#some where a nightmare bc there were so bright spots but the rest so DARK

[mystery-star]

[elius-learns-to-write]

hi! omg i luv ur blog 💘 can i request/suggest (kinda angsty but then fluffy) where r has trouble sleeping and a lot of nightmares/anxiety & mother!nat is there to comfort her? 🥺 like the whole team is super understanding and comforting but especially nat (bc we love mom nat around here!) anyways thanks so much ily bestie!

Hey Bestie! thank you so much for being patient and for supporting my blog! I know this has been in my inbox for so long but still! here it is. Sending my love to you <3 i have just realised that there is not a lot of comfort in here oops.

warning: this does include details of death and blood so keep that in mind if you read this <3

It’s Okay

You had always gotten nervous in public spaces 

Or at night when you couldn’t sleep

Or when you didn’t know all of the details of a plan 

Or when it was 3am and you were too scared to sleep

The point is you always seemed to have 100 thoughts plaguing your mind 

���Y/n sweetie I’m gonna need you to concentrate on my voice okay?” Wanda's voice waded through the watery noise in your head. You knew she was right and that logically there was no reason to be so upset, but you just couldn’t help it. It had all started after the group had decided to not tell you about the meal they had planned at this fancy restaurant that Tony wanted to try and of course this had sent you into a spiral and you were now very very aware of every possible outcome. “Come on kid, you’re alright, breathe slowly” Tony tried, or was it Steve maybe it was Bruce. When you got like this, voices sounded the same and nothing felt real. You couldn’t breathe and that was your main worry.

The team had gotten used to it and always reassured you that it was okay 

They didn’t mind and would always be there

And no matter how much you appreciated all of the support there was 1 person the team always knew to call

Natasha

Crash, thud, bang. The noise coming from outside the room had woken you from the sleep you had allowed your brain to indulge in for once. Whenever you did this though your mind would be over run with the horrors of life and death. 

Peeling the covers off of you, you slowly crept from out of the bed. Where was the rest of the team? Had they woken up? You hadn’t heard anyone else get up but in your hazy state of mind shrugged it off as them just being deep sleepers. Something you would later regret telling yourself. 

As your hand pulled the handle of your room down to open it you heard another noise. Laughter? Hesitating you looked around in the hope of finding a clock but as your eyes frantically moved in an effort of finding one the floor seemed to start to sway beneath your feet. Soon the darkness engulfed you.

For the second time that night your body jolted forward and you gasped for air, the dryness of your mouth hitting you like a punch to the gut. When was the last time you had a drink? Where did the laughter go? Why had you passed out? So many questions and yet it felt like you were trapped in an endless game of hide and go run with a twist, you didn’t know who you were running from and how much time you had before they found you. 

Before you could even begin to think logically again the loud twang of metal hitting the ground sounded from down the hall. Slowly stepping outside the room you had woken up in which you had realised wasn’t your own, you guessed you had been in Steve’s bedroom which was odd given that he wasn’t in there. Maybe he was out helping Bucky with his nightmares? 

Bare feet slapping against the cold marble floor of the tower you tried to navigate your way through the dark to wherever the team had gone. The sounds of machines whirring stopped you, the lights must be getting turned on. Sure enough, bright white light blinded you, spreading through the faster Pietro could run. Blinking away the pain and blind spots from your eyes you were met with big red letters painted on the floor.

 ‘The crowds will come and flood your world, yet you will remain empty and incomplete’ the red bleeding off into a winding path that would probably lead to whoever had wormed their way here. Even with this in mind the words seemed to swim through your mind; you had always felt empty even when your life was full but you never told anyone but Natasha and she would never tell anyone your secrets she had promised. She wasn’t like that. Repeating that phrase like a prayer that would save you, you followed the red wet paint. 

Red can signify many things: energy, passion, lust and the one you should have paid more attention to. Danger. 

Instead of being faced with some psycho who broke in all you were greeted with was the horrifying image of your family dead on the floor. Blood trickled out of anything it could noses, ears, mouths. Eyes open with a stare of pure terror. A scream tore its way though your throat. The familiar metallic substance flooding your senses. 

Knees crashing to the ground as you sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Because when you have nothing, when all you have is gone, what can you do but cry yourself a river and let your soul float away on the memories of simpler times? 

You knew your knees would bruise from the mpact but you didn’t care. You didn’t deserve to go through this painlessly after what they had gone through in their last moments. 

A creak made itself heard above the sound of your cries, head slowly lifting to see what it was, damaging your throat further when you saw the lifeless bodies of the avengers sitting up and staring back at you. Salty tears streaming even quicker as you tried to scramble away. Slipping on nothing. Suddenly the lights shut off again. You didn’t move. You didn’t scream. You didn’t even breathe. 

“Wake up y/n”. What?

It had been Nat that woke you up from the nightmare

Even though the whole team had been aware of what was happening all they could do was watch in horror as your body writhed in fear

After making your way to Nat’s room where you knew you would spend the night

Unable to brave it alone

You finally found it in yourself to talk

“You were all dead” you croaked from the cocoon of blankets the redhead had wrapped you in. sitting down next to you and wrapping her arms around your body, you found yourself desperate for the comfort of her hugs. “We don’t have to talk about it right now, just know that I will never ever abandon you. How could I leave my little sunflower to fend for themselves? You give me a reason to be better and I will never leave you. Nor will anyone on this team for that matter” she spoke softly, as if cooing a terrified animal out of their hiding spot. You had and always will have a family as long as you have Natasha. She would make sure of it. And soon you drifted off into a peaceful slumber to the sound of her sweet hums. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray, you’ll never know dear, how much I love you. So please don’t take my sunshine away”.

[mego42]

fav lines tag

RULES: share your favorite sentence/paragraph from each one of your fics and tag 6 other fic writers to do it too :)

tagged by the talented brilliant incredible @foxmagpie (💖)

tagging: @pynkhues @hypermania @bethsuglywigs @riosnecktattoo @missmaxime @sothischickshe @joeyjoeylee

some ground rules: I’m only doing brio fic bc at some point when I wasn’t paying attention I wrote a metric fuckton of it and we’re already gonna be here all day bc my other ground rule is I’m allowed to interpret the concept of a line however i want. i’m also gonna tell you why i picked them bc no one can stop me. cool? cool. good talk. 

your monster looks like mine

okay so my first choice for fav would be the entire ~conversation around whether or not beth had a choice when she set rio up bc oooof I just love how that came out so! much! BUT if I’m limiting myself to something closer to a line, I’m going with this one. i love what it establishes for rio’s emotional state when it comes to beth, i love how it captures their push/pull constant one upping battle, I love the rhythm of the flow of it and the grandiose verbiage (i was having a frankly unreasonable amount of fun with natural phenomena imagery throughout the whole fic and this captures a bit of it). idk I just think it’s neat.

The words rip through him, a bright, blazing comet trail whipped across his sky, illuminatin’ his landscape, impossible to ignore.

Elizabeth’s spread out on the bed below him, golden hair tumblin’ around her face, mouth red and swollen, lookin’ up at him like she’s got him. Like she’s figured some shit out. Like she fuckin’ did something by putting that together.

Like Rio doesn’t fuckin’ know. Like that doesn’t fuckin’ haunt him, torment him, mock him every time she pulls some of her bullshit and he’s left picking up the pieces, knowin’ damn well what the right answer is but also knowin’ he’s always gonna be wrong when it comes to her.

--

a song inside the halls of the dark

another one where I’d pick a whole scene if I could BUT if  the whole opening flashback isn’t on the table (idk I love it for 14,000 reasons including how it sets up the bookend structure for the chapter, how it sets up a bunch of the final payoffs, the tone of it, idk everything about it came out exactly how I wanted it to and I really love how it tees up the ending), then I’m going with this bit from the final brio scene. it ties back in a whole bunch of threads that have been woven in and out all the way back to the first chapter and closes them out in a way that also feels (to me) like a beginning which I love bc the whole theme of the chapter is it’s a beginning, not the end.

What does it mean then, that he’s slept so soundly beside her?

The playhouse glows softly. She wonders how many more times she can get away with sanding it before it weakens past the point of supporting the kids’ weight and the whole thing collapses.

Behind it, she can see the long shadow it casts reaching for the boxwoods bordering the yard. The lines of the structure frame windows of bright moonlight on the grass, eerily reminiscent of the windows that loomed large in the nightmares Beth abruptly realizes she hasn’t had in weeks. Not since that last night at Rio’s loft. And that’d been the last one since...his car. Canada. The night all of this started.

Beth blinks. What does it mean that she’s slept so soundly beside him?

A-live, alive, alive, I—

Her breath catches.

—

pills’n’potions

I don’t have any grand reasoning for why I picked this bit from the 4th (i think?) ~ch as my fav, I just really like writing annie and rio interacting and I especially love writing them with annie like, intellectually aware that she should probably be afraid of him but also spiritually incapable of not being herself and rio being wildly annoyed by it

"What?" He asks, giving the t an edge sharp enough to cut.

There's a pause. "What like you didn't hear me, or what like what do I want?"

[...]

"Hello?"

Now the sister sounds like she's getting annoyed, and Rio's really gotta do somethin' about the two of them runnin' 'round actin' like he's someone they can get away with not takin' seriously. Like he's some sort of pet. Defanged. Declawed. Fuckin' neutered.

"Get to the point."

"I mean, I kind of did in the message."

—

trade my heart for honey

the only thing sexier than rio being good at pool is beth being a fucking shark and rio being out of control turned on by it.

Dropping all pretense at being less than she is, Beth grabs the cue ball, positioning it slightly to the left of center where the felt is slightly more worn. Even without the tell, she's seen Rio put it there enough times to know it's the table's sweet spot. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rio shift his weight before she tunes him out entirely, drawing the stick back and letting it fly.

It's as close to a perfect break as she's probably ever managed. The cue ball connects dead on, scattering the rest far and wide. The one and the six drop neatly into pockets, the four and five coming to a stop right on the edge of the left side and far left corner, nearly closing off that whole side of the table.

Every stripe remains in play.

"Solids," she says, not letting herself dwell on the way Rio's mouth hangs slightly open, his eyes glazed over.

—

swaying evergreens

the whole theme of this fic is the terrifying intimacy and vulnerability of sharing your most precious moments and memories with someone you care about and I like how this touches on that along with sort of nutshelling the double edged sword of grief-tinted memory which is another major theme

There's somethin' extra about these unguarded moments. That Elizabeth trusts Rio enough to drop her guard completely and give him this completely unvarnished look at her. It's been over a year since he's been back in her bed, since the first time he'd slept here, but there's still somethin' tentative about it. Like there's a part of him that's never going to be all the way over the first time he'd been here, that can't fully believe how far they've come, that this isn't going to crumble, melt, drain away.

Truthfully, Rio doesn't mind it, that faint edge. He's well acquainted with the different flavors of loss, and the threat of it's a counterpoint that keeps him sharp. Lets him know this is real but not somethin' he'll take for granted.

—

swear on a silver knife

there were a couple of sexy tension bits that made for strong contenders but ultimately this won bc I’m obsessed with how this reference to 306 came out.

“I told you. I got my own debts to pay.” He bit off the words like it cost him something to repeat them.

Beth shivered, abruptly right back at that picnic table, cheeks wet and staring at him, searching for any hint of the man she’d—she’d—anyone besides the cold, unfeeling stranger sitting beside her, blood so fresh on his hands she could nearly smell it underneath the scent of the cold, misty night rain falling around them, blurring her eyes, beading in her hair and on his eyelashes.

—

listening through the air shaft

this was a really hard one to narrow down but I ultimately went with this but bc I love it for a culminating look at how beth and rio’s relationship has evolved throughout the fic and also bc a version of this scene was the first thing I wrote for the whole fic so it was fun to finally get there with everything in place behind it. I also just love it as a reference for the dichotomy of both beth and rio and also how complicated that is makes being around them for everyone else

They aren't even doing anything, just quietly working side by side, but there's a synchronicity to their movements, a quiet peace that makes Dean feel more like an intruder than anything else that's happened today, and he hates it.

It’s so far from the guy that’d broken into his home, beaten him up. Who’d looked at him with those terrifying, blank, shark eyes before casually shooting him in the chest like it was nothing right where they’re about to sit down and share a meal.

A guy, Dean suddenly realizes, he hasn’t seen any hint of in a long, long time. It’s not that he doesn’t think that part of him isn’t there, it’s just...it’s weird, is all, how completely he puts it away.

It reminds Dean of Beth, actually, now that he’s thinking about it.

God. They look so...so domestic. Sweet. Disarming in a way that completely undermines everything Dean thought he'd known about the guy and their whole...thing.  

He just—he doesn't get it, what Beth sees in him.

—

now use both hands

idk I just like this bit let me live

"What are you—what service?"

He makes himself take the route through the showroom that brings him right past her, leaning in and softly brushing a lock of hair out of her face for the first time in longer than he can remember.

Her eyes flutter shut, and he feels absolutely nothing.

"Helping sad, lonely housewives get off once their husbands are done with them."

Her eyes snap open, and he makes himself look at her long enough to watch the hit land and the hurt bloom.

He's empty, untouchable, she's nothing to him.

Rio doesn't look back.

—

I'd give her a HA! And a HI-YA!

you can take my made up backstory for rio and mick from me when you pry it from my cold dead hands.

Mick had been there the first time Rio'd had to get his hands all the way dirty and had kept an eye on him when he'd gotten blackout drunk after, and Rio'd done the same for him. Every bloody, grimy step Rio'd climbed, Mick had been right there with him, watching his back all the way to the top.

The point is Rio's Mick's brother in every way that counts.

Mick'd seen him twisted up over business and twisted up over personal shit, but he's never seen him let both get twisted up like he had since that fuckin' weasel Boomer'd got his ass handed to him and Rio'd gotten curious about it.

—

as the world turns, the blunt burns

I pull this every time I have to pick a fav and I can’t even really explain it aside from I think I’m really, really funny and that’s enough

Beth suddenly sobers as much as she can when she feels like she's simultaneously floating away and sinking into the Earth and wipes her eyes. "Are you gonna get in trouble?"

"You're in the house, ain't you?" He's answering Beth but looking at Rio.

"Mick," Beth frantically tugs at his pant leg because apparently, he doesn't have all of the information. "We're in the yard."

"Yeah, Mick," Rio says, glaring. "You're in the yard."

Mick shrugs, and Beth realizes he isn't scared of Rio at all. That's a neat trick. How does he do that? Maybe he can teach her.

—

smoke, fire, it’s all going up

there are realistically many other better lines in this fic but this one never fails to make me laugh so it remains my fav.

"You- you-" She sputters at him, flailing around a little. "You were the one that started mailing me pieces of a dead body."

"You blocked my number." Rio snarls, which is not what he'd meant to say, and he hates that she trips him up.

"That is not a proportionate response!"

—

got a kiss (with your name on it)

it was this or the text exchange at the beginning of the fic bc I strongly believe established relationship brio would continually roast each other for their past dumbassery but the elizabeth kink won out

"Come here," Rio's voice is thick but insistent in a way that brings every cell of Beth's body to attention. She hooks her thumb over her bottom teeth and drags her lower lip a little, a gesture full of who me mock innocence, waiting for him to say-

"Elizabeth." There it is.

There's an endless amount of things that Beth finds ferociously, irresistibly sexy about Rio, but when he says her full name in that commanding tone? Even if she's pissed the fuck off and has no intention of doing what he wants, it gives her goosebumps.

—

say it’s all in my head (i remember what you said)

I will be real with y’all, I forget I wrote this fic a lot of the time hahahaha but! that means every time I’m reminded I go back and am like oh yeah! I like this! anyway there isn’t like, one specific but I really love most as much as I really like the tentative breathless nervousness and then also overwhelming so muchness and I like how this but captures both of those

For a single, breathless moment, she stands in the middle of the room, alone and terrified.

Then Rio wets his lips and comes towards her, moving with that languid grace she's never been able to look away from even before she had any idea why that could be.

All of the fear collapses like a dying star, sending a supernova of relief and molten heat zinging through her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her head swims, and every cell in her body feels like it's leaning towards him- like she's made of magnets on a molecular level and he's the lodestone.

He gently pushes her bangs off of her forehead, slowly running his fingertip down the side of her face, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He tilts his head towards hers and stops, going no further than halfway, leaving it up to her to close the distance.

She lets her eyes fall shut as she leans into him and tentatively touches her mouth to his for the first time.

—

the world is on fire (and no one can save me) / what a wicked game you played (to make me feel this way)

two for one!!! idk if either of these is my number one favorite line from either fic individually but I really like how they both play together. I like writing beth and rio pov and having them mirror each other’s narration both in thought and structure a lot bc I like thinking of them as two versions of the same

Beth checks her phone, nothing from Rhea, and sends a quick I'm here, text me when you're close, and I'll grab a table before wetting a paper towel and wiping away the last of her smeared mascara. With precise, brisk movements, she snaps open her bag and fishes out her compact, her lipstick, and her mascara; lining them up click, click, click on the tiny shelf below the mirror.

She can live with this; she has to live like this; she will live like this.

She flips open the compact and methodically dabs away the flush and pallor and shadows that are not grief, are not loss, are not anything other than shock and horror that she'd gone so far, that she'd lost control, that she'd killed a man (that man).

and

So what the fuck had he been doin' with Elizabeth fuckin' Boland, giving her chance after chance to cross the line? What the fuck was the point of a line if it might as well not be there at all? All because he liked her big blue eyes and the way she worked a tight sweater? Nah, that ain't him. That can't be him. That's the kind of shit that'll get you killed, and he's got three spent bullets in his pocket and a scar next to his heart if he ever needs the reminder again. 

He shifts in the driver's seat, reaching into his pocket and fishing the bullets out. Lining them up on the dashboard with a definitive click, click, click. He looks past them to the brightly lit valet station. He's been parked in the back of the lot for ten minutes now, waiting for Rhea to give him the go sign. He ain't hiding, doesn't need to, Elizabeth ain't lookin' for him, he just wants to make sure he sees her before she sees him. Get a good look first, so he can size up the situation.

[theanimesideblog]

Nishinoya x Kiyoko’s Adopted Brother!Reader: Realization TW: internalized homophobia if you squint, mean noya Summary: Nishinoya despises you for being so perfect, and you want to know why he hates you. The truth comes out, albeit not the truth that Nishinoya wanted A/N: the adopted part isn’t central to the story but i didn't want anyone to feel like they couldn’t read it bc they don’t look like kiyoko. and uhhh i’m not super proud of this BUT NOYA IS DEFINITELY LIKE GAY OR SMTH THAT MAN ISNT STRAIGHT my gay ass refuses to believe he’s straight

“Goodnight, guys.” You said, waving enthusiastically as you and Kiyoko walked off toward your home. The team bids the two of you goodbye before going their separate ways.

Noya and Tanka were walking together, making idle chat before they would eventually go split up. The streetlight bounced off their tired forms as they grew closer to their destination.

“I’m kinda glad our practices are taking up more time this year. It’s nice to see (Y/N) after school. Lunch is never enough time around that dude.” Tanka said, out of the blue while the two of them talked about your sister. Noya blushed, thankful for the low streetlight.

“Yeah.” Noya mumbled.

“He’s hilarious too! I mean, it’s almost mean how much (Y/N) teases Hinata. Luckily Hinata’s got great spirit and is too gullable to take things seriously.” Tanka said.

“Uh huh.”

“You good man? Why are you sluggish?” Tanka asked. Noya shook his head and rubbed his face.

“I’m just... tired. All that studying for exams is killing me.” Noya lied. Tanka smiled and hit Noya on the back.

“Don’t I know it. Get some rest tonight. Can’t have our guardian sleeping on the job.” Tanka said. Noya smiled.

“In your dreams.” Noya said. Tanka shivered.

“More like my nightmares, ugh.” Tanka said.

Despite Tanka’s pleas for sleep, Noya found himself wide awake as the moon slowly made her way across the sky. His mind kept drifting back to you or, more accurately, the way you made him feel.

Noya hated you. He hated your damn smile, your infectious laughter, your humorous jokes, your kindness. Hell, Noya could probably write a textbook on all your faults.

If he had to pick one thing he hated the most about you, it would be your arrogance. You must have gotten love confessions from every girl in the school, minus your sister. Yet, you turned them all down. If Noya were in your shoes, he would never break all those hearts like that.

It irked Noya. No one ever loved him like that, but everyone loved you. Everyone wanted to eat lunch with you, go on dates, or just be your friend. Sometimes, Noya felt like Tanka liked you better than he liked Noya.

Even Noya found himself getting lost in your eyes a couple of times. You were enchanting, and Noya hated that about you.

-*-

You were sitting against the wall, doing homework as you waited for Kiyoko to finish up volleyball practice. Your club always finished before hers, and you refused to let her walk home alone in the dark. On more busy practices, you would help the team. Today was more relaxed, though, in order to let the boys recover a bit from yesterday.

There was one last question in your English packet to answer. You started to write the answer, when you heard Dachi yell, “(Y/N)!! LOOK OUT!!”

You quickly slid against the wall and onto the floor before registering where the ball was. It bounced right above your head and ricocheted onto your stomach. You let out a small groan, thankful that most of the ball’s power and speed hit the wall instead of your head. Kiyoko was already at your side.

“Are you okay?” She asked, looking you over for any bruises. Other than your neck hurting from sliding down at such a weird angle, you were fine. You sat back up.

“Yeah, thanks to Dachi.” You said. You sent a smile to the captain, who was scolding Noya for being so reckless. You frowned and handed the ball to Kiyoko.

“Ah, maybe I should move somewhere else?” You said. “Perhaps even sitting outside until I finish my work.” Kiyoko gave you a gentle smile.

“Only if you want too.” She said. “Practice is almost over, anyway.” You shrugged, deciding to stay in your spot.

The rest of practice went accident free. You helped the boys clean up the gym, eager to get home. Hopefully, a warm shower would ease the pain in your neck. If not, ice should do the trick.

But Kiyoko had to stay and talk some things over with the Coach while the boys went to get changed. You opted to lean against the wall and scroll through your phone as the two conversed outside of the gym.

“Yeah, I noticed that too. I think if it was a real game-” Coach Ukai started, but was cut off by the gym door opening. The janitor was there with a jacket in his hand.

“I’m assuming this is one of your boys’?” He said. Kiyoko took it from him, showing the coach the volleyball club detailing on the back.

“It is. Sorry about that. Won’t happen again.” Coach Ukai said. The janitor nodded and went back into the gym. Kiyoko turned to you.

“I think someone is still in the clubroom. Would you mind seeing who is still here? I would go, but I’m not allowed in the boys’ club room.” Kiyoko said. You took it from her and nodded.

You checked the tag of the jacket, hoping to see a name. You found none, but you noticed it was a small size. That meant that it was either Hinata’s or Nishinoya’s. You hoped it was the former, since Hinata actually liked you.

You knew Nishinoya didn’t like you, but you weren’t sure why. He didn’t hide his emotions as well as he might have thought he did. You caught the sneers and the frowns. You wondered if he didn’t like you since you told him and Tanaka off one day after they flirted with Kiyoko. But Tanaka liked you.

It didn’t bother you that Nishinoya didn’t like you. You knew you couldn’t please everyone, but it was uncomfortable to be around him. Which sucked, since you two shared a lot of friends. What really hurt was how he was with others.

Nishinoya seemed like the most genuine person you knew. He always spoke up about what was on his mind and make sure everyone knew it. It was an attractive quality of his, yet he never offered it to you. His double nature made distrust him, unsure why he was so cold around you.

You opened the door to the clubroom and, to your dismay, Nishinoya was looking around for his jacket. His head whipped to see who entered, a bright smile plastered on his face. It dropped when he saw you.

The heavy door shut behind you, which felt suffocating. You almost got hit by Nishinoya today and he hadn’t apologized or even attempted to smooth things over. That was probably the worst part; he hadn’t shown you the decency to at least make some sort of effort. At least he didn’t blame you, or you hoped he didn’t to be more accurate.

“I think this is yours. You left it in the gym.” You said, holding out the jacket. Nishinoya snatched it from your hands. He slipped it on and turned to his bag. You frowned and crossed your arms.

“‘Thanks, (Y/N).’ No problem, Nishinoya. By the way, Coach might say something to you. ‘Thanks for the heads up, (Y/N).’ You’re welcome, Nishinoya.” You said aloud. Nishinoya turned back and gave you a pointed stare. “You’ve been rude to me all day! Don’t give me that look.”

“Me? What the hell did I do?” Nishinoya asked, his voice raising.

“First of all, you practically ignored all day, again, in school and practice. Then, you almost hit me with a volleyball, which I get it was an accident, but you didn’t apologize or make an effort. And now you’re ignoring me again after I came up here to give you your jacket. I have no idea what your issue is with me, but if you keep this up, I’ll give you a reason to hate me.” You said. Nishinoya turned away with a huff.

“I don’t hate you, alright?” He said, standing up. “Now, could you move? I’m trying to leave.” You leaned against the door, blocking his way out. He frowned and mirrored you by crossing his arms.

“What’s your deal with me, anyway?” You asked. “I’m not moving until you tell me.”

“I don’t have a problem with you! Can you please just move?” He asked. That was probably the first time he had said please to you.

You crossed your legs in response as if you were getting comfortable in your spot. Nishinoya gripped your arm and tried to push you. His strength caught you off guard, causing you to grab his arm to catch yourself from falling. The awkward angle and tangled limbs somehow found Nishinoya’s back against the door while your arms boxed him in, your faces inches apart.

Nishinoya’s breathing got shallow as his cheeks started to dust with pink. Butterflies swarmed in his stomach, and all he wanted to do was punch the breathless look on your face. Thoughts of violence vanished when his eyes caught sight of your lips for a second.

You, however, didn’t feel any of this energy. You felt angry and upset. This close, however, you were able to catch his gaze on your lips. It was brief, but you saw it. Instantly, the lights when on in your head.

“I know why you’re always so rude to me.” Your voice hushed, causing shivers to run up Nishinoya’s back. He had been so rude for so long that you were getting a kick out of his eager expression. For once, it felt good to be on the other side. “You like me.”

Nishinoya’s hands went up to your shoulders. He gave you a harsh shove that sent you to the floor. You weren’t quick enough to catch yourself, landing on your back. You hissed in pain as your back came in contact with the hard floor, some of the air leaving your lungs.

Nishinoya’s eyes widened while his hands shook. “I’m not gay!” He shouted, before opening the door and running away quickly.

You groaned, sitting up. You lightly slapped your head. “Fuck, I really messed that up.”

~*~

For the rest of the week, Nishinoya refused to meet your eyes and would make an excuse anytime you were near. You felt a twinge of guilt every time he left or refused to meet your eyes.

Maybe you had gotten it wrong, but the way he looked at you in that moment, the way his eyes dared to linger, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly made you sure he was gay and he liked you. You had definitely come on too strong, though. You were embarrassed and eager to make amends.

You were coming up with an apologize when the bell ring, signaling that class was over. You were slow to move, exhausted after staying late with the team. You spotted Nishinoya’s own sluggish movements as he slowly gathered his things.

You looked around the classroom, noticing it was empty. It was now or never.

You walked over and stood in front of Nishinoya’s desk. He refused to look up at you, making your stomach twist in anxiety. You bent down.

“Nishinoya, I’m really sorry. I crossed a boundary I shouldn’t have and I... I just got really excited to know there was another gay person in my friend group, ya know? Anyway, I totally deserve the cold shoulder. You don’t even have to forgive me, but I want you to know that I’m sorry and I’m aware I crossed a line.” You said, pausing to see if he would respond. Instead, he stayed perfectly still. You felt your heart twist. You stood up and started to walk towards the door when he spoke up.

“I’m sorry. I treat you like shit and you’ve never once gotten angry. You’ve always been kind and understanding. I also hurt you, which was uncalled for.” You turned to face him and smiled. He was bent over, like you were before.

“I guess we’re both dicks, huh?” You said. Nishinoya smiled despite himself. He looked up at you, smiling at one of your jokes for the first time.

“I guess so... but I have to tell you something.” Nishinoya stood up and took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about what you said and... you’re right. I hate that you’re right, but you’re right. I’m... gay. I mean, it was so obvious I didn’t want to believe it. When you said it, I got so angry because I knew it was true. I was also upset that you noticed. I didn’t want anyone to know, but here I am telling you, who’s basically a stranger. I mean, I never learned anything about you and here I am, coming out to you.”

“I’m proud of you. If you have any questions, I’d be happy to answer them. I understand where you’re coming from. If Kiyoko didn’t help me through it, I think I would’ve reacted the same way.” You said. Nishinoya blinked in shock.

“Oh...! Wait, is she-“

“You didn’t notice that she’s a lesbian?” You asked, eyes wide. Nishinoya seems to shrink away. You burst out into laughter.

“It’s not funny!”

“It’s soooo funny! You acted like you had the biggest crush on her, yet you didn’t know she was gay! Ohmygosh!” You said in between laughter. Despite himself, Nishinoya laughed with you.

Once you composed yourself, you nodded to the door.

“Hey, you’re gonna be late to practice if you don’t hurry up, ya know?” You said. Nishinoya felt a small blush cross his cheeks.

“Yeah. Um, there’s just one thing. I’m really sorry for how I treated you. I never made an effort to try to be nice to you so... would you let me make it up to you?” Nishinoya said. You tilted your head.

“You don’t have to. I totally understand-“

“I want to take you out on a date!” He blurts out. You smile.

“Yeah?” He nods. “Alright then. What were you thinking?” He opens and closes his mouth.

“I didn’t think I’d get that far.” You let out a small laugh.

“It’s okay. Why don’t we start small and get a bite to eat after practice?” You ask.

“What about Kiyoko? You always take her home.” Noya says. You nod.

“It’s okay. She and Yachi are going to the bus stop together.” He smiles at you.

“Okay. Okay then! It’s a date.”

[apprenticenerd]

"Anyone can send me an ask with one of the titles and I’ll post a snippet or talk about that WIP!" The Acropolis, Tacet, Checklist, A Tiny Galaxy, Hearsay, Going Back, Ella Disenchanted, Making Peace, The Slashed Circle, Wake Up, Tenno, Midnight, Heliotropism, Arrhythmia, the one about Among Us, the one about Library of Ruina, the one that’s a D&D world concept. Yes, all of them. I know you wanna talk about all of them. So go, go forth and do it!

Hoooo boy, this is gonna be a long post. Lots and lots of writing snippets under the cut to avoid dash stretch!

The Acropolis - original - length uncertain - 1.4k and counting

im not ready for this im not i thought it would be yrs i thought id at least get an english degree first

omg sal whats goin on

fuckin hell whyd it have to be now i have a chem lab tomorrow

sally-tate macpherson. u never swear. ever. wtf is goin on.

ok. jess. i need u to listen really really carefully. understand?

answer the goddamn question ur scarin me

shut up and listen and this will go a lot better

fine but u need to tell me wtf is happnenig

ok. im going to tell you a bunch of stuff. not giving u advice, thats not allowed, but im gonna tell u stuff it seems like itd be impossible for me to know.

?????????????

i said shut up this is really important dont question how i know it. just go with it and figure out what to do. and dont die. bc no matter how crazy stuff seems, if u die, ur dead. here and everywhere. ok?

This is an original story coming straight from a @/writing-prompt-s prompt about a crack in a kid’s hardwood floor that they fantasized was a portal actually being one. I originally intended to write the entire thing like this, as a conversation over text, but that may not be feasible given a certain world-building detail at the other end of the portal (and the limits of my creativity lmao).

---

Tacet - The Blackout Club - one-shot - 3.2k and counting

She closed her eyes again, and there it was. Hallucination? Some new science trick with electromagnetic radiation off the visible spectrum? Evidence that she was actually going insane? Whatever it was, it burned behind her eyelids in bright, incontrovertible red - and was completely invisible when she opened her eyes again. There was just the usual mess of club posters and one big one about someone’s exceedingly dumb-looking lost cat.

Eyes open, there was only Sargent Snuggles. Eyes closed, there was the normal darkness and then three lines of text where the poster had been, wavering like scarlet fire:

JOIN TBC JOIN TBC JOIN TBC

TBC? What the fuck was that? She’d never heard of any group with that acronym before. Hardly aware of the flurry of weird looks from half the other people in the hallway, she crossed the hall to examine the lost cat poster more closely. It felt like perfectly normal paper when she touched it, and there wasn’t even a hint of red with her eyes open, unless you counted the cat’s tacky pink sweater. How the hell was this even possible?

“You’re finally cracking, Bri,” she groaned under her breath, then headed for her locker. She did have to get home. Add another big fat entry to the weird shit list.

A backstory one-shot for my Blackout Club OC Briar, telling the story of how she got into the club in the first place. I’ve been stuck in the same spot for a while now, after Briar’s friend Dani explains the club to her, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the scene’s over as is. Of course, writing the next one is the tough part.

---

Checklist - The Blackout Club - one-shot - 1.7k and counting

8. You still have a headache. Shouldn’t you go back to sleep and try to do this in the morning?

9. (wake up)

10. Nah, you’ve always been a night owl, and school starts criminally early, too early to get much done beforehand. It’s quiet, except for Dad snoring. Your parents are asleep already. You can stay up until this is done, and they’ll be none the wiser.

11. Your head hurts worse. It’s getting harder to think. At only 9 pm? 9:30? Whatever. You should sleep.

12. (wake UP)

13. What are you thinking? You have to read at least a little of this chapter, or there’s no way you’ll be able to bullshit your way through class tomorrow. Besides, all of a sudden, the silence feels...strange. Heavier? You can’t describe it.

14. You need to sleep. You need a drink of water or something. You need to finish this damn homework. You need to sleep. You need to sleep.

15. Stare at The Great Gatsby. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense.

16. Realize what’s up with the silence. Dad’s not snoring anymore. You aren’t feeling like yourself. You need to sleep.

17. Something’s weird.

18. (WAKE UP) 

19. ...No. Something’s wrong.

Another Blackout Club story and another Interface Screw, as it were, this time in the form of a (very long) checklist. None of the characters have names (yet). It describes another way a kid could find themself running around at night with the Blackout Club, this time by fighting off the Song just enough to run into a club member who could wake them up the rest of the way. As with Tacet, I still need to write the suspenseful part.

---

A Tiny Galaxy - Warframe - 4 chapters planned, 1 complete, 1 in progress - 7.8k and counting

Try it if you don’t believe me, the kid in the vent had said.

It was impossible. It was physically impossible. All of this was impossible. Had the Void...? Could the Void...?

The ship was at a standstill. Her mother had tried to kill her, and something had happened. She’d made something happen. There had been no holoprojector in that kid’s hand. Nothing was impossible anymore.

Jhia took a deep breath. How the heck was she supposed to do this? Was she supposed to feel something, some internal guide? Blue Hair hadn’t said. Feeling incredibly stupid, she did a quick mental checkup on herself. Nothing felt wrong, or different - but now that she thought about it…

Afterward, she would try many times to explain it, and fail every time. The best she could come up with was that once she found the Void, calling on it was as easy and as natural as breathing. She opened her hands in front of her, concentrated on that force like an extension of herself, reopened her eyes, and there it was: a riotous little ball of energy, wisps and motes of light and not-quite-light like a tiny galaxy, the Tau system in the palm of her hand, raging.

More OC backstory time! This one’s for my Tenno, a nerdy fourteen-year-old (at the time of this story, anyway) by the name of Jhia, going through the hell that is the Zariman Ten-Zero and what happened on it. This is possibly the first part of the story I actually wrote: the roll-credits moment when Jhia realizes the Void’s changed her more already than she thought.

---

Hearsay - Lobotomy Corporation/Library of Ruina - one-shot - 1k and counting

"Oh? Did they investigate further?"

"They tried. Found a few fingerprints, but they didn't match anyone in the database."

"What's the update, then?"

"Reports from elsewhere in the district of someone not in uniform carrying a Zwei sword. They're slippery, good at avoiding us, which would suggest Syndicate operative to me and HQ. Except that in every one of the descriptions we managed to get, our sword thief is a child."

"What? How?!"

"You tell me, Iona. You're the one who went to the crime scene."

"Right... Jeez, if it's a kid, I guess that'd explain why Petrov thought they weren't a threat..."

"My thoughts exactly. HQ has a fair amount of hearsay to go on, but nobody can quite agree on how old the child is, or whether or not she's with a Syndicate. Most agree that she appears to be a girl, tall for a child, auburn hair, clothes and demeanor typical of a Backstreets native."

"We got a name?"

"They've heard Yeri, Kali, Redbird, Suma, Aelfin... No one knows which is her real one, or if it's even any of them at all."

"Damn. ...Say, are you going to drink that entire pot of coffee?"

"Help yourself."

This is one of those stories that turned into an accidental AU when more of canon came out. The idea behind it is that it’s Kali’s backstory told entirely in conversations in which she did not participate, showcasing the fact that a Fixer’s fame is their livelihood and Kali was about as famous as they come, before the whole L Corp thing happened. Of course, the vast majority of the headcanons here got invalidated with a certain Ruina update, so my motivation’s kinda down on this one.

---

Going Back has already been talked about here!

---

Ella Disenchanted - The Blackout Club - one-shot (maybe two-shot??) - 1.4k and counting

She woke. Her stomach went through a series of panicked flip-flops as she thought something strange had done it, Dad or a little-kid-nightmares shadow beast had made noise, but no - why had she fallen asleep in the first place? Her butt and shoulder were sore where they’d been leaning on the bottom and side of the windowsill, presumably all night, since the sun was full up over the trees on Old Growth Hill. 

All night. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t fall asleep, but she did anyway. God dammit.

As she unfolded herself from her cramped ball, though, she froze. Under the comforter she’d pulled around her shoulders for warmth, she was wearing her gray jacket, a T-shirt, jeans, sneakers getting dried mud all over the carpet. 

Last she remembered, she’d been in her pajamas.

In which a Blackout Club kid’s little sister wonders where he’s gone when he runs away to the boxcar, and tries to get to the bottom of the mystery herself. Usually she’d be too young for the club to recruit, but her investigations and an incident involving SAO are more than enough extenuating circumstance. Unlike most of my other WIPs, there’s a whole outline at the end of my doc for this one.

---

Making Peace - Warframe - multi-chapter - 1.5k and counting

“I…” Iksoh finally said. “Sorna, I hope you realize. I’m not into this. I never - I’m not doing this. Whatever you’re doing, I can’t.”

“I know,” Sorna said softly. The decision tore at her heart again and she almost backed out of the vent, but no. She had to go. She wouldn’t see another innocent crumple in her rifle sights. “I hope you realize. I’m not coming back.”

Behind her, Iksoh let out a long, shaky breath. “It’s taking all I’ve got not to report you right now. Sorna… the Queens’ll have my head for this. Please, please, let it be worth it. Go. Don’t let them take yours.”

“I won’t,” Sorna promised, and meant it.

Later, after her last fight for her freedom was done, on the Steel Meridian ship headed for Kronia Relay, Sorna looked out at the planet retreating behind her and thought of Iksoh. She’d just learned a new word from a Meridian soldier: vaykor tal, the defector’s spirit. Iksoh had let her go, at risk of their own life. They’d had a bit of the vaykor tal themself, even if they hadn’t known it, even if they’d thought it was just some weakness that was bound to get them killed.

“Ranre treri, duf krun,” she whispered into space, a Grineer well-wishing passed down from sergeant to tube-fresh lancer since time immemorial. May your hands be steady, and may life be kind.

This is an AU born of me and some friends wondering why in the heck Perrin and the Meridian hate each other so much in game. It’s about a group of Kavor - Grineer defectors distinguished from other Meridian members by their pacifism - who get to a Relay and start wondering the same thing. Besides Sorna (and, later in the story, Iksoh as well), there would have been Chakh, Beket, and Sydon, plus at least four of the syndicate leaders and a bunch of side-character OCs, all caught up somehow in what turns out to be a surprisingly far-reaching web of intrigue.

--

The Slashed Circle - Warframe - one-shot, probably - 429 and counting

In addition to their written and spoken language, the Grineer have a full language of hand signs. It has its quirks, as all languages do - be careful of confusing it with the Corpus sign language, in which the sign for “to pay” roughly approximates the Grineer sign for...a certain portion of the male anatomy. Among these is the common Grineer sentiment against those who defect from their ranks, baked into the sign just as much as their spoken words. 

The sign of the slashed circle, the sedashkur - a finger drawn in a circle on the chest, followed by a diagonal line - is the highest of taboos to any loyal Grineer. It shows support for such scum as the Kavor and Steel Meridian, enough so that it forms the basis for the Meridian’s battle standard. To sign the sedashkur is to betray your siblings, commit a grave insult to your superiors, paint a near-indelible target on your back. It is an object of hatred and fear throughout the ranks.

She fears it, yes, but she does not hate it, for all her life and into her death as well. It shouldn’t trouble her now, though. It is easy to hide a language, and she burned her journals before she was called to the fortress.

This is a fic about Jhia and her one (1) converted Kuva Lich, namely about the process of said Lich’s defeat and defection, that kinda never got off the ground. Contrary to this snippet, I think most of it would have been written in what are essentially space emails back and forth between Lich and Tenno? I definitely got as far as Jhia sending an audio recording of a bass-boosted dog fart, anyhow.

---

Wake Up, Tenno - Warframe - one-shot - 950 and counting

“Wake up, Tenno.”

She wakes. She is - she is Tenno, right? She is a Tenno? Her mind is confused, so full of fog and dead ends - how long was she asleep?

The voice that woke her seems familiar. She might have loved the speaker, in her scrambled past life, the woman in the purple helmet, the one called Lotus in her HUD vision. Her surroundings are a ruin of some sort. Her body is—

...what?

She can move just fine. Her fingers and arms and legs respond with suspicious ease, given how long she must have slept to be this scattered upon waking up, and yet there’s some fundamental disconnect. This is her Warframe, her body, but it’s not her body somehow.

...wait, where did the term “Warframe” come from?

A Tenno, unnamed but intended to be Jhia on my end, wakes up on Earth at the very beginning of the in-game storyline. Since the tutorial has gotten an overhaul in recent months, I may have to modify even what little I have on this a lot.

---

Midnight - Iconoclasts - poem - 280 and counting

been anything smaller than been anything

never been anything smaller than

“good morning, how’s miss grump doing today? i heard about that last mission...if you didn’t sleep well i can call you in sick, it’s alright-” “oh, shut up, grey”

there has never been anything

“oh, shut up, grey” “love you too”

smaller

“love you too”

than

me

A very fragmented, stream-of-consciousness-y poem meant to represent Agent Black’s failing sanity near the end of the game. The words of her famous one-liner (“there has never been anything smaller than me”) are interspersed, out of order until the end, with poetic descriptions of other characters and bits and pieces of a flashback involving Agent Grey.

---

Heliotropism - Iconoclasts - one-shot - 1.1k and counting

Lily, though she’s superstitious, will have none of these self-important truths, none of these semblances of certainty when really all it is is wishing on Ivory and hoping for the best. She calls for Miss Andress instead. 

A stout but severe woman with ten grandchildren and a great-grandchild on the way, Miss Andress is perhaps the quintessential matriarch: nurturing, selfless, brutally honest. She is the one the people of 17 trust when they feel they can trust no one else. Lily needs the kind of reassurance only she can give, with the authority of ninety-one years and the wisdom of two sons, one daughter, and some five dogs raised under her care.

When Miss Andress visits House 4, she asks Polro and Lily to each bring an object they cherish the most. For Polro it’s his largest wrench, pitted with use but still polished to a brassy shine; Lily surprises everyone by pulling out a tiny, unloaded stun-gun, and surprises them more by not explaining it at all. Miss Andress doesn’t question it. She just turns the two tools over and over in her hands, head bowed, squinting at them as if trying to read the secrets of the universe in the scratches carved into them by time.

Finally she straightens up and sighs, pushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear. Her forehead is slick with sweat, though the night is cool outside. “I don’t know what she’ll do,” the wise woman says, heavily, as if delivering bad news. “I just know she’ll change the world.”

Can you tell I like backstory fic? This one is for Robin, with one short anecdote for each year of her life, up to age 17 and the events of the game. It’s also an excuse to world-build a bunch, lol.

---

Arrhythmia - Crypt of the NecroDancer - one-shot(?) - 4k and counting

The creature didn’t say anything, just beckoned to the shadows. Before I could move, two other creatures came for me, sending the other humans - former humans? - scrambling away in panic. One landed a hard blow on the back of my head that sent me to my hands and knees, seeing sparks; the other said “Freeze!” and I could only watch as ice sprouted from the leaf litter, cementing me to the ground.

The one who’d hit me produced a dagger from the inside of its cloak. I tried to pull myself up, to do anything at all to keep myself from getting shanked, but it was no good. There must have been a secondary effect on that spell; my limbs wouldn’t respond. I felt the dagger tear cloth in the region of my back, and prepared for the pain.

It didn’t come. The creature cut a slit in the back of my tunic, then another. Neither one touched the skin at all. I can’t really describe what happened next - my brain was having trouble computing how my arms were in front of me, visible, unable to move, but it felt like the creature was pulling them through the gashes in my tunic, but that was wrong, they didn’t feel like arms at all.

“Holy fuck,” I heard someone say.

The ice holding me down melted into nothing as the spell wore off. I jumped back up, head spinning a little, ready for another fight, only to spot two flicks of scarlet in my peripheral vision. I spun around, but they moved with me.

I think I already knew what they were. I just couldn’t admit it to myself.

You’ve already seen this one, Nick, though I’m pretty sure it was well over two years ago. It’s a pile of old headcanons, some of them now outdated I’m pretty sure, about how Nocturna ended up a vampire in the first place and a little bit about how vampire society works. According to Google Docs, I’ve been stuck on this one since March 2018. Whoops.

---

untitled (working title “adult citra meets an impostor bc what is self-control”) - Among Us - one-shot - 572 and counting

“I know. You’re stuck, aren’t you?” Having well and truly gotten their full attention, Citra continues, “God, I can barely imagine. Having to take a weird-ass host whose biology might even be toxic to you, I don’t know. Needing to get to a whole other galaxy, feeling like the only way to do that is by deception and death.” “How…?”

She sighs. “I told you, this isn’t my first rodeo. One of your kind saved my life when I was a kid. Since he’d killed Mom and Dad had been out of the picture long before, he stayed here and helped raise me afterward. It’s how I learned to pronounce...a few of your words, at least.”

“You missed the ‘H’ sound.”

“Isn’t that the one that’s literally impossible to do right with Terran anatomy?”

“Maybe. You think I know Terran anatomy all that well?”

Citra chuckles. “Fair point. You let us find your buddy and fix the ship, I’ll raise Xai when we get comms back and he can try and help you get home. Deal?”

I found an Among Us comic on Tumblr, absolutely ran into left field with it to make a couple of OCs, and then made AUs of those OCs because of course I did. This one is from a future scenario in which Citra (typically orange) meets someone rather familiar on a mission with the crew of the Skeld.

---

untitled (working title “library of ruina but they adopt half the guests”) - Library of Ruina - length uncertain - 1k and counting

“And what happened to not caring about others because it’s a waste of time and heartache?”

Now it’s Roland’s turn to sigh. “I don’t care about him. I just don’t want the guilt of killing - look at him, he can’t be older than eighteen or nineteen!”

Raised eyebrow. “Finn will be twenty years old in fifteen days’ time. He is a legal adult. I fail to see why this should matter to either of us.”

“He’s fresh off his first Fixer license! I have years of experience! He had no idea what he was getting into when he signed that invitation and you know it!”

Angela fixes him with a glare that turns his stomach, his freshly remade body reacting to the memory of its sudden, and extremely painful, dismemberment. “I could quite literally hold your soul in my hands if I wanted,” she reminds him in an undertone of steel. “I must do the same for him, following the invitation’s guidance, or my entire plan will be lost, my coworkers’ sacrifices all for naught. Do not disappoint me or ask any more impertinent questions. You know what to do, and what will happen if you do not.” 

Look, some of the people you fight in this game deserved so much better, okay? I came up with an AU concept where if a guest willingly concedes the fight and agrees to stick around, you can get their book without killing them. Finn doesn’t die; neither do Tomerry or Shi Association; all the former employees realize exactly what’s going on with Philip after the Wedge Office fight and manage to calm him down, avoiding the whole Crying Children situation. (And then Gebura makes him collect his jaw off the floor by revealing herself as the Red Mist.)

---

The one that’s a D&D world concept doesn’t have anything concrete written for it yet. (Don’t read this bit if you might want to play in my campaign at some point!) Instead of your typical Forgotten Realms planar setup, the world at large would be called the Seven Spheres, each of them different in terms of climate, geography, native species and magic, etc. The First Sphere would be the most “generic” one (to our way of thinking) and the main setting of the campaign; it would also be the smallest of the Seven, its primary continent home to a former empire of dragons that spanned most of the Sphere until its mysterious fall a thousand years ago.

Now, since the empire fell, the dragons and their children have slowly been dying out. Best estimates are that there’s only a thousand or two left in the entire First Sphere, with fewer eggs hatched every decade. The player characters enter a world with pretty typical low-level quests to start with, but every so often, especially if they engage with optional story stuff (this would be a more roleplay-focused than combat-focused campaign), they get wind of changes in the air - a failed harvest here, an unusually hot and stormy summer there, a trade war once they start hitting mid-levels.

It mimics real-world climate change in all but cause. As coastal cities struggle to contend with rising seas and, more alarmingly, wizards all over the Sphere start to notice their magic falter and wane, the PCs’ goal becomes getting to the bottom of this. And what’s at the bottom is...your typical Nerd fusion of science with fantasy settings.

The Seven Spheres are not planes of existence in the normal D&D sense, but seven planets in the same solar system, each with its own ancient god far more powerful than any god in any mortal pantheon; the First Sphere is so named because it’s closest to the sun. These planetary gods are incredibly large and incredibly alien, thinking in geologic time and concepts far too broad and slow for most sapient beings to comprehend. A thousand years ago, the fall of the dragon empire was caused by an ill-advised ritual meddling with the god of the First Sphere’s natural process of rebirth, causing said god to die without a replacement.

It’s taken this long for the First Sphere to feel the effects because, again, geologic time - a thousand years is a blink of an eye in this kind of time scale. But now the ancient earth-magic that had kept the Sphere’s climate temperate and its magicians in business is failing. The dragons, as beings of magic intrinsically, have been failing all along. And now it’s up to the PCs, up at level 17-20 if not higher by that point, to figure out how to fix the situation and find a new planetary god for the First Sphere before the whole Sphere burns to death.

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

it’s real isopod (and roach) hours

imma dedicate this to @bakedpieceofchicken bc this is Their Kind Of Content(TM)

***

“I had no idea roaches this fancy existed...” muses Keigo over a rather neat enclosure where a couple of bright blue insects skitter around. He doesn’t know what he expected when being invited inside Twice’s room and whatever he could pick up from outside, but... this was not it. Especially not the giant isopod roaming around free. He’s gotta admit, though... that it’s pretty cute. And dumb. It’s just adorably stupid.

“They are pretty great!! You can take that one... over my dead body!! She’s my favourite!!“ their owner declares, petting one big one that’s making some noise akin to paper rattling. Jin then hums, thinking. ”Like, I don’t think you can’t get that sort legally, but I’m sure moneybags will provide if Shigaraki pesters him about it.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Wouldn’t be able to sleep with these little creepy crawlies around.”

“Oh, don’t worry, they don’t bite unless you’re already dead.”

“Yeah, they cleaned up that chicken bone over there real good!!” points Himiko at the corner of a terrarium, then puts the dotted specimen she’s been playing with back inside.

“Ah, no, no, that’s not it,” he says, crossing his pointing fingers with a sheepish smile. “I mean it literally- I can feel them tip-tap around all over the place and I’m a light sleeper. It would drive me crazy.” If there were just five more of these little bugs crawling across various kinds of surfaces he’d need a timeout by now. “I’d love to get some chickens or budgies, too, but… same problem.”

Himiko’s face lightens up with the realization. “Oh, that’s why you have tons of concealer around your eyes! You can’t sleep!”

“Is it really a passion if you don’t suffer for it?“ An eyebrow visibly lifts under the mask. “Are your feathers that sensitive? ... how can you sleep at all? You’re always surrounded with people. Always. There’s no time to rest. Ever.”

“Man, barely. You would be scandalized at my sleeping arrangement.” Anyone would be.

The girl spots the isopod fiddling near her shoes and picks it up. “I doubt it. Have you seen Mister’s? It looks like an old lady’s room. One who goes to the theatre and attends balls every weekend;” The animal is put onto the loveseat with a loving pat, and skitters over to the remnants of what must be chips shortly. “...  hat rack, frills, old timey record player. It has it all.”

“Honestly, I can only fathom what Dabi’s must look like,” she thinks then aloud, staring into the darkness over the spotlights. “Noone’s ever been there.”

Twice’s brows inch close as he squints, stroking the hissing cockroach with a finger as if it were a cat’s head. “The den of the Beast.”

Keigo lets out a stifled snort. “Some things are better left unknown.”

“Yours has piqued my interest, though!! What’s it like??”

“Yeah!!!”

He blinks. Without getting into details… “It looks pretty... bad.”

“Like, how bad? Bulletproof glass and boring white halls? Marshmallow floor? Inch thick eye cancer wallpaper? Cotton candy pillow fort nightmare?”

Something tells him Himiko could go on for a while…

“There are traces of those, but... ever seen those padded looney house rooms on TV?”

“Yeah.”

“Yup.”

“That’s it, my bedroom. That kind of bad. With shrill colors vomited all over.”

Both of them just stare at him for a second. “... you live in your own psychiatric ward?”

“... certainly what anyone would think if they ever walked inside.”

“How did you get a flat like that? I’m intrigued.”

“No window, either?”

“Oh, it does have everything, it’s just… all of it used to be, like, a stink normal flat, with a little above average wall thickness and extra high ceilings. But, it is close to the city center, right? I knew I had to mod it, so before I even thought about moving from the shittier but suburban rental, I had another layer of windows and thick-ass sound insulated doors installed, but after the first night it was obvious this was not enough.”

Jin sits down between a still eating isopod and Himiko. Latter grabs her boba, face either intrigued, fascinated, or horrified, he cannot tell. “Continue.”

“So I had the walls covered in shit inside-out. It helped, but then I got neighbors downstairs. I had the floor padded, and even the ceiling, because storms still got to me. Could kinda feel the neighbors doing their thing when going over normal volume, but it was tolerable.”

Twice puts the cockroach into its aquarium and reaches for the chips bag instead. The isopod is intrigued by the noise.

“Then… there was some work in the street.” Keigo drags his fingers down his face. An absolute nightmare to wake up to, and his voice continues agonized. “It lasted for weeks. I plugged my fridge and tried to put all feathers inside, but I could still feel it in the downys… So I glued egg boxes on the inside of my room the next day. It’s hideous and so damn hot inside now, but at least it kept the noise of all the heavy duty machinery at bay and now there’s barely anything that gets through.” He sighs. “Also bought a huge security box for keeping my feathers in for emergencies. And extra hot nights.” He sighs. “In the end… I still ended up buying the apartment under mine, too. They kept slamming the doors in.”

“You’d hate it here.” That’s all Jin has to say between one eaten and one mask-smashed piece of potato. Himiko’s cup starts making slurping sounds as it gets empty. “If not for the animals, then for whatever the neighbors are doing. Spinner and Tomura keep waking me over gaming bullshit in the middle of the night!!!”

There’s a muffled thud and shout from the other side. It’s Shuichi, saying something about Jin being one loud asshole, too, to which Himiko starts giggling, and then coughing as the drink goes the wrong way.

“... yeah, I’m better off in my crazy room.”

There’s a knock on the floor- the isopod fell from Twice’s lap and is now trying its best to get back on its legs.

Thinking about it, he must have so many crumbs all over his apartment… if he didn’t use his feathers to kill or chuck out everything that gets into his living space, there would be a cockroach farm inside by now.

He might consider getting an isopod, after all.

[beanjuice-duh]

Indulgences

a/n: bc I’ve loved shakespeare for a decade and some, and the fact haven’t written a lick of fanfiction for it is cruel. Here is my self indulgent work I can rest easy. 

The wilds were no place for heartache. No place for tomfoolery of any kind. But how could she hold back her tears after he left her there? After saying such awful, terrible things. Perhaps it was her fault in the end? Perhaps she should have been more like Hermia, beloved and perused, the way she glided through life and the forests knowing that someone somewhere would love her. That her fingers would never be bone bare like Helena’s. That gold would adorn her flesh and love decorated her heart.

Helena in truth had no idea how to portray that sort of confidence, to put herself out there? After all she had been through, after all she had just gone through moments ago. Denial, rejection, being made a dumb fool because of love? Love, ha, a jester with cruel jokes who poked and prodded at Helena’s flailing ego with a hot branding rod. It wasn’t fair…but she tried the best she knew how only to be left in the woods. Alone…with god knows what. Perhaps beasts wouldn’t be attracted to her either. Perhaps they’d smell her pitiful heart break and saline raindrops and be repelled by her as every son of Adam seemed to be.

Or perhaps this was mother nature’s grand finale for her. To be consumed by the forest never to be heard from again. Then again who would miss plain, dull, loveless Helena? Certainly not Hermia who was madly in love, or the worthless man De—no his name wasn’t even worth remembering.

She placed a trembling hand to her lips and stifled more tears when she heard the snap of branches. Helena bounced to her feet and began to move swiftly, hardly making out her escape path through the fogged clouds of dewy tears that coated her ducts. She made her way around some trees, the loose ends of her dress torn where the lace had caught on to several low hanging branches, and into a clearing by a stream.

Exhausted from tears and fright Helena fell to her knees by the water. “Now…stiffen up.” She muttered to herself. “You it to be so, a fool he made of you…a fool Eros had played you and oh—blind and young Helena how you fell…” She cupped her hands with water from the steam. “Well if this is truly your end, see it with a brave fast, don’t give the otherworldly mother more reason to chastise you for your lack of wit…or nerve.”

Cool and refreshing the water felt on flesh flushed from feverish feelings of fright and foreboding. Once the water cooled her face, the swelling of her sorrows began to sink, and her coronas clear again to see… she realized in her hand, still cupping some residual water was…a lily? Perfectly cut under the stem, the type to be given as a token or decoration with only its flaw of being damp being what was off putting. Helena glanced to the water and saw a siren?

She had to be, she was a gorgeous face. The ethereal and aquatic beauty of blonde and youth simply floating along the water’s edge. For a second Helena had lost her mind and thought she was entranced by a nymph but after realizing the woman’s lips were trembling she quickly assessed. “Oh heavens, she’s alive!” Helena leaned over the steam and grabbed the delicate, fair faced beauty by the shoulders. With all her might in the moment she hauled the waterlogged maiden up.

“Are you mad!” Helena yelled at her as though she was a child who knew nothing. She shook her by the shoulders forcing the woman to cough and tremble more. Helena was furious now, what nonsense did she have? Alone in the woods, in water soaking her good garments. She would have given her what for if their eyes didn’t meet.

Helena saw her eyes in this stranger. Pained, foolishly heartbroken eyes. Of course her eyes were lovelier than Helena’s. Blue so bright they were nearly violent, rimmed with fair lashes that curled so perfectly upward even while damp. Lips lightly purpled from the chill, hair soaked but still held a flower crown around her head.

“There…ther-there is nothing for me.” The siren spoke, she mumbled softer, ”No family, no love, I’ve lost it all to madness…to senseless hate…and violence. To ghosts and foolish Danish princes who know not what they want…”

Helena had no clue what she babbled about…Danish princes, madness, violence but the heartbreak was a language she understood. Did she look that pitiful moments ago? Like a doe wounded and left for the wolves. This girl looked as though her own ankles couldn’t carry her weight. “No matter” Helena stood up rolling up her soaked sleeves to her forearms. She took the lady by her hands eyeing a ruby ring on her finger. “You’ll catch your death here and—“

“Twas my intended company…” She admitted, mostly resentfully.

“No matter” Helena replied in the same crude tone. “You missed your company and found I instead, and I will make sure that the only companion you find now are dry garments and a brush.”

Helena walked through the forest, strange now she had passed the spot she felt so lowly before with a new set of purposes. Tugging being her a woman who didn’t seem to care where she was being pulled now that she was fair from whatever nightmares plagued her. “What do they call you?”

“nothing worth calling now…” she responded with a pout, before responding with what Helena wanted to hear. “Ophelia…nothing more. And you? What is it they call you?”

“Helena…”

“Like the Greek woman? The princess of Troy whom the war was fought over?”

“Ironic…I know, trust I know the jest behind the name and how ill-fitting it is to be placed with such a backing and title.” Helena sneered.

Ophelia paused a bit and continued speaking in a slightly louder tone, her dream like voice carrying just a little more weight. “I feel it fits…Helena of the…” Ophelia looked around. “The Forest.”

A small smile formed at Helena’s lips, childlike, her thoughts were imaginative yet intelligent. There was a childlike playfulness to her words but overshadowed by a dainty sorrow. Like a waterlogged lily. Lovely but dampened. “You are mistaken Ophelia of the stream, no wars will be fought in my honor…men are callous, stupid and…predatory creatures that pray on the helpless unless something more fitting for a feast finds their way.”

“Agreed, men are foolish, stupid, selfish…who trust not even those who have given them nothing to earn distrust. Who have chosen them over family and title…who keep secrets and lies…”

Heartbreak made good conversations, Helena felt the weight lifted off her just a little knowing someone else was carrying it as well. “Who needs them?”

“…Not I…not now…”

“Not I, not ever.”

Soon by the time Helena reached her home, they were no longer walking one dragging the other, but side by side like old friends. Emerging from the forest, talking soft with only a smile. Their pains still painted on their clothes like water stains but their misery had been more or less left behind for the beasts to feed upon.

Once home, Helena sat Ophelia down on a bench and began delicately taking the flowers out of her hair. She ran her a bath much like a chamber maid would have and Ophelia seemed to be quite comfortable with the notion. She wasn’t a common girl from where she had come from. “Bath is set, warm water will bring color back to your lips and fingertips.” Helena scolded her gently, taking her hand and examining how far the cold and seeped into her bones. She walked behind her and began to unlace the wet knots of her corset piece.

“Thank you, Helena…” Ophelia whispered. “I had gone looking for the company of death’s embrace and found a much sweeter, kinder face. I had lost hope that the world had any kind faces left…for I lost so many…kind, kind eyes… lost them to a plague unseen by doctors or priests…simply a darkness of the soul and I feared it had me as well.” She felt her chest relax as the corset loosened just an inch. “I am not completely freed from its virus but I feel as though I am at the mend.”

Helena didn’t quite understand all she meant by darkness and loss but Ophelia seemed genuinely frightened and …thankful…Helena did little, perhaps save her from a chill that might have claimed her life at one point. “You can babble gratefully after a bath and a meal. Perhaps then I can make some sense off you.”

“Can I stay?”

Helena looked her over and though bringing a stranger into her home was the last thing her mind wanted. Having something…someone to keep her mind off her heart was a godsend. Perhaps a medicinal message from a mother looking out for her drab daughter, “you may if you have no home to return to…no family whom misses you?”

“None…all gone…”

“Then…” Helena loosened the last lace. “Here shalt be your home.”

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

hey I have a les mis prompt for you: the amis being in a really hot bar with loads of people in it so no one really notices that r has the worst fever until he passes out from heat and illness and all and when he wakes up he's all delirious and is like hugging and snuggling up to enj bc he's so cold

(Y'ALL MY THIS IS MY FIRST LES MIS PROMPT. YES. HMU WITH THESE FRENCH BOYS. This is quite short bc I haven’t written whump for R before! E on the other hand..//sweats nervously)

Over the past few months the Les Amis has worked extremely hard for a fundraiser for teenagers with mental illnesses. They had all worked to the bone, blood and sweat, and fortunately karma went around and their hard work was paid off. They had raised a copious amount of money that made a significant change, and they were all ecstatic.

To celebrate, Grantaire had of course suggested they all go to a bar, much to Enjolras’s dismay, but the majority wanted to go and this was a democracy, dammit. Enjolras gave in with a sigh and went.

However the day of the celebration, Grantaire had woken up with an out of the blue fever.

Grantaire had a pretty good immune system, getting sick only a few times a year. He and Combeferre were always the first choices to be caretakers when someone took ill. This person was often Enjolras, which Grantaire was secretly very thrilled about. Not that he enjoyed the fierce leader’s agony, but rather the fact he had an excuse to spend time with him.

This fever came out of nowhere and without any warning, so Grantaire was very much confused. If it had come without warning, he had assumed that it would be fine and he’d turn up to the celebration anyway.

Boy, did Grantaire regret that decision.

The polychromatic flashing lights of the bar flickered into several different rich, vibrant colours every few seconds, the sudden change in surroundings jarring and alienating. Grantaire blinked, his troubled, aching head attempting to try and adjust to his new surroundings, only for the world to transform and warp into a new mix of colours.

A sickening wave of nausea hit him as the strobe lights continued to flash obnoxiously, sending him into a drugged like state, like he was on some acid trip. He wandered around the dance floor like a deer in the headlights, as his senses heightened uncomfortably, causing him to stumble as he walked. Grantaire wished someone would come and save him, but he only blended into the adrenaline filled environment, appearing drunk and just like his usual self.

Grantaire felt his heart beating rapidly at his chest as the blaring pop music pulsated and vibrated into the hot and humid air around him, feeling derealised and unpresent in the moment. He felt like he wasn’t in his own body, simply hovering around and watching as the world went by, out of his will. He felt detached from his body and environment, his warped reality surreal and like an abstract painting.

Grantaire blearily and feverishly looked around at the exhilarated people surrounding him, engulfed by the variegated lighting of the bar. They were drowned in a neon pink shadowed by an electric blue, then in a flash flickering into a green shadowed by a bright yellow. Grantaire began to feel extremely dizzy, staggering around looking for any one of his friends.

A plethora of sweaty, adrenaline rushed cramped together bodies stifled the air in the bar. Humid, sticky air filling across the area as Grantaire felt suffocated by the gross air. The air was oppressing, stuffy and restraining on his tired lungs. He felt clammy, sweaty and extremely uncomfortable. Grantaire breathed in heavily in an attempt to fill his body with much needed oxygen,  his lungs screaming for mercy as he continued to stumble his way across the bar.

Suddenly the light pattern changed again, perfectly hitting what appeared to be an angel sitting across at a couch, all alone. A bright red wash painting the angel brilliantly, a neon green splashing in areas of shadow. A masterful art piece artistically and craftily incorporating neon shades, a psychedelic masterpiece.

Slowly his eyes managed to focus on said angel, and soon enough Grantaire recognised the neon angel as Enjolras.

A wave of utter relief flooded through his fevered, heated body as he staggered and struggled towards the couch where he sat, clearly not enjoying himself either.

Enjolras crossed his arms, lowkey sulking as he watched the exhilaration of the people around him. Looking like a true outsider, watching the world go by from a window, separate from the buzz. Detached from reality like Grantaire, but for different reasons of course.

“Enj,” Grantaire slurred, almost drunkenly, making Enjolras believe him to be under the influence of alcohol.

Enjolras let out a small sigh, nodding in acknowledgement, “Grantaire.”

“What’re you doing over here? You should let loose a little and have fun, the party would love you surely,” Grantaire said feverishly, examining Enjorlas’s gorgeous features.

Enjolras refused to meet his eyes and shrugged tiredly, clearly feeling a little upset and derealised, “I appreciate your intentions, R, really, but the night life..just isn’t for me. I don’t..feel right here.”

Grantaire softened, momentarily forgetting about his own ailments in favour for his beloved, “Elaborate.”

Enjolras looked hesitant, but took a swig of his beer and let out a sharp exhale, clearly a little tipsy and more loose, “I can’t enjoy myself. The buzz is way too overwhelming, i don’t feel in control of myself and it’s just..too much. and it sucks being in a room full of exhilarated people and I can’t feel anything.”

Grantaire frowned, a gentle reassuring hand resting on top of Enjolras’s soft hand, “I didn’t know you felt like that, sucks dude. Sorry about that.”

Enjolras gave him a soft smile, “Its fine. Thanks for listening.”

Grantaire admired the gorgeous sight of Enjolras before him, taking in his beautifully crafted face. His soft, golden curls wonderfully framing his face. The sweetness in his crystal blue eyes. His perfect, radiant smile that was fresh and cool, a well needed contrast to the stuffy, humid and restricting air of the bar.

He looked beautiful right there in front of him, so surreal, he couldn’t possibly be here. He was like a dream.

In a flash, he woke up from his dream, only to awake to a nightmare of a reality. The horrible reality came clawing through, gnawing at his bones as his fever crawled back into his body and clouding his senses. A blazing hot wave of heat scorched and burned at his body, causing him to feel extremely lightheaded and faint. A sudden wave of weakness hit him, his body visibly slumping as his vision darkened, a distinct, screeching ringing in his ears as the world turned to darkness.

“Grantaire?!” Enjolras exclaimed as Grantaire’s body fell limp, eyes shut. His body slumped over and he fell down over the couch.

Enjolras hovered over him and felt his forehead, gasping in a panic as he felt the intense, scorching heat. His breathing picked up, finding it hard to breathe as his face heated up in anxiety. His hands shook as he felt his temperature, a terrible coldness spreading across his body and concentrating on his chest.

“Get your shit together, Enjolras, Grantaire needs you,” He hissed to himself, closing his eyes and taking a long inhale, holding his breath for a hot second before releasing a drawn out exhale, hoping he could shut his brain up.

Enjolras didn’t want to ruin the Les Amis’ night, because they had earned this break, truly. He was on his own.

The blonde hoisted the man up into a piggyback, with a bit of effort needed. Grantaire wasn’t exactly a light fairy, but in the moment getting Grantaire to safety was the only thing on his mind. He pushed the thoughts of pain out of his mind, solely concentrating on Grantaire’s wellbeing. He was all that mattered to him, far more than himself.

He struggled his way out of the restricting bar, his lungs begging for fresh air. He felt suffocated and sweaty, but Enjolras would have done anything for Grantaire. His only motivation was to help Grantaire, all other thoughts fading into the abyss of his mind.

Once he made his way out of the bar, he breathed in the fresh, crisp cool summer air. He took a second to appreciate the cool breeze that gently hit him, relishing in the wonderful sensation.

Enjolras spotted a taxi driving by, rushing to stop it. Thankfully, the taxi stopped for him. Sighing in relief he pulled the car door open and gently lifted Grantaire off his back and into the car, before sitting himself down and plopping Grantaire’s head on his lap.

“Where to?”

“Clotilde Ave, please,” Enjolras responded, before turning back to fuss over Grantaire, absentmindedly brushing his fingers over his dark curls.

“Hm, must have been a good party, huh? Your boyfriend is pretty drunk,” The taxi driver commented.

Enjolras blushed furiously, looking away awkwardly, “He’s not my–”

He wished.

“..uh..but he’s not drunk, he’s sick,” Enjolras explained as he continued to play with Grantaire’s hair.

“Oh, well I hope he gets better,” The taxi driver commented sympathetically.

“Thank you,” Enjolras mumbled before examining Grantaire’s face, scrunched up with discomfort. He sighed softly and gently traced around his heated face, trying to reassure himself that Grantaire was still with him, anxiety blaring as his brain made its way into dark places. He breathed in heavily, hands shaking slightly as he panicked internally.

“Hey kid? Don’t panic, I’m sure he’ll be fine,” The taxi driver said kindly.

“O-okay, thank you,” Enjolras said shakily, running a hand through his golden curls and hoped for the best.

Enjolras paid the taxi driver, thanking him before hoisting Grantaire up onto his back again. He held him firmly as he struggled up the stairs to his apartment (the damn elevator still hadn’t been fixed, it was already broken by the time he moved in, which wasn’t right) and gasped softly for air, feeling exhausted from the uphill climb and his friend’s weight. Enjolras made it into his floor finally and walked until he reached his door, whipping his keys out of his pocket and shoving them into the keyhole, twisting the door open.

Enjolras headed straight for his bedroom, gently placing Grantaire onto his bed. He carefully pushed a fluffed up pillow underneath Grantaire’s head, making sure he was comfortable. Once he had done that, he rushed towards his bathroom. He whipped out a towel out of a basket and soaked it in cold water, wringing the excess out. He opened a cupboard and searched for some medicine, finding numbers of empty boxes he was too stupid to throw away. Cursing his shitty immune system for going through so much medicine, he eventually found some ibuprofen.

Enjolras took a quick detour to his kitchen to grab Grantaire a glass of water, slightly panicking and wondering if he was doing anything wrong. He felt tempted to text the group chat, but knew they’d all come piling into his apartment fussing and Enjolras really didn’t want that. He sucked it up and rushed back towards his bedroom where Grantaire was.

Enjolras gently draped the cold towel over Grantaire’s forehead. He let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding, running his hands through his hair exhaustedly.

“Enjolras..” Grantaire mumbled in his sleep, arms poking out as he reached helplessly.

Enjolras’s heart melted, a little smile cracking through his worried features. He climbed up onto bed, pressing himself against Grantaire comfortingly and beginning to run his hands through Grantaire’s hair again. He knew he had to wake him up to get his fever down and for him to take medicine, but he didn’t know how.

Fortunately, Grantaire began to stir and his eyes slowly blinked open. He looked up at Enjolras blearily, blinking to try and register his form. Once Grantaire recognised who it was, his entire face lit up, eyes sparkling as a dumb little grin spread across his face.

“Enjy!” Grantaire squeaked deliriously, throwing himself over Enjolras, arms tightly wrapped around Enjolras so that he was basically smothering him with love and buried his face into Enjolras’s soft hoodie, snuggling his nose into his chest.

Enjolras blushed deeply, his heart fluttering and insides warming up. His heart was beating fast, hands becoming clammy and breath was picking up. He was so smitten with this man that his body literally could not handle it.

“I’m so cold, Enjy, I haaate it!~” Grantaire whined childishly, pouting as he continued to cuddle the healthier man, squeezing him tight and trying to leech the warmth of off him.

Enjolras exhaled shakily, trying to regain his composure, clearing his throat, “Y-you have to t-take medicine first..”

Grantaire grinned, eyes sleepy and feverish, “Anything for the beautiful and excellent Enjolras!”

Enjolras let out a little chuckle, popping a pill out of the packet and passing it to Grantaire who swallowed it down with some water.

“Maybe this pill is what’s making me so in love with you..maybe you should take some too? Maybe then you could love me too..” Grantaire slurred, his voice darkening and softening as his statement progressed.

Enjolras’s heart broke, and slowly cupped a hand around Grantaire’s cheek softly, and then a sudden surge of bravery, an irresistible impulse, like it was his destiny, like this was what he was meant to do,“I don’t need to take those pills, R, I’ve already taken them..I already love you.”

Grantaire let out the most delighted and cheerful squeal, squeeing and without thinking pulling Enjolras close to him and pressing his own lips against his.

Enjolras gasped softly at the sudden warmth and delight that filled his body, something blooming in him like a flower in the spring, fireworks exploding into a beautiful red and green, the sun coming out for the first time after a long winter.

Grantaire pulled away, giggling, burying himself into Enjolras’s sweater yet again, continuing to snuggle him.

“I kissed a pretty boy!” Grantaire giggled.

Enjolras blushed, stunned and at a disbelief. This didn’t feel real, it had to be a dream. But he had never felt more awake.

He hadn’t even been aware of the passage and concept of time because suddenly Enjolras was aware of Grantaire’s breathing evening out, asleep. Enjolras could only hold him close like that, a slight  feeling of remorse as he realised the harsh reality knowing Grantaire would not remember any of this tomorrow.

But for now he was in this moment and he would make it last for as long as he could.

[tearful]

mourn with the moon and the stars up above

title: mourn with the moon and the stars up above fandom: d gray man rating: t relationship: laven word count: 1500+ notes: back at it again with the laven. may or may not become part of a series who knows. but title is taken from “you” by keaton henson bc that is a very laven song and i cry. (read on ao3) summary:

Even years after the war has ended, it's okay to have nights where it feels like everything occurred just yesterday.

Allen stirs awake with a heavy feeling curling in his stomach. He has just woken up from a dream already fading from his mind, but the dread it caused clings fast and leaks deep into his sinew and bone. He feels sweat dripping down his neck and his hair sticking to his forehead. Not even the night breeze coming through the partially open window is enough to cool him down.

Tonight does not seem like it will be a good night. This he realizes as he takes a deep and shuddering breath that rattles his lungs between his ribcage. The scar made by his own sword is burning again, a harsh and stinging pain just like he’s being stabbed all over again. He curls tighter into himself, pressing his folding legs against his chest and pressing his eyes against his knees so hard that he sees bright lights instead of darkness. He tries to breathe through the pain as best he can, in-out-in-out, for what seems like hours until he can force himself to move without wincing from the hurt.

The bed is empty and the spot next to him has grown cold. It’s not odd, but it doesn’t make Allen feel any better about it. He can’t tell what time it is, but the moon shines through the thin curtains so he knows it’s either very late at night or early in the morning.

He unravels himself from his position, slow and careful, some bones aching from being held in an uncomfortable position for too long. When his knees pop after being properly stretched out, Allen lets out a satisfied sigh, and doesn’t think how it makes him feel older than his twenty-two years.

There’s light filtering under the door of the bathroom, and Allen knocks lightly on the aged wood. Leaning his shoulder against the frame, he speaks, “Lavi, are you okay?” he asks, voice still rough with sleep. He’s tired but rest is now an elusive and far off friend. If Lavi is awake he’d rather be up with him. “Can I come in.”

The reply doesn’t come immediately, but it isn’t too long a wait for Allen to get properly worried. “Yeah, it’s unlocked.” Lavi’s voice is muffled, but even still, Allen can pick up how tired it sounds. Like he’s balancing himself between being awake and falling back asleep.

Allen opens the door carefully, not wanting to accidentally hit Lavi since the space is only made for one person. Their entire apartment is technically, but they make it work. They’ve made it theirs.

When Allen makes it completely in the bathroom, Lavi isn’t in front of the sink like he expected him to be. Rather, he’s sitting in the tub shirtless and soaked like he had the water on earlier. Allen wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. The bandages around his arm are damp and the wounds they covered have bled a bit if the spots of red soaked through are anything to say about it.

It’s not a good night for either of them it seems.

“Nightmare,” Allen says, voice tilted up in a question, while he grabs a hair tie on the counter. It’s too hot to have it all stuck to his neck like this. He sits on the closed lid of the toilet and waits for an answer.

Lavi lets out a heaving breath, less than a sigh and more like a release of emotion. He slides further down in the tub, a feat because it’s only big enough for him to lie down in with his legs folded. He can’t be too comfortable like that.

“Yeah,” he finally says and holds his hand out, Allen automatically moves from sitting on the toilet to sitting on the tiled floor to grab hold of it, not minding that it’s cold. “it got bad and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It would have been fine, Lavi.” He reassures, because it’s true. They wouldn’t live together if they had a problem with each other’s nightmares. It’d be hypocritical and cruel.

“Probably,” Lavi shrugs like it isn’t that big a deal. “but you haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Neither have you, and I’m awake now anyway. How long have you been in here?”

“Don’t know.”

Allen makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and places a kiss on the palm of Lavi’s hand, more comfort than sympathy. They both have days when they lose time, hours and minutes lost. It’s not easy, but they make do. They always have, always will.

“You should dry off and get out of the tub.” Allen says softly, disturbing the small silence that settled over them for a moment. “You might catch a cold.”

Lavi laughs then, soft but weary still. It’s a true laugh though and enough to make Allen smile. “If I get sick, then you’ll have to take care of me. It doesn’t sound like a bad trade-off.”

“If you get sick you spend the entire time whining like it’s the end of the world.” Allen huffs, but his voice is too fond to be annoyed. “I love you Lavi, but even I have my limits.”

“I can’t believe you said you love me.”

“Lavi, we’re married.”

“And you have made me the luckiest man.” Lavi smiles and looks less tired for it, looks a lot like he’s in love.

Allen rolls his eyes once more and stands, keeping their hands still clasped together. Lavi gets out of the tub without slipping, sitting down on the toilet lid Allen had occupied minutes before. Lavi dries off with Allen’s help, trades wet pants for ones that are dry, and puts on a shirt to help fight off the night’s chill.

“You got your bandages wet,” Allen comments, tugging lightly at the frayed edges of the gauze. “Do you want them changed or do you want to let the wounds breathe?”

“They were bleeding a bit earlier, but they’re fine now. Besides, they’re just a couple of scrapes. Don’t waste bandages on me.”

“It’s not wasting,” Allen responds automatically, but that’s all he says, now working to unravel the gauze wrapped around Lavi’s forearm.

The cuts are healing, self-inflicted scratches that comes from Lavi’s nightmares if they get too bad. It used to happen a lot more frequently after Allen first found him, free from the torture inflicted upon him but some days he mentioned still feeling like he was there. Mentioned feeling like there were parasites still crawling under his skin and making him feel wrong. He’s got scars from when it got too bad, when the scratches ran too deep, but Allen took in stride. Just like how Lavi takes it in stride when Allen breaks the bathroom mirror with his human hand and bleeds all over the tiles and glass.

The war is over, has been for just a few years, but there are scars that remain. For time is sometimes not enough to let all scars fade into nonexistence. And they are the lucky few that are still alive, still breathing. It is hard to slot themselves into a life without running, a life not having to worry and wonder about which day would finally be the last.

It’s odd and amazing and Allen is grateful he is not alone.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Lavi says softly, gently knocking their foreheads together, and placing a kiss on the bridge of Allen’s nose. He’s always had a knack for noticing when Allen’s thought process got too deep. “let’s get back to bed.”

Going back to bed doesn’t exactly mean sleeping. Allen’s scar still aches and Lavi still has a distant look in his eye, though he’s slowly coming back to himself. It’s fine though. There have been nights neither of them could sleep and spent hours talking about everything and nothing and played board games until the dawn light peaked through the window and slowly illuminated their small room.

Allen is the first out the bathroom, though Lavi isn’t far behind, practically pressed against his back as they make their way towards the bed. Though Allen plops back down first, Lavi adjusts them so he’s resting with his face buried in the crook between Allen’s neck and shoulder, arms wrapped around him. The summer heat makes the position a bit too hot, but neither of them mind it too much.

“Feeling better?” Allen asks, fingers threading through the tangle of Lavi’s hair. He knows it’s a soothing gesture, usually welcome during rough nights and even not so rough ones.

Lavi hums, breath tickling a spot just below Allen’s ear. When he speaks, his voice is muffled. “I forgot to ask, are you okay?”

If it was anyone else, Allen would lie and say he was fine, but they’re past those sorts of excuses and avoiding problems. On most days, anyway. “My scar started hurting. It doesn’t so much now.”

Lavi’s grip gets a little tighter, and Allen coaxes him so they can look at each other. Lavi looks just as tired as Allen feels, and he knows he doesn’t look any better by comparison. They’ll be fine though, it’s okay to have rough nights and even days.

“We’ll be okay.” Allen whispers, something he has stated often enough to know it’s true. “Do you know why?”

“Because we have each other.” Lavi answers automatically, smile growing on his face.

[typewriterghcst]

Title: The Hero and the Five Senses Rating: G Characters: Mr. Ping, a handful of kids, and some not completely fictional characters. No pairings. Warnings: None Summary: Mr. Ping tells a story, but since he can’t tell the story about the three princes and a rabbit again and no child wants to hear about the Dragon Warrior’s harrowing adventures in the kitchen, he’s forced to make one up on the spot. Notes: this miiight have been my very first contribution to the KFP fandom back in 2014. Can’t remember if this came first or my giant list of Mr. Ping headcanons lm a o It is a little corny bc just about every I write is, but I still have a soft spot for parts of it laughs

So, what story does everyone want to hear tonight? Hm?

Oh, now, you know I can’t tell you the story about the three princes again! Poor little Mei had nightmares about that one, remember? And then her parents almost refused to come back to my restaurant! How about a story where no one gets skinned alive, uh? That sound nice?

Hm?

…Oh! In that case, I do have a story about the Dragon Warrior and the first time I had him chop vegetables-

I-

Wel-

What’s with the faces?

What do you mean, not interesting? I’ll have you know I keep my cleaver ve-ry sharp! The sharpest! It can be harrowing if you don’t know what you’re doing-- you could lose a finger like tha-

Ah, oh, well, maybe a different story would be best, eheh. The Dragon Warrior still has all of his fingers, boys and girls! …but you should still be careful with sharp things. Ahahaha- hhmmm… Ah, where was I?

Oh, a story! How about a new story about a different hero? Maybe one that was also a noodle chef? Ah? …No? Well, alright then. I guess he can just be a regular, boring one then…

Hmmm…

First, we’ll start with the house. A long time ago, there was a pretty house, and a happy family lived in this house. There was a father, who was an old teacher, and his six children: the dancer, the clown, the artist, the medic, the daughter, and the son.

They maybe didn’t look like each other and maybe didn’t act much alike either, but they were happy and they loved each other very much.

But then, something bad happened.

…

Well, that’s just the thing! No one would explain what that bad thing was.

…

Oh, they all knew what it was, they all knew what had happened, but it couldn’t be talked about. It was just there, in every room, and it wasn’t long before it was all they could think about. They even could barely look at each other without blurting it out. The family began to see less and less of each other.

Finally, the father found a little box, went inside, and shut the door behind him. He wouldn’t come back out, no matter what season or time, no matter how hungry or thirsty he was. No matter what his five children said.

…

Huhu, you’re a sharp one, aren’t you? There were six… in the beginning. But, that’s not the important thing right now; what’s important is that all the children eventually followed their father’s example and found their own boxes, beginning with the daughter, who almost seemed to be able to not find a box fast enough!

But she spent days afterward peeking out of it, waiting to see if it was just a passing phase, and if her father and siblings would do the same.

Hm… but it wasn’t just a phase, and she gave up for a lonely life in a little box.

Before long, the entire family had all shut themselves tight in their own little boxes and the house became very quiet and cold and stale with an old secret that couldn’t be laid to rest.

Huu… Ah, this is getting a little heavy, isn’t it? Why don’t we make this where our little hero comes in? Because he had heard about this silent, miserable house and the strange family who had locked themselves away in boxes inside of it, and he wanted to help.

There wasn’t anything extraordinarily special about him, but that didn’t matter because he was already everything he needed to be. He was kind and gentle… hm. Very determined and stubborn, but never with cruel intentions! I don’t think he could ever truly hurt someone… But most importantly, he understood.

The hero understood he couldn’t simply drag the old teacher and his children out of their boxes by force: they wanted to stay inside as much as they needed to go outside. It would be a complete disaster! And not a very nice thing to do anyways, huhu. So! He decided the best way to proceed was to make the world outside as beautiful as he could and hope they would come out by their own choice. It was just a matter of appealing to their five senses. How hard could it be competing with a box?

…That was a good idea, wasn’t it? Kind of proud of myself, really. Hmm… he probably doesn’t know it, but the hero is smart. He just needs a little time to… to- eh, but where was I? Got a little lost there…

Senses. If- if he could create a feast for all five of their senses, surely they’d leave their boxes and rejoin the family. So, which sense do you think he should start with?

Smell is a good one! …Mm, but maybe a little too good. Why don’t we leave it for a little further down the road, okay? What other senses can you think of?

Sight, uh?

Oh! N-no, no, don’t feel stupid, Shu! The family couldn’t see outside their boxes, it’s true, but it was still important! Imagine if they stepped outside just to see a dark, trashy mess! They’d turn right back around and lock themselves in again no matter what happiness the rest of their senses brought them. And for good probably, too.

So, the little hero opened all the windows in the house and let the sun in. He swept the floors and repainted the walls. He righted the felled vases around the house and laid their old plants and flowers back in the yard to rest while planting new ones. What else… Ehhh, he made the old house look very nice! It was hard to believe it was even the same place!

It was the sunlight and the brightness of new paint that lured two family members outside, the dancer and the medic. They were both amazed at the house’s transformation, and they became very quick friends with the little hero. For them, all it had taken was a little bit of sunshine and warmth.

But the rest of the family had sealed all the cracks in their boxes: they couldn’t see any of the new, bright house around them. It would take another sense to bring them outside. So, what should the little hero try next?

…Touch. Very good! That is a sense; that’s…

That’s … that’s a tough one. Let me think.

…

……

………

…I’m still thinking! So… to… appeal to the sense of touch, the little hero replaced all the old chairs in the house and added new, soft cushions to the ones that couldn’t be replaced. He- hm? Well, it’s true, sometimes some things can’t be replaced. Maybe they have too much meaning or memories to them!

…

Mm-hm, even a chair.

So, then… Hmmm, he put nice rugs down and draped fancy silks over the furniture and the windows. He got the dancer and the medic to help him reach places maybe he didn’t know about, the tiny corners and crannies they knew their siblings and father would notice.

Finally, they scattered a few flower petals around the boxes themselves so that if more family members decided to leave them, their first sensation wouldn’t be just the cold, hard floor. What a letdown--!

The combination of the earlier flash of light and new colors with this softer environment finally enticed two more family members enough to leave their boxes: the clown and the artist. They, just like their siblings, marveled at the new look of the house!

Hm… can you imagine such a happy reunion? I’m sure they were so happy to see each other again! They would have spent so much time just catching up, just enjoying each others’ company again… Hu…

Now the dancer told the little hero how the old teacher was the first one who had disappeared into his own personal box, and how it had all started there. If their own father had vanished, what reason did they have to not do the same? So- hm?

…Well, that is a very nice reason, Ming, but let’s just say they didn’t think of that. It’s hard to remember the nice things sometimes when you’re feeling very sad…

So, next, the little hero- ah? Well, there’s no need to shout! You’re sitting not even a yard away from me, Mei. But, yes, the little hero can try the sense of hearing next.

Hmmm… really, it wasn’t so much that he had to create situations for happy sounds or noise, they existed just by virtue of the house no longer being empty! The family members talked and laughed among themselves again; they traded stories with the little hero and enjoyed music and dancing again.

The little hero even found some wind chimes to hang outside the house.

But no matter how much the family laughed or sang, neither the father or the daughter stirred. They had padded the inside of their boxes so tightly and thickly that the music and the laughter couldn’t reach them. They couldn’t hear a thing. It would take a different kind of beauty to reach them and convince them to leave.

What sense do you think he should try next?

…

It is a good time to use smell! That’s a powerful one, you know. Did you know, if sometimes you can’t remember a thing, a familiar smell can jar it right out of you? Just something to keep in mind the next time you can’t find your favorite toy…

So, the hero went to the house’s once-grande kitchen, dusty and forlorn and unused,mmph, what a shame…and immediately set to work making… noodles.

N-no, wait! Don’t look at me like that-- there is actually a point to it this time! You’ll see!

Um…

Noodles. So, the hero stocked the kitchen and pantry with food and got to work, airing out the dust and stuffiness and filling the house with the smell of food again. Soup and dumplings and tea… hm, and peaches. Peaches have a nice smell, don’t you think?

…What, you don’t like peaches? What’s wrong with peaches?

…

…Well, maybe you should try listening to your mama and only eat the ripe ones. That might help, hm-hm. Now… where was… ah, so the hero and the family cooked all day and ended up with a very nice dinner, with enough for all five of them and then some!

And they had that very nice dinner, heh, but they were interrupted when the door opened. Who in the world could it be? They were all there in the kitchen!

The father had abandoned his box without any of them realizing it.

Because, it turned out he hadn’t been blind and deaf and-and… eh… let me start that again- he’d watched everything that had happened, right from the beginning! From the first step the little hero had taken into the old, silent house, the father had watched and doubted. He didn’t think this little hero could help in any way, no matter how determined he was!

But… he saw his children leaving their boxes, one by one, and- well, wouldn’t you know it- he was impressed! What he had thought of as nothing but a misguided bother turned out to be quite a hero after all, huhu…

So, he followed, and he left his box.

He hadn’t joined them right away, having left the box in the middle of the night before. He wouldn’t say where he’d been, but it didn’t matter anyway. What really mattered was he was there, standing with all of them again, and he wanted to be there.

With that, there was only one family member still missing.

…

That’s right, the daughter! She had followed the father’s example before any of her siblings, and she was the only one who hadn’t stirred at all through all the little hero’s renovations of the house. New colors could fade and chip, and new, soft fabrics could be torn and ripped with such ease, and laughter and songs could be silenced with something as simple as the wrong look. Hm… the poor little daughter…

Ah, but--! Eh, the smell of food had lured her to the very edge of her box, sitting right in front of the door, but she was afraid to go any further! She’d already spent as long as she could hoping, looking for a sign that the rest of her family might grow tired of their boxes… but they never did, and her hope had run out. She was almost certain it was all in her mind, or worse, a cruel trick.

So, it must have been quite a shock, then, when she heard a soft knock on the door to her box.

The father had come to share a bowl of soup.

…

Yes, you can say the last sense, Heng.

That’s right, taste! Eh- what?

…

What, you think that’s a letdown? You don’t think taste is the strongest sense?

…

Well, maybe it isn’t quite the strongest… But, how about this? I always made Po a special soup when he was just a baby and he didn’t feel good. Now, there wasn’t actually anything special about it, but that didn’t matter, because he liked the taste of it and it made him feel better, hm-hm~

And a happy, quiet baby makes a happy, quiet home, whew.

…

Right? It is just like that! And Po still sometimes asks for that soup, even though he’s not a baby anymore and when he’s not sick, because it still makes him feel good. Now imagine if you couldn’t taste those plum dumplings your mother makes for you on your birthday, never again.

…

You see? I think taste is just as important as the others! We put a lot of comfort into foods, don’t you think? Maybe more than anything else sometimes. And they always taste better when they’re shared with someone you love…

So, with that in mind, don’t you think the daughter might be swayed to leave her box after sharing a bowl of nice noodle soup with the father?

…

I think so, too.

So… with that, the father and the daughter left the box behind, hand in hand, and joined the rest of the family again. And they all lived happily ever after, eheh.

…

Eh, what?

I forgot the son? Hm. Oh, I think you’re right. Well, maybe he’d gone away for a long time o-or something…

…

W-well I never said I-- no, I--!

…oh, do you hear that? Sounds like Master Shifu is trying to send a message-- no, I definitely heard something--! It’s time for bed! Hmmm, I’ll be back again with a new story next time, children. Maybe by then I’ll have figured out what did happen to the son…

Goodnight! Sleep tight! And don’t let the bedb-- aah, eh, never mind, just good night~