#so you should stay. see if it sparks any memories for him. give him a chance to get used to you and make a decision on his own

[roughentumble]

thinking about Jaskier with amnesia! lost and confused with his memories gone, stumbling through the mountains until Geralt rescues him

over the months Geralt takes care of him, they start falling in love, share a few kisses

but then someone shows up in the spring, Valdo or some other asshole, claiming to be Jaskier's fiance there to whisk him away back to Lettenhove - when they're really not his fiance and just wanna trick him so they can marry into his wealthy family

!!!!!!!!!!!!! SCREAMMMM

geralt is instantly suspicious, but he also worries that it's just jealousy..... that doesnt stop him from being suspicious, holding jaskier close.

[fictoculus]

౨ৎ genshin men; love languages...

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FEAT... aether, albedo, alhaitham, ayato, childe, diluc, gorou, heizou, itto, kaeya, kaveh, kazuha, neuvillette, scara, thoma, tighnari, wriothesley, venti, xiao, xingqiu, zhongli

A/N... ohemgee kaede is back ?!! i'm sorry it's been so longggg i've really missed writing, i think i js kinda lost my spark for a bit but i should be back to posting nowww hooray !! even if i don't come backkk (since i'm not fully certain) i hope you can still enjoy these hc drabble thingies nd also my previous works, thank you ♡

✧ quality time.

he wants nothing more than to spend time with you, to smell the sweet fragrance of your perfume as it dances in the gentle breeze. he wants to watch as your hair flows gently, each strand delicately swaying back and forth, as if to mimic the way he swings his arms when his hand is holding yours. just being around you gets him all excited, though you'll never catch him actually admitting it. he has countless photos of the two of you together, each one connected with a memory that will stay with him forever. he often finds himself looking over them late at night when he's missing you, wishing you were there to hold him, or tell him about your interests, even sitting in silence would suffice. he just wants to be with you, whether that be studying, sleeping, reading, shopping, eating - he doesn't care, he'll do anything as long as it's with you..

xiao, alhaitham, aether, heizou, wriothesley + your favs

✧ gift giving.

it's almost like routine. at least once a fortnight, he comes knocking on your door with some sort of gift, stops you in the corridor with a bag full of goodies, or has a huge bouquet of your favourite flowers delivered straight to your front door when he's unable to come see you. he goes through a lot of trouble behind the scenes to get these things together for you, but it's all worth it when he sees that pretty smile light up your face, eyes glistening with pure excitement as you see whatever he's prepared for you. his eyes, on the other hand, are full of love as he sees the outcome of his hard work; your happiness is of utmost importance to him. the gifts he gives come in all different shapes and sizes, anything from a snack you'd said you'd been craving to a ridiculously expensive piece of jewellery, but you know that no matter what it is, he put so much thought and care into picking it out for you; that's what mattered to you most. even if he didn't shower you in his love this way, you wouldn't love him any less - of course you wouldn't. you care about him, not the things he gives you (though you really do appreciate them). he loves you more than words can say, and this is his way of showing it.

zhongli, ayato, albedo, neuvillette + your favs

✧ physical touch.

he's all over you. from the second you wake up to the moment you drift off to sleep. 24/7. he just can't get enough. he's practically addicted to your warmth, the softness of your skin, scars and all. it no longer comes as a surprise when you feel his arms snake around your waist from behind, or even when he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your cheek as he moulds around your figure. he can't seem to stay away from you. the second he hears your voice, or the mention of your name, even your footsteps (yes, he knows), he comes rushing over, immediately insisting on intertwining his fingers with yours. your contact is replenishing to him. no matter how tired he is or how many hardships he had to face that day, feeling you run your hands up and down his back or cup his cheeks, his mood is immediately uplifted.

itto, childe, diluc, tighnari, kaeya, kaveh + your favs

✧ words of affirmation.

"i love you" "i love you" "i love you" it's constant, over and over and over. he repeats it a thousand times, as if it's an ancient incantation, but he still doesn't think it's enough. he just wants you to know how perfect you are, how beautiful you are, how easy to love you are; he wants you to see yourself the way he sees you. he's desperate to talk about you, to tell someone how much he loves you, and who else would he tell than the person he trusts most? and so, when the two of you are finally snuggled up close, he'll whisper in your ear the most poetic words you've ever heard, trying his best to capture your essence, though to him, it always feels just out of reach. he knows he'll never be able to truly explain how he feels about you, because there are no words for that feeling he gets in his heart when he hears your voice, or lays his eyes on you, let alone thinks about you. he recites your own stories and little habits back to you as if you're a complete stranger to yourself, and honestly, you can't help but find it endearing. he loves you so much, and he always knows the perfect things to say to see that smile he treasures deep in his heart.

kazuha, xingqiu, zhongli, venti, neuvillette + your favs

✧ acts of service.

sure, he may not be so good with words, but not to worry, he makes up for it one way or another. it's the little things for him. every morning without fail, he'll pack your lunch and leave it on the kitchen counter for you, a little memo hidden inside signed off with his initials and a small doodle, as always. he'll iron your clothes and hang them in your wardrobe, all neat and tidy for when you get dressed the next day. he'll get up 15 minutes earlier than when you usually arise, cooking breakfast for you and letting the scent of crisp bacon waft into the bedroom and wake you from your slumber. he'll do anything for you, big or small; he just wants to make sure you know how much he loves you.

scara, thoma, alhaitham, diluc + your favs

thanks for reading ♡ want to read more? my requests are OPEN, so please feel free to let me know what you’d like me to write next!

TAGLIST…@maopll . @nyxmainex . @avensuersa . @moondrop-gummies. @lacunaanonymoused apply here

© FICTOCULUS 2024; please do not steal, translate, or repost my works as your own

[bluecollarmcandtf]

"Dude, I took over your dad's body.."

"...and goddamn is there a lot of him to work with! I've been a ghost for years now, but I've never been inside a 6' 3" ex-linebacker! I've been checking him out all afternoon, and let me tell you that this man is big and hairy all over," he punctuates his comment with a wink.

Your dad, the man you've looked up to your entire life, is saying things you don't want to think about while casually laying on the couch in nothing but a robe and booty shorts. The urge to puke is suppressed, but you know that Jimmy has crossed a line here. Your deceased friend has possessed bullies, professors, and more, but he's never had the balls to take over your own family. What was he thinking?

"I jumped into him while he was at work. I think his coworkers probably found it strange when I picked up his briefcase and waddled his ass out the door," Jimmy chuckles at the memory, "But don't worry. Your old man had plenty of sick days he wasn't gonna use."

It doesn't take long for you to burst out in anger at the spirit controlling your father. Your face is hot, and you can't stand to watch your dad get puppetted around like a fool!

"Calm the fuck down!" he swears uncharacteristically, "Give this big guy a hug. Come here. Daddy needs some love..."

The thought of hugging your father while he's being forced to act like this feels wrong, but you relent. A part of you is glad for the embrace. It might not actually be your dad, but paternal comfort is exactly what you need right now, and your real dad isn't the type to give his child a hug.

"That's it, son," Jimmy pets your head with your father's thick hands, "Let daddy take care of you. Let your dumb old fart-of-a-father give you some much-needed attention."

You can't help but chuckle at the self-deprecating joke. Your real dad was too proud to laugh at himself, and he'd never made an effort to be anything other than distant and formal with you. In fact, there was a lot your real dad would never do; he'd never leave the office in the middle of the day, he'd never lay around the house like a lazy bum, and he'd certainly never let his hairy chest and thick legs be on full display in front of his disappointing gay son.

Suddenly, while still embraced, you realize there's something poking into your waist.

"Sorry, dude," your father whispers in your ear, "I guess your dad is just happy to see you."

You push him away, insisting that Jimmy needs to stay out of family members' bodies because this just feels so wrong! You search the pair of unnaturally blank eyes for any sign that Jimmy might be listening to you.

"You need to relax, bro," your dad (Jimmy) groans in annoyance. He looks disappointed, but then he sparks up and gives you a new look of excitement. "Son," he says with exaggerated machismo, "Take a page from my book and learn to chill out. It doesn't matter what the world thinks about you or me. I'll prove it to you..."

With a placid grin and blank gaze, your father lumbers past and marches straight out the front door of the house. You're almost too stunned to follow. Was Jimmy really going to parade your dad's body around the neighborhood in nothing but his robe?

"Afternoon, neighbor," your father's rumbling tone bellows across the street, "Lovely weather, today. My son thought I should take my fat hairy gut for a little stroll in the sun. You know us dads have got to keep our boys happy. Am I right?"

Mr. Jones stares at your father from his porch, just as shocked as you are. He often drank beers with this man and every other neighborhood dad at backyard barbecues and living room game watches. This was not how he normally interacted with the man, and it obviously struck him as weird.

"You alright, Bob?" he asks hesitantly.

"Right as rain, neighbor!" Jimmy answers with a tone that's too goofy to pass as my dad's, "If that's how you're staring at me now, I wonder what'll happen if I take this robe off..."

Before Mr. Jones can process the flirtation in your father's voice, you shuffle your dad further down the street and away from the whole interaction. That may have been hilarious, but Jimmy was going to destroy any reputation and respect your father had around here!

You demand to know where Jimmy is going with this body. It's not like you have any ability to even slow the ghost down when he's got the weight and strength of your 200 lb father.

"I'm thinking the park. Your dad could use some cardio," he smirks, an unfamiliar expression on the grown man's face, "Or maybe the public bathroom on the north end. You know, it has that hole in the stall..."

No amount of reasoning or arguments can change Jimmy's mind. Apparently he's set on wearing your father to the city's most notorious gay hookup spot.

"Don't look at me like that," his gravelly voice sounds amused by your frustration, "With me in charge, your dad will be the dirtiest slut that bathroom's ever seen. Don't you think it'll be funny to see such a massive, manly bear serving man after man in there?"

You sigh in disbelief.

"Or...maybe I don't have to rent out your dad's body to a bunch of strangers..."

You wonder where he's going with this. It sounds like an ultimatum is coming, and you don't like the idea of your crazy dead friend giving you an ultimatum.

"...your dad could hold off on bottoming for strangers...if...you let him be your submissive little bitch."

The choice is an annoying one, but you're pretty sure you can't let your dad have unprotected sex with strangers in a public place. This is what he'd want right?

"That's what I thought," the grin on your father's face twists maniacally. He tussles your hair like he's the proudest dad in the world, "Let's head on back home, buddy. Daddy's gonna lick every inch of sweat off that body of yours. He's got years of emotional absence to make up for."

One of his beefy arms cradles your back and turns you around. You're relieved to no longer be headed towards the public bathroom, but you're still a little nervous about what awaits you at home. How does Jimmy expect you to enjoy any of this when it's your dad doing all these things to you?

"Daddy's gonna treat you to a night that's all about you," he goes on, "Cooking you dinner, rubbing your feet, cuddling on the couch, and so much more. I want you to think of some humiliating things daddy can do for you while we walk back. Make sure they're extra degrading or your dad will just have to step out of the house and degrade himself where the entire city can see..."

The last comment gives you butterflies in your stomach, but it also gives you a bit of a hard-on. Maybe Jimmy playing with your dad wasn't so scary of an idea after all. With him possessed, anything was on the table: personal affirmations, some much needed bonding, roleplay, revenge, humiliation. Heck, you could even give your father a golden shower and Jimmy would have him smiling through it!

Walking home, you steal glances at your dad, towering over you as his rotund gut leads the way. Home can't come fast enough!

[melkyt]

Red String of Fate LawLu soulmate au.

Law takes comfort in the taut and thick string stretching into the distance all his life. He has always taken comfort in it. When everyone was dying around him, talking of how their strings turned white, his stayed red and vibrant in a world of colorless gray.

He would spend days just twisting it around his fingers as he waited for the disease to take him. Always wondering what his fated one thought of having a dying love somewhere out there on the sea.

When Corazon met his end, and his own thread gained strength, he never even started looking. Law never believed that his soulmate would still hang on to such a weak soul as his. He had settled to never find love.

Then he meets Luffy, and their threads connect and fade. Law is silent, stunned. It is too hard to believe. Luffy just grins, taking Law's hands in his. "I'm glad you survived Traffy"

And that's it, despite Law's doubts and tendencies to run from commitment, Luffy does not leave him alone. Always finding him when the Straw Hat crew has time to relax. Law doesn't do as much as he can in avoiding them.

Then, they make their plan to take down Kaido. It is dangerous, and Law worries more than he has in a long time. He knows that fate loves taking everything that he loves. What if something happens to Luffy? His doubts never go away even if he pushes them down deep.

Luffy sees that Law worries and gets clingier than usual, promising that no matter what, they will all survive.

Law holds onto those words, and as Luffy leaves to fight Kaido, he keeps the red string wrapped around his fingers, so it is in view at all times.

This proves to be a mistake that breaks his fragile peace. The thread that has been the strong constant, present, thins and snaps. It disintegrates in a white mist.

Law drops his sword, his knees give out. Luffy's name falls from his lips in a gut-wrenching scream. Kidd is by his side, blocking big mom. He has no time to check on the warlord but understands well enough what happened.

He knew this would happen, why didn't he try harder to be there for Luffy? They couldn't avoid fighting Kaido, not with their honor at stake, but he should have been there on that roof, supporting his fated one.

Again, he has failed. Again, his cursed soul touched something beautiful and watched it fade away. They should have never met. He can't take this. Tears spill, leaving trails in the dirt and dust covering the pale patches left over from his disease.

"Focus, Trafalgar!" Kidd snaps. "We aren't done yet"

Big Mom laughs, raising her sword. Metal sparks with impact.

"Strawhat ain't dead, no way," he growls, putting as much conviction as he can into his words, even if he does not believe it. The sounds of battle from above have disappeared.

Law looks down at his hands, studying each finger, looking for any sign of the string. If he is alive, it has to be there. He digs at his palm, blood spilling. He wills it to come together into a string, he begs whatever fate, whatever god there is in this world to bring Luffy back. "You're not allowed to die, you promised," He hisses. "Please, Luffy, dont do this," he begs, doubling over. His hands shake. It's not too late to use his power. It can't be. Law gets up on unsteady legs. Not paying attention to Kidd, Big Mom, or Kaido's floating goading form. He needs to reach the roof.

The room gets hotter as Kaido readies an attack that will take them all out. Perhaps that is for the best. Law is so tired. He has his own promise to keep to Corazon, but how much longer can he keep going?

He looks up, ready for the fire to reach them. The glow dancing over tear stained cheeks. Law eyes flutter shut. He focuses on the memories he shared with Luffy. It is not enough. He had spent too much avoiding their connection that the few bright moments they shared feel lacking. Law wants more, it can't be over.

He faintly hears a rhythm past the roar of blood in his ears. It almost sounds like a heartbeat, not his own. His is much weaker, fluttering irregular thing. It feels familiar.

Law opens his eyes only to flinch away. The ruined castle is filled with light as bright as the sun. It is not the light of a fire. "Thank You..." he whispers before he fully understands what it means.

Law lifts his hands up to the sky. Clouds twist around his fingers as they solidify into a white soft thread. It wraps around his ring finger, its fibers pulsing with the same odd rhythm. "He's alive, alive." Law feels a weight he has been carrying for so long, lift, just with those simple words. "He kept his promise." Law swallows his feelings. Maybe he can go a little longer. If Luffy can defy death, then so can he.

-end scene-

After they beat Kaido, Law is the one who does not let Luffy go. Not leaving his soulmates' side for anything in the three days that Luffy sleeps.

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 33: THE FAIR

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Pregnancy Loss, Infertility

Waking up in your old apartment, you stretch your arms above your head, feeling the crispness of the air as it slips through the slightly opened window. As you step closer, you gaze out at the familiar skyline – the roofs of neighbouring buildings peeking from between the branches of aged trees. Today is the day when you are going to see Cillian again, and by now, you have made up your mind. You wanted him back, regardless of what happened between you in the past.

There was no denying it. He had hurt you deeply, but you still could not forget how he made you feel when you were with him. His smile, his touch, his words – all these things were like a drug to you, making you crave more of him. It was not just about the passion between you two; there was something deeper, stronger even than the love you had for anyone else before. Maybe it was because you felt so understood by him. Or maybe it was because he saw parts of yourself that nobody else could.

You texted each other every day and had two dates since he contacted you one night after your performance at the Abbey. He was trying very hard to make amends, and deep down, you knew that giving him another chance might lead to heartbreak once again, but what scared you more was the thought of never experiencing that connection ever again.

So, today, you decided that you would give in. You would give it another shot. Today, you would meet Cillian for another date, hoping you could rediscover the spark that had once ignited between you.

"Are you sure about this?" Emma asked as she sat beside you, trying to understand your decision better. You had been thinking about it for days and finally told her what you came up with.

"You know what he did to you. Why take such a risk?" she wanted to know, cautioning you about what may happen.

"I do know," you replied, your voice softening as memories of past betrayals resurfaced. "But I also know that sometimes people make mistakes. I, myself, made plenty. He has been trying very hard lately, and, God, I miss him, Emma." you explained, your heart heavy.

Emma sighed, shaking her head gently. "Y/N, if he truly cared for you, why did he break up with you over something as trivial as age?" she warned you. "Despite, do you think that he will ever get over the age difference between you? What if you decide that you want children one day, and he does not? What is if you want something else that he cannot give you?" Emma then pointed out, and your heart ached to hear those words, but you remained steadfast.

"Cillian isn't perfect, and neither am I. We both fucked up. He may not get over the age difference between us and maybe it will cause issues later down the track, but I am still young, and I will regret not giving it a try," you admitted.

Emma hesitated, her brow furrowing. She knew you well enough to recognise your resolve.  "Alright," she finally said, sighing heavily. "If you really think this is the right choice, then I won't stop you. Just promise me that you will be careful, okay?"

You nodded solemnly, reaching out to grasp her hand. "I will," you swore. "And thank you for understanding, Emma. I would not have gotten this far without your support," you smiled, a little relieved that you could move forward. "Of course, sweetie, any time.

We have been through some shit together, and this is nothing compared to what we had to endure back in the US," Emma told you before giving you a firm hug.

"So then, provided that all goes well at the fair this evening, should I assume that you are not coming back home tonight?" Emma smirked, knowing very well that if you had your way, you would probably stay at Cillian's apartment and engage in passionate make-up sessions.

"We shall see," you teased playfully, your cheeks reddening slightly. "I should probably get ready," you told Emma before asking to borrow one of her jumpers. Emma chuckled in response, shaking her head fondly. 

"Sure, you can borrow it; just make sure you take it off before you engage in something inappropriate," Emma laughed lightheartedly.

Her comment made you roll your eyes, a small grin spreading across your face.

"Don't worry, Em, I am certain that if something was to happen, the clothes would come off first," you joked, and she laughed along.

"Good!" she responded before you both began to prepare for the day ahead, seeing that, before meeting Cillian, you had rehearsals at the studio starting at ten o'clock. 

Later that evening…

The evening of your third date with Cillian had finally arrived and you were eagerly looking forward to spending the evening at the Dublin Fair. Your friend Emma had told you about this festivity many times before and how magical and colourful it was and she sure was not wrong. 

As soon as you reached the entrance of the fairgrounds, you could not help but feel amazed by the sight that greeted you. The air was filled with excitement, the scent of popcorn, and the sounds of children playing in the nearby attraction.

Cillian was already waiting for you by the entrance gate. His charming smile made it impossible for you not to notice him, even amidst the crowd.

He wore his usual casual attire, a dark grey t-shirt and black jeans, worn-out leather boots and purple socks sticking out above them, complementing his striking looks perfectly.

He approached you with a warm embrace, followed by an affectionate kiss on your cheek.

"Hey," he said, his deep voice resonating with warmth. "Ready to have some fun?" he asked like an excited little boy, and you nodded, a wide grin spreading across your face as you linked arms with him.

"Absolutely, but first tell me, how is your new feline companion?" you asked as, together, you walked along the winding pathway that led towards the centre of the fairgrounds. 

"He is doing well, and Nina loves him," Cillian told you before pulling out his phone and showing you some photos of Nuggets.

"Look at this one!" he exclaimed, pointing at a picture where Nuggets was lying down, wearing a pair of sunglasses, looking quite adorable. Your face broke into a grin, and you both shared a light-hearted laugh.

"Oh my god, you did not..." you laughed, and Cillian confirmed that Nina took the photo, not him. 

As you continued strolling down the narrow pathways, the lively melodies from live bands began to fill the air, drawing you closer to the stage.

Each step you took brought forth more laughter, music, and cheer. Soon enough, you found yourself standing under the colourful tents, surrounded by the aroma of hotdogs and popcorn, with the sweet laughter of children echoing all around. It was hard to resist not stopping at every stand to taste the delightful culinary delights.

Your steps led you further into the heart of the fair, where the most vibrant and animated games stood.

The crowd seemed rowdier here, and the atmosphere was electrifying. As if sensing your excitement, Cillian pulled you closer to him, his hand firmly grasping yours.

"Come on, show me what you got," he suggested with a gleam before pointing to the balloon dart game in the corner, which you knew was a waste of money but fun nonetheless.

You agreed wholeheartedly, feeling a surge of adrenaline at the thought of attempting these games with Cillian. 

"Should we have a competition against each other? Whoever wins the most out of three games gets to pick the first ride?" you asked, playfully challenging him.

"Deal." Cillian agreed without hesitation, flashing you a mischievous grin. "Let's see who is better at throwing darts, me or you. I mean, clearly, I have at least twenty years more experience," Cillian told you with a smug smile on his face.

With a competitive spirit sparkling in your eyes, you both stepped up to the game, getting ready to aim at the colourful balloons hung above. The crowd gathered around, watching intently, adding to the electrifying atmosphere.

The game master gave you both three darts each, explaining the rules clearly to avoid any confusion.

Once he had stepped aside, Cillian positioned himself strategically, taking his time to aim and throw. His intense focus on the target was evident, and he seemed determined to win.

As you watched him, you couldn't help but admire his concentration and skill. His face contorted, and you adored how his freckled nose moved when he tried to put his mind to something like this.

You felt the heat rise within you, not just because of the competitiveness of the situation but also due to the chemistry simmering between you two.

As you threw your first dart, your heart raced with anticipation. With a mixture of precision and luck, you managed to hit a small balloon near the top, causing it to wobble precariously. 

This only fuelled your determination even more. In response, Cillian's face grew serious, focusing entirely on the task at hand. Taking deep breaths, he aimed at another balloon and released his dart swiftly. This time, he struck a bigger target, and the crowd applauded his success. You weren't fazed though, feeling confident in your abilities.

Carefully selecting your second dart, you concentrated all your energy on hitting the largest remaining balloon. As you took aim, your heart beat faster in anticipation.

With careful focus, you released your second dart, aiming straight for the biggest balloon left hanging. To your immense satisfaction, the sharp tip pierced the balloon, popping it instantly. A loud cheer erupted from the crowd surrounding you as you turned triumphantly towards Cillian, grinning proudly.

However, instead of displaying disappointment or frustration, Cillian merely clapped his hands together, acknowledging your victory. A subtle gleam of amusement danced in his eyes, and a faint flush appeared on his cheeks.

"So, about those twenty years of experience, huh?" you teased him as you both headed towards the next round of games. Cillian chuckled in response, his deep laugh filling your ears with pure pleasure. "Don't get too cocky now, young lady. I will still outplay you at many other things," he quipped, playfully bumping shoulders with you.

"We'll see about that," you retorted, nudging him back, your eyes twinkling with mischief before dragging Cillian to two more games, spending at least twenty minutes in this area before, finally, walking away with a plushie.

"So, what ride will you choose?" Cillian then asked since you had won all three games against him, and you suggested the rollercoaster as your first ride.

Cillian nodded in agreement, his eyes meeting yours intensely, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

Your walk to the rollercoaster line was filled with undeniable electricity as if the atmosphere around you mirrored the fire burning within you. 

Unsurprisingly though, as you waited in line, some women recognized him, whispering among themselves and giggling. Although he received a few glances from them, Cillian remained focused on you, completely ignoring their attention.

"I think you sparked their interests," you whispered to him softly, a slight hint of amusement lacing your words.

Cillian chuckled slightly. "I've noticed, but it doesn't bother me. Does it bother you?" Cillian asked, seeing that you were eager to keep your dates casual and out of the tabloids. 

You smiled and shook your head in understanding, appreciating his care for your privacy. "No, it's fine," you reassured him just as you reached the front of the line.

"Ready?" you asked as the anticipation of riding the rollercoaster together heightened your excitement.

"As ready as I can be," Cillian confirmed with a wink, sending a shiver down your spine before; finally, the attendant guided you towards the cosy car that would take you on a thrilling adventure. The sky was clear, casting a soft blue hue over the entire fairgrounds, making it seem even more magical than before. 

As you climbed into the seat, your fingers brushed against Cillian's, and you both shared a secret smile. An indescribable electricity coursed through your veins, heightening your awareness of each other's presence. 

The anticipation was palpable, building with each passing moment. And then, with a sudden jolt, the rollercoaster began its journey, soaring high above the fairgrounds, revealing breathtaking views of Dublin in all its glory.

"Look at this," Cillian exclaimed, gesturing towards the sprawling city below. "Isn't it incredible?" you asked, your eyes gleaming excitedly. 

As you looked out onto the vast landscape, the adrenaline in your system combined with the closeness of Cillian, creating an intoxicating mix. It was not long before you found yourself lost in his deep gaze, unable to look away. Your heart raced, and you could feel the heat between you escalating until, suddenly, the car rode down the deep descent.

This unexpected turn caused you both to clutch onto each other instinctively, your fingers intertwining tightly. Cillian's touch sent a wave of desire coursing through your body, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

"Fuck," you screamed and laughed all at the same time, enjoying the thrill of the rollercoaster ride mixing with the excitement of Cillian's touch.

"That was amazing!" Cillian agreed, his face flushed with excitement. He gripped your hand tightly as if he never wanted to let go.

"Absolutely insane!" you declared as you both leaned forward to inspect the view of the city unfolding beneath you on the second round before making a surprising admission. 

"You know, I have never been on a rollercoaster before," you told Cillian before the car dropped down the metal pathway for a second time. You closed your eyes, feeling the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins, and then, it was over, and Cillian queried about your statement.

"You have never been on a rollercoaster before? Why?" he asked, letting go of your hand, his fingers lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

"Well, in the US, my foster parents did not take me to places like this. In fact, they did not take me anywhere. They used all the money the system gave them to buy alcohol and cigarettes," you explained heavyheartedly. "Besides, they usually cost a fortune anyway," you told him, causing Cillian to turn towards you in pause. His expression grew solemn as he took in your words.

A frown formed on his brow. "I'm sorry. That must have been hard," he expressed genuine sympathy, and you could sense, once again, that he understood the pain you must have gone through.

Feeling your own emotion stirring within you, you reached for his hand and squeezed it lightly, trying to convey gratitude for his kindness. "It's okay, Cillian. Life has its ups and downs, right?" you tried to lighten the mood with a playful smile. "Anyway, we are here to have fun! Let's enjoy the rest of our night."

"Yes, absolutely," Cillian agreed wholeheartedly, returning your smile with one of his own. "Come on, let's find something else," he suggested before asking you whether there was something else you had not done before. 

"I haven't been on a Ferris wheel before," you admitted, smiling at the idea of conquering yet another new experience.

"Perfect, then let's do it," Cillian replied, already moving towards the Ferris wheel entrance with you.

The Ferris wheel operator ushered you both onto a gondola, which slowly ascended, offering breathtaking panoramic views of the Dublin skyline and, in this moment, a wave of uncomfortableness began to overcome you. You did not like the Ferris wheel stalling. It was much larger than the rollercoaster and, surprisingly, made you anxious.

Cillian noticed this and offered you his supportive arm, wrapping it around your waist in a supportive manner. 

"It's going to be fine; there is nothing to worry about," he told you reassuringly. 

You placed your hand on his, giving him a grateful smile. Feeling calmer, you allowed yourself to enjoy the view while the Ferris wheel turned leisurely, allowing couples on adjacent gondolas to engage in conversation or intimate moments.

As the wheel stopped again briefly to let passengers on and off, your senses heightened, and you could not help but notice how close you two were. The sweet smell of Cillian's cologne mixed with the fresh Irish air swirled around you, creating an intoxicating atmosphere.

"Are you okay now?" he asked as his warm hands cupped your own, reassuring you.

You nodded gratefully again, feeling the anxiety dissipate. "Yes, thank you," you murmured, giving him a gentle smile.

"You're welcome," he replied with an equally gentle smile and as the Ferris wheel continued to rotate, you both took turns admiring the captivating view of Dublin's nightlife, illuminated by a myriad of twinkling lights.

Cillian's hand, which still held yours, felt comfortingly strong and protective, and you could not help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this enchanting world of twinkling lights and vibrant colours.

Soon enough, the Ferris wheel stopped, depositing you both onto solid ground. Your feet met the warm pavement, and a wave of euphoria washed over you, heightened by the surge of adrenaline from the Ferris wheel ride.

You both walked aimlessly, embracing the festive atmosphere around you, finding joy in simple pleasures such as the sound of laughter, the taste of sugar-covered treats, and the bright colours filling the fairgrounds.

"So, what is your favourite kind of fast food?" Cillian asked as you stopped at a booth filled with traditional Irish dishes.

"Oh, well, I love fish and chips," you replied smiling, remembering the delicious meal you shared with him earlier.

"Fish and chips, huh? What's your favourite part of it?" Cillian inquired, curious about your preferences. "It would definitely be the flaky, crisp batter on the fish dipped in vinegar," you confessed with a laugh, imagining the tangy taste dancing on your tongue.

"I guess that means that, for our next date, I should take you to the best place in town for fish and chips," Cillian said confidently, already planning another romantic evening together. His easy charm made you feel at ease as if he was always looking out for your happiness.

"Another date, huh?" you giggled in response, blushing slightly at the thought of another romantic evening together.

"Only if you want to," Cillian responded, his eyes sparkling affectionately. He knew just how to make you feel special, and the warmth radiating from his gaze left no doubt in your mind that he genuinely desired your happiness.

"That depends," you smiled, feeling a flutter in your heart at the prospect of sharing more precious moments with him.

"On what?" Cillian asked nervously, glancing at you for reassurance. He seemed apprehensive, worried that your past experiences might affect your willingness to give your relationship another chance. 

"On whether we would be going on this date as boyfriend and girlfriend," you told him confidently, giving him a soft smile. "Because if we aren't, then this would be just another night out among friends," you pointed out, requiring some clarity. 

"But I don't want that," Cillian whispered, his eyes shining with determination. "We have already spent hours talking about why we broke up, and I have realized that it was foolish of me to end things over something as trivial as age. I can't imagine life without you anymore, Y/N" Cillian told you and your heart skipped a beat at his earnest declaration.

"Tell me that you love me," you requested, needing to hear those three little words from him after months apart.

"I love you," Cillian confirmed, his voice filled with sincerity. He paused for a moment, looking deeply into your eyes, as if searching for confirmation of his feelings.

You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your body against his, revelling in the warmth of his embrace. The sweet scent of his cologne combined with the subtle fragrance of the nighttime fair created an almost intoxicating atmosphere.

"How much?" you teased playfully, pulling away from Cillian's embrace to examine the delectable options lined up before you. Cillian watched you closely, amused by your curiosity.

"An awful lot, Y/N,” Cillian confirmed. “Do you know how much you mean to me?" he then asked, taking your hand gently and leading you to a corner where no one could see you. His eyes burned with desire, reflecting his deep yearning for you.

"I want you to tell me, Cillian. Tell me exactly how much I mean to you," you demanded with an urgency that surprised even yourself. 

Cillian drew you closer, cradling your face tenderly between his palms. With a fierce intensity, he proclaimed, "I love you with all my heart, and you mean the world to me. I was an idiot, alright? I was afraid of my own feelings, but I am not anymore. I want you back and I want to make things right. Fuck the tabloids or what people might think about it. I no longer care. I just want you, alright?" Cillian declared, his eyes brimming with passion before he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours, a slow, tender kiss that sent waves of longing coursing through your veins. The connection between you both was undeniably powerful, drawing out a moan from deep within your core.

"Take me to your apartment," you eventually whispered as, even in the corner you had chosen, people saw you kissing and making out. "I want to be alone with you," you said breathlessly, running your fingers through his hair, loving the feel of his skin beneath your touch.

Cillian grinned, kissing you once more before turning to head toward the fair's exit point. 

"Are you sure you don't want to go on some more rights first?" Cillian asked, seeing that there was so much more to explore.

"I am sure Cillian. I much rather ride you," you joked playfully, causing Cillian to laugh. 

"I should have seen that line coming," he chuckled before replying, "Alright, let's head to my apartment,” he told you and, with the promise of hot, steamy nights ahead, you both exited the Dublin Fair, holding hands tightly amidst the crowd. 

The cool night air tickled your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you both ventured toward his residence. As the streets became quieter, your anticipation grew.

“I missed you, you know?” you said, as hand in hand, you wandered the streets, causing Cillian to stop and pull you aside.

“I missed you too,” Cillian told you, holding your hands tightly before planting another kiss on your lips.

[teabutmakeitazure]

Power Versus Fate

>Yan! Pantalone x Fem! Reader

Word count: 0.8k words

༶ * ༶ * ༶ * ༶ * ༶ * ༶ * ༶ * ༶ * ༶ * ༶

“Do you have any idea of how much power I’m offering you?”

You sigh for the umpteenth time, dusting off any flour or icing sugar from your apron. “My answer in Inazuma is the same as it was in Snezhnaya.”

“I take it that you do not have an idea?”

“You should take it that I am not interested.”

He clicks his tongue, giving you a disapproving look. This is the fourth time this week that Pantalone has come to your new workplace to ‘persuade’ you. All his presence does is annoy you and bring about a feeling of hopelessness. After all, he is the reason why you fled Snezhnaya in the first place.

The lights in the bakery backroom give his face an eerie glow as he stares at you. His eyes, dark and gloomy, harbour an unidentifiable emotion swirling around like a storm. One minute passes, then two, and his lips part to speak.

“How about I remove your dear fiance from the picture?”

You perk up, eyes widening in horror when you realise the meaning behind his words. “You wouldn’t… no, please not him! He’s innocent.”

Despite him being seated and you standing, it still feels like Pantalone is pushing you to the ground with the pressure.

“My dear, you worked for me due to a contract that spared your little town. Though your homeland Natlan was not kind to you, it does not want you back. Do you perhaps assume that marrying an Inazuman man would allow you to settle here? Or have you forgotten what mercy Snezhnaya had shown you?”

“Sir Regrator, I assure you that I am very well aware of my position as well as of the fact that I am no longer allowed in Natlan. What I do not understand is why you have followed me all the way to Inazuma, even going as far as to harass me while I work just to offer me a higher position after my contract is done and dusted.”

Pantalone slightly tilts his head, mentally commending your audacity. However, he’s quick to stand and trap you between his body and the nearby wall as he watches that spark of malice he so loved shine in your eyes.

One gloved hand grabs your wrist and lifts it up to view the pathetic excuse of a ring on your finger. Before you know it, he’s slid it off and thrown it somewhere across the room to lay forgotten somewhere under the sacks of flour. He now eyes the ringless hand, already figuring out which gemstone would suit it better.

“I will clarify one thing for you, [Name].”

His voice, smooth and deep, echoes in your mind as you glare at him.

“I was never offering anything,” he states. “Although I used that word, I have no intention of following it. Your return to Snezhnaya is final. In case you are thinking of running away, I hope you remember what happened when you refused to go with me the first time I met you.”

The memory of getting handcuffed and pushed inside his office on the boat resurfaces. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“I will have the details of our departure sent to you.” He continues, “Ah, and leave the details about your lovely betrothed to me. You needn’t see him or this humble bakery again.”

Shaking his grip off your hand, you push him away with the most malevolent face you could make. “You may dream as much as you wish. I am staying in Inazuma.”

“Are you sure about that? What power do you have to be able to declare such a thing?”

You remain quiet. You’re well aware there’s nothing at your disposal that could help you in this situation. Not even the authorities have any power to help you.

“Cat got your tongue, dear?”

Helpless, your back slides on the wall behind you as you fall to the ground. It feels so unbearably humiliating and unfair to receive this kind of treatment from him again. Before your contract of two years ended, you had worked as his personal secretary. Receiving all those borderline scandalous and filthy gifts from him on a regular basis and then having to deal with his questions about when you’re going to wear ‘that one piece’, you were fully prepared to leave Snezhnaya and never come back.

But fate has its own way of mocking you doesn’t it?

You’re sure the heavens are laughing when he steps closer to you on your knees. The action doesn’t elicit a response from you, not even when he chuckles in that infuriatingly beautiful voice of his.

“Good. You’ll have to get on your knees for me again some other time. Understood?”

[kroosluvr]

i'm genuinely curious I WANT YOU to outline how the shu/ake/sumi romance/and-or/situationship would unfurl in a post-p5r reality (where akechi lives, of course). what are the bullet points for what would happen between them. would they have a falling out. are they doomed. would they be horrible at communicating. would they finally be good at it. which pairing comes together first, if any at all. or would all 3 pairings happen at the same time at the same pace. or are they all in a limbo, not romantic nor platonic but a secret third thing.

OMG HI. HIIIII ok so. i havent actually thought about it that much (SURPRISING I KNOW) because i honestly suck ass at timelines (in regards to canon. tennis au on the other hand...) BUT I WILL DO MY BEST a lot of this is loose too.... im totally up for most anything but this is how i see it most of hte time heheeh (TY FOR THE ASK I LOVE THINKIJGN ABT THESE 3.)

this is .. kinda.. long.. ahem

pre-p5r: sumire is acquainted with goro thru her dad's show: they're not friends, but she's talked with him more than her sister. so when goro meets 'kasumi' at the cafe something strikes him as odd but it doesn't quite register: like ehhhh well why should i care / maybe my memory is just wrong / not worth my time

during p5r: 'kasumi' has a crush on akira, a kind of on-the-surface adoration of "wow i think you're really cool and we get along well!" nothing that's super advanced on or anything, and akira doesn't see her as anything beyond friends anyway.

she drops the crush upon reverting back to sumire, and it builds slowly over the course of 3rd sem but is also never really actualized - like she likes him ok whatever but then what..??

3rd sem (long winter au): long winter barebones: maruki's idealized world starts like on christmas or smth (havent thought this out TOO much LOL) and royaltrio-centric part of 3rd sem lasts for quite a while, at least 3 weeks-1 month. how does this work w the timeline i have no idea. BUT it leads to tense moments like spending new years together with the idealized thieves and trying to stay upbeat during all that, all the attempts and failures at breaking them out of it, and a LOT of tension during this time.

they argue and fight and are irritated with each other a lot of the time (goro the most vocal abt it obviously, sumire kind of drawing back into herself, and akira doing his best to stay optimistic. i think when akira starts to lose his spark is when the others r like oh we gotta make up for that slack and they finally up their game a bit) and yeah even sumire argues with akira and with goro and etc. im figuring this out PROMSIE ill come up w stuff and draw comic/write fic for it...

also 1/9 sumire fight is probably the beginning moment when goro starts to respect sumire more/see her more as a friend/comrade than a teammate. bc she almost kills joker and then him LMAO really giving them a run for their money... and also he really sees the pain she feels at being herself and resonates with it, either unconsciously or consciously

also upon seeing her Past broadcasted on maruki live television:tm: he makes the connection and is like oh so that's what happened. so all this time she was just masquerading as someone else. hmmm

anyway they're all very fragile and scared and sad during 3rd sem so they stick to eachother closely bc they're all they got to lean on. i think they have a lot of skinship during this time? handholding hugs leaning on each other sleeping in the same room (they hang out at leblanc A LOT bc 1) they're kind of afraid of being alone during this time 2) they're afraid of the OTHERS being alone during this time 3) leblanc is "untouched", compared to other parts of maruki's reality. can u imagine if even goro's apartment suddenly became nice overnight LMAO) but its like no feelings attached, just pure comfort kinda thing

kissing could also happen during this time but also no feelings attached, purely Why the hell not etc sort of vibe.

also goro and sumire get on first name basis during this time. this comic i drew w goro dying in my head which is Why he initiates first-name basis, but we can operate off the idea that he thought he'd die but somehow magically didnt. YAY!

but they have impeccable communication w each other and are very honest with their feelings. (goro avoids talking about his past tho. so maybe not THAT honest.) but they all achieve a really strong understanding of each other to survive maruki's winter wonderland...

i do think they develop feelings for each other during this time but they're all confused whether it's feelings of like comfort/security with each other or like romance/yay. so like nightmare situationship basically. so they all individually decide to hold on to this happiness while it lasts bc they sure as hell know it won't last (when have any of them been able to keep good things)

3rd sem: the thieves join yay! i think they'd notice that the 3 of them have become very close-knit (bouncing off eachother insanely well in battle, talk to eachother casually, and are generally pretty affectionate with each other. weird but ok! at least they (akira goro.) aren't trying to kill each other all the time.

this is also nice for sumire bc she had those 3-4 weeks to kinda Figure herself (sumire) out btwn akira and goro so she's less like down in the dumps about not being 'kasumi' anymore and more secure in herself and stuff like that. yay!

they beat maruki and stuff. YAY!

post-p5r: akira moves back to his hometown for 3rd year of highschool and college, goro is who-knows-where (i imagine he gets back on his feet of his own making and then goes abroad for school somehow. idk just seems like smth he'd do esp since i think he'd avoid everyone during this time) and sumire stays at shujin for 2-3rd year, then probably goes to a uni in japan but goes abroad for 1-2 yrs (gymnastics and etc.)

the "goro doesn't die and reunites with akira/sumi" timeline

goro, walking into leblanc on 2/4 or whatever: hi guys i didn't die actually

sumire: haha why would u silly? lol

akira: WHAT THE FUCK

the end.

i think they do go to separate universities though and theyre like damn wait i miss those guys but they go thru school and keep pretty decent contact w each other and see each other during vacations and stuff when they can and then when they come back to tokyo it's like no time has passed btwn them and they just pick up where 3rd sem left off but like better and happier and more peaceful. YAY!

i haven't really thought of how they "CONFESS" or whatever but i think all of them just feel (TWINGE OF JEALOUSY) at the idea of any of them dating someone else so theyre like ok well thats that i guess. we're a thing now (they refuse to use any other terms like that i think. For a while at least. until maybe one of the thieves etc gets engaged/married and then theyre like ok we can grow up about this. but basically they're just A Thing and Offlimits:tm: and etc.)

COMMUNICATION IS GOOD HERE!!!! i think for sh/uakes/umi i prefer them becoming a Thing at once rather than 1 couple happening first (esp since i like the idea of "none of them rlly understand romance and stuff so they just say 'fuck it' and become Thing" like thats kinda funny asf to me.)

i also feel like to anyone else they just seem like a group of besties until u see exchanged kisses or hugs or interlocked arms/hands and ur like wait....? hm. well idk. (bc they don't either. no one has any idea)

the "goro doesn't die and avoids them" timeline

also in my head sumire doesn't endeavor for the olympics/world stage/international fame and just kinda sticks around national rankings while she still figures herself out (in this timeline. also probably true for the other one but shrug IT CLD GO EITHER WAY I THINK)

somewhat relevant is my shsm fic where i elaborate on sumire's emotions more during this time (especially while thinking goro's dead). <- actually this is pretty recommended cele sumire reading bc this basically totally encapsulates how i see her. the first oneshot is 6k words tho ITS A MOUTHFUL.. SORRY

she and akira drift farrrr apart. she feels extremely guilty and also bitter and frustrated about goro's death and the fact that akira didn't tell her (or goro, in fact.) and he feels guilty and sad about it too, that he should have done something? anything? for him or for her, and he couldn't figure it out and now its over. so now the two of them r grappling w this and trying to overcome it and forget each other even tho the memories during 3rd sem, although painful and haunting, still were sweet and nice and they don't want to forget but they HAVE TO MOVE ON... RIGHT....

meanwhile goro's probably thinking like "damn i miss those guys." but they also think he's dead so hes also like "this is stupid i have to move on(?) Or whatever." ok imma be honest i didnt really think THAT much into goro's thinking during this time (YET.) bc i think he'd be floundering a LOT with everything during his life and being kinda just miserable.

also during this time they try to date other people and it all is miserable and falls apart and also they havent forgotten about the other two so theyre like fuck.

akira - 25~, sumire - 24~, goro - 26~, eventually goro moves back to tokyo and kinda just goes about his life hoping he'll see them again. or maybe find out what they were up to and finally get some closure. wow he does! they kinda all go back to tokyo at the same time wow shocker soulmate things IM JOKINGGGG but they all kinda hold that sentimentality of ok so much time has passed maybe i'll feel better about this place now. and then when they run into each other again its like no time has passed at all. HAPPY ENDING YAY!

communication is less good in this timeline now they're healing from the "I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD" stuff. so thats a whole nother can of worms. probably ironically in this universe they try to actualyl figure out how this whole romance thing works so they can label each other as partners and be like OK DONT RUN OFF AGAIN. ANY OF U!!! DO NOT!!!!

ok this shit is so long im so sorry. HI. SDGSHKJFHJKDSHG THANK U SO MUCH FOR THE ASK IM BAWLING i really havent thought much of post-3rd sem stuff as u can tell........... but i WILL ipromise.

edit: LAST ADDENDUM im very passionate abt shsm being nightmare situationship. guys who never got together but got divorced 50 times. sh/uake fits into this category as well i think. i can also kinda see ak/esumi like that but ironically i feel like they'd have the most stable situationship out of the 3 individual ships..... idk.. need to let it all cook in my head a bit more BUT VERY PASSIONATE ABT THE SHSM THING.

[silentium-symphony]

Now Watch Me Whip II (Link x Reader)

(a/n) this was supposed to be the last part but there's gonna be one more (linked here ofc). thanks for sticking around though, i really appreciate it :)

click here to read the first chapter

cw: afab!reader, reader having nightmares (contents of dream not explored), link comforting them <3, violence (not extremely explicit), link driven by and drowning in guilt aww

wc: 3.1k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Dawn had just broken past the hills when Link began tying his sandals to his legs, his hyperactive mind focused on the sensation of thin leather nestling into skin. With the press of a button, the Purah pad sparked to life and he stared at the virtual beacon blinking faintly at the site of yesterday's battle. Resolve flooded his mind; he slung his shield over his shoulder and topped the thick metal with his sword.

Careful hands creaked his door open. He looked this way and that, slipped his lean form through the tiniest crack possible, and clicked the door shut. Not a soul in sight--the introvert in him grinned in delight. He crept forward, dully noting the idyllicity of morning light flowing through the inn; it grounded him and helped him purge all unnecessary thoughts from his mind.

He passed your door, his feet backpedaling and the fleeting thought of checking in on you flashed through his mind. He swallowed and his eyes rested heavily on the still doorknob. His racing, thunderous heart pounded his eardrums like an erratic war drum; the light snoring from the other side of the door strangely soothed him, however.

He'll be quick. He'll be back before daybreak. Before you wake.

But...

His mind was suddenly plagued by your panicked, shaking frame hyperventilating into him; he was so taken aback by the clarity of the memory that he staggered back and hit the wall. Your shoulder. Have you bled through your dressings? Have you shuffled in the middle of the night and reopened your wounds, currently bleeding out on the bed and blissfully unaware of your coming demise?

A quick look won't hurt...

He was surprised at the gentleness he showed the inanimate piece of brass, turning it slowly and peeping his head through. There you were, your chest rising and falling at a relaxed, even pace. A lilting sigh left his lips seeing the still-white cloth wrapped snugly about your shoulder. He pulled the door closed.

A whimper.

He froze, a petrifying chill racing down his back. Your cries grew louder and louder, turning into pained moans and shallow gasps for respite. He leaned the door open again, his heart and thoughts tied in a sickening race.

What in the world does he do? Would it be too forward to just waltz into your room and comfort your shaking self? Should he just give you space and pretend he didn't see any of that?

That last thought set his chest aflame, clearly at odds with his inner Spirit. How could he willingly turn a blind eye to someone clearly in the throes of struggle? He stepped hesitantly into your room, finding comfort in caressing the wall and staying off to the side as he crept closer.

He could see your twisted features clearly now. The beginnings of sweat beaded and glistened against your skin, contrasting the much larger globs of tears forming at the corner of your eyes. Your head shook to and fro, a rapture of hurried words leaving your throat with each groan. They weren't in a language he understood--perhaps they weren't even words at all. Regardless, the feelings laced with each agitated whine were the same--Hurt. Dread. Regret.

His heart somersaulted to the base of his throat as the sounds of a word very similar to his name gurgled out of your chest.

"Mm... Link..." Your tense brows and gnashing teethed loosened for his name. "Save... me..."

He felt his knees grow weak and he reached a trembling hand to you. Before he realized it, the rest of him followed. He sunk into the edge of your bed, unsure digits hovering over your wrenching form.

"Save... Help..."

"S-Shhh..." He hushed, surprised once again at the gentleness he could croak out (especially so early in the morning). "It's okay... You're safe..."

He wove his fingers through your hair and lightly scratched your scalp, eliciting a pleased moan out of your lips; a warmth kissed the surface of his cheeks, sinking through until it hit his chest. He didn't know if the sudden redness was from the heart-clutching mewl you cried out or from the shame of blushing in the first place. An innocent chuckle aired out, watching you melt under his touch.

"You're okay, (F/N). You're safe. I'll protect you, I promise--"

A stinging slap rang so clearly in his mind. What was he saying? He had just met you. Who was he to be making such proclamations of protection when he couldn't even protect the Princess, someone he had sworn to guard with his life?

He laughed dourly at his presumptuousness and continued stroking your head until your chest once again rose and fell at even rates. He pulled away, trying to ignore how his fingers craved the feel of your hair locked in his hands or the ever-present cold at his side that ached for the touch of another.

"I'll be back soon."

That he could promise.

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

After an apologetic and thankful bow to the groggy innkeeper, he took Epona's bridle and led her further away from the inn. He plucked an apple from his pocket, humbly presenting it to his companion. She vacuumed the shiny red hungrily, a blast of fruity, sugary goodness hitting her just enough to get her spurring towards her rider's destination. Link "ho-ho'ed" and climbed atop her saddle. One look at the Purah pad to confirm his destination and he was off.

He enjoyed the morning breeze nipping his cheeks and the feeling of freedom ruffling his hair. He threw his arms to the side, relishing the gentle gust soaring past him; in that very moment, he swore he could fly.

The dips and divets in the landscape began to ring familiar to him and he tugged Epona's reigns slightly to the left, battle-hardened awareness substituting tranquil nonchalance as he neared a known corner. He steadied his thoughts before they could materialize the ghastly memory of what happened to you only a night ago. He didn't have a lot of opportunities to remedy his mistakes, so he was gonna take this chance and fly with it.

He rounded the corner and his heart steeled at the newly-colonized encampment, the scattering of its previous victims nowhere to be seen. That wasn't the only thing that remained to be seen as he threw his eyes this way and that for your bag. Where did you say it was...? By a wooden crate...?

Taut fingers knotted Epona's reins and he pulled firmly, slowing her to a halt behind a cluster of trees. He vaulted off her, tied her to a low-hanging branch, and turned his eyes to the dozing monsters. He saw the blue glow of a barely conscious Bokoblin on a watchtower, the monstrosity grunting closer and closer to sleep. His arm slinked behind him for his bow, knocking two sturdy arrows in place. His shoulders squeezed and stretched the bow into a thin, stiff crescent. He stilled his breathing. The muted glow in the Bokoblin's face was a handy beacon in the dawn's dark.

Just like target practice.

He released his fingers, the arrows cutting straight and true and through the eyes of the pig-like beast. An armor-piercing wail, followed by the death throes of the falling and now fallen beast. Its compatriots woke up in alarm, screaming at their once-living comrade now folded lifelessly before them. They gathered their weapons and the smaller Bokoblins huddled together while others (like the two Moblins) scouted the surrounding area. His eyes flashed to Epona, who was relaxedly grazing the forest floor. He scooted away from her and followed the monster's movements with cold calculation.

The Moblins neared his hiding spot, thankfully still unaware of his presence. He slotted his bow over his shoulder and drew his sword; the metallic melody of sword leaving scabbard was all the tell the Moblins needed to find their companion's murderer. Rabid reds met blazing blues and they charged at him, arms and weapons thrashing wildly. He darted to the side, leaping over a low swing in the process, and sprinted undeviatingly along his one-track course. One eye concentrated on the tattered bag inconspicuously tucked behind a wooden crate while the other darted about his surroundings.

He felt the stumbly footsteps of the titans bellow behind him and he readied his sword for a fatal encounter with the smaller Bokoblins. A chorus of shrieks rang in his ears and they brandished clubs and rusty weapons, a few initiating a mini head-on charge towards the hero. A gnarled branch whizzed for his neck and a dull, rusty spear lanced for his torso. He rolled off to the side, grunting from clapping the earth with his body. The top of his sword gored the branch-wielder's chest before smoothly connecting a succinct slice across the sword-wielder's belly. The familiar tune of a piercing death-scream tolled in his ears like the dirge of a bell.

He felt his body naturally turn into a spin attack, cutting at the Bokoblins that were beginning to flank him. The culling of their monstrous brothers threw the Moblins into a blind rage and they began chucking boulders at their murderer. The swordsman felt the air, disturbed by the sudden mass, and ducked just in time for the large rock to unceremoniously land in front of him. He clicked his tongue, his head swiveling around in time to see another grey mass trajected straight toward him. He coiled his body tightly, avoiding most of the boulder save for the sharp edges that dug into his bare shoulders. He felt the hot liquid race down the newly-formed cut as a familiar rush of light tingled his Zonai arm.

His immediate vicinity muted into a dull grey and he felt the bright tick, tick, ticking in his ears as he pressed the boulders back whence it came, lightly musing if he should snap a picture of this soon-to-be comical moment. With a snap of his fingers, time began its incessant march once more and the rocks that almost spelled his death satisfyingly crashed into the still-charging Moblins with the same ferocity and hatred they had intended for the hero.

Safe to say, they were no more--if their dying gurgles were any testament to that.

He cooly eyed the carnage around him and meandered over to the crate, peeking behind the rotting container to find your bag. He snatched the worn pouch off the ground and held it up victoriously. Success!

The twinkle of a small, metal rod slipped out of it--he was surprised to see it still falling as a long, trailing ribbon bunched atop its thin anchor. He picked up the rod gingerly, thumbing and tracing the scuff marks that riddled its exterior. Glints of shine shone off the well-loved metallic piece; the ribbon itself was a faded (F/C) hue, hung tightly to the rod and tapered off into a point. The ends were edged with neatly trimmed frays, no doubt from years of consecutive use.

The realization that he was handling something meaningful--sacred, even--to you dawned on him and he slipped it into your bag with great care. The faint glimmer of rupees hidden inside a haphazardly closed pouch caught his eye and he nodded with a 'hmph.' More success!

He thoroughly checked the area, literally overturning stones and such for anything else of note (he did find a few stray rupees scattered among the camp, which he happily slipped into your wallet). Taking one last look, he spun on his heel and swaggered toward the still-munching Epona, his chest puffed with pride and accomplishment.

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

A soft couple of knocks rapt your door and you groaned, weakly reaching for your eyes.

"Urgh... c-come in..."

A blonde mane entered your vision, followed by a pair of cerulean that twinkled lovingly brightly when it saw you.

"Oh! Link!" Your lips were pulled from ear-to-ear. "Good morning, sir!"

That name's gonna be the death of him He held up a hand and, once again, waved off the formality.

"I-I'm sorry! Does that make you uncomfortable?"

Quite the opposite, actually--

He mentally jabbed himself in the gut and smiled.

"It just... makes me feel old." He laughed. "And I'm hardly older than you."

He kind of eyed your expression to see if you would let slip that his being over 100 years old was common knowledge. He didn't quite know how to feel about it if that were the case...

"I understand," you nodded, "I'm sorry about that."

He shook his head and "mm'ed."

"How're you feeling?"

"I mean... Not great, but nowhere near as bad as yesterday. That potion you left for me was a lifesaver for sure."

"I'm glad you pulled through. Truly." He moved to sit on the stool pulled up by your bed. Your eyes trailed down his... charred? glowing? wait glowing why was it glowing-- arm tucked behind his back. His gaze followed yours; you cast your eyes to the wall, the feeling of being caught prickling your chest.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare--"

"No, it's okay." A dismal smile. "It's... complicated."

Your heart twinged with guilt. No doubt you've unearthed some unpleasant memories for the man. Your hand reached for his, rubbing shallow circles into the space between his thumb and pointer.

"You don't have to tell me. I'll take your word for it, Hero."

Stunned eyes rested on the simple motion your fingers made into his skin, and he wondered why his heart was currently performing theatricals in his chest. His cheeks grew hot, suddenly turning very thankful for the dimness that permeated the room.

"Oh, uh," he cleared his throat, hoping to draw his mind away from the 'Hero' bouncing around his head, "I... went out earlier this morning and, um..."

Without another word, he slipped a rustic bag--your bag--into your lap. You had to bite back a scream from the sheer relief that overtook your soul. Your face snapped confusedly to his, eternal gratefulness swimming in your (E/C) hues.

"I got this for you."

"Link...!" Your throat constricted and your vision blurred with tears. "Oh Hylia, Link...!"

Alarm aroused his features, followed by unfiltered panic.

"D-Did I forget something? I'm sorry, I thought I--"

"No!" With a whip of your arm, you pulled the man into a tight embrace, your profile resting atop his bare chest. "Thank you! Oh gods, thank you!"

You were mentally jumping up and down with the Hero wrapped in your arms and you swore you could, feeling the surge of strength flow through your legs. Just as quickly as you pulled him in, you pulled away to excitedly inspect the contents of your bag (not noticing the very deep red on the swordsman's cheeks).

Everything was accounted for--your wallet (which you happily noted looked clunkier since last you saw it), spare clothes, some snacks, and most importantly...

Your digits wound about the metal rod tucked so neatly towards the side and whipped it out, the faded (F/C) ribbon whistling a quiet psalm compared to the harsh, sober crack of your whip.

No air flowed through your room but the ribbon continued lingering over the air, hovering and quivering slightly over the entranced Link with a gentle sway of your wrist. You laughed, his eager eyes that lapped up your ribbon tricks reminded you of the small children in your village.

"Gorgeous..." He airily praised.

You chuckled, flicking your wrist suddenly and dipping the ribbon to tickle his shoulder. He gasped at the light, fleeting touch and felt goosebumps dot his skin. You snapped your wrist up again and gyrated it faster, tightening the ribbon into a vortex.

"You're really good at this." He sounded, proud.

"Oh, you should see me with my other hand." You laughed, only imagning what his childlike wonder would turn into if he could see the routines you practiced. A giggle of pure delight flowed out of his open-mouthed smile as he watched you and the glossy strip, his heart ablaze. The familiar twinge of guilt and sorrow knotted his abdomen, but...

You twirled your ribbon about his face, your delighted features lost behind a swirl of (F/C).

Maybe, just this once... he could be happy.

"Where did you learn how to do this?"

Your crinkled eyes laxed slightly, despondence tugging your eyelashes downward. Your ribbon fell delicately onto Link's shoulders and slid off.

"My village... We used to have a festival every year and I was their main ribbon dancer."

wel fuck

He had seen that thousand-yard stare on hundreds of faces before you--so why did it hurt the most seeing it on yours?

"... 'Used to?'"

You chuckled bitterly, throat dry from all the tears you've shed.

"It's gone now. Monsters and failed harvests made sure of that."

Both pairs of eyes honed in on the ground before them. The sunlight pouring into your bedroom had shown brighter now; the rest of the inn's guests were beginning to rustle awake, and you absently listened to the chatter of a family walking past. The soft, heated whispers of a couple slipped through the cracks in your door, muffling their words but not the love behind them. The idling chatter of friends and travelers buzzed lowly outside and filled you with a strange mix of longing and peace. Despite everything that's happened--everything you've lost--the world was still spinning. Life has moved on, but you're still caught in the grey limbo between destruction and recovery.

"I'm sure your festival," he glanced up at you slowly, "was something even the gods beheld with wonder."

"... Thank you." You sighed, eyes fluttering shut; you could still see the colorful banners and confetti catching the sun. "I think so too."

Link rocked back in his seat, his lungs releasing a long sigh as he stared up at the ceiling, then back down to you.

"You... said you could dance?"

Your eyes fluttered open and caught Link's enraptured gaze.

"Yes! I'm completely self-taught, actually." You did a poor job of hiding that smug smirk. "I can show you a couple of my routines sometime!"

"I would like that a lot, thank you."

A bright idea flared in your mind, sending energizing sparks throughout your body.

"Maybe... I can teach you. If you're up for it." You wriggled your eyebrows. Link's lips ovaled into an 'O' and his eyes widened.

"R-Really? You would teach me?"

"Of course! I don't see why not. Although... Some of the stuff I do takes a lot of practice, but we'll start with the basics!"

A long "hmm" drew from him as he stroked his chin thoughtfully. Of course he had more pressing matters to attend to, but the thought of dancing with you sent pangs of excitement through his core, dispelling the guilt that so commonly beat his chest. He felt giddy almost, the unfamiliar sensation getting his heart beating and swooning.

Maybe, just this once... he could be happy.

"I was never known to back down from a challenge."

[ridiasfangirlings]

So imagine that after the Slate is destroyed all people who had their memories erased by the Rabbits gradually start to regain them. Of course this includes Honami. And since she's the only remaining (blood) relative of Anna she probably should (or could) get legal custody of her. I think Kusanagi and Homra won't mind this. But what if Honami didn't wanna stay in Japan where all of this happened, her brother and his wife were killed, she got her memories erased and her little niece was tortured and suffered so much. Given that she's an English teacher I could see her wanting to move to America since she knows the language. Then what would Anna do in this situation? Would she want to go with her aunt? Or would she want to remain together with Homra? I know that things aren't the same after the Slate was destroyed and the Homra members would gradually drift apart, more or less. That presents us with quite the peculiar situation. So what do you think will happen? (sorry if the ask is all over the place, I'm writing it on the go before I forget)

There was a short comic I saw right after ROK aired that had Honami remembering and immediately running to Homra to hug Anna, I like imagining that was canon (and actually Gora did say at one of their K events that Honami may remember Anna post-ROK). I think things would be kinda awkward with Honami remembering, especially since Kusanagi would presumably have to explain both why Honami forgot and why they couldn’t tell her anything afterward. Honami would probably be pretty shell-shocked in the aftermath, finding out about Kings and the Slate and Anna’s powers (they might hold off on adding that Anna is Red King, so they don’t overwhelm her), and even hearing all this I could see Honami being upset with herself that she was able to forget something so important as Anna. Honami asks Anna to come home with her and I could see Anna saying yes but it’s worded in such a way that neither Honami or Kusanagi (or even really Anna herself) knows if this is just a visit or if she’s moving in totally. 

After a couple nights together Honami sits Anna down for a talk. She thinks Anna has been through a lot and after all this maybe it would be best to put all this fighting and sadness behind them, suggesting that the two of them together move overseas. I kinda imagine this immediately sparking some tension between her and Kusanagi, Kusanagi knows that Honami wants what’s best for Anna but he also doesn’t like Anna being put in a situation where she has to choose between her two ‘families.’ I imagine him trying to talk with Honami and Honami is also upset herself, because she feels like she couldn’t protect Anna all this time and she just wants to give Anna a normal life. Kusanagi can understand that because he wants the same, but he also wants Anna to choose what she herself wants and is worried Anna will be pressured by not wanting Honami to be sad.

Ultimately I feel like this is where Honami gets the revelation that Anna is Red King. Anna goes to talk to Honami and her fire wings appear, Honami is struck speechless. She remembers what Kusanagi told her about Mikoto’s fate but Anna assures her that it isn’t a problem anymore, no one else will die because of the Slate. But the Slate is also the one who brought her all her precious people and gave her the power to protect them, and she includes Honami in that. Anna doesn’t want to lose any members of her family, not anymore, and so she will protect everyone. Honami says Anna shouldn’t have to do that, they should be protecting her, and imagine Anna just hugging her and saying that because everyone protected her she was able to reach this point. She wants to stay in Japan with Homra and she wants to stay by Honami’s side too, so she wants Honami to know that there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore. In the end I imagine Honami giving in because she does love Anna, maybe they do end up taking like a short overseas vacation together so that they can catch up and Honami can spoil Anna a little but ultimately they come back. After this Anna just goes between staying at Homra and staying with Honami and everyone’s on good terms, it’s less like two separate families and more like Anna’s family just got a bit larger.

[flamekingmaven]

The Great War: A Maven Calore Fanfic

Part 1

"I pledge myself to you, Iris Cygnet, princess of the Lakelands. Will you accept?”       Maven does not even throw a glance at me, he looks at Iris while saying these words. But everyone looks at me. They don't look at the King and the woman he just proposed to, they look at me. They wait for a sign. They wait for me to object, or at least leave this damned place. They hope for a show, a drama.       But I don't give it to them. Even though their gazes make me feel like there are words written on my face- humiliating letters of black ink that will permanently stay on my skin. I just sit there, and watch the love of my life getting engaged with another woman. There is no expression on my face. No fury, no misery. I keep my wounds hidden.       "I put my hand in yours, and pledge my life to yours," Iris replies, after her own traditions and the customs of her kingdom. "I accept, Your Majesty."       He puts his bare hand out to take hers, the bracelet at his wrist sparking as he moves. A current of fire hits the air, snakelike and curling around their joined fingers. It does not burn her, though it certainly passes close enough to try. Iris never flinches. Never blinks. That’s why she is the one whom he is marrying, I think. Not you.

      I feel like I might throw up any moment now. I turn my gaze away from them. I just look at my hands on my lap. I can’t hear anything anymore. I am fully focused on my pain now. It is a foolish move, I know. Just a moment ago, I was determined that I was not going to give them even a hint. But my feelings have always been my weakness. I suck at controlling them. Or hiding them under a flawless mask, like Maven does.

      When people start to stand up, I understand that it is time to go. I get on my wobbly feet. And just when I am about to turn my back, icy blue eyes meet mine. I suddenly stop. I can taste blood in my mouth. Every memory we share is a piece of glass, but every single one of them is broken and they draw blood. I press my lips together in fear of silver streaming down my chin. The question pounds in my head: Why did you do this? But I must admit that I know the answer. He needed to. And I will be fair, every king that is in Maven’s place would do the same. But he had a choice.

      Even though he looks at me as if I am the only real thing in his world in front of everyone, I feel so heavy-hearted that I can’t keep looking at him. I swiftly turn my back and start to walk. I feel so cold and the freezing weather is not the only reason. That’s why the fur collar of my coat and my leather gloves don’t keep me warm. I feel like I don’t breathe anymore. Everything inside me is dead.

“My lady.”

     I stop and turn my back just to face one of the Sentinels. I scowl at him even though he did not do anything to deserve it, because I got no energy to deal with anybody. I just want to let my pain drown me. I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t have it in myself.

“His Majesty is waiting for you in his car.”

      The heart of glass on my chest feels heavy. It has dealt with grief so many times until this day and it was successful at handling it, but this time hits different. Because it is Maven. King of Norta who is waiting for me just after his new engagement. It sounds like a joke, but I know that it is not. I want to scream at the Sentinel’s face that he should tell his King to go fuck himself. But I can’t. Even a Sentinel shouldn’t witness someone’s disobedience to the King. It is already a fragile reign.

“Lead the way.” I say, with no will in my voice.

        The Sentinel does as I say. I take reluctant steps as I silently follow him. I don’t want to see Maven. Moreover, I don’t want to be alone with him in his car. I can’t talk to him because I know that I will burst into tears if I try. I don’t want him to marry somebody else. I selfishly want him all to myself even though it is not possible anymore.

        I can’t see Maven because the windows of his car are so dark that nobody could see anything from outside. But when the Sentinel opens the door for me, I see him sit on the large backseat of the car. When our gazes meet, I feel sick to my stomach once again. My gloved hands clunch into fists. I’m so angry at him that I can’t breathe. I’m furious because I wish I could hate him for making me suffer, but no matter what he does I will never be able to do that.

        I want to punch something, and scream until my throat hurts. I need to destroy it, and watch it turning into ashes. I always likened my heart to a fire, but right now I feel like I’m the fire itself. I am made of destruction, but my pain always keeps burning me.

[skylarkking]

To Heal a Mockingbird

A TFA Ratchet x Mech!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Chapter 4: Scars of the Past

"The information you seek wi be at one of Shockwave's labs." I said. "But you won't be able to access them, not without me."

"Explain." Ultra Magnus said.

"Simply put, you aren't a Decepticon." I said. "The way the security works is based on energy signatures. Megatron would have no doubt scrubbed me from having clearance by now, but we won't need it."

"What do you mean?" Ratchet asked.

"Let's just say that these," I said as I ejected one of my nmemosurgery probes. "Are not just for poking around in the minds of bots."

"You're a nmemosurgeon?" The Magnus asked with a hint of suspicion.

"Was." I said as I retracted the probe. "I retired from the practice during an... incident with a bot I was trying to bring out of a comatose stasis lock." I looked down at my servos and furrowed my optic ridges. "I... couldn't save him."

"I'm sorry, kid." Ratchet said as he placed a sympathetic servo onto my shoulder plating.

"There's nothing to apologize for." I said as I shook off the painful memory. "Anyway, I've learned how to repurpose these for something rather unique."

"And what would that be?"

"See that console over there?" I said as I pointed to said console. "I can access it remotely through the spark rate monitor with my probes. the same thing goes for any device connected to the same network."

"That... how in Primus did you figure that out?"

"That is for me to know and you to find out." I chuckled before wincing in pain, my systems pinging with alerts that I had to clear away from my processor.

"Well, you'll get to show us when you've recovered." Ratchet said. "Right now, you should get some rest, okay?"

"Okay."

Over the following few weeks, my wounds would heal up nicely, and I was allowed out of the med bay so long as I had an escort. It annoyed me at first, but I got used to it. In fact, I didn't mind having these shorter bots follow me about. Especially Ratchet.

Despite being younger than me by a few thousand stellar cycles, Ratchet certainly didn't act it. In fact, he and I were surprisingly similar in terms of personality.

We both were grouchy, tired, battered war medics who were fed up with war. The only difference is that he was a general practitioner before the war, and I was a nmemosurgeon and psychiatrist.

"I need to ask Y/D," Ratchet said one evening while he was checking over my scars to make sure they were remaining intact under movement. "How does a bot like you end up with the Decepticons anyway?"

"They were hiring?" I half joked, Ratchet giving me an unamused look in response. "What? It's true."

"I feel like there's more to it than that." Ratchet muttered.

"Well.... why'd you join the Autobots?" I asked. Ratchet stiffened and looked up at me with a sad expression.

"I didn't at first. But when I saw the death and destruction the Decepticons had caused... I knew I had to help somehow."

"You were a neutral?" I asked.

"For a long time, yeah, I didn't think it was my business to get involved. But when the war came knocking on my doorstep, I knew I couldn't stay out of it."

"You were forced into it?" I said with a sad expression.

"Yeah... you could say that."

The room grew silent for a bit before I spoke and broke the silence.

"I... understand that feeling." I said. "Only I was pulled into it thinking it was a way out."

"A way out? Out of what?" Ratchet asked.

"The Pits." I said coldly. Ratchet paused his inspection and looked over to me with a shocked look on his face.

"You... were a gladiator?" He asked.

"Yeah, I was. And not by choice either." I said. "A common theme with this tale I call my life."

"How'd you end up there?"

"Before being sent to the Pits, I was a nmemosurgeon and psychiatrist, but sometimes i would do work in emergency medicine. There was a patient of high ranking that had been sent to the emergency department of the facility I worked in. He was badly wounded, broken, and beaten. No one knew what happened, and they wanted me to revive him so that they could get answers."

"So he was of a higher caste?" Ratchet asked.

"Yes, which made the task of reviving him even more important. But... i..." I paused a moment and hugged myself tighter as the awful memory played in my mind.

"When I attempted to bring him out of his comatose stasis lock, he... he died under my care. I was convicted of murder when... when it wasn't. It..." I took in a shaky vent and hugged myself in an attempt to calm my rising anxiety. "His mind was too broken and his body too beaten." I choked with a wavering voice. "I... I couldn't save him. I tried everything I... it wasn't enough. He died on that table. He died... because of me."

Ratchet gave me a sympathetic look and gently touched my servo, the gentle contact causing me to flinch in surprise before relaxing. When I had calmed down enough, I continued to tell the medic of my story.

"After he passed, I was arrested and convicted of murder without a trial. No matter how much I plead that it wasn't intentional, no one would listen. They didn't care. And so, I was forced to fight, to kill and violate my oath to harm none, in order to survive. Over time, I'd climb up the ranks until I was placed in a match with none other than Megatron. I remember the fight did not go well for either of us since we were both determined to not fall."

"A stalemate?"

"Essentially, yes. It went on for so long that the referee called it a draw. That was when Megatron charmed me into following his uprising." I looked over to Ratchet, and my expression saddened. "I was promised a chance at freedom, to rise up and become something better. And I believe the Decepticons would have achieved this if Megatron had not strayed from his original goal and fell down the path of megalomania. I... I only wish I saw it sooner rather than later."

"Well, you're taking the right steps." Ratchet said. "And I think you'll do just fine." 

-----

Previous Chapter: Here

Next Chapter: Coming Soon

[synthetickitsune]

Jun (Seventeen) | Dear Diary fluff | 0.8k | gn!reader

It’s strangely intimate, and you’re surprised it’s happening.

Not too long ago you couldn’t even imagine ever going through things in your childhood room, even though to be fair you’ve spent considerable part of your teenage years, adolescence and hell, even uni years in the room holding so many memories of laughter, tears, and all the other bits and pieces making up a human life. You never thought about it properly, somehow you just expected it would always stay the same, but moving in together with your boyfriend meant you’d need to have your stuff somewhere convenient - like in your own home.

You hear thuds, like there’s something falling followed by soft curses and precisely one whine. Exactly why you doubted it was a good idea to let Jun come and help. On the other hand, it was going so well until now, and it was actually nice to show this part of yourself that you normally guarded so well to someone.

“Babe?” you call before cautiously making your way to where you boyfriend’s hidden by the open wings of the cabinet. Not a second later you see him rubbing the top of his head, sitting surrounded by spilled old magazines and notebooks. You chuckle, squeezing his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just underestimated how full the box would be,” he nods towards the object in question, now very much empty.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the ground. You begin picking up the magazines, sorting them into neat piles. Jun on the other hand starts picking up the notebooks, making piles of his own according to the years marked in your handwriting on their covers. 

The one he sees next grabs his attention. First, because it’s lying open, and second because he recognizes the date written on the page - it’s the day you’ve had your first date after you agreed to be his. He’s staring at it for a second too long without moving so you look over to see what’s so interesting and chuckle. He turns to you immediately, swearing he wasn’t reading it - and you know he wasn’t, he couldn’t if he tried from this distance and with how messy your handwriting was that day - and you wave him off.

“It’s fine, you can read it if you want to,” you smile and return to your task, but from the corner of your eye you see the gears in his brain turning. 

“y/n…” he mumbles. It’s so clear he wants to but doesn’t think he should, so you reach for the notebook and leave it in his lap. He shakes his head before sighing. “y/n, this is… personal. Really personal. Are you sure?”

“If I wasn’t I wouldn’t tell you it’s fine, would I? Besides from this point on you’ll be there quite a lot,” you laugh, “And who knows, maybe it’ll give you some insight into how much I’ve loved you from the start.”

And so with a sigh, he sits back and reads. He reads about your love, your insecurities, your jealousy and tiny frustrations with him that he only learned about months or years after they were written down here, and your regrets and gratefulness after you’ve fought and made up. 

You work around him, until you’re finished and have to nudge him lightly to bring him back to you. 

He gives you a shy smile, before immediately pulling you into a hug. You pat his back, holding back squeals as he buries his face into your neck.

“I never wanted anyone but you since I’ve met you,” he confesses in a whisper, lips planting a single kiss just under your ear.

“That’s what’s most interesting from all of that?” you tease, but there’s some tension, something that won’t allow the spark to reach your eyes. He sighs, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, one hand resting on the back of your neck to keep you close.

“Love?” Jun brings your attention to him, makes you look in his eyes, “The rest is long behind us, right? We talked things out, we compromised… or is any of it still troubling you?”

You shake your head no, after which he pecks the tip of your nose, making you giggle.

“See, it’s in the past. But I always want you to know you’re my one and only,” he coos, his lips finding yours easily. His other hand comes up to your neck, gently holding you close over the open pages of your notebook. He hopes, as you do, there will be many more of them filled with your shared memories, good and bad.

Maybe he’ll start writing one too, so that you could, years later, look back and see how much you’ve both grown together.

[lexosaurus]

Ectoberweek 25: Forgotten Bones

Prompt: 1. Forest 2. He thinks about the corpse in the woods sometimes. Hard to forget where you are buried.

Characters: Johnny 13, Danny Phantom WC: 1145

———

“I don’t know if I should tell them,” Phantom said, his head hung low and his elbows resting on his knees. It was easy to forget how small the kid was when he trampled around his haunt like some tyrannical overlord, squashing any trespassers before they could say ‘hello.’

Johnny 13 blew the cigarette smoke from his throat and watched it fizzle into the crisp air.

“I feel bad because there’s supposed to be no more secrets, you know? They said they accepted me, so I don’t know why…”

“I never told anyone,” Johnny said. 

He might have felt amusement toward Phantom’s owlish reaction if he was in better humor. But then, Johnny was never one to talk about his past.

Most ghosts weren’t.

“Really?” Phantom asked.

“Yup.”

“Why?”

He mulled it over. “It was nobody’s business.”

It was unsurprising to see the kid’s unconvinced expression. Ghost intuition and all. 

Because even Phantom knew that unresolved deaths don’t just resolve after a few years of being a ghost. That even if the memories get altered during ghost-formation, the pain never goes away.

The moment never disappears.

It was just his luck he’d get trapped in this situation. Dragged to the forest by a group of faceless, fuzzy men—he couldn’t remember what they looked like—and surrounded with guns drawn and flashlights pointed in his eyes, casting long shadows behind him.

“Please,” Johnny begged. “You have the wrong guys.”

“That’s not what I heard,” the leader said. Beside him, his thug pressed his gun into Kitty’s temple.

“The money or the girl. Your choice.”

“Nobody’s business,” Johnny reiterated, tapping the fresh ash from his cigarette.

The Boy Scout beside him was too out of it to make an annoying remark about littering or whatever the hell dumb thing he’d usually say.

“But Kitty knows, right?”

“She was there, moron.”

“Right, but…” Phantom turned away, sheepish. “Not everyone remembers.”

“Well, you’d have to ask her then. Not everyone was insane enough to—what did you do again?”

If anything, Phantom looked even smaller as he spoke, “...I buried it in the woods.”

“Right, exactly. Most of us don’t bury our own fucking corpses in the woods.”

“And yet, you and I are both in the same place.”

Johnny looked out at the dark sky, noting the speckles of stars that danced around each other. And it occurred to him that, well shit, maybe they were in the same place. Maybe they were both stuck leading an afterlife based off of forgotten skin, forgotten bones.

Forgotten bodies.

But no, they weren’t the same. “Even if I wanted to change it now, I couldn’t. There’s nobody to tell.”

Kitty’s terrified eyes met his, and Johnny nearly collapsed on the spot. The flashlights suddenly seemed too bright, too blinding.

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t us.”

“Really? You weren’t at Tony’s last Tuesday?”

Johnny took a step back, nearly tripping over a root. “No! No, that’s not—”

“You’re calling Tony a liar?”

“—No, please!”

“You could always tell the police. Lead them to your…” 

Now that Johnny did chuckle at. “And what do you think would come out of that, kid? Surrender my bones over to the police—and for what, exactly? Justice? Revenge? Kid, I died forty years ago. Do you know what happens to bodies that stay in the dirt for forty years?”

“Well, I was going to say that it might give you some closure, but—”

“Then what’s stopping you?” Johnny said, stamping his cigarette out on the cement roof. “Maybe you should be less worried about me, a guy who’s living out his afterlife doing the thing he loves with the girl of his dreams, and more focused on yourself, who’s clearly so upset you had to come to me for advice.”

Phantom blushed green, and the brief spark of smug fire vanished from his eyes. “I didn’t come to you, you were just already here.”

“And? You’re still talking to me.”

Phantom grumbled but otherwise didn’t argue.

And thank goodness for that too, because Johnny hadn’t come to Earth for a therapy session. He didn’t want to relive that night. He didn’t want to think about what happened. He didn’t want to remember the feel of the brush scraping his legs, the dirt that stained his skin, the guns pressed against their backs as they were led further into the forest, closer and closer to The End.

The sound of Kitty’s voice. The tears on her face. The trembling in her voice.

“Please, sir, that’s not what he meant! We really don’t have anything, I promise!” Kitty cried. “Let us go, just let us go.”

The man pulled out his gun and pointed it at Johnny. Although Johnny couldn’t see—couldn’t remember—the man’s face, he would never forget the pure terror that races through his veins as the barrel pointed at his forehead. He would never forget his shaking limbs finally collapsing onto the dirt. He would never forget praying for one more day with Kitty so they could finally take that road trip they’d always talked about.

“You were there at Tony’s, and on your way out, you nicked from his cocaine supply. You either pay up the money you stole, or I’ll shoot you and your pretty lady myself.”

Johnny’s vision swam. “I—I don’t…”

The fuzzy form of the man stepped closer, casting his shadow over Johnny. “What’s that, princess?”

“I…don’t have it.”

“You should tell them, though,” Johnny said, breaking the silence between them.

Phantom gave him a quizzical look, and Johnny felt like a bug under a microscope. Damn, that kid could be a real pain in the ass sometimes.

Still, something compelled him to keep talking. So he turned his attention back to the sky and said in a detached voice, “You should tell them while you can. Because if you don’t do it now, you never will. You’ll keep putting it off, and putting it off until one day you’ll look around you and realize that there’s nobody left to tell. And you’ll spend the rest of your afterlife wondering if you should have told someone during any of those days you asked yourself and decided it wasn’t the right moment, it wasn’t the right day, that you would do it tomorrow. Because you only have tomorrow until you don’t. And you never know when that day will come, but it will, and it will come faster than you think.”

Phantom didn’t respond, but Johnny didn’t need him to. After all, they were both in the same place, and they weren’t. Johnny had no more tomorrows left, but Phantom still did.

He still had the chance to do what Johnny never could.

Johnny 13 thought about the corpse in the woods sometimes. Hard to forget where you are buried.

He heard Kitty let out a fresh sob in front of him.

“Well, that’s tough luck, kid.”

There was a crack.

Kitty screamed.

And then nothing.

[teaberrii]

Chapter 6: Ghosts of Our Past (Love Blues)

You're both running from a traumatic past. In a fated mix-up, you end up hosting this man for two weeks at your family-owned villa where sparks start to fly.

Alhaitham/You

Notes: Cross-posted on Ao3.

The chapter index is at the end of chapter one.

Your stomach growls loudly, and your lips stretch into a smile. Alhaitham also can't hold it in, and both of you start laughing. Then, he lets you go, and you look away, slightly embarrassed.

“What would the lady of the house like to eat tonight?” he asks.

As you and Alhaitham walk side-by-side, you ask, “Any special dishes of yours you’d recommend?”

"I can't be giving you all of my secret recipes." You glance at him just as he finishes, "I need a reason for you to stay."

You can’t hide your growing smile. “Ah, yes. A player indeed.” He scoffs with a slight grin.

You and Alhaitham stop at a street corner. "I take you like a man who cooks?"

"I don't see that hurting anybody." Finally, the light turns green, and you walk across the street. You glance at him; you're a little hesitant, but it won't hurt to ask, right? "Um, did your ex-girlfriend cook for you a lot?"

“...She did.” Your heart sinks a little. It’s silly, but you feel like she one-upped you somehow. “And…she wasn’t my ex-girlfriend. She was my fianceé.”

So, an ex-fianceé? Was it a bad fight? “O-oh, I see. Sorry, I—”

"You have nothing to apologize for." The smile on his face is reassuring. "...Can I ask about your ex-boyfriend? Did he cook for you a lot?"

“He did,” you say, your smile disappearing. The memories are coming back, and you instantly flush them away. “And…he also wasn’t my ex-boyfriend. We were married.”

Alhaitham’s eyes widen slightly. “...For how long, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“...Five years.” Your lips form a line. “We tied the knot as soon as I finished my undergrad degree.” You glance at him. “What about you, if you don’t mind sharing? How long did you date before you popped the question?”

“Nine years.”

You shouldn't be that surprised. You and your ex are childhood friends and have known each for years before dating. But your heart feels heavy. You know he must've experienced all of his firsts with her, just like how yours are with your ex. First love. First kiss. First heartbreak. And those aren't easy to get past. You should know. But, for them to have dated nine years before he popped the question...what could've happened between them?

Alhaitham would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised to learn you'd been married. He'd been hoping to be your first in that regard. Yes, he's probably thinking too far into the future. But those are his intentions. To date you with marriage in mind. But, while that hasn't changed, is he ready to take that step? Something is holding him back, and it's eating him alive. Is it the guilt? The pain? Or is it fear? But, enough about him. What about you?

Alhaitham gently grabs your wrist and nods toward a small grocery store. “I’d like to get a few things for tonight.”

So, that's how you end up wandering down the snack aisle. As you pick up a bag of your favourite snacks, you hear Alhaitham's voice besides your ear. "I thought I lost you."

You spin around and see his shopping cart filled with ingredients. “Have room for one more?” you ask.

“Always.” You grin and drop the bag into the cart. “Anything else you want to get?”

You’re about to answer his question when you notice a pair of cute slippers in the cart. “Is that…for you?”

“They’re for you.”

“Me?”

“Would you not like to visit me when we go back to the city?”

You trail behind him with a little smile as he continues pushing the cart toward the cashier. Then, finally, you catch up with him and say, "You sure your roommate wouldn't mind?"

Alhaitham scoffs. “Oh, he wouldn’t mind at all. Trust me.”

Kaveh tossed popcorn into his mouth just as Alhaitham came out of the washroom with a towel around his damp hair. As Alhaitham went to get a drink from the fridge, his roommate asked, "When are you going to invite a girl over?" Alhaitham closed the fridge door and popped open his drink. Kaveh looked around. "This apartment could use a feminine touch. Don't you think?"

Alhaitham rolled his eyes and put his drink on the counter. "Are you saying there's something wrong with my apartment?" Kaveh quietly stood up, deliberately avoiding his friend's deadpan look. But before he could get far, Alhaitham grabbed his shirt collar from behind. "Oh, please stay. I'm all ears."

Kaveh turned around. "I didn't mean it in a bad way. I just meant that, well…."

"I don't think I've ever seen you do the dishes or the laundry since I let you stay here."

“I cleaned!”

Alhaitham frowned. “You’re doing the laundry tomorrow.”

You laugh. “Are you sure I wouldn’t be interrupting anything?” you tease.

“Do I really have to answer that?” he asks jokingly.

You see a couple walk inside with an open, wet umbrella. That isn't a good sign. So you turn to the cashier and ask, "Do you have any umbrellas?"

She looks at you and nods toward a rack behind you. You turn and see that there's only one umbrella left.

Oh, of course.

As you and Alhaitham walk out of the store, he takes the umbrella from you and opens it up. You have no choice but to stay close to him as the umbrella is terribly small. The back of your hand occasionally brushes against his, which makes your heart beat faster. You hear the sound of bags shuffling. Then, suddenly, you feel a hand on your wet shoulder, gently pulling you close until your shoulder hits against his.

“You’re getting wet,” he says quietly.

You look at his right shoulder that’s now being left out in the rain. “...So are you.”

He chuckles. “Well, it’s either you or me.”

“Now you’re making me feel guilty.”

A mischievous glint appears in his eyes. “Then, maybe you can make it up to me.”

“You aren’t going to make me do something weird, are you?”

“I’m offended you would think that of me,” he teases. “But…”

You nudge him with your arm. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Alhaitham grins. “What about a dance?” Your eyes widen. “With me.”

“W-what? Hold up. I can’t dance!”

“It’s easy. You’ll get it in no time.”

You frown. “What dance do you have in mind?”

“...Something slow,” he says quietly. Why is your heart racing? “...sensual.”

Your eyes immediately go wide. “Wha—what are you talking about?”

You swing your bag of groceries at him, but he dodges it with ease. “Sorry, sorry. I was joking. Did I take it too far?”

“...Maybe,” you mumble.

Unfortunately, none of you make it back to the villa even a little dry. Once you turn on the lights, Alhaitham takes the bags from you and says, “Go take a shower. I got this.”

“You sure?”

“You’re going to get sick.”

Still, you help him carry the groceries to the kitchen. You're taking some of them out of your bag when he puts his hand on yours. You slowly look at him and meet his kind but stern gaze. You clear your throat and pull your hand back. "Shower. Okay. Got it." Alhaitham watches you scurry out of the kitchen, and he shakes his head with a grin.

Nine years. A fianceé. You can't stop thinking about the earlier conversation between you and Alhaitham. The more you know, the more you want to know. What could've happened? A fight? While that covers many things, another comes to mind, one that you hope isn't the case. You sigh as you shut off the shower and grab a towel.

Not long after you leave, Alhaitham also goes to take a shower in another room, and he can't get the conversation of your ex out of his head.

Five years. A family friend. Alhaitham also can't stop thinking about his earlier conversation with you. He remembers the soulless look in your eyes. And, when he saw you shaking today, it was clear that something about your ex was haunting you. But what could've happened? A bad divorce is the most obvious answer. But could there be something more?

You enter the kitchen dressed in your PJs and your hair slightly wet. Alhaitham has just closed the fridge, and you notice that he’s also dressed in more comfortable clothes. As you get close, you get a whiff of his shampoo. “Ready to get started?” he asks.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Once again, Alhaitham proves to be a patient teacher. While listening to him talk, your gaze slowly drifts to his face. A moment passes, and he suddenly looks at you, and you quickly look back to the chicken between the two sheets of heavy plastic. You know something is coming when he puts down the meat mallet.

"Were you listening?" His tone is kind and playful, as he must know what's distracting you from his cooking lesson.

You look away. “O-of course.”

He tilts your head toward him. "Really?" Your eyes land on his lips, but you quickly look back to his eyes. His lips stretch into a slightly playful grin.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly. Then, you grab the mallet and start pounding the chicken.

Alhaitham’s gaze doesn’t stray from you. Are you curious about him? Just like how he is about you? “What did you decide to do after finishing graduate school?” he asks.

"I started a career in market research," you say. Then, your hits become unknowingly heavier as memories of your ex flood your mind again.

Your professor handed you back your paper and said, “It’s well-written. Your logic and arguments are well-presented.”

“Thank you, professor.” You put the paper inside your bag.

"Have you thought about what you want to do after graduation? Because I think you'd do well in research."

You zipped up your bag and said, “Academic research?”

Your professor smiled at you. "Doesn't have to be." He took out his phone and put it in front of you. "I know someone looking to hire a market researcher soon." You glanced at the screen and instantly recognized the firm. They were one of the biggest and most well-known firms in the industry. "It's an entry-level position, and I could recommend you if you're interested."

You'd never doubted your abilities, but for someone to recognize you and genuinely compliment you were like a breath of fresh air. "Thank you, professor. I'll think about it and give you an answer before the end of the week."

“Sounds good.”

When you returned home, your husband had already started eating without you. He was sitting in front of the TV when you opened the door.

“You’re finally back! What took you so long?” he asked.

“I went to grab my paper from the professor,” you said, slipping off your coat and putting it on the hanger.

He got up and walked to the kitchen. "I'm leaving next week for a business trip, just so you know." That didn't even affect you anymore. He was gone so often that you got used to living by yourself most of the time. Was it wrong that you didn't think you would miss him? At your silence, he continued. "You aren't going to miss me?"

You thought of bringing up the conversation between you and your professor to him. But you already have a hunch of where this will go. You took a small breath. "I'm thinking of going into market research."

“Oh? Good for you. Sounds fun.” You watched him walk back to the couch with a beer in his hand.

You waited for a question or two. Was he not even going to ask you why? When he started flipping through the channels, you sighed softly. Fine. Maybe you should try…again. "You think? My professor knows someone who'll be hiring soon. It'll be an entry-level position, but—"

“Oh, hey! I didn’t know the game was on tonight!” He smiled at you. “You coming to watch?”

You didn’t want to bother with the rest of the conversation. “I’m going to shower. I’m pretty tired.”

He didn't even look at you when you walked past him.

Alhaitham's hand on yours brings you out of your thoughts. You stop and look at him, who has a kind look in his eyes. "...You're going to end up hitting your hand." You look down and see that he's right. Alhaitham takes the mallet from you.

“What made you go into academic research?” you ask.

He puts the mallet aside. “When I was studying my undergrad, I took a research assistant position with one of my professors. That was the start.” His lips form a neat line. “My fianceé was also in the same field.”

“She must’ve encouraged or influenced you.”

Alhaitham forces a slight grin. "She did. She supported us that we both wanted to pursue the same line of work. But…" You look at him expectantly. "That came with its problems."

“...Can I ask what, if you don’t mind my asking?”

"We were already very similar, personality-wise. Eventually, all we did was talk about work," he says, cracking two eggs into a bowl. 

You think back to your relationship with your ex. It's funny how you could never grasp anything your husband tells you about his work. You were never that interested in what he did for a living.

“I can’t relate,” you say, half-jokingly. “My husband and I were never interested in what the other person did. When I think about it now, I don’t really know why."

"Both have their dangers," he says. Alhaitham gestures for you to bring the preprepared flour. When you do, you start sprinkling it over the chicken breast as he beats the eggs. As you use your arm to brush some hair out of your face, Alhaitham puts down the bowl. "Let me help." Then, he tucks your hair behind your ear. He's so close that if you lean forward, your lips will touch. "Better?"

“...Thanks.”

Alhaitham gently pinches your cheek, to your surprise. Then, looking at him with wide eyes, he chuckles and says, "Sorry. I couldn't resist."

As Alhaitham goes to get something from the fridge, you feel your face grow warm. Then, he gestures for you to come, and the cooking lesson continues.

After putting the food in the oven, you and Alhaitham start doing the dishes when you quietly ask, "Did you fall in love with her because you were so similar?" Alhaitham looks at you, and your cheeks turn slightly pink. "Ah, you don't have to answer if that's too personal."

Alhaitham chuckles. "We've already talked this far. I don't think anything is too personal now." He puts a clean bowl aside. "I always thought being similar would be better in the long run. It made more sense rationally."

“Do you still think that way?”

Alhaitham shakes his head. “There needs to be a balance.”

You smile. “Agreed. Though, I always thought that being different would be better in the long term.”

“Why so?”

"It's just, well, different. Different thoughts, experiences…I thought it would make life more exciting."

Alhaitham takes the clean plate from you. “It sounds like you changed your mind.”

"My husband and I were different in almost every way. It's why I fell in love with him in the first place. It was fun to debate our different perspectives. But…there are some things you can't have different opinions on."

"I agree," Alhaitham says, drying the plate. Then, again, you pass him the last plate, and his fingers brush against yours this time. "...Let me ask another question."

“Shoot.”

You turn off the tap as he asks, “What’s your opinion on time?” You look at him quizically. “...Time for someone to move on. Time for something new?”

You hold his stare. Is he hinting at what you think he is? You grip the edge of the counter as you say, "...It's different for everyone. But, if things are meant to be, then they will be."

Alhaitham smiles. “I guess we’re more similar than we thought.”

You turn around and lean against the counter. "Did you think we were different?"

“Let’s just say that you’re full of surprises.”

You gently hit his arm. “That’s so ambiguous.”

Alhaitham suddenly grabs your hand and pulls you closer to him. "I mean it in the best way." His low voice sends an adrenaline rush through your body. Your mind wanders to dangerous or, dare you say it, pleasing territory as he slowly leans in.

His fingers dance down your back until they reach the dip of your spine. Your tongues are around each other's, engaging in a heated exchange until you feel him push you closer to his body. You gasp, and you feel the low rumble of a chuckle. Then, finally, your back hits something soft, and Alhaitham lowers his body onto yours. His lips leave yours in favour of your neck, and you moan softly as he peppers it with light, butterfly kisses.

“Mm, I like the sound of that,” he said quietly.

Your hands lifted his shirt, your fingers feeling his hard muscles underneath…

The sound of the oven going off startles you, and you quickly pull back as if it’s a wake-up call for what’s about to happen. “I’ll grab it,” you say.

Alhaitham watches you move away from him to grab the food out of the oven. He doesn't know what possessed him. But, at that moment, all he wanted was to kiss you. If it weren't for the oven going off, he knew he would've…and crossed a line of no return.

You put the food on a coaster and take off the oven mitts. “Mm…it smells delicious,” you say. “Grab some plates!”

Alhaitham does as he’s told as another thought strikes him. Are you just going to ignore what just happened?

You and Alhaitham eat in silence. Well, for the most part. You occasionally chimed in on how great the food is, and he smiled and nodded in return. But something is lingering in the air, and it isn't the delicious scent of your chicken parmesan. You are almost finished with your food when he says, "So, about that dance…."

“Now? You want to dance…now?”

"Why not? It'll help with digestion."

“I, that’s, well—”

Alhaitham stands and gestures for you to pass him your empty plate. “No excuses.”

So, that’s how you find yourself with your right hand entangled with Alhaitham’s left and your left hand on his shoulder. Are people supposed to stand this close to each other in a waltz? You aren’t complaining. You just hope that your face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Relax.” His voice near your ear makes you stiffen. “Just follow my lead.”

He takes a step forward. You take a step back. Eventually, you fall into a steady tempo, but not without stepping on his feet several times. You blush and apologize, but his response is always kind and patient.

“You’re doing well,” he reassures.

You’re looking down at your feet as you say, “Really? You aren’t just saying that?”

“You just need to look at me.”

So, you do, and you see his gaze full of warmth, care, and…love. Or, at least, that's what you think. It's the same look your ex gave you in the early stages of your relationship. And, somehow, you're torn. A mix of happiness and dread swirl dangerously inside you as if battling with each other to dictate your emotions. Then, suddenly, Alhaitham dips you, and you tighten your grip on his hand and shoulder.

“How am I doing?” he asks.

He pulls you back up, and you're closer than before. But, as soon as you look into his eyes, what you do next surprises both of you. You let go of his shoulder, pull him closer by his shirt collar, and kiss him full on the mouth.

Chapter Seven

Tag List: @suoshiii @lordbugs @lxry-chxn @themusingsofmany @thelightofmylife

[pizzaqueen]

One line any fic!

Rules: pick ten of your fics, scroll to somewhere midpoint, pick a line chunk and share it, and then tag ten people.

I was tagged by @glorious-spoon - thank you so much!! I may have gone overboard with my selection sizes lmao

Okay, I’m going to be honest, this has been sitting in my drafts for ages because I wasn’t sure who has ten or more fics so I didn’t know who to tag and then I felt bad for not tagging anyone but I thought if I said ‘anyone can feel free to do it’ then it would look like a cop out but I really do mean it!! So I’m going to post it and I might add tags later, which is maybe weird but oh well

alone again, or

Steve nods, not trusting his voice, and Eddie moves to his shoulders. Occasionally, the calloused pads of his fingers brush Steve’s bare neck and little sparks of electricity prickle beneath his skin. What the fuck is wrong with him?

It’s nothing. They just don’t do this. They touch like any friends do—Steve pushes away the memory of one of Robin’s friends, when they’d gone to stay with her a while back, saying, “You guys touch a lot, you know?” leaving Steve completely fucking baffled—but they don’t give each other shoulder rubs. It’s just the newness of it making Steve feel like this.

Till I Kissed You

Sun beats down on the windshield; sweat beads at Eddie’s hairline, the back of his neck. The air inside the van is stifling, even with the windows down, but it’s not the heat that’s making his head swim.

It’s the look on Steve’s face when Eddie gave him the most transparently bullshit excuse of all time, playing over and over in his head. He just… He panicked. He was convinced Steve wouldn’t want to talk to him at all, and then he had no idea what to say when Steve asked him to hang out. No idea what it meant. Was Steve as into the kiss as Eddie maybe, sort of, almost definitely was? Or does Steve want to pretend like nothing happened?

more than a feeling (that's the power of love)

“So it’s the power of love, huh?”

“Someone should tell Huey Lewis,” Steve says.

“Great, now I’m going to have that song stuck in my head.”

“It’s a good song.”

“It’s really not, Steve. And I don’t want it to be the last song I think about before I die.”

One of the other robed figures says, “Yeah, Huey Lewis sucks.” It sounds like the kid Steve knocked out earlier.

“No one cares about your opinions on popular music, Corey,” the man in front of Steve and Eddie says.

when bad dreams become

They get ready for bed and, not for the first time, Eddie wonders what it would be like to do this with Steve every night. Maybe in their own place, which is a big and scary thought, but as something in the future, it’s…kind of nice, too.

Steve takes the side of the bed by the window and Eddie gets in beside him. They don’t do this often, but it’s not unusual for one of them to crash at the other’s place when they hang out, and when they do they bunk together.

Eddie sometimes wonders if Steve has any idea how he feels when they’re lying side by side and, if he did, if he wouldn’t want to share the bed with him anymore. Or maybe… Maybe he feels the same. It seems unlikely, but sometimes…

bowl me over

“Nah, Ozzy’s got nothing on you,” Eddie says, flapping the bat’s wings in Steve’s face.

Steve smiles, nudging him away with his shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Just telling it like it is, man.”

“Whatever.” Steve rolls his eyes—it’s not like he hates compliments, or never gets them from anyone else, but it’s different when it’s Eddie. “Just eat your lunch.”

Eddie shrugs and reaches across Steve to grab a handful of fries from his plate, shoving them in his mouth.

fix you up

“I had fun tonight.”

“Bar fights how you get your kicks after all?”

“Mm.” Steve rolls his head from side to side. “They’re okay.” He snorts and opens his eyes. Eddie’s looking at him, eyes hazy but fixed firmly on Steve. Steve hits Eddie’s knee with the back of his hand. “I meant seeing your band play.”

“You’ve seen us play before.”

“Does that mean I can’t have fun?”

“No, I just… Didn’t think it was your scene.”

“I don’t think I even know what my scene is.” Steve slumps down, his knee nudging Eddie’s. He lets it rest there. “Sometimes I wish I was more like you.”

turn on your light

“I had a bad dream.” Eddie’s heart is still beating hard. He knows exactly what Steve thought. “Sorry if I spooked you, man.”

“It’s fine.” Steve gives Eddie’s shoulder a squeeze, then lets his hand fall to his lap.

The nightmare recedes, but he can still feel it. So much of it had been real and it’s going to haunt him forever. “I can’t— I thought if we beat him, made him pay, I… It would make it okay.” He looks at Steve. “But it doesn’t, does it?”

Steve shakes his head.

Eddie’s Badass Metal Mixtape (For Steve)

“You know, it was pretty sweet of him to make this.”

“Sweet?”

“Yeah.” At Steve’s incredulous look, Robin adds, “He made you a mixtape of his favorite songs.”

“He just wanted to, you know…” Steve trails off, biting his lip. He shrugs. “Make sure I know who Ozzy Osbourne is.” Which wouldn’t take a whole tape. He clears his throat. “And then filled it up with his other favorite songs.” And, sure, Eddie didn’t have to do that but—

But what?

never can say goodbye

Once again, Eddie watches as Steve walks to his car, pats himself down, and turns around to come back to the trailer. Eddie stays by the door, opening it the moment Steve knocks. “Forget something else?”

“Yeah, I can’t find my wallet. Pretty stupid, huh?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

They go through the whole pretence of looking for the wallet, like they did with the keys. This time, Eddie finds it where Steve had stuffed it down the back of the couch. He holds it out to Steve but, when Steve reaches for it, pulls it back. “Pretty funny you left your wallet and your keys here.”

stumbling in

Steve licks his lips and looks up. The thing is, he’s not even sure why he wants to know so bad. It was just one kiss. And it’s not… He’s not… It’s not like he wants to kiss Eddie again, or anything. And if it wasn’t a joke, and Eddie is gay, then, whatever. That’s fine, isn’t it? Steve’s fine with Robin, so he’d be fine with Eddie, too.

[itookyoudown]

Tim licks his lips and nods his head. Or maybe he’s starting to shake. Boyd doesn’t ponder on it, he just guides the cherry and presses it against Tim’s skin, finds a spot that’s pale and unmarred and ready for Boyd to leave his mark. He squeezes Tim’s hand harder and acts as an anchor while Tim weathers the pain with admirable resilience. Boyd himself is no stranger to pain. He understands its siren call. He watches with a mix of delight and jealousy as Tim falls headfirst into that song, his lips parting with a low grunt and the corners of his eyes stinging with tears.

Tim’s too drunk to control his face. Or swallow his noises.

Boyd twists the cigarette until he hears Tim make a sound that’s more animal than man.

“Oh, baby,” he coos as he sends the crushed cigarette off into the night. Boyd lets go of Tim’s hand and cups the boy’s face with both hands while Tim cradles his burned arm to his chest, breathing and blinking hard. “I love you, Tim, and I know you love me too. Love us both. Love us enough to hurt for it, ain’t that right?”

All that ice in Tim melts.

He’s warm and easy in Boyd’s arms.

Boyd kisses Tim then. Kisses those wet cheeks and his sweaty brow. More kisses over his closed eyes, his nose, and a final one pressed slowly on his forehead. Boyd rises up on his knees while Tim stays slumped on the ground, still trapped between his truck and Boyd’s body. They’re almost at their destination, but they still got a little further to go.

Oh boy oh boy this fic. THIS FIC. Fire Tests Gold.

I didn't struggle to get this fic written, the words actually flowed quite smoothly, but emotionally it was draining to put this one down and I was a bit anxious to send it out into the world. Honestly, I’m even wary about answering this ask lol but I’m not going to let past anon hate keep from playing with the justies and talking about my fics with folks that like my fics.

Here we go.

I should preface this author commentary by talking a bit about my take on Boy Chowder Boyd Crowder. I am simply…not interested in giving Boyd any type of redemption. Not even a little bit of redemption, as a treat. It doesn’t spark anything special in my brain. Boyd told us who he was every moment of the final season, right up until that very ending scene in prison. When people show you who they are, believe them etc etc. So, whenever I write Boyd, I take his choices in canon to heart and let it guide his characterization even when I’m off wandering into canon divergence or wild AU territory.

And to get personal for a moment, writing Boyd PoV always fucks me up a little.

Boyd is a compelling antagonist and an extremely well-written character, his place in Justified’s story is needed and it elevates the show because Goggins is such a stellar actor. But he's not a character I closely relate to on any level. Even if I’m drawn to try and understand him. 

When it comes to fanfiction, he’s purely a character I see from a "let's study him like a bug" perspective. He's not a character that holds up a mirror to show me something about myself. Instead, Boyd reminds me of all the different charming, dangerous men I've met in my life. Both the ones that have hurt me and the ones that I managed to evade by, you know, recognizing that charm for what it was and leaving before it got worse. Or cutting off contact before it could even start.

I often use fanfic, both in reading and writing, to grapple with difficult life events or help me sort through complicated emotions. And when I wrote Fire Tests Gold, I was in a creatively burned out space and haunted by some memories. So, yeah, this fic deals with heavy stuff while being wrapped up in a “boyd/tim with background ot3 in a toxic sadomasochistic tango” packaging, but when you open it up that’s what is going on inside.

Anyways.

I've written very dark fics before: in a pitch black world anything goes (Boyd POV) and last night i felt real arms around me (Quarles). These were approached as character studies focused on taking a peek inside their warped lil minds. The narration style was up-front about being what it was, about watching where that darkness was coming from without letting readers succumb to it. They’re horror stories in a way. Boyd and Quarles were portrayed in clear villain roles and Tim as an obvious victim. There’s no justification or excuse for what they did there, the reader is meant to be chilled by and grossed out and feel righteous in hating them.

…not this one. Not Fire Tests Gold.

Out of all the dark fics I’ve written, this one TO ME, takes the cake.

Tim licks his lips and nods his head. Or maybe he’s starting to shake. Boyd doesn’t ponder on it, he just guides the cherry and presses it against Tim’s skin, finds a spot that’s pale and unmarred and ready for Boyd to leave his mark.

I purposefully let Boyd's bullshit overpower the narrative and allowed him to influence the perception of things as an unreliable narrator. Likewise, I muddled Tim up so he doesn't seem like a hapless innocent in this.

Is the movement of Tim’s head meant to tell us Tim is consenting to what Boyd is about to do? Well…no. Even Boyd owns up to the reality, but this is quickly brushed aside as unimportant because throughout the whole fic Boyd has been compiling a long list of reasons and excuses and marks against Tim so Boyd doesn’t have to feel a crumb of guilt or regret for hurting Tim.

I made a deliberate choice to have Boyd's dialogue and his actions and his thoughts and his desires and his perspective take over everything else. Tim, what he's actually feeling and wanting out of this and trying to do, is locked up and only slips in a few places. What's going on with Tim is left as an implication in his silences and with his passivity. How Tim speaks and the particular way he phrases things is more important than what he actually says.

In fact, Tim doesn’t get any dialogue in this whole passage because it wouldn’t matter what Tim said. Boyd wouldn’t have let himself hear it anyway.

He squeezes Tim’s hand harder and acts as an anchor while Tim weathers the pain with admirable resilience. Boyd himself is no stranger to pain. He understands its siren call. He watches with a mix of delight and jealousy as Tim falls headfirst into that song, his lips parting with a low grunt and the corners of his eyes stinging with tears. 

Boyd’s viewpoint is smothering Tim’s. It even refocuses Tim’s pain so it’s about Boyd instead. I feel like Boyd’s cruelty in this is very…calculated and part of that calculation is Boyd telling himself lies when they get into the thick of things. He tangles up the narrative so this is something they’re doing together rather than something he’s doing to Tim. And he does that by acting like he’s being sympathetic and relating to Tim and even by complimenting Tim in a way.

Boyd has a natural way of seizing the spotlight and taking control, and he goes hog wild with that in the latter half of the fic.

Boyd twists the cigarette until he hears Tim make a sound that’s more animal than man.

This was really to just highlight that Boyd is fully snubbing the cigarette out on Tim. It’s not a light or quick thing. It’s done mean. That’s a burn that’ll scar and that’ll stay and Boyd does so consciously.

Most of the time when I write OT3, I write it with the idea that the polyamory starts out as a V with Raylan being the point of connection between them. That it doesn’t develop into a true triangle until later.

I made that true for this little fic. This is an entirely self-contained OT3 fic. It’s not connected to me and Kerri’s On the Back Porch series or a spin-off of some object of desire. I wanted to dive into something supremely fucked up and didn’t want to get hung-up on any backstory or try to explain why Raylan, Boyd, and Tim are living in Miami. I just in media res’d it hardcore.

Here Boyd carries around a lot of jealousy and anger and possessive, obsessive emotions that are itching for a way to get out and have been simmering for a long, long time. And because of that I do feel like Boyd does revel in this chance to punish Tim. He hurts Tim because Raylan won’t stop loving Tim. He hurts Tim because Boyd is attracted to Tim and Boyd resents that loss of control over himself. 

But he also hurts Tim because…he can.

Their dynamic here is also suggested by the title btw. Boyd is the fire and Tim is the gold (because Tim is Raylan's gold...and Tim will be Boyd's gold too if Tim behaves correctly aka if he lets Boyd have his way).

"Oh, baby,” he coos as he sends the crushed cigarette off into the night. Boyd lets go of Tim’s hand and cups the boy’s face with both hands while Tim cradles his burned arm to his chest, breathing and blinking hard. “I love you, Tim, and I know you love me too. Love us both. Love us enough to hurt for it, ain’t that right?” All that ice in Tim melts. He’s warm and easy in Boyd’s arms.

I wrote this with the idea that this is a desperate defeat rather than any type of healthy submission from Tim. If someone hurts you bad enough, sometimes you’ll want them to comfort you despite them being the source of the pain – and that’s why we don’t see Tim fight back or try to get away from Boyd. And of course the idea of love being used as a justification for awful things.

This is also where Boyd changes his tune. Goes from cruel to "sweet" because Tim behaves the way Boyd wants.

Boyd kisses Tim then. Kisses those wet cheeks and his sweaty brow. More kisses over his closed eyes, his nose, and a final one pressed slowly on his forehead. Boyd rises up on his knees while Tim stays slumped on the ground, still trapped between his truck and Boyd’s body. 

It was important here that I detailed how Boyd is the one doing all the kissing. And that Tim stays passive afterward.

They’re almost at their destination, but they still got a little further to go.

This was a way to indicate that both in the moment and in the long term, Boyd’s not done with Tim. He’s going to hurt Tim again and good lord he’s probably going to get away with it. This isn't the end of anything between them that's where the story cuts off.

I've rambled on about this quite enough I think, so I'll cut myself over here. Thanks for asking about this one!

(author commentary ask game)