#it's so odd because usually i cannot think of fic titles for my Life and yet here we are lmfao

[camels-pen]

down and down and down we go

[craftylittlenerd]

Snippet Sunday

Tagged by @westernlarch for another snippet Sunday, or more like snippet Monday as I got to spend the day with the family yesterday 😁 Tagging @kalliesa @luciferbecons @partofmycharm @misseffect  @serendipitys-teapot @hauntedjellyfishtraveler to participate if you are so inclined.

So I have a few projects in the works and I debated on weather I post a snippet from one of my fanfiction or from one of my original works. After some debate I figured I post a snippet from my oldest fic that I’ve been taking a break on as I’ve hit a bit of a road block with it. 

Working Title: New Life “So, you’ve been staying here with the Commander?” Castis asks outright; he was never a man to beat around the bush.“ Until she wakes up, I don’t...we’re in this together... I...”  Castis nods understandingly, “Towards the end of your mother's illness, I never left her side.”  His voice grows soft as he remembers Laurus, how Corpalis Syndrome robbed her of being able to do the simplest of tasks. The subtle shake of her hands, the smallest stutter or slurring of words in her otherwise eloquent speech, the weakness she felt in her body. It was too late before either of them realized that these were all early symptoms and not just signs of old age. The disease took its time, taking Laurus away from him slowly over two and a half years, the preventive medication barely doing anything but prolonging the inevitable. Robbing them of their golden years together.  Garrus remembered how his dad hovered over his mother every chance he got while he and Sol had to coax their dad into simple tasks like eating or sleeping. Now the tables were turned, and it was his father’s turn to do the same to his son. Castis could see the weariness on his son’s face, how his clothes fit loosely around his frame.  “I cannot fault you for wanting to do the same, but I will fault you for the smell. When was the last time you showered? Garrus felt like he was thirteen all over again with that question and the look, spirits his father knew how to make him feel like a child.  His father grined, knowing he’d gotten Garrus right where he wanted him. “Wash up; your sister will be a bit longer with the doctor. Then we can go grab a bite to eat.”  Garrus looks around, unsure of what to do or even if he could use the shower in Shepard’s hospital room. He didn’t have a clean change of clothes either, not having returned to the Normandy in the last few days. Miranda and Dr. Chakwas were always able to shoo him away when Shepard was heading into another surgery. Even primarch Victus was able to persuade Garrus out of the Commander's hospital room while one of the other crew members visited.  Usually, he returned to the Normandy to shower, if not quickly buff his plates before changing his clothes. Sometimes he was able to get some sleep; other times, Garrus had enough of an appetite to eat a small meal.  When someone couldn’t visit, or no surgery was needed, Garrus stayed by Shepard’s side no matter how much the staff grumbled. He didn’t want her to wake up alone thinking she was resurrected again; it was her biggest fear. Something Shepard had confided in Garrus early on if not Cerberus, then the Alliance, or worse, some other fringe group would try it again.  It made her uncomfortable in hospitals — even the med bay on her own ship made her skin crawl. Yet she pushed that down anytime any of her crew was injured, or doctors at Huerta needed supplies they wouldn’t otherwise be able to get in Reaper-controlled territory. It's why Garrus never left because he knew Shepard would never leave any of them. Even when Ashley was in the hospital and the two women were at odds, Shepard still looked out for her friend.  “I can’t; there’s no one...I don’t have...” Garrus stammers as his father tossed him a small travel tote.   “I made a call, was able to pull a favor and get you an overnight bag, and your pilot friend Joker said he’d be by momentarily.”   One of these days, Garrus told himself he’d stop being surprised by his father. Today wasn’t one of those days, and tomorrow wasn’t looking any better. Garrus looked at the bag he had just caught mid-air like it was some puzzle to be solved. Upon opening it, he found a change of clothing, some toiletries, a sanding stone and buffing brush, and a few other needed items.  “I’ll watch over her until you’re done washing up. She won’t be alone, son I promise.” Garrus nodded and went into the small bathroom with a mundane shower hoping to get enough hot water to drown the ache in his muscles.   Once Castis heard the bathroom door latch, he pulled a necklace out of his pocket. The slim golden chain of turian design had a simple locket holding an image of his beloved. “Laurus, what do I do? You were always better at these things than me.” Sighing, Castis sat in the all too familiar uncomfortable hospital chair, watching over the woman who captured his son’s intrigue. Castis wasn’t ready to call it love yet. He’d only heard Garrus’s side of things. Made the connections during those long conversations when Garrus first arrived back home. He even approved of the human commander; she was more turian than the two of them combined. Castis knew the feelings were mutual, Victus had told him as much when they talked that morning. There were rumors of a taboo hand-holding incident with a high-ranking Reaper Advisor and the famous Commander on Menae.  Though here she was frail and in a hospital bed — Commander Jane Shepard of the Normandy, first human Spectre, hero of the Citadel, conqueror of the Collectors, Savior of the Galaxy. Her image on the extranet and vids didn’t do Shepard justice, painting her as a larger-than-life figure for humanity to live up to.  Something Castis was sure even she couldn’t live up to. Maybe it would have been better if she had died in battle — to die for the cause, be the legend she had been built up to be. An honor for any family. What more could the Alliance ask for? Yet what kind of world would she be waking up to? What impossible pedestal would she be put upon? All of that didn’t matter to Castis, what mattered was his son, as selfish as that was — but he knew Garrus. No matter where Shepard went, he knew Garrus would follow.  “I’m not good at these things. Garrus's mother was the delegate and worked in the diplomatic corps back on Palaven. She turned down a council position after the kids were born, wanted to give them some form of stability. Something Citadel life doesn’t always allow. I know my work didn’t allow that even after joining C-Sec. Duty always came first. It’s the turian way, but Laurus could always find the balance.” 

Castis sighed again as he looked down at the locket in his hand. “You two would have gotten along. From what I’ve been told, you're a strong, confident woman, eloquently spoken, and have a wicked sense of humor — all things my Laurus was.”A hitch in Casti's voice. “If not for you, I have a feeling I would have buried a child and my wife. It’s a debt I can never repay, yet I owe you my thanks, Commander.  You brought my son back to our family. He was able to say goodbye to his mother,  but if you could just do one more impossible thing and wake up.”  Castis leaned over Shepard’s bed and placed the locket next to her head, pinning it to the pillow so it wouldn’t get lost.“Laurus, watch over our son’s mate. Help the commander find her way back to the world of the living. I’ll watch over our boy — make sure he keeps both feet on the ground.”  Garrus had exited the bathroom, washed and dressed in the items his father had brought him. The clothing hung looser than Castis liked, his brave child wasting to nothing. Still, he didn’t blame Garrus; he knew too well what it was like to wait in this hell. How it aged your soul and left you a shell of who you once were. 

[servicereward]

1, 22, 25 and (if you want) 7? ☺️

Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

A mix of both! I daydream a lot when I'm doing idle work at home, or my job. I kind of turn scenarios over and around in my head and when I like it, I think about how I would translate that scene into words so other people can see and feel what I do. But when I land on a sentence, I have to write it down really quickly or lose it to the ether. Sometimes an idea hooks me and I have to write it immediately; most recently this is how I was with my published Finella/Mary Gargoyles fic, and before that my unpublished Thara Celehar fic for The Chronicles of Osreth series by Katherine Addison :)

22. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process?  How do you come up with titles?

I usually title my fic during the writing process; it's relatively easy for me to come up with titles but sometimes I need to work on the story for a little bit in order to fashion it. I try to make my title a concentration of the fics central theme (longer work) or event (one-shot). For example, "Come to Me, and I Will Give You Rest," is about two women finding kinship and eventually romantic love with one another after living lives of hardship within their respective social classes.

"Orders of Service" (posting TDB) spans the years of 1988-2198 and OwenPuck's experiences with life, love, devotion, and death from both an immortal and mortal lens.

"The Eternal Child" (posting TBD) is an alternate timeline one-shot where Alexander and Puck were taken back to Avalon after the events of The Gathering Pt 1 + 2.

By contrast, I have an unnamed WIP alternating between the respective childhoods of Fox and David, filed under a folder named "The Childhood Series" and with silly throw-away title of "Dr. Spock: On Parenting a Megalomaniac." This one could be seen as a companion piece to "Orders of Service" because allusions are made to events in that fic, but out-rightly it's about David and his relationship with Petros 1960-1975ish, Petros and his relationship with his wife, Fox's relationship as an adult with Titania, and Titania's relationship with Fox as a baby.

25. What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?

My favorite part of the writing process is the writing - it feels so good to have a concept come to life with words that come from my own brain. This has always been one of my favorite parts of writing. I do enjoy brainstorming, because it's like an AMV in my head. But there is such a high to landing on the right flow of words to convey exactly what you are seeing and feeling in your head. Once I'm in the zone I can be in there for hours, building something and looking back and my work and appreciating what I've done so far.

7. Post a snippet from a wip.

This is a snippet from my 2198 WIP - the odds of it ever being published like how I envision are long, but I find it a very fun writing exercise to flesh out concepts like the Space Spawn and the science fiction aspect of alien tech / being in the year 2198. I'll post two snippets, both works in progress.

Snippet 1: (Context: This is from a Spawn perspective. I tried to make their concepts of self, identity, and communication alien while still being engaging. In my version of 2198 The Spawn are a mix of militocracy / theocracy, and have the ability to change their shape in detailed biological ways but cannot be exact physical copies of any one alien race; they are always Spawn. They are raised without the concept of individual identity unless very high up in the government, and typically communicate with each other telepathically)

The suspension chamber was a clean, edgeless void. The refractive index of the space was turned to maximum, as ordered. The light inside was pure, white, and familiar. The Spawn discovered long ago that the environs in which they thrived were often distressing to those who would resist them.

This subject was faring better than most. In the time it took for all the bio-enquiries, and between alterations, the subject had managed to find a corner. It wasn’t exactly a corner, of course, but as close as one could find in a suspension chamber. The subject kneeled where the slope of the floor began to curve into the slow slope of the ceiling, pressing it’s frons against the wall of light. 

This proof of resource was amusing. A small impressiveness. This subject had directed a large number of subversives, after all. Some intelligence was obvious. 

Praetorfect drew close to the subject’s side with the disabled limb. Deprived of its rudimentary prosthetic, the arm stopped abruptly above the middle joint. It was not likely the subject would resist or attack, but caution bred favorable contingencies.

Praetorfect cleared the throat. Using it was uncomfortable and undignified. But it was too high an expectation to hold that this fleshy race would perceive the insight of the Spawn. The synthesized mixture of oxygen, nitrogen, carbon dioxide, and argon slid back through the primary orifice and over the infolding of membranes that were suspended across the laryngeal cavity. There was no taste to it, because Praetorfect saw no need for taste buds.

“How are you feeling?” The voice was thin, quavering. It would suit the purpose even if Praetorfect ran out of patience on the pleura and respiration muscles.

Subject did not respond. It’s eyes remained closed. Praetorfect had spent years studying Earthling emotional expressions and psychological signaling when the planet was disclosed as the fleet’s next objective - this subject was neutral. 

But it was awake. 

The Bioficers were sure, Praetorfect was told.

“Feeling poorly?” Praetorfect answered for it. “That is understandable.”

Subject did not respond. The environment was cold - were humans prone to states of torpor?

Praetorfect had come here for answers to questions. Perhaps that could be one of them. The bioficers could help.

“You are a unique subject,” Praetorfect said. “Life on this acquisition was not thought worth studying, until you.”

Subject did not respond.

“We are happy we could put you back together again. We took you apart twice.” A pause. It was strange to think about drawing in air to make sounds. All of the languages here were ugly. Praetorfect continued making noise. “Do you know what isotopes are?”

Subject did not respond.

“There is an element common to - most - life in the galaxy. Your world calls it - carbon-14? There exists technology that can determine the age of biological organisms using the science of particle emission. This is combined with some knowledge of light speed mechanics on a subatomic level, and this is used to...the details are inconsequential. But you know the effects.”

The subject’s shoulders rose and fell in perfect time. Each of it’s breaths was no shorter or longer than the duration of the last. Praetorfect wondered if it had been broken, despite what the bioficers said. 

That would make the inculcation problematic.

Snippet 2: (Context: This is an original alien character created for the fic interacting with Delilah. She's an odd-duck from a mainstream Spawn perspective)

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you are nice to look at.”

“Stop it.”

“Is it wrong?” A-Li was incorporating more tonal shifts and variation in her speech patterns. Usually she mirrored whoever she was talking to, regardless of what they were talking about. Her words came out hot. Delilah paused, scaling back her feelings.

A-Li had little hold on social nuance.

“It’s creeping me out,” Delilah explained. “Don’t you know that’s weird? I thought you were supposed to be an Earth expert.”

“It’s one thing to know. Another to experience.”

Delilah rolled her eyes. She supposed that made sense. But still.

Then A-Li said, “I wish I looked like you.”

No. Absolutely not. She turned fast enough to make the spawn skitter into the depths of her cell.

“If I come back here tomorrow and you’re wearing my face, I’ll rearrange it for you. This mug belongs to me, and me alone,” Delilah growled.

“You would rearrange my face? That’s so kind,” A-Li crept forward on hands and knees again, as was her wont. “It takes a lot of time and energy so I would appreciate the help.”

[besanii]

Aaaaaaaggh! The Paper Thin verse is so compelling exactly because no one did anything wrong and yet the knives are there anyway. I love it. I adore the glimpse of LXC having more feeling than he’d started with, I wonder if WWX would ever get there, or how LWJ would feel after seeing them be more than a little comfortable with each other.

[ part one (LWJ) | two (LXC) | three (WWX) | four (LWJ) | five (NQY) | six (WWX) ]

As a prince growing up in the confines of the Inner Palace, Lan Wangji did not have many he could call friends. He had his brother, of course, and the siblings born to the consorts and concubines were there in the schoolroom beside him for their daily lessons—but they were not friends. 

His brother may be family, and Lan Wangji may both love and respect him above all others, but as heir to the throne, there had always been an invisible gap between the two of them their whole lives. Lan Xichen had been training his whole life to shoulder the weight of the throne; likewise, Lan Wangji has spent his whole life training to support him. They are—have always been, and will always be—first and foremost a lord and his vassal, and brothers second. And as the Emperor's vassal, it is his duty to honour and obey him above all others.

Never in his wildest dreams did he think his loyalty would be tested like this. In this way.

"Wei--Wei-xuanyi." The title burns on his tongue. He forces himself to push past the lump in his throat to continue. "Paying respects to Wei-xuanyi."

Wei Wuxian. Wei Ying. His closest friend and confidante. The one, selfish desire he had ever held close to his heart. The one thing he had wanted for himself in this life of duty and service.

His brother's consort.

On the other side of the room, draped in layers upon layers of the finest Gusu silks in blue and purple, flanked on either side by four servants, Wei Wuxian drops the inkstone in his hand. It clatters back onto the well and splatters droplets of black ink over the desk; for a moment he is visibly torn between cleaning up the mess and the obligation to greet Lan Wangji, his fingers hovering in mid-air. Eventually obligation wins out and he ducks his head and bends his knee.

“Hanguang-wang.” He quickly straightens, eyes averted. “My apologies. I did not realise you were there.”

“The fault is mine,” Lan Wangji assures him. “Wei-xuanyi was merely focused on his task, and I was the one who caused a disruption.”

Wei Wuxian hisses sharply under his breath, as if suddenly reminded of his work, and hurries to inspect the damage. He holds out a hand and one of the maids standing behind him places a cloth into the outstretched palm without hesitation, ever attentive to her master’s needs. As they do their best to clean up the mess before it stains—the damage is thankfully not extensive—Lan Wangji cannot resist moving closer to catch a glimpse of what has Wei Wuxian so concerned. What he sees is not what he had expected.

“Dongying warships?” he asks before he can stop himself. “Are those...blueprints?”

Wei Wuxian freezes in mid-motion, his fingers tightening around the cloth until his knuckles turn white. 

“I’d quite forgotten Hanguang-wang would be most familiar with Dongying warships,” he says finally, voice clipped. He does, however, allow Lan Wangji to move closer so they are standing shoulder-to-shoulder, careful to keep at least half a desk’s worth of space between them. “Huangshang knew of my interest in them and so allowed me the opportunity to study their construction plans, in hopes of perhaps improving on them for use in Gusu’s navy.”

Lan Wangji swallows past the lump that has appeared in his throat.

“Wei-xuanyi has always been at the forefront of innovation.” he says. “Your studies and inventions are renowned throughout the Empire. It is only expected fpr Huangxiong to call upon your expertise on this matter.”

It is meant as a compliment, but it does not ease the tension in Wei Wuxian’s answering chuckle in the slightest.

“Huangshang is magnanimous,” he says. “The Inner Palace is not usually permitted to view such documents.”

The tone in which the last part holds the air of something repeated often and frequently and Lan Wangji’s heart aches to hear it. 

“It would be foolish indeed if they kept you from it,” he retorts, and is rewarded with a dusting of pink across Wei Wuxian’s cheeks and a look of wide-eyed surprise at his vehemence. “There is no one better suited to this work than Wei Ying.”

Their sleeves brush against each other as they turn, and Lan Wangji’s breath catches in his throat. They were close enough to touch—he only needed to shift his hand just so and he would be able to brush his fingers over the ink smudges over Wei Wuxian’s knuckles; already now he can feel the warmth of his skin in the air between them. 

Want seizes him then, fierce and hungry; the urge to reach out and grab him by the hand and take him far, far away from this gilded cage and into the vast world beyond its vermilion walls burns in the pit of his stomach. He could. He would. He would fight the Imperial army single-handedly down to the last man if it meant Wei Wuxian could be his once more. He would lay his life on the line to give Wei Wuxian anything and everything he desired—happiness, love, freedom. He would do it, if Wei Wuxian asked it of him.

But he doesn’t.

He pulls away instead, and leaves a wide, yawning chasm where the want had been only a moment before. Cold. Empty. He curls his hand into a fist, digs his nails into the palm of his hand, and pulls away.

“Huangshang has arrived!”

The announcement from the doorway startles them both. Wei Wuxian nearly jumps away with how fast he moves from Lan Wangji’s side, moving around the edge of the desk just as Lan Xichen steps through the door to the library. 

“Wuxian,” Lan Xichen says as soon as he spots Wei Wuxian, already stepping towards him with an arm outstretched.

“Your concubine greets Huangshang,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, sinking to his knees in greeting, only for Lan Xichen to catch his elbow before he can complete the gesture. “Huangshang has come at an opportune time. We were just discussing the blueprints from Dongying.”

“Oh?” Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow curiously. “We?”

The smile in his face flickers in surprise when he notices Lan Wangji’s presence; his eyes dart immediately to the flush high on Wei Wuxian’s cheeks and back to the tense set of Lan Wangji’s jaw, to the heads of the servants, bowed low to the ground. Surprise gives way to realisation, before it settles into a calm acceptance, the warmth in his eyes dimmed.

“Wangji, this is a surprise,” he says. “I was not expecting to see you here.”

Lan Wangji bows his head.

“Your subject greets Huangshang,” he says. “Your subject had come in search of Moling’s harvest records from the past decade as per your instruction. Wei-xuanyi was here when I arrived.”

“I see,” Lan Xichen says levelly. His tone is odd, stilted. Lan Wangji recognises it from countless court sessions against pandering courtiers. 

Wei Wuxian must recognise it too, because he steps in with a ready smile, one hand resting lightly on Lan Xichen’s arm.

“Huangshang, come see the modifications your concubine has made to the design of the ship,” he tells him. “I think you will be very pleased with the improvements.”

Lan Wangji sees the way his brother’s attention is immediately drawn to Wei Wuxian like a moth to flame, his eyes never leaving Wei Wuxian’s face as he allows himself to be led to the desk. His own gaze is drawn to their joined hands, to the familiar way in which their fingers intertwine, and the easy way in which Lan Xichen’s hand rests on the small of Wei Wuxian’s back as they pore over the blueprints together. 

Wei-xuanyi is most beloved. Most favoured.

Wei Wuxian catches his gaze in the middle of his explanation; there is gentleness there, a soft sadness in the corners of his eyes as he speaks. 

And then he turns back to Lan Xichen and the sadness fades a little, his eyes grow warmer, lighter. It pierces through Lan Wangji’s heart and sinks into the pit of stomach, heavy as lead.

He would never ask it of me.

He looks to Lan Xichen, to his brother, and knows in his heart—

I could never ask it of him.

--

buy me a ko-fi!

more paper-thin fic | verse

--

What? I managed to pull myself away from Stardew Valley long enough to write this??? :OOOO Amazing.

[pen-observing]

I finished my fic with this theme and I did the brothers reacting to this. So how could I, an undatables enthusiast, not make this? It took a while but it’s here. Some brain cells were involved in the making of this post,,,, I guess?

MASTERLIST

How the undatables react/pursue you after Diavolo cheats on you while married

Diavolo:

Why is he here? Well you see-- why not

In the human world some believe that the ultimate proof of love is giving the cheater another chance, fighting to salvage a relationship

In all honesty, Diavolo never expects that from you, nor does he hope such a thing can happen

He curses himself for a momentary weakness. A prince, a ruler, so easily swayed and influence does not carry any nobility or respect

He may be the most influential, the most powerful- but he starts seeing himself as weak

He hides away from his thoughts in work, in new holidays, in friendships and partnerships and in excuses

He tries not to give those thoughts space to grow

But, the damage has been done

Diavolo’s worst enemy and worst critic, the one who judges him the most is himself

He knows that with this one deed (some may call it a momentary lapse in judgement) he has undone all the work it took years to build

He knows that falling into temptation is the biggest mistake he has ever made; especially because he cannot bear to have you hate him when he loves you so much

Diavolo has no guts to admit that after what he did, he believes he has no right to claim it face-to-face

So, he randomly visits Lucifer to see you, ask about you. He tasks Barbatos with keeping you safe. Little Ds are ordered to make your life easier without being noticed

Because of what happened, he doubts that he deserves the place and title of a King

And, you notice that the most- in the smiles, in the speeches, in the doubt and guilt that radiates off from him

The only way to salvage this and get back together lies with you. If you, after so much time can forgive but not forget. If you can wish to grow into a union once more.  

He goes along with your wish for divorce just as quickly as he goes for your wish of reconciliation.  

He does not force you, he respects whatever you decide.

Barbatos:

Probably the one which would provide the most material for gossip and speculation, in theory

In practice, it’s like a 500k slow burn romance

Here is why; Barbatos is a man of duty and loyalty to the person that hurt you. He finds no amusement in being the center of gossip nor does he wish for you to go through the dirt. Devildom is such a cruel place, you cannot even imagine what could come your way if the relationship was established early on.

Besides, it is even hard for you to not have Barbatos remind you of Diavolo once the relationship first breaks

Babratos gives you time to heal and move on before he does anything which can show his romantic interest

He knows how charming you are, he knows your habits and he knows that he must be patient before a true connection can be established

So, how does it happen? Well, after healing from Diavolo you naturally, through fate or the wonder of time, need to spend some time in the same circle

Obligations, work and friendships bring you together in a weird way

The balls and parties are something you must attend and because Barbatos knows you, he knows just what you like

The perfect place for you to sit which is neither too warm nor too hot, a place far away from people you do not like in their world but close enough so that you do not miss anything important or fun. For some reason, it always smells like your favorite scent too

The perfect place, the perfect tea, the delicious food with small hidden notes which do not give away his intention but do show his affection  

It just grows more and more unbearable  

The lingering stares, the short but warm goodbyes, the way his hands just brush against yours for a moment longer than usual when he takes your coat

It creates a magical attraction inside that long game, which, as expected, Barbatos is better at than you

You try to find him alone and, in those moments; inside the kitchen or under the stairs while everyone is far away dancing, it becomes just the world of you two

His tone is warmer, he is more direct. You sometimes, inside such short pauses, are able to exchange warmth. In conversations, in the longing looks, in the way his hand holds yours. In the way he gently takes your wrist, puts his hand on the small of your back to guide you back inside a world which is overabundant in fancy but doesn’t feel meaningful without him in it

Sometimes, it can even hold a soft kiss

But, it becomes torture. Enough is enough. His privacy starts to seem like secrecy to you for all the wrong reasons. As a human, you aren’t patient enough to wait 4 years until something, anything happens  

So, you seek him out at the next party. They’re too rare in your opinion now. You seek him out and find him on the stairs as he goes to complete another task.

Bravery or foolishness, it does not matter which of the two makes you stop him. Makes you ask him; when? When will this secrecy end?

In reality, it doesn’t really matter. He would probably kabedon you on the stairs (as a true gentleman! don’t get it twisted!)

He holds time itself in his hands and yet you asked him.  

He whispers: “All in good time, my love. All in good time.”  

And leaves you like that.

So, what is the good time?  

It is already the point where you forgot about Diavolo but; has Diavolo forgotten about you?

That is what Barbatos waits for. He sees no need to ask his lord such a thing. Diavolo notices it himself. How could he not? Diavolo also knows that he does not love you anymore.

So, the next time Diavolo comes to the kitchen and sees your favorite tea (the one he never drinks) he gives Barbatos the permission, the freedom to go pursue you.  

After all, it is time.

Simeon:

The most empathic out of everyone.  

The best choice even

Why? With him, you would only feel compassion and care.

Gentleness.  

There is no drama that could follow you when you turn to him.

He has not sworn loyalty to Diavolo. He is not his partner. He lives in a completely different realm.  

It is really the exact change that you need. At first, it seems so odd because you are used to a completely different world but; it is comfort. It is care. It is everything that helps you heal

In truth, Simeon’s instinct gravitates towards that. It gravitates towards making sure that you heal in all aspects. Physically, emotionally- most importantly- your soul should shine like it used to

After you start that process it brings long conversations where you two ponder over what it means to live and love. You discuss theories and opinions. Simeon has loved longer than you, he has seen countless love stories- he even wrote some.

This process can even inspire him to flesh out a new character

In actuality, Simeon warned both Diavolo and you with masqueraded words about what marriage truly means before you got married

So now, he doesn’t say ‘I told you so’ or ‘Why didn’t you listen to me’. He just hopes that you won’t grow to hate the whole institution and tradition that marriage is

And honestly? Simeon shows you unrequited love so, how could you ever think that with him?

Here, you will be the first to realize your emotions and you will probably need to act on them first as well

Solomon:

He is somewhere in the human world, inside a secret room of an abandoned castle just thinking of new spells when he gets a text from Asmo about what happened

Dramatic as fuck gasp while his potion drops to the floor and now the floor is pink

Solomon, with all the years that he has been alive, with all the pacts and mistakes he has made- still is more human than the rest of them

This does not mean that he will be the best at comforting you but he already packed the most important things to go and see you. Is that not enough to show immediate care?

Instead of comforting you by himself he spends time in the House of Lamantation, working with the rest of the brothers  

Time has passed, you both have changed so it takes a bit for him to get familiar with you again and to work out your habits

Probably tries to joke like: “Even if that red tree branch offered me to make a pact with him I would refuse for your sake.”

It shows that, despite all the flaws and morally gray actions, he stands on your side- not his

But, life inside that house has to move on. He can’t really stay calm and tied down to it for months and as he is preparing for his next trip- he asks you to go with him

It is a true change of pace. You will experience new things you never dreamed of. He can teach you magic. He can show you places in the human world full of it

He promises to make sure that you are safe

So you set off with him

It is a grand adventure. It holds both comfort and new things that only make you grow.  

It holds his teasing as well but he never lets anything bad happen to you

He realizes his affections before you but you are so busy taking in the world’s wonders that he keeps them a secret for just a while longer because you are so excited. Your eyes shine and he just knows you have new stories to remember and uncover at the same time

You don’t realize yours until Solomon makes it clear to you, in a sly way.

You stand outside of enchanted ruins. The sky is bright blue with pink lines. Solomon says: “And who would have thought that one of the most powerful witches got cheated on by the man who allegedly enchanted this ruin when he was young? Hmm?~”

And really, who would? You realize then how that did not even cross your mind. How could it? Here you are with Solomon on another adventure that sparked more love as the sky dances for your new story.

Luke:

Has it been years since you got married? Yes

Has Luke grown to love demons? Absolutely not. Are you kidding me?

He throws his little hat to the ground when he finds out

Never trust their kind.  That's what he says

Sure Diavolo had a noble goal once but after this? Once Luke’s good opinion is lost it is lost forever

Baby is very dramatic about the whole thing

How dare that evil creature hurt you? Luke was teary eyed at your wedding and he is teary eyed the next time he sees you  

But

He tries his best. He really does.

He doesn’t have wisdom like Simeon. But he asks him for advice.  

Best believe the only way Diavolo will taste one of his treats again is if Luke yeets it in his face 

Firstly, tumblr better fix their tags because it is unbearable! Now you may ask; yooo why is Barbatos’ so long? Cus thats my boo and he is the main reason I decided to write these reactions in general

[30secondstoanime]

The Birthday Present

pairing: Pro!Hero Midoriya x Fem!Reader

genre/warnings: Reader Insert, Birthday Sex

Kinky Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Gets Out of His Comfort Zone, That's Not How You're Supposed to Use Your Quirk, Porn With Plot, praise kink?, very smutty, Rough Sex, role-playing, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Teasing, Light Bondage, Light Masochism, Light Choking, Doggy Style, Fluff and Smut, after sex cuddles

word count: 7,467

→ summary: Your birthday is around the corner. What better gift than your boyfriend, the #1 Hero Deku, finally giving you what you want the way you want it: rough and kinky. But first plot!

a/n: Sorry about the crap summary and title, I'm working on that lol. So this is my first fic for the bnha fandom and first attempt at writing very explicit sex scenes and venturing into kinks/BDSM, so please be kind, but also I’d love feedback! This was supposed to be a cute four-page oneshot but turned into a sixteen-page, 7k+ word behemoth, hence the self-indulgent tag ‘cause I couldn't stop writing. I hope you enjoy the fruits of my labor ;)

In a few days, you’ll be turning twenty-four. Your birthday has always been an odd day you think for someone with your quirk because age really was just a number. That’s not to say you weren’t planning to do something fun, at least if you could figure out what you’d like to do. Okay, so that was a lie. You knew exactly what or should you say who you wanted to do and that it involved getting your back blown out. As soon as the thought pops into your head, your epiglottis forgets its job, and you choke on the sip of UCC coffee, you had tried to swallow. You cough to clear your airway, gasping when air finally expands your lungs. You tap your pen nervously against your desk, eyes scanning the other pro heroes’ faces in your agency. It seems your sudden outburst hadn’t disrupted the comfortable silence of the natural lull of the workday. A beep from your hero pager pulls your attention away from people watching in the office. Coordinates flash in five consecutive seconds before the transmission ends. You stand grabbing your toolbelt and strapping it across your hips; you make your way to the front. As you near the exit, you hear your hero name being called. You turn and see Yaomomo briskly walking towards you.

“Hey Creati, you got the page too?”

“I did, sounds like they’ve made a bit of a mess of things.” You scoff good-naturedly.

“When do they ever not. Were they really like this during your time at U.A.?” She giggles and nods her head. You wonder if you’ll ever stop cleaning up after the nation’s top three heroes.

“Better get going then, we both know they share a singular brain cell, so there’s no telling how much time we have to fix things.”

“Atomic!” You laugh at Yaomomo’s weak attempt to scold you — the amusement in her black eyes softens the tone.

              −−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

“Oh my.”

You blow out a low whistle. Ice and scorch marks are scattered across the street and surrounding buildings. Explosive ash is still gently falling from the sky, and black tendrils are haphazardly keeping electric poles, exposed building foundation, and an abundance of wrecked vehicles from collapsing.

“Creati, check the building foundations. Create new beams and weld them together if necessary. I’ll get started on the pole, we can’t have a live electric wire falling.” She nods, and you split off. The work is slow and arduous, but the orderly nature of reorganizing and coaxing atomic particles back into place helps the time pass quickly. You’ve just finished rearranging the anatomical structure of a car hanging from a, thankfully, undamaged light pole, so that it falls to the ground weightlessly. You touch the damaged side, pull it back together, and return the car to its original density. You give the car a quick tap with the toe of your foot to test the structural integrity, satisfied you step back taking in your handiwork. What had a few hours ago looked like a DEFCON 3 military mission gone awry is now back to looking like an ordinary Japanese street. Well, as normal as you and Yaomomo could reconstruct — you weren’t miracle workers, and Ground Zero’s explosive residue was hard to get rid of. Instead, the way it collected and hung in the atmosphere made it difficult for your quirk to erase without condensing the air. That was out of the question unless you wanted to suffocate Yaomomo. Which you didn’t, so the employees of these buildings would be dealing with the smell for at least a week. Sighing, you tuck your hands in your pockets and make your way over to Creati. Her welding mask obscures her face, but you know it’s in deep concentration. After she cuts the torch and pushes the protective gear up, she gives you a smile.

“All done?”

“Just about.”

“I’ll page H.Q. Might even lodge a formal complaint against those three bird brains while I’m at it.”

“(Y/N), you can’t be serious.” She shoots you an incredulous look.

“They make this huge ass mess and don’t even bother to wait for us to arrive before dipping. Total dick move.”

“Ah-huh.” You don’t like the teasing note in her voice.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You cross your arms defensively.

“Spit it out, Yaoyorozu.”

“You sure your foul attitude has nothing to do with not seeing Deku?” You roll your eyes.

“I’ll see him at home like I do every day. So no, I’m not upset about not seeing him.”

“If you say so.” She gives you a look, and you let out an exasperated puff of air.

“You cannot still be stuck on that!”

“Hmm? What do you mean?” She bats her eyes at you innocently while creating a duffle bag to transport the welding equipment.

“That God awful theory you and Ashido have about me having a hero kink for Izuku." You begin to walk side by side back to the agency. You hand her an energy bar from your utility belt.

“I mean, you do get very flushed whenever you see him on patrol. Like, if it were a hentai video, you’d definitely be drooling with your tongue lolling out of your mouth.”

“Ugh!” You shove her with your shoulder. “That is so gross.” Both of you laugh, and after a small lapse into silence, you give.

“Okay fine. I might get instahorny whenever I see Izuku in costume, but I can’t help it. He just looks so good, and it’s heightened because I know what he looks like out of costume, and then all I want to do is jump his bones, but of course, I don’t because propriety. So I’m left with all this pent up sexual frustration!”

“So, are you going to ever mention this to him? Your birthday is in a few days and if I may be so bold —”

“It’s never stopped you.” You mumble under your breath with a smile.

“I’d suggest you request it be your birthday present.”

“Pfft. Yaomomo, we’ve been together almost a year and a half, and while our sex life is fucking phenomenal, I’m talking multiple orgasms almost every time, amazing — it’s been very strictly vanilla. Not from any lack of trying on my end, but every time I’ve tried to spice things up, he gets as close as humanly possible to spontaneous combustion. Don’t even get me started on the one time I tried to get him to choke me while I —”

“(Y/N)! Stop, goodness, I do not need the play by play of your and Izuku’s sex life. I just,” she massages her temples, “wanted to make a suggestion. While I’m relieved you feel so secure in our friendship to be so open, please remember I went to high school with him. He’s like a little brother.”

“Oh, Yaomomo, there’s nothing little about him.” Her face pales, and you can’t stifle your cackle. It quickly becomes a full-blown laugh that rattles through your body.

“I went a little too far with that last comment, gomen. On a serious note, though, how would I even go about asking him? ‘Hey babe, it’s my birthday so I want you to fuck me until my knees are jello while in your hero costume because it gets me all hot and bothered oh and since I’m risking it all I’d love it if you tied me up and maybe choked me too.’”

You glance over your shoulder, a look of profound regret is plastered over Yaomomo’s face. You give her an impish grin.

“Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue does it.”

“Oh (Y/N).” Your friend shakes her head. When you finally turn the corner onto the street, your hero agency is housed, you catch sight of a mop of green hair. You pick up your pace, a mischievous grin on your face. Using your quirk, you redistribute your mass, so your footfall’s noise against the pavement is silenced. Izuku is talking with someone, his back turned to you. The goods were on display. When he’s in reach, you stretch out your arms, hands cupping his butt you feel him stiffen as you whisper against his ear.

“You’re under arrest for transporting illegal buns of steel.” You watch the blush creep up from his neck before capturing his entire face. He turns his neck, trying to get a good look at you.

“Wh-what!” You begrudgingly let go of his ass, and he turns his body to face you, his freckles standing out against the pink hue of his flustered expression.

“Sorry hun, I don’t make the rules.” You shrug your shoulders.

“I- I, (Y/N) that’s not even a legal penal code! A-and there’s no way I could transport enough steel on my person to warrant a body search.”

“Ooh Deku,” you loosen up the state of your atoms, allowing them to vibrate in mock arousal, “I love it when you talk legal code at me. Repeat it: penal.”

He flounders for a reply, mouth agape at a total loss for words. You giggle at his expression, a total deer in headlights. The person he’d been talking to finally makes themselves known.

“Atomic, you’re still teasing the living soul out of Deku per usual. Glad to know things haven’t changed ‘round here.” His shark tooth smile pulls an equally toothy smile from you.

“Eijiro! When did you get back? I’ve missed you.” You rush to the redhead, and he reciprocates your hug, holding you tight.

“Man, I’ve missed you too (Y/N). The States were cool, but there’s no manlier place than home sweet home.” You pull back and take him in. He looks the exact same if not a little bit more tanned.

“Damn straight.” Yaoyorozu arrives at the end of your reunion. Her excitement at seeing her old friend is nearly palatable. They catch up enthusiastically, and you saddle up next to your boyfriend, who’s finally gotten his blush under control.

“Hey, babe.” You give his cheek a chaste kiss, and he smiles.

“Hey, love,” Izuku gives your hand a squeeze, “How was your day?”

“It was pretty run of the mill except for the utter shitstorm Yaomomo and I had to clean up in Minato City.” You glance down and watch his feet shuffle from side to side.

“Huh, sounds pretty epic.”

“Not the first, second, or even the third word I’d use, but we’re all entitled to our opinions. And don’t you try acting coy with me, Izuku! That blonde ticking time grenade, the confused weather pattern, and your quirk were all over that place.” Izuku gulps.

“I expended a lot of energy cleaning up after you and your friends baka. As compensation, you’ve gotta cook me curry rice. Deal?”

He kisses your cheek in assent.

“Great!” You beam. “I’m gonna go change, be back in fifteen.” You disappear through the agency’s massive double doors. Yaomomo watches until you’re out of view before she walks over to Midoriya.

“So about (Y/N) ’s birthday . . .”

              −−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

When you come out, you find a peculiar scene waiting for you. Yaoyorozu has crafted a fan for, you presume, Izuku, who is so red you could almost see the light refraction from his face’s heat and sweating by what looks like the gallon. Eijiro is by his side, trying to calm him down. You heighten the sensitivity of your cochlea to pick up the tail end of their conversation.

“It’ll be super manly, dude!”

“Bu-but I’ve never . . .” Your boyfriend seems tongue-tied.

“You’ve definitely got it in you,” Eijiro slaps Izuku on the back, “Plus Ultra!”

Izuku echoes Eijiro, but you can tell his heart isn’t in it.

You return to your average level of hearing and walk up to the trio.

“Everything good?” They all look at you with expressions that clearly scream, ‘No, everything is not good dumbass.’

“Riiight, foolish question. Izuku, babe, do you need me to help you?” He squeaks, and that stops you dead in your tracks. The last time he had squeaked in your presence was when he’d asked you out on your first date, and you think it was mostly because you had bluntly told him you had every intention of having sex with him if not after your first then for sure after your second date. He didn’t even squawk when you made good on your declaration, and you had been positive he was going to. Your assurance cost you a ¥2,000 bet with Ochako and Shoto. Whatever had transpired while you were changing had him spooked.

You crouch down and gently take his face between your hands. His cheeks are unnaturally warm. Closing your eyes, you reach out with your quirk to scan his vitals. What the actual fuck? Izuku’s pregenual anterior cingulate cortex is enormous. Your boyfriend is next level embarrassed. His heart rate is in the 200bpm range, which should have been impossible because it only ever got that high when he was exercising, and you were quite familiar with getting it there.

You’re honestly shocked his heart hasn’t started to palpitate with the sky-high levels of cortisol in his blood and high heart rate. Taking a deep breath, you begin to gently persuade the firing neurons near his PACC to chill, its size slowly decreases. You travel down to his hypothalamus and rearrange some of its chemical balance, so it stops producing corticotropin-releasing hormone, creating a negative feedback loop that would lead to his body to drop its cortisol production. You vasoconstrict a handful of the blood vessels in his face for good measure, hoping to cool it down. Your eyes flutter open, and the ruddiness is gone, and his cheeks feel cool against your palms. He gives you a weak smile and gosh that smile, these freckles, those lively emerald eyes. You lean your forehead against his, taking a moment to collect yourself. You kiss the tip of his nose before pulling yourself up, stretching once you’re fully upright.

“Well damn, I’m starving now. I know I said you had to cook for me, but I don’t think I’ll last. What do you say, Number 1. Hero, care to take me out to eat?”

Izuku gets to his feet, with a bit of help from Eijiro, who keeps a hand wrapped around his waist to keep him from stumbling.

“Yeah, of course, love. Just tell me where you want to eat.”

You grin in delight. Before making a decision, you turn to your two other companions. You’re not sure when Yaomomo had time to change, but she’s no longer in her hero costume.

“Would y’all like to join us? Izuku’s treat.” Your cinnamon roll’s protest is drowned out by their loud acceptance.

“I mean, if my bro is gonna treat us, then how could I say no?”

“How gracious Izuku, I’d love to share a meal with everyone.”

“Let’s get going then!” You grab Izuku’s hand and turn around, heading in the direction of the train stop. The walk will give you time to decide where you want to eat.

              −−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

“Hold on one sec, almost got it.” You pace next to Izuku; the pressure on your bladder almost debilitating. At the click of your front door unlocking and seeing Izuku push it open, you rush through over the threshold. You kick the heels off your feet, your slippers abandoned at the entryway as you make a break for the bathroom. You can’t get your underwear off quick enough. The relief is almost pleasurable. You’d forgotten what it felt like to pee while exceedingly inebriated. Typically when you go out drinking, you elevate your liver’s production of alcohol dehydrogenase so you can avoid getting drunk, but tonight was your birthday celebration, and you wanted to get shitfaced, so you dialed it back. Now that you’re home and not interested in a hangover, you make the necessary adjustments to your liver. The night out had been a pleasant surprise. More people had shown up than you’d been led to believe would, most importantly, your younger siblings had stopped by — you hadn’t seen them since moving to Musutafu to pursue your hero career. You finish reminiscing over the night’s events. Quickly wiping, you flush the toilet and wash your hands. When you open the door, you find your slippers are there waiting. He was a total sweetheart.

You slide your sore feet in and sigh at the fluffiness. You make your way to your bedroom, surprised to find it empty. Where had Izuku gone? You take off your earrings, dropping them into your jewelry box. Making your way to the main bathroom connected to your room, you’ve just finished wiping away your makeup when you hear the door open. You walk to the bathroom door to peek and gasp as soon as you spot the figure closing the door behind them. Now you’d be the first to admit you are a horny bitch, but never have you felt your pussy throb with such a deep longing the way it was throbbing now. You stand still dumbfounded at seeing Izuku in his hero costume in your bedroom.

“Babe?” You try to suppress the quiver in your voice.

“Ma’am,” He tilts his head in greeting, “I got reports of a villain in the vicinity. I’m Deku, and I’m here to take care of you.”

Why the fuck did he just introduce himself? And a villain? You reach out with your quirk but don’t feel an unknown presence nearby. You start to walk towards him but stop at the foot of your bed. He meets you there, and you don’t know what to expect, but it definitely was not him pushing you onto your back. You fall with a muffled thud against the comforter. You stare up at him at a complete loss. You then become hyper-aware of what you’re wearing. The sparkling strappy mini dress leaves little to the imagination, and you’re positive that from his angle, Izuku can see your panties and the growing evidence of your arousal.

“Apologies, ma’am, but I’ll be using my quirk to restrain you as a precautionary measure.” Your mouth goes dry as you watch Blackwhip manifest wrapping around your wrists, pulling your arms above your head, and adhering to your shared bed’s headboard. You have to scoot yourself back a few inches to ease the tension in your shoulders. Holy shit. He just tied you up. This whole time he’s been standing at the end of the bed taking you in. You know your face is flushed, and you can feel your nipples brushing against the material of your dress now that you’re so turned on. Izuku’s hands come into view, and that somehow gets your mouth to work again.

“What are you going to do?” You arch an eyebrow and part your lips to let your tongue dart out and wet them. Fuck Yaomomo wasn’t off the mark with her comment.

“I’ll need to do a full-body search to ensure you’re not concealing anything illegal on your person.” You don’t have time to respond before his gloved hands caress down your pinned arms, across where your neck and shoulders meet. Leaving goosebumps in their wake. He cups your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. You groan as the sensation travels down, pooling between your legs. He moves down your sides, slowly over your exposed thighs sticking strictly to the outside of your legs until he reaches mid-calf. You feel his hands move, and suddenly their inching closer to your aching cunt. Using his right hand Izuku runs a finger teasingly up between your clothed slit and your hips give an involuntary buck. He removes his finger and tuts at you, that pisses you off.

“What the fuck Izu —” You stop yourself when you see another tendril of black materialize near your face.

“Don’t make me gag you. My name is Deku, and you will address me as Deku-sama.” There’s a finality in his tone that leaves no room for argument. You’re torn between being really fucking aroused and very vexed at this role reversal. You’d always been on top, literally and figuratively, and now here he was, your cinnamon roll, threatening to gag you and not even blushing about it. He takes your silence as understanding and begins to hike up the bottom of your dress. With your midriff exposed, he finally settles between your legs, his toned abdomen flush against you. He places an open-mouthed kiss just above your belly button, his tongue flicks out to taste your skin. Izuku’s lips continue to roam over every inch of your exposed abdomen, sucking and biting. He’s going to leave love marks all over your stomach, you’re sure. His hands travel up under your dress, coming to rest just below your breasts. You feel the flat of his tongue working its way towards his hands. When you can feel his breath tickling you already hard nipples, he pulls his face away. You squirm and pull against your restraint — you feel them tighten.

“What is it you want, villain?” Fuuuck. The word falls from his lips wrapped in sinful promise sending another steady pulse of need through your body. Your nervous system was on fire.

“I want you to touch me.” You try to taper down the pleading in your voice, but the mildly amused expression on Izuku’s face says you failed.

“Like this?” His hand runs down your neck, over your dress and through the valley of your cleavage, past your naval stopping at the band of your panties. It dawns on you that he was teasing you.

“Or like this?” You’re not sure when his gloves came off or how he managed it, but one second you’re covered by the flimsy dress material next, the straps keeping it up are torn, and the dress pulled down. You hiss at the shock of the sudden temperature change, but quickly warm up as calloused fingers massage your breasts. A greedy moan is the only answer you can manage as you arch your back into his touch. He leans closer, breath warm against your neck, and moves a hand down to grip your ass,

“Let’s see if these are illegal buns of steel.” Even with how incredibly husky his voice is, you almost laugh at his remark’s absolute absurdity. Still, having maybe foreseen your reaction Izuku wraps one of your nipples between his lips before you can utter a sound.

“Deku-sama.” You inhale sharply coming completely unwound as his tongue flicks and swirls. His mouth sucks and pulls playfully. When his teeth graze your nipple, you contemplate making your hands boneless to escape the restraints just so you could tangle your hands in his hair; even with the undercut, you knew you could make him moan. The idea is quickly dashed as Izuku releases your now overly sensitive bud with a resounding pop that sends the ache in your pussy into a frenzy. Good god , he hasn’t even gotten inside of you yet. He treats your other nipple with much the same attention. However, this time, he lets his teeth give it a gentle nibble, and the shock of the feeling causes your skin to prickle. You feel him grin at your reaction before giving your nipple a farewell lick. He captures your lips, shoving his hips down against your own, as his hands’ ghost over your neck. You hook a leg around his hip, pulling him closer, trying to create as much friction as possible as you roll your hips upward. He lets out a breathy chuckle, as his mouth moves to replace his hands. He kisses up your neck, his breath tickles your ear, and you stutter out a needy whimper.

“Someone’s eager.” You groan in frustration as he pulls back. His hands grab hold of what’s left of your dress, and you help him get you out of it. He runs a finger up your stomach, stopping just below your sternum. The tip of his index finger traces a lazy circle before leaving a trail of goosebumps back down to your hip. The pressure of his finger is replaced by his mouth, biting the flesh of your hip crease hungrily. He kisses his away across to your opposite hip, traces of his kisses wet against your skin. You feel his fingers toying with the lacy hem of your panties before he hooks them in the elastic, pulling them down. You lift your hips as they pass over the curve of your ass, and you wriggle in anticipation. Izuku braces his left forearm against your right thigh, pushing your legs wider. His index finger explores your wet folds, dipping briefly into your slit, before brushing against your swollen clitoris.

“Deku-sama, please .” You don’t care how desperate you sound, the ache in your pussy is becoming unbearable. The slow burn was killing you.

“Since you said, please.” He slips a thick finger inside of you, curling it just so it massages the soft and spongy spot that makes your toes curl and lewd obscenities fall from your parted lips.

“Aah, fuck. Fuck, yes, there, right there. More. Izuku give me more.” A second finger is roughly inserted. You cry out as a jolt of ecstasy consumes every inch of you. He begins to scissor his fingers back and forth, “It’s De-ku sa-ma,” each thrust emphasizing the syllables of his declaration. You rock your hips up, trying to get his fingers deeper because you are close. You can feel the dam getting ready to burst. When his thumb circles your clit, you feel yourself clench around his fingers. He inhales sharply. You bite back a moan as stars begin to dance across your vision. The rhythm of his fingers picks up, and the pressure on your clit begins to be too much.

“You’re about to cum.” It’s not a question, but you manage to pant a yes, and it becomes your undoing. Tongue replaces fingers before you can bemoan feeling empty, hands wrap under your thighs, keeping you exposed when they instinctively try to shut. His fingers dig into soft flesh, and the pain leaves you dizzy for more. He unhooks his left arm from your thigh, again using his forearm to keep your leg down. Two fingers spread you open, and his breath is warm, and you screw your eyes shut because fucking hell, you feel ready to erupt. You feel the warmth of his tongue as it slips inside you and starts to lick around. His nose brushes against your clit as he laps up your wetness. When he takes your clitoris in his mouth, you feel yourself at the edge of a precipice.

“Y-your fin-fingers. Deku-sama.” You frantically tug against your binds as you arch your hips rutting into his face. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You feel yourself drowning in pleasure when his fingers join back in the fray. You’re full, and his tongue is everywhere. Inside you along with his fingers, pressing in all the right places. There’s no room to be embarrassed by your body’s wet sounds as you thrust against his fingers or the sounds he’s eliciting from you — loud, throaty, and gluttonous. He laps up the juices wherever they end up, on your thighs, in your folds, the space between your pussy and ass. At your clit he teases with nibbles, quick flicks of his tongue, and long flat strokes. He was treating you like you were his favorite meal. Coming back for seconds, thirds, fourths. You lose track of time. The air crackles with electricity, Izuku, the electromagnet to your copper coils. It sparks against your skin. Were you doing that? You couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter because something was building. You feel it in your core, your quirk causing your atoms to buzz in excitement. He lets you hook your legs around his back, locking your ankles. You make a strangled noise when a particularly aggressive thrust combined with the head-splitting euphoria of Izuku’s tongue on your clit brings your Earth stuttering on its axis.

“Oh fuck, oh kami. Shit, Deku-sama!”

You flicker in and out. One second howling Izuku’s name like a prayer to the Gods, hips rolling up to meet his mouth. The next, you find yourself weightless in a void no longer in a corporeal form. What the fuck? It lasts no longer than a second before you return to your body and the sound of him cooing against your aching cunt.

“That’s it, cum villain. Cum for me.” And cum, you do. Waves of fiery ecstasy set your body aflame. You clench your fists and use your legs to pull Izuku’s face further flush against you. When you think you can catch your breath, Izuku surprises you by coaxing you into another smaller orgasm. You don’t know how he did it, but you really can’t complain, you’re feeling blissful as fuck. The bed creaks as he shifts back onto his knees, unwrapping your legs from around him. Blachwip is deactivated, and your arms fall uselessly to your sides. You feel your legs quiver from exertion, and you watch your chest rise in fall sporadically as your breathing levels off. You prop yourself up on your elbow to give Izuku a once over. He’s got a bit of sweat on his forehead, you can see the outline of his erection against the front of his hero costume, and your cum glistens on his nose, mouth, and chin. Not sure how you manage it, with your body feeling so close to putty, but you scoot back, pulling yourself up into a seated position, and rock forward onto your knees so you’re facing him.

You move closer, so your knees brush against his. Now that you’re close enough, you can see how blown his pupils are. They almost wholly eclipse the dark shamrock of his irises. He had it bad for you. You could fix that. You grab his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting it down to your lips so you can lick it clean. When your tongue traces the outline of his mouth, a low moan rumbles in the back of his throat. You get his mouth open with a hard nip to his bottom lip. Tasting yourself in his mouth and on his tongue makes you squeeze your thighs together briefly before you let your free hand wander between your legs to stroke your clit and moistening labia. You give the tip of his nose a cutesy peck that almost brings a blush to his freckled face, but he remains in character, so you palm his cock with your damp hand grinning devilishly when he stutters an exhale.

“I want you, hero.”

Izuku’s chuckle is rich, and you can feel it reverberate against where your chests connect. You start to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, the short buzz of his undercut tickles your fingertips. Sliding your hand up, you finally get to tangle your fist in his hair, your grip tightens, and you pull his head back, exposing his neck. Your tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to just below his earlobe, all the while your hand strokes him into fully hardening.

“I’m not fucking around, Deku.” Your voice is thick and your tone dark, dangerous. He grabs the wrist of the hand that’s between his legs and growls,

“Neither am I villain slut.” You swallow hard at his inflection on the word slut. You’d never been called a slut during sex, and under any other circumstance, you’re sure it wouldn’t have sent a thrill of arousal pulsing from your fingertips down to your toes. He brings the hand up above your head, reaching behind his head to grab your second hand. You give him a feral grin, and his eyes flash before he sends you to your back. You’re about to stretch out your legs when he commands you to flip over onto your hands and knees. You do as you’re told, biting your lip as warmth begins to once again pool between your legs. You wish you could help him out of his costume, but it sounds like your help wasn’t needed. His dick grazes against the back of your thighs. A finger follows the curve of your spine. You arch into the touch and moan when it dips at your hip to tap your clitoris.

“You’re so wet already. You villains really know nothing about bedroom decorum.” He skims a hand over your stomach, stopping to grope and tease your hardened nipples.

“Oh? Keeping a woman in suspense isn’t exactly proper in my book De-ku sa-ma.” You look over your shoulder with a smirk.

“You’re,” he thrust into you without warning, quickly turning the grin on your face into an open-mouthed ‘oh,’ “not,” he pulls out, so the tip of his head just barely touches your cunt, “a woman.” He pushes into you, swearing under his breath as you push your hips back to meet his momentum. A ragged breath escapes your lips as you adjust to him, filling you. Shit, the boy is thick. His nails dig into your hip as he continues to fuck you at a painfully slow pace. Fingers tweak your nipples, and you feel your whole body flush with pleasure. You clutch the bedsheets in two tight fists when he starts to quicken his thrusts. His chest is slick with sweat against your back, his tongue tracing circles into your shoulder. An aggressive stroke sends the head of his cock rubbing up against your G-spot, and you feel your walls squeeze around him.

“Shit, shit, fuck Deku. That’s it. Just keep putting pressure on that spot.” You feel your elbows buckle, and you expect to crash into the bed. Instead, black tendrils wrap around your arms to keep you upright. This is definitely not how Lariat intended Blackwhip’s tendrils to be used. The thought makes you giggle. It seems that this was not a sound Izuku wanted to hear coming from you. He bites down on the spot of your shoulder he’d been suckling, making his displeasure known. You feel him adjust himself behind you, perhaps too quickly, because he slips out of you, and you protest immediately with a loud whine.

“I’ll give you something to whine about.” He thrust back into you, your knees go weak, and your pussy’s stimulation begins to pull the taught rope of your impending orgasm closer to snapping. One of his hands grabs the hair at the base of your neck, tugging with just enough force to tease a guttural mewl from you.

“That’s more like it.” You’re so overstimulated, with the rhythm of his dick coming in and out of you. The attention he’s paying to your clit, you scarcely have the headspace to be shocked by the personality change. Izuku doesn’t release his hold on your hair; instead, he deactivates Blackwhip and uses the grip to guide you, so your back is flush against his chest. You can smell the muskiness of his sweat with him so close. It mingles in the air with the scent of your arousal. Sex, the whole room smelled heavily of your fucking. He brushes a thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down gently. You open your mouth, taking it in, holding it gently between your teeth, your lips acting as a cushion. You suck on Izuku’s thumb, letting your tongue swirl over the tip treating it how you would if you were instead sucking on the head of his cock. You hollow out your cheek and release his thumb with a satisfying pop. Your reward is the sound of Izuku’s heated gasp. The sound tightens the coil in your groin. You feel his right hand lightly trailing up your side. You expect him to stop to cup your breast, but a tingle runs up your spine when he skips it entirely. His thumb rests a few inches under your right ear, the fleshy part of his palm rests against your trachea, the remaining four fingers occupy the same spot under the opposite ear. You can’t hide your excitement as he begins to apply light pressure to your neck. It’s amplified when he whispers in your ear,

“Whose slut are you, villain?”

“I’m yours. All yours.” He squeezes a little tighter, and you squirm, gripping his left hip for stability.

“Yours, Deku-sama. I’m all yours.” You choke over the words while he loosens his grip satisfied with your correction. The brief bout of intoxicating lightheadedness dissipates quickly, but he keeps his hand around your neck.

You feel him, hard and slick, throbbing inside you, and you know he’s close. You prepare to ride out the coming crescendo that you’ll set off with your silver tongue.

“You’re getting close, aren’t you, hero? I can feel your cock pulsing.” He squeezes your neck tighter than he has before reminding you who was in charge. You dig your nails into his hip and bite your lip. Was he turning into a masochist, or were you?

“I want you to cum in me. Make me your bona fide villain bitch — think you’re up for it, big boy?” You were being so bold, goading him. It does the trick. He releases his hold on your neck, you’re a little sad, but are swiftly distracted by a sudden burst of heat and green energy crackling, the telltale sign of Full Cowl being activated. What the hell was he up to? Your answer comes moments later when his hands push your bent legs further apart, hooking his arms under your thighs to lift them up. You feel weightless, free, and so very wanton. Then like being dosed with ice-cold water, you come back to your senses; you’ve always been terrified of being picked up during sex. Your arms flail, searching for anything to grab hold of. They settle awkwardly at Izuku’s neck. Your breathing is a little erratic.

“You’re not scared of heights, are you?” Oh, he was being a total ass.

“Absolutely not.” You bite back.

“Heh.”

Sensing your discomfort, he places you back down on your knees, his hand returning to your neck — where it belonged. Shit, it was you, you’re the masochist. You feel him throb inside you, the head of his penis gets a little bigger and his cock harder. His movements become more sporadic. You take his free hand and lead it to your clit, you’d be damned if he cums before you. His groans become music to your ears, loud and ravenous as you roll your hips to meet his thrusts. Soon that’s all you can feel, like tunnel vision nothing else matters, there are no other options, but his cock burying itself deeper and deeper inside you as his fingers dance around your clit. He flicks and pulls, rubs circles, and you savor every second of it. Everything cumulates into a blinding flash of white-hot light as if you’re staring directly at burning magnesium. You hear him crying out your name, and it mixes with your carnal pleas into a cacophonous soundtrack to your mutual climax. He finishes inside you, the thick viscous liquid of his orgasm, filling you with more warmth than you anticipated. As you ride out your orgasm, you don’t stop gyrating your hips until you feel Izuku become soft. You let out a shaky breath as you come to a stop to catch your breath. You’re thankful that he doesn’t seem eager to pull out quite yet while you bask in the quiet exhilaration of having orgasmed three times this night.

“I’m going to pull out now, okay?”

You nod your head slightly, words out of reach with your euphoria’s hum still clouding your mind. Cum trickles down between your thighs, the sensation almost ticklish, but far more erotic. With nothing connecting you to Izuku, your body gives in to its exhaustion, falling forward unceremoniously. He wraps an arm around your waist, setting you gently down on your stomach. Rolling onto your back, you shimmy up onto a pillow to support your head. You glance up at Izuku and sigh in content. Hair stuck to his head, abs contracting as he slows his breathing (his heart rate close to 180bpm), and his left-hand traces the scars on his right arm absently. Even in such a worn-out state, he looked otherworldly. You lock eyes, and you pat his side of the bed next to you.

“Cuddle with me.” At hearing those three words, he sheds his façade, his eyes soften, his jaw loosens, and he eagerly obliges your request. He rests his head on your chest, your fingers playing with his hair as he gently brushes your side. You stay like this for a few minutes until he starts out of your arms like someone’s lit a fire under his ass. He sits up, you follow suit intrigued by what’s got him so worked up. You watch him reach across towards his nightstand. He pulls out a notebook and a pencil. You have to suppress your snort as he begins scribbling furiously. You couldn’t even pretend to be surprised, catching bits and pieces of his muttering.

“. . . dominated . . . choking . . . loud . . . buns of steel. . .” You can’t stifle the laugh that escapes you. He glances up and gives you a sheepish grin, his face like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“You fucked me into another dimension, jot that down in your sex notebook.” A blush erupts across his face.

“I-I what? Seriously?”

“Mhmm, as seriously as my orgasm.” Embarrassment flickers momentarily in his eyes, quickly replaced by intense curiosity. You dare say you see a little triumphant gleam too.

“What happened, tell me everything, love.” You recount what he’d been doing with his tongue and fingers. The feeling leading up to it and what it looked like in this other dimension.

“Sounds like you’ve unlocked another facet of your quirk.”

“Looks like it, but it’s not really useful.” He gives you an inquiring look; you roll your eyes. He could be so dense sometimes.

“I can’t exactly have you eating me out in public every time I want to astral project now, can I?” His blush returns full force.

“Maybe there’s another way.”

“Possibly, but I’m beat. My legs feel like jello, and I’m starting to feel sore.” You massage your neck, glancing at your exposed breasts and the marks that speckle them. Izuku looks at you with worry.

“You can’t fix it with your quirk?”

“I can, but where’s the fun in that? One of my favorite parts of sex is feeling it the next day. I’m definitely going to tomorrow and maybe the day after thanks to you.” You give him a wink and admire as he fumbles with his words.

“Oh! Well, I mean. Yeah. No problem. I think?” He was definitely back to being your cinnamon roll. You giggle quietly.

“Before I go clean up, I’ve gotta know. How did you do that.” You motion with your hand, hoping he picks up what you’re putting down. He does.

“Simple, lots of research.” You squint at him, touching the pulse at his neck. It was slightly elevated.

“Ah-huh, and what else?”

“No-nothing!” The pulse quickens a little more.

“Did you role play with someone?” The idea sounds absolutely preposterous, but when he pushes your hand away from his neck and gets up off the bed, you know you’ve struck a nerve.

“You’re using your quirk, that’s not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war. So, who was it with? Shoto? Eiji? Or was it Katsuki ?” The light hue of pink that creeps up his neck is all the confirmation you need.

“Ah,” you bob your head sagely, “it makes sense, babe, he gives off a total masochist vibe. I’d have practiced with him too. What was it like? Would he be open to a threesome? Or would it be a foursome since he’s got that not, so secret thing going with Eiji? Could I even handle the three of you?” You wonder out loud.

“(Y/N)!” Izuku rushes into the bathroom, adamantly trying to end this conversation. You weren’t letting this go, oh no siree, so you get out of bed and walk to the bathroom where Izuku’s turned on the shower and is standing under its current.

“Nice try. You’re giving me the details.” He sighs defeatedly.

“Can it wait until we’re in the bath.” You cross your arms in a huff, pouting.

“I guess.” Izuku grabs you, pulling you into the shower with him. You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest. He gives the top of your head a kiss.

“Happy birthday, (Y/N).”

Happy fucking birthday to me. You smile to yourself.

[brooklynboysficrecs]

Ria’s Top 10 Canon-verse Fics

So, I’m a little surprised I’ve held off on doing this particular Top 10 as long as I have, if only because this does cover the majority of stucky fics that have been written. It also contains some of my all-time favorite fics, which I will be screaming about below. You’ve been warned. But anyway, this is getting down into the nitty-gritty of why I love stucky -- the original ‘verse, with the original storyline (although there are a fair few canon-divergent fics in here, I’m sure). Pure, unadulterated Steve Rogers loving Bucky Barnes. What more can you ask for, honestly? You could ask for it to be legit canon, but lmao, no, we don’t expect things like that, especially not from the MCU writers. Also, some of the fics I might’ve included in this list are recced in an ask I got a while ago, so go check that out for some mostly-canon angst. Regardless, here are my personal Top 10 canon-verse fic recs:

1. Ain’t No Grave (Can Keep My Body Down) by spitandvinegar. Alright, buckle up friends, because this is the end-all, be-all of my favorite stucky fics. I have reread it probably four or five times in the four years I’ve been in this fandom, and it hits me just as hard every single time. This is canon-divergent post-WS, where Bucky’s come-down from his Hydra conditioning is accompanied by a drug addiction and two smart-mouthed kids he rescued from the streets. Steve literally loves nothing more than he loves Bucky and he is determined to bring Bucky home, kids included. There is just -- so much I love about this story. I can’t possibly fit it all into a little blurb. But this is my favorite stucky fic, hands-down. It’s a must-read if you can handle the incredibly sensitive topics it covers, which means it’s not for everyone. But it has my highest seal of approval. 

2. Perilous Underside of the World by eyres. I reread this recently because I was in the mood for both angst and badass Bucky, and this delivered in spades. Steve’s been kidnapped and held captive by Ross for months, tortured and experimented on, and it as devastating as it sounds. Cue Bucky and the rest of Team Cap coming in for a rescue mission and an adrenaline-filled adventure through the Antarctic wasteland. The summary says it all, honestly: Steve throws a snow-mobile at a helicopter in this one.  

3. Steve Rogers at 100: Celebrating Captain America on Film by eleveninches, febricant, hellotailor, M_Leigh, neenya, tigrrmilk. A lot of fics are enhanced by visual media, usually some type of fanart, but few are incomplete without it -- this fic is one of them. It’s a look through in-universe media depictions of Captain America over the years, with real-life casting and amazingly done posters for the movies. The various Avengers are there to react to it all and it’s nothing short of glorious. 

4. Came Back Haunted* by Brenda. You guys should know how much I love Brenda’s writing, since I waxed poetic about it when I was doing the rec for Prince Charming, but I’m going to say it again: I love her writing. And this is yet again another fic series that will tear at your heart and stitch you back together again. It features, among other things: Bucky and Thor friendship; a road-trip; dark Steve; and bearded Steve! All good things. It’s been a while since I’ve read this, but I’m pretty assured there is much angst to be found here as well, plus the requisite happy ending, because, as previously mentioned, I don’t do unhappy endings. 

5. Tender is the Ghost* by Hark_bananas. OH WOW. Okay. So. I started reading this series right before the second part had been published, and I just. Fell in love with it. The first part is set right after Bucky turned himself into SHIELD, and it features Steve and Bucky re-learning about each other (and themselves) through a closed door, considering Steve isn’t allowed to see Bucky face-to-face. And the second part picks up once Bucky is ready to go home with Steve, and it’s. So sweet. Bucky and Steve recovering, together, and finding love along the way. Bucky loves plants. What more could you ask for?

6. Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail* by owlet. I think this is probably one of the most popular series in this fandom, and for good reason. It’s Bucky setting himself a new goal after the fallout of Project Insight, and that goal is a protection detail for Steve Rogers, well before he has his memories to back up the need for such a thing. Bucky and Steve don’t get romantically involved until much later in the series, but their friendship is a thing of beauty in this, as is Bucky learning how to be human again, through coffee, grilled cheese, and The Olds, the elderly neighbors he comes to care for while he’s watching Steve’s back from across the street. I adore this series and I think most people would be hard pressed to find anything they don’t like about it. 

7. The Blood Will Dry by castiowl. There are clones in this one. It might be the sci-fi nerd in me, but honestly that’s enough information to hook me already. But this fic is a fantastic, gripping read from start to finish, and the clones are only a part of that. It’s another fic that written right after The Winter Soldier came out, and so it has a lot of the hallmarks of that era: Bucky dealing with his conditioning, coming back to himself and Steve, Hydra-hunting missions, some kidnapping, unfortunate throwbacks to torture, and Steve having to figure his own shit out right alongside Bucky. 

8. To Stop My Mind From Wandering by Lynchy8. This one is a little shorter than the other fics on this list, but it’s still one of my favorites, and for a much different reason than the others. This is Bucky and Steve separated for the majority of the fic, with Bucky taking up residence in Steve abandoned apartment while he’s off being Captain America and also looking for Bucky. Bucky does home repairs for Steve. Steve broods and worries. Bucky heals on his own terms and it’s lovely. And the ending is very sweet when Steve finally does come home.

9. despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained) by praximiter. AKA The Mask Fic. Which. Jesus Christ. This should’ve gone in with my angst fic recs, because this will hurt you, in the best possible way. Bucky’s mask doesn’t come off, and so there’s no pivotal moment of realization for Steve, no hellfire determination to ensure Bucky survives their fights against all odds. But he’s saved regardless, and the rest of the fic is the team trying to communicate with him, learn his story, all while Bucky can’t speak and the mask physically cannot come off. Like I said, it’s a recipe for Pain, but the pay-off is more than worth it, in my opinion. 

10. waiting for the winter by coldhope. Also just recently reread this one, and I loved the progression of Steve and Bucky’s relationship here as well. It also has Bucky befriending all of the Avengers, not just Natasha or Sam; getting to see from other characters’ POV how their perception of Bucky changes as the fic goes on was so interesting, since it’s not something I’ve seen done in many fics. Which also might be a personal thing on my part, who knows. Anyway. Good fic. Steve and Bucky don’t take forever to figure out their feelings, but they do take a while to get on the same page with each other, which should surprise absolutely no one who has ever read a stucky fic before.

*series, not individual story titles

[korkorali]

The Beginning

Alright, I wanna talk about the Hp au, so all my my followers are going to be subjected to another post about it!

Today, I think I’m gonna talk about some plot points for what the beginning of the ‘First Book’ would be! (From the beginning up to the collecting of the wand)

First, a few fun facts to get you interested, though

- The first fic’s title would be The Brothers Who Lived (Maybe, I’m not too sold on any title yet)

- It would mainly be told with Dewey at the focus

- Though this doesn’t mean his story would be an exact replica of Harry Potters

- Specifically, he lives with Gosalyn and Drake, who love him a lot

- Though his stay at Hogwarts would be a different story

Caught your interest? Well, continue reading under the cut for more ;) (be warned: it’s a bit long)

-  We start off with Drake Mallard going about town

- He keeps running into weird people saying that ‘She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead!’

- This confuses him but he’s seen weirder, they don’t seem to be hurting anyone, so let them be odd, as far as he’s concerned

- He ends up running into this old man, who strikes him as one of those weird people. yet he seems a little sadder than the rest of them

- He is holding a bundle in his arms

- Drake talks to the old man, and he seems nice enough

- They part ways, and later Drake the bundle the old man was carrying in his kitchen

- He opens the bundle to reveal a one year old child, with a note that says ‘His name is Dewey Duck’

- He knows he should contact the authorities, and try to find that old man, but until then, he’ll take care of the kid.

- Fast forward about ten years (specifically about a week before then) and Dewey and his sister Gosalyn are enjoying their summer break by playing video games

- The mail comes and Drake goes to collect it

- He’s surprised when he sees a letter for Dewey tucked into the usual junk mail

- The surprise turns into concern and worry when the address has Dewey’s bedroom on it

- He decides to just it away and pretend it doesn’t exist

- Cuz that’ll solve all his problems

- He ‘nonchalantly’  talks to Dew and Gos about whether or not they’d like to go on a small vacation for Dewey’s birthday

- The next day he gets two of those creepy letters

- He once again pretends that they don’t exist and burns them

- Dewey and Gosalyn start getting a little suspicious

- A day goes by without any letters

- Drake thinks that’s the end of it.

- Then they get a full eight letters

- Cue Panic

- He makes Dew and Gos make a pack and then they head out for ‘vacation’

- They are thoroughly suspicious of him by now

- Gos calls Drake out, but he dismisses her and they go by boat to some run down house on an island

- Drake is sure that’ll be the end of it

- The night before Dewey’s birthday, he decides to stay up until midnight

- Gosalyn joins him and they talk about stuff

- Dewey admits that he wishes he knew about his birth family

- Drake’s only ever told him that he was given to him by some old grandpa

- But both Dewey and Gos think he’s joking about that

- Gosalyn kinda understands, because she knew her grandfather

- She still thinks of Drake as her dad, but she finds comfort in knowing about her biological parents

- So she hopes he learns eventually

- The clock strikes twelve

- Dewey turns 11 (and the same age as Gos, but only for a week)

- And suddenly the door gets busted down

- Gos and Dew are, obviously, pretty fucking scared

- home invasion and all that

- Drake swoops in with a punch to the dudes chest, and nearly breaks his hand

- The strange large man apologizes for knocking down the door, saying that he just wanted to knock

- He says hi to Dewey, introduces himself as Launchpad, and goes to sit down

- Drake shows a lot of confusion at this turn of events. Specifically, he wants to know how Launchpad knows Dewey’s name

- Launchpad express’s his own confusion at this, and realizes that Drake, Gosalyn, and Dewey know nothing about the wizarding world

- So he gives Dewey his Hogwarts acceptance letter (and a cake, which already has a Launchpad-sized bite taken out of it) and explains -sort of- about how he’s a wizard, and what that entails

- He also tells Dewey a little bit about his family, which 100% sells Dewey on the idea

- Drake, understandably, does not believe him, until he gives them a show of magic

- Which kinda freaks Drake out, but makes Dewey and Gosalyn way too excited

- Drake decides to allow Dewey to give this ‘Hogwarts’ a try

- But he does tell Dewey that he’ll love him no matter what happens

- So the group makes plans to go to Diagon Alley with Launchpad in a few days

- A few days later, the group meets up with Launchpad outside the Leaky Tap

- Drake doesn’t notice the Leaky Tap, but he’s the only one who can’t

- Of course, he can easily see Launchpad, so it doesn’t really matter

- Drake is still a little wary about the whole thing, but he is quickly warming up to Launchpad, which helps to put him at ease

- When they enter the Leaky Tap, everyone (sans Launchpad) is surprised at how everyone inside seems to know Dewey

- They even recognize a few faces as some of the strange people who’d wave or act like they knew him sometimes

- Drake never really liked those people

- Launchpad explains that Dewey and his brothers are kinda famous, and he’ll tell him more later after they get him his stuff

- They leave the Leaky Tap out the back entrance, and enter Diagon Alley

- Cue shock and amazement from everyone

- Especially Drake, as he can no longer deny that this actually a thing that is happening

- The kids run off, looking into the shops at all the amazing and mind bending things in them

- They are quickly enthralled

- Drake is initially worried that they’ll get lost, but Launchpad assures him that it’s fine, because the place they need to go (Gringotts) is straight ahead, so they probably won’t get lost

- He and Drake talk for a little bit (Drake is still annoyed about how the letters had Dewey’s  f r e a k i n g  bedroom on them) and Launchpad gets Drake to calm down a little

- Just in time for them to enter Gringotts Bank, and thusly, the mine-cart roller-coaster

- Drake hates it, the others love it

- Launchpad picks up a mysterious parcel, which the kids are immediately intrigued about

- Then they get back on the mine-cart to go to the vault Dewey shares with his brothers

- He learns that both his brothers have already accessed the vault earlier that week, which means that he won’t be running into them until the school year starts

- Which he’s kinda bummed about

- All sad feelings go away when he sees the inside of the vault, and the massive amount of Galleons in there

- Which means that Dewey’s rich

- Which Gosalyn immediately comments on

- After they shake themselves out of the money stupor, and Dewey grabs a fair amount of money, the group goes back outside of Gringotts and begins the trek for Dewey’s school supplies

- Dewey and Gosalyn try to go on a spending spree, and the get the most impressive/expensive stuff

- Which leads to Drake confiscating the gold pouch

- At least until after Dewey gets all his school supplies

- They get most of them, including getting Dewey fitted for robes (which both Dewey and the seamstress hated - Dewey cannot stand still for the life of him) until it gets to the wand

- Dewey and Gosalyn go in, but Drake and Launchpad stay out, saying that they wanted to get him something

- The shop is run by a old duck by the name of Olivander

- He is immediately excited to see Dewey, one of the ‘Chosen Three’

- Though he does spare an intrigued glance to Gosalyn

- He gets right to it afterwards, fitting Dewey with wand, after wand, after wand

- None seem to be right (which makes Dewey nervous)

- Until Olivander finally picks out one special wand, which Dewey immediately knows is right with barely a touch

- He picks that wand, and Olivander explains that it’s core is a phoenix tail feather

- And that the phoenix that gave him that tail feather gave him one more

- And that one had been placed in his mothers wand

- Filled with awe and respect, Dewey pays for the wand, and he and Gos head back out

- And they find Drake and Launchpad waiting for them, with an owl for Dewey

- Gosalyn decides that that’s unfair, until Drake explains that it’s so that Dewey can write to them

- Dewey, overcome with emotion, decides to name his owl Darkwing, for the show that his family was raised on

- Which makes Drake emotional as well, and he does a poor job hiding it

- Drake makes Dewey promise to write every day while he’s gone, and he tells him again that he’s already so proud of him

- And he does end up caving to Gosalyn’s demands and promises to get them a puppy while Dewey is off at Hogwarts

And that’s it for how it would begin! Honestly, the length kinda got away from me, so next time (if it doesn’t get away from me again) we’ll talk about The First Meeting and Beyond! I hope you’ve enjoyed!

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Rae

Rae has 16 stories at Gossamer. If you like MSR, you should go check them out, including (but not limited to) the fun-titled, banter-filled The Cat, an Espresso and a Bag of Sunflower Seeds. Big thanks to Rae for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

It surprises me that anyone reads my fanfic at all, let alone they are reading it 20 years after I wrote it!

But in the same vein, I am still actively reading xfiles fanfic and I tend to read the older fics, or new fics by authors I recognize or remember from back in the day. I cannot explain this lack of rationale. 🤷

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

I had a great experience with the X-Files fandom! I made some fantastic friends - many even attended my wedding! I didn't really get involved in the dramas that went on. I was aware of it, but really, I just wanted to discuss my show with people that loved it like I did and read the fic, so I ignored all the other static.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Mainly message boards. AOL chat rooms, Yahoo groups, etc. We would all sign on after the episode aired and chat about it. Deconstruct it. And then we started traveling to meet each other and the real fun began!

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

It was definitely a growing experience. It forced me to step outside my comfort zone a little bit. Traveling to NYC, LA and Chicago to meet people just to fangirl with. Meeting Gillian and getting a picture with her - it was wild.

Different shared experiences that "real life" family and friends just didn't understand. It was fun and exciting.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

So I came to the show late in the game. I was sick, lying in bed channel surfing and caught the last 5 minutes of Fight the Future and immediately wanted to know why this woman was sitting in the snow holding onto this man. I spent the summer recording episodes on FX during the week and watching them all weekend and was somehow able to pretty much catch up on the first 6 seasons in time for the 7th season premiere.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

In my quest to know all the things that summer before the 7th season, I discovered AOL chat rooms that led me to different discussions on the show in general and at one point, a link was posted to whatever fanfic was hot that minute and I was instantly hooked.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I often feel like a wallflower at a party. I'm on the fringe, looking in to see what's going on. I don't bother anyone and most people don't even know I'm there. Every now and then I'll send feedback on a story, or I might even participate in a random discussion, but I feel it's a little more difficult these days without the chatrooms and discussion boards. Following people on tumblr or twitter and trying to engage in those platforms is more awkward since it feels so much more personal. It's like I'm intruding on someone's personal space.  Or having to scroll through non-fandom stuff to find the fic. The message boards were a more even playing field I guess? It's hard to explain.

When I'm hardcore searching for something...anything to read, I'll refer to "The Classics" list. There are still many on there I haven't read.

I miss ephemeral.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

No. No other characters have ever interested me beyond the story we're given within the confines of the show/movie/book like Mulder and Scully did. My friends would dive into Harry Potter or Marvel or (fill in the blank with anything) and I would try to get excited, but there's nothing.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Well, Scully because she's so bad-ass. She's always so certain of her convictions. We don't see her second-guess herself often.

Anne of Green Gables because against all odds, she still sees the beauty in everything.

Jo in Little Women because she is just so tenacious. She knows what she wants.

Hermione in Harry Potter. She knows the most important thing she'll do is help Harry and there is value in that, so she gives it all she's got.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I do. A couple of years after the original run was over, I lost a dear friend (met because of XF) and then later I had my first baby and life just got busy in a very different way so I fell out of the fandom and just dropped all of it.

And then there was the revival. I waited until all episodes aired and then binge-watched them. And I did the same with season 11, but waited about 6 mos after it aired to watch it, rewatching the whole series from the beginning, first.

But now I turn it on a few times a week while I'm folding laundry or making dinner or some other chore. It's nice to have it on in the background because I don't have to pay close attention because I know what's going to happen. I've actually watched the whole series a few times this way.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I still read XF fic. It's still my favorite thing to read. I am always looking for the next great fic to lose myself in. Back in the day, I would read any pairing, any genre...I was game for anything, as long as it was XF fic. I'm a little more choosy, now, but only because my free-time is more limited. I only want to read MSR and I'm not at all interested in revival fics.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I am partial to the novel-length AU and canon-divergent stories.  I love everything by Prufrock's Love and Bonetree. I have read Paracelsus, A Moment in the Sun and the Goshen/Secret World series countless times. Journal 1999 and Journal 2000 by MD1016, The Mastodon Diaries by akaJake, Blinded by White Light by Dashak, Deliverance From Evil by Char Chaffin and Tess.

I could go on all day.

My absolute favorite story is Arizona Highways by Fialka.

I am partial to Scully angst. And the Emily storyline just kills me, so when authors take those elements and write a kick-ass story, I am there for it.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

How awful is it that I had to look up my fics to answer this question? I don't know that I have a favorite. That's like asking a mother which child she favors. Maybe One of the Damned.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I won't say never, but I don't think so. I've tried to start one or two with some ideas I've had, but I haven't gotten far with them.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

No. I don't even have time to read as often as I would like to.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Usually what if scenarios - I try to work out different ways the story could go in my head. I would usually have the guts of the story written in my head before I typed the first word.

What's the story behind your pen name?

There was already a well-known Rachel posting fic when I got started, so I just decided to go with a nickname - Rae.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

My husband is crazy supportive and tries to convince me to write again All. The. Time. I never hid my XF obsession from anyone, but I don't think I told many people about my writing.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

I am on tumblr and twitter, but like I said above, I don't really post. All of my stories are at Gossamer.

(Posted by Lilydale on February 9, 2021)

[itsinmydunah]

Title: WWE Smackdown

Rated: G

Words: 1290

Fandom: twilight rennaisance fic babayyyyy

———————————-

Summary: Bree may be tiny, but she is mighty.

A warning those who may be effected: mentions of past child abuse.

This one was a request from JaneMalfoy on ao3. So you have them to thank for this one, haha. I’m hoping I’ll be able to churn out more Bree fics with the same gusto. This fic is, as usual, also posted on my ao3.

Please be sure to tell me what you think!

————————————————

The sound of shattering ceramic has Bree cringing. She braces for a blow while stuttering out a hasty apology.

There’s dead (ha) silence throughout the house. No one is even fake-breathing.

“Bree, sweetheart, no one is going to do that here.” Bree peeks from beneath the heavy curtain of her hair. Esme is looking at her with kind and knowing eyes. The woman reaches out a hand slowly and tucks Bree’s hair behind her ear. Her touch is so gentle that Bree doesn’t even startle. “You never have to worry about someone hitting you or harming you. I promise,” Esme vows with an assertive tone.

“I—I didn’t mean to break it, Esme.” Bree believes the matriarch when she says no one will hurt her. From what she’s seen of this family in her short time with them, they don’t cross Esme. And more important than that, they are kind to each other. Even when Emmett ribs or mess around with Jasper and Edward, there is a line. No one hurts each other here. It’s not like the home she was raised in or the foster families she bounced from. Despite being ‘monsters’, they’re gentle. Especially to her.

“Oh, I know, baby. Don’t worry over it. We all broke many things in our early days. No matter what, you can’t be worse than Emmett.” Esme grins widely, nose crinkling as she teases her rowdiest son. Bree cracks a smile that grows even bigger when she hears an exclaimed ”hey!” from the upper floor.

“Yeah, don’t worry Bree. Carlisle makes sure Esme can have everything she wants. That vase wasn’t even an antique. I’m pretty sure it was just from Pottery Barn.” Bree tries not to let the thought of Pottery Barn being just a dispensable brand to anyone. She grew up with plastic chairs in the kitchen and a fold up table and was lucky to have season-appropriate clothes.

The Cullens’ wealth still boggles her mind. She was immediately given a closet-full of clothes by Alice and toiletries from Rosalie and a laptop from Jasper. They didn’t think anything of spending money on her, even in the very beginning. As much as she enjoys those things, she likes being able to regularly shower the most. And the hugs from Esme. And the calm, receptive presence of Carlisle. And the way they’re all so kind.

“If you’re sure,” Bree says doubtfully. She begins to pull herself out of her instinctive cower.

“1000%,” Esme assures. “Anyway, you’re pretty strong now yourself,” the woman winks.

“Sure, she’s strong, but she’s so tiny. Like, tinier than Alice!” Emmett booms. His raucousness has drawn the rest of the family from their rooms.

“Emmett, you know I can kick your ass,” Alice says, eyebrows set in a challenge.

Emmett tuts and waggles his finger. “No, no, no. You can evade me. Probably for days. But you cannot kick my ass. Not even close to the same thing.”

“It’s an important distinction.” Edward shrugs with a crooked grin. “But, actually, Emmett, you're not the strongest in the house right now.”

Bree cocks her head. Emmett certainly looks like the strongest one. Jasper is pretty stocky, too, though. Edward was lithe and fast, but not really one for brute strength. Rosalie was certainly formidable, but Bree didn’t think it could be her, either. Esme and Carlisle were simply too gentle to be the strongest ones.

“Edward means you, Bree.” Jasper offers. Bree blinks. Her? Not a chance! She was barely over five feet! Jasper must sense her confusion because he goes on to explain, “the human blood still in your body from your recent turning makes you stronger than any of us right now. And because you spent your early life drinking human blood you also have that as an advantage.”

Riley hadn’t told her any of this. She was still very unaware of a lot of aspects of being a vampire.

“I mean, I know that’s how its supposed to be, but look at her, Jas!” Emmett gestures towards Bree with exuberant hands. Bree looks down at her slight figure and skinny arms and has to agree with his assessment.

Jasper scoffs and shakes his head. “Newborns half the size of me could take me down before I was trained against them.”

“You’re telling me I could take Emmett down?” Bree inquires disbelievingly. She certainly felt stronger as a vampire than a human, but the very idea of taking down Emmett’s hulking mass is unthinkable. He’s easily 6’5”.

“If you can get a proper grip around him, yeah.” Jasper is grinning now like he knows what’s coming next. Alice is practically vibrating beside him.

“Well I won’t believe it until I see it,” Emmett says stubbornly. “Try me, short stack.” He holds out his arms and gestures for Bree to attack him.

“Emmett Cullen, not in my house you don’t.” Esme isn’t even in the room, but somehow she knows what’s happening. Bree shakes her head in wonder. This family is very in-tune with each other. It makes her undead heart a bit warmer.

���Yes, Esme,” Emmett intones like a begrudging child, “ Outside then, short stack.”

Emmett is already dashing to a cleared area behind the house. Bree looks at the others. They’re all bemused but unsurprised by the turn of events. They don’t seem concerned at all by Emmett’s determination to fight her. She knows that Emmett won’t hurt her, so she shrugs and follows him outside.

He’s already poised to attack when she gets to him. She tenses for a moment before lunging at him. She perches on his back and pushes down with all her might, sending him windmilling forward. A helpless cackle slips from her lips at the sight. She is strong!

“Oh, you’re sneaky!” Emmett booms, turning on his heel to bulldoze towards her.

She isn’t scared of Emmett. His open face is nothing like that of her father before he hit her. Emmett is smiling sunnily and laughing as he dodges her and tries to grab her waist. Bree can’t help the giggle that escapes her when she slips from his grasp. He looks so bewildered as she continues to evade his attacks. There’s the sound of Rosalie’s laughter in the background, but Bree doesn’t let herself be distracted. She hadn’t fought with the other newborns when they attacked the Cullens. It was an odd rush to get to use all the power given to her.

When Emmett finally gets his hands around her hips, she throws herself towards the ground and flips her center of gravity, sending him careening into the rocky bank beneath them.

“OHHHHH!!!!!! Em, she got you!!” Rosalie is full-body laughing now, bent over in mirth. The sight of this tiny girl flinging her huge husband over her body is just hilarious. Alice is grinning widely as Jasper guffaws at Emmett’s grumbling as he climbs up the bank. Edward is smirking. Esme, who came out to witness her son be put in his place by their newest addition, is also laughing.

“I did tell you she’d be able to,” Jasper reminds his brother who is picking leaves off his now-torn shirt.

“Yeah, yeah.” Emmett waves him off, narrowing his eyes at Bree. She grins, putting her hands on her hips and tossing her hair behind her shoulder. The much larger vampire shakes his head and breaks out into a good-natured laugh. “It won’t last forever though, short stack!” He scoops her up in a hug, twirling her. Bree shrieks and giggles, smacking his back but also clinging onto his shoulders.

She never imagined what it would be like to have a brother, but now it seems she will have a few brothers for the rest of eternity.

[goddesswritings]

peacefall - the beginning | Sam Taylor

Title: : peacefall – the beginning

Pairing: AU Ghost!SamTaylor x OC

Summary: Y/n is a writer, and her books are pretty popular. She moves into a house in the country to get away from the craziness of the city. She wants to put all her focus on her next book. Weird things begin happening in the house. She discovers she has a ghost, and he has quite a past. They begin to bond, but he begins to see that she is hiding something big from him. Something that will impact her life.

Word Count: 3k

Notes: Beware, this story contains major character death.

Also listen to the song peacefall by Purity Ring and you may be able to get some og the headspace I had when writing this.

This is an old fic that I changed to Sam. Mind you, I have not seen Amazing Stories, so this doesn’t follow the actual episode, it more like uses the likeness of Sam Taylor and makes him into an ancient Victorian character for the purpose of this ancient story of mine.

Masterlist

********

“I have no true memory of meeting my parents for the first time. Of course not, I was just a babe, but I do know that they nurtured and loved me very much. Growing up, I never once questioned their love for me nor for each other, I just knew it was there.”

Recently, you moved into a beautiful old house. It was on the smaller side, with a narrow staircase that led up to the second floor, but it was perfect. The house had to have been built over a hundred years ago. It was filled with the most beautiful wood floors and moulding. Every room had some type of dark wood lining the walls and windows. Some of the wallpaper was peeling in a few of the rooms, but that was an easy fix. There were a few other things that needed fixing in the house as well. You knew the house had seen better days but were happy to be living in it.

There were two bedrooms, the main bedroom was located next to the bathroom. It had a nice row of windows on the far wall that showed the beautiful old neighborhood the house was in, as well as a beautiful little closet. The bathroom was pretty spacious for the small home, with a white clawfoot tub in the center of the room. You were in love with that tub the minute you laid eyes on it. Growing up, you’d always wanted a clawfoot tub.

The second bedroom was located at the end of the hall. There were only two windows in that room and there were two large trees that covered the sunlight from reaching the room. This caused the room to be a bit darker than normal, but you loved it all the same. You made that room into your personal office. You’re a writer. The room was the perfect place for you to work when inspiration struck. Especially because it allowed no distractions from the outside world.

Things were finally coming together for you. Your newest book had just been published and you’d finally saved enough to live on your own. You finally felt happy. You didn't have many friends or a boyfriend, but you were happy with yourself. Living alone would be good for you. It would allow you to focus and get a lot of writing done.

The first couple of weeks were quiet and nothing ever happened in the house. It seemed perfect, too perfect. You knew a house that old had to have some sort of past and you were willing to find out what it was. You were a naturally curious person.

Maybe a month into living in the house, things began to happen. Unimportant things would go missing and turn up in a completely different room. At first, you thought you’d just been moving the stuff and forgetting where you put it, but when a book you were reading disappeared when you explicitly remembered putting it on the bedside table, you knew something was going on.

At night there would be odd creaks that you hadn’t heard when you first moved in. One night you were sure there were footsteps in the hallway, but they were gone before you’d had a chance to investigate them. You knew what you heard was not in your mind. Even with this stuff happening, you were not afraid. You grew up in a haunted house, so it wasn’t new. Things just continued to happen for the next three months and you did your best to ignore them and just live life.

You were halfway done your next book when the notes for the book went missing. That didn’t make you happy, because it meant that whatever was doing it, was an intelligent spirit. You spent the entire day ravaging the house and trying to find the missing notes.

“This is not funny!” You yelled out while sitting in the middle of the living room, the house was a mess around you. After that, you swear you heard a laugh. This spirit just wanted to piss you off. This made you want to get some background on the house.

****

You had all intentions to learn the past of the house, but life got busy. You had to make an impromptu trip a few hours away to New York to meet up with your editor and agent. Both wanted to talk about your upcoming book and what they should expect in it. You have to say a good thing about being a writer is being able to keep your identity secret. You were able to live your life normally without having to worry about being recognized, it was great. Anyway, the trip to New York lasted about a week and you couldn’t wait to return home.  

The house was quiet when you returned, eerily quiet. You didn’t know what to expect from the spirit in the house, but at that moment you were too tired to care. You were dying for a soak in that beautiful tub of yours. After placing your bags in the bedroom, you headed to the bathroom to start the tub. You filled it with some lavender bubble bath.

After the bath was started, you retreated to the bedroom to get ready. You tied up your hair up and changed into a blue silk robe. As you were headed back to the bathroom, you remembered to grab a glass of wine to help you relax. So you turned off the tub before heading back down the stairs to grab it.

Halfway down the stairs when you spotted a tall man standing in the living room. He was only there for a split second, but you knew what you saw was real. You shook your head and made your way into the kitchen. Pouring a glass of wine before heading back upstairs. Walking past the living room, you got chills, but cast it off as nothing. You made it back to the bathroom quickly and put the wine on the counter.

Just as you’d untied your robe, you heard your bedroom door close, you retied the robe and went out into the hallway. “Hello?” You expected a reply but got nothing.

You walked to the bedroom to find the door shut. When you tried to push it open, it wouldn’t budge. “What the hell. This is not funny at all.” You spoke and continued to push on the door. So you stopped and listened for any movement on the other side of the door but heard nothing.

Once again, you moved the door handle and it swung wide open, slamming into the wall. There was no one in the bedroom. Now you were beginning to get freaked out.

Shaking your head, you went back to the bathroom and started to remove the robe again. Letting it drop to the floor, you picked up the wine and stepped into the hot bath. You set the wine on window ledge beside the tub before finally relaxing against the warm porcelain of the tub. It had been a long time since you’d had the chance to relax like this. You closed your eyes and let the water relax you, you just let your mind wander.

You sipped the wine occasionally. It must have been fifteen minutes or so before you started to feel like you were being watched. Shooting up, you looked around the room, trying to find the source of the feeling, but as usual there was no one. This spirit seemed to be playing a lot of tricks.

After that you decided it was probably best that you retire to bed, because you felt like you were going crazy. Exiting the bath, you brushed your teeth, and changed into a pair of black shorts and a t-shirt. Then snuggled into your bed. You still felt like you were being watched but you pushed that aside and went to sleep.

You were sure you’d gone to sleep, but now you found yourself sitting in the living room. You were dressed up in a beautiful blue dress and it seemed you were waiting for someone. Two minutes later you heard footsteps and a gorgeous man entered the room. He was tall. If you had to guess, he was about six feet tall. He had the darkest brown hair that was perfectly set on his head. His face had a cute scruffy beard that fit him so well. Everything about him was cute and screamed innocence.

“I love that color on you, darling.” He spoke sitting beside you on the couch. His voice was attractive.

“Thank you. I knew you would love this color.” You spoke in the dream. You weren’t speaking on your own will. The words came out without permission.

“You know me all too well, my love.” The man leaned in to kiss your cheek, a light blush formed on your cheeks. “You know I love you so much, Annabelle.”

That’s not your name.

“Oh yes I do, and you know I love you.” That was when you realized that it wasn’t your voice you were hearing and the woman sitting on the couch was not you. You were now standing on the other side of the room. She resembled you a little bit, but she was not you. Her hair was a couple shades lighter than yours. Her skin a couple shades darker than yours.

“That is why I want to marry you, Annabelle. Have you given my proposition any thought?”

She smiled but there was something fake about that smile and it made you sick, “I have Sam. I have given it so much thought, but I am afraid of what my father will say. The other townsfolk. I am betrothed to Peter after all.”

A frown appeared on the man’s face, “I understand that your father’s approval means a lot to you, I really do. But don’t you want to marry out of true love, not an arranged marriage? You and I are in love and I think that is all you need to get married. Marry me Annabelle. Please?”

Annabelle didn’t smile, she looked annoyed at the man. “Sam, I cannot marry you. My father means everything to me, and I believe he knows what he is talking about when he tells me that Peter is the best for me. I am sorry, I really am.” There was no sincerity in her voice.

“Okay, I understand.” He sighed sadly, “Then I must inform you that I will be leaving town in a few days. I have a job opportunity somewhere else.”

Annabelle nodded, “I think that would be best, but I do not think you are going to get far.”

Sam looked taken back by her words, “Why do you say that?”

Something in her changed and she looked positively evil in that moment. She pulled something from behind her and quickly shoved it into his chest. It was a knife. She had just shoved a knife into the chest of a man who loved her. What?

This was seriously freaking you out.

Sam looked down to where the knife was embedded into his chest and then looked up at Annabelle. “Why would you do this? I loved you, I still love you.” His voice was soft.

She just laughed and pushed him to the ground, “I regret to inform you, my dear Sam, I never loved you. I am in love with Peter and have been since before I met you. You are just a pawn in my game. With you gone, I will be able to take everything you have.” This woman was making you sick. She dropped down to the floor beside Sam and gripped the knife. “I am not sorry for anything I did.” There was no emotion in her voice as she spoke. Before Sam could reply, she pulled the knife from his chest. “Goodbye Sam.” Those were the last words she spoke before shoving the knife into his heart.

You sat up with a start. You were absolutely terrified from the dream. That was no dream, it was a nightmare. When you buried your head into your hands, you realized you were crying. The dream scared you. You needed a glass of water. Pulling yourself out of bed, you noticed it was only four in the morning. Rubbing your eyes before getting up and making your way downstairs for water.

So, at 4:15 am, you stood in the dark kitchen leaning against the counter with a glass of water in your hand. Your mind was trying to make sense of the dream, but it could not. Why would you dream something like that? More importantly, why do you feel like that dream was more of a memory than a dream? You finished the water and headed back to bed. Unfortunately, you couldn’t get back to sleep, you just kept tossing and turning for the next two hours. Finally, at 6:30am, you decided to get up and work on the book.

Once again, you headed down the stairs to make a cup of coffee. Entering the kitchen, you stopped short when you saw something on the ground. It was the missing notes for your book. You shook your head and picked them up and started to go through the notes, a loose paper fell out to the floor. It was a newspaper article.

Town’s lady Annabelle Porter marries her long-time love Peter Lockwood.

You only read the headline, but it caught your interest. Especially since the woman in your dream was named Annabelle. Was this a coincidence? You were going to put the article aside for later. Right now, you needed coffee to wake up and you would figure this out later. Preparing a big cup of coffee and some toast, you grabbed the notes taking them up to the office. Some work needed to be done today.

You hadn’t even bothered putting clothes on, you lived alone. So, here you were, sitting in your cozy little office in some underwear and a t-shirt. Inspiration stuck shortly after taking a seat in front of the computer. There was no stopping you. Well that was until a creak of the wooden floor was heard behind you. Almost like someone was standing in the room. Quickly whipping around, you found no one.

“It seems that you like playing tricks on me spirit. Thanks for giving me my notes back.” You said aloud. You weren’t really expecting a reply, so it was surprising when a voice said ‘Welcome’ out of thin air. The most striking thing was that the voice sounded so much like the man from your dream last night.

“Uhhh okay.” This wasn’t the first time in your life that you were dealing with a ghost. You’d seen and experienced them all throughout life. This was just the first time that you had an intelligent exchange with one and it did freak you out a little bit. After that, the spirit didn’t say anything else. It got really quiet, so you got back to work.

****

You worked the entire day, only taking a few breaks for the bathroom and for food or drinks. The book was starting to come along. The house really seemed to give a lot of inspiration. Secretly you hoped to have another exchange with the spirit, but he was quiet after the morning antics. If you hadn’t known better, you would think that he left the house.

It was almost midnight when you decided to drag yourself to bed. You’d had a long day of writing and were starting to feel it all. Especially since you woke up around 4am. After brushing your teeth and using the bathroom, you climbed into bed. You were hoping you would have another dream. Maybe then, you can find out why Annabelle killed Sam?

At first, you had a bit of trouble getting to sleep, there was a lot on your mind, and you kept tossing and turning. You could not stop thinking about the dream from the previous night and the man from the dream that you kept seeing around the house. Was he the one haunting the home?

Two hours later you finally drifted to sleep, only to wake maybe an hour later to your covers being pulled down. Sitting up, you rubbed your eyes, too tired for this nonsense tonight. Before you could say anything, something or someone touched your leg. The feeling was cold yet inviting. You weren’t scared even when you knew you should be. Whatever was there stopped touching you right as you became aware of its presence.

“I know there is something here and I would really like it if you showed yourself.” You spoke into the dark room. Waiting for an answer, you received none. Sleep was closing in, so you just let it take over. You decided to deal with the spirit later. For now, you needed sleep.

PART TWO >>

[pollylynn]

All in the Family—Chalk Talk: A Caskett Future Fic in the Heliotrope Series

Title: All in the Family—Chalk Talk WC: 2000

A/N: So, because @coraclavia is a terrible person, she forced me—FORCED ME—to write a number of ridiculous stories where Caskett have a daughter named Madeleine (who has imaginary friends—siblings—named Heliotrope and Jacquard, who are impeccably dressed throughout all their adventures). This cropped up tonight. Wut? (The rest of the series is here.)

She doesn’t want to be the one to tell him it will end in tears. But whatever it is—his grand surprise—she’s sure before he even unveils it that it will end in tears. That is simple the state of the Mad One’s Union these days. 

“Fireworks for Alexis. That’s traditional. ” He has insisted she close her eyes. He’s leading her by the hand around to the pool. He stops short and she crashes into him. “You aren’t gonna narc on me just because they’re the good kind, are you?” 

“Homicide cop, Castle.” She makes a face and shakes her head. “Like I’d stoop to narcing about fireworks?” 

He squeezes her arm with pleasure, and she feels a twinge of multilayered guilt. She’s glad for the cover the question offers. She’s already pressing  her lips together hard to keep from pointing out that Alexis has said, again and again, with increasingly desperate looks at Kate, that she is a very tentative Maybe for the big Official Summer in the Hamptons Kickoff Weekend. She’s pressing her lips together hard to keep from reminding him that they aren’t really spending Summer in the Hamptons, because she has to work. 

“Okay. I need you to stand here for a second.” He drops her arm. “But no peeking. You’re not peeking, are you?” 

“I’m not—” She can feel him waving a hand two millimeters from her face, and she swats back. “I’m not peeking, Castle. Just show me already.” “Almost,” he calls out from what seems to be surprisingly far away. She hears an odd sound, like plates and mugs jostling in a plastic dish tub, but not quite. “Almost ready.” She twists in place, anxiously cocking an ear in what she thinks is the direction of the open French doors. Madeleine has been asleep for something like fourteen consecutive minutes by her count, and it can’t last. The way things have been lately, it absolutely cannot last. “Aaaaannnd.” His sudden voice in her ear makes her jump a mile high, but he catches her by the hips. He turns her to face the direction he has in mind. “Ready!” 

“Oh.” It’s all she can manage at first. He’s vibrating with excitement behind her, but when she sees the pitch black expanse of ground stretching beyond the pool with their names written—Mama, Daddy, Gram, Alexis, Madeleine—in multicolored, multi-flourished letters that must be six inches high, all she can manage is Oh. “Is that—?” 

“Chalkboard paint.” He dashes around the edge of the pool, pulling her along with him, until she’s standing with her bare toes just touching the line where the sand-colored flagstones end and the stretch of black begins. “Had to pull up the pavers and pour concrete—did you know chalkboard paint works on concrete? And colored chalk? Colored chalk is way better than it was when we were kids.” 

“We?” She can’t resist arching an eyebrow at him. 

“Since I was a kid and you were . . . I’m going to go with embryo, because thinking about a twinkle in your dad’s eye makes me uncomfortable.” He makes a face, and she gives him a yes, please nod. “But isn’t this great? When she doesn’t want to be in the pool, she can be out her just drawing her little heart out, and you . . .” He grabs her hand and steps out to arm’s length before spinning her into his body. “You get to float around with fruity rum drinks.”  

“Fruity rum drinks?” She tucks her chin into her collar bone and peers up at him through her lashes. She’s being seduced by the picture he paints, in spite of herself. “I don’t recall that in the brochure.” “I’ll fire our marketing department, because that should have been on the cover,” he purrs in her ear. “I intend to ply you with a steady, yet safe-for-the-pool stream of fruity rum drinks.” 

“Ply,” she says leaning back into him. “I’m a fan of plying, Of being plied.” 

“Counting on that.” He wraps his arms around her waist. “Because I plan on plying, wearing out our little terror with cannonballs and sidewalk chalk, and then the post-plying festivities begin.” 

She wants to believe. She badly wants to believe that a trip smack dab in the middle of their sweet, funny, wildly entertaining four-year-old’s unexpected transformation into the Bad Seed won’t accelerate the process. She turns in his arms and rests her palm along his jawline. “She’s gonna love it,” she tells him, and it’s not not true. Madeleine will love it eventually or initially or for fifteen seconds every twelve hours or in the middle of the night when she will wail until they give in and carry her out to it. She will love it . . . somehow. But it’ll end in tears. 

*********************************

It sort of begins in tears. Madeleine actually sleeps for thirty-eight minutes beyond the first fourteen, making it some kind of record for the last twelve days. When she wakes, she’s clingy and babyish. She cries out for Mama and Kate sweeps her up in her arms. 

She’s heavy these days. It’s strange, because she’s spindly and long-legged, as Kate herself was at that age, but she’s also solid enough to make her mother’s shoulders ache long before the Mad One will even think of being put down. 

“I can take you, baby girl,” he offers, stepping close, but Madeleine turns her head swiftly into Kate’s neck. 

“No. Not a baby.” She hollers right in her mother’s ear. “Want my mama.” 

“Uh, excuse me then, Miss.” He tugs at her toes, falling back on old patterns that have served him well for the whole of her life until the calendar flipped and most of May had expired. “Aren’t those mutually exclusive?” 

“Not Ess loose luv!” 

The girl’s voice is winding up, and Kate is trying her hardest not to glare at him. They’re both sleep deprived. They’ve both been working too hard and Madeleine has spoiled them up to this point. She’s been rambunctious and melodramatic and exhaustively curious, but she’s been such an easy baby, toddler, growing little girl up this point. 

“Hey, loose luv.” She makes a Herculean effort to bounce her daughter’s heavy body in the hopes of kidding her out of this mood. “Did you know Daddy has a surprise for you?” 

“A big surprise?” She peers up at Kate with more skepticism than some of the seasoned detectives she knows. “Just for me?”

“A Daddy-sized surprise,” Kate tells her. She sticks out her tongue at Castle, short-circuiting his reflexive eyebrow waggle. “By the pool. Should we go see?” 

“Down!” Madeleine exclaims as she engages some kind of gravitational field that almost takes the two of them right to the ground. Kate manages to set the girl on her feet. “You all right?” Castle is already taking off after her, but he snags the doorframe on his way through. 

“Fine.” Kate presses a hand to her lower back. “Go, before she’s screaming about the pool gate.” 

He beats her there. He manages to speed-dial the combination lock and has the gate open almost before she has to break stride. Madeleine’s eyes go wide as she spies the chalkboard that’s as tall as she is, twice over. She takes three swift steps straight toward it, not seeming to care that the pool itself is in the way. 

“Hey, hey.” Castle catches her by the hand. “Let’s go around until you’ve got your suit on and not a pretty sundress, okay?” 

Madeleine obliges. She scampers along the more regular tiles that form the pool’s edge, dragging Castle in her wake. She stops abruptly with her tiny bare toes in almost exactly the spot Kate’s had come to rest earlier. “This is black,” she states. Her tone is a comical echo of Kate’s own when she has a suspect against the ropes. “It is black,” Castle says cautiously. “But Memorial Day is Monday, so it’s technically still after Labor Day until then. We can check with Gram, but even Heliotrope should be okay with black by the pool.” “The ground is brown.” Madeleine whirls. Her hand reaches out in a pathetic gesture as though she’d draw the color up off the flagstones and hold it to her heart if she could. “All the rest is brown.” 

Castle looks helplessly in Kate’s direction. “Black and brown. That works, right?” 

“Mixed neutrals,” she says briskly as she makes her way to join them. “Heliotrope approved.” She catches Madeleine’s fingers as she passes by. She pulls her to stand in the center of the chalkboard paint. “Look, Mad One. Do you see what this is?” She taps her toe on the the tall M at the beginning of her name. “What does this say?” 

The girls frowns. She tips her head to the side and counts the letters under her breath. She stumbles over six and five, reversing them, then correcting herself. 

“This Madeleine!” She looks from Kate to Castle to Kate again, astonished. “This mine name!” 

“Just like at school.” Castle creeps warily toward the two of them. “When Miss Oz writes Madeleine up on the board when you’re Sparkle-Star Good?” 

“I not at school.” Madeleine looks down at her own name with all the sadness in the world in her eyes. “Mine friends at school. School is far away.”

Kate’s heart breaks. She can’t bear to look at Castle. It’s such a silly, obvious thing—she misses school. She’s been missing her friends these last eight miserable days, but she’s so little. Isn’t she still too little for this? She finally does look at Castle. It’s a mistake. He’s frozen in place. He’s silent, but even a quick glance tells her that he’s beside himself. 

She suddenly sees him at Madeleine’s age, with Madeleine’s wide blue eyes and hair five shades lighter than her dark curls. She sees him constantly uprooted as Martha struggled to make ends meet through Summer Stock productions and work where she could get it. She sees him miserable and volatile and utterly unlike his usual, sweet, tender-hearted little self. 

She looks down at her feet, her skin stark white with winter. She sees the grand gesture for what it is—a piece of this place transformed for the exclusive use of their charming, challenging, wonderful little miss, who’s having the kind of hard time he remembers having. 

She drops to her butt in the middle of black. The paint has spent the day soaking up the sun, and it’s pleasantly warm against the bare skin of the back of her thighs. She flips open the treasure chest full of chalk—because of course there is a literal treasure chest full of chalk—and hefts a fresh, satisfying chunk in her hand. “Is it, Mad One?” She quickly sketches a rickety square with a triangle on top. She shades in a door, a window with four panes. “Is school far, or is it right here?” She pats her creation.

“That’s not school.” Madeleine stomps. Her bare foot makes a resounding slap right on the window. “It not.”

“Oh, it’s not?” Kate waggles the chalk enticingly. “Can you show me, then? Can you show me and Daddy what school looks like?” “I show you.” She turns up her nose at the proffered chalk and heads for the treasure chest. “I show,” she repeats, coming up with her own piece. “School purple, Mama.” 

“Purple!” Kate smacks her forehead dramatically with the heel of her hand. She catches his eye. She sees him take one pained, hitching breath, before he shakes himself—before he smiles and she smiles back, conspiratorial. “Of course, purple.”  

“Silly Mama.” He makes a production of lowering himself to the ground behind her. He snatches the chalk and reaches to stow it in the treasure chest. He takes her hand and kisses the chalky pink tips of her fingers. “Always purple.” A/N: I honestly don’t know if there’s more to this. It didn't go where I thought it would. But that’s hardly news. 

[panharmonium]

Author Interview

Tagged by @jedirangerpenguin, who is one of my oldest friends from way back in our Star Wars days <3 I don't think the two of us have been active in the same fandom together for years, and yet I am still always so psyched to see her on my dash, posting fic and being awesome and creative - JRP, if I ever go back and finish playing the Mass Effect games, you will be the first person I talk to! :D

Name: Pan!

Fandoms: In terms of fandoms for which I produce writing - Star Wars, Teen Wolf, and Merlin.

Where You Post: My fic tag for simple, unpolished stuff.  AO3 for finalized works.

Most Popular One-Shot: Technically I have a work skin enabled on AO3 that hides stats from me (and i LOVE it; cannot recommend this function highly enough; do not know how I ever used to live without it), so I don't actually know the answer to this in terms of hits or kudos, because I can't see those elements.  By comments/bookmarks, I think it's Though Lovers Be Lost, which is a Obi-Wan-centric fic that I wrote for my dear friend dyingsighs.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: By comments/bookmarks, I think it's Take My Waking Slow.  Also a Star Wars fic, about Obi-Wan and young Anakin, set in the immediate post-TPM era.  (I...hesitate to really call it multi-chapter???  Because it's more like 3 vignettes.  But technically it is three chapters on AO3, so.)

Favorite Story You Wrote:  Wheel of the Year (my ~100k BBC Merlin fic set pre-Camelot, in Ealdor, focusing on Merlin and Will).  I spent over a year working on this monster every single day, and now that it's finally posted, I feel weird not having it on my daily schedule.  I miss hanging out in that world every day - thinking about it makes me emotional.  It was just such a big part of my life for so long, and writing it was like - okay, this is going to sound dramatic, but the process legitimately changed my life.  

Story You Were Nervous to Post: Also Wheel of the Year.  It's a very niche topic, so I knew that it probably wasn't going to see much engagement despite the massive amount of work I put into it (which is not a complaint by any means; I knew this would be the case from the moment I started working on it, so I was fully aware of what I was getting into).  I just had to make sure I was emotionally ready for that, once it was time to post. X)  And more importantly, I had worked on it for so long and poured so much of myself into it that putting it up to be VIEWED, by STRANGERS, in PUBLIC, when I had kept it safe with me in my room for over a year, felt like stripping naked.  

How You Choose Your Titles: No particular method.  Titles are the last thing I think about when I'm writing.  Usually they just emerge during the process.  For Wheel of the Year, I had the title pretty early on, because the eight sections of the actual ‘wheel of the year’/cycle of seasons concept provided the frame for the fic’s eight chapters.

Complete: On my AO3 page, four SW fics and two Merlin fics.  I've been on there since 2014...I am not a fast writer. X)

Incomplete: Works in Progress is a series of SW vignettes that will probably never be finished, unless I take a tumble back into active SW fandom (the title, weirdly, has nothing to do with the fact that the fic is incomplete; it was supposed to be a reference to Anakin's in-progress training and Obi-Wan's development as a master).  I have ~50k of Teen Wolf stuff on my drive that I do eventually want to get back to, when I'm not on such a serious Merlin kick.  And then Merlin-wise, the 'Will Comes to Camelot' AU is a perpetually in-progress project that I work on for fun, whenever I have time or need a break from my other stuff.

Do You Outline? Not in the traditional A, B, C sense.  I always thought that I *should* be that kind of writer - I am definitely a hyper-detailed, ‘needs to be in control of everything, plans for absolutely every contingency' person - and I have tried to be that kind of writer all my life.  But working on my last project showed me once and for all that against all odds, I am not an outliner; I am a discovery writer who just does a truckload of back-end editing.  I don't know why; I can’t explain it.  But it is what it is.  

I do prep for longer pieces, though.  Mostly what that looks like for me is a huge Google doc for each fic where I record ideas, imagery, dialogue, mini-scenes, etc as they come to me (so like this can be over days or weeks or however long the idea is marinating) and that will often organically generate a loose flow.  For Wheel of the Year, the prep looked like me doing months of research, taking notes in eight different books, reading an uncountable number of articles, and making a hand-drawn poster of the medieval farming year in a sketchbook too big for my desk.

Coming Soon/Not Yet Started: My current project is a multi-chapter Merlin BBC fic set immediately post-Season 3.  I also have the next segment of the 'Will Comes to Camelot' AU mostly done, though again, I only work on that one in the intervals between other things, so it might be a while before that goes up.  And I'll soon be (re)posting the 'Reincarnation AU but this time Will gets to come back' fic that I recently wrote for merlinobsessionist, because I've actually done real edits and re-writes on it now, and soon I'll be uploading it to AO3 in a polished form.

Do You Accept Prompts?  No.  But I will sometimes spontaneously write fic based on something a friend sent or said to me.  The “Will Comes to Camelot" AU was spawned completely from a message that an absolute HERO of an anon sent me, so - sometimes things happen. :D

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: I'm always most excited for whatever I'm working on right this second, haha.  But in a general sense, I am excited for the day when I can click on my AO3 page and see an extensive list of stuff sporting Will's character tag, because my personal mission in fandom is to saturate the Archive with high-quality fic featuring my favorite minor character. =P

Tagging: @merlinobsessionist, @vampiratesinaboat, @bobafett, @outpastthemoat, @madasthesea (only if folks are interested, as always!)  

[rex101111]

2, 3, 7, 11, 15, and 19 for meta fanfiction asks!

2.  Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

Once I have more time on my hands, I really wanna get back to writing the second chapter of “She is the moonlight”, like there’s so many fun scenes in my head I wanna write down (as you should know becc;D) and I really wanna get back to it.

Also I had a few Eri ideas and it has been ages since I wrote for my daughter, which is a travesty, and I need to get back on that XD

3.  What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

gaaaah which one??? Like, there’s one where Bakugou grows a moral center and gets on his hands and knees for deku to forgive him for telling him to kill himself (but that would take an entire fic’s worth of set up to properly build up and fuuu-).

Or I would really like to write this like short inbetween scene with Inko. Just after they get the news from UA that the students will move to the dorms but the night before All Might comes to visit to convince Inko it’s a good idea, but I wanna write a bunch about Inko’s life before that, maybe expand on her own personal experience with heroes? Maybe give her some prior reason to doubt Izuku would be safe with UA? Nana cameo to explain her earlier hairstyle like maybe Inko was a hero fan but grew out of it and saw a bunch of heroes get hurt and-...fuck it:

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

It isn’t. It isn’t even slightly okay, but Izuku has that smile on his face. That fragile one, the kind she’s broken before. She remembers that night, as clear as if it were yesterday; her little boy crying and shaking in front of a computer screen after being told all his dreams were worthless.

There’s a pit in the bottom of her stomach, and as it grows the urge to tell him no grows with it. She felt Kamino from her kitchen, her TV screen a peak into the apocalypse. 

Not even a week before he son was on a hospital bed with his arms broken in two dozen places, and then his teachers, and even some of his friends, were neck deep in something even worse.

She should say no.

She has every right to tell him no.

But he has that smile on his face.

“Of course dear.” Her mouth is full of lead, her smile feels heavy and fetid on her face. “Go see what you need to pack.”

He hugs her, kisses her cheek, rushes off to his room while calling her the best, and she can barely register any of it. She finds her way, somehow, to her couch, and puts her face in her hands.

Heroes die Inko, her mother’s voice echoes out, cold but afraid, they help and they save and they win, but at the end they die.

She was young before All Might showed up, very young, be she had memories of before; of early heroes crashing against overwhelming odds, of mass funerals and of hero agencies closing down not from lack of funding but lack of personal.

She thinks back to the summer camp (do you really need to come back?), to the shopping mall (he’s smiling put keeps putting a hand to his neck), to the sports festival (his fingers are a shade of purple so vivid she can see it even when they zoom out), to that last week before middle school graduation (Where did all that confidence come from, she thought she broke it all...). She remembers her little boy, covered in bruises and wiping away his tears (Mitsuki asking what her “brat” did this time, Inko doesn’t know what to say).

She thinks of him smiling and crying as he showed her his acceptance letter, of him pouring over his homework every morning, of unwrapping bandages from his broken fingers as he promises her (again) that he’ll be more careful.

She sees, as clear as day, her son, her baby, her Izuku, motionless and bleeding as the world burned around him and some monster without a face and without a heart laughs at him.

(All Might barely made it out alive. Kamino is a warzone. Her son, with broken arms and a broken smile and broken-and broken-and broken-)

She gets up from the couch in a rush, races for the faucet in her kitchen, and vomits so powerfully she starts coughing and tearing up.

She breathes heavily for a few moments, silently wiping her mouth as she waits for Izuku to rush down the stairs to check on her. He doesn’t, mercifully he didn’t hear her. She rinses the taste from her mouth, cleans her face, sobs, cleans her face again, and then goes to her computer with a stomp in her step and her lips in a thin line.

With a heavy heart but a steady, determined hand she types in “Hero School admittance and transfer” into the search engine and spends the next two hours reading about Shiketsu, and Ketsubutsu, and Isamu, and a hundred other names she only heard about in vague news snippets.

She’ll break his heart, that smile, like ten years didn’t pass and nothing changed, but she forges onward. He’ll feel betrayed, he’ll feel lied to, but she is done with UA, she is done with her son coming home with broken bones.

She is done and she afraid and she will not let her son be chewed up and spat out like he means nothing, like he’s just another sacrifice for the system that promises All Might but only fills out graves.

She won’t take his dream, he needs to know she still believes in him, but Inko Midoriya is done trusting her child’s safety to someone else who doesn’t know him, doesn’t know his wounds and scars like she does, doesn’t know his hopes and his heart and all the tiny little things that makes Izuku who he is like she does.

She doesn’t know who will come in a few days to convince her, but they will be wasting their time. She feels guilty for that, but only for a moment. She made a list, it has a dozen or so names on it. Options, choices, for Izuku to decide and not her.

She raises from her computer chair with a groan and a pain in her lower back and the bottom of her chest. She climbs the stairs to her bedroom, stopping briefly to look at Izuku’s door. The same childish All Might sticker proudly staring back at her. There’s no noise behind the door, he’s asleep, and after everything the last few days had thrown at him, she doesn’t have the heart to take even a minute of sleep away from him.

She lays down on top of the covers without changing out of her day clothes, exhaustion in her bones. She looks at her bedside table, sees the one picture she still has of her husband. A hand on her shoulder and a baby with grass green hair in her hands.

He’s smiling widely at the camera, reaching for it with his hands.

She buries her face in her pillow and waits for sleep to take her.

(FUCK DONE HERE HAVE IT BLAH)

7.  What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree?

Personally I think my style is descriptive. Like most of the time I describe what’s going on in like a “third person narrator” sort of way and dialog is actually relatively short and to the point. Like, there’s a lead up to what a person says, their expression and body language plus an action, the line, and then a follow through on that and then repeating with the next person and so on.

Also I can go on tangents if a story is character-centric, like focuses on a single character then I go ham on introspection...as demonstrated by the above ^^;

11. What do you envy in other writers?

The ability to write down and rely on an outline. Like, I just cannot for the life of me really stick to a plan for too long, like I have the general idea and just add to it as I go. Writing by the seat of my pants is the only way I know how and it either gets me something I like the look of or it doesn’t get me anything at all.

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

Titles are the last thing I think of, so I guess that XD I usually try not to stress out about summaries too much, usually I just either pick an interesting line from the fic, say something vaguely deep, or depend on a template. Like with my Eri shorts I always use that Two Lines for the summary, “character does something, the result of that action in as vague wording as possible”

Tags are also kinda confusing, like, do I tag everything about it XDD that’d take me longer than it took to write the damn thing!

19.  s there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing? (favourite verb, something you describe ‘too often’, trope you can’t get enough of?)

Adding shit (like this) is so much fun, though I try not to over indulge XD Also a smile either “crawls” or “forms” on someone’s face, that’s the only way. Also long sentences. Also lots of “,”

Lots of short sentences describing something vaguely.

(Long paragraphs in parenthesis describing something that happened in the past or a character having deep thoughts because that shit can’t just be a fluid part of the text nooo it needs to be it’s own separate things it needs to break up the flow for a second that’s the whole point-)

and that’s what I can think of XD Call me out on other stuff I’m sure I’m blind to plenty of my bullshit XD

Thanks a lot Becc! 

[yellowmagicalgirl]

I Bet You Kiss Your Knuckles (Right Before They Touch My Cheek)

Lady Wifi revealed Ladybug's identity to all of Paris. It's time to pass on the torch.

So I've had this idea brewing in my head ever since I first watched the episode "Lady Wifi" when it first premiered in October 2015. It laid in the back of my head, dormant, until I saw some GIF's on tumblr in which Marinette is in the process of getting akumaitzed and immediately pulling off her earrings.

In the meantime, I watched all of season one but have only watched four episodes of seasons two and three combined, so don't expect this fic to be canon-compliant or entirely in-character.

Title comes from a Halsey song.

Here is my design for Chilocorus and here is my design for Miss Fortune.

AO3

FFN

"How can we trust the girl when we don't know who she really is?" Lady Wifi says. "We have the right to know!"

Lady WiFi tugs at Ladybug's mask. It doesn't come off, but Ladybug whimpers in pain, trying to plead with her best friend's mulberry eyes.

"Why doesn't it come off?" Lady Wifi asks.

"Uh, because it's magic?" Ladybug is relieved, both that her friend is no longer pulling at her face and the fact that her secret is safe. How can Paris trust Ladybug when they didn't know their hero's identity? How could Ladybug trust herself if they knew?

Lady Wifi does not pause for banter when Chat Noir comes in through the dumbwaiter. She freezes him, and turns back to her first prisoner. She does not wait for Ladybug to use her Lucky Charm. Hawk Moth was clear with his intentions to every victim of his akumas; take Ladybug's earrings and Chat Noir's ring. Lady Wifi wants to know Ladybug's identity. Why wait, when she can take the earrings from Ladybug, chained to the wall by pause buttons?

"Alya, please, please don't do this," Ladybug pleads. Lady Wifi smirks; her knuckles rest on Ladybug's cheek bone as she grabs the red-and-black stud with her index and pointer finger.

"Like I said, Alya's not here." She is quick about pulling out the first earring, and immediately moves on to the second one. "Now, let me see who's hiding behind a mask."

Except Alya is here. She may have mulberry eyes and wear a black mask and jumpsuit, but it is Alya who trembles as in a shiver of sparkles Ladybug becomes Marinette once more. It is not anger, but regret that fills her face and causes her to set the earrings on the counter as she backs away. A messy, perhaps unintentional stroke dismisses the pause buttons on Marinette's wrists and Chat Noir's body.

"Save me," Alya pleads, disappearing into orchid pixels.

"Ma, my Lady?" Chat asks. Marinette wonders if he regrets all those questions he asked her on the stairs.

Marinette glances at the video, likely still playing. "One moment," she says. She grabs her earrings and she walks into the freezer. Maybe the tears at the corner of her eyes will freeze.

"It's cold!" Tikki complains the second Marinette puts her earrings on.

"Everyone knows I'm Ladybug now," she said, eyes downcast. "Hawk Moth knows who I am."

"I know," Tikki says. Her voice is solemn. "But you still need to save Alya."

Ladybug walks out of the freezer, rubbing at her arms.

"I jammed the signal," Chat says, pointing to the pan lid hanging over the the video symbol. "But I'm not sure how to get both of us out of here, unless you want to take the dumbwaiter one at a time. Are... are you okay?"

Ladybug shrugs and summons her Lucky Charm. "Stand back," she says, already maneuvering the microwave.

Chat, his usual self-sacrificing self, still tries to shield her with his body. And maybe she is off her game, and maybe she needs it.

The pause button disappears.

"Destroy the WiFi box," Ladybug says. "That way she won't be able to use her powers."

"Are you okay?" Chat asks again, more insistently this time as they run. "I know you and Alya are friends."

Ladybug does not ask how Chat knows about her friendship with Alya. There have been far too many akuma attacks at Collège Françoise Dupont. He could have seen her interacting with Alya at any point that he got to her school before she could transform. It was odd, how often that was. She'd think he is professional because of this, if not for his constant joking and flirting when she is around.

They reach the rooftop, and Lady Wifi is waiting, and based upon the glowing outline so is Hawk Moth. "Give up, Ladybug. I know who you are," Lady Wifi says. Her voice is cold, faraway. The corner of her eye twitches, like she is in pain.

They need to save her.

Ladybug distracts Lady Wifi as Chat unleashes a Cataclysm upon the WiFi box. He then holds down Lady Wifi so that Ladybug can break her phone in two and purify the akuma.

Akuma victims do not remember what they did. Alya immediately asks if the two heroes of Paris would give her a quick interview, like she hadn't already exposed Ladybug. The heroes make their way to a balcony on the opposite side of the building.

Chat holds her wrist as she goes to swing away. "Wait, I want you to know who I am. It's only fair."

"No, Chat," she says. "Your identity is too important; not even I can learn it. It's too dangerous. Distract the paparazzi for me, please?"

Marinette's parents are waiting for her. And why wouldn't they be? Their daughter has been caught risking her life for all of Paris.

"Marinette, we're proud of you," her papa said, "but we're worried."

"You fight all the time against people who want to hurt you," her maman said.

"I know," Marinette said, "but if I don't do this, then everyone else will get hurt."

"But why does it have to be you," her maman said. "You're only fourteen; you should be worrying about boys and school."

"As it is, just how many times have you been late for school or forgotten homework because of an akuma?"

"I mean, isn't Ladybug saving everyone more important than, oh, grammar?"

"But why does Ladybug have to be you?"

When her parents think she is asleep, Marinette asks Tikki this question.

Everyone started clapping when Marinette entered the classroom.

Almost everyone. Alya sat in the back of the room, head buried in her arms.

Marinette does not sit behind Adrien, who looks at her like she is a goddess. He probably had a crush on Ladybug, and now that he knows who Ladybug is he has hopefully transferred his crush to Marinette.

Marinette goes to the back of the room. "Can I sit here?" she asks.

Alya looks up, and she has none of the exuberance she had from when the akuma was purified. She knows what she has done, not because she remembers but because everyone recorded the broadcast where Ladybug was unmasks. Alya now knows the consequences of her goal.

"Sure," she says. "I'll, I'll go if you want."

"No, stay. Last night, it wasn't your fault."

She thinks she sees a black butterfly resting on the window. Waiting. Spying.

There is paparazzi waiting outside the school.

"Ladybug!" one of them shouts. "Can you tell us about your plans to defeat Hawk Moth?"

Marinette freezes. A hand grabs her wrist.

"I am the daughter of the mayor of Paris! Let us through!" Chloe says, dragging Marinette through the parting crowd.

"Thank you," Marinette says. Chloe sniffs.

"I'm not doing this because I li-" Chloe looks down. "Look, this isn't because, this isn't because..."

Marinette has never seen Chloe stammer or blush before. She is doing both.

"This is a thank-you for saving me before!" Chloe insists far too quickly. "Honestly, do you only have a backbone when you're Ladybug?"

The jab feels like a cover-up for something Marinette cannot place, but she appreciates the change in attitude anyways. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches a black-and-purple butterfly fly away. She gets the feeling she won't be able to do her homework.

She gets the feeling that she was the intended target.

Chat holds out his fist for a "Pound It!" when they defeat Chambrecho half an hour later. For someone who sent their attacks back at them, he was a surprisingly easy akuma to defeat.

Ladybug's fistbump is half-hearted. "Chat, can we talk? Privately?"

"Sure," Chat says. They duck away to a secluded area. He didn't use his cataclysm, so he doesn't need to worry about his identity.

"Is this about last night?" he asks.

"I, yeah," she says. "Chat, that black butterfly was meant for me."

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Yeah. It's been following me all morning. I, Chat, you're a really great partner, but I can't be your partner anymore."

His jaw drops.

"I've already talked to my kwami, and she says a new Ladybug can be found. I... Chat, I don't want to give up my earrings. They, and my kwami, and I guess you too, they've helped me develop my confidence so much. I'm scared I'll go back to the scared little girl I was before I became Ladybug, but only Ladybug can purify an akuma. If I get akumatized, it's over."

"I, I doubt that will happen. Tell you what, I can show you my identity and maybe you won't be so scared anymore. I, you're like, one of the closest people in the world to me, and I don't want to lose you."

"Chat, you don't get it! I'm dangerous, now. I'll try to stay positive, but all I need is one bad day. One bad day, and Hawk Moth will akumatize me, and I will give him my earrings if I still have them. Don't make it easier for me to give him your ring."

She takes a deep breath. "I'm not asking for your permission, I just don't want to leave you without a word because you're important to me, and I wanted to tell you that, you know the Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie?" He nods. "I live there. Feel free to stop by."

She hugs him, and doesn't comment as he starts to cry.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Tikki asks. She had given Marinette instructions on where to go, questioning her every step of the way.

"I... yes." That was a lie, and Marinette hates liars, but the truth was complicated. The truth is that no, she doesn't want to do this, but for the sake of Paris she needs to. Marinette pulls out the box her earrings first came in.

"Okay," Tikki says, and she phases through the wall of a... massage parlor? A few minutes later, she comes back. "Okay, we're ready. Marinette, you've been the best Ladybug I've had."

Marinette sniffles. "Thank you, Tikki. I'm going to miss you."

She takes out her earrings and places them in the box. She places the box in front of the door, and she walks away. She pulls her hair out of her pigtails.

"You don't have to worry about me being Ladybug anymore," she says to her parents before she goes to her room.

Only then does she allow herself to weep.

 Alya texts her the day after Marinette gives up her earrings.

Hey, can I come over?

They don't have school that day.

Of course, is Marinette's response.

"Hey," Alya says, and she is quiet. She has been this way ever since yesterday. "So, um, I'm thinking about taking down the LadyBlog."

"Why?" Marinette asks.

"I... revealing your identity wasn't the right choice, was it? And, like, in all the superhero comics and stuff, the identity reveal makes things worse for the hero, and I wasn't thinking about how it'd affect Ladybug, well, you, I was just thinking of how it could make me a good reporter and -"

Marinette tucks her hair behind her ears. Alya gasps.

"I mean, you're right. The identity reveal makes it harder for the hero, but anyone could wear the earrings."

"Who's the new... I shouldn't ask that, should I?"

Marinette shakes her head. "No, you shouldn't. However, I don't know who the new Ladybug is, but for what it's worth, I hope it's you. I mean, I tried to give you the earrings once already."

 It's been two days since Marinette gave up her earrings, and one of the girls from Ms. Mendeliev's class has been akumatized. She wears armor the color of cast iron with spinning blades for hands and a gold visor.

"So, what's your name? Edwardia SawHands?" Chat asks. He catches Marinette's eye, and taps a finger to his human earlobe.

"It's DarkSaw!" the akuma screeches. Marinette shakes her head at Chat.

"Hey, aren't you going to do something?" Kim asks.

"If you need help getting to the bathroom so you can change into your costume I can help," Chloe says as she inspects her nails.

Marinette looks to Alya. Alya gives her a sad smile and tucks a stray lock of hair over her ear. There is no earring.

DarkSaw lunges for Chat. The yo-yo that knocks away her hand is a darker red than usual.

Marinette looks up and pulls her hair into a single ponytail, revealing her ears. "I'm not the one who's going to save you."

A girl jumps from the second story balcony. She has long black hair pulled into a low ponytail with bangs that fall over her left eye. The ends are dyed a darker red than her right eye. She wears a wine-colored sleeveless high-collared dress with boots, arm warmers, and fingerless gloves. Under the dress is a sheer spotted dark red skirt, and under that is a polka-dotted mesh leotard that covers everything not covered by the rest of her outfit. Her mask has a large black spot over her eye. The girl looks at Marinette, as if looking for approval. Marinette smiles at her. The girl's burgundy lips curl into a shy smile. Marinette turns to her classmates.

"She is."

"Three, two, one, action!" Alya calls from behind the camera after school. They had been planning this ever since Marinette had told Alya that she hoped that she would be the next one to get the earrings. They had two separate versions, and if Alya had been the next bug then this would have been the last LadyBlog entry, so that no one would question why Alya was no longer posting. It would have been one where Alya apologized to Paris and to Ladybug, and would have proclaimed that she didn't want to continue out of guilt.

In this way, Marinette is thankful that Alya did not receive the earrings.

"Hello, Paris!" Marinette says, trying to be as cheerful and confident as possible. "If you watched the broadcast from a couple nights ago, you know that I'm Ladybug. Or, rather, I was. Because my identity was compromised, I gave up my earrings. There's now a new hero wearing them; her name is Chilocorus and she debuted today at Collège Françoise Dupont."

Marinette gets the feeling that Alya would cut the video so that there would be video footage of the new hero between Marinette's speech.

"Alya will be repurposing the LadyBlog to focus on helping the citizens of Paris instead of trying to unmask its heroes. It's still under development, but she's going to set up an akuma tracker.

"And if you're watching this, Hawk Moth?" Marinette let her face settle into a glare. "Fine. You won the battle against me. But in the end, it'll be Chat Noir and Chilocorus standing victorious over you. And I can't wait for you to beg for their mercy."

That night, someone knocks on her trap door.

"Fancy seeing you here, Chat," she says. "Now, what would my parents say about you showing up on my rooftop in the middle of the night?"

He gives her a bright red rose. "That I'm being a purrfect gentlecat."

She laughs and takes it. "Well then, if you mind your manners I'm sure you can stay and talk, but I've got school tomorrow kitty so it can't be too long."

"What do you think of Chilocorus?"

"She's definitely fancier than me," Marinette says. "Or at least, she's more of an eager romantic about the idea of being a superhero. I can't say I was too big on the idea, because I could've definitely come up with better costume ideas than that spotted leotard I wore."

"She's a novice," Chat complains.

"So was I."

"I know, but couldn't you have kept your earrings?"

"It's for the best, Chat. Just because you have a new partner doesn't mean we can't stop being friends."

He sighs. "Hey, what smells so good?"

"The cookies downstairs."

"Could I have one?"

Adrien, Rose, and Juleka are nowhere to be found when they are supposed to take the school photo.

Juleka said she panicked.

Rose said she got the feeling that Juleka's anxiety was acting up and had tried to find her friend.

Adrien had managed gotten his foot stuck in a trashcan, somehow, and he hadn't thought to ask anyone for help.

In unrelated news, the Akuma Tracker said that La France pittoresque had been terrorized by an akuma known as Red Herring at the same time as the school photos.

Marinette doesn't allow herself to think about the possibilities.

Marinette fails her math quiz. She balls it up, and a black butterfly lands on it.

"Hello, former Ladybug," Hawk Moth says, voice smug.

"Oh, shut up," Marinette says. She throws out her math quiz.

Twenty minutes later, there is an akuma attack. Marinette's parents are thankful that she's home.

There is a knock on her roof.

Marinette grumbles and places her textbook down. She has a test tomorrow. A big one. She can't afford a bad grade on it, not after her math quiz. "Just a minute, you mangy-"

A red eye peeks out under black-and-red bangs.

"Oh," Marinette says. She blinks once, twice, to make sure she's really seeing her successor. She mentally stomps all over the hope that her, no the earrings are being given back. Marinette has made her choice and she must live with it. "Hi, Chilocorus. Something wrong?"

"Can I ask you for some advice?" she asks.

"Sure. Is Chat still being cold to you? I can tell him to quit it... again, if I need to."

"No, it's... Chat Noir has warmed up to me, mostly. I don't think he's ever going to like me as much as you, nor in the same way, but I'm more than okay with that. Just... how did you handle it all? I don't know what I'm doing with the Lucky Charm half the time, and I don't know how to balance being a superhero with my regular life."

"Yeah, that takes some getting used to. One moment." Marinette runs downstairs, and grabs some of the cookies that she is allowed to take from the bakery. "Give these to Tikki for me? Now, something that helps with balancing things is doing homework while on a stake-out."

Everyone expects more of Marinette. She was able to barely handle the stacked responsibilities when she led a double life. Surely more responsibilities can be handled because she is no longer Ladybug.

It's very frustrating, and one day she raises her voice at her parents before slamming the door as she stomped off to her room.

"I'll make you a deal," Hawk Moth says after a black butterfly lands on Marinette's pencil. "After I use them to get what I need, you can have your earrings back."

"And what do you need?" Marinette asks. Hopefully she will remember enough to pass it on to Chat or Chilocorus.

"First, I need you to get me Chilocorus and Chat Noir's Miraculous."

This isn't one of her good pencils, so Marinette snaps it. The black butterfly flies away to akumatize someone else.

Marinette thinks things are going well. Chloe is being oddly nice, to everyone, but especially to Marinette. She can hold full conversations with Adrien. She, Alya, Chilocorus, and Chat Noir are able to coordinate plans.

Marinette misses Tikki, though. She misses the feelings of freedom and confidence that being Ladybug gave her. Without being a hero, it's a bit harder to keep up her cheerful demeanor and inspiring attitude.

Marinette sees the black butterfly, and she is so very tired. Thankfully, she has the Ladyblog open, and in a final moment of clarity she types two words.

The butterfly lands on her right hair tie.

"Don't even give me the speech," Marinette says as a pink glowing mask forms in front of her face. "I don't care anymore."

The first herald of Miss Fortune was not the small black, white, and red beetles descending upon Paris like a swarm of locusts. It wasn't even the girl in a black-and-white spotted suit, with a single red ribbon in her hair.

It was two words from one Marinette Dupain-Cheng, former Ladybug, on comments of the Akuma Tracker portion of the Ladyblog.

SAVE ME

[slytherin-puffskein]

i’m sick of everything, i just wanna hold you.

summary: Barnaby Lee and Laurent King, as confused, scared and clueless as they can possibly be, decide to navigate together through what is supposed to be an amazing night, the Celestial Ball. Fear clutching at their hearts, they dive in anyway, and discover just how odd a simple night can be. Terrifying, and yet wonderful once you learn to let go.

- - -

notes: Thank you so much for 200 followers!! I realized I had hit that follower count as I was typing this fic up, so I decided to make it a ‘thank you’ gift! Below you can read Barnaby and Laurent’s experience at the Celestial Ball, and I hope that you will enjoy!

- - -

There are many things that Barnaby Lee remembers, which is a miracle in itself due to his tendency to forget. He remembers his fifth birthday, he had gotten pretty neat... no, he can’t remember his gifts. Maybe he didn’t even get any, that wouldn’t be surprising. He recalled, however, his father’s smile. It had been comforting. In a way. He remembers the day his dad got a Kneazle, he had been allowed to play with it for an hour, or two. That, he can’t recall exactly. He just knows how fun it had been. He remembers when he got his letter from Hogwarts. Of course he had to remember this, or else, could he really call himself a wizard with pride? His father had kept on speaking to him about that damned letter, about how it will mark the death of his childhood and the birth of his life as a man.

A man. I’m only eleven years old. Can’t I play for a little longer...?

His woes, expressed in his eyes, had either been seen by his dad and ignored, or had simply gone unnoticed. He found solace in the second option. That way, it meant his dad cared about him. He had just... lacked the attention needed at that very moment to notice his son needed that specific care. He had been too distracted. Yes, that was it. Your father has a lot on his shoulders, dearie, his mother had once said. Yes, that was definitely it.

Barnaby Lee remembers a lot of things.

He remembers, most of all, how he met Laurent Dorian King. He couldn’t really pin that event down as a first meeting, however. They haven’t even spoken. They haven’t even looked at each other.

Barnaby had just been a terrified, nervous, anxious young kid looking for an empty cabin in the Hogwarts Express. It was loud, it was crowded, and the only thing he was looking for was someplace silent in which he could hide and mull. Death of your childhood, birth of your life as a man. Way to encourage him to pursue on his life. If only I had played with the Kneazle for a little longer, then I would have had more of that childhood.

He had, at last, spotted an empty cabin... or wait, no. It wasn’t empty. Not really. There was a figure inside, and as he stepped closer to the glass door he recognized a young boy. A young, fiery boy, but that was probably because of his orange, blazing hair. It looked... it looked pretty. After noticing his hair, however, he saw something else, something that reasoned with him: his face. The right side of it was pressed against the window, watching the large grassy fields unfolding by the train. That didn’t matter, though. What really grabbed Barnaby’s attention was his expression. He looked pensive, and yet, a spark in his eyes proved how he was truly feeling: about just as terrified as him. He’s just like me. Everyone here seems so excited... but he looks so afraid. I’m so afraid, too.

Maybe he can talk to him. Slide open the door, sit next to him, introduce himself: Hi, I’m Barnaby Lee. No, maybe not that. Who introduces themselves with their full name? Characters in the books he had read, yes, but he wasn’t in a book. This is real life, and in real life, you...

How do you introduce yourself in real life? He swallowed with difficulty, gaze still fixed on the ginger guy- Let’s call him Cabin Guy. He looks so... so. A word Barnaby cannot describe. Maybe he hadn’t found the right one yet. Or maybe no possible word could properly describe that boy. He just knew one thing: he had an aura, an energy, that drove Barnaby to sit with him and talk to him.

Friendly. Maybe that was the word. Despite his anxiety, he looked friendly. Like he would greet him with a smile and--

Before he could pursue his thoughts, or even make them happen, he felt a small hand land on his shoulder. As he turned around he quickly pinned a name to the face in front of him. Merula Snyde, daughter of rather fearsome Death Eaters. His dad had mentioned them a few times. How funny, now all of their parents were in Azkaban.

Merula Snyde exuded an energy that Barnaby couldn’t name as well, but it was in no way as comforting as the one Cabin Guy had. She titled her head, looking behind his shoulder, and scowled. “If I were you, I’d sit somewhere else, Lee.”

He blinked. She knows my name? Well, not my name, my surname. Of course she does. Dad and Mom are... rather popular. “Why?” The question slipped out of his lips.

“Because he reeks that Mudblood smell. I can smell it even from there, it’s retching.”

Mudblood. The first time he had heard that word from another mouth than his parents’. He shifted from one foot to the other, awkwardly standing there, not knowing what to do. How can you know that he’s a Muggleborn? And why is it so bad that he’s--

Before he could speak Merula was grasping his wrist. “Come with me, I got a better place for you to sit in.”

He obliged. One last look to the Cabin Guy. Their gazes failed to meet. Maybe they weren’t meant to be friends, after all.

- - -

Barnaby was met with quite the shock as he came to the realization that Merula’s newest target was, surprise, Cabin Guy himself. He also found out his name was Laurent King. Laurent King. What an interesting name... and odd to pronounce, as well. He tried saying it out loud five times in a row and failed, because he wouldn’t stop thinking about the surname. King. Was he kingly? Was Barnaby even worth his attention?

And how come he hadn’t known his name before? Maybe he hasn’t been paying enough attention in classes for the last two years. That would explain his monstrous grades. Yeah, surely. That was the reason. Maybe also because all of his attention had been fixed on Merula Snyde, who had the audacity to call herself his savior, for she had prevented him from befriending a dirty Mudblood.

You need to spy on him, Lee. I don’t trust that kid.

He will do it. Just to talk to him. That interest that had ignited in the train, it hadn’t died down. In fact, it grew stronger. So he went to spy him.

A first meeting about as fiery as his hair, as Laurent King ordered him to stay away from him for as long as possible. Maybe following Merula’s orders wasn’t such a good idea after all. Maybe he should detach himself from them in order to be himself and allow himself to befriend Laurent in a proper way.

And so he did.

And so, they were friends.

And so, he could finally claim he had a true friend, one that didn’t boss him around, that didn’t judge him, that didn’t belittle him. It... felt nice.

- - -

His eyes -wild, laughing, yet desperate-

.Virignia Woolf

- - -

When Laurent Dorian King befriended Barnaby Lee, he felt normal at last. He didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. He didn’t feel like the odd one out of the great equation that was Hogwarts... well, maybe not only Hogwarts. Right, he was estranged because he had dared to be a ‘Muggleborn’, but he was also pulled away from so many other things, so many other groups.

Thinking of it hurt. It hurt a lot.

One day, Lau, you’ll become one of the boys. His dad had often said that, alright. Usually accompanied with a massive slap on his back and bellowing laughter, sign that he has been drinking too much beer. Laurent had never minded, though. When his dad was drunk, he was cheerier. Happier. A shadow of who he was before his wife died.

Turned out, he never really became one of the boys. He never ended up with a small gang of boys to talk to, to laugh with, to fool around with. Boys will be boys. Well, that didn’t apply to Laurent. He had never felt part of their... their... their club. Yes, that word. Because it surely felt like one. A club in which you talk about girls and sports and girls and pranks and girls. A club that had a secret password, it seemed, and Laurent had failed to get it.

Despite how awful that isolation from the others felt, Laurent also couldn’t give a shit about it. He had never cared about these boys whose priority through the years shifted into seeing below a girl’s skirt. He had better stuff to do. Better shit to care about. Better things to see. And man, how many things he wanted to see. The choices were endless, and thus, limiting. And so he was stuck.

But with Barnaby, he felt liberated. Finally, he was feeling part of something. Something that no one else will have. It was his, that special little emotion beating hard inside of his chest. What was it? Happiness? Maybe. That, but more.

And he fucking, fucking loved that more. He fucking loved those nights spent sneaking out of the dorms to talk until the rise of dawn. He fucking loved those conversations about things as trivial as magical creatures to subjects as deep as the future. With Barnaby, he was discovering the universe. It might sound ridiculous, but it surely felt like so. And little did he know, it felt the same to Barnaby. It was as if two halves had finally met, and glued together. A bond that shall remain unbroken, both were sure of it.

A bond that, however, will be met with crushing obstacles, as another word came to describe the feelings they were both having.

Love.

- - -

When you love somebody it’s hard to think

about anything but to breathe

When you love somebody and bite your tongue

all you get is a mouthful of blood

.Fruit Bats

- - -

“You look horrible.”

“Thank you very much.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

Laurent smiled at Merula Snyde, combing his hair with his fingers one last time. Merlin, stop checking them already, you have no need to look perfect.

“This is just an opportunity to have fun, for me. I don’t have a date, so I can look as horrible as I want. I don’t have the pressure to look amazing.” He never thought he did, anyway. Sure, he acted confident, but he never really valued his looks. It was the freckles, maybe. They irked him.

Merula rolled her eyes and fixed his tie for the fifth time. For someone who couldn’t give a shit about Laurent King, she was sure watching over him. In her own little way, which made it all the more charming. “Wiseass.” Was her simple reply.

“More than you. We’re in fourth year, Merula, you should know it by now. Now go, I gotta get ready!” Well, was there really a way to get any more ready than he currently was? Despite Merula’s claims and his own insecurity, he looked flawless.

He never mentioned that he wanted to work more on how he looked, however.

No, he wanted to think about the storm that was settling into his mind. And thank Merlin, Merula vanished at last, leaving him alone in the Slytherin Common Room. It’s late. At this rate, I’ll be the last one to show up. He heavily sat down on a couch and sighed, rubbing his temples and trying to find order in his thoughts.

Laurent King and order. These words didn’t match. They never will.

Why was he so anxious, anyway? He and Barnaby had come to the decision to come to the Celestial Ball as friends, a mere excuse to have some fun. It shouldn’t make him that anxious. It shouldn’t make his palms as clammy, his cheeks as red, his fingers as trembling. Maybe I’m beginning a cold. Maybe. For he loved ignoring logical explanations.

Love. While that word described their relationship, both had tucked it away in a dark corner of their minds. Boys will be boys. That’s what people say. They don’t say Boys kis-- He closed his eyes.

Let’s just get this over with, fuck.

Two friends hanging out.

Nothing less, nothing more.

Then why am I so excited to see him?

- - -

You know how to ride a dirt bike, and you know how to do long division,

and you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut.

.Richard Siken

- - -

“You...”

“You look...”

They both blinked. Barnaby giggled, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I-- you first!”

“No, you first!” Laurent insisted, a smile making its way on his lips. “You talked first, after all.”

“I’m pretty sure we both said it at the same time, honestly...”

“Are you?”

“Pretty much.”

“Maybe we can both say it at the same time, then.”

Maybe that was meant to be, after all. That made Laurent think for a quick second. What else, about me, about us, is meant to be? His smile got bigger as Barnaby nodded, and they counted to three. They were standing in front of the Great Hall’s entrance. They could hear the music from behind the doors. Both have been late, it seemed. Had Barnaby been as anxious as Laurent? That was a question he would like to get the answer, just so he would feel less alone.

“You look amazing.”

There was silence as they both realized what the other just said, and they blushed. Pink hues, climbing over their cheeks, spreading over their faces, dead giveaway of how they were feeling.

That feeling, however, also felt like pure bliss to both. A bliss that they had tried to be ashamed of many times. The same bliss Barnaby had felt when he had lied down next to Laurent, their shoulders touching, as they stargazed in the Astronomy Tower. The same bliss that had taken over Laurent that one time their hands accidentally brushed together. We’re not supposed to feel this. You know. Remember what dad said.

Dad said many things.

He said, most of all, ‘I can’t wait for you to introduce me to your girlfriend. You’ll get one soon, look at you. You have your mom’s looks, and she made a lot of heads turn.”

Boys looked at mom, Dad.

So can it also happen to me?

“Your clothes...” Lau started, meaning to say a compliment. “They’re... good.”

If only he could punch himself in the face, right at this instant. How liberating would that feel.

Barnaby, however, smiled, looking down at his outfit and then back to Laurent’s. “Your clothes are good as well! V-Very good. Greatly goody. Wait, can I say that? That’s-That’s a word, right?”

“I believe it is, Barn.”

Oh Merlin I’m RIDICULOUS but why am I thinking like THIS why are we even complimenting each other we’re going to this stupid ball as FRIENDS. That had travelled over both their minds.

“A-Are you ready?” Barnaby suddenly asked.

I wish I knew.

“Yes, I am.” He replied.

Barnaby slowly stepped forward, his hand reaching towards Lau’s, but he stopped mid-movement and prayed that his friend had failed to notice it. “Let’s g-go, then.”

Laurent would be lying if he were to claim he hadn’t tried to reach for Barnaby’s hand as they stepped inside the Great Hall. As they walked together, Barnaby suddenly reminded something, and gave Lau a flower bracelet that matched his boutonnière.

It looked beautiful.

And it was also a dead giveaway they were each other’s... date.

Of course, a lot of other people had their friends as their dates, but they were entirely unfazed by it, as opposed to Barnaby Lee and Laurent King. That was because, these people saw each other as friends. Nothing else. Those other friends in the Ball, they didn’t awkwardly stood next to each other, stealing glances and hoping to be brave enough to reach for the other’s hand. Those other friends, their minds weren’t filled with worries and fears and anxiety. They were filled, in fact, with happiness and joy.

Because their feelings were only those of friendship.

Their faces exuded joy.

Their eyes, however, said another story, and that was what had rendered Laurent and Barnaby still. A group of girls looked at them, whispering. Two boys stared at them, eyebrows arched in concern, which made Laurent shiver. Are they just judging our outfits, or judging us? That flower bracelet, it only gave those people clues, clues that people could claim as theirs and do whatever the hell they wanted with it.

Couldn’t a flower bracelet, be just a flower bracelet?

Was this a bad idea from the beginning? Laurent turned to Barnaby, and smiled at him. Oh, how much I want to hug him. Ditch the Ball, go with him, hug him someplace empty where no one can look at us.

“People are looking at us.”

Barnaby nodded. “They are. I’m sorry, Lau...”

That made him blink. “Sorry for what, Barnaby...?”

Their gazes met, and their breathing stopped. He’s too beautiful, both thought. Barnaby sighed, then shrugged. “I feel like it’s my fault... that bracelet, my boutonnière, everyone’s looking and...”

And guessing. Guessing what we both fear the most. Because it is true. Truth, is the most terrifying thing one can hear.

You’ll attract a lot of girls, Laurent, his father had once said.

So many girls look at you, Lee, it’s ridiculous, Merula had scoffed.

Good looking lads. Meant for women. Malfunctioning. It surely felt like it. Neither of them dared to address these problems, though. Instead, Laurent decided to cast them away, and to do the thing Barnaby loved most about him: not care. “Screw these people, Barn. Let’s enjoy this damned night and forget about everything!”

Wiseass, Merula would have said.

I love you, Barnaby wanted to say. He giggled as Lau finally took his hands, Merlin they are so small compared to mine, and dragged him to the dancefloor. They followed the music’s upbeat rhythm, not caring about anything else but fun. They danced, jumped, laughed, and soon enough Barnaby was twirling Lau around, laughter on his lips.

People are looking. Men shouldn’t act like that with each other. It’s weird. Fuck it, guys, I don’t care anymore! As long as Lau is around, I’m not afraid! Never will be! Take that, suckers!

They were happy.

- - -

We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want, so I said What do you want, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me.

.Richard Siken

- - -

They ditched the Ball when the slow dances came around. It had been too awkward, too bad to look at. All these couples, boy and girl, dancing together, laced together, with nothing to keep them apart. It had made them sick because they wanted to be as fearless and dance together as well. Their fathers’ words, however, wouldn’t stop drilling themselves deeper into their minds: One day, you will find a lovely girlfriend.

A girlfriend. What they were supposed to have.

Sorry Dad for I have failed.

I found someone, but he isn’t a girl. But he’s perfect. He’s so perfect. He makes me laugh when I cry, he listens to me when no one does, he supports me when I fall down. It’s love, I know it, it’s what I feel. Why is it any less valid, because it’s from a boy?

They were kissing. Laurent pressed against a wall, Barnaby’s hands cupping his face, they were kissing, and they were forgetting about everything else. No fear, no dads, no looks, no whispered words about them, there was only the now and it was filled with the both of them and the love that lived between them. It filled them up, ensnared them, drove them crazy, and they would be entirely happy with dying right after that kiss, because they felt nothing else would feel as good.

Acceptance? Probably.

But does acceptance truly exists in that wicked world? A world where people from different blood status aren’t as accepted from others, can it really accept a boy who likes boys, or a girl who likes girls? There was doubt about that. A whole lot of doubt. Doubt that made them want to cry.

But right now they weren’t crying.

They were kissing.

And Laurent was whispering Barnaby’s name like a prayer, a prayer that will only bring good to them.

And Barnaby was whispering Laurent’s name like a prayer, a prayer that will only bring good to them.

Their hands travelled over the other’s body, feeling the fabric of their clothes, tugging the other closer, trembling as they grasped onto hair and pulled softly,

Such was Barnaby’s daydreaming as he brought Lau back to the Slytherin Common Room. Little did he know, Laurent held the same thoughts. The same dreams. He wanted to kiss Barnaby, to feel his body curve against his, to sink his fingers into his hair... but just like it had happened with Barnaby, fear had forced him to hold back. And he hated himself for it.

“It was fun.” Laurent said nonetheless.

“How so?” Barnaby replied. “People kept staring at us... it felt...”

“Pathetic.” His answer immediately came. “It felt pathetic for these people. They don’t have anything better to do than to stare? I think it was a whole lot of fun for us”

Why are we so worked up over this anyway we were supposed to be going to this ball as FRIENDS why are overanalyzing everything I’m so tired I want my bed I want him I want to be in his arms. They had felt the pain they were trying to ignore for so long, and it felt terrible.

“I guess you’re right.” Barnaby couldn’t help but giggle. It always happened with Lau. He spoke to cheer him up, and it worked instantly. What kind of odd magic. What kind of odd magic love was.

“And now, we’re alone. They can’t look at us now.”

The spark of an idea ignited in Laurent’s eyes. The same happened in Barnaby’s. No words were needed. Not really. It was just like that, with Laurent King and Barnaby Lee. Ever so slowly Barnaby slid his arms around Laurent’s waist, not before giving him a special look that said Can I? and Laurent had nodded, and then gave him the same look. Barnaby had nodded as well, and he shivered as Laurent curled his arms around his neck.

They pulled each other closer. Their chests touched. They could feel each other’s heartbeat.

Erratic, panicked, lovesick.

And, away from any gazes, away from any bad thoughts, away from their parents, away from the ties keeping them trapped in the real world’s painful reality, they flew away in their own little paradise.

And danced.