#to make sure that we are not discussing fic as if it was a commodity

[illbegottenfaith]

handwritten - theo nott x reader

yours and theo’s story as told through notes passed in class

a/n - came up with this quick idea to release some pent up creative energy while mulling over lucky pt 3. will prob make this an ongoing series for small ideas I can’t get fully fledged fics out of. easy to write, easy to read, enjoy!

tropes/warnings - fluff, a minor hinting at angst, newstudent!theo, estranged friends to lovers

word count - 1.5k

Monday, 10.07 am, Charms

Hey. You might want to pull your nose out of that disgusting textbook for once.

We’ve been over this. Just because you don’t understand something it doesn’t mean it’s disgusting. It’s very disrespectful.

What is disrespectful is you not paying attention to our year’s hottest new commodity - emphasis on the hot. I must say, he fills out that uniform quite nicely.

I’m sure he does.

C’mon, you’re not even a little bit curious? Just a peek?

Y/N? Hellooooooo? 

Oh my god. I know the guy.

???

What is he doing here? Last I heard he was being homeschooled.

Know him how??

We went to the same primary school. We were…friends.

Riiiight.

Don’t get any ideas. I haven’t seen him since I was ten. And he looked very, very different back then. Had a ratty sort of face. I can still kind of see it, actually.

Oh, Y/N, how could you say such awful things about his beautiful face! Oh dear, that bone structure…

Quiet, you. He’s really…grown. He’s so much taller now.

You know what you should do? You should offer to help him catch up.

On five years of school?

Oh, please, he was homeschooled. He had to have learnt some things. Who is he, anyway?

Theodore Nott.

Now that’s an Old Money name if I ever heard one.

Ivy. Be nice.

So? Is he? Old money, that is.

I…suppose so.

Are you sure you two were friends?

Yes. It’s been a while, that’s all. I just…wow. I can’t believe he’s here. Like, right there. I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again.

What happened?

He moved. I was starting at Hogwarts. We lost touch, it happens.

But now he’s back! Yay! Did you see those sinfully blue eyes of his?

Ivy, you have a boyfriend.

I know. Ivan agrees, by the way.

That he’s hot?

Yes.

He’s sitting on the other side of the room. When did you have time to discuss this??

Just now. Right in front of you. What did you think all that eyebrow-waggling was about?

I thought you were having a stroke. Merlin, the two of you are perfect for each other.

Don’t change the subject. He’s not gay, is he? Your friend? All the hot ones usually are.

I wouldn’t know, now, would I? I haven’t heard anything about him in years. Ivy, leave him alone. Please don’t harass the poor guy, sexually or otherwise. And quit it with the notes. He’ll notice.

How??? Has he got eyes on the back of his very nicely shaped head? He’s busy with Flitwick anyway.

Trust me, he’ll see. Nothing gets past Theodore Nott.

Monday, 2.15 pm, Potions

Well?????

Well, what?

The chat!!! Your chat!!!!!! With Mr. Theodore Nott!!!!!!!!

You have to quit it with the caffeine. You’re far too excitable after lunch.

The chat!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was fine. It was…nice.

Uh-huh.

He goes by Theo now.

Okay. I’ll pretend I care about that.

It was all very casual, very superficial. It was really just us exchanging pleasantries. Oh, right. He asked me to accompany him to Quidditch tryouts.

You??? But you hate Quidditch.

I know.

Please tell me you didn’t say that.

I didn't. I just said I didn’t know much about it.

And?

He said that didn’t matter. He just wanted me there for moral support.

Then what was with all the turning red halfway through? You looked like you were going to combust.

Was it that obvious?

Ivan had some pumpkin juice ready, just in case.

It was nothing. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. He called me his good luck charm.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You’re going to rip a hole through the parchment.

AWWWWW

So?? Did you say yes??

I said I’d think about it.

BOOOOOOOO

Come on, Vee. He’s been flying since before he could walk. He always talked about joining the big leagues, you know. He knows everything there is to know about Quidditch, so of course he’ll make the team. And it’ll have nothing to do with me.

But he doesn’t even have any friends yet :(

That’s because he hasn’t talked to anyone yet.

Y’know, Romilda Vane wanted to know why he was talking to you of all people.

What’s that supposed to mean??

Eh, you know. You can be a little…snippy.

I am NOT snippy.

There it is. The snippiness.

Whatever. It’s all so pointless. Come Thursday evening, he’ll have joined the Quidditch team and he’ll be hanging out with, y’know, those people, and we’ll be ancient history. He’ll make plenty of friends. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Okay. If you say so. Also, at lunch, I finally tried that thing you’re always talking about, “applying myself,” and I found this article on his dad in the library. From 6 years ago.

Don’t you want to know what the article said?

You could have mentioned he was a death eater, you know.

I don’t care about that, by the way. You used to be friends and that’s good enough for me. But, Y/N, he was arrested six years ago. And you haven’t talked to Theo in six years. But there isn’t any kind of connection between those, is there?

Y/N?

Do not make me throw this at you. I know how you feel about paper cuts.

Tuesday, 3.03 pm, Defence Against the Dark Arts

Where’s your friend?

?

You know. Who you’re always passing notes with in class?

You noticed?

Hard not to. It makes you all fidgety and annoyed.

Yeah, well, Ivy’s an annoying person.

I’ll take your word for it. What do you have after this?

Transfiguration.

Wow. That’s one of the harder ones, isn’t it?

Er, depends on who you ask, I think.

Still brilliant as ever, then.

Shut up. I’m not half the swot I was in primary school. 

I never thought you were a swot. You were just…enthusiastic.

That’s sweet of you to say, Theo.

Huh. I thought I’d always be Teddy to you.

We’re not ten anymore, Theo. I can say your name perfectly now.

That’s good. So, have you thought about it?

Thought about what?

The Quidditch tryouts. You’re the only person I know here so you have to say yes.

I don’t know. Some of the girls look pretty interested in getting to know you.

What?

Nothing. I guess I could swing by for a short while.

That’s my girl.

Thursday, 8.37 pm, Common Room

SO?????

He got in. Obviously. Was there ever any doubt?

Did he run up to you? Did he hug you? Did he pick you up and spin you around???

Witch Weekly is a bad influence on you.

Details, please.

He hugged me. Kind of. Nearly tackled me, he was so excited.

you are SO his good luck charm!!!!!!

Friday, 11.17 am, Defence Against the Dark Arts

Witch Weekly?

It’s not mine. I’m holding it for a friend.

Right.

Really, I am. Ivy’s a fiend for these but she has this Charms test coming up that she absolutely cannot fail.

I believe you. ‘Top 6 Magical Contraceptives for the Modern Witch’ doesn’t sound like your kind of reading material.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I was only having a little fun.

I’m not embarrassed. Are you embarrassed?

Erm, no, but you’re very red. Do you need to see the Healer?

I’m fine. It’s just hot. And no one calls Madam Pomfrey ‘the Healer,’ by the way.

Ah. I see.

Is there a point to all this? Did you need to ask something?

Oh, right. What are you up to on Saturday night?

Saturday? Dunno…wanted to take a crack at that Transfiguration essay.

Excellent. I’ll pick you up at 8.

Oh?

It’s nothing. A couple of the guys on the team wanted to celebrate with drinks at Hogsmeade. Everyone’s bringing someone, and I thought it would be nice if you came. Being my good luck charm, and all.

Oh, Theo, you probably don’t know this since you’re new and all, but going down to Hogsmeade is only permissible on certain weekends. And only start a couple of weeks into the term, so not yet.

Did you just -? Oh my god, you did. You laughed at me. You laughed at my note. Out loud. You’re lucky you’re in Slytherin, you know. Snape usually goes absolutely ballistic if anyone interrupts his lesson.

I’m sorry, I forgot what a stickler you were. I just - I didn’t think I’d miss it.

Please, Theo, forget the drinks. I cannot in good conscience stand by and let you break so many rules. You’ve been here less than a week!

Guess you’ll have to keep an eye on me. Make sure I stay out of trouble.

Exactly.

Great. See you Saturday at 8.

[corvuscrowned]

28 & 32 PLZ <3

PINKY HELLO!! i love you.

28. How do you deal with writing pressure (ie: pressure to update, negative comments, deadlines, etc)?

i love this question and feel ill equipped to answer it, bc the answer is: I Don't Know. i definitely have struggled with feeling pressured to produce in fandom, or to produce writing that i was really proud of and happy with every single time, or to produce writing that other people might really enjoy, and it all became way too much. this all came to a head for me a few months ago and i experienced a very profound fic burnout that was really not fun at all and had me considering leaving fandom. and ever since i've been on the other side of that, i find that i don't feel this same pressure, and i'm able to enjoy the process of writing a lot more and not think so much of outcomes/reception, because i've seen how bad it feels when it gets Real Bad and it's easier for me to prioritize preventing that. so it's hard to say, because i dont think "let the pressure escalate until it overflows and you realize that literally none of this matters except for what YOU get out of it" is a very universal or healthy way of dealing with pressure, but it was my personal somewhat strange process, and in ways i'm grateful it got as intense as it did because i can honestly say my relationship with fic is significantly healthier than i think it has ever been now.

i think for me it's important to make sure that every single thing i write now is for me first. even if it's for a fest (which i have cut back on a lot to maintain this) -- even if it's for a gift -- it has to be for me first. because if i'm not enjoying what i write, then it just becomes work, and i have enough work with my like actual job.

32. Copy and paste your top three favorite lines/jokes/sentences you’ve ever written. What fics do they come from?

OH MAN OK i'm not sure if these are my all time favs but they're the ones that come to mind: Draco and Harry's first kiss in Buds Blooms and Beards:

“Christ, Potter. Relax,” he says. He steps close, and Harry shivers when he places an open palm on his collarbone. Draco looks at him curiously as though Harry has suddenly sprouted antlers. Harry tries his best not to meet his intense gaze, but finds that his eyes fall down to his lips instead.

“Alright then,” Draco says. “This is the part where I unfurl my secret homosexual tentacles and use them to suck your life force out through your ears. Have you brought yours along as well?”

Draco trying to determine Harry's sexuality under the guise of herb preferences in Mise en Place:

Draco rolls his eyes. “I can’t just ask,” he says. “That’s far too forward.” He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly vexed. “But then — some people seem like they like coriander, but they really like parsley. And sometimes you think you have someone completely pegged as a parsley fiend, but really they can’t get enough of coriander.”

Harry pauses, taking in Draco’s apparent misery over the mere prospect of garnishes. Then he shrugs. “I like both.”

And Harry's latest dad joke in Twelve Moons which i laughed too much at writing because i am a walking dad joke:

“Sure,” Malfoy says. “It can be a trial run. We can find out whether we can actually interact without killing each other. I’ll even call you by your first name — Harry, was it?”

“You’re a bright lad, Drago.”

ty for the ask pinky!!

send me a fanfic ask!

[bigskydreaming]

And just FYI, I’m not TRYING to be emotionally manipulative or guilt trip people or anything here, but just speaking brutally honestly - my disengagement from Batfandom over the past couple months and how little I’ve been active in it has absolutely everything to do with just being TIRED of this fandom’s stance not just on rape fics, but the enabling of them. I mean, yeah, personally I gravitate towards Dick Grayson’s character as a rape survivor, so its super not happy fun times constantly sharing the fandom with people who are far more interested in perpetuating him as a rape victim, emphasis on his repeated sexual victimization in fics where his placement as a character-to-be-violated is the literal DRAW for readers.

(And ever notice how its the character MOST acknowledged as a rape survivor, SPECIFICALLY.....who is also the one people are MOST interested in writing as a further rape victim.....I’m not even talking about in the context of canon events, but specifically creating further scenarios in which he’s raped by characters who never raped him in canon, in numbers FAR greater than people create these scenarios for other characters. Oh, its not limited to just him, obviously, I’m aware these fics exist for all the characters, and in large numbers, but does it not strike anyone as like.....particularly odious, that the clear frontrunner for this particular form of sexual victimization-as-a-draw in fics just so happens to be the character most noted as a survivor already? Just saying, the fact that this particular character and this particular status seems to draw in people not just interested in him BECAUSE it makes him a survivor....but equally, people interested in him BECAUSE of his having been made a victim.....is....umm. Its umm. Let’s just call it umm.)

But what gets to me even more than that is just the willful refusal in a fandom that CHOOSES to keep the subject of rape front and central to so much of its works....to allow for ANY critical discussion of rape itself whatsoever. You’ll pull out all the stops in examining the trauma of rape in some fics, sure, but this fandom absolutely will not allow critical examination of the ISSUE of rape itself.

And that’s abso-fucking-lutely because of how much this fandom has COMMODIFIED rape and incest and pedophilia, and how much it fuels the engines of fandom content production. Its commercialized in this fandom in particular, and its so high-prized a commodity in terms of fic content, that even most people who don’t have any particular interest in these types of fic content themselves deem it too costly to speak up on the matter, because they’re afraid to lose followers who DO like it.

And THAT’S what gets to me.

Those of you who will be like I’m not taking a side here, but absolutely take a side as you’ll freely reblog posts about fandom purity and censorship but not a single point to the contrary. When you only air one side of an argument, guess what? You’ve picked a side. Whether or not you agree with it or every bit of it doesn’t matter, you’re still signal boosting it while refusing to examine or boost any point said against it. I reblog stuff all the time that I don’t agree with every single line of or point made in....but the point is I agree with ENOUGH of it that I’d rather boost it for others’ consideration rather than pass by it because it doesn’t one hundred percent accurately reflect everything I believe and only that. (And yet funnily enough, I’m the ideological puritan, remember?)

You can’t be like, I’m going to continue to encourage shutting down every critical mention of fandom problems in this or other regards while refusing to do anything or even signal boost people attempting to critically examine or just encouraging others to be more critical about this stuff......and think that like, you’re not still being an active part of the fandom ecosystem there that keeps this fandom environment being as everpresent as it is.

If it feels like you’re in this picture and you don’t like it, maybe its cuz you’re in this picture and getting pissed at the picture-takers doesn’t ever do anything to change that or your discomfort with being in the fucking picture here.

I can get literally anything I say in this fandom reblogged EXCEPT for so much as even a single thing I say on this particular subject, and you can try and blame that on my temper or aggression or hostility or word choice but I’ve been making these posts for years in this fandom at this point, and in all that time, I’ve done so in a variety of ways and the fact that still none of them, not a single one, no matter WHAT tone its in, has EVER gotten more than a handful of notes from my Batfam followers and only ever catch on because of my older TW followers or people who follow me BECAUSE of my stances on this and other subjects.....like. (Its funny how few people seem to mind my attitude or posting style when I’m talking about Dick’s treatment by the Batfam or DC itself or when in my asks trying to point and aim me at other characters’ fans like a bonafide attack dog, lolol, I’m just saying).

I’ve talked to people in this fandom about this very subject of how being critical of rape fics is NOT the same as being anti-sex or in search of moral purity, and I know damn well they understand my point there because they even acknowledged it themselves and said okay, I understand the nuance you’re making there.....and then they turn around and keep reblogging all those fandom purity posts even after admitting they GET now that its not actually an accurate representation of the issues and thus a false flag to raise and pass around.....and yet they keep participating in passing it around, with not a word to the contrary. 

And hell, it doesn’t even need to be my posts that get around....its not like I see anyone reblogging anyone else’s critical posts on this particular subject either, even while reblogging the stuff mocking such posts or stances.

I’m just saying. I’m very keenly aware of all that, and its exhausting.

This isn’t a dramatic omg I’m running away from fandom post, I’m not going anywhere, I still have plenty of things to say and write about Dick Grayson and I’m ultimately here for me and not anyone else so I’ll continue to do so, but like.....its just a its been depressing as hell to be in this particular fandom lately, and wearying, and just thought some of you might like to know that in case you feel like doing anything about it ever, to maybe make it a little more inviting and engaging to those of us who AREN’T here to see the rapists keep raping the characters we identify with and gravitate towards as survivors.

(And if your go-to response here or first thought is “some people write it to cope” - great, what I’m saying here is that’s not true for everyone, and whatever the experience of writing it does for them in that regard does not actually change my position on what the experience of seeing it shared and proliferated publicly in such huge quantities without allowing for any kind of criticism of this (which is actually a separate matter entirely) does for others. And that this ENVIRONMENT is actually COUNTER to other survivors’ coping, so you can’t claim that your stance on this subject is based on what’s best for survivors’ coping when its ACTUALLY based on what’s best for the coping of survivors who also happen to feed the fandom further sexy rape fic content......and uh, just FYI for anyone who isn’t a survivor themselves, whomever this might apply to - that’s literally just commodifying and exploiting the survivorship of those whose coping mechanisms happen to serve your personal self-interests and if you don’t get how that’s gross as hell, like, I don’t even know what to tell you there.)

[mci-writing]

I Thought Rhododendron was a Warning (Midoriya Izuku x reader) [Hanahaki Au]

A/n: This fic originally was meant to be posted July 26th for @birds-have-teeth's Izumonth Server Collab! Hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it, even though it’s a little late ^^’

Warnings: Angst; Hanahaki Au; Barfing of flowers, descriptions of throwing up; descriptions of choking and being unable to breath; descriptions of blood; descriptions of coughing up blood; descriptions of various forms of pain (namely chest and throat pains); mentions of the word toilet and it’s various synonyms

“People always say to be cautious of what flowers you cough up when you choke up, but how are you to know which ones are a warning sign and which ones are in dire need of check up? Sure, colors and shape could give it away if you know your botany, but what if you’re completely clueless? That’s where this guide to flowers and their symbolism comes in, to help you overcome your Hanahaki and your feelings without having to immediately get the surgery-” Midoriya vividly remembers each time that commercial or one similar would appear on the television and they were always followed by his mother’s quick response of changing the channel or turning it off altogether. Her statements that would follow were always disapproving of such products, saying they would probably kill a person off faster rather than actually help them with living longer. 

That was really his only exposure to any forms of Hanahaki discussion at home. His mother never really felt the need to elaborate on the disease other than giving the basic fact that you normally caught it under unfortunate, romantic situations. What these situations were, he had no idea, and the only clue he really had on that matter were things he’d hear in passing conversations at school. There’d been rumors of other kids in his middle school catching cases, yet they never really seemed to be enough to actually draw his attention to the illness.

He had assumed he would continue to live in that naive, blissful unawareness he’d developed over his juvenile years, but his years at Yuuei forcefully and uncomfortably opened his eyes without his consent. The first month consisted of their Pro teachers reminding them of just how much more important their lives were than a small crush and that they should keep their attention on their studies rather than trying to confess their feelings. Aizawa was especially vocal about this, to the point he set aside a day to tell the class stories of students and Pro Heroes that had to let go of their dreams when they died of the disease and how the percentage that did receive the surgery were never the same. And those words of advice followed him through his Yuuei days, echoing each time there’d be an announcement of one of his many schoolmates lost to the disease. It especially hit different when one of his classmates caught a cold case and, many times, no one had even known about it. He remembers watching Kaminari choke to death in front of everyone on the sports field one day and another time it caught Hagakure before the premature intermission of their second Sports Festival.

Midoriya believed he’d heeded enough warning not to find himself in the situation he currently found himself in. Even now, each mention and memory of Hanahaki is being thrown back at him as he tries to find where to go next with the blood covered, grassy vomit he recently regurgitated into his toilet.

“Midoriya?”

The flowers. Always take notice of what flowers you spit up. Even just an attribute of a vine of stem could help determine your current state- The sight of the flowers makes him wonder how he didn’t choke on the individual flowers, each a small flower in a bundle to make up a cone-shape. There were mainly two of the cone-shaped put togethers, a few smaller flowers and their petals also hanging around and floating in the water with small twinges of stem. 

“Midoriya, are you okay in there?”

He knows a set of lilacs when he sees them, even with the accompanying splotches of blood. It’s a common starter flower during most first attacks that has killed just as many as it has warned. They were usually associated with innocence and purity, the beginning of a budding annoyance that Midoriya wouldn’t easily be able to just overlook-

“Midoriya? Are you feeling well? You seemed a little faint in color before running off to the powder room-” It’s too late when he hears the bathroom door open, his body lurching forward in surprise at the sudden interruption, “Hanahaki…”

It’s too late for him to hide the evidence and he can’t just immediately make up an excuse for why there’s a nice sight of bloody lilacs chilling in his toilet. The frightened, paling appearance of the sudden guest’s face doesn’t help in the slightest, their feet seemingly glued in place as their eyes dart between the obvious mess of the floral bile and his completely frazzled form.They were pretty sure he was still shaking, but whether it was from fear or him fighting to get the choking feeling of flowers out of his throat had been beyond them.

“I… It’s not what it looks like! A-At least, I hope it’s not what it looks like! I’m fine, though! It came up easy-” Midoriya rambles on nervously, his hand coming up to tug at his white tee while his green eyes glance around the room for various explanations. His hands whimsically move about and around him, coming together to hold and clench themselves before releasing to move on to picking and playing with each other, “A-Anyway, I’ll get myself cleaned up and we can finish the- (Y/n)?”

His rambling stops once they fall to their knees before him, their hands gripping his shoulders tightly. Their eyes glance him over, an extra emotion swirling through their (e/c) irises before they pull him into a tight hug, messy shirt and all. He’s taken aback by the sudden action, his own limbs slowly coming up to wrap around their form. Their hand comes up and pats his back softly, those pats turning into reassuring back rubs as he continues to toss up flowers into the commode.

“I’ll help however I can, Izuku...”

“Blaaagh”

“Like getting you a breath mint. Immediately getting you that breath mint” They state as they quickly rise to their feet, heading out the bathroom door and closing it behind them.

~~~

He originally believed everything would be fine after that one incident. He planned to get it under control, use home remedy after home remedy to prevent it from affecting him any further. He confidently felt he was making strides to recovery without needing to get a surgery to remove feelings he still couldn’t even place. He could survive having one mild attack in his life and live the rest pretending he never had hanahaki. 

He knew it wasn’t that simple, but to have the hope peacefully tug at his chest in comfort with each ad he passed seemed as though the force of his life was taunting him once more by waving a seemingly unattainable dream in his face. The idea of constantly drinking weed killer was still very concerning with how often it’d been recommended (he decides to set it as his last ditch effort when the weeds become too much for him) and he’s pretty convinced he should close this article (Y/n) sent him out of fear of something infecting his device. Well, that was the plan up until something peaked his interest.

Lo and behold, surrounded by the most erotic and scam ridden ads Midoriya’s seen on the internet, sat a flower alignment chart. His curiosity is piqued at the sight of the familiarly unfamiliar diagram and his fingers are quick to hover over the image before downloading and sending  it to his partner in deciphering where he currently stood on the danger scale. 

Dummy Thiccy 🧜: It’s a flower chart. Tells you your danger zone

Well, yeah. He figured that much given the sight he’d found it in the first place. He sighs in exasperation as he lays back against his pillow. He closes out of his messaging app, going to google for a more broad and direct response to said chart.

He hovers over his keyboard as he thinks of where to start in terms of keywords. He wasn’t too concerned with the flowers he’d spit out yesterday, in terms of how at risk he was of having thorns pierce his lungs. He starts with similar charts, lifting himself from the comfort of his sheets to grab one of his many empty journals stored under his bed.

He maps out his own diagram, taking only the results many of them had in common and noting the rare differences between them on another sheet. He decides to check the other things out in the morning when he catches just how late it is, his eyes skimming over his finished project before setting it over to the side. His eyes linger on his home-screen a moment after, the sight of him and friends smiling back at him so happily reminding him of why he needed to get rid of it. 

The memory of the white flowers fill his mind again at that, some of the lilacs speckled with a red he’s seen out in the field too many times. It reminds him of how congested he felt, the tightness of his chest and how he struggled to even get any of it passed his throat, let alone ignore the piercing feeling he felt as the weeds also made their way out of his system. He had to keep himself from panicking to hold up the front for his friends while they were in the other room and hold back the fear he felt when (L/n) caught him bent over the toilet.

His cheeks flush from the awkward aftermath of that encounter. There was already some distance between them prior (why had been completely unknown on his end), but the sudden tense feeling after the whole bathroom situation with the complete opposite of the comforting feeling they gave when they found him there. Even now, their responses and questions just didn’t click the same way they did a week ago. While he, of course, wanted to approach the situation and figure out what was up, he just couldn’t. He had no way to go about it.

And now he’s literally puffing up daisies, possibly on the verge of death. If they’re in a bad place now, he can’t imagine how much worse it’ll be when he does die. 

The thought has his heart pounding in a different way than the adrenaline he’s used to feeling, aching in a way only they could cause. He finds himself blankly gazing at their smiling face, seemingly on the brink of laughing at something one of them said. All the while, the reminder of his hours ticking down if he doesn’t handle this soon hollowly echoes through his mind.

His breathing begins hallowing as the heavy feeling in his chest returns in a seemingly swift attack, the stems digging at various parts of his body in an almost threatening manner. He feels himself lose his breath a moment, his head spinning and eyesight dotting before he manages to break out of his flinched stance enough to rush himself to his bathroom. He doesn’t have time to really process too much aside for him throwing the toilet seat up. The pointy stems force their way out of his mouth, reinforcing just how painful the whole thing is. His eyes tear up and he’s there long enough for paresthesia to kick in on his legs from the cut off of proper oxygen flow.

His body trembles when he finally finishes hacking up the fauna. More blood covers the flowers than he last remembered, white corona surrounded by bright yellow perianth with both covered in unsymmetrical red splotches. His chest heaves as he desperately inhales as much air as he can. His back presses against the cold wall tiles of his bathroom after he manages to catch enough breath for his mind to begin functioning properly. It’s the first thing to alert him of his senses coming back, the blur of his eyes slowly coming to after. 

With the little energy he has left, he climbs over to his toilet once again out of curious desperation. Proudly standing on end are numerous daffodils, taunting him and reminding of just what he’s going through. He’s suddenly hit tier 2. No warning and immediately after him worrying over the well-being of his friends. 

He uses the wall to get to his feet, pushing off of it and steadying himself on the toilet tank. The lid makes a loud clank against it, causing him to jump a bit and fall back against his sink counter. He winces slightly from the pain, his hand gripping the area and rubbing it soothingly. His hand grips the counter, using it to hold himself up as he reaches over and flushes the toilet.

He’s exhausted when he finally gets back to his bed, ready to let sleep drown him into a healing rest, yet his phone’s notification light continues to flash in the corner of his eye. He groans as he leans over, the light practically blinding him as soon as his screen flashes on. He flinches, eyes remaining squinched as he swipes away social media alerts. 

Dummy Thiccy 🧜: Please be careful tonight. I’ll be there in a heartbeat if you need me

His face heats up a bit as he reads it over, coming to a revelation he wished he’d come to sooner. His body seemingly sits up on it’s own as he feels his chest tighten a moment. 

His breathing grows labored once more, his hand gripping his chest in some weak attempt to ground himself. His hand reaches for his phone as calmly as he frantically could, managing to dial (Y/n)’s number, a shade of red blooming over most of his face. It wakes him up a bit, his emerald eyes widening in a sudden realization that he 

“Hey, Izuku? Something up-”

“I-I need some help. C-Could you- Agh!” He falls back in pain, his grip tightening as he continues to scream out in agony. His throat feels lodged up, something feeling as though it’s forcefully crawling up. He painfully swallows it back, a faded voice echoing through his ears as he feels his eyesight fade to black.

~~~~~

Midoriya blinks away the sleep in his eyes, the blaring lights from the ceiling making it a little hard to truly open his eyes. The overwhelming smell of insulin and antiseptic fill his nose. He struggles to make out his surroundings beyond that due to the feeling of an extra weight holding his body down. He shakes around a bit to shrug the figure off of him, sitting up enough to see just a little more of the white room. He’s sure he’s in a hospital room after further assessment, more than likely thanks to (Y/n) after he called them in the midst of panic (and it makes him pretty glad he let them take one of his keys when he first moved in unless he somehow forgot to lock his door again).

He lays his head back against the pillow provided for him in exhaustion, yet he’s unable to just close them and rest. His mind is practically racing with so many thoughts, thoughts he wished he had his newly formed chart for. He couldn’t have just jumped danger levels like that, especially not after just finding out the person of his affection had been his current lifeline just a few hours ago (or what he assumed had been a few hours. Kinda hard to tell when you’re passed out from loss of air for a majority of that time). It wasn’t off the table, and he knew that fact, but it was too soon for the both of them. They were already at an awkward place before and he doesn’t just want to force his feelings onto them, especially if they’re going through something he didn’t know about. It felt wrong.

There’s a shift as (Y/n) sits up from laying over him. They take a moment to stretch, a couple of their bones popping and cracking before they relax to sit back against their seat. Their face makes it obvious that they had fallen asleep and their arm is quick to wipe away the bit of drool on their cheeks. Midoriya feels his face warm at that, his eyes quickly averting when he notices their attention drift to him.

 “Hey, sleepy broccoli. They had to pump a LOT of pain medicine in you” He perks up as they begin speaking to him, an almost prideful smile on their face as they continue, “They say you’re lucky that a sudden attack like that didn’t kill you. I, of course, was rooting for you! You’ve come back from worst”

Yet, he can see the painful look being held back in their expression. He stares a moment, taking it in and trying to figure out why they even had that hesitation on their face. He sighs out, weakly smiling up at them and attempting to sit up on his own, “S-Sorry to call you so late in the night. Your number was already there and I guess my fingers acted on instinct”

“Yeah… Instinct” They murmur, their thumbs rubbing over one another out of nervousness. They stare at him a moment, an awkward silence filling the room and causing Midoriya to wonder if he’d responded the wrong way. 

He goes to fix up his statement, enforce how grateful he is for their assistance through all of this. They get caught in his throat before he can mutter a word, another choked up feeling coming and going.

“They did say your symptoms have been escalating a little faster than what they’re used to, considering you’ve begun developing vines along different parts of your chest and torso. They plan on putting you on watch for when things become too much and they have to… t-they have to do the procedure to… remove them… Seems this person’s really running their circles around your feelings, Izuku” They let out one of their worried ‘hehs’, sending him a pitiful smile of the same calibur. They pull their phone from the pocket, opening their dial-up before turning to him with a solemn smile, “So let’s get them called up, yeah?”

He feels the feeling crawl back up his throat, this one a little harder and scratchy; A hurtful kind of scratchy that makes him feel like something’s tearing at the inner skin. Another lump comes to his throat when he notices the tears in their eyes. He’s unable to tell if it's the weeds or something else entirely, “(Y/n)...”

“Don’t pull a (Y/n) and give up on them, please. My biggest regret was giving up on my feelings for you, but now I know for sure they’re not in vain” A few stray tears run down their cheeks only for their hand to quickly come up and wipe them away, “So please, Izuku… Tell them how you feel before you feel nothing at all-”

He’s unable to hold back as he feels himself cough, his hand quickly going to cover his mouth and catching the dark red petals that fall. (Y/n) is to his side, gripping his shoulder with one hand. One of their fingers holds the call button to request for assistance. Their (e/c) eyes widen in fear at the color of the petals in his hand, more of their tears coming and dripping down their face.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Izuku-”

“No! I-It’s not!” His arms cross over his chest, hands holding at opposite shoulders as he rocks himself. His chest heaves before he releases another sickly, airy cough. He manages out a dark crimson rose, his hold on himself tightening as more vines etch their indents onto his skin before taking a familiar, healthy shade of green. The shade contrasts with the growing paleness of his skin and the growing red bruises from the thorns pricking at his it. He coughs up another rose and the shades of red are almost indistinguishable as the shade of his own blood gets darker and comes out more clumped than before.

“Izuku, we have to go get you a doctor-”

“No! N-Not until…” he struggles to get the words out as it gets harder to breathe. He tries to ignore the feelings of needing to throw up, swallowing down the thick brushle in his chest. He’s unable to do so, coughing up another and another until his arms are completely decorated in the thorny vines. He takes a deep breath, slowly sitting up enough for his emerald eyes to meet their (e/c) ones. He fights down the nauseous feeling, his face twisting into a grimace as he pushes the small phrase, “I-It’s you-”

A sharp pain catches him before he can finish, various doctors and nurses rushing to his side as he screeches out from the unrivaled pain in his chest. They’re forced to watch as the color in Midoriya’s eyes begin to fade before his body fully goes limp in their hold.

They’re chest seemingly begins to contort, their heart squeezing with emotions they shouldn’t be feeling, that they couldn’t be feeling. The feelings all collide at once as they stand to the side, watching the futile attempts of the medical team to save Midoriya Izuku. They stand there until the team leaves, a dullness to their stare as the staff wheel him out of the room.

And once they’re gone, (Y/n) finally breaks down again...

[bipabrena]

Beneath x the x Ice (AO3 HisoIllu fic) Chapter 9

A fic where there’s more to Illumi than meets the eye. Hisoka goes to great lengths to help him realise he deserves better than the Zoldycks and being a puppet to his parents.

Read the whole thing here.

X

Amane, Gotoh and three more butlers stood guard around the massive dining room while the Zoldycks sat to dine.

Zeno and Silva strictly discussed business, while Kalluto and Kikyo spoke.

As usual, Milluki was allowed to use his phone to watch anime while he ate.

No one noticed the lonely Illumi.

Everyone alternated between eating and speaking, but Illumi did not. Illumi never moved. He merely stared at his plate with an impassive expression, the same impassive expression he’d always had.

Those huge, large voids for eyes merely stared at the plate of food.

Mouthwatering and delicious, and his stomach ached for it, but his body did not respond to fulfil its wishes. It remained hungry, as it had been for the last week that Illumi had not been eating, and as it would remain for the rest of the day.

Eventually, Silva attracted everyone’s attention so he could explain the job of epic proportions they had next. The one Illumi would take in, the assassination for the Queen.

They all listened intently, but Illumi remained in his bubble of nothingness.

“You have no dignity or a will of your own.”

“You let others make decisions for you, and all you do is nod. How pathetic.”

“You’re not even worth fighting.”

It seemed this is all Illumi could hear inside his head. It had been for the last three weeks, ever since the event with Hisoka transpired.

The family’s attentions was directed to Illumi once Silva addressed him.

But Illumi said nothing.

He hadn’t heard a single word.

It was then they finally noticed his plate was full, his cutlery had been untouched, and the glass was dripping wet as the cold from the beverage condensed from being unheeded.

“Illumi!” Silva yelled. Surprisingly loud, surprisingly firm.

They were all taken aback.

But all Illumi did was slowly look up at him. Aloofly. With zero emotion, with such impassiveness that even put his own family at unease.

It felt different from usual.

“Yes, father?” asked Illumi with a hollow tone that surprised them further.

“I’m speaking to you, son. Did you not hear a word I said?”

“Forgive me,” he said. “I did not.”

“Is something the matter, dear?” Kikyo asked. “You haven’t touched your food.”

“You’re so strong, so absurdly strong, yet so pathetically weak.”

“You have no mind or ambitions of your own.”

“You are pathetic, Illumi Zoldyck.”

“You’re not even worth fighting.”

He blinked impassively at them.

Pathetic… weak… not even worth fighting… he thought. A manipulated manipulator, a puppeteered puppeteer. That’s what he implied.  

“Do you really love your family, or is it only a robotic, forced loyalty?”

Illumi sighed so subtly it was almost imperceptible to those watching him.

… I can’t help but wonder, he told himself.

“Son, your mother is talking to you,” Silva said in a cautioning tone.

Kalluto frowned as concern overwhelmed him.

What was happening?

Illumi seemed absentminded lately during training, but now during dinner, too?

They all expectantly awaited his response.

“I’m fine,” is what he elected to say. “What were you saying, father?”

“The contract for the Royal Family of Kanem will be in forty five days, starting today. We already have everything prepared, it is only a matter of waiting. In the meantime, you will continue responding to other contracts we may get.”

“Yes, father.”

He and Silva exchanged a look. The others couldn’t help stiffening because of the sudden tension that overwhelmed the room. Silva seemed stern and belligerent, while Illumi remained utterly indifferent.

Not defiantly. Not because he didn’t respect Silva or care for his words.

Simply because he felt he had nothing to care about in general.

“You’re an irreplaceable commodity for our family.”

He recalled those words told to him by Silva the day he sat him in his office. The eyes, the tone.

Their relationship had always been so give-and-take.

Nothing more, nothing less.

He’d never experienced the warmth or familial love Killua had been deluged with by his parents and grandfather.

The closest thing to it was Milluki’s fear and respect, and Kalluto’s fondness.

But nothing from his parents or grandfather.

A commodity. A commodity is not even sentient. It’s just a thing, he thought nonchalantly. A thing that benefits you. That’s my role.

Yes, that’s who I am.

I can’t escape the position I was born into.

I’m a servant of my own family. I was born to work for them. To be their puppet. To not have ambitions or goals of my own. Just like I told Killua of himself that day.

Except that those rules do not apply to him.

Yes… a commodity. That’s all I am.

Suddenly, Illumi looked at the ceiling inquisitively. He seemed utterly indifferent to the tension in the room, to Silva’s stern expression on him.

He was simply so absentminded.

It was incredibly concerning to all of them.

“Would you like to eat in your room, dear?” Kikyo asked, and that surprised them.

“No, but if you do permit, I’d like to excuse myself. I have a meeting with a potential client in a few hours.”

“Granted,” is what Silva said immediately.

Illumi stood and left.

His stride was robotic. Lifeless.

Despite being indifferent and emotionless, Illumi always walked with an admirable grace. His body was strong and lithe, he stood tall amongst everyone around him, with pride and with his head held high. He always moved with an intrinsic gracefulness and firm aura that clearly denoted he was strong and could win any encounter.

But right now, he walked with indifference, without purpose, without meaning.

And then, even Silva found it in himself to worry.

X

Illumi stirred his hot chocolate. The shape that had been drawn on it by the skilful barista faded into a foamy spiral.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Illumi,” said Chrollo. “I understand you usually do business through calls, so this does mean a lot to me.”

“It’s no problem. What do you need?” Illumi asked curtly.

“I’m sure you’re aware of this already, but the underground auction will be held soon. I have my own plans for it, but I may need to use your services.”

Illumi’s unblinking, onyx eyes bore into him.

What a strange thing, Chrollo thought.

Illumi’s eyes had always been cold.

They penetrated anyone whose gaze met his. His stare was piercing enough that it’d make anyone feel exposed, and even the strongest man would shiver, however slightly.

He just looked through you.

Like he were navigating every trench of your soul, of your mind; finding weaknesses and creating schemes to exploit them. A penetrating gaze that exposed everything about those submitted to it, but nothing about the one who owned it.

It was a hair-raising thought that everyone who’d ever met Illumi had thought to themselves.

Chrollo himself had thought it when he first met him.

But right now…

Illumi did not carry that presence. He seemed so impassive, so indifferent, so dead. Like there was absolutely nothing inside him. Like he were a shell, a ghost that happened to have a host.

And, somehow, that was even more unsettling. More hair-raising.

“When the time is right, I would like you to kill the ten dons.”

“Okay.”

Chrollo blinked.

“Is there anything else?”

Well… no. But Chrollo didn’t invite Illumi for coffee and snacks only for business. He’d like to get to know him better.

Frankly, he’d love to make Illumi the fourteenth Phantom Troupe member. At the very least, he’d like for Illumi to be an honorary member.

The Troupe rarely got together, there simply weren’t that many heists in Padokea. But with the rising gangs all across the world, he wanted the Phantom Troupe to be at the top as it once was.

Having Illumi around would change everything.

He had the connections to find whatever he wanted. The Phantom Troupe was never about glory, but about a bunch of comrades who did whatever they wanted simply because they could.

But Chrollo would like for the Troupe to be together more often. A couple of heists would be a nice way to stay together.

And with Illumi, he could find anything.

More importantly, it’d be a great excuse to spend time with him. To get to know him better. Even if he didn’t end up joining the Troupe, at least there would be something more between them aside from provider and client.

Illumi stirred his hot chocolate as he watched Chrollo, and Chrollo thought he was cute.

Chrollo listed the facts in his head.

The mafia was a huge deal, but their protection was limited and borderline useless against Nen users. Ultimately, they’ll end up contracting someone who could truly challenge the Troupe once they strike.

Assassins. And the most proficient assassins in the world happened to be in a nearby region.

The Zoldycks.

By having the ten dons killed, it’d leave the Zoldycks with no real targets assigned by a client, and so the Troupe would be scot free.

From the thirteen members in the Troupe, Chrollo knew that only five would pose a threat to the eldest son sitting across him, and the two heads of the family.

Uvogin, Phinks, Feitan, Hisoka and himself.

They were the true threats. The rest wouldn’t stand a chance.

So, if they happened to hire the Zoldycks, eight members would be at great risk of dying. Even Chrollo’s own life could be in danger. However, if he contracted Illumi right here, right now, he’d become his client, and so Illumi wouldn’t be able to kill him.

That’d be at least one less threat.

Chrollo manipulated the truth a little. He explained to Illumi the reason he was hiring him, and what the Troupe’s job entailed.

Illumi nodded.

Then, he decided to bring something else up, something that would bring him closer to Illumi.

“I wanted to know what other services you offer.”

“Elaborate,” is what Illumi said.

“Do you only assassinate? I understand how it may be a futile question with an obvious answer considering your profession, but I was wondering whether you offer other services such as Intel gathering or reconnaissance.”

Illumi’s hollow, nearly hypnotising eyes blinked at him impassively.

“I’m listening,” said Illumi.

“I’m sure you’re already beyond familiar with what the Troupe does. We’re thieves. We like something, we take it. However, there aren’t many heists here in this continent, and the underground auction is all we’ve had in a very long time. If I asked you to gather Intel for me, to find a job for me, would you be able to do it? It goes without saying the pay would be hefty. You’re the one that will put the price, and I will pay whatever it takes, so long as it doesn’t leave me squeaky clean,” he smiled. “But even then, I may still consider it.”

“As it is not a decision I can make on my own, I cannot give you an answer right now. I would have to further discuss it, then get back to you. Is that acceptable?”

“Absolutely, Illumi.”

He could hear it. Illumi could hear it so clearly in his head.

Silva’s voice.

“The pay isn’t worth it. Don’t mess with the Phantom Troupe.”

Well, he wouldn’t be messing with them. He’d be doing a job for them.

“Then, if that will be all, I believe we’re done here. I will be contacting you as soon as possible.”

“Wait, Illumi!” Chrollo called when Illumi stood up after leaving the money for his drink on the table.

Illumi looked at him.

“Won’t you sit and finish your hot chocolate?”

“I wasn’t here for it, I was here to discuss business with you. I don’t need to finish it.”

“Is there anywhere you need to be right now?”

Illumi was silent, and Chrollo took this as dissent.

“If you don’t, why don’t you stay here a little longer? We can chat for a while.”

Illumi said nothing.

It was hard to get him to talk. But that was okay, Chrollo thought. He liked a challenge. And if that challenge happened to be quite pretty, he would be more than okay with accepting it.

“If it’s your job policy to not relax a moment and sit down to talk to someone, I completely understand. If it’s not, however, I don’t see the harm in sharing a hot beverage with a friendly neighbour.”

… Ah, shit.

This wasn’t good. This brought back memories.

This place… the hot beverage…

“You’ve helped me keep an eye on Killu by your own volition.” He leaned back. “There will be a lot of people in that warehouse, possible Nen users too, that you can kill. I wanted to return the favour.”

“So,” Hisoka licked his lips, “as a token of your gratitude, you want to take me out on a date? ♠” he pestered.

Illumi blinked. “It’s not a date.”

“Is it not? ♥” he chuckled, hoping to annoy the eldest Zoldyck. “Because it sounds like one. You and me together, at night…”

Illumi blinked impassively.

… Why am I remembering that right now?

Goddammit.

… Hisoka… he thought to himself with the slightest sense of mourning.

“I suppose it won’t kill me,” said Illumi as he sat back down.

Chrollo smiled. He wasn’t sure whether that was a joke, but in the off chance that it was, he chuckled gracefully.

He brought forth his charms, the charms he used whenever he wanted to steal someone’s ability, whenever he decided to gather information, whenever he wanted to manipulate someone or gradually bend them to his will without them ever noticing.

Except that, for this one time, today was different.

Truly, he wished not to get something out of Illumi.

In fact, the main reason he wanted that new heist was merely to have an excuse to work alongside him. He was willing to pay whatever price Illumi placed. The auction would be soon and the treasure would be hefty, so money was not an issue in the slightest.

He wasn’t sure why the eldest Zoldyck son drew his attention so much.

He just knew that he did.

Read the rest of the chapter here.

[snakeboistan]

‘Cause You Had A Bad Day (You’re Taking One Down)

AKA: A Nagisa-Centric Sick Fic

Pairing: Nagisa x 3-E (platonic)

Today was not Nagisa’s day. Not at all.

It all started when he woke up that morning feeling like he had been hit by a freight train that was coming at him at full speed. Groggily, he blinked open his eyes to find his forehead covered in a glistening sheen of sweat covering his forehead and a giant boulder that he could not see had him pinned down onto his bed. With strenuous effort, he had rolled over, planted his feet onto his bedroom floor and clutched onto his bedside table to help him stand up - and then almost fell over backwards because of how his head spun from the movement. He had dragged his feet towards his bathroom and his reflection in the mirror above the sink would’ve made him gasp if it weren’t for the woodpecker drilling in his cranium and the raw scratchiness of his throat. His normally porcelain white face was flushed pink and his eyes lacked their usual brightness. Oh god, of all days for him to get a fever, it had to be on the day they had an English test. Well, at least it was Friday so he’ll have the whole weekend to sleep it off. He was then overcome by a feeling of dread as he threw himself before his commode, retching and emptying out the contents of his stomach - which already felt unnaturally empty to begin with. Groaning in despair, he fumbled an arm above him to flush the toilet and flip down the lid so that he could rest his head on it’s cooler surface as he breathed deeply.

‘This is the worst,’ he lamented, noticing how his body was currently shivering despite the heat of the early morning sun, ‘completely defeated by a stupid fever. And I’m supposed to be a trained assassin. How the hell am I supposed to kill Koro-Sensei if I can’t even stand up properly or think straight.’ With a hefty sigh, he pushed himself upwards, blinking rapidly as he waved his arms about to steady his shaking legs. ‘I bet Karasuma-Sensei doesn’t let something as small as an illness stop him from doing what he does. That man has like no chinks at all. I can’t afford to skip, not with my grades. If I don’t want to let him and everyone else down, I’ve got to act as normally as possible. I’ll be a liability if my sickness drags me down and the last thing I want is to burden my classmates. An assassin should be able to overcome anything and shouldn’t get in the way so that’s what I’ll do. Hopefully, it’ll get better later.’

Once he had dressed himself in his usual school clothes and tied his hair into his usual pigtails, he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed off to school, choosing to skip breakfast and not pack himself lunch with the hope that the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach would die down if he didn’t eat anything. What followed was what Nagisa would describe as the worst walk to school he had ever undergone in his entire life: his throat was dry, tongue parched, body weak and every noise he heard only amplified the throbbing in his head. His insulating clothing felt suffocating, his black tie practically holding his neck in a choke hold, and he knew the heat he felt radiating off of him wasn’t due to the fact that it was nearing summer. 

“Hey, Nagisa,” Sugino called, somehow materialising out of nothing, “what’s up.”

Nagisa tried not to jump from shock. Normally he would’ve been able to hear his best friend from a mile away, would’ve been able to discern the tell-tale thuds of the taller boy’s favourite sneakers against the concrete and sense his presence before he could’ve said a word. It was common knowledge in their so-called ‘Assassination Classroom’ that sneaking up on Nagisa is about as difficult as getting Fuwa to go twenty-four hours without referencing a manga - his ability to observe his surroundings and everyone in them was one of the few things he was actually good at. To make up for his current lack of observational skills and his tinted complexion he hastily threw on a smile and greeted, “Oh, hey Sugino. Nothing much. How are you.”

Sugino narrowed his eyes at the shorter boy as Nagisa mentally congratulated himself for stringing those words out coherently. With a raised eyebrow, he replied slowly, “I’m fine, thanks. Are - are you okay, dude.”

“Of course I am,” he laughed, somewhat nervously, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look a bit… tired.”

“I am,” he sighed, “I stayed up a bit late to study for that test we have today. I guess I was kind of pushing it with my sleeping hours, huh.”

Sugino looked at him for a second before stating, “sure.”

Sensing that Sugino was going to probe into something that he really didn’t want to discuss right now (or ever), he continued, “hopefully I studied enough. I mean English is my best subject so I’m hoping for at least an eighty-five percent.”

The sceptical look was washed off of his best friend’s face as his features softened into the usual fond smile he wears around the bluenette, “I’m sure you’ll ace it, man. I know how hard you work. You’ve just got to watch out for those spelling errors, right.”

“Right,” Nagisa echoed with a half-authentic grin, whilst in his mind he castigated, ‘you can’t let your guard down like that, idiot. You saw the way Sugino looked at you. You’ve got to get better at hiding this before you inconvenience the entire class and mess up their day. God, mom was right - I really am a burden. Just spend the rest of the day like nothing’s wrong and hopefully this will go down.’

Unfortunately for him, his pain only got worse and every step up the E-Class mountain made him feel like his calf bones were being split open. It was a considerable effort for him to remain upright as he conversed with Sugino, and his sweat-slicken body made his shirt stick to his skin in the most uncomfortable way possible. His muscles were screaming at him, begging him to stop what he was doing and to just collapse into a heap on the forest floor but he continued to trudge along the path towards the classroom at the top. He could do this. He’s used to hiding his emotions. He’s spent years mastering the art of concealing what he truly felt, surely he could last seven hours - even if they were under the watchful eye of a superpowered octopus, a government agent, one of the world’s top assassins and twenty-six assassins in training.

Upon entering the classroom, he gave his usual greetings, whilst narrowly avoiding any direct contact with any of his classmates lest they feel his unnaturally high body temperature, before slumping onto his seat.

“Hiya, Nagisa,” Kayano chirped, as bubbly as always, “how are you doing?”

Nagisa looked up and hoped that the weak smile he gave her did not resemble a grimace at all, “I’m fine, thanks. How are-”

He was interrupted by a smooth voice, “you sure about that, Nagisa? ‘Cause you’re looking a little on the red side.”

He swiveled his head around and immediately regretted that particular action as his migraine worsened. Karma, who was standing next to Kayano on the adjacent side of his desk, had on his signature smirk but the look in his eyes was calculating. He huffed out a laugh, “I’m fine, Karma.”

“Really?” the redhead raised an eyebrow, “because you look like the walking dead.”

“I just didn’t get enough sleep last night, that’s all,” Nagisa argued, tone a tad bit on the defensive side, “I was so caught up in studying for today’s test that I only got like five hours.”

“That’s not good, Nagisa,” Kayano admonished with a gasp, “you need to take better care of yourself, you know. Studying is important but so is your health.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nagisa mumbled with his head down.

Great, it’s only been like two minutes and I’m already making them worry.

“Besides,” Nakamura chimed in with a grin, “you’re great at English. You were one mark away from me in the last test we took so you shouldn’t worry so badly.”

“That’s what I told him,” Sugino said, “but he’s Nagisa. He just has to worry about something.”

They all traded fond looks as Nagisa let out nervous chuckles. It was then that his stomach constricted sharply. He quickly excused himself with a squeak of ‘bathroom’ before fleeing the classroom, unaware of the narrowed golden eyes that followed him.

Once he was locked within the cubicle of the building’s lavatory, he was quick to once again empty out the contents of his stomach, thanking every deity out there that he arrived early so his discordant gagging wouldn’t have been heard by their teacher with his enhanced senses. It was then a lightbulb when off in his head as he mentally slammed a palm against his forehead. Zipping open his schoolbag, he fumbled inside before drawing out a bright red first aid kit. With a sigh of relief, he opened it and grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen but then his hope dissipated when he capsized it to find it empty. Oh, right, he gave the last few pills to Okano the other day when she was complaining about her menstrual cramps and he forgot to go to the pharmacy to buy more. ‘Dammit, Shiota. What if someone else needed those. Your classmates could be in pain and you would’ve been useless in helping them.’ Despairing at his fate, he flushed, got up, washed his hands and made his way back to his classroom, wrapping his arms around himself to hide his shivering.

Entering the room again, he was met with concerned looks from his peers. Giving them a comforting smile, he walked as confidently as he could with the little energy he had back to his desk, ignoring the eyes that he felt on him. Luckily for him, before anyone could speak, they all felt a gush of wind whoosh through the classroom and in a blink of an eye, their homeroom teacher stood before them.

“Good morning, students,” he called out cheerfully, “I hope you all are ready for your test today. I know that it’s the last day of the week but I’m sure that each of you will be able to power through. Now, I can see that everyone is present but why don’t I take the register anyways as you boys and girls try to kill me, alright? It will be a perfect warm-up exercise to get you all pumped for the day.”

And with that, their class’ school day began as it always does; with Koro-Sensei holding the register and calling out names whilst dodging bullets at Mach 20. Even in extreme agony and lethargy, Nagisa could only find amusement in that as he aimed and fired, whilst simultaneously doing all he could to not let the abnormally heavy gun slip from his grasp. When roll call was over, he could only tell that his fever was getting worse as he was hunching down to grab the stray anti-sensei bbs that lay littered on the floor. He knew that he should probably tell Koro-Sensei that he wasn’t feeling well, that he could use some medicine that he knew that the octopus could get in less than a nano-second but doing so would draw attention and alert the others and then everyone will know how weak he is, how he can’t handle his own immune system, how he is unfit to be an assassin. Or even worse, they’ll be concerned;  they’ll fret and worry over him and lose focus, make mistakes that could cost them, their billion dollar yen and the fate of the Earth. He could ruin everything. So it’s best to keep quiet. Even when his throbbing head feels like shutting down and his skin is on fire and there's enough sweat covering his body to water the tulips in the E-Class garden.

Fortunately, he was able to complete the test to the best of his ability. It was a comprehension assessment and it wasn’t too challenging for him, which was good because he was able to put more effort in keeping his head up than he planned to. Unfortunately, however, his theory of the fever getting better was horribly horribly wrong. If anything, it became worse, if that was even possible: His stomach twisted sporadically every time he took a breath, the cave of his mouth and the empty vessel of his oesophagus stung like they had been rubbed raw and so every painful swallow only increased their pleas for water (he had finished his bottle and he was not going to be asking to borrow anyone else’s), he could feel the build-up of perspiration along the outline of his shirt under his arms (he was so glad that he wore a dark waistcoat to school) and he could see the way his hands would shake no matter how hard he tried to suppress them. It was already the second period of his five-period school day and so all he had to do was last three more lessons and he can go home and hibernate for the rest of the week. He had no idea how he was going to survive Physical Education with the military training exercises that Karasuma had them doing for the past three days. He hoped and prayed that they wouldn't be sparing because that would require contact and fast moves and there’s no way he’d be able to hide anything then.

He didn’t have to wait that long, however, because he was found out by period three.

After spending their break acting as normal as possible without drawing attention to the way every single cell inside him ached and groaned as well as the fact that he was without his usual breaktime snack, he walked into the classroom, ready for their science lesson. Today they were going to do a practical (something about reactions or something, honestly he couldn’t concentrate at all at this moment because his mind was so hazy and he was currently too busy trying not to cry). He turned to Sugino, his regular partner in science, before Karma swiftly walked in between them.

“Yo, Nagisa,” he said, “wanna be partners.”

Nagisa blinked at him before looking around him to meet Sugino’s eyes. The baseball lover only shrugged and then walked away to pair up with Kanzaki. With the way he and the redhead shared eye contact as he left, Nagisa was sure that the two of them were planning something for once the twisting of his gut was not due to his current affliction.

“Uhh, sure,” Nagisa agreed, half because he has a problem with saying no and half because he was sure that even if he did refuse, Karma would still pair up with him anyway.

“Great,” the taller boy grinned.

As soon as the class had set up the apparatus and began their experiment his conjecture was confirmed as Karma had stated, “so what’s with you?”

Nagisa almost dropped the textbook he was holding, “huh.”

The other boy scoffed, “don’t play dumb, Nagisa. There’s something wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong, Karma.”

“Oh really. Then explain why you didn’t eat anything during break today-”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“-Or why you look like you’re about to keel over any second.”

“I told you. I stayed up too late.”

“- Or what that little trip to the bathroom was for.”

“I had to use the bathroom like any other normal person. I didn’t realise that I had to tell you the purpose of everywhere I go. And what’s with all of the questions?” Nagisa didn’t mean to sound so defensive or snappy, not to one of his best friends who he knows is only looking out for him. He knows that that’s how Karma is; whilst Nagisa approaches problems with caution and care, the redhead goes on with a complete offensive attack - assaulting with blunt words and hard facts to break you down. He doesn’t believe in the roundabout way, he’s always direct and wants things done at the time. His ability to get what he wants is one of the qualities in the other boy that Nagisa admired, but right now it was a pain in the neck. He felt cornered and trapped and something inside him, the viper he could feel curling around in his unconscious, was ready to lash out and bite and that’s the last thing he wanted.

“Hey, no need for that tone,” Karma held up his hands, “I was just asking. There’s no harm in that, right.”

Nagisa let out a sigh, “you’re right. I’m sorry for snapping. It’s just that I really just want to get on with this.”

“I still think you’re hiding something.”

“Karma, I’m trying to read the instructions. You’re kind of distracting me.” (it’s not like he was able to read the words anyway, they all seemed to blur into one big smudge of dancing black on the page)

“Why can’t you just say what’s wrong. What’s the big deal.”

“Karma.”

“Just go ahead and say it, Nagisa. What are you so afraid of.”

“I - I,” he sighed wearily, dropping his shoulders, “I should get another test tube. We’re missing one for the experiment.”

“Nagisa,” he could hear Karma calling him but he ignored it as he speed walked to the front desk to grab another piece of apparatus. It was on his way back that he could feel his stomach give a lurch. His heart was racing as the pain in his head had reached a new intensity. His stomach dropped and he felt apprehension crash over him.

‘Oh no,’ he thought as his hands began to shake.

His surroundings started to lose focus. The floor was swaying under his feet.

No, no. Not now. Not in front of everyone. 

His head felt light. So so very light.

‘Come on Nagisa, one more step,’ he urged before his eyes rolled. He could faintly hear the sound of glass breaking and horrified shouts of his name before the world went dark.

…..

The first thing Nagisa noticed when he came to was that this was not his bedroom. His eyes opened after steady blinks, and the first thing he found himself facing was a blur of different colours that he was sure didn’t belong in his house. Once his eyes adjusted themselves and focused properly, he recognised it as a notice board with lots of paper pinned onto the multicoloured backdrop. Then he realised that his forehead was covered with cold water, probably from the ice pack that he found lying on the floor next to him. It was when he heard the soft clicks of a computer’s keyboard that he registered that he was in the teachers’ lounge. With a gasp, he sat up on the row of chairs that had been pushed together to form a makeshift bed, the softness under his palms made him realise that a pile of blankets were thrown on to make him more comfortable. Karasuma, who was the one that was using the computer, turned around on his chair to face him.

“Nagisa, you’re up. How are you doing,” he asked as he stood up and walked towards him with a bottle of water, “we were all very worried.”

“Uhh,” was his coherent reply.

“Here, this will make you feel better,” the man said, holding out the bottle as well as a small white tablet. When Nagisa reached out to grab them, he found that his right hand was wrapped around in a bandage. He blinked at it in shock, “when you fainted, your hand landed on some glass. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll inform your classmates and the target that you’re up and I’ll be right back.”

Nagisa watched as Karasuma left, and continued to observe the door for a few seconds before looking down at the uncapped bottle. He threw his head back and downed it hurriedly, yearning to relieve the pain in his throat. It didn’t do much since he still felt like just begging god to just finish the job and get it over and done with but he appreciated it regardless.

“OH NAGISA, I WAS SO WORRIED!” Koro-Sensei wailed as he appeared before him with medicine boxes, books on fevers, and five bottles of water, “WHAT A TERRIBLE SENSEI I AM TO BE UNAWARE OF MY STUDENT’S SUFFERING. THE SHAME. AH, I HOPE YOU CAN FORGIVE ME FOR BEING SO CARELESS.”

“Koro-Sensei, please,” Nagisa said, “it’s not your fault. I was hiding it because I didn't want anyone to know.”

“Bu-but why,” his teacher asked, sniffling, “as your teacher, it’s important for me to be aware if you’re not feeling well. OR AM I NOT APPROACHABLE ENOUGH FOR YOU TO UNLOAD YOUR WORRIES?”

“No, no,” he replied quickly, “I just - I just don’t like people knowing when I’m not feeling well, that’s all.”

The octopus paused. Slowly he said, “why’s that Nagisa? Do you think that your classmates will treat you any differently if they knew?”

Nagisa looked down and mumbled, “it’s - it’s just that. Well, we’re supposed to be assassins, Sir. I don’t think trained killers let themselves fall back just because they’re not well.”

“Nagisa,” Koro-Sensei’s voice was stern but still held his kind and gentle tone, “you are a valuable member of this class. Every single one of your peers consider you an asset, an ally and a friend. We all look after each other here. We are all striving towards the same goal. Together. As students and as assassins, an important aspect of life is to be able to work as a team. To carry on through your strongest and lift each other up at your weakest. I see you looking out for others. Why won’t you let others look out for you?”

“I just didn’t want to be a burden, “ Nagisa whispered, “I thought I could deal with it.”

“Nagisa, you are not a burden. You have a burden. A burden that you have no need to carry on our own. I know this may seem difficult to you, but please: next time you find yourself in a situation where you can ask for help, don’t be afraid to.”

Nagisa looked up and despite the wide smile on his teacher’s face, he knew that the octopus was serious. He nodded.

“Wonderful,” Koro-Sensei beamed and clapped his hands, “now, I’m sure that the others would want to see you so I’m not going to keep them waiting any longer.”

“About time,” Karma said as he walked in.

“Were you there the whole time?” Nagisa asked as Koro-Sensei gasped theatrically.

“Karma, I thought I told you to wait in the classroom.”

“I know,” Karma smirked, pulling up a chair and sitting on it, “but the thing is that I didn’t want to.”

“WHY DO YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME!?”

“Uhh, Sir?” Nakamura popped her head in, “are you going to leave or not because the rest of us are waiting.”

With a cry of despair, the teacher left the room. Nagisa turned to face Karma.

“I-,” 

“You okay,” Karma asked, cutting through the apology that Nagisa had at his throat, “and don’t you dare lie.”

“I’ve been better.”

“God, Nagisa. Why did you try to hide this? You scared the c**p out of everyone. It would've been funny to see Terasaka lose his s*** if it weren’t for the fact that you were lying on the floor, bleeding and not responding to anyone. Did you know that you had a temperature of 40°C?”

“I’m sorry, Karma. I didn’t want everyone to freak out, I swear, that’s kind of the reason why I didn’t tell you guys anything. I just -” he was cut off as his migraine increased and his stomach flipped. His wince and groan of agony made Karma’s eyebrows furrow.

“You good? Do you want to rest more?”

“I - yeah. I think that might be best.”

“Alright then,” Karma pulled out his phone and began scrolling through it, “rest all you want. I’ll make sure no one comes to bother you.”

…

The rest of the day continued with his classmates coming to check on him, even after school was over: Sugaya had made an A3 sized get well soon card and the entire class had signed it, Fuwa decided to help him go to sleep by reading a manga to him like a bedtime story, Sugino and Kayano berated him for hiding his illness before hugging him, Hara offered him some soup to help him feel better, Hazama offered to use a spell to ‘expel the sickness and other evil entities’ from his body (he was quick to decline that), most of the girls were fussing and doting over their ‘kind of little brother’ and were quick to do whatever he wanted to help him get better (especially Yada, who actually had experience with looking after her sick younger brother) whilst the boys tried to cheer him up with funny anecdotes. When it was time to return home, Karma and Sugino took turns in carrying him down the mountain and to his apartment (ignoring his protests and reminders that they would get sick), even going as far as to tuck him in and place a bottle of ibuprofen on the bedside table. They left with promises of returning the next day to make sure that he was taking care of himself and as they did, Nagisa couldn’t help but be glad that he had such loving classmates.

[abigailsfictionalothers-archive]

Never Going Anywhere Again - A.K.A. The Engagement Fic - Alistair x Wallace

A/N: I've finally got it down! It took me forever because I wanted it to be perfect, and I am very, very happy with this one. Sorry if it has any technical mistakes though, I get a bit giddy reading it and may have skipped over some stuff in my excitement, haha. For those that haven't seen, my pinned post is the official announcement for this, and I'll be adding this fic to it, so go check that out as well for more details. As always, I hope you all enjoy! I know I'm over the moon over this :)

Warnings: Discussions of marriage? Obviously. If you need anything tagged that I didn't cover let me know!

Tagging: @sacredempressnatlyia @imagine-your-love-story @shinypeony (if anyone else would like to be tagged in future works, let me know, or if you would no longer like to be tagged, let me know!)

~~~

"I'm glad you're taking the chance to get out. How are the negotiations with Nevarra going?" I walked alongside Alistair as we made our way out to the castle gardens. It was difficult to maintain an air of professionalism with him, especially when he was finally taking a break from his responsibilities, but I certainly wasn't about to risk our secret by slipping up.

"Decently. I was actually hoping to ask for your input, would you mind if I ran something by you this evening?" It wasn't hard to tell that it was difficult for him, too.

"You need only ask. And what about the new recruits for the king's guard? I heard there were quite a few of them, do you have any idea how that's going?"

"I was actually meaning to ask, do think there's any way you could get out to the training yard in the next couple of days, show them a thing or two? Last I heard, they could use some help."

"Of course, I'd be happy to. I'll set aside a day for it."

"Thank you. Your help is invaluable."

Being me, of course the compliment threw me off, and I did my best to deflect it in an attempt to shake off my embarrassment, "It's good that you're getting out for a bit, staying holed up inside that castle for too long isn't good for you."

He sighed softly, "I know. I would more if I could."

I immediately regretted my comment. The last thing he needed was me pointing out his lack of freedom, "I'm sorry to have-"

"No, it's alright. You're the one that helps me get out, after all. I should be thanking you for that."

"You thank me far too much-" We'd had this conversation a million times - he'd tell me how he couldn't do this without me, and I'd tell him all the reasons that wasn't true. This time, before I could even begin, he grabbed my hand and entwined his fingers with mine.

"Um, Alistair?" I was extremely confused. We weren't even close to being clear of the public eye yet, anyone could stumble upon and see us - and this was something we most certainly never did in public.

"Humor me?" On any other day I would have shrugged him off, told him he could hold my hand later, but there was something about the way his voice begged and his eyes pleaded with me that had me caving.

"Fine, but I don't want to have to be the one making excuses if we get caught!"

He sighed heavily, "I don't want to make excuses."

"It's your idea! It's only fair that you be the one to handle it!"

"That's not what I- never mind. Come on, there's something I wanted to show you." I ignored his deflection, I did it all the time after all, and followed after him anxiously as he dragged me along, constantly looking around for anyone that could spot our careless mistake.

The farther out from the main building we got, the more I relaxed, but the further we walked through the garden, the more perplexed I became. I knew that look on his face well enough to know that he was on a mission, and had a destination in mind. It's a good look on him. Still, I couldn't fathom what he was so determined to show me.

Until we rounded the corner into a secluded area of the rose garden. This wasn't an area I visit often, but I appreciate it's beauty nonetheless - surrounded by tall hedges, it makes a beautiful sanctuary for any weary soul, and the stone bench in its center is beautifully engraved with classic Ferelden designs. However, my curiosity was peaked by the vase sitting on top of it, filled with... blue roses?

"Al, what is this?"

"Blue roses? I had the gardeners cut and dye some of the best ones that came in, I thought you'd enjoy a mix of two of your favorite things. You do, don't you?"

"Of course I do, they're magnificent! But why? That sounds like a bit of trouble all for no reason!" I was absolutely floored by the gesture. Dyed flowers have always been a rare commodity in Ferelden, typically more of an Orlesian practice. I couldn't understand why he'd go to such lengths.

"It's not for no reason. I-" He stopped and sighed once more, finally letting go of my hand, electing to pace for a moment. I gave him the time, recognizing that he needed to collect his thoughts, even though my curiosity was burning.

In time, he grabbed one of the roses, and held it out to me timidly. I took it, gently, and let him lead me to sit down on the bench with him.

With a deep breath, he began, "I told you earlier I don't want to make excuses anymore. That's true. I really, really don't. I'd like to hold your hand in public, and not be terrified of the repercussions. Every time I have to call you 'my dear friend and wartime companion' I feel near sick to my stomach. It doesn't feel right, hiding you. Every day, I wake up, grateful to have you with me, and then immediately bitter that there are conditions to having you here. I just... I can't do this like this anymore."

My throat ran dry then. I was starting to have some idea of where this was going, but the hope was almost unbearable. I didn't want to believe. "So what are you trying to say?"

"I know why we do this this way. It's all for good reason, and in so many ways, I'm so glad we've had this time away from all the judgement. But the agony isn't worth it anymore. I couldn't do any of this without you - stop it with that look right now - you are quite literally invaluable to both the running of this country and my sanity. I run everything I do by you. You have a more personal relationship with the common people than I've been allowed in years, you help them, just because you can. You're extraordinary, and you deserve recognition for your part. Darling, I-"

He stopped for just a moment, shifting off of the bench and onto his knee on front of me, grabbing my hand again, "What I mean to say is I want to be honest with the world, and I want you to be the Queen of Ferelden. I want you to marry me."

It was all I could do to keep my composure to press my hand, still holding a rose, to my chest, and to squeeze my eyes closed, tightly. I wasn't sure what my raw reaction would be if I didn't, but I knew it was the only thing I could do to keep it contained.

I heard his voice even more clearly when he spoke again, like the only sense that was turned on was my hearing, "No pressure, of course, if that's not what you want, I know it's a lot, and I know you see me terribly upset over my position every day, so I'm sure it doesn't exactly sound appealing, but I just think that together-" His words faded with the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

What is he thinking this will be a disaster this can't happen oh by the Maker what is he-

"Yes, Al."

"Pardon?"

"Yes, Alistair. My answer is yes. I'll marry you."

I opened my eyes then, and his slack-jawed look was almost enough to have me laughing, had I not been shaking uncontrollably.

"Yeah, Al. I don't want to hide you anymore either." I spoke in a whisper.

It was his laugh that broke the silence, joyful, and perhaps my favorite sound in the world. I almost didn't register it when he swept me into a hug. I didn't really know what else to do other than cling to him like a lifeline.

"So I got this right then? I did it right?"

My laugh was weak, "Yes, love, this was perfect."

He pulled away, pressing his forehead to mine, "You're sure? You really want this?"

Despite my shock, all I could think was that this seemed so obvious. We had been through so much, where else was there to go from here? I knew it would be hard, of course, but for him? I was quite sure I could brave just about anything.

"Yeah. I'm never going anywhere ever again."

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: This isn’t a rom-com 5/?

Author’s notes: I have a confession to make: I do show The Matrix whenever I have to explain Descartes to my students and it never fails to be hilarious! As usual, feedback and comments are welcomed and appreciated!

Wordcount: 2722

Warnings: dorks being adorably clueless!

 Part 1 Part 2  Part 3  Part 4

When Lilah arrived to teach her class on Wednesday and set her things at her desk, she had the biggest grin across her face because this was probably her favorite subject of the entire term. She moved to the center of the classroom, rubbing her hands together and making eye contact with the group of first-year students in front of her.

“Hope you all are ready to watch the best movie ever made,” she declared, making a few of them chuckle. “I’m talking action, I’m talking romance, I’m talking the best metaphor for Descartian dualism you’ve ever seen!”

Lilah glanced at her T.A. who already had everything cued up and gave her a quick nod. The younger woman turned on the projector, washing the semi-dark room with the green glow of the DVD's main menu.

“Welcome to the Matrix!” she said dragging yet another round of chuckles from her students before Lilah settled at one of the chairs at the front and the movie started rolling.

It turned out as a very productive morning of entertainment and philosophical discussion and when Lilah walked out of the classroom, still discussing the topic with a couple of students that had lingered and her TA, her grin hadn’t wavered. She waved them goodbye as they headed to the cafeteria while she made her way to the office she shared with three other Ph.D. candidates, finding the place empty.

As she set her backpack and books on her desk, her phone started vibrating in her pocket and if it was possible, her grin became even bigger. Lilah knew exactly who was calling.

The entire thing started when she jokingly texted Keanu a picture of herself and her brand-new copy of Scanner Darkly, which she got it as soon as he left. The perks of living above a bookstore. Lilah wasn’t expecting him to call or to spend the next hour chatting like they hadn’t just seen each other earlier that night.

And she certainly wasn’t expecting Keanu to do it again the next day when she texted a quick comment during her lunch break. From that, it just happened again and again and it was becoming a routine.

Could you call it a routine after just two days? Lilah wasn’t sure, but it was nice and her heart was starting to speed up everything her phone rang.

“Hi!” she greeted not even bothering to check caller ID. “I just spent the morning watching you.”

“You did?” Keanu asked, his voice half confused, half amused and Lilah winced.

“I mean, I watched The Matrix in class,” she explained dropping on her chair and squeezing the bridge of her nose. “I’m not stalking you or anything.”

“I didn’t think you were,” he replied with a chuckle. “So, were you discussing Descartes or Plato today?”

It was funny how a simple question could make Lilah so happy. Anyone else would ask her why she was showing sci-fi movies in a philosophy class. Not Keanu. He knew exactly what was behind his own movie.

“Descartes,” she replied pulling out her lunch from her backpack, along with her copy of Scanner Darkly. “It went great. Now I’m enjoying some peace and quiet with only Phil as my company. How about you?”

“Phil is a lucky guy,” Keanu said, and butterflies fluttered in her chest. That sounded a little flirty on his part. “I’m hanging out with Andy today, so we have good chemistry when we shoot together next week.”

“Oh! I need pictures!” she asked giddily. Keanu had told her yesterday about his dog co-star and Lilah made him promise to send pictures whenever Andy was in the set.

“Just a sec,” he said with a huff of laughter and Lilah heard noises in the background before her phone beeped with a new message.

She pulled away long enough to check it. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so hard at the sight of Keanu and the puppy beagle on his arms. The dog was licking his chin and he was laughing.

“Awww! Looks to me like you two have great chemistry already!”

“That’s what his trainer says,” Keanu commented with a chuckle. “So are you enjoying Scanner Darkly?”

“I’m loving it!” Lilah exclaimed unable to keep the excitement from her voice. “I can’t believe it took me so long to read anything by Phillip when two of my favorite sci-fi movies are based on his stories.”

“Blade Runner and what else?” Keanu asked and Lilah snorted.

“Total Recall and Minority Report. Blade Runner is boring!” Lilah could only imagine what she looked like grinning like an idiot and she was glad the office was empty.

“You obviously watched it wrong!” Keanu accused and she laughed. What did it say about the two of them the fact that they had inside jokes now?

“Did I? maybe you should show me the right way, then,” she challenged, her palms suddenly clammy because that was definitely flirty.

“Your place or mine?” Keanu asked not even missing a beat and Lilah froze, stunned.

Was Keanu inviting her to his apartment? For some reason that felt more intimate than hanging out in her living room. Maybe because there was no chance of someone walking in on them… Which shouldn’t matter because they were friends and there was nothing to walk in on.

“Yours,” Lilah finally replied, because now she was curious to see what his place looked like and also to prove to herself it wouldn’t matter. “Six’s ok?”

“Perfect,” he said, and she could picture him smiling. “I’m off this afternoon since we’re shooting some night scenes at midnight. I can get something ready by the time you get there if you don’t mind an early dinner. How do you feel about Italian?”

“You don’t have to,” she hurried to say because it was one thing meeting for coffee. Dinner felt too much like a date and that was dangerous territory.

“I want to,” Keanu said, his voice soft and breathy and a shivered ran down her spine. “Really.”

“Then I love Italian.”

“Good. See you at six.”

Lilah was still grinning when she hung up the phone, her hands shaking, and her heart seemed to be doing acrobatic flips. She really thought she had somehow ruined everything that day in the park, even if she didn’t know what had gone wrong exactly. But apparently, she had been mistaken. Keanu was happy to meet her again and they had so much fun together that it was getting harder for Lilah to remind herself that they were just friends and all the reasons why they could only be just friends.

For the rest of the day, Lilah had to fight to stay focused on her work, but her thoughts kept drifting to Keanu and their… meeting? Get together? Hangout? She just didn’t want to call it a date, even though she was mentally running through her wardrobe to decide for an outfit for the evening.

She had decided on the red dress she had been saving for Thanksgiving dinner, but when Lilah was about to head home, her advisor caught her on the way out, wanting to discuss new modifications on her paper before submission and it wasn’t like Lilah could say no to the other woman.

By the time her advisor finally finished asking for changes that had already been made – proving she had read the wrong version once again – it was after five and Lilah would have time to head home to change.

She stopped by the restroom to at least pull her hair out of the ponytail she usually wore, brush her teeth and check to see if her jeans and sweater were ok, before heading out, taking a train to the address Keanu had sent her.

She arrived at a restored pre-war apartment building at East Central Park. It was gorgeous and she couldn’t even imagine how much this place cost. She stepped into the entry hall, looking around and feeling out of place, catching sight of a doorman dressed in a perfectly ironed uniform.

“Hi,” she started as he looked her up and down, his an arched eyebrow.

“May I help you?”

“Yes. I’m visiting a friend,” Lilah said and before she could give the man the right apartment number, Keanu stepped inside the foyer helmet in one hand, takeout bag on the other, hair messy and falling over his eyes.

“Hey! Perfect timing!” he grinned at her. “I got stuck in a meeting with Chad and David and I’m running a little late.”

“No problem,” Lilah replied with a smile her heart doing that silly flip again.

For a moment, they just stood there, staring and smiling at each other, until the doorman cleared his throat and Keanu turned to look at him.

“Carl, could you please add Lilah to my list of visitors please?”

“Right away, Mr. Reeves,” the man replied. “ID please.”

Lilah stepped closer, handing her driver’s license and waiting for him to copy the information.

“All done Mrs. Bennett.”

“Thanks,” she took the document back, pocketing it before letting Keanu lead the way to the wall of elevators. He pushed his helmet up to his elbow and led Lilah with a hand on the small of her back. He wasn’t actually touching her, but she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

The elevator opened into a small hall, which had only one door. Keanu unlocked, leading the way into his apartment and the lights must have been on sensors as they flickered to life as soon as they stepped in. Lilah was greeted by the sight of an ample space that was at the same time nothing like she expected, but exactly what she should’ve known. It was modern and elegant, designed for comfort and commodity, but not flashy or opulent.

What caught her attention the most though was the ceiling to floor window panels facing Central Park. The view was breathtaking and before Lilah could even realize it, her feet had already taken her closer so she could take a better look.

“This view is amazing,” she commented as Keanu came to stand behind her. She could see his smile reflected on the glass.

“It was one of the reasons I bought it,” he replied, gesturing at her coat and Lilah shrugged it off, handing it to him. “Remind me to show you the balcony later.”

She nodded distractedly, still fascinated by the view. Was that the MET to her left?

“Hope you hungry,” Keanu said at the kitchen unpacking their food and making Lilah look his way. “I didn’t have time to cook, but this is the best pasta in New York.”

“I told you didn’t have to,” Lilah said moving to the kitchen. “ I’m perfectly fine with takeout. Even if it isn’t the best in New York. But anyway, let me help. Where are the plates?”

“The second cabinet to your right,” he said over his shoulder, distracted.

Lilah opened the right cabinet and snorted as she noticed the pile of plates on the top shelf and out of her reach.

“Do you have a stool or something?”

Keanu glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. He set the wine bottle he had just picked up on the counter, before retrieving the plates himself and handing it to her with a smirk.

“I hate all tall people,” Lilah declared with a mock glare that had Keanu chuckling again and she smiled because this felt comfortable, almost domestic.

They settled at the kitchen counter to eat, talking about their day like they hadn’t spoken just a couple of hours ago. Keanu had been right; it was one of the best pasta Lilah had eaten in her life. Almost enough to cover the taste of the red wine which she hated but once again hadn’t had the heart to tell Keanu.

As Keanu described some fight scene he had to do that day, Lilah sipped her drink, too distracted to hide the small grimace of distaste. Keanu paused mid-sentence, giving her an amused smile that was a little too knowingly.

“You don’t like wine, do you?”

“Not red,” she replied with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Keanu said, getting up to grab another bottle. “But I hope you know you don’t have to say yes to things you don’t like or aren’t comfortable with on my behalf.”

“I know, I know,” Lilah replied with a chagrin grimace. Sometimes she didn’t even realize she did it, say yes to certain things to avoid upsetting people or causing conflict. It was such an ingrained habit. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize either,” he assured, bringing her a glass of white wine, his fingers brushing against hers and he settled the glass by her hand.

Lilah couldn’t help the bright smile that tugged her lips at the way he was so thoughtful. Her heart thundered in her chest as she met Keanu’s eyes and she might have seen something in them that she wasn’t quite sure how to name, but it made look away, warm affection spreading in her chest.

“Thank you,” she said instead, catching his hand and squeezing it. Keanu smiled at her, ducking his head until his hair fell over his face, but Lilah thought she saw a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

They settled into a comfortable silence as they finished their meal and despite Keanu’s protests, Lilah helped him clean up, before moving to the TV room, where Keanu had a huge flat screen and home theater system. Lilah took a seat on the comfortable leather couch with her refilled wine glass while Keanu got everything ready, dimmed the lights and joined her.

She sipped her drink as Harrison Ford hunted replicants on a dystopian future on the screen. Once in a while, Keanu would add a comment about how he interpreted this or that action from a character or how a certain scene was different from the short story the movie originated from.

It was nice and comfortable, and Lilah was really enjoying herself, but she had worked the entire day. She was tired and full and maybe slightly tipsy, so she took advantage of the way Keanu had his arm over the back of the couch to lean against his side, resting her head on his chest and letting her eyes drift shut. His warmth and the soft scent of cologne and cigarettes lulled her to sleep, probably dreaming the way his arm pulled her even closer or the soft brush of lips against her forehead that made her smile against his shirt.

Lilah woke up with a start when Keanu shook her shoulder gently. She looked around confused, noticing the film credits rolling on the screen and the way he was smiling indulgently at him.

“I fell asleep?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, turning off the TV. “About 30 minutes in.”

“Sorry,” she gave him a sheepish smile and checked the time. It was late. Really, really late. “Guess we’re gonna have to try it another time when I’m not exhausted.”

“I guess so,” Keanu said, standing up and pulling her up with him. “I called for a car service to drive you home. I’d take you myself, but I gotta get to the set.”

“You didn’t have…”

“I’m not letting you take the subway home at this hour, Lilah,” he cut her off gently, but with a frown. “I want you home safe.”

“Thanks,” Lilah smiled, feeling her cheeks warm and there it was again, that warmth in her chest. “And thanks for dinner.”

“My pleasure.”

Keanu waited with her until a sleek black sedan parked on the curb. He greeted the driver with a quick nod before opening the door for her.

“When do I see you again?” he asked so suddenly that Lilah had to take a moment to reply.

“Well, I have to watch this movie for my dissertation tomorrow, so if you don’t mind me pausing it a couple of hundred times…” Lilah trailed off with a shrug, praying he would say yes.

“Let me just check my shooting schedule, but I think I can make it,” Keanu grinned and bent closer, pressing a kiss on her cheek. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” Lilah replied with a matching grin as she got into the car.

xxx (tbc)

Go to part 6

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[skinnylittleredwrites]

My best friend, my lover.

TITLE OF STORY: My best friend, my lover. CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: 2/? AUTHOR: skinnylittlered. WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom. GENRE: Romance. FIC SUMMARY: Andrea and Tom have been friends since the beginning of time. Until a confession of love is made. This story follows the events of their subsequent relationship (sequel to You Wanna Play that Game? ) RATING: Explicit (language, references to sexual activity). WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES: - FEEDBACK/COMMENTS: -

Chapter 2.

I don’t see how I could ever tire of this.

Surely, this feeling might be greatly influenced by the fact that, due to his absolutely hellish schedule his job all but demands, and the very static nature of my own job – I am, more often than not, essentially tied to my desk and the seemingly never ending piles of papers that consume most of my time at work and sometimes my free time as well, so more time than I’d ever care to admit to myself or any who may inquire – we have probably spent somewhere in the vicinity of maybe a fortnight in each other’s presence in the last three months and, while I would have been completely content with the situation should things have transpired in that way, there’s more to a relationship, I’m being told, than fucking each other’s brains for the whole of the time we’re together. Thusly, precious time which could have been dedicated to mindless penetration was regrettably wasted on romantic niceties and such other nonsense which I could have really done without, regardless of how cute they may be.  

This is precisely why, as I find myself kneeling against the headrest of his bed – well, technically, our bed now – and being pounded into with the fervour that I thought was only reserved for pubescent boys furiously masturbating against any surface even remotely resembling the softness that is specific to the female kind, I am relishing maybe more so than I generally would during copulation. Not to cause any misunderstanding, Tom has proved himself to be quite the competent lover, effectively obliterating the sparse doubts I may have amassed in regards to that topic. Doubts, I should add, that were compiled during the not infrequent locker talk that I either overheard or was a present participant to over the years of our friendship. Honestly, men have such a way of perorating about their sexual conquests that it renders a female of the even coarser sensibilities (or maybe especially her) to regard their grandiose claims as at least dubious if not entirely unbelievable. But, fortunately for all the parties involved, that is both myself and him, those claims are, irrefutably if not quite as monumentally, backed up by facts - he is a man of a certain degree of mastery, not to be overlooked, when it comes to gratifying the beautiful sex.

And here I am, being thoroughly gratified – thoroughly being the operative word – as I am taken from behind, with great enthusiasm. He’s got me by a fistful of hair and a fistful of hip, grunting as he thrusts into me, and it is music to my ears, accompanied by the sounds of his pelvis slamming into my ass – a symphony of absolute debauchery if I’ve ever heard one. I, naturally, being the refined erotic artist that I fancy myself to be, am holding my own to this most exquisite harmony of sounds, positive that my moans and screams of pleasure can be heard from across the street, but I indulge in expressing my satisfaction shamelessly, completely neglecting any sense of the basest form of propriety or moral value instilled in me since infanthood. I revel in the delights of the flesh to the uttermost extent, I am unabashed and completely incorrigible and I am -

Oh, god, I’m -

I cry out my climax, bending backwards toward him in a way that I am certain might be highly uncomfortable if not impossible were it not for the adrenaline shooting through me. He reaches to my ear and whispers rough words that would otherwise be insulting, that he would not be caught dead addressing a woman in a different scenario, but right now only intensify my pleasure, coaxing it out of me. I whimper and I come, as I am commanded, and it doesn’t register in my brain that I am no longer at my apex even minutes later, when he stiffens to his own release.

Panting and sweating, we both let ourselves fall on the crumpled sheets of our lovemaking. Tom is, soon enough, fast asleep, but I am, although physically spent, nowhere near enough to drowsy. I am somehow full of energy but unable to manifest it, and, to save myself from the eventual frustration that will overcome me in this paradoxal state and because of it, I raise from the bed and head for the shower, pondering almost disinterestedly at the domestic tasks that I have to accomplish for the day and other such things.

It’s been three months. Three very convoluted, intense, consuming months. So much so, that, except for the occasional talks we have confronting the subject during our very infrequent times together, we did not really have the time others may have to slide into conjugality, it’s still quite foreign territory, although broadly discussed. Between travelling to every and all corners of the world, filming and catering to his fanbase and, winning awards, we tried to fit in our newly developed liaison. We went on dates and held hands and our interactions slowly metamorphosised, without losing the friendly quality of the ones prior to our respective confessions, into something entirely new, but still very familiar. Our romance, we learned, is in the small things. Not much of our demeanour towards the other has changed, but the subtleties which make all the difference in the world are ever present, and those lay in our knowledge. He doesn’t look at me any differently, nor does he speak to me differently, nor does he hug me longer nor tighter, but his love, professed and recognised, gives other meaning to what was before. There are, of course, the intimacies that are entirely strange to the realm of platonic, but those are hardly ever on display – I am the part of him that the world shall merely know of, but never know – and to the couple of us, they seem but a natural extension to something that was present all along. But that does not domesticity make. This we shall learn as we go, one morning waking up together at a time.  

Or one homemade meal at a time? I speak the question rhetorically, as there is no one in the room to answer, and giggle at myself a bit as I’m chopping various vegetables for supper.  

Cooking was not an activity that I have ever particularly enjoyed or was any good at. Obviously, nobody is particularly proficient at anything from the onset, lest for an inherent propensity that might as well be divinely gifted, as the general consensus seems to be with the average folk, but I appeared to be, from early times, especially unskilled at any culinary endeavours. My attitude towards the matter was the insurmountable obstacle toward my progression in the field – I would never, for the life of me, be caught in the kitchen, either by myself or others, when the convenience of the ready-to-eat, brought-to-your-own-door meal was an available commodity, even in college, when money was less than it is now. With an upper middle class family to support me and a part time job as a barista, money was hardly the issue – it would be highly hypocritical of me to not acknowledge the very fact that beauty pays for itself; I am an example of the basic caucasian standard of classic beauty: honey blonde hair, blue eyes and a slim oval face, the body that I religiously keep fit to serve my vanity more than my health or any other purpose, and a sweet disposition that I nearly cunningly employ to my advantage, I would never dare say that life wasn’t made easier by those cumulus of facts.  

But cooking, or any other traditionally womanly activities, I discovered as I was growing up, became more tolerant, even pleasant when their result has a recipient. I may not enjoy preparing my own food, I am still as guilty of succumbing to pre-prepared commodities as I was in my youth when mine is the only mouth that needs feeding, but I certainly do enjoy putting a meal together for my partners, and Tom is no exception. If anything, he’s the instance reinforcing the rule. In the little time we’ve had together, I’ve made it my mission to bring him a home he can take refuge in anywhere we may be.

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

Ah, speak of the devil, there he is, all six feet and two inches of freshly roused glory, donning just boxers and a tee, and a self-satisfied smirk on his face, for somewhat reason.

“I did not buy it then; I don’t buy it now.”

“First of all, you said you did-”

“I lied.”

“And second, mean.”

“Am I?”

“You hurt my achey breakey heart.”

“I think your heart is just fine, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he chuckles against my neck as he hugs me from behind, sending a shiver down my spine. “My heart is mighty fine, although I do wonder about my stomach. It is very sanitary to be cooking in your underwear?”

"I am wearing a t-shirt!”

“...and no pants.”

“Well, I was going for sexy, not sanitary.”

“You’re always sexy.”

I huff.

“There’s no point to flattery, Hiddleston, with me, you can already get anything you want.”

“I’m not flattering. I do think you’re sexy. Always have.”

“Always?”

“Yeah. I never really wanted to admit it to myself, because that would have been... problematic, but I did. You’re a very beautiful woman.”

Although I am very much aware of that, his declaration still puts a knot in my throat and, like the sap that I am, my eyes become moist with overdramatic tears. I turn and rest my forehead on his chest, holding his body closer to mine. “I know.”

He laughs at my muffled reply, but is quick to chastise my illogical crying.

“Oh, dear, none of that. I can make a list of all of the things that are absolutely awful about you, then you can hate me and stop the waterworks.”

Sentiment promptly forgotten, I take a step back and glare at him.

“There’s nothing awful about me, I’m perfect!”

“Like hell you are,” his laugh is mirthful and unforgiving.  

“Fine. Tell me three things which are awful about me.”

His reply is matter-of-fact and not at all hesitant.

“You’re self-centred, vain, and not only slightly superficial. And, while we’re at it, your cooking’s not fantastic, either. I think you take after your mother.”

“That last one was mean and uncalled-for! But, fuck, I sound terrible. Am I so terrible?”  

The fact that I pulled out the puppy eyes on him on that last bit surely only emphasises some of my shortages in good character, because I’m doing it just to torment him. I know he doesn’t and I know he’ll feel especially bad for being so blunt in his criticism, and he’ll pull his very own variation of the puppy-eyes on me to be granted forgiveness later, which I will of course provide after making him repent.  

Orally.

“Why are you smirking all of a sudden?”

“Huh?”

“What’s with the face?”

“Ah, nothing. Up for takeout pizza?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

Yeah, we’re going to be just fine, Tom Hiddleston and I. Maybe not one homemade meal at a time, though.

________________________________________________________________

Author’s notes: It’s been about four years since I last wrote pretty much anything in any way literary (maybe some poetry here and there), and I decided that I miss it (and was pestered by some folks very dear to me to get my ass in gear and just do it again) so, yeah. Decided that, since I was so comfortable with the medium of fanfic, this would be a good place to give my writing bones a good crackin’, and so far things have been surprisingly nice. I honestly thought the fandom was dead, but it seems that you guys are still alive and very much kicking. 

Aaaaanywaaayyy.

I wanted to send out a huge, huge thanks to those of you who stuck for so long. It makes a girl shed a tiny but highly valuable tear. Also huge thanks for those of you who have stumbled upon my work while I was gone, those who sent messages and likes and kudos and reblogs and all that fun stuff. I came back to quite a number of those and, well, let’s just add another tiny tear to that previous one. Also thanks to those of you who are new to the my tiny blog of stories, another tiny tear and I will be full on tiny crying.

Thank you! 

[miniherodesktales]

Is fanfiction a free gift?

We’re still in the middle of the coronavirus lockdown, so please don’t mind me if I ramble on a bit. Too much free time.

I’ve been a writer of fanfiction for some time now and I feel I’ve gone on a bit of a journey concerning the issue of reviews. Or rather the lack of them. Or, to be completely honest, feeling that I was not receiving enough reviews, that I deserved more. 

I know that I am alone in having felt that way. A quick Google search of “why don’t people review my fanfic?” yields plenty of results.

Whatever their reasons, readers don’t always wish to write a review.

What is perhaps a little more interesting is to look at why we writers want reviews.

Reflecting purely on my own feelings, I felt a strong amount of ownership over my fanfics and it niggled at me that readers would read my precious story and not even give - GIVE- me a thank you. It felt like something was being taken from me, even though it wasn’t. 

Give is the key word here. I was not happy with the idea that anyone could just read the fruits of my creativity and not give me something in return. I didn’t just want my fanfics to be free, I wanted something in return. In a way I wanted to be paid, to maintain my ownership. To make sure that the readers were not going to get something for free.

Again, I know that I was far from alone in feeling that way. I’ve seen writers go to great lengths to encourage - pressure - their readers into reviewing. I’ve seen the angry tumblr posts insisting that fanficton is not free, that it is the readers job to review. I’ve seen bitter posts shaming readers for their lack of reviews. I’ve seen writers demanding and begging and bargaining. 

The word “payment” crops up time and time again. “Be kind”, “Make my day”, “I’m writing something you enjoy, so pay me back by reviewing.”

It’s not pleasant feeling like that. It’s angry and bitter and lonely and frustrating.

I was so over feeling like that, and to be honest, I did not want to be like the really frustrated writers who feel that they have vent on social media. They can’t be very happy. It’s understandable, but it’s not healthy, either.

I had to change my attitude. So, I gave up looking at how many followers I had and how much traffic my fics were receiving. I am feel grateful to those who do review and remind myself that I would not want the pressure of having too many reviewers and trying to please them all. 

I also have to acknowledge that having increased hours at work has helped a lot. It keeps me busier, less bored, and left me feeling better about myself.

This leads me onto my second reason for craving reviews: social interaction.

I feel a little embarrassed to admit this, but I think I mistakenly felt that fanfic sites should be a place to interact with people, but they’re not very good for that. At least, they’re not in my experience. 

I am lucky in that I have my siblings, particularly my sister, who I can share fandom with. Friday Night is Sisterly Nerd Night, Sometimes With Older Brother and Very Occasionally Youngest Sister. I love my sibling nerds to bits. 

By being part of a fandom it meant that I no longer rely on someone leaving a review who may wish to chat and share the joy of a common interest.This is a rarity. 

The biggest change in my attitude came from learning to view my fanfics as a free gift, no payment necessary. Because it is a free gift to any reader who wants it I don’t expect a review in exchange or payment. I still hope I will receive a lovely review, but I’ve learnt not to rely on them.

It’s tough, though, and I still feel a little sad and frustrated and un-motivated, but thanks to my awesome sister and a couple of regular reviewers I’m learning to enjoy writing for the sake of writing.Thank you!

A poet called Lewis Hyde wrote a book called The Gift, an essay about the very old problem any creative person faces. How to maintain your creativity while also making a living out of it? Can monetary value ever be placed on art?

I couldn’t finish this book, it was too dry for me, but he’s also the author of another interesting book discussing the trickster archetype and how it relates to creative people.

Anyway, part of Hyde’s definition of a gift is that it should be something that is continually passed along. A Christmas present that is kept will eventually lose it’s power, it’s life, but if it is constantly being passed from person to another it will keep it’s power.

Sounds like fandom, right?

If we keep inspiring one another and keep creating then we can use our gifts to keep our favorite fandoms alive. If a fic about Captain America riding in on a stallion to rescue Iron Man inspires another person to create fanart and another to write a puppet show about it, then we have a gift in circulation that will keep breathing new life into the fandom. And Stoney is just a gift that keeps on giving.(I need more Stoney in my life, thanks to my sister!)

But, any writer that demands a review as payment or as an exchange has not really created a gift, but a commodity....I think...

Okay, I’ve reached the limited point of my own understanding. And I sound way too pretentious for own liking.

My point is that I’m a happier fanfic writer for seeing my fics as a gift. It doesn’t matter too much if people review or not. I like it when people tell me that they enjoyed my work, but I no longer see reviews as something I deserve or have the right to. 

I like to think that people are reading my stories and enjoying them. It feels good to create something that people can enjoy for free.

....

Okay, so I’m laughing at myself now for my own pretentiousness. Please understand it’s been building up for a long time, seeing how frustrated and angry some writers were becoming and seeing it in myself.

Take care, everyone.

[a-little-international]

Stable (3)

Summary: Even Tom knows it’s a cliché  for the stable hand to fall in love with the star rider.

Pairing: Tom Holland/OC

Warnings: petty and hormonal teenage boys

Words: 2,791

A/N: since moving back home, i’ve started riding again and honestly there’s a distinct lack of male stable hands in my age range which is UNACCEPTABLE and is the primary reason for reviving this fic.

The Series: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Chapter 3

Wednesday rolled around much faster than Tom ever wanted it to, dreading having to spend the hours after school running after Harrison Osterfield and trying his best to avoid the topic of Ren. Knowing Harrison, that was unlikely, but he still held out hope. The only good thing about Wednesdays was that the last two hours were a double art class with his mum, and his best friend Jacob sitting by his side.

“Do you think they made out?” Jacob asked, pushing down on his lump of clay, “Like with tongues and everything?”

Tom slammed his chunk of clay on the table, grimacing at Jacob, “Can you shut up?” he replied, his voice hushed as he glanced up to see if his mother had overheard. “And I’m sure if they did it was with tongues, we’re not twelve anymore dude.”

“Yeah and it’s Osterfield, guy’s such a slimy bugger I bet he shoved it all the way down her throat,” Jacob carried on, sticking his tongue out as far as possible to demonstrate, adding slurping and gagging sounds for effect.

“Shut up,” Tom reiterated, clenching his hands into the clay at the thought of Harrison all over Ren. He was jealous, he knew he was and he knew it was a terrible thing to do and Ren didn’t owe him a second of her time, let alone her affection, but he just wished she wasn’t into Harrison of all people. He didn’t even want to know what the implication of them being at boarding school together meant -  he’d heard plenty about the goings on between students at Saints and he tried to push Ren’s potential involvement with any of that as far out of his mind as he could possible manage.

As if Jacob could read his mind, he rambled on, “Do you think they’ve slept together?”

“Ugh, Jacob! Please!” Tom exclaimed, throwing his head back. He did not want to be thinking about this mere hours before having to look at Harrison all evening.

“You need to face the facts, Tom. They’re probably banging and she’s never going to look at you that way.”

“Ouch,” Tom pouted as he continued to squish the clay between his hands, in no way following his mother’s instructions.

“You have been pining over her for too long, my friend. This may actually be a good thing! You’ll be able to go off to University without having to dream forever more about the beautiful yet elusive Ren.”

“Not sure if I’m even going to Uni,” Tom sulked, tugging the sleeves of his uniform jumper higher up his elbows so they wouldn’t get too ruined.

“Well my point still stands, you can’t mope about for the rest of your life Thomas. Plenty of fish, and all that.”

Tom frowned at his friend, not loving where this conversation had headed when all he’d wanted was a pep talk for later. “You’re mister romantic, what happened? Since when are you so anti pursuing what could possibly be the love of your life?” he exclaimed, kneading down on his clay.

Jacob smirked as he leaned against the table, his blob of clay totally forgotten about. “Listen, I am all for pursuing the love of your life. I just want to posit that there may be more than one, and you’ve gotta let it go when you know you’ve been beaten. Plenty of fish, you hear me? You’ll find more success elsewhere, young padawan.”

“Fine, Obi,” Tom sighed, rolling his eyes, “but I don’t know that I’ve been beaten yet. We don’t know for sure that anything has ever happened between them and so I might still be in with a chance. She said I was her favourite on Saturday,” he added proudly, as if that proved anything.

Jacob snorted and returned to his clay, “Alright casanova, let me know how to that goes. But I’ll bet you five quid and the snickers at the bottom of my bag that you’ll find out plenty from Harrison this evening.”

“I’ll take you up on the fiver, but I don’t want anything to do with that rank snickers.”

“Suits me,” Jacob shrugged, shooting a grin at his best friend and Tom knew he was only trying to protect him from another round of heartache and pining. This sort of thing happened every few months, where Ren was concerned. She would say something, and Tom would completely misinterpret it and get his hopes up and nothing would happen and on the cycle would go.

“Boys, come on, less gossiping more creating!” Tom’s mother’s voice brought him out of his thoughts and he grinner up at her, desperately hoping she hadn’t overheard any part of their conversation. Knowing her, though, that seemed highly unlikely. He wondered if she would bring it up at dinner, or store it away for later referral. She winked back at him as she walked away, tapping her fingers against his desk. Tom dropped his head, groaning internally at the thought of having to discuss this with her later.

---

“Alright Tom, can you grab Skylark next please, Harrison’s just arrived and he’ll want to jump right up.” Called his dad from the barn doors, a bunch of polo mallets tucked under his arm.

“Daaaaad,” Tom groaned, throwing his head back as he pulled a face, “can’t I go get someone else? Literally anyone else, please,” he begged, approaching his dad.

Peering out at the courtyard he saw Harrison talking to his mother through the open car window as he pulled on his gloves, looking clean and tidy and expensive as ever. Tom scuffed his worn out boot tip against the flagstones.

Dominic Holland looked over his shoulder to give his son a stern look, one eyebrow raised. “Now Tom, you’ve got about three minutes to pick up that attitude and get Skylark out to the field.”

“Literally anyone else.” Tom repeated himself, his eyes practically begging his father to relent.

Mr. Holland was not to be moved or swayed. “Go, now. Please Tom.”

There was no winning, and Tom just hoped that Harrison would ignore him all evening.

Alas, he had no such luck, as the second Harrison rounded the corner to the polo field, his eyes were fixed on Tom and he could have sworn he saw the star player square his shoulders as he approached.

“Evening, Holland,” Harrison greeted curtly, swinging up onto his horse without a second’s hesitation, “good weather for a game, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” Tom replied, just as stiffly as he handed the reins up to Harrison, “cracking weather.” He wondered why Harrison was talking to him about the weather at all, the fact that he had even acknowledged him without being forced to was just as unusual as it was suspicious. “Have a good rideout on Saturday?” Tom heard himself asking out loud, to his absolute horror. He tried his best not to make too much of a face as he glanced up at Harrison, who was fiddling with one of his stirrup leathers.

“Hmm?” Harrison hummed, not bothering to look at Tom, as he checked the new length of his stirrup, “Oh, with Florence?” he added, almost absentmindedly.

Tom bit down on his lip. If he had been talking to anyone else, it would have almost seemed like a normal, totally casual conversation. But it was exactly that normal, totally casual way in which Harrison spoke her name that felt like dig; like he was telling Tom how totally normal and casual it was for him to be spending time with her, when to Tom it was a treasured commodity.

All Tom could muster as a response was a nod of his head and an affirmative grunt.

If it hadn’t been for his impulsive question in the first place, he wouldn’t have to remain next to Harrison, painfully waiting for an answer he wasn’t sure he really wanted to hear. But there he was, standing next to the epitome of what he both always wanted to be and tried his best to never become, waiting for what felt like the inevitable blow that would break his heart.

“Oh it was rather good,” Harrison said, smirking at Tom as he shifted around in the saddle, his shoulders pushing back confidently. “Nice to get some one-on-one time with her, school can be pretty manic, you know how it is”.

That definitely felt like another dig, and Tom swallowed as he nodded up at Harrison unable to think of a properly. Of course he didn’t know how it was at school with them. Mayfield College was a world away from St. Augustine’s, even if it was just three miles down the road. He’d been inside the old brick walls of the boarding school a couple of times for various school events, and had visited the sprawling grounds more often than that for the occasional soccer match or to cheer on his school’s rugby team, but he couldn’t really begin to imagine what it was like going there. He’d definitely never have imagined it as manic.

“Anyway, hoping to get some proper one-on-one time with her this Saturday anyway,” Harrison continued smugly, winking at Tom suggestively, who had stuffed his balled fists so deep into the pockets of his jacket he was worried he might tear the fabric. “I’m sure you must have heard all about my party by now.”

Tom just glared up at Harrison, biting down on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t like what Harrison was implying at all, and he certainly hadn’t heard of his stupid party and he was sure that Harrison knew that too. Another jab, just to be sure.

“Oh well, it really is just all Saints people anyway, so I suppose you mightn’t have heard after all,” Harrison shrugged, a smile tugging at the side of his mouth as he looked down his nose at Tom. “We’re never quite sure what trickles down to you lot at Mayfield,” he added, a smug grin spreading over his face as he urged his horse forward onto the field, without another glance back.

Tom looked over at his brother Sam, jaw dropped at Harrison’s comment. Sam was just sending another team member onto the field with a short wave when he looked over and frowned questioningly back at Tom.

“I hate him,” Tom grumbled as he stomped over to complain, hands still buried in his pockets, “so much.”

Sam rolled his eyes, looking around to see if anyone else needed any more help. “He’s really not that bad.”

“Hey, you’re meant to be on my side,” Tom replied, shooting a look at his brother before turning his attention to the riders on the field, who were all being handed their mallets by their trainer.

“It’s just an act, you know that right?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at Tom.

“Did you know about his party on Saturday?” Tom continued, choosing to completely ignore what his brother had just said, he was clearly delusional. “Ren is going to it apparently.”

“Good for her,” Sam chuckled, leaning back against the fence as the game started, horses racing past them and mallets swinging. Tom had already lost sight of the ball amongst the trampling of hooves.

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, watching as Harrison sharply turned his horse around to go barrelling down towards the other end of the field. And sure, it was good for her, he was glad she was being invited to parties and having fun and had what seemed to be a great group of friends from all accounts, he just really wished it wasn’t with Harrison. He knew he sounded like an entitled child and resented that feeling inside him, but he couldn’t help being so in love with her that every time she so much as looked his way his mouth ran dry. Being seventeen and in love was hard work.

---

Even dripping in sweat Harrison Osterfield looked good, and Tom made a mental note to add that to his list of things that bothered him about the preppy polo player.

Harrison held out his muddy mallet for Tom to take as he swung down off his horse, boots hitting the slightly soggy ground with a confident thud.

“Good game, Osterfield, good game,” Remy Hii, the team captain jeered, slapping Harrison on the shoulder with a big grin.

“All down to your stellar leadership, of course,” Harrison replied, tipping his helmet like he was some sort of nineteenth century gentleman. Tom rolled his eyes as he held up a bucket of water so Skylark could get a drink.

“See you on Saturday, yeah?” Tom heard Remy say as he walked away, his own horse in tow.

“Absolutely” Harrison replied, waving his gloved hand in salute. For a second, Tom wondered what it would be like to be in Harrison’s circle of friends, to actually be privy to invites and jockular exchanges, when he felt a firm had come down on his shoulder.

“You know, Holland, Florence was saying you’re gonna be her groom for the season,” Harrison said, his voice barely over a whisper, and a shiver of dread ran down Tom’s spine at the anticipation of an upcoming threat, “and I just to make sure that you know that if anything happens to her at all, I will be blaming you, so you better do a better job at checking the leather with her than you did with me.”

Tom frowned at him, feeling like he was missing the punchline of a joke. For one, he was entirely caught off guard by Harrison’s apparent protectiveness of Ren, and secondly he had no idea what leather he meant and what could possibly be wrong with it.

Harrison didn’t wait long to illuminate him as he lifted the upper skirt of the saddle to expose the top of the stirrup strap, where the stitching keeping it all together had almost entirely come apart and the leather had worn down so much that it almost seemed like a miracle that he hadn’t entirely lost his stirrup during the two hours of training.

Tom didn’t know what to say; with the level these people were riding at, a sudden loss of stirrup at the wrong moment could be fatal, and he had no idea how he’d missed it. He looked at Harrison, eyes wide, hoping he wouldn’t say anything to anyone about it or he’d be off the roster for the next two millennia and he could wave goodbye to ever getting to hang around Ren again.  

“Now, I’m going to let this slide on the conditions that you fix this immediately,” Harrison said, voice low and holding one finger up to Tom like a stern parent, “you make sure my tack and horse are in proper riding condition from this moment forth so I never have to deal with your utter incompetence again,” he continued, holding up a second finger, “ and, that nothing even remotely like this happens to Ren or I will make your life so much worse than it already is,” he finished, holding up a rather menacing looking third finger. “Don’t test me.”

All Tom could do was nod, still totally caught off guard to Harrison’s attitude towards Ren. He’d always seemed like a slimy git and he was at least seventy five percent sure he was some kind of psychopath, but maybe Sam was right. But then again, maybe Sam was wrong and Harrison was just playing mind games with him and knew Tom’s weakness was always and forever going to be Ren, and the momentary reprieve in animosity he had felt for Harrison dissipated pretty swiftly.

“I’ll take Skylark in for you then,” Tom finally said after enough tense seconds had passed between them, taking the reins and making a move back towards the stables.

“Absolutely not,” Harrison hissed, snatching the reins right back, “I’ll leave the saddle on the bench in the tack room for you to fix, and mark my words: I’ll be checking every last stitch before I get on next time and if even one thing is out of place I will be informing your father of your sheer incompetence.

Tom watched as Harrison led Skylark away, the half empty water bucket still dangling from his fingertips, totally ignoring the other team members that were still bustling around that might be in need of some assistance.

“What was that all about?” Harry asked, sidling up next to him with a dirty towel used for rubbing down the sweaty horses flung over his shoulder.

Tom pursed his lips and glanced over at his brother, “So, I almost killed Harrison Osterfield and then he threatened me.”

“Fair,” Harry shrugged casually, “but better luck next time.”

---

TAGLIST (let me know if you want to be added!)

@crownedbyluke @24kcalum @vnv21

[dotthings]

Okay, about this “g*ncest” thing that just cropped up which makes me feel like I splintered back to the year 2006 and aren’t we over this by now...what that is is a bona fide example of toxic masculinity attitudes at work and being valorized by a small number of fans, mostly female.

First off, as far as I’m concerned, you are free to enjoy or write any type of fic you want, I don’t care. I’m not judging your fic tastes. I won’t insult you as a human being, attack you, send anon hate, or put this post on your tags or even any shared tags. Which is more than antis have done to respect my shipping but whatever. 

However I disagree with the idea that there can be no discussion when fandom reinforces certain biases or ideas and tries to normalize them, without realizing how they’re reinforcing some real world level stuff that needs to be questioned. The discussion itself is valuable if you aren’t being a dick about it. 

So you know how D*stiel fans get accused all the freakin’ time, endlessly, ad nauseam “you don’t respect male friendships! male friendships are rare and precious commodities in the media! why do you have to ruin it by making it gay!” (Sorry I need a moment to stop laughing). When the fact is D*stiel fans openly own their slash and own the gay and fling glitter, they don’t tend to apologize for it, instead of trying to mask the fact that it’s slash. Nobody is denying that close platonic male friendships can exist, either. But guess what, it is outright not toxic masculinity to see past heteronormative defaults to see how shipping two male friends together and seeing the potential for romance instead of by default ruling it out just because people are the same gender. It’s just not. It gets concerned trolled into the freakin’ ground as reinforcing toxic masculinity. It isn’t.

Which brings us to this g*ncest thing which, I stfg I thought we’d left behind in 2006. It’s an old fandom term that has outlived its need and outlived the context of the mores in fandom and society at the time that created it, like its related fic label concept, “smarm.”

“Smarm” isn’t the same definition as “smarmy.” The fandom definition of smarm is fic that depicts two people of the same gender being emotionally and physically close who are not in love and the intent is not romantic and not slash.

In other words, gen fic.

It depicts a platonic friendship or sibling bond.

It’s..gen fic. But for some reason, some felt they had to call it “smarm” because either it’s difficult to grasp that two men can be physically or emotionally close without it being slashy, or, fans who wanted to slash but self-shamed for it. They wouldn’t just call it a slash fic. Just like, it’s not w*ncest it’s g*ncest!!! Which somehow seems to assume itself a fest safe for anyone who isn’t into incest and just wants to celebrate the platonic sibling bond and...no, really, no. Probably be smarter to just host a Sam and Dean Gen Fic fest, which I’m sure exists, and hey, something for everyone, I’m not saying the g*ncest fest shouldn’t be allowed to continue, just pointing out why some people are bothered by it for reasons other than “you are ship shaming meanies!!”

There’s a big aspect of shame in smarm, and I’m arguing, to g*ncest. 

The recent uptick of intensity in SPN fandom where w*incest fandom stans determinedly turn every single canon Sam and Dean moment into incest, and insist every story, every fic, every image, every concept about Sam & Dean’s bond is emotional w*incest is part of this toxic masculinity thing, the g*ncest issue, the smarm issue. A Sam and Dean image, boom, incest! The brothers are so in love! D*stiel fans are considered horrible for, y’know, reading romance into a shit-ton of usage of romantic tropes, canon pining, plot and dialogue and long arcs that map to romantic tropes, even overt shout-outs from other characters to the idea that Dean and Cas are a thing, but if Sam and Dean so much as stand next to each other it’s incest ftw.

There is such a thing as pre-slash and I find it a whole lot less squicky than smarm or g*ncest. I kind of like pre-slash because it owns the fact that romantic relationships don’t always have to manifest as sexy times, but why did we even call it pre-slash, why not just slash at a G or PG rating? I think this is becoming more of the norm, with slash shippers unapologetically posting slash fic at a G or PG rating. Readers are free to read into whatever they want into a gen fic, but if the author ships it and intends to put romance into it, but it isn’t about how the characters have sex or even kiss, they’re still romantically in love and they’re going to label it slash or pre-slash. I don’t see the need for the “pre” in that any more. No they aren’t kissing yet, no they aren’t having sex yet, but they are in love nonetheless. 

Let go of the idea that a kiss or having sex is the only way to verify characters being in love. 

Toxic masculinity isn’t the removal of heteronormative goggles that were probably fused to our faces from birth because that’s how our society is and being capable of imagining that two male friends in a story can fall in love the same way we imagine a man and woman can. 

Toxic masculinity is when you are so determined that men--be it friends or siblings--cannot be close and it be, in fact, friendship or sibling love. It’s the equating of all male intimacy with a sexual and/or romantic bond. And I feel that a false narrative’s been allowed to prevail in SPN fandom that D*stiel fandom is deeply guilty of this when it’s not, while other groups that are doing this chronically, get a free pass.

I’d say it’s a pretty major example of toxic masculinity to insist that platonic w*incest is a thing, instead of just, y’know, Sam & Dean loving each other as siblings without hints of a romantic or sexual element. It’s toxic masculinity to slap the -cest slapping on every-freakin’-thing and then claim you’re being ship-shamed because you actually gate-keeped against fans who really just appreciate the sibling bond and don’t need any -cest to appreciate how close Sam and Dean are and appreciate that bond, and it’s pretty toxic to keep flinging a trigger in people’s faces every five minutes, openly, as if you own the entire fandom, and insist canon backs you up when in fact it’s gently shut you down on multiple occasions, and then expect absolutely nobody to be upset at you ever, and if anyone gets upset they’re ship-shaming you. That’s quite a big amount of entitlement, to assume that people aren’t allowed to be uncomfortable with something like incest.

Especially when you try to force LGBT ships that are non-trigger into the same mode, force a false equivalency, thus fetishizing the LGBT ships, and get offended if someone points out why a differentiation is sensible and necessary.

If you’re into Dean and Cas’s friendship and don’t see any romantic element, that’s gen. No really. It’s friendship fic. That’s not pre-slash. That’s not platonic D*stiel. You see a friendship. There is no such thing as platonic Destiel. Now, this gets tricky, because while that is 100% valid to feel that way, D*stiel is reaching a stage where not-shipping it is cool and all that, but if you vehemently deny there is any reason for other people to see more to it, you’re kind of having to ignore a hella lot of canon to keep those heteronormative goggles fused to your face, and no I am not accusing people who don’t ship it of being homophobic. Or of unconscious biases of being homophobic. We all have them. Talk about it, don’t insult people or shame them, sometimes it just takes a little bit to get people to understand. Others will never get there no matter what. Depends on the person. 

There’s any number of het ships where I have eyes, I can see canon intent, I see they’re into each other, but I don’t care and I don’t ship it and I might enjoy genfic about that relationship or have them wind up as friends, I don’t ship it. There’s non-canon popular slash fics I don’t feel it or see it. I don’t yell down its shippers though. Its that simple. My advice is just don’t go screaming down D*stiel shippers with why must you ruin their friendship or claiming it’s toxic masculinity and going on about the sanctity of platonic male friendship which is just such a rare and precious flower in the media (sorry. pausing to lmfao again). 

I also literally do not care how you see Sam and Dean’s relationship or if you ship that. I honestly do not care and I don’t make assumptions about you as a person (your fandom behavior over your ship might make me decide things about you). But...it’s still incest. I’m not ship-shaming. It’s incest. Why does this have to be explained over and over. You can ship whatever you want and should be allowed to have safe spaces for it but this assumption that everyone has to be 100% cool with such an obvious trigger and societal taboo or they’re hypocrites who don’t really believe in the “ship and let ship” they believe in...come on. “Ship and let ship” doesn’t mean be inconsiderate and it doesn’t mean you have to be comfortable with every ship in the fleet.

But SPN fandom has this lingering thing it can’t seem to let go of where systemically, it thinks incest and an LGBT ship should be treated exactly alike, and it has this thing where incest is being intrusively slapped onto every-freakin’-thing about Sam & Dean in spaces where fans can’t avoid it and it’s not behind a cut tag it’s not labeled, and if you aren’t into it you get mocked, and if you don’t watch only for the brother bond you get mocked, and this is coming from many of the same people who think an LGBT ship is identical to incest and from many of the same people who get offended if you point out why an LGBT ship isn’t like incest, and who get offended people ship that LGBT ship as well as from generalized anti-shippers who treat being a non-shipper like a superior badge of honor and who reinforce the gatekeeping that virulent incest shippers aim at D*stiel shippers while valorizing an incest ship, but this breed of anti-shippers are in total denial about doing it. (Note the distinction between anti-shipper and non-shipper).

But taking what is actually just gen fic about Sam & Dean being emotionally intimate or showing physical affection and insisting it needs a -cest on the end instead of just, y’know, being about a sibling bond...that’s where toxic masculinity comes in. Isn’t one of the whole major points of SPN’s narrative to deconstruct these perceptions of masculinity? To debunk the idea that men can’t be emotionally intimate? And please miss me with the idea that shipping D*stiel is somehow contrary to this. D*stiel is a part of that debunking because neither Dean nor Cas act like the media stereotypes of what bi (or ace or pan or whatever Dean and Cas might be) looks like. They started as friends, and became emotionally close before SPN canon got into the zone where it seems a lot more serious about possibly openly vocalizing or consummating the subtextual pining. Friends-to-lovers isn’t insisting all friends must be lovers. It’s fans identifying something in this particular pair of friends and in the narrative, in the canon, and don’t discard it just because of a heteronormative default that buys a slow burn will-they-won’t-they for m/f but sneers that same-gender potential romance is delusional.

Likewise if it’s Dean and Cas and someone slaps some form of slash label on it while refusing to own that they ship it and refusing to own there could be sexual attraction, instead of simply saying “it’s a gen fic I love their friendship” would also an example of toxic masculinity ideas and probably a lot of self-shaming about seeing and enjoying the slash in the first place. Dean and Cas friendship enthusiasts and Dean and Cas shippers actually get along pretty well (assuming no one is acting like a dick) and that, I think, is because there is such a powerful emotional component to the ship, and Dean and Cas friendship enthusiasts tend to be non-virulent and tend to be open-minded about why the shippers see more in it even if they don’t.

This should be also true of w*ncest fans and enthusiasts of the sibling bond because again, massive emotional component as common ground, but I feel like what’s happening is the more intense and virulent w*ncest fans are trying to draw such a hard line that if you aren’t into incest, there’s no space for you. This goes hand in hand with the virulently pro-codependency fans, who romanticize mental illness and then can’t seem to figure out why anyone is upset with them, and who think that anyone who isn’t into romanticizing mental illness hates the bro bond so they’ve swept out plenty fans who adore the sibling bond with their virulence.

Personally I find uncomfortable when fans insist that gen fic about two dudes being close needs to be some kind of pick-your-fighter-label form of slash instead of just owning it’s a celebration of close male friendship. Bromance is a stupid term and IMO part of toxic masculinity too. 

There’s also the erasure of the fact that D*estiel is one of the least smut-driven ships. A recent study of ships with the highest smut content found w*ncest at the top and D*stiel barely even rated, and here’s the ironic part: virulently anti-destiel w*ncest fans and ship shamey non-shippers slapped D*stiel with a default assumption that it’s all about fapping material and two dudes getting it on and you just want to make spn into a porno and accuses D*stiel fandom of fetishizing m/m relationships when w*ncest is at the top of the smut pile. No I am not shaming you for enjoying smut. No I am not saying that a ship is superior for being less smutty. I’m very clearly objecting to the shaming and misconceptions of D*stiel fandom, which are often willfully perpetuated. 

This misconception has stubbornly stuck in spn fandom and it’s incredibly annoying. Please join us in the year 2018. When so much of D*stiel is Dean and Cas not having sex but just being ridiculous and making heart-eyes and in denial and trying to figure this out and maybe they brush hands and blush, it’s almost Victorian. (Y’know, like the canon ha ha. Oh wait that’s not funny I’m serious). A lot of D*stiel fans write slash fic so they can get them to talk honestly with each other. 

So sure, have your ficfests how you like, but I think it’s worth at least pointing out that this fixation with slapping the -cest label on everything is an example of toxic masculinity concepts at work, is normalizing incest to a ridiculous degree, is de-normalizing fans who really just appreciate a sibling bond, what with the stans insisting that w*ncest is just another term for their close emotional bond, *splutter* I don’t watch SPN for ships how dare you instead of, y’know, having the balls to own the fact that they’re intrigued by the incest ship. They shove it everywhere and disown it all in the same breath.

[jade4813]

The Princess and The Pirate, Chapter 3

Author Notes: Endless thanks to @valeriemperez for her help editing this story and assisting me in figuring out how I wanted this story to go! This will hopefully end up being the first in a planned Westallen Fairy Tale AU series!

I’m sorry for the delay. I’ll probably be a little behind in getting chapter 4 finished, since I’m working on a Westallen Christmas fic. But this story won’t be forgotten; I promise!

Title: The Princess and the Pirate

Rating: PG

Synopsis: Princesses don’t fall in love with pirates, do they? Anything is possible in a fairy tale!A Cinderella/Princess Bride inspired Westallen AU.

Chapters: 3/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Iris and Caitlin were relaxing in the gardens one morning, idly sketching trees they’d drawn a hundred times before, when Caitlin heaved a heavy sigh. “Your Highness,” she began, her voice low and reluctant, “There is something I need to tell you.”

Iris glanced at her friend out of the corner of her eye and put her pencil aside. Caitlin had been quiet for a couple of days, lost in her own thoughts. All efforts to discover the source of her distraction had failed, and so Iris had quietly decided to wait until her friend was ready to confide in her. It seemed that moment had come.

But now that she’d begun to speak, Caitlin didn’t know how to continue. She lapsed into silence, so Iris pressed softly, “Are you unwell?”

Caitlin blinked rapidly and shook her head. “No, it’s not –” she began. Her voice broke off, and she cleared her throat softly. “I’m fine. There’s something I need to tell you. I should have told you sooner, but the King –”

Her voice broke off when a guard approached, bowing deeply to the princess. “My apologies for intruding, Your Highness, but the King would like to see you. He asked to see you both.”

Throwing her friend an apologetic look, Iris nodded. “Of course,” she demurred. A summons from her father could hardly be ignored.

When she turned back to the castle, however, the guard cleared his throat. “My apologies, but if you will accompany me, he’s waiting for you in the drive.”

That piqued her interest. Giving the guard a slight nod, she and Caitlin fell into step behind him. Though she tried to catch her friend’s eye, Caitlin kept her gaze on the guard’s back, her mouth tightened into a firm line.

When they reached the drive, Iris found a carriage waiting for them with her father inside. She tried to hide her surprise, taking the footman’s hand so he could assist her into the carriage. She typically only accompanied her father into town for holidays and other special occasions, so she couldn’t imagine the cause for this trip.

Once she had settled into the seat across from her father, the carriage began to move. The trio sat in silence as they traveled through the front gates, headed towards town. Though she was burning with curiosity, Iris bit her tongue and tried to exercise patience. Her father would reveal the reason for this trip in his own time.

Eventually, the King pulled his attention from the trees passing by the carriage windows. With a slight smile, he met his daughter’s eyes and said, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted to see you. There was something we need to discuss, but I wanted to do it in private.” Iris nodded. Privacy was one commodity impossible to come by within the castle walls.

The King frowned but he didn’t continue, and Iris’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. It seemed this was a day for uncomfortable, reluctant conversations. She shot Caitlin a quick look to see if she was similarly amused, but her companion was staring out of the carriage windows.

“Is everything all right?” Iris finally asked, unable to completely hide her exasperation.

Her dad’s teeth flashed in a quick grin. “Everything’s fine. It’s just hard for a father to admit that his daughter has grown up.” He reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a slight squeeze.

The tension broken, he continued, “I asked you to accompany me today for two reasons. First, I wanted to tell you that I know I’ve been…unfair to you. I’ve wanted to keep you at the castle to keep you safe.” He paused and then added with a wry twist of his lips, “As your father, I would keep you safe in the castle forever, if I could. But as a king, I know you need to know get to know your people – and your people need to feel that they know you. They need to trust you and believe in you.

“I wanted to let you know that I’ll be assigning a few guards to you over the next couple of days. Whenever you want to leave the castle, they will accompany you. In return, you need to promise me that you will take at least two of them with you any time you go out. I may not be able to protect you from the illness that took your mother, but I will do whatever I can to ensure your safety.”

Iris beamed. If they weren’t stuck in an enclosed carriage, she’d throw her arms around her father in an exuberant hug. Lurching forward, she did her best, but it was awkward to say the least. “Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered into his ear.

“Just promise me you’ll stay safe, baby,” he murmured back. When she settled back onto her seat, he continued in a stern voice. “And no more putting on your maid’s clothes and sneaking out alone.”

Iris froze, her breath caught in her throat. “How did you –?” she began, but she broke off before she could continue the question. She could feel Caitlin stiffen beside her, and she shot a quick glance in her direction. Her friend wouldn’t look at her; she kept her gaze firmly on her lap, where she worried a handkerchief between her fingers. “Oh.”

“Don’t be angry with her,” her father said softly. “She was worried for you. I commanded her to tell me if there was anything that might help us track down the Man in Black. Regardless of what he said, she was afraid he might have recognized you and followed you home.” He paused and then added, his voice low, “Before too long, this kingdom will be yours. When you carry that responsibility, you cannot always believe the best in people – even if you wish you could.”

To hell with what a princess should or shouldn’t do. Iris sighed heavily, her gaze dropping to her own lap. “I’m not angry.” It was a little white lie that meant no harm. She understood that the King’s command would always come first, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it right away. Raising her gaze to her father, she straightened her shoulders and asked firmly, “And what is the other reason you wanted to see me? You hardly needed privacy to tell me the first part.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod. “Of course.” He paused and cleared his throat, his hand forming a fist in his lap. “As you know, according to tradition, you should be betrothed by your twenty-third birthday. You turn twenty-two in six weeks, so we need to start looking to the future.”

A knot formed in her stomach. Iris squeezed her hands in her lap, wishing she could reach for the comfort of Caitlin’s hand. She was aware of the tradition. She had simply hoped that she wouldn’t have to abide by it. A year suddenly seemed to be entirely too little time. “But surely – surely I’m not – it’s just a silly old tradition. You’re the king. Surely you could –”

He bowed his head. “I could,” he admitted. “As your father, I wish I could allow you all the time you need to follow your heart. But in this, I must think like a king. And as king, I have to put the good of our people ahead of ourselves.” His eyes were troubled as he reached for her hand, but she kept her own in her lap. “I wish I didn’t have to lay this on you, baby girl, but I have a greater responsibility to consider. We both do.”

She nodded, not needing him to elaborate any further. She was the sole heir to the throne. Should something happen to her, the next in line would be her cousin, Wallace. He was a good man and a good king, ruling over a kingdom of his own. Should he assume rule over their land, as well, it would almost double his holdings. While the nine kingdoms had existed in harmony for generations, peace was never guaranteed. In the past, kingdoms had gone to war for far less than a dramatic shift in power.

As unlikely as it was that Iris would die any time soon, she was gambling with the lives of innocent people – those who would be sent into battle against one another – if she was wrong.

She couldn’t do that.

Dropping her gaze to her lap, she asked in a low voice, “What did you have in mind?”

Her father shifted in his seat, uncharacteristically awkward. “We have already planned a party to celebrate your birthday. I suggest we invite the eligible princes in the surrounding kingdoms to attend. You don’t have to make a decision on that day, but perhaps…” He let his voice trail off, but she hardly needed him to complete the thought.

Her gaze shot to his face. “Six days?” she asked in surprise. “But is that enough time to –” She broke off when she saw his expression. “You already invited them.” He didn’t respond, so she heaved a heavy sigh and looked out the window. People had noticed the King’s carriage and were lining the streets, waving to them as they passed. Some reached out and ran their fingers gently along the sides of the carriage, wanting to touch the king they so loved in whatever small way they could.

Iris was touched by their genuine outpouring of support and love. How could she repay that love with selfishness? With a smile, she reached through the window and grabbed one of the hands held out to her, letting her subjects’ fingers brush gently through her own. And that was when she had an idea.

“Father, I will do what you ask. But in return, I have a few requests.” Pulling her hand back, she turned back to the king, her jaw set in resolve. “I want all of our people to be invited to the ball, as well. Six days should be sufficient to prepare.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, but he smiled. “Anything else?”

“Yes. I would like it to be a masquerade. If I am to meet – and perhaps choose – my future husband at this ball, I would like the chance for him to be attracted to me and not just my crown.”

Her father’s smile faded, but he offered her a solemn nod. “Iris, as it is a celebration of your birthday, you will open the ball with the first dance. You will also be by my side periodically throughout the evening. You can hardly hide your identity at that point.”

She gave him a thoughtful look. “True. But have you met the Lady Cecile? She’s new to the court, but she’s about my size. I propose we prepare two gowns. After the first dance, I will slip away to change, and she will take my place. If you keep her at your side throughout the evening and speak for her as much as possible, nobody should realize the subterfuge.” He looked doubtful, so she pressed gently, “Please, Father? For me? I wish to at least have a chance to find the kind of love you and Mother shared.”

His head bowed for a moment, but then he nodded. “Very well,” he agreed. Then he said in a low voice, “You know I wish I didn’t have to ask this of you.”

Iris swallowed heavily and looked out the window. They were heading back to the palace now, and she had never been so tempted to blink away tears at the sight of her home. “I know.”

They fell quiet until they pulled into the drive, and the two women climbed out of the carriage. Once it pulled away, Caitlin blurted, “Ir – Your Highness, I’m so sorry for telling your father about our trips into town. I didn’t want to betray your trust, but I was –”

Iris raised a hand, cutting her off. She had been angry before, but now she just felt numb. “Stop, please.” She turned and threw her friend a wry smile. “Now more than ever, I understand that the crown will always come first.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she sucked in a deep breath and tried to ignore the sinking in the pit of her stomach. “I just – I hoped…I wanted the chance to fall in love one day.”

Caitlin reached out to put her hand on her arm. “Perhaps you will. I know it seems unlikely, but you might fall in love.”

She scoffed, stepping away from her friend’s touch. “Oh, Caitlin. I may be a princess, but this isn’t a fairy tale. And I cannot expect it to be.” She took a deep breath and said with firm resolve, “I must do what is right by my people. I’m afraid love is a luxury I simply cannot afford.”

“You know, you’re so disgustingly in love, it’s a wonder Cynthia manages to put up with you,” Barry teased his friend as they slung their bags over their shoulders and headed away from the dock. Cisco had been almost obnoxiously cheerful for days, looking forward to the moment he’d get to see Cynthia again.

Cisco chuckled and gave Barry a slight shrug. “I hate to tell you this, but you’re no better.”

Barry threw him an affronted look. “What are you talking about? I’m not in love.”

A snort was the only response, since Cisco was immediately distracted by Cynthia shoving her way out of the crowd. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him in for a long kiss. Barry shook his head and looked away, but when the kiss didn’t end even after several minutes, he cleared his throat. That still didn’t get their attention, so he tried again, louder this time.

The kiss finally ended, and Cynthia turned to Barry with a smile. “Good to see you again, Allen. Thanks for keeping this idiot safe for me.” She nudged her boyfriend in the ribs and threw him a quick grin.

Cisco scoffed. “He kept me safe? I will have you know that I am the responsible one in our relationship.”

Cocking his head to the side, Barry threw him a measuring glance. “Really? That’s not the way I remember it.”

“Me, either,” Cynthia agreed, though she seemed distracted as she looked at Barry. At his questioning look, she explained, “I didn’t realize you had a scar from your sword fight.”

“Oh,” he murmured, raising a hand to rub the thin, pale scar just under his eye. “It’s not too bad, is it?”

She shook her head slowly. “No, but it is a problem. Come on; I’ll explain when we get home. Just…keep your head down until we’re out of town, okay?”

Barry nodded, and Cynthia linked her arm through Cisco’s as they made their way back to her home. As the Mistress of the Hunt, she lived in a cozy cottage within walking distance of the palace’s front gate. Though he kept his head bowed, Barry noticed that people stepped out of her way and touched the brims of their hats when they saw her approach. He didn’t know why his scar was a concern, but perhaps it was best that people were too distracted by her to pay him much attention.

Back at the cottage, Cynthia threw open the door and escorted them both inside. Then she grabbed Barry’s arm and moved him towards the light spilling through the open windows. “Here. Let me look at that again.”

“What’s wrong?” Cisco asked as she studied his face. “How is his scar a problem?”

She made a soft sound in the back of her throat and turned to rummage through some papers on a nearby table. Finally pulling one out, she handed it over. “Because everyone – including all the castle guards - is looking for a guy with a scar like yours, right under the eye. You just had to pick a sword fight with a princess, didn’t you?”

His stomach sinking, Barry took the piece of paper from her hand. The picture on the Wanted poster wasn’t a terribly good likeness, but it did mention that he probably carried a scar. “I don’t understand. She ordered my arrest?”

Cynthia shook her head. “She didn’t, no. The King did. Her lady in waiting told him that the princess cut you in the fight and you might have a scar. He sent these out the next day.”

Cisco took the paper from Barry. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you send word about this?” he asked in confusion and concern as he studied the image.

She shrugged. “These were only posted recently. About a month ago. I figured you’d be here before any letter I tried to send would find you.”

Putting the paper down, Cisco turned to her friend in concern. “Maybe this is a bad idea. You should take the ship and get out of here. If anyone realizes you’re the Man in Black, you’re going to be thrown in jail. Thanks to you, Eobard is rotting away in a jail far away from here. Isn’t that enough?”

For a second, Barry was almost tempted. Then he remembered why he’d returned, and he couldn’t do it. “It’s unlikely he could have done what he did alone. Lord Jesse had my parents’ rings. If he helped cover up Eobard’s crime and framed my father for it, then he needs to be brought to justice. Until he is, the princess – the royal family, I mean – could be in danger. I need to make sure she’s safe.”

Cisco and Cynthia exchanged looks. “They’re safe, you mean?” Cisco couldn’t resist teasing.

Barry flushed. “I’m not in love with her,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. At Cynthia’s look, he protested, “I’m not!”

“Oh, of course! I believe you!” she reassured him quickly, but it was obviously a lie. “I mean, Cisco mentioned in his last letter that you rarely even mention her. Only, what was it you said?”

“Four or five times an hour,” Cisco readily supplied.

He glowered at them both. “I don’t –!” he began to protest, but the look on his friend’s face made it clear how little he could argue the point. His voice lowering, he crossed his arms over his chest and grumbled, “That doesn’t mean I’m in love with her.”

Cynthia’s sigh was full of feigned regret. “Then I guess you won’t care that there will be a masquerade ball in honor of her birthday tomorrow night. And everybody in the kingdom is invited.”

Barry froze, his eyes wide. “R-really? A masquerade?” At her nod, he cleared his throat. “You know, it would probably be the perfect time for me to sneak in. To warn her. About Lord Jesse.”

Cynthia managed a grave nod, but Cisco didn’t even try to hide his response. He ducked his head and laughed, and Barry looked around for something to throw at him. Sadly, there was nothing within reach that Cynthia wouldn’t kill him for breaking, so he just huffed in irritation. “I’m not in love with her! I’m not!” he protested.

Nobody was listening.