#placeholder fics

[sak-supernatural]

Fucking place holder fic on ao3 😡🤬. Don’t get my hopes up like that and then give me shit like ‘oh this story is not written yet, I just wanted to see how people felt about this idea’ do that shit on here, not a fully tagged fic on ao3. It is an ARCHIVE not social media, have some respect 🙄. The white hot rage I feel when I click on a story and get slapped in the face that only an authors note. If you are that desperate to post your fic on ao3 as a draft that won’t get deleted then please, please make an unrevealed collection and post it in there. Simply remove the fic from the collection when you’re ready to post or reveal the collection. Easy peasy, and it doesn’t bother anyone that way.

[scavengerssuccotash]

If I see one more god damn placeholder fic on Ao3 I’m going to YEET MYSELF INTO THE SUN!

STOP IT!

[tojisun]

cant stop thinking about toji spitting in your mouth ://

he calls you his pretty baby; says you’re the sweetest ever. he cups your cheek as he fucks you, swiping his thumb just underneath your eye. toji coos when you hiccup a moan, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against yours. he says, “might have to wife y’up at this point and never gon’ let you go, yeah? y’want that?”

he laughs when you nod enthusiastically. “yeah, i thought so too.”

toji trails his hands down your chest and squeezes your tits. then, “open yer mouth?”

he hums in delight when you do, his scarred lips twitching up in a mean grin. “good girl.”

then, he spits in your mouth, his thumb swiping at your plush lips before urging your jaw to shut close. toji drifts his hand down your neck, closes around it with a measured weight, and groans when he feels your throat bob when you swallow.

toji bumps his head to yours, breathing you in. “s’right—yer so perfect f��r me.”

[lunarharp]

love's shadow will surround - 6k T orufrey fic about a witch and a silverleaf

He's left the lights of his small house on, his tiny atelier, waiting - he likes to see the glint of it on the leaves, his light reach the tree here. Give him what he can. It's always a comfort.

But when his physical senses are dulled, it brings it all back like fog, the flashes of memory. Of that day, all of them around the twisted body. He cups a few straggling branches, letting the hurt filter through him, almost as if keen to. They called him the Witch of Light in those days, eulogise his work still - but that was his masterpiece.

[jisokai]

Shouto’s father doesn’t like you.

It’s a scenario you were prepared for—one you imagined in the private company of your nerves. But Shouto was unconcerned when you told him, and his dismissal lowered your guard; you figured he was confident in you and your ability to win his family over.

It didn’t occur to you that his attitude was because he wouldn’t care what they thought of you.

Dinner is rough, a thick wall of tension splitting you from Enji across the table. His eyes—the blue of twin raging storms—follow your every move, eyebrows lifting when you place your sake to the left. You wilt under his scorching stare, nerves crawling from the self consciousness of your etiquette, every subsequent change in his expression.

“Oyaji,” Shouto warns from beside you, eyes narrowing at his father in an icy glare.

Enji’s expression doesn’t change, meeting Shouto’s challenge. You swallow as the air in the room thickens. It’s silent, unnerving. 

Fuyumi laughs nervously beside you, raving about the sashimi to fill the space. Her chopsticks reach for the center of the table, piling tuna and salmon on your plate. You thank her with a grimace, eyes averting from Enji carefully.

You catch Rei’s face beside her husband, schooled in an elegant and unbothered expression. Natsuo and his fiance eat quietly at the end, only trading glances with one another.

Touya laughs across the table, a sharp sound that rings.

“Touya,” Shouto warns his brother this time.

Your cheeks burn, eyes falling to your bowl of rice. They sting, blurring as saltwater pools in your lashes. You blink rapidly to clear them, lifting the dish to your mouth to shield yourself from the many watchful gazes.

A gentle hand lands on your thigh—Shouto, trying to reassure you.

You inhale sharply, nearly slamming down the bowl as you slide the chair back and stand.

“Excuse me for one moment,” you say quickly with a bow.

It only takes three hurried steps to exit the room.

Behind you, multiple voices start—deep and loud and challenging one another. One is clearly Shouto’s, only angrier than you’ve ever heard. You race down the hall, wanting to be far far away. The sound of the door sliding open strikes panic in your heart.

Shouto calls your name. It’s a desperate noise.

You sprint as fast as you can.

[kilometresrufflefuck]

who else up making some gay lawyer shit

[afrogwhocantdraw]

School bus to Road96- Ashlyn (part1: prologue + SLTS)

[As you know, the Jasmine show is deeply concerned for our youth, who continue to mysteriously disapp-]

Ash switched the TV off.

That shit again.

It was the same thing, every time, every day, more and more teens missing. Soon she would be one of them, she thought. As she roughly packed whatever she could into her small green backpack, she couldn't help but wonder how long it would take them to realise she was gone.

She checked the time, she had about half an hour until her parents got home, which meant she had half an hour to get out of the house. They knew she was leaving, they had been the ones to give her the idea, spend hours lecturing her on the dangers of the road and telling her exactly what she needed to get the hell out of this god forsaken place, but she knew that if they were here when she left it'd make it so much harder to step out the door.

She didn't leave a note, she didn't have to. Her parents would cover for her as long as they could before the police came knocking, and then her face would be up on that screen accompanied by the big bright text saying "MISSING", with that stupid grin and fake sympathetic smile asking "if anyone has any information, please contact the Jasmine hotline".

Taking a quick look in the mirror, Ashlyn noticed a problem. Her long, twin plaited ginger hair. The hairstyle she had worn since she was about 7 years old, the hairstyle that would be so easily recognisable. Checking her watch, she realised she had no time to grab scissors and play hairdresser, so she grabbed the knife from her bag ("just in case" , her mother had gravely said, before teaching her how to use it in a fight) and sawed the two plaits off within a minute.

The figure staring back at her had hair that was choppy, messy, uneven and not at all Ashlyn Banner. It was perfect.

She ran out of the door and didn't look back.

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

[Smells Like Teen Spirit]

While Ashlyn didn't know exactly how long she had been walking, the sky slowly turned to the dark dreary colours of the night, and the area around her was no longer one she was familiar with. Her legs began to ache, her feet felt as though they were about to fall off and she was struggling to keep her eyes open as she battled with her constant need for rest.

Being so focused on staying alert she almost missed the caravan park, which stood out from the otherwise barren desert she had been wandering. The high, wooden fences were littered with posters showing the faces of the two political parties. Red and blue, Tyrak and Florres. A quick glance at the red paper showed the face of Petrias "great president" (a sentiment Ashlyn could never hear without rolling her eyes) with drastically large devil horns and the words "TYRAK SUCKS" just below in dripping black paint. Either this was a new form of reverse-psychology propaganda Ashlyn had not expected, or someone within the park had atleast some sense. The discarded paint can on the ground below gave her the answer, and she stepped between the gap in the wooden fence, into the park.

Immediately she heard a voice calling her attention, and her head turned towards a woman sat in a rocking chair with a cat curled in her lap.

"Hey kid, you gonna vote?"

Ashlyn froze, how she responded was incredibly important. Answering incorrectly could lead to getting sent home or more likely, and more frighteningly, getting sent to the pits. She just shrugged, neutral was the safest option, least likely to cause trouble.

The woman just nodded slightly before saying

"well you should, theres a reason Tyrak sends you teens.. you know where, so your vote can't be heard"

She let out the breath she had been holding, nodding and muttering a thank you. Giving the cat a quick scratch on the head, she continued further to find a place to camp for the night.

She had barely taken a step before she heard a voice yell out

"I didn't do it!"

Her head whipped towards the sound of shouting, her feet prepared to run at the sound of conflict. Until she saw where the voice was coming from. A boy, about her age she reckoned, sat on the roof of one of the caravans with bleach-blonde hair and a wild grin which didn't at all match the situation he was in, only seeming to piss off the man below him, as the man's face contorted into a furious expression and he yelled upwards.

"Just admit you stole from me and I won't call the cops"

While there was a voice in her head which screamed at her to just move on, find a place to sleep and leave this Cheshire-cat like boy and his issues to himself, the threat of getting police involved pissed Ashlyn off for her to step in, clearing her throat.

"what's going on?"

She regretted it immediately, with the attention of both the figures immediately snapping towards her.

"THE KID'S A THIEF" Were quickly screamed at her, instantly followed by the equally as angry

"I DIDN'T DO IT"

It took what little effort she had left not to let out an immense sigh and turn around. Instead she raised an eyebrow at the guy in front of her

"You got proof?"

She could see his face redden as he yelled out

"WHAT ARE YOU? HIS LAWYER? NO I DONT HAVE PROOF."

Did this guy know what an indoor (or outdoor in this case, she supposed) voice was? Ashlyn stared at him for a few moments, letting the anger in his face quickly turn to annoyance at the realisation of his confession. No proof, No cops, or no cops that would care about petty thievery atleast. Bleach-blonde hair boy seemed to find his slip up hilarious, Ashlyn almost felt the need to hold her arms out in case he fell off the caravan with the way his laughter caused him to drift further towards the edge.

The park owner, she guessed, let out a frustrated huff, before storming past the two and up to a little hut with a neon sign above it.

"I could've handled it y'know"

She turned to face the boy speaking to her, who she now noticed had a ...trombone? That was a story she wanted to hear, how he ended up with that on the road. She simply nodded and said "I know." Before realising she knew nothing about where she actually was.

"..know anywhere to sleep?"

The boys deep red eyes (since when where red eyes a thing? She thought, who had the time, money or patience to get coloured contacts on the road?) peered down at her, his grin never fading as he explained her two options.

One: go and buy a caravan from "cranky pants", although something told her their recent encounter would mean whatever little money she had would be gone by the time she left.

Or two: there was a small cardboard shelter just behind a couple of vans, where she could sleep for free.

Ash opted to save her money, giving a quick nod and tight-lipped smile to the boy before walking off. She saw his smile falter slightly as she stepped away, but he seemed otherwise unfazed.

The cardboard shelter was better than she had expected, it was relatively warm and protected her from any wind or sand as she lay her head down on her bag. Letting her eyes slowly drop and finally getting the sleep she needed.

Until about two hours later, when Ashlyns sleep was interrupted by the tapping of her shoulder and a whispered "hey! Hey!! Come hang out with me!"

She drearily opened one eye, to find two bright red ones starting back at her. She had barely enough time to process the fact she was awake until she was dragged up a small hill to what seemed to be a makeshift camp. The boys trombone, along with a yellow radio, was laid beside a rock fire, barely burning but still providing much needed warmth from the cool midnight.

It took her a moment to realise the boy was speaking to her, partially on account of her tired state, but also due to the fact the boy seemed to talk at a million miles a minute. She was able to catch every other word, one of which- Aiden- she assumed was his name. He finished a seemingly meaningless ramble about the "idiot who runs this place" and looked expectantly at her. Right, introductions, warning bells went off in her head. "Never give out information about yourself" her parents had told her, although if this boy- Aiden- has already shared his name with her, would it be rude of her to ignore him?

"Ashlyn." She said, cutting herself off before she continued. There were lots of Ashlyns in the world, and without a last name it would be difficult to figure her out unless someone where paying close attention.

Aiden's eyes seemed to light up at her introduction

"well Ashlyn, it's nice finally having someone normal around here, between old man shouty and cat lady I've been pretty starved for entertainment"

"really, even with that thing?" Ashlyn retorted, nodding her head towards the trombone.

One TERRIBLE performance of Bella Ciao had left her feeling sorry she had asked. And also annoyed at the way the caravan man had ran out and yelled at them to be gone by morning, or else there would be consequences.

"Is he being serious?" She asked Aiden hesitantly

"Probably.. I was thinking of heading out anyway"

If she wasn't thinking about doing the same thing, she would've strangled him. They both got up to leave, and for a split second Ashlyn considered asking him to join her.

But by the time she worked up the courage, she turned behind her, and all she saw was the empty road.

She stuck out her thumb and whistled.

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

Uhhhh yea!! First time doing smth like this, it's a bit rushed but I'm pretty happy with it. Reblogs/comments are super super super appreciated (I spent a while on this) and thank you for reading this far SJDHWJBS <33

[suddencolds]

insatiable appetite [1/?]

sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have written—and also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head

ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)

special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently

—

Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)

—

For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.

There’s this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before they’d gotten together officially, and some more—this is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.

All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishable—but only nearly.

Now, Till is here for dinner—it’s a dinner they’ve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Till’s recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.

When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, he’s wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Till says. “Traffic here was the worst I’ve ever seen it, swear to god.”

“Was it cold outside today?” Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.

Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Colder than usual, for this time of year.”

“Strange,” Ivan says, just to be difficult. “But the weather forecast says it’s the same temperature today as yesterday.” 

“It’s probably just windier today,” Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.

“Your voice sounds a little off, though.”

Till clears his throat with a scowl. “You must be imagining it,” he says. “It always sounds like this.”

No admission, then. That’s fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.

It’s a nice restaurant—worth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The server—who leads them to their table in a small, private booth—is wearing a suit.

It’s a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he won’t be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.

They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till instead—Till, who’s seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face. 

Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquid—has he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps it’s a good thing that they work at different offices—Till at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting company—because Ivan certainly doesn’t think he’d be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that. 

It’s not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, it’s discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...

“What are you thinking of ordering?” Ivan asks.

“I can’t decide,” Till answers. He turns the page again. “It’s between the ribeye steak and the… snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?”

“Not from their Yelp reviews,” Ivan says. “You know, if you really can’t decide, I can flip a coin.”

“I’ll pick,” Till says. “Why? Hungry already?”

He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. There’s a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, he’d probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.

“Your taxi did take forever to arrive,” Ivan says, by way of explanation. 

“Did you really wait that long?”

He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, “Not at all. But you know, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

Till rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “There was a meeting that ran late. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Is that also a part of your new position?” “I guess so, yeah.”

“I can see why they were eager to promote you, then,” Ivan says. “How productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?”

Till snorts. “Not that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.”

He sniffles again. “Okay. I think I know what I want.” The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion. 

“At long last,” Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. “I’ll call over the waiter.”

He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.

“A spiced apple cider,” Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. “Hot, if you can.”

That’s new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though he’ll drink tea without complaint if it’s offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively “small” cold turns into…

Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, there’s a… strange something to Till’s expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.

Ivan swallows hard. He should look away. 

He should, but then, Till’s breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Till’s voice in it. He should really look away.

Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Till’s shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:

“hhH-Ih!! hiHH-’IESCHH-eew-!”

God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. It’s the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. It’s not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.

For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad they’re in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.

“Bless you,” he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. It’s a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isn’t sure he can keep what he’s feeling off of his face.

Truthfully, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure a whole night of this.

The problem here is that Till—Till, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can remember—has no idea about Ivan’s… relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.

“Thanks,” Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand. 

Ivan can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. “Don’t you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that we’re inside?”

Till freezes. “Y-You know what,” he says evasively. “It’s pretty cold in here.”

Ivan tilts his head in question. “And just how do you plan on eating like that?”

“I’ll take it off when our food comes.”

“I can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if it’s a problem,” Ivan says. 

“It’s not a problem.”

Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.

When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above. 

“What are you—”

Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Till’s forehead. As expected, it’s warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable. 

“Just how long were you intending to hide this?”

Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. “Hide what?”

Shouldn’t it be obvious? “The fact that you have a cold.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Till says, slowly.

“Hmm.” Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. “We could’ve called a rain check.”

This time Till really does roll his eyes. “For the reservation we planned weeks ahead?” he sniffles again. “That just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?” 

Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Till’s scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.

Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

So uncooperative. “Let me see,” Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Till’s hands away from his face, and then—because the restaurant is dimly lit—tilts Till’s face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light. 

Till’s nose is redder than usual. He’s probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. There’s  a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.

“What’s there to see?” Till says, a little crossly.

“Your face, since you’ve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,” Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.

Till scowls at him, but there’s no heat to it. “You see my face every day.”

“On the contrary, I don’t see it nearly enough,” Ivan says. “And you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?”

Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Till’s cheek. 

But then, Till’s breath hitches. “Wait,” he says. Panic flashes through his face. “Ivan, move, I—”

Oh. Well, seeing as there’s no way he’ll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like he’ll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Till’s mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHheh-! HHh’EIITShHh’yYiew!” he gasps sharply. Two? “Hh-! hHiiH’DSSCSSHh-IIew!”  

The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifying—all of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivan’s waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Till’s breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.

Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god it’s so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him. 

“Bless you,” he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps it’s a miracle that he’s still able to talk at all. “Some cold, hmm?” Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.

Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running. 

“Do you have no self preservation? It’s as if you want to catch this,” Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.

Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.

[altschmerzes]

louisa shirley fwb fic is like. Writing Itself practically. gang i legit can’t remember the last time a fic launched fully formed into my brain with such speed.

[sak-supernatural]

Wow I’m having so much fun reading for this new ship!! I wonder what I’ll find, oh a collage party game fic those are always fun!

THEN BOOM…

Seriously, a placeholder fic!! 😡🤬 What the fuck!! That’s it, that was the whole “fic”.

Please, I’m asking fellow ao3 users to join me in reporting this and other “fics” like it. I have a particular distaste for this one as I’m sure you can see why. 🙄😫😩

[serenpedac]

Seren!! If you are taking prompts (but no pressure either way!!):

[granite] acting, parting, destined, meet, need for Farah and Gabi maybe, or

[aqua regia] past, stuck, picture, veins, heart for Nate and Yael?

(Or anyone who sparks joy!!! And again no pressure ❤️ )

Wonderful PD <3333 Thank you so much for sending and can you read my mind??? Because I'd been thinking about Gabi and Unit Delta after we got to meet them in the demo, so "granite" is so very fitting. (Not that they play a very large role in this, but still)

Granite

Words: ~1500

Rating: Teen and up

Relationship: Female OC/Farah Hauville

Warnings: None

Farah peaks her head around the door into the Facility’s common room, already knowing the answer, but still asking, "Gabes's not here?" 

Both Nate and Adam look up from some papers on the table before them, heads moving in unison. Farah wonders if they even know they're doing that, adopting mannerisms and phrases from each other. Though that last one could be because they're both old.

"She's probably with Unit Delta," Adam says.

Farah winces, and she tries to hide it, tries to act like her usual self, but Nate still catches it.

"Do you want me to come with you to look for her?"

"No, I got it." She adds some extra peppiness to her voice, both to convince him and herself, but he still scrutinises her, so she adds, "Bet I can find her before you can even get up and out of this room anyway."

He chuckles. "We'll be waiting here for the both of you."

"You'd better be." How rude it would be for them to leave her and Gabi behind while they go back to the warehouse.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise that Gabi had parted from the rest of them today, if Farah is being honest. Ever since the Agency introduced Gabi to Unit Delta, she's been spending a lot of time with the other team. Like, a lot a lot.

'Unit Delta' is such a nice name, according to Gabi. There's all kinds of things in physics and mathematics that use the letter delta, she told Farah. Like the difference. The difference of what, Farah doesn't know. 

When she asked if beta was also some cool thing, Gabi had mentioned something about beta radiation, only for her to look away from Farah and stare into the distance with a worried frown. Whatever it was about this radiation, or the letter beta, it had made her uncomfortable. If there was one thing Farah didn't want, it was to make her uncomfortable, so she'd shut up about it.

She runs into Gabi in one of the hallways leading to the... the research labs, maybe. Probably. Her head is bent towards Axel, their voices hushed. The other three members of Unit Delta walk behind them, not saying a word.

"Hi babe!"

Five pairs of eyes flash towards her to fix her with their stares, her voice bouncing off a stony wall of silence.

"Farah, hi." There’s a brief flash of a smile, but Gabi's face turns serious again as she clasps her hands behind her back.

"I've been looking for you."

"Sorry, I— we got distracted."

Farah fakes a gasp. “You found something more interesting than me?” Both Gabi and Axel smile at that, which she’ll count as a win. Emboldened, she continues, "We're about to leave and you know how Morgan gets when she has to wait for too long." She rolls her eyes, hoping to tease another smile from Gabi.

Gabi hums. "And running around the facility to find me has nothing to do with you getting impatient, right?"

"Not getting impatient, only missing you, Gabes."

A frown creases Gabi's forehead as she looks between Farah and Unit Delta. "I do suppose I should be going."

"Of course." Axel gives her a warm smile, and even the unreadable expressions of the others seem to soften when they say their goodbyes. "Will we see you again soon?"

Gabi nods. "You bet."

*~*~*

They barely talk on their way back to Wayhaven. Adam repeats the points they've already discussed during the meeting, Nate hums his agreement and the rest of them stare out of the windows. Or, in Farah's case, keep casting glimpses at Gabi, trying to gauge what she's thinking. Her arms are crossed, hands tugged underneath as if to hug herself. She feels tense, worried, just as she's been ever since Li-Sar showed up and gave, no, forced these powers on her.

"Mind if I come with you?" Farah asks when they take the turn into Gabi's street. "Just for a bit?"

A pause follows, one that lasts long enough for Farah to worry her bottom lip between her teeth, but she holds Gabi's eyes. She needs to know what Gabi is thinking, how she's doing, and she cannot do that if Gabi keeps avoiding her. Eventually, Gabi is the one to look away.

"Are you sure?"

Whatever answer Farah had been expecting, it was not this. Of course she's sure, but it seems Gabi is the one who isn't. 

"Very sure. A hundred percent, even if you keep saying there is always some uncertainty." She nudges Gabi's shoulder with her own.

"Alright."

Once inside, Farah gestures for Gabi to sit down, while she gets her a glass of water. She rummages through the cupboards for cookies, which she finds in one of the upper cabinets.

"Need a hand?" Gabi is already at her side, reaching over Farah to get them without even having to stand on her tiptoes.

With the pack of cookies in one hand and the glass of water in the other, Gabi walks back to the living room area to sit down in the one arm chair. It’s Farah’s favourite part of the room, the ochre yellow one of the only pops of colour between the whites and greys and black of the rest of the interior. The best thing is that it’s large enough to sit in with two people. Or at least it is if Farah sits sideways on Gabi’s lap, her legs dangling over the armrest. Right now, however, Gabi pulls up her feet underneath her, making it impossible for Farah to join, so instead, she takes place on the corner of the sofa closest to her.

"So—"

"How was—"

They both fall quiet as they look at the other to continue. 

It shouldn’t be this awkward. It never is this awkward between them.

Farah twists one of her braids around her finger. She’s tried being patient, not pushing it, and it hasn’t gotten her anywhere. So she blurts out, "Gabes, what is wrong?" Light brown eyes go wide, but she still doesn’t say a thing, so Farah continues, "You’ve been avoiding me ever since the whole Li-Sar thing and I don’t know what to do. I want to help and be there for you, but I can’t do that if you don’t let me."

Gabi presses her lips together, turning a cookie around and around. It’s chocolate chip, one of her favourites, but she hasn’t even taken a bite.

The silence stretches on long, longer than Farah would have liked, but it’s not a bad kind of silence, Farah doesn’t think. She holds very still, listening to the sound of her own heartbeat twined together with Gabi’s.

When Gabi does speak, it’s in a quiet voice, not looking at her. "I just don’t want to hurt you. Again."

It wasn’t your fault, lies at the tip of her tongue, but she’s said that already. It hasn’t helped much. "So that’s why you’ve been hanging out with Unit Delta."

"Yes. At least they aren’t weakened simply because of me being around."

"You know that hanging out with you more than makes up for any effect your powers have, right?" Farah tries for a smile, but it falls at the sight of Gabi’s eyebrows drawn together in a helpless expression.

"You can’t say that. Who knows what might happen next time?"

"I trust you, babe."

"Maybe you do, but I don’t." Gabi’s hands are balled into fists, electricity sparking around them. "I do not control these powers, Farah. They control me and at some point, they will— It feels like I’m destined to hurt you, one way or another."

“You don’t know that.” Farah rolls her lips together, the hairs on her arms standing up because of the static crackling in the air. "Or— Do you? Why— What did Li-Sar tell you when you met?"

Gabi doesn’t look away, holding Farah’s gaze as if it’s she's afraid of what will happen once she lets go. She swallows, the says in a whisper, "She said these powers would kill me."

Fear spikes through Farah. It makes her heart beat a frantic rhythm against the ribs, her own fear and Gabi’s indistinguishable. It’s telling her to grab Gabi’s hand and run, run, run, don’t look back. Except she can’t take those hands. They can't run from this.

“Gabes…” She jumps up to cross the space between them. "I will not let that happen. No," she shakes her head, "we won’t let that happen. You will be alright, I know you will be." She wills the words to be true, because they have to be.

She lets her fingertips drift along the contours of Gabi’s face, pushing aside the hair from her forehead and eventually coming to a rest on either side of her face.

Gabi searches her face, then sighs. "I can’t ask you to stay with me, not when I’m like this."

"You don’t need to ask anything. You’re a part of our team, Gabi, and— and I love you." It isn’t what she’d meant to say, but it’s not what she hadn’t meant to say either. The words just… come out like that. 

For a long few seconds, they stare at each other, then Gabi leans in to let her head rest against Farah’s stomach. "I think I love you too," she mumbles into Farah’s shirt, her breath filtering warm through the fabric.

Carding her fingers through Gabi’s hair, Farah clings to those words. They love each other, and there’s nothing that love cannot overcome, isn’t that right?

[chaos-potat]

What if I were to say I wrote like almost 4k words to a tmnt x stardew valley fic?

[sleepy-spacetronaut]

New gravity falls Fic and Au idea - “Rewind the Timeline”

Start note: First of all, I must be stopped. I’ve made too many designs for Bill and story ideas. TOO MANY!!! If I am found to be unoriginal with this one, then I guess the world does work as Plato had thought it to be. This Alternate Universe plot will be a sort of Frankenstein’s monster of pre-existant ideas, put in a blender to produce a sort of terrible yet interesting mix.

With further ado, about the plot:

Au name: Rewind the timeline

Summary: After sojourning at the Theraprism, Bill is sentenced to reincarnation as a humanoid creature with an enormous lifespan. However, his “a different place, a different time” part of the deal was upheld seriously. Therefore, instead of being sent to Gravity falls in the future, Bill gets yeeted (isekai’d?) into the wilderness of post-colonial America that has barely gained independence 20-ish years prior. Naked, without powers, and under the form of a naive child with unnaturally bright yellow eyes with slanted pupils. He must now survive by his own means, living “on and off” with the human society through decades until he meets the Pines.

key elements:

+ Bill takes up various identities, becoming a professional liar

+ Bill doesn’t age as normal humans do, therefore he stays young-looking for long periods of time. And it obviously freaks people out.

+He’s a “cuckoo baby” -> infiltrates families for the sake of survival. +Since he had his memories intact, he effortlessly excels at studies and would be considered a genius for his time, but doesn’t want to attract attention, so instead he acts like an irritatingly uncooperative student who gets into arguments with his professors.

+Experiences human vices of all sorts (indulges into drugs and alcohol) and commits a shitload of murders throughout centuries.

+Meets Stanford and Fiddleford in college and becomes their 3rd roomie.

+Bill helps to bring Stanley back and make him and Ford reconnect, then becomes Ford’s “College sweetheart”.

+Fiddleford grows to instinctively dislike Bill after finding evidence that he may not be what he claims.

+Fiddleford found old newspapers articles, old photographs and books with Bill’s faces in them while doing a research project in college, he got unseasy and told Ford about his findings, but that caused them to have an argument and they “broke-up” a while after they started working on the portal for Bill.

+Later, Bill still convinces Ford to make the portal, but -> Ford gets sucked in during the testing part when Stan is present.

+Bill feels remorseful but powerless so he goes into hiding, up until Dipper and Mabel arrive in town.

+Weirdmaggedon has very slim chances of happening/will happen much differently than expected

Bill’s human design for the story (a prototype):

End note: Let me know what you guys think! This would be a crazy short fic for me to write once I get the time, but what’s even crazier is that I made the whole plot (plus some designs) all within to two hours. 😳

[scyllaenjoyer]

Here's a snippet from an Athena fic I'm working on. Hope you guys enjoy!! This is from Part I, aka Athena's trapped inside Zeus arc

She does not exist. 

The concept of existence is undefined, but she knows enough to know she does not exist.

To exist, after all, is the fact of living, and she does not live. She is an agglomeration of thoughts coiling shapeless in the dark, twisting and growing strong, polishing and folding on herself to make her shape take form. 

To exist is to be real. She's not real. Not yet. She is still merely an extension.

She is merely a whisper of an idea, cradled in the inside of her mother, growing from a clump of cells to a small body. A child, her mother says in her voice like a thousand whispers. You are a child. 

Her mother is all around her and inside her. She is fleshed from within her, in her image. She knows what her role is. They can’t both live at the same time. One of them must always subside the essence of the other. She supposes that's what a child is.

The daughter has no idea how long she remains inside the mother, surrounded by darkness. Her mother is the barrier between her and the world, and she looms and breathes above her like an extension of herself. The mother speaks to her. Her voice is as constant as a heart beat, a thousand harrowing silent screams in the back of her head. She can't talk back, but she listens, and she learns. 

We are the same, echoes of the same ocean of knowledge. I exist now, but I won't soon. You don't exist now, but you will soon. You are a child. You are my child. 

Sometimes, she does not speak, but she remembers, and her mother's thoughts are her own, and so she remembers as well. Memories within present tense. Her mother feeds her thoughts and her very essence.

The mother remembers living in the dark, hidden recesses of the ocean—it is one of the first concepts that she needs explained, a gigantic body of water that goes deep and then deeper, where most of the life on the world resides, great and enveloping, not unlike how it feels to be her, a child in the womb—playing with sisters and brothers, chasing after parents, light-footed and laughing. The daughter has only heard her mother laugh in memories. She does not ask, but she infers that's something that one does when happiness blooms, and she understands there's no happiness to be had where they are.

Her mother had a lovely garden full of underwater plants, the water around her twirling blue and pale where she kept pink and white and golden flowers. She wonders what happened to it. She remembers mixing honey, powdered copper sulfate and poppy juice at the pleading behest of a young god with thunder in his voice.

That's your father, she says. She does not sound glad. 

She was at peace when he married her. She knew it was a duty, a show of peace, and she knew duty well. Duty, the daughter understands, is what it means to take on a beast that will eventually break you. You feel it loom above you, breathe into the crook of your neck, and lunge into you, splitting you in half.

The bones of her mother are hard enough to make a weapon out of them.

Her mother remembers being on a beach on the eve of her marriage. She piles rocks into a tower on the shore, making it sturdy. She knows it won't last. The ocean will make it tumble down. She remembers a song, low and mournful and sad, vast like the sea.

Her mother chants it sometimes, and she listens, and takes it within herself. 

[lumiosemuseum]

Soft as Chalk

Ship: AZ x Nerine

Summary: An intense rainstorm results in AZ having to spend the night at Nerine’s place. (or: AZ discovers Nerine is still slightly weird and pathetic. And he’s kinda into it…??)

TWs: nonsexual nudity (Nerine makes AZ take a bath), alcohol. Also includes a scene where AZ reflects on some of his past self harming / sui.cidal actions. 

Guess what... it's another fic that's 4000+ words of them just talking. As always I like to do the bare minimum when it comes to edits, so be nice 🙇🏾‍♀️. This takes place a few weeks after A Little Closer ^.^

[ alternate link ] [ neocities link tba ]

On a cold day in the late winter, AZ again found himself in the outskirts surrounding Snowbelle. Recently developments had him visiting frequently, though he was unable to cross the threshold and commit to what he intended to do here. Instead, he would enjoy the scenes of nature. On more than one occasion, he would take out a battered sketchpad and draw what he witnessed. He was not skilled as an artist, but it was still an enjoyable hobby. Floette enjoyed watching him, which made the act feel all the more worthwhile. 

On this particular day, grey clouds swirled above him. He had no doubt that rain was to come, it was only a matter of when. As he readied to leave the small alcove of trees he’d begun to frequent, he heard the sound of thunder roaring. The sky seemed to darken as rain finally poured down. The few droplets did not concern him— he had suffered through the elements before. But as the deluge grew in its intensity, it became difficult to see.  The winds picked up. AZ’s hat was lifted from his head, but he was quick enough to grab it before the storm could carry it off.

“Floette—” a strike of lightning, powerful enough to shake the ground itself, cut his words short.  The rain was transforming into a deluge now, the grey clouds that swirled above blocking out all light.

AZ saw Floette’s  mouth move, but could not make out her words as the rain pounded against him. Eventually, she changed tactics. She gathered his scarf into her small arms and pulled, urging him onwards.

The chill of the rain caused her flower to wilt. AZ’s eyes widened, a wail caught in his throat. He reached for his small companion, and tucked her away in his scarf. 

He continued on in the direction Floette had been tugging him towards, until he could see something glowing in the distance; a vivid, enticing light. Holding his scarf tightly in an attempt to keep Floette warm,  walked on… until a small manor stood before him. In the highest window, a Chandelure idly swayed back and forth, watching the rainfall. When he cast his eyes downwards, he realized that the building was one he knew; Nerine’s home.

Is this where you were taking me…? He pried his scarf open just enough to see the tops of Floette’s antennae, then shuffled towards the door. He stood there for a moment, inhaling the cool air. Some reluctance kept him from acting; Though Nerine had invited him to visit during their last interaction, to show up uninvited in this state seemed unbecoming. But he could not worry about that right now— and he knew she would not turn him away.

He rasped his knuckles against the door, and waited. First, silence. Then… the cry of an Espeon, its claws dragging against the door. “Clytie, calm down…” he gasped hearing that familiar voice, tinged with sleepiness. “Though, I don’t know who could be trying to visit at this time, in this weather…” A small creak on the other side, followed by an Oh! The sound of a lock turning, followed by the strained groan of an aged door. 

As it opened, the winds blew their hardest— AZ lost his balance, toppling forwards. A surprised yelp came from below him. He groaned, half-annoyed, half-exhausted. “...Nerine.” he at first faced forward, expecting to find himself before her legs… when she wasn’t there, he cast his gaze downwards. With a vaguely annoyed expression, she laid on the floor beneath him. AZ wheezed as realization struck him. He scrambled backwards faster than he thought himself capable of. “I apologize for— erm.”

“It’s fine. You know, this kind of thing happens to you a lot.” Nerine dusted off her shoulder as she stood back up.  “Not that that’s important right now. Look at you! You’re soaking!” He nodded, trying to ignore the sense of embarrassment that welled up within him. He began to make a noise, but stopped as his frantic hands clutched at the green of his scarf.  “Could you please…?”  He pried Floette from where she'd been tucked away. Despite how the rain had caused her to shiver, she had begun to doze, and made a small grumble as he presented her to Nerine.

“Oh… of course.” she whispered, taking the small flower-fairy into her hands. She wrapped Floette in the long cloth of her nightgown before continuing “Well… come on. I’ll dry her off, but I should do the same for you as well.” He followed behind her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Espeon scurry off somewhere deeper into her home. He recalled his previous visits. During that time, her home was simply furnished except for a few small expensive pieces.. In the time he’s been away, it has become significantly more cluttered.  A pile of items near her couch told a story; her shoes alongside the vest she wore with her work uniform thrown haphazardly onto the floor. A small tea table had a bottle of champagne sitting upon it, as well as a half-filled glass. Her TV softly played a soap opera; on the screen, he watched as a couple kissed lovingly.  He wondered if she had fallen asleep there before he came to her door.

Some of the walls held framed photos of a red-headed youth who AZ recognized all too well. But these photographs presented a very different image of him than the one he knew; acting in a school play, grinning as he planted something in a garden, squinting in a poorly timed photo. A picture of a graduation ceremony  had Nerine standing next to him, alongside a red haired woman who vaguely reminded him of Xanthos. I will have to ask her about this later, he thought. 

AZ’s steps came to a half as he watched Nerine disappear into a room that he recognized as her sleeping quarters. In the past, she refused to allow him entry; she was uneasy with the vulnerability such an act implied. Though this was a very different context from the past, staring down her bedroom door still felt as if he were gazing into the maw of a great beast.

When she noticed he had stopped, Nerine poked her head back out. “...Are you coming in?” “Ah, yes… just allow me to… erm.” AZ awkwardly ducked his head to avoid hitting the door frame as he entered her bedroom. He half expected Arceus to come down and smite him for such a transgression… but when he opened his eyes (of which he did not remember closing), he was standing plainly in the middle of her room.

It was significantly messier than he had imagined it to be. Unfolded clothes littered the floor, a disorganized mess of perfume bottles on her night stand… her bed held a large swathe of plush toys with even more on the floor below, as if she’d knocked them down while sleeping but couldn’t be bothered to pick them back up. A bookshelf stood tall, filled to the brim with a number of novels. Some clearly had been read time and time again, judging from how worn they’re spines were. Others were given less attention; some dust covered books were still covered in plastic wrap.

“Here,” Nerine threw a towel at AZ, “I’ll tend to Floette.” Nerine placed Floette onto her vanity. AZ watched as she walked to turn on a space heater that stood near her bed. “I’d bring it closer to you, but I'm worried you'll burn up if I did…”she whispered. Gently, she dabbed Floette with a small cloth.

“Forgive me for imposing upon you like this, Lady nerine…” Though he at first attempted to hide his gangly limbs in whichever small space could fit them, he found himself drifting towards her space heater. “If I were on my own, I would have simply suffered the rain. But I would never wish such a fate onto Floette…” “You don’t have to explain anything. Even if it had been just you, I don’t particularly like the idea of you being stuck out there.  I know things between us are a bit weird right now, but I’d still like to think of myself as someone you can rely on.” “Naturally,” AZ replied, “Lady Nerine, you are someone I value greatly.”

With the room quiet except for the low hum of the space heater, Nerine began to sing to herself. AZ tilted his head, curious if it was a song he knew… He fiddled with the towel she had given him, his fingers drumming against it. He could not seem to pry his eyes away from her as she tended to Floette. He remembered for a moment how,  long ago, when they were young children in a rural village, Nerine had treated Floette so sweetly even then. He was so used to being mocked for being so deeply invested in a Pokemon, that such an act always stood out to him.

When she finished drying Floette off, she gently brushed a finger against one of her antennae, which had perked up being in the warmth of her home.  Satisfied, Nerine brought Floette to her lips, and left a kiss against her forehead. “Much better, yes?” Nerine hummed, and Floette nodded in response.  “And as for you…” Nerine turned towards AZ, who tensed up beneath her gaze. “Give me your clothes.” AZ jolted, his mouth ajar at her request. “They’re filthy. Since you’re here, I may as well wash them for you. Actually, on that topic… you need to wash yourself, too! Take a bath!”

“I’m not sure if…” “I’ll find something dry for you to wear.” Nerine opened the door to her bathroom. AZ could hear her rummaging about, running water,  the sound of a cabinet opening and being shut. When she returned, she shoved a clean towel and a bar of soap in his arms. “This one smells like Liechi Berry soda,” she explained, “Oh! Actually, sit down for a moment. Miss Floette, if you’re feeling well enough, come help me with his hair.”

Before AZ knew it, his coat was pulled off, and his long, shaggy hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. At some point Nerine rushed to turn the faucet off, and soon after AZ was shoved into the bathroom, a slightly dazed look on his face. As the door closed behind him, AZ slumped against it with a sigh. He was not opposed to her suggestion. If anything, he was a bit flustered. He inhaled, bracing himself as he began to strip himself of his current garments. 

As he walked towards the bath, he passed by her mirror. He typically tried not to pay much attention to his own reflection, but this time he caught himself. While he was not nearly as gaunt as he had been in the past, there was still a sickliness to his appearance. He brushed back his long bangs, unveiling the blue eye that was typically kept hidden by his hair. Initially he began hiding it to avoid scorn from his peers, but nowadays it was out of habit. His fingers traced over his neck, and the large scar that ran across it. He often thought about how it was no short of a miracle that this wound did not kill him, and how during that time, it was a miracle he did not want. He still felt uncertain if his long life was a blessing or a curse… but he got to see his dearest friend again, and in the end, that was all that mattered to him.

…With Floette returned, he began feeling very aware of himself again. If it came as a consequence of being reunited with her, he would gladly accept it all. But he was still uneasy with the new insecurities he had about his looks, especially after spending so long not bothering to care for himself. He knew that some of his features could be considered handsome, the shape of his jaw, the width of his shoulders… but it was difficult to find much to like in his current state.

Does she think I’m handsome…? The thought rose to the surface, and AZ grimaced. Not wanting to waste anymore time, he shuffled to the bath, and stepped inside.  His long legs, as well as the majority of his upper body, remained unsubmerged. While he was mostly accustomed to his size at this point, he always disliked having to confront it so directly. Miss ‘Ette, it’s been awhile, hasn’t it? The sounds of idle chatter drifted to him from beyond the door. I didn’t get to see you last time… of course, that’s because you were too busy doing something naughty! He heard the unmistakable sound of Floette laughing, accompanied by Nerine’s light-hearted scolding. It seems like you've grown a lot bolder over the years, am I right…? Well I’m glad. …Hey,  you wanna watch a movie with me? Hmm? That one? Miss ‘Ette, you have interesting tastes! Alright, I’ll put it on— let’s see here…

He awoke to the sound of a door unlocking. Nerine poked her head in cautiously. When she caught his eyes, she smiled softly.

“I came in here earlier to check on you… you were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you up.” She leaned over him, brushing his messy hair out of his eyes. “I brought something for you to wear, it’s sitting by the sink. I also warmed up some leftover soup— you really should eat. Little Miss Floette and I will be waiting for you in the dining room, okay?”

“Thank you, Lady Nerine…” he said. Nerine smiled, satisfied, then turned to leave.

Too enticed by the promise of food to remain any longer, AZ stood up. Standing before the mirror again, he noted that the humidity caused his hair to become curlier. 

He thumbed through the clothing Nerine had brought him; a bundle of comfortable sleepwear. He pulled a sweater the colour of earth from the pile. As he pulled it over himself, he discovered that it fit him nearly perfectly. The strange familiarity of it caused him to revisit a memory of the recent past, of digging through his bag to find a specific shirt, but being completely unable to find it.

The realization made AZ blush. He wondered if she had merely tucked it away somewhere and forgotten about it. Or perhaps she had missed him, and every now and again would pull it from where she had hidden it away, and bury her face into its fabric… 

Refusing to entertain the thought any longer, AZ hurried to finish dressing himself, and left the room. When he found Nerine again, she was sitting at her dining table, drinking from a pink coloured glass. In front of her, Floette was laid on the table, snoring. The pink blush of her cheeks seemed to imply she’d been offered a drink in the time AZ was away.

“Aza!” Nerine raised her glass.  “Want some champagne?” “I would…” seeing her lightly-flushed face, AZ was filled with a sudden and unbearable desire to tease her. “Nerine… isn’t this sweater mine?” “It… is.” She pouted in response to his question. “ You left it here last time. Don’t think too hard about it.” “I won’t,” AZ replied as though he hadn’t already arrived at his own conclusions. “Lady Nerine, you are very cute.” “Oh— stop that!” Nerine scowled, despite how red her face had become. “Come sit down and eat so your mouth has something else to do.” 

As AZ sat down in the chair across from her, Nerine hopped up to fetch him a bowl of soup, as well as a large glass for his drink. When she poured his drink, he watched as it bubbled and fizzed. “Bet you’re wishing you had some beer right now, huh?” she  smirked knowingly. “Well, I don’t have any! Make sure you eat all your soup, okay?” “Yes, ma’am…” 

When she sat back down, Nerine’s gaze turned towards her living room, where her TV was still playing on a low volume. Curious, AZ gazed towards it as well. On it, he saw a dark haired man burst onto the scene of a wedding, weapon drawn. When a caption reading You stole my wife from me… and now, I'm stealing your Life! flashed across the screen, Nerine made an excited squeal.

“Is this the same show you were watching last time I was here?” AZ found himself asking. “It is… a lot of the old actors retired, and so there's a new cast of fresh, young faces.” she grinned at him, her chin resting on her hands.  “...They're not too skilled, mind you. But I’m having a lot of fun watching them.”

AZ laughed softly, and they both fell quiet. While Nerine’s eyes were fixed on her show… AZ gazed at her. Her soft pink hair had been rolled into curlers, and mostly stuffed into an oversized bonnet. Being bare faced, he could see the bags under her eyes, the slight discolouration of her cheeks. Stretch marks covered her shoulders and chest, in addition to a number of moles. In the past, she would do everything in her power to make it so he never saw her in this dressed-down state. But it was during these simple moments that he found her most beautiful. As he looked at her,  a familiar sense of guilt tugged at his heart. 

“Nerine, I am sorry…” “For what?” “In the past… there were many times when I entertained the idea of saying something cruel to you, if we were to ever reunite.” His cheeks burned with the shame of his admission. “It was a petty, childish indulgence. I tell you this, because I am  concerned I may take advantage of your kindness again.” “Oh… It’s nothing to apologize for. I mean… that’s just the kind of stuff you do when you’re mad at someone. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t do the same.”

“And yet, you kept my sweater…” “And you kept my key!” Nerine exclaimed,  “That seems much more significant, if you ask me!” “I suppose you’re right… I am glad.” AZ’s hands reached for his scarf, only for him to remember that he was not currently wearing it. Instead, he tugged at his long hair.  “That is— I am glad I kept it. I am admittedly excited by the idea that I may one day see it returned to its proper place upon your neck…. Ahem.” “Ah… I, erm…I’m…” Nerine jumbled together a few different half-words, until she finally managed to ask “W-would you like more champagne?!” “Yes, please.” AZ held out his half-full glass. “I am desperately in need of alcohol.” 

Nerine jostled the bottle to see how much liquid remained. Seeing that very little was left, she tilted the nozzle towards her mouth, and drank the rest. AZ held back a cough at the sight. “It’s… nice to have company,” Nerine began,  “It's been awhile since I’ve invited anyone over. I’ve been real busy up until recently, you know, and ever since Lyssie moved out—” “Lyssie…?” “I suppose you would know him as Lysandre…” “Ah, yes.” AZ stiffened. “Are you…?” “No, I’m not his mom!” Nerine laughed, “Geez! Do you really think an old crone like me would be having kids? I stopped being capable of that ages ago, anyways.”

“...I did raise him, though.” Hearing this, AZ nearly choked on his drink.  “It’s a very long story. You don’t have to worry about seeing him any time soon, though. He’s been avoiding me… knows I’ll be scolding him for hours whenever he turns up.” “You will have to tell me how it came about. Ah… some other time. I don’t believe I could handle hearing such a story right now.” “How about you tell me a story instead?” her expression turned expectant, and AZ felt as if he’d been put on the spot. “You told me a little about what you’ve been up to lately, but I’m sure there’s a lot more I don’t know.”

“Recently, I, erm…” AZ faltered; an intense desire to impress her rose about him. “I have been… trying to rediscover my passions, as Xanthos puts it. ‘You are intelligent, pragmatic! You should put these traits of yours to use. Not to lead, but for your own indulgence!’ That is what he told me last time we spoke.” “Oh? How has that been going?”

“Well… I discovered I am still quite skilled with architecture. These old hands of mine tremble when I press pencil to paper, but creating blueprints and the likes still comes naturally to me. My brother, as well as Floette, find it all quite boring… I am simply glad my mind is still fresh!” he replied. “Even when we were kids, that’s all you were ever interested in. I never understood it, but you always looked like you were having such fun…  I’m glad you are enjoying yourself even now.” “My Lady Nerine…” His words were slightly slurred at this point, but he continued anyway.  “If you ever wish to refurbish this manor of yours, I do hope you would be willing to call upon your old friend.” 

“You want me to hire you, huh? Or maybe you just think I need a handsome man roaming around my house?” “Perhaps both!” AZ laughed, ignoring how he felt warmed at hearing her call him handsome, even if it was in this light-hearted context.

The pair continued to talk, idling away as the hours passed. Eventually,  AZ’s exhaustion overwhelmed his desire to continue being with Nerine. Watching him nearly nod off, she urged him upwards. As he stood, AZ cupped Floette into her hands, and soon followed Nerine into her guest room. After some moments spent pondering, Nerine shoved a large ottoman against the foot of the bed and covered it in spare blankets, so that his long legs would have somewhere comfortable to rest. He likes to think he took the time to thank her for her consideration, but the moment he laid his head upon a pillow, he blacked out.

A crash of lightning outside startled him awake. For a moment, he was surprised to find himself laying on a proper bed. As the events of the night slowly returned to him, he turned to look at Floette who remained in peaceful slumber on the pillow next to his own. He rubbed a finger against her head, glad to see her so content. At the edge of the bed, he was surprised to see that Nerine’s Espeon curled up into a ball, having come into the room at some point during the night. 

Through the open door, he saw the gentle glow of a light turned on elsewhere within the house. Slowly standing so his companions would not be disturbed, he ducked out of the room. He followed the sound of soft canned laughter, until he entered Nerine’s living room. Hearing his footsteps, she twisted around to face him. Without her glasses, her eyes looked especially tired.

“Oh… did I wake you?” she asked. “Not at all.” “I couldn’t get to sleep…” Nerine sighed, “I think I feel too nervous…” “Because of me?” “Kind of…” Nerine admitted, “N-not because you did something wrong, or anything like that! It’s just that…”

When Nerine trailed off, AZ walked to the opposite side of her. Awkwardly, he fit himself onto the empty section of her couch. Nerine’s eyes flit towards him, then after considering for a moment, she dragged herself towards him, and settled quite comfortably in his lap. AZ’s breath hitched. He felt as if there was something important he should say, but he could not find the words. A trembling hand reached to cradle the back of her head. She laid herself against his chest, her face hidden in the brown fabric of his sweater.

For a time, they stayed like this. Quiet except for the sound of rain, and Nerine’s television playing an old film. He could have sworn that she had fallen asleep against him, but after some time, she spoke to him: “I’m glad you came back…” AZ could just barely hear her, her soft voice half-obscured by his own clothing. “Being with you like this always felt so natural to me. More than it's ever been with anyone else.” She pulled away just enough for AZ to see her eyes. Illuminated only by the light of the TV, her expression was one of unease. 

“When you left last time, I was scared. I didn’t want to be alone. Looking back on it now, I do think it was for the best…. I mean… of course, it kept us from hurting each other. But I realized how desperate I was to just cling to people, even when it wasn’t good for me. After that, I started learning to prioritize myself, not my status or my relationship with another.” Her arms wrapped around his body, pulling him into an embrace. For a moment, he wondered if she could hear how his heart raced. “Part of why I’m telling you this is because… It’s been a long while since I’ve been with anyone.  So I hope you can forgive me if I act a bit needy at times.”

“It’s,” AZ wheezed, “fine. Lady Nerine, I am glad you can be so honest with me. I may… end up behaving the same way towards you. I only hope I am not too overbearing…” “Don’t worry about it…” Nerine yawned, “I think it’s sweet that even after all this time, you still like me so much…” No longer able to keep her eyes open, Nerine’s words turned into a mumble. AZ held her tighter, ensuring she would be comfortable in his arms. Yes, I like you very much… barely able to stay awake much longer himself, he rested his chin against Nerine’s head, and drifted off  to sleep.

[biscuitdragonwithastick]

Oh dear, there’s been a Wattpad purge of explicit content. Just like with ffnet and livejournal, peoples works have been deleted and there will probably be an influx of wattpad refugees coming onto Ao3.

o7