#fic is called “Inkstains”

[jomiddlemarch]

We share together the incidental shore

The best place in the world was Uncle Laszlo’s kitchen. The walls were painted daffodil yellow and there was an embroidered cloth on the kitchen table. Aunt Ildi cooked most of the meals, a big, striped pinafore apron wrapped around her, because Uncle Laszlo was always busy in the café, but it somehow still felt more like his kitchen than hers, possibly because Petra could easily see how little Aunt Ildi liked cooking and how much Uncle Laszlo did. What Aunt Ildi liked best was to tend the herbs in their clay pots by the window and to linger over her second cup of coffee with the newspaper in front of her. She liked to be quiet and that made her restful to be around. Uncle Laszlo was always humming a little tune, moving about as if he might begin dancing, happy to be home, to be with his family, to set out a dish of milk for his tabby Szilva whom he’d taken in as a stray kitten despite Aunt Ildi’s frown, her lips pursed as if she’d taken a spoonful of the tart csalamádé Petra herself always pushed to the edge of her plate. Uncle Laszlo had never scolded her for it, though her own mother had chided her for wasting good food, a point Petra was willing to argue, especially regarding cabbage. 

Uncle Laszlo rarely scolded Petra at all, nor any of her other cousins. She wasn’t quite the youngest, that was six-year-old Sami who acted like he was a train half the time, but it didn’t matter how old you were, Uncle Laszlo was quick to champion his collection of nieces and nephews in their various causes and ready to soothe any disappointment with some dessert, his special marzipan saved for the greatest disappointments. Petra wasn’t even sure if she had a sweet tooth or only a taste for Uncle Laszlo’s confectionary, mingled as it was with his kindly affection, his boundless encouragement. She and her cousins all counted themselves lucky to have such an uncle, but they knew that Szilva wasn’t the only stray he’d taken it, though most of the people he’d taken an interest in were customers at his café. There was Mr. Osborne, the elderly gentlemen who wore a neatly brushed but much-mended jacket with a yellow pocket square, Muriel Lowe, the busy housecleaner who kept her hair covered beneath a kerchief and indulged once a week in whatever pastry Uncle Laszlo had featured, Davy the lanky delivery boy who’d happily eat whatever was left over, too stale to sell the next day. And most recently, right before the holidays, a young woman who had suddenly appeared one evening at nearly midnight, when he was closing. He’d been too worried about her pale face and trembling hands to turn her away, though he would need to be up early for the morning rush. Aunt Ildi had shaken her head and started to fuss until he’s said If you had seen her, so lost, what is a few hours of sleep and Aunt Ildi had only patted him on the shoulder and then urged him to take a nap when he could.

“Has your miss come back, Uncle?” Petra asked every day. 

There was no other name for her. She paid for her coffee in cash and though she usually spent her time hunched over an untidy stack of papers, Uncle Laszlo had not been able to catch sight of a signature, even when he wore his thick glasses for tallying up accounts. What Petra had heard, that the young woman had a great deal of dark curly hair loosely bundled back from her face with a straining elastic, that she wore the same drab clothes and trainers day in and day out, her hands bare of any ring but stained with ink, made her wonder what she did outside of the café. Who she was when she was not Uncle Laszlo’s customer. Could she be some scientific genius or a frustrated novelist? A university student who’d overspent her stipend? A princess in hiding? A criminal on the run? If there was something Petra was sure of, it was that Uncle Laszlo’s miss must be an orphan and she wasn’t from the neighborhood. No one had ever heard of her and between the two of them, Petra and Uncle Laszlo had asked around. When miss muttered to herself, she sometimes said words no one could understand, a language all her own. Uncle Laszlo was convinced she had no one to look after her and assiduously plied her with sweets to balance the endless cups of coffee she’d order, most overjoyed on the days he could tell Petra the young woman had ordered a slice of rakott palascinta which he cut generously enough to serve two.

“She comes back most days, but she doesn’t talk much, not like some,” Uncle Laszlo said, chucking Petra under the chin in a manner she wouldn’t have tolerated from anyone else.

“Do you think she’s very lonely?” Petra asked. Uncle Laszlo often said he was a student of human nature but Petra thought he was more like a professor, especially when he wore his knitted vest under his best suit coat on Sundays.

“It’s hard to say. Sometimes, she has the look about her of someone who has spent too long in a crowd. And she can get very absorbed with whatever she’s working on. Hours she’ll sit, never noticing who comes in or out, whether her cup is full or empty. It’s lucky for her she doesn’t use a quill and ink—she’d likely dip her feather in her coffee and drink the ink with her marzipan,” Uncle Laszlo said, his smile only partly hidden by his great curled mustache. 

“I think she must be lonely. You said no one ever joins her,” Petra replied.

“Not yet,” he said, shrugging. “Who knows, maybe one day she’ll bring someone with her or have someone come to meet her.”

“Her true love?” Petra said.

“She wants a friend more,” Uncle Laszlo said. “Someone to look after her.”

“Wouldn’t you be her friend? I would, if you would bring her home for dinner,” Petra said. If his miss came home, Petra would have a good reason to ask her what her name was and what she liked to do when she wasn’t writing her papers. If Uncle Laszlo invited her back to his flat, Petra would be obligated by politeness to ask, she wouldn’t be prying. She could ask what the words meant, the ones no one understood, and if Petra herself could learn to speak that mysterious language.

“She doesn’t need someone like me to do anything more than I already am,” Uncle Laszlo said. “She’s not like Szilva, to bring home and make one of us. She needs her own people, I can tell that about her.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Petra said. “You didn’t think she’d eat the marzipan after the first time and she does. Maybe she needs to come sit in a kitchen and have a little cat jump into her lap and drink something besides coffee. Some cocoa, with extra whipped cream.”

“We’ll see,” he said. “If I were a wizard, I could put a spell on the sweets—”

“What kind of spell? What would it make her do?” Petra said. It wasn’t often that Uncle Laszlo gave in to such a flight of fancy and she couldn’t keep herself from interrupting.

“I’d make it so she could have a good night’s sleep,” he said. “She’s got dark circles under her eyes and she drinks more coffee than all my morning regulars combined. But I’m not a wizard, nor a warlock or a sprite.”

“Because wizards and that, witches, magic, that’s not real, right? There aren’t spells and potions,” Petra said. “No one has a magic wand.”

“Not as such. Only hot coffee on a cold night and marzipan fruits and the sound Szilva makes when she has finished her milk and wants a warm lap to sit on,” Uncle Laszlo said. “Though I suppose anything is possible.”

“I bet your miss would know, if anyone would,” Petra said. 

“You may well be right,” Uncle Laszlo said. It was one of the nicest things about him, that he was a grown-up who would say somebody young might know better. 

[mariedemedicis]

Trick or treat!

This is an excerpt from my untitled third gen lady knight fic:

Born in the same year, the princess’s aunts could not have looked more different. Princess Daneline of Scanra, who was nearly always called Dany, was small, pale, and slender, a fact not helped by being matched to the largest of King Jonathan and Queen Thayet’s sons. She had masses of blonde hair so light in color fanciful singers might have called it silver and delicate purple eyes which only barely escaped being called blue.  Princess Dany was given to sudden and violent nosebleeds and her health was carefully watched over.  Princess Naenia of Tyra was tall, even for a woman, nearly of height with her husband, dark, and built more sturdily than her sister-in-law. Few would have ever dreamed of calling her by anything but her proper name and title. Her olive complexion marked her out among the generally paler Tortallans, showing particular contrast beside her fellow outsiders and sisters-in-law, although of the three daughters-in-law of King Jonathan and Queen Thayet, it was Princess Naenia who was the perpetual scholar, driving her servants to distraction removing inkstains from all her clothes.

[via-the-cryptid]

y’all wanna hear about my One Piece OCs? of course you do! in order of when I created them, meet the Via Originals, complete with tragic backstories and Emotional Issues!

1. first up: Coyo! her backstory is that she was isekai’d into the body of a slave who had just escaped, but was now drowning and also bleeding out from a stab wound (not optimal). unfortunately the other person’s consciousness was still in there, which means that it’s two OCs for the price of one! she ends up joining Luffy as the vice captain and strategist, and it’s discovered later that she has a devil fruit that allows her to create and manipulate ink. her fic is Inkstained Hands.

2. next, we have Edevane Tally! she’s a runaway noble that ended up with Buggy for a short while, and during her time at the circus she learned acrobatics, pickpocketing, and psychological manipulation. y’know, the basics. she later joins the Straw Hat Crew as their spymaster, though Luffy will insist that her role is ‘the acrobat’. she does not have a devil fruit at the start, but her dream is to solve the mysteries of the devil fruits (because they make no fucking sense and it bothers her), so I’m contemplating having her track down a specific fruit that allows her to do what’s essentially short-range teleportation. her fic is Hellraiser.

3. next on the list, we have Mayfire Copper! she’s half lantern shark fishmer (yes I know the image above is funny-looking, I made it as a reference for where her spots are), with her mother being a lantern shark mermaid named Jewel and her father being a Very Shitty Nobleman who essentially sells her into slavery because he expected his only child to be a pretty mermaid like her mother, not an ‘ugly shark thing’. Copper is also Sabo’s cousin through her father and Sabo’s mother, so that’s fun! Luffy meets Copper at Sabaody, where he promptly beats the shit out of the celestial dragon abusing her and then goes ‘oh hey! you look like my dead brother’s cousin! that means you must be my cousin!’ and honestly. who is Copper to refuse. her fic is Oxidate.

4. this one is a little strange, so she… doesn’t actually have a name? none that’s been revealed yet, at least, but she’s called the PR Officer and her primary role is to fulfill a very self indulgent au in which the Marines’ sole PR Officer shows up to Marineford abc promptly calls them out on every last bullshit they’ve committed in the last ~60 years. she also might’ve been genetically modified to stop aging? but that’s not her problem, she’s here to overthrow marines and possibly take over the world. her fic series is the PR Officer AU.

5. this one is my personal favorite: Cyrus Vivian! there are more images of her somewhere, these are just the most recent, and she is an isekai protagonist who gets picked up by the Akagami Pirates and then continues to catch the attention of Literally Fucking Everyone by saying a lot of shit that she doesn’t mean to say out loud. she’s also the most autistic of my OCs and the most similar to myself. her fic is Stained Glass Mirror.

oh and technically there’s a cat oc but I don’t feel like writing a bio for her, so just know she exists.

[insomniac-jay]

Another Giftedverse Fic

It's a complete (allegedly) version of the first Giftedverse draft I posted a while back

Giftedverse Story

If you asked Splendor what she'd rather be doing at the moment, she'd answer anything. At the office working, inspecting the newest lab grown jewels, playing with her kids-- anything to get her away from a press conference. Why was it a requirement of her "public duties" as a hero anyway?

And her husband wasn't there to keep her company.

"It's alright, minha dama. It's only a few hours." She imagined Inkstain reassuring her while massaging her shoulders. Even though he knew she didn't want to hear that right now, his attitude was still chipper and upbeat.

"They said that last month and by the time we got back home, we had to pay the nanny for overtime," Joou grumbled.

But she wasn't the only one-- other heroes were getting ready for the press conference as well.

Sirenia hummed as she applied brown lipstick while Chargeman tied up his hair into a ponytail. Superficial it may seem but looking their best was important, or so their contracts said.

"Five minutes!" The director's voice rang throughout the room as he poked his head inside. "Finish up any last minute touch ups or whatever!"

Splendor huffed silently as she adjusted her jewelry. Nothing too flashy or fancy; just a nice diamond necklace with matching earrings. This better be worth my while or else the Association is gonna get it.

Once the five minutes of last minute prep were up, the heroes walked out to the stage greeting a crowd of reporters and journalist along the way. Cameras flashed as some of the heroes did their signature poses, igniting cheers and applause from the audience.

And with that, the press conference started.

"What is the current status of your relationships with the Heroes Association?" one reporter asks.

The room went silent while the heroes glanced at each other wondering who would be the first to speak up. Discussing something as controversial as their professional relationships with the Heroes Association was something they did in the privacy of their homes, not to openly to the public. If they did, many of them would've been expelled and had their certificates suspended.

"I'll go ahead and answer that."

All eyes were on Chargeman as he spoke into the mic. He was a large, imposing man with bluish black hair tied into a ponytail.

"As you all may or may not know, my wife Stormchaser was expelled after being given an infraction for something she was well within her right to do; and as a result she sued them for wrongful termination," he replied.

"My husband was also expelled because he stood by me, further strengthening the case," Stormchaser added. "Eventually both of us won but refused to rejoin the Association. We requested our contracts be terminated and went our separate ways."

"Stormchaser, have you and your husband joined any other hero organizations?" Another reporter asked.

"Not yet. We're free agents for the time being," Stormchaser replied.

"As of recent, we've been getting requests to join some, including some from the Justice Bureau," Chargeman added.

With how effortlessly they finished each other's statements, there was a reason Chargeman and Stormchaser were a superhero power couple. They always had each other's backs all the time, building the foundation for a strong marriage.

Now that the controversial foot the press conference started on was behind them, room for more appropriate questions opened. Which was a relief for the heroes that they would only have to talk about the state of their careers and a bit of their personal lives.

"Good evening, Mrs. Petrocelli. How can I help you?" Lancelot rocked a small infant in his arms. The baby cooed softly as he swayed his arms side to side. "Of course I can have a meeting with you tomorrow. Is it about the court orders?"

Then, a small woman poked her head around the corner, catching Lancelot's attention.

"Are you on a call?" she mouthed.

Lancelot nodded and walked towards her as she held her arms out. Quietly he handed the baby to her before returning to his call.

"Make sure to have as much evidence of him violating the orders as possible. I can plead a stronger case with that," Lancelot paced around the room. He then sat down at his desk and began writing down all the information.

"Also get Children's Services involved if he refuses to hand them over. Though I doubt they'll do much," he mumbled that last part.

Once Mrs. Petrocelli hung up, he went to go check on the baby.

"Kiran? Is Hotaru alright?" Lancelot asked to his wife Kiran, who was coming out of Hotaru's, the baby, room.

"Yep. He's asleep," Kiran replied. She gently closed the door behind her. "Wanna help me with dinner?"

"Of course." Lancelot headed down to the kitchen following behind Kiran. He set out pots, pans, and the ingredients while Kiran lit the stove. She then pulled out a knife and began cutting up some vegetables.

"How was the press conference?" Kiran asked.

"Long and tiring," Lancelot replied while cleaning the chicken. "One reporter asked a really loaded question. Thankfully that was the only one of its kind."

"How long was it this time? Last time it was all the way until 10!" Kiran was no stranger to the monthly press conferences the heroes would have. After all, she was one of the few people aware of who her husband really was. 

"That one was a nightmare to get through. I remember you texting me about sending an SOS to get me out of there," Lancelot chuckled.

May's press conference was memorable because it was so long. They arrived at 5 but didn't leave until 10. By the time Lancelot got home, both his wife and children were asleep. Not to mention he had to stop a few crimes along the way, which didn't help his already exhausted state at the time.

"Do you see how tired you looked?!" Kiran exclaimed. "I was convinced they were holding you hostage to milk viewership."

Joou sighed happily as she rested her head on the velvet pillows. She was glad to be home after the long conference-- especially back with her children. As she laid on her back, her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey, minha dama. How was the press conference?" Irefumi greeted.

"A waste of time, as always." Joou sat up and turned on the TV. "I've never been more bored with something in my life. What's the purpose of even doing them? It's not like I'm getting paid more."

"So what I'm understanding is that this month's one was shit. Want me to get you anything on my way back?"

"Of course. Could you stop by that bakery in the metro and pick me up some strawberry bolo de rolo? I have champagne here." Joou replied, switching the channels looking for something to watch.

"Strawberries and champagne. Classy lady."

"Mommy?"

Joou looked to see her son Fuyuhito at the door holding his Monster Wars toy while rubbing his eyes. He looked like he'd been crying.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Joou asked.

"I had a nightmare," Fuyuhito replied. "Can I sleep with you, Mommy?"

Joou nodded and picked him up once he made it to her bed. She then tucked him under the covers beside her.

"Cozy, Fuyuhito?" Joou asked while kissing the little boy's head.

Fuyuhito nodded as he yawned and a few minutes fell asleep while still holding onto his toy. The scene of him sleeping peacefully warmed her heart.

"Was that Fuyuhito?" Irefumi asked.

"Yeah. Though, we won't get going to bed too early when you get back."

Rei hummed as the sponge cleaned off the grease and sauce from tonight's dinner. If either of her parents saw what she'd become they'd be infuriated; but alas, they're not here to do that.

Ever since she retired from being an idol, a sudden longing for a simpler, more humble life surged inside her. While others in her field went into the greater entertainment industry, she faded into the background.

But being in the background was better than being the face.

"Mommy, Mommy!" Two small hands tugged at her apron. Rei looked down to see Mani, her daughter, looking up at her with a wide and bright smile.

"Yes, my dear?" Rei dropped down on one knee to be at her daughter's level. It was advice her mother-in-law gave her four months into her pregnancy with Mani.

"Sing me to sleep!" Mani cheered with that same smile she had before.

"Of course." Rei picked her up and headed upstairs to Mani's bedroom.

The walls were painted a soft periwinkle decorated with glow in the dark stars and posters of all of Mani's favorite superheroines and characters. Plugged into the wall was a nightlight themed after her favorite fairytale princess.

Rei gently laid Mani in the bed and began to sing to her. Her thumb gently stroked her hair, lulling the young girl more. After a few minutes, Mani was asleep.

A smile crossed Rei's face as she bent down and kissed her on the forehead.

"Good night, my little princess. Sweet dreams."

Rei walked downstairs and picked up a white envelope addressed to her. It was in her mailbox by the time she came home from the conference.

I wonder what it is, she thought while opening it. Inside was a paper with some information about her recent performance.

Haunting Heroine: Phantasm AKA Miyano, Rei Status Report

Public Duties

Public Relations: B-

Notes: Has great appeal to the public but is unwilling to share details of personal life in interviews and conferences. Has also attacked or got violent with paparazzi on several occasions

Public Endorsements: F-

Notes: Has failed and/or refused to make any public endorsements

Advertiser Friendliness: C-

Notes: Refuses to comply with advertiser friendly policy when featured on Heroes Weekly Show

Press Relations: F-

Notes: Refuses to let journalists take photos, avoids questions at press conferences, and refuses to appear on magazine covers

Final Verdict: At risk of termination

Rei crumpled up the report then threw it in the trash. She wasn't offended by the low grades, she was offended by the fact that they even sent it to her.

"Dumbass report," she mumbled. "I don't need to play by their rules when it's my life."

@floof-ghostie @calciumcryptid @beyonettta @opalofoctober @elflynns-horde-of-stuff @pizzolisnacks @peachyblkdemonslayer @milf-percy

[ladyloveandjustice]

And finally, the second and final part of this fic has arrived. It's long. So much longer than I thought it would be. God I got so carried away with the conversations and it took forever. Turned into a monster. But it's finally done. Again, not as funny as I'd like, but hopefully a little cute.

Thank you to @schrodingersauthorii for saying something in the comments to my post that inspired some of this second part!

Part 2

The atmosphere of the meet was a lot nicer than he expected. The other students were kind to him, many complementing them on his sports day performance. The team members and Coach Sakuragi were less, well, mean to each other than the team he’d briefly been part of, cheering each on rather than acting sullen when anyone outperformed them. The coach at his old school had always responded to any mistake with a torrent of frustrated criticism that made Natsume tremble in shame. But Sakuragi never acted disappointed or angry. She came off like she was giving friendly suggestions, and she pointed out what they were doing well at lot too. The team responded to her advice eagerly, rather than fearing her.

It was nice, and Natsume almost wished he was the kind of person who could be a part of this. But he knew himself too well. He’d feel terrible each time he missed out due to being sick or waylaid by yokai. And that would happen a lot. The nicer these people were, the worse he’d feel about letting them down. It didn’t matter if they were fine with it, he wouldn’t be. And to be honest, even if he liked his teammates, he didn’t like thinking about huge crowds watching him, he didn’t like the idea of watching other people cry in frustration when he beat them, any of it.

So when Sakuragi asked him if he wanted to do a practice run with the others, he agreed, all while planning to run much slower than usual. He’d explain to her after that the performance on sports day was a fluke, and he usually wasn’t that fast, and there was no way he’d be able to pull it off consistently. Sakuragi would hopefully stop wanting him to join the team, and even if she still asked him, she and the others wouldn’t feel bad when he turned her down.

He took a deep breath, as he stood at the starting line, closing his eyes and blocking the gaze of Sakuragi and the other students out. If he didn’t imagine a yokai was chasing him, running slower was pretty manageable, and he was experienced enough with doing it in phys ed that he knew he could pull it off without looking like he was holding back. It would be fine. He’d be fine.

He got himself into position, taking off when Coach blasted the whistle. He lagged way behind the others, while doing his best to look like he was really giving his all. It was going pretty well, he thought, until he looped around on the track and saw a yokai directly in his path.

It wasn’t a big one, not even coming up to Natsume’s knee. It was black, so it had blended in well with the track. It was sort of blobby and shapeless in form, like an inkstain, with beady eyes and a wiggly head.

Natsume’s heart raced and his mouth went dry. It might look small, but he knew better than anyone not to trust a yokai’s appearance. It could be dangerous. Was it here to get the Book of Friends, or was it trying to do something to the people here? It didn’t matter. He had to do something. He couldn’t just slow down, that would give it time to attack

Instead, he vaulted over the creature. His ankle twisted under him when he landed. He fell, knees and hands scraping the ground. He immediately sprang to his feet and ran as fast he could. He had to lead it away from everyone else.

His sneakers pounded on the rubber and intense vibrations raced through him with each step. It felt like his bones were shuddering. Somone was calling his name, but it was muffled and distant, everything was. He has no room in his brain for anything but his goal. I have to protect the people here. I have to protect the Book of Friends. He crossed the finish line and veered into the grass, ready to grab his bag and sprint out of school grounds. But he looked over his shoulder, he saw the blobby yokai hadn’t moved after him at all. It had simply flattened and spread out on the ground. It’s eyes were closed.

Was it…taking a nap?

Relief filled Natsume as he skidded to a stop. Yes, it was sleeping. Its breathing was even, and as sounds came back to him, he could hear some faint snoring. But he also heard something else, which was Coach Sakuragi screaming at him.

“NATSUME! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? WHY WOULD YOU RUN ON A SPRAINED ANKLE?” She shouted while running toward him.

Sprained…? Natsume looked down and saw his ankle was swelling. Suddenly, intense pain shot through his leg, his ankle folded under him, and crumpled. Sakuragi caught him under his arms before he could hit the ground. She lifted him up easily.

 Wow, she’s strong, Natsume thought dazedly. Bet I look pretty pathetic right now. He could see students had gathered around to stare at him, expressions worried or shocked. One girl called “Are you okay??”

“Y-yeah,” he said as his mind screamed in humiliation.

Sakuragi could have probably carried him, but thankfully she chose to simply pull his arm over shoulder. “Don’t stand on that ankle, keep it raised.” She commanded. She turned to the cluster of team members. “We need the chairs, the ice bag from the cooler, and the first aid kit. Go get them.”

The student’s responded quickly, three of them running off.

Soon they all came back with all the supplies, including two folding chairs. Sakuragi eased him into a chair. Natsume couldn’t help groaning in pain when a student propped up his leg on the chair in front of him, resting his ankle on a folded towel.

Natsume hated that he was disrupting the entire track meet and making so many people fuss over him, but he knew protesting would be ungrateful, so he softly thanked the other students instead. They smiled back at him.

Sakuragi placed the ice bag on his ankle. Natsume sighed in relief as the numbing cold broke through the pain.

 Sakuragi bent down to examine his foot. “It don’t think it’s broken, but you’re going to need to check it with a hospital. It’s badly sprained because of all the weight you put on it. Hopefully you didn’t tear the ligament completely.”

“A-a hospital?” Natsume’s stomach dropped. That was really going to worry Touko and Shigeru. He felt so stupid, putting them through all this because a harmless yokai was taking a nap.

Sakuragi straightened up and clapped her hands. “Okay, this isn’t a show, people. Give us some space and get back to practice.”

The team dispersed, and Sakuragi crossed her arms, frowning down at him. Natsume winced, thinking she was going to yell again. Instead, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “Natsume.” she said calmly. “I don’t understand what you were thinking. This was just a practice run. Your first one, too.  I’ve seen students try to run on injuries before, but this wasn’t even an actual race!”

Natsume’s looked at his ankle, which was rapidly turning purple, burning with shame. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“You don’t have to apologize. I just want to know what’s going on. Why did you run on that ankle?”

“I-I didn’t do it on purpose. It was just kind of…instinct?” Natsume said. He instantly realized that how weird that sounded, and so, apparently, did Sakuragi.

“Instinct?” Her frown deepened and her eyebrows drew together. “Your instinct is to keep running even when you’re hurt?”

“No, no, it’s not like that, I’m just used to—!” He snapped his mouth shut.

What was wrong with him? He was usually better at covering things up. He’d almost said he was used to having to run while injured. He’d twisted his ankle running from yokai plenty of times, and at some point he’d learned to just block out the pain until he got to safety. But obviously he couldn’t tell the coach that.  He desperately searched for another way to end the sentence, but before he could, the coach bent over, looking him directly in the eye.

“Natsume, you looked very frightened when that “instinct” kicked in. Like you were being chased down. Are you used to being chased? Is it something that happens a lot?”

Natsume’s blood froze. Did she know? Why? How? What was going on? His ankle was throbbing so badly now, it was hard to think the haze of pain. His breathing got faster, his ears buzzed… He had to say something, anything to throw her off…

 Sakuragi put her hand gently on his shoulder, “Natsume, you can tell me anything. Is it someone who goes to this school? Or even more than one person? Have they been hurting you? I know it’s scary to talk about it, but I promise I can help--”

Natsume’s shoulders slumped as relief flooded him. She’d was asking if people were chasing him. Obviously she’d meant people.  What was wrong with him? Sure, his ankle felt like it was being hit repeatedly with a giant hammer, but that was no excuse to lose his head.

Doing his best to come off as relaxed, he said “Oh, It’s not like that, Sensei, you don’t need to worry. People don’t chase me at all anymore.”

Sakuragi narrowed her eyes. “Anymore?”

He clearly should just stop talking forever. Maybe he’d sprained his brain along with his ankle.

Yes, he’d been chased by people, of course he had. And not just enthusiastic track coaches. He’d had to run away from plenty of classmates looking to teach the liar a lesson. Running from bullies was usually a lot easier than running from most yokai though, since people eventually tired out. He’d only been caught a few times.

At least this slip up didn’t put his secret in danger, it just made every inch of him cringe. He didn’t want to talk about any of this with her. But he had to make her understand everything was okay. Even if it meant embarrassing himself.

“Sensei, ever since I moved here, things have been so much better. People are so kind to me, my friends are amazing, the Fujiwaras are so warm and giving…” He ducked his head, unable to meet her eyes. “I feel like I belong here. Actually belong.  I’m happier than I ever thought I could be….”

Sakuragi was listening to him intently, and when he trailed off, she smiled at him. “I’m glad to hear that. Sorry for the interrogation.”

She took some bandages out of the first aid kit and started wrapping his ankle with a steady practiced hand. “It sounds running is really connected to some… difficult experiences for you. I’m a teacher who’s supposed to look out for you. I shouldn’t have pressured you to run. I should have considered your feelings. I apologize.”

“No no,, it’s not your fault Sensei, you’re honestly the nicest track coach I’ve ever—"

But his reassurance was cut off by a shout, “Natsume! What happened?!”

Natsume looked over his shoulder, and saw Nishimura, Tanuma, Taki, Kitamoto and Sasada all coming around the corner of school building

 What the heck are they doing here? His stomach dropped at the expressions of worry on their faces. Nishimura led the pack as they rushed toward him.

“How did you get hurt already?!” Nishimura exploded the second he was within talking range. “It’s been fifteen minutes since school let out! Fifteen! I bet you were doing some kind of crazy thing again, don’t you realize-?”

“Nishimura, calm down,” Kitamoto said, smacking him on the shoukder. “But seriously, Natsume, what happened?”

“I—"

“Did somebody trip you?” Sasada asked, fixing the scattered team members with a hawklike glare while they looked baffled in response.  “Are there bullies here?”

“No—”

“It’s not broken, is it?” Nishimura was wincing as the looked at the ankle. “It looks so swollen—”

“Guys!” Taki cut him off. “Why don’t we stop freaking out and let Natsume get a word in edgewise?”

“Well said. I know you’re worried, give him the chance to explain,” Sakuragi said in a slightly amused tone.

Nishimura, Sasada, and Kitamoro jolted, like they hadn’t noticed the teacher before.

“Sorry, Sensei,” Sasada said immediately, bowing her head,

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to yell at you, Natsume,” Nishimura mumbled.

Tanuma, who’d been quietly watching, stepped up and put his hand on Natsume’s shoulder. It was a timid, gentle touch, but Natsume could feel the weight of Tanuma’s concern through it. He smiled reassuringly at him, and then looked at the others.

“I just tripped, guys, that’s really all. I was doing a practice run and I stumbled and twisted my ankle. Though I uh, also…” He was going to freak them out if he told them he’d kept running on it, and he wasn’t sure how he’d explain it, but—

“He also bumped it a bit while I was guiding him to his chair,” Sakuragi cut him off, giving him a small smile. “That one was my fault.”

Natsume blinked at her, shocked she’d covered for him. She shook her head at him slightly as if to say ‘just this once’.

“See, Nishimura?” Kitamoto elbowed him. “You of all people can’t be mad at him for tripping!”

“Yeah…” Nishimura said sheepishly. “Sorry…”

“No, I’m really sorry for worrying you all,” Natsume said, guilt racing through him. “But, uh, what are you guys even doing here?

“We wanted to support you. The plan was just to meet you when you were done and walk home together,” Taki said gently.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you before,” Tanuma squeezed Natsume’s shoulder slightly, looking bashful. “You just seemed kind of stressed about it, and I was a little… It was a last minute decision. I was thinking if you wanted to, we could even hang out at my place. I probably overstepped”.

‘It was one of those times his friend’s kindness and care filled him up so much he thought he would burst. Those times where he  wondered how he’d found people like them after all these years. When he ached to give them even a fragment of what they’re given him.

“No…” Natsume said, hoping he didn’t sound choked up, “No, I would have liked that, thanks.”

“That’s really sweet,” Sakuragi said with a grin, resuming with wrapping Natsume’s ankle. But then her grin dropped, and she looked at Nishimura questioningly. “Does he get hurt a lot?”

“Kind of. It’s all because he’s reckless, Sensei. He doesn’t think things through!”

“A lot of time he’s trying to help someone, though,” Tanuma said hastily. “It’s not his fault, really.”

 “You always go way too easy oh him, Tanuma. But yeah, he’ll do things like shove a girl out of the way when a bunch of heavy boxes are falling on her and get conked in the head. He’s too good a guy—"

“Come on, you’re embarrassing him,” Taki admonished, which immediately silenced Nishimura.

Sakuragi seemed to relax at this, and she finished up wrapping Natsume’s ankle. “Ok! Now, can one of you go fetch crutches from the nurse’s office?” Sakuragi took a key out of the first aid box and tossed at Nishimura, who caught it with a startled expression. Kitamoto went with him. Sasada looked around awkwardly, and then did a double take.

“Chiyo, what are you doing here?” Sasada’s hand immediately jumped to her hair, and she started twirling a lock around her finger.

The short-haired girl walked up, wiping her neck with a towel and flashing Sasada a crooked grin. “The track team lets me practice with them sometimes. Gotta train to beat you next time. What this I hear about you threatening everyone and calling them bullies?”

“I didn’t—”

“Oh, now I remember, Natsume, that’s your friend, no wonder you were all aggro!”  Chiyo waved at Natsume, who waved awkwardly back. “Sorry she’s so overprotective, man. She means well.”

“You—come on!” Sasada grabbed the other girl’s hand and dragged her away. Chiyo looked unreasonably happy about this.

Sakuragi had stepped away to chat with some other students too. Taki squatted next to Natsume and Tanuma leaned closer to him.

“Was there yokai trouble?” Tanuma whispered.

Natsume shook his head. “Not really. I basically overreacted. I saw a little yokai on the track, freaked out because I thought it was dangerous, and tripped. It’s harmless, though. It was just napping. I feel pretty stupid.”

“Did anyone notice anything?”

“Yeah, they noticed I was acting really weird. Especially Coach Sakuragi. She’s…intense.”

“Oh, I should have thought about that and warned you about that.” Taki sighed. “It’s really hard to keep a secret from her, especially if she thinks you’re struggling. Her heart’s in the right place, though.”

Natsume nodded. “I can tell. I feel bad that I worried her. I ended up saying some bizarre things while I was trying to throw her off. I think she thinks I’m traumatized from my childhood or something now.”

Tanuma cleared his throat and looked away. Taki studied her shoes carefully.

“Uh, what’s wrong?” Natsume asked, trying to figure out if he’s said anything strange.

“Nothing,” Taki said quickly. “Hey, what does the little yokai look like?”  She looked off in the wrong direction.

 “Oh, uh…kind of blob-like…” he squinted at the sleeping yokai, examining it more closely. “Oh wow, I couldn’t pick it out before but it has ears actually, Oh, they’re kind of shaped like cat ears…”

Takis gasped excitedly “Is it cute?”

“Uh…maybe ugly cute?”

“Then it’s cute,” Taki said firmly. “I wish I could see it.”

Natsume suddenly realized that it was probably for the best Taki couldn’t see yokai, otherwise she’d be terrorizing every weird looking little monster non-stop.

Tanuma looked around at the team members looping the track, as others chatted and laughed on the sidelines. “Were you having a good time with everyone? You know, before everything happened?”

“Yeah…it was nice. Everyone was really great. I feel bad I ruined things.”

“You didn’t—"

“We’re back!” Kitamoto and Nishimura arrived carrying the crutches.

A shock of pain went up Natsume’s leg like lightningn when Tanuma and Sakuragi eased him onto his crutches, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out. He couldn’t worry everyone even more.

“Okay, you’re good to go now. But make sure your parents to get you checked at the hospital right away. I will be asking Ms. Fujiwara about that our weekly grocery store chats.”

Natsume nodded meekly, filled with dread at the thought of Touko’s panic and distress. At the same time, he noticed she’d called the Fujiwaras his parents…not foster parents or guardians…just parents. It kind of felt nice. Really nice.

Sasada was still talking with Chiyo, laughing and swatting at her playfully. She noticed that Natsume was up, and reluctantly pulled away, giving Chiyo’s hand a quick squeeze before she left.

Sakuragi smiled as Sasada rejoined the group, observing all of Natsume’s friends clustered around him. “Take care of him, all right?”

“Don’t worry, Sensei, we won’t let anything happen to him,” Nishimura said confidently.

“We’ve got his back!” Kitamoto assured her.

“He helps us a lot. It’s the least we can do.” Tanuma chimed in unexpectedly.

“Of course!” Sasada and Taki finished things off.

Natsume stared at the ground, hoping nobody could see the expression on his face. Taki patted him on the shoulder.

“You’re right, you do have good friends.” Sakuragi ruffled Natsume’s hair. “Do you need me to get you a ride home? Or can your parents come get you?”

“Oh, it’s fine, I can just walk.”

“You’re seriously going to try to hobble all the way to the Fujiwaras?” Taki said severely.

“Okay, maybe to the bus stop…”

“That’s not coming for another hour,” Sasada tapped her watch. “You can’t wait that long.”

“The Fujiwaras don’t have a car, right?” Nishimura said. “My parents have a car, and Mom should be home. I’ll call her to pick us up.” He pulled out his battered cellphone, glaring at it. “If I can ever get service in this stupid town…can’t believe I begged for a phone and it’s useless…”

“Nishimura, no, I don’t want to drag your Mom into this…” Natsume said in a panic. “I really can just—”

“Natsume.” Tanuma said quietly but firmly, holding out his arm in front of him before he could hobble away. Natsume’s voice died in his throat.

“My Mom would be mad at me if I didn’t call her about this” Nishimura held his phone high in the air, face screwed up in concentration.

“Oh yeah, that’s right, you get your nosiness from her,” Kitamoto said lightly.

“Man, shut up. Aha! I got some bars!”  And just like that, Nishimura was on the phone with his Mom, and Natsume could do nothing to protest it.

Sakuragi laughed and started to turn away. “Great, I’ll see you—"

“Sensei, wait,” Natsume called quickly.

 She stopped, looking at him questioningly.

“I just wanted I wanted to say, I did have fun here. And, well, I don’t think I can join the team but…would it be all right if I came here once in a while? Just to practice, or I could help with whatever… unless that’s…

Sakuragi’s face split into a huge grin. “Of course, Natsume! Just having someone like you to race against is a huge help! But are you sure you--?”

Natsume nodded. “I want to.”

“Well then, do your best to heal up and we’ll look forward to seeing you.”

Nishimura got off the phone. “Mom said to out front.”

Waving goodbye to Sakuragi, Natsume’s friends flanked him as he slowly made his way around the school building.

“I’m happy for you, Natsume,” Taki said.

“Yeah, that’s cool!” Kitamoto agreed.

Thanks,” Natsume said. “I’m sorry I ruined the plans to get snacks and hang out…but maybe we could do it another time? Touko would probably be okay with you all coming over.”

“Of course!”

They all busied themselves planning  the get-together until they reached the bench out front, though Nishimura was oddly quiet.

After Natsume sat down, his friends gave their well wishes and reminded him to check in with them after the hospital, before dispersing to walk home. Taki caught up with Sasada and as they walked away, Natsume heard her say “So you and that Chiyo girl, huh? Do I detect some romance?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sasada said primly.

“Come on, it’s me. Come over to my place and tell me all about it.

“Fiiiine, if I must.”

Natsume laughed slightly. He looked over at Nishimura to see his reaction, but for once in his life, he didn’t seem interested in what Taki was doing. He was staring stonily into the distance.

“Nishimura, is something wrong--?”

“I’m sorry, Natsume,” he said abruptly, still not really looking at him.

“Huh? What are you sorry about?” He wondered if Nishimura was still feeling guilty about yelling earlier, and was prepared to reassure him, but—

“You’re hurt because of me.”

“What? What are you even talking about?” Natsume couldn’t help but laugh but stopped when Nishimura glared at him.

“It’s because of me. You don’tlike  running in front of people, I know that, but then you had to because I screwed up. And when you were talking to the coach, I could tell you were nervous, I could tell you didn’t want to go. And instead of returning the favor and helping you, I pushed you to do it anyway.” He put his head in his hands. “It was such shitty thing to do.”

“Nishimura, come on, you didn’t--

“I did. You were trying to say no, you can’t pretend you weren’t.” He dragged his hands down his face. “I just…got carried away because you were so cool when you won the race! And you’re kind of down on yourself sometimes,…so I thought maybe if you joined the track team, you’d see how amazing  what you can do is and people would see you’re…ugh, it was stupid.”

Natsume’s cheeks burned. “That’s.. it sounds like you were thinking of me, Nishimura, thank you—"

“No, don’t thank me!” Nishimura said fiercely. “I wasn’t considering your feelings at all, I just decided what I wanted for you without asking you.  I didn’t think things through. And God, I didn’t even think about injuries!”

Natsume stared at him in bafflement. “Why would you need to think about injuries? It’s not like I need special protection. I knew what I was getting into. People get hurt in sports all the time. It’s normal.”

“No, it’s different with you.” Nishimura slammed his hands down on knees, red blotches spreading on his face. “Because when you get hurt, you downplay it or try to hide it, and if you do that in track, it can mess you up for life!” Nishimura was talking faster and faster, the words just pouring out of his mouth “It’s dangerous because you act like it doesn’t matter, like you don’t matter, and you don’t get why we all care so much, and I know it’s because you’ve been through a lot and I don’t want to pry, but it makes me so---"

He stopped short, blanching. “Oh shit. I didn’t mean to say all that. U-uh, sorry, just forget it, It’s none of my business…”

A lump formed in Natsume’s throat as shame welled up, hot and bitter on his tongue. “No, I’m sorry, Nishimura,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t realize you were thinking all that, that you were worried. I never wanted to—”

“Natsume, no, I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. I know it’s not on purpose, I know it’s not your fault.” Nishimura pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is about me saying sorry, not you. I really am sorry. And I know you told Sakuragi you wanted to come back once in a while because you didn’t want to disappoint her, but you don’t have to go back there, I’ll talk to her—"

“You don’t have to talk to her.” Natsume swallowed his shame for now, determined to set things straight. “I liked the team. I really do want to come back.”

“You don’t have to pretend, I told you, don’t lie if you don’t have to—”

“Nishimura,” Natsume interjected gently, putting his hand on the other boy’s shoulder. Nishimura finally looked over at him, eyes downcast. “It made me really happy. When we won, and everyone was cheering, and I saw how excited you were…I don’t know. Running is just something I do sometimes, and I don’t think it’s special or particularly like it. But being able to help you was the first time I felt like it was something…more.” More than survival. More than something I’m forced to do.

“Really…?” Nishimura hesitated, looking disbelieving.

“Really. And I really am glad I came here. I enjoyed it, you know, until I tripped. But even then, everyone was nice and helped me. It made me want to come back.”

Nishimura stared at him for a while, expression unreadable. Then he sighed and leaned back. “Okay, well, good.” Natsume could see Nishimura’s shoulders slump as the tension drained out of him. “But I still pushed you. You don’t have to make excuses for me. I’m just sorry I did it and I won’t do it again.”

“Okay, apology accepted.”

Nishimura looked startled, like he’d expected Natsume to keep fighting him on this, then his face broke into a grin. “Thanks, man.”

“You don’t have to make excuses for me either. I’m sorry I’ve been stressing you guys out when I get hurt. I’ll stop hiding it or trying to downplay it. I mean, I do want all of you to understand I…” Natsume knew better than to say he was “used to it” now, so he searched around for a less alarming but still honest way to phrase it. “I have a high pain tolerance, so sometimes it really doesn’t seem like a big deal.”

“Dude, that doesn’t make me feel better.” He could tell from how Nishimura looked at him he’d heard the “I’m used to it” even though Natsume hadn’t said it out loud.

“No, I know. Look, from now on, I’ll admit when something hurts.” He looked down at his ankle, wincing. “Like my ankle really hurts right now. I don’t want to go to the hospital but I’m kind of looking forward to getting painkillers.” He looked over at Nishimura. “Did that work? Or did it just sound whiney?”

“Nah, you need to whine a little more, man.” Nishimura punched him lightly on the arm. “I’m telling you, it feels good. When I sprained my ankle a couple years ago, I whined to everyone I knew. That whine was weak. Try harder.”

“It’s…uh, agony. I…might die? Was that good.”

“You need to work on your delivery, but it’s a start.”

They both laughed. Just laughing soothed something in Natsume, his stomach unknotted, and his racing heartbeat slowed. His ankle even hurt a little less.

When the laughter settled, Natsume looked down, twisting his fingers in his lap. “Look, I know I… kind of lie and hide things as reflex a lot. But I’ve been trying to be more open with the people I care about.”

Nishimura shrugged. “It’s fine. I mean, Kitamoto and I aren’t that stupid, we know there’s something going on with you, but you can take as much time as you need. I know you must have your reasons.”

“Thanks.”

Nishimura chuckled suddenly, looking past Natsume.

“Uh oh, here comes your cat. He looks mad! It’s almost like he knows something happened.”

Nyanko-sensei was indeed stomping towards them, his eyes narrowed.

“Agh, I’m really in trouble this time,” Natsume said. Nyanko-sensei jumped into his lap, making sure to throw his heavy weight around as he landed. “Oof.”

“Oh, your troubles have just begun. Don’t forget Touko!” Nishimura said cheerfully.

“Like I could.”

“I wouldn’t use the “I could die” line on her, she might believe you.”

“Amazing advice, thank you.”

Nishimura smirked. “I’d tell you to run, but, you know.”

Mmm…” Natsume said, stroking Nyanko-sensei, who was making faint, irritated noises. “That’s okay. There are some things I don’t want to run away from”.

---

And that's that! f i n a l l y. I'll add it to the running post, make a post with the complete thing, add it to ao3 etc later!

Running the Gauntlet: A Natsume Yuujinchou fanfic (Part 1)

Part 1 of my fanfic based on the idea I had in this post about Natsume's running abilities making his life at school difficult that blew up.

Includes a couple silly footnotes!

Running the Gauntlet

“I wish Natsume wasn’t our anchor,” a classmate complained.

Natsume flinched. It’s not like I wanted to be, he thought glumly. He pretended he hadn’t heard, hunching over and tying this shoe. So many students and teachers milling around on the grass, waiting for the big event, whoever it was probably hadn’t noticed he was nearby.

But then, Nishimura’s response made him feel even worse.

“Man, shut up. You haven’t really seen Natsume run. He’s friggin’ fast. We’re lucky to have him.”

Natsume appreciated Nishimura standing up for him, but inwardly he was screaming at him to please stop talking about this.

Then Kitamoto chimed in, “Yeah, one of the first times we saw him outside of school, he basically dashed out of the woods at warp speed. So don’t be rude.”

He saw Kitamoto glance quickly at him, clearly aware might be in earshot.

“Fast? Come on you two, I know he’s your friend, but the guy is sickly. You’re expecting me to believe someone who collapses every other day is a good runner? I’m not saying he’s a bad guy, I’m just not counting on him to win this”. The classmate, who rarely spoke to Natsume, adjusted his glasses.

“You’ll see,” Nishimura said smugly.

Natsume groaned inwardly, straightening up.

He eyed the various students hanging out in different colored headbands, the boy handing out water bottles from the tent, and some teachers talking off to the side.  There was even a chattering crowd on the small set of bleachers. A crowd that included parents.

But worst of all was the looping black track, sizzling in the sun before him. He, Nishimura, and the rest who’d been chosen for the relay race would be lining up on it soon.

He hated Sports Day.

To be fair, this was his least hated sports day so far. He’d never actually experienced sports day while having friends before. When he was a kid, he could expect being pushed to the ground and mocked, or having classmates complaining loudly to teachers about being paired up with the liar. Best case scenario was he’d merely have to feel lonely as he was left out of class celebrations, watching parents and friends cheer others on when there was no one to cheer for him.

But this year he’d been able to cheer wildly for Taki during the bean bag toss, laugh at Tanuma as he was forced to dance awkwardly with the rest of his class during their group performance, and smile as Tanuma got some sweet revenge by beating him at the scavenger hunt. He’d gotten to high five Kitamoto and Nishimura after every victory, and even Sasada once.

So many parents being here was still a little intimidating, though. He kept expecting one of them to yell at him to get away from their kid, even though he knew it wasn’t like that anymore. The Fujiwaras hadn’t been able to come, as they had a relative’s wedding to attend today. Natsume hadn’t even told them today was sports day, because he didn’t want them to feel bad about it. He was also kind of relieved they couldn’t come, because he would have been even more nervous if they were watching.

Overall, it had been a good day. He was basically enjoying himself.

But there was no getting over the dread of his biggest obstacle yet—the relay race. He was really going to have to pay attention to his running. It was such a tough balance…he didn’t want to let down the class, but he also needed to think of…

“Natsume, are you okay?” He blinked, noticing Sasada was suddenly next to him. “You were spacing out a bit.”

“I’m fine! Actually, are you okay?” She looked pale, and she kept fiddling with her glasses. It was strange to see her without the usual air of confidence.

“I’m nervous,” she admitted. She’d been chosen for the relay race too, and was looking at the track with almost as much trepidation as he was.

“Sasada! Natsume!”  Nishimura ran forward before Natsume could reassure her. “It’s all up to us!”

“Yay,” Sasada said blandly.

“Whar’a wrong, Sasada?” Nishimura grinned smugly at her “Worried you’re gonna be the sports day cliché?”

“The…what?”

“You’ve seen it on TV, right? In anime and stuff? There’s always the one person who trips during the relay race. They scramble to their feet, tears in their eyes, and pass off their baton…” Nishimura imitated the gesture dramatically. “But don’t worry! You can trip all you want, I’m so fast it won’t matter! No need to be nervous!”

Sasada shook her head, putting her glasses back on. “You know what, your stupidity has calmed my nerves a bit, thank you,”

“Glad to be of service.”

---

Considering all that, Natsume wasn’t exactly surprised when Nishimura was the one who tripped.

Natsume winced when his friend went down, hoping he wasn’t hurt. It would be okay, right? Nishimura was so good-humored. This wasn’t a big deal or anything. He’d just laugh it off and…

Nishimura stumbled up, his knee bleeding, his face burning with shame. Natsume could see his eyes were brimming with tears. Of course he was devastated. Nishimura may act carefree, but he hated letting people down.

Natsume sighed.

Fine then.

“Nishimura!” He called out, offering his hand. “Don’t give up! I’ve got this!”

Nishimura’s face lit up instantly. He jogged as fast as he could and slammed the baton in Natsume’s hand. Natsume faced forward. The others had a massive head start, but that wasn’t enough to make him give up.

A yokai is chasing me, he told himself. A big one with sharp teeth.

And next thing he knew, he was crossing the finish line.

Cheers exploded around him as the other runners caught up, lagging after him. And then, suddenly, what seemed to be the entire class was rushing towards him. He had to resist the urge to put his hands up defensively.

Nishimura slammed into him from the side, embracing him. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he was whooping and laughing. Heat spread up Natsume’s neck and face. It was the first time Nishimura had ever hugged him. Or cried so openly in front of him. He knew it was considered fine for guys to cry and hug only when it involved sports for some reason, but it was still a surprise.  He wasn’t used to that kind of intimacy. Not that it was bad. It was kind of nice.

 The rest of his class gathered around him, yelling things like “way to go” and “that was amazing!” Even Sasada, her face still red and sweaty from her run, was screaming her head off and jumping up and down. Kitamoto clapped Natsume on the back and soon several classmates followed suit. Natsume was sure a red handprint was permanently etched on his back now.

“Dude, I knew you were fast, but I didn’t know you were that fast!!” Nishimura yelled through his tears.

“Seriously, do you have a secret running regimen I don’t know about, or is it just natural talent?” Kitamoto said.

Natsume heard some more cheering explode behind him, and looked over his shoulder to see an uncharacteristically excited Tanuma waving at him from the other side of the track, “Congrats, Natsume!”

“Tanuma, you could at least… pretend to care… that our class lost,” said the boy Natsume had gone up against, still doubled over and panting.

“Sorry.”

There was loud whistle from the stands and Natsume saw it came from Taki. The girl next to her had covered her ears. Taki didn’t notice, and let out another impressively strong blast, waving at him. She removed her knuckles from her mouth and shouted “Woo, Natsume!”

Natsume was torn between being happy his friends supported him and so embarrassed he could die.

“I owe you an apology, Natsume,” said the boy with the glasses, whoever he was.

“Hell yeah you do!” Nishimura responded.

“Nishimura…” Kitamoto’s said scoldingly, his eyes flicking to Sasada.

“Ah…I’m sorry too, Sasada,” Nishimura said sincerely. “You really showed me.” (Sasada had been fast enough to give Nishimura a head start, as Natsume suspected she would be, she’d certainly caught up to him out of nowhere plenty of times in the early days of their relationship).

Sasada wasn’t listening, she was looking at a fit girl with short black hair from another class, who was also still panting from the race. “How about that, Chiyo!” she called over to her.

“You win this one, but I’ll get you next time, Jun! Just you wait!” Chiyo called with a matching huge grin and an excited look in her eyes. For some reason Sasada blushed delicately in response*.

“Okay, okay, give him some room to breathe,” Kitamoto said, shooing at the others. They all stepped back, though Nishimura remained by Natsume’s side. Natsume was grateful for Kitamoto, he was dizzy and overwhelmed. He’d had no idea races like this were such a big deal to people. He was more grateful than ever the Fujiwaras weren’t here to add on to all this.

“Look Natsume!” Sasada had finally torn her eyes away from the other girl and was pointing at the stands. “Even the track coach looks impressed!”

“No wonder, you’re faster than half her team,” Kitamoto said. “Bet she tries to recruit you!”

Natsume’s stomach dropped like a stone. Indeed, the track coach, a woman with short brown hair and sharp eyes, was looking at him with interest. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of. His personal hell had returned. Had winning a measly race been worth it?

Natsume looked over at Nishimura, who was still jumping up and down and hollering about how he was going to treat Kitamoto, Sasada and Natsume to some manju, not even minding when Kitamoto snarked at him about it how it must be a cold day in hell if the man who sponged off everyone was paying the tab for once. He flashed Natsume another ecstatic grin, and Natsume smiled back.

Yeah, it had been worth it.

--

Natsume had experienced a lot of reoccurring horrors, but the most annoying of them was being hounded by track coaches at every school he went to.

Apparently, spending most of his life running from yokai had made him faster than the average person. He’d been unaware of this until his first year of middle school. When it came time to run the track, Natsume had heard whispers around him, a couple of the kids placing bets on when he’d collapse. One boy had even smacked him on the shoulder and screamed “The liar’s gonna come in dead last!” in his ear.

Natsume hadn’t really done much racing against other kids on the playground, and he’d been sick during a lot of gym classes, so he’d also figured he’d struggle against the other kids. It had completely shocked everyone, himself included, when he blew past them all with ease. He’d reached the finish line only to find the other kids several feet behind him, panting and gawking.

The gym teacher’s eyes had gone wide, and he’d immediately started urging Natsume to join the track club. The man had even gone to Natsume’s current guardians about it.

His guardians had resented that he was getting attention while their real kid was an overlooked benchwarmer on the baseball team. They’d thrown lots of snide comments Natsume’s way. And…well, he hadn’t had a good time on the track team at all. When he’d inevitably had to move again after those same guardians got tired of him, leaving the track club behind had been the silver lining.

Upon transferring to a new school, he’d decided to keep his speed under wraps. But then a coach noticed him running when he was late for class one day and his troubles started all over again. At first he’d avoided the coach by coming up with excuses about responsibilities or detention or headaches, but eventually he was just reduced to hiding under the bleachers when he saw the man.

At another school, a coach tried to recruit him for her team SO aggressively he’d made the stupid mistake of running away when he saw her—and naturally, seeing how fast he could book it had just increased her interest.

So, when he was gathering up all the extra water bottles from the hydration station tent at end of the day, and saw the track coach approach him, his heart started pounding, He fought back his urge to bolt, even a flashbacks filled his brain.

“Natsume, right? I’m Sakuragi, if you don’t remember,” The woman had a wide, genuine smile. He’d only spoken to her a few times, but he was pretty sure she was Taki’s homeroom teacher. “You showed some impressive hustle today! Have you ever thought of joining the track team?”

Fortunately, Natsume had his excuses pre-prepared. “Oh wow, that’s such an honor, Sensei!” He said, continuing to gather up the water bottles while still maintaining polite eye contact. “But, you see, I get sick very easily, so joining a team is a bad idea. I’d just end up being absent a lot, and I’d let the team down.”

“That’s not a problem.” To his horror, the teacher bent down and started picking up the water bottles herself.

“You don’t have to trouble yourself—” He began quickly, but she cut him off, saying “ I’d never require you to come in when you’re not feeling well. You wouldn’t need to worry about calling out sick. We’re a fairly large team, so other students can easily sub in for you if you can’t make a race.”

What kind of laid back track team was this? Never mind, Natsume had a backup excuse. “Well, that’s great, but I’m also concerned about making trouble for my foster parents. It’s a lot to ask them, and I don’t want to put them out. I’d be around to help them less. They’d have to pay for expenses, like when overnight trips at the inn when we go to other towns, or shoes—”

“The school supplies the shoes and other essentials, and we can cover trip expenses if need be. Also, I chat with Ms. Fujiwara at the grocery store often, and she loves bragging about you. I can’t see her turning down a chance for you to develop your skills and enjoy some team spirit!”

Natsume looked down at his shoes, sure that he was tomato red right now. Touko bragged about him? What did he even do worth bragging about? “He only missed ten days of class this month”? “His grades were perfectly mediocre again”? “He hasn’t come home covered in dirt in a while”? “He made five whole friends in school, somehow?”*

Still, through his embarrassment, he felt a little warm inside. She was proud of him. It was a still a new feeling, and he wasn’t sure what to do with this strange, shy happiness.

“Natsume?” The coach’s voice snapped him back to reality. “Is there anything else bothering you, or would you like to come do a practice session with us? If you don’t like it, you don’t have to join. I’ll respect your decision.”

“I…” Natsume was searching for another excuse.  

 Nishimura jogged up. “Natsume, do you need any—" He noticed who Natsume was talking to and his eyes widened. “Oh, sorry to interrupt, Sensei! Natsume, are you being recruited? That’s so cool!”

“Ah, you were his teammate today, right?” Sakuragi smiled at Nishimura kindly.

Nishimura flushed a bit, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, Natsume really saved me out there. He’s a dependable guy! And he’s a great runner!”

Nishimura flashed a grin at Natsume, who was wishing he had telepathy so he could tell him to stop. He tried to send a signal by shaking his head slightly, but Nishimura wasn’t looking now.

“Well, that definitely sounds like track team material,” Sakuragi said jovially. She turned to Natsume. “Looks like your friends vouch for you. But it’s up to you, Natsume. Would you mind just stopping by?”

Natsume couldn’t bring himself to directly say no to a teacher in the first place, and now Nishimura and his enthusiasm had been added to the mix. “I’ll give it a try,” he mumbled, forcing a smile.

“Great! Just come to the track after school tomorrow. I think you’ll find it’s a lot more fun than you’re thinking.”

Natsume kept the smile fixed on as they carried the water bottles back into school. When the coach departed and they came ouside again, he and Nishimura met Taki and Tanuma. As always, Nishimura immediately started blushing and fidgeting , but as always, Taki failed to notice.

“I saw you with Sakuragi-sensei!” she said with a smile. “Impressing her is a big feat, Natsume! And don’t worry, she’s really nice.” She put her hand on Natsume’s shoulder, and Nishimura let out a strangled squeak. “She won’t get mad at you, whatever you decide.”

“Are you okay?” Tanuma said softly. Clearly both he and Taki had noticed he wasn’t actually happy right now.

“I’m fine,” Natsume said, letting the fake smile drop away and replacing it with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’ll just check it out. No big deal.”

---

“I don’t get why you’re whining so much about it,” Nyanko-sensei said, trotting beside Natsume as he walked to school the next day. “It’s just one measly meeting. What’s so bad about this running team thing anyway?”

“The people who took care of me when I joined the track team the first time were really bothered by it. They didn’t like having to drive me places, or the attention I got—”

“The Fujiwara’s aren’t like that, so that’s a stupid excuse.”

“That’s true, but it’s more than that,” Natsume sighed. “Last time, I was constantly late or absent. A yokai would attack me or I’d get sick...”

“Wimp.”

“Shut up, Sensei. Anyway, whenever that happened, the coach yelled at me for flaking out. I let everyone down.”

“But this woman said it doesn’t matter if you’re sick and can’t come, right?”

“She says that now, but she might change her mind,” Natsume mumbled.

“You’re so gloomy,” Nyanko-sensei shook his head. “It’s annoying.”

“Look, even if what she says is true, my teammates probably won’t like me. They didn’t last time. And I just…I just hated the feeling of all those people looking at me.”

He’d struggled a bit with just the sports day crowd watching him, but being on a real team was a million times worse. All those people judging, all their hopes riding on him not messing up… He shivered, remembering the way his skin had crawled, the way his breathing turned funny, the way his hands had shook. All those eyes on him…the weight of their gaze had made him want to curl up so small they couldn’t see him anymore.

“And there’s the actual reason. You’re bad with other people and you get stage fright. Boring.” Sensei yawned. “Just get over it. You have yokai trying to eat you all the time, why’s this scary?’

“I’d rather deal with yokai than the track team,” Natsume said emphatically.

Nyanko-sensei scoffed.

“A couple years ago there was this coach who was always chasing after me to recruit me. I was running from her, trying to get off school grounds so she couldn’t follow me, but then I saw that there was this huge yokai on the path out of school. Big fangs, sharp teeth, claws, all that.  I’d have to double back to avoid it, and the coach would catch me. So… I took the better option, and I ran past the yokai.”

“Idiot. Did it attack you?”

“I took a swing at me and knocked me out. But because of that the teacher was reprimanded for making the sickly kid collapse and they threatened to fire her if she ever chased a student again. She stopped trying to ask me after that. So it all worked out.”

“I don’t understand humans,” Sensei sighed. “Anyway, I’m in favor of the track team. If it helps you run faster, that means less of you getting snatched by yokai and less work for me.”

“Stop being lazy and trying to skip out on your bodyguard duties, Sensei. Yokai shouldn’t be chasing me down in the first place, it’s your job to take care of them.”

“I’ve got my own life to live! Stop being so selfish!”

“I’m the selfish one?”

They bickered all the way to the school gate, and though Natsume would never admit it to Nyanko-sensei, it did make him feel a lot better.

---

Part 1 complete! Part 2 to come. This is probably about halfway there, if not more.

Footnotes:

*Yes, Sasada has a sports and academic rival yuri storyline in the background. Yes I'm being self indulgent. It's what she deserves. It probably won't come up much more, I just thought it would be funny. Sasada's having this whole romantic epic while Natsume's worrying about track.

*Touko has been bragging about how kind and helpful you are, Natsume, you dummy. And about the garden he made and how it was good it was and other things Natsume does really well he hasn't noticed. She's also probably noticed he's fast and relatively strong for his size, he's always fetching and carrying stuff for her, but Coach thought she was exaggerating. UNTIL NOW.

[neuvillette]

Paperwork - FrUK Fic (18+ish)

During the industrial boom in England, someone in particular has been working himself to the bone.

Fuck... There it was again, that near-painful pang in his ribs from thinking about that bastard. That arrogant prick had whispered to him so closely that day so long ago that the memory of the hot breath from his lips still seemed to be lingering on his ears-- or was that just his own fiery blush? Either way, it wasn't going anywhere. Whenever he was alone his thoughts would instantly crack back to that insufferable shit. How his lips were so plush and too naturally red to be decent... How those blue eyes drifted lazily along wherever they pleased, often up and down his body. How he hoped that they one day would look back at him so pleadingly, begging for something almost too shameful to fulfill. He knew approximately how the man looked under his clothes, since he was prone to low cut shirts, high hems, translucent fabric. He had a tight waist and broad shoulders, he had hips that almost could be considered too wide, ones that would probably be good to hold onto tightly and grip red marks into. His chest, like much of his body, was soft, not flabby exactly, but plush enough to squeeze and nibble at. Fuck, FUCK, that pang came again, searing through his chest as he battled to think of something else. He had work to get done, and a lot of it. These kinds of thoughts were not only immoral but incredibly inconvenient, and the toll they took on his body meant he had to go through an arduous process to relieve himself, if only for a little while. His teeth all pressed down together as his jaw clenched, he could feel the pressure all throughout his face as he tried to just get on with it. There wasn't that much paperwork left, right? Just a bit more. A small distraction would do him some good. He only realised he was tapping his mostly-dry dip pen against his desk when he noticed how the rhythm was starting to seep elsewhere into his mind; tap tap tap, thrusts against a document, against something soft, warm, moans echoing in arches over the staccato beat, and--- He dropped the pen unceremoniously onto his desk, caked-on ink splattering down as he pressed his forehead into his hand. He had been slipping too hard recently. His bosses hadn’t been pleased with his work as of late; though he had been toiling during similar hours and put in the same effort he always had, they said he needed to rise up to meet changing standards. He used to do work with his hands, but that wasn’t needed anymore. He used to be their guard dog, or at least their work horse. For everything it was, at least the action of his youth was invigorating. At least he wasn’t monitored, and had time to do things for himself, instead of being their tool all hours of the day. He had time to work with his hands, his hands. To create things that were valuable, that were helpful to the, to his, people around him. Now he was… well. He was expendable. But not so expendable that they would waste his capacity to do paperwork. Industry was booming, one couldn’t just expect to stand by with what had been accepted in the past. Labour was becoming more standardised, more efficient, more impersonal… Not that he had ever been the most personable chap. While he enjoyed working with his hands, making things one by one, the gritty way, the difficult way, he made efforts to internalise what they had said to him. They needed his mind, his edge, to work on this stuff. That’s what he was for, after all; not forging swords, not stringing bows, not tilling soil or growing things; but intellectual, gentlemanly, removed work. Detached, necessary, proper. It suited him, he tried to tell himself. He wasn’t one easily inclined to the personable, nor to saccharine slop… Not when communicating with others, anyhow. Buried and smeared while being hidden amongst mounds of paperwork were brief scribbles of poetry, of sketches of mistily reimagined silhouettes, flowing romantic prose incapable of coming out through his own halting speech, of faintly grasped memories of torrid expressions he needed to recall through flowing strokes of a figure, but those all were secrets even he wasn’t meant to have access to. Shameful, that’s what it was. Inefficient, ineffective, and shameful. An outlet for his needs to make something, perhaps, but… Certainly they sated other desires as well.

The distance between them should have helped; should have given him time to correct and corral his feelings, mold them back into form briskly, scaldingly, sharply--as one does when shaping copper. Instead he had gone too soft, too half-hearted, and his self-inflicted blows to his psyche had been too gentle. The metal of his desire had set and crisped up before he could steer himself back on track, and now he had to re-anneal, to subject himself back to fiery disavowal and guilt before the exacting measures of self-restraint would be effective. Yes, he quite liked that idea. He couldn’t have his metallurgy back but he could certainly think of his rehabilitation as such. He had forged many a sword, an arrow tip, an axe, before. His personality would be the same. Scalded and quenched and hammered into shape. And with his skill he could tap incessantly, exactingly, forcefully thrusting against the teasingly giving metal and-- blast it, again! It was achingly difficult to ignore. The distance only seemed to make his delinquent misgivings have more courage to rise up again out of turn. When he was face to face with those capricious blue eyes long enough to remember the wretched personality that tagged along with them it was easier to keep his goal in mind, but the longer he went without a glimpse of the sour man himself, the more alluring the rest of it seemed. Had they even written letters? Well, he hadn’t sent any. He had received a fair handful until they had run dry. He had almost convinced himself that he was glad of it. A few lines in the others flowery script were too laden with implications to be safe; he had already resigned himself to the idea of his correspondence being read at his supervisor’s discretion, so it was best if the letters wasted away entirely rather than risk the uncovery by his betters of whatever hintingly depraved thing would find itself penned inside a perfumed envelope. Near the end of their dispatchment, the notes had gotten quite irritated it seemed, demanding reply. His excuse for his silence was that he simply didn’t have time to dally on such things, but in truth he wanted to show himself that he could deny the temptation. It was easy to tell himself that he had enough to worry about with dozens of signatures to scrawl, appeals and drafts to write, documents and proposals to uncritically approve. With considerable effort, he plucked the intricately carved ivory dip pen off of the desk before blotting it back into his blue-glass inkwell. Just a few more of these documents and he’d be able to wallow in his own home instead of his suffocating office. The half-hearted, half-present signatures left a streaky trail of black as his newly inkstained hand trailed across the page, though the final few letters were jaggedly interrupted with a rapping at the office door.

“Yes, sir, I’ve already said I would finish them by today,” his calling tone was harsh but clearly deferent; he was a lively one, but part of being a man was knowing his duty and thusly his place. Even so, he didn’t bother glancing up from his efforts to correct the broken signing at the tail end of the page as the door slowly opened, creaking unceremoniously.

“If it’s really necessary I can work past my contractual hour, though I must note that your well-intentioned checkings-in aren’t conducive to getting any actual work done.” This comment was much more pointed, though not so much so as to be crossing a line. Still, the silent presence above his desk, looming, made him rethink his words for a slight moment before he got the better of himself. No need to look up as if they can dole out some sort of punishment! To you, of all people! No, you’re working together under the same sense of duty… Right? Keep your head down and show them your dedication and vigour. If they’ve got a problem they can bloody well deal with it, that’s not something that’s important enough to interrupt this work.

« Ah. Scribbling pen names has stopped you from writing back ? You are a much more petulant boy than before, their puppy-dog training is not working on you. » The two sentences were connected not in theme but in the rolling, keen tone they were carried by. The former was a lazy observation and the latter was crafted solely to rile him up. The door quietly shut behind, and there was a graceful and soundless moment afterwards. In a second of skillful self-control, he did not drop the pen but instead cooly placed its nib back into its proper receptacle, as much as he was inclined to throw it at his guest. For a flitting pause, a scorching rage surged through him. What about no reply hadn’t gotten through that dense skull, and what made him think, after it all, that he could flicker back in, no doubt impermanently, just to ruin all his progress, and--

God he needed to see him.

He would not ever, never, let him know that.

“As spineless and will-less as ever, then, Bonnefoy. Resolute enough to travel across the channel to be a nuisance but not enough to do any work or get any admirable aims in life.” Fuck, that hadn’t enough venom, it was transparent and flimsy. Traceable. He made sure his glower was deep enough to offset what he was certain was too-soft a rebuttal. It hadn’t done enough, though.

« So you have missed me ! Yes, you know, I do enjoy to come here and to anger you. » A quick beat passed.

« You know I had to come and-- mmm… scorn you for ungentlemanly not replying to my letters. » Well, it seemed he was being equally as transparent. He almost shivered. It was one thing to have his feelings discovered, but if they both were in agreement over what was happening, it was much more difficult to steer away from what was coming.

“Scold. You mean scold.” He added curtly, taking his pen back up as he glanced back down at his paperwork. He had been staring at his face up until then, he just realised. Blue eyes as infuriating as ever, that new obnoxious french hairstyle, the unneeded tightness in the waist and legs of the waistcoat and trousers, the volatile expression of something genuine.

“Your english still hasn’t improved.” He continued with a comment he knew would be ignored, but he needed to get it out there. Keep up the guise of nagging conversation.

« Your office is so away from the rest in here. Isolated like always. And no windows, a prison ! Poor little sad Englishman, and of course no time to write letters, not one bit. » They were talking by, not to, each other, though they were saying the same things. He had decided to sit upon the edge of the bureau, clearly an excuse to stir up some fabricated bile for their equally as convincing argument.

“I’m working upon this desk, thank you! And I’ve been working for months now. You were not invited and are not wanted; you’ve found your way in and can find your way out. Good day, Bonnefoy.” His pulse was hammering now, if only he could direct it at that copper-- beat his will into place, keep it straight and unmarred, stay determined. The Frenchman was simply smiling away with that look of acute, cutting, though well-intended observation. He was not going to leave on his own. With a return of the pen to its place, he stood, making an attempt to usher his unwelcome guest out. Francis rose as well, and as he did so the Englishman made no further attempt to get to his office door. Instead they stood together, steadfast.

« Say hello to me. It’s been so long, and I want to hear it and you want to say it. Just hello. » It was a tender plea as much as it was a command. The fool really thought he was entitled to it, but only in the way two who have known each other a long time are entitled to hear the news of someone’s workday or what dreams filled their last night’s sleep. They weren’t touching, but they could. His own face was beet red as he decided whether or not he should deny the request, angry and upset at more than the situation and himself. It was boiling over, the tapping beats in his chest and throat weren’t subsiding. He had to do something. He wished he had a bloody window so he could toss the intruder out of it, grasp him by his ruffled collar and throw him out the door, or against a wall, or over his desk, or--

“You-- I can’t believe you--” He was cut off by a look, and maybe Francis had moved forward slightly with his deep gaze, bridged the gap a little to make it easier, but maybe he hadn’t, and maybe he had grabbed at the nicely pressed wool jacket of his own accord, pulled at the stupidly styled french coif to reach for a kiss, to stumble into the wall behind them all on his own. He certainly was the one pressing them together, at least preliminarily. Bonnefoy, having planned something along these lines, was quick to fill in the needed friction after a blink.

« That’s-- hmm… one way to say hello. » The teasing tone was almost enough to make him stop entirely and snap him out of it, possibly stear himself back onto a more proper path, but Francis was smiling again and it was just too earnest as he craned his neck back in anticipation to be kissed there. They both knew this was the only hello he’d be able to manage. Any further acknowledgement of a budding warmth between them beyond the physical was more than he could honestly bear. For now, the more openly flagrant refusal of the two to meet gentlemanly expectations would have to be their letters that were few and far between, punctuated by occasional tysts like this, though the sentiment always lingered, and he was afraid it was growing. He had a period in his youth, with no supervision on open seas, when he didn’t hold himself to such a high standard in these matters. It had taken a fair amount of diligence to push himself back on track, but now--... Well, he could feel himself slipping again, but this time he knew better. Somehow the refutation of his desires of it all made it all the more difficult to deny. But Francis wasn’t giving him much pause to think more deeply about these things, and the wretched glint in his eye made it seem like he knew just what was on his mind. Why did he always know!? It hurt, to be so well understood in a shame the other refused to acknowledge. When had Francis ever been shameful of anything? He pretended to be, but only to be irritating. Every so often when they’d do this, he’d resort to saying such horrible things about how he relished his sanctity being soiled when they both knew perfectly well that no such thing was ever there in the first place. Francis made no signs to do so tonight, not as impatient hands were fiddling with buttons and edging him over to sit back on top of the desk. That pansy French fashion was great for enticing the eye but by god, the buttons! Warm, manicured hands met his and Bonneyfoy grinned.

« You do not need to open my shirt. » What a stupid assumption.

“Just because I don’t-- stop that! I can do it on my own, you’re not making it any easier. I could just rip the damn thing if you prefer-- I don’t have to but. Well, I get to,” His huff was met with an expression that looked sickeningly soft. Was this not injustice enough? To acquiesce to desire, but now his carnal lusts were being interpreted as tenderness! Maybe it was a bit of that, but blast it, Francis could at least pretend he didn’t know. It wasn’t like this was something special for him, anyway. That fop was getting it on with anything that moved and looked his way, and now Francis was lording it over him that he liked him! He was probably smug, pleased that he had ordained to come down and give him the pleasure of a single, solitary fuck while he was off cavorting with--

« Please, let me. You’re tense, I can help. » There he went with that tenderness again, too visceral to be faked. The beat in time of the two sharing a glance was raw and it shut him up quite well. Francis kept chatting as he placed the Englishman’s hands under his shirt as he nimbly undid his own buttons. The other was content to grab about underneath as he waited.

« You need to learn to say no to them. Get more time away. They make you feel worse inside, and that is not very handsome at all. » And there he went with the sap. It was easy to slide his hands around to the small of Francis’s back and hold him steady as he kissed him to shut the man up. Surprisingly, Francis pushed him away to finish opening his buttons. The Englishman did not appreciate that.

« Despair is becoming on you, but even you need to be patient. I’m not going anywhere. » They both knew that wasn’t true, but he wasn’t complaining when Francis plucked his own cold hands out of the back of the Frenchman’s trousers and placed them on the man's freshly revealed chest. He could feel Francis shiver under him, his own hands were much colder than the other’s hot skin. A moment of impulse made him squeeze possibly a bit more roughly than he should have, and Francis did that little gasping moan of his he always did. It had  been so long that he hardly remembered it anymore, but it was quite the experience to hear it again. The more he groped the chest, the tighter the legs around his waist would get. Oh, his poor paperwork, it was only slightly out of the way of being crushed and pushed about… Maybe he could move it before they got on with it all, it would only take a--

That familiar warm hand grabbed his jaw tightly and pulled his gaze back away from the documents on his desk, the both of them pausing only for a moment before they kissed again and all thought of paperwork was forgotten in favour of instant gratification. He could feel Francis smile triumphantly as he kept up his slightly desperate grabbing and squeezing, his hips starting to move up against the open legs resting on his desk. It was rather ungraceful, Francis’s legs snaked tight around him as he pressed their bodies together. In the one moment before he would no longer be able to resist himself, a clutching shock of guilt crackled through his chest. Unbeknownst to him, his face contorted slightly, a grimace of pain and reconsideration. Francis didn’t see, or, at least, didn’t pause. Instead, the hot, slender fingers that still held his jaw were keeping the pair kissing as a rhythm not dissimilar to one that the Englishman was familiar with was hammered out against the solid office desk. If only he could say he forgot the expectations of his bosses and the world at large for those moments, but he couldn’t. His will was stronger, however. At least, his will when combined with his desires. Besides, it was difficult to pause when his pervasive nuisance was sitting its fat arse on his desk, when they were clutched and and hugging together as tightly as his wax seals pressed to his paperwork that was currently watching the display. His hands were suddenly disordered-- after months, years even, of writing when told to, shaking hands properly, adjusting ties, now they had free reign to fly wherever they fancied. Tangled in bouncing blond locks one moment, then back squeezing his partner’s chest, then slipped down the back of the loosened trousers upon his bureau. There wasn’t much time until the nonsensical French interjections fizzled into dripping moans, and even less of a beat until a quicker, tense breath of air joined in. Chests still together, their hearts raced. He was the first to pull away and face the wall with a few curses as Francis was left sitting. Realising the fruitlessness of any attempt to clean himself there, he circled around to tend to the ever-patient papers awaiting his return as he dutifully stacked them in his carrying case.

“I should be going, then. These need finishing. Ta.” Miraculously, he found the coldness he had been attempting to muster up upon his companion’s arrival, though it was a tad too late. Francis wasn’t altogether pleased with the change in tone, although he understood the haste required after their torrid encounter.

« But I need a-- Angleterre, you-- ! » His shirt unbuttoned and tousled, and his trousers hanging off of his hips, Francis slipped to place himself in front of the door.

« You are bringing me to your flat, or your kennel, or wherever it is they keep you when you aren’t here. »

“Not if you’re going to speak French, I won’t.” A raised eyebrow came with the easy, chilled reply.

« Do not get smart with me. » Francis shot back, deft fingers working to button his shirt and press down his clothing as swiftly and naturally as bird preening itself. The other’s stern expression and eyes looking elsewhere told him as much as he needed to know. He softened, if only slightly.

« Look, I’m just as presentable as you. It’s a business trip, would that make you feel better ? I won’t bother you as you do your paperwork. I’ll even make you tea and something real to eat as you finish up. Hein ? »

Another few beats between them, and, ever the gentleman, he opened the door for Francis after giving them both a once-over.

“We’ll need to be quick, alright? These pants are already uncomf--... Go.” He gestured briskly out the door, and followed after the other man who seemed far more pleased with himself and the situation. What was he doing? Why was he-- well, that didn’t matter. All he had to worry about was getting back to his own room and not being seen by anyone in so disheveled a state… Besides, Francis seemed to be making no effort to be inconspicuous-- loudly asking for directions to his living arrangements because it had just been so long since he had seen them, and in French, no less. Though determined not to look at him, what made it worse was that he could just sense that sickening grin creeping up Francis’s face, spreading more and more by the minute. If only he had just remembered how irritating and inconvenient, unprofessional and repulsive the Frenchman was… Being apart for so long made him more alluring when he really knew what the bastard was like. If he had been prepared, why, he wouldn’t be bounding after him, through dirty, smoggy streets; his heart racing, his stern glare only slightly beating out the flutter in his chest and the small twitch at the corner of his lips. Incorrigible.

[thisstableground]

so, new names?

 it’s kind of a weird thing to find, you know. i wasn’t planning to actively look for one today, didn’t have it on the books for any time this week, even. i’ve been thinking about finding a gender-neutral name for some time now, but i’ve never been frantically searching. it’s like how i’ve sort of been intending to buy new bedsheets for ages but mine are still functional even with all the inkstains and the elastic on the fitted sheet going. i don’t need to, i want to. so it gets pushed back behind other priorities or i’ll idly browse but then never find anything that i settle on. 

i don’t hate being called sophia. it’s a pretty name, first and middle both - sophia grace, named after sophia loren and grace kelly. sophia means wisdom, grace means...well, grace, obviously.  i like that meaning, i like the sibilances and the vowels. it just isn’t quite mine, doesn’t quite fit, never quite has, like a lot of things about me.  it doesn’t upset me to be called it. i like that my mother put some thought into it. i worry that getting rid of it might be hurtful to her, somehow, even though i don’t actually plan to use a different name around family. i worry that i will announce this to my friends and they’ll say, that’s nice, and then ignore it completely and continue to call me sophia, because i don’t hate it enough for it to seem important to anyone except myself. i worry that asking them to call me anything else is self indulgent. it feels self-indulgent to ask people to make this effort, to notice me, to perceive me as the person i choose to be.

god, i have earned some self-indulgence. i don’t need a reason to change it. i don’t need to think for days and weeks and years and never be sure, because i’m never sure about anything and i’ll only get less so. i know myself. i don’t need be certain if this is just a gender thing, or if gender is only one of so many other things that i’ve had to spend so long working on and understanding. i don’t think it matters. if i wasn’t nonbinary, if i wasn’t all the things i am and have been, even then i don’t think it would matter. i know myself and it’s my name. if not even my name belongs to me how will i ever find everything else that i’ve been looking for? if i don’t let myself have a name that feels right for me, how will i ever let myself have anything else? doesn’t it just get so tedious, overthinking my way out of everything that could make me happy, pretending that it’s logic when really it’s just that tired old thought pattern telling me that i’m not allowed it, because it would make me feel good.

i don’t hate the name sophia. i don’t hate who she is or was, even when that caused me a lot of pain. i don’t want to forget her, even though there are so many things that it hurts to remember. changing my name wouldn’t leave any of that behind, not really, but i’ve left a lot of it behind through hard work already and i think that it’s a good time to find something new. i don’t even think that i’ll let her go completely. she isn’t a deadname, she isn’t someone that i want to forget ever being, she worked her ass off to get me here. i don’t like the idea of her going through all that just for me to throw her away, never to be remembered, or only brought out for official paperwork. i like to think of her reading fic on a beach somewhere, in comfy pajamas with quiet music playing and a cat in her lap, forever. not a deadname, she isn’t dead; she’s retired, and she’s earned the peace and quiet. i hope she is happy there. i hope that i can respect all the work she’s put in by continuing to work hard and being someone she’d be happy to be.

it is, strangely, already so much easier to be kind to my past self. she deserves to rest. i deserve to rest. i deserve a name that i chose.

anyway. i got that ask about pronouns earlier and it sent me off on a little google again. i didn’t want to go completely divorced from sophia grace, but both of them are so clearly feminine names, so i tried googling to see if there was a male equivalent that i could use.

sophia is from the greek, wisdom. the male equivalent, according to some random commenters on some random baby name site, would be sophus. i do not want to be called sophus. i would have to say, “no, not sofas, sophus” every time i introduced myself to a new person for the rest of forever. and it didn’t feel like me, either. there were suggestions of other names that had similar meanings: conrad, brave counsel. nicomedes, victory of thought. alvis, all wise. i am definitely not an alvis or a conrad or a nicomedes. i felt nothing for those names.

then someone else suggested the name sage. sage, like wise. sage, like the plant. sage, supposedly cleansing if you burn it, clear the negativity. i don’t burn it myself, i prefer the smell of it when it’s growing. we have english sage in our garden: when you roll a leaf between your fingers or when you’re hanging a bundle up to dry out and turn into tea, it smells like mint, faintly, camphor. something medicinal, something healing. sage, the first and last letters of my first and middle names. sophia grace. she isn’t dead, she isn’t gone completely,. just cleansed, just something new.  i want to be something new. i want to grow some leaves. i want to be called by my name, and my name is now sage.

[dark-brohood]

I almost lost you in the dark

This is a fic that was commissioned by my good friend @powerovernothing and I hope yall like it as much as I do! If you wanna check out more about her AU (which is as big as an epic fantasy) then check out her blog!

Read on AO3

Martin should have known better than to rush into the fray like he did, ahead of Lucien. He should have known something like this would happen; he wasn't as skilled in the art of the blade as his brothers.

He lay on the ground now, the grass tickling the back of his neck and hand, the smell of wet dirt from a rain not long ago perforated by the thick tinge of fresh blood wafting through the air. He lifted the hand that was resting on his stomach, and spied the crimson liquid that stained it, dripping down onto his body. The warmth of his blood seeped into his clothing, making the skin underneath his robes sticky as it dried against him. He let his hand drop back down onto his chest, the strength in him seeping out of the would beneath his ribs just like his blood did. He glanced to the side, where the Altmer bandit's lifeless body lay, a pool of blood growing slowly beneath him, slowly reaching out to join with Martin's--at least he was dead. At least, that's what his brothers would say.

He wanted to call out for his brother, but the small amount of energy that was within him was keeping his lungs heaving and his heart beating, which was going to kill him sooner or later. He felt his eyes start to drift as he heard muffled voices call out his name, sounding like it originated a million miles away, but he wasn't sure if that was because of the adrenaline that was still coursing through his veins or the bloodloss.

They'd only been out in the forest because Martin felt like he was suffocating inside the stone walls of Cloud Ruler Temple, surrounded by those that called him Emperor and Sire and Septim. It was all too much, and so Lucien suggested they go on a journey for a day, while Korbin dealt with the Grandmaster. Martin had jumped on the idea, and as soon as he stepped foot out of the large gate, staring out over the city of Bruma, he instantly felt better.

Obviously, he wasn't anymore.

Fingers pressed into his wound, causing his eyes to fly open and a hiss catch on his tongue. Lucien was kneeling above him, his ponytail having fallen over his shoulder, and there was an expression on his face as he shouted, the words sounding like a bunch of random sounds. A few words pierced through the place between consciousness and unconsciousness he lingered in, and he realised Lucien was begging; begging whichever god was listening, begging Martin to stay with him.

In a moment of clarity, everything around him suddenly sharp and crisp, Martin heard his brother shout, "After everything we've been through together, I won't lose you now! I can't! Just stay with me Martin, please, don't you dare leave me!"

He moved his mouth to say something, but his voice was lost on him. And with the pain dulling in his side, the blackness that had been creeping in on the edge of his vision finally overtaking him, and he fell inyo unconsciousness.

-------

When Martin came back to the world of the wakened, he found both of his brothers asleep on two chairs that had been pulled up beside his bed. Somehow, they were back in Cloud Ruler Temple; more specifically, in Martin's quarters. It moved to hurt, sharp pains shooting up and down his entire body as he tried to shift into a sitting position. Looking down at himself as the quilt fell to his waist, he saw that he was shirtless, with a large bandage wrapped around his chest and shoulders. There was a small amount of blood seeping through it, right where he had been stabbed.

Lucien stirred, sensing there was something happening to his brother. Bleary eyed and sleepy, he looked at where Martin was sitting upright, and sighed deeply.

"You shouldn't be doing that."

"My joints felt stiff. How long was I out?"

"Just a day. Korbin and I haven't left your side since I brought you back here. The Temple Healers have done their best for the moment, but you can't do any strenuous activities."

Martin chuckled at that. "Don't worry, I won't be leaving Cloud Ruler for the foreseeable future, Lachance."

He smiled genuinely, nodding. "Good. You worried me. Why did you go up ahead?"

Martin shrugged, then winced at the action. "I'm not entirely sure. I heard some noise and I thought... I thought if I could handle whatever it was, I'd be more like you and Korbin. That I'd share the same type of bond you two do."

"My dear Light Brother, you shouldn't worry yourself with things like that. Of course we don't have the same bond."

It felt like Martin had been punched in the gut, all his breath escaping him and struggling to suck in more. We don't share the same bond. How could I think we could? They're both assassins, and until recently I've only been a priest.

"We don't?" he asked, unable to keep the hopelessness from his voice, unable to say it as strong as he wanted to.

"Of course not. We have our own bond. One that Korbin and I will never have. Because it is unique to us. You shouldn't want the bond Korbin and I share, because that is not one that would suit us. And guess what," he said, a smile creeping onto his face. "Korbin and I will never have what you and I have. So don't ever wish that. Because you are my brother, and I love you just like you are."

Martin felt his tears well up in his eyes, obscuring his vision of his brothers, Korbin still asleep in his chair. "I love you too, Brother."

-------

It took a month for Martin's wound to heal fully, most of it being confined to his bed at the insistence of his brothers and the Grandmaster. He was able to work on the Mysterium Xarxes though, and spent many of his waking hours reading through the demonic book with a quill in one hand and inkstains covering his bedsheets. He had actually figured out one of the things needed to open the portal to Mankar Camoran's Paradise, Korbin and Lucien getting ready downstairs to leave to get it.

Lucien came into his quarters, clad in his assassin leathers, a small smile on his face. "Everything alright in here?" he asked, stepping into the room, closing the sliding door behind him.

Martin nodded, sighing heavily and placing the Mysterium Xarxes on his bedside table. "Yes, just tired. And restless. When are you two to leave?"

"In the morning." He sat down on the edge of the bed, swinging his legs up as Martin scooched over to give him room. "How's the wound?"

"Great. I get to stand up tomorrow."

Lucien's smile grew. Martin had been insufferable the past month, always wanted to wander around Cloud Ruler Temple, just so he could stretch his legs, when it hurt him to sit up. The healers had been strict with him, especially since he was the future Emperor of Tamriel. Lucien pondered that maybe that was why he wanted to walk around, so that he could hide from those that called him that.

"Can I ask you something?" Martin asked after a brief period of silence.

"You just did." Martin swatted his arm, and Lucien chuckled. "Of course."

"May I lay my head on your lap?"

Lucien stared at him for a moment, not expecting that. But his face morphed into a sincere smile, and he said, "Of course you can."

Martin moved in the bed, so he was lying down next to Lucien so their bodies formed a 'T'. Gingerly, Martin laid his head upon his lap, and his entire body relaxed, the tension of bedrest and worry finally leaving him after building up for a month. Absentmindedly, Lucien started stroking his hair, his fingers tracing along his temple and forehead.

In the silence that ensued, Lucien felt his brother's breathing slow, until he was in a deep sleep. Lucien stared out the window at the snowy mountains, content.

[roselightfairy]

On the topic of hurt/comfort fics, do we have any Gimli/Legolas hurt comfort fics where Legolas is the one that needs comforting? Like dealing with his sea-longing and needing snuggles or he's pushing himself too hard and Gimli needs to remind him to sleep/take care of himself because even the tireless have limits, or Legolas crying over anything in general and Gimli coming to the rescue?

All right, so there are a lot more of these out there than the Gimli ones. We as a fandom do love our Legolas whump, and it was tough to cut down this list – but I tried to go for more the emotional side of h/c, which is a favorite of mine for the two of them. (Gimli physically injured; Legolas in emotional distress – that’s where it’s at!) A physical h/c fic or two did slip in, though, so I divided these into three main sections: one that deals with sea-longing, one that deals with war-related trauma, and one “other” category. As a reminder, this is not a catch-all list – again, Legolas might well be the whole fandom’s favorite whumpee – but these are some of the ones that first popped up in my mind at your request.

Sea-longing:

and yet the sea calls (series) by Laura JV (jacquez)

Summaries: [Gimli/Legolas] loves, and yet the sea calls.

…

This is a set of lovely vignettes (two stories, one from Legolas’s perspective and one from Gimli’s) about learning to live and love with the sea-longing between them, and to find comfort in one another as best they can. These stories make me feel so very many feelings and are constant rereads when I want to feel the bittersweet (but mostly sweet!) that is their love.

A Beloved Ballast, an Untethered Soul by katajainen

Summary: Gimli has spent long months on the new gates of Minas Tirith, all the while waiting for Legolas to return to him from the North.

But when he does, it's clear the year has not been altogether kind to his husband.

…

This is one of my favorites of a lot of things – a wonderful, gentle reunion in Minas Tirith after their separation after the war, Legolas worn from sea-longing and finally finding home in his husband’s arm, warm comfort and some very romantic smut. Please read it; you will not regret it.

Everything That Mattered Is Dust by SerStolas

Summary: A decade ago, the One Ring was destroyed. A decade ago, Gimli and Legolas traveled together first to the Glittering Caves and then to Fangorn. A decade ago, both of them failed to admit their deeper emotions for each other. Now they meet again in Minas Tirith during renovations on the city. But not all is well with Legolas.

Inspired by Through the Ghost by Shinedown.

…

This is another lovely story with a similar theme to the previous – but without the established relationship, so we get a very sweet love confession instead. Very gentle and loving and satisfying; this gets me right in the hurt/comfort feelings. <3

Where You Go, I Will Go by UnnamedElement

Summary: Lady Galadriel's message was a riddle too twisted for a Wood-elf and a Dwarf to initially unwind... This is a story of a friendship fraught with mutual ignorance: the concessions a dwarf makes to an elf, and the choices that elf makes for their peculiar friendship. It is how Legolas and Gimli pass through the threat of death to find, together, a better truth. (March 2016 Teitho)

…

Look, I don’t know if this is hurt/comfort as such, but it certainly comforts ME to read. This is a lovely little exploration of the sea-longing and how it changes Legolas and Gimli’s friendship – and in fact brings them closer together. It’s gen, nominally, but it’s so tender you won’t miss the romance (and I feel comfortable saying that because of multiple conversations with @unnamedelement on the subject!).

The Language of Power by Thewriternumber19238478356

Summary: It's the night before the march on the Black Gate. But sea-longing won't let Legolas sleep. Gimli offers him a secret dwarven practice that might just be the solution…

…

This is an underappreciated and really wonderful story, but contains some non-sexual BDSM, so be warned for that. It’s extremely tender and plays with the notion of power in dominance/submission with respect and love for the practice and the characters. It’s archive-locked, so you’ll need an account to read it, but I really do have such love for this story and I highly recommend it.

War-related:

A Night Beclouded by katajainen

Summary: Night falls after the fighting is done on the Pelennor Fields. For those left alive, it should be an hour for respite, for catching one's breath.

But there is the kind of darkness that seeps under one's skin, the kind not born of mere absence of sunlight, and this is not a time to be alone.

…

This is such quiet, atmospheric tenderness – comforting someone after a nightmare is such a wonderful trope, and @katajainen does it with all her usual sensitivity and care. A bit of pre-relationship sweetness and warm comfort – and honestly, it was a struggle to keep it to two fics by katajainen on this list; please go read all her stories!

Shared Spaces by mssileas

Summary: I know you think I'm a little different But I'm still somebody's son.

The night before marching on the Black Gate, neither of them can sleep.

…

Okay, so I adore this fic. I have a soft spot for any fics that focus on how Legolas must feel about Sauron and the origin of orcs, and this is a wonderful fic that deals with those ideas, as well as pre-battle anxiety, and Legolas and Gimli taking comfort in one another. Lots of lovely hand-touching and some very sweet kissing, too. <3

A time and times and half a time by Honesty

Summary: AU. Legolas, imprisoned by Saruman, discovers *exactly* how Orcs were made .... While Gimli keeps a vigil he will never forget.

…

Similar themes as the last one, though taken WAY over the edge past hurt/comfort and into serious hurt territory. Be careful with this one, because there’s a lot of pain for Legolas – warning for physical and psychological torture - but the love between him and Gimli is so powerful and all-consuming, it carries the story and provides the much-needed comfort at the end, though you’ll probably still be aching.

Comfort after Endurance by spinel

Summary: The battle of Helm's Deep takes its toll on Legolas. A stolen moment between the end of the battle at Helm's Deep and riding to Isengard.

…

Pre-relationship sweetness, comfort after battle. This one skirts the lines of physical and emotional hurt/comfort, combining the two with the soothing effect of touch and closeness after great trials. Lots of tender handling of one another – no explicit relationship content, but definitely little hints of more to come here and there. ;)

Other:

inkstains by apricae

Summary: Legolas isn't much good at reading, and an attempt at a learning his letters with Gimli turns into a revelation.

(Or: The one in which Legolas is dyslexic and sad, Gimli is a very good husband, and Dwarves are a lot better than Elves at handling disabilities.)

…

I am very big on neurodivergent Legolas in all its forms, and I love this dyslexic-Legolas headcanon a lot. Emotional distress and childhood trauma – but luckily, Legolas has a very kind, loving dwarf husband to talk him down and help him through.

Tainted Meat by lynndyre

Summary: On the road between Helm's Deep and Isengard, mistakes are made with supplies.

For the BloodyValentine prompt: someone feeds orc food to an elf, making them really sick.

…

This is one of my favorite underappreciated fics out there – I find that it really gets the way Legolas and Gimli are portrayed once they start meeting up with armies and other men: they are a bubble of two, responsible for one another’s comfort and supporting one another without question. In this fic, Legolas (and half the Rohirrim) are struck with food poisoning, and while the men deal with the aftermath, Legolas is so very much Gimli’s charge, and it’s so tender and lovely and wonderful. Gen, nominally, but it gets the particular something between them in canon that I so love. (It also fits with a line Gimli says in Two Towers about refusing to touch any orc supplies!)

 Teeth Like Knives by Evandar

Summary: Gimli wasn't expecting to have to stitch Legolas back together after their first attempt at lovemaking, but now that the initial shock has worn off, he can't say that he's surprised.

…

This is part of a larger series that involves half-orc Legolas, and all of it has some very wonderful emotional hurt/comfort. But this is my favorite of the series because of how good and gentle and wonderful Gimli is with Legolas’s existential crises and hurting himself on accident. Please do mind the tags, since this subject matter may not be for everyone, but I adore the sensitivity with which these topics are handled and reread this for comfort. <3

…

As always, if you enjoy any of these fics, please let the author know with a comment if you have capacity! Also, I encourage you to reblog this list so that we can spread the good word. :)

[hymnstoalienstars]

quotes from Inkstains by Zigadenus

(i think it got lost in the middle but it’s worth reading if only for good dialogue and character stories within the original pieces of worldbuilding [they made a really good work on Eileen]. and, well, i’m too much into headcanoning Snape as ace - considering the fic got dropped in May, i can continue to headcanon so)

“You don't need plot of your own if you're getting a steady diet of it vicariously."

-

“The trick to being successful in your endeavours is to set the bar low enough,”

-

“Spathiphyllum.  Spoon-leaf?” she tests the etymology.

“For the bract.  The inflorescence is a spadix, here, look.  In aroids, bracts are called spathes; they’re usually showy.  These white flags — like a truce, or a surrender — I suppose ‘peace’ sells better than ‘surrender lily’ — anyway, it’s just a modified leaf.”

-

When you have an unshakeable understanding of what a person most wants to convey, but it’s completely at odds with what they’re actually saying.”

-

So there’s a chance the legilimens could implant false memories, cause the patient to reconstruct things that are in their minds, but not part of their own experiences.”

-

“You know, sometimes I think everyone’s about one step away from being a complete disaster.  I think that’s just an existential condition, a natural bent to the way the universe works.  Like, probability space is just scattered with random black holes and we’re all skirting event horizons on a day-to-day basis.”

Severus appears to consider this.  “Mmm.  And spaghettification is that sinking feeling, maybe, when time seems to stretch out just so that you can thoroughly marinate in the knowledge that everything is going completely and utterly to hell.” 

“Yeah,” she says agreeably.  The nature of the universe thus sorted, she takes a deep swallow of coffee, before asking, “What’s a house elf?”

[queen-scribbles]

OK let's see... #5, 15, 23, 27, 37, 62, 79 for Adi; 9, 41, 55, 67 for Emiri; 10, 36, 46, 47, 50, 75 for Tavi; and 40 and 70 for all of them!

Ooooh, all excellent questions, thank you so much!

Adi

5 Do they have a secret handshake with anyone?

Not a handshake, but I feel like she and Lottie can have “conversations” through significant looks/raised eyebrows/nods etc when they need to.

15.  What was the last thing they cried about?

I’m sure there was  at least one stress-breakdown over the course of Pillars 1, no matter the canon.... OH. That fight with Crookspur slavers I keep redacted bc I really do plan to fic it someday. That went BAD. Very bad. She was crying for a while for a whole bunch of wildly contradictory reasons after that.

23.  How do they usually wear their hair?

Single, semi-loose braid that’s usually pulled over her shoulder so she can play with the end of it while she reading.

27.  What is their favourite holiday?

Spring Dawn and all associated celebrations

37.  What is their favorite gif?

40. If I wanted to draw them, what would be distinct physical features that I would have to know to draw them correctly?

I mean, you have drawn her, and did a pretty perfect job of it. :)  Important features for Adi would be her braid(loose escaping wisps to hang in her face optional), grey eyes, 99% chance she’s smiling, she wears a loooot of pale pink/light blue/spring-y green, DRESSES, and there’s probably inkstains on her hands and/or face.

62.  Who, in their opinion, makes the best food?

Her brother Ben. He’s even better than Mama, which is saying something bc her mother is a fantastic cook. But Ben’s literally made a living from it, so he’s better.

70.  What do you, the creator of this OC, like most about them?

Her curiosity and excitement about life in general. 

79.  What object do they care for the most?

Either her grimoire or her necklace. Both have very high sentimental value, being gifts from her family. Her parents gave her the grimoire(granted,all the time spent transcribing spells in it would be a shame to waste as well), and her brother Texatl gave her the necklace.

Emiri

9. Do they have any artistic talent?

Depends, would macrame count as art or crafting? She’s not “artistically talented” in the sense of being able to draw beyond stick figures, but she can do amazing things with knots in thread.

40.  If I wanted to draw them, what would be distinct physical features that I would have to know to draw them correctly?

The halo, for Pillars 1 era. Her markings and glowing eyes(note: I’m not picky on how perfect the pattern of the markings is compared to her game model, or if you use Pillars 1 vs Deadfire). Her very sweet smile. unless you’re drawing her mid-battle with slavers, then you would need to draw her absolutely terrifying. Not a physical feature, but she’s pretty much always wearing 1-5 of those bracelets she makes.Most important is the adra greed one; since that’s her “friendship bracelet” that matches the blue one she made Aloth.

41.  What is their favourite breed of dog?

Hound dogs. Nooo, Lottie didn’t bias her at all (addendum: I looked up hound/lab cross puppies when I was writing Skittish, and OH MY GOSH are they adorable. So lab/hound mutts might actually top the list after that point in her story...).

55.  What is something they always wanted to do but too scared?

Tell Kana how she feels. Climb all the way up the rigging of a ship. She hates boats in general, but she’s always wondered what it feels likes up there.

67.  What is something that is simple, but always makes them smile?

Darkest Rauatai cookies. Sleeping in a bed. Snuggling with Lottie or one of her other pets. Having friends.

70.  What do you, the creator of this OC, like most about them?

How she’s stayed so kind and sweet and merciful when life has done its absolute DAMNEDEST to beat all of that out of her. She caught on to that and went “nope, I think not, I’m gonna be EVEN KINDER.” She’s rebelliously, recklessly kind and compassionate and I love it.

Tavi

10.  What is their favourite room to be in, in the house they live in?

In Caed Nua, the training grounds or the barracks, swapping stories with the hired muscle. On the Defiant, up on deck with the wind in her hair.

36.  Have they ever rode a horse before?

If you wanna call it riding. She’s not very good, and has only done it a couple times

40.  If I wanted to draw them, what would be distinct physical features that I would have to know to draw them correctly?

Short messy brown hair, most of the time barely chin-length, but sometimes when it’s been a while since she had time to cut it properly,it almost brushes her shoulders. Lots of scars. Tattoo of Hylea’s symbol on her wrist, only the arching branches are sabres.

46.  Have they ever won a contest before? If so, what for? What did they win?

There’s a couple melee-style tournaments she’s won, bc the prize was money and she was verging on dead broke.

47.  If the world were to end in 24 hours, where would they be and who would they be with?

Wouldn’t much care where she was, but she’d definitely want to spend the time with her favorite people(Aloth, Khellin, Edér, Kana, Charity, Sagani, Xoti etc)

50.  If they got called out by someone, what would they do?

Flip ‘em off, for starters. Maybe cuss in Vailian for good measure.  Depending on who it is and how they go about calling her out, there might be some introspection and, if necessary, concession of changes and/or apologies to be made. Maybe. 

70.  What do you, the creator of this OC, like most about them?

Her bluntness, swearing, and firm belief that sleeves are bullshit. There’s no half measures with her, when she’s in, she’s fully-committed, whether that be achieving a goal or pursuing a relationship or whatever.

75.  Have they ever partied too hard and their friends had to take them home?

Yeaaahhhh, only, unfortunately(?) it wasn’t ”friends” it was just poor Aloth trying to wrangle his drunk af girlfriend into bed.

More OC Asks

[ninemoons42-lestallumhaven]

(Fic for my dearest @notavodkashot -- and also, hey, any excuse for me to write about itty bitty scraped-knee babby boys and their very cool minders.)

Quick Fic Pick 81: summer loving, had me a blast

“Here,” and Noctis blinks, and carefully reaches out with both hands for the item that’s being held out to him, and -- he turns it over and over, carefully, and he pokes at a hinge with an inkstained finger. The whole thing seems to hold together, though, and he shrugs, one-shoulder lifting up and down and there’s only a slight twinge of not-even-sharp pain in his back, and he puts the sunglasses on.

They’re shaped exactly like the ones that Cor is pulling out of another pocket, anyway (how many pockets does that jacket have, Noctis wonders), and so they’re cool, because Cor wears them, and he likes being cool. 

“Just put your hood up when I tell you to and there shouldn’t be any problems. Understand?”

“Yes,” he says, and he grins, and pushes the sunglasses up on his nose, and walking is easier and easier as the days go by. He can go down blocks and blocks and not have to stop and rest. There’s a little silver-colored sunlight falling onto the sidewalks and it’s not hot, and -- puddles! There are puddles to jump around in! 

He looks up at Cor, at the very very long and tall shape of him in the world, and he grins when Cor makes that funny sound through his nose, and goes to jump in the edges of the nearest shallow pool: the water flies up in bright drops, not too cold and not too warm when some of them land on his skin, though he wipes his hands on his shorts before he reclaims Cor’s hand.

“Don’t tell your dad I let you jump in every puddle from here to the day care,” and Cor sounds like he wants to laugh, and there are deep lines surrounding his eyes, and Noctis hums happily to himself and then --

Ringing bell-song, that makes him stop and stare. Cor, too, stops next to him, and now he might really be laughing. Noctis can’t always tell. He always seems so serious -- even now, when he’s digging in another pocket and saying, “Hmm. We have time. Ice cream?”

“Sure!” His tutors talk to him about eating too many sweets, how that’s bad for him, but -- sweet things are delicious, how can they be bad?

Hand at the back of his neck, pulling up his hood for him, and Noctis makes a face, but it doesn’t really last and he’s skipping after Cor, trying to jump over the cracks in the sidewalk and then -- here is the ice-cream truck and there’s a bunch of kids talking in so many loud voices around it.

And Noctis can’t help but -- shrink back a little. Strange faces. Strange voices. Cor is busy talking to the man in the truck, and he’s got his back turned to Noctis, and he doesn’t want to be noticed by the other kids so he kind of runs around the front of the truck, kind of wants to hide on the other side -- he sees the shape of one of the back tires and he squats next to it, and he wants to put his hands over his ears.

He just closes his eyes.

Footsteps coming towards him, slow, sort of loud.

He can’t help but shiver a little, even when the sun falls full onto his knees and --

“I’m scared too.”

Noctis blinks.

Pulls his sunglasses away.

Round soft shape in the world, and he stares at hair the color of the sunlight. Big round clear specs. 

“Hi.” Freckles in those round cheeks, and very pretty eyes.

Noctis scoots a little bit closer. “Hi.”

“Everyone else is so loud.”

Noctis nods. “Yeah. I wish they weren’t.”

“Yeah. You like ice cream too?”

“Uh huh,” and Noctis grins, a little. “Vanilla with honeycomb is my favorite.”

“I like chocolate with, with those spicy peppers. And extra dust on top. Not chocolate dust, the other thing. I forgot what it’s called.” And the boy laughs a little more loudly. “You don’t like spicy foods.”

Noctis shakes his head hard. “Why do you like food that burns your tongue?”

“Because it’s yummy.”

“Oookay. I’ll, I’ll pass,” Noctis says, and he smiles so he doesn’t hurt the other boy’s feelings. “It’s not for me.”

“No, that’s fine, Nyx says what we like to eat is kind of strange, I don’t care.”

Steps in the road, winding around to them, and Noctis jumps to his feet when he sees the cones in Cor’s hands. “Sprinkles!”

He turns to the boy and smiles. Holds out his ice cream. “Wanna taste?”

“Hey Prompto.”

Another tall man, Noctis thinks, and he recognizes the lines in the man’s shirt and that’s why he doesn’t go to hide behind Cor’s legs. “Hello?” he says, instead.

“Heya Prince Noctis. Ulric, Nyx,” that tall man says, holding out a hand to shake.

“Hello Nyx,” Noctis says, shaking his hand, before turning back to the other boy. “Your name is Prompto?”

“Y-yeah. You’re Prince Noctis?”

“Sssh, not so loud,” Noctis says, a little nervously, a lot smiling.

“Oh, you’re here in secret, okay,” and Prompto laughs, and takes one of Nyx’s ice cream cones. “I get that.”

Noctis grins and goes to stand next to him, and offers him some ice cream.

“Trade licks?” Prompto asks.

He screws up his nose but he accepts the brown cone and the darker sprinkles on top, and takes a deep breath of spice and heat and sweetness.

[modernwizard]

Alison vs. Simm Master part II -- the Doctor’s Weeping Angel friends

New chapters of a Scream of the Shalka/Doctor Who S10 fixit fic, –And Fear Me Not, are up at AO3. In this one, Alison Cheney marshals the love and loyalty of her Dork fam – including Shalka Master, Shalka Doctor, and Bill Potts – to combat mental illness and this really irritating guy named Harry who won’t stay the fuck away.

In this excerpt,the Doctor is bouncing off the walls, trying to engage their Weeping Angel friends in a brainstorming session.

The Doctor, gawky and long-leggedy like a cranefly, brainstorms aloud. Fine grey hair flutters back from their high forehead. A flower-stitched dressing gown flaps around their knobby legs as they bound from one side of the room to the other. “The Olmec portrait heads, obviously, and the moai of Rapa Nui,” they say, spinning and unspinning their watch chain around their wrist until they whack themself in the jutting cheekbone. “And the Winged Victory of Samothrace, though I’d go back and show everyone what she looks like with her head and arms. Fwhooosh!” They pretend to glide in for a landing, then stumble and crumple on the grey angel’s plinth. “Sorry, Patience,” they say.

Hopping to their feet, the Doctor grabs a clipboard and fountain pen from one of the niches and starts scribbling. “And then the Sphinx of Khafre, and -- oh! Oh! Oh!” Inspired, they flap their hands. Ink splatters their Edwardian dress shirt, now permanently greenish from grass stains. “Those marvelous Kwakiutl welcome poles -- if only I could remember when I saw them. But what else? C’mon, you two!” More flapping, followed by an entreating look at the angels.

“Doctor! Are you practicing a presentation or something?” Alison calls.

“Oh hello, Alison!” The Doctor, chomping on their pen, waves at her with both hands. Their sleeves bear old inkstains, now faded to a soft, clear blue like their eyes. “I was actually just telling Patience and Verity here,” they say, nodding first at the grey angel, then the red, “about the next trip I have planned. We’re gonna see all the coolest statues on the planet!” Besides Bill, thirty other refugees followed the Dorks home from Dystopiaville. The Doctor has been showing them the highlights of their new universe. “They’re not being very helpful, though,” continues the Doctor, folding their arms and sticking out their tongue at the reddish angel.

“Statues tend not to be, I’ve noticed.” Alison sidesteps to avoid being splotched as the Doctor tucks their leaky pen behind their ear.

“Oh no, Patience and Verity aren’t statues,” the Doctor corrects her. “They’re my friends -- Weeping Angels. Usually their kind goes lurking around, looking like artworks and feeding off the potential time energy of humans by zapping them back in time. But Patience and Verity are different. I saved them from decay, so we got to talking. They had never heard of vegetarianism, so I told them all about it, and they decided to do something similar and become griefatarians. Grief is full of potential energy, since it’s all about regrets, what should have been, and unlived possibilities. So they draw off my excess melancholy, which means that they have something to eat and I have more reason to smile, so everyone’s happy.” They do jazz hands and a little soft-shoe in illustration.

“I’ve got an idea, Doctor,” says a voice, slow and magmic. “Why don’t you take your tour group to the Terracotta Army? We’ve got cousins there who could tell you all about its construction. And then maybe, for once in sixty-eight years, I’d have enough quiet so I could catch up on my sleep!” Startled, Alison swings toward Patience, the greyish angel, who’s no longer face down with grief. She’s frozen in a new position. Her fang-filled mouth open in a yawn, she glares sideways and sleepily at the Doctor.

“Brilliant!” The Doctor pirouettes, applauding. “Wonderful suggestion, Patience! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” They go on effusively for a few minutes, then address Alison: “Erm, why are you here?”

[ladyloveandjustice]

I finally got around to posting the rest of the fic here! It's finished! I've included an a03 link of the whole thing at the end. @schrodingersauthorii gave me an idea for this part in the comments to this very post!

Part 2

The atmosphere of the meet was a lot nicer than he expected. The other students were kind to him, many complementing them on his sports day performance. The team members and Coach Sakuragi were less, well, mean to each other than the team he’d briefly been part of, cheering each on rather than acting sullen when anyone outperformed them. The coach at his old school had always responded to any mistake with a torrent of frustrated criticism that made Natsume tremble in shame. But Sakuragi never acted disappointed or angry. She came off like she was giving friendly suggestions, and she pointed out what they were doing well at lot too. The team responded to her advice eagerly, rather than fearing her.

It was nice, and Natsume almost wished he was the kind of person who could be a part of this. But he knew himself too well. He’d feel terrible each time he missed out due to being sick or waylaid by yokai. And that would happen a lot. The nicer these people were, the worse he’d feel about letting them down. It didn’t matter if they were fine with it, he wouldn’t be. And to be honest, even if he liked his teammates, he didn’t like thinking about huge crowds watching him, he didn’t like the idea of watching other people cry in frustration when he beat them, any of it.

So when Sakuragi asked him if he wanted to do a practice run with the others, he agreed, all while planning to run much slower than usual. He’d explain to her after that the performance on sports day was a fluke, and he usually wasn’t that fast, and there was no way he’d be able to pull it off consistently. Sakuragi would hopefully stop wanting him to join the team, and even if she still asked him, she and the others wouldn’t feel bad when he turned her down.

He took a deep breath, as he stood at the starting line, closing his eyes and blocking the gaze of Sakuragi and the other students out. If he didn’t imagine a yokai was chasing him, running slower was pretty manageable, and he was experienced enough with doing it in Phys Ed that he knew he could pull it off without looking like he was holding back. It would be fine. He’d be fine.

He got himself into position, taking off when Coach blasted the whistle. He lagged way behind the others, while doing his best to look like he was really giving his all. It was going pretty well, he thought, until he looped around on the track and saw a yokai directly in his path.

It wasn’t a big one, not even coming up to Natsume’s knee. It was black, so it had blended in well with the track. It was sort of blobby and shapeless in form, like an inkstain, with beady eyes and a wiggly head.

Natsume’s heart raced and his mouth went dry. It might look small, but he knew better than anyone not to trust a yokai’s appearance. It could be dangerous. Was it here to get the Book of Friends, or was it trying to do something to the people here? It didn’t matter. He had to do something. He couldn’t just slow down, that would give it time to attack.

Instead, he vaulted over the creature. His ankle twisted under him when he landed. He fell, knees and hands scraping the ground. He immediately sprang to his feet and ran as fast he could. He had to lead it away from everyone else.

His sneakers pounded on the rubber and intense vibrations raced through him with each step. It felt like his bones were shuddering. Somone was calling his name, but it was muffled and distant, everything was. He has no room in his brain for anything but his goal. I have to protect the people here. I have to protect the Book of Friends. He crossed the finish line and veered into the grass, ready to grab his bag and sprint out of school grounds. But he looked over his shoulder, he saw the blobby yokai hadn’t moved after him at all. It had simply flattened and spread out on the ground. It’s eyes were closed.

Was it…taking a nap?

Relief filled Natsume as he skidded to a stop. Yes, it was sleeping. Its breathing was even, and as sounds came back to him, he could hear some faint snoring. But he also heard something else, which was Coach Sakuragi screaming at him.

“NATSUME! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? WHY WOULD YOU RUN ON A SPRAINED ANKLE?” She shouted while running toward him.

Sprained…? Natsume looked down and saw his ankle was swelling. Suddenly, intense pain shot through his leg, his ankle folded under him, and he crumpled. Sakuragi caught him under his arms before he could hit the ground. She lifted him up easily.

 Wow, she’s strong, Natsume thought dazedly. Bet I look pretty pathetic right now. He could see students had gathered around to stare at him, expressions worried or shocked. One girl called “Are you okay??”

“Y-yeah,” he said as his mind screamed in humiliation.

Sakuragi could have probably carried him, but thankfully she chose to simply pull his arm over shoulder. “Don’t stand on that ankle, keep it raised.” She commanded. She turned to the cluster of team members. “We need the chairs, the ice bag from the cooler, and the first aid kit. Go get them.”

The student’s responded quickly, three of them running off.

Soon they all came back with all the supplies, including two folding chairs. Sakuragi eased him into a chair. Natsume couldn’t help groaning in pain when a student propped up his leg on the chair in front of him, resting his ankle on a folded towel. Sakuragi quickly cleaned out the minor scrapes on his hands and knees with some medicine.

Natsume hated that he was disrupting the entire track meet and making so many people fuss over him, but he knew protesting would be ungrateful, so he softly thanked the other students instead. They smiled back at him.

Sakuragi placed the ice bag on his ankle. Natsume sighed in relief as the numbing cold broke through the pain.

 Sakuragi bent down to examine his foot. “It don’t think it’s broken, but you’re going to need to check it with a hospital. It’s badly sprained because of all the weight you put on it. Hopefully you didn’t tear the ligament completely.”

“A-a hospital?” Natsume’s stomach dropped. That was really going to worry Touko and Shigeru. He felt so stupid, putting them through all this because a harmless yokai was taking a nap.

Sakuragi straightened up and clapped her hands. “Okay, this isn’t a show, people. Give us some space and get back to practice.”

The team dispersed, and Sakuragi crossed her arms, frowning down at him. Natsume winced, thinking she was going to yell again. Instead, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “Natsume.” she said calmly. “I don’t understand what you were thinking. This was just a practice run. Your first one, too.  I’ve seen students try to run on injuries before, but this wasn’t even an actual race!”

Natsume’s looked at his ankle, which was rapidly turning purple, burning with shame. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“You don’t have to apologize. I just want to know what’s going on. Why did you run on that ankle?”

“I-I didn’t do it on purpose. It was just kind of…instinct?” Natsume said. He instantly realized that how weird that sounded, and so, apparently, did Sakuragi.

“Instinct?” Her frown deepened and her eyebrows drew together. “Your instinct is to keep running even when you’re hurt?”

“No, no, it’s not like that, I’m just used to—!” He snapped his mouth shut.

What was wrong with him? He was usually better at covering things up. He’d almost said he was used to having to run while injured. He’d twisted his ankle running from yokai plenty of times, and at some point he’d learned to just block out the pain until he got to safety. But obviously he couldn’t tell the coach that.  He desperately searched for another way to end the sentence, but before he could, the coach bent over, looking him directly in the eye.

“Natsume, you looked very frightened when that “instinct” kicked in. Like you were being chased down. Are you used to being chased? Is it something that happens a lot?”

Natsume’s blood froze. Did she know? Why? How? What was going on? His ankle was throbbing so badly now, it was hard to think the haze of pain. His breathing got faster, his ears buzzed… He had to say something, anything to throw her off…

 Sakuragi put her hand gently on his shoulder, “Natsume, you can tell me anything. Is it someone who goes to this school? Or even more than one person? Have they been hurting you? I know it’s scary to talk about it, but I promise I can help–”

Natsume’s shoulders slumped as relief flooded him. She’d was asking if people were chasing him. Obviously she’d meant people.  What was wrong with him? Sure, his ankle felt like it was being hit repeatedly with a giant hammer, but that was no excuse to lose his head.

Doing his best to come off as relaxed, he said “Oh, It’s not like that, Sensei, you don’t need to worry. People don’t chase me at all anymore.”

Sakuragi narrowed her eyes. “Anymore?”

He clearly should just stop talking forever. Maybe he’d sprained his brain along with his ankle.

Yes, he’d been chased by people, of course he had. And not just enthusiastic track coaches. He’d had to run away from plenty of classmates looking to teach the liar a lesson. Running from bullies was usually a lot easier than running from most yokai though, since people eventually tired out. He’d only been caught a few times.

At least this slip up didn’t put his secret in danger, it just made every inch of him cringe. He didn’t want to talk about any of this with her. But he had to make her understand everything was okay. Even if it meant embarrassing himself.

“Sensei, ever since I moved here, things have been so much better. People are so kind to me, my friends are amazing, the Fujiwaras are so warm and giving…” He ducked his head, unable to meet her eyes. “I feel like I belong here. Actually belong. I’m happier than I ever thought I could be….”

Sakuragi was listening to him intently, and when he trailed off, she smiled at him. “I’m glad to hear that. Sorry for the interrogation.”

She took some bandages out of the first aid kit and started wrapping his ankle with a steady practiced hand. “It sounds running is really connected to some… difficult experiences for you. I’m a teacher who’s supposed to look out for you. I shouldn’t have pressured you to run. I should have listened and understood your feelings. I apologize.”

“No no, it’s not your fault Sensei, you’re honestly the nicest track coach I’ve ever—"

But his reassurance was cut off by a shout, “Natsume! What happened?!”

Natsume looked over his shoulder, and saw Nishimura, Tanuma, Taki, Kitamoto and Sasada all coming around the corner of school building

 What the heck are they doing here? His stomach dropped at the expressions of worry on their faces. Nishimura led the pack as they rushed toward him.

“How did you get hurt already?!” Nishimura exploded the second he was within talking range. “It’s been fifteen minutes since school let out! Fifteen! I bet you were doing some kind of crazy thing again, don’t you realize-?”

“Nishimura, calm down,” Kitamoto said, smacking his arm. “But seriously, Natsume, what happened?”

“I—"

“Did somebody trip you?” Sasada asked, fixing the scattered team members with a hawklike glare while they looked baffled in response.  “Are there bullies here?”

“No—”

“It’s not broken, is it?” Nishimura was wincing as he looked at the ankle. “It looks so swollen—”

“Guys!” Taki cut him off. “Why don’t we stop freaking out and let Natsume get a word in edgewise?”

“Well said. I know you’re worried, give him the chance to explain,” Sakuragi said in a slightly amused tone.

Nishimura, Sasada, and Kitamoro jolted, like they hadn’t noticed the teacher before.

“Sorry, Sensei,” Sasada said immediately, bowing her head,

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to yell at you, Natsume,” Nishimura mumbled.

Tanuma, who’d been quietly watching, stepped up and put his hand on Natsume’s shoulder. It was a timid, gentle touch, but Natsume could feel the weight of Tanuma’s concern through it. He smiled reassuringly at him, and then looked at the others.

“I just tripped, guys, that’s really all. I was doing a practice run and I stumbled and twisted my ankle. Though I, uh, also…” He was going to freak them out if he told them he’d kept running on it, and he wasn’t sure how he’d explain it, but—

“He also bumped it a bit while I was guiding him to his chair,” Sakuragi cut him off, giving him a small smile. “That one was my fault.”

Natsume blinked at her, shocked she’d covered for him. She shook her head at him slightly as if to say ‘Just this once’.

“See, Nishimura?” Kitamoto elbowed him. “You of all people can’t be mad at him for tripping!”

“Yeah…” Nishimura said sheepishly.

“No, I’m really sorry for worrying you all,” Natsume said, guilt racing through him. “But, uh, what are you guys even doing here?

“We wanted to support you. The plan was just to meet you when you were done and walk home together,” Taki said.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you before,” Tanuma squeezed Natsume’s shoulder slightly, looking bashful. “You just seemed kind of stressed about it, and I was a little… It was a last minute decision. I was thinking if you wanted to, we could even hang out at my place. I probably overstepped.”

‘It was one of those times his friends’ kindness and care filled him up so much he thought he would burst. Those times where he  wondered how he’d found people like them after all these years. When he ached to give them even a fragment of what they’re given him.

“No…” Natsume said, hoping he didn’t sound choked up, “No, I would have liked that, thanks.”

“That’s really sweet,” Sakuragi said with a grin, resuming with wrapping Natsume’s ankle. But then her grin dropped, and she looked at Nishimura questioningly. “Does he get hurt a lot?”

“Kind of. It’s all because he’s reckless, Sensei. He doesn’t think things through!”

“A lot of time he’s trying to help someone, though,” Tanuma said hastily. “It’s not his fault, really.”

 “You always go way too easy on him, Tanuma. But yeah, he’ll do things like shove a girl out of the way when a bunch of heavy boxes are falling on her and get conked in the head. He’s too good a guy—"

“Come on, you’re embarrassing him,” Taki admonished, which immediately silenced Nishimura.

Sakuragi seemed to relax at this, and she finished up wrapping Natsume’s ankle. “Okay! Now, can one of you go fetch crutches from the nurse’s office?” Sakuragi took a key out of the first aid box and tossed at Nishimura, who caught it with a startled expression. Kitamoto went with him. Sasada looked around awkwardly, and then did a double take.

“Chiyo, what are you doing here?” Sasada’s hand immediately jumped to her hair, and she started twirling a lock around her finger.

The short-haired girl walked up, wiping her neck with a towel and flashing Sasada a crooked grin. “The track team lets me practice with them sometimes. Gotta train to beat you next time. What this I hear about you threatening everyone and calling them bullies?”

“I didn’t—”

“Oh, now I remember, Natsume, that’s your friend, no wonder you were all aggro!”  Chiyo waved at Natsume, who waved awkwardly back. “Sorry she’s so overprotective, man. She means well.”

“You—come on!” Sasada grabbed the other girl’s hand and dragged her away. Chiyo looked unreasonably happy about this.

Sakuragi had stepped away to chat with some other students too. Taki squatted next to Natsume and Tanuma leaned closer to him.

“Was there yokai trouble?” Tanuma whispered.

Natsume shook his head. “Not really. I basically overreacted. I saw a little yokai on the track, freaked out because I thought it was dangerous, and tripped. It’s harmless, though. It was just napping. I feel pretty stupid.”

“Did anyone notice anything?”

“Yeah, they noticed I was acting really weird. Especially Coach Sakuragi. She’s…intense.”

“Oh, I should have warned you about that,” Taki sighed. “It’s really hard to keep a secret from her, especially if she thinks you’re struggling. Her heart’s in the right place, though.”

Natsume nodded. “I can tell. I feel bad that I worried her. I ended up saying some bizarre things while I was trying to throw her off. I think she thinks I’m traumatized from my childhood or something now.”

Tanuma cleared his throat and looked away. Taki studied her shoes carefully.

“Uh, what’s wrong?” Natsume asked, trying to figure out if he’s said anything strange.

“Nothing,” Taki said quickly. “Hey, what does the little yokai look like?”  She looked off in the wrong direction.

 “Oh, uh…kind of blob-like…” he squinted at the sleeping yokai, examining it more closely. “Oh wow, I couldn’t pick it out before but it has ears actually, Oh, they’re kind of shaped like cat ears…”

Takis gasped excitedly “Is it cute?”

“Uh…maybe ugly cute?”

“Then it’s cute,” Taki said firmly. “I wish I could see it.”

Natsume suddenly realized that it was probably for the best Taki couldn’t see yokai, otherwise she’d be terrorizing every weird looking little monster non-stop.

Tanuma looked around at the team members looping the track, as others chatted and laughed on the sidelines. “Were you having a good time with everyone? You know, before everything happened?”

“Yeah…it was nice. Everyone was really great. I feel bad I ruined things.”

“You didn’t—"

“We’re back!” Kitamoto and Nishimura arrived carrying the crutches.

A shock of pain went up Natsume’s leg like lightning when Tanuma and Sakuragi eased him onto his crutches, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out. He couldn’t worry everyone even more.

“Okay, you’re good to go now,“ Sakuragi said to him. "But make sure your parents to get you checked at the hospital right away. I will be asking Ms. Fujiwara about that our weekly grocery store chats.”

Natsume nodded meekly, filled with dread at the thought of Touko’s panic and distress. At the same time, he noticed she’d called the Fujiwaras his parents…not foster parents or guardians…just parents. It kind of felt nice. Really nice.

Sasada was still talking with Chiyo, laughing and swatting at her playfully. She noticed that Natsume was up, and reluctantly pulled away, giving Chiyo’s hand a quick squeeze before she left.

Sakuragi smiled as Sasada rejoined the group, observing all of Natsume’s friends clustered around him. “Take care of him, all right?”

“Don’t worry, Sensei, we won’t let anything happen to him,” Nishimura said confidently.

“We’ve got his back!” Kitamoto assured her.

“He helps us a lot. It’s the least we can do.” Tanuma chimed in unexpectedly.

“Of course!” Sasada and Taki finished things off.

Natsume stared at the ground, hoping nobody could see the expression on his face. Taki patted him on the back.

“You’re right, you do have good friends.” Sakuragi ruffled Natsume’s hair. “Do you need me to get you a ride home? Or can your parents come get you?”

“Oh, it’s fine, I can just walk.”

“You’re seriously going to try to hobble all the way to the Fujiwaras?” Taki asked severely.

“Okay, maybe to the bus stop…”

“That’s not coming for another hour.” Sasada tapped her watch. “You can’t wait that long.”

“The Fujiwaras don’t have a car, right?” Nishimura said. “My parents have a car, and Mom should be home. I’ll call her to pick us up.” He pulled out his cellphone, glaring at it. “If I can ever get service in this stupid town…can’t believe I begged for a phone and it’s useless…”

“Nishimura, no, I don’t want to drag your Mom into this…” Natsume said in a panic. “I really can just—”

“Natsume.” Tanuma said quietly but firmly, holding out his arm in front of him before he could hobble away. Natsume’s voice died in his throat.

“My Mom would be mad at me if I didn’t call her about this” Nishimura held his phone high in the air, face screwed up in concentration.

“Oh yeah, that’s right, you get your nosiness from her,” Kitamoto said lightly.

“Man, shut up. Aha! I got some bars!”  And just like that, Nishimura was on the phone with his Mom, and Natsume could do nothing to protest it.

Sakuragi laughed and started to turn away. “Great, I’ll see you—”

“Sensei, wait,” Natsume called quickly.

 She stopped, looking at him questioningly.

“I just wanted I wanted to say, I did have fun here. And, well, I don’t think I can join the team but…would it be all right if I came here once in a while? Just to practice, or I could help with whatever… unless that’s…"

Sakuragi’s face split into a huge grin. “Of course, Natsume! Just having someone like you to race against is a huge help! But are you sure you–?”

Natsume nodded. “I want to.”

“Well then, do your best to heal up and we’ll look forward to seeing you.”

Nishimura got off the phone. “Mom said to wait out front. We’ll head to the bench just outside the entrance.”

Waving goodbye to Sakuragi, Natsume’s friends flanked him as he slowly made his way around the school building.

“I’m happy for you, Natsume,” Taki said.

“Yeah, that’s cool that you’ll have a place to practice!” Kitamoto agreed.

Thanks,” Natsume said. “I’m sorry I ruined the plans to get snacks and hang out…but maybe we could do it another time? Touko would probably be okay with you all coming over.”

“Of course!”

They all busied themselves planning  the get-together until they reached the bench out front, though Nishimura was oddly quiet.

After Natsume sat down, his friends gave their well wishes and reminded him to check in with them after the hospital, before dispersing to walk home. Taki caught up with Sasada and as they walked away, Natsume heard her say “So you and that Chiyo girl, huh? Do I detect some romance?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sasada said primly.

“Come on, it’s me. Come over to my place and tell me all about it.

“Fiiiine, if I must.”

Natsume laughed slightly. He looked over at Nishimura to see his reaction, but for once in his life, he didn’t seem interested in what Taki was doing. He was staring stonily into the distance.

“Nishimura, is something wrong–?”

“I’m sorry, Natsume,” he said abruptly, still not really looking at him.

“Huh? What are you sorry about?” He wondered if Nishimura was still feeling guilty about yelling earlier, and was prepared to reassure him, but—

“You’re hurt because of me.”

“What? What are you even talking about?” Natsume couldn’t help but laugh but stopped when Nishimura glared at him.

“It’s because of me. You don’t like  running in front of people, I know that, but then you had to because I screwed up. And when you were talking to the coach, I could tell you were nervous, I could tell you didn’t want to go. And instead of returning the favor and helping you, I pushed you to do it anyway.” He put his head in his hands. “It was such shitty thing to do.”

“Nishimura, come on, you didn’t–

“I did. You were trying to say no, you can’t pretend you weren’t.” He dragged his hands down his face. “I just…got carried away because you were so cool when you won the race! And you’re kind of down on yourself sometimes,…so I thought maybe if you joined the track team, you’d see how amazing what you can do is and people would see you’re…ugh, it was stupid.”

Natsume’s cheeks burned. “That’s.. it sounds like you were really thinking of me, Nishimura, thank you—"

“No, don’t thank me!” Nishimura said fiercely. “I wasn’t looking out for you or your feelings at all, I just decided what I wanted for you without asking you. And God, I didn’t even think about injuries!”

Natsume stared at him in bafflement. “Why would you need to think about injuries? It’s not like I need special protection. I knew what I was getting into. People get hurt in sports all the time. It’s normal.”

“No, it’s different with you.” Nishimura slammed his hands down on knees, red blotches spreading on his face. “Because when you get hurt, you downplay it or try to hide it, and if you do that in track, it can mess you up for life!” Nishimura was talking faster and faster, the words just pouring out of his mouth. “It’s dangerous because you act like it doesn’t matter, like you don’t matter, and that you don’t get why we all care so much, and I know it’s because you’ve been through a lot and I don’t want to pry, but it makes me so—“

He stopped short, blanching. “Oh shit. I didn’t mean to say all that. U-uh, sorry, just forget it, It’s none of my business…”

A lump formed in Natsume’s throat as shame welled up, hot and bitter on his tongue. “No, I’m sorry, Nishimura,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t realize you were thinking all that, that you were worried. I never wanted to—”

“Natsume, no, I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. I know it’s not on purpose, I know it’s not your fault.” Nishimura pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is about me saying sorry, not you. I really am sorry. And I know you told Sakuragi you wanted to come back once in a while because you didn’t want to disappoint her, but you don’t have to go back there, I’ll talk to her—”

“You don’t have to talk to her.” Natsume swallowed his shame for now, determined to set things straight. “I liked the team. I really do want to come back.”

“You don’t have to pretend, I told you, don’t lie if you don’t have to—”

“Nishimura,” Natsume interjected gently, putting his hand on the other boy’s shoulder. Nishimura finally looked over at him, eyes downcast. “It made me really happy. When we won, and everyone was cheering, and I saw how excited you were…I don’t know. Running is just something I do sometimes, and I don’t think it’s special or particularly like it. But being able to help you was the first time I felt like it was something…more.” More than survival. More than something I’m forced to do.

“Really…?” Nishimura hesitated, looking disbelieving.

“Really. And I really am glad I came here. I enjoyed it, you know, until I tripped. But even then, everyone was nice and helped me. It made me want to come back.”

Nishimura stared at him for a while, expression unreadable. Then he sighed and leaned back. “Okay, well, good.” Natsume could see Nishimura’s shoulders slump as the tension drained out of him. “But I still pushed you. You don’t have to make excuses for me. I’m just sorry I did it and I won’t do it again.”

“Okay, apology accepted.”

Nishimura looked startled, like he’d expected Natsume to keep fighting him on this, then his face broke into a grin. “Thanks, man.”

“You don’t have to make excuses for me either. I’m sorry I’ve been stressing you guys out when I get hurt. I’ll stop hiding it or trying to downplay it. I mean, I do want all of you to understand I…” Natsume knew better than to say he was “used to it” now, so he searched around for a less alarming but still honest way to phrase it. “I have a high pain tolerance, so sometimes it really doesn’t seem like a big deal.

“Dude, that doesn’t make me feel better.” He could tell from how Nishimura looked at him he’d heard the “I’m used to it” even though Natsume hadn’t said it out loud.

“No, I know. Look, from now on, I’ll admit when something hurts.” He looked down at his ankle, wincing. “Like my ankle really hurts right now. I don’t want to go to the hospital but I’m kind of looking forward to getting painkillers.” He looked over at Nishimura. “Did that work? Or did it just sound whiney?”

“Nah, you need to whine a little more, man.” Nishimura punched him lightly on the arm. “I’m telling you, it feels good. When I sprained my ankle a couple years ago, I whined to everyone I knew. That whine was weak. Try harder.”

“It’s…uh, agony. I…might die? Was that good.”

“You need to work on your delivery, but it’s a start.”

They both laughed. Just laughing soothed something in Natsume, his stomach unknotted, and his racing heartbeat slowed. His ankle even hurt a little less.

When the laughter settled, Natsume looked down, twisting his fingers in his lap. “Look, I know I… kind of lie and hide things as reflex a lot. But I’ve been trying to be more open with the people I care about.”

Nishimura shrugged. “It’s fine. I mean, Kitamoto and I aren’t that stupid, we know there’s something going on with you, but you can take as much time as you need. I know you must have your reasons.”

“Thanks.”

Nishimura chuckled suddenly, looking past Natsume.

“Uh oh, here comes your cat. He looks mad! It’s almost like he knows something happened.”

Nyanko-sensei was indeed stomping towards them, his eyes narrowed.

“Agh, I’m really in trouble this time,” Natsume said. Nyanko-sensei jumped into his lap, making sure to throw his heavy weight around as he landed. “Oof.”

“Oh, your troubles have just begun. Don’t forget Touko!” Nishimura said cheerfully.

“Like I could.”

“I wouldn’t use the “I could die” line on her, she might believe you.”

“Amazing advice, thank you.”

Nishimura smirked. “I’d tell you to run, but, you know.”

Mmm…” Natsume said, stroking Nyanko-sensei, who was making faint, irritated noises. “That’s okay. There are some things I don’t want to run away from.

---

I hope you enjoyed this! It was way longer than I thought it would be. And I wish I could have made it funnier. But I had a fun time with my first Natsume fic!

I often think about how incredibly fit Natsume must be, yokai-induced sickliness aside. He spends 75% of his life running from yokai, through forests and mountains and all kinds of shit. Every day is a marathon for him, he arguably gets too much exercise (which might contribute to collapsing from exhaustion a lot. over exercising isn't good for you).

But imagine what a fast runner he must be. He's able to sometimes lose yokai despite their supernatural speed etc. And he's been doing this since he's a child? I just want an episode where it's time for track in gym class and everyone's expecting the kid who's constantly sick and exhausted to be the slowest one, but instead he just passes them all at warp speed. WHEN did he have time to get this in shape, isn't he always inches away from keeling over, his class in chaos. Nishimura and Kitamoto are the least surprised since they've seen him running before, but even they didn't think he was THIS fast., wow, what natural talent.

Actually, there should be a running gag where one of the many stressors Natsume faced over the years is track team coaches trying to constantly recruit him in most of the schools he goes to, so he's constantly trying to hide how fast he is because he can't be a burden and have the people he's living with PAY SPORTS EXPENSES omg :(( and also he wouldn't be able to show up for most of the meetings, so. And also he doesn't like most team sports (the real reason).

He's managed to keep it mostly under wraps in Yatsuhara, but then one day it's the sports day episode and Nishimura trips while carrying the baton as they always do and starts crying so Natsume's like "siiiiiiiigh fine don't worry Nishimura I've got this" and suddenly he's at the finish line. Thus his hellish lot of being hounded by the track coach begins anew, thanks a lot Nishimura.

[charlieism]

4,5, and 6 for the fan fiction asks? -cinnamonrollpatton

4: What was the first fic you wrote? aha. haha yeah it was called fly away and im not giving any details im too full of regret

5: What is your favourite fic you have written? Ooh thats a good question um i mean that ive published? Hard to choose lol out of the many oneshots I like my soulmate one Of Inkstains and Love Notes, and also Fake Smiles and False Confidence. Of my 2 chaptered fics i still have published i like Opposites Attract. there are a few unpublished ones i love but idk.

6: Which character of yours has been your favourite to write? ..of mine? i havent written a full fic with an OC before but like I have some characters just described and also in my head. outta them my favs are probably Akeno or Kali?