#man i really like a lot of the drabbles i wrote for this particular week and i dont have enough tags to ramble about all of them!

[hardygalwrites]

Originally posted to FFN a little after the 8th of May, 2017

Simply archiving a writing challenge I did back in 2016 up to 2017 and featuring my favourite writing pieces from each week of the challenge here on Tumblr :]

← Week 38 (SS) – Week 40 (SS)→

Cartoon: Transformers Prime / Robots in Disguise 2015

Characters: Smokescreen, Knock Out, and Bumblebee, with appearances from numerous other characters (even ones not featured in the cartoons)

Synopsis: An Autobot Elite Guard rookie, a Decepticon medic turned Autobot, and an Autobot scout turned warrior turned street cop - three very different bots with a wide range of stories to tell. And we are going to spend the next year exploring said stories through daily-written drabbles, be they angsty, humorous, gut-punching, or just plain odd! Who doesn’t love a challenge? (2016 to 2017)

—

Heroic Scene

Prowl pored over the datapad. Smokescreen was sitting on the desk, vigorously drawing something. The sparkling finished with a victory whoop and held the picture out to Prowl.

Optics tiring from staring at the datapad, Prowl chose to look at the drawing.

"D'you like it?" Smokescreen asked excitedly. "See, that's you leading everybody else - look, I managed to draw almost everyone! - and those're the Decepticons - I couldn't remember all those pictures you showed, so I made a lotta these guys up - and look! That's me on your team!"

Prowl surveyed the heroic scene. He actually found himself needing to hold back a smile.

Phobia

"What are you afraid of, Autobot?"

"Good question," Smokescreen replied. "No idea. Not many things scare me. Like heights, those are no problem." He smirked up at the mech. "Guess I'm just fearless."

The mech pressed a claw against Smokescreen's forehead. "I do not speak of typical phobias, though you do have a few, despite what you claim. No, what is it you fear? What eats at your spark, keeping you awake even at your most exhausted?"

Receiving no answer, the mech smiled. "Hm. Pity."

"What?"

"In your incompetency, you failed a simple, yet important task. ...How can your comrades accept you now?"

Innocence

"A ground crawler." Alpha Trion smiled. "Quite fascinating creatures."

"Yeah." Smokescreen knelt down to get a better look at the idling ground crawler. "I used to play around with these little guys back when... Anyway, I liked watching their defense mechanisms. Here, watch this."

Smokescreen tossed a piece of debris in the small slug's direction. Alarmed, the slug encased itself in a small forcefield, and Smokescreen laughed excitedly. Approaching the crawler, he watched closely as its shield died, and it burrowed into the ground.

"Heh, so slaggin' cool...!"

Alpha Trion's smile softened as his young bodyguard stood up, grinning widely.

Hey, Buddy

A cyber-cat looked at him with disinterested optics. Smokescreen chuckled, surprised.

"Hey, buddy." Smokescreen slowly got down on one knee. "How'd you get past the perimeter guard? Heh, those guys must be losing their touch." The young guard looked out over Iacon. "Anything interesting happening out there?"

The cyber-cat lay down and stretched.

"Holding out on me, huh?" Smokescreen sat back with a sigh. "I know something's happening. Everyone's gettin' all tense."

The cyber-cat let out a vent, paws flicking idly at a piece of debris.

"Well, whatever's going on, you can bet I'll be there to help deal with it."

Young and Overconfident

"It is disappointing how many of my troops seem unable to end one single Autobot," Megatron growled.

Smokescreen smirked. "Come to see how many more of your troops I can beat?"

Megatron chuckled. "Your confidence is amusing. It is refreshing to see an Autobot who has not yet lost its spark."

"I'm a bounce-back-quickly-from-a-slump kinda guy."

"Or you have yet to experience the true stakes of war. ...Yes, I can still see it in you - a brash, overconfident youngling who has hardly been through enough to realize that war is more of a hell than the very Pits of Kaon."

[moonjxsung]

okay okay we're leaving annoying shit in the past year so i wanna start the new year by asking you *drum roll* what were your favorite fics you wrote last year? you can make a top 5 if you wish, pretend you're in top 5 breakdown by watcher (this reference will not make sense to most ppl probably but i had to make it)

also maybe some of your favorites or The™️ favorite quote you wrote? (maybe this one is impossible to answer bc you wrote like 500k words last year sorry)

can't believe my first ask when you're back is me being like fuckin oprah w you

so happy you're back bestie let's alllll have a good 2024 even if it's only in our silly blogs online

-🐟

Oh my goodness I love this QUESTIONNNN you had me scrolling through my own masterlist and reading my work again for this 🥹🫶

Okay my TOP 5 FAVORITE FICS……. This was simultaneously a hard and an easy question at the same time but:

1. When the Rain Stops

2. Where the Storm Looms

3. Seasons

4. Biker!Minho drabble

5. VOYIS + B&B

I know most people are going to wonder where Lost in Translation is and I LOVE that fic, but weirdly it took me a very short amount of time to write so it never quite stuck with me like the others did! WTRS/WTSL series was my favorite series by far, it was just supposed to be porn with a plot and I literally spun a wheel with some options to determine where the characters would have sex, AND to pick which member it was going to involve 🤫 I was so reluctant when I got Minho bc I really wasn’t familiar with writing him but I think it created a completely new version of him in my mind and the character and world building just wouldn’t stop once I started it. It was also my most highly requested fic for a part 2 considering part 1 had a severe lack of resolution and I just fell in love with the characters (I think I was extremely Minho biased for weeks after finishing it lmao). Seasons was a challenge for me but I always love writing about Felix and I think putting myself in the headspace of that little town was super healing and I was SO sad when I reached the end of it. Biker Minho smut was probably my most self-fulfilling one regarding ✨spiciness✨ and maybe my most requested drabble for a part 2 (highly considering it if you guys want it? 👀) he’s just so FINE….. and last but certainly not least was VOYIS, I actually researched a lot of art techniques and I listened to a lot of classical music while writing this one so it was just an experience! I was immediately intrigued at the request itself, which is why it’s tied with Begged and Borrowed as they were the two I was so interested in I wrote them at the same time, literally switching back and forth between documents 😅

And a few favorite quotes (in no particular order):

1. “How could a higher power accept the felicitations of the same man who’s been fucking you behind the groom’s back? Within the four walls of which transforms hate to love, and sin to virtue? What a waste, Minho concludes again. What a waste to have loved this deeply, and to pacify your fears only for another man to reap the benefits. Try as Jung might, he’ll never know you the way Minho does. And the vast trench that separates you from Jung, one which paints a clear divide of friendship and his superficial love for you- that will remain permanent, too.”

- Begged and Borrowed

2. “And if you were to climb out of your body and paint this exact moment, all you would see are an indistinguishable, amorphous set of limbs that seem to dissolve into each other like hues of paint on a palette. Two colors swirling around to make one, the two of you like primary colors that create endless possibilities when mixed together like this, offspring of a hundred different shades, painting the darkened studio around you with your yearning for one another.”

- Visions of You in Solitude

3. “Except maybe simple wasn’t the solution all along- for once, he’s determined to bask in all your complexities, even if it means sacrificing everything he left the city to pursue.”

- When the Rain Stops

4. “But he feels it- he feels you, in this city, at every corner he turns. He sees traces of you in the people who smile at him when he passes them by. He sees you in the people who hold doors open for him, the baristas who make foam hearts in his lattes every morning, even the businessmen when they catch themselves admiring the beauty of the buildings on a smoke break. He sees you in all things good, when he’s reminded momentarily that the world has more to offer than boxing him in the confines of a dark bar out in the suburbs. And while he’s not completely in love with life all over again, it’s a start.”

- Where the Storm Looms

5. “The phenomenon begs the question- had the fire ever really stopped? Were you ever in the process of mending if not wailing like this, your vulnerability on display for the world to see as your walls are finally let down? Is this what it means to feel?”

- Seasons

Thank you for these questions, it’s good to be back 🫶💫 I love you! Let’s have an amazing 2024 🫶🩷💓

[forabeatofadrum]

Here it is, fic rec friday! I said I was gonna do this! I don’t know if it’ll be a weekly thing, because it depends on whether or not I read fics in a week. Also, to prevent people from being overwhelmed by tags, I don’t think this is going to be a tag challenge, but of course feel free to also make your own post with recs!

Strap in Klainers and Snowbazzians, cause here we go. It’s another long one! Happy reading!

@cerriddwenluna​ wrote Swipe, a funny one-shot about Kurt and Blaine meeting through Tinder. Sort of. Look, it has a tiny plot twist. You have to read it for yourself 👈(ﾟヮﾟ👈).

I read more of Gwen’s stuff! I started Bem Vindo a Portugal, previously known as Klaine in the Netherlands which became Klaine in Portugal. I do not mind, Gwen, and if you ever need more help with Klaine in the Netherlands, please have this: klompen, windmolen, kaas, tulpen, kroketten! Jokes aside, though, I am excited to get to know Portugal. I’ve never been here, but my mum actually visited Lisbon for the first time a few weeks ago and she was very excited.

There are quite some Marta fics I still need to read (goblin!Baz is still somewhere buried in my Likes), but I am going through them! I read The Vampire and the Boy in the Tower and I am speechless. It is so good. Oh my God, Marta created a wonderful universe with a lot of angst, but also hope.

I still have Klaine Advent fics to catch up on, and I read @snarkyhag‘s WIP. I... don’t really know how to link it, since there isn’t a masterpost or a separate Tumblr tag or an AO3 entry yet, so for now, have the Klaine Advent 2022 tag! Yay, Klaine and Samcedes!

Another cute story is Tipsy Truths by @aroace-genderfluid-sheep​. Simon confesses his feelings for Baz through a drunk text. Oh boy!

Apart from reading fic, I also love reading people’s thoughts about fic. @facewithoutheart​ had a nice extra about This Will All Go Down In Flames over here. (Also, Fuck The Mage, kinda). @cutestkilla​ also shared some Humdrum insider information here. It’s really cool to see what parts of canon have been expanded on for What’s Left. And @captain-aralias​​ also has some behind the scenes stuff here on Four Funereal Weddings and an American Stag Do. I adore the fic (and the suits!).

I am also losing it over the “HELEN!!!!”s in The Wellbeloves by @ionlydrinkhotwater​. This is a comic where Simon and Agatha are siblings. I am so emo about Simon having a lovely family and this is so fun.

Unfortunately, I also come with angst. A post on my dashboard led me to This Will End in Flames by @bloodiedpixie​ and uhhh yeah MCD warning. Simon dies in Wayward Son. I need... a moment... to lie down and weep. I see there is also another installment in this series where Baz dies, but I’m not strong enough for that now.

Now, for something no one asked for! This is another thing that I saw on my dashboard, but apparently a group of people started a project in 2016 called Sarah Jane Neverending, which is an extension of the Sarah Jane Adventures! (Kind of like Class: Ongoing, I guess.) (Whovians, man.). SJA got cancelled in 2011 and it was very unexpected, since Lis Sladen, the main actress, died. Back then, three more episodes were already planned and I know that over the years fans have asked for novalisations of those stories, so that they could at least be seen as canon. That never happened, so I guess some fans took matters into their own hands. I have only read their season 5B stories, aka their version of the 3 unproduced episodes. I will see if I will also read their completely fanmade season 6 and 7. But yeah, season 5B. Damn. The Thirteenth Floor fucked me up in particular.

And lastly, there might be some smaller ficlets or drabbles that I won’t mention in these posts, but I will redirect you to my fic tags on my main blog: Klaine fics (klfics), Brittana fics (bsfics), general Glee fics (glee fic), Whoniverse fics (dw fic), Check, Please! fics (omgcp fics), Simon Snow series fics (co fics), and the general fic tag (fics). And here’s the original writing tag, because why not. I do put a lot of stuff in a long queue, so the tags might now always be “up to date”.

Also, guys, I need you to know that I was going through the generic fic tag, retagging fics that needed to be retagged, and I found a Snowbaz fic from the Fangirl days and it was tagged as Bazon. BAZON.

AND OKAY, one more thing. When I was cleaning out that rusty tag, I also came across this fic called And In The End by @scrunchyharry​ (Klainers might remember the name fleurdelisse). It’s over ten years old, but I remembered it immediately. I might’ve even printed it out 10 years ago. Like, I am pretty sure I have a physical copy of it somewhere. Caroline, I see you’ve probably left the fandom, so I didn’t know if I should tag you, but if you read this, please know that even ten years later, this fic makes me so emotional.

[gxnic]

general kento nanami headcanons

cw: gn! reader. there’s nsfw stuff but that’s separate from the sfw stuff

a/n: hey y’all, so this is my first *real* post here on tumblr. i’ve written fanfic b4 and have posted it before (albeit i’ve deleted everything i’ve ever posted fanfic wise) but i’ve never posted on tumblr! i wrote a small drabble and posted it to test the waters and that’s about it. since this is where i read most of my fanfic i figured lol why not writing is one of the casual hobbies i’ve always had anyways. about the headcanons, ive seen the jujutsu kaisen volume 0 movie three times already and it hasn’t even been out for a week, so i’m in a jujutsu kaisen writing mood. i have a nice one shot planned for both yuji and gojo (separately. obviously.) so if u want u can look forward to that, but for now i thought i’d start off lighter. hope u enjoy! :)

masterlist

sfw

ok so

starting off strong

coming from a plus size woman herself anybody who’s ever said nanami wouldn’t like a plus size partner is completely fucking wrong????

like omfg

he would love the feeling of your soft body in contrast up against his hard and rough muscles

this man definitely tries to live a healthy lifestyle. work out regularly, eat healthy, the whole shebang

however he’s the type of man who finds it extremely classy when somebody isn’t afraid to indulge in the simple pleasures of life

and he just wants u to be happy while doing it

don’t get me wrong he would encourage u to be healthier but when u ask if that was his way of trying to politely say you need to lose weight he would be genuinely flabbergasted bc no that’s not what he meant at all that thought literally never even crossed his mind he just wants you to be healthy and live a long life

doesn’t mean he won’t also indulge himself with u tho lmaoooo

like i feel like he acts all committed to this super strict diet and routine but in reality he doesn’t stick to it that often regardless of the fact he feels like he should bc life is short who cares? certainly not nanami

anyway pls never talk negatively abt ur body bc he will ask why it even matters every single time before complimenting u cause ain’t no way ur ever gonna talk badly abt urself and him just let it slide

long story short no matter what ur body looks like he thinks ur beautiful like weight ≠ beauty in his mind

anyway on a completely unrelated note

he snores lolllllll like rly loud

and he sweats in his sleep a lot too idc

it’s cute tho

blanket stealer too and when u guys wake up and u tell him he was hogging the blankets in his sleep he gets all embarrassed and won’t look u in the eye and denys it even tho he knows he does it he just can’t admit it

which usually isn’t that big of an issue cause y’all are glued together in your sleep anyways

cuddling alllll the time deadass

he always likes the air conditioning to be set pretty cold D:

like he’s definitely the kind of person who knows immediately if someone changes the temperature even one degree

he’s a good cook tooooo omg

for some reason i feel like he excels at italian food don’t ask me why i don’t know

like nanami would make the most fire pasta

but yeah he’s a good cook

he’s also rly flexible

i mean for the record think of what he has to do for his job of course he’s flexible

but he in particular is super flexible like he can do all that cool contortionist shit if he tried (which he won’t cause he’d be too embarrassed)

also he spoils u

like duh that much is obvious ofc nanami spoils his s/o but like….

yeah he totally spoils u.

he’s not really a religious dude tbh

like if ur religious that’s cool he’ll accept that he’s not gonna shame u and he’ll happily listen to u talk about it

but most of the time he’d just rather talk about something else

most of the time he’s just calling you by your first name but on the rare occasion when he does call u a pet name that’s when u know he’s feeling affectionate and wants ur attention

he doesn’t call u very many pet names either he’ll call you “sweetheart” the most, “beautiful” too and also maybe “darling” on the days he’s feeling extra affectionate

like it’s super easy to tell when he wants to just say f everything and be all over you

he doesn’t rly like pda so he’s super touchy at home

he likes to hug you from behind

his favorite cuddling positions either consist of him being the big spoon or him laying down on your chest

like i can see after a rly long day he wants nothing more than to come home get dressed comfortably and crash right on top of you laying his head in ur chest and putting his arms around you and feeling your hands through his hair

he would find the rhythm of your breathing and your heartbeat very comforting

especially after the horrors he’s forced to witness on a daily basis

you’re a comforting reminder that he’s alive

he’s just really obvious with how much he loves you

like even b4 y’all got together it was really obvious he thought he was super badass and hid it rly well tho LOLLL spoiler alert he didn’t

the thing that sold it the most pre your relationship was the way you’d always feel and catch his eyes glued to you

+++ it’s not easy to fluster nanami, but considering even the simplest of gestures from you turned his face and ears pink? yeah duh ofc he likes u

he tries to cover his face when he blushes too but he’s rly bad at it LOL like he’ll put his hand over his mouth and extend his thumb and fingers over his cheeks to try and hide the redness but it never works

like he’ll stay composed but his body’s reactions give it all away

hear me out i feel like he’d like a friendly talkative s/o

like maybe not somebody who’s as eccentric as gojo 24/7…

but definitely somebody who’s lively as long as they know when to be serious and is capable of remaining composed in a situation that calls for it

he would appreciate it to no end if you were able to get him to lighten up a little and be less of the stick-in-the-mud that he knows he is

he’s the slow dance with you in your kitchen in your pajamas type guy

but honestly no matter who u are

just one glance at u and he’s smiling to himself thinking abt how in love with u he is

you’re his biggest motivation, after all, and no matter how long the two of you are together you never stop giving him butterflies

nsfw

oof oof oof oof oof

oh to engage in the devils tango with this man

whenever mappa animates him loosening or taking off his tie it’s always so focused on and detailed like whatchu tryna say huh?

yeah he ties your wrists together with his tie lolllll

like ok listen

i don’t think he’s sex dungeon level kinky

but i also don’t think he’s completely vanilla either

he’ll blindfold u, tie ur wrists together, maybe your ankles if he’s rly feeling it

he can be reallyyyyyyy rough too

generally he tries to be gentle but if he’s ever really pent up or angry or frustrated abt something he wants to rid himself of that anger in a healthy way and sexual release is a go to for him

those are the circumstances where he’ll be rougher with u

he usually apologizes after though

and if u were the one to ask him to be rougher he’ll do so with pleasure but he’ll definitely still seek reassurance afterwards and ask you if what he did was to your satisfaction

he’s generally the more dominant one

he likes obedience

he’s okay with you taking the lead too but he prefers if it’s nothing too extreme

he feels bad asking u but god he loves getting sucked off so much :(<3 sweet baby

especially after work when he’s feeling especially exhausted and he’s had a bad day and he’s lazing around he loves nothing more than some good ass head and then cuddling to sleep

he’s a giver too don’t think anything less

he’s always between your thighs before he’s actually inside of you whether it’s his mouth or his fingers

he’s cool with using toys on you too, he actually really likes it

he doesn’t see sex toys as a threat he sees them as his best friend god healthy masculinity is so hot

u can use ur imagination to think about how he’d use them on u >:)

also nanami isn’t a one night stand guy

like hear me out i don’t think he sees sex as some crazy sacred act or anything

it won’t take all that long after you guys get together for him to be okay with dicking you down

but he doesn’t fuck anybody he’s not in a stable relationship with

meaning that, yeah, he isn’t a virgin, but he probably has some awkward first time story with somebody he slept with once and since then he’s only slept with one other person he was in a relationship with

like… he has experience, but not a lot of it

don’t get me wrong tho his stroke game is crazy

he 100% puts in the effort to figure out what you specifically like and don’t like

it’s definitely always a focus of his to first and foremost please you

he teases u but also praises u

like full on degradation? no not his style

but teasing yesssssss he loves it he loves seeing you squirm from just his words

like god just imagine his chest up against your back with his arms running down your sides and hips while he’s whispering teases into your neck goddddd i wish i wish

he also likes it when u scratch up his back hehe

he likes it when you leave marks on him and he leaves marks on you in places people can’t see

he doesn’t think it’s classy when people walk around with hickeys and such on full display however knowing he has marks/you have marks on your bodies that only the two of you know about is something that turns him on

also, if you’re fem bodied, he’s a hardcore tits man. i will die by this.

boobs in his face yesssssssss

[falsegoodnight]

this is part two of my december fic rec! this list encompasses the fics i’ve read from the 18th to the 28th!! it’s also my birthday today which makes it even more special! i can think of no better way to spend today than spreading positivity! :)

you can find part one of this month here

✰ there’s happiness because of you by @hadestyles | NR | 1k - (so soft, tender, and beautiful!! rori’s writing amazes me always! and this was written for my birthday because they’re an angel <3)

Thursday mornings have always been their favourite.

✰ and it gets colder and colder by @hadestyles | E | 2K - (another rori fic!! once again, beautiful prose! made me feel emotional!)

Harry wants to take care of Louis. Things take a turn.

✰ make my wish come true by @soldouthaz | M | 3k - (drabble from this series) (so cute, lovely, soft, amazing!!! made my heart so happy! this is also dedicated to me which :’) sarah angel chant)

The taste of Christmas cookies fresh out of the oven and peppermint hot chocolate is still heavy on his tongue. Harry’s sweater provides some warmth and it still smells of him from before he left for his internship two weeks ago, but it’s nowhere near the feeling of his arms wrapped around him. Louis shivers despite the blankets.

✰ spirit meets the bones by @hadestyles​ | E | 3k - (i had to edit to add this because rori wrote another beautiful little fic for me :’) beautiful prose, beautiful emotions, so so so beautiful, gosh. pure poetry!)

The action shouldn’t fill his eyes with tears but it does. These small gestures mean the world to him. A steady reminder that Harry does notice all the tiny, seemingly insignificant details that make Louis him.

✰ 29 Blows by @quelquesetoiles | E | 4k - (super hot but also so cute!! love the concept of the birthday tradition in this one!!!)

For over a decade now, Harry has had his little tradition. It wouldn't be a Louis Tomlinson birthday without his best friend finding new, ingenious ways to make his life more difficult.

It's cute, it's funny, it's theirs, until Harry takes it a step too far on Louis' 29th birthday.

✰ calm me down (before i sleep) by @erodiansunflower | E | 7k - (a pwp and super hot, but also super cute??)

Prompt 24: Harry is a sex shop owner that has a crush on Louis, the shy customer who flirts with him while buying cute buttplugs, lace panties, and collars. One day, Louis asked Harry to help him put on a corset (they end up fucking in the dressing room). Things escalate quickly from there, so they start seeing each other seriously while trying other sex stuff.

✰ You’re Never Alone With a Moon This Bright by @helloamhere | T | 8k - (part one of this series) (WOW this was incredible and i am ENTRANCED! this author is an all-time favorite and idk why it took me so long to get to this series but i’m here now!! and loving it!!)

Louis was a monster. But sometimes, even monsters get a Christmas.

✰ Be a Good Girl For Me by @sincetheywere16and18 | E | 9k - (really hot and cute!!!)

Based on this prompt: “AU where Harry is Louis’ older brother’s best friend. He catches Louis dancing around his room in panties and blackmails him, saying that louis has to do anything he says or else he’ll tell Louis’ family that he wears girly underwear. Secretly soft for him, Harry gives him easy tasks and uses the whole thing to spend more time with Louis. Eventually, the orders begin to escalate and Harry teases Lou about his secret, making Louis shy and embarrassed. Louis loves the attention though, and forms a crush on his brother’s best friend. Lots of feminization, secret relationship, and enemies to lovers. Thank you!”

✰ it’s hard to fight naked by @loustarlight | E | 11k - (LOVED this so much!!! a big fan of enemies/flatmates to lovers especially when there’s a walk-in involved!!)

Louis leaves dirty socks on the couch, Zayn does assignments while he's high, and Harry is hopelessly crushing on his roommate.

✰ Sweet Scary Creatures by @specklelouis | M | 13k - (jurassic park au!! so cute and fun!!! loved louis’ character growth in this in particular!)

They stare into each other's eyes for a while until Louis remembers this is too intimate and looks at Harry’s hands on his thigh. It spans a big portion of his thigh and Louis has always been insecure about how thick he is, so he loves that Harry has huge, dustbin hands that hold him and makes him feel smaller, safer.

✰ hereafter (ad infinitum) by @larryent | M | 13k - (this was absolutely beautiful!! the writing was incredible, the contrast between the old timeline and new one impeccable, and the letters!!! love them!! and vampire harry is always a win!)

"A legacy is every life you’ve touched. And you’ve touched mine twice."

On the coast of San Francisco in 2024 is when Harry falls in love all over again.

✰ Believe Me When I Say You Have It All by @helloamhere | T | 20k - (part two of this series) (loved this even more than it’s predecessor. not to be dramatic, but i’d die for the louis and harry in this series. this whole world has my heart)

Harry had never faced anything in this forest that had actually succeeded in scaring him. Louis was no exception.

✰ Yours to Lose by @loulicate-recs | M | 26k - (so cute and soft and sweet!!! louis and harry were both angels and IAN <3 little cutie!!! so proud of you hanis!)

Louis always gets distracted with his mummy duty and he eventually catches Harry's attention.

✰ But It’s Useless by @thinlinez | E | 26k - (this put such a big smile on my face!! so cute and lovely!! louis was a relatable and adorable menace and harry was a smitten idiot but they both got there in the end!!)

Omega Louis would never guess that he would be trying to hack into Alpha Harry's Wifi. That is until everything changes when he tries to get to know his enemy.

✰ Stuck On You by Writewhatiwant | E | 34k - (so so sweet! loved the aspect of stickers in this fic and how louis found joy in them!! really loved how both louis and harry (especially harry) grew throughout this story and how they found peace at the end!)

Louis’ life revolves around his stickers. Harry’s life revolves around his job. The universe has decided their worlds should revolve around each other.

✰ smoke between your teeth by @soldouthaz | E | 37k - (i think everyone knows how much i adore sarah and her fics but this one just might be a new favorite! loved all the psych stuff, the pining, the rom-com worthy confession <3 brilliant!)

Louis tries to stop his addiction to cigarettes and discovers he's been addicted to Harry for much, much longer.

✰ Your Life Worth Walking on a Bright Morning by @helloamhere | T | 38k - (part three of this series) (it just keeps getting better and better <3 so comforting and consistent and beautiful!)

For all its complexity, Louis sometimes reminded himself, life could always be simplified into a series of forks in the road. Even overwhelmingly big things were survivable when you broke them down to their choice. One path or the other, left or right.

✰ On The Edge by @zanniscaramouche | E | 47k - (so crazy good!! zanni is always amazing me!! loved the ice skating, the hockey, the misunderstandings, the multi-faced and beautiful characters and relationships - all so perfect!)

Figure skating is as vital to Louis’ identity as his DNA, so when his skates go missing right before the last Olympics of his career there may be a meltdown only vanilla bath salts can fix. Well, that and the stupidly charming hockey player he met on the plane.

Harry’s too old to be the wonder kid and too young to be taken seriously in the NHL. As an alternate thrown in at the last second, he fights to prove himself on the national team at the largest sporting event known to man. Or he will, once he gets off this flight and can focus on something other than the fussy figure skater and his stunningly blue eyes.

A baggage mix-up skews both of their perfectly laid plans for gold, forcing the two to work together as the clock clicks towards the minute they’re expected to shine on centre ice.

✰ made for lovin’ you by @cuddlerlouis | E | 53k - (loved this so much!! touch depri/accidental bonds are my favorite and this was no exception!!! the characterizations, the tension, the misunderstandings, the tenderness, the fluff!!! so good!)

A quick, horny decision ruins Louis’ summer plans, but may also lead to unexpected discoveries. Featuring the road trip of dreams, misunderstandings, and a bit of fate.

✰ social cues by @outropeace | E | 56k - (so fucking good!! the slow burn in this was impeccable!!! pair it with friends with benefits, mutual pining, angst, misunderstandings... amazing <3)

To Harry, Louis was becoming as tangible and essential as music in his life. He still was a mystery but at the same time, he was one of the most real things Harry had. He just hoped he could live up to the image Louis probably had in his mind of him.

He could play the part, after all, what was published of him wasn’t as detached from reality. He didn’t think of himself as a rockstar cliche, although he couldn't deny he did sleep around, partied a lot, and did some drugs. But then again, wasn’t that what the majority of his friends back in his hometown were doing at college?

Harry wanted to impress Louis, he didn’t want to disappoint or leave his expectations unfulfilled, so he’d give him the full rockstar experience.

It was a very simple plan, what could possibly go wrong?

✰ dripping like spider milk by @raspberryoatss | E | 64k - (pip amazing me with her talent? a common occurrence. this was so wonderfully written and so well done!! loved the characterizations, the dynamic, the angst, the miscommunication, the pining, the HUMOR!!! it was all so amazing!!)

When he sees the alpha, his brown hair curling around the top of his neck and his broad back that’s filled out over the past couple of years, Louis freezes for a moment. The alpha turns around, Louis’ surprised expression mirrored on his own for a fraction of a second before he schools it into a big, yet shy grin and a wave of his huge hand. With his nostrils flared, Louis knows that he can smell him, too.

They never hired alphas, except for—

“Harry.”

✰ a taste of freedom and sweetened passion by @tomlinvelvetfics | M | 74k - (okay technically haven’t finished reading this one yet but i want to get this up early and i already know this is amazing because it’s LATE and she’s incredible!!! and, i mean, anne of green gables?? abo?? best birthday gift ever!! will be spending the day reading this in bliss <3)

“Are you mad?” he explodes, throwing his hands up, groaning. “I was so, so close to reaching my goal, and your stupid, stalking ass had to creep up on me, hm?”

Harry is trying to keep his laughter in, walking closer to him, eyes soft. He doesn’t like the way those eyes make him feel, an odd, dangerous mix of nervous and flustered, so he bends down to pick up the books, raising an eyebrow when Harry growls in protest.

“I wanted to pick them up for you,” the alpha pouts, and Louis glares at him, getting into position and lowering the pile of yellowed pages over the top of his head.

“I’m a functional human being, thank you very much,” he grits out as he begins to walk and mentally count the amount of steps he takes. One, two, three, for heaven’s sake Harry fuck off!, four, five. He doesn’t let himself be distracted as the alpha walks along with him despite the slow pace, green eyes focused on him in a way that would, in any other cases, compelled him to throw a book in the alpha’s face.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t do it and certainly doesn’t want to think about the reason, whatever it might be.

If you read any of these lovely fics, remember to leave kudos and comment to show your appreciation!

*if i made any errors, please let me know :)

enjoy!

[wherethewordsare]

Fire Lizards and Flirting

I wrote some self indulgent fluffy nonsense cause i’ve had a shit week. This was supposed to be a drabble... tell me how I ended up with over 1400 words. 

I just wanted Geralt to do science... enjoy?

------

Geralt preferred the field work to the lab work. He hated sitting there, plugging numbers into the sheets, having to answer emails, and dealing with the office supervisors. So when the chance to do the ecological survey along a particular stretch of the Appalachian came up, he moved heaven and earth, and four reams worth of documents to get the assignment. 

He and Roach had pulled into the empty lot at the head of the trail, early that morning. Roach gave a soft “boof” as she knew what came next. 

“I know, I know. I’m moving as fast as I can.” Two giant paws pressed against his shoulder followed by another boof as Roach’s whole body seemed to vibrate. “You don’t think I’m excited too, huh?” Geralt rolled his eyes as he climbed out of his truck, moving just in time as Roach leapt the center console and bounded out the door. 

Geralt let the huge dog make her little circles around the truck, her whole back end wagging as she did. This. This was exactly why he preferred field work to being in the lab. He answered to no one but an overly affectionate great dane. 

The trail was easy enough, sloping down towards the river with lazy winding cut backs. He made note of the small rivulets that cut down the side of the hill and stopped a few times to check out the rot in logs, taking samples when he remembered to. He was nearly to the river, the sound of water over rocks steadily growing louder when he realized that it wasn’t the only sound. 

He called Roach to him, having her walk closer as they made their way down to the bank. Geralt had seen some pretty strange things in his years of ecological study, but the man standing in the center of the river with what Geralt would bet good money on was a lute, strumming softly was something he still wasn’t sure he was seeing. 

Roach saw him too though. Giving an excited bark, she took off, splashing into the water. The man that had been standing on a smooth rock turned quickly in surprise; too quickly. Geralt watched as he lost his footing, tumbling down into the water, Roach bounding after him happily.

“Shit, fuck, damn, fuck! ROACH!” Geralt was dropping his pack and peeling out of his over shirt as he ran in after the dog and the man who had fallen. He was sitting up now, the water shallow in this stretch,  pushing a soaking mop of hair out of his eyes, spluttering as Roach attempted to climb into his lap. 

“No no no… Oh no, I am so sorry. She is… harmless! But… very… Roach, down! Very friendly. Far too friendly.” Geralt tried to wrestle the dog away from the sopping musician who, in the struggle, slipped back into the water, coming up coughing.

Not coughing. Laughing. Hard, his head tilted back as he looked up at Geralt, striking blue eyes blinking away river water. “Sir… I believe you’ve lost control of your horse.” 

“Uh.. great dane, but close enough.” 

On cue, Roach gave a happy boof and sat on the rock that she had just knocked the man from. 

“Proud of yourself, are you?” Geralt grumbled affectionately. “Please excuse her. She was raised by wolves.” He offered down a hand and tried not to get completely lost in those eyes. 

The man took his hand and let himself be pulled up from the water, giving his head a shake. “That’s okay. No better cure for the blues than a lap horse in the middle of nowhere followed by a tall handsome stranger.” He flashed Geralt a smile that was competing with the sun to be the brightest thing lighting up the riverbed. “Did you call her Roach?” The man tilted his head as he shook water from his lute. 

“It’s a fish.” Geralt said flatly, scowling. 

“Jaskier.” The man, Jaskier, held out his hand chuckling softly. “That sweet girl is an absolute queen and you named her after a fish.” Jaskier was having a go at him but there wasn’t anything unkind about it. 

Taking his hand, Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Geralt. Well, she swims much better than some musicians I’ve seen. I think it’s apt.” He had to bite the inside of his lap to stop from grinning wide at Jaskier’s overly dramatic noises of shock. 

“I will have you know, I am a fine swimmer when I haven’t been snuck up on.” Jaskier puffed his chest up but the effect was immediately ruined when his teeth began to chatter. 

“Shit. Let’s get you dry.” 

Geralt helped Jaskier to shore, carrying his lute and reaching into his backpack for the absorbent towel he always carried for when Roach got into water. She would have to drip dry this time. There was a stretch of open grass along the bank and Geralt decided it was as good as any place to stop for lunch. 

“Why are you out in the middle of a river with an actual lute? I haven’t seen one of these since college.” He handed the towel and the lute to Jaskier who began to work the towel over the soundboard with practiced fingers. 

“Well if you must know,” he seemed to wince. “Getting over a bit of heartbreak.” Geralt’s face must have done something because Jaskier just shook his head, huffing. “Oh nothing like that. There was a competition and I was robbed, is all.” He scowled at nothing in particular before giving a put upon sigh. “Honestly, there is no accounting for tastes these days.”

Geralt bit down on the inside of his lip again, looking away to hide the amused raise of his eyebrows. “Well from what I heard before Roach took you out, you sounded great.” He looked down just in time to see the dark tail retreat under a flat rock by their feet. “Would you care to meet a Desmognathus ochrophaeus?” he reached down, one hand cupped as the other lifted the rock. 

“I… bless you?” Jaskier tilted his head, confused. 

“Or the Allegheny Mountain dusky salamander. It’s why I’m out here.” Geralt gave him a small smile as he opened his hand, revealing a sleek little body with beady little eyes. “I’m surveying indicator species in the area and picking up some water samples.” he held up the wriggling salamander gently between his fingers, turning it this way and that as he checked for signs of sickness while holding it up for Jaskier to see. 

As he held it up, it turned its head, biting down onto Geralt’s thumb. “Ah, shit.” Geralt laughed as he pulled a notebook out. “Got a fighter on our hands. That’s a good sign too.” He knew he was doing that thing Eskel was always getting on him about with the critters. Roach laid out next to him, her tail thumping heavily on the ground as she huffed. 

Jaskier was looking at him with his head tilted and his eyes soft. “And why is that?” Geralt was used to people mocking him for his enthusiasm for this job. There were very few things he found himself able to really talk about admittedly. But there was nothing but curiosity and a fondness that had Geralt suddenly a little self conscience. 

“Well most of these are common as crickets,” Geralt indicated the salamander with a tilt of his hand before releasing him back into the grass, “so they’re usually easy to find if you know where to look and if they’re healthy, then the river usually is too.” 

“So you just walk around the woods all day with your horse-dog, cooing at fire-lizards and knocking poor unexpecting gentlemen into rivers. For science?” Ah there was the teasing. Geralt found he didn’t mind it terribly.

“Amphibians. I’m not sure why they’re called fire-lizards. They’re neither made of fire nor are they lizards.” Geralt went digging into his pack, fishing out a couple of apples. He turned to find Jaskier pulling his shirt over his head and he nearly dropped them on the ground. 

There was something about the line of his shoulder that made Geralt want to throw himself into the river. 

“They sleep in logs.” Jaskier said, wringing out his shirt. He gave a small shiver and tilted himself so the sun fell across his back. 

“I… what?” Geralt knew he sounded distracted. He was distracted. 

“Back in the days before central heating, in the winter people would bring in firewood. The salamanders would be asleep in them and wake up from their winter naps to find their little hiding places on fire. What would you do?” Jaskier laid his shirt over the log between them, reaching down to tug off his sneakers. “So all they would see were these little lizards appearing from the flames and running around. It just kind of stuck, I guess.” He was twisting his socks up when he looked over at Geralt. “What?”

“I… who are you again? I find you, in the middle of nowhere, there’s no other car in the parking lot, in the river, with a lute…” In the back of his mind, Geralt remembered the old stories about Fae his father would tell him and his brothers. 

“Well, if you must know,” Jaskier turned to him fully, smiling. “My mother, and only my mother calls me Julian. My friends call me Jaskier, and my students call me Mr. Pankratz.” He squinted up the path that Geralt had come from and hummed. “You took A lot. There’s a second parking lot from over there,” he pointed down the bank on the other end to where Geralt could see the start of a cleared path. So, promise, not a witch or ghost or what have you.” The teasing was back and it went along with the kind of smile Geralt could get used to. 

Fuck. Might as well…

“And… What do your dates usually call you?” he was busying himself with rummaging for a water bottle. 

Jaskier laughed, his grin growing wide. “Why don’t you ask me and find out.”

@jaskierswolf @artistsfuneral @thetinymm

[ashintheairlikesnow]

N: Do you hide secrets/easter eggs in your books? X: What inspires you as a writer? B: What’s your writing kryptonite? -theo- :3 *greedy grabby hands *

Theeeoooooo I answered N already here!

X: What inspires you as a writer?

Oh, gosh. Just about anything can. Usually it’s a thought, a piece of dialogue, a sentence or a scene concept that pops into my head and refuses to leave. But, like, one day I got Teenage Dream stuck in my head and it literally refused to leave until I wrote a Chris drabble about the song!

Video games are hugely inspiring, especially games with a lot of lore. I love digging in and uncovering lore/backstory, and so I often find the idea of writing that really fun. Man, I wrote some fun stories about a Fallout OC forever ago, I should find those and see if they’re worth polishing up for AO3 or something.

Sometimes it’ll just be... I’ll be out and have a particular thought about how a tree looks and then I end up writing something based on that thought.

Reading is very inspiring, especially when I read someone whose world-building I admire, who does a good job balancing it with the plot!

And of course, talking to friends/mutuals has been really inspiring since I came back to Tumblr! I swear half these drabbles would absolutely not exist without prompts and conversations with Tumblr people!

B: What’s your writing kryptonite?

Noise/people that I can’t block out. This week, for instance, I have a bunch of new work stuff and other things that mean there’s a lot of chatter around me, and I have to be aware of it, and so the words just won’t come because I write best when it’s either quiet, or that low-level coffeeshop hum you can just ignore and let carry you along as you go.

Which is why I do a lot of my longer-form writing on the weekends, when I can get off by myself and sit somewhere quiet with a coffee and just make it happen. 

[bunnylouisegrimes]

Unusual Thanksgiving (NOS4A2 Longish-Drabble Fic)

(A/N: As of writing this, it’s the weekend. I’ve noticed at least every weekend for a few weeks now I post some short little Drabble to help let out my emotions. Here’s another one that’s a little bit longer. With Thanksgiving coming up and my ass having little time to think of something and cook it up (pun intended), I thought I’d take the approach of having whatever come to my mind and writing it out. It’s a unique one, as you don’t usually associate horror and angst alongside the family fluffiness of Thanksgiving, but... here we are! I remember a while back I wrote how Rose’s parents would react to her having a relationship with Charlie, and that was one of my inspirations, alongside how rough things are this year. I’d like to wish you all Happy Thanksgiving ahead of time. Stay safe and enjoy a good ass feast. It’s been tough, and it’s had some highlights, but now’s the time we can all put aside our differences and whatever else bullshit and be thankful about what we do have this year; whether it be supplies or each other, we’ll get through this. 🧡🍂🍁🦃)

(Apologize for no Read More, posting this from mobile, and I found the image randomly, so if you want credit, let me know).

November is a beautiful and calming time of the year, but under certain circumstances, it can be oddly scary. This is most likely due to how dead the world is. There’s usually no snow, and what leaves remain are brown, have decayed from the trees, and collapsed to the ground to crumble and rot. I noticed this when I was younger, and part of me thought November was spookier than Halloween in some cases.

Of course, to me, any time of the year could be scary. Horror doesn’t stop and end at one point; it is an infinite occurrence that follows humanity wherever we go.

From the time I was a little kid, I would find horror in the most obscure of places. Scary movies never bothered me, and in fact, I was always excited when I watched them. What should’ve terrified me brought me nothing but adrenaline and fascination. Instead, odd things scared me, things most people would poke fun at if they saw my reaction to them, things most would shrug off. Call me Freudian, but perhaps my fears, just as yours are, are based in our differing subconscious minds, so there is no true definition of “stupid” horror.

The one thing that I know for certain that’s frightened me since I was younger are bees, wasps, yellow jackets, and hornets. Why these little yellow and black bugs terrify me, I will never truly know the answer as to why. Is it because they’re so small, yet they can hurt you so badly? Is it because of their appearance? I don’t want bees to die out, as I know of their importance, and bumbles don’t bother me because they usually leave you alone (and they’re oddly cute), but any other bee or wasp can stay away from me. I’ve never even been stung by one, yet one buzz or sight of one near me makes my body react instantaneously. I get away as much as I can and even scream sometimes. Not wise to scream or move a lot when you’re in their presence, I know. But when your body reacts the way it does, what are you to do?

When I was a little bit older, I would say roughly 8 or 9 years old, a new type of fear spawned its way into my mind: the fear of shadow people.

I don’t know what it is about those things either that scare me so much. When I first discovered I had this fear, I believe I was watching an episode of Ghost Adventures, and I saw them capture a really clear shadow figure on camera. It chilled me to the bone, and from then on, just the thought of one creeped me out. One particular episode where the crew went to an old, abandoned and haunted Tuberculosis sanitarium got to me because shadow figures were prominent there, and they actually captured two on camera going down a long hallway.

Shadow people, from what I’ve seen online, are very mysterious. They could come from another dimension, they could be demonic; some are harmless, others are harmful, and it’s all dependent on what experience you have with them. Zak Bagans and his crew have come across quite a few demonic ones, and their guests have usually described them as tall, thin, 6-7 foot tall entities that are dark both in physicality and energy. They look like an individual spray painted with pitch black aerosol, and darker than a room if it were void of all light. Sometimes they have red or white eyes, and sometimes they can have differing appearances that are just as terrifying as the blank appearances they often have. They can stand there and look over you while you’re sleeping at night, they can stand in a corner and stare at you, maybe rocking a bit, they could dart down a hallway, hiding from you, they can crawl on the floor, they can crawl on the ceiling... whatever it is they do, it’s all bone chilling to me, and I hate it all with a burning passion. I don’t care even if they were harmless: If I were to ever see one in real life, I would have a heart attack.

That is why I am thankful I’ve only seen them either when I’m paranoid for whatever reason before I go to sleep (but they’re not really there, my mind’s just playing tricks on me), or if I have a nightmare and they’re present. This story will focus on the latter.

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

Halloween, Charlie’s birthday on November 1st, the Election... it all came and left sooner than expected, and we needed to plan what we were doing about Thanksgiving. I know, a vampire who’s all about Christmas celebrating other holidays. It seems unreal, but I assure you, he has respect for other holidays as well. Christmas just happens to be his favorite and one that brings him and the kids lots of comfort and joy. They say Christmas is a state of mind and is never truly over, so... I suppose Charlie is just a living embodiment of that saying.

With COVID still in full swing, and cases breaking records everyday, people were stocking up on supplies yet again alongside their Turkey Day feasts. We knew we had to hurry up and order stuff the week before Thanksgiving at most.

Living in Gunbarrel, Colorado, away from everyone except for each other and the kids when we spent quite a few days in Christmasland each week, it was relieving to know we weren’t around tons of people. The virus wouldn’t affect Charlie or the kids, but me being the only human, and one with asthma, it would, so it was calming to not have to worry as much as many other folks about exposure. Not to mention, the town was small, and everybody knew everybody. Whenever we did enter town, which took 10 minutes to get to, we would see everyone keeping their distance and respecting each other. It was nice to see our small and (just about) off-the-grid community helping each other during these times.

The only two local stores were an Acme that everyone went to, and the Gunbarrel General Store, owned by a kindly old man who looked like Santa Clause named Sam. Before everyone rushed to Acme, we decided on doing a curbside pickup order, and picking up anything else that was not available at Sam’s, as he was sure to provide lots of Thanksgiving food.

It was going to certainly be an interesting Thanksgiving without my usual family, and not being back home, but I was going to call them on that fateful Thursday and talk to them for a few hours. Charlie and I would have a small dinner together, and we would spend most of the day in Christmasland with our children, dining on delicious food and laughing together. The thought warmed my heart and made me feel better about this Thanksgiving. We would be okay, and everything would be fine, despite my horrible dreams...

For whatever reason, over these past few weeks, my dreams were plagued with shadow people haunting me. No explanation was given, and no explanation would need to be given for it to still occur and damn near break me. Maybe it was some sort of unresolved issue going through the back of my mind, maybe it was fueled by my stresses of being busy lately, but regardless of whatever the issue was, I was haunted by them. The day after Charlie’s birthday, we watched the original Nosferatu together, and I fell asleep near the end, experiencing the first of these dreams.

I was walking down a dark and cold hallway. I was 8 years old again. I don’t know how I knew this, but it was one of those instances where you know a random piece of information in a dream. I was holding two small plastic My Little Pony figurines I got from Happy Meals at that time, a small Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash. I hadn’t seen those toys in years, yet there they were in my hands. When I looked up, a shadow person was standing near the end of the pathway. It stood tall and authoritative, looming over me as if it wanted to grab me and drag me down the corridor straight into Hell, or wherever it came from.

I took off running, and it crawled on all fours after me. I screamed and kept running until I came across a goofy, tall, and lanky figure: Count Orlock, or the actual Nosferatu himself, was standing there. I hid behind him and begged him to protect me. He smiled his stupid smile and looked down at the shadowy behemoth. It seemed to back down a bit once he snarled at it. It backed up behind a corner, peaking at us once before vanishing.

My relief was short lived for only a few moments because Orlock wandered off into the darkness.

“Where are you going? Come back here!” I tried to call after him, but I was cut off by the shadow figure crawling on the ceiling and grabbing me. I gave a scream and found myself awake on the couch, springing to life and hearing the opening music to Downton Abbey greeting me. Charlie had tuned in after the movie. He looked at me with a confused and concerned look. I explained everything to him and he comforted me, laughing at the thought of the original Nosferatu visiting me.

The dreams afterward were more terrifying than the first. One dream featured a shadow person staring over me as I slept, another featured one standing in the corner of the room twisting and contorting its head violently. The third had a shadow figure hunched over near a window within an abandoned building. I was walking through the woods in another nightmare when a whole group of them were peaking at me through the trees. I ran down another hallway and one was behind me. I was in an unknown house and down the hall near the steps, one was charging towards me. Each time, I would wake up and feel unsettled. Charlie would comfort me, but it was always hard to fall back asleep, for I feared I’d be terrorized by the evil onyx creatures wanting nothing more than to consume me in their shadowy force and make my soul rot.

Despite all of my terror and the tiredness that accompanied my days, the focus for today would have to be Thanksgiving dinner.

“My mom mailed me the recipe to her sweet potatoes last week, and let me tell you, they are actually sweet and delicious,” I told Charlie. “So you can put down all the ingredients for that. We already got turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes written down... Oh! Green bean casserole, put that down... and we need apple and pumpkin pie. We already have whip cream and gravy in the fridge, and cider is in the cabinet. I think that’s everything.”

Charlie nodded and wrote these things down. Once he was done, he looked over the list and showed me.

“Yup, that’s everything! Alright, let’s look up to see what Acme has.”

As I pulled up the site on my phone, he spoke up.

“Rosie, are you bothered by not seeing your family? If so, we can visit them on Thanksgiving Day or I could go the extra mile and bring them here if you’d like.”

I sighed and rubbed my temple. “I’m alright, baby. I know they’ll be alright too. Things seem to be... okay between us, even if we did get into arguments since last we spoke in person.”

He looked down and felt guilty.

“Hey, don’t you feel guilty,” I reassured him. “It’s their fault, not yours. They see you in whatever light they want to, but I know who you really are, and I love you. I don’t care what they say or think about you, hence why I’m sticking by you and left with you to come here.”

He nodded and pulled me close to him, resting his chin on my head. “I admit, my darling, I am constantly bothered by this thought that I have destroyed the relationship you have with your family.”

“Like I said, they’re the ones that can’t accept that you and I truly love each other. I’ve been patient and offered them every chance to accept you. I’ve explained and talked to them, but they don’t want to listen to my reasoning. I don’t know what else to do.”

He kissed me on the cheek and said, “I’m glad that you at least still talk to each other.”

“Me too. At least we have that... but let’s not worry about that. We got food to focus on.”

We ordered everything that we could (the only things not available until the week of Thanksgiving were the two pies, but we knew Sam would have them). When the time came, we loaded into the Wraith and the trunk was packed with our dinner. We stopped by the General Store and Sam happily gave “Father Christmas” (as Charlie was known as) the pies. Since it was still light out, we decided to go for a drive to enjoy the autumn weather. As I mentioned before, November is usually dead and brown, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t peaceful and calm. We observed the soothing and cold weather as Fleetwood Mac and The Doors sang along on the old radio.

While gazing at the brown leaves and bare trees rocking their branches above us, I drifted off to sleep without even thinking about it. Stevie Nicks and Jim Morrison’s voices melted into oblivion as I found myself walking through a tranquil forest of dead trees. Cold, I wrapped my arms around myself until I felt a bit warmer, and I saw a grove of orange trees. It was as if I teleported back in time to October, and the trees were still alive with vibrant color.

I ran over to them, taken aback by their beauty. The leaves that were on the ground were still orange, and I tossed them up into the air with childish carelessness. At last! For once, I was having a good dream!

However, that enjoyment would be cut short when I looked into the distance in between the trees. The world and my joy winded down like a dying record player.

From somewhere beyond the misty horizon, a pair of white eyes were watching me.

Dread hit me and I ran away. The trees began to rot again, and the orange faded into brown. The sunlight morphed into fog, and the warmth dissipated from my body. I fell to the ground, tripping over my own clumsy feet.

Now I was somewhere entirely different. I was in a dark, unfamiliar bedroom. I couldn’t move except for my eyes, like I was suffering from sleep paralysis. I looked up to see the shadow figure that was hiding behind the trees. Its white eyes were dimmer than before, and its solid black body cast lighter shadows behind it. I tried to scream, but I could only choke out vocalizations as it covered my mouth.

It lifted its ice cold hand from my mouth and pointed to the left. My eyes glanced in that direction and a scream broke from my throat.

A pointy eared demon with beady eyes, a close together face, and a sickening smile was on top of my chest. Its body was too dark to make out any notable features, but it was lighter than the shadow next to me. The pressure on top of me crushed the life from my lungs. It continued to smile, as if nothing in the world bothered it at all.

Before my scream ran out of air, it wrapped its cold hands around my neck and tightened to the point it was strangling me. The rest of my scream died out, my eye sight was fading until it was only a pinhole...

Air rushed into my lungs as I jolted into a conscience state once again. My eyes darted rapidly and my body clung to the leather seat of the Wraith. We were no longer driving, and instead parked in the garage. A wave of nausea flooded my head and stomach, and I pressed my hand to my eyes. My mind finally registered Charlie’s soft voice.

“Rose! My sweet Rose! Whatever is the matter?”

“I... Jesus Christ... I... had another nightmare... this was... Good God, how else could I describe it?!”

While we gathered the groceries into the house, I detailed my horrifying dream to him. He was immensely disturbed and decided enough was enough.

“I know you believe in ghosts and demons and the sort,” said he, “and I know such things exist, since I’ve seen spirits and souls before. Because of this, you and I can pray before you go to sleep tonight. Unlike other vampires, holy things do not bother me, unless I were to drink or touch holy salt or holy water, in which case I would feel some discomfort thanks to the darker side of my being. I have an old angel doll that my daughters used to play with and hold whenever they felt uncomfortable or scared. That could help you too. I will hypnotize you and make you have sweet dreams. If any dark entity is going to mess with you, I will protect you. I don’t think you have an attachment, but these dreams are certainly unusual.”

I agreed to all of this. That night, we said a prayer together, I snuggled with the angel doll, and he hypnotized me to sleep. I had a dream I couldn’t remember, but it was certainly the most peaceful I had in a while, and it was even better then the beginning of that nightmare I had that evening.

A sense of purity filled my heart, and I knew nothing dark would ever hurt me or anyone I loved, as whatever God that may be out there as my witness.

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

Thanksgiving arrived at an unbelievably fast rate. No other bad dreams tormented me, and I couldn’t have felt more happy. Charlie and I worked together to prep dinner. When I finished making sure the turkey was good and putting it in the oven, Charlie presented me with a package.

“It’s from your home,” he observed.

I opened it up at the dining room table and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

It was the Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash figurines from my childhood. Underneath them, was a heartfelt letter from my family, detailing how they had recently found these toys and thought of me. They missed me, and they even apologized for all of their harsh words against me and Charlie. They gave it some thought, and they came to the conclusion that as long as I was happy and in love, and as long as Charlie truly loved me and treated me well, then all was perfectly fine. They wished us a very happy Thanksgiving from 2 hours ahead and many miles away.

Tears fell from my cheeks. I was crying of joy for more than the obvious reason being that my family and I were rekindling together.

I realized now why I had such horrible dreams. It was either my worries and fears of my family not being together haunting me, or maybe even some dark force, but Twily and Dashie here weren’t random parts of that first dream at all; they served as symbolism. They represented hope and familial innocence long lost, now brought back to light. Maybe they sent a message out in the universe to my family that Charlie was a good man. That could also be why Orlock was protecting me in that same dream, but him leaving symbolized my family keeping Charlie away from me, therefore causing bad things to happen to me. And perhaps when Charlie helped me and cleansed all darkness (regardless of it being real or not), those ponies knew ahead of time he was going to do that, and reassured my family he was always going to protect me. It sounded bizarre, but it was the best reasoning I could come up with to explain these odd coincidences.

I immediately called my family afterwards and told them everything. They were chilled themselves because my mother had a dream the night before about Charlie bringing forth bouts of light to protect me from a wave of darkness, and she thought it was her brain processing her acceptance of him, but now that my story was told, it made things even clearer.

We concluded talking by coming up with a date to have dinner together and to see each other again back home. We exchanged I love yous and Happy Thanksgivings, and I hung up feeling thankful. As Charlie and I ate a bit of dinner, as we went to Christmasland, and as we ate lots of food with our children, warmth and light abundant, I was grateful that I had the family I did, the boyfriend and children that I did, and the light that still shined in the universe, even on the most darkest of days. This year has been hard, but gratitude for all the good, hope, and love, even when we’re distant figuratively, literally, or both, makes this holiday season a brighter one.

[patricia-von-arundel]

A World on Its Side: Prologue - A Temporary Sanctuary; Strange Smiles

Art by @zaaschila​

An anon sent this what-if:  What if: Jeralt's mercenaries was in actuality not a mere mercenary group, but one with more organization and it has its own squad section that acted in the shadows like spies or infiltrator. What if: they received a request that ended up with them secretly raided the place where El and her siblings were experimented on? (I'll leave the number of survivors to you) What if: they rescued the kids and disguised them, raising them along with Byleth in the merc group?

I opted to keep Jeralt as a mercenary, and then, well... 

Before I start the story, I’m going to explain some of my thought process in how I wrote it, and then of what I’m concerned about with it. I would really, really appreciate feedback as to whether this particular style seems to be working, or if I goofed it and should scrap it and start over using a more traditional story format. This is just part 1 - I didn’t intend for it to get this long (shocker, I know), and we’re just getting to where the action starts, despite the format being an attempt to keep it short and sweet. So, uh... yeah. Under the cut, some info/thoughts.

This was initially just going to be Edelgard being rescued through meeting Byleth and training as a mercenary, but then I wondered what would happen if they somehow eventually wound up at the monastery anyway (bear with me when I haven’t given the reasons for that chain of events yet - I do have a chain, I promise), and then it became... well, I don’t want to spoil everything, but there’s more. And then it was the usual “well, shit” moment of realizing I didn’t have a drabble, I had this whole, stupid story. With inconvenient nonsense like a plot. 

...Bother. 

So what I wanted to try to do, to keep it as short as possible (ha!), was write it in more a... well, not a comic-book format, obviously, but as if it was, or perhaps a serialized pulp kind of story, since the whole “what-if” thought came from my love of the Marvel “What If?” comics I read as a kid. Not a whole lot of introspection or exposition in here, just action and movement from one scene to the next. No room for lollygagging in the mind. 

And I think that worked broadly, but what I’m concerned about is that it muzzled Edelgard. Especially since she doesn’t have a lot of chance to show her anger and her pain without introspection, because she almost never talks about it. She felt to me at risk of losing her bite - and of getting over what happened to her too quickly. And that’s the last thing I want, because without those parts of her, she’s no longer, following the canon scenario of her childhood, Edelgard. It can be argued that a certain degree of softness might be acceptable if she was in the hands of Jeralt after the experiments rather than (I assume?) Hubert and Thales/”Arundel,” but I still worry that it becomes too much. Or that when the darkness in her does surface here and there, it rings false, because nothing else in the text supports it. I shouldn’t rely on readers’ knowledge of that side of her. That’s sloppy writing and bad characterization. 

I also doubt Edelgard was still being experimented on this late in her life, but I needed to make it late for the sake of that damned plot. That won’t change regardless of whether I decide to rewrite it. I could stretch out her time with Jeralt and Byleth a little bit more, I suppose, if it just seems too unlikely she was still there only a year before the events of the game start. (Again, I doubt it myself. But I needed it for the story.) You can probably tell at the beginning that, before the plot wormed its way in, she was initially written to seem younger than seventeen. I haven’t changed that (yet). 

So... now what I have to decide is whether to complete the story in this choppy, scene-to-scene format, or scrap it and do more development in a longer story. Therefore, I will happily accept the most scathing criticism you can throw at me. (I mean, I would anyway, but for this, I’m asking for it! Please tell me if Edelgard is just... completely unrecognizable.) 

This is also... well, you may see this story as choppy for other reasons. Personal reasons I will go into at a future time. Whether you like it or not, let’s say this story is something of a rebirth. And with birth comes starting anew. Never a quick and easy process. Shaky steps.  

All that said, if it does work - I hope you enjoy. This is not my usual style of writing at all, so it was kind of fun to just write the exciting parts. Even if the real excitement won’t begin until later. 

Part 1/?

Rating: TBD (this part is probably a T, just for the beginning)

-

She tensed at the sound of footsteps, biting back a whimper - even that would hurt. She was too weak to lift her head, time now a blur of slippery consciousness. The footsteps were the first thing she had heard in... in what seemed a very long time. She could no longer say how long. There was just herself - and the silence. 

They’re all dead. 

I’m dying, too. Then the rats will eat me. 

The rats were gone, for now. Sated by the flesh of the others - the tortured, mutilated remains of those who had been her brothers and sisters, left to rot around her. She no longer opened her eyes. She told herself she had grown accustomed to the smell. 

Perhaps she wanted to die. To be quiet and still, as they were - to feel no more pain. No more fighting the shackles. No more screaming beneath the needles, the knives, the magic. No more agony sent coursing through her with every frantic beat of her heart. 

She lived, though. Whatever she might long for - she lived. 

And they were coming for her again. 

She hugged her arms around herself, curling up as small and tight as the chains would allow, despite the pain of movement - it was almost involuntary. She had begged, at the start. Begged them not to hurt her. Begged for the others to be alright. Begged for her father to save her. But it did nothing. So now, she lay silent, and still, and alone. 

The steps were coming closer now, echoing in the stone corridor. But something curious about them - they seemed almost... hesitant?

Father?

Her breath caught, hope like a taper within her scarred, aching chest. But just as quickly, it was gone again: the voice she heard was not her father - nor any she had ever heard before. 

“The lock,” it said - deep and rough, even in hardly more than a whisper. “Be quick about it. We don’t have much time.”

“I know, I know.” A woman’s voice now, but just as rough. It made her think of the kitchen girls gossiping under their breath, their accents so harsh it sometimes seemed almost a language of its own. “Shut up. Lemme work.”

The soft clattering of metal pushed slowly, carefully against metal - an even softer click - then the familiar scrape as the door separated from its thick iron base. 

“Wait here,” the first voice said. 

“You’re the boss.”

A candle - he had a candle. How long had it been since she’d seen natural light? The ones who kept them here used strange, glowing orbs, set high against the walls, casting only faint, greenish light to the floor below. She wanted to stare at that bright little flame, despite the pain against her eyes. But it was too much. She looked at the man instead. 

It was hard to make out details of his features, candle or not, but there was clearly a harshness to them that matched his voice. Sharp eyes, scarred face. 

Scars. 

She opened her mouth, but no sound could force its way past the rough, swollen surface of her throat. She didn’t know him, but he wasn’t one of them, and that was enough to relight that taper, deep inside her. 

Those tentative steps again - he held the candle out, casting it around the cavernous room, empty of all but chains... and corpses. 

And her. 

“What the hell?” He was breathing shallowly, through his mouth, and suddenly she was very aware that the stench was still there. A trickle of the nausea she had felt the first time she smelled it, realized what it was, once more twisted through her belly. Like her whimper, she fought it back - dry-heaving had more than once made her pass out from the pain. If she passed out, he might think she was dead, too. She would be left. 

Please! But still, she could force out no words. 

“They sure didn’t mention this...” the man said. She didn’t look down to see what he saw. She didn’t want to see, truly, what they had become: the sisters who had braided flowers into her hair and showed her how to knock apples from the trees. The brothers who had called her silly names and sometimes read her stories. That was not all there had been, but it seemed, now, all she could remember: the childhood things she had not known to treasure. Things that could never come again. Things that no matter how many times she told herself to forget, her mind seemed simply incapable. 

“What is it?” the woman asked, sotto voce, from the doorway. 

“Pretty sure it’s the Hresvelg kids. But they’re all long - wait.”

Sudden light, full in her eyes, and she gasped and shied back. Bolts of agony - in her head. In what remained of the rest of her. 

When the opened her eyes again, he was crouching before her, holding the candle carefully aside. His own eyes were brown - and softer, friendlier, than any she had seen for a long, long time. 

She felt her lip tremble, but resisted the urge to cry. Crying hurt, too. And besides - like begging, it did nothing at all. 

“Hey,” the man said. “What’s your name?”

For the first time in days - weeks - months - she found her voice again: 

“Edelgard.”

-

“What’ll you do with her, Jeralt?”

Jeralt - the first time she had learned the man’s name. They had made a makeshift sling for her across his back; she was too weak to walk, much less to ride, and so was strapped in a blanket like some swaddled infant. She might have cared more if all of her focus was not on staying conscious - even at a slow pace, every step the horse took sent nauseating agony pulsing through her. 

The man - Jeralt - seemed to consider for awhile, then sighed heavily. “I was going to bring them back to Remire if they needed some patching up before I figured it all out, so I guess I’ll take her home with me. Maybe some company her own age will open the kid up a little bit.” 

“If this one survives. She’s in pretty bad shape, Jeralt.”

“She can hear you, you know. Anyway - just another reason to keep her with me, at least for now. It might be hard to hide 11 children just reappearing, but one? Simple accident. Poison made to look like some common ailment. Anyone who kills 10 children - 10 Imperial children, no less - doesn’t seem likely to care about killing one more. I’ll figure out what to do when she’s gotten some of her strength back.”

It was night - Edelgard could see the outlines of trees against the sky, and the stars above them. The world smelled of wet leaves, the earth, a clean chill that spoke of autumn. Despite her discomfort, she couldn’t ignore it - couldn’t stop a frisson of... of almost hope. 

“Still back there?”

“Yes,” she said.

At some point, she slept.

-

She woke to blue eyes, far too close to her own. 

Her first instinct was to scramble away - but even attempting to push back with her arms brought a cry of pain she could do nothing to suppress. She hunched her shoulders and closed her eyes once more, breathing in harsh gasps, until the sharpest of the agony subsided, leaving the familiar, dull ache that she had come to know so well. 

“Sorry.”

“You don’t sound particularly sorry.” The words out before she could stop them, somehow defensive of her own childish behavior - but it was true. She heard no apology in that voice. 

“Huh?”

Edelgard finally forced her eyes open again. The others, thankfully, had retreated - instead of looming over her, they now watched from beside the bed. They belonged to a girl about her own age, perhaps a little older - though without a current date, Edelgard had long since lost track of how old she now was. The girl had messy hair that matched those blue eyes and well-patched clothing. She was still staring quite unabashedly. 

“My father said he’d be back soon,” she said - as if already dismissing her attempt at an apology. 

“Your father?”

“Jeralt. He said you might be thirsty when you woke up. No food yet. Are you thirsty?”

Non-sequiturs. It took Edelgard a moment - thinking was hard enough through the haze of pain. Was she thirsty? She had found herself, at times, lapping at puddles on the floor, desperate, telling herself it was moisture seeping through stone, and nothing more. 

Silent, painful attempts to speak, the night of her rescue...

“Yes,” she said - trying to hide the sudden, urgent realization of need. “Please.”

“I have to be careful.” Another strange, contextless statement - then the girl was up and gone, right out the open door to the outside. Edelgard could see the grass there, and the dark trunks of trees just beyond. 

For the first time, she wondered exactly where she was. She looked around - a small cottage, perhaps? No more than a cabin? There was a semblance of two rooms, but no complete wall or doorway between them. She seemed to be in the smaller of the two. There was little to see - rough, chinked-wood walls; beams across the low ceiling; one bed besides her own, and what looked like a pallet on the floor between them. The next room was only in partial view: a fireplace, a table and two chairs, cured meat and dried vegetables hanging from ropes strung across the walls. 

She had never been anywhere like this. But it wasn’t the hell beneath the palace in Enbarr - sunlight streamed through the narrow window next to her bed, and across the threshold of the open door on the other side of the room. She could feel the warmth; hold one weak hand up and watch it cast a shadow across the quilt around her. That was what she must focus on. 

Sunlight. 

Freedom. 

The strange girl returned, now with a bowl and a ladle. She stopped short of the bed, and seemed to consider for a moment, looking towards the other room. “Do you want a cup? I think at least one is clean.”

Edelgard shook her head. Best to try not to think about it all just now. Best just to pretend that of course she knew how to drink from a ladle. Best to ignore the protests of her swollen throat as she swallowed - and to ignore as well the water that spilled down her chin, her chest. It was cold. 

“Slowly,” the girl said. If she noticed the mess Edelgard was making, she said nothing. 

-

Cleaning her wounds was like yet another round on those tables, strapped down and screaming. Except... it wasn’t like that at all. Somehow. Despite the pain. 

“Do I need to have her hold you down?” Jeralt asked, nodding his head towards the strange girl - Byleth. Her name was Byleth. “This is going to hurt like pure hell.”

“No!” Too frantic - Edelgard stuffed it back: the terror of it. Her wrists and ankles were still raw, where the chains had bitten and rubbed away the skin. “I... I can stay still.”

The washing wasn’t so bad - it hurt, and a lot, but he was careful and quick. She could finally see the full extent of what had been done to her: her legs, her arms, and most of all her chest were a tangled web of scars and puffy, red-and-purple half-healed incisions. She could hardly stand to even look at them. 

No one here had asked what they meant. She wasn’t going to tell them. She might not ever tell anyone. Anyone who knew was already dead - or would be very soon. 

Worse than the washing was the brown glass bottle - spirits. Strong ones; just the smell made her eyes water. “Sure you can stay still?” he asked the first time. 

She nodded. She was not sure at all. But she would. 

He took her hand, extending her arm out, over the floor. There was a tub there. His fingers were gentle, but held her firmly. 

“Won’t take long,” he said. 

She held her breath. 

On her other side - another hand slid into hers. She looked over, startled. 

Byleth. Her eyes met Edelgard’s. She was almost... smiling?

The alcohol was like acid against her swollen, abused skin. Her back arched, and she fought desperately the urge to twist away - and to scream. Still, her mouth opened, a silent cry, and she felt the tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Each of her legs. Her other arm. A rag, wiping agony against her chest. By the end, she was shaking with voiceless sobs, her body trembling all over. 

Byleth never let go, except to move to her other side, even after Jeralt said, “There we go, kid. I’m sorry about that.”

Edelgard kept her eyes closed, as if that did any good against the tears seeping from them. She felt scoured - flayed open, every nerve set ablaze. 

“He does the same to me.” Byleth’s monotone voice - but did Edelgard imagine the hand around hers squeezed, just slightly? “When I get hurt on missions. I took a sword to the back of my shoulder last summer, and he did that twice a day for two months. He does it to himself, too. You should hear him curse.”

It was by far the most Edelgard had ever heard her say at one time. But what caught her attention was - “Missions?”

“Mercenary missions.”

“You’re... mercenaries? You are? I mean - you, not just your father?”

“Yeah. For... awhile. I don’t remember exactly how long. Do you want some soup? You can try having some food now. But only a little bit at a time.”

Even when Byleth’s hand left hers, Edelgard could feel the warmth of it against her palm. 

A blur of weeks - she still slept often, and drank water almost ravenously. Food, even soup, was more difficult to reacquaint herself with; her stomach seemed to twist and clench, rejecting it. 

“Take what you can,” Jeralt said. “Just take what you can.”

Her wounds were healing - leaving raised, jagged scars, tattoos she did not need, would never need, to remember the place from whence they came. But there were no more baths of spirits, at least; just water now, every morning. It almost felt good: to be clean. To be cared for. 

As weeks became months, Jeralt encouraged her to begin walking again, to rebuild the muscle that had wasted away. Her legs and arms were so skeletal, fragile, she had almost grown afraid to even attempt to use them. 

But Byleth said, “Here,” and held out an arm. 

Edelgard hesitated - then placed a hand upon it. 

She would have been embarrassed by how tightly she clung, if she wasn’t focusing the entirety of her attention on her trembling, stiff, knock-kneed legs. She understood than how a foal must feel, stumbling to its feet for the first time after birth. 

Outside the window, she could see that winter had arrived: the trees bare, the sky low and grey. They must be well north of Enbarr - there was snow on the ground, more than she had seen since her time spent in the Kingdom. But nothing gave any greater clue as to where they might be. She hadn’t asked - she wasn’t sure she truly wanted to know. Not yet. 

When walking grew easier, Jeralt had her lift books or small pieces of firewood, to strengthen her arms. Byleth did the same, though surely it wasn’t necessary - even so young, Byleth was already all lean, hard muscle. Edelgard found herself watching how it moved, though she couldn’t say why. Envy, perhaps?

She didn’t understand many of her emotions, now. She kept them to herself. But she liked Byleth’s company, curious as it was, and she liked that odd little almost-smile Byleth sometimes gave her. 

She also watched, through the window, as Byleth trained at weapons: sometimes with Jeralt, more often alone. Jeralt was gone quite a lot - missions? - but Byleth stayed behind. She practiced most often with a sword, but occasionally with the axe used for cutting wood, or a long, sharpened stick in place of a proper lance. 

As the snow melted and daffodils began to peek through the crust of frozen earth, Edelgard felt almost whole again - or as whole as she was now likely to ever be. She still ached sometimes, but it was dull - bearable. She went outside, and could walk the perimeter of the little cottage six or seven times before beginning to feel exhausted. She woke in the morning eager for breakfast, plain as the fare on offer truly was. 

But with all of this came clearer mind - including the nagging reminder of the vow she had sworn, beneath the palace, as her family lay dying around her. A vow she would keep, even if it ultimately meant her death as well. The time had come - the time for true preparation to begin. 

The first almost spring-like day, warm and breezy - that was when she finally asked Byleth, “Will you teach me how to use weapons, as you do?”

Byleth lowered the makeshift lance, for a moment looking almost confused. “Why?”

“Because... because I'd like to learn. And it would continue to... to build my strength up.” She should have prepared an excuse in advance, instead of stammering all over herself. 

But Byleth, as usual, seemed not to notice. “Okay,” she said. “What would you like to start with?”

And so Edelgard began, slowly, to prepare for the future.

To prepare for vengeance.

-

It was late spring when she finally confessed. It was only two months until the Garland Moon, and her birthday seemed as appropriate a time as any to leave. She could not put this off any longer - it was time to accept that. 

But she also could not stand the thought of leaving Byleth without warning. Especially since...

“Kid?” Jeralt’s voice, late in the night - soft, but Edelgard no longer slept deeply or soundly, and woke at the slightest noise. “Hey - this again?”

In the meager moonlight seeping between the closed curtains, Edelgard could see Jeralt standing beside the pallet where Byleth now slept, half-bent over her. Byleth was on the pallet, just as she should have been. But she was sitting up, and her eyes were open. Open wide. The meager moonlight seeping through the curtains seemed to catch in them, so that their deep blue appeared almost green. 

It was not the first time it had happened - and if anything, the frequency of it was increasing. Each time, it lasted only a few minutes, then Byleth would begin to stir and murmur, as if waking from perfectly normal sleep. She saw a girl, she said - but never elaborated, and Jeralt did not ask, and Edelgard did not know if it was her place to do so, despite her curiosity... and her concern. 

She liked Byleth. She liked Byleth... in ways, and for reasons, she did not understand. That hand holding hers. An arm to help her stand again. Strange, wordless smiles. For the better part of a year now, Byleth had been here, a constant companion, helping, serving, teaching. 

And now, when Byleth might be the one in need, Edelgard was leaving. She had to. But she owed Byleth at least an attempt at explanation of why.

“I would like to show you something,” Edelgard finally said one morning, as they were finishing breakfast. Just the two of them, Jeralt gone again; Edelgard was not ready to face both of them, though she suspected Jeralt already knew much of what she was going to say. 

“Okay.” Byleth cleared away the table, accepting the request as easily as always. “Where?”

“Outside.”

It felt almost like summer - hot, the air still and heavy. Perhaps that was why Edelgard could feel the sticky discomfort of perspiration against her hands as she lifted the now-familiar old axe they used for practice. 

She had never allowed herself to do this before, yet she knew herself capable of it: gathering all the power now contained within her. 

The power of two Crests. 

She drew the axe back, and hurled it before she could second guess herself. 

Capable. Yes - the strength they had whispered of with such hungry need...

The axe flew, a blur of silvery-blue, and sliced completely through the slender trunks of two young trees before stopping, with a reverberating thunk, deep inside another.  

Edelgard left it there and turned to Byleth, speaking the words before she could fight them back: “I have to leave. And soon. There... there is something I must do.”

Byleth just stared at her for what seemed a long time, her expression almost... concerned? It was hard to say. It was always hard to say. 

“I know who you are,” she finally said. “And I know where my father found you. That’s why we came here - because it was safe for the Hresvelg children, if they needed to be kept hidden. But you were the only one who lived.”

Edelgard looked down, afraid her expression would offer more than she was yet prepared to give. “Yes.” At least that part she wouldn’t have to try to explain. How long had Byleth known? “They were doing... experiments. They wanted...” She took a deep breath, and forced her head back up, her eyes meeting Byleth’s. “They wanted a weapon.”

She told it all: the experiments. The deaths. The dungeons. She told it before the begging voice in the back of her mind could gain control. By the end, she was looking down once more: at her arms, crossed tightly against her chest. 

At the scars. 

“Two months until you go looking for them?” Byleth asked, when Edelgard was finally silent once more. 

“Yes. Two months and a bit.”

“Go get the axe.”

Edelgard looked up then, surprised - it sounded almost like an order. But Byleth stared right back - then turned and left. Walked into the house without another word. 

Edelgard blinked. 

Then, she did as told. It took three tries to jerk the axe from the tree. She didn’t want to use her Crests again. Even with no one watching, she felt self-conscious now. Vulnerable and exposed. She bit her lip and took a deep breath before turning back. 

Byleth had gotten a charred remnant of log from the fireplace, and used it to draw a large X on a tree - a far bigger one than those Edelgard had severed, and far closer to the clearing where they trained. 

“Can you hit that?”

Again, Edelgard was surprised. She looked at the tree, then back to Byleth. “I... I suppose so?”

But the axe flew far to the left of the target. Edelgard did her best to keep her expression neutral, but there was no way to hide the flush that rose in her cheeks. “I... perhaps I am tired. My apologies.”

Byleth cocked her head, considering, apparently, the untouched target. “That’s what we should focus on,” she said. “Before you leave. Your aim. We can do that in two months.”

But they didn’t have two months.

-

Edelgard was half-awake in bed, drowsy, blanket pulled to her face. Jeralt was packing to leave again, and quiet as he was, it had been enough to keep her from sleep. Byleth was in the other room, preparing food for his journey. 

An ordinary evening - until came the desperate, frantic pounding at the door. 

Edelgard sat bolt upright, sleep forgotten, her heart pounding at the sudden noise and the accompanying, baseless, terrified thought: They’ve found me. She pulled the blanket to her shoulders, like a child after a nightmare. Byleth was standing in the partition between the two rooms, and Edelgard tried to focus on her - bright, alert eyes. Her hands by her side... but one held a knife. 

It was Jeralt who opened the door. 

Edelgard tensed. Blood pounding in her ears - she could hardly understand what they were saying. Something about an attack...?

It’s just boys. Just three boys. Nothing dangerous about them. Dressed in uniform, though they did not appear to be military. Something familiar about it, though - had she seen such uniforms before? When she was younger, maybe?

One of them - the tallest among them, his unkempt blond hair falling across his face - was scanning the room, as the other two talked to Jeralt. 

Jeralt sighed. “Guess I’ll have to leave a little later than planned. Kid, you -”

The blond boy pushed past him - his eyes had locked on Edelgard. She met his gaze, letting the blanket drop, and lifted her chin. A boy. Not dangerous. 

Jeralt tried to grab his arm. Missed. “Hey -!”

Byleth had the knife up. 

The boy ignored them. And now Edelgard could see the shock in his expression. 

He stopped a few feet from the bed. His eyes were huge, his cheeks flushed. 

He spoke one word - one word that chilled her more deeply than the coldest winter day. 

“...El?”

[ray-ray-writings]

700 Friend Behind the Scene Special!

Hello there! So a little bit of back story, everything I write is written in a google doc because it automatically saves everything and I can think clearer when I’m typing in a document. Sometimes when I’m writing, I’ll get tired or get stuck or write something I don’t like. So I’ll make a note to myself of what I was writing so I can come back to it later, or write out the basic idea of what I want to happen so I can visualize it in words better, or hit enter a few times and re-write somethings. So in celebration of me hitting 700 friends I have gathered a few of those things so that I can share with you a little bit of my thought process, but also so you might have a laugh or may see where some of your favorite stories almost went. I don’t know if any of you will actually like this or actually care, but I thought that it was something cool lol. So here you go! I hope you enjoy!!!

Notes to Self/Prompts to Myself

A Dedicated and Domesticated Pig: *Note to future self so I know what I was going for. He’s making breakfast with your child on your hip. I’m thinking a daughter named something with Phil’s name maybe or maybe just a T name. Then you two are leaving for a festival in L’Manberg where Philza interacts with your daughter. And the night ends with you three cuddled up together and you’re reminiscing on how he asked you out and then it all comes full circle somehow using the words dedicated because we’re that kind of simp*

Gift of Friendship: Techno- “I made friendship bracelets”. “I don’t wear jewelry” “oh okay. I can take it back. You don’t have to wear it I’ll take it back-“ “no I will wear this until the day I die

Notes in general: There are a lot of *Insert title here* or *Insert really cool and creative title here*

There is also a lot of *Insert really nice summary here that sums everything up but is also clever*

Actually Pretty Funny: I knew I wanted to use “Tommy leave me alone” “Tommy told me you were in here crying” “That little snitch” but I didn’t know where so I made a note to use it. 

What Could Have Been or Almost Was

This has a few pieces of writing but is mostly about what I almost titled the pieces you know and love. 

Stolen Goods: I was about to retort but the sound of the nether portal activating cut my words off.

“We’re back!” I heard my younger brother call out. Techno and I walked together toward the portal to greet our brothers, but they weren’t alone. “Hey guys! Oh hey Dream,” I greeted the three, setting my chest down next to the wood I brought in earlier. “Hey Y/N/N? Get what we asked for?” Tommy asked, walking toward me. I simply stared at him and then looked at the pile of wood beside me. “No” I deadpanned. 

I then turned to my chest and quickly put my axe away. “Then what’s that?” Tommy questioned in confusion. I rolled my eyes, closed my chest and turned to him. “What you asked for dummy” “But you just said no?” “I was being sarcastic!” I exclaimed, moving toward him and slightly pushing him. “Well I didn’t know that!” Tommy exclaimed, pushing me back. “Hey! Hey! Hey! Stop pushing each other.” Wilbur demanded, “Just say thank you and move on Tommy.” Tommy huffed but said, “Thank you Y/N.” “You’re welcome Tommy.” 

“So is this how you four interact all the time?” Dream questioned, moving closer to the two of us. I let out a laugh and turned to the masked man, “Yeah. Pretty much. Sometimes we get along, but sometimes they get on my nerves.” I informed the man, while playfully glaring at 

A Hairy Situation: I had a lot of trouble coming up with a cool title for “a Hairy Situation” . It almost was like “Braided Together” or something like that but I was like, it’s about hair. It’s a situation. It’s a Hairy Situation.

Either Lean on Me or 3am conversation I don’t remember: Tommy did something. He did something bad” Tubbo admitted. I nodded to show the young man I was listening to, “Okay,” I prompted. “Tommy was messing around and he accidentally set George’s house on fire.” My eyes widened at Tubbo’s words. “His new house?” I asked in disbelief. Tubbo nodded, staring into his cup. “Dream is pissed.” He continued. “He gave me an ultimatum. He said that either we go to war or…” Tubbo’s words died on his tongue. “Or what?” I asked, attempting to gently prompt the boy. “What’s the other option Tubbo?” “Or exile Tommy.” His words hit me like a ton of bricks.

Missing You: This fic was almost titled “Radio silence” and was almost irl and was about the day that he got that prank pulled on him where everyone in his Discord was muted and not talking to him. And I almost wrote it so you’re in that call and you are participating in the prank and he just guilt trips you so hard that you unmute and are like “I’m so sorry!” 

Better Than a Dedicated Chicken was almost titled “A Funtime Festival”. But then I was like, ‘I hate that. Since it’s a sequel I want to keep a theme… Maybe something about dedication.’ and thus this was born. 

Faking Happy- I almost left it on the sad ending where Sam flies away using his trident and you collapse and sob by yourself in the rain. And then I added more to it because I was sad. 

Protect You was almost titled “Looking out for you” but I thought that might be too clunky and so I shorten it and stuff.

Wither or Not almost ended without the whole ‘techno goes to your house to comfort you’ scene at the end and almost ended in angst, but I was too sad to do that because I knew the next Techno piece I was writing was going to end in angst. 

Not Your Fault almost was going to be a different story completely than what it became. I thought a lot about how to do it but the ways I wanted to write it and the way the anon who requested it probably wanted it but I couldn’t make the prompts fit well in the way I wanted to write it. I thought about having you be on a bridge drinking alone because you had to exile your brothers and Schlatt approaches you there and you’re like “leave me alone. I hate you” and he’s like “no you don’t” and it’s a bit angsty, but then I couldn’t figure out how to fit “I had to see you again in that”. And then I thought about having him exile you and come and see you with a “I had to see you again” but then he would know where pogtopia is and we can’t have that. So then I thought maybe you’d visit him before he gets killed but then I couldn’t figure out how to fit the prompts that way either. So I finally settled on what it became. 

Chat’s a Snitch was almost titled “My New Boyfriend’s a Songwriter” and instead of being in established relationship, him seeing you sing his song would be how you two meet and he would fall in love with you and write you a song, but then that wouldn’t have really been what the request was and I didn’t want to deviate that much from the request and I think I was feeling a bit lazy that day so I wrote what it is. 

Defending Family was another one I had a hard time coming up with a cool and clever title for. At one point I considered titling it “i will physically fight you”

Crossed Lines was almost called “Hold tight” because I had this idea that maybe when Dream kidnapped you he put you somewhere high and at once point you dangle over the edge, about to fall and so they scream ‘hold tight’ and yeah. I decided not to though because I wasn’t sure how I would go about putting the reader there and getting them down. But once I wrote it due to the amount of times I said “that’s crossing a line” I decided to title it crossed lines. I think this piece is actually one of my least favorites because I’m not sure if I liked how it turned out but idk man. 

Totem Troubles was almost called “To Hell and Back” because in the request they wanted me to include hints of the story of Orpheus and Euridice but when I was unable to do that, I had to come up with a new title and I really had a hard time with that. 

The Next Step was almost called “Come Live with Me” because I loved the musical ‘Hadestown’. At first I wanted that particular imagine to have more Techno/reader scenes, but then I had a hard time figuring out how to bring up the things and then it felt too short. Then I was like “What if he just talks to Phil about it” and boom it was written. I’m still a huge musical nerd so I titled it “The Next Step” because in a Beetlejuice song two of the main characters are thinking of making a huge step in their relationship and that line is repeated over and over so I stole it…. :). Also for this one I had to literally just take a step back and write out a full ass summary because I was having really really bad writer’s block because I had no idea what I was doing. Unfortunately I don’t have that, I wish I did because it was really funny because it was a summary of the story but it was like “And so Philza’s like bro. Dude. Just tell them” and then Techno’s like “No dad. Stay out of my business” and Philza’s like “Bro. Look around at your house. You love them” 

Warming Up didn’t become the title of that piece until the very end. When I read requests I always give them a ‘working title’ that may or may no become the real title when they’re finished and ready to be posted. This one however had a title that was just a joke for myself. It was titled “The Weasel” because Y/N was weaseling her way into Techno’s home and then later his heart. 

Calling Philza Dad Drabble: When you greet him though, you always greet him with a hug usually calling out from the door way, “Dad! I’m home!” Very cheesy like. And he comes around the corner and you two hug. And then after you hug, you are like “I missed you!!!” to Phil. And Phil touches his heart and is like, “That’s so nice to hear. 

So you usually come over everyday. Everyday when you come over, you always shout out, “Dad! I’m home!” And he rushes out but there are days you don’t and so the next time you d

There was a time though that you had to go out of town for like a week and so you didn’t come over at all and both Techno and Philza found themselves missing you. So the day comes where you get home and you come barreling in the door. You can see Philza in the kitchen cooking something and he quickly turns to the door in shock. You simply grin at him and shout, “DAD! I’M HOME!!!” And he immediately rushed out of the kitchen and pulls you into a great big, warm hug which you instantly returned. “I missed you so so so much!” You announced as you squeeze him tightly. 

Warming up working description: Y/N is dying in the snow and Philza’s like “We gotta save them!” and Techno’s like “Why is that our problem?” but helps anyway and then falls in love with Y/N…. Ya know, cliches and shit

I hope you enjoyed reading this monstrosity! Would this be something you guys are interested in seeing? Like a behind the scenes version of my writing. Like I save things like this when I write them and when I have a good chuck I post them? Up to you guys, let me know!

[bangtanxm]

Bookclub; February Highlight

February is the month of love and as we all know, love doesn’t happen over night. Whether it is angst, sexual tension or pining we all love to be on the edge of our seat hoping and begging that they would finally get together. So, naturally this month theme was “Slow Burn” and these are our our monthly fanfic recommendations from our bangtanxm; bookclub!

In the following you find a list of fics we recommend and reviewed this month. Please support these amazing authors! With every monthly recommendation, there is also a drabble game that everyone can participate in. You’ll find the masterlist at the end of the reviews. Happy Reading!

BOOKCLUB; recommendations

TIDES WILL BRING ME BACK TO YOU by @sujigguk​ [aka @ftyoonmin​]

— Summary; Fate is a funny thing. Humble fisherman, Yoongi, learns this when one evening, it's not a fish that sits at the end of his hook, but a bottle, containing a note claiming that a creature of the sea by the name of Jeongguk has been left stranded on land and is soon to draw his last breath.

bookclub; review

“This story immediately pulls you in with the amazing story-telling. Lou has a way of writing so beautifully detailed that it makes you imagine the amazing scenes in your head vividly. On top of that, it is a really heart wrenching love story, mixed with a wonderful fantasy theme of siren Jungkook and his fishermen Yoongi.” [@softjeon​]

“Wow. So, Tides Will Bring Me Back to You has been on my to read list for quite a while. I regret my choices in not reading it until now. This fic was an absolute work of art. The singular amazing thing I want to point out is the attention to detail. So, we as readers expect fics to be good, especially AUs. Like we want some world building and detail so that we can visualize the setting and location and what is going on with the characters that are being put into this new world. This fic was able to do that but MORE. The attention to the setting detail was unbelievable. There was so much in terms of vivid descriptors and explanations that painted this super vivid and pretty image in my mind. I’m scared of the ocean to be honest, so I have never gone out on a ship beyond like, a lake. And have only ever seen the ocean from the safe confines of the beach. But because of the detail in this fic, I was able to visualize it so perfectly and vividly, it felt like I was really there.I really enjoyed Jungkook as well. Obviously he’s a gorgeous young man in real life, right? Which is why I liked this fic because it wasn’t this stunning perfect man from the waist up, you know? He had the scaly back, the webbed fingers, the sharp and kinda creepy teeth, etc. I think that this made it more “realistic”, as realistic as a mermaid fic can get of course, but like… I don’t know, it felt more real and added a layer of uniqueness to the fic that a lot of supernatural AUs tend to lack in fanfic terms. Also, the ending. Some might struggle with this because it was so ambiguous (no spoilers of course) but I really liked it. Though I’m sure the author had like a set “this is how it is” ending or explainer, I like that it’s this sort of grey area for readers to think on and figure out.” [anon]

“Omg, I really loved this fic. It's a bit longer than I normally read because work sort of keeps me away from reading more than writing haha but I really loved how Yoongi had this NEED to help a stranger he had no idea existed or not. Then to watch their love blossom that way and Yoongi protect Jungkook. It's also cute that Jungkook calls Yoongi 'My Yoongi' and Yoongi first thought it was a mispronunciation of his name. I do love mercreatures too, so that also drew me to this one. I loved the details and the tidbits of background we get from Yoongi and his love for the sea/sea creatures. Sorry, this is just all over the place.” [anon]

BABY BLUE by @chimknj​

— Summary; Jimin is blue. He’s loyal to his customers and confident in everything he does. Namjoon is white. He’s pristine and maintains a perfect balance in life. When the two come together, they create baby blue, a color of freshness and something new. It’s new for both of them, but not all new things are bad.

bookclub; review

“What an amazing story! Even though Minjoon is basically already "together", although Namjoon is just paying Jimin to be there, it is just heartbreaking to read about how Jimin tries to get to know the other more, trying to get him out of his shell and falling in love while he is doing it. All while Namjoon tries to stick to his rules making it so much harder for Jimin, himself and the reader....cause damn!!! I could have screamed the characters sometimes and it literally hurt my hurt so much each time Namjoon pushed Jimin away ;; I can't.... I wanna cry just thinking about it again.” [@softjeon​]

“...beautifully written plot, where you just want to punch Namjoon in the face until he finally reveals his true feelings.” [anon]

“I didn’t mean to consume over 70,000 words in one sitting. I honestly didn’t. Over a few days, over a week. Space it. But I knew I was lost at the end of chapter one, the same way Namjoon knew he was lost the second Jimin’s cute hands started unbuttoning his shirt after date night.Honestly. This fic had everything. I laughed a lot, I cried way more than I’d like to admit to, I had the urge to take a cold shower more than once, I wanted to take Joon by his perfectly ironed lapels and shake the ever-loving crap out of him. Honestly though, it felt like a full-length novel. I mean it was, by length, but also by content. The world that was created was beautifully devised and detailed, and everything from the various business names to the design of the apartments was so easy to visualize due to the richness of the descriptors. Personally, I appreciate that. It adds to the ‘movie playing in my head’ way that I like to read.The smut was unbelievably well written. It was sexy without feeling too unrealistically “porn film fantasy” if that makes sense. Like the progression felt natural and easy rather than being rushed or faked like some fics tend to do. It was clear the author did the required research in terms of D/s and wrote what felt very accurately.I loved the involvement of the other members, I think they all played really great, vital roles as side characters. And honestly, they were so rich in their own right that I would love spin offs about their own arrangements with their respective partners!The ending was absolutely sweet and perfect too. I spent the whole fic praying it’d end in a way that was satisfactory to my wrenching heart and I feel like it gave me every single thing I wanted and more.” [anon]

EVERYGREEN by @softjeon​ & @cassiavioletblue​

— Summary; Yoongi felt that something was wrong the moment he had stepped foot into the garden. He hated that this sense of foreboding could mean anything and he had seen enough to have a very vivid imagination of what could wait in the bushes for him. His grip was tight and ruthless but when he felt he weight of something heavier he startled. In front of him on the grass, bloody and shaking was a deer hybrid; a boy, obviously younger than himself and apparently in a lot of pain.

bookclub; review

“Whuff. There's hybrid fics. And then there's THIS hybrid fic. I know that hybrid fics are one of those things you either love em or hate em, I honestly couldn't find a thing to dislike about this fic even if I tried. Firstly Yoongi as the grumpy on the outside (but squishy on the inside) raccoon is perfection. Imagining his markings and those growls and grumbles -- it's so endearing. And then there's JK who, a deer? Oh come on, I'm soft. Imagining him with the broken little antler and those soft, cute markings V_V It's tooth rotting, I swear. But for all the fluff and sweetness, there's this layer of angst and hesitation that makes this feel like such a deep, melancholy slowburn. The will they - won't they, the pull of each and push back, the "I can't" and "I want" -- GUH. Really, it's just so sweet and perfect.” [@kimlinebiased​]

“I read Evergreen as it came out. It seemed like such a cute take on a trope that’s pretty common in our fandom, but one I’m less comfortable with, so I was really eager to see these authors’ take on it, since I knew I love their work already. The story opened up with action that sucked you in almost immediately, but it really balanced that with some slower, almost peaceful moments. I think that’s a really big draw of this story, really these authors overall, but this one in particular. They have a handle on the ebb and flow of the story. What I mean is, things happen and it’s exciting and oh god cliffhanger, but then things slow down and give the reader a second to breathe (but not too long, because then it would get boring). The balance between breathing space and action can be really hard to balance and I think these two do it really well.  For this particular story, I think my favorite character is actually Namjoon. Sure, he doesn’t have a huge part, but I think he’s super well written and quite in character to the canonical person. (All of them are in their own way, but he sticks out to me). He’s so supportive but not afraid to tell Yoongi the truth even if it’ll sting. Further, he isn’t perfect. He lets his heart get in the way of his head sometimes (like with Jimin) and it makes him really endearing and realistic in a refreshing way. I think that he’s one of those absolutely indispensable characters in this particular world. Like sometimes, it’s easy to switch members, have x play y’s part, y play b’s part, etcetera. But I think that Namjoon’s part was written so perfectly, it fits him like a glove and made it really enjoyable when he was on the page. The plot has some things that the reader can “call” so to speak – like you might read and know there’s gonna be trouble for JK, he’s gonna get tangled up in the mess in some way, but even thinking you know, it’s still done in a way that it doesn’t take away from the enjoyment and “oh no” factor when the big climax does finally get rolling. Just like you know pretty sure, it’ll end happy, I still found myself worried about ‘well what if it doesn’t’. And I think that’s a testament to the authors, really. They are able to take these fanfic tropes and make them feel fresh and new, so even if you feel like you might know what will happen, the way that they weave the story together makes those emotions still hit in a really palpable way.I’d also like to discuss the overall setting of the story. There’s only a few locations that the readers really get a feel for, but particularly the cabin. I think that the descriptions of the cabin and forest and general development of the backstory and setting was really well done. Things like hybrid or other non-human AU’s can be really tricky to keep interesting but still give the right amount of backstory and description so that they aren’t confusing. We as readers need to know the rules, but not have a history textbook, and I think this fic really accomplished that as well.Overall, I just really enjoyed the feeling and emotions that this fic caused. I think that it was able to really convey some important messages while still being woven into a sweet, unique love story. [anon]

THE JUSTITIA PUGNATORES by ShoshinLaurels [AO3]

— Summary; When stable boy Park Jimin's best friend, crowned Prince Kim Taehyung finds himself under threat in his own palace, his guards dropping like flies, the only option left is to call on the Justitia Pugnatores, the 'Justice Fighters.'Three men boasting incredible skill and legendary pasts come barrelling through the heart of the palace, shaking everything in their wake.As the dilemma of the princes impending chances of murder only escalates, Jimin finds himself wrapped up in a mess of secrets, heartache and suspiscion.If only Min Yoongi didn't complicate things. 

bookclub; review

“It's been a while since I read this, but I would happily read it in one sitting all over again. I'm a sucker for royal settings and I absolutely ADORED the dynamics of this one. It's just the right amount of angsty and fluffy, and keeps you hooked throughout.” [@sujigguk​]

“Damn these apples! I really loved this fic out of various of reasons, the relationship between the characters are amazingly written, the setting and overall plot is so well thought out and it just has the perfect mixture between angst, fluff and comedy… i mean, just the first chapter had me laughing so much.” @softjeon​

THE WAY GUCCI LOOKS ON YOU by @joonsrack​

— Summary; “Funny how even in this ridiculously absurd situation, life had made Taehyung a third-wheel. Or a sixth.If Bangtan Dry Cleaning was his fairy godmother, Jimin his little mouse, the jacket his magic dress and the club scene his ball, where the fuck was his prince charming?A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts.”

bookclub; review

“So, this fic is really is so cute. I started in on it just casually, but found myself entirely sucked in and couldn't put it down until I'd read all that was written on it. Taehyung specifically is such an interesting character - his thought processes and sass are just perfect. I adore Jimin as well. And then there's Jungkook, who is so -INSUFFERABLY ARROGANT- but not in a way that makes you dislike him. He's still so endearing and you WANT these guys to just get off their high horses and kiss or something, but you also kinda want Tae to pour water into his lap because he's such a rich boy. I love it so much. I can't wait for the next part.” [@kimlinebiased​]

“A story that could very well fit a movie! It’s everything you need on a sunday night! You laugh, you want to throw something at their rich faces and scream at the boys to just kiss already. A perfect Slow Burn!” [@softjeon​]

“The way that Gucci look on you (amazing) is such an adorable and absurd (in the best way) slow burn. It’s a wip now, and I honestly cannot wait until the author updates. The case of mistaken identity is such a good trope that honestly, I feel, isn’t done enough. Especially not in such a cute and fun way. Of all the ways for Tae to get outed as not who he said he was – this one was epic. Of course, it’s a slowburn, so you expect the endgame ship to you know, not be huge fans of one another, but the tension here is so palpable, it is awesome. Taehyung cannot stand that cocky little JK and JK’s arrogance is both hilarious and infuriating. But there’s very clearly something deeper to him, and I really like that the author is able to make that clear through hints and clues, rather than just outright saying it. It adds a depth to JK’s character that often gets missed in fics, especially because we know these guys so well, so to speak. Having those sort of subtle nuances really adds to the overall enjoyability of the fic. I think Jimin is such a great supporting character too. He’s the perfect mix of Jiminy Cricket and devil in your ear, so to speak, and his personality comes off as so honest to who he is canonically. It makes him so fun to read. (And the YoonMinSeok trio is helpful as well, what can I say, soft spot for poly even in side pairings). All in all, it’s just an absolutely stunning fic so far and I can’t wait for the author to continue it.” [anon]

UKIYO by Sharleena [AO3]

— Summary; A story of tender tides and unmoving hummingbirds.

bookclub; review

“I'm almost halfway into this story but I really have to rec it cause wow...if you like mafia and urban fantasy themes then this is THAT fic for you listen succbus jimin, mafia leader yoongi, a damn deeply laced mystery that I can't EVEN FREAKING FIGURE OUT I usually can connect a few dots in mystery stories sometimes bUT THIS STORY IS KILLING ME there is someone yoongi is looking for that's destroying his gang and he like DOESN'T FREAKING EXIST and I know once I reach the end I'll be like IT WAS RIGHT FREAKING THERE IN MY FACE lmao but seriously the authors' worldbuilding skills is freaking legendary and I'm always hoe for mixing different themes together and the mix of urban fantasy and mafia just ugh freaking beautiful. The Slow Burn is real in his fic, yoonmins' dynamics are annoying and frustrating as heck but can be really sweet sometimes because they're both very broken individuals and they're trying to find comfort in one another. The themes are obviously very dark so carefully read the tags and also author notes in the beginning so you know what to expect but seriously it's so damn worth it and I will be personally putting a long feedback directly on their Ao3 as well when I'm done because i know I'm going to have lots more to say. BUT SERIOUSLY THIS IS THE SHIIIITTTT SO FAR SO GOOD SO DAMN GOOD I FEEL FED EVERYTIME I READ IT GIVE IT A READ WHEN YOU CAN!!” [@flowerwrites06​]

FAKE SUGAR by minverse [AO3]

— Summary; "I guess," Jungkook pauses momentarily to inhale a deep, bracing breath, "I would just want you to come to my work events and laugh at my jokes and don't correct people if they imply that we're doing it.""Having sex, you mean," Jin clarifies gently, and Jungkook chokes on air. If his face was any redder, Jin would insist on taking him to the hospital. Jungkook clears his throat, obviously trying to play off the strangled, choked sound as a casual cough."Yes. Doing... sex."

bookclub; review

“I love a good concept for fic, and a face sugar dating  au sign me up!!! honestly this is one of my all-time favourite fics, cos its not only funny and entertaining but it has so much heart!!! like i just love the vibe of the fic, and i wish i could keep reading it forever. Plus the characters are so like-able and feel so human. Also jinkook holds a special place in my heart, and jk being all shy in the beginning and jins confidence is an unmatched pairing!!! EVERYONE JUST READ IT, ITS SO FUCKING GOOD, okay im done now sorry…" [@tinysweetscrown​]

“I read this a while ago, and also everything else by minverse... Everything they write is gold, the character construction, the dialogue, the relationship/chemistry, the humour, the plots...just everything. Fake Sugar kept me up at night with its brilliance and originality, i couldn't get enough of jin and jungkook's relationship, but also all the other members' interaction and storyline. It's expertly written and i sincerely think everyone should read it, if they have not already.” [anon]

“Aaaaaah i love this so much!!! I absolutely love the characterisation of jin!!! I find it very refreshing! In some ways it’s completely /jin/ yet in others it’s such a nee and fun way of describing him (the fact that hes a competition eater absolutely sends me its just. So! Jin!) i also love jungkook!!! Tiny gay babie kook having to impress ppl he doesnt want to impress and getting competitive over that dindjdjd once again i could genuienly see it happening! And oh boy oh boy am i excited to see how this story pans out! The little appearances by the rest of bangtan as well i love it! It all flows very naturally and none of the cameos feel forced or anything. AND JIMIN UDJDJDJD I LOVE HIM. the fact that hes just a chaotic brat having dumpster sex and causing trouble oh my god im still crying jsbsjsnjs.” [anon]

The Drabble-Game; MASTERLIST

— prompt; “Romantic attraction is literal: characters feel a pull like gravity to people they’re attracted to. The bigger the attraction, the harder the pull.”

Thank you to everyone who participated! Stay tuned for the next theme of the month to participate!

NUMINOUS written by @softjeon​ & @cassiavioletblue​

— Summary; “You’re fucking kidding me, are you?” He looked up at the ceiling and made an annoyed face. “You really want me to suffer do you? Stupid universe.”

— Join the Bookclub here! — official post — faq

[sengenweek]

SenGen Week: Day 07

Day 07: January 04

Senkuu's birthday / free choice (Nightshade)

-'-

Title: Murky Bedsheets.

-'-

A/N: Chronologically speaking you can place this before 'In Sickness And Health'.

-'-

The second time Gen celebrated Senkuu's birthday, his gift wasn't so flamboyant. This time around, the magician had surprised the scientist caught up in his little lab doing whatever science related stuff he was busy with this time around. Gen surrounded the scientist's neck and shoulders with his arms and blew into his ear. Earning him a jump from Senkuu.

"Dammit mentalist, you startled me" he complained.

"Hehe. Sorry. But it is pretty late, Senkuu-chan you should go to bed"

"Can't. I wanna finish this before tomorrow" Senkuu argues.

"It will still be here tomorrow, I assure you no one will touch it"

"Yes. And it will still be incomplete tomorrow"

Gen sighed, the scientist could be so stubborn some times. Yet he smiled to himself, he was good at getting Senkuu to do what he wanted.

"Fine. If you wanna have it that way. And here I wanted to relieve you from your stress~" he says, putting a hand to his chest, as if he'd been wounded.

The scientist turns to look at him –hand still on chest, and pouting lips– with escepticism, he knew the mentalist wanted to get something from him, he just didn't know what. But then again, Gen did help him relax in past occasions, so he supposed that adding one more wouldn't hurt much.

"Okay. I'll stop for tonight" he sighs.

"Good~!" the other beamed.

Gen pulled him up and took him to their shared hut –the observatory–. The first thing the scientist noticed were the many flowers laying around in the floor, in their bed. He turns to look at Gen, the smile on his face is mischievous and he can already imagine what will come next –what the blue eyed man wanted–. Gen's fingers trace the scars on his face –slow, gentle–, he pulls him for a kiss, one and then many, many kisses that steal his breath away –gloss his eyes–, and then Gen pulls him down into their bed. The mentalist's back hits the mattress first, then the scientist's palms feel the rough fabric beneath them, crushing some of the scattered nightshades –their murky perfume staining the sheets–.

"You need to relax more, Senkuu-chan"

"And would you help me out with that?" he teases.

"Happily~!"

The white-green haired man smiles, his nimble fingers working to get Gen's clothes off of him, taking his time undoing every layer, nibbling on the now exposed skin, marking with purple-red drawings the ivory canvas presented to him. The monocromatic bangs stick to Gen's forehead. The mentalist flips them over, so he contemplates Senkuu from above. With a swift motion of his hand, the belt on Senkuu's robe comes undone, the teen exposed.

"Soo~ convenient"

"More than the nine infernal layers you wear" he recriminates.

Gen laughs, a clear cristaline sound echoing on his ears. They kiss, they touch, Gen's fingers go south, where Senkuu's blood is pilling up, and he strokes, gentle, slow. Senkuu moans to the ministrations given to him, and decides not to get behind, his own fingers grapping around Gen's length teasing and pumping until the grasp the mentalist has on him falters. He pulls him for another kiss, sloppier than before –hungrier–. They're nearing their end, quick shallow breaths escape their mouths, their tongues mumble each other's names. And it hits them, Senkuu first, followed by Gen who trembles as if an earthquake took place inside of him, a silent gasp trying to form on his throat.

When Senkuu stops seeing white spots of light in his retine he flips them over once more, spreading open Gen's legs, he positions himself, and thrusts in. Gen moans pained and aroused, he's used to the scientist's antics, one orgasm before trying to ride him into a second. Which he promptly does, going in, and out at a steady pace, hitting his prostate on occasion, making his already weak legs tremble. It feels like paradise. And then they come undone in gasping breaths and skin pearled with beads of sweat, one more time. They relieve on their post-orgasm high before accommodating properly in bed. Gen's head resting over Senkuu's beating heart.

"Happy birthday, Senkuu-chan~!" the mentalist sings.

"You know mentalist, I owe you two birthday gifts already. You're gonna leave me indebted for life if you keep this up" he jokes.

"Sounds nice, don't you think?"

"It does. Thank you, for your help relaxing me. I appreciate it"

Gen hums in response, sleep tugging at his eyelids. Senkuu fixes the stray bicolored bangs, putting the larger portion –the white one– behind Gen's ear.

"Hey, mentalist" he calls. "Marry me".

"Yes~!" he purrs content.

The perfumed air is stagnant in Senkuu's lungs, the many black nightshades surrounding them only bring back to his brain the image of the man in his arms. He loves it.

-'-

A/N: Finishing notes for this small series of works. They aren't that important, you can skip this ridiculous long foot note if you want –boy, I could just turn it into an epilogue chapter–.

01. Festivals and Foxes: If we talk cotton candy, man, ya gotta think in a festival, a carnival, whatever, but you think of orange and red, the noise, the people, and the greasy food being sold out. Even the manga made that connection, so I used that idea and added some supernatural stuff because of the kemonomimi bit. Gen being a fox deity is inspired from 'ZenTan Week' by hana-kitzu, which is a 'Kimetsu no Yaiba' fic. I took notice, especifically of chapter six, where the author depicts Aganuma Zen'itsu as a nine tailed fox. It seemed funny to me how something written for the week dedicated to another ship made it's way into this one.

02. Unfulfilled Reality: Since I already made notes on that chapter, I will only say the following: This was actually, the chapter I dreaded most to write, since the beginning I had no idea where to go from the prompt given, but once I remembered Farscape, everything started to fall into place, and I think this became my favorite contribution for the SenGen Week.

03. Aftertaste: When I read the word 'Cola', all that came to my head was my dad's voice saying: "It's not the original flavor". For you to understand this, I will elaborate, you see my father is a Coca-Cola fan, and I once bought a bottle that didn't taste the same as usual –it was likely a very old batch–, and he nags me to this day about it, so every time I give him a bottle of Cola he sighes after tasting it and says: "THIS, is the original flavor". So I thought, 'Senkuu Cola' is a very rough version of nowadays 'Cola', there is bound to be a difference in the flavor, so I came up with the idea of the 'aftertaste' that might be left in the mouth, and then I used the same idea for the lasting flavor of Gen and Senkuu's first kiss. Oh, and let us not forget the fight between Pepsi and Coca-Cola back in the 80's.

04. Colorfools: This title, and the overall idea, is really inspired by a fanfic called 'Colorfool' by PoetDameron. It's a 'That 70's Show' fic, that pairs up Eric Forman and Buddy Morgan as soulmates.

05. Grin and Kiss and Fangs and Blood: This was meant to be a separated multi-chapter fic all on it's own, but in the end I realized I could just fit the general idea in the prompt given, so I made it work, somehow. The idea itself came from a set of images, which depicted Senkuu as a vampire who had bitten Gen. Now, I didn't make Senkuu the vampire because the magician aesthetic seemed to work better for that trope, rather than the mad scientist one I associate with Senkuu.

06. In Sickness And Health: I wanted to make a sappier version of a chapter I wrote for my series of 'Gintama' drabbles –While We Are Together–, the chapter in question is called 'Rainy Days Are Meant To Be Spent Outside Getting Soaked To The Bone', and it ends with comedy, for this SenGen work in particular I wanted the ending to be more tender, but I couldn't grasp the ability to make it happen, so I left a sloppy end.

07. Murky Bedsheets: I have never, not once in my whole life, come across a Black Nightshade (Solanum nigrum), much less smelt one. I had to investigate about it's scent, a difficult feat since many confuse it with Deadly Nightshade (Atropa belladonna) known also as just Belladonna, and this plant seems to have a bitter smell. It was finally on a botanical book –Natural Arrangemeng Of British Plants– I found that the smell of Solanum Nigrum was mentioned, and I quote textually, what it said especifically about this kind of Solaneae:

'Solanum nigrum. Black nightshade. Stem angular; leaves ovate, toothed, angular, bald; berries black.

Solanum vulgare, Raii Syn. 265,4; Park. 346.

Solanum hortense, Ger. em. 339, l.

Solanum nigrum, Lin. S. P. 266.

Solanum humile, Salisb. Prod. 134.

Garden nightshade. Morell. Petty morell.

Dunghills and gardens; annual; June to September. Root much branched; stem spreading; leaves petioled; flowers smell like musk.—Leaves applied externally abate inflammation; internally, 1 or 2 grs. infused in boiling water, and taken at bedtime, occasions a copious per spiration, are diuretic, and generally purge the next day'.

Flowers smell like musk. There you have it. I just went with this bit of information and took it from there.

Thanks for reading this small series. And the foot note, if you got this far, writing is tough folks, it requires lots of investigation for just one tiny little detail that gets forgotten in the midst of the story. Oh, and inspiration likes to leave you stranded on the middle of the road and you have to walk all the way to the end. It's a miracle I finished something with such a defined time frame.

Anyways, thank you, good bye, and farewell.

-'-

A/N: Also on:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13464121/7/SenGen-Week-2019-2020

[shatteredhourglass]

Author Meme

Tagged by @kangofu-cb ilu

Author Name:

Shatteredhourglass - but like, five minutes into talking to me I will probably insist on you calling me Ryan. (Author name is too edgy and formal lmao)

Fandoms You Write For:

Only Marvel at the moment - I did think about writing Schitt’s Creek fics at one point, and Umbrella Academy, but I’m happy just writing in my niche at the moment. I write for me, and me likes Clint Barton and Bucky Barnes.

Where You Post:

All of my fics are on AO3 but I also post extra snippets and drabbles on my snippet tag on Tumblr.

Most Popular One-Shot:

Left Foot Forward - Winterhawk, first story I wrote on this account. It needs editing, really, but I never have the energy to work on it. Soulmate AU where Clint has a dead man’s name on his body and no one is allowed to bring it up. 

"Clint," Steve breathed, and his face had a million emotions going through it all at once and Clint knew, he'd already known from that awful day he'd searched the records on the Howling Commandos and found a signature scrawled in an old letter but the look on Steve's face confirmed it. Shit. Steve's fingers brushed the curve of the J reverently, and Clint flinched away.

"Clint, I'm so-"

"Tell me he didn't have my name," Clint croaked out. "Please."

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story:

Perfect Tense - Winterhawk, I’m not counting the two-chapter fics I’ve done because those aren’t really multi-chapter, they’re oneshots with extra bits. Avenger!Bucky and Ronin!Clint, flirtation and mystery. 

“Don’t worry, I took care of the ground floor,” the voice continues.

This time he says it out loud. “Shit.”

Ronin - because that’s who it is, fuck, a murderous vigilante has remotely hacked his earpiece - laughs, a warm noise that makes a shiver run down Bucky’s spine. “That’s not very polite, Sergeant Barnes.”

Favourite Story You Wrote:

a little fun (not the number one) - Ameriwinterhawk. Originally I was going to suggest my 40k fic because that’s a lot of story, but this one I’m very proud of. First long triad relationship and it’s got a Lot of feelings in it. I think it’s got a pretty good switch because usually Bucky is the mess of the three, and if it isn’t him it’s Clint. Here, Steve is a flaming trashcan of guilt and feelings (so is Clint) and it satisfies me.

“What happened to Steve?”

“I was going to fly Red to the medics that were waiting a few blocks away, but he stopped me and said he’d take her, and for me to help you,” Tony supplies. “It’s weird- I can fly, it’d be faster my way, but he doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“Right,” Clint says. “Right. Okay.”

There goes his last hope that Steve isn’t avoiding him.

The hollow feeling in his chest gets a little bit deeper.

Story You Were Nervous to Post:

falling through the night (and rising from the ashes) - Winterhawk. Anyone who’s read my fics knows I like to cling to parts of canon as much as I can, so upturning that and making a whole new AU was a worry for me. I’m always scared with these sorts of things that the characters won’t feel like themselves for readers. Still, it’s pretty popular, and it’s even been podficced by the wonderful @flowerparrish here (love you.)

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I’m here until Monday.”

“We’re here til then too,” Clint comments. “Maybe Tuesday, too. There’s a few popular acts on this tour that use all those fancy lighting effects and smoke machines, take ages to pack up. You seen that Beck guy? He shorted out the fucking power grid a few days ago during practice. I think that Winter Soldier guy is around somewhere, if you’re into house or whatever it’s called,” he says, hears Bucky make a choked noise.

Must be a fan of that guy, too.

How Do You Choose Your Titles:

I am the song lyric bandit. Although with me, you do not get earwormed because I have a very obscure and confusing taste in music. One day I’ll find another Sycamour fan.

Do You Outline:

No, no, nope. I tried outlining once and after I was done, I didn’t feel like writing the fic anymore. Now I just wing it.

Complete:

36/39 fics, which is pretty good in my opinion. Can I get a wahoo?

In-Progress:

Two of the unfinished fics are extremely old and will never be finished - the tattoo AU may be rebooted and completely rewritten, but that particular version will be forever unfinished. The third 7/? fic is filled with unconnected Tumblr prompts and is updated whenever I post a snippet here.

Coming Soon/Not Yet Started:

Ronin!Clint/Avenger!Bucky Sequel:

He wouldn’t be able to handle it, if Bucky asked him to stay.

He’s so scared every time, that Bucky will ask him.

“We need to stop. This,” and here he stops to gesture between himself and Bucky, “needs to stop.”

He pulls his mask on as he’s backing up, and it hides the helpless smile he gets when Bucky stretches, all cocky smirk and bare skin, and says, “so next week?”

Precariously Named Twink!Bucky Fic: 

“What did you do with your time? You know, when you were,” Clint stops here to gesture at Bucky’s whole body, legs splayed and lazy expression on his face. Bucky turns to press his cheek against the couch when he looks at Clint, all relaxed grace and half-lidded eyes. “Like this.”

“Mostly worried about Steve, broke up fights, ‘n had sex with strangers in alleyways,” Bucky says, lips curling up into an indulgent smirk like he’s remembering it. Like he’s thinking about it.

Clint swallows, hard, tries not to look like he’s thinking about it.

Do You Accept Prompts:

I do! I love getting ideas, although I’m so backed up with ideas right now that I might just go into cardiac arrest if I get one more prompt I don’t have time to write.

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write:

Okay so I really want to write this but there’s no way I’m going to have time to write it with the MTH auction coming up, so. Maybe in twenty years. distant sobbing.

Tagging:

uuuh @atheoryon @spacey-acey-artemis @greyishbobbi @theassetsass @flowerparrish (no pressure y’all)

[terriblelifechoices]

How about Graves and Credence with prompt 103? Or 113

Sorry, @tora42  This one kind of got away from me.

From the send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write you a drabble thing.  To the surprise of probably no one, I fail at drabbles.  What is brevity, anyway.  

103. “Does this happen to you a lot? Because ‘not again’ isn’t the response I’d expect from someone I just found unconscious in my garden.”

“Is this really necessary?” Graves asked, trying – and failing, if Tina’s unimpressed expression was anything to go by – not to sound desperate.

“Well,” Newt began, in what Graves felt was a promisingly reasonable tone of voice.  Graves had hired Newt as a favor to Theseus, but he’d always had a soft spot for the younger Scamander. “I suppose –”

“Yes,” said Tina, over anything else Newt might have said.

“Right,” Newt said, changing course with the split second rapidity that made him such a menace in the field.  There were days when Graves deeply regretted hiring Newt.  “It’s absolutely necessary.”

“Of course it is,” Graves muttered.

“Besides, it all works out rather nicely, doesn’t it?” Tina inquired.  “Newt and I need a pet sitter, and you need something that will keep you out of trouble while you’re convalescing –”

“On administrative leave!” Graves interjected, affronted.

Tina had the audacity to roll her eyes at him.  “While you’re convalescing on administrative leave,” she amended.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” said Graves.  “Why is everyone acting like I’ve never been shot before?  I’m fine.”  

Granted, it had been a lot easier to shake this sort of thing off when he’d been Tina’s age, but he was hardly on death’s doorstep.  It had been a simple through and through GSW, with minimal muscle damage.  Graves didn’t even really need the sling that everyone was (somewhat melodramatically, in his opinion) insisting that he wear; so far the fucking thing had hindered more than it had helped.  Graves would never have fallen off of that damned ladder if he hadn’t been wearing it.

Unfortunately, no one else saw the ladder incident quite as reasonably as he did.  Which was why his protege was now lecturing him as if she were his Great Aunt Ethel, and not young enough to be his daughter.

Tina nodded.  “Right,” she said.  “You’re Special Agent Percival fucking Graves: the man, the myth, the legend –” Each ridiculous epithet was accompanied with an equally ridiculous gesture.  Graves had never seen anyone make jazz hands look sarcastic before.  He was a little impressed in spite of himself.

“Is this level of sarcasm really necessary?” Graves asked.

Tina ignored him in favor of adding, “And you’re fine.  You absolutely did not show up to my wedding six hours late with a GSW and faint during the reception!”

“I was not late!” Graves protested.  “I showed up in time to walk you down the aisle, didn’t I?”

“You showed up thirty seconds before it was time to walk me down the aisle,” Tina shot back.  “You were a member of my damned bridal party.  You were supposed to be there at seven, and you went off and got yourself shot instead.”

Graves wanted to argue that point, and couldn’t.  It was all true.

“I’m sorry,” he said, for the thousandth time.  He meant it, every time.  But he couldn’t erase the hurt he’d caused just because he meant it.  Tina knew he meant it, and she’d forgive him when she was ready to.  That was enough.

And, in the meantime, Graves would prove that he meant it by babysitting Tina and Newt’s menagerie of adopted strays.

Tina sighed.  “You were there for the important part,” she conceded.

“And he’s looking after everyone while we’re gone,” Newt added.  He made it sound like this was something Graves had volunteered to do, rather than something Seraphina and Tina had blackmailed him into.  Newt was kind like that.  Newt was always kind.

Graves had always liked that about him; had liked what it meant for Tina, who needed someone kind whether she would admit it or not.  Graves could still remember the girl she’d been when they’d first met – the one who’d worn her reckless crusader’s heart on her sleeve and dared the world to try and break it.  Twenty years old and fresh out of the Academy, Tina had been brilliant and sharp as mirror-glass – blinding when the light caught her just right, but terribly breakable, too.  She’d needed someone kind to shelter her heart, although she never would have admitted it.

At twenty-six, Tina’s sharpness and brilliance were diamond, not glass.  Anyone else would have let their heart go diamond hard to match, but not Tina.  She was kind, too.  Graves was glad that she and Newt had each other.  They could shelter each other’s hearts, and keep the world from breaking them.

Graves held up the terrifyingly thick binder of care instructions Newt had shoved into his good arm.  Someone – Graves strongly suspected Newt, who was prone to doodling during meetings he found too boring to pay attention to, which was pretty much all of them as far as Newt was concerned – had drawn most of Newt’s menagerie as mythological creatures on the front cover and titled it Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

“They won’t even know you’re gone,” he promised.

Tina smirked at him.  “I’m going to remind you that you said that when we check in tomorrow.”

“I’m sure you’ll have better things to do on your honeymoon,” Graves said blandly.

Tina’s answering smile had teeth in it this time.  “I’m going to remind you that you said that, too.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” said Newt.  “But just in case, maybe don’t leave anything valuable that you absolutely don’t want stolen where Cecil can get to it.  And don’t be offended if Pickett doesn’t want anything to do with you.  He’s gotten rather attached to me and –”

“You wrote all of that down,” Tina reminded him.  “In sixteen point Times New Roman.”

“Sixteen, really?” Graves asked.  He despaired of Newt’s approach to paperwork, he really did.

“I wanted to make it twenty-four, but Newt thought it was a bit insulting,” said Tina.  “I did bold certain items for emphasis, though.”

“Keep giving me attitude, Goldstein.  I outrank you.”

“Not while you’re on administrative leave, you don’t,” Tina said.

“We should head to the airport, Tina,” Newt said, obviously trying to head off another argument.  “We don’t want to miss our flight.”

Graves gave him an unimpressed look, because that particular attempt at a distraction had been extremely unsubtle.  Newt was a professional spy, for God’s sake.  That was just embarrassing.

He was somewhat amused to find that Tina was giving her husband an identical unimpressed look.

Newt shrugged, not particularly bothered by their censure.  “It worked, didn’t it?” he asked with a grin.

“I suppose it did,” Tina allowed.  She let Newt tug her towards their front door, but couldn’t resist a few last minute instructions of her own.  “Please try not to do anything stupid while we’re gone,” she said.  “The number for the hotel is in the binder, and on the fridge next to the phone.  And if you run into trouble, Credence can help you.”

“I’m sure Graves will be fine,” Newt said.  “But if you need help feeding everyone, Credence did volunteer to help.”

“Leave, before I call in a favor and have your flight grounded out of spite,” Graves commanded, in lieu of saying that he’d rather lose a finger to one of Frank’s fits of temper than bother the only human member of Newt and Tina’s menagerie of adopted strays.  Credence Barebone had suffered enough at the hands of someone wearing Graves’ face, and Graves could not bring himself to add to the harm that had already been done.  

Tina and Newt both insisted that Credence bore Graves no ill-will for what Grindelwald had done.  Graves appreciated their well-intentioned sugar-coating of the situation, but he was well aware of the fact that the mere sight of him still spooked the boy.  

Credence had been part of the bridal party, too.  Someone – Tina or Tina’s younger sister Queenie or maybe Credence himself – had managed to keep his interactions with Graves to the bare minimum.  Graves had not actually had all that much to do with the wedding, outside of walking Tina down the aisle.  He’d surreptitiously paid for as much of it as he could get away with, as was his right as Tina’s adopted older brother/surrogate father figure, but that was more or less the extent of his involvement.   Credence had been very much in the thick of things.  He’d been Queenie’s unofficial assistant for all wedding planning related duties.  Graves had seen plenty of Queenie in the weeks leading up to the wedding, but he hadn’t interacted with Credence at all.  It took real effort to avoid someone like that.

Graves had been a professional spy for longer than Credence had been alive, and he was not kind.  Not the way that Tina and Newt were: a conscious choice made so consistently and so often that it became the default.  Graves had closed the door on kindness long ago, trying to protect what was left of his heart.  But even he had enough kindness left in him to recognize that the kindest thing he could do for Credence was to leave the boy alone.

*

“You are not actually a corvid,” Graves told Cecil, attempting to wrest his one of his cufflinks from the guinea pig’s greedy little paws without hurting him.  “I know Newt raised you with the ravens, but you are a guinea pig and your obsession with shiny things makes no sense.”

Newt’s binder – which had actually been written in sixteen point Times New Roman, thank you so much, Tina – had expressly forbidden shaming Cecil for his terrible behavior, but as far as Graves was concerned, the furry little con artist had earned a healthy dose of Irish Catholic guilt.  Cecil had managed to steal one of Graves’ cufflinks while Graves was still wearing it.  Graves had met professional pickpockets who couldn’t manage the same feat, and it pissed him off that Cecil could.

Cecil made a pitiful crying noise, his dark eyes going liquid and pleading.

“No,” Graves said sternly, in the tone of voice that brought junior Agents to heel.

The pleading look intensified.

“No,” Graves said again, determined to hold his ground.

Cecil gave a little heartbroken chirp and relinquished his hold on Graves’ cufflink.  His entire body radiated dejection.

“Oh, for –” Graves bit back a curse.  He had gone toe to toe with Vinda Rosier, who had learned emotional manipulation at her father’s knee and perfected it under Grindelwald’s tutelage.  Rosier hadn’t been able to break him, so Graves was absolutely not falling prey to the machinations of a guinea pig.

Cecil made another heartbroken little chirp, almost as if he were crying.

Could guinea pigs cry?  Nothing in Newt’s ridiculous binder had indicated that they could, but Graves wouldn’t put it past this one.

“Look,” he said, feeling more than a little absurd.  “Cufflinks are a choking hazard.  You can have my tie bar instead if you leave my cufflinks alone.  Does that sound fair?”

Cecil actually seemed to be considering that.

“You’re a fuzzy con artist,” Graves told him.  He set Cecil back in his habitat and passed over his tie bar.  Graves was a man of his word, even when dealing with guinea pigs.  Cecil seemed pleased with this tribute, and scampered off to hide it.

Graves snorted in amusement, glad that none of his subordinates – or worse, Seraphina – could see him now.  He dragged his tie off over his head and hung it on the corner of Cecil’s habitat.  He told himself it was because it wouldn’t hang right without the tie bar, and not so the tiny grifter could use the shiny fabric as a victory flag.

The rest of Newt’s menagerie were fed and petted and – Jesus Christ, Newt, seriously? – sung to in short order.  If footage of Graves singing to the lorikeets surfaced at the next Christmas party, Graves would know who to blame.

He saved Pickett for last, in case Pickett was still pissed about being left behind.

Graves actually liked Newt’s tiny demon cat.  He had a weakness for anything with more fight in it than common sense.  (See Exhibit A: Tina Goldstein.)  Pickett was basically five and a half pounds of pure attitude.  Graves had given up on trying to force Newt to leave the exploding ball of fluff at home after he’d seen the little cat savage a rogue operative on Newt’s behalf.  Pickett always turned up in Newt’s pockets, anyway.

The earlier battle to evict Pickett from Newt’s coat pocket had been brief and very bloody, which was why Graves had donned a pair of oven mitts as a precautionary measure.  The oven mitts were an eye-searing shade of pink with polka dotted ruffles.  The right one advised Graves to “rock out with his crock out” and the left one featured an embroidered crock pot, just in case Graves failed to grasp the pun.

“Pickett?” Graves called.  There was no answering growl from the cat carrier, which Graves did not think was a good sign.  “Are you –”  He cut himself off when he noticed that the door to the cat carrier was ever so slightly ajar.

Graves pulled one of the ridiculous oven mitts off and picked up the cat carrier, tilting it slightly so that the door swung completely open.  Pickett failed to explode out of it like a miniature Tasmanian devil, which was his usual response to captivity.  The cat carrier was empty.

“Well, fuck,” said Graves.

*

Two goddamn hours of fruitless searching proved that Pickett was nowhere to be found inside the house, and that Graves ought to gift the Goldstein-Scamander’s with the name of his cleaning service as a wedding present.

Graves had never really believed Newt when Newt said that Pickett could pick locks.  Pickett was a cat, for fuck’s sake.  Cats couldn’t pick locks.  He still didn’t believe that, but he was fairly certain that Pickett, at least, understood how locks worked.  Because Graves sure as hell hadn’t left the back door unlocked, much less open just wide enough for an undersized demon cat to escape out of.

If anything happened to Pickett while he was under Graves’ care, Tina would murder him.  It would make the grudge she was carrying over his late arrival to and disruption of her wedding look like a walk in the park by a tranquil spring lake.  No one held grudges like Tina Goldstein, except maybe her sister Queenie.

Graves grabbed a bag of cat treats and went to look for Pickett.  He searched the yard methodically, working in a grid the way he would if he’d been looking for a missing person or a body.

“Pickett?” he called, shaking the bag of cat treats.  Pickett could occasionally be bribed with treats, and he was hoping that the little cat would recognize the sound and come running.  “Here, kitty, kitty.”

Newt and Tina lived on a two and a half acre plot that butted up against a nearby nature preserve.  A lot of Newt’s strays came from the preserve; they seemed to show up outside the house whenever they were sick and in need of healing.  Graves had no idea how Newt kept the wild animals from eating his (comparatively) more domesticated ones, but he’d seen Frank the bald eagle sunning himself in the windows with Cecil curled up on his back like Frank was a feather mattress and not a feathery predator more than once.  It was adorable.  He might have taken a picture, but he’d be damned if he admitted to doing so, even under torture.  Special Agent Graves did not have unlikely animal friendship photos on his phone.

Credence Barebone lived in the little gamekeeper’s cottage on the back of the property.  It was leftover from when the property and at least two of the surrounding homes had all been part of the same estate.  It was the perfect size for a traumatized young man who simply needed time and space and a little peace and quiet to heal.

Graves didn’t realize how close he was to the cottage until he was practically standing in the front garden.  Stained glass windchimes hung under the eaves, making a pleasant tinkling sound in the faint breeze.  They threw colored flecks of light all over the cottage walls, blending nicely with the riot of color emerging from the flowerbeds.  It looked nice, Graves thought.  Peaceful.

He turned away, not wanting to bother the little cottage or it’s occupant.  Except he still hadn’t found Pickett, and he could hardly say he had done his due diligence and looked everywhere if he didn’t at least ask Credence if he’d seen Pickett.

“Fuck,” Graves muttered.

Well.  There was no help for it.  He’d just have to ask.

Something above his head meowed.

Graves paused.  Then he tipped his head back and looked up into the branches of the oak tree next to the cottage.  Newt’s tiny demon cat stared down at him.  Graves was no expert in feline body language, but he was pretty sure that Pickett was laughing at him.

“Pickett,” he said sternly.  “Come down here.”

Pickett was definitely laughing at him now.  He meowed again. Graves was pretty sure Pickett had just said, Why don’t you come up here and make me, human.

“Fine,” said Graves, toeing off his shoes and socks.  “Be that way.  You think you’re the only one who can climb trees?  Because newsflash: I can climb trees too.”  He took the stupid sling off and dropped it next to his shoes and socks, using his good arm to boost himself in the tree.

His suit pants had definitely not been made with climbing trees in mind.  Graves gritted his teeth and concentrated on getting closer to Pickett, who had retreated farther up the tree just to be a dick.

“Please come down,” Graves tried.  “Newt will be upset if something happens to you.”

Pickett growled at the mention of Newt.  It sounded a lot like the little cat had just blown a raspberry at him.

“Okay, fine.  How about bribery?  Would bribing you with wet food work?” Graves inquired.

Pickett turned and climbed higher.  Graves swore under his breath and did his best to follow.  He was not prepared for a large feathery creatures to suddenly fly at his face.

“Jesus fuck!” said Graves, jerking backwards.  His left heel slid off the branch he’d been standing on and Graves flailed.  He tried to catch his balance, but his injured arm wouldn’t support his weight.

Graves’ last thought before he fell out of the fucking tree was that this was going to be a really embarrassing way to die.

*

Frank tapped at Credence’s window, trying to get his attention.

Credence unlatched the window in front of his desk and let it swing open.  Frank landed on the windowsill, which was scratched and worn from frequent visits.

“Hi, Frank,” Credence said.  He reached a hand out carefully, waiting to see if Frank wanted to be petted.

Frank blinked one large golden eye at him and bowed his head.  He let Credence stroke his head and scratch gently for just a second, and then he took a half step back and fluffed his feathers up.

“What’s up?” Credence asked.

There was something magical about interacting with Newt’s creatures.  It was like one of the stories he’d read, once he was free of Ma’s influence and allowed to read stories that weren’t in the Bible.  Newt was probably not actually magic the way that Daine Sarrasri was, but he talked to his creatures like they were people and tried to protect everyone the way that Daine did, which Credence figured made him the closest thing the real world had to a Wildmage.  Newt’s creatures always seemed smarter than other animals, the way the ones who’d been exposed to Daine did.  Credence couldn’t understand them as intuitively as Newt could, but there were days when he swore Frank was trying to communicate with him.  He was just too dumb to understand him.

Frank considered Credence for a long moment.  Then he hopped forward and screeched in Credence’s face.

Credence yelped in surprise and almost fell out of his desk chair.  “Frank!” he said, channeling Newt as best he could.  “That was rude!  What are you yelling at me for?”

Frank hopped on Credence’s desk.  He raised his wings like he was trying to make himself bigger, shifting his weight back and forth in agitation.

“What?” Credence asked.  “What’s wrong?  Do you miss Newt?”

Frank screeched again.

“I am not playing twenty questions with you if all you’re going to do is yell at me!” Credence yelled back.

Frank took off out the window, knocking books and knicknacks off of Credence’s desk as he went.  Then he swooped back and landed on the windowsill and screamed again.

“What?” Credence asked again.  “Do you want me to follow you?”

Frank bobbed his head.

“Did you just nod?” Credence asked.

Frank flapped his wings impatiently, as if to say, Yes, I did.  Keep up, would you?

“Right,” Credence said.  “Okay.  I’ll just … follow you outside, I guess.”

Newt made communicating with his creatures look so much easier than this.  Credence wondered what his secret was.  He felt stupid for not asking before now, but Newt always seemed so magical that Credence hadn’t wanted to risk breaking the spell just in case it broke everything else along with it.  Credence had been free of Ma’s influence for over a year now, and sometimes he still woke up thinking that he’d dreamed the whole thing up; that it was just an illusion he’d built in his mind to shield himself from the pain while she beat him.  Real life could not possibly be this magical.

Frank took off as soon as Credence opened his front door, heading straight for the oak tree in the front garden.  He didn’t land in the branches the way Credence expected him to, though.  He landed on the ground instead.

There was a man lying unconscious at Frank’s feet.  Or at least, Credence hoped he was just unconscious.

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” he asked Frank.

Frank fluffed his feathers up again and looked guilty.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, you did,” Credence breathed.

Frank made an indignant sound.

“Or … not?” Credence asked.

Frank opened his wings and flapped them impatiently at Credence.

“Right,” said Credence.  “I guess you want me to check, huh?   Okay.  I can do that.”  He stared at the hopefully unconscious man for another minute.  “Maybe,” he admitted.

If the man needed medical attention, Newt and Tina and Queenie and Jacob would have helped him without a second thought.

Credence had plenty of second thoughts.  What if the man was an enemy agent, looking for Newt or Tina?  What if he wanted to hurt Credence?  What if he wanted to hurt Frank?  Or one of Newt’s other creatures?

Credence also wanted to be good, like Newt and Tina and Queenie and Jacob were.  He wanted to help people the way that they’d helped him.

“Okay,” he said again.  He approached the man cautiously, just in case he was an enemy agent and only pretending to be unconscious.  There was something strangely familiar about the man’s broad shoulders and the faint touch of silver threading through his dark hair.  Credence didn’t realize who he was until he’d pressed two shaking fingers to the man’s throat looking for a pulse and got a good look at his profile.

He knew that profile.  He knew the face it belonged to – both the real one and the fake.

Credence turned the man’s face gently to the side, running his fingers along the stubborn jawline to behind his ear, where the control chip for a Protean mask would rest.  He couldn’t feel any kind of telltale bump or incision scar.  This wasn’t a clever holographic illusion.

This was the real Mr. Graves.

Credence couldn’t decide if that made him feel better or worse.  He had never apologized to the real Mr. Graves for all the things he’d wanted from the fake one, but he was shamefully certain that the real Mr. Graves knew about them anyway.  There was rather a lot of surveillance footage, after all.

Thinking about the surveillance footage made Credence want to dig a hole in the garden and bury himself in it.  Grindelwald hadn’t needed to work very hard to make Credence do what he wanted.  All it had taken was a handsome face and the odd caress to go along with his liar’s tongue.  Credence should have known better than to think that someone like Mr. Graves would ever want someone like him.

Credence knew from long experience that if he continued down that line of thought he’d wind up having a panic attack in his bedroom closet again.  He shoved the knot of confusion and residual shame down and made himself focus on Mr. Graves.

He pressed his fingers to Mr. Graves’ throat again, resolutely not thinking about what it had been like to tuck his face against the curve of the fake Mr. Graves’ throat – Grindelwald had smelled of blood beneath Mr. Graves’ stolen cologne, but Credence hadn’t cared because he’d thought that Mr. Graves – that Grindelwald – would keep him safe.

He’d never dared to touch the real Mr. Graves before this.  

The heartbeat under his fingertips was strong and steady and strangely ordinary on such an extraordinary man.

“Thank God,” Credence breathed.  He sat back on his heels, trying to think of what to do next.  His first instinct was to call Newt and Tina, because Newt and Tina were professional spies and terrifyingly competent at everything they did, albeit in different ways.

Newt and Tina were on their honeymoon, though.  They had both assured him that he could call them at any time, but Credence would rather have cut off his own arm than actually do it.  He would have to handle this himself.

Mr. Graves made a faint noise and stirred slightly.

“Oh no,” Credence said.  He had a vague notion that you weren’t supposed to move unconscious people in case they had spinal damage or brain injuries.  He was less clear on whether or not you should allow the recently unconscious to move for the same reasons, but he didn’t want Mr. Graves to add potential spinal damage on top of his recent gunshot wound.  He reached out and grasped Mr. Graves’ shoulder, trying to keep him from moving.

Mr. Graves twisted, moving faster than a striking snake.  He grabbed Credence’s wrist and used it to roll them both so that Credence was pinned beneath him.

Frank screeched in surprise and took off for the safety of the oak tree, yelling abuse down at both of them.

Credence yelped in surprise and said something blasphemous, looking up at Mr. Graves in stunned incomprehension.

“Credence?” asked Mr. Graves, sounding just as baffled as Credence felt.

“Um.  Yes,” said Credence.  “Sorry.  I was trying to keep you from moving, in case you had a spinal injury or something, but I guess you’re okay?”

“Why would I have a spinal injury?” Mr. Graves asked, still sounding baffled.  He let Credence up.

“I – you were unconscious,” Credence told him.

“I was – Fuck,” said Mr. Graves.  “Not again.”

Credence stared at him.  That was … not really the response he was expecting, honestly.

“What?” asked Mr. Graves.

“Nothing,” Credence said quickly.  “It’s just … Does this happen to you a lot?  Because ‘not again’ isn’t the response I’d expect from someone I just found unconscious in my garden.”

“Not a lot, no,” said Mr.Graves, wincing as he reached up to brush leaves out of his hair.  “There may have been an incident with a ladder earlier this week.”

“An incident,” Credence repeated.  He was aware of the fact that he was still staring at Mr. Graves and that it was rude, but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop.

Mr. Graves raised an eyebrow at him.  “Tina didn’t tell you?”

“Not exactly,” Credence said, in lieu of admitting that what Tina had actually said was that Mr. Graves had the survival instincts of a squirrel on methamphetamines and couldn’t be trusted to stay out of trouble without a babysitter.

“Ah,” said Mr. Graves.  “Well.  I may have slipped.”  He gestured to the sling lying abandoned on the ground next to his socks and shoes.  “The damn thing got in my way.”

Credence ran that sentence through his ‘spy to normal people’ filter and suspected that what Mr. Graves meant was that he had slipped off the ladder and hit his head.  If he’d done that while he was wearing the sling, that made this the second time in under a week he had fallen off of  something and knocked himself unconscious.  Mr. Graves’ exasperated not again supported that theory.

“Right,” he said, standing up.  “We need to go to Medical.”

“What?  Why?”  Mr. Graves asked, getting up.  He didn’t move like someone who was recovering from a gunshot wound, but he was favoring his right arm just a little.  He reached for Credence, cupping Credence’s face in his left hand and peering into his eyes.  “Are you hurt?”

“Not for me,” Credence said, stepping back so that he wouldn’t lean pathetically into Mr. Graves’ touch the way he used to lean into Grindelwald’s.  “For you.”

“For me?” Mr. Graves repeated, sounding baffled again.

Credence put his hands on his hips and tried to channel the Goldstein sisters.  “I found you unconscious on the ground after you fell out of a tree,” he said, taking a guess at what had happened.  “I’m guessing you also fell off a ladder at some point, which means that this is the second time this week you’ve knocked yourself unconscious.  You need to go to Medical so they can check you for a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” said Mr. Graves.  “Trust me.  I’ve had enough of them to recognize the symptoms.  I appreciate your concern, Credence, but I’m fine.”

Credence folded his arms across his chest.  “You were unconscious,” he said.

“I was unconscious for what, not even five minutes?  That doesn’t even count.  It’s more like being momentarily stunned,” Mr. Graves said, dismissive.

Credence was starting to understand why Tina thought that Mr. Graves couldn’t be left to his own devices.  He’d never met anyone with such blatant disregard for their own health.  It was a little infuriating.  Credence had ignored his hurts because he had to.  Because he couldn’t afford to go to a hospital and he’d been too afraid to even he could have afforded it.  Ma had forbidden them to go to the doctor.  She hadn’t wanted any record of the things she’d done.

Mr. Graves had access to the best medical care the Agency could pay for, which meant that it was good enough to almost qualify as a divine miracle.  If he chose not to make use of those services, well.  He was a grown man and he could make his own decisions.

Mr. Graves peered up at the tree.  He did a little running leap and caught one of the branches, hanging from it by his good arm in a way Credence would have found brain-meltingly attractive if he had not been completely furious.

“Are you stupid?” he demanded, grabbing hold of Mr. Graves’ belt when Mr. Graves twisted to haul himself back into the tree he’d literally just fallen out of.  “Or brain damaged?”

Mr. Graves dropped out of the tree and gently pried Credence’s hand off of his belt.  “I beg your pardon?”

“You just fell out of that tree,” Credence said.  “Was once not enough?  Are you trying to give yourself brain damage?  Because you could just let Queenie hit you over the head with one of her frying pans if that’s what you want.  It’d be faster and less traumatic.”

Mr. Graves stared at him.  Credence suspected that he was not exactly making a good first impression on the real Mr. Graves and decided that he didn’t really care.  If Mr. Graves wanted to foolishly risk his own life and upset the people who cared about him, he could do it somewhere else.

“Pickett,” said Mr. Graves.

“What?”

Mr. Graves pointed.  “Pickett’s in that tree.  I was trying to get him down.  Frank startled me.”

“Oh,” said Credence.  “Why didn’t you just tell Pickett to come down?”

“Pickett’s a cat.  They don’t exactly do things on command.”

Credence tilted his head back, peering into the leaves until he spotted Pickett’s surprisingly well camouflaged tabby stripes.  “Pickett,” he said sternly.

“Mrow,” said Pickett, defiant.

“Pickett, you get out of that tree right now,” Credence said.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to – son of a bitch,” said Mr. Graves.

Pickett wound his way through the branches and down the tree trunk.  The bells on his collar jingled cheerfully as he landed on the ground between them.

Credence bent down and picked the little cat up.  He didn’t have a convenient jacket pocket to tuck Pickett into, so he settled for putting Pickett on his shoulder instead.  “You and I are going to have a long talk about this,” he warned.  “And I’m going to tell Newt on you.  Just you see if I don’t.”

Pickett gave a very innocent sounding meow.  Credence did not believe it for a second, but he scratched Pickett’s ears anyway.

“And you,” Credence said to Mr. Graves, “are coming with me to get your head checked out.”  He took off towards the house, not waiting to see if Mr. Graves would follow.  He couldn’t make Mr. Graves come with him – Mr. Graves was stronger and better trained than he was – but Pickett needed to be brushed and fed and someone had to be on hand to dial 911 just in case Mr. Graves decided to do something stupid.

“Do you know,” Mr. Graves said, sounding amused.  “I thought you were afraid of me.”

“I’m not,” said Credence.  It would have been better if he’d been afraid, but he wasn’t.

“Yes, I can see that,” said Mr. Graves.  He was quiet for a moment.  “I owe you an apology.”

Credence stopped.  “What?”

Mr. Graves looked him in the eye.  Grindelwald had never bothered to do that, not that he’d needed to.  Credence wouldn’t have dared to meet his gaze back then.  It sent a weird flutter through Credence’s stomach now.  He liked that Mr. Graves treated him like a man – like an equal.

“I’m sorry,” said Mr. Graves.  “Grindelwald wronged you, but he did it with my face and my name, and I owe you an apology for that.  I should have spoken to you sooner, but I thought it would be kinder to leave you be.  You didn’t seem to like the sight of me.”

Credence had rather the opposite problem, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to admit that.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Credence said.  “If anything, I’m the one who owes you an apology.  I wanted –” He made a faint gesture in Mr. Graves’ direction, trying to communicate all the shameful things he’d wanted, back when he thought that Grindelwald was Mr. Graves.  He had lusted after Mr. Graves’ body, and that seemed disrespectful now that he knew the real man.

“Well,” said Mr. Graves.  “Either we both owe each other an apology, or neither of us do.  Perhaps we can start over.  Percival Graves,” he said, holding out his hand.

Credence shook it.  “Credence Barebone,” he said.

Mr. Graves smiled.  It was a brief, fleeting thing that made Credence’s insides feel like there was a swarm of butterflies inside of them.

“There’s an Italian restaurant near headquarters,” Mr. Graves said.  “What do you say we go there for dinner after Medical clears me of imaginary head injuries?”

“I’m starting to see why Tina says that there’s nothing in your head to injure,” Credence said, and then the rest of what Mr. Graves said hit him.  “Wait, dinner?”

Mr. Graves shrugged.  “We have some friends in common,” he said.  “If we’re starting over, perhaps we can be friends as well.  Dinner seems like a good place to start.”

The swarm of butterflies were doing the butterfly equivalent of the Agency’s obstacle course with his internal organs.

This is not a date, Credence told himself.  Mr. Graves was just being nice.

“I’d like that,” he said.

[insomnia-productions]

For the fanfiction ask! 1, 2, 4, 11, 12, 17, 18, 24, 28, 29, 30, 38, 44, and one question of your choice. I wrote a lot because personally I love receiving these, but feel free to answer as many as you like!

SO MANY AHHHH

Thank you for these! I’ve literally been waiting all week to answer. 

1: How old were you when you started writing fan fiction? 

I think I must have been 13, nearly 14, when I wrote my first actual fic. It was a pair of fics, actually, halfway-shippy drabbles about Matt and Mello from Death Note, and they were published on DeviantART. This ask brought back a lot of cringe. 

2: What fandoms do you write for and do you have a particular favorite?

This has kind of changed over the years. First I wrote nothing but mikayuu (Owari no Seraph), then nothing but sarumi (K-Project), and then I was super into Bungou Stray Dogs. I’ve written a few things for Harry Potter and Mo Dao Zu Shi that I’m quite proud of. Other stuff, too, here and there. 

But, if I had to pick a favorite... I always come back to soukoku and Bungou Stray Dogs. Dazai and Chuuya are my air. 

4: What is your favorite genre to write for? 

Fluff and comedy! Well, for fanfiction, at least - these characters have already been through so much, you know? But for my own stories... it varies. I do love to write humorous stories, but I do also write a healthy amount of sad stuff. It’s pretty much Pure Angst or Pure Comedy, there’s no in between. 

11: Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you received after posting it? 

Nope. I’ve edited tags a few times, but never the story itself. That said, I haven't received a lot of criticism - at least, not genuine or constructive criticism. Just people hating on characters and ships. And one person vaguely commenting that I had fucked one thing up, but then refusing to tell me. If that person is somehow out there reading this... you fucked me up, man. You fucked me up. 

12: Who is your favorite character to write for? Why? 

I really love writing Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling, mostly because I’m so attached to them. And I like writing Chuuya, because one of my best friends is like Dazai in terms of annoyingness (her name is even Dazai in my phone and sometimes I forget her real name), so I like to offload my frustrations with her through Chuuya’s pain. 

17: Post a line from a WIP that you’re working on. 

This is actually the first line of the novella I’m writing! 

It’s unusual for a Villain to pen a memoir, not in the least because most of them die before they can.

It’s a quest story about two twin brothers - one a Hero, one an aspiring Villain - who try to rebuild their frayed relationship when they are pushed together to face an old enemy. 

24: How do you feel about writing smut? 

Yeah, nope. I don’t do smut. I don't even read smut. Listen, the first time I wrote a kiss, I was 14 or 15, and it took me 15 minutes. I’m not even exaggerating. I was so embarrassed. All I wrote was “their lips met”. That was it. That was the whole scene. I just couldn't handle it. Even now, I feel embarrassed. And smut is just a big no for me. 

29: Do you have a story you wish got more love?

Yes! Yes!!! I’m just gonna link them here, so if anyone is scrolling,,, please,,, read them,,, 

Life Is Too Short For So Much Sorrow -- Jiang Cheng & Jin Ling drabbles (Mo Dao Zu Shi)

14 Years, 5 Months, 19 Days -- five times Nicaise felt empty, and one time he was whole (Captive Prince)

Veni Vidi Vici -- in the summer before 5th year, a runaway Draco and temporary runaway Harry embark on a quest to find a magic well that can change lives

Also MY ORIGINAL WORKS PLEASE GUYS I NEED VALIDATION

30: Do you have a story that receives a lot of love that you roll your eyes at?

Yep. ‘How To Fall In Love With Your Enemy’ is my most popular fic, a soulmate au for Katsudeku (BNHA). I worked hard on it and I’m proud of it, but like... it’s not my best one, compared to others. 

38: If you could collaborate with another person on here for a fic, who would it be? 

@fandompandabear we never finished that mikayuu Hunger Games AU, did we? 

44: What is the last line you wrote? 

The last thing I wrote was a poem, actually, so I’m just gonna put the last stanza, which is technically one sentence. 

This is how I pretend

Not to love you, and when you smile back

I can’t work out if I adore

You or if I just want you

To walk away, so I can tell myself

That you could never love me

Too.

Fun story, I wrote this about my crush (of 3 years, mind you) while sitting next to and chatting with him. I like to live dangerously. 

Again, thank you so so much for these!! 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Exactly What You Need: Owen

To the Anon who won the “guess the post-apocalyptic New Zealand kids’ show Owen Grant had a guest star role on”: Here is your requested drabble! Owen Grant, the night he ordered Kauri.

CW: Owen is a fucking creep. Implied/referenced assault/abuse with younger!Vincent Shield, manipulate/abusive thoughts, dehumanization. Owen Grant is a dark man and people triggered by abuser thoughts regarding rape/assault should please heed that and stay safe

Tagging: @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings,

It started with the hair, and the eyes.

Originally, he hadn’t really thought about Vince, exactly - he was just… he was just kind of lonely, and he’d been scrolling the Whumpees-R-Us site, thinking about how it seemed like basically everyone with a name worth knowing and a good stock portfolio had one of the Box Boys or Box Babes now.

And it might be nice to have someone around here to talk to. It’s not like he could talk to the fucking Roomba.

The condo was gorgeous, and he went out to lunch a few times a week with Nicole and some of the former costars and everything that he’d kept in touch with, went to conventions, even wrote an introduction for a book on the dark side of child acting that was pretty well received. He went to the gym three days a week, he watched a bunch of Youtubers that updated pretty regularly. Owen kept himself busy, basically, and none of it stopped him from being really. fucking. lonely. 

His mother had called one night after he’d been drinking for two or three hours straight, slowly killing a bottle of gin and a bag of limes while sending increasingly drunken text messages to no one in particular.

He and his mother still talked two or three nights a week. He was probably the only former child actor he knew who still had a really close relationship with his mom… or at least as close as your relationship can be when you’re lying to her about fucking everything about yourself.

She knew anyway. She’d been the one to help him cover it all up with Vince, what happened, why they never spoke again. She knew - but her constituents were bigoted assholes and in the part of the country Carlotta Grant set her sights on, you have to play to the bigoted asshole or you don’t get elected.

His mom was the biggest bitch he knew, but she wasn’t a bigot, exactly. Just happy to roll over for them for the sake of her Senate career. It would kill her ambitions if too much about Former Child Star Owen Grant got into the news, so Owen lied to everybody and everybody pretended to believe him. He’d been lying about it since he was still acting, it’s not like it was that hard to just… keep lying, right?

Even if he’d sort of hoped quitting acting - getting away from Vince and what happened - making his own life out here away from everyone… he’d sort of hoped he could stop lying, then. But nope. Mom got all political and Owen kept on lying.

He’d fucking hate her for it, if he didn’t love her so much.

In any case, she’d called and Owen had been trashed and it… well. The whole time he’d had the Whumpees-R-Us site up, looking through options, scrolling past faces that weren’t right. Or they almost were. But they weren’t the one he wanted. 

“Mom, I just want someone here who cares about me,” Owen had said, heavily, into the phone. He knew his words had gone slightly slurred, and he waited for her derision - his mother was the queen of it, after all, of cutting you apart with words alone. “Listen to this - a Whumpees-R-Us nonproductive pet can arrive with any skillset you require or phys, physical combination of- shit, sorry, Mom, I’m drunk-”

“Yes. I can quite tell you are. Don’t be ridiculous, Owen, you’re not getting one.”

“I’m a grown-ass man, Mom, and I say I am.”

“Would you at least order a girl?” 

There it is, Owen thought. Carlotta Grant didn’t care if her only child bought a living human person, just if it fit the version her constituents wanted to see. 

He took incredible pleasure is pausing long enough to take another long sip of lime and gin before he answered, “Oh, it’ll definitely be a boy.”

“Owen…” Carlotta sighed, heavily. “Darling. We talked about this.”

“No, you talked about it. At great length, no matter how often I asked you to stop. I want a boy and I’ll have one. Here’s a compromise, Mom - what if I don’t let it leave? I’ll keep it in here with me, they can train it to not be able to even walk out the door without me.”

“Owen…”

“Take it or leave it, Mom.”

Carlotta went quiet again, for much longer this time. Then she finally said, “Fine. Owen… I know that my decision was difficult for you-”

“All of your decisions are difficult for me, Mom.”

“Your decisions haven’t exactly been easy for me, either. Vincent Shield could still cause trouble for me, if he ever chooses to air what you did to him publicly.”

“He won’t. We told him I’d stay away from him if he kept it hush-hush, and he did. He won’t say anything to anyone, Mom. You can trust him. I couldn’t, but you can. It doesn’t help his career either, you know, if they find out about him.” Owen felt his throat catch, had to swallow hard against the tears. 

“Right. We don’t need them find out about your latent sadism, either, but I suppose I must put my trust in the career aspirations of Vincent Shield. Get whatever you want, Owen, but I had better not see it step one foot outside of that condominium if it makes it into the news.”

They spoke for a while longer, about nothing and relatives and people who had recently died or pissed his mother off, senate bills she was worried about and Owen’s latest project bankrolling a documentary exposing a monopolizing pharmaceutical giant, and the whole time Owen’s mind wasn’t on the conversation at all, but on Vincent fucking Shield.

They’d been inseparable. They’d made promises to each other. Then Owen had fucked one tiny little thing up - just the one thing, and it hadn’t even been that bad, what he’d done, and Vincent had probably liked it anyway - and Vincent had left and never came back.

He glanced down at his empty glass with a bit of ice that still clinked, and then up at the Whumpees-R-Us website. Create a completely customized option for minimal surcharges and receive the perfect pet of your dreams.

He poured more gin, added another twist of lime. “You know what my perfect fucking pet is?” He asked no one in particular. The Roomba beeped softly under the couch in its docking station. “Vincent Shield’s my perfect fucking pet. Make him feel pretty fucking sorry for what he did. They don’t have anyone on here who even looks like him…”

Then his blurry, bleary eyes caught a line at the bottom of the pictured Box Boy options. This does not represent the totality of what Whumpees-R-Us can provide. Send us your requirements and we will dedicate ourselves to fulfilling your every need, with an added surcharge.

So he clicked on the custom order form for Box Boys, watching it load, blinking at how fucking huge the page was. And it started with a simple box that asked what kind of pet you were searching for.

Owen very nearly wrote I’m so fucking lonely.

Instead, he settled for Companion.

The screen blinked and new options appeared. Platonic, Romantic, Domestic, or Combination?

Owen snorted. Platonic. He wasn’t some fucking sicko, he was just looking for someone to bring some life into this place. But… maybe it was just that he was drunk, or maybe it went deeper than that. In any case, a thought came to mind. He pictured wide blue eyes in a face that used to be pale, now tanned on all the movie posters. Thought of those eyes full of tears, for him. Then… then he thought of what it might be like if those eyes weren’t full of tears, but something else.

The thing Vincent had owed him, and had never been able - or willing - to give.

Then he unclicked his previous decision, and chose Combination. 

We will return to detailed specifics of your [Combination] requirements in a later section. For now, please list physical requirements for your Box Boy.

Owen swallowed, looked up the photo of the movie poster for Dimmer Switch, with 20-year-old Vincent Shield and 17-year-old Owen Grant in action poses against a dark background and a glowing light. Vincent’s face was clearly visible - soft and slightly sweet-looking, wide blue eyes, curly black hair. Long limbs and kind of a slim body type, not as muscled-up as he was now.

Not that Owen kept up with his career or what he looked like now, or anything.

He started with the hair, and the eyes. At first it felt wrong, like he was trying to build a Frankenstein’s monster for himself, but it was all perfectly legal and if it was really wrong, why were so many people buying them now? 

No, this was fine.

Owen was fine.

He was going to bring Vincent Shield home, and once Vince came back here, he was never, ever going to be able to leave.

He checked every box, wrote down details. At the bottom of the physical requirements section there was a spot to upload photo references, and he added the movie poster, some other pictures from magazine interviews from back then, he and Vince together in a few of them. Shots of Vince with the mop of curly hair and a bright wide smile, flashing whitened teeth. Shots of Vince with his arm around Owen, the both of them grinning for the photographer.

It took nearly two hours to finish, and by the end of it he’d stopped being drunk or maybe he was drunker than ever, but he’d entered a place of perfect clarity about his decision. He was about to spend a lot of money on this boy.

It was going to be perfect.

In the final box for any added comments not covered by the questionnaire, Owen Grant typed, Make it so he can never, ever leave me without fear. Make it so he wants my touch more than anything else in the world. Make it so he would lose his mind before he’d lose me. I want him to be sweet, and kind of a soft person. I want him to put up with anything I do to him. 

He paused, considering, and then added one more thing.

I want him to love me.

Then he pressed SUBMIT, made himself drink a glass of water, and passed out in his bed.

When he woke up the next morning, the Roomba was in the middle of a cleaning routine and his phone was ringing. He squinted at a number he didn’t know, but decided to answer it on kind of a whim. His number was private and only a few people had it - if someone was calling he didn’t know, it was probably one of his mom’s staff members. “Hello?”

“May I speak with Mr. Owen Grant?” A warm, melodic voice spoke on the other end of the line.

“Ah, this is Owen Grant.”

“This is Karen Renford, Client Satisfaction Director at Whumpees-R-Us. We received your request for a custom order last night and I’ve just had time to review it. There is… an exceptional amount of specialization in this order form, Mr. Grant.”

“I… I know. Shit. Oh, sorry.”

“No apologies required. I indulge in a bit of profanity myself on occasion.”

“The, the order form… was it too much?”

Too much to hope for, that Vince’s blue eyes could be all for him. Too much to dream, that he could fix all his old mistakes. Too much, to think he could keep someone here when Vince had run so far, so fast, and made it impossible to get close again.

“Not at all. We are aware of your… connections, Mr. Grant. We would love to work with you on this request, and hope you would let your influential mother know how excited we were to be given this opportunity to truly prove the merits of our methods.” 

Owen tried not to audibly snort.

“We already have a suitable candidate in mind who is most of the way through his basic training, although there have been a few… hiccups.”

“Hiccups?”

“Ah, it’s all part of the process.” She did not quite laugh, but there was a lilt to her voice that suggested she wanted to. “645898 is a sweet soul at heart, once you take apart the rest of him. I think he’ll be perfect for what you need.”

“So why the phone call?”

“It is customary for the company to directly contact clients of your… discerning and exacting taste. Considering the costs associated with so many specialized requests-”

“I am more than able to pay the amount owed, Ms. Renford.”

“Oh, we know that. This isn’t about money at all, Mr. Grant. Whumpees-R-Us is dedicated to client satisfaction, and it’s my job to look at this form, speak directly with you, and ensure that you receive exactly what you need.”

“So you can make him… want to stay here? Not able to leave?”

“Can we make him ‘love’ you, as you requested on your form?” Her voice held no mockery, no hint of judgement. “Mr. Grant, your request is considerable, but I believe we can ensure that your boy won’t ever be able to take a step out the front door without you by his side. We can make sure those big blue eyes are focused entirely on you, no matter what you do to him.”

Owen’s free hand clenched slowly into a fist, and something twisted and untwisted inside of him. 

Vince’s eyes, all on me. No matter what I do. 

“That sounds perfect,” Owen breathed out, shifting in the bed. “I want him to think I’m safe. That I’m the safest thing in the whole world.”

No matter how much I hurt him.