#might start posting shorter fics here because there's too many on archive

[gardening--tools]

me while playing fo4 because i’m an opinionated bitch and i disagree with bethesda’s character design

anyway. presenting,

a detailed look at every companion’s appearance, according to me.

(these are all headcanons. they might not be yours, but they are mine. i wrote this as a fic-writing reference, but i don't mind sharing so long as we're all nice about it. also, spoilers ahead for companion quests, both in vanilla game and dlcs. you've been warned okay love you have fun. sorry in advance that you can clearly tell who my favorite character is.)

cw: heights represented by the united states customary system. sorry metric users :/

Ada. Modified RobCo Assaultron. 2074 model. SN has been sanded off and replaced with "ADA", painted carefully (lovingly) in blue script. It's clear that it has been reapplied multiple times, as many times as necessary. Post-Mechanist quest, she requests to have the names of her fallen friends painted on her body as well.

Cait. Pre-addiction recovery, scrawny-strong. Blood, muscle, bone and not much else. Very short. Like, south-side of 5'3". Has a very rectangular body shape. Hard angles. Was bright strawberry blonde when she was a kid, but it got darker as she got older. Hazel eyes. Freckles year-round and all over. She doesn't burn super easily, but she doesn't really tan either. Just freckles. Nose is crooked from being broken too many times. Post-addiction recovery she is a beef. cake. With Sole's help and resources she gains plenty of weight post recovery. Other than the normal weight gain that comes after recovering from addiction, she finds she enjoys exercise—especially weight lifting—and that it helps her manage her cravings. Her biceps are unfair. If I can be honest, I really only shared this so I can start proselytizing for my Fat Cait Agenda.

Codsworth. Standard GAI Mister Handy. 2076 Model. SN: 01HND-7619-0163. This is only visible because the 2076 Handys had their SN's embossed. All other markings that were printed or painted on have eroded away. A cute fact about Codsworth is that, despite his 200 years of wear and tear, he doesn't have a single dent on his exterior panels. Not. A. Dent. Scratches, yes. Scuffs, sure. No dents. He takes his structural integrity very seriously, thank you. He will brag about this if you let him.

Curie. Pre-companion quest, Modified GAI Miss Nanny. 2072 Model. SN has been scratched off and replaced with what is probably "CURIE", but the combination of chicken scratch writing and 200 year old marker makes it illegible. Post-personal quest, Generic Female Synth Body. Average body weight, brown hair, brown eyes. (I know she technically has "Hazel Blue" eyes but I disagree. It's my post and I get to make the rules here.) Her only deviation from "average" is her height. Generic Synth Height is 5'10", for both male and female synths. Takes time to look neat—neatly trimmed nails, trimmed hair, etc—and enjoys it.

Danse. M7-97 was a vanity design* so Danse looks a little different from the Generic Synth design. Still has the brown hair, brown eyes, but is a touch shorter than the standard. 5'8". Latino or Hispanic. His hair is insanely thick, but his beard always grows in a little patchy and with the odd blond patch just below his right ear. (This was not an intentional part of his “design.” Genetics, even synthesized genetics, get funky sometimes.) Carries weight like a strongman weightlifter. Thicker than average, even for the Brotherhood, so he's always had to have his flight suits and PA specially altered. (Thicker than average in regards to BODY TYPE you sickos– This is not that kind of post lmao.)

(This post from slocumjoe is a huge influence for my headcanon for Danse! Thank you for going through your archive to find it!)

Deacon. The Average Guy Ever™. Average height, average build. I'm firmly in the "Deacon is a Good Spy, actually" camp, so. Uncanny ability to adjust how he looks just by altering his posture. His weight has always easily fluctuated, so he can go from stick thin to bulked up in a matter of weeks. No matter how many surgeries he gets, he cannot hide the freckles. They always come back. He would have had piano hands if he hadn't been a chronic brawler in his youth. Knuckles are very crooked now. Eyes so blue they're nearly grey. Ginger. Has long eyelashes that are frankly illegal for someone who covers his eyes all the time.

Dogmeat. Dog. He has six toes on his back left foot.

Gage. 5'11". In an alternate universe, would tell people he was 5'9" just to fuck with them. Was a towheaded kid whose hair darkened significantly as he grew up. If he spends a lot of time out in the sun, though, it will turn a sandy blonde/light brown. He keeps his hair short because otherwise it gets very curly and floppy and it really kills his "bad-guy raider" vibe. Would be one of those white boys who tans super well but also thinks wearing sunscreen is for the weak. Scarred to shit. Holds onto muscle for a really long time. Underbite. Slutty little waist because I think that's funny.

Hancock. John Prime was already pretty wiry to begin with, and becoming a ghoul has only emphasized this. 5'7" but seems shorter because he's always leaning on something. Draping, even. He's like if a man was also a liquid, somehow. His remaining hair is incredibly thin, but is the most vibrant golden blonde anyone has ever seen. Eyes are dark due to discoloration, but sometimes—if he's taken in a ton of rads—the edges of his irises will glow subtly. Several piercings on his ears, but he used to have more. Lost them on account of his nose falling off. (You know how it is.) Replaced them with an astonishing collection of rings. Cheekbones that could slice a brahmin. Missing his fourth toe on his right foot.

MacCready. Definition of scrunkly. Not a lick of fat anywhere to be found. 5'5". Has a Gunner tattoo on the left side of his forehead and he hates it. It's why he wears his hat so low. Had an ear pierced once, but it got ripped out ages ago. His left earlobe is split now. He very clearly needed braces growing up but obviously didn't have access to that. Bottom teeth are crooked. His cuticles are picked to shit. Sandy brown hair. Cuts his own hair, but only cares about the hair around his face. Line of sight. Sniper. You get it. Is generally too lazy/uninterested in the rest, and will neglect it until it gets too long, so. Mullet (hot).

Nick. See, the problem with my synth grandpa is that this is the only character whose design Bethesda completely and utterly nailed. Like yeah, he does look like that. You got it. You did it. Perfect, no notes. Like all other Generic Synths, he's 5'10".

Old Longfellow. Exactly what you would expect an Old Hermit-Mariner Driven To Eldritch Madness By The Fog and The Sea would look like. The wildest eyebrows anybody has ever seen. Like you could take a comb through those bad boys. His hair is past his shoulders and fades into his beard. Stark white hair due to the stress of living alone on an island and from What He's Seen. You cannot convince me that there are not some Lovecraftian nasties living in the sea. They Know Longfellow, but Longfellow Knows Them. 6' until he stands up straight and then he's like. 6'5". Liver spots across his face and hands. Looks like he has cataracts in both eyes, but somehow can see better than you.

Piper. By far the companion whose Bethesda!verse appearance I disregard the most. In my heart she is a South Asian woman. On the taller side, between 5'8" and 5'9". Super thick, dark brown hair that in fact does just Look Like That (unfair). Her hair grows from fairly far down on her neck. Deep brown eyes. Spends lots of time on her makeup, even when she's out in the 'wealth chasing leads. Prefers red lips and dark liner close to her lid-lines. Her cupid's bow is super pronounced and she does her makeup to highlight it. On the softer side in regards to physique. Has a burn scar on her right forearm from a cooking mishap back when she was still trying to figure out how to live on her own and take care of Nat at the same time. Bites her nails.

Preston. Personification of someone telling you that everything is going to be all right. Tall, 6'. Pretty standard physique for someone who grew up on a farm and then became a soldier in a wasteland militia. Very square hands. Lets his hair grow out a little bit because he (forgets about it) likes it. Brown eyes that look like honey when the sun hits them. Other than the two scars on his face—one running down his left cheek, the other a small nick on his top lip—he has a scar from a bullet wound on his right shoulder. Has a stick and poke tattoo of the Minuteman coat of arms on his left arm, just where his shoulder meets his bicep. Top lip is bigger than his bottom lip. Dimples when he smiles. Huge smile, smiles with his whole mouth. Legs like an adonis. Someone get this man into some 4' inseam shorts, STAT.

Strong. Super mutant. He was a Butcher, so he's a little beefier than your average mutant. Of course, this is only known to other mutants, as the subtleties of mutant physiology tend to be lost on non-mutated humans.

X6-88. Generic Courser Build. While Generic Synths are designed to blend in with the everyman, Generic Coursers are designed to inspire fear in every man. (booo bad joke tomato tomato) 6'3" but stands so perfectly straight that he seems taller. Has the superhero build, but like naturally. Keeps his hair in a short fade. Bottom lip is lighter than the top lip. Has little lines around his mouth from all his frowning. Has one (1) singular scar on his chin. He won't tell you where he got it (it's from him eating it on concrete steps. That was the one mission he asked for an extension on, so the evidence of him beefing it would heal.) Also chronically wears sunglasses. Behind those aviators are grey eyes that are so pale and sharp, they almost look white.

[naranjapetrificada]

[Queueing this a few days early because I know I'll forget the day of]

According to the depths of my archived emails, it was a year ago today when when I created this account, which wasn't my first tumblr account but even though I didn't know it yet, it was going to be the first account I ever used with any regularity. I only did it because of the stupid thing where you have to log in to actually see shit, which was something I wanted to do because I needed wanted to read OFMD meta so badly. I didn't realize it, but even creating this account was a sign that this show and its fandom were going to Mean Something New to me.

(behold: an overlong post about what OFMD and being in this fandom have meant to me, despite the horrors and The Horrors™)

I'm not a fandom rookie. I've been in and out of fandom spaces since my early teens, which means decades plural, although I'll further date myself by clarifying that those spaces were forums and, more than anything else, back-in-the-day livejournal (qepd). I've had blorbos since long before we called them that, or even called them "babygirl." As soon as we had internet access at home I was googling my shows and my characters to see what people said about them and discovering the magic of reading and writing fanfic.

I started using this account to lurk and take in people's thoughtful meta, and puzzle over what I called in my head "kylo ren disease" before I learned to call those corners of the fandom the canyon. But what got me to finally post for the first time was after reading too many fics that evoked themes in the show (and my life) that I wasn't ready to deal with until I finally granted myself a space to yell into the void about grief (general existential grief, the grief inherent in Stede and Ed finding each other relatively late in life, the grief of not being able to become who you are because society has no room for your authentic self, etc). Seriously, every original post I made for the first several weeks I was here was about grief, to the point of needing a dedicated hashtag.

It took me some time yelling into what turned out to not be a void (because people wanted to hear what I had to say?) before I realized another thing I was grieving: writing. I have tremendous baggage around writing, in ways that other "gifted" kids will immediately understand. But suddenly I could write again, hold shit! I wrote lots of meta, until the feelings I had about everything boiled over into a shortish fic because I literally couldn't find anywhere else to put them.

This was the first time I felt compelled to write my own fic in over a decade, and the first time in around that same amount of time that I could stomach writing fiction at all. Then I wrote another. And another. I often describe these shorter fics as having been written by "the poetry part of my brain," which is shorthand for being centered around an image or two that I couldn't stop thinking about, not really needing plot, and perhaps most importantly, self-contained in a way that allowed me to use them as tools to process an emotion and then put it in a box like season 2 Frenchie.

I love and value those fics, the way you can love and value something that helped you but that you no longer have a strong attachment to. That I can look at them now and see beauty in fiction I wrote without my aforementioned writing baggage causing a problem is a testament to how important they were for me. But then I started thinking I might want to write a longfic, and when the idea didn't go away after a few month I decided fuck, I guess I'm doing it? And I am doing it, and that is huge, and when (not if, when) I finish it will be the longest piece of fiction and one of the longest pieces of writing I've ever completed.

I'm actually writing longform fiction, something I've attempted to do my entire life but that never felt possible. And not only does it feel possible, it feels important (to me at least) and necessary and vital. That's the way writing used to feel before, well, *gestures at previous two decades* and being given that back is truly a kind of gift. And yeah that's a gift that the source material gave me, but it was also a gift from all of you who are out there reading and writing and commenting and painting and literally ever other form of participating in a fandom that it's possible to do. It's a gift that has allowed me to reclaim huge parts of myself and my personal narrative in ways that are truly therapeutic (which my therapist, a former art therapist, has endured me talking about at length). It's a gift I'm going to be grateful for forever, and I'm just so thankful to all of you for it. And I'll even still be thankful for it the next time I'm forced to behold whatever new cursed take has popped up in the tags.

I think. Definitely probably. It's just the cost of doing business.

[moonbythecabstan]

We're Up Against The Wall (Know I Like It Like That) - Part 1

Rated: M

Pairing: M/M

Fandom: World Wrestling Entertainment

Relationship: The Miz/Dolph Ziggler

Summary: A surprise visit from Mike's good friend takes a surprising turn.

Mike flicked his thumb over the screen, skimming the posts scrolling past with vague interest. He wasn't one for mindless social media perusing, but waiting on his wife usually took quite a while. Especially when she had her girls with her. Their giggles heard every time he peeked into the room to check on how much longer he'd be waiting. Left with nothing else to do, he took to looking through Instagram. Tossing a double tap out here and there, smiling at the many pictures of his friends doing interesting things in their lives.

He glanced at the time at the top of the screen when his restlessness got the better of him, groaning when he found only three minutes passed by. How was it time moved so slow when you desperately wanted things to hurry up? Waiting on your wife and suffering through workouts being the times when you wanted the minutes to fly by. Yet they merely crawled. Dragged.

There was a knock at the door that startled him out of his silent griping. He furrowed his brows at the door like maybe he imagined the sound, but it came again. A rhythmic knocking he recognized with a grin. Pushing up off the couch to greet his friend as he pulled the door open wide.

"Hey, man! Didn't expect you to drop by today." Dolph Ziggler, in classic shades and red Motley Crue shirt (sleeves cut off because of course), nodded to him. Ponytail flicking jauntily back and forth as he shifted weight from the left to the right, a hint of teasing to the 'apologetic' smile he offered.

"Yeah, well. I was in town and... I mean, you know how it is. Better to drop in on a friend than go out to some expensive establishment in town." He paused, head tilted and lips pursed for a moment. "It's cool that I'm here, right?" He leaned over to one side and then the other, seemingly checking behind Mike. Probably wondering if they were going out or if his wife had something planned for them.

After all, Mike was dressed in a casual but still nice outfit. Jeans, blazer, clean white t-shirt. His nicest boots. He figured there was still about twenty minutes before he'd even be close to leaving the house anyway, so he nodded and invited Dolph inside. It was better than sitting bored in the living room, something playing on the television and staring at the wall while his thoughts ran away with him.

Not possible to be bored when Dolph was around. That anyone knew.

"So, judging by your nice clothes and pretty face I assume you're going out soon." Mike dropped back onto the couch, though Dolph remained standing. Glancing from where Mike sat to somewhere down the hall. With a hum, he got into a more comfortable position. Effectively rumpling his shirt and blazer, something he was surely going to be nagged about when it was time to go.

"Yeah we've got some business stuff to attend to. And then dinner at this new steakhouse. I'm just waiting on wifey to be done with her thing so we can go." He checked his watch, grimacing. "Should be in the next twenty minutes."

"Ah. Hence the letting me come in. Better than talking to the wall. Probably anyway." Mike snorted, nearly running a hand through his hair before remembering he'd styled it already. He dropped his hand listlessly into his lap, puffing air out of his mouth up at the ceiling.

"Trust me. It's a much better alternative. What are you doing in town anyway? I thought you'd be up in New York by now?" If he remembered correctly, Dolph had some... thing or other scheduled soon in New York. Of course, he could barely keep up with his schedule, never mind a friend's.

"I do, but that's not for a few days. Well, technically two, but I figured it would be fun to visit my brother for a bit. Except he's apparently busy. Then I thought, 'Hey, Mike probably wouldn't mind a buddy' and here I came." He certainly appreciated it. It had been a little while since they really got to hang out. Usually one of them was busy doing something else or they were hanging out with their group of friends at a party or some formal event.

It wasn't the same as just chilling out. Shooting the shit. Catching up.

"Glad you did. You don't know how long a minute can stretch until you're waiting for someone to get ready to go." Dolph laughed, sunglasses now hanging on his shirt collar and his smile reaching his eyes. Blue as the California sky outside his window.

"Brutal." Then he took a step back, glancing down the hall again and smiling in apology. "Mind if I use the bathroom real quick?"

"Sure. Go ahead. You know where everything is, right?" Dolph nodded, already heading out of the room. Something about him a bit more...highstrung than usual. Mike wasn't sure what it was about him, but he let the musing go in favor of heading for the kitchen. Seeking one of his healthy snacks since it would be a good while before he'd be eating anything.

Not even five minutes later, his phone buzzed on the counter. Curiosity piqued, he set aside the mustard bottle he'd been examining for an expiration date and plucked the device up. Brows furrowing when he found Dolph's message notification there. An amused thought crossed his mind of Dolph stuck in the bathroom without toilet paper or something, though that disintegrated quickly into curiosity when he unlocked his phone and read the actual text.

"Hey, you gotta come check this thing out in your guest room. What is he talking about- guest room?" He tried to think of what in the world Dolph could have found in the guest room, shuddering at the thought of a rat or something being in there. His phone buzzed again, a 'hurry up miz' making him roll his eyes as he pushed away from the counter and walked quickly to where Dolph was waiting for him.

"Alright, what is i- mmph?" The moment he was through the door, it shut quietly behind him. Dolph crowding him up against it. A dangerous and enticing gleam in his eyes. He nearly spoke again, his thoughts shooting off in a hundred directions as he scrambled to understand what was happening, what he'd walked into, but Dolph shushed him. Tilting his head once towards the adjacent wall.

And then he heard it. Talking. It was muffled through the wall, but he recognized the higher frequency of women chattering together. Giggling and speaking in shrill voices that carried into the next room. That being the one he was in currently, Dolph watching him carefully. Heat in his gaze that made Mike swallow. His throat suddenly very dry.

"I believe I remember you once mentioning something about how you've fantasized about this. About us going at it in the room next to the one she's in while getting ready." Oh God. He remembered that? Mike vaguely remembered one of the times they hooked up while out of town, he'd been completely blissed out and barely able to put coherent thoughts together. Rambling on about something while kissing along the throat that tasted of salt and smelled of thick musk. Dolph's fingers trailing along the skin of his back and chest, sending little shivers through his body.

Afterwards, when he had his bearings, he remembered saying something along the lines of what Dolph said to him just now. Cringing in embarrassment and praying Dolph either hadn't heard him or wasn't able to pay attention any better than Mike was. Not that it wasn't truem he was ashamed to say, but he preferred to keep such fantasies to himself. Not wanting anyone, not even Dolph, to know some of the things he really wouldn't mind doing.

Apparently he'd hoped in vain, because the man heard and remembered. Obvious in the smirk he wore as he looked him over.

"Um, I was kind of hoping maybe you didn't hear me when I said any of that." Curiosity sparked in darkened eyes, Dolph humming lightly as he considered him for a moment.

"Why? I mean, it's not the best idea you could have in terms of keeping people from finding out. But apparently that gets you hot, and who am I to deny someone something like that? I'm game if you are." It hit him rather suddenly what exactly Dolph was proposing. What was on the table here. He really wished it didn't have him flushing head to toe. Didn't have his heart hammering at the mere thought.

He wished he didn't want to do this. It was wrong on so many levels.

But damn it he did.

Still, he found himself hesitating. "I don't know..."

Dolph leaned in close, their bodies just nearly brushing, and lightly slid his nose against the underside of Mike's jaw. Pulling a sigh out of him and making his eyes flutter closed. It had also been a while since they got to be together like this, rarely ever alone or somewhere they could feasibly be alone.

He didn't like to admit it, but he missed this. There was something insanely addicting to it. The adrenaline coursing through his veins. The knowledge he was doing something he shouldn't. Their natural chemistry snapping and crackling between them when they touched. Kissed. Their passion burned so hot, so bright, and together it was absolutely blinding. Threatening to burn them to ashes.

Every time they got together left Mike wanting more. He couldn't, really shouldn't, but still he craved. Still found himself thinking about it. Once or twice even dreaming of it, an awkward situation he felt immense shame over while sitting on the closed toilet seat. Head in his hands. Drying sweat leaving his skin sticky. Grimy.

"It's up to you. Whatever you want." In his opinion, though Dolph was trying to make it like the final decision was Mike's to make (and, he supposed, in a way it was since he could technically walk away), Dolph also wasn't playing very fair. Ambushing him in the guest room. Leaning in close, keeping him trapped against the door with his body. Teasing him. Smelling as good as he did. Looking like he did.

Looking at him like that.

Really it wasn't fair at all. Because whether he wanted to or not (he totally did) they were definitely doing this. He had no possible way to fight Dolph, or ignore the hum of energy under his skin. And Dolph knew that. Knew just how to push Mike's buttons to get what he wanted. A reaction. A favor.

And behind closed doors, whatever he wanted in bed.

Not that Mike was, like, complaining. He loved making people happy. Would do anything to do so. What they wanted to do he would do delightedly. Diligently. That applied about ten-fold in the bedroom.

"You know I want." He spoke lowly and with slight irritation because they both knew Dolph knew this. Far too smug for his taste, knowing Mike would play right into his hand. Dolph, grinning, tugged him off the door. Letting out a quiet yelp when Mike suddenly charged him, taking the control right out of his stupidly smug hands. He licked heated kisses into Dolph's mouth while curling around him. Absorbing the pleased moan Dolph let out and kissing back harder. With earnest fervor.

Hands squeezed at his shoulders, fingers then trailing along the back of his neck. Bodies pressed firmly together. His ears picked up loud laughter from the next room and he broke the kiss with a gasp to trail lips along the stubbled jaw. Squeezing his fingers into Dolph's waist, a low sound next to his ear making his hair stand on end.

Muffled conversation continued from the other side of the wall his back thumped into, Dolph whispering against his throat. He grasped tightly to whatever parts of the man he could, taking a shape inhale when fingers picked at where his shirt was neatly tucked into his pants. A shiver running up his spine when quick tugs freed it, hand slipping underneath and nails biting into his sensitive skin.

He wasn't sure how much teasing he could really take like this, praying Dolph took mercy on him but knowing the chances were slim. It was rare they got this, even rarer in the situation they were in, and Dolph wasn't known to squander an opportunity laid so perfectly for him. Trust him on that one.

Fingers plucked at buttons, getting through three before Dolph invaded his space again. A heady scent bulldozing his senses and making him dizzy. Dolph always smelled good, but this was something else. He'd happily drown in whatever bottle this stuff came in, that's how good it was.

"Gonna have to be extra quiet, you know that? They could hear you." Another button undone, his shirt looser across his chest. Falling just a centimeter more open. He felt himself arching, trying to break free or maybe draw closer to the other man. To melt completely into him. "Can you actually do that? Can you keep quiet?"

He swallowed thickly.

"Yeah. Yeah I'll- I'll manage." Another button, Dolph leaning back and shooting him a twisted smile he felt deep in his gut. Leaving him to question just how well he'd be able to manage not alerting anyone in the next room what was transpiring.

"We'll see about that." And then, without warning, he dropped to his knees. Fingers making quick work of Mike's belt, the leather snapping as it was tugged from around his waist and tossed onto the (thankfully carpeted) floor. Dolph glancing back at it and making a face.

"Next time, we'll try the laundry room. I remember it has a hard floor." His response dried on his tongue as eager hands wasted little time with buttons and zips. Mike wheezing, clenching his jaw to keep from making any other sounds, when Dolph's left hand slid across his skin. Pressing firmly but gently into his stomach while eyes watched him with open curiosity.

"Hmmm. Usually can get at least a squeak out of you with that one. Going to have to work harder, aren't I?" Squeezing his eyes closed, he counted to five in his head and let out a steady breath. Trying to center himself and ignore the delicious tingling all over his body.

"You're trying to break me...on purpose?" Dolph hummed, smiling sweetly while tugging down snug dress slacks and briefs a few inches. Cool air skating across his skin and making bumps rise up his arms. A tremor in his thighs. Damn him.

"It makes this a little more interesting, don't you think? Just like that time you did something really similar when I was on that conference call with those really important people I told you about? Remember that?" He did, and that had been pretty entertaining. Dolph's strained voice and broken sentences delighting him to no end.

He was quickly coming to realize it was not nearly as fun on the opposite end. Especially when he liked being vocal. Noisy. Sharing his...appreciation.

"If we're caught-" A pointed look.

"Don't get us caught. Simple." If only it were. He had a feeling this was not going to be anything near easy or simple for him.

[naktergalen]

Rivamika Fic Suggestions List 2

Hey there again! It’s been a while since my last rivamika post and I apologies for that. I caught the reading bug and have just been hitting book after book. I might be doing a book of the month suggestion starting in March. I’m still thinking about it but if that is something your interested in let me know. Or if you just want book suggestions just message or ask me. But for now, I’m back with my second Rivamika Fic Suggestions List.

First of all, I want to thank you for all the comments and messages I received from my first list! I think it has over 150 notes now which is crazy for me. I was going to be ecstatic if it got like 10 likes or something hahaha! I’ve enjoyed talking to some of you about fics and other snk stuff. Feel free to do the same after this post! I know I take awhile to respond but swear I get there eventually.

Same rules as last time. I’ve split this list up into four categories. I wanted to let people know the status of some of these fics in case they did not want to start an incomplete or in progress story. All of these fics can be found on AO3. I’m going to try to link them but we will see how tumblr acts today. If you have any fic suggestions for me, feel free to message me with them and I can add them on to the next list. If any author sees their story on here and wants me to take it off the list, please let me know I don’t wish to make anyone feel uncomfortable. Also, last thing, I highly recommend leaving comments and kudos to the authors. I know that they greatly appreciate it and it helps them with improving their writing through feedback. Okay shutting up now, ON WITH THE LIST!

DISCLAIMER: I know that not all of these stories are not for everyone, these are just my opinions and suggestions.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Completed:

- Thunder Clouds

Author: K_Lionheart

Rating: Mature

Sometimes I like to go to the very back of the Rivamika archive on AO3 and look for fics that have gotten buried over time. Low and behold what I have found lol! I enjoyed the emotional roller coaster when I was reading this fic, though sometimes I wanted to pull my hair out. Set after the titans are gone, humanity has to repopulate so arranged couples by the monarch are made to be wed. While this new order is being enforced, Mikasa and Levi are trying to work out their strained relationship. A slow burn with angst that will have you staying up till 3am dying to know what happens next. I know that there is a sequel to this fic called Nimbus and I’m slowly working my way through that one. Honestly, it will probably go on my next list.

- Red is the Only Colour

Author: mongoose_bite

Rating: Mature

A cute fic that was a quick but wild ride. A Little Red Riding Hood type of AU where Mikasa is a hunter of some sorts traveling through a town. I don’t want to say how Levi plays into all of this since it gets border line spoilers but just know that he is there. It is an opening ending fic for the author to come back if they plan on doing so but it can be interpreted in different ways. All in all, a fic worth of the quick read.

- Sing Me a Song

Author: LazyTrash

Rating: Mature

First I have to get this off my chest, I love the author’s name hahaha! I freakin wished I would have thought of that for mine! Anyway, this fic is wonderful but I will warn you that its a gut punch. If you like hurt and angst put together, then this is the story for you. I love these types of fics because I adore them so much but they hurt me in my soul. I don’t know what that says about me but whatever. I don’t want to delve into the story too much for spoilers but I would suggest rivamika fans to check this one out.

- Midnight Musings

Author: Raewyll

Rating: Teen

I just started to read Raewyll’s fics so I’m slowly working my way through all her works. This one caught my eye and I had to read it. This is a cute take on a chance meeting through texting the wrong number. I love the way Levi and Mikasa’s relationship blossoms into something more serious after causally texting back and forth. It’s one of those stories that I can only describe as being cute as shit! I’m definitely going to be checking out more of Raewyll’s fic in the future.

Ongoing:

- Beyond the Walls

Author: helena3190

Rating: Matue

If you love RIvamika angst, then look no further than this baby right here. This is currently my favorite ongoing fic. It was supposed to be a shorter story, but the author keeps adding more chapters so I’m not complaining hahaha! This fic is pretty much how I would *personally* picture canon Mikasa on how she would deal with realizing that she’s falling in love with someone. Its mostly told in the perspective of Mikasa as she is dealing with the after effects of war and trying to figure out what should she do with her life now that she is no longer a solider. Her feeling for Levi come with a lot of confusion as she’s discovering emotions that she has never felt before. She has a hard time pinpointing on what exactly describes her relationship with him. I’m anxiously waiting for the final chapter for this fic and dying to see how it will end for Mikasa and Levi.

- After the War

Author: loneackerman

Rating: Mature

I am loving this rivamika slow burn fic right here. Its similar to Beyond the Walls but I think the author adds their own taste of the 1920s into it. Set after the war is over (obviously), Mikasa and Levi have to figure out what they are going to do the rest of their lives. It has great tension, a perfectly paced gradual romance and just the right amount of humor to combat the emotional turmoil it puts you through. Again in my opinion, this is close to how I would realistically perceive Levi and Mikasa’s relationship evolving. I’m really enjoying this story and I’m looking forward to more updates to come!

- The Sound of Lightning

Author: LycheeGreenTea

Rating: Mature

A new fic that is just getting started but I can tell that what the author has in store is going to be interesting. Set several years after the end of the war, Levi and Mikasa are loving parents to a single child. Their peaceful life comes to an end when the family has a threat against them. There are not many long fics about Mikasa and Levi being parent so I was very happy when this one popped up on the AO3 feed. An exciting adventure awaits the Ackerman family now and I can’t wait to see where this fic goes in the future. There are three chapters as of now so head over there and check it out.

Incomplete:

- Home

Author: MissErikaCourt

Rating: Mature

One of the gems I found when diving back into the Rivamika archive. Ugh I HATE that this fic is incomplete!!! Its a good long fic but I’m greedy and I need more! I will give a warning first that this fic does contain heavy themes. Mikasa and Levi are in the underground to fight against a criminal ring. This story is a slow burn with action and emotional trauma. There is a wonderfully written OC that you easily get attached to its not even funny. Even though its not completed, I would highly recommend checking it out. I still have three more chapters to finish but I had to put it on this list. I know that I’m going to be pissed once I reach the last chapter written. If someone know MissErikaCourt, let her know that she needs to comeback to finish this masterpiece!

- Shiver

Author: bornsinner

Rating: Mature

Another one that I DISPISE its incomplete!!! Ugh such a great Office AU. It’s everything that I would want in an Office AU setting. Mikasa struggles between her committed long term relationship and her growing attraction (which starts to develop into some feelings) to her boss, Levi. Its hot, sexy and intriguing and it pisses me off that its not finished! The author writes each chapter as a one-shot but collectively together they tell the whole story. Highly recommend even though its so short. BORNSINNER where ever you are in the universe I hope you come back to finish this!!!

- Two Lines

Author: Crejhov

Rating: Mature

When this was getting updated it was my favorite on-going Rivamika fic. I would find myself checking to see if the author updated with a new chapter every week! The unplanned pregnancy trope is a classic one, but Crejhov does a fantastic job on keeping readers enthralled with soo many anticipated character meet up that are bound to cause hurdles for our expecting parents. This story is told from the perspectives of Mikasa and Levi in order for us to understand where their mindsets are as they plan for their expecting child and deal with their relationship. AHHHHH I want more of this!!! I was soo excited to see where this awkward journey was going to take Mikasa and Levi. CREJHOV COME BACK PLEASE I KNOW YOU HAVE WORK BUT PLEAAASEEEE! I NEEEEEEDDDD!!!

- Cabin Fever

Author: AmayaOkami

Rating: Mature

All I should have to say about this is that its written by AmayaOkami and that should explain it. Amaya is the one that gave us the beautiful incomplete rivamika fic Romance and Rivalry. I just adore her writing. Levi and Mikasa relationship evolves as they are standing guard over the arrested Kenny Ackerman. Secrets are discover about the Ackermans and it gets pretty steamy between our two favs. Great fluff and great sexual tension that leaves you wanting more chapters! Again AmayaOkami where ever you went I hope for some miracle that you come back and complete this one too!

One-Shot:

- Jade

Author: shulkie

Rating: Mature

This one-shot feels like I read a novel, it has such a great storyline. An arranged marriage between Mikasa and Levi leaves the relationship strained in the beginning. Their relationship evolves over time as Levi patiently brings down Mikasa’s wall. With smut added for all of your one-shot needs. Definitely worth the read in my opinion.

- What Remains

Author: Mirime

Rating: Mature

This one-shot gives us a glimpse into the secret relationship that Levi and Mikasa have been having while there are still scouts. This fic is sad but I would say it has a bittersweet ending. I think this was supposed to be part of a collection but I can’t find the rest of them. Still a great read by itself.

- Agape

Author: alienheartattack (Sanneke)

Rating: Mature

This fic is cute as shit! A College AU where Mikasa and Levi are childhood friends. Levi has to deal with Mikasa being at the same college as him while he is struggling with his changing feelings towards a grown up Mikasa. Worth the read as I said cute as shit, leaves you all warm and fuzzy lol!

- As Seen in Shadows

Author: MoraLeeWright

Rating: Explicit

FUCKING MORA! LEE! WRIGHT! UFFFFGGHHH Fuck I’m in love with her writing style. I really have nothing to say more that just go read it! Its hot and sexy and the sexual tension is off the fucking charts in this one. Its just MoraLeeWright smut thats all I can say. It’s great! JUST READ IT LMAO!

- Remedy

Author: NSummer

Rating: Mature

Another hot smut one-shot coming your way! Levi and Mikasa have had an ongoing affair and this just recounts their first time together. Its just some good ol’ Rivamika smut that I think that everyone in this community would enjoy.

- Nutty: Drunk in Love

Author: Hallow17

Rating: Mature

A fun smut to read about Mikasa getting “revenge” on her asshole boss, Levi. Things don’t go the way she plans as things get a little heated in the sexy way. A quick smut that I think is perfect for a little Rivamika crave.

- Spicy: Jalapeno

Author: Hallow17

Rating: Explicit

Another fun smut to read by Hallow17. Levi has been stressed out at work and Mikasa finds a way to help him get his mind off it (if you know what i mean). Again perfect for a Rivamika quick fix.

[trilies]

an argument for AO3

So I’m in a conversation with someone who is kind of in the “against AO3″ camp, and they asked me a couple of questions. Namely, who wouldn’t be uncomfortable with pedophilia? Isn’t it sketchy that a beta website is asking for so much money despite reaching its goals?

And my answer became so long... I figured it might as well become its own post. Please bear in mind that this is cut from a whole conversation.

But here it is.

------

No. It doesn't seem sketchy to me at all. Why would it? I know we make jokes about how much money tumblr has cost the various sites which purchase it like Yahoo, but there's some truth there: it's really expensive to host a website to thousands and thousands of people. It's why we see so many tumblr owners trying to shoehorn in ads or make people buy services, or why Photobucket tried to pull that truly atrocious bullshit a year or two back. Without image hosting capabilities (tumblr and photobucket's big thing), the strain isn't as huge.... but AO3 is MASSIVE. It is hosting literally thousands of accounts, millions of stories. That's massive on a server scale alone, ignoring all the other work they do. Yeah, it's in beta... but that's because it's trying to reach a goal of being as good a fanfic archive as they can be, and they don't believe they've reached that goal yet. Being in beta means they can better listen to their uses on shit like tagging systems and make those changes. Not to mention, again, they are INCREDIBLY transparent. If you are worried about where the money is going, you can go on the site and they have all their stuff up there.

As for the pedophilia subject matter.... Please give me a moment. because there's honestly a lot to say on that particular issue, if nothing else. This will take a while, so if you see this and there hasn't been a reply yet.... I'm still typing lmao.

To start with, of course people are uncomfortable about pedophilia. However, there are a lot of problems with how pedophilia is viewed or *used* as an accusation in the current fandom climate.

For example, in honestly EXTREMELY recent times, I was told I was "defending" pedophilia because I disagreed that a character (an immortal food gijinka) was "minor-coded" or "designed as an underage teenager". (As a note, an argument for this view was that the character's breasts were too small.) When I pointed out, hey, that's kind of a fucked up accusation to throw at a complete stranger, especially as I am a CSA survivor, I was told "You have to be lying about that, then, because a real CSA survivor would understand."

c o o l

That's just my personal experience that happened within a couple of months. Other people have talked about running into people who think that a character turning 18 means they're a pedophile for still dating a 17 year old. Or running into people who think a 40 year old dating someone in their 30s is pedophilic. Or believe that even SHIPPING characters who were not yet 18 was pedophilic if you yourself were over 18.

(Of course, you also have the kinds of people who try to use Moral Purity as a way to bash ships they don't like. I once saw someone try to claim that a popular mlm ship, A/B, was pedophilic because one half of the equation looked young.... when some other artists drew him... Of course, on the side, this person liked to also get angry that *their* favorite ship, a dude/chick ship composing of A/C, wasn't more popular. So. You know.)

So that's one half of the problem: the word "pedophile" being so warped that a lot of people now have no idea if the person using it has a genuine concern or if the accuser is trying to smear someone who doesn't ship the same thing. FFnet and Tumblr have gone with the "burn it all down" approach, which hasn't actually helped anyone and is, to boot, sloppily moderated. So we know from history, from experience in cases like mine, that it doesn't help in that area.

The other half of the problem is... How far is too far?

This is where "anti" culture begins to find similarities with the whole Warriors for Innocence thing. If you completely and blindly block an entire tag, or anyone associated with it, you have to ask: who are you hurting? Warriors for Innocence hurt actual rape victim, and queer folk, and a whole lot of others. Far as I can tell, anti culture is on the route to the same thing, because I have yet to see appropriate answers to a lot of issues.

If one says "anything with underage sex in it is bad and should be banned", what about fics that tackle it in a serious manner? The young adult novel "Speak" deals with rape of an underage girl and how she works through that mental trauma; are fics with stories equivalent to that allowed? Do fics with underage sex have to focus purely on how it is Horrible And Bad to be allowed? Does only a chapter have to be allowed? A paragraph? An author's note? A tag? Or are we allowed to never explore dark subject matter?

Is fic with underage content in it only horrible if it's someone over the age of eighteen who writes it? Can a teenager write smut (terribly written as it may likely be) between teenage characters? Can a teenager write smut between a teenage character and an adult character? For the record, i did in fact, over the summer, run into someone who said that teens/minors "shouldn't even know about NSFW", which is asinine to me, because Abstinence Only is a terrible thing to put in schools, and somehow worse in a way when you try to put that into effect in fandom. If the answer is 'yes', what are you going to do, demand to see people's birth certificates in fandom?

(As a note, I think this is a terrible message to put into fandom for teenagers because I believe it will inevitably lead to self hatred and a warped view of sex. If you make the extremely simplified black-and-white statement of "teens and sex should never go together ever in any way", that's going to mess up teens who are starting to experience arousal in their bodies. The message, whether intended or not, ends up as "NSFW things are bad, which means my brain which thought NSFW thoughts is bad, and my brain thought those thoughts because my body had these feelings". )

(This is bad for any average teenager. This will be especially worse to CSA and rape victims, along with queer youth who, in a lot of places, are still struggling with their bodies and/or feelings because the world is still pretty damn queerphobic.)

Speaking of CSA and rape victims, what about those of them who write/read underage ships or dark content as a way to cope with what happened or Just Because? That's a thing lots of us do, especially those of us who don't look like the Perfect Victims people can use as an excuse for whatever crusade they're waging. I've heard anti types go "Well, it's an unhealthy way to cope" or claims that CSA/rape victims who write such dark content are "just as bad as their abusers"... But are they psychiatrists/therapists? Are they the psychiatrists/therapists of *those specific people*? Will you moderate this kind of content by forcefully interrogating CSA/rape victims to out their trauma to a complete stranger? Will you demand to speak to their therapists? Over fanfic?

When I was a teenager, I wrote all sorts of stuff. I wrote dark dub-con fic, because I liked to explore those dark feelings in the process and the aftermath separate from myself. I wrote a fic with a fairly young teenage girl (what age was kh2 kairi? who even knows, I sure didn't) falling for a MUCH older man built like a brick shit house so that there was never any doubt to him being an adult, even giving him her first kiss, because they were my favorite characters, I wanted both of them to have a moment of happiness (that i promptly ruined but hey), and, *in this fic*, I knew it would be alright. I knew the girl would always be in control, she'd be the one making moves, that the guy was nonthreatening and kind and protect her and work alongside her.

(and then I began the process of killing him off in the next paragraph through him saving her life, but, like. Drama (tm), baby)

This was all good for me. At an age where I was young, vulnerable, and figuring out weird shit like arousal and romantic feelings, it was *invaluable* to have a space where I could explore all of that while relatively safe from actual danger, even if the stuff I wanted to explore was a little messed up. This whole thing against AO3 wouldn't have helped me, and I'm pretty sure it's not helping a lot of other people too.

There is an issue with underage people and sex stuff- not just in fandom but in culture at large. We have Hollywood dressing up young girl actresses in super slinky or revealing clothes. We have schools saying girls basically should never wear shorts, and capitalism fucking this up further by only selling SUPER SHORT shorters. We have media of all sorts giving us adults, whether in real actors or character design, in the roles of young people. (See: "how do you do, fellow kids") We should probably take more care about fandom spaces, so that people of all ages don't feel pressured to engage in sexual shit they're not 100% game for or into, or just have it shoved into their faces without consent. It's a complex issue... and it's not stuff that can just be 'banned' and have that fix it.

AO3 has on its plate a very complex problem that will, if we're all honest, never have a perfect answer. It has given us the best that can possibly be asked for. It obeys the law by not having actual child pornography on it (aka visual proof of actual real children, defined by us law as such), which is closest to "objective" we can get at the current stage in humanity and state of fandom. It has a very comprehensive and moderated tag system, so that people can post warnings along their fic so that people don't stumble onto shit they don't need to, and so that people can moderate their own reading experience to some degree.

If some people aren't comfortable with AO3, that's fine. However, most of us are getting annoyed not with those people, but with the people who just blindly say "AO3 supports child porn and is probably stealing money" (statement simplified for the purpose of this post). It shows an ignorance of the fandom history that lead us here, no understanding in either AO3's practices or how expensive it is to run a site, and no consideration for how complex this problem can really be. It would be great if this was a black and white issue, if there was an easy answer as just "banning" certain kinds of content... but there isn't. And that's where I am.

[lauramkaye]

The Milestones You Didn’t See Coming

So someone commented a really early story of mine today and it made me go back to try to find when I posted it. Thanks to the fact that my first posts were to alt.tv.xfiles.creative and were automatically archived by Gossamer, I was able to pin down the date of the first fic I ever posted.

Wednesday, December 8, 1999.

I have been writing and posting fanfic for more than more than 20 years. My first story is as old now as I was when I wrote it.

In my time in fandom I’ve hopped around, from X-Files to Sentinel to Due South to pop slash to MCU with so many shorter stops along the way and so many other fandoms I loved even when I didn’t write for them. I was accidentally a BNF for about five minutes, mostly because my fic was hosted on the same website as a couple of actual, much more important BNFs. I wrote stories I posted, started stories I never posted, and in one instance started posting a WIP that I eventually took down because I knew I was never going to finish it and I felt bad about leaving it incomplete to taunt people. (If you ever see this, Pat, I’m really sorry I never finished it. I know you liked it and your encouragement and enthusiasm for the project meant so much to me.)  

I made friends. So many dear, dear friends that I treasure to this day, even the ones that I’ve fallen out of touch with over the years. When I got married, one of my bridesmaids was my sister, one was my best friend since infancy, and the other two I met through fandom. Almost all of the close friends that I made in adulthood, I first met through fandom, including the one who introduced me to my spouse.

I was not prolific for all of those years, but even when I went for a while without writing anything new, I was still reading fic and engaging in fannish circles to some degree. In those years, I finally fulfilled a lifelong dream and wrote a novel. When I started, my output was purely fluffy romantic G-rated slice-of-life stories of the type that in the XF fandom of the 90s we called "Vignettes." I loved (and still love) long, meaty, plotty novel-length stories that would last me a long time, and I wanted to write that way, but never thought I could. But time and amazing mentoring from more established fans (shoutouts especially to @cesperanza, the writer that baby writer me wanted to be when I grew up, who was largely responsible for teaching me how to actually edit in a beta and not just proofread) and amazing writing and editing partners have helped me to not only become more prolific but to keep growing as a writer. Writing fanfic is a source of deep creative joy for me, and engaging with slash fandom was one way that I, who grew up in a deeply conservative religious southern family and didn’t even meet an out gay person until college, started the journey to realizing that I was myself bi and not straight like I’d always assumed. (Let me tell you, THAT realization made so much of my life make so much more sense in hindsight.)

Basically what I’m saying is that fanfic has made my life richer in so many ways, and I want to encourage anyone who might be worried that maybe their work isn’t good enough, or that nobody else will like what they like, or that maybe they should have outgrown their hobby by now, or that they’re wasting their time and should be writing “real” (ie, sold for money) stories: hang in there. Things that give you joy don’t have to make money to be valid uses of your time. You aren’t too old to still be reading and writing fanfic.

Here’s the the next 20 years.

[decembercamiecherries]

Chapter 18 title: Epilogue

Chapter 18 word count: 2,384 -> Total story word count: 105,822

Chapter 18 summary:

Gon kissed him again—though this time it was probably to shut Killua up more than anything. Killua could feel his laughter in the vibration of his lips, but Killua found he didn’t care. Instead he threw his arms around Gon’s shoulders, smiling into Gon’s lips, and kissed him back.

They’d saved each other, in many ways. And now that they were together, they would save each other countless times more.

I wrote this whole sprawling goodbye/end of the fic essay on ao3 so I’m not going to clog up this post by repeating all that lol. Please just know that this fic has pushed me to become a better writer in so many ways and I absolutely love it. This is my favorite fic I’ve ever written. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me until the end <3

-o0o-

The setting sun was beautiful against the backdrop of endless grass and rolling hills.

Killua watched as the sky turned from blue to purple to scarlet to gold, his palms pressing into the wood of Kite’s porch and his silver hair swaying in the breeze. Everything felt so much more peaceful here, he had noticed. There were no beeping cars or blaring sirens like in the city. Here, the only sounds were the quiet chirping of crickets and the distant voices of his sister and Kite.

He squinted out at the horizon. He could just barely see them, two silhouettes against the blinding sun. Kite was the tall, willowy figure, a cap on his head. Alluka was shorter, her bush of thick hair chopped short since they jumped into a stolen car at the airport and took off into the night. She looked nice with the shorter hair, Killua thought. It suited her.

Creak.

“Whatch’a thinkin’ about?” Gon grunted as he sat down next to Killua on the porch steps. Killua shrugged, allowing Gon to wrap an arm around his waist and pull him close. Even as he hugged him, Gon was careful to avoid Killua’s fractured ribs and for that, Killua was grateful.

“Dunno,” Killua said vaguely. He watched as Alluka’s figure turned towards the small house where he and Gon sat. She threw up a hand, waving enthusiastically, and Killua automatically raised a hand in return. “Just...stuff.”

Gon hummed. “Any kind of specifically interesting stuff?”

“Not really.”

They sat in silence for a moment. A bird crowed in the distance and the sun was warm on Killua’s skin. They could sit here forever at never worry another day in their lives.

Gon commented, “It’s quiet here.”

“Yeah. I like it, though. I’ve never lived away from a city, before. It’s a good change.”

Gon nuzzled his face into Killua’s hair. Killua didn’t need to see Gon’s smile to hear it in his voice, “I’m glad you like it. Maybe, if you want, I could show you the farm I grew up in.”

“The one with your Aunt?”

“Mhm.”

A small smile tugged at Killua’s lips. “I would like that.”

“I think you would, too. You might have a hard time bringing Alluka, though.”

“Yeah, well—” Killua huffed, “—it’s not my fault she’s obsessed with him. I think she might be even more taken with Kite than you.”

Gon laughed and Killua grinned at the sound. Alluka had been very taken with Kite, right from the moment they all arrived on his farm in the middle of the night. She was fascinated with his ideas, listening intently to his discussions about research with wide and eager eyes. Kite in turn questioned her about her inventions, even helping to pull out some bits of metal from his basement to help test a theory of hers. The two had connected on a level almost better than Kite and Gon.

“You don’t mind it?” Killua asked, turning a little to look at him. “I mean, Alluka’s kind of hogging all of Kite’s attention and he’s supposed to be your friend.”

Gon shrugged. “Kite lost his memory years ago because of what Pouf did to him. I can’t expect him to know who I was, or for him to like me right away with who he is now. It’ll take time. But that’s okay! I’m just happy he’s alive and safe. And Alluka too, of course.”

Killua leaned his head back on Gon’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. He could smell the faintest hint if pine. “I’m glad,” he murmured.

Gon shifted slightly under him. “About what, Killua?”

“That Alluka is happy. That we found Kite. That we’re all still alive.”

“I knew we could do it!”

“Yeah, well...I had my doubts.”

“Hmm. It did get a little hairy there at the end.”

“Yeah…”

Killua frowned. A week had passed since their encounter with Pouf. The bruises on his and Gon’s bodies were yellowing but still tender, and Killua’s ribs still ached even after a rough but thorough patching up on Leorio’s part on the way to the airport. And Killua still woke up every night running from a crazed looking Pouf who turned into a swarm butterflies before exploding into flames.

But the nightmares about Pouf were always better than the ones with Nanika—those nightmares were worse, because they often left Killua locked alone in a dark room with nothing but the younger version of his deceased sister, staring at him with holes for eyes and a toothless, empty smile.

Gon must have noticed Killua’s silence. He nudged Killua slightly, and asked, “How are you two holding up, by the way?”

Killua shrugged. “It’s hard,” he said honestly. He wouldn’t lie to Gon and make their situation seem better than it was. He and Alluka has paid dearly for their escape from their family and the Palace. “That AI was the last connection we had to Nanika. With it, we felt like we were somehow keeping her with us. Letting her go like that was…”

“Not what you wanted,” Gon finished. “Yeah, I get it.”

Killua sighed heavily. “It just sucks, you know? The price of leaving our family behind for good was leaving Nanika behind, too.”

“Do you really think they’ll leave you alone now?”

“I’m sure they’ll keep looking,” Killua mused. The warmth of the sun’s rays were growing weak on his skin. The sun would set fully soon. “But Nanika didn’t just self-destruct that night in my and Alluka’s beads. She would have followed that self-destruction order with all her beads, including the ones my family stole from us. She would also have fried any system she was connected to—”

“So your family’s technology is basically destroyed? Gon asked and Killua nodded.

“Theirs, and the President’s. That’s why all those alarms went off that night, because Nanika was destroying every electronic system and code that Pouf’s phone was connected to.” He paused. “But we should take Kite and move on from this place tonight anyway, if we want to keep the President off our backs.”

“Oh! Yeah, ‘course, that was the plan all along. But—” Gon let out an appreciative whistle, “—wow. Your sister was really something. I wish I could have met her…”

Killua swallowed thickly. There was a lump in his throat, a burn in his eyes. He didn’t think he would ever fully get over Nanika. But he would do is best to remember her and honor her memory.

“Yeah,” he said roughly. “I wish you could have, too.”

“Maybe you should take me to see her grave,” Gon suggested. “Like how I showed you Kite’s!”

Killua shook his head. “No way, that’s all the way back in Padokea with my family.”

“Oh...we're better staying here, then.”

Killua let out a bark of laughter. “You could say that again.”

Silence fell between them. It wasn’t the kind of stiff and strangely charged quiet that had risen up to meet them in the first week they’d met. They’d seen too much of each other’s fears and hopes to be like that anymore.

Killua had changed, since meeting Gon. He trusted him because he knew him, had seen him at his highs and lows. He was comfortable here on this porch, watching the sun set and resting in Gon’s embrace.

“What about you?” Killua asked quietly. “Do you think you’re free from the Hunters?”

“...I think so,” Gon said thoughtfully. “I mean, I didn’t contact them after the chaos at the Palace. They probably think I died.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

Gon squeezed him. “Yes, Killua. I don’t want that life anymore. I just want you.”

Killua closed his eyes and breathed deep. His heart throbbed at Gon’s words, his skin warming and his chest filling with something light and giddy. It had taken him a while to figure out why his body responded to Gon’s confessions like that.

But now—now he knew why.

Killua opened his eyes. “H-Hey...Gon?”

“Mmm?” came the sound of Gon’s happy hum. The feel of his warm arms wrapped around him made Killua want to melt into his embrace and never leave, but this was important. He wanted to see Gon with his next words.

So he gently untangled Gon’s arms from around his waist and turned to face him. Gon’s eyes fluttered open, the color of his irises turning gold in the sunlight, and Killua’s heart fluttered in turn. He reached out to interlock their fingers, relishing the easy way their hands fit together so easily.

“I want to—to tell you something,” Killua began hesitantly and Gon tilted his head.

“Yeah?”

Killua gave a jerky nod. “Yeah. Um...do you remember the night of the invasion?”

Gon’s lips twitched up into a humorless smile. “Kind of hard to forget. Didn’t we get captured and you get beat up in front of me and then almost got handed back to your family?”

Killua swallowed thickly. Could Gon feel his palms sweating? “Exactly. But, uh, before that...at the party. We danced together.”

“Mhmm.”

Gon had started to stroke the back of Killua’s hand with his thumb. The movement was comforting but distracting at the same time. And it most definitely didn’t help that Gon looked like a golden statue in the sunlight—his skin glowed bronze and his freckles popped like mini suns on round cheeks. It made Killua want to…

No. Focus, Killua. You have a mission.

Killua sucked in a shaking breath. “You said then that you loved me.”

Gon stopped stroking Killua’s hand. He focused on Killua’s face, a frown ghosting across his lips. “I did. I do. Why, are you doubting me?”

“Wha—no!” Warmth prickled across Killua’s cheeks, a heat that had nothing to do with the summer sun. “Of course not! How could I, after everything that happened?”

“Oh. Okay, then.” Gon relaxed and went back to stroking Killua’s skin.

Killua shook his head. Gon was a little too intense for him, sometimes.

“Why’d you bring that up?” Gon asked. He was looking down at their hands, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I thought we were trying to move past that whole ordeal. ‘Start over’ and all that.”

“We are. I just wanted to tell you that��” Killua steeled himself and squeezed down on Gon’s hands. Maybe if he squeezed hard enough, the butterflies in his gut would fly over to Gon instead.

He said timidly, “I wanted to tell you that I—that I love you. I’m in love you, too, I mean. Um.”

He stopped. Gon was staring at him, eyes blown wide as the setting sun. It made Killua feel even more self-conscious than he already felt, the butterflies in his gut swarming and battering against his chest like they were trying to escape.

“You...You love me?” Gon asked. His question was barely louder than a whisper. “You’re in love with me, Killua?”

Killua forced himself not to look away from Gon’s slowly darkening face. He had never been the best with sharing his emotions, and he doubted he ever would. But he was so sure of this, confident for his feelings in a way he’d never been sure about anything, except maybe loving Alluka and hating his family.

And Gon had always been so open with Killua, from the very start. He never lied, never put Killua in any danger more than necessary. And he trusted Killua, just as Killua now trusted Gon.

“I do,” Killua said and his voice shook. Gon breathed in deep, his whole chest swelling. “I’m, uh, sorry it took me so long to—to—you know—mph!”

The rest of Killua’s stumbling apology was quieted by Gon’s mouth being shoved against his. Gon’s hands cupped Killua’s jaw, fingers digging into Killua’s burning cheeks as the ex-Hunter kissed him enthusiastically. Killua closed his eyes and returned Gon’s kiss, tasting cinnamon and smelling pine and feeling that all-consuming and ever present warmth Gon constantly exuded.

He didn’t think he would ever get tired of this. When Gon kissed him, the butterflies in his chest fell away and the rest of the world with it. All that mattered was Gon and his love for Killua. It was a love Killua knew he could count on, to face today’s problems and tomorrow’s and everything that came after.

Killua hadn’t expected to find this when he found Gon. But now that he had, he couldn’t imagine living without it.

Gon pulled back and Killua’s eyes fluttered open. Gon’s pupils were blown wide, leaving only a rim of gold around the edge. Something hot coiled in Killua’s gut at the sight.

“I love you too, you know,” Gon whispered, lips split in a gleeful grin.

Killua rolled his eyes. Now that Gon had stopped kissing him, Killua could feel the burn of his blush in full force. “You told me that, already.”

“I know! But now that you love me, I can say it whenever I want!”

“I doubt you would have stopped telling me that, even if I didn’t confess to you. You called that stupid meal at the diner a date.”

Gon laughed. “You’re probably right,” he agreed and stroked Killua’s cheeks with his thumbs. “But I already knew, then.”

Killua’s heart swooped and soared, and he finally didn’t have to wonder what the feeling was. He whispered, “Knew what?”

Gon grinned, showing off a brilliant smile that Killua adored so much. “I knew that you were special. And I couldn’t be more grateful you sat next to me on the train that day. You saved me, Killua.”

Killua squeezed Gon’s wrists. “I think you saved us. If you hadn’t come, we still would have en hiding from my family. Alluka and I wouldn’t have been free to travel the world.”

Gon smirked. “Let’s agree to disagree.”

“Stop being so damn stubborn—”

Gon kissed him again—though this time it was probably to shut Killua up more than anything. Killua could feel his laughter in the vibration of his lips, but Killua found he didn’t care. Instead he threw his arms around Gon’s shoulders, smiling into Gon’s lips, and kissed him back.

They’d saved each other, in many ways. And now that they were together, they would save each other countless times more.

[carlisle980]

Just Dance

It’s still Bangtan Day here in the US, and I did something I never imagined I’d do. I wrote Bangtan fic. I haven’t posted it anywhere, because ff.net is where the bulk of my work is but there’s no Bangtan archive there, and while I do all my reading on AO3, I haven’t posted there in years. I can, if the consensus is that it’s a good idea.

Anyway ... here it is. Apologies to the usual crowd. Well, more like, sorry ... not sorry. I love all my old faves. And BTS too.

+++++++

Hey, dance with me dance with me Any kind of bounce is fine, dance with me Where are you from, why are you dancing A natural conversation, say something —J-Hope, “Trivia: Just Dance”

She stands in the center of the cold grey floor feeling small and overwhelmed and old. The studio looks the same as it did twenty years ago, when she spent eight hours a week here. In this very space. Learning. Her horizons expanding. Experiencing a world that made her heart pound with expectation. The sky seemed the limit then. 

It smells the same. That combination of sweat and disinfectant with a hint of central air conditioning that she’ll forever associate with this room, with this craft. She couldn’t believe her luck when the question of using the space was as easily answered as it had been half her life ago. Now, as then, all she had to do was ask the director. Is there a chance I might use the studio sometime, when there are no classes and the company doesn’t need it?

It was easy to come by, but that doesn’t mean she can have the space indeterminately, she reminds herself. There’s no grand objective to her being here; she just wants to see if there’s still the same pull. The fascination, the exhilaration. Why, precisely, is a question she cannot answer. 

She’s thinking too much, and that won’t do. She plugs her phone into the studio’s sound system and turns on a playlist she works out to at home. It’s high-energy, if eclectic. Avicii is on there. OneRepublic, Maroon 5. “Rhythm Nation” by Janet Jackson and a bunch of vintage Art of Noise. Those are there because they were part of her teacher’s playlist back in the day. Her German-born teacher, a former student of Gus Giordano; a geologist-turned-dancer whom she idolized to the extreme. Sigh. Those were the days. 

Knowing it isn’t wise to just start dancing cold, she tries to remember how they used to warm up in class. What a dumb thing not to recall, given that she was advanced by the time she stopped. School loans and weddings don’t pay for themselves, after all, and once she had her degree she could no longer justify the indulgence. Putting off adulthood to linger at the college and take dance classes, to no particular end. So she’d got herself a big girl job out in the real world. One with a salary and health insurance and, in time, a corner office with windows and a door they let her shut so she could concentrate. Pretty sweet gig for a twenty-year-old. Sweet enough that she and her husband had bought their first home —in the overpriced Baltimore-Washington metropolitan area of the early 2000’s, no less— when she was 24. Sweet enough that by the time she left to have their first child, she was making enough that she could’ve bought a Mercedes. If, you know, that had been her priority over becoming a mother. 

In the absence of any grand recollection, she sidles up to the barre and starts with the basics. Plié, relevé, plié with a push through to relevé. Relevé down into plié. Coupé, frappé, dégagé, rond de jambe. She puts a leg up on the barre and leans sideways towards it: first one, then the other. Wiggles her shoulders a little, rolls out her lats on the foam roller. Back flexibility is a tough thing but she’s working hard. It’s better than it’s ever been, and compared to other people that’s not saying much, but for her it’s the hallmark of progress. 

That’s warm enough, right? You’re really not supposed to stretch before dancing. Cold muscle is shorter and more likely to tear, and all that. The music continues to play and she progresses to chaîné turns. This is where she begins to get frustrated. It’s the same story as it was all those years ago: she can turn to her left well enough (though spotting still doesn’t work the way it should, as evidenced by the room spinning when she stops), but turning to the right is an exercise in futility. She under-rotates and falls out of the turn and no matter how slow she goes, it doesn’t improve. It’s the same with fouettés. Pirouettes in the center go a little better, but she only lands a double once or twice out of several dozen attempts. She practices those turns from modern class that her teacher never had a name for and always referred to by sound effects, like the sound you’d make if you were suddenly punched in the stomach because that’s the mechanism: a core contraction into a spin, propelled by gravity. There was a lot of that, dancing under Lena. Sounds and gestures filling in where words failed. Those turns are still her favorite; they look pretty without the dancer having to do much besides knowing when to work with gravity and when to resist it. That’s why modern was always her preferred style: it doesn’t take a perfect body to finesse the principles of contract and release, of fall and recover. 

Little by little she begins to pull things from memory: a crazy penché-drop-spin from advanced modern class that was easy when she was nineteen and is significantly less so now; bits of the Ailey-inspired choreography they learned one semester. She is struck out of the blue by the same desire that characterized her girlhood. Whenever she would encounter a large swath of open floor, her first instinct was always to leap across it. But she knows that one doesn’t simply grand jeté indiscriminately when one has not done so for the better part of two decades. Despite Kathryn Morgan’s advice to just sling the front leg out there and go for it, she holds back. She’s already come back from a groin tear once; never again, thank you very much!

The music decides for her what will happen next when it begins playing “Black Swan.” She hauls herself to the center of the floor in what she imagines is a comedic fashion and gets herself into position. 

From there it just flows. She feels it, the struggle of which Martha Graham spoke; the one that inspired the song. It’s all too real for her. 

A dancer dies twice; once when they stop dancing, and this first death is the more painful. 

She’s danced this piece a thousand times in the privacy of her bedroom, and she nails every count, trying to make it expansive, to fill the vastness of the studio. 

Killing me now, killing me now. She has felt that. The despair, the slow death of a precious part of her soul when she’d given up her dream in favor of security. She doesn’t speak Korean —not yet, anyhow— but she’s taken every syllable to heart, knows what each one means. 

Sinking slowly like in a trance nah, nah, nah Struggle but it's all ocean floor nah, nah Every moment becomes eternity yeah, yeah, yeah Film it now, film it now Do you hear me, yeah

She’s breathing hard by the end. Tears are streaming down her face and she hadn’t even been aware she was crying. Oh, my God, what was that? That was … like a religious experience. Why did I ever give this up? Why did I let go of me?

It’s as she’s wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, taking gulps from her water bottle like she’s spent the last year in the desert, that she becomes aware she is not alone. 

Her head snaps around sharply when someone clears their throat and she gasps. There, seated on the bench above the cubbies where students stash their bags, is none other than the Jung Hoseok. He is barefoot, sitting with his legs criss crossed, in an orange t-shirt and blue shorts, pushing a hand through his dark hair like she’s seen him do countless times on YouTube. 

Surely, she’s dreaming. Because she has dreamt of situations like this, both literally and metaphorically. Many times. But in dreams, be they the daytime variety or at night, she never sees him blink, or hears him breathing. But nothing about this makes sense. What is Jung Hoseok of BTS, arguably the world’s busiest man, who cannot walk to get coffee in Seoul without being mobbed by stampeding multitudes, doing here? In the States, on the campus of a community college, and, by all appearances, alone?

Even if he is real, it isn’t as if she can ask him. She knows his English is getting better and better as time goes by and BTS’ influence in the West continues to balloon. But where he can speak a bit of her language, she only knows random words in his. 

Still. They’re staring at one another now, and she feels incredibly rude. He can’t be a dream, because he’s infinitely more beautiful in real life than even the best photographs have made him out to be. All angular, with impossibly long lashes, and yes, there’s that adorable mole just above his top lip. 

“You’re very good,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence, and isn’t that just characteristic of him? “Dance was … wow.” His accent is heavy but his meaning is clear. And oh, that smile. He really is the sunshine incarnate. 

She wants to brush off the compliment, to explain to him that maybe she was good, once upon a time, but now she’s just somebody’s mom. But she doubts it would be easy for him to understand. She wrinkles her nose, shakes her head almost imperceptibly. “I …” she stammers. She’s talking to Jung Freaking Hoseok —WHAT?! “First time really dancing in many years.”

He smiles again. “Really good,” he repeats, nodding his head for emphasis. “Serious.”

She’s not sure whether he’s saying that she looked serious while dancing, or that he’s serious about her doing well, but either way. If anyone knows the inner workings of the “Black Swan” choreography, the sentiment behind it, it is this man. 

“Thank you,” she says softly, her cheeks hot. “I love Black Swan.”

There’s so much she wants to ask him. Why are you here? Are you traveling alone? Are there security guards outside the door ready to handcuff me to a lamppost? Because I asked the program director if I could use the studio and she said yes! But the language barrier would make it impossible, and anyway, isn’t there some saying about not looking a gift horse in the mouth? She hasn’t taught that one to her kids, but she’s pretty sure her grandmother said it to her at some point. 

He smiles once again in response to what she said about “Black Swan” and makes a short humming sound in the back of his throat. “I’m Hoseok,” he says in perfect English. “Hobi.”

She almost laughs aloud. As if there was any possibility she wouldn’t know who he was. But then, hasn’t that been one of the things she’s loved best about him from the start: his humility. 

So she introduces herself, and he bows from his seat and tries out her name. It’s adorable. And now she knows the answer to one of those questions she just figured she’d ponder for eternity: her name falling from his lips sounds like angels singing. 

“Dance with me?” he asks as he rises from his seat and holds out his hand to her. 

If this is a dream, please don’t wake me up. 

‘You don’t understand,’ she almost says. ‘You’re … you, and I’m old. I don’t pop and lock, unless you wanna talk about my hip joints when I try grand battement. I don’t b-boy. Modern’s all I’ve got.’ But how many times has she said it: My dream is to dance with Hobi for a day. What kind of absolute idiot would she be to pass up an opportunity like this?

So she says, “I would love to.” And means it more than she’s meant anything since she said ‘I do,’ as a twenty-year-old kid. Nineteen years, two houses, three children, countless ups and downs later, and look how that turned out. Sometimes good things just happen. 

She was already warm, but since he isn’t, she stretches when he does, and now it’s safe to stretch hip flexors and hamstrings and they definitely need it. He watches her a little. She watches him a lot. Sometimes he copies what she’s doing, as if there’s anything she could possibly know that he doesn’t. He does these crazy boneless things, dropping to his knees and seemingly floating back up to stand, and she just shakes her head. It looks even more effortless —and even more impossible— in person. 

She whips out the chaîné turns again. Her good side, of course. She can fake spotting well enough to make it from one corner to the opposite pretty quickly. 

“Oh!” he exclaims. “Like Jimin!”

She giggles. “I wish!” she says, and watches as his expression turns to a question mark. 

“Wish?” he asks. 

How to explain? “My style?” It comes out as a question because she wants to be sure he can follow. 

He nods, so she continues. 

“My style, like Jimin’s style. But Jimin … WOW. Me? Just okay.” She makes the hand gesture that means ‘so-so,’ because some things are universal, right?

He laughs, shaking his head. “Aish! No, no, no. Not ‘just okay.’ Very strong. Very …” He thinks for a moment, and there’s another question answered. Pensive Hobi is breathtaking. “Very … grace?”

She is floored. “Graceful?” she asks. He nods emphatically. “Me?”

“Yes, yes, yes! Arms.” He gesticulates wildly with his own. Which, she knows, he would do even in the absence of a language barrier. “Pretty.”

How can she tell him she’s not built like a dancer, that that knowledge has always made her feel heavy and ungainly? That she’s always wanted to be tall and delicate, like him. “My back.” She gestures behind herself. “My spine?” BTS have a song called “Spine Breaker,” even if they call it something else, so maybe it’s a word he knows. 

He nods again, echoing, “Spine.”

She reaches into her bag for a pen and paper and draws a likeness of her spine, double curves and all. “Not straight,” she explains, handing the sketch to him. “Makes dancing hard.” It affects everything. I can’t turn properly; I have no extension. My hips are a mess. Every time I lift my leg it clicks. 

“Hurts?” His eyes are soft, his expression sympathetic. 

“Yeah,” she answers. “Yeah, sometimes. But dance makes it better.” Ironic, right?

“Keep going,” he says with finality. Insistent. Like he’s solved every mystery of her life. 

Perhaps he has. He’s only been witness to a half hour out of her entire existence, but in that short time he’s seen a side of her that few others have. He’s watched her dancing, smiling, throwing herself full-force into something she loves. Maybe she never got to perform. Maybe she gave up on training to become a dance teacher. But if dancing makes her feel this level of satisfaction, how can she afford not to give it a prominent place in her life?

She studies him for a long moment. Does she dare ask anything of him? She answers that question with another: will she ever have an opportunity like this one again?

“Hobi?” she ventures timidly. He nods. “Teach me?”

“Yeah!” He says it like it’s a forgone conclusion. 

“DNA?” She’s never been able to work that one out on her own. 

He grins in answer. 

They spend the next hour speaking the universal language of dancer and choreographer. “Pah! Pah! Pah!” “Five, six, seven, eight!” She gets on the wrong foot a time or two, turns and collides with him once, all of it to gales of laughter from the pair of them. He corrects her body position and he’s hands-on but ever the consummate gentleman, and by the time they stop she knows the entire choreography well enough that she can perfect the rest at home. 

All too soon it’s over. “I have to go,” she explains sadly, pointing to the schedule on the director’s office door. It’s printed in English, but he gets the gist. There’s a class coming in soon; her time is up.

They sling their dance bags over their shoulders at the same time and it results in another shared laugh. 

“Hobi,” she says at the door, “thank you.” There’s so much more she wants to tell him. As long as I live, I’ll never forget this. You’re my favorite dancer. You’re a legend. 

“Don’t stop,” he tells her in a tone of voice that brooks no argument, squeezing her hands in both of his own. “Always dance, friend.”

When she performs “DNA” with the company the following semester, she dedicates it to him. 

[96percentdone]

Please do #18! "I shouldn't be in love with you" that easily applies to both of them! But I want to see it from Saihara's POV if that's ok >_

This is the last of the prompts! wow! it’s been a long time! Thanks for being so patient with me. Anyway, as you requested:

18. “I shouldn’t be in love with you.”

@oumasaiweek​ day 7: Post Game/Anniversaries

Saihararubs his eyes as he opens the door to the shared apartment the killing gamesurvivors have. Honestly, if no one is on it, he might just collapse and passout on the lumpy couch. The investigation he was working on kept him out fartoo late, and the case was far too upsetting. He doesn’t have the energy to goback to his room and go through the whole routine of changing and crawling intobed.

But the lights in the main room are on, meaning someone waswaiting for him. “Ouma-kun, why are you still awake?” Saihara asks, and itsounds more like a yawn than a question.

Ouma-kun looks up from his tablet and grins, bright enoughto wake Saihara up a little. “Yo, Saihara-chan! Busy busy day, huh?” he asks,not really answering Saihara’s question. Maybe that’s an answer in and ofitself: he’s up because he wants to be. “Anyway, come here, I wanna show yousomething!” He pats the spot next to him on the couch eager, practicallybouncing in his seat.

“Can’t it wait for tomorrow…?” Saihara asks, but he stillwanders over to the couch anyway and practically falls into the seat next toOuma-kun. “It’s almost 1am,” he says with a glance at the wall clock.

“Nope! It absolutely can’t, sleepyhead!” Ouma-kun pokesSaihara’s forehead with glee. Thatmeans it definitely can wait and you just won’t let it. “I found the funniest website on Earth, and I needto share it urgently!” he says, thrusting his tablet into Saihara’s lap.

Saihara just sighs with an exasperated, yet fond smile. I guess I can stay up just a little later, he thinks glancing down at whatever Ouma-kun wantsto show him. “FanganRonpa.net...?” The logo in the corner is an even uglieredit of the tv series specifically for this site. “Is this....a Dangan Ronpafansite?”

“Mhm!” Ouma-kun nods rapidly, and starts scrolling throughit. “It’s mostly shut down since the show’s been canceled, and you have allthese apologies from site runners who suddenly feel suuuuper guilty aboutromanticising a murder show, but you can still read through the archives,” hesays, clicking through several links before scrolling again.

“And how is this...funny…?” Saihara asks, very confusedabout why a website dedicating to fetishizing the trauma of so many people,including themselves, is humorous.

“It’s not,” Ouma-kun replies easily, clicking on somefanfic as if that doesn’t contradict his statement. “This entire website is atestament to the cruelty of humanity, but if you look at some of the mostpopular things here, like this one, and see how poorly written and detachedfrom reality they are it loops right back around to being hilarious,” hesnickers as he says this. “I mean look at this one! It’s practically just asoap opera with our names attached to it!”

Saihara glances skeptically at Ouma-kun, but nonethelessbegins skimming through the fic in front of him. It’s overly verbose, like theauthor thought using a different synonym for a simple word like “get” each timewould automatically make the writing better. It ends up describing Ouma’s eyesas both lilac and violet as if those are remotely the same shade. Or how itseems to constantly stack on itself dramatically without a moment of breathingroom, like a weak drug desperately trying to keep you hooked through larger andlarger doses. “People...enjoyed this…?” He asks, more to himself.

“Yeah, it’s got like tens of thousands of likes on thatthing,” Ouma-kun shrugs off, with an easy grin. “Thousands of people read thatand thought it was good. Can you believe it? Oh but just wait! It gets evenbetter!” He leans and starts reading over Saihara’s shoulder. “The funniestpart is going to hit. Trust me; you’ll lose it.”

He’s not really seeing the humour in it, but seeingOuma-kun so enthusiastic about it makes him want to keep reading. Eventually,Ouma-kun gasps, and bounces up and down. “We’re here!” He exclaims quietly.

“I shouldn’t be in love with you!” Saihara bellows at Ouma,and the room diminishes into noiselessness. Ouma reels in shock, genuine tearscascading from his eyes, but he’s reticent to speak. “You’re--you’re a killer!An evil mastermind! And yet you played with my heart to woo me just for fun! Tocause me despair! I shouldn’t be in love with someone like this!”

“Pfft,” Saihara tries to keep it in at first, his giggle.But as the scene progresses, it blossoms out of him, and soon he’s laughingrelentlessly. “I would never say any of this! Neither would you! You aren’tthat emotionally transparent, like, ever!” Nothing about the ensuing scene fitsthe scenario or the people in it. Sure, it was unfitting beforehand, but now itbecomes apparent that these people just share their names and none of theirpersonalities. It really is just a soap opera.

Maybe normally he wouldn’t find this funny enough to besnickering helplessly on the couch, thoroughly engrossed. Maybe normally hewouldn’t find this funny at all, instead offended by the glorification of theirsuffering. But right now, at one in the morning, after a long day of drainingwork, laughing at someone’s piss poor understanding of how much they’vesuffered is exactly what he needs.

They spend another hour reading through terrible fanficafter terrible fanfic, delirious from laughter and exhaustion. Ouma-kun yawnsfor the fifth time that minute, and Saihara’s yawning with him. “Hey,” hestarts. God his eyelids are so heavy. “Did you stay up this late just for me?”

“Now why would I do that?” Ouma-kun replies, head floppingonto Saihara’s arm as his eyes close. “I was just here all night to read badfanfics! Come on now! Overestimating your relevance, jeez.”

Saihara’s willing to leave it at that--he’s far too tiredto press it, but Ouma-kun continues. “But if I was,” he mumbles into Saihara’sshoulder, half asleep, “then Operation Cheer Saihara-chan up was a success.”

Saihara giggles, with a tired, affectionate smile Ouma-kuncan’t see. “But you’d never do that, right? You’re--” a yawn--”an evil supremeleader after all.”

“Yep! So obviously it was just for the fanfics,” Ouma-kunagrees, so quiet he can barely be heard. In seconds, Saihara hears quietsnores. He takes a moment longer to gaze at the shorter boy with lidded eyes,before leaning back against the couch and soundly passing out. The couch hasnever been more comfortable.

[zenonaa]

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya, Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya/Kirigiri Kyouko, Fukawa Touko/Kirigiri Kyouko, Kirigiri Kyouko/Togami Byakuya (Dangan Ronpa) Summary: Togami hires Kirigiri to solve a mass murder that occurred at his wedding anniversary party. One hitman was apprehended, but he refuses to say a single word, while the other got away. The mastermind could be anyone, but the list of suspects is getting shorter, and Kirigiri finds herself learning more about the Togamis than she anticipated.

Comments: i might post the next chapter in two weeks because i want to write a bday fic for togami lol.

Byakuya’s father didn’t stay the night. After dinner, he departed from the Togami manor in a sleek limousine where he could sit at the back by himself, with only the products of his success as company. Once he was gone, Byakuya retreated into his office, and Kyouko decided to give him some space after the tense, silent meal.

In any case, the next day preoccupied Kyouko, with reviewing evidence, comparing witness statements and following leads that came to brick walls, and they all paved the way to one individual: Byakuya.

He could easily have smuggled in the hitmen and helped one escape, but then Kyouko didn’t understand why he would hire her. Did he think she wouldn’t be able to do it? Was he messing with her, like he used to with some of their classmates? But he only had one known motive for one victim, and she didn’t understand why he would cause such a mess for himself.

Or it could have been a coincidence. Maybe. Unfortunately, Byakuya seemed wrapped up in video conferences for conglomerate business, not attending meals, and Kyouko was busy too, so she didn’t have the chance to question him.  During the next two late night sessions with Touko, she didn’t bring up what happened, not between Byakuya and his father or what happened between Byakuya, Touko and Kyouko, and Touko didn’t pursue the topic either. It felt white hot to touch, for now.

Two days after Kijou’s visit, Kyouko went down to breakfast and walked into an empty dining room. One of the maids waiting there flitted into the kitchen, returning to Kyouko with food. Kyouko started to eat, and part way through her hot chocolate and croissant, the door opened. She looked up.

“Good morning,” greeted Kyouko.

“Good morning,” parroted Touko, alone, and she sat opposite Kyouko. A maid soon brought out a similar breakfast for Touko, but the maid may as well have had blue skin for all the notice that Kyouko took of her.

Touko slowly ate a few mouthfuls.

“How did you sleep?” asked Kyouko.

“Enough,” said Touko, whether that meant in the number of hours or how soundly. Kyouko wasn’t sure.

Another mouthful.

“I haven’t seen Togami-kun much lately,” said Kyouko.

Touko grimaced, chewed a bit more and swallowed.

“He’s in his office. He had some food on a tray beside him when I popped in earlier,” she informed Kyouko, like she had a bad taste in her mouth.

“I see,” said Kyouko.

They ate. Next time, Touko picked up the conversation, if it could be called that.

“My darling is very busy and doesn’t want to be disturbed, so you know,” she said.

Kyouko nodded. “I will leave him alone then.”

After breakfast, Touko slipped away, and Kyouko didn’t give chase. She went to the Togami library  and used the login details that Byakuya had supplied her. Many of the folders stored on the server were passworded, but she had access to the tapes of the interviews that Byakuya supervised.

On her previous persuals, she had focused on those being interviewed, but now she turned her attention to those conducting the interviews. Alongside Byakuya, there was Pennyworth, both dressed in simple black suits, and interrogators that Kyouko knew the names of but little else. Byakuya occasionally asked questions, but the interrogator extracted the most information.

Going through all of them would take several hours, not accounting for pausing or rewatching certain bits again. Kyouko rested her chin in her palm and studied Byakuya, but his stoic demeanour didn’t throw anything his way that she considered suspicious.

She stopped around lunchtime, not at all finished, and headed to the dining room, where to her surprise, Touko was joined by not only Byakuya but Anastazja as well.

None of them greeted Kyouko, who sat down beside Touko. The table had been set but no food had been brought out. There was a jar, though, containing peaches floating in a pink liquid that Kyouko could see in the cup of the others. Kyouko used a dipper to get some into her cup and tasted it.

Lightly sweet. Pleasant. She drank some more.

“Do you like it?” asked Anastazja. Kyouko lowered the cup, cradling it in her hands.

“I do,” she said. “It’s refreshing.”

“It’s peach kompot,” said Anastazja.

Kyouko sipped approvingly.

Soon after, several maids served lunch, bringing out trays of various foods so that everyone could choose their own components and portions. There were soups of autumn hues, and as for the main course, there were soft steamed beef tongues, a meaty stew that contained sausages along with chunks of different animals, boiled beef in an off-white sauce, cabbage stuffed with meat and rice, and a platter of traditional breaded pork cutlets. For sides, they could help themselves to roast potatoes, french fries, rice and miscellaneous vegetables.

“If you want a safe option, I advise you go for the pork cutlets,” said Byakuya, pointing. Kyouko ignored him and spooned stew into her bowl, and she added some cabbage stuffed with meat to her plate before claiming a bowl of tomato soup for herself, which had noodles in it.

Byakuya chose a creamy green soup with egg in it and the stew as well, along with a small helping of vegetables. The other two women served themselves, and the meal officially started, cutlery working quietly and mouths chewing.

After a few mouthfuls of boiled beef, Touko picked up her soup spoon but didn’t dip it into her soup, which was the same as what Byakuya chose, but into Byakuya’s bowl. She presented the spoon to Byakuya, who opened his mouth without looking away from his food. Smiling, Touko tipped the contents in and replenished the spoon for the next go. Byakuya turned his head slightly and consumed the next several spoonfuls without complaint, holding but not using his spoon that he had barely fed himself with.

“Are your hands too tired to feed yourself?” asked Anastazja, who hadn’t eaten for a minute.

He furrowed his brow. Anastazja’s eyes darted toward Touko, who glowered.

“They’re not tired,” he told Anastazja, but he didn’t make any attempt to feed himself. Touko looked away from Anastazja and resumed feeding him.

“If your hands were too tired to feed yourself, then that would explain why you’ve lost a bit of weight, Byakuya,” said Anastazja. “Since I last saw you, I would say you have lost around eight pounds, which one would expect to lose in a month following a strict diet plan.”

“I’m not dieting,” said Byakuya. “I’ve just been preoccupied with work.”

“He doesn’t have to diet,” piped up Touko. She looked down and smirked slightly. “B-But... even if he was heavier... it wouldn’t matter to me. There would just be more of him for me to love.”

Anastazja pursed her lips.

The rest of the meal marched on with an uneasy sort of silence that despite its unwanted presence, no one asked it to leave the table. Touko fed Byakuya the rest of his soup, and then he returned the favour with her soup. Anastazja pointedly ignored them as Touko fed Byakuya his main course, alternating after every few feedings with Byakuya who did the same to her. They didn’t acknowledge Anastazja, or Kyouko, and Kyouko found herself watching the couple in small doses while she cleared her plate. Small smiles eased on their lips as they progressed through the meal together.

Kyouko felt full and warm by the time she finished her meal. However, the first to rise was Byakuya. A maid approached and stacked a tray with the dishes and utensils that he used. He stepped away from his chair and strode off. Touko sprung up and stuck close to his side, accompanying him out. Anastazja cast her narrowed eyes at Touko’s back and hooked onto her small frame.

When Touko left the room, no longer in sight, Anastazja simply stared at the door.

“How long are you here for?” Kyouko chanced.

“I will leave tomorrow morning,” said Anastazja. She hauled her gaze onto Kyouko. A weaker person than Kyouko would have been knocked off balance. “Before I depart, I want to sit down and speak with you.”

“That’s fine,” said Kyouko. “I was actually hoping to talk to you.”

Anastazja examined her nails.

“I want to talk to my son first, and I will be busy for the next few hours, but at five o’clock sharp, you may join me in my room,” she said, and then she clenched her hand into a fist. “Don’t be late.”

“I assume you’re in the guest wing?” said Kyouko, unperturbed.

“Indeed. Room Nine.”

Until then, Kyouko tried to busy herself by watching some more interview footage in the library, but she didn’t make much headway before she paused the video. Sat in front of the computer, she shut her eyes and rubbed her temples. All of this, she had seen, listened to, and nothing about it had changed. She needed to talk to people for herself. To particular people.

Kyouko logged off the computer and decided to seek out Touko. Last time, she found her in her writing room, so she went there first and knocked on the door.

No one answered, but she heard tapping from within, and she cracked the door ajar. The sound originated from Touko, whose fingers pounded against her keyboard as she sat hunched in front of her computer. Kyouko opened the door wider. Words continued to stutter out beneath Touko’s touch, no more and no less than before Kyouko came in.

From where Kyouko stood, she could only view the back of Touko. She drew a bit closer and positioned herself off to the side of Touko, where she could see more of Touko’s face. There, she observed the tip of Touko’s tongue that protruded from between her lips, a pink shoot sprouting, and the crease that divided her brow down the middle.

Touko’s tongue retreated into her mouth and her lips curled in on themselves. Her back shuddered as she flexed, pausing from her writing, fingers twitching but not pressing down on any keys. Footsteps sounded from the doorway, and the silver-haired maid who Kyouko interacted with on the morning of Kijou’s visit walked in, holding a tray.

Most of Touko’s desk was covered with, among other things, various papers clipped together and ring-binders, so the maid deliberated and set the tray down on a short, flat pile of paper folders. On the tray was a teapot, a cup and a tray of rice dumplings.

“I apologise, I didn’t realise you had company, Touko-san,” said the maid. Touko stirred and turned around.

She caught sight of Kyouko and jumped.

“How long have you been here, snooping?” asked Touko sharply.

“I came in a minute ago,” replied Kyouko, but she didn’t know how long she had been there. It couldn’t have been longer than that. “I didn’t snoop through anything. I just stood here.”

The maid’s features hardened. “Do you wish for me to escort her out?”

Though the maid spoke calmly, she seemed ready to leap into action and perhaps toss Kyouko over her shoulder.

Touko hesitated.

“... No, it’s all right,” said Touko, glancing away. “I have a cup from earlier, so Kirigiri can use the clean one. Unless you’re only here briefly?”

She aimed the last part at Kyouko and stared at her.

“I wouldn’t want to distract you,” said Kyouko, trailing off.

“So you do have business with me,” said Touko. Her eyes flickered. “I knew it... Tojo, you can go now. We’ll be fine.”

The maid gave a quick bow before leaving the room. Touko waited a few more seconds before turning her gaze to Kyouko.

“What is it?” she asked Kyouko, who shifted slightly. “If this is about what the three of us did together, I don’t have anything more to say about it than what Byakuya told you the first morning after.”

She laced her fingers together and regarded Kyouko with a steady squint.

“I don’t know how much you heard,” started Kyouko, but Touko butted right in.

“All of it,” revealed Touko. “I was tired and I didn’t want to join in, so I listened. I just pretended to be asleep.”

“I see. Does that mean you don’t believe it was a dream now?” said Kyouko.

Touko pulled a face and poured herself some tea from a cup that had been on her desk before Kyouko entered her writing room. She sipped with that same expression, and Kyouko took the teapot as soon as Touko returned it to the tray.

“Neither of us thought that would happen,” said Touko. “When Byakuya invited you to our room that night, he did just want to play Monopoly. I was a bit surprised, and...”

Silence tried to wiggle in and wedge itself between the pair.

“... and?” prompted Kyouko.

“... back at Hope’s Peak, you were one of the first people who he considered a near-equal,” admitted Touko bitterly.

Kyouko’s eyebrows raised but she reigned them in.

Touko rotated the cup in her hands slowly. “Don’t look so blank... I’m not going to repeat myself for your ego. He recognised your skill and intelligence. I could smell the rivalry a mile away. I didn’t care for you back then, and I know that you felt likewise.”

The past tense caught Kyouko’s attention, but she pushed past it.

“I didn’t dislike you,” said Kyouko, earning a scoff from Touko.

“Back then, I thought that Byakuya might have gone for you, or Celes,” said Touko. She whined. “I couldn’t stand it! You were both so cool and pretty, and Celes sucked up to him while you didn’t ever watch your tone with my Byakuya.”

“Were?” said Kyouko, unable to help herself.

“Don’t pretend to have low self-esteem!” snapped Touko. “Are. You both are. Those things.”

Kyouko’s cheeks warmed.

“But Togami-kun chose you, not us,” Kyouko pointed out.

“Y-Yes...” Touko smiled a bit and lifted her shoulders, rosy in the face. “We were destined to be...”

Kyouko had seen the cake, but not seen the recipe.

“May I ask about how you became a couple?” asked Kyouko. “When you walked into the cafeteria holding hands one morning, no one had seen it coming, and yet no one was surprised.”

Touko froze. She clicked her tongue, like a fuse being lit.

“I know what people thought of us,” said Touko. “You all thought that Byakuya deserved to die alone. You all thought I was deluded. That... That I was getting off by punishing myself with unrequited love. And okay, maybe that was the start. There are a lot of cruel men out there, like my father...”

Her face darkened and she put her cup on her saucer on her desk.

“But... there was something different about Byakuya. He kept to himself, pushed away whoever tried to get close, talked about how an invitation may have been a trap... and he liked reading. I saw myself in him,” said Touko. “He didn’t care what other people thought about him. He was, is, someone who I thought could understand me, and as I observed him, I tried to fill in the gaps, and no matter what I did, he didn’t change. He’s not fake... and I like that, and imagining us happy together... made me happy. I never had to second guess him.”

Kyouko nodded.

“For the past few years, I had been working on a side-project. My I-Novel. I don’t intend to publish it, but writing it has been therapeutic. Naegi had been trying to get close to me around that time, even introducing me to his sister, and during our second year, I let Naegi read what I had of my I-Novel so far, and his words of encouragement fueled something in me.”

Touko paused.

“On a Friday, I left the draft in Byakuya’s shoe locker, like a giddy school girl too shy to confess to her crush,” said Touko, like she hadn’t been exactly that. “Then came the wait...”

She hugged herself. A smile placed itself tentatively on her lips.

“I didn’t see him in the library for the whole of Saturday. Then, that night, he rang for me. He had read it in one sitting, and he wanted to read more. I told him that was all that I had so far. We spoke a bit, not so much about the intimate details but my hobbies, my writing...”

Her smile planted itself on her as she replayed the scene in her head.

“We didn’t start dating then... Byakuya had thinking to do. Two weeks crawled by. We talked a bit, and I found out we liked the same movies, and on a Saturday, he visited my room again and said he wanted to... to invest in us. He wanted someone strong, smart, engaging... like me... And then... our hands... ah ha...”

Kyouko braced herself.

“... we held hands... and he went such a cute red...” Touko mumbled, illustrating with her own face, and Kyouko relaxed a bit.

“If I recall correctly, he went to study in America after graduating,” said Kyouko.

“Yes. That’s right.” Touko set her hands down on her lap. She couldn’t turn off her blush, but she could smooth over her features. “Distance didn’t affect us. Both of us can go periods without being with the other. If I was to be held hostage in a city during the end of the world, having to wait until it was safe for me to leave, I wouldn’t feel a thing. We spoke on the phone, on email, on video, and we visited each other... We remained close, and then after he graduated, he proposed and we got married.”

Touko hugged herself. A small, happy mewl slipped out. Kyouko grinned.

“So... what are you working on now?” asked Kyouko. “A romance novel?”

“No. My I-Novel,” said Touko. “It’s an ongoing project. Don’t think it’s because I can’t write romance anymore, just because I’m married. At first, I thought I would struggle. After I met Byakuya, all I could write about was us. I couldn’t focus on anything else. But then, I realised I could still write romance. I could write about us, but different ways of falling in love. Us in different time periods, in a fantasy universe, in a world where we get locked into a school, have our memories wiped and are forced to kill our classmates to have a chance to escape... ah, the possibilities are endless!”

Drool slicked her lips.

“This is what soulmates are like, isn’t it?” said Touko.

“I suppose so,” replied Kyouko, trying not to look at her lips, and Touko focused on Kyouko.

“... Here.” She got up, walked over to a bookcase and plucked off a book. Kyouko let Touko push it into her hands. On the cover was a merman and a woman in a witch’s hat, positioned in a yin-yang design. “I know it’s not a detective novel like I usually recommend to you, but maybe you will enjoy it, to your surprise.”

“Thank you,” said Kyouko, studying the cover some more.

“Byakuya is more of a fan of detective novels than I am. Everything that I’ve pointed you toward are works that he liked. And... Me and Byakuya plan to collaborate on a detective novel,” Touko said, and she paused. Kyouko lifted her head. Touko picked at her fingers. “Maybe... you could read it... j-just so we can gauge whether the clues have been implemented successfully.”

“I would like that,” said Kyouko with a smile. Her heart skipped a bit as she thought that this recommendation came from Touko and not indirectly from Byakuya this time, though she hadn’t disliked those at all.

“... All right,” said Touko, blushing lightly. She whipped around to face away from Kyouko. “Oh geez... You’ve distracted me from my writing.”

“I apologise,” said Kyouko, smile slipping.

Touko shuffled back to her desk and sat down. “Don’t worry about it.”

Leaving Touko to her own devices, Kyouko read in her room during the remaining time she had before she was due to meet Anastazja. Within the first few pages, Kyouko could say with confidence that Touko based the protagonist on herself and the merman on Byakuya. Still, their first interactions were unfriendly and formal, and Touko’s prose weaved a world around Kyouko that warped time’s passage around her. When she tore her eyes away to check her phone, she realised she had five minutes to spare.

They were both staying in the guest wing, so Kyouko didn’t worry about being late. In fact, she put the book aside and decided to arrive a bit early. She left her room and crossed the corridor. At the door, she poised her hand to knock, but a noise caught her fist and held back her hand.

It sounded like crying. Muffled crying. Kyouko backtracked to her room and slammed the door. The crying stopped. She waited a few seconds before returning to Anastazja’s door and rapping her knuckles against it.

Anastazja opened. Her eyes seemed harsher than usual.

“Come in,” drawled Anastazja like she was compensating, and she marched back stiffly into her room with Kyouko trailing behind.

This guest room had a different appearance to that of Kyouko’s, which had cool blue tones, with speckled, pale yellow flooring and white panel walls. When Kyouko ventured further in, stencil art of a fern tree on one of the panels caught her eye, starting at the floor and reaching almost as high as a ceiling beam. Sunlight poured in from a window as tall as a wall and as wide as a set of double doors. The room contained two beige chairs, and Anastazja seated herself on one. Kyouko claimed the other for herself.

“We both have things that we wish to discuss. We’ll start with my queries,” said Anastazja, one leg crossed over the other.

Kyouko expected her to talk about the murders, so was caught off-guard by what Anastazja next said.

“My husband came to visit two days ago. Correct?”

“Yes,” said Kyouko. She breathed in. The room smelled like a cool forest breeze.

Anastazja nodded with a steely gaze. “I asked Byakuya about it, but he wouldn’t elaborate on many details. I doubt it was a family visit. It was about the murders. Yes?”

“We talked about that. Did you not ask Kijou about it?” asked Kyouko, prompting Anastazja to wrinkle her nose.

“When I managed to contact him, he just said they were catching up,” said Anastazja. “Byakuya’s body language intrigued me. He made eye contact less than usual, looked at stimuli more readily and touched his hair more than usual.”

Kyouko shifted in her seat.

“As Byakuya’s mother, I have the right to know,” said Anastazja. “You would be wise not to try lying to me.”

“There was an altercation between them,” Kyouko told her quietly. “Togami-kun’s father struck him when we left the room.”

No reaction. Kyouko couldn’t tell if it was because Anastazja already knew or if it just didn’t phase her.

“I figured,” said Anastazja, finally. “When Kijou gets mad, he hits or throws things and sometimes breaks them. He can be like a child throwing a tantrum, but he has never outright done physical harm to a person.”

Silence. Anastazja stared into space with a frown.

“Let me ask you something,” said Kyouko.

Anastazja eyed her.

“It’s about Sugawara’s relationship with Togami-kun,” said Kyouko.

“It was professional,” said Anastazja, betraying nothing.

“Just?” asked Kyouko, and Anastazja narrowed her eyes.

“... Tell me what that has to do with their altercation,” said Anastazja. “I’m inferring that the two are related.”

Kyouko folded her arms over her chest. “The argument was about an incident in Togami-kun’s childhood. Not a pleasant one.”

Anastazja’s eyes flickered.

“So you know about that,” said Anastazja.

“How long after did you find out?” asked Kyouko.

“What do you mean? After it happened? I found out years later, within a day of Pennyworth and Touko discovering it. Pennyworth told me,” said Anastazja.

“And what did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

One end of Kyouko’s lips pinched.

“Don’t give me that look,” snapped Anastazja. She breathed and put up a calmer demeanour, still evidently annoyed. “You’re acting like I have influence in the conglomerate and its partners.”

“Togami-kun is your son. Surely you must have been upset,” said Kyouko.

Anastazja jigged a foot. “Being upset would make me be seen as an unstable and weak woman.”

“You would be acting like a human,” said Kyouko.

“Not to those whose opinions matter to the conglomerate,” said Anastazja, and Kyouko noticed that she hadn’t confirmed nor denied what Kyouko had stated before that. Still, Anastazja hadn’t been explicit, toeing her way through her phrasing carefully. “My role ended when Byakuya won - ”

She tripped on her tongue but recovered gracefully, with just a little hitch.

“ - when Byakuya took on a more active role in the conglomerate. I raised him to be intelligent, strong and to survive. Keep afloat. Not let anyone take advantage of him,” said Anastazja. “I tried to mold him into the perfect heir.”

“But do you love him as your son?” asked Kyouko.

Anastazja flashed a glare at Kyouko, the most emotion seen on her yet, and realising, she averted her gaze. With a lack of eye contact, Anastazja drew out a silver locket from under her blouse, worn on a silver chain around her neck. Two feathery wings made of metal created the silhouette of a heart, details carved into it, and she peeled back one wing to open the locket, revealing a photograph inside.

“It’s Togami-kun,” said Kyouko, examining the picture. His hair was long in it. “It must have been around the time that he won the heir selection competition.”

“Oh, so you know about that?” asked Anastazja. She adjusted her hold on the locket, keeping it open. “In that case, I won’t be so vague on the details. Yes, that’s correct. This was taken during the competition by Pennyworth. I didn’t take many photographs of Byakuya in his younger years.”

“Why is that?” asked Kyouko, staring at her. Anastazja didn’t answer. “Is it because you were afraid?”

She didn’t answer that either.

“You didn’t want to get attached to him, did you?” said Kyouko, tilting her head to one side.

With a telltale waver, over and done with as quick as a heartbeat, Anastazja smirked and said, “Perhaps I underestimated you, Kirigiri. I didn’t know that afterwards, I would basically be giving him up. Do you know, they say that they are exiled, but many of them die suspicious deaths? Maybe if I had known...”

Anastazja squeezed the locket and wiped her expression clean.

“I have photographic memory, but if I was not there to witness an event, then I can’t have any memories of it, can I?” she said. “I remember what he wore when he asked me where his cake was on his sixth birthday. A navy waistcoat with golden buttons. A light blue shirt. We had it specially made for him by Gabriel Agreste, a renown fashion designer in France. I remember what he wore at his first recital that his father attended. A white bowtie. Black suit. White shirt. I remember what he wore at his wedding anniversary. A R. Jewels suit from England, strategically studded with four hundred and eighty diamonds. Only three were and ever will be made, and we have one of them, of course.”

Of course. Kyouko made note of this.

“Most of the photographs of Byakuya were taken by Pennyworth. He is a phlegmatic man, but he cares for Byakuya a lot,” said Anastazja. She finally shut the locket and tucked it back into her blouse. “I will speak to you as a fellow woman, Kirigiri. When I found out what Sugawara did, I wanted to kill him.”

Her shoulders squared.

“I didn’t, though,” she said. “Nor did I hire anyone to kill him. Do you know how hard it is to hire a hitman? You’re best being recommended one from someone you know, or you might accidentally come into contact with an undercover cop or out yourself with your trail. And you mustn’t meet one personally, or you risk potential blackmail from them.”

Kyouko lifted her chin a little. “Have you tried to hire one before?”

“Oh, no, even if there are people who I despise,” said Anastazja.

She stroked the pad of her index finger against her thumb, looking nowhere else.

“Touko is a fortunate woman,” admitted Anastazja softly, changing the subject, or maybe she wasn’t. “She married someone she loves, and who loves her back.”

Anastazja’s face twitched and she turned away.

“I will leave you to finding out who ordered their killings, especially Sugawara’s,” she said. “Just let me know who ordered their killings before you turn them in, so I may shake their hand. Now, what was it that you wanted to talk about?”

Kyouko stood up. “I have got all the information that I desired. Thank you.”

***

That night, Touko and Kyouko sat at the dining room table, as had become part of their nightly ritual, with a cup of hot chocolate each.

“... and how long did it take you to write the novel, from start to finish?” asked Kyouko, referring to the the book that Touko lent her.

Touko stopped prodding her marshmallow with her spoon. “A few years, but I didn’t work on it solely. I had other projects going on, and whenever I reread the story to refresh myself, I wanted to tweak the wording and basically rewrite the whole thing.”

Kyouko nodded and watched Touko take a small sip of her drink.

“The first arc felt like a chore to write at times,” said Touko, holding her cup with both hands. “I had a lot of ideas for later scenes, but I had to set them up first. You can’t decorate a cake that hasn’t been baked, like you can’t have a climax without a build up. But... those quiet moments... were fun to write, in their own way, and I think of them fondly.”

“I’ve enjoyed what I’ve read so far, including those moments. You really are a shining example of how works of text are just as much art as a drawing,” Kyouko remarked with a small smile.

The compliment made Touko squirm. She jutted out her chin. “O-Of course! I wasn’t scouted as a literary girl for no reason.”

At Hope’s Peak, Touko had been full of self-criticisms, on how she was ugly, and smelly, but when it came to her writing, her defences flared up and passion burned in her eyes as they did now, and Kyouko couldn’t look away.

“I think, after this book, I would like another,” said Kyouko.

“Are you sucking up to me?” asked Touko on the last stage before a glare.

“I’m being genuine,” Kyouko assured her. “I admit, at school, I didn’t consider giving them a chance. I acknowledged your skill but did little else beyond that. At least that means now I have a lot to look forward to reading.”

Touko gasped and positioned her cup close to her face, failing miserably to hide her blush and the smile that crept in, though maybe miserably wasn’t an appropriate verb because there was nothing sad about her appearance.

“What do Togami-kun’s parents think of your writing?” asked Kyouko, and she drank some hot chocolate while she waited for Touko’s answer.

“They don’t,” said Touko. She lowered her cup, looking grim. “My parents were only interested in it when they realised it would earn them money, and Byakuya’s parents don’t regard romance novels highly. Or romance at all. B-But all I need is my darling’s approval, so... so fuck them!”

Kyouko could have laughed, but she quirked her brow. “Is Togami-kun into romance novels?”

“No, not really, but he has read many of mine by now,” said Touko, smiling again. “Sometimes, I write him short mystery pieces, and he tries to figure out the mystery before he finishes it. He likes doing that.”

The two drank their hot chocolate peacefully. Kyouko nearly finished hers and gripped the rim of her cup between her frown. She set down her cup and after some hesitation, spoke up.

“Touko-san,” said Kyouko, maneuvering her tongue around the laser alarms in her mouth, arranged like a game of jack straws. “When Togami-kun’s father came to visit, he and Byakuya discussed a certain incident.”

The effect was immediate - Touko flinched.

“It’s not my business to say what happened way back then,” said Touko, sobering. She glanced away, put down her cup and fidgeted her hands like she couldn’t get a firm grip on the other. “But I suppose... I can say what happened a few months ago. Byakuya’s father came to visit with a few work friends...”

“... were any of them murdered later?” Kyouko butted in. Touko’s lips twisted as she recollected.

“All of them, actually. They wanted to discuss a business proposal that Byakuya ultimately had no interest in,” said Touko. “Byakuya told me that it wasn’t anything worth knowing, later. His father didn’t approve of him declining, but anyway, my darling was asked to perform for them in the concert hall we have here.”

Kyouko hadn’t been to it, but she could believe that they had one.

“On the violin,” said Touko.

“Okay,” replied Kyouko, blinking.

“Because he can perform on a number of different instruments,” Touko elaborated, and when Kyouko didn’t reply, she carried on. “I wanted to wish him good luck, so I headed toward the backstage area, but before I made myself known, I heard voices. My darling wasn’t alone. He was with...”

Touko’s lips quivered.

“Sugawara,” said Kyouko for her. She didn’t rush Touko to continue.

“... He... They were talking,” said Touko, voice thickening fast. “Byakuya told him to go away... and Sugawara spoke so sweetly... but in a rotten way... and said... he wasn’t as c-cute now...”

Behind Touko’s widened eyes, the rest of the conversation played, but Kyouko couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. Touko was made the sole audience and she tugged on her hair, her face ready to tear down the middle. Kyouko wavered but reached over and gripped Touko’s shoulder, and Touko didn’t shake her off.

“My darling, he said he wasn’t a child anymore.” Fragments of the scene left Touko’s mouth. “And that man... he laughed.” Pause. “Byakuya said... things... in anger...” Pause. “Sugawara laughed and said Byakuya’s mouth would be better put to use on his...” Pause. She covered her mouth. “He asked... if his skills had got rusty... ” Pause. “I rushed in. Sugawara laughed at us and swaggered off... He didn’t deny anything.”

“I understand,” said Kyouko.

“You don’t!” Touko snarled. Kyouko jumped. Touko’s face contorted, crumbling quickly. “Byakuya wouldn’t say at first... He had to go play, he said... Then I... and Pennyworth... He called me a liar... and then Byakuya told him... told us... and then... we all knew... and you don’t know... how...”

Touko clutched her blouse, clawing it over her heart. Her shoulders shook, and her gaze turned inward. Unfocused.

“... you don’t know what... I can’t,” said Touko, pained, eyes brimming.

“You’re right,” said Kyouko softly. “I don’t know.”

Without thinking, Kyouko opened up her arms. Touko needed no further prompting and fell into Kyouko.

“I hadn’t even wanted to leave them,” Touko spluttered into Kyouko. “At the party... b-but Byakuya wanted to talk to him, and then I...”

A sob.

“... couldn’t find them before there was blood.”

After Kyouko eventually dropped Touko off at her room, and Touko had recomposed herself to sniffles, Kyouko did not go straight to her own room. Instead, she went to the Togami library and logged into the computer. She opened one of the interview tapes and furrowed her brow.

Byakuya’s suit didn’t have any diamonds on it.

There were a lot of reasons why he could have changed out of it into something else.

A lot of them.

[roseymoseyberry]

Clever Lines (one-shot)

I realized the other day that it had been three months since I last posted a fic about my otp, and that’s a crime. Also I’ve been getting the itch to write them anyway so it was just a matter of time.

But this time the old husbands are young singles meeting and flirting, because I love thinking about their little pre-war friend group plus Jazz, because if anything can make the pre-war friend group better, it’s Jazz.

I’m absolutely slipping in that Party Ambulance headcanon here, and I know we all love small and sweet Orion Pax, but I am personally even more in love with tall and lanky Orion Pax who is wildly proactive and never afraid to speak his mind, but appropriately polite as he does. I mean, come on. He went out of his way to track down and befriend gladiators. He’s a brave little archivist.

Also this is inspired by an A Softer World strip oops. The specific line has been altered to make it more conversational but you’ll know it when you see it.

Title: Clever Lines

Series: Transformers Prime with a little inspo from Aligned as a whole (aka Jazz haha)

Ship(s): Orion Pax/Ratchet with a huge smattering of Jazz&Ratchet friendship

Rating/warnings: PG-13 for alcohol, references to fighting and fragging, some intoxicated kissing, and just a lot of Ratchet worrying too much

“Oh scrap,” Ratchet hissed as he spun on his pede. He blindly reached out towards Jazz, grabbing him by the closest edge of armor he could get his digits around to pull him towards the same direction he was facing.

“The frag, Ratch--?”

“Just act casual and don’t look over there!”

Jazz huffed as he settled next to Ratchet, crossing one arm over his chest while the other brought his drink to his lips for a slow sip, before replying, “Well, that’d go better if we weren’t staring at a wall, but I guess I’ll make it work.”

Ratchet’s engine grumbled but he had to admit that this was far less conspicuous than he had hoped for. He could blame the high grade for the sheer lack of spatial awareness that brought him here, and that was true, but he was pretty sure blind panic had a big part.

“Ok, fine. We can turn towards each other.”

“But I was starting to enjoy the view,” Jazz deadpanned, as if Ratchet couldn’t read the way his visor flickered with humor. Still, he dutifully twisted and leaned his shoulder against the wall, all grace and casual confidence. Ratchet was sure he wasn’t nearly so convincing, never mind that he had never had his drinking companion’s grace, but he did his best with what he had.

Jazz had the handsome frame of a nimble dancer and the Unmaker’s smile to charm his way around the city. Ratchet, on the other hand, had neither, and had instead learned to utilize the bulk of his frame and the boldness of his personality to make his way through crowds and into mecha’s sparks when he cared to.

They had both made their individual marks on the party scene before they had finally crossed paths all those years ago. The night that the Party Ambulance and the famously infamous Jazz met was the night they got completely sloshed and argued, danced, brawled, and fragged each other well into the next morning. When they woke up sprawled across a berth neither of them recognized, they both came to the conclusion that they were best friends.

The fact that Ratchet’s partying nights were fewer and further between now, not to mention far from the wildness of those years, hadn’t kept him and Jazz from being inseparable when Ratchet wasn’t waist-deep in finishing medical school. Ratchet was beginning to suspect that Jazz was using him as an excuse to pull himself back a bit as well, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Jazz was an incredible friend.

And that was why he gave Ratchet the dignity of not immediately looking out into the crowd to try to find the mech who had Ratchet in a tizzy and no doubt giving them away. Instead Jazz held Ratchet’s gaze and asked, “So, who walked in that you’re so desperate to avoid?”

Ratchet grimaced and took a large gulp of his high grade.

“Have I ever mentioned that one archivist?”

“The snarky one you nearly started a physical fight with when he said he couldn’t find that article you needed because they were closing in ten minutes?” Jazz replied with ease, because of course, the mech was like a sponge for any information he thought might be important or embarrassing later.

“No, not him--”

“Then the cute one who volunteered to help you find the article anyway and then spent the rest of the night at some café with you so you could use his access to the digital archives and finish your papers on time?”

Ratchet felt embarrassed heat spread up his neck and into his face. It hadn’t been his proudest moment, but having three papers due the same day had left him with little dignity and endless gratitude towards that archivist. He still wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that the archivist had also been unfairly attractive and that they had actually gotten along well enough that the last couple hours at the café had actually just been chatting, admittedly a little deliriously on Ratchet’s half.

At the very least it made it more embarrassing.

“That’s the one.”

Jazz’s visor brightened with interest as his mouth started to curl around the lip of his cube, clearly enjoying Ratchet’s flustered expression more than his drink.

“Orion Pax, right?”

“Of course you’d remember,” Ratchet grumbled, receiving a snicker in response.

“Never forget a name or a face. Speaking of--”

“Don’t look!”

“Relax. I can be subtle,” Jazz reassured, lifting his drink to his mouth again so he could tap his pointer digit against the side of his visor. “Let me do a little bit of espionage to soothe your overcharged spark.”

“As if you haven’t gone drink for drink with me.” Still, after a moment, Ratchet sighed. “A helm taller than me but he’s lanky, all legs--”

“Lanky? You usually like ‘em--”

“Focus, Jazz. Yes, he’s lanky. Red and blue paintjob, and he’s got—he’s got this crest on his forehelm along with audial finials on the sides--”

“Got ‘im,” Jazz said. His helm tilted slightly. “No kidding about lanky though. Course, with that face and those legs? Can’t argue there.”

Ratchet would swear he could feel a processor ache coming on.

“What is he doing, Jazz?”

“He’s getting a drink.”

“Really?”

Jazz’s brows didn’t need to be visible for him to give a withering look.

“Do I need to remind you we’re at a bar.”

Ratchet grimaced but pushed on, “He just doesn’t seem the type. More of a ‘fun night out is a night in’ type.”

Jazz snorted, replying, “You really are going soft if a nerd like that has you wound up tighter than a turborabbit in heat. That why you flipped your lid? Worried about him finding out about the Party Ambulance that comes out when the sun sets and your papers are finished?”

Ratchet glowered at him, turning his helm to look away before realizing his folly. He was now looking out into the crowded bar and by the Allspark, there was Orion across the way. The archivist’s back was towards them though as he chatted with the bartender, and—

“Who the frag is that?”

Jazz whistled as, on top of the one gigantic mech at Orion’s side that Ratchet was talking about, yet another mech sidled up to Orion’s other side and took a drink that Orion handed to him.

“Well, I can officially say you don’t gotta worry ‘bout your little secrets, because he’s hanging with folks who’re shadier than you ever were, Ratch.”

The first mech was enormous – a little over a helm taller than Orion and far broader with heavy looking silver armor. There was at least one large healing weld across their back that Ratchet could see from the distance. The other mech was shorter, but their build was still sturdy, certainly one built to withstand a fight. And when they turned their helm, their face was completely covered with a visor.

A visor that Ratchet would swear glinted, as if they had met optics.

Ratchet immediately looked away, turning to Jazz to find his friend still zeroed in on Orion and his companions.

“You know them?”

Jazz’s lips curled into a smirk.

“Like I said, I never forget a name or a face,” he replied. “You never did get into going to the Pits, did ya?”

Ratchet’s brows furrowed. “You mean gladiator fights? Course not. I see more than my fair share of spilt energon as it is, thank you very much. Why?”

“No reason,” Jazz lied before throwing his helm back and starting to chug his drink.

Ratchet watched him with narrowed optics before his high grade-addled processor put it together.

“No. No. There’s no way that those two are gladiators. What would Orion be doing with ruffians like that?”

With one last gulp, Jazz finished his drink and grinned at Ratchet.

“Like you’re one to talk. Now stop worrying,” Jazz insisted as he tipped the empty cube towards Ratchet, “and finish your drink.”

Ratchet’s drink was still at least half full, never mind the fact that he was beginning to suspect what Jazz had planned.

“Oh no. Don’t you dare,” Ratchet hissed, nudging Jazz’s shoulder with the servo holding his drink as he leaned in. “I have this under control without you forcing your way in as my wing-mech.”

“Gonna go back to your staring contest with the wall?” Jazz teased, his grin full of too many dentae when that was enough to have Ratchet’s face twist with flustered indignation. “Come on. Finish your drink and let me get the ball rolling.”

“I don’t need you to--!”

“If you don’t finish that drink,” Jazz warned as quicker than Ratchet could track, the cube was plucked from his digits, “then I’ll finish it for you. It’s up to you how much liquid courage you want in you once I’ve done my magic.”

Ratchet shot Jazz a look and his engine growled, but he still took the cube back and chugged it.

And then once it was empty it was in Jazz’s grasp again.

“I’ll just get us another round,” Jazz purred as he pushed off the wall. “Don’t miss me too much.”

And then he slipped into the crowd. Jazz had a nearly supernatural ability to find his way through the busiest of bars quickly, so it wasn’t long before he had found a place at the bar next to the mech with the visor. Whoever they were, they weren’t surprised to see Jazz. Or Ratchet didn’t think they were, but he couldn’t really tell because of said visor.

Orion though startled, and then—

And then he turned and looked in Ratchet’s direction.

Their gazes met and Ratchet would have sworn his spark stopped right then and there. Orion’s optics were bright and without a doubt focused on his, though he looked unsurprised to see Ratchet at least. In fact, Orion smiled, small and too sweet, and Ratchet had no idea how to react to that. Ratchet knew how to flirt with mecha like himself – mecha who drank too much and got into too many fights and wanted to just escape life for those brief hours spent on a dance floor before jumping right back in thrice as hard. If the mech even three stools over from Orion had caught his attention, it would have been easy to throw them a wink, to stroll over and drop a line.

The Party Ambulance knew how to flirt.

The medical student with a crush on an archivist he had once shared energon with while talking about archival organizational systems and favorite cities and plans for the next couple of years?

He had no fragging idea.

Before Ratchet could think about it, his servo lifted and gave a small wave.

A wave.

Jazz would never let him live that down.

Before Orion had an opportunity to react to that, the large grey mech beside him grabbed his attention, leaving Ratchet to just awkwardly stand by the wall while he watched the scene across the way. Something was being placed in Orion’s servos and Jazz leaned past the visored mech to say something to him.

Primus. Ratchet was regretting not being more forceful about keeping his drink because at least it would have given him something to do. Instead all he could do was fight the urge to squirm, wondering if it wouldn’t just be better to go over and face the embarrassment he had made of himself face-on.

But then Orion was turning, glancing up at the grey mech for one last exchange, and then he was making his way through the crowd.

Towards Ratchet.

Ratchet could only stand there in a mixture of trepidation and idiotic hope as he watched Orion’s progress. It certainly took him longer than it had Jazz who now seemed more than happy to lounge against the bar to chat with Orion’s companions, though his visor was no doubt hiding a gaze that was squarely on Ratchet.

And then there Orion was.

His smile was still small but sincere and each of his servos held a cube of high grade.

“Hello, Ratchet,” Orion greeted as he stepped closer, the volume of his voice just loud enough to be heard over the mild din of the bar. Still though, it didn’t sound strained or at all tinged by any of the awkwardness that Ratchet felt consumed by. Orion lifted one of the cubes in invitation. “Your friend told me you were in need of a drink.”

That slagger.

Ratchet grasped that kernel of irritation and held on tight to pull himself out of his fluster.

“Better not have let him convince you to buy it. Jazz is damned good at getting other mecha to pay for his drinks,” Ratchet replied as he took the cube. Somehow though that just made Orion’s lips curl more which in turn made Ratchet’s spark flutter.

“I’ll admit that I didn’t take much convincing.”

“Too easy,” Ratchet teased as he took a sip. It was a sweeter mix than he was used to – delicious for certain but lighter on engex content than Ratchet would let himself spend shanix on. “It’s good.” After a beat Ratchet quickly added, “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Ratchet couldn’t hold Orion’s gaze for long, not when he had no idea what Jazz had told him or what to even do with himself. Ratchet was caught between acting friendly like he had when they had met and acting flirty like he would with any other mech he was attracted to, not sure which was the better option with a mech like Orion. So somehow Ratchet ended up just blurting out, “So, you come here often?”

If Jazz wasn’t quick about it, Ratchet was going to kill himself over that cliché line before Jazz ever got the chance.

Orion’s expression wavered, slightly frowning, and this one was definitely a record for how quickly Ratchet had fragged up—

“No, I must admit that I actually came specifically to see you.”

Ratchet’s optics widened as they snapped up to Orion’s face and he reset his audials.

“What?”

Orion was now the one to glance away, looking a bit abashed. “It was pure chance that I was in the medical section that day since I don’t work on the public side of the archives often so I was unsure that we would ever happen to cross paths again, and one of my friends has a particular talent for finding mecha so I—I asked him for a favor.”

Ratchet couldn’t help looking over at the two gladiators – how had this darling archivist found himself friends with mecha like that? – before returning to Orion, who was now looking down at him, concerned optics searching him for a reaction.

And that’s when it had really set in. Orion had wanted to see him again, and instead of simply hoping to cross paths, Orion had someone find Ratchet so they could make sure they met again. And on top of that, he was worried that Ratchet would react badly to that fact. However, Ratchet couldn’t help being impressed and, quite frankly, flattered. His sparkrate picked up and his face heated and oh was that glimmer of hope getting brighter.

“Well,” Ratchet said, tipping his cube towards Orion with an embarrassed chuckle, “you managed to find me despite my best efforts.”

“Did you not want to be found?” Optimus asked, concerned still, and it was cute. It could have been the high grade talking, but Ratchet was certain that the archivist couldn’t have looked any more adorable than with his brows knitted and his optics wide.

“More that I didn’t want to be found here,” Ratchet admitted with a shrug, pausing to take a gulp of his drink for strength. “Easier to keep up a more flattering image of myself at the archives than here.”

Optimus’s helm tilted slightly, but something like amusement flickered in his brilliant blue optics.

“And what image have I found here then?”

“Med student by day, party ambulance by night, and all around pain in the aft,” Ratchet recited, as he had a million times before at thousands of parties.

Orion’s chuckle, warm and barely audible over the noise of the bar, was by far the greatest reaction he had ever gotten, and Ratchet’s spark swelled.

“Is that what you think I see?” he asked, tone full of humor.

“If not yet, then give me a couple more drinks to prove my point,” Ratchet insisted, his lips curling at the corners as he felt himself relax. The almost familiar ease he had felt with Orion before was back again.

That or the high grade he had chugged was kicking in.

“I thought Jazz was the one looking for free drinks.” Orion was teasing him and Ratchet couldn’t help laughing aloud now.

“No, no! I didn’t mean—I can pay for my own drinks, thank you very much.”

Orion made his way closer, shifting to the side so Ratchet wasn’t trapped between him and the wall, and Ratchet thought to himself that he really wouldn’t have minded that so much. And Primus was that a thought he shouldn’t be having at the moment.

“Then I really don’t see what you have to worry about. I’ve yet to see any supposed ‘party ambulance’ or ‘pain in the aft’.”

Ratchet rolled his optics before replying, “Need I remind you that I was the deranged medical student who had you up until sunrise because I had papers to finish.”

“And I had a lovely time,” Orion replied easily.

“I also nearly punched out your coworker.”

“You’re not the first and you won’t be the last,” Orion insisted, shrugging ever so slightly in the face of Ratchet’s surprise. “He’s not a particularly likeable mech.”

“And you think I am?” Ratchet asked with a snort.

Orion immediately, without a second thought, nodded and said, “I do.”

Ratchet nearly choked on his high grade, wincing as he forced it down his intake correctly and tried to ignore how his whole frame burned.

“Well, that’s very flattering of you.”

A moment passed, and then another, and Ratchet was too flustered to think of anything to say, instead just focusing on his drink and trying desperately to come up with something—

“Ratchet?”

Ratchet’s optics flicked up to Orion’s face. The archivist was staring down at him, optics bright, focused. And he was leaning closer – not too close, nothing invasive but feeling all the more intimate for it.

“You should know that I wanted to find you because I think you’re beautiful and I would like to kiss you,” Orion said, quieter now that they were close, quieter but in that deep voice of his, and Ratchet’s spark pulsed hard at the blatant confession. He opened his mouth, feeling as if that deserved something in response, but Ratchet was wordless. Orion continued, “I know that usually mecha use more, ah, clever lines than that in situations like this, but none of the ones I found seemed to be about you or me. So if you would prefer, I can come up with something, but I wanted to say that first.”

It took rebooting his voicebox twice before Ratchet could stammer out, “No, that—that won’t be necessary, that was – that was good. I mean--” Ratchet grimaced, his face feeling as if it was melting off because this was ridiculous, he was making a complete glitch of himself.

But Orion didn’t stop smiling. If anything, he looked rather charmed.

“I hadn’t realized you were so shy,” Orion commented, teased really, and that was enough to finally snap Ratchet out of his reverie with a startled laugh.

“I’ve been accused to be many a terrible thing, Orion, but shy isn’t one of them,” Ratchet said as he waved his servo in dismissal of the idea.

“You could have fooled me,” Orion insisted, unmoved but clearly amused.

“Well, that’s--!” Ratchet paused, floundering for a moment as his chuckles trailed off, until finally he continued, “It’s a very recent development, I assure you.”

Orion’s optics cycled with interest.

“Oh? How recent?”

“Well,” Ratchet drawled, enchanted by the way Orion looked at him, as if he was somehow equally enchanted by the mess of a mech before him, “how long ago was that night at the café?”

That finally caught the archivist by surprise. Orion’s expression froze and his optics were nearly blindingly bright.

“Ratchet?”

“Yes?”

Orion’s digits were gentle under Ratchet’s chin as he leaned down closer.

“May I kiss you?”

“Please.”

Orion leaned down further, closing the distance as his free servo found a place on Ratchet’s waist, and Ratchet eagerly reached up to pull him in faster.

Until the splash of his forgotten drink across his digits and down Orion’s back startled him and Ratchet could feel humiliation shoot across his lines lightning fast as he yanked his servo back and tried to pull away.

“Frag, I’m sorry --!”

”It’s alright,” Orion laughed, keeping Ratchet close as he plucked the now empty cube from Ratchet’s servo and placed it on a table next to them where his own drink was. Ratchet couldn’t remember when the archivist had abandoned the drink, couldn’t really think past the embarrassment that he had just dumped a drink on Orion, and now of all times--!

And then Orion was pulling him back in and kissing him.

Orion’s lips were sweet with lingering high grade and impossibly soft, and Ratchet quickly lost himself in the feeling of them as he clung to the archivist, kissing back with fervor. Warm servos cupping his cheek and pressing against his lower back, a clever glossa meeting his own eagerly, and the gentle rumbling of Orion’s engine when Ratchet nipped and sucked on his upper lip – it all left Ratchet feeling heady with affection and lust.

Ratchet couldn’t help a muffled groan as Orion retaliated by capturing his bottom lip between his dentae.

“Orion?”

The archivist hummed in question as he kissed the corner of Ratchet’s lips, giving him room to speak, and Ratchet’s spark throbbed.

“You can’t let me go home with you,” Ratchet insisted, aware that the effect was ruined by how breathless he sounded and how his digits pulled at Orion, “no matter what I say later.”

“That’s rather presumptuous of you,” Orion commented, voice full of amusement and somehow deeper than before. Ratchet shuddered slightly and moved his helm so their mouths brushed again, stealing a quick, wet kiss.

“That’s just how things usually go when I’m overcharged and kissing someone at a bar,” Ratchet said as he nuzzled his way under Orion’s chin to drag his glossa up a prominent fuel line before sucking on it. Orion’s engine gave a subtle rev at that and his servo behind Ratchet’s helm stroked encouragingly. “But I like you too much to ruin this with a one-night stand.”

Orion moved then, swooping down to kiss his way into Ratchet’s mouth, long and deeply enough that by the time he pulled away, Ratchet panted against his lips since his overworked cooling fans found little relief in the crowded bar.

“You can’t ruin this.”

Ratchet snorted and replied, “Is that a challenge?”

“More like reassurance,” Orion replied as he trailed his soft, damp lips along Ratchet’s check towards his audials. “Though I can promise you we won’t interface tonight.”

Orion’s mouth was hot around Ratchet’s audial finial and he gasped aloud as his frame arched up against Orion’s.

“You sure? At the rate you’re going, I could be convinced.”

“Which is why we won’t.” Orion drew back until their gazes met, his expression serious as he said, “Not while you’re overcharged.”

And that—

That was new.

Ratchet’s spark ached with emotion strong enough that he dared not name it.

“That’s very considerate of you,” Ratchet managed, aware of how ridiculous that sounded when they were entangled together, spilt high grade growing sticky on Orion’s back and Ratchet’s lips nearly feeling bruised from their fevered kissing. “And that only makes me like you more, so now that we’re agreed about what we won’t do tonight, can we return to what we are doing?”

The serious expression eased into a warm smile as Orion leaned in, but only enough to press their forehelms together. “At this rate, we’ll never get back to our friends.”

“Frag ‘em. This is what they wanted anyway, isn’t it?”

“A fair point, Ratchet.” Orion pressed a slow kiss to Ratchet’s lips. “But we’ll have to face their gloating eventually.”

Ratchet frowned and somehow that just earned him another, albeit chaste, kiss.

“Fine. But you owe me at least one more session like this before the end of the night,” Ratchet demanded, finally removing one of his servos from Orion’s frame to point at him, “and your commlink.”

Orion huffed a soft laugh as he nodded.

“Perhaps even plans for an actual date?”

Ratchet rolled his optics as he stepped back, though he reached to grab Orion by the wrist.

“Obviously. Now come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and then we’ll find where those slaggers got off to. Your big frag-off friend can’t be hard to find in here.”

“Of course.”

Orion’s whole face was lit up with tenderness and quiet joy, and Ratchet swore his processor hiccupped.

Ratchet had been so wrong before, because this. This mech, this face, looking at him with such adoration, was the most adorable thing he had ever seen.

“By the Allspark,” Ratchet murmured. “You really do think I’m likeable.”

And Orion laughed, bright and rumbling.

“Exceedingly so, Ratchet.”

Within seconds, Ratchet had Orion back against the wall and was savoring the sensation of laughter against his lips.

Jazz could wait another five minutes before getting Ratchet’s begrudging gratitude.

[alyndra9]

SPN Big Bang Masterlist

Ever wonder how many big-bang-style challenges Supernatural fandom really has?

Various people have compiled various lists and posted them in various places. Trust me, I have a list of these lists. Everyone also defines the parameters of their search a little differently. Personally, I chose to look for past and present SPN Bang challenges, and then I made a spreadsheet with info about each bang. There are 70+ entries on it.

I included big bangs, mini bangs, reverse bangs, and the herculean mega bang. I did not include other kinds of fic challenges, such as gift exchanges, flashfic or drabble communities. What makes a bang a bang?

Well, it should have writers and artists all paired up and collaborating on their works. Usually there's a claims process, but the important point is you wouldn't just sign up, write your fic, and post. Most challenges will try to get pinch-hitters to fill in if either the author or artist drops out unexpectedly, but even if this doesn't happen it can still be a bang as long as the intent is that everyone gets paired.

That said, often my criterion for inclusion was more like, "does it have bang in the name?" So speak up if there's anything I missed but should have included, or anything included that doesn't meet the definition, or if you just think my definition is whacked.

Size: the original Big Bang community, a Harry/Draco innovation, had a minimum fic length of 40,000 words. This rapidly started dropping as Big Bang challenges proliferated. Each challenge is free to set a minimum wordcount wherever it likes. Although there is a lot of variety in minimum wordcount thresholds, there seems to be a fairly settled line around 10,000 words: a min. 10k wordcount can be considered either a big or a mini bang, depending who's running it, but any wordcount below this is almost always a mini bang, and above it is a big bang.

And then we get into the rarified heights of the mega bang, which, according to the SPN Mega Bang community, is over 100,000 words. (A smaller community has one for over 50k.) Mega bangs are unique to the SPN fandom so far; if anyone sees one in future, holler!

Reversebangs reverse the usual order of affairs: instead of writers starting off and artists choosing stories to work with, in a reversebang artists draw first and then writers choose which art they'd like to write a story for. Minimum size for a reversebang is generally smaller than a regular big bang.

The Friend Bang is unique because you start out paired with a friend and both write and draw for each other. The collaboration bang is an experimental format tried last year by the Sastiel Big Bang where artists and authors are paired up right off the bat and create simultaneously.

(An interesting idea to try might be a doodle!bang. Artists are perennially in shorter supply than ficwriters, even as wordcount limits keep going down. Setting up a low-pressure experience — maybe suggested 10-minute doodle — probably as a reversebang, could encourage artist participation.)

Couple more notes about what did and didn't qualify for inclusion here:

There are any number of multi-fandom bangs as well as bangs for other fandoms. In the interests of getting one list completed, I skipped including these, even though many (perhaps most) multi-fandom bangs would have SPN fic written for them.

In order to be included, a bang must have completed a round productively or else be less than a year old. Older bangs which never got off the ground are included in this list here. One exception that merits honorable mention in my list is the slackers bang, whose mod posts tell their own tale.

If a challenge's home page has been deleted, then inclusion rests on whether I can find fic/art for it, for example an AO3 tag. If you show me fic, I will include it in my list.

A note about schedule dates I've included: I deliberately tried not to get too precise. Challenges may or may not be regular from year to year, and schedules may be adjusted. Always check the bang page if you're interested in a challenge, rather than planning based off the dates in this! This is just to give a general idea. Some will certainly end up not being what I have down here. Links are to sign-ups open as of when I last checked. The numbers before months are just there to enable sorting by month.

The latest round column is the last year in which a round of fic started being posted, for dormant communities. If they're doing a round in 2017 it should say 2017. Occasionally communities will skip a year or three and then run another round, so dormant may not mean dead! Communities with a history of this are marked ongoing, but may not have schedule information posted.

Eventually I would like to replace the "year started" and "latest round" columns with (There are now) columns for each year which contain links to the masterposts for each round. Here's a resource with links to masterposts, in the meantime! for other fandoms. ETA 3: Done! Numbers indicate fic/art pairs for each round, plus scattered unpaired works. Mods who put in the labor to make masterposts, I love you and you get cookies bold font. Mods who tally their entries to spare me counting, you totally rock! Asterisks: because Sheets throws fits about more than one link in a cell, an asterisk means Intrepid Reader should exercise their detective skills to find all the fics; for example, by clicking to the next month on a LJ calendar. Note about calendars vs. tags: often there will be a tag for each round. However, I link to the calendar or archive rather than the tag, if I can't find masterposts, because I can't know if everybody tagged properly without doing a ton of cross-checking, and I don't want to miss anybody. I'll link to tags only if I'm assured they're complete.

Also, if you are a mod (or civic-minded citizen) who has shiny new (or old but well-hidden) masterposts for previous years, please do link me up!

“Main” and “wing” should be self-explanatory. (They were shorter than “Primary” and “Secondary.”) The “Other” column could be any site challenges are hosted, but right now it’s all Dreamwidth (dw). The numbers in the AO3 columns indicate how many works there are in each tag or collection. Keep in mind that tagging and collecting is up to individual authors, and therefore neither the tag nor the collection is likely to represent all work for a challenge, nor will they necessarily consist of the same works. Check challenge masterposts for complete works. Here’s the tag collection for Big Bangs on AO3. I’m sure there are tags and collections on AO3 that I haven’t yet found the links for, but I’m still on it! ETA 2: I’ve now looked at all 641(!) collections with Supernatural in them. Unless you named yours “LMNOP2″ or “Drabbles Comm: Socks” and didn’t include a description, I should have all Bang collections up in the Doc. (Stray tags may still crop up.)

My Google Spreadsheet of SPN Big (and otherwise) Bang Challenges!

Anyone can comment directly into the document or contact me with additional information or suggestions! Feel free to link to this from anywhere you like as well. Note that there are a couple new challenges with author sign-ups closing TODAY, August 31!

ETA: Fun with filters!

The awesome thing about speadsheets is that you can sort all the data any way you like! Here’s a quick rundown of possibly-useful information.

Even if you don’t have editing privileges on a Google Doc, you can still sort columns. It won’t permanently change the doc or impact the way others are seeing it if they’re viewing it at the same time as you. All you do is mouse over the top of a column where it says “A”  and a little arrow will appear for you to click on. So if you’re an artist, feel free to sort by ‘artist signups,’ or if you just like reading everything as soon as it comes out, sort by ‘posting starts.’ The default way I have the Doc sorted is first I sort by ‘status,’ then by ‘writing signups,’ then by ‘latest round.’ This means that the doc will be sorted primarily by the year of the latest round, then by the month writers should sign up in, then by status.

I renamed challenges which haven’t yet gone a round from “new” to “virgin,” not just for amusement, but so we could have an alphabetical list: Closed, Deleted, Dormant, Hiatus, Polling, Ongoing, Virgin. Is that not sweet? You can sort by that, or alphabetically by name, etc. Play around, have fun, and when you’d like to go back to the standard view, just ‘X’ out of the dark gray filter bar.

[ceridwyn2]

Writing Meme: Cool Asks for Fic Writers

Snagged from a few others :D

Describe yourself how you would describe a character you’re introducing Mmm. Petite. Early-mid 40s. Adept at many things. Nurse, photographer, writer, crafter. Introvert. Observer.

Is there any specific ritual you go through while/before/after your writing? Often tea & biscuits (digestives, gingersnap or shortbread)

What is your absolute favorite kind of fic to write? Drama w/ slight to moderate angst

Are there any other fic writers you admire? If so, who and why? Many. And they vary by fandoms that I’ve participated in. However, Melissa Good (Xena /Dar & Kerry) particularly stands out because she was one of the early fic writers I started reading, and I’ve gone back to read her stuff many times. Her stories are very well-written. She does over-arcing love stories that are not explicitly sexual in detail, nor do they need to be. Her love scenes, when written, fit in very well with the tone and style as the rest of the story. Trust me. That vision of Xena scaling a mountain, risking death more than once, then running - practically flying - over the fields in a rainstorm to the borderlands between the Amazons and Centaurs to save Gabrielle from a renegade shit disturber amazon, then landing a big kiss on Gabrielle in front of said crowd of Amazons and Centaurs is pretty legendary. Story is called ‘At A Distance’ (http://www.merwolf.com/ata1.htm). The series of stories is A Journey of Soulmates and begins with 'A Warrior By Any Other Name’ (http://www.merwolf.com/warrior1.htm). Melissa’s Dar & Kerry series is here and starts with 'Tropical Storm’ - http://www.merwolf.com/ffiction.html#dk

How many words can you write if you sit down and concentrate intensely for an hour? Don’t know that I’ve actually counted. When I get into a zen stage of writing where the characters keep talking I just go with the flow and don’t stop until a) I need a trip to the loo, b) my tea has gone too cold/run out of biscuits, c) my stomach is growling to loudly to ignore.

First fic/pairing you wrote for? (If no pairing, describe the plot) Oh heavens. Not published anywhere, but Beauty & The Beast (Catherine & Vincent) - the Linda Hamilton & Ron Perlman version. I was in my late teens. Pre-internet.

Inspiration, time, or motivation. Choose two. Inspiration & time

Why do you choose to write? An outlet to explore feelings, explore characters that speak to me on some level, and sometimes to challenge myself.

Do you ever have plans to write anything other than fic? I have one original story in the works. I’ve also written a published academic article in a Canadian Oncology Nursing Journal back many yrs ago when I was a nurse trainee. I’ve also written interviews with musicians, writers, creators. (https://celtic-dragon.me/tag/interview/)

What inspires you the most? Different things. Sometimes it’s being out in nature, conversations, reading other well-written stories, sometimes music, travel.

Weirdest thing you’ve ever written/thought about writing/etc.? At the moment I can’t recall. Well, not completely true. I can write a love scene and have done in the Otalia Virtual Seasons, but I can’t write explicit sex scenes as it feels weird to me. Not a prude; I can read them at times - if it feels right within the context of the rest of the story and it’s well-written without feeling like I’m reading a young-adult’s attempt at porn. I’m also not a fan of vulgarity or overly flowery terms for sex.

A fic you wish you had written better, and why? My early stuff seems a bit cringeworthy now but again we only learn from our past and reading other well-written stories. Also, as we age, our own life-experience contributes to our overall knowledge (or at least it should). How I wrote as a teenager/early 20s is quite different from how I write now (nearly mid 40s), as well it should. Reading other well-written stories with correct spelling, proper punctuation and grammar, verb-tense agreement, etc. REALLY helps improve one’s writing skills, as well as really knowing the characters (and their development). Getting a beta-reader who can constructively critique your stories to bring out the best in your work is also a recommendation. I’ve been writing fic off and on for about 25 years.

Favourite fic from another author

@lunacatriona - 'Waves that Rolled You Under’ (Holby City - Bernie & Serena). More of my Holby fic recs here: http://ceridwyn2.tumblr.com/post/160719828756/a-warm-blanket-of-a-story

LarkhallReturns: 'Love With Deception’ and 'Abuse of Power’ (Bad Girls - Nikki & Helen AU). I don’t think either are online anymore (I have them in PDF format for reading offline); they might be accessible via WaybackMachine search - it’s been a while since I checked.

SelVecanti: 'Reunion’ (Babylon 5 - Ivanova/Talia, set post S4.) Brilliant story. Capt Ivanova has a new Warlock class ship made unknowingly to her at the beginning using Shadow technology. Psi-Corp are trying to get to Ivanova by using Talia.

Nordica: 'Jungle Fever’ (Hospital Central - Maca & Esther, plus other HC regulars). An AU set at a Médicins Sans Frontières clinic in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. (Another story I have archived in PDF format offline)

G.L. Dartt - After Larkhall (Bad Girls - Helen & Nikki) series, starting with 'Dead Slow’ (http://users.eastlink.ca/~ginadartt/OtherFanFicIndex.html) - some odd coding on the site at the moment, though.

And just to plug something I was a part of (both as a writer, editor, and sometimes season planning collaborator) was the Otalia Virtual Seasons (http://www.celtic-dragon.ca/otalia_vs/OVS_Downloads.html) - Guiding Light - Olivia & Natalia.

Your favourite side pairings to put in?

Depends on the fandoms I’m writing in at the time. And not necessarily romantic pairings, but sometimes just friendship pairings.

Holby City sides: Sacha & Essie.

Call the Midwife sides: Delia & Phyllis friendship or pretty much any dynamic with Sister Monica Joan. (This is stuff I’ve only partially gotten round to writing)

Scott & Bailey sides: Gill Murray & Julie Dodson - though sometimes they’re the main with Janet & Rachel as the sides.

Guiding Light sides: Doris & Blake

Your guilty writing pleasure? Don’t know that I really have one, that I can think of at the moment.

Do you have structured ideas of how your story is supposed to go, or make it up as you write? I have a general sense of direction for the story, particularly if it’s a shorter one-off piece and not a multi-part story. When I was writing with the OVS (mentioned above), we had an over-arcing plan of things that we wanted to accomplish over the season, so specific plot points were planned out well in advance. However, like a serial drama, one story had to follow from the previous so we needed to be aware of what the writer before us was incorporating so that there was continuity between one story and the next, also to lay in bits in our story that would be picked up in the next one. What was really fun was coordinating the multi-author stories in the season, where each writer would take a different group of writers to write about and making sure no one character was in two different places at the same time.

Would you describe yourself as a fast writer? On the one-off pieces, usually. Or if I’ve got a deadline. Multi-part stories, not so much…unless I’ve got a deadline.

How old were you when you started writing? Crikey. In my teens I wrote for my high school Creative Writing class book (circa 1989-1991). Before that, just my own jotting of ideas.

Why did you start writing? As a way to express ideas & feelings

4 sentences from your work that you’re proud of. Oh, good heavens. There are many, over 20+ yrs of writing, writing in over a dozen fandoms.