#this fic still make me giddy it still make me do a silly leg wiggle

[todayisafridaynight]

puffer party inspo'd by the fact i've had this fic rotating in my head for the past week

[be-gay-do-heists]

OKAY finally finished with eliot hand pain hurt/comfort fic, and i couldn’t actually decide whether i preferred it in second or third person POV. this is the version with the third person POV, otherwise nothing is different from the other version !

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Contrary to what the four crazy people he spent his time risking his life for nowadays thought, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing satisfactory. A ringing hit to his jaw didn’t feel like penance. The actual protection aspect was a different story. Standing like a wall between your people and danger, there was nothing that made Eliot’s ribs ache with pleasure like that; a wall didn’t feel, didn’t think, it was just an immutable fact. He was an immutable fact. The problem was that the wall-as-Eliot, or perhaps the Eliot-as-wall, had to become human again sometime after the last man went down and the last dollar bill was stuffed into a duffel. To hurt was human, and not just to hurt but to remember the wound long, long after, for it to live in your knees and wrists and between the vertebrae in your spine. Some days— and this was a product of how long after a job it had been, how hard he had pushed—some days were worse than others. The fact that some days the first sound out of his mouth wasn’t even a groan, but a whine, or worse the half-awake pleading for please please make it stop i’ll do anything just make it stop—

No, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

Comparatively, today was a good day. Today, he could get out of bed. His head and body were blessedly in agreement that it was in his best interests to swing his twinging knees to the side of the mattress, push himself up onto legs that were sore but stable, with arms that shook only slightly. But compared to Eliot’s best days, the ones where except for the old shoulder injury which would never let him forget it and the scar on his hip that put a falter in his giddy-up in all kinds of weather, the days on which except for those he sometimes even forgot the pain, this didn’t hold a candle. Today his hands were so beat and weak that the ache radiated up to his mid-forearm, settled into him all familiar-like and made its home in him.

In the bathroom, Eliot used his wrist to turn on the faucet and stuck his mouth under the water to drink. Holding a cup was off the agenda. His morning routine was interspersed with winces, not unusual for his post-job bathroom adventures, and if it took Eliot longer to shimmy on the sweats he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of today, it made him appreciate the comfort of wearing them a little more.

Going handless was fine until he was face to face with the fridge, and resisting the urge to growl at it, like that would solve anything. Taking a deep breath, he put a hand on the stainless steel handle, testing his grip. A light flex had Eliot drawing it back like the metal had burned him, like someone had snapped a tight clothespin onto each ligament. He took a moment to pace a couple steps, let out a loud but cathartic expletive, and then wedge his hand between the handle and the door so he could open the fridge with his elbow strength. The feeling of triumph behind his collarbone faded quickly as the hitter scanned its contents and realized there was nothing he wanted to eat, or at least nothing he wanted to hold and eat. The thought of grasping a fork brought another growl to his throat, and he slammed the fridge door to stomp to the couch and throw himself down, cradling his hands in his lap.

Eliot knew the drill: in an hour, he would grit his teeth and get to up to try and fumble open his bottle of painkillers, and if he succeeded, he would wait another hour for them to truly kick in so he could handle the tv remote, put on whatever game was on, and vegetate on the couch until further notice. The phone he had left on the nightstand rang loudly, fully audible from the other room, blaring out the chorus to “Macho Man” that Hardison had put as his ringtone and Eliot hadn’t figured out how to get rid of yet. If it was important, whoever it was would call again, so he ignored it. His ire rose when the same noise sang out from the bedroom a couple minutes later, a bit-off groan escaping from his clenched teeth as he levered himself up to get to it as fast as he could, awkwardly accepting the call and maneuvering the phone between his shoulder and ear. “What?”

“Man, we haven’t heard from you since we split yesterday, I thought we were gonna get a beer downstairs last night?”

He rubbed his eyes with his wrist, frustrated that he had forgotten he was supposed to get together with Hardison the night before. Getting home, washing the sweat and blood off, and falling into bed had seemed like the only goal in his mind. “Look, sorry, I’ve been busy. And if this ain’t important, you—“

“Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, you’re using your tough-guy, bullshit voice. And you actually apologized, so something is double wrong.”

Eliot snarled. “I don’t have— Hardison, I don’t know what you’re talking about, just leave me alone.”

“Too late, we’re already at your place.”

Before he could open his mouth, his doorbell rang, drawing a groan from him. If he was correct about who the “we” was, it seemed silly to even ring it. His suspicions were confirmed thirty seconds later as the door clicked open anyways and Parker and Hardison came in, having the decency to at least look slightly sheepish. Eliot had already moved back to the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he growled.

“Excuse us for being worried about your wellbeing, Mr. Suffer-In-Silence,” Hardison scoffed.

Parker leapt onto the couch cushion next to him. “We thought you might have been captured by ninjas.”

“You would know if I had been captured by ninjas,” Eliot muttered. “It’s a very dis— look, you’ve seen that I’m not kidnapped, it’s our day off, can you please leave and let me rest.”

“You still owe us a hangout from last night!” Parker chirped. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.” She vaulted back over the couch to go rummage through his snack cabinets, getting into the granola bin by the sound of it. Eliot made a note to restock it before she came back next.

When he next opened his eyes, Hardison was lightly sitting on his coffee table, looking at the hands still resting in the hitter’s lap. “What’s up with your hands, Eliot?”

Eliot’s first instinct was to deflect. He trusted his team, sure, but this was different. They weren’t supposed to know that he had these days. That he wasn’t invulnerable. “Nothing’s wrong with them, stop sitting on my coffee table.”

“Mhm mhm, sure,” Hardison said. “Go like this for me?” He wiggled his fingers in a “hey sailor” kind of fashion. Before Eliot could tell him just what he thought about that, Parker’s ponytail swung into the side of his face, the thief reaching down to poke one of his hands faster than he could stop her.

By the time Eliot was able to refocus and pull himself back from the whiteout of pain, Parker and Hardison were looking at him with open concern, the hacker leaning back slightly, a little pale. Eliot thought he might have howled; he wasn’t sure. Both his hands were clenched tightly to his chest, wrists together, arms outward, wishbone shaped. He felt just as brittle as one, with their stares on him. He summoned the anger from his throat, the only weapon at his disposal (only half-expecting that it would work, always defenseless when it came to their prodding).

“Can you leave me the hell alone now?”

Hardison looked at him, taking his time formulating his thoughts, but it was Parker who spoke. “Nope.” Eliot turned to her where she was perched on the couch. “You get hurt taking care of us. Now you let us take care of you.”

Eliot looked at Hardison pleadingly, hoping he at least would take pity on him and let him wallow by himself. The hitter wanted to hide like the trap-escaped, half-dead badger whose den he had accidentally put his foot into half a lifetime ago in the Italian Alps, earning him an earful of hissing that scared the shit out of him. He wondered if he seemed as belligerent as that now.

Hardison just shrugged and smiled gently. “Hey, you heard the woman.” He leaned forward slightly, just enough in Eliot’s space to let him feel his warm presence without crowding. “Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

He didn’t want to try, was the thing. It was only that it wasn’t their job to take care of him. It was his to take care of them. They just seemed to be wholly unaware of this.

“You taken anything for those yet?” Hardison asked, pointing at his hands. He hummed at Eliot’s slight head shake. “Thought so. Which ones?”

“White bottle, red pills. Only need a half,” Eliot mumbled, slouching. Parker was already up and heading to the bathroom.

“We need to get something you can actually open when this happens, some kind of spring-loaded catch maybe,” Hardison mused. “Alright, let me see them.” He patted his legs, frowning at Eliot’s growl. “C’mon, none of that. I know they hurt, I’ll be really, really gentle. I won’t even touch without asking.”

Eliot looked him in the eye for the sincerity he already knew would be there, the eagerness to help that (damn him) was one of his favorite traits of Hardison’s. Hesitantly, he extended his hands, rolling his eyes at the hacker scooting forward to offer his knees to rest them on.

“I assume you got antiseptic and ointment on these knuckles already, so totally disregarding those, even though it sucks. Nothing broken?”

“No, just. Aches. Like a son of a bitch. Can’t make a damn fist. Happens sometimes.”

Parker bounded back in, armed with a glass of water and half a pill in her open hand. “So no jobs for a while. Easy, I’ll tell Nate. Open up.” With a scowl, Eliot took the medication from her fingers with his teeth (gently, gently), and let her raise the glass to his lips, nearly choking as she tipped it a little eagerly, and choking for real when Hardison said, “Whoa, woman, let him swallow.”

“It’s not just the last job, Park, it’s jobs two years ago, or five, or ten,” Eliot managed, once he had his breath back. “Part of the package that comes with the lifestyle. It just happens sometimes, don’t matter what schedule we’re on.”

She frowned. “Still. We shouldn’t be doing jobs if you’re hurt. Nate should know that.”

Hardison leaned forward a little more while he was distracted trying to find the right response to that, that they wouldn’t be doing any jobs at all if that were the case, that Nate trusted him to get the job done no matter what, reaching out to his forearm and stopping just a hair’s breadth shy of touching. The hitter froze, and Hardison did too, meeting his eyes. “It’s ok. I’m just trying something out. Is it alright if I touch you here?” At his tiniest of nods, the hacker placed his fingertips on his arm, rubbing circles so lightly that Eliot almost couldn’t feel it. “Let me know where it starts to hurt, okay?” Hardison applied the slightest pressure as he added his other hand and lightly started rubbing down his forearm. When he got to his wrist, Eliot couldn’t help the strangled noise that partly escaped through his nose, high and strained. Hardison moved away from there immediately, going back to tracing soothing, gentle patterns. “You’re ok, you’re ok. I can work with this, no problem. Where do you keep your hot pads, man?”

“Bathroom, lower right drawer,” Eliot grit out. Parker was zipping off to get it and warm it up before he could even process. Hardison applied a little more pressure with his fingertips, rubbing the meat of his forearm. Eliot breathed out long and slow at how good it felt once the initial ache had ebbed.

“I want to try giving you a hand massage, but I don’t wanna hurt you more than it would help,” Hardison said, pausing slightly. “You up for it? I’m not gonna pressure you either way.”

Eliot’s thoughts stuttered, and then bolted in different directions. The feeling that he didn’t deserve this, that this was too much to ask, which had been simmering this whole time leapt to life again. It joined with the wounded, snarling animal part of him that still wanted to hide, burrow down with the covers over his head until his pain faded into the muted background noise of the world. He didn’t even know if a hand massage would work, might make the pain worse.

But it might be nice, a small, hopeful part of him murmured. Eliot couldn’t remember the last time he had been offered something like this, let alone the last time he had taken the person up. If there was anyone he trusted to do it, if there was anyone he wanted to receive it from, it was these two. How could he refuse them even he wasn’t fully on board with what they were suggesting?

“Sure, just…” Eliot said as Parker returned with the hot pad, pausing from tossing it hand to hand like a hot potato to fix her stare on him. He licked his lips, swallowed around a dry throat. “Just be gentle.”

“I will,” Hardison said earnestly, taking the hot pad from Parker to gently maneuver it under Eliot’s hands, resting on his knees. Eliot tensed slightly as the thief leapt up onto the back of the couch, perching above his head, but otherwise relaxed as the warmth of the hot pad started to loosen the ache in his hands. Hardison started where he had before, applying the slightest pressure to the hitter’s forearm. Parker ran her fingertips lightly through his hair, humming.

“Your hair is kinda wonky,” she said, fingers catching on a tangle. Eliot winced.

“That’s what happens when you go to bed without brushing it properly, you know that,” he grumbled, breath hitching as her fingertips grazed his scalp. His breath stuttered again as Hardison’s hands started working towards the sore meat of his wrist. Eliot’s hand began to shake.

“It’s ok baby, I got you,” Hardison murmured under his breath, more soothing sound than words. Eliot cracked open an eye to see him looking between his hands and his phone, playing a video where it was propped on his thigh.

“Man, are you watching hand massage tutorials right now?” he gritted out, doing a poor job of masking his genuine amusement with frustrated disbelief.

The hacker tapped his index finger against Eliot’s arm lightly. “I’ve been watching videos dude; think you’re so slick, tryna hide your hand pain from me. I just wanna make sure I get it right in real time.”

Parker’s fingers running through Eliot’s hair more boldly silenced any follow-up thoughts he had, mind going fuzzy with how good it felt. Without thinking, he insistently pushed his head up further into her touch, making her laugh. The sound reverberated in his chest, leaving him longing to hear it again. Instead a half-whine left his throat as Hardison probed the bottom of Eliot’s palm, the ache drawing him back to full awareness.

The hacker backed off for a moment. “Sorry, sorry. You still cool to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliot breathed shakily.

“Just tell me if there’s anyplace else that needs to be handled more delicately, or you don’t want me going at all,” Hardison said, putting his clever hands to Eliot’s again and taking up his gentle, slow pace. Parker’s fingers had paused in his hair a second, but went back to running through it again, scratching his scalp on every other pass.

Slowly, slowly, the vice of pain on Eliot’s hands started to dissipate, bone by bone, finger by finger. He don’t know how long he sat there in a haze, as Hardison and Parker patiently touched him, fixated on the single task of caring for him. The thought made the tender space behind his breastbone twinge. When he surfaced from the half-asleep contentment of their efforts, the television was on, Star Trek playing at the lowest volume. Eliot grunted, lifting his head from the couch to look at the two of them sitting beside him, grinning at his movements. Hardison’s warm hand was still in his, but instead of massaging he was just holding it softly.

“Hey sleepy,” teased Parker, throwing herself over Hardison to get closer and forcing an “Oof!” out of him.

Eliot looked down to his hands, flexing one experimentally, in disbelief at how the ache had faded to an almost imperceptible hum. With the other he tightened his fingers around Hardison’s hand, moving his thumb lightly over his.

“Hey,” Eliot simply said back, a real smile rising to his lips.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Mermaid - Inked Up Idiots

I got hung up on a different fic so I decided we needed some cute as fuck family shit for the tattoo AU. I missed these stupid fuckers. Mkay so my headcanon is that ciri has a hard time saying their names so she calls Geralt ‘Uncle Bear’ bc the girls call him Ger Bear, and she calls Jaskier ‘Uncle Ask’ bc her tiny little mouth cant do all those funny syllables yet. Hell I have a hard time with it sometimes. 

Warnings: i dont think theres any? its family fluff? i honestly dont even think i swore in this one??? who am I?

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Geralt opened the door with what looked like Crayola markers on his face and a warning, “They’re both asleep, I couldn’t bear to wake them.”

Yen gave him a look of disapproval but followed him down the hall to the living room, “She has gymnastics in two hours. You’re telling me I have to get food in her and wake her- oh my god.” Yen covered the adoring smile spreading across her face as Geralt motioned to the couch. 

Jaskier and little Ciri were out cold. Jaskier’s leg was hanging off the side and one arm was stretched up over his head of absolutely wild hair - Ciri had it in several small ponytails. Ciri was laying over his chest, her tiny toddler body fitting on his torso like a custom made bed. Her cheeks were rosy with sleep and her little fist clutched at the collar of Jaskier’s shirt as she snored away. One of his hands laid over her back, looking rather massive over such a delicate little thing. 

“I don’t have the heart,” Geralt shrugged, pointing to the other couch, “But I did pack all her things.” 

Yennefer sighed, “McDonald’s wont kill her every now and then…” 

Geralt hoisted the little overnight bag over his shoulder as Yen leaned down to unstick a lock of hair from Ciri’s face, “Morning, Silly One. Time to get up.” 

Jaskier lifted his head, looking around in confusion, but Ciri still didn’t stir. 

“Oh, hey Yen.” 

She chuckled and plucked the tiny brightly colored scrunchies out of his hair, “Hey, you. Sleep well?” 

“Mm! Quite comfortably actually. Oh, If she asks about face masks, I just smeared some foundation on her nose to make her feel included. We were doing pore strips.” Jaskier wiggled his nose as Yen peeled Ciri off his chest. 

She finally started to stir when Yen had her upright, “Mumma?” 

Yen kissed her forehead as she wiped at her eyes, “Right here, Ciri. Geralt did a pore strip?” She snickered, crossing over to him to take Ciri’s bag. 

“He lied. He said it wouldn’t hurt.” Geralt explained, sending an accusatory look toward his husband. 

Ciri laid her head on Yen’s shoulder with a sleepy smile, “Uncle Bear cried.”

Geralt rolled his eyes despite his fond smile, “And you,” he tickled her sides while he spoke, “giggled the whole time. Didn’t you?” 

She squealed and nodded, now completely awake. 

Yen glanced at Geralt’s arms and smirked, “Looks like you’ve been working on your art too.” 

Ciri beamed with pride as they all migrated to the front door, “Bear! Your leg!”

Geralt smiled and hiked up the leg of his sweatpants, showing off the very brightly colored mermaid covering his calf and ankle while Ciri rattled on, “I got tired coloring monsters so Uncle Ask drew me a mermaid.” 

“It’s very pretty, love!” Yen practically sang. 

“She wanted to be like Mumma.” Jask added, “No coloring book would do.” 

Yen bit her bottom lip and positively glowed with pride, “Thanks guys. We’ll see you at dinner tomorrow?”

Jask nodded as he saw them out the door, “Tell my favorite receptionist I miss and love her.” 

-

An hour and two cups of strong coffee later, Geralt and Jaskier lounged on the couch, eying the mess Ciri had left in her wake warily, but ignoring it in solidarity for the moment. 

“J?”

“Yes, darling?” 

Geralt picked a craft sparkle off his husband’s nose as he spoke, “I know you said you won’t tattoo me anymore-”

“-because you cry and whine and it makes me feel far too guilty. No.” 

“-but hear me out,” Geralt continued, “Will you do it for Ciri?”

Jaskier pushed off his chest and gave him a skeptical glare, “What do you mean?” 

“I want to get the mermaid tattooed there. For her.”

“Are you being impulsive?” Jaskier sputtered, a delighted grin on his face. 

Geralt raised his eyebrows, “I got a tattoo on our first date.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and gave him a quick peck before he hopped up, “That doesn’t count. You’d thought about it before. This,” He motioned to Geralt’s calf like Vanna White, “is true Stupid Tattoo Addict behavior. And I love it.” He skipped to the front door and grabbed his keys. 

“Where are you going?” 

“WE are going to the studio! Come on!”

Geralt scrambled off the couch to wrap an arm around his husband’s waist and pull him close, “I didn’t mean now. We haven’t even had breakfast,” he laughed. 

“Put on your shoes. We’ll stop by the bakery on the way in.” Jaskier insisted, laying his hands over Geralt’s chest and looking up at him with unbridled glee.

 Geralt couldn’t help but feel a little giddy too, “Alright. But let’s put the numbing cream on now so it has time to work.” 

Jaskier patted his cheek and kissed his nose before darting back into the house, “Good idea, love. Don’t want anymore Bear tears.” 

[sunjaesol]

♡ IT HAD TO BE YOU, WONDERFUL YOU ♡

canon compliant juke valentine’s day fic ♡ for all you sweethearts in the fandom

Before hopeless romantic Julie Molina fell in love with Luke Patterson, she always felt glum on Valentine’s Day. She tortured herself with romcoms leading up to the holiday, went into the “couples goals” tag on Pinterest, pouted when her crushes she never talked to dated other people (read: Nick) and felt all around envious of those having a lover to spend the day with. Her mother dying, she who held the biggest heart of all, also didn’t help her mood.   

But that was before Luke blasted himself into her life. Sure, their romance was a little unorthodox, but predictability was overrated anyway.

They got together last summer, when the band played an amazing gig at a tiki bar on the beach and they were drunk on the heat, pink lemonade and each other’s adoring gazes. Dancing on the beach with him and the boys, Luke had grabbed her in his embrace and whispered lyrics at her she’s never heard before. His fingers grazed her jaw when he said it was a love letter - “For you, Jules.” She didn’t have to go far to reach his lips, both eager and giddy to finally come home.

(Weeks later, the love letter was transposed to music and performed for an audience. It was full circle moment. He loved music and her and now it was all connected. Luke had been dazed, but Julie was quick to kiss the stupor away. They could do that now. It was insane.) 

All week, Julie had been working on a secret gift. She scoured her room was scraps and pictures and notes; reminders of Luke hidden in every corner without realising it. A purple pick was found under her bed, a song in her dream box they never got to finish, a seashell he plucked from the beach, a row of pictures from a photo booth, love notes. Julie would lie if she said she didn’t find it adorable how his only reference of romance were the 80s flicks, as it gave her a heartthrob of a boyfriend that didn’t back down from cute gestures like those notes. It left her heart racing and brought a blush on her cheekbones. the sun’s jealous of that smile jules

It was only natural she made him a collage. 

They had an unspoken agreement to never involve money. Though they were in a band together, all the money they made directly went to Julie. She invested it back in their life passion, obviously, but the fact remained that Luke couldn’t take her on typical dates or buy her the typical gifts. Until American Ghost Dollars got invented, they had to be creative. 

Going to the movies were movie nights in the studio with a projector and cookies they made together. A love song instead of dinner. Dancing in her bedroom with AirPods instead of partying.     

And it was enough. It was more than enough. She loved him so much that each second spend together was perfect as is. 

The collage was small enough that he could easily tuck it away. Pictures overlapped, a dozen Mini Luke’s and Mini Julie’s staring at the camera or each other, from before and after they started dating. 

A photo Flynn took of Luke peppering her temple with kisses backstage. A polaroid of when she snuck up on him and smacked a kiss on his cheek, his teeth flashing white from the beam on his face. A Snapchat of when she showed him the filters and he kissed her instead. Multiple pictures of them snuggling on the studio couch, supposed ‘blackmail’ for Alex, but Julie cherished them. If she closed her eyes, she could feel his arms wrap around her back as she’s sprawled on top of him.

The pretty shell didn’t fit on the collage, so she decided to make a bracelet as well. A thick band made from orange, red and yellow string, the shell as its penchant. 

That morning, she pulled on her most Valentine’s day inspired outfit and rushed to the studio. Her gifts were still in her room, out of sight and kept for later, now she just wanted to see her boyfriend. 

Her smile, painted in cherry lipgloss, stretched wider when she slid the doors open and saw that no one was inside. Just last night had he kissed her a little longer after rehearsal, wiggling his brows like he knew something she didn’t. Luke was terrible at keeping secrets. She wasn’t surprised to find it empty, unless…

Luke poofed in front of her with a warrior cry and hoisted her up in one fluid motion. Julie yelled in delight, gripping onto him as he spun them around. For the occasion, he swapped his regular orange beanie for a red one. (One day, her heart was going to explode from all the silly stuff he did.) Matching her expression, his hands steadied her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.    

An index finger flicked his chin playfully. “How long did it take you to plan this?”

He gasped, faux-offended. “Julie! I’m spontaneous as shit.”

“Mh-hm,” she hummed, leaning in to kiss his lips. His frown melted away, the languid kiss flickering with the hint of passion it usually held. Slowly, he set her down, her staying locked between his arms. When she pulled back, he chased after her and pecked the side of her mouth - once, twice.    

“I’m gonna smother you with so much kisses that you’re gonna get sick of me,” he declared, as if the threat of loving her was scary. 

She pressed her forehead against his with a grin. “I look forward to it.”

Instantly keeping up his promise, he nuzzled against her cheek. “What’d you wanna do?”

“Well, we’re ending the day in the hammock.”

“Duh.”

“And,” she sneakily added, “we can be really cheesy and watch ‘Valentine’s Day’.”

He made a face, both remembering their divided opinion on the movie. “If we’re seeing it again, then I’m choosing all the snacks.”

“Deal.”

“Nice,” he breathed, raising his fist between their torsos so she could bump it with her own. Her cheeks were already aching from smiling so much, giddy to spend the entire day with her boyfriend undisturbed by the boys or family or school. 

Her fingers scratched into his plaid jacket. “You know what I’m also looking forward to?” His eyes narrowed at her lilting voice. “Giving you your present.”

His jaw fell slack. “Jules, now I’m gonna be thinking about it all day.” But then she saw the devilish glint in the green of his irises as he uttered: “Guess you’ll have to wait on your present too.”

“You-” That was unexpected. “You have a present?”

Luke bit down on his lip, watching her surprise. “I was waiting for that reaction. Sweet. Okay, I’m saying we dip everything in chocolate. Fruit, popcorn-”

“I’m willing to try one of those crazy combinations you love so much,” she proposed. The excited smooch she got afterwards was worth it.

The couple claimed the kitchen for an hour as they made their snacks, most of which being the typical chocolate covered strawberries both liked a lot, and then nestled themselves in her room. Curled into his warm body, they shared earphones as they watched ‘Valentine’s Day’. Though she asked to watch it, all her attention went to his hands continuously caressing her waist and thigh. It lulled her into a blissful trance. Sometimes he would make a joke (“We’re way cooler than Taylor and Taylor!”) and she’d chuckle and hum and rub his chest. By the time Jessica Biel was smashing the piñata, she was placing soft kisses on his neck and he had to pause the movie. 

Hovering over her with a wolfish grin, he pecked her nose. “I thought you wanted to watch.”

“And I thought you were going to smother me with kisses,” she bounced back with a quirked brow. For a beat, they shared an amused look. 

Then Luke laughed, diving for her lips and doing just that. That rushing feeling coursed through her veins, a pure shot of adoration and attraction with each warm, open-mouthed kiss. He tasted like chocolate, skin sticky from fruit, and smelled in that perfectly boyish way. Julie sighed into the kiss. No cheesy movie or love song could compete with the sensation of slipping her fingers in his hair and having his arms tighten like he never wanted her to stop. Her bedroom was heaven on earth.   

(Perhaps that was silly. She was only seventeen after all. How much did she actually know about the world to accurately make that statement? But did it even matter if right now, right here, she felt like the luckiest girl in the universe? The cynics could bite her.) 

She didn’t know how long they let their lips and hands wander. It was hard to care about time when his mouth was on her ear and her nails drew shapes on his back. 

“I bet,” he whispered, “Taylor and Taylor never felt like this.”

She giggled. “You’re just jealous of the big teddy bear.”

His smile pressed on her cheek. “Maybe.”

When Luke and her first got together, they were scared to touch. Sure, they had their moment on the beach and previously, they found plenty of opportunities to be in contact. But after they made if official and there was nothing to hide behind anymore, it got scary. They yearned for affection, but what if Luke disappeared one day without meaning to and then they’d both ache for each other’s comfort? They got over it eventually and now it was only natural to feel his smile on her skin.

It was hard to imagine kissing anyone but Luke, unfathomable having a different boy hug her from behind at school and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Only Luke could write her love notes. Only she was allowed to write him ones as well, or leave cute post-it’s on his guitar to cheer him up when he had a bad day. It was just them.

Her mind going haywire over such a simple touch jolted her memory, Julie abruptly sitting up and bringing Luke with her. His brows raised in surprise. She pecked the pout away, brushing her nose against his. 

“Can I give you your present?”

A breathy smile tugged on his cheeks. “Yeah, I’m curious.”

Julie untangled herself from their embrace and reached inside her wardrobe for the gift. Sitting cross-legged in front of him, she gave him his present with barely-concealed anticipation. Hopefully he loved it as much as she loved making it! 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she sang, watching him pull the tissue paper out the small bag and unearthing the collage and bracelet. 

Speechless, he gawked at the collection of pictures. Eyes flitted past each quickly, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Crawling over to sit beside him, she placed her head on his shoulder. “You like it?”

He sniffled. Julie looked up and was shocked to note his eyes were shiny. “Aw, babe!”

His gaze caught hers, distraught. “You’re not supposed to make me horny and then emotional!”

She laughed and pressed a kiss on his cheek. His cute reaction made her heart lurch with fondness. “It wasn’t supposed to make you cry.”

Luke sighed, hand guiding her face to place a proper kiss on her lips. It was short, but just as electric as all the ones before. He kissed like he played guitar - always intentional and one hundred percent. 

“I love it,” he muttered. “Thank you. And I love the bracelet too.”

“I made sure it matches your others.”

He captured her lips again. “Yeah… Thanks, Jules.” His nose scrunched, arrogance dripping from his voice as he tucked a curl behind her ear. “My present is better though.”

Her arms crossed, challenged. “Oh really?”

“Hell yeah, it is. Gonna knock it out of the park.” With a snap of his finger, he conjured his songbook and stuck the collage between two fresh pages. He clicked his tongue with the typical bravado he exuded onstage. “Who knows, Jules, you might even get a crush on me.”

Just as she was about to retort with a tease of her own, her eyes caught a fluttering page with words she didn’t recognise. Pointing at it, she asked: “What’s that?”

Luke frowned, thumbing to the right side and rolling his eyes. “Some lyrics that got stuck in my head a few nights ago. It doesn’t work though.”

“Maybe not. I kind of like that part.” She tapped on the line ‘so deep, your DNA's being messed with my touch’ with a pensive wrinkle knitted in her forehead. Ideas began to brew, throwaway pieces from other discarded songs coming back to her and meshing well with what he’s already composed. “Yeah, this is good, Luke. Do you want to work on it?”

He hesitated for a beat, stare trailing from her to the half-eaten plate of snacks. “Do you want to?”

“Of course,” she smiled. They were Luke and Julie - did either of them really think they could go a day without music? Even if she hadn’t discovered this diamond in the rough, he’d inevitably spring upright to write down a riff or her fingers would tingle to try out a melody. Songwriting was perhaps the best date of all, showing that work and play could successfully be mixed together. 

He sighed in relief. “Good. Okay, so I was thinking…”

Hours went by tinkering on the song, the afternoon drifting by and them having moved to the hammock in the garden. It was a spot Luke rediscovered and she all too willingly found a place next to him. They cherished the quietude and warmth even before they were dating. The page was now littered with flowing, strung-together verses and a half-done chorus. Instrumentals were for tomorrow when they were all together. In the back of her head lingered the thought that he still hasn’t given his supposed homerun of a present, but Julie reminded herself then that it didn’t even matter. This was enough. He was enough. Who knew, maybe he was just talking smack! The doubts vanished as Luke drummed his fingers on her stomach, humming a beat.      

“And you thought it wouldn’t work!”, she teased. 

He puffed. “Cause it didn’t! It needed the Molina Touch!”

A brow quirked, amused. “The Molina Touch?”

“Yes,” he grinned and tapped her chest. “The Touch.”

“I don’t have the Force, Luke.” When his face fell flat, she decided to play along and mimicked his motion. Her fingers circled his sternum as she said: “Well, I look forward to the Patterson Energy bringing it alive onstage.”

The boy rolled on his side, she following suit. The hammock bended to the movement, pushing them closer together. The couple snickered, noses nudging and locked in the other’s arms. Above, the sky was coloured like Monet, purples and blues and pinks as the sun dropped below the trees. Julie stared at the way he craned his neck, green eyes blown wide while marvelling at the sweeping atmosphere. He was the most beautiful person she’s ever encountered. She was probably a little obsessed with him, never bored of looking at him, of finding new freckles, moles and spots. 

Her reverie snapped like a bubble as he said something. 

“What?”

He repeated himself. “Wanna get waffles?”

She blinked. “Waffles?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “V-Day waffles. I bet they have red velvet ones.” His face twisted, like he was in on an inside joke, and murmured against her lips: “Whipped cream, Jules. Can’t resist that.”

Damn. He knew her too well. “Reggie’s going to be mad we went without him.”

“Then he should get himself a ghost lover,” he joked. Slapping her hip, the exclaim was resolute. “Let’s go!”

The drive was short, an surprising amount of waffle places scattered around Los Feliz. The cityscape was painted red for the day. Heart-shaped wreaths adorned the doors of stores, bars promoted special cocktails with pink hues, boutiques displaying date night dresses on mannequins in the windows. At the end of a large strip of food joints, a waffle house joining in with a red banner hung across the frontage. RED VELVET WAFFLES! ONLY TODAY!

Julie shot him a suspicious look. “You knew?”

He shrugged, smirking. “A good guess.”

They were lucky. The parking lot was pretty much abandoned, no onlookers to see her joking around with air. He stayed in the car as she got the treats.

As she queued, her aimless thoughts found Luke as a focal point. It was hard not to. Maybe the best thing of all for a hopeless romantic like her, was that she found someone who was an even bigger dreamer than she was. If she jumped for the stars, he rocketed himself into space and hoped for the best. It made days like Valentine’s special, but it also felt like another regular Saturday. He didn’t kiss her differently, looked at her more intently - it was always like this. The red velvet waffles was just… extra. A cherry on an already perfect milkshake. Luke and Julie never needed fireworks to make the other feel remarkable. 

Dropping back in the driver’s seta with a sigh, she propped the waffles on the dashboard. “I’m not sure if it’s going to taste right, they look kind of mushy, but I’m sure the whipped cream-” The words died in her throat as she looked at Luke, a timid smile on his lips as his present laid flat in his hands. A mixtape. 

Her eyes tracked the CD for a beat (jules <3 written in sharpie with his infamous scrawl) and then flicked up to his face. That was most spectacular of all: the nervous twitch in his eye, the breathy smile. Luke was flustered.       

Gingerly, she took it from his grasp. “How did you make this?”, she whispered. 

The palpable energy didn’t waver. “Carlos. He lend me his computer and explained how to burn CD’s.” His chuckle was awkward. “Had to get you in the car somehow.”

A smile bloomed on her lips. Her heart was truly going to explode; the gesture so thoughtful and sweet. (Shit. He did knock it out of the park. How will his ego cope?!) Reaching over the middle console, she chastely kissed him. “I already love it.”

He shook his head with a grin, shoulders loosening a bit. “You haven’t listened to it yet. C’mon, play it.” He shot her a cocky nod. “You know how to use a CD-player?”

“Very funny,” she quipped. Cautiously, she took the CD out of its case and slipped it into the player. It whirred for a beat, her upping the volume, and just as she thought she’d hear some 90s rock band, something unexpected happened. 

hey jules

She froze, staring at Luke’s feverishly excited face, as his crackling voice came through the speakers.  

i finally learned about technology! you happy? anyway, you know i love you. i love everything about you, i think… i think that’s kinda why i’m here to begin with.

Tears lodged itself in her chest, ready to spill. Love was going to make her go mad one day. She loved this boy so much that it was insurmountable by anything else.

that’s not- it’s not what this cd is about. His tone brightened. what i love most about you, julie molina, is how fucking in love you are with music. so what better thing to give you, is more music? these are ten songs that remind me of you… happy valentine’s day, baby. 

It clicked off. Quietly, slowly, a melodious piano variation flowed in. Her breath hitched as she recognised it. Frank Sinatra’s ‘It Had To Be You’ reminded Luke of her? Her hands were shaking. His calloused ones grabbed them, pads of his fingers caressing the skin. A pout jutted from her lips, her eyes shimmering with emotion. It wasn’t fair. Boys weren’t supposed to be this romantic. 

His smile could light up the entire state, touch trailing across her arm up to her cheek, grazing the lone tear that she wasn’t even aware of. “Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “I can be the only sap.”

Shaking her head, she pushed herself over the console and placed herself on his lap. The divide of a stick shift was a plain crime. Circling her arms around his neck, Julie kissed him in the way she thought the song felt. Warm and languid and timeless and wholly, utterly loving. Depthless and infinite. The thrill of his bass voice melted them together, no space between them with his hands wrapped around her lower back. 

For nobody else gave me a thrill With all your faults, I love you still It had to be you, wonderful you It had to be you

“I love you,” she sighed into his mouth. “It’s not enough. It’s not…”

He kissed the lament away. “I know. That’s why music works.” Sinatra sang a line and then he grinned. “Gotta express ourselves somehow.”

Though that was true, though they had music to shape their thoughts into the most beautiful declarations of love, all she wished to have was a word. A simple word that perfectly encapsulated what she felt. Love felt too small. Too simple. But until she found it, she’d keep saying it.

And so she did. “I love you, Luke.” 

His eyes shut in delight. “I love you too, Julie.”

They wouldn’t leave for a long time. Locked in each other’s loving embrace, they listened to every song on the mixtape. And when it ended, they looped it.

Time and space wasn’t really important to them anyway.     

For nobody else gave me a thrill With all your faults, I love you still It had to be you, wonderful you It had to be you

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

@blush-and-books​ @bluefirewrites​ @ourstarscollided​​ @alexjulies​ @unsaid-emily​ @willexx​

[my-happy-little-bean]

The Day The Sun Fell - Chapter 2

pairing: logan/patton words: 3834 story summary: “The story of Logan and Patton from the day they met, to the day the sun fell.

(aka the story of logan and patton told a bit out of order. also the apocalypse happened, which is weird huh?)

warnings for both chapters: swearing; fighting; sad, apocalyptic vibes in general; sickness; implied death(s)  

a/n - hello! this is a repost of a semi-old fic of mine that is written in like a non-linear format, which is always super fun ~

i will be linking the previous chapter, the masterlist, and the link to the entire work on ao3 below if you’d like it :)

stay rad, u rad rats ✨

< previous chapter

[read on ao3]

[masterlist]

---

Patton couldn’t hear anything. 

His ears were still ringing– he couldn’t even hear his own voice. And– God there’s bodies everywhere. 

Adrenaline, Patton, he thought. He grabbed Logan, swinging his arm around his shoulder and pushing himself to make it back to Logan’s apartment. 

So close… The ringing felt louder, if that was even possible. So close…

(He didn’t even know that he was the one who saved him that day.)

“W-Where…” Logan groaned before he could finish. 

“We’re–” He huffed– ”going back to your place.” 

“P-Patton...y-you don’t–”

“Shut up,” Patton gritted through his teeth as tears slid down his cheeks, “W-We’re going home, and– and there’s nothing you can say that’s going to change my mind, okay? So– to make this e-easier for us–” He huffed again– ” shut up .”

And Logan did.

(Because he loved him.)

---

“What do you mean you don’t know how to say it?” Virgil asked, leaning back on Logan’s couch. Logan shrugged, tossing Virgil a beer on his way back from the kitchen. 

“I don’t know why I can’t,” Logan said, drinking from his third bottle tonight. “It– it’s illogical. ”

“Have you ever said it?” he asked. “To anyone? ”

Logan fell quiet. Virgil’s eyes widened. 

“Oh–” He cracked open his beer bottle– ” God. ”

“Shut up,” Logan groaned, slumping down on the couch beside him. Virgil turned around to face him. 

“Stacey Marron.” 

“Nope.”

“Austin Tanner?”

“Nu-uh.” 

“Elliot?”

“ Obviously not.” 

“Tiffany Ray?”

“Two weeks only. Never got the chance.”

“ No one? ” Virgil asked, a little less teasingly than before. Logan shook his head wordlessly and took another sip. Virgil sighed. 

“Have you told him why?” 

A pause. 

“No,” Logan said, “I haven’t.” 

Virgil sighed.

“I feel like he deserves to know.”

“What do you know.” The beer made the words taste more bitter than intended. Virgil just stared at him. 

“I know more than him, apparently,” Virgil simply said, “which I feel is saying something.” 

“Then what am I going to say, huh Virge?” Logan shot up from the couch, stumbling to the window. “That I’ve never been in a long-term relationship before? That– that I’m just some– some serial fucker who sleeps with people– who breaks their hearts in half and then just leaves?” 

“...when were sober, you have to change your Instagram bio to ‘serial fucker’.” 

“What the fuck am I going to do,” Logan groaned, slamming his beer on the coffee table as he plopped himself on the ground. Virgil sighed, sliding off the couch and crawling beside Logan, who leaned on his shoulder. 

“You’re just going to have to decide whether or not this is someone you’re going to change for,” Virgil said. Logan looked up at him, almost wearily. 

“Change?” His voice sounded too small for his own good. Virgil shook his head, tapping his shoulder again so Logan could lean on it. 

“No, not change,” he mused. “Wrong word. It’s…maybe the word's commit...?”

Virgil trailed off, before looking down at Logan. He sighed.

"Let's just make this easy then," he finally said. “Do you like him?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you love him?” 

A pause. 

Logan couldn’t help but look at the framed picture of him and Patton on his TV stand. Their smiles were bright enough to fill the whole room, and they looked like they were in...

“I don’t know,” Logan said quietly. 

“Logan, come on, you have to know somewhere deep down in your weird, robo-heart–”

“No,” Logan said again. He didn’t meet Virgil’s glance. “I don’t...I don’t think I know what that is .”

---

“Roman’s resting in your bathtub,” Patton announced, walking back to the living room. Logan was on the couch, with Virgil doing his best to attend to his leg.

“Is he– shit, Virge–” He hissed as Virgil tended his wound. Virgil rolled his eyes, nudging his head towards Patton. Logan sighed. “Is...is he comfortable in there?” 

“Duh,” Patton said softly. He gave him a half-hearted smile. “It’s Roman . He’s comfortable anywhere.” 

“How’s he doing?” Logan asked. 

“I don’t know,” Patton admitted. “He wouldn’t tell me.” 

“Serves him right for running into the scene of the crime,” Virgil mumbled, though there was an edge of worry in his voice. 

“He was trying to help people,” Patton explained. “When he heard that we were there when it happened, he went straight here.”

A beat of silence. 

“...It’s a fucking shit show out there.”

“Virgil! Language!”

“Sorry, sorry.” 

“What did they say?” Logan asked. Patton sighed. 

“There was another one,” he replied, sitting beside Logan on the couch. “I think it was in Japan. There might’ve been one somewhere in Europe too, but they’re investigating it.” 

“Did they say what it was?” 

Patton shrugged. 

“A lot of people are saying a lot of things. People think it’s judgement day, whatever that means. The radio gave out halfway through the interview. I don't know how to fix it.”

“How edgy of them,” Virgil piped up, still focused on Logan’s wounds. "Judgement day."

Logan just nodded, falling quiet again. 

“They say it’s not over,” Patton said, just soft enough for Logan to hear. “They said it was only the beginning.” 

Logan said nothing.

---

Logan watched with a small smile as Patton walked into the living room with a bright smile and a bowl of popcorn. Roman threw some stray strands of tinsel into the air. 

“Huzzah!” he exclaimed. “Food has arrived! We can finally start gift giving!” 

“Can someone tell me who’s idea this was,” Virgil deadpanned. 

“It was mine, My Chemically-Imbalanced Romance ,” Roman huffed. “You always have entertainment popcorn to watch the drama unfold.” 

“What drama?” Logan mumbled.

“The drama when someone doesn’t like the other person’s present.” Roman glared at him as if it were obvious. Virgil rolled his eyes. 

“Everyone’s going to like everyone’s gift.” Patton sat in front of the tree with the popcorn in his lap, cross-legged on the ground. Logan watched as Patton then reached over to the couch and pulled his blanket off of it, spilling a bit of popcorn as he did. He wrapped himself in its warm colours and glanced at Logan. 

He gave him a warm smile.  Logan felt something bubbling in his chest. 

They exchanged gifts, laughing at every silly present Roman gave them. Virgil tried not to cry when Logan gave him a membership to the local museum; and Patton tried not to die when Roman gave him a membership to the gym. 

“We can be workout buddies now!” Roman wiggled his eyebrows. “Build some stamina, you know?” 

“Roman! ” Patton gasped as Logan did his best not to blush. 

It eventually came time for Logan to exchange presents with Patton. 

“Aw, Logan!” Patton pulled out the two concert tickets from the envelope. “Oh, these are fantastic! I’m so excited. And–  awwww there’s a heart beside your name on the envelope!” He kissed Logan’s cheek. “I love you so much. This is so sweet.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Of course,” Logan finally said.

“How about you, Microsoft Nerd ,” Roman cut in. “Are you going to open Pat’s gift or what?”

“ Romannn,” Patton said with a small giggle, though he seemed just as excited. Logan looked at Virgil who just shrugged. 

He took Patton’s gift—a small, square box; tied with a white ribbon—and held it in his hands. He then looked up at Patton, who gestured for him to open it. 

Logan chuckled as he untied the ribbon and opened the box, and–

He froze. 

“Do you like it?” Patton asked, almost as giddy as Roman was. “I had it made this morning. I thought about giving you something else, like maybe a bookstore gift card or something.” He scooted closer to Logan. “ Buuuut, I feel like because we’ve been dating for a while, like we’re almost at the one year mark– I just think we’re there, you know?”

Logan could feel Virgil staring at the key as well. 

“I…” 

Patton’s smile fell. 

“Is...is that okay?” 

Logan cleared his throat. 

“Of course.” He hastily kissed Patton’s hand. “ Thank you. ” 

He closed the box slowly, the key finally disappearing from his sight; and, in the corner of his eye, he saw Roman pop a piece of popcorn in his mouth. 

---

“Patton?”

Patton turned around to see Roman, a bit paler than when he last saw him. He was stumbling towards him. 

“Jesus, Roman,” Patton murmured, going to his side immediately to help him walk. “When did you wake up?” 

“Just a bit ago,” he huffed. “I’m heading to the kitchen. Wanted a snack” 

“Go sit on the couch,” Patton said firmly. Roman just shrugged and did as he was told.

“What do you want?” Patton said as he walked into the kitchen. 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

Patton sighed as he searched the kitchen.

“How long has Logan been gone now?” He heard Roman ask. Patton closed a cupboard quietly. 

“Too long,” he mumbled. He grabbed a plate for the bread he found and went to sit beside Roman on the couch, offering the plate to him. 

“He’s still looking for him, isn’t he?” 

Patton just nodded. 

“It was my dumb fault,” Roman muttered, staring at his plate. “I was the one who told him to get lost.”

“It hasn’t been easy for any of us,” Patton reassured. Roman averted his glance. “We’ve all been pretty...agitated. It’s hard to stay cooped up like this. And...well, we’re all responsible for our own actions nowadays. You know what Logan says; no use in blaming ourselves. It won’t fix anything.” 

Roman said nothing, but was able to finish his bread. Patton took the plate from him when he was done and set it on the coffee table. 

“You actually finished.” He smiled softly. “I’m proud of you.” 

Roman let out a scratchy laugh and shook his head. “It’ll probably come back up tomorrow.” 

Patton’s smile fell as he stared at the table.

“Hey.” Roman scooted a bit closer to Patton. “I...I need to tell you something.” 

“Yeah?”

“I…” Roman sighed. “You have to promise not to get mad.” 

Patton faced him, his leg beginning to bounce. “What’s up?” 

“...I’m leaving.” 

Patton’s heart dropped. 

“Y-You’re...you’re what? ” 

“Patton, this shouldn’t surprise you.” Patton was shocked at how calm Roman’s voice was. “Things are getting worse–  everything is getting worse. Logan may be out there looking for Virgil but he’s looking for other things too. We are barely able to keep up our supply for three people and...well, you know I’ve been sick for a while.”

“That doesn’t mean that–”

“You said it yourself,” Roman said with a small smile. “We’re all responsible for our own actions.” 

Patton fell quiet. They didn’t speak for what seemed like hours before Patton broke the silence. 

“Where are you going to go?” he asked. Roman looked at him, almost surprised. 

“You’re letting me?” 

“You’re going to leave anyway, aren’t you?” His voice was cold. Roman looked down, almost ashamed.

“...I don’t know where I’m gonna end up,” Roman finally said, his voice quiet. “But I’m going to do the most I can to help someone with what I have left.” 

Patton felt tears roll down his cheeks. Roman’s shoulders dropped. He looked like he was looking at a sick puppy.

“Oh, Patton,” he whispered, pulling Patton into a hug. Patton could feel his tears staining Roman’s shirt. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“Y-You’re…” Patton sobbed into his chest. “You’re my best friend.”

Roman patted his head, chuckling. “I know. You’re mine too, padré.”

He coughed a bit, and pushed Patton back gently. Patton stared at him, as if he was talking to a ghost.

“I’ll be gone in the morning,” Roman said hoarsely. Patton numbly nodded. 

“I won’t tell Logan.”

Roman frowned. “...Really?” 

“He doesn’t need to know.” 

Roman just sighed, stroking Patton’s hair gently.

"Are you happy?" 

"You're an asshole." Patton was crying even more now.

“He loves you,” Roman murmured. “You know that, right?”

Patton said nothing, but he heard Roman’s last words before he even said it. 

(He wouldn’t have stayed if he didn’t.)

---

“Hey, Lo.” Virgil’s voice buzzed from his phone on the counter. Logan hummed in response, busy making himself a sandwich before heading to work. “Do you still want to go over to my place tonight? ‘Doctor Who’ is on.”

“Ah, I can’t,” Logan said, taking the phone off speaker and slipping it between his ear and his shoulder. “I am making dinner with Patton tonight.”

“You mean the guy from the library?” “Yes.” Logan went over to the couch and grabbed his brown bag. “His name is Patton.” 

“I know,” Virgil chuckled. “I’m just...surprised, s’all.” 

“Surprised?” Logan echoed. He stopped in front of the mirror in his front entryway, adjusting his tie. 

“I’m just surprised you’re settling down.”

Logan froze. 

“You’re joking, right,” he deadpanned. 

“Obviously.” Logan rolled his eyes. 

“But seriously,” Virgil continued, “I’m happy for you. I really want to meet him.”

“I’m not settling down,” Logan blurted out, almost defensively. 

A beat of silence. 

“Don’t think about it too hard, Lo,” Virgil finally said. He laughed, but it sounded more nervous than anything. “It was just a dumb joke. Sorry.”

Logan sighed. “I’m sorry as well. I did not mean to sound so cross. I’m just–”

“Don’t worry,” Virgil cut in before he could finish. “I get it.”

Logan just nodded as he kneeled down to tie his shoes. He placed his phone beside him.

After a bit of silence, he heard Virgil ask, “Is he pretty?” 

Logan paused, then picked up his phone and stood up. He smiled softly to himself.

“The prettiest,” he replied.

---

Patton coughed until he woke himself up, shooting up from his bed. He winced at how bright it already was outside, noticing the small outline of sweat he left on the pillow. He shuddered. 

“Mmm…” He looked down to see Logan stir beside him. “Are...are you alright?”

“M’fine,” Patton mumbled. Logan sat up with a small sigh. 

“Do you need to throw up?” 

Patton hesitated. “Probably.” 

Logan just nodded and Patton watched, a bit guilty, as he climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom to grab a trash bin. 

Patton flopped back down onto the bed with a small groan. He tried to will his cough– and whatever else was threatening to come up– to stay down, buried in his chest. 

“Sit up, please.” Patton turned his head and saw Logan going over to sit down beside him. He laid a trash can on the floor, closest to where Patton’s head was laying. “We don’t want you to choke on whatever comes out.” 

Patton smiled half-heartedly, sitting up beside Logan. His leg was bouncing. He had been throwing up for the better part of a week now — and Logan had, unfortunately, seen him do it most times. He wasn’t quite sure what made him so insecure. 

Logan offhandedly laid his hand on Patton’s forehead. He winced. 

“You’re warm.” He pulled his hand back slowly. “Too warm.” 

“I know,” Patton mumbled. Logan sighed. 

“You know this means I’m going to have to go find some medicine, right?” 

“ Logan, ” Patton whined. 

“I’ll leave tomorrow at night.”

“Nighttime doesn’t even matter anymore, Logan,” Patton protested. 

“I’ll be back before the morning comes, I promise.” 

“It’s too dangerous to even leave the house.” Patton felt his throat get drier as his voice rose. “Logan, you could get hurt if you go, you know that risks–”

“I’m not going to just sit here,” Logan gritted out, “and just watch you die. ”

Patton froze. 

He snuck a glance at Logan and noticed he was crying. Patton’s eyes widened. 

“You can’t die, okay?” Logan wasn’t even looking at him. He was just staring ahead of him. There was a slight tremble in his hands. He pushed his palms against his knees, as if to keep them glued there. 

“I’m not dying,” Patton muttered, but the words came out too dry for them to sound believable. 

“You just can’t .” Logan talked as if Patton wasn’t even in the room. He suddenly let out a choked sob. 

Patton watched wordlessly as Logan doubled over, burying his face in his hands as he began to cry. He felt like he stared at him for too long– longer than any normal person would.

And suddenly, the feeling to be sick, to cry, to do anything just...disappeared.

Patton leaned against Logan’s shoulder, just listening to his cries grow quieter. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine a world where he and Logan were married; celebrating their love under an arch of flowers, and under a sun that wasn’t dying.

---

“Hey Logan?” 

Logan yawned, then rolled over onto his side to face Patton, who smiled sheepishly. He tucked his arm under his head to get a better, more comfortable look at him.

“Yeah?” he asked. Patton smiled. 

“You’re really great, you know?” 

Logan chuckled. “The drowsiness is hitting you now, hm?” 

“No, seriously.” Patton leaned closer to him, mere inches from his face. Logan swore he felt Patton’s warm breath hit his nose. “I know I’ve only known you for a week now but...gosh, I just can’t help it. You’re...you’re just really great.” 

Logan smiled. 

(Three words sat in his throat)

“You’re really great too,” he whispered, gently laying his arm around Patton, who yawned and curled up into Logan’s bare chest. “ I’m glad I met you.”

---

Patton leaned against Logan, who helped him walk out of the car and towards the edge of the cliff. Just moving in this heat made him regret ever leaving the apartment, but he knew that he had to leave– go as far away from home as he could. He was lucky that Logan’s car still worked. 

Patton shielded his eyes as he looked below at the city from the highest vantage point he knew of. The sun glared at him, as if calling him stupid for even trying. 

He heard Logan sigh as he turned Patton around so that he was facing him. 

(It was illogical– no, stupid to look anywhere else.)

 Patton felt Logan wrap his arms around his waist and it was only then that Patton realized he was shaking and sobbing loudly in Logan’s embrace.

“Shhh,” Logan whispered softly. He pulled Patton closer to him. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“I- I–”

“ It’s okay,” he said again. 

Patton felt like laughing. Or throwing up. Or crying some more– he didn’t even know. It was so warm. 

“I-I’m so scared. ”

Logan paused. 

“I know,” he said quietly. 

“What if one of us lives ?” Patton murmured, his sobs wracking his entire body. He doubled over into Logan’s chest, throwing his arms around Logan as if he was hanging onto the only lifeboat on deck.“W-What if one of us lives and– and you are dead and–” 

“Patton…” 

“I don’t want to be alone.” Patton clung onto him, his face buried in Logan’s chest. It was like that for a while before he felt Logan tilt his chin up to face him. Patton could see glimpses of tears rolling down Logan’s cheeks. 

“You’re not going to be alone,” he said.

The winds roared louder now. Despite now being face-to-face with Logan, Patton was squeezing his eyes shut, shaking at the noise. 

Patton tried to memorize the ba-bump, bump, bump of Logan’s heartbeat. He tried to focus on it, make it the last thing he remembered, tried to remember that he was his–

“ God, I-I hate this.” Patton sounded so broken. He hoped Logan wouldn't notice. “I wish–”

“ No, ” Logan said firmly. Patton opened his eyes and looked at him. 

Logan moved his arms from Patton’s waist to his back, enveloping him into a tight hug. 

It’s all going to be okay, he was with him.

“You didn’t need to wish for anything else,” Logan finally said. “Things went just as they were supposed to, you know?”

He buried his face in the crook of Patton’s neck. “ I’m so happy. ”

Patton froze. The words sounded so far away, yet there they were; so close.

And then, Patton laughed.

It was interspersed with coughs but he was laughing. And eventually, Logan was laughing too. 

And there they were, laughing, as the sun grew closer. 

At some point– Patton wasn't sure when– Logan pulled back slightly. Behind him, Patton could see a blinding flash of white.

(And that’s how he knew they were going to be okay.)

And then, Patton heard it. 

“I love you.” 

Patton’s heart skipped a beat. 

Ba-bump...ba-bump…bump… … …

“Patton Morgan, I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

It was the last thing Patton heard before the sun finally fell. 

---

Logan finished shelving the last of the books in his cart. He stifled a yawn behind his fist as he made his way to the end of the aisle, about to turn the corner when– 

“Ahhh!"

A man collided with the end of his cart, sending the books in his hand tumbling to the ground, as well as a slight jolt throughout Logan’s entire being. His eyes widened. 

“I am terribly sorry,” Logan said, immediately kneeling down to pick up his fallen books. The man, to his surprise, laughed. The noise made Logan’s heart skip a beat. 

“Not a problem!” He kneeled down as well to help Logan pick up the books. 

They made eye contact for a split second. 

Logan never saw eyes filled with so much warmth. 

“My fault for wanting to book it before this place closes, ya know?” He laughed again, and Logan nervously laughed as well. 

“I don’t understand,” Logan said, “but...it’s okay?” 

The man gave him a small smile as they both stood up. Logan felt as if he was staring at him forever — so long that he felt like he needed to introduce himself. 

“My name is Logan Fray.” He outstretched his hand. “And you are?” 

“Patton Morgan!” He shook his hand with a wide smile. It was so bright, it nearly burned right through him. 

They exchanged a small conversation; mostly about the book Patton was taking out, and the books Logan recommended he take out. 

And after a few more seconds of staring at each other,

(God, why was he staring this much ?)

Patton shyly spoke up. 

“I don’t usually do this,” he said, “but...um, would you like to maybe have coffee sometime? Maybe?" 

Logan couldn’t help but smile. 

“I’d enjoy that, actually.” He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and handed it to Patton; who smiled and took it, taking a silly photo of himself before putting in his number and handing it back to Logan. 

Logan sent him a quick “Hello!” and it wasn't long until he heard a buzz from Patton's back pocket.

“Well, it’s a date then!” Patton scratched the back of his neck, almost flustered at the noise. “I’ll see you soon, Logan!” 

Logan smiled and nodded. “I’ll see you soon.”

-

reblogs would be wonderful <3

[candytuftgirl]

Somnia

A Secret Santa fic for Amylion! (My dumbass couldnt find your tumblr ashfg).

I hereby present this... mess. Probably not what you were asking for (definitely not; Im so sorry I just realized I didnt use the prompts they were going to come up later on RIP) and maybe a tinsy bit cringe-worthy.  There was supposed to be more, but yeah; here’s some good-natured kid Leia and Dad Vader, with a pinch of prophetic dreams for zest.

Well, I tried. 

(Also, this one shot was not beta’ed, I die like the horrible mess of a writer I am)

The hallways are dark.

The shadows that surround a few illuminated viewports create frightening monsters, if one had the right imagination for it. What was worse was that she was alone. There were no droids, white masks or suit-people in sight.

If she were younger, maybe she’d ask a droid to accompany her on this late night journey. But no; she was a big girl now (Seven! That was two fingers more than a whole hand) and besides, her daddy didn’t really like them much.

He didn’t like a lot of things, but there were some he disliked more than others. And she noticed, which was why she was walking alone, in the dark, the metal caging her in from the side. And she’s not scared. Not at all.

Still, if she squeezes Mr. Catty just a bit too tight that was just because he was shivering so much.

The big silver doors are in view soon enough, and she shuffles a bit faster when she notices them. It doesn’t even take a moment before they silently open. She walks in, the doors close and the familiar whirring noise echoes all around her.

“Leia.” Her daddy steps out of the dark, his breathing machine the only constant source of sound in the room. He’s tall, dark and shiny- just like he was when he put her to bed. It calms her; and Mr. Catty.

He absently waves a finger, turning the lights on as he steps closer to her small form. “Angel, what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead she walks over with her bare feet (she was going to get a scolding for that for sure), Mr. Catty firmly in hand and looks up at her father’s dark mask. The staring only lasts a moment.

There’s a small hitch in the constant whirring noise, like an exhausted little sound, and her father firmly picks her up and sits himself down on a nearby chair. She’s on his knee, one black gloved arm still around her while she makes herself comfortable, and now it’s just her father’s strange mask that stares down at her.

Leia doesn’t hesitate. “I had a strange dream daddy.”

She didn’t dream often, but when she did, she always dreamed of strange things. A cave filled with crystals, shining so brightly she swore she heard them sing. An underwater city, beautiful; but there were fish people standing on top of buildings, crying, screaming: “Traitor, traitor!”.

A moon made out of metal, with a heart that screeched in pain.

Everyone always said her dreams were silly, and she was making too much of a fuss about them. Overactive imagination, her retelling a version of a story she read somewhere; one suit-man even accused her of lying once! The more she talked about them, the less everyone who heard them believed her.

Sometimes, Leia thought that if it weren’t for her daddy, their gentle reprimands would turn scathing.  

She knew she shouldn’t have shared her dreams, knew most never believed her, but she couldn’t help herself; they all felt so real to her in a way. Why couldn’t other people understand that?

She knew better now. All the droids and suit-people dismissed her worries so she dismissed them as well; except for her daddy.

He never said she was making things up, and he always listened.

“It was a dry place.” Leia began, fumbling with Mr.Catty’s stuffed legs. She tried to remember. “Like, really dry. Everything was orange and the ground was bright and smooth; with all these little pebbles on them.” She shook her head lightly. “Oh no, they were even smaller than that: tiny, little pebbles. And there were no trees, or rivers, or-“

“A desert.” Her father stated, quickly cutting off her rambling. “You were dreaming of a desert.”

She scrunched her little button nose up at him. “A desert? Like, dessert?”

“No. A desert is a barren wasteland, largely inhospitable, dry and covered in sand; the tiny pebbles.” He explained, and she files away this new revelation in her mind. “I believe the chocolate waffles you had for breakfast this morning don’t fit the same description.”

Uh-oh. She cringed, fumbling her fingers around her stuffed toy. “Oh- you know about that?”

So she might have eaten sweets for breakfast this morning. Really, though, it hadn’t been her fault! She was alone with the droid in the kitchen, and it did ask her what she wanted for breakfast. And she really didn’t want to eat porridge filled with fruits, vitamins and all the “healthy necessities her body required to grow”. Besides, she was sure chocolate waffles made her grow more than that mush anyway.

“We will discuss your punishment tomorrow.” Leia made a face at that; she really didn’t want to scrub her room clean. Again. Her father’s mask turned towards her wriggling feet. “Where are your socks?”

“-So anyway.” She continued undeterred. “I was in a desert. But I wasn’t alone. There was a boy there too.”

Her father straightened a bit more at that. He always did, whenever she dreamed of someone. “What kind of boy?”

She shrugged. “A boy. I guess he was like me- except, well, he’s a boy.” Leia thought about him for a bit; the boy that inexplicably drew her attention more than any scary dream ever had. “He was blonde, with blue eyes- and his clothes were too big.”

She furrowed her eyebrows in concentration, trying to recall the image of a boy in large white sleeves chasing furry creatures across the ground. “He was kinda scruffy looking.”

“Language.” Her father quietly added, though it was more of an automatic response than anything. “Is that all?”

“Umm, he was chasing some weird rat; I guess he was playing a game and-“

“I mean, was there anyone else in the dream?”

Leia shook her head, expression serious as she looked up at her daddy. With her chubby cheeks and button nose, she looked far too adorable to emulate any kind of sobering face but that hardly stopped her from trying. Like a little queen waiting for her adviser’s opinion, she stared at her father while he thought about her dream.

Her father’s mask stared off in a vague direction, head tilted as he considered what she said. The longer he remained in that position, the more Leia’s heartbeat echoed in her head. This is important then. Daddy must think so too.

It didn’t scare her; it made her strangely giddy. Like that boy was a puzzle piece, something she unknowingly needed to complete the distorted picture in her life.

“It’s nothing like your… usual visions.” His rough voice brought her back from her daydreams. Black mask meeting her large chocolate eyes, her father stated his final judgment. “No. I do not believe it really means anything, angel. Maybe it really was just a dream.”

Mr.Catty made a straining nose from the pressure of her tiny fingers.

In hindsight, this information was wonderful. She often came to her father, crying her eyes out because she hated all the scary dreams she was having, and she didn’t want them anymore. The fact that this dream might have been just that; a dream, not a nightmare, not reality…

Leia hated it.

“No daddy!” She yelled suddenly, wiggling free and sliding down to the floor. It caught her father off guard, too surprised to stop her.

With red cheeks she stared up at him, and all his black glory. “He was real. I know he was.”

“Leia…”

“No!” She threw Mr. Catty to the floor, angry tears appearing in her narrowed eyes. “You think I’m making things up! Like everyone else!”

“Leia.”

Her father got up, voice cold as the atmosphere in the room shifted. No longer approachable, but massive; He stared down at her in the oppressive silence, hands on his hips, looking like a mountain that would break the earth before it would bend.

A scary sight, one that many feared. Leia was no match for that; small, with her chin trembling, and wet, sloppy tears already rolling down her cheeks. She couldn’t even compare.

Still, she refused to back down.

She knew her daddy was angry, and he was probably going to be even angrier the more she continued this staring contest; but- I’m angry too!

After all, out of all the people in her life, it was her father who was supposed to believe her no matter what. The fact that he didn’t, that he thought it was all a dream…

That hurt her.

The staring continued. The tension rose. Before she knew it, the temperature in the room dropped some more. She vaguely wondered if she was going to freeze up. Like those poor people in the vacuum of space, ones that fell under fire and drifted out of reach into an asteroid field. No one went back for them. Nobody even tried.

Would her father leave her like that, all alone? Here in this room, like a sculpture? Would she be able to see? Move? Become a statue for eternity?

It was a daunting thought, the coldness seeping through her jammies and into her skin now. She couldn’t stop shaking; the fear was swallowing her, but she wouldn’t-

It wasn’t until she glanced at Mr. Catty laying on the floor that realization set it and the fear stilled. Eyes straying away from the black void of her father, she took a few steps to her fallen toy, the coldness subsiding as well.

Gingerly picking him up, she muttered a quick apology to her favorite friend, facing her father as the tears roamed unchecked now.

“I-I’m sorry Daddy…” The hiccuping made it harder to speak. “But, but-“

She was full on sobbing now, and just like that, the atmosphere in the room shifted back to normal. The coldness subsided, the warmth came back and she couldn’t stop crying.

Her father made that whirring exhausted little noise, before slowly bending his knees in a crouch so they were more at eye level (Leia didn’t like how he towered over her so much, so piggybacks were still an often occasion).

It was a bit comical to see her tall and menacing father lost as to what to do, his tiny daughter shaking and desperately trying to rub away all the evidence of her uncontrollable tears.

“Oh no, angel not your-“ The warning was too late, as she blew her nose into her sleeves. They were icky already, but she kept smearing her tears in them. Her father quickly battered her attempts away. He looked around, his shoulders slumping some more. 

Soon enough, she was blowing into a soft and leathery like material; her father sacrificing his shiny black gloves, gently wiping away the grime and the snot from her small face.

He was probably going to make that sad little whirring noise about that later, but for now, he remained composed.

“Calm down, angel.” He spoke as gently as he could with his distorted voice, his own version of Sssh, sssh- don’t cry now. 

“I’m sorry, daddy.” Leia stared at his black, droid like mask with her puffy eyes. She made a few more hiccuping noises, before croaking out the truth she knew in her heart. “But… but he’s important.”

“The boy from your dream?” She nodded. “How so?”

“Be-because!” She wiped the remains of her tears away, frantically trying to explain to her father the underlining importance of it all. It was so clear to her, didn’t he understand? “I saw him, daddy. I saw him jump around rocks, kick rats; fix- or maybe he was breaking- droids-!“

Another memory appeared in her head, one that makes her smile. “And he stares at the sunset daddy! Like you stare out the viewport. He must be real.”

This knowledge didn’t seem to appease her father; if anything, it seemed to do the opposite. The coldness in the room came back with alarming ferocity, before it changed into something incredibly hot, like a blazing sun- and then she could breathe again.

Her father’s shoulders slumped lightly, before he started to reach out his hand to her. He stopped, probably remembering the sobbing incident, and pried his gloves off, gently laying his hands down on her small shoulders. Leia tried her best to not shiver from the cold metal prosthetics. They glinted in the light, fake fingers squeezing her softly.

(Once, a long time ago, when she was still curious about her father’s strange suit, she had asked him if he was a droid. She couldn’t see it, but she just knew her daddy became very sad, and she instantly felt bad about it.

“No, not completely” he said.

She never asked again.)

“Leia.” He had her complete undivided attention. “The dream you had was real. But it was only a vision of the past.”

“The past?” She repeated, blinking as her father retracted his hands from her. But that would mean… “Really?”

“Really.”

The boy she dreamed about was real, as real as her heart in her chest. But it was a boy from before, not now. A boy from the past.

She felt an uncomfortable weight settle inside her.

“How do you know?” It couldn’t be true- the boy she saw was here, now, like she was- and he was important. She just knew it. “Did you… know him?”

“Once.” Her father looked away, like when he looked through viewports at the stars; like the boy. “I knew him, once.”

Her father was many things, but he wasn’t a liar.

She sagged with that newfound knowledge, tired and sad all at once, Mr.Catty limp in her hold. A boy from the past- it hurt her in a way she couldn’t explain, like a goal she could see as plain as day evaporated just beyond her reach. He had seemed so real (was he still real?), and now…

Just a boy from before. It felt like the truth.

And yet, there was still a part of her that believed differently.

There was shuffling in the background, her father’s loud stomps echoing in the room. Looking up, she saw him searching for something in his sleek metal closet. He only had one in his room.

Or was it an office- that term would perhaps better serve to describe his room (he didn’t even have a bed; sometimes Leia thought the plush chairs and sofa were there only for her benefit).

Most would have called it an office- if it wasn’t for the large bacta tank standing at the other end.

She opened her mouth when he walked back to her, but he stopped her new bouts of questions by deftly picking her up- new and shiny, clean black gloves in place.

“Enough. It’s late.” That was his order-voice now. The one that didn’t allow protests. She slumped a little in his hold.

The walk back through the shadowed corridors wasn’t as scary as before, and Leia rested her cheek on her father’s broad shoulder as he swallowed the distance between their rooms in short time.

He put her back to bed, exchanging her star shirt for a clean one with lothcats, and tucked her in. Opening her closet, he made sure to look inside before closing it again. A nightly ritual for checking monsters. No matter how many times he assured her that there was nothing scarier than him around, Leia insisted. That late-night holo she saw still made her shiver.

Besides, her daddy wasn’t that scary.

Smoothing down the hair on her head, Mr.Catty snuggled up beside her, he straightened and pointed a finger at her in warning (like he did at the suit-people, though his voice wasn’t so cold): “Now, sleep.”

He left. She shifted to find a more comfortable position, obeying the silent order and closing her eyes. Before drifting off, she repeated the words she knew rang true in her head; her heart.

The boy is real. Like me. I know it.

[disregardcanon]

A decade in fanfiction

The meme template was made by me myself and I! Please, if you’re interested go ahead and do it! I would love to see other people reflecting on their writing right along with me :) 

Where can we read your fic? Please give us a link so that we can check these stories out!

my early fics can be read on my ffn The Ficsmith 

on ao3, my pseuds are sunkelles and fullmetal anime

I also have lots of short things here on tumblr. i would try searching a favorite fandom of yours and au on my blog and something might pop up. 

How many words of fanfiction have you written this decade?

On ao3, I have posted  1,031,824 words. I would bet that I posted 40k on ffn before i started posting concurrently to my ao3, and that i’ve posted maybe 80k of stuff just to tumblr? If I estimate that way and don’t think about unfinished works and wips, I’d say 1,151,824 words thereabouts. 

How many stories have you written?

I’ve posted 338 stories to ao3. I am not going to go do the math to add on my stories from ffn as well. 

Have you written on multiple websites? If so, which website is your favorite and why?

ao3 is my favorite website for fic because it’s just so EASY to search through, post to, and get your stats from. plus it’s very visually appealing. 

Have you used multiple pen names? If so, list them and tell us the story behind the name

on ffn, i used a lot of pen names over the years, but i only remember 3 of them 

1. thee sun. this was my first pen name on the internet and it was because back then, my friends and i had series of nicknames going where we were each a part of the solar system. one of my friends suggested that i should be the sun because i was happy and bouncy and the friend group “orbited” around me. it wasn’t really accurate then or now, but sun ended up sticking. 

2. sunless skies was my emo change to that pseud 

3. the ficsmith is my current name there as i thought the word “wordsmith” was badass and decided that ficsmith sounded very, very cool 

on ao3, my primary pseud has always been “sunkelles”. half of it’s the old nickname and half of it’s another nickname i won’t get into. it’s a very personal handle for me that i love dearly 

my second pseud is fullmetal anime, my anime pseud. fullmetal alchemist was one of my first anime when my old roommate got me onto my weeb phase in my twenties, and i thought that sounded too badass to pass up. 

What is the first story you posted this decade?

I Will Never Leave You Alone: this is a percy jackson fic set after the lost hero. It was my imaging of how the meeting in son of neptune might go if percy didn’t get his memories back. it’s bad, but it was my first attempt at fanfiction. i think that it could have been a lot worse. 

What is the last story that you posted this decade?

Not Willing to Wait for it: this is a tangled the series fic about cassandra. it’s not really my favorite thing i’ve ever written, but it’s not a terrible thing to end the decade on either. 

What is the longest story that you have wrote this decade?  

The Poetry of Time and Space: this is a pipabeth fic with annabeth as the doctor and piper mclean as rose tyler fic that i wrote back in 2013 at the urging of my first internet friend. coming in at 27,842 words, it’s the longest fic i have ever written. 

while i wouldn’t call it some of my best work, i’m still fairly proud of the thing. writing it helped me make a friend (even if we don’t keep in touch anymore), it helped me find some cool poetry, and i did a lot of fun historical research for it! 

i learned a loooottt about the history of spain for this fic and it was really cool. 

What is the shortest?

A Good Listener coming in at 192 words, this pipabeth fic is at the polar opposite end of the spectrum. 2013 was a wild year, my dudes. 

What’s your favorite?

I think that choosing a “favorite” would probably be too hard, but the one that I come back to the most is Over the Shadowy Hills. This fic could have been just good, but my friend was like. girl. you need to sort your shit out. and then i deleted it, worked on it with her help, and fixed it into something that i can still be really proud of. I’m glad that I decided to stick with it and give this fic the time and attention that it needed. 

What story do you feel was your biggest challenge?

I don’t have a fic in particular I would say is my biggest challenge, but one challenge has been the growing pains of becoming a better writer. I’ve moved into a point where I need to tell more thorough, longer stories, but I also don’t have the time needed to do that at the moment and my desire for instant validation is fighting against my desires to not do work and be a better writer. 

I know that right now I’m growing as a writer, but I’m not exactly sure what direction I’m growing in and how to deal with it. 

Which story was your most creative?

All Katz Go to Heaven is certainly an idea that no one but me would have come up with XD the premise is “all of hannibal’s victims from the show hannibal die and are reincarnated in brooklyn 99″ 

Which story do you think demonstrates the greatest growth?

I think that Paint a New Horizon demonstrates a lot of my progress as a writer. 

1. coming in at 23k, it’s one of my longest fics ever 

2. it has some of my best visual descriptions ever, as i decided to write sansa as a painter and it make visual descriptions a FAR bigger part of the story than they normally are when i write 

3. it handles dark subject matter, but i feel like i go into well. i’ve found myself dwelling in this universe a LOT, and i think that i might actually go back and write more of it over this next semester or summer because i just. like being in it. even though it was dark, it was also homey and lively and interesting, you know? 

4. it’s the best romance i’ve written this year, hands down. 

Here, have a snippet 

She dared a glance forward and met Margaery’s eyes- a deep, chocolate brown. They were warm and inviting and Margaery’s little curly bangs framed her face like a heart. Margaery’s head went over the back of the booth and it seemed to almost be floating against the flowery wallpaper. It looked like Margaery was lying out in a field of flowers- the Maiden gazing up at the clouds and trying to make shapes of them.

She could imagine Margaery telling her that this one is a flower, like Tyrell, and this one’s a deer, like Baratheon, and this one’s a dick, like Joffrey. She giggled nervously again and felt her cheeks flush. She’d never felt this giddy and unsteady in her whole life.

“Are you alright, Sansa?” Margaery asked cautiously. She reached across the table and laid a hand over Sansa’s own. The touch was warm and tender, and Sansa felt the blush from her toes to the tip of her head.

“I’m perfect!” Sansa nearly screeched. Margaery laughed at that, but her look was kind.

“Yes, darling,” she said with a smile that was wide and fond, “I think that you are.”

Lesbian. The word wasn’t supposed to fill her with such a warm, hopeful feeling, was it? She wiggled awkwardly in her chair, trying to get situated and stop feeling so silly and excited and vulnerable, but it didn’t fix anything. She felt Margaery’s leg brush against hers under the table. It sent a jolt through her.

Lesbian.

Sansa took a shaky breath. She thought to herself that there might be something to that.

Tell us about your writing process.

my writing process is quite frankly all over the board. sometimes, i’ll sit down and just hammer out a fic start to finish in one sitting, but when i don’t do that i’ll make the thing come together in patchwork. i’ll normally start with some vivid pieces of dialogue that i want to write and then i’ll figure out where i’m going and how. often, since i write in a nonlinear fashion i might end up having to change what i’ve written for the middle or the end, but when i get there and it doesn’t feel right for what i ended up writing, i always decide that i’m better off with what feels more natural. 

Tell us about how you come up with fic titles.

I have 3 different systems for determining fic tiles 

1. come up with a cool title to write a fic around. i wrote Chasing Annabeth solely because i thought that would be badass title 

2. try to find something external to the story, like a saying, a lyric or quote, that works with the message or mood of the story. for If You Believe in Me (I’ll Still Believe), I realized that both Memoria by Nirvana and Holland Road by Mumford and Sons shared a distinct feel with what I was doing with the fic, so I went through the lines of both and identified some possible titles. 

Then, I decided that the line “if you believe in me I’ll still believe” felt the most right. I thought that it best conveyed how much Jeyne believing that Theon could become better again contributed to him actually going through with it, whereas some of the other options didn’t have either the external influence or faint hope that I felt the fic deserved. 

3. find something from the fic itself or the source material! often times, i’ll end up with a motif in the fic that makes a perfect title, or i’ll have something to draw on from the source material. this feels different from the 2nd option because whereas that first one is going outside the world of the fic, this 3rd one is going inside the world of the fic. 

Have you ever used an epigraph? Tell us about your reasoning.

I use epigraphs for the same reason that I use outside sources for fic titles. While sometimes I have that lyric or quote in mind while I am writing the fic, like Washing Machine Heart, sometimes you get to the end of writing and realize that you’ve created something that would be enhanced if you were to have your readers mulling over the theme brought up in a song while they’re reading, like Unfinished Business. 

I don’t know, these are probably the reasons that ANYONE uses epigraphs, but it’s cool to see other people’s thought process. 

What are some of your favorite lines that you’ve ever written?

Here’s a few of my favorite exchanges from my older or more underrated fics!

She swallows the spit that has started to pool in her mouth and continues, "We'll all end up dying and meeting the void face to face and blah blah fucking blah, but the thing is that's tomorrow. This is today. You remember Thalia, so she matters. And you matter because you're alive. Your heart's still beating. You can still do shit. See shit. Be the shit. Annabeth Chase, you can still do anything."

Chasing Annabeth (2013)

Annabeth tsks as she laughs, “You’ve always got to steal the attention for yourself, don’t you?”

Piper laughs and then pretends to glare, “Borrow. I borrow things.”

“Borrowing BMWs is still frowned upon, my friend,” Annabeth says and then everything is back to normal. The future is forgotten, if only for a moment in the company of a friend.

The Fates Smiled (2014) 

“I guess,” Arya mutters, and she walks straight over to the trash. She pops the lid, and dumps the enormous plastic cock unceremoniously into it. Then she lets the lid close. She and Shireen look to the trash can in horror.

“Do you think that we should burn it?” Shireen asks.

She pauses a moment before she adds, “I’m afraid it’s going to attack us in our sleep.” Arya bursts out into laughter.

“I can hear the news anchors already,” Arya says, “women murdered in sleep by haunted dildo.” The Kids Are Alright (2015) 

"I think huckleberry just came out too," Maya stage-whispers back, "two gays for the price of one."

"Bi one get one free," Riley says with a shit-eating grin 

A Guide to Coming Out (2015) 

"Do I look like a man with a plan to you?" He tries to look as crazy as he can. Rachel isn't buying it. "You impersonated a member of the mayor's honor guard, you predetermined and informed us of every victim before you killed them. You're a planner, Joker. You're even a good one." The Joker shrugs. "I'm not a schemer, though. Don't hang my hat on whether or not things work out." In that moment, Rachel understands this man. Rachel understands why he does the things that he does, even though she thinks that he's the scum of the earth. "You wanted to let us know all our plans would fall apart. You wanted chaos." "You're a smart woman, Ms. Dawes," The Joker says, cracking a smile, "you know what I did to you and your boy toy was nothing personal. It was just to turn the schemer's plans on their toes.

The City of Bats and Clowns (2016) 

Zatanna crosses her arms over her chest as she leans against Bruce’s black SUV. The “parking lot” at this camp is a glorified field of grass. It rained last night, and there are muddy ruts left all throughout the field and little muddy puddles scattered everywhere. It’s disgusting and rundown and everywhere that Zatanna doesn’t want to spend three weeks of her summer.

“I don’t want to go to this stupid camp.” Endless Summer (2017) 

Rose feels a twist in her gut. This might be worse than finding out he wanted to desert. This is knowing the reasons behind it, having to see him as human in his mistakes and understand why he made them.

Oh how heroes fall and then stumble back up again.

The Spark That Will Light the Fire (2017)

Sloth is all the memories you have and never asked for, all the feelings you don't know what to do with.

Sloth is your feelings towards two boys who aren't your sons- can't be- because you never wanted them in the first place.

You never asked for this, to be born half-formed and hungry. To be born somewhere between not caring and caring too much, to just go along with what you were told because you don't care enough not to.

You never asked for those two boys to look at you the way they do, like you're something hideous and beautiful all at once. Like you're their sin to bury, their damsel to save. All you've ever wanted is for it all to stop.

The Seven Deadly Almost People (2018) 

What are you favorite characters to write. 

I don’t really have “favorite” characters to write because I bounce around so often. I’ll have a new favorite next year, but my favorite me character that I wrote THIS year was Dabi. 

Which story was the most fun to write.

Out of all the stories I’ve written, Dicks in the Wind comes to mind as being the most fun. The soulmate au where whatever your soulmate draws on their skin appearing on yours might not be my all time favorite, but the idea of spitefully drawing dicks on your own face to spite the soulmate who hurt you while also hurting yourself is both really fun but also really interesting? I really liked getting to explore the implications of that idea, the humor, Sabine’s relationship with Kanan, and the possibility of a reconciliation between her and Ketsu. 

If you use ao3, tell us about your fics with the most

Kudos: The Matter of Soulmates 1,049

Comments: Her Heart’s Duet 63 comment threads

Hits: Golden Cages, Silver Linings 15,272 hits

Subscriptions: The Matter of Soulmates 105 subscriptions

If you could have written one story this decade that you didn’t get around to, what would this have been?

There’s lot of fics that I wish I would have gotten written this decade. I think that if I could have written ONE fic that I didn’t get around to this decade, though, I would have turned my tucker turns ed into a chimera instead of nina tumblr post into a real fic. 

Do you write original fiction as well?

Sometimes! I don’t write it as much as I’d like, but I’ve written some short stories and I have some longer wips. 

Did you ever do nanowrimo this decade? If so, tell us about your projects.

I tried nanowrimo in both 2017 and 2018. My 2017 was a story idea about magic pirates. My 2018 was a story based on a fic idea I had where ed HAD created al like al thought he did in fma 03 for a while. it would feature prominent relationships with characters inspired by winry, wrath, and lust. both of these have about 15k to their name. 

What have you learned writing in the past decade?

I’ve learned a lot about myself as a person. For better or for worse, the easiest way to get to know me would be to go through my ao3 and just start reading. 

I also feel like I’ve learned that I CAN be a writer. While I have a long way to go if I ever want to become any good at original fiction and develop a thick enough skin to get it worked up to publishing shape, I know that I have the skills to at least give it a try.  If I don’t, I’ll always have these stories that I hold closely to my heart and this hobby that’s brought me a lot of joy. 

What are your writing goals going forward?

At the moment, I’m not entirely sure. I feel a little bit like I’ve stagnated and I need to figure out a way forward, but I’m not entirely sure what that way forward IS. I think that the way forward is longer projects (maybe even more original fiction) but I’m going to need to figure out a way to not devote all my mental energy to these projects at a time and also not let them wither and die. 

In the past, I’ve only been able to do proper, well written long fics when I had a LONG time to dedicate to getting the thing done. Like, days and days off that I could devote multiple hours to the writing project. In the future, I don’t think I’ll have that. I just need to find a way to not get SO into it that I can’t do anything else, but also maintain the energy and drive to keep coming back to it. 

Tell us about what aspect of your writing makes you the most proud.

I feel like I excel at word choice. People frequently comment on my fics that there’s something about the wording that just FLOWS, and I would have to agree. I feel like I’m good at choosing words that both sound good and hit emotionally. 

Tell us anything else that you’d like! This is your reflection post, so end on whatever bang you would like!

Thank you to everyone who has supported me over these past nine years! I haven’t been on tumblr for this whole time (i’ve only been here since 2012), but i grown a lot, both as a person and a writer, over this decade.

if you had told me when i wrote my first fanfiction that by the end of the decade i would write the order of the phoenix more than 5 times over in fanfiction, i would never have believed you. 

not every fic that i wrote was fantastic, but every fic that i wrote was MINE, and it’s a memory that i get to come back to when i’m feeling sad or lonely or like i can’t do something. so, thank you fanfiction, for always being there for me. even if you might be there for me a little too much XD