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dapandapod · 3 years ago

Note

Prompt 1 - calloused hands in soft hands

Jaskier teaching Ciri how to care for her hands so she develops callouses but still has smooth hands

Yes, of course my dear!! Please enjoy some somft kaer morhen family time! <3

Warnings: Uh... usage of a swear without understanding it? Some witcher training ouchies? Otherwise it's just background geraskier and lambden, lambert being his usual ass self, and immortal jaskier right. You know, the usual... Enjoy! <3

On Ao3 here Hand holding collection

Winter holds the promise of so many things. Snow covering the mountains, beautiful and treacherous.

Ice freezing the lake beneath the keep, the cold creating icicles of droplets hanging from rooftops and trees.

Ciri can feel her cheeks prickle with it, the sting of the harsh winds catching her hair and her clothes. She grips her wooden practice sword tighter, glaring at the stuffed straw figure in front of her.

She has been at it all day, cool sweat clinging to her back as she again launches at the wooden offender. She hits it with a loud thwack and she can feel the impact up through her arm.

"Better," Lambert tells her, as she jumps back and side-steps, ducking an imaginary blow.

However, winter prepared a trap for her, and she slips on a hidden patch of ice. She lands on her elbow and hisses in pain.

"What was that?" Lambert taunts as she hisses in pain.

Her leather arm protection takes most of the impact, but it still hurts.

"Did the dummy kick your feet from under you?"

Ciri glares, and then she makes some quick moves, sweeping her legs in a wide, controlled arc aimed at Lambert's feet.

Revenge.

It doesn't do much more than make him grunt in minor pain but she counts it as a victory.

It would take much more than that to tip his heavy ass over, and she says as much before she scurries away to safety.

Winter brings many things, including a few more creative swears to her repertoire, and she locks the door behind her to keep Lambert from tossing her from the wall into one of the big snow piles below.

Her hands ache when she comes into the warmth of the main hall, her ears and cheeks and chin soon aching as well. She makes a face and stomps her feet to get rid of the snow. They hurt too.

Throwing her soaked gloves to the side and shedding her scarf and cloak, she makes her way over to the fire. Vesemir will tell her off for littering later, but meh. She's cold and she's mad.

It takes her a moment to notice, but Jaskier is sitting off to the side, watching her over the edge of his book with an amused smirk.

"Lambert giving you a hard time?"

"He is the biggest fucking wanker on the entire fucking continent," she says darkly, and Jaskier lifts his eyebrows in delighted surprise.

"Where did you learn a word like that?" he asks, mock outraged.

"I heard Aiden and Eskel in the hot springs. I don't know what it means," she admits, and Jaskier looks like someone gave him the best gift.

"If you want a proper revenge, ask Lambert to explain it. I'm sure he'd be happy to." He smirks, closing the book around his finger as he looks around for a bookmark.

Ciri smiles and looks back at the flames. She opens and closes her fingers, trying to regain some feeling in them.

It stings as they slowly warm up, and she hisses when she notices a small wound on her dry knuckles.

Frowning, she looks down at it, touching the split skin carefully.

"Are you hurt?" Jaskier asks, picking up one of the unused knives on the table and putting it between the pages of his book. It's as good a bookmark as any.

"I'm fine," she mutters, licking her thumb and dabbing at her knuckle. It stings too, but her knuckle looks less dry at least.

"Let me see," he says, reaching for her hand, and she lets him. "Oh my dear girl, this looks painful indeed!" he says as he holds her hand and gently strokes the back. His hands are warm, soft and smooth, and Ciri has no idea how he does it.

"It's fine. I'm fine," she mutters again, because she is. It just stings a little.

"I don't doubt that you are. But at this rate, you are going to have worse hands than Geralt- no, don't give me that look. Really, Ciri, witchers know many things, but you mustn't learn stupidity from them. Come along."

Jaskier stands up and pulls Ciri up with him, still holding her hand. She doesn't fight him, just lets herself be led to his chambers and placed inside the door. The chair is cluttered, she notices, with a stack of clothes, blankets, a notebook, three socks, what seems to be a knitting needle, and a shoe.

Only then does he let go of her to rummage around in the drawers next to the bed.

"No, not that one, absolutely not. Nope. No. AHA! Here we are!" Jaskier says, standing up triumphantly to show off his find.

It is a small jar, filled with some sort of white paste, and he uncorks it as he brings it up to her nose so that she can sniff it.

It has the gentle smell of spring blossoms, reminding her of Jaskier's hands in her hair as he braids it back from her face.

She tilts her head in question and Jaskier gives her an amused smile.

"Ah. Maybe young princesses from warm climates don't have much use for these kinds of things. This, my sweet summer child, is something I have been trying to convince Geralt to try for years. More stubborn than a mule, that one, even when he only stands to gain from it."

"Is this how your hands are so soft?" she asks, and Jaskier possibly melts where he stands. It looks a little funny.

"Yes, sweetling, thank you for noticing. My hands aren't made for this cold, it makes them dry and rough. I don't mind that much, but if they get too dry, the skin can crack, and it hurts something awful," he explains, and she nods her understanding.

"Like mine."

"Yes. Want to try some? It will sting now, but it will feel much better tomorrow, I promise."

Ciri nods, a memory from long, long ago in the back of her mind, unearthing itself from where it has long been buried. Her mother, her hands always soft and gentle, always smelling of roses.

Jaskier gives her a gentle smile, crouching down and placing the little jar on his knee. It looks like it is about to tip over, but he catches it and dips his finger in it.

Then he grabs her right hand and gently massages the ointment into her hand. He was right, it stings when it coats her knuckles, but it is a good sting.

His thumbs make gentle circles, causing warmth to rush through her and soothing her.

Then he turns her hand over, taking another dollop of ointment and rubs it over her slowly forming calluses.

"I know Lambert might say this will weaken the calluses, but you shouldn't listen to him. I have used this for at least thirty years, and my calluses remain perfectly in place."

"Why would a poet need calluses?" Ciri asks when Jaskier grabs her other hand and starts on that one.

"Oh summer child, not all battles are won with steel or silver. Some are better fought with words, music, and long nights on a stage. For those fights, my calluses serve me well," he says gently, opening his hand for her to inspect.

He does indeed have the marks of his battles on his hands. His fingertips are rough, and he has bumps on his fingers that she has only ever seen the court scribe have.

But his skin is soft, smooth, unbroken.

When Jaskier deems her inspection finished, he continues working on her hand. Her left hand is not as bad off, but it stings all the same when the cool ointment is spread over her knuckles.

"There. All done!" Jaskier says cheerfully, rubbing what is left into his own hands. Then he puts on the lid and tucks it into her pocket with a wink.

"This will be our secret weapon against grumpy witchers, eh?" he says, booping her nose, and turns to grab his lutecase by the bed.

"But it's yours," she protests weakly and digs out the little jar.

"Hm? Oh, nonsense. I have more. Geralt is such a softie, did you know? He stocked up on hand ointment last time I mentioned I ran out. Can you keep a secret? I think he likes my hands," Jaskier says with a secret smile, opening the door to let them out again.

Ciri agrees. She has noticed Geralt liking Jaskier's hands too.

"Come on. We need to find Lambert and have him explain some very interesting words to you," Jaskier says gleefully.

So Ciri pockets the little jar again, following Jaskier back down the stairs. As she walks, she rubs her hands together, enjoying how soft and warm they feel now.

It does feel better, but a little slippery, so she decides to use it only when she is done for the day.

Winter holds the promise of so many things. New vocabulary, soft hands smelling of spring blossoms, and just how amusing it is to find new words to beg her uncles to explain to her.

Winter is fun indeed.

#winter at kaer morhen #cirilla of cintra #witcher lambert #jaskier the bard #background geraskier #background lambden #hand holding prompts #good parent jaskier #immortal jaskier rights #geraskier #lambden #the witcher #dapanda writes #hand holding prompts 2021 #kaer morhen

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yiqiie · 4 years ago

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wangxian fic rec list pt. 3

you can find pt. 1 here and pt. 2 here!

i think it’s about time for another update so here we are again! i have to keep reminding myself to update the notion page every time i bookmark something new so if anyone sees that the notion page is a little quiet for a few days just shoot me an ask and yell at me to update!

i have so many recommendations this time so long post ahead i am sorry! pls reblog if you can! tumblr is always iffy about links and tagging posts so this might not appear in the tags ;;

notion summary page: here (i only put my favourites in this tumblr list, so if you would like even more recommendations, please read the notion summary for basically all of my bookmarks on ao3)

something to make your heart ache

in all my dreams i drown by @idrilka

fluff, light angst, smut, post-cql

trigger warning: mentions of some graphic nightmares

will i ever stop recommending idrilka’s fics? no. this was so perfect bc while i love seeing domestic wangxian just being y’know domestic i love reading fics that examine the consequences being yllz has on wwx and the crucial journey to self-recovery it’s always so beautifully explored in each fic

sweet chaos by @eachandeverydimension

fluff, light angst, cql au, multi-chapter

this was so PERFECT it takes a lot to get me hooked into a slow burn fic bc i’m usually so impatient so when i see anything more than 12 parts i’m already backing away slowly but this had me hooked so FAST and it’s just such a beautiful story of how two people fall in love and the attention to detail is just stunning i love it when people just get chinese heritage and tradition right

the best of you by @fozmeadows

fluff, smut, light angst, modern au, multi-chapter

trigger warning: only for some chapters so pls check the tags and the notes!

lwj looking after wwx is my kink okay and i just wanna wrap him up and give him a kiss in this fic bc he’s just :(((( the domestic wangxian popped OFF here and we are all not ready i just remember binging this fic so fast bc it reads so smoothly and the dialogue between lwj and jzx? fcking comedy gold

花无百日红; the flower that withers by yiqie

fluff, angst, post-cql

trigger warning: please check the tags!

once again, is there any fic of yiqie’s that hasn’t made it onto my list? no. guys the description? the premise of this fic? everything about this fic is so beautiful and it’s just stunning execution this is a fic i come back to again and again so please read it, i don’t think any explanation will ever do it justice

build me no shrines by @wanlangji

fluff, angst, smut, post-cql, multi-chapter

the case fic to end all case fics GUYS THE DETAIL IN THIS i remember seeing it making its way around twitter and i saw case fic and immediately went :O and i read all of it in one sitting it’s SO good and wwx is just SO dumb but the wangxian pops off as usual and they kick ass while they’re at it

and they have escaped the weight of darkness by cosmicmilktea

fluff, light angst, cql au

an amnesia fic BUT NOT this fic is so beautiful and so heart-clenching i finished it so fast bc i literally could not stop the writing is just so captivating and it’s just such a soulful ending

spring days of my life by @besanii

angst

trigger warning: i read this and literally felt like i was having a heart attack bc it hurt me That Much

beth has done it again :))))) she has murdered my heart and now i’m just a lump on the floor; i needed SEVERAL days to recover from this i am not exaggerating i was literally sweating bc i felt my heart squeeze so painfully it’s literally just pure angst

something to soothe your heart

where the chaos is by darkredloveknot

fluff, smut, post-cql

guys GUYS domestic wangxian without the husband bit yet is just *squeal* this was the fic i forgot to bookmark and then i came across it again by chance and i was so RELIEVED i literally just remember this as ‘the fic where lwj carves wwx’s name into a bowl’ and it’s just so wholesome and cute and i love it

our heart beats, intertwined by xuantime

fluff, light angst, modern au

wangxian being doctors is a fic i will always stand by and get behind and this is just some pure married content i love them so much wwx is such a dumbass and we are all just like lwj, fondly looking on as he is a complete idiot but we love domestic wangxian in any form so we love this fic

a little bit everyday by w_wxsparkles

fluff, smut, light angst, modern au

lwj is so dumb and wwx is a mess we love them so much this was such a GOOD premise for a fic and now i can’t get the image of lwj wearing lip gloss out of my head but there’s just so much wangxian being wangxian here and lots of making out so YES it has mai’s stamp of approval

as you like it by cosmicmilktea

fluff, post-cql

DOMESTIC WANGXIAN let lwj be pampered agenda this was so cute and wwx just wants to love his husband thank you very much so we are all a captivated audience as domestic wangxian proves to be even MORE wangxian than usual

puzzle pieces by @yuisakii

fluff, modern au

guys yui is actually one of my favourite fic writers and this is PEAK yui content pls follow her on twt bc she makes the best twt fic threads but this is just such GOLD content bc wwx is trying so hard to be a slut and lwj is just *horny grip*

new york, i love you by @yuisakii

fluff, modern au

the gossip girl au we never thought we needed but YUI STRIKES AGAIN Y’ALL this is perfect bite sized wangxian pining for each other to each other’s faces and we just love them so so much

we sit in the sunset glow by moonsteps

fluff, light angst, rapunzel au

i have made a promise to read every single rapunzel au out there and this is the PINNACLE of rapunzel fics guys it’s so perfect i love it so much wwx is just so chaotic in his every rendition and i love him so much

an invisible string by @wangxiians

fluff, modern au

IS THERE ANYTHING TEDDII CANNOT DO? guys the description?? wangxian finding each other in every single lifetime no matter what? fck the feels popped off with this one the writing is EXQUISITE

something to make you laugh

a lot’s gonna change by etymologyplayground

fluff, modern au

i LOVE this fic bc wen qing and lwj being best friends is literally the best concept i love seeing wwx flirt and be a mess in lwj’s presence and this is all of that beautiful stuff all wrapped in and sprinkled with some mutual pining (for like 5 minutes then they make out)

save a sword, ride a socialist by @fozmeadows

fluff, smut, modern au, multi-chapter

LWJ IS SUCH A BITCH IN THIS AND I AM HERE FOR IT guys i love the fics with a stoic lwj bc yes canon continuity but pls modern lwj is 100% a bitch, esp if jzx is friend so this is just so good and every thing i never thought i needed in a fic

bodega love by @nothing-but-colour

fluff, modern au, multi-chapter

SOME WHOLESOME GROUP TEXT SHENANIGANS guys if you don’t read any other fic pls read this one it’s just so cute and so good and wangxian going on their first date and respectively FREAKING OUT about it is just so good

#mai's fic rec list!#the untamed #fytheuntamed #mdzsnet #chen qing ling #wangxian #wangxian fics #mo dao zu shi #pls reblog if you can!#i made this instead of studying cranial nerves :)))))

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tundrainafrica · 4 years ago

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Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (7/17)

Summary: “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Note: I was busy with fic exchange pieces for a while but will be focusing on updating my multi chapter fics now. As always, feedback is very much appreciated :D

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 8

Link to cross-postings: AO3

“So you’re Levi Ackerman?” The woman who had just entered the room looked excited. Too excited.

After being kept waiting that long, Levi was in no mood for anything, especially unnecessary pleasantries. For the past thirty minutes at least, he had been sitting on the couch of a quaint office. It was spacious and there was at least enough room on the couch to elevate his knee comfortably. Probably the reason he had the self control to give a curt nod in reply.

“I’m a fan! I watched a few of your events actually and I’m so glad to have you here,” she said too enthusiastically. She paused for a second and shook her head. “No, I’m horrified about you being injured which caused you to end up here but I’m just really excited to get to know you.”

Levi didn’t feel the need to reply.

She walked to her desk and dropped her canvas bag before sitting on the couch in front of Levi. “Sorry for being a little late. I just came out from another meeting and went out to get something to eat after. Maybe I could give you my number and you could text me if you get here before I do.” She took a post-it out of her purse and scrawled a few numbers on it and slid it towards Levi.

Shouldn’t you have my number? Somehow it was hard to believe that she was a counselor. “Name?” Levi asked.

“Shela. Just call me Shela.”

Levi had met those types of people before who go by nicknames. More often than not, he couldn’t blame them, usually they had a very old fashioned or embarrassing name behind it. He couldn’t believe someone as transparent or excitable as her who didn’t look like she had much control of her filter, would have issues about how embarrassing a name was though.

“I have a very old fashioned first name.” Shela added, only confirming Levi’s suspicions. “Shela… Sierra - Hotel - Echo - Lima - Alpha.”

Levi typed the name on his phone and saved the number.

Last Name? Academic History? He set the rest of the details aside. As long as he knew her name, he could probably get through enough sessions to at least keep both his coach and Erwin satisfied. Going to a counselor was not his idea after all. It was his coach apparently who had requested it and it was Erwin who had pushed for it. Without twice a day training or even the freedom to go wherever he wanted without being completely exhausted within hours, Levi had not much of anything else to do anyway.

Shela brought out a notebook from her purse, opened it to a bookmark paged and wrote something on it before looking up at him. Levi couldn’t help but note that when she wasn’t looking ashamed or overly enthusiastic and she did look like she knew what she was doing.

“I’m going to skip the question of ‘what brings you here’ because I think we all know why you’re here.” She gestured her pen towards Levi’s leg. “Let’s start with something simple. How are you? How are you feeling today?”

“My knee hurts and I can’t train anymore. But I’m focusing on studies now so I think I’m doing okay.” He answered, having prepared that script in his head the thirty minutes he spent waiting for her.

“I’m not asking how you’re coping. I’m asking how you’re feeling today.” Shela’s piercing eyes were a beautiful shade of blue. The serious look she gave him then bore into him. In fact, it felt like it bore into his soul.

Despite the generally bad first impression she gave him, Levi was somehow convinced that she was qualified to do that type of work and his showing up there might turn out to be worth something after all. Levi found himself almost hypnotized by that look she gave him, a healthy mixture of concern, interest and professionalism.

Hiding and watching his words felt pointless and Levi found himself saying his answers as his brain came up with them.

A Tale of Two Slaves

The hospital where he was slated to have his next sessions was that same hospital he had stayed in a week ago. Conveniently, it was a five minute walk from where he had been staying since he got out of the hospital: Hange’s apartment.

Just until I can walk up stairs. Levi had told himself. There were many dormitories clustered around campus yet he had ended up staying in the least handicap friendly one. The first floor had a lobby and a common room and the actual bedrooms were only found at the second floor and the third floor. To top it all off, there was no elevator. He had to note though that it was an old building with only three floors so it would have been useless to put one.

He was on scholarship and it was assigned to him back in first year so he did not have much of a choice. He didn’t need to think too much of it either that past three years of college since he had never been injured enough to the point of being unable to climb stairs

With his leg completely immobilized and a deadweight, Levi was sure it would be a nightmare to brave that everyday. The paperwork and legwork required to change dormitories in the middle of the semester seemed daunting as well. In the end, Hange had offered to let him stay over in her apartment.

Her condominium was spacious, it had an elevator and it was walking distance from the hospital where he’d have both his counseling and physical therapy sessions.

Walking Distance. For non handicapped people, it should only take five minutes to walk the two block distance from the hospital to the apartment building. Levi took ten minutes to clear it and by the end of it he was exhausted and despite the chill of mid autumn, Levi found himself sweating as he arrived in the apartment.

It was a Friday afternoon, a week after he was released from the hospital. Nobody was pressuring him to go back to school yet. His professors had been kind enough to send him lecture slides and give him extensions. Some classmates had dropped their own summarized notes and get-well messages.

Levi settled on his bed and propped his knee on his pillow, looking through the lecture slides of his last class. Despite his self imposed week long isolation, Levi just wanted to go back to normal life.

But it never will be normal again. Although Levi did see a glimmer of hope in the possibility of feeling normal again when he went back to school, the realist in him knew it wouldn't happen.

Levi was supposed to be in the process of accepting at least that it would never be the “normal” he used to have and had taken for granted. Something inside him was rebelling the process though.

If I can't live the life I want, then I won't live at all. That something screamed inside him.

That form of rebellion left Levi with little energy for anything else. His mind was slower. His body was heavier. He was seeing little reason to move beyond the mechanical and primal movements needed to survive.

As if by magic, his body that used to carry him over two meter tall bars, suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. The weight crushed him everyday. At times Levi found himself unable to breathe. That was he found himself in that same position for sixteen hours a day, either sleeping or staring at the same white ceiling above him.

In fact, the only time he had left the Hange's apartment was for that one counseling session Hange had prodded him to go to. That was the only time she had forced him to go out of the house as if she herself understood somehow the comfort and at the same time the panic that came with a self imposed isolation.

What else was there to do?

He was alone. He had kept to his own bubble in college, only flitting between the two islands of academics and trainings.He was always either busy or exhausted and the lack of in-between had given him little time to reflect on the state of his mental health. And suddenly he had lost one of his islands, the bigger one, the one that had given him meaning the past few years. That had left him completely and utterly lost. Maybe even desolate.

That was what Shela had pointed out in their first counseling session as Levi attempted to articulate the emptiness inside him, the slight panic that came with idleness, the sudden need to turn off all message notifications and the frequent mood changes that came with Hange's entering and exiting the apartment.

And his weird dependence on Hange.

In between studying for his three subjects that semester and icing his bum knee, what else was there to do? Wait for Hange to come home? Talk to her during that one to two hour window when she wasn't working on her thesis? That was what his life had ended up revolving around anyway.

Levi found himself only replying to anything related to studies or graduating. He had received a few messages from others, suggestions to visit training, offers to visit from teammates and he had ignored them all. Somehow, the reminder of the loss of the one hobby that had kept him busy for the past decade of his life, was mocking. He became someone who waits, someone who just went with the flow of everyone's schedule. Having been busy his whole life, having been constantly needed and looked for and only recently, having been reduced to where he was, Levi felt his life was just a series of wrong choices, wrong choices that only formed a distrust with himself and consequently a refusal to engage in activity.

What else am I supposed to be doing? Levi opened his laptop. For a moment he had tried to go through his school notes at Shela’s advice.

After less than an hour of halfheartedly reviewing his notes and forgetting it soon after, Levi had exhausted his already scarce energy. With nothing else to do, he had decided to move to scrolling through timelines which displayed little to no signs of real life obligations, pinterest and reddit to pass the time. Within an hour of just scrolling through both, he had gotten tired of it too. It was a new feeling. Usually he could drown himself in hours of social media and timelines but at that point, nothing was interesting to him anymore.

Have you tried writing out how you feel? Shela’s suggestion echoed in his head. Like maybe get a journal. It’s a great way to process your thoughts and emotions.

What’s there to write. Levi asked himself and Shela’s voice as it echoed in his head. Levi could only stare at the blank screen, his emotions too non-existent to write. The blank document he had opened in front of him was the best representation of his thoughts and emotions already.

There are no right or wrong answers. Shela had brought up another good point during their session.

You think, therefore you are. You feel therefore you are. As long as you’re processing images, sounds and sensations, you’re thinking. You’re feeling something and you can write something down.

Then why do I feel so empty? Levi had asked.

Shela had compared it to a false bottom. As he continued to stare at the blank page in front of him, Levi was starting to feel for that false bottom in his mind. It was a matter of discipline more than anything, determination to dig into one’s self.

It could have taken hours but as Levi looked at the time on his laptop, he realized much time hadn’t passed. In fact, the time to the lower right of his screen, was still the same. But Levi was starting to think differently.

He did have something to look back on. Stories he hadn’t thought back to in a while, having been occupied by training, Hange’s tests, studies and recoveries. They continued to taunt him in the mornings. With the magic of worldly obligations, Levi had managed to set them aside.

His motivations particularly lay in the fact that his world was a little bigger, he was talking to more people and the idea that these same people he was seeing were the same ones he’d been writing fictional stories for had him questioning his own sanity and had him a little self conscious about having those dreams in the first place.

At that moment though, his inability to think and feel beyond that false bottom had Levi more alarmed and he found himself attempting to articulate those dreams on the word processor just to experience a semblance of something.

Levi at least confirmed one thing, that bottom was false. And the more he articulated those dreams, the more they became real. He was starting to scrape on that false bottom and the first things that were oozing out were dreams. Somehow, the dreams were more vivid that he had ever remembered them to be. He felt almost guilty for having set them aside like some sort of fair weathered friend.

“Hey not bad! Is that homework?”

Levi tensed up in surprise. He should have been able to hear the familiar footsteps and the jangle of the keys from his place on the sofa bed. He never missed it once. Levi didn’t know if he should be proud that he had distracted himself enough not to consider Hange or terrified that she was right behind him at that moment, probably reading through his work.

He quickly closed his tab and looked at the time on the lower right. It was only five. Hange usually went home at seven.

“You’re early,” Levi commented.

“It’s my apartment. I can choose when to go home.” Hange answered. “Anyway what was that? Are you writing?”

“A journal,” Levi explained. There was not much point in lying.

“Did the counselor tell you to do that?”

“Yeah. Something about processing emotions and thoughts.”

“It’s a good exercise. Especially since you seemed pretty out of it recently...” Hange trailed off.

Levi looked back at her and noticed a flicker of what looked like guilt in Hange’s eyes before she looked away.

“Out of it?” Levi knew what she was talking about. He just felt the need to keep the conversation going.

“You spent the past weekend just lying in bed. I never even saw you look through your phone or open your laptop. ” Hange explained. “I’ve seen how these types of things develop so... So yeah, I’m just so happy to see you so focused on something else.”

“I don’t really have much else to get into other than school.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Hange said.

Levi bit his lip, instantly regretting that last sentence. Hange averaged two apologies a day which was a lot given the fact that they only ever had a two hour window to talk in between Levi’s long hours asleep and Hange’s long hours on campus.

“It wasn’t your fault. I was kinda going crazy too...With the jumping I mean.” He added. “And I was the one who decided to make that last jump in the first place. And now you have to change your whole thesis topic.”

“It wasn’t too difficult. Just one week building a new proposal. It’s still the same case study, it’s just I decided to document a recovery. Erwin’s unconventional methods with the recovery makes it worth documenting.”

“At least I’m still useful somewhere,” Levi commented wryly. Hange had explained the thesis to him over the weekend. He should have been relieved at least to know that they weren’t separating anytime soon. Surprisingly though, he wasn’t even happy to hear it. Everything around him just seemed too bleak to celebrate anything. Good news that used to make him smile and celebrate internally suddenly only made him feel a slight sense of relief, the equivalent emotion of seeing a wet floor sign in an area with slippery floors.

Hange sat on the sofa bed next to Levi and looked towards him. She took a deep breath. “I know with what’s been happening, it looks like you don’t have much going for you. And I know things seem pretty dark now but things will get better. You just have to keep living.”

“I’m still breathing.”

“You know what I mean,” Hange said. “When I get up in the morning you’re asleep. When I get back we talk for an hour and half the time it’s just me talking. You barely even answer when I ask what you want. This past weekend I didn’t even see you look through your phone. It’s like you’re practically dead.”

“What else is there to do. I can’t show up for training. My professors aren’t asking me to go back to school soon.”

“Find a new hobby? Continue whatever thing you’re writing. Enjoy the food I bring home. Laugh when you see a funny meme. Or you know, at least smile and do that nose blowing thing people do when you show them a funny meme..”

“My teammates are preparing for the new season. My classmates are at least all caught up in class. I spent too much damn time on that fucking sport. Now that it’s all gone, I feel like I’m just going with the flow of life instead of actually swimming,” Levi said, having taken that last part from Shela’s book.

“Everyone is just going with the flow of life. We’re all at the mercy of time anyway. Live for yourself. See joy in the small things at least. Look at me, I’m simping for athletes like some idiot in between studies.”

“Live for yourself? You follow people’s orders a lot for someone who gives this type of advice.”

“It’s not obeying people. I’m just asking questions and seeking advice. The more relevant facts, information and experience you have, the better the decisions you can make right. So can’t I argue that having more information at my fingertips makes me freer? ” Hange gave Levi a knowing and playful smile

He could tell by the look she gave him that she expected something in return. It was a rhetorical question though, maybe even a premature victory lap for having won that argument. Levi silently looked back at his laptop, not wanting to let her win.

Hange broke the silence. “Okay now that we’re on the topic of asking questions... who’s that Squad Leader Hange Zoe you’re writing about?”

A Tale of Two Slaves

Levi could not pinpoint the exact moment he decided for certain that squad leader Hange Zoe was real, when he decided for himself that the stories he was writing out should have been real.

It came as a gradual decision after incessant questions from Hange that at first, he was determined not to answer. Hange was smart about it, keeping the questions as things that could be answered with one word, and before he knew it, he was giving her too much information, it was pointless to blatantly refuse. After he had answered her more than enough questions, she smiled.

“Looks like you got my personality down,” Hange commented. Levi somehow knew her enough to tell there was no judgement or obligation in that voice. In fact, when he looked into her eyes, he saw that same wonder, he had seen many times before when she witnessed the jumps.

That wonder only carried over from questions on the squad leader to questions on his dreams and finally, to questions on how he wrote his dreams out.

“How do you see the world?”

“How do I see the world?”

“Like what type of camera angles do you see the world in. If I asked you to imagine a tree, what kind of tree do you imagine? Do you imagine it from top to bottom, from trunk to top? Our minds are the most creative producers and cameramen you can think of.”

“Do you notice how well our body blends sensations? When the light turns off then on, there’s a split second where you see shapes when your eyes adjust from light to dark?”

“What are the physical manifestations of emotions? Do you feel your stomach drop? Do you ever get that tingling feeling in your legs and suddenly they’re jelly?”

Did you ever witness something so beautiful that you wish you could live forever just so you could never forget it?

The conversation was a little deep and a little too philosophical for him. It was a ploy to get him writing and maybe a ploy to get him to understand the same wonder she had in the world from what he could tell. Somehow he needed it. The way Hange had described the world, the way she had described reality, only made the line between what could have been his imagination and his memory a little more distinct.

It was around then did he look at Hange Zoe the medical student to see the squad leader from his dreams. Erwin Smith, Hange Zoe and every single one of the soldiers in these dreams. They weren’t just dreams or manifestations of an exhausted mind.

In another life, she could have been real. The angles at which he saw the world, the way his body processed those sensations in his dreams, the manifestations of those emotions, too vivid even more vivid than a catharsis from a good book or a phenomenal ending to a TV show.

The questions continued to echo as Hange turned off the lights and Levi lay in bed awake. That food for the thought left Levi hyper aware of his surroundings, all the way down to the small details --- the way every piece of thread on the bed covers beneath him pressed on to him, the way his breath made a sound in the utter silence late at night no matter how much he tried to quiet it, the way the palpitations in his chest could be felt all the way until his head. He was excited to sleep, dream and take stock of his dreams yet he was too excited to fall asleep.

Like a five year old the night before their first field trip, Levi did not fall asleep anytime soon.

A Tale of Two Slaves

Nobody really questions the logic of dreams.

Sometimes one can find themselves only a few millimeters tall on top of a giant donut. Sometimes they can find themselves having milk tea with their favorite celebrity. Dreams are more felt by the moments they bring to people, not by the logic. It was only natural Levi did not question much of his dreams then.

That night as he lay awake, Levi made the conscious effort to live in his dreams, to take note of every detail from the sights and sounds, to the smells, the emotions, repeating to himself the questions Hange had asked earlier that day. What he had failed to consider then, was the context of dreams.

Were Hange and the others okay?

He found himself on the battlefield and he knew exactly what had to be done. In front of him was a large furry creature which the military had dubbed the Beast Titan and around him were other naked humanoid creatures called titans.

The Beast titan was flinging rocks at them and the soldiers were dying at an alarming rate.

Commander Erwin Smith ordered a suicide mission. All surviving soldiers were to rush towards the Beast Titan while Levi flew from the side of the walls and snuck towards him.

He knew what to do. The movements were natural and Levi had flown before, the gear on his waist had only made the whole mission easier. Somehow, on the battlefield he had the luxury of stock knowledge.

That stock knowledge was what had him slicing through the arms, through the eyes, through the achilles and finally through the nape of said titan. He pulled out a blonde man and pushed the sword through the man’s mouth.

He could feel his blood boiling. From anger? Of course, the man had killed Erwin. For a second, Levi had managed to get a view of the blond commander as he flew from the wall slashing titan after titan. He knew the man was probably dead.

But there was a way to revive him. There was a serum.

Before Levi could give it a second thought, a duck billed monster tore into his view and---

Levi sat up and screamed. He found himself in no hurry to dodge that duck billed titan. He was in Hange's apartment, too injured to be flying in the air in those contraptions anyway. He ran his hands through his body and up to his face, taking stock of his reality. He didn't reek of titan blood nor was he covered in it. He scanned the dark room, or at least what was visible given the moon was his only light source.

Somehow, those few moments as captain Levi had felt so real, watching the moon from his place on the sofa bed seemed almost dreamlike.

Which one is my reality? Levi found himself questioning it all. As quickly as the questions came, they were answered. All he needed was one stimuli, strong enough to root him back into his reality.

"Hey, bad dream?"

The dark room and his own state of mind had made it difficult for him to notice that Hange had settled beside him. That voice though had pulled him out of his trance and he became certain at least that he was not dreaming anymore.

"Yeah," Levi managed to say. At the least he still had control of his voice.

Hange sat cross-legged next to him. The moon was at a perfect angle to illuminate her face and even in the dark room he could see it. Her eyes were looking right at him as if she were studying him a little too seriously.

She brought out one finger to his eye and pushed at the corner. That was when Levi felt it. The small tear spread on the corner of his eye and dried up within seconds. Levi only hastened the process by wiping it himself.

"I'm not leaving you tonight."

"Why?"

"I'll take full responsibility for this. It was my mistake that got you into this in the first place.”

"I've had them before. This is nothing new.” Levi argued. As Hange lay on the sofa bed next to him though, he realized he didn’t want her to leave. His body froze as if understanding that emotion, unwilling to accommodate the protests, the impulse inside him to argue, to force her to go back to her room.

The sofa bed was at least big enough for both of them, wide enough for a comfortable one to two feet space between them. Hange had made sure as well to lie on her side, only widening that space a little more.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve told you this but I swear I really do mean it every time. I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked as she said it.

Levi only continued to stare at the ceiling above him, listening to her disturbed and hitched breaths next to him as if she was holding back something. He didn’t want to look to his side, not wanting to further aggravate a reaction he sensed was raring to come out of her or to further tighten that knot which had settled itself on his chest. His dim surroundings only illuminated weakly by the moon, did not help at all.

Levi lay awake for a while longer, scrambling for words that could placate her.

This is nothing new. It hadn’t worked.

I’m fine. But he wasn’t.

Things happen. Had he not given that same consolation so many times before?

Eventually the rhythm of her breathing evened out enough for Levi to guess that she had fallen asleep, and as if by some special force, Levi found his breathing slowing down too. He was starting to relax.

The apartment was dark and quiet. It was peaceful, so peaceful that Levi never did notice when exactly he was pulled back into his dream. The dimness of the apartment was gradually replaced by the dimness of the forest a long time ago. The distant sounds of passing cars gradually replaced by the crackle of a fire and the rustle of leaves on a windy night.

He was surrounded by trees. A broken wooden cart lay to the side and a few feet away from it a campfire.

The soft and even breathing next to him stayed though. The same exact pattern, the same exact rhythm, the same hitched breaths--- all signs of the light uneasy slumber of his companion.

That was all Levi needed to hear to have sworn nothing much changed about her.

#levihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #levi x hange #levi x hanji #levihan fanfiction #fanfic

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masonscig · 4 years ago

Text

attached series | part one: comfort

pairing | mason x detective x felix [detective sofía olmos]

word count | 3.3k

tags | @choicesarehard ; @pixelsandkink ; @brightpinkpeppercorn ; @messofakind ; @raleiighcarrera ; @pixeljazzy ; @cellophanesheep ; @senatorraines ; @beccadavenport ; @wayhavenschronicles ; @hudush ; @pumpkinpeng ; @knightava ; @thebobbyfish ; @lucensei (lmk if you want to be removed)

author’s note | this is a completely self indulgent love triangle between my two favorites. more detailed description on ao3 below! not sure how many parts this is gonna be to be honest! not sure how nsfw it’ll get either but as for now it’s just mason being mason with all his innuendos you know

read it on ao3

•─────────────────•

He noticed it before she did.

Her pulse didn’t jump the same way it did the first dozen times he walked into the room. The blood didn’t rush to her cheeks, or creep up her neck, the crimson flush absent even when he tried his hardest to fluster her. And it normally took next to nothing to get her to turn into a bumbling mess.

Something was off, and he found himself curious to find out what exactly it was.

And he hated that.

He was the opposite of an obsessive person, so it annoyed the hell out of him that he was fixating on her so much.

Why did he give a fuck about her micro-expressions? Who cares that her pupils didn’t dilate as wide as they used to? Who cares if her breath didn’t hitch as loudly in her throat when he called her sweetheart?

Not him.

God, that was a fucking lie, and he knew it. It infuriated him that he couldn’t let it go. That it was nagging at him. That he couldn’t shake the pestering feeling. That her happiness had become a thorn in his side.

He didn’t know why he showed up to her apartment. He just… did.

After perching on the roof of the warehouse, blazing through a pack of cigarettes, gazing out at the treetops, comforting silence enveloping his normally overstimulated senses – he still couldn’t shake his thoughts of her.

Fucking weird, considering that was his ideal night. And it was ruined by the detective. The human that he warned not to get attached.

Mason was a lot of things, but never a hypocrite. This was new territory for him.

The heavy rainfall scraped against his skin like shattered glass, the freezing temperature adding an extra layer of sensory torture.

The rain stained the chest of his grey henley, droplets beading up and sliding off of the faux leather sleeves of his jacket. He retired his real leather jacket when she scrunched her face at it, clearly upset with the ethics of animal products, blah blah blah. He sucked it up and bought a new one – not because he cared. He just didn’t wanna hear her whine.

He sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, eager to get inside.

With a heavier hand than he intended to, he rapped his knuckles across the wood with his right hand, his left arm pressed against the top door frame.

Sofía opened it, her expression one of genuine confusion. He couldn’t blame her. Usually they coordinated booty calls.

“Mason? Jesus Christ, it’s 3 a.m… What are you doing here?” She squinted, wiping sleep from her eyes with the crook of her finger.

“Can’t a guy drop by for a visit?”

“Depends if it’s business or pleasure.”

He quirked a brow at her, smirking. “Depends what you want out of me, sweetheart.”

He wasn’t sure if she intended on him catching the subtle fluttering of her lids as she glanced away, but he did. Usually her defiant eyerolls turned him on, but there was something negative about it that made his chest twinge involuntarily.

“Come in,” she sighed, pushing the door open, walking towards her kitchen without a second glance.

She was wearing his favorite pajama shorts that hugged her ass just right, and he couldn’t resist a couple glances at it, ignoring the godawful neon cheetah print pattern on the fabric.

He stepped inside, kicking the door shut with the back of his boot while he shrugged off his damp jacket, shuddering when the air conditioning hit his damp shirt.

She was insufferably hot natured, which meant her apartment was always freezing, regardless of the temperature outside.

He didn’t mind it when they were working up a sweat, but it stung his skin just as much as the active storm did.

He stopped at the open doorway to the kitchen, watching as she bent down to grab her water filter from the fridge. When she stood straight up, and he noticed the loose tank she wore, he decided why he’d headed over.

He definitely didn’t head over with the intention of fucking her brains out, but how could he resist when she looked like… that.

She poured herself a glass and tossed it back, throat pulsing as she gulped it down. And when she tossed the cup into her sink, tongue darting out at her corners to catch stray droplets, he couldn’t hold back.

He strode over to her, lightning fast, standing directly behind her. He splayed a hand across her stomach, teasing his pinky finger into the waistband of her shorts, satisfied when her breath hitched in her throat.

Normally he’d have to tug her long thick hair to the side to pepper kisses across her neck, but thankfully she already had it tied up in a messy bun, flyaways pointing to all the places on her neck that he could adorn with marks.

“Is this really why you’re here?” She asked, clearly annoyed, as he was trailing kisses up the side of her neck.

He shrugged. “Maybe. Why? Disappointed?”

“No.”

She was rigid in his grip, pushing his hand away from her stomach. She wheeled on him, expression angry. “What do you want from me, really? Just tell me.”

“Damn, where’d all of this come from?” He laughed breathily, leaning back against the counter. He tried keeping a casual composure as best as he could, but he was completely taken aback.

She blew out a huff of air, bracing her arms on the edge of the sink, gripping until her arms shook.

“Do you like me?”

He couldn’t help the way his lip curled, like her words left a bad taste in his mouth. He crossed his arms, tilting his head, not saying a word.

“I thought so,” she sighed deeply. “We really need to talk.”

“Before or after?” He smirked, cocking his head towards her bedroom. It was so easy to fuck with her, even moreso when she was annoyed.

“That’s what this is about.”

He arched a brow, waiting for her to respond. She met his gaze with a firm one of her own, eyes fiery and determined.

“Look, I’m just not cut out for… this,” she motioned between them. “Whatever it is. I thought I was, but I can’t handle it.”

“This?”

“Yes, this. The whole hook-up-but-leave-before-I-wake-up-and-pretend-I-don’t-exist type of shit.”

Before he could think about it, he shrugged. If deflection was his default, and snark was his defense, shrugging was his signature move.

“So you really don’t care? LIke at all?” Her lips tightened, chin dimpling as she narrowed her eyes at him.

So expressive. Why she wore her heart on her sleeve, he’d never understand.

“Told you not to get attached, sweetheart.”

Her jaw popped open, so fast that her tongue clacked against the roof of her mouth. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, looking the most angry he’d ever seen her.

“Why are you so fucking condescending all the time? Jesus Christ, I swear I don’t know why I ever thought sweetheart was endearing in the first place,” she scoffed, hands shaking at her sides.

Ouch. He’d only meant it to be condescending half of the time. Probably a bad choice of words, but she had to know he was messing with her… right? He shook off the thought. No reason to linger on it.

She sighed heavily, and it bugged the hell out of him. Why was she sighing at him so much? “I need some space.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say.”

“Can you shut the fuck up for two seconds? Seriously, the one time I need you to actually listen to me, you’re giving me snide comments like a child,” she nearly growled at him.

She’s usually so level headed. Why the hell was she letting her temper get the best of her?

He clenched his jaw, teeth grinding to keep himself from being quiet. He was gonna let her let it all out without defending himself. Just this once.

“I’ve been thinking about you way too much and I can’t let this affect my work or my life or…” she trailed off, glancing away for the first time. “Forget it.”

He rolled his eyes. “If you have something to say, say it.” Okay, maybe one freebie.

“Nothing I say will get through to you in the first place, so why should I waste my breath?” She shrugged, flailing her hands and letting them slap against her thighs.

He arched a brow defiantly, keeping his exterior calm, despite how difficult it was to look like he didn’t give a shit while she was hurling her feelings at him.

“You want me to say it? Okay, fine. I want you more than you want me. And I deserve better than that. You warned me and I should’ve listened, and now I need space,” she held his gaze, the look in her eye unwavering. “I don’t want you to ruin me for other people.”

His lip curled, betraying his demeanor. He tried masking it by popping a cigarette between his lips.

“It isn’t your fault, but I’m gonna ruin myself if I keep giving myself hope that I know isn’t there,” she chewed the inside of her lip, using her fingertips to push her bangs out of the way of her glasses.

She’d deflated a little bit, her anger dissolving into sympathy. God, he hated how clearly he could read her. She couldn’t hold anything back. She was an open book that he had no trouble browsing. He could skim the pages, pick out his favorite passages, and bookmark them, and she was completely oblivious.

She didn’t even tell him to put out his cigarette.

He took a long, rebellious drag and blew a stream of smoke out, pursing his lips so it nearly hit her in the face. “That’s it?”

Her eyes widened, face contorting into an expression of fury, of pain, of exhaustion, that he distinctly remembered from her lowest points. He felt a twinge of guilt, but otherwise didn’t change his physical stance, relaxed and nonchalant.

Her hand darted out to grab the cigarette, but he’d already flicked the bud into her sink.

She sighed, eyes glassy, walking out of the kitchen, shouldering past him towards the front door. She opened it, wordlessly pointing outside. “Get out.”

“You sure you don’t want one last round?” He joked, hands shoved into his pockets.

“As much as I’d love to say yes, I can’t handle my heart breaking again,” she laughed humorlessly, motioning again. “Get out, Mason.”

What the fuck did she mean, again?

He stalked out of the apartment, left heel nearly slammed in the door.

Damn, she was livid. But she’d come around. She was always upset after they hooked up, but she always came back.

He tried to keep that in mind as he heard the sniffles through the door, trying not to wonder if that was the first time she’d spilled tears over him.

–––––

The angry tears fell before she could even slide the lock closed.

Why the fuck did she even bring any of that up? She said she was going to wait until she had more of an argument and could form coherent thoughts.

Her thoughts ran a mile a minute, and she had to get them out somehow. She stumbled back to her room, snatching her phone off of her nightstand and dialing his number before she could chicken out.

“Hey, Sofía! Why are you up so late –”

“Mason showed up at my doorstep expecting to sleep with me and I exploded on him,” she said through her soft sobs.

“Oh, hey, wait, are you crying?” “Yeah, but I’ll be okay. I just need to vent,” she lied, scrubbing the back of her hand across her eyes.

“You don’t sound okay…”

“I… I’m not feeling so great. I’m starting to regret yelling at him.”

An ear-splitting cackle rang out through the speaker of her phone. “You’re too nice for your own good, detective.”

His laugh was enveloping, like sunshine – if you were caught in its rays, you couldn’t help but bask in it. She let herself enjoy it, if only for a moment, before letting her feelings about Mason settle into her bones again.

“We talked about this, though. You wanted him to see where you were coming from, right?”

“Yeah, but I, uh, let my temper get the best of me,” she chewed the inside of her lip, picking at a loose string on the quilt on her bed.

“So… he probably didn’t listen, huh?”

“Surprise, surprise,” she muttered, sniffling. “I really wanted this to work out. I don’t know why the hell I expected more.”

Her voice broke, and she slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her cries.

“Awe, hey, it’ll be okay! You planning on going back to sleep right now or would you like a handsome distraction?”

She laughed, rolling her eyes, thankful he couldn’t see her cheeks flush. “No, I’m awake for the day… I think.”

“Alright, I’m heading over now, and I’m bringing some movies. You want some of the kettle corn I popped earlier? It’s charred but maybe we could pick out some of the good pieces –”

“I’d love that, Felix.”

––––

If there was one thing Felix couldn’t do, it was stay still.

Even with the detective’s cheek pressed against his shoulder, lips parted, a serene expression on her soft features, he still tapped his foot incessantly, squirming in place.

C’mon hold it together for a little longer, he thought, drumming his fingers on his leg. Humans only need 8 hours of sleep right? Or was it 7? Maybe 4? Whatever.

He checked the clock on her wall, watching the seconds tick by. And when the second hand hit twelve, he gently shook her, noting how soft the skin of her arms were.

“Sofía? Hey, it’s pretty late,” he whispered, watching as her brows furrowed, and she cracked open one eyelid, arching her back into a stretch.

“What time is it?” She croaked.

“Twelve.”

She sat up quickly, eyes widening, lines etched into her face from the denim of his jacket. “You stayed here all night?” “Well, yeah,” He said matter-of-factly. “You fell asleep on my shoulder halfway through the first movie, and I didn’t wanna wake you up, so I just stayed.”

Her expression was sheepish, and he had no idea why. He really didn’t mind that she cuddled up to him… in fact, he really, really liked it. After what she’d been through the night before, he didn’t blame her for passing out from exhaustion.

“I’m really sorry for passing out on you like that,” she glanced away, not able to meet his eye.

“It’s no big deal. I got to binge watch all the Back To The Future movies and lemme just say, kinda makes me wish I would’ve fallen through the portal sooner so I could’ve lived during the eighties. I’m definitely going as Marty for Halloween, by the way,” he nodded contentedly, standing up from the couch.

She jumped up too, rushing to her kitchen, deftly moving around, whipping together a quick breakfast and coffee, like a well-oiled machine of one. She ripped her hair out of the bun piled on top of her head, shaking her head around and trying to rake her fingers through it simultaneously.

He caught himself staring at the way her wispy bangs framed her face, her length cascading down her back, the sleek silkiness of her hair practically beckoning for him to reach out and run his own fingers through it.

“Have you ever celebrated Halloween?” She asked, breaking his trance, as she poured herself a cup of coffee, taking a quick bite of her bagel.

“No, not like I want to,” he deflated a bit, screwing his lips to the side. “I know I’m a ‘grown up’–” he used air quotes around the word, “– but I wanna go trick or treating.”

“Wayhaven PD usually teams up with the elementary school and we do a mini-festival in the parking lot, with food, games, costumes, trick or treating… it’s great,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “I’ll definitely take you.”

His amber eyes brightened even more as a grin stretched across his face. “Really?” His voice rose an octave, and he could barely contain his joy. “You’re the best. Wait, should we do matching costumes? Oh my gosh. There’s so much to plan. It’s so soon!”

She swallowed her bite of food, holding back a laugh. “It’s fine, Felix. I swear we have time.”

He scrunched his nose. “Okay, I believe you.”

“I’ve got to go in a sec. I was supposed to meet Tina downtown today and I’m already late,” she checked the clock on the wall, blowing air upwards at her bangs in frustration.

“I’m sorry I have to cut this short. I really liked having you over,” she smiled shyly at him, and a little spark ignited in his chest, spreading warmth throughout his limbs, all the way to the tip of his fingers.

“I liked it, too,” he grinned even wider, stepping close to her.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she stood frozen in place, coffee cup in hand, shoulders raised.

“Felix…” she breathed, her eyes fluttering as she trained her gaze on his lips. She involuntarily leaned forward, nearly closing the gap between them.

“Yeah, Sofía?” he whispered, smile morphing into a near smirk.

“Do you think it’s really over between us?” She blinked, looking down at the floor.

His heart ached in his chest, head clearing immediately. Oh God, did I really forget that’s why I came here? I’m supposed to be helping her, not swooping in to sink my teeth into her like some sort of… Felix. Cheap joke. Don’t finish that sentence.

“I really don’t know,” he leaned back, searching her eyes, trying to show how sincere he was. “He’s never been around a girl long enough for them to dump him first.”

She sighed, the bottom of her mug clinking against the dark linoleum countertop. “Yeah, I figured.”

“Well, don’t give up now! When he gets in one of his moods, he just needs some time to come around, you know?” He scratched his head, pinching and twisting his curls between his fingers, fiddling with his beanie.

“I… don’t know if I want him to come around,” she chewed the inside of her lip, pushing her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose.

“You mean that?”

He must’ve looked surprised, because she sighed and took her glasses off, covering her face with her hands, scrubbing her skin with her palms.

“I just don’t know what the fuck I want,” she shook her head, bending over to prop her elbows against the counter, hands still over her face. Her voice came out muffled and pained, and he furrowed his brows, closing the distance between them to wrap a comforting arm around her shoulders.

She turned in his grip, burying her face in his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered, her breath tickling the exposed skin of his neck, right above his scarf.

“Of course,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her, revelling in the warmth of her bare skin.

––––

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc mason #felix hauville #agent m #agent f #twc fics #detective sofía olmos #god im so nervous but im so excited !!!!#my fic

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meikuree · 4 years ago

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if i can be sentimental here for a minute, i’m feeling pretty emotional about finally putting up the fic i linked in my previous post, for a couple of reasons. the process of slowly editing it and plucking up the courage to do so over the past couple weeks is one that’s been intertwined with some of my lowest points in my writing enterprise, and the fact that i finally felt like i was in a decent enough place to share it publicly is a bit of an event to me. It’s also one that’s coincided with me finally reaching a relatively stable place with self-confidence, and I want to talk a bit about how I got to that place.

musings put under a readmore because they’re rather long.

some background: for various reasons, that particular fic was meant to be one of those wips I would never publish, and simply abandon to private obscurity. i wrote it three months ago at a time when i was feeling very self-conscious and Very Bad about my usual/natural writing style (which features lots of long sentences dense with not-always-straightforward implication, a tendency to opt for an introspective, stream-of-consciousness style, and liberal/indulgent use of descriptors and metaphors). my insecurity wasn’t the fault of any specific person/event-- it was something that stemmed from my perception that my writing differed (too) highly from fandom conventions i had observed surrounding style, tone, and content, and some personal weirdness around that. but the end result, regardless, was that when i finished the first draft of that fic i quickly looked back and came to the kneejerk verdict that it was terrible, unfixable, unworthy, etc. etc.

nobody had told me it was terrible; i was simply on a self-critical bender, and did the work of convincing myself that it was so. but it was a blow because it was a piece i’d spent a good bit of time writing, and poured lots of emotional/mental energy into, and to sit there and feel as if it was abysmal and thus had to be abandoned didn’t do any favours for my writing esteem. that was also the time i stopped writing, aside from one other piece, because i believed there was something fundamentally lacking about my writing.

about a month ago i revisited the abandoned wip with fresh eyes, having forgotten most of what i’d written. and — to my complete surprise— i found that it wasn’t at all as bad. it was decent, even, and there were some lyrical turns of phrases/paragraphs i was proud of, and i enjoyed reading it. I basically wept as i read it, because suddenly I wasn’t sure why I’d convinced myself it was irredeemably bad, all those months ago, or why I’d been so harsh to myself.

(around the same time, my partner also told me something that stuck with me— “your writing is good. full stop”— which was a revelation because I’d always thought of my writing more along the lines of “it’ll only hit that mark labeled Good if you do XYZ”. my self-opinion on my writing was essentially contingent upon many arbitrary and constantly changing conditions, which was exhausting. so that was liberating. i realised that if I could just be slightly more confident and go in knowing I was good at some things, already, it would make my writing process a lot more enjoyable and smooth because I’d waste less energy fretting about whether I was hitting those arbitrary standards of Goodness.)

I was convinced my writing was Inherently Bad based on a few arbitrary conclusions (my style differs from what i usually see in X fandom space; therefore it is automatically bad), when more objectively my style was a mix of good and bad. i.e. i do some things well, and some things not as well. which is ultimately natural and common, and nothing to be ashamed of. put very simply, the issue was also that i was giving one too many fucks about mainstream validation. the issue wasn’t necessarily that I wasn’t getting any feedback/response either—I’d gotten a good amount of positive feedback in the past. it was something more endemic, and had to do with how I was so convinced internally of my writing’s low worth that there wasn’t much that external praise could do until I addressed it at the root.

i tried to approach this piece differently, with these issues in mind. I focused on polishing it until I was reasonably happy with it, not until it’d hit some mythic and unattainable standard of perfection. I realized I didn’t care how much quantified reception I got any more (bookmarks, kudos, etc.) because I was simply more excited about Getting It Out There and finally finishing something. I also knew that while it wouldn't necessarily be universally Extremely Amazing, it was decent, and that was good enough for me— and besides, as I was trying to internalize from what my partner had been emphasizing to me, my writing was good regardless of all those external factors (!!). it also felt much, much better to get heartfelt, in-depth feedback from a tiny group of fellow fans whose opinions I valued than to have mainstream approval. my fics (and this one fic I just published) will never be the sort that get 100+ kudos, because I write primarily for f/f rarepairs, but I did send that fic to a few very kind people who offered to read it and their feedback was infinitely more heartening and uplifting than a static kudo.

that leaves me where I am now in terms of my relationship with the fanfic economy and writing. these days, I’m mostly channeling Fiona Apple levels of “I no longer give a shit about reviews”, because attaching myself too firmly to the headwinds of ao3 approval briefly destroyed me. I give significantly less of a damn about mass reception now— even if, or especially because my tastes seem to differ from the fandom’s in terms of writing style and content. i’m more intent on having fun and doing whatever i want. if you’re someone who wants to aim for mass appeal and quantifiable metrics, that’s totally fine— none of this is meant to be a slight against how you approach writing. I simply think it’s a losing game if you’re in as insecure a place as I was previously, and that it was tremendously unhealthy for me.

I’m also moving these days towards cultivating greater community/communality in my fandom endeavours. it takes work and active participation but makes for a far more rewarding fandom experience, I’ve found. what’s more crucial to me-- over asynchronous, one-way and ultimately slightly superficial validation in the form of kudos/likes-- is reciprocity and communal conversation with other fans. and i’m very lucky that in the past few weeks, i’ve gotten a lot closer to a bunch of like-minded fans, with whom i can exchange detailed feedback and enter into meaning conversations about canon/our favourite characters. I write these days less to appeal to some imaginary, amorphous public and more for the enjoyment of friends/other kindred acquaintances whose minds i respect and admire far more. if you only ever receive one-way echoes, that’s extremely lonely-- but if you get to hear that echo turn back, get to hear some other input building upon what you said and not simply replicating it, that becomes something generative. and life-giving.

TLDR: the real fandom was the friendships, community and stable self-worth we forged along the way, not the superficial metrics of glancing validation.

TLDR 2: i’m learning that there are many acceptable valences between the extremes of “this writing fucking sucks” and “this is my magnum opus which i’ve sweat a blood transfusion for”, that are okay for one’s writing to occupy.

#meikuree talks #personal

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grittyreadsfic · 4 years ago

Text

Hi :)!!! I’m sending this through submission because halfway through writing this via ask I got stressed about the character count and splitting this into multiple asks is not something I have the energy for today.

I’m not in the middle of reading any fics right now (very out of character for me), but a few of my favorite fics this year have been… *sweats and rifles through my ao3 bookmark list because this is really hard to just pick a few*. "body’s in trouble" [Nolan Patrick & Nicklas Backstrom, Nolan Patrick/Travis Konecny] by cloudsandpassingevents, “(break something old) to build something new” [Danny Briere/Claude Giroux] by Lake(beyond_belief), “i might (even know what to say)” [Danny Briere/Claude Giroux] by callabang, “you know you’re a terrible sight but you’ll be just fine” [Jake Guentzel & Knowing Himself, Jake Guentzel & His Brothers, Jake Guentzel/Jared McCann] by heartequals(savvygambols), “little spoon” [Quinn Hughes/Thatcher Demko] by mundanememory, “Your Will In My Hand” [Sidney Crosby/Evegni Malkin/Anna Kasterova] by Sparcck, “Closed Fracture” [Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin] by lightgetsin, “Lean on Me” [Mitch Marner & Matt Martin, Mitch Marner/Auston Matthews] by sheyrenawyrsabane, and “Morning to Wake You” [Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin] by oflights.

Oops, that was definitely more than a few. I know for a fact that you’ve read some of those (like “little spoon” for example!!), but I figured I’d send some of my favorites.

A lot of these are sort of centered on the process of growing up, along being able to acknowledge who you are and be comfortable with it, just because *shrugs* it’s sort of where I’m at right now. I’m 1000% sure you’ve read most of these, but I’m going to tell you why I love them anyways.

This might be recency bias, but “body’s in trouble” actually took me out, literally mowed over me emotionally. I basically had to write an essay when I commented on it, but if I’m going to try to summarize (which I’m guessing isn’t necessary because it seems like the sort of thing you’d have already read), I LOVED how human the characters were and how genuine their struggles felt. Like, Nolan was trying to figure out how to let himself be happy, and *pained screaming* it was such a raw moment when he started to change his thinking on that and I think the author did such a clear job of getting you into his head and mindset and walking you through it so the moment also felt intensely personal as a reader.

“Morning to Wake You” is also just so incredible!?!?!?!! I feel like it’s a characterization of Sid that’s somehow simultaneously really consistent with how he’s usually portrayed in fic and also really different. I think one of my favorite things about the fic is that I loved all the relationships in it, not just the main pairing. I absolutely loved the friendship between Colby and Sid, the way Mario was clearly someone with whom Sid felt same and at home but also like an adult, and the little moment between Sid and Tanger. In a fic about growing up and growing into yourself, I thought the development and investment in making those relationships so rich really enhanced the fic because Sid (from the way I read it) was really learning not just how to let himself be human for himself but also let other people witness it. I’m not doing a very good job of articulating why something about this fic feels so unique, but it’s one of my absolute favorites. If guess if I’m trying to summarize, the grey area and realness of the uncertainty combined with the process of figuring out how to grow into yourself but let that growth take root in one’s life really makes this just absolutely wonderful.

“(break something old) to build something new” makes me unhinged every single time I read, albeit for completely different reasons than “body’s in trouble” or “Morning to Wake You”. I can’t put a finger on what makes me love this fic so much, but I guess in some ways it’s a later in life, less fraught but just as significant story of learning to make space in your life for the things that make you happy/feel like you’re home. It’s not an examination of the question of allowing yourself happiness in the same was that “body’s in trouble” is, but it’s a story that just makes you feel good. I think every reader likes vicariously through characters in fic, so I think this is what I read when I’m craving that comfort of belonging, home, and family. Danny has a good thing, and it’s a story of him realizing that and then actualizing it. By putting Danny both at a time when he’s so established and secure in his life yet still at a crossroads, it makes him think about what he has and what he wants. It takes him longer for him to be able to articulate what it is he wants than it does for the reader, but that’s the journey (that sort of makes it feel like it’s drawn out–it’s not, it’s more of a Danny just has to think about it before he figure it out). I also love the way the author wrote the supporting characters on this one!!!! I think it just really adds dimension to the story and is the first thing that really cultivates this atmosphere of family that’s woven through the fic, right there for when Danny finally sees it. (In regards to supporting characters, I’m so overly invested in the storyline between Cameron Briere and his bio lab partner in which he finds his first non-hockey friend.)

Anyways, I hope you’re having a great day/morning/evening!!!! I really enjoy reading your fic recs and I also really enjoyed spewing out an.. oops… eight paragraph ask :)

okay HELLO i tried to format this in the way the made the differentiation between the post submitted by @kingdom-of-the-shades and my response clear but uhhhhhh if i didn’t do a good job lmk and i’ll edit the post. i also tried to hyperlink all the fics you mentioned for ease of finding for anyone interested!

i do see a common theme in these fics based off what i’ve read the and descriptions of the rest (i’ve read half of them though i did immediately read the callabang fic when i went to grab the link because it was very much my shit and i love ao3 user callabang’s writing)

also you really called my out about body’s in trouble because i literally waws scrolling through the hockey rpf tag like the sunday paper and fully had to tweet about the tags because it was very much my kind of fic. absolutely back what you’re saying about it, because i agree completely. feeling very feral about the scene were nolan takes nicke fishing because it’s such a full circle moment (nolan putting what nicke’s taught him into practice AND using it to help nicke when he’s going through it? fucking......GOD)

i haven’t read the other two you called out specifically but you making a compelling argument for both of them (probably gonna read that danny/claude fic sooner rather than later because i absolutely ADORE fics where the supporting characters add to the fic)

#personally i would love it if i regularly got messages like this in my inbox this is so lovely #thank you so much for taking the time to share all this with me!#recs for gritty #fic rec #submission

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metalbatandzenko · 4 years ago

Note

all the numbers owo

GrCUnA gaoh god sdljhdkjshfkjsh

This is gonna get long so I’ll put it under the cut. I’m also gonna remove the ones I’ve answered already.

1. What fandoms do you write for?

OPM and AtLA. I have a Miraculous Ladybug fic, but the creator is a nightmare and I hate the way the show treats the main character (literally the creator said part of the show’s episode formula is the main character “learns a lesson” every episode: usually through humiliation) and all the characters of color so I really don’t write for it anymore.

2. What pairings do you write for?

Batarou, Mumensai, and I do general fics.

3. What is your most popular fanfic?

My Miraculous Ladybug fic. By like. a lot akfdjhlgkjhfdlkg

It’s got triple the subscriptions and bookmarks, double the hits, and more kudos than any of my other fics. And I haven’t updated since January.

4. Do you write original stories as well?

I do! I’m a creative writing major, so I do a lot of memoir nonfiction and poetry, but I also write fictional short stories.

5. What fanfic of yours should everyone have read?

I don’t think there is one! Different strokes and all. But if you weren’t aware, I’m working on an ATLA fic rn about Zuko trying to repair his relationship with Azula. Not for this fandom, but a fun fic for me because it’s a bit out of my wheelhouse.

6. What is a fandom you will never write for?

Out of the ones I’ve been in, voltron.

7. What is a ship you will never write for?

There are...a lot. For the sake of my mental well being, I will not list them. But I will say any ship between a teen and someone in their mid twenties or beyond is a no go for me.

8. Archive of Our Own, FanFiction.net, Wattpad, Tumblr, etc. which platform do you prefer?

Begrudgingly, Ao3. I have my issues with Ao3 and I think I’ve made those pretty clear (and they’ve gotten me into some hot water lmao) but it’s a good place to put fics.

10. How do you stay motivated to finish what you’ve started?

I could not tell you. I am so bad at staying motivated. Certain fics I love writing. Others feel like I’m pulling teeth.

11. What’s your longest fanfic?

Hidden Horns. By a lot. like 20k words a lot.

12. Do you want to break your readers‘ heart or make them laugh?

A bit of both, but I lean towards laughing. The world needs more light.

13. What is your planning process?

Depends on the fic. For short ones or oneshots, there really isn’t one. For longer fics, I’ll have an outline, but a lot of times I’m laying tracks as I go. If I think of a good scene or line, I’ll write it down and just keep it at the end of my doc until it comes up in the story.

15. OCs or no OCs?

OC’s only when they’re necessary for plot. For example, Madame Oshitani in Hidden Horns only really showed up because I needed a piano teacher, and I couldn’t have it be an existing hero. Outside of that, I tend to avoid putting OC’s in fics, because I find them disruptive when I’m reading fics.

16. Do you use sentence starters, writing prompts and/or fandom headcanons for your fanfics?

Sometimes! Hidden Horns was based off of this fanart. If they are, I make sure to note that in the notes.

20. Can we get a list of all of your current available fanfics?

Yeah you got:

A (Not So) Brief Hiatus-Miraculous Ladybug

Promises to Keep-OPM/batarou

Little Boy-OPM/Metal Bat centric

A Game of Chase-OPM/batarou

Not Invincible-OPM/batatou death

Someone Fun-OPM/Mumensai

Date With the Devil-OPM/Mumensai sequel

Something of Note-OPM/Mumensai

Conduct Evil-OPM/batarou

Grief and Other Intangibles-OPM/Zombiedad and CE death

Horns and Fangs Series (Hidden Horns and Fear and Fangs)-OPM/batarou

Spaghetti and Juiceboxes-OPM/Zombiedad and CE

I guess they don't like me but I never figured out why (I guess they think I don't like them either)-ATLA/Zuko reaches out to Azula

21. What’s your shortest fanfic?

Conduct Evil at a whopping 354 words.

23. Long chapters or short chapters?

They vary! Mine tend to be pretty short, like 1k-4k.

24. How many WIPs (work-in-progress) do you’ve got?

*sweats* Like 17 at least

25. How many WIPs will you finish?

Rude to assume I won’t finish all of them eight if I’m lucky

26. First-person-narrative or third-person-narrative?

Third. I hate writing in first person except for in nonfiction.

27. Do you take requests?

Kind of. If people send me an ask that I vibe with, I might write something, but as a general rule, no. I’ve been considering doing commissions though, so if you want to toss a coin to your bitcher lmk

28. I will name you three things (object — scenario — fandom/ship): write a paragraph or two!

I can’t do this one without those three kdjhflkjsdh

29. What’s more difficult? Fanfics or original work?

They’re difficult in different ways, but original is way harder.

Original work means there’s zero scaffolding to build off of except for the scaffolding you make yourself, and there’s a lot of issues with worldbuilding and creating complex and relatable characters.

Fanfic relies on a solid understanding of existing characters and dynamics, as well as the internal logic of the world. The scaffolding is there, but often times it’s stifling.

30. What writing software do you use?

Word and Google Docs fkjhslgkjh

31. Do you use beta/sensitive readers?

Nope. I probably should though.

32. Past or present tense?

Past. I can’t consistently write in present.

33. Do friends and family know that you write fanfics?

Some of my friends do. I’ve shared some with them! I use fanfic as warmup, so a lot of my writing friends know about my fics.

34. How did you find the world of fanfics?

I wrote Adventure Time fanfic on middle school and published them on an Adventure Time facebook group. They were wildly popular in the group.

36. Did you ever delete a work of yours?

I don’t think so tbh.

37. Did your work ever get plagiarized?

If it did, I wouldn’t know. But I highly doubt it.

38. Do you partake in any fanfic/writing events? (Big bangs, zines, NaNoWriMo, etc?)

No because I can’t stick to a deadline.

39. Collaborations or working solo?

I’ve never done a collaboration before.

41. What is something you don’t like about your writing?

I rely really heavily on dialogue and I’m suuuper aware of it. I think the thing is I do a lot of domestic fics, and even my story fics tend to be pretty domestic. I’m looking at you Hidden Horns

My original work doesn’t tend to lean on it as heavily.

43. Guilty pleasure tropes and scenarios?

I am a die hard found family bitch. Nothing guilty about it.

44. Does fanart of your fanfic exist?

Yes, actually. The aforementioned middle school fic got mini fancomic for the first chapter, and I wrote a Miraculous Ladybug ficlet in a fic chain that got fanart.

45. Do fanfics of your fanfic exist?

I think there might be one that was inspired by my fic, but I can’t remember tbh.

47. What fanfic of yours is truly underrated?

My ATLA fic!!! give it some love tf :/ (kidding of course.)

50. Can we get a teaser for an upcoming chapter?

Yeah, here you go:

The hero removed his coat and dropped it on the ground, where it landed with a solid “thud”.

He unhooked the holster under his arms, removed a knife from both boots, and unstrapped the machetes from his back.

They joined the trench coat in the pile.

Garou watched in equal parts awe and horror as Zombieman continued to produce weapons from increasingly improbable locations.

Finally, when the pile at his feet was large enough to arm a private militia, Zombieman stopped.

“I’ve got a pistol in my chest, but I’d prefer not to take that one out,” he said, pushing past Garou. “Feels rude to invite myself over then get blood all over the tatami.”

#hidden horns #Anonymous

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prolestariwrites · 5 years ago

Photo

Time To Go [3]: Fucking Vergil

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: M Characters: Nero, Dante, Vergil, Kyrie, Nico, Trish, Morrison Tags: Mystery, Humor, Missing Person, First Time, Family Drama, Family Bonding, Post-Canon Chapter: 3/9 Chapter [1] [2]

Summary: When Kyrie goes missing, Nero goes on a desperate search to find her. Unfortunately, Dante and Vergil go too. Sparda boys shenanigans, fighting demons, a smattering of family drama, and male bonding (otherwise known as Nero’s worst nightmare). Please check it out below, or you can read on FFNet or AO3. Beta read by @copper-wasp.

Now posted! Chapter 3: Fucking Vergil, in which Vergil gets a hair cut and then tries to explain the birds and the bees to Nero.

━━━━━━━✧━━━━━━━

Nero’s hand flexes around the holster of his gun as they stand outside of Vergil’s apartment. It feels like every nerve in his body is tense and ready to spring, the coil growing tighter when Dante raps on the door.

“Who is it?” a voice calls from inside.

“It’s me,” Dante says. “Need to ask you about something.”

“No thanks.”

Nero curses and aims his foot at the door jamb, breaking it open with one powerful kick. A moment later he is standing next to Vergil, his revolver pointed at his temple. Vergil glances up from the book he is reading, and he grumbles as he leans forward to grab a bookmark from the table, not even flinching when the barrel presses against his skin. “I said, no thank you.”

“Where is she?” Nero seethes.

Vergil places the book on the table and sits back in his chair. “Where is who?”

“Kyrie. Where is she?”

Nero watches as Vergil glances over at Dante, who has pulled up a stool from the kitchen bar off to the side. The living room is decorated handsomely, if not a bit old fashioned, and Dante nearly knocks over a stained glass lamp as he perches on the seat, catching it just in time. “What is he talking about?” Vergil asks.

“His girl Kyrie is missing. Been gone since this morning.” Dante jerks his chin up. “He thinks you know something.”

Nero grits his teeth as Vergil turns to look at him. He holds the gun steady even though his other hand is trembling, and the barrel now points directly to his forehead. “Why would I know where she is?”

“Because a demon relative of mine took her,” Nero growls. “And the only person that could be is you.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“Am I?” Nero cocks the hammer, the click feeling satisfying. “I’ll give you five seconds.”

Vergil gives him an angry look. “Dante, would you do something about this?”

“I told him it probably wasn’t you.”

“Four.”

Vergil whips around, and Nero pushes the gun against the side of his head. “Probably!” he snaps. “What do you mean, probably?”

Dante holds up his hands. “Hey, I defended you.”

“Three.”

“Some defense,” Vergil grumbles. “You probably made it worse. Get out of my apartment.”

“I didn’t even want to come!”

“Two.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Dante gestures towards Nero. “His girl is missing. He’s a wreck. If I didn’t tag along he’d probably end up killing someone.”

Nero squeezes the trigger. The shot explodes in the room and he is knocked backward, not by the recoil, but because Vergil has him by the throat. Nero is thrown onto his back as Vergil climbs over him and pins him to the floor. His grip is firm, but not choking, and Nero struggles for a second before realizing he can’t break his hold. Vergil restrains the hand holding the gun to the ground by his forearm, slamming it hard to knock it away. “How dare you,” Vergil growls, and Nero looks up furiously, pleased to see the tips of his hair a bit singed from where he had dodged. “I just had a haircut, and let me tell you, it was not cheap.”

“Let him up, Vergil,” Dante sighs.

“No.” He slams Nero’s arm again, and a bolt of pain goes through his wrist, causing his grip to loosen. Vergil snatches the gun from his hand and straightens up, half sitting on Nero’s leg. “This isn’t a toy, you know,” he scolds, shaking the revolver in demonstration.

“I know you have her,” Nero says. His voice is tight with emotion, and having been so easily disarmed pisses him off. Vergil’s eyes narrow a bit, the ends creasing slightly, and Nero doesn’t know if it is in pity or concern or anger, and that pisses him off even more.

Vergil presses his lips together and stands. “I don’t have her. I don’t know anything about this.”

Nero sits up, leaning forward to catch his breath, his arms draped over his knees. The gun comes into view, and he looks up to see Vergil handing it back. He snatches it away, pressing the grip to his forehead now damp with sweat. “She’s gone,” he says harshly. “Kyrie is gone, someone took her and sent me a note not to look for her and…” His chest goes tight and his vision blurs, and Nero can feel his pulse racing. “If you don’t have her then I don’t know where else to look.”

He takes a minute to wait it out, refusing to let any pain or fear take over again. Every moment he spends focusing on that is a moment he’s not focusing on her. When he looks up, he sees Vergil studying him, and Dante looking on with what could best be called mild interest.

Vergil seems like he struggles to say something, until finally he asks, “Did you call the police?”

“They won’t do anything,” Nero mutters.

“Where is this note?”

He looks up at Vergil suspiciously, but the truth is, he is suddenly too tired to argue. Instead he pulls the note from his pocket and holds it up. Vergil takes it and opens the paper carefully, frowning as he reads. “Whoever it is could have been a bit more cryptic,” he mutters sarcastically.

“Any ideas?” Dante asks.

Vergil shakes his head. “Who told you it was a relative?”

“Empath.” Dante sighs. “She’s usually spot on with this stuff.”

Vergil considers for a moment. “And you’re sure she was kidnapped, and didn’t just leave?”

Nero growls and pushes to his feet before snatching back the note. “Yeah, I’m fucking sure. Kyrie wouldn’t ever do that.”

He scowls at Vergil, who gives him a patronizing look. “How can you be so sure? Because you are in love?” he laughs.

“Yeah,” Nero answers sharply. “That’s right.” He bristles, debating whether a punch to the jaw or another shot to the head would wipe that look off Vergil’s face when his cell phone rings suddenly.

Nero yanks it from his pocket, frowning in surprise at the number. “Yeah?” he answers.

“Nero? It’s Trish.”

“Yeah. This isn’t a good time—”

“It’s about Kyrie.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. Dante starts to ask but Nero waves them both away, turning so he can focus on the call. “Do you know where she is?”

“No. But Nico called me looking for Morrison and told me what happened. I have a contact in the demon world that might be able to help you out.”

Nero nods. “Okay. What do I need to do?”

“He frequents a bar out in Clear Point. It’s a three hour drive. Do you know it?”

“No. But I’ll go.” He glances back at the others. “What do you think he knows?”

“Everything. Anything. If someone in the demon world has Kyrie, he’d know.”

“Send me the address.” Nero ends the call and looks at the time. It’s half past nine, which means if he leaves now, he'll be there after midnight. “We gotta go,” he says to Dante.

“Sounds good.” Dante stands and stretches, then nods to Vergil. “You coming?”

“What? No,” Nero says at the same time Vergil replies, “Why would I go?”

Dante looks between them both. “Come on, Vergil. We could use another hand. Plus you look like you could use some fun.”

Vergil huffs a laugh, but Nero narrows his eyes. “Absolutely not. He’s not coming with us.”

━━━━━━━✧━━━━━━━

Vergil leans over the front console, his arms resting on the back of the seats. “I still don’t see why I couldn’t sit in the front.”

“‘Cause I called shotgun,” Dante grins. “You snooze, you lose, brother.”

Vergil snorts. “I’ve never lost at anything in my life.”

“Except to me.”

“Would you both shut it?” Nero snaps. “We still have plenty of miles left and I’m not listening to this the whole drive.”

Dante glances over. It would seem to a casual observer that Nero is just annoyed at them, but he can tell that the kid is tense. Dangerously tense. His hands grip the wheel of the van so tightly his knuckles are white, his arms and shoulders straining under his leather coat. His face is twisted into a deep scowl, his brows drawn deeply together. He would wager a guess that Nero is ready to snap at the first opportunity, and Dante wonders if they will even make it to the bar.

“What did Trish say again?” he asks.

Nero huffs. “Just what I told you. This guy knows what’s going on in the demon realm. He’ll have heard something if there’s something worth hearing.”

“Sounds suspicious to me,” Vergil says.

“Nobody asked you,” he mutters.

Dante looks back over his shoulder. “Why’s that?”

“The chance of a random demon knowing anything about Kyrie is slim to none,” he says. “He’s not even in the same city. How would he know what is going on in Fortuna?”

“Ah, you know demons,” Dante says.

“I do, and this doesn’t make sense.” Vergil leans back.

“You could always leave?” Nero suggests with a fake cheerfulness.

Vergil mutters something under his breath, but Dante glances over at Nero again. There is something that has been nagging him since he saw the note, and he figures now is as good a time as any to ask. He rubs his hand on his head for a second before asking, “How do you know Kyrie didn’t write that note?”

The van swerves for a second before Nero rights it. Dante grabs the overhead bar to steady himself as Vergil gives a shout from the back. “What the hell you doing?” he yells.

“Why would you even ask that?” Nero yells back. “Kyrie didn’t write it!”

“What happened with you two last night?” Dante asks. Nero’s shoulders stiffen and he leans a bit closer. “I can read you like a book, kid.”

“Nothing happened,” Nero hisses.

“Didja fight or something?”

“No.”

“She getting on your nerves?”

“No!”

Vergil leans forward again, his face popping into view between them. “Women are hardly worth the trouble. They’re either lying or picky as hell.”

“Fucking hell!” Nero pulls the van over to the side of the highway, stopping in the emergency parking. He yanks the gear shift into park so hard it looks like he could tear it off, and then turns to glare at the two brothers. “Both of you shut the hell up about Kyrie! She didn’t leave me and she didn’t write that letter and nothing happened!”

Dante’s brow draws down. “Nobody said nothing about her leaving you.”

“You did!” Nero argues. “You said she wrote it. That’s what you meant, isn’t it?” He throws out his hand and yells, “So what? You think she just took off and doesn’t want me looking for her?”

Vergil shrugs. “It’s a possibility.”

“No, it’s not.” Nero’s tone is dangerous as he hisses through gritted teeth, “The next person that says something like that about her is going to get my fist in their face, got it? Kyrie did not leave me.”

A tense silence fills the van for several moments. Then quietly, Dante says, “What happened?”

“Nothing! Nothing happened! Nothing…” Nero’s voice twists and he turns around to look out the front window. He pounds his fist on the steering wheel and bows his head. “We… we had sex. Okay? We did it and everything was fine. I thought everything was fine.” Dante winces as he watches Nero struggle to breathe, the air escaping him in a light whine. “She said she loved me. She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t do this.”

“First time, huh?” Dante asks.

Nero gives him a sharp look, but then he nods. “We were waiting. She said she wanted to wait, and I was cool with that, you know? She’s so good and beautiful and… look, I know I don’t deserve her. I know she could do way better than me.” Dante reaches out to give him a reassuring pat on the arm, but Nero shakes him off. “She loves me. She wouldn’t do this.”

The quiet is now uncomfortable, the only sound Nero’s sniffling, and Dante tries to think of what to say. But before he can impart some wisdom, Vergil asks, “Did you get her pregnant?”

“What? No!” Nero cries.

“How do you know?” prods Vergil. “Did you do it right?”

“Do it—what the hell are you talking about?”

Nero glares at him furiously but Vergil shrugs. “I thought that might be why she left. Maybe she doesn’t want a demon child.”

“She doesn’t care about that! And she’s not pregnant. We only did it once,” Nero says furiously.

Vergil gives a chuckle. “That’s all it takes. All it took for you anyway.”

Nero visibly recoils. “Oh my god.”

“I’m surprised Dante doesn’t have a dozen brats running around.” Vergil frowns at Dante, seeming to examine him, and Dante frowns back. “How did you manage to escape the plague that is fatherhood?”

“Well, I…” Dante clears his throat. “Lucky.”

Vergil slides up a bit more and eyes him suspiciously. “Have you even had sex before?”

“Loads of times,” Dante scoffs. “Women love me. Tell him, Nero,” he says, gesturing at the kid. “How much did Lir want me, hm? She was all over me.”

Nero makes a noise of disgust as Vergil snorts. “I’m sure that’s entirely true,” he says, his tone clear that he does not believe that one bit, before turning back to Nero. “You do realize that pleasuring a woman takes more than just some good looks and charm. There are certain places on the body that—”

“I’m not listening to this!” cries Nero.

“Women are delicate creatures but they also have different needs—”

“Would you shut up?”

Dante points to Vergil. “He’s got a point, you should listen.”

“This is my worst nightmare.”

“No, really,” Dante says seriously. “A girl’s first time, she’s gonna be skittish, right? That’s why you gotta put it in real slow, not go straight to pound town.”

Vergil nods. “That’s what I was saying, Dante. If you need some advice, Nero, then I can—”

“For! Fuck’s! Sake!” Nero looks back and forth at them with revulsion. “I don’t need any damn advice from you,” he snaps, pointing at Vergil. Then he points at Dante and growls, “Or you. And if you say that about Kyrie again I’ll rip your head off. You both got it?”

“Yeah,” Dante replies.

“We are just trying to help,” Vergil adds.

“I don’t need your help. And I really don’t fucking need to hear about sex from the two of you. Let’s just get to Clear Point. And nobody talk again. About anything. Ever.” Vergil gives an annoyed huff as he slides into the back again, and Nero throws the van into gear. Before pulling back onto the road, he glances at Dante. “Pound town? Are you twelve?”

“Just telling the truth, kid,” he chuckles, looking back out the window as the lights on the freeway slip by.

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #vergil sparda #dmc nero #dmc dante #dmc vergil #nerokiri #fan fiction #time to go

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cowboyarc · 4 years ago

Text

weird ass tag game

I was tagged on this one by @tracy7307 thank you!

1) Warm or cool colors: I like both, but due to where i live its helped me to branch out and wear warmer colors.

2) Sci-fi/fantasy or realistic fiction: Sci-Fi babyyy, i’m really not a realistic fiction kinda guy.

3) How many unread bookmarks on AO3: 0 (i dont use the bookmark function? i usually just have like 27 tabs that i flip between cause my attention span is shit :P

4) Repitles or amphibians: reptilesss (i love snakes, i have two snake tattoos, abigale (red tail boa my pops had) and gnocchi (a pit viper coiled into the ouroboros ring)

5) What’s one weird assumption about the place you live: That just because its a ‘dry heat’ (phoenix) that it isnt as bad? Yeah no its like an oven its 120 degrees the breezes are so hot and i am sweating buckets within a minute of stepping outside awful.

6) Can you read on car trips: Not at all, i cant sleep normally? so car rides are the one thing with out fail that if im not driving i can pass out in like 2 mins. which is wild cause my body has never done that in any other circumstance.

7) Would you rather live by the ocean or in the woods: OCEAN, i miss the ocean so badddd. i cant wait to go back.

8) What’s one food most people like but you can’t stand: i hate avacados? the texture is so bad to me? i’m sorry i just cannot dude

tagging @yikesharringrove @awickedplacethisis @wrecked-fuse @lostnoise @flippyspoon and anybody else if it tickles your fancy?

Once again if you don’t wanna do it that’s cool :)

#also if i tag you in this and you dont like these types of things just let me know? and i wont do it again :)#thanks again #Snaps tags

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juliussneezerfics · 5 years ago

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Blood Red Lilies and Baby Blue Cornflowers: Chapter 11 - Care

Japan, exhausted with his friends and being left out of the loop, decides to intervene.

Ao3

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

Japan was exhausted. Not physically, but mentally. Dare he say, emotionally. For the past few months, he could tell there was something going on between his best friends. Japan could guess it was romantic, of course he could. He knew there was something wrong with Germany, too. Several decades of them only getting together every several months. It somehow felt… wrong. Japan had a fairly good idea of what the root of this problem was. He suspected Italy did, too. Japan’s country had the first case of hanahaki, after all. If anyone should be familiar with the symptoms, it was him. The only question was how to approach it.

Japan knocked on Germany’s door, not surprised when Prussia was the one to answer it.

Prussia’s eyebrows raised questioningly. “Japan?”

“Good evening, Prussia. I apologize for coming without warning, but I needed to talk to Germany for a minute.”

Prussia furrowed his brow and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. He’s pretty tired and I think he’s down for a nap.”

“Forgive me for being presumptuous, but I assume he’s not feeling well?”

“Ehh…” Prussia said with a shrug. “You know how Germany is. He could lose an entire arm and chalk it up to a paper cut.”

“Again, forgive me, but am I right in assuming he has hanahaki?”

Prussia blinked. “What are you- how did you know?”

“I know the symptoms well. I have suspected it for a fair amount of time now, but it was only last week at the meeting that I realized Italy knew as well. I need to talk to him.”

“I don’t know.” Prussia said with a furrowed brow. “He really isn’t feeling too good.”

“Please, I will not be long.” Japan pleaded.

Prussia opened the door wider. “You’re lucky you don’t ask for too much.” It was said without hostility, but a certain kind of reluctance Japan wasn't accustomed to Prussia having.

“Thank you, Mr. Prussia.”

“Prussia, please. How many times do I have to say it? You make me sound old.” Prussia kicked the door shut with a chicken-slipper-clad foot.

Japan took his shoes off, leaving them neatly by the door. “Thank you, Prussia. I won’t be long.”

“I’m about to order a pizza if you want some when you’re done.” Prussia offered.

Japan held up a hand. “Thank you, but I have a prior engagement.” Prior engagements being a video game marathon with America that evening.

“Ah, okay. More for me, then. He’s right down the hall.” Prussia said, waving in the general direction of the hallway. “Third door on the right.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, and Japan?”

Japan turned mid-step.

“Whatever you’re about to do, thanks. You’re good with this stuff. I wish I could help him more, but… y’know. I’m not good at this, and… just try to talk some sense into him, okay?”

“Trust me, I plan to. Thank you, Prussia.”

Prussia shrugged. “It’s whatever. Just… he doesn’t look so hot. So be ready for that, I guess.”

Japan nodded. “Thank you.”

Wordlessly, Prussia paced into the kitchen and out of sight.

Japan walked down the hallway, taking a deep breath as he approached the door. It had a small crack in it, allowing Japan to see light coming from within. He pushed his way through quietly. Germany looked up curiously from the book he was reading, his face registering shock.

Japan could feel his face fall into a rare look of surprise as he looked at Germany. His blond hair, usually thick and bright, was dull and thin lying over his forehead. His eyes were surrounded with dark bags, the whites of his eyes bloodshot. His skin was sallow, his cheeks hollowed out. His arms, usually muscled, seemed thin and frail. He looked almost like a skeleton. Japan fought the urge to look away.

“Japan?” Germany’s voice was dry, cracking as he spoke. “You have to leave, I’m not feeling well.”

“Hanahaki,” Japan simply said, coming forward and sitting down next to the bed, “is not contagious.”

“What are you talking about?” Germany said, turning his head away from Japan. He couldn’t seem to find the strength to lift his arm and cover his mouth as he coughed up several lily petals, the edges tinged with red.

Japan raised an eyebrow.

“… those are from lunch.” Germany said.

“Was that a joke?”

Germany gave a barely-there shrug.

“You really are sick.” Japan replied.

Germany just looked at him.

Japan reached forward and picked up a red-tinged petal, turning it idly and inspecting it. “If I may ask, how long have you had it?”

“Since the end of the second world war.”

Japan glanced up in surprise. “Is that so?”

Germany looked away.

“Does Italy know?”

He cringed slightly.

“I see. If I may ask, how did he react?”

“He… just wanted to know about it. How long I had it, that sort of thing.”

“Did you tell him?”

Again, Germany cringed at Japan.

“I see.” Japan nodded. “So here we are.”

“Here I am.” Germany said grimly, coughing again.

Japan stayed silent, waiting for Germany to open up further.

Several moments passed before Germany looked back up at Japan. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“There is no need to apologize.”

“There is. You are mine and Italy’s best friend. I daresay you are as involved with this as we are.”

Japan agreed, but said nothing.

Germany rattled in a breath. “You’re good at reading the atmosphere, right?”

Japan hesitated. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m good at it.”

“Without modesty, are you good at it?”

Again, Japan hesitated. “Yes.”

“What should I do about this? Prussia and Hungary said I should give him space, but… I just want to fix this.”

“It really isn’t my place to meddle with your personal affairs.” Not directly. Influencing was technically not meddling, right?

Germany grunted, resting his head against the headboard. He shut his sunken eyes. “I don’t expect him to… fall in love with me. That wouldn’t be fair. But… if we could just go back to the way it was…”

Japan studied Germany, taken aback with this emotional honesty. Though the two were close, there was still some barrier between them. It was the same barrier the two put up in front of everyone else, but with both of theirs together it could sometimes seem as though there was a chasm stretched between them. “Perhaps it is not for me to say, but it has to be said. You two need to stop avoiding each other. There is only one way to come back from this, and that is for you two to talk.”

“I tried.” Germany said.

“No, you didn’t.”

Germany turned his head to Japan, slightly surprised at the direct attitude.

“You evaded the conversation. I grant you, It was not fair for Italy to ask those things of you. However, it was also not fair for you to turn him away without an open dialogue.”

“You’re right.”

“I am sorry to be so direct, but if I am honest, I feel that it was best that I tell you.”

“It was. You’re right.”

“I do not know what you will do, however. I do not know what I, even, would do in that situation.”

Germany sighed through his nose, short and shallow. “That makes the two of us.” His blinks became slower, his vision unfocused. “I’m sorry, Japan, I’m just… so tired. So tired these days.”

“Would you like me to leave?”

Germany looked over to him. Hesitated. “If I’m honest, no. I don’t.”

Japan nodded. He reached forward and pulled the bed covers up to Germany’s shoulders, grabbing his paper bookmark off the bedside table and placing it between the pages. He set it on the bedside table as Germany struggled to wriggle his head down onto the pillow.

Germany got himself settled, his eyes half-shut. “I know I don’t tell you this enough, but you’re a good friend. Italy and I are lucky to have you.”

Japan allowed a small smile at the honesty. He looked back on who he used to be without Germany and Italy’s friendship. Alone in his own house. He had rejected his older brother, so he was really left alone for a while. To have Germany and Italy there with him warmed him from the inside out. “I’m lucky to have you two as well.”

Germany’s eyes slid shut, his breathing turning long, but shallow.

Japan knew Germany had instantly fallen asleep. Nonetheless, he found himself sitting in that chair. Thinking. About the pain his friend had suffered through for all these years. How he somehow kept it under wraps for this many years. What was it like, feeling so alone back then? In his mind's eye, he saw Germany's expression as he asked Japan to stay until he fell asleep. What must it be like to feel so alone, even now? Japan thought back to a time when the three of them were close. His heart dropped in his chest as he realized that was probably the last time Germany felt like he could confide in someone he trusted other than his older brother. His phone buzzed in his pocket with a text from America asking if everything was okay. Japan slid the phone back in his pocket, stood, and gazed at his bedridden friend.

In the burning red light of the sun, the hollows and sharp angles of Germany's face were even more dramatic than before. Japan stepped forward and pulled Germany's covers up to his shoulders. Timidly, he reached forward and tenderly swept his bangs off of his sweaty forehead. He wasn't sure what made him do it. He had almost an aversion to physical touch. But the goosebumps riddling his friend's skin, the sweat on his face and forehead, it evoked an intense desire to help Germany however he could.

But he had already done all he could do. So, reluctantly, he stepped out of the room, and out of the house.

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let-it-raines · 6 years ago

Text

Betting on the Bullseye (26/30)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a drunken bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush - if you can call him that - to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala for Boston’s Children Shelter. Killian Jones is that celebrity. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost all because of the ridiculousness of the situation.

What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.What she truly doesn’t expect is to actually like the man.

Rating: Mature

A/N: This has turned into one of my favorite stories, so if you guys have to force me to give you the new chapters, don’t be surprised. They’re all just chilling in my documents ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tag list: @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @artistic-writer @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious @thejollyroger-writer @superchocovian @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @notoriouscs

“Have you seen my nude heels?”

“Have I seen you nude?”

“My nude heels.”

“Swan, I have seen you nude. Are you okay? I feel like you should remember things like that.”

He doesn’t hear back from her until suddenly she’s walking out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom with her arms crossed over her chest, already dressed in a red skirt and tucked in white blouse with sleeves that flow from her elbows. He’s not really looking at her elbows.

“Well you’re certainly not nude,” he sighs, thumbing a page of his novel and flipping it over. “That’s only a little disappointing.”

She clicks her tongue before she starts tapping her foot on the ground, her lips continuously parting and closing like she can’t decide just which way she wants to tell him off.

Living with her is the joy of his life.

“I asked if you had seen my nude heels, not if you had seen me nude.”

“Well that makes a hell of a lot more sense.”

“You need to get your hearing checked.”

“My hearing is fine, love. The walls are thick, and you’ve got your music playing. Plus, I was concentrating on this novel. I think the murderer is about to be revealed.”

“Killian, I promise I will listen to you talk about whatever you want when I get home from work, but I’m running late and need these shoes so I don’t look like a bum for my presentation.”

“Alright, alright,” he mumbles, sticking his bookmark on the page and throwing the covers on the bed back so that he can climb out and help her look for her shoes. He probably needs to get ready for today as well, but it’s usually easier to wait for Emma to be mostly ready before he starts moving around in the bathroom. “So the nude ones, then? Your black ones would look nice with your skirt.”

“Ruby borrowed them.”

“Ah,” he sighs, walking into the closet and over to her shelf of shoes to try to look for them. They have to be here. He cleaned the living room yesterday when he was finishing up some of their final touches of unpacking so that they could start decorating for Christmas, and they weren’t in there. It’s a never-ending cycle, but he’s enjoying it. “They’re up at the top with your boots, Swan.”

“What? They are not.”

“They are,” he points out, reaching up to grab them out between two of her riding boots. “You probably just looked over them in your haste.”

“You had to have put them there. I wouldn’t have. It’s up too high.”

“I promise you it wasn’t me.”

“It had to have been you.”

“Fine, we can say it was me if you put the shoes on and stop freaking out about them.”

“Sorry,” she huffs, taking them out of his hands and sliding them onto her feet, using his shoulder to prop herself up. “I’m nervous over this final presentation for the gala next week. It’s so far and above what I do on a daily basis, and I’ll never understand why we didn’t hire an event planner after how well it went last year.”

“Because you cost less.”

“True, but I don’t like that answer.”

“You’re going to do wonderful,” he promises, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her closer so that he can brush his lips against her cheek, letting his nose inhale the flowery scent of her perfume that she’s spritzed on her collarbone. It’s new, and he’s rather fond of it. “You’ll kick arse like you do every time, and then instead of stressing out about it, we can go and enjoy the night.”

“I don’t remember asking you to be my date.”

“I figured it was assumed,” he murmurs against her neck, teasing her with the way she cranes her head to the side to give him more access, the smallest of moans escaping past her red-painted lips. “Though if you want to ask me out again over a video, I’d be okay with that. You can even wear your sweater.”

“I’d only do that if I lost a bet, and I’m smarter than to do that now.”

“How quickly they grow up.”

“You’re – ah – ridiculous.”

“I know,” he whispers before gently biting her neck, pulling back only after he’s gotten a firm squeeze of her arse. “You look beautiful, and you’re going to have a good day today at work. I’m sure of it.”

She reaches up to mess with his hair, pushing it back off of his forehead while her lips are pressed together in a kind smile. “How?”

“I can feel it in my bones.”

“I think that’s the cold weather.”

“Go to work, Swan. I need you to financially support me while I lounge around at home all day.”

“What are you doing today?” she asks as she steps back from him and over to the case where she keeps all of her jewelry, picking up her pearl necklace and clasping it over her neck. “Do you have any plans?”

He does, but he’s not about to tell her all of them.

“I’m going to go to the gym to work out for awhile before running a few errands and coming back here to clean up and to get some more decorations put up. I’ll save the tree for us to do tonight. I might go meet David for lunch.”

“That would be nice. I’m sure you love sitting at his messy desk at the precinct.”

“We go out, thank you very much.”

“I’m sure you do,” she hums, putting an earring in. “Well, have fun. Give him all of my love and invite them and the kids over to lunch one night soon. Like, next Sunday or something.”

“Won’t we be exhausted from the gala?”

She shrugs. “So we invite them over for late lunch or early dinner. This month is super busy with work and the holidays, and I don’t want to let anything slip.”

“You’re not going to.”

“Thanks, KJ. Alright,” she sighs, slapping her hands against her skirt, “how do I look?”

“Beautiful. Go kick some arse.”

The moment Emma leaves the apartment, he quickly gets dressed in some of his gym clothes, pulling on sweatpants and a jacket over his shorts and t-shirt to combat the cold. Emma says it’s not too bad, but he’s not used to this weather yet, not at all, and he knows it’s only going to get worse. He remembers when he came in for the gala last year, in the few times that they were outside, he was freezing. It wasn’t even that cold, the winter chill not nipping at his nose quite yet.

He’s been listening to a few too many Christmas carols.

It’s also been a long time since he lived somewhere with weather like this. England was a bit similar, but it’s been…sixteen years. He’s practically been gone for longer than he lived there.

That’s an odd thing to think about.

It’s a quick drive to the gym now that he has his car here, having had it shipped to Boston instead of driving it across the country, and he spends the next hour running, letting his legs burn and his lungs gasp for air while his entire body drips in sweat. He needs to find a trainer here in town, but it can mostly likely wait until he has to start prepping for Life After, which is so close to what Emma had suggested for the movie title and yet so far. She’d been damn frustrated when he told her the title they were officially going with, but there’s always time for them to change it. They might not require him to train much for it, especially since he’s playing a father who is likely going to spend most of his time indoors grieving, but he never knows.

Plus the script is being written for the next Superman movie, and, well, his suit is indecently tight. It’s not so much about looks for him but for comfort. How he managed to score that roll, he’s got no clue, but damn it if it’s not fun to do it.

That’s his mindset with everything he does if he’s honest with himself, though he does think he’s becoming rather adept at historical and fantasy pieces. He’d like to do something like Highland Waters again.

So he runs and runs and runs until he knows that he has to stop. He doesn’t want his legs to be like jello tomorrow, even when he’ll likely only work on his upper body, so he does eventually stop and head to the showers, letting the cool water rinse him off before he gets dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, lacing up his boots and pulling a beanie over his head before he pays for a few more hours for parking and walks the seven blocks to David’s precinct, pushing through the double doors and waiting in the lobby as he pulls his phone out.

Killian: I’m in the lobby.

David: Give me ten minutes to finish up this paperwork, and I’ll be right with you.

So he finds a seat in the corner of the lobby, tugging his beanie off and shaking his hair out, letting it dry a bit more as he thumbs through his phone, reviewing the list of jewelry places he’s found and the pictures he’s saved to his phone. It’s been a bit of a covert operation managing to find a ring. He’s only told David and Liam. He thought about telling Mary Margaret, Ruby, and Elsa a million times so that they could help him, but honestly, between the three of them, one of them would definitely let it slip to Emma. They all talk to her so often that he knows it would slip. He and David talk to her as well, but he had to tell someone who lived here. Plus, David already knew from Emma’s birthday dinner.

Lying to Emma is difficult, but there’s no way he could lie to her about reasons for flying back to California to get Elsa or Liam to help him look at rings.

She’d spot the lie in a second with her superpower and uncanny ability to know just when he’s telling the truth and when he’s not.

And she definitely knows him far too well that she’d realize something was up with him. So he doesn’t lie. He simply…leaves things out.

It’s a fine line, especially when Emma has put her trust in him after having others betray that trust, so he doesn’t want to do that, even if this is a good thing. He’s not cheating on her or hiding a family. He’s not doing something to hurt her, and he doesn’t want her to think that he is.

There’s the element of surprise as well. They’ve talked about the future, how they want one, so this won’t be out of the blue, especially with what Anna told him after Thanksgiving. He simply wants to be able to do something romantic for Emma…not that he knows how he’s going to propose yet.

He wants to have this ring in his possession and not need to sneak around Emma. The tenseness in his shoulders will go away, and absolutely everything will be fine. He’s got no bloody clue how people do this. That’s another reason he’s told both Dave and Liam. They’ve both been through the exact same thing, and it seemed to work well for them.

Support in numbers and experience, he guesses.

“You look familiar,” a woman starts, and he startles a bit as he looks up at the older woman sitting across from in, her legs crossed at the ankles as she taps her fingers on the chair’s arm. “Do I know you? Do you work with Lance?”

“I don’t think so, love,” he says, flashing her a smile, “but I do get that a lot. I believe I’ve just got one of those faces. Is Lance your son? Does he work here?”

“My grandson. He’s a forensic analyst. Just started. He’s supposed to take me out to lunch today.”

“That’s sweet of him.”

“He’s a sweet boy. Are you meeting someone for lunch or are you here to file papers or something? Have you gotten yourself in trouble?”

“No,” he laughs, amused by this woman’s concern for him and if he’s gotten on the wrong side of the law, “I haven’t. I’m meeting a friend.”

“For lunch?”

“Aye. I’m taking him to lunch since he’s doing a bit of a favor and helping me with something for my girlfriend.”

He doesn’t know why he’s sharing this, but he figures it can’t hurt to talk to an elderly woman who has absolutely no idea who he is, even if she does recognize him on a certain level. She seems kind, and he realizes that he didn’t ask her what her name is when they started talking. He should have, but he might be able to coast by without it now.

“I should have known a handsome young man like you would have a girlfriend.” He winks at her, making sure to really exaggerate his movements. “Oh, lass, you flatter me, but don’t try to hide your disappointment that I can’t take you out on a date. I can see it written all over your face.”

She throws her head back in laughter, all of the lines on her face scrunching up. “I don’t think my husband would be very happy, but then again, he’s not as handsome as you are.”

“Well, I promise I won’t tell your husband that you said that if you don’t tell my girlfriend that I practically asked another beautiful woman out on a date.” “Oh I don’t know. I think it might be good for George to hear that he needs to be sweeter to me. Is your girlfriend good to you?”

“She’s wonderful,” he gushes, totally amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “I’m actually taking one of her best friends to go with me so that I can find her an engagement ring.”

“Truly?”

“Truly, love,” he promises, reaching over and holding out his hand so that so he can shake hers, figuring now is as good of a time as any to introduce himself since this woman is one of three people in the world who knows that he’s getting engaged (hopefully). “My name is Killian. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

“Sarah,” she smiles, squeezing his hand before letting go. “It’s been lovely talking to you. I’ll have to tell Lance to be as kind as you. I hope your bride says yes.”

“Ah now, Sarah, she has to say yes to the question before she’s my bride.”

“With a face like yours, how could she say no?”

“If you keep charming me like that, I’ll be asking you to marry me instead of Emma.”

He smiles at her one last time while she continues to laugh before getting up and walking to the other side of the lobby, waiting by the door that David should be coming out of any second now. He could have stayed talking to Sarah, but he’s a bit anxious to start looking at rings. He does have other things he needs to get done today, decorating included, and he only gets David for an hour and a half. He’ll have to do everything else alone.

The doors swing open three minutes later, David coming out as he shrugs on his jacket, and he flashes him a smile before David pulls him in for a brief hug.

“You ready to do this?”

“I’m ready.”

He almost says “I’m ready, Freddie”, and that’s when he knows that he’s past the point of no return on picking up on Emma’s speech patterns. It’ll only truly be bad when Emma starts calling people lass and love.

Sometimes she calls him “my love.” That makes his heart swell three sizes.

Maybe he is a bit of a sentimental fool.

He doesn’t mind.

When he asks, David fills him in on Mary Margaret and their kids, telling him all about how excited Leo is for the upcoming holidays and sharing far too much information about Brody’s growth and bodily functions, but the man is taking time out of his day to help him find a ring. He can listen to him talk about his kids, even the things that are a little too much information. Dave is simply a proud husband and father, and Killian can only bemoan him a little bit for it all. As long as he doesn’t keep talking about bathroom habits, of course.

There’s only so much he can handle.

Something very obviously gets twisted in one’s mind when they have kids to think that other people want to hear about how often they use the toilet…diaper.

This is not the thought process he should be having right now.

It only takes a few minutes for them to hop on the train and get to Bond and Green. Parking has been hellish lately, so even if they could have taken either of their cars, it takes up too much time to walk to their lots, work their way through traffic, and then find new spots. This is the place he’s most wanted to go to look at rings, and he’s in a hurry to look over it all. There’s one he found online that’s an oval cut with a halo surrounding it (he’s now pretty much an expert in rings now), and he wants to see it.

“Why do I feel like they’re watching us?” David asks him as they peruse the cases, thick glass covering every type of sparkling jewelry that he can think of. There’s an entire case of broaches, and he wonders if people still wear those.

He wonders if they ever.

“Because they are,” he answers simply, his eyes glancing up at the sales assistants watching them before he looks back at a few sapphire rings. “They want to make sure we don’t steal anything.” “I’m a detective.” “They don’t know that.”

“I have on my badge.” “It’s underneath your shirt, Dave,” he laughs, pointing out a diamond ring in the case and ignoring David’s offense that anyone could ever possibly think that he could be a thief. “Do you like this one?”

“It’s nice.”

Nice isn’t what he’s looking for.

He’s known that he was stressed about this whole thing, known it for the weeks that he’s been thinking about that, but he didn’t honestly feel it until right about now with all of these options in front of him and none of them seeming right.

Emma deserves right.

“I don’t think it’s very Emma, though,” he sighs, eyes glancing up again at the saleswoman who’s been following them behind the cases. “Excuse me,” he glances down at her name tag, “Mallory, do you have any like this, with the oval cut, but with a gold band?”

“We have a few that I can bring out from the back if you’d like.”

He curls his lips up into a smile, some of anxieties calming. “I’d like that.”

Mallory nods her head and walks away, disappearing behind a door that he assumes is where they keep the nicer jewels. He imagines that the security in this place is wonderful, but it’s likely smart to keep some things in the back. He really doesn’t know. He’s never bought an engagement ring before. It’s always been earrings or a necklace, and those seem to be a little different than this.

No, those are different than this.

For one, there’s far less security.

For another, there’s far more meaning in an engagement ring.

“You’re vibrating out of your skin, Jones.”

He rolls his eyes at David. How the man romanced Mary Margaret he’ll never know. “I’m excited. I want to find a ring, get it sized and, and then have it with me. Do you think if we don’t find anything today I should think about customization?”

“I think you should look at all of the stores beforehand and then maybe. Do you know when you want to ask Emma? If you keep it a secret for too much longer, she’ll figure it out. She would have been the best detective in the city had she gone that route.”

“Aye, she’d be a hell of a lot better than you,” he agrees, tracing his finger over the glass case at some sapphire earrings he might get Elsa for Christmas. He’s got to get his gifts together as well. It’s difficult when no one says what they want. Maybe he’s bad at gift shopping. “And if I can, sometime before Christmas. I don’t know. It just feels…right. We met this time of year, and I think that’d be nice. Not on Christmas, though. I think it should be a separate day, and I was kind of thinking before my family flew in. I have a feeling Anna would somehow find the ring even though she wasn’t looking, and she’d definitely tell Emma.”

“There’s less than a month until Christmas,” David points out, tapping his fingers before checking his watch. They’ve only been to one place, and they’re nearly out of time.

“I know. I should have started looking back in October, but life was so busy with the move and with all that comes with it. I’m probably crazy for doing all of this.”

“Being crazy and in love are kind of synonymous, but it’s in a good way.”

And there’s a bit of the romantic Dave that likely helped him court Mary Margaret.

“Look at you acting a bit like your wife,” he laughs, his fingers tracing the case a bit more while Mallory continues to take too much time in the back. “That happens more and more every time I see you.”

“I’ve been with Mary Margaret for eight years. It was bound to happen sooner or later. It won’t be weird until she starts being realistic like me.”

He briefly wonders if he and Emma have picked up on each other’s tendencies and speech patterns too quickly, but he brushes it away. It’s not an important thought, and he’s rather fond of Emma telling him “it’s a plan, Stan.” It means she’s happy and willing to play around.

“The world will be ending if there were to ever happen.”

“Alright,” Mallory sighs, walking out the door with a black case of what he assumes are the rings, “so these are all of the ones with the similar oval and pear shapes that you’ve been looking at but with the gold and rose gold bands. I put a few different ones that you might like too.”

“Thank you.” His eyes scan over the box quickly, each ring getting a little of his attention. He definitely likes the gold better, thinks Emma will too, and when his eyes scan over a singular oval cut diamond with a gold band, he knows that’s the one he wants. It’s stunning but it’s simple, and that’s what Emma likes. And somehow he knows just like every cliché that’s ever been written. “Do you think she’ll like this one?” he asks David, pointing to the ring.

“Yeah, I think she will.”

It takes longer than he expects to fill out the paperwork for the ring, and while for a brief moment he considers going to other shops, he’s sure on this one. He’s done enough research to know, and he’s got this gut feeling that he’s planning on trusting. So he fills out the insurance, pays for Emma’s ring (bloody hell is that insane to think about) and the earrings for Elsa, and then makes his appointment to pick it up once they’ve sized it for Emma. It’s all a bit of a blur, which likely shouldn’t happen when he’s in the middle of one of the most important decisions of his life, but David assures him that it’s normal as they leave the store and grab lunch to go since they’ve run out of time. It’s the least that he can do for David coming to help him when he should be working.

After he and David part ways at the precinct, David going back to work and Killian walking to his car still in the garage at the gym, he pulls his phone out to text his brother, knowing that Liam won’t answer a call while at work.

Killian: I’ve bought a ring and will pick it up after it’s sized in a few days. Hope you’re having a good morning!

He stuffs his phone in his pocket and hurries the rest of the way to his car, excitement bubbling over him so that he walks a bit more quickly than usual. Maybe it’s relief, maybe it’s nerves. He really doesn’t know. But as the day goes on, as he goes grocery shopping and picks up dry cleaning (one of his favorite things about living in Boston is the fact that he has more anonymity than California and can do things like picking up his dry cleaning without too much trouble), everything starts to settle. The nervous beating of his heart becomes steady, the erratic tapping of his fingers becomes measured, and he’s able to simply focus on what is ahead of him to do for the day.

And maybe a bit for his entire future.

He’s got to stop watching soap operas during the day.

The rest of his afternoon is spent hanging wreaths on their exterior doors, adding baubles and accents to them to brighten up the plain green. He notices that none of their neighbors have done anything outside, and he wonders if they’ll be the only ones to do it. Then again, they’ve lived in this building for over a month now and despite many efforts, he still hasn’t met anyone who lives on his floor. Maybe they’re not interested in decorating for the holidays. Maybe they don’t celebrate them. It doesn’t matter to him. He’s going to leave the wreath up.

His phone starts ringing in his back pocket, and he quickly pulls it out, sliding his finger across the screen and hitting the speaker button as Liam’s voice booms through. “So you bought a ring? Are you feeling like Gollum?”

“That may very well be the nerdiest joke you’ve ever made.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” Liam laughs, the gentle thud of a door closing clicking behind him. “All jokes aside, you’ve bought it?”

“I have, so I guess that makes it all pretty official.”

“My baby brother is all grown up.”

He scoffs at Liam’s condescending tone, and even though Liam can’t see him, he rolls his eyes while he shuffles through a box of string lights to find some to put out on the balcony and in the bedroom.

“Is this what finally makes me a man in your outdated ways?”

“Possibly. So how long am I going to have to keep this from my wife? I already deleted your text because somehow she’ll see it from across town.”

“She has superpowers, that woman.”

“And figuring out my lies is the main one.”

“Maybe if you didn’t lie to your wife so much.”

“Oi,” Liam laughs, the sound of a can popping open mixing in with the laughter, “you know what I mean.”

“Aye, I do.” He turns the phone off speaker and presses it between his shoulder and ear before he grabs three boxes of white lights and pushes out onto the balcony door, gooseflesh rising across his arms almost immediately, all of the warmth of inside fading away. “I’ll hopefully have asked before you all come in for Christmas. I’m not…I have no idea how to ask her. I know what I want to say, but I haven’t figured out all of the logistics of it.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret. It’s never going to go like you plan. And your speech, whichever one you have in your head, you’ll remember to say about one sentence out of it.”

“That’s how it went with you and Els, right?”

“Elsa didn’t even let me ask the question.”

“She does like to take charge.”

“You have no idea.”

“Oh God no,” he groans, his eyes scanning the balcony to try to figure out just how he wants to set up the lights. He thinks stringing them around the top of the trellis and down the sides will work since he can’t really hang them on the glass railing. “I love you, but that is not something I’m going to talk about with you.”

“Your mind is dirty, brother.”

“The tone of your voice was absolutely salacious.”

“It was perfectly innocent.”

“I don’t believe you’ve ever been innocent.”

“I am as pure as the driven snow.”

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Well, according to you I lie to my wife all the time.”

“Because you do, and you’ll continue to until I ask Emma.”

He’s eternally grateful for a lot of things, but in this moment, there’s nothing he’s more grateful for than the fact that he stopped speaking when he did. He didn’t see Emma come into the apartment through his view from outside, and he definitely didn’t see her make her way outside. She’s already changed into her pajamas, warm flannel and thick socks covering her from head to toe. He has no idea how long she’s been home, but he could have ruined absolutely everything there.

Every cent that he’s worth comes from acting, and he can’t manage to act in his personal life when he really needs to.

“Who’s that?” she mouths, crossing her arms over her chest and walking further toward him.

“Liam,” he says aloud, opening his right arm and letting her come to stand beside him, tugging her close and kissing her temple in greeting. She’s warm, so much warmer than he is. He hasn’t even put the lights up yet.

“Why are you saying my name?” Liam asks, his voice raising in pitch.

“I was telling Emma who I’m on the phone with,” he explains, rubbing his hand up and down her waist. He’s not sure if it’s to warm him or her up.

“Tell him I said hi.”

“Tell her I said hello.”

He chuckles at that, their timing of their demands almost identical. Emma and Liam are two peas in a pod for two people who had a bit of a rocky start. It was all Liam’s doing, but everything seems to be fine now.

“Emma said hello,” he tells Liam, knowing that Emma can likely hear the conversation now. “I’m going to let you go, okay? Text me later. You still haven’t told me what I need to get Aiden for Christmas.”

“Preferably a new aunt.”

He practically drops his phone at that, the glass screen only saved because he does manage to get his bearings. Man does he hope that Emma did not hear that.

She probably couldn’t over all of the hysterical coughing that he’s doing.

Has he officially turned into a madman.

“Bye,” he coughs, not able to get anything else out even with the way that Emma is patting his back.

“Are you okay, KJ?”

“Y-yeah,” he sputters, trying to take a few deep breaths before he looks down at Emma, dipping his head to quickly slide his lips over hers. He can briefly taste chocolate, which means that she stopped for a milkshake on the way home. He’s not sure if that’s a good sign for her day or a bad sign. “Hello, darling,” he mumbles, greeting her properly. “How was your day? How did the presentation go?”

“Can we go inside to talk about it? It’s nothing bad. I’m just really freaking cold and want to sit down on the couch. Besides, I don’t think you’re ever going to get these lights up tonight.”

“I could.”

“You’re not going to.”

He nods before they walk inside, Emma’s steps hurrying until she’s inside first, practically jogging down the hallway to the living room, grabbing a blanket out of the basket and curling up into her favorite corner of the sofa before he even manages to get into the living room. She’s either full of energy or really got that cold in such a short amount of time. Emma should most definitely be used to this weather, but she is cold natured.

“So,” he hums, plopping down on the opposite end of the couch and sticking his feet next to Emma’s legs, “how was your presentation? Did you crush it?”

“Like Fat Amy.”

“Yeah?” he laughs, his eyes crinkling at her reference. He’s so damn proud of her all of the time, but he’s mostly happy that she likely doesn’t feel as much stress as she has been, even if the gala is still a little over a week away. “You’re amazing, Emma.”

“I know.” She winks, but he still sees the blush rise on her cheeks. “But thank you. I’m so damn excited that it’s over. I mean, I’ve still got the actual gala, but I’m only in charge of a little of that. But John and Ella gave the stamp of approval on everything. I’m free, baby.”

“So celebrations are in order then?”

“If by celebration you mean some hot chocolate that you spike with your good rum, then yes.”

“You’re not interested in decorating the tree?”

“Maybe after I’ve had something to drink. And eat. And maybe after a nap. Ooh, and after catching up on Superstore.”

“So never?”

She reaches forward and grabs his toe, wiggling it a little bit. “Later. I promise we’ll decorate later. You know how I feel about Christmas now.”

He does, and they do.

It’s slow going. Emma takes awhile to get up and get her drink, her exhaustion from weeks of stress hitting her the slightest bit, but once she’s had her hot chocolate (rum included) and watched two and a half episodes of Superstore, she gets up off the couch and they start decorating the tree. With the two of them, it doesn’t take long. Really, it’s pretty quick, even if Emma keeps leaving giant spots in the tree without ornaments. But it does get done.

As do the lights out on the balcony, the white glow covering the trellis. It mixes in with all of the lights of their other apartments and some of the boats down below, but really, all he can think about is the fact that if he can manage to get Emma out into the cold again, this would be a nice spot to ask her to marry him.

Then again, if he truly thinks about it, it doesn’t really matter where or how. He thinks it’d be just fine to ask her like they are now, curled up on the couch with Emma’s head resting on a pillow in his lap while he threads his fingers through her hair, lulling them both to sleep with the comfort of it all.

#betting on the bullseye #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fic

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patricianandclerk · 6 years ago

Text

For Want Of Sleep

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

It’s a few days after the apocalypse[1], the first time it happens. They’ve been drinking at a comfortable, cosy little bar, the two of them alone together, sharing a bottle of some white wine that Crowley can’t pronounce the name of, but loves. They’re not even that drunk, but when Aziraphale stands up to go, Crowley talks without even thinking, his tongue moving without his permission.

Because Aziraphale says, “You know, I’m actually quite tired. I might even take a short sleep!” and he says it in a sort of cavalier way, but in a hushed tone, as if it’s something naughty, and Crowley’s heart surges in his chest. There’s been no word from Heaven or Hell in a while: for now, they’re floating in limbo, aware it will all probably go back to normal, but at the moment, they are each without scrutiny.

“Er, you know, you could come home, with me,” he says, trying not to sound as eager as he feels. “Big bed.” The idea enthrals him, all at once: Aziraphale almost never sleeps, but Crowley knows from a couple of little moments throughout the past few millennia[2] that his body radiates heat, and the idea of having it next to him while he takes a sleep is intoxicating, more so even than the wine. Crowley is still a snake, at heart, and Aziraphale picks the most unfashionable bodies, yes, but they aren’t half-good for insulation: well-padded and encased in wool, and so soft!

Aziraphale blinks at him from drink-unfocused eyes. “Er,” he says. “Would that be… Oh, dear boy, I really don’t think—” He trails off, and Crowley leans back.

“Oh,” he says. “That’s… too much, I s’pose,” he says, trying not to sound disappointed. Aziraphale coughs, and then he draws himself up to his full height, which is still nearly a half-foot shorter than Crowley’s.

“Yes,” he says, sternly. It is let down only slightly by the wine-red flush in his cheeks, and the way he sways just slightly. “Yes, that’s far too far. Of course, I’ll still walk you home.”

“You don’t need to walk me home, angel,” Crowley says.

“Yes, I do,” Aziraphale says, doing that funny little crinkle of his face, where his nose comes right up, and his lips pout. “There’s still a third of that bottle left, and I’m not letting you drink it all.”

Crowley grins.

They walk the few streets toward Crowley’s flat, leaning heavily on one another, and they share the last of the bottle between them: Crowley tries to toss it into the bottle bank in the car park on the corner, from about twenty feet away. He winces when it shatters loudly, and listens to the quiet clunk as Aziraphale reconstitutes it and puts it inside the bottle bank, rather than on the outside. When he opens his eyes[3], he sees that the carpet of broken glass that naturally surrounds these little islands has also disappeared, likely placed into their colour-coordinated banks. There’s also a new mural on the wall, of a bird singing.

“You always have to take it and run with it, don’t you?” he asks, with more scorn than he feels.

Aziraphale smiles beatifically, and says, “I don’t know what you mean.”

He walks Crowley right up to the door, and then hesitates. Crowley looks at his face, at the uncertainty that shows on Aziraphale’s funny, pudgy features, and he clears his throat, leaning on the door to open it.

He doesn’t say anything. He feels like if he said something, he would ruin it: he just leans on the door, leans into the building, and kind of waits for a second, for Aziraphale to follow him. After a long moment of what looks like desperate deliberation, Aziraphale does, and Crowley has to prevent himself from squirming with excitement. It’s been years since he slept with someone else in his bed, years on years, and he really does miss the way it used to be, where you could sleep in close contact with other people, and no one batted an eye…

Ah, well.

Humans.

They come into the flat, and Crowley hangs up their coats as Aziraphale stands awkwardly in his living room, absently stroking the wide leaves of a Dracaena fragrans, the plant shivering under his touch. It had better not get any ideas.

They move into the bedroom, and Crowley doesn’t even think about it, snaps his fingers and puts himself into his pyjamas. They’re good pyjamas, too – black silk, soft and sleek and cool against his skin – and he thinks he actually has a set of Aziraphale’s pyjamas from that business in ’25, where—

Aziraphale’s hand is on his shoulder, and Crowley turns. “Angel, I think I still have your—”

And then Aziraphale’s mouth is on Crowley’s mouth, one of his plump, pretty hands is curled tightly in his hair, and the other one, the other of Aziraphale’s elegant hands, is grabbing at his arse, even as he crowds Crowley up against the edge of the bed.

“Oh,” Crowley says when they break apart, his head spinning.

“Oh?” Aziraphale repeats, even as he hurriedly undoes the buttons of his waistcoat. This is… unexpected. He didn’t even know the angel thought about sex, let alone that he’d be interested in giving it a try. It’s one of those vices that Crowley likes, but doesn’t often bother with himself – not because it isn’t pleasant, because it is, but simply because all the other people involve sometimes get a bit complicated, or difficult to choreograph. Oh, don’t get him wrong, sex can be useful in his line of work: the right blowjob here, the right seduction there, even just enticing a group with the right kiss on the right mouth, but you know, it’s all about the right company, isn’t it? He’s tried pretty much everything under the sun, at least once or twice, just to make sure he’s covering all angles, but sex just isn’t satisfying in the way that sleep is, or in the way a good meal is. Angels and demons do have drives, when they inhabit human bodies, but they’re usually distant, as if you’re feeling them through a screen. Crowley has long suspected Aziraphale actually feels things more than he does himself, but sex? Well.

Sex had always seemed like distinctly unangelic territory.

But—

Well.

It’s not like it’s unwelcome. He likes Aziraphale, and he’s willing to go along with it, especially if they can sleep afterwards.

“You’re a demon,” Crowley mumbles into the pillow, sprawled on his belly and entirely unable to move. He’s soaked with sweat, and his whole body is aching distantly, suffused with the pleasant stiffness of muscle that accompanies a long session of sex. And long is right.

“I am not,” Aziraphale says, with a playful smack against his thigh: Crowley’s skin sings.

They got back in at a little past one o’clock, and now, the sun is rising.

“Are you tired?” Aziraphale asks, his soft fingers tracing down the line of Crowley’s spine, pressing down slightly, and Crowley grunts at the wondrous heat his touch leaves in its wake, making his body tingle. “Because,” he continues, and the finger slides between the cleft of Crowley’s buttocks, and Crowley groans.

“Angel,” he says plaintively.

“Hm?” He sounds so innocent! The finger presses down, and Crowley chokes.

“Angel, lie down,” Crowley groans.

“On our sides?”

“On your back.” He miracles the sweat from his naked body, and he doesn’t even bother to put his pyjamas back on, just slides on top of Aziraphale and drops heavy over the comfortable pillow of his chest and belly, closing his eyes. “We are sleeping.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says.

“Oh?” Crowley repeats pointedly.

He falls asleep blanketing the angel’s chest, just like that, and it’s wonderful, better than he could have dreamed: Aziraphale’s heart beats regularly beneath Crowley’s cheek, his chest the perfect pillow, warm and yielding even where it rises and falls with the angel’s breaths, and he lets himself melt in his place.

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmurs against his hair, softly, his hand resting comfortably on the back of Crowley’s thigh, “you wicked thing.”

Sleepily, Crowley smiles.

The second time is a few weeks later.

Crowley comes into the bookshop through the back window, slithering in where it’s slightly ajar, and when he slides into the backroom, Aziraphale has a biography of Wodehouse open in one hand, and is leaning back in his armchair, sipping idly at a cup of tea.

His lap, Crowley notes, is the epitome of free real estate: warm, open, and decorated horribly, but the latter could probably be remedied. He slides forward, and instead of bothering with a traditional greeting, deposits himself on the angel’s thighs, leaning forward and putting his head in the crook of Aziraphale’s shoulder, sliding into place in such a way as to not disturb his knee.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chides, but his cheeks begin to flush, and he doesn’t let out any noise of complaint. This sort of thing, Crowley knows, isn’t part of the Arrangement, but things are different now, and he’s warm.

“G’morning,” Crowley mumbles against Aziraphale’s neck. He watches with one lazy, suspicious eye as Aziraphale sets his cup of tea aside, and marks his page with a bookmark[4], but then Aziraphale leans, tilting Crowley’s head to meet his, and kisses him. It’s slower than it had been before, less urgent, but he still kisses, his hand sliding slowly into the waistband of his trousers.

Oh.

The third time, Crowley is already naked, sprawled on his belly like a starfish, and Aziraphale lets himself into the flat. It’s a little past one in the afternoon, but Crowley has no intention of rising until at least this time tomorrow, and he barely stirs as Aziraphale comes in.

“C’mere, angel,” Crowley says. “Take off your coat.”

“I hung it up, dear,” Aziraphale replies, but Crowley hears the noise through a haze of sleepy wakefulness as he takes off his shoes and puts his clothes aside: he feels the mattress decline slightly, and he reaches loosely out with his left hand for Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale’s fingers intertwine with his at the same time as his mouth touches Crowley’s skin, licking up, and suddenly Crowley is wide awake and moaning. They don’t get to sleep again for hours.

The fourth time, Crowley loses it.

Aziraphale’s hand had been reaching between his thighs, but Crowley grabs his wrist and wrenches it above his head, moving to pin the angel’s hands above his head and stop him from moving. The angel’s eyes widen, his lips parting, and Crowley sees the unmistakable flush rush over his cheeks. “Oh,” Aziraphale says breathlessly. “Very well, dear boy, let’s—”

“No!” Crowley snaps, dragging his hands back and pressing them to Aziraphale’s still-clothed chest instead. “No, no, no, angel, it’s— I won’t have it anymore. I won’t. I like sex, Aziraphale, I like sex a lot, and I like sex with you, but I’m not trying to fuck you every time I crawl into your lap or get you into bed with me! I just want to sleep!”

Toward the end, his indignant growl becomes more of a plaintive whine, and Aziraphale peers at him, his eyes wide, his lips parted in surprise.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says softly, his eyebrows shifting up in disappointed uncertainty. “Oh, my dear, I am sorry, I didn’t… I thought you wanted—”

“I like it,” Crowley repeats. “Just— If I’m already in bed, I probably just want to sleep. Unless I start kissing you or something, if I get into your lap, I just want to leech your heat. You’d be furious, wouldn’t you, if I tried to come bother you while you were buried in an important book?”

Aziraphale’s lip twitches, and he gently pats the side of Crowley’s hip, his gaze flitting down. “I’ve been rather overeager with you, I suppose.”

“You could be overeager with me now,” Crowley mutters. Aziraphale inhales, and Crowley shivers as Aziraphale’s fingers slide slowly up to his shirt, beginning to unbutton it. Crowley yawns, his jaw opening wider than a real human’s might, before he says, “You could… while I was sleeping. Another time. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh, you beast, I could never,” Aziraphale says, in a tight, hotly excited voice, and then he leans, brushing his lips against Crowley's chest. “Oh, have I been dreadful to you, my dear? Demanding all this sex of you?”

“No,” Crowley mumbles, his eyes closing as he tips his head back, lazily grinding his hips down against Aziraphale’s, arching up and into his mouth. “Mm.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmurs, and he kisses the space between Crowley’s pecs, but then summons a thick blanket about his shoulders, drawing Crowley up against his chest. “You sleep, my dear, and I shall reduce you to a quivering wreck once you wake, hm?”

“L’ve you, ‘Zirafel,” Crowley mumbles against Aziraphale’s neck, his eyes closing shut as Aziraphale draws him against his neck.

“I love you too, my dear,” the angel murmurs, and Crowley lets himself drift into sleep.

[1] That is to say, the apocalypse didn’t happen, but the end of days sort of retains its status as the end of days in one’s mind even when it wasn’t actually, per se, the end of days.

[2] Both of these “little moments” had been fuelled entirely by wine, but that’s to be expected.

[3] In the dark, his sunglasses are perched in the black crop of his hair, and his night vision is very good.

[4] It’s made of tartan cloth, and has golden tassels. Crowley hates it on principle.

#as defined by dictionary #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #fanfic

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elizabethtarington · 6 years ago

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How to Woo Humans: An Orc’s Guide

Pairing: Male Human x Male Orc Warning:SFW (Mentions of college, anxiety, dating struggles) Word Count: 3888 Note: ORCTOBER!!!!!! Ao3 Version | My Website Version

It was three weeks into the fall semester at the college and already Xug had forgotten that a paper was due in three days for his Interspecies Relations class. He wasn’t normally forgetful, but his focus had increased on the wrestling team since last semester now that he was in higher weight bracket. Joining that Crossfit gym to gave his muscles a proper workout over the summer and soon Xug found himself weighing over 320 pounds.

Not that Xug wasn’t pleased about it; he came from a long line of orc warriors who often bulked up with little issue and managed to tower threateningly over everyone. While he definitely was the tallest in his family, he didn’t look quite like them since he began college. He had chopped off his usual maroon-red dreads with bright orange tips. As it grew back after the first semester of school, he kept the sides shaved and enjoyed his new flowy mohawk that he styled a little differently depending on how he felt.

His appearance for the day had flown out the window as he stared down at the syllabus. He checked it on a whim as he brushed his teeth and much to his dismay, the impending date of his unwritten essay stared up at him. The dread of receiving a zero and dropping his grade point average was enough to nearly spit out his bubbled toothpaste onto the mirror. Instead, he choked a bit and accidentally smeared the mint green paste all over his chin as he managed to lean over the sink to spit.

After he rinsed his mouth and chin, Xug rushed out the door of his dorm room with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He knew exactly which books he was going to need for this paper and hoped that they would still be at the library. Unfortunately, much to his dismay every copy of what he needed was checked out and had been for days.

“You’re in Professor Pumpernickel’s class, yes?” Came a gruff voice of a small obsidian orc, peering at Xug from behind a pair of bedazzled spectacles.

“Yeah.” Xug sighed, “Do you know where I could find them? Maybe at a different library nearby?”

“I’ll check the database for you, but next time you take Pumpernickel’s class, make sure you pay attention to what she says. If she says get this done earlier rather than later, she means it.”

Xug wanted to roll his eyes at the grumpy orc but decided against it as he was helping Xug out. A few mouse clicks and typing sounds later and the orc began writing everything down on a piece of paper before handing it to Xug.

“Here’s the address. It’s about 5 blocks away from the science building and it looks like they have several copies available. Good luck.”

Snatching the paper quickly, Xug was out the door yelling his appreciation, “Thanks!”

He had ignored the librarian’s annoyance as he yelled at Xug to not run in the library. But it didn’t matter as Xug was on a mission. The rules would just have to wait for someone else who wasn’t feeling this anxiety.

Once he was out of the building, he ran, glancing at his phone for directions every so often to make sure he was on track. He didn’t even break a sweat before he found the community library and was relieved when he walked inside.

It was typical of any library. Quiet. Smelled distinctly of books. It even had several computers where other people sat typing and listening to their headphones to avoid any distractions. As Xug glanced around he spotted a young man standing at the front desk, silently checking out books for a young woman with an orc boy who clung to her skirt.

“Alright, ma’am, those books will be due in about three weeks. I’ve put a little bookmark inside with the date on it.”

Xug kept his gaze on the man as he moved to line up behind the woman. He was was awestruck as he watched as the man worked, his movements were elegant and fluid. It went hand in hand with the man’s tall and slim appearance, clad in an untucked blue button-up shirt and a pair of dark jeans with a black name tag.

The name Arnold was engraved into the plastic and Xug decided that the human looked like an Arnold. It suited this clean-shaven man, with his neatly trimmed black hair that was parted and swept to the side. Xug could have easily got lost in the breathtaking eyes of Arnold and nearly did as he continued to outright stare at the man.

Arnold. With flawless warm beige skin and honey brown almond shaped eyes. Arnold was captivating, so much that Xug didn’t even notice the woman and child leaving the library and that he was staring at Arnold.

“Sir? Did you need help?”

Xug managed to snap out of it, silently praying to the ancestors that Arnold didn’t see how the heat was rising in Xug’s cheeks, “Uh, yes, I need to find these books for my Interspecies Relations class.”

Holding out the small paper, Xug’s eyes went wide as he compared the size of his hands to Arnold’s own slender ones.

The man laughed as he took the paper, briefly glancing down at it, “I see you have Professor Pumpernickel’s class. She’s notorious for wanting these particular books only because she helped write a few parts. I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s still asking for you to write a paper specifically on these books.”

“Oh, did you take her class?”

“I took it three semesters ago and despite being the diligent student, I struggled to keep up with her workload.” The man paused, as he came around the corner and stood briefly next to Xug, “Let me show you where these are.”

Arnold led the way, easily walking in between the stacks of shelves whereas Xug frowned from being unable to fit without having to shimmy to the side. He concentrated on not touching or knocking anything over as he continued to move, taking small side steps and stopping only when Arnold stopped.

Xug couldn’t help but focus on Arnold as he pulled out a book before moving a little closer to Xug and pulling one more. The man was fluid in his movements and muttered under his breath as he wandered away to a different shelf, leaving Xug to carefully shuffle out from the previous aisle. He decided it might be best not to follow Arnold and waited patiently as Arnold came out with the final book.

“Here you go, these are the ones that you’ll be needing. I can point out the specific lines that she’ll want you to put into your paper if you’d like?”

“That would be very helpful, thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” Arnold smiled, walking back to the front desk with Xug following behind.

Patiently, Xug watched as Arnold opened each of the books, and began using post-it-notes to underline what Xug would need. Arnold jotted down a couple of notes and much to Xug’s dismay, the man’s handwriting was illegible. It looked like Xug’s grandfather’s shaky writing that resembled chicken scratches. Xug snorted suddenly, drawing up Arnold’s attention.

“What?”

“Oh—uh nothing.”

Arnold raised an eyebrow before glancing down at his post-it note, “Oh, you’re laughing at my writing, aren’t you?”

“No no. It’s—uh—”

“Don’t worry, I’m very aware my writing is awful. I usually only use the computer for writing—especially for this very reason.” Arnold rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “Although I don’t know why it’s funny.”

“It just doesn’t suit you.” Xug admitted, suddenly worried he offended Arnold, “You look so well put together. I thought maybe your handwriting would be beautiful too.”

Arnold chuckled, his shoulders relaxing, “Well, it’s nice to know I look well put together.”

Crap. Xug wasn’t too sure if that was too forward or if he just made it more awkward. Or worse, both. Xug was getting lost in his thoughts of worry as Arnold continued to jot down more notes and placing more post-its in the books.

“Are you a cardholder of this facility?” Arnold finally asked, glancing up at Xug with a small smile.

“I am not. Er—does it require money?”

“No, no. You live in the dorms right?”

The question was innocent enough, but Xug blinked at him before understanding that Arnold wasn’t trying to get personal information out of him for booty call benefits. It was to make sure that he would get a free membership, much to Xug’s slight disappointment. Scolding himself inwardly for getting his hopes up, Xug reminded himself that he just laughed at the man’s illegible handwriting.

“Yeah, I live in Sheppard Hall.”

“Oh, I’ve lived there—it was my second semester actually. I live off campus now—I think I prefer it over living in the dorms any day.” Arnold nodded before turning his attention to the computer, “Alright, let’s get you that library card and get you checked out. I’m sure you have a lot of work ahead of you so I won’t keep you much longer.”

Xug wanted to reply that he wouldn’t mind if he was kept a little longer but decided against it. He had no idea what the mating rituals for humans were. Xug found most human men unsuitable to his tastes but Arnold was different. The man had struck something in Xug wasn’t even aware existed.

“Okay.”

“What’s your full name?”

“Xug of clan Spearslammer.”

Wordlessly Arnold typed before asking a series of other questions, quickly putting it into the computer until it was time for Arnold to take Xug’s picture.

“You’re fairly tall, I’m going to have to find a chair—or—aha! The counter will do, I just need to crouch down.”

Arnold climbed onto the counter, expertly snapping the photo after telling Xug he could smile or not. Before Xug could really decide, Arnold took the picture and hopped down before showing Xug all of his information and the photo.

Xug stared at the picture of himself and frowned. In comparison to Arnold, he was big with dark green skin, hair that looked unkempt from the run and large fang-like teeth that jutted upward from behind his bottom lip. His face looked like he was confused in the photo.

“Ah, I look so dumb.”

Arnold laughed, turning slightly to pull out his wallet from his back pocket before showing his own library card to Xug, “Don’t worry, everyone does. I had just crawled out of bed when I had mine done.”

Arnold’s hair was even more disheveled than Xug’s mohawk with little bits and pieces sticking up everywhere and all with Arnold’s eyes half open. It was super cute.

“That’s adorable,” Xug spoke before thinking and suddenly felt very embarrassed.

Arnold, however, didn’t mind and just smiled, “Thank you.”

It wasn’t long before Arnold had printed out the card and got the books checked out for Xug. There was a little bit of disappointment as he left the library without asking out the man, but Xug was determined that he would see Arnold again once he finished his paper.

He ran back to his dorm room and buckled down, ignoring calls from his friends as he focused on his paper. The little notes that Arnold had left behind were helpful. Especially the pointed out quotes that Pumpernickel had specifically given for the books itself. It might have been a bit silly to feed his professor’s ego, but Xug wanted to get the best possible grade that he could.

Those three days were a kind of fevered dream as Xug did his best to finish his paper, managing to hand it in on time. He thought about returning the books earlier before his grade came back, but decided to wait as it would give him an excuse to talk to Arnold. But he also thought that maybe if he returned the book before the grade, that would give him an extra excuse to see him again. Then again, Arnold might not even be there. Xug would have gone for nothing and look like a dumb-dumb for not bringing the books with him.

Xug ended up avoiding it until he got his grade back and was more than a little surprised at the grade he managed to get. A shiny 98%. It was his highest grade that he had ever received that wasn’t sports related. Excitement finally pushed Xug over the edge as he returned to the library, peeking in through the window to find Arnold standing at the front desk.

He had to force himself to calm down as he walked into the building, holding both his paper on top of his books. Arnold immediately noticed him and his smile couldn’t have been more enticing to Xug than it did at that moment.

“Xug! How did those books work out for you?”

Xug, a little too forcefully, slapped the paper down onto the desk, causing it to shake slightly, “Oops, sorry—read it and weep.”

“You got a 98%? Holy smokes, that’s amazing Xug! Congratulations!”

“Thank you and uh—also, thank you for helping me out. I don’t think I would have gotten that grade if you hadn’t helped.”

Arnold continued to smile, waving a hand, “It was all you—all I did was point out what makes Pumpernickel the happiest.”

Unsure of how to respond, Xug nervously chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “Well, thank you all the same.”

“Oh, are those books you want to return too?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks for bringing them back. I’ll get these all sorted out. If you need help with finding anything let me know.”

Xug was hoping for more of a long interaction and turned away from the desk to look at the expansive library. He had no idea what to talk about with Arnold or even how to ask him on a date. Normally, he’d do what orc tradition dictated but Arnold was no orc.

That’s when the question popped into Xug’s head. How was he supposed to go about romancing a human? He simply didn’t know, but here he stood in a library full of knowledge. Surely there was a book that could help him.

Determined to find a book, Xug headed to a computer to start looking through the library’s online catalog, finding several titles that he considered worth reading. Mating Rituals of Humans. 100 Ways to Date a Human. Romancing Humans for Dummies. The list went on.

Xug chose ‘Romancing Humans for Dummies’ first, asking Arnold to point it out for him. It became their song and dance every week. Xug would go down the list of books, take one home after Arnold found it and checked it out for him. Then he’d come back and Arnold would always give him the brightest smile every time Xug entered the room, but he wasn’t clueing in that Xug was interested. Three weeks and several unhelpful books later, Xug decided to try one more book to gauge Arnold’s reaction.

As he handed the book over, Arnold smirked, “What a lucky human you have. You’ve been dedicating yourself to this type of book for almost a month now. I’m sure you’re the master of romance.”

Xug’s eyes almost bugged out as he watched Arnold. Did this silly volunteer not know that Xug was interested in him? How could this human be so oblivious to his advances? He was, after all, trying to come by the library almost every other day, even if it was just to read these awful books. And they were truly awful. Each one was a mixture of strange rituals that often involved watching a movie and then going and buying dinner and drinks. He even learned about showing interest through several dating apps and it utterly disgusted Xug. That wasn’t a way to learn about someone. Not by any orc standards.

First, an orc proves their strength and hunting capabilities by hunting down food. Then they show their cooking skills by preparing what they have hunted. It would show the potential mate their dedication to the relationship and that they were willing to put in the work and time. Then if the relationship proceeded onward, they would do ritual dancing and the meeting of the clans. But watching a movie—the very idea made Xug shudder at how it lacked intimacy or even proper words to express feelings.

But Xug was trying to woo Arnold and just borrowing books wasn’t enough of a signal for Arnold. Despite that knowledge, he was going to take this book back to his dorm and pout a little about how awkward he was when it came to starting a human relationship. These books weren’t helping him.

Another week had passed and Xug hadn’t even bothered picking up the latest book, already coming to the conclusion that it was rubbish. Instead, he sat in his dorm, thinking of purchasing a pig from a butcher and maybe roasting it outside somehow. He’d get in trouble, but it would be worth it if it meant Arnold would start seeing him exclusively.

That’s when the idea snapped into his head. He could clearly recall a man giving a woman flowers during a human holiday called Valentine’s day. Xug had asked him about it and was surprised that the man had chosen a very specific flower to give the lady. He said it had a special meaning.

Without any haste, Xug started looking up flower meanings and found the perfect one. He had poured over a handful of websites and was delighted that he knew where a great deal of them grew. It was amusing because these specific flowers had grown around the campus, placed in tidy little flower beds around the buildings.

They were called jonquils. A happy yellow trumpet-like flower that stuck out of a star-shaped arrangement of petals. Xug had wasted no time, buying up a set of chocolates from the store, before going around campus and pulling up the cheery flower. He took his time cleaning the dirt off of them after trimming the stem, wrapping them up with a simple strand of twine.

But before he was going to give them to Arnold he wanted to look his best. He showered, putting product in his hair to make it stick up the way he liked before putting on his clan’s beads around his neck. He would have worn a suit, but since he had put on weight, his normal suit didn’t fit anymore. He managed with a button up shirt and a pair of slacks.

Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he took the flowers and the chocolates, marching his way to the library. Xug took precious care of the flowers, holding them gingerly in his hands the whole way there. He stopped as he neared the door, peeking his head in the window and found Arnold was leaning against the front desk.

“You can do this, Xug. He’s a sweet and kind human. And you are a catch.” Xug spoke out loud, ignoring the looks he got from passersby, “Yes, I’m a catch. Any human would be lucky to have me. You’re strong and could easily catch a boar for that handsome man.”

This conversation lasted about 5 minutes until Xug finally worked up the courage and walked through the doors. He did his best to keep his face straight but was inwardly debating if he should smile, thinking it might make him more approachable.

“Xug.” Arnold stood up, smiling the way he normally did before his eyes drifted toward the chocolate and flowers. “Oh, are you about to go on a date or something?”

“Um, well, I wouldn’t mind going on a date.” Xug started, suddenly tripping over his words and unable to fully articulate what he wanted until he finally managed to blurt it out, “I want to go out with you, Arnold. These are for you.”

It was awkward. Horrifyingly so. The smile fell away instantly and was replaced by shock as Arnold stared up at him before looking at the flowers and the chocolates. This was not the reaction Xug was looking for and he couldn’t help but wonder if he messed it up. Or perhaps Arnold wasn’t attracted to orcs or maybe he wasn’t attracted to men.

No no no. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Xug knew from several classes and conversations that humans weren’t as fluid with their sexuality as the orcs were. How could he be so ignorant?

“You—you want to go out with me? But those books-”

“Were so I could see you and learn your human rituals on ‘dating’.”

“You did all that for me?”

Xug could feel sweat trickle down his back as he continued to hold out his offerings to Arnold, “Yes.”

Disbelief turned into a giddy glee as Arnold happily took the flowers and chocolate, “No one has ever asked me out like this before. I’m so happy.”

Relief caused Xug to untense as his shoulders dropped and he wiped the new sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, “Oh thank the ancestors, I thought I messed this up.”

“No, no. I’m sorry, I was just a little surprised that you were interested. I mean, I’ve been interested in you, I just didn’t know how to say it.”

“The fact that I was taking out those books every week from you didn’t clue you in?”

“Well, I thought that maybe it was, but I didn’t want to assume. I thought maybe you had a human girlfriend or boyfriend and you were trying to be the perfect partner.” Arnold laughed, sniffing the flowers, “You’re the first guy to give me flowers.”

“They mean ‘desire of affection’. I thought it was a suitable meaning given that I wanted you and your attention.”

“Thank you, they are super sweet.” Arnold paused, “Did you get these from the flower beds around campus?”

“Yes.”

Arnold howled with laughter, wiping tears from his eyes as he walked from behind the counter, “C’mere.”

With one swift movement, Arnold gripped the front of Xug’s shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. He still was giggling as his mouth met Xug’s, but they softened as Xug lifted him up. It was gentle and slow, but Xug ended the kiss first by setting a blushing Arnold back down. He grinned up at Xug, briefly touching his lips.

“You’re pretty brave to be stealing flowers from the campus.”

“I stole them? You are mistaken.” Xug raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“You’re not supposed to take the flowers from public property. You normally have to buy them or find them in a field somewhere.”

“I don’t understand, so you plant flowers but no one is allowed to take them? What a silly rule.”

“I agree, it’s a little silly.” Arnold chuckled, “Regardless, I would very much like to date you, Xug.”

Xug grinned, still feeling the heat that lingered from his kiss from Arnold. The books might have been useless in many respects, but Xug was happy that it managed to get Arnold to notice him. Now all he had to do was plan out a date for Arnold so that Xug could show off his great cooking skills.

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the-paris-of-people · 6 years ago

Text

That Cute Couple You See at a Coffee Shop

SURPRISE! (Or not?) I’m your @tgpsecretsanta @alys07! I hope you enjoy this Cheleanor Cinderella Story/College AU I wrote for you! You can read it on AO3 or down in the cut below!

P.S. special thanks to @chidi-anagonye for editing! <3

Summary: What happens when Chidi and Eleanor begin messaging each other online, with no idea of who the other really is?

Words: 5555

I got my latte with almond milk this morning, pinged Chidi’s penpal. A special shoutout to you, bud.

A grin slipped onto Chidi’s lips. He was in the middle of class, his seminar about Middle Eastern civilization, but still he typed back,

I’m jealous. But! at least you’re able to enjoy it without any of my agony and guilt.

Did you just make a joke? She wrote back. Look at you! I’m impressed. Character development.

You taught me well.

“Chidi!” Tahani hissed, catching Chidi in the middle of his lovestruck look at his computer. “Chidi!” She cried again, tapping his desk with her manicured index finger.

“Huh? What?”

“Look, I know you are quite infatuated with this mystery girl, but can you please pay attention for one moment so we can meet with our group project partners?”

“Right! Sorry!” Chidi cleared his throat. As he whipped out his notes from his backpack, Tahani squinted at Chidi’s iMessage. Blushing furiously, Chidi clicked the ‘X’ at the corner of the window. The last thing Tahani needed to see were his ramblings from last night, after he told his mystery friend that he wished they were a couple he had seen at the coffeehouse, studying together, staring into each other’s eyes. He then panicked because he realized how desperate he sounded. To cover for his semi-flirty messages, he typed out a long explanation, spanning paragraphs, but it didn’t work. He was bad at lying, and the worst part was, he wasn’t even drunk. He was just that awkward.

“Ugh,” Tahani sighed, flopping down in the seat next to him dramatically. “Chidi, you obviously like this girl. It’s been three months. Are you ever going to tell her how you feel?”

“First of all,” Chidi shut his laptop. “You should not be reading my messages! Also, no. It wouldn’t be right to disclose my feelings if she doesn’t have all of the information she can possibly can have about me. And! I don’t know if she has a boyfriend, or girlfriend, or if she’s romantically interested in any gender at all! It would be ethically unsound for me to dump that burden on her. And since finals are approaching, and it might distract her, too!”

“I mean that’s technically true, but still-“

“Alright!” interrupted Eleanor, the de facto leader of their project team, barreling in from the doorway. “Let’s get to work!”

Perfect timing, Chidi thought, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Did you just get to class?” he inquired, eyeing the coffee cup still in hand and scarf around her neck. It didn’t surprise him, Eleanor always came late, but still, it floored Chidi how she strolled in with unabashed confidence. Chidi shriveled away when he arrived even one minute late, how could Eleanor muster the guts to come forty five minutes after class began?

“Long line at Michael’s,” Eleanor explained, setting her cup down and pulling her messy notes onto the desk. As Chidi learned from their midterm presentation, Eleanor wasn’t the best student, but she was the best at organizing their projects of the four of them. Unlike Chidi, she didn’t waver on which details to include and unlike Tahani, she wasn’t concerned with how to woo the teacher for self-validation. And unlike Jason, she actually had… a brain, so she could contribute sometimes.

(To be honest, Chidi didn’t know how Jason got into college at all. Not that he minded having him there, he always offered free snacks at their group meetings, but he wasn’t... the sharpest tool in the shed)

“By the way, I saw Jason nuzzling with Janet by the windows,” Eleanor mentioned. “ So I guess they’re not coming either.”

“Wait, Jason and Janet together?” Tahani asked, flabbergasted. Tahani wasn’t the only one surprised. Jason was a great guy but Janet wasn’t exactly... his type. She was pretty, funny, president of the student body and the Scholars Club. On top of that, she knew everything. He wasn’t exaggerating. She literally knew everything. Sometimes his friend Simone joked she was secretly a robot. “Since when have they been… dating?”

“I wouldn’t say they’ve been ‘dating’ if you know what I mean,” Eleanor snorted. She flipped through her stack of loose leaf paper and pulled out her project notes, clicking into her planning mode, “Alright, so we have five more days to put together our final presentation, and from what I remember from what we talked about on Tuesday, no one has any weekend finals, so I vote we get together Saturday and Sunday and just bang this shiz out, ya feel me?” Proud of her quick thinking, Eleanor laid back in her seat and propped her feet up on Jason’s vacant chair.

“Oh!” Tahani clucked. “I’m sorry Eleanor! But no can do!”

“I’m sorry?” Eleanor sat back up.

“What Tahani is trying to say is, the Scholars Club has a ball on Saturday of winter finals week,” Chidi filled her in, “And since Tahani and I are on the board, we’re busy planning until Saturday, and then on Sunday, we have to clean up and debrief, so it probably won’t be until Monday that we can work on the presentation.”

“Seriously?” Eleanor threw her head back and groaned. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

“Well, we’ve been caught up with other finals, Scholars Club events, I’m part of the Plato society…”

“Oh my god, I get it, you ner-” Eleanor paused mid-sentence.

Chidi cocked his head at her. Was she about to say nerds? Huh. He felt like he had heard that phrase from somewhere, but he couldn’t place where…

“-naturally very busy overachievers,” Eleanor covered. She froze for a second before flapping her lips exasperatedly, folding up her notes and shoving them back into her backpack. “I guess we’ll just do it on Monday around my philosophy final, then.”

“I’m sorry, Eleanor,” Tahani patted her hand. “But I promise I’ll come by your dorm tonight to give you that face cream. It will make all your blemishes disappear!”

“Tahani, I never said-”

“Oh, I’m so excited to see your triple, Eleanor!” Tahani interrupted, clapping her hands together. “I bet it’s just so… quaint.”

She shot her one last grin before gathering all her books and striding away, her floral dress billowing behind her. Eleanor’s mouth dropped open at she watched Tahani exit, still wondering what just happened.

“Don’t worry,” Chidi told her. “She gave me face cream last week, too. You don’t need it.”

Eleanor’s eyes sparkled before she coughed and stood up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. For some reason, Chidi found himself liking the way her eyes glimmered under the fluorescent lights, how the ends of her mouth softened, how her cheeks tinted pink. She looked pretty.

Calm down, Chidi, he scolded himself as he shook his head. One crush at a time.

***

I ate a quesadilla for lunch today, Chidi texted mystery girl later that day, at the library with Uzo. And now I have a giant stomach ache.

I’m sorry, philosophy cutie, she instantly replied. I wish you didn’t feel so sick all the time :(

The campus health center is open until 7. She added. Maybe you can make an appointment? She sent him a link to the online appointment maker.

I have to study for my psych final tomorrow, Chidi messaged. But thank you for checking for me. That was really nice of you.

Guess you’re not the only one with character development. :)

Chidi chuckled to himself. He began crafting a witty response, clicking on the urban dictionary link he bookmarked to match her constant use of casual slang. He felt Uzo peering over his shoulder and turned around.

“Shrimp freak again?” Uzo lifted an eyebrow.

Chidi nodded.

Uzo, his childhood best friend, his roommate, his pseudo-brother, was one of the only people who knew the full story. Of how Chidi wrote under a pen name for the university’s online philosophy zine. Of how one day, “StoneColdSteveAustinfreak” had commented on his post, mocking his rigidity and suggesting he “lighten up.” Chidi responded politely, requesting that she directly contact him for her difference in perspective, and two days later, he received a message from shrimpfreak1014 over his newspaper gmail chat. At the time, he was refining his midterm paper for deontology, checking every now and again for messages. Somehow, he remained embroiled in an argument with her until three A.M.

She irritated Chidi to to end. She was argumentative, and she made fun of his nerdy habits, and her sense of humor was cruder than he liked. But at the same time, Chidi didn’t want to stop talking to her. She was sharp and witty and unlike anyone he’d ever met. She was selfish, but she was trying to be better. She was rude, but she apologized when she went too far. She coined herself as a moral particularist, yet she sometimes cited Kant in her arguments, emphasizing when she did just to tease him.

And soon, as their chats grew more and more frequent, they became closer. She messaged him during her work breaks, and he talked to her while he worked on his homework late at night, bags sagging under his eyes as he alternated between his essay about Plato to their discussion of Tim Scanlon. They were friends, advisors, maybe even confidantes, their conversations ranging from philosophy to their favorite coffeehouse on campus to their lives outside of university. She told him how she emancipated from her parents at fourteen, how she worked three jobs to pay off her student loans, how she decided to become a better person after a near-death experience getting her stomach pumped. He confided that his grandmother passed away last year and he missed her, he missed the snacks she used to send and the stews she used to serve. Since then, he told her, he had been more anxious than usual, the simplest of decisions causing his palms to sweat and his leg to bounce .

Listen, dude, how about this? She wrote. Since you’ve been my dorky mentor and you’ve helped me a better person and all the junk, why don’t I help you make decisions? I’m good at that stuff, anyway.

You would do that? He asked.

Yeah, man, I owe it to you! She insisted. The next time you freak out over a big decision just come to me.

And so he came to her each time he freaked out, faced with a choice between white or black, right or left, frozen mocha or coffee.

Just get the frozen mocha, she would reply, as if choosing was so easy. You don’t even like the taste of fair trade coffee at the cafe, so why not get something you enjoy?

You’re right, said Chidi, shocked at her ability to choose without qualms. And so they went on, Chidi as her philosophy mentor and shrimpfreak as his decision maker, and Chidi found himself aching for her messages. During the day, his mind began drifting to her: how perfectly she complemented Chidi, how since they started talking, he softened her and she strengthened him. He wonder about her in ways he shouldn’t, about how her eyes were probably bright and fearless, about if her mouth would curl after a quip, about how her skin would feel against his, cuddling in Chidi’s bed-

No, no, no. It was wrong. How could he have a crush on her when-

“Chidi?” Uzo waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him back to reality. “Chidi? Dude, are you freaking out about your crush on shrimp freak again?”

“A little,” Chidi squeaked. “Okay, well a lot,” He admitted. “I can’t handle this anymore, Uzo! I mean I’ve kept this from her for way too long, and I’m the one who’s always maintained a moral code of honesty! And if I do tell her how I feel, it could potentially destroy our relationship and all the progress she’s made! And who am I to destroy progress, Uzo? I don’t have that kind of authority!”

“Listen, you’ve got to calm down, man,” Uzo advised, while Chidi gasped for air. “Look, it seems like this is eating you alive inside…”

“Pretty much everything does!”

“Right, but it seems like you like her a lot, so… why don’t you put yourself out there? ” He punched Chidi lightly on the shoulder. “Ask her to the Scholars Club ball.”

“The Scholars Club ball?”

“The Scholars Club ball.” Uzo nodded. “Just so you have a shot at meeting in person. I mean, it’s been four months and you don’t even know her real name. You can just go as friends, too. No pressure. But this way, you don’t have to worry about her not knowing who you really are, and if you want, you can come clean and tell her about your feelings.”

“Huh. That’s not a bad idea, actually.” Chidi pondered, tilting his head. If they went to the Scholar’s Ball together, they could have a lot of fun. Shrimpfreak could meet Uzo and Tahani and Simone, and they could talk and laugh all through the night. And maybe, just maybe, (just a thought!) they could slow-dance together, too. He even knew how to sell it to her. There were tons of caterers and free cocktail shrimp. He’s sure she would like that.

But there were drawbacks, too, and Chidi had to consider those, too. Maybe he could make a pros and cons list. Or maybe he would use that Magic 8 Ball in the student union to make a decision for him.

“I’ll think about it,” he told Uzo.

“You’re going to stay up all night agonizing about whether to ask her, aren’t you?” Uzo anticipated.

“Yeah, pretty much!”

“I know you too well, buddy,” Uzo laughed.

***

“Eleanor!” Tahani sang outside her door. “I have your face cream!”

“Oh, no,” Eleanor muttered. “Here we go.”

She closed her laptop and ripped down her Stone Cold Steve Austin poster. Eleanor wasn’t sure if Chidi told her about their messages, but wasn’t taking any chances. She scanned her room for any other defining items that might give her away. Luckily, she wasn’t much of a decorator, unlike Becky, who littered her desk with pictures of cats, Spiderman figurines, and frog drawings by her cousin, Jeremy. Yeah, sure, the frog sketches were cute, but the Spiderman figurines? Come on, Becky!

“Hello, Eleanor!” Tahani greeted as Eleanor opened the door, waltzing right into her room without permission.

“Sure, come on in, Tahani. I definitely invited you.” Eleanor grumbled and flopped onto her bed.

“Here’s a bag with some face cream, and some other Korean skincare products I’d thought you might like to try!” Tahani perched herself on the edge of Eleanor’s bed. As she examined the rest of Eleanor’s dorm room, her face scrunched. “Why, this space is awfully… cramped…”

“Because it’s a dorm room,” Eleanor drawled sarcastically. “It’s small? It’s something normal college students usually live in?”

“I mean it’s nothing compared to the spacious single I have in the Scholar’s Club house, and it’s not as quaint as I thought, but I have to admit, it’s quite cute. Aside from the Spiderman figurines on that desk, which are creeping me out…”

“Right? Thank you!” Eleanor threw her hands up in the air emphatically. “I keep telling Becky to turn them to the side so we don’t have to see them!”

“Though I suppose they would creep out the people walking and looking at the dorm windows,” Tahani giggled.

“Haha! You’re right!” Eleanor snickered. “There’s no winning, is there?”

“Not unless you accidentally throw them in the garbage can!” Tahani joked.

“That’s the best idea you’ve ever had, babe!” Eleanor rolled over from laughing so hard. Tahani, who was keeling over with her laughter along with her, suddenly stopped, focusing on the left corner of Eleanor’s room.

Eleanor’s eyes widened. Oh no. She had completely forgotten that she left her work backpack on her desk. It was free of badges and patches and tacky Becky-like decorations… besides the small shrimp keychain on the zipper.

Shit.

“Say Eleanor,” Tahani spun back towards Eleanor. “Shrimp doesn’t happen to be your favorite food, does it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tahani,” Eleanor challenged, shooting Tahani her sharpest eyes. Tahani’s normally light demeanor darkened to match Eleanor’s venomous stare.

“Anyway,” Eleanor swung her legs around her bed and stood up. The faster she could shove Tahani out of the room, the better. “I think it’s time for you to go, Tahani,” She pushed Tahani back towards the door with her feeble muscles. Jeez, she was surprisingly strong. “Buh-bye! See you Monday!”

“Hang on just a second,” Tahani resisted Eleanor’s shove.“You don’t happen to have a poster of Stone Cold Steve Austin, do you?”

“Again,” Eleanor choked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tahani. See you later, okay buh-bye!”

“Oh, really?” Tahani smugly leaned against the doorframe, pointing to the back of the room. “Then why is that Stone Cold Steve Austin poster on the ground?”

Eleanor flicked her eyes back to the back of the room. Her Stone Cold Steve Austin poster was lying face-up. Fuck. She tore the poster down but she forgot to turn it over or hide it under the bed. Damn it, Eleanor!

“Okay, fine, you caught me!” Eleanor caved. She sighed and walked back to her bed. “I’m shrimpfreak1014.”

“Well, since I am very well-connected,” bragged Tahani, shutting the door and joining her on the bed. “I happen to know the identity of the lucky man you’ve been talking with-”

“Please,” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “ I know it’s Chidi. I sit behind him in class and he’s not super discrete about messaging on his laptop.”

“Oh,” Tahani shook herself out of her initial shock before agreeing, “That is true. But if you know who he is, and you both are very close, why don’t you tell him who you are?”

Because it’s Chidi, she wanted to say. He’s intelligent and patient and kind and he genuinely cares about people. He cares about me. But I don’t even know if he cares about me me. Eleanor me.

And I couldn’t stand losing him if he didn’t.

“Because I don’t even know if he likes me,” she said instead. She avoided Tahani’s gaze as her eyes welled with tears, tucking the strands of hair behind her ears. God, she probably looked like an idiot, getting all soft talking about how much she liked him. “We always bicker while working on projects, and he always gives me a funny look whenever I say something ignorant, and I just… I don’t want him to change his mind if he knows who I really am…”

“Eleanor,” comforted Tahani, rubbing her back in circles. “I’ve known Chidi for a long time, and he doesn’t dislike anyone. Including you. And also…” Tahani hesitated “You never know how someone will react if you tell them how you feel, so it never hurts to try. Like the time I told Daniel Radcliffe that…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Eleanor cut her off. “I always get it. But…. Thanks, Tahani. I guess. Maybe. I’ll think about it.” She smiled up at her in between sniffles.

“No problem, friend,” Tahani gave her one last pat on the back before heading back to the door, this time, without Eleanor forcing her out. “Well, I better get going. I have to run a bunch of errands for the ball. But Eleanor,” Tahani lingered in the doorway, rocking back and forth on her feet. “If you ever want to get lunch or something…I’d be happy to put something in my calendar.”

“That would be great, Tahani,” accepted Eleanor, grinning. Sure, Tahani was a snob, and she name-dropped too much. She wore heels even though she didn’t need them, and she was too concerned with her popularity…but she also had a good heart. And she was kind of fun to be around. It was only fair that Eleanor gave her a chance.

“But only if we go to get burgers,” she added. “I’m not much of a fancy girl, and you could use some loosening up.”

“Well, I look forward to the grease.” Tahani bobbed her head, then double-checked, “Is grease something to look forward to?”

“You’ll see, babe,” Eleanor winked at her. “You’ll see.”

***

Chidi paced up and down the shiny, hardwood floor of the Scholars Club house kitchen. He had been at it for an hour and a half. Femi already came down to check if he was okay, and he had already scarfed down three bananas from the ornate ceramic fruit bowl Tahani had made for the kitchen. Okay, he was going to go over the possible outcomes one last time, then he was going to decide on what to do…

Hey, bud, his phone vibrated in his hand, disrupting his train of thought. Haven’t heard from you in awhile. Feeling alright?

Chidi trembled as he reread the message. He couldn’t keep up this charade any longer, otherwise he would just end up freezing her out. Yeah, that’s what normally ended up happening with his friends and ex-girlfriends he couldn’t break secrets to, but he didn’t want this to happen with her. He didn’t want to lose her; he wanted this, finally, to be the one that stuck.

You know what? His mind whipped into shape and settled, He was going to do it. If shrimpfreak had taught him anything, it was how to be more decisive. He yearned so badly to meet her, he yearned for nothing else, but he was letting the tossing and turning of his mind prevent him from going for what he desired.

Hey! He texted. Thanks for checking up on me. I was just thinking how to ask you something. So I’m part of the Scholars Club on campus and we’re having a ball on Saturday night. Do you want to go with me? Just as friends, of course. There’ll be free shrimp!

He held his breath while he waited for her response. Nothing.

He removed another banana from the fruit bowl. Maybe the overload of potassium could somehow carry him through the day.

***

It was only in his final class of the day, creating a study guide for philosophy of neuroscience alongside Simone, when he heard back from shrimpfreak1014:

Sorry man, I have work from 9-5 tomorrow and then I have to finish my group project. :(

Oh, Chidi responded, swallowing his disappointment. I understand. Good luck with finals! If you end up having time, feel free to come by.

Yeah, honestly, dude, I’m not really sure if I will. I don’t know if I’m ready to meet yet.

Chidi blinked, pushing down the sickening feeling slithering up his throat.

That’s okay, He reassured, although he was stewing in his own regret. We can just meet when we’re ready. There’s no rush, right?

No response.

Chidi heaved as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“You okay, Chidi?” Simone asked, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” He somehow managed to lie through his heaving. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

This was why he couldn’t make decisions.

***

On the day of the ball, Chidi rose with dread.

He was surprised he could get up at all- his muscles fatigued from restless turning, his eyes strained from rereading old messages all night. Uzo calmed him down for a little bit in the morning, promising that shrimp freak just needed some time to process the idea of meeting him in person. Chidi told him he was probably right, but still, he checked his phone a couple more times to see if she had messaged back.

The rest of the day kept him distracted enough; he and the rest of the board met in the living room to begin ball preparations: wrapping carnations around the banisters, confirming arrival times of the caterers, transporting surprise gift bags to the gazebo. He felt normal, for the most part- until he overheard Simone and Vicky talking about their dates.

Chidi’s stomach boiled with agony. He didn’t know why he cared so much- he had been fine with not having a date, with not meeting his secret friend in the near future. Now he couldn’t get it out of his head, and he hated himself for it. Why did he have to go and ruin everything?

As the sun lowered over the Scholars Club house hill, the guests rolled into the living room. Chidi feigned a smile as he tore them in half, trying not to let his misery get the best of them. They had planned this ball for months and at least it was going well: the decorations colorful yet classy, the guests adorned in flowing gowns and fitted suits.

After he finished up registration, Chidi floated throughout the house to different groups, greeting them and asking if they were having a good time. It wasn’t a distraction, he tried to convince himself. It was part of his job as a board member. He wasn’t trying to keep his mind off shrimpfreak at all. He wasn’t even thinking about her.

“Chidi!” beckoned Simone from the kitchen.

Chidi let out a sad smile and moved towards Tahani, Uzo, and Simone. As he approached them, Tahani handed him a plate of shrimp. Chidi thanked her gratefully and popped it in his mouth, humming delightfully at its taste.

“Mmmm.” He turned to Tahani. “You did a great job with all of this. The shrimp is so much better than last year, and people seem to be having a great time.”

“It’s much better than the one Kamilah threw two years ago, isn’t it?”

“Oh, much better,” Chidi reassured, and he meant it. Kamilah’s taste was a little too loud and garish for him, but Tahani struck the tasteful balance between sophisticated and fun.

“Be honest,” Uzo slugged an arm around his shoulder. “How are you holding up, man?”

“Could be better,” He shrugged. “But, I’m not doing horrible. I think… I’m going to go outside for a little bit. Get some fresh air.”

“Oh,” Uzo dropped his arm from his shoulders. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’m okay.”

“Would you like some more shrimp, Chidi?” Tahani extended out another plate.

“I’m good,” Chidi tried to think of an excuse so he didn’t sound lame “I’ll come back in later… maybe… to get some more.”

Skeptically, Simone crossed her arms. “You’re going to go outside and read until you calm down for a bit, aren’t you?”

“I-I-I-I-I, um-” Chidi stuttered, but their gleeful chortles freed him explanation.

“Go ahead, mate,” Simone shooed him off. “Just come back after the dance ends to clean up. We’re going out to iHop after.”

Chidi confirmed their plans one last time before he left for the gazebo. On the way out, he grabbed his copy of Symposium, the one he had purposely left on the living room table in case he wanted to escape. Deftly, he balanced the book with his plate of shrimp as he pushed open the door. He paused on the steps to appreciate how beautiful the night was, the thickness of the black winter sky, the shimmering stars that lay overhead. The gazebo stood brightly against the dark with its fresh white paint, quickly drawing Chidi in with its solitaire.

Ever since he was a freshman, Chidi sought solace in the gazebo. He frequently snuck away when he needed to be by himself, especially after his grandmother passed away. It boasted a sprawling view of the campus and open panels that breathed in fresh air. Yes, the paint was chipping, and the roof crumbled when it rained, but Chidi loved it nonetheless. Last spring, Tahani held a fundraiser for its restoration, and by fall, it had returned to its former glory. The days of Chidi’s secret, safe place slipped away as he found kids, not even from the Scholar’s Club, using it as a gathering spot to down shots. He was surprised no one was out here right now. He hoped it stayed that way.

Chidi closed his eyes, listening to the plucking of the guitar seep out of the house. He was in his favorite place. The music inside was slowing, the shadows were swaying loosely, and he felt, just for once, that he could handle things.

He opened his book and begin to read.

“Hey nerd,” A brash voice echoed from the doorway mid-paragraph. He snapped his head up to see a familiar frame leaning against the entrance. Wait… was that? No… it couldn’t be…

“Are you reading Plato during the ball?” teased Eleanor. She sauntered over and joined him on the bench.

Chidi opened his mouth to ask her more questions, but instead, he broke into a grin. It was Eleanor. Of course it was Eleanor. No one else was as funny and hard-working and brave as she was. He should have known. He had crushes on both shrimpfreak and Eleanor for the same reasons; how could he not have figured it out before?

“Just needed to get away for a little bit.” He shut back his book and slid it to the side. Eleanor was dressed more casually than normal. Her hair was messy, she sported oversized, food-stained sweats, and still, Chidi couldn’t take his eyes off of her. “Did you kn-”

“Yeah, yeah, I knew,” Eleanor scoffed. “You leave your messages open way too much, Chidi.”

“Right,” Chidi couldn’t help but laugh. She was right. Tahani was always telling him that, too.

Eleanor bit her lip and gave him a shy smile.

He scooted closer to her.

“Um, I created a rough outline of the project!” She cried. She began fiddling with her fingers. “It’s almost done, we just have to add more details in the slides.”

“You worked on the project?” Chidi felt himself warm towards her. He knew how much she hated schoolwork. “Without us there?”

“Yeah,” Eleanor shifted in her seat. “I mean, you and Tahani and Jason are all my friends. I just figured it would make things easier for all of us, since I had the time.”

“That was really nice of you, Eleanor,” His voice fell quietly at the end of his sentence. Eleanor glanced down at her shoes, failing to hide her blush. Chidi wanted to hold her so badly, but he kept talking,

“So, you emancipated from your parents when you were fourteen?”

“Yup. That’s why I work three jobs. I’m surprised you never noticed. I’ve been on shift when you ordered your frozen mochas at the coffeehouse.”

“And you like shrimp?”

“More than I love life itself. And I’m ready to wolf down this unlimited free shrimp! If I’m still allowed to, that is.”

Chidi ducked his head down and chuckled to himself. He couldn’t wait to talk with her the rest of the night.

“I can’t believe you came,” he said happily. “I’m really happy you did.”

“You are?” Eleanor’s eyes shone.

“Of course I am,” He lifted her hand and stroked her palm with his thumb. Eleanor wove her fingers in his and squeezed his hands, leaning her forehead against his.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. He could feel her shaking against him. “I said no because I freaked out, not because I didn’t want to see you.”

“I understand,” Chidi empathized. “I freak out all the time.”

“That couldn’t be more true,” Eleanor agreed endearingly.

They moved in closer to each other.

“Eleanor?” Chidi licked his lips nervously. He didn’t know why he was about to ask what he was about to ask, but he really wanted to. “Can I- can I kiss you?”

Eleanor beamed up at him.

“Go ahead, bud.”

Chidi sprang his lips onto Eleanor’s, moving his mouth passionately against hers. Eleanor drew back at first, startled, but then she sank into the kiss, her mouth curving against Chidi’s in a smile. Chidi removed his hand from hers and wrapped them around her back, sliding one down to her waist and the other up her back. As Eleanor laid her hands on his stomach and let them travel up to his shoulders, Chidi reveled in having her fingers against his chest. This, he realized, thoughts unlocking as they kissed and kissed, is what he always dreamed of. It was always Eleanor he heard when reading her messages. It was always Eleanor he imagined kissing. It was always Eleanor he longed to be near, and now he finally was: her tiny little body pressed against his, her mouth moving with trademark feistiness he admired and loved.

They kissed until their lips grew weary, reluctantly pulling apart as they clung to each other still. Eleanor gazed up at him, her eyes full, and it struck Chidi that he’d never seen her so happy. Guess they both made each other that way.

Chidi kissed her forehead as she snuggled herself his chest. He felt ready to make million decisions right then, with Eleanor in his arms in his favorite place, the brisk air gusting all around them.

“Hey, shrimpfreak.” He bumbled as the music spilled back into the gazebo, “Do you- do you maybe want to dance? Um, with me?”

Eleanor laughed, tugging Chidi up onto his feet.

“Come on, Kantafficado.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Show me how it’s done.”

#tgpsecretsanta #alys07 #cheleanorfic #cheleanor #tgpfic #i hope you like it bbkins!#im sure its littered with errors when I was copying and pasting over whoops!#still hope you like it!#userleila

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topazshadowwolf · 6 years ago

Text

Calming Stress

A while back, my friend @goosygander came to me asking if I wanted to do an art trade. I agreed and my end of the trade was to write a fic that followed up on a short role play we did with Goosy’s Red, an Underfell/Gaster Blaster Sans, and an Underfell Torel. The way the request was worded I saw fit to add as much wonderful fluff in along with the angst you often see in those two AUs. The end results Goosy enjoyed greatly. So, here it is: AO3 version

Calming Stress

Underfell/Gaster Blaster AU Soriel fic By Topaz Shadowwolf

Even before the show they were watching together ended, the skeleton beside her had drifted off to sleep. Most days, she would be annoyed and would try to wake him up, but this time she couldn't bring herself to do so. Her poor skeleton friend had shown up in such rough shape, that she just had to let him rest. Besides, having him here, and beside her, was enough to help fend off the past that haunted her thoughts. She shouldn't, but Toriel couldn't help but wrap the skeleton up into a proper hug, pulling him onto her lap in the process. Finding a spot to rest her cheek was not as easy as it would have been if his skull was not semi-spiky. His usual smooth skull looked perfect for this simple act of affection, but her efforts paid off as she found a spot right on top, just before his horns and his skull connect. It felt perfect, like it was meant for her cheek to rest there. His tail, though, was another matter. She had to be careful with it. She knew, from past experiences, that if it curled or bent the wrong way it could cause him a lot of pain. With how long the extra limb was at the moment, it would be easy to wake him in discomfort or pain if she was not mindful. Still, even if some might consider the extra attention she had to pay to his tail annoying, she still loved that part of him when he was in this form. It was far more expressive than he liked to be. It did so many different acts to display his mood, though sadly it was mostly fearful and nervous reactions. But, around her, he did seem to relax enough to display happiness and even annoyance when she teased him. She held him until the cold, haunting memories of being in the Ruins faded and she no longer felt alone within her self-made isolation again. It was unfair to use him as a source of comfort like that, especially since he was sleep and unable to provide his feelings about being a tool for her sanity. But, at the same time, she couldn't help herself. All she could do was hope he didn’t wake and find himself like this. To have him angry at her for holding him like a stuffed toy would break her soul. Losing him in her life is something she could not afford and deeply feared. She was already so alone... She loved Frisk, she really did, but she needed someone else here, someone she could love in a different way. It was getting late, and she picked Sans up and carried him to the guest room. She would have loved to talk to him more, but that will have to wait until morning. Maybe then she could find out why he was had been wearing half the condiments from his hotdog stand. The poor dear looked so stressed and dejected when he showed up at her doorstep. At least she was able to give him a chance to clean up and a change of clothes.

She set the sleeping skeleton on the bed then left to tend his dirty clothes. She could still smell the grease and mix of relish, ketchup, and mustard on them. The mustard smell was one she had grown used to. It was just a part of Sans, as far as she was concerned. Smelling it brought him to mind, and she has found herself using the condiment more. She also kept more stashed away for him. But, as much as that smell was a part of him, mustard didn’t need to be all over his clothes. Some would say she has grown soft, that she is not the terror of the Ruins she once was. But she still had her temper, and she didn’t like strangers, especially around her child. Sans isn’t a stranger; so, she will wash his clothes as promised. She pretreated some areas, knowing if she didn't they would only turn to stains. Once ready, she placed them in the washing machine and started the wash. Toriel then considered her options for a moment before returning to her sofa and grabbed a book to read. She was feeling better just knowing someone else was in the house; but, she couldn’t stand the silence. She turned on the TV but kept the volume low, not wanting to risk waking up Sans. Not that it would. The dear has proven to her he had the ability to sleep through almost anything.

After a while, she heard the sound that signaled that the wash was done. Toriel placed a bookmark in her spot before she stood up to make her way back to the laundry room. She should have put them in the dryer in the morning and tried to get some sleep, but she just didn't sleep as easily as the skeleton in her guest room. Grabbing his clothes out of the machine, she placed them in the dryer. They can at least start drying, and if she decides to go to bed halfway through, she'll stop the load and restart it in the morning. On her way back she heard a noise at her front door and paused. No... no, she was hearing things, she was always hearing things. Her paws moved to her mouth as she tried to calm her breathing. There were no more fallen humans, no more need to venture out to make sure a child isn't killed before she could protect them. No more need to guard the children and keep them from her own people. Her eyes filled with tears, and she struggled to keep calm. She heard the noise again... There really was something there. She wasn't just hearing things. There really was someone or thing there making noise. As to who or what she didn't know, and her mind was already filled with thoughts of the Ruins which prepared her to go on the attack. … No, she needed to stay here, in the present. She doesn't need to dust a monster to protect a human. That isn't the way things are anymore. Not here on the surface. She padded her way to the front door, listening quietly. She then knew what she was hearing. Something was messing with her doorknob. Angry, she got ready to round the corner, open the door, and attack whomever it was. They had no right to break into her house, and she will not stand for it. But as she came around the corner she saw a red light in the dark. The monster in question was already in the house, and it was her skeleton friend. He turned his animalistic head towards her and she could see the panic in his eye lights. Between each joint of his bones, she could see a red light slowly pulsing with growing energy like a soul beat. She had never seen him shift when he lacked control of it before, only the end results of different forms and his testimonial of what it was like. While he has never mentioned the glow before, if she had to hazard a guess, that was what was happening. Her poor friend started to shake fearfully as he again fought to grip the doorknob. It was then she saw the problem. While she has paws, her paws were hand-like, with thumbs and fingers made for gripping. His boney paws no longer had a useable thumb and were covered in sweat, making what weak grasp slippery. To add to it, his panicked mind hadn't noticed the door was still locked. "Hold on, dear," She said as she walked over and unlocked the door. He finally got it open and hurried out, but he came to a stop and hugged himself before looking back at her. "You don't need to run, It's okay, let us walk to my backyard and you can change there, unseen." "y-you s-sure... i d-don't... i might- i will t-tear up your y-yard." He sounded so scared it hurt her soul to hear. Closing the door behind herself, she held her paw out to him. He looked at it for a moment, then up at her as if considering his options. Then he slowly reached out and took her offered paw.

They barely made it to her backyard before his condition worsened. She could tell, while holding his paw, that he was struggling to hold back the magic that was building up within him, but he did. She saw the red light between his joints growing brighter and as they reached the backyard small sparks emitted from him. He was shaking like a leaf, bones rattling as panic again set into him. She wanted to comfort him and reached forward to hug him, but he recoiled back. To her surprise, he actually growled at her. There was nothing really aggressive about it though. She had heard the dogs of Snowdin make a growl like that before, a warning to stay back. She soon saw why. The energy around him went from small sparks to far larger movements of magic between his joints like small bolts of lightly crawling over him. Sans whimpered and moved further away from her, and Toriel respected him. Even at her distance, she could feel the energy and it made her fur stand on end. It was strong, feral, and he couldn't restrain it any longer. His body shifted and grew, popping and cracking while the energy continued to dance around him like a miniature, red, lightning storm. He grew, far larger than she had ever remembered him growing before. His skull grew more horns and his body grew additional spikes that she was not used to seeing. His clothes seemed to tear as they were absorbed into him by his magic. By the time the change was over, he was a boned beast curled up before her, nearly the same size, if not larger, than her house. While he was huge, she couldn’t help but suspect he could grow even larger. Toriel looked at him and he stared back at her with small, red pinpricks for eye lights. She took a few steps closer to him, reaching a paw out carefully to touch him. She saw him look from her paw to back to her before shutting his sockets closed tight. Was he scared of her? Why? Oh, this poor skeleton. He always found things to be nervous about without reason. But, perhaps that is how he survived so long in the Underground with so little HP. Quietly, she began to hum a song she used to sing to her children as she knelt beside his skull. He opened his sockets again and looked at her as she softly ran a paw over his muzzle. She continued to hum, and she watched as he slowly relaxed his body, enjoying the soft petting and her voice. "There you go," she said before she looked him over, "I must say, this form of yours is rather impressive. And I can sense it is stronger. Though, I will thank you for making sure you were outside before taking it." In reply, he made a soft whine and she smiled at him. "You let your stress get the better of you, didn't you?" To her question, she saw him lift his skull enough to nod. "Well, why don't I help you relax, and we can see about getting you back to a more house friendly size."

She smiled a little then sighed as she shook her head. He needed to talk to her more about the things that stress him. Their time in the Underground had caused him to keep his emotions and fears to himself. Even though she had opened herself up to be a person to talk to, there had been too many reminders to him to keep anything that could be a weakness to himself. The best thing she could do for him was constantly remind him that she was here for him and hope he will believe her when she tells him that she would never cause him harm or take advantage of his weaknesses.

Or... well, not in a way he wouldn't find enjoyable, at least. Her paw continued to move over his muzzle and Sans sighed deeply, she could feel the tension he had held in left as he exhaled. "There you go, my dear friend," she said before she continued to hum. Toriel leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his skull, her unbroken horn made a soft tick as it touched bone. There was a sound of thumping as his tail started to wag in response to this contact. She smiled, enjoying that sound as it meant he was happy; it was such a beautiful sound. She remained, cuddled to his skull, offering sweet words and humming gentle tunes and as the saying goes, the music calms the beast. She could feel him tense his body again as she heard the popping and cracking of his bones. Once again his joints became alive with bright red magic, but the light show was muted, compared to before, by tiredness. His magic was too worn to make the change back as dramatic as it had been. It was sad to see him so tired during a time like this, but she understood and just tried to keep him calm with slow and gentle pets over his muzzle and talking softly.

The entire process was slower, most likely spurred on by his exhaustion and overall discomfort. While she has seen him change before in the past with little or no issues, this was a change he didn't mean to have occurred, it was more or less against his will and uncomfortable. So, she did what she could to ease the process. Once his skull was small enough, she lifted it and placed it on her lap, making far longer, gentle and slow sweeps of her paw from his snout to the end of the tallest horn on the back of his skull. He looked up at her with dim, red rings in his sockets, and she could see something in them, a soft look that warmed her soul and made her feel loved. That look, she had seen it before, but at the moment, it encouraged her to lean forward and place a kiss right over his left socket. He gave a soft whine as if to show displeasure at the act she did, but his tail showed otherwise as it began to wag showing he enjoyed her expression of love. Her dear friend continued to shrink, eventually becoming the same small size he was when he showed up at her house this evening and once again dressed in the clothes she provided him. Scooping him up, she pulled him onto her lap and he made the most adorable sound of a squeak in the process. But, even with that noise, he began to cling to her, his claws lightly pressing against her skin. "It is alright, dear. Let us go inside and see how much further you change back." "ok," Sans replied and she gently moved her paw under one of his sockets, wiping away a tear that had formed from the pain he was feeling. With his simple approval, Toriel stood and carried her small friend back into the house.

Toriel took Sans over to her couch and she held him again as he clung to her. She felt Sans nuzzle against her neck, finding comfort there. She continued to rub his back in slow, calm circles and in reply he softly purred to her. It was such a pleasant sound to her, that she couldn't help but hold him closer. The faint vibration his body made as he purred could be felt through him and she gave into her own instinct to purr in response. She could feel him flinch, startled by her making such a noise. If she were being honest, she had surprised herself as she had not purred in a very long time. Making such a sound just felt like the right thing to do at the moment, and the proper sound to make to him. So, they both cuddled together, purring to each other as Sans continued to slowly shrink.

Soon, his face was looking more like that of his usual skeleton self as the horns on the back of the skull continued to disappear. She could also feel the spinal processes on his backbone were no longer as pronounced as they had been when she first started rubbing his back. His tail was shrinking down to a far more manageable size and the claws no longer lightly dug into her as he held on. Still, she took the moment the lightly rub his cheekbone and pet over his skull as if admiring the difference.

"tori...," Sans started, but he lost his nerve and looked away. Toriel looked at him, seeing the monster who saved her from her boredom and loneliness that was caused by her isolation within the Ruins. The monster who brought her so much joy talking to, even though, at first, she was harsh and rude. She didn't know who he was or why he chose to keep her company, even though she invited him to. As she got to know him, this skeleton now in her arms, she had started to understand he was as lonely as she was. Not only that, but he had also been scared. His fear was made painfully clear when he backed away from her as she opened the Ruin doors to share a pie with him the first time. The pure look of terror in his eye lights would have amused her had she not grown to care about him. He was just so weak and small, even the pathetic monsters of the Ruin could easily dust him. The door between them gave him the opportunity to make a friend without the monster on the other side seeing how weak he was and choosing to be cruel.

They talked, laughed, joked, and share what they could. Toriel made sure to let him know she would protect him from threats. He had found a place to feel safe from others. And she learned to love again...

As much as she loved him, she never expected it back, but the way he looked at her challenged that. The way his eye lights still showed such care, compassion, and love for her, they made her think that maybe, just maybe, he did think about her that way. That maybe, just maybe, he loved her the way she loved him. And as his features finally returned to their usual skeleton self, a hand reached up and his phalanges slipped into her fur. Toriel purred again, feeling his fingers move and ruffle her fur in such an enjoyable way. For a moment, her eyes closed as she soaked in this feeling. His fingers slowly traced over her scar with such tender care, it was as if he were examining a fresh wound. She could feel his sympathy and concern radiating off his soul.

"tori...," Sans repeated and she looked at him again as she softly ran her paw over his skull. He closed his sockets and hummed contently as if he meant to purr. He seemed intent on saying something, though, as he opened his sockets and looked up at her a focus to get his words out. "tori, i...," he said, getting further this time but still falling short of getting his words out. From his soul, she could feel his fear and she wondered about why he was so afraid. It caused her to worry if perhaps she had done something wrong.

"It is alright, my dear... if you... if you need to say something, feel free to. You have no reason to fear me," she said, hoping that would give him the confidence to finally get his words out. Tori looked down at the skeleton in her arms, his cheekbones had a light dusting of red for a blush. It was amusing to see, but still, she couldn't help but shake her worry or fear that she was being too forward with him.

Her words did seem to have the needed effect as he took a deep breath and started again to try to talk. "tori, i lo... i love you." In response to those simple words, her eyes open wide with shock. She felt her face warm, knowing that with how hot her face felt, there would be a hint of blush through her fur on her nose and cheeks.

Did he really love her? This skeleton she adored loved her? He didn't just like her or think she was a good friend, but he actually loved her? The notion that this could be true was shocking to her and she couldn't help but stare down at him without a word. This was what she wanted, was it not? Was she not just considering this thought? So why was she so startled? She just wasn't expecting it, that's why. She also saw no reason for him to love her. All of the opinions Toriel had of herself were negative. She was stubborn and, according to many, selfish. Toriel was not a leader, a horrible mother, and could not be trusted as a wife, let alone a lover. The guilt she lived with for abandoning her ex-husband in the manner she did ate at her all these years. The two had nearly torn into each other during their argument over his policy. And yet, Toriel, a monster least deserving of love had somehow earned it from the skeleton friend she loved so dearly.

After thinking it over for a moment, Toriel held him close and nuzzled him on the skull. Again, Sans made the soft, nervous, squeak of a sound; which, as cute as it is, she hoped he will stop making as he got used to this. If Sans truly loved her as he said he did, then she was going to fill his life this sort of affection. In her mind, he deserved it for all that he had done for her. The skeleton will deny it, she knew he would, but she will not let that deter her from doting on him. She eased her grip on Sans only slightly so she could look at him better. His red eye lights were staring up at her, nervous but still ever so full of love.

"My dear, I love you as well. I have loved you for a long time now, but I have feared that you would never feel the same for an old woman like myself," Toriel's voice was jaded as she spoke those words. The weight of the world and all the reasons why this relationship had been avoided came to mind.

"you're not old, you're magic keeps you young," Sans corrected and then he snuggled closer to her. That act warmed her soul as it showed he was starting to get comfortable with this type of behavior. For the longest time, he would shy away from the slightest touch. Eventually, he allowed her to touch him, though he would sometimes flinch. She had always taken the initiative, but she never minded. So, for him to choose to cuddle closer without her encouraging him to was a big step.

"I suppose I am younger than I give myself credit for. Still, there is much here for one to dislike," Toriel said as she again gave him reason to take back his earlier statement of love.

Her protest was met with a stare as he again looked up at her, clearly unsure of what to make of her comment. Sans then shifted on her lap to look at her in a more serious way. For a moment, he just stared into her eyes as if searching for something before he finally sighed. "tori, no one's perfect. heh, i'm far from it. so ya did somethings some other folks say ya shouldn't have. i don't care. never did. all i see when i look at you is someone i love... my best friend and maybe more?"

Toriel felt tears fill her eyes at his words and she again held him close. “Yes,” Toriel replied before she continued, “you are my best friend as well, and so much more.” His arms then went around her as she continued to cuddle him. She still didn’t know what brought him here this evening, or the stresses that had caused him to change as he did. But, it was good to know that she could help him relax enough to change back. Though the best thing she learned was that he loved her the way she loved him.

#underfell #gaster blaster au #soriel #sans #toriel #gaster blaster sans

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