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applesandbannas747 · 5 months ago

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If you lost all of the stories you’ve ever published on ao3 and were only able to recover five, which stories would they be, and why? (Top five across the board, but top five fence fics would be cool too) 📚✨

I completely welcome you to write a novel length answer 📝✨

okay HOW did I never see this one? This is such a fun and mean question!!

In no particular order:

Fairy Bound - this is my only current Artemis Fowl fic, but it's one of my favorite things I've ever written because it's everything I want in a series that was long finished when I wrote it. It's the ending and conclusion I wish the characters got (and I'm disappointed severely with the new canon material). It's also just full of tropes I love and has moments that have a soft spot in my heart. I also know it's meant as much to a good number of people in the fandom as it has to me, so it would be missed if it were lost

Truths - this took the cake for longest work I'd written for a long time before being dethroned, and it was a really cool experience to write. I think the Truths series was the last I wrote as I posted, which was really fun because some comments helped shape it if I remember correctly. It's where I really fleshed out a lot of my ideas about Fence and the characters and was a huge milestone in my writing abilitiy--it really helped me to improve in a lot of ways, and I think it was a milestone in my Fence era as well. I connected with a lot of people during its run that I've longsince lost contact with but will always love, and it's another one that people tell me from time to time really means something to them, which makes me love it extra for that--I don’t know, connection? And of course I used a lot of tropes I love and built up a lot of headcanons and lore that I still carry to this day!

Trouble - man this is where Eugesse started, and I can't abandon it even if I'd change so much about it if I wrote it again. I love a lot of moments from this fic and I indulged so much in building the Labaos and learning how to code to make text messages--it was a fic filled with so many firsts! But I also assumed it would be a fic filled with a lot of lasts--I truly didn't intend to write Eugesse again until we had more content on him because this was back during The Great Hiatus (but boy am I glad I didn't stick to that 💀💀💀)... So the iea with Trouble was that it got to be paced weirdly because there were so many moments, beats, and tropes I wanted to hit with Eugesse and this was my only chance, so I needed to fit them all in. So while this is the only fic I debated over including on this list because I think it's the weakest one here in terms of writing, it will always hold a special place in my heart, and it means a lot to me.

Promised Things - how could I not include the Things to Hold Onto series? In a very literal way if my house were burning to the ground, the physical bookbound (!!!!!) versions a friend made and sent me would be top priority after living things. This is another fic that I really strove to improve my writing with, and it's significant as well because it was the fic I wrote after an autistic meltdown over the ARC of Striking Distance I read, after which, I felt sick and conflicted whenever I thought about writing for Fence because the thought of adjusting my characterizations to fit canon made sent me spiraling. So I took a break and wrote a couple novels, including one that took the plot of an au I'd been looking forward to writing (if you're wondering when this 'break' took place, it was March-July 2020; I had enough backlog that there was never a break in my posting schedule to reflect the break I took in writing). But do you know what I found? I was more miserable not writing for Fence than anything, and even while I was actively writing novels in NaNoWriMo challenges, I found myself sneaking in writing time for Fence anyway--for Promised Things, specifically. And I found my love of Fence again through it, which sounds like such a conceited thing to say lmfao but I love who I thought the characters were and writing this fic helped me start to accept that it was okay to still write them the way I saw them. So on a meta level, this one means a lot to me. And on a writing level, I'm proud of the detail I put into it and the planning it took. Pull up any chapter in this series and I could find the day of the week it took place on. I've not quite achieved this level of detail since. It also got a lot of editing to improve it as we went along, and I'm happy with how it turned out and proud of the work that went into it. And, yeah, I'm lizardbrained too and the fact that this one got WAY more love than I ever expected in any way does (positively) effect how I see it. So this one's getting saved lol

Breakable Things - to this day, this fic is one of the stories I am proudest of, and I think it's a strong piece of writing in terms of character development. It was a long redemption arc for Jesse and I worked really hard on making it a successful one--and it is the number one fic I've had people tell me I won them over with Jesse in, so I like to think that it was a successful arc XD I've always said that in this series, Seiji and Jesse both grew up in hell, but they both view Jesse and Jesse only as the monster--and in Promised Things, we get Seiji's point of view, and Nick's, who is seeing through the damage done to Seiji and seeing a monster in Jesse through it. Which made writing Breakable Things so fucking fun because Eugene's the only perspective that doesn't cast Jesse as the villain. And, yeah, Jesse sees himself as a victim and likes to throw himself pity parties, but under it all, it's not Seiji he blames for anything, it's not his dad, it's hardly even Nick. and we get to see that in this fic and see how the damage he caused is just as real as before, but that his pain isn't less than Seiji's. And more than any other character in the series, Jesse works to confront the truth of who he is and figure it out and improve, a lot of the time, alone. Seiji fell into a situation that naturally healed him. Jesse dove head first into one that was intended to break everyone--but he was also put on an edge that Seiji wasn't, and that made all the difference. Anyway, I have a lot of feelings about Jesse and I had a lot of fun trying to redeem him/show his side and contrast it with Seiji's without making it feel like I was trying to tragic-backstory his ass out of accountability for the shit he did. Also! I wrote bits of this fic in tandem with Promised Things--any major scene with Jesse, I either had notes for Jesse's side, wrote Jesse's side right after, or even wrote Jesse's POV of it first, which was an interesting way of writing a sequel that I've never done any other time.

#jackshit #fence asks #fic stuff #thanks for the ask!!💜#rip More you will be missed #i literally had so much fun with this ask gjasfd thank you for asking!!

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viviennes-tears · 7 months ago

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Little Tease (Tom Hiddleston, Tom Holland, Sebastian Stan & X reader One shot)

18+ blog: It is YOUR responsibility, as a reader, to think about the content that you consume at your own discretion. ~

A/N: Hello all you wonderful people!

It's been forever since I last updated and I apologise profusely for my absence. I won't ramble on here about it, as there's a full explanation on my profile about my lack of updates, and an announcement too for you to check out. However I am hoping the following updates have been worth the extended wait.

Also thank you to Florence_Nightwing for sending me another prompt from back in October and for waiting extremely patiently for me to write this. I will say I got into a flow which then took a turn and I hope it worked out well. It was certainly fun to write and a great way to come back 😊 x

(This is now the last of the October 2023 prompts and prompts are still currently closed.)

Prompt requested by Florence_Nightwing on AO3: If your not too inundated, can you please do another like this? Tom and Sebastian go to the costume trailer to see Tom Holland in just his Spiderman thong for the female costume assistant he fancies. They decide to be annoying big brothers and tease him in front of her even going as far as to give him a wedge and ask her how she likes his butt cheeks, and they play with them. Something goofy like that, please.

Summary: You are working on a Marvel set as an assistant in the costume department. You've worked on all the solo Tom Holland (your crush) SpiderMan movies previously working on this movie set. You've always enjoyed the working environment and those who you've worked with, however this one particular day onset was one you weren't expecting, which ended up involving Tom, Tom Hiddleston and Sebastian Stan. Along the way you gain a new self-discovery.

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"I'm sorry I keep causing you extra work all the time." Tom says, while rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Nonsense, Tom, you know it's my job to do repairs and assist on costume designs." You assured him, as you prepare to fix his Spidey suit for the thousandth time whilst working on this movie alone.

Actually you've been lucky enough to be a costume assistant on all the solo SpiderMan movies since Tom took on the role, however this is the first time you've worked on any of the other Marvel projects, because usually when they asked for you to come back you had to decline, due to other work obligations. Although you made sure for all the solo SpiderMan movies that you were available to work, partly because you enjoyed those who you worked with, and partly because of your crush on Tom. Not that he knows you have feelings for him, nor have you noticed he has a crush on you too, despite it being so obvious to everyone else.

Once you had set everything ready you helped unzip him out of his suit, before he carefully pulled the suit down and off in order to not cause any further damage, albeit neither of you are aware of being watched during this short interaction. At least not until...

"Well, well, well Thomas...have we been careless again?" Sebastian says playfully, as he himself and Hiddleston emerge from their hiding spot from around the corner, each of them carrying their own costumes in their arms. Holland instantly sighs and rolls his eyes at the older men as they approach while you try to hide your amusement.

"Come now, Seb, don't embarrass the boy in front of the lovely lady." Hiddleston says flirtatiously, taking your hand and kissing it, purposely to annoy Holland and make you blush as you often did whenever he put on the charm.

"Aren't you two done for the day?" Tom asks slightly frustratedly, as Hiddleston winks at you and lets your hand go.

"We are indeed." Hiddleston replies, taking Sebastian's costume from him and hanging both of their costumes onto the correct standing rack.

"But there's no rush to be anywhere...besides we've not had much chance to catch up yet." Sebastian adds with a sly smile on his lips as he eyes Holland up and down. Clearly he is calculating his next move, making Holland a bit nervous, as for yourself you've somewhat recovered from Tom's charming act a moment ago.

Hiddleston suddenly appears behind Holland without him noticing until he feels the older man's big hands on his shoulders, causing him to flitch slightly, and then breath out when he turns his head to see who it was. "Relax, Tom." Hiddleston chuckles before he begins massaging his bare shoulders.

"Yeah, just us here..." Sebastian adds, his eyes darkening with mischief intent and Tom assumed Hiddleston looked the same way, they usually do when the teasing is going to take a turn that he can never quite predict what will come of it.

You cleared your throat shortly after Sebastian said that and then you began to assess the full extent of the damage to Tom's Spidey suit over by your workbench. Holland gulped as he felt Hiddleston’s hands gently trail down his back, before the slight squeeze on his hips. The way Tom squirmed distracted you and made you look between the men confused by the silent looks between each of them.

"What?" You asked with furrowed eyebrows, abandoning the Spidey suit on your workbench.

"What do you think of Thomas here?" Sebastian asks out of the blue, stunning you from the unexpected question. Sebastian's smirk reappears as he pulls Tom closer to him, making him face you while he drapes his arm around Tom's neck, and his hand resting on his bare chest. Tom stands there awkwardly, and he knows if he tries to move away it would be a futile attempt, meaning Sebastian will make it worse for him if he tries.

"Well...I-I think he's a great guy. Never difficult to work with nor does he cause any drama like some people can on sets." You replied, choosing these words as a safe way to answer the question. "Want more than that, love." Hiddleston says in a low seductive voice close to you, his scent invading your senses too. He did it on purpose again, getting you to blush and for Holland to feel annoyed he's flirting with you once more.

"You can't say you're not attracted to him right now...I mean look at this face." Sebastian teases as he pinches Holland's cheeks together with his free hand, the other still resting on his bare chest, his actions causing Tom to get a little flustered now he's worked out their intentions. Even if he hasn't worked out how far they will go.

You struggle to find words to divert from divulging your true feelings for Tom, but the blush on your cheeks was evident enough for them anyway, not that either Sebastian or Hiddleston would mention they've known for a long time already. Despite your inability to defend yourself it didn't falter the older men from teasing the pair of you further.

"He's quite the catch, no?" Hiddleston asks, his fingers brushing against your exposed arms due to the short sleeves you have on today, the feather-like touch forming goosebumps on your arms.

"What's not to like? He's young, good looking and sweet as you girls like to say." Sebastian continued, letting go of Holland's cheeks, but the hand which had been resting on his chest no longer stayed still. Instead his fingers started to circulate around Tom's left nipple slowly and gently. The sensation caused Tom's nipple to react and form a tweak-able point, much to his annoyance Sebastian took advantage, rolling the peak of his nipple between his fingers. Your eyes widened slightly, this wasn't at all where you imagined this conversation to go at all, of course your reaction amused the older men to no end.

"What more could you ask for, darling?" Hiddleston adds, as he moves over to the guys, his fingers gone yet left a tingling sensation in their wake.

"Alright, alright guys, I think Y/N is getting uncomfortable now." Tom says with nervous laughter and pleading eyes. It's clear he's trying to hide something from you, you just can't work out what, at least not yet.

Sebastian mockingly ponders for a few seconds before saying, "no, I think we're getting somewhere with this. Right, Tommy?"

"Right." Hiddleston agrees, wrapping his arm around Holland's waist, Sebastian's still around his neck. "We're only helping out the little guy." Hiddleston adds playfully, both he and Sebastian chuckle simultaneously. Holland sighs exasperatedly, you're speechless, this being the strangest interaction you've had with any of them.

"Come on, Thomas, lighten up." Sebastian says, his hand trailing down Tom's back down to his ass, squeezing his bare ass cheek firmly. Holland's eyes widened in surprise as he jumped a little at the same time. "Do you like his ass, Doll?" Sebastian asks, a darker look appearing in his eyes as he stares at Holland.

"I-I er..." You stuttered, your cheeks flushing again at another risque question, Tom's cheeks just as red too.

"I think you just need a memory refresher." Sebastian says, his fingers wrapping around the thin waistband of Tom's thong, then tugging at them swiftly and yanking them upwards. Tom lets out a little unexpected yelp as his balls were being strung up. His lips then press into a firm thin line as Sebastian man handles him with his free hand, Hiddleston's arm falling from his waist, his butt then on full display to you now he's been made to turn around. "Mhm...peachy." Sebastian adds, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

A few seconds later Sebastian man handles Tom again, he stumbles as Sebastian forces him to walk over to the workbench, he frees up some space, shoving things aside including the Spidey suit to one side too. Followed by Sebastian standing to the side while pressing Tom forwards against the workbench, forcing him face down, his hand pressing down on his back with his fingers splayed out to keep him in place. Hiddleston starts smirking in his signature Loki way, his eyes darkening now too to match Sebastian's own, he also continues to crotch down on the other side of Holland, spanking his ass hard and Holland yelps again. Your jaw drops instantly, realising they must have a much closer relationship than anyone knew about, plus the more you witness their behaviour the more you realised you're now somehow involved too.

"He likes a good spanking." Hiddleston seemed to have a look about him that made you realise he really wasn't joking, despite his tone sounded like he was. The next thing you knew was Hiddleston grabbing hold of your wrist, gently pulling you closer, as Holland peered over his shoulder shyly with brightly flushed cheeks. "Give it a try, love." Hiddleston encourages, his thumb gently rubbing over your skin and you feel another tingling sensation from his touch.

The older men see you're hesitant, you have every right to be though, after all you've never spanked anyone before. Sebastian and Hiddleston give each other an exchange of looks in agreement, leading to Hiddleston easing your hand towards Holland's butt, before getting you to cup his bare ass cheek in your palm. You all hear the loud gulp from Holland and you feel his ass clenching beneath your touch. Followed by you taking a shaky breath out of nervousness, albeit your fingers soon twitch, feeling the warmth of Holland's ass in your hand and Hiddleston's fingers lightly caressing the back of your hand. This lasts for a long moment before Hiddleston leads your hand away and back again, a light tap on Holland's ass on re-entry, he's easing you into the idea of spanking. All the while Sebastian watched Hiddleston teach you how to spank someone the right way to bring pleasure. Of course he was delighted by the sight and absentmindedly caressed Holland's body.

Every touch and sensation was affecting Tom, his breathing becoming more shaky and low, his cheeks still bright red, while his fists kept clenching and unclenching. Although the long awaited anticipation eventually arrived, after the small little practice goes your hand thwacked against his ass hard, a low moan escaping Tom's lips upon impact while you felt the way his flesh had a slight heat to it already.

Hiddleston rose up to his full height shortly thereafter, leaning in closer towards you, his scent assaulting your senses again due to the closeness. "Again, darling." Hiddleston whispered lowly, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, causing your lips to part slightly to allow a tiny puff of air to escape. A smirk appeared on his lips like before as his fingers wrapped around your wrist once more. "Again." He repeats.

You look toward Sebastian who nods approvingly and bites his lower lip. By this point however it's like these men have gotten under your skin like you never imagined they could, yet somehow they had accomplished to do so. On the other hand it was all rather arousing too, once you had become acquainted with the situation you found yourself in, a situation which would be engraved into your memory for sure.

As you prepared to give Tom another good smack he peered over his shoulder at you again. His eyes seem to be staring into your soul, not like he's begging for you to stop, in fact you see the opposite and you know he wants more. There have been many times where you pictured Tom during the throes of pleasure, however never in your wildest dreams had you pictured him like being dominated. That look did give you reassurance about doing this and you went for it this time. This time you spanked Tom's butt repeatedly in a rapid quick session, the older men not able to take their eyes off the scene before them, while Tom moaned and yelped in pleasure.

"Enough." Sebastian suddenly cuts you off mid action after a few consecutive slaps. You do as you're told and watch Sebastian help Tom to stand up properly again. His hand massaging Tom's butt, earning a low grunt from Tom, both older men chuckled.

"Not bad, love." Hiddleston praises and places a kiss upon your reddened cheek. Getting their approval actually felt nice, but you also had a feeling you've definitely delved into something with the three of them now.

In the end you found it wasn't as far-fetched as it may have first sounded, because within the next hour an hour you found yourself in Hiddleston's trailer with the three of them, naked. Your seemingly normal day working on set turned into an afternoon delight partaking in a foursome. A foursome with even more kinky antics and you being fucked in every hole at the same time. Your body got used and over simulated in the most pleasurable way by the end. Along the way discovering a new side of yourself, a side of yourself you wanted to continue to explore, the exploration you knew would only ever be satisfied with these three beautiful men.

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

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Source: @viviennes-tears

#little tease #tom hiddleston #tom holland #sebastian stan #x reader #one shot #fan fiction #prompt request #tom hiddleston fic #hiddles #hiddleston #marvel #mcu #ao3 prompt fic #viviennes-tears

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lulu24784 · 2 years ago

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washing machine heart | part 2

"I know who you pretend I am."

[AO3 Link]

previous chapter | next chapter

synopsis: | You're absolutely infatuated with Stan Marsh and have even started dating him! It should be a dream come true, but the truth is, he's only with you to make Wendy Testaburger jealous. To help you work through your emotions, you turn to Kenny McCormick, your best friend.

pairings: | kenny mccormick x fem! reader ; stan marsh x fem! reader ; wendy testaburger x stan marsh

cws: | angst, drug use/drug mentions, explicit language, sexual content, unrequited love, mental health themes / sh

everyone is aged up to be 18+

The class flew by.

You barely paid attention to what was being taught, as you were more preoccupied with your daydreams as you watched football practice out the window. You’d smile to yourself whenever you caught a peek at Stan. He was adorable. Perfect in every way. You fidgeted with your pencil while glancing up at the time. Only a few more minutes until you could be in his arms.

You thought about your upcoming date. Even though you told Kenny today would be the day Stan Marsh would fall in love with you, you truly had no idea what the plan was. Stan was the one who had planned the date. You were just hoping that once you were together, you’d find a way to woo him.

You gathered your books and bag as the bell rang and got to your feet. You smiled lightly to yourself as you cast one last look out the window. But when you noticed a particular black-haired female making her way toward the football field, you briefly stopped. The sight was stomach-churning.

‘Ah, it’s nothing. Don’t even worry about it.’ You thought to yourself as you pushed yourself to look away. You let a trembling breath out before walking to your locker to put your belongings away.

‘He’s dating you, not her. He’s dating you, not her...’ repeated in your thoughts as you made an effort to gather yourself. You ran out to the football field after checking your locker mirror one last time to make sure everything was in order.

As you made your way over, Wendy passed by you. She gave you a slight smile as she headed back toward the school.

‘She is so beautiful...’ You thought as your level of insecurity increased a little. You couldn’t help but feel excruciatingly average in comparison. You certainly weren’t ugly. But a small voice in the back of your mind would constantly challenge that thought. That was something you wished you could turn off, but sadly, it appeared to be there to stay. You frequently wondered why Stan would even look at you when he had someone like Wendy in his life. Definitely not a healthy way of thinking...

After encircling yourself in your arms, you approached Stan and waved at him when he noticed you.

“Hey!” He jogged up to you and gave you a quick peck on the cheek.

Your breathing caught in your chest. You linked your hands behind your back and smiled at him. “Hey... How was practice?”

“Pretty good. Coach thinks we’re making good progress.” He grinned.

His smile alone made your heart start to race. The boy was addictive.

Man... You had it bad.

The two of you walked in the direction of the school after Stan took your hand in his. He wanted to change out of his jersey before you left for your date. You still had no idea where you were going or what you were going to do, but you didn’t really care. Anything would be OK. Your usual dates consisted of Stan driving around until he found an empty parking lot and the two of you would sit and... Talk. There were also the rare occasions when he took you to Tweek Bros. Coffee and you two actually sat down and talked. You wondered if today would be a parking lot date.

Stan changed, and the two of you went to his car. Even though it was a little damaged, he seemed to like it. Somehow, it suit him.

Stan kindly unlocked your door for you, so you could enter.

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Despite being short, the drive was calm. He eventually stopped close to Stark’s Pond.

Ah, a parking lot date.

That wasn’t bad, exactly, but you wished you could do something more romantic with him. You knew deep down that would never happen. Only one thing stood out as something you KNOW you excelled at. The main reason you suspected Stan was dating you. Yet if it was for him, you didn’t mind being used. You weren’t there to be a nagging girlfriend. You were there to satisfy his needs and make him happy.

But were you actually a girlfriend?

The thought lingered in your head, but as Stan leaned over the center console and softly caressed your cheek, it vanished. The two of you kissed while your eyes fluttered closed. His lips were soft, and he tasted like spiced rum. Your heart felt like it was about to erupt from your chest. While the two of you kept kissing, his soft hands eventually worked their way into your hair. As he delicately brushed his tongue across your lower lip, the mood became considerably more heated. He entered gently as you slightly opened your mouth to let him in, and he immediately started using his tongue to explore it.

Surprisingly, Stan was still somewhat shy in this situation. It made you happy. Even while you realized he knew how to handle these kinds of activities, the thought that you were making him nervous excited you. There was a part of you that couldn’t wait to claim him as your own.

He pulled back a little, delicately ghosting your lips with his as trembling hands crept towards the hem of your shirt. Small panting breaths escaping both of you. With half-lid eyes, you cast a quick glance his way.

“You... You can take it off if you want...” you whispered.

A light pink color dusted over Stan’s cheeks. He fiddled with the edge of your shirt while licking his lips apprehensively.

“You’re too cute...” He bit his lower lip and murmured. Stan gave you a nervous smile as he withdrew and sat back in his chair. “I think we should take it slow...”

Slowly, the boy scanned your body. Although he was holding back for some reason, you knew he wanted more. You wouldn’t pry.

“Sure..” You gave him a short kiss on the cheek and a gentle smile. “Is there anything else you’d like to do?” You inquired.

Stan stretched his arms out and started up the car. “Grab a bite and head home?”

Some date.

You sighed a little to yourself as you nodded. If only you’d had the guts to ask him for more. Today was your chance to woo him! So much for that. A small part of you couldn’t help but wonder whether it had something to do with Wendy? Oh, who were you kidding? Of course, it was because of Wendy. She was probably flirting with him before you met up today! You knew he’d take her back in a heartbeat if she asked.

Way to sour your own mood.

“I won’t be able to hang out with you tomorrow night. Me and the boys are gonna do some gaming.” Stan spoke and turned into a drive-thru.

“That’s alright, I need to study for classes, anyway.”

Stan simply chuckled. “You and Kyle.. Always studying. Friggin nerds.”

You giggled and gave his arm a light tap. “So mean!”

Stan smiled kindly and turned toward the menu, ordering for both of you.

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

Your boyfriend dropped you off at your house following an "extremely romantic" fast-food meal. You climbed the stairs to your bedroom. Parents were nowhere to be found, so the house was fairly quiet. You figured that they were simply working later than typical, but who knows? You weren’t particularly close to your family, and, if you were completely honest, you couldn’t wait to move out on your own. They wouldn’t care if they ever saw you again, anyway.

You threw your bag to the ground before collapsing onto your bed. Taking a deep breath and snuggling into your blankets. What a day. At least getting to spend some time with Stan made you happy! A small makeout sesh wasn’t too bad. You let out a contented sigh and reached for your phone.

‘Oh, Kenny’s been texting me.��

As you read the messages, you grinned to yourself. He had asked to meet you after your date. You sent him a quick message inviting him to hang out at your house. Within seconds, you received a response. Kenny was on his way!

In an instant, you stood up and switched into some relaxed, comfortable clothing. You figured that the two of you would watch a movie or play some video games. You had a big smile as you collected your blankets and pillows and transported them downstairs to the couch. Next, you needed snacks! You made your way to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of chips and a few cans of soda. If he was really hungry, you would order a pizza.

You smiled eagerly, excited for your bestie to arrive.

#kenny mccormick x reader #stan marsh x reader #south park x reader #lulu works

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thesakuragarnet · 1 year ago

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His Ocean Eyes (first chapter)

Disclaimer: This is just the first chapter! The full fic is ongoing and is posted to AO3! Link will be posted below.

FULL FIC IS 18+ ONLY!

Summary: Dusk is just another outcast. Just another child for Ujiko to exploit once she reaches her full potential. The only difference between her and the others is that she's been plotting her escape since children started disappearing one by one. When the mysterious boy who's been asleep for three years wakes up, allowing her to break free, how will her life change now that she finally has someone she can count on?

Tags: Dabi X Female OC, MHA CH350 spoilers, swearing, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, smut (as of right now, there is no smut published in the fanfiction), canon-typical violence and Dabi-typical body horror, alternate canon, found family, slow burn until it isn't

Word Count: 2,048 words for the first chapter (full fic word count is unknown as it is ongoing)

AO3 link

Chapter 1: Runaways

“HE’S AWAKE! HE’S AWAKE!”

I can hear the children shrieking at the top of their lungs as they run by my room, and I jolt up in the small cot as the thin hospital gown clings to my lithe form. My name is Dusk Ryuuzaki, and I am fourteen years old with green eyes and pale skin. My dirty blonde hair hangs in my face, hiding my eyes like it has most of my life as I exhale upward, blowing the strands out of the way so I can see. My hair is long ; I’ve always been told to cut it, but I’ve never wanted to. I’ve been in this hospital for almost two years. I was twelve when Sensei “rescued” me and brought me here. I was living on the streets for only a day after my Quirkless parents threw me out. My Quirk is…complicated. I can painlessly transform myself into a dragon, yet the senses stay with me at all times. I have increased vision, sense of smell, sense of hearing, strength, and agility. Furthermore, I can breathe fire for about a full minute before it starts to hurt my throat. My Quirk times out in hour intervals, but they’ve gotten lengthier as I've gotten older. I’ve been practicing with the other children, honing our Quirks during our time at the hospital. Every now and then, one kid will disappear, never to be seen again. Sensei’s flower-faced friend assures us that they found a good home, but…I have to admit…things seem…suspicious. The one thing I’ve learned: don’t ask questions. Anyone who asks questions goes missing. Anyone who defies even the slightest order goes missing. Anyone who gets… too good at their abilities goes missing. So, I’ve swallowed my pride by deliberately messing up, taking careful note of every potential exit. I wanted to leave. I didn’t feel safe anymore. I decided to mask my curiosity. That is…except for my curiosity about the boy who just woke up.

He’d been in a coma for three years. Whenever we received breaks, the children would crowd around him, poking and prodding at him, wondering when he would wake up. They said the surgery took days; his skin was so badly burned that the doctor had to transplant practically all of it. Rumors circulated that he was some kind of Frankenstein's monster, but he didn't seem very monstrous to me. He seemed…peaceful…in an exhausted way. Oh, to be asleep for three years dreaming one’s life away. It sounds like a dream come true.

My bare feet hit the cold tile as I run down the hallway toward the large playroom. I stop dead in my tracks when I look through the open door to see the flower-faced friend speaking to him…and Sensei’s voice speaks through the computer screen in the playroom. I can’t see the boy…I can definitely hear him arguing with Sensei…no one ever argues with Sensei.

“No way…am I getting trained by anyone else.”

The voice is raspy and harsh, and the specific timbre chills my ears in a way that only particular sounds resonate.

“Well, you see. I’m afraid…we can’t let you do that,” Flower-faced ‘friend’ mutters, and, suddenly, his sunshine face contorts into an eldritch horror of a scowl.

‘This is what happens before the kids disappear.’

Flower-face lunges forward, and I watch as the kid dives beneath his legs, sliding and pushing himself to his feet as he breaks into a sprint, looking over his shoulder and not paying attention.

SLAM! THUD!

I cry out briefly as he runs right into me, knocking me over as we both fall to the ground. That’s when I see his eyes for the first time.

This boy has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen; they're the most brilliant mix of sapphire and turquoise, like staring into the ocean itself. There’s no time to admire him; I can already hear Flower-face turning around.

“Get off me!” He shouts, shoving himself up as I jump to my feet, brushing off my gown.

“ You ran into me !” I retort before he starts running down the hall without a sideways glance.

“HEY!” I call after him; I know he’s running in the wrong direction. “COME BACK!”

I turn the corner and see him panicking at the dead end, staring up at the green and white checkered walls as if he’s about to have some sort of mental breakdown. He pulls at his hair, and, I swear his skin looks like it’s smoking.

“Hey, hey. This way! I know how to get out of here!” I call, waving him forward as I steal a glance over my shoulder. Flower-face slowly trudges down the hallway like a zombie; it’s like some kind of scene out of Stephen King.

“You’re just a stupid girl. What do you know?” he suddenly blurts, and my eyes narrow.

“Well, this stupid girl , is gonna get us both out of here. Are you in or do you wanna go to whatever fresh hell they have planned for us?” I snap, and he groans dramatically before dashing toward me. I run down the hall as I process the map I’d drawn in my head. Right as he catches up to me, I take a sharp left, using my draconic strength to break through the locked double doors as I force all of my body weight into the shove.

“Whoa,” the kid mutters under his breath as he follows me, and we burst into the courtyard. They only let us out here at night, but what I hadn’t considered was the enormous electric fence and barbed wire above the pillars.

“SHIT!” I hiss under my breath, and the boy raises his eyebrows.

“What do you mean shit ?! I thought you said you could get us out of here!” He screams, and a spark of anger flares in my chest.

“I CAN! LET ME THINK!” I shout back, and, suddenly, a sizzling sound creeps through the air; the boy’s tone shifts from rage to sheer terror.

“NO! NO! NO!” he stammers, and I realize that his skin is literally smoking.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I stammer, registering the fear on his face.

“Get back! I don’t wanna hurt you!” he stutters, “Get away!”

Before I can blink, brilliant azure flames pour down his arms, leaping directly through the open double doors as they start to spread up the enormous compound. Within a few seconds, the flames only lick at his hands, and his eyes well with tears, only for them to evaporate within seconds. The blue flames remain in his palms as he thrashes his hands about.

‘He can’t control his Quirk.’

“HEY!” I shout, braving the heat and stepping closer as I shield my eyes from the blinding blue light.

“STAY BACK!” He screams; it’s a sound of pure anguish and confusion.

“HEY! I CAN HELP!” I snap, and, in a few steps, I’m right beside him. He looks at me like I’ve gone utterly insane. Another Quirk I inherited from my grandparents; my skin is fireproof.

I carefully take his hands in mine, pressing until our palms touch, and a faint hissing sound pierces the sky above the roaring flames in the hospital buildings. His eyes widen, staring into mine as if I’m some sort of alien life form.

“What…Who are you?” He stutters, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks as I stare up at him. He’s about half a foot taller than me, and his white hair is dusted with ash as the building continues to burn.

“Dusk Ryuuzaki. My Quirk is Fire Dragon; it’s three in one. That’s how. And…who are you ?” I smile, and he gulps as I release his hands, staring at his slightly singed palms.

“Touya. Touya Todoroki,” He stutters, and I nod.

‘Even his name sounds beautiful.’

“Nice to finally meet you. Now. If we’re going to get out of here-”

‘I CAN FLY US OUT! It’ll just be a little embarrassing…I need Support Gear clothes like that dragon hero.’

“How are we getting out? I’ve torched our only other exit?!” He exclaims, scratching his arm, and I slowly walk behind the lone tree in the courtyard.

“I said my Quirk is Fire Dragon. Do the math, Todoroki,” I snicker as I hide from him and, in one smooth motion, slip out of my gown. I ball it up and throw it around the tree straight for him.

“WHY ARE YOU GETTING NAKED?” He shouts, and I laugh.

“Oh, grow up. I don’t want to not have clothes whenever we get where we’re going. Can you hold onto that for me?” I call out as I begin to activate my Quirk. Painlessly, the change occurs; my skin turns over into dark purple scales, and my hair turns silver and forms a spiky ridge down my neck and two curved horns on my head, and a pair of silver wings sprout out of my back. As I’ve gotten older, my dragon form has gotten larger. I should be as big as Ryukyu when I’m an adult. Right now, I’m as big as a horse. I emerge from behind the tree, and Touya’s blinks, processing what just happened.

“Get on! We’re getting out of this place,” I growl, my voice coming out in a gravelly garble. He hesitates for a second, stealing one last glance at the blazing blue before hefting himself onto my back.

“Hold on to the spikes on my neck! It’s gonna be rough! I’ve never flown with anyone before,” I mutter.

“You wha- AHHHHH! SHIT!” He screams as I take to the air, flapping as hard as I can. He’s not too heavy, but it’s still like I have some cumbersome random weight on my back. He clings to my neck for dear life as I sail into the night sky.

“I’m gonna be sick,” He groans.

“If you puke, don’t get it on me,” I snort as I glide through the fog.

“Okay, I’m okay. I’m okay,” He slurs slowly, and I can feel his staggered breathing on the back of my neck.

“So…where…where should we go?” I ask as I steal a glance over my shoulder at him.

“I…I need to go home. I need to apologize to my family,” He murmurs quietly, and I cock my head.

“For what?” I pry, but he chews his bottom lip as he traces his hands over the lines on his face and neck from where they transplanted skin.

“I…don’t wanna talk about it,” He sighs.

“Well…where is home for you?” I yawn, and Touya sits up straighter.

“Suburban Musutafu. Do you know where that is?” He asks.

‘That’s where I used to live.’

“Yeah,” I mutter, and Touya pokes at the back of my neck. I look over my shoulder back at him once more; his cheeks glow a dull shade of pink in the moonlight.

“Hey, uh. Thanks…for…all that…back there. I know we just met but…I…I appreciate it,” He stutters, and I smile.

“Well…thanks for trusting me to get us out. I don’t know how much longer I would’ve let myself rot in there,” I remark as I return my attention to the horizon.

…

Touya’s been in the house for longer than he should’ve. He said he’d go inside, touch base with his family, and then they’d help me get home…I hadn’t told him that I didn’t even have one anymore. I'd already stopped using my Quirk and pulled the ratty hospital gown back on; I'm gonna need to find some real clothes to steal.

Wordlessly, Touya slips out of the back door, stalking back to me with his hands balled up into fists as tears stream down his face.

“Touya?”

“They thought I was dead. They thought I was dead…and nothing changed…,” He mutters to himself. I wouldn’t know anything about what he was referring to until later. He wipes away his tears.

“I guess, now, I’ll help get you home. Where is that for you?” He sniffs, staring at the ground.

“Nowhere,” I say without missing a beat. His eyes lift up to meet mine.

“Nowhere?” He echoes my words with a pitch at the end.

“Nowhere.”

His lips curl into a sad smile.

“Well…we both live nowhere now.”

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purlturtle · 2 years ago

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Hello, lovely human.

Fanfic Writer Emoji ask!

How about you pick 15 emojis you want to answer, and go wild?... :)

oh god. oh you wonderful human you.

FIFTEEEEEEEN!!!!!

*clears throat*

okay. oh god. hnggnnnh. here we go. (I'm being all calm and normal, as promised.)

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels? (1)

Helena realizing that she is allowed to want, and to have, happiness. Myka realizing that she is allowed to want, and to have, happiness! They've both been dealt really harsh cards by life, and I love to give them love and care and support, not just from each other, but from a wider circle of found family as well. And whenever I get to describe a scene that shows them realizing that, 🥺

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh? (2)

I'm very proud of this line I put in Helena's mouth: “Well, it’s not as if they hadn’t imagined our bedroom activities long before there ever were any.”

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers? (3)

I love cliffhangers, both at chapter endings and at fic endings when it's a series! And then wait a week (or, in And Now You, till the events of the next chapter, because I posted that fic in "real time", as it were) until the next chapter goes up. I'm glad my readers are still bearing with me ☺

✍ Do you have a beta reader? (4)

Several! And one of them I even married! 😁 No, but seriously - I find the feedback of beta readers invaluable, not just because English is my second language but because I get too close to the prose (oh wow, unintentional rhyme, nice of you to drop by!), and need an outside eye to tell me if I'm still going in the right direction.

🛠What tools/programs/apps do you use to write? (5)

I use good ol' MS Word. With a chapter index, and the new(ish) function of "jump back to where you left off last time", it really works for me. I write pretty much entirely linear, and use a different document for ideas and outline, and a third document for outtakes that might still turn out to be useful down the line, and all of that is straightforward enough to work in Word. I've tried Scrivener, but for me it didn't have enough advantages over what I was already used to in order to really (want to) dive into it and make it mine. With my betas, I use Google Docs and comments, but especially for multichapter fic, that is SO SLOW! And sometimes I write short fic right here on Tumblr, in the app.

🙋‍♀️ Do any irl people know you write fanfic? (6)

Well, I met my wife through my fics, so yes 😁 but even beyond that, a few of my family and friends know. However, none of them (AFAIK) read a lot of fic in general, nor my fic in particular; most of them aren't English readers, OR geeks.

🍆 Do you write the spicy stuffs? If so, what's your most popular nsfw fic? (7)

Y'know, I just checked, and my ratings ranking is "Teen and up" 20 works, "General" 19, "Explicit" 17!, and "Mature" 4. 😂 so yeah, I do write the spicy stuff! Both as parts of the larger narrative (the most popular of which is And Now You), and as PWP (here the most popular is 24th century t...echnology, a Beverly/Kathryn fic). I gotta say I do love me some good smut. And I hope mine meets the bill!

💲 Would you ever open commissions? (8)

I only write fan fic, not original, so no. I am fiercely protective of AO3, and I will protect their integrity one hundred percent. I don't seek to monetize my writing, anyway - it's a pastime, it is fun, and I want it to stay that way. I am lucky in that I don't need any side hustles, and hey, no shade to those who do find (legal, non-harmful-for-the-larger-fanfic-community) ways to make money from writing, but I also hate hate hate that capitalism has come to the point where some people think you gotta derive money from something somehow for it to be worthwhile, or where people see no other choice than to try, in order to make their ends meet. I write for fun. I am privileged to be able to write for fun. So no, no commissions. But hey, sometimes I do prompts, and I love taking part in gift exchanges! So if you ever wanna get something written by me, just let me know and if it tickles my muse, you might get it!

🎃 Do you write fics for certain holidays? Which is your favorite holiday inspired fic? (9)

Yes, I really like doing that! I have a winter holidays fic, a Halloween fic, a Pride fic, and I have another idea on the backburner for another winter holidays fic; no clue when I'll ever get to writing it, but I'll get there some day! As for favorites, the Halloween fic really kicked my ass, so it won't make that list, and the other two are tied!

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants? (10)

So I never really "learned" how to write? In that I never had any kind of instruction in creative writing, I mean. I didn't even know there was such a thing as outlining, or what different writing processes looked like. I would just open a new Word doc and go forth! So yes, I started out a pantser - but lately I'm working with a writing coach, and have looked into writing styles and strategies in other ways too, and I'm realizing that outlining fits me a little better. I'm in a weird in-between phase right now where I have, like, half a dozen WIPs that were started pantser fashion but where I'm trying to outline how the rest of the fic might go; it's fascinating! (and talking with other writers has been immeasurably helpful for those!)

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success? (11)

If I am happy with it. Sure, I like kudos, and hits, and comments (especially comments! When someone says "this fic is like a warm comfy blanket" or "I've read this four times at least"? Priceless!) but those are the icing, not the cake. I am immensely proud of Angel, Sinner, Dragonslayer, for example, both for the story itself and for the craft of it, but that one isn't even in the Top 15 by kudos or the Top 20 by hits. And for me to love a fic or to consider it good, those benchmarks don't matter. They make me happy, don't get me wrong - I love hearing if my fics reverberate with people, if they make them happy, if they make them feel all the feels, if people think the smut is hot, etc. etc. - but on my opinion of my fic, they have no impact.

⌛ How long does it take you to write a fic, or a chapter? (12)

When the muse hits me, when that holy trifecta of inspiration, motivation and time comes together, I can easily write 10,000 words in a day. It's not that I struggle to get words on the page; it's more that the days when that trifecta hits are rare. At the beginning of the pandemic, I was extremely prolific even by my own standards; writing was my way of coping. That has dropped a little bit, alas. Writing is still my happy place, my way of escaping the current hellscape and hang out with my favorite characters, but my energy has definitely been sapped by *gestures at everything*. Add to that that I only ever publish a fic when it's done, and not as I go (god, that idea scares me) (yes even when I publish it week by week; it's all written and done, I just enjoy torturing you by drawing it out), and you see why there's sometimes a long time between fic drops from me.

💥 How do you feel about criticism? 💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback? (13)

Ah! Feedback is a passion of mine. I can take something from almost any kind of comment - even if it is "this commenter has no idea and isn't engaging in good faith". And I always seek to improve my craft, and for that a comment like "this is a bit weak on plot, innit?" is really helpful! Especially if on top of "bit weak" I get given ideas how it could be stronger. Like I said, I never had any training in creative writing, so I am in many ways still learning and will continue to learn for the rest of my life, and I can only do that when I know where I still have room to grow. A bit of background here: I'm a social worker by training, and work in quality management now. I literally thrive in trying to improve things along any number of axes, and that is simply not possible without criticism. So hey, if you have always wanted to point out to me all the ways in which my stuff could be better, by all means reach out and let me know!

❌ What's a trope you will never write? (14)

Grimdark. Or even tragedy. I might take my characters to very dark places, but there will always be light at the end; there will always be a happy ending. Also, man-hating lesbians. Also, mlm. Yes, I'm a woman and yes, I write fanfic, but I write femslash, not slash. 🤷‍♀️ There might be a mlm couple somewhere in the background, sure, because I love including all kinds of queer people in my fics, but my muse just isn't tickled by mlm. As a matter of fact, my muse has pointed due Bering and Wells for the last five years or so? So yeah.

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please! (15)

Man, I need to revive the posts in which I talk about my WIPs! Okay, here goes: I'm still working on Strata Part 2 with my beta, and also on Mind Over Matter Part 2. The Pirate fic is a bit on the back burner right now, because I have more inspiration for MOM2 at the moment. I finally have an idea for how to bring it to a good end (thanks, @anandabrat!), and that is the kind of iron you have to hit while it's hot! It'll be from Helena's POV, and show her journey towards a relationship. It's funny how an actual A/B/O fic, that started out with Bering and Wells having, like, the hottest sex ever (offpage though), has turned into one of the slowest burns I've ever written! 😅

Okay, that was a lot!!! And I loved every moment of it!

My wonderful friend, thank you for this opportunity to gush. Mwah mwah mwah!!!

#ask meme #ask me #get to know your author #all my answers!!#this was such fun!

9 notes · View notes

saturnsummer · 3 years ago

Text

helpless.

han joon hwi does all he can to save kang sol a. kang sol a, for the first time, realises she’s not alone.

ao3 link

notes: this has been manifesting in me ever since i saw the scene of sol a fainting. i’m sorry it’s so long, but i hope the law school fans like it! it’s my first time, but i’m open to request and improvements. do share with your fellow solhwi fans if you like it! any grammar mistakes and all will be taken fully responsible by me.

edit: this is written by @inactiverat , which is MY secondary account. i did not copy this from someone else. both accounts belong to ME. i am republishing this on my primary blog to better manage.

words: 4130 words.

it’s been a terrible day for sol.

forget about a terrible day, it has been a week of horror.

she can’t remember the last time she laid her head on the pillow of her clean sheets and mattress. with her semester test coming on friday, she has spent the entire weekend cramming for her test. she has opted to sleep at her desk for no more than 10 minutes at a time. her eyes sting from the roll-on muscle relief ointment that she rolls on every few hours under her eyes. her head pounds and the only things she has eaten are ramyeon and black coffee. (no sugar, extra shots.)

sol sighs as she fixes another highlighter in her top bun. she’s been staring at the same question for hours. she looks over her desk, hoping to find peace by seeing a sleeping sol b, but only remembers that she went home. her tiger mom’s orders, since “she shouldn’t study with her roommate, who is at the bottom of the cohort.”

sol visibly frowned as she thought of that sentence. she doesn't need to be reminded every minute and second of her life that she’s the worst. that whenever she fails a test, the smarty pants are cheering due to the bell curve. that she barely scrapes through every class. that she blubbers and mutters answers like an idiot in every lecture.

that’s why she works so hard. to show that she doesn't need money or connections to succeed in this school. that a single parented girl, making enough to get by, holding a part time job can be like the rest. for her mom, she tolerated years of violent abuse, yet still being so strong for her children. for dan, who she so desperately misses and wants to find, even though she knows dan may never want to see her. for byeol, the reason why she decided to study law; the only human she loves in this lawless world.

sol knows she’s pushing herself too hard. yeseul made an effort to remind her to sleep via text. bokgi teased her once during a study group after mentioning she looks like a disheveled panda. even professor kim pulled her out of lecture to give her a talk to remind her to eat.

but joon hwi hasn't.

she internally scoffs. she doesn’t expect him to. (what does a second round judicial exam passer want to know about the worst student?) and maybe, she doesn't want him to. she wants to show him she can do it on her own. she can’t count the number of times he helped her with her grades and cases. studying alone without help was the smallest thing she can do to show him her independence.

thus, she found every moment to stay away. well, from him, in particular. she only came to lectures on time, sat at the back (as opposed to next to him) and left immediately. she returns to her dorm to study (ditching study groups with him in it) and only leaves in the odd hours to get drinks and food when she’s absolutely starving. she hears the buzzes and rings from yeseul and joonhwi, but only smiles when they ask about her inactivity. (“it was dead. i must have forgotten to charge it again.”)

she sighs in frustration and stands from her chair, grabbing her phone and keys out to the pantry area. she needed more caffeine, if she was going to survive this night.

what she doesn't expect to see, is han joon hwi, devouring his late night snack of ramyeon at the table. the shuffling of her furry slippers raises his head from his precious bowl.

“you’re still up?” he asks.

it’s too late to turn around and pretend she didn’t see him. so instead, sol just nods silently as opposed to her defensive remarks. joon hwi stops slurping his noodles and sets the bowl aside. preparing to walk to the staircase, his next question freezes sol in her steps.

“why have you been avoiding me?”

his voice is gentle and nowhere near angry. but concerned and fearful, as if he’s done something wrong to upset her. for a moment, sol feels like she’s in her first lecture with professor yang and is left speechless. (only now, there is no where to hide.)

joon hwi wasn’t blind to her actions. he noticed her absence when she didn’t sit next to him in lectures. he noticed that whenever he was there for a study group session, she wouldn’t; but when he would ask the others, they would say she was there for the ones he wasn’t. joon hwi was certain that sol was avoiding him.

and he couldn’t understand why.

until now.

joon hwi’s eyes examine the young woman in front of him. he’s certain that a middle school student could figure this out; kang sol a is overworked. her dark eye circles are prominent, puffy and her bloodshot eyes do nothing but intensify her lack of sleep. he noticed just how pale her lips look, as he walks over to her. how has she gotten skinnier too?

joon hwi’s certain that she’s avoiding him not because of something he said that annoyed her. but because he knows that she doesn’t want him to see her in this state. his eyes soften and heart aches from the amount of effort she's putting in to her tests.

for sol, he knows how much the tests meant. it was like her entire life depended on it. that’s why he always wanted to help her. he didn’t want to see such a talented person fall behind. she has already proven herself worthy with all the cases she has participated in. but joon hwi knows that no matter how many times yeseul or bokgi or him say how smart and talented and how she’s doing great, she will never be satisfied in this cold, competitive prestigious school. she will always think she’s the worst and has no potential.

“sol.” his voice firm and serious. sol swears she felt a chill run down. she mentally braces herself for this conversation that she has tried all means to avoid. only one person dares address her as just ‘sol’.

“when did you last sleep? or eat proper food?” his eyes are serious, yet soft and glassy. his voice is gentle and soothing. she closes her eyes and lets out a silent sigh. she is nowhere the mock court, yet she feels like she has taken the witness stand and the oath. lying is perjury, she hears herself say.

“i’m doing fine. i just need to do well on this test.” she lies through her teeth. well, it’s a half true and a half lie. it’s just up to him to pick out which is the lie and truth. joon hwi isn’t an idiot, and can read her emotions with just a single look. it’s an utter lie.

“i’m getting coffee.” she mutters to herself. it was the whole reason she came out, anyways. her sleeve is caught by him but she yanks it away forcefully. she doesn’t even know why she’s being so harsh and angry to him. all he’s done is just ask how she’s doing.

“you need sleep. not caffeine.” he spins her around by her shoulders, his eyes serious and almost frustrated. she fails to meet his eyes, afraid of falling apart before him.

“joon, just let me be.” she says harshly and pushes his hands off before running to get that extra potent coffee. it was the first time she has ever called him that, and it falls out just as naturally as the word ‘sol’ does out of his. sol doesn’t notice how wet her eyes are until she’s downstairs, grabbing cans of coffee from the vending machine. (pathetic, she thinks, getting teary because of lying to her best friend.)

joon hwi doesn't follow. and sol isn't one bit affected.

not. at. all.

-----

the next time sol sees joon hwi is in the morning. he’s carrying his books and has his backpack slung over his shoulder, leaning against the wall. sol braces herself. she knows joon hwi to be protective and caring. but for him to be waiting at the entrance of their dorm was downright surprising.

sol’s not doing any better. when the caffeine and sugar stopped her from staying late, she resorted to stabbing her hand to keep herself awake. when her hand got too red and bloody, she switched to another spot on her arm. underneath her hoodie is her arm with dried blood and bruises all over. she’s surprised she hasn’t had blood poisoning yet.

sol flashes the most natural smile she can on her face, pretending as if her argument with him did not happen a few hours ago. her head was numb, but hanging on with the ointment she applied at her temples. she needed to act okay. just so he would stop worrying and leave her alone.

“sol.” joon hwi’s voice calls, going forward and grabbing her arm to support her. sol is about to create a joke, laugh it off and pretend everything is okay, hopefully convincing him she’s doing better (even if she’s far from it.). but what she doesn’t anticipate is his hand accidentally squeezing the sore wound of hers,

she hisses as his fingers dig into her wound and he immediately lets go. joon hwi’s eyes well in concern, not knowing what he’s done that caused her so much pain. sol’s eyes meet his, uncertain and afraid, as if a secret has been exposed. she pulls her sleeve down and is almost regretting that when joon hwi gently lifts her arm and lifts her sleeve up slightly to expose her arm and hand.

joon hwi takes her good hand in his and drags her to an empty staircase not far from where they were. joon hwi notes the dried blood on her hand and gives a disapproving sigh. just what was she doing to herself? she draws her hand back and pulls her sleeve down, hiding it away.

“sol, you need to take care of yourself.”

“joon, i’m doing okay, i promise. it’s not a big deal.” her voice upbeat and slightly more energetic. joon hwi is about to call her out from lying, but she flashes a smile. “come on, how can an exam defeat me?”

“i’m going to be late.” she says and runs ahead of him, joining yeseul and yebeom in front. sol feels a gnawing guilt in her heart for lying, but she momentarily forgets about it as yebeom sweeps them into a conversation.

i’m sorry, joon. i really am. but i’m not going to burden you any further.

joon hwi is left, helpless and broken, watching the back of the woman he loves stray further.

-----

it isn’t a secret that joon hwi and sol a are good friends. everyone on campus is always shocked. joon hwi, the school’s top student. sol a, the school’s worst student. everyone would have expected sol b when they heard ‘kang sol’. after all, it made sense, didn’t it? the two best students in school.

but what would be even more shocking is that han joon hwi, second round judicial exam passer, is deep in love with kang sol, the klutz with the top bun.

joon hwi couldn’t deny the joy he felt whenever sol was around. it started with study group and tutoring and messages about school. then it became lunches every moment they could. now, he couldn’t go a day without seeing her, hearing her voice or even a simple text. he can’t remember the moment he started falling for the clumsy woman, but when he realised it, he knew it was too late. he was in, deep.

and that's why he can’t bear to see her suffer. that’s why he spends late nights studying with her even though he doesn't need to. that’s why he insist walking her home, even though he installed the camera. (“i miss byeol! that smart cookie...” would always be his excuse.) that’s why he calls her ‘sol’, and he lets her call him ‘joon’, even though no one calls him that anymore.

sol locks herself in her room and buries herself under multiple books after her lectures. sol admits it, she’s tired. she can barely keep herself together and her body is so weak she doesn’t know how she managed to survive the week with less than two hours of sleep combined per day. she can’t remember the last nap she had that lasted more than half an hour.

the guilt from lying is eating her inside. when she closes her eyes, she can only see how hurt joon hwi’s face looks when he saw her arm. taking a shaky breath in, she doesn’t notice the tear running down her cheek. what was she even crying about? lying? hurting her best friend? fatigue? she slams her head against her books, shaking her thoughts out. it’s already 3am, and she doesn’t have much time left.

“kang sol a, you need to do this exam, you hear me? if you want to pass out, do it later on in the afternoon! you have 9 hours till the test.” she scolds herself out loud. stabbing her arm once again, she jerks herself awake and writes her notes over and over. just 9 more hours.

later on in the day, sol finds herself seated next to joon hwi. but she doesn’t notice him. her eyes are too out of focus to concentrate on anything but the paper and pen she holds. when the teaching assistant makes an announcement to start, she races against time and scribbles furiously. her head throbs, but she clings on to her last ounce of sanity keeping herself awake.

-----

she’s worse. joon hwi thinks. much, much worse. her skin is paler than normal and her eyes are fluttery. with her sleeve pulled up slightly, he notices the wound on her hand more bloody than it was. he visibly winces. but it’s nothing to the hurt in his heart. he knows that he should be busy scribbling, but his eyes are slightly glassy and all he can think of is her bloody hand.

all he wants to do is to drag her away. to take her far from this school. he wants to hold her small body in his arms and cradle her as he tends to her wounds. he wants to tuck her into a soft bed and stroke her brown hair. he wants to tell her how he feels, how she’s perfect, smart and beautiful in his eyes. how sol has already had his validation, and no matter how many kang sols there are, he will only have one in his heart.

as the clock leaves a minute or so to the end, sol struggles to keep her head from falling. she just needs to finish the last sentence. her eyes are blurred and her head has never felt more tight and woozy. her ramyeon from 4am is threatening to make an appearance.

“sol, you’re bleeding.” she hears an familiar echoed voice say next to her. instinctively, she brings a hand up to her nose, and wipes it, revealing the bright red blood. she can’t care for her jacket sleeve and carelessly wipes even though her arm aches. just a bit more, she tells herself.

the voices around her blur as she feels hands on her shoulder stopping her. she pushes them off weakly as she finishes the last word on her paper. she lets out a breath of relief and pushes her paper away from her. she’s finally done. she can finally breathe and have that nap. someone calls her name, but she’s too tired to respond.

then her eyes rolls back and she crashes into oblivion.

joon hwi manages to catch her head before it hits the table as she slumps sideways. he scribbles his name on his paper before chucking his paper and hers towards the teaching assistant. yeseul passes a tissue over to joon hwi and shakes her, eyes getting teary. he gently blots her nose, soaking up the blood. the other students leave unbothered, with only their study group crowding around them.

the next hour is a mad rush in joon hwi’s head. they are frantic for an ambulance, but joon hwi just cradles her body in his arms and runs outside. “it’s faster to run.” he says before taking off. she’s light, way too light for her frame, even with the layered coats that she’s wearing. when he reaches the hospital, she’s laid on a stretcher and sent for checks while the nurses ask him to wait for short while outside.

and for the third time, he stands outside, clutching to a bloody tissue, helpless.

-----

joon hwi wants to beat himself over and over. he should have been more forceful with her. heck, he should have done more than just watch silently. he should have sent packed lunches, compiled his notes, offered to stay up with her. even after when he knows how much sol is suffering, he only stood by.

his eyes are teary when he is allowed to see her. she looks so small under those white sheets. the doctor mentions that they had to take her hoodie off to patch her wounds and insert her IV drip. “dehydrated on caffeine, lack of nutrients and fatigue.” the doctor tells him. he only nods as the doctor leaves him.

his group chat is pinging with endless messages and he takes a moment to update them. he sends a quick text that he’ll let them know when she’s awake. his hand brushes the stray hairs out of her eyes and as best as he can, arranges her bangs the way she likes. his touch is as light as a butterfly as he lets his fingers brush pass her bandages.

with the curtain closed around him, joon hwi lets himself crumble silently, as tears run down his face, hands gripping sol’s stained hoodie sleeve. he wishes he could do something then just watch sol lie on the bed. he knows she is okay, but knowing that he could have prevented this worse case scenario from happening makes him upset. he gives himself a few minutes to compose himself before taking his own hoodie and layering it on her.

and for hours, joon hwi sits by her bed in his own thoughts, once again helpless.

-----

when she wakes up, her head pounds worse than the time she got the worse hangover in school. her eyes flutter, drawing the attention of joon hwi. her mind is cloudy as she starts registering the antiseptic smell and bright lights. her eyes come into focus as she turns over to find a pair of warm brown eyes looking at her.

“joon hwi...?” she says with barely any energy.

“you’re awake.” joon hwi lets himself sigh in relief knowing that she’s awake. it’s already 6pm. the others should be on their way over soon. he sends a quick “she’s awake” to the chat and shuts his phone.

“i... finished my exam right?” the words come tumbling out of sol’s mouth.

“that’s all you are thinking of now?” the anger in joon hwi’s voice catches her by surprise. she lowers her hand and avoids his eyes. she’s really done it, then. she’s really pissed him off.

“aren’t you one bit concerned about your health? you could have literally died being so overworked.” his eyes are glassy. realising that he’s frightening her, he lets a sigh out. joon hwi helps her sit up and props a pillow for her. her fingers fiddle with the thin blanket of the bed. there’s no point being strong in front of him now, after all this.

“you know how much every test means to me.” she mutters in a voice so soft, it’s unlike her to be so...small. joon hwi knows under that strong woman with a fiery passion for justice, there’s a vulnerable little girl, insecure and uncertain. but this was the first time, he realised, that she’s opening up herself.

“i’m so tired, joon. i’m so tired of running this stupid rat race that i’ll never win. i’m so sick of putting everything into my grades and not receiving anything back.” her voice so small, staring at the bandages on her hand. was the pain worth it? she’s not sure now.

joon hwi doesn’t say anything back. how could he? this man was born for this system, to bring law back to the country. he can’t compare to her, who spends countless nights studying, while taking care of her family. all he can do is sit by her bed and provide comfort.

“my head hurts. my body aches all over. yet, i can’t seem to do well in my exams. tell me, joon. just how long must i suffer?” his heart is pierced with every word she says. she’s so broken. joon hwi then notices the small pearls of tears dripping down her face.

his hand reaches out and his thumb rubs away her tears on her cheeks. he doesn’t know what prompted this, but sol doesn’t swat his hand away. she lets him as her hand wipes her remaining tears away.

“i’m here now. you can rely on me.” he says softly to her. suddenly, he takes her small hand in his and squeezes it in comfort. sol’s slightly taken aback, but she doesn’t know why she feels fuzzy inside. she feels warm and for the first time, she feels her burden lifted. with much courage, she gives a small smile.

“noona!” they hear a familiar panicked voice ring and they instinctively draw away from each other. if joon hwi’s face is slightly red, sol doesn't notice. sol is swept away into arguing with bokgi with her health and a teary eyed yeseul. even jiho and sol b came, but stood by silently. (jiho notices joon hwi’s flushed cheeks and his too-bright smile that he finally realises is meant for kang sol a. he makes a mental note about it.)

joon hwi leans back as he watches yeseul and bokgi fuss with sol’s health. he suppresses a smile as he looks at sol’s light laugh, knowing how her burdens are slowly fading and lifted. that he’s finally managed to reach out for his soulmate as she sinks further. it was going to be a journey, but joon hwi will drag her, his sol, out from her darkness every time.

i’m going to be there, no matter what, kang sol. you will not fight alone. i will stay with you, even when you think you don’t deserve it. it doesn't matter if you feel the same towards me or not. if i can see you smile and laugh, it’s enough for me. your happiness is all that matters.

because kang sol, i just love you so damm much.

-----

sol doesn’t notice the switch in her jacket. when she leaves about an hour later with her friends to eat jjajangmyeon (extra pickles, she orders.), she assumes the jacket she has by her bed is hers. she doesn't notice the sandalwood and jasmine smell, as opposed to her pine scented fabrics. when joon hwi teases her and she argues back in annoyance, she’s carefree and light.

when joon hwi smiles at her with his sweet smile, she can’t help but think she’s so lucky that she has him, of all people, by her side. her heart skips a beat, and she’s certain that she feels more than friends towards him. that all this time, she has finally fallen for the cheeky and charming joon hwi behind his intellect.

she smiles back, teeth bared and eyes crinkled as they walk back.

after all, who is to stand against her now, when she has him by her side?

joon hwi, thank you for finding me no matter how much i try to hide away. thank you for believing in me when everyone didn’t. i know you like someone else, and it’s okay. because whoever that is will be so damm lucky to have you. to see you smile your charming smile is enough to put me at ease.

because han joon hwi, i admit, i have fallen for you. i’m in love with you.

-----

bonus:

“noona, they like each other, don’t they?” bokgi watches as sol a barks at joon hwi. joon hwi only runs ahead and buries his hands in his hoodie pockets while letting out light laughs and continues teasing.

“oh, they are so whipped for each other.” yeseul triumphantly says as she walks with the rest behind the not-so-obvious lovebirds.

well, this would be an interesting relationship to see unfold.

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 20 - ao3 -

“Your brother has been acting strange,” Lan Yueheng said, his voice drifting in through the open door.

He was crouched down in the dirt, happily gathering a small harvest from the plants he’d grown outside Lan Qiren’s window. Most of the materials he used for his alchemy experiments he obtained from the specialized fields in the Cloud Recesses, but there were some variants that the sect members in charge of those fields disfavored on account of certain pharmacological side effects associated with them. Lan Yueheng had prevailed on his friendship with Lan Qiren to beg, at some considerable length, that he be allowed to grow those variants in the area near Lan Qiren’s rooms – he’d argued that no one would ever think to check there on account of Lan Qiren’s rule-abiding reputation.

Lan Qiren had pointed out that there were no actual rules against growing those plants - they were only disfavored, not disallowed - thereby rendering the entire issue with people checking for it moot, but Lan Yueheng had insisted and eventually he’d yielded.

Let Lan Yueheng grow his nightmare plants wherever he liked. What did he care? He wasn’t using that patch of land for anything in particular, and it was nice to have a reason to see Lan Yueheng on a regular basis.

“Strange how?” Lan Qiren asked, finishing off the final stroke of a painting. He didn’t like it, but then again, he never liked any of the paintings he did for himself – they were too stiff and unfeeling, in his view, lacking spirit and movement no matter what he tried. His favorite painting was still the antique Wen Ruohan had left on his wall all that time ago, a lively little landscape with burnt edges suggesting that it had been hastily recovered from a fire at some point; he’d never replaced any of the things his sworn brother had gotten for him.

“I’m not sure how to describe it. Just strange,” Lan Yueheng said. “I don’t know how many people have noticed yet, him being pretty standoffish and above-it-all at the best of times, but it’s not the usual sort of thing for him.”

Lan Yueheng was like Lan Qiren; they were good at noticing patterns, however bad they were at figuring out the meanings behind it. If Lan Yueheng said it wasn’t normal, it probably wasn’t.

Lan Qiren rubbed at his forehead, suppressing the desire to go figure out the problem right away. “I don’t think I can help,” he said instead. “He doesn’t like to see me, remember?”

“He’s important to the sect,” Lan Yueheng said peaceably, and Lan Qiren loved him all over again for not saying he’s still your brother. “You might not like him, but you like the sect. So you have to help figure it out.”

Lan Qiren did not like it when Lan Yueheng was right about things. It gave him a strange itchy feeling of dissatisfaction.

“Someone else could figure it out,” he argued. “He’s sect leader now, remember? His well-being is everyone’s responsibility.”

“But you’re the one who’s good at figuring out weird stuff.”

“Do not tell lies,” Lan Qiren grumbled, but he still put away his things and went to see his brother – who wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Any of the places he was supposed to be.

That was strange.

Lan Qiren’s brother was talented and powerful, skilled and meticulous; he was too proud of his status and accomplishments to shirk work. Whatever had drawn him away must have been very compelling indeed – or so Lan Qiren thought.

He wasn’t expecting, when he finally tracked down his brother through a tracker spell utilized on an old comb, to find him walking through the forest alongside a young woman, sword at his side as if he were night-hunting.

“I am night-hunting,” he said when Lan Qiren asked him. “I’m escorting Mistress He.”

Lan Qiren turned to look at the girl.

She smiled at him in a perfunctory sort of fashion. She was beautiful in a way that reminded Lan Qiren a little of Cangse Sanren, though her looks were very different – more refined and elegant, more delicate and less down-to-earth, thoroughly lacking the vaguely unsettling undertones so characteristic of Baoshan Sanren’s disciple, but no less lovely in her own way.

“Qingheng-jun was just showing me the lay of the land,” she said coolly. “If you need him to return, of course, I won’t keep him.”

“There’s nothing else I need to do,” he said at once, which was such a blatant lie that Lan Qiren’s jaw dropped.

The girl glanced over at him and looked amused, saluting briefly: “He Kexin, a rogue cultivator,” she introduced herself. She shouldn’t have needed to; per etiquette, Lan Qiren’s brother should have introduced them, but he was clearly too far into his own world to care for such niceties. “And you are…?”

“Gusu Lan sect’s Lan Qiren,” Lan Qiren said on automatic, returning the salute. “I’m – his brother.”

“Oh?” she said. “In that case, you must have plenty to talk about. Anyway, there doesn’t seem to be much night-hunting here, so I’ll be leaving.”

Lan Qiren’s brother saluted deeply. “I hope to see you again soon, Mistress He.” His voice was gentler than Lan Qiren had ever heard it.

She waved a careless hand in half-hearted agreement as she went, but Lan Qiren’s brother stared after her departing figure until she was out of sight. Only when she was fully gone did he turn away, and when he did, he turned only in order to glare at Lan Qiren.

“Why did you interrupt us?” he asked, and his voice had gone back to its usual cold remove. “We were finally spending some time together alone, without those friends of hers crowding in and bothering us.”

Lan Qiren glanced in the direction that He Kexin had gone. “I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference,” he said hesitantly. “If you’re alone or with her friends, I mean. I don’t think – I don’t think that she likes you all that much.”

Lan Qiren had no natural social skills, not like his brother, who was charming enough to draw most people in despite or perhaps because of his cool and distant demeanor, but in sheer self-defense he had worked very hard to categorize and identify a variety of unspoken signals utilized by people in order to try to figure out logically what he couldn’t do intuitively. While he was still terrible at identifying indications of positive interest of any sort, as Cangse Sanren was always teasing him, he had gotten much better at detecting negative signs that indicated disinterest, indifference, or boredom.

“She likes me well enough,” his brother said, his tone oddly defensive. “She’s reserved, that’s all – you really can’t tell who she secretly likes or doesn’t. She’s a brilliant cultivator, sharp as a blade and clever as anything; it’s no wonder that she’s kind to others in equal measure as well…”

“But -”

“She makes me feel free,” his brother said, cutting him off. “She’s just - she’s smart and she’s talented and she’s fearless, unrestrained and untamed. There’s nothing weighing her down or holding her back. She bears no expectations and no pressure, and nothing has ever forced her, molded her development in this way or that; she lives her life just drifting on the breeze, complete untethered, and when I’m with her I feel the same, and I’ve never felt that way…”

He trailed off, eyes oddly dreamy, and then suddenly he seemed to come back to himself and remember to whom he was speaking. “Anyway, what do you know about women, Qiren? You’re as frigid as an icicle hanging in the window or a mountain lake in midwinter.”

Lan Qiren acknowledged the point, but he didn’t see its relevance. “If she doesn’t like you, she doesn’t like you,” he pointed out. “There’s nothing you can do about it –”

“Are you saying there’s nothing you actually wanted from me?” his brother interrupted, voice sharp now, almost angry. “Your presence is neither wanted nor needed here. Leave at once.”

“No, it’s just – you weren’t at the hanshi, and there’s work to be done.”

“So what? I’ll do it later.”

“You’re sect leader now. You have duties,” Lan Qiren said. “You can’t just go out night-hunting whenever you wish –”

“You said it yourself, I’m sect leader - me, and me alone!” his brother snapped. “From what I recall, that makes me the one who gives the orders, not you. Now get lost!”

Lan Qiren blinked, shocked at the fierceness of the rebuke, and watched as his brother strode away – in the direction He Kexin had gone, rather than back towards the Cloud Recesses.

This, he thought to himself, is a problem.

It was, too. His brother abandoned his duties more and more often, avid in his pursuit of He Kexin, who he had invited to stay for a while at the Cloud Recesses with the friends she was travelling with. She did, as he’d said, seem to like him well enough, but it seemed clear that her regard was far more cursory than his own - and not just to Lan Qiren, either.

Lan Qiren was roped in by the elders to help do some of the work his brother was neglecting, at first a little and then more. It got in the way of his own preparations, and started getting on his nerves, too.

“You don’t understand,” one of his teachers told him when he tried to resist the notion of spending a large chunk of his time on sect paperwork instead of practicing music. “Love, for our sect, is a powerful thing. When it comes unexpectedly, it is wild and irresistible, like a river bursting through a dam and overflowing its banks. It’s no surprise that your brother is so focused on winning his bride – and all for the best, too. He has to have heirs to inherit one day.”

Lan Qiren didn’t disagree with that, naturally. He certainly didn’t want to be stuck being his brother’s heir any longer than he had to. It was only…

“Just because he’s in love with her doesn’t mean she’s going to be his bride,” he said, and wondered a little spitefully why it was just assumed that he didn’t understand what it meant to love someone. Just because he didn’t feel it the same way as they did didn’t make his heart any less a Lan. “I don’t know why you’re all being so stubborn about this. A woman knows her own mind - just because he offers himself doesn’t mean she has to accept.”

“Stop saying such inauspicious things,” his teacher scolded. “You should be wishing your brother luck, instead.”

“He doesn’t need luck,” another teacher, the one for swordsmanship, put in. “He needs more of a backbone. Doesn’t she have a father he can talk to?”

That started up another debate on the relevance of the opinion of the young in setting their own marriages, an old classic, and Lan Qiren sighed and took his leave. He winced when he realized that his brother was not far away, standing with He Kexin in one of the nearby gardens – at his brother’s cultivation level, there was little chance he hadn’t heard the subject of their conversation, and indeed his glare indicated that he had. He Kexin wasn’t looking his way, but Lan Qiren suspected she might’ve heard some as well.

His suspicions were borne out the next day, much to his misfortune.

“Mistress He!” he exclaimed, groping around wildly for his clothing. He’d been humming his way through a new stanza while taking a bath, having taken a day off to wash his hair, only to turn around and see her standing there in the middle of his quarters. “What are you – I’m not dressed – these are my rooms!”

“I know,” she said, not moving.

Lan Qiren decided his dignity was more important than his health and reached out to yank his clothing into the bath with him, ignoring how they got heavy and soaked with water; he pulled on his inner robes and, once attired, he clambered out, rather annoyed. Just because He Kexin was a rogue cultivator didn’t excuse her from knowing manners, and just because she was his brother’s favorite, granted the freedom to wander wherever she would within the Cloud Recesses, didn’t give her the right to violate his privacy. “Mistress He –”

“You’re cute,” she said, and he stared at her, aghast. “Not quite as handsome as your brother, nowhere near as charming, and the way you drone on is rather annoying, but at least you have some respect for a woman’s wishes, and that face of yours isn’t bad. You’re not courting anyone at present, is that right?”

“I’m not,” he said, taken aback. “But what –”

“Good,” she said, and the next thing he knew she was in his arms, trying to kiss him. It was only through his quick reaction that he was able to turn his face away and avoid it.

“Mistress – Mistress He!”

“Keep your voice down,” she said, sounding amused even as she groped him in an intimate place. “It’s part of the plan, eventually, but it’d still be a pity for us to get caught before we get to the fun part.”

“I don’t – I’m not – I don’t want – let go of me!”

“Are you a virgin?” she laughed. “For shame, a man of your age. Just relax, you’ll like it soon enough –”

Lan Qiren’s brother had described He Kexin as a brilliant cultivator, and he’d been right; for all that she was a rogue cultivator, lacking the resources of a Great Sect, she was talented and promising, a powerful sword cultivator in her own right, and her grip on Lan Qiren’s body was relentless.

Lan Qiren tried first to get away from her without harming her, but she wouldn’t let go of him, pulling open his robes and even burying her teeth into his throat – that was the straw too far for him; he whistled a series of notes, short and sharp, the burst of qi shocking her grip loose, and then he threw her as far away from him as he could, knocking her into the opposite wall.

“Kexin!”

Lan Qiren turned: it was his brother rushing in through his door, falling down to his knees in front of her to examine her to make sure she wasn’t injured, and then turning to look at Lan Qiren, his eyes aflame with rage.

Lan Qiren glanced down at himself: robes askew and sopping wet, scratches on his chest and a bite on his neck.

“No,” he said, abruptly realizing how he must look, how they must look. Part of the plan, He Kexin had said; she must have known that her brother wouldn’t leave her alone for very long, and she’d clearly intended on using Lan Qiren as a means to get his brother to give up on his pursuit. Very few men would continue to chase a woman that spurned them for their own younger brother, especially one they didn’t much like. “It’s not – I didn’t –” Denial wasn’t going to help. “Do not succumb to rage!”

“Do not engage in debauchery,” his brother snapped back, rising to his feet. “Do not break faith!”

Lan Qiren took a step back, and then another. “Do not make assumptions about others.”

His brother wasn’t listening, though, and Lan Qiren found himself slammed against his own wall, held up and strangled by his own collar, his favorite painting falling to the ground from the force of it.

“How dare you,” his brother hissed, his eyes red. “How dare you touch her –”

“I didn’t! She was the one who –”

The next slam of Lan Qiren’s body against the wall jarred his teeth so hard that he bit his tongue to bleeding, and knocked his brain all around his skull. His brother was still talking, he thought, but he couldn’t hear him over the ringing in his ears. It belatedly occurred to him that using the same excuse as every rapist in history – she was asking for it, she was the one who initiated, it was all her – was probably not a good idea, even if in his case it was actually true.

He opened his mouth to try to defend himself, but his brother’s fist hit his stomach before he could speak, all the air knocking out of him.

“And then you – you hurt her –”

“Qingheng-jun, leave him be! It wasn’t him at all, you’re misunderstanding. I only wanted – ”

His brother threw him away, all his attention drawn away by his love, and Lan Qiren stumbled inelegantly on his way down, his feet slipping on the wet floor and tripping him up, and his head slammed hard against the corner of his bathtub as he fell down. As he sank to the floor, his vision going black, he thought blearily that the concussion he was undoubtedly going to have might even be worth it if only it meant that his brother would finally give up on his mad and hopeless pursuit of He Kexin already.

He did not.

#mdzs #lan qiren #qingheng-jun #he kexin #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls #mind the ao3 tags

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tossawary · 3 years ago

Text

Hello, everyone! I intend to respond to all the lovely individual messages very soon, but I thought a general announcement was in order now that my longfic “pride is not the word I’m looking for” is complete.

This week (August 30th to September 4th), I am taking a break! I’m looking forward to catching up on answering comments later this week and probably into next week as well. Starting next week (September 5th-11th) and probably going into the week after that (September 12th-18th), I intend to begin revisiting PINTWILF for a spellcheck, continuity, and clarity pass.

Will this change the story majorly? Nope! It’s still going to be the same story! But I’m probably going to tweak some phrases here and there. At most, I’ll add a paragraph if a particularly funny Shang-Qinghua-ism occurs to me, or maybe drop in a new line to accentuate that delicious foreshadowing I worked pretty hard for! Overall, however, I’m happy to leave the story with its roughness and flaws, so it’s kind of going to be a “dusting only” cleanup pass.

(Though, I warn you, I’m a “continually tweaking” writer. So whenever I reread PINTWILF for my own enjoyment, more teeny-tiny tweaks will probably appear, which is something I personally enjoy about the ease of editing on AO3.)

So, if you want that “dusted-off” version of PINTWILF, I recommend on holding off with translations or printing PINTWILF out until the end of September. (I may enlist a little help in finding typos! Not yet, though! Wait for it!) If you don’t really care about that aspect, however, go ahead with your project!

Also this month, I’m excited to finally get to the cover I’ve been wanting to make for PINTWILF for a while! I know people have asked after what I imagine a PINTWILF cover looks like, so I’ll try to share the rough design for it later this week. I personally think it’s very cool.

For the lovely people who have offered to send me things (which is honestly something I never actually thought would happen and I find kind of mind-boggling), I’m not comfortable sharing my home address, but I’m looking into PO box options this week (which did not occur to me before either) and I’ll let you guys know what I think. (For those concerned, no, this isn’t about cash or anything. Just, like, physical copies of fanart and stuff along those lines.) It’s very flattering and I have to admit that I love presents, but give me a little time to think about the logistics and other particulars, before making a decision.

I’m considering some kind of minor wrap party / Q&A / SVSSS hangout on Discord or the like, but I’m still thinking about that too. I’m not comfortable appearing on a camera or anything, but I wouldn’t mind a voice and text chat if that’s something people would be interested in doing. So, maybe that’s something that can happen later in September, possibly around the time of Moshang Week 2021 (September 27th to October 3rd).

I think that’s everything for now. Lots of love to everyone for the comments so far! I’ll share more about my plans for my fandom activities (which are my stress relief valve, I don’t know if you can tell that from the everything about me) this autumn later this week. <3

#tossawary updates #tossawary svsss #pride is not the word #ask tossawary

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lala-ladybug · 4 years ago

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Healing Hands: Chapter 1

Hello hello! First fic here, it’s a Maribat AU with a side of Sword Art Online. Or what I remember from having watched the show once about five years ago. We’ve got Marinette and minimal class salt, Young Justice but only the good parts, and primarily Jasonette. Please spread the word (I am a tiny sideblog) and let me know what you think <3

Read here on AO3

Chapter 1: You have no idea how many baddies I’m going to blow up because of you

Friday, at long last. Marinette could not have exhaled a bigger sigh of relief. It was mid-way through the school term, her commissions were ramping up, and Hawkmoth had become frustratingly active. Her duties as class president had only increased as she and her friends neared the end of lycée, not to mention all the studying she was doing for the baccalauréat on top of her regular school work. Commissions were booming now that her popularity as the anonymous designer MDC was soaring worldwide. She wouldn’t give any of it up for the world, but she might enjoy getting more than three or four hours of sleep for once.

There was only part of her life that had gotten easier since that day three years ago when she was entrusted with a pair of spotted earrings and an old god to match. Ladybug started out with one partner, but she now had a whole team to share the responsibilities of keeping their city safe. Ryuko and Viperion became permanent fixtures of the Parisian rooftops, and Bourdonne replaced Queen Bee after the infamous (albeit self-inflicted) unmasking of Chloe Bourgeois. The people of Paris looked to these heroes with pride and trust.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng, now the Guardian of the Miraculous, looked to her partners with trust as well. She had decided that with her in charge, she could no longer keep secrets from her friends, from her new Order of the Guardians. She discussed it with Chat Noir, and he had smiled and agreed that it was time. And one day, when Ladybug gathered her teammates on a remote rooftop in the dead of night, she said only “I trust you,” before allowing her transformation to fall.

She wasn’t nervous, not really. She knew Kagami and Luka had good hearts, and she had seen firsthand how much Chloe had grown. Those three accepted her civilian self, her true self, without half a thought, and followed their leader in dropping their transformations as well. Chloe got her quips in while Ladybug looked to Chat Noir.

He passed his gaze over the faces of their friends and smirked like he was holding in a laugh. As he said “Claws in,” Marinette could hear the laugh in his voice, an intonation that sounded so very familiar, and oh. Of course.

Adrien Agreste beamed at his friends, both in the mask and out, and said fondly, “I’m so glad it’s you.”

The rest, of course, was history. For the year and a half since then, the five heroes of Paris had kept the city safe from threats magical and mundane alike. Hawkmoth had, of course, gotten craftier and more vicious with his attacks, sometimes choosing to send bursts of weaker akumas over the span of a week, sometimes waiting a month before sending an especially brutal villain their way.

But it was nothing that the Order of the Guardians couldn’t handle. Even though it could get exhausting after a while, which is why the incoming weekend was a welcome reprieve. There was another reason why this particular weekend was so exciting, which was that a new video game, Mindscape, was debuting. It would be released at midnight EST, which was 6:00 in the morning for Paris.

“Today’s the day, girl!” Alya squealed as she flagged Marinette down on their way to the classroom. “We are so lucky that our class won that raffle to get these exclusive passes. I bet I’ll be the first blog to get the scoop on this new tech they’re using!”

Marinette giggled and started to reply, “Super lucky, right? I’m excited too, I heard--”

“You know,” Lila cut her off as she sidled up to Alya. “I’m not saying that I didn’t enter us to get those downloads, but I was a big help with beta testing.”

How she managed to time that comment just as the three girls crossed the threshold of the classroom, and how she managed to know that nearly the whole class would already be there to hear it, Marinette would never understand. She only had to wait a moment before the rest of their friends rushed to the door to thank Lila.

“This opportunity is amazing, we are incredibly grateful!” Max was first in line, ever the technology-enthusiast.

Kim pushed his shorter friend out of the way and vigorously shook Lila’s hand. “You have no idea how many baddies I’m going to blow up because of you.” Lila looked a little overwhelmed as he continued to shake her hand all the while, and she gave him a nervous smile.

He was soon pushed out of the way as Alix muscled her way to the front next. “I definitely owe you for giving me the chance to kick his ass in a brand new way!” She jerked her head to where Kim had landed on the floor, pouting at her.

As the rest of the class who would be joining them in the game’s premiere expressed their thanks, Alya looked on with an affectionate smile. She was so very happy that she now had two kind, selfless best friends. Her smile fell a little as she noticed Marinette stoically edging her way around the crowd and up to her seat, not having said a word to Lila. Alya just wished that her two besties would get along.

Alya put a hand on Lila’s shoulder and smiled her thanks before following Marinette to what was once their shared desk. “You really should thank her, you know,” Alya implored hopefully.

Without turning around to face Alya, Marinette paused and shared an incredulous look with Adrien, who was already seated at his shared desk with Nino. She then shrugged and replied, “Lila never actually said that she got us the passes,” before continuing up the steps to her seat at the back of the class. Alya shook her head and sat down. It was always like this, a cool indifference from Marinette whenever Lila came up. They were both such incredible people, Alya couldn’t understand why they didn’t get along.

As for Marinette, she was semi-content to let Lila be as long as her lies didn’t hurt anybody. Her unrealistic promise to take away all of Marinette’s friends was never fulfilled, and honestly the amount of emotional energy it used to sap from her just wasn’t worth it anymore. Marinette had no idea how Lila was going to get her hands on a copy of the game when Mari was, of course, the one who had won the raffle. She distributed the special access passes herself, and Lila certainly hadn’t gotten one. If this was the way that she wanted to make friends, she would eventually have to face the consequences.

But for now, Lila was basking in her praise. That is, until she glanced at her phone and gave a small gasp of dismay.

“What’s wrong?” Rose asked, concern already etched on her face.

Lila covered her mouth with one hand and started rapidly blinking back tears. “It’s my VIP copy of the game. There was a mixup in the mail and it won’t get here in time for tomorrow morning! I’m so sorry everyone, it looks like you’ll have to do it without me....” She buried her face in her hands and her shoulders trembled with barely restrained sobs.

The class shared a worried look, and Sabrina piped up, “It’s okay Lila, you can borrow my copy.” Lila immediately looked up and surged forward to clasp the hands of her friend.

“Really? But won’t it have the same problem?” Sabrina smiled and shook her head. “Nope, it’s a digital download! I don’t mind, you can always trade it back when your VIP pass arrives later.”

Lila gave her a brilliant smile, any tears long-since dried. “Oh, thank you so much Sabrina! I’ll see what I can do about getting you a VIP pass too once mine gets here.”

At that moment, Chloe walked in, and one look at the scene displayed in front of her had her rolling her eyes at her former best friend. She gracefully swept up the steps to join Marinette at the back of the classroom and whispered to her, “Aren’t they all digital downloads?”

Marinette, who had started unpacking her bag to prepare for class, inclined her head and gave the blonde a meaningful look that indicated yes, they were indeed all digital downloads. Chloe snickered and started preparing her own side of the desk.

After the fiasco of outing herself as Queen Bee, Chloe had lost the minimal support and tolerances she had been allowed before. It gave her time to truly reflect on how she acted and treated other people. She had since been quietly making amends with those she’d wronged, and the person on the top of that list was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. It took time and a lot of effort on Chloe’s part, but she mellowed out and did a lot of growing up. She still spoke her mind, though.

“Huh that’s strange, I got the VIP package too, but mine was a digital pass,” Chloe loudly proclaimed, studying her nails nonchalantly as the rest of the class turned to look up at her.

Lila grit her teeth into a forced smile and replied sweetly, “Well that’s because mine was an original beta testing copy that they had to update for the full game.” She turned her attention to Marinette and a note of false concern crept into her voice. “Oh Marinette, I hope you’ll still have time to come too! I know you’ll be busy this weekend with planning the spring class field trip. It would be such a shame if it didn’t happen because you were too busy playing a video game.”

Marinette suddenly felt very warm under the gazes of the entire class. She stammered out, “Oh-of course we’ll get to go! Don’t worry, I have a meeting with the school board on Monday.” Trust Lila to sniff out the one thing that had slipped below her radar.

Lila’s eyes lit up with an opportunistic gleam. “That’s great! Where will it be?”

“Well, uh, the school board has to review the location, so I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I can tell you that it will be in, um,” her eyes flicked around wildly and landed on the posterboard of different flags from the prior week’s lessons. “America!”

The class burst into excited chatter moments before Madame Bustier arrived and the late bell rang. Marinette released a breath and sagged in her seat. Saved by the bell.

Chloe gave her a sidelong glance and murmured, “America, huh?”

“Shut up,” Marinette shot back.

* * *

Madame Bustier tried to get the class to pay attention, she really did. They struggled through their lessons before lunch, the volume of side conversations between deskmates swelling all the while. The moment the bell for lunch dismissal rang, the students exploded into conversation as they left the classroom.

Marinette waved as Chloe and Adrien walked off to go meet Kagami and Luka at a nearby cafe. She breezed into the patisserie across the street from Francois Dupont and gave her surprised Maman a kiss on the cheek.

“I thought you were going out with your friends for lunch?” Sabine asked, balancing a tray of eclairs on her hip. “I forgot I have to plan our class trip!” Marinette replied cheerfully as she hurried into the kitchen to quickly fix herself a croque-monsieur. She gave her Papa a hug as she finished preparing her meal. He shouted up at her to not make a mess as she retreated into her room to eat at her desk.

She gave a small snort at that. It was nearly impossible for her to make a mess of food when she had over a dozen Kwami there to clean up after her, but he didn’t know that. She greeted said Kwami with a delighted grin and a wave as she set her plate down by her desktop computer.

“Marinette, why are you back so early?” Tikki asked, “is everything okay?” The other Kwami swarmed around her as she woke her computer up and logged in.

The girl waved one hand nonchalantly and opened up a web browser with the other. “Everything’s fine, I just forgot about planning the class trip!” She took a huge bite of the sandwich and started typing furiously. Several Kwami dove after the crumbs that sprayed everywhere.

“Ohhh, I see! Do you have an idea of where to start?” Tikki zoomed around Marinette’s shoulder to hover next to the monitor screen.

Marinette had the same determined gleam in her eye as when she finally found the perfect fabric for a design. She said confidently around a mouth full of ham, “America.”

* * *

By the time the lunch break had finished, Marinette had a preliminary list of cities on the East Coast of the United States. She had researched Gotham first, but it looked far too dangerous and gloomy. Next was New York City, which she determined was too big. Philadelphia was historic, but in a way that would definitely bore her classmates. Boston was too cold despite its excitement. Which left Metropolis as the perfect candidate. It was also protected by the perfect superheroes, Superman and his family, so she was absolutely confident the school board would approve of the city.

Of course, the meeting on Monday would need more specifics than just the city, but she was pleased with her progress so far. Marinette shut down her monitor, grabbed her backpack and plate from lunch, and went downstairs to the kitchen. She quickly scrubbed and dried her plate in the sink before waving to her parents as they bustled around, accommodating the tail end of the mid-day rush.

Marinette walked across the street with a spring in her step and, spotting a tall flash of blue hair, half-jogged up to her group of friends.

“Hey guys, sorry I couldn’t make it to lunch!” She grinned apologetically at Kagami and Luka.

“That’s alright Melody,” Luka gave her a side hug, “Chloe told us you were busy planning your class trip.”

Adrien slung an arm around Kagami’s shoulder and pulled his girlfriend closer to whisper conspiratorially to her, “I hear we’re going to America.” She laughed softly at his antics and at Marinette who stuck her tongue out at him. Kagami then said to Marinette, “That sounds delightful, Marihime. I trust you will still be joining us tomorrow morning?”

Marinette’s eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of playing the game with her friends all weekend long. “Definitely! I’m going to finish preparing for the school board meeting tonight so that we can play the second it comes out.”

“If you can wake up on time,” Chloe teased.

Marinette crossed her arms defensively and stated with pride, “I already set three alarms, thank you very much!”

Adrien burst out laughing at that. “Leave it to our everyday Ladybug,” he winked. Her face flushed as she pouted. He chuckled again and kissed Kagami on the top of her head. “See you later, mon coeur.”

She and Luka waved to the rest of the group as they left to return to their own schools. The three Francois Dupont students watched them go for a moment before returning inside.

“So, you and Kagami have plans?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah! Our parents gave special permission for a sleepover at my place tonight so we can play the game right when it comes out tomorrow.” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he had never quite abandoned. “But I’m not sure how often we’ll be able to be online with you guys after this weekend. You know how busy our schedules are....”

Marinette elbowed him lightly as they walked. “It’s a blessing you both managed to convince your dad and her mom to let you come to the launch at all! We’ll play together when we can, it’s no big deal.”

Adrien smiled gratefully at her and held the door open for both Marinette and Chloe as they entered the classroom. Alya was already there, and once she spotted her best friend (well, one of them), she skidded down the steps with a huge grin and held an invisible microphone up to Marinette.

“Thank you Nadja, and good afternoon Paris! This is Alya Cesaire, and today I am joined by young fashion designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, can you give us an exclusive scoop on the trip you’re planning for your class?”

“Good afternoon Mlle. Cesaire,” Marinette giggled, “Unfortunately, the trip has yet to be approved by the school board so no details just yet. But I can tell you with certainty that we will be visiting the resident city of some popular American superheroes.” She winked as she finished in her best interview voice.

Alya gasped and dropped her pretend microphone as she hugged her best friend. “Really!? Oh my gosh girl, you are the best!”

Marinette laughed and hugged her back as Alya jumped and spun them around. Once they pulled apart, she told the brunette, “As soon as the school board gives me the green light, you’ll be the first to know.”

The late bell rang and the girls practically skipped to their respective seats as Madame Bustier called the class to attention. Well, “attention” in the loosest sense of the word. They struggled once more through the majority of their lessons, but Madame Bustier seemed to sense defeat and she let them chatter excitedly for the last twenty minutes before dismissal.

Kim and Alix were boasting about how they were going to stay up all night, while Max encouraged them to maximize the time they would be able to play the next day by getting a full night’s sleep in before the launch time.

Lila bragged about her role in the creation of the game from its conception to even having suggested the highly anticipated date of release. Adrien pointedly ignored Lila in the row behind his and discussed the music they had recorded and mixed for the game with a very enthusiastic Nino.

Sabrina looked on a little sadly until Mylene, Ivan, Rose, and Juleka invited her to join their Disney movie marathon double-date instead. Mylene was too nervous to play the game so Ivan chose to sit out to support her, and video games weren’t really Rose and Juleka’s style. Sabrina’s face softened as she gratefully accepted their invitation.

Nathaniel turned around in his seat to talk to Marinette about the art rendering and the programs they used while Chloe scrolled aimlessly on her phone.

By the time the bell finally rang, the class was beyond excited to go prepare for the launch the next morning.

Marinette, to her credit, swallowed her enthusiasm and sat down to fully plan out their trip to Metropolis. It was grueling work, researching the safest hotel that was still in a central location. It had to be affordable but not shabby, too, because they had a limited budget. She eventually settled on the reputable Wayne Hotel, apparently part of an enormous corporation called Wayne Enterprises, and then began to build an itinerary with different events from there.

She worked nonstop the rest of the night, with the exception of a brief dinner break, and it was nearly 11:00 at night by the time she finished. Marinette sat up from her desk chair and stretched, then double-checked that her alarms were set before finally heading to bed.

#marinette dupain cheng #jasonette #sword art online au #virtual reality #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #maribat #maribat fic #healing hands

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basicallywhiterice · 4 years ago

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on top of the world (dong sicheng/winwin)

pairing: sicheng/winwin x reader

genre: angst, fluff, flangst. friends to lovers, highschool!au, dancer!sicheng, spring break trip

summary: The fall to the ground doesn’t seem so daunting when you’re living on top of the world.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: cussing

a/n: if enough people get mad at me i’ll write a part 2

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

this can be read as a standalone, but it is part 1 in the on top of the world series. crossposted on ao3 here!

Chinatown, Washington, D.C., 7:01 p.m.

“Honest Abe? More like, honest babe,” Lucas hollers to Kun and no one in particular, drawing a few disgruntled looks from the pedestrians waiting for the walk signal to flash again. He winks at a man in a navy suit, who rolls his eyes and looks away. Yangyang reaches over for a high-five.

“Dude was 6′ 4″, of course he’s a babe,” Sicheng whistles, leaning behind Yangyang and craning his neck to steal glances at Kun’s phone.

To your right, Ningning flits around, snapping pictures of the street displays and assorted neon lights on the storefronts. You watch her alongside Giselle, who pops her bubblegum, periodically glancing at the traffic light at the bustling intersection. Standing shoulder to shoulder with you to your left, Kun rattles off a hodge-podge of facts about Abraham Lincoln and Ford’s Theatre, which you just passed by, from his phone screen to a faux-enthused Yangyang, who shakes Sicheng by the shoulders every time Kun reads a new fact. He occasionally gets pushed into Lucas’s side, rolling his eyes while doing little to hide the growing grin on his face.

“... and apparently they planned his assassination in the building the Wok n’ Roll restaurant we passed used to be,” Kun remarks.

“OH MY GOD SICHENG ISN’T THAT SO CRAZY?” Yangyang all but screams. “IT WAS IN THE WOK N’ ROLL!”

As you glance over fondly, your eyes linger on the orange hues and kaleidoscopic shadows the nearby “do not walk” signal spills over Sicheng’s face. After a moment, he looks away from Yangyang’s exaggerated bouncing. His gaze flits upwards, meeting your stolen glance with his own.

The world grinds to a halt beneath your feet when a strong gust of wind blows through your hair, propelling you into free fall into the depths of his eyes until Giselle tugs on your arm, pulling you back into the present.

She gestures toward the “walk” signal on the traffic light, and you fall in line with her quick footsteps as you stride across the crosswalk.

“We should go there later,” she suggests. “Try summoning Lincoln’s ghost or something.”

“The Wok n’ Roll?”

“Yeah. Do you think his ghost would have his top hat?”

“I thought ghosts were just spirits and didn’t take material possessions with them?”

“Yeah, but then every ghost would be naked, which would be hella inappropriate.”

Ningning overhears, skipping up to you and looping her arm through yours. “You have to prove the existence of ghosts and take them out to dinner before you get them naked, you pig.”

“I made yo momma sound like a ghost last night,” Lucas quips. “I skipped the ‘getting dinner’ part, though.”

“Goddamn,” Giselle exclaims as you burst into laughter, throwing jokes and jabs at each other for the rest of the trek to the ramen restaurant where you eat dinner.

Hilton Garden Inn, Washington, D.C., 9:13 p.m.

After helping Giselle and Ningning unpack, you knock on the communicating door between your hotel room and the boys’ in order to bother Kun.

Sicheng answers, moving aside so you can step across. Their room is surprisingly clean, although you chalk it up to the limited amount of time they had to unpack earlier today. Lucas sits at the desk in the corner near the window, hunched over his laptop while Yangyang peeks over his shoulder. You glimpse a few pictures of the Washington Monument on his screen before he scrolls down to other marble structures.

“Are you looking up other places to visit?” you ask him.

He glances up, cracking his neck before responding. “Yeah. I can’t find anything special that we don’t know about, though.”

“It’s boutta be lit,” Yanyang chimes in.

“Ayeee,” Lucas responds. They start aggressively patting each other on the back and arms, and you take that as your cue to leave before they wrestle you into whatever weird ritual they’re performing.

Turning, you see Sicheng flop down onto the bed closest to the windows where Kun lays, sprawled out. “Hey,” Kun greets, lifting his head from his pillows.

“Hey,” you reply, remembering the reason why you came to the room in the first place. “Oh yeah! I found a stop sign a few blocks from here on a decently busy street. It’ll take ten minutes to go there and back, tops.”

He groans. “I would love to go, but I just got a stomachache. Tell you what. Sicheng,” he says, propping himself up at a snail’s pace and clasping Sicheng’s shoulder, “you can accompany her there, right?”

“To a stop sign?” Sicheng asks, looking up from his phone.

“A hand-picked, top tier, magnificent stop sign,” you proclaim. “Whenever me and Kun travel, we always get a random passerby to take our picture in front of a stop sign like it’s a tourist attraction. Are you down for potential social awkwardness?”

The corner of Sicheng’s lips tugs up into a grin. “You know it. I’m not ruining your tradition with Kun, am I?” he asks, glancing sideways at Kun for confirmation.

Kun flops back down on the bed. “Nah. If I went right now, I’d probably ruin the tradition by shitting my pants there or something.”

Sicheng chuckles. “Promise? We could print out those pictures and mail them back to your parents like a postcard.”

“I like the way you think,” you say with a scheming smile, nodding at Sicheng before turning back to Kun. “Anyways, drink some warm water to help with your stomachache, maybe? What do you think caused it?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that trashcan pizza slice in the subway.” Sicheng reaches over and flicks his forehead. “Ow! I’m kidding! Why would you torment a sick man like this? Go away and take your pictures already.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you ask as Sicheng asks, “You sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Worst comes to worst, I’ll take a Pepto-Bismol in fifteen minutes. Go and have fun.” He waves you off, grabbing a spare pillow and lightly smacking Sicheng with it.

“Fine, mom.” Sicheng stands, pocketing his phone. “You ready? I just need to put on my shoes.”

“Yeah.” As he walks over to the closet, you sneak a peek at your reflection through your phone screen. Fighting back a sudden bundle of nerves, you discreetly smooth your t-shirt down, running a hand through your hair. Kun wiggles his eyebrows when he notices, and you flip him off, silently warning him to stay quiet.

He doesn’t. “Have fun on your date with loverboy,” he whispers.

“Shut up.”

“After you leave, should I check out the pool?” he murmurs. “Lucas and Yangyang said they don’t feel like swimming tonight.”

“What, isn’t your stomach—”

“Oh my, would you look at the time? Off you go!” He shoos you away, almost standing up to push you away and laying back down before Sicheng can turn around. You’re almost impressed by how well he set you up.

Still, though. If Kun weren’t your best friend, you’d shove him into the hotel’s fountain.

H Street Northwest, Washington D.C., 9:40 p.m.

Half an hour later, you give up on the facade of collecting anti-tourist pictures after the third stop sign, stopping by the Chinatown Express to grab a bowl of noodles with roast duck to go. You walk for a few blocks before finding a bench to sit and split it at, slurping them up in an appreciative silence.

“Oh my god,” Sicheng intones around a mouthful of noodles. When you look over, his cheeks are puffed, an empty spoon descending to rest inside the soup container.

“You look like one of those baby birds eating scraps,” you giggle.

“I’m certainly skilled with chicks,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, then scoot closer to pick up a piece of roast duck. Your knees touch, but neither of you move away. “Do you think there’s a more advanced form of life than humans, like aliens, and they view us how we view animals?” you ask, resuming the conversation you had about the meaning of life before you sat down. “Like we don’t think birds could become self-aware, no matter how intelligent they are, so then we can’t achieve the alien version of self-awareness no matter how philosophical we get.”

“Good question. Uh, alien self-awareness would probably relate to the meaning of life or something, right? Or the secrets of the universe and breaking the laws of physics. And because they’re so big brained, they could control things with their minds and be enlightened with telekinesis. So hypothetically, if I were a wise, sagely alien,” he says, gently picking up your hand and laying it flat against his palm, “I could make my hand pass through yours if I had enough brainpower.”

His hand is warm, and you hope furiously that your palms aren’t sweating. “Was this another excuse to hold my hand?”

“Well, did it work?”

You raise your eyebrows and fail at biting back your smile. “You already know, you just want to hear me say it.”

He grins. “Then say it!”

“Yes, Sicheng, it worked.”

“Awesome.” He moves his right hand to pick up his spoon, briefly tugging your hand with him until he realizes. “Fuck. Sorry, I have to let go of your hand while I eat. Unless you wanna see me struggle with my left hand.”

“As much as I’d love to watch you do that, I feel like that’d be an insult to the rest of the noodles.”

When you finally remember to stand up and throw away the long-forgotten remnants of your food, he holds your hand carefully but firmly as you walk past the White House, and you imagine his hold on your heart must feel the same.

Lafayette Square, Washington, D.C., 11:16 p.m.

“Dance with me,” Sicheng pleads, pulling you under a streetlight. You nod, but your feet stay cemented on the brick-paved sidewalk.

“I don’t know how to.”

“That’s fine.” You place your hand in his outstretched one, and he lifts your other hand to rest on his shoulder. “No one’s around to judge, so just do whatever.”

“Wise words,” you deadpan, but you let his hand on your waist guide your swaying.

He’s right, though. After the initial awkwardness fades, you find that waltzing around isn’t so bad after all—especially when he twirls you around the pocket of light underneath the lamppost so gently it feels like you’re dancing on air.

And when he dips you as you throw your head back, laughing, you think you finally understand why his eyes light up every time he finishes a dance performance.

“Is this what you love about dancing?” you ask once you’ve come back up.

He nods, eyes closing briefly. “Partly. The grand choreographies are the showstoppers, but the simpler moments keep me sane.” His eyes flutter open. “I haven’t let anyone see me dance with such bad technique in a while. I’m usually not this bad, I promise.”

“I know,” you grin. “I saw you at the winter showcase. You were amazing.” Then you take a deep breath, and brace for the worst. “The lyrical piece you closed with was the one you used for your audition, right?”

“Yeah, I—yeah.”

Abruptly, he releases your hands and steps back. You allow yourself to feel a twinge of guilt for mentioning the elephant in the room before you steel yourself for the impending conversation.

“We should probably talk about that,” he says.

“We should. Do you want to walk around the National Mall? You said you liked it earlier today.”

“Sure.”

The walk is quiet enough for you to overthink. Sicheng got accepted by a dance studio in Korea, after months of submitting auditions and traveling back and forth between countries. He’s leaving soon, even if he says he’s still waiting to hear back from Juilliard and keeping his options open. You see it in the goodbyes he keeps subconsciously saying and the memories he drinks in like it’s his last chance to, and you’re terrified of what your life will look like without him.

You glance over at him periodically, and he seems to be lost in thought too, staring straight ahead down the well-lit path. His eyebrows furrow as you pass under a streetlight, and you wonder if you brought it up the wrong way.

You’re disappointed in the crude way you shoved the future into a perfectly happy moment, then mad that you’re disappointed. It was inevitable that you’d have to talk about what would come after graduation, and it was inevitable that he’d have to remove himself from your side to chase after his dreams. It’s a wonder he hasn’t pulled away already.

Stupid, you chide yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid, loving so hard that your chest implodes from all the weight it carries, already drifting through the pangs of hurt and the wisps of melancholy bringing about a premature nostalgia.

“I’m really going to miss you next year,” Sicheng confesses out of the blue.

You glance up. His hands are shoved into his pants pockets, his eyes roaming over your face like he’s trying to remember all the secrets it hides.

You think you might always run back to him. You’re not sure how to feel about that.

National Mall, Washington, D.C., 11:33 p.m.

“So.”

“So,” you echo. “Have you looked at decisions yet?” It’s a pointless question. You know he’s not going to Juilliard.

“Yeah, I looked at them this afternoon in the theater.” He clears his throat. “I got waitlisted.”

“Ah.”

“I’m not going to accept a spot on the waitlist.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “I had made my decision anyway.” Then he sighs, his nonchalant facade dropping for good. “You can probably guess.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m accepting the studio’s offer,” he whispers, as if the air is glass and the moment could shatter at any moment. The words float there, above your head, and you imagine grabbing them and hugging them close to your chest before they slip away.

You don’t. “I figured.”

“Yeah. You knew.”

You stare ahead and will the tears not to fall.

“I’m leaving as soon as school ends,” he says, with the sideways glance that marks the start of his rambling distraction process, “and flying there on—”

“I’m gonna miss you,” you blurt. He pauses mid-sentence. “I’m gonna miss you like crazy. Can we talk about this, for real? You can tell me all the details later, I just—please,” and your voice cracks, “don’t dismiss this.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

A blink, and the first teardrop traces its way down your face.

You waste away the hours of your stolen youth with a boy who wipes your tears away and comforts you over the future that you’ll no longer be a part of.

National Mall, Washington, D.C., 11:57 p.m.

“Before I leave,” Sicheng says, scuffing the heels of his shoes on the gravel pathway, “I know I’d regret it if I didn’t say something. I mean, I’m going to leave anyways, so why not, you know? I have to say something before I’m gone. Um, so, you know this by now, but I… I—” and you already know what’s coming.

“Stop. I know what you’re going to say. Give me a minute to think.”

You make the mistake of glancing up at him, his eyes wide and shining. “Yeah. Alright. Take all the time you need, please.”

In half a year, Sicheng will be gone and you will be left to pick up the pieces of your life that don’t involve him, piecing them together the best you can and carrying on like there isn’t a hole in your heart.

“I’m in love with you.” One thud of your heartbeat. Then another. “Sicheng.”

In half a year, this chance will be long gone, and if you let it slip through your fingers without grabbing on, you’ll never forgive yourself for letting Sicheng become your biggest what-if.

“I’m in love with you too.” He raises his hand to cradle your face in his palm. “Y/n.”

“I’ve wanted to say that for a while now.”

“Me too. It’s not just because I’m leaving, you know.” You nod, his palm momentarily pressing against your cheek. “You knew.”

“Yeah.”

You stare up at him, the boy who wears his heart on his sleeve and holds entire galaxies in his eyes.

“What are we?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“How do you feel about dating?”

You freeze like a deer in headlights. “Dating?”

“Yeah, would you? Like to date me?”

And then Sicheng turns into a what-if again. “I don’t know,” you confess. “I don’t know if I could handle the split.”

“We don’t have to break up when I leave. We could do long distance,” he suggests, but it sounds flimsy even to your ears.

“I don’t know, Sicheng. I don’t want to end up losing you.”

“I know. We don’t have to, especially if you don’t want to.”

You nod once in acknowledgment, and then you’re stepping into his arms again. He holds you securely, stroking your hair and waiting for you to collect your thoughts.

“I wish we had more time,” you whisper into his shoulder an eternity later. “Could we have been doing this earlier?”

“It would’ve been too fast,” he reasons, and you’re inclined to agree. “We didn’t really… not until this year…”

“Yeah.” You’ve known Sicheng for years and have been close with him for months, but you only fell in love with each other when it was too late. “I wish we started hanging out sooner.”

“Maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way.”

“Maybe.”

You pull back enough to glance up at him, gaze dropping to his lips at the close proximity before immediately bringing it back up. His eyes follow the movement, a smile creeping up his face.

“One kiss wouldn’t hurt, right?” he asks, and he says it so earnestly that it’s hard to believe he’d be wrong.

“It wouldn’t,” you agree. His nose bumps with yours and you blink up at him once, twice, and then you’re leaning in until the faraway sounds of the city fade away. He’s purposeful and patient and when all you can think of is the brush of his lips against yours, it’s just you and him against the world.

One kiss might not hurt, but one turns to two and two turns to too many and when you finally pull away and stare into his eyes, dazed, your lips tingle from the ghost of his mouth on yours.

At that moment, the way his mouth slowly stretches into a grin does something to your heart, and you think you’d let it break a million times just to be the cause of his smile.

“Yes, Sicheng. Let’s date.”

He kisses you again, beaming so wide that his teeth knock against your lips and pulling you closer, almost picking you up in the process.

You wonder if you made the wrong decision.

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redinkofshame · 3 years ago

Text

Arranged Marriage

Hipster AU did not spark joy, so I used the Arranged Marriage joker for day 3 of the @augustwritingchallenge. This is probably the last one I’ll do, unless I also do an arranged marriage for Cedric/Cassandra. It’s also my favorite one :D

The evanuris have survived to the dragon age, Fen'Harel included amongst them. In order to make peace with the free clans of elves a marriage is arranged between the Trickster and one of their own. Like all of Solas' plans, it goes awry.

1882 words, mature for smexiness but no actual hanky panky. Read on AO3

Wedding Night

“You still intend to go through with this, then?” Mythal asked.

Fen’Harel sighed, eyeing her reflection from where he stood surrounded by attendants. They made last minute adjustments to his wedding vestiments, buffed his nails, applied cosmetics. “I gave my word, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but even you must admit you have a proclivity for… last minute ‘tricks’. We must make peace with the free clans—”

“Easiest done with a marriage, and I am the only one amongst us who is yet unmarried, yes, I know,” he said, biting his tongue. He knew better than the rest of them how important this was; they continued to underestimated the power of the free clans.

“It’s merely surprising that you haven’t proposed some other crazy solution to avoid being tamed. You’ve been the lone wolf, all alone all these ages…”

He shooed away his attendants and sunk into the nearest chair. His hair dresser immediately made her move, beginning the bothersome process of brushing, curling, and braiding. An annoyance. A necessity. Long hair; the status symbol of a spoiled man who, supposedly, knew nothing of hard work, nor manual labor. No more a threat than a bunch of unaligned clans who could scarcely produce mages.

That is, of course, until he used this marriage to forge an alliance with his spouse’s people. The final key to in his plot to take down the Evanuris once and for all.

“All good things must come to an end,” he said with feigned disinterest. “Remind me the name of who I’m to wed again? That man from the garden with the curly hair?”

Mythal gave him a scathingly admonishing look. “Really, Fen, the least you could do is remember your intended’s name.” She kept up the look for another moment but when he gave no response she simply sighed. “You’re thinking of the ambassador they sent to announce that your bride was chosen by vote of the free clans at Arlathven.”

“She is important to them, then? A powerful mage?” he asked hopefully.

Mythal snorted. “Hardly. They say she has some skill with the arcane, but she’s better known for her sewing— no, embroidery.” He grunted in disappointment and she continued, almost to herself. “She’s no particular beauty, either. I can’t image she’s the best they’ve got to offer. Frankly, I’m tempted to take offense at the offering, but we already granted them permission to choose for themselves…”

He waved his hand dismissively. “It hardly matters what she looks like, so long as they care for her enough to lay down their arms.”

“I suppose. Her name is Keria, by the way, of Lavellan’s clan. Do try to remember it during the ceremony.” He felt her eyes on him, but kept his head bowed as his hair was adorned with golden toggles. “You know that you will have to gift her with her vallaslin during the ceremony as well.”

“Of course.”

Mythal stepped closer and lowered her voice. “A true vallaslin, Fen’Harel.”

The girl working his hair froze. He didn’t have to look at her to know that she, as all his servants, his “slaves”, wore a convincing imitation of his vallaslin on her face. He’d marked each of them with enough magic to keep them safe from the others, but it held none of the controlling or manipulation that a true vallaslin held.

He saw to it that his people followed him voluntarily, not due to fear or power. Many of them were agents of his grand plan playing a role until it was time to strike at the heart of their oppressors.

None of which Mythal was supposed to know, of course.

He met her eyes. “I understand.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, a silent threat, gauging his sincerity. At last, she nodded.

~~~~~

He remembered the name, of course, the ceremony lines, and the spell to apply a proper vallaslin to her pale face in front of everyone. Mythal’s assessment had been harsh — she was pretty enough. Her unruly black hair was short, of course, as was her place. He supposed she would grow it out, now. Her eyes were a shockingly bright blue, when he could get a good look at them, but she largely kept them averted. Her gown was a work of art. The cut of it was common enough, classic, but every inch of it was covered in painstaking embroidery. Her doing?

Not that her beauty mattered; he cared only whether or not she would become his willing ally in their fight, or if he’d have to use her new position as leverage. He’d expected her to fear him as the clans always did — with good reason. He was Mythal’s general, the attack dog she released whenever they stepped out of line or needed to be taught a lesson. At first he thought her unwillingness to meet his eyes was because she was afraid, or worse, because she loathed him. He would not hold it against her.

Surprisingly it was shy glances and flustered smiles he was met with. A blushing bride indeed.

The day was filled with much pomp and posturing, dancing and music and feasting and well-wishers and veiled insults and vague threats. Elgar’nan and the others were jumpy, so certain he was going to ruin this for them that they never considered it had been his idea to begin with. It was many hours before he and his new wife were able to retreat to his suite.

Or ‘their’ suite, he supposed, though he’d happily grant her separate chambers if she requested it. His rooms were plenty large enough for the two of them, but he didn’t relish the loss of this ability to move freely.

He left her for a moment upon entering to get familiar with the space as he stepped into the dressing chamber. He sighed in the relative privacy.

It was fortunate that Keria seemed to be a willing — perhaps eager — partner in this charade, but thus far she seemed too timid of a girl to bring honestly into his machinations. It would take some time to discern best how to proceed from here. In the mean time it was his wedding night…

He was certainly willing to bed her, but he would not press the issue. They needed to discuss rules and freedoms, what would be asked of her and what would not. What she could ask of him. He striped out of his vestiments and pulled on a pair of simple sleep pants. He did not bother with a shirt. He stepped back into the room.

“I think we should discuss our expectations…” He tailed off, not seeing her immediately. He found her in the dimly lit bedchamber, sitting on her heels at the end of the oversized bed, sheets pooling around her hips. She was naked except for the sash from her wedding gown tied loosely about her waist. When she saw him enter she raised to her knees, spread wide, and the blanket fell from her lap, exposing her fully. Her teasing smile beckoned him closer.

Well, then.

All thoughts of planning left him as his blood spiked, and he went to her. He stopped when he stood at the edge of the bed, inches from her, and pointedly looked her offering up and down. He reevaluated his own underestimation of her beauty.

“Lovely…” he murmured. His hand dropped and she arched her back in anticipation, her nipples tight, but it was the tail of the embroidered sash he took. “Did you make it yourself?”

To his surprise he laughed and shoved him playfully, illiciting a snort from him. “I did, in fact.” He ran his thumb over the intricate stitches and she shifted her weight nervously. “Do you, um, know a lot about embroidery?”

“I don’t know much of the textile arts, I’m afraid,” he admitted, letting the silk slip through his fingers. “Perhaps you could teach me.”

She smiled coquettishly. “Oh, there’s a great deal I could teach you, Fen’Harel.” She sensually unknotted the sash.

He forced his eyes up to hers, determined to seem unaffected. “And here I thought I was wed to someone sweet and innocent.”

“Sweet? Sometimes. But innocent?” Keria flipped the sash up and over his head, where it settled like a scarf. “Certainly not.”

She tugged the ends of the sash and pulled him in for a kiss and he went easily, intrigued by this woman. He felt the brush of her lips but didn’t realize in time that she whispered an incantation, though his eyes flickered open just in time to see the hidden runes among the embroidered flowers light up, paralyzing him instantly. Her hand dashed beneath the covers and came up with a dagger that she plunged towards his chest.

The vallaslin on her face lit up as he activated it and staggered back, spell broken. She was frozen in place, mid-strike. His heart hammered in his chest in a way it hadn’t in decades, a mortal danger he rarely faced unwittingly.

No mortal blade could hurt him, but she would know that. Still shaken, he wrenched the dagger from her hand, careful not to nick either of them as she grunted, struggling to break free. He appraised the weapon, recognizing it easily even without the ravens in the hilt. It indeed would have been able to kill him, and was undoubtedly coated in enough poison to finish the job even if her aim ad been off. Smart.

“Dirthamen sent you, then?”

She still fought her bindings. He released her just enough that she could answer his question. “Yes.”

He tilted his head. She’d answered too quickly. He could see her tells, now that he knew what she really was. “A lie. Interesting. I’m only supposed to believe it was him.”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” snarled his darling wife.

“Ah, a fair point. Me, murdered on my wedding night, and Dirthamen to blame. To what end?” She answered by spitting at him and he paced as he thought it over, able to see how it would have played out — Mythal would exact justice before Elgar’nan could stop her, and Dirthamen’s twin would retaliate. The rest of the evanuris would choose sides. War, distrust, ample opportunity for more little assassinations.

A simple enough plan. One that damn near worked.

He lifted the dagger and it hovered in the air between them. With a twist of his hand he rendered the shining, poisonous thing inert, watching as it turned dull and clattered uselessly to the floor.

Keria looked like she was ready to tear him apart with her teeth instead. “It doesn’t matter what you do with me,” she growled. “Others will succeed where I have failed. You cannot stop us all! Your days are numbered, Dread Wolf — you and every other evil, murderous, slaving evanuris!”

Wordlessly he walked to a wardrobe, feeling her eyes following him as she waited for him to strike her down. How much of her shaking was from anger, he wondered, and how much from fear?

He pulled out a dressing robe and turned back to his bride, every inch of her radiating defiance despite the hold he still had on her.

He tossed her the robe. “Get dressed, vhenan. We need to talk.”

#solavellan #AU_gust #AU_gust_2021 #Solas #Keria Lavellan #I had a great time with this one ngl #:D

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elenyagrace · 3 years ago

Text

left-handed

(also posted on ao3)

Ivan is right-handed.

That is just another fact in a long list of facts that need no further explanation. The sky is blue (except when it's grey, which it usually is in his hometown), the Fjerdans hate Grisha, and Ivan is right-handed.

It's a good thing that he is, for the children that favour their left hand over their right... Well, they're treated differently. He lives in a small village near the Fjerdan border, and many of its inhabitants share their neighbours' opinions on Grisha and other things they believe to be witchcraft - such as being left-handed.

So really, it's a relief to his parents that when the first time he gets a hold of one of his older brothers’ pencils, he picks it up with his right hand.

He doesn't join in when the other children pick on those that weren't so lucky, but he too regards those children with caution and mistrust. Like everyone, he knows that it is only a matter of time until the witchcraft that runs in their blood takes a shape more sinister than a simple preference of right or left.

There hasn't been a Grisha from this village in ages, but when a message arrives from the Little Palace that says that testers will visit them in two weeks time, there are no doubts in anyone's mind that the baker's son, Feliks, and the carpenter's daughter, Irina, will be revealed to be Grisha, for they both favour their left hand.

Ivan can hear his parents whisper about them whenever either of them passes, and he knows the other adults are doing the same. The other children increase their torment, and not a single opportunity to call them names like "freak" is passed by.

Once, when Ivan passes Feliks in the street, he sees bruises littering the boy's face. But he knows better than to say anything, knows not to get himself in trouble. No one worries for even a moment that Ivan might be Grisha.

So when the testers come, and neither Feliks nor Irina turn out to be Grisha, but Ivan does, it comes as a shock to everyone.

Ivan is sitting in a carriage on the way to the Little Palace, and the look on his parents' faces is still burnt into his mind like a fresh wound. His father left the room without a word of goodbye to his son, and his mother could barely stand to look at him as he packed the few belongings he possessed. Not one of his siblings bothered to say goodbye to him, but maybe that is for the best - Ivan is not sure if he could've endured it.

The Grisha who came to his home and tore apart his life are talking about something, but he tunes them out as he looks out of the carriage's window. They had tried to engage him into a conversation at first, but quickly left him be after his answers turned monosyllabic once he had told them his name.

Ivan knows, rationally, that none of this is really their fault. They were only doing their duty, and Ivan's father, who had served many years in the First Army, had instilled the sense of duty into his sons from the moment they were old enough to know what it meant.

But Ivan is allowing himself this one day to grieve the end of his life as he'd known it for the past ten years. Once they get to the Little Palace he'll accept his fate without complaint, as his father taught him to, but for now he watches the world pass by until nothing in his surroundings resembles the landscape of his home - his former home, he reminds himself - anymore.

By the time they pull up to the Little Palace, Ivan has decided to stop wallowing in self pity. His family might hate and fear him for what he is, but he is determined to do right by their name either way. He is going to be the best Corporalnik there is, even though admittedly, he is not quite sure what that will entail.

The first thing he notices when he steps out of the carriage is that in the courtyard they have entered there are three more carriages like the one he travelled in. He isn't really given any time to take in his surroundings before the Grisha who tested him corral him towards the other carriages.

Behind the carriages, Ivan finds a few more adult Grisha and a group of other children. Other recently tested Grisha? There are eight of them in total, some looking afraid, others like they have been crying recently and some looking awestruck by their surroundings.

Ivan's face is hardened by the resolve to prove he is not some little child crying for his mother. He straightens his spine and only allows himself a brief look at the facade of the palace that will be his home before returning his attention towards the adults. There will be plenty of time to admire the architecture later.

"Alright, listen up!"

All the children turn their attention towards the woman clothed in a blue robe with red and yellow ornations who had spoken. She introduces herself as Katya, an Inferni, and launches into an explanation of their new life at the Little Palace.

Ivan listens attentively, not wanting to miss anything, until somebody tugs on his sleeve. Annoyed, he turns to find a boy of approximately the same age as him - Ivan notes that he is one of the few children that had seemed neither scared nor sad, but rather awed.

"What's your name?"

He cannot be serious. Ivan can't think of a single reason why this question couldn't have waited until after Katya is done talking; and to demonstrate just that, the only answer he gives the boy is a glare before he turns away again.

Later, when they have been led to the dormitories where they will be sleeping and everyone is busy unpacking, Ivan turns around from where he had been putting away his things to find the same boy in front of him once more.

"You know, you never did tell me your name."

Ivan just glares at him again, hoping the boy will take the hint. He doesn't have any particular urge to make friends with anyone here, much less this boy who is way too cheery, and, by the looks of him, a city merchant's child. He was fine on his own growing up, and he won't change that now.

Except the boy doesn't take the hint. And when Ivan doesn't answer he simply tries again.

"I am Fedyor. It is nice to meet you," he says and holds out his hand for Ivan to shake.

Ivan considers his options and finally replies with a curt "Ivan." He turns back around without taking the boy's - Fedyor's - hand. This time, he takes the hint and leaves Ivan alone.

Only Ivan realises too late that the boy's retreat meant in no way that Fedyor decided to leave him alone indefinitely.

It is hard to avoid him, considering they share a dormitory and Fedyor too is being trained to join the Order of the Corporalki. With his sunny disposition and his affinity for other people, everyone assumes that when the time comes, Fedyor will join the ranks of Healers; just like nobody doubts that Ivan himself will become a Heartrender.

After only a few days, Fedyor has made more friends than Ivan could care to count, but for some reason that evades him, the other boy still insists on pestering Ivan whenever he can. The other children quickly stopped trying to involve Ivan in conversations when they realised he had no interest in exchanging anything beyond the most basic information; but no matter what he does to discourage Fedyor from speaking to him, none of it seems to have any effect on him.

Whether they are in class, eating in the dining hall, or in combat training with Botkin, Fedyor always tries to strike up a conversation. At first, Ivan simply ignores him, still hoping he will be left alone.

But when weeks have passed, and Fedyor still hasn't given up talking to him, Ivan decides to try another strategy: give a non-committal answer and turn the question around on the other. That way, Fedyor will chatter away happily, and Ivan can simply tune him out.

The only flaw in this plan is that sometimes, Ivan finds himself actually listening to the other. And, as over time he gets to know more about Fedyor, he realises with a start that maybe he doesn't mind the boy's company so terribly.

Mind you, he still doesn't like him, and they're certainly not friends, even though Fedyor seems to think they are. But maybe he isn't the stuck-up city boy Ivan had first thought him to be, and maybe some of the things he has to say are actually interesting. Ivan stands by his assessment of "way too cheery" though.

The years pass by in a blur. Ivan excels in all his classes; the only one to rival him being Fedyor, who excels likewise. By the time they are fourteen, Ivan has gone from 'if I ignore him for long enough, maybe he will leave me alone' to begrudging acceptance of Fedyor's company, to actually actively contributing to conversations instead of letting Fedyor fill the silence by himself, to 'oh no, we ARE friends, aren't we?'

So when the time comes for them to choose their future, Ivan is the only one who isn't taken by surprise by Fedyor's decision to become a Heartrender rather than a Healer. They had talked about it once, late at night, and Fedyor had admitted that he didn't think he could spend the rest of his life as a Healer.

Ivan had been puzzled at first, because Fedyor simply didn't seem like the kind of person that would choose a path that would undoubtedly require him to kill someone. But Fedyor had explained that while he did loathe the idea of taking a life, he didn't want to be sitting on the sidelines either, watching his friends and fellow Grisha die, while he was helpless to defend them.

This was a feeling Ivan could understand, and after that night he regarded Fedyor with a new-found respect.

So they both begin their training as Heartrenders, alongside a boy named Viktor and two girls by the names of Sofia and Polina.

Ivan still excels in his classes, and soon establishes a reputation for his talent in hand-to-hand combat - besides Botkin himself, there is no one who can defeat him. His training with Baghra, on the other hand, is going less than exceptional.

He has no issues accomplishing the skills that require both hands equally, in fact, he takes to those rather well. It's the skills that rely on the more prominent use of one hand after the initial crossing of the hands that trouble him.

It's not that he doesn't know the movements, or is executing them incorrectly. He has practiced them so often that he could likely perform them perfectly in his sleep. But for some reason, no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to move past the movements as a performance, doesn't achieve anything he's supposed to while going through the stances.

After yet another unfruitful session with Baghra (who had accused him of not even trying - despite the fact that he is trying so hard that he feels as though it might kill him to try any harder), he seeks out Fedyor.

He finds him sitting with Sofia and Polina, laughing at whatever Sofia is saying. Ivan finds that he doesn't want to ruin his good mood, so he turns to leave, but in that moment Fedyor looks up and spots him.

"Ivan!" he shouts, rather than speaks, despite the fact that Ivan is not standing very far from him. Polina, who is sitting next to him, is evidently not very happy about Fedyor yelling right next to her ear and shoves him away. Fedyor grins apologetically at the brunette before standing up and heading over to Ivan after bidding the two girls goodbye.

"Hey," he says as he walks up to Ivan, smiling brightly. Even after all these years, he is still way too cheery for his own good, but these days, instead of being annoyed by it, Ivan finds it to be comforting.

"Hey," he returns the greeting. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. Sorry."

"What? Oh, you didn't interrupt anything, don't worry! Besides," Fedyor adds, turning to look at Polina and Sofia, "I have a feeling these two don't mind me leaving them alone."

Ivan raises an eyebrow. But as he too regards the two of them, he sees what Fedyor means. They seem to be completely engrossed in their conversation, locked inside their own little world.

"So what are you up to? How did your hour with Baghra go?"

"Fine," Ivan lies, then immediately changes the topic to distract Fedyor, who, even if he noticed the skip in his heart's rhythm, lets him get away with it. "Spar with me?"

"Sure, why not?"

It's easy to lose himself in the rhythm of a fight, and that is exactly what Ivan needs right now. No time to replay Baghra's words over and over, no time to dwell on what a failure he's turned out to be -

In the very last second, Ivan realises that he would've almost hit Fedyor full force.

His fist stops in mid-air, then falls uselessly to his side. Fedyor too lets his arms drop and takes a step back, concern written on his face.

"Ivan?" His voice is soft, confusion evident in the way he says Ivan's name.

"Sorry, I -" he pauses, unsure how to say 'I was so angry with myself that I almost hurt you for real' without having to explain himself to Fedyor. "I wasn't paying attention."

"You've been doing that a lot lately," Fedyor remarks, almost casually.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you?" Fedyor sounds skeptical. "You didn't even roll your eyes at my joke this morning, and I know you usually would have, because everyone else laughed. You're constantly distracted, even in class, and you're never distracted in class! I can tell that something's wrong, and I want to help, but I can't do that if you won't even admit that there's something going on with you."

"Nothing's wrong. I don't need your help, Fedyor," he replies, determined to make the other let this go.

"So which one is it?" Fedyor asks, eyebrows raised so high they disappear behind his messy fringe. "There's nothing wrong, or there is, but you don't want my help?"

Ivan is at an impasse. No matter which answer he chooses, he'd end up lying, and Fedyor would know. There is something wrong, and despite his first instinct being to deny anyone else's involvement in his own problems, he does want Fedyor's help.

But he shouldn't need it, should be fine on his own.

Apparently his silence stretches on for too long, because Fedyor seems to take it as an answer of its own.

"Alright, I get it." He's smiling still, because he always is, but Ivan doesn't need to be a Heartrender to know that he's hurt. "Don't worry, I won't mention it again."

And then he's leaving, and a part of Ivan thinks that he should just let him. But the years spent with Fedyor have almost completely extinguished that part, and every other part of him is screaming, making him run after Fedyor, calling his name.

"Fedyor wait, please."

Fedyor stops walking, but doesn't turn around, so Ivan continues.

"There is something wrong, and I do want your help." He pauses, struggles to find the right words. "I just don't think that there's anything you or anyone can do to help me."

At this, the other turns around. His hands are crossed like they have been taught in training, so he must know that Ivan wasn't lying, but still he finds himself afraid to look at his face, afraid that his truthfulness hasn't made a difference.

"You know," Fedyor says, "sometimes actually talking about it instead of silently suffering already helps immensely."

For a moment, Ivan considers disagreeing, because what good would complaining about it do? He should just try harder, practice more, not whine about his issues when he has been given an opportunity that few are granted.

But when he sees Fedyor's face, cautiously hopeful, he folds.

"Have you tried using the other hand?"

Ivan looks up from the book he's been using to study, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

"What?"

Fedyor sits down next to him, not bothering to ask if he minds.

"For Heartrendering, I mean," he explains. "No one ever said that you had to use your right hand, you know?"

A few days have passed since their conversation in the courtyard, and though talking about it certainly hadn't provided him with a miraculous solution, Ivan had to admit that telling Fedyor had felt good. And now, whenever Ivan returns from his sessions with Baghra, Fedyor makes an effort to distract him from his thoughts.

"First of all, I'm quite certain you just made that word up." Ignoring Fedyor's look of pretended outrage, Ivan continues. "And no, I haven't. I'm right-handed, so there's no point to it."

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to try, would it?"

"I don't need to try to know it won't work," Ivan says, exasperated. "I told you, I'm right-handed."

"You learned to write with your right hand, yes. But in a fight, you always prefer your left side over the right." He pauses, shrugs. "Maybe the same is true for Heartrendering."

Ivan groans. "Will you stop using that word?"

The grin on Fedyor's face already tells him the answer before Fedyor gives it. "No. It's a great word, I like it."

"You are terrible." But the grin that has somehow formed on his face belies the words, even as he punches Fedyor's shoulder.

"Seriously though," Fedyor says, teasing tone gone, "there's no harm in trying."

"No, maybe not," Ivan agrees, "but there's no point in it either."

"But you don't even know that if you've never tried!"

"Fine. I will try." Ivan closes his book and puts it aside. "But when you realise that we're just wasting our time, you will let me study in peace, yes?"

Fedyor eyes him warily, probably surprised that Ivan has agreed at all, before he nods. "Alright. Try to slow my heartbeat - if it doesn't work, I won't bring it up again."

Eager to be done with this, Ivan assumes position, and crosses his hands. He knows the movements well enough to mirror them easily, and so he draws his left hand back instead of the right - and stops short when he realises that he can feel Fedyor's heart beat in his hand as though he was holding it.

Fedyor must feel it too, if the smile that spreads across his face is anything to go by. But Ivan doesn't feel like smiling at all.

He can feel his own heart speed up, and a weight settling in his stomach. He drops his hands, abruptly ending the connection to Fedyor, who is looking at him in concern. It is too much to take and Ivan - Ivan, who, even as a ten year-old, had never been anything but stoic in the face of the unknown - Ivan runs.

He runs, ignoring Fedyor calling his name, paying no attention to where his feet are carrying him. He runs, because it's the only way he can think of to escape the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him.

Fedyor finds him under the tree where they often go, staring dejectedly at his hands.

"May I?" he asks, gesturing towards the spot on Ivan's left. Ivan knows that he isn't only asking to sit down though.

A few years ago, Ivan wouldn't have hesitated to send him away. But present-day Ivan hasn't really been able to say no to Fedyor in a long time, and so he only shrugs.

Fedyor settles down next to him, but instead of asking about what happened as Ivan had expected he would, he stays silent. He knows that it is an offer to listen, but Ivan can't quite bring himself to speak.

They sit like that for a while - minutes, hours, Ivan isn't sure. By the time he finally manages to speak, the sun has already set, and they must've missed dinner.

Once he begins, it's like something inside him has broken, and he can't stop.

He tells Fedyor about his hometown, about Feliks and Irina, and the way they were treated by everyone as though they were somehow lesser because they were left-handed. He tells him about the way his father had acted as though he didn't even know him when he turned out to be Grisha, how his mother hadn't even looked at him while saying a performative goodbye.

And he admits that deep down, even though he knew that his parents would never want to see him again because he was Grisha, he had hoped that if he could be as normal as possible, then perhaps one day, if he served the army well, they could look past that.

Fedyor doesn't interrupt him, even when he struggles to continue, just lets him spill everything that has been weighing on his heart for so long.

It's only when he has finished that he speaks. "You know there's nothing wrong with being left-handed, right? It doesn't make you evil, or bad. It doesn't mean anything at all."

When Ivan doesn't answer, he continues.

"Hey, look at me." He waits until Ivan reluctantly does what he asked, then says: "You know Sofia is left-handed too, right? Do you think that that makes her evil?"

Ivan can't help but snort at that. Sofia is probably the only person he knows who could rival Fedyor's cheeriness and kindness, and is just about the farthest from evil one can get.

"Exactly." Fedyor looks just as pleased as he sounds. "So why would it be any different for you?"

Ivan struggles to come up with an answer, but finds that he can't. Still, he can't help but feel like being left-handed would burn the last remnants of the bridge to his parents that he's been holding onto for the past six years to the ground.

Fedyor takes his left hand into his, carefully, as though he expects Ivan to pull it away. "There is nothing wrong with you, alright? You are Grisha whether you're right-handed or left-handed, and from what you've told me, that's not something they are willing to forgive.

"You said they treated them as lesser for being left-handed? Prove them wrong. Everyone knows you could be the most powerful Heartrender in the Second Army one day, now it's up to you: will you become that Grisha, or will you keep holding yourself back for them?"

In his next session with Baghra, he uses his left hand instead of his right, and accomplishes everything she asks of him.

He leaves with an almost imperceptible smile on his face, her approving "There he is!" stuck in his mind. Somehow, Fedyor still catches the smile and positively beams with pride.

In that moment, Ivan finds himself thinking that no Sun Summoner could ever shine brighter than Fedyor does.

As it turns out, Fedyor was right. By the time they officially complete their training and take their last exams, even the General has taken notice of Ivan's abilities.

He completes the final examination using his left hand, and passes with flying colours.

Later, when they step away for a moment from the group of Grisha they had trained with, who are celebrating the official end to their training as well as their last night together before they receive their first assignments in the morning, they once more find themselves sitting under their tree.

Fedyor once more takes his left hand into his, considering it before asking: "Do I get to say 'I told you so' now?"

"No, you get to shut up now." Ivan rolls his eyes, but his tone betrays the fondness that he feels, but would never admit to anyone.

"But I did tell you s-"

Ivan surprises both Fedyor and himself as he uses his left hand that Fedyor is still holding to pull him closer and into a kiss. (But it does work to make Fedyor shut up.)

No one else is surprised in the slightest when they find the two sitting there a few hours later, asleep, their hands still intertwined. But no one would ever dare mention it for fear of facing Ivan's wrath.

#heartrender husbands #fivan #ivan no last name #fedyor kaminsky #shadow and bone #this was mostly meant as a character study of Ivan but now has Fedyor all over it (I have no regrets though)#also catch me getting way too attached to minor characters that I really just came up with because I needed to have some context #if you detect a sudden extreme mood change at some point #it’s because I stopped listening to Stars by Duncan Laurence and instead listened to Zitti e Buoni by Måneskin so yeah #if you read all of this please know that I love you because this is way longer than intended #my writing

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jaigeye · 3 years ago

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16 with finn!

30 multipurpose prompts. ( finn & cere junda. ) 'small birds, dry grass.' | read on ao3.

One day, Finn stands in the torrential rain and watches a figure in a cloak come trudging over the mountain.

He sits her down in the shelter of the temple with warm tea and a fresh blanket.

She is old, wrinkles carving rivers into her face, and her gray-white hair is a shock against the warmth of her brown skin. She is tired. Her name is Cere Junda, and she came alone from far away.

"What brought you here?" He asks. She doesn't look threatening, not in the least, but his guard is still up because this is a temple, and there are children and friends here who trust him. "Do you know what this place is? What we- what's done here?"

"It's a Jedi temple," she says matter-of-factly. "A place to stay in the winter when the weather gets bad elsewhere."

He squints. "And how do you know that?"

She shrugs and slurps her tea loudly. "I stayed in the room with the blue window frame."

His room. She stayed in his room. Finn reels, closes his eyes, and regains his composure in the overwhelming span of ten seconds before accosting her with more questions. "You're a.. a.."

"It's nice out," she interrupts. "Why aren't the students training out front?"

He swallows. "They're down by the sea. Learning to swim."

"What's your name?"

"Finn."

Cere looks appraisingly at him over the edge of her cup before setting it back down on the saucer with a sigh. "Why aren't you down there with them, Finn?"

"I already know how." He swallows, his mouth suddenly very dry. "Learned it in basic training."

This gives her pause. "You're a soldier?"

Finn swallows down the fear that lodges itself in his throat. He's not a liar and he's not an imposter. His past, he has long since decided, is better left known to everyone lest they feel betrayed upon learning what he was. Finn doesn't like to break people's hearts, so he's outright with the truth.

"I was a stormtrooper once."

She looks halfway to suspicious before she just looks sad. "I was a Jedi."

"I want to be a Jedi." Finn considers her use of the past tense. "Do you want to be a Jedi again?"

Cere grasps her fist with her hand and twists the spinning ring she wears on her thumb. "Mostly, I just want to do well by other people."

Holding out his hand like an offering, a peace treaty, Finn smiles and says; "Why don't you stay here with us for a while?"

She accepts the offering very calmly. If she's half as alone as she looks and sounds, Finn is sure that the relief of shelter and company meant more than she let on.

Cere minds the children with sincerity and patience. Poe thinks she's funny; Cere seems surprisingly at ease with his antics, taking every joke in elegant stride. She tells Finn that she knew someone a little like him once. She regards Rey with respect, shaking her hand ever-so-firmly and gently correcting her stance, her statements, her lessons. The input is taken with a mixture of indignance and gratitude.

Rey asks one day why Cere doesn't join her in teaching the younglings; surely she would make a much better teacher to them, seeing as she's classically trained- but Cere turns the offer down very firmly.

She asks very few questions about his time in the First Order, but he tells her freely what spurred his defection. Cere clasps his hands, says he is brave, and disappears for hours.

Halfway to two weeks of her living there, Finn finds her doing her morning stretches in a grassy field and decides to ask her the question that's been weighing him down for years.

Little birds hop across the expanse of dry grass. Spring will be coming soon. "Would you train me?"

"Your friend is a Jedi," she replies smoothly. "You've got other resources to turn to."

" One resource." He points this out with a slightly upturned nose, because Finn has earned some pride of his own. "If I have choices available to me then I want to choose."

This draws her attention. She stops walking and turns to him, pushing her long gray locs out of her face to regard him. "I suppose it wouldn't be…. entirely out of the question."

Finn's heart soars for a second, overzealous with glee, before the cold stone of reality drags him back to earth. Dejected, he watches a bird peck at an insect.

"But Rey says that Jedi are meant to be trained from when they're really young." He thinks about the sounds of endless laughter, as well as the chant they cry while training. He clears his throat. "Children. They're all children."

Cere sighs. "Yes. Most are taught from just after they learn to walk."

"I'm- how old do you think I am?" he scoffs in mock offense, looking her up and down.

"Too old!" She claps him firmly on the shoulder and he rocks from the strength of it. Graying or not, she's made of sterner stuff than looks would betray. He wants to laugh, but then a distant look washes over her. "But I-- well. My first padawan was classically trained, and it ended in pain for both of us. Maybe it's better that this time be different."

"I can do different," he declares, trailing behind her as she leads them to two boulders at equal distance. He complies when she gestures that they sit. "Is that a yes, then?"

Cere tucks her legs up beneath her and rests her hands on her knees. It's hard not to gawk; in his eyes, she cuts the perfect image of what a Jedi should be.

"Tell me why you won't let your friend train you."

"I-- uh-" This particular question leaves him a little distraught. He can see a knowing glint in Cere's eye as she watches him rifle through viable responses, chewing on his thoughts til he can't think straight anymore. "Hm."

Finn clears his throat and his mind and exhales slowly through his nose.

Whenever Finn pictures Rey in his mind, she is always walking the other direction. He only ever sees her back. Broad, strong, her lightsaber staff slung across it, off to see the stars with Rose, or tending to her many loving students. Far away from him.

It's not her fault. They love one another, but this is how he sees her, and one cannot take tutelage from someone who is always going away from you. She's off to see the stars. He's still on the ground just trying to make sense of them.

"I can't train with her because we're too close," he finally manages. "She's like my sister but she's distant, too. It's not bad. I just.. I want to rely on someone who.. who's done more than me."

"She's your equal in every way." Cere concludes. "You want someone who can guide you, whose focus won't stray from what you want to learn, is that right?"

Finn feels his heart wrench and shrink in his chest. "Is that bad?"

"No." The response is immediate. Cere's expression is unflinching. "There's no fault in wanting something for yourself."

He takes from that what he will, nodding, before turning the table again. "Tell me why you won't train me."

They sit in amicable silence for several seconds. The wind blows softly through Cere's hair, the beads in her locs clicking softly together.

Cere Junda looks at him with a sincere earnestness in her tone and says, "I have done a terrible thing."

And Finn, who lived in a world of plastoid and fear just nods. "I have, as well."

"But you refused to kill anyone," she refutes, "in the village where you strayed."

He thinks about the blood on his helmet for a second. Sometimes when he touches his face at night he can still feel that handprint there like a brand on his soul.

"I didn't have to kill anyone to do something terrible." Finn looks at his palms, calloused and worn, and admits what he has told very few. "I believed in it once."

When he says it, he means it - the Empire, the ideology, the First Order and all the beliefs its cruelty required.

Again, Cere is awash with the distant, sad look that so often clouds her eyes and keeps her quiet. "It's not your fault, Finn."

He blinks. When did he start crying? Finn gently shoos away the little bird hopping around him and inspecting his shoes. Warmth burns behind his eyes and makes his head feel heavy; his eyes water until some tears slip free. He nods and wipes at his eyes.

Cere- warm, kind, remorseful Cere, so close to the end of her own life, leans forward to grasp his hands and give him her presence in her final years. "I'll do it, Finn. You're strong in the Force, and you're so good. You don't even have to think about it. Goodness just comes to you. Will you be my Padawan, Finn? Will you trust me?"

He squeezes her hands tightly in his own. "I will. I'll make you proud."

"You already have."

#cere junda #finn #writing #ask games #THANK YOU!!#sorry i changed it lol but i desperately wanted to write these 2 #and an idea came to me #<33

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justsomeoneunordinary · 4 years ago

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angst 3 for winteriron pretty please

Hi Ava, thank you so much for sending this prompt in. Finally I finished it, after… 3 months. I also used it for the WinterIron Week (which I am so much behind for, it’s not even funny). I still have no clue if this really warrants as ‘angst’, cause it feels more dull to me than angsty, but oh well. It is what it is.

Now, the whole organizational stuff (aka the pain in my ass):

On Crossing Paths

Prompt is from this list: “You promised you’d stop drinking.” — “And you promised you wouldn’t hurt me!”

Day 3 of @winteriron-week: Angst & “But I did it”

And since this got way out of hand anyway, combined with:

Day 4 of @winteriron-week: Tony needs a hug (Bucky too) & Forgiveness

(Nvm, I wrote something for day 4 anyway)

M, 5.2k, Alcoholism TW, Angst (-ish), Canon Divergence, Tony Feels, Emotional Hurt, Falling In Love, Hopeful Ending | AO3

(Day 1 / Day 2 / Day 4)

—

Tony meets James for the first time in a seedy bar in Brooklyn on the night of December 17th, 1991.

Twelve hours before that first meeting, he listens with deaf ears to the police telling him his parents died in a car accident.

Ten hours before that first meeting, he cries on Obie’s shoulder while Obie pats him on his head and tells him “everything would be fine”.

Seven hours before that first meeting, he speaks to Rhodey on the phone and makes him promise not to jeopardize his military career by showing up without permission.

Five hours before that first meeting, he drives to the scene of the accident where he screams into the godforsaken void from the top of his lungs, curses Howard and then has a mental breakdown in the middle of the street.

Two hours before that first meeting, he finds himself driving through the city with no destination in mind until he decides that he needs a drink.

Or rather ten.

Which is how he ends up at “Cheryl’s” where no one even bats an eye at the face of today’s headline and sole heir of a multi-billion company entering the bar. It’s too dark inside, the strong stench of sweat and smoke penetrates his nostrils on the spot, and Tony is pretty sure that the mold behind the counter is just about to build its own ecosystem.

He orders whiskey and gets a Jack. Not exactly what he wanted, but it will do.

There’s a glint out of the corner of his eye that gains his attention and when he turns, his gaze falls on the metal hand of a man with the saddest eyes he has ever seen. What once must’ve been a wild grey is now the lifeless stare of someone who’s been haunted by ghosts for a long while. A frigid expression on a pretty face framed by strands of long brown hair and cherry red lips made to be kissed. Wrapped up in an outfit that might as well be from a BDSM scene.

Tony likes what he sees. Very much so. He imagines dragging the guy into the bathroom, pulling those tight leather pants off and giving him the best blowjob of his life. It certainly would take his mind off other things. Like the fact that he’s an orphan now.

So he does, what he does best: he flirts. But this time it’s a challenge. It takes him three attempts until the stranger takes his eyes off the wall and looks at him, a tiny frown between his brows—but no other sign of acknowledgment.

“Finally got your attention, Handsome! You’re not much of a talker, hm? No worries, I can talk for both of us.” Which Tony then does. He talks and drinks and flirts—a wink here, a featherlight touch on the guy’s biceps there—and drinks and speaks of DUM-E and Rhodey and all their pranks during MIT, watches with fascination how that dead look in the stranger’s eyes slowly forms into curiosity, beams in delight when he gets a snort out of him, drinks some more, slides closer with each drink and puts a hand on his thigh, slowly caressing it up and down.

“You got a name, Handsome?”

The guy seems to hesitate for a while until he answers in a deep, raspy voice, “James.” Tony is pretty sure it’s a lie, but then again—he doesn’t need to know the name when he’s got his mouth full of dick.

“Well, James, you can call me Tony.” He flutters his eyelashes and bites teasingly on his lower lip before he drops his tone and asks, “So… your place or mine?”

After that Tony remembers the night only in a blur. He remembers passionate kisses in a dark alley, hands wandering everywhere, rising heat and grey eyes shimmering in pure lust. He remembers a hotel room and soft sheets and strong arms around his waist.

And then he wakes up, the taste of alcohol and James still lingering in his mouth.

When he opens his eyes, he finds James sitting in the chair at window, instead of lying in bed next to him, his entire focus solely on Tony. It should be creepy, but James’ gaze merely comes from curiosity, as if Tony was a machinery whose workings he is still trying to understand. It’s kind of endearing.

Tony gets up, disinterested in getting dressed, and pours himself two fingers of whiskey at the bar.

“This your breakfast?”

Tony grins smugly at the hoarse tone of James’ voice. “Nah, that’s just my mouthwash,” he answers and winks at him over his shoulder.

He eyes James for a moment while sipping on his drink, and then adds, “There’s a diner not far from here. Serves the best blueberry pancakes in all New York, I can vouch for that. What do you think, want to accompany me?”

It’s not Tony’s usual style. Otherwise, one-night stands will remain exactly what they are for him: one-night stands. But James has something that fascinates him immensely. It’s not just the overdeveloped prosthesis that can impossibly be on the market anywhere, and makes Tony wonder where he got it from, but also that look in his eyes of someone who has seen way too much. This emptiness that suddenly becomes filled with curiosity when it comes to small things. This enigmatic thing that surrounds him and whose code Tony wants to crack.

At the diner, Tony watches with amusement as James’ eyes widen in delight at the first bite of the heavenly pancakes and can’t help laughing when James pounces on them like a starving predator.

Since James is not much of a talker, Tony does the speaking. For one, because he can’t stand the silence, but for another, because he needs to distract himself. Because he doesn’t want to think about the death of his parents or how empty the mansion will be when he returns. So he talks about anything he can think of until he comes to a point where he doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, but is pretty sure that somewhere in the torrent of words, he tried to explain James the exact details of his AI study.

When they’re about to part ways though, Tony only too well remembers the emptiness that will greet him when he comes home, and he doesn’t even finish thinking it through, before he invites James to come with him.

James does not only come with him, but he also stays.

—

Weeks pass and before Tony knows it, James has practically moved in with him. If you can call it moving in when James doesn’t seem to have a single thing that needed to be brought here. Tony doesn’t know James’ last name, nor does he have the slightest idea who he is, and with each passing day his suspicions grow that he must have taken a homeless man off the street.

It should be terrifying or at least worrying but Tony can’t find it in himself to care enough. He lost his parents—and Jarvis and Ana even earlier—and would be alone in this big mansion until the loneliness would overwhelm him. And James turns out to be an excellent guest. Or rather roommate at this point.

For all he knows, James could be a serial killer, and Tony still wouldn’t care. He needs the company and he uses James for it—in bed and outside of it.

The more time they spend, the more not only Tony seems to be learning about James, but James also about himself. He discovers a love of books, especially C. S. Lewis, and sometimes holes up in the library all day except when he goes looking for Tony to read his favorite passages to him.

Every time he discovers a new dish that he likes, Tony can watch James’ whole face glow and none of the shadows of his past can be seen in that moment.

His favorite reaction, however, is when he trusts James enough to show him his workshop. James’ eyes widen in amazement and a brilliant smile forms on his lips at the sight of scientific chaos there is. “It’s like Narnia!”

“What? Where do you get that from? Narnia is nature and talking animals. I don’t have any talking animals here.” What DUM-E understands as a cue to speak up and whereupon James gives him a smug ‘told you so’ grin.

In these situations, it’s easy to forget that all is not peace, joy and pancakes. As soon as Tony gets down to the jobs Obie gave him, he remembers again, and the alcohol finds its way to his liver to ease the pain. In the morning, noon and evening.

Sometimes at night too when James has one of his nightmares and Tony can’t help him because James doesn’t talk to him, not about who he is, not about his past—although Tony guesses with an almost certainity on veteran—and not even vaguely about it his nightmares.

But they are fine, they have a routine: talking during the day, fucking at night. Eat blueberry pancakes for breakfast at the diner once a week and fiddle with James’ arm whenever he has time.

It works perfectly well as it is.

—

It’s not until on a particular bright morning in March 1992 Tony realizes that he had fallen in love with James a long time ago—the day after he almost dies of alcohol poisoning.

He wakes up to see James laying next to him, still asleep. Long strands of hair cover his face and Tony gives into the urge to brush them to the side, so he can take James’ peaceful expression in.

It’s a picture he’d like to wake up every day to. The longer he thinks about it, the more Tony has to admit that he can’t imagine a life without James in it—and that’s when it hits him. That those are feelings beyond of sole sexual attraction, beyond cameradine or friendship.

The realization hits him like a slap in his face. He breaths in shakingly and his first instinct is to get up and get himself a glass of whiskey to calm down, but before he can do anything the heart monitor starts picking up and only then does Tony realize that he’s not at home but in a hospital.

James stirs awake at the sudden noise and immediately glares at Tony. “You fucking idiot.”

His eyes are red, indicating he must’ve cried, and Tony isn’t sure what is going on but he can tell it must be bad. But he’s still too overwhelmed with the realization of his feelings, so he just gapes at James, not being able to say a word.

“You fucking idiot,” James repeats. “How often did I already tell you that you drink too much? That you should stop?”

And before he can react to that, he’s being crushed in a sudden hug, James holding him tightly to his chest and tears streaming down his cheeks.

“For a genius you are so dumb,” James murmurs and Tony—for Tony it’s too much. He doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t know what to say, so he blurts out without a second thought, “I love you.”

That brings James to a halt. Tony’s muscles tense up and he instinctively holds his breath.

James pulls back a little bit, so he can look at Tony, who rather focuses on the white sheets of the hospital bed. “Tony did you watch too many rom-coms? Confessing feelings after you almost died should’ve been my job in that case though.”

Tony needs a moment to register the words correctly. “Almost died?”

“Alcohol poisoning.”

Oh fuck. Even Tony knows that this is not good, that he definitely went too far this time.

James gently cups Tony’s face so that he’s forced to look into those gray eyes shimmer in a happiness. “Tony, I love you too.”

Faintly he registers the heart monitor rising up again, but he’s too distracted by the warmth that fills him from within to feel any embarrassment at that. He looks up at the wonder that James is and then surges forward to steal a kiss. He expects a nurse to barge in any moment now at the way his heart rate jumps off the charts, but that’s not stopping him from burying his hands in James’ hair and deepen the kiss further.

“Tony,” James laughs as he pulls off. He rests his forehead at Tony’s while they catch their breath and slowly morphs his sappy expression into a serious one.

“Tony,” he repeats. “I love you. And because I love you, I need you to promise me to stop with the drinking. I can’t watch you destroy your own life any further like that. Yesterday I had to find you passed out in the workshop. Have you any idea what I went through?” His hands wander all over Tony while talking, as if he needs to prove himself, that Tony’s still alive.

Tony thinks of SI and Obie and the expectations he has to live up to. He thinks of mama’s piano and how he hasn’t played on it since the accident. And with each thought the urge to get a drink intensifies. He gulps audibly and asks, “Will you help me?”

James’ quiet smile is more than enough for an answer. “Always.”

“Okay,” he breaths out and adds, more hastily, “okay, but you have to promise to never hurt me, James. I can’t, after mum died and Jarvis and—”

“Of course I will never hurt you, Tony.” James interrupts him and those words leave James lips so effortlessly and earnestly that Tony has not a single doubt in the truth of them.

And with James on his side, Tony believes he can make it. Not just getting sober, but living an actual life. Getting his shit together, looking forward.

He finally tells him of his plans of a new home in Malibu, those he was too afraid to talk about because James is bound to Brooklyn and Tony feared he wouldn’t come with him when the mansion’s constructions are finished. But James just laughs and says, “The only place I belong to is your side. So wherever you go? I will follow.”

Tony feels happy like never before. Things finally go well.

—

Until they don’t.

—

The Winter Soldier fights for the first time against his programming on the night of December 16th, 1991.

It’s the shocked “Sergeant Barnes?” Howard Stark gasps that evokes hidden memories from the back of his mind. Memories from war—gunshots, explosions, screams and the smell of fire and blood. Memories of a guy once tiny suddenly big. Somehow the same person, somehow not.

Memories that lead him to Brooklyn instead of the meeting point where he should deliver the serum to his handlers.

His legs walk him the entire day through the city, while he’s taking in each building—some he recognizes, most of them not. Until at night he looks up at a blinking light stating “Cheryl’s” and sees flashes of himself, hair shorter and a laugh on his face, dancing with another man and exchanging forbidden kisses in a dark corner.

He enters and not much later he meets the whirlwind that is Tony Stark.

With Tony the Winter Soldier becomes James and learns to feel again. Other emotions, besides constant rage and pain. Curiosity first, then amusement, lust, care, warmth and somewhere around March 1992 he knows it’s love.

He falls in love with Tony Stark who treats him like a human being rather than a tool, who talks and talks and makes him laugh, who touches him softly always and everywhere, who isn’t afraid of the metal arm but fascinated by it, who studies it without causing him any pain, who sings and laughs and dances and doesn’t shy away from James even once.

Tony Stark who drinks more than he should, reminding him of a man that might be his father coming home, reeking of alcohol, hitting a woman that might be his mother—bringing back memories that rather stayed forgotten. Tony who almost dies and promises to stop with the drinking. Tony who sometimes looks like a man carrying the entire world on his shoulders, dark bags under his eyes, a haunted expression in them and yet does his best to keep James’ sorrow’s away.

Tony Stark whose parents he killed as he realizes after a nightmare on November 24th in 1992.

—

In the morning of November 25th 1992 Tony wakes up alone in bed, a yellow sticky note on his nightstand and the words “I’m sorry, doll” scribbled on it.

—

Tony waits first, clinging onto the hope that he misinterpreted that note and that James will come back. All of James’ few things are still here—Tony checked.

But the longer he waits, the stronger the urge gets to wrap his fingers around a bottle of whiskey. So he gets up and starts looking. First at the diner, then the park, further to the Brooklyn Bridge, to “Cheryl’s” at last.

He returns to an empty home. Doesn’t sleep in the first night, neither the second nor the third and collapses on the fourth—his face buried in James’ favorite wool sweater, the bathroom reeking of his vomit.

And then he repeats that circle anew.

—

James doesn’t come back.

—

On December 1992 Tony moves to Malibu without looking back.

The bar in his new home is fully stocked.

—

The next sixteen years pass by in a rush. Tony drinks. A lot. He drinks and fucks, and then drinks and fucks even more in a desperate attempt to forget James. To forget his touch and smile, his smell and his taste. To forget James’ everything.

And he doesn’t care enough what happens around him during his wake of self-destruction.

Until it comes back to bite him in the ass.

—

In 2008, after 3 months of captivity, Tony returns to the New York mansion for the first time since moving out. There on the night stand of his old room are still the photos of him and James from the photo booth they once took.

Tony blows the dust away and looks at the old pictures, a wistful expression on his face. He soaks James’ soft smile and bright glint in those beautiful eyes in, remembers how those pouty lips felt on his own, remembers the sound of James’ laugh, the taste of his mouth, his body pressed against Tony’s.

In all this time J.A.R.V.I.S. was never able to find even a trace of James. It was, as if he disappeared from earth. Chances are, he died. Because how far can a guy with a metal arm get without the most advanced AI of the world being able to find him? But even though he doesn’t believe in ever seeing James again, Tony thinks of him and the promise they gave each other when he empties his bar down the sink.

The photos end up in his workshop, next to the arc reactor’s glass case Pepper gave him. Tony finally starts looking ahead.

—

Years pass and Tony lives his life again.

He also almost dies some countless times, and every single time he thinks of Pepper, with a lingering memory of James’ laugh.

—

And then in 2016 Johannesburg happens and with Johannesburg the Sokovia Accords follow.

—

Over the years Tony imagined countless scenarios where he would see James again. Not in one of those could he have imagined it to go this bad.

“I know that road.”

—

Fourteen hours after the whole Siberia debacle Tony pulls the old photos from the drawer in the workshop and sets them aflame. He watches with a grim satisfaction as they slowly crumble to ashes and takes his first sip of whiskey in years. Directly from the bottle.

DUM-E’s distressed efforts at saving anything from the photos with the fire extinguisher are just a tad bit too late.

Nothing is left.

—

Tony starts drinking again.

—

In 2016, despite careful avoidance, Bucky does meet Tony again—in a HYDRA bunker of all places. And his heart aches at the sight of Tony’s shock.

Tony might’ve aged and changed, but those eyes are still the same. Big and expressive and at that very moment filled with sadness and anger and disbelief. And worst of all, it’s Bucky’s fault.

He doesn’t plan to fight and neither does he want to leave Tony behind, but he doesn’t believe Tony wants him anywhere near—Bucky had already done more than enough.

So he goes with Steve and goes back into cryostasis, hoping to stay there forever. Only to be woken up a few months later and informed that they got rid of his trigger words and Tony made sure that the Avengers were allowed to return to the States.

Bucky included.

It seems surreal to him to enter the Avengers compound; as if he was dreaming. As if there was a catch that would strike later because he doesn’t deserve to be here.

And then, in the kitchen waits none other than Tony, his eyes hidden behind colored sunglasses, his fake media smile on his face and a whiskey glass in his hand, the sight of which freezes Bucky’s blood in his veins. He’d like nothing more than to take the glass out of his hand and hug Tony tightly.

Which is a privilege he no longer has.

“Ah, the fossil duo! Welcome back,” Tony couldn’t sound more unwelcome if he tried. “Everything is still as you left it, Rogers. You can show Barnes yourself where everything is.” With these words he mockingly salutes them, turns around at his heel and disappears from the kitchen again without giving Bucky a single look.

A chill runs down Bucky’s spine at the sound of his last name from Tony’s mouth. It’s so… wrong. To Tony, he has always been just James. If affectionate or angry or laughing, James was the name Tony would call him with. This single, condescending “Barnes” feels like a thousand knife stabs in his heart. It’s only thanks to his training that he stays composed and doesn’t go running after Tony in a desperate attempt to try talking to him.

The next few weeks pass similarly. If he and Tony even see each other, which is a rarity in itself, even though they live in the same building—he has the suspicious feeling that Tony is deliberately avoiding him with F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s help—then Tony ignores him as if he were not here at all.

Bucky knows, he deserves worse than just the cold shoulder, but that still doesn’t make it easy. Especially not when he keeps finding empty alcohol bottles scattered around somewhere and can do absolutely nothing about this problem.

His only bright spot is Rhodes, who looks at the bottles with just as much loathing as he does. It means that at least one person keeps an eye on Tony’s consumption, since Bucky himself cannot. Bucky never had a chance to meet Rhodes twenty-five years ago, and Bucky is pretty sure Tony hasn’t told him anything, otherwise Rhodes wouldn’t be content with shooting him deathly looks only.

That’s why he doesn’t say anything to Steve either, no matter how hard he questions him, because he sees that there is something between him and Tony that he doesn’t know about. If Tony doesn’t want to tell anyone about their past together, then Bucky won’t either.

Bucky keeps the distance that Tony obviously wants from him.

Until two months after his arrival at the compound on a Tuesday morning F.R.I.D.A.Y. sends an urgent distress signal, and Bucky is on his way so quickly that the other Avengers don’t have a chance to follow him directly even if they tried.

—

Tony wakes up in a hospital with a throbbing pounding in his head and aching bones all over his body—James’ worried face hovering over him. It’s the shittiest déjà-vu he’s ever had.

At least the circumstances aren’t quite the same. Rhodey diluted Tony’s alcohol every time he thought no one would see him. So that something like alcohol poisoning wouldn’t happen again. Tony is grateful and annoyed at the same time.

No, this time he just flew drunk in his Iron Man armor, lost the connection to F.R.I.D.A.Y., which he has to get to the bottom of as quickly as possible, and then fell. So, waking up in the hospital makes sense.

But that James is here instead of Rhodey or Happy or Pepper or anyone else is both, surprising and unwanted.

James opens and closes his mouth several times, seemingly unable to decide what to say before croaking out, “You promised you’d stop drinking.” His voice sounds suspiciously as if he had cried recently, and Tony almost laughs at the irony of the situation.

But then he remembers the day he woke up without James at his side. Remembers searching everywhere for him, waiting, not being able to sleep for days, and how miserable he felt without him, not knowing what happened, not knowing where he had gone.

He remembers that James had fucked him—no, made love with him—knowing he had killed Tony’s mother. And he feels the blood boil in his veins in anger at that. How dare James after all these years, after all that happened, now talk about that promise?

So he throws him a deadly look, his hand clenched into a fist and growls, “And you promised you wouldn’t hurt me!”

James visibly flinches at that and takes a step back, his eyes wandering everywhere but at Tony. Then he takes a deep breath and looks Tony straight in the eye as he says, “You’re right. I promised you that I would never hurt you. But I did it. I have—”

“Why did you do it?” Tony interrupts, because that’s what he wants to know. What he had asked himself over and over again over the years—the why.

Bucky blinks at him in bewilderment and asks: “Why what exactly?”

“Everything!” Tony throws his arms in the air in frustration, ignoring the ailment of his broken ribs over the sudden action. “Why you suddenly left me overnight, why you never told me anything about yourself, not even vaguely hinting at who you are and what happened to you, why you let me fall in love with you when it was you, who killed my mother and were therefore to blame for my misery!” The last part comes out much more honest than Tony wanted it to be and he quickly looks ashamed to the side to blink away the rising tears of anger.

He hears a deep sigh from the side and out of the corner of his eye he can see James drop into the visitor’s chair.

“Tony, I didn’t know who you were or that my mission had been your parents when we met in the bar,” James begins hesitantly to explain. “Howard… his words brought a few memories to the fore. Just blurry, barely recognizable images. I didn’t even know my own name when you asked me for it—I just named the one that was at the tip of my tongue.

“During the time we were together, my memories have only gradually returned. I had no idea about your parents until a nightmare reminded me of it.” This is where James looks up from his hands for the first time, straight into Tony’s eyes, his gaze steadfast and honest. “And then I realized I had broken my promise—I had already hurt you.”

James sighs and runs his hand through his hair and swallows hard. “I understood that it was only a matter of time before HYDRA found me. We were lucky before that because no one suspected I could be with you. But under no circumstances did I want them to get you. I knew I had to go. That is why I did it.”

Tony nods slowly. “And then what? You just decided to go back to HYDRA?”

James laughs dryly, without a trace of humor in his voice. “Of course not. I went on the run. But in the end, no matter what I do, they always find me, don’t they?” His mouth twists into a grimace of self-hatred and resignation.

Not under my watch, no, Tony thinks to himself. Instead he says, “You broke my heart.” Because as reluctant as he is to show his vulnerability, this is James. And he’s always been able to be honest with James.

“I’m sorry,” James says in all earnestness.

“I’m not forgiving you for what you have done.”

“I understand.”

“Not yet at least.”

At that James’ gaze shoots up in surprise.

Tony clears his throat slightly shy. “I—I understand that the… brainwashing and stuff. That it wasn’t you. I just… I just need some time.” And it’s true. Tony had read the Winter Soldier’s files; he saw what they did to him and he understands on a completely rational level that it’s not James who is responsible for all those deaths.

He only needs his emotions to come to that understanding too and then he would truly be able to forgive him.

And really, as much as he always claims that he worked to bring the Avengers back together was because the world needed them, he knows the real motivations for it had been for James only. When Pepper had broken up with him because “there was someone else occupying his heart she could never reach” he hadn’t been able to contradict her. Seeing James again after all that time has only proven her right too.

“Tony…”

“Great, now that that’s settled, take my tablet and read me something,” Tony interrupts James before he can go any further, because there is only so much emotional talk Tony can handle in one day and that line has been exceeded a long while ago.

“I… what?”

“Read me something. I am a poor injured soul deserving to be properly pampered. And I want a good-night story.”

And as James slowly smiles brightly at him, gray eyes glinting in hope and wonder, it’s like not a single day has gone by since he disappeared on him.

Tony is still wary. Remembers only too well those days after James had left him. Can’t forget the Winter Soldier’s hand around his mother’s neck. His fingers itch with the urge to hold a drink, but he snuggles deeper into bed, letting James’ soothing voice and the story of a girl who finds a wonderland in a closet lull him into contentment.

Tony meets James for the first time in December 1991 in a seedy bar in Brooklyn and then a second time in 2016 in a Siberian bunker. He thinks that if against all odds their paths cross not only once, but twice, then maybe they should take a step forward together and see, where the path will lead them to.

And if they just believe strong enough in it, they might even find their wonderland for a second time too.

#may writes #may's moodboards #winteriron #buckytony #starkbucks #tony stark #bucky barnes #WI WEEK 2020 #WinterIron Week #angxlsgrxce #may answers #fucking finally finished this fic :)))#nothing went as it should've :)))#i am absolutely not happy at all how it turned out but at this point idc anymore <3 #wish this fic was a person so i could strangle it to death <3 #shall it burn in hell <3 #but yay! i finished it! :D

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loverboytrashmouth · 4 years ago

Text

Of Macchiatos and Nicknames (part 2)

pairing; Reddie

word count; 2.3k

summary; Eddie keeps dragging Bill to the coffee shop for his now daily chats with a certain barista. Bill didn’t think he could get tired of drinking coffee. Meanwhile, Richie’s coworker is tired of him being even more clumsy with coffee than usual.

a/n; heyoooo here’s part two of my reddie coffee shop meet cute :) here’s part one if you missed it. and you can read this on ao3 here if you’d like! enjoy !!

This was the sixth - seventh, maybe? Who’s counting - day in a row where Eddie found himself sitting across from Bill at his new favorite study spot. The only thing that differed from their first homework session spent at the campus cafe was Eddie’s seat of choice. The second day Eddie had asked Bill to switch seats with him, making up some excuse about his chair being unsteady. Of course, Bill knew Eddie just wanted a better view of the guy messily making coffees behind the counter, but he kept this knowledge to himself.

And, of course, Bill knew why, despite Eddie’s hatred of customer service interactions, the shorter boy would insist on ordering their coffees for them every visit. Or why, on day four, Eddie started waiting for their drinks by the counter instead of setting up his study area while they were being made. And Bill knew why Eddie would constantly get distracted while he attempted to go over calculus equations with him, only to get a small “hm?” in response, as if Eddie had just come back down to Earth after a long journey on Planet Trashmouth.

Bill was happy his friend had found someone that caused the same look in his eyes that Bill would get himself when looking at his boyfriend, Mike. And at first, Bill was happy to keep his teasing to himself (for the most part).

But on day six (seven?), Bill wasn’t running on a good night’s rest, and the caffeine wasn’t helping.

“If you don’t s-s-stop with this school girl crush sh-shit and finally ask the guy out, I’m gonna s-stop acting as your excuse to c-come here everyday,” Bill snapped when another one of his questions was met with Eddie snapping back into reality, barely hearing what he had said. Eddie’s cheeks turned the shade of pink Bill had gotten too familiar seeing them being, before giving his friend apologetic eyes.

“I know, I’m sorry I keep getting distracted,” Eddie raised his arm to scratch the back of his neck in embarrassment, guilt beginning to cloud his features at the realization that he was being completely rude to his friend. Bill softened at this, putting on his signature comforting smile.

“It’s f-fine, really. I just think it’s time for you guys to cut the flirting and actually do s-something, that’s all,” Bill said warmly, assuring his friend he wasn’t upset with him. “Plus, I never thought I’d get t-tired of drinking coffee. And I don’t th-think I’m at that point yet, but oh, am I getting there.” Eddie chuckled, taking another glance over at Richie, who was currently taking another student’s order. The smaller boy sighed.

“I’ve never done this shit before, though! I thought he’d ask me by now. Shit, maybe even for my number at least,” Eddie mumbled the last part, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms, feeling defeated. Richie seemed to be bold enough that Eddie figured he would only have to show up to the coffee shop once, maybe twice more and boom, he’d have a date before the week ended. But with the way things were going for him, he’d be surprised if he didn’t develop a caffeine addiction before learning how it would feel for him to plant a kiss on those slightly chapped lips he couldn’t stop thinking about. Bill’s smile grew warmer, if that were even possible.

“D-Do you want help?” Eddie frowned dramatically and nodded.

Richie flirted with everyone and anyone that would let him do so. It was all just playful banter to him. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Until that fanny pack wearing, freckle ridden boy had walked in during his daily afternoon shift at the campus cafe. With him it meant something, something Richie could feel in his bones, that spread across his skin in goosebumps and blushes.

Beverly had noticed as well, that Richie was very clearly falling for this particular student. She was his best friend and knew him almost better than he knew himself, so of course she noticed.

Her tell-tale sign, though, was Richie’s lack of coordination within the past week or so. He was already a pretty clumsy guy, but he was at least able to kind of get his shit together during work. But Bev noticed the shred of coordination he’d possess once he had his apron on had gone out the window when Eddie began showing up more and more.

So she wasn’t all that surprised when she heard the familiar clanking of the metal milk steamer hitting the tiled floor, Richie mumbling a slightly aggressive “shit” under his breath. The redhead huffed out a sigh, turning to her best friend with an annoyed glare. Richie gave her a toothy grin in response.

“My bad, Bevster. Won’t happen again, scout’s honor.”

“You’ve said that every time you’ve dropped something for the past six days,” Beverly retorted, shaking her head as she turned for some paper towels to hand over.

“Seven,” Richie corrected. He grabbed the paper towels from his friend’s hand, taking one last glance over his shoulder at Eddie, giving him a wink, before getting on his knees to clean up his spill. He smiled proudly to himself, knowing he definitely just made Eddie flustered once again. Beverly crouched down so she was eye level with Richie, her chin resting on her knee.

“Just ask the boy out already, Tozier,” she half whispered, giving him the look she always gives him, the one that tells him he’s being a pain but she loves him anyways. Richie looked up from his cleaning before responding, catching a glimpse of said look.

“All in good time, Ms. Marsh. I’m just buttering him up,” he replied, nudging Beverly with his elbow. Suddenly, his smile twitched, letting out a soft chuckle. “I really want him to say yes,” he continued quietly, beginning to fidget with the paper towel in his hands, avoiding his friend’s gaze.

Beverly let out a breathy chuckle beside him, patting him on the top of his beanie where she would usually ruffle his curls like she’d always do when giving Richie her sisterly advice. “Dumbass, do you not see the way he blushes whenever you even look at him? Not to mention I’ve never seen him here before last week when you guys met, and now he’s here, like, everyday. It doesn’t take a fuckin’ rocket scientist to see a lovestruck little gay boy when he’s dead in front of you.” Richie laughed and shook his head, adjusting his glasses with the same nervous tick he’s had since adolescence.

“If you’re sure, little red. I’ll… I’ll work on not pussying out,” he said with his crooked smile. His smile turned devious before adding, “Maybe I can work on getting his pussy out, if you know what I me-” He was cut off with an elbow to his knee, making him wobble due to his brief loss of balance.

“Beep beep, Richie. God, you’re the worst,” Bev snapped with no heat behind her words. She got up, dusting off her knees, letting the trashmouth clean up his trash.

Now it was day nine (day nine for sure, Eddie recounted all of their encounters in his head one night when he couldn’t sleep, so he knew, nine days). Eddie had decided against dragging Bill with him to the coffee shop this time around, mostly due to his guilt for helplessly ignoring his friend every time he was in Richie’s presence. He felt like such a lovesick teenager, like he should be laying in bed on his stomach, feet swaying in the air while he wrote in his diary about his crush on the campus barista.

Eddie was sat in the familiar spot facing the counter at the table he and Bill usually favored, laptop open, but not doing any actual work. Instead his eyes trailed above the screen, watching Richie wipe down the counter after, no doubt, spilling something again. Eddie had wondered if he was always so clumsy, or if that was reserved for when he was around. He smiled at the idea of Richie getting so nervous around him that he couldn’t help but spill a coffee or two. Or ten.

Glancing down briefly to check the time displayed on the upper right hand of his screen, Eddie noticed he had a mere couple of minutes before he knew Richie was set to clock out for the day. In the nearly week and a half he had been spending at the cafe, Eddie observed the barista would run out the moment his apron was off his lanky figure on the weekdays, presumably to make it to a class. On weekends, however, he’d fall back a bit, making himself a coffee and chatting with his red-haired coworker, all while giving the shorter boy those small glances that made the latter’s chest flutter. Day nine was a Saturday, leaving Eddie all the time he needed after Richie’s shift to build up enough courage to approach him.

Fortunately enough for Eddie, he ended up not being the one walking over to the other boy.

“Ya here all by your lonesome today, boy,” Richie asked in a ridiculous southern accent, his hands grabbing onto his belt and doing his best cowboy saunter. His apron was off and replaced with a ridiculously patterned button up sitting open over his black tee, his curls free from the beanie that he’d wear during his shifts. Eddie chuckled as he shook his head at the antics.

“Yeah, Bill, he… had a… thing,” he answered lamely, mentally slapping himself, which he found himself doing a lot around Richie. Eddie had recently picked up a habit of speaking before his brain could fully process what he was about to say. It was as if he felt as though he constantly needed to be talking, no matter what he said, as long as it would keep Richie’s attention on him.

Little did Eddie know, Richie couldn’t keep his attention off him even if he tried.

Richie slid into the chair across from Eddie, his eyes never leaving the latter’s face, the ever present smirk plastered on his chapped lips. “Well, I don’t see what ‘thing’ could be more important than hanging out with a cutie like you, Eds. What kinda boyfriend is this Bill guy anyhow?” Richie’s smirk faded slightly at the last sentence, giving Eddie an expectant look. Eddie’s eyes widened before sputtering out an obnoxiously loud laugh.

“You- You think I’m wi- with Bill,” the smaller boy managed to get out, his eyes crinkled and his arm snaking around his stomach when he felt a pain in his abdomen from laughter. Richie let out a chuckle across from him, and Eddie opened his eyes in time to see the barista raise his hands in defense.

“Hey, spaghetti man, I’m just making sure you’re on the menu,” Richie responded with his usual flirty grin and eyebrow wiggle. Eddie’s laughter slowed and he felt his face heat up, as it always does around Richie. Despite this, the shorter boy scoffed at the nickname usage, again, as he always did.

“And what makes you think all these ridiculous nicknames are gonna get you anywhere?”

“It’s all part of my plan. Woo you with my charms and incredible nicknaming abilities. Don’t lie, I know you like ‘em,” Richie teased, and of course, he was right. Eddie’s attempts to deflect the nicknames with a disgruntled noise or eyeroll constantly failed at the hands of the rosey color that would appear on his cheeks shortly after. Eddie elected to ignore the comment rather than deny it.

“Well, no, I’m not dating Bill. He’s my best friend. He’s already got a boyfriend, plus he’s not really my type anyways,” Eddie shrugged with a small smirk on his lips. Richie perked up at this, straightening his posture and resting his elbow on the back of his seat, legs crossed, eyebrows raised at the shorter boy.

“Oh, I see. And what would you say tickles your fancy, dear old Edward,” Richie questioned in his old British woman voice, one of his personal favorites. He’d never forget his friends’ reactions when he first used that one in high school; he had even earned a chuckle from Stan. When he received a breathy giggle from the boy across from him now, he knew this Voice was an oldie but a goodie.

“Hmm,” Eddie started, putting on his best thinking face. Richie couldn’t help the fond look that crept onto his features while he watched Eddie rub his chin and purse his lips, fully not believing anyone could be so cute cute cute so effortlessly. “I like guys that are tall, pretty lanky. Long hair. Bonus if they can make me laugh.” Eddie had avoided Richie’s gaze throughout his description, his eyes not landing back on the taller boy until he was done talking and already had his bottom lip nervously between his teeth. He was met with a giddy smile on Richie’s part, causing Eddie to release his lip and break into a smile of his own.

“What a coincidence. I’m into tiny, feisty dudes that wear fanny packs.” Richie’s smile grew wider as he spoke, meanwhile Eddie’s simmered into a pout and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Don’t call me tiny, asswipe,” he retorted as he playfully kicked at Richie’s black converse beneath the table. “That’s a nickname I won’t tolerate.”

“Hardly a nickname, Eddie baby. Just a descriptor,” Richie replied, kicking him back lightly with a laugh. “It’s true, and it’s what makes ya so darn cute!” He punctuated his comment by reaching over the table to pinch Eddie’s cheek, receiving a slap of the hand from the other boy.

The two continued their flirty banter and playful bickering until they heard the clattering of the metal that closed up the coffee counter, and saw the sun disappear behind the campus buildings and be replaced with nightfall. When Eddie walked back to his dorm that night, he had a new contact in his phone, a warm spot on his cheek where Richie had briefly pressed his lips to, and a fluttering feeling in his heart he couldn’t shake even if he wanted to.

#my writing #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fic #reddie fanfic #it #it chapter one #it chapter two #it 2017 #it 2019

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