#longfic that will always be near and dear to my heart.

[honeydots]

I was just re-reading to Prune a Grapevine and I had a question, how did Laslow and Xander meet? Odin teased it a little bit, but did he set them up or did they meet by chance because Odin knew Leo?

hi anon ive been so excited to answer this. i quite genuinely almost wrote a fic about their meeting in this universe so read more time

so first of all, a note: odin accrediting himself to their relationship does not mean laslow does LOL i imagine laslow probably rolls his eyes intensely whenever odin says that (even if there's a mild amount of truth to it)

also to answer your questions, no and no--but the second one is closer haha.

so setting the scene! laslow's in his early 20's, he moved to nohr for his career. he has a job dancing with a company, and he was actually very lucky to have landed the position he got. he's sort of paranoid about losing it.

xander (or rather, at this time it's garon--anya corp--just remembered i named their company that LOL) is a sponsor of the theater they work in, and of the dance company in general. a perk of sponsorship is watching a dress rehearsal, and you can probably imagine how this leads to their meeting.

but! it's a little more than that. obviously the cast knows that they'll have a sponsor watching them that day, but they're also told by the director they need to be nice to this guy. he's giving us money and we want him to keep doing that. so laslow has slightly more incentive to talk to xander, strictly because he thinks if he can show they get along, he'll have more job security, LMAO

a little more background knowledge, here's why odin is relevant. odin and leo, yes, are already friends!! odin doesn't live in nohr yet, though. laslow doesn't know leo, but he does know that odin has a Very Rich Nohrian Pal named Leo Anya. but that's the extent of it, laslow doesn't even know what leo looks like.

back to the dress rehearsal! during the intermission, i imagine laslow's getting a drink or something, he does end up running into xander. and they make some really simple small talk, xander probably makes a comment that he noticed laslow as one of the background dancers (xander certainly already found laslow striking, but i fully believe xander flirts only by stating recognizable facts in an entirely non-flirtatious way djfkdfjs), but that's about it.

laslow, though, is desperate to make a chance for himself. he's like 22 and wants to keep his job. he has been thinking about, all this time, how he knows of a different nohrian anya who is very rich, and he's been wondering if they're related. and he thinks he can give it a shot asking, because it might prompt some more conversation anyway

SO laslow asks xander if he has a little brother named leo. clearly xander does, so he says yes, and laslow kind of frantically explains that he knows a friend of his. odin. who xander recognizes from when odin has visited. and then odin serves as a pretty genuine icebreaker between the two of them, and they chat until laslow has to go.

they don't start dating until later, though. usually what i imagine happening is xander comes and sees the show again when it's in actual production, and laslow says hi to him afterwards. and this stays a trend for a little bit, until xander asks him to dinner and laslow accepts--a little less worried about his job and a little more wanting to be wooed by the pretty man, haha. and then history!

part of the reason i didnt write this as a fic is because there's actually more stuff that happens after they get together, but i've been debating if i want to include it. and then there's possibly even more after that, but i haven't committed to it being in this universe or not. but i'd want that to be part of the fic too, but then lord above it would start getting long. largely, it goes into how the falling out with garon ended up happening. but the actual falling out would be after siegbert and soleil are not only born, but like, five or six years old. so. that'd be long.

but!!! that's how xander and laslow happened in the grapevine-verse :D thank you for asking this has been rattling around in my brain for like. ever. dfkdjsfkdj <3

[letters-from-cutie]

THE STARS WILL ALWAYS GUIDE ME (BACK) TO YOU

In which the most unexpected person in the world becomes a poet

Or were you always find your soulmate when he needs you the most

synopsis: levi's skepticism over the soulmate concept didn't stop him from meeting you at three different times - as his soul would always find a way to meet you, his star. -> 5.0k words <-

warning: gn!reader, wrote at 3 am; cringe attempt at poetry; slightly angst; reverse comfort; not intended longfic; childhood crushes; death of major character; levi is bad at feelings; cursing (it's levi c'mon); shallow use of soulmates!au; english is not my first language, so i apologize for any mistakes! author's note: hello dear reader, marie here <3 this is my first fanfic on our captain, so he may sound ooc; i'm trying out past and present on english, SO i tried something different here, hehe; like always images are not mine; also this is more of a prologue for my future works if you wonder. and i wish you have a great time reading ^-^

800's - Titan's Era - The Past

After so many years, Captain Levi barely remembers the first time he saw you, but he knows it was special.

In his childhood, a man named Kenny taught him some survival skills. They went beyond common self-defense; he learned to steal from small stores, run from the military cops, and beat someone, in case he needed to fight. After all, knowing more than just basic skills was required to survive there. Plus, his Ackerman genes helped him endure that filthy environment.

The other kids in the underground found him extremely intimidating. They began avoiding him after hearing rumors that he could beat up grown-ups twice his size and never face any consequences. Some saw him as a legend, while others viewed him as a scary and awful little boy.

With Kenny's departure, Levi was left alone. He had to rely on himself as a young child, without any family or friends to give him support.

Until the day he met you, that is.

Being raised inside your parents' small store, you lacked the street smarts. There was only so much you could do against the older kids who would bully you. And the alley next to your home was the perfect place for them to get you.

Levi found you there, scared for your life. The bigger kids were dragging your face down in the muddy floor and making threats. You knew who they were: robbers, who left your parents' store not satisfied with just some pennies.

Just like these children, Levi was also a thief. However, he was only trying to secure his daily meal, struggling to survive on his own, while the others committed theft for their own pleasure.

Maybe that's why he saved you that day, getting himself into trouble with the other kids. Or it was because he felt like he owned your dad, as he once caught him stealing some bread and let him off the hook. No matter the reasoning he was sure that he could handle the kids

The next day, it was your turn to help him. You found Levi injured near your house. You hurried to him and treated him following your mother's instructions. Since he couldn't afford medicine, he allowed you to treat him.

Levi was impressed by you, who seemed unfazed by the red flow of blood gushing from his knee. (You were repulsed but insisted on helping him back, so you kept it to yourself.) In return, you were also impressed to learn that he was the least hurt in the fight he had with your bullies, handling all of them alone.

It quickly became a routine. Every time you met, it was for a different reason. However, there was this shared, strange proximity whenever you saw each other. A friendship was formed, but you would never use such a word; it didn't seem to fit with the connection you had.

Suddenly, Levi thought he was getting sick. His heart would take leaps whenever you took care of him, with so much dedication written on your face. He would stutter when seeing you after a long time apart, but your caring tone and look would give him the confidence to speak for himself afterward.

One day, your mother teased him and got away with it. He came rushing into the store when another child who resembled you went missing. Not seeing you there made him panic; only your mom was there as you left with your dad for a walk. To lighten the mood at the small store, she made a joke about him liking a certain kid.

He did like you. It was an innocent and pure first love. Yet, kids like him didn't get crushes, so he never put such a label on his feelings. He believed that he would not live long. And since you had a (slightly) better condition, one day you were to be married and carry on your family name. He saw no use in having a crush.

When you saw him later that day, he said your mother was sweet, like his. You asked about her whereabouts, and after knowing of her death, you told him that she must have become a star in the sky. He wished to see it for himself.

So the stars caught both of your interests. Well, you already talked nonstop about nature and the sky — it was your dream to leave the underground.

You'd talk about the birds that sometimes get trapped in the underground. Daydreams about living outside would fuel your imagination. You would imagine feeling the sun's warmth on your skin. How cold was the snow? — you asked yourself. And in some days you'd dream of kissing your love in the rain one day; you longed for a romance like in your stories.

Levi never got your name; he never asked. When he was older, he would call you "poet". Truth be told, you were just a little child, seeking solace in fiction as a form of comfort from the terrible circumstances you lived in.

Even as a child, Levi was skeptical of others' beliefs, religions, and legends. Interestingly enough, his main memory of you was a discussion over a love story. Something about two people meant to find each other, connected through a red string of fate.

"You're such a baby for falling for this soulmate thing. I think you're being stupid!"

He was ignorant and rude as a kid; he knew it.

"Do you really, think that about me, Levi?" No.

You were brilliant — an entire constellation; he noted.

Actually, he was amazed by your appreciation for nature, something you had never encountered before. Levi never said it, but he liked your drawings in the dirt. They illustrated your stories. Since you didn't know the format of the stars, each time you would draw them in a unique pattern.

He was so bad with words, he could never say beautiful things like you did. He wanted to, tell you how much he enjoyed your company. But he wasn't able to.

Soon enough, you started to cough and sneeze a lot, and out of nowhere, you became a star too. A little star, beaming in the sky, hidden from Levi's sight underneath the capital.

Your death was invisible in the underground. Diseases were everywhere, and people died easily there. They did not live long. If they got sick, they would probably die very soon; just like you did when a cold got your family.

In Levi's opinion, you managed to escape from that hell.

His heart ached again; he wanted to cry, he wanted you, then he wanted his mom, but neither could be found. And his thoughts would revolve around the fact that he would never love meet you again. Gone forever, he thought.

A frigid and everlasting winter started inside of him, building up icy walls around his heart.

The images of his first love faded over time, just like the clouds in the sky. In his heart, it was always winter. The sky turned gray, and the air he breathed was freezing cold. The ice kept him closed off from the world around him. 

Levi got so used to the cold that he was afraid of his warmer days. The sun would bless him again; not as the large sphere that shone during the day, but more shaped like his friends. Those who brought comfort to his broken heart were like sun rays.

His line of work would bring even more disaster to his life. And these were the coldest days. But there were always some sun rays peeking through the windows of his heart. It was their persistence that encouraged the man to continue moving forward, with no regrets.

When asked what he desired to do if he ever got a life after the military, Levi would scowl - as if that could ever happen - he would respond. In the end, everyone agreed he'd excel at whatever he chose to do.

Just no poetry - his friends commented - not with his awful attitude and scary face. Levi brushed them off. The comments made his friends laugh, and that lightness was needed there. After all the deaths and injuries, the captain couldn't find himself mad at their silly banter after an unsuccessful expedition.

Yet, just as the sun always sets at night, death would soon follow Levi's path. He always got shocked by them, but never surprised, as to him disaster seemed to be as natural as the daily sunset.

Mom, his first love poet kid, Isabel, Furlan, all those fallen soldiers, his squad, Erwin... They all faded in the sky which was Levi's life, leaving him in the darkness of the night. During those evenings, he would gaze at the stars that were once his companions; then he would cry, grieving and trembling with the coldness of his solitude.

One of the few memories Levi had of his childhood was that poet kid, always talking about the overworld. On his first explorations, he was able to see everything that the kid always dreamed about. Although that child would never expect him to lose his family the first time he saw the poetic and romantic rain.

Levi hated rainy days because they reminded him of himself.

Years later, Levi almost lost himself, as the raindrops fell on his severe injuries. He was rescued by a friend, whom he didn't have enough time to thank, as their death followed soon after. With Hanji's death and the war's end, he could finally rest, assured that his days would be calmer. At the same time, he feared he would never find love again.

But he was wrong because he met you (again).

Years younger than him, but old enough to have your own career, you were a witty traveler. Born into a wealthy but absent family, you traveled all over the world, writing about what you saw, getting inspired by the diversion of the world. At least until the rumbling vanished almost everything you cherished.

After surviving the war, you decided to help to record your historical period. You joined a group of writers and journalists, leaving your poetry and romances aside for a while. You were able to interview the allies, as your popularity granted you the prestige enough to do so.

At the right time, your kind heart earned the trust of the allies. They allowed you to write down their stories, and they recounted their side of the story to the rest of the world. One name was common in all of people's stories — Captain Levi. He seemed to be an icon, but you didn't meet him right away; he was injured and opted to stay out of the spotlight.

The first time Levi heard about you, he dismissed it. Thinking that it was a one-time meeting with his friends fellow soldiers, he didn't dwell much on it. Not long after, some comments caught his interest. Jean and Armin kept discussing a topic he hadn't heard of in nearly three decades, much to the captain's surprise.

Apparently, a fictional romance you made was inspired by the 'soulmate' concept. So many survivors were occupying themselves with your flowery words and books.

What even was a soulmate? He couldn't remember the explanation he heard from that poet kid.

Most survivors were now hoping to meet their other halves. It was rather a welcome relief after going through so much. But Levi felt it was ridiculous.

So he decided to confront you. Levi asked to meet with you. He thought about what he would say to this fraud of a cultist. Oh, how he would speak his mind on the fact that you were giving his friends family soldiers, empty hopes.

To his surprise, when the man first met you (again?), he was unable to speak at all.

No, he had never met you before, but at first glance, he thought he had (he did).

His soul knew yours. And yours knew his.

For the first time in years, he struggled to speak, enchanted by your starry eyes, in a trance of your voice. Instead of debating you, he let you ramble by yourself on the matter, as long as you desired.

It made no sense to him. After all the death and suffering he endured, he couldn't accept such a simple, perfect idea. Seeing you as such a firm believer, made him curious as to why you trusted so hard such ideas.

"I may be a writer, but my words on love are nothing but the reality I've seen." You had met so many adorable couples, so it had to be true. Plus, you also wanted to believe that someone was waiting for you in this and other lifetimes. Especially after so much disaster, there has to be something good in the end.

"Not everyone gets to meet love during their life, and many people died. But it doesn't mean that we cannot dream of a better life." You spoke your mind to him, unfazed by his strong presence.

Captain Levi was a legend. First, you were so determined to write and tell his story and to melt down his icy heart too. As you came to interact with him, you realized that he deserved to be loved, and by himself first. You wanted to show him that he deserved his own love and others as well. He deserved happiness.

You couldn't bring back his beloved ones, nor could you take the burden of their deaths off his shoulders. But you could offer him your care, patience, and attention, the things that were once taken from him, and you were happy to oblige in his needs. top of all, you would not go away; He would say that it was annoying how persistent you were. Yet his biggest fear was that you would leave him, like the others.

As a result, working to retell humanity's strongest soldier's story was your biggest act. It took a long time, but you, being the stubborn person you were, managed to get through his clouded heart. And your soul was able to speak to his own, to comfort him, and reassure him.

Not only as a storyteller but also as his lover.

Your care and attention were so comforting. Your company was like a spring breeze, and he became fascinated by you; the feeling was mutual. Each small glance and accidental touch sent shivers down his spine. The sensations he felt with you were as strong as thunder in the summer rain. Watching you work, he imagined autumn leaves falling from a tree. But it was simply you scribing words on paper, slowly but steadily.

Before, he felt that there was only winter in his life, but you showed him that there were other seasons as well.

During a rainy day, when you both had to stay inside, he took you in his arms for the first time. He told you he remembered a friend from his childhood, the poet who first told him about soulmates. He used to make fun of them and never really believed in what they said until he met you. You proved him wrong in his concepts of life.

He didn't look as disgusted when looking in the mirror. His scars were now his trophies, and he took care of himself so he would not get hurt again. Because he knew he didn't deserve to feel pain anymore.

The Titan war ended, and he was finally free to live and to love — you helped him realize that.

So he kissed you for the first time as the raindrops fell on the window, the storm was outside. You were his home, protecting him from the rain and any other type of disaster. He finally had a place where his heart belonged.

That night, while looking at the stars, he vowed to always find you again.

And thus, he became a poet.

2020's - Global Era - The Present

The man's long fingers dance across the books, checking off the level of the dust. He found it bothersome. How could someone keep these valuable gems in such a filthy condition?

"So, what do you think, Professor?" "Is this collection any good?" The owner of the items sounds anxious, and the man detects the desire in their eyes. All for money.

"The eyes are a gateway to someone's true self; poetic words, but a true reality."

The tales presented on the pages told a story from another time. It belonged to the historical record rather than the literary one, so he would not have any use for it. Maybe his friend should have them, he imagines.

The professor didn't see himself as a money seeker. So he wouldn't mind lending the books to someone else. Rather than a money-driven individual, he's someone who attempted to live his best life. Especially now, in the middle of such turbulent times.

"I'll evaluate them later with a colleague; you're dismissed." He didn't even look at the person in his office. His mind was far away, among the empty pages on his desk.

His focus sat on the big windows of his office, where the sky looked way too dark for the middle of the day. A storm was on its way. Shit

He cursed himself for not bringing an umbrella. He should've just listened to his mother's suggestion. That a witchy woman, always knowing when it's going to rain.

"I'm sure you have some expectations for how much we'll get from these relics. Right, Mr. Ackerman?"

In response, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. Taking one of the books in his hand, he double-checks the signature engraved on the leather. The old calligraphy looks to be very legitimate, even having the original author's name signed on the front page.

[Reader] was a big poet from the Titan Era. This means that these could be some original editions of the books they'd written about the war, while they were experiencing with nonfiction. Their most prized book was 'Humanity's Strongest Soldier', which now stands in a museum for ancient eldian relics.

The professor was named after him, it was his duty to know at least a bit of it. His mom liked how the soldier's name sounded, and it's pretty common for modern Eldians to have names of these old personalities. Ackerman's friends are examples of that, most being named after fallen scouts.

Now he definitely would call his history enthusiast friend later, and he would have the time of his life.

Maybe he could do like that poet and try out new writing styles? But for now, he needs to rush home first. But it's going to rain, and his visit is still there, keeping him in his office. The professor just wishes to not get trapped in a storm.

He stands up, going straight to the old wooden door of his office. As he opens it, the visitor starts to get mad at him. What a wrong decision.

"Oi! I said I would speak to Mr. Erwin later, but if you're so urgent for that money, his office is just across campus." Stop pestering me; I have to go before the storm comes.

Professor Ackerman isn't in a position to judge history books with such detail. After all, he's on the creative side of writing.

Plus it's a good excuse to expel him from my office.

"I'm sure you'll earn enough to stop you from coming here again."

The person urges themselves, gathering their stuff and mumbling their goodbyes. Finally, it was just the professor, the cold tea on its holder, and piles of papers on the desk. At first glance, the papers seemed to be organized but were actually a confusion of syllables, in which he was drowning. The confused papers match the ones in his own home and in the garbage.

I need to work on this book myself; Erwin cannot help me this time, he's too busy.

He hopes that this found collection does not bother Erwin much. He already has a lot on his hands. He always does. His friend researches nonstop about the Titan era. It's weird. Maybe Erwin should see a therapist. It would be more useful than rambling to him about a connection to a time when they weren't even alive.

Who in their right mind would feel connected to the years of man-eating beasts? Right, our mutual friend.

Ackerman curses them, remembering he needs to call them soon.

They would go insane when they found out about his last visitor: a minister's son who asked for the university to clean his appointments just to see him. And to make matters worse, they didn't even inform him, until two hours ago, when they saw him trotting to his office.

He picks up his phone and checks the time. It's been an hour since the appointment he arranged with the writer. He felt a bit bad for them, and the copy of their work resting on his desk.

The professor remembers how other young writers he met had to kiss the asses of seniors to get a chance. He was more than happy for his friendship with Erwin; his dad, also a professor and author, made things much easier.

Rushing out of his office, he gets his phone and calls "Four-Eyes." Ackerman only stops for a moment to speak with his assistant. Petra would have to manage the rearranging for another day.

He senses someone nearby in the reception, but his focus is fully on his phone's screen. Come on, pick it up! You owe me this!

As he leaves the old building, phone on hand, his thoughts travel away to that writer's project again... Maybe he should give them a bit more time to try to convince him to help with their project, if he was on a good day, that is.

Plus, he read the draft; their writing was really good. He wondered, did they really share a name with that poet from centuries ago or were they just a poser who took that as their fake name. Whatever reason, the professor would kill to have someone with such skills on his writing team, like this [Reader].

But the concept... soulmates? No one even remembers about that! Why did they choose it?

He almost tossed it in the trash when he first saw the synopsis. That's also why he scheduled them in the final office hour after leaving them as the last ones he would review during the semester.

Could you blame him? They did submit a romance, after all, Professor Ackerman was anything but a lover, being known for his dark stories, complex characters, and drama. He wasn't the best at flowery and sugary stories. Then why did they submit it to him in the first place?

Yet, the concept of the red string sounded so... Poetic?

His line of thought gets stopped by a water drop on his forehead, falling through his face. As he feels more drops of water getting into his meticulously arranged hair, his call is finally answered.

"SHORTY! I was talking to Mike about inviting you to the..."

"I'm not going to this sky-dropping shit. If you guys want to die, fine, but leave me out of it." He sounded harsher than he intended.

Knowing his friends, he would eventually find himself in the air some days later. It was just to help Mike's girlfriend with her project of losing the fear of heights. The problem is that Ackerman doesn't commit to things he may regret, so he needs more time to digest it before confirming.

"Oh well, but then at least try to get through your fears too, like dance in the rain like that old movies!" The friend laughed.

What a coincidence! He is trapped in an incoming storm, while his friend makes fun of his phobia. Is this how therapy works?

"Have you not checked a fucking window? Get my car here, it's raining!" Please.

With that, their friend starts to apologize over and over again, he accepted the apology the first time they muttered "I'm so sorry", but he was to leave them repeating it by themselves, as a punishment. Looking forward, there stood the bus stop, so beat up that its coverage would fail to protect him from the rain.

"Forgive meeee I'm getting into your car right now."

He sits down on the bench and starts thinking to himself... Maybe he can ask the ministry for more funds! They'll eventually come back to him with more ancient relics that he totally cares about. He'll put on his best act again.

Who is he kidding? He prefers to die than interact with a politician again.

"Tch, I have work to do, Four Eyes. I can't go skydiving with so much shit on hold."

"For fucks sake, you're having a creative block! Stop forcing it! Go get some fresh air or look for the help of another writer!" From the phone, he could hear the engine of his car, which made him relax a bit.

"That is my job, Hanji. And you don't get to tell me what to do!" But thanks for caring.

He's the professor, the one meant to be an example for new writers. He cannot let his walls down; he cannot let himself be in a junior's position. And as the raindrops get harder, he feels his suit soak.

"Besides, I'm tired of ass-kissers. Now leave your phone away and fucking drive." And be safe, please.

So he hangs up, making a note to not let Hanji drink so much the next time they go out. They can't hold themselves on alcohol, and he has to babysit them and the rest, but they are always the worst among all the drunks he delivers to home.

This time his car paid the price, and since Professor Ackerman was too much of an elegant man to step into the filthy car, he made Hanji stay clean it for the entire day. He could handle the rain if it meant that a certain someone got to clean up their mess.

A bus passes through swiftly, and someone curses out loud from behind him. Idiot student. His mind goes back to his unfinished work. The sky was now so dark. He would expect a big storm to arrive and drown the earth. Yet the rain that was pouring looked rather ordinary, not as strong as it was supposed to be.

Perhaps it wasn't meant to be.

"Excuse me, sir. Do you wish to share?"

A forest-green umbrella appears in his sight. He quickly turns his head in the direction of the voice and sees a star, a real one. His tired eyes meet your serene ones, which leave him speechless.

Just like every single lifetime.

"Sir? You don't want to catch a cold, do you?" Who are you? Do I know you?

You sit by the men's side. The position is awkward. Half of the large umbrella keeps your left side dry. The other part protects the man's right shoulder from the rain. When he looks at you, he can see your left arm getting wetter. It's a choice you've made by lending your space underneath the umbrella. Your arm stands high on top of the already not-too-tall man.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why not?" You answer quickly, and an awkward silence followed.

Are they insane?

"Tch. Getting sick is not the worst thing that can happen to me, stop bothering." After all, it's not the Titan era. Why is this getting in his head again? The water may be getting to his brain.

"It's just another shitty day."

"Fair." You followed. "Well, I just missed an important appointment and lost my bus; I'll probably cry myself to sleep if I even get home...." You paused, taking a big breath, that changes your energy completely."But I'll come back later. It's just another bad day."

Why is this person venting to me?

"Don't get into problems with higher-ups," Like I did. "They'll step on you."

"Ah, it wasn't my fault." You told him (and yourself). "It's said around this campus that the guy's awful and scary anyway."

Professor Ackerman found himself awfully empathizing with you. He knew that this part of the capital was full of self-absorbed rich guys. He recognizes the glow in your eyes, innocent but determined. But your voice speaks of bad things and problems, like a supernova, a star that died but still shines.

"So... yeah, not the worst thing that can happen to me, too!"

It's good that you keep smiling yourself determined in this place because no one else can do it for you.

Funny. He struggled so hard with his own writing for the past few days. And suddenly the professor finds himself getting inspired by a stranger. Someone with whom he will never cross paths again.

"Are you a student here?"

Talking about Paradis' main university, the chances are high. But you quickly assure him that you have already graduated. And in another nation's college, which means you're probably not even an eldian.

He is curious now; what more can he get from this stranger's crazy talk?

"Then what is worse? Shitting yourself in public?" He jokes, not expecting a laugh back. And surely you don't laugh. And a familiar car comes down the street.

Waiting for your answer, he looks at you again. And his breath gets caught in his throat for a moment. Your eyes, so beautiful, suddenly matched the stars stamped on your cute bag. And your smile, big and shiny, made him feel butterflies, that soared freely inside his chest.

"Not meeting my soulmate in this life. That is the most cruel fate I could ever be given."

Levi stops in time; that concept was such an old-fashioned saying, that not many young people knew about it. What were the changes of you... No, it can't be.

Seeing his lack of reaction, started mumbling again, seemingly nervous.

"I understand. People can believe in large man-eating creatures destroying this world... But not in true love, right? Leave that for poets, haha."

No, it was not that, I...

"And how will you know that you've found them?" He has so many questions, so many thoughts so many ideas...

You laugh.

"Maybe the stars will tell me, they always know."

So it is you.

"LEVI!" Hanji calls from the street, and you jump in your seat.

As soon as the rider saw Levi with some company, they sensed something rather interesting. So, as the Cupid they are, they decide to act and point out to you, waving to the car next. They were calling you.

"Cutie! You don't want to get a cold, do ya?"

Levi just sighs, annoyed at his friend's behavior. If it wasn't his car, he would go around and leave, thinking Hanji sounded like a perverted.

Getting up from his seat, he pats your head, amused by your cute wide eyes looking at him. You then look at his badge resting on his brown suit. The name 'Professor L. Ackerman' shined in gold and was visible now thanks to the car lights.

He knows he is a stranger, and this offer would sound strange, but it's to thank you for the umbrella and to talk to you more. He may even work together with you soon.

Levi feels like he's not a stranger to you; you feel like he's not a stranger too.

He knows your soul, and you know his.

"Seems like you got yourself lucky, [Reader]; you've got yourself a ride." He points to his car. Levi walks toward it without looking back, letting you decide for yourself.

It's time for Levi to tell a different story; he's aware of that now. But then, would you be the one to help him write it down, reader? Do you accept the ride?

[twilightofthe]

anyhow, speaking of my fic

On a more serious note, I started Mutual Acquaintances about a year before i ended up getting diagnosed with serious depression and the resulting fustercluck that resulted from all of that like. Effectively hamstrung my writing ability for about 4 years. I’m only just really getting back to fic publishing, and it’s mainly been for other fandoms

That being said, i really felt something about this idea and this story and that’s why i started it, and people’s reactions to it made my entire day whenever I’d get any

The sequel trilogy force ghosts series also holds a near and dear place to my heart, but given my overall dissatisfaction with how the trilogy ended, that one I’ve made a little more peace with letting go. My attempts at starting a Mando longfic i can say the same about

But this one I’ve always regretted stopping, even if I didn’t know how to restart

All of this is to say, would any of y’all still be interested if sometime this year, I posted like, one last chapter of Mutuals, but it was a rough outline of how the rest of the fic was supposed to go? I had most of it planned out.

Just so then we’d all know how it ended, ya know?

[shreedle]

For the fanfic writer ask game: 👻, 💕, 🤩, 💌, and 🎨!

👻 What is your wildest headcanon?

Oh boy, I have a lot of wild headcanons, even if many, many of them are universe-dependent or AU-dependent. But I think one of the wilder headcanons that I have is that FE Fates takes place far before FE Awakening... and that because of the this, the Awakening Trio accidentally end up becoming their own ancestors without realizing it. I've hinted at this before in a few fics, I think, but it's in the current longfic WIP where it actually becomes known to the Trio.

💕 What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

This was probably the hardest question that you sent me, because honestly, a big reason I write my fics is that I desperately wanted to read that concept somewhere. In either case, my current favorite is Bloodline.

This was the first fanfic that I ever wrote for Fire Emblem, and it was also my first fic with the silly Xander!Inigo concept, and I honestly had no idea how deep I would fall into the fandom and how much I would absolutely love writing for FE, or that you would drag me kicking and screaming into Anankos/Trio hell, Kimium.

🤩 What led to your interest in the fandom?

Oh man... I've been writing fanfics since I was nine, before I even knew that there was a term for it. So I can't accurately say for sure, but I can definitely make some guesses. I used to join old Mega Man fansites that had fanfics back in the early 2000s - I remember mmhp.net one, and I think mmxz.zophar.net was another (not sure). There was another one that had a lot of fanfics on it, but unfortunately, I can't remember the name of that website, but it no longer exists. But it led me deeper into reading and writing fanficiton.

💌 Is there a favorite trope you like to write?

This is 100%, without a doubt, time shenanigans. Whether it has to do with time travel, or other ways to completely mess up the timelines, this is a trope that has always been near and dear to my heart. I guess that explains the characters that I tend to fall in love with in my fandoms, huh?

Quint, R-Shadow, OVER-1, Inigo, Owain, Severa, the other FE Awakening kids... yeah, there's no pattern there, not at all, nope.

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

Oooh, this is a tough one. Honestly, any fanart makes me ecstatic and I would love anything that was based off of my fanfics, but... I would like to specifically see scenes from either Tinted Azure Skies because the concept is something I always loved, or An Octave Higher because honestly, the scene where X just politely smiles at the fuming President was turned into a meme in-universe (not joking about that, it actually was).

[kattythingz]

My beloved wife, I’d be honored if you answered 7, 12, 25/26, and 28 😩😩😩😩

Why, husband dearest, you flatter me! Of course!

7 - Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

One of my favorite projects isn't nearly as popular as my other ones, but I adore it to pieces, and it's my teen wolf stalia fic. Stalia is a ship that I hold very dear to my heart, and the fic I wrote for them was the first time I really breached "longfic" word count and felt proud about it. A lot of research went into it, and a lot more stress near the end of it. But it's so important to me still to this day. Scott and Malia's whole subplot and relationship development was particularly sth I was proud of back when I first wrote it, hence the chosen snippet:

“We can’t just kill every person that crosses us!” Scott yelled, his wound-up nerves finally snapping. “It’s one thing to kill in a fit of blind rage, but to do it just because you can? That sounds like something Peter would do, not us!”

“Yeah, well, maybe Peter’s right about something for once!” Malia shot back. “Maybe if you didn’t spend every moment making friends with your enemies and letting them walk away, your own pack wouldn’t feel unsafe despite the presence of an alpha!”

“This isn’t about safety anymore, Malia! This is about murder! This is about all the people that’ve died to similar methods that you’re seriously considering right now! How could you be okay with that?”

“Because it saved Stiles! Do you think Stiles would still be here if I hadn’t arrived when I did, Scott? Do you think Garett would’ve waited for instructions from Violet before tracking down Stiles again?” She swung her arm toward Stiles. “Stiles is still alive right now because I did what I had in order to protect him! And if you can’t be happy with that fact, then it’s no wonder he landed here in the first place!”

Malia didn’t know which one of them was the first to stand up in their rage, but she did know that Scott was the first to falter. The first to stagger like he was the one lying strangled and muted in a hospital cot.

12 - Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

Hmmmm, this question's a little vague. For my current hyperfixation, ig, it would be ep44 from FMA 03. I love the dynamics between Ed and Team Mustang, and I love Ed's beef with Hohenheim, and I love the fact that we're spending a little time away from the plot to just let the characters (mostly Ed) ruminate on what's happened and just exist together. I go back to rewatch it pretty often.

25 - What do you look for in a beta?

Fishing for compliments I see. Subtle, Jinx. Real subtle. /j

Okay, so, genuinely: one of my first considerations is whether I'm friends with the person. Not because I'm looking for bias (I'm literally avoiding that with a beta?), but because there's a certain... comfort to it being a friend? If it's a complete stranger, no matter how nice they are, I'll always misread and/or overthink their tone in feedback. With a friend, however, I know for certain that they mean it well.

I also look for someone who knows the characters as well as or even better than me, because my insecurities about my writing aren't really in the technical aspect, but rather the characters. Consistency, OOCness, Would He Fucking Say That; that sort of stuff is the one thing I can't trust myself on.

It's a nice bonus if the person is also a good writer themselves, which I was very lucky to stumble on in my current beta <3

26 - Do you beta yourself? If so, what kind of beta are you?

Often, yes! If my official beta is for character purposes, then I am the technical beta that dings myself on grammar and language bullshit. I used to post fics without proofreading them. Keyword: used to.

28 - Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

Oh, oh, first person that comes to mind is @shanastoryteller! Their Untamed fics are my EVERYTHING, from the headcanons to the characterization to the prose??? I can't even pick a favorite fic from them—actually, wait, I can. Rotten Work, easily. crust and sugar over too... but that's another fandom, oops. I've read basically all their stuff kjvnwjbw. Raberba_girl on ao3 too has SUCH amazing httyd content, dear god. The Dragon Queen of Berk is my everything. And uhhhh... I can't think of a third that's not you lol. GOOD 'NUFF

[runicmagitek]

tagged by the lovely @wingsyouburn - thanks bb! 💕

How many works do you have on AO3? 209?? I'm sorry what????

What’s your total AO3 word count? 958,942??? HOW????????????

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? *cackles* Oh sweetheart, sit down. We're gonna be here for a while.

According to my AO3 account, I have 54 different fandoms tagged. Most of them are for video games, but the occasional anime sneaks in now and then. I also have a few MCU fics, one book fic, and a podcast fic. My most prolific fandom is Final Fantasy VI with 50 fics.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Wings of Valor and Compassion (Pharah/Mercy - Overwatch)

No Safety in Desire (Urbosa/Zelda - Legend of Zelda)

Give Them Something to Talk About (Dina/Ellie - The Last of Us)

Finally, Beautiful Stranger (Aeris/Tifa - Final Fantasy VII)

Don't Bring Your Black Heart to Bed (Thanatos/Zagreus - Hades)

Glad to see everyone enjoying my quality gay shit. Also very amused that out of these five, three of them were from last year.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not? I do! Or I at least make a solid effort to do so! I usually can't really sit down to properly reply until the weekend, unless it's something super quick I can shoot off on my phone, so I hope people don't mind the wait.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? Depends on the flavor? For straight-up Bad Ending vibes, absolutely Limbo (I really need to crack out another horror fic, because I love those, even if the majority of fandom doesn't). For right-in-the-feels vibes, Waiting for the Dust to Settle was a recent one I did that just sucker punches you with bittersweet Oh No goodness. It also reminds me of In Another Perfect Life, which ends on a similar note. *squints* actually, these are all for Final Fantasy VIII, which is saying a lot about... something lol

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written? Um... not really? I don't think I have? At least not in the traditional sense where characters from Fandom A interact with characters from Fandom B. I have written some fusion crossover stuff. If You Had Life Eternal comes to mind, where I took Jaina and Kael from WoW and plopped them in Diablo's setting, because reasons.

Have you ever received hate on a fic? I had someone leave a super homophobic comment on one of my Pharmercy fics back in the day, which like... dude, are you lost?? I've also gotten some general weird comments that have little to nothing to do with the fic. I do remember someone on FFN commented saying that I needed Jesus on one of my witch-y fics. Sigh.

Do you write smut? If so what kind? Yes. The delicious kind (I hope).

Have you ever had a fic translated? Probably?? I've had a handful of people over the years ask to translate my stuff, but I haven't seen anything pop up on AO3.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Nope.

What’s your all-time favorite ship? LIKE JUST ONE???? My brain fluctuates when it comes to this, but I definitely have a type or two I always gravitate towards. The most recent addition is Keitaro/Natsuno (13 Sentinels), which lives in my head rent-free from now until I die. I also always find myself coming back to Celes/Setzer (FFVI) and Aeris/Tifa (FFVII).

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? A bunch of 2016 drafts I started and then dropped when my life imploded. I've yet to revisit any of them and I'm not sure if I ever will at this point :\

What are your writing strengths? Apparently sneezing out 7k words without breaking a sweat.

What are your writing weaknesses? Sneezing out 7k words without breaking a sweat *sobs in a corner* ALSO TITLES I HATE TITLES

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I'm... not sure I fully understand what this means? Like having characters speak in another language randomly? I did this sparingly in Darkness/Starlight, where I had Jidoor be a blend of French and Italian, thus giving Setzer an appropriate accent and the occasional French comment. I didn't translate those into English, because the POV character (Celes) wouldn't have understood what was being said. Plus any time Setzer did dip into it, he was speaking from the heart, but was too afraid to actually TELL her. So if anyone had half the mind to translate those bits, they'd find out Setzer said the most touching things to her in French.

ANYHOW. I honestly don't really do this much, especially when a handful of my fandoms are Japanese and I'm writing in English and we're just assuming everyone's talking in Japanese so... yeah. Take it or leave it, I guess.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? Like when I was 10??? A crossover between Sailor Moon and Final Fantasy VII because FUCK YOU I DO WHAT I WANT.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? You're killing me, smalls, and I ain't picking just one.

Darkness/Starlight is forever near and dear to my heart for being a labor of love for such a small, old fandom and my beloved rarepair.

Learn to Fly is one I love for the amount of research I put in (I replayed Pyre and took so many notes on both Ti'zo's and Rhae's speech patterns to get them just right) and the delightful, yet bittersweet messages it exudes.

Long Journey Home is another favorite, because I poured my heart into it and it's got one of my favorite lines and ending.

Of What's Left of Us and Who We Used to Be was my attempt at evoking the surreal, yet heartwrenching vibes from the series and again, I also poured my heart into it.

Before We Have Another Chance to Go Loving was me cramming a massive longfic idea I had in my head forever into a small triple drabble series and it's forever canon in my heart.

The Lies We Tell Ourselves is my most recent fic I've published, which I wrote/edited/polished in four days, but I'm tickled pink with how it turned out.

tagging: @dvske @deemoyza @rosemochi @fury-brand @aliatori and any other writers who feel like swiping this! No pressure, as always 💕

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

Clothing Is Custom, No Labels

“No matches on prints, DNA, dental. Clothing is custom, no labels. Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint. No name, no other alias.”

Summary: You’re one of the last bespoke tailors in town, making suits and custom clothing for Gotham’s elite. Business men and women, well known lawyers, the Wayne family, and… the Joker?

Genre: Self-insert, porn with plot, longfic

Pairing: Ledger!Joker x fem reader

Warnings: angst, manipulation, panic attack, graphic violence/murder, attempted kidnapping

Word count: 5,633

Author’s note: Oh man, I am SO excited for this chapter, you guys ALSAKDFNDJFDJSNF it's a doozy and I really hope you like it!!

WARNING this one is graphic and violent, heads up! Graphic depiction of a corpse, violence, blood, attempted kidnapping, panic attacks.

Please read the warning above and do not interact with this story if you are a minor! Comments and reblogs always appreciated ❤️

Musical Inspiration: Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge

- Part Eleven -

You felt dizzy. It was happening again. Everything felt like it was spinning as guilt and anxiety started to flood your brain, drowning you, making you gasp for air.

Your lungs couldn’t seem to pull it in fast enough. Short, quick breaths burned your throat as you desperately grabbed for something, anything to steady yourself. Your fists closed around the lapel of Joker’s vest where he sat beneath you, still inside of you.

His painted face came into focus as you blinked your eyes and panic struck you like lightning, jolting you to scramble to move off of his lap. But he was too quick. His hands firmly gripped your waist and the room tipped backwards as he wrestled both of you to the floor. Strands of his faded green hair hung in a curtain over your face where he held it in place, inches below his own. Puffs of your heavy breath washed over his face, his expression indecipherable as always, only an inkling of anger visible in his brow. He kept you still on your back where he knelt on top of you and flickered his gaze over your face. The cold rush of adrenaline in your veins began to subside and you could feel pressure between your legs. He’d managed to stay inside of you, giving you no room to push him out. Your heart fluttered and eyes shut as you forcefully tried to wriggle your way out from underneath him, but it was as if you weighed nothing in comparison to the strength of his grip. Despite the futility of it, you couldn’t stop yourself from trying to fight him, a fire burning in your chest, until he suddenly spoke.

“Look at me,” he growled, his gravelly voice rumbling in his throat, and your eyes flew open.

He stared down at you with an intensity that froze you to your core. You stared back with wide eyes and your mouth dropped open but remained incapable of making any sound. His eyes looked as though they’d grown darker, peering past your skin, your bones, to gaze at the very thoughts that relentlessly tore your mind to pieces.

“The dominos, my dear, they’re gonna fall. It’s al-ready started. One by one, they’re gonna fall and they’re not gonna stop.”

Your chest felt so tight. His words stirred up the flames that had ignited so quickly, burning you, pushing you to fight. What were you fighting? His hands held the sides of your face tightly as you stared into the blackness of his eyes that remained fixed on yours. It was the only thing keeping you grounded as you felt yourself nearing the edge of an endless blackhole within your mind, its pull growing stronger. How much more of this could you take before you let go?

Joker slowly nodded his head, sensing the changes happening behind your eyes. Of course, he knew what was happening. That icy drip you felt down your back, that sudden shock driving you to action without any direction, that twinge of remorse. It told you to run, to fight, to hide from this feeling that was growing in your chest, squeezing your insides, pushing you closer to that edge. But he held you there, forcing you to face it.

His voice dropped lower as he continued, “Don’t forget our little deal. You gave your control over to me. Dontcha remember, doll?”

You tried to breathe. You tried to calm the anxiety threatening to suffocate you as your body began to tremble on the floor. He wasn’t going to let you run. The flood of chemical signals saturating your body, tormenting your mind, told you to run. But is that what you wanted? It’s what your body was telling you but, is that what you wanted?

He’d rendered you unable to answer that question. Your heart pounded relentlessly as that thought sank down to your stomach. He knew this would happen. He gave you something he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. How did he know? You never even knew it yourself. He saw something in your eyes you didn’t know was there. He used it too. He lead you straight into a trap you couldn’t have guessed would go this far, unable to see past his alluring figure, looming over you, reaching out to touch you, give you more of you’d come to crave so badly. And you’d let yourself fall for it again.

You couldn’t recognize all of the emotions you were feeling, all twisted together, but one stood out, creeping up from behind you and prickling your skin. Anger. Your breath quickened, puffing his hair out of our face before you struggled against his grip once again and his hands left your face to grab your wrists as you tried to push him off. It was like you were pushing against a brick wall. His fingers wrapped tightly around your wrists, his hold sure to leave marks on your skin, and a smacking of his lips brought your attention back to his face to see his gaze had remained unbroken. It wasn’t fair, the way he made you feel. So conflicted and guilty, but so alive. You couldn’t stay away from him, he made sure of that. Tears began to burn behind your eyes, but you couldn’t let yourself cry in front of him again.

“I… I hate you.”

The words tasted bitter on your tongue, the sound of them distant, as if it wasn’t you speaking them. They were just venom, spat desperately in his face in an attempt to fool the predator that his prey was stronger than she actually was.

The straight line of his mouth curved into a haughty smirk before he replied, “Mmm, I guaran-tee that you don’t.”

But he can’t be fooled.

You took quick breaths in and out as you scowled at him until the heat bubbling up inside of you reached your mouth and you shouted, “Just leave me alone!”

“We both know you don’t want that.”

His quip only infuriated you further. Your fists tightened and the pressure in your forehead made tears come to your eyes as your chest shook with staggered breath. You couldn’t think, reduced to a knotted bundle of frustration, wound up so tight it hurt. All you could do was scream. You cursed at him, shouted, yelled, it burned in the back of your throat and echoed in your head, releasing the anger that squeezed it out of you until his hand clapped over your mouth and your eyes tore open.

“Careful now, sweetheart. You’re gonna hurt my feelings.”

A sharp breath in through your nose carried the scent of greasepaint that always stained his fingers and the room suddenly felt eerily calm. The tv was still on, the sound of a commercial for Gotham Savings and Loan drifting past your ears, just audible over the sound of your breath mixing with his. It was as if the fire in your chest had been doused with water, leaving only smoldering embers where flames had just been burning up your insides. You let your breath out slowly and your muscles released, too fatigued to hold on. You could see the tension in his jaw disappear when he felt you relax beneath him, keeping your eyes fixed on his, the crushing darkness you’d seen within them just a shadow.

“I’m gonna tell you a secret,” he said in an unexpectedly relaxed tone, raising his eyebrows. “You aren’t as helpless as you think you are.”

Your brow furrowed as you continued to stare up at his face, your thoughts not yet cleared from beneath a layer of ash.

His tongue flicked out over his lip and now that he was sure he had your full attention, he continued, “Ev-ery-thing is balanced, a steadfast but delicate system. All it takes is one little push to bring it all crashing down.”

He blinked at you and slowly moved his hand from your mouth as you blinked back. Why did he always have to speak like this? Always so cryptic and steeped in maddening ambiguity. Against your better judgement, you voiced your frustration to his face.

“I never know what you’re talking about.”

You flinched when he suddenly burst into a loud fit of laughter, its pitch ringing in your ears and sending a shiver down your sides. He swallowed it back in muffled giggles before managing to speak, “Is that so?” Then his breath slowed, his voice steadily dropped as his grin faded and he looked you in the eyes and said, “I think you do, doll. You do but you just don’t wanna listen.”

The twinge in your stomach pushed you to try to argue, opening your mouth before you even knew what to say. But he was quicker, he was always quicker. He leaned in even closer, his fingers wrapping around your wrists as he spoke.

“Doesn’t it get old playing the victim? Hm? You know we’re far past that by now, sweetheart.”

Like a switch had been flipped, you froze beneath him once again. He knew too well how to get what he wanted from you. Arousal, obedience, fear. He was always right. You could tell yourself that you didn’t know something like this would happen, but that doesn’t make it true. You’d already come to this conclusion so many times, but it just so hard to accept it. Your mouth closed and you fell silent as your eyes caught sight of the bite mark you’d left on his neck. You knew. You knew and you chose to ignore it. You knew and you liked it.

Joker kept his eyes on yours, obvious that he knew he’d gotten through to you, and slowly nodded. Then let go of your wrists before he suddenly stood up, pulling out of you and taking the breath from your lungs along with him. All at once, his heat and pressure were taken away in an unexpected shock to your system, leaving his cum slowly dripping down between your legs where you laid naked on the floor. It had to have been on purpose. This cold, empty, vulnerability. You wanted to hate him, but you couldn’t. Just more evidence of the power he held over you, the heat you could never seem to get enough of. You’d been frustrated by it. It bothered you at first, but that was changing, twisting into something else. No matter what he did to you, all you wanted was to submit to him. No one had ever left you feeling this empty, this hungry to do it all again.

After tucking himself into his pants, he reached into his pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes then kept two from the pack in his lips. Then he held the flame of a lighter from another pocket to their tips until they glowed in the dim light from the television that was cast over his body where he stood over you. Kneeling down, he took a deep inhale from both cigarettes before plucking one from his lips and placing it between yours as smoke curled into the air from the corners of his mouth.

“You did well, doll. I’ll see ya when the next domino falls, hm?”

The front door shut as you stared up at the ceiling, holding the cigarette between your fingers after taking a deep drag, trying to suffocate the butterflies that had returned to your stomach.

_______________

What are the stages of grief again? Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Is it normal to feel them all at once?

The past few days had done little to clear your mind. But exhaustion had carried you to the point of passivity. You’d become numb. You supposed it was a defense mechanism, a subconscious effort to save your sanity. Even when you finally heard word of what Joker had been up to since you’d seen him, you had trouble having any sort of feelings about it.

After spending days in your apartment, usually in a state somewhere between asleep and awake, you decided it was best to open the shop. It was sort of like playing pretend. Like you weren’t wrapped around the gloved finger of Gotham’s newest and most notorious criminal who’d been giving you the best sex of your life in exchange for selling your soul to him. Just a regular small business owner trying to stay afloat. Your regular customers had certainly taken notice of your frequent absence lately, as proven by the not so friendly messages left on your answering machine. So, you did your best to keep up the charade under the guise of a “death in the family”.

A stack of newspapers was waiting for you on the doorstep and at the top of the pile, a headline pertaining to a certain clown.

“CITY BRACES FOR JOKER’S NEXT MOVE. COMMISSIONER LOEB FUNERAL PROCEEDINGS TO CONTINUE AS PLANNED.”

You took the one from the top, then unlocked the door and hung up your coat, pausing before dropping the paper on the desk. A little feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t renew your newspaper subscription this year. Your eyes shifted to the door as those pervasive goosebumps rose up on the back of your neck. You knew exactly who left it here. Ignoring it, you swallowed against the sudden dryness in your throat and moved on to turn on the shop lights as you tried to reason with yourself. Don’t read it, you’ll find out what he has planned soon enough. He’s using you for his games.

But reasoning has never been your strong suit. After all, you should keep up with what’s going on, right? You rushed back to the desk and dropped into your chair before swiftly unfolding the paper, your palms already damp with sweat.

The article had little details to offer until it stated that a threat was made on the mayor’s life in the form of a fake obituary. The thought that Joker had a certain flare for the dramatic made you shift in your chair as your heart fluttered and you finished reading. For the amount of crime that went on in this city, Gotham was never good at responding to it. Not in any way that made sense, at least. They were going ahead with the commissioner’s funeral and the mayor was still scheduled to give his speech. It seemed like they were asking for it by now. Why would they just put the mayor out in front like he was bait?

Then your stomach sank even further. Maybe it was a trap. Gotham PD couldn’t be that stupid, they must be planning to catch him when he goes after the mayor. The next domino. Your heart started pumping faster as an inexplicable need to warn him flashed in your mind. No, that’s stupid. You don’t want to protect him. He’s a sociopathic murderer.

Here you were again. Caught in your own web, tangled between what you knew you should want and what you really wanted. You already knew what you wanted and so did he. You remembered when you saw him only days ago, the feeling that carried all the way down to your toes, the look in his eyes, the way he touched you. The sounds he made when he fucked you.

A furious rush of tingles ran down your back and your mind raced. He must know it’s a trap. He’s smarter than them. He wouldn’t let himself get killed that easily, right? Your hands gripped the desk as you tried to calm yourself, accepting the reality that you couldn’t hold back these feelings. You couldn’t hold them back or you’d loose your mind faster than you already were. He told you he’d see you again, you just had to wait. He hasn’t lied to you so far.

Once the buzz in your body settled and your breath slowed, you stood from the desk to get something to slake the thirst tightening in your throat. Maybe it’ll help clear your head too. You opened the fridge in the workshop where you kept complimentary drinks for costumers then scanned its contents before stopping yourself from grabbing the champagne and reaching for a bottle of water instead. The cold water soothed all the way down to your stomach and you closed your eyes, the relief even better than you’d hoped for. Then a sound coming from the front room made your eyelids fly open. It sounded like the door closing.

You were already on edge, maybe it was your imagination. But you couldn’t ignore the anxiety that trickled down your back. Did you lock the door behind you when you came in? Your heart raced and that feeling in your stomach was back with a vengeance. Silently setting the water bottle down, you took careful steps toward the door.

The silence was deafening as you slowly passed through the doorway into the front room, your gaze unblinking and brow heavy. You should’ve called out and ask who was there, but your voice was nowhere to be found when you opened your mouth. Then you thought maybe it was Joker, here to collect his next favor, and your heart fluttered. When you passed the desk, your mind busy with possibilities, you turned to see a man in an oversized suit jacket standing in the fitting area.

Your voice finally showed up and the man whirled around when your startled scream rang out into the room. In the split second that your brain had shifted to fight or flight, you’d backed up against the wall and sucked in a breath as your sensibility returned, your cheeks flushing hot.

“Sir, the shop is closed!” you blurted out in embarrassment as you tried to catch your breath.

Your back was still flat against the wall when he flashed you an unnerving smile and answered as he turned to face you, “My apologies, miss. Pardon my intrusion but I am here on behalf of someone who wish to speak to you.”

His accent. You could almost smell the stale cigars.

The heat drained from your face and before you could second guess yourself, you made a break for the front door. Your panicked muscles carried you as far as ten feet from the door before a pair of arms wound around your middle and pulled you backwards as you kicked and shouted. You managed to jab your elbow straight into the man’s stomach, eliciting a pained grunt, but he still wouldn’t let go, dragging you toward the exit out to the alleyway as you screamed obscenities at him, your heels skidding on the floor.

He grunted again then said with increasing irritation in his voice, “You only make this harder on yourself, eh? Now be a good little girl and shut up!”

A swell of burning rage rose up in your chest when his words left his mouth and with more force than you thought you were capable of, you jerked your body forward and pulled the man off of his feet to tip him over onto the floor. He took you down with him. But the fall broke his grasp, and you were able to wriggle free before scrambling to your feet. The front door was still your best hope. Maybe someone in this godforsaken city would hear you scream and do something.

You took a leap toward the door once again before your chin slammed against the floor boards after he snatched your ankle and brought you crashing back down onto the floor. A frustrated shout scratched in your throat as you twisted onto your back. His hand caught your fist when you swung it toward his face, the satisfaction from the crack of your knuckles against his jaw never fulfilled. Everything was happening so fast but also so slowly as you struggled against his grip where he was bent over top of you on the floor, his cologne burning your nose. The air hurt your lungs and blood roared in your ears, your thoughts muddled by the raw anger that took over your body. This couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t let this happen.

His hand twisted in your hair and pulled hard, the sting in your scalp making you hiss through gritted teeth. Then you saw it in the corner of your eye, your pair of heavy upholstery scissors had been knocked onto the floor, just within your reach.

A flash of red blinded you as your fist tightened around the handle just before you felt the resistance of the blades sinking into his flesh. Everything else seemed to stop and your muscles squeezed to push them in further, your mind gone blank. His hand left your hair to grab at his throat, sputtering and choking as you released your grip on the scissor’s handle. His eyes grew wider as his lungs tried desperately to pull a breath in, but it was too late.

Blood saturated his shirt collar, flowing further away from his brain, his mouth gaping open. It gurgled and bubbled, gasping for air that could no longer pass through, only thick blood filling his airway as his consciousness rapidly faded to black. Your body went numb and rolled out from beneath him before he hit the floor, his frantic movements gone still.

Soon you were on your feet, staring at the body face down on the floor, your scissors shoved into his throat. You blinked before a wave of panic suddenly pushed you against the wall, plunging you into a cold sweat, unable to look away from the pool of bright red seeping into the rug. You couldn’t stop yourself from panting and trembling, your head growing lighter until you felt the walls closing in. The only thing that kept you from passing out was an eruption of nausea, the second surge of a physiologic response to the realization of what you’d done as you slid down the wall into a heap on the floor.

You retched against your sobs that burst forth, the only sound in the unnervingly silent room as you let it all out, too overwhelmed to know what else to do. There was strange solace in the blur that your tears brought to your vision, distorting the scene in front of you, like it wasn’t there. But it was. Your mind began reeling, attempting to process, to rationalize. You killed him. He was dead. Now it was so quiet.

It wasn’t clear how long you’d spent like that, trapped beneath the weight of shock. But gradually the torrent of emotion that had stunned you quelled, and your breath slowed, nearly all of your capacity for feeling exhausted. In the absence of feeling, you regained your ability to think. He was dead but he attacked you. It was self-defense. It was self-defense.

Then your eyes flew open and your stomach sank before you managed to stand up, your legs buckling underneath you as you rushed to the door to turn the lock. What do you do now? You spun around, your back to the door, and scanned the room in some attempt to come up with a plan. Now there was a body on the floor and blood all over your shop. It should have surprised you how quickly your attitude shifted from devastated by what you had done to upset by the situation it put you in. But you knew exactly who had something to do with that.

You aren’t as helpless as you think you are.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. This was because of him. He was the whole reason this man was here, the only reason that Chechen sent him here to get you. What was going to happen now that he wasn’t going to return with you? You didn’t have much time, did you? A feeling of dread settled into your stomach. This was all because of him but he was the only one who could help you.

Bile rose up toward your mouth, but you stifled it as you stepped around the body in search of Joker’s phone, the air feeling heavier as you rounded the desk. This still didn’t feel real. It was there in front of you, but it didn’t feel real.

The screen lit up and you scrolled through the list on “unknown” and “private” numbers. Your heart beat faster as anxiety bubbled just below the surface, threatening to pull you under again until you stopped on one of them and hit the call button with your thumb. Holding the phone to your ear, your hands buzzed while it rang, each tone loosening your tenuous grasp on rationality. The ringing stopped and then, nothing. A squeeze in your chest pushed you to try again. No answer. Your breath quickened and your hands started to shake but you couldn’t give up. You chose another number and hit call, then another. One last try.

Your whole body tingled now as it rang. One ring, two rings. On the sixth ring, you were ready to submit to the heightening unease crawling up your back until you suddenly heard his voice.

“Little busy right now, doll.”

It felt like your heart stopped then restarted and you couldn’t get sound to come from your mouth for a moment before you managed to almost whisper, “I need help.”

There was silence, permeated by the sound of your breathing as you trembled so hard you almost dropped the phone.

“And where might help find you?” he asked in an unusual tone.

Your voice was hoarse but a bit stronger when you answered, “My shop.”

He was silent again and you could hear something in the background, but the thumping of your own heart in your ears made it difficult to recognize what it was.

“Wait there.”

Then the call was ended.

The phone slid down away from your ear as you let your arm fall to your side and lowered yourself into the desk chair. He didn’t even ask what happened or what you needed help with. But there was something about his tone of voice. It brought you a strange sense of relief, knowing he was coming. It sank into you, warm and calming, easing your nerves all twisted up inside you. It was crazy, wrong, backwards, but that didn’t make it any less true. You didn’t have the energy to think about it anymore, acceptance was just by default now.

Your stomach twinged when you remembered what was on the other side of the desk and you felt a sudden need to be as far away from it as possible, standing from the chair so fast your head felt light. There was an inexplicable, contradictory urge to look that you fought to resist as you rushed to the back room, keeping your eyes averted. You had to try to stay calm and wait.

The next hour was pure torture. You sat clutching the burner phone tightly and stared at the bottle of water you’d left there not long ago, but by now it felt like days. Surely you needed it, but the thought of swallowing anything made your throat tighten. Every time the way it felt when the blades in your hand sank into flesh crossed your mind, it was like there was a short circuit and it was gone as soon as you blinked. You would have never guessed that you’d be capable of doing something like this. Did Joker know? He seemed to know more about you than you did. Were you like him? Does he go numb when it happens like you did?

You were shaken out of your trance when the sound of the side door opening made you flinch before you got up to rush toward the front room. Your breath hitched when, for the second time today, instead of seeing Joker, you saw someone else. But he looked familiar.

“The fuck happened here?” Joker’s goon with the bald head and leather jacket asked.

Your tense muscles relaxed a little, and you watched a few other men you didn’t recognize enter the room, their faces showing an equal amount of surprise before the door shut.

“Where is he?”

“Boss is busy.”

You blinked at the hulking man and tried to focus on staying calm as your ever-persistent level of anxiety threatened to rise up again. He wasn’t here but you supposed he trusted these men since he sent them in his place, for whatever that was worth. “Ok,” you answered softly.

The man looked down at the body then back to you before he raised his eyebrows and said, “A’right, so we gotta move a body then?”

He seemed so casual about it, staring at you and waiting for a response until you slowly nodded. They moved surprisingly quickly, taking the mirror and tables off of the rug before rolling the body into it. Most of the blood went with it but there was still some on the hardwood. They asked you if you had any bleach. It was surreal, watching them rid the room of any sign that something so violent had happened. They carried out the rolled up rug to toss it into the back of the white van they’d driven then used bleach and scraps of terry cloth that you never knew why you’d kept to clean up the rest of the blood before throwing it all away in a garbage bag, thrown in the van with the body.

It seemed strange how easily they could make it all go away. Physically, anyway. The reality of it was finally starting to sink in. You weren’t sure how long the images would replay in your mind, the moment you saw his eyes grow distant, the blood welling up in his mouth.

You stared blankly ahead through the windshield from where you sat in the van’s passenger seat, your chest rising and falling steadily with your breath. They hadn’t bothered to blindfold you this time. It wasn’t clear why. Maybe they saw the vacant look on your face and knew you wouldn’t remember any of the drive anyway. It was still daylight, but only just. The whisps of clouds on the horizon fluoresced in bright shades of pink and orange. Gotham usually isn’t treated to such beautiful sunsets.

It wasn’t long before your surroundings morphed into the now familiar sight of urban decay. Broken windows, gated doors, peeling paint. You watched it all pass by until the van made a turn toward the docks. You’d never been to this place before. The shrill sound of gulls met your ears when you followed the group of men out of the van, parked behind what looked like an old shipyard warehouse. None of them said a word or even looked back at you as they carried the body and bag of bloodied rags toward a rusted door, but a flutter in your stomach compelled you to stay close.

Voices echoed off of the ceiling that rose up two stories, lined with crisscrossed metal scaffolding and flickering lights, above a large central room that was littered with broken crates and scrap metal. Graffiti covered much of the weather beaten brick walls and a staircase leading to an upper level. You’d actually always wanted to see what these abandoned buildings looked like on the inside. They’re all over Gotham, corroding monuments to a once thriving city. This place was a hive of activity; groups of men cleaning guns, unloading various boxes and crates, there even appeared to be a riotous poker game underway. You focused on steadying your breath as you took in your surroundings before your gaze landed on where the men had carried the body.

Across the room, they were opening the door to a huge furnace, the bright glow making you squint your eyes. Your mouth slowly dropped open and your throat became dry when you saw them heave the body, rug, and bag of evidence into the white hot flames. And that was it. Like it never even happened.

Your nerves crept up on you and even this open space started to feel like it was closing in. What were you doing here? This was the last place you should have been, surrounded by the sort of men who could easily have stood in place of the one who was now being rendered to cinders. A shiver ran down your back and you quickly turned to run out the door but instead slammed hard into someone’s chest. A surprised gasp nearly made you cough when it dried your throat even more and your hands reflexively flew up to shield yourself as your gaze dropped to the floor.

A powerful jolt tightened every muscle once you blinked, seeing brown shoes and purple pinstripe pants standing there in front of you. You let your eyes travel up his chest, rising and falling steadily, covered only by a thin white tank top, and your heart fluttered before reaching his face when it dropped into your stomach. The white, red, and black that always obscured his features, it wasn’t there. You could see the pink, gnarled scar tissue that distorted the corners of his mouth, bare and uncovered. His skin bore only traces of the distinguishing paint, like it had been hastily wiped off.

His tongue flicked out over his lip and you sucked in a breath when your eyes darted up to meet his. Warmth seeped in beneath your skin, pooling in your belly as electricity ran across the surface of your body.

“Hello, doll.”

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

Taglist: @amethystmoonprincess @call-me-harley-quinn @liz-rdwitch @germansarechill @thesadvampire @tsukiakarinobara @heavymetalnarwhal @neverputsaltinyoureyes @apocalypticwafflekitten @astheworlddturns @komatheterrible @jokersqueenofchaos @killingjokee @into-crazy @youmaycallmebrian @jslittlebirdie @vipervixxen

[miceenscene]

5 Questions

I was tagged by a few people, most recent was deffo @fasterpuddytat. And since we’re nearing the end of 2019, I’ll answer this for my most popular works this year, Son of Palaven, Daughter of Earth & Crazy for Loving You.

1. What was the idea that started the WIP?

SoPDoE actually started as a spite-fic, oddly enough. I saw someone else had years ago done an attempt on Shakarian arranged marriage, both things very near and dear to my heart. And there was a noncon element to it that made me VERY uncomfortable. So I never read it, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So I just started writing and here we are now.

Crazy started as this:

What followed that message was basically an entire outline of Crazy for Loving You, complete with dialogue and dramatic ending, known as the Fake Dating Fever Dream till it got its final title. I have a very patient discord server. <3

2. Did you make an outline? Did you stick to it?

Yes to the first question for both, I don’t write longfics without an outline.

SoPDoE - I stuck fairly close to the outline for sopdoe. Honestly, I don’t really remember plotting it as much, as if it just jumped out fully outlined from the get go. Now, obviously, a few things got added or rearranged as I delved in. But it’s very nearly what I’d always planned.

Crazy - looking at the fever dream now, I can see some definite changes between my initial rantings and what’s ended up published. Namely Garrus actually getting Shepard’s buy in to pose as a fake couple from the start. But the ending ended up nearly word for word the same as I’m writing the whole damn fic for the end scenes. :D

3. What’s your favorite part of your WIP?

SoPDoE - Chapter fifty-five. Hands down. I think that’s the section I’m most proud of having written, ever.

Crazy - “So not only would I be your fake girlfriend, I’d be your second choice fake girlfriend??” Oh Garrus. You idiot.

4. Who is your favorite character and why?

I could no sooner pick a favorite child. Though I do think it’s Shepard in both, she has some good character growth moments in both stories.

5. Did anything happen that surprised you as you were working?

Crazy, I don’t think so or rather not yet anyway. Fake dating is a well known trope that I’m happy to give my take on.

SoPDoE, I am blown away by the reception it’s gotten--from all the kudos and comment, to the playlist, the fanart. Honestly, I’m very surprised that so many people have liked the story as much as they do. Surprised and blessed.

Speaking of both these works, I need to write some more stuff for them. Anyway, if you’d like to do this please do. But especially @chemicallywrit​ @kelenloth​ & @itsnatunusual​. Tell me about your stuff. i wanna know!

[bleep0bleep]

Wait actually. Same anon that sent you the link earlier. I saw that “it’s Derek Hale wtf” was based off a prompt but it’s still similar in ways that the prompt didn’t mention idk. Sorry to bother you heh

hey! thanks for the message. i don’t have a previous ask from you-- tumblr must have ate it. do you mind sending the link to the other fic again? 

its been years since the series was completed; and i’m aware that since the prompt has gone around (and around and around) that the idea itself of soulmarks and a famous person and a nonfamous person etc has been used in many different fics, in various fandoms too. i’m not bothered at all that other people wanted to fill the prompt, i love that people are inspired and i think more fics are awesome. i first wrote the first bit in march 2014, and then started the longfic in april 2014 and finished it in 2015; the total of both comes out to be about 40k. it’s one of my favorite stories and took a lot of time and effort to write, so its rather near and dear to my heart. 

there is a difference between inspiration and writing something similar versus blatant plagiarism, which does bother me a lot. i have been notified a few times, especially for soulmates tbh (the first of that series, since it’s only 1k) that people have straight up copy-pasted and replaced the names of the main characters with characters from other fandoms, which is relatively easy to report to AO3, and a bit less easy and somewhat doable for other fanfic archives, and i always appreciate it when people notice these and let me know, or report other people for plagiarism, where exact lines and elements are immediately copied.

and then there’s the inspiration, where people can take elements and then put their own spin on it. its always interesting how much or what they choose, and it does vary, and my reaction varies too, but it’s mostly with interest. it’s the nature of fanfiction to be transformative, and i like seeing new writers get their start and try their hand at writing. 

so do send me the link again, and i’d be happy to check this other fic out. thanks for the time and message! 

[quickreaver]

Hey! Could you recommend me some awesome canon verse Wincest stuff? =D like long burn and agnsty, first time may be... Please.

OH MY GOODNESS, YES. I’ll have to crack open my Kindle and see what lurks in those dusty corners...

These are oldies, mostly because I’ve been a little more into J2 AUs lately, but here are a few beautifully written fics. I misread your request and thought you typed “longfic”, so I don’t know how long-burny or first-timey they are, but here’s a smattering of some of my favortes. I really need to make a better list of good fics I read. So...under zee cut!

CATCH YOUR DEATH by road_rhythm

R, no serious warnings, S2, 22k,casefic

Summary: “When Sam finds the ghost ofa young man who was bullied to death and is now strangling youngwomen, he just wants to put the spirit to rest. But he's coming downwith the flu. He's having a crisis of faith. And frankly, Dean'sbeing a dick.”

Solid casefic, wonderful writing. Goodstuff!

LIKE UNTO HIM by lifting_latches

R, Wincestiel, S5-ish, 10k,hurt/comfort

Summary: “Near-futurefic,post-nonapocalypse. The Winchesters are the only people he knows inthe world, and they saved the world, his is proud to know them –but they seem content to know only each other. He has fulfilled hisfunction, the orders have stopped coming, and what good is he toanyone.”

Heart-breaking, but they have eachother. All three of them.

A BLEAK UNDERSTANDING IN REVERSE by lustmordred

NC-17, major character death, 12k

Summary: “It was hard to imagine thatlife without monsters could still kill them...”

This one will TEAR YOUR HEART OUT. Readit at your own peril!

DANDY IN THE UNDERWORLD by dear-tiger

R, 12k, horror, outsider POV

Summary: “They say there is a secretgame in Las Vegas, the greatest one of all, in which the hero playsagainst the dragon for three nights, and the prize is a wish granted,and the penalty is death. A new player arrives to try his luck, onlyto discover that the game is held in a dump of a house in the desertand that the dragon is a dude named Dean, chained to the house by theankle. The hero soon realizes that he cannot leave unless he wins.The dragon is growing blood-thirsty, the game makes no sense, and thehero’s only hope are the clues dropped by the dragon’s brotherwho’s just along for the ride.”

Dear-tiger has the most delightfulprose! This could be casefic, but it's really magical realism andquirky as hell, amusing and pitch perfect.

WATCH THE WEATHER CHANGE by paxlux

Mature, 37k, S3

Summary: “It occurs to Dean this willbecome a habit, the two of them always with an eye on the weather, onthe horizon in ways they aren’t used to. Instead of cop cars andexit strategies, instead of the black gaze of demons and the flyingcutlery preferred by poltergeists, they’ll be on the lookout forclouds and all the odds say they won’t be struck by lightning.”

I recommend paxlux's entire library.Her writing is artful, poetic, seeped in Americana and never smutty.Not that smut is a bad thing! But she just has this way abouther...it's envious.

BURY MY HEART NEXT TO YOURS by riyku

Mature, 14k

Summary: “Some things are rock-solid truths: thesky is blue, monsters are real, Sam’s in love with his brother, andhe’s never going to tell him. Alright, so maybe Sam’s a littleshaky on that last one, and one night he slips up. In an attempt tore-establish their fragile status quo, the boys head down to the lowcountry, to a crumbling plantation house in South Carolina, chasingreports of a vengeful and violent poltergeist. The two of themunravel the case layer by layer, revealing the house’s dark past,and secrets that may bring the brothers closer together after all.”

I loooove this author’s writing, so SO much. It’s always elegant and atmospheric. And she writes The Boys exactly how I like ‘em.

And in conclusion, all things byCandlebeck.