#might actually upload this on ao3 when I wake up

[whipbogard]

TwoBruce No Cape AU

The one where Bruce Wayne has never known Harvey Dent all his life and there's no Batman in Gotham.

A/N: so so SO ever since Two-Face discovered that Bruce is Batman in Detective Comics, ngl my brain has been on TwoBruce overdrive mode. I also have this fic WIP from ages ago where 2F tried to woo beloved billionaire Bruce Wayne without realizing that he's Batman and Harvey is just "uhh bro... you know what? nvm". So I thought what the heck lets just combine it with my other twobruce brainrots.

This au was supposed to be very self-indulgently nsfw thing--an elaboration of this art--but it has spiraled into a hugeass verse of its own since then so...

[see-the-fandom-imagines]

What’s in it for me?

Chapter 8

Chapter 1     Masterlist

Pairing: Kyouya Ootori x Reader Author: see-the-fandom-imagines   Warnings: Kyouya in a bad mood, other than that mostly cute fluff, filler Author’s Note: I hope you will like it! One tiny question: I have been thinking about uploading this same fic with a few changes that would be required, but using male pronouns. I feel like our male readers get too little attention every once in a while, so let me know in case anyone would actually be interested in reading this with male pronouns! Tag List: @radical-bunny, @redsakura101​, @ellouisa17​

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46325452/chapters/116633701

The next morning you awoke early. You needed a moment to realise where you were, but Haruhi’s steady breathing soon reminded you of everything that happened the day before. You groaned and stretched, before carefully sitting up. Bright sun light shone through the curtains, so you decided you might as well should get up and make some breakfast. You owed everyone as much for scaring them like you did. Quietly you walked into the bathroom. Looking into the mirror you noticed that your eyes were still a little puffy from crying, but that was nothing that a little cold water couldn’t save. You brushed your teeth and quickly washed your face, before slipping into your everyday clothes and sneaking downstairs. No one was there yet, and you enjoyed the short moment of calmness, a rare occasion when being anywhere with the host club. You had to admit you probably were relaxed for the first time in weeks, although you knew you also had to thank the six boys for that who were still sleeping upstairs. Silently you checked the fridge and the pantry for food and you actually found almost all of the basics – eggs, rice, flour, sugar … You could work with that. You had just finished heating the pan, when you heard steps coming down the stairs into the kitchen. You turned around to see who it was, after you had poured the first load of dough into the pan. “Mori-Senpai”, you greeted. “Good morning!” You smiled at him and he smiled back. “Good morning.” He stepped closer to see what you were doing. “I am making breakfast, I thought it was the least thing I could do after … after yesterday.” You carefully flipped the pancake, before turning towards him, as you noticed something. “I never really thanked you properly, but… well, thank you. Really.” You looked him in the eyes. “For saving my life. And everything in general, too.” You bowed down as deeply as you could without falling to your knees. He was quiet for a while, but then you felt the weight of his hand on your head as he ruffled your hair. Surprised you looked up into his smiling face. You knew this was his way of saying that it was alright. You smiled up at him. “If you want to you can sit down, I’ll bring the breakfast out in a bit.” “Let me help you.” “But…”, you started but he shook his head. “Please.” You chuckled and gave in. If he said he wanted to help, that’s what he wanted to do. You always enjoyed Mori’s simplicity in this regard. “Alright! You can make some pancakes if you want to? They’re mostly for Honey-senpai and the twins whenever they wake up!” Mori nodded and took the spatula from you. The rest of the morning was spend in a comfortable silence, only interrupted by you giving Mori some cooking tips and asking which vegetables and leftovers he wanted in the soup.

Proudly, Mori showed you the big stack of pancakes he had just made, and you gave him a thumbs up. “Amazing! Now we just have to wait for …” “I smell pancakes!” You almost flinched as you heard the older hosts voice behind you. When did he get up? Had he been awake this whole time? Slowly you turned around, looking into his happy face. “We made some for breakfast, I had a feeling you’d like them”, you said, trying not to be freaked out by his weird sense of smell for sweets. “Yay!”, he proclaimed, “Let’s set the table, so we can eat!” You nodded and handed Honey a stack of plates, when suddenly Mori stepped in front of you, grabbing your chin with one hand and lifting your head to look at him. You felt the heat creep onto your cheeks at his touch. “M-Mori-senpai”, you stammered, but then he lifted his other hand and gently wiped something of your face with his thumb. His fingers felt warm on your face and his touch was soft. A lot softer than how Kyouya had touched you yesterday. With wide eyes you stared up at him. “Flour”, he explained and immediately you understood and relaxed your shoulders again. “Oh”, you said, but before you could react any further, two very well-known voices appeared next to you. “Hey hey, are we interrupting something?” Immediately, Mori let go of your face as if he had been burnt by it. Hikaru appeared next to his brother. “Is there a secret kitchen party and we haven’t been invited?” You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, huge kitchen party, too bad, you’re late.” “Hey”, Kaoru started poking your cheek. “That’s mean”, Hikaru said, poking the other one. “You know me”, you shrugged, “mean to the core.” “Have you made breakfast?”, they realized at the same time. “Yes.” “But why? “Yeah, there’s maids for that.” “Well, there are no maids here as you can see.” “Well, then there’s delivery”, Hikaru shrugged, and you waited for Kaoru’s response but instead he smiled down at you. “Thanks.” Hikaru sent him an irritated gaze, but you beamed up at him. “You’re welcome, now go, go, set the table if you want to eat!” “Do we have to?”, they groaned in unison, but a raised eyebrow from you was enough to get them to move. You shook your head, watching your friends set the table and a weird sense of security and happiness washed over you. It weirdly felt like home. Just… safe. Although a few people were still missing. Smiling at the view, you saw Tamaki and Haruhi walk down the stairs, bickering again, but stopping as they saw the almost fully set breakfast table. “(Y/n) have you done all this?”, Tamaki asked, but you shook your head. “I had some help." You smiled at Mori. “You could have woken me up, I would have helped”, Haruhi protested, but you shushed her quickly. “That’s exactly, why I didn’t wake you! You deserved some rest.” You looked around. “Well, Kyouya-senpai is still missing.” You checked your watch. “I better go wake him up.” Suddenly you felt the gaze of all the hosts on you. “Better don’t do that”, Hikaru said. “Not if you want to live”, Kaoru finished. “What do you mean?” “Kyouya has the blood type AB”, Tamaki explained, but you still were a little confused. “So?” “Kyouya really doesn’t like to be woken up”, Honey said, while already stuffing his face with his first pancake. “You are not the one to talk”, Mori solely commented on his cousin’s utterance, but since you also could not really place this, you just sighed. “Ah, come on, guys, it can’t be that bad … right?” “Try it at your own risk”, the twins said, shrugging, while already sitting down at the breakfast table and you gulped. “Well, I think he is going to be angrier, if we let him sleep and we miss our car back, so I guess I’ll… try my best.” But you had barely finished the sentence, when you were already beginning to doubt your idea.

Carefully, you made your way up the stairs and turned to the left where you knew Kyouya's room was located. You knocked carefully, but didn’t get a reply. You knocked again. Still nothing. You gulped heavily and decided to go in. Once you had stepped inside your eyes needed a moment to adjust to the darkness and suddenly you weren’t so sure anymore of what you were doing here. You had entered Kyouya’s room without his permission, to wake him up, also without his permission. Even morning people would have every right to be pissed at you and he apparently was the complete opposite of a morning person. Biting your lip you questioned why you were here again and thought about simply turning around, it was not too late to just leave again, but then you remembered the feeling of seeing everybody help out in the kitchen. And how happy that had made you. And how much you had noticed Kyouya’s absence in this moment. A part of you really wanted him to be part of this memory. Maybe it was foolish, but now that you were already inside his room you decided there was no going back. You took a deep breath, and carefully stepped closer to his bed. You looked at his sleeping face and couldn’t help but notice how relaxed he looked. You smiled a little to yourself. His hair was messy from sleep and he seemed unusually relaxed. He was always so composed, seeing him in this state was highly unusual, but you had to admit that you liked it. The messy hair was weirdly attractive. You swalled down the lump in your throat and knelt down beside him. “Kyouya-senpai”, you whispered, but he still didn’t move. “Kyouya-senpai”, you tried again, this time a bit louder. You sighed. This was not working. You stood back up again, and carefully moved his shoulder. “Kyouya-sen…” But this was as far as you got, for in the next second you felt Kyouya’s grip on your wrist that had just tried to shake him awake. The sudden pull of his touch made you fall over. Your upper body collided with his and your faces were just inches apart from each other as you now stared into his eyes. The usual brown-greyish colour had turned black and you felt a shiver run down your spine as he looked at you. “First you won’t let me sleep and now you wake me early in the morning?” His voice was ice cold. Wait, not let him sleep, what have you …Oh no, you must have woken him up last night with your crying. Immediately your face went bright red, thinking that he had heard your absolute breakdown. Your mouth went dry and your thoughts went blank. How much had he heard? Had he heard you cry? Had he heard anything at all? You felt your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. You felt his chest moving with his chest against yours, his fingers burning into your wrist and you were way too aware of the warmth radiating from him. You tried to think of something to say, anything. You wanted to apologize for waking him both yesterday and today, but you realized you were close enough to smell the faint scent of cedar and lavender that always seemed to surround him and it clouded your thoughts. All you could perceive was the warmth of his skin against yours and how close his face was. This was getting really weird, you had to say something, anything to make this better. Just apologise, (y/n), apolo … “I made breakfast.” You slapped yourself internally, but nothing else would come over your lips. You swallowed hard and looked down at him. His eyes seemed to regain a bit of colour, although, he had still gripped your wrist tightly and seemed slightly murderous. “You… made breakfast?”, he asked back. “Yeah.” “…” “…” “You wake me up ... to tell me you made breakfast.” “Yeah.” He seemed to think for a second, before you could feel his chest begin to vibrate with a low chuckle. “You made breakfast”, he repeated again and finally let go of your wrist. Right away you scrambled back up to your feet, although you were immediately missing the warmth. Kyouya sat up and looked at you. It was impossible for you to guess what he was thinking. He still radiated a slight murderous spirit, but at least he didn’t seem like he wanted to decapitate you on the spot anymore. “I’ll be right down.”

Trying to steady your breath you made your way back down the stairs, your legs a little wobbly from the second close call with death in the last two days and only now noticed that all the other hosts, including Haruhi had gathered at the foot of the staircase, looking up at you expectantly. Before you could react, you found yourself in Tamaki’s embrace. “Oh, (y/n), you can’t imagine how glad we are that you are alive and well!” You blinked a few times. It had been scary, but now he was overdoing it. “I am fine”, you tried to get out between him squeezing you, and it took the help of both twins to peel him away from you. “You don’t look fine”, they observed and you realized, that you probably still were blushing quite heavily. They seemed to mistake it for fear. “No worries, (y/n)-chan! You’re safe now!”, Honey assured you with a serious gaze. “And now sit down and have breakfast with us! A few pancakes will help you get better!”

It didn’t take long for Kyouya to come downstairs, neatly dressed and styled as always. It was as if he was a completely different person. “Good morning”, he wished everyone at the table and they responded. “Good morning, (y/n)”, he said to you in particular, his voice cold, and you knew he was still mad at you for waking him up. “Good morning”, you mumbled back. You had just gotten up to get Honey a few more pancakes, and immediately made your way back into the kitchen to grab another bowl of rice, a miso soup and some of the fish from yesterday you had been frying up again. You placed them one by one in front of Kyouya who looked at you with an unreadable gaze. “I said I made breakfast”, you mumbled, and shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “And I remember you once said you don’t really like sweet stuff, so I made something savory, too.” Kyouya didn’t reply and you didn’t dare to look into his face so you made your way back to your seat to finish your own breakfast. You tried to ignore him, but somehow you caught your gaze wandering back towards him, eyeing the food in front of him suspiciously. You knew it tasted fine, you had had some yourself and Mori had also told you it’s delicious, so you weren’t sure why you were so worried about what Kyouya might think about it. You chewed on a bite of rice, and acted as if you were listening to something Haruhi was telling you, but actually you were watching the dark-haired host from the corner of your eyes, curious about how he'd react. You watched him separate a piece of fish and put it in his mouth. He halted for a second and looked at you, almost surprised. Your gaze met his for a second, but he immediately averted his gaze and focused it on the food again. You had to turn back to Haruhi, so that she wouldn’t realize that you hadn’t been listening to a word she said, but you could have sworn that you had seen a small smirk on Kyouya’s face, as he took a second bite and somehow this made you irrationally happy.

Kyouya for his share did not remember when he had last eaten a homecooked meal like that. Trying to show as little emotion as possible, he nonetheless gladly realized that she seemed to be feeling better. A small smile played on her lips now and he watched her talk and laugh with the other hosts. That sight might have even been worth getting woken up for. Might.

[tavs-tressym]

Delicious Denial - Chapter Seven

(AO3 Link) | Master List | Ko-Fi

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav (You)

Word Count: 5010 (approx)

Tags: Fluff, eventual smut, domestic fluff, camp life, slow burn romance, sexual tension (A LOT).

CW: Sexual content (dry humping, whoo!), self-harming behaviour (to feed Astarion), knives, heavy descriptions of dissociation, references to abuse, gore.

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A reimagining of the game's events if Tav had zero magical or fighting ability. But she's still pretty fucked up. 👍

(Lots of comforting camp life content)

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A/N: Remember when I was uploading these chapters regularly? HAHAHAAAA... As a gift to say sorry for my absence, here is an extra long one, plus my first ever shot at writing smut. Feedback is always appreciated, my lovelies. Hope you enjoy xxx

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Chapter Seven - Yes

The sweetest of dreams are always in reach, but never obtained, blocked by unwelcome intrusions that if you were conscious, you’d have no trouble swatting away. But here, with nowhere to run? Nothing to look at? They hold you. They caress you in the only way you know how: Brutally.

I’m so… Tired…

__________________________________________

Eyelids snap open, her hand is no longer gripping your wrist and you don’t see it, but it’s there: the mark she burned into you. And like so many others, it’s now healed and concealed from view. Just the way she liked it.

Forget… Please…

You slip out of your bedroll and throw on your green robe, fixing it to your body in the way that everyone seemed to enjoy. After all, you could do with the pick-me-up after those dreams. Sweet, fresh air fills your lungs as you step out, into the open. The first one awake, as always.

Stepping in front of your station, you take in the ingredients before you. The colours of vegetables, fruit and meat begin to blend together until you can’t recognise them anymore. But you’re calm, you’re stable, you’re just… Not here… “Tav? Are you alright?”

You nod, barely, not breaking your gaze on the fuzzy, watercolour mess before you.

“Are you sure?” You flinch as a hand touches your shoulder, bringing you back to reality.

“Hm? Oh, Shadowheart, y-yeah, I’m fine. Breakfast will be ready soon.” You don’t know how long you were standing there, only that now you have to get on with your duties before someone starts asking questions that you aren’t ready to answer. You begin selecting ingredients and taking them to the counter.

“You’re not sick, are you?” She asks, following you.

“No, no. Just need to wake up a little.”

She inspects you for a moment before shrugging and choosing not to press you. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it.”

Eggs, bacon, sausages. You prepare each but don’t feel your arms move. In any case, food is presented on plates, ready for consumption. You turn away, hearing the plates scrape against the surface as they’re eagerly taken away, coupled with echoed murmurs of gratitude.

Wrist. Cup. Knife. Skin. Breath.

You wonder if you’ll feel it, sitting all the way back there in your mind.

You wonder if you want to.

Blade moves. Flesh opens. Red spills.

A sharp inhale, but it’s not yours. “Is that mine, darling?” Your first smile of the day. You take the cup and keep it under your wound as you turn to face him.

“If you ask nicely.” You smirk. His gaze is fixed on your wrist as it leaks with the most delectable substance he’s ever tasted. His half-lidded eyes watch the liquid rising in the cup, his breath growing heavy. For a moment, you think he might actually beg, and why not indulge? You could use the distraction. A moment of feeling desirable to numb everything else.

“What?” He asks, smiling eagerly, mind clearly elsewhere.

You take it a step further. “Say please.” Feeling the warmth of your blood growing closer to the rim of the cup, you remove your wrist. Precious drops drip to the floor as you reach for a cloth, and Astarion mourns each one.

As you’re distracted, he reaches for the foot of the cup and slowly drags it closer, but you catch him and place your hand over it, stopping it in it’s tracks. His fingers absorb the heat from your palm, but you don’t mind, you just hold on tighter. “Ah, ah, ah! What’s the magic word?”

He scoffs. “Please.”

“Good boy.” You slide your hand away from his.

“Cheeky little pup.” He grins as he takes his gift. “Are you going to humiliate me every time we do this?”

You laugh. “Until I get bored, yes.”

He laughs too. “Ha! Something tells me that won’t happen for a while. At least you’re honest.” You shrug, knowing he’s right. Watching this beautiful man squirm is quickly becoming one of your favourite pastimes. He smiles and resists the urge to tip the entire contents of the cup into his mouth immediately. “Thank you, my dear.”

You sigh and nod with the knowledge that soon he’ll leave and you’ll be forced to take a seat in the back of your mind, once again. Your smile fades and you turn away to properly dress your wound. He does begin to leave, but something tugs at him, convincing him to stay. “You don’t seem like your usual self today, darling.”

You chuckle nervously, trying to cover up the emotions that he’s clearly spotted. “Don’t I?” You slow down, taking extra time to dress your wound so you don’t have to face him just yet.

“No, you don’t.” Silence. You expect him to say something else: A question, words of comfort, maybe even a joke. But no, it’s silence. It’s unlike him. You raise an eyebrow and turn around to see him looking down at his fingers, tracing circles around the rim of his cup. You shrug and take a deep breath, ready to move on, but he speaks first. “Would you like to have breakfast with me?”

Yes. Gods, anything to take my mind off this…

“I suppose so.” He lights up and takes your plate, you follow him, expecting another forest clearing or the lakeside. But no, he takes you to the outside of his tent, where everyone can see. He shuffles a cushion to the side with his foot.

“Here, take a seat.” You do so, eyebrow raised. He hands you your plate and sits beside you with a sigh. A moment passes, you avoid looking at him, he confidently gazes at you. You eat, keeping your mouth occupied so you don’t have to speak.

“Do you…” He fights with the words, trying to get them out despite the resistance. “Ugh… Do you want to talk about it?”

You laugh at his reluctance. “Well, with such an enthusiastic offer, how could I refuse?” Your sarcasm isn’t lost on him, he chuckles back and shrugs. It looks like this is the best you’re going to get.

“Well?” He asks again, softly.

Your smile relaxes. “It’s hard to explain… I’m just having a rough morning, that’s all.”

He nods, understandingly. “Bad dream?”

You’re taken aback by his accuracy, can he really read you that well? “Y-yes. How did you…?”

He smiles, looks ahead and takes a moment. “I just… I just know how it feels, that’s all. Plus, those little bags under your eyes don’t give the impression of a person who gets a lot of sleep.”

You feign shock and rub your fingers under your eyes. “Okay, first of all: Rude…”

He laughs. “I meant no offence, dear. I actually quite like them.”

Smirking, you dismiss the compliment. “Secondly, you’re right. Gods… What I’d give for a full night’s sleep…” You lean back on your hands and close your eyes, imagining how it would feel to drift away without fear, to wake up without urgency.

Astarion brings his cup to his lips. He inhales your scent and takes his first sip of the day, eyes darkening as he watches the body it came from relax in his presence. He tastes you, and you’re perfect. He lets it sit on his tongue, savouring every note of flavour before swallowing with a groan. A groan that he quickly follows up with a concealing cough, but you catch it anyway. Peering through one eye, you watch him as he shifts his position, using a pillow to cover himself. He tries to drink the rest slowly, but as usual, his hunger takes over, causing him to devour every drop in seconds. Then, the inevitable, insatiable sigh once it’s gone.

Facing him, you can’t help but feel sympathy. “Is it enough?”

“Hm?” He returns his eyes to you.

“The amount I give you each day, is it enough?”

“No, it is absolutely not enough. Nowhere fucking near.” He thinks to himself. “Y-yes…” He says, much to his hunger’s dismay.

“Are you sure? You never seem satisfied.”

“Darling, if I was satisfied, you’d be dead. Trust me, it’s enough.” He sets the cup aside.

“Come on, soldiers! We gotta’ go!” Karlach yells from the other side of camp. Astarion sighs and stands up, offering you his hand. You take it and lift yourself up. Without a word, he retrieves his armour from the inside of his tent and begins to put it on over his clothes. You look over at the rest of the group and see them gathering, fully equipped with their usual gear. He’s late.

You turn back to him. “Hey, let me help, it’ll be faster.” You lift his chestplate, inspecting it to see how it should be attached. He hesitates but nods, tying his boot as you fix the straps around his shoulders. He feels your body heat move around his torso as you continue to help, never touching. He’s hyper-aware of your proximity, enjoying the closeness and only wishing to be closer. As you finish up, you step back, checking it all, one last time. He watches you, admiring the way your brows furrow when you’re concentrating. “All done. I’ll see you later.” You smile and walk behind him. With a subtle, deep breath, he walks away from you, forcing himself not to watch as you bend over to pick up the dishes.

__________________________________________

As they leave, you collect the other dishes around the camp and wash them. It’s a typical day of cleaning, organising, laundry and food preparation. Tonight, it’s vegetable risotto.

Carrot shaved into neat curls, butter gliding through solids as it melts, thinly sliced onion softening until reduced to translucent shards, a liquid gold stock caressing rice and a flux of flowing cheese to bond the components.

Without distraction, your mind is free to wander to difficult places. It pushes you back, forcing you to watch your sight from afar. Body present, self absent. It’s a hazed, strange view that doesn’t feel quite real, and your arms aren’t quite your own as they work diligently. You can’t hear her words anymore, but your body feels them. It feels the way your muscles tensed, the way your breathing quickened, the way your heart stopped. You’d think you’d be able to see it, but being so removed, your face hasn’t caught up yet.

Time passes, the risotto is covered and kept warm by the fire. You don’t remember making it. Footsteps approach. The midday drop off must have arrived. You continue cleaning the surfaces and don’t look to see who it is before saying. “Hey, you can just leave it over there, I’ll get to it in a minute.” You gesture towards an empty space near the fire and continue cleaning. You hear a thump as the backpack is set down, then the footsteps get closer. Closer. Closer. There’s breath on your neck. “How are you feeling?” You pause and turn to face them.

Astarion towers over you, yet again covered in blood, personal space reduced to inches. “I’ve been worse…” He nods, but doesn’t move away. “So, you ‘pulled the short straw’ this time, huh?” You ask, attempting to break the tension. He doesn’t allow it, he holds you there, thickens it.

“No, dear. I offered.” You release a breath, stepping backwards and pressing the small of your back against the food station. Feeling the string of distance between you tug at his chest, he follows it, closing the distance once again. “You don’t mind, do you, darling?”

You begin shaking your head before you can form the words. “Not at all…”

“Good.” He moves forward, placing his hand on the surface behind you and resting his weight on it.

He breathes in, scented air travelling through his nose, eyes drifting to the covered risotto. “Gods… I wish I could taste the food you make…”

You chuckle softly. “I wish you could too. Does it smell good?”

“Divine, as always.”

“Why, thank you. You’ve never commented on it before.” You smile, his eyes return to you, somehow darker.

“I try to ignore it, mostly. My ‘condition’ comes with a lot of disadvantages. This one, I found to be somewhat manageable, until you came along and made it positively torturous.”

Laughing, you relax your posture. “You know, I was thinking about what you said earlier…”

“Oh? And what was that, darling?”

“About feeding you… I’d… I’d like to try something, if that’s alright with you?”

He raises his eyebrow, his eyes betraying his calm demeanour with undeniable excitement. “What is it?”

You understand why he must be cautious, but you want this to be a surprise gift for him. So, you won’t reveal the details just yet. “I think you’ll like it. Do you trust me?” He almost scoffs at the question but then he finds your eyes again, takes note of your sincerity, then matches it with his own, nodding. “Then come with me.”

You take his hand and lead him to your tent, lifting the flap for him. Smirking, he ducks under, sitting on your bedroll. Before you even make it inside, you hear the clinking of buckles and the thumps of discarded armour. Now clad in his simple, ruffled shirt and leather pants, he leans back on his arms, watching your every move as you sit opposite to him. “A bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“Is it? I’m just making myself comfortable, darling.”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Uhuh…”

He sighs and looks around the tent, taking in all the knick knacks and decorations you’ve hung. ”Now, you have me, all to yourself, in your own little piece of nowhere. What do you intend to do with me?” He may as well have purred the words as the deep rumbling sound vibrates in your ears, so perfectly.

You laugh, cross your legs, and secure the flap back down. The sun pushes the bottle-green shade of the tent onto your faces, bathing you in it. With nothing left for your hands to do, nothing left for your eyes to focus on, his curious gaze becomes your entire view. You don’t say anything, just smirk at him, and he returns it. The longer you watch him, the sharper you feel his eyes pierce your skin. Your smirk fades and eyes widen, eyebrows twitch, threatening to knit. He isn’t phased by the look on your face, the way your chest seems to rise and fall deeper than before. He just tilts his head, watching you intently, presumably to gauge your desires. You think if someone were to look at you this way, you’d feel naked, you’d ask questions. But he doesn’t, he’s used to this. He’s used to eyes, like this.

Before you turn to stone, you hold out your arm, offering your bandaged wrist. “Here.” He looks down. The dry, maroon spot pokes through linen, inviting him closer. He takes a deep, shaky breath and obliges. “Just, don’t kill me.” You laugh and expect the same from him, but there’s a deadly solemnity when he nods in agreement. Sitting to full attention, he gently wraps his fingers around your forearm and with his free hand, removes the bandage. He reveals a sticky, sweet mess of a cut, barely knitting itself together. Dried, crusted crimson adorns the masterpiece before him: A physical testament to your generosity. He traces around it, gathering flakes on his fingertips and gazes up at you: A silent ‘Are you sure?’. Biting your lip in anticipation, you give him a subtle nod.

He brings his fingers to his parted lips, closes his eyes and savours the taste of your red on his tongue. Unable to wait any longer, he leans down, baring his teeth in preparation, but he stops. He felt the shift as you winced and flicked your face away. Inspecting his meal once again, he takes in the redness of your skin, the way it’s swollen and irritated from repeated cuts. It hurts, and it’s only going to hurt more. It takes all of his willpower, but he manages it, covering it once again with the bandage. The pressure and softness of the fabric isn’t the sensation you anticipated, you open your eyes in confusion.

“Tav… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I-it’s fine. I want this.” You reach for the bandage, attempting to discard it but his hand stops yours.

He sighs. “Alright… But not here, darling.” He slides his fingers up your other arm and turns it to face him. Fresh, clean skin. He can’t resist pressing his thumb into your wrist, searching for that delicious pulsing of your veins. Once he finds it, he bites back a groan.

“Is this okay?” He whispers.

“Yes…” You whisper back.

You feel his lips first, cold and soft. They suck on your skin in a way that you could almost mistake for a kiss. Then it’s sharp, it’s deep, it’s ice. Sucking air between your teeth, you lean your head back, trying to control your breathing, repeating his words back to you in your mind.

“It hurts a fair bit, but only for a few seconds.”

Taking drag after drag of your essence, he grips your arm tighter, unable to hold back from groaning into your wrist. The sensation is desperate, it’s insatiable, but no longer painful. Now it’s a tingling, coursing fire, igniting goosebumps and warming your reddened cheeks. Somehow, although the pain has gone, your breathing is harder to control now than it was before. It’s shaky and intimate. He matches his swallows to the rhythm.

“Then… Well, I wouldn’t want to spoil the rest…”

A familiar feeling: The pooling of desire between your legs. You know this well, and there is comfort in that. But, somehow, it’s tinted in a different shade than usual. It’s primal. Reducing all other wants and needs to secondary. You find your fingers carding through his hair, gently guiding his fangs further into your flesh. Feeling the eager pressure, he obeys and whimpers into your arm. The sound shoots through your veins and you find yourself scooting closer to him. He’s entirely lost in your taste, eyes squeezed shut, brows raised in pure pleasure. Your eyes drift lower and you gasp at the sight of the seams in his leather pants, strained over his aching erection. You need more.

You tug on his hair, but he latches on harder. You try prying away his grip on your forearm with your fingers, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Astarion…” You whisper. He flicks his eyes open, pleading with you to let him stay. Smiling warmly, you lightly take his chin between your fingertips, guiding him away from your arm. You watch as your flesh clings to his fangs, as though it wishes to stay connected to him. Once he’s removed, the wounds spill over and drip down your arm in a steady stream. He takes it, collects the mess on his tongue and suckles on the source, adding enough pressure to stop the bleeding. His eyes close and he stops, lingering his lips on your damaged skin.

“Was it too much?” He whispers against your wrist.

“No...” Although there’s nobody around to hear you, you whisper back. It feels right, intimate. He sighs and pulls away, meeting you with a lidded gaze. You can only imagine how you must look, as flustered as you are. Leaning in, you feel his bated breath mingling with yours in what little space there is between your lips. You look down at a neglected drop of your essence, running from the corner of his mouth to his chin. Catching it with your thumb, you bring it back up and smear it across his lower lip. He opens his mouth for you with a hitched breath. You continue to paint him with it, admiring the rich colour against his pastel skin. Though, you do notice a new, rosy tint to his cheeks that you’ve never seen so strongly before. It earns another warm smile from your face.

“Darling.”

You watch the word form in his mouth before languidly dragging your gaze up to his. “Yes?”

“You want me to kiss you, don’t you?”

Yes.

You release a short, breathless laugh. “Would you like that?”

He grins. “My dear, let’s not play coy. We’ve been waiting long enough...”

Yes.

You cup his face in your palms and stare deep into his eyes. He hears something: The pulsing echoes of a voice. Your voice. In his mind.

Yes.

It’s all you can manage, but it’s more than enough. He releases restrained breath and slides his hand under your hair to cup your jaw and pull you closer. He waits for you to close your eyes. You do. He leans in and meets his lips with yours. It’s perfect, rhythmic… Rehearsed. To his lips, you are anyone, you are no one. It feels and tastes good, but it isn’t right. You feel yourself drifting away again.

No. You can’t. You refuse to witness this from afar. You need to save it.

You lean in further, taking control of the pace. His motion falters in the sudden shift and you take advantage of it: Tilting his head into a better angle and massaging the tension out of his kiss with your own. Once he accepts it, it works. And in sliding your hands down, towards his shoulders, you encourage them to soften. Sensing his free hand inching closer, itching to touch you, you find it and bring it to your waist.

The moment you let go, something within him snaps and he snakes his arm over your curves, grabbing and grounding himself on the fabric of your robe. Your body is pulled, flush against him with a fervid groan. You reward him with a soft noise of your own longing into his mouth. He parts his lips wider to taste it. Taking the invitation, you slip your gentle tongue over his bottom lip, seeking his. He eagerly presses you further into him and before you lose your balance, you slide yourself into a straddling position on his lap, pressing your breasts against his chest. He gasps as your weight sinks into him, grounding him in reality and locking him down as your infectious taste coats his tongue. With what little movement he can muster beneath you, he tilts his hips, craving your touch against his desperate length.

Smirking against his lips, you pull away and take hold of his chin, forcing his lidded eyes to meet yours. Together, you pant. There are no words, because there are none needed. His hands are stretched to their widest span, eagerly groping as much of your flesh as he can. They slide down your waist, slip over the dips and curves of your hips to find your thighs. He travels further until he finds the hem of your robe with a flash of challenge in his eyes. That’s when you roll your hips.

“Gods…” He breathes.

He liked that.

You couple each heavy breath you release with the same motion. You study his face, adjusting your weight slightly to tailor your body for him. His hands push the robe further up your thighs as he grabs your hips, guiding them. It’s not the stimulation that does it, (with all the clothes in the way, it’s hard for this to feel as good for you as it does for him) but the way he’s looking at you causes your underwear to soak.

You’re only just far enough apart to see his full face. His tousled hair, the new, intense rouge tinge to his cheeks, his eyelids fighting the urge to close, his eyebrows canting, groans and gasps that match yours so perfectly.

“Th-that’s good, d-darling… But…” He grunts the words before attempting to slide a hand down your front, towards your centre. You stop it. As phenomenal as it would be to feel his dexterous fingers stroke your folds and make you keen to the heavens, it’s too much. You’re not ready for him to see you like that yet. To have you like that yet. It’s too… Vulnerable.

“Please, just let me do this… Just for a little while…”

He gazes up at you in a mix of pleasure and confusion. You roll your hips in a particularly long motion, dragging your aching, wet heat over his full length, causing him to throw his head back.

“Ah! Fuck…” He takes a moment to compose himself as you continue your ministrations. He catches his breath and brings his focus back to you. He nods, earning a passionate kiss from your lips.You capture his eager whimpers as you increase the pace, and savour each one.

“Do you like that?” You breathe the question into his ear. He nods. You kiss his neck and gently suck on the skin before bringing your lips up to his earlobe. You scoop it into your mouth with your tongue and nibble on it. His breath hitches. “And that?”

“Fuck, darling… Yes…” You begin to guide his hands under your robe but the moment he senses your invitation, he takes over. He immediately starts groping at the supple flesh of your ass. He brushes against the hem of your underclothes and whimpers with longing, itching to rip them off. But he resists, he won’t push you, no matter how tempting you are.

He digs his fingers into your skin, pushing, pulling. Back and forth, back and forth. You oblige, increasing the pressure, increasing the pace. You notice his breathing and moans reaching a desperate level, he’s close. He must be. You swipe your hair away from your neck and lean into his ear once again, reducing your voice to a whisper.

“Bite me…”

He looks up at you in shock and arousal. Once he’s sure that you do, indeed, want this, he wastes no time baring his fangs and sinking them into your neck. You yelp at the initial pain and grab onto him, gritting your teeth and waiting for it to pass as it did before. And sure enough, it does. You match your hips to the rhythm of his ravaging tongue against your skin as it devours any trace of your nectar it can find. You feel your veins pulsing for him, your essence gushing for him. He brings one hand to the nape of your neck, holding it still. His touch isn’t cold, it isn’t warm, it’s hot. It’s a familiar heat, because it isn’t his. It’s yours. And it’s coursing from your body to his.

“Tav… I… I’m…” He clamps his hands down on your body, gripping you tightly. Whimpering urgent, sweet vibrations into your flesh as he shudders beneath you. “Ohhh ff-fuck…” He thrusts his hips up a few more times, his wetness mingling with yours through his pants. You move in languid strokes, gently kneading the final few drops out of him until he has to stop your hips, himself.

He unlatches his teeth from your flesh and gasps for air. His face: Painted with crimson and temporary bliss. He leans back, stumbling into a relaxed position. You breathe heavily and look down to see the mess you’ve both created. You lift up your, now barely tied together, robe and observe the large dark spot on his pants. Your underwear is completely soaked through; rendering the white fabric translucent. Scooting backwards, you can see just how large that stain on his pants is, you bashfully clear your throat. You notice Astarion’s eyes are open again. His hungry, vermillion gaze locked onto your underwear, but most notably: the glimpses of colour that he can see through it.

You drop your robe, covering yourself again and slide off his lap, to his side. “So… That happened…” Scratching your head, you try to overcome the awkwardness between you. Though, it seems like you’re the only one who feels it.

Astarion admires the glossy sheen that covers his pants and grins at the knowledge that it’s mostly your doing. “Yes, it most certainly did…” As he sits back up, his grin falters into a more defeated expression. “But you didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t.” You take a deep breath and avoid looking at him.

“Don’t you want to?” He reaches out his hand to touch your leg.

You let him, but don’t take your eyes off it, noting it’s every movement. “N-no, thank you. I’ll sort myself out later…”

He furrows his brows in confusion. “Sort yourself-...” He laughs at the thought. “My dear, I’m hurt! I assure you, I’m more than capable of-”

“I’m sure you are… But it’s still a no. Thanks anyway.” You take his moment of silent disbelief to adjust your robe and primp your hair, attempting nonchalance.

He blinks away his shock and scoffs. “Well… This is a first for me…”

You don’t look at him as you finish up your ponytail. “Hm?”

He slouches, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Well, I’ve… I’ve just never had someone leave before being… satisfied before…”

“That you know of…” You smirk, you can’t resist teasing him, even now. He’s too fun to mess with. He takes it lightly and laughs.

You exchange glances and share his laugh together. It feels good.

“You should probably change your pants before you head out again.” Grinning, you lean over him to undo the flap of the tent, pulling it to the side and tying it.

He gazes at your soft form draped over him as he pieces together what you’ve said. He’d completely forgotten about the rest of the group and has no idea how long he’s been here for. “Shit.” He remarks to himself.

You climb over him and crawl out of the tent, turning back to help him up. “Come on, they’re probably worried sick about you.”

He sighs, gathers his things and takes your hand. Once stood together, he tilts your face towards him by your chin and leans in. “Thank you.” He whispers before pressing his lips against yours once more in a final, slow, tender kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

[autistic-katara]

ok i might get blocked by a couple ppl for saying this but the Jackson’s Diary fandom is seriously making me wanna become a proshipper out of spite (read the post before blocking me or whatever please)

like idk if u guys have checked the fandom tag on ao3 recently but theres been a bit of drama surrounding the fact that someone posted a smut-fic of Exer (an 18yo) and David (an almost 18yo, who was aged up A FEW MONTHS for the fic) and they were harassed into taking it down and making a fucking apology post ON AO3, THE PROBLEMATIC FANWORKS WEBSITE.

and this fic was tagged 100% correctly like it was very explicitly tagged as smut n stuff yet there were still a bunch of comments being like “uhm what did i just read 🤨” and when i made a comment defending the authors right to yk, not be harassed for making not even rlly problematic content someone who clearly would suffer withdrawal symptoms if they turned twitter off for too long started arguing with me abt how “erm ackhtually we should be allowed to comment harassment under ppls harmless and explicitly tagged fics cause theres no smut in this fandom and it shocked us” and u could just rlly tell they felt they were more righteous than God in their opinions and yeah so cut to tonight when i’m scrolling through the tag and i see a post titled “i’m so sorry” in which the author made a post basically being like “i’m so sorry for posting that ik it was disgusting it has been permanently deleted” which in the comments a few ppl were telling them that what happened sucked n stuff (myself included // judging by their reply they only did this to stop the harassment which yk, completely fair) and i went back to scrolling since i wanted an actual fic not fandom drama but like 2 posts down there was another post titled “please stop” or smthn like that where someone else made a post basically being like “guyssss can we please not write smut of these characters this fandom is so wholesome i dont wanna ruin it 🥺 anyways sorry this isnt a fic this just needed to be said lol” and like dude, my guy, WHAT THE FUCK?!

this is AO3, this is a fanwork archive that as far as i know was created (at least partially) due to the fact that ppl kept getting their “problematic” works taken down from other sites and the creators wanted to yk archive all fanworks. this is NOT a social media site where u can make callout posts abt how what someone else posted disturbed ur pure wholesome chaste scrolling by daring to uploaded something with *gasp* consensual sex between 2 consenting adults?! (or canonically 1 consenting adult and 1 consenting gonna-be-an-adult-in-a-few-months-but-isnt-much-younger-than-the-first-guy but u get the idea)

like guys, ao3 is not twitter. it is not tiktok, it is not tumblr, its not youtube, its not even wattpad. it is not a social media platform, it is a fanwork archive, specifically one that lets u post whatever kinda content u want (yes, even smthn depicting 2 consenting adult/almost adult participates that are in no way related having sex, ik its crazy what they allow online these days).

and look honestly the callout post wouldn’tve annoyed me this much if it was posted on yk an actual social media. like if it was posted on twitter or tiktok or on youtube as a video essay or even on here, like sure if i saw it id be annoyed that this fandom cant handle the tiniest bit of non-puritanicalism and fuck, maybe if it was on here id even drag myself into a pointless days-long argument that causes me suicidal levels of stress but on archive of our fucking own itself?! for the millionth time, IT IS NOT A SOCIAL MEDIA! u dont make posts like that that u want the rest of the fandom to read or whatever on there because its not that kinda website!

anyways yeah i hope i explained the situation ok, u might be able to check it out urself if u feel like it and yeah idk this whole thing just kinda felt like a wake-up call for me like yes i find incest and pedophilia disgusting OBVIOUSLY and i dont like ppl romanticising it in fiction but idk i’ve seen ppl talk abt toxic antis before and show screenshots of conversations where theyve acted super shitty but idk seeing this all unfold in person and having to argue with these hardcore antis just- i dont wanna be associated with these ppl, if these are what alotta antis r like i dont want anyone to assume i agree with them like at all, whether its other antis, proshippers, or ppl like me who have a super complicated opinion on it. like they harassed a person into taking down their smut and made call-out posts on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN abt how they dont want their wholesome pure fandom corrupted by gross dirty irredeemable sex. and just yeah hope no mutuals i seriously care abt unmoot or even block me over this since ik a few of u r antis but yeah srry for this i just kinda seriously hate this fandom right now :)

also incase anyone is typing out a “kill yourself pedo” reply/rb rn; i turn 15 on Friday, i am 2+ years younger than ur innocent bb minor boy David and his definitely not already a legal adult boyfriend Exer so yk

[robobee]

I'd love to hear more about the Kavinsky recovery au if you so wish. Also it might just be me but your link to your ao3 gave me an error 404.

yeee I changed my url but forgot to change the link, it's fixed now BUT if you went there for K I regret i say I haven't actually actually uploaded anything with him I don't think 😔

OKAY OKAY SOO glad you're giving me an opportunity to talk about my ocs Koseph Javinsky and Cenry Hheng, the latter of whom I like an entirely normal amount and am not insane about (lying) . I say this mostly to preface that the kavinsky recovery au is deeply linked to my deranged postcanon postbreakup Henry AU arc, which also goes back and fucks around with a lot of canon so that I can get what I want. my excuse, as always, is that It Happened Off Screen and what does ronan know, anyway.

the general outline is that kavinsky survives the dragon situation at the end of tdt but like, BARELY, covered with second degree burns and basically a limp noodle in the grass until he's nearly stepped on by Henry and whoever else seondeok sent to pick up proko etc to avoid magic being exposed. and he wakes up to Henry being entirely too casual about this, but the conversation ends with K being too beaten down to really protest anything as he's hauled up to be dragged to a private hospital. most of his family and most of Henrietta assumes he's dead, and nobody cares to look further, except some members of the dream pack, but they wouldn't even begin to know where to, so they have to drop it too.

and then we just don't see him. he shows up again in the dreamer trilogy for ONE scene where Declan knocks at the door of a decently nice little house and cleanvinsky opens it, is HORRIFIED, and then slams the door back shut. and then his boyfriend has to come out to not so gently tell Declan that he and ronan can fuck OFF forever thanks

but obviously, yk, he's been very slowly recovering over the course of several months, the burns are so bad he can barely even sit up let alone relapse, the forest has rejected him so he can barely dream anything except slivers of grass, and so he's essentially trapped in a room with the occasional Henry and more often the quote unquote employee Henry hired to keep an eye on him that's accidentally helping just because k's heart rate shoots up when he's around and it's so humiliating that he NEEDS to do the required PT and get this heart rate monitor OFFFF

again, it's literally oc×barelycanondifferentcharacternow so I won't yap too hard, it's also distinctly colored by religion and I don't want to drop THAT nonsense unpromted. but sometimes a beautiful brown man and his equally beautiful overbearing family can show you so much love with so many veiled threats that it . well doesn't fix you but it helps

but anyway, back to td3, this part is a lot more vague because of all the variables (and my preferred path is TOO lore dependent on stuff i made up. yes more than ive already said), but I do like the idea of K being a teacher for dreamers again but a GOOD one this time, because he is smart, he IS good at it, but with age and support he can actually be useful. altho I like him being neutral and out of the main fight, I ALSO like him supporting the moderators in the sense that dreamer children are so often overpowerful and alone, it's good to have a force to control/curb them 🤷‍♂️ him also being distinctly aligned with HENRY of all people is very good to me because it's like, hello, my character foils are UNIONIZING. plus ( being a well rounded grownup vs ronan regressing worse and worse in td3 is satisfying

[asimplearchivist]

ℂℍ. 𝕀 — 𝕀𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕒𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕥

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary 🗡 ⤏ cade yeager’s older sister never knows what she’ll find in their barn upon returning from her routine antiquing trips—the submission box at the driveway is often littered with junk of all kinds that they try to fix for a living. ⤏ you just never would have expected for him to take on the task of repairing a cybertronian. pairing 🗡 bayverse!optimus prime/yeager!reader word count 🗡 8.7k a/n 🗡⤏ i've been cleaning out my docs drafts debating on whether to upload certain unfinished works, seeing as some of them are partially complete (like this one). this was going to be a longfic that followed the events of aoe and would go on to tlk, but i lost steam for it pretty early on. there are a few more snippets that wouldn't stand well enough on their own to be posted, but i thought these three chapters would express the vibes i was attempting to convey. ⤏ this is an aoe ua where lucas didn't call the government about optimus right away, cemetery wind didn't find him immediately, and cade has an older sister by one year. the reader is ex-military and protective by nature, and not one to be trifled with - especially in regards to her family, as she would gladly sacrifice her life for theirs. she suffers from a psychosomatic limp in her right leg after sustaining a gunshot to her left shoulder while serving in afghanistan years prior. still suffering from ptsd, she's turned to exercise and bodybuilding as an outlet. she spends her time and makes money restoring antiques and furniture and occasionally collaborating with cade on his robotics. ⤏ this is kind of silly looking back on it (also not as well written, seeing as i created it back in 2017 [oh my god that was six years ago]), but i've promised myself i would try to work against my internal criticism and not cringe at something i spent a lot of time and love to make. i saw a few posts on tumblr floating around about posting old drafts and i thought i might do that with this, among others, so keep your eyes peeled for those.⤏ let me know if you see any glaring grammatical mistakes/spelling errors i missed, but more importantly, please enjoy this gem of my past! :)🗡 MASTERPOST 🗡 🗡 ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER 🗡

Tessa woke dreamily, a pleasantly warm haze dampening her thoughts as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. Shimmering sunlight streamed in through the window, lighting up her room and causing motes of dust floating in the air to gleam like tiny flecks of gold. She stretched slowly, enjoying the feeling of tension releasing in her muscles. She smiled when she remembered that finals were over. She was free. (Until she went to college, that is. If she went to college.)

Though with the bliss of waking up to a quiet morning, she realized that it was actually quite out of place. It was suspiciously quiet. There wasn't any shouting from the landlord trying to sell the house again, or explosions coming from the barn. It was awfully peaceful, and Tessa really didn't know how to feel about it. It was only when she closed her eyes in contemplation of dozing off again that she remembered.

They had a transformer in the barn.

"Dad," she groaned, rubbing at her face and sitting up slowly.

A week had passed since Cade Yeager had unknowingly brought home a wanted, illegal alien (a literal alien, funnily enough) in an attempt to dismantle it for salable parts. But of course - of course it had to have been her dad. It couldn't have been anyone else's, because that's just what her life was: hectic and chock-full of crazy shit. So why not add housing an Autobot to the list?

She still couldn't believe her dad had managed to talk both her and Lucas down from making a call to the government about their accidental find. She didn't know how he did it - but he'd kept haggling and nagging and pushing until they'd acquiesced, and now they had a half-destroyed thirty-foot robot living in their barn.

Tessa couldn't say that she disliked Optimus, however - on the contrary, she was rather intrigued by him. He was very benevolent and soft-spoken (only did this show after their initial scare - Lucas wouldn't step close to the 'Bot for a solid two days afterward), and his voice never failed to soothe her with its otherworldly rumble. He was quiet, though, and didn't talk much - at least around her. Her dad said that he spoke with him very frequently, usually while he was repairing or constructing a makeshift part for the injured Autobot, and that entailed them being alone.

Cade had told her, the first night after he’d convinced her and Lucas not to call in the government, that he intended to let Optimus stay there for as long as he needed - until Cade could get him back into fighting shape, at the very least. It was wrong, what the government was doing to the Autobots - hunting them down like animals - and Cade sympathized greatly. Tessa admitted that she did, too, now that she knew the government wasn't actually targeting just Decepticons, but she was scared of the repercussions that it could potentially have on her family. Her father had assured her that nothing was going to happen to them, and that helping Optimus was the best thing that they could do right then. And he was already getting better info on robotics, just by looking at the 'Bot's inner mechanisms - not to mention that the Cybertronian made the continuous effort to answer any sort of question that Cade asked him. It was benefiting them already, he'd said. Tessa had sighed softly, pushing the tray of already lukewarm dinner into her father's hands before returning to the safety of their room.

Needless to say, Tessa made sure to give them both ample space. She would rather not have another missile ricochet through the house.

Tessa yawned, stood, and trudged into her bathroom, already resigning herself to cooking breakfast (again). She figured that the typical eggs and bacon would suffice - she just sincerely hoped that her dad hadn't pulled another all-nighter. Optimus had urged the stubborn human male to rest accordingly before, so maybe he'd done the same the previous night. She'd noticed that her dad was starting to get dark circles under his eyes.

After taking a soothingly hot shower and dressing for the day, she wandered downstairs and into the kitchen. It was methodical, routine, how she went about cooking the eggs and frying the bacon to her dad’s taste. Soon the savory smells were wafting from the stove, and when she heard the dull thumps of heavy, uneven footsteps descending the staircase she breathed out a sigh of relief. Cade shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and tugging the hem of his shirt down over his stomach. His hair was mussed, his movements stiff, and Tessa lamented her lack of foresight in not setting up the coffee pot beforehand.

"Morning, Dad," she said, flipping the bacon as it sizzled and hissed up at her. He mumbled something that could have potentially been English, trudging over to the fridge to pop the door open and draw a glass bottle of soda from its depths. He twisted the cap off, tossing it haphazardly towards the trashcan tucked into the corner of the kitchen (and effectively missing it by a long shot) before sinking into the chair already pulled out from beneath the table. His head fell into his hand, his shoulders slumping as he mumbled under his breath.

He was tired.

"How late did you stay up last night?" she asked him, transferring the now crisp bacon over onto the plate already loaded with heavily salted and peppered eggs. She moved over to him, setting it down in front of him before shuffling back to grab him a fork from the drawer.

Cade, obviously still submerged in a half-catatonic state, made the mistake of plucking up a strip of bacon. He jolted up, hissing and cussing as he swiped his fingertips against his pajama pants. Tessa gave him a scolding look, handing him a fork.

Cade sighed, taking it. "Eleven...?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, cocking her hip and planting a fist above it.

He averted his gaze guiltily, looking entirely like the man-child he was. "...Maybe closer to two. Or three. Or was it three thirty...?"

"Dad," she groaned, tugging at her hair in frustration. "Nothing good is going to come out of this if you work yourself into the ground! Optimus doesn't need to be repaired in the span of four nights-"

"Tessa - honey, you don't understand!" he interjected, squinting against the sunlight streaming in from the window. "I've already been able to make three of my inventions work because of him! He's helping me build these things, and the sooner I can sell them, the sooner we can get some money rolling in."

The young blonde opened her mouth to argue further, but the genuine look in her father's eyes made her stop short. She hesitated, and he took the opportunity to stand and grasp her arms gently, drawing her into a tight, reassuring hug. She resisted but for a few seconds before sighing and giving in, wrapping her arms around him and breathing in the familiar scent of mechanical grease and sweat. Memories lingered in the back of her consciousness. This was her father, what embodied him. Comfort and grease.

How lovely.

"Tess, baby," he murmured into her hair, brushing his fingers through it slowly, "I promise this will turn out okay. Just give me a little time. Optimus is genuinely grateful for what we're doing for him, and he's trying to repay us in any way that he can." He squeezed her affectionately. "We'll get out of this soon. Everything will go back to normal."

"I sincerely doubt that," she mumbled into his shirt, though secretly she was soothed by his words. He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head before they both drew away from each other. Cade returned to his seat, digging into his cooling breakfast while Tessa moved over to the coffee pot to get a fresh brew going. She knew he was going to need it, if he was going to function at all that day.

"Did Lucas get those parts you need?" Tessa asked, popping the top off of the coffee maker before grimacing. She hadn't made coffee in a week, how old were these grounds? Yuck.

"Yeah. Most of them," Cade said through a mouthful of eggs. Tessa sighed, but did not scold him. "I'll have to order some. If I can fix up that old tape recorder, I've got a buyer on Ebay. Fifty bucks."

"Hmm." Tessa tossed the old filter out, disposing the forgotten bottle cap while she was at it. She opened up the cabinet, straining on her tiptoes to reach the filters and grounds. Curse her short genes.

"Optimus says that a lot of his self-regenerating systems have kicked in now that he's out of emergency stasis-lock. Whatever that means." Cade swallowed before shoving a wad of bacon into his mouth. "But he's still looking pretty rough. I think he needs a good wash."

"But won't that make him more obvious?" she asked, filling the pot up in the sink and pouring it into the tank. "Won't the government be looking for his old paintjob? Maybe we should paint him a different color or something."

"He mentioned that he changed his vehicle mode while on the run from that ambush," he said. "Combine that with all the rust he's got, I don't think he'll be easily identifiable for a while. But, still..." He polished off the soda before sighing. "I feel bad for him. He seems to be in a lot of discomfort, and I'm pretty sure he's still in pain. He's cooped up in that barn, having to crouch or sit all the time. The guy can't even step outside for fear of satellites seeing him..."

"Maybe he can go out at night," she suggested, sympathizing greatly. Texas heat sucked sometimes, and some days in the summer you couldn't even step outside for fear of suffocating on contact. "He can stretch his legs a bit without so much fear of being seen."

Cade visibly brightened. "Good idea. I didn't think of that."

Probably because you're just running on fumes, Tessa thought wryly as she flicked on the coffee pot.

"In any case," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the counter. She jabbed a finger at him, giving him a firm (and faintly pleading) look. "I want you in bed before midnight tonight."

Cade grinned around his fork, his eyes glittering with faint amusement. "I'll try," he said, swallowing, "but I can't make any promises."

"I'll make Optimus lock you out of the barn," she warned, knowing full well that the thirty-foot mech would most definitely agree to it. They both knew it. "Just...try, okay? Or I'll spike your dinner with melatonin, too."

Cade shuddered, cringing. "Okay, okay, chill," he said, picking up the last strip of bacon before standing with his plate and wandering over to the sink. "I'll go to sleep at midnight."

"Before midnight," she pressed.

"Before midnight," he acquiesced.

Cade washed off the plate, chewing studiously on the bacon like a tobacco addict while Tessa stepped over to the fridge and unraveled the loaf of bread. She dropped two slices into the toaster when Cade's cell phone began to ring.

He growled softly, flicking the faucet off before fumbling with his pajama pants. "It had better not be that damn..." He drew out the phone from his pocket, squinting at the name before the blood drained from his face.

Tessa's face creased in immediate concern. "What? Who is it?"

Cade's trembling thumb slid across the screen before he lifted it to his ear. "Heeyyy, sis..."

Tessa felt her blood run cold, a thrum of nervousness welling up in her stomach. Cade cast her an anxious glance before rubbing at the back of his head. "I'm fine. Tessa's fine...wait, you found a what? That's awesome!"

His enthusiasm was short-lived, as it died just as quickly as it had come when Tessa gave him a sour, pointed look. "Uh, yeah...Tessa finished up her finals. Yeah. No, I haven't finished that...you found a part for it? Nice." He fidgeted where he stood, leaning against the counter and rubbing at his mouth. "Listen, we've, uh...I made a big buy here a few days ago...no, it wasn't...okay. I, uh..." He grimaced, his teeth bared as he ran his fingers through his hair. "How long's it going to be 'til you get here?" He paused, listening intently, before the barest iota of relief relaxed the muscles in his shoulders. "Okay. This evening? Later? All right...yeah, see you then. Love you, too. Bye."

The second he lowered the phone from his ear and ended the call, he let out a prolonged, hissing curse through his teeth. Tessa worried her lower lip between her teeth, waiting for the ball to drop. Cade sank back against the cabinetry, his head hitting the upper section with a dull thunk. "We're screwed. I completely forgot about..." He shook his head slowly. "She's coming back tonight, maybe around seven. We've got to hide Optimus somehow."

Tessa stared at him incredulously. "How? He's a thirty-foot robot!" she hissed at him. "She practically lives in the barn, and that's the only place he can hide! She'll sniff him out in minutes!"

"I know that," Cade pressed, shoving the phone back into his pocket so he could scrape his hands down his face. "But she'll kill me when she finds out-"

"What, that you accidentally bought a literal illegal alien and now you’re trying to fix him?!" she cried exasperatedly. "Of course she's going to kill you!"

"We can't tell her," he insisted. "She's ex-military. Who knows how she'll react when she finds out we've got a Cybertronian in the barn."

"We can't keep it from her," she protested. "Even if we do manage to hide him at first, she'll find him eventually. She spends as much time in there as you do, if not more - which is stupid," she muttered. "And you'll have to continue repairs on him eventually."

Cade sighed resignedly, dropping his face into his hands. "At least make spaghetti for her," he mumbled, voice muffled. "The most we can do is butter her up before we tell her. I...I need at least tonight, so I can think about how I'm going to tell her."

Tessa stared at him for a long moment, but the tense silence that threatened to fall was broken by the toaster popping. At least that was one device in the house that Cade hadn't tampered with.

"Don't worry about it," Tessa told him, trying to offer some relief to his nervousness. "I'm sure once you explain everything to her, she'll understand. Like you said, he's helping out a lot with your robotics, so it's not a completely fruitless endeavor. And, once he's fixed up and leaves, we can call the government and point them in the opposite direction. That way we'll get the money but we'll throw them off his trail."

Cade looked up at her, a slow smile tugging the corners of his mouth apart. "I love you," he cooed. "You're smart like your mother."

Tessa flushed, turning to she could both pluck her toast out of the toaster and hide the smile that split her face in two.

It turned out to be a terribly hot day, as was typical of an early Texas summer. The only respite against the blazing sun was the industrial-sized fan humming near the barn door and the tin roofing reflecting most of the sun's oppressive heat. Sunlight streamed in from between the wood paneling and the opened loft window, providing enough illumination to cast dark shadows against the interior of the barn not under its direct assault. But, despite the dust and rust and grime clinging to his plating, the few unmarred spots of Optimus' armor gleamed.

Cade swiped an arm over his forehead, the beads of sweat and friction serving to wipe away at least some of the grime that had collected there. He had half the mind to take off his shirt, soaked and sticking to him in all the wrong places. He felt about as dirty as he probably looked. Even still, he doubted that Optimus would appreciate seeing a half-naked human - especially a half-naked human that was as dirty and unkempt as Cade knew he was. Or maybe the mech wouldn't care at all. Either way, he wasn't going to risk it, particularly since he was working with hot metal. He'd experienced the repercussions of that before and it had been no bueno.

Hefting the heavy-weighted hammer and setting the rounded metal casing against the molding sphere, he tapped out an angle that had been too sharp. The shift and scrape of metal on concrete almost made him flinch, but the movement in his peripheral reminded him of the barn's other occupant. Optimus was clearly uncomfortable, hunched over and grimacing every time he jostled one of the chains hanging from the ceiling or bumped against the scaffolding Cade had set up so he could reach his chassis. It had struck Cade how clearly he could read the mech's expressions - he was certainly human-like, despite the vastly differing components that made up the Cybertronian's faceplate.

"You took a hell of a hit, you know," he said, squinting at the casing with a merciless eye before wandering over to the standing cutting torch. "The missile just missed your power source."

The massive mech blinked, tilting his helm slightly, before he glanced down to the exposed internal workings within his chassis. His spark flickered erratically, casting an eerie glow against the dim shadows within the barn. "We call it a spark," he responded softly. "It contains our life force...and our memories."

Cade stilled, staring up at him in surprise. He hadn't thought... "Yeah...we call it a soul."

Optimus ex-vented slowly, his optics flicking away. He absently scratched at part of his pectoral plating, rolling his shoulders slowly. Cade inwardly winced at the metallic grating noise, trying to remember if he had some car grease. Yeah...add that to the growing list of things he was going to have to fix.

God, this guy was a mess.

Optimus grimaced suddenly, glancing down at his armor and plucking at a sizable shell casing embedded in the rusted, peeling metal. He tugged it free, staring down at it rather apathetically before flicking it away. Cade heard it bounce off the side of something somewhere to his right with a sharp cling. "Cade..." The Autobot hesitated, blinking as his optics shuttered, making the mechanic wonder if it indicated deep thought. "...why are you willing to help me?"

Cade paused, fiddling with the nozzle of the blow torch. "I guess maybe because you trust me to," he mused, leaning back as the torch roared to life and illuminated everything around him in a flaring orange glow. He quickly popped the welding mask down over his face, adjusting his grip on the round casing before bathing it in the spurting flame. Optimus watched his actions in rapt attention, seeming to absorb the human's reply.

When the metal was glowing as orange as the flames that were heating it, Cade shut off the torch and trotted back over to the ball bearing before pounding out more angles. He eyed it one last time before trotting over to the barrel of oil he'd had for years, dipping it in gingerly and being wary of the flames that flared and licked up at his hands. He then doused it in the barrel of water he'd set up next to it, turning his face away from the steam that hissed and shot up into the air. When he lifted the mask again to admire his handiwork, Optimus leaned over slightly as though to look at it, too.

"It look okay?" Cade asked while popping the mask back up onto his head, turning and walking up to the massive 'Bot so he could inspect it. The Prime nodded and reached out with an open servo, taking the casing before slowly and carefully fitting it around the flickering blue light within the depths of his chassis. He let out a heavy gush of hot air that ruffled Cade's oily hair, not quite a sigh of what must've been relief but probably the closest thing he could come to it.

"Thank you, Cade," he murmured sincerely. His shoulders slumped as though he finally had the chance to relax. Cade supposed he would, too, had the physical manifestation of his soul been so exposed for so long - and around strangers, no less.

Around strangers who were the same species as those who had made him wary of them in the first place.

"Hey, Optimus," Cade began tentatively, drawing out his syllables as he tried to conjure up the right words to inform the Autobot of their growing predicament. He didn't really know how he was going to react. "I've...got some good news and some bad news."

This seemed to set the mech on his guard, as his shoulders drew up again subtly with a tenseness that Cade suddenly regretted inciting in him. His optics shuttered, narrowed, and focused wholly on Cade, quiet and waiting. Of course, the moment he'd finally had a chance to relax, Cade had to go and ruin it.

The inventor sighed, pulling the mask from his head and rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. "Good news is my sister is coming back." He looked back up to Optimus. "The bad news is that my sister's coming back."

Optimus shifted restlessly, optics flickering rapidly between extreme dimness and flaring brightness. "Is she one that could pose potential danger?"

"Not really - at least, I don't think so," Cade added hurriedly. "I just...I don't know how she's going to react to...this." He gestured towards Optimus vaguely, for lack of a better word. Or any word, for that matter. "She's ex-military, and I know you guys worked with them for a long time. I don't think she ever worked with the Autobots, though, since she was discharged before the first attack in Qatar, but..."

Optimus stilled, tilting his helm slightly. "Do you wish me to tell her the circumstances of how I arrived here?"

"No - no, it's fine," Cade responded, "I can handle it. I've just...I've been trying to figure out how to tell her."

"Tell her the truth," Optimus said simply, gently. "That is was an accident. It was most definitely not your fault." He paused. "If she should wish me to leave, then I will be on my way. I do not wish to cause dissonance within your family."

It's a bit late for that, he thought wryly, but didn't voice it. "Optimus, we've been through this - I want to help you. I want to help you get back on your feet, if nothing else - it's just not fair how these guys are chasing you around like you're some wild dog." He frowned, anger beginning to simmer low in his gut. "I think she'll understand."

...At least, I hope she will.

Dear God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, it was good to be home.

You pulled off of the interstate onto the highway branching off and directing you closer to your destination. You hummed softly along with the radio playing just over the rumble of your tires rolling over the pavement. Your arm was probably well sunburned by this point, having laid across the open windowsill for five days straight. The wind tugged at your tightly-bound hair, warm and dry as the sun brushed the edge of the horizon. The scent of flat, grassy plains - the scent of home - had you finally, finally relaxed after your trip.

Finding fixer-uppers for Cade and yourself to restore proved to be something you'd long ago gotten into the habit of doing - every three weeks you'd pack up your truck and trailer and drive around your proud home state in search of potential quarry. Scholarship opportunities for Tessa, as well as acceptable colleges, had recently been added to your list. None particularly met your standard, but...it was your niece in question, and you had always been protective of Tessa. Perhaps more so than Cade, in your mind. Maybe it was a Yeager trait.

You breathed out a sigh as you slipped your sunglasses off the top of your head and over your eyes. The sunset was certainly a sight - vivid oranges and reds melting together like a forge, blazing just as hot. You couldn't wait to take a long, hot shower and sleep in your own bed - cheap inns and motels be damned to the seventh circle of Dante's hell, honestly.

Paris, Texas welcomed you soon enough. There were a few people lingering in the streets or stores, but it was quiet for the most part. You waved towards a few acquaintances as you drove by, feeling relieved excitement bubbling up in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to home. You couldn't wait to work with Cade on some of the things you'd found in your brief travel. You'd even bought a couple of things for Tessa that you could freshen up and give her for her college dorm as a going-away present.

God, you were going to miss her. But...it would be nice to have the house to Cade and yourself again. Just like the good old days.

A flush of warm contentment washed over you when you pulled onto the familiar old farm road, dust swelling up from your tires and rising up in a thick cloud behind your trailer. You slowed down as you approached the rickety old mailbox and the metal crate welded beneath it, turning in slowly. You stopped when you saw that the electrical lines were crossed.

Oh, boy...maybe you shouldn't have gone on this last trip.

It seemed that your arrival was well anticipated. The robotic mut you and Cade had built what seemed to be forever ago was already whirling around in circles, yapping on and on about voice recognition and dialing nine-one-one. You could've sworn you'd fixed that. Cade was standing on the front porch, arms folded over his chest and fingers drumming against his arm.

He was nervous. What the hell did he do this time?

Parking and disengaging the engine, you grabbed your duffel and purse out of the passenger's seat before sliding out of the truck. Cade stepped down from the porch to take them, to which you waved him off and instead pulled him into a tight hug. The strong, familiar scent of motor oil and grease filled your nose. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," he said, arms resting on your back. He rested his cheek against the crown of your head, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Drive back was okay?"

"Yeah. Didn't shoot anyone."

"Always a good thing." He pulled back, grinning and grasping your arms gently. "Tessa made spaghetti."

Your hunger, now making itself apparent in the way your stomach twisted and growled irritably, predominated your rising suspicion. "Praise God. I've had enough McDonald's to last me three lifetimes."

Your brother's warm laugh, more relaxed than his tense body language had been moments before, followed you into the house as you both went inside. The hearty smell of the Yeager family spaghetti sauce filled your nostrils and your mouth watered immediately, the tension draining from your limbs as you cast a glance back at Cade. "Let me go put this up real quick," you told him, trotting up the stairs. You heard him acknowledge you with a grunt as he turned into the kitchen.

The upper floor was dark and quiet, and it allowed you to breathe in the scent of home as you made a beeline for your room. You entered, tossing both bags onto your bed and making a flying trip to the bathroom to relieve yourself. You made quick work of washing your hands, simply wiping off the warm water on your jeans as you descended the stairs. You heard Cade's voice before you got to the doorway leading to the kitchen, the urgent, low tones initially obscuring Tessa's lighter whispers. Your suspicion returned, but you couldn't make out what they were saying because of the music playing softly from the radio.

You really hoped they hadn't broken something they shouldn't have. Didn't matter if it was a law or piece of equipment - if Lucas had been messing with your punching bag again, you'd be wringing his skinny little neck soon enough.

You made a show of yawning, stretching your arms over your head as you clomped around the corner. Cade turned to you, holding a pitcher of tea in one hand and a glass of ice in the other.

"I'm assuming you wanted tea," he said.

"Yeah, that's fine," you said, taking the glass after he filled it and sitting at the table. Tessa was distributing spaghetti on three different plates, as well as corn and salad. She set it in front of you with a swift one-armed hug around your shoulders, which you readily returned. "Heard about your finals. Good job, kiddo."

"Thanks!" she said, smiling and practically oozing pride in light of your praise. She meandered over to the oven, popping it open and grabbing an oven mitt to draw out a tray of garlic bread. "Want one?"

"Yes, please," you breathed, plucking one from the tray when she proffered it to you before dropping it on the edge of your plate to save your fingertips from the hot sting.

Cade plopped down in the seat across from you, reclining back and exhaling deeply. He rubbed at the dark circles beneath his eyes. You squinted at him, about to ask if he had been staying up late again, when Tessa, too, sat to your left.

"Pray?" she said, glancing between the two of you. You nodded, and all three of you bowed your heads so you could utter a brief prayer of thanks. Afterwards, you scooped a generous forkful of spaghetti into your mouth, practically melting in your chair as the warmth and flavor blossomed over your tongue.

"Oh my god, Tessa, never change," you told her firmly after swallowing. She flushed, hiding her smile behind her glass as she sipped lightly.

"How was the trip?" Cade asked, tearing the slice of garlic bread apart and stuffing a chunk past his lips.

"Good, for the most part," you said, reaching for the salad dressing to drizzle it over the chopped lettuce and tomatoes. "Got a few things that I can fix up pretty quick. Joe Anderson's been nagging me for a table for three months now. I think it's Amy's birthday soon and he's looking for something to give her."

Cade breathed out a sigh of relief. "I've almost got a couple of doohickeys fixed. Got a couple of buyers on Ebay. I think I'll be able to pay the electric bill with them."

You looked up at him, your chewing slowing to a stop. "Is that why we're borrowing the neighbor's electricity?"

Both Cade and Tessa stilled, exchanging a hesitant glance. The nervousness in the air was palpable.

"Is that what's going on?" you asked, voice simultaneously firm yet gentle. "You've been acting weird. Were you not wanting to tell me?"

You didn't miss the very pointed look that Tessa directed at her father.

"I thought I shouldn't have gone on this trip," you muttered. "I'll try to get that table done tomorrow. The sooner we can pay it, the better."

Cade shifted uncomfortably in his seat, rubbing at his neck anxiously. "That's...not what I wanted to tell you."

You raised a brow. "Is it about that 'big buy' you made?"

"I...yes," he replied hesitantly. "It's a truck."

You blinked. "A truck."

"Yes - an old truck. A semi. A cabover. I was planning on dismantling the engine for parts to sell."

"Planning on it?" you asked curiously.

"Yeah. I...ran into some...trouble with it." He straightened, fiddled with his fork. "You'll have to see it for yourself."

"If all you needed was help on it, all you had to do was ask," you told him gently. "But we'll start on that in the morning. I'm tired. You look tired - have you been staying up late again?"

He flushed, opened his mouth perhaps to protest, but Tessa interjected with a flat expression and a strong nod.

"Sleep," you pressed firmly, "and we'll tackle it when we're both fresh. Comprende?"

"Sí," he muttered, casting his eyes downward.

"Good." You smiled, half affectionate and half exasperated. "I'll cuddle you aggressively if you don't."

"Resistance is futile," Tessa chimed in, spearing a chunk of lettuce with her fork.

You reached over and squeezed her arm with a grin, directing it at Cade. He finally met your eyes, and after a long moment he returned it, looking as tired as you'd ever seen him.

You had once been a very deep sleeper. When you were younger, back when Cade was smaller than you, he always thought something was wrong whenever he would get up in the mornings and fail to rouse you unless he were to practically scream in your ear. You slept through thunderstorms and fireworks alike, never once stirring from your oft dreamless slumber. Very rarely did you dream, even rarer did you suffer from nightmares.

Unfortunately, that was a long time ago.

After graduating from high school and enlisting your services in the marine corps, you'd quickly learned that sleeping deeply was not an asset useful to a soldier. Countless times of interrupted rest trained you to be instantly alert at the slightest of noises or potential dangers. It had served you well, the night your base in Iraq had been attacked - you'd heard the distant rumble of non-American military engines across the way and you'd saved your troop by waking and warning them just in time to escape your bunker before it was incinerated into smoke and ash.

The ambush had been long and violent. They'd come in under cover of the dunes on the far east side, near a mountain range, and had wreaked havoc on the base, killing many and injuring more. Snipers, unfortunately, were present - when you'd gone to rescue your superior officer from a burning quonset, one had nearly managed to blow your left arm out of its socket. It was only by God's grace that your squadron's medic had gotten to you in time to staunch the bleeding. Your arm barely survived, and as a result of some psychological bullshit, you now had a rather inconvenient limp in the opposite leg. Unnoticeable to you (and your family) now that you've all gotten accustomed to it and have dealt with it long enough that it wasn't as bad as it used to be. Only if you had one of your spells did it act up again.

And by 'spell', it obviously meant a full-blown anxiety attack courtesy of your PTSD, which used to be triggered by anything ranging from the sound of someone dropping a pen to having night terrors. The night terrors, in themselves, were not particularly bad - you'd gotten used to the images of blood spattered across the sand and the sounds of screams and explosions ringing in your ears, echoing over the rivulets of time and memory. No, it was the aftereffects that you hated; waking in a cold sweat, trembling all over, nausea and lightheadedness threatening to send you over the side of your bed. Over the years, however, you'd gradually recovered - returning home after being medically discharged and falling back into a semi-normal, tamer routine certainly helped. The night terrors and your spells grew fewer and farther between as the years drew on. Having Cade and Tessa as a support system helped majorly, as well.

But, as is the case with everything, there were always exceptions. Sometimes, out of nowhere, you would dream of the ambush - crying out in your sleep as a result and never failing to draw Cade into your bed to wrap you up in a tight, warm embrace. His presence, the sound of his heartbeat and his gentle murmurings and reassurances helped to calm you down, but it still frustrated you every time that it would happen. You thought you were getting better. You thought that you'd forgotten the terror and the pain. But revisitations of it were inevitable.

Tonight, it would seem, would be one of those nights.

The air was cold. The sand was cold. Your heart, heavy and lodged in your throat, was thumping painfully as you crouched low and wide-eyed in a grenade-blown pit, avoiding crossfire and the sight of the enemy. You were trembling, deep and wholesome panic thrumming through your entire body as you tried to think, tried to comprehend what was happening, tried to articulate what you needed to do. A distant murmur of sentimentality in the back of your mind told you that you should go back to your bunker, try to salvage what few belongings you were permitted to have. Shock and the ingrained soldier's sense would not let you.

Gun. You needed your gun. You needed your gun so you could fire back, save others, protect your squadron. Where was it?

In the smoldering remains of your bunker, along with everything else you'd owned.

Another grenade clattered against the smoldering side of the communications center, falling dangerously close to an armored Jeep and rocking it on its wheels with its concussive explosion. You winced, shied away from the flash of fire and shrapnel, and looked wildly, desperately around for an ally, someone you knew, someone you trusted.

"Yeager!"

Your head shot up, eyes focusing in on the medical facility. The chief medic was hunched in the doorway, clutching an IV bag in one hand and its partnering needle in the other as he stared straight at you.

"Merendsen!" he shouted. "Merendsen's trapped in his bunker!"

Now given an order, a purpose, your mind locked onto it with renewed determination. However, when you told your body to move, it did not budge. You shook and shivered, but your limbs would not accept the commands given to them. You heard an unintelligible shout from another point in the camp, closer to the medicinal facility, and the chief medic looked back to you with furrowed brows. "They're readying a mortar! We've got to evacuate!"

To this day, you still don't recall ever getting up. All you remember is no longer laying in the sand, only running headlong through the crossfire and explosions and yelling towards the bunker where your commanding officer dwelled. The building was half collapsed, crackling and hissing with flames that licked against the shadows of light. You stumbled to your knees, digging at the crumbling and charred cement and hoping you wouldn't get hit. You gasped and cursed when you scorched your hand, but you were rewarded when you heard a groan amidst the rubble.

"Sir!" you gasped, trying to find the location of the sound. "Merendsen! Captain Merendsen!"

"Yeager...?" he rasped, and grunted when you shifted a rather large chunk of rock.

"Help me, sir," you panted. "I can't get you out by myself."

He groaned, though whether through pain or delirium you didn't know. You saw his bloodied, swelling fingers poke out from between a gap in the debris. Several painstaking and anxiety-riddled moments slid by, and as soon as his shoulders were visible you grappled for him and tugged him free of the debris. He choked out a curse, blood dripping from his head and hands as you dragged him onto the sand.

"We - we need to evac," he wheezed, glazed eyes taking in the decimation that was once home camp.

"We're working on it, sir," you managed, using a sizable chunk of concrete for cover as you tried to plot the best route to the medical facility. There was heavy fire being exchanged through the main route, several of your comrades hollering and bleeding while trying to hurl back as much as was being given to them. None noticed your predicament.

The medical facility. If you could get him there, he'd be safe until everyone got organized. It was the most well-protected place in camp (or what used to be the camp).

"Can you walk?" you hollered above the blast of fire swelling around a Jeep that had been turned over on the edge of camp.

"I'm fine!" he shouted back, gritting his teeth and trying to get his legs beneath him. His pupils were blown. He had a concussion. "Let's move! We need to get out of here!"

You hauled his arm around your neck, drawing his weight into your side and hefting both yourself and him to your feet. You huffed and strained beneath the extra weight, eyes stinging as sweat and dirt and smoke blurred your vision.

It was painstaking, bobbing and weaving through debris and smoke for cover. Your comrades made way for you, giving you cover-fire when crossing areas where you were plainly visible. Your commanding officer was grunting and cursing due to pain, trying his best to support his weight despite the fact that his leg was bent at a rather unnatural angle.

You rounded the corner, spotting the welcoming entryway to the medical bunker, and somewhere in the back of your conscious mind you recognized it - recognized this moment - and began to dread despite not being able to change the events of the past. All you registered was the distant flicker of red right before Merendsen was hollering in your ear. Your mind and focus clicked into place in that instant - sniper. Deeply ingrained instinct kicked in and you threw your weight to the side, shoving your captain into the sand as pain unfathomable exploded in your uncovered shoulder.

The next thing you knew was Merenden's face over yours, mouth moving but no sound coming forth. You realized you couldn't hear - not just him, but everything else. Your ears were ringing, body cold and frozen. Your heartbeat, hot and painful, throbbed in your shoulder (or, in retrospect, what was left of it).

Turning your head in an attempt to gain your bearings, you saw the sickening color of scarlet staining the sand beneath you, splattered over Merendsen's pinched face as he hunched over you protectively. He dug his palms into your shoulder, eliciting a weak, breathless gasp as pain bloomed across the forefront of your psyche. You felt the squish of blood against your torn and rent flesh. Your vision flickered, the dark draw of unconsciousness tugging at the edges of your consciousness. You were suddenly tired. Tired, and dazed, and hurting.

"...eager! Yeager! Stay with me, soldier! Don't you dare give up on your family!"

You blinked slowly, eyes listlessly returning to Merendsen's. His face was twisted into a pained, worried grimace.

"You've got a niece to go home to!" he shouted above the din, and you vaguely recognized the shift of sand as someone else skidded to a stop beside your head. The chief medic's face, illuminated by fire, swam on the side of your vision as though submerged in water. "Your brother needs you! Your family needs you!" Merendsen lifted his hands away from your shoulder so the medic could replace them, and your captain moved to grip your limp, trembling hand with his own. "Don't let go, soldier - that's an order!"

You remembered smiling, thanking him with a broken and soft and terrified voice. Then you remembered no more.

You remembered the pain, and its clawed grip upon your rapidly fluttering heart, and that was the first thing you felt when you jolted awake - except for the fact that there was no pain, and no slick, stickiness of blood soaking your shoulder and the cold sand beneath it. Your heart was still beating, though, thumping in your temples and throat and making quite the impression of itself on the inside of your chest cavity.

You blinked and sat up slowly, sucking in several lungfuls of cool, clear air. Your brain began to reboot slowly, gradually swimming out of the dark depths it had submersed itself in. You exhaled shakily, your hand going to your left shoulder. A pang of remembered agony tingled through the damaged nerve endings. Damn phantom pains.

Several tense, quiet moments passed. You breathed, focused on your heartbeat, closed your eyes against the vestiges of fear and shock. Your heart calmed, your body stopped trembling. You brushed your dampened hair away from your neck and grimaced as you registered the sweat clinging to your skin. Your eyes settled on the band of moonlight shining through your opened window, allowing the pleasant night air passage. A cursory glance towards your alarm clock assured you that yes, it was far too early to be awake.

4:21. Great.

Your eyes adjusted slowly, and you frowned when you saw your bedroom door still secured tightly shut, realizing your brother's warm presence wasn't currently wrapped around yours.

Cade hadn't come. He always came. He always knew. Where was he?

The distant clatter of metal against wood caused you to freeze. Your senses focused in on the sound, ears straining to hear anything else. Instead, dead silence settled over the outside world once more.

Your hand slipped silently under your pillow, the familiar bite of cold metal a comfortable weight in your hand as you settled your fingers around the grip and drew it out into open air. Your pistol gleamed in the moonlight as you slid your legs off the bed and slowly eased your weight into your feet. The floor did not creak nor groan as you crept to your window, peering around the edge to scrutinize the yard below.

No signs of life, nor disturbances. All was quiet.

Your eyes narrowed, and you made your way into the hall to check on your brood. Tessa was asleep beneath her sheets, hair strewn out over the pillow beneath her head. You closed the door silently. Cade, too, was in bed (thankfully), snoring and sprawled out over his mattress. He was deeply under, you could tell - how much had he been working before you'd returned?

Assured that they were safe, you padded down the stairs and made your way to the back door, grabbing a flashlight on your way by and stealing outside without a sound. You kept to the shadows, prowling towards the barn warily. Though every fiber in your body was tensed and focused on making your approach undetectable, your mind was buzzing. Who would be in your barn at this time of the night? Your first thought went to some wayward teenager or young adult looking for a quick buck, but you found that unlikely given you hadn’t heard a vehicle approach. A glance to the field and road beyond your home also proved that fact, as there was not a vehicle in sight. It could've been a raccoon, but you found that unlikely. Maybe something had just fallen over?

Nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt to check. You just really hoped that you wouldn't have to use your gun. You really weren't in the mood to shoot anybody.

Circling around to the back of the barn where the larger door rested, you readjusted your grip on your gun and tucked it behind the barn’s door handle. You braced yourself, taking a steadying breath. In one smooth motion you clicked on your flashlight and raised it level with your head, throwing the massive but relatively light door open before raising your gun to the immediate darkness within. "Whoever the hell you are, raise your hands - and don't make a mistake you'll regret, because I will shoot you!"

Two wide, startled, glowing blue eyes blinked down at you from inside the depths of the barn.

Shocked out of words for a split second, you froze. Then, "What the actual f-"

You had only a moment to register that the eyes belonged to a gargantuan, alien frame. It seemed that it, too, had been stunned by the mutual shock of discovering the other, but not for a moment longer. In that same instant, the gargantuan, alien frame lunged for you.

Screw not being in the mood to shoot somebody.

You raised your pistol and your finger twitched over the trigger, but the unknown figure was faster. A massive hand swiped out at you from the shadows, knocking both the gun from your grip and your entire body off of your own feet. The breath gushed out of you as you made harsh contact with the ground, the jolt stunning and dazing you. You scrabbled for purchase on the dewy grass beneath you as the figure leapt to loom over you, blocking a huge portion of the sky and casting a dark shadow over you. That same massive hand slammed down into the soft soil next to your head, fingers groping for your comparatively tiny body. You rolled away, stuttering out a curse as your hand found purchase on something cold and metal and heavy enough to be used as a weapon. Without thinking (not that you had the capacity, with your mind scattered and adrenaline coursing through your limbs), you found the creature's glowing, narrowed eyes in the dark and chucked the object at its crested head.

The clang of metal meeting metal rang out with the brief flash of sparks right before it was drowned out by a deafening bellow of pain. A disk-like shape fell from the creature's head and you had naught but a second to again roll to safety before it sank into the ground like a blade while your flashlight clattered a few feet away from you, light flickering across the ground. Green fluid spurted freely from the figure's cracked skull, but you were distantly confused to see electrical sparks shooting from the open wound.

Cade's shocked outcry of your name snapped you back into focus. Your head whirled to see him jumping from the front porch, sprinting straight for you and your still growling attacker. The ground shook beneath you and you were startled to hear the unknown figure (danger threat protect) garble out a roughened, pained version of your brother's name before its massive hand made another move to grab you.

"Optimus, no, don't-!"

"Cade, stay back - this human has a gun!"

"What the hell?!" you cried, staggering to your feet and away from the - holy shit, was it-?

Was it a transformer?

"Cade, get back!" you shouted, your eyes now finding the metallic sheen gleaming off the figure's silhouette. "Get back, get the shotgun!"

"Wait, just - wait a second!" Cade sounded panicked, worried, though you realized with terror he was running for the transformer and not you. "Optimus, wait!"

'Optimus'? Why did that...

The gargantuan figure froze as the human male stopped between it and you, waving his arms frantically and looking as pale as a sheet in the moonlight. "Please, just hang on a second!" He glanced wildly between the both of you, eyes pleading. "Let me explain!"

Both you and the transformer stilled, chests heaving and eyes looking from Cade to the other with suspicion and wariness.

"This is your sister?" the robotic alien rumbled, taking you off guard. It eased onto its haunches, sitting up and allowing the moonlight to illuminate its figure. Rust and peeling paint caught your eye, dust and grime obscuring much of what must've once been shiny metal. Its face was twisted, mouth pinched as it turned its glowing gaze to you. You realized that the disk that had fallen from its head was one of two ear-like arrays with sensor finials. The open wound(?) was still dribbling that same green substance. Blood?

"Yes, Optimus, this-" Cade exhaled heavily, hands and voice shaking with relief as you both stood down. He looked to you, guilt and apprehension forming in his eyes as he gestured towards the mechanical being behind him. "I..."

A short silence settled upon the three of you, tense and anxious. After a beat, you sighed and glanced up at the transformer, leveling it with a pointedly non-aggressive look. You saw the stiffness in its metal-plated shoulders relax minutely, then looked back to Cade only when you were sure the unspoken ceasefire was cemented.

"So..." you deadpanned, a wry, weary quirk forming at the edge of your mouth as you rubbed your sore cranium. "...who put him in your basket?"

[foundress0fnothing]

Chapter 2 of "more thicker than forget" is here, featuring an awkward reunion, a lot of academic worldbuilding, and a tentative truce between our favs.

I thought this fic would be a two-shot, but as I got further into the story, I realized that some of the scenes I had planned needed more time/deserved their own chapters, so the expected chapter count is now 5 as Eris and Azriel re-meet each other after 5 years apart. This chapter is relatively short, but the next ones should allow our two more time to interact and come to terms with each other. I don't have an upload schedule for the other 3 parts yet, but expect them soon--I'm starting a new writing project sometime in July and want to have this story finished before I move on.

Read here on AO3, or continue below the cut.

5 Years Later—Eris

Late August

Eris checked the time on his office computer, sighed, and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. He only had a few moments alone before he had to pull himself together to greet the visiting scholar Prythian was hosting for the semester.

Or—to be more accurate—the visiting scholar he was hosting for the semester.

Thankfully this would be the last time he’d ever have to do something like this—in two months, he would finally, finally have tenure, not just be on a tenure track, and he could slow down—could stop working so hard to have a new publication every other month, could stop worrying so much about what students wrote on their course evaluations, could stop having to volunteer for every little thing the department needed, all to prove that he was—how did they put it?—“an asset to both the department and the university at large” and worthy of tenure.

Helping visiting scholars like the one coming that day was one of the volunteering responsibilities that he had taken on. The weeks or months spent playing host were typically monetarily and intellectually thankless time sucks, but they at least earned him a fair amount of good will—the senior scholars in the department were more than willing to pawn off the visiting researchers and the responsibility of making them comfortable to an underling whenever possible. And it’s not like the work was particularly hard at this point: Eris took them out for drinks, made polite small talk about whatever their niche research was, helped get them set up in their office and hotel, and was on-call to answer any question about university bureaucracy that might come up during their time on campus. Easy, distant, and—typically—quite dull.

At least this final scholar actually promised to be interesting. Eris couldn’t remember the man’s name—the department had certainly told him when he agreed to help him settle in, and he was sure there was an email buried somewhere in his inbox that would have the man’s CV and relevant publication information—but he remembered enough for their meeting today. 

He was another modernist, albeit an independent scholar, working on an accessible reading guide to Finnegans Wake (a pointless task, Eris thought, not that anyone had asked him—no one tried to read the book except for the most dedicated Joyce scholars, and even then, it was more of a curiosity than a work of serious literary merit. It was just too strange—he first read the book one summer as an undergrad and felt drunk for a week after). Apparently, the project was in its final stages, and since Prythian housed the largest collection of Joyce’s letters and drafts, the scholar had requested a visiting position to have access to the archive. He and Eris would be co-teaching an undergrad survey class on Joyce as well, thus necessitating their meeting today—who would lecture when, what they would ask the students to read versus what the students would actually read, how harshly they wanted to grade essays—all the usual logistical nonsense that came with teaching a class. 

At the sound of a soft knock on his office door, Eris snapped his eyes open and shrugged his blazer back on, the tweed slightly itchy at the back of his neck where the jacket rose over the collar of his shirt. As settled as could hope to be, Eris called out, “Come in.”

“Dr. Vanserra!” Thesan Aubade, the department chair, greeted him as he opened the door and stepped into the cramped space. The office was clean, and as elegantly outfitted as an 8 by 8 cell could hope to be, but Eris was victim to the occupational hazard that befell anyone making a living off of their words: every spare foot of space was devoted to books, each wall lined with overflowing shelves that intruded into the already too-small room. There was room for his desk and a single chair for students coming in for office hours, but not much else. “I come bearing your charge for the semester, Dr. Azriel Moreno.”

Eris took a moment to study the man who followed Thesan into the room. He looked vaguely familiar, tall and broad and with an unfairly beautiful face framed by rounded tortoiseshell glasses, wearing a white oxford tucked into black jeans with a black blazer over top. Eris had probably seen him on the conference circuit at some point over the last few years, but at this point, the names and faces of the minor scholars who attended those blurred together. Deciding that it wasn't anything worth worrying about, he smiled and said, “It’s good to meet you, Dr. Moreno. I look forward to working with you this semester.”

The man held Eris’ gaze for a beat too long, not offering a greeting in return, his hazel eyes boring into Eris’ own before he slowly raised a brow as if in challenge. 

Before Eris could start to make sense of the man’s expression and the odd hostility it conveyed, Thesan cut in. “Facilities couldn’t find him a space in the building with the construction in the east wing, but I assured Dr. Moreno that you would be more than happy to share your office space for the semester.”

Eris blinked at Thesan, who had the gall to meet his confused expression with only a bland smile. “Is that so?” Eris said slowly, biting his tongue before he said anything ruder. Because god, it was just like Thesan to spring this on him here, in front of the scholar, rather than giving him time to argue or plan or figure out literally any better solution than cramming two people into the same small working space.

Moreno, however, simply smiled at Thesan. “I’m sure Dr. Vanserra and I can make it work. Who knows?” He said, cutting his eyes over at Eris again. “Perhaps we’ll find we enjoy such close quarters.”

Eris almost rolled his eyes at that bullshit, ingratiating answer, which would have wrecked the image of careful control he had cultivated over the last five years of dealing with departmental politics. Thesan, though, pleased that he wouldn’t have to do any mollifying, clapped his hands and started moving toward the door. “Well, that’s excellent. I’ll leave you to it, then. Can’t wait to hear what you plan for the Joyce class.”

There was a beat of silence in the wake of his departure as Eris stared after Thesan’s retreating form, silently seething as he imagined the intrusion that Moreno’s presence would present to his routine: a person in his space and in his business, for whom he’d be expected to give up his desk and his peace of mind whenever the other man decided he needed it, nevermind how snowed under Eris was with trying to keep up with teaching responsibilities and research and preparations for his tenure review. 

And that wasn’t even taking into account that the man himself was apparently going to be insufferable—oddly standoffish with colleagues like Eris, irritatingly sycophantic with higher-ups like Thesan. Any enthusiasm he might have felt about working with Moreno this semester was rapidly draining away.

Still, he had a job to do, but Eris was not about to tackle the rest of the day sober. “There’s a bar a few blocks away that the undergrads haven’t discovered yet. Why don’t we do this over a drink?”

Eris saw something flash briefly over Moreno’s face—again, that strange, brief hesitation—before he said simply, “Lead the way.”

A few minutes later, they had settled into a booth with their drinks, both men slightly sweaty from the walk to the bar through Prythian’s late summer humidity. Their conversation on the walk over had been stilted: Eris made some innocuous comment about the weather and Moreno agreed brusquely that, yes, it was quite hot; Eris asked after the general details of Moreno’s travel to Prythian and Moreno informed him that it was “fine;” Eris asked after the details of his research project and Moreno told him that it was “almost finished.” And that was it. 

Perhaps the man was just awkward, Eris mused as Moreno raised his pint glass to his lips to take a sip while staring at the street outside of the bar, just someone who never mastered the politicking and the small talk and the conversations that came with academia. It would explain why he wasn’t at a university, at any rate. 

Even so, he didn’t relish the thought of spending any more time with him here than he had to—sharing an office and a class with Moreno all semester would be enough of a headache and, if the walk over was any indication, this meeting would be much the same, with Eris carrying the discussion about semester logistics while the other man grunted agreement instead of offering real answers and insights like an actual person. He sighed internally— only two more months until tenure . 

Pulling out his laptop, he said, “So. The Joyce class. I figured we’d alternate lectures rather than splitting them, and I’ve made a tentative weekly lecture and reading breakdown. What’s your email? I’ll send this to you to review.” 

Turning back to Eris, Moreno looked at him blankly for a moment, apparently not quite ready to jump into the work of the meeting, and Eris resisted the urge to sigh and scold him like he was a distracted undergrad broodily gazing out of a window.

“Of course,” Moreno said, shaking himself slightly and pulling out his phone. “Email is moreno7@nightcorp.com.” 

As Eris typed in the email, he noticed that Moreno began to roll up the sleeves of this shirt, the sunlight streaming into the bar having made even the indoor space uncomfortably warm. 

And then—fuck .

Because the man had tattoos across his forearms, intricately swirled and somehow elegant in their brutality, and Eris had only seen tattoos like those once before—years ago, at another bar, in what felt like another lifetime—and he realized why the man had seemed so familiar back in his— their —office.

Eris dragged his eyes away from the man’s arms only to find Moreno studying him. With a smirk, Moreno asked, “It was the tattoos then?”

Eris felt his mouth go dry as he remembered the last time he was with this man, was with Azriel Moreno. He was high on his job offer and cool and articulate and utterly in control. But now? Now, he could only rasp out, “They made an impression.”

Moreno barked a mirthless laugh at that. “I suppose they did.”

Silence stretched between the two men after that for a few beats as Eris, caught wrong-footed, scrambled for something to say to salvage the meeting, hoping desperately that Moreno wasn’t petty enough to say something to Thesan about the disaster this was becoming.

To Eris’ surprise, however, Moreno was the one to break the tension. “Look, Vanserra, I’m here to continue my research and finish my book and teach this class. Nothing more. I haven’t been with a university in five years, and I just want this to be simple and professional and uncomplicated.”

Eris hoped his relief didn’t show too clearly on his face. “I think we can manage that.”

“Good.” With that, Moreno turned his attention back to his phone, pulling up the email from Eris and skimming through the document. “I have some thoughts.”

[alpaca-clouds]

Fluffcember Day 31: The Joys of Fatherhood

I know, I know, I kinda forgot to upload those fics here during those last few days. But have the last one at least, as this one is another Castlevania story. The prompt was: New Years Mornings.

Fandom: Castlevania (Netflix)

Shipping: Trevor/Sypha/Alucard

Genre: Family Fluff and Humor

Length: 1828 words

[Ao3 Link]

1477

It was a new year, Trevor assumed. It was a new year and he was not dead. Though at times he kinda wished he was. It had been but a few days, since he had returned to Dracula’s castle and found – to his relief – that Sypha was still there. She and the grumpy half-vampire bastard had taken care of his wounds and much to his surprise Sypha could be quite the doting girlfriend. And while the village or rather those people that were building a new village had celebrated the end of a year and the beginning of a new one, she had spent most of the night with him, caring for him.

He was not yet sure what all of this meant. He had killed Death. Fucking Death itself. Sure, he was under no illusion that people would not die anymore. After all Death was but a manifestation of the elemental desire to kill – had been, rather. And somehow he, Trevor Belmont, had survived. More than that. Maybe… Just maybe he might actually be thriving. That was, once his wounds had healed, which would probably take forever.

Sypha stirred by his side. She squinted, looking at him. A smile showed on her face. “Good morning.”

He gave a grunt. “Morning.”

“It’s a new year,” she said.

“I guess it is.” He could not stop himself from looking at her belly that did not yet show any swelling. It was also going to be the year, in which he would no longer be the last Belmont.

1478

Trevor’s head was fucking killing him, when he awoke from his slumber. By the light falling into their chambers, it was already past 10 in the morning. Whispered words reached his ears, while he tried to find a way back to sleep. Adrian and Sypha were already awake, it seemed. With a low grunt, he rolled onto his side, wrapping one arm around Adrian and burying his face into those bloody long locks.

“I feel someone is awake,” the dhampir teased him.

“Not awake,” Trevor muttered as he drew in the man’s smell.

“You should not drink that much, Trevor Belmont.” There was barely stifled laughter in Sypha’s voice, as she took his hand and kissed it.

“What’s a bloody New Years celebration without beer and mulled wine?”

“Actually quite enjoyable,” she replied.

“Uhum.” Trevor did not feel like talking about it. He rather felt like cuddling up to Adrian and just dozing off for at least a few more hours. It was bloody New Year, after all. When, if not on New Years, did he get a chance to sleep in?

Marie, however, did not share this opinion, as she started to scream.

1479

Another year, Trevor thought to himself, when he awoke that morning, and somehow they were still alive. To be totally fucking honest, he had not quite thought they would all make it. But they were here. Back home. And fine.

He was lying in the middle of both his partners – even though it meant suffering Sypha’s icy feet. But he would not have it any other way. Cuddling up a bit closer to her lead to Adrian putting one arm around him. But neither of them was yet ready to fully wake up. They would not need to. It was still early, right?

He blew a short kiss into Sypha’s hair, before dozing off again for a long while. But as it was his fate as a father now, that nice slumber was intercut, when the child in the crib next to the bed woke up. “Mama!” she screamed, having finally learned her first few words. “Papa! Hungy!”

Trevor groaned – and so did the other two.

“You go,” Sypha muttered, still half asleep.

“You mean Trevor?” came Adrian’s reply.

“Why me?”

“I don’t care who of you goes,” she replied. “But I got up a lot more often for her till now, so… Your choice.” With that she pulled her knees up to her belly and dozed off again.

1483

Trevor could not say he had missed, being woken up by a crying child. But here they were again. Another year gone, another end of year celebrated, another hangover and another child screaming his lungs out.

Dhampir children grew quicker than human kids. At least that was what Adrian had said – and it seemed that little Simon was a dhampir. He had the golden eyes and the pointy ears at least. But also little Simon did not care about it. He was 7 months old, had already grown in some teeth and was still very much of the opinion that he would only consume mother’s milk for now.

Sypha groaned as she got up and took the child out of the crib, returning to bed quickly. At least little Simon was quickly shut up, once he was nursing, his little hands folded into fists, making the same kind of motion one would normally expect from a nursing kitten.

Leaning back against the pillows, Sypha closed her eyes again and so did Trevor. The upside was, that one would get pretty adapt to falling back to sleep, once the little noise maker was shut up.

His head was still killing him, though, and he knew it would probably not change for the rest of the day. Well.

Simon quickly finished nursing, though, happily cuddling up to his mother, once he was done. Letting herself slide down into a lying position, Sypha bedded the child between herself and Trevor.

He squinted, smiled at her and was ready to get back to sleep, when the door was slammed open.

“Papi, I am hungry. Can you make some Plinchky?”

1484

For once Trevor awoke without much of a headache. Not that much of a surprise, as the English were more conservative, when it came to celebrating New Years. Of course, there was also the fact, that alcohol barely affected him anymore – given he was quite literally undead by now. Being a vampire, he also knew, that it was already early in the afternoon, past 1 at least. And for once he found himself alone in the bed, that was not even his bed to begin with.

His hunger was slowly subsiding, though, and he was finally able to hold down some amounts of normal food again. He could in fact smell some food from downstairs. He was wondering, who was cooking, as he could make out the voices of his entire family from downstairs. Lisa, too.

Judging by the smell they were making something like pancakes, which were among Marie’s favorites after all.

Trevor, of course, could not easily leave the bed, given that the sun was up. But maybe that was not that bad after all. Though he could use a good cuddle, to be perfectly honest.

Downstairs Marie was telling Lisa about the New Years festivities going on home. And Sypha was joking about his love of beer and mulled wine. Well, she was not wrong. She was not wrong at all. And he still kinda hated that he could not get drunk anymore.

But, well… It had been his decision. It had been his decision after all.

1491

There was this thing about vampires: Not getting burned by the bloody sun in the night was one reason more to stay awake during the night and sleep during the day. But there was also the thing about taking care of a small town – and also three children, who very much could go out during the day and preferred to do so: They did not care.

So it really should not surprise Trevor that on this New Year’s morning the three of them were awoken once more by hurried feet on the corridor, followed by their chamber’s door being opened.

“Papi?” That was Anna, who was 6 by now – so basically like 9 in human terms. She was followed by her older brother though, who quickly climbed onto the bed.

“The sun isn’t even out,” he declared. “It’s quite cloudy today.”

Trevor swatted at the boy, like a house would after a fly. “You can busy yourself for a while,” he grumbled.

Now Anna was climbing the bed as well. “But it is already super late.”

It wasn’t really. Not by vampire standards. Just past noon. They had been up till five in the morning. And sure, technically speaking vampires did not need to sleep. But lying in bed, cuddled up to each other and slumbering away was simply the best.

Of course the children knew that Trevor wasn’t their best bet either way, as Anna was now pulling away the cover from Adrian. “Papi!”

Even Adrian was disgruntled. “You’ll be fine for another hour,” he muttered.

“But we are not.”

“We are hungry.”

“You can cook for yourself,” Sypha muttered.

“Ask your older sister,” Trevor agreed.

“She has locked her door!” Simon complained.

It was Adrian, of course, who finally sat up with a groan. “Is there any way we can sleep in for one time on a New Year’s day?”

The two siblings exchanged a gaze. “No!”

1500

It was strange, really. Actually sleeping in on New Years. And it was not just a new year, was it? It was a new century. Well, technically speaking. Bloody Dracula said, humans had skipped a couple of years about 3 centuries ago, so technically it really wasn’t a new century. But who cared, what bloody Dracula was saying? This still felt… meaningful. Somehow.

They had started the new year – the new century – really, in the best way Trevor could imagine. With sex. And much to his delight he had to say that even after almost a quarter century, it still could excite him.

He was cuddled up to Sypha, who for once was sleeping in the middle of her two husbands. After all there was no child to nurse anymore. No kids to take care of. All three kids were well and truly adults now. Marie living in her own house and the other two… Well, Trevor did not know about Anna, but he was fairly certain at least Simon had started his new year in a similar vein as them.

Sypha turned in her sleep to nestle up against him some more and Trevor was quite fine with it, enjoying her nude body against his. This was nice. It really was. He was dozing off again, just as he liked to do on a New Years morning… when an explosion rattled the windows, making the three of them sit up almost in synch.

They looked at each other in alarm. They were already ready to get dressed, when the door was flung open and Anna came running in. “Mama? Mama? Say, theoretically speaking, what would happen, if one was to mix glyph magic with elements?”

As Sypha groaned, Trevor could not help a chuckle, quickly infecting their husband with it.

“What have you exploded?”

“Well, technically speaking…”

[natsu-tte-noodle]

Lounge Chronicles - 5:08 AM

(This is something I’ve been writing on and off whenever I get super hit by writer’s block--I thought it might be fun to post it in snippets here before uploading the whole thing to AO3 once it’s done :D enjoy)

Tsuzuru poured his third cup of coffee and plugged his laptop into the wall of the lounge.  Damn outlet on his side of the room for needing to be fixed.  Damn Masumi for wanting a working light in their room.  Damn humidifier, taking up the last available plug in his room when he had a paper due by the end of the day and a laptop battery in desperate need of replacing.

He could only praise the heavens that today was Sunday, and it was Summer and Winter using the practice rooms today, and his current part time job was closed for renovations.  It was a once-in-a-blue-moon day that Tsuzuru didn’t have 800 other obligations to attend to.  He was grateful to be able to completely waste it on this 8,000 word essay.

At this hour, there wasn’t a soul awake in the dorms; not even Itaru stayed up this late if there wasn’t an event with one of his absolute favorite characters, and from what Tsuzuru could gather none were currently running.  Briefly, he glanced at his phone, wondering if he should check out Pocket Kniroun for the first time in almost a year.  Ultimately, though, he decided he had to at least get started before he started falling for distractions.

For once, he had actually just woken up, opting to get up incredibly early instead of staying up incredibly late.  Of course, that didn’t mean he hadn’t stayed up pretty late anyway, hence the third cup of coffee already, but.  Small improvements.

Copy-pasting the cover page format from a previous essay for the same class, he quickly adjusted the information to fit the new assignment, typed out “INSERT TITLE HERE,” and punched the enter key until the cursor moved down to page 2.  Time to write.

…tiiiime to write.

…any day now.

Tsuzuru buried his face in his arms, muffling his groan so as to not wake anyone.

Well, he supposed it wasn’t a code red situation yet.  He still had, what.  18 hours and 46 minutes before this thing was due?  He could spare a little bit of time wasting.  Maybe a mental workout to get his brain juices working.  (He made a mental note to never say “brain juices” again.)

He opened a new word document and started drafting out a backstory for the guy who sweeps the steps in Nocturnality.

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

Crown Princes and Butterfly WIngs (1/?)

When Crown Prince Remus of Dalandaire goes missing overnight it's up to Roman, his brother, and Logan, his best friend, to find him.

But for how long will Roman be able to keep his secrets? How long will it take Logan to admit his feelings for the cute human they dragged along for the adventure and how on earth do they keep getting quite so off target??

----

| AO3 |

Warnings: None

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality, platonic DRLAMP

Word Count 19,667

Notes:

It's the birth of the long-awaited Fantasy AU!! Yes, that one, the one I've been talking about since June.

This first chapter is just an prologue, and I'm hoping to update every Sunday! I don't know exactly how long that'll last though since uhhh... I only have three chapters written right now.

Anyway. A massive thank you to @viola-halogen here on Tumblr for beta-reading this!! You're amazing and ily so much <3 /p

And thank you to everyone reading, I hope you enjoy your stay!

Please reblog/say something if you like it!!

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As a side note, I'll update the warnings and the word count for this fic as I upload chapters and I'll put any TWs at the beginning of chapters.

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PIngs: I'm basically just gonna ping everyone who said they'd be interested when I first posted about this thing, if you want pings for future story parts please let me know!!

@d0tping @agoddamnednerd @icequeensreblogs hi :)

Prologue: Before The Sun Rises

Roman awoke in the middle of the night. For a reason he didn't know, from a dream he couldn't remember. He looked around at his bedroom, only lit by dim candlelight, and wondered why he had awoken at such a time. Waking up at such strange hours of dark morning was not a regular occurrence for him, in actuality he couldn’t remember the last time it had happened, so something must have woken him up. Something that his gut told him he should investigate. 

He groaned, unfolding his wings and kicking off the heavy duvet, before stretching out and looking around. His curtains were still drawn over his balcony doors and the candles around his room were glowing dimly, just barely holding on to the last of their wicks as they had been burning since it got dark. The soft fur of his large red rug tickled his bare feet as his loose, silk bedclothes practically floated around him. He stood still for a moment, listening, trying to feel for any presence in the room. Only his antennae twitched while he waited, but nothing happened. 

Letting out a breath the Prince slowly made his way to the large door, turning the handle and opening it slowly to hopefully avoid any creaking. One might be wondering at this point why he was investigating so carefully to find out why exactly he had woken up at such an odd time. He was their kingdom’s prince, albeit not the crown prince—if only by mere seconds—but still a Prince by every definition. There were guards stationed outside of his door and more down the hall. It wasn’t as though an intruder would be able to get through and besides, he was safe in the knowledge that if anyone wanted to assassinate a member of the royal family it wouldn’t be him. They would go for Remus, his brother, the crown prince, or their dads, the Kings, first. Not him, the spare prince.

Roman wouldn’t want to admit that he faltered only slightly when he found that the guard usually stationed by his door was slumped over, back to the wall and sleeping soundly and deeply. The man was softly snoring too, with a little drool clinging to his lip. How disgusting, and how negligent, he supposed he must have a word with the guards in future about sleeping on the job. 

Leaving the guard behind—but not before taking the guy’s sword just in case—Roman began to tiptoe along the corridor, the soft carpet muffling his steps. In the end he came to the stairs leading down from the castle tower in which his bedroom was situated. The guards here were sleeping too. He took a deep breath and began to descend. 

As he moved though the dark castle, Roman simply let his intuition guide him. Though in his head he knew the route, he wasn’t sure of the destination. When he felt he had arrived to the place his instincts were leading him, he looked around and found himself outside of the heavy wooden doors of the throne room. With a deep breath, he pushed them open only to see that the room was lit better than the rest of the castle. Sprawled lazily over his father’s throne he found his brother. 

Remus was lying sideways across the throne, legs kicked up and crossed over one another on the armrest while he rested with his arms behind his head. Immediately Roman noticed things that… seemed off. For one, Remus was fully clothed in daywear, as though he hadn’t realised it was the middle of the night. Secondly there was a bag resting against the leg of the ornate throne, a large pack, one of the ones they would usually have the servants carry when they went on week-long hunting trips in the forests.

When Remus noticed him he shot up from the chair so fast it almost gave Roman whiplash. His brother’s toxic green butterfly wings were flapping behind him now as he hovered only a foot in the air. He smiled at Roman, but it wasn’t his usual toothy grin that often seemed to creep everyone who saw it out, it seemed lke something a little more sad.

“Hey RoRo,” Remus said, landing back on his feet and slowly walking over, “I knew you’d come over here after I woke you up.”

“Ah, so you’re the culprit I’ve been searching for,” Roman said dryly, without his usual flair of dramatics. What? It was the middle of the night and he needed his sleep.

“Yep!” Remus grinned, “You caught me!”

“It seems I have.” Roman nodded. “Now was there a reason for waking me up at who knows what time in the morning, or were you simply attempting to be annoying as usual?”

“I’m leaving,” Remus declared, turning on his heel to walk back over to the throne and pick up the bag. “I’m running away! Never coming back!”

“Wait wait what?” Roman yelped, holding up his hands and dropping the sword to clatter onto the floor in the process. “Hold on just a moment! You’re leaving? In the middle of the night? Without telling anyone?”

“I’m telling you! And that’s how running away works, Ro,” Remus called back, shooting that annoying smile over his shoulder as he walked straight past Roman towards the throne room doors. “And no-one else ‘cause otherwise they’ll come looking for me- You know I wasn’t supposed to be crown prince, Ro, everyone in the kingdom hates me anyways, even Dad and Pa wish you had been born first.”

“Wait- Remus! We don’t hate you- what are you talking about?” Roman cried, jogging to catch up with him, his wings fluttering in an attempt to make him go faster. “Where will you even go?”

“I dunno!” Remus said. “That’s the best part, see? Because I can go wherever I want! No guards, no parents, no servants, I can just go out into the world and live my own life without being told to go to a lesson here or there or do training or read this boring old dusty book that’s full of crap.”

“Alright…” Roman said slowly. “Why… why are you telling me this? You know they’ll question me when they realise you’re gone, why not slip away without telling anyone?”

“‘Cause,” Remus shrugged, informal as always, “you’re my brother, Ro. And no matter how prissy and perfectly annoying you can be, I still love ya, so… I just… thought you should know! And besides! Once I’m gone you’ll get to be crown prince! Which is what you’ve always wanted, so you can do that! And I can not do that- and then we’ll both be happy, right?”

“And… this is really what you want?” Roman asked, tilting his head a little.

“Mhm, I’ve been planning this for weeks! Had to slip a bunch of Dad’s sleeping medicines into the guard’s soup and everything,” Remus said with a grin.

“I honestly can’t believe this worked so well…” Roman sighed. At least he wouldn’t have to have that conversation with the guards, not if this wasn’t their fault—perhaps something about being more vigilant over drugged food though. “I’ll- I’ll miss you- you know that right?”

“Course I do,” Remus said. Finally he stopped moving, turning back to face Roman. “I’ll miss you too! Tell Logan I said bye, ok? But actually don’t because that’ll clue him in on the fact that you know something… Prank him a bunch for me, ‘kay?”

“Will do, sire!” Roman said with a mock bow and a chuckle, before his smile faded into a frown and he reached for his brother. For once, Remus didn’t object to being dragged into the tight hug, in fact he hugged Roman back just as tightly. The two princes stayed there, in the doorway to the throne room, for who knows how long before Remus pulled away.

“Don’t let them come after me, ok?” Remus said, already walking away.

“I’ll do my best…” Roman said as he watched his brother retreat down the hallway, watched him turn the corner and disappear. 

Standing there in silence for a moment, Roman bowed his head, sending a silent prayer to whatever deity would listen that his brother would be ok in the world beyond their castle, before making his way back to his bedchambers. He already knew he wouldn’t get any more sleep that night.

| Next -> |

[tyeballz]

Quick BNC!12Leo drabble (rewrite ig?)

I think it was too short to be published onto AO3, so I'm uploading it here as an exclusive (temporarily, until i rewrite the first 3 chapters including the prologue).

This drabble is a rewrite of Leo's POV during chapter 3, I might as well rewrite everything, now that I'm still improving my writing skills and I'm not speeding through everything during lunch at school

vv read under the cut !! vv

No matter how many times he tried to at least make a dent in the solid stone in the walls, or how he tried to gain the attention of one of the bellhops or guards keeping an eye on his cell, he couldn’t escape.

With the amount of scars, cuts, and bruises that covered his skin, how he was profusely bleeding, Leonardo wished he was already dead, and that this world and this prison cell was just a purgatory, the Yōkai that he’s fought were just a test to see if he was worthy of the afterlife, but when he watched as his fingers hovered over his wounds, he could feel everything sting as fresh blood dripped to the hard, cold grey floor.

The terrapin had only been trapped for what he’d assume to be a week or two, and he was already exhausted. All he did was wake up, look at his tPhone for any signal, try to plan an escape, fight a ginormous monster for about at least an hour, then get thrown back into his cell. No food, no water, and definitely no medical treatment for those wounds. Leonardo was pretty sure all of the fresh ones were infected by the time he was back into his cell for a few days. When he first met his kidnapper, apparently her name was Big Mama- at this point Leonardo didn’t care who she was, he wanted her dead- thought he was someone else, one of the ‘turtley-boos’ she keeps mentioning everytime he has to see her ugly, nasty, spider-looking face. But when he told that ugly Jorogumo that he was from a different universe, she was flabbergasted. He couldn’t tell if it was from his words, the way he talked back to her, or something- but she was mad after that.

Now the mutant turtle was a slave to Big Mama’s Battle Nexus business, and it looked like he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. This was worse than everything else he’s gone through in years, all just by being cooped up in an empty, cold cell and being a tool for battle only for people’s pleasure. It made Leonardo sick to his stomach that a living, breathing person (aka: himself) was being used as a plaything.

Leonardo had been hearing the voices of his brothers for hours now, he felt fatigue and clammy, bundling up to himself by the corner of the freezing cell. The voices kept telling him to not give up on escaping, and then maybe his (actual) brothers will eventually find him, after all they could barely do anything without their leader to guide them. He could hear Donatello speaking to him in those scientific ways he always did until he had to dumb it down for his other brothers, Raphael was reluctantly using those cheesy lines from Space Heroes that Leonardo always enjoyed and even quoted himself, and Michelangelo was comforting the turtle with talking about all four of the brothers’ favourite things in the world, training, family, and pizza.

Leonardo chuckled at the voices, well it at least got him smiling, but it hurt his cheeks when he did, he hasn’t smiled at all since he got lost. He rested his head under his arms, which were over his bare knees, keeping in mind the throbbing pain in his right kneecap. He let out a soft sigh, clutching his eyes shut as he tried to at least get some sleep before he went back out there again. Maybe this was worse than the Triceraton Arena, at least he was with his brothers and he knew someone was going to rescue them all, but now he was hallucinating the voices of his brothers. Sure, he was- most likely- hallucinating Master Splinter, but at least his sensei was in the same ten dimensions as his eldest son.

Now he was missing, his brothers worried sick, what they just didn’t know was that their leader was slowly dying (mentally, emotionally, fuck- even physically) in a different universe all because he unintentionally stumbled into a Yōkai hotel with a mean spider lady as a crime figure who enjoys people dying in her ‘silly little Battle Nexus’.

He noticed a chunk of stone that had fallen off the wall, picking it up he adjusted himself to his knees and began writing on the ground.

‘It’s been days or even weeks since I’ve been kidnapped by Big Mama, I’m worried that I'll be her little fighter for the rest of my teenage years and my upcoming adulthood, maybe the guys won’t find me in time before I perish in this purgatory, maybe they won’t make it in time and watch me perish. But for now, I’ll keep fighting, even if it means killing innocent lives just so I can go home and forget about all of this. Maybe before I leave I’ll tell Big Mama to shove it-’

he stopped when he heard the sounds of the cell door opening.

“Kappa, yu’re up! Mum wants to smile at this battle!” It was one of the Bellhops, specifically the fox Yōkai.

Leonardo turned away from the figure, picking up his O-katanas and strapping both the Sayas to his belt. His Yumi held in place inbetween the pack of arrows. He stood up onto his shaking knees, limping in front of the bellhop fox as he moved the hood of his vision suit over his head.

The bellhop cuffed Leonardo’s wrists as he escorted him out of the cell.

The terrapin mumbled to himself, as he was for certain that he was able to escape after the battle this time,

“I’m ready.”

[hergan416]

Ok but there is specifically a tag for essays? Which is where you put insights and theories? You can even publish fandom meta-analysis on AO3. There's a lot of quite good stuff about like... the origins of ABO or whatever.

And tagging is nice, but you can also say you do not want to tag in the tags, and that is acceptable also. Like, lets say that tagging a trope feels like a spoiler to you. You can just say you aren't using archive warnings and that you aren't tagging things. This might get you fewer readers from people taking extra precautions, but it's still perfectly acceptable.

Putting a "published" date of when a work actually goes on the archive (as opposed to when you started typing into the AO3 formatter) is a valid reason, but I'd recommend not typing directly into the AO3 formatter. Also, setting the publish date to the expected day of a challenge fic reveal if you uploaded it early. (So if you submitted it to a hidden collection for a challenge, you can future date to have it show up when it gets revealed.) This is pretty common for large fandoms.

Commenting is honestly "you do you" to me. A lot of authors love them, myself included, but I also understand it's a lot of spoons to always be commenting. I try to comment whenever I can, but its not always and I don't begrudge others for not commenting. It is still super nice to wake up to a super long kudos email where you realize a user found all of your [fill in a fandom] content and liked it all.

AO3 Etiquette

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

Kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished - you kudos.

If you liked it, you should comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it. Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity. Don't ruin that for them.

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLANTONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an implicit rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Avoid deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - orphan it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to you anymore.

This is a creative fanfiction archive. No essays on your insights or theories please. There are other places for that.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.

[typicalopposite]

Part Two of Starsky and Hutch Fic (But I guess Technically Chapter One)

Considering going ahead and uploading the prologue to AO3, and just updating it a chapter behind Tumblr. If/When I do it will be linked >>Here<<

Part One(Prolouge)

Chapter One: A Special Kind of Smile

Hutch might as well have been glowing. The sun reflected off his golden hair and created a halo around his head. Fitting. Starsky thought, unable to take his eyes off his partner. Hutch stood, barefoot on the beach, toes buried in the sand and watched the ocean while Starsky watched him. 

But something that felt off. 

The waves crashing; the cool breeze blowing; the smell of salt water… it wasn’t any of that. Those things Starsky experienced every time he came to the beach. Then Hutch looked back over his shoulder, locking eyes with Starsky, and smiled; the ball was in the air. Did Hutch always smile at him like that? He’d only ever seen that smile aimed at Vannesa – way back when he was hers – or Gillian before that all went to hell; Abby, Jeanie… even what’s-her-name even got it a few times. But not Starsky… Never Starsky. Right?

Can’t you see it? How he loves you…

The sunlight dimmed. The ocean and the beach faded to black, and after one more look back at Starsky – one more loving smile – so did Hutch. 

Starsky’s eyes fluttered open, meeting with a bright stream of light from his cracked curtains. He looked at his clock; 3:00 AM. Way too early to get up. Work wasn’t until 8:00 and he didn’t expect Hutch until at the earliest 7:00. He turned away from the light, and screwed his eyes shut, hoping – if ever luck would swing in his favor – he would drift back into that dream for just a little longer. 

No such luck.

Defeated, Starsky threw his covers off, and sat up. He yawned, and stretched, ran his fingers through his mess of untamed curls, and pushed off the bed. He made a pot of coffee and poured himself a cup; loaded it with enough sugar to accommodate the whole pot, and took the first gloriously caffeinated sip. He kept the cup under his nose, breathing in the sweet strong aroma, while he waited for the caffeine to kick in.

He took a long shower; took his time getting dressed; then sat on the couch to wait. Like clockwork, at 7:00 on the dot he heard his door being unlocked.”Starsk I’m here – Oh!” Hutch stopped in the doorway and stared at Starsky staring at him. “You’re ready?” 

“I am.”  

“Ah… trouble sleeping?” 

How’d he know that? Starsky laughed, and pushed himself up from the couch. “Uh— Actually, I slept like a baby.” Hutch gave him that look, calling his bluff. “Is it so hard to believe I got myself up at a decent time to be ready for you to get here so we could go to work, huh?” 

“You know what, Starsk… You’re right.” Hutch flashed him a smile– not the one from his dream, because like he had already known, that was never meant for him – and he shut the door behind him. “You are a grown man…” He said moving through the apartment, looking from here to there, searching for something. “Completely capable of being disciplined enough to wake yourself up early enough to be completely ready to go once I get here…” Hutch lifted the lid to the trash can, then moved to Starsky’s bedroom door and grabbed the door knob. “Even if it’s never been the case before.”

“Hutch. What are you doin’?!” Starsky groaned as Hutch flung his door open and stuck his head inside. 

“Well I figure either you pulled an all nighter with a bottle… or a woman.” Hutch continued to scope out the bedroom.   

Starsky rolled his eyes. “I told you, I slept all night…”

“Like a baby… yeah I heard you.”

“But you don’t believe me?” 

“Starsk… I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve been ready when I got here… and I don’t even need the whole hand.” Starksy didn’t respond but held the front door open for Hutch to walk out. “And every one of those times were because you had pulled an all nighter with—”

“A bottle or a girl?” Starsky finished. They went to their respective sides of the Torino and got in. Starsky turned the key and sighed, turning to face Hutch. “Look… truth is…” But when Hutch looked at him — with the sun shining towards him in just a way that it was practically creating a halo of light around him — Starsky couldn’t breathe, much less finish his sentence. 

Hutch stared at him. “Truth is?” He asked after a long pause of awkward silence. 

“Uh— well… the — um… truth is…” Starsky could feel his heart pounding; he knew if he looked down it was probably visible. His face was getting hot so he looked forward before Hutch noticed it turning red. “Truth is, Hutch… maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” It was a true enough statement; if he did, he would know just how in love Starsky was with him… and wouldn’t that open a gigantic can of worms he didn’t need. 

He didn’t give Hutch a chance to respond before he had the Torino’s tires squealing, flooring it towards the station. 

Looked like it was going to be one of those days. 

S&H

Starksy was being weird, and for the life of him, Hutch couldn’t figure out why. 

For starters, there was no way he’d woken up to his alarm and been ready that quick… just no way. Then the way he’d just stared at him like he had a second head or something. What took the cake was his “you don’t know me as well as you think you do” accusation. He didn’t even know what to come back with on that one. 

Since the weirdness didn’t seem to be much of a hangover, he settled on it being a woman. Perhaps Starksy was simply pining over her, and he just hadn’t brought her up yet; if that was the case Hutch would force a smile and be happy, because his best friend was finally moving on, and he couldn’t very well let his own feelings impose on that. Even if he knew the jealousy would damn near kill him; even if it was getting harder and harder to hide his feelings every day; even if he wished Starsky would open his eyes and see how much he truly meant to him. 

So instead of saying anything, he chose to match Starsky’s silence and stare out the window until they arrived at the station. 

Then of course there was no time to even consider talking about it once they were inside, because the moment they stepped through the door the tell-tale “Starsky, Hutchinson!” was being hollered from Dobey’s office. 

Starsky still hadn’t looked at him, not since the moment in the car, but he finally glanced over, meeting Hutch’s eyes — and rolled his — with a crooked smile. “After you.” He said, stepping to the side for Hutch to walk first. 

“Whatcha got for us, Captain?” Hutch said as he  entered the office. 

“Are you boys familiar with the string of jewelry store robberies this month?” Dobey asked. 

“Five robberies in the past 3 weeks, all after hours, no alarms triggered, no witnesses, nada.” Starsky answered. He clicked the door closed behind him and leaned back against it, once again seeming to be avoiding eye contact with Hutch. 

Dobey looked between the two, and Hutch wondered if he picked up on the weird behavior as well. “Yeah. Exactly.” He said after a moment and turned his attention back to his paperwork. “I want you two to go back and question the owners again. There has to be something we missed. Something that connects these cases.” Starsky groaned and began to protest but was stopped by Dobey raising his hand and glaring. “No buts; so far we have nothing to go on, no leads, and like you said no witnesses. Someone knows something. It’s too much of a coincidence for five major jewelry stores to be hit and not one of them have anything we can use to catch the robbers.” 

Hutch glanced at Starsky, who didn’t look thrilled —  to be fair neither was he — to be chasing their tails with questions they already had gotten answers to. But Dobey shooed them out and it wasn’t like they had much choice in the matter. So they sulked out of the building, and back to the Torino, to head out on a wild goose chase. 

The first and second stores gave them the same answers they had before; this time with more attitude. The third refused to speak to them again and the fourth was closed for lunch when they arrived. Both men were thoroughly annoyed by the time they pulled into a spot in front of the last stop. 

S&H

“So you mean to tell me, you closed the night of the robbery.” Hutch began. The clerk nodded, looking between the two cops. “Set the alarms.” Another nod. “Made sure everything was locked up.” Nod. “Yet the next morning you're pretty much wiped out.” The man tugged nervously at his collar; guilt was practically oozing from his every pore; he once again nodded. “No alarms. No broken windows. No busted down doors. Hey, Starsk, maybe the robber’s a ghost.” 

“Or Houdini.” Starsky laughed, sparing a quick side glance at Hutch, before focusing his stare back at the questionably more nervous by the second store clerk. “Look, sir, all we’re sayin’ is it just seems odd. So if you wouldn’t mind, I’m gonna ask you again. Is there something you aren’t telling us.” The man looked ready to break any second. Starsky and Hutch leaned over the counter towards him. “Well?”

“O- okay. Look. I left the back door unlocked for him that night.” 

“Why?” They asked simultaneously.

“I was instructed to. He — He said he would pay me nicely. A- and he did. I received it from a stranger the next day outside my car.” Starsky eyed the man suspiciously, but he was talking clearly and certain for the first time since their initial questioning. “I — I mean I didn’t just do it for the money.” He continued, giving the cops a pleading look. “He said if I didn’t comply, he’d be paying me instead with a personal visit. Maybe he was bluffing, but I couldn’t risk it. My wife’s pregnant.” The man sniffled and covered his face as he turned into a sobbing mess. 

Hutch turned to Starsky; Starsky looked back at him. Finally Hutch sighed. “I don’t suppose he gave you a name, did he?” Knowing the answer before the man even responded, He sighed again. “Well.. thanks for filling us in on this… new information. If you think of anything else please don’t hesitate to call.” 

Starsky rubbed at his eyes, tiredly; annoyedly. “What’s the chance of this being the only one that was a set up?” 

“Slim…” Hutch replied. He opened the passenger door and plopped down into the seat. “Suppose we should go back and try one more time with the other stores?” Starsky sighed, nodded and cranked the car, whipping it around to drive back to the other stores.

— — —

In no time, Starsky and Hutch were sitting in Dobey’s office with five confessions. 1

“Five robberies, five paid off workers.” The captain said, shaking his head at the insanity he’d just heard. “Good work you two. At least we have something to work with. Now we just need to find a way to identify the robber… making threats like that, someone is bound to not oblige and end up hurt.” Both Starsky and Hutch agreed and stood to get back on it. “Maybe you could ask Huggy?” Dobey suggested as they got up. 

“Now Captain… that sounds like a good idea.” Starsky smirked at Hutch’s sarcasm. Huggy’s was their next stop after filling in Dobey on the new lead anyway. Huggy’s was always their next stop on tough cases. “Starsk, why hadn’t we thought of that.” Hutch continued, holding the door open for Starsky and placing a hand on his shoulder as he walked through; it froze Starsky in his tracks. Starsky could sense the captain’s eyes rolling at them, but his attention was focused on the hand touching him. The way he squeezed his shoulder; the way his thumb moved back and forth almost soothingly. It was a simple gesture. One Hutch had probably done dozens — hell thousands — of times. Why was this time different? Was this time different? 

It took him a moment before he registered he had zoned out. The hand was gone. He was being stared at. “Everything alright, Starsky?” Dobey asked first. 

“Uh — Yeah. Yeah everything’s… fine.” Now doesn’t that sound believable. Starsky mentally scolded himself. He figured he should say something more convincing, but instead he just walked past Hutch, and through the bullpen. If Hutch was confused by it — or even Dobey — he didn’t stick around to notice; but he really was beginning to wish Hutch had driven his own car. 

Thank god Huggy’s was close. 

— — —

Hutch didn’t mention it, so Starsky didn’t mention it. But the awkwardness was apparently not well hidden. First to notice was the waitress who approached them. “Hey boys, can I getcha anything?” She asked. 

“N- no… Thank you. J- Just Huggy.” Starsky said, then wished he’d let Hutch speak; damning his own vocals for betraying him. 

“Everything alright, Starsky?”

“I’m fine!” He snapped — and he really didn’t mean to snap — running his hand through his hair. “I just — we need to see Huggy… please.” 

The lady eyed him for a moment, and he tried to use every ounce of strength to look ‘fine’. “Hmmm…” She mumbled turning and walking away. “He’ll be right down.” 

“Starsk…” Hutch tried and Starsky shook his head. 

“M’fine, Hutch.” He sighed. “This case is just annoying and I feel like there’s something we’re missing. Something right there in our faces…” 

He dared to look at Hutch. “Yeah… Yeah I know what you mean.” Hutch said; he looked about as stumped as Starsky felt. 

“What it is…” Huggy said, relieving the awkwardness, and sitting with the partners at the bar. “What it do?” Starsky finally broke eye contact with Hutch and turned to Huggy. “Or I guess I should rephrase, What is it I can do… for you?” Starsky laughed; although it did make him feel a bit bad that it was apparent they were only here for information. 

“Hug, I swear if you can help us finally close this case I’ll buy one of everything tonight.” 

“You know I don’t mind helping y’all.” Huggy scoffed. “But… I do have a new item on the menu I think you’d find appealing to your taste buds. A triple bacon mushroom and Swiss cheeseburger, with a creamy aioli and my own special seasoning.” 

Starsky could already feel his mouth watering. 

“That sounds amazing Huggy.” Hutch said — well lied. “But first… what can you tell us about some jewelry store robberies over the past few weeks.”

“Jewelry stores?” Huggy repeated; Hutch nodded.

“At each one a worker was paid to leave the door unlocked.” Huggy thought for a moment. 

“Well… the only jewelry heist with talk on the street— that I know of — was an inside job at Rhudys.”

“Rhudy’s… that was the first store to come clean about leaving the doors unlocked.” Hutch said, nudging Starsky’s arm. 

“Apparently the mastermind’s ol lady is expecting, and I guess Mr. Rhudy don’t pay enough to cover the cost of childcare.” Huggy laughed, as the realization had Starsky and Hutch instantly up and heading out of the bar. “Alright I’ll see you two tonight… for Huggy’s Double Decker Special!” He yelled before the door slammed shut. 

— — —

Piecing it together was easy after that. 

The store clerk sang like a canary when he realized Starsky and Hutch knew he was behind the robbery. He even gave himself away as being the one to bribe the other store's associates as well. 

“Now, I don’t have children…” Starsky said as he clicked the handcuffs around the clerk’s wrists. “But I really don’t think it’s so expensive you gotta go and turn yourself into a felon.” He tucked the man’s head down as he pushed him into a squad car. He tapped the hood and the cop pulled away, clearing the space between him and Hutch across the street talking to the store owner. 

The sun was just starting to set, and the dim dusk light didn’t do much for illuminating Hutch’s features. Not that he needed them illuminated for Starsky to be mesmerized by his partner. He was staring again. At least he caught himself this time. He blinked a few times and looked around; at the sky, the Torino, the road… and then he came back to Hutch, who was now looking at him. 

Their eyes met. 

Hutch smiled. 

Starsky’s heart stopped. 

It was that smile…

S&H

Starsky thought he must look like he was in pain; he felt like he was… that was for sure. But Hutch crossed the road to him and looked concerned.  

“Let’s get back and get this report typed up then head to Huggy’s, huh?” Hutch said, nudging Starsky towards the Torino. He was hungry; it had been a long day, and he hadn’t eaten. Everyone knew that Starsky didn’t function well going that long without food. Hutch must have been an expert on the fact by now. Starsky was relieved there was something he could blame his awkwardness on. 

“Uh — yeah… Yeah that sounds good.”

“Starsk…” Hutch asked. “Is something the matter? Are you ok?” 

“What!? Yeah…” Starsky put on a smile, and he wondered if Hutch could tell it was forced. “I’m fine. I’m hungry.” 

— — —

‘I’m hungry’, he’d said, yet he sat with his head propped up on a fist, poking his burger with a fry rather than eating it. “Starsk…” he heard from across the table.

“M’fine Hutch…”

“Well you’re not acting fine!” Hutch pressed. Starsky flicked his eyes up towards him, and Hutch smiled softly; Starsky felt the dreaded butterflies in his stomach. “C’mon Starsky, this stuff’s your favorite! Pure junk!” Hutch picked up his own burger and took a bite; rolling his eyes in clearly forced bliss. “So… good…”

Starsky stared at him incredulously. Hutch’s attempts at lifting his spirits were unfortunately working. He could feel his lips twitching, wanting to smirk, then smile; he forced them to stay still. A smile would lead to a chuckle; a chuckle to a laugh; a laugh would only encourage Hutch to keep up his act. Before long Starsky would be lost simply in his being… so him. Stuck goofily staring at his partner; falling head over heels farther in love. Lost in a daydream that wasn’t real. 

And he was just too tired for all that. 

“Everything tasting as divine as promised?” Huggy asked, walking over to their table. 

“Actually Hug, m’not too hungry... ” Starsky lied. “Think I might just take this home…” He gave Huggy an apologetic smile after he went behind the counter and came back with a styrofoam plate for the food. “You know what I could use right now, though… something hard…”

“Aw, Starsk…” Hutch groaned. “You really want a hangover tomorrow at work?” 

“Yes.” Starsky said flatly. Anything would be better than having to go home with a head full of pointless hopes and never gonna happens. It might lead to more pleasant dreams that only end with him waking up to reality. Hutch sighed but didn’t push trying to stop him. “Make it a double, Hug.” 

Huggy looked from Starksy to Hutch, shrugged and obliged. 

S&H

That double became a triple; soon Starsky had to have been seeing stars because his eyes were simply floating in their sockets. Once Hutch decided he was well past three sheets to the wind, he put his foot down. “Starsk, that’s enough, let’s get you home.” He took out his wallet to pay, and Starsky swatted it from his hands. 

“I… gahdit!” He slurred. He stood up and swayed, almost toppling forward, as he dug in his pocket for his own wallet. Inside were a couple singles and a gum wrapper. He scoffed. Hutch again opened his wallet to pay. Again Starsky objected. “Hush! I said… I gahdit! Sheesh!” He lifted his badge, and slid his finger behind his license, pulling out a twenty and a folded up piece of paper.

“Your lady friend from last night's number?” Hutch teased. 

“Oh… shit… Sh- Shuddup Hush… you didn’t — you didn’t see that… ok?” Hutch laughed and agreed to pacify him. “Good… Lesgo…”

— — — 

Hutch practically carried Starsky the whole way from the bar to the Torino; from the Torino to his apartment. He tried to get him to his bed but settled for the couch, dropping Starsky down onto the cushions. Starsky landed hard, and instantly toppled to the side. He was asleep before Hutch even caught his breath from the workout. 

Hutch grabbed his legs and straightened them out on the couch, jostling Starsky enough he rolled over towards the back. Hutch went to his room for a blanket, and as he draped it over him he noticed Starsky’s wallet had fallen out. He picked it up and looked at his sleeping partner. 

He knew if he was dipping into his secret stash that was all the money he had until payday. Hutch was constantly on Starsky about not blowing through his money… but he was also his best friend. He pulled a twenty out of his own wallet and opened Starsky’s to slide it into place. The piece of paper was just poking out enough to be seen; Hutch contemplated for a short while, looking up at Starsky, then back at the paper. Quietly he pulled it out, chuckling at finding some girl's name and probably a fake number scribbled on the paper, completely unprepared for what he was about to read. 

Tears pricked his eyes as the quick realization the letter was from Terry sunk in, and a wave of guilt washed over him. He was about to just fold it up and put it back when he read something… odd. 

He had your heart long before I did…

And how could that not topple his curiosity over the limit.  

He read the letter. 

Hutch stood; frozen. There was a swirling mix of shock and confusion inside him. 

He will make you so happy… He loves you… 

He?

Hutch felt a cool breeze blow past him; he looked towards the window despite knowing they were all shut. You know who He is, Hutch. 

[sazandorable]

About moderating and banning content on AO3!

Okay so! I haven’t had the spoons to do this for a while but I cracked and ranted about it on twitter which is... not... conducive to long rants, so!

This is a h u g e discussion part of the l o n g history that led to the creation of AO3, which older, more informed, and more articulate people have talked about at length and can be found around if you look (I reblog some of it in my AO3 and fandom history tags for the curious). So I won’t go into that here, nor into the practical reasons why it’s not even possible to put that system in place anyway.

Arbitrarily, or the purpose of this post, because it’s the biggest topic I’ve seen brought up lately, I’ll be talking about fic depicting underage characters in se*ual situations, but honestly I could hold the exact same conversation on literally any controversial content.

This is about why you, specifically, if you are a content creator and especially if you are marginalised and especially if you are queer and especially especially if you are sensitive to fiction depicting certain things... do not, actually, want a banning system on AO3.

What? Of course we do. There’s a lot of p*do shit on AO3 and p*do shit is gross. No one should condone that, wtf? It would be easy to do — just periodically delete the entire Underage tag!

What will happen if that is done is that people will re-upload and continue to write it, they’ll just stop tagging and you will run into it with zero warning nor ability to filter it out. Again, this is not a theoretical — we know this is what happens. When I was a teen, adult content (all adult content) was not allowed on FF.NET; it was everywhere regardless, and without tags. The exact same thing happened on tumblr when adult content was banned as well. It’s not a matter of “staff not handling it well” — it just doesn’t work.

To keep safe the people who need to be able to exclude that tag, that tag needs to exist and be used.

Well, shucks. A reporting system then?

A reporting system would operate in one of two ways:

-an algorithm, which would delete a lot of stuff we wouldn’t want it to delete.

-humans, which is... the bigger problem.

An algorithm sounds great. We do want it to delete everything.

Okay. What about the daddy k*nk fics between consenting adult characters? What about the fics featuring characters that are children in the canon but are adults in the fic? What about the fics about teenagers exploring their se*uality together, written by adults about the experiences they remember having or wish they could have had? What about the thousands of SasuNaru and Drarry and other shounen and YA fics that will get written, by teens or by people who remember being teens? What about the se*ually explicit fic written by teens who are se*ually active in real life? What about the fics about CSA as trauma, about healing from it? What about the fics written by survivors of CSA to cope about their trauma? What about the fics that clearly show that it’s evil and traumatic? What about the super dark, harrowing, but beautiful and artistic that I’m glad I read even though it fucked me up for days? What about the ones that were really shitty but also horribly hot?

Well, some of these are still not okay, but maybe some might be. It depends on how it’s written. We’ll have humans moderating content and deciding, then.

Okay.

The thing is, I don’t know which of the things I just listed were okay for you to be depicted in fiction and which were too much. Odds are I don’t agree with you. Odds are if I asked 10 people randomly picked off the street, not everyone would agree.

Odds are, even if AO3 arbitrarily decided on which of those are allowed and which are not, you would not agree with their choice, and you would still be unhappy with the decision. (Or you would be happy, but your friends wouldn’t.)

Odds are, different AO3 content moderators might not agree on whether a given fic qualifies or not — is it artistic enough? Does it show enough that these actions are evil and wrong? Can the author prove they’re a teenager? Can the author prove they are a CSA victim? Can the author prove that this is to help them cope with their trauma? The author seem to be functioning alright, they mustn’t really be traumatised!

You know what I mean! There’s absolute, objectively gross shit out there that is not artistic and should not be published.

I agree that there’s vile stuff out there that makes me sick and that I think is very clearly just ped*philic trash. But there is no way to, 1) stop those from getting published anyway, 2) take those down and preserve the safety of everything else.

If we start forbidding some things, there’s two ways to go about it.

One single, clear, arbitrary rule — for instance, absolutely no adult content featuring characters under 18 (leaving aside the fact that this would not even work for the reason cited above). So we lose all the stuff from teenagers, all the coming of age stories about adolescence, all the stuff from CSA survivors; people who need to write it can’t publish it anymore, and people who need to read it can’t anymore either (and as a cool bonus, they’re told it’s wrong and made to feel bad about it). Depending on whether the rules applies to characters that are under 18 in the canon, we lose entire fandoms.

Or, subjective moderation by humans, according to what they estimate to be gross.

Let’s assume all moderators can agree on what’s gross or not.

If there is a system in place to ban some underage works because “gross shit”, then that means other gross stuff can be taken down on account of being gross and harmful.

Yeah! Gross stuff should be taken down! Come on, surely everyone agrees on what’s gross and harmful.

Ah.

But the problem is.

Here is a list of things I have seen — with my eyes seen — called harmful to be depicted in fiction:

Murder

Non-con

Inc*st

Cannibalism

Torture

Self-harm

Mental illness

Drugs

Racism

K*nk

Non-negotiated k*nk, but healthy k*nk is ok

Spanking k*nk

BDSM where the woman is a bottom, but woman top is ok

Healthy depictions of BDSM

Unhealthy depictions of BDSM

Queer people doing bad things

Abusive relationships

Rival/Enemies to lovers

Redemption stories

A happy relationship between a 17 yo and an 18 yo

A happy relationship between a 20 yo and a 60 yo

A happy relationship between a boss and their employee, or a college teacher and a student

A happy relationship between a 14 yo boy and an older teenage boy, because that’s reminiscent of older men preying on younger gay boys IRL

Se*ual content featuring a character whose age is unclear in canon and some people headcanon them as being underage, some as being a young adult

Loving, consensual fluff between characters that are evil villains, because it romanticises them and their actions

Dark content shipping female characters

Fluffy content shipping female characters, because it’s misogynistic to act like lesbians are only soft all the time

Consensual s*x featuring a canonically asexual character, because it implies that all aces can and should still have se*

Fics about the same canonically asexual character hating s*x, because that erases the experience of s*x-positive aces

Shipping a character who is perceived by some fans as queer-coded with a character of a different s*x

The tendency to ship a black character with white characters

Fluffy drunk s*x, because that’s not actually consensual

Sleep s*x, because that’s not actually consensual

Trans characters not experiencing dysphoria, because that idealises the trans experience

Consensual s*x between adults that are not married

LGBT+ content, because kids shouldn’t see that.

I guarantee you: you, I, and 10 random people plucked from the street will not agree on what, in that list, is and isn’t okay to publish and consume fiction of.

So why should your taste be the one followed? Why should it be the taste of mods you don’t know? Why should anyone get to dictate? What if the mods think your OTP is gross and your NOTP is fine?

This is the slippery slope argument.

Yes, it is the slippery slope argument. Because we know it happens. Because we’ve been there, because I’ve seen it happen myself twice already and I’m not even thirty. Because we know people do complain loudly about all of these things.

And because the second there is a banning system in place, assholes will use the system to abuse it and get stuff they just don’t like taken down using the “it is gross” argument, and one day you’ll wake up and the beautiful fic that helped you come to terms with your abuse/trauma/identity/orientation/k*nk for feet will be taken down and wonderful vulnerable creative people will have been harassed out of fandom because they argued with 1 person who didn’t like their foot k*nk fic that happened to also feature, for instance, a CSA trauma backstory.

Again: not exaggerating. Not theoretical. It happens, we know it happens, AO3 was created literally because it happens.

I still fucking hate that stuff.

That is completely fine and normal. No one likes everything. Me too! Most of the dark stuff is niche and the creators know only few people will like it the same way they do.

(For the record, I get grossed out and triggered by fics about an asexual character who does not like s*x having s*x with their partner to make them happy. Deep in my gut everything screams that that’s fucked up, terrifying and harmful, how can people write that. But I recognise that there are people who love and need that, and I leave those people and their content alone.

OTOH, I read a lot of otherwise dark shit and I enjoy it in the same way I enjoyed, say, Hannibal, in the same way some people enjoy true crime documentaries, horror movies or r*pe fantasy k*nk. It helps me explore stuff that I like to see in fiction, in a safe, controlled way. I’m also asexual, 90% s*x-repulsed IRL, and, obviously, I would never abuse a child. For that matter, I wouldn’t kill and eat people, either, nor would I do 90% of the tamer k*nky stuff I read.

Of course, Hannibal was fucked up and lots of people probably think Hannibal was gross and should not have been aired — but as exemplified by the fact that it was created, aired and watched, lots of people thought it was fine, interesting and even fun to watch.)

You can and should curate your experience and protect yourself. The AO3 website now allows you to exclude certain tags, and people have developed tools to help with that such as plugins that save your filters or hide fics that contain certain words.

But no, it isn’t going to, and it shouldn’t, get banned.

[quickspinner]

Oops - Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

Summary: A little too much alcohol, a drunken hookup, it happens all the time, right? Marinette didn't mean to drink so much, and she didn't mean to wake up in a stranger's bed, but she did, and now this morning isn't going at all the way she expected. When Luka asks to see her again, she can't think of a good reason to say no...and the one night she never meant to have turns out to be the beginning of something she never could have anticipated.

Alya thinks its hysterical--only Marinette could take home a one night stand and end up with a date. But when the one night stand turns into a series of hookups, Alya's starting to get concerned. Clearly it's up to her to rein Marinette in before the girl gets seriously hurt.

Rating: M - this is a little spicier than my usual fare but not really explicit? There’s a lot of off screen sex and reference to sexy things and adult activities, some drinking (obviously), cursing/foul language. 

Credit to my tumblr followers for this one, because one day I went "hey, you guys want to see some bits from the folder of fics I'm never going to finish?" and one of the bits I posted was the beginning of this story, and people liked it more than I was expecting, and then it was "well, you know, I did think about doing blahblah" and "I'd sure love to see that!" and the next thing you know I've added five thousand words with no sign of stopping. In Marinette’s words: Oops. So, with much love to my followers and readers across platforms, here's the fic I never intended to finish, and I hope you enjoy it!

I'm splitting it into two chapters but they'll both be uploaded within a few minutes, so if you finish the first part and the second one isn't posted yet, just wait a little and try back. Also, much love to @livrever for talking me down off the ledge and beta reading this one. 

Marinette woke up with a mouth that felt like cotton and a pounding headache. She groaned, and pressed her face into the pillow. It...smelled funny. Not bad, just...not like home. 

Oh. Because she hadn’t gone home last night. At least, not to her home. 

“Are you shitting me right now?” 

Marinette jumped, and sat up, clutching the sheets to her still-naked body. Her head reeled and she whimpered as she pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. The door to the bedroom was cracked and she could see a sliver of light beyond it that blinked in and out. It seemed her...friend, was pacing in the other room, and from the sound of it, he wasn’t very happy. 

“—crosses a line, Jean. What? No, that’s not the point, Jean, you got me hammered without my consent! How can you not see the problem here? No, you know what, my head is killing me and I’m sick of yelling at you, obviously this can’t be fixed. As of right now, we are no longer friends. Don’t call me, don’t talk to me, if you see me coming just walk the other way. I’m done with you.”

There was a thump and a sigh and an emphatic “Fuck.”  

Marinette just sat there, holding the sheet over her chest, and blinked, trying to figure out what she should do and think through the fog in her brain. She didn’t exactly have a whole lot of experience in these situations. Was she supposed to just…

Before she could form any ideas, he came in with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. He had a pair of tattered but well-fitting jeans on with patterned boxers peeking out from the waistband, but no shirt, and there was a lot of muscle and bare skin on display and oh God he had sex hair, and it was her hands that had done it. Marinette swallowed and twisted her fingers tighter in the sheets, suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded.

“Hi,” he said gently. “I’m Luka, in case you don’t remember. Sorry if I woke you. How are you feeling? I mean, hung over, obviously, but on a scale of just let me die to I might conceivably want to live to tomorrow …” He gave her a smile that perhaps wasn’t entirely confident, and Marinette couldn’t help a small smile back. 

“I think I’m not quite up to dancing to the metal band playing in my head, but pretty far from oh God where’s the bathroom, so I’ll take it, all things considered.” She took the glass of water he offered and he opened the aspirin bottle and shook a couple out into her palm. That was sweet, she thought. At least he wasn’t just tossing her clothes at her and kicking her out. How could she have let herself end up in a position like this?

Luka sat on the edge of the bed and watched her take the pills. “Man, you’re really gorgeous. I thought at least some of it would be the booze, but—“ He looked away, clearing his throat. “Lucky me.”

Marinette’s face burned. “Thanks,” she said softly, not sure what else to say. At least he was nice, she thought. At least she hadn’t slept with a jerk. And he’d certainly been...considerate. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t enjoyed herself, just...

“How much do you remember about last night?” he asked. His voice was rough, but he kept it soft. “I’m sorry for asking but I was way more drunk last night than I ever let myself get and I don’t think I blacked out but some things are...spotty.”

“Most of it, I think,” Marinette flashed him an embarrassed smile. “The good parts for sure. The details and...transitions, I guess, are a little hazy. I don’t remember how we got here from the club, for example.”

“But you remember being here, with me.” His eyes fell to her neck and shoulders and he winced. “Man I really marked you up, I’m sorry. I hope that’s not going to get you in trouble.” His eyes widened slightly. “Please tell me you aren’t married.”

“No,” she yelped. “No, I’m not married. Totally single.” She put her face in her hand. “Absolutely, devastatingly, recently single.” 

Luka let out a sigh of relief and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Bad breakup?”

She sighed. “Very. Bad breakup, bad best friend applying bad breakup logic that lands me my very first one night stand. Yay me.”

“Um, I’m honored?” Luka grinned sheepishly. “Although, I mean...it doesn’t have to be. Just the one night, I mean. Not that—” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Even as drunk as I was, I know I had a lot of fun last night.” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “And even before I got too drunk to function I wanted to get your number.” He rolled his eyes. “Apparently one of my so-called friends decided I needed a little extra liquid courage.” 

“I wish I had an excuse,” Marinette muttered, shoulders curling inward. “I just...didn’t want to be sad anymore.” She frowned as what he’d said and the conversation she’d overheard connected in her brain. “Are you...okay?”

“I’m pissed off,” Luka huffed, and then smiled again. “But I’m fine. I didn’t do— much I wouldn’t have done anyway. Just, not necessarily in that order, or that soon. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m...not sure,” Marinette sighed, adjusting her grip on the sheet she held to her chest. “I don’t know how I feel. I definitely did some things I wouldn’t have done sober. You, specifically,” she joked weakly. “Not that you aren’t—not that I didn’t—“

“I get it,” he chuckled. 

“But...I’m on birth control, and…” she turned and craned her neck to look at the spilled box and empty wrappers on the nightstand. “We used protection, and…” she looked at Luka, worrying her lip. 

“I’m clean,” he supplied.

“Me too,” she whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “And you’re hot and you seem nice and it’s not like it didn’t feel good, and I definitely wasn’t sad for a while, so…” She shrugged. “I’m a little embarrassed but...I think I’m okay too.”

“Well, no need to be embarrassed with me,” Luka grinned. “I’m definitely not judging.” 

They sat smiling at each other for a moment, and then Luka seemed to remember something, because he winced. “Umm...about your dress,” he coughed. “I am so, so sorry but it seems drunk me was kinda impatient and your dress is in pieces on my living room floor.” 

Marinette just blinked at him for a moment...and then she started to laugh. Luka grinned, and then started to chuckle along with her. She laughed harder and grabbed her head. “Ow, ow, oh my God.” Without thinking she leaned forward to drop her head on Luka’s shoulder. 

He stiffened up for a second, but then relaxed, and one of his hands slipped into her hair. His fingers began to rub in small circles. 

“Mmm, that’s good,” she sighed, and felt Luka’s chuckle.

“Well that sounds familiar,” he said, his voice going a little deeper. Marinette shivered. She felt him swallow, and his face dipped slightly towards her. “I like your perfume,” he said, and had to clear his throat again. Marinette’s face warmed.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. His fingers continued to rub her aching head, and the pain actually seemed to be receding a bit, though whether from the massage or the painkillers he’d given her, she wasn’t sure.

She should sit up. He was a stranger, after all, and just because they’d—she wasn’t exactly experienced at this kind of thing but this wasn’t really fitting in with what she imagined a morning after to be like. She probably looked weird, leaning on him like...like they were a couple or something, and—

Luka’s hands shifted and began to comb gently, slowly through her hair, and Marinette let out a small moan. She felt his breath hitch and bit her lip, embarrassed. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“What for?” he asked, but there was a rough edge to his voice that—she was being silly though, he’d performed last night, and then they’d done all that drinking, and...and those other things, and it was no wonder if his voice was—

That voice was doing things to her, though, and reminding her of—things, and this time it was her breath that caught as the fingers that had been moving through her hair kept going down this time, sliding along her spine, raising goosebumps and reminding her that she was still very much naked. 

“Do you, um,” Luka began, in the exact same deep tones that had made her leave the club with him last night. “Do you have anywhere you need to be right now?” 

His fingers stilled, resting at the small of her back, and Marinette couldn’t see his face since hers was still buried in his shoulder. It was hard to think when he was so warm, and her nose was brushing his collarbone, and she’d hardly have to move to press her lips against his smooth skin. 

She barely knew him. But...well...that hadn’t stopped her last night, so...

Marinette took a deep breath, and lifted her head, sitting back slightly to look at him. His breathing was steady as he looked back at her, almost too steady, but his eyes were dark. 

“No,” she managed, barely above a whisper. 

Luka’s hands moved up her back to trail up and down her arms. “Then, do you want to stay for a while longer?” They were swaying towards each other. “Maybe…” They were kissing before he could finish the thought. Marinette put her arms around his neck automatically, but as his arms went around her, pulling her closer, she dropped her hands back down again to rub over his broad, firm shoulders. 

“Again?” he managed to get out between the fevered kisses, and Marinette made an affirmative noise, but he didn’t move until she broke away long enough to gasp, “Yes.” 

He was pulling away the sheet between them even as he wrapped one arm around her and dragged her more fully onto the bed, settling her below him with surprising gentleness. Okay, that was hot, Marinette decided, burying her fingers in his already-messy hair as he began retracing the path he’d marked along her neck last night. Last night had been a really, really stupid decision, but this? As he pulled back to look at her, eyes clear and sharp instead of the hazy, unfocused gaze he’d had the night before, and brushed her hair tenderly back from her face before kissing her again, softly, and then deeply, Marinette began to feel that this morning was by far the best decision she’d made in a long time. 

***

He should get up, Luka thought hazily, listening to his shower running. He should at least put his boxers back on or something. Change the sheets. Make some coffee. Something.

Instead he lay there, limp and relaxed, listening to the shower, and trying to hold on to this feeling of languid contentment.

God, he felt so good. Marinette was an amazing partner, sweet and so responsive, practically melting under his touch, firm and toned but soft in all the right places, and her little gasps and hums drove him crazy. She was bolder than he expected, an amazing kisser even drunk off her ass last night, and her mouth was so pretty and soft, and this morning...his body hummed with echoes of pleasure as he thought about it. 

He rolled over, hugging his pillow, and grinned. He could still smell her perfume. That scent was engraved in his mind; it was one of the things that was clearest to him from the jumbled mix of memories of the night before. Luka remembered dancing with Marinette, dropping his head to hear something she was saying, and inhaling that scent, vivid despite the riot of smells that permeated the dance floor. He remembered being surrounded by it in the blur that was the cab ride home. He remembered gasping it in on the living room floor...did they fall? He thought he remembered one of them tripping over the doorstep. Even just now, with all his senses full of her, he had found traces of it on her skin, at her jaw and right behind her ear. 

Luka shivered, buried his face in the pillow, and breathed deep. 

He’d played a killer set last night, he’d gone home with a beautiful woman who was great in bed, had somehow managed not to humiliate himself despite his spiked drinks, and he had nowhere to be today. This morning would be perfect if he wasn’t dead certain that Marinette was going to leave and he would never see her again. 

He really wanted to see her again. 

Which was why he hadn’t wanted things to happen this way, damn it. He sighed, this time burying his face in the pillow to muffle his groan. He was supposed to flirt with her, get her number, ask her out, think with his brain and not his—hormones. 

He was still going to kill his so-called friend. There was no justifying what Jean had done. If Victor had been working it never would have happened, but he’d called out for the night and apparently whoever had replaced him had been more than happy to make sure Luka’s drinks were stronger than advertised.

Bastards, both of them. 

Even if it hadn’t turned out too badly. 

Rock Giant blared out from his nightstand, and Luka flopped on his back and grabbed for his phone, forcing his eyes open as he answered it. “Hello?” he grumbled. 

Silence. Luka frowned, and opened his mouth, but the person on the other end finally said, “I’m looking for Marinette.” 

What? Luka frowned, and then pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. It was pink. 

Right. Because he’d found Marinette’s dead phone on the floor this morning when he got up, and he’d picked it up and set it in his charger, while he took his own to the living room to call and yell at Jean. Then he’d hurled his phone into the couch and left it there.

Shit. 

“Ah,” he said, reaching up with his other hand to run his fingers through his hair. “She’s, um, in the shower. I can tell her to call you when she gets out.” 

“Tell her to call Alya. If I don’t hear from her in fifteen minutes, I’m calling the police,” the girl on the other end of the line said coldly, and then hung up.

“Oops,” Luka muttered, setting Marinette’s phone back on the nightstand with a sigh. He hoped she wouldn’t be too mad at him. He probably should have come up with a more ambiguous excuse, something she could use for a cover if she didn’t want to admit to this Alya person that she’d gone home with a guy, but he wasn’t exactly thinking on his feet this morning. 

He should get up. He sat up with a groan and swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

He registered that the shower was no longer running at about the same time that the door opened. Luka looked up and his jaw dropped as Marinette shuffled shyly into the room.

Shit, he’d seen her naked less than an hour ago, why was he still blushing?  She was wearing two of his shirts, a t-shirt with one of his button-ups over it, open at the front and with the sleeves rolled up, cinched at her waist with her scarf from the night before. He couldn’t look away from that scarf for a moment, a pink, gauzy thing the sight of which brought Luka another vivid memory of pressing his face against her neck to inhale her perfume as he untied it. His eyes flicked up to the lovely pattern of bruises along her neck. 

“Thanks for letting me raid your closet,” Marinette said, tugging slightly at the hem of his shirt. She had what looked like a pair of his black bike shorts on underneath. They were too big for her but damn did her legs look good anyway.

“No problem,” he coughed, and cleared his throat, reaching for the glass of water that was still sitting on his nightstand. Ugh, when did he become such a horn dog, drooling like this over a woman who had already more than satisfied him. Why did Jean have to decide to be a jerk last night, of all nights. Luka didn’t want things to end like this. 

“Well, I should...If you maybe have a bag I can put my dress in? Then I can just go and get out of your hair.” Marinette couldn’t seem to be still, feet shuffling, hands fluttering, not looking at him.

I have to fix this, was the only thing he could think as he stared at her. I’ll regret it forever if she just walks out.

“Actually,” Luka said quickly, trying desperately not to sound too desperate, “I was going to ask if I could buy you breakfast.” 

That stilled her. She froze, staring at him, and he forced himself to go on. “No pressure,” he shrugged, “But the café on the corner has a great all-day brunch menu. And I’d like to make it up to you, about the dress.” He grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. Marinette’s eyes followed the motion and he thought he saw pink tint her cheeks. Well, at least it wasn’t just him. “Breakfast probably doesn’t begin to cover it, but it’s a start. If you don’t mind waiting for me to shower.” 

Marinette was shuffling again. “O-okay,” she said. “I’ll, um...I’ll wait for you in the other room?”

Luka chuckled. “Sure.” He waited a moment, but when she just stood there, he tossed aside the sheet covering his lap and stood. “I’ll be quick,” he told her with a grin that he was extremely sure she didn’t see. She squeaked as he passed her and he had to smother his laughter, even as he closed the bathroom door behind him. She was too cute, and her ogling made him feel less like a creep for his own.

Then he cursed and opened the door again, leaning just his upper half out. “Oh, I need to tell you, you need to call, um, Alya? I’m really sorry, but we have the same ringtone and I answered without thinking. Can you call her back before she sends the cops after me? I can’t deal with Officer Roger this early in the morning.”

Marinette paused, and then let out a strangled laugh, dropping her head into her hand. “Yeah,” she sighed, but she was smiling when she looked up at him. “Sure, I can do that.” 

Luka smiled back. “I'll only be a few minutes.” 

He did want to be quick, but he also wanted to be clean and attractive, so he throttled back his impatience as best he could to make sure that he both smelled and looked good. The bedroom was still empty when he came in, but the door wasn’t shut all the way and he could hear Marinette on the phone. He felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but it wasn’t as if he could help it. 

“—about that but it’s not like I ditched you on purpose. Well obviously I was wasted, Alya, so I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.  No, I’m really fine. I’m kind of embarrassed and I feel really stupid, but...it turned out okay. Hmm? No, he’s really sweet and considerate. He’s, um, buying me breakfast, so…what? No, Alya, I’m not stupid, I know that. He’s just being nice and—okay that is none of your business! ” There was a giggle that followed that, and then her voice dropped too quiet for him to hear, and another giggle, one that made him smile from the sheer joy evident in it. “I guess I got lucky in more ways than one.” She sighed. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me. I really am fine. Not even sick, much. I mean I had a headache for a while, but...” She giggled again. “Luka took care of it. Mm-hmm, so good, Alya, oh my God.” Luka grinned to himself as he dug in his closet to find the stack of leftover merch he had crammed into the back corner. “Nuh uh, also none of your business. Anyway, I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way back, okay?”

Stop being a smug bastard , Luka told himself, but it wasn’t working very well. Given the state she had reduced him to, it was gratifying to know she’d enjoyed herself too. Well, he had known that, he’d made sure of it, but it still felt good to hear it from her. Maybe his odds were better than he thought. He found what he was looking for and tried to turn his smirk into something less incriminating before he opened his door and emerged into the living room. From the way Marinette’s face turned red, he failed. “I really gotta go,” she mumbled into the phone, eyes on him. “Bye, Alya.” 

“I hope this will do,” Luka said, offering her the cheap mesh tote with his band logo on it. “You can keep it, we use them to bag up merch when people by t-shirts and stuff for the band...I hope it’s…”

“It’s fine,” Marinette smiled, taking the bag. The pieces of her dress were already neatly folded on the couch, and she turned away from him to put them in the bag. 

“I’m really sorry about that,” Luka told her, frowning a little. “I’m...not usually like that.”

“It’s okay,” Marinette sighed. “It was kind of flimsy, with just those straps to hold the pieces together. I’m not usually like this…” she gestured with one of the folded pieces, “either. I’m not, you know, sexy like that. I made it because I thought...well, I thought he would like it, and maybe I could wear it for a special occasion at home, but I never meant to wear it out , and then when everything happened, I thought I’d never wear it at all, but then Alya insisted that I had to wear it at least once and…” She shrugged, and slipped the handles of the tote over her arm, smiling up at him. “I’m just as happy to have an excuse not to wear it again.” 

“Well, you looked amazing in it,” Luka told her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But I have to disagree with you about not usually being sexy. My clothes have never looked so hot.”

She tried to hide how much she enjoyed the compliment, but couldn’t quite manage it, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’d had a breakup, he remembered, and probably wasn’t feeling too good about herself when she walked into that bar last night, dressed to the nines, and started knocking back drinks. 

Then her blue eyes flicked up to give him a look through her lashes. “I find that hard to believe,” she murmured, and then blushed. 

Oh he was gone. Luka found himself reaching for her, but stopped his hand before it touched her cheek. “Can I kiss you, Marinette?” 

Her eyebrows shot up. “Now, you’re asking?” 

“Yes, I’m asking,” Luka replied, amused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Marinette’s eyes darted to his mouth, and then back towards the bedroom. “I don’t, um...think I can…” 

Luka chuckled. “Thanks for your opinion of my stamina, but frankly, me either. I’d be more than willing if I could, but, right here right now? I just really want to kiss you.” 

“Why?” Marinette blurted, and then covered her mouth. Luka blinked, but before he could come up with any kind of answer, Marinette straightened and squared her shoulders. “Look,” she said briskly. “I’m sorry, I just...I’ve never done this before, and I don’t know what...I don’t know what the rules are? The...etiquette, or whatever...I mean I kind of thought once we were done with…” Her eyes shifted towards his bedroom again. “I thought it was just, over? And I would go home? So I’m...I guess I’m confused. About why you’re still...um...breakfast and kissing and all that, it just…why would you still want that, after you—I mean we—aren’t we, you know…” She floundered. 

“Okay, hold on,” Luka raised his hands placatingly. “Relax, Marinette. That was kind of a lot to take in.” Luka chuckled, and looked away for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “I’m not gonna say I’ve never done this before, but...listen, I don’t have a playbook. This isn’t...a business transaction, or whatever. I just do what feels good. Dancing with you felt good. Kissing you felt good. Everything we did after felt good. This morning felt really good.” Marinette blushed, a smile tugging at her lips. “I just feel good with you. I don’t see any reason to put a time limit on that, just because we’re, um. Worn out.” They both giggled self-consciously, and Luka reached for Marinette’s hand, cradling it in his. “If you want to go, or you need to be somewhere, or if you’re just tired of kissing me—”

“I don’t,” Marinette said quickly, taking a half step forward. “I’m...not.” Luka smiled.

“Then just do what feels g—” 

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, dropping the bag on the floor. Luka’s hands found her hips automatically, steadying them both from her hasty move, and the kiss softened as they both relaxed into it. 

“You’re right,” Marinette breathed, sending a shiver up his spine. “It does feel good.” 

Luka kissed her again softly, savoring the soft plumpness of her lower lip between his, and rested his forehead against hers. “I could kiss you all day,” he rumbled, and cleared his throat. “But fainting from hunger probably wouldn’t feel so good, so. We should probably go.” 

“Okay,” Marinette said, and then bit the lip he’d just been enjoying. “But maybe we could...keep doing what feels good? For a while? Until I have to go?” 

“Hell yeah,” Luka grinned, and grinned wider when she rose up and kissed him again. He picked up her bag and offered it to her, and walked her to the front door and opened it for her, his other hand still entwined with hers.

They made it to the landing when Marinette hesitated at the top of the stairs. Looking over her head, Luka saw one of his nosier neighbors staring up at them, judgment in every line of her body. Marinette was frozen under the stare, red slowly creeping up her face. He could sense the sudden panic in her, and put a hand on her hip. 

Luka leaned down by her ear. “You were the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen last night,” he murmured, smiling when Marinette shivered and turned her head slightly to listen to him, jolted out of whatever spiral she’d been in. “You completely blew my mind this morning. You’re a goddess. Own it and walk out of here like one.”

Marinette felt as if Luka’s words sank into her skin, warming her in such a way that she almost forgot what they were talking about. She was busy reliving the way he had arched against her, the praises he had whispered into her skin, the way he had clung to her, moaning as he came apart. She did that to him. 

Luka watched as Marinette bit her lip, fighting the smile that was suddenly trying to break out. He brushed his lips against her temple and she looked up at him, still blushing but with a sparkle in her eye that did things to his heart. She reached back and caught his hand, tangling her fingers with his, and marched down the stairs, offering a cheerful smile to the old lady at the bottom. “Good morning,” she said, and Luka grinned shamelessly as they walked out of the door.

When they made it out of the building Luka suddenly pulled back on her hand, and Marinette gasped as he whirled her up against the wall and leaned down. Marinette rose up on her toes to meet him, cupping his face in her hands and they kissed fiercely. Luka braced his hands on the wall and leaned into her. 

“Perfect,” he breathed, though even he wasn’t sure whether he meant her performance just now, or her in general. 

Marinette’s hands slid from his face to his shoulders as she blushed and looked down, but then she looked back up at him, beaming, and Luka couldn’t help smiling back at her as he cupped her cheek and kissed her lightly one more time. “Breakfast,” he sighed, and pushed off the wall. He held out his hand, and Marinette put hers in it, and they were both grinning as they meandered down the sidewalk. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and Marinette sighed blissfully. 

“I feel...really good,” she answered. “Thank you.” She paused, and scrunched her nose. “Is that weird to say?” 

“No,” Luka laughed, and brought their hands to his lips to press a kiss against her fingers. “Thank you too. I had a really good time. I’m glad you did too. I’m glad that...well, with the way things started. It could have all gone really badly, or not at all, and...I’m really glad I could show you a good time.” 

Marinette blushed. “It was good. Really, um. Really good.” She sighed. “I promise I know more words than this.” 

Luka chuckled. “It’s okay. Here, it’s this one.” He opened the café door, but he didn’t let go of Marinette’s hand, following right behind her into the café. They were directed to a booth, and he tugged at her, urging her to sit next to him instead of across. 

Marinette only hesitated a moment. Do what feels good . Luka’s arm felt good against her shoulders as he laid it along the back of the booth, and he leaned down and kissed her without any trace of self-consciousness. Marinette’s fingers curled in his shirt. Kissing him felt really good. She should be embarrassed; she should be pushing him away. Hadn’t she heard over and over how important image is, and here she is making out with her one night stand, wearing his clothes, in a public diner booth. 

Do what feels good . 

It definitely felt good. 

“God that feels good,” Luka sighed as they parted, and Marinette giggled. He kissed the top of her head, and then picked up the menu as a slightly wary waitress approached. Marinette glanced up at him in surprise at the rather domestic gesture, but then quickly away again. Stupid. They’d already had that conversation. It was just an impulse, not something to read into. Marinette looked up at the waitress instead, feeling her cheeks heat. 

The waitress didn’t look phased at all. If anything, she looked bored. “Coffee?” she offered in a disinterested tone.

“Um, no, thank you,” Marinette managed to smile. “I’d like some lemon tea with honey, please.” 

The waitress nodded, and glanced at Luka. “Usual, Lu?” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Luka said, flashing a quick grin before looking at the menu again. 

“Come here often?” Marinette teased, and Luka chuckled, then coughed lightly.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s close and I’m lazy, so…” He shrugged. 

The waitress returned and set down a little pot of hot water, a cup with a tea bag in it, and a container of honey. 

Marinette pulled away from Luka slightly to prepare the tea, but his arm remained behind her on the back of the booth. 

“Here,” Marinette said, sliding the tea over to him when it was ready. “This’ll help your throat.”. 

Luka blinked, and then smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and Marinette found herself blushing under his suddenly soft gaze.

“No, thank you,” she said, and he laughed as she reached over and stole his coffee cup. She sipped it carefully. It wasn’t quite as sweet as she liked it, but it was good enough. She glanced up at Luka over the rim, and he was still giving her that soft look. 

“I should figure out a ride,” Marinette murmured, looking away, and she picked up her phone.

“I can get you a cab if you want,” Luka offered, but Marinette shook her head. 

“My roommate’s boyfriend works nights around here, and he should be getting off soon. I’ll see if he can pick me up first.” She smiled at Luka. “If not, we can revisit the offer. Thank you.” 

He leaned down and kissed her again, and she kept him close for another, and her next text to Nino wasn’t entirely coherent. 

They had to disentangle from each other when their food came, but Marinette remained very aware of Luka’s arm brushing her own, and the soft smiles he gave anytime she glanced at him. She glanced away, tucking back a lock of hair to cover up the fact that she was grinning like a fool. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? she wondered. Was this just like, afterglow or something? Would it fade away once she left?

Luka touched her shoulder and Marinette jumped. He blinked. “Sorry. I was just asking if you got your ride worked out, but I guess you were a bit zoned out.” 

“Sorry,” Marinette said quickly, and stuffed her phone back in her purse. “Yeah, Nino’s going to pick me up here in a little bit.” Luka nodded. 

He put his arm back around her when they were finished eating, and he ordered another lemon tea instead of the coffee she expected. “You were right,” he smiled. “It did help.” 

Marinette mixed it up for him again when it came, and then settled in and leaned against Luka’s side as he sipped it. He smelled nice, and he was warm, and she loved how easy he made everything feel. 

Luka watched Marinette’s eyelids begin to droop. He nuzzled her hair and kissed her temple, but she just smiled, her eyes still closed. She was adorable, and Luka sighed before jostling her slightly.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he warned, and Marinette blinked her eyes back open. “I don’t particularly mind, but we can’t stay in this booth all day.”

“Can’t we?” Marinette sighed. “I’m so comfortable. You’ve been...really great Luka. I’m kind of sorry it has to end.” 

Luka took a breath, and took the plunge. “Well, about that. I was hoping maybe we could see each other again.”

Marinette blinked uncomprehendingly, and then blushed as she sat up and looked at him. “Y-you mean, like a...a b-b—” 

“I mean like a date,” Luka corrected, mouth twitching. She was really too cute. “The kind with talking and dinner and movies or whatever. I’d really like to spend more time with you, Marinette. Talking, and not just...well. I’d be lying if I said I wanted to stop doing everything else, but...I want to get to know you.” 

Marinette’s eyes widened. “R-really?”

Luka tilted his head slightly. “Why are you surprised?” 

“I just don’t—I mean I didn’t think I’d be…” Marinette ducked her head, drawing circles in the ring of condensation forming around the base of her water glass. “You don’t even know me.” 

“True.” Luka raised his eyebrows, and shifted his gaze away so he wasn’t looking quite so fully at her. “That’s why I’m asking you out. I don’t know you, but I want to. If you want to call it quits now and go home and never see me again, I’ll accept that, but...it’s definitely not the way I want this to go.”

“I…” Marinette looked down, twining a finger nervously in her hair. “I don’t know, Luka. You’re really sweet and—I really did have a great time with you. It’s just…I don’t want you to get hurt because I’m on the rebound, I…I don’t know if I’m ready for another, um...relationship, right now. I mean...”

Not what he wanted to hear, but...“Okay. That’s fair,” Luka nodded, the fingers of his free hand beginning to tap the table lightly.. “What if we just keep things casual for now? We can go out sometimes, and have some fun together...do what feels good…” he squeezed her hip, and watched her try to keep back the smile that wanted to break out, “get to know each other, and if you want to see other people or whatever, I’m cool with that for now. I’d just really like the chance to spend more time with you. If it doesn’t go anywhere then…” He shrugged, “at least I tried. You’ve put me on notice now, so it’s my choice to take the risk. I think you’re worth it.” His heart was beating so fast, and the tap of his fingers picked up tempo as he watched Marinette consider. 

“Why?” Marinette whispered at last, with a sigh that hurt his heart. Her last relationship must really have done a number on her. 

Luka cupped her cheek in his hand, coaxing her to look up at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just...have a feeling about you. I’ve learned to trust my instincts about people. I can’t explain it logically, I just...know. You’re someone I want to know. I felt it from the moment I saw you, before I’d even had a single drink.” 

Marinette pursed her lips, looking up at him. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to live up to that,” she said after a long moment.

Luka let his thumb stroke lightly against her lower lip. “You don’t have to live up to anything. Just be you, and let what happens happen.” He bent and kissed her, slipping a hand behind her neck to get a better angle as he plundered her mouth in a way that was definitely not appropriate for a public place. Luka was pretty far beyond caring at the moment though. That this gorgeous, sweet, vibrant woman, could question that someone might be drawn to her, attracted to her for more than a passing moment...it just wasn’t right. 

Marinette relaxed into him with a quiet moan. Her hand slipped under his jacket and pressed into his chest, feeling him up shamelessly, and his own fingers tightened on her hip. 

“So,” he breathed, when he finally let her slip reluctantly away. “What do you say?”

Marinette looked up at him, and bit her reddened lip, and then quietly asked, “Are you free this weekend?”

Luka grinned. “Actually, not so much, I’m usually playing gigs on weekends...how about Thursday? That way I don’t have to hurry away.”

Marinette hummed, and pulled out her phone. He watched the fingertip she pressed against her lips as she considered her schedule, and admired her bright eyes when she smiled up at him. “Okay, Thursday works.” 

“It’s a date,” Luka smiled so softly that Marinette’s heart fluttered. How did he do that, kiss her like that and then do something so—so sweet . 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought as he got out his own phone to swap numbers with her. What if she fell for him? 

But...he sounded like he wanted her to fall for him. Maybe? But what if he fell for her, and she was just using him for sex? Because he’d made her feel so, so good...important and beautiful and wanted and…

It might not even be like that again, she told herself. Maybe I just imagined it because I was lonely and depressed and feeling unwanted...maybe I would be thinking about anyone who gave me some attention that way. Maybe we’ll just...fizzle out and it won’t even be an issue.. 

Luka curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. “You okay?” he asked softly. 

“I…” her voice was shaking, and she took a breath and forced a smile. “Yeah. Just. I’m tired.” 

He didn’t believe her. “You’re okay,” he told her, kissing her cheek gently, and then the corner of her mouth. “Whatever’s going on, it’s going to be okay.”

Marinette’s phone beeped, and she picked it up with relief. “He’s almost here.”

She slid out of the booth, and Luka followed. He left some bills on the table and took her hand as they walked out. 

“That’s my ride,” Marinette gestured as Nino pulled up at the curb. She turned to face Luka, stepping close. He set his hands on her hips and squeezed as she leaned up to kiss his cheek, but she paused, and then turned and caught his mouth instead. Luka moved easily to meet her in one of those slow, deep kisses that made it seem like he had no other place in the world to be. She stroked his cheeks with her fingertips and kissed him again, and then again as she slid her fingers back up into his hair. “Goodbye, Luka,” she whispered, and he shook his head. 

“See you later,” he corrected softly.   

As he let go of her she felt something slide along her hip and looked down to see the pink scarf that had been tied around her waist slipping away. She looked up at Luka’s grinning face as he winked at her and draped the gauzy scarf around his neck. He raised the fabric to his face and inhaled. “See you Thursday,” he told her, eyes twinkling, and turned to walk away. 

Marinette’s knees felt shaky as she stepped down the curb and opened the car door. 

Nino was hunched down in the front seat, both hands pulling his cap over his face. “Geeze, Nette,” he muttered as she fell into the seat and tucked her feet inside. “I really didn’t need to see that.” 

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly, but as she flipped down the visor to check herself in the vanity mirror, she saw pink cheeks and sparkling eyes and a broad smile, and knew that she wasn’t convincing. She pressed her fingers to her lips and, for Nino’s sake, fought down the urge to squeal. 

Her glow dimmed a bit as she followed Nino up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Alya. She loved her friend, but...she wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. She tugged the collar of Luka’s shirt a little higher on her neck, and tried to remember what Luka had told her. She had nothing to be ashamed of. 

“Well well well,” Alya drawled as Marinette slipped into the apartment after Nino. “Your very first walk of shame.” She smirked. “Marinette, I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

“What I had in me was a lot of vodka,” Marinette huffed, and came over to the table, accepting the glass of ice water Alya pushed across to her.

Alya waited until Marinette had the drink at her lips to add, “And a hot guy, apparently.” 

Marinette choked, just as Alya had intended. “Alya!” 

“Don’t tell me he wasn’t, girl,” Alya snickered. “You, my friend, look very well fucked.” 

Marinette blushed hard. She was, at that, but Alya didn’t have to put it so...crassly.

Nino groaned. “You know what, just...knock and let me know when you’re done. I don’t want to think about it.” He went down the hall into Alya’s bedroom and shut the door. 

“So you said goodbye to Mr. Right For Tonight?” Alya asked, tapping her fingers against her own glass. “You have all your stuff, right?” She frowned. “Are those his clothes? What happened to your dress?”

“I have it with me,” Marinette defended, picking up the bag she’d dropped. “He just...thought I’d be more comfortable in something else.” Not for a million euros would she have told Alya the whole truth about the dress. “And yes, I said goodbye. For now, anyway,” Marinette muttered, and caught Alya’s gaze when she looked up. Something in that look made her squirm. “Actually we have a date later this week,” she admitted. 

“A date?” Alya raised her eyebrows. “Marinette, maybe I need to clue you in on a few things about this whole one night stand business. As in, one single night. After which you…” She made a fluttering motion with her hand. “You’re not supposed to get a date.” 

Marinette shrugged, and reached over to pluck a croissant from Alya’s plate, just to have something to do with her hands. “Oops.” 

Alya’s frown deepened. 

“What? It’s no big deal,” Marinette defended, though she wasn’t even sure why she felt the need. “We just...thought we’d like to see each other again.” 

Alya looked troubled for a moment, and then grinned. “It was that good, huh?”

“Well—” Marinette squirmed in her seat again. “It was fine, okay? He just...seemed nice.” 

“Uh huh.”  

“It was your idea anyway!” Marinette pointed out defensively.

“My idea was for you to go out and get buzzed and enjoy being drooled over,” Alya grinned. “You decided to get hammered and then get laid all on your own. I hope you’re satisfied .” 

Marinette couldn’t cover the silly smile that wanted to come up at that, but when Alya snickered, Marinette shook herself back to reality and sighed. “It was probably my imagination making things better than they were. I was feeling pretty down last night and I did have a lot to drink. And it has, you know. Been a while.”

“Maybe started seeing through beer goggles?” Alya teased. “Not that I blame you, I thought he was pretty cute when you were dancing, but I’d had a few myself by then too. Not your usual type, but it’s good to branch out.”

Marinette blushed. She didn’t want to tell Alya that while her memories of the evening were hazy, she remembered Luka in the morning very clearly, not only the lines of his body but the broadness of his back beneath her arms as she clung to him, the ripple of the muscles tensing and releasing against her as he moved, the dark intensity of his eyes and the way they fluttered closed when she did something he liked. 

She picked up her water glass and took a long gulp. No, she hadn’t needed the liquor to be attracted to him. Not at all. 

Still. She wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, even now. “Watch,” Marinette sighed, setting the glass down. “The date’ll be a bust and that’ll be the end of it. We probably won’t have anything to say to each other and we’ll exchange awkward texts for a few days and then we’ll never speak again.” 

“Hmm,” Alya raised her eyebrows. “We’ll see. It’s fine if you want to have fun, Marinette, you sure as hell could use some. Just be careful, always use protection, and don’t let him take any nudes.”

Marinette blushed deeply, and bit into her croissant. “Thanks so much for your concern,” she muttered around the mouthful. 

***

Marinette knew she was in trouble as soon as she locked eyes with Luka and her stomach started doing somersaults. The slow smile he gave her was so distracting that she barely heard his greeting, or the compliment that followed. She didn’t remember putting her hand in his, it was just there, his fingers rubbing lightly over her knuckles. They hadn’t even made it to the restaurant when Luka tugged her into a shadowed corner and kissed her in that slow, purposeful way he had. His voice surprised her a little, smoother than it had been, without the roughness of hard usage, but, she found, just as seductive. Any resistance Marinette might have had crumbled the second he turned them out of the light and breathed may I ? against her lips. 

When they did finally make it to their table, Luka was just as easygoing as he’d been on their first...night, and he meant it when he said he wanted to get to know her. He asked her questions, and seemed interested in what she said, even when she babbled, watching her with a quietly amused smile. He was interesting, too, telling her about his travels for the past year with his band. They had a surprising number of tastes in common. His eyes were fixed on her whenever she spoke, and he was touching her whenever he got the chance, taking her hand or playing with her fingers, brushing her hair back or letting his hand rest on her shoulder. Despite the kisses they shared whenever one of them couldn’t help themselves, his touch didn’t feel like seduction, just tenderness. Marinette felt like the center of his world, and after so long living on the sidelines of someone else’s life, she reveled in it. 

They were laughing as he walked her home.

“You did not,” Marinette gasped, one hand over her mouth and the other curled around Luka’s arm. 

“We totally did. What can I say, it was a full moon and my best friend is crazy.” Luka shrugged, and grinned while Marinette laughed.

“Wait, so are you a werewolf?” Marinette asked teasingly, as they approached the awning of her building.

“No,” Luka chuckled. “Unless you’re into that. If so, I can see what arrangements I can make for the next full moon.”

“You’d get bitten by a werewolf for me?” Marinette giggled. “How sweet.”

“I’d rather be bitten by you,” Luka teased back, and his hand found her hip, and her arms came up around his neck, and then they were kissing. Heat welled up in her, making her push up against him. Luka made a sound low in his throat and his hands slid to her lower back, pressing her closer. Oh, she wanted him, and by the feel of him he wanted her too, and…

Well. There really wasn’t any point in denying their mutual desire, was there. Marinette pulled away to press her lips along his jaw, and he made that sound again as he tilted his head for her. 

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Marinette asked, toying with his collar. “My roommate’s out of town tonight, so we won’t be, um...bothering anybody.” 

“I’d love to,” Luka told her, voice deepening. “I’d hate for you to be lonely, all by yourself.”

“Oh, I can entertain myself,” Marinette said daringly, looking up at him through her lashes. “I have an excellent imagination. There’s definitely advantages to having the real you here, though.” 

“Play your cards right and I’m sure we can manage the best of both worlds.” Luka bent and kissed the join of her neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to make her shudder. “You can start with telling me how you imagine we get upstairs. Are we making out in the elevator or am I chasing you up the stairs?” 

“Elevator,” Marinette sighed, head tilting as he retraced his favorite route up her neck. “I don’t want to wear your legs out just yet.” She paused to consider. “Maybe you could chase me that far, though.” 

Luka pressed another long, slow kiss to her mouth. “Then you’d better run,” he told her, grinning playfully. “I won’t be responsible for what happens when I catch you.” They both giggled, and then Marinette broke away, running for the building doors. Luka darted after her, staying just at her heels, sweeping her up in his arms just in time to carry her through the elevator doors. Marinette spared a brief moment to wonder what she was doing, being so bold, and in sight of the entire lobby, too, but Luka grinned at her, and she forgot to care. Marinette leaned over him to press the button for her floor, and then forgot everything but his mouth under hers. 

Later, when they said a lingering goodbye at her door, and he asked her if she’d like to go out again, she didn’t even hesitate before agreeing. She’d figure out a way to explain it to Alya later.

Fiction Master Post

[5uptic]

crewfu: fanfic spotlight :)

Angel of Life, Bringer of Death by woofles1990 (5up/Steve, teen rating, gen | 377 words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: Steve and Dk just wanted to explore a dungeon. That's all they wanted! A certain angel clearly had other plans.

flashover by Anonymous (Apollo & 5up, teen rating, gen | 853 words)

Summary: n. the moment a conversation becomes real and alive, which occurs when a spark of trust shorts out the delicate circuits you keep insulated under layers of irony, momentarily grounding the static emotional charge you've built up through decades of friction with the world. OR: it's pretty stupid to sleep on the tiles of a subway station, even though you are well aware you have a home. It's also quite embarrassing to have a friend pick you up from there.

Sparks Fly by Rocketro (5up/Fundy, gen rating, m/m | 863 words)

Summary: 5up and Fundy watch fireworks together.

you're holding back (shut up and dance with me) by lytriis (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.2k words)

Summary: 5up and steve dance.

what happens in Vegas by aphilologicalbatman (Apollo/Steve, explicit rating, m/m | 1.4k words)

Summary: "I'm pretty sure this is a bad idea, Steve." "Nah, this is a great idea, dude." (Or: the one where they hook up in Vegas.)

quiet when i'm coming home by homeward_bound (5up/Hafu/David, teen rating, gen & multi | 1.4k words)

Summary: 5up comes home from LA.

i could peel it for you by sweetlikesugr (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2k words)

Summary: One appletini at a time, 5up ponders about oranges, buttons and celestial bodies.

from blossoms by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2k words)

Summary: “O, to take what we love inside, to carry within us an orchard, to eat not only the skin, but the shade, not only the sugar, but the days, to hold the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into the round jubilance of peach. There are days we live as if death were nowhere in the background; from joy to joy to joy, from wing to wing, from blossom to blossom to impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.” -Li-Young Lee, From Blossoms

you think that i'm foolish now by amsves (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.1k words)

Summary: “Is everything okay?” That’s a stupid question and Steve knows it. If everything was okay, Five wouldn’t be randomly appearing at his hotel room at—Steve checks his phone—2:37 in the morning. Their group had split up for the night a few hours ago, uncharacteristically early for them, but Five had had plans to talk to—

Like you wouldn't notice by Anonymous (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.1k words)

Summary: Apollo is having feelings, so he pushes them down and hopes Steve doesn't notice. Avoiding Steve was never going to end well. "From that moment on, Apollo becomes hyper-aware of all things Steve. The way his long leg touches his, hip-to-knee, in the bar booth when they're drinking overpriced cocktails."

Vegas Lights by amethystvxidwalker (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.3k words)

Summary: “You were planning on actually swimming with me, right?” Steve faced him, brown eyes and dopey grin almost making Five swoon. He forced himself to focus on Steve’s face rather than the black ink above his hip, small, blocky text that read ‘SUGR?’ because of course it did.

ice-cream-covered screaming hyperactive thought by cj__writes (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.5k words)

Summary: Apollo isn’t sure when, exactly, he fell in love with Steve. Maybe, just maybe, he thinks, he never really fell. Maybe, he’s been falling. He’s still falling.

u spilled orange on u by SmearedWords (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 3.1k words)

Summary: Five times Dumbdog thinks Steve is illegally attractive and the one time he tries to admit that to him. Keyword: tries.

My love is the evening breeze touching your skin by tumtummeke (Apollo & Steve, general rating, gen | 5.2k words)

Summary: Steve's love language is physical touch. Dumbdog's is... not that. A day at the beach with Steve and Dumbdog (and background crewfu), told in five touches.

be like the love that discovered sin by Qupid (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 5.6k words)

Summary: It’s annoying because Apollo even left for work a whole hour early today, which should be enough time to get to his shitty office job like everyone else on the train, but unlike everyone else, Apollo also has a second job. Which leads to the last reason why Apollo is having a bad day: being pinned under an overturned car while a villain monologues at him. Well, that last reason isn’t really part of Apollo’s bad day, but sue him if he wants to include the misfortunes of his hero identity Dumbdog while listing the reasons for his bad mood. “I don’t have time for this, Suptic,” Apollo grits out, interrupting the villain’s monologue.

friends in this town by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 6.1k words)

Summary: Five only realizes he’s bitten his nails down to the quick when the sting of pain catches up to him. He’s probably overthinking. He just needs to talk to Hafu. That’s all. ...He doesn’t want to. He’s worried he will only hear an answer he’ll hate. Out back, putting off talking to his sister really gives Five a sense of deja vu. All he needs to complete the feeling is Steve. “You need to relax, man.” Speak of the devil.

this party's just another haunted house by cj__writes (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 7.7k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: On December 31st, Apollo wakes up in his hotel in Vegas. The problem is, it's always December 31st.

call me by your name (i don't know that's pretty gay) by Qupid (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 10k words)

Summary: “Oh!” The human suddenly exclaimed, “You probably want my name!” Five had no interest in holding the power of a name over a human, it always seemed more trouble than it was worth, “Not particu-” “I’m Steve! It’s a pleasure to meet someone as cute as you.” The human, Steve, interrupted before 5up could finish. 5up’s eyes widened as he felt the power of gaining a name rush through him.  It was intoxicating and he could see why some fae would frequently come to the human realm just to trick humans into giving up their names. Five hadn’t needed to trick Steve, the man had given up his name freely and Five couldn’t believe how goddamn stupid he was to do it. “Ohhhh my god you’re an idiot.”

you'll hear me howling outside your door by Qupid (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 22.2k words)

Summary: Something warm blew against Steve’s face and, distantly, he heard a high pitched whine. A nudge, and when Steve ignored it, a more insistent push had him opening his eyes to the face of a wolf mere inches from his own. Steve laughed. How delightful!  He was hallucinating animals now. The wolf’s fur looked bright to him, but even with as dark as it was Steve could tell it wasn’t white. Maybe it was more of a sandy color. Not that it mattered when all Steve could focus on was its piercing gaze and how its eyes seemed to bore into his soul. The wolf whined again and nudged Steve in the shoulder with its nose, making the man rear back when he realized that this might actually be a real wolf and not a hallucination at all.

kinda good for my love by sweetlikesugr (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 44.7k words, chaptered)

Summary: 5up can’t really recall the exact moment when dares became his and Steve’s thing and he is not sure if he even wants to try - after all, why would you mess with something that feels so natural, that feels so right? Why not just let it take its course and see where it might lead them?

Also: mangoedges‘s 5up the human impostor collection!

FAQ:

Wait what is this: pretty straight to the point! i’ll regularly share crewfu-related fanfictions to this blog :)

How regularly is “regularly”?: great question! LOL. it depends on the flow of fanfics that get uploaded, which i do not have any control over, but i’m looking forward to do this twice a month. after all, it’s only me doing this and i often run on a tight schedule.

What’s the format like?:

[title of fic with link] by [author of the fic with link] ([main pairing(s)], [fic rating: eg, general rating], [relationship: eg, m/m] | [word count in k], [added prompt to specify if it’s complete or not])

Summary: [summary provided by the author. if it doesn’t have a summary, a “No summary” prompt will be put instead]

(What does WIP mean again?): Work In Progress :)

Why are you doing this?: from the beginning, my blog has hosted conversations about RPF (real people fiction) and crewfu pairings. this has evolved into people sending me updates about certain fics in the crewfu tags every now and then, but i wanna take the next step and just do these things myself. after all, i’m already lurking in the tags often to see the fics that get posted. as someone who is both a writer and a reader, i wanna appreciate fanfic writers and help out other people that want to read fanfic and consume more fandom content!

Will it be AO3 only?: well, ao3 has a very helpful tag system that makes finding fics incredibly easy, as well as allowing people with no accounts to like and comment on fics, so that’s the site i will personally look in for fanworks. but if there are any fics you’ve written or liked in any other platforms, such as wattpad, you can always contact me through my inbox (send an ask or a dm!), and i’ll make sure to include for the next fanfic spotlight :)

Does it mean you won’t reply to fic asks anymore?: yeah, i guess. since i’ll be doing the searching myself it seems counterproductive. but if i ever skip a fic or again, it’s in another platform, or you’ve posted/read the fic a while ago and you want to get more traction on it, hit me up and i’ll take it into consideration!

Will you read every single one of the fics on your list?: oh no. again, i run on a tight schedule, and also i have my own taste when it comes to fics. i won’t be reviewing fics or any of the sort, and my intention extends to simply sharing these fics to this page so people will have easier access to them :) that’s where ao3 tagging becomes SUPER useful!!!

So what’s the criteria for the way you’ll sort out the fics in your list?: word count, going from lowest to highest. in case of fics in other platforms, i guess i’ll put them at the top of the list. i’ll also be looking for fairly recent fics, so let me know if you want any old-ish fic to be included.

I see you talking mostly about 5up/Steve and Steve/Apollo. Can I still send/see other crewfu fics?: why yes absolutely! my goal is to push every fic which heavily features regular crewfu characters - 5uptic and supdog just happen to be very popular pairings. so, to give you a list: core 4 (5up, hafu, dk, steve), apollo, aipha, annie, janet, kimi, ellum, koji… you know the drill. it doesn’t have to be centered on a relationship, or about 5up in specific, etc. my only requirement is that any of the previously mentioned members are a central part of the fic or are HEAVILY featured in it (sorry, minecraft fics with 50+ tags who only mention 5up as an afterthought won’t make the cut :/).

Isn’t shipping Bad™?: well, it’s a little more nuanced than that. i will go out of my way to discourage and shame people who often violate CCs’ boundaries by acting like so and so has a crush on this person, or that this and that are Actually Into Each Other or secretly dating. any sort of tinhat bullshit is a big nono (think larries). but i run on the assumption that people who write rpf understand that what they’re doing is simply write a completely fictional story using real life personalities, and understand the boundaries necessary to do it - aka they’re not tinhats, they understand they can’t assume everything about CCs’ thoughts and personalities, they understand that what they’re writing is strictly fiction, they keep these works only in fandom circles, etc. (but again, it’s only one me doing this, so please be kind if i don’t happen to know that this person is Actually a tinhat or whatever).

show fic: NO. (seriously. i don’t feel comfortable putting my ao3 account out there. please respect my privacy on these trying times <3)

I REALLY don’t care about your rpf/fic talk: fair! i’ll be tagging every single one of these posts as “fanfic spotlight”, so just mute the tag using tumblr settings so you’ll never have to look at these! likewise, you can follow the tag if you want to keep up with it, or search it on my blog to look at the other entries you might have missed.

Hey, my fic is here and I don’t feel comfortable with it being shared over here: no problem! let me know as soon as you can and i’ll take it down <3