was.

At the same time, it reminded him of the difficulties Pidge had undergone during middle school and how she had only had Matt and her parents to rely on. Had she read her brother’s book as a way to escape the words of her colleagues? Or had she loved space so fiercely even then that her time of leisure was spent going through Matt’s training material?

“Do you think this is when their little feud over color-coding started?” Romelle broke him out of these thoughts. She had opened another one of the books and was flipping through the pages absent-mindedly. “I swear to the moons of Cobturg, if I have to listen to their arguments about this one more time, I–”

There was a beep and the door to the room opened once more, shutting Romelle up at once. Pidge took a second to look them over, before dropping her purse down at the coffee table.

“Why do you look so guilty?” She narrowed her eyes at Romelle, who let out a noise of protest, as if to say ‘Who? Me?’.

Lance went to her rescue. “She was telling me about the ribbons you used to collect.” He held up the green fabric, grinning. “Who would have thought? Our Pidge Gunderson was actually a normal, little girl once.”

Her hair was short again. It looked different, though, more put-together than the hairstyle she had used during their time in space. He supposed her responsibilities in the Garrison demanded a more polished appearance, but he kind of missed the disarray.

She looked very pretty like this. In fact, the overall effect of her wide-legged slacks, light-blue blouse, the hair and the boots left him feeling a little dazed.

Pidge rolled her eyes and made a grab for the ribbon, but Lance stood up and pulled it out of reach. She almost lost her balance from his sudden movement, putting a knee up on the couch to keep in place.

“Did you really come in here just to test my patience?” she asked, still standing in front of him.

Lance clicked his tongue playfully. “Nothing makes me happier than seeing you blush in anger.” He waved the ribbon around, smirking. “You make a beautiful tomato.”

“She’s more of a strawberry, really,” Romelle pointed out from her perch on the bed. She gestured towards her face. “It’s the little dots.”

“Those are called freckles.” Pidge pushed away from the couch and towards the Altean. “You were supposed to be studying, not ganging up with Lance to bother me.”

Romelle’s face dropped into an impressively effective look of anguish. “But it’s boring to study by myself.” She grabbed Pidge’s hands, swinging their arms lightly. “You promised I could do your hair before I left!”

Pidge glanced at him over her shoulder. Whether it was because she thought Lance might help her or simply because she was mortified by the idea of doing something so girly in front of him, he couldn’t tell. Before he could intervene, however, there was another beep from the door, then a knock.

“That must be Hunk,” Pidge declared, jumping away from Romelle.

The blonde rolled her eyes, but slid out of the bed and opened a small panel on the wall, where a screen was hidden. From behind her, Lance could see Hunk and Shay talking on the video feed.

“Saved by the bell,” he heard Pidge mutter under her breath.

“Aw, come on, Pidgeon.” Lance aimed a shit-eating grin at her, knowing it was easier to taunt her into things than to simply ask. “Now I want to see you looking all primped up!”

The girl did not back down. She puffed up her chest, lips set into a line, and turned to face him fully. “You’re supposed to be on my side here!” Then, in a lower voice, “I don’t want to set miss excitable over there loose with a brush!”

“I will have you know –” Romelle waggled a finger in the air – “that everyone in our crew thinks very highly of my styling skills. Is it not true?”

She whipped around to prod at her two teammates, who had just been let into the room. Hunk looked doubtful, but Shay nodded her head solemnly.

“Her hair is widely regarded as the most luscious and well-kept of our ship,” Shay declared with all the straight-faced earnestness that could be expected from a rock-person.

“She and Hunk are the only ones who have hair!” Pidge threw her hands up in frustration.

Lance felt himself chuckle. He barely ever got to see the interactions between this group. During his time at the farm, the only occasion when he saw everyone together was on the day they celebrated the end of the war. It hurt a little to think of all the events he’d lost while in Cuba or on his travels.

“How much harm can she really do?” He approached Pidge and ran a hand through her hair, letting the ends curl around his fingers. “I’m sure you’ll look beautiful.”

Pidge eyed him carefully and, though her countenance betrayed nothing, Lance was sure he’d felt her shudder at his touch.

“My hair is too short to do more than stubby ponytails,” she continued her objections. “It would be far from beautiful.”

“I don’t know…” He gave her a wink and, this time, red flooded her cheeks. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing anyone could do to make you not beautiful.”

“I changed my mind.” The interruption froze him in place, hand still on the nape of Pidge’s neck. “Get me out of here,” Romelle said to the other two, ignoring the glare Lance sent her way. “Before I scream.”

Hunk choked out a laugh. “Elle, you haven’t seen the worst of it.”

Lance pulled his hand back quickly. He hadn’t meant to act so impulsively, not in front of their friends at least. The only excuse he could find was that their antics had filled him to the brim with affection and now it spilled out, untamed.

“Don’t you three have a lunch to get to?” Pidge pushed her glasses up, moving away from Lance and further into the room. She stopped by her bedside table and fiddled with a tablet that had been lying there.

Surprisingly, Romelle let her avoidance pass without comment. She gave Pidge a long look, before voicing her agreement. “I’m taking these two to that coffeeshop you and I go from time to time.” There was something strangely emphatic about how she was speaking. “They have a new dessert I want Hunk to try and replicate.”

Pidge tensed, still not looking up from the tablet. “You mean the one we discovered with Allura.”

Lance and Hunk shared a look of confusion and dread. From the way Romelle’s expression twisted, it didn’t seem like that kind of despondency was what she had been trying to evoke. And Shay, bless her heart, appeared to be at a loss and kept shifting her gaze between the four of them, waiting for an explanation.

“Should we go, then?” she asked, uncertain. Romelle gave a quick nod and turned her face away from them. The frown she sported appeared out-of-place in the usually bright Altean.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow.” Pidge had sat down on her bed and her eyes zeroed in on Romelle. “We can talk more then.”

The two girls nodded at each other.

As they traded goodbyes, Hunk sidled up to Lance, giving him an all-enveloping hug. They had talked earlier that morning, but Lance’s impending confession put him out-of-sorts. It was a nice hug, another aspect of the Garrison life that he’d missed: his friend, the support he gave, his unyielding belief on the people he loved.

Hunk held him in the hug for a second. “Don’t let her get away, dude.” They separated, but his friend kept going. “Not like this.”

And then he and Shay were gone.

Romelle stopped at the door. She turned to give Lance a considering look. “You mentioned Allura earlier. Wherever she may be, she would have wanted nothing but your happiness.” Her eyes shifted to something behind him and Lance could almost feel Pidge’s uneasiness at the stare. “That goes for the both of you.”

The door closed behind her, leaving those last words to hang in the air.

“Will you tell me what that was about?” Lance crossed the room to sit by Pidge. He poked her knee until she looked up at him.

“Can I pretend that it was just Romelle being Romelle?” Her eyes were sad as she said this. He almost gave in, but his worry spoke louder than his sympathy.

“I might not know her as you do, but I doubt Romelle would say anything to hurt you.” He grimaced. “Not intentionally.”

“Intentional or not, I just think she’s meddling where she’s not wanted.” The sharpness in her voice made Lance flinch.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I am sick of people acting like they know what’s best for me.” Pidge wrapped her arms around herself. It was such an uncharacteristic gesture for her that Lance wasn’t sure what to say. “I am happy. Who is she to doubt that?”

“Your friend?” he offered, keeping his voice soft.

Pidge normally handled obstacles with a bull-headedness that most feared. She and Romelle had this in common, the fierceness that had sent them travelling through the galaxies to ensure justice was made for their families. His friend couldn’t see the hypocrisy in her claim that the Altean was being meddlesome when Pidge’s own curiosity had often led her to intrude on other people’s matters.

She was a very private person and almost completely indifferent to gossip, true, but she went above and beyond for what did spark her interest.

“Romelle being my friend gives her the right to question my judgement?” Pidge sent him a fulminating look, before turning her eyes away.

“A little.” Lance chuckled to himself, despite receiving an elbow to the side for his answer. “C’mon, don’t act as if you guys didn’t question my actions after the war!”

“Aren’t our circumstances a little different?” Her voice was dry as the Arizona desert. “It’s not like I’m burying myself in work or something. I just…” She forced out a breath. “I’m satisfied with my life. I have friends and my family is safe and I’m respected in the Garrison. What more does she want from me?”

Lance just looked at her. In many ways, Pidge was right. She was still very young, despite having lived through so much, and there would be time for adventures or romance or whatever Romelle had wanted for her.

Still, the notion caused something to ache in his chest. He wanted Romelle’s words to be about him.

Since his return, many of their colleagues had insinuated that there was something more between him and Pidge, and Lance had allowed it. He loved her sincerely, but he’d spent the past year swallowing flirtatious remarks, afraid to scare her off. The rumors about them had seemed like a good way to put the idea into Pidge’s head, even as she grew more and more upset with the comments.

“She mentioned the coffeeshop because she wanted to remind me of a conversation we had when we first went there,” Pidge confessed as the silence stretched between them. “About something I wanted all those years ago.”

“What was it?” Lance frowned at her.

“Nothing that matters. I couldn’t have it then and I can’t have it now.” She didn’t look away from him, this time, and their locked gazes sent electricity down Lance’s spine. There was a heaviness in her eyes that made them look dark, even in the well-lit room.

Lance reached for her hand, pulling her arm away from her middle and onto his lap. He played with her fingers; the ribbon lied forgotten over his thigh.

“Pidgeon, I’ve never known you to give up on what you want.” He smiled at her, feeling a wave of fondness shoot through him. Her hand twisted in his grip, as if she’d meant to close it into a fist.

“I thought I was over it,” Pidge whispered, more to herself than to him.

Lance worked his jaw, hoping he hadn’t misinterpreted the look she was giving him. He could swear her eyes had lowered to his mouth for a fraction of a second. It made his whole body feel hot, like a burning star had settled in his chest and turned the blood in his veins into pure heat.

The implication was not lost in him. Had Pidge liked him back then? Had that affection survived the years of his self-imposed isolation?

“I think –” he started, eyes unable to leave her face – “that some things are worth the wait.” And then, without breaking eye contact, Lance lifted Pidge’s hand to his mouth and kissed her pulse.

The reaction was instantaneous. Color rushed up her complexion, an uneven redness that Lance had taunted her about in their younger years and that now seemed disproportionally attractive. In this bubble of heat they created, Lance felt he could see her brilliance clearer than ever.

Pidge was beautiful, not only because of how she looked, but because of who she was.

Because he was looking so closely, Lance could tell the exact moment her bewilderment dwindled. Her eyes hardened, her mouth curved down.

“Can you not?” she snapped, shaking away his grip to stand up.

“Not what?” Lance stared at her back as fear welled up inside him.

“Not stand so close. Not touch me like that.” Pidge waved her arms around as she spoke. “Not get my hopes up when I know you don’t mean it.”

“How could you possibly think I don’t mean it?” It was his turn to sound indignant.

“Because you’re loverboy Lance! You go after these bombshell women, with their long limbs and their poise…” She struggled to finish her thought, groaning. “I don’t want to be another one of your conquests!”

“Is that what you really think of me?” He felt angry at the possibility. This was Pidge, someone who should know Lance better than the average, Voltron-show-watching acquaintance. She knew he hadn’t really gone into relationships in the past few years, still healing from Allura’s death.

“I don’t know what to think.” She stopped moving, letting her arms hang at her sides. Despite the defeat in her stance, when Pidge looked at him, there was pride in how she held her chin. “I know who I am. I am intelligent and brave and reliable. But I’m not nice,” she said the word with a hint of repulse, “or patient or charming.”

“Of course I know that!” Lance had to hold back a grimace. That hadn’t come out quite right. “But you wanna know what else you are?” He didn’t wait for a response. “You’re the girl who always called me out on my bullshit. The one who has saved my ass more times than I can count, who helped me study for my piloting exams.” He lowered his tone, calming down a little. “You’re the girl who came to meet me at the farm every month to bring all the games I had missed in the US.”

Pidge still didn’t look completely convinced, but she didn’t dodge him when Lance approached.

“The releases always came out late in Varadero,” she interjected with a frown.

He laughed at her excuse. “You came because you wanted to make sure I was okay. Then, after I was done wallowing, you were the one who flew out to meet me in Greece and Korea and Chile.” He took her hand, feeling more confident. “And every time we met up, it was like my body relaxed. Ah,” he acted out, “I’m finally here. With my best friend.”

“That’s just it, Lance. I’m your friend.” Pidge studied his expression with furrowed brows. “You may be feeling – I don’t know! Moved by how close we’ve gotten?” She shook her head. “But I was in love with you for three years before I could accept that you’d only ever have eyes for Allura.”

“We’ve talked about this, Katie.” He kept his grasp on her hand, even as Pidge tried to move away. She had grown uncomfortable with his use of her name. “I did love Allura, but she’s gone. I deserve to go after what I want, too.”

“And what you want is me?” she sounded unconvinced.

“How can you be so smart and still so dense?” Lance threw his head back in frustration. “Everyone sees it. Hunk, Shiro, even Keith!” He sighed. “Even Romelle. Today, she wasn’t making fun of you or scolding you or whatever that exceptional and traumatized brain of yours came up with.” Lance had to hold up a hand to stop her from interrupting. “Romelle was trying to encourage me.”

Pidge stood there and, although she was quiet, her eyes remained sharp. Lance feared that he’d gone too far, but he knew rationally that Pidge had already exposed all she had to say and that it was up to him to erase her doubts.

He raised his unoccupied hand to cup her cheek. Pidge’s eyes fluttered shut.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “How can you be so sure that we will be fine after this?”

Lance leaned down to press a kiss against her eyelashes, then her cheeks, then the corner of her mouth. He heard her inhale sharply and hold the breath. Feeling her reactions to him right under his palm was a kind of inebriation he’d never experienced before.

“I know,” Lance let his lips drag against her skin, “because I’ve committed myself to seeing you happy.” He put some space between them so that he could look into her eyes. The flushed vibrancy of Pidge’s complexion made an image that stupefied him. “Even if that means I turn away right now.”

Her hands snaked up his chest to rest on Lance’s neck, pulling him down. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he couldn’t resist asking, a smile tugging at his lips. Pidge rolled her eyes but didn’t push away when Lance rested his forehead against hers.

“Don’t go.” She was the one to kiss the corner of his mouth, now. “Stay.”

They met in the middle.

Lance felt her hands curl into the collar of his shirt as they kissed, her lips pushing softly against his. The touch was unbearably tender, starting a tingle that ran up and down his back. In return, he used the hand that wasn’t on her cheek to hold Pidge against him. He drew circles on the fabric of her blouse, thankful that it was fine enough to feel the give of her skin underneath.

Pidge’s lips moved slowly on his, drawing out the sensation of that first contact. It was Lance who could no longer curb his want and he licked into her mouth, once, twice, until she was chasing his tongue with her own. Pidge sighed into the kiss, dragging a hand down over his chest.

He’d had kisses before – soft and passionate and frenzied and meaningless –, but the feel of Pidge’s body against him and the affection Lance held for her had ignited a spark inside of him that spread heat all over. It was the star, back again, now that there were no more secrets between them.

His smile broke the kiss and they parted, panting.

“So…” Lance let both of his hands rest on her waist. The smugness that grew within him must have shown in his expression, because Pidge looked immediately on guard. “When did you fall for me?” He traced a line down her back with his thumb. “I’m pretty sure I heard something about liking me for three years.”

Pidge pushed at his chest, walking him backwards. “Not telling.”

“Can’t I convince you?” He was trying to go for seductive, but the girl merely laughed.

“Don’t you have more pressing matters to focus on?” She continued to move them until Lance’s legs hit the edge of the bed. He blinked down at her.

“Think you can distract me?” He shot her a smirk. Despite the more sensual undertone it carried, challenges weren’t new between them. It comforted Lance that their dynamics had adjusted so easily to this new aspect of their relationship.

Pidge gave a final push, making him sit down on the bed. He had to brace himself against the mattress.

“I’m sure I can think of something,” she said, sarcasm thick on her voice. And then she climbed into Lance’s lap, a knee on each side of his thighs.

He felt his throat go dry and swallowed instinctively. The new position put her mouth just a little higher than his, making Lance tilt his head back to capture her lips.

“You know…” His voice came out strangled. “I always did like the way you think.”

When Pidge leaned over him, the feel of her hips lowering on his almost made him choke. A more conscious part of his brain was not surprised by her boldness, but it did nothing to calm his stammering heart.

“Just shut up, loverboy,” she muttered against his lips, even as their smiles made it difficult to really get into the kiss. Laughter bubbled up in him and Lance continued to kiss Pidge as her own giggles erupted. There was joy in her mouth and in his chest and in every point of contact between them.

--

“Oh, I’d forgotten about this.” Lance picked up the green piece of fabric that peaked out from behind a metal plaque.

Pidge glanced up at him, but her attention quickly shifted back to the code she’d been working on.

“Mom left a bunch of books for Romelle here. I think that’s where the ribbons are coming from.”

Lance smiled. He loved how casually they’d fallen into their relationship. As a young boy, he’d fantasized about girlfriends who fawned over him and his accomplishments, but, after so many years as an intergalactic authority, he had learned to appreciate how domestic they had become.

On moments like this, when it was just the two of them behind a closed door, each preoccupied with their own responsibilities, it was their friendship that he valued the most.

“They’re cute,” he exclaimed happily.

Pidge gave him a look of suspicion. “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me.”

“I’m serious!” Lance squirmed on the bed until he sidled up to her. “My first love also liked ribbons. It’s one of the things I remember the most about her, the green ribbon in her hair.”

“Are you comparing me to your first girlfriend?” Pidge sounded completely done with him and Lance couldn’t really blame her. “Even I know that’s a no-no in a relationship.”

“I’m not comparing anything!” He waved his hands defensively.

Pidge knocked their shoulders together in teasing. They’d only been together for two weeks, but Lance doubted he would ever see her truly jealous, not due to his mindless chatter at least. She and Hunk had told him that Pidge had shown signs of jealousy during their time in the Castle, but Lance couldn’t recall them for the life of him.

It was endlessly frustrating.

“You’re lucky I like you.” Pidge lifted his arm and put it around her, burying into Lance’s side.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” He ran his fingers up and down her skin, feeling the goosebumps that formed at his touch. “Fate was kind when it put you in my life.”

Lance dipped down to nibble at her ear, then trailed kisses over the column of her neck. Pidge giggled in his arms, ticklish and embarrassed at her reactions.

“Down, boy.” She pressed a finger to his nose, pushing him back a bit. He pouted at her, trying to entice Pidge into another kiss. “Are you gonna be this tacky every time I say something sarcastic?”

“For as long as you keep finding it attractive,” he retorted. Lance knew he was being conceited, but he couldn’t help it. There was no ego-boost quite like the sounds his girlfriend made when she was underneath him in one of their beds, mouths and hands fervent in their paths.

In a quick movement, he’d captured the tip of her finger between his teeth, biting playfully. It sent Pidge into a bout of laughter, which had her pushing Lance’s face away as he continued to pepper kisses on her palms, her arms, anywhere he could reach.

“You’re so freaking silly, sometimes!” Pidge draped her legs across his, locking him in place. “Why are you trying to catch my attention, anyway?”

Lance leaned back against the headboard, putting his hands on her calves. She was still in her pajamas; an oversized t-shirt and blue shorts that reached mid-thigh. It was more skin than Pidge normally showed, just another sign of how comfortable she was with him.

“I’m a little bored.” He scrunched up his nose, knowing that wasn’t a reason Pidge would accept. She tried to kick him on the arm, but Lance held on. “Hey! I’m done with the flight plans and you’ve been on your laptop since I got here! I’ve been good!”

“You just tried to make out with me,” she pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I was being good and now I want attention,” Lance corrected shamelessly.

Pidge narrowed her eyes at him, but closed her laptop and settled it next to them on the bed. She scooted a bit closer, until she was sitting on Lance’s lap with her arms around his neck.

“So quiet,” she taunted. One of her nails scraped just underneath his ear, making Lance groan. “And sensitive.”

“You’re a little devil.” He dropped his head on her shoulder.

“I finally found a way to shut you up.” Pidge’s carefree laughter rang right in his ear. Since their days as students, it never failed to bring him a sense of accomplishment. No one could distract Pidge quite like him. “I’ll use it how I see fit.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his nape.

Disgruntled, Lance straightened his posture and caught her lips more firmly, tracing the roof of her mouth with his tongue. Pidge responded with no hesitance and her hands dug into his shoulders to hold him in.

Despite the ease with which they fit, this was as far as Lance had tried to go. Kisses and small touches and gasps that left his entire body burning. Although Pidge had gone on a few dates while he was away, Lance was achingly aware that she was still somewhat inexperienced.

More than that, he knew two weeks could not erase insecurities that were born from years watching him flirt with other girls. He felt ashamed of how crass he might have been in front of Pidge, but he had been young and stupid and copying behaviors from men he’d once admired.

He was thankful for his teammates. Lance knew he was a better man for having known Shiro’s integrity and Hunk’s warmth and Keith’s honesty. Coran had shown him there was pride in being genuine. Allura had taught him about the reality of love. Most of all, he was thankful for Pidge and how she’d kept him in line.

They parted slowly, and Lance surged forward one last time to give a peck to Pidge’s lips. She smiled in amusement.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” She ran her fingers through his hair. “We don’t have to be at Shiro’s until dinner.”

Lance checked his watch. They still had a few hours, but he wanted to get something to eat before then. He’d come into Pidge’s room at noon to find she had just woken up, and his girlfriend had refused to go out before she made some progress on a program for Chip. She’d devoured a bag of chips while she worked, but that was not real food.

“We should grab a late lunch somewhere.” Lance disentangled himself from Pidge, much to her discontentment. “And then I need to get you some fruit or granola bars or something for this room.”

“If I need anything, I usually go to the cafeteria or one of the vending machines.” She shrugged, but accepted the hand Lance offered to pull her up.

“And you have the audacity to question my eating habits.” He sent her a sidelong glare.

“You might be able to cook, but it doesn’t count when the only thing you actually prepare is pasta.” Pidge continued to rifle through the clothes on the floor. Then, not finding anything she wanted, she moved to the wardrobe. “Before entering your pantry, I had only ever seen so much tomato sauce on supermarket shelves.”

Lance wanted to defend himself, but Pidge chose this moment to take the edge of her t-shirt and pull it out. It left her in only a bra and shorts, a sight that Lance couldn’t look away from. Her breasts were small but proportional to her petite frame and her skin was even fairer over her chest, ribs and stomach. The overall effect had Lance choking on air.

Pidge laughed as she pulled a dress over her head.

“That was on purpose!” Lance accused, once he’d found his voice.

“You wouldn’t take off my shirt yesterday, so I thought I would give you a taste, then leave you hanging. See how you like it.” She went to look herself over in the bathroom mirror.

“I was being a gentleman!” He puffed out his cheeks. Pidge loved to make things difficult for him, didn’t she?

“Lance, I love you.” She momentarily turned away from her reflection to look at him. “I have trusted you with my life and my heart. Do you really think I don’t trust you with my body?”

When Pidge said things like that, it always sounded completely logical, but relationships weren’t something one could rationalize their way through.

Lance went to stand behind her, resting his hands on the line where her grey dress flared out. Pidge looked very sensible and very beautiful in the high neckline, with how it left her arms exposed.

“I think I want you to believe how much I love you,” he answered, turning her around, “before we do anything you haven’t done yet.”

Her amber eyes were narrowed as she looked at him, but Lance didn’t back down. She eventually heaved a sigh and he could tell he’d won the argument.

“I can’t believe I’m dating a sap.”

“Hey, you knew who I was before!” Lance let her walk past him and back to the bed. “You signed up for this, Pidgeon!”

“Are you ready to go?” She pulled on her sneakers, glaring at him half-heartedly. At her side, Lance caught sight of the green ribbon again.

“Sure, but I think you’re missing something.” At Pidge’s look of confusion, he marched up to her and picked up the ribbon, waving it in the air.

“Really?” she deadpanned at him.

Lance chuckled, already gathering her hair with the fabric. “I just want to see how it looks.” He tied a bow on top of Pidge’s head, snickering. “That really is adorable.”

She frowned up at him and raised a hand to feel what he’d done, then groaned.

“That’s not how I used to wear it!” Pidge protested, already fumbling with the style until the fabric slipped down her short hair.

“Show me, then.” Lance propped his chin on his hand.

Pidge huffed, but laid the ribbon across her hair like a headband, tying a knot on one side and letting the excess fabric hang loose. “There!” she stated with a flourish. “Much less childish.”

“Huh.” Lance stared at her in puzzlement. “That’s… Huh.”

“Does it look that bad?” She patted at her hair. “I haven’t done this since I was thirteen.”

“No!” His answer was hurried. “It just… looks exactly how Italian girl wore it.”

Pidge blinked at him. “Italian girl?”

“My first love. I think I told you about her.” He couldn’t really shake the familiarity of the green ribbon against her reddish-brown hair. “We met in this Space Camp I went to in Miami. Ronie had a research position there and she dragged me along.”

“You’re talking about the Bouman Aeronautics Research Institute.”

Now it was just getting freaky. Pidge, too, looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Yeah…” Lance scratched the back of his neck. “How do you know that?”

“Because my father was a lecturer and Matt was also in the research program.” She sounded just as bewildered as he was. “You’re Spanish boy.”

The two stared at each other for a moment. Now that they were talking about it, Lance could see the similarities that he’d missed so far. It was no wonder he’d always liked Pidge’s eyes; he could still remember how they shone in the sunlight.

“Are you actually Italian girl?” He sat down, still in shock.

“I cannot believe that we’ve known each other this whole time.” Pidge threw her head back, laughing. He soon joined her. The situation was just ridiculous.

“And you didn’t want me to believe in fate.” Lance grinned at her. Pidge still wore the green ribbon in her hair and the color contrasted nicely against her features. Maybe it was because he still remembered how she had been as Italian girl, but the image made him feel unexpectedly soft.

“Oh good grief,” she exclaimed suddenly, eyes wide, “I’m the reason you believe in fate!” He burst out laughing again while Pidge swatted at his arm. “It’s not funny! It’s actually awful!”

“Well,” Lance said once he was able to control himself, “at least you can stop thinking you’re not my type. I fell for you twice!”

“You fell for a pretty girl in a dress that you met when you were a child.” Pidge snorted, standing up to grab her purse. Lance clutched her hand with gentle fingers and stopped her from turning away.

“I fell for a smart girl who helped me realize my worth. Twice.” He winked. “Though it certainly didn’t hurt that she was pretty.”

Pidge shook her head disapprovingly, but still leaned down to kiss him, lips moving in a tempting pace against his. When she pulled back, Lance tried to follow.

He felt dazed by their discovery, but not completely blind-sighted. Pidge had always intrigued him, even right at the start. It had taken time for Lance to recognize the feelings he developed for her, like it had with Italian girl, and then he was already in the middle of it, too into her to stop himself from acting stupid.

It might have been the quintessence stored in him or just wishful thinking, but he thought Allura, too, would be cheering for them.

Pidge pulled at his hand until Lance stood up. She looked a bit red, a bit breathless.

“We’ll finish this later, you Casanova.” And she sealed the promise with another kiss.