#that's exactly why the fandom prefers to pair him with non-humans

[blood-orange-juice]

This this this

It's delightfully messed up

Childe won't mind it precisely because he's here for all the messed up things the world has to offer

I'm here for it too (even if I still can't understand why Zhongli would be interested)

What I don't get is how we are mostly getting the fluff version of the ship, not the delicious mindfuck that it could be.

(at the same time Zhongli is one of the few people in Teyvat who can feel/express compassion for this maniac and actually survive it, so I kind of see the appeal)

Also having a situationship with an ancient god is as cool as it gets.

Hot take: zhongchi is an *insanely* problematic ship.

One of the guys is 5000 years old and the other is, what, 22 max? I don't understand how you people are not finding it weird.

[ohnothewheatisonfire]

ok J&H Fandom, let’s talk:

“Popular” blog @thatsmyhyde​ is a prominent creator in the J&H Fandom. But here’s where the problem shows up: 

the content they make is concerning at least, and full of red flags at worst. 

DISCLAIMER: This is all information I have gathered through their tumblr blog - I am not aware of what other things they may be posting on other social medias or their written work.  ANOTHER DISCLAIMER: Please be polite, I am a minor, and am just creating this post to ward off / warn other minors from following this person. If you are an adult interacting with this post and blog, be mindful of your actions and be responsible

Trigger warnings for: discussions of homophobia, discussions of p//phillia, fat-shaming, fat-phobia (?), etc. Just be on general edge for this post, we’re talking about a lot of weird stuff

I will be linking their posts as I am not going to take screenshots of their art.

This is not a comprehensive list of all the things they’ve done - these are the ones I could think of and was able to adress. If you have anything additional you want to add to this post (such as concerning things they may do on other social media), feel free to reblog and add on the things you need to say, just please don’t be dumb. 

Let’s start with the premise: Henry Jekyll creates an alter ego, Edward Hyde. They begin a relationship - an emotional and physical one. Their AU features Jekyde (A popular ship in the fandom, the name stands for Jekyll x Hyde), people have various views on this ship. 

So far so fine, right? Here are the problems:

1. Their Henry Jekyll is an awful person. Now, let’s start by saying that of course you can have bad people in your works, those are, after-all: villains. The problem is,Henry Jekyll is a harmful walking gay sterotype, and an outlet for Biscuit’s obvious fat fetish. But their relationship isn’t just toxic it’s romanticised in how toxic it is.

a. The harmful stereotype - Their Henry Jekyll has a “thing” for younger men, even though he is in his middle-ages, and Hyde looks like a young child. (Age gap relationships are their own thing - they come with their own burdens, and this is not the post to discuss them. This topic will lead into the Edward  Hyde section of this post.) But, it was a known homophobic scare-mongering tactic of straight parents to accuse everyone who is gay that they are ‘out to prey on your youths’. This is a stereotype that stigmatized the LGBT community, and still harmfully affects them to this day. 

b. The fat fetish: Jekyll is frequently seen with cake (as seen here, here, and here)  or being self-loathing, to the point of suicide. (click the link here to acess a list of suicide and other crisis hotlines! you matter to me!). Now, the self-loathing could be a symptom of depression or other mental illness, so I am not going to talk about it, as a person with mental illnesses.  But the self-loathing in addition to him being fat is not good. Media is drowning in the “self-loathing fat person” and as someone who isn’t thin i’m tired of seeing this. 

- The fetish aspect comes in him constantly being referred to “Chonky”, a term usually used for overweight/obese cats and being drawn obsessed with cake. It fetishises his weight and dehumanises him into something people call their animals. Also, here’s more of Jekyll eating food and being embarassed by it, though this time because it’s seen as “servant’s food”. 

- Biscuit admits to liking them “Big and chunky” in posts like this. 

[Photo id: A string of texts that says: tantok, frankenstein, twink lore, dorian slipped through the cracks and got himself sketched by yours truly the other day because he brought lord henry along, he and the slime didn’t have to fight to the death because they’ve both got their own chonky old toxic henries to focus on, but this blog still ain’t big enough for the two of ‘em. end id]

- They also talk about how they ‘prefer’ to draw fat (chonky) people. Image attatched above. the thing that should be noticed is that they say ‘chonky old toxic henries’ . they, once again, are making fat people a fetish. 

[Photo id: Anonymous asks: are you gonna make a victor design tho biscuit responds: Oh, man, anon, I hate to disappoint but.....probably not. Aside from my non-humanoids and hellspwans (slime gremlins, corpse creatures, and etcetera), I’m extremely uninterested in drawing young thin men. I really need middle-aged chonk to hold my attention. If poor Victor Frankenstein had only been 40-something and round when he made his great creation, then he’d definitely get a design from yours truly. As it is though, he’s not holding my attention enough to want to. end id] 

Biscuit once again talks about how he doesn’t want to draw ‘thin men’, because he is only interested in older ‘round’ people. He, is, once again, bringing to light his fetish for fat people. 

2. Edward Hyde is basically a child - Edward Hyde is drawn in boy’s school clothes, is taken in and raised like a child after Jekyll’s death, and is constantly cooed over by the creator, even earning a nickname of ‘slime’ from them. In addition, he also has ‘family photos’ taken with Utterson, has his toenails kept, is the height of a child, and teeths. This, paired with the fact that he is in a toxic, abusive, relationship with a man in his middle ages is concerning and should not be romanticised. 

[Photo id: the text reads: In his first year of existence, Hyde lost teeth and regrew them in a mildly similar fashion to a kid losing baby teeth - except it wasn’t all of his teeth (Just the canines and some random molars) and they weren’t replaced with a larger set, just with teeth exactly the same as the ones that had been lost. No one knows what was up with this. the teeth are still in Jekyll’s study in a little jar. end id]

a. Hyde is treated like a child after Jekyll’s death. Hyde teething is concerning because that’s something infants do. He also clings to utterson like a child. The idea that he gets taken in by Utterson, whisked away to an estate out in the country, despite both of them having romantic feelings for Jekyll is. how do I put this: WEIRD. (seriously, imagine your father/father-figure dating ur significant other / having a crush on them before you two got together and after). 

b. Hyde dresses like a child, whilst being sexually active and wearing lingerie. Now, on their own, these traits aren’t a problem - but together? They are very much a problem.  

- Hyde dressing as a child is concerning because he is also treated like a child at certain points in their “lore”. After Jekyll’s death, Hyde becomes a singular entity, and is taken away by Utterson. To care for, like a child. This post sums it up well: he wears both children’s clothes and lingerie. 

- Hyde has a very strange appearance - if you compare it to his early design (which was less cartoony and looked more like a man in his twenties), Hyde’s current design is concerning. Why does he have the height of a child? Why does he have eyes that take up a grand part of his face? Now, one could argue that ‘he is not human’ - but if he is treated like a human, whilst wearing children’s/youthful clothes, teeths, and his general enchanment with the world - he appears as human (and looks eerily similar to a child), which is why him being sexually active, wearing lingerie, and being friendly with prostitutes (one that gave him underwear and other articles of clothing)  is concerning. 

- That said, Utterson is directly talked about being ‘adopted into gremlin fatherhood’ (paraphrasing). 

[Photo id: the text reads: 59. Jekyll is irresitibly attracted to everything about Hyde, but if he could somehow be forced to list hte most attractive physical attributes of Edward Hyde in his opinion, aside from Hyde’s youthful appearance in general it would be his eyes, his overbite (Jekyll perceived the way Hyde’s-) the screenshot cuts of the rest of the paragraph. end id] 

- Jekyll has a ‘thing’ for younger men. This is to the point that the most attractive part about Hyde is that he is young. (or looks like it), Hyde looking very young is concerning because that would make their verison of Doctor Jekyll a p*dophille . This is something the artist has either not recognized, realised, or simply does not acknowledge. 

3. The toxic relationship (and how it’s romanticised) - The relationship in this ‘AU’ is: love comes first, toxic nature comes second. If you scroll through the blog you may see some reference of ‘Henry Jekyll is such a toxic person teehee’ and a lot of them kissing, being together, smiling, or enjoying life. Now, obviously, an artist - if they do not want to - should not draw characters being toxic to each other. But it is concerning when the above points come into a factor, that the toxic nature of their relationship comes second to the highs of their relationship, at least on their blog. 

Here is one of the only examples I’ve seen of Biscuit talk about the relationship in a detailed negative light. 

4. The fandom - Whilst Biscuit says it’s ok for minors to interact with his blog (in that blog he says that he tags nsfw - which is true.) he does not regularly mention that his jekyde is toxic - not in a concerete way. He romanticises it (despite acknowledging it’s flaws), and the only way it may or may not be (i would not know) acknowledged is his fic: which is mature and not meant for minors. He does not tag his posts with regular triggers for things like: alcohol, drugs, mental illnesses, or abuse (any variants). They’re not even in his blog’s description! If Biscuit had acknowledged it in his blog, something along the lines of: “Hey! This blog has <content warnings> be warned when interacting! But no, he does not. 

- A lot of the people who draw things, or generally interact with Biscuit are minors. Being exposed to such a thing may be harmful to my peers, and I am worried. To minors who are fans of Biscuit: if you’ve made it this far, thank you, I know you’re mature and responsible, but being exposed to content creators like Biscuit could lead you down a dangerous path of having this kind of thing normalised to you. Be careful with the content you consume, please! And thank you for making it this far, I’m sure you’re a lovely person :)!

Thank you for taking the time to read this! Stay safe, tell the people you love that you love them. 

[afinepricklypear]

**Update: The works mentioned in this post have since been taken down. The “message” was removed by AO3 because it was a violation of their TOS and it seems the author chose to remove their “opinions” piece.**

Despite the ongoing world crisis, I hope everyone is doing great as the year comes to a close and prepping for a safe holiday season.

I don’t really post here a lot, but I just wanted to talk about a problem that exists in every fandom and has recently come up for me in the BSD fandom. This problem is typically referred to as: toxic behavior, however, I sort of hate that term because it’s an umbrella term that encapsulates a wide array of behaviors that is purposefully vague so as to imply everything can be toxic, which means the definition changes depending upon the person, and ends up getting thrown around to describe any behavior that a person dislikes. That said, most people can agree that the term ‘toxic behavior’ includes “shipper wars” and harassing people because of their “ship”.

Yesterday, a user on AO3 going by the penname E_C_arts posted a message titled “deer Soukoku fans” and giving it the not-innocuous summary “please we’re begging you, please stop”. Clicking through leads to a rather prime example of this particular flavor of toxic fandom behavior, guised as an attempt to defend those who were allegedly victims of this self-same behavior, also a lovely example of emotional manipulation.

Although what’s currently posted (and what I managed to screen shot below) may not seem terrible on first glance, if not a little cringey, and can be easy to agree with (don’t bully people that write for a ship you dislike), this was not their original message and has been edited since being posted and, and only after receiving the number of comments it did and which they’re now noting as “proving their point” – a point which they erased, thus manipulating perceptions. I wish I had gotten a screenshot of the original, but if you scroll through the comments, you can find some people that quoted it.

This person most definitely did open their “message” to Soukoku fans by literally telling them to “stop writing” for it. They claimed there was some unspecified AU (or maybe multiple unspecified AUs) that had been overwritten for, that it was overused, and not original. They went on to talk about how the abundance of soukoku content was turning off new fans to the series (don’t even know how that logics…) and bullying people from creating content for other ships, basing these irrational sentiments off some false claim that removing everything with the soukoku ship from the fandom would only leave behind a sad, inacccurate (and oddly specific) 305 posts.

Evidence of their now deleted perspective can be further seen in another post they made to AO3 a couple days before this ugly rant. Titled simply “My unpopular BSD opinions”, they didn’t manage to garner much attention and went mostly ignored because, well, it’s your opinions about the show and that’s whatever. Of course, when you click into it, the very first “opinion” shared, is that they hate Dazai x Chuuya. Okay, that’s an opinion everyone is entitled to, and that’s fine. You don’t like the popular ship, that’s…not exactly an unpopular opinion, there’s quite a number of people that don’t ship soukoku. No problem. Until, they go on to elaborate.

Despite the title of this piece being ‘their opinions’, they state as ‘fact’ that its confirmed that this is “not a thing”, so ‘please stop shipping them it doesn’t work, it’s way too overused for it to be “funny” anymore’ (I’m a little confused about this wording, because Shipping is Serious Business™, so…not sure there are too many soukoku shippers doing it because they think it’s hilarious or whatnot, in fact, most soukoku fics are tagged ‘angst’, which we all know, angst is very ‘haha, lol’…but whatevs). They then include the same sentiment they expanded on in their Dear John to soukoku fans and subsequently deleted: ��Please stop, there are too many au’s with almost the exact same plot Chuuya and Dazai being together, its really difficult to find any non-Dazai x Chuuya au’s”.

On the surface, once again, there are some “truths” to this sentiment. DaiChuu is a popular ship and there is a disproportionate amount of soukoku ship fics on the fandom comparative to other ships (soukoku comes in at a whopping 10,000+ currently, with the next popular ship Aku/Atsushi sitting at a decidedly less 2500+). It’s really not that difficult to find non-DazaixChuuya fics, if you know how to use filters on AO3, but there are going to be less to read from when you filter it down, and depending on your ship, you may find yourself in a fic desert, and I can certainly understand why someone young and lacking in rational thought processes might want to blame the popular ship for this predicament.

The problem with this logic, and it permeates every fandom, not just BSD, is that the shippers sharing and loving their ship are not to blame for your lack of ship content. You just don’t have a popular ship. If all the people who love soukoku stopped creating content for it, as this person is ‘begging’ them to do, that’s not going to increase the amount of content for your ships, because the reason that content isn’t being created is because there aren’t enough shippers for it. So, the only way this person’s logic works, is if what this person is actually saying, isn’t that they want these people to stop creating content for the BSD fandom, they just want them to jump ship, stop creating content for soukoku and start creating content for their ships.

Any creator/fan is going to have a visceral reaction to that: who the fuck are you to tell me what to create? And for free, no less!

This moves us more towards a clearer definition of what is toxic fandom behavior. In short, its telling anyone how they should interact with or interpret their favorite content. I mean, even Word of God does not have this power. That’s because every single fan in a fandom is an individual human being. They are possessed of their own autonomy, and as a creator I know, that once you put something out into the world and give it over to others, you have little control over how people consume and feel about your work. You can tell them your intention, but that’s not going to sway them to interpret it that way, and that’s…just the way it works.

Now, the elephant in the room needs to be addressed. It’s easy for me to be ‘offended’ by this person’s post and not see their complaints because I am a soukoku fan. I’m also the target of this person’s rant, and one of those people this person is attempting to emotionally manipulate into writing for other ships in the fandom for which I have no preference. But I am capable of seeing the other side of this argument.

First, because I do have other fandoms in which I am part, and for which I have a rare-pair ship. For example, I am a Gundam Wing fan and a 2x5 (Duo/WuFei) shipper. I’ve posted two 2x5 fics on fanfiction.net. While 2x5 is not the rarest of rarepairs in the Gundam Wing fandom, it is significantly eclipsed (as are almost *all* ships in the fandom) by the 1x2 (Heero/Duo) ship. Do I hate 1x2 shippers for my lack of 2x5 content? No. I just appreciate what I’ve got all the more, and I’ll create content for it when I feel compelled, and I sure the fuck won’t implore 1x2 shippers to stop writing for their fave and write more for mine because I want more 2x5 – that’s sheer entitlement, right there, pure and simple. I also ship 3xD (Trowa/Dorothy) in Gundam Wing, which *is* the rarest of rarepairs – I think there’s only, like, two stories in existence that features this pair on the entirety of the internet. I’m also a RavenxMurphy (Murven) shipper in The 100 fandom and I do not hate Bellarke fans because…those people are scary and have canceled the show’s creator for not delivering on Bellarke, and in BSD, I ship Atsushi/Lucy (yes, I said it, they’re cute af and I hope Asagiri delivers on that ship). I also low-key ship Yosano/Ranpo (sorry, Ranpo/Poe shippers, I understand the appeal, I just think him and Yosano is sooo cute, please don’t kill me…), and I also ship Yosano with Kunikida – all of which are some of the rarest in the BSD fandom.

Second, because I have seen and called out shipping harassment in the BSD fandom, so I am well aware that this kind of thing exists – as it exists literally everywhere and in every flavor. Against soukoku shippers from antis and by soukoku shippers against shippers putting Dazai or Chuuya with any other characters and by soukoku shippers against other soukoku shippers that are, uh, “doing it wrong”. None of these is appropriate. You’re not fighting fire with fire if you’re an anti-attacking the popular ship, you’re just creating a bigger fire and burning the entire fandom down. You’re not defending your ship if you are a soukoku fan attacking non-soukoku fans, you’re just punching down by attacking a less popular ship. And top/bottom arguments aren’t just toxic, they’re also deeply entrenched in fetishization of same sex pairings through a forced heteronormative lens and is, kind of, sort of, actually homophobic in its basis (yes, I said it. It’s ignorant and homophobic and trying to argue with ‘personality/physical traits’ as evidence of who serves what position in the bedroom can be emotionally and mentally damaging to members of the LGBTQ community. Claiming that Chuuya should be bottom because he’s shorter/smaller, or that Dazai has ‘bottom energy’ because he’s more flamboyant and ‘feminine’ is straight up discrimination – a shorter guy can definitely be top, and a manly man can be bottom, it’s not a behavior based on perceived gendered traits, it is just a fucking preferred sexual position, and no, you are not ‘fixing it’ by purposely using positions for these characters that eschews the stereotypes either. Trying to justify positioning by personality/physical traits at all, in any way, shape, or form is just not okay – if it’s your preference, it’s your preference, no justification needed, just recognize that it is *your* preference and arguing what’s ‘right/wrong’ positioning is just plain wrong).

But this brings us to a different issue: bad actors and blaming a whole community for a ‘few rotten apples’. I could easily lump this one person in with everyone that does not ship soukoku and deem them all toxic, aggressive, entitled, bullies attempting to harass soukoku shippers off the platform. Or I could see them for what they are, individuals with individual motivations and drives and morals that also happen to share the same shipping preferences. Is it true to say that there are no soukoku fans that engage in the behaviors described by E_C_arts? No, there are definitely those that do, as there are antis that engage in that same behavior against soukoku fans. But this person also asserts that soukoku fans turning ‘every BSD post about soukoku’ is also a toxic behavior. To which I refer you back to one. This is how they engage with and interpret the work. Don’t yuck on someone else’s yum. People want to gush about how cute they thought soukoku were in an official art, or that they felt there was some hidden (or not so hidden) interaction between them that validates their ship, or their inspired to create soukoku content based on it, so what (for the record, it irks me too when people go ‘see it’s canon and Bones totally ships it’, because it’s unlikely, given BSDs genre, that any romantic relationship will be confirmed, soukoku notwithstanding). It is not, in fact, toxic to gush over it. Let them have their fun with it, let them enjoy their ship. Now, if you go and make a comment about liking the art for other reasons and they reply to you about “…but also soukoku”, then still, that’s not toxic, that’s just them enjoying the content the way that they enjoy it, so let them enjoy it, and you opened yourself to engagement without any qualifiers for the type of engagement you were soliciting, you can’t then backtrack and go ‘but I’m not a soukoku shipper, they should’ve been able to read my mind and known that, it’s totally toxic of them to share their personal reasons for loving the show in response to my sharing my love for the show’. But if you comment about another ship, and they reply to you “…ew, gross! It’s 100% soukoku” then yes, that’s toxic. A lot of people fail to make this distinction, that they are, maybe, merely being triggered and not actually harassed, by feeling like their ship isn’t being validated because they see another ship all over the place and everyone they engage with ships it.

It’s also toxic, to take an experience with one person and hold every soukoku shipper in existence responsible for that one person’s inappropriate behavior. The truth is, that bad actors amongst soukoku fans are not unique, not to the ship and not to the fandom and not even to fandom culture in general. Every group in existence everywhere has bad actors in it that, while the group disavows their behavior, they continue to be held accountable for those individuals and judged by them. For current events, look at how the BLM movement has been blamed for bad actors (many of whom were not actually BLM activists) that took advantage of the protests and started riots and chaos. A small percentage of people were involved in these behaviors, but the entire movement, despite speaking out against rioting, continues to take the blame for it. For me, that’s the root of toxicity. We need to start holding individuals accountable and stop blaming people who have no control over those individuals, because they share a few similar beliefs or interests. That’s throwing the baby out with the bathwater. But the shippers as a whole are not to blame for the actions of a few, and the reason that it feels that there are so many more soukoku fans that do this is because of volume, there are so many more soukoku fans. It’s basic math. If two percent of fans are these toxic kinds of shippers, then there’s going to be so many more of them in a larger population than a smaller one.

I try to call out toxic behavior, no matter if it’s my ship being lambasted or one of my fellow shippers doing the lambasting, whenever I see it, but the trouble is, I don’t typically go into fan content that isn’t for my ship and, thus, I don’t see it. The same goes for the vast majority of soukoku fans out there. We’re here for soukoku content, we’re seeking out soukoku content, and avoiding what isn’t soukoku content. But here is my offer to all of those who are outside of my ship. I like to argue. If someone is harassing you for having a non-soukoku ship, call me, let me know, I will argue with them for you. I will explain to them in no uncertain terms, and in many unpleasant ways, that they do not represent the soukoku shipping community and they are an embarrassment to us. Content for any and all ships is welcomed and encouraged within the fandom. Write, draw, contribute, be a part of the fandom and express yourself, please. If you are a soukoku shipper (or even if you’re not), and someone is harassing you about your top/bottom preference, call me, let me know, I will argue with them for you. I will explain to them why their justifications for which character should be top or bottom in a same sex pairing is grossly misrepresentative and exploitative of the LGBTQ community and rather disgusting. Do not assume that because we seem to remain silent on these types of harassment that it’s because we are in agreement with them, it is only because we haven’t seen them – why would we, we’re not going in those spaces that weren’t created for us. Ask the community for help, don’t attack the rest of us for the poor actions of a few that we were not even aware of. Let us help you in policing them, rather than assuming we don’t care. We are just too busy staying in our lanes, but if you need us, we are here. Majority of us want a clean, friendly, welcoming community for creators of all types as much as you do.

All of this aside, there are spaces and places for these debates and AO3 is not it. Posting this kind of message is actually a violation of AO3 TOS, constituting as harassment, which is defined on the AO3 TOS as “…any behavior that produces a generally hostile environment for its target…”( https://archiveofourown.org/tos#IV.G.). This general behavior also falls into the realm of another kind of toxic fandom behavior: hijacking a platform/tag for your own purposes that is a direct contradiction to its express usage (otherwise, known as trolling). AO3 is for posting fan-made content that contributes to a deeper understanding and expansion upon the original work. Using AO3 to attack people who are using AO3 for exactly what it is designed to be used for is an abuse of the platform. It’s not okay and invites similar content that will ultimately interfere with the original purpose of the platform. AO3 is for fan content, not for your own personal rants about other people in the community, please keep it that way

I do also want to note, that this person choosing to edit their post after receiving the justified ire from fans (notably soukoku and non-soukoku fans alike upset by the audacity of this person, who, as far as can be told, has never themselves contributed fanfiction to the community, to tell people what they can and cannot write) for their original comments, is a form of manipulative abuse called ‘gaslighting’. They are now claiming to be a victim that “never said to stop writing”, despite that having been the literal words they used in the opening of their original post. They are now pointing at these comments as “proof” of their point that soukoku fans are aggressive bullies that attack without cause when there was definitely cause from the original comments. This person clearly has bigger issues than just lacking shipper content for their personal preferences on the BSD fandom.

To all of those who are afraid to share content for your ship because you think you’ll be harassed, as evidenced by this person’s claims, that is simply not true. While there might be one or two people that say something, we all get them no matter if you have a popular ship or a rarepair ship, haters are gonna hate – I’ve gotten my share of hateful comments towards my ships too, but there are many more people that share your ship and are interested in your content, in fact, some of them are starved for it. While having a rarepair might mean you’ll garner less interactions with your content, you have a better opportunity to form a deeper bond with the people that do interact, and they may be more appreciative, because what you’re delivering to them is so much harder to come by. The existence of one ship does not affect your ship’s popularity, and if it simply went away, that doesn’t mean that your ship would receive more attention – in fact, it might mean the show itself would receive less attention.

Create and let others create and use platforms for their appropriate purposes, and most importantly, when it comes to addressing toxic behavior in a fandom, look to yourself first. Are you placing the blame where it belongs? Are you addressing the root cause of the problem or swinging blindly and attacking innocent bystanders in the process? Will what you say actually help the problem? Or will it contribute to the issue, and maybe even create an issue that didn’t exist before?

[writeangstime]

Fortune teller (Thomas Shelby x Reader)

Title: Fortune Teller Fandom: Peaky Blinders Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader Genre: Drama (a bit) Warnings: None right now Summary: You are a novelty in town and no one knows what you are up to, so naturally you are the new talk of the town. Are you friend or foe? Thomas needs to find out and you are not helping.

Author’s note: So it is late in here and I wanted to post it right now because tomorrow my work will kill me. I’d love to make a series with that, so if anyone of you actually read this and would think that the continuation is a good idea, hit me up anywhere you want.

Every new face in Birmingham was an interesting thing that somehow could be either a game changer or another face in the crowd, but there was something behind them. A family name, a reputation that could tarnish even the most spotless personality or character that, blossoming in the hard times, showed the best or maybe even more, the worst of the person. But you didn't.

You were something of a mystery that nobody in town could ever wrap their head around it. Because one day a black car moved through the streets, stopping in front of one shop and you stepped out of it, nonchalantly as you belonged to this world and no force in the world could ever stop you. Well-tailored clothes that nicely wrapped around your posture and moved swiftly for whatever your goal was. It might be an oddity or an anecdote that would reappear from time to time when the locals would be bored and the gossip source would run dry. But somehow, you decided to stay.

Half of the Small Heath found an excuse to be there the day you decided to move into one of the empty houses, the men walking all around the place, coming in and out of the place as they brought more and more of the things the people around this place could only call "exotic". It was fair to be said that it was the best moment to consider if there are enough safety locks on your doors that would stop some people too interested in buying a decent amount of food from even one of those expensive rugs or pretty vase. But then, when they noticed a bit more about the people who helped you, they knew better than to try anything.  Then, of course, they expected that you would go out, meet your neighbours, get them to know yourself and pull out any kind of reason why someone like you moved to the place like this. But no, before they could learn anything basic about you, even something like your name, you disappeared inside your house and didn't show up for a while.

It couldn't go unnoticed to Peaky Blinders, especially since Thomas preferred to hold his hand on the pulse, so she had to know what your presence can offer. Even if this would be nothing, it would be the best option as he already had enough troubles without a suspicious stranger lurking around. To his utter disappointment, the information about you was basically non-existent - no knowledge what was your name, where you came from or where you have been born, and even how you came up with that small fortune on your own. This left a bitter taste, because not always he could admit to himself that he was struggling with something. Not that he wanted to, defeat being left out of his conscience when he left still smoking shores of France, but this issue could bring troubles in the future - were you planning any action here that would shuffle the local powers? Did you come for reasons that were only your own and shouldn’t influence others? Tommy even sent people to shop you stepped in when you first set your foot in town, but the only thing he learned from that was that you ordered the weekly groceries, paying in advance. Why were you hiding? 

***

Pushing the heavy wood of the doors in front of you, you couldn’t help but frown a little, feeling the heatwave from a lack of good ventilation, the scent of alcohol and something that probably was vomit and hearing the roaring of the drunken men, but at the same time, this was far from keeping you from entering into this place. Smoothly moving through the entrance, you didn’t even establish the glance with people who gazed at you, both the one that were too blazed out to even recognise your presence in this place or the one that were too vigil to ignore the fact that you decided to step into the Garrison and decided to show yourself to the world in the den of the wolves. But little on your face did credit to any emotions you’ve been feeling right now and as you hover over the darkened wood, looking straightly into the bartender’s face, there was no way of telling what hid behind your stern eyes. 

“Pardon my curious inquiry, but I was wondering if Mister Thomas Shelby is free for a brief meeting this evening” you stated your reason, a small smile creeping a bit in the corner of your mouth as you measured the person in front of you with a gentle yet somehow strict look, almost like you had an upper hand in this situation. Your interlocutor probably didn’t share your views on that matter as he barley glanced in your ways, the hands dedicated to the tab and glass he was holding, almost like, unlike some if this place, he wasn’t phased with your sudden appearance.

“I am afraid Mister Shelby is not here, and even if he was, I am afraid we have very rigid principles about his privacy”. It was like a formula that kids have to memorize at school and somehow it made you think a bit of the scolding that one could earn if they didn’t heed. Did the infamous Shelby brother hit his workers with the rulers if they misbehaved? Or was it already a sentence with a bullet? Rather not, the business would run dry with the number of executions.

“Ah, but you know, I am well aware that he is inside, so let’s say I consider this a friendly and outward visit. Something he didn’t bother with when we spoke about his efforts to invade my privacy. So what will we say, shall we introduce ourselves in a proper adult way, or the games of charade should continue?” Your nails started to tap a small rhythm on the countertop as you seemed to pay a little attention to the unfriendly gaze. This apparently worked in the way you wanted, partially at least, for the man in front of you moved his head to one of the boys that just stood up from his seat, going to the place you could only guess was private enough that setting foot there was almost a privilege. Mouthing the small ‘thank you’, you moved away, hands nonchalantly put into your pocket as you decided to stand there and wait, not caring about your surroundings or the rumours that probably started to spread. You were here for only one thing and that thing was going to happen - at least this was what you could suspect when the man appeared in front of you, gesturing to follow him.

***

“I hope you understand that is rather an unusual circumstance and the decency requires to present yourself in more official ways….” the sentence made by Tommy was trailing at the end of his tongue as he left some space for the moment of your introduction. He predicted that sooner or later he would face you, but maybe not like that - with you sitting right in front of him comfortably spreading yourself in the chair like this was a chat with a friend you haven’t seen for a while and rather a curious gaze as you watched the light reflexes on the glass in front of you, carefully spinning it in your hand. Almost like you paid a little attention to this whole situation, even if you “arranged” it in the first place.

“Then we must thank the Lord for decency in this world and good people who know that time is money and one shouldn’t waste it” you commented with what was an almost singing and chirped tone, but at the same time gave some coldness that came mostly from your eyes, your own orbs meeting the ice blue ones. But for once, you leaned more to him, your hands now resting on your knees as you moved a bit closer, the everlasting smile not leaving your lips. “I am afraid that for the next month you will be stuck with my presence here, and that presence wouldn’t exactly follow your rules of decency”. 

The silence fell when he waited for more explanations coming from your lips, but once again, your interest seemed lost as you grabbed one of the grapes, looking at it with some kind of interest before your gaze once again returned to him. Though there was an urge to grith his teeth at this moment, he stopped himself, instead of that reaching his fingers to lift a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it up with the warmth of golden sparks. 

“An awfully specific period” he commented finally, noticing how you seemed to realise something in your thoughts as you tilted your head a bit, shrugging your arms with such an innocent demeanour one could believe there was nothing behind it. 

“One that can’t be helped in this matter. But I think we both can agree that there are certain things that can’t be rushed. Or can be, but with little...decency”. It almost made Thommy raise his eyebrows, the amount of the repetition and the prolonging almost bordering on being irritating. As well as your demeanour, the shroud of unknown that you loved to just hide behind when you felt comfortable like that. Was it the wise caution for anyone that came fresh into this town or an irritating habit of yours? He wanted to settle this, but once again, you were speaking before he managed to. 

“I came here tonight to mark my presence and knowledge to your doing, but neither the time nor the place is proper for the real introduction. Tomorrow you have some business on the horse races, so I guess this would be a good place to meet and talk” you came up with first reasonable words since you entered the room, and you stood up, preparing yourself to walk out of this room, knowing when you finished the talking that this was your time to go. Besides, you were a busy human being and there was much to do, with the night being still young. Only when your fingertips brushed the knob, you heard the low, smooth voice behind you. 

“You will get one hour. Nothing more” he spoke, no longer looking at you as he settled a bit, moving to take care of the business that was interrupted by your arrival. Nodding slightly, you opened the way in front of you, swiftly turning and shooting the Shelby man one last look before you produced a small laugh.

“An Eternity in an hour” Tommy could hear before the door closed, cutting you from his view, but sadly for him, not from his mind.

[theatresweetheart]

Heavy Silence

Fandoms: Sanders Sides, G/t

Summary: Virgil refuses to speak. Logan and Roman are frustrated, and Patton tries for what seems like the hundredth time.

Warnings: Mentioned non-explicit abuse, fear, selective mutism, character being treated like an animal.

Pairings: Platonic Moxiety, Background Platonic LAMP/CALM

Word Count: 4427 words.

Taglist: @isle-of-gold

                                            ~—~—~—~—~—~

“Oh for heaven’s sake, we’ve been arguing about this for ages,” an exasperated voice sounded from the living room, although the tone was hushed, as if trying to keep someone from hearing the conversation. “We can’t help him unless he tells us what’s wrong.”

“The kid’s just a bit shy is all—”

“It’s been two weeks Patton and he’s said nothing to us. Two weeks,” Roman countered back, taking Logan’s side on this, “if anything, it’s just pure stubbornness driving him now.”

He was being ganged up on; all of this was because of how the little human they had rescued from the shelter still refused to say anything.

Patton could swear that there was a deeper meaning behind his resolute silence, but it was obvious that Roman and Logan were frustrated by it. Each to their own, he knew. Each had tried, to no avail, to get the little one to speak. Hadn’t even gotten a name out of him. The shelter had been rough, the people had been somewhat hostile and the name they had given him hadn’t suited the kid.

So…they didn’t exactly call him anything.

But there had to be a reason. Everyone had a motive for something, especially if it came to withholding information.

He shuffled back and forth on his feet uncomfortably. “Let me try again,” that earnest look fluttered across his features, “just don’t decide anything too hastily, okay? Maybe—maybe time was all he needed, right? Maybe now he’d be more willing to speak up.”

Silence held between the two other men, before Roman sighed. “Alright. It is safer to say that Pat may have a better chance.”

Logan adjusted his glasses. “That said though, you have tried to speak with him more than the rest of us, Patton, and he still refuses to say anything at all. Not a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’ If anything, the silence just gets heavier.”

“I know, I know,” Patton’s eyes flickered between the both of them, but he was staying stern on this. “Just let me try again, alright? Persistence will usually help.”

“Have at it.”

The dismissive tone that he got was a bit disheartening, but it wouldn’t stop his attempt from making at least some ground with the human.

He watched quietly as Logan took his leave, the sound of his bedroom door closing resounded through the halls. It was only a few minutes later before Roman retired to his room, only to reappear minutes later with a bag slung over his shoulder and his car keys in hand. Patton was quickly reminded that the roommate had rehearsal that night.

Which, with Logan in his room and Roman out of the house, would be optimal time to try and make some leverage with the boy.

When the quiet of the living room held and it didn’t seem to be lessening either, save for the consistent ticking of the clock. He knew that he would have to initiate the conversation as the little one wouldn’t even look in his direction half the time.

It took no time to reach his bedroom. When they had first planned this entire thing out, agreeing that getting a human out of the awful living conditions they were in, the box would stay in his bedroom.

And when he opened the door, that’s where he was.

The blankets and pillows and such to help make it feel a bit more comfortable. The sound of a movie playing quietly caught his attention and he saw the iPod—that had been given to the boy as means of entertainment when they weren’t around, or when he wanted alone time (which was all of the time mostly)—pushed up against the side of the box and the boy laying on his stomach in front of it, his arms propped up to support his head.

The sight made his heart ache. The kid was a gentle soul, if a bit too shy for his own good.

There had been some improvement, however, from the first day they had brought him back—where he hadn’t even left the box, no matter how much they assured him he was safe—to now, where he seemed to feel safe enough to watch a movie or a video or whatever it was in full view.

Though, when he stepped fully into the bedroom, the shoulders tensed almost instantly and he watched as the kid reached forwards and paused it without even looking in his direction.

Wide, frightened brown eyes turned to face his own and instantly Patton felt the need to say something.

He stayed where he was though after shutting the door and leaning comfortably against it. “No, no, it’s okay, kiddo,” he promised quietly, offering a small smile in encouragement. “I’m not here to bother you. I just wanted to talk for a little bit.” There was then a grimace that followed that and he felt his heart sink.

So, it would be one-way then.

That was okay. It wasn’t like he was unused to it.

He was also in no position to really force the kid to say something if he didn’t want to. It wouldn’t be fair and, in all honesty, would most likely do more harm than good.

So, he came a bit further into the room and took a seat a few paces away from the box. He tried not to let the fact that he flinched away from him affect him too much, as it only seemed to hurt more. The constant reassurances didn’t seem to really help the boy’s trust, which was understandable, but it was saddening.

The lady at the shelter, Lillian, had sort of given them the lowdown of what had happened in the previous home. Why the boy was so quick to snap, or to instantly shy away from the attention. Why he would flinch when they made normal movements or even turn away when they paid him too much attention.

She had explained that the last person who had him was a bit “rough.” The woman had refused to go any deeper than that—said that the person they had taken the kid from refused to give answers and the human himself had sworn himself into silence—and if he wanted those answers, he had to ask the kid himself.

After he actually got him talking.

There were a few things that he wanted to know before anything else. The kid’s name, his preferences, things that freaked him out and that they could work on together. Things to make this home feel a bit more comfortable for him.

Patton was used to sitting in the silence with the little one, knowing that his presence probably intimidated him to not speak, but he wanted to understand why that was. He wanted to know what had happened to him, what terrified him into silence, so that they could avoid the same things. The last thing he wanted to do was unintentionally intimidate him further.

“Watching something interesting?” He decided to break the silence that way, watching as the boy shifted a bit more, sitting cross-legged, but hiding in that dark hoodie, as if trying to hide in plain sight.

The boy shrugged in response, looking uneasy. From where Patton was sitting, he couldn’t tell if it was a show he had found on the internet that was made by the kid’s kind, or the movies that had come with the rest of the race from the previous place.

It did make him uncomfortable, knowing that humans were just as brilliant as they were, but had been forced down to believe they were nothing more than entertainment.

It was absolutely sick.

He hummed in response, showing that he was listening. He bit his lower lip, a slight pause in the question he wanted to ask. After a brief debate with himself, Patton realized that if he really wanted answers, he needed to actually hear the voice of the boy. Shaking his head and nods could only do so much for ‘yes’ and ‘no’ questions. Conversations were difficult when it was just one-sided all the time.

“Look,” he started off gently, a reassuring look in his eyes to give a silent promise that everything was fine, “I know you don’t want to talk to me and I respect that. I’m not going to force you to, but this is getting harder by the day, kiddo.” The boy’s shoulders dropped from their tense position, a sad look flitted across his face. “And I really, really want to respect your boundaries because I know how important boundaries are, but we really need to know how you feel. How we can help you feel more at home.”

He took a breath, just watching the emotions seemingly flutter across the smaller features, the warring expressions were showing much more of an inner battle than maybe he felt comfortable showing, or speaking for that matter.

There was a reason why the kid wouldn’t talk to them. There had to be. No one just stayed silent on their own freewill. Everyone had to speak at one point or another, unless they physically couldn’t. So, it left Patton wondering about the backstory that Lillian had left out when she explained everything at the shelter.

Another moment of quiet passed. “I know talking is hard,” he needed to show that he really did understand. “And I know that being with three strangers can be frightening and that’s okay, but we really just want to help. I know Logan and Roman can be a bit much sometimes, but you don’t even have to talk to them if you don’t want to.” And that was true. “It’s perfectly okay to be scared, but, at the very least, can I have your name?”

Patton knew that names could be a very personal topic to talk about, especially for humans. A lot of the time, they would be wiped of their usual name and given a new one that suited them ‘better.’ If anything, it just made him uncomfortable. They had personalities and names and to have that taken away seemed…impersonal.

There was nothing wrong with being quiet, there were also plenty of times where peace and quiet was the best thing for the household. Sometimes it could be so alive and full of movement, that a little silence never hurt anyone. That taking time to be with just yourself could be helpful, especially if one was overwhelmed by the world.

At most times, Patton would be happy to leave the little human to his own devices—he did want him to have as much independence as possible without getting hurt—but right now, he needed a little bit of proof that he could speak at all.

If the kid was mute, that would open a whole new set of doors that none of them had thought would be the reason to why the constant silence.

Though, when he met the smaller brown eyes again, he noticed something deeper behind them. Something that showed a true flourish of understanding, almost as if this was the first time that it was sinking in that he was in a safe place. That his opinions would be valued and respected.

The human bit into his lower lip, looking hesitant, when Patton nodded lightly, trying to be as encouraging as possible without looking too excited by the fact he might actually get to hear some real words.

A frown was set on the smaller features, before he dipped his head down, looking away from him. “I-I thought—”

Patton’s heart stammered in his chest. He could speak and he was speaking. To him.

His voice softened a bit more. “You thought what?”

The smaller hands seemed to be digging into his hoodie, trying to find a way to form the words without retreating and staying silent. There was that inner battle, showing how much he wanted to do one thing, but the other half of him saying that it wasn’t the best idea.

The human took a breath, trying to steady himself. “I just thought you wanted me to stay quiet…”

That sentence stunned him, honestly. Why on earth would they want him to stay silent? Almost as if the little one could hear the unasked question, he continued, if a bit more hesitantly.

At first, he opened his mouth, looking as if he was ready to open up about the story, before he shut his mouth again. He hesitated again, looking nervous and scared for a moment.

It drove a sharp wedge into Patton’s chest, such delicate features so painted with terror over opening up.

“The, uh, the last person I was with. He, um, wasn’t really all that, you know, forgiving,” his nails seemed to be digging further into his arm, looking reluctant to share this information. “He didn’t really like it when I spoke my mind. I-I just stopped talking altogether and that’s when the hurt stopped.” That’s when the abuse wasn’t as bad. The ‘hurt’ never truly stopped. “I just … I thought you would want that too …”

Patton was almost at a loss of what to say to that. The last person he had been with hadn’t been forgiving?

He had been aware that the little one had been abused, but not to the point where he had been afraid to talk for fear of being hurt. No one should have to deal with that sort of trauma. At least not alone.

Lillian had said that his past ‘owner’ had been rough and cruel, but she hadn’t elaborated into the physical side of it. She had said that the human was shy of touch and would lash out if one tried to do so. She had said that consent was a big thing with this one and that was fair.

The short glances he was being given was slowly allowing him to piece the puzzle of the kid’s past together.

Humans had minds of their own and, while a lot of people nowadays didn’t think they did, were allowed to speak their opinions. It was certainly like that in this house. There were times where they spoke over him, not intending to really cut off any of his silent looks. It would happen from time to time, where the human sometimes went unnoticed when Logan and Roman got into an argument and Patton tried to distract the two of them to settle them down.

There was a deep sympathy that filled his chest, almost weighing him down. The silence he was getting now, it was obvious that the kid was waiting for something.

Something painful.

Patton clasped his hands in front of him, savvy to how the boy flinched slightly from the innocent motion. “Of course not,” he breathed after a moment, the tiny shoulders were tensed and frightened. “We wouldn’t…ah, geez. I had no idea.”

The kid shrugged in response, making it his mission to keep his eyes down. Looking anywhere but Patton. It was heartbreaking.

The little details like that didn’t go unnoticed and Patton had been picking up, slowly but surely, on the boy’s behaviours. Whether how he was when the others raised their voices, or if he was asked too many questions, or when there was too much attention on him and he would rather shy away and hide in his jacket—which was admittedly maybe a bit big for him—than face them down.

There had been a few nights where he was still laying awake in his bed, at awful hours of the night—it was a big thing for him, making sure the others had gone to bed and then doing the same himself—and he had heard the smallest of sounds coming from the box pushed into the corner of the room.

There had been one night in particular when he had heard, what he had thought was, the smallest shout possible. Panting had then followed after it and then the sound of muffled sobs. It was so obvious that the little one had woken with a nightmare. The new surroundings had probably frightened him more as well, even though he was anything but trapped.

One of the other workers at the shelter had explained that keeping the human in the box without a way out would be the best way to prevent him from hurting himself or attempting to escape. Patton had ignored those instructions almost as soon as they had gotten home and had cut a small doorway, or something of the like, into the side of the box and allowing an in and out for when he wanted to leave the box without needing assistance. Plus, feelings of claustrophobia would be heightened in a place where one couldn’t escape. The last thing he would want was to have the human experience a panic attack because he felt unsafe in his own bed.

With a gentle sigh, Patton lowered himself down a bit further so he was laying on his stomach, his head propped up in his hands. The human had flinched again, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

“I just want you to know that, even if things get a bit…loud around here, no one means you any harm,” Patton told him quietly, an earnest look shining through dark brown eyes. “I know the house can be a bit crazy sometimes and that’s probably frightening—” A small, nervous half-laugh, half-breathing out uncomfortably from the human was heard, “—and I understand that. It’s a normal response to being around strangers.”

When he felt he had been watching him for a bit too long, Patton let his eyes roam over the interior of the box. It didn’t really look incredibly homey, even after offering the boy one of his older shirts to sleep in. He made a mental note to possibly get rid of the box altogether and find a more suitable place for the little one.

Though, when he looked back onto the small form, the brown eyes were wide and focused on his own. The surprised look on the human’s features made him feel so horribly guilty.

“We’re— we’re not going to punish you for speaking your mind,” he continued after a moment and those tiny brown eyes almost seemed to get wider, more emotional. “Your opinion means just as much as mine does, or Logan’s does, or Roman’s. I want to know what you like and don’t like. I want to know about what makes you uncomfortable or scared, so we can work around that. I want to know about you, kiddo.”

A moment passed and it took a moment before the human hiccuped, a small intake of a quick breath and he choked on what sounded like a sob.

The sound instantly made Patton’s fatherly instincts kick in and the first thing he wanted to do was reach out and try and comfort him, except in this situation, that wouldn’t really work out in his favour. “Awe, bud, that’s not what—”

“T-thank you,” the human breathed instead. His voice was a bit muffled from how he was hiding his face behind his sleeves, but Patton could hear it nonetheless. “I don’t—this isn’t … I’ve never-”

A softer look fluttered over his features and he shuffled a bit closer, not enough to loom, but enough to be as close as he dared. “You don’t have to thank me,” he promised him quietly, offering a gentle grin in response to the teary look he got. “Your words have just as much meaning as mine do. You’ve got a good head on those shoulders, I know you do. You’ve made it this far, haven’t you?” The sad expression turned almost confused, so Patton elaborated. “You’re talking to me. I think it’s absolutely incredible that you’re saying anything at all to me. That’s strength right there.”

It was quiet for a little while after that and the boy seemed to try and clean himself up, using the sleeves of his jacket to dab at the wetness under his eyes, or just scrubbing completely to clear his face of any sadness at all.

Letting out emotions in this sort of way was healthy though, so saying otherwise would be wrong. It might seem like it hurts more, having a fit or being so openly vulnerable, but in the end, having someone actually willing to listen to you and sticking around was the best way to deal with untapped emotions. Or the ones that people liked to tuck away and keep them hidden under lock and key, never to see the light of day until they reach their breaking point.

It’s a painful process, Patton had felt it himself. In fact, he was still in healing from coming clean about how he actually felt and was still working through some problems of his own.

While he hadn’t exactly come in here expecting the human to talk to him, nevertheless open up about his past, there was still something crucial that he was missing. Without a name, it just made everything that much more difficult. They wouldn’t know what to address him by, or what he found uncomfortable or offensive.

The name at the shelter had been rubbish, in all honesty. It hadn’t suited him at all. Almost as if it were a throwaway at that point, but the fact that they still remained unknown to his true name was a bit startling.

While Patton had no trouble using nicknames, it didn’t always feel right to be addressing him like that when talking about a more serious topic. It was almost like it would take away from the topic or the seriousness of it.

A faint noise, almost sounding like someone was taking a breath, drew Patton from his thoughts. He could see the inner battle on the features again, almost clear as day.

What was—

“—Virgil.”

The sudden admittance actually startled him so badly he blinked, confused for a moment. “W-what?”

The human turned away from him, head bowed and eyes squeezed shut. He was waiting in preparation again. “It’s my name…I just, um, thought-” The boy cut himself off almost instantly before biting into his lower lip. “I-I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have…I just assumed. It’s stupid, I know, I–”

“Wait, wait,” this time Patton cut him off, but his tone remained soft, but the way that Virgil seemed to be so self-deprecating was upsetting. “What are you apologizing for?” After he had voiced the question, the smaller shoulders bunched again and it hit him. He was worried his name would be changed to something else and that admitting his real name would only lead to more hurt. Understanding flooded forwards almost instantly. “Awe, bud, there’s nothing to be sorry about, I promise. I asked for your name.”

He kept his head tilted downwards, but there seemed to be a small realization that followed. “You’re— you’re not going to change it?”

“Heavens no,” was the answer. “That’s your name. It wouldn’t be fair to change it. Heck, I think your name suits you really well, too.”

It took a moment, but Virgil’s attention shifted once more and he allowed himself to meet his eyes. There was emotion swimming behind them, he knew that. They were sitting in the quiet again before, but this time it was far from uncomfortable.

The thought that the boy—Virgil—was so ready to give up his name, to relent and give up the fight, it didn’t sit well with him. There had been so much damage done to him that he carried that over with him into his new home. The idea that someone could be so cruel to creatures that were relatively helpless when it came to caring for themselves in this world was sickening.

Surely, before everything had happened, humans had taken care of themselves. Created societies, laws, built what they believed to be sky-scrapers. He had heard that they had even sent someone to the moon. They were certainly brilliant.

After everything had changed for them, well, his own kind had forced them down and they didn’t put up a fight. There had been, for a little while, but of course, they hadn’t won it and humans were downgraded. Not that everyone thought it was the right thing, but it had been a couple years by now and they were seen more as pets and companions then anything else. Sometimes pests by other people. It was truly disheartening.

Then there was this little one, sitting in the box looking more than ready to give up everything, including his personal name, just to keep from being hurt further.

How people could do it, Patton would never know.

Well, he had pretty much gotten the answers he had come in here for, so really, he didn’t need to be here any longer than need be. With that in mind, he pushed himself up onto his knees.

After a heartbeat of hesitance, Virgil finally spoke up to him. “Do you— wanna watch with me?”

The request was quiet and feeble, but it surprised him nonetheless.

“You want me to?”

Virgil shrugged in answer, looking like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it in the long run.

Grinning, Patton adjusted his glasses. “If you’ll have me.”

The smile he got in return to that made warmth fill his chest. It was the first time he had actually seen Virgil smile since he got here, and it was heartwarming.

It took no time at all, but Patton had grabbed a couple pillows from his bed and brought them over to the box, a blanket was tugged from the bed as well. With a quiet request from the human—and the explanation that it would be easier for the both of them to watch—the iPod had been moved to sit outside the box, laid up against the side to keep it propped up.

The two got a bit more comfortable like that. It took Virgil a moment to remember he was safe, even with having Patton right at his back and he had sunk slightly into the pillow, creating a small crease. He tucked himself into his own blanket and his hoodie in turn.

He looked back to Patton, almost as if asking for permission to start the video again, when he got a gentle nod in reassurance. He had reached forwards and pressed the play button, nearly the size of his hand he noted, before sitting back and curling into the warmth the blanket and jacket offered him.

Maybe, just maybe, not everyone in this Godforsaken world was all that bad.

[pauldron-pieces]

Captain Physalia's Backstory: At Your Own Peril

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: N/A, Physalia-Centric

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Captain Physalia. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Dragon Age; Inquisition: In Hushed Whispers

[Tieliaths are the result of a union between a tiefling and a goliath.]

[Captain Physalia is a level eleven Triton Ancients paladin, and her appearance can be found here.]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes including violence, mentions of slavery and implied character death. Stay safe!]

Captain Physalia, at the helm of the Karyth Delta alongside Jupiter, finally gave a single nod of approval once they had cleared the shallow harbor. "You're getting better."

Jupiter went bright blue at what was lavish praise from the normally-stoic captain, trying and failing to hide her smile. "Thank you, Captain."

The other Triton merely nodded again, continuing her walk to the main deck. Her thoughts were preoccupied with their latest acquisitions, a troubled bunch to say the least. They had already been deposited to the safe haven of one of the many communities these islands fostered, but that community would in turn need extra supplies while the refugees recuperated.

A little human girl, barely in her fourteenth year, huddled beside a coil of rope. She believed she had stowed away and Physalia had humored the delusion until they had left the harbor. "What is your name, girl?" The captain queried, her hands clasped behind her back as she stood beside the rope and stared out at the darkness.

There was a beat of silence where Physalia could feel the panic rushing off of the little one in waves. Then, the child slowly got to her feet, head hung low. "Lara."

"Lara." The name was unfamiliar, difficult for her tongue. It hissed between her teeth. "Why did you sneak back aboard the Delta, little Lara? I had assumed that your last boat ride was sufficient."

"B-Because I...I know what you're going to do and I wanted to see it." The girl answered without guile.

"Oh? What is it that I'm going to do?" Physalia asked, feigning curiosity.

"You...Y-You're going to attack the ship of the flesh traders."

The captain gazed back out at the moonless night. "Perhaps. Does that trouble you?"

"No." Lara snapped, angry, young. She didn't know any better; she had been purloined from everything familiar and crushed into the hold of a ship with fifty-odd other women to be sold elsewhere. "You're the Triton captain of the Verdant Keen, the ghost ship that strikes the wicked from the fog."

The razing of the fishing village that occupied the lonely peninsula to the north had come as a shock to Physalia. Perhaps she had been optimistic to think that the legends would keep flesh peddlers away. More than mere legends hunted these waters though.

The Karyth Delta plowed through the waves, sending shocks of spray up around the figurehead. "I am no hero, little one. There will be no glamor in this." Captain Physalia warned. "Whatever you've heard about in stories, put it from your head. I know how much you land folk love to romanticize the sea, but she is as rebarbative and changeable as the men who plunder her waves."

"I understand."

She didn't, not yet. She was much too young to understand. But she would someday.

Atoll came to perch on the captain's shoulder and Physalia sighed. "Have our fog at the ready. Weislanda willing, the wind stays becalmed. According to the rest of the women, the ship will be empty aside from the crew and the shattered remains of their valuables." The captain gripped the railing when she spied the far-off twinkle of yellow lanterns close to the water's surface. "Lara, I need you to tell Atoll and N'inesmuch exactly what the ship looked like. Any and all details."

The girl looked up at the brightly-colored bird with a bit of confusion, but obediently held out her hand so the druid could swap her seating.

"You'll find N'inesmuch in the galley, I'm certain. You can't miss her." Physalia said dryly. The second mate was a large Tigris Tabaxi with a black circle around her right eye. She had a well-documented penchant for sweets that was encouraged by the quartermaster, who was a sharp-tongued Halfling named Spoon.

Once the girl had left, Rannock 'Broadside' sauntered up alongside the captain. "You'll send me in first, right boss?" He asked eagerly, making the Triton chuckle.

"Of course. I know how much you love a good fight. Just don't get too out of hand. Belle stayed behind and I don't need you and your half-brother butting heads again over your scratches." The captain reminded him sternly. "The captain of that vessel, whoever they may be, must pay for their crimes."

"And they will." The Tieliath swore, his eyes flinty with anger.

The Karyth Delta was not a particularly speedy ship. She was covered in moss, barnacles and vines and, for all intents and purposes, did indeed resemble a ghost ship far more than a seaworthy vessel. However, she possessed a singularly useful structural feature: her keel draft was exceedingly shallow.

This keel allowed the unwieldy-looking ship to easily maneuver over reefs and through channels that ought to beach it, giving her and her crew the tactical advantage in many a coastal fracas. It also made the vessel more responsive at the cost of stability, for if they came about with a full head of power she threatened to capsize. She was a touchy craft, scabbed together with the boney flotsam of other, less fortunate slavers and schooners. Much like the majority of her crew, the ragtag bunch scavenged from the waves.

But none had to endure. Physalia would force no being to remain aboard the Karyth Delta, and she demanded no such boons of loyalty from any innocent man who did not wish to stay. Her sailors were ever-changing, which suited her just fine. Though she had managed to gather a bit of a steady rogue's gallery.

First had been the surgeons, Livesey the Gnome and Ailsyuh the Goliath. They were a crotchety old couple with a bent for bickering that almost eclipsed their affection for one another. They were natives of the crown of islands, and were intimately familiar with the surrounding territories.

Closely following on their heels was Ailsyuh's younger half-brother Rannock, a Tieliath who had been raised by his Tiefling mother to prevent a scandal from occurring in the Shuliezka family. He was headstrong and mouthy, but possessed keen instincts and a sound tactical mind.

Spoon Mulberry (of the Castakay Mulberry family, not those thinbloods in Fhisklos, thank you very much) had been a strange case. The diminutive woman had just showed up at the docks one day, asking around for anyone that needed a cook on their next charter. By the grace of Weislanda, she had found the Karyth Delta and the rest was history.

Atoll had literally fallen into Physalia's lap while they were sailing around the cape of the mainland, the mermaid druid plummeting out of the sky after a wild scuffle with a larger bird had rendered her unconscious. While she lacked the affiliation of a larger clan of mer, she had a certain noble authority that could not be discounted. Physalia freely admitted her bias when she invited Atoll to stay on as first mate, the Triton just pleased to have another water-inclined individual aboard.

N'inesmuch had volunteered her services out of gratitude when the Karyth Delta rescued her from the wreckage of her forlorn little sloop, and over time had risen through the ranks to Boatswain. A formidable force in her own right, with the help of Atoll she had begun to master the green magics that ran deep within her bloodline.

Jupiter was their most recent acquisition, a juvenile Triton expelled from the deep reefs. She had clung to a rocky shoreline for the better part of two days before she was spotted by the returning Karyth Delta. Livesey had nursed her back to health and upon learning of her impeccable ability to decipher men's star charts, Physalia offered her a permanent position as her navigator. Being podless herself, the captain knew all too well how lonely the seas could be.

Tendrils of fog began to swirl as the preparatory orders went out and Physalia shook herself from her reverie to give Jupiter their heading. After that, the ship fell silent.

Atoll flew high overhead, out of the fog and towards their target. Far below beneath the waves, N'inesmuch and a few other crew members sped along in the form of sleek sharks or dolphins. Broadside paced the deck, sharpening his handaxe absently. The waiting was always the hardest part of any raid, but Captain Physalia preferred to have any and all advantages she could get. Added onto that was the benefit of knowing for certain that this was indeed the vessel of the flesh peddling captain.

/x\

The fog rolled in thick off the coast of Karyth, like it always did before the first storms of autumn. This wouldn't be particularly concerning aside from the fact that it was early spring. The young captain squinted upwards, pulling the collar of his peacoat a bit tighter around his throat.

It was a moonless night and the wind was faint, leaving the ship barely in motion through the dense miasma. "Helmsman, steady on." The captain called, trying not to let his nerves show.

Even if he was putting on a brave face, the same could not be said for the rest of his crew. They had been sullen all day, watching the waters with large, wary eyes. The more superstitious of them spoke in hushed tones of the Kraken, the many-armed Hafgufa and his terrible brother Lyngbakr, the impostor island who lured sailors to their doom.

Never mind that everyone was on edge due to them needing to jettison a majority of their plundered cargo so the overloaded ship would not sink in the squall they had run into. The storm had blown them a bit off course, further south than anyone would care to be. It was easy enough to dismiss such things as old wives tales during the bright light of day, but now the captain found himself at odds with what he sincerely hoped was his own imagination.

The vessel was still in deep waters, too far out from Karyth and the small belt of islands that it wore like a crown to be concerned about running aground. Yet he swore he heard the soft crashing of waves upon the shoreline.

He realized his mistake a bit too late to save them, regrettably.

An impact echoed from the prow of the ship and there was a loud cry that went up, "beast sighted!" The captain swung around, seizing one of the shuttered lanterns and raising it high as he heard the sounds of a short-lived scuffle break out. The light reflected off the fog, casting disorienting shapes in the black.

A shadow rose up, up, up, and a pitiful curse left the captain's lips when he caught sight of the massive, steer-like horns. The creature towered over him, looming luminous gray out of the fog with a devastating-looking handaxe gripped in one massive paw. Every man on deck was frozen, simply staring at this...hulking apparition.

"I seek your captain, boy." The creature spoke after a moment, its voice a rumbling threat. "Be a good lad and fetch them for me, would you?"

At that, the captain bristled. Drawing himself up to his inconsequential full height, he spat, "I wear my rank upon my shoulder, sirrah, and I see no such rank upon your own! Who's asking for the captain?"

"I am." The beast snarled, and the captain's burst of courage flagged almost immediately. "You're the captain? Suppose I should have expected it, you standin' there all puffed up like a peacock." It sighed heavily after a moment, nonchalantly pitching the axe to bury itself in the main mast just above the captain's head. "Disappointing."

The captain found himself abruptly snatched up by the collar of his jacket, dangling helplessly a foot or so off the deck as his men gawked. The creature was even more terrifying up close, pointed incisors sharpening its smile to a hungry leer.

"My boss seeks permission to come aboard your vessel, flesh peddler." It didn't seem to have any other tone aside from rumble. "I'd advise you to acquiesce before I snap your neck."

A new form solidified out of the fog behind the brute, one hand resting on the large creature's shoulder. It was a female, one of the sea folk. Triton or Mer the young captain could not say, they all looked grotesque to him.

The man opened his mouth to speak and the fish woman snapped her teeth at him. "Captain whelp." She addressed him through those sharp teeth. "Flesh dealer, human trader. Was it you and your sailors that sacked and pillaged the peninsula?"

"And what authority do you wield, sea beast?" The young captain retorted, a little taken aback that she knew of his ship and their shady dealings. But how? The Governess Of Bresh had a clean bill of sale and no record of unsavory practices! Even if this fish woman fancied herself an inquisitor of some kind, they had tossed all of the human cargo during the storm. She had no evidence! "Your behavior is absolutely piratical, and if you do not depart my ship at once I'll see you brought before the assizes!"

There was nothing but a breath and suddenly the woman's hands were wrapped around his throat. He hadn't even seen her cross the deck-!

"We will try again." She hissed in his face as he struggled against her hold. Her palms, cold and covered in a fine mesh of scales, heated briefly. "Was it you and your sailors that sacked and pillaged the peninsula?"

The captain opened his mouth to lie and instead the truth fell out. "Yes." The woman smiled slowly, sending a cold chill of certainty down his spine. "You're the captain of the Verdant Keen, aren't you?" He asked, muted horror washing over him. "The witch who stalks the Kraken's hunting grounds?"

"A witch, he calls me. But then, you men have many names for myself and my ship. You and your kind are warned off from this place, are you not? At your own peril, they mutter in port." The woman mused, her chuckle devoid of mirth. "You are very lucky that we were following you in the first place. I can only imagine how many more souls would be waiting to drag you down to the hells had we not collected your...abandoned spoils." Pitch black, fathomless eyes bored into his own. "This ship is ours now, whelp, and the fate of your men belongs to the sea."

"What?! That is inhumane, you cannot-"

"Inhumane?" The woman seethed, "or monstrous? Perhaps vile? Unbearable, unconscionable, barbaric? Tell me, flesh peddler, how many women have you widowed? How many children have you stolen from their homes? How humanely have you behaved, o righteous mariner?" She leaned in close, her grip tightening on his throat. "You are compelled to tell the truth at this point in time, Whelp Captain. Squirm all you want. Tell me who sent you."

The confession surged at his tongue, the young man pressing his lips together tightly to keep from revealing who his employer was.

The witch sighed heavily after a moment. "Broadside?"

"You want me to separate his head from his shoulders, boss?" The horned creature queried, cracking his knuckles before addressing the young captain. "You can either open your mouth or I'll rip your jaw off. No matter what you're dead, so it's understandable if you don't want to speak up. I don't blame you." His tone had gone alarmingly friendly. The captain got a sinking feeling in his gut even as he shook his head. "Right! I'll make it quick." The gray beast rumbled cheerily.

/x\

N'inesmuch had everything documented within two hours, the Governess Of Bresh stripped to her bare bones. The crew had all fled after their captain met his untimely demise, and if the waters churned a bit more aggressively than before, well…

Such was the nature of the sea.

Physalia and Atoll folded the last of the spare sails, the captain offering her first mate a weary half-smile. "It is good, yes?"

"You are too lenient." Atoll sniffed, their long-standing argument reignited once more. "Leaving them to the sea is too merciful. We should have tied them all to the mast before we set the craft ablaze." Her purple eyes sparkled like she was telling a joke and Physalia was reminded once more that Merfolk partook in certain diversions that Tritons did not.

"I am not a tyrant." The captain replied calmly. "Land is not far from here. Allowing someone to live is often a far better form of punishment." She leaned in, idly gathering Atoll's messy curls back from her face and fashioning them into a quick braid. "Killing them outright would have been the lenient option, my merciful first mate."

Atoll huffed, crossing her arms. A purple flush dusted her cheeks. "Oh, very well Captain. I suppose you could be right." She allowed after several moments. "Besides, we've gotten what we came for. That's all that matters."

"Aye." Physalia murmured, watching Broadside scoop the body of the arrogant young captain up and deposit it over the railing. "Lara and the others will be pleased to have their valuables back, I'm certain. Though it will not cure the loss of their homes, husbands or sons, they can rebuild." The crest that ran down the center of her head began to flare upwards once more. "And I will not allow such a thing to happen again." She muttered through her teeth.

"We will not, you mean." Atoll corrected.

Physalia inclined her head. "Of course, forgive me. We will not."

/x\

The flames that devoured the Governess Of Bresh lit the horizon long after the ship itself had faded into the distance. Captain Physalia stood beside Jupiter at the helm, her thoughts miles away. Belowdecks she could faintly hear Lara squeaking with delight as she helped N'inesmuch sort through their spoils.

The Governess had carried a great deal of foodstuffs as well as the ill-gotten gains they had pilfered from the peninsula. Far more food than they would have needed were this not a planned endeavor. Physalia had hoped against hope that they had simply been men who made a single terrible choice, but the amount of supplies they carried pointed to premeditation.

That complicated things. More would come. And if more came...

The captain's brow furrowed. More traffic, more ships, more activity would certainly stir the leviathan from its centuries of lethargy. A freshly-roused Kraken was good news for no one.

She shook her head after a moment. They would just need to be more vigilant, that was all. They could still put an end to the new trade routes. There was still time.

"Everything alright, Captain?" Jupiter asked cautiously.

Physalia mustered up her usual half-smile, tilting her head. "Don't fret, Jupiter. Your captain is prone to brooding." She said by way of apology. "You have our heading. I trust you'll bring us safely home?"

Jupiter fairly beamed. "Absolutely, Captain!"

[toomuchofabastard]

Heaven’s Final Betrayal (3/6)

[ << CHAPTER 1 ] [ < CHAPTER 2 ]

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Aftermath of Rape/Non-Con, Denial, Drinking, Self-Blame

Word count: 3,228 (total 9,818)

Fic Summary: It was obvious that Heaven wouldn’t exactly be thrilled about Aziraphale’s role in preventing Armageddon. But neither the angel nor Crowley could have predicted how far they were willing to go to get  revenge, and now Aziraphale needs him by his side more than ever.

READ ON AO3

___

Crowley was stirred from the inky grasp of sleep by the rumble of the mattress and the sensation of shifting weight next to him. Reality slowly seeped its way back into his consciousness. Aziraphale. The angel was awake. His bed, his flat. Morning.

What happened yesterday.

Crowley grimaced as the memories resurfaced. Fuck. Images flickered unbidden in his mind, snippets and sounds of events like a highlights reel designed specifically to torment him. He rubbed his gluey eyes with the heel of his palm, and forced them open. The visions vanished.

Aziraphale was sat on the edge of the bed, still and silent. Crowley couldn’t see his face.

“Mornin’, angel,” he mumbled.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale replied quietly, but still facing away. Crowley cocked his head, trying to guess at what was going through the angel’s mind. After a long pause, Aziraphale turned to him.

“So-,” he began, with what Crowley could tell instantly was painfully-forced cheerfulness. He patted his thighs and gave a half-hearted wiggle.

“Breakfast at the Ritz?”

His voice was thin and brittle-sounding, higher than normal. The smile on his face didn’t reach to his eyes. The sight rekindled the ache deep in Crowley’s chest.

Crowley sighed. “Angel, it’s- …You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Aziraphale replied quickly. Then he exhaled shakily and his eyes scrunched closed.

Crowley sat up next to him and encircled his arms gently around the angel’s waist, hugging his belly and resting his cheek against his shoulder. When Aziraphale’s eyes opened again, they were filled with the same despair and devastation from the night before. His chin started to pucker and he blinked rapidly. He wouldn’t look at Crowley as he spoke, instead staring down at his hands rested loosely in his lap.  “I… I don’t want to think about it, Crowley. Please, just for today, can we please just pretend…” His voice wobbled and he trailed off with a gulp, turning away.

Crowley sighed unhappily and rubbed his hands over the angel’s stomach. Pretend what? Pretend like it had never happened? Like yesterday afternoon had just been a bad dream. Like they were still happy. Like he hadn’t been raped. Oh God, thought Crowley, as the weight of the word hit him fully. He’d been raped. They’d raped him.

He looked again at Aziraphale’s face. No matter how valiantly the angel was trying to bury it, he couldn’t just suppress all that hurt, all that trauma. He was visibly this close to breaking, barely holding himself together. Crowley was pretty sure one tiny thing would be enough to throw him over the edge. And stoically, stupidly trotting out that stiff upper lip and hiding behind denial would only make things worse, Crowley knew. Why did he do that to himself? He supposed Heaven had taught him to be that way. Some kind of self-defence mechanism against all their cruelty and control.

But he couldn’t ask Crowley to be party to it. Crowley couldn’t do that, it just hurt too much. Even if Aziraphale needed him to… ah, shit. He looked down, and ran his tongue despondently over the back of his teeth. Yeah. Aziraphale needed him. And wasn’t he always there when Aziraphale needed him. He knew this was never going to be sustainable in the long term. But, especially with how fragile Aziraphale seemed right now… maybe just for one day…

“Alright,” Crowley eventually conceded. He nuzzled sadly into the angel’s shoulder.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered.

“So-,” Aziraphale took a deep breath and tried again, the artificial mask of cheerfulness returning. “The Ritz, for breakfast? We haven’t been there for a while. And their smoked salmon is simply delectable, and they do that fancy juice that you like, or at least you said that you did last time. Or-or we could do the Wolseley, if you prefer?” He was rambling, still smiling too wide and too emptily.

“Whatever you want, angel,” Crowley replied quietly. Just because he’d agreed, didn’t mean he had to encourage him. He was already hating every second of this.

Aziraphale flashed the fake smile again, and swallowed. “The Ritz it is.”

◥|⧗|◤

They took the Bentley. Crowley drove with less reckless abandon than usual, not wanting to rattle his angel in his current state. Aziraphale spent most of the drive looking vacantly out of the window as the busy London streets zipped by. Crowley shot him furtive glances, wanting to keep watch over him but hoping to avoid the usual chiding “eyes on the road, please dear”. Aziraphale either didn’t see or was choosing to ignore him. His hands in his lap were clasped tight, Crowley noticed. The little signs were still there, betraying what the angel must really be feeling inside.

A table for two for the breakfast sitting was miraculously available, and they were seated immediately. Crowley dismissed the waiter with a flick of his hand when he tried to pull out the chair for him, whereas Aziraphale smiled graciously at the man and accepted his help. He couldn’t hide the wince as he sat though, and even as he tried to smother it, Crowley could see the despair flicker again, ever so briefly, behind his eyes. Then it was gone, and the smile was back, though even less convincing than before. Aziraphale sat up ramrod straight and busied himself with his napkin. Crowley smirked vaguely back at him, heart heavy. He’d put on a new pair of sunglasses, and was very thankful for the camouflage they provided. He didn’t want Aziraphale (or any of the humans, for that matter) reading his expression at the moment.

They ordered quickly, and ate quietly. Aziraphale maintained the frozen smile throughout the meal, and tried a number of times to engage Crowley in pleasant small talk, but Crowley didn’t feel any more like talking than he did like eating, and the resulting silence hung dead and flat in the air around them. Aziraphale, likewise, wasn’t eating with his usual relish, instead picking at his food and batting it around the plate with a far-away look in his eyes. Nonetheless, the angel forced down every morsel and afterwards made a great show of wiping his lips with the napkin and complimenting the waitstaff. Crowley watched him carefully all the while, ready for the moment when the mask would finally crack, already preparing himself to pick up shattered pieces of angel in the aftermath.

But it didn’t come, and once they’d paid for the meal*, they headed to St. James’ Park at Aziraphale’s suggestion. The ducks were rowdy as usual, tearing the pieces of bread they threw to shreds, like vultures at a carcass. Crowley begrudgingly left the angel alone at the pond-side while he fetched them ice-creams from the kiosk, as had become their habit. Aziraphale accepted his with another flash of that god-awful broken smile, and linked his soft hand with Crowley’s purposefully. Crowley gave it a squeeze.

*Crowley, by force of habit, left a handful of pennies on the table for the waiter, but discreetly doubled the service charge on the bill. 

They strolled around the edge of the water as they ate. Occasionally, Crowley felt a subtle tremor run through Aziraphale’s hand in his, but when he turned to check on him, the angel always looked away, suddenly remarking on the activity of the waterfowl or pointing out a worthy target for one of Crowley’s demonic wiles.

The deflection continued as they finished the ice-creams and headed back towards the bookshop, stopping at Piccadilly Market on the way. It was busy with people today, milling around between the red-and-white striped awnings, underneath which proprietors were hawking old books, antiques, and other sorts of tat that the angel loved. Aziraphale dragged Crowley from stall to stall, cheerily inspecting their wares. He seemed unable (or, Crowley guessed, unwilling) to pause for even a moment, presumably lest the façade he’d built up crumble without a constant distraction. But Crowley caught the mask slipping in a few moments when the angel thought his face was hidden. A shimmer of uncertainty in his eyes, a tiredness in the way he held himself. As the afternoon wore on, Crowley could swear Aziraphale began to limp when he walked, just imperceptibly.

Crowley was worried about him. It had been gnawing away at his stomach all day. But he couldn’t help but feel annoyed too. Aziraphale must realise how much it hurt whenever he turned that bloody fake cheerfulness act of his on him. Sure, hiding his feelings from Heaven or even from the humans was understandable, but they were supposed to be on the same side now. They were supposed to share these things. Did he think Crowley would judge him? That he wouldn’t see through it in an instant? They’d known each other too long for the latter, and Crowley prayed that Aziraphale didn’t believe the former. It just hurt, the way Aziraphale was shutting him out.

The sky was turning peach-coloured with the first omens of sunset when they eventually got back to the bookshop. Crowley held his breath as he opened the door. Aziraphale hung back behind him. Inside, everything was still, the air heavy with dust, and the books, papers and furniture exactly as where they’d left them the last time they’d been home. Before. Crowley sighed deeply. Nothing had changed. Even though it seemed everything else in their world had. A weight that he hadn’t realised was pressing down on him seemed to lift slightly from his shoulders.

He turned and motioned Aziraphale inside. The angel looked briefly hesitant, but then he swallowed, raised his chin, and entered. Crowley’s hand went automatically to brush his back as he passed. Finally, they were back where they belonged. He shut the door on the world behind them with a sense of conclusiveness. The hum of the streets melted away, and then it was just them, left in silence.

◥|⧗|◤

They were six bottles of wine down, and Aziraphale was clumsily opening a seventh, when the elephant in the room finally trumpeted its unwelcome presence. Crowley had only drunk one, maybe one-and-a-half, of the bottles. The edges of the room were just beginning to spin a little at the corner of his vision. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was so far beyond plastered that he was heading towards a decorative stucco with crown moulding.

“An-angel, I think you’vhad enough,” drawled Crowley, and then frowned at himself, surprised at how drunk he already sounded.

Aziraphale made a face like a petulant toddler. “Jus’ one more,” he muttered. He finished wrestling with the cork and tipped the bottle unsteadily, managing to get at least half of the liquid into the glass instead of onto the carpet. “Can’t… can’t do any harm.”

Crowley’s face creased in disagreement, but he said nothing.

Aziraphale grasped the glass and then necked the contents back in one gulp like a parched man in the desert. Crowley watched, slightly dumbfounded. Under the veil of inebriation, the worry bit again at his stomach.

“Hey, you r’member that thing at that wedding in Cana?” he asked abruptly. “Wine into water - no, wait-” He made a spinning motion with his hand. “-other way ‘round. You know what I mean.”

Aziraphale looked morosely up at him, cradling the glass close. “Bloody awful evening.”

“You’re just sssaying that ‘cos you weren’t allowed any,” said Crowley. The angel pouted.

“Anyway…” continued Crowley, feeling increasingly talkative as the alcohol permeated its way into his system. “Point is, you’re not s’pposed to drink it like it’s still water.” He jutted out his chin. “So s-stop drinking like a… a…” What was the phrase? Some kind of animal. Something aquatic?

“…a dolphin,” he finished, with a confidence he didn’t feel.

Aziraphale spluttered with laughter, making Crowley blink in surprise. “ ‘s fish, dear,” the angel slurred, and then collapsed into another giggle. “You and your dolphins!” He suddenly fell about laughing, bending double on the sofa, and inadvertently sloshing wine everywhere.

Crowley smirked uneasily. His unease built as the angel’s laughter grew gradually louder and louder, until it was almost hysterical. It hadn’t been that funny, he thought to himself. The noise sounded wrong to his ears, discordant and unsettling, as though the bottom had fallen out of reality. It actually made him feel a bit sick.

Aziraphale raised his glass-free hand to cover his face. Beneath it, Crowley heard the hysterical laughter slowly transmute into hysterical sobbing.

Aaand there it is, thought Crowley with pained resignation. The angel had finally reached his breaking point. Immediately, he miracled the alcohol out of his body and back into one of the bottles. “Angel?” He stepped closer and knelt down in front of Aziraphale, trying to peer up through the angel’s fingers at his face. Aziraphale’s hunched shoulders jerked fitfully up and down, muffled sobs and hiccups escaping from underneath his hand. Crowley gently removed the wine glass from his other hand, and then took hold of his wrist and rubbed soothingly at his pulse-point.

“Talk to me, angel,” Crowley said softly. “Please.”

He waited while Aziraphale continued to gasp for breath, eventually managed to stop sobbing, and swallowed heavily. Slowly, the angel peeped out at Crowley like a frightened child from underneath the hood of his hand. Half of his face remained hidden, but what Crowley could make out was contorted with anguish.

“How do you make it stop, Crowley?” he asked wretchedly, sniffling. “It just-… I just want it to stop hurting. I don’t know what to do.” He stared into Crowley’s eyes, looking desperately lost.

“Help me,” he pleaded.

And there was that terrible, stabbing ache in Crowley’s chest again. “Oh…c’mere,” Crowley replied with a sympathetic sigh. He clambered onto the sofa beside Aziraphale and drew him close. Aziraphale lent into his touch, burying his face into Crowley’s shoulder as another distressed whine escaped him.

“I can’t help you if you keep shutting me out,” Crowley explained gently, rocking him from side to side. Aziraphale nodded mutely against him. “C’mon,” he rubbed the angel’s back. “Sober up and let’s talk. It’ll help. I promise.”

Aziraphale nodded again and, gradually, he pulled away from Crowley and straightened up. A quick squint of exertion crossed his face, and the empty bottles on the table were suddenly filled again (well, all but one, Crowley noted, but that was forgivable given the circumstances). The angel wiped messily at his eyes with the back of his hand and took a deep, shuddering breath, and then turned to look uncertainly at Crowley.

“Just tell me what you’re feeling,” Crowley whispered. “Don’t keep bottling it all up.”

Resignation settled on Aziraphale’s tear-stained face and he sighed. He looked away at the floor, hugging at his own arms.

“I feel...” he began, his voice strained like it was a struggle to get the words out. “…humiliated.” He rocked back and forth on the sofa, digging his fingernails into the flesh of his upper arms. “…violated.” He shuddered. “A-And I know I shouldn’t but…” He glanced sideways at Crowley and then back down at the floor, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “…ashamed,” he finished, voice almost a whisper. He covered his face again as another pained whimper slipped from his throat.

Crowley rubbed at Aziraphale’s knee. “You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” he said. “What they did to you, it was barbaric, a-and senseless, and cruel” - the litany of bastards bastards bastards returned to his head, but he tried not to let the rage carry him away - “and it was not your fault.” He punctuated each word with a gentle pat of the angel’s leg. “Not one bit of it.”

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “I know, I know. It’s not that.” He sniffled again.

Then what? Crowley raised an expectant eyebrow, and waited as Aziraphale gathered himself together again and shuffled on the sofa until he was facing towards him.

“You know, I really thought-” the angel began, and actually chuckled bitterly through the tears. “I really thought that we were the good guys.” He shook his head. “How naïve of me. All those years of loyalty to Heaven, and this is what I get for it. It seems I’ve been well and truly ‘played for a sucker’.”

He looked up at Crowley. “You could always see it, of course.” He sighed ruefully. “I just can’t believe I was ever so foolish as to have-…to have trusted them. I’m just a soft old idiot.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley sighed with a hint of exasperation, squeezing the angel’s hand. “That’s not your fault either. You’re a good person.” He cracked a slight smile. “You are soft, and I love that about you. You see the best in people” - he lifted Aziraphale’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into the tops of his knuckles - “like you did in me. Shame on them for taking advantage of your trust.”

Aziraphale looked unconvinced.

“Can you say it with me? ‘None of this was my fault’?” Crowley pressed.

The angel gulped and stared into Crowley’s eyes, a look on his face like he truly wanted to believe him. “…None of this was my fault,” he repeated quietly.

“And you believe that, yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded silently.

“Then…the shame will go away,” Crowley said. “You just gotta give it time.” It would always hurt, of course, but Crowley knew from his own experience that the pain did fade, eventually. He wasn’t about to remind Aziraphale right now that some of this would doubtlessly stay with him forever.

Aziraphale sighed again, deeply and wearily. He glanced over at the once-again-full bottles of wine on the table, but a hint of a frown from Crowley and he stopped reaching for one. “I just want to move on. Forget this ever happened,” he mumbled, waving a hand dismissively.

“…you can’t do that, angel,” Crowley responded, as patiently as he could manage. “It won’t work. We’ll just keep going round the same miserable circle.”

He shuffled closer to the angel again and pulled him into a hug. Aziraphale let him, and curled up close with his head resting heavily against Crowley’s chest. Crowley stroked a hand through his soft curls as he spoke.

“Look, I understand,” said Crowley. “You turn the pain inwards on yourself, because you don’t know how else to survive it. Trust me, I get it.” Aziraphale looked up at him in surprise. “But you have to stop trying to escape all this by suppressing it, angel,” Crowley continued. “If you don’t let yourself feel it, you’ll never be able to move past it.”

The angel looked down and sighed once more. “You’re quite right, of course,” he said quietly. Then his face twisted and another half-sniffle, half-sob left him.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, “for hurting you too. For shutting you out.” He pressed closer into Crowley’s embrace. “I’m a mess.”

“For Satan’s sake, angel, don’t worry about me,” Crowley scoffed softly. A pang of love and fondness joined the ache in his heart as he looked down at the angel. “In fact, don’t you worry about anything right now. I’m here, I’ll look after you.”

He brushed Aziraphale’s hair gently aside, and planted a tender kiss on his temple.

“We’ll get through this. Together.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, and he smiled - weakly, but, this time, genuinely.

[beesatthedisco]

How does this even work...

Okay, so I’ve been on tumblr since before the first time they very slightly changed the shade of blue and I hope that in and of itself is enough to help y’all know... I’m ancient. (I’m 27, and will only rp with ppl 18+, sorry friendos)

Somehow, despite being on tumblr and despite having made about a million accounts for various things in my day, I’ve not made an RP account, and don’t really know how to get started. I guess I’m just gonna put down what I know about myself and what I’m looking for here and hope for the best, but I’d be open to any kind of protips from those of you who have been using tumblr to find rp for much longer.

RIP to your eyes ahead of time, this is a long post. If you want to skip to the part where I share my Original plots, pairings, and fandom cravings, please just scroll to the end and accept my humble apologies. (Highkey I copied this out of my google doc, don’t shoot me.)

I enjoy writing both original plots and fandom stuff. When RPing within a fandom setting, I'm open to playing as canons, as ocs, or any combination of both. I'm open to co-creating settings inspired but not based in fandoms, and open to playing AU or canon settings as well. When originals are involved, I prefer co-creating our worlds together, so we're both invested in the landscape that our characters inhabit. Speaking of characters- I'll play as any gender and in any pairing type- I hope that this is the same for you. I love writing a broad spectrum of characters to keep things interesting for myself and to practice viewing the world through different perspectives. I feel it's difficult to do this when being forced or pigeonholed into writing as a gender you DEMAND of me. However... I can be flexible, and if your ideas are interesting enough, I may just give you what you ask for anyways, haha. I'm perfectly open to playing multiple characters, whether it's a broad interactive cast of mains and background characters, a system of noninteracting or separate sets of doubles, triples, you name it, or whatever other configuration of multiple-character-playing you prefer.

I'm not too terribly concerned about post lengths and am open to writing with people who might be new to the RP scene. I'm pretty flexible about how much I'll write. A good rule of thumb for myself is that I tend to respond with more when I have more to work with. That doesn't always mean that there are more words on your post for me to respond to; instead, I mean that if your post has enough ideas, inspiration, and momentum, I can go buckwild with my posts. My comfort zone seems to be around 4-6 paragraphs per post, but I've been known to write either a lot more in particularly thrilling rps. If I'm writing a huge post- don't feel daunted or expected to match length. I love all sized posts!!! I'm just overly enthusiastic and get carried away sometimes. (This means you can also at any time tell me to chill out on how much I'm writing. ) When it comes to writing style, I only have a few hard expectations of you- I do not engage in roleplay featuring the 'would' style of writing. (For example: "She would pick up the rock and inspect it closely.") I don't exactly know why I dislike this tense so much, but it pulls me right out of the immersion of writing/reading and tends to entirely destroy my interest in the story. I'm sorry. Next, I care at least a little about punctuation and spellchecking. If you're roleplaying online, you have access to ways to make sure that you're not just submitting gibberish. If you need help finding those resources... feel free to ask!

I'm open to the idea of making profiles for our characters, but I'm okay without making them too. I'm also vaguely ambivalent to 'beautifying' our posts, should we do them somewhere that allows that sort of thing. I'm fine with any style of reference images, or with not using them at all. I can't promise I won't send you songs and images and memes that remind me of our story, though! Also- I'm super down for dice systems if we decide to go that route (and prefer dice systems if we include combat of any variety in our story.) I love romance, but it doesn't necessarily have to be the drive of our plot if that's not your style. My favorite genres to write in are science fiction, any variety of fantasy, horror, drama, historical settings, wild western settings, and mysteries.

Last but not least, I tend to like making friends with my writing partners. I prefer writing with people I actually get along with, so for me, the plotting phase is the most important. It helps me get to know your personality a bit more, and you mine, so we both know whether or not it's a good match to write long term! I'll write on most platforms, so let's discuss what makes the most sense for us. Finally, I generally only write with folks 18+, for the safety of everyone involved. Thanks for understanding.

Well, as I said, I've got a big ol list of ideas, if any of this strikes you as 'good writing friend' material, so send me a DM and I'll get back to you asap! Feel free to share your ideas too!!!

Original Ideas

- There's something dire down in the mines to the east of this old Western town. Folks keep goin' in to investigate, disappearin' for days at a time, then comin' back all different-like with the lights gone from their eyes. What could be happenin' out there, sheriff? (horror/western)

- A high-fantasy world's balance is shattered when the source of magic is destroyed. How will the people of this mystical land navigate a now mundane life, and how can they survive when so many magical devices go defunct and awry?

- A no-magic world is suddenly spun into chaos: an apocalyptic event leads to the sudden introduction of magic into a world that had previously never known it. In the post-apocalyptic (and mystically-charged) ashes of a world that once was, how do the survivors compete for resources and control?

- A star falls from the sky! They're rare, and it's dangerous to be one. Are you the star, hunted and lost? Or are you someone who finds a star?

- A lich (my character) is rumored to live in the castle at the foot of the mountains, only a mile or so from your town. It's said they're a true villain, the worst of the worst... but what is the truth?

-Arranged Marriages between physical embodiments of the seasons or planets

- There's something dire down in the mines to the east of this old Western town. Folks keep goin' in to investigate, disappearin' for days at a time, then comin' back all different-like with the lights gone from their eyes. What could be happenin' out there, sheriff? (horror/western)

-A sailor, pirate, or other seafarer keeps noticing the same shape in the waters near their ship. After a terrible storm, the ship wrecks… now, one’s a mermaid, one’s a sailor, and they’re both idiots trying to find their way back home.

-Disaster has struck! A grisly assassination attempt leads a bodyguard to quickly usher their liege to safety. Drama ensues!

-Stowaways, and the people who catch 'em!

- Androids and more androids! Or... androids and non-androids!

-In a dwindling-magic world, those who cling to the olde magicks and the old way of living struggle against the new capitalist society and its nonmagic technology. In one still-magickal neighborhood where our story takes place, shopkeepers fight against nonmagickal gentrification in an effort to keep their businesses, communities, and traditions alive.

- A wandering traveler gets caught in a storm and chances upon an abandoned home, castle, or manor.... oh no!

- A train hopping crust punk encounters the ghost of a fellow train-hopper who fell under the rails and died.

- A living person's computer, gaming device, or phone is inhabited by a flirty ghost!

- There's a friendly but sad ghost living in a living person's new home! (Can you tell I like ghosts?)

Original (and corny) pairing ideas

fairy or elf / vampire or other dark creature

vampire / human

god / mortal

demon / angel or other dark/light archetypical pairings

dragon / humanoid

naval captain / stowaway

mob boss / citizen

superhero / supervillain

serial killer / investigator

serial killer / citizen

Bounty hunter/outlaw

outlaw/sherriff

outlaw/outlaw

farmhand/outlaw

Current Fandom Interests/Cravings

Pokemon - preferably with ocs and in a custom setting ft. all the ‘mons/us playing as humans

Elder Scrolls - pls, i’m craving this almost more than anything, and have been for years

Red Dead Redemption - it is cowboy time now

Legend of Zelda - i have a couple of cute ideas for this!

Avatar/Legend of Korra

Labyrinth - please please please someone play jareth for me, ill give you my firstborn in exchange

Star Wars - currently a little burned out on playing as kylo for everyone, so please don’t ask me to be him dlfkjdslfj

Game of Thrones

Lord of the Rings

Night in the Woods

Brutal Legend - does anyone but me remember this??? Omfg lets rp in this setting PLS

The Dragon Prince

[datheetjoella]

Fantober 2020, Day 12: Enchanted Forest

Author: DatHeetJoella Fandom: Free! Pairing: MakoHaru Rating: T Part: 12/31 (read the full collection here) Word count: 1,799 Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Human!Makoto, Elf!Haru, First Meeting, Magic, Fluff Read at: AO3, FFn, or right here!

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

Tired and worn-out from his travels, Makoto weaved through the dark woods in search of a place to camp out for the night. Preferably at a river or a creek, somewhere he could refill his flasks and wash his face. His horse was starting to lose speed, so hopefully, he would find a good spot before she had to give in to exhaustion.

Then, the sound of running water drowned out the symphony of owls and crickets. He followed it and to his delight, he stumbled upon a glade at the bottom of a cliff. A pristine waterfall cascaded down the rocks, flowing down into a moderately-sized lake.

Relief engulfed Makoto from within and he leapt off his horse, guiding her over to the edge of the lake so she could drink from it. He kneeled and peered into the water. Moonlight shimmered on the surface, illuminating every droplet. Never before had Makoto seen such clean water; there were no fish or algae in the lake, not as much as a leaf or a branch floating down the stream or caught on the sides. It seemed almost divine and the mere sight of it made his scratchy throat even drier.

He cupped his hands and let the water flood his palms, gratefully drinking as much as he could get. The water tasted even better than it looked, fresh and crisp like it rejuvenated him from the inside.

Once he'd quenched his thirst, Makoto checked the trees to see if anyone was around. When he was sure the coast was clear, he disrobed himself and dove into the water headfirst.

When he broke through the surface, he felt reborn. The fatigue and strain of his travels slipped off him, leaving nothing but contentment and serenity in his heart. Although he was miles removed from home, Makoto had never felt quite as comfortable as he did within this lake.

Alas, this feeling did not last.

A shadow moved behind the waterfall and Makoto let out a strangled screech, hastily covering his nude chest. Through the stream emerged a man, someone whose presence he hadn't noticed before.

Fear spread through Makoto's body like he'd been hit with a poison-tipped arrow; he was alone in the dark forest in a rather compromising position. Even if he hadn't been, he was not exactly the type suited for combat anyway and he saw no opportunity to make a quick escape.

But when the man stepped forward and the moonlight showered over his face, Makoto's fear evaporated.

Long, dark robes that reached down to the ground were wrapped around his slender body. Pointed ears poked through a curtain of dark hair, framing his small face. His features were soft and elegant and his pale skin contrasted the darkness of the night. But the most mesmerising parts of him were his eyes, blue and piercing. Like he could peer straight into the past, present and future.

Elves were rumoured to be gorgeous and although Makoto had never seen one in person, he was certain this man was among the most beautiful in their entire species. His appearance made him forget about the world around him, enchanted by a single glance.

But then, the elf's expression shifted, from neutral to confused. Or rather, shocked.

"Who are you?" he said, and despite the vibrant distress in his tone, his voice had a calming effect on Makoto. "How did you find this place?"

"Oh, um I," Makoto stuttered, unsure which question to answer first. "I was looking for a place to rest for the night. I heard the waterfall, so I followed the sound and it brought me here."

"Impossible."

"Sorry, am I not supposed to be here?" Perhaps he was trespassing on elven territory without his awareness. "If that's the case, I'll leave immediately. I don't mean to cause any trouble."

The elf seemed to be at a loss for words and the uncomfortable, misplaced feeling in Makoto's stomach grew.

"The water…" the elf said after a brief pause, "did you drink from it?"

"Yeah," Makoto said, cowering into himself like he was being scolded by his mother. "My horse did, too. Is that bad?"

A loud groan left the elf's lips and before Makoto could blink, his robes were flying through the air and water splashed upwards, sending ripples of waves throughout the lake. He emerged right in front of Makoto's nose, shaking the beads from his hair.

It startled Makoto and heat warmed his cheeks when he realised how clear the water was and how he was still very much naked. The look inside the elf's eyes was fierce and sharp and Makoto wasn't quite sure whether he should be embarrassed or scared.

"Listen, if I did something that I shouldn't have, then I sincerely apologise," Makoto said, frantically waving his hands as if to prove his innocence. "Please believe me when I say that I had no ill intentions. I just wanted to wash up and fill my flasks, I meant no harm."

After another second of staring in scrutiny, the elf relented. "I believe you. What's your name?"

"Makoto. And yours?"

"I'm Haruka. Haru," the elf said. "Say, Makoto, you have no idea where you are, do you?"

"Not a clue." Makoto sheepishly rubbed at the back of his neck.

"This is the Sacred Moon Spring. Every droplet of this spring has been infused with ancient magic and every full moon, its magical properties are replenished and the water is at its most powerful." Haruka looked up at the sky and Makoto followed his line of vision; the moon was large and round, standing out brightly between the trees.

This was not good. No wonder he felt so refreshed. "We drank from the sacred, magic water…" Makoto stated the obvious. "So, what happens now?"

"I don't know. My clan has been guarding this spring for centuries, but no human has ever come near here, let alone drank from the water," Haruka said, "To be honest, I'm not sure how you even found this place. There's a protective spell around this area, a barrier that's supposed to keep all non-elven creatures out. Not even birds or deer can pass through."

"Oh," Makoto said, drawing circles on the surface with his fingers, "Well, there's this story in my family that my mother's great-great-grandmother was a Woodland Elf, but I always thought that was just a tale. Do you think it could be true?"

Haruka shrugged. "I guess it is. I don't have any other explanation why you would be allowed to pass through. The barrier must've detected elven blood in you."

"But there's so much more human blood in me, and I don't look like an elf at all."

"You don't," Haruka said as he took a step closer. "But your eyes do."

Makoto frowned. "My eyes?"

"Hm. They're… vibrant." When Haruka noticed how close he'd gotten and how breathy his voice had been, he blushed all the way up to his ears and increased the distance between their bodies. The pink hue looked immensely cute against his pearly skin. He coughed and tried to regain his aloof demeanour. "So, I suppose you are a descendent of a Woodland Elf."

"But what about my horse? I don't think she had a great-great-grandmother who was an elf."

"Were you riding her when you arrived here?" When Makoto nodded, Haruka said, "Then that's why. You lead her here, and your authority granted her permission to pass through, too."

That did make sense, as much as any of this magical spring situation could. Maybe there was an off chance he had bumped his head against a low hanging branch and was hallucinating, or maybe he fell asleep beneath a willow and this was all a dream. But was his simple mind truly capable of conjuring up something so fantastical, or someone as beautiful as Haruka?

Ashamed of his thoughts, Makoto said, "If I'm not supposed to be here, then I shall leave. I wouldn't want to disturb the balance of this place."

"You can stay, if you'd like," Haruka said, brushing his fringe back to appear nonchalant, "if the barrier let you through, then I see no reason to reject your presence."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose on this sacred place. If there's a barrier to keep humans out, then I can't imagine it's okay for a human to bathe himself in this water."

"As the guardian of this sacred place, I'm sure," Haruka said, "To be honest with you, no one is allowed to touch this water with their bare hands, not even I. It's used in important rituals in my clan."

"Then I should get out! I'm so sorry," Makoto said in a combination of disbelief and panic; Haruka didn't seem to care, but the last thing he wanted was to be struck with an elven curse if anyone else found out.

A hand on his shoulder held him back. It was small and felt cold, yet it also emitted a strange sort of heat.

"You already touched it and drank from it, so I don't see why I would send you away now. The water is already contaminated, and truthfully, it was long before you even got here."

"What do you mean?"

"How could I guard such a beautiful spring without going for a swim every night? There truly is no water like it." For a second, a hint of an adorable smile was visible on Haruka's face before he let himself fall backwards underwater and Makoto couldn't help but laugh. Haruka was the first elf he'd ever met and a rather odd one at that, but Makoto had an inkling they were going to get along very well.

All throughout the night, Makoto stayed inside the spring and talked with Haruka while floating beside him. They discussed their everyday lives, Makoto's family and his apprenticeship at a blacksmith a couple of towns away from his home, Haruka's clan and their traditions - and Haruka's disinterest in adhering to them -, how Haruka became the guardian of the spring and what effects the water could possibly have on Makoto and his horse.

The hours flew by and Makoto completely lost himself in their conversations and in Haruka. He didn't sleep a wink, but the water energised him like no amount of rest could and there was nothing that could whisk him away from this place. That wasn't because of elven magic, though, but because of Haruka. Makoto's suspicions were confirmed; Haruka turned out to be just as beautiful on the inside as he was on the outside.

Many things about his future were uncertain now, but there was one thing Makoto knew for sure: this would not be the last night Haruka and he spent together.

[leonawriter]

Home Territory

Read it on AO3

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs/Mononoke

Pairings: Dazai/Chuuya

Characters: Kunikida, Dazai, Atsushi, Ranpo, Chuuya, Fukuzawa, Mori.

Summary: Kunikida has concerns over Dazai's living arrangements, and fixes things with paperwork. Chuuya is having a crisis of his own, of a far more benign nature. And both Fukuzawa and Mori are reminded of how difficult being the leader of an organisation is when your subordinates aren't always human.

(Part four in the “Not All Kitsune Have Nine Tails” ‘verse. Follows “Smoke and Fox-Fire.”)

...

Once could be passed off as a fluke. A case gone south didn't always end up with everyone back at the agency, or even back home, so with Dazai having gone missing partway through things taking a turn for the strange, he hadn't even questioned Atsushi on why he hadn't come back with a bandaged nuisance in tow that night.

The next morning he'd been similarly distracted by the fact that despite not having seen or heard him arrive or leave the Agency's dorms, there Dazai had been, in all of his red and fluffy glory on his chair, and making more trouble than usual. And that was saying something, given that what was usual was making Kunikida want to tear his hair out.

He had started to actually notice on the second night, when the dorms - despite it being late enough that Dazai should have been back, in theory - were yet again noticeably quiet.

He must have gone out drinking again, is his first thought on that, although something about it feels off. Possibly because Dazai hadn't on one of his notorious pub crawls that would inevitably end up with the police calling him up in the middle of the night for quite some time now, and- it struck him as he continued that train of thought, why it felt wrong. Dazai had been arrested not all that long ago. Not for something as minor as disorderly behaviour, either, but his actual crimes. The serious ones. Surely he wouldn't put himself in that sort of situation again so soon after such an experience...?

Even so, Dazai never showed up all throughout Kunikida's own nighttime preparations, and he wasn't about to interrupt his own schedule and routine for one man just because that was probably what Dazai wanted. 

So he came into work again the next morning... and there Dazai was. Again. 

Whatever he had been up to, it certainly didn't seem as though he could have been drinking, or at least not to the degree that he had found him in countless times before. There was no lingering smell of alcohol on his clothes, or smoke, that would follow him around the room if that were the case, as had happened before. If anything, there was a sort of musk that followed him now that hadn't before, which confused him until he realised that it was the scent of fur.

None of which explained where Dazai had been the past few nights.

All he was left with was the vague idea that he couldn't have been roughing it in a park - and why do such a thing anyway, when he had a perfectly warm and dry bed to go back to? - or drinking until he rotted away in a cell, and he was clearly going somewhere.

Somewhere that both Ranpo and Atsushi, it seemed, were aware of. Which... while reassuring, and made him at least feel that wherever Dazai had been it couldn't have been anything that would put him in any sort of danger, or anything would be a cause for concern, was still frustrating. 

Somewhere that made him at least several minutes to an hour later to work each day, he noted, a glance at the clock telling him that it was closer to the latter this time than the former.

The door to the office opening inward disrupted his thoughts as he prepared for either a client having come on foot, or Dazai, and at this point either was a distinct possibility - only for the first thing to come through the doorway to be an impossibility he had somehow grown used to over the past several days.

A single red ear made way for brown hair and then a second red ear, and then the rest of Dazai followed suit, attempting to saunter into the office and take to his place without being noticed, by the seems of it.

"Dazai."

Dazai froze, and then turned- no, first he flicked an ear in his direction, and then he turned to face him properly. Which was still going to take some getting used to. Ears - anatomy in general - wasn't supposed to work like that. It just wasn't. Not on human beings-

And there it is again, he thinks, catching himself for not the first or last time. Because Dazai, not that it should have even come as a surprise given how inhumanly irritating he could be, wasn't a human being. At least not entirely.

"Eh?" Another ear flick. "Did Kunikida-kun want something or did he just want to make sure I hadn't forgotten my name?"

Breathe, he reminded himself. Do not twist the damn fox's ears just because he's trying to deflect on purpose.

Because, he had to be. Dazai hadn't said a word about this to anyone in the past several days, and... even if no one else was bothered, even if no one else was wondering what was going on or felt concerned at all, Kunikida wasn't anyone else, and the entire situation was starting to grate on him.

"I don't suppose you could explain to me exactly where you've been for the past several nights?"

And there was the up side to the strange new body language. It was harder for Dazai to completely mask his reactions to things unless he used what he had somehow figured out the previous day about his newfound ability to use illusions - not that Dazai had ever needed illusions to make trouble in the first place - and hide his non-human features entirely. In which case it would go without saying that there was something he didn't want to to share.

"I could," Dazai said slowly. "But I don't see why I should have to. I'm not in any danger anyone needs to rescue me from, and I'm coming to work each day-"

"Not that you actually do anything that could be called 'work'," Kunikida couldn't stop himself from correcting.

"-so it isn't as if there's a problem, if-"

"You're late every single day, and we don't know where you are! I fail to see how there isn't a problem with this!" He cuts across Dazai's excuses and the next thing he knows, he's leaving a report half-written to stand up at his desk. "Do I really need to point out that there have been several times in the past few months when you would vanish, and you'd turn up some time later - hours, days, weeks - only for us to find out that actually, what we," and he was perfectly well aware that when it come to some cases, the earlier ones especially, "we" was mostly "him", "had assumed was just more of your slacking off was actually a serious incident that we should have been made aware of!"

The incident with Dazai getting captured and imprisoned by the Port Mafia back before the alliance - before, not that he had been aware at the time, Dazai had been in more danger than any other Agency member due to being seen by the mafia as a traitor. With that in mind, even with it being Dazai who was as slippery as the kitsune trickster he apparently was, it was nothing short of a miracle he had made it out alive.

The serial apple suicides. Getting shot right before the Agency and the mafia went into disarray. 

No one had even known where he had been or what had happened to him to even know that he had been arrested until much later, an entire period of time spent not knowing what his status was, whether he was alive or dead, to say nothing of if he had a plan.

At some point, Dazai's ears had flattened back onto his head, staring at him. 

"But I'm... I'm fine," Dazai was saying now. Weakly, as if he really didn't see what the issue was. Looking around, only to realise that the office had quieted down to the barest hush of voices, and only then in the direction of the clerks who had come back in spite of everything.

"Even if that's the case, it's still not something that I can stand to let lie, when I'm fine doesn't tell us where you've been."

Dazai has his mouth half open to say something else, whatever it is, but he doesn't get the chance.

"Kunikida has a point, you know." Ranpo, it seemed, was finding the conversation topic serious enough to put down the pastry he'd been eating, even if there were still crumbs on his mouth and fingers. "We're not asking you to come back, if that's what you're worried about."

"We aren't-? I for one would much prefer it if he did come back! At least then-"

"No, we're not. He's a fox, Kunikida. You can't make foxes go where they don't want to go. If Dazai's fine where he is, then he's fine where he is - but at the same time, like I said. You've got a point, because we don't know where he's been."

The last was aimed directly at Dazai himself, with all the authority of Ranpo's extra years and - apparently - extra experience in terms of other matters, that Kunikida had learned during the latter part of the previous day.

"And what if I don't want to tell anyone where I'm staying?"

"Then I'd say you're being a selfish brat," Kunikida ground out, taking only some small amount of satisfaction in the way that Dazai's eyes widened, and he backed away a step, seeming for all the world as though he was just giving them all the same bratty attitude as always - if it weren't for how his ears and tail were quivering like a cornered dog. Which Dazai himself didn't seem to even be aware of.

He sighed, hand pinching the bridge of his nose and then re-adjusting his glasses.

It takes only a few paces to get around his desk - leaving the half-finished report still staring back at him from his computer screen, and wasn't that just like Dazai to interrupt his work even when it wasn't on purpose - and find the filing cabinet with the forms that he knows have rarely had any use, and perhaps that should be fixed, and for more than just Dazai, but with the way everyone in the Agency is... they'd simply never gotten around to it, and for one good reason.

"Kunikida-kun, what are you...?"

"Most of the agents tend not to bother with these, but that's usually because it's seen as unnecessary. The Director doesn't enforce it for the same reason. Would you care to guess what that is?"

"Because it's boring?"

"Because everyone else lives in the same place. The Agency's dorms mean that it's harder for something to just plain happen when no one is watching or aware. And if something happens, we all know- and because we all know, there's no need to contact anyone else." He pulled out the form that he'd been searching for. "If you really aren't coming back, you could at least fill that in."

"...you want to put my new address on the system," Dazai said after a full minute of reading the thing. "I can't do that."

"Dazai-!"

It confirmed his rising suspicions that there was a new address involved, that Dazai hadn't simply not been returning back to the dorms for any other reason, but the outright refusal-

"He's gonna need the next one, Kunikida," he heard, Ranpo's voice pulling him back from the brink of outright throttling his infuriating partner. The next one. Of course he had thought of that, but who could possibly...? And yet, Ranpo seemed certain.

So, out came the "next" form. The one that usually went with the first one. The one that he hadn't even thought Dazai would be able to have filled out, if he had just found somewhere else to stay, somehow. 

Something shifts.

Atsushi, who had been looking between the two of them with some level of anxiety, attempted - and succeeded - to get behind Dazai to look past him at what Kunikida had given him. When he saw, the kid's eyes widened, brows rose, and then he looked first at Dazai and then at Ranpo.

"Oh," the kid said, "I get it. I never needed one of those because... but... d'you really think that person will..?"

Which outright confirmed that Atsushi knew who Dazai was staying with, that he was staying with someone, and hadn't told anyone else. Ranpo he could understand, because he was Ranpo - he'd probably been able to take one good look at Dazai over the past several days and could have figured how exactly what was going on without any help at all.

Dazai, meanwhile, just shrugged and folded up both forms, putting them in an inner pocket of his coat and leaving Kunikida to wonder if they'd simply disappear over the course of the day, or turn up with immature doodles all over them.

...

Dazai wasn't sure when the words come love, sleep had somehow turned into the sound of Chuuya closing the door behind him and kicking off his shoes, or hearing him call out I'm home just like he had ever since his third night staying over. Because the first night had just been the two of them collapsing into bed together and not being sure who would still be there come morning, and the second hadn't really been expected-

But somehow, somewhere along the way, Chuuya has been letting him make himself at home.

There's his own sleeping yukata waiting on the bed, since it's more comfortable now than pyjamas, and his toothbrush is in Chuuya's bathroom. Chuuya has started to buy canned crab (again; he remembers when they were partners and Chuuya would just shove it in his face when he hadn't been eating at all, because he hadn't seen the point, and looking back it was probably the fact that Chuuya had wrestled him into it and remembering that there was worth being there for and paying attention to, rather than the crab itself).

The previous night, they'd somehow wound up with Chuuya sitting normally - more or less - on his sofa, while Dazai's head rested in his lap, half of Chuuya's attention on the reports he'd brought home and had brought out despite Dazai's protests, and half on Dazai's head, including his ears, which he knew were soft and, when he was in his more human form, by far more accessible than the only other fluffy part of him.

Especially with the fact that being a hanyou apparently came with sharp bits - claws, and teeth, and sometimes he could control them, but he couldn't always, and sometimes... sometimes Chuuya's furniture suffered the consequences. 

He kept expecting harsh admonishments, because he'd often caused less harm when he'd done things on purpose - maybe Chuuya didn't see it that way, but at least shifting all of his belongings an inch to the left just to see him come to work the next day covered in bruises had been harmless, as had been covering everything Chuuya had owned at the time with (unused) old bandages, just because of some insult he had wanted his partner to regret having made.

But Chuuya... Chuuya noticed, and made strange, odd noises in the back of his throat like he was trying to strangle something back there, and he'd breathe, and just... move on. He had to notice, when there were scratches in the upholstery and the carpets and the woodwork. Dazai had been on the receiving end of more than one headache-inducing tirade on how the chibi wanted him not to touch his things and not to damage any of his things, but now he had been-

Nothing.

The worst he'd had in response had been what he could only assume had been a joking suggestion that maybe we should get you a cat scratching post, which he couldn't imagine being much help if he did go through with it.

There was fur all over the place.

From his tail, but also from the few times so far that he had simply gone around on all fours, the novelty not quite having worn off. He still had a puffy soft coat that had plenty of fluff to spare, so every so often bits would just... snag. He wouldn't even notice most of the time. But it had reached the point in even just this long, less than a week, and no matter any of the other things-

Chuuya's home smelled of Dazai.

When he'd first arrived earlier in the week, it had been full of the scent of smoke and wine and freshly laundered clothes, as well as the barely hidden tang of old, dried blood and steel that came from his knives and that lingered in the doorway, and all the places that Chuuya would linger after a mission.

Now, the scent of kitsune followed into every room. The scent was still light, hadn't settled into the pores of the house, could still be exorcised with time and deodoriser, but there was something heady and frankly terrifying to the idea that this was happening, that he could tell that it was happening when previously he'd repressed everything so far that he'd barely noticed that his senses were any more sensitive than those of a human being who tended to notice a little more than most.

The entire house felt like potential, and two pieces of paper burned holes in his coat pocket. Despite the well-meaning intentions of his co-workers, they felt more like a threat than anything nearly as encouraging as they must have intended.

Except-

Ranpo had been the one to suggest the second form. Ranpo, who knew youkai better than Dazai, and who had a good nose like the cat he was, and who had meet Chuuya before. 

And Dazai... trusted Ranpo.

He just wished that he trusted himself - trusted whatever this was that he and Chuuya were starting together - even half as much.

...

The first thing Chuuya thinks when he calls out and doesn't get a response is that Dazai must have been out late on a case, or that he'd stayed at the dorms again, or... any number of things he hadn't felt the need to tell Chuuya about, never mind the fact that apparently they live together now-

But then he sees the shoes in the genkan, and that means that Dazai had to be in here somewhere. 

He thought, at least, given how quiet it was. Weirdly quiet, for a place that should have a Dazai in it. After all, Dazai didn't even have to have his shoes on to go out, and for all he knew, he might wind up halfway through the night and hearing scratching at his door-

He goes through the motions of putting his coat up, but he's still wearing his knife when he walks into the living room and the first thing he sees is that there's something on the coffee table, and he's already picked it up by the time he realises that Dazai's not just still here, but still in the room - not that he'd have noticed if he hadn't caught the smallest movements out of the corner of his eye.

Just a week ago, and a fox in my living room hiding under the sofa would be cause to grab the thing and throw it out as far as I could so it didn't come back, and now...  what?

He blinked. 

The words on the page he'd picked up without thinking didn't change, or rearrange themselves. And after yesterday, he half expected they would. That this would be some sort of new prank, and Dazai was on all fours just to make sure he could run off faster than Chuuya could catch him.

As far as he could see, it was just a normal form. The words were printed in black and white, on normal print paper. Hell, it was the sort of generic thing that he'd had to fill out just working for the mafia a few times, because no matter that they were a criminal organisation, gods forbid they didn't have their internal paperwork and filing systems in order.

So he knew what it was. He wasn't an idiot. It was just the context that was... 

Unable to finish that thought, he reached out mechanically to the next sheet of paper that'd been hidden under the first, and nearly drops them both.

Notification of Change of Address was the first one.

Emergency Contact Details was the second.

Both of them had the Armed Detective Agency's header on them, just in case he wasn't sure where they'd come from.

"Dazai?"

He's not sure what, exactly, his voice is doing, but it feels like he must have gone through several different emotions in the space of saying that one word.

Dazai whining normally is just something to roll his eyes at, because whatever he's going on about and making eyes at him for, is probably just something he could have handled himself if he'd only been bothered to deal with whatever it was earlier, or that's not actually a big deal at all but he's just being an attention-seeking brat about things.

Dazai whining as a fox is just a pitiful sound that he really... doesn't know how to deal with.

"Whether either of us like it or not, I can't speak fox, Dazai. You're gonna have to work with me here." He glanced back at the forms. They still said the same things. "I don't get... this."

He stared, mind blanking out the longer he stood there, hoping that if he just waited long enough Dazai would give in and explain what was going on. It was more than a relief when red fur wriggled out from its hiding place and jumped up onto the sofa only to be Dazai-shaped - or rather, mostly human Dazai-shaped - before he hit the cushions.

"Kunikida-kun got mad at me," Dazai said, and maybe if someone didn't know him as well as Chuuya did they'd think he was relaxed, but Chuuya could see the tension in his body and in all the ways he did and didn't know he was showing it. The way he wouldn't meet Chuuya's eyes, instead concentrating on something on the ceiling. "I haven't been sleeping at the dorms since..." he trailed off, and didn't have to finish that, since Chuuya already knew what he was talking about. "It's only been a few days, but given it's Kunikida-kun I shouldn't really be that surprised."

Which explained just about as much as it didn't - not enough.

"What... exactly, did you tell them, then?" No, that wasn't- "Why did you wind up with these?"

Dazai blinked up at him, and for a moment he was afraid he'd just wind up with a sorry-looking fox again.

"Because," Dazai half-mumbled quietly enough Chuuya almost couldn't hear the words, "I sort of let slip that I wouldn't be going back to the dorms." A blink, as they both stared at each other, and a widening of Dazai's eyes. "I mean - that I didn't want to- I..." He deflated somewhat, and brought his knees up, tail curling around himself and making him look far younger and more innocent than Dazai had any right to be, after all he'd done. "I didn't tell them where, or that it was you, though."

"Dazai..."

The name came out more as a slow exhale, a sigh than anything, full of emotions he couldn't quite put names on. At least, not yet.

Brown eyes narrowed, and then the next thing he knew Dazai was on his front, face in a cushion.

"If Chuuya wanted to say something all he needed was to say it."

The words that's rich, coming from you gathered at the top of his tongue, but he bit them off with as much patience as he could muster up.

A dozen different things he could say all went the same way. 

Usually, people don't move so fast. 

Most people don't move in so quickly.

We don't even know what we're doing half the time.

Or what we are to each other other outside of-

Come, love. Sleep.

"I thought... I guess I just thought that when you'd figured out who you were again, you'd just... I dunno. Go back."

"I thought Chuuya didn't want me to go back, or go anywhere. I thought Chuuya just wanted me to come back to him."

There was something about the words that was dizzying. Dazai was a fickle, changeable bastard fox who just left, who left and didn't care and who was... saying that he wanted... that he thought...

Chuuya sat down. Still holding the two forms in his hand.

Dazai lifted his head up, squishing one ear against the cushion in an odd way that didn't seem comfortable, but that Dazai didn't seem to notice.

"What... is this what you want?"

Dazai doesn't just stay. Dazai doesn't do anything without some sort of backup plan, or motive. 

He only came with me because I asked first, if the weretiger had asked first, that'd be where he'd be staying. Not here.

Just because I "called dibs."

"Chuuya's being particularly stupid right now." Maybe he was. But it wasn't like Dazai was being much better, and that made him feel more okay about the whole ordeal. "I want to stay here. Didn't I just say that?"

Oh.

In some dim corner of his mind, he realised that this would take a fair bit more than just this one form - not that Dazai would likely be all that bothered, because as long as his letters could be passed along through his coworkers, he'd just be lazy and not bother with it - but that... that could be later. 

He wondered, considering it was Dazai, what whoever had given him the second form had been thinking, when they'd thought of that.

"How much do they know?" he asked with a slight frown. 

There were some things that'd happened that night that... were the entire reason he'd half dragged, half carried Dazai into his home and let him get away with so much in the first place.

"Hm? Ah. Oh... that. I... haven't really told them," Dazai said, now picking at a loose thread on the sofa that wouldn't have been there if it weren't for Dazai's claws picking at it in the first place. It was almost funny. As a kid, he'd never even dreamed of having upholstery that wasn't at least a bit ratty. Even the best the Sheep had been able to get their hands on had holes in places, because the adults had taken the good stuff first. And then when he'd been half-dragged into the mafia, he'd gained an appreciation for how he'd been able to afford furniture that didn't even have a nick or scratch. Now here he was, and Dazai was tearing holes and scratches in everything- something he wasn't about to stop doing, either. The future seemed full of imperfect furniture, and the more he thought about that, the less awful it became. "Atsushi knows," Dazai was saying, pulling Chuuya out of his own thoughts. "Because he was there. And he knows enough to notice things. He's a good kid." Chuuya nodded along, because from what little he'd seen, he'd agree with that. "Ranpo probably does, too."

Chuuya scowled and shuddered at that name - that detective. Just because they were back on the same side again didn't mean that hearing the name and knowing that the detective knew - or even just suspected - that one sore spot of Dazai's right now wasn't rubbing salt into the wound.

"And you trust them?"

The more they talked, the more Dazai relaxed, his tail and ears twitching from time to time, and this time he even grabbed at the extra limb he'd gained in the past week, losing his hands in the fur.

"Neither of them have told anyone else," he said. "I might tell the others. Sooner or later. Maybe. Or I might just leave it and see who notices first."

"Whatever you want to do, really," Chuuya found himself saying. "They're your people."

People who Chuuya would end up interacting with a lot more than he'd ever planned on, the moment he's finished signing his life and what little remained of his peace and quiet away. But if Dazai didn't want to say anything just yet, then neither would he.

"Mm," Dazai hummed out. "They are." Dazai tilted his head. Chuuya wasn't even sure if Dazai really understood what he'd just said, how differently youkai saw their connections with people compared to normal human friendships. Then again, Dazai barely understood that sort of thing anyway. "So... you agree to both?"

"I didn't just let you into my home for shits and giggles, Dazai. Or to just kick you out the moment I felt like it." Dazai was still watching him. Waiting. "That's a yes."

He just hoped this wasn't going to come back to bite him in the ass in the middle of the day and a call from some poor Agency soul who'd drawn the short straw to contact him when Dazai starts acting like the brat he is just for the attention. It'd hardly be the first time he'd have done a thing like that.

"....Chuuya?"

So there was something else.

"What?"

"Talking of telling." Dazai was now wearing his serious face, although the effect was marred somewhat by the fluffy ears, and the fact that he was still holding onto his own tail on Chuuya's sofa. "About that. If there are going to be records, I want you to tell Mori what's going on before he has a chance to find out for himself."

"I thought you didn't want me to tell the Boss."

"And now I do. I just told you why. Are you going to do it or not?"

"You say that as if it'd ever be easier to not tell him something. Of course I will. Though if it weren't for the what I'd be making you tell him yourself - and you're still going to owe me for this."

Dazai had the gall to stick his tongue out, which just emphasised the effect of making him look ridiculous. 

"What's mine is yours, Chuuya."

"We're basically housesharing, Dazai. We're not married or anything."

He stood up abruptly, taking the two forms with him and neatly avoiding the - thankfully socked - foot that Dazai tried sending at him, and doing his best to look straight ahead at the kitchen instead of looking back. And wishing he hadn't just said that, or that he could just put his hat back on and hide his face without getting called out for it.

You've told him you love him already days ago, he thought to himself, inner voice calling him an idiot as he heated up the water for tea, and started the food prep because gods knew Dazai wasn't going to. Most people who share their house with someone don't sleep in the same bed as that person, either.

At this point, he didn't think he could tell Dazai to sleep in another room. And not just because it'd feel like a betrayal.

Dazai, who he knew damn well was a chronic insomniac... had been sleeping. Dazai had been sleeping, and he'd been doing so in Chuuya's arms, for the past couple of nights.

Not to mention, he... could hardly say he hadn't been feeling better for being able to wake up to fluff and fur and bandages and noodle limbs and the ever-present cool sensation of Dazai's ability nullifying his own.

...

Fukuzawa Yukichi took one look at the two forms that Dazai had handed him, from which could be gathered the exact home address and contact details of someone he knew to be a mafia executive, and then looked back at Dazai himself.

Dazai, who was standing there, waiting patiently with a purposefully neutral expression on his face.

For a moment, for all their differences, he couldn't help but be reminded of Yosano, and wondered how many times Dazai had stood in just that sort of way in front of Mori Ougai, to ask something of the man that in all likelihood should have been given freely, and without such worry or concern.

An ear flicked, and then went back to its alert position.

Only kids do that sort of thing, Ranpo had said to him just the other night about the way Dazai wore his fur, distressed but quiet. Kids and hanyou! I should've known before. But because it was Dazai I just didn't- but I should've known.

It wasn't often that Ranpo came to him with frustrations about not knowing something, and even less frequently about those things that concerned the non-human side of things. And now that he did, it was about a coworker. One of Yukichi's own subordinates, even.

He sighed.

"By the way that this is coming to my attention, it seems that this is more to inform me of something that has already been decided, rather than to seek my approval." The changes - the minute shifting of Dazai's posture, the twitches of his features - might have remained invisible to most, but to Yukichi, who had experience with reading far more subtle signs than this, the nervous tension was as clear as day. "Dazai."

"Director, I-"

"There is no need to apologise for doing what you felt that you must after what was clearly a stressful situation," although simply describing it as stressful felt like he was understating things, here, given what he understood had happened. "Or putting your trust in someone. I merely wish to know that the two of you have thought this through. Although the Agency and the Port Mafia are currently at peace, we are both well aware of how easily such a truce could be affected by events outside of our control."

If anything, discomfort he could see and sense in Dazai rose, but that was hardly outside of expectations given the subject and situation.

"You can trust that I wouldn't allow my living conditions to affect my loyalties, or to become a danger," Dazai said. In just as much of a carefully neutral tone as he had made sure to put on his features.

"Dazai, it isn't your loyalty that I am concerned about," he said, eyes shutting for a moment as he thought about all of the potential repercussions of this. In the past two years since his entrance exam, Yukichi had never once, not even since he had first been made aware of the boy's previous occupation, questioned that loyalty - never had he been given any reason to.

"In which case," as if that had been something they had needed to have made clear at all, "I can only say that should anything come up... Chuuya and I will need to deal with such things as they do."

"Then it seems that you have thought of everything already, and the Agency can merely do the best we can with regards to keeping the information that the two of us have trusted us with as safe as possible."

From Dazai's expression, that wasn't what he had hesitantly knocked on his Director's door and expected to come away with. That, along with the sharp but uncertain way that Dazai bowed his thanks and left, made him relieved at the quiet and privacy that enabled him to rub at his forehead, at the premonition of a headache as well as hoping that Dazai's situation turned out to help him – and that whatever came their way that threatened such stability that he had managed to find for himself didn't break him.

Then again, that was the reason he had built the Armed Detective Agency up around Ranpo in the first place, was it not? Not simply just to ease the burden on one boy and ensure that he was safe, but for them to support each other.

...

Mori Ougai watched Chuuya leave with most of his expression covered up by his hands still steepled in front of his face. He closed his eyes the moment the door closed, allowing himself to let out the breath that he had been holding in, which wasn't - quite - a sigh.

"I've started compiling an offline database of people in the communities who'd be good to have on side. Not even necessarily outright working for the mafia, just good to have owe us a favour or two."

That was what he had started with. And if Ougai were to be honest, he hadn't expected anything of the sort in such a short period of time. Granted, the list of names on the handwritten sheet of notes was small, and with the way things Chuuya had explained to him, no matter what he said or how he spun things, it would be more Chuuya that any of these people would be answering to, than him.

A minor note, and one that he was more than willing to let slide for one reason - that Chuuya himself was still loyal to him. Just as importantly, loyal to the mafia as an organisation. As long as that were the case, then there was nothing for him to be concerned about either way.

And then the bombshells had fallen - two connected pieces of information that he had known he would have to tread carefully with the moment he heard them, because of how he knew he could so easily break the two involved with one wrong move.

"There's a name that isn't on the list, Boss," Chuuya had said. "Dazai's got kitsune in him." Strong enough to be affected by the rules of these communities, evidently. And interesting though it may have been to have pressed on the matter and find out just how much, how strongly, and when either of them had found out this fascinating new development... said rules had confined him into a mere nod and a gesture to continue when he could see that Chuuya wasn't finished. "He's also moved in with me."

On the one hand, it would have been appreciated if he had been given some fair advanced warning to such a development; Dazai being able to potentially see whatever work Chuuya brought home with him was not a thought he liked to dwell on, considering his former executive's current mode of employment.

But on the other hand - it was hardly as though he could have stopped them, and nor could he now, if he wanted to.

It was as he had told Kouyou in reference to the incident in which she had been captured by the Agency; just like her, if Chuuya wished at any time to leave, then there would be very little that either he or the entire mafia behind him would be able to do to stop him. And with Dazai at his back... Double Black had been feared for a reason. From the picture he was beginning to paint of the youkai culture and mindset, the very action of opposing them only could end in a bloodbath.

Perhaps Chuuya liked to tell himself that he was as human as the friends he enjoyed socialising with, or even the body that he owed half of his very existence to. But the more Chuuya told Ougai of what to expect, the more his mind drifted back to innumerable instances that now made more sense, just as he was sure that the same could be said for Dazai's own behaviours. Even the very loyalty that made him so invaluable was merely a symptom of the whole, and now left him wondering just how much of Arahabaki was subsumed into being Chuuya's ability, and how much had survived in other means.

Questions, perhaps, for another time. Or at least to ponder privately.

In some situations, the most optimal solution was a swift strike, to act first before the opponent could so much as formulate a plan; in others, the only thing to do was to accept the way that the board had presented itself, and trust that things would sort themselves out in the most beneficial manner for all involved. In this case, the latter.

A downpayment in trust indeed, he thought to himself.

...

AN: If there are things that don't make sense in the Dazai-Chuuya section, there's a reason for that. You don't have the (full) context yet. 

(That’ll be shown in “Fox-Faced,” so please read that too. Although I’d love to know what you think it is with only this and the previous fics to go by~)

[frumfrumfroo]

I'm more of a casual fan and I've massively stepped away from Fandom because it's become too toxic for my mental health (only writing fics and throwing it into the void now), but even before that I never understood these long arguments about wether or not a ship is (going to be) canon? Perhaps it's because I happen to be more interested in ships that aren't canon are where the relationship hasn't gone all the way in canon (think Aliens Ripley/Hicks or Furiosa/Max where it COULD have happened 1/2

2/2 but didn’t for whatever reason) I don’t mean that as a criticism of the shippers who do find it important that their ship be canon. It’s just strange to see so many Reylos lose their heads one way or another because it goes against everything I know/expect from my ships. Idk, just my thoughts on it. Ultimately we all have to wait for the next SW movie to come out to know what happens. Personally I think they’ll be more romance between Ben and Rey but even IF it’s not who cares?             

I care. And the problem with your argument is that it’s not a shipping thing, it’s not about the ship war (although obviously I’m human and do want to see the incredibly smug people who spent the entire TFA-TLJ hiatus being huge assholes proven wrong) and it’s not about needing all my ships to be canon. I have non-canon ships. I tend to prefer canon or canon-adjacent (where it’s implied but never definitive), but I’ve had totally not canon ships and I do know the difference. I have no problem being happy in fandom and writing fic for never-gonna-happen pairings. I don’t expect something to be canon just because I ship it, I expect it to be canon when the writing sets it up to be.

I’m not going to sit here and say it doesn’t matter and TRoS will be great either way because, imo, it won’t. Because Reylo isn’t a ship at this point, it’s the plot of the sequel trilogy. To me saying it doesn’t matter or people shouldn’t care is exactly the same as saying Luke’s relationship with Vader doesn’t matter and it wouldn’t have made any difference to the story if he didn’t decide to forgive him and show him unconditional love. This is the A plot, this is the ST incarnation of the salvific love at the heart of Star Wars, this has been promised. The fact that it’s a romantic relationship doesn’t make its plot relevance inherently trivial.

Their arcs are married together, his redemption is the resolution of the entire Skywalker saga and she’s the hero here because she will help bring it about. Why can’t it be platonic or ambiguous? Because it’s already romantic. It was romantic in TLJ and that already romantic arc needs resolution. Because the character arcs demand something other than a platonic relationship. Both characters. Platonic love has failed them both.

I should probably say, as an addendum to my previous asks, that I don’t mean the people who genuinely like to meta/discuss/analyse if something is going to be canon and where the story will go (I don’t do or like it myself because some of the “meta” is unfortunately more “stuff I pulled out of my ass” or “stuff that is projected”, but generally, have fun) but more the people where it is taken a little too seriously, where it’s the end of the world when Reylo doesn’t become canon & create drama    

I don’t write ‘reading tea leaves in the curtains’ style meta. I’m not here talking about Jungian symbolism that may or may not be intentional. This is basic storytelling structure and thematic unity. The existing structure allows for two options a) Ben dies and all nine movies are a nihilistic tragedy wherein the Skywalkers were a curse enacted by a malevolent Force and their suffering was futile (and Rey comes of age by giving up on the idea of belonging rather than finding it). Magic and greatness pass away from the GFFA, cynicism triumphs. or b) he survives and is redeemed through Rey’s intervention, he takes redemption further than Anakin was able and fully reconciles the family legacy allowing lasting peace to finally come to the galaxy, hope and love are vindicated, and there is an implied next generation who can carry on. Needs to be definitive about those things because this is supposed to stand as the ending of the whole saga for least a considerable while.

2 of the 3 trilogies so far have ended the second way.

[cookieatmochi]

Why the thought of Jikook together is ridiculous? (a rant by me)

Gosh, there are so many things I find incredible about this whole ship thing. I’ve so much to say sometimes I even confuse myself and wonder what I’m even doing with my life.

This specific topic had been on my mind for quite some time and, as I get more and more into jikookland and in the deep black hole that is shipping, I find myself questioning a lot of what is said, what is speculated, what is believed and what is looked down with a frown and disbelief.

I consider myself a Jikook shipper, (though I’ve come to find a lot o people in the fandom don’t like to call themselves that way, but I really don’t see why we need to find new ways of creating rifts between us). So, needless is to say I, at least, find the thought of Jimin and Kookie together incredibly adorable and attractive. But that isn’t the reason I ship them.

The thought of any BTS ship is incredibly adorable and attractive. When I first got into them and later into this shipping thing, I went there with an open mind but very mindful and conscious that it was only for fun and, for the most part out of boredom. I was careful not to take any of it seriously, of believing any of them were real, that any of the boys were in fact attracted in a romantic way to each other or were in love with each other.

I can’t exactly know why, when or how, but, even before I became a BTS stan or knew anything about BTS or Kpop in general, I’ve had this idea that the way the members interacted with each other would different from the western way, the way I was accustomed to.

As I said, I don’t know why I had that perception or how it came to be. But anyways, with that thought in mind, the first ship video I’d seen was actually from Jikook. Curious, cause from what I tend to read and hear most of the shippers claim Vkook was the first ship they’d come in contact with. But with me it was the opposite.

It was randomly that I came across a video of jikook, and I remember it had been one of them flirting for 5/10 (I can’t remember exactly) minutes straight. I gotta be honest and say I wasn’t very impressed. Not because the moments weren’t cute and sometimes brow lifting, but because, as I mentioned: 1) it wasn’t my intention to take this ship thing seriously, and 2) I was aware or had an inkling the way they interacted with each other would be different from what I was used to. So obviously, even though the moment that got stuck in my head to this day about that specific video was the infamous stare moment from that Vlive (you know the one Kookie went out of his way to get Jimin to come to him lol), I still pushed it to the back of my head  and told myself it was just teasing, that JM and JK were playing around and that it must’ve been something that was normal for them to do.

Which brings me to the point I’m trying to make. I, as a lot of shippers, tend or prefer to think of themselves as rational and mature enough not to let themselves get too carried away with this whole thing. I turned thirty a little over a month ago, (that is, of course, in no way a certificate of maturity and rationality or even of moral to talk about a lot of things), but it surely can explain why I tend to be, most of the times, against about affirming truths and taking everything I hear as reality or facts. I’m still young but my age allows me the audacity to say I have gained enough experience so far to know that not everything that shines or looks like gold is in fact gold.

I follow a lot of accounts dedicated to jikook on IG and Tumblr but only a couple on YT, and from most of them I only expect cute moments and funny edits to entertain me and bring a smile to my face. There are only a few of them I actually take seriously because they make good points, with valid reasons and good analysis of facts and moments that are actually relevant and questionable.

A lot of people might not like this, but to me most of any ship moments are meaningless as proofs of a true relationship, or at least the way they are over analyzed really makes me cringe and wonder why am I even wasting my time on this, when people stretch a simple side hug or hand touching as a determining factor in this whole quest of proving a pair is actually a romantic couple. And let me make it clear that I’m not claiming that those moments couldn’t mean more than what they appear to be. What I want to highlight is that everything can have a meaning in a context. I’m not gonna be impressed by Jikook staring at each other fondly if I know they do that with everybody else or that they’re doing it as a joke or as part of an act or dare or something else.

To me the most important factor in differentiating Jikook from other ships, or to differentiate any ship from another actually, is to look at the big picture. Take a step back and look at their situation, at the kind of community or society they’re inserted in, at what is expected of them, and, to me this is a crucial point, at how they interact with each other vs how to they interact with other people that are just as close to them as their possible partner.

The point I see many non-shippers make is that we shouldn’t take any moments from a certain ship seriously because of the culture difference, because of fan service, and, the one that I really want to tackle, because the idea of two males actually being in love and/or in a relationship is unthinkable, preposterous or simply ridiculous.

The one about cultural difference I can accept to a certain degree because it is a fact and we can’t deny it. The world has become a small village and borders are becoming blurred when it comes to culture property and stuff, but it still doesn’t mean there aren’t considerable differences we should be aware and mindful of. No matter how strange and questioning they are to us, we still need to respect them and understand that just because we are used to our ways it doesn’t mean our way is the only right way.

With that being said, I also want to point out, that no matter how different our cultures and ways are, there are still some things that connect us all as human beings. Love, friendship and affection are some of those things. The way we express them might differ from place to place in some aspects but people everywhere experience them. And as things that connect us, I don’t think is ridiculous to say a person in Africa can identify a love relationship or friendship in Asia or America or anywhere else in the world. It’s really not that complicated.

About fan service, I have questions: seriously? Do people actually believe every time Jikook show affection for each other they’re acting? So, they don’t have a real life or family or personal opinions or free will? Are they just a product from BH that is willing to go through some extents just to please the fans without regards to their own will or personal lives? Come on, people!

Now to the ridiculousness that is the idea of Jimin, a man, and Jungkook, another man, being in love and/or in a relationship. I have questions too.

Why is it impossible for it to be a fact?

Why?

Why?

Is it a rare thing for there to be homosexual couples in our heterosexual midst? Are same sex couples an abnormality, even in our days and progressive society? Is homosexuality a made-up thing? Was it made up by delusional shippers with nothing else to do than to fantasize and fetishize two undoubtedly macho-man-that-could-be-anything-but-bros? Give me a break!

I am not affirming or claiming they are gay, or in a relationship or in love or are attracted sexually to each other. I honestly don’t care, and don’t think anybody should either, about what anybody does between four walls with whomever if there is consent and respect between all parties. It is none of our business what any of the boys like sexually, romantically or whatever.

I ship Jikook because it came a point when my reasonings, my trying to find plausible explanations for their actions that didn’t involve the possibility that there was something more than friendship between them became more delusional and cynical than to actually consider the chance that, ok, maybe there is in fact something there.

We can be careful on how we tread in this ship road; we have to be suspicious and try to see things from as many pov’s as possible so as not to cross the boundary from a healthy and unharmful shipping that is done for fun and get into delusional and invasive territory. But, denying the possibility that Jikook could be real just because one is, either  bothered by it because it is in the way of their own ship, or super bothered by the mere thought of ew gay, is absolutely ridiculous and pathetic.

[susspirria]

Guiltless - Chapter 2

Fandom: Borderlands

Pairing: Rhys/Handsome Jack (Rhack)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting,Alternate Universe - Serial Killers,Alternate Universe - Soulmates,Human Trafficking,Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con,Forced Prostitution,Child Abuse,Childhood Trauma,Insecure Rhys,Hurt Rhys,Dark Rhys,Shy Rhys,Scared Rhys,Jack being Jack,Jack Feels,Murder Husbands,Murder Kink,Brutal Murder,Hero Worship,Hero Complex,Angst and Hurt/Comfort,Rewrite,Jack Spoils Rhys,Sugar Daddy,Tenderness,Twisted and Fluffy Feelings

Summary: In which, Jack is a transient serial killer who believes himself to be a hero. While he's on the road he runs into his emotionally damaged and fragile soul mate, Rhys. 

Jack is surprised that someone like him would have a soul mate, even someone trapped in such a shady situation as Rhys is. Rhys is surprised that anyone could be so kind to him, but especially a man like Jack.

(AKA a total strip the bones rewrite of my old fic Kismet)

Read more on Ao3 or below the cut :)

The first time that Jack had killed someone, it was more or less an accident. He had been fifteen at the time and living in the glorified hell house that he and his twin brother had grown up in. Their grandmother’s house. Granny Lawrence was a hard woman to please.

She ruled their house with an iron fist and had no issue letting both Jack and Tim know that they were unwanted castaways that she had been forced to deal with. “It’s out of the kindness of my heart that I don’t throw you worthless boys out.” She would say to them often. “It’s because I’m a good christian that I didn’t drop the two of you off a bridge when your worthless mother left you on my doorstep.” She would say, nearly as often.

Jack was pretty sure that there was no god, but if even if a god did exist, she sure as hell wasn’t getting into heaven. He had returned home late in the day that it had happened, he’d been hanging around the outskirts of town – up to no good of course. They lived in a rural town, so, really the only sort of fun that a teenager could get up to was in the middle of the woods or at the bottom of a bottle. He didn’t bring Timothy along, because, really that wasn’t the sort of thing that he liked to do. Timothy didn’t like partying and Jack’s friends made him nervous. He usually preferred to keep to himself, for the most part, writing novels and acting in plays at their school. They might have looked identical but they weren’t the same – Timothy didn’t act like Jack in all the ways that counted. He was a nice and gentle sort of person – he was creative, sensitive and he didn’t go around breaking rules.

Jack thought that, maybe if he had dragged him along, none of this would have ever happened.

When he walked into the house, he could feel that something was off. There was a tension in the air that he couldn’t quite put a finger on, but instinctively he felt bothered by it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, he knew that something was wrong.

He walked through the threshold of the house and the feeling just got more intense with each and every step that he took forward into the house. Once he was in the living room, he saw exactly what was wrong. Timothy was on his knees, clutching his cheek in pain, their grandmother was behind him holding the rusty and dull buzz saw that she liked to beat them with.

Jack winced when he saw it, briefly remembering the many times that he had been beaten with it before and all of the scars that it left him with, before he felt a deep seated rage at the idea of her hitting Timothy. Hitting Jack was one thing, he could take it and he was used to failing to meet her high expectations. He was used to being punished, even if it was rarely ever fair. And he could handle the pain, he was strong enough to take it – he had always been the stronger one, out of the two of them. He had always been the one that took the blame when either of them did something wrong,

Jack ran up behind her, nearly blind with rage. “Get off of him!” He snapped, running towards her with a speed and determination that he had had no idea he even possessed. He grabbed her by the hair and she let out an inhuman sounding shriek. He dragged her for a bit and threw her into the wall, slammed her head against it once, twice, three times before he finally let her go, his anger quelled. She crumpled into a heap on the floor, blood pooling under hear head. Jack was in such a weird, fuzzy head space that at first, he didn’t realize that she was dead. That he had killed her. The only thought that had been in his mind was that he had to protect his brother – no one else would, especially not Tim.

But Timothy knew what had happened. He had seen it, nearly as soon as she hit the ground. He was frozen with shock and horror, he couldn’t believe that Jack could do something like that, even to someone as horrid as their grandmother. He covered his mouth tightly with his fist in a pathetic attempt to stop himself from vomiting at the sights and smell in front of him. He couldn’t speak in full sentences, couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t do much else but panic.

Jack walked over to him and though he knew that, physically, there was no blood on his hands Timothy could have sworn that he could smell it on his brother the coppery scent in the air sickening to him. Jack put his hands on his shoulders and looked at him with a concerned expression fixed on his face,“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, looking at Timothy strangely, like he couldn’t comprehend the horror in his twins eyes.

Timothy opened his mouth and closed it again,“You killed her.” He blurted out, after a few moments of stunned silence, his tone blank and empty. He thought that he might be going into shock. “Y-you…you fucking…she’s dead.” He repeated the sentiment.

The realization didn’t click for him immediately, that she was dead. He looked over at her corpse and felt next to nothing about it, all the same. In his mind, she was a monster. She was the monster, the devil that had been peeking over their shoulder all their lives, filling them with terror and beating them half to death over small mistakes. 

Jack thought that she got she was deserved, but he didn’t dare say that Timothy, who was all nervous tension and shaky hesitance already. He didn’t want to shake him up anymore and he tried to sooth Tim. “Hey, hey, hey…” He murmured, soothing his thumbs over Timothy’s cheeks in a gentle – nearly paternalistic fashion. “It’s okay… It’s okay, she won’t be able to hurt us anymore.” He hoped that that would have been enough. It wasn’t.

Timothy looked at Jack like he had spouted a second head. “Okay? No. No! This isn’t okay. None of this is okay!” He said, aghast. Then, overwhelmed by everything that had happened he broke out into terrified and ugly sobs. “Jack! You killed her! You… you- why would you…?” He babbled incoherently and wrung his hands until they were sore and raw, to get all the anxiety that he was feeling out. It wasn’t every effective.

Jack didn’t understand why Timothy cared so much. She was evil. She was cruel. She hated them and she would have killed them if she had the chance, through beatings or neglect. “Tim, you don’t… she was going to hurt you.” He said, nonplussed. He walked over to her corpse and picked up the buzz-saw that she usually used to beat him with. He had to pry it from her cold, practically necrotic hands. “With this.” He exclaimed, as if Timothy had no idea and it was damning evidence of her guilt.

Timothy still didn’t look convinced that there was nothing else that Jack could have done to help him, but he didn’t say as much. He didn’t want to argue and not just because of his fear. “Okay…” He said, speaking in a suspicious tone of voice. “What are we going to do now?”

“I’unno. We have to get rid of her I guess.” Jack said, with a shrug and laid back casualty in his tone of voice. This time, Timothy didn’t argue because he had little choice but to help Jack, if he didn’t want to go to jail too. 

They dug a hole 12 feet deep, so deep in the ground that no one would ever find her for years, they had had to dig it all night and all morning nearly non-stop to get it deep enough. It was a good thing that they had lived in a rural area, 

otherwise someone would have noticed – started asking some questions about where their grandmother had gone off to. They grew a garden over her corpse, planted carrots and tomatoes over her grave like she was glorified fertilizer.

Jack never came to regret what he had done. As far as he was concerned, he had killed her because she was a monster and she could have killed Tim and she probably would have if she had had the chance to enact her punishment like she had wanted. 

She was evil and he had done the right thing, bashing her head in. He had saved their lives. He was a hero. He told himself that every night. He was a hero. He was a hero. He. Was. A. Hero.

But Timothy… he didn’t agree, Jack just knew it, even though he wouldn’t say it. He never looked at Jack the same way after that day. He would try to make himself act the same, but it would never be completely right. 

His smiles would be forced and his eyes would be nervous whenever Jack looked upon him. The two of them grew more and more distant over the years and once they were finally old enough to move out of the house they grew up in, Timothy never talked to him again.

He refused to. No matter how many times Jack tried to reach out and reconnect – they were twins after all, it was only natural for him to want to be close with his twin! – Timothy would refuse to so much as even look at him. Because Timothy couldn’t look at Jack anymore without wondering in terror what else Jack might be capable of. Just the thought of it made him feel sick with worry.

While Timothy discovered a monstrousness in his brother, Jack learned something else about himself. He had discovered that there was power in his hands. Power to hurt. Power to help. He could brutalize men and women without a single thought for what that meant about him, about his character or his morals. To him it didn’t matter, whether he would be viewed as a “good person” or a “bad person” because he knew the truth.

In Jack’s mind, he had a gift. A gift that he thought could be used for the greater good. He could make the world a better place, one death at a time. So he made a vow, to himself, that he would each and every monster that walked around, parading themselves in human disguises and wipe them off the face of the earth. And he would keep on killing them, as long as he lived, until his dying breath.

*************************

After Rhys fell asleep in the caravan, he didn’t wake up for nearly three days. Everything that had happened to him over the years had compounded together. All of his experiences, all of his trauma, everything that he had done and been forced to do all mixed together and overwhelmed him to the point that he had become nearly comatose. He didn’t even dream the whole time – it was just blackness for hours upon hours without any interruption. When he finally woke up, it took him a bit to stretch out his limbs and get rid of the stiffness and the aching that he felt deep in his bones.

Rhys walked out of the little room that he had been sleeping in and noticed Jack was sitting in the little kitchenette, with a bit of breakfast laid out – Eggs, toast, coffee, pancakes and little strips of bacon were all spread out on the table. The caravan was still moving, though slowly, and Rhys realized that it must have been self driving. Fancy, he thought. Then he realized just how hungry he was when his stomach started to growl. Loudly.

Jack chuckled a bit at the sight of his soul mate, “Mornin’ pumpkin” He hummed in greeting, with a pleasant smile fixed across his face. “You want some breakfast?” He asked, even though the answer was obvious. Rhys walked over to sit at the table and started serving himself a small portion of all the food. He rarely ate much, he never really had the chance or the freedom to and often he would go days without meals if he didn’t impress Vasquez or any of the other men that he answered to sufficiently.

The two of them ate somewhat quickly and in silence until Jack finally decided to speak up, “How you holding up?” He asked, “…With everything?” He hastily tacked on at the end, remembering that Rhys’ whole life had been some sort of nightmare – even if he didn’t know the full scope and scale of the abuse that his soul mate had suffered in his life, but he knew that he had gone through more pain than anyone as sweet and smart as him ever should.

Rhys pulled his knees to his chest and rest his chin on them, making himself look tiny. “I’m not really sure?” He replied, in a hesitant tone of voice. “It’s all hazy and muddled I guess. It feels good to be free, but how I got my freedom… I don’t know how to feel about it.”

Jack moved closer to Rhys and dared to run his fingers through the younger mans’ hair in what he hoped was a gentle and soothing manner. He wasn’t the best with emotions, but he could try to fake it, for Rhys’ sake. “It’s okay, if you’re feeling guilty.” He started, “And if you’re feeling guilty, or even if you’re blaming me for all of this,” He elaborated, tone gentle. “I get that, Rhysie, I really do. But I would never hurt you.” He promised. “And you don’t need to worry about anyone hurting you ever again.”

“No. No, that’s not it. I don’t blame you.” Rhys said, tone sharp as the serrated edge of a dagger, like he was making a concerted effort not to let himself be vulnerable right now. “And I don’t feel bad. At all. And that’s the problem! What kind of person am I, if I don’t care about their deaths…” He added, speaking more to himself than to Jack at this point. “I don’t care though, I’m happy that they’re dead.” His expression morphed to one of worry, he was nearly distraught. “What kind of person does that make me? Even after what they did to me?” He asked.

Rhys was pleading with Jack to help him feel less like a monster. “My kind of person.” Jack muttered to himself, low enough that Rhys couldn’t even hear him. Then he pulled Rhys in close and embraced him both tenderly and possessively. He noticed the way that Rhys clung to him and squeezed him even tighter. “You’re not a monster, baby. They are.” Jack murmured in his ear.

“A-are you sure?” Rhys asked in a voice that was tiny and frightened, completely unsure if that was the truth. “I can’t- I know that they were, that they hurt me, but they were still people. It was wrong.” He stammered out indelicately. His own morals were twisted enough already as it stood and he felt like taking pleasure in that sort of thing made him an even worse person by default.

“Those people hurt you.” Jack told him, not willing to deal with the idea of Rhys blaming himself for the abuse that he faced. “They treated you like dirt, they exploited you and hurt you.” Jack put Rhys’ face in his hands and made Rhys look him in the eye. “You didn’t deserve any of that, you never deserved what they did to you. You know that, don’t you baby?” He asked, genuinely curious if he did.

“I…” Rhys hesitated. He wanted to say that, yes, of course he didn’t deserve to be prostituted and trafficked out since he was too young to understand his own body. But a part of him, a tiny and insidious part of him, that he hated to think about, blamed himself for everything that he had gone through. That part of him that told him that, maybe if he was better behaved, his mother never would have sold him in the first place. He felt like it was his fault. “Yes?” He said, with an insecure lilt around the edges of his tone of voice, finally after moments of thinking it over himself.

It was obvious that Rhys wasn’t completely convinced of his own innocence. Jack responded by kissing him, very gently, on the lips. “Listen, Rhysie, those people – look at me – those fucking monsters who hurt you, they deserved every fucking thing that they got. Matter of fact, they deserved way more than what they got.” He said, voice clear and authoritative. If he had had the time, he would have tortured all of them for hours upon hours for what they had done. That was just a fact.

The younger man felt strangely comforted by Jack’s words and he wasn’t sure if that was because Jack was right, or because Rhys wanted him to be right. “I really want that to be true.” He admitted, in a voice that was incredibly soft spoken, so quiet that Jack wouldn’t have been able to hear him if they weren’t pressed so closely together.

“It is true.” Jack told him, deadly serious, before he decided to change the subject to something a little bit lighter. “Oh! By the way, I got you some new clothes while you were sleeping back there.” He gestured towards a dresser that was fixed to the back wall. “They’re in there. Hope they’re your style.”He added, mostly as a tease. Rhys giggled at that, before a thought crossed his mind and made his stomach turn, just a little bit. He didn’t really know what his style was. He didn’t know what he liked. He didn’t really know what he disliked. Pretty much all of his life, things had been dictated for him, he never had that kind of choice. It was upsetting, having his agency taken from him for pretty much his entire life, but he shook off the thought with the reminder that that was all over now.

He was safe now, he would be happy with his soul mate. He needed to be happy and he clung to the thought that Jack could save him – could fix him and love him, despite how unclean and rotten he always felt – like it was his only hope for survival. In many ways, it was.

Rhys grabbed one of the outfits that Jack had bought for him and headed to the little off shooting bathroom and showered. When he finally returned back to the main area of the caravan, dressed in his new – expensive, nicely fitting clothes, Jack was sitting down with a photo album in hand, looking over it like it was gospel. “What’s that you’re looking at?” Rhys asked, innocent curiosity heavy in his tone. Jack looked up at him and Rhys smiled gently, he motioned for Rhys to sit back down next to him.

Jack put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in close, Rhys instinctively cuddled back against him. In the short time that he had known Jack, his soul mate had been overly willing with physical affection and Rhys just loved it. He loved being hugged, he loved having his hair played with, he loved being kissed gently and touched in all the comforting ways that he had always been denied for most of his life. “Ah, just some old photos.” Jack replied, after a moment. “I was thinking about my brother.”

Rhys’ eyes lit up with curiosity, “You have a brother?” Rhys asked and then Jack pointed out a photo of him and someone who looked exactly like him, with their arms around each other and big smiles on their faces. “You have a twin brother?” He corrected himself at the sight of them.

“Yeah, but we’re not really close these days.” Jack replied shortly, “We had a falling out, a while ago, and we don’t talk anymore.” He smiled, but it was tight and it looked to Rhys like there was pain behind his eyes. It was obvious that he didn’t want to talk about it and that was fine. Instead of asking any questions about it, or even speaking at all, Rhys delicately lay his hand over Jacks’ own and squeezed it in a comforting gesture. Jack grinned at him and ducked over to kiss his cheek. “It’s best not to think about it too much.” Jack said, before closing the photo album and putting it away.

And then Jack changed the subject back to Rhys, he wanted to know more about him – he wanted to know every little thing about him, the good things, the bad things. Everything. Rhys was hesitant to be forthcoming, partially because a lot of things about him were either too painful to talk about, or things that he wasn’t really sure of because of the years of captivity that he had suffered.

They came to a compromise – Rhys would talk about himself, or the things he was comfortable sharing about himself, so long as Jack shared some things about himself too. It worked out for the best. Jack found out that Rhys loved ice cream as well as all sorts of sweet things and that he gobbled it up every time that he was allowed it.

He found out that Rhys loved music and that he genuinely enjoyed singing and when he was a child he would sing to the younger kids to comfort them. He found out that Rhys had always wanted tattoos, but that he had never had the freedom to choose how he looked. He found out that Rhys had always been into computers and the newest tech, that he had wanted to get into programming whenever he had the chance.

Jack tried to be as forthcoming as possible, he told Rhys about how he had put himself through school and worked in engineering. He told Rhys about some of his upbringing – that he had grown up in a small town and he was a bit of a hoodlum for most of his teen years. He told him about being picked up by Hyperion right out of college and how lucky he had been to get that leg up in the corporate ladder.

When the subject of Hyperion came up, Rhys was immediately curious about it. Even he had heard about Hyperion, it was one of the leading corporations in the world. They were pioneers in tech, weaponry, prosthesis – basically, anything you could think of. “You’re Hyperion’s CEO?” He asked, marveling a bit at the revelation. “But you’re still so young! That’s incredible.” He gushed adoringly.

Jack’s expression got a bit smug, Rhys probably shouldn’t have been feeding his ego like that, it was dangerous. He thought it was cute anyways. “Yeah, the board loves me.” He explained, “They even booted the jerk ass who ran it back when I was just an engineer on the main floor. It was a risk, I guess, but they took a chance on me.” He added. And it had worked out perfectly for them too, Jack had boosted Hyperion’s profits and growth a hundred fold.

Rhys just couldn’t help but go into fan boy mode. “I heard about all Hyperion growing up. Not everything, you know, they kept us in the dark about pretty much everything that went on outside but…” He started babbling, speaking animatedly with his hands. “

“No, you were being cute.” Jack assured him quickly, before an idea popped up in his head. “I could show you around the headquarters, if you like, when we get to sanctuary.” He looked over to where the caravan’s console was, “Should only be a few more hours, then it’s home sweet home, cupcake!” He added, making a grand gesture with his arms that was reminiscent of a game show host telling him that he had just won a brand new car.

Rhys laughed a bit at that, “So Sanctuary’s your home?” He clarified. “Our home?” He corrected after a moment or two. He and Jack were soul mates, he reminded himself – it still felt so strange to him the mere idea that he would even have a soul mate at all, never mind someone as successful, talented and brilliant as Jack was. To him at least.

Rhys didn’t think that he deserved that sort of fortune or good luck. He didn’t think that he deserved much of anything at all. He thought that Jack was too good for him – that everybody was too good for him, that no one should ever have to be saddled with a broken mess like him. A part of him understood that that was probably a mixture of his own self loathing and the hero worship that he had for Jack – though, in a way, he was Rhys’ hero. Because Jack had, literally, saved him, rescued him from the hellish prison that he had been forced to live in for nearly all of his life.

Jack made a wishy-washy motion with his hand. “Eh, Yeah, pretty much.” He replied, after a few moments. It was only a half truth. Jack had a had a home in every city that had a Hyperion branch in it and at least a dozen or so more safe houses for his other, more discretionary, purposes that Rhys wouldn’t need to worry about. At least not right now. 

But Sanctuary was probably his favorite place to be. He spent a lot of time in Sanctuary, at least when he wasn’t on the road, because Sanctuary happened to be where Hyperion’s base of operations was. He was sure that Rhys might have known that already, given his interest in his company.

“How is it there?” Rhys asked as a strange feeling that was like a mix of anxiety and giddiness began to pool in the pit of his stomach. “Is it nice?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s great. You’ll love it there, pumpkin. I practically own the whole fucking town! It’s great.” Jack promised him, tone earnest and honest. “I’ve got this penthouse in the middle of the city with a great view. It’s beautiful…When we get in town, I can show you around the place. Maybe I’ll take you to some shops and I can finally start spoiling you rotten.”

Rhys smiled, “I’d like that.” He said in kind. He hoped that he was right about that. He’d love it if Sanctuary became his new… Sanctuary.

[rszealot]

Hello, I have a kind of prompt? Could you write one of your fav non-RWBY pairings in a RWBY au? (I don’t really know your other fandoms/pairings but I’d love to see them!)

Answering this literal years later: (full description/context/apology here: https://rszealot.tumblr.com/post/185428985955/are-you-still-taking-prompts-0 )

Fluttershy/Rarity RWBY AU:

First Impressions

Beacon was magnificent.

She had seen images of it of course, the occasional video, but none of it compared to seeing it in person. It was massive, stretching as far as she could see around her. The grand towers rose up to meet the heavens and inspired a sort of pride in her. Pride in herself for finally getting here after all her hard work certainly, but also a sort of vague pride for humanity, for having build something this great.

She had stopped in the plaza just outside the landing pad, taking in every detail of the place that would be her home for the next few years. The stark red of the trees contrasting with the stark whiteness of the arches surrounding the plaza, the pools of pristine water surrounding the path, the-

Well, that was one way to ruin the scenery. Over by one of the arches, a group of boys had cornered a timid-looking girl, who was decidedly not enjoying their presence. She approached them with purposeful steps, observing the hooligans and their victim as she did.

All four of the boys were on the more handsome side of “painfully average” and wore some kind of armour except for one. He favoured a scruffier look, with his sleeveless vest, no doubt purposefully unkempt mohawk, and haphazardly attached pauldron.

She stopped a good few meters away from them, and sighed as she spied the reason they were harassing this young woman.

Of course the first people she would run into at Beacon were a bunch of racists.

The girl in question was extraordinarily pretty, with long, pink hair; beautiful turquoise eyes that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight until she realized it was reflecting off of tears; a slender, graceful build that betrayed just a hint of muscle; and a large pair of wings covered in soft-looking yellow feathers.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she announced her presence.

“What exactly are you boys doing?”

They all turned, their victim letting out a surprised squeak. Their surprised looks quickly faded into an expression she knew all too well.

“Well, hello there…” said the tallest of the bunch, who she had assumed was their leader. “Who are you?” The interest in his voice was as unmistakable as it was unwelcome. Boys.

At the very least they seemed to all have forgotten about their previous prey, who was still silently quivering behind them.

“Answer my question.” She replied coolly.

The tall one responded with a skin-crawlingly fake smile, his eyes betraying his true intentions as they shamelessly wandered over her body. His friends meanwhile busied themselves with trying to “subtly” show off behind him, their backs straighter than she’d ever seen them and their entirely casual poses casually causing them to flex casually.

“We were just talking to our friend here.” his voice was sirap-sweet, with just a hint of malice. “We’re done now though.” The following wink made his intentions clear. She was not impressed.

“Really?” She put on her fakest clueless voice. If he wasn’t going to put any effort into it, why should she? “It looks more to me like you’re a gang of bullies harassing this young lady, possibly with racial motives or simply out of a petty need to exert power over others.”

Her bluntness had the desired effect, stopping the tall one’s abysmal attempts at flirting dead in its tracks and causing the other boys to revert to their natural half-slouch.

“So, are you going to leave her alone, or will I have to report this incident to the headmaster? I’m sure discrimination and harassment charges on your first day will look great on your records.”

The boys hesitated, clearly not used to people standing up to them. They exchanged glances, and then turned to glare at her.

“This isn’t over, for you or the animal,” the tall one almost growled as they walked away.

“Sure looks like it,” she couldn’t help but add as they disappeared into the stream of new arrivals.

With those bastards taken care of, she turned to the girl, approaching and giving her a gentle smile. “Are you okay?” she asked.

No response.

“I’m Jewel,” she added, noting the girl’s clear discomfort wasn’t going away with just the two of them there. “Jewel Blanc.”

No response. She was beginning to get worried, hoping it didn’t show.

“What’s your name?”

The girl just looked around, biting her lower lip. Then she opened her mouth.

And ran.

Startled by the sudden motion, Jewel could only watch as the girl took off, running towards the school.

Well, that’s one way to say thank you…

___

The leaves of the tree rustled as Jewel planted her foot on the side of the trunk, kicking off for the next tree in her path. Another foot, another kick, and she was off for the next. The wind rushed through her hair, her extensive hair care routine battling against nature to keep her expertly crafted hairstyle from being ruined as she worked to convert her vertical energy to horizontal energy, each leap taking her slowly closer to the forest floor where she dove into a roll and leapt back up to her feet.

Not wasting time to catch her breath, she immediately kept on running, keeping an even pace. It wouldn’t do to tire yourself out on a day like this after all. This was the proper initiation, where she would finally meet the person who would become her partner for the next three years. Perhaps even longer, if she was lucky. Jewel wouldn’t lie and say she didn’t have some preferences, after all she had noticed none other than Pyrrha Nikos herself in the group as they were launched off the cliff. To partner up with such a talented and stylish young woman would be a dream come true. She could imagine it, the two of them, taking on monstrous Grimm and saving lives like a pair of knights in shining armour, truly they would be the greatest of friends!

Perhaps even more…

She was shaken from her daydreaming by the distant snarls of grimm. And a voice. A familiar voice.

She turned on her heel, dashing off in the direction of the sound. In the clearing ahead she saw the young faunus girl from yesterday being circled by two ursa. By the dirt covering her, she must have had a bad landing on the hill behind her, and tumbled down; right into the waiting bear trap.

Her aura was holding for now, and the two ursa were just circling, occasionally growling at the panicked girl trying desperately to free herself.

What was that thing she’d said about knights in shining armour?

She wasted no time raising Nightmare, her beloved pistol, and pulling the hammer back until it infused the bullet with gravity dust. She advanced slowly as she methodically fired three shots, hitting one of the ursa in one of its hind legs. The ursa yowled in pain as the shots sank in, and struggled to turn to her with the tiny gravity wells that had appeared inside it.

With a wave of her hand she let her semblance reach into the dust-enhanced bullets, boosting the dust’s effect. The grimm roared, then silenced as its leg imploded under the sudden pull.

The other ursa charged at her, tearing up grass and roots as it went, but Jewel kept advancing, spinning Nightmare to change it into its dagger form. She moved the hammer to the steam dust setting, coating the blade. As the ursa leapt at her, she sprung to action, sliding under the massive creature and slashing at its soft belly, leaving a long cut covered in dust. Before it could react she spun around, driving Nightmare into the grimm three times and leapt away, shifting her weapon into its gun form and holstering it as a snap of her fingers detonated the dust she had deposited into the grimm, boiling it from the inside.

She approached the girl, a cocky smile on her face. Then she halted in her tracks. Her muscles simply refused to move, and she started to shake as a great, all-consuming fear gripped her mind. Every cell in her body screamed for her to just get away from the girl. She felt the icy claws of death close in on her heart, falling to the ground in her haste to get away. Get away. She had to get away.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the fear vanished. She sat on the ground, taking deep, panicked breaths, her heart pounding in her ears, staring in horror at the now not-at-all threatening girl.

“Sorry…” The girl’s voice was squeaky and laboured, and she attempted to hide her face behind her long hair, refusing to look Jewel in the eyes, cowering as if she was the one who had just felt the greatest terror of her life.

“What-?” Jewel’s voice hitched, and she took a few moments to steady herself, rising back to her feet. “What was that?”

The girl’s eyes darted to and fro, never leaving the ground, seemingly debating whether to answer. When she did, all she managed to let out was a squeak of pain, bringing the bear trap back into Jewel’s mind.

“Never mind, let me help you with that.” She knelt next to her, gripping the trap with both her hands. The trap was rather advanced, meant to catch grimm, which could easily grow smart enough to dislodge a more rudimentary device.

If Jewel didn’t exactly mind being this close to the girl (If she recalled, she’d first described her as extraordinarily pretty), she tried to push such thoughts away until she could free her. The girl let out a sharp hiss as Jewel tried to reach the mechanism. She looked up and saw the girl watching her with bated breath, biting down on her lower lip. She was absolutely adorable, her summer-sky eyes beautiful even through tears.

Her eyes.

Jewel couldn’t help but to blush. On some level, she’d known this girl would likely end up as her partner when she went to attack those ursa, it seemed inevitable that they’d lock eyes. To actually think about it though? To have the fact confirmed and undeniable right in front of her? She felt elated. She had to admit she had been intrigued by the girl since their first meeting. It felt a little like fate, them meeting as soon as she stepped of the ship. She’d never really believed in such things, no matter how much she wished to, but here- Aha!

“There we go!” she exclaimed as the bear trap relinquished its grasp of the girl’s leg.

“Watch out!”

She realized her mistake as she heard the roar behind her. The ursa wasn’t quite dead yet. She saw its shadow rise over herself and the girl. She reached for Nightmare, hoping to both gods she wasn’t too late. Her hand clutched the grip right as the ursa began to bring its claw down onto her. In a haze, some distant part of her realized she was too slow.

She closed her eyes, bringing her free hand up to shield her face. She knew on some level than her aura would bear the blow, but it would hurt, probably send her tumbling to the ground, and leave a nasty bruise.

But it didn’t. It roared in agony.

She opened her eyes. Above her was the ursa, dead, already disintegrating and revealing the spear embedded in its chest. Following the shaft, she leaned backwards to see the girl, standing up, her face a mask of determination.

The blush returned. She sat there, catching her breath as she watched the girl wince, as if only now realizing what had just happened, her eyes wide as she dropped her spear and scrambled to help Jewel up.

“Oh my gods I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, and then the ursa?! I saw it coming but I couldn’t say anything I understand if you think I’m a bad person it’s okay that-” The rest of her words sort of petered out into choked whimpering as the girl fell to her knees and tried to hide behind her hair.

Jewel was at somewhat of a loss for words. She had gotten used to the girl’s silence and shyness a bit, and this sudden deluge of apologies? Apologies for… saving her? She wasn’t entirely following the girl’s train of thoughts, nor the steady stream of half intelligible words, but if that was really her takeaway from these events, Jewel could not just stand idly by. She crouched down in front of the girl, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

“Oh goodness. Please don’t cry.” The girl looked up, her eyes already red from crying. She looked like she was about to refute her argument, so she decided to cut her off: “I think what you did was rather gallant. Scaring me or not, you did stop that big nasty thing from hitting me.” The girl seemed rather mollified by that, so she retrieved a handkerchief from her coat pocket, and handed it to the girl. “There we go, that’s better.”

Jewel rose, bringing the girl gently up with her, and being so bold as to wipe away an errant tear from her cheek, trying not to marvel at how soft and smooth she was, even after crying. She shot her a smile, realizing she knew a good way to steer the conversation to a hopefully more cheerful tone. “I do believe you never gave me your name sweetness.” The pet name was not at all planned, but it felt right to say, and the blush and small smile it brought to the girl made her think it was the right thing to say.

“Um… I’m Arolynne. Arolynne Amaranth.”

“Arolynne.” She liked the way it felt saying that. “That’s a pretty name.” She had no idea where this sudden flirtatiousness was coming from, maybe the adrenaline was still pumping, or maybe being saved just brought out some kind of latent damsel in distress gene. Or maybe you just want to flirt with her.

She shook that thought from her head and took Arolynne by the arm, internally screaming to herself that that would not at all help right now, helplessly feeling the heat rising in her cheeks from the contact. She gently led Arolynne away from the hillside and the bear trap, walking deeper into the forest. “Well, Arolynne, it seems we’re to be partners from now on”, she said, waiting for a moment before realizing she wouldn’t respond. A look at her face did reveal a small smile, which told her she liked the idea.

As they walked, scanning their surroundings for any more grimm or those elusive relics, Jewel would try to keep a conversation going. Arolynne didn’t seem to speak much, chiming in with a word or two occasionally while Jewel carried the conversation. Questions about her semblance seemed to draw the most words from her as she explained that her Empathic Manifestation allows her to control the emotional states of others, for example, inducing fear. In return Jewel explained her own Dust Manipulation, allowing her to detonate, amplify, lessen and, in some rare cases, even telekinetically move, dust.

On the opposite end, Jewel’s attempt to compliment her wings ended poorly. A simple “I do like your wings” had drawn a single shaky “oh” from her before she had fallen silent, a sudden tension in the air. Mentally she kicked herself. Of all the things to compliment, you go for the wings? The girl has beautiful eyes, lustrous hair, and skin to die for! She was slender and graceful, but with enough curves to allure! She’s a perfect vision of beauty and the thing you open on is the wi-

“I like your eyes…”

Jewel’s entire train of thought went screeching off the rails. Her voice had been so soft she’d almost thought she’d imagined it, if not for the blush on Arolynne’s cheeks, and the way she was very pointedly not looking at her.

Maybe it wasn’t such a misstep after all. They were very pretty after all.

Silence now more comfortable, the two of them set off to finish their initiation, hand in hand.

[themadamelibrarian]

Written By: @themadamelibrarian & @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell​ Chapters: 10/10 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Explicit Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Lucifer/Sam Winchester Characters: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Gabriel (Supernatural), Lucifer (Supernatural), Sam Winchester Additional Tags: Fluff, Smut, Porn, Angelcest, Daddy!Kink, Spanking, Of the fun variety, Light Bondage, Orgasm Denial, Anal Sex, Double Anal Penetration, Age Regression/De-Aging, Non Sexual Age Regression, cursing, wing!kink, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Insecure!Lucifer, Nesting, Regressed!Lucifer, Disapproving!Dean, Do you want to build a demon?, Bottom!Gabriel, Top!Sam, Switch!Lucifer, Cuddling Series: Part 2 of Loving Heart Summary: It's fairly soon after Lucifer realizes that he's safe and that he's not going to be punished by Dean, Castiel, Sam and Gabriel for his past sins. He finds most comfort in Gabriel and Sam, but he still has difficulties expressing his love for them.

Author Note:  This Aesthetic was made by the lovely @wearywinchester. It’s perfect and I love it. Thank you, Weary, from the bottom of my heart.

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Tagging: @thenanahunter @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell, @idabbleincrazy  @copperseraphim

Chapter 1

It’d been nearly a year since Lucifer had accepted the fact that the other inhabitants of the bunker, namely Castiel, Gabriel and then the Winchesters, weren’t going to punish him for past sins. Since then, the angels had built their nest in Lucifer’s room and now more often than not the five of them would end up there, curled around each other like a pile of newborn kittens. Other than that the day to day lives of the hunters hadn’t changed all that much. They still went out to kill the monsters threatening innocent lives while Lucifer and Gabriel hung back and did their own thing. They’d found early on that for the average hunt having two archangels, a seraph and two seasoned hunters was over kill.

On this particular night, the two eldest angels found themselves just enjoying the quiet of their home while the others took care of a werewolf four states away. Gabriel also used this as an opportunity to continue his mission to make sure Lucifer stayed current on the latest movies. So that’s how the previous Lord and Master of Hell found himself curled up in the nest while Gabriel loaded Frozen into their disk player.

“You’ll love it, Luci’. You can’t go wrong with Disney.” Gabriel chirped happily as he bounded back to the nest and burrowed into the blankets piled in the center.

Lucifer laughed and snuggled deeper under the covers. “If you say so, Gabriel,” he said.

“I don’t say so, I know so. Now shush...it’s starting.” Gabriel said as he leaned against Lucifer.

Twenty minutes into the movie and Gabriel raised his eyebrow at the screen. “I may have been wrong about this movie. Is it just me or is the relationship Kristoff has with that reindeer disturbingly close?”

“Thanks for putting mental images in my head that I don’t want,” Lucifer said with a shudder. “Say, Gabe. . . “ He grinned at his younger brother. “Do you wanna build a demon?” he sang to the tune of “Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?”

Gabriel scoffed as he playfully shoved Lucifer. “No, I don’t. You tried that once and look how Lilith turned out. All creepy white eyes and vapid.”

“Yes, Lilith had some flaws. But she was my first. Now Cain. . .” Lucifer chuckled. “He was a masterpiece. One of the best. As well as Alastair.”

Gabriel nodded as he thought about it. “I’ll give you kudos for Cain for the sacrifice factor but Alastair was a sadistic narcissist.” Gabriel stopped and tilted his head in thought. “Or was that pride?”

“Definitely pride, but that pride was well deserved,” Lucifer purred softly. “Alastair was an artist with a bloody canvas. His nickname was Picasso with a Razor, after all.”

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel turned his head from where it rested on Lucifer’s stomach. “You realize that Picasso was nearsighted and couldn’t line up eyes properly, right?”

“Where do you think the Picasso lineage came from, brother mine?” Lucifer asked with an arched brow.

“Great, another artist inspired by demon kind. As if we needed more of them after the dark and middle ages.” He said, rolling back over to watch the movie. “But to answer your original question, No I don’t want to build a demon. I built a platypus already. My life goals are complete"

Lucifer laughed. “So are mine.” He paused. “Never mind. Sam’s still on the list.”

Gabriel sat up suddenly and glared at Lucifer like he’d just tried to steal away a favorite toy. Which in the Trickster’s mind, wouldn’t be too far from the truth. For months he’d been harboring a crush, for lack of a better description, on the youngest Winchester, but hadn’t worked up the nerve to do anything about it.  “Sam?! What the hell is Sam doing on your bucket list?”

Lucifer coughed. “Nothing, it’s nothing of importance,” he said hastily.

“I call bullshit, Morningstar.” Gabriel snorted as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you wanting with Sam?”

Lucifer gave his brother a plaintive look. “Nope. Not saying.” He mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.

“Well, whatever you’re planning you can just forget about it.” Gabriel unwound himself and crawled out of the nest, clearly disturbed, but not wanting to admit to Lucifer that he has feelings for the human. He wasn’t even completely sure if Sam was even into men, but there were subtle hints that it was a possibility. So subtle that Gabriel figured that Dean didn’t even guess at his own brothers preferences.

“Oh, and why is that, Gabriel?” Lucifer asked, giving his brother a look. “Is it because you have feelings for him?”

Gabriel sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. “Maybe..I don’t know.”

Lucifer smiled warmly “You do,” he hummed.

“Yea, well. I’m too chicken to tell him. What if he doesn’t even like males? I’m too set in this vessel to go changing now.” Gabriel turned to look at his brother forlornly.

Lucifer gave his younger brother a look. “Did it ever occur to you to ask me since I’ve inhabited Sam Winchester?” he asked. “Sam’s bi, he goes for both genders.”

“Really?” Gabriel’s face brightened at the news but it didn’t last long. “So, does you having plans for him mean you want him too?”

“Can you blame me?” Lucifer asked softly, almost too soft for Gabriel to hear. “He’s helped me, a lot. Not saying the rest of you haven’t, but it’s. . . it’s different with Sam, you know?” He shrugged. “Just. . . the way I’ve always felt. But like he’s ever going to consider me as a dating partner. I mean, yeah, I know he’s forgiven me and all, but I still am not exactly the kind of man you want to bring home to big brother.”

“No one wants to be brought home to Dean.” Gabriel said with a shrug. “Except maybe Cas.” Sighing he crawled back into the nest and curled against Lucifer’s side. “What a pair we are. Both of us the first born of the Host and scared of what a human thinks. A really great human.”

Lucifer nodded, tucking himself around his brother. “One of Father’s best.” he agreed, nosing Gabriel’s hair. An idea struck him. “Gabe. What if weboth approach Sam?” he asked. “Like. . . Together. Offer us as a package deal?”

“I don’t know, Luci’. Us as a package deal for Sam might freak him out.” Gabriel toyed with the collar of Lucifer’s shirt. “It’s toeing a few human taboos.”

“Like Sam hasn’t broken a few human taboos and a couple of the supernatural ones as well,” Lucifer pointed out. “I mean, the stuff he did with Ruby. . . “ he whistled. “And the couple other things. . . well, Sam’s not as clean cut and neat like Dean is in the bedroom.”

“We really need to get you and Castiel to stop gossiping about Dean.” Gabriel said with a chuckle.

Lucifer chuckled and shrugged. “But it’d work, don’t you think?”

“It might. How do we go about it? Wine him and dine him?” Gabriel asked as he pulled back to look up at Lucifer.

Lucifer hummed as he thought. “Bluntness is usually the best course of action with Sam,” he said. “No tricks. Just lay out what we want on the table, and let him know it’s up for negotiation. Both in and out of the bedroom, although we should start with out of the bedroom first.”

“That sounds reasonable. But I would suggest we do it when Dean is out of the bunker.” Gabriel laid back and stared at the ceiling above as he thought of the logistics of asking someone to participate in such a relationship. “The last thing we want is for him to go Papa Bear on our asses.”

Lucifer shuddered. “Agreed. Say, think we should send the lovebirds on vacation?” he said, looking over at Gabriel. “Motel out in Cali, along the beach, honeymoon suite, the whole kit and kaboodle?”

“I know Cas would enjoy it.” He turned and smiled at Lucifer. “Not sure Dean would but he’s a sucker for making Cas happy.”

Lucifer nodded and smiled back. “So, we should come up with our own things that we want from Sam so we know exactly what we’re presenting him with.” He said. “Or each other,” he added underneath his breath.

“I’m a simple being. I just want him. To be with him and make him smile.” Gabriel turned on his side and wound his fingers with Lucifer’s. “But you. Our history runs so far back it’s hard to quantify us.”

Lucifer smiled and squeezed his interlinked hand. “It does, doesn’t it?” he agreed. “Lots of history. Good and bad.”

“The big question is are we ready to take this kind of step with each other?” Gabriel looked a bit worried. “It’s been a very long time since either of us have been with our own kind.”

Lucifer cupped the side of his face with his free hand.  “I think we are,” he admitted.

Gabriel leaned towards Lucifer and kissed him softly to test the waters, so to speak. His lips moved tentatively as a thrill ran through him at kissing someone who mattered to him and wasn’t dismissible when it was over. Someone he cared about and cared for him in return.

Lucifer moved his hand to the back of his brother’s head and returned the kiss with a soft sigh, feeling like a spark of electricity went through him at the idea of being someone who actually liked him for him, who didn’t care about what he had done in the past.

Letting out a needy sounding whimper, Gabriel grasped Lucifer’s waist with his free hand, leaning further into the kiss. The tip of his tongue flicking across the older angel’s plump bottom lip. “Luci’.” He whispered as the desire for more was quickly growing inside him.

“Gabe,” Lucifer whispered back, running his hand down Gabriel’s back with a light touch, still holding on tightly to Gabriel’s other hand. “Want you. Need you.” He’s felt these desires before, but never had they arisen so quickly. It scared and excited the older angel and he dove back into the younger’s mouth, desperate and needy for more.

Gabriel rolled so that he was draped on top of Lucifer, his thigh falling in between his brother’s. Licking his way into Lucifer’s mouth, his hands rucked up his shirt in search of the warm flesh underneath. Finding what he craved, Gabriel carefully scraped his nails along Lucifer’s abdomen, drawing out tantalizing sounds from the other angel.

Lucifer moaned quietly, so soft it could barely be heard as he used his own hands to push up Gabriel’s shirt, running his hands gently up and down the expanse of Gabriel’s back, trapping his brother’s leg with his own.

Pulling back from the kiss with a gasp for air, he looked down at Lucifer as he rolled his hips. The slide of his hardening cock against the blade of Lucifer’s hip dragged a low, filthy moan from his throat.

Lucifer moaned low as he arched his back and tilted his head, exposing the long column of his pale throat. He rolled his hips in reply, his own hardening cock gliding smoothly against Gabriel’s thigh.

“Heylel.” The smaller archangel whispered as he kissed down Lucifer’s throat to nip at his exposed collarbone. Shifting his thigh to grind against Lucifer. “Please tell me you’re a top.”

Lucifer groaned and ground back against Gabriel. “I’m whatever you want me to be, Gabe,” he whispered, leaning up to nip at Gabriel’s jaw. “Can be either or.”

Gabriel sighed happily as he reached down between them to palm at Lucifer’s erection. “Then I want you inside me.”

Lucifer groaned and rocked his hips up and into Gabriel’s hand. “Then I suggest you hop on, the,” he whispered.

Sitting up, Gabriel peeled off his shirt and tossed it into the jumble of blankets in the nest. “This’ll add a new and interesting layer of smells to the nest.” He smiled as he ran a hand down Lucifer’s chest. “And that’s what you have too many of. Layers.”

Lucifer laughed and pulled his shirt off and tossed it onto the floor. “Better?” he teased.

“Much.” Gabriel pushed his sleep pants off his legs and moved to straddle Lucifer’s hips as he snaps his fingers, willing a bottle of lube into his hand. “Care to help me get ready for you?”

“Of course,” Lucifer hummed, sitting up slightly and taking the lube out of Gabriel’s hand. He opened it and poured a generous amount onto his fingers, warming it up a bit before reaching around and beginning to run his finger lightly over his brother’s hole. “One day,” he breathed into Gabriel’s ear. “I wanna open you up with my tongue, taste you.”

“Oh fuck, Heylel.” He moaned as he pushed his hips back in an attempt to get Lucifer’s fingers into him. “Want that too. Want your tongue in me while I suck you.”

Lucifer groaned and slowly pushed the first finger in. “Fuck, Gabriel,” he whispered. “Yes, I’d love that. Having two things filling you up, getting you nice and wet for me. And let me tell you, you’ll be so thankful for my tongue by the time I deem you’re ready for my cock. It’ll open you up so nicely as I slide right in, attacking these lips.” He brought his free hand and ran his thumb along Gabriel’s lower lip. “Bet these get nice and shiny and wet when you suck me off, with the prettiest red color.”

“Let’s find out.” Gabriel bit at the pad of his brother’s thumb before backing away without breaking eye contact. “Gonna suck you right now while you fuck me open with those lovely, long fingers of yours.” He swung his legs around so that he was kneeling beside Lucifer, presenting his ass in the air. Reaching into Lucifer’s pants, Gabriel pulled out his hard cock and gave it a few strokes before wrapping his lips around the tip, sucking lightly as if he were kissing it.

Lucifer groaned and pressed his finger deeper into Gabriel’s plush rear. “Fuck, Gabe, your mouth,” he praised. His second finger absently rubbed the outside of Gabriel’s rim, his free hand coming up to grab his brother’s ass.

“Knew my lollipop habit would pay off.” Gabriel groaned at the feel of Lucifer’s finger stroking inside him. Opening his mouth a little wider, he took Lucifer in as far as he could go, his hand stroking along the part of the shaft he couldn’t fit. Hollowing his cheeks, Gabriel drew up to the tip and swirled his tongue over the slit.

Lucifer moaned and rocked his hips gently, his head resting back on his shoulders as he slowly inserted the second finger into Gabriel. “Fuck, you’re good, yes, keep doing that,” he groaned.

With sharp intake of breath, he twisted his hips, driving Lucifer’s fingers deeper into him as his muscles clench around them. “I won’t stop if you don’t.” Swallowing Lucifer’s cock once more, he started moving quickly up and down the hard length of him, all the while moaning and whimpering around him. Gabriel’s own cock hanging heavy between his legs, leaving a clear trail of precome on Lucifer’s chest.

Lucifer began to scissor Gabriel open, swearing elegantly as he did so. His hips rocked in time to Gabriel’s bobbing, his other hand still grabbing and squeezing Gabriel’s rear.

“Oh..oh..right there, Heylel..” Gabriel plead as he pulled off of Lucifer’s cock to take his own in hand, lazily stroking as pleasurable pressure courses through him, building up into what he expects will be a phenomenal orgasm.  “Could come from your fingers alone.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Lucifer chuckled, giving Gabriel a light spank as he inserted the third finger. “And maybe one day, we’ll explore that, hmmm? But I want to see you ride me, wanna feel you clenching around my cock as you lose control.”

“Please…” Gabriel moaned as he released the grip on his cock “Give it to me..need to feel your cock in me..I’m so damned ready.”

Lucifer withdrew his fingers and landed another smack on his ass. “Hurry up, then,” he growled softly.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy?” Gabriel grinned as he turned around to face him. Unfurling his wings with a flap that sounded like sun dried sheets snapping in the wind. Grabbing the base of Lucifer’s cock, he guided the head to his slicked hole and slowly lowered himself down. His mouth falling open in a silent moan, he kept going until he got his brother buried deep inside with their hips flush together.

Lucifer groaned and arched his back, bringing out his own wings as Gabriel made sure he was buried deep inside of him. His long fingers gripped Gabriel’s hips tightly, hard enough to bruise the skin beneath of them, looking up at his brother. “Fuck, Gabe, you’re gorgeous,” he said softly.

Leaning down, Gabriel kissed him softly as he rolled his hips, moving in slow circles to enjoy the pleasurable burn of being stretched open on his brother’s cock. “Not as beautiful as you, my Morningstar.” He panted out.

Lucifer kissed him back just as softly, rubbing small circles on Gabriel’s hips with his thumbs. “If you say so.” he groaned out. He rolled his hips underneath of him as a counter to his brother’s. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he added, kissing him again. “My Messenger.”

Groaning into the kiss, Gabriel lifted himself up to the tip of Lucifer’s cock before slamming his hips down again. The motion dragging a choked sob from Gabriel’s throat. With quick, sharp movements his hand clawed at Lucifer’s side. His cries filling the room as he sought to get as close to his brother as possible. “More, Heylel. Need more.”

Lucifer roughly kissed Gabriel as he began to snap his hips furiously against Gabriel’s. His nails digging into his hips, leaving half moon indentations into the tender skin. “This enough or do you need even more?” he rasped against Gabriel's lips.

Reaching around Lucifer’s shoulders, Gabriel dug his fingers into the downy lining of his wings as his moans turn into guttural gasps as the edge of his orgasm rushed on. “Per..perfect.”

Lucifer gasped and grabbed tightly onto the soft gold primary feathers of his brother’s wings, bucking his hips up vigorously into his brother. “Come on, Gabe, cum for me,” he groaned. “Cum for me.”

Opening his golden eyes to look into Lucifer’s, his jaw dropping open in a silent scream, his back arching up as his cock jerked between them. Come spurting in thick ropes, leaving behind a coating on Lucifer’s stomach.

Lucifer managed to thrust into Gabriel a few more times before slamming Gabriel’s hips down onto his own as he came deep inside of him.

Wings quivering above them, Gabriel clenched around Lucifer as he rode him through both of their peaks. When most of the shudders and spasms had passed, Gabriel slumped against his brother’s shoulder with a contented sigh, his grace singing within him in a way that he’d not experienced in millennia, perhaps even eons. “I’ve missed feeling someone real.”

Lucifer panted and held his brother close, running gentle hands up and down his back. He nodded in agreement. “I’ve missed feeling someone in general.” he admitted.

Tilting his face, he placed a soft kiss just below Lucifer’s ear. “You have me now.” He whispered. “Barring everything else, you’ll have me, Heylel.”

Lucifer shivered and buried his nose into his brother’s hair. “Thank Father for that,” he whispered back.

With a slight wince, Gabriel shifted, letting Lucifer slip out of him so that he could curl up against his side. His finger trailing through the mess he left behind while he thought. “Do you really think this will work? I mean with you, me and Sam?”

“I think it will,” Lucifer said. “We’ll need to work as a team, but we’ve done that before. Just have faith, brother.”

“Faith. I almost forget what that’s like.” Gabriel said softly as he wrapped his wing around them. “But I can try.”

[menatiera]

Fic Writer Appreciation Day Rec List

Hey, it's Fic Writer Appreciation Day!

Sadly I don't have as much time as I wish, got a terrible migraine instead, but I wanted to give at least a few shoutout in this particular date, so just a quick, not detailed rec, some of this year's favorite fics - the list is far from complete, but it contains some of my to-go fics when I feel down, or when I need some epics, or when I'm in a mood, or... well, basically anything can indicate me re-reading :D So: a collection of 2018's reads and bookmarks and favs. (Note: the date is the time I've read the fics, not when they were written - most of them are not recently published.)

Note: If you know the author's tumblr username, feel free to tag so they'll know they've been recced! If I tagged someone by accident who aren't the author of these fics, I'm sorry, let me know so I can correct my mistake! :)

Note 2: leave comments, folks! Seriously. We writers live and die and write for your feedback.

HUMOR:

Title & Author: A Handstand Flip over a Hot-Dog Cart by  LullabyKnell ( @lullabyknellart​ ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6641941 Pairing: gen Length: 1866 Summary: Steve wakes up in the 21st Century, freaks out, and successfully runs away. Note: check out the sequel too, in which HYDRA loses the Winter Soldier while shipping him... :D Both fics have hilarious style!

Title & Author: Uphill Both Ways In The Snow by  BuckyKingOfMemes ( @buckykingofmemes​ ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10072283/chapters/22443629 Pairing: gen Length: 48,595 words as of now Summary: Bucky provides bad advice and worse humor to all comers, plus occasional stories from the Good Old Days. Includes such tales as "How the Howlies got their name," "Steve and the Deathbike," and "Cows are Not Horses, Dumbass."

Title & Author: Look the Devil in the Face by  prettybirdy979 ( @prettybirdy979​ ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5113310 Pairing: gen Length: 3412 Summary: It's increasingly becoming a world where the unbelievable happens every day. The Avengers team includes a defrosted World War Two solider, a giant green rage monster and a man who might be a God; and they battle aliens and magic on a regular basis. It's not too far fetched to believe the Devil walks Hell's Kitchen. Matt, on the other hand, hasn't realised exactly why his new battle buddies seem terrified of him. It's not like they've even heard the rumors about him being the Devil... right? Note: I love everything about this fic and I'm not even into the Daredevil fandom that much.

Title & Author: Tiptoe Through the Tulips by  notlucy ( @notlucy​ ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13562340 Pairing: Stucky Length: 1308 Summary: Steve and Bucky debate the ethics of sex pollen because they have nothing better to do with their time. No, really. Notes: You know you need sex pollen ethics dicussion. From them. You know. This fic is simply hilarious and I love the punchline.

Title & Author: Operation: Rescue Playmate by  Akira_of_the_Twilight ( @akira-of-the-twilight​ ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13624239/chapters/31283262 Pairing: Winteriron Length: 7768 Summary: Prompt: Tony is an alien who crash landed/got lost/was left (by Obi?) on Earth. Tony tries to hide among humans using his advanced tech and abilities. Bucky as WS is sent after alien Tony because Hydra wants his tech. Tony uses his tech to give Bucky back his mind. Fall in love, defeat Hydra (maybe pick up Avengers along the way), the end :) Does Tony decide to stay on earth or does he build a new space ship so he, Bucky, and the Avengers can be space cowboys?

"Happiness and a sense of victory tickled Tony’s insides. He snatched up the two hot dogs then swung himself back onto the crosswalk light. He gobbled them up with voracity—just one hotdog short of what he thought humans would consider “gorging.” He licked his fingers and hummed in delight. His pointed ears wiggled as he sucked the crumbs and juices from his fingertips.

Dummy flashed a yellow light.

Tony and his tail perked up, just as Dummy displayed a human-thumb-sized image a man on a rooftop with the coordinates.

Tony yelped and leaped onto a passing truck just as a bullet zoomed past where he had been standing. Giddiness tickled his belly as he spun around and grinned at the rooftop where the bullet had come from." Notes: Not as much humorous as simply a lighthearted, easy to enjoy story for rainy days to snuggle up and smile at alien!Tony's antics and be happy about Bucky finding his match in a rather unusual way.

Title & Author: You Can Hear It In the Silence by  waldorph ( @waldorph​ ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2774723 Pairing: gen Length: 2830 Summary: When CAPTAIN AMERICA walks into the precinct, Jake staples his finger and doesn't realize it for like, six hours. He can only be happy that Scully and Hitchcock leave every day they can at 4:48pm so that they couldn’t bring shame upon the family. Notes: Avengers meet Brooklyn 99. Do I need to say anything else? ^^ Hilarious one-shot.

Title & Author: Vanilla Human Problems by  manic_intent ( @? ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493935 Pairing: Stony Length: 3911 Summary: Written for the prompt: "AU where Tony isn't Iron Man. He's a consultant for the avengers, so they still live in his tower, he still builds/improves their gear, but he never invented Iron Man. He's still close to the team, and is still a genius, so as the non-superhero member, he gets kidnapped. A lot. The team becomes increasingly protective of Tony." Notes: Cute and fluffy fic, warmly recommended for times when you don't feel good - it'll be better after (re)reading this :)

Title & Author: The (Not So) Great Pretender by  RayShippouUchiha ( @rayshippouuchiha​ ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12912708/chapters/29501541 Pairing: Winteriron Length: 19,586 Summary: “What,” Tony says softly but with a great depth of feeling, “the actual fuck just happened?”

“I believe, Sir,” JARVIS pipes up from the phone in his pocket, an unnecessary amount of what sounds like glee in his voice, “that you’ve once again managed to maintain your closely guarded secret identity. Truly your subterfuge skills know no bounds." 

“You’re an asshole J,” Tony mutters back as he reaches up to rub at his temple. He either has a headache coming on or a blood clot. At this point he’s honestly not sure which he’d prefer.   

"I did learn from the best, Sir,” JARVIS tells him sunnily. Notes: Tony doesn't try to pretend he's not Iron Man. Quite the opposite. Yet it takes a Bucky for someone to realize what's up.

HURT/COMFORT:

Title & Author: No Such Thing as Fighting Dirty by  leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) ( @leveragehunters ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6443635 Pairing: Stucky Length:3878 Summary: Bucky wants to be touched – he wants Steve to touch him – but seventy years of torture and captivity have left body and mind hardwired to perceive touch as a threat. They're working on it, but Bucky should have remembered that Steve will use every weapon in his arsenal – even the unconventional ones, the ones no one else would consider a weapon – when he's fighting for Bucky. Notes: This fic has Atmosphere(TM) and I love it.

Title & Author: Holding my breath in the palm of your hand by  Snowflakesandangels ( @snowflakesandangelslove ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13896096 Pairing: Stucky Length: 1744 Summary: Sometimes Steve needs to feel the steadying grip of Bucky’s hands to ground him. It’s not always easy for Bucky, he’s still learning to trust himself as much as Steve does, but in the end, it’s all about love. And oh how he loves taking care of his best guy. Notes: A verey gentle and sweet BDSM one-shot with sub!Steve and dom!Bucky and how they're ready to give what the other needs and I HAVE FEELINGS about this fic okay???

Title & Author: In Which Steve Rogers has Sex with all of the Avengers by  Cards_Slash Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484417 Pairing: Steve/Avengers Length: 3313 Summary: It's Natasha on the days that he's livid, just furious, about to burn up from the inside out. Notes: okay, it's more of a character study than an actual hurt/comfort story, and on top of that it's more porn than plot, but you know what? The fact that it's on my list despite these factors shows how good it is.

Title & Author: where the days are longer by  endofadream ( @endofadream ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611716 Pairing: Stucky Length: 7835 Summary: And maybe that’s what they’re running from. Those ghosts. That minefield. The suffocating pressure to live up to who they used to be when who they used to be has now become stale, recycled words in textbooks and museums and clickbait online articles. Captain America and Bucky Barnes may be American heroes, relics of a time when patriotism ran deep and values were wholesome, but they are also people who lived and breathed and died to live and breathe again. They fuck off to the coast, trying to put as many miles between them and D.C. as possible. New York is loud and claustrophobic at the best of times, but California has the open skies and roads that make Steve ease a little more into his skin. Notes: This is an Atmosphere(TM) fic. A very well-done one.

ANGST:

Title & Author: I Hurt Myself Today by  MusicalLuna ( @musicalluna ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300942 Pairing: Pepperony (sort of) Length:659 Summary: Tony and Pepper have been at each other's throats and Tony finally figures out why. Notes: Little ficlet packed with feelings! You might cry...

Title & Author: I'm Not There by  Voodoosgirl ( @voodoosgirl1 ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14550885/chapters/33621744 Pairing: Stucky Length: 1177 Summary: Thanos brought Steve to his knees, hands in the ash, facing the loss of Bucky again. What if the dead could see us? Reach across the void? What would Bucky's message be if he could talk to Steve after the snap? Notes: If you're still not over the end of IW, like me, this fic will bring you to your knees. Awesome Bucky POV. Yes, you've read that right.

EPICS:

Title & Author: One Man's Trash by  Shi_Toyu ( @shi-toyu ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14796809 Pairing: Winteriron Length: 5098 Summary: Tony Stark is head of the largest crime syndicate in New York. Bucky is his head of security, nothing more than a well-trained lap dog that comes running whenever his master calls. Still, even the best trained dogs can be lured away by a few scraps of meat... and Tiberius Stone plans to do just that. Notes: That one mob!au that even I love to pieces.

Title & Author: The Necrofloranomicon by  leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) ( @leveragehunters ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13640571/chapters/31325814 Pairing: Stucky Length: 47,569 Summary: Bucky didn't want much. Just to keep his head down, to sell his scavenged flowers in peace, and to stay off Shield's radar. His life would have been a lot easier if his flowers weren't dead and if being a necromancer wasn't illegal, but easy or not, he was getting by. Steve didn't want much, either. He was happy working for Shield, he had good friends, and overall his life was going just about the way he wanted it. Problem was, being happy with your life was generally an invitation for fate to throw a spanner in the works—and in Steve's specific case, it was going to be a spanner named Bucky. (A love story about flowers, trust, and magic and the choices we make about doing what's right.) Notes: necromancer!Bucky and special!cop!Steve and a beautifully built magic!au world and do I need to say more? That's my jam right here!

Title & Author: Endless War by  Nonymos Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14488623/chapters/33469737 Pairing: Stucky, Pepperony, Length: 27355 Summary: There is always something more to lose. (Which means all is not lost.) Note: An IW fix-it (but not a cheap one) including Deadpool and crossovering with Sandman and - honestly, this is among the most clever things I've read. Also it's from one of my fave authors. So definitely worth a shot if you want to bring back our faves or whatever! Also anything from her, especially War, Children and the old familiar sting and we are the things that we do for fun, but I should probably just make a rec list entirely dedicated to her...

Title & Author: Take Me Home (to My Heart) by  Taste_is_Sweet ( @taste-is-sweet ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13581903 Pairing: Winteriron Length: 25459 Summary: For this nonny prompt at the Imagine Tony and Bucky comm on Tumblr: Bonding is a natural thing that happens between compatible people. Person can have only one bond. When Tony wants to bond with his partner he finds out that he already has a bond. Now he has to find the person that he accidentally bonded with so many years ago when he was still a child.

"The only thing Tony remembered for certain was how he'd felt: Joy, belonging and comfort like he'd never found before or since. For a couple minutes out of his entire misbegotten life, he'd known what it meant to be whole.

It was impossible to forget. It had ruined him. Every new friendship, every potential relationship, only offered the forlorn possibility that he might feel that way again. But he never did. And after forty-something years of looking, he didn't think he would.

He still woke up with tears on his face and an emptiness inside him like a black hole had swallowed his heart. But that didn't happen as often anymore. He could even manage not to think of his lost Half for whole hours at a time.

Most of the time, he was okay." Notes: bitter and at the beginning quite depressing soulmate!au with a happy ending that worths all the struggle for them and for us readers.

Title & Author: Like a Comet Streaming On by  Sineala ( @sineala ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3344072 Pairing: Stony Length: 32,491 Summary: Tony escapes Afghanistan with a functioning Iron Man suit and a perfectly normal heart. He even manages to bring Ho Yinsen home safely at his side. But he may as well have lost everything... because his wolfbrother is dead. Six months later, the Avengers find Captain America, frozen in ice, miraculously alive. Everything and everyone Steve has ever known is gone -- except his wolfsister, the recipient of the lupine version of the super-soldier serum, who was frozen in his arms. Tony has everything but his wolf. Steve has only his wolf. This is how their lives fit together. Notes: PSYCHIC WOLVES!!! WOLF-SOULMATES!!! EPIC ANGST AND HURT/COMFORT! HELL YEAH! *screams*

Title & Author: Above the Rain and Roses by  coveryourheads (rsk110), Kellyscams Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11407446/chapters/25551711 Pairing: Stucky Length: 34,742 for this fic, 73,943 for the whole series Summary: Steve Rogers has been looking for The One ever since testing as Dominant. True love. Fairytales. Happily ever after with his very own submissive is all he wants. Which might be asking the universe for a little too much, but he'll take a good connection to start with. But tonight, Steve is visiting The Armory. An exclusive club where unattached Doms can go and enjoy themselves with a good sub for the night. Not exactly the place Steve expects to find his one true love. Then again, fate might have other plans, and one sub might get in way over his head making assumptions about this Dom. Notes: Dom/Sub universe, some of the best tropes and kinks if you're into this, and and and it's just beautiful. The worldbuilding, the plot, the character arcs, eveerything. I'm so on love with this fic, guys, you can't imagine.

Title & Author: Meridian by  Tippet Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11842224 Pairing: Stucky Length: 31,181 Summary: The metal hand flexes now and Steve’s eyes go straight to it, then fix back on the soldier’s. Slowly, that the soldier can see every crease shifting into place, his face fills with a quiet wonder; he looks at the soldier as a beggar gazes at a banquet. (Steve goes missing; Bucky goes after him.) Notes: Again, this is an Atmosphere(TM) fic, with a great style, gorgeous descriptions, beautiful character and redemption arc. A bittersweet must-read that may or may not leave you in tears - through it and in the end as well, only for different reasons.

Title & Author: Don't Fear The Proving by juuls ( @juuls ) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14678979/chapters/33913917 Pairing: Stony Length: 44,522 Summary: “Ah, tut tut, Thor All-Father; she no longer calls to you. She is open for the taking. We of power can feel it,” Proxima Midnight drawled, a smile tugging at her lips. This time when she hefted her trident she pointed it right at Thor, then proceeded to point it at each of them—Tony, Steve, Nat, James—and then back again to Thor. She held the trident steady, her muscles obviously strong and used to its weight in her hand. “Do any of you challenge me for her?” she demanded.

-or-

The one where Mjolnir gets repaired, Thanos' minions come knocking, Tony gives a speech, and there's a road trip. That may or may not lead to kisses. Oh, and Tony just might be worthy of lifting Thor's old hammer after all...

[[Written for the Cap-IM Reverse Big Bang.]] Notes: If you need a good post-CW Stony fic, this is it. I was almost afraid of it, because it's such a hard topic, but juuls handled them with such a grace and precision, it's spot on, it has its great moments, and it doesn't feel forced for a moment. Awesome work, really, check it out!

And last but not least, my beloved @cpt-winniethepooh's WIP - the one THAT EVERYONE SHOULD READ - and leave comments so she'll update sometimes in the future I guess:

Title & Author: The changes we dread (are the changes we need) by  araydre, cpt_winniethepooh Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14429967/chapters/33328158 Pairing: Stucky Length: 83,974 atm Summary: Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers were both on the Valkyrie when it crashed. In the new century they are both Captain America and work for a SHIELD that keeps the world safe - and also keeps superhero IDs a secret. Except they've had enough of SHIELD controlling their lives and they set out on a journey to find the Third Cap... and if they end up finding true friendships, secrets of the past, and maybe even a way to make this secret superhero thing a better deal for all parties involved? Well, that's just what Captain(s) America does, isn't it. Note: This is a super duper awesome fantastic fic, folks. Hilarious humor, delicious estabilished relationship - but just the right amount of miscommunication and past issues for it to be absolutely interesting and really, happy stucky relationship is our jam, right? - and an intriguing plot with lots of hurt/comfort! READ IT. Seriously.

Don't forget to leave kudos and, more importantly, COMMENT if you read a fic! Show your appreciation to your local (or not so local) fanfic writers who WORK FOR FREE and pour their souls on screen to provide entertainment for you, and all they ask in return is some feedback!