#i need a tag for this AU because it is just taking over my WIP folder

[revelisms]

Excerpt: Not Your Child

Silco confronts Vi on her perceptions of Jinx. Vi shoots back.

From a work in progress set after 'heron blue,' an AU where Vi and Jinx reconnect under different terms. Slow, rocky relationship rebuilding, found family messiness, and a dash of hurt/comfort.

"I'd like to ask you something." Silco's eyes do not stray, but Vi catches the way the teal one sharpens; hears the certain edge that deepens the shorn silk of his words. "That girl you're after. The idea you're clinging to. Is she still so far gone, to you?"

He means Powder. Means whether the girl they're both watching, just along the way, is indeed the fractured image Vi has made her out to be: a separation her sister herself has demanded.

Stop calling me that. It's Jinx, now.

Vi doesn't want to have this conversation, stuck on this Piltie cliffside, breathing in this bastard's venomous air, on her sister's damned name-day. 

"I don't follow—"

"You still won't acknowledge her."

Vi clenches her fists. "It's—"

"She's sought your approval for a lifetime, girl—even in your presumed grave." At last, she stares at him. His hawkish profile, his gaunt face, his graying hair swept loose from the gales. "Perhaps you see it as trite, now—but she's waiting for it, still."

Frustration bleeds into her chest. "I can't let her go." Her sister's parcel, yet to be handed off, sits like a coal burning through her waist. "She didn't—she didn't used to be like this."

You made her like this.

Silco crooks his head at her. His mismatched eyes hunt for something in her own. Pick and pull at the threads of it.

"The girl I found in that wreckage," he gravels, sharp as steel, "is still there. Her passion, her life, her wonder. That is who she is. Not whatever image you have in your head, of the thing she made of herself, in your own."

Forced into a misshapen mould.

Vi draws in a silent, simmering breath, rage broiling in it—skewing to old hurt, old cracks, old hate. Brown paper crinkles beneath the tightening of her fist.

"Are you talking about her?" she snaps, icily. "Or about you?"

Something crosses his face. A startle of the dark line of his lashes: a twitch of the fingers at his back.

Slowly, he turns back to the cliffs. For a breath, two, he stands in silence.

"Perhaps," he admits, gruffly, "I see too much of myself, in her." His hands turn white-knuckled at his back. "Too much of Vander, in you."

There's poison in those words. Poison, and pain, and prejudice.

"Vander was a good man," Vi seethes.

Silco tips his head back. Above them, chickadees flutter. "He was."

The revelation throws her from her axis. Ties a strange, uneasy knot in her throat. She scowls at the scuffed edges of her boots, at the whistling dryness of the fields, at the gulls cawing from the waves beyond.

"You hated him." She spits it out, flatly. It's all she knows—all she will let herself believe. To even entertain the opposite cuts her too deep to bear. 

Silco shifts his jaw, eases out a thin breath. There's a gleam in that teal eye, heavy-lidded and pensive, that Vi can't place.

"For years," he hushes, "I'd crafted myself in his likeness. To become what he admired. To be—worth something." He shakes his head, only slightly, as though the recollection still pits something in him, decades later; a story without a clean end. His mouth wrinkles at one corner, shadowing the grayish hollow of his cheek. "But to reflect a beast, so as to win its approval..." He huffs: a hairline reach at a laugh, too wearied and too quiet to be called one. "Well. A man takes no pride in the monster he makes."

He fidgets. Ticks his nail across his thumb, flexes his wrist: glancing down, and away, to study the rusted roll of the plain.

"What he saw in you," he continues, lowly, "feared in you, was not a consequence of your own, girl. You found strength, on your own terms." He looks across the way. "As has your sister."

The implication the words lay upon her makes her sick. That every dredge of pain she had felt before, striving to become everything in Vander that she cherished, that he'd seen and resented and crushed, she had done—is still doing—to Powder. That the snake poised beside her, uncharacteristically unkempt against the wind's pull, looking like a ghost of a man with twenty years shaved off the sallow of his skin, had lived and breathed that pain from Vander's own hand, and walked free from it, himself.

She can't take it.

She can't.

"You took her." The gun at her side burns through her skin. "You took her, you kept her—you think you haven't done the same thing? That she's not—she's not trying to be what you want?" 

A killer. A loose cannon. A monster. A weapon.

"What even is she, to you?" Vi scathes on. "You—you keep her in that bar, like a prisoner; you let her hang over your meetings, like she's a damn bodyguard; you hold her, like—"

His eyes knife into hers, warningly. Ice and fire, blistering and burning: ocean foam and cosmic dust.

She forces her mouth shut. Fumes heat out her nose.

"Like she's my own?" he amends, dangerously quiet.

Vi shakes her head, sharply. "She doesn't belong to you." Every word feels like it's pulling her teeth. "You don't own her."

"Nor did Vander." His eyes stay on hers, unblinking. "Nor do you."

"She's my sister—"

"Not your child." 

Something in her fractures: a years-old crack, splitting through her bones, splintering numbness into her lungs.

She blinks, while the earth swims around her. It opens its gaping jaws, and swallows her whole.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

fun fact: I actually have not 1, not 2, but 3 dedicated playlists of OST-style music for my various Guild Wars 2 AUs, and... that, of all ways, is the closest I get to "outlining" my stories. every sequence has a dedicated track that I picked out according to what I'd imagine playing in-game if it was an actual playable story arc in Guild Wars 2.

Regrowth's playlist has 59 songs and Flourish has 28.

then the Tideturners have one too, with a grand total of 22.

......... I don't have a problem,

[patolemus]

double-whammie wip (not) wednesday

got tagged by @novasillies (still freaking out over their current wip update!!) and i have a bit of the newest chapter for my time travel au to share

“Hey, Stiles?” he calls out to the older boy. Stiles hums distractedly, and Derek knows he’s not really listening to him, too caught up in whatever he’s doing. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Stiles says. His back is turned to Derek, and he spends a moment appreciating the way Stiles’ muscles shift underneath the fitted shirt he has on as he mixes up his herbs. Stiles still doesn’t look like he’s paying all that much attention to him, but oh well. Derek will take what he can get.

He props himself up with his right forearm, half sitting as he puts his weight on it. “You like me, right?” he asks, sounding calm even though his heart has started beating faster and faster by the second. Derek doesn’t regret asking, though.

Stiles goes taut almost as soon as the question registers. He doesn’t turn around so he can’t see what kind of face he’s making, and his scent doesn’t betray anything, but Derek knows better than to trust it when he knows Stiles knows ways to manipulate it. After a few moments, though, his posture relaxes again and he goes back to mixing up things in the mortar.

“Yeah. Of course I do,” Stiles says. There’s a sort of vulnerability, a softness in his voice, and Derek feels his heart soar. 

He didn’t lie. Stiles didn’t lie. He likes Derek, Stiles likes Derek.

Don’t fuck this up, he thinks, only a little desperate as he tries to keep his heart under control. Not for the first time, he thanks whatever higher being is looking out for him, because if Stiles could hear how fast his heart is racing right now he’d think Derek is the lamest person ever. Which he is, but Stiles doesn’t need to know that.

“Cool,” he says, immediately regretting it. Cool? Who the fuck says cool to something like that? “I mean, I like you, too,” he adds hastily, fully sitting up as Stiles finally turns around.

“I know,” there’s the ghost of a smirk dancing on his lips and mirth in his eyes.

Derek starts to smile, then frowns. “Did you just Han Solo me?” he asks, not knowing what to feel when Stiles just bursts out laughing right there and then.

It’s a beautiful laugh. It takes his breath away. Derek doesn’t think he’s ever heard Stiles laugh like this before. Chuckle, maybe, definitely an amused huff here and there. But never an outright laugh like this one. Derek wants to hear it forever, wants to record it so he can play it back again and again and again, all the time.

He’s so gone on this boy. So, so gone. Derek feels overwhelmed by the sudden rush of affection that overcomes him, a hot, fluttery thing that leaves him tingly all over.

couldn't not do the star war's reference i mean IT WAS RIGHT THERE. anywayssss take the rare angst-free scene. no pressure tags: @dontcallpanic @hedwig221b @salty-fryingpan @oldefashioned @endwersed @dear-massacre and of course anyone who wants to do it

[mmmichyyy]

🌸 gallavich fic rec list 🌸

welcome to my 2023 fic rec list! i went through my ao3 bookmarks and my tumblr tags from this year so here's some (not all, or else this post would go on forever) of my fave (new & older) one-shots, completed multi-chaps, wips & ficlets <3

make sure to check out my 2021 list & my 2022 list ! since i'm not going to include fics i've mentioned before in this year's list :)

& don't forget to check out @gallavichfanficlibrary @gallavich-fic-club @gallavichthings @thegallavault for more recs plus @galladrabbles & @gallavichmeta too ✨ let's go!

one-shots:

doesn't matter where we go by @heymacy (The boys take a road trip.)

to think that we could stay the same by teatrolley (post-breakup au, but Mickey gets out of prison, Caleb doesn't exist, and we get really into their past and Ian’s (struggling) head)

of going home by @lalazeewrites (Valiant has taken the greatest fall from grace the superhero world has witnessed in years. The Shrike is an unregistered vigilante who doesn't even ping the radar of Chicago's crime fighting scene. Ian is forcibly put on leave from his job and returns to the Gallagher house, a failure all over again. Not only does he not know what Mickey does when the world goes dark, he doesn't know that Mickey is still living southside at all. Not since the events of eight years ago.)

quiet by @babygirlmickey (In the quiet of a perceived absence of scrutiny, Mickey can be incontrovertibly tender. Or: 5 times Mickey lets his guard down, as observed by various third parties.)

all i need in this life of sin (is me and my husband) by literatii (As embarrassing as it might be, Ian is not only his husband but also his best friend, and Mickey is pretty damn okay with that. Why the fuck would he find other people to do the exact same shit with that he already does with Ian, minus the fucking, when he can just do that shit with Ian plus the fucking? It makes no sense. Or: Ian wants the two of them to have more friends. Mickey doesn’t.)

thirteen hours by @crossmydna (Ian has known for thirteen hours that he’s not crossing the border with Mickey, so he makes the most of the time he has left with him.)

queen of decatur by jaxington (“How’d you know that?” Ian asks, smelling chum in the water, the observant little fuck. “Not like your brothers are getting sent to lady prison all that often.” Mickey thumbs at his lip, trying to find a way out of this conversation. It probably wouldn’t be too hard to distract Ian just by taking of his pants, but he is trying this new thing where he actually tells Ian what’s going on in his head. “No.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “It’s my mom.”)

like strings of fire by @gardenerian (mickey finds a safe and colorful way for ian to indulge himself when hypersexuality rears its ugly head.)

the needle and the burning body by squash (jesuisgourde) (Mickey had two burning torches for hands but he knew what to do with them. Ian's head was on fire and all he knew was how to run and keep running. How to find a cliff and jump off. How to make Mickey chase after him, again and again. And in a cold cell in prison, Mickey catches him.)

some fucked up romcom by godisthedice (Two years after they locked him up, Mickey told himself that he was done with Ian fucking Gallagher for good. Two years as a free man and he's marrying him for all the wrong reasons.)

when the sun goes down by @sam-loves-seb (super cute and fluffy lifeguard au!)

lava java by @stocious (He's being really unprofessional. Mickey might not even be gay. He might be hitting on a straight man through takeout cups.)

here's to hoping i'm not what kills you by @crestfallercanyon (After a confrontation gone bad, Mickey and the Gallaghers get Ian to the hospital. And look, Mickey always knew that if the Gallaghers had a will they'd find a way, but being roped into their schemes himself wasn't something he'd planned on signing on for. All the Gallaghers need to know is Mickey's helping out because he's not pure fucking evil. They don't need to know Mickey was scared shitless when Ian got knocked unconscious, Jesus, he can barely admit that to himself. Once Mickey knows Ian's not dead and not dying, he's out of there. Except he can't bring himself to leave.)

to the thawing wind by @gardenerian (Living and working in the icy chill of an endless winter, Ian and his family are assigned to work the farms to bolster food supply. They live quietly enough, following the rules, until Mickey and Mandy Milkovich (with all their secrets) are moved in across the road.)

i'll come meet you where you are by @crestfallercanyon (Mickey comes back from prison with a ring of vicious bruises around his neck and an edge to him Ian doesn't recognize. But he came back. He came back, and now it's time for Ian to meet him halfway.

closing in walls and ticking clocks by c_cups_bitch_u_wish (So, this is happening. Mickey is sitting in the corner of the bedroom on the comfiest fucking chair he’s ever sat in, and his adult self and adult Ian are about to fuck. And he’s going to watch. What's most odd is that this doesn't even feel like the weirdest thing to happen to him today.)

a spark of fire by @lingy910y (“You wanted us to finally have some time alone. You wanted to keep me safe, but you didn’t really care as long as we were together. You didn’t want it to end.” Mickey swallows a lump in his throat. “I…I don’t fuckin’ know.” “But can I, uh, ask you something else?” Ian rubs his thumbs together. “You like me, Mick. You fucking like me.”)

flip fuck? by @gallawitchxx (Mickey’s always thought that Valentine’s Day was fucking gay. But then some dramatic, ginger fuckhead had to move into the room next to his, and steal his hole, his heart, and the attention of his tumblr mutuals. Mickey decides to keep it lowkey when he asks Ian to spend the evening together: You wanna hang out on Tuesday? Ian’s response is quick and gives absolutely nothing away: Sure thing! That big-dicked idiot better remember it’s fucking Valentine’s Day.)

completed:

prelude motel by @whatthebodygraspsnot (When Mickey’s secret spot is infiltrated by an intriguing stranger, all the warning signs are there. Despite the voice in the back of his head telling him to disengage, he can’t help but bite off more than he can chew, running straight back to the spot and the stranger when a job leaves him injured. Enter: the Prelude Motel - where, for the next three days, Mickey finds himself hiding from more than just his pursuers.)

garden song (series) by @gardenerian (two gorgeous fics about ian's bipolar, about hope, healing, and tomatoes)

better by anomalously (It's been ten years since Ian's seen Mickey.)

in your love by @sgtmickeyslaughter (Mickey had been out of prison for 2 years and Ian never would have known until they ran into one another on a random night in May. Ian fights for the love they shared while Mickey fights for the life he built, as they both struggle with shame and guilt from their shared past it becomes clear that they cannot help but be drawn to what is bright and beautiful between them.)

whumptober 2023 (series) by @sam-loves-seb (21 beautiful fics of angst & hurt/comfort)

out of nowhere by @suzy-queued (Ian should have never offered to hide his father's stash of gold. Now he's stuck living on a deserted piece of land in the woods, alone, losing his sanity. Mickey wants nothing more than to disappear — from prison, from his family, from the entire world. If only he knew where to get his hands on a cool million. The Gallagher gold. Mickey wants it. Ian will do anything to protect it. Who will cave first?)

all these things i have left to say to you by @crestfallercanyon (After all this time that Ian's been missing, he leaves a tape recorder on Mickey's pillow. And on it? An hour of pure, unfiltered, Ian audio that is all, apparently, dedicated to him.)

wips:

keys to my heart by @milkovichrules (Ian finds his stable college life getting difficult when a new neighbour moves into the dorms.)

intro to quantum dating by @spoonfulstar (another college au) (one of my fave fics of all time!!)

the ink is a witness to this by @palepinkgoat (six chapters about the stories tattoos can hold and hide.)

order up by @heymacy (Ian and Mickey work together at a Chicago diner. They like to push each other's buttons - all their buttons. How long until the dam finally breaks?)

second chapters by @squidyyy23 (When Mickey’s PO assigns him a job at the local library, he’s pleasantly surprised—not that he’d ever admit it. Practically lived in the prison library, and what better way to start his new life than with a career he might actually enjoy. And when he meets the charming, clever, utterly fuckable, redheaded children’s librarian, well, shit just keeps getting better and better. Mickey’s definitely not interested in anything serious right now, but what’s the harm in a little fun?)

electric blue by @goodkwuestion (Paramedic Ian Gallagher knows true love exists. He's not going to settle until he finds it either, no matter how much his friends and family roll their eyes at him. Mickey Milkovich, on the other hand, isn't sure about all that stuff. He's an engineer with a long to-do list, and chasing rainbows isn't on it. He'll never say no to a good time and a pretty face though. When they meet, it will feel like kismet, something inevitable that neither of them can shake. Honestly though, who would want to? Falling in love can be the easiest thing in the world, especially when the whole universe is rooting for you... That's if the whole universe is rooting for you.)

ficlets:

all of @heymrspatel's drabbles, especially this one of ian being self-conscious about his body

docks scene & birthday suit gardening ficlets by @metalheadmickey

all of @lupeloto's sweet & domestic ficlets

@sam-loves-seb's meta about ian being the moon and mickey being the sun

ian's birthday ficlet & 31 ways we never meet (a.u.gust 2023 ficlets) by @callivich

airport confessions by @dynamic-power

gallavich drabbles by @whatthebodygraspsnot

all of @howlinchickhowl's a.u.gust 2023 ficlets!

(if you made it this far, i also write fics occasionally too so here's a self-promo lol)

[ishipallthings]

Cap Iron Man Rec Week 2024 (Wed)

Early in Canon Wednesday - July 24th for @cap-ironman Rec Week

Fics set early in canon as the boys are getting to know each other :D

Remember to show some love for your hard-working creators!

To Be With You (Is Easy) by Carsonian @carsonian (MCU)

Tony doesn't know what prompted him to visit the recently defrosted Captain America, and he certainly hadn't given much thought to the little confessionals he's given the comatose Capsicle. But when Steve Rogers wakes up and seeks him out, he finds there's an attraction between them that can't be denied.

No Return, No Return by Carsonian @carsonian (MCU)

In many ways, Tony Stark has spent his whole life waiting to meet something real enough to test himself against. He hadn't planned on it being Steve Rogers.

Wish You Were Here by One and Five Nines (MCU)

Steve starts sending Tony postcards.

tear these old walls down by susiecarter @susiecarter (MCU)

Steve didn't like Tony Stark. Stark probably didn't like Steve, either. They'd gotten off on the wrong foot, and that was putting it mildly. And having to pretend to be a civilian Stark was dating, as cover for trying to save Stark's life while Iron Man was busy with a SHIELD mission, obviously wasn't going to help.

when you're gone by talktothesky @thatbuddie (MCU)

Steve's had to get used to many things in the 21st century but falling in love with Tony Stark might be the weirdest one yet. Especially because the man's dead.

not a lot, just forever by Thahire @thahiree (MCU)

A few months after the Battle of New York, Tony invites Steve over to see the apartment he has built for him. Steve, of course, is totally normal about this and not panicking at all.

Handheld by talesofsuspense (MCU)

When Steve starts stopping for lunch at Shawarma Palace he isn't expecting Tony to show up and to keep showing up. And he definitely isn't expecting a guide to the 21st century.

posing up a storm by picturecat @snoozingcat (MCU, alt 2012)

“I have an idea. Can we just pretend the day ended with that really badass Superfriends pose we did?”

Machines and Marvels by rainbowninja167 (MCU, alt 2012)

Or: In an alternate timeline where the Avengers never formed, Steve and Tony need a crash course in team bonding. Stephen Strange just had to take that literally.

choke on me by imperialstark @persephonesfill (MCU, WIP)

After fending off an alien invasion, Tony Stark has one more obstacle to face; Steve Rogers. Steve believes that they have a connection which Tony is trying hard to ignore. After a moment of passion aboard the helicarrier, Tony can't seem to stay away from Steve as their lives grow ever more intertwined.

and two self-recs!

I'll Be (Good To You) by ishipallthings (MCU, soulmate AU)

Steve Rogers wakes up seventy years out of time to a new world and a soulmate. It’s an adjustment. What he doesn’t expect is Tony Stark, a brilliant futurist who is equal parts fascinating and frustrating, and has just as many demons as Steve. He also doesn’t expect to find a family with a ragtag team of superheroes, or to fall in love. Luckily, Steve is nothing if not adaptable.

An Armored Heart by ishipallthings (AA)

In which Red Skull goes after Steve Rogers, and Tony realizes just how much he has to lose.

Hope you guys enjoy the recs, and stay tuned! Please mind the tags before reading. Check out my tag for previous years’ rec lists :)

[hippolotamus]

WIP Wednesday 🖤

tagged by the lovely and talented @tizniz @eddiebabygirldiaz mwah! 💖 the beans have taken a swift and sudden break, so I'm cheating by using segments that none of you have ever read before. not once. promise. have this bit of young Evan and Maddie from the witch!eddie/familiar!buck au

Hershey, PA - 1998

“Pleeeeease?” Evan pleads, giving Maddie his widest grin and best puppy dog eyes. In his six years and two months of being alive, this tactic has never failed him. 

Tonight she’s been tasked with babysitting while their parents are out. Which makes him happy because that means she’s the one tucking him into bed and reading him a story. As soon as she finishes their book, because it’s just them, he can’t resist asking for her magick. 

It’s not like she’s not allowed to use it, but for some reason their mom and dad never seem happy when she does. Unless it’s for a practical reason. Even then they look uncomfortable, barely being able to watch while she uses her gift. 

Shouldn’t they be happy? Not every family has magick, but they’re so lucky with Maddie. She’s a natural healer, with the power to make people better. She always makes him better whenever he gets a cut or scrape from falling off his bike, or does something tricky like that time he jumped off the swings and hit his chin when he landed. 

“I should have known you would ask,” Maddie teases.  

She takes her time putting the book back on the shelf and switching off the bedside lamp before making herself comfortable at the foot of his bed. There’s a sliver of light streaming in through the curtains, enough to see Maddie tuck her hair behind her ear and wiggle her fingers at him. The wiggling is mostly for show (he thinks) and to make him giggle. She’s always doing her best to make him smile. He wonders if everyone has a big sister like her. He hopes so. 

Maddie holds one palm out, showing him it’s empty before she turns it face up. With her other hand, she stirs her pointer finger in her cupped palm. Excitement and anticipation run in a gentle current under his skin. It’s a little like a swarm of butterflies in his tummy, or the feeling he gets when the car drives over a big hill. He clutches at his blanket, leaning forward to get a closer view of the pink and green beginning to form. 

“Ready?” She asks.

“Uh-huh,” he answers, eagerly nodding his head. 

They’re only slightly out of sync with one another as they begin counting out loud. “One… two…” Evan takes a deep breath, as much as his growing lungs can hold before Maddie exclaims “Three!”

His breath rushes out of him, blowing into the pink green glow. He watches in awe as it disperses, making the sunburst patterns on his walls light up, warm and golden, illuminating the space like fireflies. 

“You did it!” She praises him as if he had any influence on any of what just happened. He gives her an enormous grin anyway. It feels impossible not to with how content he feels. 

“No, you did!” 

“Well, you did the most important part,” she argues good naturedly, tousling his hair. 

He beams with pride, leaning into the touch. Thankfully, she takes the hint and strokes his forehead with her thumb. 

“Okay, lay down. It’s way past your bedtime.” 

“Not sleepy,” he protests through a yawn. When she gives him an incredulous look, he burrows into the covers, letting his head loll to the side. “Hey, Maddie?”

“Yeah?”

He hums as she resumes lightly scratching his scalp. “Do you think I’ll get my magick soon?”

“I-” Her movements slow almost to a stop, but start again before he can complain. “I don’t know.” 

“Hope so,” he mumbles sleepily. “Can’t wait to have mine, just like you.” 

The mattress shifts and soon he feels her press a kiss to his temple. “Get some sleep, Evan. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

The reassurance is a formality — of course she’ll be around. It’s nice to hear the words anyway. Before she leaves the room, he’s already drifting into a calm slumber, beautiful shades of pink, green, and gold dancing behind his eyelids.

np tagging @actuallyitsellie @epicbuddieficrecs @loveyouanyway @a-noble-dragon @mountedeverest

@diazheartsbuckley @weewootruck @saybiwithme mi amor @bidisasterevankinard @shipperqueen6

@ramonaflow @taketheplanspinitsideways @spotsandsocks @dangerpronebuddie @theotherbuckley

@stereopticons @kitteneddiediaz @daffi-990 @diazsdimples @your-catfish-friend

@thekristen999 @filet-o-feelings @wikiangela @underwaterninja13 LOML @lizzie-bennetdarcy

@rainbow-nerdss @steadfastsaturnsrings @inell

@theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @jesuisici33 @shortsighted-owl

@queerbuckleys @bi-buckrights @elvensorceress @bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck

@hoodie-buck @indestructibleheart @ladydorian05 @lemonzestywrites @monsterrae1

@statueinthestone @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @the-likesofus @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck

@wildlife4life anyone else who wants to 😘

[diazheartsbuckley]

🚨🚨 🎓 🎓

Hiya Purple 💕

Here is 🚨

🎓 (High school sweethearts AU)

Accidentally switched this around, it’s supposed to be 🏫 (which can be found here)

Buck wanted to nothing more than to pull Eddie into his embrace, hold him close and never let him go again. 15 years of loving someone from a distance was more than enough. But when Shannon introduced herself to him, he smiled kindly at her, a smile that never quite reached his eyes and he felt his heart being ripped open and torn into a million new pieces.

And as soon as Shannon had introduced herself, Buck felt so goddamn out of place and even downright stupid for believing that he and Eddie could ever have a shot at love again. It didn’t help that she was dominating the conversation for a few minutes until she slipped away again, leaving Buck and Eddie alone again, standing a mere two feet apart but still it felt like they were a world away from each other.

“She seems nice” Buck said as he glanced in Shannon’s direction, watching her tug a dark brown curl behind her ear as she spoke to someone that Buck recognized from his and Eddie’s history class.

Eddie rubbed his neck, shifting his weight as he stood in front of Buck and he exhaled deeply. “She is, she’s a good person, she’s a good mom” Eddie explained like it was the most logical thing in the world to him.

“Right” Buck had to fight every fiber of his being to not roll his eyes to the back of his head. Not because he didn’t believe that Shannon wasn’t a good person or a good mom. But because he hated seeing Eddie with a woman. Because he hated seeing Eddie with someone else period. “Well, this has been fun. I need a drink” Buck added, without letting Eddie get a word in as he walked past him, letting their shoulders brush together and suddenly he was 17 years old again, fighting to keep his hands off of Eddie in public, fighting every urge to not cup his stupidly perfect face and kiss him silly in front of everyone.

He pushed those thoughts away as he made his way to the bar and he leaned over the counter slightly, trying to get the bartenders attention, thinking that he was alone. Or at least out of sight from Eddie. He couldn’t do this. Not sober at least.

“You kept it” Eddie’s voice came from behind him and it took him a moment to realize what he meant. In his weak attempt to get the bartenders attention, his necklace had slipped out from his shirt, revealing the black ring that he normally kept hidden. The ring that Eddie had given him on his 18th birthday all while making a promise that one day he’d replace it an engagement ring. Well, that didn’t happen.

Without answering, Buck tugged his necklace away again, hiding it away from the world just like he’d done with his and Eddie’s relationship for years before they finally broke up when they went off to college.

“Evan” Eddie said in a tone that sounded all too familiar. It’s the same that he had used when he wanted Buck to express what was on his mind.

“You don’t-…you don’t get to call me that anymore” Buck turned to face Eddie, staring into those perfect brown eyes, all while trying to not lose his composure as he took in the beauty of the man in front of him. He had missed so much of Eddie’s life. Eddie had aged so amazingly and Buck hated that all he could see when he looked at Eddie, was all the promises that he was never able to keep.

“Look, I’m sorry-…”

“You’re about 15 years too late with that one, Eddie. And I-I-I” Buck stammered, taking a shaky breath. “I still wear this because unlike you, I keep my promises. But I’m glad you’re happy, I am” The words tasted like poison on his lips and he hated it. “Please just… just leave me alone. I can’t do this with you”

Make me write ✍️

Using this as my wip wednesday

Tagged by @dangerpronebuddie @bidisasterevankinard and @spotsandsocks 💕

Tagging!!

@tizniz @watchyourbuck @wikiangela

@daffi-990 @steadfastsaturnsrings @diazsdimples

@wildlife4life @jeeyuns @housewifebuck

@babygirl-diaz @spagheddiediaz @spaceprincessem

@giddyupbuck @butraura @elvensorceress

@bucksbignaturals @bucksbirthmark @bucks-daddy-issues

@hippolotamus @himbobuck @jesuisici33

@honestlydarkprincess @rogerzsteven @devirnis

@loveyourownsmiilee @agentoutofdiaz @thewolvesof1998

@actuallyitsellie @actualalligator @exhuastedpigeon

@monsterrae1 @underwaterninja13 🩵🦋

[fallinginvictus]

I may be a day or two early for wip wednesday but I absolutely need to know what happens next in ur time loop fic of Andrew

WIP Wednesday Andrew and Aaron Time Loop AU [part 2/4]

Part 1

on ao3 I would tag this as "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings" so if you need to know more because you think there might be something that could trigger you, let me know and I'll let you know

He feels frantic as he drives on now familiar roads, his thoughts swirling in his brain and bouncing inside his skulls, unable to tell where one begins and the other ends, unable to make sense of the nightmare that he has found himself trapped in. Cars race past him as his thoughts race in his brain, images of Aaron's cold and pale body flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinks, the coldness of his brother's hand and the stillness of his chest something that will never stop haunting him for as long as he lives.

“What? Is something wrong?” Aaron asks as soon as he picks up the phone, worry clear in his tired voice.

Andrew's breaths get lost in his lungs, unable to find their way out. 

Aaron is alive. 

Aaron is alive again.

“Andrew?”

“I'm going to stay with you for a while,” is everything that he manages to say, his voice quieter than he intends it to be, his hands squeezing the steering wheel until they turn white.

“What? Why? Did something happen?” Aaron asks and Andrew wants to scream at him. 

“No,” he says. “I'm already on my way.”

“Andrew,” Aaron sighs. “For how long? Don't you have games and practice?”

“I hurt my wrist so I can't play for two weeks.”

“You can't stay with me. I have plans.”

“What plans?” he asks, wondering how many times Aaron has lied to them before, how many other times has he pretended to be busy while his only plan was that of getting high.

“With my friends.”

“You don't have friends. I'll be there in a few hours. Bye.”

He doesn't give Aaron any time to reply, any time to protest, before hanging up, Aaron's voice making his head spin, his blood boil. 

He wants to hug his brother, he wants to feel his chest move, his heart beat, his blood flowing through his veins. He wants to touch Aaron's skin and feel nothing but warmth. He wants to look him in the eyes and see them shine. 

He wants his brother to never be dead again.

♤♤

He sits outside of Aaron's locked door, the clock inside of his head ticking and ticking, each second that passes feeling like a lifetime spent in hell, wondering if the call is going to come anyways, wondering if Aaron is already dead. More than once he wants to drive back to the hospital where Aaron died, where Aaron will die. More than once he takes his phone out of his pocket and dials Aaron's number without ever calling him.

It's ten minutes past three in the afternoon when Andrew's phone rings where it's sitting on the floor by his side. Andrew's breath gets caught in his throat, his whole body tensing at the sound until his every muscle aches and screams, begging to be released, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

But when his eyes finally find the courage to look down at the bright screen by his side, it is Aaron's name that meets his eyes and not the hospital's number (a number that had now been printed inside of Andrew's brain and that he would never be able to forget.)

“What,” he says flatly as soon as he picks up the phone, his muscles still tense, his heart still racing.

“Are you really waiting for me?” Aaron asks in a tentative tone that Andrew can't decipher. Finally Andrew starts to relax, Aaron's quiet voice like sweet honey washing over him.

He hums in reply.

“I'm- I'm almost there. Wait for me,” Aaron says as the words rush out of his mouth and stumble all over each other.

“I've been waiting for almost two hours so you better be quick,” Andrew replies, unable to deny to himself just how much he longs to finally see his brother alive. 

Andrew had long since learnt to keep his emotions trapped inside of his ribcage. Some would oftentimes run away from him, slip through the cracks, escape from their perfectly built prison: in the morning with Neil's peaceful face resting by his side, the brighg sun shining on him, his hair messy, his face puffy, a soft smile on his lips; in the night with Neil's flushed body under his, his warm hands gently placed on his shoulders, his soft moans filling the quiet room.

But it had been a long time since his emotions had come crashing against his chest, threatening to split his ribcage open, uncovering his most safely guarded secrets. He had forgotten how much it hurt, how raw and vulnerable it made him feel.

“Hey,” Aaron says breathlessly, breaking the silence and coming to stand in front of a motionless Andrew.

Andrew just stares at him blankly, taking notice of every single thing that is Aaron, of every aspect of him, every detail. Aaron looks tired, Andrew notices, his skin is pale, ink spilled under his bloodshot eyes but his pupils are normal, he looks rail-thin, his collar bones heavily pronounced. 

Andrew says nothing as his brain reminds him of the list of “Common Physical Signs of Drug Usage” that he had read once on the library's computer when he was fifteen.

“You ambush me like this and you are not even going to say hi?” Aaron asks as he opens the door, but there is no strength in his voice, no malice in his words.

“Hi,” he says as he walks inside the now familiar house, his eyes falling back on the family picture displayed in the living room.

“Give me a second,” Aaron says before running inside his room and closing the door behind himself, probably trying to tidy up the mess that Andrew had already seen.

He sits on the couch, unable to come up with a plan of action, with a strategy. He had already asked Aaron before if he had relapsed and Aaron had denied it. Would he ever tell Andrew the truth if he asked? 

“So,” Aaron says as he walks out of his room with a black trash bag. Andrew just looks at him. “Are you going to tell me why you decided to crash at my house for who knows how long?”

“Am I not allowed to want to spend some time with my dearest brother?” he asks with a sweet and ostensibly fake smile on his lips, trying not to think just how much truth was actually hidden in those words.

Aaron scoffs at him, “Sure, because you totally just wanted to spend some time with me,” he says and something in his voice makes Andrew pause. He just stares at him, his brows furrowed, trying to figure out something that he knows is standing right in front of him and yet he cannot seem to be able grasp.

There's a tense silence for a few seconds as Andrew just stares at his brother, at the way air fills his lungs, as the way his chest moves.

“Fine,” Aaron breaks first. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, as if he's dealing with a troublesome kid. “Fine. You don't have to tell me now. Just- Are you okay? It's nothing bad, right?”

Andrew is taken aback by the concern in his voice before anger fills his vision. No nothing too bad, he wants to say. My own fucking brother died. No biggie.

“No, nothing too bad,” he says between clenched teeth.

♤♤

They spend the rest of the afternoon playing on Aaron's old PS2, the same one that he has owned longer than Andrew has known him. It was quiet and comfortable and Andrew could tell there was something else going on inside of his brother's mind, something that was clouding his brain, making his moves sloppy, his attention fragmented.

“Do you feel like you are going to relapse?” Andrew asks. “Don't lie to me.”

“Where does that even coming from? Fuck-” Aarons scoffs as he misses a jumps and falls down a cliff.

“Do you?”

“No? Not more than usual,” he says distractedly, his whole attention on the game in front of him. 

You used today and you died, Andrew almost says. Stop fucking lying.

“If you feel like using again, just tell me,” is all that comes out of his mouth, his eyes landing on Aaron's focused face. “Promise.”

“Sure,” Aaron says, his eyes never leaving the TV screen.

“Promise,” he repeats loudly.

“I- I promise,” Aaron says, his eyes finally meeting Andrew's.

Andrew knows it won't be enough. Aaron had lied before and he would have no qualms in lying again, in breaking a promise. But he found it difficult to worry when Aaron was sitting right by his side, their shoulders brushing against each other, Aaron's warmth washing over him.

It's 7 pm when Andrew silently gets up from the couch and heads towards the kitchen with the intention of preparing them dinner.

“What the fuck Aaron.”

“What?” Aaron says from the living room, the sound of the game almost drowning his quiet voice.

“Why the fuck is you fridge completely empty?”

“Oh,” Aaron says, turning off the game.

Andrew waits for a second, then two, expecting to receive an actual reply from his brother but getting only silence in return.

“We can go grocery shopping tomorrow,” Andrew says, sitting back down on the couch, his hand grazing Aaron's shoulder. “Let's just order take out for today.”

Aaron nods as Andrew takes his phone out of his pocket to order take-out but notices a couple of unread messages from Neil.

To: 0 Neil:

I'm going to stay with Aaron for a while

From: 0 Neil:

is everything okay?

To: 0 Neil:

I'm here to figure it out

Dinner is quiet, just like the rest of the afternoon had been quiet. Aaron's gaze never leaves his food, his eyes unfocused, his mind full of thoughts that Andrew isn't able to read. 

If only he could jump inside of Aaron's head and search through his brain, Andrew thinks, maybe then he would find the answers he's looking for, maybe then he would find the right questions.

He used to think of Aaron as someone easy to read, his goals and ambitions prosaic. He always thought he knew what Aaron wanted, what he longed for. Every action Aaron took and every comment he made used to be something Andrew could decipher and understand. And yet, now that he's standing in front of him, he wonders if he ever really knew Aaron at all, if this whole time he had been reading Aaron's signals all wrong.

“Why don't you have any friends?” he asks, his eyes scanning Aaron's face for a reaction, for a sign.

Aaron's pauses for a second, his eyes focused on his food, “Of course I have friends,” he says, his eyes meeting Andrew's. “Why would you think that I don't have any friends?”

Aaron's face doesn't betray him, his eyes seem truthful and his voice doesn't shake. If Andrew hadn't known better, he would've believed him, he would've fallen for his lie. How many times, he wonders, has Aaron lied straight to his face? How many times has he tricked Andrew before?

I can tell when you're lying to me, he used to tell Aaron. Now he wonders if he ever really could.

“Don't lie to me,” Andrew says, his voice cold, his gaze unforgiving.

“I'm not-”

“Don't lie to me,” he says again, his gaze just a little softer.

“How would you even know,” Aaron muebles as he puts more food in his mouth with his brows furrowed and an uncharacteristic pout on his lips.

In the past, Andrew would've pushed. In the past, Aaron would've been colder. 

“What's going on with you,” the words leave Andrew's mouth without his permission.

“I just-” Aaron says before shaking his head, something that Andrew can't read flashing in his eyes. “I'm tired. I'm going to bed now.”

Andrew can't do anything but watch as Aaron retreats back to his room and closes the door behind himself with a soft click. He sighs as he drops his head on the couch and stares at the white ceiling feeling lost and confused. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do. 

He doesn't know how to save Aaron from himself.

♧♧

The first week passes quickly, Aaron spending most of his days at the hospital and his evenings locked in his room studying while Andrew is left alone with his own thoughts and fears, images of his dead brother spinning like a carousel inside of his brain. 

Every night he wakes up from nightmares, his body numb and damp with sweat, Aaron's cold body flashing behind his eyes. 

Every night, he sofly opens Aaron's bedroom door and stares at his brother as he sleeps, at the way his chest rises and falls, at his pink skin and slightly flushed cheeks.

He's alive, he tells himself, over and over again. And yet he can still remember when Aaron hadn't been alive.

♧♧

“We should do things together,” Andrew tells Aaron one morning while he's still lying on the couch after having spent a whole night googling “How to make sure your brother doesn't relapse again”. 

“What?”

“Make a list of things that you want to do and we'll do them.”

“Why?” Aaron asks, walking out of the kitchen.

“You don't want to?” Andrew replies, tilting his head.

“You always have a reason for things.”

“If you don't want to-”

“I do,” Aaron interrupts him, his eyes wide.

“Then make the list and give it to me when you get home this evening.”

“I just don’t- Fine,” Aaron says with a sigh as he heads for the door. He stops there for a second, his hand on the handle and his bag over his shoulder. 

“What,” Andrew says as he takes his phone from the coffee table.

Aaron just furrows his brows and shakes his head, “Bye,” is all that comes out of his mouth before leaving the apartment.

Androw looks at the closed door, his heart racing like it does every time Aaron leaves his sight. He can feel little ants crawling under his skin and he knows that's where they'll stay until he'll see Aaron, alive and breathing, again.

♤♤

That evening Aaron comes back later than usual. Fourteen minutes later, to be exact.

Andrew is pacing the length of the living room when he hears the jingle of Aaron's keys as he pushes them in the lock. A few seconds later, Aaron walks inside the house and throws his coat on the hanger as if nothing is wrong.

“You're late,” Andrew says between gritted teeth as he stalks towards Aaron.

“What?” Aaron asks in confusion and bends down to untie his shoes.

“If you come home late you have to text and let me know.”

“I'm not even that late, just a few minutes and-”

“Fourteen.”

“What?”

“Not a few minutes. Fourteen minutes.”

Aaron sighs as he stands back up, confusion written all over his face. 

Fourteen minutes of Andrew picturing Aaron's cold body in a back alley, on a white hospital bed, in a closet, in the middle of an empty street. 

Fourteen minutes of Andrew picturing Aaron's vacant eyes staring at the sky, his pale skin tinted blue with death, his chest unmoving, his heart still.

Fourteen minutes of Andrew recalling Aaron's cold fingers in his hand, his icy forehead under his lips.

Fourteen minutes of waiting for his phone to ring, for the Doctor’s voice to inform him that his brother had died.

“I'm sorry,” Aaron says but it comes out as a question.

“Whatever,” Andrew replies before leaving a confused Aaron at the door and locking himself in the bathroom.

“Tell me something,” he says on the phone, his arms tightly wrapped around his legs as he sits in the corner between the sink and the wall.

He doesn't listen as Neil talks about his day, about practice, about anything and everything that comes to his mind. He lets Neil's calm and soothing voice wash over him, until it seeps into his brain, into his bones. Until breathing doesn't hurt anymore and the ants have left his body.

“Why won't you tell me what's wrong?” Neil asks on the other line, his voice full of worry.

“Aaron,” he says, his brother's name burning his lips as it leaves his mouth.

“Is he sick?”

“I just need to make sure he doesn't do something stupid and accidentally kills himself in the process.”

“You think he's going to?”

“I know he is.”

“Alright,” Neil says with a sigh. “But you have to promise me something.”

Andrew humms.

“Don't hurt yourself while trying to help him.”

Andrew stays silent for a second. There is nothing that he wouldn't be willing to do if it means saving Aaron from his fate, “I can't promise that.”

“Andrew-”

“He's my brother, Neil.”

“Does he even want to be? He just left you and Nicky and never looked back. Why would you put your mental well being at risk after all of your hard work for someone who wouldn't do the same for you?”

“That's not how it works.”

“What?” Neil asks.

“This is not a deal or a transaction. I'm helping him because I don't want him to be dead, not because I want him to do the same for me, not because I want him to give me something back,” he takes a deep breath and shakes his head even if Neil can't see him. “I just don't want him to be dead.”

“Fine just- just be careful and call me when you need to.”

“I will.”

A knock on the door interrupts Neil in the middle of a sentence, “I made dinner,” Aaron's soft voice comes from the other side when Ansrew doesn't reply. 

“I have to go,” he says.

“Call me,” Neil replies before hanging up.

They eat dinner quietly on the couch, the sound of Aaron chewing something crunchy loud in the silent room.

"If you still want I have the list” Aaron says with downcast eyes.

“Then get it,” he replies after another long silence.

Andrew watches as Aaron rushes towards his bedroom, his bowl hastily placed on the coffee table.

Why are you so different, he wants to ask but doesn't.

“Here,” Aaron says a few seconds later as he hands him a wrinkled piece of lined paper, Aaron's elegant handwriting filling the page.

Andrew just nods at the paper and places it on the sofa by his side.

“You're not going to look at it?”

“I'm eating,” Andrew replies.

Aaron nods, his lower lip trapped between his teeth, a dot of blood staining his skin.

“Stop that and eat,” Andrew says, tapping Aaron's chin with his finger.

For a second it looks like Aaron is going to say something but before anything can come spilling out of his mouth, Aaron shakes his head and goes back to his dinner.

♧♧

“We're going for a picnic,” he tells Aaron on Wednesday, a week and a day after Aaron's death.

“What?” Aaron asks as he looks away from the open book on his lap.

“It's in your list, isn't it?” 

“I mean, yeah but-”

“You have an hour to get ready. Chop chop.”

The sun is high in the sky by the time they reach the park. It's still a little cold outside, the air a little chilly, the sun a little weak.

“This is so nice,” Aaron says as he fiddles with the hem of the table cloth that Andrew had placed on the ground. There is a smile that Aaron is trying to hide on lips and it makes the ants under Andrew's skin disappear for a second.

“I always saw families having picnics when I was in primary school,” he tells Andrew as he bites the tuna, mayo and lettuce sandwich they had bought at the café near that park. “It would be better if Nicky were here too.”

Andrew just hums in reply.

“What's your favourite sandwich?” Aaron asks, trying to fill the silence.

“Probably-”

“Wait,” Aaron interrupts him. “I'll try to guess.”

Andrew looks at him a little puzzled as Aaron furrows his brows, a look of deep concentration painted on his face.

“I've got it,” he says after a few seconds, a crumb of white bread falling from the corner of his mouth. “Pulled pork with BBQ sauce.”

Andrew just nods.

“Now you,” Aaron says as he takes another bite from his sandwich.

“Me what?”

“Guess my favourite,” Aaron says, sounding a little too excited, his smile too bright.

“It's not that hard to guess. It's the same as mine. It's what we always got from highschool to college.”

“Mine is meatballs,” Aaron says quietly as he takes another bite of his sandwich.

“Since when?” Andrew asks. It had been years since the two of them had last eaten a sandwich together. Andrew can't help but to wonder what more he missed in Aaron's life.

“Since I was seven and a guy from school gave me a piece of his because I didn't have anything to eat,” Aaron says calmly without looking at Andrew. “I hate BBQ sauce.”

“But we always for pulled pork and BBQ,” Andrew says. It was their favourite, they would always eat it together for dinner after school.

Aaron just shrugs, “It was your favourite,” he says.

“But you-” Andrew begins but is interrupted by a ball landing on his leg.

“I'm so sorry,” a kid shouts as he runs towards them with his brother behind him. “We are so sorry. It was an accident.”

“It's fine, no one got hurt,” Aaron says, picking up the red ball and giving it back to the kid. “Just be more careful next time.”

“Oh my god it's clones,” the smaller child says while hiding behind his brother. “Like in star wars.”

“It's twins you idiot,” the older brother reprimands him as they run away. 

♧♧

When Aaron gets back home on Thursday's evening at 9:45, he looks tired and upset. His shoulders are hunched, his movements slow, his eyes never once lift from the floor.

“What's wrong?” Andrew asks from where he's sitting on the couch.

“Just a bad day at work,” Aaron replies, his voice so low Andrew has to strain to hear him.

“Come,” he says, patting the couch.

“I just want to-”

“Come,” Andrew says again.

Aaron trudges towards the couch and Andrew can see a little tremor in his hands. He looks for signs of drug use but comes up empty.

“Speak,” he says as soon as Aaron is sitting on the couch by his side, his chin resting on his knees as he hugs his legs to his chest, his dirty shoes on the couch.

Aaron opens his mouth but no words leave his lips, just a shaky breath.

“It's okay,” he says as he watches the tremble in Aaron's lips. “Take a deep breath.”

Aaron shakes his head, his eyes wet, “I told his brother it was going to be fine but I-” a dry sob breaks Aaron’s sentence right in the middle. “It was just a little kid and it wasn't even- it really wasn't-”

“It's okay, Aaron,” he says even if he knows it's not.

“And his brother was just there alone and I told him- Andrew I told him that it would- that it would be fine,” there are tears running down his reddened cheeks.

“Can I touch you?” Andrew asks and waits for Aaron to nod his permission before taking Aaron's hand into his own. “You did what you could.”

Aaron closes his eyes for a second, “Can you-” he shakes his head.

“Can I what?”

“Nothing. It was silly.”

“Tell me,” Andrew says. “I'll decide if it's silly.”

A pause and then, “Can you sleep in my bed tonight?”

There is a longer pause, silence fills the room as Andrew thinks it over.

“I told you it was silly,” Aaron says, his eyes now open. “Forget about it.”

Andrew stays quiet for another second, “We can,” he says.

He waits for Aaron's breathing to go back to normal, for the tears to stop flowing down his cheeks, for the tremor in his hands to subside, and then he helps his brother back on his feet and towards his room. Aaron's legs are still shaky, his hold on Andrew's hand tight.

“I'll go wash up,” Aaron says, taking his pyjamas from where he had thrown it that morning and heading for the bathroom.

Andrew sits on the side of Aaron's bed as he waits, scanning the room. He finds it to be more tidy than it had been when Aaron had died, but still disorganised and messy.

“Why is it so messy?” he asks when Aaron walks back into the room. “You always used to keep everything tidy and in perfect order.”

“I just-” Aaron shakes his head and lets the sentence die. Andrew looks at him.

“Come on then,” he pulls down the covers and lies under them. He had missed sleeping in a real bed.

“You don't have to,” Aaron says standing in front of the bed.

“I know,” Ansrew replies. “It's my choice. Just don't touch me.”

“I won't,” his brother reassures him before climbing on the bed.

They lie in silence for a while, Andrew on his back, Aaron on his side, his eyes trained on Andrew.

“You're staring at me,” he says as he looks at Aaron from the corner of his eye.

“When I was a kid,” Aaron whispers as if he were sharing a secret. “I always wanted a brother to share everything with.”

Andrew hums in reply.

“I wanted to build a fort with covers and cushions that only me and my brother could enter. Our secret place where we would always be safe and never lonely.”

Andrew turns on his side and looks at his brother in the quiet dark.

“Goodnight Aaron,” he says, placing his hand on top of Aaron's.

“Goodnight Andrew.”

♧♧

“We are going to the market,” he tells Aaron Friday morning as soon as Aaron leaves his room

“I need to be at the hospital at 1 pm,” Aaron replies.

Andrew nods, “We're leaving in an hour.”

Andrew had never been to a farmers market before nor had he ever wanted to go to a farmers market.

“This is so fun,” Aaron is saying as Andrew tries to dodge the crowd of people that is flowing around him. “Look.”

Andrew isn't sure what Aaron is pointing at, nor does he care that much. The crowd is overwhelming, people constantly bumping into him and touching his body.

They walk around for a while, Aaron pointing to flowers and plants, fruits and vegetables as if he were in a museum instead of a street market.

“Did you know that to make just one pound of honey it takes 2 million flowers?” Aaron asks as they walk past a stand of honey. “Do you like honey?”

“What?” Andrew asks, distracted by a woman who bumped into him.

“You like sweets, so I was wondering if you like honey.”

“I don't know. Never tried.”

“Oh then I should totally buy you some. Come on,” Aaron says walking towards the honey vendor.

“Do you like honey?” Andrew asks as they wait for their turn.

“It's not really something you can eat spoonfuls of or you'll get sick, but I like it.”

They sit on a bench away from the crowd as soon as they buy the honey.

“Here, taste,” Aaron says, scooping some honey on the wooden spoon the vendor had given them.

Honey is sticky and sweet and it makes Andrew's throat burn a little because of the overwhelming sweetness.

“You don't like it?” Aaron asks with a little frown on his face.

Andrew shakes his head.

“Sorry,” Aaron mutters while closing the honey lid.

“What are you apologising for?”

“I thought you would have liked it,” Aaron shrugs.

Andrew just stares at him confused, his face blank.

“It's whatever,” Aaron says as he gets back up on his feet. “We should go home.”

Andrew watches as Aaron throws the jar of honey in the first street bin they find while they head towards Andrew's car.

♧♧

“Neil's playing today,” Aaron says on Sunday as Andrew is cooking dinner.

“Yeah,” Andrew replies because he noticed Aaron hates not receiving a reply.

“Do you want to watch the game?” he asks but then immediately turns on the TV without waiting for Andrew's reply.

When he goes into the living room with their dinner (Aaron's favourite italian pasta), the game has already started and Aaron is comfortably sitting on the couch with his legs crossed, a fluffy blue blanket around his shoulders.

“Thank you,” Aaron says with a smile, taking one of the plates from Andrew's outstretched hand and placing it on his legs. “It just started so you didn't miss much.”

It surprises Andrew how much Aaron talks during the game, how much he notices about the players and their plays, how much he knows about Andrew's team.

“Yeah, he's been doing that the whole season. He really needs to work on that.”

“You've been keeping up with the championship?” Andrew asks.

“Not really, I just watch the games where you, Kevin or Matt play.”

Andrew purses his lips as a mix of emotions explode in his chest. He wants to dig deeper, to ask why. Aaron never showed up for the foxes reunions at Wymack’s place, he cut all contact with everyone, he never once showed any interest in anyone, any will to be their friend. 

Andrew wonders when had Aaron stopped making sense. He wonders if Aaron had ever made sense in the first place at all or if Andrew had made up a version of his brother in his head that had never once been real.

They spend the rest of the evening watching the game, a little smile on Aaron's lips as his hands flail around when he tries to explain sometimes to Andrew.

Could it have always been this easy? He wonders. Did Aaron have to die twice for them to finally spend time together like normal people?

Maybe, Andrew thinks, maybe everything can be fixed.

♧♧

“We are going to the zoo,” he tells Aaron on Monday morning while Aaron is still lying in his bed.

“What?” he asks, his voice low and full of sleep.

“Get ready, we're leaving in an hour.”

Andrew hates the zoo. It's boring and uninteresting. He doesn't care about where any of the animals came from nor from what they had been saved. It's cold and cloudy and the tips of his fingers are frozen. But the zoo was on Aaron's list and it seems to be working perfectly as a distraction: Aaron keeps speed-walking from one enclosure to the next, reading out facts that he seems to find interesting and cool. 

“And this one was saved after hunters shot him down and he lost his ability to fly,” Aaron says after three long and excruciating hours of walking around the zoo surrounded by screaming children and annoying adults. “Isn't that so heartwarming?”

“Heartwarming?” he asks, focusing on the sad little bird sitting in the middle of a huge green field.

“Someone found him when he was just about to die and decided that he was worthy of being saved. They took care of him and gave him a new home.”

“He's a bird who can't fly. Alone in a huge field. It would've been more merciful to just let him die. What kind of life is this?” 

He can feel Aaron's gaze on him as he looks at the bird but when he turns towards him, Aaron's eyes are back on the bird. He doesn't look excited anymore, his gaze soft and sad, something that Andrew can't decipher in his expression.

“It's almost lunch time,” Aaron says, looking away from the bird. “We should go home.”

♧♧

“Next time you are the one who has to visit,” Andrew says on Tuesday morning as he packs his bag. “We should also invite Nicky,” he adds.

“Sure,” Aaron says but there is something strange behind his eyes.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, just- I'm just very very tired,” Aaron says, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“You are not feeling like you're going to relapse, right?” Andrew asks, staring right into Aaron's eyes.

“What? No. No I don't,” Aaron replies, his eyebrows knitted together. 

“Promise.”

“I promise,” Aaron says lightly.

“This is very serious Aaron. Promise me you won't touch any type of drug for any reason.”

“Andrew. I promise I won't touch any type of drug. Unless I'm administering it to a patient. Good?”

“Good.”

“Can I- Nothing,” Aaron says with a shake of his head.

“Tell me.”

“It's silly. Forget about it.”

“I'll decide if it's silly,” Andrew says.

“Can I hug you goodbye?”

Andrew is silent for a second. He can't remember ever hugging Aaron in his life. Not once.

“Yes,” he says.

Aaron moves slowly towards him, as if walking towards an easily spooked animal, afraid that I'll run away. When he's finally standing in front of Andrew, he carefully lifts his arms and places them around Andrew's neck, his cheek resting on his brother's shoulder. Andrew can feel Aaron’s warm breaths on his neck, his brother's heartbeat pounding on his body where their chests are touching. 

Aaron is alive. His brother is still alive.

He tightens his hold around Aaron's waist. He had never hugged his brother before, he thinks again. In two other lives Aaron had died without ever getting to hug his brother. 

Andrew could've gone his whole life without ever getting to share something as trivial and mundane as a hug between brothers.

♧♧

It's Tuesday, the twenty-second of May at six in the afternoon when Andrew's phone rings, the soft voice of a doctor on the other side, the words coming out of her mouth venomous and wrong, lies that Andrew can't comprehend, can't accept.

“That's impossible,” he says getting up from his couch. “Aaron promised he wouldn't touch any drugs. He promised me.”

Aaron promised. He had promised.

“Drugs?” the Doctor asks. “I'm really sorry for the misunderstanding Mr. Minyard but Doctor Minyard's cause of death isn't drug related.”

“What? He didn't overdose?”

“No, Sir. Your brother he- he I'm so sorry. He jumped off a bridge. I'm so sorry.”

Aaron had always claimed that he didn't feel like he was going to relapse. Why hadn't Andrew believed him.

He had been asking the wrong question the whole time. He had tried to solve the wrong problem.

Can I hug you goodbye? Aaron had asked a few hours ago.

Yes, Andrew had replied.

[kiwiana-writes]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you so much @getmehighonmagic @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @piratefalls and @onthewaytosomewhere for the tags!

So... look. YES this is from something new, but it's FINE ACTUALLY because this is a collaboration. So really, it's only half a new thing. Basically it turns out @indestructibleheart and I had individually had thoughts about the same AU and had both thought to ourselves "hmmm idk who would read that though" and then @stereopticons started egging us on and now here we are: armed with a title, a vague plan, a playlist, and some snippets written in Discord DMs at 4am 😅

“Love?” Henry called out, hands slowing to a stop where they’d been scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bit of cheese baked into the bottom of a pan. Alex appeared in the doorway a few moments later, leaning against the frame and blatantly letting his eyes travel up and down Henry’s body. “Domesticity looks good on you, sweetheart.” “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Alex—I will not be Pavloved into doing all the chores.” Alex just grinned, tongue poking out between his teeth. “I was actually wondering about the chain? Why did you take it off?” “Oh, yeah.” He stepped fully into the room, plastering his chest to Henry’s back, his face pressing into Henry’s shoulder as he dropped a kiss there. “I just… I don’t need the constant reminder of where I come from anymore. I found where I was going instead. The key is my past, the ring is my present…” He wrapped his arms around Henry’s waist, hands splayed on Henry’s stomach, pulling him impossibly closer. “This, right here, is my future.” “Christ, Alex.” There were tears in his eyes when he turned around, pulling Alex into a fierce kiss. The tears in Alex’s eyes came a little later, when Henry bent him over the kitchen island and ate him out until he was begging; their relationship was, at its core, all about balance.

Forever feeling feral for whatever y'all are up to, so tagging @affectionatelyrs @anchoredarchangel @anincompletelist @blairwaldcrf @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @cultofsappho @daisymae-12 @dumbpeachjuice @everwitch-magiks @firenati0n @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @hypnostheory @indestructibleheart @indomitable-love @inexplicablymine @leaves-of-laurelin @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @matherines @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @notspecialbabe @orchidscript @rmd-writes @sherryvalli @ships-to-sail @smc-27 @sparklepocalypse @ssmtskw @stereopticons @tintagel-or-cockleshells @welcometololaland @whimsymanaged and, as always, anyone who wants to play! (If you take the open tag please tag me so I can see!!)

[samstree]

I'm taking it slow (feeding my flame)

a little firefighter!obi-wan au. it's a finished fic so please do not tag as wip. ao3 link is here.

“What do we have today?”

Anakin turns towards the source of that warm, honeyed voice, and finds the familiar sight of his favorite uniform in the world—well, his favorite only because of the wearer.

Obi-Wan Kenobi walks through the front door of the robotics lab of Coruscant University in dark navy overall with reflective stripes, hands gloved, well-combed auburn hair covered in the safety helmet. All standard-issue for members of the city’s firefighters.

“Officer Kenobi.” Anakin nods to him, as properly and politely as he can with his prosthetic arm trapped between the stair rails. It’s an awkward position he has found himself in, having to twist his body to sit on the steps while waiting for his rescuer to arrive. “As you can see, I fell.”

He gestures to himself and the half-formed circle of bystanders around him, the grin on his face upon Obi-Wan growing, stretching from ear to ear.

“Uh-huh, I’m sure you have,” Obi-Wan replies, passing the crowd and laying down his toolkit on the step beneath Anakin’s feet. “Right into these rails that happen to be the perfect size for your arm to get stuck in. Just like last week on the bridge, and the month before when it got caught in one of your fancy machines. You are lucky it’s always the one made of metal.”

Obi-Wan sends a look of disbelief while pulling out a crowbar from his kit, eyes blue and piercing. Anakin’s face grows warm when they are so close, and Obi-Wan is kneeling by his feet. It’s inappropriate to get flustered simply being near his favorite firefighter in front of all his friends—he can hear Aayla laughing at him somewhere in the curious crowd—but it’s hard to help himself when Obi-Wan is so close.

“Well, you know me, officer. Ever the clumsy one.”

Anakin looks at Obi-Wan with wide, innocent eyes, and only gets a sigh in return.

“And you don’t need to call me ‘officer’, Anakin. You don’t call firefighters anything.” Obi-Wan has put the crowbar in place right beneath the metal railing as a lever, his grip shifting a few times before pushing on the other end to pry the thing apart. “Try pulling your arm out.”

Anakin shifts his prosthesis, but it won’t budge. His arm is actually trapped quite solidly, the pain sensors sending a tingling sensation to his real nerves.

“Can’t move yet,” he says, and then, “but what else should I call my valiant rescuer?”

“Obi-Wan, darling. As we’ve established many times, you can just call me Obi-Wan while I’m saving your limb.”

Obi-Wan grimaces while exerting more force on the crowbar, heaving out a labored breath, brow furrowed with concentration. Despite the loose-fitting uniform jacket, Anakin can vividly picture the way those biceps are bulging underneath the clothes.

The blush on Anakin’s face becomes warmer, his heart picking up pace. “Obi-Wan, then, answer me this. Are all the firefighters this sexy when they are on a rescue mission, or is it just—oh!”

Distracted by both the show of strength in front of him and his own poor attempt at flirting, Anakin doesn’t notice his arm being freed with a final push, and now he’s falling over with the sudden lack of constraint. He tips forward and slams right into Obi-Wan’s chest, landing his firefighter right on his back.

Their faces are a hand’s breadth away. Anakin meets the slight panic in blue eyes, morphing into indignation.

“Anakin!”

“Hello, there,” Anakin says smugly. “Told you I was clumsy.”

Despite the big eye roll, Obi-Wan still holds Anakin close, arms right around his waist protectively as he pushes both of them off the floor. His jacket smells like dust and petrol, and Anakin presses their bodies together to revel in the moment longer. They both regain their composures as the crowd dissipates now that the show is over.

“There, you’re all rescued,” Obi-Wan huffs, collecting everything and straightening his back. “This is not convincing me that you’re not doing all of this on purpose just to be around me.”

“Who says I was trying to convince you of anything?”

They walk slowly to the door side by side, somehow Obi-Wan’s hand ending up by the elbow of Anakin’s mechanic arm, the touch casual but lingering. He pushes open the door to guide Anakin away from the prying eye of the lingering students in the hallway, and takes off his helmet to tuck it underneath his arm.

With his free hand, Obi-Wan holds Anakin’s prosthesis, inspecting it carefully. When it’s just the two of them, he finally lets the worry show.

“Move your fingers for me, darling,” Obi-Wan asks gently, hand gliding down to hold Anakin’s mechanical hand in his palm. “Any pain on the interface?”

Anakin obliges, the motors in the digits whirling quietly, only a little stiff from the ordeal.

“It’s fine, Obi-Wan. I’m fine,” he adds for emphasis. “It’s nothing I can’t fix later. Artoo has been telling me to upgrade anyway.”

By the gods, Obi-Wan is beautiful like this. With the helmet gone, Anakin can see the streaks of silver by his temples, the few strands of auburn hair out of place. He’s never been able to resist the urge to smooth them down, so he does with his flesh hand. His firefighter needs to look perfect on the job.

And those laughing lines around Obi-Wan’s eyes… Anakin loves those lines. Especially when they deepen because Anakin has done something foolish yet endearing.

“Alright, I’ll see you at home,” Obi-Wan says, the lines around his eyes deepening beautifully from the indulgent smile on his face. “And be careful when you’re working. Don’t get hurt.”

“That should be my line!” Anakin protests.

Obi-Wan raises their linked hands and kisses the back of the metal fingers. “And yet, you are the one that needs my rescuing.”

Anakin’s breath hitches, his heart thrumming with happiness. The kiss is so light that the sensors are barely picking up any pressure, and yet his face is flaming hot.

Obi-Wan has too much power over him, the sight of him lighting up Anakin’s world, a single kiss filling it with technicolor without effort.

“Kenobi! You coming or is your boyfriend actually dying?” An annoyed voice shouts from the driver’s seat in the truck. “You know we have fires to put out, right?”

Obi-Wan answers without looking back, eyes still fixed on Anakin’s face. “One moment, Quin.”

Anakin sends Quinlan a wink, and receives a dirty look from Obi-Wan’s partner. “Hey, Vos.”

“Shut up, Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan fixes the strap of the helmet and turns to leave. “Don’t wait up if I’m late—”

“Wait!”

Anakin catches Obi-Wan’s hand and wraps a hand behind his back, pulling them close again. With their slight height difference and the helmet, he has to dip down to press a chaste kiss on Obi-Wan’s cheek, his fingers lingering on the soft beard that he loves to touch.

“A reward,” Anakin says softly, “for my knight in shining armor.”

He watches his firefighter walk away with pink dusting over his cheeks, turning back from time to time and nearly bumping right into the truck.

Maybe Anakin should flip the table more often.

[createserenity]

Master List of My Fics and WIPs

Been meaning to do this for ages, so here we go. All titles link through to the fics on AO3. Sunlight In Your Smile (M, 12k - wip)

Aziraphale has to attend a family wedding and he may have told a bit of a white lie. Of course he doesn't actually have a boyfriend. So now he needs to find one and in despair he turns to an escort agency for help.

Waking Up With You (G, 1.6k - complete)

Crowley has just left the shop for the night and Aziraphale is locking the door when it hits him out of the blue. Why are they doing this? Why is Crowley leaving?

After six thousand years together and free from Heaven and Hell, Azirpahale realises they need to take the next step in their relationship. Fluffiness all round!

All The Pieces of You (E, 73k - wip)

Aziraphale had known he found Crowley attractive for a long time, but there was nothing wrong with that. The Almighty had done a very nice job when she’d made Crowley and surely appreciating the work of the Almighty was what angels were supposed to do? It was nothing more than that.

Except now Aziraphale knows what lust feels like and that might be a problem.

A mixture of smut, fluff and ridiculous historical adventures.

In The Beginning (E, 8.9k - complete)

In the beginning there was a garden and the Angel of the Eastern Gate and the Serpent of Eden decided that there are better things to do than stand around in the rain getting wet.

Shameless smut, in which Aziraphale and Crowley learn what all the fuss is about sex.

Better Than Today (E, 4k - complete)

Whenever they fucked Crowley said, “I love you.”

It would probably help if they talked about it, but somehow they just keep ending up having sex instead.

Smut with a fluffy ending.

Give In To Desire (E, 4.4k - complete)

Crawley hadn't actually meant for this to happen. He'd thought he'd tempt the angel into eating and the angel would maybe have a few bites and discover that it wasn't so bad after all. He hadn't expected to be setting himself up to be tempted into the sin of lust.

Just another fic speculating on what happened in the basement during the Job minisode, because you can never have too many of those, right?

A Day For Magic (T, 3.4k - complete)

In which there is a bench, a park and a coin, which leads to silliness and fluffiness all round.

Fic inspired by these kisses.

A Time of Wanting (T, <1k - complete)

Crowley wants.

He wants so badly and he's wanted for so long that it's a physical ache in his chest now. Short ficlet that's fluffy and happy, despite how the summary makes it seem. Also inspired by the kiss picture linked above.

Goodnight Angel (E, 14.4k - wip but also works as it is)

Post lockdown-phone-call fic.

Aziraphale had told him not to come over, but he was a demon and obviously he wasn't going to listen. Besides he was going out of his mind with boredom and going to see the angel was a much better idea than a long nap.

WIPs

Apart from my main wip All The Pieces of You I've also got a follow up to In The Beginning in the works and eventually I'll go back to Goodnight Angel as well. Apart from that I'm going to list my wips here and try to keep track of them with tags and get a bit better at posting about them. Some of these will probably never get written, especially since a few days ago there was only 12, then I scrapped one altogether taking it down to 11 and now somehow I'm up to 15. Too many ideas in my head and too many half writtten fics on my computer.

After The Swap

Blind date

Dance for Me

End Times

Entertain Me

Here's to the End Times (yep different to the above fic despite the similar working title)

It's You (This one is a one shot human AU and might be posted soon)

Run Away Together

Sunlight In Your Smile (I've started posting this finally!)

Lockdown Lifted

So You Can Take It Off (Desperately want to finish this because it's different to anything else I've written)

South Downs

University

Run Away Together (very much a working title!)

This Land of Ours (fits in the Pieces of You universe)

Waking Up With You (This is now done and posted!)

Job (This is finished and posted as Give In To Desire - linked above - although technically there are more chapters in the works)

[cloudysonder]

15! mafia! soukoku getting together before 5 years of tension challenge (IMPOSSIBLE)

ok so I don't think I need another WIP on my plate but i can't stop thinking about them so I'm gonna write a hella long fic outline for a hypothetical fic I might've written in a different timeline

This is a half canon compliant half Chuuya leaves the mafia with Dazai AU, with a focus on their powers + how it affects them

Chuuya struggles with his identity and his agency bc of Arahabaki sharing his body, and combats it by trying to be as kind and giving as possible-- it's a way of proving to himself that these decisions are his, not Arahabaki's, because Arahabaki would never choose to be kind. As a result, he gives himself to others too easily, creating a tension of giving up agency/identity in order to prove that he has agency/identity

he does this with the sheep and then with the port mafia, where he eventually meets dazai

dead apple happens

Chuuya thinks the guy is actually the biggest asshole maybe in the universe, but begrudgingly accepts that his power is very useful and they make a good team (you would have to actually waterboard this out of him)

Dazai deems Chuuya his dog, and when Chuuya gets pissed and keeps pestering him abt how patronizing it is, Dazai responds lightly, as if he's saying that the sky is blue,

"Oh please. You were a dog long before I called you one--" Dazai doesn't even bother having the decency to look at Chuuya before ripping his life apart. "--eager to be on a leash and be taken on walks if it meant that it pissed off the wolf inside you. I just have the manners to actually call it a leash."

it isn't the first nor the last time that chuuya wants to kill him, but he can't deny Dazai's right (he usually is, infuriatingly)

He still hits him with a boulder

they build up trust over multiple months-- Dazai begins to believe in Chuuya's competence and skill (enough to relax on missions, because chuuya will take care of things, chuuya will catch the things I miss, and chuuya will catch me if I fall), and Chuuya will follow whatever order Dazai gives, no questions asked (He never steers chuuya wrong, never betrays him in a way that matters, never hurts him in a way that lasts-- usually people would've by now, but not Dazai-- he just annoys him and pranks him and thrashes him in video games, casually saying things about chuuya that are so on the nose that chuuya doesn't feel seen through, but seen)

chuuya goes on a mission that he's supposed to lead himself, and dazai tags along bc he's "on vacation" (healing from broken bones) and bored and knows that chuuya wouldn't let him get more hurt

there's a critical point in the mission where chuuya has to make a decision-- either to jump into the battle and hurt himself to save his subordinates, even if it means the mission wouldn't be completed successfully, or to let them die, guaranteeing success

He doesn't know what Arahabaki would choose, and he's terrified of choosing the same option it would-- he doesn't want to think that he's slowly turning into Arahabaki, that Chuuya one day will be no longer--

Dazai knows. Dazai always knows.

A warm hand envelops his.

The familiar shiver of No Longer Human blankets over him.

"It's your choice, Chuuya." Dazai is looking directly at him, serious for once. "No one else is here now."

And Chuuya, simple, stupid Chuuya, feels the tension he's known his whole life leave him completely-- and what was left?

Oh.

The sun catches on Dazai's brown hair, beautiful even dusted with concrete powder and dried blood--

Fuck.

His hand is warm, his body is still, so trusting, his eyes are unblinking, so knowing--

And Chuuya falls irreversibly in love.

There's no real hiding it from Dazai (nor is there really a "normal" way that Chuuya can act anymore, knowing that he had the capacity, the capability for love)-- Chuuya tries for a while, but Dazai keeps staring at him with calculating eyes, suspicious and uncomfortable with whatever Chuuya is hiding from him

He pesters Chuuya constantly, making infuriating guesses about crushes (fucking Mori??? Chuuya wanted to kill Dazai for even suggesting it) and Chuuya's had enough of trying to escape who he is (which his feelings are tied to, unfortunately)

So, slowly, he lets himself show the affection he wants to-- a brush of hands, a hold on Dazai that's a little too tight when they lean on each other, a patching up of wounds that's a little gentler, a dinner of crab soup and rice that he took hours to learn how to cook---

Dazai stops pestering Chuuya pretty quickly after that

(He also never pulls away when Chuuya presses in, never comments on it, acts as if he doesn't know and doesn't care, and Chuuya finds some twisted sort of relief in that)

He's also become fiercely protective of Dazai, working thrice as hard so that he never sustains a single injury bigger than a scratch

"Wow---, why's my dog so easily riled up recently?" (they both know why)

Dazai is his to protect, but his in no other way. Chuuya knows that. He turns away when he flirts with pretty girls and gives them his number, and still admonishes him with the same tone he always does when he fucks around with women instead of doing his job

Chuuya genuinely shrugs it off— he doesn't love Dazai for it to be returned— it's just a fact in his life— his hair is red, his eyes are blue, he loves Dazai. Fin. He doesn't need to be in a relationship with him, he doesn't need to own him, he just wants to keep Dazai safe, and make him happy where he can

Dazai, meanwhile, is actually having a conniption— He figured out that Chuuya had a crush on him pretty quickly, but he's the most lost he's ever been in his life

He's never been loved so gently before, so carefully, as if he's a unique existence and intrinsically worthy of love-- Chuuya doesn't use him, doesn't expect anything of him, just keeps giving giving giving giving

Fact: Dazai has always been useful. Fact: Dazai has always been desirable, but in a way that seems dangerous. Fact: Every person who's ever held desire for him seemed to want something in return, as payment for the chore of liking him.

He annoys Chuuya more than anyone he's ever met, and yet Chuuya never treats taking care of him as a chore. He looks into Chuuya's eyes, sees a strange sort of pride, of gratefulness for relying on him, of joy just from the act of indulging him--

He asks nothing of Dazai, nothing, content to hold his hand firmly while Dazai's remains limp, asking nothing nothing nothing, backing off the second Dazai starts to squirm (though, sometimes, Dazai was just adjusting his posture on the couch, he wasn't pulling away— but he'd rather die before he asked the dumb little garden gnome to put his head on his shoulder again)

Dazai has never been more confused in his life. He's only sure of three things: 1) that Chuuya’s affection is genuine, 2) that it is far too good for him, which is a shame because 3) he'll never be able to return it.

Months pass in this limbo state— Chuuya backs off the second Dazai shows Any sign of being uncomfortable (he isn’t, he never was, but he’s confused by the frustration that wells up inside whenever Chuuya mistakes one of his random movements as resistance, pulling away, leaving Dazai oddly lonel—)

They usually don’t get hurt on missions— in all visible aspects, they’re perfect partners; Dazai’s plans don’t fail, and Chuuya never disappoints

But Mori thinks they’ve been a little too full of themselves recently, that they might benefit from a little humility, so he sends them straight into a trap

Chuuya drinks water from a safehouse that Mori arranged to have drugged

His vision goes blurry, fast

He tugs at Dazai, who’s keeping guard, blinking rapidly

“What, slug? Have you forgotten how sleeping works—“

“Dazai,” he chokes out.

Dazai snaps into focus, scanning Chuuya immediately.

“What happened?” Dazai doesn’t understand why panic is rushing through his veins, watching his partner struggle for breath. “Chuuya, breathe—“

“Don’t,” he strangles out, the word barely a whisper. “Don’t drink the water, something’s—“ Chuuya’s body seizes.

“Chuuya!” Dazai grabs him by the shoulders, and he’s surprised by how terribly his own hands are shaking— he can’t lose him, he can’t lose him, not him, not him, he’s never felt this strongly about the possibility of loss before, but he can’t lose Chuuya, he Can’t lose Chuuya, not the warm hands that hold his own, not the soft hair that buries into his neck, not the way his body always seems to fall into his, utterly trusting, not him, please god, not him, not the boy who loves him— he knows he doesn’t love Chuuya back, but he can’t lose Chuuya—

He brings Chuuya to his chest, preparing to make him throw up—

A bullet tears through Dazai’s arm.

Another one, seconds later, through his leg.

Dazai hisses in pain, grabbing his gun from his pocket

He’s not the best sharpshooter in the mafia for nothing— he shoots into the distance and hears both bullets hit their marks— he’s listening for the sound of two bodies falling—

A third gunshot rings from behind, and Dazai isn’t going to be fast enough to dodge it in time, fuck, but he can shift so it hits some non critical part of his body—

Shaking arms shove him to the ground

Dazai thinks the sound of the bullet burying itself into Chuuya’s body is going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Chuuya’s warm blood is soaking into his lap, and Dazai’s vision begins to turn red at the edges

He uses more bullets than necessary to kill the last sniper, shooting his hands first, then his legs, his arms, his shoulders— he doesn’t get the mercy of a quick death— he hopes he bleeds, just like Chuuya is now—

The helicopter would come to pick them up at the meeting point in a few hours— he just needed to last until then—

He treats Chuuya’s injuries the best he can, murmuring his name like a prayer, begging begging begging

He ignores his own pain— or, that’s not quite right— he doesn’t even register his own pain— his own wounds are nothing in the face of the possibility of Chuuya’s death, and adrenaline keeps his limp arms moving, his wobbly legs walking

The helicopter picks them up

On board, a doctor patches Chuuya up and assures Dazai the poison wasn’t lethal and that the shot didn’t hit any major organs

Upon hearing (his) Chuuya would be ok, all of Dazai’s muscles relax at once, and he passes out

Chuuya wakes up in the hospital first

Dazai is in a comatose state, recovering— he’d be fine, but it’s the worst he’s been injured since Chuuya was assigned to be his partner

Chuuya waits by his side, holding his hand, running his fingers through his hair, caressing his cheek with his hand

He heard from the doctors that Dazai insisted, hysterically, that the doctors treated Chuuya first, despite his own injuries worsening by the minute

“Fucking asshole,” Chuuya pinches Dazai’s cheek.

He doesn’t wake up

He wakes up a week later, blinking slowly into consciousness

Chuuya is sleeping beside him, resting his cheek in the palm of Dazai’s hand

His eye bags look horrendous, and his face is pale

He nudges him without meaning to

Chuuya wakes up immediately

“Dazai?” He rubs his eyes a few times, as if he was checking he was awake. A few blinks later, Chuuya’s entire face melts. “Fuck, Dazai.”

Dazai isn’t prepared for the armful of Chuuya that barrels into his chest, burying into his neck— oh, Chuuya is warm—

Chuuya begins pressing small kisses into his hair, into the skin between his ears and his neck, eventually moving to kissing him on the apples of his cheeks

Dazai’s heart is doing a weird flop in his chest— he sees Chuuya’s sapphire blue eyes shining with tears, feels his chapped lips against his face, and god, is it pathetic that this feels like the first time he’s ever really been alive?

“You scared the shit out of me—“ Chuuya’s voice is trembling. “Why the fuck would you make them treat me first— I was literally fine, you fucking dumbass bitch, and I heal fast, you know that, you’re the lanky brittle stick— you were in a fucking coma for like a week, do you even know how, how worried I was?”

Frozen as he is, Dazai stumbles out a “why?”

Chuuya glares at him.

“You know why.”

He does. He still doesn’t know why. But Chuuya is peppering kisses all over his face and murmuring reminders to himself about gauze changes and medicine and antibiotics, so Dazai just lets himself stop thinking for once—

He catches Chuuya glancing at his lips, and he waits for a kiss there, but it never comes.

“You missed a spot.”

Chuuya turns bright red (cute cute cute), and looks toward the wall, clearing his throat.

“You should save that kiss for someone you love, mackerel.” Chuuya sighs, the red beginning to leave his cheeks. His eyes lose a bit of light, and Dazai wants to shove his words back in his throat. “I wouldn’t— you’ve already, uh, let me do this much.” He rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable, as he untangles himself from Dazai.

Dazai wants to throw something (when did he ask Chuuya to stop, why is Chuuya sitting back in the chair, why is Chuuya holding his own hands instead of his, come back come back come back).

But Dazai doesn’t say anything, and Chuuya starts milling around the hospital room, collecting his medication

Chuuya nurses him back to health

He doesn’t kiss Dazai again

More months pass

Chuuya still asks for nothing from Dazai, and Dazai is weirdly frustrated by it (Oda and Ango are tired of hearing about it— they insist that Dazai has, ew, Feelings for him, to which he responds, like a mature adult, “The only feelings I have for the amoeba are pity and disgust— he’s stupid, it’s all stupid! And I’m a genius, obviously, so this is all below me!” He mutters, under his breath, “Dumb Odasaku, stupid ango, thinking they know better than me”)

They’re at a high end mafia party

Chuuya looks absolutely dashing, as always

Dazai cleaned himself up just to watch Chuuya’s face turn red

Dazai’s fooling around with some girls, playing the games he always plays, and glances out of the corner of his eye

Dazai freezes.

A Port Mafia man is on his knees, his hand cradling Chuuya’s, his lips planted firmly on Chuuya’s knuckles

And Dazai feels like he’s boiling alive— he hasn’t even kissed Chuuya, and this, this GRUNT is DIRTYING his— Chuuya with his fucking disgusting mouth, and Chuuya’s skin is so soft and warm and smooth and Dazai should be the only one in the world who knows how it feels

Dazai storms up to him and snatches Chuuya’s hand away, replacing it with his own. He introduces himself, but his tone and his eyes are deadly.

They sit in a rare moment of silence on the way back

Chuuya looks weirdly happy

Dazai doesn’t want to wipe the look off his face, so he keeps his mouth shut for once, watching the moonlight catch in his partner’s red hair and blue eyes— he’s so beautiful, Dazai thinks, and he tries to burn the image of Chuuya’s smug smile into his retinas

Dazai follows Chuuya home

They fall back into their old childish teasing the second they collapse on the couch, wrestling and yelling between delirious laughter— that’s the thing about Chuuya, Dazai thinks, he makes Dazai feel like the kid he never got to be.

Chuuya wins a round, and Dazai wins a round, and though they hadn’t agreed on a bet or a reward, Dazai chirps, unable to stop himself, “Guess that means that I have to do something for you, and you have to do something for me! You know, to be fair!”

“Ok…” Chuuya is staring at him suspiciously, checking behind him for a hidden pillow or another similar weapon (which, rude! he would never cheat! Scout’s honor.)

Dazai’s eyes seem to be darting everywhere but Chuuya. “For Chuuya, hmm… I’ll stop flirting around with girls!”

Chuuya blinks at him, bewildered. “I don’t really mind— it’s not like—“

Dazai cuts him off (he doesn’t want to hear the end of the sentence, for some reason?), the next words rapidly stuttering from his mouth—“And in exchange, Chuuya’s not allowed to flirt with anyone, ok?”

A light seems to dawn in Chuuya’s eyes, and he bites his bottom lip, trying to keep down a laugh. “Ok, mackerel. Deal.”

“Good slug.”

Chuuya actually does laugh, this time. “Fuck off.”

Things are a little different, after that. Chuuya gets more confident— he invites Dazai over for movie nights where he falls asleep on his shoulder, he occasionally presses a chaste kiss atop Dazai’s bandages (as if he’s something worth loving, somehow), and they still wrestle and fight and prank each other, but it’s euphoric— it’s their communication, their reminder that the other is thinking of them.

Dazai is still the one on the receiving end of things, and he realizes Chuuya’s never gonna kiss him on the lips because of his stupid moral code that kisses should be loving and romantic from both sides, and well, Dazai doesn’t know about love or any of that other dumb stuff, but he wants to kiss Chuuya

Dazai stays over at Chuuya’s apartment more often than not, and one day, as Chuuya’s leaving for work (he always shows up a couple hours earlier than Dazai), Dazai gathers up the blankets and waddles over to him, still sleepy

“Chuuya?”

“Fuck off,” he replies out of habit more than anything else.

“Chuuyyuyuyaaaaa—“

“What?” He finally turns to Dazai, who seizes the opportunity to give him a kiss, licking Chuuya’s lips as he pulls away.

“Have a good day at work!” Dazai smiles against Chuuya’s lips.

Chuuya works through a couple of phases— shock, joy, all encompassing bigger than the universe giddiness, shock, hope, hope, hope

He watches Dazai waddle back to his bed and collapse in the middle of it, taking up both his side and Chuuya’s

Chuuya smiles all day

After Oda’s death, Chuuya is the first one to grab Dazai’s hand before he can drown.

Dazai has never doubted that Chuuya cared for him, that Chuuya loved him, and it’s so fucking affirming to be believed— to know that someone believes you’re human, through and through

So he hopes that Dazai would trust him to take the initiative here, to make a choice that would truly be a middle finger to Arahabaki, to let Dazai be the savior he already was to Chuuya

“Dazai,” He says, knowing what happened before Dazai says a word, seeing it in his grieving eyes, his miserable form (how dare people think he has no emotions, how dare them, how dare them). He grabs both of Dazai’s hands and pushes their foreheads together with enough force to be a headbutt. His smile is sharp, a little scared, but he’s sincere. “Let’s run away together.”

and they run away and never define their relationship completely, but they are partners, through and through

Chuuya wants agency and to be seen as human and to be trusted and believed, Dazai wants to trust someone to take care of him and to believe in someone’s care for him and sees Chuuya as utterly human

They complete each other, they trust each other unconditionally

Chuuya wakes up with a ring on his finger one day, and Dazai shrugs and says that it might make Chuuya’s side of the deal they made 4 years ago a little easier

Chuuya thinks this is very funny

Dazai wakes up the next morning with a matching ring on his finger

They never have a wedding— they don’t need to prove their partnership to anyone— and they can count the amount of times they’ve said “I love you” on one hand— that’s private, that’s theirs and no one else’s

They’re both part timers at the ADA (the ADA insisted; if they were both full timers, there’d be no work for anyone else to do— Chuuya plows through paperwork, and they’re still soukoku— they never fail a single mission)

In their free time, they play games, write some shitty novels and some not so shitty novels, they try painting, they both become polyglots, read all the books they can in all the languages they can read, and it is all so mundane and so, so human

they no longer have to prove it to anyone

They are home

[eusuntgratie]

wip wednesday on thursday bc i do what i want 😘

haven't shared in a while bc i haven't had time to write but i appreciate all the tags so i'm gonna share a few little snippets of a few things i'm working on. tags below the cut!

guess who tripped and fell into a new fandom? oops. y'all gotta scroll past some 🏳️‍🌈👽 before you get to any rwrb-adjacent words 😏

malex bartender au (roswell new mexico) - hopefully posting soon!

Alex is covering the bar for Maria when he gets stuck, bottle of tequila hovering in between the bar and the glass he’s supposed to be pouring it in. He works hard not to notice people, notice men, but the most beautiful man he’s ever seen is walking into the bar and it's impossible to look away.

malexa 2x06 canon divergence, starting with maria waking up the next morning

Maria wakes up with a crick in her neck. One of her arms is asleep and she’s got a pleasant ache in her thighs.  She's warm, and the bone-deep fear that's been trying to suffocate her for weeks has abated. She takes a deep breath and keeps her eyes squeezed shut when she remembers why.

me? already writing rpf from my new fandom? GASP! please pretend to be shocked - vlamburn + a third i can't decide if i want to keep mysterious or not bc everyone who reads them would know who she is anyway i think?

“Kiss him,” she tells Michael, who finally tears his gaze from Tyler’s face to ask, “why?”.  “Because I wanna see.”  She nods and smiles when Tyler searches her face, looking a little panicked. But then Michael is leaning in close, wrapping his big hand around Tyler’s pretty neck and pulling him in and kissing him like he’s starving for it. Tyler moans and she’s so fucking wet she could shove Tyler out of the way and sit on Michael’s dick right here in front of him, but she keeps still, and watches. The way Michael pulls him closer, the way Tyler’s fingers twitch near his waist.

a little cuck fic update (sensing a pattern? don't worry about it) - taynick, disaster verse

Nick catches himself leaning forward, trying to chase Taylor’s mouth and his touch. He hears a sharp, “stay,” that rocks all the way through him and he slams himself back in the chair. He gets a barely perceptible nod for his efforts. He tries not to think about what he could do to elicit a bigger reaction. He drags in a breath and refocuses on Taylor. At a small gesture Nick barely notices, Taylor bends over the bed again. He is so fucking beautiful. Nick’s not sure he’s ever had the chance to just take him in like this. He’s always so desperate to get his hands on him when they’re alone.

alright that's enough snippets... hopefully i'll be able to get some things finished in the next few months! i miss writing! let me know what you think; i need all the motivation i can get.

thank you for the tags sunday and wednesday!

@catdadacd @firstprincehornyramblings @thesleepyskipper @basil-bird @sparklepocalypse

@thinkof-england @taste-thewaste

tagging @lostcol @bigassbowlingballhead @onward--upward for alien reasons 😘🛸

[patolemus]

Wip Sunday

Got tagged a while ago by the wonderful @dontcallpanic @hedwig221b @gege-wondering-around and @endwersed (sorry this took me so long y'all it's been a tough week) so here you have another snippet from my time travel au

As he waits for class to start, Stiles takes out his phone. He’s got no new messages after the one from Vinny confirming Deucalion and his pack left town Saturday morning, and that Kali and Ennis were getting ready to do the same. Since no werewolves have started banging at his doorstep demanding he reveal what he’s doing in Beacon Hills, and hunters haven’t stuffed him full of arrows, Stiles considers the whole ordeal a success. A job well done, all in all.

There’s only one little thing that keeps nagging at Stiles, an ache in the back of the head.

But before he can get onto that little piece of information, the desk in front of him rattles with the sudden weight thrown on it. Stiles looks up instantly, lookingassessingmeasuring the personthingthreat. Maybe a harpy? A wendigo on the loose?

It’s Laura Hale. Stiles thinks he prefers the wendigo.

“Hey, Myca! How are you? You weren’t here last Friday, right? That was a bummer, I was going to invite you to hang out at the movies with a few friends, but I didn’t catch you all day,” she says, barely stopping to take a breath. Stiles wonders if this is what it feels like when he steamrolls over people with his words, and if so how is it that no one ever actually taped his mouth shut, because it’s kind of overwhelming.

Then again, maybe that’s the panic attack building up in the pit of his stomach. Who knows?

Why is it that no matter how much he tries to avoid the Hales, they end up finding him anyway? Stiles had never meant for them to even know his name, and now both of them have talked to him.

He misses Scott. Scott would know what to do, he’d be a gentle buffer between him and the Hales, would soak up the social interactions while Stiles panics in peace.

But Scott isn’t here. His Scott is dead, and in his place there’s an eight year old, and he’s not. Here.

Stiles still hasn’t learned to live without him. He dreads the day he finally does.

Laura is still looking at him, expectant. It takes Stiles a moment to realize she’s waiting for him to provide her with a real answer for her question.

Ah, shit. How is he supposed to not-explain that he was out in the distillery near the preserve watching a showdown between werewolves and hunters, threatening a few Alphas with murder and basically creeping on every supernaturally inclined individuals in town?

Yeah, Stiles thinks the fuck not.

“I had a few things to take care of. My dad—” he allows his throat to close up, remembering his dad and the awful fate that befell him. Stiles feels dirty for using the memory of his dead father to trick Laura, but it works out almost too well. Immediately, her face shifts from an invasively curious one to a sympathetic, pitying expression. Stiles has to hold back the urge to tell her to save her pity for herself, since she’s going to need it much more than he does if his plan doesn’t work. “Anyways, it was best if I didn’t come,” he finishes lamely.

Laura just stares at him for a moment, making Stiles want to fidget on his seat. While her gaze don’t inspire the same trepidation Derek’s did, it’s just as intense. Stiles remembers that was a trait both Derek and Cora shared, and now he’s guessing it’s a family thing. Her green eyes are nowhere near as pretty as Derek’s, but nonetheless Stiles fears they may be able to peer into his soul and find all of his secrets.

Stiles looks away before she does. It seems like the only thing he can do when it comes to the Hales.

“That’s alright, then,” there is a certain softness in Laura’s voice that makes Stiles want to scream. He says nothing. “Hey, do you want to go to the lacrosse game this Friday? It’s the last game before winter break, and everyone in school is going,” she swiftly changes the subject, and while the soft part of Stiles appreciates it, he can’t help but curse the particular topic she chose.

Seriously, what is it that the Hales find so interesting about him? Stiles never got this kind of attention from anyone in school before. In fact, people actively avoided him because he talked too much and couldn't stop moving and would go on about weird shit. Also because of his unfortunate stunt as a child delinquent who went about breaking people's noses when they pissed him off. And Stiles avoided them right back, since most people didn’t interest him enough. Without Scott, Stiles would be a loner by definition.

Yet here he is, with Laura Hale flashing her almost-too-toothy grin at him.

Laura is the best, I love her. Not a lot of sterek on this one but I thought I'd share a little of what Stiles gets up to when he's not too busy daydreaming about Derek hehe. No pressure tagging @hedwig221b @dontcallpanic @salty-fryingpan @novasillies @oldefashioned @fuji09 @endwersed @gege-wondering-around and @kittykatstiles sorry again that this took so long, uni is unsurprisingly kicking my ass

[blackberrysummerblog]

So many more than six sentences and not quite Sunday

On the heels of my sad!post, here’s something hopefully more fun: a bit from my never-ending WIP, the married-bythe-crucible au I’ve had in drafts for over a year. This snippet isn’t newly written and I’m crossing my fingers that I haven’t posted it before. I’m actually just going to post a huge fat chunk so there will probably be at least something new. Aaaand if I’ve posted the whole snippet before, no I didn’t 😢 It’s under a cut for mild spice. Thanks for the Wednesday tags @youarenevertooold @aristocratic-otter @confused-bi-queer @artsyunderstudy and @valeffelees!

Snow runs into the bedroom ahead of me, turning at the last moment to hurl himself onto his back on the bed. He’s cackling wildly. “Their faces!” he wheezes, clutching his stomach and kicking his heels on the duvet. His wings stretch up and out, then curl in and fold themselves neatly.

I lock the door and cast a silencing spell around the room.

“Oh Merlin.” He pushes up on his elbows to look at me, his eyes shining with mirth. “When you came out with, “the pitter patter of little claws on the Italian marble’...” He drops back onto the bed and gasps for breath.

Smirking, I approach slowly, acutely aware that neither of us is wearing any more than short swim trunks and t-shirts, and the paltry quantity of fabric is suddenly seeming far less than adequate to keep us out of mischief. “It’s not that they believed any of it,” I tell him, reaching out to place a hand on his bare foot. He’s still cooler than usual, from the pool. I love him singularly.

Snow must have closed his eyes for a moment, because when he lifts his head again to regard me, he’s squinting at me with just one eye. “It’s that you sided with me. To make a joke at their expense. They’re gobsmacked.”

Crowley. Simon Snow is completely thick, but now this. He’s understood exactly. “It’s unforgivable,” I murmur, but I’m smiling, partly because he’s laughing again and it’s contagious, and partly because I’m stroking the top of his foot with my thumb, and it’s skin touch close Simon love and unbearable more ache die. I’m falling into myself while being inescapably yanked toward him, as surely as a Crucible joining.

I climb up onto the bed and Simon's feet slide apart readily, making room for me to crawl between his legs. I do, putting a hand on one bent knee while pressing a kiss to a mole on the other. Snow’s eyes are closed but he smiles in a way that almost seems smug; he wriggles back and forth for a moment as though preening under my attention. “You like that?” I murmur, deliberately keeping my eyes above the drawstring of his (my) exceedingly small swimming trunks. He whines when I push his shirt up as far as it will go and begin my ascent, one mole at a time: one on his hip, two like small round twins just beside his navel, and on and on. He hitches at each touch of my lips, but otherwise remains silent until I reach the one right at the edge of his left nipple.

“Baz,” he whines, reaching for me. And Crowley, I’m weak, because I lower myself onto his chest and nuzzle into his neck, kissing and mouthing at any available space I find. He’s everything. I can’t believe that this is a thing people feel, this all-consuming need for another person, and that he’s letting me be this near to him. One of my hands cups the back of his head while the other grips his waist, kneading him as he squirms beneath me. “Baz,” he says again.

I push myself up, hating myself for the wreck I must look. “What, Snow?”

His cheeks redden, and of course that only makes me want him more. Everything he does makes me want him more. “I just like saying your name,” he stammers, eyes shifting away from my face. “It makes me feel...closer to you.”

“Oh.” I hear the softening in my own voice.

“Baz?”

“Yes?”

“I like you a lot.” It’s a small statement, murmured quietly, yet it feels momentous. “Really, really a lot.” Simon reaches up, taking my face between his hands. They’re warm now, I notice dimly. “No one’s ever treated me the way you do. Like I’m...valuable. I know that sounds stupid,” he adds defensively, his fingers tensing along my cheekbones as he juts his chin up at me.

Valuable. Treasured. Cherished. Beloved. All true, and all so difficult to surmount the sincerity of; it may well kill me. But I lower my face to kiss the side of his eye; as it flutters closed I feel his lashes against my cheek. “You are valuable, Simon,” I choke out, despising every word and the vulnerability the confession inflicts upon me. “You’re the most precious thing I’ve ever known.”

His smile feels legendary, the way it lights me up from the inside. I’m so hopelessly, hopelessly lost. And then his legs wrap around the back of my knees, followed by his tail, pressing our hips close together. Oh.

Have a great week everyone! No pressure tagging: @rimeswithpurple @papierhaikuphoto @nightimedreamersworld @aristocratic-otter @valeffelees @c0nsumemy5oul @alexalexinii @prettygoododds @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @nausikaaa @thewholelemon @supercutedinosaurs @youarenevertooold @cows4247 @larkral @confused-bi-queer @asocialpessimist @aceumbrellaheroes @cutestkilla @hushed-chorus @stitchy-queerista @ic3-que3n @raenestee @bookish-bogwitch @forabeatofadrum @ivelovedhimthroughworse @orange-peony @thehoneyedhufflepuff @bazzybelle @theotherhufflepuff @iamamythologicalcreature @ionlydrinkhotwater @fatalfangirl @facewithoutheart @palimpsessed @letraspal @stardustasincocaine @whogaveyoupermission @onepintobean @wellbelesbian @j-nipper-95 @ileadacharmedlife @imagineacoolusername @sailorblossoms

[arliedraws]

WIP time

Tagged by @impishtubist. I’ve been taking a break from writing to read, but let’s see where I left off in my Werewolf Sirius Black AU. In this bit, James begins to teach Sirius magic as part of their agreement.

The extra matchsticks were laid out over the desk. Sirius raised his brow and twitched his wand—all of the matchsticks shuddered, and then, there were a dozen pins sprawled on the desk. James laughed, gawking at the spectacle.

“Nonverbal spells? Already?” said James.

“I told you,” said Sirius, rolling his eyes. “It’s too easy. Give me something I can use: how to conjure things, vanish them—you know. That’s the stuff I want, not this matchstick thing. I don’t need a pin.”

James shook his head. “No, it’s too soon for that. Give it time. Besides, just because a spell is easy doesn’t mean you shouldn’t learn it. The Levitation Charm is easy but dead useful—do you even know the incantation?” At Sirius’s silence, James went on. “You’ve got to memorize incantations, practice them, and build muscle memory. You can’t just skip to the stuff you’ll only use once in awhile—you have to build your arsenal with the ordinary things too.”

Sirius seemed to accept that, but this was evidenced only by his small grunt of consideration before he muttered a counter-spell and returned the pins to their original shape as matchsticks.

I’ll tag @soup-of-the-daisies and @fiendishfyre because I’m hoping maybe there’s some juicy Prongsfoot in the works… 👀