#what did i think was gonna be in the clearly tagged and labeled fic??

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Who Taught You How to Love Like That? - Chapter Four

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics. Smut. Oral (f receiving). Angst. Word count: ~3.5k

Chapter summary: An understanding is reached and Aegon dishes family dirt at a BBQ.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

Her phone vibrates on the coffee table, the buzzing causing it to move dangerously close to the edge. Quick as a flash, Mysaria lunges forward from the sofa to catch it before it topples to the floor, smirking when she sees the name that’s flashing up on the screen.

“How many times is that today now?” She asks, gently tossing the phone to her as a missed call notification replaces the incoming call alert.

She shrugs, not averting her gaze from the TV screen as a rerun of Come Dine with Me, that neither of them are particularly paying attention to, plays to itself. “Dunno. He’ll get the hint eventually.”

It’s Sunday evening and she hasn’t spoken to Aemond since she woke up alone in his flat the previous morning, despite the fact he texts and calls her more times than she can count. She deletes the messages without reading them, and lets each of his calls go to voicemail. He’d made her feel cheap, used, put a price on her body, and she had no desire to ever speak to him again.

Mysaria sighs, flopping back against the sofa cushions. “Can I be a bitch for a second?” She asks, turning her head to face her. “You aren’t going to like it, but I think you need to hear it.”

She leans her head back, eyes flitting to meet her flatmate’s, already feeling a prickle of annoyance heat her skin, but decides to let her say her piece. “Go on then.”

“Why are you punishing him because you’ve caught feelings?”

Her annoyance bursts forth into anger as her brow furrows, her body language becoming squared and defensive. “I haven’t–”

“Yes, you have,” Mysaria interrupts. “I get that he did a shitty thing by leaving you high and dry, but he clearly feels bad or he wouldn’t keep trying to reach you. Give the guy a chance to explain himself, if you don’t like what he has to say then break things off.”

She scoffs in frustration, turning back towards the TV and rolling her eyes. “You are so bloody annoying!”

“Because I’m right,” Mysaria says smugly, leaning over to tap her on the nose. “You gonna call him back then?”

She chews her lip absentmindedly, turning her phone around in her hands. She supposes it wouldn’t hurt to reach out to him, if only to ask how to return the five grand he’d transferred to her.

The buzzer to the flat startles her out of her train of thought and Mysaria peels herself off of the sofa with a groan of “Finally! I’m bloody starving!”

Pizza first, then she’ll call him. She’s definitely not putting it off, she reasons with herself, she just doesn’t want her food to go cold.

“Erm…so it’s not pizza…” Mysaria says awkwardly as she re-enters the living room, a silver haired figure a good deal taller than her trailing behind her.

Dread gnaws at her stomach as she takes in the sight of Aemond, hair thrown back in a bun, dressed in a tight black henley and fitted black jeans, holding the largest bouquet of lilies and roses she’s ever seen before. Even when she’s angry with him he still manages to look absolutely breathtaking, and it irritates her.

“I’ll just…uh…” Mysaria makes a gesture towards her bedroom, and quickly makes herself scarce.

Lucky bitch.

“You’ve not been returning my calls,” Aemond says flatly.

“No…” She responds quietly, feeling the warmth of embarrassment spread through her, as she plucks nervously at the legs of her jogging bottoms. He’s never seen her not put together, and she loathes that she feels shame for her appearance, when she hasn’t done anything wrong. Him seeing her with messy hair, an oversized t-shirt and threadbare joggers makes her feel weak and vulnerable in his presence.

“Or replying to my texts.”

“I know.”

“Listen, if the other night wasn’t good, or I hurt you–”

“Why don’t you sit down?” She interjects, suddenly realising how absurd he looks, stood in the middle of the living room, dwarfing everything around him with his obscenely large bunch of flowers.

Aemond nods gratefully, taking the seat next to hear. “These are you for, by the way,” He tells her, handing her the flowers.

She hums a quiet thanks, immediately overwhelmed by the sweetness of their aroma, and places them on the coffee table, knowing she’ll need no distractions if she’s to say what she needs to say.

“The other night was great, really great, actually,” She begins. “But you just left the next morning without a word, and that really upset me.”

“You were upset because I left?��� He asks, sounding almost surprised.

“Yes!” She replies with exasperation. “You made me feel cheap, and used.”

“Cheap? But I bank transferred you afterwards.”

“Jesus, Aemond! I’m not a prostitute!” She throws up her hands angrily, gesticulating her point.

He swallows thickly, clearly considering his next words carefully. “I know you said you’ve never done anything like this before, but neither have I, and I made a mistake. My grandfather called me into the office early on Saturday morning. You looked so peaceful sleeping that I didn’t want to wake you. I’m sorry that my carelessness has hurt you, but I am keen to continue our arrangement.”

It all seems so simple when he words it like that. She could easily have reached out to question his actions, but she’d allowed her emotions to guide her and now feels foolish because of it. When she says nothing, Aemond presses on. 

“No funny business, I promise. We don’t have to sleep together again, but I’ve enjoyed having your company at family functions, it makes them more bearable. Please say you’ll consider it?”

She’s not sure what prompts the words from her mouth, perhaps it’s the pleading look in Aemond’s eye, or the fact that she enjoys his company too, but she says them before she fully has a chance to think about them. “Okay, we’ll carry on as before.”

“Thank you,” He says earnestly.

The buzzer sounding again prevents him from saying anything else, as Mysaria hurries from her room towards the door, in pursuit of her pizza delivery.

“I suppose that’s my cue to leave,” Aemond says softly. “I’ll text you, okay?”

She nods, and they both stand, hovering near each other, both unsure of what would be an appropriate goodbye. Eventually Aemond leans in, kissing the corner of her mouth lightly before pulling back and exiting the flat. She holds her fingers against the area, still able to feel the press of his lips even after he’s departed.

It takes three days for Aemond to message her again, and in that time it feels as though she could crawl out of her own skin with the apprehension that his silence brings. Had he changed his mind, decided her withdrawing contact over an honest mistake was too much to deal with? It fills her with a nervous energy that makes the days unbearable.

The relief she feels when he finally deigns to reach out is borderline humiliating.

Not sure if you remember my half sister, Rhaenyra, but she is having a BBQ on Saturday. Are you free?

I remember. Are you sure you want to go after what happened on your mum’s birthday? Xoxo

My mother will never let me hear the end of it if I don’t go. Will you come with me?

Yeah, I’m free :) xoxo

When Saturday finally rolls around, she keeps her hair and make-up simple, wearing a floral sundress and strappy sandals, but immediately feels underdressed as she recognises the house they pull up outside of as being the one they’d been to for Jace and Baela’s engagement party.

She has little time to dwell on her appearance though, as Aemond ushers her through the expanse of the house and out into the back garden. A sprawling, lush green lawn that could be considered more of a field due to its size plays host to various members of the Targaryen and Hightower families, as the smell of barbecued meat lingers on the breeze.

Aemond leads her around, his hand glued to the small of her back, so she can say polite hellos to everyone. Alicent and Criston greet her with warm hugs and kisses to both cheeks, Helaena does the same, while standing with Baela and Rhaena, the two girls offer a quick “hello” in sing-song unity. Aegon merely holds up a hand by way of greeting, looking less than enthusiastic to be there, and Otto says a polite “good to see you both”. The rest of the family’s greetings are a little more frosty, with Rhaenyra, Jace, Luke and Joffrey giving curt nods of acknowledgement, while Daemon is too preoccupied with the barbecue to notice they’ve even arrived.

“Viserys and Aegon not joining us?” Alicent asks Rhaenyra softly.

“It would mean having to switch off their Playstation, so I very much doubt it,” Rhaenyra says with a roll of her eyes.

The tension is palpable, but her nerves subside slightly when she sees a Rhodesian ridgeback galloping around the garden, with a copper coloured dachshund hot on its heels.

“Oh cute!” She says, turning to Aemond. “Could you not have brought Vhagar?”

“No,” He sighs. “She doesn’t get along with Syrax and Caraxes, so I’ve left her with the dog sitter.”

She gratefully accepts a glass of Pimm’s that’s offered to her by Otto, before he tells Aemond he needs a word.

“You’ll be okay for a moment won’t you, darling?” Aemond asks her.

The pet name causes her breath to catch in her throat and she merely nods, not trusting herself to speak. As they walk away together, she wanders over to a corner of the large garden, pretending to examine an ornate sundial to keep herself busy, when she feels a presence beside her.

Aegon has sidled up to her, beer in hand, a slight smirk on his face. “Having fun?”

“About as much as you are, by the looks of things,” She replies with a tight smile.

“At least you’re getting paid to be here.”

Her eyes go wide, her chest tightening as she realises he knows.

Aegon chuckles. “Ah, you didn’t think I knew? It’s fine, who do you think showed him the app?”

“O-oh…” is all she’s able to stammer, feeling too shocked to say anything else.

“You play a convincing part,” He takes a swig from his bottle. “Too good to be acting, actually. You can’t fake how you look at my brother.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She snaps, feeling the familiar heat of embarrassment tingle at her flesh.

Aegon snorts derisively. “Look, take it from me, don’t get attached. My brother is the last person you want to get involved with. This whole family is a fucking car crash.”

She sips anxiously at her drink, nodding slightly. “I’d noticed none of you seem to get along that well.”

“That is the fucking understatement of the century. Has Aemond told you much about us?”

“Nothing substantial.”

“Allow me to fill you in,” He gestures discreetly towards Alicent. “My mother used to be best friends with my half-sister, they went to school together. My grandfather and my father were business partners, tri-owners of multiple companies alongside Daemon. When my father’s wife, Rhaenyra’s mother, passed away suddenly, my mother started dating my father.”

“Jesus…” She mutters under her breath.

“Oh, it gets worse!” He says with a leer. “See, Rhaenyra wasn’t happy that her best friend had shacked up with her dad. I mean, who would be? She was even more pissed off when the three of us came along, as it meant she was no longer an only child. She started sleeping around to get back at my father, that’s how she ended up with those three.”

Aegon nods towards where Jace, Luke and Joffrey all stand.

“What about her other two children, Aegon and Viserys?”

“Those are the kids she’s had with Daemon. They got married shortly before my father passed away. Mum thinks she did it just to strengthen her claim of the assets, as Daemon’s a partner in the business and Dad didn’t bother to leave a will. Everything Mum has ever tried to claim for us she’s contested.”

“So that’s what all that talk of Dragonstone Cottage was about at your Mum’s birthday?”

“Yeah, ‘Nyra’s sneaky way of trying to hoard assets for her brood.”

“How do Baela and Rhaena fit into all of this?”

“They’re Daemon’s children from a previous marriage.”

“But Baela is engaged to Jace, isn’t that a bit…” She trails off, not knowing the exact word she wants to use.

“Incestuous?” Aegon lets out a laugh that borders on being too unhinged to come from a place of genuine mirth, before taking another swig of his beer. “Yeah, yeah, it is.”

“So what does this have to do with Aemond? Why should I not get involved?”

Aegon rounds on her. “Has he ever told you about, y’know…” He taps his eye.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Hmmm. Probably best to leave that to him to explain then.”

Their attention is pulled away by the sound of a fork being tapped against the side of a glass. She turns to see Daemon standing at the head of the garden. “Just wanted to thank you all for joining us today”, He says as everyone gathers closer, herself and Aegon included. “I think such an occasion is cause for celebration.” He brandishes a bottle of champagne, before popping the cork, a few that are stood closest step back out of its line of fire.

Luke smirks, elbowing Aemond. “He should be careful, almost had your other eye out.”

It happens so suddenly it seems like a blur, but Aemond has Luke by the collar and Aegon is rushing forward to tackle Jace away. Punches are thrown from both sides, until the ensuing scuffle is broken apart by Daemon and Otto.

Aemond’s eye is wild as he approaches her, his breathing ragged, and his usually immaculately styled hair tousled. “Come on, we’re leaving,” He grits out.

She has to hurry to keep up with his long strides through the house and to the car, and they drive in silence, Aemond’s knuckles blanched with the force of the grip he has on the steering wheel.

She drums her fingers anxiously against her thighs, not quite knowing what to say, but it is Aemond who eventually breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” He says quietly. “It was a bad idea for us to go today.”

“What was that all about?” She asks as gently as she can. “What got you so heated?”

Aemond sighs heavily, keeping his focus on the road ahead, and for a moment she doesn’t think he will answer her.

“Luke’s the reason I lost my eye,” He admits. “His little comment today got to me, and I lashed out.”

“What happened?” She turns slightly in the passenger seat to face him.

“It’s stupid really, an irresponsible rich family allowing their kids to roam the woods with Airsoft guns. The official story is that it was an accident, but accidents don’t happen at point blank range, accidents aren’t something you never apologise for.”

“Jesus, Aemond, I’m so sorry.” Her heart aches for him, having to play happy families with someone who has maimed him

“It is what it is,” He says with a slight shrug. “Makes being around them harder than it already is though. Thank you for being there with me today.”

“That’s alright,” She fidgets nervously with the hem of her dress as they pull up outside her block of flats. “Do you want to come inside for a bit? You shouldn’t be alone when you’re feeling like this.”

No funny business.

Her heart races as Aemond’s hands disappear up her skirt, reappearing with her underwear grasped in his fingers, dragging them down her legs.

We don’t have to sleep together again.

She buries her hands into the softness of his hair as he latches his mouth against her, bringing her to quick release with harsh strokes of his tongue. Every thought of what they’d discussed on Sunday evening leaves her mind as he pushes her back against the mattress, the force of his thrusts inside of her causing her toes to curl and her eyes to roll back, until he eventually collapses against her with a grunt, the faint pulsation of him inside of her signifying he’s reached his end.

They fall asleep, curled around each other in her tiny double bed and she’s pleased to see he’s still there when she awakens the following morning.

“Your mattress is fucking terrible,” Aemond grouses sleepily, pulling her tighter against him. “It feels like I’ve slept on a pile of loose change.”

She giggles, nuzzling into his neck.

They spend most mornings like that, over the coming weeks. Aemond becomes a frequent presence in the little flat. Her feet stay planted in his lap while they watch TV after work in the evenings, before he fucks her into the mattress like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Their mornings are lazy and indulgent, spent slowly exploring every inch of each other, before they part ways to go to work, only to do it all over again in the evening.

She buys a dog bed, which takes up half the floor space in her bedroom. Aemond raises an eyebrow at this.

“Vhagar’s quite fussy about where she sleeps,” He tells her, only to watch in disbelief as the elderly doberman circles several times on it, before settling down to nap. “I stand corrected.”

Their presence in her life becomes larger as time goes on, and it’s difficult not to feel that it is more than it is, but she is constantly reminded of the transactional nature with every shopping trip on Oxford Street, every visit to Champney’s Spa, each time he hands her his credit card.

The thought occurs to her that perhaps she ought to broach the topic of what they are, how their relationship is developing, but each time she decides against it, too afraid he’ll say something she doesn’t want to hear.

Mysaria smiles as she sees them snuggled together in front of the TV, when she comes home. “You’re here so often, we’ll have to start charging you rent,” She says playfully.

Aemond pulls out his phone, bringing up his banking app. “How much?” He asks, deadly serious.

“Aemond, she was joking!” She laughs, swatting his arm playfully.

It’s been a slow Saturday morning, almost midday and she sits at the kitchen table, a satisfied ache between her legs, as she sips at a coffee while Aemond plates up eggs benedict for them both. One of the things that surprises her most about him is that he’s able to cook, and he does it well.

She eyes him carefully as she pokes at her breakfast, unable to shift the feeling of how his fingers dug into her flesh, how he gazed at her so reverently, his lips featherlight against her throat just an hour before.

His money, his lavish lifestyle, she wants none of it. She just wants him, so she decides that this time she’ll be brave and shoot her shot before she has the opportunity to second guess herself.

Carefully, she sets down her cutlery and rests her chin against her hand. “So I’ve been thinking…about us.”

Aemond pauses, fixing her with his right eye.

Nerves flutter in her belly at his silence, but she continues anyway. “What we have, let’s make a proper go of it? I don’t care about your money, Aemond, I just want to be with you.”

He clears his throat, setting down his own knife and fork, before slowly wiping his mouth on a napkin. “I can’t do that,” He says quietly.

She is immediately struck by the hollowness in her chest, sucking in a harsh breath to ground herself against the lump forming in her throat.

Aemond reaches across the table, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re perfect,” He reassures her. “But I’m not, and I don’t do relationships. My circumstances are too complicated, I’d end up hurting you, and that’s the very last thing I want to do.”

She can’t argue with him, he’s being so bloody nice about it, and Aegon had warned her of this. She wants to scream at him, to cry, to tell him it isn’t fair, but it’s her that has asked for this, and at least he’s being honest with her, even if the truth does make her feel like her chest is being crushed under a vast weight. “I understand,” She chokes out.

“I’m sorry,” He says sadly, genuinely.

“Can you…can you just go, please?” She whispers, unable to look at him.

He nods, standing and presses a gentle kiss to her temple before leaving.

Only after she hears the front door click closed, and the feel of his lips have faded from her skin, does she allow herself to fall apart. Hot tears cascade down her cheeks, as she feels the presence that has taken up so much of her life leave behind a gaping void in its wake.

Chapter three || Chapter five || Series masterlist

[imeanhesqueer]

what fanfic are u referring to when u said u left a hate comment on it and we shouldn’t ask if we don’t know.. i know u said don’t ask but im curious.. can i have some context or something please 😭

omg ok, so im referring to the whizzvin scat fic.

the context and stuff is gonna be under the cut because even though it's not a huge deal to some people, it's still pretty gross and if someone doesnt wanna see an explanation they don't have to

anyways, in 2022 someone on ao3 wrote a fan fiction about marvin and whizzer from falsettos where marvin asked whizzer to basically... use him as a "toilet". basically it was a falsettos shit and piss fan fiction.

the basic context of the fic out of the way, im gonna explain a few reasons (that i picked up on) for why its so hated, other than the main one which is the fact its a whizzvin shit and piss fic.

first off, to me and others, it seemed pretty clear whizzer didn't want to participate in the activities marvin was offering but marvin kept coercing whizzer to accept the offer until he finally did. marvin also practically spiked whizzers coffee with like laxatives or something dealing with gut health?? marvin said he didn't spike anything but like.. if you put a "drug/medicine" into someones coffee that they didn't want or consent to, thats spiking a drink. the whole fic is already gross and the fact there was barely consent makes it so much worse.

second problem with the fic was that the author labeled it as a "satire" when it clearly was not satirical. it was pretty obviously meant to be a serious fic about piss and shit fetishes and you could tell that. they wrote the fic so detailed and seriously and i personally think that they should've owned up to it instead of hiding behind the "satire" tag to excuse what they did.

third, they also labeled the fic as "for falsettos twt" which also was just shitty. i seriously doubt that 99% of falsettos twt wanted the fic. personally, i think that if there was a handful of people that requested/demanded this fic (dont understand why??) just send it to them instead of dragging a whole community into it. though, id rather the fic not be written at all. bottom line it was shitty to drag a whole unsuspecting community into it.

lastly, i just think the fic in general was plain disgusting for so many reasons. its just very gross and i hope the author gets help because this fic was just vomit inducing.

bottom line is that this fic sucks and that i think you shouldnt even try to read it. i cant stop you if you do but you were warned. overall tho, hope this explained things a lil better/sorry if this explanation traumatized you.

also lmk if i might've missed anything/recalled something wrong btw because im not perfect/i didn't analyze this fic because i can barely read the first sentence without vomiting in my mouth.

[thankyouforthefunny]

I‘be seen multiple people who don’t understand “author chose not to warn” so I think this is a really useful metaphor

Link and transcription under the cut!

[ID: a screenshot of a Reddit comment by username BethanyBluebird. The text reads:

Uhh, I'm not sure you understand what 'Author chose not to warn' means. It says right there, 'Author chose not to warn. That is a tag and category in and of itself- a catch-all. If you report a fic for being tagged improperly, but it has 'Author chose not to warn' slapped on it, they're gonna look at you and say, 'Well your warning was RIGHT THERE. Read at your own risk. May contain peanuts.'

If you're gonna be pedantic and REALLY need me to be THAT hyperspecific, the warning could say, 'This product was not made in an allergen-free facility'. But it's the responsibility of THE CONSUMER to READ THE PACKAGING and CHECK TO MAKE SURE WHAT THEY WERE EATING WAS MADE IN A NUT-FREE FACILITY IF THEY ARE ALLERGIC TO NUTS. Obviously there is some nuance to this- a baby or a toddler cannot make those decisions themselves, but we aren't talking about babies and toddlers- we're talking about people old enough to read fanfiction on ao. Teens to adults, more than capable of making their own choices and knowing to check before they put shit in their mouths- and 'Author chose not to warn' IS a valid tag and warning!!

If they buy something without checking the packaging, eat it, have a reaction, but the package IS clearly labeled 'This product was not made in an allergen free-facility', they aren't going to have a case. If a stranger offers them a candy bar, and they take it and eat it without reading the package to check if it for sure does not contain anything they are not allergic to... It is THEIR responsibility for TAKING AND EATING THE CANDY BAR. NOT the person who offered the candy bar to them, NOT the person who made the chocolate bar.

YOU as a reader are responsible for your OWN wellbeing online- NOT the author! If you start to read something that makes you uncomfortable, click the back button.

And finally- It's IMPOSSIBLE to tag EVERYTHING that would trigger someone. I've known people who are triggered by nearly any depiction of bullying. I've met people who can't read stories with depictions of severe colds. l've known people who can't stand to read anything where a dog dies. I've known people who cannot deal with the MILDEST of injuries- something that really bothers one person is going to be someone else's favorite thing- something they consider so minor that it wouldn't even cross their mind that it would upset someone. Traditional media has come without tags and trigger warnings for DECADES. There's no possible way to tag everything in a story that would trigger everyone- and if you did you'd basically spell out the whole story in the tags, in which case why would anyone bother reading the story??

End ID]

Link: https://www.reddit.com/r/AO3/s/FB0oGuC1hs

[allthepeculiarthings]

not entirely. there's more to it than simply a trigger for dead animals.

(im not sure if your post is a satire but i want to write the full meaning for it anyway)

no hate to op

here's the context:

so 'dead dove: do not eat' is from a tv show called arrested development (scene shown above) and ao3 fanfic writers adapted this reference into their tags, as a warning to say 'please read the tags'.

essentially, dead dove means 'what it says on the tin'. the tin, being the tags.

so if the tags of a fic are dark and taboo (for example, if the author has tagged cannibalism or incest or necrophilia) then obviously there are gonna be dark and taboo topics in the fic.

in fics like these, writers often found that people would read the fic, and then be shocked to find these dark topics, and then sometimes write mean or accusatory things in the comments. (which is silly, because obviously they were tagged... if you didn't want to read about cannibalism, you shouldn't click on the fic tagged with cannibalism...).

essentially they would do what the guy in the tv show did. they look into a bag, with a label clearly saying there's a dead dove in the bag, and see a dead dove. like fic readers, reading a fic that had warning tags on it, and seeing then that content in the fic.

the guy saying 'i don't know what i expected' is ironic therefore, because as i said previously, rather than expecting dark content in the fic, some readers... didn't expect the tagged content to be in the fic. and then left hate comments about it.

in conclusion:

basically writers use dead dove in tandem with other warning tags, to say "hey, this fic has these things in it. no, really, it does. don't get surprised when it shows up in the fic."

so if animal abuse or dead animals are tagged in a fic, along with the dead dove: do not eat hashtag, then absolutely this is a content warning for dead animals, as op said.

however, dead dove is a warning for more content beyond just dead animals. it can be a warning for anything.

dead dove: do not eat basically means 'don't be surprised when the tags show up in the fic'.

but wait, there's more:

over time in fandom culture, dead dove: do not eat has become synonymous for 'this fic has dark content in it'.

so some writers simply use the dead dove tag without other tags explaining specific content warnings (though they really shouldn't).

if you see this, be aware that the fic could have a range of dark topics in it.

that's all, folks!

(if you didn't know this, then i recommend reading up more on fandom culture to help yourself navigate fandom spaces.

i highly recommend reading up on the difference between "no archive warnings apply" and "creator chose not to use archive warnings". because one of them means there are no graphic depictions of violence, there is no major character death, there is no rape/non-con, and there is no underage sex in this fic. the other means that this fic could potentially include ALL of these.)

tldr dead dove: do not eat is usually a warning for any dark content in a fic. read the tags to make sure you won't get caught off guard by anything triggering.

i don't think i missed anything but if i did i encourage you to add your own comments.

What Is Dead Dove?

I've always had this question when i first started reading fanfiction so i thought I'd help ya'll out a little here...

In fanfiction, "dead dove" refers to a tag or warning indicating that the story contains a depiction or mention of a dead animal, often a dove...

This warning is typically used to alert readers who may be sensitive to such content, allowing them to decide whether or not to proceed with reading the story.

It's a way for authors to be considerate of their audience's potential triggers or discomforts. The term "dead dove" itself likely originates from the phrase "dead dove do not eat," which is a comedic warning commonly associated with images or situations where a dead dove is depicted.

[lesbienneanarchiste]

anyone else @ themselves while browsing fics like

“hm... u knew u weren’t gonna like this... u hate this pairing and u hate this trope... yet u clicked on it anyway... interesting.” 

[love-strawberry]

met you at the right time

summary : in which they break up but find their way back to each other.

pairing : harry styles x reader

warnings : language

author's note : hiiiiii!! omg i missed on writing here, im so sorry for going mia but im back!! requests are open and so is my inbox, go crazy. i love you all, thank you for sticking around. also, this fic is inspired by feels like by gracie abrams

tagged : @slut4benbarnes @ellora-brekker @0oolookitsme @ateliefloresdaprimavera

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y/n_ 'in the morning i'll be better' out now!! for the past 11 months, i've put my EVERYTHING in this album and to see it releasing is a dream come true. hope you all like this album <3 thank you so much for supporting me, i love you all endlessly!!

105,829 comments

username this hurt

username "i play pretend, try to act like i'm fine, look the other way, so you don't see me cry, i'm fine, look, it's alright" ouch-

username "cause even when im drunk you're the one i'd call, 2:30 in the morning and you seemed like home" hurts my soul

arianagrande AHHHHHH

username "cause what if i don't wanna lose you, what if missed it and now it's over"

username her and harry </3

username she went from "writing our names on the walls, said forever and that stayed true" to "now im scratching our initials trying to make sense of what happened"

selenagomez !!!!!

username "cause now you got some inside jokes with the others and im still replaying your laugh in my mind, i do mind, yeah im not fine"

username my head hurts thinking about her and harry

username i wanna scream and ugly cry now i miss harry and y/n so fucking much like why did they have to break up

louist91 so beautiful love!!! loved it so much <3

niallhoran 🦋🦋🦋

username I KNOW WE NEVER LABELLED IT BUT I'D LIKE TO THINK YOU WERE IT FOR ME, MY FOREVER, MY HEART AND SOUL, MY LOVER FORLORN

conangray brb gonna go and scream into my pillow, bang my head into the wall and ugly cry </3

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liked by billieeilish, jefezoff, mitchrowland and 4,529,951 others

harrystyles 'same group of friends' out now. i hope you all love it as much i did. thank you so much for you support, i love you x

175,528 comments

username ouch

username "cause we got the same group of friends, they keep quiet and try not to strike a nerve when it comes to you and i"

username 😭

jefezoff loving this so much

username im thoroughly convinced that harry and y/n are out to kill us with sadness with these songs

username "can't we just be friends like we were before, or did we just start it for it to come back and ruin us all, guess it's the problem in dating someone you already know"

username my (yourshipname) </3

username please please please PLEASE get back together, my mental health is at sake

louist91 heartwrenching song mate!! loved it

username the chorus>>

username i listened to this song and my soul ascended to heaven

niallhoran amazing beautiful brilliant awesome

username 😭😭

username it's okay, didn't need my heart anyway

mitchrowland in awe of you

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liked by harolddddstylez, y/nheartsharry, (yourshipname)_ and 268,725 others

celebri.tea harry styles and y/n y/l/n broke hearts of millions after announcing their breakup 5 months ago. their publicity team claimed that "it wasn't the right time", "right person, wrong time" and "they weren't seeing a lot of eachother". though, styles and y/l/n have sparked rumours after being spotted together in london, sharing a kiss after styles' show. sources close to them said that "they both sat down and tried to make it work. and it is working, clearly." to read the full article, click here.

68,827 comments

username YESSS

username if they're back together, im gonna cry

username okay so we go heartbreak album from y/n and a heartbreaking song from harry AND they're apparently back together?? harry and y/n won fr

username screaming crying throwing up sliding down the wall banging my head

username brb gonna scream

username JEHXJANXHNSKSMSHXMKAKAJS

username THE IT COUPLE YESS

username so glad that they tried to make things work out

username im sorry for the person i'll become when they announce their relationship

username i bet they're gonna look back at their heartbreak songs and laugh lmfao

username yes yes yes yes yes yes yES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES

username thank fuck

username really hoping this is true

username 😭😭

username everyone, we might be getting them back

username i felt like a child of divorce

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liked by harrystyles, tchalamet, oliviarodrigo and 4,325,824 others

y/n_ met you at the right time

tagged harrystyles

196,528 comments

username no amount of preparation could've prepared for the 2nd pic

username HSISJXNSKXHDHSJKXKSKDJDNDJCKS

username yeah, my cat needs to hear this

niallhoran thank god 🤍🦋

username 😭😭

username my parents

username y'all still paying for the damage you caused with your music

arianagrande love love love loveeeeeeee you both

zendaya FUCKING FINALLY YES

zayn thank you, khai didn't wanna spend christmas with auntie y/n and new year's day with uncle harry

username their friends being relieved is a mood

harrystyles i'm gonna spend every lifetime making it the right time for us <3 i love you

-> y/n_ i love you more than i'll EVER be able to convey

username WHEN?? IS?? IT?? MY?? TURN??

username 🤍👄🤍

username 🦋🦋🦋

selenagomez so happy for you 🤍🦋

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liked by y/n_, tchalamet, mitchrowland and 4,629,925 others

harrystyles this is what it feels like

tagged y/n_

189,628 comments

username HSJDIXJSMXLSMJZ

username THEM>>>

username they're so beautiful

username bi panic

mitchrowland yesssss

tchalamet good, maybe now she'll stop calling me at night to cry about how she missed you

-> y/n_ you're on thin fucking ice timothee

username full on sobbing

username FUCK YESSSS YESSSS

username ❣️❣️❣️

username they invented being in love

y/n_ it feels Iike heaven

-> harrystyles loving you does feel like heaven

username imagine someone loving you the way harry loves y/n, oh right, you CAN'T

username forever gonna be in awe of you

billieeilish my fav couple 🤍

username they're soulmates

username yes officer, these two right here

username !!!!

niallhoran 💟

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[buckyownsmylife]

Give your heart a break - Chris Evans smut

The one where Chris is a biker and decided he wants to start your forever.

Warnings: I’m gonna tag this as dubcon just to be safe, Chris definitely crosses a line without proper consent, breeding kink, biker!Chris AU, bondage, (belt used to restrain hands), dirty talk

A/N:  this is for my own birthday celebration challenge! Like I explained here, I’m going to try to fill every single AU I listed with the characters I picked for the challenge, and since the deadline if May 27, these fics will be posted randomly, as I finish them. Hope you guys like it!

Chris’ P.O.V.

“Hey, baby!” The smile she opened up when she turned around to see it was truly me who had just arrived at her coffee shop made my heart beat faster than it ever did while I was away from her.

I guess the adrenaline the bike used to give me was nothing compared to her effect on me.

“What are you doing here?” She exclaimed, jumping on my waiting arms so I could twirl her around, like I always did after we spent some time apart. She looked just the same, which comforted my heart somewhat.

I hated leaving her, but this nomadic lifestyle I’d chosen for myself long before we ever met would never work for her. It’s why she always resisted accepting any kind of labels to what we shared.

That was all about to change, though. Even if she still didn’t realize it.

“What? Can’t I stop by to visit my best girl?” Her smile became even bigger at the pet name. It was the indication I needed of her true feelings. She wanted to be mine, she really just couldn’t handle the biker lifestyle.

“Of course, you can. I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all. Sit down, I’ll bring your usual order!” I watched as she fixed me a black coffee and picked a muffin with great care before bringing it to me. I had no doubt it was the warmest one on the tray. “Will you be sticking around for tonight?”

I could see the glint of hope and desire in her eyes. I knew that even though she didn’t want to be tied down to me, she hadn’t looked for pleasure in anyone else ever since I first kissed her. And even though I was sure she thought differently, neither had I.

She owned my heart ever since we met. There was no one else I’d rather have underneath my body. “I think you’ll soon realize I’ll be sticking around for a lot longer.”

Her eyes lit up at that, excitement clear in her features. “A whole week?” She’d been asking me for that for as long as I’ve known her, and I’d never been able to stick through the whole seven days. There was always some shipment to assess, brothers to help.

This time, nothing would force me away from her.

“You’ll see.” She rolled her eyes at my attempt at keeping a mystery, and I know what was going on through her pretty little head. I was already too secretive as it was, there was no need for more hiding. But I had a plan, and I was going to stick to it.

“I’ll be right here until it’s time to lock up. I’ll walk you home, how does that sound?” The way the corner of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at me was enough of a response, yet she gave me one anyway.

“Perfect.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Stop that.” The order startled me, too lost in the haze of lust to realize that he’d stripped down to his boxers, finally noticing that I’d climbed on the bed and had been playing with myself while I waited for him to join me.

Usually, I’d immediately follow his directions - almost instinctively, actually. It was probably some remaining fear that used to exist inside of me when I saw him on his bike just outside my shop, before I decided to give him a chance and began this little adventure between us…

I never wanted to see his anger directed at me. But tonight, I was feeling brave for whatever reason. Maybe it was because of how much I had missed him this time we spent apart and how I unconsciously resented him for always leaving. We’d never have an actual relationship, and it was all because of him.

So maybe that awoke the brat in me, because all I gave him was a smirk, keeping the movements on my clit as I watched him watch me. “I don’t think you deserve that,” I taunted, taking notice of the way he seemed transfixed by the wetness gathered on my lower lips, until I stopped my movements and raised my hand to slather it on my lips.

“You’ve left me all alone so many nights, with only these fingers as company…” I returned them to the apex of my thighs, pushing them inside of me this time, making sure to exaggerate my moan at the relieving sensation of being filled. “I think you deserve to suffer for a while longer.”

He looked so beautiful with his eyebrows furrowed, the length of his eyelashes and the pinkness of his lips almost making me overlook how threatening he still looked, all tatted up, clearly disappointed in me.

“Stop it,” he warned once more, but I wasn’t in a submissive mood. Not tonight.

“Why should I?” I argued, fucking myself faster. “I’m not yours. You can’t boss me around.” That was the wrong thing to say, I realized the second his eyes darkened, jaw clenching at my defiance. He was on me in a second, easily gathering my wrists in one of his hands as he pulled them up in the direction of the headboard, and it was only when I felt the leather around them that I realized he’d picked up his belt to tie me to bed.

“Yes, you are,” he breathed out against my face, eyes looking directly in mine to show me just how serious he was. “And you should know better than to disobey me.” The authoritative tone in his voice had me shivering, especially after he pulled away and stopped covering my body with his, taking advantage of how I was bound to the bed to drink in my naked figure.

“I promise I’ll behave,” I tried to argue, legs flailing around his figure until he grabbed them. “I-I just missed you, that’s all.” The way his huge, rough hand felt on the inside of my thighs should be illegal. And he knew just how much it affected me, as he smirked and looked up at me from under his eyelashes with a knowing glint in his gaze.

“Don’t you trust me?” He questioned, head tilted as his thumb slipped and found place right over my nub. “I just want to make you feel good, sugar.” I hesitated for a moment - I hadn’t really experimented with any sort of kinky sex before, even though I expected him to try something unusual ever since the first time we were together. Guess this was starting small. I could take it.

Besides, I needed him too fucking badly.

“Yeah?” He confirmed after I nodded, tone almost patronizing as he kept rubbing me and playing with himself. “Got yourself wet and ready for me, won’t need to prepare you, huh? Guess your disobedience has it’s advantages.”

All I could do was whimper, especially when he finally leaned over me again, resting his hard cock over my navel. “Feel this?” He asked, and I nodded once more. “It’s about to be inside of you, pretty girl.”

And so he grasped my hips and adjusted himself to start pushing in, spearing me open. Having him for the first time after a while was always a challenge, and although he always took it slow to get me used to him again, he was never one to give me time to accept the intrusion. He just took his time, thrusting in and out, taking note of every little moan that I released as his hips pressed against mine.

“Oh, fuck…” I groaned, wanting to wrap my arms around him but unable to do so, due to my restraints. “T-that f-feels s-so good!” I was positively trembling as he started to pick up his pace, cocky smile only adding to my arousal.

“Oh, yeah?” He panted, drops of sweat starting to form on his naked body from the frantic activity. “Then fucking scream it, sweetheart. Tell your entire neighborhood how good it feels to have my cock inside of you.”

I must have obeyed him, from the way my throat felt hoarse when I finally came back from my orgasm, but I couldn’t remember it. I was too far gone. All I knew, all I could focus on was the way it felt to have his cock rhythmically dragging in and out of me, the sounds of my juices reverberating off the walls.

“Pretty little pussy,” he complimented, eyes focused on the part of me he was so obsessed with. “Can’t wait to fill it up with my cum.” Well, that jolted me back into reality, suddenly pulling on his belt again.

“W-what?” Only when he heard my question and the hesitation in my voice did he raise his gaze to meet my eyes, a patient smile defining his expression.

“C’mon, pretty girl… You know you want it too. Don’t you want an ‘us’?” He urged while I could only stare back, mouth agape. “You know I want more, I’ve always wanted more. Now I’m ready to give it to you. And I know you want me too.”

His voice was soothing against my ear as he kept fucking me, “You want to be round with my baby, don’t you? You want me to keep you filled all day long, until your breasts are heavy and your belly starts growing, so everyone will know you’re now undeniably mine.”

And to be his is all I’d ever wanted, but I never expected it to happen like this. I could only watch, frozen in place as he came deep inside of me, moaning right by my ear before kissing my temple.

“I love you, sweetheart.” He’d never said those words to me before. I don’t think he’d ever said them to anyone. “I know it’s fucked up that I’m only now telling you this, but I do. And I wanna fall asleep next to you every day from now on.”

And so he kept me plugged, full of his cum even as he released my wrists and lulled me to sleep, and for the next seven days, when I woke up in the morning, he was really still there.

“You’re really here to stay,” I whispered on the eight night, cradling his face in amazement as he smiled before kissing my palm.

“Forever.”

[lycanthrop-ee]

Ghosting - Empty House

A/N: !!!!! It’s here! I’m so, so pumped for this- welcome to the Empty House AU! This is the first piece of content I’m publishing and it’s a one-shot from a bigger universe, but it’s also absolutely a stand-alone fic. It’s a self-indulgent, analogical-centric human AU that’s has been floating around my hollow skull for months now, so there’s a lot of doodles backed up if any of yall would like to see that ;) There will be an AU taglist, but I also have an individual writing taglist!

Synopsis: Logan has finally moved out of his childhood home into a family-sized house where he plans to finish college online. His simple plans are complicated when a strange, sad-looking boy starts showing up outside...

Word count: 4,306

Ships: Endgame romantic Analogical

CW: (spoilers) Pre-plot major character death, swearing, anxiety attack, very mildly implied previous parental abuse, be safe kiddos and ask to tag!

The first time Logan saw the boy was the day he moved in. 

The empty house had stood hollowly beside its driveway, Logan feeling small without his siblings or parents or any of his rarely acquired friends by his side. He wasn’t a sociable person, but he’d always been surrounded by noise at home, and lots of it… he’d never been in a house as still as the one he stepped into that day. The dark wooden floors were cleanly swept, except for the corners and trimmings which had little fields of grey dust dotting the deep brown. The refrigerator made a hungry humming noise, protesting its suddenly empty shelves- Logan knew a family of four had lived there before, and that they’d given him a pretty hefty discount on the house. That’s all he knew.

The floor in the entrance hall creaked underfoot, and the walls seemed to turn away as they saw him- not who they’d been expecting, not worth their attention. That was fair. 

The house had three bedrooms and two floors- altogether a strange layout. Two of the bedrooms were downstairs, situated in a small hallway off the kitchen, and one was tucked into a little corner upstairs, where the only other rooms consisted of a bathroom and a large, carpeted playroom that was mostly empty now. Logan figured it would have been a favorite of the kids when they were smaller, but now the only furniture was a faux leather couch and a television, as well as a couple of out-of-place armchairs that had never gotten much human use from the look of their fur-covered seats.

With just him taking up the whole house, he hardly saw the point in using the upstairs bedroom. The house felt big already- rationally, it would be better to localize downstairs. All he really needed was his room, the kitchen, and the little living room next to the entrance. That was enough for him- in fact, even that was too silent. He missed the screams of his brothers as affectionately as anyone could- which honestly varied day to day. 

Today, he was disproportionately affectionate. 

It paired well with the fear.

Logan was just about ready to start tearing himself apart over the family members he’d left behind- the only ones that mattered- when the boy caught his eye.

The day had been gray and dreary, the trees heavy with the prospect of rain and the air cool enough to promise it, but it had only started drizzling in the few minutes since Logan had been inside. The sky had seemed to darken remarkably quickly, especially strange without the presence of thunder or even heavy rain, and in the middle of it all was a lanky figure who looked for all the world like a member of the fae.

He stood at the side of the road, looking in the house’s general direction- in Logan’s general direction, although he was sure the other wouldn’t be able to see through his windows. His face would’ve been hidden by the dark hair poking out from under his hood were he not so painfully pale, and his brown irises were visible to Logan only because of the piercing contrast of his skin. 

His jacket was oversized, but his beanpole frame managed to show through regardless. The rainwater gradually weighed it down until the boy looked almost a skeleton, Logan frozen watching him for what could have been minutes- and then the frame heaved in a breath and ambled stiffly away. 

Obviously Logan’s first worries had to do with an unhinged white male teenager breaking into his new house- the one he had full responsibility for and few precious savings to repair. It was irrational, he knew, but his second thought was that the boy hadn’t looked capable of any harm- or really of much at all. He looked weighed down, depressed, and Logan was sure that it wasn’t just the water soaking his sweatshirt. The boy had looked sad. 

And he continued to. Frighteningly often, the teenager appeared outside Logan’s house. Each time he looked quite the same: above average height but considerably shorter than Logan himself, skinny, and almost other-worldly in his strange mish-mash of dark eyes and pearly flesh. While Logan knew that his first sight of the boy had been strange in the sudden change of weather, he could- and completely intended to- count it as a coincidence of Florida’s strange climate.  

He settled into a sort of pattern, although the boy didn’t seem to follow one. Each time he saw the figure outside his house, he would take a break from his endless work. He’d make himself some tea, sit in the window, and wait for the boy to leave. This way, he told himself, if he tried anything, Logan would be there to intercept him. He chose not to think about the possibility of it happening at night or while he was away, and he kept far away from the crime shows he’d occasionally enjoyed in the past. This way, too, he could get a good look at his visitor each time. It was almost as though he was keeping tabs on him, and at the tail end of his fear came a strange protectiveness. 

It was after about a month of this- Logan looking for job applications and living off of his savings, edgewise- that Logan pulled into his driveway at one of the key moments of his life. The boy stood unsteadily at the side of the road, sweatshirt ever-present even in the heat. Logan got out of his car carefully, his heart in his throat- though, really, did any part of him think the boy capable of much at this point? 

He’d have expected the kid to run as soon as he’d pulled in, but when Logan looked him over he saw the boy studying him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. It struck Logan anew in their close proximity how thin he was.

Almost thoughtlessly, he started across the lawn towards the boy. He had to remind himself to uphold formalities- no matter how many times they’d stared at each other across the way, they’d never once spoken. He didn’t know this kid, not really- and now it occurred to him that the boy was more than a kid. He couldn’t be much younger than himself. Logan halted a few respectful steps from the boy, who eyed him strangely.

Close up… he looked, somehow, the same as he did from across the lawn. His features were simple, small mouth and nose easy to overlook for his huge, shadowed eyes. He really did remind one of a fairytale, or even- perhaps more accurately- a Tim Burton. 

Logan opened his mouth to speak, but paused for a moment. They watched each other.

“Would you like to come in for tea?” He finally inquired, the words escaping him overly familiar. The boy raised his eyebrows almost undetectably, seeming confused, and Logan caught himself almost leaning forward in anticipation of the other’s first words to him.

“You’re not Patton,” the boy said, voice just above a murmur and hoarse. Logan hesitated, confused, and studied the expression that would’ve been bored were it not for the slight tremble in his lips and a hint of surprise- Logan supposed neither of them had planned what had escaped their mouths. He reached up with a thin arm and brushed the back of his hand gently across his eyes. A spark of something strange flickered in Logan’s chest- this man was possibly not all there. He wracked his brain for labels- depression? Mild psychosis? Dissociation?

Either way, this was not someone he should invite into his house without more information- but as that regretfully occurred to him, the first drops of afternoon rain hit the tip of his noise. He wondered if the boy would stand out here after Logan went outside, and if so, for how long. 

“No, I’m not,” he found himself saying. “My name is Logan. It is raining- would you like to come in?”

He was exceedingly aware of the boy’s breathing as they stepped out of the rain, something that would normally drive him insane- somehow he didn’t mind this time. His presence was almost calming after weeks of bringing a break from Logan’s ceaseless work. It assured him that the ghostly pale man was real, which was never a problem he thought he’d be debating... but here was this skeleton-thin, strange-mannered man entering his house as though he’d been there a million times before.

He carefully slid his shoes off, paying close attention to the floor- and no attention to Logan. 

“I’ll make tea,” the latter found himself mumbling. “Do you want to come into the kitchen?”

“I’m gonna go upstairs,” the boy said. Logan blinked.

“I- you… this is my house?” He stuttered, trying to be assertive- surely that crossed a line? He’d never seen this kid before a month ago- but there he went, lugging himself up the stairs like he belonged there. O-kay. 

Logan backed into the drafty kitchen to put the kettle on.

Time to listen to his voice of reason, he decided. Clearly this boy had been in the house before- hopefully before Logan had moved in- and knew his way around. And clearly his mental state had some connection to the house- whether positive or negative, Logan couldn’t yet tell. So, he concluded, it’s possible that he had lived here before. The married couple that had sold him the house had mentioned a son, but they’d been moving out of town- how would the boy have made his way back almost daily? There was a bus line in the area... but who was Patton, and why had his absence been unexpected?

There was clearly missing information here, and thus the situation was theoretically dangerous. The logical thing to do would be to contact the authorities for more information- maybe the boy was a local that they were familiar with. If that were the case, they would know how to handle him. 

On the other hand… it was, put simply, a puzzle. Wasn’t it? Logan was smart; he was in online college and he was passing quite well. He had an A in psych so far. He just needed a few more minutes with the boy and he’d figure it out. He could help him... why else would he show up outside his house? 

He needed Logan.

There goes rational thought, Logan sighed as the kettle started to whistle, turning off the stovetop and moving the pot to the side. Something made him turn around- the boy was watching him from the doorway, looking almost more upset than usual. His wide eyes were watery, and as Logan hesitated he wiped an arm across his face again, expression turning to frustration. He avoided Logan’s gaze. “You said you were making tea?” He said, carefully controlled voice just above a whisper. Logan was startled out of his stupor by the boy’s coherence.

“I, um- yes! Yes, would you- what kind?”

“Earl grey? No sugar, just a bit of milk...” he carefully pulled a chair from the small table, slumping into it and reaching to fidget with the salt shaker. “Please.”

The boy’s words stirred Logan into movement and he grabbed two mugs out of the mostly barren cabinet before pulling a pre-packaged tea bag from the tea box on the counter. He unwrapped the tea and dropped one bag in each mug, pouring steaming water from the kettle into them with a satisfying noise. The warm humidity and pleasant smell caressed Logan’s face, and he took a moment to bask in it before returning to the present moment- if begrudgingly. As he set the empty kettle aside, the room quieted, the only sound the rain drizzling over the side of the roof. Logan crossed the space self-consciously to close the window. The boy’s eyes were pointedly focused on the table in front of him- Logan thought he felt more awkward this way than if the boy had been staring at him flat-out. Either way, he could feel his awareness of Logan like a thick fog. He snuck another look at the boy as he hovered beside a chair, unsure whether to sit opposite him. 

“My name is Logan,” he prompted, thoughts stumbling over each other to curse him for the repetition. 

“Thank you for the tea, Logan.”

...Well, at least that was something. His name sounded strange in the other boy’s hoarse, delicate voice- less mundane, somehow. He stood at the head of a table for one more moment that seemed to stretch out an eternity- the boy carefully spun the salt shaker around in his nimble fingers, swearing softly as some of the seasoning fell onto the table. Logan’s startled eyes studied the other’s flushed face.

And then his head caught up to him, and he shuttered into motion, rushing to the mostly empty fridge for milk and fetching the small bag of sugar he’d mercifully bought a few days before. 

“I... I’ve seen you around,” Logan’s mouth betrayed him again. That was creepy- although, looking at it objectively, it was much less creepy than being ‘around’ the way the boy had. The table behind was quiet for too long as he poured the milk. 

“...When’d you move in?” The voice was quiet and held a fragility that Logan hadn’t yet heard from the other. He was relieved to finally have an easy answer to one of the many questions he faced. And, indeed, his mouth finally obeyed him, even and direct.

“About a month ago.” He turned to face the table, the boy’s tea held stiffly between his hands. 

“Sorry,” he whispered as Logan set down the tea. “I knew someone’d moved in, but I guess… it was you.” The boy let out a hollow laugh, and Logan was swept with protectiveness once more.

“Don’t worry, I won’t alert the authorities.” Because that was the most comforting thing he could think of- he’d never been very tactful with delicate emotional situations. Predictably, the boy tensed. Logan decided it’d be advisable for him to move on. “What is your name, pray tell?”

Pray tell. Pray fucking tell? What was wrong with him? The boy cut him off before he could overthink the foot he’d just shoved in his mouth with the eloquence of an 1800s era schoolboy. 

“Patton.” A moment passed before a look of horror came over his face. “Or- no, I- it’s- Virgil! Virgil.”

Now- once again, logically- forgetting one's name was not a good sign. Of general coherence nor moral innocence. Logan knew this. 

Still, the boy looked uniquely upset by the mistake. 

Logan fetched his tea and sat down opposite him.

The other boy fidgeted incessantly, and Logan felt it fell on him to make Virgil more comfortable. He threw tact to the wind- it was tiresome anyway- in favor of distracting the other and himself from the strange fumble.

“Are you a local?”

He got a nod in response, Virgil holding the tea tightly between his hands. Logan couldn’t help but feel he’d made yet another mistake- obviously the boy wasn’t comfortable talking about himself, but was it worth Logan filling the silence with unprompted facts about himself? Would that bore Virgil? Was that rude? He let the gap in conversation rest for a moment before deciding he didn’t much care what was rude.

“This is my second year enrolled in online college- I skipped my senior year.”

The stupid non-sequitor sat in the middle of the table, sinking like a rock. Virgil managed to give him an incredulous look, even in the depths of... whatever it was that was affecting him. Logan panicked. 

Here are a few things about Logan Croft that were usually a given:

                  1. He often said things without regard to the effect they would have on others. 

                  2. He did not say things he didn’t believe to be true.

                  3. He did not readily employ personal information.

All of these rules had apparently been thrown out the window the second Virgil walked in his door. As soon as he realized this, he worked to reclaim them. “Virgil.”

The wind immediately blew out of his sails, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Speaking abrasively had never been difficult for him, and this was not the time to adopt a new weakness. “I need to know who you are. You have shown up outside of my house for the past month, and while the reasoning behind this is presumably personal and not necessarily critical for me to know, I will at least need you to tell me your full name. Against my better judgement, I will not contact the authorities about your incessant invasion of my privacy, because I don’t altogether mind it- but if you are to have regular access to my house, we can’t continue this one-sided conversation.” Regular access to his house? When had Logan considered that option? As soon as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer- the feeling of someone appearing in the doorway, seeking Logan’s company… it was something that he’d missed sorely. It was something he needed.

The boy looked startled and altogether terrified by the long stream of words. Logan, still working hard to recover his sense and new to the inclination of softening his words on the behalf of strangers, disregarded this as best he could as he waited for an answer. 

It didn’t look like he was going to get one.

Virgil opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, putting the salt shaker down on it’s side like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Logan felt a tug in his stomach to right it, afraid he’d get more salt on his table, but now didn’t seem like the time. 

As the moment stretched forward, his attention was grabbed away anyways, trying to decipher Virgil’s expression. It didn’t look good. 

In fact, it made his heart drop.

The boy looked withdrawn, fearful- like a bird with an injured wing or a snared fox. Damn it, damn it, damn it- Logan’s split-second adopted mantra was less than helpful, but it showed no signs of tapering off to make room for useful thoughts. Virgil’s eyes squeezed shut, and the instincts left over from Logan’s career as an older brother took over. 

He rushed to Virgil’s side on blind autopilot, laying a warm hand over his bony back. The boy jumped at the unexpected touch- and then leaned into it, a choked sob tearing itself from his throat. Oh no. Oh god. Damn it. 

Logan didn’t consider himself good with emotions. He did his best to comfort his younger brothers- god knows they needed it- but strangers were a whole new situation and honestly he didn’t feel much better about this than he expected the boy did.

Nevertheless. 

“Hey, I-” he took a knee to lower himself to Virgil’s level, steadying himself against the table awkwardly. “Um-”

He choked on what to say, but his mind latched to the one thing he knew. Virgil had responded positively to touch- and with little further thought, Logan bundled the shivering boy into his arms.

Logan would’ve immediately taken back the show of affection by any means necessary if Virgil hadn’t melted into the touch so readily- Logan was reminded of an oversized cat. 

That being said, Logan was holding a sobbing stranger in his arms in his new house, alone. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Logan had always been the kid at family gatherings who did everything in his power to ward off physical contact from his overbearing relatives. Although this situation was completely different and altogether impossible to plan for and avoid, he found himself reacting in somewhat of the same way- each place that Virgil’s thin, trembling body touched his screamed at him to recoil.

He did not.

He brought to mind his brothers- not that they’d ever been particularly physically affectionate with him. They’d always turned to each other, and he’d been left to himself. Understandably. But he imagined if they had seeked his reassurance, if they’d ever been as upset as this stranger was now. If they’d let him in. 

But now someone was leaning on him for comfort, and he was determined to provide for them. Imagine if Remus had come to him for help, he kept thinking. Imagine if it were Roman. 

And all of a sudden he had to hold back tears himself. He tensed, carefully leaning Virgill back onto his chair- Logan’s chair. Sensing the other’s discomfort, the boy came back to himself like a fire blazing across dry wood. 

“Fuck- fuck, I-I’m-” the boy was off at a rushed stutter, scrambling to right himself and wiping his eyes angrily. Logan shook his head, patting Virgil’s shoulder awkwardly. 

“Drink your tea,” Logan said stiffly. “It’s okay. I don’t- do you need something?” Good job, he thought sarcastically. Just pretend it never happened. Show him that, apologies, you seem to have made him think you’re an emotional resource. He was wrong, you’re actually a sociopath. Once again, sorry for any inconvenience. 

Logan’s thoughts stuttered and shouted as he tried to fix whatever he’d done. Virgil was quite obviously shaking, almost unable to hold his tea to his lips although he did make an effort, and Logan resorted back to psych class- maybe not a panic attack, but certainly an emotional breakdown and possibly an anxiety attack. “Do you have a history of generalized anxiety disorder?” Logan asked automatically, the place where he should have held a capacity for compassion currently void for whatever stupid reason. “Or even a suspected case?” The thunderstorm in his mind froze entirely as Virgil’s watery brown eyes focused on him. 

“...I guess,” he rasped quietly, eyes flickering back to his hands as they picked at each other violently. “I dunno.”

Logan let out a long breath, sliding furtively into the chair opposite Virgil. 

“If you’re having an anxiety attack, it could be caused by a persistent disorder or a recent traumatic event- although recent is a problematically inspecific measurement-” 

“Uh, then I- I dunno. Still. I guess…” He shrugged, looking away. “How recent is recently?”

Logan tried to hold back a sigh of relief at the comparatively simple question.

“Generally, anxiety attacks are caused by a buildup of unfinished tasks or other irritants, although there’s often an overarching problem or incident. A traumatic event can cause emotional turmoil for years after it occurs- or for the remainder of one’s life, depending on it’s nature- but in most to all cases, the effects lessen as time goes on.” Virgil nodded slowly. 

“And- and what are the symptoms? Of an anxiety attack?” He pulled his legs up to his chest, presumably placating the urge to make himself smaller. Logan rattled off the characteristics quickly.

“Shaking, a feeling of unease, impulsive thoughts, nausea, panic, the sensation of being trapped or cornered, restlessness, hyperventilation, trouble concentrating, dyspnea- shortness of breath, that is- am I making sense?” He wrapped his hands around the cooling cup of tea in front of him, feeling the need to steady himself. Virgil nodded again- it was apparent he was a man of few words. That worked out wonderfully, Logan thought, as he himself seemed so bent on talking as much as humanly possible. 

“Yeah,” Virgil muttered- then stood up abruptly. “Um- I should probably go. Sorry for… yeah.” Logan, decidedly more alarmed at the idea than he should’ve been, got to his feet as well.

“No- I mean, you don’t… have to. If you’d rather- but if you feel the need to go- I mean, I don’t want you to…” Logan paused, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to get his damn mouth under the control of his brain. Had he said something wrong? Well, obviously he’d said many things wrong in the past minutes, but… he thought over the conversation. He’d only been saying the facts- just what he knew. Was there something he should have kept to himself? Was any of it too personal? It was just facts, statistics, symptoms- he cursed himself mentally, although he couldn’t tell precisely what for.

While he’d been deliberating- not panicking, never panicking- Virgil had frozen in place. Right. The whole blazing trainwreck of words he’d let out for no apparent reason. Where the hell had that even come from? He’d known this kid for a month- five minutes face-to-face- and he was already being weird and nonsensical. It took considerable effort to bring the circumstances of their meeting to mind and even the playing field in his subconscious. If they were both creepy, did it even out? “I-I meant... you’re welcome here.” 

Logan could see the gears turning in Virgil’s head as he fell back into his chair. A weight slid off of his shoulders as the air between them settled- they were even. Or something. 

As much as he expected to regret his words, he was surprised at the lack of protest from his thoughts. It was, for once, blessedly quiet both inside his head and out. Logan sat back down warily. “You obviously have some- some connection to this house.” Like some sort of undead apparition, he thought- but he had the sense to keep that, at least, inside. “I can’t tell if it has a positive or negative effect on your mental state as I seem to be an uncalled for variable in your visit. I’m no psychological authority... I know you’ll come back either way, and I don’t like imagining you back out in the rain.” A shiver went through the boy like a roll of thunder, and he nodded. 

“When can I come here again?”

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 20: Moxiety

@tsshipmonth2020

(Yes this is out of order, but I figured I’d rather give you guys out of order content than no content at all. Hope that’s okay.)

Day 20 - You can send one item to your soulmate every year. 

Content warning: Christmas, food mentions, homophobic family members mentions, serious fluffiness.

Word count: 2.7k 

Songs mentioned in this fic: “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” and “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”. 

Patton’s eyes scanned over the letter, barely reading the words he’d read many times before. After the first time he’d gotten one, years ago, he’d re-read it so many times he’d committed it to memory.

Patton Hart,

You are receiving this notice to inform you that the annual soulmate item exchange is arriving. On December 24th, BEFORE MIDNIGHT, please bring your package to your nearest postal service or drop box, marked clearly with the provided adhesive label on the TOP. Item must be contained in the shipping box provided. Other boxes will not be accepted. If the drop off time is missed, your package will not be received. 

There was no signature, no return address, no number to call. At first, he’d been slightly suspicious, since everyone he asked had no further information than what was on the small letter, but after the first year, when a beautiful black and gold notebook and a matching pen had shown up on his doorstep on Christmas morning, he’d decided to heck with his worries. Despite his initial curiosity, he’d sent a gift anyways (if it was legitimate, he wasn’t about to leave his partner without a present!), a grey beanie that he’d stitched a small heart and message into. 

He giddily placed the letter back into the envelope and stuck it into the gap between the hallway mirror and the wall so he wouldn’t forget. Although, he doubted he would. He’d already bought a present, months ago, when his eyes fell upon a black and purple striped sweater in the window of the mall. The black thin stripes occasionally jumped, looking like the lines on a heart monitor, and it hooked him instantly. It was simplistic yet eye catching and unique, like the gifts Patton always received from his soulmate, so he immediately bought it and wrapped it as soon as he got home. He didn’t know his soulmate’s size, but you really can’t go wrong with an extra large (baggy sleeves are ideal, after all).

His time passed quickly, filled with movie nights with his roommate (who insisted on watching Nightmare before Christmas at least once a week) and trying new Christmas cookie recipes. It was his favorite holiday, with the songs and the decorations and the ever present smell of cinnamon in every store, so the moment they had passed Halloween, every moment was filled with his Christmas playlists and cheesy holiday sweaters. His family was coming to his place for their celebration this year, so the place was decked out with tinsel and little snowy villages, candles and fairy lights on every wall, and of course, their tree in the corner of the living room. It was going to be… amazing. 

He’d offered to take his roommate’s soulmate item along with him to the post office, seeing as he was uneasy in high crowd situations, and soulmate exchange days were always insanely busy. It had been the right move, too, because as soon as the office came into view, he could already see the crowd of people milling outside, trying to get into the small door. What could you expect, though, only giving people a twenty four hour window to all show up to the same spot? By the time he got inside and got both packages passed to the handler on the other side (an arduous process, since they had to check each gift thoroughly to ensure there were no cards or any other way to identify the sender), it was dark outside. All he wanted to do was curl up with some hot chocolate and watch the Grinch, as the two of them had planned. 

That’s what they did, falling asleep on the couch in the process. They were awoken in the morning by a knock at the door, Patton gently extracting himself from Virgil’s arms and turning off the TV, cringing that the cover screen of the movie had been on all night. The other mumbled in annoyance at his heat source disappearing and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s too early.”

“Merry Christmas, Virge!” Patton shrieked, ignoring his roommate’s mock irritated snarl as he gave him a tight hug. “Let’s go get our gifts!”

Begrudgingly, Virgil followed him to the door that he flung open, revealing two small parcels on the step. The labels from the senders had been replaced with simple name tags, another way to ensure that their soulmates would not be traceable. The other houses on the block all had similar ones outside their doors, and the carrier was nowhere to be seen, as usual. He picked them both up, handing Virgil his, and running back into the kitchen to get scissors, pretty much vibrating with glee. 

“I’m making coffee first. You want some?” 

Patton hummed, looking between the gift before him and Virgil’s tired eyes. “This can wait. Let’s have coffee.”

Virgil was barely able to conceal with excitement at being chosen over a Christmas present by someone who was essentially an overgrown child, pulling out two mugs. He passed his package to Patton, who placed it beside his on the table, and shuffled around his roommate to start on breakfast.

“It’s Christmas. You’re going to eat breakfast for once,” Patton interrupted the moment Virgil started complaining, grinning widely when he finally agreed. 

“Do you ever wonder who your soulmate’s gonna be? What they’ll be like?” Virgil asked as he poured the coffee grounds, dangerously precise as always. The elder hummed.

“They’re your soulmate. So I guess, a perfect match to you. It’s not like they won’t like you or anything. That’s against the whole point!” An egg sizzled as it hit the pan, quickly followed by another.

“I guess,” He mumbled, clicking the on button on the machine. The smell of coffee quickly filled the small kitchen, “So when is your family getting here?”

“Around noon,” Patton chirped, flipping the first egg while simultaneously popping bread in the toaster with his other hand, “I like to cook, but my moms don’t trust me to make the main dish alone. My sisters are super excited to be old enough to help make food this year-- it’s so cute. But yeah, they should be here by noon.”

Virgil cracked a pained smile, watching the dripping coffee into the pot. “Okay. I’ll be out of your hair by then.”  

Patton’s hand froze in mid air, whipping around to his roommate. “Excuse me?”

“I said I’ll be gone by then,” Virgil repeated, looking down to play with the hem of his sweater, “Do you want me to leave earlier? I can if you want.” His voice very nearly cracked as he spoke, tone getting quieter with each word. Patton’s heart shattered.

“Why do you think I want you to leave?” He whispered, blindly shutting the stove off behind him so the eggs wouldn’t burn. The toast popping startled them both, but neither could find it in them to laugh as they usually would have. Virgil shrugged.

“I mean, your family’s coming over. I’m not family. And I know you were super excited for them to come over, and I don’t want to… ruin the vibe,” He shook his fingers in weak jazz hands, shooting a watery grin at Patton. “I was just planning to go to the mall or something. I think it’s open-” 

His words were silenced as Patton threw his arms around Virgil’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. It was no secret that Virgil didn’t get along well with his own family. That was the understatement of the year, really. Patton didn’t know the details, refused to pry, all he knew is that it had something to do with Virgil coming out to a pretty conservative family, an action that ended with him being split off from everyone. He had lost his little brother to his parents cutting contact, among other things, and Patton realized with a start that this was Virgil’s first Christmas without his family. 

In the single year they’d been roommates, the two had grown closer than any childhood friend Patton had kept throughout the years. Heck, he’d maybe consider them closer than he was with his moms, and that was saying a lot. For them to even fall asleep on the couch after a movie night, as they’d done last night, was a regular occurrence for them. They admitted secrets to each other they hadn’t fully admitted to themselves, about their own aromantic natures, about what that meant for soulmates, about what kind of pie was the best. Not all their conversations were deep.

“You are family, Virge,” Patton whispered, resting his chin on the other’s shoulder. “And unless you have a legitimate reason not to, you’re staying here. My family will love you, I swear,” He added quickly, knowing the other’s tendency to grow anxious around new people. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to ruin-”

“I will physically fight you,” He hissed before the other could finish, pulling out of the hug with a soft kiss to his temple. “Stay. For me?”

“Fine,” Virgil rolled his eyes, turning away in fake annoyance to pour their coffee, “For you.” He had a reputation to uphold after all, and him nearly crying was not great for it.  

Just as they finished breakfast, Patton eyeing his present next to him with, again, startling resemblance to an excited child, there was a knock at the door. The roommates shared a confused glance, silently communicating that ‘no, I’m not expecting anyone’ before Patton got up to open it. He’d barely unlocked the latch when it burst open of its own accord, a loud shriek of “PATTY!” echoing through the small entryway.

“You guys are early!” Patton laughed as two small girls attempted to squeeze him to death around his torso, the pair having the same blond curls as Patton. 

“These two just couldn’t wait to see you,” A woman Virgil assumed to be one of Patton’s mother’s smiled, angling above the girls to give Patton a gentle hug which he eagerly returned. 

He quickly led them all inside, introducing a nearly shaking Virgil to his family. His other mom was carrying a box laden with uncooked food, and began to set it out in the small kitchen to begin preparing it. The girls, after a bit of hesitation, flocked to Virgil.

“Why’s your hair purple?” One asked, pulling herself onto Virgil’s lap. Her southern accent was just as strong as her moms’, reminding him of the accent Patton had slowly lost since moving in with him. It wasn’t gone all the way, just dimmed, but from the kitchen, he could hear his roommate talking to his moms animatedly, the accent back in all its glory. 

“I drank too much grape soda,” Virgil lamented, “When I was little, I couldn’t get enough of it. And then it turned my hair purple.” 

“No, it didn’t!” The girl leaning on his knee giggled.

“Are you saying I’m a liar?” He gasped, placing a hand over his heart, “How dare you!”

They both erupted into shrieking laughs, causing Patton to poke his head out of the kitchen. Virgil couldn’t help grinning widely at him as the second girl pulled herself onto his lap as well, causing Patton’s face to light up like the sun. 

“Did you know Christmas is my favorite holiday?” 

“Is it really? Why’s that?” Virgil asked, leaning back in his chair.

“It’s mine, too!”

“Nu uh, it’s only mine!”

“We can have the same favorite!”

“Nu uh!”

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

Patton collapsed back onto the couch, groaning loudly. The tree was the only light in the darkened living room, the air still warm and smelling like the dinner they’d enjoyed hours ago. It was quiet again, his family gone back home. He’d missed them immensely, but he’d forgotten how loud they could be. His feet shifted on the floor, rustling the wrapping paper left over by his hurricane twin sisters; a mess he’d clean up tomorrow. Footsteps approached from down the hall, signalling his roommates arrival, and the speaker on the mantle started to quietly play “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas”, Frank Sinatra’s soft voice drifting through the air.

“I’m so full,” He groaned again, resting his head on the back of the couch.

“Mood,” Virgil said, dropping next to him. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Virgil was just as tired as him. Tired, in the best way possible. 

“You’re really good with kids,” Patton noted with a smile. 

“Tell anyone and they’ll never find your body,” He deadpanned and Patton snorted, before he continued, “They’re the same age as my brother.”

“Oh,” He whispered, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, surprisingly. I miss him. A lot. But this was the best Christmas I’ve probably ever had. No homophobic family members, no shouting matches, just… family. It was nice.”

“Hard to be homophobic when you have two moms,” Patton joked, relieved that Virgil snickered. 

“Probably would be, yeah.”

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas,

With every Christmas card I write,

May your days be merry and bright,

And may all your Christmas’ be white.

They sat in comfortable silence for a bit, relishing in the silence of the house. The tree sparkled, lighting up the blank walls in rainbow hues, their conglomerate mix of thrift store ornaments shifting and reflecting the light. People shouted outside, joyful noises, and kids laughed, their neighbors wrapping up their own holiday celebration.

Patton opened his eyes as he felt something placed on his lap, looking down in confusion before grinning.

“Oh my gosh, I forgot!”

Virgil smiled sheepishly, shifting his own box between his hands. “I put them into my room when your family showed up.”

“Smart move. The twins would have torn them open.” Patton dropped off the couch onto the floor, sitting cross legged and shaking with anticipation. With a laugh, Virgil joined him when he gestured to the floor in front of him. He reached up and took his keys from the mantle, slicing open the duct tape on his box before handing it to Patton to do the same.

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, 

Like the ones I used to know, 

Where the treetops glisten and children listen, 

To hear sleigh bells in the snow

They opened their boxes in unison, Patton gasping when he saw the item in his. He pulled out the large, black fuzzy blanket, blue paw prints the size of Patton’s palm decorating the surface. A high pitched squeal burst from his lips as he squished the blanket to his chest, shoving his face in the soft fabric. 

“Virgil, look! Isn’t it-”

His words caught in his throat at the expression on Virgil’s face; one of absolute shock. He was clutching his gift in white knuckles, and Patton’s mouth went dry when he caught the distinct black heart-beat-esque lines on the purple sweater. 

“Oh,” Patton whispered, both of them frozen, looking at the gift they’d bought in the other’s arms. “Oh!”

“You’re my soulmate!” They both stated at the same time, breaking off into giggles.

“I guess so,” Virgil gasped, smiling as Patton pretty much leapt into his arms, trying to maneuver his hands around the other’s shoulders while still clutching the black blanket. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so relieved! You’re aro and I’m aro and it’s not going to be awkward with someone else, and I don’t have to explain and oh my gosh this is so fantastic!” 

They both dissolved into another laughing fit, Virgil finally able to wind his arms around the other and pulling him closer. The end of the song slowly dwindled down as they both untangled themselves, unable to stop grinning. There was a moment of silence in the room as Virgil picked up a shrieking Patton and dropped him onto the couch, their sides sore from laughter, and essentially settled on top of him.

“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” filled the room with soft violin swings as the two fell into a blissful sleep, wrapped in their respective gifts, more at peace than they’d been in… who knows how long.

[cakesunflower]

Who’s Gonna Love You Like Me? [Brother’s Best Friend!Calum AU] Part 1

A/N: the title is STUPID long. like a whole ass mouthful. but it is what it is. before y’all dive in, i just wanna say that this fic would NOT be possible without @bigheadbabybitch (it’s not letting me tag her bc tumblr is a whore) but god DAMN without her, this fic would not be what it is. every scene is planned with her and made better with her. i’m very lucky to be working with this on her.

Josie’s Face Claim here!

so, without further ado, here’s part 1 of my new brother’s best friend!Cal fic!!

She never experienced feeling the weight of someone’s eyes on her until this moment.

It wasn’t like Josie didn’t want to return his gaze—she just couldn’t, not if she wanted to freeze where she stood. She could feel his intense gaze on her the moment he had walked into her older brother’s house. What she had expected to be a celebration turned into an internal prison as she found herself contemplating what exactly he was thinking about. The way he had been looking at her. . . She didn’t think either of them knew just how much power he held over her. So Josie pretended to be oblivious, acted as though his stare wasn’t burning right through her skin as she talked to friends of her brother’s she was only vaguely familiar with. She had a good excuse, too; after all, Luke had thrown this party to welcome her to California, had been a good older—by three years—brother and opened his home to her so she had a place to stay right after graduating college while looking for one of her own. And nothing said welcome like a good house party. At least, according to Luke Hemmings, anyway.

A soft smile played on her lips as she nursed her drink, thinking of her brother’s welcoming arms. The warm welcome she received was one that calmed her nerves, at first feeling like she was intruding when she moved into Luke’s home, despite his encouragement. Her brother wanted her to move in with him, and yet there was still a small part of Josie that had felt as though she was encroaching on his space. But it came with the territory of being labeled as the little sister among the inseparable group of her brother and his best friends, always feeling as though she was pushing herself into their friend group, even if her company was welcomed.

Eventually, she finished her drink and was in need of more, excusing herself from the group she was chatting with before making her way to the kitchen. Luke’s house was one she loved, proud of her brother for doing so well for himself, starting off as an accountant by using the math skills their mom instilled in them before rising to the top. High ceilings and lots of windows with a view of the trees and hills of the Valley, and an open space that was so much better than the cramped dorm room she’d been living in for too long. Her brother’s spacious home was definitely an upgrade. Josie knew she’d enjoy living in a space where she wouldn’t have to stack her belongings on top of one another, now having room to spread out comfortably.

Too busy admiring her new—albeit temporary—home and pouring herself another drink, Josie had become unaware of who she’d moved towards until the familiar voice spoke up nonchalantly, “You look like you’re fittin’ right in.”

Josie put down the bottle of Coke, biting the inside of her lower lip as she raised her head to finally meet the gaze she had been avoiding. His voice was unmistakable, eyes sharp as always as she schooled her expression into one of ease right when she looked at him. She went from chewing on her lower lip to biting the tip of her tongue to focus on the sting rather than the quickening of her heart. Her skin felt warm, frustration flushing her for not being able to slow her heart rate. Still, Josie offered a smile, the perfect combination of friendly and smug even if the latter felt incredibly made up. “’Course—it helps that I’m really likable.”

Calum sucked in his teeth, giving a brief, semi-accepting tilt of his head. One hand shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket, he was gave her a once over before responding, “Depends on who you ask.” His words were followed by a sip of his beer, but Josie could make out the smirking curl of his lips from around the mouth of the bottle.

Despite the bass of the music thrumming deep in her chest, and the nerves she wished would subside because it was ridiculous to even feel so, Josie offered a smile and rested her hip against the counter she was near. She faced him as he stood a few feet away, left arm braced on the counter as the chain bracelet glimmered against the hanging light above the center counter. He looked good, Josie wasn’t afraid to admit that. To herself, anyway.

With a single shouldered shrug, Josie smiled knowingly and raised an eyebrow at Calum. “I’m asking you.” A risk, those words falling past her lips, but she couldn’t take them back. Nor the implication behind them. But Josie was trying to learn not to be regretful of things, standing by decisions she made. 

There was a subtle shift in his features, lips parting to lick his lower lip. Calum looked almost impressed, if not a bit startled, at Josie’s words, and she didn’t quite blame him. She watched something flash in his dark eyes, eyebrows lowering as a bit of a warning, silently telling her she was wandering into territory she shouldn’t be. Not that she had to be told that. The hitch in her throat was a sign enough.

Before Calum could respond, however, a sudden weight of an arm settled around Josie’s shoulders, a soft yet startled gasp escaping her as her six-foot-four brother playfully hung off her shorter frame. “Do you love your party or what?”

Josie tore her gaze away from the dark haired man across from her to grin up at her brother, whom she could tell was already well on his way to getting drunk. His cheeks were flushed, pushed up to show off his dimpled grin, eyes glazing over. A chuckle equal parts forced and amused escaped Josie, his presence tightening the knots in her stomach, as she wrapped her free arm around his waist. “Of course,” she answered. “I’m feeling all the love.”

Luke grinned, clearly satisfied with her answer. “Good,” he declared, wrapping his other arm around her as well, keeping her close. Josie could feel Calum’s eyes on them but she didn’t look back at him, letting her brother hug her as he continued, “You were too far away at Davis. ’m glad you’re here now.”

His words widened Josie’s smile, a happy warmth flushing her skin. Despite sometimes inserting herself in Luke’s friend group when they were kids, her brother never made her feel as though she was just tagging along or that she wasn’t welcomed to join. Being so close in age, Luke was Josie’s first best friend—honestly, he had a higher friendship role than any best friend she’s had—and she was easily closer to him than she was to her other two older brothers, Jack and Ben. Don’t get it wrong, Josie loved all of her brothers. But if she had to pick a favorite, it would be Luke.

Which was why Calum’s gaze on them felt so heavy, like it was weighing her down, slowly squeezing the air out of her lungs. Luke’s hug felt warm for all of the wrong reasons as Calum watched them, and Josie forced herself to look up, for her blue eyed gaze to meet his brown. His stare was intense as ever, looking right through her, and despite the neutrality of his features, Josie picked up on the look in his eye. She saw the reluctance that swam in them, a hint of panic he was doing a good job in hiding from those who wouldn’t expect to see it there. But Josie knew; she knew to look for it, knew it was probably present because she could feel it knotting her insides, too.

It was a kind of emptiness in her chest that allowed for the bass of the music playing in the house to settle too deeply, wondering if Calum felt it too as he tore his gaze away from them and took a long sip of his drink. Did he feel guilt, too? 

She hoped he didn’t regret it because she sure as hell didn’t. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t any room for the guilt to take up residence. Not when her brother was holding her so tightly, so happily, rambling on about how excited he was for her to be living with him. Oblivious to the tension his presence only intensified between his best friend and sister.

“It’ll be just like old times, right, Cal?” Luke’s voice pulled Josie out of her thoughts, swallowing the lump in her throat as Calum looked at them once more. The song playing through the speakers changed to an unfamiliar R&B type that Josie thought was more Calum’s style than her brother’s. 

A wry expression briefly twisted Calum’s features, a subtle quirk of his eyebrows and purse of his lips as his eyes met hers quickly. A silent scoff of yeah, right being spoken by him just through his features to her as Josie bit the inside of her cheek, her smile disappearing.

“Yeah,” Calum responded, his voice sounding too deep, heavy with the thoughts swirling in his head. Josie figured she had an idea what was running through his mind. He took another sip of his drink, brown eyes on blue, her own gaze following the way his tongue swiped across his lower lip, hating that she couldn’t pull her gaze away. All too aware that he was watching her track his movements, a hardship she would have to learn to get past. His eyes never left hers as he raised his cup, a silent cheers, as he repeated, “Just like old times.”

*****

The sun was bright. Then again, this was California, and the sun was always bright. Especially as June began and the sun remained high and relentless. It felt warm against Calum’s skin, which he’d eventually cool down by taking advantage of the tempting pool in front of him. And he wanted to jump in already, except he remained planted on the poolside chair, refusing to submerge himself in the cold water because of the woman already enjoying it. So he stayed put, feeling the heat burn his legs and the thin layer of sweat that clung to his skin, depriving himself of the welcoming water because he needed to keep his distance.

Music was playing through Luke’s backyard, but Calum couldn’t tell what song was playing, attention muffled by his focus being on Josie. Or, specifically, it was on trying not to be on the woman. Sipping his beer, Calum blinked behind his sunglasses, trying to anchor himself to the conversation happening around him by trying to get a grasp on reality. It was just him, the boys, and Josie—how it used to be at times when they were younger. Except there was nothing adolescent in the way his gaze lingered on Josie from behind the shades of his glasses. Yet he tried to listen to the song, foot tapping as his mind slowly picked up on the beat. Anything to try and get a solid grasp on his surroundings to pull out of his jumbled thoughts.

“The salon’s nice, then?” Ashton questioned, popped up from the middle of a hideous duck float, arms crossed on top as he looked at Josie.

She was laying on her stomach on a pool float, legs kicked up and ankles crossed. “So nice,” she answered with an appreciative groan. Calum took a breath, sipping his beer again as the sound rang in his ears. “Really fucking fancy, and everyone’s so nice. And the same company owns the nail salon next door so we get discounts.” With a wide grin, she added, “Pretty nails twenty-four-seven.”

She emphasized this point by lifting one hand and wiggling her fingers to show off already painted and long nails. Calum’s eyes followed the movement from where he sat, and the sun burned his skin. He straightened his posture, trying to rid of the all too familiar stinging sensation that dragged down his back. His muscles twitched, taking a breath as he tried to rid of the feeling, the reminder of a memory that was still fresh in his mind despite the months that passed.

Calum smacked his lips after forcing down the sip of beer, looking down at the bottle he held in mild distaste. Suddenly, he felt as though he needed a drink far stronger than this. Something to wipe the images lighting up his mind. 

Michael walked out from the house, flip flops echoing on the concrete, signaling his presence as he walked down the few steps from the back door to the pool area. He settled down on the chair next to Calum. “A friend of Crystal’s booked a couple of tables for tomorrow night at the new club that opened up in West Hollywood.” His green eyes looked at the four people he was with. “You guys down to go?”

Luke waded into the water behind Josie, and Calum watched with a quirk of his eyebrows, noting the way his best friend was making it a point to be particularly quiet in his silent approach towards Josie as Ashton answered, “Yeah; I’ve got a business dinner so I’ll meet you guys there.” He munched on some chips. “Just send me the details.”

Michael nodded, looking between Calum at his right and Josie in the pool in front of them. “What about you guys?”

“Sure,” came both of their responses, Josie’s excited while Calum’s more subdued. His gaze wandered back to Josie and he didn’t miss the way her smile kind of froze on her face, rolling her lower lip into her mouth before breaking their gaze. She couldn’t seem to hold their gaze for too long, as opposed to him, who couldn’t stop looking at her, enough to notice the way her eyes dulled when she heard his hesitated answer. Look at me. The words echoed in his mind, wanting her to hear them. Look. At. Me. Why he wanted her to look at him, he had no idea. All he could think about when their eyes connected, even for a few seconds, were the overwhelming memories he had shoved into a box in his mind. But the more he looked at her, the more prominent the images in his mind became.

Calum hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation that followed, looking out to the five foot brick wall that surrounded the perimeter of Luke’s yard. The sky was clear of clouds that made the heat of the sun all the more relentless, only adding heat to the tightness of his muscles. His attention was drawn back to the scene in front of him by the sound of Josie’s scream, eyebrows raising as he watched Luke, from underwater, pushed the float Josie was on to flip it, sending his sister splashing into the water as the sight of her flailing limbs erupted laughter from everyone else.

An amused grin tilted at Calum’s lips, his own laughter mixing in with those of the boys as Josie finally surfaced with a gasp. And suddenly the laughter from Calum ceased, watching as she rose up with her head tilted back, her slender neck drawing his gaze. For a moment, he could picture it. All of it. The droplets of water covering her skin glimmered under the sun, the blue bikini she wore attracting Calum’s attention more than he’d admit, biting his tongue as Josie turned her back to him to splash at Luke in retaliation.

Calum excused himself then, muttering something about needing to use the bathroom as he headed inside the house, the sliding door at the back of the house opening right into the kitchen as he walked through to get to the downstairs bathroom in the hall. Calum found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror, cheeks flushed, hoping it was from the sun. His eyebrows lowered into a frown as he looked at his reflection, annoyance with himself spiking.

Get it together. It was all that he could say to himself as he exhaled slowly. He felt like a teenage boy, the sight of Josie in the pool stirring something in the pit of his stomach that had him sucking in a breath. What could he do? The sight had been all too familiar. 

Calum gave a shake of his head. Nope. He couldn’t do this.

He exited the bathroom, shaking his hands as if he was trying to get rid of the thoughts that clung to him, walking towards the kitchen. The sound of someone messing around in there caught his attention, distinct in the rattling of bottles, and Calum stopped when he caught sight of Josie shutting the fridge. A Mike’s Hard Lemonade was in her hand as her eyes locked on his, the fall of her sun-flushed face an obvious tell of her discomfort of being caught alone with him.

Calum could vaguely hear the boys still outside, but he was all too focused on Josie; her wet blonde hair hung around her shoulders, and he fought to keep his eyes from wandering any lower than her eyes. He didn’t want to observe the blue bikini top that complimented her eyes, grateful for the little reprieve he had with her tying a towel around her hips. Just a little reprieve. He bit the tip of his tongue, scolding himself for so easily losing his train of thought in her presence, knowing now was not the time to allow himself to fall into a silent stupor.

Licking his lips, Calum looked towards the glass door that led out back, briefly watching his friends talk amongst themselves. Their conversation was drowned out by the music playing, and Calum exhaled, not looking back at Josie as he said, “You could’ve given me a warning, you know.”

He heard the bewilderment in her voice. “A warning?” she repeated. “For what?”

“That you were movin’ here.” Calum turned his head to look at her, taking in the frown furrowing her eyebrows and tilting her lips downwards. His throat worked, keeping his eyes on her as an attempt to keep himself from watching a lone bead of water run down the column of her throat and race towards the valley of her breasts. Conjuring up the nostalgic image of her in the flannels she used to wear was proving to be difficult, his attempt of distracting himself failing. “Would’ve liked a heads up.”

Josie gaped at him, and maybe Calum wasn’t being fair to her. She didn’t really owe him anything, he knew that. But from the moment Luke had dropped the bombshell that Josie was moving in with him—the day she was driving down from Davis—Calum had found himself in a state of panic he wasn’t familiar with. One that made his stomach feel hollow and chest tighten when he thought about seeing her practically every day. 

“A heads up?” Josie scoffed, clearly finding Calum’s words as ridiculous as he felt saying them. With a tilt of her head, she raised an eyebrow and challenged, “Even if I did, what would you have done? High tailed it out of L.A.?”

Calum huffed, arms crossing over his chest, picking up on her gaze drifting to his arms briefly. He would’ve smirked if he wasn’t for the conversation at hand. His lips twisted to the side before he responded, “I would’ve at least been a bit prepared.”

“You think I was prepared?” Josie retorted, eyebrows shooting up as she stared him down. She took a step towards him, her own gaze drifting towards the back door before looking back at him. “Moving to L.A. was a last minute decision. You’re not the only one who can’t look Luke in the eye.”

He licked his lower lip, finger tapping against his bicep as he shook his head, anxiety ridden thoughts running rampant in his head. He wasn’t used to feeling so. . . Frustrated. Panicked. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like feeling as if he was trapped in a corner with no way out. “Pretty sure I have more to lose than you.”

That had been the wrong thing to say; Calum knew it as soon as the words escaped his mouth. He watched the way Josie’s eyebrows shot up and lips parted. She stared at him in disbelief, incredulous that he would try to knock down what was at stake for her in this situation by trying to emphasize his own. It was a dick move, he knew, and he was sorry for it. “Fuck you, Calum,” she frowned, her voice resigned. He hated that he could see her disappointment and hurt more than the anger. He swallowed inaudibly at the thought of bringing that look on her face; one that settled a solemnity in her features against him. “We both screwed Luke over,” she added, making her way around the center counter, taking the longer way around to avoid walking past him as she headed towards the door.

Calum’s jaw set, wanting to apologize as he watched her go, feeling badly for making it seem like his guilt was stronger than hers. Josie stopped then, right before reaching the door, and looked at him over her shoulder. The hurt was still in her eyes, and she spoke with an edge creeping into her voice. “But if you take into consideration who’s more likely to get punched if Luke were to ever find out. . .” Her blue eyes gave him a once over, expression looking almost too empty for Calum’s liking until her gaze met hers. She smiled humorlessly then, wanting to fire back to mask the hurt his words had caused her by being spiteful in hers as she finished off, “Then yeah; you’ve got more to lose.”

And then with a roll of her eyes, she turned back and slid the door open, the music clear for the brief moment the door was open until she slid it shut. Calum rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, shaking his head as he released yet another slow, long breath, finally in tune with the racing of his heart he had failed to notice earlier. So fucking screwed.

--

tags: @irwinkitten​ @loveroflrh​ @sweetcherrymike​ @astroashtonio​ @softforcal​ @highfivecalum​ @novacanecalum​ @captain-what-is-going-on​ @angelbbycal​ @singt0mecalum​ @hopelessxcynic​ @lfwallscouldtalk​ @bodhi-black​ @findingliam-o​ @softlrh​ @calumsmermaid​ @erikamarie41​ @quintodosuniversos​ @longlastingdaydream​ @babylon-corgis​ @lukehemmingsunflower​ @imfuckin10plybud​ @pastelpapermoons​ @conquerwhatliesahead92​ @rotten-kandy​ @metangi​ @neigcthood​ @ohhmuke​ @old-zeppelin-shirt​ @5sos-and-hessa​ @trustmeimawhalebiologist​ @vxlentinecal​ @pettybassists​ @vaporshawn​ @lu-my-golden-boi​ @visualm3nte​ @isabella-mae13​ @dontjinx-it​ @lifeakaharry​ @neonweeknds​ @antisocialbandmate​ @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​ @calpalbby​ @grreatgooglymoogly​ @sunnysidesblog​ @miahelizaaabeth​ @madelynerin​ @dramallamawithsparkles​ @theagenderwhocriedwolf @kaytiebug14​ @hoodskillerqueen​ @bitchinbabylon​ @empathycth​ @xhaileyreneex​ @inlovehoodx​ @calistheloml @aestheticrelated​ @bloodlinecal​ @sublimehood​ @madbomb​ @raabiac​ @britnicole11​ @outofmylimitcal​ @wildflower-cth​ @bloodmoonashton​ @vxidhood​ @wildflowergrae​

[raevenlywrites]

The Ties That Bind 14 of ???

I sat in a stunned static as the world moved around me. Soldiers departed--some with my mother, some to meet up with Karashan and escort the serpiente guards here--a meal was prepared from the efforts of this morning’s foraging--had it only been this morning?--and the gentle atmosphere of the Lyssia house returned like a fire re-stoked in the early morning. A bowl of stew was set before me, a body sat down on either side, and still I felt detached, unreal. The silvery visions of my mother’s face, of white scales winking red in the fire light, of a voice so familiar yet not heard in centuries dominated my thoughts, pulled at me in subtle whispers, urged me to follow them down untold rabbit holes. And as the worries of my real life loomed impossibly high and higher, the temptation to yield to the memories grew ever stronger.

”--Dani won’t want any of that. Pass it over.”

Rei’s hand and voice cut through my thoughts, reaching over my bowl for the platter Zane was holding. The rich smell of roast rabbit suddenly assaulted me, making me viscerally and unpleasantly present in my own body once more.

Zane held the platter out of reach, regarding me instead of Rei.

“And does your pair bond cut your meat for you as well as select it?” he asked, that smugly amused tone clearly meant to get under Rei’s skin. I felt my cheeks flush, and the heat did nothing for my sense of my well-being.

“He’s not my alastair yet,” I choked out, breathing in shallow pants. “And I don’t eat meat. And he wouldn’t cut it for me if I did. And please get that tray away from me.”

 Rei stood slightly from the bench and took the platter, which Zane was finally offering up. Adelina snickered.

 “I’d wondered why they were cooked separately. Here I thought your kind just didn’t know the value of seasoning.” She raised her bowl in salute or toast to the elder Elanor, seated at the far end of the table. “I’m quite delighted to be proven wrong on that count. I’ll go rabbit hunting for you any day, Mistress Lyssia.”

 “When did you have time to catch a rabbit?” someone muttered, but my attention was too focused on Zane--who’s attention was still too focused on me for my comfort--to catch who. The friendly table chattered resumed, and I snapped under my breath to Zane, “Can I help you?”

 Zane stared a moment longer than was really polite by anyone’s standards, I thought, and finally murmured, “Just trying to make sense of what I’m sensing. You’re quite the tangle of emotions, Danica. And rightly so. But one worries, and would like to help, if there’s anything I can do.” He reached for his spoon and added, “That was quite a display the pair of you put on out there. I would think a good hearty meal should help replenish what was lost.”

 I blinked, somehow surprised to learn that Zane had sensed it. The cobra garnet was rumored to have all sorts of magic of its own, but it seemed wrong to me somehow that the Shardae magic should be something he could sense. Then again, it seemed wrong to me that anyone could read another emotions, so what did I know. I wished I could clutch my aura tighter, like a blanket or a dressing gown. I felt naked when he talked so frankly about trying to untangle my emotions. He didn’t have any right.

 “Don’t.”

 His soft word came with an equally soft brush against my hand. I jerked it back out of habit, though I’d held it for strength and solidarity not but hours before. I took a deep breath to steady myself and put my hand deliberately back exactly where it had been. Zane’s lay less than an inch from mine, but I couldn’t bring myself to hold his hand at the dinner table. There was no reason to--and so many reasons not to. Including the very large, very tense one growing more and more tense on the other side of me.

 “Don’t what?” I asked, more lightly than I felt. If Rei had a problem with me talking to Zane while we ate--well, on the one hand it was perfectly acceptable alastair behavior. But on the other, he knew me, and knew I had certain duties, which meant certain things he couldn’t protect me from. Forging a good relationship with the king I was trying to build a peace with was one of them.

 “Don’t hide from me.”

 His voice was tired, and in a weird flash of insight, I realized that was probably the real Zane. Oh, I didn’t doubt that all faces Zane presented came from a place of truth. More like, this is who and what Zane would be in exactly this moment if free from any other pressures or concerned. What an interesting notion, to be “just Zane”, or “just Danica” even. Who would we be if not the young rulers of dying courts, trying to wrest away the momentum of generations of tradition?

 It was only after his brows rose in question, his face tilting ever so slightly, that I processed the meat of what he’d really said and not just how he’d said it. Don’t hide from me. Yes, I could see why my sitting silent in response to that would merit this questioning look.

 “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

 I’d uttered that phrase countless times in court, with perfect blandness and blankness that I’d practiced hard to copy from my mother. One in her quiver of ambiguous statements that I had finally mastered. Except, I didn’t say it with courtly decorum. I said it with a little smile, and a sideways glance through my lashes, and the hint of a tone I hoped came across as playful.

 Zane rewarded my effort with a small smile of his own, though his was touched with a wistful sadness that I wished I could chase away. I liked the Zane that laughed and flirted outrageously and waved from hilltops giddy with excitement over a historical find. The Zane that had seen too much sadness in too few years made me want to flirt outrageously, just to make him laugh at my ridiculous effort.

 “That’s a good start, though a little heavy handed.”

 I straightened, dropping my playact and actually engaging in the conversation. It was a nice change from dwelling in my own thoughts.

 “So you can feel the difference then, between a true emotion and one exaggerated for show?”

 He made a waffling noise, mirroring it with a wave of his hand. It settled further from mine, I noticed, but it also seemed more natural now, his whole body language more at ease.

 “Emotion is as subtle and varied as hues, or scents. Can you honestly say that you know your own heart, clearly and categorically, at all times?”

 Certainly not. Not even at most times. I said as much. “No one can, I don’t think. A child might have emotions simple enough, but they’d lack the framework to name and define them. And the very act of naming and defining them requires a certain amount of distance, thereby changing the emotion before it’s even properly labeled.”

 Zane smiled. “Very well put, philosophical Danica.” He gave me a smile to match mine from earlier, and a wink that was all his own.

 “Well,” I answered in kind, “at least its a nickname based on my intellect and not my physical attributes.”

 Zane chuckled. “Oh, I could happily dwell on those as well, luscious D--“

 “Danica would you like some more peas?” Rei asked abruptly. The murmur of friendly table chatter fell to a sudden silence, cut only by Adelina’s deep and unfiltered laughter.

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty @writing-with-melon @rainydaydarling @faithfire

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

No one has complained yet so yall gonna keep getting tagged :P

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes @faithfire

[prayerith]

it’s beginning to look a lot like checkout

summary: Joey is trying to survive working as a cashier during the holiday season. When a cute customer manages to turn around his entire day, he doesn't think he'll ever see the guy again. But when he keeps turning up, will Joey manage to form a relationship with him?

howdy! yes, i’m posting a multi-chapter fic for once. you can also read it on ao3 here <3 hope y’all enjoy!

Not for the first time today, Joey eyed the speaker embedded in the ceiling above his cash register and wondered how difficult it would be to smash it from the ground. Sure, it was a few feet up, but if he threw something hard enough at it, he could probably damage it, right? The stapler at his register wasn’t too heavy, but it was solid enough that it might fritz it out. Then again, he would almost certainly be fired, but he would take that if it meant that the speaker was at least non-functional. Anything to stop being forced to listen to that damn Christmas music.

Normally, he couldn’t really hear the music pumped through the hardware store at which he was (regrettably) employed, being too quiet to hear over the general din of a retail environment. The only exceptions were with songs he knew, which he was able to pick out easier, or when there was hardly anyone in the store making noise to drown out the speakers overhead. However, that all changed when Thanksgiving ended. Once that happened, corporate switched their generally palatable 70’s playlist to Christmas music, and Joey’s annual nightmare began.

That’s not to say he didn’t like Christmas; he wasn’t religious, so he didn’t really celebrate it except in the most bare-bones sense of getting his dad and sister a present on the day, but he thought the holiday season in general was fine. It was listening to the same damn songs for hours on end that was driving him up the wall. While he might hear a repeat or two on the standard playlist if he had a long shift, when Christmas rolled around, it was very possible to hear the same song three different times in only a few hours. If Joey ever met the person that designed this playlist and told their store to play it, he would give them a piece of his mind—and a piece of his fist besides.

Damn brain, he thought, resting his chin on his elbows, which were crossed on the counter. Can’t pay attention to somebody when they’re talking to me, but I can’t stop paying attention to Christmas music. Figures.

Furtively, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time: 3:15 pm. Only forty-five minutes until he got to clock out, but he knew this would be the longest part of his shift. It was after lunch but before most people got off work, meaning that business had slowed to a crawl. Normally, he was grateful for any downtime at work, especially later in his shift, but as “Silver Bells” started up for the fourth time that day, Joey was actively wishing someone would come to his register, just so he would be able to tune out the music.

The irritation from the music just added to everything else miserable about working in retail; Joey’s knees were killing him from having to stand all day on a concrete floor, and he was in that half-bored, half-stressed state that came with a slow moment at the register. He wanted to zone out, think about what he would make for dinner or come up with something fun to do with Serenity over her school break, but he couldn’t risk getting interrupted by a customer. So, he was stuck, unable to sit and rest his knees and forced to pay attention to his surroundings. Which, unfortunately, included the music.

The tell-tale beeping of a register being activated was a welcome distraction, and he picked his chin off his elbows to look in the direction of the noise. It wasn’t especially eventful; just his coworker, Ryou, being forced into scanning some lady’s entire basket, despite the fact that she was at a clearly labeled self-checkout register. Joey felt bad for him; Ryou was a sweet guy, which meant that he often got roped into doing way more than he should. He did, however, have more than a passing interest in the occult, which he weaponized against customers that pissed him off, so he was helpful to have around when dealing with someone annoying. He was a real wild card; Joey appreciated that about him.

“Hello? Can I check out here?”

God damn it.

“Yeah, sure thing!” Joey said, putting on his best Customer Service Voice. He whipped his head back around, coming face-to-face with the customer who had managed to sneak up on him, despite his earlier promises to not zone out. Immediately, however, Joey forgot everything about work, his mind going blank except for one thought: this guy was cute.

At first, Joey had made eye contact with his hair, rather than his face, given that the customer was pretty short and his hair was pretty tall. After a stray thought as to how much gel someone had to use to get it to stay that way, his eyes dropped to his actual face; that was when his brain had really started to short-circuit. How was he supposed to focus on making this guy pay for his stuff when he had such clear, violet eyes, such a friendly smile? Joey was only human, after all. The glimpse of a leather choker underneath the scarf the customer wore only made things worse.

“Is everything alright?” Fuck, the customer must have asked him a question. Not only that, but all his stuff was on the counter, and he was looking at Joey with an expectant, if confused, expression.

“Uh, yeah, just zoned out for a second.” It wasn’t a lie; he had zoned out, but he wasn’t going to tell the customer why. He grabbed the customer’s first item—a string of white Christmas lights—and scanned it as quick as he could, hoping to make up for lost time. “Did you, uh, find everything okay?”

“Yes, I did, thanks,” the customer responded, sounding just as friendly as he did when he first asked to check out. “I’m glad you still had some white lights! I really needed them, and they were sold out at the first two stores I checked.”

“Oh yeah? I’m glad we could provide, then.” Joey continued scanning his items, noting that they were all Christmas decorations. He found it odd that the only lights the customer wanted to buy were white and blue, but maybe he was going for an unconventional Christmas tree design. Joey wasn’t here to judge people’s purchases, only make sure they happen. “Alright, your total is $32.64, cash or card?”

The customer held up a debit card in response, and Joey indicated the card reader in front of him. He finished paying in relative silence, leaving Joey to almost-zone-out at least a dozen more times, getting stuck on different aspects of the customer’s appearance. How much work is it for him to dye his hair three different colors? His nose scrunches up when he concentrates, that’s cute. Would it be too weird to ask for his number?

Too quickly, however, the card reader beeped, prompting the customer to remove his card. “Thanks so much!” he said, with a smile that was too charming for Joey’s poor, flustered heart to take.

“No problem,” he managed to say, despite being sure that he was going to ascend out of his body at any moment. He grabbed the customer’s receipt from the printer and handed to its owner; if he held it in a way to where he ensured that their fingers didn’t brush, well, that was self-preservation. “Thanks, and have a nice day.”

“Thanks, uh, Joey,” the customer said, peering at his name tag, “and happy holidays!” He waved goodbye with the hand not holding his bags, still with that blinding smile on his face, and turned to leave. Joey propped his chin back on his hand and watched him walk to the exit door, smiling at the way he pulled his scarf up over his nose before facing the cold.

“Fall in love with a customer, Joey?”

Joey yelled, losing his balance and nearly smashing his chin onto the counter, before he caught himself and spun around to face the person who had just spoken. “Ryou, what the fuck? You can’t just sneak up on me like that, you’re gonna get me killed.”

Ryou giggled, his elbows on the low wall that separated self-checkout from Joey’s register. There wasn’t a customer in sight—which meant that Joey was now fair game for ridicule. “Not my fault you were distracted. He’s cute though, did you get his number?”

“No, I don’t even know his name,” Joey grumbled. That made him remember that the customer had said his name, though, which made his face heat up. Didn’t think my name could sound that nice. He peeled open a new plastic bag, just for the sake of having something to do that meant he didn’t have to look Ryou in the eyes. “Besides, I can’t just ask a customer for his number! What if he thinks I’m weird, and writes me up, and gets me fired?”

“You have a point.” Ryou hummed, tapping his finger on his chin. “But what if he thought you were also cute?”

“It’s not like I’ll ever find out.” Joey sighed, putting his head in his hands. “He said he went to other stores for white lights before he found them here, which means he probably doesn’t live around here, which means I’ll probably never see him again. Better to just forget about it.”

Ryou made a sympathetic sound, and Joey didn’t have to see his face to know he was looking at him with pity. “I suppose,” he said slowly. “Still, you seemed happy when you were talking to him. You never smile like that when you’re working, it was a nice change.”

Joey just sighed again, before the clearing of a stranger’s throat made him look up to realize that someone was ready to check out—right as the strains of “Blue Christmas” reached his ears from the damned speaker above him. Right, he had work to do, and on-the-nose Christmas music to endure. He plastered on his Work Smile, ready to greet his customer with all the fake friendliness a retail employee could muster.

Ryou was right; while talking to that cute customer, he had been genuinely happy. Unfortunately, it made his return to dismal reality all the sadder.

[aurieeeeeenyx]

thanks for the tag, @veneritia :D

30 QUESTIONS: get to know me!

1. name/nickname: nyx (i also go by aurie cuz lol my url...haha...)

2. gender: uhhh good question *sweats* i generally use the label gnc (gender non-conforming) tho i think i also like agender? still figuring that out sjfjnabs (i use all pronouns btw; i like when multiple pronouns are used for me, though if you want to use one pronoun for me they/them is good)

3. star sign: gemini (don't know what moon and rising are)

4. height: you'll never know

5. time: too late to be doing my laundry that's for sure (jk it's late afternoon as of writing this...but i have been procrastinating doing laundry for the past four hours)

6. birthday: ;)

7. favorite band: the score

8. favorite solo artist: alec benjamin probably??? tbh i haven't listened to his stuff in a while but he's good go check out his music :) i mostly listen to random music that shows up in my recommended sdjfhds

9. song stuck in my head: all of them /j most recently maybe "i'm gonna win" by rob cantor tho honestly i always have at least 4 songs looping in my head at any given time /hj

10. last movie: howl's moving castle

11. last show: no idea; i don't think i've watched any recently, tho i have been thinking of rewatching atla

12. when i created this blog: april 2020 iirc

13. what i post: literally anything. this blog is just full of reblogs of random stuff (especially fandom related things for whatever fandom i've inevitably fallen into lmao) and the occasional creation of my own (art, animation, writing, etc)

14. last thing i googled: naginata

15. other blogs: i have a writing-only blog, @/aurienyx, which is...kinda dead, honestly. usually i post whatever to this blog, and then if it's writing (like Actual writing, and also original writing only-ish) then i'll reblog it to that blog. this blog was originally supposed to be a side blog but then...well, here we are (i post fics/drabbles and stuff to this blog only cuz yeah this one's more fandom-oriented; i think i post fic updates to the other one though)

16. do i get asks? rarely, but yes! i love getting asks, so feel free to send me one anytime :D

(getting long so the rest is under the cut!)

17. why i chose my url: oh boy. time for an explanation nobody asked for but i'm gonna give it anyways >:) a saga in three parts:

1, my url for this blog (aurieeeeeenyx) has 6 e's because it stems from the original (aurienyx), and that's because it was originally supposed to be a sideblog/joke-y blog—being unoriginal (/hj), i decided to stretch the vowels cuz that's what meme subreddits did and i thought it would be funny

2, the name "aurienyx" has two parts: "aurie" and "nyx". "aurie" is cuz i take latin, and "aureus" is "gold (coin)" in latin and like. that's cool (also we used to do this thing in class where we'd give ourselves names in latin and mine was "aurelius/a"). "aurenyx" looked funky to me so i stuck an "i" in there and that was that. the "nyx" part is where it gets fun: i used to be (and still kinda am) a mythology geek thanks, pjo/hoo and i always liked the name "nix/nyx", so i was like ah yes goddess of night nyx that's great—BUT i also really like(d) phoenixes so i was like aha! double whammy! and then i mixed them together and here we are

3, the less important part, "aurienyx" is a fairly short name with three distinct syllables and therefore easier to remember so like. branding or something ig (i didn't think abt this til after lmao) (this doesn't apply much to the url for this blog cuz it's loooooong)

so that's why! thank you for coming to my ted talk—

18. following: 256

19. followers: 129

20. average hours of sleep: .....don't attack me like this (not enough, clearly /j)

21. lucky numbers: don't really have them, but maybe 3 and 8?

22. instruments: piano, and i'm currently teaching myself (ish) ukulele! :D used to play oboe and cello but unfortunately not anymore...maybe i'll get back into cello someday (also thinking about learning guitar but uh 6 strings brain says no thank you /lh)

23. what am i wearing: right now i'm wearing a grey shirt/hoodie thing and black shorts

24. dream job: no idea/don't really have one; would love to be a part-time author though...kinda (i just wanna be able to create things for fun on the side ig)

25. favorite food: potatoes, maybe? they're so versatile it's great. but there's a lot of foods contesting for the spot so who knows

26. ?

27. nationality: :)

28. favorite song: oh god don't ask me this i can't chooooooose (but recently, probably "favorite color is blue" by robert delong ft k. flay... or maybe "revenge, and a little more" by unlike pluto... or maybe—)

29. last book i read: uhh besides an ungodly amount of fics i think the last book i actually finished was none of the above by i. w. gregorio. it was alright, though i wasn't really a fan. there's several other books i started but haven't finished reading, including (but not limited to) leviathan by scott westerfield, song of achilles by madeline miller, vicious by v.e. schwab, the night circus by erin morgernstern, the raven boys by maggie stiefvater....the list goes on

30. top 3 fictional universes i would like to live in: that's....really hard, honestly. i don't know, but if i had to choose: 1, harry potter bc i wanna explore hogwarts dammit; 2, the world in the game monument valley cuz wow those graphics are so pretty (the world of sky: children of the light too); and 3, this wonderland-based world i created a couple months ago lol (yes i'm biased but also i did a Lot of worldbuilding and i think it's really cool >:>)

tagging: @charlesjosephwrites, @belialwrites, @ryns-ramblings, @oasis-of-you, @djthedumbass, @iwantadamusername, @kittycatinblue, and anyone who wants to join :D

[pumpkinpaix]

老师好！Thank you for writing! i found you through your MDZS story and i really adore your insightful writings about the show. In my opinion, i even think the show is better than the novel in their presentation of WX relationship ~ ! it feels more natural and less pandering. Another essay suggestion for you if you want to write --- In the show, who do you think fell in love first in WX? When were the "turning points" when they realized?

sldjfslikl first of all anon, it’s WILD that anyone would address me as 老师 and i’m simultaneously flattered and gobsmacked. (i’m really really really not qualified to be called 老师 friend—thank you, like, a lot?? but yeah, i gotta say i’m not that cool) thank you for reading my fic and liking it and apparently my one meta enough to come talk to me!! also, SORRY this took approximately a million years i’ve been working on it on/off for like. two weeks. (@the other anon who also requested meta—pls forgive me im really doing my best apparently these take a lot out of me)

confession: I wrote a WHOLE ADDITIONAL essay in response to your opinion about show vs. novel that i ultimately decided to cut because it flies a little too close to the discourse sun and you didn’t ask for that hahaha. if it turns out you are interested in it, feel free to hmu and i can post it (though i’ll probably try to keep it out of the tags for my own mental health’s sake im not cut out for this lmao)

that all being said, who do I think fell in love first? it was definitely lan wangji, and it was right here:

[id: screenshot of lan wangji watching wei wuxian making a wish to ��protect the weak and curb the strong, with a clear conscience for all my life” from episode 7 of the untamed drama. wei wuxian’s eyes are closed, his hands clasped. lan wangji looks on with a surprised tenderness. /end id]

I think it’s safe to say that he already finds wei wuxian attractive/intriguing (see: his reaction to wei wuxian drawing his portrait, tying the lan ribbon around their wrists, the PEAK gay panic in his voice when wei wuxian trips and falls on top of him), but this is the first moment he’s really moved by him. up until this point, wei wuxian has been teasing, immature, A Nuisance™, too clever for his own good, troublemaker energy personified etc but he hasn’t ever revealed his deeper moral values in front of lan wangji—and he does it like this, without pretension, without irony. He doesn’t spend his wish on something frivolous or material: he wishes to be able to do good for all his life, to be righteous, to be kind. it’s the wish he makes for both of them. “the promise we made together all those years ago,” as he says, half a lifetime later.

like just. imagine, for a moment, being lan wangji, whose whole world is being constantly challenged and needled by this unfairly attractive, chaotic bastard and then he just comes out of left field with this. I think this is where lan wangji first recognizes himself in wei wuxian—that at their core, they share their most important values.

look what i’m saying is this is where I fell in love with wei wuxian.

(sidenote: I really think a lot of the tragedy of mdzs/the untamed is stems from this moment. wei wuxian fails, over and over and over, even when his wish never changes, even when all he ever wanted was to do good without fear.)

i had to think for a really long time to try and decide which moments i wanted to talk about on wei wuxian’s part, because i don’t think he’s nearly as easy to pinpoint. lan wangji falls in love like a lightning strike, but wei wuxian’s love is something that grows so slowly, i don’t think he realizes what it is until pretty late in the game.

so let’s begin with this moment on phoenix mountain:

[id: screenshot of lan wangji and wei wuxian facing each other on phoenix mountain from episode 25 of the untamed drama. lan wangji is waiting expectantly for an answer, having just asked, “what am i to you?”, hand behind his back. wei wuxian is holding his flute, expression complicated and uncertain. /end id]

this is the first time i think wei wuxian is asked directly to label his feelings about lan wangji, and he says, “i once thought of you as a lifelong, intimate friend.” and when lan wangji presses, “and now?”, he doesn’t respond.

two episodes later, when wei wuxian is taking the wen refugees out of their prison camp and lan wangji appears before him, I think he has some kind of answer to lan wangji’s question:

[id: screenshot from episode 27 of the untamed drama. wei wuxian holds out chenqing before him in challenge to lan wangji, who is offscreen. he is smiling, just slightly, resigned and fond and terribly sad. /end id]

“if there really must be a battle between me and them, then I would rather fight to the death with you. if i must die, then at least i would like to die by hanguang-jun’s hand. it wouldn’t be an injustice.”

if that isn’t some kind of confession, I don’t really know what is.

but it’s too late—he’s now a defector in the eyes of the four sects. lan wangji lets him go and wei wuxian rides away. the remainder of his first life, that’s how things stand. even through everything with a’yuan, the final massacre at the nightless city—even though there’s something really meaningful there between them, it’s all tinged with a sense of impossibility, you know? there’s no outcome where they can resolve it happily. wei wuxian has gone too far down that single-plank bridge.

the first moment i think wei wuxian has to confront the unresolved and unsaid things between him and lan wangji comes when lan wangji gets drunk that one night and tells him, “i have regret.”

“what regret?”

“that at the nightless city, I did not stand beside you.”

[id: screenshot of wei wuxian looking at lan wangji (offscreen) with tears in his eyes as the full realization of what lan wangji just drunkenly confessed hits him from episode 36 of the untamed drama. /end id]

“so all this time, you’ve been searching for me?”

earlier i said can you imagine being lan wangji for a sec, and i’m gonna say it again except god. can you. IMAGINE being wei wuxian in this moment. finding out that this person that you maybe suspected you had deeper feelings for but never acted on has spent the entire sixteen years of your death searching for you, regretting that he didn’t stand with you before you died? a regret that he’s been carrying in secret, alone, for sixteen years?? that’s A Lot to unpack.

however, I don’t think wei wuxian really, fully understands and accepts how he feels and how lan wangji feels in return, how far they’re both willing to go until episode 42, at the confrontation at jinlingtai.

[id: two screenshots from episode 42 of the untamed drama, right after lan wangji takes a stand beside wei wuxian against the four sects. image 1 is lan wangji smiling at wei wuxian: he is gentle and sure. image 2 is wei wuxian smiling back at him, eyes red-rimmed and wet. /end id]

even though lan wangji has been walking with him since dafan shan, he’s been doing it with a plausible deniability. and here, when wei wuxian is trying to give him an out, lan wangji puts everything he has on the line so that he can clearly stand with wei wuxian, without dissembling, without hesitation. “the feeling of of walking on a single-plank bridge into the dark truly is no worse.”

lan wangji is finished with regrets.

“it’s just funny, that’s all,” wei wuxian says, “back when the whole world flattered me with praise, you were the only one who would scold me. but now that everyone is calling for my death, all hating and condemning me, you’re nevertheless the only one standing by my side.”

i think after that, for all the remaining episodes, there’s an unspoken commitment between the two of them that underpins the rest of their interactions, which I think I can say without reservation that I like more than how it played out in the novel. EDIT 16 APR 2020: I changed my mind a while ago, ahaha. Turns out, I don’t prefer CQL over MDZS. I love them both so much. ;A; there’s something really profound about it, the trust in their unlabelled relationship. it really feels like the inexorable culmination of two adults in their mid-thirties coming together after falling in love for almost twenty years. there’s a maturity to it that isn’t present in the way the novel does the confession (which does have its own disaster energy™ charm) that I think highlights the fact that they love each other, not just because they admire each other, not just because they’re attracted to one another, but because they understand each other—because when they look at each other, they also see themselves.

[atmilliways]

On the 1st day of Dethmas this writer gives to thee...

Dec 13 - Your favorite holiday tradition... Dethklok style

My mom has these static cling decals in traditional greens and red, and every year I am in charge of using them to decorate the bathroom mirror. At some point ages ago I got bored with doing plain ol’ wreaths all the time. Sometimes I spell out Happy Holidays, sometimes I make green presents with red bows, sometimes it's a garland draped across the mirror, etc. I don't even live there anymore, and she still goes spare if I don't do it.

I just spent an hour trying to find an example picture and failed, so (Facebones voice) use your fuckin’ imaginatiooooooooooooooooon. ... Roll it!

(Oh yeah, and I’m doing a different pairing for each fic this challenge, no repeats. This one is Nategaar.)

~

We Two Kings

~

One trip back to Nathan’s parents’ place for Christmas. That’s all it takes to break Skwisgaar’s long tradition of not bothering to get presents for anyone he’s sleeping with. As soon as they get back, he marches into their manager’s office. 

“You gots to finds this things for me,” he says imperiously, dropping something flat and green on Offdensen’s desk. “Buts in blacks and silvers. Ands with the little red dots whats ams berries.”

Offdensen picks it up gingerly between thumb and forefinger as though he’s concerned it might be some sort of used condom. (He’s only been working for the band a few months now, but it wouldn’t be the first time.) “What, ah, is this exactly?”

“Ams ones of those things for ams puttings on a mirrors.” Skwisgaar fishes around in his back pocket and produces a somewhat bent polaroid, dropping it on the desk next to the green slip of plastic shaped like a cartoon holly leaf. In the picture, two different shades of green leaves make up a Christmas wreath on the mirror, dotted with red berries, all clearly captured by Rose Explosion using an old Sun 660 Autofocus. “Nathans makes this at his parents’ house. Different stuffs every years, never repeats hims-self.”

The photo is given due consideration as well. Offdensen glances up over the edge of his glasses. “And you want to. . . .”

“Wants to haves them for the new house we ams have built,” Skwisgaar confirms. He’s not particularly thinking about why all this feels so important or what that might mean about what was supposed to just be a casual fling. “For next years, whats he can does it at homes, too. Onlies gets more and haves a big fucks-off mirror ins the livings room for thems.”

“I’ll let the contractors know to add it to the plans.”

“Goods.” Skwisgaar starts to leave, but pauses at the door. “And don’t tells no ones. Ams a surprise.”

And the surprise goes pretty well. A few weeks before the next Christmas Skwisgaar takes the almost man-sized box, scrapes the shipping labels off, wraps it (poorly), and leaves it in front of Nathan’s bedroom door. He doesn’t leave a tag saying who it’s from and Nathan never asks, but the guy has to have an idea who it’s from. Who else would know to do this?

A few days later, the living room mirror in the newly christened Mordhaus is decorated with a giant silver skull made out of cartoon holly leaves. It’s layered over the black ones to give the illusions of lines and holes, with a glimmer of red berries sprinkled deep within the eye sockets. Up close it’s crude and a little weird, but from a distance it looks fucking cool. It gives Skwisgaar an unfamiliar warm feeling in his chest to know that he’d helped make that possible. 

The year after that, it’s a crow in flight with a silver fish in its beak, dripping with blood. The year after that, it’s a black and silver present with blood seeping through one corner and a red tag that reads “FROM SATAN.” Between that and the following year’s spider wearing a Santa hat, that’s about as Christmas-y as it ever gets. The rest of the guys think it’s cool but don’t pay enough attention to realize it’s their own bandmate who does it every year. 

Fast forward about a decade. 

It’s well after 4am, early in December. Skwisgaar is lounging on the couch nearest to the mirror, idly playing guitar while Nathan works with his static cling decals and, occasionally, a step stool. Every once in a while the hulking frontman paces around the room to examine his work from different angles and distances, scratch his head, and drink absentmindedly from his current beer bottle. It’s the same brand his dad keeps in the fridge back in Florida. (That one isn’t Skwisgaar’s doing, Nathan arranges for that all on his own every year.)

Just like the unacknowledged understanding that Skwisgaar gave him this new tradition to look forward to, there’s an unspoken rule that Skwisgaar doesn’t look until he’s done. Relationships, it turns out, are mostly a matter of paths trodden so deep into you that you follow them without having to think about it, and it feels good. Comfortable, even. 

Eventually Nathan thumps down on the couch next to him. Skwisgaar stops his absentminded fretting to put the guitar to one side and stretch, getting a few satisfying little pops out of his spine. From the looks of it out the windows, dawn isn’t all that long off. “All dones?”

“I think so,” Nathan grumbles. “I can’t get the fucking lines smooth enough, but whatever.”

“I’s shores it am fines, Misters Porflect,” he replies, and accepts the half finished beer that Nathan hands him. Their fingers brush, and Skwisgaar impulsively transfers the beer to his other hand so he can tangle them together. He’s not particularly thinking about what this impulse might mean about what was supposed to just be a casual fling over ten years ago now, but has endured into . . . something else. “Can I sees it now?”

Nathan seems surprisingly ambivalent; usually he demands that Skwisgaar look and give his opinion immediately upon completion, pressing and wringing to try and get constructive criticism even though they both know he doesn’t always take that the best. This time he just shrugs and says, “Sure, I guess you can, if you want,” with so much forced casualness it’s like he slathered it on with a trowel. Puzzled, Skwisgaar stands and tugs for the other man to come with him as he starts to turn—

His jaw drops as soon as he sees what Nathan has spent the last several hours working on with meticulous attention to detail and laser-like focus. 

“That. Ams mine face,” he says wonderingly, dropping Nathan’s hand and drifting in for a closer look. 

Despite the complaint a moment ago, there aren’t really lines. The entire piece is roughly as tall as he is and mostly silver overlaid with black, like looking at the negative of a photograph. It’s not particularly detailed, but Nathan has captured the contours of his face in black shapes. Eyes, nose, cheekbones, mouth, jaw . . .  even the hollow of his throat, all framed by dark waves of the hair that always hangs down in front of his shoulders. 

Nathan comes up behind him while he stares, taking the beer back before he has a chance to accidentally drop it, and Skwisgaar rocks back on the heels of his boots and leans against him. “I can’ts believes you dids this. . . .”

“Yeah, well.” He can feel Nathan shrug, and the rumbling in his chest when he speaks. “I didn’t want to do a stupid Christmas tree, and I couldn’t think of anything else.” More of that forced casualness. “It’s not really a big deal, I’m gonna do one of us each year for a while so those other assholes can’t bitch too much about being left out. But . . . yeah. I started with you. What do you think, any good?”

“Ja, goods,” Skwisgaar manages against the sudden big gay lump in his throat. 

He’d been facing away from Nathan the whole time he’d been working on this; it was done from memory. Nathan has memorized his face. And this is a guy who, rather than just imagining he’s singing in armor just to make an album more brutal, actually commissioned a full suit of armor to be made for himself on the grounds that just picturing stuff when you could actually have it was for pussies. 

Fuck. Holiday bullshit hadn’t ever gotten to him before, but he’d made that one, tiny no-gift exception and that had opened the floodgates, hadn’t it? This big lug with his once-a-year art projects has a piece of his heart . . . and now seems to be holding out a piece of his own. 

Skwisgaar turns. It feels like he’s moving in slow motion and his tongue is weighted and heavy with words he has no practice and probably no right to say out loud. So he doesn’t say anything, just winds his long fingers into Nathan’s hair and kisses him like there’s no fucking tomorrow. They’ve been together for so long, that’s all he really needs to do to tell the man I love you back, I love you too. 

It’s going to be a brutally amazing Christmas this year.

[brokemylegflippingthefirewall]

*This is absolutely a fic promotion, but plz hear me out on the discourse part too

So, self inserts and original characters, the worst fanfic catgeory (fanfiction.net literally says that in one of its fic groupings, and I'm pretty sure the number of views on any fanfic website says the same).

TLDR- Yes, I agree that this stereotype carries truth, but I do think SIs and OCs have more potential to be explored, and the stigma surrounding these labels is blocking that. And oh god I just want to know so badly if this is the deal with the work I'm currently writing or if I genuinely just can't write well.

The longer version- (this was written quite late into the night/ I'm in Singapore/, and might not be so well organized, I apologize for that.)

To what extent is this stigma "justified"? I mostly use AO3 for reading fics, and when I see the OC/SI tag, the thing is....I came to look for fics about canon characters and might not have the wish to invest my time in taking in a new character. I understand that most people who read fanfiction would feel the same. This, I think, is more or less justified. If you came to look for a certain canon character/relationship, and you don't want to get invested in any OCs, then of course the OC/SI tag isn't for you.

But... I think that's about it. Bcs here's the thing,

1. Using the OC/SI format does NOT automatically make the fic worse in quality. Hell, I'm not even sure if the statistical "fact" that these tags generate the worst fics is true. Judging from what I've read in the tma fandom and my other past fandoms, the stuff with OC/SI isn't inherently worse or better than the rest of the fics. There are ones that are pretty normal in writing quality, and the ones where the prose is rly good, others where plot design stands out etc. Of course, there is a lot of wish fulfillment and the like, but... there's also a lot of that in fics that write about canon characters.

2. I can't really say whether a wish fulfillment "I just want to write cool scenes/fluff" fic is better or worse than a more serious fic that explores some characterization or plot point. I think stories (all stories, books, fanfic, myths, everything) exist to entertain us and make us feel things. I am not sure if writing a feel good story is any less meaningful than writing a story that brings people "deeper" thoughts and makes them feel good in some other way. And this isn't even the issue at hand, because fundamentally, writing an OC/SI or not doesn't determine what the content is about. I agree that a larger proportion of OC/SI fics tend to be more on the lighthearted side, but... so is most of the content consumed in the other tags. Readers don't seem to have a problem with feel good stories/fix it fics etc when there is no OC or SI, so I don't see why that type of fic paired with an OC/SI should be considered any less "meaningful".

3. Guys/gals, what is an OC/SI?

Yes, it is very personal, and it is very wish fulfillment, but... isn't that like a common literature thing...like in general? Look at the works that "real writers" publish, from contemporary to the classics, which writer doesn't write about themselves? Like, just off the top of my head, Les Miserables, Marius? Um, Dante's Inferno? (and that guy did not self insert into some random thing he straightup went for the Christian Canon😂 used his real name too, so Jonny I guess if you feel awkward about your MCs name you can think of Dante//Jk). But seriously, self insert and wish fulfillment is a big part of literature itself, and while there are things to be said about these tropes, if people don't have that much of a problem with them in other literature, I don't see why fanfic OC/SIs shouldn't be treated the same.

4. in relation to the last point. More specifically...

I do think that a lot of fanfiction which write about the original characters are also OC/SIs to different extents. I've read fics that depict pairings where the author and readers project heavily onto one (or more) of the characters. I've read stuff where the author uses a minor character to explore the established world building/character dynamics and it's clear that it's an SI but with the appearance of being a canon character (and yes it gets tons more views than one that's written as SI). How do I know this? Because I am one of those readers who project onto those characters, and I know why I read those fics, I know why I like them. It's because I can self insert, and feel like I am part of the story, part of the world. Isn't that something most people want to do? I mean, Universal Studios? Specific franchise themed museums? COSPLAY??? Of course that's not all there is to engaging with a story, but what's the shame in wanting to be a part of an already established world building, or want to love a wonderfully designed character? (slight tangent, but if u feel like it's bcs ur not as interesting/cool as the story's world or other characters appear to be then I can tell you with certainty that's not true. You are very interesting and cool and absolutely deserve to be part of a fantasy world.) Isn't that a big part of why "real literature" is written and read as well? So... what's the problem with being like, okay, I'm just gonna insert myself into the world now, through this original character? Of course, I'm not asking for people who prefer to write strictly in canon characters to change that. What I mean to say is, writing it in the form of an OC/SI, doesn't make it a lot different from other fics, or hell, from classic literature even.

I think a potential problem might be the feeling that you are taking too much creative liberty with something that is established canon, by having your own character directly interact with it. But, um, can't the same thing be said if you take a canon character, and then proceed to project heavily onto them? Like, a big part of why I don't feel comfortable writing just canon characters is that I know I'm clearly projecting and it feels awkward to rewrite an already established character to explore my own thoughts/desires. I would rather just straightup design a new character. (this is all just personal feelings, I haven't thought enough about this to make any kind of argument here. And of course, the main reason is I can't trust myself to write canon characters that don't ooc in some way so having one as my protag might kill me with my own awkwardness. )

5. the potential.

Now this is looking far ahead because I'm not sure how much our current system for distribution of knowledge & copyright can allow it. But damn. The OC/SI thing has a lot of potential. There is one thing that makes it different from writing in canon characters, and that is the way it opens up a clear space for you to add your own experience into the story. When exploring your own world view through the lense of an already established world, or vice versa, so much can be revealed about both, perhaps even bringing to light aspects of the narrative the author hadn't previously seen. We all know this feeling, it's when we ramble on about one of our stories or worlds to a friend, and they point something out, and we're like ooooh that makes a lot of sense but I hadn't thought about it before. Yea, like those moments. Stories are generally made more interesting by their interaction with many different perspectives/experiences. With OC/SI it straightup allows you to be like, okay, I'm going to engage my own experience with this fictional world/character now. I mean, isnt that also a large part of how fanfics work in general? Readers/writers bouncing symbols and experiences off each other in the form of stories? Reading about the various interpretations of canon stuff? Whats the problem with tagging it as it is? I'm just thinking about the fics that could have been written as OC/SI and explored the story in some fascinating way which weren't written at all or were discontinued bcs the number of views discouraged those authors. (I feel that with my current work as well, though I have already written half of it and the remaining half is too juicy to give up so I'll probably be completing it)

6. conclusion, sorta

I guess what I want for OC/SO fics is just the same treatment as everything else. Saw it in the tags you were searching for? Look at the teaser. Do you find it interesting? No, then very well. Yes, then click in and take a look. Do you like the writing style? Are you getting into the narrative?... etc. You know, like, same standards you would have for any other kind of fic. Not feeling like you want to read about a new character? Cool, no problem at all, click away. But I do not think that the current difference in number of views is just based on whether readers are interested in reading about a new character or not. In fact, that's what I want it to be. Show me that "true" difference, the one without the stigma behind it, because, as the same goes for every kind of stigmatized community, you're not receiving the proportionate amount of positive feedback, but what's worse is you can't even trust the criticism you receive. If no one engages, or someone gives a negative feedback, how am I supposed to know if it's because my writing is bad? or my teaser wasn't interesting? or my character was badly written/designed? Or if it was to a certain extent, bcs of the stigma? I do want criticism, of course I do, it's the first step to every improvement, and I would love it if I could get feedback that I can trust. (and this brings us to the truely "oppressed" community of the fanfic world, the people who write very good but cant write interesting teasers//jk)

7. the entirely skippable straw man rant part, also the expression of my love for The Magnus Archives.

some straw man: if you like writing your own characters so much, why not just write your own story entirely? and publish it?

You think I'm not annoyed about that? Here's the thing, I LIKE THIS WORLD I READ FROM THIS BOOK/SOME OTHER FORM OF MEDIA OR WHATEVER, I like it, it's brilliant, I want to write for it, about it, be in it, think about it, read about it, engage in whatever way I can. I CAN'T just "go write my own." And who do you think is more annoyed about not being able to publish the stuff? (According to you) I have written something that is potentially publishable (thank you btw I know you don't exist and is a strawman I invented just now but I've gotta get my compliments where I can//Jk), and I can't publish it in any potentially big way (and rightfully not) because I have no copyright over the characters. I worked hard to design my character, to make the plot meaningful, and to study the original canon plot and characters so that it would all fit together (I mean, partially bcs I can't force myself to sit down and write sth that is any less complex), and I can't actually publish it where more people will read it. And of course, on top of that, even less people will feel like reading once that "original character" tag is up. Does it look like I would be here if I could "just write my own"?

(slight tangent but come on what even is "your own"? how many classic European lit books were just fanfics of each other which were all just fanfics of the Bible or Greek mythology or sth? Stories and symbols have no boundaries it's the economic system that drew those.)

Damn this got way longer than I thought and it's morning now😂 guess I ran out of space to actually promote my fic, might have to do that in a seperate post then. But to anyone who actually read up to here, I'm so sorry for wasting your time no but srsly thanks for reading all of these jumbled thoughts, and good luck with whatever you are working on at the moment, I know you're probably working on something if you're reading through these tags. And of course good luck to the tma folk we're gonna face the end together🙏. good night (I should rly go to sleep now😂)