#for all that I tried I actually didn’t fully manage to articulate my thoughts that well… but this has been in notes for a while time to rep

[cabeswaterdrowned]

top 5 diviners characters!

Sorry I took a while with this anon I just wanted to write out my thoughts properly since I don’t get to talk about my Diviners bbs often :). #1-2 and #4-5 are basically tied in terms of my feelings for them so I just differentiated rank based on how satisfied I was with their arcs/overall stories especially based on my reread last winter break because reading them back to back rather than as they were being published threw some of that into relief for me.

Theta Knight — I Adore this girl, have since day one and on reread especially she has my favorite arc of any of these characters, I love how her learning to accept her powers works in tandem to her de-learning the feelings of guilt she has from her abusive childhood and marriage. She also has such cool powers not just the fire but I also love that she’s the diviner who is given the title of Witch specifically in BTDBY in a way the others don’t, and how she ends up kind of claiming it. She’s also so deeply loving as a person yet at the same time unwilling to put up with bs, very stubborn frank and down to earth about the things that matter which makes her dynamics with others great to read about especially this makes her friendship with Evie Really fun because I love Evie but she does need that type of tough-love-mixed-with-support from someone. I of course love her friendship with Henry they’re very Margo-and-Eliot coded bi girl (I mean I know that’s not technically canon for Theta but I’m convinced) gay man found family friendship <3 and her relationship with Memphis is lovely very few of those love-at-first-sight-instant-connection ships work for me but they’re one of the exceptions and the way the maturity and growth of their relationship develops over the course of the books is really something. 

Ling Chan — girl who is me. Excellent INTP representation for once and she’s brown and wlw too I stay winning :). Ling is such an important character to me personally I really relate to the way she thinks, her being very logical and skeptical by nature but also finding beauty in tradition and the theme of being caught between worlds in different senses. I also love her powers I find dream powers fascinating and imo this verse handles them the best in terms of explaining them and keeping them interesting  (and I say this as someone who’s favorite series is the raven cycle lol). She has such great dynamics with other chars I loved her toxic romantic friendship in the dream world with Wei-Mei and her friendship with Henry and Memphis and Theta I have mixed at best feelings about Jericho but he’s by far the most entertaining to me in his dynamic with her in the last book, and her clashing with Evie was handled pretty well and I liked her arc around internalized misogyny but I do think she got very little to do in the last book and she peaked in the middle books, which is why she’s slightly bellow Theta. She’s so special to me though. 

Evie O’Neill — she’s just an excellent protagonist so three dimensional and interesting while also being very charming and fun, and the right amount of frustrating at times but you still love her. She’s ‘swell :).I also was pleasantly surprised by some of the notes on mental health and grief that got touched on in her storyline. 

Memphis Campbell — the Diviners men rank pretty close for me but like with Theta the fact I was most satisfied with his arc overall solidifies his ranking. King of Crows is my least favorite of the four books (I’m a huge believer that middle book syndrome is fake and those are often the best/most interesting books in especially characters driven series and that’s true here) although I still have love for it but the full circle of his poems as the voice of tomorrow was top tier and I loved the growth in his confidence and his relationship with Isaiah. 

Henry Dubois — he’s only last because he got precious little to do in books that weren’t Lair of Dreams which is where he shone, but I love him his friendships with Theta and Ling are honestly my favorite dynamics in the group And I just, have a real soft spot for the guy similar to how I feel about Eliot from the magicians. 

honorable mention to Sam Lloyd who I also am v affectionate towards! Funnily enough I did not like him much my first time reading book 1 but I had a quick turn around on him and Samevie in lair of dreams (I. Love their fake dating plot in that book it’s the best ever). So yeah, he’s a good. 

[tofufei]

Little Mushroom Audio Drama Trailer [ENG SUB]

Synposis from 猫耳FM:

Do not go gentle into that good night, do not peacefully surrender to extermination. Earth's magnetic field disappeared, mutated organisms invaded, the end of the world is near. A little mushroom from the Abyss makes its way into a human base on the search for the spore it has lost, and runs into The Arbiter Lu Feng. One human, one not, they meet at the end of the world and get to know each other, and together they walk into a future in which the only thing certain is uncertainty…

Ask anyone who has listened to Little Mushroom's audio drama and it is almost certain that they will tell you that it was one of the best produced audio dramas they have ever had the pleasure to experience.

You can find the whole thing - with English subs even - on 猫耳FM/missevan, so if this piece of media has ever been on your radar (and even if it hasn't!), let this be the sign that you should join this pit.

I haven't seen any translation of the trailer, so I took a stab at it. Excuse the violation of the maximum recommended CPS count, but there wasn’t much I could do about it... you might need to pause the video at times :P

Some notes on this translation under the cut.

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Because I am both lazy and hate articulating my thoughts, this will not so much be me providing much actual insight on translation choices than just some disjointed notes on the back-translation process of Dylan Thomas' poem "Do not go gentle into that good night".

An overly literal back-translation of the Chinese poem:

不要温和地走入那个良夜。// Do not go gentle into that good night, 我们应在日暮之时燃烧。// We should burn in the hour the sun sets, 怒斥、怒斥光阴���消逝。// Rage, rage at the vanishing of time and light. 尽管智者深知黑暗终将到来。// Even if the wise are fully aware that darkness will inevitably come. 尽管他们的话语无法再迸发出闪电。// Even if their words are unable to make lightning burst forth again. 不要温和地走入那个良夜。// Do not go gentle into that good night. 在这悲哀的山巅。// Here, on the sorrowful mountaintop. 请用你的眼泪诅咒我、祝福我。// Please curse me, bless me with your tears. 不要温和地走入那个良夜。// Do not go gentle into that good night.

Notes on the Chinese translation of the poem:

The refrains (“Do not go gentle into that good night” and “Rage, rage against the dying of the light”) basically map one to one to the English original, which makes it easily recognizable as Dylan Thomas’ poem

This makes the other changes feel very much like deliberate choices on the author's part, even if they do leave me puzzled

No references to the gendered figures (wise men, my father)

In the second verse, 尽管 is repeated for emphasis where it wasn’t in English

Why is the line 在这悲哀的山巅 so much shorter than all others? The original English poem has 10 syllables per line, but the Chinese one is…just whatever. No discernible structure here, only vibes

山巅 (mountaintop) where in the English it’s an unspecified “height” and can be read metaphorically, while here it is very much a physical location. (I mean, of course it could be read metaphorically as well in Chinese but there are many other words you could have chosen that do not have "mountain" in them.) Might or might not have been a deliberate choice referencing [spoiler] Base

I thought it prudent to back-translate the poem since there are some changes and they aren’t that minor.

Back-Translation process:

Pretended the original didn’t exist and translated it off the Chinese alone

Compared it to the original and modified it so that it still stayed 95% faithful to the Chinese while calling back to the original

Tried to keep the ABA rhyme scheme and felt powerful af when I managed to make the 2nd line in all the tercets rhyme

Squished or stretched the lines into 10 syllables, while still keeping as close to both Chinese and English as possible

Despair. Because at this point I should maybe just have used the original poem or gone for a freer translation, what am I even trying so hard for when this comes nowhere close at all to the original

What I ended up using in the subs of the AD Trailer, ABA ryhme scheme, 10 syllables per line if you squint*

不要温和地走入那个良夜。 // Do not go gentle into that good night. 我们应在日暮之时燃烧。 // We ought to burn the hour nightfall nears. 怒斥、怒斥光阴的消逝。// Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 尽管智者深知黑暗终将到来。 // Though the wise know darkness will bring its blight. 尽管他们的话语无法再迸发出闪电。 // Though their words no longer fork lightning fierce. 不要温和地走入那个良夜。 // Do not go gentle into that good night. 在这悲哀的山巅。// Here, on top of sorrowful mountain's height. 请用你的眼泪诅咒我、祝福我。 // Please, I ask, curse me, bless me with your tears. 不要温和地走入那个良夜。// Do not go gentle into that good night.

*and pronounce hour with 2 syllables

Some thoughts on translation choices, apparently:

Actually, the back-translating went quite smoothly and it really is just one line that unexpectedly turned out harder than expected. Or maybe I made it harder than it should have been, who knows. I might be prone to overthinking. It's 尽管智者深知黑暗终将到来 which I ultimately rendered as "Though the wise know darkness will bring its blight." Here, I ended up straying quite far from both Chinese and the original. This is also where I have to thank both @hardwareabstractionlayer and @fwoopersongs for talking translation choices with me.

Some other options here would have been "Though the wise know at last dark will alight" / "Though the wise know dark will come as it might" / "Though the wise know in the end dark is right", but none of them felt fitting. Either the line was not quite proper english, or it failed to convey the the inevitability of 终将到来, or it felt too much like a pale imitation of the original etc etc.

Usually, I am the kind of person who translates rather literally and doesn't take too many liberties. Here though, "blight" simply works absolutely amazing in the context of Little Mushroom. Credit for that suggestion goes to hal, who nailed two major story settings with it, despite not knowing much about the book except for whatever 2am thoughts I fling at her. You see, after the Earth's magnetic field disappeared, humans had to build an artificial magnetic field to protect themselves from deadly cosmic radiation and infected organisms. Due to the magnetic field, an aurora dances all over the globe. The moment that light vanishes, it means the magnetic field did too, which signifies the end of mankind. Dark *does* literally bring its blight. It's brilliant, really.

[gaycrouton]

Ray of Light

For the first time since being back, he felt the heaviness weighing him down start to fade away. The fog had lifted and he could see the life he’d actually come back to — one where the love of his life was carrying his child. Not a life that had gone on without him, but one that desperately needed him there.

Alternatively; Mulder and Scully's first time after he's returned.

angst and pregnancy smut | discussions of trauma | msr | 7k | ao3 | dedicated to the wonderful @sclly​

Before Mulder had been abducted, he was finally in a relationship with Scully, or at least that's what he thought of it as. They didn't use the words dating or boyfriend and girlfriend, but they spent every night together, they were intimate in every possible sense of the word, and he'd never felt more loved in his entire life.

When he returned, she was pregnant, had a new partner at work, and on his first night back she drove back to her apartment and left him alone.

Looking back, he knew she was respecting the fact he said he needed time to process everything, but she had no idea how much it added to his confusion. He was uncertain of where he stood with Scully, so he buried himself in his work since it's where he felt most secure, despite her protests. Mulder knew people thought he was being rude, hell even he did at times, but every time he looked into Scully's eyes, he saw nothing but worry and sympathy.

Yesterday he'd broken into the census bureau with Agent Doggett, only for it to be a bust. They'd been laying low at Scully's apartment ever since, and the awkward tension between them just kept mounting. He tried to think of what to say, only to end up feeling like anything he said would come across as curt, and he wanted to avoid saying something else that might hurt her. The last thing he ever wanted was him coming back from the dead just to continue making her sad.

The first thing he noticed about his apartment was that it didn't look like the apartment of a man who'd been missing for months. It was spotless. Cleaner than he'd ever seen it. It made his heart ache thinking of the Scully who was so firm in her convictions he'd come back that she had clearly spent a lot of time making the apartment look great for his return. It made him feel even worse thinking of what response she'd imagined he'd have upon seeing it, only to be met with pure apathy.

As soon as he realized the molly was dead it just felt like a cosmic kick while he was already down. It might've just been one fish that could easily be replaced for $2, but that particular fish was part of a pair Scully had given him early in their partnership when she wasn't sure what he'd like as a gift. She'd been shy and sweet when she presented the black and white duo swimming together in a bag. "These were the only two left and I didn't want to split them up." He'd put them in the tank and, while the black one blended in with the others he had, the white one always swam around and reminded him of her. Now he couldn't even have that.

Despite the lack of communication happening right now, and how much work had been put into making him feel like his space was ready for him to come back, he still found himself staying at her apartment most nights. That first night he spent alone in his place was filled with dream after dream getting tortured — saws going into his chest, his skin being pulled from his body, the pain he could still feel resonating in his bones like a phantom limb. He'd wake up every few hours to the sounds of his own screams resonating off the empty apartment walls. There was always a pause where he waited for her to roll over or for the sounds of her footsteps to rush down the hallway, but it never came. The only thing that brought him comfort was that the bed smelled like her.

It didn't matter how clean his apartment was because that was never what he was coming back to. Scully was his home, and without her, he felt lost. Yesterday he never made a move to leave and she never asked him to. He wasn't sure if he was welcome in her bed, so he purposefully stayed up later than her and passed out on her couch. As had been their rapport as of late, she didn't say anything, but he could tell from her hurt expression that he'd made the wrong decision.

Luckily he could always trust Scully to know how to be his ray of light whenever he managed to lose his footing in the darkness.

"I know how you feel," she murmured lightly while sitting next to him on the couch.

It was so out of the blue he wasn't sure what to respond. The show they'd been watching had gone to commercial break and, apparently, so had them pretending everything was normal. He turned to her, wanting her to know he was giving her his full attention.

"When I came back, I um," she paused, her fingers starting to play with the silken edge of a maternity pajama top. "I felt so out of place within my own life. I felt like I didn't know how to be myself in a world that had gone on without me."

The irony was not lost on him that what he remembered most of those few months after she came back was how frustrated he'd been with her pushing herself. She'd taken a mere week off to recover from they didn't even know what injuries, and she was demanding to work as if all was fine. Mulder recognized it as a diversion tactic, it was more comfortable to focus on work than to process trauma, but he'd gotten frustrated with her, and here he was doing the same thing. The only difference seemed to be she knew from experience it didn't help.

"It took me years to feel like I'd caught up. I still have a hard time grappling with those months I was gone, and that I'll never get that time back. All the things I might've done in that time that were robbed from me. I remember when three months passed since I'd been returned, when I'd been back as long as I'd been missing, I still didn't feel fully like myself. Every external factor was the same, it was just me having a hard time adapting."

He listened to her, entranced by her admission. When he asked how she was doing back then, he'd gotten a lot of 'fines,' and he ended up not asking anymore in fear he was prying and annoying her. To hear her speak so candidly about her experience made him want to go back in time and hug the young woman who felt like he did now. He knew he was empathizing as best he could back then, but now having experienced what it's like, he realized there was no way he could have fully understood the depth and complexity of her emotions.

Scully turned to him with a deep breath and took his hand in her own. "I couldn't imagine coming back to every aspect of my life being different. I at least had the comfort of familiarity when I returned, and I could assimilate back into my old life while trying to process my trauma. I'm sorry if I was rushing you earlier when you said you were having problems processing and figuring out how you fit in."

Her ability to articulate what he was feeling was a relief, and almost eerie. Mulder knew he should say something so she didn't feel like she was talking to a brick wall, but she was saying it better than he ever could and he had missed the sound of her voice.

"I guess what got me through your absence was imagining your return," she admitted, confirming his earlier belief about her being at his apartment which now felt like a diorama of her grief. "I hate it when you're sad, so I didn't want to imagine you that way. It was wrong of me to cling to an image of you who'd come back and react like everything is fine when I know firsthand how unrealistic of an expectation that is to meet."

Mulder knew it was a sensitive question to ask, but he wanted to know. "How did you get through it when you thought I was dead? When it didn't seem like there was a possibility of me coming back?"

Scully's hold on his hand tightened as her face crumpled slightly. He squeezed her hand and stroked the skin on the back of her hand encouragingly. "I tried not to think of how you looked laying in that field," she stated, her voice quivering before a sharp staccato inhalation.

Shit. He hadn't even thought of the fact Scully might have seen his body like that. It made sense she'd want to see it and confirm for herself, Scully was a scientist who needed proof above all else, but he'd imagined her mourning his body on an autopsy table in the comfort of her own domain. Not that she'd seen him in whatever state he was crudely discarded in.

Mulder didn't think he could ever voice to her what he would have done if the situation was reversed and he had found her body dead in a field.

He could tell from her response that it was an image that had traumatized her, something that would no doubt haunt her for the rest of her life; but she managed to close her eyes, take a deep breath, and turn to him to continue.

There would never be a moment in his life where he wasn't astounded by her strength.

"I spent a lot of time in Karen Kosseff's office, and I just tried to focus on staying alive for the baby," she said, putting her other hand on her stomach.

His attention was drawn to the hand rubbing her stomach and that familiar knot of jealousy formed in his throat, threatening to choke him. Someone else had granted her the miracle he wanted to give her and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't even know if it was his place to be upset about it or if he was overstepping. The first time she'd done IVF, when she'd asked him, he felt included — like no matter what, he'd be a part of her and the baby's life. But clearly, she did it again and it made him feel like he hadn't actually needed to be a part of the process. That his involvement wasn't expected or, even worse, truly wanted.

While their conversation had made him feel better, it was that bump underneath her clothes that made him feel like he wasn't invited to a part of her life he wanted to be in more than she knew. Mulder wanted to tell her he'd raise the baby like his own if she'd let him, but the thought of her saying no felt like the last thing he could take right now.

"You can always touch me. You know that, right?" she asked softly off his look.

His hand itched to reach out, but it stayed in his lap. "I'm glad the IVF finally worked for you," he replied, putting all his effort into smiling to show he meant it.

Smiling looked like the furthest thing from her mind. "What?" Scully replied, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"What?" he repeated, confused by her confusion.

Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth as she bit it in concentration, a look of pain passing her face. "Mulder," she stated hesitantly. "Do you really believe this baby isn't yours?" she asked, hurt she was trying to hide leaking through her words.

Mulder shook his head, dumbstruck. "How could it be?"

"You were right," she shrugged. "I just couldn't give up on a miracle."

"I thought the in-vitro didn't work?" he replied.

"You do remember all the sex we were having before you were taken, right?" she deadpanned. "I trust you got the birds and the bees talk?"

"It's mine," he whispered in shock.

"It's yours," she confirmed with so much conviction his knees would have given out if he was standing. Then, with a layer of vulnerability, she added softly, "You didn't really think…"

Mulder's mind was reeling, but he could still tell she was hurt by his unspoken implication that she'd move on so quickly after how long it had taken them to get together, but he just hadn't known.

"I thought you tried in-vitro again. I thought maybe you asked someone else," he answered weakly, the statement out loud sounding ridiculous to his own ears.

"Who else do you think I'd ask? Skinner?" she asked.

He wasn't going to admit it, but he'd considered it. When he was in the hospital he saw how protective Skinner was of her, how close they seemed to have gotten since he'd been gone. Retrospectively he could see that they likely didn't have many people they could turn to when they were looking for him, so it made sense they would have gotten closer.

"I thought maybe an anonymous donor," he answered with a grimace.

"I could barely get out of bed when you were taken, let alone decide it would be a great time to have a baby," she replied. "Though I will say, I'm glad I had a part of you with me to get me through this. I'm not sure how I would have handled it if I wasn't so concerned with keeping myself healthy for the baby. If I even could have."

Mulder couldn't handle thinking about that, so he focused on her delicate hand resting in his own, the hands that had healed him in more ways than he could count. He pulled it up to his lips and kissed her fingers, inhaling the smell of her lotion as he reveled in the feeling of her skin on his lips once more. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I-I just thought since it didn't work that time and then I saw you pregnant that maybe it was my fault it failed in the first place. I didn't mean to make you feel like I resented you. I never did for a second. I was just depressed that the life I'd been wanting for you and I was happening without me."

Her fingers tightened around his as he pressed their joined hands to his heart. "You're here now," she replied with an encouraging smile.

For the first time since being back, he felt the heaviness weighing him down start to fade away. The fog had lifted and he could see the life he'd actually come back to — one where the love of his life was carrying his child. Not a life that had gone on without him, but one that desperately needed him there.

He looked down at her swollen stomach and felt a smile break out on his face. Scully was pregnant with their baby. The words didn't even feel real. It felt too good to be true. She tugged his hand towards her and brought it to her stomach, pressing it against her bulge while splaying out his fingers. When Mulder looked up, she was smiling back at him and he realized how much he'd missed seeing that. He had never touched a pregnant woman's stomach before, and he was shocked at how firm it was. "What does it feel like?" he asked, astonished.

"At times, lovely, but most of the time I'm exhausted, feel disgusting, and look like an elephant," she chuckled.

He looked up at her and took note of how long and shiny her hair looked and how she truly exemplified that pregnancy 'glow' he always heard people talk about. She was absolutely radiant.

"You're beautiful, Scully," he murmured firmly. "Always."

He watched as tears immediately pooled in her eyes and her lip quiver. "Hey, hey, hey," he replied, scooting over and wrapping an arm around her to pull her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into the crook of his neck, pressing kisses to his skin after littering it with her tears. She smelled like cocoa butter and her skin felt unimaginably smooth. "Are you okay?" he murmured into her shoulder.

Scully pulled away slightly with a chuckle and shook her head. "Yeah, I've just been so emotional because of the hormones and I've hated how things were between us and I'm just so happy you're here," she explained, her voice quivering near the end. Without a moment's hesitation, he closed the gap between them, pressing his mouth to hers as if the mere act could be his benediction — a plea for an absolution only she could give.

She met him with equal fervor and for the first time in days, he was home, he finally felt alive.

It was different, kissing her while she was pregnant. It took more maneuvering than he was used to, but he liked it. Every time her stomach grazed his, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and overwhelming affection for her. "I missed you," she whispered against his lips between kisses. "So much."

He let his hands roam through her hair as they kissed, amazed at how thick it was and how the longer strands felt weaving like water in and out of his fingers. Mulder was surprised at the tonal change, but he figured it made sense. They deserved this little piece of heaven after the hell they'd just been through. Being in her arms was exactly where he wanted to be.

Somewhere between Scully pulling on his shirt and their legs shifting against each other, they ended up with Scully laying on her back on the couch while Mulder hovered above her. He was being mindful of not putting any weight on her stomach as he began kissing one of the tendons of her neck, smiling as he felt her pulse thrum under his tongue. A shiver went down his spine as he felt her rake her long fingernails sensually down his back. He moved to the other side of her neck and kissed the vibrations of her moan.

The moment he registered something tickle his inner thigh, she already began palming him through the front of his grey sweatpants, eliciting a hearty groan. He felt his eyes flutter shut in ecstasy as she deftly moved her wrist, stroking him firmly through the fabric. "Scully," he rasped between clenched teeth, burrowing his face into her neck while pumping against her hand.

"Mulder," she rasped.

He pulled away to look at her and watched as she turned away and coughed. Realizing her rasp was out of a lack of breath and not lust, he sat back on his legs out of concern he'd been pressing on her. "Are you okay?" he panted.

She reached out for his arm and he pulled her up into a sitting position. "Yeah," she nodded with a smile. "The baby just smashes my lungs if I'm on my back for too long."

"Do you want to stop?' he asked, rubbing her arms.

"Absolutely not," she replied firmly before she all but pulled him off his feet and led him by the hand to the bedroom.

"What they say about pregnant women's sex drives must be true then, huh?" he teased, following behind her with his own bounding footsteps.

Upon entering her room she turned to him with a mock-severe look, "You have no idea."

Her intensity and the hunger in her eyes made his cock twitch. Mulder pulled her to him, pressing his arousal to her stomach. "I think I can help with that," he murmured.

He brought his hands up in between them and started undoing the buttons of her nightshirt, noting how her nipples were protruding against the fabric. When he'd done research after she initially brought up in-vitro and having a baby, he learned about how much more sensitive women's bodies became. Out of curiosity, he let one finger stray from his mission to flick one nipple teasingly.

His eyes widened with the intensity of her gasp. "Sorry, my breasts are sensitive," she chuckled breathily, confirming his suspicions.

"I didn't even know that was a possibility for you," he teased, knowing he'd made her come from breast play alone before. Not wanting to neglect the other side, he let the back of his index finger graze over the other pebbled nipple and watched as it seemed to become impossibly harder, her breath almost becoming labored from just that.

This was going to be fun.

When the last button was undone, he raked his fingers up her body in between the flaps of fabric. He gently touched the darker line that was running up the middle of her stomach, only pausing to lightly touch her now protruding belly button.

She laughed huskily and did a little pivot sway away from him. "That tickles," she chastised playfully.

He chuckled along with her as he went to her shoulders, sliding his hands under the fabric so that it slid down her arms behind her, fluttering down in a heap at her feet. The sight of her standing shirtless while pregnant in front of him was enough to take his breath away.

It was initially almost imperceivable, but he saw her hands instinctively go to cover herself, only to hesitate and join self-consciously in front of her stomach. At that moment it struck him that it hadn't been a one-off comment in the living room: she really felt insecure about herself. She was trying to hide it, her trust for him feeling like the greatest honor, but he could still see it in her demeanor change. "You have no idea how sexy you are," he praised when he caught her eye.

"Mulder, you don't ha-" she began with a slight shake of her head.

"Don't," he whispered. Mulder raised his hands and cupped her jaw in his palms, coaxing her to look at him fully and see his sincerity. "I love your body. You're carrying our baby, and I'm in awe of you. Scully, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my entire life, and that most certainly hasn't changed. I don't want to see you doubt yourself."

He was glad to see he hadn't lost the ability to make her blush since he'd been gone. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were misty again. "Thank you," she mouthed, her voice a ghost of a whisper. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, each cheek, and the tip of her nose before finally resting on her lips, hoping to convey his earnest adoration.

Scully's tongue slid into his mouth to deepen the kiss as her hands wrapped around him, sliding up under his shirt to play with the skin of his lower back. His hands slid away from her jaw and one entangled itself in her hair while the other reached around to cup the back of her neck.

However, where he anticipated meeting the slightly raised line of where he knew her little implant scar was, he felt something that felt significantly more raised. His eyes shot open as he pulled away, all other thoughts temporarily forgotten. Scully had a slightly chagrined expression on her face as her eyes tentatively peeked open.

He didn't wait before walking around her, gently moving her hair aside so he could have a better look at the back of her neck. The ghost of the white little scar he was anticipating had suddenly become paired with a raised, red, and angry scar next to her old one, only this one was far newer and deeper.

This was one of his favorite spots on her body. The tiny little scar was a reminder of her strength. He liked to kiss and touch the spot he knew held the miracle that helped keep her alive. Seeing this new wound right next to it made his heart race and his body go numb. "D-did someone cut out your chip?" he asked. Immeasurable guilt started to fill him at the knowledge that someone hurt her while he wasn't there. That someone tried to take something so important. Would her cancer come back?

She turned around quickly and reached up to mirror the centering touch he'd just given her as she cupped his face with her hands, her fingers gently scratching the fine hairs near his ears.

"No. No one tried to cut out my chip," she replied firmly.

"But did they inadvertently do so? What happened?" he asked, falling into his reflexive habit of becoming one-track-minded where Scully's safety was concerned.

"It's still there. I had them x-ray me when I got to the hospital. I promise, I'm okay," she pressed. "I can fill you in on all the cases you missed later, okay?"

There must've been something on his face that made her realize he'd be focused on it until he got a little more assurance than that. With a sigh, she stroked the skin of his cheeks and stated, "I initially had a hard time letting myself trust Doggett so I went on a case alone and some cultists tried to make me a host for their God. I'm not going to go into details right now because it's gross and I'm trying to have sex right now, but Doggett found me and I had to have him cut something out of me because we were running out of time. I promise it's not as bad as it looks."

"Doggett did that to you?" he repeated, the image of the man cutting her burning into his mind.

She rolled her eyes and looked at him pointedly. "I think you missed the part where I said I told him to. He saved my life, Mulder." She moved her hands down to rest on his chest, roaming his muscles with clear appreciation. Then she looked up at him with big eyes while teasingly pouting her lip. "I don't want to talk about Doggett or cases right now. I've missed you so much and I thought about this for months. Please don't make me wait anymore. I promise I'm okay and I'll fill you in on everything later. Just be here with me," she pleaded.

Mulder could never say no to her when she asked like that, so despite his curiosity, he smiled and nodded. They were in no rush, they had plenty of time. He'd ask questions tomorrow.

Tonight was for her.

"Okay," he replied, tucking an errant hair behind her ear.

"Good," she smirked triumphantly, a devilish gleam twinkling in her eye. "I don't want to be the only one half-naked anymore," she demanded.

His hands slid down her body and he smirked when he felt goosebumps arise in their wake. "You're right, you should be fully naked," he replied, tugging on the elastic waistband of her pajama pants. She let him slide the silk shorts down her legs, no underwear much to his delight, and she was visibly shivering in excitement as he palmed her bare hips in his hands as he stood back up.

Not wanting to dismiss her wishes though, he quickly rid himself of his shirt and his sweatpants so they were both standing nude. "Get on the bed," he commanded lowly.

She hummed in appreciation and crawled onto the bed, the roundness of her stomach visible between her thighs as she made her way up to the headboard and her arousal glistening prominently. She was so wet it was already leaking onto her inner thighs and he felt proud to have been the cause. His erection that had weaned when they were talking about her injury had sprung back in full force upon seeing her fully naked again. God, he missed her.

Despite his arousal and excitement, he couldn't help but feel robbed of the opportunity to see these developments occur over time. Mulder wished he could have seen her body slowly change and develop as new life grew inside her. Suddenly he painfully related to her earlier sentiment regarding feeling indignant about the time that had been taken and all the moments he was robbed of. He wanted to hold her hair back when she had morning sickness, he wanted her to jump his bones anytime she wanted because of her hormones, and he wanted to be there every time she had a moment of doubt that told her she was anything other than beautiful so he could tell her how wrong she was.

They'd made love quite a lot in their short time together between her coming to his bed that night he got back from England and his being abducted, but as far as intimate relationships went, it was all still relatively new. He had only just started feeling confident he was proficient in the body and pleasure of Dana Scully. He'd been cataloging every freckle, memorizing every moan and gasp in the hopes of recreating them, and now he felt out of practice. Her body had changed and he was determined tonight to worship her and become reacquainted with her. He wanted to know the intricacies of Dana Scully both inside and out.

Mulder wanted to take his time. Crawling onto the bed after her, he approached her sitting form and kissed her while on his hands and knees. He knew there were going to be many new pregnancy-related changes, but now he was going to look out for any new scars or injuries that happened since they were last together. He just wanted to know so he could start to create a new future. Her skin was pale and delicate, her veins pale and blue underneath her skin like the blue lines on pulpy parchment. He wanted to use his tongue to write odes on her skin, he wanted to fill the spaces between the lines with 'I love you's, pink scrapes of his stubble, hickies left in his mouth's wake — he wanted her body to be a diary of his love. It was his goal to replace the memory of harsh, cruel hands and evil intentions and leave behind nothing but reassurances of his love and affection for her.

He pulled back, enjoying the way her body leaned forward instinctively to keep them connected, and watched as a content expression crossed her face. Her eyes fluttered open and she grinned impishly at him.

"What positions work best for you?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied in amusement. "I've never had pregnancy sex before."

"We're like virgins," he joked.

"Oh absolutely," she deadpanned, placing a hand on her severely pregnant stomach for emphasis.

Mulder snickered before he maneuvered onto his back, his cock bobbing in the air emphatically. He was adjusting himself when he felt Scully's knee come to nestle against his hip, her other going over him so she was sitting on his lap. Pausing his movements, he watched as she grabbed his erection and brought it closer to herself. However, instead of easing up on her knees and guiding him inside of her like he thought she was doing, she rocked back and forth while pressing his cock against her folds, rubbing his head against her clit with each movement.

"Fuck," he moaned, his hips inadvertently snapping up from pleasure and causing her to moan at the unexpected contact.

She continued her ministrations until her knees had his hips in a death grip and her movements were becoming erratic as her orgasm built. Mulder watched as she lifted herself up, but he pivoted his hips before she could sink onto him.

"Wait," he rasped.

"Mulder," she whined, dragging out his name as she pouted.

The sight amused him, and he nearly gave in. "There's something I need to do first," he explained.

"Do you have to do it right no-"

"Scoot up here and grab the headboard," he instructed.

Her pout quickly turned into a smile and an enthusiastic, "Oh!"

Doing as he instructed, she made her way up his body until she was straddling his face. "It's weird not being able to look down and watch you," she remarked once she braced her hands against the headboard.

Utilizing the way her stomach eclipsed his head underneath her to his advantage, he latched his mouth onto her clit without warning and added suction. "Shit!" she gasped, her body jerking in surprise. He reached his arms around her thighs so she was locked in place as he ran his tongue along her seam. She was so wet the mere contact had already drenched the lower half of his face. Her labia was swollen red from arousal and if her movements a moment ago were any indication, she was close to coming already.

He plunged his tongue inside of her and curved it so he was pressing against her inner wall, alternating between the pointed tip of his tongue and the flat of it when it was relaxed. He licked his lips and savored the taste of her. It was distinguishably Scully, but slightly different, sweeter, than he remembered. Even though his arms were around her thighs, she was still squirming as best she could. Knowing going back to her clit was what was going to send her over the edge, he swirled around it teasingly. Once, twice, then he latched on with suction while flicking the pointed edge of his tongue mercilessly against her clit.

A gasp tore from her lungs and was immediately followed by her panting his name with so much reverence it sounded like a prayer. Mulder felt her thighs start shaking and quivering against him with the power of her orgasm, and he didn't stop until she jerked away from him and placed a hand on his shoulder to signal she was too sensitive.

Scully adjusted herself so she was back in her original position, only stopping once to give him a deep kiss on the mouth. Mulder was too focused on what she was going earlier to notice much more, but now that she was sitting on his lap in the glow of the lamp, he realized her breasts were fuller now. Sitting up without dislodging her, he brought his hands up to cup them, playing with their weight in his hands. Scully's eyes shut in pleasure as her head rolled to her shoulder, leaning forward into his touch.

Mulder bent his head down and flicked his tongue over a pebbled nipple before taking the darkened areola into his mouth and sucking. "Mmm," she moaned, squirming against him in desperation for any contact. His cock was grinding into the flesh of her ass as she ground her clit desperately into his pubic bone.

He let go of one nipple to take a few deep breaths before moving onto the other one to give it the same attention. One hand was resting on the curve of her hip, stabilizing Scully, while the other rubbed her other breast and sternum. Mulder was so focused on playing with her, that he didn't fully register her grab his forearm so she could bring his hand to her face until he felt her lips clamp around his thumb. He felt his cock throb at the feeling of her hot, wet mouth sucking on his thumb.

Mulder released her breast with an audible suction as he looked up at her. If he let himself, he could have come from the look in her eyes alone. Scully kept her gaze even as she swirled her tongue around his thumb lewdly. He playfully bent it in her mouth and watched as her lips opened into a breathy chuckle. Pulling his hand away, he lowered it so he could spread her saliva around both her nipples, blowing a stream of cool air on them to make her shiver. He watched her nipples tighten in front of him before resting his hand on her inner thigh so he could swirl his thumb around her swollen clit.

"I want you," she gasped as she swiveled her hips to compliment his ministrations.

"Like this?" he asked.

"No," she mused. Then with displeasure added, "My knees are starting to hurt."

"Try laying on your side," he suggested, easing himself up as she got off him.

She laid down and faced the wall, presuming he was going to spoon up behind her. "What're you doing?" she asked when she saw him at her knees.

"Face the other way," he replied, straddling her bottom leg while bringing the other to rest against his hip. This way she could lay down on her side and wouldn't have to exert herself as much.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked.

While she was still laying on her side, she was pivoting slightly so she could face him. "Yeah," she replied while rubbing her top leg against his encouragingly.

He reached down and grabbed his shaft, rubbing the tip tauntingly between her folds before slowly easing himself into her. He watched her face to make sure he wasn't hurting her, but all he saw was an expression of content bliss. "You feel so good," she sighed, tilting her hips to give him room to go deeper.

"Jesus, Scully," he groaned in ecstasy as her walls clamped down around him like a vice.

One of her hands went to one of his legs and she began grasping at him, seemingly just wanting to touch him in any way she could. "More," she demanded.

As much as he wanted this to last for as long as possible, he was in no condition to deny her. He began pumping his hips against her, feeling her walls stretch to accommodate him as he slid in and out of her. Her breasts were bouncing tantalizingly and he watched as she brought her other hand up and began cupping herself, moving from one breast to the other haphazardly.

Leaning forward slightly, Mulder let his hand roam across her stomach, feeling the way it moved with each thrust. It was an odd experience, but insanely erotic at the same time. He repositioned his knees a little bit so he could angle his hips to try to hit her g-spot. Mulder had been pretty proficient at finding it before, but he felt his spongy head rubbing against the grooves of her front walls and he hadn't heard her telltale gasp yet.

He rocked his hips a little differently, trying a little farther back, and he saw her body tense as her breathing hitched. There it is. "Please don't stop," she begged breathlessly, her hands moving to grab fistfuls of the bedspread. He picked up the pace, hitting the same area repeatedly with the tip of his cock while sounds of pleasure flew out of her mouth mindlessly. "Yes. Need. Please. So good. More. Mulder," variants of those words at different volumes and tones with intermittent moans.

He felt a coil start to tighten in his abdomen and he knew he was close. Scully was too as she reached around her stomach to rub her clit with her middle and ring fingers. "That's it, Scully," he praised, locking eyes with her while their mutual bliss grew.

With one quick snap of his hips, he watched as her eyes widened and her jaw dropped open as her body trembled with her orgasm. It was clearly taking a conscious amount of effort to keep her eyes open, and he was grateful for it because seeing her come undone was the single most beautiful and erotic thing he'd ever seen. The visual combined with the feeling of her spasming around him caused him to come right after her.

Scully stroked his hair as he caught his breath. "You mean so much to me," she mused out loud, her hand moving to cup his jaw while her thumbs carefully brushed over the scars on his face.

He still felt self-conscious about them, even though he knew it was silly and Scully herself said they'd heal soon. Trying to ignore his insecurities, he bent down to kiss her before he moved so that he was spooning her from behind, pulling a light blanket over them as he put his arm around her.

"Thank you, Scully," he murmured into her hair.

"I think you're the one who deserves the thank you. My knees would have given out a long time ago," she replied, placing her hand on top of the hand he'd placed on her stomach.

He chuckled lightly before shaking his head. "I wasn't talking about that, though I think you deserve some appreciation anyway," he remarked, kissing the crown of her head.

"Then what for?" she yawned.

"Everything," he stated simply.

He felt her about to say something but he interrupted her with a gasp when he felt something press against his palm. "Did you feel that?" she replied excitedly, her hand pressing into his and moving it slightly.

"Was that-"

"The baby kicked," she replied, the smile audible in her tone.

"Did it hurt?" he asked, it felt pretty strong against his hand, he couldn't imagine the internal version of that.

"Not really. It's oddly comforting unless it's on my bladder," she replied. "It's probably going to happen again."

They both laid in silence together for a moment in anticipation, only to simultaneously disrupt it with excited laughs when the baby kicked again. "That's amazing," he replied in awe.

"It really is," she mused in kind.

"Do you know what it reminds me of?" he asked.

"You better not say-"

"- the movie Alien," he replied, smiling when he heard her amused sigh.

He rubbed her stomach gently, both to touch Scully and to start trying to connect with the kid. "Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?" he asked.

"Maybe, but I won't tell," she lilted cheekily.

"That's evil, Scully," he tsked, nudging her lightly with his knee. "I guess it doesn't matter. No matter what, the minute their little arms can hold up a bat I'm going to teach them how to play ball. You can help me since you've received top-notch training from the best," he declared.

Instead of responding, she turned so that she could look at him, and he realized she was crying. "Hey, hey. It's okay," he stammered, moving to stroke her hair and wipe away her tears.

"I'm so relieved you're here. I missed you so much and I was so scared I was going to have to do this alone," she sobbed, clutching his hand like he was going to disappear again if she let go.

Mulder felt his throat start to tighten in sympathy and he held her tighter while kissing her temple. He'd suffered so much when he was taken, but so had she. They were only ever going to get through the emotional scars if they were together. "I'm here, Scully, I promise. I'm yours forever."

[gwendeeagain]

How I wrote the Demon fic

Don't draw devil's traps in janitors' closets is one of my longest fic series I’ve ever written, the most notable of which would be my Demon Gakushuu fic, if you’ve seen it. 

In partial response to an ask post (link here), I’ve decided to revisit my writing of this fic series! It was quite a long journey for me and I think it might be fun (?) sharing it with everyone. It’s rather long, so I’ll tag it under “keep reading”. 

FYI this thread contains major spoilers for the fic (and would honestly make no sense if you do not have prior knowledge of it).

I'll just refer to the first fic in the series as Books because it has an insanely long title. Subsequent fics are in order Burgundy, Potential, Illuminate, Illuminate rewrite, and Addendum. The main series is linked here.

Addendum is not linked in the main series for reasons I'll explain below. (link here)

Books

I think one of my biggest mistakes writing Books is my lack of plot planning, and subsequently how thematically inconsistent it became. I start off most my fics with a rough idea of how I want the story to end, and a few good themes to carry me through the plot as I write, but for Books I started off with the first chapter and nothing else. If you followed the notes of my fic you'd probably have witnessed my gradual descent into uncertainty and despair as the fic spiralled out of my control due to how wrong I felt it was becoming.

The fic took a surprisingly hard toll on me. I absolutely hated it. I refused to mark it as complete because I was dissatisfied with how it ended. I thought that everyone was out of character, that I lost the original ending and goal in my head, that it was thematically messy such that I couldn't justify any ending I tried to come up with, and I was just grasping at straws trying to make it work. 

The three things that bothered me were Gakushuu’s wings, Koro-Sensei and the introduction of Aina. When I started this fic I had plans to kill off Koro-Sensei at the end, however as the fic went on it became a celebration of life and learning how to live, and I knew I couldn’t bring myself to have any death in this fic... but at the same time I had Gakushuu find a lot of meaning in Koro-Sensei’s (to-be) death and I didn’t want to undo that. The wings were on a similar note, because Gakushuu spend 50k words finding out who he is and accepting that he was different. Turning that message around and making him go back to being “the same” ate me up inside, but at the same time I set-up the Demon Society in such a way that they would kill Gakushuu if he didn’t have his wings, and it’s supposed to be a happy ending, dammit! Aina was a particularly egregious case because I threw her (and Ikeda) in without any prior warning at the very last minute. I already had a whole world and setting planned for them which I never got to expand on in the previous chapters because I was so anxious about the other two points, and when it came down to the last chapter I realized I had no set-up for these two, who were supposed to be major players in the finale. Basically I was bad at writing.

Even now I cannot fully articulate why it was terrible for me, but compounded with my real-life stressors, I suppose it just became a bit too much to deal with. (This is a piece of fiction that I am creating from scratch. If I can't even get this under control, what hope do I have for everything else?)

((For come disclosure I was never formally diagnosed with any mental illness, but my parents are the sort of people who don’t believe mental illness exists anyways. I would say that I’ve had depressive episodes when I was younger and sometimes even now, but I’ve learnt my ways of dealing with them!))

Burgundy

Four days later I published Burgundy, a short sequel to Books, very shortly after only because I had already finished writing by that time. I actually do still have several half-finished follow ups at that point, but I couldn't bring myself to complete any sequels because I couldn't even come to terms with the ending of the main story. (Those wips are lost to me now.) I think I was hoping that forcing myself to publish the sequel would show me that it was "no big deal" that the main fic didn't end the way I hoped it would, but it succeeded in making me feel worse.

Potential

About one month after that I wrote Potential. It was a three parter, somehow a fifth of the length of the main fic, that followed Gakuhou's perspective prior to the events of Books. It was a prequel which imo made it easier to write, because I still couldn't move on from Books yet. I think writing Potential was me trying to remind myself why I wrote Books in the first place, to perhaps reignite my original passion for the series. It's kind of funny to think about in hindsight, and a little meta, because Potential was a lead up to the events in Books. It worked... a little bit, I think. I still couldn't reconcile my feelings for the whole thing, but through it I got to revisit the original premise that I fell in love with and expand more on worldbuilding it. I could reprise Aina and Ikeda and finally write about the world I planned to introduce them in in the first fic and give more context and insights to how the demon society was supposed to work.

Illuminate

Six months after Potential, I ran into a comment that said, "what would Gakuhou have done if Gakushuu had died?" And for some reason it struck an epiphany in me. After that I wrote Illuminate in one night, cried myself to sleep, waited one more night to proofread it, and then published it. Illuminate was an AU to the first three fics in the series, and it was a fic about grief and mourning. Spoiler alert: I straight up killed Gakushuu in that fic. And somehow that was what I needed.

I quite literally killed my first fic - I upended the terrible ending I hated from Books - everything I had been uncertain about at first? I killed it. Plot points didn't fit my original plans? Killed it. (When I reread the death scene, I... honestly think I was unnecessarily cruel. I must have really been out of my mind when I wrote it, hah!)

And then I wrote myself a love story about missing it, grieving it, and finally letting go of it. It was heart wrenching for me - I made Gakuhou cry about what he lost, what could have been, what he realized he loved, and at the end of it all he could say "I love you and I can move on from you." And I did!

Illuminate (Rewrite)

Illuminate Rewrite, one year later, was me revisiting Illuminate to reflect on myself where I've come with this series. I actually just swapped the places of two paragraphs to change the mood at the end for something more contemplative. I elaborated a bit more on this in my notes for Rewrite, so I won't repeat them here.

Honestly, I still have a hard time coming back to reread Illuminate even after the whole debacle has happened. I attached a lot of emotions through my journey with this, and revisiting it each time takes quite a bit out of me.

Addendum

Addendum was just me having fun! After Illuminate, I managed to reconcile my feelings with the fic series. I was finally able to mark Books as complete and move on from it, and afterwards I wrote a fun little au sequel to Illuminate so that Gakushuu can live again. I could creatively expand on ideas and just do... whatever! It's more of a loose connection of plot points than a real fic, honestly.

Addendum follows Gakushuu in a future hundreds of years later, after every human who he's once known in Books has died. And... he moves on! Gets a job, makes friends, lives his life, and most importantly move on.

I chose to publish in a separate collection, however, because it was an incomplete story and I didn’t want to have a half-complete fic tacked on to what I have settled in my heart as a complete fic collection.

And that’s about it! <3

[i-should-be-writing]

Dabi and Shigaraki both don’t know their limits and are bad at communicating but dear god they’re trying (NSFT 18+)

First time writing something NSFT

Dabi and Shigaraki eventually start fucking. Someway somehow it just happens

However Shigaraki doesn’t have experience with sexual activities that involve other people

And neither of them have experience with emotional/mental stability

So there’s bound to be some major bumps in the road

So at one point Dabi has unintentionally pushed Shigaraki past his limit and Shigaraki can’t communicate this because he’s prone to going none verbal when he’s panicked

Dabi doesn’t know this and doesn’t notice any signs of distress

That is until Shigaraki bites him hard enough to draw blood and accidentally grabs Dabi with all five fingers

Dabi manages to free himself before any real damage is done

But due to his panic of thinking Shigaraki has suddenly decided to kill him he had hit Shigaraki over the head

Dabi was fully expecting to have Shigaraki jumping to kill him but what he got is an expression of hurt and confusion

Which in turn makes Dabi hurt and confused

‘Why is he looking at me like that? He’s the one that could have killed me. Did I do something wrong? Oh god what did I do?’

And instead of talking about it they both call it a night and go their separate ways

Dabi starts to avoid Shigaraki out of guilt and fear of hurting him even more

Shigaraki allows it so as to get his bearings back but eventually gets tired of Dabi acting like a hurt puppy when he’s the one that was hurt

Shigaraki eventually corners Dabi and demands he explain what the fuck is up with him

Dabi has a hard time trying to articulate anything because his inner monologue is something like

‘You’re a piece of shit. You can’t do anything right can you? Enji was right about you. You’re worthless. You deserve to be abandoned. No one wants to deal with you. Can’t believe you thought you were better than your dad.’

Shigaraki, being the more stable one of the two, can sense the hell that is about to unfold and decides it’s not worth it and tries to blow it off with a “It’s fine. It’s not that big a deal”

But is cut short by Dabi

“Hit me! I hit you so it’s only fair!”

“What!? No, Dabi I’m not going to hit you”

“Please! Please, I deserve it! I’ll be fine! Just do it please!”

Dabi sounds hysterical at that point and had Shigaraki getting increasingly distressed

Eventually when Shigaraki can’t stand the pleading anymore and doesn’t know how to make him stop he throws the punch

Dabi was surprised

Not by the punch itself but by how hard Shigaraki can punch

Shigaraki on the other hands goes from relief due to Dabi no longer pleading to absolute horror

And to make it worse he’s not even sure why he feels so bad. Dabi wanted him to hit him so they’d be even

But for some reason he starts to hear a little boy crying, an angry man yelling. He starts to see faded memories of the man’s face. And then he collapses

Dabi does his best to comfort Shigaraki

It’s piss poor but he’s trying

He doesn’t touch Shigaraki in any way out of fear of making things worse. So he lays on the ground with him and tells him that everything’s fine

It’s a lie but those are helpful sometimes right?

Soon Shigaraki comes to and asks why Dabi is on the floor

Dabi answers him and asks if he’d prefer if he’d hold him. Shigaraki confirms

They just lay there for a moment until Shigaraki speaks up

“We should probably have an actual conversation about this shit.”

“Yeah. Fuck. I’m not really good at that though”

“Can’t be worse than whatever this was”

“Ouch”

So they both make themselves comfortable for a very uncomfortable conversation

Shigaraki explains that Dabi went past a limit but he couldn’t verbally express that and had grabbed and bit Dabi out of panic

Dabi explains he had thought Shigaraki was trying to kill him and hit him out of panic

Dabi apologizes for not noticing Shigaraki was distressed and had attacked him and Shigaraki understands why Dabi had reacted in such away to him grabbing him but still doesn’t understand something

“Why’d you want me to hit you”

“To make you feel better”

“But I didn’t feel better. I felt worse actually”

“But I thought-”

“I was on the ground crying. What you did was try to make yourself feel better”

‘Shit. Is that really what I was doing? Of course it was. You don’t know how to care about anyone but yourself asshole’

“Stop that!”

“Stop what?”

“I can practically see the self loathing in your eyes. I’m not saying you had zero intention on helping me. I’m just saying the way you went about it turned out to be more about yourself and that sucks major ass. You should have asked me how you could fix things.”

“How can I fix things?”

“Well for starters you should start getting Kurogiri to help you with your emotions and stuff. He’s the only reason I’m this stable. Secondly you can hold me and be my personal heater. We should also discuss our limits and whatnot before we try anything again.”

“Huh I think I can do that”

He can

At some point Shigaraki is about to go down on Dabi and Dabi tells him

“If I do anything you don’t like you have my permission to bite off my dick.”

“Your dirty talk is shit.”

“Well that sounds pretty dirty to mEE-”

At another point Dabi goes into sub space. Shigaraki tends to him as best as he can since neither of them were expecting this. It turns out all right

And then later on Shigaraki goes into sub space and this time they were both prepared. It turns out alright as well

Sometimes things can turnout all right

Even if it had a shit start

[justgenshinstuf]

hiii! can i request hcs for diluc, zhongli and childe on how they would confess to reader who likes them too but is really oblivious? HAHA thank you! ^^

Thank you for hc request! Sorry for the wait and hope you enjoy :3

Confession Headcanons

He takes a long time to come to terms with his feelings for you. Almost like 7 stages of grief.

At first he thought it was just a passing interest, then he tried to convince himself being friends is enough for him to feel happy. The more time you’d spent together, the more he realised he is absolutely addicted.

It soon became impossible for him to keep it all to himself. The way his heart was beating faster when he sees you, how his legs became weak, how he couldn’t help but think about what you’ve been up to during his work hours, how he wished to have you by his side on nightly vigilante missions.

He was scared to death of making a confession, no enemy could possibly make him this terrified.  He would’ve never built up his courage if not for the fact that he couldn’t look at you anymore without thoughts of getting closer, touching, embracing. It was like a progressing illness.

He realised how lonely he was without you. You managed to make him so happy but so scared at the same time, afraid he’ll never have a chance to bathe in your otherworldly light, to be worthy of your love.

He’d made battling darkness alone his only life goal, but now he was attracted to the light and might burn to ashes because of it.

On one of the ordinary days he just spits it out. After the sleepless night of thinking and pacing around his room the only thing he was able to say to your face was a plain and simple «I think I love you, y/n». No words could possibly describe how he truly feels about you. He just didn’t know how to present it no matter how much time he’d spent thinking, and now a choking feeling in his throat was leaving him completely voiceless.

You wouldn’t get it at first. Have you herd him right? This can’t be it. You’d never even considered Diluc liking you back, like, in more than friends way. You’d love to hear those words from him, but this was just too good to be true, right?

When you awkwardly said he is your best teammate ever too, you could almost see all the colour disappear from his face. Something clicked and those rusty wheels in your head finally started turning. You couldn’t help but let out a loud gasp, covering your mouth with both your hands.

«Wait! No no no, you mean love like in IN love?!»

You suddenly felt a whole range of different emotions from wild excitement to gravely embarrassment. Unable to stay still, you rushed to grab Diluc’s hands in yours, tightly squeezing his thick gloves. At that moment you could feel him shacking a bit.

«Forget what I’ve said! Let’s do this again!» You took a deep breath before reassuring Diluc you actually love him back. You then froze in place with your eyes shut, still grabbing onto his hands, slowly turning red enough to match your beloved one’s hair.

Diluc could barely hear you over the thudding in his temples. His hands felt numb from your touch, that choking feeling in his throat suddenly started growing stronger. In a sharp move he put you in a tight embrace, pressing his lips against the top of your head, so tight, like he wanted you to merge into one.

You could now feel his irregular warmth with your whole body, hear his heart racing. «Sorry for acting dumb». You quietly muttered into his chest.

You couldn’t possibly see his eyes getting a bit watery and decided to pretend you hadn’t noticed his voice being shaky as he gently murmured: «I’m so happy right now, you have no idea».

He’d never experienced something quite like that before, but now, when he was finally free from his archon duties and could pay more attention to his feeling and relationships, he came to a surprising realisation.

For some reason he couldn’t quite understand, he could feel closer to you than anybody else he’d met. Maybe it was the fact you come from another world and he is an ex-archon in retirement?

This feeling was truly beyond his reach, but now there was no time to waste. Something this important should be handled the proper way. He wasn’t fully convinced you were a perfect match for each other, but in his idea it wouldn’t be fair to keep you in the dark about his feelings for you.

Years spent observing common folk and breathing with the culture of Liyue had certainly taught Zhongli something about how mortals handle this thing they call love, but he still felt a bit lost. He needed to learn more, to understand better, this was no place for stupid mistakes.

That one special evening he invited you to an opera, it was an outstanding performance of a famous Liyue singer. You were a bit nervous, it seemed almost like a date for some reason, and Zhongli seemed more elegant and suave than you’d previously noticed.

After that he invited you to his place for a dinner. You joked a little about him not having enough mora to feed both of you to hide your embarrassment. Rendezvous with Zhongli have alway felt so thrilling. His stoic and a bit mysterious presence made your thoughts fly apart.

He just laughed (oh, that beautiful voice) and said it was a special occasion. The suspense was killing you, was he really enjoying your company that much to prepare some kind of a surprise?

When he opened a door for you to enter, you were immediately blown away by the sight of the room alone. Decorated with beautiful flowers, and even a few Glaze Lillys, it was illuminated with multiple candles, which emitted a pleasant and calming odour. The table was served with probably a bit too many dishes for both of you, all of which looked more like hyper-realistic models of food straight from the pictures.

Frozen in place from shock, observing all the beauty in front of you, for a moment you felt like you entered the pages of a romantic novel (or maybe one of your wettest dreams, could be both). Before you could even articulate a question about the occasion, Zhongli lowered in front of you, looking straight into your eyes.

He gently put a beautiful antique comb incrusted with jades into your hand. «Please, accept this little gift as a sign of my upmost adoration». It was hard to maintain eye contact when he looked straight at you with such a serious expression, so you shifted your gaze, fixating on your small hand in his.

«For a long time now I wanted to make a confession. I feel like I am in love with you, y/n». He tightened his grip on your now shaky hand for a brief second before letting go. «Don’t worry, I understand it might not be mutual. I thought it would be fair to not hide something like th…»

You didn’t give him a chance to finish, putting your hand on his cheek, still holding his beautiful gift in another. The last thing you saw were his light pupils growing wider in surprise when you pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. «I think I love you too».

Now the tables have turned and Zhongli became the one flustered and lost, before he blessed you with a rare sight of him genuinely smiling.

«You never cease to amaze me, traveler from another world».

He knew you liked him before you could even admit it to yourself, this proud and self-confident rascal. He was perfectly aware no one can resist his teasingly flirty charm.

For some reason he completely missed the moment he started falling for you too. When did the fact you are his opponent became more important than the thrill of a friendly combat? Your wit, your grace, your unthinkable power, it suddenly blew the poor boy away.

Tartaglia became more and more serious during your time together, joking less, being lost in thoughts more, making dumb mistakes during battles. The fact he couldn’t come up with a good way to ask you out frustrated him. He couldn’t even fight properly, for archons’ sake, what is this?

It was his first time finding such interest in something besides being a ruthless warrior. One day he strives to conquer the world and now he is worried to ask you out. Pathetic.

He wanted to make it a casual, but decent confession, something worthy of you. But it still made him nervous. Did all-mighty Fatui Harbinger feel suddenly insecure? Would someone like you even want to date him after he’d been such an ass? Did you really like him back, or did he make it all up in his head to boost his ego?

He couldn’t take it much longer before he decided to approach the situation head-on. No time for this lovesick mess.

Childe surprised you with his sudden appearance from behind, putting a little white flower into your hair. «Hey~ looking pretty today! Care to go for a stroll with your favourite Harbinger?»

Seeing him always made you smile, but you didn’t have time for a sparring session today. You tried to politely decline his offer, but he reassured you it had nothing to do with fighting this time.

One awkward moment of silence later he laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. You noticed he was holding something behind his back.

«I bought you a little something. It’s a gift and… I think it should match you perfectly».

He pulled out a shiny ring sitting in a little box, a pinky blush slowly started covering his face. He was swaying around a bit while staying in place, not even hiding his nervousness anymore.

«I wanted to tell you that… Well I kind of… I really like you, y/n. Will you go out with me?»

He laughed a bit again, before realising you were shooting a deadly gaze at him. Almost like during mid-combat, when you are almost ready to murder him.

«You think this is funny?»  You were so pissed you could barely keep your voice down. «I don’t have time for your stupid pranks!»

Oh, poor soul, you were convinced he was just messing with you again. No way someone like Childe could be serious about something like this. And even the ring? The audacity!

«Oi, wait, I’m serious!» He rushed to grab your arm before you could turn away to leave. «I don’t even want to fight you anymore. I know I look stupid right now, but thats how I really feel. I want you! I don’t know how to do this properly, but, please, just hear me out!»

Something in the tone of his voice finally convinced you this was sincere. A playful smile crossed your lips when you grabbed him back by his jacket.

«So, does this mean you accept your defeat?» His face being almost red now made you giggle.

«No, I’m taking the first prize!» Tartaglia quickly retorted, gaining his confidence back. He picked you up from the ground and started spinning you around a bit, both of you laughing.

«Seriously, I love you, y/n». He whispered quietly, snuggling you closer to him.

[dakarimainink]

Neighbour - Part 1

Neighbour

Part 1

WARNING: 18+, mention of sex, cursing

Pairing: Javier Peña / f!OC

Wordcount: 930

Note: Not betad, all mistakes are my own. (Also sorry if the Spanish is bad, I used Google Translate)

Part 2

Masterlist

“Joder, Javi. Eso es. Si. No pares. Si. Si. Si.”

This was the fifth time this week and it was only Tuesday. It had become more frequent than last week. The constant moaning had been going on for weeks. Emilia had thought it would be a one time thing, if not just a short time period, but no, it had been going on for what felt like forever. She had tried everything from sleeping pills, music, earplugs and even changing her hours to work at night, but her neighbour was in full swing when she returned from her night shifts as well. Whenever she managed to drown away the sounds, she became fully aware of the vibration through the wall.

She had never met the guy. All she knew was his first name, which she had learned from the women constantly moaning Javi or Javier. She cursed to herself whenever the sounds begun and they could be going on for hours at a time with short breaks between.

“Oh Dios, Sofia. Me voy a correr.”

Oh, so it’s Sofia this time. Earlier it was Camila.

From the time listening and feeling the banging on the wall, he seemed to know his way around women and what they liked. He also seemed to like it rough based on the strength of the vibrations and the surprising sound of skin slapping.

Even though the thought about getting fucked was appealing to Emilia – especially considering how long it had been since last time – she found it annoying having to listen to others doing it. She had at one point considered calling the police but dropped it, as they probably would have laughed at her and then told her they had better things to do.

The banging finally stopped as they both moaned in harmony. Finally. Emilia sighed out in relief, it was only 1 AM and she could finally get some sleep. Her eyelids felt heavy as she turned in her bed and closed her eyes.

She suddenly heard female giggling from the other side of the wall. Her eyes snapped open in horror. Oh god no… The low moans begun again and slow thuds on the wall vibrated through. For fuck’s sake. She cursed within herself and sat up in bed. She fisted her hand and slammed it against the wall. More giggling followed by harder thuds. Her whole body bubbled with fury and she knocked harder on the wall using both hands. The moaning turned louder and the banging more fervent.

She wanted to tear at her hair and scream at them but opted for the second best option. She laid down in bed again, put in her earbuds, turned on music and covered her head with a pillow. The fucking didn’t end until 2.30 AM and Emilia ended up oversleeping for work.

~ ~ ~

“Más duro, Javi. Estoy a punto de venir.”

“That’s it.” Emilia growled and jumped out of bed. She threw on her black silk robe and stomped out of her apartment. She marched down to the next door and knocked on the door.

No answer.

She knocked harder.

Still no answer.

She knocked with both fists and she didn’t stop. She was not going to give up now, she had too many nights of disturbed sleep, she was tired (literally).

The door flew open and she snapped her hands down to her side.

“What?” The man barked with furrowed brows. He was dressed in a white t-shirt and black boxers; the outline of his semi-hard dick was difficult to ignore.

Emilia cleared her throat and got eye contact with him. “Listen, I have been listening to you having sex the past few weeks. It’s constantly going on and I can’t sleep. Can you please keep it down?” She asked as politely as she could.

Javier chuckled and closed the door at her.

She stood there for a short moment gaping at the door. She knocked on it again and the door snapped open immediately.

“What do you want? I am busy.” He was annoyed with her presence, keeping him away from fucking the gorgeous woman he had in bed, but she would not let him get away with this anymore.

She was fuming with irritation. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear, but I am your next-door neighbour and unfortunately it seems our bedrooms are wall to wall, which means that I hear and feel everything you do in there. It’s been keeping me up at night for the past few weeks and I must ask you to please just keep it down.”

She knew he was barely listening to her when his eyes slid down her body to her exposed thighs and legs. A smirk grew on his lips and lust filled his eyes.

She crossed her arms. “Excuse me?” She growled and waved a hand in front of his face.

He shook his head and managed to barely drag his brown eyes up to her gaze. “What?”

She was shaking with rage. “I can hear you having sex. Keep it down.” She articulated each word, dragging it out so he could hopefully understand her.

“Why don’t you join in?” He asked with a disgusting smirk as his eyes lingered back on her thighs again.

She had no words at his question. She was shocked at the fact he actually asked her. She was at the brink of pulling at her own hair when she growled out in fury. She stomped down the hallway and back into her own apartment. What a fucking unbelievable human being.

(Want to be tagged? Let me know :D)

[astralaffairs]

How do you think Phillip would handle an anxiety attack/depressive episode? As someone with depression, I experience these a lot and having someone there with me is nice

hey honey!! i empathize w u 100% — I've struggled w/ depression for years. that said, i kinda struggled w this, since having ppl with me when i go thru depressive episodes can be difficult for me, so i'm super sorry if this doesn't 100% reflect your experiences!!! as much as ik where you're coming from, i think my own perspective n experiences kinda colored how this turned out (also it got v long n self indulgent oops)

-----

"Hey, princess, you around?" Your eyes widened at the words, echoing down the hall of your apartment from your living room. "Y/N?"

You didn't respond at first, weren't sure what to say. You liked hearing the sound of his voice; it was a comfort in itself, but you also weren't sure whether you wanted him to find you in your room, still in bed in your pajamas, your now-empty bag of Fritos perched on the pillow beside you. You almost regretted giving him a key. You were exhausted — it was no secret for anyone who caught a glance of your half-lidded stare, the bags under your eyes. You were propped up against a pillow at the headboard, but you were still slouched over into your bent knees, curled into yourself.

You could see that he'd flipped the kitchen light on, its furthest reaches flooding the hall toward your bedroom. You wondered whether that'd mask the light coming from your room.

Your phone lit up beside you, but you couldn't see what the message you'd received actually said. It was instead filed under the notification, 'Pip 🥺💞: 7 unread messages.'

You reached over to put your phone on your bedside table, but when you did, your bed creaked loudly. You winced at the noise. Apparently, it also catalyzed the footsteps that'd stalled in your front room to kick back into action, now headed in your direction.

"Baby?" His voice was laced with concern, now. "You back here?"

When he reached your room, he raised an eyebrow, knocked lightly on the doorframe, and you sighed. "Hey, is everything okay? Can I come in?"

You didn't respond immediately, hesitant to speak for fear of him hearing the apathy that you knew had taken root deep in your voice. Eventually, after a long moment of apprehensive silence, you said, "Yeah. Yeah, of course you can."

How quiet, tired your words sounded only heightened the worry in his knit brow. His actions were tentative as he approached you. Your body was tense as he took a seat at the foot of your bed. "What're you doing in bed? It's almost 6 PM."

"What, I'm not allowed to be in bed in my own apartment?" Your voice was unnecessarily combative, and his eyebrows shot up at the sudden hostility.

"I didn't say that. Of course you are," he replied, and how gentle his tone was had you immediately struck with a pang of guilt. "But your laptop's off, and I know you've been silencing your phone. I just mean... genuinely, what have you been doing in here?"

You shrugged halfheartedly, not meeting his eyes. "I dunno. It's my day off; I don't have to be productive all the time, Philip." Again, when you spoke, it was accusatory, and Philip pursed his lips.

"Did I do something? Are you angry with me?"

Being branded as 'angry' usually would've multiplied your frustration tenfold — no, you weren't angry, but he'd showed up at your apartment unannounced and proceeded to question your lazy evening in; didn't you at least have a right to be annoyed? — but his searching gaze looked so troubled when it met yours that you couldn't bring yourself to be. Ultimately, you shook your head.

"No, you didn't. I just..." When you trailed off, you'd intended to finish the sentence, but you realized you didn't have a decent explanation to offer him. He sighed.

"Something's wrong. Talk to me; c'mon." You didn't say anything, and he scooted across your mattress to sit beside you, discarding your empty, crinkled snack bag to the floor. "Y/N?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine," you murmured, and though you offered him a tired smile, he frowned.

"Hey, no you're not." When he reached for your hand, you flinched, more due to instinct born of the tension in your bloodstream than to any real intention. Nonetheless, it took him aback. He was about to pull away, but when you relaxed, he laced his fingers tentatively into yours. You didn't rebuke him. "Y'know I'm here for you, right?"

The smile you managed to contrive at that was, in your opinion, more convincing than your previous one. "I know, baby. I love you. But really, I'm doing alright. I've just been tired today; I wanted to come take a nap. Sorry if I'm being grumpy."

You thought your words would've assuaged his concerns; they had with everyone who'd heard them before. However, Philip let out a heavy breath, shaking his head. "Please, don't bullshit me. I know you too well for that."

Your light laugh in response felt like an adequate supplement, and you squeezed his hand. "Relax. I'm not bullshitting, okay?"

You held firm on your smile as he eyed you warily, and when he leaned over to kiss you, you relished in the touch, eyes fluttering shut as his nose skimmed your skin. He didn't pull all the way away, though, resting his forehead against yours.

His lips met your cheek, and against your skin, he whispered, "Stop hiding. I love you, and you're only worrying me more."

He took your chin in his free hand as he pulled just inches away, watching carefully when your eyes widened. "C'mon, what makes you think—?"

"I know you." He cut you off firmly, the words leaving little room for protest or contradiction. You didn't like how exposed you felt. "And I can tell that something's seriously wrong."

A moment passed in silence; your eyes darted across his expression, searching for any degree of uncertainty, but he was set fully in his convictions. You bit your lip. "Okay," you finally said, voice tiny. "I... I'm sorry, Philip."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I just want you to be honest with me." He reached up to smooth his hand over your hair, it eventually coming to rest at the nape of your neck. You nodded.

"I know." You ran your thumb over his knuckles, staring down at where your hands were interlinked. "But... I don't know what to tell you. Nothing happened, and there's nothing you can fix."

"Then what isn't okay?" he asked. "What can you talk to me about? What's weighing on you?"

How earnest his voice was only left you frustrated, sitting beside him with no answer to give. "I don't know what to tell you. I'm what's been ruining my day."

"What d'you mean?"

You huffed, tried to pull your hand away as you turned your head, struggling to articulate anything. You felt stupid; you knew whatever would come out of your mouth would sound stupid. But he didn't let your hand go, and you found yourself easing back toward his body.

"This whole day has just... it's been so fucking hard. And I haven't even done anything. I'm still in bed, for god's sake; I've been useless." Your own words made your skin crawl. You sounded so whiny; why couldn't you form a thought without coming off as pathetic?

"It's your day off, right? Why should you be productive?" he echoed your own words back to you with a kind smile, and your involuntary resentment eased in the slightest.

"Thanks, Pip. But..." You swallowed. "I'm so tired. Everything I try to do feels so exhausting. The reason my laptop's still off is because trying to find something to watch was just... making me feel worse."

He nodded. "I'm sorry." You were momentarily disappointed when he released your hand, but that same arm then snaked around your waist, and he paused, not yet trying to pull you into him. "This okay?"

How gently, how tenderly he was treating you your fatigued gaze slowly softening. "Yeah." You shut your eyes when he held you close, leaning you into his body. He was so warm, and he was so good to you. "Love you," you murmured.

"I love you, too." The small, weak smile you gave was all but imperceptible when he kissed the top of your head. "So, what d'you think's going on, then? Are you getting sick? Do I need to take you to the doctor? Pick up some antibiotics?"

The concern in his eyes had returned when you glanced up to him once more, and you pursed your lips. "No, no, it's not... I don't need the doctor, or any ibuprofen, or whatever," you murmured, and your tone sounded more hopeless than you realized. You'd burrowed your face into Philip's side, by then, and you couldn't see it when he pursed his lips. The despair in his eyes was heavier than you'd have guessed.

"Alright, princess," he said quietly. When a beat passed, you thought he was going to leave it at that, but his voice was apprehensive when he continued. "Is there... something else you know that has you so spent?"

The noise of discontent you let out into his t-shirt was almost a groan. You weren't overly pleased with his hitting the mark, but after a long pause, you gave a small, weak nod. "Yeah," you whispered. "But it isn't something you can fix."

He didn't hesitate, then, to pull you into his lap, though the action caught you by surprise. Both his hands were holding you to him by the waist; you shifted in his grasp, turning to rest against his chest, your arms looped around his neck. "Then it's a good thing you aren't broken." You lifted your head from his chest, turning it to look up at him curiously, and one of his hands left your waist, instead coming to cup your cheek. "My sister's been dealing with depression for most of her life. I get that I'll never know what it's like, but if you're willing to talk to me, trust me when I say I won't take it lightly."

His thumb sweeped across your cheekbone as you stared up at him in surprise. He furrowed his eyebrows. "What's up? Was my assumption off-base?

At that, you let out a huff, surprised but no longer bitter. "No. You're just too perceptive for your own good sometimes; you know that?" you murmured, and he laughed. You could feel it reverberate in his chest against your body.

"Not too perceptive for your own good, though, apparently." He raised an eyebrow at you, expectant, and you rolled your eyes. When you didn't respond, he continued, "How come you never told me?"

"I don't know." You sniffed. "Depression's just so fucking stupid. Like, sorry, your brain chemicals are fucked up, so you're going to spend the next week rotting in bed. What kind of deal is that?"

The droll annoyance in your words made him smile. Anything was better than the apathy. "Really, princess, who comes up with this stuff?" he replied, mirth laced into his tone as he plastered on a look of annoyance. You cracked a small smile.

"I dunno, but I'd like to have a talk with them sometime. Give 'em a piece of my mind."

He laughed, absentmindedly rubbing circles into your lower back. "You should. Stick it to the man." The way he nodded decisively made you purse your lips, small smile threatening to widen into a watery grin. "But until then, is there anything I can do for you right now? What have you done today?"

You let out a heavy sigh against his body, with that, once again fully present in your wreck of a bedroom. "I showered, and I ate a family-size bag of chips."

"Hey, so you got out of bed." He nudged you with his shoulder, wearing an encouraging smile. "That's something, right?"

"Mmhmm. And then I got right back into bed," you huffed.

"Alright. What have you eaten today? Anything?"

You raised an eyebrow. "We just covered this. Family-sized bag of chips."

"That's not exactly a meal, baby," he said, and his furrowed brow made you scowl. "Hey, I don't mean to downplay that; I'm really glad you ate. I just wanna know if I can get you anything else."

You shrugged. "I'm not hungry."

"Is there any food that you'd eat right now if you had it in front of you?"

There was a pause; you didn't move, gaze blank as you considered it, but again, you shrugged. "I dunno. Chocolate sounds nice. But I don't need anything."

"You need to eat."

"That's so unhealthy," you said quietly. Just your single day's worth of poor eating habits had you feeling beyond lousy about your body; you had no desire to see a mirror until at least the next day.

"What's unhealthy is letting yourself starve, princess." You rested the side of your head against his chest once more, having no desire to meet his eyes. You didn't want his stare to be judgmental.

"'M not starving," you mumbled, and one of his hands rose to the back of your head, holding you close as you leaned into him.

"I'm not accusing you of anything," he whispered, and his thumb brushed across the skin of your neck. "Relax. I love you. I can go and get you anything you want to eat."

"No, no, don't leave. Don't leave me," you murmured, and your hold on him tightened. "Just stay with me. Please. I'll deal with everything I've been neglecting in the morning."

He sighed. "Baby, you know I want to, but I'm worried about you. Someone's gotta take care of you if you aren't gonna take care of yourself."

"Later." You looked up at him, and he could see your distress in your gaze. "I promise, Philip. I'm just so tired. Just wanna stay in bed. Want you here with me."

"Okay." He kissed your forehead. "Okay, I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?"

"I promise, princess."

[c-rose2081]

Dragon Colds & Rose Petals

Love Like Dragons AU

Bevie | Huma (implied) | Gildry | Mal & Audrey BROTP

—

Evie Grimhilde was a happily married woman. She had been for nearly three months now, and it was marital bliss. But there was a small part of her that was still a lonely, single, Dragon mom. So when Ben walked in on her that day, struggling to keep the human thermometer in Mal’s mouth to take her temperature, he laughed.

Mal, her best friend and a five year old Isle Dragon, had been sick for the past two days. Evie wasn’t sure what brought it on, as Audrey - Ben’s Aurorian Dragon - didn’t seem to have anything. And of course that small, single, lonely dragon mom part of her reared it’s head. What if Mal was terminally ill? What if she died? What if Evie would wake up tomorrow and her best friend wouldn’t be there? It nearly sent her into hysterics. Coddling the cranky, tired spike menace was the only thing that could calm her.

Naturally, Mal hated it.

Ben, thankfully, was a level headed man, and he rescued poor Mal and quarantined her in another room. He then held Evie to his chest and quietly stroked her hair as she rattled off every possible dragon disease she found on the internet and their outcomes.

“I have a friend who’s a vet,” Ben told Evie when she had finally calmed down, holding her close as to keep her from spending the night with Mal - who was no doubt sleeping, “she comes and looks at Audrey every few months, I’m sure she’d be happy to give Mal a checkup,”

And so Evie agreed that a vet visit would be the best option, rather then trusting DragonMD. Of course, she wasn’t aware that Ben and this ‘vet’ were very close friends. Let alone that this ‘vet’ was a woman who he was apparently quite comfortable with. Uma was a pretty, muscly, dark skinned sort with long turquoise and white braids. She stood at least a head above Evie in height, and when she pictured a ‘vet’, Uma was quite far from what she was imagining.

“Uma!” Ben greeted with an open hug, “thanks for coming,”

“You’re lucky, Ben. I just got back into town,”

“Uma works in freight,” Ben explained to Evie, resting an arm around her waist as Uma pulled a rather large black duffle in behind her, “she travels a lot; it’s why you didn’t meet her at the wedding. Uma, this is my wife, Evie. I wrote to you about her,”

“Yeah; all good things thankfully. It’s nice to finally meet you,” Uma replied, Evie smiling in kind and taking her hand in a firm shake. The grip was incredibly strong, and the skin on her palms was callous, “Ben, I hope you don’t mind. But I brought Gil.”

“Who’s Gil?” Evie asked, brows popping up. She expected Gil to be a person, or perhaps a child. Having a large, horn-backed dragon wander in with a rose in his beak wasn’t what Evie expected at all. Like the day she had met Audrey, the girl yearned for her sketchbook, “oh my goodness,”

“I told you. Uma is great with dragons,” Ben laughed, “this is Gil,”

“My boyfriends dragon, actually,” Uma told Evie.

“I’ve never seen anything like him!” Evie exclaimed, jostling as ‘Gil’ nearly knocked her over when he came to bump the side of her leg with a wing.

“Sorry,” the sailor groaned, rolling her eyes as she grabbed the dragon by the back of the neck, “he’s really good with people, and gentle as they come. But he’s just so big,”

“What kind of dragon is he?” Evie asked, kneeling down to have a better look. Gil, unlike both Mal and Audrey, was built like a narrow turtle, and was armored like a tank. He had short legs with four toes each, and an articulated shell covering his nape, all the way down to his back legs. His tail was stubby, but sprouted four impressively long spikes, and his face was wide eye’d with a beak rather then a toothy maw. Gil’s wings, Evie noticed, folded inelegantly against the outside of his shell, a bit like messy accordion blinds. No doubt they were quite large in order to help such a bulky creature fly.

“Gil is a Coastal Dragon. They usually live out by the sea, in the sand,” Uma explained, heaving the creature to the side where he flopped to his belly unbothered, still holding the bright red flower in his beak, “Harry picked him up when he was traveling, and he’s been with us ever since. He’s a lazy beast,” Uma complained, tapping the creature’s shell with a boot, “doesn’t do jack-shit other then lay around all day,”

Evie couldn’t help but laugh at this, only to jump as Gil made a noise. It sounded almost like a tired, sad foghorn.

“He’s been crying like that all morning,”Uma drawled, “the minute he figured out I was coming here, he wouldn’t let me leave without him,”

“Why would he do that?” Evie asked, frowning slightly in confusion as Ben rubbed the back of his head and Uma glanced at him expectantly.

“Princess! Your boyfriend’s here!” Ben called out, his voice echoing through the tall vaulted ceiling of their house. Puzzled for a moment, Evie turned as Audrey’s birdsong reached her ear. It only took a second before the pink bullet - wings fully outstretched - glided into the room. Gil, who had previously been laying down, leapt up faster then Evie ever could’ve imagined for such a stocky beast. His accordion wings unfurled like a whip, and Uma tugged Evie backwards a step as he gave one powerful flap and was in the air.

“Sweet Merlin, he’s massive,” Evie breathed in wonder, watching as Gil captured Audrey in a mid-flight embrace, enfolding her between his arms and resting his large head on her crest, “are they...?”

“Together,” Ben confirmed with a nod, “it was a surprise to us to, once we figured it out,”

“Gil is romantic, the big lug,” Uma chuckled, placing her hands on her hips as Gil transferred the rose he’d been keeping to Audrey, who somehow managed to tuck it behind her ear flap in a very teenage-girl like manner, “he gets it from Harry, I think. Sorry about your rose bushes, Ben.” Uma admitted, grimacing slightly as Ben merely chuckled.

“It’s alright. The gardeners will take care of it,”

“Right then. So, you told me you had a sick dragon here?” Uma asked Evie, “and it’s clearly not Audrey,”

“My dragon, Mal, has been sick for a few days now,” Evie told the woman, returning to fretting over her best friend, “She’s really dull and tired, and even more cranky then usual,”

“Hm, that could be a number of things,” Uma pondered, heaving her black duffle up over one shoulder, “what breed is she?”

“An Isle Dragon. At least I think she is. I got the egg as a gift. Mom didn’t ever tell me where she got it from,”

“Well, let’s get to it then. I want out of here before Gil starts mimicking Audrey’s love songs,”

And so the trio left the foyer, heading upstairs into the large upper floor. Ben had made Mal her own special quarantine room. Audrey’s claw marks were all over the door’s painted exterior, showing where she’d been trying to get in earlier.

“I’ll have to talk to that girl,” Ben mumbled at reaching the door, ruffling his hair and groaning at the idea of having to fix the damage. Audrey wasn’t normally destructive, and Evie thought maybe she was coming down with something like Mal had. But Uma merely shook her head.

“It’s only natural,” she explained, opening the door and flicking on the light, “Audrey and Mal have probably already formed a family unit. It’s normal for one dragon to comfort another in times of pain or illness,”

“But Mal and Audrey quarrel constantly,” Evie complained, “they never get along,”

“Maybe so, but Dragons aren’t solitary in the wild. They build family units to survive. You did the right thing though, keeping Audrey out of here,” Uma admitted, kicking the door closed with a boot. Mal was laying in her basket, snoozing the day away unbothered by their entrance.

“I’m going to go call mom and dad,” Ben said to Evie quietly, “see if I can’t get someone down here to fix the door, and the bushes. You’ll be ok here with Uma?”

“Yeah. Love you,”

Sharing a quick kiss on the lips , Ben gave a half wave to Uma before skirting back out the door and vanishing.

“You two are good together,” Uma commented a little while later, removing a stethoscope from her bag and slinging it around her neck, “I was surprised when Ben said he was getting married,”

“Oh?”

Sinking down onto a low stool, Evie watched as Uma very carefully checked Mal’s heartbeat, “why do you say that?”

Uma switched the stethoscope for an ear tool as she began checking Mal’s ear holes.

“I dunno; it just never seemed like he could find the right fit. Hell, even we tried it out once,” Uma admitted with a laugh. This caused Evie’s stomach to drop like a rock. She didn’t mean for the green eye’d monster to make an appearance, but she couldn’t help it. After all, it had only been a few months, and she was nothing like Uma.

“Uh...why didn’t it work out? You and Ben?”

“Ah, we aren’t anything alike, really,” Uma said, satisfied with Mal’s ears and digging around in her bag for a moment, “I was always gone, you know? And of course Ben has his parents business to worry about. He needed someone who could keep up with him. Ah,” finding what she was looking for, Uma removed a small ‘T’ shaped device from the bag, “let’s just take the temperature,”

With a beep, Uma looked at the little digital screen and nodded. She put her tools away, removing a stuffed toy from inside her bag and tucking it under one of Mal’s fat arms.

“You, Evie, seem like just the right type for him,” Uma insisted with a sharp nod, rising from her place on the floor and wiping her hands on her jeans, “as for Mal, I suspect a cold is to blame for this. Where does she normally sleep?”

“Uh, up in the rafters above my bed. She used to sleep next to me, but I share a bed with Ben now. Audrey usually sleeps on her perch,”

“Ah. I suggest maybe installing a heat lamp up there, or building a nesting box. I think she’s getting to cold at night. Dragons are sensitive to that sort of thing,”

“I didn’t know,” Evie admitted, “thank you, Uma,”

“Anytime. I love Dragons, and Ben is still a great friend so I’ll help him out when I can. Anyway, Mal should be back to her normal self in a few days. Keep her warm and eating normally, and if anything changes, call me again and I’ll come back,”

“Can Audrey be allowed back in?” Evie asked, holding the door open for Uma to leave as the girl shook her head.

“No. Keep Mal in here and resting until she’s closer to her normal self. No need to risk Audrey catching whatever she has.”

“Ok. I can do that,” Evie nodded, following Uma back downstairs. Ben was standing in the yard out front, looking over the trampled rose bushes. Audrey and Gil were cuddled up within the broken branches, warm and content in a nest of prickly thorns and velvet petals.

“I think Gil might be more romantic then you, Ben,” Evie joked, looping her arm through her husbands as the man made an offended noise in his throat.

“So you want rose petals?” He asked, “I can do that,”

“Mhm, whatever you say,”

“So how’s Mal? Everything ok?”

“She’ll be just fine,” Uma restated, “Evie knows what needs to be done. As for you, Harry wants to get together at some point for a guys night.”

“Will do. I’ll call him and Jay when I have time,”

Bobbing her head in understanding, Uma gently prodded Gil with a toe through the nest, causing him to lift his head groggily.

“Alright, big fella. Kiss your girlfriend goodbye, we need to get going,”

Gil gave a sad little moan and Uma shook her head, “no complaints. I’m the captain here. Now kisses, and let’s go,”

Evie couldn’t help her little ‘awe’ as Gil reluctantly gave Audrey a little cheek nudge before standing and romping out of the bushes unhappily. Ben picked his own dragon up from the thorns, cradling her like a baby as she wailed dramatically.

“Do you cry like that every time I leave the house?” Evie asked as Uma hauled Gil into her Jeep, leaving poor Audrey heartbroken and hanging limply off Ben’s arm.

“No,” Ben insisted, using his free hand to grasp Evie’s as he gave it a squeeze, “I’m even worse.”

—

A/N: So...this is officially an AU! I’m calling it the Love Like Dragons AU. Basically Auradon is just a normal city (no prince and princesses, no pirates, ect.). Ben is the heir to his wealthy parents business rather then being a King. And the only ‘magical’ thing in Auradon is the dragons part of it. If you have any questions or suggestions for the AU, ping me :3

[artificialqueens]

Sunlight Through the Window (Sashea) - Mock-Star

Hi yes I know it’s been months since the AS5 finale but school and the pandemic kicked my ass plus this fic ran off in a different direction than I was planning. Also yes one particular scene may have been written because I’m mad at one of the frats at my school.

Set post Rona, Sasha tries to find a way to congratulate Shea on her win during a group trip.

This is cannon divergent, which means for me and my writing that the show happened but everyone is their drag personas. (so in this case she/her pronouns are used for both of them but the smut is written as MM if that makes since).

(Also for any new writers out there, SAVE EVERYTHING because this is also a frankenfic of 2 different abandoned wips along with the new writing)

Sasha was lounging in the bay window of her room in the rental house responding to a few last business emails when Shea snuck up beside her.

“I think they’re getting ready to start dinner because your help has been requested."

"Ok, I just need to finish this last email and then I’ll be done for the rest of vacation and I’ll come downstairs."

Shea smiled in confirmation, but Sasha could tell she had something else on her mind as she squatted down to hug her.

"Thank you for agreeing to come and room with me. It means a lot to me and I’m so glad to finally get to spend some time with you.”

“Thank you for asking me. I still feel bad that I wasn’t able to celebrate with you when you won last year."

"Baby, that was beyond your control. Miss Rona ruined a lot of plans. And plus you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” Shea kissed her cheek, and Sasha leaned into it.

“For two whole weeks! I can’t believe all of us were actually able to clear out that much room in our schedules!”

“I know! We all definitely need it. I’ll see you downstairs.” Shea said as she stood up and walked out, closing the door behind her.

Sasha hit send on her last email and closed her laptop, then pulled out her phone and went to her messages with Shea.

*“Hey, can I ask you a question?”*

*“Sure. Is everything ok?”*

*“Oh yeah, everything’s fine. Some Chicago queens and I are planning on renting a beach house together now that it’s safe to do so. We need a few more people to get the best deal. Do you want to come with? We’d be sharing a room, but I think others are inviting other New York people.”*

*“Oh my god a beach vacation sounds amazing! Send me some potential dates and prices and I’ll see if I can manage it.”*

*“You’re the best! Sending now!”*

Sasha smiled as the conversation auto refreshed and took her to Shea’s newest message, a close up picture of one of their friends making a silly face. Running footsteps and laughter erupted from downstairs as Shea shrieked at the culprit to give her phone back through laughter.

Later that night, Sasha slipped away to charge her phone, laying down on her bed to send a quick text to a friend. She was more tired than she thought though, because she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, falling asleep in her clothes on top of the covers.

The dull ache of her knees after kneeling on the ground for an extended period of time.

The sharper ache of her jaw after working overtime.

The cramp in her hand after staying in the same position for a while.

The weight of the hard dick in her mouth, pushing dangerously against her gag reflex.

The salty taste of sweat and precum in her throat.

The clammy hands clutching her head.

The rocking of hips.

The whimpers and moans that filled the room .

Her name spilling from stuttering lips.

Nails digging into her scalp.

Eyes flickering up to see her partner losing it.

Eyes meeting, and Shea whispering her name as her crown flickered in the light.

“Sash… fuck babe.”

Sasha woke up with a start when she heard loud banging coming from outside, and she sat up enough to see bright colors peaking through the curtains.

“Fireworks?” She mumbled, trying to make sense of the situation in her groggy state, the details of her dream sticking in her mind.

“Must be the frat a few doors down.” Shea said, and Sasha turned her body enough to see Shea sitting up in the bed next to hers with a book and book light.

“What? How?"

"How do I know that it’s a frat? When those of us who checked us in went to go find main street we saw them in the front yard trying to raise a flag with their letters. I think it said "KA”. Shea answered her question before she could articulate it.

“Kappa…Alpha?"

"I wouldn’t know, either way they might end up catching these hands because they woke you up.” Shea’s answer made Sasha blush slightly, although she was too groggy to articulate why. She reached to adjust her glasses, only to find them missing. She turned towards the bedside table to find them there, next to her phone, still plugged in. It was at this point Sasha realized she was under the covers, tucked in around her legs, still fully dressed.

“It crossed my mind briefly to strip you down to your underwear, but your clothes weren’t visibly dirty, and I didn’t want you to freak out when you woke up.” Shea said, answering her next question. Even though she was tired, her mind latched on to the idea of Shea undressing her and picking her up and tucking her in, and she knew she had to push it out of her mind as she took off her pants under the covers and let them fall to the floor.

“What time is it?” She asked, and Shea reached for her phone to turn it on.

“3am. I’ve been awake since about 2:30 because I had to go to the bathroom and couldn’t go back to sleep.” Shea responded, answering her next question before she could ask it. “I’m going to try and go back to sleep after this chapter, but you should go back to sleep."

"I didn’t mean to actually fall asleep."  She said, head already on the pillow and drifting off.

"It’s ok, you needed it. I worry about you not getting enough sleep sometimes. Rest well Sasha, see you in the morning.” She said something else as well, but Sasha was already too drowsy to hear her. When she woke up in the morning, Shea was still asleep, and seeing her made her remember her dream and the groggy conversation she had with Shea, and a warmth went through her, obsessed with the idea.

Unlike what the fans might have thought (or wished for), there was no “winners orgy”, although it did sound fun-ish. Possibly even more shocking, she and Shea had never done anything more than kiss in the brief down moments during shows, soft enough so as to not mess up their makeup, more friendly and good luck wishes than anything. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to explore their mutual attraction, it was that it was never convenient. They certainly weren’t allowed during filming, and they rarely had time alone together without duties or other people in the way, if they were even in the same state. The attraction never went away though, so it didn’t surprise Sasha when a innocent enough cheek kiss lounging by the pool turned into a make out session in the bay window of their shared room the next night, the music and laughter of their fellow houseguests seeming both far away and too close for comfort.

Shea’s kisses were addictive, and with the red wine warmth running through her veins and the heat of the setting sun on her skin, Sasha was utterly seduced. A soft groan escaped despite her efforts to swallow it, and Shea chuckled, catching her off guard when the air tickled her lips. Shea slowly shifted both of them so that Sasha was on her back and Shea was kneeling above her, still kissing her the entire time while Sasha held on to  Shea’s shirt. She suddenly broke away, and Sasha pouted until Shea’s lips found her neck. Shea clearly had a plan in mind, and Sasha felt her hands slip underneath her shirt, which had already ridden up and exposed a small section of her stomach. Shea ducked down and pressed featherlight kisses against the exposed skin, rubbing Sasha’s sides with her thumbs, and she could have melted. Her face was flushed red, and she blinked away the tears that threatened to spill. It always surprised her how tenderly Shea treated her during those rare moments of intimacy. Those tight hugs that felt more protective and adoring than restrictive, always interrupted by other people or pressing duties. But this time, there was nothing to interrupt them. Even as Shea moved back up to her lips, the question hung in the air, and when Shea broke away to ask it out loud, her yes came instantly and easily. Shea picked her up and walked to the closest bed, making it to the end of the bed before lowering her onto it.

Her thighs were pressed into her stomach as the warmth of the dusk sun warmed her face almost uncomfortably. Attempts to touch herself were taken over by Shea after she observed Sasha’s movements to mimic them. The intimacy was overwhelming, and after the passion, the tears finally came, after Shea had rejoined her and laid down beside her. She rarely cried after sex, but the tears didn’t stop, silently streaking her face, cooling her flushed skin. She didn’t know if it was because of the sexual tension finally being resolved, because it had been so long since she last got laid, or simply her body trying to regulate itself, but Shea seemed to understand regardless, rubbing Sasha’s head as ot  blissfully watched the sky finally go black.

The next morning, Sasha rolled out of bed, shivered, pulled on the closest shirt she found, and groggily stumbled to the bathroom, thankfully for the small nightlight that meant she didn’t have to turn on the actual lights. As she was washing her hands, she looked up at the mirror to check her reflection, and she gasped. In the low visibility of the bedroom, she had grabbed Shea’s shirt by mistake. For some reason, it seemed large on her even though they were roughly the same size, and she was trying to think of why Shea’s shirt would be on the ground near her bed before she remembered. She moved the collar of the shirt over a few inches to reveal the mouth-shaped bruise that had blossomed overnight. She peeked out the door to see that the sheets on the bed closest to the window, her bed, were suspiciously rumpled up, even hours later. The bed closest to the door had the sheets pulled back on one side, and Shea asleep on the other.

She pressed on the bruise on her neck with her thumb, and the ache that left it made her aware of all the aches in her body, ones that were clearly post-sex aches.

Post-sex.

“*Shea and I fucked last night. I wanted to. I enjoyed myself. I want to have sex with her again*"

The realization was not a hard one. But the thought was an epiphany nonetheless, and she felt a wave of relief wash over her, almost laughing as she leaned against the wall and soaked everything in.

She crept out of the bathroom, trying not to wake Shea up, but she seemed to be expecting her, turning towards her and slowly blinking, as if trying to adjust to the growing morning light coming from the window.

"Mornin’ cutie.” She whispered, biting her lip while Sasha awkwardly apologized for waking her up, but Shea chose to ignore it.

“I love the way you look in my clothes.” Shea cooed, and Sasha felt her cheeks go hot as Shea made no effort to hide her eyes trailing up and down Sasha’s body.

“What, no but?"

"Yours"

"Ok yeah I walked into that one.” Sasha chuckled, climbing back into bed next to Shea and letting her take the shirt back off and toss it on the ground when she asked. They stayed in bed until they heard others downstairs cooking breakfast, cuddling and kissing, Sasha blushing when Shea rolled her onto her back and kissed her from her shoulders to just above her groin before she let Sasha get up.

Sasha never thought she had a particularly high sex drive, but over the next few days, it was if a wildfire was inside her. No matter how long she and Shea spent in their room together, she was never satiated. Their bodies were like magnets, pulling together, desperately wanting to make up time. Their housemates only chuckled when they went into their room together. Admittedly, they did turn in earlier than everyone else more than one night, which they brushed off on being tired, which no one bought.

As the first week progressed, conversations turned towards Shea’s win multiple times, and each time, someone joked with Sasha about “congratulating” Shea, which was always met with laughter and Shea telling the person to “fuck off” while laughing herself. Sasha laughed too, but every time someone made the joke, the dream she had the first night played in her head, and she ached with the thought of kneeling in front of Shea, taking control of her pleasure.

Towards the end of the week, Sasha walked into the room to the sound of running water, Shea was taking a shower and had left the door open, something the both of them had gotten into the habit of doing so the other could get ready or use the restroom at the same time. The thought of getting in the shower with Shea entered Sasha’s mind, and she impulsively stripped down and slipped into the shower. She wasn’t entirely sure what her plan was, but all she could think about was her dream and making it come true. Shea turned towards her with a surprised look that quickly turned into a smile.

“Hey baby.” She cooed as she pulled Sasha closer to let the water douse her before Sasha could move closer herself. She wrapped her arms around her waist and squeezed her ass. Her charm was on 100, and Sasha almost forgot why she was in there in the first place. Pulling away slightly, she sank to her knees in front of her. She batted her eyes and bit her lip while she rubbed Shea’s legs up and down. Shea’s eyes went from confused and worried to recognition, and she smiled.

“Oh, that’s what you want, huh?” Sasha nodded, and Shea gently cupped her chin and tilted her head up more.

“Let’s go on the bed, okay baby? It’ll be more comfortable for both of us.” Sasha nodded, standing up and moving to get out, but Shea grabbed her arm.

“In a little bit…” she purred, pulling Sasha back towards her and gently pressing their lips together, finding Sasha’s ass again. Sasha could taste the booze on Shea’s lips and sense her exhilaration. She could feel a newly familiar warmth beginning to pool in her stomach, but she forced herself to ignore it, wanting tonight to be about Shea.

She began rubbing Shea’s sides in an attempt to be seductive. Shea gently nipped at her bottom lip, which Sasha took as approval.

“I’m still topping.” Shea mumbled. “Nice try though.”

Sasha choked, and Shea pulled away just enough to smirk at her as she patted her back to help her clear it.

“You ain’t slick, baby. You’ve never tried to take charge like this before. It’s super cute to see you try though.”

“I’m not trying to be cute.” She pouted slightly, trying to figure out how to vocalize the fact that it hadn’t even been a full week.

“But you are cute. You’re always cute. And sexy. ” Shea whispered, and Sasha’s face went hot as Shea’s fingers slipped between her ass cheeks and circled her hole, something Shea quickly learned would help her muscles relax. Her mind flashed to their first time, with images of the bedspread and distant and slightly muffled whispers of Shea dirty talking, and her legs twitched. Shea smirked before pulling away.

“Stay here, I’ll be back.”

She opened the curtain and went out before Sasha could say something, coming back a few moments later with a bottle that was instantly recognizable. She pulled Sasha closer with one hand and asked her for consent before turning her around, pressing her front against the wall and working her open with her fingers. Shea bent down to kiss her shoulders, she was clearly using what she knew to make Sasha putty in her hands, and it was working. She threw her head back onto Shea’s shoulder, and Shea kissed her cheek.

“Could, Could we go to bed now?” She gasped, and Shea let out an amused breath.

“Sure baby, as soon as we rinse off.”

Sasha was so antsy, the few minutes it took to finish up in the shower felt like an hour. Shea could definitely tell, and Sasha knew that she reveled in holding Sasha up in the shower, stepping out first and handing her a towel, drying herself off languidly. After Shea hung her towel back up, Sasha grabbed her hand and led her to the bed, waiting until Shea sat up against the headboard before crossing over to her suitcase and pulling out a felt crown, long forgotten from filming. She kept her back towards Shea as she put it together, and tried to decide what to say next.

“You know, I never got to congratulate you properly on your win.” She said as she turned around, trying her absolute hardest to sound seductive. Shea’s eyes got wide, and Sasha felt a little twinge of pride.  

"You were planning this all along."

"Actually I wasn’t. I haven’t used this suitcase since filming. But I say it worked out well. My queen.” She whispered as she neared the bed and placed it on her head. “It’s not as pretty as your actual crown, but it will do.” Sasha cooed as she settled in between Shea’s legs, grabbing her thighs and adjusting them to rest on her shoulders. Shea reached out and cupped Sasha’s face, stroking her cheek with her thumb.

“The others didn’t put you up to this, did they? You texted me when the episode aired, that’s more than enough for me.” Shea asked, and Sasha could tell she was genuinely concerned.

“Shea, my love, I’ve been dreaming of this moment for a while, I promise. I want this if you want it too.”

Shea’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and she nodded, letting go of Sasha’s face.

“Are you ready, my queen?"

"Drop the queen stuff Sash, but yes. I’m ready."

Sasha purred, resisting the urge to say "my queen” again. She leaned in and pressed kisses against Shea’s length, warming both of them up before suckling at her tip, then taking her in her mouth.

She always went into a trance of sorts when she went down onto someone, losing track of time, focused on their pleasure alone. Licking up and down the shaft, gently sucking the balls, taking as much as she could as deep as she could. Sasha knew how to give a blow job, and she felt she did it well. Tonight though, she felt distracted. Shea’s gasps and moans echoed through her head, and all she could think about was Shea’s whispered teases in the shower. She tried to refocus herself on her task by peeking up at Shea, but she ended up gagging accidentally, and Shea immediately popped up.

“Easy baby, don’t choke yourself for my sake.” She cooed as she caressed Sasha’s face and grabbed the base of her own dick, preventing Sasha from going down that far. Shea leaned back onto the bed to allow Sasha to continue, her moans turning into breathy praises and compliments that turned Sasha’s face redder than it already was.

“Oh fuck yeah Sash”

“Your lips are heavenly oh my god.”

“Look at your pretty little ass, You’re so fucking hot and you’re the one sucking me off oh my god.”

Sasha was attempting to tune her out to no avail, she could hear and understand every word that came out of Shea’s mouth, and Shea knew that, spilling out the compliments and dirty talk until her voice changed and she said something that made Sasha pull off of her and push herself onto her elbows.

“..What?” she croaked out, her overworked mouth struggling to form words, knowing full well what was said. Shea reached out and caressed her face again, eyes dark with desire.

“Sit on my face. Please”

Sasha nodded shakily as she turned around so she was straddling Shea’s torso, and her ass was near Shea’s face. She reached out to continue when Shea grabbed her hips and yanked her upwards.

“Turn around and grab onto the headboard.” Shea growled, and Sasha obeyed, a bit shell shocked. She felt Shea shift down, and she put her knees on either side of her head. Shea grabbed her hips again and maneuvered her where she wanted her, growling in satisfaction before diving in, licking circles and lines, gripping her hips tighter before inserting her tongue into her, moving with Sasha when she instinctively jolted up and guiding her back down as she relaxed.

There was a million things bouncing around Sasha’s brain, words that would form but then get stuck, leaving her mouth as incoherent moans and groans. But Sasha thought Shea would almost appreciate that more. She rested her head on her hands as she moaned, relaxing her body, letting sensation fully wash over her. She felt Shea’s hands travel up her body, to her ribs and and chest, briefly rubbing her nipples before trailing her hands back down as a wave of electricity went through Sasha’s body, sending her up again with a hiss and guiding her back down with trembling hips, her thighs beginning to reflexively squeeze Shea’s head slightly, with every attempt to make it stop making it worse.

Suddenly, Shea stopped, pushing her up gently so she could slide out from beneath her, sitting up and hugging Sasha from behind as she hung onto the headboard still, her fingers unable to move.

“Are you ok to go further Babydoll?” Shea whispered, and Sasha nodded, letting go of the headboard and twisting around to hold onto Shea, who picked her up and sat her back down on the edge of the bed on her back, putting the felt crown back on when Sasha grabbed it and held it out to her as she stood up, her legs trembling a bit as well as she put on a condom, offering her a drink from a glass of water on the bedside table before taking a drink herself, then guiding Sasha down onto her back as she swished the water in her mouth.

Shea held on to her hips and then slid up to her thighs, holding her legs in place and adjusting them so she could have access to all of her. Shea gazed at her for a moment before grabbing a pillow and putting it underneath her, raising her hips up a little, and Sasha felt something deep in her stomach, something warm and desperate.

“You ready?” Shea asked, and Sasha nodded.

“I need you to say yes or no, love."

"Yes.” Sasha whispered, and she watched Shea’s eyes darken with intense focus as she started thrusting, holding Sasha’s hips still as she tried to bounce with her, grabbing her hand and placing it near her crotch, indicating she wanted Sasha to stroke herself.

Within 30 seconds, the felt crown had fallen off Shea’s head onto Sasha’s chest, and Shea brushed away from her reach before Sasha could hand it back to her, and Sasha turned to watch it fall off the bed.

“Hey, I need to see your face. You don’t have to look me in the eyes, but I need to be able to gauge your comfort, ok?” Shea asked, gently turning Sasha’s head back to face her, and Sasha nodded and whispered something resembling an acknowledgment and an apology, which Shea responded to by letting go of her chin, rubbing her head soothingly, and then straightening back up and resuming, continually adjusting Sasha’s hips. Sasha only figured out what she was trying to do moments before she was successful, practically slamming her head into the bed when Shea found her g-spot. Shea rocked against it for a bit, looking absolutely entranced as Sasha’s legs trembled against her shoulders and the rest of her body writhed, smoothly moving back into her previous rhythm when it became clear Sasha would finish too quickly otherwise. Shea clearly wanted to make sex last as long as possible, frequently switching up the length and the speed of her thrusts, gazing at Sasha to see if she liked it, changing it up if she needed to. And it did last a while before Shea’s hips became less forceful and Sasha could tell

she was painfully close, maybe even attempting to hold herself back from orgasm. But any potential attempts were to no avail, as Shea knelt down on the bed and leaned in for a kiss before her body tightened and released with a groan, and Sasha could feel her shaking inside of her, but it wasn’t enough to bring her to her own orgasm, even as she kept on stroking herself.

Shea slowly blinked as her head cleared, making hazy eye contact with Sasha and softly smiling before running her eyes down the rest of her body and seeing that Sasha was nowhere close to finishing. Her eyes lit up, and before Sasha knew it, Shea had scooted her into the middle of the bed and crawled between her legs, groaning in anticipation.

She looked up at Sasha and batted her eyes, waiting for her to nod and whisper breathlessly before ducking down and gently sucking on one of her balls. Sasha’s reaction was immediate, she squirmed and gasped out. That was something else Shea learned early on, she seemed to know exactly what Sasha liked before she could tell her. Shea knew Sasha so well, and so it would make sense that her body was no exception. It also made sense that it barely took any time at all once Shea started sucking for Sasha to finish, Shea’s name on her lips as her thighs shook around Shea’s head.

Next thing Sasha knew, Shea was straddling her and kissing her, stroking her cheek and whatever piece of skin was closest, entangling the two of them into a cage of limbs, which is where they stayed for as long as they could, until Sasha had to get up and excuse herself to the bathroom. When she walked back out, Shea had switched beds, and Sasha had a bit of a deja vu moment to a few days ago, only instead of Shea being asleep, she was sitting up and smiling at her, motioning for her to join her. She strided over to the bed and got under the covers with Shea and went into her arms the moment they were held out, resting her head on her chest and nuzzling into her, thinking about nothing besides the current moment and all the moments before.

Soon enough she would deal with the dread of leaving Shea and this place, separated by miles, cities, and schedules, she wanted to savor every second she could without it being tainted by anxiety.

“I love you.” Shea whispered, “I love you so fucking much.”

Sasha barely heard her, and she sensed it wasn’t for her as much as it was for Shea to say it out loud, so she nuzzled Shea’s chest and ran her hand across her torso, mundane enough to be coincidental, but hopefully acknowledging and reciprocating enough for Shea to understand.

Downstairs, one of their friends called out, asking about a trip to a ice cream parlor, and Sasha and Shea looked at each other and held each other for a few more seconds before getting up and getting dressed, Shea leaving first with one last kiss so as to not seem suspicious, even though no one would buy it. Sasha looked out the window one last time at the sunset as she grabbed her bag, then went out the door, ready for whatever adventure was next.

[everwitch-magiks]

shut up

I cannot hold my tongue, you give me much to say. I'm sweating bullets, nervous that you'll push away. And when your eyes catch mine (I know, I talk too much) so give me your two lips and baby I'll shut up.

Dex is kissing him.

Dex is kissing him, and Nursey feels so, so much. Too much. His thoughts are dissolving into useless fragments, his mind littered with half-formed sentences and scattered words, pieces of an important realization that Nursey cannot yet name. Nursey’s whole body is trembling from a feeling he doesn’t fully understand, and so he’s clinging onto Dex desperately, deliberately, willingly letting Dex push him up against the nearest wall and hold him steady as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss. Dex’s lips are a little chapped, yet they’re soft and warm and when Nursey experimentally sucks Dex’s lower lip into his mouth, just for a second, Dex let’s out a small, almost delicate whimper that’s so completely un-Dex-like, Nursey actually stills. To think that Dex – his hands calloused, his gaze ever defiant – can sound so soft, so fragile. Almost like some part of Dex is breakable, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

“Hey,” Dex murmurs. His hands are still pressing Nursey back against the wall, his fingers splayed out as though he’s desperate to touch as much of Nursey as possible, so the gentleness of his tone is something of a contrast. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Nursey manages, despite the fact that okay does not nearly cover his feelings at present. “We could, uh… We should. Y’know.”

Dex quirks an eyebrow, like he very much does not know, yet Nursey still can’t seem to articulate any part of what he’s feeling beyond a constant mantra of I want, I need, more. He’s still trembling all over, and as Dex starts to take a small step backwards Nursey follows helplessly, his arms tightening around Dex’s shoulders, his mouth brushing, gently, against the corner of Dex’s still parted lips. Please.

Dex cracks a smile.

“Yeah,” he returns, unfairly succinct. “Okay. Come here.”

Nursey does, his hold around Dex’s shoulders tighter than ever, which Dex takes full advantage of as he reaches down to take a firm hold around Nursey’s thighs. Nursey barely gets a second of warning before he’s scrambling to wrap his legs around Dex’s waist – because Dex is literally lifting him up, pressing Nursey firmly back against the wall and holding him in place as he leans in to lick slow, deliberate stripes down the side of Nursey’s neck, his hands gripping Nursey’s ass in the best way possible. Nursey draws a shuddering breath. If he’d know before what it felt like to be held like this, by Dex, maybe their shouting matches of old could’ve had very different outcomes.

“All good?” Dex wonders quietly, and Nursey manages a shaky nod. “Awesome. I’m going to kiss you again, yeah?”

Another nod, and then Dex’s lips are back on his, and that’s when Nursey’s brain seems to screech to an actual halt. There’s too much to feel, too much to take in, and absolutely no room for thoughts, or reflections, or questions about what things might be like between them, after this moment ends.

It’s blissful.

Eventually, Dex pulls back once more – his breathing is heavier than before, yet his grip around Nursey’s thighs is still completely steady.

“Fuck,” Dex mutters, and there’s an unexpected tremour in his voice. “You feel amazing.”

“You, uh. Yeah.” Nursey closes his eyes, trying desperately to focus. “You do, too.”

There. One complete sentence.

Dex’s laughter is soft.

“You’re never like this,” he says, and somewhere within that simple statement, Nursey thinks he can hear a question. “You always have words, for everything.”

“Yeah, well.” Nursey keeps his eyes closed, tries to focus on his breathing. “Not for this. Not yet.”

Dex hums, quietly.

“Let me know when you do. We should, uh. We should maybe talk about this? At some point.”

Nursey opens his eyes again. Dex looks uncharacteristically unsettled. Almost like he’s hesitant, or frightened, and very much trying not to show it. Almost as if Nursey didn’t just spend the last ten minutes kissing him with embarrassing enthusiasm.

“I’d like that,” Nursey says, except that doesn’t feel like it’s enough, not when Dex is looking at him so earnestly. “I, uh. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this. So, there's that.”

Slowly, Dex starts to smile.

“Okay,” he returns breathlessly. “Good talk. Let's revisit that sometime, yeah?"

“Yeah.” Nursey carefully presses a soft kiss to Dex's temple, before pulling back a little. “Did you want to stop, for now?”

That makes Dex grin slightly.

“Wouldn’t I have put you down already, if I did?”

Nursey rolls his eyes.

Then he leans back in.

lyrics from shut up by Greyson Chance, who is incredible. you may remember him as that kid with the perfect paparazzi cover, but now he’s 22, he’s out and proud and he’s written a whole album full of fantastic gems like this one. do not, under any circumstances, sleep on Greyson Chance.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Ooh I just read through the smut prompts and this one made me giggle thinking about it - 15. Forced to stick chest/crotch in the other’s face (while trying to reach something?). It made me think of Finn, trying to be gentlemanly, getting flustered. 🤭

Bit of a twist, but this is what the muse came up with. Hope it’s okay!

Smut at the end ; )

 * * * * *

 “Come on, Y/N! We have to GO before the cops get here!”

 “There’s no room!” you panicked as you eyed the already full backseat of your brother’s car.

 “Just get in!” he yelled with a push that sent you sprawling, face first into Finn’s crotch.

 “Gah!” Finn cried, his hands helplessly flailing as he looked for a way to politely move you out of his lap, but after landing with an oof, your brother shoved your feet the rest of the way into the car and slammed the door, leaving your body sprawled across the three, oh my god, FOUR bodies crammed in the backseat, your face still planted in Finn’s crotch.

 Of all the ways you imagined letting Finn know you were into him, face planting into his crotch had never been one of them.

 You whined as you turned to the side and tried to sit up, but you ended up elbowing Benny in the gut.

 “Sorry Benny!” you yelled into Finn’s hips.

 “No big,” he grunted as he worked to push you forward, which was immediately countered by your idiot brother stomping on the gas.

 You were flung back against the wall of squished bodies and you could hear Finn sputtering as he tried to extract your face.

 With a growl of frustration, you pushed slightly upward so that your ass was now in Benny’s girlfriend’s face as you tried to wriggle into a sitting position—or at least onto the floor.

 “Roll over!” she shouted as the car’s tires squealed around a tight corner.

 The momentum of the tight turn actually helped you flip over and instead of being facedown in Finn’s lap, you were now left to stare up at his flustered face; his cheeks were pink and his lips were open in an oh of surprise and his hands had still found nowhere safe to settle.

 Finn cleared his throat and moved his arm so that it was behind Benny’s shoulders, then allowed his other arm to rest on the door next to the window. He was able to angle his body a bit so that his back was pressed half into the door and your head was now resting more on his thigh.

 “I am going to fucking kill you!” you shouted at your brother, furious at him for getting everyone into this mess.

 “Let me drive!” he shouted back, a grin on his face as the sirens in the distance grew louder.

 Jeff, the guy at the end of your row of human car seats turned to look out of the back window.

 “I can’t see any lights—take the next left. Then right!”

 Your brother followed Jeff’s directions and soon the sirens grew obsolete.

 “That fucking worked!” he shouted with a fist pump, almost punching the nose of his girlfriend who was awkwardly straddling the console like it was one of those kiddie rides outside of the grocery store.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m gonna kill him first,” she growled, eliciting a booming laugh from your brother.

 Maybe it was that the danger had passed, or maybe it was that your brother had an infectious laugh, but soon the car was full of the sounds of mirth, and even you felt the upturns of your mouth into an exasperated grin. You looked up at Finn and he was looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

 Before you could say anything, Jeff stated, “My grandad’s house is just up here on the left. We can pull into the garage.”

 After your brother cut into the driveway, Jeff lifted your legs and managed to extract himself from the backseat. As soon as you were safely in the garage, Finn bolted out of the back, his eyes downcast as you flailed your way out of the backseat without kicking Benny or his girlfriend.

 “Does your grandad have beer?” Benny’s girlfriend asked.  

 Jeff grinned in response, “Keg hookup right here!”

 He opened the fridge in the garage, his face beaming with pride while you punched your brother’s arm with as much force as you could muster.

 “The fuck, jerkface?!”

 You thought about biting his arm for good measure but rolled your eyes and let the others start in on chastising him for almost getting everyone busted.

 Finn was still oddly quiet and refused to look at you despite trying to catch his eye; in fact, as soon as you started to approach him, he bailed, slipping out the side door of the garage.  

 Frowning, you followed him.

 “Hey,” you called, causing him to look up from his phone.

 He gave you a glance and a half smile before returning to his phone. “Getting a ride. Want a lift home?”

 “Thanks. This day kinda went to shit, didn’t it?”

 “Love your bro but sometimes . . .”

 “Try living with him.”

 Finn shook his head, chuckling as he put his phone in his pocket.

 “Listen. About earlier—”

 Finn shifted his feet uncomfortably, then put his hands on his hips before deciding to cross his arms. His reply nothing more than a nervous, tittering laugh.

 “That was not how I ever imagined getting close to your, uh . . . self.”

 Eyebrows contracting, Finn looked at you in confusion.

 “Imagined? You think about . . . me? Like that?”

 “Isn’t it obvious?”

 He looked dumbfounded, which let you know that it was not obvious.

 “I really like you, Finn. Have for a while,” you said, fighting the bumbling bees of nerves that suddenly made themselves known in your gut.

 “Oh, uh, I . . . I didn’t. I mean, yeah I thought about it but I didn’t really think about it—”

 Closing the distance, you were standing face to face with him so he had nowhere to look other than into your eyes.

 “But you’ve thought about it?”

 “Yeah I’ve thought about it,” he said quickly and quietly.  

“Finn?”

 “Yeah?”

 “Kiss me.”

 “O-Okay.”

 And with a soft smile, you waited, letting Finn step toward you, his hands lightly resting in the dip of your waist as one of your arms wrapped around his upper arm and came to rest on his shoulder while your other hand settled lightly on his chest.  

 Your eyes slipped shut as his lips pressed against yours and after a moment, you moved the hand on his chest up to his face and pressed your body flush against his. Finn’s hands tightened and his fingers gripped into your lower back.

 When he licked at your bottom lip, you opened for him, his tongue entering your mouth and sending a rush of warmth to your center.

 You hummed low in your throat with pleasure, and Finn tried to pull you even closer. Your hand that had been splayed over his jaw and cheek, traveled to cup the back of his head.

 The kiss picked up speed, becoming heated and sloppy and the only thing that ran through your mind was a quiet chorus of yes, yes, yes.

 When a horn sounded, you jumped apart, both of you more than a little lustdazed.

 “Must’ve been close by,” Finn breathed, adjusting himself and looking at you with wide eyes.

 “Too close,” you answered, swiping at some excess saliva around your mouth.

 “I should tell him I’m leaving,” you said as you motioned toward the garage door.

 “Text him later,” Finn answered, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward your ride.

 You grinned and figured that would be good enough.

  * * * * *

 Unable to wait another second, Finn had you against the wall as soon as the door to his house was shut. His mouth was hot against yours, his breath coming in little pants as you pushed your hips into his, and cupped his ass with both hands, giving it a solid squeeze.

 “Fuck me, Finn,” you mumbled as you nipped at his earlobe.

 He answered with an incoherent squeak of a noise and cupped your pussy over your jeans.

 “Right now?”

 You placed your hand over his cupped hand and pressed him into you, hard.

 “Right now.”

 He stepped back and started undoing his pants, and you shimmied out of your jeans and panties, kicking them to the side. Before he dropped his pants, Finn pulled a condom out of his wallet and held it between his teeth as he shuffled out of his pants and boxers.

 You pulled him forward by his dick, and he moaned so loudly the condom tumbled out of his mouth. Giggling, you bent to pick it up, then opened it and rolled it on.

 After a searing kiss, Finn hoisted one of your legs up by grabbing underneath your knee. You were pressed tightly against the wall as he easily slid into your opening and both of you gave a sighing groan when he was fully sheathed.

 “Fuck,” he hissed before he kissed up your neck.

Your eyes were shut as you fisted his hair and arched your back to meet the rhythm he began to set. His arm flexed as he held up your leg and his other hand tangled itself in your hair.

 He fucked you hard and steady, only picking up the pace when you demanded it.

 “Gonna come,” he groaned, his forehead falling to your shoulder as he lost his rhythm and thrust into you as deeply as he could.

 “Ahh fuuuck,” he moaned, his body quivering as he came inside the condom.

 His breath puffed out hotly against your neck, and despite coming, Finn continued to fuck you softly. He released your hair in favor of reaching between your legs to work your clit.

 Just as his dick began to slide out of you, you came, abdomen twitching, your hands clutching his shoulders over his t-shirt and your face twisted into a silent oh of ecstasy.

 When Finn released your leg, he leaned into you as you caught your breath, your thighs trembling as they sustained your full weight again. Finn pressed sweet kisses against your collar bone, your neck, your cheeks and your chin while the haze of your climax dissipated.

 “Oh my god,” you finally articulated.

 “Uh huh,” he mumbled, forehead pressed to yours.

 “Imagine how good it’ll be when we take our time.”

 Finn laughed, and his voice filled with gratitude as he said, “Really glad you faceplanted into my crotch today.”

 Your laughter was high and sweet as you answered, “Me, too.”

[polkahotness]

SHORTAKI WEEK DAY 1

FFN // AO3 

               Long Gone

Sometimes when I look at Helga, it's difficult to remember what it was like before we admitted our feelings for each other. Granted, Helga had admitted her feelings to me countless times and on numerous different occasions, but I had never been all that great at that sort of thing in response.

I supposed that my 'love language' just wasn't the same as hers and it made navigating through our relationship a tumultuous and difficult process at times.

Helga had always been so good with words—her feelings, though oftentimes hidden deep inside, were always so well-articulated. When she wanted to give up the truth behind them, her sentences were thoughtful; poetic, and they came out of her mouth with ease, despite inwardly struggling with that piece of vulnerability.

But me?

It seemed that I still hadn't quite figured out how to best voice my feelings.

It wasn't that I had a problem voicing them—I had no issue whatsoever telling Helga, Gerald, my next-door neighbor, or the entire world how I felt about her. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that I couldn't do it well. My attempts were often clumsy, and I had the tendency to ramble and stumble over each word like I was once again learning how to speak for the first time in my life.

Thankfully, Helga never held it against me. In fact, her response to my feeble attempts usually sounded something like, "Still struggling with that word thing, are we, footballhead?" Then she'd let out this soft little laugh while I blushed and would open my mouth to try and dispute her, though she never let me get that far. "I get it, babe. You love me. And I love you—" then she'd pause and smack my butt while following it up with, "—and that cute little ass of yours."

A lifetime of confusing feelings had changed a lot in the dynamic between Helga and myself—the last six of those years cementing our relationship in a way that 10-year-old-me could have never imagined.

We were the couple people oogled over. Our stories of the bully and the victim turning into lovers was one for the ages, and we never grew tired of talking about it or reminiscing over the foolish children we once were. While anyone with eyes could see the love that we held for one another, it was always Helga who seemed to vocalize it best. As the self-appointed designated speaker, she was usually the one who told our complicated love story as I draped my arm over her shoulders to hold her into me wherever it was that we sat.

Helga had figured out in our time together that I was the shower, and not the teller. My love for her looked like me making dinner when I knew she had a hard day at work and would be too tired to even heat up a tv dinner. It looked like me rubbing her feet while she lay unsuspecting on the couch with her legs on my lap as we binge-watched another series. My love was shown through buying her that book she'd been talking about for three weeks because it was the long-awaited follow-up to her favorite author's poetry book—and I'd even gotten the limited edition copy with the ornately designed cover and gold-lined pages because, while she'd never say it, I knew she preferred the special copy over the boring (and cheaper) paperback version.

It was all of those little things and more that told Helga how much I loved her. But all of those little things could never express what I needed to tell her next. The emotions and feelings I had to say this time around would require me to put my strengths of showing and my weaknesses of telling together so I could be bolder than I'd ever been before.

Because there was nothing in the world that I wouldn't do for her.

It may have taken us a while to realize just how deeply our love for one another went. Even after we'd admitted our feelings, we struggled to get to a place where we mutually realized we were each other's end game. I'm sure Helga already knew this fact because she seemed to have always known, even when we were children, but me? It had taken me much longer.

With Helga, I was always just a few steps behind.

But it was okay.

Helga always managed to wait patiently…always somehow knowing that I was making my way to her.

Throughout our years of syncopated dating habits, a funny thing happened that I could never push away. Helga never left my mind. No matter where I was or what I was doing with who, Helga always remained. It may have taken until we both hit 21 for the stars to officially align, but that night six years ago when we reconnected on our favorite bar's balcony that overlooked the bright lights of Hillwood… that night forever changed my life.

I could only hope it would provide that same luck tonight as we stood together, once again, on the bar's balcony while looking out at our hometown on a quiet autumn evening.

"You know, Arnoldo," Helga said after taking a swig from the bottle she was holding, "I was kind of surprised you wanted to come to this joint on our anniversary of all days."

Smirking at her statement, I shrugged my shoulders. "The balcony here is nice. I like looking out at the city, don't you?"

"Well, sure," she replied while focusing her attention out on the dotted lights of the faraway buildings that made up the skyline. "But we could have easily done it from somewhere less…" Twisting her body, she glanced behind herself towards the hubbub of noise from within the bar. Turning back around, she returned her gaze outward while finishing her sentiment. "I don't know, somewhere less… cheesy."

"Cheesy?" I intoned while eyeing her carefully. "What do you mean by that?"

"You know," she simply said while fixating her eyes ahead without so much as a flinch in my direction. "Taking me to the same place where we first 'officially' rekindled our relationship. I guess I would have thought you'd pick some fancy-pants restaurant to propose to me at."

My jaw instinctively dropped as I stared at Helga with my mouth agape.

Slowly she turned her head to look at me with a wicked grin. "I like the sentimentality part though," she offered as some kind of consolation prize. "But if you were to take us back somewhere and be all romantic by talking about the past, I would have chosen P.S 118 or something. Now that's a good throwback."

I was still in shock as she spoke; my mind not comprehending that Helga had so easily figured out my plans and then called me out on them without so much as a care in the world.

It seemed that, yet again, Helga was still one step ahead of me.

"But you… how did you… but," I shook my head while struggling to force out a somewhat-coherent response. "Didn't you, how could you have—"

"Arnold," she deadpanned, though a hint of a smile twitched at the corner of her lips, "You were at Gerald's for four hours the other day. You really think I didn't hear about your little 'plans' from Phoebe?"

"Phoebe told you?" I repeated in shock. "Phoebe. She's smarter than that, Helga. Why on earth would she think it was okay to tell you something this important?!" I exclaimed and Helga remained unphased; merely tilting her head in thought before looking away from me again.

Casually, she explained, "I never said she thought it was okay. I mean, criminy, I practically had to force it out of her."

"And you did that because…?"

Helga let out a chuckle before fully turning her entire body to face me directly. "I've been waiting for you to propose to me for years now, Arnold. Years." I could feel heat beginning to rise and fill in my cheeks. "Honestly, I was about ready to propose to you, and then Phoebe kept telling me that I couldn't do that because our anniversary was coming up so then I told her that it was the perfect time to propose, then one thing led to another and—"

"She didn't actually tell you, then, did she." I finished for her in a statement rather than a question, and Helga let out a heavy sigh.

"She didn't have to tell me," Helga said with a twinge of humor beneath her tone. "By the way she acted, I knew immediately what you were up to."

Silence settled between us and I fought the urge to explode in anger, frustration, and sheer disappointment. How was it that I was still so incapable of surprising Helga? How was it that even after all of this time, I was still that dense little boy unable to catch up to Helga and be the first to admit something for once.

How was it that I was somehow perpetually in the fourth grade, avoiding acting on my feelings?

Impulsively, I grabbed Helga's hand and began pulling her towards the inside of the bar, "C'mon," I told her as she followed along with an inquisitive set of eyes. "We're going somewhere."

"Where?" She scoffed out. "I thought you were going to ask me to marry you…"

"Oh, I am," I answered immediately and in a firm tone. "But I'm not doing it here."

"Ahh, a field trip, I see," Helga replied as we dodged and weaved our way through the drunken crowd of dancers cluttering the small bar. "And just where is it you have decided to take me for this romantic gesture?"

"Somewhere you won't be expecting this time," I told her with about 86% certainty. "At least… I hope."

As she set her half-empty bottle on a table that we passed by in pursuit of the door out, we finally exited the bar and began making our way down the sidewalk. I led us forward with determination while Helga trailed along in my wake; her longer legs allowing her to keep at my pace with ease.

"Seriously, what are you up to, Hair Boy?" Her tone was becoming almost nervous, and it only heightened my confidence that this new destination was where I should have brought her in the first place. It was a deep-seeded memory that we hadn't discussed since we were teenagers. This had to be the perfect place for a proposal.

This had to be it.

Continuing to drag her along, Helga's eyes shifted to take in her surroundings. Her brows furrowed as she tried to piece together the strange environment that I was leading her through—an old part of Hillwood that had been long forgotten. Most everything on each block had either been abandoned or demolished; the promises of new complexes and mini-malls now only graffitied rubble lost to the recent economic recession.

"Do you even know where we are?" Helga continued to try and coax my true purpose out of me. "You do realize that if we're lost, I am not paying for the taxi back."

It was a backhanded joke that signaled Helga was out of her element. I knew her tactics by now and she was currently baffled as to what was in store. The fact that I was going to propose tonight was already out in the open and there was no pretending it wasn't still going to happen. The way it was going to happen, however… now that was going to be vastly different.

I just hoped I was going to be able to pull it off. I didn't exactly have the greatest track record with speaking my feelings on the fly, but maybe that was for the best. In fact, by doing this completely unrehearsed, Helga would know that my words—as jumbled and clunky as they may come out—would be directly from the heart, my heart. Unrehearsed. Unpolished. Unfiltered.

Pulling Helga to a stop as we reached the corner of an unassuming block hidden in the outskirts of Hillwood, the two of us stood in place in front of a small building. Inside the window was a faded, 'For Lease' sign, and the cement that made up the foundation was filled with cracks that had allowed wild weeds to spurt from the ground and wiggle their way up towards the sky. At first glance, the building was old and decrepit—absolutely nothing special and certainly not somewhere worthy of a marriage proposal.

Glancing around at where I'd brought her, Helga eyed the building carefully before slowly turning to face me. "An abandoned building? What's so special about this place? There's nothing here."

"Exactly," I answered as Helga's brow raised in curiosity. "There isn't anything here. Not now, anyway." Looking over my shoulder, I gestured towards the dilapidated structure before continuing my thought. "It's been a lot of different things in the past, though."

"Oh really?" Helga humored me while letting go of my hand to cross her arms loosely over her chest. "Like what?"

"A clothing boutique. A tailoring company. I'm pretty sure there was a craft store in here too at one point—"

"What in the hell does any of that have to do with—" Helga interrupted, though I didn't allow her to keep talking.

Instead, I finished my sentence by asserting dominance and talking over her as she unsuccessfully tried to speak over me. "—but before all of that, this was a daycare."

Helga's eyes widened minimally, though she remained silent as if to give me the chance to continue.

And that's exactly what I did.

"Not so much a daycare as it was a pre-school, though."

More silence settled between us as Helga's eyes drifted from mine to look at the run-down building she hadn't recognized. "Urban Tots," she muttered out as though it were an afterthought rather than a declaration of acknowledgement.

At her fixation towards our old pre-school, I took the opportunity to shakily get down on one knee; my hand fumbling to reach the small box I'd been hiding inside the pocket of the jeans I was wearing. Pulling it out, Helga's eyes returned to me; water gathering at the base of her vision as she looked down at me with laser-focus.

"Helga," I began precariously, though I tried to keep myself calm as I turned the blue-velvet box over and over in my hands anxiously. "As you've proven tonight, you are and always have been one step ahead of me. Since the moment we met, something in you had the wherewithal to know that we weren't just classmates in some random neighborhood in a random city in this random universe we find ourselves living in. Something inside of you knew that we were more than that. It knew… you knew that we were so much more, that we were… that we are, soulmates."

"Arnold," Helga breathed out, but I held up a finger to stop her from saying anything else and throwing me off of my groove.

"Do you remember when we were fifteen?" I started and Helga smirked while staring at me incredulously. "You told me that you had loved me from the moment you first saw me which, to be fair, wasn't the first time you'd told me that, but I asked you when that was, when you had first seen me."

A small laugh escaped Helga as she recalled the moment I was referencing. "You'd never asked me that before. It was a stupid question."

"Not really," I countered while adjusting from where I knelt on the pavement; my knee suddenly telling me that I'd chosen the wrong time to begin kneeling. Unfortunately, it was definitely too late now to get back up, so I instead took a deep breath to calm my angry kneecap and proceeded with my story. "It's funny because the memories that I have of you and things you've done or random conversations and moments we've shared… they're different than your memories."

"How do you figure?" Helga pressed and I knitted my brows together while trying to find the most effective way to explain my thoughts.

"You have a whole other set of memories that I don't remember because, at the time, they didn't mean anything to me yet. Just like some of my memories don't align with yours because they weren't as significant to you as they were to me in that moment." I took in a sharp breath before finalizing, "A lot of your memories are different because you've known about us a lot longer than I ever did."

"Long before there even was an us, you dingus," Helga chuckled out, and I rolled my eyes at her comment.

"Anyway," I emphasized before pressing onward. "You told me all about that day, that day back at Urban Tots when we apparently first met—a memory I had never actively remembered but suddenly did as you told your side of the story. It was one of the first times you broke down that wall, completely destroyed it to bare your soul to me without insults or nicknames or jokes to cover up the raw truth. You told me about what happened before you got to the pre-school, about Olga and your parents and the rain and your lunch and-and…"

I had to stop myself because the rambling had begun to rear its ugly head. Taking a moment to collect myself, I inhaled deeply before re-routing my conversational direction so I could get back on track with the task at hand.

"I never forgot that story," I admitted while looking down at the ring box I was still playing with in my grip. "You went back to the casual bullying and nicknames, both of us knowing how we felt about each other, but I never forgot that story. Each night I'd lay in my bed staring up through the skylight at the stars and imagine that memory I'd forgotten over and over again. Your pink overalls covered in mud. That sad look in your eye. It was like you'd never been loved… like you didn't know what it meant to be loved or to love another person."

Helga chewed on her lip for a moment as though trying to find the right thing to say—something she didn't typically struggle with. After a moment, she settled on, "What's your point. Aren't proposals supposed to be romantic or something? Not some… excuse to go drudging up my messed-up past and all of the memories that I've worked really hard to forget—"

"I know, I know," I tried to subdue her before she could indulge any further in the anger that was rapidly bubbling up inside of her. "What I am saying, is that the little girl who stood right here all of those years ago… that unloved toddler is gone now, Helga. She's long gone, okay?"

Her deep azure gaze bore into me as I kept talking; my knee now completely numbed from any pain or feeling as my body began to follow suit from nervousness alone. "The woman who stands before me isstill the same feisty, stubborn, thoughtful, smart, talented… and amazing person she has always been, but unloved?" I shook my head a couple of times. "That girl from long ago and the woman of now and forevermore is not unloved. She never will be or feel unloved, ever again. And that's something that I can and do promise you."

With that, I at last presented the box and carefully opened it to reveal a golden engagement ring with an opal at its center. Surrounding the stone was a halo of small diamonds; the ring itself appearing as the most dazzling of flowers attached to a plain gold band. The ring sparkled effortlessly under the glow of the moonlight, though the sky threatened its romantic lighting with oncoming and fast-moving storm clouds.

As Helga's eyes went back and forth between the ring and myself, I kept talking; the next set of words something I had always planned to say no matter where I ended up proposing. "Helga G. Pataki, you have been my bully for as long as I can remember. You teased me relentlessly and never stopped giving me attention, no matter how much I thought I didn't want it. You confessed to me time after time that you loved me and yet, even after all of this time, I've never confessed how I feel to you—at least, not entirely. So, I guess… well… here goes."

Nodding her head for me to keep going, she pressed her lips together in a tight line as though trying to hold back the tears I could see pooling in her eyes.

"I love you. I'm head over heels, wildly, desperately, endlessly in love with you, Helga," my words were earnest; genuine. Each sentence I said with the utmost care and sincerity. "I don't just want to have you in my life, I need you in my life. I need your nicknames, your teasing, your each and every thought, your embrace… your everything because you are my everything. And this ring—" I took it out of its box and held out the specifically-chosen engagement ring for her approval, "—I chose it for a reason."

"The opal," I said while using my other hand to point to the main stone, "it's iridescent. It looks like one color, but it never really ever stays that way. It changes and evolves and looks different under whatever light is shining on it—and yet it always somehow stays the same. And that's us. That's our love. We've always loved each other. It may have looked different as we grew, but it's always been there. And if you marry me… I promise that it will always continue to be there."

Swallowing hard, Helga let out a tidbit of her own, "I thought opals had to do with love and passion," she paused for a moment before adding, "and desire. Seduction. Are you trying to get in my pants, Shortman?"

"Always," I admitted which made Helga giggle; a few stray tears jiggling loose from her laughter. "But yes, those are the other reasons why I picked it. Every time you look down at this stone, you will know that I love you. That I desire you and to be with you. That I want you passionately in every meaning and interpretation of the word. That I will be faithful, and loyal until my very last breath. With this ring… I promise that you will never, ever, ever spend another second of your life being a muddy little girl who doesn't know what love is. I will spend every moment of my life proving to you and showing you and making up for all of those times when you needed love and didn't have it."

The two of us stared at each other as I held the ring out towards her, my arm growing more tired with each second that passed. Our eyes remained locked on one another as eons, and decades, and lifetimes seemed to happen while I agonized over her answer. Why wasn't she saying yes? I'd shown her the ring… she knew what I was doing… so why hadn't she accepted yet? Was she not going to accept? Worry fluttered through my mind as a sudden thought filled my senses, What if she doesn't want to get married?

As I lost myself in my thoughts, the clearing of Helga's throat brought me back to reality; her eyes no longer wet with tears and instead looking down at me skeptically. "Hey Arnold?" She asked me and I blinked my eyes a couple of times to refocus my attention on the current moment. "I'd love to say 'yes' here and put on this super sexy and seductive ring you've so thoughtfully picked out for me—"

"Well, my mom helped…"

"Of course Stella did," Helga affirmed with a smirk before sucking in a deep breath of air. "But the whole point of a marriage proposal, as nice as your words were and all… well, you kind of left out one very, very important part."

"…huh?" was all I could manage as I stared up at her in horror.

A sly smile spread across Helga's face. "You haven't actually asked me anything yet."

"Oh god," I mumbled while shutting my eyes in utter embarrassment. "Oh, god, I just… I got so caught up in all of this and then I kneeled way too early—"

"I know!" Helga exclaimed in amusement. "Your knee must be killing you right now."

"Eh," I quickly dismissed, "I stopped having feeling in my kneecap about a minute in so you might need to help me up—"

"Because you're an old man, now. Yeah, I know," Helga teased before sighing and tilting her head slightly. "You're only getting older the longer you wait, Footballhead."

"Yeah. Yes, of course. Right. Okay," pushing through the numbness of my knee and the nervousness I still felt for no reason at all, I held the ring out once again and looked deep into Helga's ocean blue eyes. "Helga G. Pataki. Will you marry me?"

Her smile widened to reveal a toothy grin. "Criminy, Arnold. I thought you'd never ask."

As I slipped the ring onto its new home of Helga's finger, she helped to yank me up from where I'd potentially done permanent damage to my left knee.

I didn't even care.

From where the two of us kissed under the moonlight at what remained of Urban Tots Pre-School, I knew that the Helga and Arnold who had once occupied this exact spot years ago were long gone. And as the sky at last opened up, allowing buckets of rain to downpour on us, we laughed while getting soaked to the bone because this time, the rain itself didn't matter.

The only umbrella Helga needed was one made entirely of love. And, just like when we were mere toddlers, I was happy to provide it for her. Not only in the rain, but through every storm we may weather and every warm day that is enjoyed safely under the shade.

For Helga, I was prepared to hold that umbrella over her for the rest of our lives.

And I couldn't wait.

[saiki-in-jsl]

Selective Mute Saiki Fic (8k)

TW: Forced vomiting, it’s not very detailed(?) I’ll mark it down in bold when it comes so you can skip.

Saiki discovers he has selective mutism and eventually overcomes it with his mom and psychic friends (including Akechi). The time setting for this fic is ambiguous.

Now on ao3!

Also, I’m no expert on this disorder, but I’ve done my fair share of research. This is not 100% accurate, so bear with me.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to speak. He’s fully capable of knowing how to do it, and he knows he can open his mouth to talk.

But he just...can’t.

He knows how to formulate words in his head, and he knows how to say them out loud, but whenever he tries he just stops. Like some unknown force was preventing the words from coming out of his mouth.

It doesn’t bother him at first, after all, he has telepathy and hypnosis to get people thinking he can speak. But the frustration of not being able to open his mouth was starting to get to him.

He can do practically anything, anything at all, yet he can’t get his stupid mouth and vocal chords to work.

The problem resurfaced during an outing with his friends, and somehow they had reached a discussion about satisfied sounds. Sounds like “Ahhhh” when you soak into a nice bath or “Mmmm” after a long day at work.

Teruhashi, unsurprisingly enough, managed to point out how Saiki never seemed to make such noises, even when he was enjoying a nice cup of coffee jelly. 

Of course he wouldn’t make those noises through telepathy, there wasn’t a point to them.

He let the conversation slide, not making the effort to deny or agree to any of their points, but the more they talked, the more he realized they were right.

Which was what brought back his frustration issue on not being able to speak.

It was stupid and petty, but not being able to go “Hmmm” in satisfaction as he devour a slice of cake was annoying him. Is he truly enjoying the pastry if all he does is eat it with a small smile?

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Saiki stares at the ground, mouth opening and closing, opening and closing, opening and closing. At this point, even a grunt will make him overjoyed.

An hour passes and he still couldn’t do it. He wonders if he’s going about this the wrong way. Maybe he should see a doctor. But if he does that and someone he knows spots him, what would he even say?

Knowing his friends, if he tried to fake a common illness, they’ll insist on coming over to his home to care for him. Thanks, but no thanks.

Could he ask his bro-- Out of the question, no way, at best he will be a last resort.

After a few more minutes of thinking, Saiki comes to the conclusion that perhaps if he stopped using his telepathy to converse and forced himself to vocally speak, it’ll naturally flow out. If he reaches a point where he has to speak, then it’ll surely come out.

Not the smartest plan, but it has got to work. Otherwise, brother it is…

The moment he woke up, Saiki immediately puts on the telepathy cancelling ring. He knows that since it prevents him from hearing other people’s thoughts, surely it will also prevent him from communicating in telepathy too.

He tests his theory out by heading down for breakfast, greeting his mother good morning as per usual. A moment passes and he’s still standing there, staring right into the back of her head. She hasn’t responded yet.

He tries again.

No answer.

So his theory checks out.

She only notices that he’s there when he pulls up his chair to have breakfast, and she smiles, “Good morning, Kuu!~”

He nods back, using his telepathy one last time just to double check.

An uncomfortable silence stretches over, and his mother starts to worry. 

“Are you okay?”

Just say yes. It’s literally the easiest word aside from ‘no’, Saiki stares at her for a long time. He finally gives up and raises his hand, pointing at the ring. His mother blinks in surprise, then smiles in understanding.

“But why?” She asks, turning her head back to the stove. “You’re not even at school yet.”

Ah, she’s right. Maybe he could take it off for now-- No, he started this, and he’s going to make sure he sees it through till the end. He has to remember he’s doing this so he can fully enjoy coffee jelly to its fullest extent!

Which reminds him, he has to eat breakfast before his dad begs him to take him to work with teleportation.

He takes a bite, feeling himself grow soft from the mere taste of the treat. He really couldn’t go wrong with coffee jelly. Though the longer he eats, the more he becomes aware that he isn’t sighing at the wonderful taste, which causes him to feel a bit upset.

Quickly finishing his breakfast, he wants to say goodbye to his mother, and he tries to form the words. Nothing comes out. 

He can feel his dad waking up from the room upstairs.

This is fine, he knows he can’t magically gain the ability to speak after years of not uttering a single word, so this will definitely take time.

He leaves without saying anything, and it only pushes him to try harder. 

His walk to school is filled with him making noises through his nose on accident. Once or twice he thought he had achieved his goal, only to realize all he did was make a puff of air.

Thank the heavens he isn’t normally a talkative person, otherwise, people in school would’ve questioned why he suddenly went quiet. His school day is filled with chatter and more chatter, and the fact that he can’t respond makes him feel on edge.

“Saiki, can you answer this question?”

Shit. He had forgotten to include this in his plan, now he either has two options; give up and take the ring off to not look suspicious -something he refuses to do-, or make up an excuse why he can’t answer.

The latter requires him to speak though, so that was an issue, nor can he just walk out of it, because now everyone is staring at him and the teacher’s growing inpatient. 

He opens his mouth, trying his might to say something. Even an “I don’t know” would suffice.

“Saiki?”

Oh his reputation is on the line now, huh? He can’t even tell what number he is on the popularity rank.

“You know what, just sit down, I’ll pick someone else.”

Oh thank god.

“What was that? Why didn’t you answer?” Kaidou walks over during their ten minute break. “That question was pretty easy, even Nendou could’ve solved it.”

Saiki had anticipated this mission to be hard, but he hadn’t expected it to be this difficult in reality. How is he even suppose to reply to that simple question? A shrug?

“Solve what?” Nendou leans over, hearing someone call his name. 

“The question Saiki was told to solve.” Kaidou answers, gesturing to the board.

“Oh. Yeah, pal. Did you get stage fright or something?” Nendou snorts, barely registering the question on the board.

“Saiki can’t have stage fright, he answered questions in front of the class before,” Kaidou protests. They continue bickering about the matter, forgetting about their pink-haired friend.

Looks like the conversation will run smoothly without his input. For now he’ll continue trying to articulate words in his mouth.

P.E rolls in and he finally takes a short break in trying to speak. People will be too out of breath to talk to him, so his silence will seem normal. 

“Actually, remember that conversation we had about Saiki not being able to sigh in satisfaction? I don’t think we’ve heard him hiss in pain before either,” Kaidou points, staring off at Saiki in thought. Hairo nods, realizing that too.

“Maybe his endurance is really strong,” Hairo replies.

Saiki wonders if the world is truly against him, or if the world is forcing him to speak as well. His friends are definitely going to try pinching him to see his reaction.

Wait, don’t tell me they’re going to attack me and pretend it’s just regular P.E roughhousing. Saiki watches in horror as Hairo comes up to him, swinging his arm back to give him a hard slap on the back. Saiki hasn’t even done anything to be congratulated for, this was poorly timed!

A quick side step and the disaster was avoided, sending Hairo tumbling forward in surprise from missing.

Although it may have seemed that inflicting pain onto Saiki would’ve worked and forced him to yell in reaction, his body would have handled it just fine since it is practically impenetrable. At most it would’ve felt like a gentle pat.

He just couldn’t risk having Hairo stare at him in confusion and ask why he didn’t react, knowing fully well that slap should’ve hurt.

The rest of the period continued like this, with his friends constantly trying to shove and kick at him, and each attempt was skillfully avoided.

P.E ends and Saiki has yet to vocalize something. Once or twice his friends’ attempt at trying to hit him actually caught him by surprise, but not once did he scream or gasp in shock. Usually this wouldn’t bother him, but due to his recent endeavor, it only frustrates him more.

Changing back into his school uniform, Saiki storms down the hall and heads over to his favorite window spot to take a step back and clear his head. He had already been in situations where he was forced to talk, and there were instances where he could’ve said something but didn’t, so clearly he wasn’t doing something right.

He continues staring into the distance, trying to come up with a better plan. Maybe there really is something wrong with his throat, but then again he knows there isn’t. Call it a gut feeling, or a hunch. 

Because whenever he does try to speak, he can feel his vocal chords warming up to voice the words, but it will always stop abruptly and disappear. Much like a sneeze that never comes, it’s painfully annoying.

Unconsciously, his hand began to trail up to his mouth, tracing over his lips before opening them. He tries to think of something to say, though he knows nothing will come out, even if he tries. 

TW: Saiki unconsciously tries to force himself to choke so he’ll produce some sort of sound, hoping it’ll be enough, but ends up puking.

His index finger pushes into his mouth.

What if I just...?

Lost in thought and despair, he continues pushing his finger further and further inside until...

Suddenly he’s coughing over the window, and he can feel his lunch coming up his throat. Students who were just passing by stopped in concern, turning their heads over to him to check if he’s okay.

At least he got what he wanted, somewhat, he can hear his voice perfectly from the coughing. It wasn’t any different from the voice he speaks in his head, but it was his voice. 

Then he threw up.

TW over

A chorus of screams and disgusted groans resounds around him and it’s only then does he notice that he’s being surrounded by people who were worried for him. He feels a bit claustrophobic, so he makes the attempt to push through the crowd. Luckily, no one wants to be touched by a person who recently puked, so he manages to leave with ease.

A perfectly manicured and well decorated hand stops him from properly escaping, so he turns to see the culprit he expected. Aiura frowns at him and he wishes he could read her mind to know what’s going on.

“You need to go to the nurse,” Aiura says, showing no signs of ulterior motives. “You literally just puked over the window for no reason, you’re clearly not okay.”

He doesn’t need the nurse since he had already restored his body to before he had puked. But he can’t tell her that or to leave him, so he shrugs her hand off and keeps walking. She scoffs in offense, stopping him once more, this time by standing right in front of him with her arms spread wide.

“If you’re not going to tell me, I’ll just figure it out myself,” Aiura threatens. His brows furrow in annoyance and he considers just teleporting away, but he knows she wasn’t joking about finding out the problem herself. The fact that if she does find out herself, he will have no way of stopping her from finding exactly how much, and that’s enough to scare him.

He nods and heads back to class, deciding that he’ll just write his problem down for her instead of using telepathy, because he’s that determine to keep on with his mission. 

She reads over what he wrote for her and raises an eyebrow at him, folding the paper, “I didn’t know you had selective mutism.”

He squints at her and she raises both her eyebrows in surprise.

“You don’t know what selective mutism is? That’s surprising. I thought you were a genius or something.

He responds to that with a frown.

She laughs, waving her hand dismissively to show that she was just teasing, then she folds her arms and thinks for a moment, “I don’t entirely know the cause of selective mutism, I just know it’s what you described to me just now. Honestly, it’s weird how you can still communicate telepathically yet you can’t speak normally.”

That’s why I’m trying to force myself to speak, Saiki thinks to himself, still frowning.

“How about I try to find the source of the issue for ya? It’ll be a lot easier for you I think,” Aiura offers, continuing to fold the piece of paper he gave her. “No strings attached. As much as I find this hilarious, it’s pretty sad.” 

The frown disappears and he blinks in surprise. That would actually help a lot, and it seems like she hasn’t made a connection to this issue and the puking problem he had earlier, which is a relief.

She takes the look of surprise as a yes and she begins to tear the paper she folded into pieces, scattering them about on Saiki’s table by blowing them off her hand. She stares at the pieces intensely while Saiki watches the whole thing with a look of...well, this part barely amazes him, so all he does is watch, really.

“I see,” Aiura nods in understanding. “Looks like the issue started when you were a kid.”

I know that yes.

“Around the time you started school.”

Obviously. Keep going.

“And it has something to do with your powers.”

Good grief, just get to the point.

“Specifically your telepathy.”

My...telepathy? Saiki adjusts the ring around his finger. Looks like I got that down right.

“That’s all it really says. The cause started in your first year of school and telepathy is somehow linked to it.” Aiura stares at the shredded pieces of paper some more. “Y’know, I expected more, considering how large your aura is. Maybe it’ll help if you read into selective mutism more, or ask your parents if they know anything.”

The chances of his parents being of use to this situation is a close 0, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. Though, this selective mutism thing might be a good lead too.

He wants to say thanks, but the words are stuck and he can’t force them out like a cough.

He struggles for a moment, staring into Aiura’s eyes.

She turns a bit red from the intensity, not what he was going for, but he’ll take it. She looks away, smiling, “Jeez, you’re welcome. Stop hurting yourself.”

But he can’t get hurt.

After discovering a lead to his problem, he stops forcing himself to speak in school and remains silent for the rest of the day. He still interacts with people -or rather, he still listens and politely nods when needed to- but there were times where he would internally panic from the sudden quietness around him before realizing it was because of his telepathy cancelling ring.

If he closed his eyes, he could pretend the silence around him was caused by total isolation. 

The bell rings, signalling school dismissal, and he gathers his things to leave. He wants to get home immediately to search up ‘selective mutism’ so he can finally get to the bottom of his situation, but he’s sure his friends will somehow stop him and ask to hang out.

It’s either because his friends are really good at convincing him to join or he’s too weak to say ‘no’ that he knows he cannot decline them so easily. In fact, as of this moment, somehow he’s being dragged along by Kaidou and Nendou for ramen again without him even noticing.

“You’re quieter than usual today,” Kuboyasu says, falling into step next to Saiki.

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Kaidou adds, looking over at the two. “You barely spoke today, probably not at all!”

“That’s why we’re getting ramen! We figured you were upset today, so we thought that might cheer you up,” Nendou grins, shooting his friend a thumbs up and a wink.

We always get ramen though, so what exactly is the difference? Saiki deadpans in his head.

“Huh, I expected him to seem more excited,” Nendou frowns, rather disappointed.

“Stupid, we’re always getting ramen, of course he wouldn’t react,” Kaidou scolds, rolling his eyes. “We should do something better! Something more exciting.”

Please, let me go home, Saiki sighs within his head watching as the three began to think of a good idea to cheer their friend up. They weren’t wrong about him being upset though, he was feeling bitter in the morning, but after a talk with Aiura, he felt better.

“How about the convenience store? We can eat something there and browse their manga,” Kuboyasu suggests. Not the coolest idea, but it’s mundane, something Saiki prefers, and it surprises Saiki how thoughtful it was.

“Just so you know, I still think ramen is better,” Nendou comments, but Kaidou immediately jumped onto Kuboyasu’s idea, nodding his head in agreement.

Good grief, it seems like Saiki won’t be home any time soon.

Saiki is not having fun.

He’s itching to go home right now, but due to good morals, he can’t just leave them. Not when they’re doing this for him. He distracts himself with sweets and manga, though he soon grows impatient the longer he waits for this outing to wrap up.

Judging by his friends’ interactions, however, it seems like they didn’t even need Saiki here, which makes him wonder what the point of this outing was anyway. Looks they won’t notice if he leaves.

“So are you going to tell us why you’re so quiet today?”

He stands corrected. Saiki looks up from the manga he was browsing and barely reacts to Kuboyasu's question.

“Is this some sort of silent treatment? What did we do?” Kuboyasu presses on, possibly on the verge of losing his temper yet again.

Saiki wishes he could tell him the truth, but instead, he continues staring at him before blinking extremely slowly.

“WHAT’S WITH THAT ATTITUDE, WE’RE TRYING TO BE NIC--” Before Kuboyasu could lunge himself onto Saiki, Kaidou holds him down, laughing nervously.

“We’re just concerned for you,” the blue-haired boy says as Kuboyasu growls from his restraint. “We heard you threw up over the window and just walked off.”

Rumors do spread fast huh, Saiki thinks.

“I told you the ramen idea was better, I bet he’s hungry,” Nendou gestures angrily.

“He already ate something here, and we’re here so he can have fun,” Kaidou argues back, then he pauses and glances back at Saiki. “Are...you having fun?”

Well that’s easy, all he has to do it nod--

“Don’t you think it’s better to ask what’s up?” Kuboyasu huffs, eyeing Saiki suspiciously.

Good grief. Should he just give up and take the ring off? He already has a lead, so there isn’t a point in keeping it on. But then again, he did promise himself that he’ll see this mission through, so giving up still isn’t an option.

Saiki opens his mouth to speak, but instead of words, he exhales air out. Through his nose.

“Did you lose your voice?” Nendou laughs, pointing at Saiki teasingly. 

He could go with that, sure. Saiki immediately nods and Nendou blinks in surprise, not expecting to be actually right. Kaidou sighs in relief, running a hand through his hair, “Oh, that explains a lot. Sorry for making you stay then, we can go home if you want.”

Saiki nods again. Finally, he can search up ‘selective mutism’ and fix his issue. The next time they see him, he’ll definitely be speaking through his mouth.

“Selective mutism is a severe anxiety disorder.”

Saiki pauses, hand resting on the cursor as he thought about it. He doesn’t have anxiety. Does he? He keeps reading and so far most of the things listed down to describe the disorder checks out with him;

“It’s not that they don’t want to talk, they literally can’t” Yep, that’s what’s happening to him.

“Expectation to speak triggers a freeze response, causing them to panic” He doesn’t necessarily panic or freeze up, he just switches to telepathy when he wants to speak. Maybe it’s a substitute sort of defense mechanism?

“Will avoid situations where they do have to speak.” That’s...pretty spot on. It isn’t a secret that Saiki adores peace and isolated environments.

“Able to speak freely with people they trust.” This one stumps him, because he hasn’t met anyone he trusts enough to speak to. Not even his parents. Still, a majority of the things listed describes his problem, so this is definitely it.

He continues scrolling until he reaches the part where it talks about the causes. He leans in closer to the screen, slowly down his speed as he reads them carefully. He skips the first suggested cause, since it was regarding being too distressed to speak, and he knows for sure that’s not it.

The second one looked more promising. ‘Sensory integration dysfunction’, it makes the person shut down when they’re in an overwhelmingly busy environment, like loud noises and busy crowds. He vaguely remembers feeling like that once, maybe back in grade school and a bit before Kusuke gifted him his limiters.

Back when...oh. That’s what Aiura meant by telepathy, aside from the fact that he uses it to talk.

When he was younger, Saiki had gone through many instances where he could not handle the amount of thoughts passing into his brain. It was endurable at first, when it was only just him and his family, but the moment he had set foot onto school grounds, his head had exploded.

He could barely hear himself over the loud voices from the other children, but to also hear their thoughts too? Even when the other kids weren’t speaking, Saiki could hear what they were thinking loud and clear, which basically discouraged him from speaking out loud. 

He hadn’t realized this of course, because immediately after discovering the situation he was in, he came up with a solution; he used telepathy to communicate with instead. By using telepathy, his own words would seem the loudest among the rest, unlike his own voice, so he gradually fell into the habit of just using telepathy to talk.

But if that was the case, why wasn’t he able to speak when he managed to block out telepathic thoughts? He should probably look for professional help.

“Oh, Kuu, you still have that ring on?” His mother asks, sitting down to have dinner with the family.

“What ring? Why do you have a ring? Did you finally--” His father wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, making Saiki frown in irritation.

“Darling, it cancels his telepathy, so he can’t hear our thoughts and he can’t talk to us.”

“Why would he do that?”

I am literally right here. Saiki stares at the two as they converse about him. He digs through his pocket and brings out his phone, showing them the website he had researched ‘selective mutism’ on.

It takes a while for them to understand him as he holds it up for them a while longer. His father squints at it in confusion, then he connects the dots when he shifts his eyes towards Saiki.

He laughs, waving his chopsticks, “You can’t have selective mutism, you can talk just fine!”

Saiki contemplates ruining his father’s dinner. 

His mother shoots her son a sympathetic look, cupping her own cheek, “Well, it does explain why you never use your mouth to speak. Are you trying to relearn how to speak with your mouth? Is that why you put on that ring, to force yourself to speak vocally? But it didn’t seem to work so you tried finding the source of the issue instead and found this disorder that perfectly explains your problem?”

Saiki nods. This is the reason why he prefers his mother much more than his father. Maybe he should take the ring off, it’s being more of a pain than a help to him, and it’ll be easier to converse if he does. Before he does though, his mother speaks again, this time her voice was serious and he can tell she’s being serious.

“Do you need Kusuke to help?”

He wanted to save that as a last resort, and secretly, he was hoping he wouldn’t actually resort to it. But it was either him or an actual doctor, and Saiki knows that if he does go to the doctor about it, he’ll have to tell them about his powers. Something he wants to avoid.

Besides, his brother was the one who had created his limiters, surely he must’ve known about Saiki’s selective mutism at some point.

So, despite really wanting to, Saiki doesn’t say no.

Kusuke arrives exactly after his family finishes their dinner, he figured it’s better to be there in person to help rather than on the TV, much to Saiki’s irritation, and waltzes into the house with a warm smile.

Saiki only replies with a blank look of annoyance.

“I didn’t get a PhD for psychology, but I’ll try my best,” Kusuke says, taking a seat on the couch. “Maybe I should...too bad I’m back in Japan for good! Aw, Kusuo, don’t look at me like that! I’m still here to help, aren’t I? Now tell me what’s wrong exactly.”

You probably figured it out yourself already, why do I have to recount it for you? Saiki narrows his eyes at his brother as he joins him on the couch. It’s not like Kusuke can hear him anyways, even without the ring, his brother still had that dumb telepathy canceler.

Kusuke reads Saiki’s expression like an open book, easily deciphering what it meant, “Oh, well, there’s only so much I can discover myself. It’s better to hear it in full detail from you!”

Saiki responds to that by tossing his phone to Kusuke, showing the same thing he had shown to his parents.

“Well, I did suspect this once or twice, yes. Since we were kids you never really spoke, and even after I moved away you still refused to speak. Tried to make it easier on you with the little limiters, but you just stubbornly stuck to your habit,” Kusuke chuckles, tossing Saiki’s phone back, “and what I’m guessing from this current dilemma of yours is that you can’t tell why you’re still sticking to your habit either. You even tried forcing yourself to speak, but nothing comes out, no matter how hard you try. So here’s what I think: You’re still afraid that if you speak out loud.”

Saiki stands and takes to the stairs to leave. Don’t get him wrong, he isn’t offended, he just thinks his brother had just wasted his time. That was possibly the dumbest answer he has ever heard. He’s not afraid of speaking, it’s got to be something else.

“Oh come on, Kusuo, it’s easy to tell you hate drawing attention to yourself. Telepathy helps you keep a low profile while still being able to talk to others, it makes one to one conversations easier, so it’s obvious to think that’s the reason why you prefer it so much till now,” Kusuke explains straightforwardly, “but if you think about it, the reason back then was because your words kept getting drowned out by others. Childhood trauma, you thought you fixed it, but it’s still there. You’ve been unconsciously using your defense mechanism even when you don’t need it anymore. So I’m going to assume the reason you can’t properly speak now is because when you try, your brain automatically goes back to the time you were afraid of having your words get drowned out. 

“In short, you got so used to your training wheels, you think you’re riding a two wheel bike! You’re trying to get rid of the training wheels, but you’re afraid you’ll fall without them, even though you won’t!” Kusuke laughs, watching the gears turn in Saiki’s head. Slowly, things fell into place inside Saiki’s head, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, his brother might be right.

He still doesn’t have a solution though, he wants to verbally speak now.

“It’s probably something that takes time, don’t be so impatient,” his mother gently places a hand on his shoulder warmly, smiling softly up at him.

“Yeah, but for now, don’t force yourself. You’ve probably already hurt yourself out of stress,” Kusuke adds.

Saiki hates that he’s right.

The next day, Saiki decides to not wear his telepathy cancelling ring like his mother had instructed, and went downstairs to have breakfast. 

He greets his mother good morning with telepathy and she smiles, chiming a ‘good morning’ back.

“Remember, Kuu, don’t force yourself. Speak when you’re comfortable,” she reminds him as he takes a seat at the table. He nods before starting his breakfast. “No one’s rushing you, okay?”

Good grief, I’m not a child, Saiki silently eats his food, slowly rubbing his thumb on the spoon. I know how to handle myself.

His walk to school is yet again uneventful, just the way he likes it, and he spends the whole walk trying to practice speaking. Unlike yesterday, he’s doing it at his own pace and there’s less forcing this time.

He accidentally chokes on his spit, but other than that, nothing. Oh well.

Toritsuka catches him along the hallways, shooting him a pouty look as he asks, “If you were having troubles, why didn’t you tell me? I can channel the spirit of a psychiatrist if you want!”

Saiki holds a hand up to tell him to stop, and proceeds to tell him that he already has the issue under control. Toritsuka sighs in defeat and points at him with a serious look, “Tell me next time though!”

I’d rather not. I don’t want to owe you anything, Saiki frowns and proceeds to walk off, making Toritsuka to sulk even more.

Entering the classroom, he’s immediately blocked by Akechi, who smiles up at him with his usual wide-eyed look.

“I noticed yesterday you weren’t talking a lot, you don’t often speak so it wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary to some, but you barely spoke a word. Even when the teacher called on you, which was really weird, and I noticed you wore a ring yesterday too but now you’re not wearing it today, and you seem to be back to your usual speaking self when I saw you with Toritsuka. So I’m assuming the ring somehow prevents you from using that you know what. But why would you do that? Well I’m guessing it’s because you want to be able to normally speak with your mouth, but obviously you can’t, so you might have selec--“

Akechi stops talking when Saiki shoots him a warning look, making the former cover his mouth instantly. Saiki looks around the classroom to see if anyone else heard his friend’s loud mouth and is relieved to know that no one heard him.

“I apologize,” Akechi finally says after uncovering his mouth. Saiki rolls his eyes and walks to his seat, closing his eyes when he sits down.

Slow and steady. He’ll get his results soon. He can’t rush speaking. He can’t rush speaking. He can’t rush--

“Can you speak now?” Aiura whispers to him, squatting next to his desk. He silently frowns at her, answering her question with that. She nervously laughs and scratches the back of her head, “Well, that’s unfortunate. But I’m gonna assume you at least found a solution.”

He looks away, not responding to her, but she takes it as a yes.

“Here’s an idea, how about you try reading aloud from a book or something?” Aiura suggests, refusing to leave him alone. “You’re technically not having a conversation when you’re doing that.”

Saiki blinks. Then he blinks again as he thinks about it. It wasn’t a bad idea, really. It might just work.

“Are you going to keep ignoring me?” Aiura whined, resting her chin on his desk. “Just tell me it’s a shitty idea if you think it is!”

No, it’s...a really good idea, Saiki smiles softly. Honestly, why didn’t he think of it sooner? He loves reading, so the idea should’ve struck him from the beginning!

She grins back at him and stands up to leave, shooting him a thumbs up, “There you have it! Good luck then!”

Alright. 

A good book he really enjoys? Check.

Complete isolation within school grounds? Check.

Telepathy cancelling ring he specifically teleported home to grab before lunch to use? Check.

He closes his eyes and listens. It’s pin drop silent. Perfect, just the way he likes it. He crosses his eyes and uses clairvoyance to check if anyone is going to come by and bother him. Nope. Good.

Okay, now for the book.

He flips it open to the first page and opens his mouth, eyeing the first word. He makes sure he isn’t rushing himself or trying too hard, but it’s rather difficult for someone as impatient as he is. He certainly feels a lot calmer now that he knows that he’s alone, but the prickling sensation in the back of his neck that makes him think someone is coming distracts him a little.

Minutes go by and he’s starting to realize that this isn’t working.

He reaches home and is met with a welcoming smile from his mother, which makes him smile a little too. She happily walks over to him, holding onto his arm, “Any progress?”

He shakes his head.

“Aw, that’s unfortunate. That’s okay though, keep trying!”

Saiki responds by digging into his bag and bringing out the book he tried to read earlier. 

His mother stares, and she squeals, bringing her hands to her lips to contain her excitement, “When you were younger, we never got the chance to teach you or your brother how to read aloud and speak. I felt like I was missing out as a mother, but I can finally do that with you now!”

Ah, she must have misinterpreted what him holding the book up had meant. He wanted to tell her he’s practicing on his own how to speak, and maybe she should leave him alone so it’s easier. But she looks so happy and excited, he can’t bring himself to say no.

It’s at this moment Saiki realizes he’s weak at saying no to anyone at all.

He’s nervous. He can’t say anything. Not when his mother is staring at him with a gentle smile. She’s not forcing him and she’s being rather patient with him, after repeating the same word seven times, she’s still waiting.

That’s what makes him nervous.

He doesn’t know what she’s thinking, not when he has the ring on, and so he doesn’t know what reaction she’ll have if he ends up making a strangled cat noise. Or worse, not making any sound at all. 

And oh jeez, did he accidentally turn on his pyrokinesis? Because it’s getting a bit too warm for him. He’s sweating and his lips aren’t even open, they’re pressed tightly together. Too tight. He wonders if he should pry his mouth open like last time.

“Kuu, it’s okay. You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” his mother reassures, and he only starts noticing he’s making the furniture float with his powers from stress. “When you’re ready.” 

He nods. He wants to leave.

She repeats the word for him again.

He has dinner and immediately goes to bed afterwards. Words spoken today: None.

He has a new routine now.

Every morning he keeps the ring in his pocket and has breakfast, greeting his mother good morning before sitting down. He quickly digs in before his father wakes up and leaves home for school. His walk to school is filled with him opening and closing his mouth, and he’s gotten so used to it, he does it unconsciously on his walk to school now.

He still interacts with his friends, but it’s only lunch when he fully isolates himself to read a book. Most of the times he ends up giving up, properly reading in his head, and other times he stares at the exact same word for the whole duration of lunch until the bell rings.

He starts hanging out with Nendou and the rest less, and immediately heads home so he can continue trying with his mother, who’s still ever so patient with him. Weekends are spent with him reading alone in some deserted area.

This goes on for about two weeks and a half, until Kaidou finally notices his lack of appearance.

There’s still not much progress, but at least he feels less nervous with his mom now. Other than that, nothing.

“Saiki, you wanna come over to my place tomorrow? We’re all going to study together for that Japanese test,” Kaidou says. He had long dropped the habit of using his chuunibyou references for normal conversations. He still clips into that persona from time to time, especially in larger crowds, but rarely ever with close friends.

Saiki raises a brow at him. He might have to turn now, considering how usually all their study sessions always end up with them just hanging out. Not to mention it’s useless for him to study since he’s already so smart.

“We as in,” Kaidou mistakes the eyebrow raise as a question to who ‘we’ are, “all of us but Mera and Hairo. Mera’s busy with work and Hairo’s busy with training.”

That barely explains who ‘we’ are, though, Saiki deadpans to himself.

“So are you coming?”

Saiki sighs, Probably no--

“You are most definitely going!” His mother says and he wonders how she could’ve possibly known. To answer that, she adds, “Kairou’s mother told me of course!”

Good grief, Saiki rolls his eyes, sitting down at the table to practice speaking as usual.

“You need a social life, Kuu. What’s the point of learning how to speak if you’re not going to talk to anyone?” She nags, sitting directly across from him.

He doesn’t want to tell her he’s only learning because he wants to vocally sigh in pleasure from the beautiful taste of coffee jelly and other sweets.

“Your little brother is so cute, ha ha,” Aiura dotes, poking at Toki. The little boy immediately runs away from her and hides behind Kaidou, looking up at his older brother.

“Are you having a meeting fo--” He’s cut short by Kaidou, who covers his mouth from embarrassment.

“My room is this way,” Kaidou nervously laughs, hand still over Toki’s mouth as he walks. 

Today is going to be a long day.

They begin by actually studying for five minutes straight, until Yumehara starts eating from stress and Nendou decides to wander off to play on Kaidou’s console. Aiura begins focusing on decorating her notebook instead of actually doing her work and Kuboyasu’s distracted talking to Kaidou about something unrelated to the Japanese test.

Teruhashi is the only one that looks like she’s focused, but even she’s having troubles studying because she’s sitting right next to Saiki and her mind is a mess from panic and excitement. All he can tell from his telepathy is that she’s waiting for the moment where Saiki gets stumped and she’ll swoop in to save him.

Not happening. Besides, he’s already done.

“W-Wow, you’re...fast,” she says, leaning over. Ah, now she’s trying to make him gasp from close contact. Good grief.

Fast forward and now it’s very clear they’re all distracted. They’re laughing about...something, and he’s busy tracing his eyes over a word and practicing it over and over in his head. Then the laughter dies and someone calls his name, so he looks up.

“You okay?” Teruhashi asks, looking concerned for him. “You’re not laughing. Are you not enjoying yourself?”

Isn’t that something Kaidou should ask as the host? Saiki deadpans, holding a hand up to signal he’s fine.

“Maybe he has a different sense of humor,” Yumehara says. “How about we all try to make him laugh?”

Good grief, this is just a waste of t-- And Nendou’s taking off his pants. A classic playground move. Unfortunately, Saiki never found butt jokes all that funny.

They each have a go at trying to make Saiki laugh, ranging from ludicrous acts to extremely terrible jokes, none of which amuses him.

In fact, the more they try, the more cramped he feels. They’re talking and talking and all he can hear are words that are so loud it hurts. It’s probably because of the close proximity between all of them that makes Saiki able to hear all their thoughts nice and clear, but the fact that they’re all thinking at the same time makes it even louder.

Nendou’s the only one he can’t hear from, but he’s also busy making stranger lip noises that can only make an infant giggle.

Then it gets too loud and his head starts hurting and his mouth feels dry. They all want him to laugh. He can’t.

And putting on the ring now would seem weird.

So he stands, making them all stop in confusion, and he excuses himself to use the bathroom. It’s when he finally shuts the door behind him that he feels at peace.

Good grief, looks like he’ll take a short break in the bathroom before going back.

He passes by Toki’s room and notices the boy quietly reading by himself -probably studying- though what actually made Saiki pause to look is the fact that Toki’s mouth is still moving, yet no sound comes out.

The idea hits him like a train, and he feels stupid yet again.

He’s been way too focused on moving his mouth for the purpose of actually speaking that he never realizes that maybe he doesn’t necessarily need to vocalize something in order to move his mouth. He can just mouth the words as he reads, getting used to the feeling of using his mouth to speak, then ease himself into learning how to talk from there.

So maybe this study session wasn’t a disaster after all.

He returns to Kaidou’s room with a small smile that nearly shocks the entire room. 

Oh come on, it’s not like he never smiles.

He copies Toki’s technique the next time he’s practicing reading aloud and it changes things, just a little. As predicted, he feels more at ease whenever he’s reading with his mother. He hasn’t spoken yet, but he’s not getting that crushing feeling anymore, it’s more of a small sting now.

Once or twice he manages to make a noise, but not a single coherent word comes out.

A whole week goes by and it’s a Saturday, his mother is relaxing on the couch with him and he’s mouthing out the words from the book he’s reading. It’s a peaceful day and no one’s here to bother him, so he can practice without having to worry about being dragged away on some bizarre adventure.

“Kusuo!” Ugh, he thought too soon. Saiki looks up from his book, his mouth snapping shut so fast it makes a loud clicking sound. His father is smiling nervously at him, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, can I ask you a favor?”

No, Saiki immediately responds with telepathy, then he slips the ring back on and goes back to reading.

“It’s nothing you can’t handle though,” his father says, rubbing his hands together to beg.

No. He knows his father can’t hear him, but he’s thinking it over and over in his head.

“Please, just hear me out.”

No.

“Please, it’s--”

“No!” Saiki snaps, growling at his dad. His mother jumps in surprise and even his father falls back from shock. For a second, he doesn’t realize why they’re so shaken, until he slaps his hand onto his mouth.

His mother wraps her arms around him, jumping from pure joy, “Your first words! I’m so proud of you! We should celebrate, let’s go to the cafe! Order as many coffee jellies as you like.”

Saiki literally lights up, and he’s smiling at the thought of enjoying his coffee jelly to its fullest extent. He couldn’t wait to sigh in content.

“Uhm, what about…?” Her husband points, wondering if they can settle his problem first before going.

“Come on! We’ve got to celebrate, we should invite Kusuke too!”

Saiki immediately sours and he starts weighing his pros and cons. He gets to have coffee jelly if they go out, as much as he wants. Kusuke might be there to bother him.

As expected, Saiki would rather endure his brother’s pressing curiosity than give up his chance at having unlimited coffee jelly from a cafe he likes.

Kusuke doesn’t talk, he merely watches Saiki chew silently, and smiles. He offers to pay for his parents so they wouldn’t have to worry about Saiki bankrupting them.

“You spoke your first words?” Kusuke finally says.

Saiki nods, still enjoying his treat.

“Care to demonstrate?”

Of course he’d ask that. Saiki’s still pretty new at this, so he can’t exactly say words on command. They just...come out. Oh but he knows one word:

“No,” Saiki whispers, so soft it’s almost inaudible. Kusuke grins a bit too wide in response, and it nearly makes Saiki lose his appetite. Nearly.

“Aw, he’s like a little kitten,” Kusuke snorts, moving one of the empty plates on the table with his finger.

Thank goodness his grandfather isn’t here then.

“We should visit your grandparents to show them too!” His mother happily suggests. Well god damn then.

Saiki wonders if it’s possible to brainwash everyone into thinking he was a quiet talker the whole time. There’s no way anyone is going to not notice the change in volume, his telepathy is louder than his current voice by a whole lot.

He decides it’s better to practice speaking with the people who know about his powers. At least they’ll understand, and he figures talking in conversations would help improve his speech skills. He’ll still practice with books, but he’ll have to try actually talking now.

“HA HA HA, YOUR VOICE, IT’S SO SOFT, LIKE A SHY GIRL!” Toritsuka points and Saiki instantly regrets letting him in on this. The medium quickly shuts up upon seeing the offended look on Saiki’s face.

“Oh, so you really did have selective mutism, huh? I can see why you wanted me to keep it a secret, considering it’ll seem strange to everyone else since you use telepathy to communicate and blurting that out wouldn’t make sense. So you want to practice talking to us to ease into the whole talking thing? I’m sure we can help. But as someone who doesn’t talk all that much, I’ll try my best to help but I won’t guarantee--” Akechi is promptly interrupted by Aiura, who has had enough of his babbling.

She cuts in, smiling proudly, “You can count on us! Want me to see your fortune so we can know the probability of success?”

“No,” Saiki whispers, yet again too soft.

“Oh, you really do sound like a cute shy dude,” Aiura flushes.

Saiki wonders if Plan A is still up for grabs.

“Why don’t we ask you some simple questions?” Akechi suggests, looking ready to sprout a waterfall of questions for Saiki to answer. It’s a bit overwhelming to hear him talk so much, but he’ll have to do. 

Saiki nods, agreeing to it.

“What’s your type?” Toritsuka immediately asks. “Curvy bodies? Big breasts?”

“No.” It’s firm and slightly louder, which makes Toritsuka shuffle backwards in panic.

“How many close family members do you have?” Aiura butts in, grinning.

That should be easy. Five. 

Saiki nearly holds up his hand instead of actually answering. He takes a few seconds, struggling as he did. It barely shows he is, but the three other people watching leans in closer and closer each second he doesn’t answer, and it makes him want to run away again.

“..ve.” Saiki finally mumbles out.

“Come again?” They’re so close to his face, he can almost feel their breaths against his face. He isn’t liking this one bit. 

His mouth instantly seals shut from stress.

“Sorry, sorry, space,” Toritsuka holds his hands up and takes a step back, dragging the other two along with him. “This feels weird. You’re always like, really powerful, y’know? But here you are, looking terrified about speaking.”

“Am not,” Saiki bites back.

“If you say so, alright, next question!”

“Saiki, I was wondering,” Teruhashi nervously fiddled with her hands behind her back, “is there a reason why you’ve been hanging out with m- us less?”

Saiki expected this. Practicing to speak with books has caused him to have less free time to spend with his friends, and it wouldn’t take long for them to notice this. He currently couldn’t think of a believable good excuse to say and it’s not like he can just walk away from this.

Teruhashi begins to worry as she watches him just stand there without a word. After what seemed like forever, she decides to drop the matter and smiles, “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, it’s fine. Bye!” And she walks off quicker than usual.

Crisis averted?

He walks down the stairs, and for the first time ever, he greets his mother ‘good morning’ with a smile and from his mouth.

It’s soft, but not as quiet as his first words, and it’s soft enough for you to know he doesn’t talk a lot. Which is perfect for a person like him.

His mother smiles so wide, it almost looks painful, and she throws her arms around her son, squeezing him tight, “Good morning to you too! Good morning!”

His walk to school is uneventful, much like the ones he had before he learnt how to speak, and he finds it rather pleasant because the whole mouth exercise was beginning to grow annoying.

It had almost taken him three months to get to this point. Three months of relentless practicing. He feels proud of himself.

“Think fast! Today’s day, go!” Toritsuka points and Saiki blinks, staring at him.

“Monday.”

“You’re getting pretty good! Y’know, since I helped you,” Toritsuka pretends to be busy checking his nails, then he slyly looks up, only to find Saiki already walking off. “Hey!”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“Wow, that’s a long sentence, ha ha,” Toritsuka falls into step next to him. 

Saiki walks a bit faster, trying to lose him, “You’re surprised because you didn’t help much. Akechi did most of the work.” His voice trails off if he talks too much, so Toritsuka had to lean in slightly to hear the last part better.

“No fair, the guy talks faster than a bullet train, of course he’d do more,” Toritsuka complains.

“All you asked me was what type of women I was into,” Saiki frowns. 

“You still haven’t answered me, by the way.”

“Already did.”

“No isn’t an answer.”

Saiki enters his classroom and promptly shuts the door in front of the other’s face, which basically translates to: “Yes it is.”

“Hello!” Aiura waves just as he turns around from the door.

“Hi.” He replies easily and takes a seat.

Aiura immediately beams, skipping over, “Did you finally do it?”

Saiki shrugs.

“Well I think he can do it now, I just saw him talking to Toritsuka just fine, unless anger boosts your speech? In which case, that would make sense too, because people who are angry tend to do things impulsively, but then again, you’re in a good mood, so it can only mean you can speak now!” Akechi drops by, looking just as excited as Aiura is. “But there’s only one way we can test that.”

Saiki pales inwardly as he realizes what Akechi is about to say due to telepathy.

You know what, at least this slice of cake tastes great.

He has, yet again, been convinced to join another outing, but Akechi says it’s his final test. 

Everyone seems to be talking, but none of it interests him, he’s only here because of the sweets, and it looks like no one is going to bother him either, so he might as well enjoy.

“Mm,” he hums, biting into another slice of cake.

“Did he just...?” Kaidou pauses, staring. Everyone’s staring along as well, just as surprised as Kaidou is.

Saiki stops smiling almost instantly upon noticing the sudden attention he is receiving, “Good grief, what’s so surprising?”

Teruhashi’s eyes are so wide, it could almost pop off her sockets, “This...feels weird.”

“Was his voice always this...soft?” Yumehara whispers over to Teruhashi. “It feels like the first time I’ve ever heard it.”

Everyone else agrees along with her. Oh well, it doesn’t matter what they think, as long as Saiki gets to enjoy his sweets with a sigh of satisfaction, then all is well.

Saiki sighs, taking another bite.

[blarrghe]

"I called you at 2am because I need you" for... is it too indulgent to ask for Dorian x Anders?

never too much! Decided on a straight sequel to the last one, so here’s modern au resident!Anders and politician!Dorian after a long shift. --

He had three hours left in his shift when he got the text from Barb. He looked suspiciously down at his phone when it buzzed. Barb’s contact was in his phone with a little butterfly next to her name, to match the tattoo on her ankle and the bright and fluttery nature of her personality. He liked Barb, but she was almost definitely asking him to cover her shift, and he debated opening the message for several minutes before doing so with a reluctant sigh. Barb was going through some things; messy divorce, two little kids to look after all on her own, the pay they made here and the stress that came with it. 

“Can’t find a sitter, can you take a shift?” read the first text, Anders was going to say yes anyway, but then two more came in, buzzing in quick succession. “unless you want to babysit? I’d give you my pay!” bright, chipper texting tone, accompanied by several hopeful looking emojis, “and brownies! 🍫” Barb did make really excellent brownies. He considered taking her up on the second offer, but he really wasn’t sure he had the energy for kids who weren’t bed-ridden or in need of medical care. He could turn on Fun Doctor Mode like a lightswitch for the kids down in pediatrics, but kids who wanted to refuse bedtime and stay up watching TV they weren’t mature enough to handle? He shook his head, half smiling over the offer of brownies, half frowning over the decision he’d made before he even opened the first message. Barb deserved to get the time with her kids, anyway. 

“I’ve got you covered.” Kissy face cat emoji, knife and fork emoji. 

“Lifesaver!!!!!” every single colour of heart.

He pencilled his name in on the clipboard for the next rotation, and began to regret the fact that he’d so quickly stuffed down the pastry Dorian had brought him earlier as he tried to remember if he had enough coins in the pockets of his coat for both a bag of pretzels from the vending machine and the bus home. He didn’t, but he’d have more luck charming the bus driver into a free ride than the vending machine into giving up its snacks, so he went to his locker and fished out the last of his bus money. 

The rest of his shift went by in a blur of activity, up and down halls as his white-soled shoes squeaked and squawked along the linoleum floors, up and down stairs that were faster than waiting for elevators, thankless pages from doctors all across the sprawling hospital, avoiding his shift supervisor in case she asked about Barb. Then Barb’s shift was much the same, for the four and a half hours after that. It was nearing two am when he finally staggered out to the bus stop, and well past it by the time he arrived home — on foot, because the bus driver had not, in fact, let him ride for free. Just what he got for putting hope into the kindness of strangers. One kind act was, apparently, the extent of his daily karma allotment. Fair enough — he could still almost taste the honey of that pastry on his lips; either an uncommonly good morsel, or he was just drastically underfed. The latter, but the pastry-giver was certainly more than he deserved.

Shit. Dorian. He’d asked him to call. Anders looked blearily at the clock on his stove as he kicked off his shoes and plodded over to the cabinet to dish out some kibble for Ser Pounce. The cold tile floor was a welcome relief on his worn out feet, though the fact that he could feel it at all was a testament to the grave state of his socks. Ser Pounce pounced down from his perch above the cabinets to give some love and a swath of shedding cat hair to Anders’ legs, then nibbled at his food while Anders opened his fridge to try to figure something out for himself. He sniffed at the milk, decided it was probably still fine, and then poured it over a heaping bowl of sugary cereal. Yeah, he’d have made a pretty shit babysitter. 

Anders took his bowl with him to his bed, flopping down on the lumpy mattress with a sigh that fully emptied his lungs, and pulled out his phone. He opened his message history and pulled up the conversation with Dorian. Not much there, but what there was made him smile. Mostly short, friendly messages. No emojis except for the one he’d stuck next to Dorian’s name in the contact page — a snake, not his first choice, but he’d embarassed himself by asking the man which one he’d like when he first scored his number, and snake was what he’d picked. Anders would have gone with the diamond, or the little tophat, or maybe the cat with hearts for eyes…

Anyway, then it had turned out that Dorian was a very formal texter. Proper punctuation and fully articulated words and all that. Anders had spent far too many minutes in their text-based conversations together fretting over how immature it would come off to use an abbreviation for laughter versus spelling out the words “haha”, or if even that was too juvenile. But he and Dorian were both all sarcastic humour and chastising bits of flirtation, and he also fretted about the tone of that without it. 

“you up?” he wrote, then hovered his thumb over the send button for thirty or so seconds before deciding that it was worth the shot. Worse came to worst, Dorian would reply with a friendly apology and an offer to chat the next morning. He was dependable like that. 

“Depends, is this a booty call?” came the almost instant reply. Alone in his room, Anders blushed. 

Blushing emoji, monkey covering his eyes emoji, sweat-smile emoji… delete, delete, delete. “No, just miss you,” DELETE, definitely delete. He tried typing some other things. “Just got in, but thinking of you…” no. “You wish lol” haha? Neither. He erased the message and began again, but then the phone screen lit up with “Dorian🐍”, buzzing as it rang. 

“The little dots were driving me mad. Did you just get in?” His voice was like honey, too. 

“Yeah, covered for Barb.” 

“Again?” 

Anders leaned back against his pillow, closing his eyes as Dorian’s concern blanketed over him. “She couldn’t find a sitter.” 

“You’re too nice for your own good.” Dorian scolded him gently through the phone, and it probably said something unhealthy about Anders that hearing Dorian admiringly call him nice made the whole last five hours of life-draining overtime and bitter walk home worth it. 

“She offered me brownies,” he shrugged the compliment off, “what can I say? I’m a sucker for chocolate.” 

“I’ll remember that.” Dorian purred, causing Anders to almost second guess his response to the idea of a booty call, exhausted or not. “So, not a booty call then?” Anders groaned inwardly, wishing it were, but no. Not unless Dorian wanted to talk to him on the phone the whole way over to keep him from falling asleep before he arrived, and even then.

“I just — uh…” he was going to say something about the book, but he hadn’t actually had time yet to look at it. His heart rate quickened with panic, he needed to find something to keep Dorian on the phone. “Thanks for the visit today.” Yes, because that warranted a phone call at three in the morning. “Sorry if I woke you…” 

“Nonsense. I’m always awake at this hour. It’s a terrible habit of mine.” Dorian did indeed sound very wakeful. Probably also very disappointed in the grogginess of Anders’ own voice. 

“Mm,” Anders muttered, his eyes closing under the warmth of Dorian’s voice through the phone again. 

“But you sound awful.” 

“Ran out of bus fare,” Anders explained, “had to walk… long day.” On a better night, Dorian might listen to his work gossip and share some rants of his own; they made quite a pair, both always seeming too short on time and too packed with stress to get out much, both always angry with their bosses — though Dorian was frustrated by beaurocracy constantly getting in the way of his efforts at world-saving, while Anders’ patients gave him fulfilment enough, it was just that his pockets were perpetually empty and all his managers were slave drivers. 

“Why don’t you have a bus pass?” Dorian sighed at him. A bus pass was a hundred bucks up front at the beginning of the month, and with payday always landing two weeks after but every other bill needing to paid right then too… but he didn’t really want to explain that particular predicament to Dorian, who had a flashy suit for every day of the week and a car that cost about as much as Anders was worth in medical school debt. “Well, you can call me next time. I’d give you a ride.” he purred on that note too, having fun with his double entendres. Anders chuckled. 

“I’ll keep you in mind,” he promised. Though the thought of begging his quasi-boyfriend for a ride at two am made him shudder. Still, not quite a lie; he always seemed to have Dorian on his mind at the end of a long shift. 

“Since I have you, dinner?” The inflection of the question was a little high. Anders crunched on a mouthful of cereal with his eyes still closed and mumbled something unintelligable. “You’re off Friday, aren’t you? Do me a favour and don’t pick up any more shifts. I have a place in mind I think you’ll like.” 

“Mm?” He thought about the kind of places Dorian would think were good spots for a dinner date, and was very glad that he couldn’t see the blue-tinted milk running down his chin. 

“It’s a surprise.” Back to low purring, that nervousness or whatever it had been apparently gone again. Anders liked the warm flirtatious tone, but the little breaks into uncertainty were what kept him coming back for more. So much in common. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Anders “mm”’d through his mouthful of cereal in the affirmative. 

“Amatus?” Even his pet names were classy. Anders would go with “love” if it weren’t so close to an unthinkable state of being, or “babe” if it weren’t for the fact that Dorian outshone that by a mile with amatus. His thoughts were all cat-with-heart-eyes emoji at the sound, and not much else.  

Anders swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Get some sleep.” 

“Mm.” Anders moved the bowl from his lap to the cluttered chair at his bedside, and leaned deeper into his pillow. “See you Friday, Dor” Dor, was that really the best he could do? 

He heard Dorian hum contentedly on the other side of the line, “looking forward to it.” he said. 

“Night, love.” Anders muttered, then very very quickly he hit end call, and shut his eyes tight. 

[bibliocratic]

Soulmate au for jm prompts? Any kind you want

soul-identifying marks, jonmartin, episodes 158-160 spoilers

(this prompt came into my home and beat me over the brain.)(it might not be exactly what you were after, hope it’s ok!)

–

Martin’s waging a passive-aggressive one-man war against an excel spreadsheet when the temperature, risen to bearable by the grunting old radiator in the corner, swan-dives into shivery.

“Peter,” Martin says, not exactly a greeting, as frayingly cordial as he can manage. Not absolving Peter’s intrusion with his attention, triple-pressing the right mouse button and hissing an irate oh come on when the computer refuses to bend to his will and instead freezes again.

Peter will say whatever mysterious bollocks he’s come to imply and hint at and implicate, scattering his bloody breadcrumbs. Martin will be left just as pissed off and in the dark as he was before, so he might as well get it over with so Martin can actually get some work done.

Surprisingly, Peter doesn’t say anything. That’s actually what makes Martin turn round.

Peter’s slate-shingle eyes are observing Martin’s exposed lower arms. Sleeves rolled up haphazard out of his way, folded over in messy and unmatching bunches at his elbow.

He’s studying the designs that blemish the sun-ditched pale of his freckled arm with an interest Martin baulks at. Traces with his eyes the blocky wood-cut patterns in precise and abrupt black lines that start at the line of his watch, sprout up and under his clothes. Idly, he takes his time to let his gaze traverse over the open pages of tomes unfilled with words and unbroken by ink; the landscape of woodland and tree lines and shadowy hollows of roads mysterious or untaken that mar the faint curve of his lower arm. The lantern swinging on the bough of a wintry tree, its candle recently blown out.

The eye, thick and wide, staring out at the crease of his elbow.

Peter flicks a glance up, and Martin reads something like pity there. His face heats.

“The Archivist?” Peter Lukas asks. His voice isn’t mocking. Martin isn’t sure what it it.

He hates the tone of it.

“Do you want something?” Martin responds curtly. Frosty. Tugging his sleeves back down pointedly.

Peter’s expression is ever so proud.

–

When Jon wakes up, he charts the changes death has wrought on him. Sitting on the small bed he’s set up in document storage, swaddled in the uncomforting comfort of his archives, he chronicles the new damages done. The rough tissue of scars on his arms, upper legs, chest. Pitted marks from shrapnel and debris and being in the radius blast of an explosion.  He supposes it could be worse.

He thumbs at the faded, almost unrecognisable nazar just below his shoulder, the crossed compass and ruler nearby in the same state. The colour bleeding out of them like they’ve been left too long in the dark. He doesn’t think about his parents much. Not in a long time. His memories sanded down to an uncertain rote recollection that his brain is equally as likely to have invented as not. He doesn’t recall enough to miss them, but there must be something there for him to still bear them on his skin.

There’s a bleary shape splotched on his inner wrist. Forming like the build-up of sediment, the slow grind of tide, and it has been doing so for months, since before he died.

It’s almost fully realised now. He rubs at the shape of it tentatively  as though the colour might run if he’s too rough with it. The delicate fawn-brown of its wings, the beaded black circle of its eyes.

He knows who it represents. Impossible not to, really. It’s his representation after all. The complex understanding of a human being realised as imagery and flowering on his skin.

He stares at the nightingale for the longest time.

–

When Martin was nine, struck by the well-echo hollow in his chest, unable to articulate the shamed and hot tears his mother would scold with a cluck of disappointment, he tried to clean the clock off his right leg. Sitting in the bath with the water gagging with too many bubbles, he scrubbed at the cogs and mechanical intestines of the thing, seeing the lies of his father in how it was wound, not wanting it, because surely if his dad had loved him then he wouldn’t have left, and if he didn’t then why should Martin boast his love so obviously. He held and scrubbed until his skin was pink and scalded and he’d started to wince. But connection doesn’t work like that, and so the clock never disappeared, and Martin tried to ignore it every time he took a shower.

Turns out the Forsaken was good for something after all.

–

“How’s the poetry?” Jon stammers at him, so obviously, earnestly angling to drag out their impromptu meeting. Martin wants to be anywhere else but here.

“Jon, I really need to – ”

“Oh. Yeah. I – sorry, I-I know you’ve got… your thing with Peter Lukas.”

“It’s not like that – ”

“I-I know, I know, sorry, I didn’t mean…” Jon stops. His eyes – and were they always so gaunt, so hungry in his face? – have stopped trying to both catch and avoid Martin’s gaze apparently simultaneously, and they’ve snagged instead on Martin’s collar. For a moment, something too thirsty catalogues the pale and vacant skin of his throat, where the purple hooded bells of monkshood usually thronged. Their leaves had grown spikier as he’d aged, stretching out to his Adam’s apple in a bid to form a collar of choking vines.

“Martin…” Jon stares at empty skin, and his expression blooms into something comprehending and distraught.

“I have to go, Jon,” Martin says forcefully.  He doesn’t give Jon much of a chance to reply.

He doesn’t want Jon’s sorries. Doesn’t need his worries or his understanding.

He just wants him to be safe.

–

The nightingale sings entangled by coarse and insidious brambles. Jon’s taken to holding his hand over the pattern, like shielding with a careful hand a wind-tossed, guttering flame, when the hunger starts to gnaw though him like frostbite.

It doesn’t stop there. The emblems grow into iconography, twist into tableau. The pictures grow and spread simply as moss, and Jon doesn’t despair because he doesn’t have the space for it any more.

Jon’s evidence has always been discrete. The stamped shapes for his parents like memorial images were all he held for the longest time. Something started to flourish for his grandmother, when she took him in, and he tried to show her the blotched shape in a childish effort to bring them closer. She hadn’t needed to stay anything. She pursed her lip and strained an apologetic glance and he knew even at that age that there was nothing, would be nothing in kind, decorating her skin for him. That choked the image like weeds, and it faded quickly as the passing of inclement weather.

The space, at his jutting hip-bone, was only later taken up by Georgie’s mark. That one never faded quite like the image for his grandmother or for his parents, but it went sun-stained and overexposed long before they broke up.

Martin’s imagery is not so subtle.

It swallows up his arm, roils over his shoulder-blades, infects the untouched skin over his collar bone.

Jon takes to wearing longer sleeves.

–

Martin’s skin has always taken easily to marking. Some people do, he guesses. Wear their hearts on their sleeves, on their throat, on their stomach. Martin’s a scattered museum of loves that he’s tended to over the years, unrequited affections or spluttered out romances.

He’s pleased, in those early days, that nothing ever bruises on his skin for Jon. He likes Jon, even fancies him, for a long time. And it’s annoying, because Jon can be a real arse, but it’s manageable. Jon doesn’t make him go hot at the nape of his neck or make him stumble over his words. His presence encourages harmless daydreams and flights of fancy, but Martin’s under no illusions.

And then Jon listens to his statement. Sits him down, and believes him, and doesn’t break eye contact the whole time.

And Martin had felt, dazedly, Seen. For the first time in a long time.

The first eye had opened up around then like an unclenching fist under his ribs. He’d seen it a week later. Had thought oh and had quickly dressed to cover it.

It’s not the first mark this love leaves him. In time, it scores him with tooth marks and sailor’s knots of worry, and eyes, always eyes, blinking open over his flesh.

He loses the one on his ankle first. Scratches at the space where it was, touching the crease where his sock has dug a band around his skin, right where the line used to bisect the thick and dark pupil.

Then the one on his lower back. His upper thigh. His left wrist.

It’s for the best, Martin, Peter says when he catches him looking at the undamaged patch of skin these absences leave behind.

Martin doesn’t disagree.

By the time Lukas banishes him to the mercy of Forsaken, thwarted and cheated and feeling something almost human, Martin’s skin has already been entirely washed clean.

–

There’s a nightingale on Jon’s wrist. It’s one of the first things that catches his vision, that refocuses from blurry in this undemanding nothing. The colour is too vivid, lurid in this desaturated landscape.

The bird is nestled, or maybe caught, in a twisting of brambles but its beak is open in song.

“Look at me, and tell me what you See,” Jon asks him, and Martin wonders if maybe Jon’s been carrying around his own heart on his sleeve for a while now.

–

His mother’s flowers don’t grow back when he vacates the Lonely. His father’s clockwork finally cleansed from him. The leaves and keys and umbrellas of the numerous small loves and connections he’s now lost the taste of.

Martin’s skin remains unblemished and clear, and he wonders if the Lonely took this capacity from him.

Jon’s hand is dry in his. And nothing blooms on Martin’s arms but a sensation like prickling, like pins and needles, settles under his skin, and Martin holds on just as tightly.

–

There was a downpour on the way back to the safehouse. The sky splitting with a cascade of rain, sheets moving in waves and quickly transforming dewy grass into boggy swamp-land. Their waterproofs, such as they are, have done a poor job and failed to live up to their name, and Jon is dripping a cloud’s-worth of rainfall from his hair alone as he crosses the threshold. Martin, no different, water draining off him like guttering, tuts. Helps him strip the sucking, soaking outer layers off, frigid fingers fumbling with the pull of the zip. Jon awkwardly gets in the way in his efforts to return the gesture, making a face at the sodden slump of Martin’s waterlogged woollen jumper as it hits the floor. Martin catches his t-shirt on his nose as he tries to pull it over his head, trying to unbutton and kick off his clinging trousers in one motion. 

He doesn’t feel embarrassed. Doesn’t cross his mind to be. It’s hard, when Jon’s snickering as he nearly trips over his own legs in his efforts to shake his legs free, when they’ve been clung to each other like tethered buoys each night, coddled by the unbroken dark.

“I’ll get dry clothes,” Martin says, the first to have divested himself of most of his clothes, and he bounds upstairs, damp feet squeaking and slipping, longing for a hot shower as he trails puddles into the bedroom. He throws on thick pyjama bottoms, is half wrenching on an errant t-shirt before he realises it’s Jon’s and has to rifle around for a spare one of his own before he slips it on. He collects some clothes for Jon and rushes back.

Jon’s managed to get off his own trousers, slopped in a pile of fabric by his feet, the skin goosepimpling and dark hair standing stark from the chill. He’s pulling his sticking vest off over his head as Martin returns.

Martin sucks in a gasp. Jon blinks, confused for a moment before a reddening mark stripes across the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, splotches at the dip of his neckline.

“What…?” Martin starts, staring at the tapestry on his skin, and he can’t help it.

Before, Tim would joke that Jon loved his job more than he loved people. Was probably conservatively decorated in little stylisations of his perpetually present tape-recorders, probably had a library over his heart. It was something he said as a joke at the beginning and hissed as a recrimination by the end, and Martin and Sasha (and later only Martin) would tell him off, tell him to keep it down, that it wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t his business. But if Jon had been marked, they wouldn’t have known. They were hidden under crisp shirt sleeves and well-placed collars even in summer.

The nightingale, wings scratched by thorns, was the first image Martin had ever seen Jon wear. He’d expected that to be it, had hoped such an emblem was meant for him, but it, well, it is dwarfed in comparison to the harmony of colour struck over Jon’s body like a collage.

Every piece of skin that is not torn up and jagged with scars has been brought into the striking shock of deep blues and blacks that slide and ring over dark skin. A choir of imagery that Martin can’t decipher immediately, like a jigsaw he has to step back from, the artworks all wrapped up in each other, each feeding off the other. There are nightingales, some grounded on thin wind-touched branches, some held mid-flight; these become a stylised compass pointing north. There’s the solid structure of a lighthouse taking up most of his gangly upper arm, its lower levels painted in a sea bound mist, or it could be the curling wisps of inviting steam. His stomach, curving concave, is overwhelmed by the imperious crags of icy cliffs, the rocks dashed by high foaming waves, above which hangs the ribboning line of northern lights.  On the sea, a sturdy boat tipping on the water, its spinnaker puffed out and billowing in defiance.

There is so much, so much of Jon taken up, painted in testament, and for a long moment, Martin doesn’t understand.

Jon looks at his feet, and then glances, almost shyly, at Martin’s unpainted throat, his blank arms. Visibly steels himself, moves his gaze up to meet Martin’s.

“It…” he begins, before he breathes in, sets his spine straight. “You. It’s – it’s you. In case, in case you didn’t know.”

“Can – ?” Martin asks, and his fingers are twitching, yearning to trace the lines, to memorise their shapes, and Jon blinks again and then makes a nervy nodding motion.

Martin’s about to reach out before he remembers that Jon’s half-naked and dripping wet in the hallway, that the stone flags will be frozen on his feet, that now is perhaps not the ideal time.

Later. After they warm up, after they shower and the gas boiler grunts and complains and then near-burns them with hot water, after they dress in pyjamas warmed on the radiators, after they go upstairs. Martin runs his hand reverently, shakily over the lighthouse, the compass, the boat, the birds, wonders if this is how Jon sees him, how Jon understands him, wonders why he’s taken up so much space. Looks at all the pictures that are both isolation and sanctuary, song and sorrow and strength, tries to decipher what Jon sees in him.

“There’s so much,” he marvels softly, scarcely believing, hovering the pads of his fingers over the horizon line of a lightening sky, the peaking gleam of a sunrise at Jon’s lower back, the anchor bound in twisting rope around his ankle bone, the up shoots of snow-drops and lily-of-the-valley not far away. Most people get one image, maybe two or three, as proof of meaning to another person, as a tangible reflection of connection. Martin has an entire gallery exhibited across Jon’s body.

“You mean so much,” Jon says softly in response, like that explains it. Maybe for him, it does.

He charts the other bold designs he finds. Realising that for all his earlier pretences, Jon has not, and never has been an island. There’s Daisy’s faintly rusted golden chain caked in mud and blood around his other ankle, Gerard Keay’s thick leather-bound book, its open pages wreathed in fire, the near-vanished marks for his parents, for Georgie, the scant others who came into his life and left their mark.

There might have been an eye, wide and open and unyielding, and it would stare out at the bottom of Jon’s throat if it wasn’t for the rush of wild-flowers also grown there, snow-drops and holly-berries obscuring its vision.

Jon asks him, falteringly, as though unsure of forming the question in his mouth, what Martin had. Before the sea-salt wash of Forsaken cleaned them from him.

And Martin points to where his mum, his dad, his old loves left their remembrances on him. Carefully, honestly, he tells Jon about the tooth marks clamped around limbs like he’d been bitten, because it was not always a kind love Jon made him feel. The eyes that near the end had swarmed like frog-spawn around his middle, slashed across his back like a constellation. The forbidding forest on his arm, the lantern.

Jon strokes the places where he would have seen these things.

“If they don’t come back….” Martin says, and Jon hums.

“They might not,” he says. “That’s… that’s OK.”

“But…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jon says, and he touches at the space where he would have marked Martin ever so kindly. “Something new might show up. In time.”

“Yeah?” Martin croaks, and it’s not a question of if it will or not. Jon’s looking up at him, a smile on his face, his whole body inked with how much he feels, all the words he finds so difficult to express writ large on his body. Martin’s heart feels too big for his chest. And he wonders what meaning they might make of each other together.