#i have an idea for a sadder fic but i want to write cute fic first

[misstiramisssu]

Just spent two hours raging about the To The Moon series to an old friend because I wanted to bounce a sappy fan fic ideas off him and I feel demented. But also, he thought it was cute even after I explained the state of the fandom sooooo...

I am going to write soft, heartwarming, cutesy fan fic for the Grief(tm) fandom and I'm excited

[littledollll]

hey sweetheart :'3 I was wondering if you were taking request. If you are would you be open to do a Lucifer x little angel reader. I just love your little fic if these and I'm always looking for more if them. I think I've read them all tho. So my idea was that maybe Lucifer and reader could have a fight I'll let you decide why. Then reader decide to go hide from Lucy and our favorite god starts panicking and all. Over all just really cute stuff 😊😊💖 Thank you for reading and have a nice day bby💕

The Gardens

Lucifer Morningstars x Little!angel!reader

A/n: man i just hope this is half decent. Got a little motivated to write about this idea when I got the request which made me very excited! I rarely let us see when R isn’t regressed which is kinda the point? But I think insights like this are really fun to write! (May 6)

A/n pt 2.: finishing this July 21 at 3am, where did I go wrong? I’m so sorry I took so damn long it’s insane bc i don’t even notice time passing. I was looking back at my old fics and noticed I’m always writing R going to sleep? I love that cuz some of my friends actually call me “sleepy” because apparently I’m always tired. (I am)

Warnings: a little arguing, Lucifer says some hurtful things, not much else. Just some sweet fluff after the hurt.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“Im the judge here. I alone decide the punishments and how souls will be handled. You might be my partner but you hold no power over me or hell. These are not your decisions to make or have a say on.” It was an angry spew of words. Lucifer doesn’t like having their authority challenged and you were the one person who could do that. For the first time, your own opinions were voiced in their work, and Lucifer didn’t seem willing to listen or like it at all.

Never in your time living in hell had you and Lucifer clashed about something so much.. it hurt, not to be ironic but it hurt like hell. Lucifer had never spoken to you in such a way. Never before had they used their intimidation tactics on you.

Lucifer being unnecessarily stubborn didn’t help at all, as they refused to actually listen to your opinion or swallow their pride and compromise. Or simply speak to you like an equal. Their words almost stung. “You have no power here.” That’s what they meant. And you couldn’t bear to listen anymore or even respond after that.

After a certain point you just gave up and walked away, leaving whatever they were about to spit back, in the dust, mid-sentence, and then ending up with a confused shocked expression. No one gets to just walk away from The Devil.

The worst part was that you wanted to run to them. As if words and a voice laced with venom hadn’t just been thrown in your face. As if they’d protect you even from their own self. They’ve always been your safe space, your comfort.. but you couldn’t, not today, not after your argument.

At first they were fine with you just walking away. They admit to being stubborn and hard to talk to.. everyone needs a little space to think sometimes, right? But then hours and more hours passed and you still refused to show.. it’s like you were hiding from them. There’s nothing Lucifer hated more than the thought of that. Did they really mess up that badly? That you, the most forgiving and lovely being they’ve ever met, simply refused them?

They couldn’t possibly leave it like that. Let you believe they think regularly of you, like you aren’t the most important being in their life, like you aren’t their special angel. So settling their pride aside accompanied with a bit of anxiety, they set out to find you.

You had gone to your safe space.. hiding away physically and mentally, letting your much calmer but also a lot sadder, little self take control.

Lucifer searched high and low for you, all around the palace, going as far as to actually ask for help looking. And thankfully it occurred in their mind that there was always one place you went when you seek comfort, and that was the little hidden gardens of the palace.

And there you were. Quietly sitting by their most recently planted flowers, daisies in fact. They always claimed those flowers suited you perfectly, not just the look, but the meaning. Which included purity, innocence, new beginnings, joy and cheerfulness. All things they saw in you. All things they loved about you. But of course there’s more, so much more that they love.

“My angel..” their voice was a complete contrast to their earlier attitude. Cautious as they approached you but still with a rush to have you close. Lucifer was unsure you’d ever forgive them, but there was no way you could possibly resent them, maybe you should have, but it wasn’t in your heart to reject them, so you let them approach without scurrying away.

Lucifer got down to your level, kneeling down on the floor and holding their hands out for you, which you immediately took, being pulled into a tight hug, their wings wrapping around you, effectively hiding you from the world just because they knew you loved it so much. They pressed a kiss to your forehead before hugging you close again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my sweet angel…”

Not knowing how to respond, you nodded just a little as you nuzzled close to their shoulder, basking in the warmth and comfort of their hug. “I should’ve never said that.. never. And I promise you I didn’t mean a single word of it. I’m.. I’m in no way excusing myself, and my awfully hurtful words- but I’m just not used to this, angel..”

You could understand that.. there’s no being of higher power here in hell, even in the universe actually, no one but them and the very God that created and banished them. They’re not used to being challenged or disagreed with, and ever the sinner they are also quite prideful, even as an angel. “I’ve done this alone for so long.. of course there’s other lords.. and Mazikeen. But not even they step in when it comes to my decisions, and when you did- I felt questioned. Which I recognize should be much more frequent than it is, but it’s a new thing, and I responded very wrongly to it.”

Not for a moment did the soft tone leave their voice, a mere whisper as they hugged you and refused to let go. They’d apologize for eternity if you so requested it. But even in your headspace you could appreciate them taking accountability, and recognizing that it was wrong. Not just that it caused a bad reaction from you. “I’m working on it, I promise. Your opinion does matter to me, In whatever situation, your voice matters to me.”

It hurt, of course it hurt. But Lucifer is always sincere in their word, and they were willing to work together, that’s all that mattered to you. So you quite adorably mumbled out a little, ‘I forgive’, as you rest your chin on their shoulder. And Lucifer couldn’t be happier. “Thank you, my sweet angel.. but also, you can’t hide away from me like that, tiny. You had me running all over the palace looking for you like a maniac!” They said in a more playfully, less serious tone as they chuckled.

“Let’s make a deal, yeah?.. if anything of the sort ever happens again, can I trust that you’ll be in your little room? Even if we’re a little upset at each other I always want to know that you’re safe. I understand needing a moment to decompress and think, that certainly helped me a lot today. But I’d just like to know you’re safe and that we can talk when we’re ready to, how does that sound?” You giggled as their voice took a more playful tone and you nodded, moving away a little to look at them, an adorable little smile painted on your face. “Deals!!” You said, rather excited despite the topic.

Of course you were aware that it was indeed quite possible to run into more arguments and disagreements like this, and even more that you’d slip. But knowing how much they care for you and love you, how much they worry and want you to be safe was quite reassuring that no matter what problems you ran into there wasn’t a thing you couldn’t surpass with just a little talking and cuddles.

They nodded, placing a soft kiss on your temple and deciding just then to take a moment and sit outside with you, which was rare, for reasons neither you or they could quite place. “It’s a deal then..” they replied with a soft tone, and you could hear their smile as they spoke. It was surprisingly quiet, oddly peaceful being out here with you. They scolded themselves for not doing this sooner and made a mental note for next times.

Of course your regression was still a secret and hell can be a dangerous place but the gardens are safe enough, specially with Lucifer and your hound friend who always stayed near. After a few moments, your voice interrupted their train of thought. “luci likes birdies?” The question seemingly came out of nowhere which made them chuckle a bit. “I do. What’s going on in that cute little mind of yours to ask me that, sweet one?” Their tone was obviously amused.

“No birdies in hell! Want one.. like morphi!” It seems your mind was running elsewhere, curiosity of things you always wanted to question but didn’t. “You could have one.. how about a dove? Just like you are my little dove.” Lucifer smiled and placed a little kiss on the tip of your nose, making you giggle and shy away. You were quick to nod and respond with a slight tone of awe. “Dovs pretty!”

“As are you!” Lucifer was never one to make spur of the moment decisions.. well- not at least until you came along. But how could they ever say no to you? The little angel wants a hound and a dove, so let’s get them a hound and a dove. Lucifer sighed, not in an upset manner nor exhaustion. More so in content, amused with themselves for being so susceptible to you. “Well then. Looks like my little dove is getting their own..”

[im-robins-bitch]

hey, can you maybe write a fic about X (x ray) in you Robin Buckley headcanons?

I thought the idea was rlly different

Thank you for the request, I'm sorry it's a little shorter than I intended. I struggled with writing this, it probably turned out sadder than you wanted.

Give yourself a try (r.b x gn!reader)

Or, Robin is struggling and not letting you help, so you do the only thing you can think of to get her to stop and breathe. (1.1.1k)

Warnings: panic attack, self-hatred on Robin's part, reader lifts their shirt to show off their chest, but no descriptors of their chest, just that they lifted their shirt and Robin liked it. No explicit gendered language to describe the reader.

Robin Buckley feels like a dream wrapped in a bow. It’s a miracle she doesn’t just glide across the floor rather than walk because she feels comparable to the Greek gods you’ve heard about. Aphrodite cannot hold a candle to her. You’re sure any sound from her trumpet would make music from Apollo comparable to a child practising the recorder. 

You’ve been hit hard by Cupid's arrow. 

Robin is just so perfect… Ok, maybe not perfect.

She’s awful at applying bandaids, so whenever she’s trying to break in new shoes you find plasters all over the house. Fallen from her skin from her dismal application. They trail across the house, leading you straight to her everytime. 

She leaves all the kitchen cabinet doors open, which has resulted in you gaining multiple bruises. She’s also really forgetful. Her head is so full, different facts and tasks fluttering around, so sometimes a couple of bits get lost. She started writing things down on her hands, things she didn’t want to forget. Though, at the end of the day they would just be multi-coloured smudges, reminders of fleeting memories. 

Still, you would rather peel bandaids off the floor, to find Robin at the end of the trail than have nothing to follow or find at all. Plus you think it’s cute, the small notebook she keeps with her that has important dates written down, things she wanted to talk to you about. 

You’re utterly charmed by her idiosyncrasies, her faults, her Robinisms. 

When you first began dating Robin, it felt like spinning gold, too good to be true. You simply thought you were the luckiest person in the world to call Robin Buckley your girlfriend. You had your share of bumps in the road, but the two of you toughed it out every time. 

You know her like the back of your hand. Know when she needs a hug without her needing to tell you. Know when she needs space, needs to talk, needs to eat. 

For the first time in a long while, you find yourself unsure of what she needs.

Robin is rambling like she so often is. Usually, you love it, indulging in her thoughts and opinions like an addict. Today though, she’s spiralling. 

It’s like picking at a loose stitch, poking out a jumper, one moment it’s just one little thread, but the more you pull the more it unravels.

“I’m just so sorry you have to put up with me,” she seethes, “I don’t know how you do it,” 

Robin is unravelling faster than you can gather her. 

Every sentence out of her mouth is a scathing insult against herself. Against her character or her appearance. You wonder if she’s been feeling this way for a while, curse yourself for not noticing sooner. 

She’s burning holes in the carpet with how fast she’s walking. She’s circling the kitchen with a velocity you didn’t know she had. Tugging at her hair so hard you think tomorrow you’ll be sweeping up clumps. 

You keep trying to butt in, to get her to just stop for a moment and take a breath. To reassess and realise what a treasure she is. It’s just not working. “Rob-”

“Everybody only puts up with me because of Steve and I bet he secretly hates me, yesterday-”

Robin keeps looking at you for guidance but she just won’t stop. She flinched at your outstretched hands and talked over your every rebuttal. She can see herself falling but can’t bring herself to reach out. She doesn’t know how and isn’t sure she deserves it.

You just want to shake her and yell ‘Stop talking about my girlfriend like that!’ Even so, you just can’t catch her. You didn’t realise she was so athletic, she had no enthusiasm for it in school. You think she would have been the school track star given the chance.

She rounds the counter again, hip bumping unkindly into the corner of a cupboard door. You hiss at the contact. Resist the urge to reach out and soothe the stinging with your warm palm and a dozen kisses. 

“Honey-”

“You probably hate me too” Robin mutters, choking on an angry sob.

You snap. The next time she rounds the corner, you step into her way, cutting off her pacing. She walks into you, unable to stop herself and stumbles backwards a little. She opens her mouth again, undoubtedly to say something cruel about herself. 

Unable to stand it, you do the first thing you can think of to shut her up. You pull up the hem of your shit. Bare chest on full display.

For the first time since you got home, Robin is silent. Her jaw drops cartoonishly, her eyes zoning in on your chest unabashedly. 

You take your chance and further invade her space, dropping your shirt back down again. You wrap your arms around her tightly so you can squeeze some sense and love back into her. She tries to return it, but her arms around you are so loose, so unsure, it hurts your heart. 

She smells like the valve oil she occasionally uses on her trumpet. The smell clings to her clothes. You untuck her face from your chest. Hands firm on her cheek, thumb rubbing up and down her pink-stained cheeks, soothing away her tears. 

“Robin, I adore you more than anyone.” You promise, unable to help yourself when you press a chaste kiss to her lips. “Please never doubt that.”

It cracks her facade, her arms once limp curl around you. She squeezes and clings to you like a lifeline and cries with ferocity into your neck. Her anger is gone and left is the ache of sadness, made worse by her exhaustive anger. 

You cradle her against your chest, hand tracing shapes into her back the way you know she likes. 

“I-I don’t…” She starts, unable to form a thought coherent enough to be worth saying. She’s still crying heavily, trying to understand the swirl of unpleasant emotions turning her stomach. Her chest is still thumping with anxiety, a tightness constricting her chest that makes it all worse. 

Even now, consoled by your confession of love, the leftovers of her extreme emotion remain. She tries to calm herself, but it takes time to adjust when it feels like you have just been stood at the edge of a building. 

“It’s okay, my love, cry all you need.” You say breathing steadily. You hold one of her hands to your chest, encouraging her to match her breathing to yours. 

She’s tired of crying, of feeling this way. She isn’t ready to talk about it but she knows you need to, she needs to. It won’t be solved overnight, things rarely can be, but talking about it will start the process. You’ll be there to help her, even if you can’t mend it all, you’ll listen.

You’ll talk when she’s ready, but until then, you’re content to hold her in your arms.

masterlist

[ellizzyy]

Long-Distance

Summery: you and Matt are in a long distance relationship and when you finally come visit him he pampers you.

Contains: pure fluff, kissing, cuteness and chessyness.

Ps. This is my first time writing a fan fic so just a heads up I’m not a professional! X

The sun was just beginning to rise over Los Angeles, casting a warm, golden glow over the city. Matt stood at the airport, his heart racing with anticipation. You were finally coming to visit him. After months of long-distance phone calls, video chats, and countless text messages, you were going to be together again.

Matt’s eyes scanned the crowd eagerly. Then he saw you. You were also looking around for him. When your eyes met, a huge smile spread across both of your faces. Matt ran over, wrapping you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground.

“Y/N! I missed you so much!” Matt exclaimed, his voice full of emotion.

“I missed you too, Mattie” you replied, hugging him just as tightly. You stood there for a moment, savoring the feeling of being together again.

Matt grabbed your suitcase and led you to his car. “I have the whole day planned out for us. I want to make sure your visit is unforgettable.”

You smiled and your heart fluttered with excitement. “I can’t wait. I’m so happy to finally be here.”

He drove you to a quaint little café by the beach for breakfast. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries filled the air as you sat down at a table with a perfect view of the ocean.

“This place is beautiful, Matt” you said, looking around in awe

“Not as beautiful as you,” Matt replied, causing you to blush

“That’s so cheesy…” you chuckled, causing Matt to smile and laugh

You guys spent the morning talking, laughing, and catching up on everything you’d missed in each other’s lives. After breakfast, Matt took you on a walk along the beach. You held hands and your feet sunk into the warm sand as the waves lapped at your toes.

In the afternoon, Matt surprised you with a spa day. Both of you indulged in massages, facials, and a relaxing soak in a hot tub. You felt incredibly pampered and cherished, and you couldn’t stop smiling.

“You’re spoiling me, Matt” you said, eyes shining with happiness.

“You deserve it y/n, I want to make every moment we have together special,” Matt replied, his voice soft and sincere.

As the day turned into evening, Matt took you to a fancy rooftop restaurant for dinner. The city lights sparkled below, creating a magical atmosphere. You enjoyed a delicious meal, sharing bites of each other’s food and laughing at old jokes.

When you finally returned to Matts house, you were both exhausted but content. You changed into some comfortable clothes and climbed into bed, cuddling close under the soft blankets.

“Today was perfect Mattie, Thank you” you said softly as your head rested on his chest

“I’m glad you liked it,” Matt replied, stroking your hair gently. “I wish we could do this more often” Matt sighed with a bit of sadness in his tone

You press your head deeper into his chest, your heart aching at the thought of not being able to see him every day. “I know Matt. Long-distance is hard, but we’ll make it work. We always do.”

Matt’s voice grew sadder. “But sometimes it feels like we’re missing out on so much. I hate not being able to see you every day.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your eyes filled with love. “Hey, let’s not think about that right now. We’re together, and that’s what matters. Besides, I have an idea that might cheer you up.”

Matt raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You leaned in close, her lips brushing against his. “Kissing until were breathless…?” You whisper

Matt’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I can’t say no to that…”

He wasted no time connecting your lips together and kissing you passionately, his hands exploring every inch of your body. The room was filled with the sounds of yours and matts heavy breathing and soft moans. Both of you rolled around on the bed, lost in each other.

After what felt like hours, he finally pulled away, both of you out of breath and smiling. Matt pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“You’re amazing y/n, I love you so much” Matt whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

“I love you too Mattie, More than anything” you replied, snuggling into his chest.

You lay there, holding each other, your hearts beating in sync. As you drifted off to sleep, you knew that no matter how far apart you were, your love would always keep you connected.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

If you got to this point, thanks for reading! 🤍 I’m open to criticism and tips if you have any… again this is my first time writing a fan fic so sorry it’s short and honestly super cheesy 😅

Elzii <3

[hamiathesgiftexchange]

Pinch Hit Needed

Hi folks, we have our first pinch hit for Hamiathes's Gift Exchange!

In order to claim a pinch hit, please email me at hamiathessgift @ gmail (mind the double s!) or send me a message on Discord. I will not be accepting pinch hit claims in any other format. This pinch hit is due on Sept 8 @ 8pm ET, at the same time as the other assignments.

Collection, including FAQ, here.

CLAIMED Pinch Hit #1: Timris Ormentiedes (fanart, fanfic); Relationship: Lavia/Celia (fanart, fanfic); Skell | Skerrell (fanart, fanfic); Aristogiton ( (fanart, fanfic); Kamet (fanart, fanfic); Relationship: Kamet & Laela (fanart, fanfic); Relationship: Costis/Kamet (fanart, fanfic)

full request details under the cut!

User: artino

Timris Ormentiedes (fanart, fanfic)

I love everything about this kid—the sweet way he older-brothers all of the younger children on the farm, the idea of him growing up learning Pheris' signs, and the implication that the decision-making adults in his life are Costis and Kamet. Does Timris play a role in the writing of Pheris' histories? Is he friends with Hector and Eugenia? What is his relationship with Kamet like?

Are Kamet and Costis okay with him moving to the palace to be an assistant secretary of the archives, or is there family drama about it? How much does Timris know about the events of the main series?

I am more interested in Timris in his own right than I am in whatever is going on with the various relationships in News from the Palace—but if that's something you want to delve into, I'm fine with any explanation of his parentage.

DNW: Modern AU.

2. Relationship: Lavia/Celia (fanart, fanfic)

We know so little about these two, but what MWT gives us is a delight—the built-in love triangle! Bad love poetry! A cute dance scene reunion at the end of the series!

Please feel free to make your cast of characters as large or as small as you like. How does Celia feel about being courted by Verimius (possibly the most obnoxious of Gen's attendants)? Is Lavia's poetry really that bad? Does Celia accompany Irene to war in Return of the Thief? What is it like for Lavia at court, as a (presumably) unmarried woman who isn't one of Irene's attendants? Do either of them ever interact with any of the main canon characters?

DNW: Modern AU.

3. Skell | Skerrell (fanart, fanfic)

This guy is just a walk-on character but I love him. He makes a big enough impression on Kamet that Kamet remembers his name (even if he can't pronounce or spell it, lmao). I would love Skell's outsider perspective on whatever he thinks is going on between uh, "Aris" and "Metit." I would also love to learn more about his backstory in Brael, or about what happens to him after the Namreen catch up to the caravan. Does he really end up fighting for the Mede army? What about a missing scene, where he interacts with Kamet or Costis?

(I've also thought about a crack fic scenario where Skerrell and Kamet make friends, ditch Costis, and run away to the "empire's eastern frontier," i.e. Setra. Please feel free to one-up me with something equally ridiculous.)

DNW: Modern AU.

4. Aristogiton (fanart, fanfic)

The MVP of the Queen's Thief series and a better friend than Costis deserves. I would love a story about him set at any point in the main timeline, from when he and Costis are trainees through Return of the Thief. I would love to see Aris' outsider perspective on any of the events he witnesses—I would also love to see him interacting with either Gen or Irene, particularly during COK or TAT when Costis is out of the picture. What is Aris like as a squad leader—either throughout KOA, or the sadder events of ROTT? Does he ever work things out with Legarus? I have a theory that Aris is the unnamed guard in ROTT who tells Gen that Costis and Kamet are at the picket lines—but whether or not that's true, what is his reunion with Costis like? How do Aris and Kamet get along?

I have seen criticism of Aris for the scene in KOA where he and Costis get drunk and gossip about whether they think Irene is wife material (lmao), but honestly I think he is so normal for what he says in that scene—and I would love to see more of Aris' blunt takes about characters whom we-as-the-audience love, but who might actually be a pain to deal with in real life.

Finally, I am agnostic about whether Aris and Costis ever made out on one of their camping trip vacations, but I absolutely shipped it when there were only 3 books, so if your heart takes you there, I'm here for it.

DNW: Modern AU; any interpretation of the end of the series where Aris does not survive and thrive.

5. Kamet (fanart, fanfic)

Easily my favorite character in the series. I would love to see more of QOA or ROTT through his eyes. I would also love to read something about him negotiating his new life in Attolia—whether that's the handful of weeks he spends there at the end of TAT, or something set after he returns there at the end of ROTT. What are his relationships like with Costis' family and friends? When Kamet says of Gen, "What a piece of work he was. I don't know why I like him as much as I do," is that his final word, or do they ever really become friends again? What about his friends in the kitchens?

I would also love to see Kamet interacting with other expats from the Mede empire: the betrayed spies who fled to Attolia and were granted land in KOA? Gen's Mede language tutor? The elephant handlers Irene captures in ROTT? Laela, in a continuation of The Arrival?

If you are interested in writing something darker, I would love to read about Kamet's relationships with the other slaves in Nahuseresh's household—particularly the ones whose names he records: Laela, Marin, Jeffa, Mirad, Hormud, or Kep. (When Kamet thinks about renaming himself, he considers "Jeffa" and "Nish"—is Nish also someone who meant something to him?) I am dying of curiosity about the "criminals" Kamet knows in Ianna-Ir through his work for Nahuseresh, and/or the details of the heist he and Nahuseresh plotted to steal that unbroken statue out of Sudesh's studio—and I would love to read a fucked-up story that explores his relationship with Nahuseresh when things were going (relatively) well between them.

DNW: Modern AU.

6. Relationship: Kamet & Laela (fanart, fanfic)

I would love to know more about this friendship. What exactly does Kamet tell Gen about Laela? It's clear he knows their relationship is more than transactional—hello, she lets him bleed all over her pillow—but we never get a clear picture of what that really means. What is it like, negotiating a friendship with a dancing girl after what happened with Marin? What exactly is Kamet risking when he asks Nahuseresh not to sell her? And what is their reunion like in Attolia?

I would love to read a continuation of The Arrival. I would be equally happy with a post-canon reunion that ignores or contradicts Moira's Pen.

I would also happily read backstory for the two of them set before Thick as Thieves, or a canon-universe AU where Laela somehow ends up in Attolia before the end of the series.

DNW: Modern AU.

7. Relationship: Costis/Kamet (fanart, fanfic)

OTP of all OTPs. I would love to read a story about these two that shows the darker aspects of their relationship—I think they're in love and perfect for each other, but they really go through it in Thick as Thieves! What is it like to have marital fights when one of you took an entire book to learn how to express anger and the other one has spent 2 books expressing his anger by hitting people? How does Costis feel about sitting out for the entire war in ROTT, and how does Kamet feel about still having a price on his head, even in Roa?

I would also love to read a missing scene from Thick as Thieves. What do they do in Traba? When do Kamet's stitches come out? How excruciatingly awkward is their stint with the caravan (I would love Costis' perspective on this)? What about an outsider perspective from any of the other characters: the other guards in the caravan? The slaves (or the slavers) outside Koadester? Hemke or his family? Godekker?

I would also love to read a canon-era AU where they meet in a slightly different way or something in the Thick as Thieves timeline goes differently. What if they met during QOA, or Kamet somehow ended up staying in Attolia? What if Gen went through with his initial plan from KOA to transfer Costis to the border forts near Magyar, and Kamet was rescued/kidnapped by someone else and still ended up in Roa? What if one of their narrow escapes in Thick as Thieves went wrong?

DNW: Modern AU.

[mithrilhearts]

How would you rank your fanfic reading on a scale of 1-10? (1 being 'I hardly ever read fic' and 10 being 'I read every fic for my pairing and leave extremely detailed comments'.)

Okay, so I am going to preface this with: I need to be in the proper mindset to read. My brain is selective in what I can and cannot do - whether I can write, or read, etc. But I am going to rate myself a solid 4 on the spectrum, which is meh, I guess, and I'm trying to get better. I like to read the fics my friends send me, and things that drop into the servers I'm in, but I rarely go looking for them (because I have such a long backlog of recs from friends!) But I will almost always - 90% chance - leave a comment.

What genre scares you from ever attempting to write it?

This is a tough one, but as far as genres go, maybe murder mystery/suspense? There are probably more TROPES I'm not willing to touch than actual genres, but I'm trying to stretch my creative brain these days with different styles of AU verses, so who knows.

What's your favorite trope, and what's your favorite fic you've used it in?

Does fluff and comfort count??? I am such a sucker for fluffy fics, romance and happy things. I think picking a fic is the harder part, because I throw some fluff in every fic I write lol even those with a sadder plot. I think one of my current favorites for the cute schmoopy lovey dovey stuff is -> "Bookbinder//Songwriter"

What fic idea is currently brewing in your head?

I have so many ideas in my brain right now, the brainrot is terrible. The latest that I am itching to get working on a plot bunny for is a demon/hunter au, with Bilbo as the demon, and Thorin as the hunter - having to work together for...you know....reasons.

What would a prequel of "Dragonhearted" be about?

I can't think of many prequels for my already ongoing wips or finished projects, but I think this one would essentially be how the dragon's curse changed life in the mountain. How Thorin changed, how the company coped in those first days, weeks, years, etc. Now...if you want to ask me about sequels...do I have MANY ideas for MANY fics...👀

Now for three Razzle recs

Wish Upon a Firefly's Light

The Icing on the Cupcake

Between Vices & Virtues

Happy Monday, Fellowship! 💜

Here at Fellowship of the Fics, we want to get to know you as authors, just as we want to hear about your stories! Each month we will have five selected questions that we encourage you to answer as a way to help promote yourself!

Simply reblog this post and answer the questions provided. This is about YOU and YOUR creations! We encourage self-bragging as much as possible!

Here are the questions for August 2023!

How would you rank your fanfic reading on a scale of 1-10? (1 being 'I hardly ever read fic' and 10 being 'I read every fic for my pairing and leave extremely detailed comments'.)

What genre scares you from ever attempting to write it?

What's your favorite trope, and what's your favorite fic you've used it in?

What fic idea is currently brewing in your head?

What would a prequel of [choose your fic] be about?

Now, share up to 3 of your fics you’d like to recommend to us and your followers!

[yvningshowers]

pro hero Izuku who has no time for anything other than work so when he gets home everyday it's to the same empty space

And bc it's the future there are robots that help out around the house, with chores and cooking and errands and the like

So he gets one, and you are that robot. Izuku is really easy to clean after and if he's being honest he really just got you for the company. And the food, obviously, he doesn't have time to cook for himself

But he starts to fall in love with... a ROBOT and it's so weird and sad but it's the manufacturer's fault he's convinced, you're basically a fucking person and you don't cater to his every whim all the time, you give him sound advice that's contrary to what he wants to hear and you give him shit for being self sacrificial and for not looking after himself bc it may be your job to look after him but part of that is insuring that he cares for himself when you can't. And you're so warm, god, and caring, and good- but you're not a person, exactly, you don't have free will, or agency, you've been programmed to do nothing but care for him; to love him, essentially- but it can't be love, because love is not a programmed code

It can't be because love is free

So he sends you back to the manufacturer

And is alone again

[imthepunchlord]

Which of your story did you enjoy writing the most?

For fics I've written, I've found I've enjoyed those that are more in-depth and emotional, and those that are comedic.

As a little list of what I remember most fondly:

this is why she can't have nice things was a funny little oneshot playing off animals traits in users

Over the Wall was me doing an original fairytale, loosely inspired by Stardust.

A Declaration of Love was soooo much fun. That was like, pre s2 one shenanigans days, we had just seen the designs of Duusu, Trixx, and Pollen but didn't have their names and before really doing a lot of research, just rolled out some ideas and had fun with it.

Curiosity and Satisfaction was my take on enemies au, as ultimately back in the day when I liked Adrienette, I couldn't find an enemies au that I really liked. So wrote my own. I admit bias, but it's more along the lines of what I wanted in that au scenario.

Same for Trouble in White which dabbled in Mariblanc.

Grumpy Cat was my first Felinette fic ever, and ironically, I had wrote it to prove why Felix and Marinette wouldn't work. Well, that didn't happen. Now it's one of my fav ML ships.

Oops was the first ever dabble in Butterfly Marinette and its just cute and short and funny.

Just Our Luck was a oneshot Sky High au that was interesting to write, and it actually wound up far more popular than I expected. Sadly never had any ideas to do more as people wanted so its a oneshot for now. If I ever touch on it again, I can't promise it'll be Adrienette.

Arguably, Loyal Chevalier is one of my more sadder pieces and a rare akumanette fic that was interesting to write out; though I think Minpa holds the title as my saddest piece. Don't read Minpa you will cry, and chances are good Loyal Chevalier will also make you cry.

Manynette is my 2nd akumanette fic which was also interesting and fun. Which does remind me that I need to continue the collab with @nobodyfamousposts soon. Now that I am more refreshed can get back on it.

Leave for Mendeleiev I'm actually very proud of, especially taking background characters that didn't have a whole lot to them and bringing a lot of life to them. They were fun and it was a lot of fun exploring this different scenario. I know it had a hiccup with me doing an overhaul for it, but I think it wound up a lot better for it. Very happy with how it came out.

And while not done yet, I've been having a lot of fun with Copycat. It's like a 2nd go at Grumpy Cat, but being more in depth and more canon compliant now that we've had more seasons to see more of certain characters and got a bit more of the world and set up. Kinda. Either way, I'm glad to be working on it again. Hope to start some steady updates come February.

And those are the fics I've enjoyed writing the most. I'm hoping to have more on the way and to also do some other fics outside ML.

If anyone is going to check these out, be aware that a lot of these are Adrienette. Most of it written back in the day that I liked them.

[ploffskinpluffskin]

Title: The Ruins Rating: PG-13ish Warnings: god Implicit and explicit character death(s), unhappy ending, Natori spends the entire fic grieving and/or trapped in a bleak situation orz, probably manipulation and gaslighting, some short-lived violence and blood at the end, being at the mercy of someone who thinks they love you......... 6^6;; Characters: Natori, mostly (sorry). An OC by the name of Caishen. Other characters like the Cat King, Natoru, Lune, and Yuki are mentioned or make brief appearances but it’s mostly comprised of interactions between Natori and various OCs rip. This has become pretty much an exercise in ‘I wonder how much suffering I can dump on my favorite character’ Summary: How many strings does one good deed pull? For the Cat Kingdom and its residents, the absence of one impulsive act of goodwill possesses farther reaching consequences than anyone could have expected.

Notes: So this idea originally came about from just kind of a small part of @catsafarithewriter‘s Disappearance of Haru Yoshioka which mentioned briefly that without Haru's rescue of Lune, the king died without an heir, and the Cat Kingdom descended into chaos. Me, being lightly obsessed with the Cat Kingdom and also being an absolute sucker for bleak situations, saw My Favorite Character Natori to the side, thought about how losing not only Lune and the Cat King, but also the entire kingdom's peace and prosperity, would just utterly destroy him and quietly wondered if in this kind of situation he would be one of the first casualties or if for some reason someone might want to keep him alive for ‘useful knowledge’ and voila. You have this pit of despair. I did ask catsafari if it was alright to take inspiration in the way I did, just for the record `~`;

I wasn’t certain for a while whether I would eventually publish this one or not, not only because the idea came from someone else’s fic, but also because it’s. well. very dark compared to what I normally write, and I feel I’ve long since sorta pigeonholed myself into being the Cute one who writes just lighthearted subjects, and even when I do venture into darker, sadder topics, it’s usually still with an overarching sense of idealism to it— that things will be alright Eventually. This… is not that

because of that, i have decided ultimately to just post it here on this private-ish side blog. also be aware this sucker is Long As Hell and unfinished, but i’ve added notes for the missing parts

+++

The kingdom feels Lune's loss keenly, but perhaps none so noticeably as the king himself— he becomes quiet, listless. He vanishes from the kingdom's affairs, and no prodding to the contrary is enough to galvanize him back into his old life; too much pressing, in fact, and Natori learns rather harshly that he will retaliate, and violently so if he feels it necessary. But his anger remains the mercurial spark it always was— it burns itself out in seconds and then disappears as if it had only been imagined.

By the time he begins to spend long hours shut resolutely in solitude, Natori simply lets him be outside of the occasional admonition to eat or drink, the aching tenderness of his arm an effective reminder. He takes only cautious and dutiful steps in private to keep his old companion looking at least a little presentable, if he cannot nudge him into eating.

Grief is an unpredictable animal, he reasons desperately to himself sometimes. If it's more time the king needs before he can return, then he can certainly have it. Natori can endure and hold fort in the meantime. Anything, he thinks, if it means he will recover eventually.

But not everyone feels that same gentle, forlorn patience. He catches rumors sometimes, whispers which were not intended to reach him— stirrings of resentful unrest, nonchalantly-spoken rambles about aspirations of luxury and authority, and improbable jests to test the waters (waters which are looking quite captivatingly viable by the day). They can not be stifled; at best, Natori can only hope the king returns to his position before they can root themselves too firmly.

It's one particularly warm day when Natori feels he hits the ledge of what had been perhaps naive hopefulness, when it's shown to him in stark, vivid relief just how bleak the situation has become, and that frail hope is laid to rest with all the quiet resignation of the waning moon.

It had begun so conventionally, so innocuously. 

He’d led the king to a chair in his bedroom, and Claudius had followed him dutifully, in much the same unthinking, silent way an obedient and browbeaten child might.

Once, Natori recalls wishing the king might mellow some in his old age, and now he can’t help but to look upon that wish as if it had itself brought them to this state of affairs. He would give anything, now, he thinks sometimes, for the king to toss some unfortunate entertainer out a window or make some no doubt inane proclamation about Casual Fridays because he’d heard some passing mention of the same thing in the human world.

His poorly-named conversations with the king during their time together always meander, necessarily superficial and perfunctory, as Natori mentions old favorite subjects and sidles past memories of the ash-colored kitten they all so dearly miss.

Today, however, he can not seem to stop himself.

“It’s almost his birthday.”

Even saying it aloud is like a lightning rod right to his heart, but he can not help but to continue. “Do… Do you remember, sire..? That one birthday? H-He must have been only four or so at the time. You had gotten him an aquarium, but he was too young— he didn’t understand. I still remember him, even now, looking back and forth between it and you, admiring it as he tapped his little paws together—” Here he cuts himself off with a painful gulping breath. He can not go any further. If he does, he’ll break down; he’ll scream. Instead, with a steadying breath, he rubs at his face and changes topics in desperation.

Yet his newest topic ends up being of little more comfort.

"There's been some rumblings, sire," Natori says as he shakily continues to comb through the occasional mat. The king is silent still, languid. When Natori continues, his voice trembles as well despite his best efforts, prey to the helpless frustration churning away in his chest, the fresh grief which was just upturned, "They're saying there are changes coming, and I— I think they may be right to believe so. Some of our residents are growing restless, and wish to take matters into their own hands, sire. They see opportunity, understand."

Natori hesitates there, breaths shallow, thinking distantly of the too close, trailing looks he's glimpsed when their owners think he's not paying attention. Something rises in his chest then, whether it is that apprehension, or perhaps his agitated strain finally getting the better of him, and for the second time that day, he cannot help the words which next erupt from him.

"I'm— I'm frightened, sire. Please— I-I’m so afraid. This has stretched on for so long, I suppose it's little wonder they might begin to feel so bold. I-I know you don't wish to— it's... I understand perhaps it's still so soon, but... there remains still the question of succession. I cannot make that decision myself, sire, not if we can expect it to be upheld. I— we need you to come back. Please..."

The metal comb in his paws seems suddenly quite foreign and heavy, and so he sets it down on the side table and rubs hastily at his eyes with shaking paws. From there, he wanders around to the king's front, kneels before him in a beseeching way he's certain he hasn't before. Muted shame at his own weakness is evident on the proverbial horizon, but for now the trepidation he's spent too long repressing is in firm control.

"...please, Claudius," he echoes, a mournful plea which is near whispered.

Yet the king seems unmoved, taciturn, staring down at him in blank but resolute detachment.

He should have known better, Natori thinks to himself mournfully as hot tears gather in his eyes against his will— banking on his physical frailty when it comes to Claudius has never worked. The king forgets far too easily, even when emotion isn’t clouding his judgment. Never before now has Natori had the despondent thought that perhaps the king simply doesn’t care to remember.

“...answer me.” Natori is surprised by the harsh stillness of his voice. “Say something, sire.”

Claudius remains silent. That earlier frustrated emotion which had risen in his chest and churned returns, but this time it utterly boils over, just as he’d feared. From far away, Natori watches himself reach for the king with trembling, clumsy paws, gripping at his lethargic companion’s fur and all but frantically shaking him as he cries aloud, his voice broken, gasping.

“Do you understand that we will collapse without you, sire?! The castle, the kingdom, all of us who— wh-who care for you—! Th-They’re going to seize the throne and drag it all out from under you, and I daresay it’s a matter of mere days before they do..! Do something— say something..!”

It’s at the king’s continuing, obstinate silence that Natori utters an exasperated sob, gradually becoming aware of his lapse in self-restraint and the callous words he’d spoken. 

Overwhelmed by both guilt and dying, worried anger, he pushes away and hides his face in the fabric of his oversized sleeves, working futilely to get himself back under control. He’s only distracted from his stubborn tears by a very soft touch to his shoulder, feather-light and hesitant, and when he looks up to find the source (vaguely expecting to see Lune’s winsome, sympathetic smile, because he supposes his mind hasn’t been cruel enough to him already), it’s to find himself face-to-face with the king.

The ghost of his earlier forlorn hope flutters weakly… but is ultimately stamped out.

Claudius stares at him blankly for a fleeting moment, and then wordlessly moves to lay his head against the space between Natori’s neck and his shoulder, and although he does rest his paw on his advisor’s as if in reassurance, it's limply, without interest. His apathy is clear.

Natori feels quite cold; some deeply betrayed part of him wishes to pull away, but the looming separation he can now so clearly see on the near horizon keeps him where he is. He will soon stand alone. He already does. His explosive emotion from just moments ago seems now like some hazy, hard-to-comprehend dream. Perhaps because of that, he bows his head so his face may also be hidden against Claudius' shoulder, and draws him close to him for the first time.

It proves also to be the last. When the king is gone, Natori waits, and he doesn't wait for long.

They storm the castle’s rooms, and weary from grief and loss and too much time spent cultivating what has ultimately proven to be fruitless, he offers no resistance when they do.

+++

It is nearing winter, he thinks, in the human world. The sun shines warmly still in the Cat Kingdom, however, and by some equally-aching miracle, Natori remains as well. He counts down his days in silence until he loses track, and then he waits in stillness for the day when his apparent usefulness is extinguished.

It is nearing winter when he snaps out of a thick fugue to find himself alive. The air feels cold. Stale. Empty. His paws, where they've settled limply in his lap and across the chair's arms, are shaking ever so slightly in his sleeves. He is crumpled in a chair, and from the stiffness in his back, he has been there quite some time.

There are voices outside.

No— there is someone across from him, murmuring contentedly in the gloom.

Natori gradually recognizes him as Caishen, the Siamese cat's identity coming back to him in scattered pieces and indistinct interactions. An ambitious noble, unfittingly mild-mannered and retiring for his lofty, covetous goals. They'd spoken on many occasions before this, with a telling increase in frequency the longer the king's absence had persisted. He was well-spoken, persuasive, Natori had often thought to himself… and always a little too close for comfort, in a way Natori had felt reluctant to put a word to. He had often breathed a private sigh of relief once he was out of the other cat’s presence, and that he appears now to be saddled with his company without any obvious escape inspires quite little optimism in him. 

Today, Caishen seems to have brought a spotted hairbrush with him, which he is now using to gently brush through the thin fur on what Natori slowly registers as his own leg.

He's speaking.

"...ould have you reinstated—— no, raised above even your old position. Not one courtier would dare speak against you nor my decision for fear of incurring my ire, not were I in charge. A familiar, comfortable little nook for you, don't you think..?"

Here he notices Natori’s gaze on him and his movements, more clear-eyed attention than the grey cat has ever given him before today. When he continues, it's with a noticeably more roused tone. He looks up to Natori with the stifled, knowing excitement of a child on the morning of his birthday.

"Yes. I remember you back then. You worked hard, didn't you? And yet it was so, so often thrown away. Left by the wayside. I remember you then— there was a haggardness to you then that I don't see anymore. You're free. You’re free because I released you."

Natori's eyes feel warm. His throat aches.

"But to retain that freedom, that's the impasse we've arrived at. All you need do… is speak to me. Tell me what you know, and give me something compelling. I'll continue to guarantee your safety, as I've been doing, you know, no small feat considering your close ties to the last king, you must understand— and your reputation, of course. You will live comfortably, and finely, and be properly appreciated for all you've done bes—"

"...curled demurely in the palm of your hand," Natori wearily interrupts him, and he's surprised by the sound of his own voice— soft, hoarse from disuse. Unfamiliar, now.

Caishen shares his gaze just long enough for his expectant expression to darken into a scowl, after which he looks away with a disappointed tsk. He stands and starts for the door in an insulted huff, and before he leaves, turns to face his captive companion again with what seems to be a final word of warning.

"You've been more trouble than you're worth, Natori. And that's not going to change. But I want you to remember that I offered you an out."

You offered me a worthless shroud to hide the dehisced wound.

Yet, as the trackless days wear on and his implied execution never comes to pass, it becomes quite clear to him that Caishen has something more particular in mind for him, and it must extend beyond whatever inane secrets he believes he might glean from the ex-advisor. Natori isn't certain how much more time he spends lost in that dazed dream, nor how many more times the noble visits him in that time span. One particularly lucid day sees him recalling his time caring for dear ailing Claudius with a faraway stab of grief, musing on his continued survival, and coming quite abruptly to a conclusion which should already have been obvious— he is valuable.

And once that realization takes root, it’s not long at all before he understands his dilemma; he thinks back to the other cat’s gentleness, his insistent tenderness, in his mind’s eye, the sharpest it's been in quite some time. What questionable acts have taken place while he’s been metaphorically away? No more.

Somewhere, also, the bare, surface fact that he might indeed be manipulated into betraying that which remains still precious to him should he not gather his wits reignites a powerful resentment he'd not been entirely aware of harboring before now.

From there, Natori waves a proverbial farewell to the comforting fugue. He takes a deep breath, wades into the muck which has accumulated about him in his stupor, and begins walking resignedly forward.

+++

When next Caishen sees fit to visit him, he finds Natori seated bonelessly in the ragged, once-elegant chair he's been provided, staring up at the ceiling with an odd amount of intensity, rumination— attention which very quickly moves to center on him when he enters the room. Were it not for the cold hostility lining that focus, he might find the grey cat's unusual lucidity favorable.

Ever the optimist, he approaches Natori and kneels before him, pats his leg as if nothing is out of the ordinary (noting the apparent irritated twitch in Natori's expression as he does), and airily remarks, "Someone looks quite hale and hearty today." 

Then, conversationally, peering up at Natori as if they are only two old friends meeting up after a long separation,"Has your stay been comfortable? Have they treated you nicely?"

Natori narrows his eyes at him. Caishen certainly knows the answers to those questions already (as well as the fact that Natori himself doesn't), so he doesn't bother providing his own, instead moving his gaze pointedly away. 

"Is there anything I can get you?"

An offer which the both of them know cannot be genuine; again Natori remains silent and pays him little mind. It's there that Caishen sighs with affected exasperation in response, as if he is the long-suffering parent doing their best to cajole an uncooperative child into sharing a toy or finishing off a detested vegetable. He pushes himself up to a standing position, now staring down at his companion with a bemused smile.

"You're finally lucid enough for proper conversation, and you still choose the path of petulant reticence. You can't ignore me forever, now."

Natori scowls lightly despite himself.

A tsk. "I'm not so bad, you know. And I only have your best interests at heart. Which is more than I could say for yourself, if this pathological stubbornness you've been so committed to is anything to judge by."

"...I'm not going to give you what you want." It's quiet, but spoken with the weary resolution of the steadfast bastion Natori feels he's been reduced to. Just as obstinately, he also doesn't raise his eyes to meet his companion's, still gazing into the shrouded corner to his right.

"You don't even know what I want, dear," Caishen responds gently, unfazed, and right then and there Natori is abruptly aware of how much he detests the softness with which this cat is intent on treating him. Having pulled the same tricks and tactics countless times in his lifetime as advisor to a temperamental king, he's not at all fooled nor made docile by them, and the very idea this condescending noble might assume otherwise irks him.

Perhaps because of this, his tone is quite biting and icy when he replies in kind, and he makes no effort to temper or retract his words. He finally locks eyes with the other cat, too, just to sharpen his point, to leave no room for doubts. "You could desire your own undoing, Caishen, and I still wouldn't give it to you."

There's little change in Caishen's outward demeanor— only a tightening in his jaw, the barest glimpse of teeth, and a coldness to rival Natori's own.

"Well," he finally says, brisk and chagrined. "We'll see what you end up giving to me."

Natori flashes him a brittle, wan smile, but in the end he chooses not to offer his own dispute. He is not an aggressive creature, but he most certainly can be a mercilessly stubborn one, and the other cat will learn that even more emphatically in due time.

Caishen does not call him ‘dear’ again.

+++

He has no evident place in the kingdom, not anymore. He supposes it's little surprise. Outside of a select few who know otherwise, most he imagines are likely to assume he'd met a grim fate at the hands of zealous nobles. Yet to have subtly vanished in such a way leaves him uncertain how to feel overall.

Strange, too, to have gone from near sole executive to secluded ghost story in only a matter of hours. He wakes occasionally with a start, certain with the persistent haze of the dream world that he has abandoned an important task, that he has left the king, or Lune, or sometimes even his sisters too long without guidance, and always he will come to in this unadorned room alone. He aches terribly sometimes. He presses his paws firmly against his eyes sometimes, so that he doesn’t stare too deeply into that yawning despair.

The bedroom he's been confined to is small, similar to the one he'd called his own throughout his residence here. He thinks it must have once belonged to a handful of servants before all this. It would have been decorated and enveloped in various personal effects then, awash in countless minuscule signs of life and history and love. Now it is bare, dark, and crumbling, home only to an old chair and a thin bed.

Natori spends most of his time pacing wearily from one end of the room to the other, lingering occasionally before the boarded window to peek out at the kingdom he will most likely never see unobscured by those shutters again. But that also aches relentlessly, so he begins avoiding the window. The gaps are too small to see much of anything anyway; even the sunlight seems to find it difficult to penetrate them.

Staunchly avoided also are thoughts of family; he hopes they are safe, that they will forgive him for his most likely fatal obstinance, and then quite mechanically moves on.

And Caishen continues to visit him. He talks to Natori, tells him stories of questionable veracity about the state of the kingdom, its victories and its beauties, how dreadfully hard he is working against those other nefarious, power-hungry nobles to get his own way (a goal which is exceedingly benevolent, of course). He seems to find particular amusement in combing through Natori’s fur as he speaks, and the once advisor puts together quite swiftly that his own feelings on the matter are of meager significance. If Natori is standing when he arrives, he will insistently entreat him to sit, to rest, and if still he stonily refuses, Caishen will none-too-gently wrest him there himself with that ever-present grim tolerance of a put-upon parent tending to his unruly toddler.

Natori will stare up at the darkened ceiling, numb but for the roiling sense of resentment and revulsion, and silently pick apart Caishen’s words in the same manner as a seasoned critic. He will unwillingly remember his own stint as faithful attendant for Claudius as he’d declined, and feel as if the hot contempt it sparks within him might burn him down from the inside out. He had looked after the previous king out of earnest devotion, out of love, much as it aches to admit it. He’d wanted nothing more than for the king’s recovery, and he had wept quite sincerely in his own time when the fact that that recovery never would come about finally became unequivocally evident. That Caishen might believe his own intentions are in any way comparable leaves a sharply bitter taste in his mouth.

It's one such trying day when the Siamese cat brings to him an ostensible gift— a richly-colored maroon changshan, not entirely unlike the one Natori is presently clad in. When it catches the meager sunlight, he glimpses the looping pattern which sprawls idly across the glossy silk. There are floral designs stitched onto the sleeves' black trims. He has hazy memories of once wearing something similar for another of Lune's birthday celebrations (albeit markedly more worn), and the memory, muddled as it is, still scalds him like a hot iron, and he flinches away on instinct.

Without lifting his gaze from the fabric, mildly he asks, "Does my appearance perturb you..? Too starkly haggard for your taste, perhaps?" When he does finally look to Caishen, it's with a hooded, austere gaze. Something about that word picks futilely at an indistinct memory from their early days together; somewhere Natori knows using it in such a way will irk his companion. "You seem to be laboring still under the delusion that I'm only a wayward guest."

The smile Caishen gives him is urbane enough, but frustrated, irritated, and Natori realizes he finds some passive-aggressive pleasure in prompting that reaction from one he despises so immensely.

"It has nothing to do with me," the other cat eventually responds, laying the material across Natori's seated form as if to assure himself it will be the right size. Natori raises no efforts to help him, gaze wandering instead to the window again, where his eyes eventually droop shut. "It's for your own sake. Think of it as... mm, a very small piece of dignity given back to you."

Then, as he lifts one of Natori's limp arms to gauge how long the sleeves of the changshan will be on him, he adds, "I can't imagine you would be all that enthused by the prospect of attending the upcoming coronation in this old thing." A disdainful pluck at the high collar of his current threadbare attire.

Natori feels as though he's been dropped into a vat of ice water, and the jolt this news has given him quite clearly doesn't pass Caishen by, if his crooked, knowing smile is anything to go by. He glances from his work to Natori’s face with a cursory interest, before he straightens to inspect the changshan’s overall length.

"Yes. A sovereign has been decided upon. You will never guess who it is."

Exactly how long has he been confined to this room? Natori wonders dizzily to himself in a feverish frenzy. It frustrates and alarms him even more than he could have imagined to be unable to differentiate what time has passed, his memory still stubbornly, permanently, shrouded in a fog he can not hope to ever penetrate.

Yet despite his fractured, hazy recollections of his past… while, he's very close to certain it's not been nearly long enough for Caishen to have secured his position so firmly.

Somewhere distant, there begins a panicking dread, frantically picking through the conversations he does recall, fearing he may have cracked after all, yet he thankfully comes up empty-handed.

What underhanded, unscrupulous manipulations must Caishen have undertaken in his pursuit, to have risen so rapidly to triumph over the others?

How long has he been confined..?

“...already..?”

“Already, you ask? It’s not been a mere eyeblink, now. Let’s not go minimizing my hard work.”

The fatigue he's been staving off now for some trackless eternity finally overwhelms him; Natori is certain he must look much like a tired, wilting plant— the lame beast which has finally found itself facing down the barrel that will end its torment— and can not find the drive to work to obscure it.

"...then what do you still need me for..?" It's fainter than he'd expected, mournful and weary.

Caishen, by contrast, only gives a pensive hum, having moved on to measuring the body of the new robe across Natori's thin frame (thinner now than Caishen remembers it being; silently he makes a note to inquire about his little jewel’s meal allowances when next he speaks with the chef). "No one has ever said anything about need, Natori. You’re here because I want you here, and my mind has yet to change on that front— despite your best efforts, of course."

As much as he wants to plead for that finishing gunshot he'd been so certain was right on the horizon, or argue that Caishen has indeed implied his necessity to his goals many times, Natori falls silent and turns his head away in defeat.

+++

Despite Natori's vain attempts to otherwise remain cognizant of his surroundings, the coronation passes in rather disjointed chunks of hazy time; he is moved from place to place seemingly without logic, in erratic ways he can not altogether grasp. He recalls being led to a cushioned seat decorated with a veil and an opaque strip of red fabric spilling over its edges, and that the proceedings had seemed unbearably long, and then suddenly comes to some time later sitting slouched languidly in a different chair some short distance from Caishen. The Siamese is chatting amiably with another handful of nobles like himself, but Natori glimpses flashes of bitterness and umbrage among them all, a second-long lapse in a smile here, a surreptitious flex of the claws there. It’s telling, particularly when those gestures of suspicion and disdain dwell on him.

To himself he thinks that Caishen’s succession is not nearly as ironclad as he would prefer Natori to believe, and again his own suspicions regarding the speed at which it was obtained resurface. As well, and of perhaps more pressing significance, his own continuing survival appears to be a matter of contention.

He remembers Caishen's original 'offer', that proclamation that he would so gallantly protect Natori from the wrath of the other nobles if he would only cooperate, and wonders if the Siamese is primed to follow through on that promise.

Someone sneezes beside him.

There's a guard there, he notices belatedly. When Natori twists in startled alarm to survey him, he recognizes the cat's face with another twitch. Vino, if he recalls correctly. He'd been a young cat the last time Natori had seen him, new to the kingdom and his position among the guards, eager but markedly careless. On more than one occasion, Natori had thoughtlessly reached for his arm (or his tail, in one notable instance) in the hopes of stopping him in his tracks as he’d set off for a confrontation for which he had little hope of emerging victorious. 

At the time, Natori had found the parallel in their respective impulsive behaviors rather amusing, if a little revealing.

Now, however, those memories of kinder, brighter days which come to him unbidden, unwelcome, with the distinct lingering contentment of tranquil dreams, bring also a potent sorrow to the surface, and for a fleeting few instants, he is certain he’s drowning above water.

“Um— h… hey, are you doing okay..?” Uneasy words accompanied by a tentative, feather-light touch to the side of his face, and Natori feels as though he crashes headfirst back into the present. Vino had settled in the chair beside him at some point, and now sits staring at him as if terrified he’d broken him. When he sees the awareness filter back into Natori’s expression, he removes his paw and sets it in his lap.

Here Natori is suddenly uncomfortably aware of both his swimming vision and the wet fur about his eyes, and he hastily rubs at his face once it registers just what had transpired in his split-second collapse.

“Sorry,” Vino says awkwardly in the meantime with a shrug and a long sniff, rubbing at his grey nose casually. “Didn’t mean to scare you like that. If I’d known you were dozing, I would have taken more care to smother it. I mean, you know, for all the good it’d done.”

“...no,” Natori finally manages, muted and hoarse. “No, you’re fine.”

Then, after a good stretch of silence between them, Natori slowly becomes aware of the fact Vino seems to wish to tell him something, uncertain gaze moving back and forth between the mingling courtiers out in front of them and Natori at his right. Eventually, once Natori turns his own half-lidded gaze to him and stares impassively without blinking, Vino clears his throat and comes clean, so to speak.

“I— um, I didn’t know you were still— er, around, you know? Not until tonight, when that guy asked me to look after you.”

Sitting straightly is proving to be quite tiring; Natori’s posture slackens, and he moves his despondent gaze from Vino to the ceiling.

“I won’t hold it against you,” he murmurs. “Doubtless you’re far from the only one.”

There Natori frowns, however, even as his attention remains fixed on some indeterminate spot above him. “...Did you say he asked you to look after me..?”

“Huh? Oh— yeah, he did. His words, exactly, not mine.”

To that, Natori doesn’t respond, but it’s no great feat of brainpower for him to glean that Vino’s presence is not for mere companionship, nor is it intended as a safeguard to foil any escape attempts— no. His current companion has been tasked with shadowing his unsteady steps as protection against the other nobles, and something about that knowledge leaves Natori quite agitated, in a way he can’t quite comprehend.

“...You know, also,” Vino begins unexpectedly, startling his ‘charge’ yet again, “I’m, uh, guessing since most of us didn’t know you were still around, you’re probably not all that up-to-date on everyone else’s situations, huh..?”

It takes Natori a minute to catch on, but once he does, all of his attention is on Vino.

“Who..?” He all but croaks.

Vino seems surprised by Natori’s keen interest, blinking once with his ears pinned back, but he recovers soon enough, looking to the side with a cough.

“Uh— well, Natoru, for one, I guess? Not that I know her exact condition and whereabouts, but… I can make an educated guess, you know?”

“How is she? She’s safe..?”

Vino nods at him, just once, with a blink. “I think so. I last saw her disappearing through the tower’s portal. As far as I know, she’s still out and about in the human world. I dunno what she’s doing there, though. Probably enjoying the street food or something.”

Natori feels his drained expression shakily quirk up into a smile at that familiar sentiment, an instinct he hasn’t felt in what suddenly seems like decades. Something about the idea of Natoru so characteristically chasing after the human’s street food heartens him, even as tears cloud his eyesight again.

“A-And my sisters..? Their families? Have you seen them? Are they well?” He hears himself asking, as well, though even as he says it, the amount of optimism he feels over receiving a conclusive answer dims.

As expected, here Vino shrinks, ears flattening only slightly. “Oh— sorry, sir, I don’t know that. I wasn’t even aware you had sisters before now.”

The potent mixture of yawning disappointment and regret which opens up at this admission almost winds him, but Natori manages a sigh instead, closing his eyes with a nod and a twitching smile which is threatening to shift to a tearful grimace.

“No, I understand. Not… not many I worked with then knew about them, I believe.” A helpless laugh, one he must cut off prematurely lest it dissolve into a sob.

“Vino.”

Natori jumps quite dramatically, but Vino only turns his attention out to the newcomer to their ongoing conversation with the same informal, unconcerned energy of a teenager. It’s Caishen, and he’s gazing upon the two of them with a not altogether kind look. Vino seems to realize belatedly that he is perhaps inappropriately sitting beside his charge as if the two are nothing more than a pair of old wives trading gossip, and he is quick to stand… though his posture remains rather slouched.

“Quite dutiful of you to keep Natori company, as I asked you to. Your service is no longer necessary, however. I will accompany him the rest of the night. So you are dismissed.”

Vino straightens with a brisk nod. “You got it, sir. Let me know if you need me again.”

“I will.”

It’s there he leaves the two of them, glancing back only once before wandering out the banquet hall’s door and into the hallway. Caishen waves to him, a motion that almost seems to double as a gesture shooing him away, and then, after contemplating Natori for a long moment, sits in the now vacated chair beside him with the decorum of the sovereign he’s been allowed to believe he is. From there, it’s a long stretch of silence, Caishen gazing out at the few remaining stragglers, and Natori doing much the same, but with a blankness which makes it clear he’s not entirely present.

“What charming conversation did the two of you have, to have elicited such a smile from you?” Caishen eventually asks, and although his words are pleasant enough, the cool stiffness of his tone is unmistakable.

Natori, sensing all too familiar warning signals and thinking distantly of young Vino becoming a far-too-artless target of the other cat’s ire, responds offhandedly… but carefully. “It was too short to be a conversation. He told me a joke.”

“Oh? It must have been quite a joke, then. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you smile, and I’ve known you quite some time, haven’t I?”

“It was a very good joke,” Natori says, clipped, gaze dropping so typically to the floor, as if the ongoing exchange is tiring him. “It was one I’ve never heard before.”

“Is that so.” Caishen is losing his patience. The mask of affability is showing some cracks. “Am I to be let in on this secret, or shall I simply have to languish forever with the unsolved mystery of some humble guard’s marvelously clever wit?”

“...The man who created the umbrella was originally going to name it simply the ‘brella.’ But he hesitated.”

It’s clear to Natori that Caishen is not impressed by his last-second substitution, though one corner of his dark muzzle remains curved in evident amusement (or exasperation, perhaps). He stands quite abruptly, pulling Natori up into a similar standing position by the paws, and then tugs him into a brisk walk beside him toward the same exit Vino had just disappeared through. Natori stumbles some, resorting to clinging to his companion’s arm with a sharp stab of fleeting hatred. Caishen most certainly would have known this pace would be difficult for him to maintain, particularly given the floor-length robe the cat has seen fit to dress him in. Distantly, Natori realizes he couldn’t have fled from the scene even if he wanted to, not with his legs so bound.

“I had no idea that your sense of humor was so vapid, Natori. Seems a shame to me.”

“If I didn’t know better, I might believe you were feeling some measure of jealousy,” Natori eventually remarks as they move into the hall. Nonchalantly, flatly, he also adds, “I imagine it must sting a great deal, after all, to have never brought a smile to one you proclaim to hold so dearly.”

Caishen’s grip on his arm tightens noticeably, to a painful degree (Natori can’t help but to gasp feebly, on old instinct he doesn’t wish to reveal the roots of); the corresponding smile the noble intends as genuine shows far too many teeth to successfully conceal his fury. His voice, as well, resonates taut and cold.

“Shall I tell you an amusing joke of my own, then..?”

“You may try.”

“My joke is about a child,” Caishen continues glibly. “This child accompanied by a man deep within the unforgiving woods. Certainly, not an ideal situation for this child, don’t you think? Well, he doesn’t think so, either. And the woods are so terribly dark. He complains to his escort, then, perhaps in the misguided belief to do so might inspire some mercy within him. Isn’t that charming? How silly of him. ‘This is a forbidding place,’ he says, ‘and it scares me, sir.’ Do you know what the man said back to him, then, Natori..?”

“No.”

“Why, as most likely expected, he admonished his young companion, as this eerie scenario wouldn’t have been necessary had the child simply done as he was told. And then he says ‘Besides, how do you think I feel? I shall have to walk back through here alone.’”

In the silence which settles after the conclusion of this ‘joke’, Natori eventually mumbles, “So much for your unconditional love.”

“Unconditional love is a fallacy, Natori,” Caishen responds smoothly. “And I have never promised it to you.”

To that, Natori has no response; his gaze moves again to the floor, to his concealed feet buried within the folds of this ridiculous outfit.

“No doubt you’ve deluded yourself into believing that slavish devotion you once heaped upon our last king was, in fact, a kind of unconditional love, but we both know now that simply isn’t true… don’t we?” Caishen goes on with too much relish for Natori’s liking.

It feels now as if it’s been quite some time since he had been removed from his position of tacit authority, that senseless stretch of time when he had spent his days numb and detached, oblivious to the chaos he’d eventually awoken to. Between Caishen’s needling words and his continuing touch, the way he squeezes Natori’s paw as if he is offering support through an interminable, onerous trial, Natori is beset suddenly by the powerful urge to succumb to that unfeeling languor again and this time never resurface. 

"...he wasn't the only one I was devoted to," Natori murmurs, subdued, regretting the words the very second they leave his tongue. He turns his head away.

At this, Caishen stops, looks him over with a searching, almost pitying, curiosity.

“Is that so..? Why, pray tell, what other no-doubt undeserving soul found themselves the recipient of your boundless obedience?”

“Do what you do best and jump to your own witless conclusions,” Natori says lowly, already curling in on himself in an effort to emotionally exit the conversation.

Caishen again grips his arm too tight, this time yanking him closer to him as they come upon the door to an outside balcony. 

“Another secret, I see. Well, I’ll be acquainted with them all someday. In fact, I have quite the secret for you now, Natori, dear.”

The pet name still rankles, even after all this time.

[ i can’t for the life of me remember where this was going to go rip i think i might have had some vague idea of caishen showing natori like vino’s execution or something but it seemed too dark and mean-spirited lmao and then i had nothing to replace it with and i was too burnt out to figure out how to rework it orz ]

[ there’s also some connecting stuff through here about natori being moved to a different room and Stuff Like That, but the main thing is that somehow he comes face to face with yuki, who he recognizes bc this fic was meant to go the ‘lune and yuki’ were childhood friends route :v ]

It’s another familiar face, although this one elicits perhaps a touch more pain than the last— too intimately connected to young Lune for Natori to remain comfortably detached from the loss as he has been for so long. 

As well, Yuki’s appearance tells him that whatever the life she’s been leading in the time since the kingdom’s collapse, it’s been an invariably arduous experience, and he finds himself distantly pained looking upon her. From the subdued pity he sees reflected back at him in her own expression, however, he can only assume he must look rather careworn, as well. (And what an odd thought that is. How long has it been since he had access to a mirror..? Suddenly, he’s aware that he scarcely remembers his own face.)

It’s only the distant crash of something and some clamorous voices which shakes them out of their shared stupor— Natori peers down the hallway to the source of the noise briefly, gesturing for Yuki to enter the room behind him. She wastes no time in doing so, and he hastily closes the door behind her. 

When he turns, he notices first that she is gazing hungrily upon the plate of fish he’d been too heartsick to eat, the one which is still sitting forlornly abandoned on the lavish bed. Gesturing with old, stilted manners to it, Natori stammers, “Please— take as much as you want—”

Yuki doesn’t hesitate.

It’s as Natori anxiously watches her wolf down his untouched breakfast, settling in his usual seat as he does, that he eventually and hesitantly speaks up. “...Is it… quite harsh outside..? I, ah, assume it’s where you’ve come from.”

Yuki nods, though her attention doesn’t waver from the food. She speaks still with the same soft, sweet voice, even when it’s around a mouthful of cold fish, breathless and brisk.

“It’s hard. There’s not much food, and everyone is always hungry. And sometimes… sometimes people do wicked things to get it.”

“Ah. I was afraid of that.”

“..and you..?” Here Natori sees the faintest glimmer of suspicion in her eyes as she looks up from the plate, and he can not find even a bare speck of insult within himself for it. He looks to his folded paws.

“...I’ve been, ah, made into something of a special interest, it seems. Someone has argued against my inclusion into the ranks of the deceased in the hopes of—” He hesitates only briefly. “—the hopes of uncovering whatever absurd secrets about our last king he’s certain I’m holding on to.”

“Are there any..?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Natori replies, in a firm tone which is perhaps the closest he’s come to his old formality in quite some time. “The answer remains the same regardless.”

Yuki doesn’t respond, and the conversation fades.

[ something more was meant to happen through here-- i really wanted to write the two of them reminiscing or cheering each other a Tiny Amount or something but i’ve just run out of steam lies down they make plans to sort of meet again whenever yuki can manage it and discuss secret signs, etc, as natori is happy to provide her with some food, at least, and she can give him info on what’s going on Outside. but she never does return 

instead here we have the beginning of the end ]

He thinks his heart is starting to beat harder every day. Sorrow and worry weigh heavily on him; old grief sits undigested deep within him somewhere, and he’s certain with each day that passes it sinks further, reaches with sharp, inky little tendrils and plants itself deeper. The nebulous comfort of his once fugue calls to him now with more determination than ever.

Caishen still comes to tell him stories, but Natori finds himself unable to focus on them as he once did. He thinks, if nothing else, that if he doesn’t speak or speaks only very little, then he can not betray what he loves, not even when he drifts against his will. 

He thinks often of kinder days, sweeter days— sneaking away at odd intervals to steal naps in the sun, when the eternal noontime of the kingdom felt less like an unending eternity and more like a brimming, warm drink. He will reminisce on birthday celebrations, and impulsive outings to Little Sister Lake, and quiet work in the study, even as each one distantly wounds him. He claws at them in the way a drowning man might desperately cling to some floating, flimsy wreckage.

“I have something for you, dear,” Caishen says today, in an almost lilting tone. Natori can not say how long they’ve shared the room, and he makes no move to flinch away when the other cat kneels before him with what seems to be a bundle of objects clutched closely to himself. 

“I’ve been saving these for some time now,“ the other cat continues, and it’s there Natori notices something inexplicably strange in his voice and manner, the near lilting aside. He is… excited. Had he the energy to be wary, Natori might have braced himself.

It’s another gift, but this one expresses quite a different message than the silky qipao Caishen had originally bestowed upon him. Natori’s indolent gaze moves over the cluster of items the Siamese holds out before him (a gathering of peonies and a poppy-like bloom Natori doesn’t recognize lying upon a crystalline platter, surrounded by a handful of scattered pomegranate arils, an ornately-decorated red veil with a pearly sheen, a wine bottle wrapped too loosely in twine and ribbon), and a sickened dread in the pit of his stomach grows infinitely more pressing with each one that’s identified, until he is shaking. 

Yet it’s only the look he spies upon Caishen’s face, the unmistakable glow of anticipation and unhinged eagerness in his expression, and the burgeoning realization then that there’s any optimism that he might accept this proposition, which proves to be the hardest to swallow.

Natori straightens in his seat without realizing it, reaching first for the platter with a mechanical manner that his companion misses— not only does Caishen’s expression perk noticeably, but he sets the wine to the side and gently tosses the veil over Natori’s head, smoothing it into place with shaky, fumbling paws so that it frames the once advisor’s face. The look in his eyes seems glazed, far away, as he works, and when he speaks, that same dazed excitement permeates his tone as well.

“I knew it would happen this way, dear— I knew I was charming you, slowly but surely. I knew— oh, I knew if I only kept at it, then I could win you over. You would admit your feelings. You would yield to me.”

Natori looks from the plate of seeds and the bouquet in his lap to Caishen, studying his face with a numbness he knows must make him look quite cold, forbidding. 

“I would yield to you.”

Natori’s eyes narrow, and he pulls himself up to sit even straighter yet, but those are the only warnings Caishen gets. With a sudden invigorating sense of insult Natori won’t, can’t, ignore, he raises the platter in his paws, nearly to Caishen’s own eye level, and then simply lets go of it. The shattering crash of it hitting the ground and splintering into pieces strikes Natori as a deafening boom. 

It seems to take Caishen an aggravatingly long time to register just what has happened, what message Natori intends to send, but it’s unmistakable once it does— his hopeful, manic expression crumbles, darkens, and he twitches away as if he’s been struck in the face with an exposed wire. The ugly scowl he’s left with is quite a far cry from his giddy excitement from just seconds earlier.

“You— you’re such a— you’re so infuriatingly, needlessly stubborn, Natori..!” His name hissed like a dirty word, practically mangled with enough contempt to show just what he thinks of the old cat. “I was charming you—! I’ve gotten through to you! I’m certain I have!!”

“Who could be charmed by a snake?” Natori isn’t altogether sure where his sudden sharp tongue is coming from, but he does little to rein it in.

“This is why you’re here,” Caishen continues then in a low snarl, towering over Natori’s seated form after kicking the remains of the platter away; he rests his paws against the arms of Natori’s chair, settling his weight into the menacing position in a manner noticeably reminiscent of the predator they both are, forcing Natori to lean against the back again lest they be nose to nose. “You were always so devoted, so concerned with him that you ignored and belittled every other opportunity to find love for yourself. And look where it’s gotten you. Old, bitter, and all alone. And he didn’t even feel the same, did he? The prince entertains one little fatal dance with a human’s truck, and he fades away and leaves you here because you weren’t enough.”

Natori can scarcely breathe. This is too much, the one transgression he can not bring himself to abide nor forgive.

It isn’t enough to present him with an offering of items so cloaked in covetous symbolism yet twisted beyond their original sentiments, sentiments he had once quite admired, and behind which lies binding obligation. And it isn’t enough for the other to assume he might feel some ridiculous resentment over Claudius valuing him less than his own son. No, Caishen must also dig his intrusive little fingers into past wounds, pull out staples and unravel stitches until he can study the raw gore within, and then chide his victim for screaming. Between this jab and his vicious reminder of Lune's fate, Natori finally feels his fortitude dissolve. Finally, the tears come.

"...Yes, I loved him," he says, and he's surprised by the great tremble in his words, though in hindsight he supposes he shouldn’t be. "I loved him uncontrollably! I spent the greater part of my life by his side, and he will never know just how dearly I cared for him. Neither of them will." He doesn't remember when he'd covered his face, but although it does well to obscure his tears, it isn't so efficient at masking shuddering breaths. He can't recall the last time he was this distraught, the last time he'd lost his composure to such a profound degree; his voice sounds like that of a stranger's in his ears. 

"There is nothing you can offer me that will ever overcome that monstrous wound— no wealth, no privilege, not another, and most certainly not you—" Practically spat out like poison, and he hopes beyond hope that it burns Caishen like the vindictive acid it is. "And the sooner you come to terms with it, the sooner we can end this ludicrous charade—!"

In the silence which settles after his second outburst in the span of a few minutes, as he tries in vain to regain his composure, Natori feels acutely that his value lies shattered across the metaphorical floor like the splinters of the crystal platter beneath their feet. This is it, he can feel it. This is when he finally meets his end.

There is something quite gaunt, wounded, perhaps, in Caishen's face. A bubbling rage behind his usual cool anger; something finally breaking loose. He's still and cold for only a fraught moment. When he crosses the distance between them in seconds, Natori is unsurprised, yet still had made no attempt to evade him. He's never been a fighter, always more content to talk or flee, and he stands little chance of victory against a younger, fitter cat, no matter how few years truly separate them. Caishen easily shoves him to the ground with a hissing snarl, all bared teeth and injured, furious pride, and when he speaks, it's with the unhinged ferocity of an animal denied its true nature for too long.

"Then I would make you..! I would make you! I would bind you to my side with shackles if I had to, and you would come to love me..!"

Natori had been listlessly resigned to his final fate, looking upon Caishen with a tearful but wearied gaze, until he'd uttered that foolishness. Until he’d become quite explicitly aware of their arrangement, the way he is pinned to the ground like a lifeless specimen soon to be dissected. Rage, the likes of which he hasn't felt in recent or distant memory, which overshadows even both his outbursts from just moments earlier, and an overwhelming sense of revulsion flood his senses in an instant. From seemingly far away he watches himself rear his paw back, claws unsheathed, and strike Caishen's face with a viscerally satisfying impact. He digs his claws in until they catch in whatever flesh he can find, until it takes all his withered strength to drag them through.

Caishen yowls in startled pain, jerking backwards and falling clumsily to the side. Natori clambers out from under him, scrambling for the door with the desperate blindness of an injured hare. 

He doesn't make it far.

Caishen catches him by the ankle and sends him crashing to the floor again, and when Natori rolls over in a panicked effort to kick him off, he only scarcely glimpses the glinting of something in the other cat’s paw before pain erupts along his side— twice, then three, four, times— exploding across his ribs and sternum in a fiery wave. It’s enough to sap his breath away, leave him shaken enough that Caishen effortlessly subdues him again; holds him down, blade raised in the air for another plunge. 

He should have known better, Natori despairs to himself distantly through the haze of pain— nobles, even in the idyllic Cat Kingdom, were by and large quite dangerous folk. His lashing out had been based in impulse and unthinking fury, but he should still have known the reprisal would come swiftly and without mercy.

It’s instinct, more than anything, which has his paws weakly scrabbling across the floor at his sides and above his head, and it’s instinct again, after he slices one of his paw pads open on an errant fragment of broken glass, which has him gripping its jagged edges in his bloodied paw.

Caishen notices it too late.

Impulse and instinct are what got him into this mess to begin with, yet they seem fair-enough guardians, as they’re also what get him out— with strength he can’t quite fathom, Natori drives his makeshift blade into the vulnerable flesh and muscle of the other cat’s neck.

The noise Caishen gives this time is… odd, strangled. He cuts himself off as he stumbles back, one paw reaching dazedly for his neck, grazing against the jutting glass there. Eventually, he hits the wall, and collapses there, still tapping hesitantly, gingerly, at the protrusion which will with any luck spell his end. Natori pushes himself away, huddled panting by the door he’d initially run for, weak now that the immediate threat seems to be extinguished.

Caishen looks confused, pitiful, from his crumpled spot against the wall; he stares out at Natori with the doleful incomprehension of a dying animal, and traitorously the grey cat thinks to himself that were their circumstances different, he might indeed feel some measure of absurd sympathy for the other in this moment.

“I only wanted you…” The words are gurgled and hard to understand, halting, and the sentiment sounds patently unfinished, but Caishen ultimately trails off and leaves it that way.

“ …If you come for me, I will kill you,” Natori rasps. It’s an empty threat, and both of them know it. Still, heaving himself up onto unsteady paws, he wrenches open the door and flees without a look back.

He has no destination in mind; the castle hallways he initially staggers through are starkly empty and devoid of life and activity, and in the part of his mind not overrun by pain and overwrought instinct, he realizes something about that is quite troubling, eerie. When he does finally hear voices, panicked and unable to focus, he climbs through a nearby window and leaps (falls?) to the ground. It’s certainly no elegant landing— he lands heavily on all fours, and they give out beneath him, resulting in him pitching forward into an ungainly sprawl. It’s only his continuing, nebulous fear which ultimately spurs him on, hauling himself back up and tottering on his way.

From there, he runs only until he stumbles one too many times, until he is too weak and dizzy even to crawl, and he at last collapses into a dense patch of cattails and wildflowers, where he lies for an insensible stretch of time. Natori has never been a terribly sturdy creature, less so now while steadily dwindling from the combined strain of his long confinement and his wounds.

How long has he been confined to the castle? He still can not say. As he struggles to roll over, panting from the effort he’s so inadvisably expended in his flight from his prison, he wonders if the kingdom has at all changed— if he will turn his face to the sky to find it bleak, ashen. Unnaturally overcast, just to make it quite clear everything is wrong.

Yet when he lies finally on his back, he's greeted with the pale baby blue it's always been, cradled on all sides by gentle, evergreen hills and grasses, the snow globe effect he'd once found to be quite charming, bucolic. Sunlight streams through densely-crowned branches above him, dotting his surroundings and his own blood-stained frame in speckled patches. He cannot decide whether the familiar scenery is comforting, reassuring even, or simply an extra twist of the knife.

Out a little ways beyond him, he hears the telltale crash of gentle waves on the shore of Little Sister Lake, and the wind rustling the long grass which obscures his leaden form. To himself, hazily, he remembers his forlorn assumption from long ago that he would never again see the kingdom unencumbered by shutters, and is abruptly afflicted with an exquisite despair, one which is tempered rather oddly with some edge of heartbroken gratefulness. A cruel kindness to allow him a glimpse of that which he's long cherished only as he lies dying within it… but a kindness nonetheless. 

Somewhere, he wonders if he may ask for one more of those backhanded kindnesses— that his grief and hardship fade into obscurity, never to be uncovered by family nor friend, that they may be allowed to believe he had met his ultimate end quickly, painlessly, and be at peace. No one need grieve wretchedly for him the way he had for little Lune. No one need know how gracelessly protracted it all was.

He'd remained dutiful and devoted to the end. Watching the blurred, wavering sky gradually fade from his sight, Natori supposes he can't have hoped for any more than that.

[shintorikhazumi]

“Diana.”

A/N: To be honest, I had wanted this to be a Diana-centric fic, from Diana’s perspective. I struggled to find a concept, and had a little help from a friend who sent me a random generator. (Thanks, Kate :>) And when I thought I’d just choose from a randomly generated idea, I came across this video on youtube which was actually a compilation of a tiktok series of the story of two neighbors. Of course, I changed bits of it, and obv the end so if you think you know what the source vid is, dw. I won’t hurt y’all like that ;-; And I’ll just link it at the bottom so no plot spoilers for those who don’t know what it is. Eyyyy.

This fic has a few song recs for y’all to listen to if you haven’t heard them already, lol. ;)

I had been looking for something... “emotional” for Diana’s bday fic. And I think... this works. At least for me, it does.  It’s not from Diana’s perspective, but... I think this works. So without further ado, Happy birthday Diana and...

oh, thank you to @tracedinairlwa​ for some help with the music :> that y’all will see later in the fic :’>. Without further ado,

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

 It all started with a sunset and a few familiar notes from a piano.

No, it isn’t Akko’s piano. Her piano has been sitting in a corner of her room, collecting dust- untouched for months. And that is just the thing. Unless her piano has somehow become cursed and has decided to ghostly play on its own, then there had to be some other source.

The source of that gentle sound, Akko eventually pinpoints, is her apartment wall- or more accurately, what lies beyond that separator.

As she sits on her couch, admiring the expressive tones, her mind has decided that it wants to capture this special moment, and keep it stored lest she never experiences it again.

Making a quick dash for her bedroom, she opens her bedside drawer and fishes for her old camera from her university days in film club, back when she was an actual student of the Arts and all that creative jazz. She has tried to maintain it, but being under lockdown allows her few chances of seeing the outside world, and the few corners of her home don’t exactly spark ‘inspiration’ for any project.

Dusting the device off gently, she takes it back to the living room, placing it on her coffee table facing herself. She clicks the record button, thinking of making an introduction; but she quickly abandons that idea as she realizes it may take away from the sounds she wants to ring more apparent on tape.

Maybe she can just edit a few captions later on her laptop. Yes. That sounds good.

So she sits.

And the notes kept playing.

 //

[Video Diary(?) Diary? Is this a Diary? Day... Day 1. I hope it’s only Day 1. I hope there’s a day 2. And a three... and a five.

So anyway, Akko here. And uh... I got a new neighbor, I think. He/she plays the piano. I do too (kinda. Haven’t done that in a while, hehe).

I don’t know why I recorded this... this must seem like I’m being a creep, but... They just... played Chariot’s Melancholy from my favorite show and... it felt sadder than usual. The sound felt sorrowful. I don’t know...

I’m... moved.]

//-//-//-//-//

She does not know what compels her today, to slip that message under her neighbors door; but before she can even think about her actions, they’d already been done.

A simple, “can you please play ‘Ease My Mind’ by Ben Platt, maybe?” haphazardly scrawled on a piece of notebook paper is delivered with the anxious feelings of an interaction-craving Akko, starved of a social life since all this pandemic misfortune began.

She is sure she no longer knows how to string a proper introduction together after nearly a year of being by her lonesome.

This is about to change however. Starting today.

Maybe.

She counts down the hours ‘til sunset.

//

[Day 2! Yey! So uh... I kind of... went on the attack- no! I didn’t attack anyone! I just... You know how I have a new neighbor that plays the piano? I sent that neighbor a note.

And you might think that’s all fine and cute, but... I’ve never even met my neighbor... but...

I love his/her music. So much.

And I told them. On the note, of course. Duh, Akko.

I asked them to play ease my mind and... they did.

As you can hear in the video... I guess it was a yes. :>

 ...They eased my mind...

-Akko]

 //-//-//-//-//

She wants to try something today.

She has been thinking about it the past few days after continually being blessed with such beautiful music. Music that had attracted her like moth to a flame. The piano’s daily sunset singing compels her to come reunite with her own.

She had wiped it clean earlier in the morning and now sits awkwardly on the bench, punching down a random note here and there.

What a nostalgic tone.

The C major scale then the G. She plays it. A few arpeggios to warm up. F sharp major doesn’t sound too good, with her fingers tangling up as she traverses the scale. What was the fingering supposed to be like again? Right. Start with the fourth and second finger on the left and right hand respectively.

That sounds much better.

She hums a few tunes, choosing from a playlist arranged in her mind. She settles on something gentle and sweet. A Yiruma song. Just to get the feeling back in her hands.

A river flows as notes along the plain that is her silent room, adorning the quiet flourishes and curves, bringing color to her atmosphere.

She misses this. This tingle in her heart as music fills up her entire soul, not allowing her to think of anything else but this exact moment.

Yes.

This... This is nice.

And Akko plays until the sunset comes.

She can’t wait for it to come.

//

[Day 6. I... I haven’t played the piano in a while, and I’m a little rusty. But brave ol’ Akko here thought it’d be great to ask for a duet from the virtuoso across the drywall, haha. I left a note...

And I though we had something going. I was excited... I said that they could play once I stopped my part, but... did they forget? Or I guess they didn’t hear me.  

It’s okay... I can try again tomorrow.

I hope. Tomorrow...

-This has been Akko.]

//-//-//-//-//

She excitedly videos this weekend ‘meet-up’.

Akko still doesn’t know who lives across the wall, but she sure knows his or her favorite songs by now, hearing it daily at the same sunset hours.

She admires the music, as usual, but this time it’s different. This time, they had sent her a note. An apology for missing out last time.

They request a duet with her, to make up for it. Of course, Akko accepts. And now she starts it off, praying and hoping her sound is heard through the barrier that keeps their music apart.

She ends her part of the duet, waiting in the most agonizing few seconds of silence. She briefly worries that her neighbor had forgotten their proposition; or maybe they couldn’t hear her once more.

It’s fine, she thinks... It’s okay. She scratches her cheek, wondering if she should hold on until next time again-

There it is. That beautiful sound, so personal to the one living across the wall. A sound of emotion that could only belong to whoever it was living there.

Akko had never heard anyone else play the way her neighbor did.

She laughs, she feels herself tear up a little. It hurts so sweet in her chest. It’s a fizzy, bubbling excitement. It’s a stretched-out joy across her cheeks.

A success!

A beautiful one, indeed.

//

[Day 8: Akko here. My wish came true. I... got to play with my neighbor! Yay!

... Maybe I should go meet them now...]

//-//-//-//-//

They do it again.

Akko excitedly bounces in her warmed piano seat, listening to her neighbor go first this time around. She listens intently. Once the wall music stops, she starts. This was their agreement, their deal.

The river’s flow stills a moment, and that’s Akko’s cue to pick up the current’s pace once more.

She plays with shy gusto, caressing the keys in a way that shows how she’s fallen in love again. With the piano? With music? Yes. With- ...

Love, huh. It’s such perfect timing too.

Today is Valentine’s day.

Akko doesn’t know whether or not her neighbor has anyone special in her life like that, but if they share the same situation, all alone in their apartments, locked in by the pandemic, she just wants them to know she receives the message their music is trying to get across to one another.

Her heart feels it. It translates it.

It cherishes it.

//

[Day 13.

Dear Neighbor,

I just... wanted to share the words we’ve exchanged, not through any verbal means, but through the sounds that reverberate against the very foundations of our connected homes. Thank you for this message.

I know that music is... our way of simply saying

“I don’t know who you are ... But I’m here. You’re not Alone.” This is for you too.

-Sincerely, Akko.]

//-//-//-//-//

It is a challenge.

For Akko or for her neighbor, she doesn’t know. What she does know is that tomorrow is going to be the big day! She’s finally going to see the face behind the songs that have embraced her tenderly throughout the lonely struggle she hadn’t realized had weighed down on her so heavily.

The interactions they’ve had, the conversations, they brighten up her everyday, and Akko is somewhat afraid she’s gotten attached; addicted- if you will- to this unique bond she’s formed with another she has never actually met.

Her mind strays from her current piece, body autopiloting a song called, “Mind Conductor” that both of them just so happen to like, apparently. Another fact that makes Akko feel all giddy as they seem to share a taste in other media outside of music.

She feels herself vibrate with nerves and excitement.

It’s tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day.

//

[We’re Finally Meeting.

Tomorrow.]

//-//-//-//-//

Akko tells a story.

She’s met her neighbor, not knowing what to expect. Despite having a lack of said expectations, she could confidently say it was better than anything she could have anticipated.

She rolls up the sleeves of her flannel shirt, readying herself to write the melodious response to the already playing tune in the background of her video.

Though she tries to listen intently, waiting for her turn, she is distracted. She knows she is.

After meeting someone as wonderful as her neighbor.

Blonde hair and blue eyes invade her recall, flashes of a soft smile and calm voice playing over and over in her head.

Her neighbor is the most gorgeous woman she’s ever met. Breath-taking. Akko says this with utmost objectivity as her lungs struggle to function after first meeting the lady.

Hailing from Scotland, the twenty-five-year-old had introduced herself to Akko. They exchanged a few pleasantries, some questions and information.

Akko had asked how she’d never known she had such a talented neighbor, to which the response was an admission from the woman that she had just moved in and was only staying in the adjacent apartment temporarily while awaiting for a relative to come for her after selling their old house back in their hometown.

Her mother... rests. Having had a certain heart disease for a while, her immune system had proven very susceptible to the pandemic reaper that had claimed her life for its tallied count. She never knew her father, it seemed.

Akko’s heart breaks as she remembers these things.

“All I have left is the piano.”

That’s what she’d said to her earlier.

Akko’s fingers glide across the keys, playing her role in this drama for two.

“I play at sunset because my mother came home at that time from work... she was always stressed.

...I wanted to be of help to her. I was happy she loved it. As I grew up, it became a habit.”

Akko fumbles with a few keys, making a slight mistake. She hopes her neighbor can forgive her for being so distracted at the moment, and right after they’d finally met too.

“Thank you, Miss-”

“Akko is fine.”

“Thank you, Akko. You’re playing has, in truth, kept me motivated and less lonely.”

Akko remembers having promised before their parting to their respective units that she would keep playing with her until she moves out.

Akko blushes upon remembering the stunning smile she was offered afterwards.

Her neighbor had been camera shy and so Akko didn’t get the opportunity for a picture. She hopes for the best in the future. She’ll try again if ever the lovely lady was ready.

They have time, anyway.

They do.

//

[Day 20, folks! Akko here, writing another video caption entry, Diary, thing... haha. The song playing right now in the video is gorgeous right? It’s... her favorite song. It’s called, ‘In case you don’t live forever’. She said it keeps her loser to her mother. It keeps her in her heart.

She plays so beautifully...

She’s just as beautiful. She’s amazing.

She’s... a special soul.

I feel goosebumps.

I’m glad. For her. Her music doesn’t sound as sorrowful as when I first heard it. It’s still every bit as emotional, though. I could cry. Really, I could...

...I’m so happy she’s healing.

It’s a process, but... I’ll be here. I’ll be here for her.

I’ll be here for you,

“Diana.”]

//-//-//-//-//

There are times when Akko thinks she’d like to get to know her neighbor more, a little more chatting, a few more minutes talking. 

However, it always seems as though there’s this unspoken rule. This... ‘don’t-get-too-close’, ‘don’t-ask-more-than-you-should’. It’s like a boundary that keeps Akko from learning more, discovering more.

Neither of them purposely meet-up outside their closed doors either, this lockdown and what-not all up in their face.

They see each other around the building sometimes, wave a hand, shake a plastic bag of groceries, but building protocols don’t really allow loitering in the halls, and Akko feels she’d be crossing a line in inviting the girl over, and she doesn’t see herself getting invited instead either.

Despite this longing, she isn’t all too dissatisfied with the current standing of their relationship. Peculiar as it may be, she rather likes this.

A relationship built on a communication based on raw emotion delivered through their music.

If Akko ponders it deeply, it’s quite an intimate relationship, what they have. Thoughts and feelings in their purest form- unspoken, but not hidden.

She might not know too much about Diana. She may not know much of her past, or even her present, or general objective facts about the woman.

But what Akko does feel she knows is Diana’s heart. 

And Akko knows its utterly beautiful.

//-//-//-//-//

Moonlight Sonata has never felt so sad to her; its sounds reflecting something they both felt, Akko believed.

Akko feels her heart clench and ache in her chest, her face a little hot and her palms sweating.

Only a week left before the clock strikes twelve and the magic is broken.

Diana is finally moving out.

It is... their final duet.

How unfortunate.

Akko sighs, thinking about the pain she’ll feel later as she edits this portion of the video. Compared to the happy tones and build ups of all the others, this... is something she doesn’t know if she can do.

Maybe she can ask Amanda for a favor this time around?

She’s actually shown some of her closest friends her video logs, and they all had sent kind messages to Akko’s new friend, who in turn, felt worlds and worlds happier.

Akko feels happy as well.

Diana’s joy is contagious. It shows through her expressive music that gives away the feelings her face doesn’t show.

Speaking of Diana’s face... she still hasn’t agreed on showing her face on camera. Akko supposes it’s still too early. Maybe before she leaves? Oh Akko hopes so. She wants to have something to look at physically to remember Diana by. Not that she’d ever forget.

Still, a little memory help never hurt anyone.

Diana’s turn comes in smoothly through the wall, Akko unable to keep her smile from forming.

She’s going to miss this. The playing; the sometimes awkward, but unconventionally amazing duets; the letters shoved underneath door; and the very rare hallway meet-up where Akko can only smile at Diana as they exchange a literal word or two.

Akko reminisces.

The past... two months now, have been amazing. Incredible. Life-changing. Akko wonders what the future has in store for them both after they part.

Maybe they could meet again. Someday. Somehow. Somewhere.

Akko knows she’ll keep playing still. At the same time, on a weekend, as the sunsets. For Diana. She’s promised she’ll keep making the video logs. She’ll send them over to her so that they can still keep this music alive in some way.

//-//-//-//-//

[Day 62.

Hi, Diana. It’s me, Akko.

I... wrote you a song...? Or well, I started to... I’m not quite done yet, hihi. Got a little too ambitious and all... thought I could add some other instruments besides our- the piano... aha..haha...

When you first told me your story, I started picturing it out. A life dyed with all the colors of the spectrum. From the vivids to the grays, it was such a lovely imagery in my minds eye. A painting I could not get out of my head.

And so this song is... yeah. That.

A story.

A story about this wonderful twenty-five-year-old woman who so happened to move next door to this uninspired artist. She’d lost her mother to a stupid virus, and she’d never known her father. Her house got sold, and she had only one distant relative she knew of left.

She spends her days along in a box of white walls and empty silence. That is, until the sun decides to rest for the day, and it sends its golden rays of energy to the girl and to her piano that she thought to be her sole companion in this tragedy.

She plays her favorite songs, filling the emptiness with her own emotions; making the intangible manifest itself and cause a dumb girl next door to one day slip a scratch of paper underneath her door, asking for a song.

A note with a request... and with a message that she’d heard her feelings- her loneliness; and that she’d never let her be alone anymore.

And that’s how they became friends, huh, Diana?

Two pianos, Two people, and a wall that keeps them apart.

They didn’t know who was playing on the other side. But did it matter?

In this dreary, blackened time of the world,

‘You can be the light of somebody else’ darkness, so keep shining.’.

Dear Diana,

In case my playing isn’t as emotionally expressive as yours, I hope you at least know this now. Through this video.

That you were, and are... my light.

-Akko.

P.S. I hope I finish the song and give it to you before you leave.]

//-//-//-//-//

 She feels herself hyperventilating, her vision bleary. She can barely stand. She feels like vomiting, and dying, and screaming all at once.

Her anxieties run rampant all over the room.

If this keeps up, she may as well hurt herself beyond help.

She trudges over to the one thing that could ground her at the moment.

The piano.

Her hands are shaky as they do multiple attempts to turn on the keyboard, hitting the wrong buttons and turning the volume knob up too loud that when Akko accidentally leans against the keyboard, hand pressing down on many keys, the sound almost blows up her eardrums.

She curses, smashing a hand against those same keys, the cluster of notes echoing through her apartment walls.

“aaaaAAAAGGHHHHHHHH!!!!”

She allows the scream to tear out of her throat; emotions, wild horses finally released into the open.

“AGH! AGGHHHH!!! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH”

She falls face first onto the keys, now ignoring the loudness of their noise, momentarily thinking it would be better to allow her ears to bleed out so she’d never hear a thing again.

She wants something, anything, to drown out the pain she feels right now.

...

She sobs against the keys, head lifting as she apologizes to her piano, wiping off the tears that are quickly replaced by fresh ones.

Akko gives up and plays a note. Then two.

Then she’s playing ‘you’ll be in my heart’ and she’s crying more.

She lets herself cry as she plays.

Today, she was supposed to see Diana off. She had left a final note the day before yesterday, asking if she could do so. Help Diana carry her things, maybe swap numbers, and just... maybe keep this connection going for years to come.

Last night, she’d said good night at Diana’s door.

The girl gave her the sweetest smile, an almost unnoticeable blush on her features.

Oh, but Akko noticed anyway.

Of course, she would. With how shamelessly she stared at Diana at that moment.

Diana laughed, stepping closer and patted Akko on the cheek- kissed her there- before turning about to shut the door, along with the lights Akko saw go off from underneath it.

She was excited for the morning.

But when morning came... Diana was gone.

Akko had been thrown into confusion and a frantic state that she’d bolted all around, searching for signs or a left behind message.

Nothing.

She had then run down to ask the land lady, and that’s where she’d found out.

The heart disease Diana’s mother had was hereditary.

Diana had had an attack, and with an emergency alerting device, she’d been able to contact her only family, and had been taken to the hospital.

That was good.

That gave Akko relief and joy.

...so why is she despairing now?

...She didn’t know.

No, not the reason for her despair. She knows that.

The reason she was in this state is because she didn’t know.

She didn’t know what had happened.

She didn’t know Diana had suddenly disappeared in the middle of the night.

She didn’t know where she was, or where whoever took her.

She didn’t know that Diana had that heart disease too.

She didn’t know because she never got to ask.

She never got to learn more, know more.

... Did she not know Diana then?

Her mind taunts her, her heart hurts her.

She doesn’t know a lot about Diana. Not as much as she thinks.

That’s what they tell her.

For all the emotions they’d exchanged through music, that was the extent of it. Had Akko been too presumptuous in thinking she’d known Diana so deeply because of what they’d shared?

When in reality she may as well be a random stranger playing her show tunes and disturbing her neighbors.

Akko almost believes it.

But no... no. She can’t do that. She can’t assume those things. Not about their connection. Not about Diana.

Because Diana had told her once upon a song that she- that Akko had been her light. Her comfort. Akko believes in Diana. So she believes these feelings as well.

Yet these feelings of her own were so conflicting, so daunting. They battle in her mind, questioning and justifying every little thing. All things relating to Diana. Diana and... Diana.

Akko coughs out a few more sobs, throat incredibly dry.

She stops playing for a moment, dragging herself to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Then she goes back to the piano.

She... doesn’t feel like playing again.

What should she play anyway?

What song does she want to play? What song... Song... Song... Diana... What was Diana’s favorite song?

Diana? Song? A song for Diana? A song about-

Akko falls off her piano bench as she scrambles for her coffee table, sighing in relief as the papers for her composition are still there.

With shaky hands, she takes the sheets and a pencil and brings them over to the piano.

And she writes a few notes, then a few bars.

Diana.

Diana.

Who is Diana.

What does Akko not know about her. Her other struggles? Her sickness? Her trials and her fears? Her past?

That melody... sounded too sad for a parting gift. Akko doesn’t want Diana to feel more sorrow when she moves out...

Then....

What does Akko know? About Diana?

“Diana is...”

Expressive, emotional.

Diana is intelligent, an intellectual.

Diana is sincere and sweet.

Diana is talented and tasteful in music.

Diana is... her neighbor, her... new friend,

....Akko’s... what?

What was she to Akko?

“You are my light.”

-Akko ends up writing as a title.

But that’s a little too embarrassing to give to someone who was just your neighbor and a new friend... right?

And maybe it didn’t exactly represent the whole thing Akko had written.

So she erases it, biting her pencil as she tries to come up with a new name, a new caption for this creation.

What could it be. That describes Diana in her entirety; her life, her struggles, her joys.

Who is she? Who is Akko’s neighbor?

Akko scratches her head in frustration, wracking her brains even more.

With a sigh, she replies to herself aloud, the simplest, somewhat plain, and stupidly obvious answer.

“Well, she’s Diana.”

And it clicks.

That she is.

She is Diana.

And Akko throws on a jacket, a mask, and some shoes and thinks no more.

//-//-//-//-//

[Dear Diana,

I know very little about you

But you’ve changed my life.

Really you have.

You gave me back my passion, and a little bit more of that even. Maybe aroused a new passion within me.

I’d say, “You’ll be in my heart”, but that sounds too much of a farewell, to be honest.

And I’d rather not say goodbye just yet.

Not like this.

Music... Is a powerful thing. Despite the rampaging emotions I’d felt as I found out what had happened to you today, I- I kept playing. It grounded me. It helped me.

Diana, you once told me I was your light.

And you know I’ve told you already. That you’ve been MINE.

Diana. This video might look incredibly shaky and chaotic.

But please forgive me for that, and know that it is because I’m running with all my might to find out where you are. I got a hint for the hospital you might have been taken too.

It kinda seems like I’m a stalker now, huh?

I’m sorry. I just... I-

I can’t say goodbye to you....

Not just yet...

I still... have a song for you.

So... wait for me?”]

//-//-//-//-//

Eyes blink, bright white melting into color. They scan the room, looking for hints to identify her location.

Her body aches, her chest hurts. Her throat is parched. Her head is throbbing.

What is that annoying beeping sound-

Ah. Of course.

The hospital.

Again.

She hates it. She hates the smell of antiseptic and sterile sheets. She hates the taste of badly prepared hospital meals, and too-dry food.

The water has this strange quality to it when you’re in the hospital.

She knows this well.

She hates that she does.

She sighs, sinking into her pillows. At least those are comfortable.

Ugh.

What bad timing, really. For an attack.

She was supposed to move out today. She was supposed to meet with her aunt- who actually has probably met up with her by now, seeing as Diana is in a hospital and her usual alert device seems to be charging within reach beside her. Also she sees Daryl’s purse on the seat.

Maybe the woman had gone out temporarily for something important.

That was fine.

It just meant Diana was left alone again. If only for a short while.

...Alone, huh.

These past two months, she hadn’t been that.

All because of one girl, one Atsuko Kagari that she’d met by chance through a piano and through a wall. The sound quite literally carrying over through a wall.

Diana can’t believe she used to be so skeptical of thin-walled living spaces, wondering how people kept their privacy.

Now, however, she feels blessed that that was the case.

Else she’d never have met... her light.

That’s right.

When everything, her vision, her hopes, her heart had steadily been dying out, through her dim came a glow. That glow was the connection she’d found through her neighbor across a wall.

It had surprised her the first time she realized someone was playing alongside her one sunset session, months ago. She would have thought it creepy had the person’s music been any less captivating.

There were just so many colors in the music, there was just so much warmth. It sounded a little rough, a few hinges rusty at first; but it came along after a few pseudo duets, and then Diana had found these duets to be a staple in her life.

Then she met Akko for the first time, and more warmth and color came into her life.

Diana found herself enjoying the musical conversations they had, intrigued by thoughts that they were actually able to communicate in that way and understand one another to that extent, no words attached.

And she enjoyed these nonverbal bonding moments.

But when they actually wrote to one another, or when they’d have their short greetings when they’d meet up in the hall, Diana found herself wanting to draw even closer, to get to know Akko even more.

And when Akko asked if she could do the same, Diana had found it so easy to open up.

She’d loved to know even more about the girl.

But how would she do it now?

They didn’t have the chance to exchange numbers, and Diana was probably moving as soon as she left the hospital. Her things were already being shipped to her new home, after all. There wasn’t much reason to return to her apartment, really.

“Idiot. Stupid, Diana. Not asking her sooner. What are you supposed to do no-”

Two knocks on her door.

It doesn’t open right away. It doesn’t seem to open at all.

Diana deduces it’s not a doctor or nurse then. And it might not be Daryl either because the woman would have already called the attending nurse to open the door already.

So then, who could it be?

Diana tries not to let her mind wander and get her hopes up, because there is no way- just no way- it’s who she hopes it will be.

The door opens, and her breath is unexpectedly bated- and she releases it, seeing it’s just the janitor.

Trying not to let disappointment leak into her tone, she greets him a good mor-

“I’m glad... I was right.... hah... hah... You’re here... Diana.”

And Diana really shouldn’t just assume things such as being wrong, and that maybe her neighbor was a creep two months back.

Because now her neighbor, all frazzled, sweaty, and out of breath, is right there in front of her, a bunch of papers crumpled in one hand as the other is held over her heart, trying to calm herself.

“You... hah... didn’t let m-me... Sa-ha-y goodbye... so... you’re not allowed... to leave me waiting in silence and never respond...” Akko huffs. “There’s no more wall preventing you from using words now.”

Her breathing finally slows, and she manages to look up.

“I still have a song for you, after all.”

Diana doesn’t realize, nor does she feel the tears flowing down her face.

Akko doesn’t either.

“L-Let me know what you think... It’s my first song and all...” She becomes this shy blushing school girl as she approaches Diana’s bedside, awkwardly handing over the worn pieces of paper, all wrinkled up from whatever adventure Akko had been on prior to arriving here. “... then maybe we could play a duet again or something...”

She mumbles it so quietly Diana almost didn’t catch it.

She smiles.

She doesn’t think about the reality that was supposed to occur today had she not been taken to the hospital.

Virtual duets aren’t really her thing. She much prefers hearing sound in person, in real-time. She prefers the ability to adapt and adjust to play alongside someone; to feel expression and emotion first hand; to experience a duet in full.

So it’s a simple reply that she has ready, along with a smile on her face as she takes Akko’s hand in hers.

“I’d love that.”

 //-//-//-//-//

 Diana has told her many times that it’s thanks to her that she was able to recover as quickly as she did, and be out of the hospital in only a week.

Akko sheepishly denies that every time.

They’re both just glad things seem to settle to be alright now.

Diana leans her head against Akko’s shoulder as they share a pair of earphones, listening to the composition play on the latter’s laptop.

“I love it.”

“I know. You’ve told me that the past 4 months, everyday.”

“And I will continue to.”

Akko tries her best to hide the smile that had grown on her face, but it’s impossible. It comes out in laughs and a few soft tears, and she rubs her head against Diana’s.

“You have all the time to, it seems.”

“Yes, and I won’t waste it.” Diana quips, turning her head up to look at Akko with the tenderest of smiles. “Care to play?”

Akko simply smiles, before wrapping Diana up in a hug so deep, and warm, and tender. Without a word, she stands them both up, walking them over to two keyboards now positioned side-by-side.

They take seat. With eyes meeting, and a small nod, they begin.

They don’t need words to figure out the rhythm they’ll fall into, or what they should do, or who plays what part for today.

Akko’s colors seep out, her warmth embedded in her music. Diana’s expressive emotions tell Akko all she needs to know, and they play in harmony.

Together, they tell a story.

A story that began with a sunset and a few familiar notes from a piano.

A story about its music and what lay beyond a wall.

A story once called, “Diana”.

Now,

“Diana and Akko”.

  A/N: ....  Hrmmm... I didn’t like how i ended it, tbh,,, hahaha. I just... lost my thought process now. I’m tired and lost.

Anyway.

Based off this story

The follow-up to this won’t be now, or anytime too soon. Or tbh, I could just end it like this. But there’s this ache in my heart that wants to know what happens next as well. Or more things such as how Diana ended up staying. But well,

...who knows.

Bye for now.

~Shintori Khazumi

[alittlebitofinsanitea]

Let's Be Matching!

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Summary: Hinata is forgetful, but its cute (prom fic)

Warnings: none!

This one is kinda short but I love Hinata with all of my heart and I had to write this as soon as I got the idea! requests are open fyi so feel free to drop an ask!

✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰

Normally, you would be indifferent. It's not that big of a deal. It is literally just a school dance. You've been to them before, hanging out and dancing with your friends, but this is the first time you really want someone to ask you out, namely your best friend, Hinata. The two of you have been close for so long that you are surprised he can't pick up on the hints you drop. Or maybe he did notice and is ignoring them so your friendship wouldn't be awkward. You shake your head as if to physically force the idea out of your brain. You leave all thoughts of the dance behind you as you walk home.

Any other day, you would be walking home with Hinata, or on occasion, taking turns biking to your house. Today, however, Hinata quickly left school, his words jumbled together in just the right way to effectively put an end to any chance you had of deciphering his energetic screams. You kick some rocks down the street, disheartened and blasting some of your sadder music.

Your song pauses, and your pocket starts to buzz. Your footsteps come to a stop leaving you in the middle of the road. You look at your phone and see Hinata's icon lighting up your screen. You almost hesitate to answer. Instead, you put aside your negative feelings and answer the call with as much joy as possible.

"Hey, Hinata! What's up?"

"Y/N HEY WHAT COLOR IS YOUR OUTFIT GOING TO BE AGAIN?"

"Huh?"

"Your outfit for the dance! You told me about it yesterday, but I forgot the color, and I want to make sure we match!"

"Hinata, we didn't talk about an outfit yesterday, or the dance..." you respond confused.

"I - uh" he stutters and mumbles.

"Sorry, I couldn't hear what you said for the last part," you tell him,

"I thought...well, I thought I asked you out to the dance, but I guess I just dreamed it," he said sadly, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable! We can pretend I di-"

"Let's go to the dance, I like you Hinata, I would love to go with you!" you exclaim. You bring your hand to your face to hide your ever-growing smile, stunned that he really truly liked you back! You quickly tell him the color you are planning on wearing and end the call with a long string of laughter and breathy goodbyes.

When you hang up, you can't help but run home as fast as you can. When you finally get home and throw yourself dramatically on your bed, you sigh contently and let the happy feelings flow through your body. Ignoring your homework and other responsibilities, you close your eyes and bask in the newly found warmth you found from your sunshine boy.

[yangsrose]

Oh my goodness requests are open! 🥺 Would it be possible to continue the short Xiaojun fic you wrote for the NCT Christmas masterlist? Maybe about the same day/scene, but in his POV this time? If it isn't doable, that's ok also, just sending my appreciation for your nice fics! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆

Word Count: 698 words

Warnings: none

Authors Notes: hi! thank you for requesting! i made the fic to where it would be showing Xiaojun’s thoughts instead of the reader’s for this fic. i hope you like it!

Find the original fic here

Xiaojun felt his back stiffen up after the multitudes of hours spent hunched over his desk. Sheet music that once looked neat and orderly now just looked like a mixture of white and black dots and lines, blurring in front of his tired eyes. Xiaojun sighed and rubbed his eyes, hoping that he would somehow be able to find inspiration for his composition class. He checked the time and wondered if you were still awake, hoping that he could spend some time with you. He thought that you had some psychic powers, because as soon as he thought that, you knocked on his door, giving Xiaojun a mini heart attack. 

“Come in.” he said, turning back to his paper to make it seem as if he was working and not thinking about checking to see if you were awake. 

Truth be told, he had a small crush on you ever since he moved in with you at the beginning of the semester. At first, he thought it was a platonic crush, assuming that he just wanted to be friends with you. After all, he was living with you, and he wanted to have a nice relationship with his roommate. But as time went on, he realised that his feelings were not platonic but instead, he had a crush on you. It was hard hiding his crush, taking into account the fact that he saw you all the time when he was home. Seeing your sleepy face as you made your way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee every morning never failed to make his day, causing him to want to squeeze your cheeks that puffed up due to you just waking up. 

“Hey” he softly said, seeing your frustrated form go over to his bed and plop down on it. 

“Why are you still awake?” you asked, looking at Xiaojun expectantly. He looked away from your eyes, feeling his face heat up at the fact that you were staring so intently at him.

“I have to write a song for my composition class and I had an idea but it just left me.” he said, sighing softly.

“Why are you still awake?”he asked, standing up from his chair and making his way to sit next to you. He watched as you sighed and bit your lower lip, a little habit that you had before crying. Xiaojun sat next to you and gave you a tender look, wanting to do no more than just hold you in his embrace and make sure that you were feeling nothing but love and affection. But all he did was take your hand and stroke it gently, hoping to lift up your moods through that. Xiaojun saw his guitar in the corner of his room and got an idea, turning his body to face you. 

“How about I play you a song? To alleviate a bit of your stress.” he asked, walking over to where his guitar was placed. He saw you nod your head slightly, looking towards his guitar in anticipation. Xiaojun walked over and took his guitar from its place, making his way to sit next to you. He strummed a few chords and started singing, hoping that you would like his performance. He felt your head plop onto his shoulder, and before he knew it, you were fast asleep on his shoulder. His breath hitched as he looked at you, your peaceful face looking even more angelic than it normally would. He felt his face flush up and he lightly laughed, seeing the way that your hair fell over your face cutely. 

He brushed the hair from your face, wanting to confess his feelings to you. He sighed, knowing that if you were to reject him, it would ruin your friendship with him. Xiaojun sighed and continued strumming his guitar, now playing a sadder song. He looked back at his sheet music scattered all over his desk. Suddenly, Xiaojun had an idea for what to do for his final project in his composition class. Maybe through that, he would finally be able to make his feelings apparent to you, even if it was through a subtle song. 

[tigerdrop]

i am just itching to talk about this fic now that its finally hitting its stride so here are some “fun facts” about its development over the past 6 months. these are i guess spoilers if u havent read the latest chapter yet so theyre going under a readmore

one of the things i had to wrangle was what exactly benrey was going to look like in this fic. everybodys got their own interpretations of what he looks like in their heads now, even if a lot of them fall into a handful of the same archetypes: the homestuck gremlins, the brick shithouses, the ones that stick as close to the hl1 security guard model as possible, etc. and you all know by now how much i like big boy benrey. but the thing is that i really wanted to appeal to as broad an audience as i could with this fic, and that meant sitting down and figuring out what he was most likely to look like if he was suddenly transplanted into hl2

the obvious thing is that barney and benrey should look alike, since benrey’s just using the barney model from hl1 in the first place. and the first version of this fic actually had gordon recognizing barney in their first encounter, because to gordon, he looked like benrey! (i thought it was gone forever but kogo dug up the draft for me!)

and the gimmick was that gordon would somehow connect barneys new and old models as looking similar, even though, like, they really dont. at all. from the beginning i knew i was gonna have barney and benrey look alike, but it was only like a day or two before posting the first chapter that i realized i didnt like this version very much. it stretches belief too much, and asks the reader to interpret benreys hl1 model in a specific way that might not jive with their own Personal Benrey(tm)

so i figured the option that was most in line with my goal of “having this fic be as close to ‘canon’ as possible” would be to have benrey jack barneys hl2 model as his own, just like in hlvrai. but i also wanted him to be recognizable as benrey. hence him swapping outfits to the security guard uniform he wears in hlvrai, but “upscaled” to fit the new setting. this makes his given appearance easier both on the average reader and on me - i dont actually have to draw him much differently if i wanna do more fic illustrations LMAO

some more fun facts for u:

i had plans to do a small illustration for every chapter of this fic. but then Life Happened and i opted not to do that. thats why the promo image i keep posting with these updates is as loose and rough as it is - i didnt want to commit to a Huge Image every chapter. maybe one of these days i will do a nicer one

i really wanted to get away with brick shithouse benrey in this one. for personal reasons. but the most i allowed myself was there being a noticeable difference in barney and benreys builds due to, yknow, the whole “combine occupation” thing making a steady meal hard to come by. (seriously, barney is so fucking skinny in hl2. you could break his bones in a stiff breeze. i want to give him a sandwich.)

the first draft had barney being a lot more of an asshole to gordon, and gordon in turn being a lot more of a bitch. but the bits that wayne actually did play of hl2 in vr have him hanging off of barney like a lovestruck puppy, and i thought that was insanely cute. so. he gets to be friend barney now :^)

benreys dialogue is by far the hardest to write, and is one of the reasons this chapter took over 3 fucking weeks to finish. just to get things done i like to put in “[something stupid]” or “[something funny]” and come back to it later. (whether the end results are successful is in the eye of the beholder.) figuring out how to write him closer to canon than fanon is one of the sadder things that i am proud of accomplishing in the past year-ish

the “rough draft” for this fic was 24 hrs straight of me and kogo yelling ideas to each other. this is not an exaggeration. and somehow, during this 24 hr time span, neither of us realized we had a big, glaring, gay gay gay homosexual gay crush on the other. we may be stupid

[oureuphoria]

Worst of You - JJK Final

You meet him under horrible circumstances but everything feels perfect when you’re with him. Too bad you have a bitch of a best friend, anxiety and an inability to learn from your mistakes which cripples your chances to be with the man of your literal dreams. He, however, is a police officer with years worth of built-up turmoil and an inability to make attachments. Or “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.” “Cool, I’ll let everyone know you’re moving in then.”

Genre: fluff, angst, comedy

Pairing: officer!jungkook X  collegestudent!reader

Word count: 2,834

Warnings: None but let me know if you find me. 

Note: I’m so sorry for the really late update BUT I had to finish my paper first! Wow, let me just say I am very, very, thankful to have such amazing, wonderful people who read this fic and I love each and every single one of you so so so much. Thank you for reading and thank you for allowing me to share this with you. This is just the beginning and I have many ideas that are yet to hit paper so this will not be goodbye. Once again, thank you to everyone for reading and I love you all!  

| 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 |

Jungkook promised himself he wouldn’t get sad over you. He tried so hard to stop himself from getting attached and yet here he was, 2 weeks later, unable to focus on a single thing at work. Jungkook spent his entire Saturday moping around his apartment, he recalled how he used to spend Saturday nights, clubbing and one-night-stands, but now none of that appealed to him. You had ruined Jungkook, now he couldn’t even look at a girl the way he used to because he always thought of you instead. On Sunday he was invited out with his brother’s family, his niece and nephew were constantly asking about you and Jungkook couldn’t help but grow sadder each time. He didn’t know why he missed you, or how he even could miss you when he swore to himself he wasn’t attached. It was a Monday and Jungkook was at work again, staring at the same paper for 20 minutes with an empty head. Mel approached him with a coffee. “What’s wrong?” Jungkook gratefully took the cup from her hand as she sat on the chair in front of his desk, where you used to sit. Jungkook scolded himself mentally for thinking of you but no matter how many times he did it, his mind would come back to you.

Mel felt bad for what she did, it was eating her alive and yet she knew if she told him he’d never forgiven her, especially since he lost Y/N.  She was jealous, unaware of the fact that her love for him wasn’t as platonic as she thought it was. It never bothered her before because he was alone but when he wasn’t, all her emotions came cascading upon her as she let her jealousy overrule her rationality. Jealousy was a horrible emotion that caused people to do reckless things, Jungkook knew it, Mel knew it and back at your dorm, you knew it too.

“I’m so stupid! I screwed it all up just because I’m an insecure, jealous little bitch!” You were angrily throwing pillows around as you ranted to Jimin who just came into your room to borrow your laptop charger. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure if you apologize he will understand.” You fell back onto your bed, sighing. “I tried. I called, I messaged, I even went to the station but the receptionist said he didn’t want to see me.” He softly stroked your head as you pouted at the ceiling, he was grateful you stopped crying but your anger was more annoying than your tears. “Make a grand gesture or something, like they do in the movies. You know, with the whole rocks on windows thing and the poetic love letters.” You grabbed one of the pillows you haphazardly threw and aimed it at him. “Except, I’m not 15, this isn’t a movie and he lives in a penthouse; I can’t throw rocks that far up, Jimin!” He threw the pillow back at you and soon enough it became a pillow war.

“Wait!” Jimin’s hand stopped midway through the air. “I have an idea!” Jimin looked at you weirdly but put the pillow down to listen. “What if I reverse ‘10 Things I Hate About You’ and write a letter about all the reasons he should forgive me?” Jimin looked at you blankly, not catching on. “Writing on paper is literally the only thing I’m good at, Jimin!” He smiled before rushing you to get ready while he left the room. Once Jimin was outside, he silently prayed that the letter would work, post-break-up Y/N was the worst Y/N.

“I know he doesn’t want to see me but could you just give this to him-” “Y/N!” Mel’s voice startled you, causing you to drop the letter. You quickly picked it up though in the process you gave yourself a paper cut. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been 4 pages long. “Y/N, I have to apologize about something.” Mel had explained that she had lied to you, and even went further to explain everything you were suspicious about with Jungkook, even covering his fears about his mother. You spoke for about 20 minutes before she told you he was upstairs, at his desk, on his lunch break. Although what she had told you was a lot to take in, you found that the only thing you could think about then was apologizing to Jungkook. You took the letter and zoomed upstairs with Mel’s permission.

The second Jungkook saw you he felt his eyes poke out of his head. He wasn’t expecting to see you, especially not with a huge smile on your face.

“Before you yell at me and tell me to leave, let me explain. Throughout my entire life, the only safe place I had was my mind and I’ve grown to live in it sometimes and despite my unhealthy attachment to it, it hates me. I overthink a lot and whenever I do my mind runs off to the worst possible scenario and my mind turns into pure chaos. It’s not an excuse because it doesn’t justify me accusing you of something you didn’t do and I’m sorry that I didn’t come to you first but you have to know it wasn’t because I didn’t want to be with you. I understand if you don’t want to forgive me but you must accept this apology letter as a sign of my extreme remorse. It contains all the reasons why I believe you should forgive me because I am very, very bad at talking-” before you could finish your rambling, Jungkook interrupted you.

“Y/N, I’m busy, I don’t have time to read your letter right now.” Your smile fell, but you were persistent. “It’s okay I can read it out to you!” He shook his head, picking up the remains of his lunch and throwing it into his bin. You began reading it but he stopped you again “You should go.” You frowned, getting upset because this wasn’t going to plan and you didn’t have a plan B. “But I still have 4 pages left…” You looked like you were going to cry and Jungkook wasn’t sure he could handle it before anything else happened though, Mel interrupted.

“I lied to Y/N.” You looked up at her, shocked and confused because you could almost swear she wasn’t standing there before. “I lied to her about where you were that Friday, that’s why she thought you were cheating.” Jungkook’s face looked mad but his eyes looked hurt. He was betrayed by the one person he thought he could trust, and at that moment, he couldn’t bear to look at either of you. He ignored her confession, stood up and went on his way. “Wales. Hurry up, we have shit to do.” The man quickly picked up racing after he and Mel winced at the sight. “Poor Wales, he’s going to have to deal with the short end of the stick.” Your eyes went to her face, she wasn’t worried at all. “Aren’t you worried he won’t forgive you?” She smiled down at you before saying something that left you perplexed. “I hope he doesn’t.” She walked off right after leaving you with nothing but your racing mind. You grabbed a post-it-note off his table and wrote in all caps ‘PLEASE READ!!’ With a smiley face that followed, you stuck it onto the letter and left it on his desk.

Jungkook said he wasn’t going to read it, he swore to himself he wouldn’t but how could he not when the note you left alone had him missing you like crazy. Fuck it. He thought, picking up the letter angrily. Each and every word made him miss you more and it wasn’t until he read the very last reason you’d written that he realized he needed to see you. He got up quickly, it was already after hours and now that he was corporal he could basically dismiss himself. He said his farewells to the chief and drove to you as fast as (legally) possible. He didn’t go into your dorm building, he parked in front of it and leaned on his car staring at the establishment with an overactive mind. What if you didn’t want to see him? Then what? Jungkook messaged you to go outside and you read it instantly, after a couple of minutes he was worried you weren’t going to come.

Eventually, your small frame squeezed through the tiny opening of the door you managed to open, he remembered you always complaining about how the door was too heavy. “Did you read it?” He smiled at how cute you were, your optimistic eyes clearly hoped for a happy ending. He nodded and the smile you had been fighting back was beaming on your face. “Y/N, I hated it.” Your smile dropped, your face significantly sadder. “Why? Was there a typo? I was rushing so-” “You got the last reason wrong.” You furrowed your eyebrows, you remember faintly that the last reason had simply been you confessing your love to him, you didn’t understand what was wrong.

Jungkook was fishing through the pockets of his coat. “You wrote ‘Reason number 10: I love you. I know you’ve heard me say it before and I know you’re not quite there but I feel like it is a pivotal reason because I think you’re unaware of just how much I love you. P.S. it’s a lot.’ You nodded in reply, you had indeed written that but you weren’t sure what was wrong with it. “Y/N, you wrote that I didn’t love you but you are so terribly wrong.” You felt as if your heart had stopped beating and you were impatiently waiting for him to spit it out. “I love you, Y/N. I don’t know why but from that very first interrogation, I knew I had to get to know you. I’m not sure how I fell in love with you. Maybe it was your weird obsession with those cheese balls from the café that you stared at more than you ate, or your clumsiness that had you adorably tripping all the time, or how excited you got over a good report grade, or your kind, sweet, heart that forgives more than it should. You forgave me every time I screwed up and yet you didn’t expect anything from me. It’s been rough and we’ve both screwed up a lot, although I will admit it was mostly me, I realized that I would much rather exhaust myself fighting for you than rest with someone else.”

“That’s not fair!” Your voice broke in the middle of the sentence because you had started crying. Jungkook was quick to pull you into a hug. “No, baby, don’t cry. What’s not fair?” You spoke into his chest and although it was muffled it was still coherent. “How are you so good at talking?” He let out a chuckle but stopped laughing when you forced yourself out of his arms and started rubbing your cheek. “What’s wrong?” “Your vest hurt my face.” He apologized through laughter which you found mocking and he roughly pinched the cheek you were trying to soothe and you angrily slapped his hand away. “I missed you, princess.” “Well, I miss not having sore cheeks, you bully!” You were genuinely mad because the man you loved just told you he loved you back and all you could think about was how much your cheek hurt.

“But you promised!” You whined while pulling his unresponsive body back and forth.  “Y/N, no.” He pulled you off of him out of annoyance but you couldn’t back down, not with so much at stake. “You promised that if I didn’t rant to you about the shows I was watching for a whole month then you would watch The Office with me!” Jungkook slowly put his laptop down on the coffee table and turned to you, holding both of your hands in his. “Baby, this may come as a shock to you but, I lied.” You sighed in frustration before angrily storming off to your room. Jungkook picked up his laptop to continuing working. Soon after he began to grow afraid of the fact that you may actually be mad at him so he put his laptop back onto the coffee table and slowly made his way to his room, he opened the door ever so slowly and peaked in to see you wrapped up in a blanket, frowning as you watched The Office on your TV.

Jungkook smiled and opened the door completely, violently unwrapping you from your self induced blanket burrito causing you to roll out off of the bed. “Oh shit, sorry.” You didn’t say a word, still evidently mad at him. “The silent treatment, over this?” Jungkook gestured at the screen looking unimpressed. “Excuse me, The Office is one of the most iconic sit-coms to ever be televised in the existence of sit-coms, you’re just uncultured.” Jungkook was having a dilemma, was he supposed to be glad you were speaking to him again or be mad over the fact that you had called him uncultured. “I just don’t understand the hype around sit-coms it’s basically the same situation over and over with different variables-” You slapped your hand onto his mouth to shut him up. “You already ruined Brooklyn 99 for me, keep this to yourself.”

After an entire year of being together, your dynamic was still yet to change. You both still acted like 12-year-old frenemies and madly in love adults simultaneously and you wouldn’t trade it for the world but in moments like such, the urge to strangle him was unbearable. “See this is why we can’t have nice things, Kook.” You folded your arms as you laid back onto the bed but Jungkook was committed to ensuring you didn’t go to bed angry. After several minutes of tense silence, the clock hit midnight and Jungkook whispered into your ear, “happy birthday, Y/N.” You tried to fight back a smile but you couldn’t no matter how hard you tried. You turned to him, smiling bitterly before whispering back, “Happy Anniversary, Jungkook.”

[another-miracle]

Under 1000 Words

Fic by @claudeng80​ [Rating: No Rating]

For how short it is, you’d be surprised how much pain it invokes, gosh. The sadder single Dad!Obi AU, but with so much love for Shirayuki still!

A Fic That Got You Invested in Fandom

An Economy of Suffering by @sabraeal​, @bubblesthemonsterartist​, and me! [Rating: T]

I remember never intending to contribute / participate in this fandom at the early stages, but I stumbled upon the then-series (now first 2 chapters of this fic) for this idea, and I was like, omg I’m so gonna write an angsty Obi continuation of this. It was only after I’d posted it that I realized I just kick-slammed the door into the playground of the biggest writers in the fandom??? HAHA Jen and Joanna graciously let me play though, and in the end, it is the fic it is today. 

Made You Laugh Out Loud

Dessert & Reward by @sabraeal​ [Rating: T]

I L I VE for Obi being totally out of his element and being pushed around by his butler and his housekeeping staff. It’s absolutely adorable. And I giggle-snorted at how completely intimidated by Kiki he is, and how Yori finally could gain the upper-hand with Kiki around. Love it! (also there’s lots of pining and omg it’s the best

Action-packed Fight Scene

Love and Other Monstrosities by @vivianvivi1​ [Rating: T]

Referring to Chapter 2 of this fic, and not exactly a fight scene, but definitely action-packed as the gang fight for the survival of Obi’s sanity. I remember bookmarking this fic early on when it was still a one-shot (to my delight, the author added a first chapter!). The angst hurts so good and my heart just pulls for Obi and Shirayuki in this fic.

Canon Divergent

I am become death by @bubblesthemonsterartist​ [Rating: M]

Oooohhhh boy. Absolute poetry. I completely fell in love with this fic when it came out. I remember it being such a foreign way of narrating that was so very intriguing - that made me both uncomfortable yet glued to the words. I remember also being delighted that a second chapter was added! Amazing amazing work.

Steamiest Kiss

Rarely Pure and Never Simple by @sabraeal​ [Rating: E]

This is probably the 1000th time this fic is gonna get recc-ed under this category *side-eyes Jen* but the category speaks for itself!! Other than that, the continuation is absolutely adorable as Shirayuki continues to explore her sexuality as well as her future alongside Obi, who is strung along like a lovesick puppy (despite having admittedly more experience than she does). Beautiful.

Wept Real Tears

Ever After by @bubblesthemonsterartist​ [Rating: E]

What’s more heartbreaking than everything you’ve been working for in canon to fall apart post-canon? Especially at the cost of your beloved friendships. Astounding AU-building of what happens when you trap a brilliant mind in a role not meant for her. Also, I will never not cry at the idea of Obi falling out of the habit of ‘returning home’ then realizing he has home to return to with Shirayuki.

Favourite Fan-made OC

Bob & Gayle from Wide Florida Bay by @sabraeal​ [Rating: E]

 Look. I know nothing about American culture - let alone idk Southern(?) American culture. But seeing Obi being parented by these two is crazy and something I never knew I needed. They’re absolutely adorable (and *spoilers!* I love that it’s while meeting them that Shirayuki realizes she loves Obi) Adorable!

First AnS fic you read

If You Want Him, You’re Going to Have to Fight Me by @bubblesthemonsterartist​ [Rating: G]

I can’t be 100% sure this was my first AnS fic (it could have been something of Jen’s as well), but this was definitely one that left the biggest impression on me early on. I’m such a sucker for Hurt/Comfort fics and there’s just something about a person finding comfort and safety in the arms of another, and being able to fall asleep from that. Absolutely lovely. 

Favourite Minor Character

Haki from Seven Suitors for Shirayuki by @sabraeal​

Man, I never thought that I would love a character who is barely shown in the manga (maybe like, 5 panels at most?) Loved her snark and the unexpected camaraderie she found with Obi. I loved how Jen has written her to not only support the main pairing, but to really be a source of comfort and a force of sorts to help them see not just the good in each other, but in themselves. Solid character creation. So good.

WIP

Saint Elmo’s Fire by @infinitelystrangemachinex​

Wow, this fic just broke my heart. Though sad that it’s a WIP, but it also has a bittersweet sense of completion to it. Obi’s POV is truly heartbreaking and to see him try so hard to help his Miss survive, when in the end, she was doing the same for him at her own expense - ugh *chef’s kiss* Absolutely absolutely breathtaking.

Canon Compliant

Fugue in Three by @infinitelystrangemachinex​

This fic must have been (as it should) recommended a hundred times over at this point because it’s SO. DAMN. GOOD. Gosh. The feels you get from this fic. I remember describing it to the author once as “tearing skin from bone” - it just gets beneath your skin and into your flesh, and you definitely feel like a different person after reading it. One of the pillars of the AnS fic archive imo. A must-read.

Oneshot

Fussing with Firedrakes by @leewritingrecs​

This is buried in one of her one-shot series, and it is indeed a treasure to be found! (do read her other fics too, they are gold) A very cute AU, with an interesting twist. Kiki and Obi as dragons!!! What could be better! Very cute.

AU you took a chance on (and loved)

Shift by @xaphrin​

A modern AU - much like Jen’s WFB - I never liked modern AUs until I joined the AnS fandom. It never seemed like people could do it right in other fandoms, but gosh darn it this fandom has an absolute talent for it. Shift in particular is really cute and lovely, with angst sprinkled here and there. It isn’t complete from what I remember, but still lovely to read through. (hi xaph!)

Favourite trope

A Dress for Shirayuki by @traditional-with-a-twist

So a super super guilty pleasure of mine is reading when dudes are completely awe-struck by their love interests in beautiful dresses / an outfit they don’t usually wear (or their own clothes idk; i just like it when they’re awe-struck). Gosh this fic. I remember reading it and just sitting there staring into space thinking about what I’ve done to deserve to read this. I love it, and it comes with a underlying layer of angst too which is - ugh, perfect. So so good.

[julemmaes]

PP Feysand drabble 1.5

A/N: This is set in the same universe my Nessian fic Pinky Promise is set and it’s basically a chapter 1.5. It’s what happened in Feyre’s room while everyone listened to them arguing and it’s short, but I really want to write their story too - I just don’t want to make it a story itself, so I’ll just post some drabbles (I guess that’s what they’re called) of moments I think are cute or important for their development and relationship. I’ll do the same for Elain and Lucien, Elain and Azriel and also *sighs* Feyre and fucking Tampon, I already have most of them planned out and they’re gonna be not longer than 2k words. I hope you like the idea:)

Word count: 1,740

Rhysand was trying in every way to keep himself still between his two brothers. Alcohol was coursing through his veins and his mind was wandering around on its own, in an unknown world.

It had been a relief for him when he remembered that they were all going to eat at the Archeron's house. Whatever they proposed to him that involved seeing Feyre for even a few hours was a treasure.

He was bickering with Elain about something he couldn't even remember, "But only because you don't have enough sisters for backup, otherwise we'd solve it physically," he muttered. Elain laughed and took another sip of her drink.

"I think all three of us would end up with a boner before anyone could tell the winner," Azriel whispered very softly. Cassian burst out laughing shortly afterwards, clinging to him.

He didn't hear the front door open, but he saw everyone turning in the direction of the entrance and tracked the movement as well. He knew it was Feyre, it had to be her.

He only hoped that she had no company.

He stood up, "Yes Fey-Fey join us," Rhysand echoed Mor's words. He was definitely smiling like a child on Christmas morning and hadn't even seen her yet, just a flash of black of her winter coat.

The second she turned towards them, he tensed up.

Her eyes...

"Feyre," he stepped forward, holding his breath, "What happened?"

She was looking at him, but it was as if she didn't see him.

The swollen, red eyes were a clear sign that he had been crying just seconds earlier.

A tinge of hope lit up in his chest and he almost felt sick to his stomach at the idea of having felt pleasure in the suffering of the woman he loved. Regardless of who had caused the wound and what consequences it had had for the relationship between her and Tamlin, Feyre was crying and was not fine.

She moved slowly, without the bit of life that was once an integral part of her person, "Nothing, don't worry," she answered in a small voice.

Nesta was getting up, but Feyre shook her head, raising one hand.

Rhysand couldn't move, he didn't know what to do.

"I didn't want to ruin your evening, I just came to say hi." she smiled slightly at everyone and when no one answered, she bit her lip tentatively. He stiffened even more beside her, now much closer, "I'm sorry... goodnight everyone."

She turned around and walked out of the room, without even sparring him a glance.

He clenched his hands firmly. What the fuck had just happened?

He heard the others talking, too loudly for Feyre not to hear them, and he wanted to tell them to be quiet, get up and go to her. She certainly wouldn't let him into her room to comfort her at such an unusual hour. It could have got her into trouble.

That last thought made him even angrier.

Tamlin.

It was inevitably his fault.

Feyre had no one else but him.

Amren appeared equally angered when she said, "Can someone explain what the heck just happened and why no one is going to see how she's doing?"

Rhysand found himself in the hallway before Amren had even finished the sentence. He remembered to knock before he opened the door and when the answer didn't come immediately, he brought a hand to his face, rubbed his eyes and tried to polish his thoughts somewhat.

He knocked a second time, louder, and murmured against the wood, "Darling-"

The door opened wide, causing him to stagger forward and forcing the girl to move aside. Shit, he was too drunk. He looked up once he found some composure, finding Feyre with her arms crossed, "Don't call me that." she pointed to the corridor he had just come from, "And get out of my room."

Rhys sighed, "Feyre, please," he stepped towards her, one hand raised with the intention of touching her.

She drew back, her face impassive, "Please, what?" she asked him, hardening her jaw. He didn't answer and she pointed out again, "Get out."

He shook his head, going towards the door and closing it so that he could lean against it, "What happened?"

Feyre took a deep breath, "What are you doing?"

"I want to understand why you came home crying after a date with your boyfriend," he said harshly.

"I don't recall it ever being any of your business," she replied, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning forward. Rhysand only realized at that moment how nicely she was dressed.

She had beautiful tight black pants that wrapped her legs perfectly and dark green heels, matched with a blouse of the same color that didn't do justice at all to the shapes he knew hid under it.

He snapped his eyes shut, "I just want to know if you're okay."

Feyre scoffed, "I'm fine," she replied immediately, then looked him in the eye and hers were glossy again, "Now please, get out."

He shook his head, "No," he came closer and she pulled her legs up, settling in the middle of the bed, "You're not fine and I want to know why." She looked over his shoulder, "It's Tamlin, isn't it?"

The sudden burst of anger made Rhysand jerk, "I told you to get out of my room!" cried Feyre, standing on the other side of the bed, putting as much distance between them as possible. "You have to get out!"

"I will not leave this room," he whispered, his gaze determined as he tried to suppress his hatred for anyone who had made her suffer in that way, "because you are not safe and I am worried about you," he said, trying to calm her down.

It seemed to have the opposite result on the girl in front of him, "It's all temporary, Rhysand." she laughed, despite her tear-filled eyes, "This will end too. We just had a fight."

He didn't answer, relieved that she was starting to talk about what happened that night.

Then, all of a sudden, she grew even sadder, "Why do you worry?"

Rhysand frowned, "Because I'm your friend. And I don't want you to suffer."

"That's bullshit." she hissed, "Everything is temporary." she repeated her and he shook his head, disbelief lining his features, "This too." she pointed her chest before pointing at him.

"Stop it."

"Our friendship." she said that word with a grimace across her face, almost as if even just the idea disgusted her, "Everything is temporary." She wouldn't stop saying those words and he wondered if she had had a drink before getting home. "This. This was merely one of those things."

"That's not true." he snapped.

He wanted to agree with her, but imagined that they both me and you mean two completely opposite things. He could hear the blood rumbling in his ears.

Feyre laughed, she really laughed. "Yes, Rhysand!" she shouted, "We are not friends, you and I."

"I'm with Tamlin." she whispered and a tear slipped down her cheek, "I'm with him and you're no one to me." he recoiled at those words, as if she had physically hit him.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, swallowing, "If you'd let me-".

"I don't have to let you do anything!" she cried, "I don't need your help or anyone else's! I am fine on my own!" her voice grew louder with every word.

Rhysand pushed himself forward until he touched the mattress with his knees, "Clearly that's not the case!" he yelled in turn, "You need help and I'm here! I'm offering you-"

She interrupted him, going around the room and putting her hands against his chest, "Get out! Leave!" she pushed him against the door, and when he heard someone walking in the corridor, he looked at Feyre, who was now crying. He nodded his head once and then walked out of the room, crashing into Azriel and storming out of the apartment.

He heard Feyre swearing and screaming and he slammed the door behind him. He was coming down the stairs furiously when he heard it open again and sped up the pace, not wanting to see who it was.

As soon as he was out in the fresh air, he slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out the cigarette packet.

He was not a heavy smoker, but sometimes the school and the children overwhelmed him and he had to find a way to relax. One cigarette a week seemed to do it for him.

He breathed in full lungs and held the smoke in for a few seconds, turning around when he heard the front door of the building close.

Azriel was standing in front of him, hands in his pockets and a serious expression on his face.

He offered him the package and his brother shook his head, frowning, "No, thank you." he murmured, "And you shouldn't smoke either."

Rhysand chuckled, "Feyre just told me we're not friends." he looked like a little kid, "She just told me I'm nobody to her." he whispered, looking down the street.

He could feel Azriel's gaze on his skin.

"Did you find out what happened?" he asked him, making a little cloud with his breath.

He felt guilty for forcing the other one to follow him outside, in this freezing cold.

He shook his head, taking another puff, "Nothing," he answered, then passed his hand over his face. "I shouldn't have gone into her room," he sighed, "I shouldn't have invaded her space like that."

Azriel put his hand on his shoulder, "You did nothing wrong, Rhys."

"How can you say that when all I did tonight was make things worse?" he asked in a pleading tone.

"Because Feyre needs someone to make her understand that this is no life." he saw it in Azriel's eyes that even his brother wanted to take the car and go to the asshole's house to make him pay for every wrong he had done to Feyre.

He said nothing, still too tipsy to face this conversation without going crazy.

"He's a piece of shit and he doesn't deserve her," murmured Rhys.

Azriel smirked, "That's what Elain said."

acotar taglist (if you wanna be removed or added dm me or send an ask)

@sjm-things @kris10maas @awesomelena555 @sannelovesreading @queenamydien29 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @messyhairday-me @ncssian @observationanxioustheorist @my-fan-side @booksstorm @maastrash @sayosdreams @thedarkdemigod @courtofjurdan @thewayshedreamed @ladywitchling @nahthanks @archeron-queen @sleeping-and-books @bri-loves-sunflowers @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @queenestarcheron​