#still the most bizarre illness of my life I was convinced it was something I needed surgery for and the doctors like: just shingles :)

[mickstart]

Still losing my mind over the fact that this time last year I was recovering from fucking shingles and the doctor was like "yeah I don't know why you'd get it this young but it might be stress related" but I don't DO anything??? So I am just so mentally ill that with no responsibilities or obligations I managed to stress myself out bad enough that my body reactivated a virus.

[llondonfog]

as promised for coming home on my only 10-pull key, a little birthday drabble for our beloved peepaw :) pls enjoy & happy new year to all!

". . . Cookies?"

He makes no effort to disguise the insulted disbelief as he stares down at the plate of misshapen treats, eyebrows flying so far into his hairline that they nearly disappear.

"He may be but a child, and a human at that, but surely he ought to understand the gravity of your former position, the glories in which you are entitled to—"

"Former, and disgraced if I might add," Lilia corrects him, a lopsided grin tugging on his face as he too gazes at the plate of cookies with a ludicrously pleased expression. "And Silver is all of seven, Baul. A seven year old child who worked rather hard today at staying awake to surprise me with something delicious, so I'd be most grateful if you could manage to tame that famous Zigvolt boom as I'd hate for him to wake up from his nap."

It's worse than Baul could have ever expected.

Lilia Vanrouge, the fearless and fearsome once general of the fae armies, the former right hand to their dearly departed princess, turned sentimental over a plate of lumpy, and frankly burnt on the edges, cookies.

He'd come over to further discuss the matter of his grandson training with his former commander, staunchly ignorant of his own sentimentality towards the halfling child who so closely resembled him in both pride and spirit, only to find the fae sitting alone at the kitchen table with an odd and unfamiliar expression vulnerable upon his face and cradling a cookie as carefully within his talons as if it were spun from glass. Baul had nearly leapt to arms, convinced that there had been some sort of spell or potion from those who still wished ill upon Lilia cast to tempt him into eating such bizarre looking food— even though it looked clumsily made, there was simply no way he would have been fooled into believing it had been the product of Lilia's disastrous attempts. It simply wasn't foul enough— when Lilia had startled back into awareness, only to laugh at him and proclaim to Baul's utter bewilderment that these...cookies, were in fact his birthday gift from the human child residing within his home.

To which Baul promptly informed Lilia that he had taken leave of his senses and he'd never once shared that he knew of his birthday before. If he had, there'd have been no chance of the entire country forgetting it for the wondrous celebration Meleanor and Levan would have certainly thrown in the honor of their dearest friend.

"You're right," Lilia had said, smiling that strange little half-smile as he broke his gaze away from the plate to the quiet hallway leading from the kitchen. "But then again, I had nothing about myself to celebrate until very recently."

And there, the crux of the matter, the elephant in the room that Baul never truly questioned out of loyalty to the fae that had given more than anyone ever could to the sake of their country, to the Draconias alone. The human child, the boy that had shown up suddenly and stolen Lilia away to the forest, bewitched him somehow into playing house. Baul cannot understand it— Lilia had more reason than any of them to loathe humanity, to shun it for the remainder of his life and seek to live in peace away from their kind after their unforgivable transgressions.

Instead, in front of his astounded eyes, he can only watch in silence as a tear splashes down upon the chocolate speckled surface of the cookie before it's hastily crammed into Lilia's mouth, the fae spinning around to grin at him as if in blissful ignorance of the redness gathering at the corners of his eyes.

"They're a bit salty, Baul, but I've never tasted anything better!"

Oh, he thinks, heart shaking in place as he too glances towards where a certain slumbering boy lies. Oh, you old fool. Do you even know how deep you've gone?

[minustwofingers]

love is a laserquest p.2

series masterlist (read p1 here!)

pairing: rockstar!ellie williams x reader

request: @thatgiraffefromtlou so kindly included me on a post about writing something inspired by these beautiful edits :) thank you !

summary: after a serious of unfortunate events, columbia grad y/n y/l/n finds herself using her hard-earned journalism degree interviewing vapid stars and writing articles that she's convinced are rotting her mind. ellie williams has just dropped the album of the year and it's all anyone is talking about, but all she wants is to be off the press train. a certain interview with a certain interviewer might change this.

cws: explicit language, kind of suggestive phrasing? (i get a little feral with guitar playing descriptions), shitty bosses, mentions of nausea and throwing up (no one actually does tho dw), y/n is anxious asf, my writing is a little....yikes...in this one, loser!ellie

a/n: i lied i lied hehe. here's the next part. im still working on building this stupid app so i havent been able to write as much recently + holiday family stuff but oh am i back!

here's a playlist inspired by this fic

wc: 2.4k

tags: tags :) @intrnetdoll @dazedshoon @lovecaraya @pctcr @sariyaflowr @loser-keiji @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie@galacticstxrdust @elliesbabygirl @pinkazelma @ariianelle @lu002 @blairfox04 @sparkleswonderland @elliesflower @muthafuckingstargirl @elliewilliamsissubermommyoml @eviestevie-14 @quicksilversg1rl @guacala @crtcrp @overtrred28 @diddiqueen @krisyslostsoul

enjoy mwah

It starts slow, like the drip of a broken faucet. It’s not like you’re actively seeking out anything Ellie William’s related, but somehow it seems like everything Ellie Williams related is seeing you out. 

In the grocery store, one of her hit songs from her newest album blaring over the speakers.

On the street, where you see crumpled pages of magazines with her face plastered all over them. 

And—perhaps the most offensively—on NPR and the New York Times, quite literally days after you’d met her. Suddenly Steve Inskeep and Leila Fadel begin the Up First podcast with a familiar song and devote an entire third of the morning podcast to Ellie and her band’s rise to fame. 

You decide to switch to the BBC World News for a while, but even they seem to be under her spell.

It’s not that you don’t like Ellie. She seems fine. Normal. Really cute, actually, and clearly very talented. But whenever you think about her, you think about the ill-fated, awkward, charmless interview.

“What happened?” Alyssa had asked you when she’d come back from surgery. “That wasn’t you out there.”

Which was actually very hurtful to hear, because you’d been holding onto the hope that you’d been all in your head about your interview being a failure. It all culminates in Eric, your 300 year old manager, sending you a strongly worded email that told you that your performance in the interview was so underwhelming that you were being pulled from the interviewer pool and exiled to article writing land. Which could be worse, you admit. You could be unemployed on the streets of LA. At least you’re still writing. 

And write you do. You spend all your waking hours either at your keyboard, on your yoga mat, or sat in a chair somewhere at a local cafe for a coffee chat. You’ve mostly deleted social media, since all you see nowadays are pictures of Ellie and Becca’s posts about her experience working and loving her life in New York (the algorithm apparently knows exactly what you want to see the most). 

It’s bizarre that, even as you try your best to place your focus on honing your craft and consuming only content that you think will make you a better writer, you still somehow learn everything and more about Ellie Wlliams and her band. It’s in the emails at work whose chains you’re CC’ed on. It’s in the advertisements and the billboards everywhere. It’s even in the conversations you have with your two roommates, Greta and Maureena. 

“She’s so fucking cool,” says Maureena dreamily as you sit around the TV in the living room. “I still can’t believe you got to talk to her.”

“It’s not like I actually got to, like, get to know her or whatever,” you say. “It was honestly kind of dry. Just awkward small talk.”

“That’s more than anyone else I know can say.” She reaches forward and grabs a fistful of popcorn. “How come she gets interviewed by the person who probably cares about her the least in all of LA? Like, what are the chances?”

“I care,” you say, and it sounds unusually defensive coming out of your mouth.

Maureena gives you a long, suspicious look, but before she can respond, Greta comes bursting into the apartment, purse swinging from her shoulder.

A greeting is halfway out of your mouth when she cuts you off. 

“You guys will not believe what I just did.” She’s nearly bursting with excitement, her eyes bright and wide. 

“Like, in a good way?” you ask. 

“Yes. Obviously!” Greta fishes around in her pocket until she pulls her phone out, waving it around. “Check your email.”

The last time Greta had come in with an entrance this energetic, she’d been coming to inform you both that she was getting engaged to her loser boyfriend Brian (which—thank God—didn’t actually last), so you and Maureena trade nervous looks. 

Maureena gets to it first. 

“Tickets to see Ellie Williams? Tonight?” Now she’s about to explode with giddiness, leaping from the couch and throwing her arms around Greta. “I love you, I love you, I love you. How did you get these? I thought they were, like, totally sold out. Or ten thousand dollars.” 

She grins wickedly, holding her hands out in a “who knows” sort of way. “You can all thank me later. We have to leave in about 20 if we want to get there in time. Y/N, you good?”

You’d been staring on in horror, jaw dropped and body completely frozen. You had registered that Ellie was playing in LA tonight—it’s all anyone you knew talked about at work today—but you never once considered actually going to try to see her. “Uh, yeah. Give me just a few.”

By the time you get to the venue, you’re convinced that you might actually puke from the nerves. It’s ridiculous. It’s not like three broke 20 some year olds were going to get last minute seats to an Ellie Williams concert that were genuinely good seats. It’s not like she would see you and realize that the girl who flopped while interviewing her was a big enough fan to attend. You’re going to be fine. 

“Shit, Grets, how are we so close?” asked Maureena as she leads you both closer and closer to the front. 

Horror steadily rises within you as you approach the front row. 

“I got these from my boss,” she says, turning around with a devilish glint in her dark brown eyes. “Her daughter got food poisoning, bless her. She had to stay back to take care of her, and I was the only one who stayed late to work, so…”

Greta’s boss was some filthy rich nepo baby who was a partner of a big talent agency. All of a sudden you feel stupid for not realizing this sooner.

“Shit,” you say, mostly to yourself. “Oh no. Oh my god.”

“Isn’t this so cool!” Greta jumps up and down, hands on your shoulders as she tries to rile you up. “Dude, what if she recognizes you?” 

“I think I’m going to puke,” you say miserably. Somehow the thought of her seeing you made you want to crawl inside your skin in shame and hide for the next calendar year. “Did you guys not see how ass it was? I was so fucking awkward.”

“It wasn’t even that bad.” Maureena pats your shoulder. 

“I literally was forbidden from ever interviewing again because it was so bad.”

“Because Eric hates women,” says Greta. “It’s not your fault he’s a horrible human being. Give it, like, a year or so until he croaks. Then they’ll let you back in the game.”

“Uh huh,” you say, feeling very harrowed. 

You remain in this state of abject terror for the entire opener performance. The nausea doesn’t subside. It only gets worse when you realize that if you actually puke, Ellie’s definitely going to see it. Just like she’s going to see you, with the stupid stars Greta had insisted you paint on your cheekbones with glittery eyeliner and eyeshadow. 

“She really likes space,” Greta had told you while you’d been getting ready, pretending like you didn’t already know all about this. “So all of her fans wear star stuff to see her.”

Before you can think to wipe off the glitter, everything goes black. Then the crowd goes wild. 

When the silvery blue light spills onto the stage, it illuminates Ellie, standing just a number of feet away from you. You barely have enough time to take in the black leather coat and loose white shirt she’s wearing before music explodes out of the speakers, her fingers flying up and down the fretboard. 

You’re spellbound as you watch her. Her voice rings loud and clear and slightly gravelly when it snags on her words. She’s nothing at all like the girl you’d met a month ago—there’s no discomfort, no awkwardness. She looks like she’s born to be on stage. 

When the first song ends, she steps back, grabbing the standing mic next to her. 

“Uh. Hi,” she says, and it’s so endearingly nervous compared to how she’d just sounded that something in your chest twists. She rubs the back of her neck. “I’m Ellie.”

Greta and Maureena join the crowd, screaming and cheering. 

“I LOVE YOU!” someone shrieks, louder than everyone else.

“You know,” she says, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to people reacting like this to me just, like, saying my name. It’s really fucking weird. Oh. Shit. Sorry. Are you guys okay with me swearing?” 

The roar that comes from the crowd is entirely undecipherable. 

“Right,” says Ellie. “Um. I’ll take that as a yes. Sorry to anyone who brought their kids or something. Anyway, this one’s about the ex who cheated on me and gave me mono.” 

Before you can react to that, she starts playing. 

As she proceeds through the setlist, you’re struck by just how close you are to her, how many things you can notice that hardly anyone else in the crowd can see. You see the outline of her phone in her pocket, the pieces of hair that have fallen out of her little half bun and are sticking to her face, the way that the glitter on her collarbones trails down her shirt in little rivulets. 

And, above everything else, you can see the horrible way her fingers straddle the fretboard, curling and pressing with ease so practiced it looks tender. 

Apart from this bad, bad development (you can feel your mind going a million miles an hour about things you should not be thinking about), things are going great. Ellie hasn’t noticed you. Or even looked in your direction. You’re not even sure she can see you, given how little light is shed onto the crowd. The false sense of security makes you feel comfortable singing along with Greta and Maureena, your lips forming the lyrics you’d been pretending to not listen to whenever her songs came on. 

It happens during a slower song, a sort of ballad that makes your heart thud harder in your chest to hear from her mouth. The lights on stage dim a little. Light spills just the slightest onto the front of the crowd, and Ellie’s eyes fall and snap onto yours so decisively that it almost feels audible. 

For a moment, you can’t breathe. Ellie’s voice suddenly catches mid-word, faltering and missing a beat. She thrusts her hand with the mic into the crowd, which eagerly picks up where she left off and finishes the verse. 

It’s impossible to see on the screen projecting her image behind her, but you can see the flicker of recognition in her eyes, the stiffness that comes with realizing that you actually know someone from somewhere. 

You’re the one who breaks eye contact, focused with a sudden intensity on the way the thin fabric of your sleeves are situated on your arms. 

Greta pokes you so hard in your ribs that you gasp. 

“What the fuck!” you snap, but the words are swept away by the noise around you. 

“Why didn’t you wave?!” she hisses in your ear. “She totally recognized you.”

The realization falls over you with the subtlety of an anvil. Oh my god. You totally should’ve waved. That was the normal, well-adjusted thing to do. Now she was going to think you were weird. And it was too late now. But she didn’t wave to you. Wasn’t she supposed to wave first? Because you of course remembered her, but she might not remember you. Yeah. You could go with that.

Maybe she didn’t remember you. 

You can’t relax for the rest of the concert. You try your best to just act normal and dance along with your friends and casually mouth the words, but it’s hard when it feels like she’s staring at you. Which is completely impossible. The light doesn’t fall back onto the crowd until the concert is over and Ellie and her band are long gone backstage. 

~

Two months later, all you can think about is the way that Ellie stuttered over her words when she saw you in the crowd. Of course, this is definitely something you’ve made up in your mind, because there’s a number of reasons why she might’ve slipped up. Maybe she just thought she knew you from somewhere and couldn’t place it. That’s why she (allegedly) kept looking in your direction afterwards. Or maybe you’re completely batshit insane, and she didn’t look at you at all. Because if she had, wouldn’t she have waved? Right?

It’s almost bad enough to distract you from work. You find yourself prowling on Twitter, watching the #elliewilliams tag blow up following every concert date. It doesn’t give you any clarity, because in every picture, she looks just as perfect and cool and confident as she was at the LA show. You don’t know why you assumed she’d look different if it was true that she’d recognized you. More human, maybe. But she’s just as bathed in starlight as she was that night many weeks before, just as far away and untouchable. 

You spend so much time thinking about her that you’re convinced you might’ve slipped into a dream when Eric appears at your cubicle with the news.

Instead of saying hello, he plops a stack of papers on the desk in front of you, all labeled “PopNow! Interview Etiquette”. 

“Excuse me?” you say. 

“Start reading up, kid,” says Eric. “You’re back in the game.”

“What?” 

“You have an interview scheduled later this week.” He scowls down at you, gum smacking in his mouth. He smells faintly of tobacco. 

“But I thought I was removed from—”

“You still are,” he says. “But someone requested you. Their manager told us they wouldn’t talk to us if they didn’t get you.”

“What?” 

He huffs out a short laugh. “Believe me, I was surprised too. Don’t know what they’re on about after the last time you talked to their client. Fuck this one up and you’re out, okay? Got it? The info’s in your inbox already.” 

Somehow the words don’t quite sink in until you open the email and see the words on paper. 

SENDER: Maria Miller

RECIPIENT: Eric Bal

CC: ewilliamsmusic@gmail.com, y/ny/l/n@popnow!.com

Eric,

Great to hear back from you. Glad that 3 next Wednesday works. 

Best,

MM

final a/n: lmk how u guys feel about this...feeling a little unsure about where this is going but enjoying writing it anyway there are two wolves inside of me etc. etc. also ive missed u all! i hope everyone is doing well! dont b shy!

[spiderfreedom]

What if I'm wrong?

I think it's healthy to ask the question "what if I'm wrong" as a matter of course. We all get wrapped up in social movements, status, and become so expert at answering dissenters, that it's easy to think we have it all figured out. It's a good question to ask - what are the consequences of my belief system/politics being wrong? and then, if the consequences are serious, how can I move forward and responsibly?

The "what if I'm wrong" question was one of the things that caused me to seriously question my involvement in 'gender affirming medical care.' If I was right about it, then I was helping a group of people with a severe medical illness live lives using a relatively low cost treatment. If I was wrong, I was supporting the sterilization and medical alteration of gender non conforming and neurodiverse people.

As someone who is rad-adjacent, I must also ask myself "what if I am wrong." If I am wrong about the causes of gender dysphoria, then I am complicit in keeping people with dysphoria from a treatment that would help them live their lives.

It's worth noting there's no easy out here. Being wrong in either direction will hurt you - some group of people will be hurt.

I try to remember that because it's way too easy to get swept up in these arguments and talk about the TRAs and how "they" are controlling things and look at this awful person on twitter. One of the most significant questions at hand is about medical treatment.

How do I know if I'm right? I don't know if I'm right, any more than the people on the 'other side' do. I had a set of information that once convinced me medical transition was the right treatment for gender dysphoria; I've since been exposed to information that, at best, problematizes that original information. But there could always be new information that problematizes what I already believe. And how do I know if my reasoning is solid?

I try to read about things that are not gender because frankly, it all drives me mad sometimes and I would prefer to not spiral. When outside commenters (that is, people who are not heavily invested in the TRA take, or the radfem take, or the conservative take) share the same concerns I have regarding the medicalization of children, I find it a sign that, at least, the reasoning that I have used to arrive at that conclusion is not so bizarre that I'm the only one thinking it. Other people have looked at the same information (or similar) and come to similar concerns, and also found the counterarguments unconvincing. It's a sort of sanity test - I am not making an extremely unusual leap in my argumentation.

But this doesn't mean I'm right - it only confirms my suspicion that my suspicions are logically valid and require some answer.

Working in this space involves dealing with uncertainty. Even if I had a change of heart in the middle of the night and went back to posting all the same trans memes and saying I disavow radblr, there would still be a voice in my head, just as there is now - "and what if you're wrong about medical transition?" There is no epistemic stance I can take that will utterly that voice. There are political stances that would make my life more comfortable, but the voice would still nag at me.

The only thing I can do is to make my peace with uncertainty and try to be honest with myself, and not delude myself as to reality because I want something to be true. To not revel in cruelty in the certainty that I Am Right. To be humble both epistemically and socially.

[lakesbian]

my loose notes on this subject:

it is absolutely insane how wildbow writes him rapidly developing what is essentially dubiously-written DID for an arc and then being effectively cured of it via being forced thru "the power of love" to admit that he was just faking/deluding himself

i wouldn't describe the infante as an "alter" in the same way e.g. evette is more comparable to one--he seems to be written to have less of a conscious presence and is more along the lines of the "scary hallucination tells mentally ill person to kill someone and they succumb to The Voices" trope. although if we do see it as more alter adjacent that's also horrendous, perhaps moreso

i think it's particularly bizarre and cheap storytelling how sy's end-stage jokerisms involve him spontaneously becoming a serious danger to the lambs, because it directly contradicts a more interesting thorough line we saw earlier in the novel: that sy's mind is fundamentally built around the lambs, and their pain or injury is genuinely life-threateningly psychologically devastating to him. one of the most interesting conflicts in the earlier half of twig is between sy's agony over the idea of hurting or leaving the lambs & his mental inability to tolerate having to stick around and watch them die. it's fantastic how it culminates in the scene where it's clear how much shooting mary in the knee devastates him. i think the depiction of his mental illness where he's sitting in below-freezing temps and talking to himself for hours because he straight up does not know how to live without any lambs is far more truthful to the core of his character than "his hallucinations yelled at him so now he's blacking out and stabbing his disposable trans girlfriend." for me a more interesting direction to take this character arc would be him still increasingly struggling with erratic/dangerous (to himself or others) impulses without becoming, you know, the joker--and then going on to struggle perhaps even more with the ensuing paranoia and self-loathing over the idea of hurting the lambs or ruining his & jessie's plans. i could see him having delusional episodes akin to the moment where he sits on the stairs for like 48 continuous hours--times when he's unmoored enough from reality and very scared/(falsely!) convinced that he's done something awful or will do something awful, and he responds by taking up a "don't move and i can't break anything" mindset that extends to the point of unintentional self-harm. there's interesting ways you could spin his set of Issues but what's actually in the book isn't it!!!

at one point there's a scene written from the perspective of his fray hallucination where it fakes you out on thinking the real fray is back in the narrative, and that's absolutely insane. i get wildbow was trying to disorient us, but it's absolutely nuts as a writing decision. she's not even interacting w sy, she's viewing him from a distance. it's written like the hallucination is an evil ghost from a horror movie haunting him.

and that becomes the big thing as the book goes on--he goes from having wyvern-exaggerated but plausible and meaningful mental health struggles to being haunted by The Mental Illness Ghosts from A Horror Movie Coming To A Theater Near You. and aside from being obviously blatantly ableist, it undercuts the appeal of getting to watch how his mind develops over the course of his coming of age novel. i don't wanna watch him getting ominous prophecies from his evil murder hallucinations that are gonna possess him and make him serial kill, i wanna see how his experiences affect his personality and relationships as he grows up!!!

Re: recommendations about Twig, could you elaborate on the “actively insidious stuff” part? I feel like everyone I’ve seen talking about this book has different explanations of what absolutely doesn’t work for them/is objectively terrible, and I’m trying to get more context.

Not sure if you're asking as someone who hasn't read it before, but my answer will include pretty comprehensive spoilers.

The two biggest things that come to mind are the later uses of Jessie and what it implies about what the story sees as an acceptable way to treat trans women, and the endgame writing of Sylvester's mental conditions where it turns him into da joker. The former's been discussed at length, I'll include some of my thoughts on the latter here.

There's things that you can criticize about the depictions of Sy's mental conditions from pretty early on, but a lot of it I was able to enjoy on a craft level. While arc 14 is where a lot of the problems with how Jessie gets sidelined begins, and it had a lot of wheel-spinning action that felt unmotivated, I did really like a lot of the depictions of how Sy was seeing the lambs in his head, how they were taking over and arguing with themselves, his real panic when he wasn't able to picture their faces. It was good stuff! Questionable stuff, but entertaining! Hell, that stuff ended up being the most entertaining parts of a lot of the later arcs; his vision of Mauer ordering him to survive and take vengeance after blacking out from a firebomb is a piece I still remember vividly even though I can't remember anything much else about that section. The way his mental state is handled in the Hackthorn arcs are....mixed; I enjoyed much of the stuff depicting him not being sure whether people were real or remembering what he did, but it wasn't really able to consistently hit the right notes on that. The stuff about him just committing random acts of violence is a point of dissatisfaction here; while there's sections where Sy himself not being sure whether he's done something horrible helps build a satisfying sense of disorientation for the reader, there's other parts (mostly the parts with confirmed real acts of random violence) that just seem trite. Its worth exploring the headspace of people who don't really trust themselves, its worth exploring the lives of people who have horrible and sometimes irresistible impulses, but the whole "my mental illness means I'm taken over by a cold and calculating serial killer" thing is bottom-of-the-barrel storytelling.

As such, the Infante alter is where Sy's arc really loses me. I do kind of like the idea of Sy not being able to grow up in the usual way and having to essentially rewire his mind with Wyvern yet again to become the mature version of himself, but the execution just wasn't there. I don't really think wildbow had a consistent idea on what to do with him: a bundle of violent impulses? A paranoid manipulator who wants to enjoy all the power of a noble? Basically Sy with all his affection for his friends but scary now? It's frustrating how I largely enjoyed the epilogues, with the glaring exception of the chapter that explores what happened to the damn main characters. And one of the main problems in that chapter is the unclear signalling around Lord Simon.

[iamnmbr3]

Hey! This is a bizarre ask but hopefully a welcome one after *gestures at the destruction and fire*. I’m completely new to the Loki/thorki fandom, having essentially come in via the exit door by watching the Loki tv series first. I was honestly just watching it for junk value to have something in the background while I knit. However, when I realized that I didn’t understand anything by the middle of Ep. 1, I went back to watch Thor 1 so I could get what was going on. And HOLY SHIT I was utterly captivated by Loki’s character in the original movie, as well as by the Loki-Thor and Odin family dynamics. I’ve now watched through the films and have been increasingly disappointed by the portrayal of Loki (since Avengers 1 frankly) save a few glimmers of good characterization here and there.

I can’t believe that I’m getting myself into another queer coded (and now more than coded wtf) “villain” with a tragic backstory who’s done dirty by the fandom at large, but here we are! I’m also super into thorki because goddamn… they sure do have a Dynamic™.

So I guess my question is, what is actually good here? I feel like I’ve been trying to fight my way back to Kenneth Branagh!Loki, and have been largely unsuccessful within canon content. Do you have suggestions for a newcomer re: fics, fanart, and meta that actually treats Loki seriously? (and thorki as well?)

Hey! Welcome! Sorry about the mess *gestures at the garbage fire that is the TVA Show The Larry Show The "Loki" Show*

And this isn't a bizarre ask at all. It was really nice to receive actually! And yeah! I'm so glad you went back and watched the originals. The TV Show character is a completely new character played by the same actor who has nothing in common with the original character (who yes is absolutely fascinating and captivating and multilayered). Honestly I just think of the tv character as Larry, Loki's dumb lookalike cousin bc they have nothing in common lol. So glad the show led to you discovering good content...and thorki. And yeah Thor 2011 is amazing! It's so underrated. If you want meta relating to that and also just gushing about the film you can def check out my Thor 2011 tag.

My thorki tag of course has thorki stuff including art etc. I've also got an art tag which has both thorki and non-thorki works. If you want fic recs you can look in my fic rec tag which has a bunch of good stuff both thorki and gen.

Also here are some good thorki fics to start out with that I've really enjoyed. Most are ones I read early on when I just discovered the ship. Also @illwynd has a great thorki blog btw that you should def check out (and also their sideblog @throwbackthorki). Edit: I’ve also added some gen fic recs.

Thorki Fic Recs:

Chaos War by astolat (words: 34,203 | rating: E)

It was never easy to find Loki when he wanted to hide, but he wasn't doing a particularly good job of it at the moment. Probably he didn't think anyone from Asgard would be wasting their time hunting for him while the shining ones churned their way steadily through all the realm.

Loyalty at Any Price by seidrade (words: 22,663 | rating: E )

“This whole time, I’ve been searching the Nine Realms— alone— for answers to questions I barely know how to ask. I thought Heimdall at his watch, our father upon the throne, and most grievously… I thought you lost to me forever.” Thor’s resurgence of anger gives way to something like despair. He can’t tell whether he wants to pummel Loki into one giant bruise, or hold him and weep like a child.

When Thor returns to Asgard and exposes Loki’s deception, his demands for answers and Loki’s reluctance to give them soon bubble over into a cathartic confrontation.

Born to be Kings by Kadorienne (words: 66,618 | rating: T)

When the princes of Asgard made their ill-fated jaunt to Jotunheim, Odin arrived to fetch them before the frost giant grabbed Loki's arm. Odin was able to carry out his plan to make Loki his puppet king of Jotunheim. But how long will Loki remain an obedient puppet?

Yidrigar by epistolic (words: 5,174 | rating: M)

Sometimes I am envious, but never doubt that I love you.

The Heavy Crown by orphan_account (words: 10,024 | Rating: M )

Odin is dead. Loki must take up the mantle of King even as war threatens Asgard, Thor remains bereft of both Mjolnir and his immortality, and stress coupled with the knowledge of his heritage drives Loki to the brink.

No Common Thing by ravenbringslight (words: 8,283 | rating: E)

Loki follows Thor to a brothel and gets the shock of his life.

On the Eagle's Wings by illwynd (words: 2,975 | rating: T )

After Loki falls from the Bifrost, Thor begins to write him letters every day.

How long we were fooled by Ark (words: 28,227 | rating: E )

Loki is not a good man, he knows; there is something rotten in the core of him; and even a much better man might let Thor kiss him, since Thor still tastes of sizzling lightning, like gathering rain, like a desire so fierce and so awful to him that when released it could bring Asgard to its knees.

sunshine by thorvaenn (words: 18,257 | rating: E )

A post Infinity War fluffy piece.

Thor and Loki are among those who are trying to pick up the pieces, but must first fix each other.

Edit: And Some Gen Fic Recs too:

lose my idols to find my voice by Lise (words: 1,548 | rating: T)

This is no homecoming.

monstrare by Lise (words: 1,174 | T )

Loki is Asgard's second prince, brother to Thor, son of Odin and Frigga.

Isn't he?

farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear by Lise (words: 3,113 | rating: T)

Loki and the terrible, horrible, no good, very long delayed reckoning.

Five Times Loki Could Have Been A Villain by Kadorienne (words: 3,344 | rating: G | Character Death)

Five AUs where Loki is not a mere antagonist, but an actual villain.

He would have acted very differently.

When It Sings, When It Lies by dreamsthebirds (words: 14,145 | rating: G)

Thor AU, based on an awesome norsekink prompt for a scenario in which Heimdall doesn't open the Bifrost to Jotunheim, Odin doesn't ride to the rescue, and Loki is forced to take matters into his own hands.

Interdimensional journeys, shattering emotional revelations, and walking trees ensue.

Ichor in Violet by tirsynni (Words: 14,574 | rating: T)

When Thor learns that Loki can travel to other realms without Heimdall seeing, of course he convinces Loki to take them both to Jotunheim to hunt Frost Giants. There an accident unravels centuries of lies and threatens to unravel Loki, too.

The Sinking Feeling of Anticipation by JaggedCliffs (words: 8,624 | rating: G)

When Æsir come of age, they receive a gift from their parents, one meant to aid them in their adult lives. When a prince of Asgard comes of age, their gifts are not just for themselves, but for the realm.

Loki watched Thor receive Mjolnir at his coming of age ceremony – one of the greatest weapons in the realms, for one of its greatest warriors. Now, it's Loki's turn, and he knows Odin will grant him something just as magnificent.

Won't he?

Exsanguination by Lise (words: 8,610 | rating: G)

exsanguination /ex·san·gui·na·tion/ v.intr. To be drained of blood. (And all the rest.)

[tigerdrop]

in lieu of doing more strenuous hand-based activities heres the Dogboy Gordon In Heat Megamix ive been talking about. i wrote this over the course of a couple months in an effort to feel okay about writing horny shit again and i only just realized there are nearly 6 thousand words here. and they only really fuck for like 10% of that

ta-dah

ive thought a lot about gordon being stuck back at gordonhouse after getting kicked out of barneyhouse. i think its ripe for a lot of pining. (and yes, he is pining over the guy hes actively banging. hes being a big mopey idiot over the fact that he doesnt get to have his fuckbuddy around 24/7.) absence makes the heart grow fonder or whatever and gordons already at a baseline of "wheres benrey. wheres benrey"......and now i am about to turn it up to 11

so lets say......gordons starting to feel weirdly under the weather. sweaty and irritable and tired. hes holing himself up in his room a lot, wrapping himself up in blankets to fight off a chill and a sniffliness that wont go away. and hes gettin awfully moody, too. real fuckin testy. starting shit with freemind for no reason and snapping at og gordon like hes a teenager. and......hes nesting, almost, or at least, gathering up a whole bunch of blankets and pillows and anything that smells vaguely like benrey. (hes not really aware hes doing this last thing.)

basically, long story short, feetman is fucked up. hes pathetic. hes being a huge bitch. at least og gordon feels vaguely sorry for him, and expresses this by way of observing him and trying to treat it. for science. its better than freemind, who just loudly complains about him being a huge bitch and reeking up the place. theres something weird coming from vr gordons corner of the house.....a musky, heady, hormonal kind of thing that makes freemind act simultaneously territorial and irritable and more lascivious than normal. and that also piques og gordons attention, because having both of them be wound up little freaks at the same time is enough to make even the most resilient person pull their hair out

now gordon primes got his suspicions as to whats going on, but hes not gonna tell vr gordon that he suspects hes going into heat. that would compromise the experiment, and all that. so poor gordons just going thru all this shit not knowing what in the fuck is wrong with him and getting more worked up and irritable about it by the day. hes convinced that hes just got the flu, or something......except, uh, haha, jesus christ he is horny all the FUCKING TIME

he doesnt get it! he feels like shit all the time, so why is he constantly fighting off boners and having weird wet dreams and thinking about-- well. his fucking boyfriend, he guesses. (are they boyfriends?? he doesnt know. he gets a weird, sharp pang when he thinks about them not being boyfriends, at this point, but its not like theyve ever talked about it!) gordons half-convinced that hes just losing his mind from being stuck inside all the time and he really just wants to see benrey again. its, like, all he thinks about. (see? hes losing it. theres the proof.)

the sucks thing for everybody else is that gordon is also Extremely Vocal about how shitty he feels and how much he wishes he didnt feel shitty so he could go see benrey and how much he cant stand benrey for not being able to read his mind and come over when he feels bad. eventually freemind gets so sick of his shit that he decides to cut out the middleman and get benrey involved directly. "come take care of your fucking dog before i call the aspca! animal neglect is a crime, asshole!"

(if pressed, freemind would adamantly reject the idea that hes being nice to gordon. but on some level, hes kinda sympathetic. the guys clearly miserable, and he just keeps asking for the same fucking thing. might as well humor him to shut him up.)

vr gordon is completely unaware of these machinations, however. hes just holed up in his room trying to work out what makes him feel better because, uhh, powerade isnt helping

jacking off doesnt do a whole lot for him anymore. like, it feels good, but its not very satisfying. gordon just ends up feeling more restless than anything afterward. and hes always stupid horny. more blankets. a box fan. less blankets. sleeping with one of benreys shirts pressed up to his face. grinding into his pillow when he wakes up hard from yet another weird dream. theyre all a little helpful, and he feels like hes working towards the right thing, somehow, but its never really enough to take the edge off

and then.....he tries......jerking off more. especially when he realizes that its bizarrely soothing to do so while he can smell benrey up close and personal on that stupid shirt of his. better still when he rolls onto his side.....and then his stomach.......rocking his hips into the mattress until he gets the idea to lift his hips a little. and......oh. cool. something kind of......clicks. in his head. as he raises his hips higher while he keeps his arms wrapped around a pillow and benreys shirt jammed against his nose. hes got that lil moment of realization that this is good, actually. this feels like a good move. and its making some of that discomfort melt away

and gordon thinks about.....how it felt. earlier. when they were with barmey. and benrey had him just like this, ass up, face down, and was spreading him apart and licking him open and making him submit and he groans so fucking hard that embarassment just rips through him like lightning. but his tail starting to wag a little faster.....electricity shooting through his belly......and he cant help but wonder. what if benrey had kept going? pulled back and-- maybe, replaced his tongue with his fingers, one at a time, curling them inside him and telling him how well hes behaving and-- and his dick throbs, hard, and gordon realizes he wants fingers inside of himself right fucking now, thank you, hes not fully certain how to accomplish it be he is going to fucking try

(sigh) so my guy figures out about the old fingers in the ass trick. and i need you to understand that i am fully convinced that this is one of those guys who has an uproarious reaction to getting fingers in his ass. mr repressed and uptight over here doesnt really get what the big deal is until he gets braver and pushes a little deeper and hes rock hard in an instant, goodbye, just like everybodys favorite creative writing exercise

and this is what he decides to do for a solid day or two without leaving his room, because, honestly, this is awesome. and the longer he spends jerking off the less time he spends stressing about the fact that his imaginations getting really vivid, here. sure, like, hes no stranger to weird dreams even before this, but this is the first time hes really letting his mind run wild and this dude is nonstop thinking about being bred and gordon still has no fucking idea that hes in heat. doesnt even occur to him

unfortunately this also does not solve his problems but at least it feels baller and it keeps him occupied. also, unfortunately, the increased rate of jerking off is causing a serious uptick in Dog Smells, the effect of which is turning freemind into a nightmare. its just not good vibes in this house. enter: benrey

now i need you to understand that when these two meet up again i want gordon to get Emotional. think about how genuinely excited he gets to see some of his pals in canon. the like......excitement and disbelief when benrey shows up outside his window throwing rocks at it before noclipping in. he forgets to even act pissed off at first. i think it would be super fucking cute for him to drop the game for a moment just out of shock, basically. his tails waggin, his ears are perked up, and hed probably tackle benrey to the ground if he wasnt also a sweaty, trembling mess whos been holed up in his room for days.

and benrey has No Fucking Idea what he has walked in on here. as far as benrey knows, freemind just demanded he get over there and take care of his dog.

(INTERLUDE: here is the part where i gin up a freemind POV of this exact scene. b/c i am out of my fucking mind

so. i had the thought of a freemind POV chapter where hes spying on gordon and benrey.....because. gordons in heat. ive talked about that scenario before too (literally so many FUCKING times okay i just need this dude to have the uncontrollable urge to be bred like a little bitch! and for benrey to take pity on him and make him feel better by nutting in him literally as many times as is physically possible!!!)

but i wanna manifest it in this specific way: from an outside perspective. voyeurism is great and also i have a one track mind and basically the only time i traffic in Other Guys in this fandom anymore is as a participant in gordon and benreys horse shit. Im not apologizing for this

lets say.....vr gordons behavior has been getting worse and worse for "unknown reasons" and freeman prime just sees it as a key observational opportunity for his research. while freeminds getting really irritated at how much its cutting into his normal way of life. for one thing, vr gordons room reeks, and he cant even escape it in his own room! and its turning him into a feisty, aggressive, and loud son of a bitch. but he cant even resolve it in his usual fashion at this point (baiting vr gordon into another competition/fuckfest) b/c gordons being a little sadsack holed up in his room and doesnt wanna play

but also.....he kinda just feels bad for the guy at a certain point. hes clearly really miserable and looks downright ill and all hes asking for is to see his boytoy again. (gordons convinced that hes dying, and feels the need to dramatically speak to benrey one last time before he croaks.) so freemind decides, in all his benevolence, to go over gordon primes head and drag the guy over there anyway. (with machinations, not his literal bare hands. what is he, a caveman?) he reasons that itll be a good opportunity to twist gordons arm into groveling at his feet later

and he spies on the two of them in gordons room.....why? idk. possibly something to do with investigating this relationship between a gordon and a barney that he had yet to fully analyze. tl;dr he gets trapped in their closet for a remix of that one barmey voyeurism chapter b/c why the fuck not

i just.....i dont know.....i think theres something really charming about a 3rd party not being able to fully make out what theyre saying or doing but piecing things together anyway.....like benreys weirdly soft tone of voice when hes talking to a super agitated gordon. as far as any of them know, hes not really like that. he either sounds bored or smug, but either way, its usually straight-up antagonistic

it would make freemind bristle to hear it b/c its almost a mocking tone, but.....it makes gordons shoulders drop and gets him to let go of some of that tension and thats probably fascinating to watch. literally soothing him like a stressed out dog, huh. smoothing back his hair and murmuring things in a low, even tone that freeminds enhanced hearing still isnt good enough to make out. (the guy mumbles, okay? he needs a fucking toastmasters meetup.)

it would equal parts horrify and fascinate freemind, in my onion. watching a version of himself fall that hard into the loyal pet role.....its pathetic! for all that gordon goes on about not being a slave to his instinct or whatever, he sure is doing a bad job of acting like it! its like watching himself, but worse.

and benreys having to soothe him like a startled animal b/c he doesnt even know whats wrong with himself, but theres something thick enough on the air that even benrey can smell it, and hes taking some stabs at the dark. especially with how charged some of the shit gordons saying is......"i cant fucking take it anymore", "you smell so good", "i dont know whats wrong with me, man, my dick hasnt gone down for days and im pretty sure i need a doctor-- no, a real one, not the other gor-- NOT a vet, JESUS"

and the whole time.....freeminds peeking from behind a closet door. watching them devolve from outright hostility into "gordon climbing into benreys lap and shoving one of benreys hands up his shirt and demanding that he fucking touch him already"

normally i dont think freemind would be averse to a little bit of voyeurism, here. if it was anybody else, hed probably at least engage in a little heavy petting. but this is getting weird, man. he cant shake the uncanny feeling that this is something too intimate for him to be watching. for one thing, gordons whimpering like a goddamn dog just from a little necking, and for two, hes never really been the kind of guy to watch people make out for 15 minutes before they get to the good stuff

its just kind of unsettling how much these two clearly really, really like each other at this point. its not like watching gordon prime give vr gordon a handjob as part of a "test". freemind expected more of a hatefuck kind of deal out of these two, what with how often gordons normally going on about how much he hates the guy, what a pain in the ass benrey is, how he just wishes benrey would stop jerking him around.....etc. freemind could shit himself right now. that lying bitch!

i imagine its also kind of painful, on a personal level, for him to watch this borderline-sappy shit. he cant even fathom being on the receiving end of that behavior, let alone from......well. theyve all got their barneys, right? and gordon primes basically doomed himself to incel status b/c he wont nut up and do anything about it. freemind just assumed they were all in the same boat: cursed to casual sex with their roommates/clones, forever, and unable to achieve any kind of intimacy b/c all 3 gordons are fucked up in the exact same way. since theyre all just diff flavors of the same fucking guy, right?

well, theres the evidence that hes wrong. and that vr gordons better than him, somehow. thats gotta suck, bro

anyway then he watches vr gordon get railed in the ass a bunch and jerks off anyway b/c its still hot. see ya)

“take care of your dog”. huh. hes got no clue what that means but, yknow, he does kinda miss his dog. hasnt seen gordon in awhile. and he immediately comments "wow. you look fucked up" in as blunt and unsympathetic a way as possible. but gordons so far gone that he cant even work up a good anger about it. he is pretty fucked up, man. and benrey sits on the bed and slaps his forehead with a palm to take his temperature (and that gets gordon to bitch at him, finally, that thats not how you do it, asshole) and judges that, uh, he is hot. in his expert opinion

and thats when gordon kinda grabs his sleeve and tugs it and starts tryin to say something. hes really bad at it, because he is having to perform the mortifying task of Owning Up To It, but eventually he manages to grind out that he needs benrey to touch him, please. just pet him. something. he feels really bad and he just needs benrey to scratch his fucking ears. this is the most gordon can cop to in one go, and it is such a sad struggle to watch, but benreys caught off guard by it and he feels weirdly bad for gordon upon hearing it so  hes just like "whoa, okay" when gordon tugs his hand to his head

gordon groans the moment his fingernails start scratching behind the ears and digging into his scalp. even just that much feels really fucking good. its comforting, for one thing, and its benrey, for another, and the physical touch feels so fucking good right now that goosebumps are crawling down his neck. gordon cant help but lean against benrey and bury his head in the crook of his shoulder. he wants to hide his face from scrutiny and he wants to get closer but he doesnt know how to say what his fucking problem is

and benreys weirdly quiet. just kinda mumbling and shushing him intermittently, awkward and not sure what to do b/c this is a level of intimacy he was not expecting but gordons sure is responding nicely to a second hand in his hair

so having both of benreys hands scratching at his scalp is really getting to gordon. hes scritchin behind the ears and gordons tails wagging at a mile a minute. the feelings making goosebumps race down his neck and arms. he starts kind of mumbling something into benreys shoulder, how hes been feeling so fucked up lately, and he squirms a little closer. hes not really aiming for anywhere in particular but every neuron thats firing in him right now is telling him to get closer. make contact. he missed the fucking guy, what can he say.

and one of benreys hands......slips down to gordons face. his jaw. a thumb pushing into that soft little divot between his jaw and neck, like hes trying to push up into gordons fucking teeth. its weird and bizarrely intrusive, but benreys hand is broad and warm and gordon leans into it anyway, groaning with relief. its not like its not doing anything for him. kind of the opposite, actually. then he palms at gordons neck, and gordon starts breathing harder. he can feel his heartbeat rabbit-fast, pushing against benreys skin (and theres no way benrey isnt feeling that, too).

benrey eyes are lidded and his breaths starting to get heavier, too. naturally, yknow, since gordons practically draped over him right now, melting all the more the longer benrey keeps petting him. oxytocin is crazy, man, especially when a guys in the full throes of some kind of chemical meltdown of the glands. gordons eyes are screwed shut, tail thumping furiously against the bed, and hes panting at benreys neck like hes a fucking dog.  he just doesnt know how to articulate what the fuck his problem is

benrey smells insanely good to him right now, and gordon just blurts that out. benrey gives him some shit for it, but when gordon only makes a weird noise in response and fists his hands in benreys hoodie, it makes him shut up real quick. hes squeezing out words about feeling like he needs something, but its clearly a fucking effort. its almost pitiful

so. gordons crawled right into benreys lap, too impatient after days and days of feeling like this (you know, being in heat, in so many words). hes been pounding off like crazy, that brand new collar of his strapped to his neck nearly every time b/c hes that desperate to feel… well. *benrey*. he cant fucking jerk off to thoughts of anything else - porn doesnt do it for him, and his fantasies slip right back to the same thing every single time. its frustrating! hes bisexual, for gods sake! its not like hes normally immune to the wiles of the Phat Ass White Girl, but lately he just keeps ending up on his hands and knees and whining benreys name into his pillow and he couldnt focus on a girls rack if he tried

point being. hes being awfully fucking demanding. (and also, hes wearing the collar *right fucking now)*. he shoves benreys hand up his shirt and shivers the moment he makes contact with gordons burning-hot flesh. and hes demanding that benrey touch him already, jesus, hes losing his mind! and benreys just crooning at him, “bossy, huh,” but hes scritching gordons ears and palming at his side and nosing at gordons neck and gordon starts to feel like hes melting into it. his protests at being talked down to are perfunctory at best

benrey licks a stripe up gordons neck and starts muttering his stupid horseshit right in gordons ear and it makes gordon clutch his shoulders so tight, claws digging into the meat of him. benreys kind of into it, though, and it just makes him laugh, low and harsh and right in gordons ear. that just makes gordons problem worse. he lets out quiet, nasal whines on every exhale, like a literal fucking dog.

he starts teasing, like, “haha, you’re *gagging* for it, bro,” but gordon doesnt respond with the defensiveness he expects. instead, its like opening a floodgate - he is, hes fucking *desperate*, okay, his dick hasnt gone down in days and he wants benrey so bad he cant see straight and he cant stop thinking about him and all of this comes tumbling out of him at once. gordons trying to press himself as close to benrey as he can physically get, legs straddling benreys lap and arms clutched tight around his back. and when benrey prods a little more, tells gordon to say what hes been thinkin about, gordon starts to pant, squeezing his eyes shut. but he cant bring himself to do anything more than choke and stutter on the words

hes half-hard in his underwear already (and, lets be be clear, he was only in boxer briefs and a tank top to begin with. hes sweating buckets and its the least amount of clothing he could get away with wearing around the house) and his tails thumping a mile a minute and hes so far gone, just from benrey talking down to him and kissing his neck and scratching his ears. but hes not budging yet, so benrey slides that hand on his ears over to his ponytail and *yanks*. tells him, “speak.” gordons dick twitches rapidly, and he lets out a sharp sound, and he finally says it: he needs benrey to *fuck* him, jesus

benrey lets out a harsh breath at that. “yeah? thats what puppy wants?” and the nickname should blister him, make him feel to embarrassed to continue, but gordons too desperate to care. he just starts spewing a litany of “god yes”s and “please”s. hes getting harder and harder, pressed up against benreys belly, and benrey can *feel* it. “good boy,” he mutters, and those claws dig harder, that panting gets louder and harsher

he slips a hand around to gordons back, rubbing slowly for a moment as if to soothe him, and then slides it under the back of gordons boxers. and lower still. starts rubbing at gordons hole. that gets a quiet “oh god” out of gordon.

gordon cant help himself - he rocks forward against benrey, just a little, rubbing his bulge against what he realizes is benreys *extremely* hard dick in his sweatpants. hes not the only one whos got it bad. but he *is* the only one whispering, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” as benrey pushes a little further, makes as if hes about to breach gordon dry. the poor guys so needy that he probably wouldnt even argue!

but benrey just stares at him, wide eyed and flushed, mouth hanging open a little. gordons so hot for this that it surprises the both of them.

anyway after some boring position finagling benrey coaxes gordon onto his hands and knees, running a broad hand down gordons shaking back. and he pulls back gordons tail, exposing him. its so fucking humiliating - gordons got his face buried in a pillow, and his ass in the air, and hes never felt so *vulnerable* before. he wants to argue, he wants to lift his head and look back to make sure that everythings, like, okay back there - benreys staring at his entire asshole, okay, and he wasnt exactly anticipating benrey making a house call to fuck him in the ass - but every time he lifts his head, or starts to say something neurotic about it, benrey chides him about it. clicks his tongue. tells him, “hey. dogs dont talk” or “i said *bow*, bro”.

for all his insisting that hes a real guy, that hes not just a dog, gordons feeling less and less like a human and more like something in thrall to his instincts. the condescension rankles like it always does, but doing what benrey tells him to feels good. feels natural. presenting himself like this feels like what hes *supposed* to do. it doesnt stop him from running his mouth entirely, but it helps to mitigate some of the embarrassment.

and then… benrey *licks*. gordon tenses and gasps. he doesnt know how benrey can stand it, its gotta be, like, unhygienic! but that didnt scare him off the last time they tried this, and its not like gordon hasnt thought about it since. hes thought about it a lot, actually. but hes been too neurotic to ask for it. benreys not stupid, though. hes a good dog owner (at least, so he thinks) and hes gonna take care of his dog. so he licks again, and again, pressing a little harder against gordons hole on each pass with the broad side of his tongue until he dares to breach it with the tip.

gordons rock hard again in an instant. his dick hangs between his legs and drips onto the sheets. he digs his fingers into the pillow now, tearing holes in its surface with those sharp nails of his, and he makes embarrassingly high noises that he muffles into into the pillow, too. hes tense, hes so fucking tense, he should be clamping down and making benreys task really fucking hard, but theres bright pink sweet voice dripping from his hole and benreys rubbing the side of his thigh in an effort to soothe him and both of these things work in tandem to get him to relax. and benrey works his tongue in further, further than a human ought to.

the tip was one thing, but it gets wider as benrey pushes it in, and its just as good as it was before - better, even, because now its just the two of them, just a master and his dog, and benreys the only one he wants to see him like this. bent over and whimpering. he cant— he cant stomach the thought of anybody else doing this to him. hell, there was a point once where the idea of stomaching *benrey* doing this to him would have made him laugh. but here he is. benreys fucking him open with his tongue and pressing against something thats making him see stars and gordon just wants *more*. he says it so sweet, too, voice growing hoarse and raw as he begs benrey to just fucking do it already, he doesnt wanna come like this!

gordon gets so worked up and emotional about it that benrey takes the time to scratch behind his ears again, shushing him and telling him to chill. benreys got him. hes been a good dog, and good dogs get treats. hearing the words “good dog” makes gordons entire body flush. thats all he wants, really. he wants to be a good dog. he wants to be *told*. he blurts out, “oh my god— say it again,” and benreys like, “huh? say what? youre gonna have to be more specific,” clicking the last syllable. it makes all the hairs on gordons head rise and prickle with shame. the best he can do is mumble it into his pillow.

benrey hears it, though, and tugs at gordons collar from behind, just enough to raise his head. “whassat? you want me to call you a good boy?” gordon cant bring himself to answer that directly, but his stupid body betrays him by making him whine. jesus christ, yes, thats all he WANTS! he needs benrey to be good and nice to him for once in his fucking life and give him what he wants instead of taking, taking, taking! but benrey just tells him that hes gonna have to earn it. gonna have to be *real* good for him. gordon could fucking snarl at that, but benreys pulling back to rub his dick between gordons cheeks and against his hole and that shuts him up pretty fast because hes *so close* to getting what he wants and hes not about to fuck it up now by running his big dumb mouth

and then… he starts to push in. that sweet voice has loosened gordon up enough to take even benrey, who, uh, is definitely the bigger of the two, in that regard. he goes slow, uncharacteristically so, and gordons chest heaves with the force of how hard hes breathing. a quiet string of “oh god”s spills out of him as he tries to crane his neck back to watch. the head breaches him with a strange popping sensation, and benrey groans, loud, as the rest of him slides in with little resistance in comparison. “good,” he pants in turn, “youre takin it so good,” and—

and gordon comes, in weak, aborted spurts. it snuck up on him. he clenches so fucking tightly that it winds benrey a little. he breathes out, “whoa. did you—” but gordon just begs him to shut up, keep going, hes not— hes not done yet, its always like this, its not *enough*. his dick barely even flags afterward, it just hangs there, achingly hard and dripping with cum. benrey cant even find it in himself to make fun of him. he wants it so fucking bad, doesnt he? and he feels so good, so fucking tight and slick around benrey that the only thought running through his head is “gotta take care of my dog gotta fuck my best friend gotta nut in him and make him howl”. so he pushes himself alllll the way in until theyre pressed together, skin to skin.

then he starts to move. slow, careful thrusts, more for benreys benefit than gordons. if hes not careful, hes gonna blow his load, right then and there, and hes trying to make it good for gordon, too, okay? unlike *some* of them, hes not gonna bust in two minutes and then spend the next half hour crying and trauma-dumping to the guy hes still got his dick inside of.

once he thinks hes got a grip, though, benrey starts fucking him in earnest, and that changes gordons vocalizations from weak little whimpers into something louder. less restrained. hes given up any pretense of being quiet so that his other selves dont hear that hes snuck his boytoy into his room. just loud, wordless moans on each thrust, initially muffled into the pillow but soon spilling into the wider room when he turns his head to catch his breath. the only words hes managing are “oh god” and “please” and “benrey, benrey, *benrey*”, and benrey just responds to him like, “yeah? thats good? fuuuck, bro, so good for me,” all short of breath and barely able to speak himself

he wants to see gordons face. he *needs* to see gordons face. needs to see what hes doing to him, needs to see that cute fuckin blush of his. so he tugs on gordons collar again, bringing him to his hands and knees properly instead of that bowing position. and then further still - pulls him back so that benreys on his knees, and gordons on his knees in turn, on his lap, cock still buried inside of him and fucking him in short, hurried thrusts. “paws up,” benrey tells him, and gordon does it. instantly. no resistance. just folds them at his chest like a real dog would.

“whos a good boy?” benrey croons, right in his ear again. gordon gasps, “i-i am!”

“yeah? youre a good boy?” nod, wail. “whose— whose good boy are you?”

and gordon chokes on his response. he cant say it, he *cant*, he doesnt want to be benreys but he does, he *does*. he doesnt want to be benreys because its not fucking fair! he cares so fucking much! so much more than benrey does, it feels like, obsessing over the guy like hes wrapped thorny vines all around gordons heart and he cant so much as shift in his seat without feeling the tug and the ache and thinking of benrey again. and benrey doesnt care, he never fucking cares, except—

except he showed up at gordons house, in his room. without even being asked. like he knew something was wrong. and he— hes always talking to gordon, shooting him stupid texts just to make him laugh. scheduling *date nights* for them. date nights where, yeah, maybe they couldnt see each other in person, and maybe they always end in some kind of depraved sexual act, but its not like gordons not into it. hes frighteningly into it, actually. and hes *so* into hearing benreys voice, low and crooning, right in his ear, and seeing him lean on an elbow and smile at him afterward. its— its practically genuine. and benreys always making excuses to talk with him, do things with him, watch stupid fucking movies that only gordon cares about and stream with him on twitch to help boost his subscriber count and—

and—

oh god. maybe he *does* care. that might be more terrifying than the alternative.

then benrey yanks the collar again. presses the whole of gordons back against his front in one hot, unbroken line. and asks, “i said, whose good boy are you, bro? *speak.*”

“benrey,” he blurts out, a ragged moan, “d-dont make me sa-AY it, oh god—”

“no?” benrey stills suddenly. his hands keep gordon stuck in place, unable to move or bounce or feel benrey shift inside of him. “thats, uh… thats too bad, friend. this trains for good boys only. good dogs go to heaven 2. no bad dogs allowed. gonna have to, uhh, escort you off—”

“im not a bad dog!”

“i dunno, gordo. bein’ kind of, uh… disobedient.”

(sorry. thats all i got . byeeee)

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Horny on Main Disease - Komaeda x Reader

Summary: Reader catches a strain of the despair disease that means she says everything she is thinking. Kind of awkward considering all she can think about is how much she wants to jump Komaeda's bones. This is intended to be sort of funny, but i still wrote it pretty seriously, just want to make it clear that i did not half ass the smut. i whole assed it.

Word count: 4444  Contains: fem reader, they/them pronouns, despair disease, explict sexual content, unsafe sex, voyeurism Read on AO3 ミ☆ Please send me a DM or an ask if you’d like me to write something for you!

It’s not even a particularly hot day, and yet you’re sweating bullets as you walk over to the dining hall like you do every morning. Your legs are wobbly and your head is aching something terrible, you assume that you’ve caught a cold or something , whatever the problem is, it’s going to be a question for Tsumiki when you meet up with her at breakfast.

Kuzuryu is standing out by the pool, pensively staring into the still water. He probably misses Pekoyama, but you’re smart enough to know not to-

“Hey, Kuzuryu! I bet you miss your dead girlfriend, huh?”

He just stares at you, and it takes a good few seconds for you to even realise what you just said out loud. You clap a hand over your mouth, horrified.

“I don’t know why I said that!” You squeak

Kuzuryu doesn’t look...angry? He shakes his head at you and sighs, “you’re acting weird today too, aren’t you?”

“What? Weird? Who’s weird?”

“Owari was here a few minutes ago, bawling her eyes out on the ground.” He crosses his arms and looks away from you, “I think the bear is planning something again.”

You nod sternly, “anyone with tits as big as Owari has nothing to cry about! Something is definitely suspicious.”

Oh god why did you say that??

“Oh god, why did I say that??”

You just keep saying everything you’re thinking!

“I just keep saying everything I’m-“

Kuzuryu grabs you by the wrist and starts tugging you towards the dining hall, “something is definitely fucked up.” He looks down at where his hand is gripping yours, “Jesus Christ, your skin is on fire!”

“Yeah, cause I’m hot !” That was already an embarrassing thing to say, you are horrified when your mouth drops open again to follow it up with, “bow-chicka-wow-wow!”

There is definitely something wrong with you. In general you are the sort of person who takes the time to carefully curate every word that leaves your mouth, the fact that you are just speaking without even thinking about it is bizarre and alarming. The ache in your head is also steadily growing stronger and you’re starting to feel dizzy, maybe you’re just delirious with flu? It doesn't make sense for you to catch the flu on an abandoned island, but weirder things have happened already.

It is at this moment that you realise you have been (only semi-coherently) mumbling your full internal tirade outloud to Kuzuryu, who is now helping you up the stairs to the dining hall. He has very diplomatically, been either ignoring, or at least pretending to ignore everything you have been saying.

“You’re nice. Probably the politest yakuza i’ve ever met.” you pause, “I’ve never met another yakuza, i'm not sure why i said it like that.”

Kuzuryu scoffs and tugs you up at the last step. Deigning to give your comment any sort of response.

As you step up onto the dining hall landing, you freeze. This is dangerous. Your nails are biting into the skin of your palms, and your already warm face feels even hotter. Don't look at him, don't think about him, don't look at him, don't think about him. Kuzuryu is giving you a look, you must be verbalising your own mental gymnastics, but that is less embarrassing than the alternative.

“Don't look at him, don't think about him, don't look at him, don't think-”

You look up, like an idiot . Komaeda is sitting by the window with his chin in his palm, just sort of staring off into the middle distance, not really looking at anything. The morning sun cascades through the window and catches in his hair. It shimmers. Your heart twists and turns in your chest, you have been trying to keep this little fascination of yours under wraps, but he slowly closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose and-

“He looks like an angel .” You say, and you say it loudly.

All eyes in the room turn to you. Hinata especially is looking at you with his particular brand of exhaustion, that says this is not the first weird thing he has heard today. You scramble, trying desperately to think about anything other than Komaeda, to stop yourself from saying anything stupid. In your desperation, what you say is: “Yes hello! I was talking about anyone in this room apart from Komaeda. Please do not be confused, it was not Komaeda. I want to make it crystal clear that i am NOT attracted to Nagito Komaeda. This is a very convincing lie and you all believe me!”

Mioda straightens her spine and salutes you, “Roger! You are not attracted to Komaeda, I believe you!”

Your sweating even more now, it’s getting hard to breathe, “Forget I said anything!”

Mioda salutes again, “Consider it forgotten!”

“What is happening?! ” Hinata exclaims, gesturing wildly to you, Mioda, and Owari who you suddenly notice is leaning against the far wall and sobbing, “This is not normal!”

Your eyes slip to Komaeda again. He is looking at you and he is blushing-

“He looks so...cute…” You whisper, and Hinata yelps.

“Why are you all being so weird???? ”

Monokuma takes that as his cue to finally show up. Waltzing on into the dining hall like he owns the place, clearly buzzing with excitement, “A good question!” He says, clamoring up onto a vacant chair and holding a paw in front of his face to hide his laughter, “ Oooh , this is my best motive yet! Looks like three members of the class have come down with a bad case of the despair disease!”

“D-Despair Disease?” Tsumiki contributes, nervously playing with her hands, “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

“Yeah, well. It’s pretty self explanatory!” Monokuma says, “The main symptom is high fever, along with some other fun despair related effects! It’s a bit of a mixed bag though and no two cases are the same! For example, Moida is suffering from the Gullible Disease...Owari has the Cowards Disease.” Then, Monokuma points his stubby little paw in your direction, “And you have the No Filter Disease. You just say whatever you’re thinking! It’s been lots of fun so far, upupupupu~”

“Oh, does that mean all those things they were just saying about Komaeda were the truth?” Sonia says. Her brows draw together, and she taps her lips with a finger, “How interesting.”

“It’s not my fault he’s gorgeous!” the words escape you before you have a chance to stop them. You squeal and clap a hand over your mouth before you start talking again. Komaeda is now bright red to the tips of his ears.

“That was true? GROSS!” Saionji exclaims.

You glare at Monokuma, “If you wouldn't kill me for doing it, I'd rip out all your stuffing right now.”

Monokuma withers a little, “Aw~ Is that what you really feel? Here I was thinking we were great friends.”  

“I’ll gut you like a fish.” you pause, “a bear-fish.” another pause, “a fish-bear.” You groan, “UGH, I can’t stop saying stupid things! I’m all sweaty! This sucks !”

Tsumiki steps over to you, her hand is shaking as she brings it up to your forehead.

“Oh…” you breathe, “your hand is cold.”

“S-Sorry! I’m just checking your temperature.”

“You smell like lavender.”

She recoils a little, “It’s j-just my shampoo!!'' Then she shakes her head and turns to the rest of the group, “Monokuma is telling the truth. They’ve got a fever.”

Hinata hurriedly presses his hand against the foreheads of both Owari and Moida, confirming that they’re also burning up, “What do we do, Tsumiki?”

Before she can answer, Monokuma pipes up again, “did I forget to mention? It’s contagious~~”

Saionji squeals and backpedals all the way to the stairs, “Contagious!?”

“Yeah and I'm a conta- genius . Get it?”

Souda gives you an uncomfortable look and scratches the back of his neck, “How much space in your brain is taken up by bad puns?”

You’re feeling really dizzy now, “A lot of it! But usually I don't say any of them!” your knees wobble and you almost fall over, luckily Tsumiki is still close enough to grab you before you topple to the ground, “I am going to kill that goddamn bear .”

“Could-could someone help me?” Tsumiki squeaks, “If i keep holding them up like this we-we’re just both going to fall over.”

You giggle a little, slipping into a semi-delirium as you cling to Tsumiki for dear life. Hinata and the others start working on a plan to keep everyone safe until the illness runs its course, “Hey Tsumiki…” you whisper, “Komaeda’s got real nice hands, huh?” she is too busy trying to keep you upright to answer, “I want him to carry me. Unless I'm too heavy, Tsumiki, am I too heavy?”  

You’re all but draped over Tsumiki now, who is trying in vain to shuffle you over to a nearby wall, when you suddenly hear her sigh in relief, “Oh...Th-Thank you. I’m not very s-strong…”

You manage to flop your head around to face the other direction, lacking the strength to turn your neck properly. Komaeda is looking down at you, it might just be the fever, but you feel like you’re going to burst into flames.

“Aha, I’m sure i'm not much stronger than you, Tsumiki.” He says, gently wrapping his arm around your shoulders and tugging you over to him. You might have moaned, you can't be sure, “But I do have the height advantage.”

The utter tsunami that leaves your mouth is unavoidable. Literally medically unavoidable, but that doesn't stop it from being the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“He’s touching me. He’s touching me…” your head has come to rest on his chest and you are practically hyperventilating, “He smells like chamomile soap and clean laundry...His hands are cold, his shirt is soft...Oh god i'm so sweaty, he probably thinks i'm disgusting! Komaeda, i'm so sorry , this was meant to be a secret!!! I wasn't going to tell you, everyones gonna think I'm weird!” your thoughts are leaving your mouth faster than you can think of them, if Komaeda is reacting to anything you have to say, you don't notice because despite your mouth running a mile a minute you still have an ounce enough of shame and bury your face in his chest to hide from your own words.

The world is spinning, your head feels heavy, everything is so hot , “Your hair is nice, did you know your hair is nice? God, I've wanted to run my fingers through it since day one. This is so fucked up, you almost killed someone! I want to stop talking , i feel like i'm gonna pass out, i'm gonna pass out, i'm gonna pass out. Im gonna…”

***

“I think I passed out.” Is the first thing you say when you wake up. You’re still hot and the back of your neck is sweaty, but you can see that you are now in the hospital, and that you’re wearing a hospital gown.

“Who undressed me?!” You exclaim, disappointed to find that you still can’t help saying everything you think.

At the sound of your voice, the door to your room opens, and Komaeda steps in.

“No! Not you!”

He freezes, withering under your gaze, “Ah, I see. Being greeted by garbage like me in your current state, it must be insulting .”

You feel like an asshole .

“That’s not what I meant! Please don’t go, I never want you to go.”

Komaeda laughs a little, still lurking nervously in the doorway, “You’re confusing me.”

“I don’t want you to hear what I’m thinking. I want you to stay, but all I can think about is how much I want to suck on your collarbone.” You freeze the second you stop talking, a high pitched whine leaving your mouth as you hide your face in your hands, “I’m so sorry! I can’t stop it!”

Stepping further into the room, Komaeda quietly closes the door behind him. Your heart is pounding.

“I’m nervous.” You say.

He tilts his head, walking over to the side of your bed, “I can still leave if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m not uncomfortable.” You shrink under his gaze, “it just, the way you closed the door it makes me feel like you’re planning something, like maybe we’re going to have-“ you manage to cover your mouth before the rest of the sentence escapes. Keeping your hands tight over your lips as all you can think about is his long fingers, his soft hair, his half lidded eyes.

“Are you...still talking behind your hands?”

You nod.

A smile crawls up the side of his face, “are you saying something embarrassing?”

“I wanna stick my tongue in your mouth.” You say, loud enough that even the tight grip of your hands doesn’t muffle it.

Komaeda remains remarkably calm, “You keep saying those things. This disease...means you say whatever you’re thinking, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s driving me crazy, I’m just being such an idiot and I’m probably freaking you out. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not it.” He sighs, moving slowly as he sits down on the side of your bed, “Honestly, why would you let such thoughts about scum like me take up so much real estate in your mind?”

“I can’t help it!” You exclaim, “I’ve been trying not to think about it, but I just can’t! I want you so badly. I…..I-“ you hold your breath, you can’t let that last part out, no matter what, you can’t say that last part. You’ll die of suffocation before you let him hear it.

“You...what?” He asks

Oh god. You can’t stop thinking about it. Your lungs are aching, screaming for you to just open your mouth.

“What are you hiding, hm?”

It’s too much. The nerves, your sick and weakened body, him right there . You can’t do it, you can’t stop it, the next time you see Monokuma, you are drop kicking him into the sun.

“I’ve touched myself while thinking about you!”

The words echo off the walls of the room like a gunshot.

For a moment Komaeda just stares at you, but then, his shaky hands reach out and wrap around both of your wrists. His throat bobs.

“Hng. I want to suck on the side of your neck, I want to see you covered in marks from my teeth-“ you try to cover your mouth with your hands again. Komaeda grips your wrists tighter.

“No.” He whispers, trembling, “keep going.”

“ God, your hands are so big. I want to know how deep your fingers would reach inside of me. I bet you’re good at it, I bet you’re really good at it.” He just keeps staring at you, ghostly green eyes blown wide, chest heaving , “Are you turned on? Is this turning you on? Just pin me down and fuck me, do it, do it, do it!”

“How...how often are you thinking about me like this?”

“Oh, all the time.” You freeze, mentally (and therefore also verbally) berating yourself, “Not all the time! Just like, a normal amount. However much that is.” He is still just looking at you, the pad of his thumb slowly brushes across the pulsepoint in your wrist and you shiver, “Yes, yes! I’ve wanted this intimacy with you for so long . I couldn't tell anyone, I couldn't tell you. During the first trial, when you went on your weirdo rant about hope and despair. I was scared, i was so scared, but oh god- ” you can't stop yourself. Every thought in your head is pouring out of your lips. Filling up the room, the mortification is drowning you . All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut to avoid looking at him, “I was wet , Komaeda. I went back to my cabin and came three times to the thought of you, I am reprehensible . What do you think the others would do if they found out, huh? That all i can think about is you fucking me over my trial podium. They’ll tie me up next-”

The bed squeaks, and Komaeda brings his knee up and over your hips.

“-Oh my god. You’re doing it aren't you?”

His other leg comes up on the bed, and he settles, hovering up above you. He shrugs, “I honestly don't understand why this is something you want,” he leans down over you, resting his palms on either side of your head, “but who am I to deny the wishes of an ultimate.”

If not for the warmth of his lips pressed against yours, you are sure that you wouldn't be able to shut up, based only on the number of thoughts tumbling through your head like they’re on a spin cycle. You are still sweaty with fever and probably look disgusting, but Komaeda shuffles down in between your legs and hikes your hospital gown up to your waist. So you are suitably distracted.

He laughs as he hooks his fingers around your panties and tugs them down your thighs, “I cant believe that you want scum like me to touch you like this. Usually I would assume that you are lying, or taking pity on me.” He grins, running a finger up the length of your sex, “But everything you say to me is your exact thoughts, isnt it?”

“Yes! Touch me, please! ” You’re quivering beneath him, barely able to breathe in between your frantic pleas, “You feel so good, you feel perfect . I want your fingers inside me so bad .”

He hisses as he slips his middle and ring finger inside of you, eyes glued to where your entrance is swallowing him up, “Ahaaa...you’re drenched . You really do want me don't you?” he pistons his fingers in and out slowly, slowly and deliberately, “Someone like you, desiring me so terribly. It’s such a waste , but i can't help it. I must be selfish and take this chance while i can.”

“Not a….waste....” You force out, helplessly grinding on his fingers, “Want you....want only you…”

“Oh- Ohhhh .” He moans, “I can feel you, squeezing around my fingers. You’re so wet...so warm…”

You hear a zipper coming undone, and your thoughts go into overdrive, “oh my god, oh my god. Komaeda’s going to jerk off in front of me, wanna watch, wanna watch! ”

His fingers still inside you for a moment as he tugs his boxers down far enough to slip out his cock. Your eyes follow the movement of his long fingers as he slowly curls them around the base, and tugs them up again, rolling the pad of his thumb over the head. His hips buck, and you moan.

“You...you’re tightening around my fingers…” he breathes, choking on a moan as he pumps his cock again, “you like watching me touch myself?” Your hips stutter, grinding your clit against the meat of his palm as he continues stroking himself. His eyes are wide as he watches you writhing beneath him.

“The face you make when you do that...it’s so cute.” You say, whining as his fingers start moving inside you again, “it’s even cuter than I imagined. Your cheeks are all red.” You swallow, “and your cock is so pretty...I want you to cum inside me, so bad .”

His breath hitches, “you want me to cum, inside you?” his cock is leaking with pre-cum now, painfully hard in his hand. His chest is heaving.

“Yes yes yes! ” You plead, “I want you, please! ”

“I don’t understand.” He breathes, and you whimper as his fingers slip out of you, “How could someone be so desperate for my pathetic seed?”

“Fill me up , Komaeda!” You exclaim, at this point you are long past embarrassed. The words leaving your mouth are the absolute truth and there is no way you can deny them.

He groans at that, an octave deeper than you are used to hearing and it seems he is having trouble denying you. His own desperation mingling with yours and overtaking his painful self-doubt, he wraps a hand around the base of his cock, and slowly edges the swollen head against your entrance, “f-fuck…” he mutters as he slips inside you, “you’re so warm .”

You can barely even register what you are saying anymore, it’s little more than a string of compliments about how good he feels inside you. About how handsome he is. Your tongue feels weird and loose in your mouth from overuse, but you still can’t stop talking.

He looms above you, halo of white hair bouncing as he thrusts in and out of you, the unmistakable jangle of the chain hanging from his jeans. All things that confirm it is Komaeda inside of you. Your heart races with the fact.

“Th-thank you, for permitting me to do this with you.” He stammers, sweat slowly dripping down his brow, “it’s...so good...it feels like I belong inside you. ”

A moan rips through you, and you hook your weak ankles around his waist, “you do belong inside me. You fit so perfectly , I was made for your cock. GOD I sound so filthy…..I- I can’t help it.”

“ No.” He hisses, eyes meeting yours, “Keep talking.”

“You say that like I can stop.” You dip your head lower, and wrap your lips around his left collarbone, moaning as you suck hard enough to leave a bruise. He keens above you, hips snapping against yours even faster, “Your hip bones are digging into my thighs…”

He squeezes his eyes shut, “I-I’m sorry, do you want me to-“

“Don’t you dare stop, Komaeda. You’re mine , I want to feel every inch of you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

You bring a shaky hand up to his cheek, he nuzzles into your palm, “You aren’t hurting me. It feels wonderful.”

He kisses you then, messy and wet, his lips taste like desperation. Even with his tongue tangled with yours, you are still trying to speak. Sweet nothings, forceful demands, anything and everything that comes to mind is trying to force its way out of your mouth. Something is in the pit of your stomach is twisting tight and you moan greedily into the cavern of his mouth as his hips meet yours again. You can feel that he’s losing his rhythm.

“S-sorry. I’m...im close…” A moan rips from his throat and he buries his face in your neck.

Your hips have started canting up to meet his, you want so badly to be close to him, to feel all of him, “M’close to. I love having you inside me, i want to do this again and again and-”

Komaeda freezes, eyes turning to the door on the other side of the room. Footstops.

“Who is it? Did they hear? Are there going to come in? What do you think they’re going to do if they see you inside of-”

Komaeda covers your mouth with his palm. You’re still talking, but at least it’s muffled now. Kuzuryu and Hinata are chatting in the hallway, the footsteps seem only to be growing closer. You can't stop thinking terrible, horrible things, and while Komaeda’s hand keeps you quiet enough that they can't seem to hear you from outside, Komaeda can definitely hear you.

“I wanna keep going.”

His eyes are blown wide, but you feel the tell-tale throb of his cock inside of you, “ What?! ” he hisses, “there’s no way you can keep quiet like this...they’ll definitely hear us.”

“I don’t care if they hear us, I want them to hear us. I want them to know what you’re doing to me.”

His hips twitch, and he bites his lip hard to keep in a moan, “You're not ashamed to be seen intimately with someone as despicable as me?”

You coo at him, running your index finger down the front of his throat and over the mark you left on his collarbone, he tentatively removes his hand from your mouth and pushes some sweaty hair away from your forehead, you smile, “I’m not ashamed of you. I’m in love with you.”

Komaeda sucks a breath in through his teeth, and it is only then that you realise what you have said.

“Oh GOD. I didn't - I'm so sorry.” your eyes are wide, you’re ready for him to jump up and bolt out of the room, “I just thought it and then i said it, and jesus christ im so sorry-”

You’re cut off by his lips. The kiss is gentler, less desperate, but filled with the depth of passion. He starts thrusting in and out of you again, and you gasp in surprise at the feeling. He pulls away from the kiss, and rests his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy as one of his hands slips down under your knee. He pushes your leg up higher and you choke on a moan at how much deeper this new angle feels.

A high-pitched whine leaves his throat as he continues moving inside of you, he swallows, “I...I love you too.”

“Aaah... ahhh .” You’re so close at this point, the coiling in your stomach is about ready to snap, “I love you so much, I want your cum, please! ”

“I’ll give it to you, I...hah...I’ll fill you up...is that what you want?”

His hand slips down to your clit and you shriek , clenching hard around his cock, “Yes, yes, yes! I’m close...i'm so close…”

“I’m gonna...I...I…”

A moan rips through you as your climax finally hits, for the first time this day your mind is void of thoughts. All you can do is feel . Your fingers dig into the bedsheet under you, and your legs tighten around Komaeda’s waist. He writhes and moans above you,  he just keeps going, harder and harder and harder, and then, with a heavy groan you feel him release inside of you.

“Thank...you…” you mutter, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…”

Before Komaeda has a chance to say anything in return, someone clears their throat on the other side of the door. The two of you freeze.

“Are you two done?” Hinata asks, he sounds exasperated.

Komaeda clears his throat, “Um...yeah...pretty much.”

“His dick is literally still inside of me! Maybe give us a few minutes!” You wince at the blunt sentence that just left your mouth, Komaeda is clearly trying not to laugh, you huff “Sorry Hinata! I can't help it!”

This disease was going to be the death of you.

[p-artsypants]

P-Artsypants Fic Masterpost!

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Kingdom Hearts

~❤️Rage Awakened AO3 | FF.net- Ten years ago, Terra, Aqua, and Ventus lost their fellow apprentice, Sora, in Deep Jungle. Now, they are to return with two new students, Riku and Kairi, to lock the heart of the world. All the while, something watches from the trees. Feral!Sora AU

My Kingdom for a Heart AO3 | FF.Net - The curse of being one of the Princesses of heart, is that there’s always someone out to get you. As Xemnas looked failure in the face, he reached out in a last ditch effort and destroyed Kairi’s heart. Now her friends must travel the worlds again. Sora, to find a way to recover Kairi’s heart, and Riku, to make amends to those he has wronged. All the while, the darkness grows. [Unfinished, on permanent hiatus]

Miraculous Ladybug

One Shots

*❤️Amalgam- When an young man is rejected for being ‘incompatible’ he turns into the akuma ‘Amalgam’ able to fuse two people together. And later Adrien and Marinette would debate if it was lucky or unlucky that they got hit. (Also Available in Russian)

*Sing We All Noel- After receiving the worst Christmas present ever from his father, Chat Noir finds himself out on the streets with nowhere to go on Christmas Eve. Thankfully, Ladybug finds him and brings him home.

*Speechless- In a world where everyone has a soulmark, the first words their soulmate will say to them, Marinette is born without one. But Adrien Agreste has two. Curious, considering he’s mute.

*❤️Tunnels of Love- The night started out with an accidental kiss from Adrien Agreste, and ended with her bleeding in the Catacombs of Paris. Ladybug, the wielder of the miraculous of good luck. Yeah right. (Some blood)

*The Reveal That Wasn’t- First Parts My ending to kittybug’s Tumblr Prompt

*What A Mess We’re In- Ladybug has a lot on her mind, and when Chat Noir bugs her enough, she tells him she’s going to confess to her Crush, Adrien Agreste. Chat’s reaction is not what she’s expecting.

*Oblivi-oh no! - A retelling of Oblivio, except Ladybug is the only one to lose her memory. How will Chat deal?

*Bad Day (3 chapters) - Marinette was Ladybug! This was Adrien’s luckiest day ever! Except it wasn’t, because all his good luck was used up in one go. Turns out this might be the worst day of his life.

*One Win, So Many Losses- Marinette was forced to break up with Adrien. It had been a low blow from Gabriel, to be sure. But she was Ladybug. She’d find a solution…right? An alternate ending to Chat Blanc, where Adrien doesn’t Cataclysm the akuma.

*❤️Five Minutes- Gabriel has had enough of all these girls fighting over Adrien. He decides it’s high time Adrien picks one, and arranges the perfect opportunity for him to do so. Each candidate has five minutes to present why they’d be a good girlfriend. Marinette decides to take this opportunity to shoot her shot.

~*Panache- Every eligible maiden was invited to the Prince’s ball. That included Marinette, scullery maid in her own household. But her stepsisters destroyed her dress, and she can’t go to the ball in rags. Or can she? (Cinderella!AU)

*Perfect, No Matter What-In which Gabriel sets the bar even lower for himself, a reveal happens because of pain medication, and the new guardian actually goes to Chloé for advice.

*Crushed- Stuck under a collapsed building together, Chat Noir and Marinette have a heart to heart.

*Lovelace- Convinced that he's unlovable, Adrien is quickly thrown for a loop when Marinette confesses her love for him out of the blue. An akumatization and reveal later, he changes his mind about being unlovable.

Long Fics

*❤️Longest Night- (FF.net | Ao3) - The day started out sucky to begin with. Her crush ousted to the class and Adrien. Lila taking pride in exacting her revenge. But by the time patrol was over, a young man was dead, and Ladybug’s identity was at risk. Lila was the least of her concerns. Good thing Adrien was taking it all like a champ. (Rated M for scenes of torture)

*❤️Nine Lives- (FF.net) When Adrien Agreste is scheduled to go to a Military School in Germany, Chat Noir must make a critical decision. Does he give up his Miraculous? Or does he give up his life as Adrien? I’ll save you the trouble of guessing, he gives up being Adrien.

*Tender Words- When Marinette finally gets the guts to confess her feelings for Adrien, some things go so wrong, and other things go so right.

*Integrity- Overwhelmed with her responsibilities, guilt, and drama, Marinette has an emotional breakdown in front of everyone, and even hands over her earrings in a moment of weakness. Only for a few seconds, but the damage was done. Adrien’s pretty quick on the uptake like that.

~Much Obliged- Everyone deals with grief differently. Some take to drinking, others devote themselves to charity. Adrien Agreste? Well, he became a cowboy. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a witch, one of very few in the world. She knows what it’s like to be doubted, and assumed delusional. Maybe that’s why they got along so well. Or maybe it’s just because they both like big hats. AU where everything is the same, except instead of superheroes, Adrien is a Cowboy and Marinette is a witch. (Unfinished) (Based on a AU by @bugaboo-n-bananoir)

*I’ll Handle This- “I’ll solve all your problems,” Plagg had said. “You just have to agree to it.” A fixed relationship with his father, Lila to stop bothering him, and Ladybug to fall in love with him? Who wouldn’t agree to that? Except Plagg was the God of Destruction and Chaos and had a more…hands-on approach. Adrien just wants his body back. (Body swap fic)

The Ghost of Smokey Joe- Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Stilted body language, plastic smile, and he seemed to have forgotten how close they were. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

How To Train Your Dragon

One Shots

The Vikings Have Their Tea (FF.Net | AO3)

Arranged Marriage- Takes place at the beginning of HTTYD

❤️Breathe- Survival of the fittest

~Childhood Friends- At the Sandbox

❤️Easy Fix- In which Hiccup has a bad day

~Fashion Designer- Astrid needs a fill in

❤️Frozen- In Which Astrid takes a Dip and things get frisky (Rated M)

❤️Headache- In Which Hiccup hits his head….really hard

❤️Heir- In Which Hiccup is Picked (Longer version by FateCharms)

Illness- In Which Stoick is a dad

~Illusionist- Trick gone wrong

~In the Walls- In which there’s a poop ghost

~Knocking On The Wrong Door (2) - A chance encounter

❤️Messages- Astrid is Frustrated with Hiccup’s obliviousness

~To Mirkwood- Hiccup is not a dwarf

~Monster Falls- Hiccup and Astrid take a dip

❤️Mute- In which there’s a quiet stranger

~Music Video (ImgHS)- He didn’t expect it

❤️Operation: Lovebirds- In Which the gang makes a plan, and Hiccup gets Drunk

~Over- Too many nightmares

~Partners in Crime- A normal day at work

~Pirate- Astrid is the greatest treasure

~Prince- He doesn’t want to be a broken King

❤️Sorting Things Out- In Which Astrid gets her ducks in a row

~The Dragon and The Dame- Beauty and the Beast Au

The Pit- In Which Hiccup is rescued

Hide and Seek- Part 1

Lost and Found- Part 2

Long fics:

*❤️Infernal Responsibility- Being the son of the chief takes brains, courage, and a lot of patience. But at his father’s the request for marriage, Hiccup decides he has had enough. When he seeks out a life of ease, he runs into more than what he bargained for.

*❤️Roses and Lilies- “Astrid, you and I both know you’re much tougher than I am. You’re more brave, and a better fighter…but just for a little while…could we pretend that I’m the one protecting you?” “Oh gods yes!” (Also Available in Spanish!)

*~What the Water Gave Me- The sea is a wild and dangerous thing, something that cannot be foretold or predicted. Hiccup discovered this many years ago, in human naiveté. Yet, what was meant as a sacrifice became a new life, one like no one could comprehend. He now finds himself once more in the unknowing hands of those that sentenced him to death. He only prays things will be different this time. Merman!AU

*Parasite- Soulsnatcher Dragons are rare but deadly. But, As Hiccup finds out, it’s the eggs you have to watch out for.

*~320 State Street- Gobber’s Goods. A Hardware Store that was rumored to have everything you needed. She thought she only needed a job. Turns out, she needed a lot more than that. (A Modern AU no one asked for)

*~❤️The North Tower- When Finn Hofferson died, Astrid inherited his castle in Wales…and a whole lot more. Something sinister lurks in the North Tower.

*~❤️Boy Toy- AO3 - At the age of 21, Princess Astrid lawfully has to pick a husband. But when the perfect groom is nowhere to be found, she requests the toymaker to create one for her. It’s safe to say that everyone in the kingdom is a little concerned. (Pinocchio!AU I guess?)

No, You Go First- AO3 - The Chief of Berk was a headstrong viking, stubborn and full of pride, and willing to do whatever it takes to keep his village safe. But for a moment, he puts that aside, and listens to his son. In which Hiccup convinces his dad not to make him go through Dragon Training, and the subsequent changes that follow.

*In Due Time- AO3 - As another illness sweeps through Berk, Gothi needs another ingredient for her medicine…one that doesn’t exist anymore. Fortunately, she kept that old spell book around for such an occasion. Big Hiccup is sent to five years into the past, and his younger self sent to take his place in the future. But it’s only a few days, what could go wrong?

Trollhunters: Tales from Arcadia

❤️Arcadia or Bust- In Which Arcadia welcomes back it’s underground citizens.

Teen Titans

Oneshots:

~Big Brother- Don’t turn out the light (Horror)

Dear Jason- Bruce Writes a letter

Just Drawing- Bruce thinks about Robin

The Prisoner- Starfire is Guilty

Of Mustard and Three Foot Purple Tongues- A collection of Oneshots and Drabbles

Long Fics (*Finished):

*~❤️Carol of the Bells- High in the dark Bell Tower of Notre Dame, there lives a mysterious bell ringer. Legend tells of the angel who fell from the sky, and the curse she bares. There are few who know her true identity though; her master, the priest, and the acrobat that performs on the streets below. Based loosely on ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’ RobxStar and slight BBxRae

*No Escape- Three years ago, Starfire escaped an Alien race called the Gordanians, to arrive on Earth. They’re back, and ready to put Starfire back where she belongs, behind reinforced Titanium bars. Robin’s not about to let her go…if only he hadn’t got captured first. How does it feel to be the alien, Robin?

*Now you Know My Pain- When the new Villain, Gender Bender, comes to down, the Titans find themselves in an odd situation. They’ve been turned into the opposite gender against their will! Now in order to change back, they must learn to understand the gender they’ve turned into. Rated T for obvious reasons. A great read if you’ve ever wondered why girls or guys do [blank].

*Paint it Black- Robin disappeared three months ago. Now, Jump City’s crime rate is mysteriously being taken care of by a normal, albeit strange, teenage boy who goes by the name Black. As the Titans befriend this lunatic, they begin to see a relation between him and their missing leader. Will they be able to find Robin, or will Black turn them all insane as himself? Actually, contains NO OC.

*Saving Grace- “When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to walk upright or speak coherent sentences and all you’ll see is my mask and my voice repeating in your head…Weak. Richard Grayson, I am not tough, I am everything that you fear.” Happy Ending! Smudge of RobStar. NO Slash!

Other Fandoms

Final Fantasy XV

❤️Requiem for Pitioss-“O King. The god’s have heard your cries. Know that we weep with you. The Oracle’s calling has not yet been fulfilled. But…Lunafreya as you know her cannot return the way she was.” Noctis looked up, hopeful. “But she can return!” Canon divergence from Chapter 9. Happy ending. Some spoilers.

Final Fantasy X

I Do…I Guess? - “I would…like to ask you something.” “Shoot.” “Well…if it’s not too much…I’d like to ask you…to marry me.” Knowing what’s to come during her pilgrimage, Yuna asks Tidus to marry her, strictly for convenience and having an official next of kin, of course. Starts after Luca and how this decision would affect the rest of the story.

Beauty and the Beast

*❤️Behold the Beast- A Oneshot alternate ending to the Animated Film

Cinderella

*❤️Midnight- “When the clock strikes twelve, the spell will be broken,” the fairy godmother had warned. A retelling of the story, when Cinderella doesn’t escape the ball in time. Oneshot

*So This is Love- What if Jaq and Gus hadn’t made it in time to help Cinderella? A new twist on the ending of the classic Fairytale, and what lies beyond the story. She still gets her happy ending and her Prince, and her step family gets their just deserts.

Sleeping Beauty

*❤️A Love Song Back To Me- Maleficent saw the loophole that stared her in the face. Prince Phillip would break the curse in time, for sure. After all, he was betrothed to Aurora. So in an effort for her evil plan to stay in action, Maleficent takes care of the young prince herself. Phillip never imagined having to live off the land like the birds above. Alternate twist on the classic Disney tale.

Escaflowne

Down Feathers- Hitomi’s depressed. She’s been away from Van too long, he comes back to visit her…but what if something went wrong with the transfer? (Not finished. Never will be finished. Mwahaha) Circa 2012

*Angel’s Wounds- Fanelia’s been victorious in their most recent battle with Basrum. Unfortunately, someone is wounded and just seeks solace in his love that lives so far away. Post Anime.

Momma Look Sharp- With the war between Fanelia and Basrum finally coming to a close, the kingdom is celebrating. The young king, however, is suffering from an experience unlike any he had before. Van finally seeks solace in his wife.

[seokmingiggles]

rainbow.

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x female reader

Genre: angst, some scattered fluff, established relationship, soulmate!au (where you can see colour from the moment you meet your soulmate).

5.96k words

Warnings: brief mention of alcohol consumption, [spoilers: unmentioned illness (however, I allude to Lymphoma [a type of cancer] that has spread to other areas), major character death.]

There are countless tales of the lengths people go to when finding their soulmate, yet significantly fewer of the aftermath. You thought your life began when fate led you to your soulmate, but why does it feel like it’s ending all of a sudden?

Alternatively, not all wishes come true. Even when Jungkook tries to convince you otherwise.

A/N: This piece is likely going to be my last longer one for a while as I’m returning back to school for my winter semester. Expect my updates to be significantly more sparse than they have been for the past few weeks. Other than that, I’m so glad I began to post my writings online. It’s still bizarre to me that actual people are reading them?? If you enjoy (or have constructive criticism for) any of my pieces, please, never be shy to let me know!! I absolutely adore hearing your opinion on what I’ve created. With that said, gosh, I cried while doing my research to write this one.

If you are looking for a cute, fluffy soulmate!au, this may not be a suitable fic for you. Yes, there are some fluffy moments, but it overall contains heavy themes that may be triggering to some. If you’re looking for a fluffy soulmate!Jungkook drabble, the first portion of 1k words contains no angst, along with the three italicized sections.

•• Your soulmate. Soulmate. Even the word sounded magical; a mate bound to your soul.

Growing up, you were the cliché little girl who would endlessly dream about seeing colour for the first time at the instant your eyes locked with a certain someone across the room. Just imagining some above force drawing you to them sounded magical.

And, to a certain extent, it did happen that way when you met yours.

Not-exactly in the storybook-way you pictured, but you felt strangely drawn to a particular boy back in your second year of university. Your childhood friend, Chaeyoung, had convinced you to attend some end-of-semester party on campus. To be fair, that's where you met your other closest friend to this day.

The boy was sat on a couch, looking uninterested and unimpressed by the events happening around him. Chaeyoung, as much as you love her, had run off with another one of her classmates, leaving you floundering in the pool of sweaty bodies and loud music. So, you made your way to the sofa and sat next to the expressionless boy, who you came to know as Yeosang.

You didn't expect him to begin talking to you with the blank gaze he was displaying prior to you taking a seat, but you're happy it turned out that way. After that party, Yeosang joined your duo with Chaeyoung; the three of you would come to have plenty of fun together.

Though, it was at that same party where you also met Jungkook.

After chatting with Yeosang for who knows how long, your small bladder eventually needed relief from the few drinks you had. You excused yourself and wandered around the unfamiliar house in search of a bathroom. It was a large space with multiple floors, perhaps belonging to one of your campus fraternities, but you found yourself walking like you knew exactly where to go.

You ended up upstairs, where it was significantly more quiet than the bustling main floor. Only a few scattered couples kissing in the hallways or leading another to someone's bedroom crossed your path.

You managed to find a vacant washroom, much to your delight. But upon opening the bathroom door after you had finished, you were met with a handsome—albeit unfamiliar—face.

And also with a flood of colour for the first time in your life.

You and the stranger were both dumbfounded for a moment. It was only until he broke the silence and said, "Look, you don't know how happy I am to have found you, but I really, really, need to pee. So, if you don't mind–"

Those were the first words that Jungkook had spoken to you.

And in that instant, despite the slightly awkward, non-picture-perfect meeting, you were nothing less than smitten from that day forth.

Things between you and Jungkook went swimmingly after your first introductions. You two were soulmates; after all, it was only natural to get along. You had more in common with the boy than you would have guessed.

Your first couple of dates were much better than anything you had imagined them to be. Despite the cheesiness of a dinner and a movie for your first date or the loudness of your second arcade date, you were already looking forward to spending a future with Jungkook.

The first time he kissed you was like nothing else you've ever felt. Fireworks were an understatement. It was like all the stars in the universe had aligned perfectly, and all you could see were each and every constellation in Jungkook's eyes the moment he pulled away.

You were far beyond smitten at that point.

But what you didn't expect upon meeting Jungkook was how your vision would be impacted so greatly. Yes, you had heard about how wonderful a world of colour was, and yes, that was one of the things you had been looking forward to upon finding your soulmate; however, you could never have imagined just how vibrant the world really was.

You knew you were lucky to find your soulmate in your twenties. There were too many people who went countless years or even their whole lives without finding theirs, and you happened to meet yours only after a couple of decades into your life. It made you excited to spend the rest of your time by Jungkook's side. It would be a future where both of you would admire the process of the sky: shifting its palette in the evening to paint the clouds in an awe-inspiring gradient. Or seeing the luscious ruby-red strawberries adorning his favourite cake on each of his birthdays as the years passed together. Seeing the swirling brown of his irises, too, was one of your favourite sights after being able to see colour.

Your life became nothing short of a rainbow. Every day felt magical being with Jungkook; being with your soulmate.

Before you knew it, you celebrated your first year together. Then two. Then a few more until you both graduated from university. You eventually found a little apartment to call home at around the same time; it made sense to move in together. Previously, both of you had roommates during your schooling years. Although now, living together only seemed natural when you knew you'd eventually get married one day.

And living with Jungkook was nothing but natural.

Waking up next to your boyfriend was better than you could have imagined. Seeing his cute, groggy face puffy with sleep was the most endearing thing to you, and he thought the exact same way when he'd wake before you on the rare occasion.

It was like a little insight into how the rest of your life would be.

Your heart would uncontrollably flutter every time Jungkook would approach you from behind and gently wrap his arms around your torso as you worked at the stove. Or the way he'd sometimes comb your damp hair after a shower, making sure to pepper little kisses to your neck or cheek in the process. Your heart had never felt so full until Jungkook had unexpectedly made his way into your life.

And you're forever elated that he did.

•

"Which one do you think looks better on me?" Chaeyoung held up two shirts to her torso.

You examined both pieces and felt the fabric before saying, "I think I prefer the red one," referring to the shirt on the left.

You and your two best friends were spending a sunny day off just wandering around the streets downtown. It was your chance to explore the little cafes you would keep driving by or window-shopping at the cute boutiques you'd see. Chaeyoung had dragged you and Yeosang into one of the stores when a mannequin's outfit in the display case caught her eye.

"No, I think the blue one is nicer," Yeosang interjected as he pointed to the second option.

You hummed, reconsidering your answer, "Actually, yeah, you're right. I think you should get the blue one."

Chaeyoung inspected both tops once more, "Okay, blue it is."

The three of you walked to the cashier for the girl to make her purchase, leaving the store shortly after to continue on your way.

"You're both so lucky to have found your soulmates already," she beamed at the two of you as you passed by another shop.

"You'll find yours eventually, Chae," Yeosang added. "Seeing colour for the first time will blow your mind."

You only nodded in agreement and returned their smiles.

Your stomach had been feeling slightly off since this morning, but you ignored the feeling in pursuit of seeing your friends for the first time in a while. Yet now, the unsettling feeling seemed to be growing stronger.

"Hey, guys," you rubbed the back of your neck, "I'm not feeling too well all of a sudden. I think I might be coming down with something. I'm sorry to ditch you so early, but I should head home."

"Do you want a ride back?" Yeosang offered, being the only of the three of you to have a car.

"No, it's okay. The bus runs pretty frequently. I don't want to bother you."

You waved goodbye before either of them had a chance to protest and began walking to the nearest bus stop.

You weren't necessarily feeling sick; that was a lie. Or, rather, you suddenly felt like you had been struck by a tsunami. An overwhelming sensation of swirling nauseousness and anxiety began brewing beneath your skin. You clasped your hands together to prevent them from visibly shaking once you'd taken a seat on the bus.

You were uncertain of what was happening to you so suddenly.

However, you did know that that shirt looked awfully grey, not blue.

Now that you think of it, the sky above you appeared duller too.

•

"Hey, Guk, come look at this!"

Jungkook followed the sound of your voice and turned down the neighbouring aisle, only to see you holding up a folded square of checkered material.

"It's on clearance, too!" you said with excitement.

Your boyfriend stepped closer to you and took the blanket into his hands. "What is it?"

"What do you mean, 'What is it?' It's a picnic blanket, you goof," you took the square and flipped it over to see the image on the cardboard package of how it would look unfolded. "I've always thought the idea of those picnic dates is adorable. Cheesy, but adorable."

Jungkook admired your smile as you continued to read the supposed 'features' of the blanket.

"It's got a water-resistant bottom all while the top is a thick and soft flannel. It's also apparently easily foldable with a carrying strap." You continued to scan the list of details, "And look, it's machine washable! I think it's a good one." You turned your attention to the boy stood next to you, "What do you think?"

Jungkook wouldn't have been able to wipe the adoring smile off his face no matter how hard he tried.

"You're so cute," he mumbled and pulled you into a hug in the middle of the store.

"That's nice," your voice was muffled against Jungkook's chest, "but what do you think of the blanket?" You wiggled your arm free from his hold to display the picnic blanket once more, examining his face for his reaction.

Jungkook felt the fabric before saying, “It's soft. Yeah, I think it's a good one.”

“'It's soft,'” you repeated his statement. "That's all you have to say about it?"

"I can't say I'm a connoisseur of picnic blankets or anything, my love."

"Well, neither am I, but I'm sure I can think of more adjectives to describe it other than 'it's soft.'"

The boy encouraged you to come up with some.

"For starters, look how colourful it is! It's like a plaid rainbow in a fun little bundle."

Your words made Jungkook laugh, causing you to giggle too.

"Okay," you admitted, "maybe I'm no picnic blanket connoisseur either."

Jungkook admired your rosy cheeks from laughing. "Let's buy it," he said. "Going on picnics with you sounds like fun." He pulled you close once more, "Actually, anything as long as I'm with you sounds like fun."

“Does that mean you’ll sleepover tonight?”

The boy pretended like it was some philosophical question before breaking out into a smile, “Yeah, I’ll sleepover tonight.”

•

You did your best to keep that instance of a colourless sky and grey shirt to yourself for days. When Yeosang and Chaeyoung texted you later that day to check on you, you told them you felt better after having a nap.

And it was true, but not the full truth.

You blamed what you saw on a lack of sleep. It was just your tired eyes playing tricks on you; it had to have been. That previous night, you and Jungkook had gotten distracted by watching a few episodes of a show together, not realizing how late it had become.

So, when you went to lie down upon returning to your apartment that afternoon, you silently prayed that when you'd wake, you'd be able to see a complete colour spectrum once more.

It only broke your heart when that wasn't the case.

You crumpled onto the floor after staring up at the monochromatic sky extending above you; not an ounce of blue could be found between the clouds, nor all the way to the horizon.

You were dreading talking with Jungkook about it.

The day you first were able to see in colour when you met him, never did you anticipate that one day they would begin to fade.

Could you have rushed into things too quickly? Did you love him more than he loves you?

Has he fallen out of love with you?

Regardless of the possibility, seeing the colours begin to disappear couldn't have meant anything good.

That's when you'd decided to hide it from anyone, especially from the boy you loved with nothing less than your full heart and entire being.

Perhaps feigning ignorance could make the hue return. At the least, it was wishful thinking.

When Jungkook returned home that evening, you pretended like nothing was wrong. When he'd asked about your outings with your best friends, you'd said how nice it was to see them again.

You even showed him the nail polish you bought for him when the other week he said how he was interested in trying some for himself; after seeing your nails decorated so prettily.

Despite the name of the bottle's shade reading Ebony Midnight, you found yourself doubting the colour. You second-guessed if it actually was black like you intended or some confusing and ambiguous tint of navy blue.

Jungkook kissed your cheek and told you how excited he was for the upcoming weekend when you'd have the time to paint his nails for him.

Yet, a few days later—on both of your days off—when your boyfriend came up to you with the nail polish bottle in hand, you found yourself brimming with tears uncontrollably.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong, love?"

You stepped back from Jungkook's advancement towards you.

"(Y/N)?"

His eyes held nothing but concern for you, and yet you still doubted his authenticity.

"Jungkook," you whispered, "what colour is that nail polish?"

The boy examined the small glass bottle. "It's black," he said like it was an obvious fact. He looked at it closer. "Wait, no, it almost looks dark blue in certain lighting."

All of the oxygen depleted from your lungs. You clasped your hand around your mouth as you wept, your eyes clamping shut both in frustration and in fear.

You felt Jungkook's arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest and gently rubbing your back.

"Please," his voice was small, "can you tell me what's wrong? If it's because you got blue when I asked for black, that's not a big deal, love. I'm so happy you remembered when I told you about it. And I still want to use it! I could barely tell when I looked at it–"

"I can't see blue anymore."

Jungkook halted his ministrations on your back, tensing at your words.

"And I'm afraid to know what it means," you continued, struggling to find your words. "Do you not love me anymore? Am I not really your soulmate?"

Your boyfriend pulled away slightly so he could look at your face properly; tear-stained and all. "(Y/N), please. I love you more than anything in this world. Never forget that." He brushed away a stray tear falling down your cheek.

"Then why are my colours fading? I've never heard of that happening before..." You furrowed your eyebrows in thought. Another reason suddenly popped into your head. "Unless–"

You didn't let yourself finish that sentence. Your eyes met Jungkook's only to find his expression had become more solemn.

"No," you whispered. "Please, no. Don't tell me– I-It can't be–"

Jungkook said nothing and pulled you back closer to him. You squeezed the boy so tightly, sobs shaking your body. He hugged you back as he silently began to cry.

"Could we not talk about it right now?" his voice was quiet. "We're still doing some tests to rule out what it could be, so I don't have much information for you."

You nodded your head.

The two of you stayed in each other's embrace. Jungkook swayed your bodies slightly: a gentle rocking motion to help calm you down.

"Can you still paint my nails today?"

You forced a smile on your face over the tears that had spilled and were threatening to continue. "Of course."

You took Jungkook's hand and made your way to the couch, swallowing nausea from the information with which you'd just been burdened. While it was vague, it was heavy, nonetheless.

That night, you were having difficulties falling asleep. Jungkook kept tossing and turning by your side; he'd kick and move the blanket around too.

"Hey," you whispered, finding his shoulder in the darkness. "Are you okay?"

Jungkook sighed and brought his hand on top of yours, "I'm really warm. Too warm."

You could feel the clamminess of his hand.

"And I keep feeling itchy," he added. "The blanket isn't helping—it's making me warm and itchy and–"

"Okay, okay," you soothed him before he'd become too frustrated. You sat up and removed the duvet from his body. "Do you think a cool shower would help?"

There was silence while Jungkook thought. He rubbed his tired eyes and replied, "I can try," before standing from the bed.

"Hey," you grabbed his hand before he could walk away, "I love you."

"I love you too."

You heard the smile in his voice.

"Now, get some sleep, beautiful," Jungkook leant down to place one kiss on your forehead, then one to your lips.

You listened to the sound of your boyfriend's footsteps receding from your bedroom. Shortly after, the faucet came to life, and finally, the sound of the shower curtain dragged closed.

What you didn't hear was Jungkook allowing himself to cry in the shower.

•

The weather had been stormier lately.

Jungkook was waiting to surprise you with an adorable, little picnic to celebrate your university graduation; however, the weather had other plans.

There were some days where he'd check the weather forecast multiple times to see if there would be an upcoming opportunity to see clear skies and sunshine.

But every time, he was met with that dull, grey rain symbol on his phone.

Jungkook had had enough. Screw the weather, he thought, we'll have this goddamn picnic if it's the last thing I do; indoors if we must.

You were sleeping in on the day after your last exam. It gave your boyfriend the optimal chance to set up your living room with the checkered blanket and wicker basket after running out quickly to get some flowers. The boy had an artistic eye. After pushing aside some of the remaining cardboard boxes from the move, he was proud of the final arrangement of breakfast foods and the occasional tasteful scattered petal on the blanket. He even took advantage of some of the smaller pillows from the couch to make the set-up even cozier.

Jungkook began to anticipate your reaction, growing gradually more excited. He carefully made his way to your shared bedroom to wake you from your peaceful slumber.

"(Y/N)," he cooed, brushing away some stray hairs that fell onto your face while you slept.

You hummed at the feeling of his touch, slowly adjusting to the light seeping through the curtains. Once your eyes finally opened, you were met with Jungkook's affectionate gaze at you.

"Good morning, my beautiful love," he leant down to peck you.

"Gross!" you pushed him away, jokingly. "You're not allowed to kiss me until I've brushed my teeth." You sat up with a playful grin on your face. You lifted your arms, "Carry me?"

Jungkook chuckled as he stood from the bed, "Oh, so you call me gross, but now you want me to carry you to the bathroom?"

Despite his words, the boy moved in to wrap his arms around your torso, effectively picking you up.

"No, I wasn't calling you gross," you said as he brought you to the washroom, "it was the act of kissing me with my yucky morning breath. That was gross."

Jungkook placed you down once you were in the room. His arms never left your sides.

"I don't suppose you're going to ask if I can brush your teeth for you too, are you?"

You picked up your toothbrush, wetting the bristles and adding some toothpaste, "So sassy today, Guk," and began brushing your teeth.

The boy only smiled, wrapping his arms around you once again and squeezing your smaller frame in his strong embrace.

Once you finished washing up, Jungkook told you to close your eyes as he pulled you into the living room, bursting with excitement.

"Promise me you won't make me run into the couch or a wall or box or something," you mumbled as he pulled on your free hand; your other one was covering your eyes.

Jungkook giggled but complied with your promise.

Eventually, you felt him stop in front of you, making sure you wouldn't crash into his back. Beneath your feet, you felt the cold wooden floor of your living room.

"You can open them now," he muttered into your ear along with a gentle kiss.

And when you did, you saw the beautiful arrangement of treats and flowers all sat upon the old picnic blanket, surrounded by the final few boxes you'd yet to unpack. It was the same blanket you bought before you moved in together when you claimed that you'd love to go on a picnic date with him one day.

When you made that purchase, never would you have guessed that its first use would be in your newly-shared apartment inside on a rainy day.

"What's all this for?" you felt strangely emotional at the sentiment.

"It's for you, (Y/N)," he pulled you into his arms once more. "Happy graduation. I'm so proud of you."

Jungkook leaned down to kiss you properly for the first time that morning. His thumb traced the shell of your ear as he smiled into the kiss, feeling the way one of your hands clasped the back of his shirt while your other one threaded through his hair.

"You're incredible, Jungkook," you whispered as you broke from the kiss. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," he returned the sentiment and gave you another quick kiss. He took your hand and led you onto the blanket where you sat side-by-side.

"You know," you began as he mixed around the assorted fruits he chopped up earlier, "if we had a dog like you said you wanted, all this food wouldn't have been able to be left out on the floor."

Jungkook stopped fiddling with the fruit salad as he processed your words. "I still want a dog," he said simply and continued to stir. "But you're right. It would be a lot more challenging," he fed you a strawberry, "like having a baby."

"Dogs are like big babies," you chimed-in with a smile.

The two of you continued to snack while sat on the blanket. Small conversations and giggles were all that could be heard within the walls of your apartment. The atmosphere was significantly brighter than the downpour that continued outside.

"Do you think we'll see a rainbow today?" Jungkook asked as you both were now leaning against the base of the couch.

You were still clad in your pyjamas and him in his leisurewear.

"Maybe, if this rain ever stops," you replied. "Maybe if the sun shows itself."

"Maybe."

Jungkook brought the back of your hand to his lips, then laced his fingers between yours while the two of you continued to watch the rain.

•

"Do you have any nail polish remover?"

You heard Jungkook's footsteps approaching you in your bedroom, looking up to see his figure appearing in the doorway.

"Are you tired of how it looks already?" you smiled gently at him.

The boy shook his head. "Actually, I'm not allowed to have painted nails for tomorrow when I go to the hospital."

Your smile faded. "Oh, right. T-that's right. Um..." you got off the bed and trekked to the bathroom with Jungkook in tow. You opened the cabinet beneath the sink to find the little bottle. "Here you go. I have some cotton balls too to use with it. Do you need help with this too?"

"No, I should be able to do it myself."

"Okay," your hand found its way onto Jungkook's back, your thumb rubbed his shoulder. "Make sure you do it in a well-ventilated area."

"Thank you," he smiled.

Yet, you could tell his expression was only fleeting.

You were afraid. No, you were petrified of what tomorrow would bring.

Jungkook had been going through more testing lately, although you were still in the dark from it all. He kept giving you the same statements: "We're still figuring out what it could be," or "We're still not sure yet."

They were all just different versions of "I don't want to tell you because I don't want to worry you."

You still worried regardless.

You and Jungkook stood by the front door where you hugged him before he left for his recurrent hospital visit.

"Maybe you could paint my nails again when I come home tonight," he suggested, inhaling the scent of your shampoo for his memory as he held you in his embrace.

"Maybe," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Before you knew it, Jungkook was once again out the door.

It was only when you were alone that you'd let yourself cry. You knew you needed to stay strong for his sake. Being on the receiving end of a life-threatening disease was hard enough; you didn't want to make his experience any more challenging. Although, you still didn't know for sure if that's what it was.

Jungkook exited his car once he arrived at the familiar tall building. He stepped into the elevator and pressed the familiar button, and eventually turned left down the familiar hallway to the waiting room.

He was shortly after ushered into his doctor's office, taking a seat in the squeaky and uncomfortable and all-too-familiar grey chair.

His doctor soon after entered the room.

"How are you feeling today, Jungkook?" she greeted him with a gentle voice, taking a seat in front of her desk in the corner of the room.

"My headaches are becoming more frequent," he began. "I also haven't had much of an appetite either, and sometimes, it's difficult to breathe," he stated with furrowed eyebrows. "I've overall felt more tired lately. That might be the biggest thing—my lack of energy."

Dr. Kim hummed and jotted down some notes. "Have you told your soulmate anything yet?"

Jungkook shook his head, "No, I try not to. I don't want to stress her."

The doctor sat upright once again, finishing her writings. "You may want to reconsider that choice," she cleared her throat. "Your cells haven't been responding to the antibiotics as we'd like them to. Perhaps, if we had caught it sooner–"

"But we didn't." Jungkook's voice was firm. "We didn't, and this is my life now. We try, and we fail, and we repeat the cycle over and over." He took a deep breath. "As soon as you told me the diagnosis, I suspected I wouldn't make it for much longer. I suspected that I wouldn't get to live the future that I've dreamt of." His features softened as you entered his mind. "The future that I've wished for." Jungkook paused, then considered, "Can I spend my final days—however long I have—with my soulmate?"

Dr. Kim's eyes remained on Jungkook's. "Are you certain? Because there's another procedure we could try. It would require you to stay here in the hospital, and there would be risks associated with it due to the stage you're in, but it's the last one we can offer you."

"I'm sure." The boy didn't hesitate. "I'm positive. I just want to be with her," he felt himself tearing up. "She already knows that something is wrong. I don't want to tell her that my MRI is practically all made up of black-voids." Jungkook bitterly wiped away the tear that fell, "She's losing her colours. She knows I'm dying."

"So you'd like to spend the rest of your time at home with her?" Dr. Kim clarified.

"More than anything."

•

"Surprise!"

Jungkook's hands lifted from your eyes.

"What's all of this?" you asked with a smile.

"For you, silly."

You giggled, looking between the array of treats displayed on the picnic blanket and your beautiful boyfriend. "I kind of figured that, Guk. But why?"

"Do I need a reason to treat you, my love?" Jungkook pulled you close to him, "I felt bad about the last time when we were stuck inside from the rain. I wanted to try again, properly, this time."

"But do you see all of this?" You gestured to the container next to you, "We couldn't finish everything you prepared last time, but you still got a cake for today! Do you expect the two of us to eat an entire cake along with everything else you've packed?"

The boy chuckled, "Come on, (Y/N), it's not that big of a cake. I'm sure we can finish it all no problem." He popped open the plastic container, eager to taste it. "And if not, then we'll have some to eat for tomorrow."

His logic was reasonable, you considered.

Jungkook picked up a fork and dug it into the side of the strawberry cake, only to bring the utensil up to your lips to give you the first bite.

"How is it?" your boyfriend asked, trying to gauge your expression as you chewed.

"Absolutely delicious," was your muffled response.

Jungkook reached up to wipe off the speck of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth before feeding himself a forkful.

"It is delicious!" he said with delight as the strawberry flavour danced across his tastebuds. "I may not know how to make a cake, but I sure know how to pick a good one."

"Ah, yes, picking good cakes is a valuable life skill to have," you playfully teased, admiring the way Jungkook continued to inhale more of the dessert.

The two of you laid back on the blanket after working your way through some of the treats (and about half of the cake; it was more than you anticipated you two would be able to finish in one sitting). Your head was resting on Jungkook's chest while he played with the ends of your hair as the two of you admired the heavens.

The sky was immaculately blue with picture-perfect white fluffy clouds decorating it. Jungkook was getting nervous when he woke up to rain that morning, knowing he had all of the preparations ready for the picnic. But now, the post-rain summer afternoon left a comfortable temperature with the sun high in the sky, warming the grass and gradually working its way to kiss the horizon.

"Hey, (Y/N)?"

You glanced upwards from your position on Jungkook's upper body.

His eyes remained fixated on the sky as he asked softly, "Would you like to get married?"

The grin on your face was immediate at hearing his question. "Without a doubt, yes."

Jungkook beamed back at you and hugged you tightly, kissing the top of your head.

"This isn't a proposal because I don't have the ring yet," he muttered into your hair, "but you already make me the happiest man alive. I can only imagine how incredible our future will be, (Y/N)." You felt him squeeze you slightly tighter. "There's nothing more that I want than to grow old with you by my side."

You felt yourself getting emotional at his words. "When the time comes that you do propose, know that it's already a yes." You propped yourself up so you could move to meet Jungkook's mouth with your own, caressing the side of his face while his hand continued to fiddle with your hair.

Jungkook grinned into the kiss. In all the years he's spent kissing you, the act never failed to pull butterflies from his chest.

You eventually pulled away only to see the light pink dusting across your boyfriend's cheeks with matching rosy lips. You could spend all day admiring him, and he, likewise, could do the same with watching you.

You once again nuzzled into his side with an arm around his torso, returning your gaze to the sky. It was beginning to shift into a radiant, golden-colour the lower the sun fell; the clouds reflected the light, displaying a gentle wash of coral-pink.

You're forever grateful for all of the dazzling colours which Jungkook brought into your life.

Goosebumps tingled throughout your body at the way the boy so gently grazed his fingers along your arm. The outside air was growing chillier with the depleting sunlight, yet being pressed against Jungkook supplied you with enough warmth to stay comfortable.

"Hey, look over there," your boyfriend indicated to your left. "Do you see that?"

You lifted your gaze to above where he was pointing.

•

There was a rainbow in the sky on the day that Jungkook died.

You received the dreadful phone call from the hospital early that afternoon. You thought he'd only stepped out for his usual testing. You had been admiring the way the sun finally broke through the dense rain clouds as you were waiting for his return home.

However, minutes before your phone rang, your whole world drained of colour. It was the difference between one blink. One split-second; one moment. You could see the golden sunbeams as they danced down to the concrete below, and then, suddenly, you couldn't. Everything became a varying shade of the asphalt; every hue vanished in that instant.

It was only a few weeks after you painted his nails for the first and last time. Of course, there was no way you'd have known it was the last time then.

Your heart tore into two at thinking how much pain Jungkook must have experienced near the end. He never once complained to you about any of it; he never told you what was wrong. You only found out afterwards from his doctor over the phone.

You nearly missed the sight of the rainbow after you set your phone down: the arc extended above the city in its monochromatic glory in the equally colourless sky.

You could recall the different hues that would make up the once pretty sight.

"You should make a wish, (Y/N)!"

"Make a wish on a rainbow?"

"You've never heard of that before?"

You pulled your eyes from the sight in the sky to your boyfriend's face, "No, never."

"Then today shall be your first."

"Hm, well, alright, Guk."

You sat up on the picnic blanket and clasped your hands together, pressing your eyes shut as you reiterated your wish in your head. Upon opening your eyes once you finished, you were blessed with Jungkook's delicate features gazing at you.

You brushed away some of his hair that fell into his eyes.

"What did you wish for, my love?" Jungkook whispered, leaning into your touch.

You exchanged his glance, admiring his beautiful brown eyes smiling at you, and inched closer so you could kiss him.

But now, you kind of hated rainbows.

"I wished to spend a lifetime with you."

They reminded you of your wishes that would, now, never come true.

"I wished for the exact same thing."

••

[thatsamericano]

Confidant by Accident

Pairings/Characters: America/Romano, Lithuania POV.

Ratings/Warnings: Teen, only for cursing. No warnings other than mild angst.

Word Count: 1838

Summary: After America rejects Romano’s offer of leftover lasagna in favor of a chocolate bar, Romano needs to vent to someone. Lithuania ends up being the perfect sounding board.

A/N: Takes place right after this week’s episode/Chapter 72 of Hetalia World Stars. Will be up on AO3 soon.

Lithuania was too busy helping America move heavy cardboard boxes to say anything when Romano appeared in the doorway. He could only glance over as he was setting down a box and wonder why Savino wouldn’t just walk into the room instead of barely letting his head peek in through the doorway. He was acting shy, which wasn’t like him at all.

But then it started to make sense. Savino was worried about Alfred working too much, though he hid his concern by bragging about his two-hour lunch break. (Which was frankly excessive, in Tolys’s opinion. Not that anyone had asked him.) When America admitted he hadn’t really sat down for lunch in a long time, Romano offered him homemade lasagna. Making that particular meal took a while, and Lithuania was a little surprised Romano would spontaneously offer it to America. Even if it was leftovers that he couldn’t finish himself.

America was surprised too, and Romano misinterpreted his reaction. By this time, Tolys was moving another box, but he didn’t have to see Savino’s face to hear how his voice got quieter and how he almost sounded hurt, as if America had rejected something more important than leftovers. Lithuania frowned as he set the box down and glanced back and forth between them.

Alfred thanked Savino for his offer, but he didn’t seem to pick up on how bothered Savino was. It wasn’t out of any ill intent. Tolys had been living with Alfred with a while, and if he had learned one thing about his employer, it was that he often seemed to miss the social intricacies that seemed so clear to others, especially when he was focused on something else.

Right now, he was focused on brandishing a chocolate bar. He pulled the chocolate bar seemingly out of nowhere, winked, then chomped into it in a way that was strangely… flirtatious? It was almost like he was trying to impress Savino, either with the mere fact he had a chocolate bar or the overdramatic way that he ate it. Lithuania didn’t understand how either of those things could be impressive, but it seemed to be working on Romano.

Savino was enraptured by Alfred’s odd display. His eyes were wide, his lips were parted, and, most tellingly of all, a reddish blush formed on his cheeks. But by the time America was looking at him again, Romano’s mask was back in place. He smiled weakly at America as he left the room, and once he was gone, America sighed fondly.

“Vinny worries way too much, doesn’t he?” He went back to his “multi-tasking,” which was clearly just trying to do too much at once. Currently it involved talking on the phone, doing paperwork, and attempting to eat a chocolate bar all at the same time.

Lithuania continued the single task America had assigned him. He grunted as he lifted a particularly hefty box. “About you especially.”

Alfred hummed in agreement, and Tolys caught a glimpse of his face as he passed by with the box. America’s expression was inexplicable but not something Lithuania had never seen before. Despite the person currently berating him on the phone and the mountain of paperwork he had to complete, Alfred seemed almost blissful. He’d seemed blissful a few weeks ago, on a much slower day, when Lithuania had caught him sitting next to the couch, where Romano was taking his customary afternoon nap. His hand was inching towards Romano’s hair, but when he heard Lithuania’s footsteps, America whirled around with a panicked expression on his face and insisted that he’d only been checking to make sure Savino was breathing, since he’d gone awfully still for a second. He wasn’t watching Savino sleep or considering playing with his hair, because that would’ve been creepy and weird, and Alfred wasn’t a creepy weirdo, okay, Tolys?

Back then, all Tolys had been able to do was nod even if he knew Alfred had been lying. Now, all he could do was puzzle over America’s odd behavior as he kept helping him move boxes.

Tolys stretched his stiff, aching muscles after he’d placed the last box. “I’m done moving the boxes, Al.”

“Really? Thank you, that was very helpful.” America was working his way through a large stack of paperwork, but he managed to look up and give Lithuania a sincere smile. “You can take a break for a while now if you want. You’ve earned it.”

“What about you?”

The phone rang again, and Alfred shrugged before he picked it up and answered with a cheerful voice that belied how exhausted he must truly be. Lithuania knew America couldn’t be convinced, so he left the room and made his way towards the kitchen.

Romano was at the stove, scraping lasagna out of the pan and muttering to himself. When he got closer, he could hear that he was ranting about America. “Fucking idiot, won’t even let me take care of him. Then he has the nerve to wink at me and eat his mass-produced, shitty chocolate, which is not even half as nutritious as my lasagna.”

Lithuania grimaced. “Hey, Romano.”

“Hey.” Savino cast him a tired glance. “You want something?”

“I, uh, know I wasn’t the person you actually offered leftovers, but I think America’s gonna be chained to his desk all day. I figured you wouldn’t want all that food to go to waste.”

Savino snorted. “There’s enough here for two Americas. Get yourself something to drink, and I’ll fix you a normal-sized plate.”

“Thanks.” Lithuania poured himself a glass of wine, which was what Romano usually took with his lunch, and yawned. “Man, I’m beat.”

“You guys have been really busy today, huh?”

Lithuania smiled faintly at the tinge of concern in Romano’s voice. “Yeah. Alfred’s been way more swamped than me. He can’t even end a phone call without someone else calling him five seconds later.”

“He should have put me on the phone, so I could tell them to fuck off and leave him alone.” Romano got a fork out of the drawer, set it on the plate, and handed the lasagna to Lithuania.

Lithuania chuckled as he walked towards the kitchen table with his glass and plate. Romano followed him. “I don’t think that would lead to good business relations,” he teased.

Romano huffed in annoyance. “It might lead that idiota to eat an actual goddamn lunch for once in his life. He can’t subsist on fumes and chocolate bars forever.” Lithuania sat down at the table, and Romano sat across from him.

He took a bite, chewed it slowly, then swallowed. “Romano, Alfred… he wasn’t trying to insult you. He loves your food. I’m sure, if he wasn’t so busy—”

“That’s not the fucking problem, okay?”

“Okay.” Tolys knew that, especially with Savino, sometimes it was better not to push. Forcing the issue would only make him more defensive. For the next several minutes, he only heard the scrape of his fork across the plate, his own chewing, and wine sloshing in the glass as he sipped it between bites. The silence was awkward, but Lithuania could endure it.

Eventually, Savino broke. He put his elbows on the table, gripped his hair in his fists, and started talking. “Sometimes, Fredo frustrates the hell out of me. I can’t hate him, but I hate the shit he does.”

Obviously, he didn’t hate Alfred if he was giving him a nickname and offering him leftover lasagna, but Lithuania wasn’t tactless enough to point that particular absurdity out. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “What does Alfred do that bothers you?”

“It’s what he doesn’t do. He looks at me, but he never really sees me. Ever. I’m around the guy practically 24/7, and somehow he’s too oblivious to pick up on the fact I fucking—” Romano paused, then shot Lithuania a look that communicated everything his fear refused to let him voice out loud. “That I care about him.”

Lithuania thought over everything that had happened today, and everything else he’d noticed since Romano moved into America’s house. “I think Alfred cares about you. But sometimes, he cares about you so much that he can’t see you caring about him too. Like today, with the chocolate bar. He would’ve probably preferred the lasagna, but he had something else to eat, and he didn’t want to make you go out of your way for him.” Or the fact that in his own clumsy, bizarre way, Alfred had been trying to flirt with Savino when he winked at him and bit into that chocolate bar. The fond gleam in America’s eyes as soon as Romano left the room, that was often there when Savino wasn’t looking directly at him. The way Alfred instinctively pulled Savino closer if they were walking through a dark, narrow street after spending the evening at a speakeasy. The fact that he would’ve sat beside the couch, gently running his fingers through Savino’s hair and watching him sleep if Tolys hadn’t walked into the living room at the exact wrong moment.

Care didn’t cover how America felt, and even love, that word Romano refused to say, paled in comparison. Devotion was the closest term, and it was growing steadily every day. But that devotion was concealed and unspoken, and it wasn’t Lithuania’s place to say anything for America. Even if today had made it abundantly clear that Savino reciprocated those feelings, despite his occasionally prickly demeanor.

Gradually, Romano loosened his grip on his hair. He put his hands down in front of the table and sighed.

“Why the hell did he whip out the chocolate bar, bite it, and pose afterwards? Showy asshole.” Romano was blushing again and avoiding Lithuania’s eyes, but he didn’t seem quite as troubled as before. He didn’t sound particularly irritated either.

Tolys shrugged. “You’d have to ask him. I can’t read Alfred’s mind.” He could put the clues together, and the clues all added up to one conclusion. But that conclusion, inconveniently, wasn’t his secret to share.

Lithuania finished his meal, and he carried his empty plate, fork, and wine glass to the sink. “Thanks for fixing lasagna for lunch. It was delicious, and it was a nice thing for you to do.”

Romano had gotten up at the same time he had, and now, he was standing near the broom he’d left by the pantry door. “Thanks for talking to me about stuff,” he said quietly. Savino was clearly embarrassed by their conversation, and by what he’d nearly confessed. Lithuania knew he couldn’t make a big deal out of it. Forcing the issue would only make things worse, not better.

“No problem.”

Savino smiled genuinely, if not joyfully, when he carried his broom out of the room to sweep elsewhere. Tolys cleaned the dishes and fork he’d used, and he resolved to put this matter out of his mind until Savino (or perhaps Alfred, at some point in the future) needed him to be a confidant once again.

[majortuttle]

Fic: Commiseration

Summary: With the end of the war in sight, Hawkeye mourns the loss of another friend and Charles shows his hand.

Pairing: pre-beejhawk, implied unrequited (but we know better)

Set during 'Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen', in the slip of time between Hawkeye returning to the 4077th and B.J. replacing himself as the 'new' surgeon.

Also on Ao3 (onawingandaswear)

Alone in the Swamp without B.J. to cushion the silence, Hawkeye listens as Charles, deep in his cups, eases the needle from his record player and announces in his most diplomatically apologetic tone, “Were I playwright, I could have penned a tragedy about our time here, and you’d have made a fine lead, Pierce.”

“Are you calling me dramatic?” Hawkeye chides, toying absently with a spare dart, balancing it between his pointer fingers above his chest and debating the merits of dropping it; for a fleeting moment, wishing the tip were long enough — sharp enough — to do real damage.

“I’ve been privy to a number of secrets in my time on this earth, Boston society overflows with implications and whispers, you see, and I’m . . . terribly sorry for the circumstances surrounding your coming to find one another, and that things ended so abruptly. It’s difficult to find someone well suited to you in the best of circumstances. Harder still in the worst.”

Hawkeye doesn’t bother correcting the assumption for what it is, even though his heart has managed to crawl high into his throat, threatening to burst from him like a pulp-novel monster to strangle him with his own anxieties.

“Keep drinking, Charles. You need to finish off that brandy before the non-coms start hunting souvenirs.”

“Pierce.”

“What.”

“I’m telling you, I empathize.”

“There’s nothing to empathize with,” Hawkeye bites, the retort coming more quickly than his mind can process what Winchester has just admitted. Hawkeye opens his mouth to correct, only to hold his tongue because where can this conversation even go? How much energy can he really expend trying to correct such a blatant misinterpretation. How obvious had Hawkeye been to give Charles Winchester the impression that he was so duly compromised when there wasn’t even a relationship to begin with?

“It’s not . . . like that,” he admits, keeping his voice low. “We weren’t. . . He’s my friend. Was.”

“More’s the pity,” Charles laments with a soft burp. “When a man doesn’t recognize his own proclivities for what they are. One must own their affections or risk being consumed by them.”

He sounds so sure, so bizarrely confident in such an ill mannered capacity, that Hawkeye isn’t sure the Charles he’s returned to is the same man he left behind.

“Color me curious, what made you think we were, ah, like that?”

Charles barks a laugh that devolves into drunken, derisive giggles. “Romeo and Juliet shared less affection than you brutes showed one another on a daily basis.”

Hawkeye releases the dart. It bounces harmlessly off his chest. Pity. “I did love him,” he admits, suddenly, dangerously uncaring of the consequences. “Still do, in fact.”

“Ah, sweet tragedy,” Charles echoes sagely. “While you and I have had our moments of bullishness, I cannot say I would ever wish the anguish of unrequited affection upon a friend.”

Hawkeye sits with his grief for a moment before shoving up onto his elbows, looking to his remaining bunkmate. “Do you think there was something there? Something mutual?

“The way that man looked at you, the vulgarities he committed in the name of ‘friendship’,” Charles scoffs, unsteadily thumbing through his records. “I was convinced for some time that his marriage was a farce.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“Quite.”

“You don’t mean that. And, wait, did you say friend. Me? I’m your friend?””

“My colleagues back in Boston, everyone cares about money and status, who is marrying whom, purchasing what; I trust your disinterest far more than I trust their sincerity. I will genuinely miss your candor, even if I do not miss your antics.”

“Aww, Chuckles.”

“And, now, I already regret my honesty. For my last admission of the evening, I am very curious to see you in your housebroken state outside of a war zone. You are decently educated, affable — ”

“Stop. I’m blushing.”

“— If you are so inclined, and should fate guide you in such a direction when you have recovered from the affliction that is unrequited affection, I have an acquaintance I think you’d get along with him swimmingly. Very well-to-do with a . . . comparable sense of humor, if you catch my drift.”

Hawkeye throws his forearm over his eyes and rests back on his pillow, imagining what kind of blue-blood Charles Winchester would wish to curse with a partner like Benjamin Franklin Pierce.

Beyond the walls of the tent, Hawkeye can hear the bustle of a camp full of people who sense the end is near, in all senses: the POWs biding time with song, the enlisted personnel packing and organizing what little can be touched without an official ceasefire. Distantly, even further still, Hawkeye can hear artillery and choppers.

“Charles?”

“Hmm.”

“I won’t miss you,” Hawkeye admits gently. “But I’ll miss you.”

“You made a fine adversary, Pierce.”

“I’m proud to call you me nemesis.”

“Oh, if only you rated such an illustrious descriptor.”

For a moment, Hawkeye can pretend he isn’t so damaged that the most important people in his life deigned to abandon him without proper farewells; leaving him to seek scraps of comfort from the adversaries in his life.

“Say the word,” Charles reminds, after a moment of calm. “The least I can do for a . . . friend.”

“Thank you.” Hawkeye whispers, genuinely touched. “Can’t say how affable I’ll be when all of this is said and done but I appreciate your . . . empathy. Though, I think I might be done with interpersonal affections for a while.”

“Quite,” Charles offers, before clearing his throat and adding, “And, please, refrain from mention this conversation to anyone.”

Hawkeye draws a breath, focusing back on the rippling canvas above them.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Charles. I may be a fool, but I’m not an idiot.”

[lokidrabbles]

Drifting (Loki x Reader)

 Loki muses over his Jotuun heritage and your liking for the colder weather. Gender neutral reader! Warnings: Slight angsty Loki :(

Winter on Midgard must have been Loki’s most pleasant time of the year. Aside from having a natural affinity to the cold, it was a time to become intricately observant of humans and their bizarre behavior during the season. Admittedly, he wasn’t too experienced with whatever annual celebrations humans would participate, but he maintained some distance towards everything.

Adjusting to life on Midgard was challenging as most would expect, especially while having the Avenger’s breathing down on the back of your neck constantly. However, Loki made due with obtaining as much knowledge as he could, simultaneously hoping the preoccupation would keep his mind busy with unnecessary temptation. Although he could never really escape his natural trickster nature, most declared he was on his ‘best behavior.’

Loki took a special interest in observing you of course, just like a creature in its natural environment. You didn’t possess powers or other worldly abilities, you were simply human, flowing along with the tide of daily human nonsense. His curiosity continued to get the best of him while keeping watchful eye on you. He found the duality rather interesting, taking note of your sudden eagerness with the first snowfall of city. He had taken you as someone rather reserved, carefully choosing what you’d say towards others and towards him. But as the temperature dropped, you began to slowly crawl out of your shell, dragging Loki along for the ride.

As streets began to pile up with blankets of white powder, your eyes would widen, and a child like smile would form over your face, causing your cheeks to become reddened. You easily became cold, again, an observation he had taken upon his spare time. It would only take a couple of minutes for him to begin noticing your reddened nose along with shivering lips. He would often ask you if you were cold, or if you wanted to go back inside for some warmth, but you’d say otherwise, affirming your enjoyment for the coldness upon your skin.

Further into the month, the weather became increasingly severe, dropping dramatically and resulting in days on days end of snowfall. The streets would become landscapes of mounds of snow, halting much of the traffic and daily business. Howling winds would ever so often surround the city as well, piercing with intense coldness, but nothing that would phase Loki.

The cold, staggering darkness of Jotuunheim would have probably killed you and any other human within minutes. He recalled his encounter on Jotuunheim many years ago along with his brother and the others. The catharsis of his origin, the feeling of his blood running as shards of ice throughout his entire body, and his skin turning blue upon the reflection. Loki would at times replay the inevitable truth in his mind, as much as he would want to convince himself otherwise.

He was a frost giant. Albeit, a small one, but still a monster of ice and death in its entirety. He felt his nature would oblige him to become unbothered by the weather and the coldness, but in reality he detested it. He wished hot blood would run through his veins instead of this, warming and flushing his skin all over. He wished the howling coldness would stop mocking him and take him back to his origin and his birthright, to have died on a frozen rock.

Nevertheless, he fought it, through gritted teeth and through his own personal lies.

He encountered you once more on the outside, mindlessly kicking piles of snow and eagerly stepping on the crunching snowflakes. You were dressed in casual Midgardian winter gear, but even Loki noted whatever you were wearing was way to thin to fight against the chilling air. With arms crossed, he stepped up towards you, ready to lift up his chin and scold you upon your carelessness.

“Are you aiming to become ill?” He asked, startling you for a bit. You peeked up at him from under your beanie, shooting a quizzical look. “Your fragile human physique is not meant for this type of weather.”

“I’m not gonna stay out all afternoon you know, I just wanted to get some fresh air.”

He raised an eyebrow, again instantly recognizing your red nose, red cheeks and chapped lips. Your breath was visible in the air, and he noted your glove-less hands trembling as well.

“There are specs of ice forming upon your lashes already.” He pointed out, fighting the urge to gently brush them off from your eyes. “I’d rather not have to care for you if you become sickened by the cold.”

“My god, I’m not even that cold. Look, feel my hands, it’s not that bad!” You exclaimed, holding out your hands in front of him, wiggling them playfully.

Loki stepped back a bit, startled at the unexpected request from you.

Feel my hands

He couldn’t. He knew you wanted to reach out to touch for a hint of warmness within him, for the opportunity to possibly warm your feeble hands with his. It was absurd, first of all, wanting to touch a human so casually as such. But most importantly because it was just impossible.

He cringed at the thought of your cold hands meeting his sharp, colder skin. It would be utterly disappointing, and would further drift him away from the chance of developing anything further with you, or with anyone from this world. He would have to pass over the moment, shielding you away from the truth once more.

“Fine, I believe you. That is unnecessary.” He commented, hiding the fear in his voice with a layer of mockery.

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, or else you’re not gonna stop bothering me about it.” You retorted, reaching out to firmly grab his own hands into yours.

He twitched slightly, attempting to stand tall and proud without making it apparent of the agonizing position you were putting him in. He felt your hands, which were indeed cold, clasp around his own, your fingers circling over his own longer ones in one inescapable hold. His eyes darted back and forth, attempting to fight his body’s reaction to run away or potentially hurt you. He really, did not want to hurt you. “Woah.” You said lowly. Loki was well prepared to yank his hands away from yours harshly and walk away, furious at your persistence and at himself for existing in the first place.

“Your hands are so warm Loki.”

“Pardon?” He asked. His voice cracked, but you were not able to notice it.

“Just, you’re really warm. No wonder you don’t need to wear a jacket out here.” You chuckled, still holding onto his hands tightly, soaking up all of his heat onto yours.

It was impossible, you must have been lying. This was the only explanation.

Loki mused over this dilemma, slowly pulling out from your grip. He felt you respond to him, releasing your fingers from their old, almost wistfully. He looked down at your hands, seeing you shoving them back into your coat pockets.

“You should come inside to get some warmth.” He said softly, avoiding eye contact with you.

“Hmm, you’re right.” You replied, and he caught onto the slight giggle in your throat.

“Is something amusing to you?”

You shook you head. “Nope, just didn’t realize how much I’d like holding your hands like that.”

Loki felt a heat rise from his chest, sending a warm wave of blood into his cheeks and hands, almost familiar and almost welcoming in its nature.

---

[groovegalaxxxy5]

The Art School AU nobody asked for

I’ve had this idea for an emercury AU fic kicking around in my head for a while now, but I have so many other projects on my plate rn and nowhere near enough time or energy to write it. So instead I’m just gonna post all the deets in the hopes that one day I’ll be able to come back and actually do something with it.

Emercury Art School AU Summary:

“Emerald Sustrai may have managed to get into the dance program at one of the most prestigious art schools on Remnant, but she has one big issue – after just one year of study, she’s barely managing to stay afloat even with two part-time jobs and her grades have been suffering for it. Fortunately for her, her school offers extra credit to any students who are cast in the school’s yearly exhibition performance.  Unfortunately, this year’s production’s theme is “passion” and the only spot up for audition for sophomores in the dance program is for a couples’ dance performance based on said theme.   

Enter one Mercury Black—a fellow dance student with a reputation unsavory enough to overshadow his considerable talent, and quite possibly the last person on Remnant Emerald would ever want to work with…He also happens to literally be the only other person she can find to pair up with her for the show.  Somehow, improbably, the unlikely duo actually make a pretty good team once they finally start to work out their differences, but as they perfect their routine for the big audition, Emerald finds herself in a whole new predicament: She may have set out to steal the show, but if she’s not careful she might just end up getting her heart stolen in the process...”

So yeah…as you can see, the basic premise is that Em and Merc are classmates at this school for the arts, but both of them are having trouble earning passing marks in this one foundation course they both need to graduate—Emerald because she is completely on her own and has to work a lot to pay for her living expenses and studio fees and stuff even though she has a pretty decent scholarship, and Mercury because he keeps really odd hours and misses class quite a bit for unexplained reasons.  Noticing that she’s struggling even though she is a gifted dancer, one of Emerald’s teachers suggests that she try out for the big show that their school puts on every school year, since anyone who makes the cut receives a bunch of extra credit and each faculty also gives a grant to the students who they judge to have put on one of the top three best performances.  The problem is, there are only a limited number of spots up for audition for each graduating year of each concentration course due to time and resource restraints, and this year’s 2nd year dance spot happens to be billed as a couples’ performance.

Emerald hits up everybody she can think of, but they're all too busy or can't commit to the project for other reasons. Pretty much out of options at that point, she’s just about ready to give up when she has a chance encounter with a classmate, one Mercury Black, after school.  Through some sort of clerical error they managed to book the exact same practice studio for exactly the same time, and since they both really need the extra practice time and neither one is willing to back down, they end up sharing the room for a few hours.  When they do, Emerald is really surprised to find out that Mercury is actually a really talented dancer, she just never noticed before because even though they have some classes together he comes in very irregularly.  After a long, sleepless night contemplating doing something really, really ill-advised, she ends up approaching him at school the next day to propose that they team up and audition for the big show together since they appear to both be failing the same class and need the credit really bad, and to her surprise he agrees rather easily.

Thus, the two of them become reluctant accomplices. However, once they start working out the choreography together, they just can’t seem to see eye-to-eye on anything, which doesn’t bode very well for their performance considering that it’s supposed to embody the show’s theme. Emerald is more of a ballet dancer, while Mercury is more of a street dancer, having started out with breaking and had almost zero classical training before starting school.  After a while (with a lot of practice and a LOT of unsolicited intervention from their nosy friends) our two favorite mayhem children finally start to bond and find some common ground, and naturally, lighthearted romantic hijinks ensue and sparks fly between the unlikely duo as they struggle to cooperate and put together a passionate couples’ dance good enough to get into the final production.

The Supporting Cast:

Em’s peeps -- Cinder (in the class above, sort of her mentor and was the one who encouraged her to apply to school in the first place), Weiss (met in freshman year, in the same ballet, jazz and contemporary classes this year, snarking buddies), Blake (ended up in most of the same classes together this year), Coco (upperclassman in the design course, loves dressing Em in different outfits and often forces her to stand in as a house model for her when she needs to work late into the night to meet a deadline)

Merc’s peeps -- Sun (met in class in freshman year, breaking and sparring buddies), Neptune (met thru Sun, in pop class together this year), Scarlet (ditto), Blake (in a few classes together, waits tables at the same diner where he works), Yang (met at a stunt training camp the Summer of freshmen year, waits tables at the same restaurant, fellow gym rat and occasional sparring partner)

Salem -- Headmistress of the most prestigious arts school on Remnant; has a bitter love-hate (mostly hate) relationship with her ex

Oz -- The headmistress’ ex-husband who runs a very successful Circe du Soleil type show and recruits a lot of his performers from her graduating classes

Glinda -- Chair of the dance department; Contemporary and ballroom dance instructor; is so so weary of her faculty’s incessant bickering

Winter -- Ballet instructor; came up in a rigid traditional Atlesian ballet school and generally looks down on all the other dancing disciplines and their instructors (”What they do can BARELY be described as dancing”); wishes the dance department were as disciplined as the music department

Qrow -- Jazz and tap dance instructor; doesn’t think that what his sister does really counts as actual dancing; jazz hands, rain hands and double dream hands and he’s dead serious about em

Raven -- Acrobatic and contortion instructor; thinks jazz hands look really stupid, just like Qrow and his corny, goofy ass dancing; was actually trained extensively in traditional Mistralian Highlands step dancing from childhood alongside her brother and used to perform internationally before switching disciplines

Tai Yang -- Hip-hop and pop dance instructor; specializes in pop and lock; Raven's ex; constantly catching strays from Qrow and Raven’s feud; just happy to still have a job tbh

Arthur & Tyrian -- Co-chairs of the theater department; Arthur teaches classical acting and Tyrian teaches method acting and they both think the other doesn’t teach “real acting”; somehow their department is actually really popular and all the students love the yearly musical theater production, which is the only time they ever seem to agree on anything

Hazel -- Long-suffering theater production instructor; works really hard to keep things running smoothly in the background despite the department heads' antics; hates the headmistress’s ex with a burning passion

Ironwood -- Chair of the music department; runs his department like a well-oiled machine and has put the fear of god into all his students; has won the national marching band championships seven years running

All the other students are in various departments at their school—e.g. Ruby plays the sax, Yang and Jaune are both acting majors, Oscar plays the cello, Nora and Ren play the tuba and the erhu respectively, Pyrrha is a triple threat etc.

A bunch of random plot points:

-Merc, Em and their friends are all in the same foundation classes together and the two of them start off vaguely aware of one another mostly owing to the fact that all their friends are friends, but they don’t really know each other (…or DO they??? *DUN DUNNN DUNNNNN*)

-Most of the faculty at their school can’t stand each other and the different departments have been engaged in bitter rivalries for years but somehow they all work really well together because at the end of the day they’re all professionals who are good at their jobs

-All of their friends are convinced that they’re secretly dating or hooking up at the very least, because they suddenly start hanging around each other a lot, holing up in the practice studio together until all hours of the night and showing up school at the same time the next morning and are constantly snipping at each other whenever they interact.  Merc’s squad is actually v supportive and (against his wishes) are doing their very best to try and help their boy lay down the mac (Sun: “Hey Merc! Thanks for letting me drive the convertible last weekend!😉👍”) , even though they all generally acknowledge that he’s way out of his league and is headed down the path to utter destruction. Meanwhile, Em’s friends are pretty appalled by her abysmally low standards (Weiss: “Emerald, you’re dating down....WAY down.🙁”) and think that shes going thru some kind of self-destructive phase or something.  They’re convinced she’s about to have her life absolutely ruined by that one smirky fuccboi type from their grade who has super sus habits and “reeks of criminality” (also Weiss).

-Almost everybody including most of his friends are convinced that Mercury is doing something really, really shady for cash on the low because he keeps super odd hours, misses class a lot and is always showing up with all these bizarre, unexplained injuries.  In reality, Em finds out that it’s all because he’s been training as a stunt-man outside of school and works a lot of weird hours at his part-time job so that he can pay off his prosthetics, finance his extra courses and pay for his own living expenses, etc. Although he actually was involved in some serious criminal activity in the past, he’s been trying his best to stay on the straight and narrow ever since he finally cut ties with his scumbag dad, and now just works a lot of nights and weekends as a short order cook at the local greasy spoon.

-Once Mercury realizes that Emerald is like...constantly on the brink of starvation because she’s a destitute vagabond baby but has too much pride to ask for help, he starts subtly bringing her leftovers from work, which she grudgingly accepts (because he owes her for putting him onto the whole extra credit thing, so it’s not really charity...definitely NOT because she is extremely susceptible to offerings of food and her partner also happens to be a surprisingly good cook).  

-Cinder is in the year above them and has known Emerald since they were in the foster system together as kids. She’s a prodigy at ballet and also a very accomplished acrobat and contortionist (as in, like, can easily shoot an arrow into a bullseye with just her feet while her legs are bent backwards all the way over the top of her head and stuff).  At some point she sits in on one of Em and Merc’s rehearsal sessions and ends up dragging the hell out of them both for being way too stiff and exhibiting almost zero chemistry despite the “obnoxiously obvious sexual tension” between them.  She basically ends up barking directions at them until they alter their choreo a bunch and finally start to look somewhat like an actual couple ("For fuck's sake... Lift her like she's the most precious thing you've ever laid eyes on and you're about to make sweet love to her, you idiot, not like she's a frigging sack of potatoes you're bringing home to peel!!!" "This man is supposed to be the moon to your stars...if you don't loosen up and melt into his arms like your soul is on fire, I will flip ALL this shit over and burn this wretched studio to the ground with both of you trapped inside!!!" ), after which things gradually start to get all awkward and messy between them because they start thinking about one another differently.  

-They get into a bunch of compromising situations by virtue of the fact theatre and dance people are just kinda naked  a lot and don’t care.  At various points in the story their friends will walk in on the two of them in some sort of really eyebrow raising situation, get the complete wrong idea  and run away, which in turn makes the two of them start to feel awkward as hell toward each other.

-Coco forces them to wear matching outfits that she made just for their performance.

-Their act ends up being this spicy contemporary couples’ dance that incorporates a lot of elements of acrobatic dance, breaking and ballet, essentially blending together both of their unique dance backgrounds.

 This story idea has absolutely nothing to do with canon and Remnant is a lot like modern-day Earth with some exceptions, so there are no semblances etc. There’s no antagonist; in fact everyone around them is generally supportive and wants them to succeed--the main conflict comes from Emerald and Mercury only having three brain cells between them and not being used to caring about someone else in a lovey-dovey sort of way. I got the idea when I was watching dance videos online and started remembering all those cheesy dance-themed teen movies from the 90’s and early 2000’s.  It’s pretty much just a wholesome little meet-cute/will-they-won’t-they type school romance in that same vein, where Em and Merc are forced to team up out of necessity, start to fall for each other and then have to deal with all the awkwardness that ensues...all with a bunch of help from their extremely eccentric, meddling-ass friends who are all convinced that the two of them are either already dating or about to be and are trying to keep them both from getting their hearts broken lol

 Whew! Guess that’s about it for now...I’d like to try and flesh this one out more and maybe even publish it as a legit fic one day, but first I’ve gotta get back to work on *signal lost*

[dordmagazine]

What The F Are Intrusive Thoughts?

Lesson brought to you by the fact that most of us are having intrusive thoughts right now, no one talks about it, it's considered taboo + scary, and tbh the psychology community does a bad job of normalizing this common evolutionary behavior.

What The F Is an Intrusive Thought?

Imagine this, you're going about your day, and suddenly you’re hit with a thought that’s bizarre, shocking, uncomfortable, triggering, or overall anxious. No reason for it, it just pops up. 

Could be the voice in your head saying the worst thing you can imagine is happening 

Could be a gut feeling followed by intense anxiety and thought spirals 

Could be thoughts of doing something shocking and out of character for you (usually sexual, violent, or suicidal)

Could be in terms of a relationship (thinking you’re not good enough, they’re not good enough, suddenly fearful of commitment despite having intense feelings for that person)

Intrusive thoughts are actually perfectly normal. Literally everyone has them, not just those with mental illnesses. Intrusive thoughts don't necessarily mean you have a mental condition you need treatment for. Intrusive thoughts are not messages, red flags, signals or warnings, despite how they feel. Even for my intuitive people, your intrusive thought doesn’t mean the situation is actually going on. It's just a thought with zero meaning behind it.

Intrusive thoughts feel so threatening because anxious thinking takes over, and the thought appears to have some intense power that it actually doesn't have.

Common intrusive thoughts we don't call "intrusive thoughts", but they really are: 

Thinking our partner doesn't want us 

Thinking our partner will leave or is cheating 

Fearing everyone at the office hates us 

Convincing ourselves we'll fail 

Thinking we'll go broke

Being afraid that fictional things will happen (ex being fearful that you’ll live the plot of a book you just read)

For some reason we don't associate this type of anxious thinking with intrusive thoughts, but they're classic intrusive thoughts. Other thoughts include thinking about having sex with someone you'd never sleep with, getting in fights, getting raped or abused.

It’s important to note, if you are having intrusive thoughts of getting raped or abused, or doing the actions, that does not mean you want to rape or abuse or get raped and abused. For people who conduct these behaviors, these are not intrusive thoughts. They don’t think much about them and move on. These thoughts cause great stress for you because they go against your values and you’d never do them.

For Example:

People who have intrusive thoughts about cheating, usually value commitment, relationships, and family.

People who have intrusive thoughts about hurting an animal, love animals and would never harm one intentionally.

People who have intrusive thoughts about their religion, are usually extremely faithful and take their faith seriously.

Intrusive thoughts are intrusive because they go against your values. You are not subconsciously represented by your intrusive thoughts.

The Science

Here’s the facts, we get intrusive thoughts for a few reasons.

First one, our brains get bored and try to entertain themselves. I wish I was kidding. We’re taught the brain is a complex thing, but it’s really a toddler. In fact the part of the brain associated with intrusive thoughts, the Amygdala, is the youngest part of the brain. It’s kinda still learning how to brain. 

When we get bored or over stimulated, the Amygdala comes up with situations, so the body can send up doses of chemicals and hormones. Our brain likes to imagine things, it’s just sometimes daydreams turn into nightmares. 

Most common reason our brain has Intrusive thoughts, is because it’s evolved to keep us safe. So it constantly scans the environment for danger, running through all the possible cases. While doing this, it generates thoughts that you are unaware of. When it hits one that causes you fear, it becomes a conscious thought.

When fear hits the body, within seconds fight or flight turns on and the Amygdala is turned screaming. It wants you to come up with a plan to stay safe if the event ever happened.

Once you do, the screaming stops. If you ignore it, sometimes the screaming gets louder. We see this a lot with patients who have OCD, the thoughts get louder or keep coming back harder when we try to ignore them.

In a way our Amygdala is saying “Can’t you see we’re in danger?”

The problem is there is rarely ever any actual danger. The Amygdala is the brains faulty security system. It’s triggered by wind the next County over.

The brain does this so that you are alerted to the potential threat and can then problem-solve your way out of it. Our brain honestly thinks it's helping us. But as I mention everytime I talk about anxiety, we're not outrunning bears anymore. We don’t need overly sensitive Amygdalas.

That’s why OCD treatment uses exposure therapy designed to reprogram how we perceive thoughts in the mind. Treatment involves pushing yourself to do what scares you and ignoring the need to control everything. Overtime the brain adjusts to your responses and you have less obsessive intrusive thoughts.

Follow Your Gut

I’m a natural intuitive. So for me to follow my intuition I had to make peace with my intrusive thoughts.

Remember, our brain doesn't know the difference between real threats or imaginary ones. The brain thinks "I thought of it, it's real". Think of it like a toddler holding an imaginary tea party. We know the cup is empty, but the kid honestly thinks imagination made tea.

I see a lot with people who are practicing their intuition or learning to trust their gut fall into the trap of feeding their intuitive thoughts. Out of nowhere they get an intrusive thought that their blessing, prayers, or manifestation isn't coming. And they freak out because they think it's divine guidance.

My dears, your intrusive thought isn't divine guidance. It's your bodies glitchy security system. Your gut, the universe, or god, didn't telling you that your person will never love you, that the job isn't coming, or that you'd never get rich or have a family.

The thing with intrusive thoughts is they often keep coming up, which tricks us into thinking that it actually means something or it's divine guidance. But the reason these thoughts come us is because we never told our brains it's not actually a danger or threat.

How To Make Them Stop

First things first, if you have intrusive thoughts find a Therapist who focuses primarily on OCD. Many Therapists claim to have worked with OCD patients but lack the education or experience to support your healing journey. 

The thing with traditional talk therapy is it can usually make OCD and Anxiety worse. If you are seeking out professional help, which I always recommend, find a Therapist who is trained in Exposure & Response Prevention (ERP). If you’re on the edge of deciding to see a therapist, there are incredible patient guided workbooks designed to help stop intrusive thoughts.

Some of our favorites are:

The ACT Workbook for OCD: Mindfulness, Acceptance, and Exposure Skills to Live Well with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder by Marisa T. Mazza PsyD

Brain Based Therapy for OCD: A Workbook for Clinicians and Clients by John B. Arden

Overcoming Unwanted Intrusive Thoughts: A CBT-Based Guide to Getting Over Frightening, Obsessive, or Disturbing Thoughts by Sally M. Winston PsyD and Martin N. Seif PhD

Brain Lock, Twentieth Anniversary Edition: Free Yourself from Obsessive-Compulsive Behavior by Jeffrey M. Schwartz

How To Be There For Someone With Intrusive Thoughts

Intrusive thoughts can effect our relationships in every way. It’s hard to see your loved one go through suffering you can’t understand.

I always explain intrusive thoughts like this:

An intrusive thought is like we watched a documentary on Bigfoot. Before it, I knew Bigfoot wasn’t real and the documentary only assured me that Bigfoot is made up. But every night I’ll be terrified that Bigfoot is outside of my window and will hurt me when I’m sleeping. So I lay awake and plan or sit in fear. Eventually, the fear will bleed into my daytime life and I’ll become scared that Bigfoot is behind me or will hurt my loved ones. And in the documentary it said people used to keep garlic in their pocket to ward off Bigfoot. So I start carrying around garlic and hiding it in my loved ones belongings. This entire time I know Bigfoot isn’t real. I know my behavior is irrational. But my body is still scared. Even if everything inside of me says Bigfoot isn’t real and even if it’s proven by Scientists. I’m still afraid.

If the person you love struggles with intrusive thoughts it helps to view everything from their perspective. You don’t need to feed into the compulsions, in fact you usually shouldn’t.

Someone suffering with Intrusive thoughts or OCD needs the people around them to be compassionate, understanding, and kind. When someone exhibits an obsessive behavior tied to intrusive thoughts ask them, “Is that an intrusive thought?” usually that’s enough to stop them the thought, even temporarily.

Another thing you can do is ask the sufferer to explain to you what they’re feeling and why they think that way. And don’t judge them for it. Simply nod and smile. People who have intrusive thoughts or OCD need to feel like they aren’t broken because of the way their brain is programed.

Remember, all their brain is doing is trying to stay safe. Treatment involves reframing thoughts and reprograming their brain. The goal isn’t to stop our Amygdala from being aware, it’s to make it less sensitive and less afraid.

Our brain needs to alert us of a flood, it doesn’t need to alert us of 5mph wind.

The important thing to remember with intrusive thoughts is to think of your brain like a toddler. It's pointing everything it thinks and sees out, making sure you see it too. All it wants you to do is say, "yes, I know. But that's not important right now." or "I think you're not seeing it correctly, it's actually this."

Having these thoughts are normal and although distressing they say nothing about your character. 

Follow us as we work to end the stigma around mental illness and keep an eye out for our full magazine set to release early January 2021.

Disclaimer: No one at DORD is a medical professional, meaning we provide education from our first hand experience (and our Editor In Chief’s Psychology Degree). If your intrusive thoughts cause you great discomfort, contact a license professional. If you think you're going to hurt yourself or someone else, contact a professional. If you'd like to know how to get in touch with a professional, shoot us a DM and we’ll gladly help connect you with the appropriate resources.

[no6secretsanta]

No.6 - Children of the Sea

Happy Holidays and an awesome New Year, @aoicanvas! I really hope you enjoy this fic! It’s me, @glorifiedscapegoat, and I’m really excited to share this with you. The concept I had kept giving me ideas, so I found myself just writing and writing for a while, and before I knew it the word count was as high as it was. I hope that’s all right!

⁂

“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.” — Jacques Cousteau

“Here’s your turbo,” Safu declared, sitting down opposite Shion at the booth. They were at their favorite café on the other side of Kronos, perched at one of the large window-seats overlooking the bay.

It was one of Shion’s favorite places, simply for its amazing view of the ocean. The sapphire blue waves lapped against the edge of the pier, the shush-shush sound of the ocean sending comforting prickles down his spine. During the early morning hours, the sunlight glistened across the smooth surface, the pale blue sky streaked with pale pinks and vibrant oranges.

“Oh,” Shion said in surprise as Safu slid the green foam cup across the table toward him. “Thank you. I ordered a decaf, though.”

“I canceled it. You looked like you could use the caffeine.”

Shion exhaled through his nose, knowing it wouldn’t do him any good to argue.  He thanked Safu, popped back the heat-saver from the plastic cover, then took a hesitant sip of the coffee. Safu had doused it with enough creamer and granulated sugar to keep the bitter bite of the espresso from stinging his tongue, but Shion could still feel the caffeine buzzing through him.

“Speaking of caffeine,” Safu said, taking a sip of her own coffee. Having been friends for as long as they had, Shion knew that Safu took her coffee as black as the night sky in the middle of the city, devoid of stars due to the constant streaks of artificial lighting. Shion’s nose wrinkled just thinking about it. He’d never been able to get past the bitterness of the coffee beans. “You might want to bring one to go once you finish that one. Don’t you have the new wave of summer interns starting today?”

Shion exhaled, all traces of his previous good mood fluttering out the door. “Don’t remind me.”

Summers were a difficult time for the West Block Aquarium and, more importantly, its staff. Kronos was a buzzing tourist town, and the summer months brought about college students, wealthy benefactors, and worst of all, summer interns.

“Poor thing,” Safu remarked, taking another sip of her coffee. “Well, maybe it won’t be so bad. Who knows? The interns this year could be… delightful.”

They both shuddered in unison. Shion and Safu had been friends since they were little—Grade 1, to be exact, after Safu got in trouble for punching two boys in the face who called Shion “girly” for his pretty white hair—and both had gone on to pursue careers where interns came and went through a constant revolving door.

Though Shion had obtained full-time employment as a pseudo marine biologist at the West Block Aquarium, Safu had went on to pursue a medical degree working alongside children. Her talent rested with biology (of the mammalian variety, not the aquatic), but despite the clear differences in their professions, Shion and Safu shared one similar headache: summer interns.

“So, how’s your mom doing?” Safu asked.

“She’s all right,” Shion replied. “Just getting ready for the summer rush. Tourists and all that.”

“She’s a saint.” Safu lifted her coffee cup with a solemn expression. “I don’t know how I would have gotten through my undergraduate without the croissants she sent in her care packages.”

Shion huffed out a laugh and took another sip of his coffee. He could already feel the caffeine working its way through his veins.

He allowed a bit of silence to fall around him, the only reprieve he’d get today. As soon as he left for work in an hour, his day would be consumed with learning the group dynamic in this summer’s early wave of interns, squeezing work in between answering questions for the flood of customers arriving for the first day of the summer season, and banging his head against the glass walls of the tanks he was in charge of maintaining.

Shion felt something soft rest on top of his head. He glanced up to see Safu tapping her fingers against his temple, softly going, “pomf” to herself.

He leaned back out of reach, fighting back a smile. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out where I can purchase a brush strong enough to tame that mop of yours.” Safu took her hand back, flashing a smile. “It’s such a pretty color, and it’s a shame it just sticks up all over the place.”

“Well, it’s not my fault. I spend most of the time in the water. It’s hard to find a shampoo that can handle all that water damage.”

“Damage?” Safu reached out again and patted Shion on the top of the head. “This isn’t damage. You are the only person alive who can spend seventy-five percent of their life in water and come out with hair this soft.”

“Stop it,” Shion said, but it was light-hearted. His hair had always been a point of conflict in his life. Since the moment he was born—sporting snowy hair and bright ruby eyes—Shion had always fought off rude stares and invasive questions. His mother had helped him construct several convincing lies to help discourage people from continuing to pester him. These lies had ranged from childhood illness in Grades 1 through 4, and then expensive dye jobs during his time as a teenager. Shion had never liked the thought of dyeing his hair, but lying to folks that his bizarre hair and eye color were the results of a bottle of Manic Panic and colored contacts kept them from prying and discovering the truth.

Though, even if Shion did break down and tell people the truth—that his father was a merperson who’d seduced his human mother years ago before splitting without a trace, leaving her with a hybrid son whose hair and eyes and ability to breathe underwater were his only connection to his heritage—he doubted anyone would ever believe him.

Except for Safu.

When Shion finally broke down and told Safu the truth, she’d taken the information with a smile. Coming to terms that there were other creatures dwelling in her world came simply. Safu remarked that new species were being discovered all the time. Of course it made sense that there could be merpeople. The ocean hadn’t been completely explored, after all.

Sometimes Shion wondered why a relationship with Safu had never occurred to him. She was a beautiful girl, and always had been; petite with straight brown hair that fell to her shoulders (she’d let it grow out in recent years), dark eyes that saw everything, and a friendly smile that invited people to let their guard down. More than that, Safu was amazingly kind… to the people she liked. She never judged anyone unless they gave her a reason to assume they were judging her, and she was fiercely protective of her friends.

When they were teenagers, Safu had expressed feelings for Shion that he hadn’t been able to reciprocate. Maybe it was because Safu was accustomed to rejection, or maybe it was because she was just a wonderful, loving person, but Shion’s gentle apology in his inability to return her feelings hadn’t stopped her from remaining his best friend.

And when Shion came staggering home one night and called her, squealing with excitement that he’d found someone like him—someone from the sea—Safu had squealed and gushed with him.

Shion shook the thought away before he could dwell on it. Remembering the summers he spent between the ages of sixteen and nineteen were painful for him. He’d formed a romance with a boy from the sea, a boy Shion could picture himself spending the rest of his life with, and then, without explanation or reason, he’d simply vanished into thin air. Zip. Poof. Gone. As if he’d never been there in the first place.

"Hey, Shion. Earth to Shion.”

He looked up. “Huh?”

Safu took one look at his face, and instantly, she knew. “Thinking about Nezumi again?”

Hearing his name sent a knife through Shion’s heart. “No,” he said, but the lie was pointless. He’d never been any good at telling lies to Safu.

Safu clicked her tongue. When Nezumi stopped showing up at the beach, Safu had been furious. She ranted and raved for months about him, furious that he could break Shion’s heart like that. When the next summer came and he still didn’t show up, Safu’s anger cooled into concern. When another year passed, she and Shion mutually agreed that something awful must have happened to Nezumi and tried to mourn.

“Do you want to talk about it,” she said gently, “or change the subject?”

“Change the subject, please.”

“Of course.” Safu took a deep breath, composing her thoughts, and then she said, somewhat loudly, “Well, it won’t be so bad, right? How long do summer internships last at the aquarium, again?”

“Three months,” Shion said, grateful for the change in topic. He took all the pent-up feelings he still had toward Nezumi, even now, and shoved them to the side. If they festered there and turned into a cancerous tumor, he’d deal with it when that time came.

“Ugh, lucky. Our internships last six months.”

“Aren’t all of your interns medical students, though?” Shion stole a brief glance out the window. He wondered if he would catch a familiar flash of black and silver, and then promptly scolded himself for daring to hope.

“Yes, and most of them are lovely. But then you have those ones.” Safu rolled her eyes, and Shion instantly knew which ones she meant.

The children of wealthy parents whose only major contribution to the field was that they spent a lot of money and therefore expected that their children could sail through the program without any effort. Shion had dealt with plenty of those types, too, working at the aquarium. Wealthy donors often assumed a nice dosage of cash would land their children a high-paying, low-effort job once they finished their degree program. Shion lost count of the number of arguments he and other coworkers had had with interns whose ultimate defense was the phrase: “Do you have any idea who my parents are?”

"Maybe this year will be different,” Shion said, not at all confident. He’d been working full-time at the West Block Aquarium for two years, since he turned twenty-two, and not once had a summer internship term been “different”.

“It could be,” Safu replied solemnly. She and Shion shared a mutual nod, and then smiled.

⁂

With traffic, it was a forty-minute drive across downtown Kronos, and another three minutes to find a halfway decent parking space in front of the West Block Aquarium that didn’t result in Shion needing to sprint across the parking lot like a lunatic in order to clock in on time.

Shion smoothed his hands through his hair, pressing the tangled locks down against his skull. They bounced back up as he dropped his hands to his sides, and he gave up trying to look presentable.

His white hair, no matter how smooth or messy it was, always attracted attention from the college interns the aquarium employed. Most of them thankfully assumed it was just a dye job—an expensive, extremely thorough dye job, but a dye job nonetheless—but it elicited more than a few stares every year.

Shion scanned his ID badge at the employee entrance and ducked inside. He let the heavy metal door bang shut behind him, sighing as he stepped into the foyer of the employee lounge, cooled by the strong air conditioning unit Rikiga had installed. He tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash can, briefly considering using the Keurig to make himself another cup.

"Hey, Shion.”

Shion turned and spotted his coworker, Yamase, sitting at one of the little brown tables. He clutched a travel mug of tea—Yamase never liked drinking coffee, remarking that no matter how much creamer and sugar he doused it with, he could still taste the “disgusting bean water”—and he looked utterly exhausted.

Shion’s stomach plummeted. “Interns?”

“Interns,” Yamase agreed bitterly.

Shion huffed out a breath and went to the Keurig. “Please tell me there’s at least a few halfway decent ones.”

He prided himself on being an optimist—it was one of his best qualities, according to his mom, Safu, and everyone else he’d ever talked to, and Shion was pretty certain it was the primary reason Rikiga had given him the job in the first place—but something about summer interns made even someone with Shion’s extensive threshold for patience eager for the workday to end.

“Rikiga’s already deep into his cup,” Yamase explained, rolling his eyes. “Big surprise. Anyway, I’ve only met the first few, and supposedly, we’ve got two others starting tomorrow.”

“So, what exactly are we dealing with?” Shion popped a K-cup into the machine and hit brew. He shoved a paper cup beneath the dispenser and listened to the whir of the machine as the water heated up.

Yamase took a deep sip of his tea. “Well, there’s a girl who’s just started her second year at the community college who thinks she wants to go into marine biology. Kudos and all that, but she’s already expecting that we’ll hire her once she graduates since she’s interning with us.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yeah,” Yamase groaned. “You know how that’s gonna go. I wonder if we’ll have the parents down here again. You remember that?”

Shion shuddered. “How could I forget?” He could still hear the shrill sound of the woman’s voice as she shrieked at Rikiga in the lobby about why he’d rejected her daughter’s application for full-time employment after she’d “slaved away all summer at this dirty, stinking place, and for what?” Never mind that Shion had found her in the employee lounge multiple times during her shift, sneaking alcohol and trying to steal merchandise from the gift shop when she thought no one was looking.

“Maybe she’ll be a good fit,” Shion said, a little too hopefully.

“She bounces when she talks,” Yamase said drily.

"Excuse me?”

“Like full on hops on her heels.” Yamase gave a small demonstration, bouncing twice in his chair before widening his eyes and giving Shion a blank, dead stare. “She also talks like this.” He raised his voice up at the end, almost as if he were asking a question. “With an upward inflection at the end of it. As if she has no idea what she’s doing here.”

“That is so creepy,” Shion shuddered. “Please stop.”

“You think that’s creepy. Try listening to her do it.” Yamase sighed and took a deep gulp from his travel mug. “The lights are definitely on, but no one’s been home for years.”

Shion pinched the bridge of his nose. Wonderful. Just what the aquarium needed. He plucked his cup from the Keurig and dumped a healthy heaping of sugar and creamer packets into the cup.

“The new hire for the gift shop’s hot, though,” Yamase said.

Shion raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Don’t worry—he’s our age,” Yamase assured. “I checked. Not in college, as far as I can tell. Just looking for some extra cash at a part-time job or something. And you know I’m not really into guys, but dang, something about this guy just… I don’t know. Just wait until you see him.” Yamase exhaled. “It’s his eyes, man.”

Shion huffed out a laugh and took a sip of his coffee. After the turbo Safu had ordered for him, it felt watered down and weak, but Shion savored the buzz of caffeine.

“He must be something, then,” Shion said, “if you’ve noticed him.”

“You have no idea. You’re single, right? Maybe you have a shot.”

Shion clicked his tongue. “You sound like Safu.”

"Well, maybe you should start listening to us!” Yamase tipped his head back and finished off the last of his tea. “Maybe we should strong-arm your mother into it. I’m sure that’d make you start looking.”

Shion couldn’t help but smile. He’d tried dating during his undergraduate, and it hadn’t worked. All the men he went out with made snide comments about his hair— “Do the carpets match the drapes? Ha ha, just kidding. Unless…?”—or thought his fascination with sea life bordered on obsessive. Shion wouldn’t have felt comfortable letting them know the truth: that his “obsession” with sea life stemmed from the fact that he came from the same place.

And besides, none of them had made him feel the way Nezumi had.

Not only did Nezumi come from the ocean—Shion could picture the black and blue scales on his long, elegant tail perfectly, like obsidian and sapphires, and his beautiful silver eyes, like the edge of a blade in the sunlight—he never thought Shion’s ramblings were bizarre. He laughed at him, sure, but it was good-natured and beautiful, like the chiming of bells. He could swim faster and deeper than Shion, and he brought him pretty shells and oysters containing pearls from the bottom of the sea where Shion couldn’t swim without raising more than a few eyebrows.

During their summer interactions as teenagers, Shion had never been able to convince Nezumi to come onto the shore. He knew it was possible—his own father had done it years ago—but whenever he asked, Nezumi quickly changed the subject.

Shion’s heart ached, his eyes stinging. The last time he saw Nezumi, they had been eighteen years old. He could still feel the brush of Nezumi’s lips against his own, tasting of saltwater. Shion could have kissed him forever.

Shion quickly shook the thoughts away. He couldn’t afford to get caught up on thoughts of Nezumi anymore. He needed to focus on the new interns and aquarium employees.

Yamase rose and rinsed his travel mug in the sink. The dark blue of his janitor’s uniform stood out against the stark gray walls of the employee lounge. “Well, count yourself lucky you don’t have to deal with most of the interns. You spend most of your time in Number Six. I’m the one who’s gotta spend the whole day trapped in the gift shop.”

Shion cracked a smile. Number Six was the main tank in the direct center of the aquarium, the first major exhibit available as soon as customers walked through the door. Shion’s primary job was to jump into the tank every couple of hours, toss smelt and other dead things at the bigger fish, ensure that the pH levels were safe, and make sure the sand tigers didn’t bully the nurse sharks. Shion never would have pegged sharks to have some weird social hierarchy, but it was there. He’d lost count of the times he’d had to chase away the sand tiger with the blunt snout (who he’d affectionally nicknamed Snubby) from the large nurse shark (Nurse Anne) with the chunk bitten out of her dorsal fin.

Number Six was also known to Yamase and the other janitors as the BFT: the Big Fucking Tank. Shion didn’t like calling it that, but he supposed when the janitors spent most of their shift spraying Windex on the glass and wiping away fingerprints and saliva—seriously, did little kids lick everything?—it made sense they would come to hate it.

The majority of the interns and summer hires started out as cashiers in the gift shop. During his dips in Number Six, Shion could spot the little alcove through the glass, watching as the interns in their bright green tee-shirts displaying the West Block Aquarium logo fumbled through each transaction.

“I wonder if the wannabee marine biologist will try to jump in the tank with you,” Yamase said, eyeing Shion in his periphery. “She doesn’t seem thrilled about the idea of starting as a cashier.”

“They all start out as cashiers,” Shion replied, taking another sip of his coffee. It had already begun to go cold. “She shouldn’t expect special treatment. Retail work can be humbling.”

"Is it twisted that I love watching the rich kids get screamed at by entitled jerks?” Yamase’s dark eyes flashed as he turned to face Shion. “Like, I know retail’s rough and all, but some of these kids are so fucking bratty, and seeing the looks on their faces when they realize that no one cares about how much money they have just warms my heart.”

Shion shook his head. “You’re awful,” he said, but he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

“Yup, and you’re equally as awful. I know you enjoy it, too.” Yamase put his travel mug back into the cupboard where the rest of the employees kept their spare mugs. “Well, I need to get out there and make sure the place is ready for opening. Finish up your coffee. You’re gonna need it. You know they’re probably gonna ask about the hair.”

“And the eyes,” Shion sighed. “They always do.”

“You could dye it.”

“Safu would literally kill me.”

Yamase rolled his eyes. “She might, but wouldn’t it be better than dealing with another wave of ‘wait, they let marine biologists dye their hair? Can you wear contacts underwater? Duuuuude.’”

Shion fought back a shudder. Too many times he’d had to deflect questions surrounding his odd hair color and the piercing shade of his irises. Albinism was a rare trait in humans, and Shion’s skin wasn’t nearly pale enough to pass for it. The odd red marking on his skin—scaled, if people looked close enough, which Shion never let anyone do—definitely shattered the illusion. Shion had hoped people would have a bit of common decency and not ask such invasive questions, but he was often disappointed. Almost every summer, someone cornered him in the break room and demanded to know why his hair was so white, what made his eyes red, how many bleaches did it take to achieve that color, did people think he was less professional because he looked like he was cosplaying all the time?

Sometimes Shion wondered if he should joke that he was a merman. Well, half a merman, anyway.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he could hear Nezumi’s voice snap, “Child of the Sea! Not merman. That’s a human word.” His mood instantly darkened, and Shion shook his head.

“Child of the Sea” was the preferred term in the underwater community, or so Shion had been told. Only human beings used words like “mermaid” and “merman”. Despite the wave of sorrow that Shion felt whenever the thought of Nezumi came rushing back, he couldn’t help the small flicker of warmth that kindled itself in his heart.

“Well,” Yamase sighed. “I’m heading back. Rip the Band-Aid off.”

“All right.”

“See you in a few,” Yamase replied with a wave, ducking out into the hallway. “Good luck!”

Shion exhaled and took another sip of his cool coffee. Summer interns. At least he had a reprieve from them when he dove into the tank. He took a few moments to sip his coffee, reveling in the silence he knew would soon be broken. Ah, well. It was only eight-thirty in the morning. Seven o’clock would come soon enough.

⁂

Shion finished his coffee, pulled on his white lab coat, and trotted out to the main foyer. The West Block Aquarium opened at ten o’clock on the dot—despite his active drinking and usual forgetfulness, Rikiga was oddly punctual—and the first hour would be spent preparing for the shift and greeting the interns and summer help.

Shion plastered a big smile on his face and tried to be positive. Summer interns were frustrating, but he had to remember that he was once in their shoes, too. Several years ago, he’d been a bright-eyed intern working at this same aquarium. Ignoring his obvious one-up over the other interns—primarily the fact that he could breathe underwater (secretly, of course) and understood ocean life in a way that astounded his professors and quickly moved him through his undergraduate degree with flying colors—he’d enjoyed working alongside other interns.

As he hurried toward the main foyer, stationed direction in front of Number Six, he couldn’t help but marvel at the decorations welcoming the new wave of summer customers. Bright plastic statues of sea lions and talking starfish lined the floors, gesturing toward the hallways and announcing exhibits. Neat signs with fun facts and information about the exhibit inhabitants sat in front of glass cages, and the sound of rushing water sounded like music to Shion’s ears.

Shion trotted almost everywhere. His colleagues joked that he was always in a hurry. Shion didn’t know if it was because he moved faster in the water than on land, even without the function of a tail, but he couldn’t help it. He jogged everywhere he went: meetings, feedings, the break room. Sometimes he worried he looked ridiculous—a young man in a white lab coat with obviously dyed hair (ha) jogging like a toddler through the aquarium—but if he did, no one commented one way or the other about it.

The four-story tank, illuminated with bright LED lights at the base and on each conjoining floor, wrapping upward in a slanted ramp like a makeshift spiral staircase, rose into view as Shion stepped out into the main exhibit. The brightly-colored tropical fish swam lazily through the teal water, their dark eyes staring blankly out at Shion as he approached the two individuals standing near the door, awaiting his arrival.

Shion swallowed the wave of frustration that surged inside him, caging it behind his clenched teeth as he kept the smile plastered on his face His colleagues had left him to deal with the new interns on his own.

Ha ha, funny.

As he approached the two interns—a young woman with vibrant pink hair (clearly a dye job, and a rather inexpensive one, at that, if the blond roots at the top were any indication) and a young man with dark hair yanked back into a ponytail, both dressed in the bright green West Block Aquarium staff shirt—the girl broke away from the tank and came sprinting up toward Shion.

“Oh, hi!” she shrieked, her voice piercing through the vacant walls of the aquarium. It carried, so sharp and sudden that Shion felt as if a knife had been drilled into his ear.

He flinched—the other intern did, too—and jerked to a halt.

“You must be Shion, right? Mr. Rikiga mentioned you’d be stopping by!” The girl clapped her hands, as if the idea of meeting Shion was too exciting to be contained inside her little body. “I’m so excited to be working with you! My name’s Miyamoto Emi, but my friends call me Emi-chan. Oh, darn, can I call you Shion, or is that too informal? Gosh, this is so exciting!”

Shion gawked down at the girl, unsure of what to say. She looked about twenty years old, short in a way that was noticeable even to someone like Shion. He wasn’t very tall, himself—he rose to a respectable five-feet-seven-inches—and this girl rose to the middle of his chest. She tipped her head back to look into his face, her dark brown eyes wide with excitement, and yep, there was the bouncing Yamase had mentioned. With each syllable that left her mouth, she rose an inch off the ground and then came down hard on her heels. She wore a pair of black flip-flops (definitely not regulation, according to the employee handbook, which Rikiga definitely didn’t enforce), and the rubber soles thumped rhythmically on the solid tile floor.

“Mr. Rikiga said you were a marine biologist,” Emi went on. “That must be so exciting. I’ve wanted to be a marine biologist since I was a little girl. I’ve always loved turtles, and I just wanna be able to work with them. Oh, wow!” Her eyes widened further—how was that possible?—and she stared at Shion’s white hair.

His stomach plummeted.

“Your hair—” she said, a shriek building in her throat. Shion could see it. Her shoulders quaked beneath the force of it, her whole body unable to contain the sheer joy that came from seeing Shion’s pristine white hair coupled with his lab coat. “Where do you get your hair done? Do you do it yourself? My friend Mariko did my hair”—she grabbed a lock of her own pink hair and shoved it toward Shion—“but it doesn’t look nearly as good as yours does!”

“Um, thank you.” Shion gave her a wobbly smile. This was a new development. Sometimes the interns were cold and stand-offish, and sometimes they were uninterested in the position.

This, however? This was new.

Shion felt his head spinning as he tried to focus on the girl bouncing in front of him. He glanced over her shoulder, seeking out the second intern. The young man was staring at Emi as if she’d just exploded and scattered across the foyer in an array of glitter. His hair framed his face, long and pulled into a high ponytail. He had a narrow, pale face, and Shion wondered briefly if this was the young man Yamase had mentioned back in the break room. He squinted over Emi’s head—where did she get the energy to keep bouncing like this?—examining the young man’s face to see what about him Yamase had been so taken by.

The young man was tall and thin, his hair a dark shade of black that Shion suspected would look blue in certain lighting. Even with the fluorescent bulbs in the aquarium itself, he could pick out the few pale gray strands and blue bits that made the young man’s hair beautiful rather than plain. His skin was far too pale for the lime-green of the staff shirt, and it made him look sickly and washed out.

He lifted his head to give Shion a look that clearly read ‘Poor you’, and Shion managed to get a good look at his eyes.

It’s his eyes, man.

Two bright silver coins stared back at Shion, narrowed in a way that Shion recognized as someone trying to figure out where they recognized someone from. His stomach twisted. Flecks of blue and white danced behind a pale of solid silver glass, shifting depending on his mood. When he was happy, they were vibrant and luminous. When he was aggravated, they darkened like the sky over a stormy sea. Shion had seen them in almost every variant, and he stood there, dumbstruck, as the young man stared into his face, too—taking in his bright red irises, the red marking wrapped around his throat, and his vibrant white hair—and finally, finally recognized him.

His jaw dropped. It was an almost comical look, but he managed to make it look beautiful. He unfolded his arms from across his chest, letting them fall limply at his sides.

“Shion?” he said.

His voice. His voice. Shion could still hear it in his memories. The peals of laughter, the shouts whenever they argued, the gentle songs he sang. All of it came flooding back in a crushing wave that made Shion feel as if he were drowning. His lungs were designed to pull oxygen both on land and beneath the surface. Shion would never know how it felt to drown in earnest—but standing across from Nezumi, the boy he’d fallen in love with in his youth, the boy who’d claimed his first kiss, the boy who’d left one day and never come back, Shion wondered if this was how it felt to have all the air knocked out of him once and for all.

Emi’s bright smile never left her face, but her eyes widened. “Oh, my gosh. Do you know two each other?” She looked over her shoulder at the young man—at Nezumi—and clapped her hands. “That’s so exciting!”

“Um,” Shion said, taking a trembling step backward. The room around him crushed inward, the air tight and thick. He swallowed once, finding it difficult to breathe. “Yes, um…”

Nezumi’s shocked expression shifted into concern, and Shion felt himself edging toward a full-on breakdown. Shards of glass punched through his stomach, heat and pain radiating through each pulse point in his body until it was all he could feel. He couldn’t sense the solid tiles beneath his feet or the air conditioner churning above his head. His vision tunneled, blocking out everything except the young man standing in front of him—standing! On legs!—in his ridiculous staff tee shirt and his khaki pants, looking every bit like the beautiful, otherworldly creature he was once he stepped into the ocean.

“Ah, w-well,” Shion managed, the words heavy as stones on his tongue. “W-welcome to the West Block Aquarium. So nice to be working with you both. Um, I have to, ah, feed the fish in the BFT now. Ah, I mean, in Number Six. The big tank behind you. Yup, that’s Number Six. I’m sure Mr. Rikiga will tell you all about it as part of the tour.”

“Shion,” Nezumi said, and his voice was equally as wobbly. He took a step forward, and panic surged through Shion’s body like an injection of ice water.

”Goodbye!” Shion spun on his heel and fled back toward the break room. There was an elevator in the far back, reserved for employee usage and available for disabled customers, and if Shion input the code into the panel, it would go to the floor linking to the observatory room for Number Six. It wasn’t available to the public, reserved for marine biologists like Shion to record the pH balances of the tank and the weights of each animal.

His shoes smacked against the tile as he hurried toward the hallway leading to the elevator. The twisting halls that stretched past the rooms dedicated to shells and the horseshoe crab touch tank—popular with the children and high school customers—and Shion rounded them quickly, searching desperately for the signs leading to the elevator.

“Shion, wait!”

Shion whirled and saw Nezumi hurrying up the ramp toward him. He stumbled a bit as he ran, as if he’d been sitting down for a long time and his legs hadn’t quite adjusted to movement. The fluorescent lights caught against the strands of his hair, and the lime green of the staff shirt clashed horribly with his khaki pants and pale skin.

He looked ridiculous. He looked amazing. He looked—

Alive.

“You’re alive,” Shion said, his voice sounding stupid in his ears.

Nezumi stumbled to a stop a few steps in front of him. He was wearing heavy black combat boots (completely against regulation, since the soles weren’t non-marking), and one pant leg of his cargo pants was tucked in while the other hung frustratingly loose around his ankle. “Yeah,” he said, sounding equally as stupid and just as wonderful as Shion remembered. “Yeah, I’m alive.”

“But—” Shion fumbled for something, anything, and came up short. “You—you vanished! You stopped coming to the beach.”

Nezumi winced. “I know.”

The prickles of cold were replaced with agitation that dug like thorns in his body. “I waited for you,” he said, low and harsh. “Every day for months. Years. And you—you never came back.”

Nezumi flinched back as if Shion had ripped one of the decorative plywood sea turtles off the wall and chucked it at him. “I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Shion barked out a laugh. “Five years of no contact—nothing—and now you show up here, at my work, to tell me you’re sorry?”

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Nezumi said.

“Then why are you here? You sure as hell can’t be a university student!”

Nezumi’s silver eyes flashed in the vibrant LED lights. “I’ve never heard you swear before,” he murmured wondrously, as if it was the most amazing thing in the world.

“Don’t change the subject!” Shion growled. “Where the hell do you get off just—”

“I wanted to come back,” Nezumi interjected. He didn’t raise his voice (which only aggravated Shion further), and he kept his hands at his side. Shion couldn’t help staring at each of his long, elegant fingers, remembering how they felt running over his cheek or brushing through his hair while they swam.

“Then why didn’t you?” Shion’s heart pounded in his chest, blood rushing through his ears. “You kissed me, said goodnight, and then you just vanished. For five years, Nezumi.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Nezumi said, raising his voice just a little. Shion could hear it in his voice that he was struggling not to yell, that he didn’t really have the right to yell. “Something happened, and as much as you meant to me, I couldn’t just—”

Those words stabbed through Shion’s chest like arrows. It’d taken Nezumi three years—three long, painful years—to finally say the words I love you. Shion hadn’t held it against him. Nezumi didn’t express his feelings through words. He translated them in his actions. Shion felt his love in the way he found ways to maintain physical contact when they were together. He felt Nezumi’s love each time Nezumi brought him pretty shells from the deeper parts of the ocean floor.

Shion knew how much he meant to Nezumi. And as angry as he was at Nezumi’s unexpected disappearance, the fact that he was here now must have meant something.

Shion opened his mouth to speak—to say what, he didn’t know—and Emi came trotting down the hallway, huffing and puffing as if it’d taken all her energy to catch up with them.

“There—,” she gasped dramatically, doubling over and pressing her hand against her chest. “There you two are! Why did you run away?”

Nezumi glanced over at her, and Shion took the opportunity to escape. “It’s nothing. Nezumi’s an old friend” —he didn’t miss the way Nezumi flinched— “and things were… well, it’s complicated. But this isn’t the place for it.”

Emi’s dark brown eyes widened. “Ooh?” She looked at Shion, then at Nezumi, and then back. She clapped her hands together. “What’s this? A secret romance?”

“The hell?” Nezumi muttered, despite everything.

“Emi,” Shion said firmly, “now is neither the time nor the place. Now,” he added, looking at the clock suspended from the wall. “I believe you two are due for orientation. Mr. Rikiga will be expecting you.”

“Ooh, you’re right! We don’t wanna be late!” Emi spun on her heel and reached out for Nezumi’s wrist. “Come on, uh, Nezumi, was it? Weird. We’re gonna be late!”

Nezumi withdrew his wrist from Emi’s reach and turned to look at Shion. “I’m out at noon,” he said carefully. Shion’s shoulders shot to his ears, the words slicing through him like a bullet. “Can we talk then?”

“I’m not free until after the aquarium closes,” Shion replied. He didn’t know why he said it, but it wouldn’t do him any good to lie. Nezumi would probably figure out his schedule soon enough anyway.

“That’s fine. How about I meet you here after work?” Nezumi lowered his voice so that Emi, already skipping back toward the main foyer, wouldn’t overhear. “I get it if you tell me to fuck off, but… I’d like to explain myself.”

“All right,” Shion mumbled. “I’ll meet you outside the employee entrance at seven-thirty.”

“I’ll be here,” Nezumi said. There was so much strength and conviction in his voice that Shion couldn’t help but meet his eye. The fluorescent lights caught in his irises as he repeated, slower, “I will be here, Shion.”

“Sure,” Shion whispered, and he watched as Nezumi turned and headed back toward the foyer. He seemed to stumble a bit, but even that seemed inhumanly graceful. Shion’s heart ached as he watched him leave.

Eventually, his duties as a dedicated marine biologist convinced him to seek out the elevator, punch in the code to the Number Six observatory floor, and strip out of his lab coat, button-down, and slacks in favor of his West Block Aquarium scuba suit. Dark blue with lime green accents, it was Shion’s least favorite piece of work equipment, simply for its pointlessness. He was a Child of the Sea—at least fifty percent of him was—and scuba gear was wasted on someone who could breathe underwater.

But he couldn’t exactly drop into the forty-foot tank without his gear in front of tourists.

Shion struggled into his scuba suit, his heart hammering a thousand miles a minute. His hands shook as he zipped up his wetsuit, fumbling with the useless air tank (he could breathe underwater, damn it, but the tourists and the interns and his boss couldn’t know that) and all the tubes in their proper place to pump oxygen uselessly into his lungs.

Shion sat on the edge of the top level of Number Six, his vision blurring red and gray. His bright yellow swim fins felt ridiculous and artificial—even though Shion had never been able to grow a tail of his own, his legs more than strong enough to propel him through the water—and his whole body buzzed with anxiety. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself in a way that proved to be completely ineffective, and then he tumbled backward into Number Six.

Sinking down into the depths, Shion let the cold water collapse around him and smother the heat of embarrassment and anger and relief that churned inside him. He sank downward through a small school of colorful fish and past Trudgealong (a withered sea turtle with a no-nonsense attitude), squeezing his eyes closed behind the useless face mask and trying to breathe.

Goddammit.

Nezumi’s shocked face flashed behind his closed eyelids. His voice echoed in Shion’s skull like a pissed off bee, and no matter how hard Shion fought it, he couldn’t help but remember how it had felt to sink beneath the waves with Nezumi guiding him by the wrist, propelling them both along the coral reefs much more quickly than Shion could move on his own.

Shion shook away the thoughts and focused on eying the occupants of Number Six and taking mental notes on their overall health.

For the most part, the fish and assorted sharks looked decent. Shion could sense the increased buzz of excitement radiating from them; he couldn’t “speak to fish”, and Nezumi had confirmed that no Child of the Sea could. He could, however, sense when they were comfortable or agitated.

The fish in Number Six enjoyed the summer rush far more than the staff at the West Block Aquarium did. Snubby, for example, seemed to enjoy preening in front of children who remarked on his crooked teeth and blunt nose with loud shouts to their parents and pointing fingers. These were Snubby’s point of pride, and he swam quickly around the tank to ensure everyone got a good look. If Snubby were a human or a Child of the Sea, Shion felt the two of them wouldn’t get along very well. Fortunately, for both of them, Snubby couldn’t talk.

Beneath the cool saltwater, the red marking wrapped around Shion’s body chilled. These were the only “scales” Shion had on his body, and something about being in the water gave them a more aquatic appearance. The otherwise smooth red marking bristled and slotted with patterns, and if Shion ran his bare finger over it, it would feel bumpy and slick. The vibrant color made him wonder if this would be the color his tale would be if he could grow one in water. Sometimes he disliked not being able to grow one the way Nezumi and other Children of the Sea could, but Nezumi had never made him feel bad for it. In fact, Nezumi claimed, based on the stories he’d been told, Shion was lucky. The tradeoff for most Children of the Sea was that while they could grow tails in water, their legs were weak on land. Some of the most graceful Children of the Sea turned into complete klutzes on the surface.

As a teenager, Shion had laughed himself sick at the prospect of beautiful, elegant Nezumi being reduced to a tripping mess on the land. He often wondered if that was why Nezumi would never come up on land. Nezumi was a proud creature, and Shion often wondered if his pride could survive face-planting on the sand.

But now Nezumi was on land.

Shion shook his head. Don’t think about it right now.

Shion bit down on the breathing apparatus stuffed in his mouth. Something deep inside him made him glance down to the foyer through the clear, teal water. Through the glass several floors down, Shion could see Emi and Nezumi standing in front of Rikiga. Shion watched his boss lazily drift his hand through the air, giving them both the same spiel he gave each intern at the beginning of their first shift. Emi continued to bounce on the balls of her feet, looking ready to explode into a thousand pieces. And Nezumi…

Nezumi looked up into the tank. His eyes met Shion’s, even several stories down, and he lifted his hand to wave at him.

Shion didn’t know what compelled him, but he lifted his gloved hand and waved back.

⁂

At fifteen past seven, when the aquarium had officially closed and the majority of the staff had clocked out and gone home, Shion stood outside the employee entrance, arms wrapped around himself in a desperate attempt to keep from falling apart.

Seven-thirty. Nezumi had promised to come back to the aquarium at seven-thirty and meet Shion at the employee entrance.

Shion eyed the cars zipping down the street on the opposite end of the empty parking lot. The West Block Aquarium emptied out pretty quick after the doors closed. None of the staff were eager to pull extra hours, and Rikiga didn’t offer overtime. Shion was an exception—the only one on Rikiga’s staff who was salary—and if Rikiga happened to spot his car still in the lot, it wouldn’t have raised any eyebrows.

He leaned back against the brick wall, the warm stones heating the fabric of his lab coat. He didn’t know why he bothered wearing it. Shion spent most of his time submerged in the tanks, but the lab coat made him feel normal. Human. He didn’t mind being a hybrid, not at all, but it was lonely not having someone like him to confide in.

Shion flexed his fingers. He still remembered the day he and Nezumi met. Shion had been walking down the beach—because what else was a gainfully unemployed sixteen-year-old to do on a sunny summer day in a bustling tourist town—and growing anxious amidst the screaming toddlers and indifferent mothers in their floppy sunhats, Shion had sought out a place where he could dive underwater and go missing for a bit.

Diving under the waves and vanishing, however, wouldn’t work with an audience. People stared at him because of his weird hair (even in a tourist town where teenagers dyeing their hair ridiculous colors was well within the norm), and if he went underwater and didn’t resurface, he’d have the Coast Guard called on him in no time.

Climbing the rocks clustered on the left side of the beach and walking another mile from the main beach, Shion sought out a strip of soft white beach where he could sprint in and vanish. The broken pier attached to the boardwalk (abandoned for months after a nasty embezzling scandal leaked to the press) rose into view, and Shion’s mood brightened.

He ducked beneath the pier, preparing to slip beneath the waves—and lo and behold, tangled in a net and cursing up a storm had been Nezumi.

A fisherman’s net had tangled around him as he skimmed the bottom of the water, and Nezumi had managed to break the net from the boat (rightfully confusing the fishermen in the process, who must have assumed they’d wrangled a shark), but the tight coils had knotted around his fins. Unwilling to be a sitting duck for a bigger predator (believe it or not, Children of the Sea were not the top of the food chain), Nezumi had desperately sought a strip of beach where he could safely work on pulling the net off his tail.

Immediately springing into action, Shion had deftly untangled the knots, whispering to Nezumi that he’d have him free in no time. His mind buzzed with excitement—someone like him was sitting right there—but it didn’t feel like an appropriate time to gush.

Nezumi, who’d growled at Shion when he first approached, went painfully still. His silver eyes, so beautiful and unlike anything Shion had ever seen before, watched each movement of his hands as he worked the net carefully off his fins. Shion fought his own urges to brush his fingers against the dark black and blue scales, jealous and enamored of something he should have had but didn’t, and after a few minutes of careful working, he tossed the vicious net aside and said, brightly, “There! You’re free.”

“Much obliged,” Nezumi muttered, and then, before Shion could blink, Nezumi’s hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him into the water.

The shock of the cool ocean made Shion gasp; that had probably been Nezumi’s intention. With a few powerful flicks of his tail, Nezumi propelled them away from the shore, banking downward into the deeper ends of the shallows.

“You saved me, human,” Nezumi’s voice purred in his ear, sending goosebumps skittering down his bare arms. “So, I suppose it’s only fair to reward you.”

Drowning is a reward? Shion had thought. He’d opened his mouth to tell Nezumi that drowning wouldn’t work on him, that he wasn’t human—and Nezumi’s mouth closed over his own.

Shion’s eyes widened. Nezumi’s mouth was cool, but his soft lips sent waves of warmth through each nerve ending in Shion’s body. His eyes slid shut, the gentle shifts of the ocean waves rustling above his head. Tendrils of Nezumi’s long, dark hair brushed against his cheeks. Shion fought the urge to reach his hands out and brush his fingers through it, wondering at how soft it would feel.

An eternity later, Nezumi drew back, his arms still wrapped around Shion’s shoulders. Shion swallowed a mouthful of seawater and opened his eyes.

Nezumi’s silver eyes hovered a few inches in front of his own. He looked down at Shion—still alive, still staring at him in wonder—and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “You…” he said slowly. “You’re not drowning.”

“I am not.”

“You’re… like me?”

"Yeah. Well, half, anyway.”

“Oh,” Nezumi said, and that had been the beginning of it all.

From the moment Shion laid eyes on Nezumi, he’d known there was something different about him. Not just because he had a tail and looked like a god, but because he wasn’t like anyone else Shion had ever met in his life.

Nezumi had a vicious sense of humor. Nezumi was sarcastic and cold. He mocked Shion and poked fun at his wetsuit—black with bright red accents, because it made him feel at least somewhat attractive and it was comfortable—and he never understood how Shion could enjoy walking around on land when there was a whole ocean to explore.

But there was so much more to Nezumi than his sarcasm. He loved listening to stories. His laugh sounded like bells. He sang songs when he and Shion were alone, and he knocked Safu off her surfboard as a joke until she kicked him in the shoulder and tried to wrestle him underwater, both of them shrieking with laughter.

“Shion!”

He lifted his head, startled from his memories, and spotted Nezumi hurrying across the parking lot.

It was strange, seeing him with a pair of legs rather than a long black tail, but at least he’d changed out of the vibrant green tee-shirt Rikiga insisted his staff members wear to be more visible. Shion had never been more grateful than the day he’d been given permission to wear whatever he wanted as long as he wore a lab coat over it during work hours. As the son of Rikiga’s good friend (Crush, Safu insisted, and Shion gallantly ignored her), Shion received something akin to “special treatment” from Rikiga, though he never asked for it.

He was still wearing the cargo pants and black boots he’d been wearing earlier, but in place of the tee shirt was a black leather jacket that Shion had to admit looked stunning on him. It mixed well with his long, dark hair and piercing eyes; it was a wonder that he’d made it to the aquarium at all. How did he get through each day without a horde of people swarming around him?

Shion looked down at his cell phone. The screen flashed its white numbers, announcing seven-twenty-five. Shion’s heart skipped a bit, and he tried to compose himself as Nezumi trotted up beside him.

“You’re early,” he said softly.

“Didn’t want to risk being late,” Nezumi replied. “You don’t deserve that.”

Shion huffed through his nose. “Let’s go inside. We can talk there.”

“OK,” Nezumi mumbled.

Shion let them in the employee entrance. He shut the door behind them, then made a bee line for the elevator leading up to the observatory room near Number Six.

“Where are you going?” Nezumi called after him.

“Let’s go to Number Six,” Shion called back. “It’ll be easier to talk if we don’t worry about people walking in on us.”

“The aquarium’s closed, though.” Nezumi caught up to him rather quickly. He strode beside Shion, his long legs easily keeping pace with Shion’s brisk stride. “Who’d walk in?”

"Well, hopefully, no one. But you never know what employees have left things behind. So it’d be better not to be talking about… things where people could overhear.”

“Good point,” Nezumi murmured.

The elevator ride up to the observatory room was silent and awkward. Shion shifted from one foot to the other, and Nezumi lingered on the far end of the little room to give him space. Shion could feel those piercing silver eyes sliding toward him, then quickly darting away when Shion tried to look back. It sent prickles through his body, and he clenched his fists to focus on something else.

When the elevator dinged and signaled their arrival at the observatory, Nezumi stepped out of the room and half-jogged across the tile floor and toward the top of the tank. The lights had been dimmed, only a few bulbs bright and illuminating the dome. Nezumi quickly unzipped the black leather jacket and tossed it casually to the floor, revealing a long-sleeved yellow shirt beneath it.

“Nezumi?” Shion asked.

Nezumi didn’t answer. He shucked off his shirt, and beneath it he wore a black sleeveless shirt that Shion suspected was meant to keep him from being bare-chested in the water.

“Um,” Shion said, feeling his face heating up. “What exactly are you doing?”

"Proof,” Nezumi called over his shoulder. He swooped down to undo his black boots, kicking them off into the corner beside Number Six’s main pool.

“Proof of what?” Shion asked, but Nezumi didn’t answer. He unbuttoned his pants, and Shion quickly looked away. His face burned, and only when he heard the sound of water splashing did he turn back.

Nezumi popped back up, grabbing the side of the tank and folding his arms on top of it. He rested his chin on his wrists and looked up at Shion. His silver eyes (exactly as Shion remembered, even years later) glittered in the fluorescent lights. His hair was still in a ponytail, several strands falling down over where his ears would be.

“Just wanted to make sure you knew it was really me,” Nezumi said, and with a flick of his tail, he sent a few droplets of water raining down over Shion’s head.

His tail.

Shion’s heart stopped. When Shion met Nezumi, the first thing he’d noticed (after the eyes) had been his tail. Unlike the bright blues and greens of Disney and childhood picture books, Nezumi’s tale was dark black and flecked with deep blue. The fins were wider and longer at the base, almost lace-like and elegant. Beneath the surface of the water, Shion couldn’t seen what they looked like at the hips (he was still wearing the lime green West Block Aquarium staff tee shirt, which didn’t suit him at all), but from his memory, he knew that the scales melded into flesh around his navel.

Shion crouched beside the tank, his stomach tightening. “Why now?”

Nezumi’s tail sank back below the surface of the water. Shion could see it swaying idly back and forth, the way a human might churn their feet lazily to keep themselves afloat in calm seas.

Shion knew Nezumi’s tail would be cold if he touched it. So would his skin. Nezumi was always cold. Not his personality, but—all right, sometimes his personality, too, but mostly his skin and tail were cool whenever Shion touched them. Even years later, he could remember the way it felt to smooth his hand over Nezumi’s hip, counting the blue scales peppered throughout. Nezumi’s tail reminded him of obsidian, black at first glance, with flecks of gray and purple and blue when it moved and the light shifted across it.

Nezumi’s eyes lowered to the floor between them. A harsh silence fell around them, punctuated only by the buzzing of the lights overhead and the glug-glug of the industrial-sized water filter.

“I didn’t mean to disappear for so long,” Nezumi explained, and his voice held so much conviction that Shion didn’t doubt him.

“You said that.”

“When I went back, something… happened.”

Shion raised an eyebrow.

Nezumi’s fingers wove into his damp bangs, which were so long they fell over his left eye, and gave them a yank. Shion’s heart clenched; he recognized it as an old habit Nezumi had when they were teenagers, something he did when he was nervous or uncomfortable. His nails were still pale and long, neat despite the distinct lack of access to quality salon service beneath the ocean’s waves.

“A human found the town where I lived,” he said quietly. “Under the ocean. When I wasn’t visiting you at the beach.”

Shion felt something clamp around his heart.

He knew what it meant if humans discovered the existence of the Children of the Sea. Humans, as much as Shion might have liked to believe otherwise, couldn’t stand knowing that there were resources they hadn’t been able to exploit. And the existence of merpeople would be a scientific miracle—enough that some greedy bastard would utilize it to try and earn millions.

“What happened?” Shion whispered. He hadn’t recalled seeing any breaking news headlines about merpeople; he definitely would have seen something like that, unless the government came swooping in to silence it.

Nezumi’s tail twitched under the water, clearly agitated. “Instead of running to the news,” he said through his teeth, “this idiot decided to try and capture one of us and bring them to the shore as evidence. Needless to say, the rest of us didn’t take kindly to that.”

“I’d imagine not.”

“But what we didn’t count on,” Nezumi said, his voice lowering, “was the oil.” He rested his hand flat on the water’s surface, letting it bounce gently beneath the water and then lifting it back up. “He emptied a container of oil into the water—not sure where he got it—and lit a match. I didn’t know it was that flammable.”

Shion listened as Nezumi explained how the flames had burned the Children of the Sea, who were unaccustomed to the sensation due to their inexperience with burning things. The oil doused them and made them sink below, unable to swim and avoid the flames. The water didn’t seem to stop it, the sticky substance creating an odd shield that didn’t mix well with the water, keeping the two materials separate from each other.

His heart ached at the thought of all the Children of the Sea who had suffered—according to Nezumi’s whispered story, the whole town had gone down in flames. A decent chunk of them had managed to escape, Nezumi included, but the majority of them…

The majority of them had burned to death.

“I’m sorry,” Shion whispered as Nezumi lapsed into uncomfortable silence. “Oh, Nezumi, I’m so sorry.”

“I was so angry,” Nezumi replied. “When I woke up and realized what had happened, I was so angry I couldn’t think of anything else. I was hurt. I was scared. And I couldn’t think of anything except how much I hated humans.”

Shion frowned. Nezumi’s dislike for humans wasn’t new to him. And fortunately, Nezumi had never spat Shion’s half-human heritage in his face. If anything, he seemed as fascinated by Shion’s legs as Shion was about his tail. The only difference was that Nezumi could have had a pair of his own—he stubbornly chose not to—and Shion had never been able to pop a tail no matter how many (embarrassing) times he’d attempted.

“When I woke up, I didn’t know where I was,” Nezumi went on. “All I knew was that my back hurt and everyone else I knew was dead. For a while things were just… bad. I couldn’t move, and when I tried, it just made me realize that there was a chance I was going to die, too, and I hated it. After a while, I could move, and I just left.”

“Left?” Shion echoed.

“I couldn’t stand being there,” Nezumi said under his breath. “Everywhere I looked I could see all the people I knew, and then I remembered that because of one greedy fucking human, they were gone. We took him down with us—Sasori, I think, yanked him off the boat and drowned him—but it didn’t feel like enough. It didn’t matter that he was dead, too. It didn’t matter that, miraculously, I’d survived whatever the hell he did to us. It just didn’t matter.”

Shion swallowed the lump in his throat. His eyes stung.

“I wanted to come back,” Nezumi went on, his voice painfully soft. Shion had to strain to hear him. “I wanted to at least tell you why I was going. But every time I thought about going back to that place, something just made me leave. It’s not an excuse, and I know it’s not a good enough reason to make you think that I just abandoned you, but I couldn’t—couldn’t get past the anger. I hated everyone. I hated myself. I was so angry, and there was no coming back from it. And I didn’t…” He waved his hands, agitated, the words slipping away from him. He huffed and said, “I didn’t want to take it out on you. It’s so fucking stupid, but I didn’t want to shout at you and blame you, and I was so angry with humans that I knew I would. If I saw you then, I’d only see the human part of you and blame you for things you had nothing to do with. That’s not fair. I know it’s not. And I’m not asking you to forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me, either.”

“Then why come back?” Shion whispered. He’d moved forward, almost like an instinct, and sat at the edge of the tank, a few inches from Nezumi’s face. “Why come back at all?”

“Because I missed you,” Nezumi whispered back, as strong and as sure as if he’d simply stated the color of the morning sky. “I missed you. When the anger cooled, you were all I could think about. I had no way of knowing if you were even still here, or if you’d even want to see me after I just left, but if there was a chance, I wanted to take it.”

Shion’s throat tightened. He swallowed around the lump that had lodged there and ordered himself not to cry. He was angry. He was supposed to be angry. And yet, beneath the anger was wave after wave of relief that Nezumi was alive.

“So… the aquarium?”

Nezumi shrugged. “It seemed like a good job for a Child of the Sea. I filled out the application and they called me back. I didn’t know you were working here. But once I got a job and… established myself here, I wanted to find you.”

“Established yourself?”

“I wanted a way to prove to you that I wanted to stay. If you told me to fuck off and never wanted to see me again, I would understand. But I wanted a way to prove to you that I intend to stay this time.”

Shion’s hands tightened around the lip of the tank. Emotions whirled inside him like a tsunami, and he felt as if he was caught in the middle of it, unable to surface. Stinging tears prickled at the backs of his eyes, and he forced back the urge to cry. Once he started, he knew he’d never stop. He scraped the back of his hand beneath his eyes, widening them just a bit to keep from crying.

He was still angry. Of course he was. But he couldn’t imagine how badly it hurt. He couldn’t imagine what he would have done if his mother’s bakery burnt down, with her and Safu and everyone else he knew trapped inside.

He took a deep breath, feeling it catching inside his chest around the ball of anger and sorrow and raw fucking hope that’d nestled within.

"Where are you staying?” Shion murmured.

Nezumi perked up, but kept his voice steady as he answered, “A motel down on Seventh Street. By the boardwalk. You remember.”

“I do.” Shion pressed his lips together. “It’s not too far from my house. What’s your schedule?”

"I’m off tomorrow, but I think I’m working open to close on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The old man says hours will pick up some time, but he wasn’t specific.”

“Do you have a car?”

“Can’t drive,” Nezumi answered, much too quickly, and Shion couldn’t help the laugh that cracked out of his throat. “I can barely walk—don’t laugh at me. This is serious.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Shion said, but his lips were tugging upward at the corners. He had to admit, despite everything that’d happened, it was pretty fucking funny. Nezumi—elegant, perfect, beautiful, wonderful Nezumi, whose every movement was the physical definition of grace—was clumsy on the land.

“Yes, you are,” Nezumi groused, but when Shion stole a glance up into his face, he was smiling, too.

God, his smile.

Even after all these years, he was still as beautiful as the day Shion met him.

“Well,” Shion said, and dammit, if his voice wobbled, Nezumi better not comment on it. “The boardwalk’s on my way to the aquarium, and if you’re working about the same schedule as me, I wouldn’t mind picking you up and bringing you home.”

Nezumi’s eyes widened.

“I’m not ready to forgive you just yet,” Shion explained. “You really hurt me. I understand why you left, but I wish you had just… I don’t know, said something to me so I didn’t think you were dead. I know that might be petty of me, given what happened, and I’m sorry for that.”

“It’s not petty,” Nezumi assured. “I was an asshole.”

“Yeah, but you almost died.” Shion exhaled through his nose. “And I missed you, too.”

Nezumi laughed; it crackled a bit at the edges, and Shion couldn’t help it. He leaned forward, his arms reaching out—and miraculously, Nezumi reached back. Shion slid his arms around Nezumi’s shoulders and rested his forehead against the crook of Nezumi’s neck. He smelled like sea salt and an odd floral scent Shion had never been able to identify but could always remember. Despite being half fish, Nezumi never smelled like anything Shion would have expected.

Nezumi’s arms tightened around his shoulders and squeezed back. “I really did miss you,” he murmured against the top of Shion’s head.

“I missed you, too,” Shion said, and it was true. As angry and hurt as he was with Nezumi’s sudden disappearance, nothing about that had changed. “I’m not ready to go back to the way things were, and I can’t promise that I will be…”

“That’s fine,” Nezumi assured, burying his face in Shion’s hair. “I’m just glad to be here, in whatever way you’ll have me.”

This was more emotion and honesty than Shion had ever gotten out of Nezumi about his feelings, and it felt as if a sudden, burning heat had cracked through the darkness in his heart. His memories of his summers spent as a teenager came flooding back to him, and all at once, he was back on the beach, stretched out on a scratchy beach blanket with Nezumi’s arms wrapped around him. His tail rested over Shion’s legs, comfortingly cool in the midsummer heat, and heavy in a way that reminded Shion of a weighted blanket.

Nothing about it was perfect. Shion knew this. The frustration and pain wouldn’t disappear overnight, and just because Nezumi apologized didn’t mean he was free and clear of blame. But for a few moments, wrapped in his arms, Shion understood that at least he was back and they could work through it together.

He sighed, pressed himself against Nezumi’s cool, solid body, and reveled in the realization that yes, he was back. He was back, and he wanted to be here. The shush-shush of the water in Number Six fell around them, creating a comfortable mimicry of the waves that’d collapsed over Shion’s head the day Nezumi hauled him into the ocean and tried to drown him. Shion closed his eyes, tightened his grip on Nezumi’s shoulders, and for the first time in years, could finally breathe.