#he doesn’t go all into fandom so he won’t read fics but after he catches up on the covid specials i might show him the animatic

[victimized-martyr]

I recently got my brother into south park and he basically told me he ships Kyman?!? he just started tellin me on his own that “Kyle and Cartman really need each other, also the show isn’t the same without them being all weird. They should get together.” I’m such a proud big sis. He even told me Cartman Finds Love is one of his favorites of the show. I’m 😭

[pixelatedraindrops]

I decided to finish the fic I wrote months ago based on this edit

Also inspired by this ask and my headcanon/analysis on Yuma becoming tired/sick after overusing his own forte.

SPOILERS FOR RAINCODE CHAPTER 1

Click Keep Reading to Read

The Price of Having a Forte (Oneshot)

Word Count (2,900)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Fever/Illness Whump

Fandom: Master Detective Archives RAINCODE

Characters: Yuma Kokohead, Shinigami, Halara Nightmare

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a string of locked room murder mysteries around Kanai Ward lately. For 6 months they kept appearing. All these cases involved the victim being killed by countless nails while the corpse was surrounded by a crowd of porcelain dolls. The murders seem like an Urban Legend in Kanai Ward done by a figure known as The Nail Man.

On his first morning in Kanai Ward, detective trainee Yuma ends up dragged into a mess by his ghostly partner Shinigami. Literally dragging him by a chain to eventually get him involved in the most recent case, involving a child whose father was arrested by peacekeepers thinking he was the culprit.

Yuma takes it upon himself to help this child save his father by finding the true culprit. But he realizes he’s in way over his head and will need some help. So, he seeks out Halara Nightmare, a master detective who charges a little too much for their services. Sadly, this meant Yuma ended up in debt to them. With a bill of 5,500,800 shien.

Unfortunately, the duo’s interference in the case caused the Amaterasu Peacekeepers to hold their Chief hostage as punishment, and they only had three hours to solve this case, or they would arrest him.

Over time investigating the cases, Yuma can investigate the case in the past with Halara using the aid of their forensic forte, Postcognition. Able to see the past of the case when it was discovered by a third party. This proved very helpful because Yuma also had a forte of his own (though he thinks it’s Shinigami’s power) The power of Coalescence. The ability to share someone else’s forte by holding the person’s hand.

Halara sadly showed some reluctance at first due to despising all of humanity, so the thought of touching Yuma mortified them. But Yuma persisted with using Halara’s greed against them.

Thus, his bill becomes bigger.

The duo had just finished investigating their second case in a mansion. They were on their way to the third crime scene in the art gallery in Ginma district. But something was wrong. Yuma was starting to feel tired, dizzy and on the verge of collapse. He even started coughing.

It wasn’t even sudden. The more he used Coalescence with Halara during the investigations, the more he grew fatigued. At first it was just some light tiredness and a small headache, but now it was becoming unbearable.

As the two of them walked towards the center of ginma, Yuma was moving slower. Causing Halara to turn around and face him. He was hunched over, looking down to the ground panting slightly.

“Pick up the pace Yuma, I won’t allow time to be wasted.” Halara said looking a little annoyed.

Yuma didn’t look up. Great. He was already a burden to Halara.

“S-Sorry… You go on ahead…I’ll…catch up….” He said in a winded voice.

Halara doesn’t argue and goes on ahead of him.

“Master come on!! Another dead body awaits us!” Shinigami said in a nagging tone.

Yuma let out a few raspy coughs. His head was killing him. He just wanted to sit down. But he had to keep going.

“I-I know… I’m coming…” he responded under heavy breathing, coughing again.

“What the heck’s going on with you?? You’ve been looking pale since you kept holding hands with Hellara.” The spirit said. “Don’t tell me you’re sick.”

Yuma groaned holding his head. He clearly was.

“Okay, I won’t…” he said in an aggravated tone.

Yuma’s body was giving out. He coughed again before wrapping his hands around his body. He started feeling hot and cold now. The endless rain was not helping him at all, his cold rain-soaked body had begun shivering. The dizziness wasn’t stopping.

Did he have a fever too? Or did he have one this whole time and it just got worse?

Yuma tried to take another step but ended up tripping and collapsing to the floor. His face hitting the wet ground.

“Master!!” Shinigami cried. “Get a hold of yourself!!!”

Yuma’s fatigue levels were skyrocketing. He tried to get up, but his arms were like jelly and wouldn’t move. His entire body was in pain, and he couldn’t stop shaking.

“I can’t…move…. H…help…” he said quietly.

“There’s nothing I can do when you’re the only one who can see me!! Dammit!! Where’s Hellara when you need them!?” Shiniagmi said in an annoyed tone.

Meanwhile.

Halara had just arrived at the destination, but they noticed Yuma wasn’t with them by the time they arrived at the art gallery. This wasn’t their case; they were just assisting him. What took him?

Halara did realize something as they thought to themself on Yuma’s absence. Every time the trainee held their hand to use their forte, over time he felt… a bit warmer?  And come to think of it, he was coughing a little bit too. And he was too tired to keep going.

Halara’s eyes grew slightly wide as they put the pieces together.

Yuma may have been in trouble. And in that state, if peacekeepers saw him…

They immediately rushed back to where Yuma was to see if their deduction was correct.

When Halara got back, they noticed a crowd of people circling around where Yuma was.

“Is he okay?” a ginma civilian asked.

“What happened? Did he get hurt?” another said.

“Maybe someone should call a peacekeeper…” a third said.

That was enough to set Halara’s defensive mode into action. If the peacekeepers found him, it would be over.

They walked over, not even bothering to say excuse me, practically pushing people away. They found Yuma’s unconscious body on the floor. They stood in front of it in defense.

“He’s with me. You can leave now.” Halara said giving an intimidating look.

This was enough to send people away. Halara was hesitant to touch Yuma at first, but he needed to be taken somewhere safe. They reluctantly picked him up and rushed to a small dark corner close to the art gallery.

They set Yuma down against a wall.

“Yuma wake up.” Halara said shaking him a little. “Hey, pull it together…”

Yuma slowly opened his eyes.

“w-who…?” he quietly said. His vison was a little blurry.

“Calm down it’s me.” Halara said. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“H…hala…ra…” Yuma’s breathing was heavy; he could hardly speak.

“Hey now, stay with me Yuma…!” they quietly exclaimed.

Yuma’s eyes were fluttering. He looked as if he’d pass out any minute.

Then he broke out in a harsh wet coughing fit.

He was in BAD shape.

Halara paused for a moment, they really didn’t want to touch him again. But they had no choice, the trainee was clearly ill, and he needed help.

They swallowed their hatred for people and placed a hand to his forehead.

Their deduction was on point.

He was burning.

They moved their hand to his cheek and behind his neck. Then removed it.

“Yuma, you’re burning up.” Halara said.

Yuma’s coughing settled down before he had a dizzy spell and passed out falling in front of Halara and landing on their chest. Due to Halara’s shock, he almost knocks them down.

But he was too small.

Halara was still paused in shock but as they heard the trainee’s heavy panting, they knew the rain was only making his state worse. He was shivering and felt hot. He likely needed medical help.

Not good. Not now… They were on a timer! At this rate, the chief will be…

Halara tried to remain calm. This wasn’t good. They had to do something.

First, they had to get him out of the rain. They picked him up again and ran over to the café.

The staff worker was surprised to see the customers they had just hours ago in such a panicked state. Practically running at full speed into their entrance.

“What happened?” The staff member asked. “You look distressed.”

Halara sits Yuma onto a chair keeping him upright holding his shoulders before turning to the staff worker.

“Call an ambulance. He needs help.” Halara said in a minorly panicked tone.

🚑~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ambulance arrived, and the two were in a waiting room of one of the emergency clinics in Kanai Ward. Halara was seated with Yuma sitting next to them, laying on their right shoulder still panting with their eyes closed.

Eventually the nurse staff takes Yuma away to have him examined.

During his small bit of times in and out of consciousness, Yuma wasn’t sure of what was going on. He could see blurry silhouettes surrounding him, he could feel cold hands touching him, lights flashing in and out, and even the prick of a needle in his arm at one point.

Soon he was out cold once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he opened his eyes again much later, he looked around him and saw he was in an unknown room. It looked pretty fancy, and he laid tucked into a large and very comfortable bed. 

He took a moment to look around, but his head was hurting a bit too much. Although the immense dizziness and heat from before subsided and he felt a little more stable, he still felt very tired, and the fever was still very much present. But he didn’t feel as bad as when he was outside. Maybe it was because he was out of the rain, dry and in a warm bed.

“Where…am I…?” he said quietly.

“Master? You awake?” Shinigami said floating beside him.

“Shinigami…? What happened?” he asked.

The small ghostly spirit shrugged.

“I wish I could tell you, but you kept passing in and out of consciousness. And since the two of us are connected, when you pass out, so do I.” she responded. “All I know for sure is that you’re sick as hell. You may as well be a corpse right now.”

He thought to himself.

That’s right… I felt dizzy on the walk to Ginma and couldn’t move much… I guess I fainted.

“My mind feels hazy…I can’t really remember how I got here…” Yuma said holding his head.

“I think that’s normal for an amnesiac like you!” Shinigami said in a teasing tone.

“But you took my memories…” Yuma said. “Anyway, I wonder how…I even got in this state…”

Was it because of all the rain? The lack of sleep? Maybe the stress of this case?

Shinigami pondered for a bit.

“Y’know this is ONLY a guess, I think that maybe, juuust maybe, using Coalescence too much might’ve caused your body to deteriorate like this.”

“Now that you mention it…the more I held hands with Halara…the more tired I became…”

“Yeah, so maybe you can only use it a specific number of times.” Shinigami said.

“You didn’t know about this? Isn’t this your power Shinigami?” Yuma asked.

“Th-That’s not important right now! Look over there, Master.” Shinigami said pointing to a bag on the desk beside him.

Yuma turned his head and noticed there was a prescribed medical bag. It had his full name written on it and instructions and numbers per dosage taken. He reached his hand for it and grabbed it looking it over.

“I wonder if… Halara may have taken me to a clinic.” He said deducing that from observing the bag.

“Yeah, I think I remember from the black in-and-out visions, I saw a lot of white and some people in scrubs. I think you were taken back.”

“I do remember feeling something poke me… Maybe they had to give me a shot.”

“Not surprising with your weak body. I bet the lowest fever would cause you to be taken to the medical ward. Sheesh you’re so lame Master.”

“Again… This is your power…” Yuma protested.

But before they could argue further, he heard the opening of a door.

Yuma looked over and saw Halara holding a bag as they walked in.

“Yuma, you’re awake.” Halara said, putting the bag down.

“Halara…where am I?” he asked quietly, placing the prescription bag back on the nightstand table.

“You’re in my hotel room. You collapsed outside Ginma. I took you to a clinic and they told me you had a fever of almost 102 degrees. You need to rest.” they said.

“S-Sorry…that you had to go through that trouble…” Yuma responded meekly. “Thank you, for helping me Halara…”

“You owe me an extra 500,000 shien for that.” They responded, putting the bag down. “And I didn’t have a choice, we’re on a timer and I couldn’t just leave you there to die.”

Yuma remained silent. It must have been hard for Halara to do that since they didn’t like touching other people. To see them go the extra mile for him was surprising but kind of them, nonetheless.

Halara reached into the bag and grabbed 2 things.

“Now, I got you a glass of ice water from the restaurant as well as some vanilla yogurt. You’re free to eat it later. Before I leave, you should take the medication to help you sleep.”

Yuma tried to sit up, but his body was not cooperating. The shot from earlier seemed to make his body limp and the fever was still making his world spin a bit. He was only more stable due to being out of the rain outside and somewhere warm and dry. He couldn’t move if he wanted to.

“S-Sorry…I can’t…move…” Yuma responded.

“That’s to be expected. The nurse told me the injection you received would make your body feel limp for better recovery purposes.” Halara said as they walked closer to Yuma placing the water glass on the stand beside him. “Why do you think I’m still here? I will assist you.”

Halara knelt on the floor so they could be at Yuma’s level. They grabbed the medical bag on the stand and took the prescribed medicine tablets out of it. They punctured one of the blue and white pills out and set it on their palm. Then they grabbed the glass of water with their other hand, along with a small straw that was included with it. They unwrapped it placing it into the glass delicately.

“Okay, now open your mouth.” Halara said as they held the pill in between their fingers.  

Yuma opened his mouth as Halara gently set the tablet where his tongue was. Yuma closed his mouth, not swallowing the tablet, but didn’t want to look awkward with his mouth hanging open while waiting for what Halara would do next.

The taller detective took the glass of water then moved it and the straw close to Yuma’s now closed mouth.

“Here. Drink up.” Halara said.

Yuma opened his mouth again then closed it once he had the straw and bit down onto it, the tablet still on his tongue. He drank the water quietly swallowing the pill in the process.

“Huh… Guess even Hellara can be pretty nice every once in a while…” Shinigami said floating above his head looking down at the sight before her.

Yuma closed his eyes as he continued drinking. The ice cool water felt good going down his throat so even if the pill was already down, he kept drinking. It was refreshing and it was just what his feverish body needed.

Once he was done with his cold beverage, he released the straw exhaling.

“Thank you Halara…” he said with a weak smile.

Halara didn’t speak putting the glass down and stood up walking toward the door.

“I will solve this case alone. You cannot continue in your state.” They spoke.

“Wait…but you said…”

“I know what I said. But circumstances have changed. The chief is still being held hostage by those peacekeepers, and you’re too ill to continue the case. There is no time to hesitate…you will owe me greatly for this, but we do not have many options.”

Halara closed their eyes. “I may have an idea on the culprit…just leave it to me, Yuma.”

Yuma looked up at Shinigami.

“Hate to admit it but, Hellara’s right. You can hardly move in the condition you’re in and pretty sure that rain would boom-kill you before you solve the case anyway. Plus, if you pass out, so do I, and that wasn’t a lot of fun for me y’know!”

Yuma sighed as he looked back at his temporary caretaker about to leave.

“Thanks… I’ll leave it to you Halara…” he responded.

Halara nodded. “Get some rest. When you wake up again, we will be back in the agency with the chief unharmed.” They gave a wink.

“With my logic, anything is possible.”

Yuma nodded as he watched Halara leave the room making sure the door was locked so nobody would barge in to bother or even attack Yuma. They made sure the windows were locked too and the lighting in the room was dim.

They really did think of everything.

Yuma yawned as he slowly turned his head sinking it into the soft fluffy pillow. This bed was much more comfortable than the sofa he slept on back at the agency. He felt he would fall asleep any minute.

“Hey, Master? I think you should probably be careful how much you use Coalescence from now on…” Shinigami commented. “Maybe only use it just once or twice…”

Yuma nodded weakly as he sighed, slowly closing his eyes drifting off to a much-needed slumber. One that he couldn’t get back at the agency.

[mrs-luigi-vargas]

50 of My Favorite Fics from 2023

Did something like this last year on Dreamwidth and it was fun so I’m doing it this year, on Tumblr this time! These are all fics I read last year and loved a lot!

It’s 50 fics because that’s about how many recs were on my list last time by happenstance so I decided to just roll with it. Especially because I read so much fic this year, between the comment bingos and the explosion of Mario fic in the months before and after the Mario movie, for example. Thus, I probably forgot some good ones, somehow (I was mostly going off my AO3 bookmarks for the year + what I’d reblogged on Tumblr) so whoopsies if some quality fics slipped through the cracks! ^_^;

This list ended up being

50% Super Mario Bros,

18% Ace Attorney,

6% Danny Phantom x DCU,

4% Professor Layton, Pokémon, and Linked Universe each, and

14% comprised of other assorted fandoms,

which is obviously a way different distribution from last year, haha!

Regardless, if you’re going through the list and wondering about an author showing up more than once (or maybe even four times) then that’s your cue to go check out the rest of their fic catalogue because it all slaps! That's why they're on here so much! (^o^)/

So, without further ado:

Super Mario Brothers

A Dream of Sunny Skies by Skippy_Watts Rated T | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Bowser/Luigi, Luigi & Mario, Bowser & Mario, Bowser & Peach 11 chapters | 62,474 words | Complete A strange affliction is causing Luigi to sleep more and more each day. Worried about his constant collapses, Mario enlists Princess Peach’s help in looking for a cure, leaving Bowser to play nurse and watch over the dreaming brother. To Bowser, this is just an easy favour to make Mario owe him in the future. However, he soon starts to find himself getting much too invested in the wellbeing of a man who may soon never wake up again.

a gentleman by MrSpockify Rated E | F/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario/Peach One-Shot | 4,568 words | Complete Peach spent her nights longing for Mario to touch her, to grab her with a passion she knew he possessed. She had seen him scale mountains with ease, punch his way through brick walls, and beat down enemies while hardly breaking a sweat. He was strong and sharp and so, so capable of taking whatever he wanted from her. She wanted to give it to him, whatever it was that he wanted. He just… wouldn’t take it.

All the Gold in the World by peaches2217 Rated G | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Luigi/Prince Peasley One-shot | 2,647 words | Complete The quality of one’s character based on the fabric they clad themselves in. The notion made little sense to Peasley. "What constitutes a 'real man'?" ~ Or, "Peasley Doesn’t Acknowledge Gender Norms and Wants to See Luigi in a Pretty Dress."

Coming Down by MrSpockify Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario & Luigi 20 chapters | 70,245 words | Incomplete “You can tell me anything,” Mario tried again, leaning over to look at his brother, but he couldn’t quite catch his eye. “You won’t like what I have to say.” “Tell me anyway.” ~ The brothers face the realization that one of them is unable to cope in the aftermath of Bowser. They just never really thought it would be Mario.

Cooking Mama (Luigi)! by Little_RedHots_Riding_Hood Not Rated | F/M, M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Bowser/Luigi, Mario/Peach, Luigi & Bowser Jr, Luigi & Koopalings 27 chapters | 83,036 words | Complete Luigi was having a perfectly peaceful stroll through the Toad Market - the sun was shining, he'd just found a lovely handmade blanket, and was on his way to the bakery before heading back to his and Mario's home. Only... what was that sniffling noise from that dark, scary alleyway? Of all the creatures he was expecting to find, the littlest prince of the Koopa Kingdom certainly wasn't it.

Day Forty-Two by Useless19 Rated G | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Bowser/Luigi, Mario & Luigi, Bowser Jr. & Luigi One-Shot | 7,119 words | Complete Luigi returns to Bowser's castle. Somehow he's the only one who isn't surprised by this.

Father Koopa by Razzbarry Rated G | No Archive Warnings Apply Bowser & Kamek One-Shot | 1,457 words | Complete Something’s sent Bowser into a furious rage, and it’s up to Kamek to calm him down.

Growing Pains by JupiterRainstorms Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario & Luigi One-Shot | 4,946 words | Complete It’s something he shares with his brother, a connection that feels almost tangible if he thinks about it hard enough—he’s always been the green to Mario’s red. For as long as either of them can remember, it’s always been the two of them off in their own little world.

I Diagnose You with Crocodile by KnightOn Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Luigi & Mario 4 chapters | 4,833 words | Complete Alternative title: The Id and the Ego Walk into a Bar… Luigi has a chat with his other half.

Koopa Princess by Esperata Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Bowser & Wendy O. Koopa One-Shot | 687 words | Complete Boy things, Bowser understands. With girl stuff however, he struggles. He tries his best for his little princess though.

Linguistically Challenged by Krackaroo21 Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario & Peach One-Shot | 4,768 words | Complete It was nothing short of a miracle that someone came to rescue Princess Peach. But she would never expect a language barrier to make her getaway so frustrating.

Looking the Other Way by Istadris Rated T | Gen | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Bowser’s Army, Bowser, Mario One-Shot | 1,500 words | Complete All around them were the loyal, the fanatics, the enthusiasts, the fatalists; the ones who followed King Bowser out of worship and the ones who wouldn't care if someone challenged the status quo. Ears which could listen and report any signs of dissension. Their companions, their friends, their family, all would turn on them if they voiced their doubts. King Bowser was the strongest. Therefore King Bowser was right. That was all there was to know. The best thing to do was to look the other way.

Nobody’s ever heard of a girl Toad by wordbending Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Toad, Peach, Mario One-Shot | 2,092 words | Complete Nobody’s ever heard of a girl Toad, least of all Toads themselves. If you asked a Toad what pronouns he used (it was always “he”), he’d just stare at you quizzically for a moment before answering “I just check the dictionary!” Still, as one Toad stares into the mirror, looking back at a Toad indistinguishable from the thousands that look exactly like him, he wonders if it was always like that.

Pay No Mind to the Man in the Mirror by h0moquixotic (h0moneurotic) Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Kamek One-Shot | 511 words | Complete Kamek cherishes his opportunity to look like the Princess. Until he doesn't.

Plateau by peaches2217 Rated E | F/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario/Peach One-Shot | 3,803 words | Complete “A spell that does what?” “‘Prevents contractions of the bulbospongiosus muscle and withholds resultant bodily and neurochemical emissions,’” Peach repeats directly from the page before her. That’s an unnecessarily complicated way of saying ‘This spell makes it physically impossible to orgasm.’

Super Bowuigi Odyssey by ProtoChan Rated G | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Bowser/Luigi, Mario/Peach 102 chapters | 166,306 words | Incomplete When Luigi and Bowser find themselves stranded together in the Lost Kingdom after a turbulent windstorm sends them flying off Bowser’s airship, a busted up Odyssey becomes their unlikeliest of saviors. Now reluctant traveling companions, doomed to remain marooned without the other’s help, the two gather power moons and embark on a globe-trotting adventure home. However, as they fly and hunt for moons together, encountering and overcoming any and all conflicts in their way, their reservations about each other wither away while a fondness forged through their travels grows into something neither of them ever thought was possible.

tethered by MrSpockify Rated M | F/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario/Peach One-Shot | 2,214 words | Complete Mario woke with a knot in his throat and a soft cry on his lips. His eyes shot open, and as he lay struggling for breath and clutching his own chest, his eyes darted around rapidly, trying unsuccessfully to see through the darkness that surrounded him. The only thought on his mind was Peach. Peach, who he had just seen die before his very eyes, burned alive by his greatest enemy. ~ When Mario wakes from a terrifying nightmare, Peach takes care of him and sooths his worries.

Little Events by Vegebulluv Rated G | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Toadsworth & Peach 2 chapters | 5,115 words | Incomplete Expansions on little moments of Peach's life following my other fics.

The Mushroom Kingdom’s Unconventional Line of Defence by Amethyst_Goldwind Rated T | Gen | Graphic Depictions of Violence Mallow & Bowser One-Shot | 3,665 words | Complete That Toad remembers his bazooka at a time nobody needed him to.

The Quiet of Night by Istadris Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario & Luigi One-Shot | 954 words | Complete It was true, Mario preferred to travel alone. But never for the reasons everyone expected when they looked at the brothers.

This Blazing World by SelanPike Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Kamek, Geno, Fawful, Ludwig von Koopa, Wendy Koopa 8 chapters | 14,462 words | Complete Even the Star Sprites had questions about the Dark Star. Surely they knew more about what the Dark Star was, but maybe they were in the dark as to what exactly happened to it, and what it left behind. If that was the case, then Kamek was at an advantage. He had something they’d want to see.

Three Times Toad Broke In And One Time He Didn't Have To by BlueJay2 Rated G | Gen | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Mario & Luigi & Toad One-Shot | 8,810 words | Complete After the bros move into the Mushroom Kingdom, their new friend Toad is excited to show them things in his world. Unfortunately, he gets a little too excited and also knows how to pick locks. There are shenanigans.

Traduzione, Per Favore? by peaches2217 Rated G | F/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario/Peach One-Shot | 1,682 words | Complete "I’m named after a fruit. Surely you have a word for ‘peach’." ~ OR: Peach asks a silly question and Mario falls a little harder.

Untitled Dimigi Smut by lizadale Rated E | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Dimentio/Luigi One-Shot | 3,905 words | Complete You’re not trying to be rude to him. It’s unintentional, this time, but at this rate you may be lucky if he ever lets you leave the house again.

Whatever the universe is made of. by TheMusicalCC Rated G | F/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Luigi/Rosalina One-Shot | 4,908 words | Complete "They do say butterflies can’t see their own wings.” She muttered. (Super Mario Galaxy but Luigi and Rosalina get to interact.)

Ace Attorney

An Insecure Turnabout by Red_Acted (96percentdone) Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Miles Edgeworth & Larry Butz One-Shot | 2,178 words | Complete Crying at the drop of a hat is a quirk of Larry's that you get used to after spending a few minutes around him. Miles has spent several years, and yet despite all those years, all those horribly loud bars and messy break ups, he's never seen anything like this. Larry is crying, and it appears it's Miles' fault. In which Miles Edgeworth has had enough of being dragged to clubs, but his annoyance is the least pressing issue.

atroquinine girl and the fox with the hole in his heart by kbots Rated G | F/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Vera Misham/Wocky Kitaki One-Shot | 7,724 words | Complete After a beat, the boy shrugs. “S’cool. You don’t gotta talk if you don’t want. Ma always says I can do enough talkin’ for two.” He pulls a box out of the pocket of his hospital gown - the box of pocky - and offers it out to Vera. “Name’s Wocky. Want a pocky?” ~ where Vera Misham meets the strangest boy of her life while recovering in the hospital and somehow, against the odds, makes her very first friend

Cold Case by RockettoMusashi Rated T | F/F | No Archive Warnings Apply Maya Fey/Franziska von Karma, Maya Fey & Phoenix Wright, Maya Fey & Miles Edgeworth One-Shot | 9,489 words | Complete Deep into a strangely cold LA winter, unseen from prying eyes... the most despicable, most uncouth, most heinous crime has been committed. Of all the hardship the young Maya Fey has seen since leaving her quaint little commune in the mountains, truly no horror has trifled her on such a level as this. Someone... has gotten her sick. Ever the determined truth-seeker, and with years of (totally legit) legal experience under her obi, Maya is going to find out who.

come dine with me by pheenick Rated T | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Dick Gumshoe/Phoenix Wright, Phoenix Wright & Maya Fey One-Shot | 5,715 words | Complete “It’ll be a long drive,” says Phoenix, cautiously toeing the waters. He spares a glance at Gumshoe and ends up staring openly. Gumshoe smiles. That’s all he does, but Phoenix swears he sees the afternoon sun rising above the clouds. ~ Or, how Gumshoe gets the guy.

Leopard Lily by frogs_in3_hills Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Viola Cadaverini & Maggey Byrde One-Shot | 3,564 words | Complete Wright frowned, straightened, and looked her in the eyes. “It’s not like that. I won’t pretend to know what it’s like having brain surgery, but… in therapy, you’re the one in control, not the doctors. You don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to, they’re just there to help you out. This woman specializes in trauma and abuse recovery, so just… please consider it, Miss Cadaverini. You’ve been through a lot, and I think it could really help.” Well, that did sound a little better than being put under anesthetic so that a stranger could lobotomize you. ~ In which Viola enacts her vengeance through community gardening.

my crown i am by zombiekittez Rated M | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Rayfa Padma Khura'in, Pearl Fey, Nahyuta Sahdmadhi, Apollo Justice 3 chapters | 6,367 words | Complete Pearl Fey cleans the temple like the lowest devotee. She helps translate foreign records into Khurainese, for she is nearly fluent. She stands beside children and frightened women in the docket, helping Apollo and his newly trained lawyers coax testimony from the anxious and weak. They call her the Golden Pearl for the way her light hair catches in the hot Khurainese sun and Rayfa hates her more each passing day. ~ Or, Pearl Fey comes to Khura’in.

the only love i ever found by jambi_cafe Rated G | M/M, Other | No Archive Warnings Apply Miles Edgeworth/Phoenix Wright, Miles Edgeworth & Phoenix Wright One-Shot | 1,571 words | Complete "Have I not made myself clear? I do not spend my time idly. If I am with you, it is because I want to be." Edgeworth speaks with the thoughtfulness and commitment that he brings to everything he does, declaring the above statements as if they are courtroom evidence. Incontrovertible. Phoenix's heart does an odd sort of thing, filling his whole body with warmth. ~ a queer-platonic love story for phoenix and miles. set sometime after aa2.

The State of Spicy Noodles in Southern California by RokettoMusashi Rated T | F/F, Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Maya Fey/Franziska von Karma, Franziska von Karma & Miles Edgeworth One-Shot | 6,317 words | Complete “Maya Fey,” she says, “I regret to be the bearer of bad news, but it seems as though my living space is woefully unprepared to properly nurse you back to health.” “Are you drafting me a fucking work email right now?”

Turnabout Substitution by pictureswithboxes Rated T | F/F | No Archive Warnings Apply Maya Fey/Franziska von Karma, Pearl Fey & Franziska von Karma, Pearl Fey & Maya Fey, Franziska von Karma & Miles Edgeworth, background Phoenix/Miles 8 chapters | 54,776 words | Complete '“I must have misheard you,” Franziska said, almost surprised by how flat and cool her voice sounded as she spoke. How easy the words escaped her mouth, forming into the voice of someone cold and clinical, without a hint of the anger she felt in her words. “Because I could have sworn you’d just asked me to act as a defense attorney.”' ~ When one Maya Fey is in need of legal help, once again, and neither Phoenix Wright nor Miles Edgeworth are available, there is only one person they trust enough to take on the case. And that person is Franziska von Karma, the prodigy prosecutor.

Danny Phantom x DCU

The Health and Wellbeing of Hybrid Entities by Faeriekit Rated T | Gen | Graphic Depictions of Violence Danny Fenton & Justice League 17 chapters | 25,604 words | Incomplete Adrift in an unknown space, his transportation lost, his body a wreck, and only half-conscious, Danny has to find himself somewhere safe to recover. Now, if only he can convince the locals to leave him alone while he does...

those who serve. by aryelee Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Danny Fenton & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Danny Fenton, Danny Fenton & Bruce Wayne, Danny Fenton & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Danny Fenton 6 chapters | 49,024 words | Incomplete Running away from Amity Park—from his entire dimension—Danny takes refuge in the streets of Gotham. It's hard, suddenly being a homeless teenager in such a crime-ridden city, but it's better than dying a second time. Enter Alfred Pennyworth, a kind old man who works as a butler and, for some reason, has decided to befriend Danny. His future is still up in the air, but he's hopeful that things will work out. After all, Alfred isn't getting any younger and someone needs to help him with his butler duties. Danny's just the right person for the job. Or: Alfred Pennyworth sees a homeless teen who looks like he'd fit right into the Wayne family and decides to take matters into his own hands. It's not like he's just going to leave this very sad, possibly meta teenager alone when there's more than enough space in the Manor to house one more child in need.

Throwdown Therapy by gamma_radio Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Danny Fenton & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne 12 chapters | 30,715 words | Complete Danny hears about a suspicious character lurking around Gotham and decides to befriend him. Jason has no thoughts on the matter — mostly, he has a lot of empty-head green-tinged rage on the matter. This is less of a roadblock than one might expect. Danny thinks he might even be able to help the guy, if he can form enough of a relationship to bring up sensitive topics like "you have the ghostly equivalent of lead poisoning or maybe rabies, we aren't quite sure".

Professor Layton

Breaking News: 12-Year-Old Kidnaps Himself in an Effort to Make Local Professor Attend High School Reunion by DawnCloud Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Hershel Layton & Randall Ascot & Henry Ledore & Angela Ledore, Hershel Layton & Clark Triton, Emmy Altava & Luke Triton, Hershel Layton & Luke Triton One-Shot | 19,081 words | Complete Hershel Layton, feeling rather out of place, made his excuses and left Monte d'Or as quickly as possible, with little to no intention of returning. Unfortunately for him, his apprentice had other plans.

In your rearview mirror by MagicWhiskers_29 Rated G | Gen | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Aurora & Flora Reinhold, Hershel Layton & Flora Reinhold, Flora Reinhold & Luke Triton, Emmy Altava & Flora Reinhold, Flora Reinhold & Claire, Don Paolo & Flora Reinhold "And... Not at all robots die when they're supposed to, right?" softly, she responded. ~ Having the spirit of a deceased Azran golem show up in her tower was one way to make it less lonely for Flora...

Pokémon

Goodknight, Sweet Prince by EmeraldSands Rated T | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Tracey Sketchit/Gary Oak One-Shot | 3,149 words | Complete Gary, a loyal knight, is injured while protecting his prince from a pair of dangerous bug-types. Tracey does his best to help his knight--it's the least he can do.

Stun Spore Detour: The Threequel by EmeraldSands Rated G | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Tracey Sketchit/Gary Oak One-Shot | 2,200 words | Complete On a trip to Kalos, Tracey gets hit with a stun spore... again. It's up to Gary to find a cure.

Linked Universe

The Wondrous Sword of Legend by ImperialKatwala & PolynomialPandemic Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Hyrule & Legend, Four & Hyrule & Legend & Sky & Time & Twilight & Warriors & Wild & Wind 21 chapters | 59,581 words | Complete “Well,” the boy said to it as the sun dipped closer to the trees, “your hero didn't show up yet, but I bet they're coming! I bet they're real nice, too. You’re probably going to save the world together.” He was borrowing it. He was borrowing the Sword of Legend, and… what, checking in to see if it was needed? Waiting for a hero to come for it? It wasn’t sure what to think. It wasn’t supposed to think about its wielders. But it found itself looking forward to the stories, keeping an eye out while the boy slept, memorizing as much of the information he gave it as it could. Its job was to protect the innocent, after all. Or: Hyrule finds a sword. The sword has opinions about this.

Warriors says by Zarvasace Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Hyrule & Warriors One-Shot | 1,635 words | Complete Hyrule covered his face, feeling it burn in shame. "It's fine, they're just old. It'll be a while until they're entirely unusable." He heard Warriors exhale, then stand up again. Warriors took Hyrule's hands and held them up to try and sign into them again. Hyrule did his best to focus.

Other Assorted Fandoms

An Arm and a Leg by AzuraJae Hi-Fi RUSH Rated G | F/F, Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Chai & Peppermint, Chai & Korsica, Chai & Macaron, Chai & CNMN, Chai & 808, Peppermint/Korsica One-Shot | 6,004 words | Complete "That hurt. Like really hurt." Chai was looking down at his leg in disbelief. "Are you okay?" Peppermint asked again, now seriously worried once more. “Ow, ow… It’s fine, I’ll just walk it off,” Chai managed to say, voice strained with pain. A moment later, there was another crash as Chai fell right back into the pile of debris. “Okay, you know what, nevermind… I think I’m just gonna… lie down.” Peppermint narrowed her eyes, sending off a command to 808 to give her a reading on Chai’s vitals and see what’s wrong. His heart seemed fine, though his stress levels seemed quite high. It wasn’t until Peppermint saw the scans for his leg did she finally understand what was wrong. “Your leg’s… broken, Chai,” she said, unable to believe what she was saying.

Art Exercise by cucumbet Rhythm Doctor Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Maximo "Lucky" Jonronero & Lucia Moon One-Shot | 3,327 words | Complete A few nights into his stay, Lucky is having a particularly rough time. He can't get himself out of his own shoulder, but you can always trust Lucia to do it for you. Just, maybe in the most Lucia-way possible.

I Can't Accept All This by MeaslyFurball Sonic the Hedgehog Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply E-123 Omega & Sonic the Hedgehog One-Shot | 4.869 words | Complete It was all fun and games until the roof collapsed. Sonic finds himself buried alive with the one Badnik who doesn’t want him dead. . . . . . maybe.

Peering into Shadows by Menolly5600 Kingdom Hearts Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Donald Duck & Goofy & Sora One-Shot | 6,825 words | Complete Sora, Donald and Goofy learn why its maybe not a good idea to play with Drive Forms too often.

Perfectly Reliable by chantolove Fallen London, Mask of the Rose Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Mr. Pages & Griz Smith & Player One-Shot | 6,292 words | Complete The first thing a new citizen of the Neath gets accustomed to is the daily occurrences of impossible phenomena. The second thing they get accustomed to is said impossible phenomena mixing with ordinary, daily occurrences and inconveniences. Relatedly, you are beginning to suspect that something might be up with your boss.

Things We Don’t Say Aloud by TheGoliathBeetle Hetalia Rated G | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply China/India One-Shot | 1,830 words | Complete “Don’t.” Kabir fights down something panicky in his heart and reaches out, a hand on Yao’s thigh. “Don’t say such things. Don’t invite such rotten luck. What will I do without you on my doorstep?” “My country will live on without me. There’ll be a new personification.” OR, They are old countries. Sometimes they get tired.

Trial and Error by ApatheticRobots Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Casey Jones & Leonardo, Donatello & Casey Jones & Leonardo & Michelangelo & April O'Neil & Raphael, Donatello & Leonardo & Michelangelo & Raphael, Leonardo & Splinter, Leonardo & Leonardo 21 chapters | 104,123 words | Complete The world ends. The Krang win. Leo failed. It was supposed to be on Casey's shoulders (and his shoulders alone) to go back and make sure the invasion never happened in the first place, but apparently his student had a little more inherited stubbornness than he'd thought. (Leo ends up in the past. This changes some things.)

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Thirty-Nine.

Rating: G Media: Bleach, Ikemen Prince: Beauty and the Beast's Last Love Relationship(s): Ukitake Jushiro x Original Female Character, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Original Female Character Characters: Ukitake Jushiro, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, (Valerie) Original Self-Insert Female Character, Yves Kloss Additional Tags: Birthday Fic, Birthday Fluff, Yves is mentioned but does not make an appearance, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Domestic Fluff, Comfort, Age Anxiety, this is for me but y'all can read it too

A/N: Birthdays are always rough for me. This one is especially hard, and I thought it might be nice to call upon some of my comfort characters to help me cope with it.

Part 5 of The House That Valerie Built

Part 1: There's No Sun in Here Part 2: Watch Your Step Part 3: The Magic Kiss Part 4: Happy Birthday, Yves Kloss!

Summary:

The woman who greets her when she looks into the mirror looks tired. And no wonder - her sleep last night was fitful, interspersed with tears and thoughts both anxious and sad. "It's just a number," she mutters angrily, running warm water and filling her spray bottle with it. "Why are you so upset about a stupid number?"

Read on AO3

“Well?” Her face is buried in her pillow, and it makes her voice come out muffled. “Aren’t you going to tell me that I’m being a little bit ridiculous?”

Jushiro’s voice is always gentle when he speaks to her, and this is no exception. She can’t see him, but she feels the pressure on one side of the bed as he sits next to her. “Why would I tell you that?” 

“Because,” she starts, raising her head from the pillow slightly to look at him. “Thirty-nine is just a drop in a bucket. Compared to you, compared to Leonardo, even compared to Grimm.” 

She waits for him to agree with her. Instead, his brow furrows as he considers her words. 

“I think,” he says finally, “that your experience is your own, and you shouldn’t feel compelled to compare it with anyone else’s.” He pauses, flashing her a smile so wide his green eyes momentarily disappear. “If thirty-nine upsets you, then those are your feelings, and no one can - or should try to - take them away from you.”

Valerie sits up fully and squints at him. “Do you really mean that?” 

He doesn’t take offense at her question. “With all my heart,” he replies with another smile. He reaches out, using his fingertips to gently fluff the flattened right side of her hair. “You slept without your bonnet last night,” he observes. 

Suddenly self-conscious, she puts her hands up to her hair, trying to even it out with her own fingertips and fearing she’s only making it worse. “I didn’t mean to… I guess I was just so tired that I forgot to put it on.” 

Jushiro laughs. “All it needs is a little water and some moisturizer, and it’ll be good as new again.” He stands up, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead. “You should come out to the living room and join us when you’re ready,” he says. “You can probably smell it from here - some of the boys took it upon themselves to make your favorites. He’d probably flay me if he knew I told you this, but Yves is particularly anxious about the cake. He won’t let anyone have any until you’ve had the first slice.” With one more sweet smile, he exits the room, leaving Valerie alone with her thoughts. 

--

She doesn’t sit long after he’s gone; in the brief time that the bedroom door was open, she could hear excited chatter and catch the scent of delicious food. Her stomach reminds her that she hasn’t eaten anything since the previous night, and it moves her to get up.

The woman who greets her when she looks into the mirror looks tired. And no wonder - her sleep last night was fitful, interspersed with tears and thoughts both anxious and sad. “It’s just a number,” she mutters angrily, running warm water and filling her spray bottle with it. “Why are you so upset about a stupid number?” 

She’s still styling her curls when she hears the bedroom door open. A few seconds later, the scent of bergamot hits her and her reflection’s eyes meet a pair of blue ones. “I’m sorry it’s taking me so long,” she murmurs around the bobby pin she’s holding between her teeth. “I’ll be done in a minute.” 

“Ain’t rushin’ you,” Grimmjow says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe. 

Valerie pauses a beat. Then, “You talked to Jushiro,” she surmises. 

He nods, saying nothing. 

“He didn’t tell me I’m being ridiculous, but I bet you will,” she laughs, a little self-deprecatingly. “And I would deserve it. I know I’m being silly.” 

In the mirror, she can see him incline his head to the side, his brow furrowed. “You wanna talk about it? Tell me all about why you think it’s silly?” 

She secures the pin in her hair, effectively putting the finishing touches on it, before turning to face him. “Like I told Jushiro,” she starts quietly, “it’s a drop in a bucket to people like you, him, and Leonardo.” 

“And what about to people like you?” He asks. “Is it a drop in a bucket to people like you?” 

Chewing her lower lip thoughtfully, she considers his question a moment. “No,” she says. “To us, it’s nearly half our lives - if we’re lucky.” 

“Well there you go,” Grimmjow laughs. “You keep measurin’ your feelings by a yardstick that doesn’t apply to you, of course you’re gonna be upset.” He moves closer to her, leaning down so he can look her in the eye. “About those thirty-nine years you got under your belt,” he goes on. “Tell me how you feel about ‘em.” 

“Overall?”

He nods. 

“That’s kind of a loaded question,” she laughs. “But I guess if I had to answer it simply, I’d say that I’m alright with them.” 

“Tell me why.”

Valerie thinks about it for a minute. “I’ve made lots of mistakes in my lifetime. But I’ve tried to own up to those mistakes honestly and use what I learned from them to make me a better person. I try to do the right thing when I can, and try to do good things often. I love the people in my life and try to make sure I show it and not just assume that they know how I feel. I work hard, I live honestly, and I do what I can to seek happiness for myself and others.” She stops talking, seemingly surprised. “Hm.”

Grimmjow is smiling at her now, a little smugly. “‘Hm’, what?”

“You tricked me,” she pouts. 

“Did I?” He chuckles. “How’s that?” 

“You know how,” she mumbles. She looks away from him briefly, but when she looks back, she’s smiling too. “Thank you.” Her words are soft and quiet, her voice trembling a little as though she’s trying to hold back tears. “I know I’ve been in an awful mood this week.” 

He shrugs. “Ain’t you allowed, every once in a while?” Without giving her a chance to answer, he tucks an errant curl back into the fold with its brethren. “You wanna go for a drive a little later, when all the festivities are said and done? Just you and me?” 

“I’d like that,” she answers honestly. “It’s been a while.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. He turns to leave the room, presumably to let her finish getting ready. Just before he opens the door, he looks back, offering her a smile. “Happy Birthday, baby.” 

~Fin~

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Sicktember #9

Prompt: White Coat Syndrome

Fandom/OCs: Jurassic World (Claire and Owen)

Words: 1700

Inspiration: None

Author’s comments/background: Set before the events of the first Jurassic World movie, a few days after the last fic I wrote for this fandom (read it here if you want). I know this isn’t a super popular fandom, but as I said before, it’s one I know well and can write easily. And guys like Owen are the perfect whumpees in my opinion. 

~~~***~~~

Claire wasn't sure what led her to go check on Owen that evening, except that she had a hunch he might need some help. The Monday after their strange “date”, he didn’t show up for work, and after some digging, she learned he had called in sick. A man like Owen Grady, born and raised in the military, doesn’t call into work for a cold, or for anything short of being near death. He hadn’t been well on Saturday, but it hadn’t seemed like anything alarming. Had he worsened over the rest of the weekend?

Going completely against her character, she actually left work early that day. “I won’t even leave in time to make sure I get dinner at a decent hour, but I’m leaving early to check on some random guy. What does that say about me?” she muttered to herself as she drove over to his bungalow. 

It looked much the same as it had two days prior, though today it had an almost deserted feel. With some trepidation, Claire mounted the steps and knocked. It took several tries before he answered, and when he did she regretted not texting ahead like she’d considered. He was an awful mess, looking sicker than anyone she’d ever seen. He was sweaty and disheveled, and he sagged against the doorframe as if his legs couldn’t hold him, yawning and shirtless and dressed in athletic shorts. Behind him his house was dark with all the blinds drawn, so she couldn’t see what lay beyond. 

“Claire?” he croaked, squinting into the afternoon sunlight, though he stayed as far back from the light as he could. “Whadt are you doi’g here?”

“I heard you were still sick, so I came to check on you. I’m glad I did, because, wow, are you looking horrible. Are you… okay?” 

“I mbean… I’ve been bedder. I wouldn’t have called in if I wasn’t sigck as hell.” He coughed wetly, proving his point. “Did you cumb jusdt to see for yourself, vouch to the bosses thadt I’mb ndot playi’g hooky? 

“I came because I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself. Can I… come in for a minute?”

Owen ran a hand through his tangled hair. “I mbean… thadt’s really ndot ndecessary. I’mb fide. But I guess suidt yourself.” He stood aside to let her brush past. 

“I can see from here that you’re most certainly not fine. You said it yourself, you wouldn’t have called in if you were fine. Here, sit. Or lie down if you want. I’m sorry I got you out of bed. Can I get you anything?”

“Ndo. I told you, I’mb fide. I’mb… I’mb handli’g idt.” He gingerly lowered himself to the couch and lay back as he spoke, pressing a hand to his forehead as if in pain. 

“Nothing? Not even a glass of water? I can run to the store too. Whatever you need.”

“I guess sumb water. Budt you really don’t have to stay. I don’t wandt you to catch this.”

She ignored him and fetched him a tall glass of ice water. He sat up awkwardly, drinking down the liquid as if he hadn’t drunk anything all day. The way the fever sweat was pouring off him, she guessed he probably felt like he hadn’t. She’d brought a clean, dry cloth back with her from the kitchen and sponged off the sweat from his face and neck as he drank, then pressed her palm to his forehead. He was roaring with heat, much warmer than he’d been only a few nights before. He groaned softly as he leaned into her touch. 

“Damn, I should’ve brought a thermometer,” she sighed. “What hurts? You have to have some sort of infection with a fever like that.”

He shrugged, stifling a cough. “Mbainly jusdt mby head. I’ve had the worst splitti’g headache since yesterday. Mby ndose, I guess. Jusdt totally plugged up.” 

“Is there green mucus when you sneeze?”

“Umb… yeah,” he mumbled, embarrassed. 

“And your headache is here?” she gently touched right between his eyes. He nodded miserably, pressing the ice-filled glass to the spot as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Sinus infection,” she said, nodding sagely. “That means antibiotics. C’mon, I’ll drive you to the doctor. I don’t trust you behind the wheel, since I’m sure your head hurts too badly to see straight.”

Owen made a face. “I’ll jusdt ledt idt run idt’s course. I’mb ndot goi’g to the doctor jusdt for a cold.”

“Sinus infection,” Claire corrected. “And yes you are. It’ll take weeks to clear up on its own, if it ever does, and you’ll get worse before you get better. Trust me, the doctor is what you want.”

“Ndo, I really don’t. I’mb fide withoudt,” he insisted, and this time Claire thought she saw a flash of fear in his eyes. 

Claire raised her eyebrows. “Owen Grady, are you afraid of going to the doctor? You are, aren’t you!” she answered herself when he shook his head mutely, his eyes wide. “You’re not afraid of raptors, but you’re afraid of people in white coats?”

He sighed, then coughed wetly, glancing away. “Adt least the raptors would kill mbe fasdt. Doctors poke and prod you until you die a slow, paindful death instead. I had enough of thadt in the service.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she said. “It’ll be a short visit. Just in and out to get a prescription. And I’ll be with you every step of the way. Consider it a second date. We can even get food after, if it’ll make you feel better.”

She had definitely piqued his interest upon mentioning a date, but she saw him continuing to war internally. “You’re sure I ndeed mbedicine?”

“Pretty certain, yeah. And you can’t tell me you aren’t wanting something to help you feel better faster.”

He shrugged as he looked up at her again, and all she saw was nervousness, which when paired with his visible illness made him seem incredibly boyish. “If I go, you’ll stay with mbe?”

“The whole time. If that’s what you want.”

He thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Thed I guess I’ll do idt. Since I can tell you’re ndot goi’g to ledt idt go.”

“Nope, I'm not. So I’m glad you’re being reasonable. Do you need help getting ready?”

She saw a flash of the old, roguish Owen then. “Are you offeri’g?” he asked with a smirk.

“You know what, forget I said anything. You go ahead, and take as long as you need. But try to not collapse while you’re naked, please. Neither of us wants that.”

“Yes mba’am,” came the slightly deflated response.

~~~

The urgent care visit and subsequent pharmacy run were unremarkable. Owen was a ball of anxiety the whole time, fidgeting and agitated. He was brusque and borderline rude to the nurses, even though most of them were very pretty, and Claire watched this transpire with curiosity. The telling moment came when they were taking his blood pressure and pulse, though. 

“Those are both pretty high,” came the verdict from the nurse. She looked at him seriously. “And you're not on any blood pressure meds. Other than your respiratory symptoms, are you feeling okay?”

“I’mb fide, like I keep telli’g everyone. I jusdt don’t wandt to be here,” he spat. 

A look of understanding crossed her face. “Oh, so a case of whitecoat syndrome, then. Got it.” She made a note in his chart, and nothing more was said about it, though Claire gave him a playful nudge when they were alone to try to lighten the mood. He mostly ignored her and stared at his feet, shivering in long sleeves and sweatpants and looking utterly pathetic. 

She could tell he was more than relieved when they pulled into his driveway after all was said and done, and beyond exhausted as well. It seemed like he barely made it to the couch before collapsing, burying his face into a throw pillow. 

Claire bustled around, setting things down and fetching him water and medicine as she listened to him sniffle and cough endlessly. Finally she perched on the edge of the couch and rubbed his back to get his attention. He turned to meet her eyes, his own heavy-lidded and fever-bright. 

“Just take this medicine and drink a glass of water, and then I’ll let you sleep,” she promised. 

He took the items and did as he was instructed before settling down again. Claire continued to stroke his back for a bit, and his eyes slipped closed under her touch. After a few moments she stood and stretched. 

“Are you leavi’g?” he croaked, opening his eyes as soon as her hand was gone.

“I guess so. You should get some sleep, and so should I. It’s getting late.”

His face fell. “Oh. Okay.”

“What? There’s nothing else I can do for you right now. We got everything you need at the pharmacy. There’s no reason for me to stay.”

“Can you… adt leasdt stay until I fall asleebp?” he asked, boyish and shy again. He wondered if he was doing that intentionally, because it was very effective. 

“And why would I do that?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe, echoing their exchange from a few nights prior with a smirk.

He clearly remembered, and smiled back. “Idt’s jusdt… you prombised you’d be with mbe every stebp of the way. The ndight’s ndot over yedt.”

Claire shook her head, still smiling. “So I did. Okay. Until you fall asleep, then.”

“Will you rub mby bagck again? Thadt feldt so good,” came the final congested request. 

“Give an inch and he asks for a mile," she laughed. "Fine, scoot over a bit, then.”

Owen eagerly complied, closing his eyes again as soon as Claire resumed scratching and rubbing his back. 

“Do you thingk you’ll cumb bagck tomorrow?” he asked sleepily after a few moments. 

“Maybe. We’ll see. If you play your cards right.”

“Thed I hope I gedt the besdt damn hand ever.”

Claire smiled to herself, and so did Owen. In fact, he fell asleep with a smile on his face. She kept rubbing his back, though, and didn’t move for a long time. 

[xanthippe74]

Three fics tag game

I was tagged by the incomparable @lqtraintracks to share my most popular fic plus two hidden gems. Check out her three fics here!

Most popular fic: Vortex (Drarry, rated T, 20K, soulmate AU)

This fic is almost three years old now, and I’m thrilled that people are still reading and commenting on it. I’m not sure what magic fandom nerve it touched, but y’all seem to like angsty soulmate fics with a side of social justice, so thank you! There’s also a sequel, Riptide, that picks up right where Vortex leaves off.

Summary: The idea of perfectly-matched soulmates feels more like a curse than a blessing to Draco. Who would want a soulmate who was a schoolyard bully, a Death Eater, and a convicted felon? Certainly not Harry Potter. And Draco is determined to take this secret to the grave.

Excerpt:

When his lungs are burning from the cold, Draco sits on a bench to catch his breath. This encounter with Potter is different than their previous ones over the past few years. There was no reason for Draco to go to the Islington Waterstones tonight instead of the larger store on Tottenham Court Road. There was no reason for Potter to go there at all. And yet they were both drawn there, like two ships pulled into a maelstrom.

Draco shivers, despite feeling hot beneath his wool coat. He feels out of control, and it’s not dissimilar to the way he felt after his father’s first arrest and Voldemort’s occupation of the Manor. He feels the same urge to hide, the same sense of imminent catastrophe. Draco stands and begins to walk, more slowly now, toward Knockturn Alley.

If he and Potter are both caught up in the same whirlpool, it’s only a matter of time until they collide. And Draco has no doubt that he’s the one who will sink to the bottom.

Hidden Gems:

I don’t know if I’d call either of these “hidden,” since they were both written for Wireless Fest in 2020 and 2022, respectively. I chose these two fics because poured my whole heart into them and I’d be delighted if anyone decides to check them out!

1) Follow the Water (Drarry, rated T, 38K, summertime romance and friendship)

Summary: Harry Potter’s life is fine. Maybe a little dull and predictable, but he shouldn’t complain about that, right? When he unexpectedly finds himself at Luna’s house one afternoon, Harry gets invited to join the secret wonderland that she’s creating with a surprising group of friends. Maybe a summer outdoors is just what a former hero needs to bring some zest back into his life.

Excerpt:

The broth looks rich and tomato-based, but the first sip from his spoon has Harry reaching hastily for his water glass. He has no idea what the flavour is—sour and spicy at the same time, with a surprising aftertaste that could possibly be cinnamon. He continues eating with determination, finding that he can manage it if he gets a higher ratio of vegetables to broth.

“The soup is delicious, Luna,” Parkinson says. She meets Harry’s eyes after she speaks.

“Yes, it is,” he chimes in. “Very… flavourful.”

Parkinson makes what Harry thinks is a hum of approval. He looks across the table to see Goyle and Malfoy soldiering through their bowls with a focus worthy of NEWT-level Potions. Malfoy dabs his eyes with his napkin between bites, while Goyle’s cheeks are even redder than when he was working outside. Harry feels a strange solidarity with them as fellow devotees of Luna. It’s yet another testament to her gentle, wise spirit that she can bring together such an unlikely group of people.

2) I Won’t Let You Fall Apart (Drarry, rated M, 49K, angst, permanent loss of magic, and politics)

Summary: Harry has spent the year after the war staying out of the public eye, dodging political battles, and standing firm against pressure from his friends. But he has a secret plan to get away from it all. He just needs to testify at one more Death Eater trial: Draco Malfoy’s. Little does Harry know what his act of compassion will cost him—and Malfoy.

Excerpt:

Malfoy doesn’t say anything when Harry sets a mug on the dining table, but he picks up the paper tag at the end of the tea bag string with unmistakable disapproval. Next he wrinkles up his nose when he bites into the toast. It’s not Harry’s fault that toast gets cold in about thirty seconds without a Warming Charm. It won’t kill you, he wants to snap, but then Malfoy methodically works his way through both slices, eyes fixed on his plate. His tea sits untouched.

Instead of scolding him, Harry says, “Look, I know everything’s different, but you’re going to have to get used to it. If you don’t want the tea, at least drink some water so you don’t get dehydrated.”

“What’s the point?” Malfoy asks, leaning back and closing his eyes. “What’s the fucking point?”

“The point is to not die, idiot.”

“It doesn’t matter, now the Ministry has broken me.”

Harry’s not sure how to argue with that, not when he can still feel the raw place inside him where his magic used to be. Well, even if the Ministry has fucked them up (and fucked them over), Harry won’t let Malfoy give up so easily—or waste away in Harry’s flat. Wallowing in self-pity won’t help either of them.

*

Tagging the wonderful @ladderofyears. @nv-md, and @april-thelightfury115 if they want to join the fun.

[mi6-cafe]

Long Fic Readalong!

What: We’re going to celebrate longer fanfics by dedicating a few weekends to reading them. This means we’ll read one or two chapters each readalong session.

When: Every Saturday at 9pm eastern/6pm Pacific (your local time here)

Where: We’ll be reading on discord in the readalongs channel. (Invite to discord here, or message @spiritofcamelot)

Okay cool, but what fic? We are reading “Important Dates” by Ato_the_Bean. You can join us without any familiarity of the story and just ask for a recap on what you missed, or you can catch up by reading up to Chapter 11.

Please join us to read, to just hang out and listen, and to generally enjoy a good story together!

Chapters:  19/19 Fandom:  James Bond (Craig Movies) Rating:  Explicit Warnings:  No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships:  James Bond & Q, James Bond/Q Characters:  James Bond, Q (James Bond), Q Branch Character(s), Eve Moneypenny, Bill  Tanner, M | Gareth Mallory, Original Male Character(s), Original Female  Character(s), Original Non-Binary Character

Additional Tags:  Halloween, Holidays, Post-SPECTRE, won't be easy tho, Costumes,  Community: MI6 Cafe | mi6_cafe, Slow Burn, Thanksgiving, so much food,  Felix is originally from New Orleans, for culinary reasons, Christmas  Eve, Q volunteers, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, New Year's Eve, burns night,  bagpipes, haggis, Valentine's Day, Fake Dating, Paris (City), Boston,  St. Patrick's Day, Green Beer is terrible, April Fools' Day, Pranks,  Boffins will be boffins, Whump, may day, Hate Crimes, Towel Day, nerds  being nerds, Q is a fanboy, Charlie is side-eying this whole situation,  ALL THE FANDOMS, Cosplay, Original Character(s), World Tapas Day, (yes  it's really a thing), meeting the coworkers, Pride, Mission Fic,  Birthday, Presents, Jealousy, National Ice Cream Day, also talking, much  talking, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Road Trips, More  talking, UST, International Day of Peace, Missions, Q is so very very  tired, First Date, james cooks, life is too short for bad wine, Paris  (again), Sex (finally), Halloween (again), Plans

Summary: After a brief attempt at retirement, James is back at MI6 and  working hard to rebuild working relationships with his colleagues and  friends. And he's making great strides.

Only Q continues to hold  him at arm's length, maintaining a stubborn professionalism in their  interactions that James remains unable to pierce.

But James  doesn't want Q at arm's length, and so he takes a risk. But even a spy's  instincts can run amok, and now James wonders just how long he'll be  reaping what he's sown, and how many holidays it will take to win Q  over.

[the-bird-and-the-flute]

Ikevamp - Napoleon - Valentine Challenge 2.0

VALENTINE CHALLENGE 2.0

PROMPT "I knew I could find you at our secret spot"

PAIRING: NAPOLEON X F.READER

FANDOM: IKEVAMP

Warnings: angst

Words: 574

A/N: This fic is for valentine's challenge 2.0. Yes, I'm late but here it is. Tysm for creating this challenge @chaosangel767 and @xxsycamore

-----

It has been a year since you met your lover. You have been working hard as the director of a post office in town, while Napoleon has been busy as hell as the captain of the city’s ship.

A natural disaster hit a faraway country last year and since then, you didn’t see Napoleon. His crew was hired to provide aid-carrying supplies to their citizens.

Supposedly, they should arrive in town in a few months, but their ship had some mechanical problems, and they were forced to stay there until they find the pieces to repair their ship.

You heard all kinds of rumors, you know how these things are, a small town with citizens who loved gossiping. Some say you are an idiot to think that a catch like Napoleon will come back to a place like this. He probably doesn’t even remember you anymore. So many opportunities await him in that other country, full of beautiful ladies interested in dating a captain. And what a captain he is.

Even though you work at the post office, it has been months since the last time he wrote you a letter. He is not a man of letters, for sure. But it’s impossible not to feel insecure after hearing rumors for so long.

But this week, you woke up with a resolve: put your relationship and faith to the test. You don’t like to travel much, but you are willing to make this sacrifice for the sake of you both. There is this small hidden island that no one knows, only you two. That’s where you decided to make your relationship official.

Napoleon even built a tiny cozy house for the two of you there. So why not give it a try knowing that Valentine's is coming? For him, it’s always worth it.

After preparing for your solo trip, you embark on your journey on your boat. Napoleon taught you how to pilot one, so it won’t be a problem.

After a day of sailing, you get to your destination. The weather is not that great, but it will do. Valentine's will be tomorrow, so you still have time to make the preparations.

The next day...

You woke up early to clean the house and arrange everything expecting that he will remember the date and your secret spot. You don’t even know if Napoleon is safe or not, but you’ll cling to hope. If something had happened, someone would have probably let you know by now.

Hours pass by, and no sight of Napoleon. It’s almost 10 pm, and you try your best to keep your spirits high. What if he is dead? What if he got bored of you?

You start getting paranoid and decide to read a book on the couch while waiting for him. However, you fell asleep after reading for an hour or so. When you wake up, you realize it’s already morning. But you are no longer on the couch with your book. Instead, you find yourself lying on your comfy bed. And when you look to the side, you see this dark-haired guy sleeping deeply next to you.

Tears fall down your cheek when you see your man by your side. There are so many things you want to say to him, but for now, you just cuddle next to him and go back to sleep. This is already the best Valentine's gift you could ever ask for.

[heartlessfujoshi]

Hi! :3 I'm so happy to see you back on Tumblr, and that you're taking requests! You're one of the first fic authors I engaged with way back when and I always enjoyed talking to you and reading your works.

Can you please do first snow + Promnis, if interested? :>

I hope you have a really nice holiday and that life is treating you well 💚

Hi!!! <3 Oh my gosh, thank you. It's good to be back. Feels like a bit of normal is returning to my daily life, which is good. And of course I can do that for you!! I hope you'll like what I came up with for it.

Winter Prompts - First Snowfall

Title: Reconnecting Fandom: FFXV Pairing: Promnis (Prompto Argentum x Ignis Scientia) Rating: General (Feels & Fluff, Minor Angst, Post-Ep Ignis V2) Word Count: ~2,055

Summary: With the rebuilding happening in Insomnia, Prompto returns to feeling like an outsider. Ignis is there to remind him that he's more than that.

---

Prompto stares out his window, the paperwork he’s neglecting still sitting right in front of him on his desk. In the background, he can hear heavy machinery being used, as well as the sound of a jackhammer breaking apart debris. A constant barrage of auditory mayhem. It’s a sound he’s become accustomed to since taking residence in the Citadel after the ten long years of darkness. They’re slowly getting the city to the grandeur it had been at prior to Niflheim’s assault on the capital. The sounds of the machines working are like a dulcet tone in his ears - progress is progress.

A soft knock on his door turns his attention back to his desk, an almost guilty look on his face appears. He knows that knock. He’s heard it for the last ten years - always a tiny, gentle knock that happens three times. Three times in quick succession. The knock brings a smile to his face, as it seems old habits die hard. “You don’t have to knock, Iggy. You know you’re always welcome in my office.” 

The door slowly opens, and shows his friend’s face - the small scars around his eyes making them look greener in the limited light in Prompto’s office. “It is decorum to knock, Prompto. I’ve told you as such so many times.” 

“I guess we’ll always be at an impasse, then.” Prompto pushes his chair back, and walks over to Ignis. He wants to throw his arms around him and hug him, but things have been a bit strained since they’d successfully taken Ardyn down. Gone were the days of friendly touches, hugs, and the like. “How’re you? What brings you here?” 

“His Majesty is wondering if you've finished the report.” The expression on Ignis’ face is unreadable, at best. He doesn’t look at Prompto when he speaks, nor does he look in his direction now. “Is it finished?” 

A nervous laugh leaves Prompto’s mouth. “Ah, ha, no. I’m still working on it. Does he need it right now?” Prompto looks at the piece of paper that’s mocking him. “I can go and see him, Iggy. I don’t mind. I could use the exercise.” 

“No, that won’t be necessary.” Ignis pushes his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose, the scar going across it catching Prompto’s eyes. Really, though - Ignis’ scars are now as much a part of him as the scars on Gladio’s face are. They exist - pure and simple. “I’ll go and let him know. Do try your best and get it finished soon.” 

The guilt returns, as Prompto watches Ignis head back towards the door. “I will, Iggy. Hey - thanks for stopping by.” 

“It is my job, Prompto.” It’s all that’s said when Ignis leaves his office, closing the door behind him. 

He goes and stands at the window, and lets out a deep sigh. Since they’d become part of the King’s task force, things had felt different between all of them. And Prompto doesn’t like it, one bit. He misses being able to joke and have fun, but now with Insomnia needing to be rebuilt, all of that has been taken away from him. 

Placing his hand on the window, he sees two men laughing with each other. When had he laughed last? Prompto can’t remember. It had probably been before Noctis had returned - which he doesn’t know is a good thing or bad thing. Pulling his chair out, he sits back down and looks at the report that Noctis wants. He can get through it - but then again, if he doesn’t, maybe that means Ignis will return to his office. 

Not wanting to deal with that guilt, he picks up his pen and gets to work. 

--- 

Prompto heads to the elevators, calling it a day. He’d finished the report and sent it over to Noctis, and now is going home. He gets into the elevator, then hears someone call out, “Hold it, please!” Prompto puts his finger on the ‘door open’ button, making sure that the person makes it. The person comes to a halt at the door, then looks at him with a wry smile on their face. “Thank you.” 

“No problem, Iggy.” He takes his finger off the button, then steps back to the back of the elevator. “Did Noctis have any issues with my report?” 

“None at all.” Ignis shakes his head. “Are you heading home?” 

“I am. Are you off on an errand for the King?” 

Ignis shakes his head. “I’ve been released for the day. I was told I need to go and have some fun. My attitude isn’t conducive to working in the environment the King wishes to be in currently.” 

“That bad, huh?” Prompto reaches for Ignis’ arm, but then stops short as it hasn’t been something they’ve done since returning to Insomnia. While the King had been asleep in the Crystal, the two of them had become closer. Nothing too serious - with both of them worried about Noctis, the two of them kept things platonic. But, as they’d dealt with the world in Darkness, there had been many nights when the two of them had shared a bed together, needing the reassurance from each other that they were on the right path. 

As he pulls away, Ignis begins to offer his arm towards him. “You know what kind of mood he gets into.” Ignis comments in a dry, offhanded way. Prompto laughs, taking Ignis’ offered arm. As soon as he does, he feels a weight being lifted off of his shoulders. It feels good to be with Ignis like this again. It feels good to laugh.

“I sure do.” He can’t keep the smile off of his face, the two of them now heading in the direction of Prompto’s apartment. “Are you going to walk me home, Iggy?” 

“I thought I might.” Ignis nods his head, then puts his hand over Prompto’s, the warmth of his leather gloves on top of his skin has Prompto biting back an inappropriate noise. “Why aren’t you dressed warmer? It’s freezing, Prompto.” 

“It’s not that bad.” Prompto looks up at the sky, then stops walking as he notices something peculiar. “Hey, Iggy? Um, are you seeing what I’m seeing?” 

Ignis comes to a stop next to him, and tilts his head back. “If you’re asking if I’m seeing snow, the answer is yes.” 

“But, it’s never snowed in Insomnia before.” He turns to look at Ignis, who has already turned towards him. “Iggy?” 

Undoing the buttons on his coat, Ignis holds the lapels open, and pulls Prompto to be against his chest. He doesn’t fight it - he gloms onto him as Ignis’ coat now covers his back, the two of them standing on the middle of the sidewalk, hugging each other. “The barrier is no longer a factor, Prompto.” He points his head towards the sky. “The Crystal no longer is protecting the city, and as such, the weather is now appropriate to the region.” 

“Huh.” Prompto doesn’t want Ignis to explain any further, as snow begins to stick to his head. “Iggy - as great as this is, we should probably get out of the snow.” 

His protection against the cold disappears as Ignis steps backwards. “Right. Let’s go.” Ignis grabs his hand, and begins to jog towards Prompto’s building, which is only about a block and a half away. 

Prompto laughs as they run, the giddiness coming from out of nowhere. By the time they make it up to his apartment, they’re both wet from the snow sticking to them. He grabs a towel and tosses it to Ignis, then grabs another for himself, and starts to towel dry his hair. “I don’t have a ton of stuff here, Iggy, otherwise I’d offer you something to drink and eat.” 

“It’s alright.” Ignis sets his damp towel on the rack to dry, then grabs the towel from Prompto’s hand and begins to help him dry his hair. Prompto stands still - more memories of their time together. Similar stances where they’d helped each other after a turbulent rain in Alstor Slough. Huddling to keep warm as they routinely went to Niflheim to make sure that the enemy wasn’t trying to do anything stupid again. Sun kissed shoulders touching as they sat on the sand, looking out at Angelgard, keeping their eyes on the resting King. 

He turns around, and sees there’s a flush on Ignis’ face. “Do you miss it?” He asks, knowing that he doesn’t have to clarify what he means to Ignis. 

“Sometimes.” Ignis nods his head, then lifts his hand towards Prompto’s face. He closes his eyes, waits for the touch to happen. He drops his head forward when Ignis’ palm touches his left cheek, emitting a soft sigh. “Everything changed when the King returned.” 

“I know.” Prompto mumbles quietly, his stomach beginning to churn in an unpleasant manner. “You should probably go home, Iggy.” 

The hand on his face remains, then Prompto feels Ignis’ other hand touch the nape of his neck, drawing his head to look up. “Do you want me to leave?” 

“You know the answer.” 

Ignis’ head comes closer to his, and then he feels the weight of his head pressing against his forehead. “I’m sorry, Prompto. I know this isn’t easy for any of us.” 

“You seem to be handling the changes pretty well.” 

It’s clear by how he speaks that he’s letting his bitterness show. He doesn’t know how either Ignis, or Gladio, manages to handle these changes with no complaint. He knows he shouldn’t complain either, but he misses his friends. He feels like an outsider, when he knows it shouldn’t be like this. 

Ignis’ thumb rubs his cheek with careful, slow caresses. “I’m going to do something that I should have done a long time ago, Prompto. Forgive me for taking so long.” 

“What do you mean, Iggy?” 

But the answer never comes, as Ignis’ lips touch his own with a tender kiss. Prompto gasps, then sinks into the kiss, Ignis’ arms now wrapping themselves around his body, holding him close. He parts his lips, then feels Ignis’ tongue sweep into his mouth, the touch of his tongue against his own sending sparks throughout his entire body. Prompto waits for Ignis to end the kiss, then takes a few deep breaths. But once those are done, Ignis’ lips are crushing over his, Prompto’s back now pressed up against the bathroom sink as Ignis takes full control of the kiss, his knees and body weak from the kisses. 

This time, Ignis ends the kiss and returns his forehead to his own. “I’ll ask you again. Do you want me to leave?” Ignis’ voice is slightly breathless. 

“I want you to stay. Stay with me, Iggy.” 

“I will.” 

They leave the bathroom and go into Prompto’s living room, where they sit down on the couch, and look out the window at the falling snow. It’s going to be cold tonight, and it will no doubt stick to the ground and will make tomorrow another cold day. But that doesn’t matter right now. What matters right now is that Ignis has his arms around him, the two of them are cuddling on the couch, sharing kisses every few minutes. Ten years of making up for lost time. But, there’s no reason to rush either. 

Later that night, Prompto rests his head against Ignis’ naked shoulder, exhausted from the activities they’ve just partaken in, his hair damp with sweat. “Why now?” He asks. 

“Because I was afraid I had waited too long.” Ignis’ lips brush against his forehead, as Prompto heaves a content sigh. “I didn’t, did I?” 

“No. Because I would have waited forever.” Prompto admits. “I’m glad I didn’t have to.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t either.” 

He shares another kiss with him, then returns his head to Ignis’ shoulder. The snow is still falling, but Prompto is as warm as he can be. Warm from the blankets, the heat in the room, and the heat that both his and Ignis’ body are generating together. It’s enough heat to make him fall into a deep sleep - the deepest sleep he’s had since returning to Insomnia. Where things will go from here, he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. Because right now, everything is perfect and right in the world. 

xXx

Cross-posted to AO3

[mania-sama]

rule #12 - through the tides

Rule #12 - Through the Tides - Fish in a Birdcage

➼ information ❧ Voltron ❧ Pairing: Hunk & Lance & Pidge ❧ Tags: shark attack, amputation, surfing, surfer! lance, no voltron lions au, blood and injury, harm to animals (the shark had it coming), hurt no comfort, nonbinary! pidge, gore ❧ Summary: Lance just wants to surf, but it seems like a creature of the sea has different plans in mind. ❧ Word Count: 1,837 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 16 October 2023

➼ whumptober 2023 ❧ Day 16: Amputation ❧ Previous Day ❧ Next Day ❧ Masterlist

Author Note:

this is inspired by a VERY specific fanart of lance and shiro (not ship i dont think) where shiro is trying to comfort a crying lance, who is staring horrifiedly at his amputated arm. the nub has obvious shark bites, and the whole work is so compelling bc its like lance was hurt by the thing he loves THE MOST in the world (or that the fandom has assigned to him anyway) and nobody can understand his pain but shiro, who is also an amputee.

BUT YOU KNOW WHAT. I CANT FIND IT. i cant find the fucking fanart. its gone. if any loser reads this fic and happens to have the fanart somewhere. link me to it. or dm me on instagram or twitter. i am desperate. i am so utterly desperate idk what to do with myself

also faintly inspired by barbie's "a mermaid tale" but thats only because the only references i have to surfing are the movie and Teen Beach Movie and im gonna be honest, this is not like teen beach movie at all

-

The ocean is Lance’s happy place. When he sets his feet in the cold salt water, the tension in his body from the day or week flows out of him like how the ocean waves ebb against the shore. His feet sink into the sand and seep between his toes. It’s a natural massage to work out his anxieties. The breeze rushes off the horizon, tossing his hair and cooling the sweat on his forehead.

He stares at the glittering sun in the midday sun. It brings him relaxation and adrenaline all at once; the water lapping his ankles is his calming massage, but the waves crashing further ahead call his name as though they are a crowd of excited fans. Lance doesn’t surf professionally, preferring to keep his hobbies and his career separate, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get a rush from the beachgoers watching him tackle the unforgiving ocean.

He adjusts the board under his arm and takes a deep breath. He spares one glance over his shoulder at his friends waiting on the safe sand. Hunk waves at him enthusiastically from where he’s building an already impressive sand castle considering they only arrived ten or so minutes ago, and Pidge smiles from their lounge chair. Their massive umbrella protects their fair skin from burning at the slightest touch of the sun.

Lance turns back to face the waves. A big wave builds in the distance, too far for Lance to get to in time. It’s a promise of a thrilling challenge yet to come. He doesn’t waste any longer and strides out to join the people swimming out in the ocean.

The chill of the ocean is a fresh of breath air to him. Most people — Pidge — complain about the bite and sudden cold, but Lance has never been able to understand that reaction. It’s like a mint for bad breath, a shower after toiling in the mud, and a payday after two weeks of hard labor. He embraces the slap of the crystalline water as though it’s an old friend, which in some ways, it is.

He hoists himself stomach-first onto the board and drifts when his feet can no longer touch the ground. He’ll propel himself now and again to keep moving in the right direction, but for the most part, he stays stagnant on the water. Waves come and go as they please; a good one is harder to catch than a mediocre one, and a gnarly wave is the rarest of them all. Unfortunately, Lance is in the mood for something huge to make the adrenaline rushing through his veins worth it, so he has to wait a long time.

Honestly, it’s not so bad. As long as he’s in the ocean, he can’t feel the edges of impatience creeping up on him. The sound of the water’s ever-constant movement is a melody to his ears and a remedy for his greed. He can stare for hours at the way the sun reflects off the water in dazzling bursts of light. It’s a phenomenon that can’t be replicated even if all of history’s best painters rose from the dead to collaborate on recreating the scene.

It can’t capture the smell of salt and seaweed, the gentle caress of the water on his hands and calves, or the happy people screaming and splashing each other in the distance. Seagulls circle overhead and dive when they find a fish straying too close to the surface, or they find a human to harass for bread and chips. The heat of the day burns on Lance’s tanned skin, unrelenting even as the thin clouds attempt to diminish its power.

It’s Heaven on Earth. Michelangelo could never hope to replicate it.

Lance spies a wave rippling in the distance. The water ripples, and the frequency of the sloshes near his board change. His heart picks up pace, and his arms start working to get closer to the rising wall. After years of surfing, he can easily tell which waves will end in a disappointing, diffused heap, and which ones will create a loop so large Lance can stand inside.

A shadow overcasts the water that the wave rises over, and the rush of the moving water overpowers the loud beachgoers closer to shore. His world narrows to him, the wave, and his board. Lance forces his board and himself underneath the wave, the ocean completely encasing him in sea water. He stays there for a moment, salt and water burning his eyes and flowing against his closed lips. The sounds of the surface world are muffled, and he can only distinctly hear the gushing water.

When he’s about to break the surface, he spots a form under the water. Lance has had close encounters with sea creatures before — fish, crabs, jellyfish, and other rather unfriendly animals that didn’t appreciate a human traversing their home. He’s never been upset when they pinch, bite, or sting; he is the trespasser. The ocean is not his home.

He’s been near sharks before but in every single instance, it was in a more or less controlled environment. The sharks were small, freshwater, and used to human presence. Experienced divers kept their noses and teeth from ever getting within biting distance.

In the split second after, he breaks the surface with his board clutched in a white-knuckled grip. All he can see now is the very tip of the shark’s gray fin coming straight towards him.

“Shark!” He screams as loud as he can, and he climbs onto his board as quickly as he can. The wave is still moving, on the brink of collapsing in the great surge he’s been waiting for. They travel fast, faster than he hopes the shark is willing to go to keep up with him. It’s not going to be the surf that he wanted, but by God is it going to be the one he’s going to get. It’s ride-or-die, literally.

Hazily, he hears the blow of whistles and the revving of the lifeguards’ waterskis. His heart beats too hard in his chest, and it nearly overpowers the sounds of the restless ocean. His board wobbles underneath him, threatening to knock him off with the slightest misstep. He knows it's the panic setting into him that’s throwing him off but his running mind can’t help but associate it with the shark moving in the depths below him.

The shark produces a massive shadow underneath his board and rocks Lance off-balance. It’s slippery from being completely under the water, and his tingling feet prevent him from a steady grip. His arms flail in the area to pull him back on the center of the board.

He’s still screaming his head off when he falls. It’s not completely off — his body is still on, but his hips straddle the board and his legs plunge into the ocean. He tries to pull them back up, but he notices the wave has left him behind.

Then pain explodes in his right leg.

He thrashes against the board, attempting to use his full body weight to dislodge the shark off his leg. But it holds fast. Lance can see its body as more than just a shadow, now. Its nose sticks out of the water, and its huge body moves back and forth with all of the effort it has to pull him underneath the waves.

Lance can hardly think past the bite, how it sears his leg in the worst agony he’s ever felt. He’s been burned, stabbed in a fight, beaten to a bloody pulp, yet nothing compares to this. His skin rips and tears under the huge, sharp teeth of the shark. It takes all of his core strength to keep on the board and not tip over, which means leaning on the other side. It’s taking off his leg, it’s taking off his leg, but he has to sacrifice it if he wants to survive.

Blood comes up in smokey waves to pool around him and the shark, mixing with the white steaks and bubbles created by their fight. Lance lets go only temporarily to punch the animal directly in the nose, which actually gets it to let go. Its body torques and thrashes in the water. Lance uses the short opportunity to bring his leg onto his board.

Except it doesn’t come out of the water. His knee comes up, but the space where his calf and foot should be is occupied by the overflowing pour of blood and flesh. Tendrils of the tendons the shark couldn’t get ahold of swing in the open air. His white bone peaks out from his knee, a small numb in comparison to the long bone that should continue the skeleton.

He screams, and he screams when the shark launches to finish the job, and he’s still screaming when a pair of hands hoist him off of his board and out the shark’s bloody, snapping jaw. Its beady eyes flash in the open air, staring directly at its prey before it flops under the water once more. It breaks his board in half from the crash of its massive body directly down the center.

Lance’s voice is hoarse, and his sobs are uncontrollable as he stares at his leg. Or rather, the absence of it. It throbs like it's still there. The pink and red bits of his flesh fly off in the wind from the speed of the jet ski. The lifeguard is saying something to him, but he can’t hear it over the engine of the machine and the static in his ears.

He’s never going to surf again. He’s never going to be able to walk on his right leg again. Not as flesh and bone, but as a wooden peg, metal, a machine, nothing but the air. It should still be there. He can still feel it. Parts of it remain; his liquid and solid insides still flow and burst into the area where it should be. It should be there.

But it’s not, and it’s unbearably painful and all he can do is sob as the pain overtakes all of his senses. Salt flies into the gaping wound, filling up the space where his leg should be. 

Where his leg isn’t. Where it never will be.

He’s sobbing when the paramedics drag him into the waiting ambulance, and he’s reduced to whimpers as the sheer pain overrides his consciousness. Hunk cries with him and holds his hand, and Pidge can’t seem to stop screaming, either.

He passes out thinking about his leg. How it’s gone and never coming back. but still hurts all the same, still mocks him in its presentation of being real and attached to his body. He sees the pink, pulsing flesh peeling from his knee in thick strips behind his eyelids. He feels the warm, blood-infested water, and stares into the gaping jaws of the shark that claimed his leg.

Then, the deep, watery darkness of unconsciousness.

[ssamorganhotchner]

Teachers Pet - Part 2

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Parings: Aaron Hotchner x (fem!)reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags: 18+ NSFW, Language, Teasing, Female masturbation, Flirting, Blindfolds, Dom/sub, Spanking.

Summary: Reader finds herself back where it all started.

Authors Note: Okay so before y'all start reading, this fic will be made into THREE parts because I can't seem to write less than 7k words at a time. So here's Part 2!!

I've said this once and I'll say it again, this is my first smutty fanfic and I still have absolutely no clue what I'm doing. Please, please be nice! Credits again go to @scuttling for proofreading for me. ❤️ I love you all so so so much! Happy reading (:

Part 1

Part 3

The rest of the night went by effortlessly. With everyone (including yourself) plastered and in high spirits, the little stunt that Hotch had pulled earlier was the furthest thing from your mind. That was, until he dropped you off at your apartment. Going inside and kicking off your shoes, you throw your phone down on the kitchen counter and walk into your bathroom to take a warm shower- slowly washing the night off of your body.

Stepping out of the shower and wrapping yourself in a big fluffy towel, you saunter into the kitchen and check your phone when a message catches your eye that nearly renders you speechless—

(2:08am) HOTchner: Tomorrow after work, 5:30. My office. Don’t be late.

You gasp with widening eyes and nearly drop the phone. Flustered and worried, a million thoughts start running through your head.

Am I in trouble? Did I do something wrong? Oh fuck. Is this about what happened at Rossi’s? Is he mad at me for flirting? Shit I'm going to get fired. I am SO fucking fired. No, wait! H-he flirted back, right? Didn’t he? Yeah.. yeah he did. Hold on... is he saying what I think he’s saying? Is he- is he serious?

It can’t be. No, absolutely not. There is no way Mr. Stickler-For-The-Rules Aaron Hotchner is talking about fucking in his office. Right?

Deciding to make him wait (and stalling so you can regain some composure), you walk into the bedroom and put on some pajamas before plopping down on your bed and thinking about what to say. Giggling, you type a response:

(2:15am) Or what, Agent Hotchner?

So you decided to be playful, what’s the worst that could happen?

Not ten seconds later your phone rings, “HOTchner” flashing on the screen.

Fuck.

Anxious and still incredibly intoxicated, you take a deep breath and clear your throat. Putting on your best professional voice in hopes Hotch doesn’t see straight through it, you answer:

“Agent Y/L/N”

“Really Y/N?”

“Really what, Hotch? I have no idea what you’re talking about” you ask, smiling to yourself and leaning against the headboard. Silence fills the other end of the line and you hear a chuckle.

“I think you know what, Agent Y/L/N. Don’t be a brat. Didn't anyone in the academy teach you not to disrespect authority? When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it without giving me an attitude or questioning me. Now I won’t say it again, meet me at my office tomorrow after work. 5:30, don’t be late.”

Breath hitching in your throat you reply, “Yes, Sir.”

“Oh and Y/N?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“You don’t want to find out what happens if you don’t show up. I suggest you get plenty of sleep. You’re going to need it.” And with that, he hung up.

Yeah, you’re definitely not sleeping now.

After what feels like hours of tossing and turning, you look back at the clock that flashes 3:30AM on the screen. Jesus you’re never going to get any sleep at this rate. Closing your eyes, you take some deep breaths to help try and relax your body. The only problem is no matter what you do, that stoic, handsome boss of yours keeps appearing in your thoughts.

With a deep sigh, you close your eyes and feel your hands begin to wander down your body. Slipping over your soft curves with one hand moving to massage your breast, you picture Hotch’s hands instead of your own: big strong hands traveling down your stomach and over the curve of your hips, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Letting a moan slip past your lips, you can almost feel what it’s like to have Hotch’s hands on you. Imagining his warm, wet mouth kissing and biting his way down your body, you bite your lip while pinching your nipple with one hand, making your back arch. Heart racing and sweat beading up at your forehead, you whimper in desperate need for more. Allowing your other hand to hover under your waistband over your achy, quivery pussy, you envision Hotch’s naked body leaning in between your legs, and covered in sweat.

Closing your eyes once more, you finally let your hand drop down to your needy pussy. Dipping your fingers inside, your back arches as Hotch’s name rolls off of your tongue like sin. Coating your pointer and middle fingers in your own slick, you start dreaming of Hotch’s wet mouth: sucking, biting, and devouring you as you bring yourself closer to release. Your fingers are no longer your fingers now, but his tongue- wet, hot, and covered in your own juices. Circling your clit quicker with more added pressure, you can feel his tongue lapping you up over and over again. Opening your eyes, you swear you see his face in between your legs and like a flash of lightning, your legs shake and it brings you over the edge with nothing but his name falling off the tip of your tongue.

Laying sprawled out on the bed coming down off of your high, you realize one thing is very certain - you are absolutely fucked.

The next day is rough to say the least. Luckily (or not so luckily for you) it’s a paperwork day, which means no cases but it also means you have to see a certain Unit Chief walk around the bullpen for most of the day. Sitting at your desk, you see him out of the corner of your eye. Walking down from his office, a coffee mug in hand, his head is stuck in a case file; he makes his way over to the kitchenette-- and you can’t help but stare. From the way his crisp white shirt hugs his back and stomach, to the way his gray slacks fit his ass and thick thighs like a glove, it’s almost too easy for you to picture him naked in front of you. Holy shit he looks hot. So hot in fact, you can’t stop staring.

After getting his coffee, he turns around to head back up into his office. Feeling your eyes on him, he looks up making brief eye contact with you before smirking, throwing you a wink, and walking back up to the stairs.

Did he just- did he just wink at me?

“You’re gonna catch flies, Y/N” Emily says, throwing a piece of paper at your head.

You whip your head around to look at her.

“Am not. I wasn’t looking at anything,” you scoff, rolling your eyes and turning back to finish your paperwork.

“Actually, you were staring at Hotch for the entire 5 minutes and 43 seconds he was down here… and you had your mouth open the entire time.” Reid says, not looking up from his book.

“Reid shut up I wasn’t talking to you. Can all of you go bother someone else? I’m trying to finish up so I can-“

About that time you were interrupted by none other than Derek Morgan.

“So you can what sweet cheeks? Go home and ride your “Hotch Rocket?”

Putting your elbows on your desk and your head in your hands, you sink down in your chair and grumble, “Oh for the love of god I hate all of you.”

Seeing as how you were nervous as hell for 5:30 to get here, it comes around way sooner than it would have on any other day. After picking up some case files from your desk, you cautiously walk up the stairs to Hotch’s office.

Here goes nothing I guess.

After knocking on the door and hearing a faint “come in,” you take a deep breath and slowly walk into his office, with the smell of him suddenly filling your senses. Clutching files close to your chest, your eyes meet his captivating chocolate-brown ones.

“You wanted to see me, s- sir?

Oh don’t start stuttering now, Y/n. He will really think you’re an idiot.

Looking up from his desk, he watches you intently with a hint of what you can only describe as amusement on his face before looking back down.

“I did,” he replies.

With his rich, gravelly voice sending shock waves straight to your core, you suddenly feel the need to be in your bed with your vibrator and not shut up in an office with a boss that you have fantasized about on more than one occasion.

Gathering his paperwork and his briefcase, he looks back up at you with a smirk and states, “It looks like you can follow orders when you want to, can't you, Agent Y/L/N?”

Feeling your stomach flutter at his words, and not knowing where this conversation was going, you murmur “Uh, yes. Yes, sir. I can.”

Walking around to the front of his desk with his briefcase in hand, he reaches out toward you. Giving him a questioning gaze, he smirks and says “Your reports, Agent Y/L/N?”

Feeling a puff of uneasy laughter leave your throat, you look down and hand him the files with clammy hands.

“Oh um, of course sir, here.”

Still smirking he sets them in his briefcase, walks to the door, opens it, and motions you to leave with him.

Why did he even want me here if we are just going to leave?

“So that's it? I'm not in trouble?” you ask with a confused tone as you turn to look at him.

With soft eyes looking almost regretful that he made you think that way, he replies, “Y/N, why would you be in trouble?”

With a sigh, you put your middle finger and thumb on the bridge of your nose for a few seconds before looking back at him. “You know... from- from what I said about you at Rossi’s? Hotch, I know you heard everything because you came back into the living room not two seconds later! I should be in trouble if I'm not. I was so drunk and that was extremely unprofessional of me. It was fun to say at the time but Hotch I-”

“Is it true?”

“What?”

Walking up to you, his big, soft hand brushes against your cheek.

Suddenly you feel as if you’re suffocating. He’s so close you can feel his minty breath on your nose.

“Is what you said at Rossi’s true? About me, and the fantasy that you have?”

Looking down at your feet, you feel your face heat up with embarrassment. He lifts your chin with his fingers and gazes into your eyes.

“Hey, Y/N look at me. It’s okay, alright? We can’t help who we are attracted to. I assume everything you said was true, but I just want to be sure. Especially since you’re sober now.”

Confused, you sigh. “Yeah. It um... it is, Hotch. It has been since we first met.”

“Good, then follow me” he says, patting your cheek and walking back towards the door.

“Wait, what?”

“I said, follow me. Be a good girl for once in your life and follow my orders Y/N.” and with that, he walked out.

Good girl? Did Aaron Hotchner just tell me to be a good girl?

Running towards the elevator you finally catch up with him. Smirking, he looks down at you.

“Did you have a question, Agent Y/L/N?”

First he calls me Agent, then my first name, then his “good girl,” and now back to Agent? What is going on with him today?!

Stepping into the elevator and out of your thoughts you sigh, “Um, yeah actually. Can I ask where we are going, sir?”

As the elevator door closes he leans down, his hot breath against your ear, and whispers, “You can, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you.”

Getting into Hotch’s car, you are a nervous wreck. Feeling your heart pounding and your body begin to sweat, you swear Hotch can sense that something is wrong. Reaching over, he grabs the hand that is in your lap and for a brief moment you think you begin to calm down- until you realize Hotch is now holding your hand. With a breath suddenly catching in your throat, he squeezes as if to say it’s okay. I’m here, there’s nothing to worry about. Scanning your face for a brief moment, he gives you a soft smile after noticing you’ve calmed down and reaches into the glove box. Opening it, he removes a gray silk tie with white polka dots.

With watchful eyes and a shaky voice, you glance between him and the tie.

“Um, Hotch? Wh- what are you doing with a tie in your glovebox?”

Holding the tie in one hand, he reaches for yours with the other. Looking up at him as your eyes start to fill with uncertainty, you place your hand in his, and he squeezes it again.

“Y/N, do you trust me?” he questions.

“Of course I do, Hotch” you say, squeezing his hand in return.

Giving you a soft smile, he holds up the tie and replies “Good, then turn around while I put this over your eyes.”

Noticing you hesitate and avoid his eyes, he takes the hand that was once holding yours and cups the side of your face.

“Don’t worry sweetheart. I know you're nervous, but I think you’re going to like what I have in mind, okay? Just trust me.”

Swallowing hard, you bite your lip and nod. Turning to face the passenger door, your vision suddenly became non-existent as a soft piece of fabric covered your eyes. As Hotch finished tying the tie behind your head, his calloused hands brushed the top of your back allowing you to turn back around while the sensation sent shivers down your spine.

Settling back into your seat, you are acutely aware of all but one of your senses. The woodsy smell of Hotch’s cologne filling your nose; his body, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him as he reaches for your seatbelt; the warmth of his breath on your face as he tells you to sit back and relax; and the smoothness of his voice as he turns the car on and hums to an unfamiliar tune on the radio.

The car ride itself lasts only about five minutes and for the most part, is uneventful. Feeling the car come to a stop, you hear the driver door shut. Heart racing, you fidget nervously trying to calm yourself down. Hearing the door open, you feel a warm body lean over you and unbuckle your seatbelt. Feeling a hand on your arm, Hotch helps you out of the car.

“Hotch, can I take this tie off now?”

Placing a hand on the small of your back, he replies, “Not right now, Y/N. I want us to take a walk.”

“Um, o-okay” You say with a shaky breath.

Walking into what you assume is a business due to the voices you hear, he takes you up a flight of stairs and turns down a hallway. Stopping, you hear him open a door and walk you inside.

You feel him stand behind you as he takes the tie off of your eyes. Clearing your vision, you gasp.

No fucking way

It’s his academy office.

Holy shit. Is this really happening? No. He had to take me here for a different reason, right? There’s no way h- wait. Is he wanting to play out my fantasy?! Oh fuck. No way.

Looking at him anxiously, you notice there’s something in his eyes you haven't witnessed before. Desire? Lust, perhaps? Carefully walking over to his desk, he pulls out a ruler, softly running it over his palm. Casually strolling around to the other side, he perches himself up on the corner, and sits. Raising his eyebrows, he looks at you with darkening eyes and smirks.

“You were right, Y/N. I did, in fact, overhear you the other day at Rossi’s. Talking to the entire team about how you have this professor kink as you called it, am I right?”

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Eyes growing wide, your breath catches in your throat. Feeling your face on fire, you swallow and hope he can't hear you.

“Uh…”

Walking over toward you, he places the ruler under your chin and lifts it to look at him. Gazing up, his chocolate brown eyes set a fire inside of you.

“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer, Y/N.”

Clearing your throat you reply, “Y- Yes, sir. You’re um, you’re right.”

“Good,” he hums. Walking back towards the desk, perches back up onto the side of it, motioning you to come closer. As you stand in front of him, he smirks, “Tell me Y/N, does this kink have anything to do with me?”

“Uh, y-yes, sir.” you reply nervously.

Standing, he positions both hands on your waist and softly pulls you flush to his chest. He leans down, breath and lips brushing against your ear and whispers, “I think I can help you with that.”

Your heat, slick with need, immediately starts to pool in your panties at his words.

Placing a soft kiss on your shoulder, he looks back at you and asks, “Do you know the stoplight system?”

“No, sir., I don’t” you reply, shaking your head.

“It's simple. Green means keep going, yellow means slow down; if you happen to say yellow, we will talk about the scene and either keep going or stop it all together. Red means stop the scene completely and we will talk about it. And if for some reason you can’t speak and need to use a safe word, I need you to tap me twice. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Running his fingers down the side of your face he says, “Good girl. Keep in mind you are the one in control here. I need you to know that whatever happens tonight, your safety always comes first, and we can stop this at any time.”

Leaning in, he brushes his lips against yours. “Are you sure you want to continue this?”

“Yes” you respond.

Without warning, a loud smack comes crashing down on your ass, forcing a gasp to fall from your lips.

“Address me correctly, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

“Yes, sir” you repeat.

“Good girl,” Hotch says as he hands you a case file. “Take this outside, I’ll let you know when you can come in. Oh and when you do, be sure to lock the door behind you.”

Well, here we go.

tagging: @wishuhadstayed, @hotforhotchner11, @scuttling, @unicornprancing, @arsonhotchner, @angelic-kisses13, @vintagesubmariner, @angelhotchner, @ssa-ki99, @ssaprentisshotchner

if you are 18+ and would like to be added to my taglist, just send me a message (:

[myyoungroyalsblog]

Young Royals fic rec

*Note: I have a lot of unfinished fics in my subscriptions but since there are over 200 fics there from other fandoms too I won’t be able to add those (for now), when they are finished I’ll edit this one or do another post in the future!

*Also couldn't find some of these writers here on tumblr, if you know tell me and I’ll add their @ beside it!

*Another note: I have read every single Young Royals fic (except the explicit ones haha) and even if they aren’t listed here it doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy them! 💜

SERIES

remember me

Completed, 14 works, 32.696 words

Takes place when they are still at Hillerska: 3, 1, 13, 14, 4

Future/Living together: 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12,

Order in which I read them: 3, 1, 13, 14, 4, 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

By @lovingwriterr Post season 1 how they get back together and how their relationship grows throughout the years (there a spicy parts haha but also a lot of fluff, angst and hurt/comfort, this entire series is just amazing and so well written)

firsts (erik lives universe)

Not completed, 2 works, 8.751 words

By @omgcmere First fic is an AU where Simon gets to spend the weekend with Wille at Hillerska and second one is a New Years Eve fic (both super adorable and fluffy I swear)

the Icarus to your certainty

Not completed, 3 works, 22.020 words

By @aro-of-artemis First fic is an AU of what if in the beginning of episode 3 Wille let Simon say what he thought about the kiss (short but really really sweet) Second fic a continuation of the previous one; Wille spends the weekend in Bjarstad with Simon, Linda and Sara (too much wilmon fluff and domesticity omg also Linda being best mum as always) Third fic a continuation of the previous one; Linda once again being best mum and Erik being best bro (so much more fluff but also angst and hurt/comfort)

5 times the students of Hillerska didn’t realize Wille and Simon were together + 1 time they definitely did

Not completed, 6 works, 17.212 words

By @piratebingo First fic is the main one and just like the title says lmao, hilarious and so so adorable (the other five are alternate endings to the previous situations where people weren't that dumb and catched on, super fun read and so much wilmon fluff in all the fics)

MULTI-CHAPTER

i ask nothing of you

Completed, 7 chapters, 43.900 words (part of a series that’s not finished)

By @prince-simon Post s1 and after the holidays, we see how Wilmon get back together and it's just the cutest story with a rollercoaster of emotions (also the ending chapter is just wonderful it makes me feel free and at peace idk why lol)

when I said I wanted you to get along (this isn’t what I meant)

Completed, 7 chapters, 27.334 words (part of a series that’s not finished)

By @skateboardtotheheart AU where Erik lives and gets to meet Simon and they get along really well, both enjoying teasing the shit out of Wille lmao (heartfelt story super duper cute)

and that has made all the difference

Completed, 2 chapters, 7.048 words

AU where Wille goes to Simons home at the end of episode 3 (Erik lives) and we see how their relationship grows up until Christmas break (just plain adorable and fluffy)

only fools remain sane

Completed, 11 chapters, 40.504 words

By @ishotforthestars Fake dating AU but of course they are pining for each other lmao and Simon is also staying at Hillerska right next to Willes room (angsty and fluffy and loooots of pining but a happy ending :D)

call me up late

Completed, 20 chapters, 29.135 words (part of a series that’s not finished)

By @royalwilmon Wrong number AU and it's a texting fic, that's how they get to know each other (Prince Wilhelm is homeschooled but Simon goes to Hillerska, and it's just a cute fluffy fic with angst too but just very sweet, clearly showing us how they fall in love via words, also look out for the hilarious drawings afakshdkdk)

favourite crime

Completed, 2 chapters, 16.754

By @lovelysarcastic Best friends AU but they still go to Hillerska (miscommunications, lots of pining and fluff... Oh and of course these two idiots being in love lol this fic will make you feel things)

ONE SHOTS

ties and tribulations

2.424 words

Erik goes to parents day and Linda helps him do his tie (really really sweet and they talk about Simon and Wille, this story makes you want Erik alive in the series even more so he can meet Linda and Simon ToT)

and now your song is on repeat

3.011 words

By @bishoprose Future fic where we see 3 instances where Simon sings and Wille absolutely swoons and one time Wille sings and Simon loves him for it (they are together here and domestic af they make your heart melt)

eyes full of stars

3.540 words

AU where Erik goes to Hillerska after the parents lunch and meets Simon (they both embarrass Wille a lot lmao super fun read)

a small act of defiance

3.029 words

By @sunsetcurveofficial Wille paints his nails with Simons help (super duper cute rebellion fic, makes you want to see this happen in season 2)

nothing else i could do

1.693 words

By @aro-of-artemis Simon shows up at Hillerska wearing eye liner and Wille really really likes it (adorable story)

and they were roommates

28.525 words

By @toffeelemon AU where Simon is Willes roommate at Hillerska and how season 1 would pan out, and the near future too, such a beautiful journey to read (ending always brings a tear to my eye, in a good way haha)

kiss me (like you wanna be loved)

2.890 words

By @aro-of-artemis AU where Simon is a waiter at a Masquerade Ball at the palace and meets the prince behind the mask (too freakin adorable)

you’re the one that I love (and I’m saying goodbye)

6.138 words

By @prince-simon AU where at the end of episode 3 Simon stays to comfort Wille and takes him to his home (hurt/comfort but it hurts so. good. And the comfort is *chefs kiss*)

space buns and a smile

6.578 words

By @charliespringsdimples AU where Simon is a singer and starts uploading music videos to youtube and Prince Wilhelm is a fan, basically a story of how they met (this is such a comfort fic like it's just so lovingly sweet and super super super fluffy afakdhdkdk I love it so much)

under your touch, I bloom

4.234 words

Flower shop AU where Prince Wilhelm keeps going to Simons flower shop (also sort of a band AU lmao super sweet read like it’s just pure adorableness)

(it feels good) to be alone with you

5.560 words

By @prince-simon AU where in the first ep Wille doesn't eat beside August and it's basically a rewrite of episode 1 with so. much. fluffy. wilmon. (So much pinning and gay disaster Simon lmao it just makes your heart flutter)

cariño

2.901 words

By @xpetriichxr Wille spends a weekend in Simon home, set after episode 5 and AU where the st wasn't leaked (domestic wilmon and so much fluffiness, also pet names hehe)

👑

Hope you enjoy them as much as I did!

@thosearehisfish Here you go babes

(*˘︶˘*).｡*♡

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

[chil2de]

hi yes the benimaru fic i mentioned earlier— fire force fandom will you let me in please??🥺🥺 i don’t know what i’m dealing with fanbase wise mmfldjfj sometimes it feels like i’m head over heels for bens by myself so... i’ll drop this here for now.. see how it goes and i’ll continue w/ a second part if ff isn’t dead

nsfw themes throughout, so please read my disclaimer if you’re new. enjoy :)

w.c: 1.7k, characters: 9.6k (incl spaces)

-

there’s a certain sluggish quality that plagues your movements. it’s not fatigue or incompetence. or so benimaru would hope.

his mix matched gaze glosses over your unnecessary movements. that extra exhale you hiss, the additional bat of your eyelashes and the excessive perspiration that drips onto the earth below.

“stop.” he commands, tone low and stern as it pierces through the open air.

“huh? captain shinmon, i’m fine. we can keep going.” you huff through laboured breaths, pausing to gasp and drink in the plentiful oxygen around you.

“it’s one thing if you’re overworking your muscles. it’s another if you’re running a fever. go inside.”

“b-but captain-“

benimaru shoots you a dead stare, keeping his statement rooted deep where he stands.

judging by the bruises that adorn your knees, you know better than to disobey the captain.

“waka! have you seen (l/n)?” konro lingers in the doorframe of the main communal area, gaze scanning for one of his colleagues.

“she’s in her room. why?”

“her room? she has a few errands to run. is she feeling okay?”

“she’s running a fever.” benimaru exhales, shifting to get up from the table. he lightly scratches the back of his neck, adorning that usual aloof facial expression.

“in the middle of summer? how’d that happen?” konro chuckles through a small glimpse of bewilderment. of course he’d be concerned for one of his best recruits.

“hell if i know. what do we need? i’ll head out.”

if anything, benimaru is probably the sole reason why you’re running a fever. why he subjected to railing you underneath water that felt like it was nearing sub-zero was beyond you. it’s not like he’s about to admit he enjoys fucking his special little fire soldier. how he relishes and engrains the sight of your fucked out facial expression deep into his head, burning the image into his retinas. shit, you wouldn’t be surprised if the reason why he sometimes spaces out is because of you.

it’s always been blatantly obvious that you’re the captain’s favourite, no matter how much he denies it and how many glares he shoots at the people from other companies. you’re always left apologising for his behaviour, attempting to keep a straight face.

for the one time you dragged him out to patrol with you, and the amount of incessant whining, complaints and bribes you offered your captain, after a full month of lovely slow burn he decided to come along with you. he just up and left, had the audacity to turn around and ask you why you’re still standing there. benimaru always kept his distance to yours close, in fact the separation was almost minimal. you could feel his shoulders ghost over you.

every time he noticed someone staring at your figure for a little bit too long to be deemed appropriate, he hissed a scoff of distaste. at around the third or fourth person, you were already forced to deal with his short temper.

“what the hell are you gawking at? mind your damn business.”

but sure. apparently you’re not his favourite.

he can scoff and complain all he wants, but that won’t stop him even now from lazily snaking his hand around to his favourite baby girl’s waist. to him, this seems like the most normal thing.

“how else is she going to stand upright? she’s all stick and bones, the wind will knock her right over.”

okay, benimaru. you keep telling yourself that. even when his fingers feel an itch every time they’re not touching a part of your skin. he tends to get a whole lot more mouthy and irritable every time you’re not around, too.

hell, even his own townsfolk pick up on the fact that he’s out and about more. rounds that he always left to the lesser important underlings became more commonplace, especially with you by his side.

but the things that go on behind closed doors?

his peppermint red eyes that haunt your mind, infiltrating your very thoughts. you could be minding your business, going on about your day until you get an abrupt flicker of his mundane tic-tac-toe gaze staring up at you from in between your thighs.

you could be taking care of hinata and hikage, entertaining their antics when you feel the weight of benimaru’s stare burn holes into your uniform.

you could be doing your daily sparring with the captain. in the zone, breath held and blood stream steady until you remember the feel of his hot tongue trailing along the side of your neck. for someone who seems to be stuck in a perpetual state of sadness, you always catch the arrogant smirk that pulls at his lips.

“thinking of something?” he’ll cock his eyebrows, using the distraction to take a jab to your gut.

you groan, stirring around in your bed. you hate him, hate that stupid half lidded gaze of his. you hate how soft his wavy jet black locks are. the way the strands tug and bend whenever you try to yank his face away from your cunt. you run your fingers through your hair in a valiant yet futile attempt to free your thoughts from your captain. it’s only three o’clock in the afternoon, and you haven’t done anything but reminisce about your lover for the past hour and a half.

a meek and uneven sigh hisses from your lips. your eyes screw open and you flinch at the hard sunlight that pours in from the window. as you use the inner portion of your elbow to shield your gaze, you catch glimpse of a very familiar figure in the doorway.

“captain shinmon?” you inquire, propping yourself up onto your elbows. he closes the door behind him. you’re certain that you looked like a loyal dog sat panting and wagging its tail upon discovering the return of their owner.

“excited to see me?” he remarks in a flat tone, opening the grocery bag he’s carrying before setting a few things down onto your nightstand. it’s mostly medicine, though he snags a few of your favourite snacks and drinks. there’s also one of those fascinating green tea bottles that you buy at the vending machines, except they’re served piping hot.

“how’re you feeling?”

“i told you i was going to get sick if we had the water that cold.” you huff, averting your gaze in a fit.

“not my problem you can’t take a little temperature difference”

“a little? that shit was freezing! how the hell can you take water that cold?”

“how can you not?”

you chuckle a little, shifting to stare up at the ceiling.

“don’t you have paperwork to do?”

“you know i don’t do paperwork. sure as hell not gonna start doing it now.” benimaru huffs, kicking his boots off by the door. you can hear his clothes rustling and your head snaps to face him. he shoots you a glare, as though to scold you. it’s dripping on his face. ‘really? you’re so eager.’

“move up.” he cocks his head to the side, motioning for you to move over. you shift up, room spinning a little too much for your tastes. the mattress dips with his weight and his right arm (our left) reflexively hangs in the air for you to dip your head into the crook of where his shoulder and collarbone meet. he discards his navy kimono, the article of clothing hangs on one of the hooks at the back of your door. it’s probably not much comfort for him to be relaxing in a bed with half of his uniform still on.

you squish your face against his hard chest, head rising and falling in time with his breathing. the said arm relaxes and his hand rests against your shoulder. subsequently, you realise this is the first time you’ve seen him fully without his kimono on. at the very least, he’d still have the other sleeve on.

benimaru notices your blatant staring at his other arm. he can’t comprehend why you’d gawk at it now, since he’s used it plenty of times to choke you.

he hums a small ‘hm’ in question, asking you what you’re so fascinated about. you can feel his voice thrum and rock against his chest, it sends small shivers licking your body that he doesn’t miss.

“you look so funny without your kimono on. why don’t you wear it like this more often?” you drag your nails softly against his biceps. there’s a small groan that hisses from him. as you await his response, you outline a large vein that runs from his upper arm and trails down all the way to his wrist.

“i get cold easily.”

“then why did you take a shower with me?”

“are you hearing yourself?”

surely a little bit of his body temperature was enough to sacrifice. even if it meant he was sneezing a little bit and shivering afterwards.

“seriously? you can take a tranquiliser but you can’t stand a little cold?”

“you’ll make a shitty wife if you can’t even keep me warm.”

“beni!” you hiss at benimaru in appaul, craning your face up to guffaw at him. the manners on him sometimes are despicable.

you pout, shifting your upper weight to flick benimaru in between his eyebrows. he screws his face in mutiny, lips curled into a scowl.

you and him both know that if it were anyone else flicking him like that, they’d be sent crashing through six different blocks of houses down the street.

“oi.” he warns you, tutting.

“konro come by and work some voodoo magic bullshit on you? ‘cause you’re testing your luck by pissing me off. you’re such a menace when you’re sick, it’s unbelievable.”

you hum in awe, inching your face closer towards his. there’s a wave of mockery that paints your face green and you can only laugh at the unrest that swirls in benimaru’s eyes.

he won’t have his pet talking down to him like that. no, no. that just won’t do.

“oh? really? you want me to do it again?” you flash him a cocky smirk, digits curled into a flicking position. you rest the bridge of your middle finger against benimaru’s forehead, slicking some of his charcoal stained locks out the way.

his left hand flies to catch your hand in an instant. with just two of his fingers, he can wrap himself around your wrist. his touch is assertive, firm. he can drag you the fuck away from him as he pleases, but there’s no real malice or force behind him just yet.

“yeah? try me.” he barks, peering down at you through his lashes.

you just might.

[kdj-225]

Hello!! I love your work so much!! Found out that you were in the BNHA (and your love for Bakugou specifically XD) fandom recently, and was wondering how'd you put JD (and maybe KDJC!!) in that universe?

[Thank you so much, I'm so happy to know you like my works!!! 💕 I hope you enjoy this short fic, because I certainly had fun writing it lol]

※DO NOT REPOST / HOST MY WORK ON OTHER APPS OR SITES

“Y’know, that kid reminds me of someone.”

Dokja looks up from his phone to Sooyoung, whom he finds staring out at the mats where Joonghyuk is sparring with a blond-haired child. It would be a pathetic sight—a 28-year old going against a 16-year old—if the kid wasn’t actually managing to catch up somehow.

Bakugou Katsuki, was it?

He was a brave one, even from the get-go. Dokja’s agency had been invited over to Musutafu for joint drills after the war, and though he’d thought to refuse given what he knew of Endeavor’s agency, he ended up giving in once he realized how he’d be losing out if he gave away the chance to anyone else.

And now, here he was. Observing his best and brightest sparring with what he knew was one of Japan’s own best and brightest. Bakugou Katsuki had been the one to dare to ask Joonghyuk to spar, the Korean words coming out stiff from his mouth, and yet, he’d been polite. Unwavering, not even minding how much Joonghyuk towered over him.

Joonghyuk, the bastard that he was, didn’t refuse. Because of course he wouldn’t.

To Sooyoung, he says, “You mean, yourself?” 

He doesn’t bother to hide his amused smile when Sooyoung turns and shoots him a betrayed glare. “The hell do you mean, “myself”?” she asks, smacking a hand over his shoulder. There’s enough force to it that he winces. “I was thinking of another hot-headed kid in our agency.”

“Ah. Kim Namwoon?”

“That’s the one.”

“I don’t see it.” He turns his gaze over to Katsuki—heaving for breath, hands to his knees as he glares up at Yoo Joonghyuk like the man isn’t twelve years his senior. For his small stature, he carries himself with the weight of a grown man; like there’s so much on his shoulders beyond the usual problems of puberty. Like he feels a sense of responsibility for the world, even when no one asks it of him.

A child who sought to be a hero, and bears the burden of it with pride.

He’s nothing like Kim Namwoon, for all his blustering anger. This kid is more like the protagonist of an action genre comic—the kind of protagonist that won’t ever falter, the kind of child born for greatness.

Dokja smiles wryly.

Joonghyuk’s eyes are bright, even as he and Katsuki take a momentary break during their spar. Perhaps protagonists recognize other protagonists, after all.

“This kid is smarter than Namwoon,” he says.

Sooyoung raises a brow. “Oh? Here I thought you’re terrible at reading people.”

He makes a face at her easy criticism of him. It’s true, but that doesn’t mean she has to say it. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? I don’t need to be an expert on people to recognize that our Namwoon is less of a genius.”

“You can just call him an idiot.”

“Your words, not mine.”

She shakes her head, then blows out a sigh between her closed teeth. “What makes you say he’s not like Namwoon?”

“He reminds me more of Joonghyuk, to be honest.”

“Hah?”

“Look at them.” He gestures with his phone to the pair as they both straighten up into another fighting stance, their break seeming to be done and over with. “They’re so similar with their grumpy faces, it’s uncanny. The kid might not have Joonghyuk’s good looks, but I’m starting to think he’s trying to look ugly on purpose.”

“Who are you to comment on a kid’s physical appearance?”

“It’s just an observation.”

“Coming from a squid?”

“Hey. You’re not that gorgeous yourself.”

“Why you—?”

A new voice interrupts their little argument. Feminine in voice, and very familiar as it says, “Do you think the kid would say yes to sparring with me? He looks fun.”

His eyebrows do a funny little wiggle at the concept. Jung Heewon, asking if a kid would be willing to spar with her? It’s usually Lee Jihye who has to make the effort to ask, so…

“This is a surprise,” he says honestly, looking up to where Heewon is standing at his side. She’s smiling in amusement and eagerness, back to the wall as she watches Joonghyuk and Katsuki flying through the air to try and catch each other. To think even Joonghyuk’s gamifying quirk could be a match against a kid who only had explosive sweat as a quirk; it seems there’s still much for him to consider when it comes to Joonghyuk’s training regimen. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in sparring with a child.”

“He might look like it, but he certainly doesn’t act like it,” she says. There’s a hint of laughter to her tone, like even she’s amused with herself. “He’s making Joonghyuk break into a sweat, which is rare enough as is.”

“You’re both crazy,” Sooyoung pipes in, a smile playing on her sly lips. “I, on the other hand, am satisfied watching you all sweat yourself to death.”

“That’s because you’re physically weak, Han Sooyoung.”

“Ah? At least I’m not as bad as Kim Dokja.”

“Oh, you’re right.”

Dokja sighs. “You guys really shouldn’t bully your boss like this. What if I fire you?”

“Not happening,” Heewon laughs. Damn it, she’s right. “You know you love us too much to let us go, Dokja-ssi.”

He doesn’t say anything. Both women seem to take that as a confirmation of Heewon’s words, going by the way they smirk at each other.

Ah, really. Why did he have to decide to build up his agency around these people who like to tease him? Never mind the fact that they were his closest friends even with his quirklessness—their incessant reminders on how much he needs them to keep the agency standing is just embarrassing.

None of them say anything after that. It grows quiet on their side of the gym; a direct contrast to what’s happening on the mats, the explosive energy (both metaphorical and literal) from Joonghyuk and Katsuki ensuring that the gym is filled with noise no matter the silence of those on the benches.

When they finish, it’s only because Joonghyuk has already pinned a wheezing Katsuki to the floor with his boot to his chest. Joonghyuk’s expression is unruffled as ever, eyes and mouth cool and neutral, unlike Katsuki—

who’s grinning, like he just found something he wanted despite losing.

What a terrifying kid.

Heewon’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Ah, looks like they’re done? I’m going to ask the kid if he’s interested.”

“You’re not even going to let the kid take a brea—oi!”

Heewon doesn’t mind Sooyoung’s crowing as she jogs over to where Katsuki is being helped up by Joonghyuk. Dokja has to stifle a smile watching the look on the kid’s face; from eagerness, to an attempt at looking cool, to wide-eyed surprise at Heewon’s presence, he’s expressive in a way that’s unlike Joonghyuk, making him so much easier to read.

Dokja can only watch in bemusement as Katsuki starts checking his pocket for something, up until the light of realization hits him when the kid brings out his phone (he’d been sparring with his phone on his person?). Katsuki rapidly types something on the screen and shows it to Heewon, who nods and says something back. Maybe he’s using a translator app?

They chat like that, making use of Katsuki’s phone to share their thoughts with each other. By the end of it, Heewon laughs—startling Katsuki given the disturbed staring he does—and even ruffles the kid’s head of hair like they’re close enough for it. Katsuki doesn’t seem to agree when he jumps back from her head-patting, his eyes wide and baffled as he squawks unintelligible Japanese at her.

She’s still grinning when she jogs back over to them.

“He said yes?” Sooyoung asks, incredulous.

“Nope,” Heewon says cheerily. “He said that it’d be unfair to spar with me right now.”

Dokja cocks a brow at that. “Did he say why?”

“He wouldn’t be at a hundred percent now, and he knows how strong I am.” With an amused smile as she looks back at Katsuki, who’s busy chatting with Joonghyuk using his phone, she adds, “He wants to do it after resting up enough. What a cute kid.”

“Aha. Your ego was fed, huh? No wonder you’re so pleased,” Sooyoung huffs.

“What, he was just telling the truth!”

“Right, right…”

And just like that, their schedule was set. Never mind joint drills—

South Korea’s top heroes might have just made this entire thing an excuse to prove their strength to Japan’s up-and-coming pro heroes.

(Not that Dokja minded that, really.)

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

dread | hope

i've noticed that my titles for tdj fics are much more purple-prose-y than my titles for literally every other fandom and i don't think I'm mad at it

anyway, my friend has been very excited about the got7 stuff that dropped recently so! have a fic where take gaon's self-destructive tendencies and turn them up to 15

feat. yohan and elijah who have no idea what to do with an upset gaon except shove warm things and food at him bc that's what he does when they're upset

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-destructive behavior bordering on self-harm, possible suicidal thoughts but it’s really just gaon not caring about his own well-being

Pairings: gahan, can be platonic or romantic i don’t care

Word Count: 3983

Believe it or not, Gaon is not an idiot. 

He is naive, perhaps, in that he does not know the fine arts of stringing someone else along on puppet strings, but he is not so oblivious that he can’t feel them being pulled as he moves. Some people assume he is naive because he lets these things happen to him. He prefers to give people the benefit of the doubt, because he knows he won’t be treated as kindly without it. 

People have agendas. Agendas change. That includes him. 

Everyone wants something, and sometimes you need to to work together to get what you both want. That doesn’t make him oblivious. 

Selfish, perhaps. 

Gaon has never been good at recognizing when to stop. He pushes with questions, with actions, with words until something happens. His professor beat his motorcycle to pieces, Soohyun slapped him across the face, his parents—

Well. You get the idea. 

But Gaon knows that what he wants is reckless. He’s an adrenaline junkie, perhaps he always has been. Sure, it’s certainly gotten more self-destructive over the years, but he remembers getting scolded for being so careless with his one life. 

They never got it quite right, though.

The allure wasn’t the sensation of just getting away with something or catching himself just by the skin of his teeth. It wasn’t the sudden explosion of endorphins or the way his pulse thudded so loudly in his ears that it drowned everything else out. 

Not exactly. 

It was how much it scared him to not know what was going to happen next. It was the way his focus narrowed down to right here, right now, a split-second that could very well kill him. Even after he’d gotten away with whatever it was, it was the rush of there being consequences and him not knowing what they are. 

Balancing here, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Some might call it a need for punishment, or label him a masochist. Some might call it attention-seeking or a cry for help. Some might say it’s a desperate bid for control, one last attempt at making himself feel something. 

Gaon doesn’t care to examine it, and whenever someone asks, he brushes it aside. 

Sometimes, though, at night when he’s drunk too much to call himself rational, he thinks it might have something to do with getting secure in insecure places. Making unsafe safe. 

So when his professor tells him to spy on his new boss, Kang Yohan, Gaon doesn’t hesitate. 

Kang Yohan is dangerous. He recognizes it as soon as he walks into his office. His shoulders want to raise, he wants to grit his teeth, he wants to run. But he doesn’t, because Gaon has never run from something like this and so he stays. 

He bugs his office because if there’s one thing Gaon does too well, it is asking questions and sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. He watches the court bend effortlessly to Yohan’s will and feels Dread settle over his shoulders. He scrambles to connect dots when there are none to connect only to turn around and see a full picture that’s already finished. 

He keeps pushing. 

He digs into Kang Yohan, into his court record, into his childhood, crossing every line he can think of as he sinks his hand into jagged pits of shining crystal, all but asking them to show him something. Every time he thinks he has something, he reaches out to touch it and it’s only a reflection. He bounces wildly off of walls, smacks into more obstacles than he could imagine, and is hopelessly confused. 

He doesn’t stop. 

Even if the professor hadn’t told him to be wary of Yohan, Gaon suspects he might’ve done this anyway. Before the live court show, Yohan’s record is perfect. Abides by the lawn as it is written in every circumstance, regardless of the defendant. Gaon has never trusted a perfect record. 

Just as he knows Kang Yohan doesn’t. 

His own record is far from perfect, he knows, but it won’t explain everything. And he knows that Yohan is up to something; people don’t do things with this level of efficacy if they’re not years in the making. So he makes himself a problem. Something to be dealt with. His professor would be dismayed. 

Is it smart to pick a fight with a bad guy and hope you don’t win? Perhaps, but Gaon has never been under any delusions of winning. 

You can fight without wanting to win. 

He knows, at the very least, that he has Yohan’s attention. He’s a mess of contradictions, suspicious enough to bug his office yet throwing himself in the way of a bomb two seconds later. Reckless enough to accuse him out of nowhere yet trustful enough to gain the affection—however sparingly—of his niece and his cat. He knows Yohan needs to figure him out as much as he does. 

Maybe Yohan will be better at it. 

But Gaon doesn’t have a plan, he never does when it comes to things like this. When he wakes up in Yohan’s house of all places, he feels Dread course through his veins and he thinks he’s finished. That he will be hurt, be hidden, or something, that maybe he’s been declared dead or missing. But no, he’s here to recover. He just has to stay in his room and not wander. 

Gaon wanders. 

He knocks on doors, pries open locks, asks questions of people who make remarks about drugging him or killing him and passing them off as jokes, and watches Yohan play at being a monster. 

Perhaps he is. Gaon doesn’t care. 

Dread has a hold of him now as he stays under that roof. He knows Yohan is playing him, knows that strings are being wound slowly around his wrists, his ankles, his neck. His phone is given to him as a reward, for crying out loud. He draws it out as long as he can, feeling every bit the prey circled by a predator. 

Then he hears Yohan’s story and something shifts. 

If it’s a ploy, it’s a damned good one because it leaves Gaon speechless. He retreats, his tail tucked between his legs, an apology on his lips. Is this the end? Is this the consequence? Dread has lessened, surely, but it isn’t gone. He can’t leave now, he can tell he isn’t finished yet. 

So he tries to figure out what he can push for now. 

As it turns out, it’s what he’s been getting. It’s scraps of attention, caught in the incredibly brief moments when the masks shift. It’s the smug smirks that say there’s always something he doesn’t know, something being held just out of his reach. It’s the touches, brief and fleeting, that make the dread bubble under his skin. 

It’s what Yohan wants as well. Wants him chasing after it, off-balance, hopelessly confused, so ready and pliable to look at him to any scrap of reassurance, to be told what to do next. He can give him that.

Slowly, slowly. It starts with an apology. He’s not too proud to admit he was out of order. In return, Yohan opens the fold a little more, drawing him deeper. He cooks for Elijah, savors the feeling of watching the two eat at the table like normal people. He watches the mask slip a little more and wonders what it will feel like when it slots into place for good. 

It only escalates. There is fire, Doh Youngchoon, and a flaming stack of paper, his own hand around a man’s throat after having another illusion shattered in the bright lights of a prison yard. Part of him wonders if this is the consequence, but no, it still lingers, watching him, hands in its pockets. And when he’s cried and screamed himself hoarse, there’s a hand gently around his arm and it begins to rise again. It only grows stronger when he’s pulled roughly against a strong chest next to a burins building. When he throws away a knife that could have answered so many problems. 

He thinks of his professor’s face when he sided with Kang Yohan and Dread cuts a string loose. 

It helps that, to a certain extent, he agrees with Yohan. The system is unfair. It needs to be fixed. And sometimes you have to burn an old world to start a new one. 

If only he weren’t so selfish. 

Kim Gaon is well-practiced in the art of hiding his selfishness. He bottles up his appetites and puts them into his work and hides them perfectly. He will not take up too much space until the time comes for it. He will not use his body as his own and when he demands more, it is a pleasant and revered Pain. 

If he had his way, he would look at the banquet and eat and eat and eat until his teeth turn black and his tongue falls out of his skull. He would take his face in his hands and kiss him no matter how loud the nightmare gets. He would not move out of the way, he would not beg; he would demand and the demand would be understood. 

But he has had his fill of quick and easy hurt. Now he worries his desire into a weapon borne of famine. Dread spills over him on two fronts, a fear of what could happen if he let it run wild and a mind-numbing whisper of when, when, when. When they discover how selfish he really is and rip the carpet out from under his feet. A slower, more exquisite hurt. 

Pain is an old friend, and Gaon is determined to give Suffering a proper handshake. 

He drowns himself in restraint and paralyzes himself with want. Yohan doesn’t have to lift a finger; Gaon is well-versed in placing himself just on the edge, never taking that last step to commit. He languishes in uncertainty and makes his home where the slivers of doubt brush and prick at his back. 

And in very quiet spaces in the middle of long nights, he lets himself reach for Hope. 

Hope that maybe this will be the time he miscalculates, that maybe he can actually keep some of the good alongside Dread. That Yohan, who is as clever as the night is long, will see what he is doing and put a stop to it, one way or another. 

As with everything that’s happened with Yohan, when the other shoe drops, he doesn’t see it coming. 

He walks into the study one day to see Lawyer Ko and K standing there. They turn to look at him, grim expressions on their faces. Gaon looks back and forth between them, until his eyes land on the USB the professor gave him for information in Yohan’s hand. 

The bottom falls out of the pit in his stomach and the insatiable Dread begins to swell and swell. 

Yohan asks him to wait outside in a dangerously soft voice and Gaon nods, bowing to the three of them and retreating. He climbs the stairs in a dreaded haze as the strings tug him up limb by limb. He tries to fumble with his things but Dread has reached his hands, now, and he must sit on the edge of the bed and let it hurt. 

This…this is the part he’s been waiting for. When Dread runs tendrils through his veins and makes the puppet strings fry and disintegrate, cut him loose from any service he could have. When all he can do is sit, or stand, numb and paralyzed with a special kind of emptiness that burns. When it crawls into the spaces behind his eyes and pushes. 

He tries to lose himself in it. To drown in the familiar sting of consequence. But something is wrong. 

He’s miscalculated. 

Now he doesn’t just have the fear of looming consequence, there’s a sickeningly sweet ache in his chest that this really is it. There will be no more evenings here, no more meals and games with Elijah, no more moments where the masks of Judge Kang fall away and just Yohan is left. It hurts with a twist, one that says it won’t matter what the consequence is now, he already has one that will be worse. 

Dread tenderly wraps Suffering’s hands around Gaon’s throat and squeezes. 

He hears the door open from a mile away and Dread sharpens. It closes with a click and he can’t turn his head. He knows Yohan is in the room from a blur of color and a twist of the knife at the base of his chest. Suffering opens his ribs and waits for Pain. 

Yohan crosses the floor. He stands next to Gaon, just to the side, and waits. Silence stretches through the room. If Gaon were being selfish still, he would mumble apologies, fall to his knees and beg forgiveness, but the time for being selfish is over now. He knows this dance, knows when he needs to turn. Knows it is better to sit, paralyzed with want than to whet his appetite and forever go hungry, 

The silence stays for a long time. 

Yohan moves finally, a hand coming up to catch Gaon’s chin and tilt it upward. Gaon focuses on Yohan’s face and finds the mask perfectly in place. Something soft brushes against his cheek and only then does he realize he’s crying. Dread’s hold on him tightens as Yohan simply watches another tear fall.

“When I asked you to wait outside,” he says, “I didn’t mean come up here.”

A softer opening blow than he was expecting, but one that lodges between his ribs all the same. He whispers an apology that sounds horrible to his ears. Yohan simply tilts his head. 

“Did the sight of K and Lawyer Ko surprise you?” Gaon nods. “Do you want to know why there were here?”

No, Gaon screams as Suffering’s hands nod his head. 

“They’ve been looking into Min Jungho,” Yohan says, never looking away, “apparently his behavior has warranted some attention. They found some interesting things, not just about me, but about you.”

The room feels cold, inside and out. 

“They came to me with a worry that you were being used as a pawn, as a way for him to get to me.” Yohan’s hand shifts its grip a little on Gaon’s jaw. “And I thought: that doesn’t sound like the baby deer that nosed his way into my private life, cooking for my niece, now, does it? So I decided to do some digging of my own.”

Gaon swallows painfully as Yohan tips his chin a little higher. 

“I found something interesting,” he says, “well, technically Elijah pointed it out.”

Gaon holds his breath. 

“You don’t take very good care of yourself,” Yohan murmurs, “do you?”

When Gaon shakes his head, Yohan makes a soft noise and cradles Gaon’s chin. 

“If I could learn that from emotionless and detached records, how could a man who practically raised you not?” He tilts his head. “Then I began to wonder what would happen if he did.”

Something in Gaon screams. 

“I wonder if he sent you to me uncaring if you would be hurt or not,” Yohan says lowly, “or if he knew you would be hurt. Maybe you knew it too.”

His expression softens incrementally. 

“I’ve hurt you,” he murmurs, “haven’t I?”

He burns too much to nod but the silence is pointed. 

“Is that why you ran today? Did you think I was going to hurt you?” Gaon’s throat works against his hand. “Do you think I still will?”

Gaon can’t speak. Yohan sighs, expression still softer than it should be as he eases down on the bed next to him, hand moving to cup his cheek. 

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says softly, “you don’t have to look so scared.”

Yes, yes, he does, because now they’re angry at him. Dread, Suffering, Pain, they want what they came for. They want him, to carve him up, their pound of flesh. 

“How is it that made you more scared?” comes the soft tease. 

Gaon will not be teased, he wants to know what’s happening. Why Yohan isn’t hurting him. He wants to know why everything hurts and yet nothing does. 

“Gaon,” Yohan says quietly, a hand going through Gaon’s hair, “Gaon.”

“Why,” he manages to gasp out, “why?”

“Because Min Jungho miscalculated, and maybe you did too.” Yohan slips a hand around the back of Gaon’s neck. “You’re mine now, and that means you don’t get to fall into pain and get away from me.”

“Y-yours?”

The grip on the back of his neck tightens. “Aren’t you?”

Dread twists gleefully in his stomach. His throat tightens as something whispers this is a trap, this is a trap, this is a trap. 

He wants to be. Oh, god, does he? Does he want to say yes and Yohan will drag him out of this pit? Does he want to say no and fall into familiar waiting clutches? Does he want to risk what happens if he says no? Does he want to risk what happens if he says yes?

Yohan’s gaze hasn’t moved from his. He searches frantically, fruitlessly for some crack in that impenetrable facade that will give him something, any idea of what answer he might want. 

Only to find the man staring back at him isn’t as inscrutable as he’s used to. 

As his eyes dart back and forth, Yohan’s are doing the same. The hand on his neck holds him tightly, yes, but to keep him in place, as if to stop him from running away, running back into Pain. 

To keep him. 

Oh. 

Oh.

He nods slowly. 

Something in Yohan’s gaze relaxes and the grip gentles. “Good.”

Yohan is pleased. He’s pleased with Gaon’s decision. He did a good thing. He—

Oh, god, what did he just do?

“Do you need to cry,” comes Yohan’s voice, sweet and worried, “is that it?”

He cries. He tucks his head and tries not to let Yohan see but he tuts, lifting his chin again and guiding it over his shoulder. 

“No more hurting yourself like this,” he scolds without any real heat, “you need to look after yourself better.”

Gaon just sobs. Yohan holds him, soft and gentle, arms around him. Suffering retreats in confusion, Pain easing its claws from wounds, even as Dread clings stubbornly to him. Yohan seems to find it, one hand on his head, the other around his waist. 

“It’s okay now,” he murmurs, “I can take care of you. You can let me take care of you.”

“I don’t—I don’t know how,” Gaon manages. 

“Shh…you’ve done very well at taking care of me and Elijah, we can help.”

A slightly hysterical chuckle bubbles out of his throat. Out of all the things the Kangs do well, providing comfort is not one of them. Then again, Gaon is nowhere near proficient in letting himself be comforted. 

“I don’t think I’ll be very good at it.”

“You can learn.”

Another laugh. “That might take a while.”

Yohan holds him closer. “That’s okay.”

Before Gaon can tell him he might be underestimating just how bad he’s going to be at this, Elijah’s voice comes from the corridor. 

“Gaon, when are you going to start dinner? I’m hungry and Yohan’s already here, so we can…”

She comes to a sharp stop when she sees the pitiful mess he is in Yohan’s arms. Her eyes widen and she comes over as fast as she can. 

“What happened? Why are you crying? Do I need to kill someone?”

“E-Elijah—“

“Tell me what happened,” she orders, hands clenched on her wheels and her mouth drawn tight, “tell me who did this.”

The fierce pride and determination in her voice just make it worse. He was going to hurt them, he—he almost threw all of this away. He would’ve been the worst monster in the world and he was so close and he doesn’t deserve any of this. 

“What happened to him?” Oh, Elijah’s moved on to asking Yohan now. “Why is he crying so much? What did you do?”

Yohan shifts. “I scared him.”

“What did you do that for?” Yohan doesn’t flinch as she hits him on the arm but he does tighten his grip. “Don’t scare him!”

“I didn’t mean to,” he snaps back.

It’s too much. It’s too much and he can’t deal with everything and the only thing holding him up is Yohan and he’s going to collapse into more of a mess than he is right now and this is humiliating and he can’t do anything to stop it and—and—

“Why is he crying harder?”

“Well, someone did just burst in shouting.”

“You’re the one who scared him!”

“You’re still shouting!”

Gaon buries his head in the crook of Yohan’s neck and just cries. Their voices crash over his head and he spins, spinning, spinning, unspun in the wake of the maelstrom in his heart. The dam is open, gates shattered in one fell swoop and tidal waves pour out until he’s wrung dry. 

His head pounds by the time he realizes he’s gone still. They’ve stopped shouting, and he looks up to see Elijah staring at him with a mix of guilt and worry. 

“I shouldn’t have shouted,” she mutters, still looking at him. 

He shakes his head. She doesn’t need to apologize. 

“You should drink something warm,” she says, “it will help. I’ll go make it.”

“I can help,” Yohan says, starting to stand but Gaon won’t let him. 

“No,” Elijah says, already turning and wheeling away, “you once set the coffee maker on fire.”

Gaon snorts into Yohan’s shoulder as the man makes an affronted noise. He shifts again as if to pull away, but Gaon just latches on tighter. If Yohan wants to keep him, he’s going to get him in all his needy, whiny, pathetic, clingy glory. The chest under him sighs and a hand runs over his head again. 

“You must be hungry,” comes the soft voice, “should I make dinner too?”

Gaon shakes his head. “I can do it.”

“You need to learn how to let yourself be taken care of.”

“And Elijah’s making me tea.” Gaon pulls back enough to look up at him. “Shouldn’t I learn slowly?”

Yohan huffs, shaking his head. He’s warm. His hand brushes the hair back from Gaon’s face. Gaon leans into it. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says after a pause. 

“It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry for…” Gaon gestures around. “…this.”

“For what, crying on me, being manipulated by your old professor, or the state of the live court show?”

“...yes?”

A scoff and a chiding tug on his hair. “You don’t need to apologize for the world, Kim Gaon.”

I don’t?

As if he can hear the thought, Yohan’s expression softens and he stands, slowly bringing Gaon with him. “Come on. Elijah will be wondering where you are.”

“You—“ Yohan pauses, looking at him— “you’re really alright with me staying?”

“Yes,” Yohan says softly, “you can stay. Now come on.”

A different feeling tingles in the wounds left by Dread’s claws as Yohan helps him down the stairs. He breathes a little easier as Elijah passes him a warm mug and snaps at Yohan to get out of the way. His hands don’t hurt when he pulls the ingredients out of the fridge and smiles at the way uncle and niece bicker across the table. 

“Did you really set the coffee maker on fire?”

“Yes,” Elijah chirps. 

“Yah!”

As he sets the food on the table and Yohan makes him sit down before anyone eats anything, he thinks he might know what this feeling is. 

Hope.