#since i try to always check if the author is on tumblr to tag them when i post one of those quotes

[sinvulkt]

20 Questions For Writers

Wow, thank you so much for the tag @fanfictasia !! I've wanted to participate in something like this forever!! 🎶✨️✨️

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Right now? 66.

"Yes, as a star wars writer, I am very proud of that. No, I do not intend to change it anytime soon."

I really need to focus on (and finish) some of my WIPs, and that mean trying not to disperse my energy amidst one shots (no matter how much i love monthly challenges and fic exchange events). Also I'm very proud of that 66 count and want to appreciate it xd.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

321k words!!

(More or less 100k / year 🎶 little me would never believe that 0.0

My school exam results sure don't, with how they are dropping 🤣)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Star wars mostly (Vaderkin or my OC Sinvulkt), then Marvel (Dr Strange), Dream SMP (Dream), Le Visiteur du Future (Renard) and more recently Batman (Bruce Wayne) as well as Avatar: the last airbender (Zuko).

Plus the original stories I am supposed to write but almost never end up doing xd (the engagement in fandom compared to original stories make the switch hard xd).

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1. Dreamt of a Never Ending Sky (Dream SMP)

669 kudos

2. To Fly Free Under The Morning Sun (Star Wars)

480 kudos

3. On the Edge of Twilight (Star Wars)

380 kudos

4. Scales of Embers (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

353 kudos

5. Crash Landing on Space Australia (Star Wars)

319 kudos

I'll never know how my Dream SMP fic got so much engagement. Good timing at a moment the fandom was in effervescence, I guess. Scales of Embers scoring so high is also a surprise 0.0. I discovered it had that many kudos today. It’s a shame the Dr Strange fandom is small because I think my Dr Strange WIP What If Doctor Strange Lost His Humanity ? would have deserved a place here. It definitely does in my heart.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! As a reader, I always feel super happy when the author shows that they’ve read and appreciated my comments. I know that personality an author who answers make me more likely to want to drop a comment.

As an author, I absolutely want to show how much I love every single comments, so I try to answer them all. But I get a little overwhelmed sometimes, bcs lots of other stuff going on irl or another reason. As such, it can happen that I don't feel the energy to answer a comment on the spot. And if I don't answer it on the spot (using the power of the wiggy dizzy nice happy feeling of getting a comment), I don't necessarily have the energy to answer later on. I currently have something like 60 unanswered comments I think? TT.TT

But rest assured that whether I answered or not, I absolutely adore and cherish every single ones!! Comments are amazing! ✨️.✨️

(This kind of engagement is one of the only reason I managed to settle into such an active rythm of writing after years of trying then dropping the hobby~)

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Glance at my fics.

Uhhh... This is a hard question here... Many of them have angsty endings XD

Mostly the ones at the beginning (the worst written ones xd). I wonder why~

Also a lot of them don' have endings yet XD

I'll say amidst the 'old' fics from 2021, Day 8 - Screaming (Star Wars) would be the angstier one (or most horrible one ig xd).

But as far as recent fic go... While I haven't finished writing it bcs its wordcount exploded in my face, I already plotted / drafted it a few months ago and I know the ending, so I'll choose:

Batman’s Downfall (To Stand Alone) (Batman)

I noticed my kind of angst doesn’t have much success around these parts 🫠🤣. Oh well. I cherish it all the same :3.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Sometimes I think I wrote too many fics. It's hard to select one.

Uhhh... My fluffiest works are one shots in Of Feathers and Freedom serie, but they are part of the series so it’s not really an 'ending'.

...

I'll answer for the crackiest story rather than the happiest ending bcs all my finished fics ending are ominous open ending at best xd.

The Blob Adventures Of Excentrics Jedi (Star Wars)

Because it's cute blob drawings of our crazy team of OC in taaoej, and I love them (although we are all angst lovers in taaoej, so it's more crack-angst, and we don't know the ending bcs there isn't really one. Not yet at least. Hopefully never).

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

Just my own innervoice as far as I'm aware. But then I've always been rather clueless when people tried to 'hate on me'. The message usually just got lost somewhere in dreamspace immensity, never computing.

I've found the fandoms communities really welcoming at the very least!!

9. Do you write smut?

No.

I don't really enjoy reading smut. Nor romance for the matter. I don't think I'd enjoy writing it.

But maybe I'll try one day, for the sake of experimenting all genres.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I never did. I don't know why. Maybe I just never felt the need to mix characters and universes. There are amazing crossovers out there though, so who knows, maybe one day I'll try one.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of. In all honesty, I don't think my works are nearly popular enough to get stolen xd.

My writing style isn’t that good yet, and my dislike of romance when the majority of the fandom community is ship-powered means I end up in a corner quite niche. (A corner I love, that being said. Yay Crack, Angst and Gen~)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but maybe I'll translate some of mine in french someday. Be it only so that I do write fiction in my native language from time to time.

Anyone that wanna translate my fics, feel free to!!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes, To Fly Free Under The Morning Sun (Star Wars)!!

I’m still waiting for my co-author @purpleopossum to come back to me / get back in star wars mood to continue that one. 🫠

Can’t say my hopes are that high up after all this time, but it’s the redemption | healing part of the serie and I don’t really have fun writing alone redemption | healing part... i prefer doing the whole mayhem that create the injury in the first place. And with how long some of my fics hiatus are (and I got no excuse for those xd), it’s only fair for me to wait. (I did write more other works for the dragon Vader serie in the meantime xd).

I made an oath to myself to never leave a work unfinished though, so we’ll see. If in several years purple still doesn’t wish to continue it, or if she inform me she is dropping the story, I’ll try to make some kind of ending. It’s part of the game i guess.

Alternatively, the The Amazing Adventures Of Excentrics Jedi universe is a group of star wars OCs that we made together with @pat-the-togorian , @asteral-feileacan , @ct2002-rema and Xylian. I don’t know if that count as co-writing? We usually write our OCs pov.

But in all cases, co-writting is very fun and I’d definitely do it again if other opportunities arise in the future.

14. What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

The absence of ship is my all-time favorite ship. Otherwise, "main character / digging their own grave" would be my 'favorite ship' since I tend to synch with idiots snarky jerks disasters.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

To Fly Free Under The Morning Sun (Star Wars) that I mentioned for question 13? 🤣

More seriously, I'll answer On the Edge of Twilight (Star Wars)

Because it's my vent fic. I know the main plot line, I vaguely know the current arc, but no one can predict where the next arc will go. It's all pure impulse and while I have a vague idea of 'ending', I refuse to plan a path towards it. This fic specifically, I want to keep pure impulse. So I'd love for it to become some kind of "The NeverEnding Story". :3

16. What’s your writing strengths?

I write.

No seriously, it's not something I did four years ago appart from vent poems here and there. Writing is in itself a huge writing strenght!

Otherwise I'm also a bottomless well of idea. It's pretty neat.

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

... romance?

Or dialogues. Lastly I have a lot of frustration around the transition from dialogue / transition / dialogue. I feel like I'm crap at properly timing that.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

It's fun. I do it for games sometimes. Since apparently writing normally is not chllenging enough for my brain sometimes. It did teach me bits of mando'a.

Recently for Sēċan (Star Wars) I decided last minute to put the whole droid dialogue in morse, and I regret none of it.

I'm usually only doing it for one shots though, and never 'official existing' languages until now.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star wars :p

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Now that's another hard question, how am I supposed to select one.

I'm gonna answer the whole Of Feathers And Freedom (Star Wars) serie. Bcs wings. :3

Tag time~ (if you wish to)

@purpleopossum @pat-the-togorian @cinderfeather @beguilewritesstuff @purple-iris @dreaminghour @ravenite-void @trickstress333 @bluntblade @doctorgeekery @stewardofningishzida @jenae-0 @trickstress333 @kittonafoxgirl @pastelcourage @salparadiselost @kefalion @charlottevader @ravenstakeflight @starr234 @aelaer @sarcasticfirefighter @mckiwi @linzerj @sonderwalker @exomal @tonhalszendvics @nephilimswitchlight @firejay112 @only-here-for-the-star-wars @ajedilikehisfather @makaronik @chickadeechickadoo @dirtkid123 @numerousbees1106 @akizumy @25centsoda @udekai @wendingways @silvereddaye @in-company-of-misery @wisechaosglitter @kuraiarcoiris @alright-anakin @wyvunn you're more than welcome to join on the interview fun!! (Or to ignore the tagging if not interested xd).

I know I tagged. I lot of people. Some of you may recognise my pseud, some may not. But I thought it would be interesting to hear the answer of the various authors with whom I interacted on ao3 over the years, so I went and digged up those with tumblr I could find from my inbox 🤣

(Hopefully I didn’t bother any of you >.< - otherwise I apologize. Same for if I accidentally tagged a non-writer.)

I'd love to hear your answers! 🎶

[starry-fame]

18+ Overboard [Caleb x Gender Neutral!reader/MC]

Summary:

“You planning on going back to bed soon? Or what?���

You chew on your lip, trying to gauge the meaning in his words. You pull up nothing, so you decide to just answer honestly. “…Not really.”

“Alright then, keep me company.” Caleb swings around to face the foyer, casting a long glance over his shoulder. “I’ve always been more of a night owl anyway.”

The liar. Caleb’s always been able to get up at the crack of dawn since he was a teen. It’s such an obvious fib, but he says it anyway, shamelessly directing you to his room.

Like a moth to a flame, you follow.

Tags: Smut, Pining, Confessions, Porn with feelings, Dom/Sub Undertones, Overstimulation, Body Worship, Penetration, Rough Sex, Begging Ambiguous Genitalia!reader/MC, Gender neutral!reader/MC

Word Count: 11,734

Author's Notes: I posted this a while ago on ao3 and wanted to try tumblr as well! I can also post silly MC stuff and character edits haha. Anyway, I hope Caleb lovers enjoy! Also, certain parts technically aren't canon as of A World Underneath release, but that's okay :')

Ao3 Check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill!

Masterlist

Sequel - Caleb Loves to Bully You in Bed

It burns.

The air’s filled with plumes of smoke, darkened to an ugly red clouded in ash. It waters your eyes and fills your lungs with soot, wracking you with dry coughs that destroy your throat. It’s hot — so hot — your body feels heavy. You’re crawling — you think? But the ground seems to slide beneath you, and your palms scrape against the concrete, bloodied.

Though your ears ring a terrible, destitute tune and your chest cries in agony — the only thing your mind screams is to get away. Run. Crawl. Slide. Drag your useless limbs and get away. You have to run; stand up and run but your body just lays there.

It’s coming. You can’t get away — you’ll die. You don’t want to die. Shelter’s right there. So close — so close. You drag past a mangled, severed arm, and instantly retch. But you keep moving. So near. Right there. But the sound of inhuman dragging grates your ears behind you and—

Your eyes shoot open, body doused in a sheen of sweat and heart ready to burst. The sheets feel far too sticky and clammy under your fingers and you’re quick to peel them off — rid yourself of anything that makes you feel hot. Confined.

One breath, two, three… it takes a moment to gather your bearings. You’re not freshly seven drowning in a sea of pain and desperate tears. You’re in your childhood home, resting on your sheets and surrounded by memories of the past.

Seems that no matter how much time passes, your dreams will always find a way to torment you as though you lived them yesterday.

What a mood-killer. You’re finally in your old home after an extended absence, and all your mind can do is taunt you by conjuring up your darkest memories.

The room’s bathed in darkness — a glance at your watch shows it’s late in the middle of the night. Not exactly time to rise, but you’re not so trusting of your dreams either. The sweat that dampens your brows and the front of your shirt feels disgusting, so you fan yourself mindlessly. You have to do something, be anywhere but here.

You’re quick to stand, stumbling a little from the sudden shift in gravity. Your eyes are still bleary, crusted, and you rub at them as you trudge out your room.

The house is dead silent, which only makes the sound of your footsteps more apparent, has you silently wincing at every step. Still, you do your best to move quiet as you can to the fridge. Grab yourself a water and chug about half of it in one gulp, cooling your clammy skin and ridding that feeling of scalding — of hot ash coating your throat. You enjoy the crinkle of the cool bottle in your grasp, how the mundane, predictable noise reminds you of reality and the now.

The incessant buzz of crickets in the distance is almost calming. The house is otherwise tranquil and calm. Peace and — you hear a quiet thump. Okay, not as quiet as you thought. Setting the bottle down, you slowly turn toward the noise, reminding your quickening pulse that unless your hunter’s watch is buzzing with a warning, there’s no imminent danger.

A few footsteps and… a tall figure emerges from the doorway, bending so he can properly fit through. Though he’s doused in shadow and you can only make out the slight glimmer of his two-toned irises, his name naturally falls from your lips.

“Caleb…”

“Thought I heard someone sneaking around in here. Why am I not surprised?” He languidly strides across the moonlit room, pausing to gently ruffle your hair like its tradition; he’s been doing it for so long, it might as well be. Even when you two were little and you had a bit of height on him (he’d prop up on his tip toes to pat your head — it was pretty adorable, in hindsight.) So you can’t bring yourself to swat his hand away as he goes for the fridge to grab a drink of his own.

Instead of drinking, though, Caleb pauses and scrutinizes the water, like it did a personal wrong to him. Before you get the chance to probe his mind, he presses the chilled bottle against your forehead. The cold makes you flinch on instinct and shoot a quick glare at him.

“What was that for?”

“Wake up call. Did you get thirsty in the middle of the night? Or you just can’t sleep?” He raises a brow, wearing a grin coated with worry as he takes a drink. Caleb’s always been terribly perceptive, he seemed to just know when you were having a terrible day or if something was amiss. Whether it was the years you’ve spent in each other’s company or Caleb’s innate sensitivity to human emotion, you have no clue. A mix of both, maybe.

Like always, he watches. You look away.

“Thirsty.”

“Uh huh. And I guess all that thirst’s what made your eyes red. You’re looking a little hot there too. Should I crank up the A/C?” Caleb raises a brow, and you wonder why he even bothers asking when he comes to his own conclusions. He should hardly be able to tell these things in the dark — does he just know? Or are the faint streaks of moonlight through the window just enough to tell him everything he needs?

“It’s not a bad thing to admit when you’re having nightmares, y’know. I mean, when you were a kid, you’d come knocking on my door in near tears and—“

“I get it, Caleb. I don’t need the whole rundown.” You snap, fighting the immediate embarrassment that wells up at your vulnerability and dependence as a child. For how strong you like to deem yourself now, it’s not like that was always the case. You were an easily frightened kid, especially jumpy after the attack. You clung to everyone and everything around you because you lost everything you held dear once before.

“And for the record,” you add, “it was a two way street. I can name a few times you came to my room saying you just wanted to talk. You look like you’d been crying for the past hour.” Right. Seeking solace in one another because you were confused kids who had their lives flipped upside down in a single afternoon.

You and Caleb were friends before the tragedy, neighbors who played together a few times at most. Not best friends, but he was the nice kid down the block you enjoyed spending time with.

When you found Caleb during the Catastrophe, you remember like it was only days ago. Crawling frantically, trying not to collapse from the pain that engulfed your being enough to make your vision swirl. In the makeshift shelter, you saw a few injured adults — some minimal, some fatal, and even fewer children crying tended to by lesser wounded adults. You could barely sit up. Someone tried to offer assistance, you think, but then a kid your size rushed beside you and knelt down, asking if you were okay.

Your ears were ringing and you could barely get a noise out, but you could tilt your head up and see those raven eyes with a hint of amber, full of absolute terror. You whispered his name so hoarse — “Caleb…” and like the turning of a faucet, an ugly mesh of tears and mucus immediately began streaming down your face. The smell of red — death, the sights, your bloodied hands, aching body, screaming heart, all honed in at once. All you could do was sob while Caleb knelt down beside you and cradled your head, tears prickling his eyes. It didn’t take long for you two to break down in one another’s arms.

From then on, you couldn’t help but stick to Caleb like glue. Caleb was the only person you had connected to your old life — the only remaining stability when everything else crumbled to dust. When you were bundled in your room and didn’t even want to talk to Grandma because she was some strange adult whom you now lived with — Caleb would sit in with you. He’d remain as long as he had to, validate every last awful thought you had in your frustrations and soothe you with sweet caresses and gentle words. As embarrassing as it is to recall, as a child, he was your lifeline. Caleb’s the reason you didn’t run away in a frenzy when everything was too much and you felt like you just needed to be away and gone. He’s the reason you were able to eventually adapt to your new lifestyle and warm up to Grandma over time. It’s ridiculous, really, how much Caleb meant and was able to do for you by just existing as himself. Caleb could sit in your room minding his business, and his presence alone was enough to soothe your tired limbs and mind from punching your pillows and recalling every terrible thing that happened that fated day.

He was always there for you, one way or another. It’s just the way it’s always been.

It’d be nice if you had something of an effect like that on him, too.

“Right. Because sometimes a little chat is all you need when you’re not doing so hot,” Caleb says, leaning on the counter and gesturing his bottle to you. Yeah, just like him alright, to flip it around on you even when you try to call him out. Makes it feel like every conversation with him is a losing battle, like he always has the upper hand because he knows just the right thing to say and how to say it.

“Alright, alright. Yeah, I had a nightmare. Happy?” You sigh, resigned at this point. You can’t even really be angry when Caleb’s been nothing but reasonable from the start, speaks out of pure care and concern. Rather, perhaps it’s the fact that he’s always reasonable you tend to get irate.

“‘Course not. It’s not like I like hearing you still get them. But it’s nice to have someone to talk to instead of keeping it all to yourself, right?” His eyes crinkle so sweetly, non-judgmental. It’s that look that always breaks you, forces you to spill anything and everything he can pull from you. He never takes advantage, just offers support, so you fall into his trap every time.

“It’s not like I’m a kid anymore. I can’t just run to you every time I have a bad dream,” you still utter. It’s weak at best, but you can’t toss all your issues onto Caleb like you did as a child. He lost everything that day too, and he still took the time to comfort and spoil you every single time you sought him out (or he came to you), no matter the day or hour. How many of those times did he cry himself, but choke back the tears just so he could attend to you?

“I didn’t say all that. But it’s not gonna kill you to quit bottling up your emotions, y’know.” The amber in Caleb’s eyes seem to flash, and yours flicker down in turn. Sometimes it feels like he still sees the same seven-year-old you once were, pitiful and dependent.

“I… know that. It’s just….”

A heavy breath leaves Caleb’s nose. He closes his eyes, sits on his words, and opens them with a twinkle of clarity.

“You gonna fall back asleep soon?”

You blink. “Huh?” Caleb doubles down.

“You planning on going back to bed soon? Or what?”

You chew on your lip, trying to gauge the meaning in his words. You pull up nothing, so you decide to just answer honestly. “…Not really.”

“Alright then, keep me company.” Caleb swings around to face the foyer, casting a long glance over his shoulder. “I’ve always been more of a night owl anyway.”

The liar. Caleb’s always been able to get up at the crack of dawn since he was a teen. It’s such an obvious fib, but he says it anyway, shamelessly directing you to his room.

You’ll let him have this one though; swallow your complaints and choose his method. You dip your head and follow him to his room, still decorated with posters of My Life as a Hunter and old-school shooter games he raved over as a kid. Though he grew a passion for piloting after a period, he still had an interest in Hunter shows as an early teen, posters and figures scattered about his room proof as such. You think they existed in attempt to ease the public into the idea of Hunters, hell, even to coerce a few impressionable people in the process. A small part of you always wanted a way to reign in control of your life, to be someone who can do the saving, not sit in tears and wait to be saved. The show just increased your resolve, if anything. Though, you remember a short period where Caleb tried to convince you otherwise.

Eventually, you think he understood well enough to quietly show his support, if only because you weren’t backing down. And it tickles the nose a little, knowing you’re now something he admired with sparkling eyes as a kid.

Like always, he sits on his bed, and you take a spot in the swivel chair at his desk, idly spinning back and fourth. There’s a dim, pale night light to give the room a low glow. It’s easy on the eyes and you can still comfortably make out the ridges of Caleb’s face, his indiscernible expression when he settles and just seems to think.

“…Feels like we haven’t done this in forever,” You murmur, eyes trailing around each and every corner. You well with nostalgia, so much it makes your heart ache, bittersweet.

“Yeah, guess we didn’t get much time once I left. Not soon after you were off getting your Hunter’s license, so we were both pretty busy,” Caleb responds, and you wonder if he feels the same way you do. A tinge of sadness, but serenity at the familiar scene. Getting to sit in one another’s company like you always would in the past.

“Getting used to you not always being around was…” It feels embarrassing to just admit how much you missed him, how empty the house felt without his lively presence. “Hard. Harder than I expected, anyway.”

“It was weird not waking up to Gran’s cooking or your demands, that’s for sure.”

“Demands?”

“Don’t take it the wrong way. You always act so proper around other people, but not with me and Gran. Everyone needs a place to loosen up, someone you can just be yourself around. And a little selfish.” Caleb’s laugh makes your cheeks warm, though your ears seem to love it. It fills you with various memories and you realize man, you really missed Caleb. When you talk, it’s like you two were never separated. But it’s times like these the feeling of truly getting to see him every day, just be with him, swells in your heart. You sigh, grasp your nightshirt, and peer at Caleb through your lashes because you fear how telling your expression is.

“Then… is it the same for you? Or was it easier to loosen up around your friends?” You ask nonchalantly, as though the question wasn’t gnawing at you from the inside out. Did Caleb feel at home, or like he had to put on a show and be the ‘strong one’, only able to let loose when he’s around peers and not biting off more than he can chew?

“Mmm…” You hear a low hum, and fingers ghost over your forehead, gone before you can even get a noise out. Caleb watches you intently, enough to make you break his gaze first. He looks pleased.

“It’s different with other friends, sure. Because you’re not them, and they’re not you. There’s ways I can relax with them, and reasons I can relax here,” he answers. His gaze feels loaded, and you vaguely wonder if there’s more to that answer with how his eyes bore into you. But you bite your tongue and decide to let the question go unsaid.

“I see.”

Caleb’s gaze persists. It’s gentle, not demanding of anything, or even expectant. But for some reason, it makes you want to turn away so you don’t have to be subject to it.

“I did miss home y’know, pipsqueak.” You wonder if that’s what Caleb was watching for, trying to see if you were silently doubtful. You bite your lip and decide to just let the words spill out before your pride makes you swallow them whole.

“I missed you.”

Caleb’s eyelids widen almost imperceptibly, but you still catch it. He blinks, and they relax with this look that feels fond, but also seems to carry another aspect you can’t decipher with so little light.

The sound of crickets buzz in the distance. The extended silence makes your grip tighten on the arm rest.

“This necklace is nice, y’know. Whenever anyone asks, I get to bring you up. They probably get sick of it after a while,” Caleb murmurs, and he lifts the silver chain you placed around his neck, ruby glimmering in the light. Knowing he kept it, the way he so proudly handles the chain, makes you feel fuzzy.

“You tell other people about me?”

“So much they could probably write an essay. How you’d cling to me as a kid, when we’d hang out together, how, for a short while, we were all the other had.” Caleb squeezes the chain and lets it dangle against his tee, expression gentle, and part of you wishes you had a chain too. Something to remind you of Caleb, an excuse to think or talk about him. To rub between your fingers and recall a time you were both in a fit of laughter, young, happy and free.

“I relied on you a lot. More than you deserved, especially as a kid. …Sorry.”

“Seriously?” Caleb gapes, and a snort leaves his mouth. “Never thought I’d hear that. But you don’t have to—no. I don’t want you to apologize. It was nice. Part of me kinda misses it. I mean I get it, you can handle your own. It’s not like you need me looking after you anymore, but… I liked it. And nowadays, I can’t help wanting to at least support you,” Caleb shrugs, like those words don’t penetrate your core and settle deep in your chest, breath hitching. A million responses swim through your mind, none of them breaking the surface.

“Oh, uh…” It’s… embarrassing, hearing that blatantly said aloud.

“And, to be perfectly clear, I missed you too,” he adds. Your throat bobs. You enjoy hearing those words from his mouth, the way he says them so easily with a hint of affection. While it’s enough to make your body feel flush with embarrassment, it’s nice he’s never too stubborn to show his care. If anything, you’re far more stubborn in admitting your feelings. Perhaps that’s why you told yourself to just say it, not let the pride win and be honest every once in a while.

“It… sucks. I only get to see you for a few days at most and poof, you’re gone,” you gesture along with your words, hastily getting them out while you still have the weak confidence to. “Your cooking, waking up to you everyday, when you get me little snacks just because…” Your legs swing back and fourth, antsy, but your heart feels lighter when you can freely speak your mind, say all the things you were too prideful to say as a kid.

Caleb listens silently with solicitous eyes. His mouth parts, closes again, and he seems to swallow. You time the kick of your legs, so you don’t start kicking them faster while you’re left on the waiting end, mute until Caleb responds.

“It’s pretty dull not having your own personal 5-star chef, huh?” He finally says, with a grin, and you softly deflate. Your legs slow to a stop, and your heart feels heavy again.

“Yeah… I… I guess—“

“No,” Caleb hisses under his breath. You think it’s to himself. But he leans forward on his duvet and reaches up, brushing his fingers over the jut of your eyebrows so light you can barely feel the touch. Your eyes shut reflectively, and his hand eases to your cheek, knuckles gently sliding down. You peek an eye at the sudden touch, trying to not make your mild startle too known. He’s the type to stroke your head or push you away in jest. This brand of touch is new. Foreign.

Your lips tremble and Caleb’s eyes flicker down to them.

“I’d do all those things every day, if I could. Listen to you get ridiculously excited about those rare kitty cards, see you when I get home from work; when you get home from work…” His knuckles trail down to your chin, dangerously close to your lips.

You inhale slowly, and try not to show your panic when your heart begins to beat an erratic rhythm. This is the first time Caleb’s ever made your heart race — like this anyway, and a flurry of thoughts and emotions you never dared consider all invade you at once. If you were standing, you’d stumble on the spot.

“I miss seeing your mug, what can I say?” Caleb laughs, gives your face two playful pats, and retracts his fingers. You withhold the urge to chase them, press his palm against your cheek. Instead, you bite the inside of your cheek to curb the desire.

They’re nothing but strange thoughts in the heat of the moment, a little too drawn in by the touch of his fingers after not seeing him for so long. Equating nostalgia with attraction is not a good look, and you know to smother it in its wisps before it engulfs into a bed of flames.

“When — when we were kids it was kind of like this,” you begin, trying to even out the tremor in your voice. “We weren’t telling each other we missed one another, of course. But I’d sit in this chair. And you’d wipe my tears when I was sad. No matter how long it took.” You say, and you know you’re just making conversation to push your mind away from uncouth thoughts. With luck, Caleb won’t pick up on a thing.

“Yeah, you were a bit of a crybaby. Always barging in, no matter the time, just to have someone to cry to. It was pretty cute, though.” Caleb stands slowly, already no more than a foot in front of you, and he bends down to rest one hand on the armrest while the other palm holds your cheek, thumb swiping under your eye. “Just like this.”

This… feels dangerous. The part of you that automatically reacts to his teasing wants to glare and push his hand away, scoffing and spouting some retort. That’s how you should respond, how he expects you to.

This new, faint part of you wants to close your eyes and lean your cheek into his palm, turn your head so your lips rest on his fingertips. You do neither, and just peer up at him through your lashes, too scared to tilt your head up and have your face reveal every dirty thought racing through your brain.

“It was cute when you’d come to me, too. You’d sit next to me, trying to act all strong. Then I’d pat your shoulder and you’d go ‘I’m not crying’ while you kept wiping your eyes. Couldn’t fool a baby. But it made me happy. That you came to me,” You speak, and reach up to Caleb’s shoulder, giving it a few soft pats. “Just like this.”

Caleb’s fingers dig into the armrest though his face remains moderately amused. He tilts his head, murmurs a “Guess we were both the type to tear up,” with a cryptic smile, and moves to pull his hand away.

Subconsciously, against any rational thought, you chase after him and hold tight to his shoulder, other hand keeping Caleb’s palm firmly in place.

He blinks once, twice. The moment is palpable. You know you can’t explain yourself out of this, but your gut instinct just doesn’t care. It craves to stay in Caleb’s proximity, to keep him by you. Like he’d melt away if you let go, and the moment would be lost to eternity.

“Pipsqueak?” He murmurs, rubbing a curious thumb across your cheek and it’s all you can really take. You feel the way Caleb tenses up when you bury your nose in his palm, when you shakily inhale and just settle into its warmth. You think you’re trembling a little, and fear eats at your racing heart. Fear of shattering the relationship you have — pushing beyond the bounds of your preconceived ‘normal’. This isn’t what you and Caleb are. Caleb calls you an infuriatingly affectionate nickname when he checks up on you. You and Caleb bicker about mindless things and easily make up in a few hours because Caleb always gives in. You and Caleb were friends since you were children, kids who played together, teens who begrudgingly got along, and adults who were still close and made efforts to visit home on your shared time off.

It wasn’t whatever the hell this was. And the guilt that rises in your throat is immense, taking Caleb’s actions to make them something they’re not — twisting his kind gestures into something awful. You force yourself to recede from his palm, mouth open to utter a soft apology.

Just as that soft ‘sorry’ passes your lips, Caleb coaxes your head up, peers long and hard into your eyes, like he’s searching the depths to find whatever it is he seeks, needs.

You think he finds it, because his breath hitches, the hand on your face seems to quiver, and his face leans so close to yours. Not touching, no, his hot breaths ghost over your lips, his nose tickling your cheek. You swallow thickly, and the warmth from his proximity spreads like wildfire.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers, urgent. Almost desperate, like it takes every ounce of self-restraint to remain as he is. So near but never bridging the small gap.

“I…” You start, knowing this is the tipping point. He’s still kind enough to give you an out, to let you reject any notion of whatever this is and pretend none of it ever happened. Makes it seem like he doesn’t want it to happen. Caleb’s always been kind like that. And maybe, in the long run, it would be the better option. To not risk destroying the relationship you’ve built and nurtured for well over a decade.

But, meeting his pleading eyes with your own, you know the only words that can leave your mouth. It’s the sole thought that repeated over and over in tandem with each shaky sigh that parted from his pink lips.

Slowly opening your mouth, you take the plunge. “I do.”

You don’t know whether Caleb’s face flashes with relief or pain — maybe both — and his lips press so deep into yours, slow and heated. It elicits a quiet, gasping noise from your throat that Caleb swallows. You have to wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself because his kisses are starved, like he’s been craving this moment forever and you wonder if that’s really the case. His hand on the armrest moves down to grasp your thigh and a pleased noise rumbles in the back of your throat, his thumb stroking the inside of it so tenderly you could tremble. The sense of relief, of immediate euphoria of having this man on your lips almost makes you wanna cry as he kisses you senseless, licks his tongue into your mouth and coaxes every soft noise he can with each repeated press of his lips. When your fingers sneak up to his neck, quiet sounds hum in his throat and they envelop your mind, drugging you with the sound and feel of him. You could do this for hours, kiss Caleb until the only thing your mouth knows is the taste of him.

“I can’t believe —“ Caleb gasps between breathless kisses, speaking against your lips and sliding his hand down to rest on the junction of your head and neck. You tremble and he pecks the corner of your mouth in response, as though to soothe you. “You’re actually—“ He kisses at your cheek, then your nose affectionately. You feel the heat rise in your neck and avert your gaze out of pure embarrassment. “Letting me…” He laughs against your cheek, face alight and you hope the pain you perceived earlier is a little lessened now.

“I didn’t know you wanted to…” You murmur, and stretch your neck up again to capture his lips. Somehow, each kiss only seems to improve upon the last, and when his fingers slide against your neck, a quiet moan vibrates in your throat. Caleb pulls back with low lids and ragged breaths, lips pinker than you’ve ever seen and covered with a sheen of saliva. Kiss swollen’s never a look you imagined on him, but you quite like it.

“Guess I’m good at keeping secrets then,” Caleb says in a huff of soft laughter, and he’s gently tugging, guiding your body up and off the chair to sit beside him on the duvet. “Or,” he leans down and pets the front of your throat, lips steady against your fluttering pulse. “You’re just stupidly oblivious.”

“There’s no way I would’ve…” you begin to murmur as your fingers clench on his nightclothes. Your body reacts to the sensation of his lips kissing every bit of skin he can reach on your neck, licking but mindful enough to not leave marks and the consideration alone is hot enough to make you shudder.

Could you have? Your mind is hazy and each time Caleb mouths at your throat you lose it a little more, but you vaguely replay memories in your mind. Caleb’s mindfulness, his perception, his endless kindness — but he’s like that with everyone, so how could you have known you were special beyond your friendship and shared past? Granted you probably got a little extra pampering from him — but you shared a home. Of course you’d get more if you saw him more.

“Good. I was never gonna tell you, y’know,” he breathes. His large hands gently ease you backwards and you comply, letting him press you against the mattress. It smells like a mix of him — that same oak body wash he’s used since he was a teen (thankfully you bullied him out of that terrible smelling cologne phase), and fresh detergent from the laundry he took care of earlier. You resist the urge to turn your head and bury it into the covers, inhale deep, for you’re sure it’d come off as a little strange.

“Never?”

“Never.” He rests his forearms next to your head, face mere inches away. He seems to like watching you, those dimly lit eyes of his boring into you. “I mean, I thought about it sometimes. But we’ve known each other what, sixteen years now? We played together since we were preschoolers,” he sighs, thumb brushing over your cheek. His face is so raw and open, flushed and longing. Like he can finally spill every dirty little secret he’s kept hidden forever. His thumb moves to swipe across your lip and you kiss it — innocently enough. His breath stutters.

Then you open your mouth, gently suck on the digit, and he stops breathing altogether.

“Mm…” You hum in agreement, though with the way Caleb’s eyes darken, you figure it more resembles a moan.

“Damn,” he curses, and experimentally swipes across your tongue. You shamelessly take his thumb in deeper, revel in the way his lips tremble and he bites them, as though to curb some thought or action that sprung in his mind in response.

“You’re friends with someone that long, you figure there’s no chance. Figured you saw me as a brother or something. I mean, I kinda did it to myself,” he speaks, but looks absolutely enthralled by your mouth around his thumb. The way you swirl your tongue around him, encouraging him to just let go. You think his words are half spoken on instinct with how dazed and red-faced he looks.

“Fuck , if I just knew…” Caleb hisses, and he leans forward for balance, forehead pressed against yours (he’s so warm) while his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, resting just below your navel. The proximity to your waistband makes you subconsciously squirm a little, and his hand presses firmer, stilling your hips. “I could’ve done this so much sooner.”

You try to murmur a response past his thumb but the welcome intrusion makes your words incoherent. He gently retracts it from your lips to press against them, saliva coating his thumb, your lips, and wetting your chin.

“What’s that, pipsqueak?” He murmurs. You feel his hand creep up to trace your abdomen, catch at your side and massage there mindlessly.

“For someone who wants to do this so bad…” you sigh, and look up at him, unamused, trying not to let your mild fluster show. It seems even pinned under him, you can’t help but want to be a bit of a brat in his presence. “You’re sure taking your sweet time.”

Caleb’s brow twitches and he completely stills, staring at you with those gorgeous sunset eyes of his up close. You watch his throat bob as he swallows, and his fingers on your torso squeeze, not painful, just a firm hold.

“What the hell am I gonna do with you?” he finally exhales, exasperation plain on his face. He affectionately rubs his forehead against yours, the gesture so sweet it makes your heart swell. “Don’t forget, you’re the one that spurred me on.”

And like a man on a mission, the sweet moment is gone, replaced by greedy lips and needy hands. His mouth is back on yours and you gift him an appeased hum, instantly lost in the warmth of lips and the way he kisses you like he’ll never kiss again. So heated, so, so perfect, and you reach your fingers to tighten in his hair, lift your hips to wrap your legs around his torso. You both sink into the duvet with the strength of his kiss, his hands shamelessly trailing up and down your torso, mapping it out, squeezing when he hears quiet noises and whines emerge from your throat.

You think Caleb enjoys the sounds you make most, because he’ll do anything and everything to draw them out of you, hands frisky and shameless. They’re calloused and rough in the best way and you squeeze his hair in approval, press fleeting kisses to the corner of his lips when you part to breathe. He laughs, happy, and you laugh in turn.

“It’s a little hot, don’t you think?” He murmurs, and uses that as his excuse to push the hem of your shirt past your chest, encourages you to slip your shirt off and sit with your bare torso.

The way he stares at your body, your chest, like there’s nothing else in the word makes your body singe. You reach a hand up to cover his wandering eyes, scoffing. “Don’t just stare, it’s embarrassing.”

“All that talk and you’re embarrassed when I look at you?” He gives your hand a few taps before prying it away, taking in the view just as shamelessly as he did before, if not more so. You’d smack his face with a pillow if he didn’t have your hand held so tightly. “Telling me not to look’s like telling a dehydrated man not to drink. It’s plain cruel,” he laughs, and pulls your hand to his lips to give your fingers a fleeting kiss. Your eyelids flutter alongside your heart, and he grins.

Satisfied with the view, he slides down on the covers (you have to loosen your legs to accommodate), and stares up at you with a playful, shit-eating grin, his chin rested perfectly above your chest. “You don’t mind, right?”

“Don’t ask, do,” you huff, turning your head away in mock annoyance. Caleb’s more than happy to oblige and hums his approval while his hands move to trace the contours of your chest, moves down to press a light kiss to one side, and is quick to focus his mouth where it’s sensitive, have the bud harden under his tongue and send shocks of pleasure coursing through your body.

It even surprises you, how much you feel your face flame not just from pleasure, but pure embarrassment. This is Caleb , of all people. Not just some guy you started crushing on. Being this vulnerable and having his lips on your chest isn’t something you imagined even yesterday. If he saw you like this yesterday, you’d definitely die from shame. There’s not a glimmer of regret, but there’s heaps of embarrassment to spare and you bury your face into the pillow under you, tensing the more he plays. You knew nipples could feel good, but wow, they can feel good and his mouth on them sends shocks straight down your abdomen, makes heat settle low between your legs.

Finally, he pulls away, though his thumbs still graze over them, and he moves up to press a kiss to your jaw. “Don’t get all shy now. C’mon, show me that cute face of yours,” he hums, and you want to bury it even further being called cute (seriously, what the hell? You don’t know if it’s more embarrassing or insulting). But if only to show some semblance of control and confidence, you pull your head away and force yourself to meet Caleb’s adoring eyes, giving him a halfhearted glare with lips curled into a small pout.

“Looking at me like that only makes me wanna tease you more,” he murmurs, and moves to kiss your cheek (he’s so affectionate. It’s so much you almost don’t know how to handle it). And his hands slide down from your chest, settle at your waist and massage right above the band of your sweatpants. So close but not enough, the more his thumbs tease the more the heat becomes unbearable.

“Maybe you should use that mouth of yours for something other than talking,” you grumble, palms pushing Caleb’s head away. You huff with a side-turned head and peer at him from the corner of your eye, wiggling your hips. You couldn’t be more obvious.

“Demanding today, aren’t we?” He rubs his hands forward and back on your hips, trailing a slew of kisses down from the center of your chest to your abdomen, leaving flames in its wake. “Like what? I could make out with you until the sun rises, easy.”

The way Caleb looks at you, eyes flashing, you know what he wants. Those words to fall so reluctant from your tongue, to watch you drop your pride and ask. But Caleb’s had his way well enough, so instead of giving him the satisfaction of your words, you slide down your sweats and underwear, exhaling at the lack of restriction, the free air against your throbbing arousal. Caleb’s eyes go wide and you’re dragging his face between your thighs before he can retort, trying not to tremble from the absolute need that courses through your body. The thought of Caleb’s mouth on you, his tongue against you until your mind is numb.

“This.” You breathe, and Caleb can only let out a breathy chuckle.

“Whatever you say, your majesty,” he teases, smug but lets you guide his head, him dragging his hands down with it and across the planes of your thighs. They slide and down, palming close to your hips and earning him a small jolt, a bitten down noise.

Your fingers dig into his short hairs, dragging him down and rolling your hips to meet him halfway, urgent, needing. Caleb complies, gently mouthing at your inner thighs, biting at them (that gets a startled sound out of you that you instantly smother in fear of making too much noise.) And kisses and licks his way further up until he’s exactly where he needs to be, breaths hot and lips so close they could brush over you.

“To think you’re like this already…” he murmurs, cheeks flushed, and he dives his head down to slowly lick you into his mouth, your legs tensing and fingers shivering. His hands pet your thighs soothingly (it only makes you tremble more) and he sucks, holds your thighs so nice while they shake in his touch. He’s horribly slow, taking his sweet time to mouth against you, kiss against your aching heat and so gently take it into his mouth, painstakingly swirls his tongue. It’s not enough and you roll your hips into his mouth, mumbling curses.

“Dammit Caleb…” you groan, urging for more, grabbing and releasing at his hair, and his eyes flicker up to you, pupils blown and face a pretty red.

“Mm…” He hums, you shudder, and try not to burn at the sight of Caleb so pleased between your legs. Hands anchored to your thighs, mouth busy with a hardworking tongue as he eagerly lavishes you with attention. It’s good this time, not slow torture, and Caleb easily lets you rock your hips into his mouth, whine under the flat of his tongue and the sight of him between your legs. He pushes, holds you when you gasp and jerk into his touch and murmurs soothing hums while his mouth is busy on the taste of you. Your hips develop a rhythm of their own, chasing Caleb’s mouth over and over and when he briefly pulls back, he’s quick to stroke his fingers where his lips were, watch you sigh and and clutch at the parts of him you can reach.

“I wanna—“ he breathes, leans down to kiss the swell of your heat, laughs when you jump because of how swollen, how sensitive you are to his every move. You drag his face back down, his lips around you, not letting him finish the words he was trying to say. You just — his mouth — his warmth, you need, and you buck your hips into his touch, bursts of pleasure coming through you in waves the more his mouth moves in rhythm, the perfect pace he sets and the unfair way his tongue seems to do just the right thing to make you whine against bitten lips.

“Caleb,” you whisper, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. Caleb’s tactic changes, he’s using one hand to keep a steady grip on your thigh while the other reaches up stroke at your sensitive hip, then sneaks up to your nipple to tease it under his thumb and forefinger. His mouth remains occupied, tongue and lips unrelenting, and the dual pleasure is so much it almost feels like too much. But he moves, hot, mouth in tandem with your restless hips, confident and warm and the almost unbearable heat between your legs grows and grows, until you’re biting back a strangled noise and digging your fingers into Caleb’s scalp. You hold his head in place while you ride out the throes of pleasure, Caleb’s mouth easing you through it, still pressing and stroking with the heat of his tongue when the orgasm ebbs away. You have to squirm and push Caleb’s head away, panting and soaked in a sheen of sweat.

Caleb’s lips, nose, chin, are coated in you and he shamelessly licks what he can away, watches as you breathe, catch your breath amidst the aftershocks of your pleasure. Your entire body feels flushed with heat, and the only sound you’re capable of making are quiet gasps for a moment or two.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, presses a hand over his mouth and he’s scrambling off the bed, rushing to rifle through his drawers. He pulls out a bottle of lube and jerks his head to where you’re still settled on the bed, steadying your pulse. You’ve eased yourself to sit up on your elbows, so you can watch in your curiosity, see what’s got him so worked up. Seeing him still fully clothed while your pants lay sweat-ridden and bunched at your ankles, shirt tossed in some corner makes your face fill with heat.

“Can I—would you—“ he returns to the bed, crawls between your open thighs and presses his forehead to yours. The heat of his breaths make you dizzy, and you can feel the flicker of a flame despite just bursting with heat. “Fuck, I just…” he murmurs, moving his head down to rest against your shoulder, lips pressing against the jut of the bone. And the way his nose presses against you, he nuzzles against you and so dearingly asks makes the answer come far too easy. You inhale, stroke his cheek, and nod.

“Mhm,” you agree, moving your head to press a sweet kiss to Caleb’s temple. He groans, wastes no time coating his fingers and slipping them against you, stroking in a tease, then pressing in one.

It’s cold, you tense and Caleb mouths at your collarbone, murmuring “I got you,” while his fingers sits, letting you adjust and you relax to the chill, shudder to the way the digit settles in you, doesn’t feel like enough, and he moves.

Maybe — you think — you didn’t properly think this through. Because while you’ve a short respite from coming, now you have a finger inside you, a hand exploring every inch of your body it can reach, and lips playing with the soft patch between your neck and shoulder that has you sighing and subconsciously quivering. Somehow it’s all too much and not enough all too soon after — and you actively dig your teeth into your lip to keep quiet, not risk sounds traveling through the walls.

“So…” Caleb inhales, his lips travel down to kiss at your chest, lick at your nipples once more and they stand to attention at his efforts. “So damn warm…” You wonder if he means the heat from your body or the way you feel around his finger. His lips tease while his finger thrusts at a steady rhythm and when it becomes comfortable (and lacking). You start to grind into his touch, craving more, shuddering when a soft noise leaves his throat.

You exhale, peer at the pink cheeks of your childhood friend — hell, your best friend. You feel your heart melt, then your body melt in tandem when his finger slips out so he can ease two of them in, slowly stretching you. They move deep, curling inside you and with the just perfect brush of his fingertips, you let out a pitched gasp and pull a hand up to cover your mouth. Caleb doesn’t say a thing, instead makes sure to move against that bundle of sensitive nerves over and over, watches you tense and squirm the more he focuses his attention.

“You’re pretty good at keeping quiet,” Caleb praises, and moves his face up to draw you into a long kiss, mouth in sync with the way he fucks you with his fingers, steady and perfectly bent to leave you panting. You whine against him, chasing his fingers with your hips. He sucks on your bottom lip, pulling away with a dirty pop, lips glistening. “Can’t wait for the day you don’t have to hold back.”

“Hah—shit…” You curse, wanting to come up with a coherent response but your words catch in your throat, interrupted by gasps, and your mind can’t even conjure what to say to something like that, but you feel your body throb, your hips jump at his praise. Caleb hums, presses a kiss to your cheek, and slides down.

He does that thing where he looks up at you from between your legs, cheek rested on your thighs damp with sweat. His lips curl into that gorgeous, sinful grin that’s stupidly hot and infuriating all at once and you squeeze his hair in half-assed annoyance. He kisses one thigh, turns and sucks a gentle bruise into the other - fuck, why does that feel so damn good. And he busies his mouth with the taste of you, fingers working a slowly building rhythm that has your palm firm over your mouth and the other hand steady in his hair while you try — and fail, to not fall into a haze of pleasure. You almost want to curse, being so weak under his fingers and mouth. Flip the scene and give him a taste of his own medicine. But his tongue knows just what to do and he knows just the way to move his head to have you unable to do anything but let out choked gasps and rut into his eager mouth.

Though you take his fingers easily now, feel prepared enough to handle all he has to offer, he doesn’t stop. The sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you and his pretty, obscene mouth on you fill the otherwise silent room, save for your gasps and sighs. You curl against him and huff, biting your lip and using both palms to still his head.

“If you keep going, I’ll—“ you warn, because his fingers aren’t enough but his mouth is too much, and if you’re left a quivering mess you won’t be able to handle Caleb fucking you on top of it. Caleb hums, his glimmering eyes flicker up to you, and you think they crinkle in amusement. You’ve learned not to trust that face of his.

And of course, the dick , he keeps going. Holds you down with one hand so he can push and spread his fingers deep, taste you on his tongue as he sucks. It’s enough to have you arching your back, whimpering quiet noises into the pillow you bury your face into. Your hips squirm of your own according, the heat pooling in your gut and threatening to burst and you try to push his head away, gasp weak complaints. Too much if he doesn’t stop you’ll — But he’s relentless and overwhelming. Fingers curling, mouth moving, his hand gripping your waist. And your body accepts it all until that feeling crescendos again, you turning into a shaking mess as you whisper quiet curses into the pillow, try to escape his mouth but he licks and pumps his fingers into you all throughout it to prologue how your back arches, the high washes over you over and over. When you slowly relax, he pulls away with a messy mouth, leaving you with breaths labored and somehow still sane enough to sport a glare.

“I told you—“

“Sorry,” he says, and kisses at your navel while he watches you with enthralled eyes, like you’re a piece of stunning art. But his eyes aren’t apologetic in the least, and you’d think it right to demand a proper one if your heart wasn’t thundering so quick you think it’ll leap out your chest. He sighs, scoots up to press a kiss against your chin, and whispers, so quiet. “Can I…?”

You huff, try to steady your breathing, and zone into the dull ache between your legs and the empty feeling from losing his fingers. Of course you want it, want him, it’s a matter of already having been pleasured to hell and back by this man twice. You’re spent, even if the idea of Caleb nude and flushed against you is hot as hell.

“There’s a reason I tried to tell you…” you sigh, brush some slick hairs from his eyes and observe the dazed, greedy look in his eyes. He really just wants it all, doesn’t he? You always thought you were spoiled by Caleb, but maybe, there are times when you spoil him.

“Mmm… it’s just nice, seeing you lose your composure,” he nuzzles into your neck, breath warm and your entire body reacts to something so small, so soft. “But we’ve got all the time in the world. Next time.”

And he exhales so warm, pulls his head away and you immediately grab both cheeks, drag Caleb’s lips to yours and kiss him so sweetly it feels something akin to love. Your hips tingle, and the idea makes you absolutely dizzy, but you mouth it against his lips anyway.

“Finish what you started.”

Caleb doesn’t immediately answer or react, he simply observes you, watches the way your arms cling to him. For good measure, you wrap your legs around him and roll, right into the hard erection confined in his pants. He gasps, gripping the duvet beside your head.

“If… If it’s too much. Just pinch me. Or tap me a few times. Do whatever, really, shit,” Caleb hisses, and he’s finally stripping off that stupid bed shirt of his and tossing it unceremoniously across his room, breaths slow and deep as though to calm himself.

It’s not your first time seeing Caleb shirtless, but it is the first time you’re able to admire the full view in dim glory. Amidst the streaks of moonlight through the window, the red of his necklace sparkles. He wears it, even in his sleep, and you try not to think too much on how he must’ve cherished it. Treated it like a prized possession, because it makes a surge of happiness flood through you with a mix of guilt for never treating Caleb’s gifts or gestures just as precious.

“Oh, so when I stare, it’s a problem. But when you stare, it’s fine, huh?” Caleb chuckles, and his pants are kicked off with no shame. He’s so eager he doesn’t even try to make it sexy, he just looks like he’s dying to feel every inch of you, finally be able to feel the whole of you tight around him. It’s so silly and so Caleb you just have to laugh, and it’s nice when he laughs in turn, makes you feel serene.

“Think of it like payback,” You decide to say. Payback for making you come from his mouth and fingers when he knew you wanted to feel him inside of you. Caleb makes an approving noise, leans back over you, and the sight of his flushed, toned body with his necklace dangling down is way sexier than it has any right to be. He slides a hand up your thigh, gives it an encouraging squeeze when you tremble, and his lips find yours in a fleeting kiss.

“Guess I gotta do all I can to make up for it,” he whispers in a ghost of a kiss, and settles between your legs, erection strained in his underwear and words way too calm for someone who looks like he can’t stand waiting a minute longer. He shoves them down well enough with one hand and he springs free, eager and leaking at the pink tip. You think it’s almost pretty, the way it stands, twitches when you thumb his cheeks.

He captures your lips the same moment he lifts your thighs, lines himself where he had his fingers buried deep only a minute or two ago, and slowly, slowly pushes. Sighs into your mouth as he sinks into you, and you grab at his back, wrap your arms so tight around him as he just fills you, moves as you cling to him. You think the wait alone is torture when he finally settles deep, hips flush to yours and mouth swallowing any weak noises you utter. You’re still so sensitive and even just the feeling of his cock inside, barely moving, is enough to make you clutch at him.

“You feel so perfect,” he utters, shaking hands settled on the sides of your face, lips plush on your jaw. He buries his face in your neck, slowly, slowly moves out, and you can feel his entire body shaking on top of you as he pushes again, deep into you and fills you perfect. So hot inside of you, you can’t help but squeeze around him. He chokes against your skin, kisses at it while his hips steadily draw out—then you think he loses his composure a little. His hips sputter, and his pushes into you quicker, steady, and holy fuck is your body just quivering and you already feel a mess, heat between your legs near unbearable and Caleb’s cock stretching you open for him.

“Caleb…” You gasp, bite back the moans that want to continually spill from your throat while Caleb steadily pumps, in and out. It’s so tender, and even though your body is an absolute mess, you just need more and drag in Caleb with the strength of your legs wrapped around him, helplessly grind into his cock, and Caleb understands the message loud and clear. He shakes, kisses your shoulder, and pulls out to snap his hips against yours, murmurs small affirmations against your skin as he fucks you, heavy and deep and your body is a squirming mess, like it isn’t even your own. You’re whining and biting back every loud, broken noise that threatens to leave your mouth with the rock of his hips.

“Shit—Caleb, it’s—“ you gasp, be hums into your shoulder and looks at you with wild eyes while he pushes into you over and over. Your legs are a mess and you’re gasping, trying to focus on swallowing down the noises in your throat but Caleb’s driving you absolutely insane and when he positions himself just right, you’re letting out a sharp cry and your body arches into his touch.

“Don’t wake the whole neighborhood now.” He coos against your collarbone, and gently covers your mouth, palm flat so all you can do is groan against his hand, weak noises and sharp gasps muffled. Every inch of you feels sensitive, alight, and the hand not silencing you gently massages your chest while he fucks you deep into the mattress, the sounds of skin against skin filling the room. It’s filthy and you absolutely love it, even if your body is screaming it’s on fire, and all your nerves are alight from being so thoroughly handled.

“Mmn—!” You gasp, unable to even articulate how it feels to have Caleb rolling his hips into yours so damn hot while you can barely control the way your body reacts. You think he swells even more when inside you, thick and hot and nearly every thrust hitting you so you see stars. You gape, claw at his neck and anything you can cling to on him, while his movements gradually speed up and he pounds into you relentlessly, cries muffled by his palm.

“You have no idea how much I wanted this…” Caleb gasps, breaths heavy, lifting his palm and resting it sweetly on your face instead. He looks at you so damn adoring while he’s fucking you senseless, watching you gasp and start to squirm under him when the sensation builds upon too much. “Wanted you. Like this.”

“Gh… Y-Yeah…?” You somehow manage to choke out while your body has a mind of its own, squirming and shaking and Caleb’s hands hold you right where he needs you as he slides in and out of you again, pulls out so only the tip is in and snaps his hips against yours in a fluid motion. You wonder if it’s because your most recent orgasm was so close, left you so sensitive you feel like you’re already on the brink. You hang onto Caleb for purchase and try not to cry out as he pushes into you over and over and over.

“You’re way too hot. You feel way too—haah —good.” Caleb curses as he moves, hold your hips and reaches a hand down between the two of you to tease you with sweet fingers while he pumps into you. “You. Undone. Under me,” he murmurs, and your hips helplessly buck into his touch, fingers clutch him tight as he fucks you.

“Y-You…ah—Caleb,” you try to respond, but the way Caleb rocks his hips, and his hand wastes no time driving you mad, you feel that feeling build, build and build so quick, so perfect. You want to retort, say anything to flip his words on him, but you know you’re a gasping mess and can’t focus your mind enough to put up a decent argument. So you clutch at his slick skin, bury your fingers so deep it pales, and whine “I’m… I’ll… ‘M about to…”

Caleb hears you loud and clear, keeps the pace of him pumping into you and is always sure to angle the way your hips slot together perfectly, so each thrust hits you with a deep wave of pleasure and his fingers leave you weak.

“You always act so strong, so tough. It’s nice I can get you like this,” he speaks, and if your mind wasn’t in such fog you’d probably be a little annoyed, but all you can do is whimper at how his voice whispers low in your ear, and the way he circles his hips perfectly to make you gasp, clench, and make him groan in return.

That feeling approaches, the familiar feeling of being undone by Caleb and at the mercy of his mouth, fingers and thrusts. He murmurs sweet words against your lips, and it’s all you can handle when you’re biting your lip and your body is pulled taught like a string, shuddering and powerful as you feel a burst of pleasure like no other, so strong and prolonged you wonder if it’ll ever end, so much you actually see white. Caleb doesn’t relent on his thrusts, fucks you through it, and he doesn’t stop when you’re quivering either and suddenly it’s too much all at once. Your body is still in tremors and shakes as he grasps your hips firm, presses a soothing kiss to your temple as you start to squirm and let out weak noises.

It’s too much and too fast and you’re so sensitive and you can’t— “Caleb,” you choke out, body naturally moving to escape the sensation, but Caleb’s hands hold you steady.

“Want—“ he rasps, “want me to stop? All you gotta do is tap me,” he murmurs so sweet in your ear, and tears prick in your eyes as the pleasure, the sensitivity is so blinding you can’t keep them from your face. And you quietly cry and squirm but hold on tight, not tapping, not pinching. It’s torture but it feels terribly amazing in the best way, even if Caleb has to keep a firm hold so you don’t scramble from his grasp.

“Too much, I can’t, Caleb,” you sob, Caleb kisses the tears that fall down your cheeks so sweetly and proceeds to fuck you silly. Your heart is pounding, your whole body is a shaking over sensitive mess and the feeling is so intense your mind can barely formulate words. “I—please, fuck…” you babble, can’t string together full sentences and just whimper under him. Fuck if you’re never at someone’s mercy like this, you wonder if it’s better or worse that it’s Caleb.

“So damn cute,” he breathes out in broken fragments, breaths quickening as he thrusts deep, hard, accepts every whimper and plea that leaves your wet lips. “You can relax around me, trust me. Let me take care of you.”

“Ah…!” You wish you could respond, you really do, but the only thoughts you can formulate are pleads and Caleb, the endless pleasure bordering pain he pushes you through. He’s so sweet in your hair as his pace quickens and his breaths are shallow, ragged. His face is a damp mess and strings of hair cling to his forehead as he utters your name — your name, not ‘pipsqueak’, over and over. Whispers your name in your ears, mouths it on your temple, presses his lips against your neck as he sighs it. You melt and squeeze your teary eyes shut, clawing at Caleb and letting him pound you into oblivion. You feel fucking ruined and Caleb kisses your tears and pets your head all throughout it.

“Dammit, seriously, what am I gonna do with you…” He rasps, and you think your hazy mind can classify it as positive. His thrusts are quick and it’s not soon after that he’s suddenly groaning, hips going still as he holds deep inside you, trembling as he spills. Deep, warm. You quiver and finally find relief in his slowed thrusts, the way he holds himself with shaky breaths and bright red cheeks, sweat sliding down his temple. Slowly, he stills, panting, and when he’s nearly done shaking, he slowly pulls himself out. The feeling of both being empty and filled is filthy, but you haven’t the energy to burn on feeling embarrassed when you can barely form a sentence. You gasp, wipe at the tears that rolled down your face, and can’t keep the tiny quivers from racking through your body even after the high has passed.

“You okay, pipsqueak?” He whispers after, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. You nod, mute, and have to give yourself a bit to be able to respond in full. He seems to understand that much, and rolls to the side so he can gently hold you in his affection.

“That was…wow,” you murmur, and bury your head into his damp chest, the sent of oak and sweat. “Can’t move…” The thought of so much as standing seems impossible, your brain is in this weird, pleasant fog and you can barely focus.

“Did I go overboard?” His laugh is light and raw, lips settled on your forehead.

“It was a lot,” you answer, and your fingers trace over his bicep. Who knew fighter pilots had to be so toned? “It’s hard to think but…” you hum, and adjust your buzzing limbs so you’re a little more comfortable. “It was… good.”

“Good. Guess I’ll put that on the list of things you like,” you feel his lips curl against your forehead, probably grinning. You don’t even have the energy to glare.

“You have a list?”

“In my mind,” he says, and you decide to pull back from his chest a little, if only to see his expression.

Sweat-ridden but sparkling with an air of pleasant satisfaction. Eyes alight, cheeks warm. Since when was Caleb so damn beautiful?

“Next time…” You look up at him with heavy eyes. Feel almost drunk as your body sags and your speech comes out in quiet rasps, throat spent from all the cries you swallowed down. “It’s your turn,” you run your fingers across his lean chest, feel the way his muscles jump with laugher and his heart is starting to slow into a steady rhythm. He’s so irritatingly attractive.

You’re not used to feeling so utterly spent, helpless after. Your legs would collapse under you like a fawn learning to walk if you tried anything right now. You’d like to see Caleb come undone under your fingers, unable to keep himself from writhing while you tease him endlessly. In that way, you’re both similar, you suppose, and you can hardly blame Caleb for the way he gets off on you clawing at him.

“Can’t wait,” he says easily, almost makes you more mad at how easily he accepts your words. He strokes your cheek, wipes the remnants of tears, and holds you comfortably in his palm. “You look so good when you’re a mess.”

“Hush now,” you sigh, and turn your head to kiss his palm. He pads your lip so gently, traces shapes across them (you think one is a heart). It’s so silly but so him and he continually manages to make your heart fill.

“I’m scared I’ll wake up and this’ll all be a dream.” He pulls you to him, buries his nose in your hair and strokes your back like he hasn’t seen you in years and needs to confirm your existence. “It feels like a dream. You in my arms. Kissing me. Wanting me.” He draws back so he can tilt your head up and peer into your eyes. You think the sun is starting to rise, his eyes are as clear as ever yet clouded with contentment and apprehension. “You like me, don’t you?” His hands hold you so sweetly, his eyes are so raw. “Pretty sure I’ve loved you as long as I can remember.”

You blink, try to process his words in the fog of your mind and feel yourself run warm when you’re able to take his words piece by piece and understand them, digest them in full. The word ‘love’ tickles your ears, and you try not to let the tears flow again (who knew being so wrecked made you stupidly emotional) and nod quickly, covering the hand that holds your cheek.

“Of course I like you. I’ve trusted and cared about you as long as I can remember.” Your hand on his chest stills, presses so you can hear the drum of his heartbeat that’s now relatively fast. You can’t judge, when your heartbeats are so heavy you feel them in the back of your throat. “I’ll love you back, someday. The way you love me. I’ve loved you like my best friend, as a person, for the longest, though.”

“I’ve waited so long to hear that…” Caleb sighs, your eyes flicker to the chain around his neck, and you silently vow to yourself to sometimes let go of your stubborn streak, take care of Caleb the way he loves to take care of you. You hum and nuzzle into his chest, basking in how warm he feels, skin against skin, heating you, like a pleasant wood fire on a cozy winter night.

You sigh, can’t bite back a small smile, and let your eyelids flutter, your weak body sink into the mattress as Caleb’s slow breaths and caresses lull you, goad you to rest.

Caleb’s skin, heat, the love and affection you feel encased in each featherlight touch draws you in, comforts you enough to let your consciousness fade. Like a soothing lullaby.

It’s perfect, knowing you’ll wake up in his arms the next morning.

—

Sequel — Caleb Loves to Bully You in Bed

[flightfoot]

ML Fanfic Recs for Completed Fics Under 4000 Words

Hope everyone likes my selection here! I've got 21 fics for your perusal, mostly either humor or angst fics. When it comes to shorter wordcounts, those are the two genres that tend to make the greatest impact for me. Humor especially seems to thrive in short-form fics, I rarely see it in longer ones - if it appears in longer fics, it's usually in rom-com form.

I've tagged every author that I knew the tumblr username of. Feel free to tag the author if I didn't manage to get them!

All of these fics will be in my Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2024 Collection, and if you like that, please consider checking out my other collections, Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2023, Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2022, and Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics - Misc. Years.

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The Challenges of Changing Your Life by Shortdreamer

In the days following their return to their own universe Marinette was faced with several new challenges. But the most intimidating challenge that Marinette faced was getting to know her “new” partner.

Great ML Paris Special fic here! I love Marinette changing how she interacts with the people in her life in order to try to forge relationships, and hopefully, maybe even gain some semblance of the life her counterpart has.

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The Magical Rainbow Flying Caticorn by CrochetJellybean

Kagami is just trying to have a fun day with Marinette when Felix keeps messaging her. Apparently Adrien stole the peacock miraculous and won't give it back.

So this is a fun little fic. Felix is very annoyed at having lost his Miraculous, but hey, at least the kwamis are amused with the situation! There might as well be some sort of upside to being a Senti XD.

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The Self I Should Be (The Self I Could Be) by @pisoprano

Adrien realizes he has some feelings for Loveybug. Loveybug realizes that Adrien still misses Ladybug.

I love how this fic explores "private selves" and "public selves" for both Adrien and Marinette, lets them both relax a bit and decide what kind of dynamic they want to have. It's excellent!

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never been in love by @bittersweetresilience

Félix wonders if he has a heart. If he does, it doesn't beat like that.

I love this look at aromantic!Felix, him wrestling with his feelings (or lack of them) as he struggles to come to terms with them, especially since part of his father's abuse involved Colt telling him he could never love.

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Always Trending! by @candlemouse

Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube argue over the Parisian superheroes’ relationship and identities. Things heat up even more when interviews from the Ladyblogger, Chat Noir, Adrien Agreste, and Ladybug release!

This is a fun little glimpse into social media within Miraculous's world, especially with the speculation over secret identities. People keep on putting forward Adrien Agreste as possibly being Ladybug or Chat Noir, even though he's too busy to possibly be a superhero XD

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Paper Masks by @jheqiawrites

“How do you feel about causing a little mischief?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I beg your pardon?” Loveybug swatted him playfully on the shoulder. “You know, trouble, pranks, clownery, buffoonery, silliness, a lark, a jest, sheer jiggery-pokery!” “That depends on what kind of shenanigans you had in mind.” She giggled, eyes wide and bright with appreciation. “ Ooh, that’s a good one! I should write that down sometime. But, as for your question…” She pulled her yoyo out and flicked it open, spilling white light over their feet. “It wasn’t so much a question as a statement of concern,” Catwalker said, but forgot immediately what else he had been going to say when he saw Loveybug pull roll after roll of toilet paper out of the white field. All he could do was stare as she continued to pull out rolls until she had made a small pyramid on the floor next to them. “Excuse me if I sound rude, but what on earth are you going to do with those?” The smile she gave him was pure puckishness. She waved at the bright figure of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. “My lord, have you ever TPied a national monument?”

Loveybug AU fic here! (obviously). I loved the absurdity of these two trying to TP... well, I won't spoil where they eventually decide deserves the treatment XD. Mostly, though, I love both Loveybug and Cat Walker (but mostly Loveybug) breaking down, breaking out of their new personas, and really getting to talk with each other.

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you could win a rabbit by @purplecatghostposts

Félix raises an eyebrow but obliges. He should probably get on with it before Adrien second guesses himself too hard and tries to take it back. Félix pulls the tissue paper out and squints at what’s inside. It’s— a plushie? He takes it out of the bag to get a better look at it. All of the air is stolen from his lungs the second he does. A rabbit plushie. A white rabbit plushie. (Or for Félix’s next birthday, Adrien teams up with Marinette to make Félix a rabbit plushie, much like the one he had as a kid. Old feelings Félix thought he buried return in full force.)

I loved seeing a potential backstory to the torn stuffed bunny we saw in the play in Representation, and Felix's reaction to getting another rabbit plush was heart-wrenching!

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A Domestic Cold War by @unecoccinellenoire

Félix lives with a murderer. It’s not the first time. Unfortunately his cousin would never ever forgive him if Félix was to take Nathalie Sancoeur off the board.

I like the conversation Nathalie and Felix have here. They don't like each other (or well, Felix doesn't like Nathalie, Nathalie is just ambivalent about him), but they come to an understanding. It's interesting to see Nathalie's viewpoint on life and killing, and hear allusions to the things she was up to before she became Gabriel's secretary.

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the eyes that follow me; the ghost of my errors by NeonLite

There was something wrong with Duusu. More than Felix thinks should be. He didn’t have a frame of reference for Duusu’s behaviours. He doesn’t know what’s normal for the Kwami or how Kwami were supposed to act at all. The information he gathered from the tablet wasn’t much, he learned even less about the Kwamis but… Felix didn’t have a frame of reference for Duusu’s behaviour. But he didn’t think the Kwami of Emotion should look so empty.

I love how this fic acknowledges how Felix doomed the rest of the kwamis to staying with Gabriel, and how unhappy Duusu would be about that. Which Felix understands, but he was also desperate, and right now he can't stay transformed for long or keep any sentis he makes alive, which just... you can feel his desperation and bottled-up guilt. He knows what he did was wrong, but he'd still do it again, in order to feel safe for once in his life.

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see a world so beautiful and strange (spinning off somewhere) by @that-was-anticlimactic

“Why? Why are you suppressing?” “Because I can't tic,” Alya whispered, fingernails digging into the skin on her arm. “I know Tourette’s isn’t exactly uncommon, but it’s part of my identity as Alya Césaire. It can’t be a part of Rena Rouge, too. Someone could figure out who I am and then…” And then she’d have to give up the coolest thing that’s ever happened to her, give up living her dreams. [or, alya suppresses as rena rogue in order to protect her identity, but neither ladybug nor trixx will let her hurt herself like that]

I love how this fic goes into some of Alya's thoughts and insecurities about having Tourette's, how the general public doesn't understand, and then lets her receive comfort and validation afterwards. It's just... really nice.

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i'm worried 'bout the future by @purplecatghostposts

He edges closer to Adrien, lowering his voice to barely a whisper. “If it comes down to it, I’ll distract him while you run and hide the first second you get.” “What?” Adrien blurts, louder than Félix would like. His eyes dart to Argos but thankfully, he doesn’t turn around. Félix shoots Adrien a look to lower his voice and thankfully, his cousin listens. “You think we can’t trust him?” “He has the Peacock Miraculous.” Félix points out. “He’s from the future.” Adrien counters. “And Future Chat Noir trusts him so… Maybe we can trust him too?” (Or Chat Noir and a Peacock Hero from a decade in the future end up in the past and save their past selves. Félix is wary of whoever this ‘Argos’ is.)

I love time travel fics. Felix being really wary of the Peacock hero's deliciously ironic, something that Argos realizes and he doesn't. While Adrien's just happy to see his future self and completely trusts what Chat tells him. I loved how Argos was put out when he realized why his past self is afraid of him and trying to reassure him as best he can without giving away spoilers.

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The Black Cat of the Family by Anonymous

To Felix, Chat Noir is freedom. Pure freedom, unhindered by anything (well, except perhaps a little too much dedication to Ladybug). He goes where he pleases when he pleases. He acts so ridiculous, like no one was ever watching, even when everyone was watching. He chafes at orders and authority, even when the orders are coming from Ladybug herself. He's free to be whoever he wants, in a way Felix only wishes he could be. So of course he starts flirting with the catboy. It also doesn't hurt that the superhero is easy on the eyes. Chat Noir, meanwhile, is simply trying to figure out how to reject his cousin without revealing his own secret identity. But when has anything in his love life ever worked out for him? Or, in other words: Somehow the Fathom-Graham de Vanily-Agreste family becomes even more dysfunctional in brand new ways.

This was fun, I liked the natural way Chat caught Felix's attention with his kindness, wit, and hidden depths. It makes sense why Felix would slowly develop a crush on him, while Chat just thinks that he's having fun with his cousin.

Also Chat's reaction when he realizes that Felix is, in fact, confessing his crush on him, is just priceless XD.

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Handle With Care by @dragonchris

AU where soulmates can feel each other's emotions. But having a soulmate isn't always beautiful and romantic. Sometimes it's messy. Sometimes it hurts. Marc and Nath have to learn what that means for them.

This was cute, I loved seeing how Nathaniel and Marc both thought about their soulmate, and how they cope with the aftermath of Reverser in this AU. Helps that Alix is a platonic soulmate of Nathaniel's here (Nathaniel has two soulmates).

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Draining the Tank by @trinketsinthesun

After a hard day of being Paris's most famous fashion designer and supervillain, Gabriel Agreste wants nothing more than a hot bath. But with the hot water tank always empty, he starts to wonder - why is Adrien taking such long showers?

So this fic is rated M, and it's rated that high because Gabriel comes to suspect that Adrien's long showers are due to him masturbating while he's taking them (no masturbation actually takes place in the fic). Then he notices that Adrien's long showers happen to occur most frequently during akuma attacks and draws his own hilariously wrong conclusions XD.

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Marinette's Temporal Daycare by Choppa01

What do you do if your child is in danger and you have access to time travel? If you're Marinette (A.K.A Ladybug) you send them back in time to your younger self. Bunnix goes back in time to do the drop-off, expecting to surprise a younger Marinette. Instead she is the one who ends up being surprised.

I love the "Adrien and Marinette babysit for their future selves" trope, so this fic was a delight to read! It's ramping the trope up to 11, with multiple different Bunnixes dropping off kids from across timelines, and Marinette having long-since figured out a system to make this work for everyone.

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I Want to Remember by @kiraheartilly36

Adrien wants to remember all the times Gabriel tried to be a good dad.

This fic is less than 200 words, you could fit the entire thing in an AO3 summary if you wanted to, but I found it both sad and hilarious. Some dark humor here.

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The Wifi Trap by @jessecosay

Written for the Miraculous Fanworks Anniversary Prompts 2024 for Teleocrater. Alternative universe. Alya is trapped as Lady WiFi, even after being freed by Ladybug. But, at least she has Marinette on her side.

I love fics where people are trapped as their akumatized selves, so this one was right up my alley from the beginning! I love Alya trying to cope with the prejudice people are displaying towards her for being akumatized, and Marinette helping to defend her. Thankfully, while its unfortunate that she's trapped in Lady Wifi's form, she DOES also have access to her akumatized self's powers, which comes in handy...

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Overload by Verse

The power of creation is not by any mean gentle.

This is a Miraculous side effects fic. Marinette's body will create and create and create, overproducing and causing harm to her unless she finds a way to purge the excess. She got lucky that the particular way her body overproduces is relatively simple to handle and can be harnessed for good purposes. Other Ladybug wielders were not so lucky.

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Not the Ghost by Yellow_Soul

She… wasn't alone. Not anymore. Even when they parted ways, she would still have someone to come back to. A person that would look forward to seeing her.

I loved this fic's take on why Reverse!Marinette and Reverse!Sabine apparently have a bad relationship. It makes sense that if Tom died, Sabine may be unable to cope with it and begin lashing out or distancing herself out of stress and grief. Love the idea of Adrien and Marinette commiserating over their similar circumstances as well.

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LOCAL SUPERVILLAIN IS A PEDO?!? by AlexJX

Gabriel stares at the morning news headlines… And walks straight out of the room. “...Father?”

People start noticing that Hawkmoth keeps akumatizing children and reach certain conclusions. It doesn't help that demanding some kids' "Miraculous" or "magic jewels" could be seen as a euphemism.

Ladybug and Chat Noir do nothing to help the situation.

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Fall From Grace by PlasmusDogmatic

fall from grace verb 1. lose favor or a position of power or honor.

So this story explores a scenario where the Miracuteam is gradually put through darker and more brutal scenarios, becoming darker and more brutal to match, until Parisians are about as afraid of them as the actual villains - and also know that it's partially their own fault, since part of the reason the Miracuteam is more hostile and brutal is because Paris started being harsher and more critical towards them as they struggled more. I found this exploration of their descent really interesting, as the team doesn't turn "evil" at any point, per se, they just get placed in worse and worse circumstances and adapt in some damaging ways.

[thetravelingmaster]

Reasons Why you Should Check Out ROM

(readonlymind.com)

I've done a similar posts before for this site when I first joined up ROM as an author, but I feel like it deserves a little boost and some visibility out here as one of the many sites where one can enjoy erotic mind control literature. And also, because I'm a little selfish! I figure that if more people know about it, there's going to be more erotic stories to read.

Back when I joined, thanks to @arihi 's post on the matter during the 2018 tumblrapocalypse, I believe that there were barely 150 authors that published on the site, but as of today, that number has risen to 446. The list keeps growing and so does the variety of stories available.

Much like mcstories.com, the site is very easy to navigate and search through, even if you aren't 'logged in' as an author or reader. It offers us simple ways to search out and find the stories or authors we most want to read about. They've done an awesome job with the tag system so that regardless of which story you are reading, you can click on a tag to see what other stories that have the same theme.

It's a lot like a porn site actually, but for mind control themes.

And speaking of the tags...

The search function is rather advanced. Not only can you click a specific tag to see which stories have them, but you can also use the 'advanced search' to combine them and refine your search. You can add as many as you want to really find out if a specific theme is available. In fact you can also exclude tags to make sure you only get the stories you truly want.

Of course, when you do find a story you like, the author name will be a link to their page, which will list their stories as well as an introduction about themselves if they chose to add one. Since the site is all about open discussion, they accept self promotion so you can expect to find contact information on authors you like or even a link to other sites they post on.

Another very useful thing you'll find on their page, which I haven't seen on any other MC site before, is the 'story suggestion' link. There, you'll find all the stories the author recommends.

I've found that it's a great way to discover other authors because if you enjoy someone's writing, there's also a good chance you'll enjoy reading the stories they've enjoyed and recommended. Plus, if the author is so inclined, they can do more than just list off a bunch of stories, but also add a comment as to why they enjoyed it. I personally try to always add a little something to entice those that end up on my list.

Another feature I truly enjoy as an author is the fact that you can always go back an edit your stories because you always have full control of what is posted. Honestly, if I had discovered this before I opened up my own website, there would have been no need for me to do it. Although, I might have been a little disappointed about the fact I couldn't add the lovely images that inspire me so much... hehehe

But regardless, as an author that has many stories with many chapters, I've quickly discovered how easy it is to organize my stories because I can add a new chapter to an existing story, which is great because the reader doesn't have to look for previous chapters. Plus, you can add titles and even small descriptions to each, which will show up in the story index. In addition, you always get a word count for each chapter (or full story in the story list) so you know how long it should take you to get through it.

Speaking of readers, the site offers a little more than just a well organized and searchable site.

Well... If you register that is!

You don't have to post anything though, so registering is simply like creating an account. What you get for registering are a few fun bonuses like the ability to 'snap' a story you liked. Which is basically the equivalent of a 'like' here on tumblr. As an author, it's always a great inspiration to add chapters when I notice that one of my stories becomes popular and I know readers want more. It's also a great indicator for readers, as you well know!

Another bonus you get by registering is being able to comment on each chapter. I love the comments section because it not only gives me the ability to get feedback, but it also allows registered people to tag each other and reply to comments. As an added bonus, once you register, you get access to a notification page and if someone's replied or tagged you, you'll be notified there.

Speaking of notifications...

As an author, I get a bunch of notifications every time a user 'snaps' one of my stories, leaves a comment or recommends it to others. But as a reader, I can also 'follow' specific authors and be notified when ever they publish a new story or add a chapter to an existing one. But hey, that could be bothersome too so you ALSO have the option of just following ONE specific story so you are sure to know when the latest chapter drops. I'll admit, I use this option a lot!

Another option you may notice in the above image is the 'Read Later' option. I've used that as both a place to list off stories I like to read multiple times, as well as the obvious happenstance where I find a good one I want to read, but don't have the time.

As you ALSO may have notice, there are well known authors publishing their stories there too. @scifiscribbler, @jukeboxemcsa, @darthkyra, @ellaenchanting, @hypnoticharlequin and @skaetlett, to name a few you might know from tumblr.

If you can't get enough of reading MC stories, then this site will definitely help to feed your cravings. It's still relatively new and small when compared to others, but so far, it's proven its potential for growth.

The more the merrier

TM

[noxxytocin]

So I seem to have picked up a little troll anon who’s been running around trying to claim I’m “pushing down other people’s works” on AO3 just because I posted an updates hub.

It’s completely misleading. I’ve never planned to add chapters to it, meaning it doesn’t bump or interfere with anyone’s work in the feed. ❤️

I even clearly tagged it as a “one-time popup” and made it very clear in both the summary and notes that it’s not a fanfic, but simply a central place for readers to keep up with upcoming fic updates, excerpts, and queue progress. Sadly, AO3 doesn’t have a built-in feature for that, so this was the easiest option available. (since not everyone sees updates on here)

Unfortunately, this person hasn’t stopped. They’ve since made an anonymous Tumblr account to post public misinformation and even commented under a PSA post of mine. So just a heads up to the HL fandom: if you see anon hate or strange comments floating around, you’re not imagining it. A friend of mine has been getting hit with troll anons too.

Their current alias is eleganttimemachinephantom. I’m sure it’s just an attention-seeking phase, but I figured I’d give others a heads-up in case you get one of their little drive-by comments too.

Stay safe out there, and don’t feed the trolls.

here’s what they commented on my PSA fandom etiquette post and on ao3 so far:

(note: I deleted their comments and my reply to them on ao3. Didn’t want their bad vibes there. Had to switch my hub to registered account only to comment.)

update: I did type down my draft reply before commenting on ao3, it was in my notes still. It was in response to the “please don’t put this in the ships…” -> “I want to address this properly, since I think there’s been a misunderstanding. First off, this isn’t a personal life blog post, and it’s not “just me yapping about my life updates.” If you had read the actual post, or even the opening notes, you’d have seen it’s an updates hub specifically for my fanfics, including progress, writing excerpts, queue, and occasional teaser lines from upcoming chapters. These are all tied directly to the fics I write, most of which feature the tagged ship. Second, regarding your claim that it “shouldn’t be on AO3 at all,” that’s simply incorrect. AO3’s own Terms of Service and FAQ on Types of Fanworks state that the Archive is intended for “transformative fanworks”, which includes not just fanfiction, but meta, fanart, podfic, fanmixes, and other creative content. Many users post fanart, playlists, interactive fics, and yes—even update hubs or companion content for ongoing works. AO3 permits this, as long as it’s labeled appropriately, which mine is. As for the ship tag: I’ve used it because all of the content in this hub relates to stories about that ship. The tag is not being abused for exposure; it’s being used for exactly what it was meant for—to group together works (or updates of works) involving a particular pairing. Not everyone checks external platforms like Tumblr, and AO3 unfortunately doesn’t provide an internal method for authors to post general fic updates across multiple works. This hub bridges that gap. Finally—if a post is clearly marked and transparent, and you simply don’t find it personally relevant, that’s entirely fair. But it doesn’t make it inappropriate. You’re always free to scroll past. Policing the presence of content you don’t care for…especially without reading it properly—helps no one.”

I also privately messaged them on tumblr with: “Hi. I noticed your comment on my PSA post, and since this seems to have become a personal issue for you, I’d prefer we discuss it respectfully and directly. To clarify: your claim that I’m pushing other works down in the tags by updating my AO3 update hub is factually incorrect. I’m not adding new chapters or reposting. I’m editing the existing page only. That doesn’t bump the work or affect its position in the feed. I took care to consider that specifically because I’m an author myself, and I respect the visibility of other creators’ works. So no, I’m not harming “discoverability.” That assumption comes from a lack of reading—which is unfortunately a recurring pattern in your responses so far. You chose to speak publicly without taking in all the context, and that’s what turns conversations like this into needless drama. If you’re genuinely interested in dialogue, I’m open to that, but please don’t go around accusing people of doing harm without verifying your claims first. It helps no one, and it undermines your own credibility. If you’d like to have an honest discussion, feel free to do so from a legitimate account instead of repeatedly hiding behind anonymity. Until then, I see no reason to entertain bad faith comments any further. Blocking you now.”

this is the fic updates hub that I posted on ao3 (for reference):

[bricky-brikson]

Writeblr Intro

Hello all ! I'm Bricky, but you can call me Brick. I'm a fresh young adult, currently in university for medical sciences. I'm an acearo trans man, and since I'm on Tumblr I'm predictably clinically depressed, probably autistic, and have some other mental weirdness of the personality disorder type going on.

I've been here for a while now, but I thought a writeblr intro should be in order as I am very slowly re-organizing my blog.

I mostly write historical fiction, horror, and crime procedurals (all featuring whump), but I often branch out in attempts to try new things. Some of my favourite tropes/themes/subjects include Victorian aesthetics, obsession, social isolation, medical or psychiatric settings, cannibalism, and snakes (hence the dividers). So you know, only the cheeriest of things around here.

My current original WIPs (and their tags) are...

#dear cassedy : a murder mystery set in 1920's Toronto, centred on the area of St John's Ward, which was where most immigrants and impoverished of the time lived. I've been doing a lot of research about the history of marginalized groups in Toronto for this story, and research is like, my favourite part of historical fiction.

#echolalia : a creature feature, featuring the creature, set in a rather nebulous 80s-90s somewhere in Canada. Not quite sure what to do with it, but I'm currently ironing out character concepts.

#spirit phone (title pending) : as the name implies, a story (or series, still not sure) inspired by the album by Lemon Demon. I'm still trying to figure out what it's even about. There's cults and demons involved, that's all I'm certain about.

#psycho-therapy (title pending) : one of the first stories I ever made that I'm now re-working. Likely going to be focused on psychiatric abuse mixed with paranormal horror

#group projects : a general tag for a couple of unnamed stories that are based on random RPs I do with some of my friends. One is vaguely realistic and about a small drug trafficking ring. Another is an urban paranormal setting where monsters and other such creatures are a fact of life.

#writing about injuries : a series of posts about injuries and their effects, aimed primarily at whump authors.

I also write fanfic (predictably). I share them on my AO3, if you'd like to check them out. Some of my fandoms include Cookie Run (CRK/CROB), Psychonauts, Gravity Falls, Sky: Children of the Light, and Hollow Knight. I'm into some other stuff too, but not super interested in writing fic about it. Currently I'm working on...

#no cost too great | psychonauts : a Psychonauts fanfic focusing on Lucrecia's experience in Grulovia leading up to her assuming the title of Maligula.

#poor thing | cookie run : a Cookie Run Kingdom fanfic about Shadow Milk visiting the dreams of Pure Vanilla post Beast-Yeast 8.

#no mercy | cookie run : a Cookie Run Kingdom AU fic considering what things might be like if the Beasts were to win the final battle between the Union and forces of Darkness, mostly focusing on Beast x Ancient whump. I like seeing the Ancients suffer :)

So, those are my WIPs ! I hope something caught your eye. Throw me a follow or a reblog if you're interested in what I have to show :]

My asks are always open, feel free to send me questions or requests ! I can't guarantee a finished product, but you'll get some thoughtful rambles at the very least.

Above divider by @/cafekitsune. I sadly do not have the source for the snake divider.

[steddieas-shegoes]

the freak and the hair and lex

it's time for the weekly fic rec, where i give the top 3 (to me) fics by some of my favorite authors. please always check out their masterlists/works because these authors may have stuff you love even more than what i put here! as always, check tags before reading and leave kudos and comments and reblog whenever possible to support writers!

this week is @thefreakandthehair and let me tell ya, this was one of the hardest weeks to narrow it down to my top 3. i have gone back and forth on lex's works for three days trying to narrow it down (and also realized at some point i missed a few posts so i'm about to do a binge read oops). lex is so talented and does so many things for the fandom, so everyone go celebrate her gifts to us!

lex's tumblr | lex's ao3

rounding third, sliding home Rated E | wip/big bang fic The much anticipated big bang fic is in progress and it's SO GOOD. I don't even like baseball, but Lex is proof that I can and will like any situation these boys are in. Massage therapist Eddie!!! Hello!!! I don't have to go into detail to let you know how that's going. Favorite part: Honestly, since it's a wip, I don't wanna give one yet. But I will say that the overall premise of a massage therapist being able to do what trainers and doctors couldn't makes something really happy in my brain.

ice is made to melt (so is my heart) Rated M | 1,507 words It's hockey. I sniff out hockey fics like a hunting dog. I mean it's literally just hockey fan Eddie and I'm eating it up like I've been starving for years. Favorite part because these are possibly word for word things I have screamed at my television at the Bruins whomst I love with my entire heart but would beat with a hockey stick if given the chance: "Are your blades dipped in fucking butter?” “The puck goes in the net!” "You can't shoot for shit, just like you can't grow a decent mustache, huh?" “Your job is to use your big ass body to stop the teensy tiny puck from getting around you and that’s a Hell of a lot easier if you stay in the fucking crease!” 

Livin' On A Prayer  Rated E | 17,915 words It's the classic idiots in love but don't realize it even though they basically have been boyfriends the entire time trope and I cannot get enough. It's like a slow-fast burn in the sense that they're dumb, but this is still short enough to binge in one relatively quick go. Favorite part which is kinda a spoiler so: “And I know myself well enough to know that I would die before letting anything happen to you, especially after nearly losing you once already, so I felt like being here was safest. And I— I don’t mean the same way that I love the kids or Robin or really anyone else. I’d die for them too but that’s— that’s not my point. I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I know this is one sided or whatever but I just, I’ve been wanting to tell you just to get it out of me because carrying this around alone for months and months has been wrecking me… I think I’m in love with you.”

[konako]

did you ever see any red snowing fics??

i’m back on my ouat bullshit after about 5 years and i remember a tumblr blog along the lines of traumatising emma

i’ve read most of your fics and thegirl20’s fics again and i just need ruby lucas content

You need Ruby Lucas content, you say?

YOU CAME TO THE RIGHT PLACE. LET ME SHOW YOU AROUND.

@traumatizing-emma Is the blog to go to, for Red Snowing content, as far as I know! Here are a few of my faves.

You might also find something in my Red Snowing tag. Not much, I'm afraid, I haven't explored this trio as a romantic possibility (a... poly-bility. hah!) in a while!

You can always try my Partner In Crime's blog: @lovecanbesostrange.

Kat is every bit as unhinged and as obsessed with Ruby Lucas as I am — make no mistake! —, the only difference is she has the decency to keep her spiraling off main. Plus her blog has considerably more variety, while I'm a one-track-mind gal. She's also the MAIN CULPRIT behind some of the MOST devastating Red Snow feelings one can have.

Check her Red Snow tag(s) for the complete experience. But for the more polished (published) pieces, let me interest you in her AO3 work:

Four times Snow is on top and one time she isn't

I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free

Keep you safe and warm

But if it's Red Snow pain that you're after, then Safe Cage is your destination. Look no further. This story might break your heart. (Red Queen is the romantic ship, btw!) I have had several meltdowns about Safe Cage. On main. Look the other way.

If Ruby Lucas Meta is more your speed, check out my maniacal rants tag. But also look out for Kat's tags under any Ruby post!! Some of the best commentary in the business!! The brain in that skull should be studied, but wait until I give back the single cell I borrowed.

Short Fics Inspired by a tumblr post? Or fics to dive into for longer? @foxofthedesert is your person! Their writing has a fantastic, rich flavour I can't get enough of. Seriously, this author has put together sentences that have made me gasp. You want to read something you can taste, smell, hear and picture? Read their work. We're blessed to have them!

Also, back when I was being unjustly blamed for getting people to watch OUAT again, I listed a few of the people in the fandom that were also responsible for the collective relapse. You can check them out. I'm sure they remain a gateway drug into the OUAT world, even in 2024.

I do have more recs for you, depending on your specific needs! But since you mentioned Red Snowing first, I tried to stay in that general area. Feel free to reach out again, if you need something else. I'm always here to help. I can't leave. I'm stuck.

[alicesadventuresinffxiv]

What are the most popular F/F Final Fantasy XIV ships?

(*on AO3, as of October 13, 2024)

I like writing femslash, so while I was doing the FFxivWrite challenge, I had the thought: wouldn’t it be fun to try writing each of the top 10 most popular FFXIV F/F ships? 

I figured it would be a good way for me to learn to write characters I wasn’t used to, plus hopefully it would mean some of the well-liked but rarely-written pairings would get more fic for them!

But then I ran head-first into the question: what are those F/F ships? I hit some interesting challenges attempting to figure that out, so here’s a post about how I reached my answer!

.

First things first: I’m using AO3 stats for this analysis, entirely because AO3 has the most robust searching and filtering tools. Trying to wrangle this kind of analysis on tumblr or twitter would be a nightmare, as much as I’d love to know the answer on those sites!

Second, let’s quickly double check my assumption that F/F ships are indeed rarepairs in this fandom.

Yep, if you’re at all familiar with @centrumlumina's work on AO3 stats (which this analysis is somewhat inspired by ^^;), this is exactly in line with general fandom trends! For reasons that I understand intellectually but not in my heart, F/F fics tend to hover at around 6% of AO3 output overall.

Interestingly, this small slice of femslash makes FFXIV more similar to large, broad fandoms like the MCU or MHA (pictured above), and less similar to other online multiplayer videogame fandoms (pictured below). You might think that given its friendly reputation, FFXIV would attract more women and/or LGBTQ+ players and therefore have a higher proportion of femslash. But nope!

(Admittedly, pitting FFXIV against the fandom that contains Arcane feels a little unfair... :P)

.

So alright, with that out of the way, let’s start by doing the obvious thing. Hey AO3, what are the top 10 relationship tags when searching FFXIV on the F/F category?

[Note: Since the Warrior of Light is typically written as the author’s original character - especially in cases with multiple WoLs - I am combining the WoL/WoL and WoL/OC tags together.]

If you’ve been in FFXIV spaces for a while, you probably already guessed the #1 result! But as someone relatively new to the fandom, I was actually quite surprised. None of my previous fandoms had nearly this much focus on original characters!

Indeed, WoL/NPC ships and OC/ OC ships absolutely dwarf the numbers for any NPC/NPC ships, with the exception of the three largest M/M pairings (Aymeric/Estinien, Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus, and Thancred/Urianger). Also, given that not everyone tags their OCs using either of the WoL or OC tags (ack! please use tags, your works get lost otherwise!)… you can always expect results for OCs to be an undercount. Woah!

Anyway, since WoL ships are so huge, I decided it made the most sense to give them their own list:

Another thing that surprised me is that male characters in FFXIV are so many times more popular than female characters that genderbent M/M pairings will show up in these F/F lists.

And… I wasn’t quite sure how to count those ships in my tallies.

On the one hand, genderbending (not to mention trans headcanoning-ing!) characters is a fun and often subversive way to approach popular ships. More power to everyone doing it!

On the other hand, part of the underlying motivation for my own writing goal was that I wanted to write pairings that fandom somewhat overlooks. 

As such, I went with a compromise: I’m including pairings with canonically male characters in my graphs (those are the pink bars), but I kept the lists going until I reached 10 pairings involving characters who are portrayed as women in the source material.

(There were no nonbinary FFXIV characters which placed on any of my lists, sadly. Apologies to Feo Ul, who is still the loveliest of branches in my heart.)

Other than that caveat, the results here aren’t too far off from my own guesses. Anecdotally, I’d seen that a lot of WoLs are self-inserts for their players, so it makes sense that typical WoL ships are with NPCs that are generally considered to be attractive by the fanbase. Correspondingly, the Reader/Character fics that are somewhat common in other fandoms don’t even rank on these lists, which might suggest WoL/NPC ships are largely fulfilling that niche.

(Something something, FFXIV is a dating sim with combat, in this essay I will…. :P)

.

Anyway, WoL ships are nice, but what I actually wanted to write were NPC/NPC ships. So let’s add a bunch more excludes to the filtering… and…

Hm. That's interesting. There's a bunch of F/F ships that I know I’ve seen fic and art for that are missing from this list!

Out of curiosity, I did a few searches specifically on these missing pairings, in case they were so rarely tagged as purely F/F (or so commonly shipped alongside a WoL ship) that trying to find them via excludes didn’t work. These were:

Alisaie/Tesleen (20 total, 13 tagged F/F)

Krile/Tataru (14 total, 7 tagged F/F)

Ysayle/Heustienne (5 total, 5 tagged F/F)

Wuk Lamat/Sphene (4 total, 4 tagged as F/F)

[Note: The first number is what I used during the writing challenge last month… which is how I ended up putting Krile/Tataru over Lucia/Hilda. Oops! But the second number is more in line with the rest of the analysis here, so I will use that going forward.]

Seems my expectations were flat-out incorrect! Of these four, only Alisaie/Tesleen makes the top ten. Meanwhile Wuk Lamat/Sphene is a pairing consisting of very new characters... so perhaps it will grow over time!

Right then, let's add Alisaie/Tesleen in, and while we're at it, let's run direct searches on all the potential candidates rather than using excludes to ensure no fics are getting needlessly thrown out.

With those adjustments in place... I reached my final top ten!

Not bad! Predictably, pairings that get more focus in canon (Gaia/Ryne and Sadu/Cirina) tend to place high, as do pairings involving Y’shtola (since she’s a very popular character overall). 

As a Lyse-enjoyer, I found Lyse getting 3/10 spots on the list to be pretty funny, as was the heavy presence of Stormblood characters! Apparently I’m not the only one who thought StB was a good expansion for lesbians. :D

There are also a few pairings here that I hadn’t ever considered before doing this analysis. But hey, that was the point of making the list! And trying to figure out the dynamics for pairings I didn’t usually ship did indeed turn out to be a fun writing exercise last month.

So what do you all think, tumblr? Did the results surprise you like they did me? Or did I overlook a pairing that really deserved to be included?

In any case, I hope you enjoyed reading this analysis!

[tombstuck-writes]

Knucklehead: Part 1, Chapter 1

Genre: Midwest Contemporary Young Adult Romance.

Word count: 27,615. Chapter 1/27.

Summary: “There was only one queer kid in town. That’s what he thought anyway, because it was him. If only his online almost-boyfriend lived nearby, things might be a little more tolerable.”

Content warnings: Graphic child abuse (it's not until part 2, and part 1 can be read stand-alone.)

Author's note:

This story is my baby! I've been writing it for almost 6 years, and it's finally seeing the light of day! A big thank you to anyone who reads it. I'll be posting one chapter every Saturday until it's done. Chapters will be under the #tombstuck-knucklehead tag, and I will also link them on the "Read Knucklehead" page on the header of my tumblr site.

Brandon Campbell got out of his car to start another shift at the grocery store. Brandon lived in Cohocton, Missouri, but the grocery store he worked at wasn’t in Cohocton, because nothing was in Cohocton. Nothing except homophobes and Baptist churches. 

And a high school. The very one that Brandon had graduated from earlier that month. He had done nothing since then except do his part-time job at the grocery store.

He went to clock in and saw a familiar face.

“Rodney, hey,” he said, a few different emotions running through his head. Rodney had been his best friend while he was still in school, and they were even on the basketball team together. But he was a year younger than Brandon.

Rodney looked up at him, nodding in greeting. “What’s up, Bran?”

“Oh, not much. Just making some money. You work here now?” He asked.

“Yeah, I just wanted to make some extra money. I’m saving to move out.” Rodney hesitated. “Um, you been pretty absent since you graduated. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, man. Sorry about that. I’ve just been hanging with Nat and she can get kinda…” He trailed off. In reality, he had been doing absolutely nothing except working and isolating himself.

“Yeah, I get it. Hey, at least you’re starting college in August, right?”

“Uhhhh, no.”

“Oh,” Rodney answered. “My bad, I assumed. Sorry.” 

“No worries, man. Anyway, we better clock in.”

He bought Rodney a coke on their lunch break to try to make up for not hanging out that month. He also received a text, from someone he wasn’t expecting.

Hey. Wanna hang out? It was from Norm, another one of Brandon’s friends from school. He had graduated at the same time as Brandon.

I’m at work. Later tonite? Brandon answered.

Hell yeah.

It was strange that Norm had texted him. Hearing from two of his old basketball friends on the same day a month after graduation was a big coincidence. He hadn’t been that close with Norm when they were in school, either. Well, close enough to have exchanged phone numbers, but still.

Norm texted Brandon his address, and after work, he headed over to Norm’s house.

He lived in Green Meadows, which was a small trailer park in Cohocton. He parked in front of Norm’s house after checking the number, then got out. A dog barked at him. He knocked on the door.

“Bran!” Norm yelled after answering the door, smiling. He looked about the same as he had a month ago. He was wearing an old Zelda t-shirt with a million holes in it, and sporting his same old mullet and septum ring. Brandon had kind of forgotten that he was attracted to Norm, but the feeling came back as he smiled at the greeting, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Hey, man. What’s up?” he said.

“Dude, I watched this movie. Come in, come in— I watched this movie where these people went on a picnic,” He walked into the house, and saw who he assumed was Norm’s mom asleep on the couch. Norm was slurring his words a bit and his gait was uneven. “And I just had this real bad hankering to just like, eat a sandwich on a blanket outside.”

“Oh, wow,” Brandon said. He didn’t really know what else to say. He remembered Norm always getting drunk after basketball games, whether they would win or not. It seemed it had become a habit now.

“Bran, you gotta have a picnic with me,” Norm insisted. 

Brandon laughed. “A picnic? I guess so. That’s so random.”

Norm was running around his kitchen gathering items to make sandwiches. “No, it’ll be amazing, seriously.”

He made two bologna sandwiches and put them in sandwich bags. He dashed messily into the living room, and grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch where his mom still slept. “Come on!”

Brandon drove them and their picnic supplies to the nearest park. The day was extremely nice, with a light breeze blowing and the sun shining, and big puffy clouds floating through the sky. Brandon guessed he was happier to be here with Norm outside on a nice day than cramped up in his room at home.

Norm seemed to deliberate on the best spot for their picnic, before finally laying the blanket out on a nice patch of grass. He plopped unceremoniously down onto the blanket and Brandon sat next to him. The blanket wasn’t very big, so they were sitting pretty close.

Brandon ate his sandwich pretty quickly because he was hungry from work, but Norm didn’t seem too interested in his. He would take a little nibble now and then but mostly he was looking at the sky. 

“Not hungry?” Brandon asked.

“Oh, nah, not really. I just had to bring it to really evoke the feeling of a picnic.” He answered. “When I drink I don’t really get that hungry. I drink too much these days. That’s why I’m getting so skinny.” He felt at his ribs, no doubt feeling the bones underneath his skin.

“Have you ever thought about quitting?” Brandon asked.

“Oh, nah. I don’t really have any other way to cope with stuff, you know?” Norm answered, looking over at Brandon and shrugging.

Norm put his sandwich back in its baggie and laid down with his head on the blanket and his legs in the grass.

“Dude, you gotta see this!” Norm said and pulled Brandon down on the ground with him. He laughed and landed next to Norm with their heads together. Norm pointed upwards. “It’s a mermaid!”

Cloud gazing, Brandon thought with a rush. I’m cloud gazing with Norm while we’re on a picnic. What has my life become?

“I see a dog, I think,” Brandon said.

“What? No that’s definitely a mermaid. And look over there! It’s a little guy running,” Norm exclaimed.

Brandon was enjoying himself, for once lately. He didn’t want their picnic to end, but eventually they mutually decided to get up and pack up the picnic blanket and Norm’s uneaten sandwich and head back to Norm’s house. 

Norm was headed up the front steps of his house, but hesitated at the door and turned around. “I had a lot of fun today, Bran. Thanks for taking me.”

That’s similar to what Natalie said to me after our first date, Brandon thought, but didn’t say. 

“Yeah, man. Me too. No sweat. We should hang out again soon.” Brandon said, smiling. Norm waved cutely and smiled brightly. Brandon waved back.

Driving home, Brandon felt at once excited and uncomfortable about the time he had just spent with Norm. On the one hand, it was his first human contact besides his parents and coworkers for 2 weeks. On the other hand, he did have a beautiful girlfriend — Natalie— and spending time with someone else he found attractive felt a bit wrong.

He wondered, though. Is Norm still thinking about me too?

_____________________________________________________

Author's Note: Thank you so much if you read this far! I truly appreciate it from the bottom of my heart. Please consider following the #tombstuck-knucklehead tag if you want to read next week's installment, and follow my blog for various writing-related reblogs, as well as behind the scenes stuff about my stories.

[young-royals-confessions]

I check the Simon Eriksson/Wilhelm tag on AO3 almost every day (and as a result skip non-wilmon ones). Choosing a fic I don't care about ratings or warnings, I read the titles and summaries (and skip those that don't sound like something I would like to read), then check on tags in search for tropes (and skip those I'm not interested in) and then finally give the fic a try.

I also skip the ones in which writers admit in notes something like 'I couldn't care less.... I couldn't bother....' - if YOU as a writer didn't care about your work, why would I?

I prefer beautifully and grammatically correctly written fics, but I can ignore the form if I'm hooked by the plot. And I'm always impressed by and feel nothing but huge respect for those who choose to write and post their works despite being dyslexic. I dare say they have the most original and unconventional stories! I don't care if the author is a native English speaker.

I've been reading YR fanfiction since 2021, so I have my favourite writers (some of them didn't update in years, but I still don't lose hope) and I will check their works even if I'm not impressed with the title, summary or shosen tropes, because I trust them to write something I will most likely enjoy.

And yes, tumblr and twitter prompts and recommendations help a lot. If someone I trust is hyping some work I haven't chosen (or have accidentally missed) - I'll check it up for sure. And I encourage the authors to promote their works on tumblr MORE! I have almost missed some chapters of my fav fics because of some stupid AO3 settings, so please, make announcements about your updates!!!!

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[btsmosphere]

hey hey if you don't mind can you give me some fic recommendations of jungkook/reader (witout smut ) that you loved

gahhhh sorry I left this in my drafts for too long haha

hey! you can find all my fic recs here but I had a look through for sfw jungkook works for you! please be mindful I'm basing this on a quick skim of the tags, so check for yourself the warnings, mature content or age requirements of the authors💜

Cold and I Meant What I Said by @casuallyimagining are super cute!!

No Harm List by @crazy4myself is one of my og loves on bts tumblr, it's amazing!

I haven't read, but mean to read Young Spy by @jeonstudios since I've seen it recced alongside my mafia aus, so I'm sure it must be up my street haha!

another I should check out myself is As It Was by @ditti because everything she writes is incredible!

you could also try The Fifth by the wonderful @magicshopaholic

and hey, if you're here asking this I presume I don't need to sell you on my own fics, but all of them are sfw too, so check it out! if it's fluff you're after, let me point you in the direction of Big Enough for Both of Us (and its sequel)

Happy reading!! Remember to always tell the authors if you liked their work💜💜

[quickspinner]

A Refresher on the Weekly Roundup

Apologies for the fact that I am once again a Wordy Bitch and over explainer, but I appreciate anybody who reads all my word vomit.

Some asks I got a while ago reminded me that not everybody has been here since I started the roundup, so here's a quick refresher on what the roundup is, why I do it, and some notes on how things have changed from when I first started.

I believe, and have always believed, that if you want other people to comment on/promote your work, you need to be willing to promote theirs, so I've made it a point since I started in this fandom to reblog all the lukanette content I can find. This blog is not curated; there's no grading rubric, I just reblog everything and let readers judge what they like and don't like. I've also always tried to drive traffic back to the authors rather than to my page, I didn't want anyone to think I was trying to steal their views or anything. There have occasionally been things that I...just didn't feel right about, but that is very, very rare, and I have made it a practice to reblog everyone's work, regardless of any personal beef I may have with them. Unless they have blocked me or forced me to block them (which so far has not happened), in which case I cannot reblog, I go ahead an reblog.

I started the roundup in 2020 (I think). Originally, I had just noticed that things posted to tumblr over the weekend tended to get less notes, so I started doing a Weekend Roundup on Mondays just to shine a light on those fics. I had maybe 400 followers at that point and I figured I could get at least a little boost for those weekend fics. It honestly never occurred to me at the time that anyone would be bothered by having their fics promoted, but someone messaged me upset that I had included their fic, which they published on Monday, because they had been specifically trying to avoid being on it by publishing on Monday. They had their reasons but honestly I felt like those weren't my business, and if they didn't want to be included, that was fine, so now I include a disclaimer that anyone who does not want to be included can message me and let me know and I will comply, no questions asked.

Some people on discord indicated that it would be useful for the roundup to include the entire week of fics, so I started doing a Weekly Roundup instead of the Weekend Roundup. I've been doing the roundup the same way from the beginning, and most of the reblogs on LBSC the same way - the link is always back to the original post and not my reblog of it, and readers are expected to check the tags of the original post. If subject matter has trigger warnings or something that might be controversial/upsetting, I generally put a reminder to check the original tags on the fics. I can see that I don't actually have that statement in my pinned post or the What Is the Roundup Link, so I'll try to remember to add it sometime this week.

I only pull links from and link to tumblr, unless someone sends me a message asking that a link to another platform be included. Content is a bit slow right now but there were quite a lot of links per week in the beginning so I had to set some boundaries to keep myself sane. This is a tumblr blog and it made sense to me to boost other tumblr blogs, and not to try and become some kind of clearing house for content across platforms. I'll happily reblog anybody that does that, but I don't have that kind of time or commitment.

I used to read everything I reblogged. I used to do my best to leave comments, either in the tags or on AO3 or whatever I could do. I regret that I just can't do that right now. I'm not intending to slight anyone by reblogging with only the quickroundup tag, I am just really struggling in general right now and I don't have the emotional bandwidth to immediately comment on everything. I do sometimes go back and comment when I can, but I don't want anyone to be forgotten or left out, so it's easiest for me to reblog immediately whether I can comment or not, so that I don't forget to go back and reblog it later.

I'm familiar with most of the Lukanette authors by now, so when someone I know posts a fic I don't generally have to read it to know that it's Lukanette if it is marked Lukanette. If it's a new author or someone I am not familiar with, I will at least skim through to make sure it is in fact Lukanette endgame. I haven't had any complaints so I don't think I'm accidentally reblogging Lukanette salt in disguise.

There is some grey area in what constitutes endgame; I will for example reblog breakup or character death stories, mutual pining stories, and others where the characters don't necessarily end up together. My personal rule is, if they aren't together, you wish they were. If it feels at the end of the story like "this is the way it should be" then I don't really think of it as Lukanette. If it feels like "this is a tragedy" then yeah, I still consider it Lukanette endgame, even if they technically aren't, and will include it in the roundup. However I do not in any way consider myself the final arbiter of what is or is not Lukanette endgame, you are welcome to define it differently, I'm not going to tag police anyone and I'll probably ignore anyone who tries to tag police me. However I do try to include warnings when things might not fit the strict definition of endgame so people who want to avoid the angst, can.

At the end of the day, I am just trying to spread the most Lukanette content I can to as much of the audience looking for it as I can find, and I'm not going to nitpick what that means or how it gets done too much, because honestly, it's enough to keep up with without making it too confusing. Nobody has to agree with my judgement or my way of doing things, and anyone who wants to do it better/differently/with more rules has my hearty endorsement to do so.

[bdekurecs]

I'm not boring!! by GreyFrey

Rating: E Status: 11/12 Chapters Word Count: 82,076 Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

College professor Izuku Midoriya’s boyfriend just dumped him. The reason? He’s too boring. So in a quest to prove his ex wrong, he decides to take up the school’s baseball coach on an enticing offer. The only problem? They absolutely despise each other.

my notes: the summary is only part of the full one on ao3, since tumblr is.... tumblr lol.

this is one of my FAVORITE fics ever, and actually the fic that got me back into bkdk and helped inspire me to finish my first multichapter fic, so HUGE shoutout to GreyFrey!! some of my favorite things about this one include but are NOT at all limited to: the enemies AND lovers aspect, the reason why it's rated e, the friendship between izu and todoroki (todoroki is GREAT in this one omfggg), the college professor trope (this trope is SO special to me), and jock and nerd au (i LOVE this au omfg).

overall i cannot WAIT to see this one finish, however bittersweet it's going to be sobbing emoji. GreyFrey has a ton of other bnha and bkdk fic, and all of them that i've read are FANTASTIC and will absolutely be getting recced as well. the author also does some bkdk zine work and has a twitter where they talk about all their writing (they don't JUST write bkdk stuff too if you're a multishipper or just want to read some non-bkdk stuff.) they're also trying to get some of their work published so PLEASE consider giving them some love/kudos/a follow whatever you can. they're super cool and i LOVE their writing and i wanted my first rec to be an unfinished work, because some people DO prefer completed works (totally valid, btw), but we all do this for free, and it's a huge time investment, and i personally get discouraged sometimes when i get low stats. not that it should matter, but yanno! go check this one out, i PROMISE you won't be disappointed lol.

remember to read the tags on ao3, be respectful and always follow the golden rule of fic: don't like, don't read.

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Because We're Soulmates

The Good Place » Cheleanor

Title: Because We're Soulmates

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: The Good Place (Masterlist)

Relationship: Chidi Anagonye x Eleanor Shellstrop

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Chidi's memories have been erased, and he believes that Simone is his soulmate. Eleanor remembers everything, but in order for this experiment to succeed, she has to pretend to be the Architect, and watch as the love of her afterlife spends eternity with someone else. But no matter how many times they get rebooted, or how hard they try to stay away from one another, Eleanor and Chidi always end up finding their way back to one another. Because they're—

"Eleanor, do you remember that one reboot where you and Chidi came into my office to confront me?" Michael asks. "Do you remember what you said?" Eleanor blinks several times, trying to coax some manner of coherent thought to the forefront of her mind. After a moment, her eyes widen in surprise. "We're in love," she recites with perfect clarity. "And love is stronger than anything you can throw at us." "And no matter what," Chidi chimes in, the words summoned from some shadowed recess at the back of his mind. "We will find each other, and we will help each other…because we're soulmates."

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

Honestly, it's better this way. If Michael hadn't spiraled, and Eleanor hadn't been quick on her feet and assumed the role of the Architect, then she wouldn't have all of this extra stuff to do to keep her mind off of things. 

Keeping Michael from having yet another existential crisis. 

Catering to the needs and whims of three new souls.

Stepping in whenever the Bad Place demons interfere. 

Making sure none of the Janet-Babies malfunction and ruin the experiment. 

Making sure Derek doesn't keep reappearing at random intervals sipping an all-olive martini and ruin the experiment. 

Talking Tahani out of plotting Tabloid John's demise by reminding her that they're all in the afterlife and he (probably) can't die twice. 

Trying to keep herself in check so she doesn't murder Brent, because again, they're already dead, which means the arrogant bastard probably can't die twice, so there's no point in trying. (And anyway, she'd probably end up losing, like, a million Good Place points. But hey, a girl can dream, right?)

So yeah, it's a lot of work. And Eleanor is honestly grateful for it. Because if she wasn't running around like a maniac 24/7 dealing with all of this nonsensical bullshirt, then she'd have all the time in the world to think about—

"Chidi!" Simone calls cheerfully from across the sun-kissed cobbled street, making her way over to a table in the middle of a cozy café with outdoor seating. Chidi immediately drops the book he'd been reading (What We Owe To Each Other, Eleanor takes note, and a brief smile flashes across her face) and rises to meet her.

Today officially marks six months since Eleanor told Chidi that Simone is his soulmate, and things are…fine. Honestly. Everything is fine. She's happy for them. Seeing the pair of them together absolutely doesn't make her want to curl up into a ball, shotgun cheese whiz, and cry.

Nope. 

All good here.

Because she's over it. She is so totally over it. Chidi has clearly moved on (not that he even knows there was ever anything to move on from, but whatever) and Eleanor is moving on right along with him. She's running a forking afterlife neighborhood, after all. She is totally winning this break-up. 

Granted, it's not exactly a break-up in the strictest sense of the word, because technically, neither of them actually wanted to break up. And anyway, Chidi made a promise to her that they'll always find each other, that time means nothing, Jeremy Bearimy, baby, and someday this will all be over, and then it'll be just the two of them chilling in the dot of the i forever, and—

Chidi looks up suddenly, his eyes locking onto Eleanor's from across the crowded square. He tilts his head to the side, fixing her with a curious frown. Eleanor feels a prickle of heat rise in her cheeks. Motherforking shirtballs, she's been caught staring again. Feigning a friendly smile and a casual wave, Eleanor quickly dips behind a pillar, beating a hasty retreat along a well-worn path on the outskirts of the neighborhood in the middle-of-nowhere Medium Place: Mindy's St. Claire's house.

Eleanor spends most of her time at Mindy's these days. It's kind of become her go-to whenever the gang needs a place to meet up and figure out a solution to the neighborhood's latest problem. Or whenever she needs a break from all the fake smiling and pretending she's got her shit together, because grabbing a lukewarm beer out of the fridge and screaming into a decorative pillow is just as good a method of self-care as any, right? In any case, it's one of the few places in this neighborhood that doesn't completely bum her out. At least, as long as she steers clear of the guest bedroom where she and Chidi first—

Anyway. 

It's not exactly ideal, but it's a damn sight better than her stupid clown house. After the promise of a live-in boyfriend in a home she begrudgingly grew to love only because of the company it kept, Eleanor just can't bring herself to return there, night after night, trailing her fingertips through thick layers of chalk dust settled into the grooves of his old blackboard. 

Eyes roving over the ghost of a space where leather-bound spines of long-forgotten novels used to line her bookshelves in an infuriating, overly-organized system that only Chidi could understand.

Closing her eyes against a fresh wave of tears as short bursts of laughter echo through her memory, at war with the deafening silence that rings through the darkened living room. 

Wrapped in one of the few button-down shirts or turtleneck sweaters of his that Janet had forgotten to transfer over to his new apartment, only to wake from a fitful sleep to find that Chidi's side of the bed is still cold. 

That this is all still happening.

That Chidi's memory wipe hadn't been just another bad dream. 

So yeah, that place doesn't exactly feel like home anymore. Not without Chidi. And sometimes, some nights, (most nights, if she's being honest,) Eleanor just can't bring herself to go back. 

There's too many memories attached to that place. 

Literally too many. Over 300 years' worth. 

And Chidi doesn't remember a single second.

• • • 

She used to think that maybe soulmates really do exist, and that maybe, Chidi was hers. How else had they managed to keep finding one another, falling in love, helping one another grow and learn and become better people, over and over again, across a multitude of different timelines and reboots? It had to be fate. It had to be…something. It was the kind of love story she'd always dreamed of having, (not that she would ever, ever admit it) one that transcended life and death and found a way, against all odds, in a world that was constantly cheering for its demise.

But as she watches, from afar, as Chidi and Simone find their way to one another, talking late into the night, laughter ringing in the air, flirtatious smiles exchanged from across a charming little banquet at a romantic Parisian café under the glow of the golden moon and silver stars, Eleanor starts to think that maybe she'd just been fooling herself. That she and Chidi were just a fluke. That Chidi and Simone are the ones who truly belong together.

"Maybe you were right," she whispers softly, leaning her head on Michael's shoulder as the pair of them sit side by side on a park bench overlooking the lake. "Maybe it was stupid to believe that soulmates really do exist."

Michael stiffens, as he usually does whenever he's reminded of the kind of demon he used to be.

"I honestly couldn't tell you one way or the other," he says around a heavy sigh. "I don't actually know if soulmates exist, and I could never get a straight answer out of Janet every time I've ever tried to ask. All I know is that it's not stupid to want to believe in something. Especially when it comes to you and Chidi. And I like to think that everything that's meant to be has a way of working out, in the end."

Eleanor's lips twitch into a smile.

"When did you become such a sentimental old fool?" she teases, hastily swiping at the corners of her eyes.

"Call it a side effect of spending too much time around humans," Michael laughs. "And again, my offer still stands—"

"Do not try to break up Simone and Chidi," Eleanor warns with a watery chuckle. "Come on, man. We've been over this."

In the beginning, it was difficult to tell who was more upset over the split: Eleanor or Michael. Reeling from the guilt that his breakdown had, at least partially, caused the demise of his favorite relationship and cost two of his dearest friends their happiness, Michael had tried his damnedest to sabotage any chance of Chidi and Simone getting together, from accidental spills of the darkest red wine, to inclement weather pouring out of the sky at random, to dropping in unannounced as the self-imposed third wheel and overstaying his welcome with all manner of awkward conversation topics. As soon as Eleanor had caught wind of what he was doing, she put a stop to it.

"Look, I appreciate the concern, bud. But this is just how it's gotta be," she says, just as much a reminder for him as it is for herself. "As much as it kills me to see the two of them together, we've got to let this play out. Let the cards fall where they may. Whatever happens, happens. Because ultimately, all that matters is the experiment. All that matters is getting this right, proving to the Judge that humans can get better, and that this flawed point system they've got going on needs a major revamp."

"As always, you're right," Michael admits begrudgingly, heaving a frustrated sigh. "I'm just sorry it has to be this way."

"I am, too," she says, swallowing against a lump lodged at the base of her throat. "But honestly, when it really comes down to it, all I want is for Chidi to be happy. And if Simone makes him happy, then we can't stand in the way of them being together."

A bittersweet laugh escapes, and the knot in her throat lessens, if only slightly, at the thought of how proud Chidi would be if he could see her now. How far she's come. How much better of a person she's grown into. How much she's willing to sacrifice just to ensure they all make it out of here unscathed. 

It's a far cry from the kind of person she used to be back on Earth. Selfless. Vulnerable. Brave. Willing to let herself feel. To take those feelings and express them in a healthy way. To stand and fight, rather than run away or bury her head in the sand. To do the right thing, even if it means she gets the short end of the deal. As much as it hurts, she wouldn't have it any other way.

• • •

Every day, Eleanor relives that highlight reel that Michael had shown the two of them, just moments before Chidi's memory had been erased. 

All the time they'd spent learning from one another. Becoming better versions of themselves. Growing so close and so in sync that they even started anticipating each other's needs without being asked. 

All the times they'd ever fought and made up, always, always, always coming back in a moment of clarity to talk it all out. Deciding that this, whatever it was that they had between them, was more important than a silly disagreement. That they could overcome anything.

All the times he'd ever wrapped his arms around her and held her close as they snuggled up together on the couch, sharing movie nights and popcorn shrimp. Living in domestic bliss as they cooked dinner together every night. Stealing kisses on their way out the door. 

Afternoon dates walking hand in hand down bright, sunny streets, sharing bites of each other's frozen yogurt, kissing chocolate sauce and whipped cream off the tips of each other's noses. 

Adrift on a quaint little boat in the middle of a crystal-clear lake with the tranquil backdrop of lush evergreens and misty mountains.

Sprawled out on a plushy blanket underneath an endless starry night, cuddled up against his side as he'd regaled her with star facts and whimsical fairy tales about what life might be like on other planets, fingertips tracing constellations in the freckles that dapple her skin.

Romantic picnics in the park, sun shining overhead like the perfect replica of a warm summer's day, before getting caught in an impromptu rainstorm, and choosing to make the best of it, to see it not as an afternoon ruined, but as a chance to make their date even more exciting. Laughing and smiling and slow dancing to music of their own creation in the eye of the storm as the rain swirled all around them and soaked through their clothes.

She wonders, idly, if he ever remembers them. Catches glimpses of those long-forgotten memories in his dreams. And maybe, just maybe, wishes that they were real. Wishes that he could go back in time and relive them all over again, just to have another moment with her.

Every night, she replays everything he'd said to her in those quiet moments in the aftermath of Michael's memory movie reel, a bittersweet, hopeful smile set into the curves of his lips.

Time means nothing. Jeremy Barmy, baby. We'll just get through this. And then you and I can chill out in the dot of the i forever.

We've found each other hundreds of times before. We can do it again, she'd said, and in that moment, she had truly believed it.

Sometimes, in those quiet moments, when she can't seem to fall asleep in the too-big bed of her stupid clown house, or on the rough, springy pull-out couch in Mindy's living room, Eleanor ventures out into the night. Strolling the streets of the neighborhood, delighting in the rare moment of peace and quiet all to herself. Reminiscing as she replays 300 years' and 800 reboots' worth of memories of their time together, letting her mind wander to all manner of what-ifs and wonderful impossibilities.

And maybe, she muses, when all of this is finally over, we will.

• • •

Despite a somewhat tumultuous start, Chidi finds it rather easy to strike up a relationship with Simone. It's actually crazy that they never managed to meet back on Earth, given that they'd both worked for the same university around the same time. It must be a twist of fate. Confirmed, in fact, by the Architect herself. Simone is his soulmate. How quaint! 

As soon as the phrase "soulmate" leaves Eleanor's lips, Chidi feels the familiar pang of a stomach ache, and he's hit with a curious burst of wistful longing, a bone-deep sadness he can't quite seem to shake, and an air of hopefulness that makes his entire body feel like it's buzzing with electricity. Which is…probably normal. 

(So, okay, maybe the whole wistful longing and bone-deep sadness thing is a little bit of a weird gut reaction, but one could probably chalk it up to, perhaps, a sense of regret that they never got to meet and spend time with their soulmate back on Earth. Much like older couples who wish they'd met when they were younger, so they could have spent more of their lives together. Yes, that makes sense.) 

This is probably exactly how you're supposed to feel when you finally discover who your soulmate is. And sure enough, when Chidi meets Eleanor's eyes, he feels inexplicably happy.

This is good. This is a good thing. It's a…good stomach ache? He's not entirely certain how that makes even the slightest bit of sense, but, well, Chidi trusts Eleanor. Really, truly trusts her. Something about her makes him feel at peace, like coming home after a long journey. So he'll take her word for it, and trust that this is a good thing. That Simone is his soulmate. That they'll make each other happy.

At first, it's absolutely wonderful. They stay up all night talking and laughing, going out to dinner at charming little restaurants and cafés, basking in the sunlight as they enjoy lovely picnics in the park. They do research together and share their findings, musing over all the ways their two fields of study overlap and intertwine, a marriage of neuroscience and philosophy, of mind and morals.

It's perfect…or at least, it's very nearly perfect.

Chidi likes Simone. Truly, he does. She's brilliant, and she's witty, and she's kindhearted, and she's beautiful, inside and out. But there are…not flaws, he wouldn't call them flaws, just…subtle differences between their personalities and core beliefs that started as a minor trickle in the cracks of their foundation and quickly became a torrential downpour.

So, you know. No biggie.

It's just that, sometimes, Simone is a bit too…technical.Quick to judge and slow to forgive. Immovably rooted in logic and fact, relying solely on her own experiences, on tried and true data, trusting only what's right in front of her, only that which is tangible and can be concretely proven. She's not exactly one for abstract thinking, doesn't really care for dreaming up whimsical what-ifs and fanciful impossibilities. 

Which is okay, really. Those aren't inherently bad qualities, they just don't exactly line up with his own. That is to say, not anymore. 

For example, Simone doesn't believe in the concept of soulmates. Even laughs at him when he brings it up over breakfast one morning. And that's fine. It's totally fine. He knows she's not being intentionally hurtful or dismissive, lightheartedly teasing him over, admittedly, quite a nonsensical notion. (His heart doesn't shatter into a million pieces or anything. He's fine.) 

But, mystical afterlife destiny hokum aside, there's still the issue of the very distinct divide in their core beliefs. Chidi has always strived to uphold a strong ethical and moral code, to treat people with kindness and respect, to do his utmost to help them, no matter what, whenever they're in need (even if, perhaps, they're not the most upstanding people.) 

Simone, on the other hand, believes that this way of thinking is selfless to a fault, almost to the point of being naïve. She simply doesn't see the point in helping people who don't deserve it. For example, she wouldn't dare risk her life for someone unless she was absolutely certain that they would do the same if the situation were reversed. With Simone, first impressions are everlasting, and she'd be hard-pressed to believe that a person is capable of changing for the better after proving to be problematic time and time again. 

And as much as Chidi understands and respects her position, it's just not how he functions. Chidi likes to believe that there's always a sliver of hope, that ethics can be taught, that people can change, and that good behavior is simply a matter of practicing until it becomes habit. Whereas Simone would rather focus on things she deems a worthwhile use of her time and energy. 

Simone likes to tease Chidi, calling him a walking contradiction of anxiety and optimism because honestly, what kind of sane person simultaneously strives to believe the best in people, but is also terrified of absolutely everything? She jokes, and she teases, and she offers him warm, playful smiles as a balm to soothe his frazzled spirit, but underneath it all, Chidi is fairly certain that he secretly drives her insane. 

He can see it in the crease of her brow and the hard set of her lips every time she watches him struggle to make a decision over the simplest of things, wasting precious hours of their time and causing them to miss out on fun neighborhood activities. 

He can see it in the way the sparkle in her eyes flickers and fades like dying candlelight every time she gets excited about embarking on some grand new adventure she'd always wanted to experience back on Earth, but never had the time or the ability to do so (skydiving, snorkeling with tropical fish, rock climbing, skiing through snow-swept mountains) only to be met with a wide-eyed look of horror from her supposed soulmate, working himself up to a panic and talking himself in circles about all the potential risks and dangers, even though, hello, they're in heaven and they're already dead. 

After a handful of half-hearted attempts to get him to tag along with her, Simone had given it up as a bad job, and simply gone out to enjoy these activities on her own, content to leave Chidi behind in his quiet little study, surrounded by mountains of dusty old books. 

Never changing. 

Never evolving. 

No challenges. 

No surprises. 

Nothing to keep him on his toes.

Every little detail automatically decided for him.

Which is exactly what he had thought that he liked.

Thought that he wanted. 

Thought that he needed.

Until, of course, he didn't.

Chidi can't quite explain it, but something about this place feels wrong. 

It's everything he's ever wanted, only a little bit ruined.

For instance, the tea he brews always tastes a little watered down, like the second pour after the initial steep, and it's always lukewarm, even when it's straight from the stovetop to the kettle to the teacup. 

The food is always just a little bit too dry, the frozen yogurt just a little bit too soupy, melting all over his hands before he's even taken his first bite, and all the coffee comes in those little pods. He nearly always has a stomach ache.

Sure, he can summon any book at will like Thor's hammer…but they usually end up bashing him in the head at full speed and knocking him out. 

And sure, every detail of his apartment, from the muted earthy greens and warm golden yellows, to the pristine bookshelves and well-worn faux leather armchairs, feels like it's been plucked straight from out of his home décor Pinterest board…but the empty space fills him with an intense loneliness, even when the room is filled with Simone and all of their friends.

His soulmate is this wonderful, bright, vibrant force of a person, matching his love of academia and thirst for knowledge…but they don't see eye to eye on such fundamental things. They're perfectly suited to one another…on paper, perhaps, but not in practice.

It's all a little too perfect, and yet, devastatingly imperfect.

He doesn't know why, but he feels restless. Like something is missing. A void in his heart that he can't quite seem to fill. 

He doesn't feel challenged, doesn't feel like he's making any kind of progress, moving forward, or changing for the better. He feels stagnant. Frozen. Like he's standing still, rooted to the spot, while the rest of the world flourishes all around him.

He's in heaven. He should be happy. But he's not. And the fact that he's not happy in paradise is driving him up a wall.

• • •

The Era Of Restlessness, as Chidi calls it, ramps up to an all-time high around the six month mark. Granted, it could have been earlier, could have been later. It's so hard to keep track of time when you're in the afterlife, after all. Sometimes, Chidi could swear it's not even linear, but more like this big swirl of events, like loops and dotted i's in a signature. 

Crazy, right? 

Anyway. 

It's around that time that he starts having trouble sleeping, all of those imperfect little details of his time in the afterlife prickling at the back of his mind like nettles, planting seeds of doubt feeding those all-consuming feelings of restlessness and emptiness rattling around inside his head. It's absolutely maddening, and nothing he does in an attempt to soothe it seems to work in his favor.

After nearly a fortnight of tossing and turning, glaring at the alarm clock on his bedside table, tired eyes tracing patterns in the cracks and grooves of the textured paint on his ceiling, Chidi makes the choice to get up and do something about it. 

It's like there's this invisible string tugging him toward the door, out into the endless expanse of the neighborhood after hours, but instead of his usual apprehension about the idea of exploring unknown geography in the dark, Chidi feels almost giddy at the prospect of trying something new. So he sets out into the night, charting a course for his favorite stargazing spot at the park, hoping that the crisp night air will help clear his mind. 

He doesn't expect anyone else to be awake at this hour. Figures they're all sound asleep, snuggled up in their perfect, cozy beds in their perfect, cozy homes, not a care in the world to keep their minds buzzing well past midnight. But then, the Architect of the neighborhood isn't just anyone, is she? 

As he's strolling down the docks by the lake, far too caught up in the struggle of trying to decide which jaunty tune he should whistle aloud (or hum, he still hasn't decided) he quite literally collides into her, eliciting a terrified shriek and a collection of half-censored expletives, and before he knows it, Chidi is thrashing around in the shallow end of the lake.

Half an hour later, Eleanor is still an apologetic mess, wrapping a thick, plush blanket that feels like it's been pulled straight from the dryer around his shoulders, rattling off a never-ending list of comfort food and hot drinks she could magic into existence as a way to make it up to him. 

In the battle of apologies, Chidi is more than a well-matched opponent, assuring her that the fault is entirely his, that she simply reacted out of instinct, and he truly hadn't meant to startle her, politely declining her offers, insisting he'd filled up on maafe at dinner. 

In the end, Chidi surrenders at the sight of two steaming mugs of hot cocoa overflowing with mini marshmallows, surprising himself when he wholeheartedly accepts Eleanor's handful of popcorn shrimp and thoroughly enjoys every bite, full to the point of painful groaning as the two of them swap spoonfuls of vanilla ice cream melting into a mountain of molten fudge brownies.

But the most unexpected thing of all is the sight of the sunrise, brushstrokes of blood orange, grapefruit, and gold peeking through the treetops, tumbling over the mountainside, dancing in the delicate waves of Eleanor's hair as she sits beside him on a bench overlooking the lake, coupled with the realization that he'd spent the entire night in her company, talking and laughing and reminiscing about all the things he'd hated and loved about life on Earth, never once sparing a thought to all of the pent-up restlessness that had been plaguing him for what felt like an eternity.

• • •

He'd never intended to make it a habit. Certainly, it's a rather strange phenomena, how often their paths seem to cross for these impromptu midnight meetings. Stranger still is the fact that it's always perfect timing, seemingly whenever Chidi finds himself most in need of a confidant. And talking with Eleanor, he finds, is unexpectedly wonderful. A perfect blend of comfort and familiarity, but with an enigmatic edge of excitement that keeps him on his toes from midnight to sunrise. 

It's enthralling, the way they can talk for hours on end about anything and everything. The way she speaks to him with blunt honesty and bold statements he'd never expected to hear from a divine, celestial being. 

The way she holds her own in an argument, passionately debating him into the ground with counterpoints he'd never even dreamed of, but never in a way that makes him feel foolish or judged. 

The way she makes his head spin, gets under his skin in the best possible way, and makes him tick, makes him think, makes him question everything he ever thought he knew, chiseling brand new grooves into all the things he'd always thought were set in stone.

It's not long before he finds himself growing impatient for nightfall, face aching from an all-day smile at the memory of something she'd said the night before, heart thrumming in his chest as he locks the door to his apartment and sets off in the direction of their favorite café, breath held aloft as he strolls down crystal-flecked cobbled streets, hoping against hope that tonight will be the night he'll find her sitting cross-legged in a chair tilted back at a dangerous angle at their usual table, sneakers kicked off to the side, brow furrowed in concentration, nose-deep in one of the books they'd traded the last time they'd met.

• • •

"It's an impossible decision," Chidi remarks as the pair of them lay side by side on a plush checkered blanket underneath an inky black canvas bursting with silver stars. "I mean, how do you even begin to choose your favorite among seventy-nine Jovian moons? This is, by far, the cruelest round of Would You Rather that you have ever proposed, Eleanor."

"Worse than the time I made you choose between Snickers and Milky Way?" Eleanor teases around an impish grin. "Come on, man, it's not like I've stuck you in the middle of the Trolley Problem."

"Fair enough," Chidi concedes, muscles aching from the wide grin that had, over the past few months, become something of a permanent fixture. With a jolt, Chidi realizes that at this time tomorrow, it will officially have been one full year since he'd arrived in the afterlife. Strange how time moves here, in both a blink and an eon, ephemeral and eternal all at once.

"Personally, I like Callisto the best," Eleanor says with a wry smile. "Mostly because it sounds like Calypso, who was a total badass in Pirates Of The Caribbean."

Chidi barks out a laugh, closing his eyes and shaking his head from side to side. Scowling, Eleanor pokes him none too gently in the ribs, which only makes him laugh harder.

"What?" she whines, mock-offended. "That's a good reason."

"I'm not making fun of you, I swear," Chidi says, struggling to stifle his laughter as he rolls over onto his side, head propped up on his elbow. "It's just…sometimes you say things, and I…I'm reminded of—"

He pauses, searching for the right words as a collection of images, distorted and blurred, flash across his mind. The faint outline of a silhouette, shrouded in hues of blush and gold. The distant sounds of laughter and the roar of a train chugging along a track. It's there, and then, all at once, it isn't.

"Sorry, it's just…sometimes you just seem so intrinsically human that I forget you're actually…not. And it's…forgive me for thinking so, but I find it incredibly charming."

For the barest hint of a second, Eleanor's eyes grow wide, but it's gone before Chidi can convince himself he'd actually seen it, replaced with a tight-lipped smile.

"Oh, well, you know," Eleanor says with a lighthearted chuckle and a casual wave of her hand. "You spend so much time around humans, I guess eventually you start acting like one."

Chidi pauses, not quite certain what to say. Not for the first time, he feels like he's missing something, something vital. It's like he's got all the pieces, but he can't quite seem to remember where he'd mislaid them in order to put them all together. Sometimes, Eleanor feels like the most complicated puzzle of them all. Every time he thinks he's got her figured, she throws him another curveball.

"Of course," he says after a moment. "I suppose that makes sense."

"Still, though," he presses on, rolling over onto his back and turning his attention toward the night sky, determined to keep the conversation going. "How do I choose? I mean, even if you narrow it down to the obvious four, it's still a choice between Europa, the ice moon, or Io, the active volcano moon, and then there's Ganymede and Callisto, both of which are—"

"…bigger than some of the planets in our solar system, and rumored to have an underground ocean," Eleanor chimes in.

"Yes," Chidi breathes, choking on the rest of his words as he whips around to face her. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

And she had. Everything he was about to say, to a t. But it's more than that. There's something very curious about the way she'd matched him word for word, mirroring his mannerisms with perfect precision, every tremor, every cadence, every pause for breath, like this wasn't the first time she'd heard him say all of this. Something so achingly redolent about the far-off look in her eyes as she'd said it, like she was reliving some long-forgotten memory, reciting lines from her favorite fairy tale.

But that's…no. He's being ridiculous. There he goes, getting carried away with impossible notions and ludicrous theories again.

"I mean, of course you already know that," Chidi sighs around a self-deprecating little chuckle. "You know everything. Listen to me, reciting star facts to an all-knowing deity like she doesn't already know everything there is to know about the entire universe."

"Not everything," Eleanor insists with a modest smile. "I'm not Janet, after all. Honestly, my knowledge doesn't really extend past Earth and humans and the residents of this neighborhood. When it comes to, say, life on other planets, your guess is as good as mine…"

Eleanor tilts her head to the side, a magnificent smile tugging at the corners of her lips, like she knows she's just laid the bait for one of Chidi's all-time favorite creative pastimes. (Even if, technically, he doesn't actually remember just how much he loves it.)

"And besides," she says with a dulcet smile. "I like listening to you talk."

And that's…well, for someone who spent the majority of his life getting teased and chastised for long-winded, incoherent, contradictory circular rambling, to hear her say that with such genuine conviction is…well, it's…

For once, Chidi simply doesn't have the words. 

But it's okay, because Eleanor does, diving straight into a detailed rendering of a fictitious ocean world in a galaxy far, far away. One that sounds so familiar, Chidi could almost swear he'd seen it once in a dream. In no time flat, they're off, debating the finer details of aquatic alien life, down to how many rows of teeth the biggest shark-like creature could realistically fit inside its mouth, and what color scales the merfolk of this world might have, depending on whether they live closer to the surface or dwell in the darker depths of the sea.

Eleanor's eyes light up in wonder as Chidi gestures wildly, the sky above them his canvas as he swirls his fingertips in a complicated pattern of curves and spirals, painting invisible portraits of bioluminescent flora and fauna on some distant garden moon. As the hours tick by, the two of them collapse into a fit of giggles, laughing until they can hardly breathe as they hold a competition to see who can come up with the best and worst names for fictional planets and alien creatures.

There's something oddly familiar and comforting about it, sharing wacky ideas and theories with Eleanor, the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears, breathing in the scent of wildflowers and lakeshore, fingertips threading through thick tufts of dew-soaked grass, the crowns of their heads a mere whisper from one another's as they lay side by side underneath the endless, star-strewn sky.

He chances a glance over at her, drinking in the sight of her, head thrown back in laughter, hair splayed all around her like a suspended waterfall, like she's drifting through space, tangled in the grass and tickling the sides of his face as it brushes up against him.

"You know, I never used to be good at this," he says, his own laughter subsiding and settling into a warm, comfortable glow in the center of his chest. He can't quite explain it, but something about her makes him unravel, makes him want to be candid and vulnerable. 

"Dreaming up far-off magical worlds that may or may not exist somewhere out there in the universe," he clarifies. "But then I met you, and you…you made it fun, imagining all of these different possibilities, not needing to know for certain if any of them are actually real."

"People used to call me the human equivalent of a migraine," he admits with a grimace. "Because I would always poke holes in games like this, trying to fit everything into rigid parameters, pointing out logical fallacies, instead of just taking pleasure in the experience of it. Creative thinking for the sake of pure enjoyment. Dreaming up all manner of wonderful, impossible things." 

Eleanor tilts her head to look at him, the silver glow of the stars dancing in her eyes. A hint of a smile twitches at the corners of her lips, and Chidi finds himself drawn to it, wanting nothing more than to make it bloom.

"These past few months have been…I've really enjoyed spending time with you, Eleanor," he says thoughtfully. "As crazy as it sounds, you make me feel…more human. You make me feel, instead of always having to think. And I never stopped to realize just how important that is, until I met you."

Chidi stills, his heart skyrocketing into his throat, every nerve ending in his body lighting up like a live wire. For in that moment, Eleanor had reached down between them and laced her fingers with his, giving his palm a gentle three-pulse squeeze. Such a simple, tender thing. Such an innately human thing. Done as if by instinct, out of pure muscle memory, as though they had done it thousands of times before. Without even realizing what he's doing, Chidi squeezes back three times in return. And then something incredible happens.

A burst of images, like scenes from a movie, flash across his mind.

The two of them, laying across a checkered blanket identical to the one currently beneath them, sunshine spilling through the leaves in the trees, warming their backs as they split the spines of a couple of books from his cherished collection, laughing and talking and reading passages aloud to one another. 

A sudden onset thunderstorm, pouring down on them in rivulets, soaking through their clothes and the pages of his beloved books. Much to his surprise, he finds he hardly cares, simply making the best of it, laughing and kicking up his feet to the tune of Singing In The Rain, delightfully carefree as he takes her by the hand and leads her in a whimsical waltz.

Just the two of them, lost in their own little world, holding each other close and swaying to the melody of distant thunder and pouring rain. He leans in close, fingers threading through the tendrils of her rain-soaked hair as he gently cups the side of her face, warm breath ghosting over the magnificent smile curved across her lips as he draws her in for a spectacular kiss, and the fire that erupts in his chest is overwhelming, all-consuming. Never before has he felt so warm, so happy, so enthralled, so alive.

It's different from some of the dreams he's had before…blurred and faded, like a channel coming in on the wrong frequency. But this…this vision, this daydream, this lucid phantasmagoria, whatever it is, makes him feel like he's actually there, like he's reliving it. It's so real, and so vivid, that he can feel everything. Every detail. Every touch. Every drop of rain that falls against his skin. The smell of petrichor as the rain settles into the desert air. The hard line of Eleanor's smile pressed against his lips. The vibrations of her laughter radiating against his chest. 

How freeing it feels simply being with her, acting on desires and impulses he'd been struggling to suppress for months. Everything he's ever wanted, but convinced himself he could never have, so intently focused on trying to make things work with his universe-approved soulmate, on simply settling and letting everything be decided for him, that he never took the time to consider what he actually wants, how he actually feels. But in that moment of perfect clarity, he finally knows. 

He feels like he could live in that moment forever.

But then it's over, as quickly it had begun. The vision fades, ripping him out of his marvelous reverie, cold hard earth and dew-soaked grass digging into the muscles of his back, grounding him in reality. He opens his eyes, blinking rapidly as an infinite cluster of silver starbursts punctuating an endless sea of black comes hurtling back into focus, the chill of the night air rolling over him like ocean waves.

His hands are cold. With a jolt, Chidi realizes that Eleanor has let go of him, her own hands folded neatly across her torso, seemingly struggling against an urge to fidget, worrying her lower lip, eyes wide like she'd just been caught doing something she knows she's not supposed to. Rosy patches paint the pulse points of her collarbones and the apples of her cheeks, just barely visible in the golden glow of the moon. 

Chidi has no idea how much time passes as they stay like this, unnervingly still, neither of them daring to be the first to speak. And then, without warning, Eleanor springs into a standing position, brushing nonexistent blades of grass from the thighs of her jeans and pointedly avoiding looking anywhere but directly at him.

"Well, it's getting late," she says, an unmistakable note of panic in her voice. Chidi knows that tone well, it's basically his default. "I should probably get going. Lots of…um…lots of Architect stuff to attend to. Goodnight, Chidi."

And before he can summon the nerve to say something, anything, a thousand different questions poised on the tip of his tongue, Eleanor is gone, turning on the spot and disappearing into the darkness, leaving him standing there, positively dumbstruck, heart pounding to the beat of his racing thoughts as he tries to make sense of what had just happened.

All she had done was reach across the space between them and hold his hand. And yet, somehow, it had changed everything.

• • •

There's a knock on Eleanor's front door at a quarter to eleven o'clock the following evening. Hastily shoving Mindy's special edition copy of Cannonball Run 2 in between her couch cushions, Eleanor springs up from the sofa and rushes to open the door, assuming it's Michael, or Tahani, or even Jason, with yet another report of something in the neighborhood going ass-up in flames. Much to her surprise, the person standing on her doorstep, hand held aloft in a gentle fist, mid-knock, is—

"Chidi!" she says, wincing at the way his name comes out in a breathless, half-shouted whisper, trying desperately to school her features into something cool and casual, because she totally hadn't spent the entire day freaking out over the whole hand-holding incident from the night before.

"I'm sorry," he says in lieu of hello, glasses fogging up from a nervous sweat despite the brisk autumnal weather outside. "I hope you don't mind, but I was hoping to get a chance to speak with you. I know it's rather late in the evening, but I figured maybe it would be alright, considering this is around the time we usually meet. I would have called first, but then I realized that there aren't any phones here, so I asked Janet for the best way to get in contact with you, and she gave me your address!"

All of this comes spilling out of his mouth in a rushed, jumbled mess at varying pitches and volumes, making it clear to Eleanor that Chidi is feeling just as flustered and anxious as she is. Heart hammering in her chest, Eleanor plasters on a polite smile and invites him inside with an overly enthusiastic make yourself at home! 

As Chidi takes a look around, he can't help but feel like Eleanor's house is bizarrely familiar. It fills him with a strange combination of nostalgia, comfort, and distress.

"Your home is…different than what I was expecting," Chidi remarks as he glances around at all the clown paintings. 

So. Many. Forking. Clown. Paintings. 

And…one of a shirtless mailman? 

"I didn't know you liked clowns," he says, fixing her with a quizzical sort of look as he pries his eyes away from the trashy erotic calendar, which seems to be permanently stuck on March. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you've told me that you hate clowns, many times, on several different occasions."

In her defense, it's not like Eleanor ever expected Chidi to just show up at her house out of the blue. 

It's fine, though. She can do this. She can improvise. Time to smooth things over.

"So I mean, yeah, I do hate clowns," she says with an attempt at a lighthearted chuckle. "Or at least, I did hate clowns…but they kind of grew on me after a while, because of…uh…the person who used to live here. He…well, he didn't really like clowns, either, but we…ah, you know what? It's a long story. I'm sure you don't want me to bore you with the details."

Yup. Nailed it.

Except, Chidi actually does want to know. All of it. All the details. Very badly. But he's not here to talk about creepy clown paintings or gratuitously bare-chested postal workers. Granted, he's not exactly getting to the point of why he's here, but for some reason, he just can't seem to work up the nerve to come out and say it.

Stalling for time, his eyes rove the landscape of Eleanor's living room, cataloguing every impossibly familiar little detail of the décor, from the eggshell whites, cloudy grays, and muted pastels that paint the walls, to the primitive Icelandic style furniture arranged in a quirky yet classy minimalistic fashion, to the rich mahogany bookcase in the far corner of the room that looks oddly out of place and honestly, more to his taste, to the—

"Cool chalkboard," Chidi says with an air of surprise, wondering how he hadn't immediately noticed the grand blackboard set in the middle of the living room, opposite a charming little white loveseat and a rustic coffee table littered with magazines, sticking out like a sore thumb.

"You know what I always thought would be great?" he says conversationally. "A magic chalkboard that anticipates—"

"…anticipates your lesson flow," Eleanor blurts out with an amused roll of her eyes, like she'd heard him say that exact thing hundreds of times before.

"That's the dream," she says in a playful, sarcastic tone, before catching sight of the bemused expression on Chidi's face, and adding, "…or so I've heard."

Chidi tilts his head to the side, utterly bewildered by the way she'd known exactly what he was going to say before he'd even said it, just as she'd done the night before. There's something very peculiar about the way she's staring at him just now, like a deer caught in headlights. 

Chidi's eyes dart briefly back to the living room. There's a thick layer of dust settled into the grooves of the chalk bed and the slate of the board itself, like it hasn't been used in at least a year. If he takes a few steps closer and squints his eyes, he can just barely make out the shadow of hastily-erased handwriting that looks startlingly close to his own.

"Didn't exactly take you for a chalkboard enthusiast, either," he says, trying very hard not to sound as suspicious as he feels.

"Oh, well…yeah. I mean, I'm not," she backpedals. "It's…it belongs to a friend."

Chidi narrows his eyes, fixing her with an intense, curious gaze. Having spent his entire life on the verge of a constant low-grade panic attack, Chidi has learned to recognize the symptoms for what they are. He's also learned how to suss out whenever someone is trying to put on a brave front, feign confidence, and power through it. Especially when they're so appallingly bad at it, like Eleanor seems to be.

Could she be feeling nervous about what happened the night before? Had she, too, seen the surreal visions of the two of them together flash across her mind, just as vividly as he had? Was she, perhaps, feeling foolish or regretful for having reached out and held his hand? Had she done it out of some kind of magical pull, instinct, or desire? Or had it simply been an accident? 

No, it couldn't have been. She'd done this intimate little three-pulse squeeze, as well. You don't just do something so specific like that without realizing you're doing it. Then again, he had when he'd responded in kind. He couldn't help it. It had just felt so natural. Like something they'd done hundreds of times before. But what did it mean? Did it even mean anything? Was she even allowed to do as she wanted? Was he?

He becomes so lost in the deafening grinding of his own thoughts that he doesn't hear her speak at first.

"I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Could you repeat that?"

Eleanor stares at him for a moment, eyebrows arched, features painted with something akin to incredulity.

"Is there…uh…anything I can help you with, Chidi?" she asks, and oh yeah, she definitely sounds annoyed…and maybe, dare he say it…a little defensive? "Or did you come all the way over here to quiz me about clowns and chalkboards?"

"Oh my god. No, of course not. I'm so sorry," Chidi falters, embarrassment washing over him in waves as he starts to fret and wonder if coming over here had been a giant mistake. He'd set a course with the clear-cut intention of talking to her about last night, and all he'd done was show up at her house, uninvited and unannounced, and proceeded to interrogate her about the details of her décor.

A dozen different potential excuses to hightail it out of there sweep across his mind like names in a rolodex. 

Sorry, I have to—

Feed my plants.

Water my cat.

No, wait. That can't be right.

Perhaps he'll just tell her that he isn't feeling well. It's not exactly a lie, after all, seeing as he's nearly always got a stomach ache. Nearly always on the verge of a panic attack. Nearly always kept awake by a constant barrage of what if and why am I not happy, grinding away in the back of his mind like a fork caught in a garbage disposal.

Until, of course, one fateful evening six months prior, when Chidi had spent the entire night from midnight to sunrise in Eleanor's company. He couldn't quite place how or why she had had such a life-changing effect on him. All he knew for certain was that all of that restlessness, that desolate feeling of emptiness gnawing in the pit of his stomach, had utterly disappeared the moment he'd spoken to her. 

Replaced, instead, by the thrill of wandering the neighborhood after hours, night after night, hoping to cross paths with her, and discover more about her. By an exhilarating curiosity to puzzle out the reason for all of these strange and wonderful dreams he's been having, so real and so vivid, like a mosaic of memories from another life. And isn't that exactly why he's here, to find the answer?

He thinks of a night under the stars, the way they'd danced in her eyes, the way her laughter had sounded like music, the feel of her hand in his, and he's reminded of the reason he made the choice to come here, the reason why he needs to be here.

"Okay, so. Yeah. So. Here's the thing," he says around a quavering breath. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you for a while now, but I could never work up the nerve, or find the right words. And I didn't want to make it seem like I'm ungrateful for everything you and Michael and Janet and Tahani and Jas…that is to say, Jianyu…have done for me, because you guys are amazing. Seriously. You're genuinely the most wonderful people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting."

"Sounds like you're about to say but," Eleanor quips, concern bleeding through her carefully crafted lighthearted expression.

"But—" Chidi continues with an assenting nod, eyes fixed to the floorboards as he begins his descent into frantic pacing. "I feel out of sorts. This place is a perfect paradise, and yet, I don't feel happy. Not completely, anyway. I can't help but feel like there's something missing. Like part of me is missing. There's something about this place that isn't quite right. So, I've given this a lot of thought, and I have to ask…"

Panic floods Eleanor's senses like a dangerous cocktail of fire and ice, a frenzied greatest hits compilation of choice uncensored swear words racing through her mind at the loudest decibel. This is it, she thinks. This is how the experiment dies. Not with a bang, but with a rousing encore of This Is The Bad Place.

"What if the universe was wrong?" Chidi asks, and Eleanor holds her breath.

But instead, he surprises her by asking—

"What if Simone isn't my soulmate?"

"Oh," Eleanor breathes a sigh of relief that quickly turns into a scoff.

"Trust me, she's your soulmate," she says, injecting, perhaps, a little more venom than she really ought to have into her reply.

Chidi pauses mid-pacing, his eyes growing wide with alarm.

"That!" he says, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "That right there. That hitch in your voice. The hint of something that can only be described as bitterness every time you say the word soulmate. What aren't you telling me?"

Eleanor opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a series of high-pitched choking sounds.

"I…wha—…Nothing! I'm not hiding anything!" she shrieks.

"Oh, sure, that's not suspicious at all," Chidi retorts in a perfect impression of Eleanor's usual brand of sarcasm, eyebrows arched so high, they practically straddle his hairline.

"Look, dude, I don't see the problem," Eleanor scoffs. "You and Simone are perfect for each other."

"Are we, though?" Chidi challenges. "I mean, maybe on paper, but in practice, it's…"

Chidi heaves a heavy sigh and resumes his harried pacing.

"Look, don't get me wrong. Simone is great. She's a brilliant neuroscientist and a wonderful person, and I care about her very much…but I just…I don't think that she's my soulmate. When I'm with her, I don't feel like you're supposed to feel when you're in love. In fact, I'm quite certain I've never felt that way about anyone," Chidi pauses and chances a glance over at Eleanor, swallowing against the nervous lump in his throat. "That is…until last night."

"What are you saying, Chidi?" she asks cautiously, hardly daring to believe it.

"What I'm trying to say…though I'm not exactly going about it in the most eloquent fashion," he sighs, offering her an apologetic smile. "…is that, no matter how much I try to deny it, or talk myself out of it, it appears that I have developed feelings for someone else."

Eleanor's heart skips a beat.

"It took me a long time to figure it out," Chidi explains, tracking a faint trail of tread marks into the hardwood floor from his beleaguered pacing. "Mostly because I was too busy trying to force something that clearly wasn't working for both parties involved."

He gives an agitated little shake of his head, chastising himself for his own stubbornness.

"And it wasn't until last night, when a certain someone reached across the space between us and held my hand, and I saw this…I don't know if it was a vision of the future or the past…but I saw things, and I felt things, and I…I could've sworn I remembered things that I should not have been able to recall with such perfect clarity…and it made me realize something I've been fighting against admitting, all this time," Chidi trails off, gazing into space in a dreamlike trance.

Eleanor opens her mouth, a million different questions poised on the tip of her tongue, all begging to fire off at once, as she tries to make sense of everything he'd just said.

"It was such a small, simple thing," Chidi says fondly, offering Eleanor an affectionate smile. "But somehow, it changed everything. And ever since then, I haven't been able to shake the idea that maybe that same someone is my real soulmate."

All of the breath rushes out of Eleanor's lungs. For a moment, she simply stares at him, stunned to silence.

"Me?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "You think I'm your soulmate?"

Chidi's answering smile all but melts her heart.

"Is that really so crazy?" he asks, and the overwhelming warmth and gentleness of his tone makes her feel like she's just downed a mug of hot cocoa.

Even in this timeline, even though he'd had all of his memories of their time together erased, even when she was pretending to be this, for all intents and purposes, unattainable immortal god, Chidi still found his way to her, fell in love with her, thinks that she's his soulmate, even though he'd already been paired up with—

The unwelcome thought creeps up from the back of her mind, dousing that hopeful, happy warmth with ice water.

"What about Simone?" Eleanor asks, fearing the worst. As much as she's been dreaming of this moment every day for the past year, she doesn't want it if it comes at the expense of someone else's happiness. She's not a homewrecker.

"Simone and I have agreed to end our relationship," Chidi says matter-of-factly, seemingly unaffected by such a weighted statement.

"What?" Eleanor half-shouts. 

Is that, like, allowed? Can soulmates just decide to break up and then go about their afterlife like it's no big deal? But then, Chidi and Simone aren't actually soulmates…probably…so, who knows?

"No need to worry, Simone is perfectly fine," Chidi clarifies, offering Eleanor a small, reassuring smile. "I went over to her apartment this morning with the intention of coming clean about my feelings, and talking things out with her. But Simone is very perceptive. She saw where the conversation was headed before I even opened my mouth, literally breathed a sigh of relief and said, 'Oh, thank God.' Turns out, she wasn't happy being with me, either."

"Oh," is all Eleanor can manage. And then, because it's probably the polite thing to do, she adds, "I'm so sorry, Chidi."

"Don't be," Chidi says, waving a dismissive hand. "It was, quite possibly, the healthiest and most amicable breakup I've ever had. Trust me, Simone and I just saved ourselves an eternity of misery. It wouldn't have been fair to either of us to keep the relationship going. I frustrated the hell out of her and held her back from doing all the fun, adventurous things she wanted to do. And she…well…let's just say, Simone deserves better than being stuck with a man who's in love with someone else…"

Momentarily starstruck by the casual ease in which all of these puzzle pieces seemingly fell into place, Eleanor arches her eyebrows and blurts out an affronted, "Wait, who?"

Chidi blinks several times in disbelief.

"Seriously?" he laughs.

"Oh! Right," Eleanor winces, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Sorry, it's just…it's a lot to take in. I just…I guess I just don't understand. Why me?"

After all, Simone is practically perfect. And Eleanor is just—

"Honestly, I don't know how to even begin to quantify it," Chidi replies. "This isn't something I can explain away with logic or facts or a well-reasoned argument citing specific examples from a book. I just know what I feel, and what I feel is that I like you. I like spending time with you. I like the person I've become because of you. You challenge me, and you humble me, and you excite me, and you keep me on my toes. But it's more than that. When I'm with you, it just feels right. Like this is how it was always supposed to be. I've only just met you, but I feel like I've known you my entire life. Isn't that exactly how you're supposed to feel about your soulmate?"

"But I…" Eleanor says softly. "I'm just a girl from Ariz— oh fork. I mean…just a regular old immortal being from the Architect…uh…academy? Yeah, that. Because I'm the Architect."

And that's when it hits her.

She's the Architect.

The experiment.

The very reason for Chidi's sacrifice.

The fate of humanity literally depends on Eleanor keeping up this year-long charade, on making sure everything goes according to plan. Though very much welcome and wanted, Chidi confessing his undying love for her and proclaiming her his soulmate wasn't exactly part of the plan. 

Who knows how many points this could cost them? Who knows what kind of damaging effects it could have on Chidi's progress, if the whole complicated mess of the truth were to come out? She can't risk anything potentially messing up the experiment, not now that they're so close to the Judge's ruling. 

She squares her shoulders, schooling her features into impassivity, and says, "People like me, Chidi…we don't get to have soulmates."

Chidi stares at her for a moment, his eyes narrowed, and Eleanor is surprised to find that he looks almost angry.

"Well, pardon my language, but that's bullshirt," he says with uncharacteristic fervor, and Eleanor has to stifle a giggle at how much he sounds like her, only far more polite. 

"Everyone deserves to find love and happiness. Even all-knowing, immortal deities. In fact, especially all-knowing, immortal deities, I would wager. I mean, look at everything you do for us," he argues in her defense. "I spent my whole life in pursuit of absolute moral truth, but you, dedicating your entire existence to guiding humans through the afterlife. It's amazing. You're like the perfect paradigm of what absolute goodness should look like."

"Well, that's very kind of you to say, Chidi, but—"

"But at the same time, you're…imperfect, in the best possible way," he continues. "Sometimes, when I'm with you, it doesn't feel like you're…not a human, you know? Everything you do, everything you say, how casual and comfortable and open and honest you can be, you just seem so…intrinsically human. Sometimes, it's hard to remember that you're not. But really, what difference should that make? Does it really matter what we are? Janet and Jason fell in love, even though Janet isn't human. If they can make it work, why couldn't—"

Oh no.

Oh god.

Oh no oh god oh no, he's just spilled all the secrets he'd promised Jason he would keep. Chidi winces, waiting for the inevitable pandemonium, but what Eleanor says next feels like a bigger blow by far.

"We just…we can't, Chidi. I'm sorry," she sighs, looking for all the world like it's absolutely killing her to say it. 

It's that unmistakable look of pure misery that gives him the nerve to push forward, because it's the same look that's mirrored on his own face, every single morning when he wakes up and feels like there's something missing. And he's tired of feeling miserable.

"But why?" Chidi challenges, then pauses, trying to walk the razor-thin line between wanting to boldly profess his affections and prove to her that he's willing to fight for her, and not wanting to make her uncomfortable, just in case he's misread the entire situation, and this isn't what she wants.

"I mean, look, if it's because you truly don't feel what I'm feeling, and I've misinterpreted everything, then that's on me," he amends. "I will offer my sincerest apologies, and go about my afterlife, and I'll never bother you or broach the subject again. But if you do feel the same way, and we both end up spending the rest of eternity secretly pining for each other but never working up the nerve to say anything about it, well then…this might as well be the Bad Place."

"Chidi, I…" Eleanor sighs, her expression pained.

"Look, if I'm completely off-base here, please just tell me," he insists. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll never bring it up again, and we can go back to being platonic friends who occasionally cross paths in the middle of the night, sharing delicious food and delightful discourse. Or, if you would prefer, we can stop doing that, too."

"No!" Eleanor practically shouts, a look of panic in her eyes. "I don't want to stop seeing you!"

"Then what do you want?" Chidi asks.

"I…" Eleanor falters, battling back the urge to tell him everything, knowing full well the inevitable ruin it would bring upon them both.

"Look, it doesn't matter what I want, or how I feel," she admits, heaving a despondent sigh. She can't give him what he wants, but she's tired of having to lie to him. So, until the countdown hits zero and the experiment ends…enigmatic, vague half-truths it'll have to be.

"But you do feel something," he says, and Eleanor's heart clenches at the little sliver of hope that lingers in his tone. 

Chidi takes a tentative step toward her, closing the distance between them. Eleanor's breath catches in the back of her throat, lost for words as she stares into the eyes of the man towering above her. He leans forward, his lips a mere whisper from her own. As if on instinct, Eleanor's eyes flutter closed and she tilts her chin to meet him halfway, just like they always used to do.

It takes every ounce of her remaining willpower to recognize what she's doing, and wrench herself away from him.

"I'm sorry, Chidi, but I can't be your soulmate," she says. "No matter how much I might wish I could be."

Chidi presses his lips into a hard line, staring at her with some indecipherable spark in his eyes.

"Okay, so maybe we're not soulmates. Maybe the concept of soulmates doesn't actually exist," he concedes. "Honestly, it doesn't really matter. What does matter is how we feel, and what we choose to do with those feelings."

"I spent my whole life allowing fear and indecision to control me, to the point of madness and daily mental breakdowns, missing out on all manner of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens, all because I could never commit to a choice," he says, and Eleanor is momentarily stunned by his unexpected candor. 

It's the kind of self-awareness she had learned to expect from a Chidi with all of his memories still intact, a Chidi who had learned from his mistakes and changed for the better. A surge of pride rushes through her at the fact that this version of Chidi had managed to make so much progress in just a year's time.

"For once, I actually know what I want. For once, I'm making the choice to pursue what makes me happy, even though I am absolutely terrified of doing so, because I have no idea if it's the right thing to do, or what the outcome will be. But I'll never know unless I try. So here I am, standing in front of you, working up the nerve to finally tell you how I feel. I know what I want, Eleanor, and what I want is you," he says softly, his voice as dulcet as caramel wrapped in espresso, and Eleanor could swear she's never heard her name sound so sweet.

She feels dizzy, heady, like she's caught between the realm of waking and dreaming, hardly daring to believe that any of this is actually happening. It's been a whirlwind of an evening, and Eleanor is struggling to keep up. Every detail of what Chidi has confessed finally starts catching up with her, and with a sudden jolt that rips her out of this marvelous wish made real, she realizes—

"Wait…what did you mean before, when you said you can remember things you shouldn't be able to?" she asks, bracing her hands against his shoulders to try and keep herself steady amidst the swirling panic that's just begun to resurface.

To Eleanor's surprise, Chidi's expression shifts from hopeful and adoring to conflicted and embarrassed.

"I know it sounds crazy," he pauses, pursing his lips as he puzzles over how best to explain himself. "And I don't know if it's just the result of an overactive imagination, or some kind of weird side effect of the afterlife that makes wishful thinking come to life in a very real, very intense sort of way, but…sometimes, it's like I can remember all of these little details about you, and about us, that I shouldn't be able to remember."

"It feels like we have all of this history, have known each other for hundreds of years, even though we've only just met," he says thoughtfully. "And I keep having all of these…I don't know if they're dreams or fantasies or memories from another life, but I can picture them all so clearly. Mind you, I couldn't always. But something happened last night when you touched my hand, and now, it's like I can feel everything…every touch, every sound, every smell, every emotion attached to them, crystal clear." 

"What, um," Eleanor swallows thickly, heart thundering against her ribcage in equal measures of apprehension and euphoria. "What kinds of things?"

The answering smile that blooms across Chidi's face is like actual sunshine.

"Dancing in the rain with you. Arguing with you inside a weird, minimalist house surrounded by clown paintings, unnervingly reminiscent of the one we're currently standing in, right down to the very last detail. Hiding behind a bar with you while a fight breaks out overhead, and amidst all the chaos, you turn to me and tell me that you think you've fallen in love with me. Lying in bed with you in a strange house out in the middle of nowhere, telling you that I love you, too," he says as recalls each memory with wistful fondness. 

A loose lock of hair slips out of place from behind Eleanor's ear, and Chidi's fingertips twitch at his sides.

"I could almost swear I know exactly how it feels to walk down a sunny lane with you, hand in hand, with nowhere to go and nothing to do but enjoy each other's company, to hold you close and bury my face in your hair."

Daring to be bold, Chidi reaches forward and tucks the wayward lock of hair back behind her ear, reveling in the delicate blush that blossoms under the surface of her skin.

"What your lips feel like pressed against mine," he says, gently grazing his palm down the side of her cheek and watching, with baited breath, as her eyes flutter closed and she leans into his touch. 

"And I don't know if any of it is real or where it all came from, but I want it. I want it more than I have ever wanted anything in my entire life. And, forgive me if I'm way out of line here, but sometimes it feels like maybe you might want that, too?" Chidi asks, reaching out across the space between them and tentatively offering Eleanor his hand. Caught up in the moment, Eleanor takes an involuntary step forward, fingertips ghosting over the palm of his hand. The way he looks at her with such a yearning conviction makes her heart sing.

He wants me. 

He wants us.

He wants the life we built together, all the things we used to share.

He wants—

And all at once, the gravity of his words finally catches up to her, and the wonderful, terrifying impossibility of what this means comes crashing down around her.

Hummingbird heart at a loss for whether to skyrocket into her throat or plummet down into her stomach, Eleanor turns her head to the side, and shouts a half-hysterical, "Janet!"

"Wait, what?" Chidi exclaims, indelicately ripped out of the heartfelt moment.

With a melodic bing, Janet pops into existence right in the middle of Eleanor's living room, sporting a cheerful smile.

"How can I help you?" she asks, casting curious glances back and forth between Eleanor and Chidi.

"Could you please get Michael?" Eleanor asks, eyes fixed on Chidi like he's a spider she's just trapped under a cup.

"And, um, also, could I please have a drink with a lot of alcohol in it?" she adds with a sheepish grimace.

"Sure thing," Janet replies, looking thoroughly confused, but deciding it's better not to ask. She'll find out soon enough, anyway.

Janet twists on the spot and disappears, reappearing just seconds later with a wide-eyed, panic-stricken Michael clutching onto her arm.

"Sweet forking hell, the tension in here is thick," Michael exclaims, wafting his hands through the air. He glances back and forth between Eleanor and Chidi, looking alarmed. 

"What happened?" he asks. "Why is Chidi in your living room so late at night? Oh no. Tell me he hasn't figured out that we're actually in the—"

"Oh my god. No, you walnut!" Eleanor shouts, frantically waving her arms in the air to shush him.

"He remembers," she says. "He remembers everything. The memory wipe didn't work. He remembers. Oh my god, what do we do? How is this happening? What if it jacks up his final score somehow? It could ruin everything!"

In a perfect imitation of Chidi, Eleanor begins pacing.

"Holy smokes," Michael whispers, clapping a hand over his mouth.

Several minutes pass with Chidi simply standing there, stunned to silence and frozen to the spot, Eleanor tracking scuff marks into the hardwood floor as she paces in a dizzying blur, and Michael raking his hands through his hair, chanting Jason five times to trigger the cheat code and ward off an impending migraine as he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Alright," Michael says in a sage and soothing tone. "I think I might know what happened."

In unison, Eleanor and Chidi whip around to face him.

"Eleanor, do you remember that one reboot where you and Chidi came into my office to confront me?" Michael asks, a small, prideful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Do you remember what you said?"

Eleanor blinks several times, trying to coax some manner of coherent thought to the forefront of her mind. After a moment, her eyes widen in surprise.

"We're in love," she recites with perfect clarity. "And love is stronger than anything you can throw at us."

"And no matter what," Chidi chimes in, the words summoned from some shadowed recess at the back of his mind. "We will find each other, and we will help each other…because we're soulmates."

Eleanor simply stares at Chidi, open-mouthed and disbelieving.

"And I blew it off and made fun of you, thinking it was nothing, but it was everything," Michael says, a full-blown smile erupting across his face. "It was strong enough to break through the walls of a reboot."

"What?" Eleanor asks, incredulous. "How is that even possible?"

"Oh, how do I explain this?" Michael sighs, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his waistcoat and swiveling on the spot. "You see, every time I reboot you guys, I'm not exactly erasing your memories. That is to say, your memories don't just disappear into the void. Think of your brain as a filing system. All I've done is taken your afterlife memories and filed them away in a folder at the back of a cabinet that says DO NOT OPEN. So all of your memories are still there, they're just…tucked away, laying dormant in the back of your mind, waiting to be unlocked. Now, typically, the only way of getting them back is for me to actively magically summon them back for you. However, there is one other way to reawaken them…which, before now, I never actually believed was possible."

Eleanor quirks an eyebrow.

"I never considered the possibility that any of you would ever fall in love with one another," Michael continues, pursing his lips. "Quite the opposite, in fact. I just assumed you'd all loathe and torture each other. I never expected you to build such strong positive emotional attachments to one another. But you did, and apparently, that connection that you two share was powerful enough to unlock Chidi's memories."

"So," Eleanor sniffles, tears swimming in her eyes. "So, what…you're saying…you're saying Chidi remembers…because we're soulmates? I thought soulmates didn't exist."

"It's like I've said before, I don't know," Michael sighs. "Personally, I don't think that they do. If soulmates do exist, then they're made, not found. People meet, they get a good feeling about each other, and then they get to work building a relationship. Like you and Chidi did, countless times over the span of three hundred years and eight hundred different reboots, even when you had a whole team of demons conspiring against you."

"So maybe you're not universe-approved soulmates chosen by some complicated matchmaking formula…but you still managed to find each other, and help each other, and fall in love with each other, over and over and over again. I'd say that still counts for something," Michael insists, aiming an affectionate smile and a hearty wink at the pair of them.

"Essentially, Eleanor," he says, with a lighthearted sigh. "Chidi remembers because he loves you."

A small, tentative smile curls at the corners of Eleanor's lips, a warm, golden glow blossoming in the center of her chest. Ever so slowly, Eleanor turns to meet Chidi's gaze, and is delighted to see her own emotions reflected in Chidi's answering smile.

"Okay," Chidi says after a moment, shaking his head and turning to face Michael. "I'm happy, but very confused. Could somehow please fill me in on what just happened here?"

"Oh, right," Michael says, stirred from out of his fond reverie at the sight of his favorite couple finally happy and back together…well, almost.

"So, Chidi," he says, adopting an air of professionalism. "I'm about to unlock the rest of your memories. This might be a little overwhelming, but, seeing as how you're already dead, it shouldn't have the same hair-frying, teeth-extracting effect it had on Eleanor back on Earth. So."

"Wait, what?" Chidi exclaims with a frightened frown, but before he can protest or level Michael with a cascade of questions pinging back and forth across his mind, Michael snaps his fingers, and everything goes pleasantly blank. Seconds later, a series of images, like slides from a sped-up film, race across his mind with alarming acuity. All at once, the dormant part of Chidi's brain unlocks, and a stream of memories comes flooding back, filling in the remaining pieces of the puzzle his dreams had so cleverly supplied these past few months.

"Oh!" Chidi gasps, struggling to keep up with the sudden influx of vivid, vibrant details pouring into his mind, a cataclysm of emotions battling for dominance as he relives every moment of his afterlife. 

"Eleanor, I'm…we're…you…" he exclaims, his exuberant smile twisting into one of malaise as the last few details fall into place. "Oh, but the experiment! The whole reason I gave up my memories in the first place! What if I—"

"It's alright, Chidi," Michael says, giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder. "We're literally getting evaluated by the Judge any minute now. Not a whole lot of damage you could do at this point, bud."

"Oh," Chidi sighs, wild heart rate steadily slowing to a normal pace. "Well that's…simultaneously terrifying and reassuring."

Chidi turns to Eleanor, a hopeful smile curving across his lips. 

"So…how do you think we did?" he asks.

Before Eleanor can answer, the clock strikes midnight, and Janet reappears holding a massive pitcher and four margarita glasses, as Jason and Tahani burst through Eleanor's front door.

• • •

"You came to me and said that the points system was flawed," says Judge Gen. "A system that has been in place since the dawn of time, and has judged every soul that has ever walked the earth. And I have come to the conclusion…"

The six of them, Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, Jason, Janet, and Michael, all stand together in a circle, clutching each other's hands, waiting on baited breath for the verdict that could make or break humanity.

"I have come to the conclusion that you're right. Humans are not fixed at one level of morality. They can always get better. Which means that the points system does not accurately judge how good or bad they are. You won. The universe owes you a debt of gratitude for bringing this to my attention," says the Judge, and a collective cheer breaks out across the room, overpowering the disgusted groans from Shawn, Bad Janet, and the rest of the Bad Place demons that had decided to tag along.

"In terms of how we handle this moving forward," Judge Gen presses on. "Obviously, Earth is cancelled. Clearly, Earth has become too complicated for the points system to accurately reflect the true value of human behavior. So, all humans on Earth and in the afterlife will be extinguished, and we will start the entire human race over from scratch. Now…where did I put that human-wiper-outer thingy?"

And with that, the fragile hope that had ignited in their hearts just moments before is swiftly extinguished.

• • •

"Not in this Janet," the Judge scowls, marbelizing one of several Neutral Janets and moving onto the next one in a long line of rebels playing keep-away with humanity's reboot button.

Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, Jason, Janet, and Michael all turn back to look at one another, the same horrified expression mirrored on all six of their faces.

"So, if we can't change the points themselves, then maybe we can change what we do with the points," Michael suggests hurriedly. "Yeah, we just need a brand new system for judging humans in the afterlife. We can do this, right?"

He aims the question primarily at Eleanor, who answers with a reassuring smile and turns to face Chidi.

"There is literally only one person here who is smart enough and thoughtful enough to save humanity," she says, beaming up at him. "Designing a better afterlife is the ultimate ethical question. Chidi spent his entire existence pondering the biggest questions. He is brilliant and empathetic. All he cares about is how best to treat other people, and he is willing to sacrifice his own happiness in order to do it. I couldn't think of anyone better suited to guide us through this and find the answer."

Chidi stares back at her, equal parts elated by the spirited sincerity of her praise, and terrified at the prospect of the task he's just been asked to undertake.

After a brief moment, he gives a decisive nod, and replies, "Well, here's the thing: this kind of dilemma doesn't just have one answer. There could be 800. There could be zero. Who knows? The journey is the destination, right? So, that being said…let's get to work."

• • •

Forty-five minutes into their maybe an hour time limit, and the six of them are nowhere closer to mapping out a brand new points system for designating whether humans end up in the Good Place or the Bad Place once they arrive in the afterlife. Time ticks past them in a blur of heated arguments splitting hairs over which actions qualify as innately good, and how many points should be given or docked based on good intentions vs. unintended consequences. 

Chidi jumps as yet another marbelized Janet hits the floor with a resounding thwack, just inches away from where he stands, as the Judge rifles through their voids, bringing them all closer and closer to the literal end of the world. He glances around at his closest friends, red in the face as they trifle over which brand of water a person could drink that's ethically sourced enough to grant them a sufficient amount of points to just barely make it into heaven, and avoid being tortured for all eternity. 

And that's when it hits him: how utterly and completely pointless the points system actually is. 

It's just numbers in a system that simply cannot accurately measure goodness. What's the point of having a points system that doesn't measure a person's intent or willingness to try and do better? 

You can't just separate people into black and white, cut and dry categories of good and bad. It's much more complicated than that. You need all of those little details. You need context. You need to know their intentions, their motives, their reasoning. You need proof that they are willing to learn and willing to change. 

Turns out, life isn't a puzzle that can just be solved one time and it's done. You wake up every day, and you solve it again. You keep going. You keep moving forward. You keep learning, and growing, and changing. 

Everyone is capable of change. Everyone is capable of becoming better than they were the day before. Even Bad Place demons. Even Good Place angels.

A collective pearl-clutching gasp issues from the committee of Good Place angels, watching the mayhem unfold from their place in the pews with mingled expressions of sympathy and polite interest, and that's when Chidi realizes that the entire room has fallen silent and he's been saying all of this aloud. 

For what it's worth, he's never seen Eleanor or Michael look so simultaneously shocked and proud of him, and it's enough to strengthen his resolve, even as every inch of his skin burns with embarrassment.

"I…look, I'm sorry," he says, taking a tentative step forward and addressing the room at large. "But think about it. Do the Good Place angels ever actually help anyone? All I have ever seen them do is get caught up in an endless cycle of strongly worded letters, memorandums, minor mistakes, grand apologies, and resignations. When it comes to making actual decisions, they are even worse than I am. The only difference is, they do it all with a smile, genuinely convinced that they're helping."

Shocked to their core, the Good Place committee breaks out into a chorus of hushed murmuring, assuring one another of all the good deeds they've done over the millennia, followed by gentle shushing, followed by a series of apologies for having shushed each other, followed by even more apologies for having interrupted Chidi with all of their apologizing and shushing. Shawn, looking thoroughly amused at the chaos Chidi's candor seems to have incited, starts to giggle maniacally.

"Don't even get me started on the Bad Place demons," Chidi chides, earning a sarcastic eye roll from Shawn as he huffs, crosses his arms over his chest, and shuffles down into his seat, sticking his tongue out and fixing Chidi with a childish scowl. 

"The point is, pobody's nerf— sorry, I mean, nobody's perfect," Chidi sighs, casually slipping into lecture mode as he strolls the perimeter of the room, like he's back teaching in front of a class of college students, instead of monologuing to a rowdy group of immortal beings who could erase him from existence with a simple snap of their fingers.

"Everyone is capable of change," Chidi reasons. "And I think that everyone deserves the chance to do just that. After all, what good does it do, sending people to the Good Place or the Bad Place, based on a total number of points they were assigned for their actions back on Earth? Why are the Good Place and the Bad Place our only two options? When it really comes down to it, what point and purpose do either of them actually serve?"

"If you go to the Good Place, you're basically handed paradise on a silver platter," Chidi says. "And sure, that's great and all, but where's the motivation to try to become an even better person? If you end up in the Good Place, then you're probably under the impression that you're already perfect just as you are, that there's no room for growth, no need to try. If you go to the Bad Place, then all you're doing is getting tortured, and all that does is punish people for mistakes they probably didn't even realize they were making, reinforcing all of those flaws and bad habits they picked up back on Earth…or worse still, creating new ones."

Every member of the Good Place committee shudders in horror, while Shawn guffaws with glee and high-fives one of his fellow Bad Place demons. Chidi pointedly ignores him, and speaks even louder over the interruption.

"The point is, what we currently have in place is a system that functions as a means to an end, ultimately culminating in either praising or punishing people based on a total number of points they got for doing what someone else decided were inherently good or bad things. What we need is a system that focuses instead on rehabilitation, and allows people the chance to change for the better. Why torture people for being bad, when you could expend that time and energy helping them to change?"

To Chidi's surprise, Shawn arches an eyebrow, a look of genuine intrigue flashing across his eyes, before he catches sight of Chidi's encouraging smile, shakes his head, and scoffs. With a disheartened sigh, Chidi turns back to address the crowd.

"Look, I know what you're thinking. That's a lot of work," he admits. "And you're right, it is. But it's worth it, and the four of us from the original experiment are proof. Look at how many lives Eleanor, Tahani, and Jason affected when we got sent back to Earth."

"Eleanor helped her mother, Donna, who in turn helped her stepdaughter, Patricia. Tahani helped her sister, Kamilah, who successfully created a scholarship in Tahani's name that sent 213 women to college. After Jason helped his best friend, Pillboi dedicated himself to caring for the elderly. Their love, encouragement, and emotional support paved the way for positive change, which rippled out and set off a chain reaction," Chidi says, a surge of pride blossoming inside his chest as he locks eyes with each of his fellow cockroaches in turn.

"If there's anything I've learned from my time in the afterlife, it's that being a good person and helping other people is infectious. You help one person, and they'll carry on what they've learned and help someone else in return," Chidi says, a brilliant smile lighting up his every feature. "And isn't that what we should be striving for? An afterlife filled with well-intentioned people who genuinely try their best to learn and grow and change, who actively and willingly help one another for the sake of kindness and compassion? Isn't that better than assigning meaningless point values to actions and judging people without any kind of context for intent of good will?"

Chidi pauses, patiently waiting for the quell of whispered musings, until finally, a hushed silence falls over the crowd. He opens his mouth, and then promptly closes it, puzzling over how best to pose his conclusion. With shaking hands, Chidi turns on his heel and addresses the Judge directly this time, whose amused smirk and arched eyebrow does very little to calm his nerves. Still, he persists.

"The points system is not only flawed, it is useless. I suggest we do away with it altogether, disestablish the stark divide of the Good Place and the Bad Place, and build an all-inclusive afterlife that focuses on rehabilitation. It's what we owe to each other," he says, fighting to remain composed as startled gasps and cries of outrage erupt all around him.

For a moment that spans an eternity, the Judge simply stares at him, and then a radiant smile curls across her lips.

• • •

Eleanor and Chidi stand together in their brand new headquarters, peering through twin reciprocal port windows set into the handsome oak double doors that connect the office to the lobby, curious about the status of their very first resident. Just outside the building, Michael and Janet await, ready to take the newcomer on a tour of the neighborhood, and welcome them to their brand new forever home.

Across the way, Tahani strolls through a magnificent floral garden, her smile as radiant as the sun that shines overhead, while Jason tucks into a mountain of chocolate sauce drizzled overtop of his massive ice cream sundae (absolutely delighted to discover that all the frozen yogurt shops had been replaced with seashore style ice cream parlors) both ready to jump in and offer help if need be.

After the Judge had officially abolished the old points system, the boundaries dividing the Good Place and the Bad Place were dissolved, merging two polar opposites into one all-inclusive afterlife. The newly-formed team of Janets was then assigned the detail of constructing a series of interconnecting neighborhoods all throughout the boundless landscape of the afterlife realm.

Michael, commended for sparking change in an entire crowd of Bad Place demons with his heartfelt speech, as well as a change of heart in a former Bad Place Janet, was tasked with the rehabilitation of his own kind, for after all, if he could forge a path to redemption, so could the rest of them.

Before the Judge could even ask, Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, and Jason had all stepped forward and volunteered to dedicate the remainder of their existence to being guides for each new person welcomed into the afterlife, insisting that there was nothing they would rather do more than help in any way they can. The one thing they asked for in return was that they all got to stay together, living side by side in the same neighborhood.

It's a daunting task for four humans to undertake all at once, but, over time, they're confident that the more people they help, the more people they inspire and incite change for the better, the bigger their team will grow.

Out in the lobby, under a magnificent banner that simply says Welcome! in bold, lime green lettering, the newest resident of the neighborhood begins to wake up. Eleanor flashes Chidi a brilliant smile that's equal parts nervous and excited, which he returns in kind, before grasping the handles of the grand double doors, and stepping out into the corridor.

"Hi, Doug Forcett," she says with a friendly smile. "I'm Eleanor, and this is Chidi. Welcome to the afterlife."

[inactivewattpadauthor]

💙My Tumblr Page! (updated 3/15/25)💙

It seems I'm a lot more on Tumblr since it's active way more than Wattpad, so how about we go over this page's expectations? :D

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⚠️Warnings:

Most of my work does contain profanity.

I do write smut here and there. Sometimes simple. Sometimes freaky.

Perhaps I'm insecure, but sometimes my plots are either cringe and/or inaccurate.

I do angst.

Obviously gore because Mortal Kombat...

I'll give the warnings within the oneshot.

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💎 I Personally Do Not Care Who's On My Page

I don't care who interacts with my content as long as there isn't a problem. I will not be wasting time checking profiles unless needed.

If you're a minor and you see one of my posts titled "Lemon/Smut", please don't get me in trouble and scroll on to one of my safe posts.

Free Warning: I wish to keep an empty blocklist, but if I find one of my readers are associated in the wrong group (racism, pedophilia, homophobia, other obvious vile shit), I will block you.

I want my author life to be filled with lovely lives and peace.

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✖️As of July 2024, NO REQUESTS

It is a very low chance I may decide to do requests later, I will notify if so.

It would be a shame if I lost interest in MK again and let down everyone.

Or simply don't know how to write something. I don't need the pressure.

Feel free to give me ideas, but don't full on expect me to do them.

Or if you still try and order me to do a request, that's cool, you'll purposely be left on read.

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📝Writing Style

I am the One-shot Onceler. Majority of my work is one-shots.

For years, I've always wrote the reader as a female. That will not change.

I use Y/n too.

For smut, I'll try to stop being shy and write more spicy shit other than simple sex.

They'll mostly be Nightwolf and Fujin since I'm too down bad astronomically for them.

Like stated earlier, not all the time will my plots be accurate to the canon.

I haven't touched MK1's story and I don't like MKX, so everything is MK11.

And for those who may like the Akatsuki from Naruto, I have a discontinued book that reached 200k on Wattpad if you'd like to check it out. :)

Follow #goddesswritings, my personal tag here.

Criticism is appreciated, just don't be disrespectful.

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😘Blah, Blah, Bout me...

I prefer keeping my tumblr/wattpad life separate from my other social media + personal life.

I don't mind any questions on me irl as long as they're not too personal.

And I certainly don't want my family and friends to see the shit I be writing here.

But I'm not stopping anyone from dming me or writing in my inbox, the latter makes me happy a lil.

I'm completely open to discussing mk things or headcanon ideas

Don't spam pls.

Any questions? Don't be shy!🤠